Poetic Justice [Tomarry]

Chapter 1: Ironically Alive

He continues, really still hoping he heard wrong the first time. And second time. And third time. "And you said I was chosen to own a slave..?"

(Harry cannot believe those words just came out of his mouth.)

"Yes. The trial concluded only yesterday, and you were decided as the best choice to be their master."

'Trial? Whose trial?'

Harry can't stop a frown from forming on his face. The lady seems like a nice person, but she's talking about slavery with such a light and happy face, as if it doesn't mean anything that wizards apparently still do slavery. As if it's such an everyday thing—and to them, it probably is.

And that's almost worse to think about—that slavery is such an everyday thing to them that they wouldn't bat an eye when they see it happen. Hermione would have a fit if she knew, which brings up the point that she doesn't know.

If this is common information in the wizarding world, and Hermione doesn't know, then that means this was another thing that Dumbledore hid from them. As if it would ruin the experience of living in the wizarding world, ruin Dumbledore's chances of having an obedient pawn. (To be fair, it probably would have.)

Harry's musings are interrupted by a knock at the door, to which Ms. Holly only smiles.

"Come in!"

The door opens, and two aurors that Harry doesn't recognize pop their head in. "Sorry to interrupt, Mrs. Holly, Mr. Potter."

"Oh no, you're fine! Come on in!"

The two of them start to head in, but one looks back and takes on a harsh voice, yanking on something in his hand. "Hurry it up!"

Wait, what- Oh. Oh no.

Harry's stomach drops. He's barely had enough time to wrap his head around the thought of slavery, and they're already bringing in his supposed slave-

Now that he's not distracted by their cheerful voices, Harry notices the chains one of the aurors is holding in their hand, leading to something behind them.

Soon enough, the figure follows through the door after the aurors, and it's one that Harry recognizes right away, no matter how desperately he wishes otherwise.

Tom Riddle.

Harry has the sudden overwhelming urge to leave. He's literally about to be sick. He isn't sure if it's because slavery, because Voldemort, or because a very bad mixture of the two standing right in front of him. In the end, and he isn't really sure how, Harry stays seated, and his lunch stays in his stomach, still threatening to make him ill at any moment.

He watches as the aurors yank the chain again, which Harry now realizes leads to Riddle's neck, connecting to a collar. It's a godforsaken leash. Riddle's hands are bound behind his back by more chains, and there's a literal muzzle over his mouth, made of cloth and stuffed in his mouth, effectively locking his jaw in place.

Riddle doesn't even seem to mind—or notice—the rough treatment, as if he's already used to it. Instead, he only drops to his knees when the guard nudges—pulls—him again, keeping his head hanging low, as if to avoid eye contact. He's staring at the floor like he wants to sink through it—to leave this horrid situation.

Harry can't help but stare. He hasn't seen Voldemort since the final battle months ago, and he had no desire to see him ever again, even if he did decide to leave him alive in the end.