lomonaaeren

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Chapter Thirty-Five—Rings of Will

Harry knew that he was making Mrs. Black concerned about him, with the way that he kept pausing during dinner and staring at his plate, but the food did taste like ashes in his mouth, and it was no fault of hers or the Black house-elves’. It was just that—

He had made his decision to tell Orion that he had time traveled, because it wasn’t fair for only one of them to have that knowledge. But Harry hadn’t known how much he had valued Orion’s devotion and the easy acceptance of his family until he was on the verge of losing it.

He was glad that Orion had decided to take Harry to the Malfoys’ Quidditch pitch, so he wouldn’t have to confess this secret inside the walls of Grimmauld Place where someone else could be listening. Harry even managed a laugh as they landed. “Is Apparition even legal for you yet?” he asked Orion.

Orion looked at him with the kind of bright, merry eyes that meant Harry knew it wasn’t, but he was rather more concerned with the way that Orion was embracing him, his hand traveling down Harry’s back and cupping his arse. “Are you going to tell anyone, Harry?” he whispered, a breath away from a kiss.

It was probably wrong, but Harry couldn’t help lifting his head for Orion’s kiss, and pressing closer as Orion touched his chin. The kiss was warm and all-consuming, and he only broke away when Orion touched his throat, fingers curling as if he wanted to feel the jumping of Harry’s pulse.

Wrong. Wrong. He doesn’t know who I really am. He doesn’t know that I might have destroyed the timeline and killed his sister long before she would have died for real.

Harry barely held back a pathetic whine. Doing the right thing had never been this hard.

“That was—that was—”

And now he sounded stupid and broken just because Orion had touched his throat. Great.

Harry looked towards the pitch, his mind whirling. He was trying to sort out what would be the best way to begin, and Orion was coming towards him, making things more difficult. His head was bowed, as if he was trying to look into Harry’s eyes. “Harry?” he whispered, one hand fluttering at his side as if he wanted to reach out.

“Get a grip, Potter,” Harry muttered, and thought he might have said it aloud. He knew his smile was painful as he turned to face Orion, but at least he had settled into himself, and he knew exactly what he needed to say.

No matter how much it might make him hate me.

“I can’t let you go on believing a lie anymore. It’s unfair to you. Is it secure here? I need to tell you something, but I also need to make sure that no one else overhears us.”

Good. Good. You got through that much. Now it only needs to be a little more.

Harry watched, feeling half-detached from himself, as Orion cast a spell that would sweep the pitch for eavesdropping charms and the like. Nothing showed up, not that Harry had thought much would. It was notoriously hard to make eavesdropping charms cover a large outdoor space like this.

He still felt better that Orion had checked, though.

“It’s clear,” Orion said, holstering his wand. He was watching Harry with the kind of devotion that made Harry want to hold Orion close forever and also shove him back so he would be free.

Harry took a deep breath, only it would never be deep enough, and wrung his hands together in front of him. Then he hurled himself into the gap and said, “I’m from the future. Orion. I’m a time traveler.”

Orion stared at Harry. Harry thought he was probably unaware that his lips were slightly parted. Most of the time, his Orion would never have allowed himself even that much of a gape.

He’s not your Orion.

“I know,” Harry said, and he knew his face was probably twisted. He shouldn’t have tried to smile. “I—I don’t know how it happened. I’d finished my fifth year at Hogwarts, and I woke up in Diagon Alley with my wand and the clothes I was wearing and nothing else.” He shook his head, watching Orion carefully for some sign that he was about to attack. “My name really is Harry Potter. I’m the son of two people who haven’t been born yet, which is why the Potters here know nothing about me. And my mother was Muggleborn, and I did grow up with my mum’s Muggle sister and her husband and their son.” Harry took a deep breath, but that didn’t make things any easier. “So you see that even though I told you the truth about some things, I was lying about most of the important things.”

Orion made a sharp, beckoning gesture. Harry would have liked to hear him say something, but was it really surprising that he couldn’t? Harry looked off to the side and swallowed.

