Tag-team Fic, Chapter Four
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Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Title: The Other Turn
Author: lyras
Chapter: Four
Rating: (this chapter) PG
Pairing(s): None
Warnings: None
Word Count:(this chapter): 976
Author's Notes: I hope nobody minds where I took this! Whoever takes it on next, please have fun with where I left it. :-)
As the world spun back into place, Tom wrenched his arm from Harry's grasp and stumbled to his knees.
'What,' he gasped over his shoulder between retches, 'was that?'
'Sorry, I know it doesn't feel great,' Harry said, glancing around hurriedly. No one was in sight. 'It was the quickest way to get you out of there.'
Tom hauled himself upright, pale as ever, and clearly striving for self-possession. Harry quailed for an instant. Surely he'd taken on too much here. What could he do with a child? How was he supposed to help this boy, who was so consumed with bitterness and a sense of his own importance that, even at this age, he was able to torture and bully with impunity?
But he had once been a friendless child, too. How might he have turned out, if not for Hogwarts? If not for Ron and Hermione, Dumbledore, Sirius, Ginny and all the others?
'Where are we?' Tom demanded.
Harry looked around. The grey stone cottage looked like the others that he remembered from Christmas Eve. Instead of the memorial plaque, there was a small sign bearing a number, and instead of ruined walls and rubble, there was a house. The house in which his parents had died. Except that they weren't there; they hadn't even been born yet. And he would have to be very, very careful about what he did.
'What is this place?'
Harry jumped as Tom jogged his arm roughly. 'I said, where are we?' His face crumpled into a sneer. 'What sort of man are you?'
With the site of his parents' death in view, it was easier to remember his task. Harry glared down at the small figure. 'Someone who's trying to help you. Follow me.'
He strode along the street, ignoring Tom's shouts. He'd brought him here to give himself time to think, but it didn't seem like a great idea any more. Godric's Hollow was a wizarding village; people were watching them curiously from behind net curtains, and they might be challenged at any moment.
The churchyard, he thought. Churchyards were always empty. He'd let Tom wander about the gravestones while he worked out where - or when - to take him.
They swept past the broad green - there was no memorial, and seeing the village in peace, free from its war wounds, made him ache - and through the little gate that led into the graveyard.
'What are we doing?' Tom's voice finally pierced his thoughts. Harry looked at him.
'I'm going to have a think. You can wander around here, if you like.'
'You do any more of that dragging me around, and I'll leave,' Tom said. 'I can look after myself.'
'Yeah,' said Harry. 'I'm sure you can. Look, I just need to figure something out, and then we'll be on our way.'
Tom turned and scuffed his way along the path. Harry watched him for a minute or two, but he seemed happy to play, jumping between gravestones and bending to read the occasional inscription.
Harry made his own way towards the older part of the churchyard, where the graves of the Potters, Peverells and Dumbledores would be found. Perhaps they would help him work out his next move. He wished briefly that he'd brought Ron and Hermione along, or even Ginny, Luna or Neville. It wouldn't have been fair, though. They deserved some time to enjoy Voldemort's defeat.
Turning a corner, he halted in shock. The graveyard wasn't empty, after all. A tall man with long, red hair and a beard that was nearly as long was rising from his knees beside a grave, and looking directly at him.
There was no time to run, let alone summon Tom. Dumbledore was already striding towards him down the mossy path, his face set in a frown that was visible even at this distance. Harry waited, thinking frantically: could he trust Dumbledore? Maybe he should just call Tom and use the time turner right now, and think on the run.
Because thinking on the run had served him perfectly so far.
He kept his wand out as Dumbledore approached, aware once more of the sight he must make. He looked like his father; did that family resemblance go right back to the 1930s? And if it did, would he even be recognisable, covered as he was with the blood of battle and forest mud?
'You look as if you've been in a brawl in the Knockturn Arms.' The voice was deep and surly, and Harry drew a breath of relief. Not Albus at all, but his brother!
'Er, something like that,' he answered. 'Sorry, I - for a moment I thought you were ...'
Aberforth's mouth opened in a snarl. 'Not my brother, no.' He waved a hand, revealing a small trinket that gleamed in the sunlight. 'Happens a lot.' He squinted at Harry through his glasses. 'You don't look long out of school. Hogwarts?'
'Yeah,' said Harry, deciding that a certain amount of truth was appropriate.
The man nodded. 'It comes to us all. You leave school with a head full of dreams, mainly provided by my noble brother, and the next thing you know, you're living in the real world and realising that most people are scum. Did you get into that mess in Knockturn Alley?'
Harry shook his head. 'No, I ...' How far could he trust Aberforth? Did he want to confide in anyone at all? He glanced around and found Tom stooping over one of the older graves. When he realised which it was, it was as if someone had poured ice down his back, despite the sun high overhead.
It occurred to him that this graveyard might be the worst possible place to which he could have brought Tom Riddle.