Chapter 17-Popularity

Chapter 17: Popularity

The following week was...complicated. So many people to appease, so little time. His first priority, of course, was Tom. The man was positively furious that he risked his life for the "foolish, bookish mudblood." Actually, he didn't think Tom had ever been that angry with him. The night following the troll incident, Tom didn't even want to talk to him...he seemed content with torturing Harry with blinding headaches for the whole night. It was only a few hours before dawn the next day when Harry finally had a chance to explain himself, which was no easy task, either.

Explaining himself to Tom was an entirely different ordeal from explaining himself to Professor McGonagall; Tom didn't care about kindness, or doing the right thing, and by no means believed in 'sheer dumb luck'. In order to craft such an explanation, he had to ask a very important question: why did he run after Granger?

It wasn't a well-thought out decision, that's for sure – acting so rashly wasn't like him. He didn't think his motivations were moral, either. It was a split second decision, a reckless choice that almost got him killed. He had been stupid and thoughtless. He just...really wanted to help out the Granger girl, because despite her faults, he really did like her. Naturally, that explanation wouldn't do either, so he decided to spin it a different way.

"Y-you said I need allies, Tom...isn't it b-better that I have allies in every house? I'm the Boy Who L-lived...that reputation is kind of...wasted on the Slytherins isn't it?"

And to that, Tom had eventually (albeit reluctantly) agreed. While Harry's 'heroic' actions would (literally) not win him points in Slytherin, it would everywhere else. The rest of Hogwarts would see his actions as the work of the orphaned son of Lily and James Potter, two brave Gryffindors who passed on to their son their courage, selflessness, and moral fibre. He wouldn't be "Harry Potter, the boy who sorted into Slytherin" - he would be "Harry Potter, the Slytherin who risked his life to save a muggleborn classmate". This Harry Potter was good, kind, and righteous; this Harry Potter could get away with a lot more.

So yes, Tom had eventually conceded the merits of his actions, but not before threatening massive amounts of pain should he ever be that rash again. Honestly, the threat was starting to get a bit old. Harry'd grown fairly used to agony at this point.

Thankfully, the other Slytherins in Harry's life weren't quite as intent on making him suffer for his misadventure. Well, except Professor Snape, who was directing glares that would petrify the bravest of Gryffindors at him whenever he was in his general vicinity. However, despite how disconcerting it was to feel the Potions Professor's death glare on the back of his head while he ate, Harry was touched that he cared so much.

As for the other Slytherins...once he'd revealed that the whole ordeal had actually won them points, his housemates seemed a lot less put off by the whole thing. Indeed, the whole debacle with Granger was no longer much of a topic for discussion; however, the mistake Harry had made in losing his temper with Malfoy was.

The first indicator that the incident was going to come back to bite him was when Theo had come into the dorm after him, looking rather pale.

"You're really terrifying, you know."

He hadn't known what to say to that.

"Is that what you would have done to me had I said anything about...you know...?"

Utterly spent at that point, he had carelessly responded, "Oh, I had something a lot worse in mind, to be honest."

Oops.

Poor Theo seemed pretty unnerved by the whole thing.

Malfoy had avoided him like the plague since then, and Crabbe and Goyle following suit by extension, which was in all honesty a plus; he wasn't going to claim that he didn't appreciate not having to look over his shoulder every time he entered a room, preparing to be hexed or tripped. Zabini was also less inclined to scoff at him these days, and had started looking at him with cautious respect mingled with well-controlled fear. While the other boy was clearly...disconcerted by Harry's loss of control, something positive seemed to have changed between them, because he had started politely greeting Harry whenever they crossed paths. It felt nice not to be dismissed or ignored.

The girls...well, Pansy seemed pretty sore about the fact he'd broken Malfoy's leg, and Bulstrode was definitely scared of him. Davis looked like she was trying very hard to remain indifferent, pretending that nothing had happened, and Greengrass...she'd taken to blushing every time he looked her way. If he didn't know better, he'd think that she rather fancied his display the other night...but that couldn't be, right? Girls like handsome, brave, chivalrous types, right? Maybe not; after all, he'd overheard them talking in the Common Room the night after.

"Can you believe it?" Parkinson was saying, "That little..half blood bookworm broke Draco's leg! Draco Malfoy!"

"Well," Davis replied, "He was kind of asking for it."

"Tracey!"

"I just...can't believe Potter would do something like that," Bulstrode said shakily. "He always seems so...polite, quiet, doesn't he? Never says a word when Draco insults him."