“In the time I live in,” Harry said, and couldn’t prevent his voice from going softer, “my parents both died facing down Tom Riddle. Only he was much stronger then, and older, and called himself Lord Voldemort. I somehow lived through the Killing Curse when he cast it at me, and survived. I was pretty famous for it.” He lifted his fringe so Orion could see the lightning bolt scar, and then felt stupid. It wasn’t like Orion had lived in Harry’s time or knew anything about the fame Harry had had. “But Voldemort didn’t die. He just became a wraith, flung out of his body. I faced him down when I was eleven, too, and kept him from coming back, and when I was twelve, I found a diary that had a memory of him in it and destroyed it, too. That’s one of the Horcruxes the Aurors found.

“When I was fourteen, he kidnapped me and used me in a resurrection ritual to return to his body.” For all that it would still be stupid to expect Orion to believe a scar, Harry pulled up his sleeve. “He tried to kill me, but I escaped again. And at the end of my fifth year, Voldemort tricked me into going to the Department of Mysteries, and my godfather came to save me, and he died. His name was Sirius Black.” Harry’s voice cracked, and his thoughts were full of the Veil and the way that Orion would reject him when he heard what was coming next. But he deserved the truth, every bit of it. “He was your son.”

Orion staggered, and Harry knew it wasn’t his imagination that he sounded hurt. “That’s why you kept asking me those questions about Walburga,” he whispered. “I married her in that timeline.”

Harry nodded. “I barely knew anything about you before I came back, except that you supported Riddle and were a bad father to Sirius and Regulus,” he mumbled, and winced as he thought about it. How could Orion have been a bad father to them? “Or maybe you didn’t care about what Walburga did to them, or didn’t know. I don’t know. Sirius was in prison for twelve years for a crime he didn’t commit but other people thought he did. And I kept thinking I couldn’t interfere in the timeline and prevent him from being born.

“But you were there.” Harry glanced back at Orion, and saw his throat bob as he swallowed. “And you were being hurt. So I decided that I had to help you. I thought defeating Riddle and setting the Knights of Walpurgis free would change things, but at least it might mean not many people would notice when I disappeared from this time.” He fought to keep his voice from cracking. “But I don’t even know what brought me here, and I haven’t found any reliable information in the books that would let me—” Harry shook his head. He wanted to say many things, and he had words for none of them.

“You want to leave,” Orion said, his voice blank and distant. But Harry could make out pain under the surface.

“I have to.” Harry tried to sound steady, but there was probably nothing steady about saying that he would have to leave someone he cared for the way he did Orion. “This is—I can’t let myself have this. I shouldn’t have let myself change things in the first place. But you were suffering, and so were other people, and I had to stop that. Even if it meant Sirius would never be born. But then you talked about how you didn’t want to marry Walburga, and your parents didn’t want you to either, and your sister died when I knew she lived longer than that in my world—I don’t know what’s going on anymore.”

Maybe I changed it. Maybe I didn’t. I don’t understand how I could have caused ripples up and down the timeline like this, but I don’t understand time travel in general.

Orion took a breath and blinked rapidly. Harry wondered if the man was about to curse him out. Merlin knew Harry would more than deserve it.

“Why did you decide to tell me?” Orion asked, and Harry couldn’t help but stare. “I mean, I’m glad that you did. But why now? Why not keep it secret, the way you have been?”

Here it comes. Harry braced himself.

“I was taking too much from your family. You gave me this.” Harry tapped the side of the Nimbus 1500 they’d brought with them. Part of him felt like it was always going to be frozen in the surprise he’d felt on opening the package and discovering they’d got him a bloody broom. “And I know that part of it is probably political and attaching yourself to someone powerful, but not all of it. I can’t break your heart if I just vanish someday the way I came. Which I could do at any time, for all I know. And I couldn’t keep lying when you trust me so much.”

“What—what do you expect me to do now?”

Harry blinked and hoped his dejection wasn’t that visible. This was about Orion, not him. “Reject me, of course.” He smiled, although he had the feeling that it wasn’t a very happy smile. “I lied to you. I’m not who you thought I was. I could have told you the truth before this, but I kept it from you. And you deserve to have someone from your world who can love you the way you were meant to be loved.” He reached out and brushed his hand down Orion’s cheek, silently marveling at its warmth.

“I’d appreciate it if I can stay at least until the end of the holidays,” Harry murmured. It was a selfish desire, but on the other hand, he thought Orion cared for him enough to let this happen. “I don’t have any other place to go, and now you know why. You can tell your parents whatever you like. Blame it entirely on me. I don’t mind.”

He turned around and walked away. He would make a few circuits of the pitch and let Orion have whatever reaction he was going to have.

