Power He Knows Not

Misstep in the Right Direction

Tom was vaguely aware of Harry's body being half carried to the hospital wing, even though Harry himself was still unconscious along with his diadem counterpart.

Tom had tried to tell Potter it wasn't a good idea to leave the Room of Requirement until he was sufficiently recovered, but of course the brash Gryffindor didn't listen. Now they were being taken to Madam Pomfrey, and when she assumed it was some sort of relapse from last June, she would unfailingly inform the headmaster, who would put two and two together to inevitably realized he was not looking at four.

If Dumbledore even suspected something was off, -more then he undoubtedly already did- he would have Potter under tight surveillance, which would complicate, if not outright ruin, Tom's plans.

Tom let out a sigh that was entirely incorporeal.

He'd have to try something. He didn't come this far to be foiled by the stupidity of Gryffindors.

Pushing himself to his feet, Tom left the attachment he had made to Harry's childishly simple oclumency shield. Considering Harry didn't even know what oclumency was, it was an effective construct, hiding what he didn't want found. Perhaps next summer they could start working on that. Or sooner. This would surely not be the last foolish slip Harry made, and if his mind was protected, Dumbledore would have a smaller chance of finding out about Tom and his compatriots.

A thought for another day.

Tom entered Harry's 'home', which resembled the Dursleys' only in how it was laid out; the kitchen attached to the hall and stairs, as well as the sitting room, which was the largest room in the 'house'. The floor level was missing a dining room, but that didn't surprise him. Whether because Harry spent very little time in it other then cleaning, or because a mental 'fortress' had no need of a place to eat, was really anyone's guess.

Not finding Harry anywhere, Tom decided to head upstairs, completely ignoring the small door set in them. He would hardly hide in the cupboard, and Tom held no interest in perusing Harry's childhood.

There were several doors on the second floor, but each proved empty.

Where could he be? Tom wondered, looking around.

A pulse of light caught his attention, and he looked up. At the very end of the hall was a trap door in the ceiling. He hadn't expected an attic.

As he approached, a rope dropped from the door, allowing him to pull it open easily.

Tom was surprised when he reached the top of the ladder. The 'attic' was large, perhaps moreso then the building itself. The roof was thick glass, reminiscent of a greenhouse, as well as one whole wall looking out into nothing. A warm light filtered through the ceiling, illuminating planting boxes, which held different types of flowers that didn't exist in any other space; there were golden snitch flowers, little cauldrons hanging like blue bells. A lilac flower that twisted itself into different shapes, brilliant red ones that swayed and danced with their own kind of magic. A deep lavender blossom with constellations shimmering in its midst, and many more too vast to identify in the moment.

Harry lay against a large, study tree, whose roots were tangled protectively around him, its branches a thorny canopy. Tom approached cautiously, wary of Harry's instinctual barriers. He lay his hand lightly on one of the roots, looking at Harry's unconscious form, even as the branches thrashed in warning.

"I want to help you, Harry." Tom said softly.

A branch whipped out, its thorns cutting across his knuckles. He pulled his hand away with a hiss.