He could hear the smirk in Greengrass's voice, "Well, you know what they say about the quiet ones."

"Don't be crass, Daphne," Parkinson snapped.

"It doesn't matter," Davis put in, "I admit I'd have never pegged him as...that type, but like you said, Milly, he's so quiet – how could anyone know?"

"Maybe underneath it all he's a sadist." Greengrass sounded excited at the prospect.

"Daphne!" Bulstrode squeaked.

"What? You can't possibly not be interested. He broke Draco's leg, wandlessly. And he didn't even seem that angry. Imagine what would happen if he were furious. I mean, he must be so powerful!"

"You're a freak, Daphne," Parkinson had concluded. Harry was appalled that someone would call their friend a freak, but at the same time, he kind of knew where she was coming from.

He'd been rather confused about the whole thing, so naturally, he'd approached Tom.

"I just...don't get it, at all..."

"I knew a woman like that, once,"

Harry was pleased to hear it. Perhaps Tom could help remedy some of his puzzlement, then. "And?"

"And? And now she's in Azkaban for torturing the Longbottom boy's parents into insanity."

"...oh. Well, how did she work?"

"What?"

"Well, I mean, what made her do things? Say things? Which parts of her made her say stuff like that? How did she work?"

Tom seemed very amused by the question. "I never bothered with it."

"Why?"

"It was simple, really. She was in love, Harry, with Lord Voldemort."

Harry frowned. To be honest, he'd never even considered the prospect of someone falling in love with Tom before.

"Well, did you...have feelings for her?"

"Why would I have any such things?"

"I dunno...did you...think she was pretty?"

"I have always been under the impression that her...beauty left little to be desired."

"Well, were you attracted to her?"

"No, I don't waste my time with things like that."

"Have you ever been attracted to a girl before?"

"No."

"What about boys?"

"No."

Harry's eyes went wide. "Have you ever, you know, done it?"

Tom looked impatient now. "Done what?"

"You know, had...sex."

"How do you even know what that is?"

"The biology book you made me read, remember?"

"Ah."

"Well, have you?"

"Twice."

"And?"

"And it was unsanitary and tedious, what did you expect me to say?" Tom snapped.

"Then why did you do it twice?"

"The first time was merely an experiment."

"And the second?"

"Well," Tom drawled, a cruel glint in his eye and a sadistic smirk on his face, "That was a bit more entertaining."

And that was that. Harry was left feeling vaguely uncomfortable, and now knew to never go to Tom about girl troubles, assuming he ever got the chance to have those in earnest. For now, he was content with labelling the females in his life as a mystery, and leaving it at that.

The older Slytherins seemed equal parts wary, curious, and amused by him. However, if it hadn't been clear that his housemates were suspicious of him before, it certainly was now. He knew people were talking about him behind his back, staring at him while he looked the other way. It was clear to him that none of them had expected him to get so angry, given how even his temper had been for the last two months, and he was sure they didn't think that he had it in him to break another student's leg with wandless, wordless magic. From what Harry could tell, that was considered an impressive feat, though it was nothing new to him. What was new was the brief but potent torrent of rage that had overtaken him. He found it...extremely concerning. He had felt like Tom, for a few moments, and he really didn't want to feel like Tom. He also hated that he'd inadvertently proven Tom's "fear breeds respect" theory, because his housemates really did seem to have some respect for him now. He hadn't even lost any points over the whole debacle.

"I'm not going to take any points," Hortense Rowland had said the day after, when she pulled him aside. "I'm not going to tell Professor Snape either. None of us will."

Harry had looked at her curiously. "Why?"

"Malfoy was out of line. I'm a prefect, so I can't say he deserved it, or that what you did was impressive. I certainly can't say that you've won the respect of some of the older students. What I can say is don't lose your temper like that again, and watch your back. You especially need to be careful not to make too many enemies."

He'd fidgeted a bit, feeling some nervousness wash over him as a result of her words, but she noticed this and her eyes softened, and, much to his surprise, she placed a hand on his shoulder.

"But know this, Potter. I've got your back. Slytherins look after our own...and you're a Slytherin."

Her words left a warm feeling in his chest; he had thanked her profusely after that, and she had smiled softly in return. The attention he had received from Rowland was really nice, but for the most part, he really did hate all the attention, and was more and more hoping the Quidditch game in a couple of weeks would inject some positive energy into all of it.