He did glance over his shoulder once to see Orion standing there and staring into the sky as if he was hoping someone would come down and take Harry back to his own world.

Harry sighed. All in all, this wasn’t the worst reaction Orion could have had. That would have been curses aimed at Harry’s back.

It hurt anyway. But this wasn’t about him. This was about Orion.

I can’t be so selfish as to try and dictate his reactions, or what he does next.

*

Harry catches his eye at breakfast and tilts his head towards the professors’ table. Orion swallows. He knows that Harry is telling him Dumbledore has the plan to free Riddle from the Ministry in motion, or maybe even is saying that he already has the bastard in custody.

He didn’t expect to feel as if he was standing on the edge of a cliff.

“Something wrong?” Abraxas murmurs, leaning over under the pretense of passing the marmalade.

Orion takes some so it won’t look that suspicious, swallowing again and shaking his head. “No, I’m—I’m all right.”

“But there’s something.”

Orion darts his eyes towards Dumbledore where he sits at the professors’ table, and Abraxas goes wide-eyed himself. At least he doesn’t look around and make it obvious, but he does choke on a bite of his scone.

“You mean that he already—”

“Will you be quiet?”

Abraxas calms down enough to nod frantically, but that just makes a few people from up the table crane their heads to look at him, including Lestrange and Yaxley. Orion sighs. Abraxas is a great friend, but he’s only a good conspirator when they don’t have an audience.

*

“I should have thought that you would be able to tell me more about this ahead of time, Mr. Potter.”

“I could have, sir, but I had other things to think about.”

As always, it’s a wonder to watch Harry manipulate Dumbledore. Orion is still sort of angry that he didn’t get to watch the conversation Harry had with the Transfiguration professor when he was convincing him to participate in the ritual. But maybe Harry will let him watch the Pensieve memory someday.

Harry is standing at one end of the large stone chamber, which has torches flaring on the walls. There are puddles of water here and there on the floor, but already Dumbledore is waving his wand to clear them up. He isn’t watching what’s he doing, because he’s staring around in an awed fashion.

Orion only manages not to do the same with a supreme effort of will. It’s not every day that someone brings you to the bloody Chamber of Secrets.

The snakes twisting up and around the wall are gravely impressive. Orion doesn’t think as much of the giant statue along the back wall. If that was what Salazar Slytherin looked like, Orion wonders why he thought he should have a statue carved to memorialize himself. Let’s just say Orion wouldn’t have, if that were his face.

He does sort of wonder why Harry has a covered, square object sitting behind him, but he doesn’t think he’ll ask. For all he knows, Harry might want a place to sit during the ritual, or might think that he’ll disrupt the ritual if he just sprawls on the floor from exhaustion.

“I would have appreciated knowing where the Chamber of Secrets was, Mr. Potter,” Dumbledore says, as he cleans up the last of the water.

“Why, sir? You wouldn’t be able to get down here without speaking Parseltongue yourself. And I did hear that you can understand it, but that isn’t the same as speaking it.”

“I do rather pride myself on my mastery of magical languages,” Dumbledore says, and smiles.

Harry smiles back. Orion holds in his snicker. He would rate that contest a draw, and it’s rare enough that anyone manages to stand even with Dumbledore.

The circle on the floor is made of crushed sapphires and rubies. Abraxas insisted on providing that much, and luckily it only requires one layer of the broken gems, so his father isn’t going to question him about where the money went. Abraxas stands against one of the snake-carved pillars now, practically vibrating.

“Are you sure there isn’t more I can do, my—Harry?” Abraxas asks. From the narrow-eyed way Dumbledore is looking at him, he didn’t miss that slip. Orion wishes he was standing close enough to nudge the idiot in the ribs.

“No, Abraxas, thank you.”

Harry’s voice is deep and lulling, as if he’s about to start singing. He tilts his head slowly back, and the air around him flares with light. Orion starts. He didn’t know he would be able to see it when Harry started gathering his will to form the circle he will actually face Riddle in.

“Shall I bring in Mr. Riddle?” Dumbledore asks, his own voice low. He might be trying to fit in with the ritual or undercut the spell that Harry’s voice is weaving. Orion can’t tell.

“Yes, please, sir.”

After a moment when Dumbledore stands staring at Harry, he nods sharply and retreats. Harry continues to stand in place, rocking a little on his heels. The air around him is growing warmer now; Orion can feel it pushing back the cold of the Chamber.

