What Lies Ahead

Four

Tick-tick, Tick-tick, Tick-tick. The old plastic clock above the bed ticked away the seconds of a day that had seemed impossibly long. Harry was lying on his back among the tattered moldy sheets, trying hard not to focus on that infernal ticking. It was the only sound in the room, save for the arguments being held beyond the paper-thin walls, and it had pushed Harry to the edge of insanity. It had been a constant reminder that his time alone was drawing to an end; that soon Tom would return from whatever it was he was doing. The uncertainty of it all made his stomach ache and without anything else to preoccupy his wandering mind, he had dwelled on that uncertainty all day. Would today be his last day? Would Riddle return angry and take his frustration out on him? Would he ever see his friends again? Tick-tick Tick-tick Tick-tick.

He'd spent the entirety of Tom's absence looking for any form of escape. His first thought was to wait for housekeeping to arrive, but after several hours it became abundantly clear that no one was coming. He had then proceeded to hammer on the walls in hopes that his neighbors would hear him. He had kicked, pounded, and screamed until his lungs burned, but nothing seemed to penetrate the feeble barrier that stood between him and freedom. His last resort came in a pathetic attempt of throwing his small body against the locked door. Despite the protest of his already bruised side, he heaved his shoulder against the dilapidated wood repeatedly until he could no longer stand. Finally, deflated with defeat, he had collapsed to the bed as tears streaked his filth covered face.

It was then, in the still of the room, that his mind had wandered to the one place he hadn't allowed it to wander yet. He thought of Ginny; her lifeless cold body sprawled out on the wet chamber floor. He thought of Ron; the pain he must have felt when he realized his only sister was beyond rescue. He thought of Mrs. Weasley; cradled in the arms of her grief-stricken husband as she wept uncontrollably for the loss of her daughter. The stream of tears turned into full sobs as Harry tried to block out the thoughts filling his mind. If he'd only been there a few minutes earlier. If he hadn't bothered with Lockhart, perhaps Ginny would still be alive. Tick-tick Tick-tick Tick-tick.

Consumed with sudden madness, Harry leapt to his feet on the creaky spring mattress, and, pulling the clock from the nail, hurdled it against the opposite wall. It smashed in a brilliant display as plastic projectiles shot around the room. A sharp pain coursed through his ribs and he collapsed back to the sheets, hands clutching his side. Breathing heavily through his nose, he tried to reassure himself that he wasn't giving up; he was going to find a way out.

The soft rattle of the doorknob and click of a lock disengaging drew Harry's attention to the opening door. Rubbing his red eyes, he tried to hide any evidence of his breakdown, scrubbing the remnants of tears from his puffy lids beneath his glasses. Tom stepped over the threshold, hair and jumper dark from apparent rainfall. He tousled the water from the back of his head before removing the soaked sweater and hanging it neatly to dry over the back of a nearby chair. Harry tried to read the expression on his face but it was indiscernible in the dim light.

"Damned muggles," he snapped bitterly as he tossed a discolored map to the bedside table and unfolded the damp corners. "Between the language barrier and their bloody superstitions, it took me all afternoon in the pouring rain to get some answers. Thankfully, I was able to find an American couple that has been backpacking around Albania for the last two weeks."

Harry watched the creases on Tom's face deepen as he rambled absentmindedly to the room. It seemed he had forgotten Harry was even there, which suited Harry just fine. Instead, Riddle stared down at the map, his brows furrowed as his eyes scanned the tiny lines in search of something familiar. Finally, he reached out a long finger and pointed to a name. Harry, curiosity peaking, turned his head slightly to read the small print. Berat was not a place he was recognized, but at least he knew where they were.