The only person who seemed truly, earnestly pleased by the actions he took the other night was Granger, or Hermione, as she now insisted he call her. The morning following the troll incident, she had bravely trotted up to the Slytherin table during breakfast.

"Potter? I..." she began timidly, "I wanted to thank you for what you did for me last night. If you hadn't beheaded that troll, I'd probably be dead right now."

"Beheaded?" he saw Theo mouthing out of the corner of his eye.

He smiled uneasily at her. "Well, I'm glad you're not dead. I'd have no one to compete with in transfiguration, if you died, and that would really be a shame."

She had giggled a bit at that, leaving Harry somewhat enheartened.

"Besides, I've always wanted to meet a troll. Now I have...though it was admittedly...brief. I've never decapitated anything before either!"

Uh-oh. That statement didn't quite come out the way he wanted it too, he realized as the students around him turned a bit green.

"I mean...well, what I mean to say is that I'm glad everything worked out for both of us, Granger."

"Hermione."

He glanced down at the hand she was holding out to him.

"You can call me Hermione."

Harry smiled softly, taking her hand. "I suppose you can call me Harry then."

Hermione blushed a bit and quickly excused herself.

"Consorting with mudbloods now, Potter?" Parkinson had called out once the other girl was out of earshot, but was quickly silenced by the glare he sent her way.

Over the past two weeks, Gr-er, Hermione had taken to sitting beside him in the library. Usually, they just sat together in silence, working on their respective homework assignments in peace, but occasionally they'd compare book collections or spell-casting techniques. They'd even discussed starting projects together. Hermione was especially interested in the spell-crafting book he had, and was incredibly fascinated by what he told her about occlumency. He'd tentatively agreed to teach her after the winter holidays. Moreover, once Hermione had gotten over her pride, she'd started to ask Harry's advice, and not just about casting spells, either.

"He's started sitting beside me, and talking to me."

"That's good, right? Ron's a nice boy, when he's not being a halfwit."

"He's been asking me for help with charms, too."

"Perfect! Just what you've always wanted!"

"I don't understand why he suddenly likes me!"

"Well, I'm sure he feels bad about nearly hurting your feelings to death, so to speak."

"I just don't know what to do, Harry, no one ever wants me around! I try to be nice to them, but no one likes me."

"Maybe try talking less?"

She scowled at him.

"Really, that's what I do."

"And then break peoples' legs when that fails."

"That was once, Hermione, and I'd had a long day. I do still feel very bad about it. Rather horrible, actually."

She sobered at that. "Well, you apologized," she said uneasily.

"Yeah, and I guess it was kind of your fault too."

"It was not!"

"If I hadn't had to go looking for you..." he started with a mischievous smile.

"I never asked you to look for me! Besides! I didn't know about the troll."

"I suppose we'll just have to blame it on whoever let the troll in, won't we?"

"Y – wait, what?"

"What?"

"Let the troll in?"

"Well, someone had to, didn't they?"

"Harry! No one would purposefully let a troll into a school full of children!"

"Why not?"

"Well - well, it would be a rather awful thing to do, wouldn't it?"

"And?"

"Harry, what reason could someone possibly have to do such a thing?"

"Well, it would make a good distraction, wouldn't it?"

"A distraction from what!?"

"I don't know...yet. But I'm sure of it."

"Well, you're wrong."

"No I'm not."

"Yes, you are."

"Nope, definitely not wrong. You'll see, Hermione. I'll prove it."

"And how will you do that?"

"I don't know...yet."

And that was how he ended up standing outside the Slytherin common room at 1 am on November 15th, a very disgruntled Theo Nott standing across from him looking equal parts irritated, afraid, and sleepy.

"I don't understand," was all he managed.

"Well," Harry began as he led his friend forward. "I need to prove someone wrong."

"Who?"

"Hermione."

"Of course. And what's she wrong about now?"

"She thinks the troll just wandered in on its own during the Halloween Feast."

"Didn't it?"

Harry nearly pulled his hair out. "No, of course not! Honestly, what's it like to see the world in little papery two-dimensional crayon drawings? Why am I friends with you two again?"

Oh dear, he was channeling Tom again.

"Because no one else will be friends with you, Harry." It was a joke, but only halfway. Harry had confided in Theo regarding his anxiety over his friend-making skills, and Theo had taken it upon himself to mock these anxieties until they didn't make Harry anxious anymore. So far, it was working decently. Harry was a lot less nervous, these days.

"True, but not the point."

"Then what is the point?"