He does swallow and feel a little colder when Dumbledore floats Riddle in. He’s bound to what actually looks like a modified hospital bed, tilted on one edge and covered with padding. Riddle is gagged, too, his eyes bulging. His arms and fingers twitch, and Orion thinks he would be making obscene gestures if he wasn’t tied down.

“Now,” Dumbledore says softly, and weaves his wand in several intricate patterns. The first creates a coil of silver wire that he binds around Riddle’s wrists, skillfully avoiding the ropes. The others unbind Riddle and shove him into the circle of gems. Dumbledore then sends the hospital bed to hover against the far wall.

“To take him back to the Ministry when the ritual concludes,” Dumbledore murmurs, even though no one’s actually asked him why he kept the bed.

Not that we’ll need it.

Orion averts his eyes to the circle, because he doesn’t want to take the chance of Dumbledore reading his mind. Riddle is still gagged and seems more furious about that than the rest.

But then he comes to look across the circle at Harry, and he goes still, except for a fine tremor making its way through his limbs.

He hates Harry. Even if he never thought that his nemesis would be someone so close to his own age, he hates him.

Orion swallows, and makes a promise to himself. If it looks like Riddle is about to break the circle or win the mental duel, then he’ll make sure that Riddle dies. No matter what the cost is to himself.

Father is always bragging about how much political power the Black family has in money and connections. Time to make him prove it.

“Shall I remove the gag, Mr. Potter?” Dumbledore asks, oddly deferential. Maybe he’s not immune to the thrum of magic building up in the Chamber, the way Orion assumed he was.

“Yes, please, sir,” Harry says. His eyes are half-lidded and locked on Riddle. If not for the dangerous snarling of the magic building up around them, Orion might feel jealous.

Dumbledore nods once and banishes the gag. Then he steps back and concentrates his magic and will on the silver wire coiling around Riddle’s arms, or so Orion assumes. His magic joins the song of power making its way through the Chamber, a thrum so low that it seems to make the snakes on the walls shudder.

“Fuck you!” Riddle screams, making Dumbledore start and glare at him, and then switches to Parseltongue. Harry hisses back, but his voice is calm and controlled.

And then Riddle calls up his will.

Orion can feel it when their wills clash. The walls jump around all of them, and dust sifts down from high above. One of the snakes on the nearest pillar twists slowly in the direction of the circle. Harry is leaning forwards, too, and the air around him turns a brilliant and gleaming back, as if he’s standing in the center of a single piece of onyx.

Dumbledore closes his eyes, his face a mask of concentration. Riddle isn’t trying to move closer to Harry, but he seems to be straining against an invisible barrier.

The hissing continues. Harry doesn’t bother to reply, now, and after a few minutes, Riddle falls silent, too.

Orion watches, breathless, as the air inside the circle begins to turn silver and black, silver on Riddle’s side, black on Harry’s. Silver and onyx, like the ring he once dreamed of giving to Harry, twining around each other, building around each other in spirals, rearing like twinned walls.

And there’s no sign of Riddle yielding, of Harry winning. On the other hand, when Orion shifts a little so that he can keep Harry in his sight, he sees Harry standing entirely relaxed, his head half-bowed, shoving more and more magic into the circle.

Abruptly, the hair over Harry’s scar parts.

Orion swallows uneasily, watching as a black mist spirals out of Harry’s scar, a small mimicry of the great spirals above. For a moment, it hesitates, as if it’s going to turn and go back into the scar. And then it lifts above the walls and floats down the silver half of the circle towards Riddle.

Riddle is suddenly sweating. He tugs against the silver wires holding his wrists, but they continue to bind him. Dumbledore moves his wand a little, whispering something under his breath that Orion can’t hear.

The mist reaches Riddle, and crawls in through his ear.

Riddle screams. Orion jumps at the sheer pain and fear in that sound. Riddle jerks backwards, wobbles, and falls. But he’s within the circle, and the former Horcrux doesn’t come boiling out of his body.

“No!” Riddle howls. “No!”

And then he turns his head to the side and hisses something else. Orion glances up in time to see Harry turn, slowly, as if struggling to wake from a trance.

The mouth of the great statue of Salazar Slytherin is opening.

Down the throat, an immense, serpentine shadow is moving.