Lesser Virtues, Greater Goals | Tomarry

Chapter 27: New order

Dumbledore is dead.

Tom had redirected one of the Killing Curses Voldemort threw at him with an illusion spell that Mary had taught him two days ago - so Voldemort thought that Tom was standing to where the old coot was. And so, the old man was dead.

One out of two. Now it's time for the Dark Lord to bite the dust as well.

"I admit I shouldn't have left the journal unsupervised." Says Voldemort, thoroughly annoyed with his own inconsiderate strategy. "It was most unwise of me."

"Damn right you shouldn't have." Spits back Tom, looking judgmentally at the pathetic image of his future self. He produces one more purple ball of fire that is thrown to the creature, which unfortunately avoids it. "I don't intend on going back there, old man. Accept it."

A Killing Curse flies at his direction. He barely dodges it.

"You will." The tone is evidently commanding. He would recognize it as his own anywhere. "You have no choice in the matter."

"All of your horcruxes are destroyed." Hisses the younger. "You hear me? All of them. You have nothing left."

He feels Voldemort's magic angry around him. The newly ressurected Dark Lord is not satisfied to hear something like this.

The nineteen year old is lifted off the floor.

His body feels like it isn't his, like he's been played around like a fiddle. The same way he had played Ginevra. The same way as so many others. He is brought before the creature with eyes of crimson. His breath is slowly diminished.

"Is it? Is it 'all of them', boy?" Murmurs Voldemort. "I feel like you're hiding something from me." He looks the far more pleasing to the eye version of him with malice. "Am I right?"

He presses even more into the young man's mind, almost tears it apart. Tom is too prideful to even make a sound. Voldemort has easy access to the boys memories. Both Harry's and Tom's. He sees everything. Every little moment, from beginning to end.

All the fights and the silent treatment and the less hostile days and the hugs and the reading Tolkien and Neil Gaiman nights - because Harry had discovered Gaiman's works too - the tears and every small memory of affection that broke the Slytherin's heart, before putting it back again, piece by piece.

"Oh. I see." Grins the creature. "The boy has made you soft. How pathetic of you."

"We have very different opinions on what is considered to be pathetic behavior." Says Tom, with his voice barely audible, for the spell the other has on him hasn't worn off. "But sure, I guess I am pathetic by your standards. Even though you were the one that failed to kill a year old infant, not me."

Voldemort strengthens his hold on the boy, making him ache throughout his body.

It's different than the Cruciatus. It tingles like thousands of spindles on his skin. Scars appear on his face. Thin red lines taint his skin.

"I learned that you made some new friends." Says the red eyed creature nonchalantly. "Why don't we bring them in so you will have the honor to watch them die?"

"Do it." Spits out the younger, blood dripping down his chin, due to the aggression of the incantation. "Do it and see if I care."

"Maybe you don't care." Murmurs Voldemort, an evil glint can be seen inside his crimson eyeslits. "But can you say the same about them?"

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Mary, Harry and Ben are being pushed inside the room by the Dark Lord's magic, as if they are mere dolls that move around thanks to an invisible hand. They are held captive on the floor, unable to walk as if stuck there with a super glue.