"The point is that someone let the troll in as a distraction."

"A distraction for what?"

"I don't know yet."

"...right. And how do you know all this?"

Well, to be fair, he didn't. He was just postulating – but Tom agreed, so he was sure he was right. "I just do."

"...ok. And why am I here?"

"Well, these things are always safer with two people instead of one. Plus, I need someone to verify my findings in case Hermione doesn't believe me."

"And why would she believe me?"

"She may not, but I believe that if she interrogates us separately, she'll be able to deduce the truth of our story; she's very intelligent like that."

"And why would I let that mudblood 'interrogate' me?"

"(A), don't call her a mudblood, and (B), because you want to stay on my good side, of course."

"...yes, I do."

Harry smiled.

"So...where exactly are we going?"

"Well, I don't know exactly where we're going, but we're going to check out the third floor corridor."

Theo's eyes bugged out. "We're going where?"

"The third floor corridor."

"And why, in the name of Merlin, Morgana, and all things holy, are we going there?"

"Well, you see, I believe that there's something hidden in the third floor corridor, something that's not usually there, or else Professor Dumbledore wouldn't have announced it at the feast. My theory is that whoever let the troll in did so in an attempt to create a distraction while they came up here looking for whatever it is Professor Dumbledore hid here."

"And you, in all your infinite wisdom, decided to come looking for it."

"Quite."

"If I die a painful death, I'm coming back to haunt you."

"That seems fair."

Theo sighed. "Maybe Dumbledore was exaggerating...maybe he just didn't want people looking around up here."

"I don't think so, but if you'd prefer it, we can pretend that that's true for the time being."

Theo shot him a deadpan look. "No, you've already ruined it."

"Just being honest."

"Not one of your better traits, Harry."

"So I've been told."

Indeed, Tom had told him this many times. Speaking of Tom, he was fully in support of Harry's little expedition. Tom (quite reasonably) believed that there was something going on at Hogwarts, some sort plot, the details of which neither he nor Harry were privy to. And he didn't like that. With Harry's frequent headaches in Defence against the Dark Arts, Tom had his suspicions that his master soul might have something to do with it, which meant that their ignorance of the situation was a disadvantage they could not afford. So, Tom had insisted that they must find out what was hidden on the third floor corridor. Moreover, Tom had further insisted that Theo be brought along – apparently these sorts of things were always safer in pairs (not to mention, if they were caught, it would be easier to explain away the expedition with someone else to vouch for his innocent intentions), and since Theo was already honour bound to keep his mouth shut, he was the perfect choice for a partner in crime.

Harry grinned as they reached the corridor. "Here we are. Now let me know if you find it."

"Find what?"

"Something suspicious, I suppose."

Theo groaned, but started trying doors nonetheless. "Alohomora...alohomora...alohomora..."

It turned out that a large majority of the rooms that branched out of the third floor corridor were dusty, unused classrooms that had been cleared out, making their task quite simple...and boring. Whether time was passing quickly as a result, or lagging behind, Harry had no idea. The affair was monotonous either way.

They were about halfway down the corridor when they heard a shuffling sound down the stairs.

"Harry! Someone's there!" Theo hissed, rather alarmed.

"I know, it's Filch – cast the disillusionment charm and go sit in the corner for a couple of minutes."

"Harry! I can't cast the disillusionment charm!"

Harry frowned at him. "But I showed you how just the other day!"

"Well some people can't replicate fourth year spells after being shown only once."

"Oh."

"Oh indeed."

Harry sighed. "Fine – alohomora – let's hide in here," he said, pulling Theo into the room he'd just opened, feeling the boy stiffen as he did. "...what?"

A very pale looking Theo shakily pointed behind him, causing him to spin around.

"Oh...that looks like a three headed dog."

"Harry, I think that is a three headed dog," Theo whispered hoarsely.

"Yeah, I think you're right."

At that moment, a deep growl sounded through the room, and both boys jumped at the sound as the creature opened its gigantic eyes.

"Good doggy," Harry said, smiling hopefully.

Apparently it did not, in fact, appreciate being called a 'good doggy', however, because it immediately let out a howl, prompting the boys to both scramble out of the room, nearly falling over as they slammed the door behind them, wasting no time before they ducked into the next room Harry quickly unlocked.

Once they were safe, Theo looked over to Harry, who was grinning widely.

"Well, that was...rather cute, wasn't it?"

"You're so weird."

"And you're blind. It was adorable. Did you see it's eyes? They were so big and black!"

"They were kind of hard to miss."

Harry sighed. "I suppose we'll just have to agree to disagree. At least we got what we came for."

"You think someone let a troll in so they could come up here and check out the three-headed dog?" Theo asked incredulously.

Harry laughed. "No, of course not! They were looking for whatever's beneath the trap door the dog was standing on."

"...oh."

"Now, I want a nice fair game, all of you," Madame Hooch said sternly to the Gryffindor and Slytherin Quidditch players gathered around her. "Mount your brooms please."

Harry's head was buzzing with excitement as the 15 brooms rose in the air. This was it. He could do this. He was going to win, and then his housemates were going to like him - and he wasn't going to die in the process, proving Tom wrong. Everything was going to be fine. Excellent, in fact. Everything was going to be excellent.

And with a sharp whistle, the game began.

The part Harry had to play was pretty boring, to be honest. Flint didn't want him messing anything up, so he was supposed to wait for the snitch to show up, and stay put until it did. Luckily, he felt quite content to enjoy the wind in his hair, along with the excellent commentary.

"And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor – what an excellent Chaser that girl is, and rather attractive, too -"

"JORDAN!"

"Sorry Professor."

Harry laughed a little, as he sat on his broom, vigilant and nervous. Lee Jordan was commentating on the match that day, and was an avid Quidditch fan, a friend of the Weasley twins as well, so his opinions promised to be amusing.

"And she's really belting along up there, a neat pass to Alicia Spinnet, a good find of Oliver Wood's, last year only a reserve – back to Johnson and – no, Slytherin have taken the Quaffle, Slytherin captain Marcus Flint gains the Quaffle and off he goes – Flint flying like an eagle up there – he's going to sc – no, stopped by an excellent move by Gryffindor Keeper Wood and Gryffindor take the Quaffle – that's Chaser Katie Bell of Gryffindor there, nice dive around Flint, off up the field and – OUCH – that must have hurt, hit in the back of the head by a Bludger – Quaffle taken by Slytherin – that's Adrian Pucey speeding off towards the goalposts, but he's blocked by a second Bludger – sent his way by Fred or George Weasley, can't tell which – nice play by the Gryffindor Beater, anyway, and Johnson back in possession of the Quaffle, a clear field ahead and off she goes – she's really flying – dodges a speeding Bludger – the goalposts are ahead – come on, now, Angelina – Keeper Bletchley dives – misses – GRYFFINDOR SCORE!"

Gryffindor cheers filled the cold air, mingled with howls and moans from the Slytherins.

The rest of the game continued similarly, with Lee Jordan's commentary changing tones with the flow of the game.

"Slytherin in possession – Flint with the Quaffle – passes Spinnet – passes Bell – hit hard in the face by a Bludger, hope it broke his nose – only joking, Professor – Slytherin score – oh no..."

Yes, everything was going just fine until 27 minutes into the game.

It was as Harry dodged another Bludger, which went spinning dangerously past his head, that it happened. His broom gave a sudden, drastic lurch, and for a split second, he thought he was going to tumble right off. He gripped the broom tightly with both his hands and knees. What had just happened? Did the broom malfunction? Wait, do brooms malfunction? How does a broom malfunction?

Wait a second. How did the broom work anyway? He was suddenly horrified by himself. He'd never even thought about it. Here he was, flying around dangerously on an enchanted house-cleaning tool, not having a clue how or what kind of enchantment was keeping him in the air. Honestly, how stupid of him! No wonder Tom was so upset! He -

He was startled out of his musings when it happened again, and again, and again. It swerved and jolted and lurched mercilessly, as though it was trying to buck him off. But it was not until he tried to move over to the side of the pitch that he realized that his broom was completely out of his control. He couldn't turn it. He couldn't even make it move at all, voluntarily. It was zig-zagging through the air and every now and then making violent swishing movements which nearly had him falling to his death. He could feel Tom's panic in the back of his mind.

Meanwhile, no one seemed to have noticed that his broom had apparently decided that it didn't want to play Quidditch anymore. It was carrying him slowly higher and higher, away from the game, jerking and twitching as it went. Why couldn't it dive down lower? Maybe then he could jump off...

Suddenly, people were pointing up at Harry all over the stands. His broom had started to roll sideways, and he was barely managing to hang on.

Then the whole crowd gasped. Harry's broom had given a wild jerk and Harry swung off it. He was now dangling from it, holding on with only one hand.

He could hear shouts from his team mates, and was relieved when Chaser Terence Higgs started making his way toward him. Apparently though, he didn't end up needing any help at all, because his broom stopped misbehaving as soon as the commotion was directed somewhere else, and smoke erupted from the spectator stands.

When he finally felt control of the broom return to him, he sighed in relief.

"Alright there, Potter?" Flint shouted over at him.

He gave an uneasy grin. "Yes, I'm...quite well...considering..."

Flint let out a bark of laughter before flying off to continue the game.

The rest of the game went...comparatively smoothly, and Harry was thrilled when, 43 minutes in, he managed to catch sight of the snitch. It gave him quite a chase, but he was determined. He'd chased it around the pitch for a few laps, but finally, when he started gaining on it, it switched course, suddenly diving downward, with Harry hot on its tail. To a lesser Quidditch player, this would have been a smart move on the snitch's part - a good escape tactic; to Harry, however, this was the chance he had been waiting for. The snitch was trapped between him and the ground.

As it turned out, he didn't quite catch the snitch – he nearly swallowed it. It was...an interesting experience. Suffice it to say that the game ended in complete confusion.

As of that afternoon, Harry was the most popular boy in Slytherin (at least for a few hours), and was showered with thank yous and congratulations as he left the Quidditch pitch. However, just as he was heading back to the common room with his team, he saw Hermione and Ron waiting off at the side of the pitch for him.

Telling the Slytherin team that he'd meet them in the common room, he ran over to them.

"I don't suppose you're waiting for me to offer my condolences?"

Ron scowled at him. "Oh shut up. Slytherin wouldn't have won if Hermione hadn't saved your life."

Harry frowned. "Saved my life?"

Hermione grabbed his arm. "You broom, Harry, it was cursed."

"Well, yes, I gathered as much -"

"It was Professor Snape, Harry, I saw h-"

"What exactly did you see?" Harry interrupted.

"Snape..." Ron said, "He was cursing your broomstick, muttering, he wouldn't take his eyes off you."

"It was definitely him," Hermione said, "And it got me thinking about what you said about the third floor corridor and the Cerberus, and how Snape was limping after Halloween -"

"Stop," Harry said, taking a deep breath. "My Head of House wasn't cursing me. I really do appreciate the concern, but I'm certain there's been a misunderstanding."

"Harry, it's the only explanation..."

"No," Harry corrected, "It's one of many explanations. Listen...I'm guessing it was you who set the fire during the game, and I'm grateful that you'd...set a teacher on fire to save me, but I'm sure Professor Snape wasn't trying to kill me."

"But it stopped after -"

"So it could have been anyone sitting beside him, really. It could have been anyone, Hermione. There's probably no shortage of people who want to mess with me, but I'm 93% sure that Professor Snape isn't one of them."

Hermione sighed. "Well, 93 is a pretty big number."

"It is. Plus, if I died, he'd have one less person to hate."

"That's true. I'm sure he wouldn't want that."

Ron just looked at them in confusion. He'd lost them at 93 'percent'. What was a 'percent' anyway?

"I'm quite sure it wasn't Professor Snape..."

"And if it wasn't the traitor -" as Tom had taken to calling him "- it must have been Quirrell," Tom finished.

"Professor Quirrell?" Harry asked in surprise.

Tom scowled at him. "Yes, of course. Who else would want to kill you?"

"So my headaches...you really think he's carrying a horcrux?"

"I see no other reasonable explanation."

"And he's definitely working for you, or, um, the other you?"

"It would seem so."

"Well, then, can't I just go talk to him or something?"

Tom sighed. "It never ceases to amaze me how violently you underestimate the truth as a destructive force."

Harry frowned. "What am I supposed to do, then? I can't just let him kill me."

"No, that would be rather counterproductive. We do need to speak with him...but only once we have proof that he is loyal to Lord Voldemort."

"And how do we get that?"

"Consider it an extracurricular project."

Harry grimaced. "What if he kills me first?"

"I have faith in you."

"You only ever have faith in me when it's convenient for you...I thought you trust no one."

"I lied."

"And next time I ask you if you trust me, when you'd usually say that you trust no one, what will you say then?"

"That I trust no one."

"But that's a lie!"

"No, it's the truth."

Harry was so confused that he thought he might burst into tears. "Goodnight Tom!" he exclaimed, stuffing the mirror under his pillow, and ignoring the aching in his skull as he pulled the covers over himself and committed his mind to chasing after the darkness of slumber.