Harry Potter and the Order of the Pegasus by Morgana

Harry would be the first to admit that self-discipline was not one of his strengths. Oh, he could go for hours without needing to eat, drink or use the loo but, when it came to curiousity… well, the temptation worked against his self-resolve like a tongue against a loose tooth.

Wiggle, prod, wiggle, prod, wiggle, prod, prod, until the once solid grounding dwindled to a fine thread.

When he put his mind to it, Severus could be a damn good teacher and Harry had already learnt to ‘see’ his mindscape, right back into the depths of his subconscious. To Harry, his head looked rather like a labyrinth, with piles of books forming the maze walls. Inside the books were half or sometimes wholly forgotten memories; those in white covers were textbooks, yellow was for novels, orange for T.V. programs or films, green for predominantly happy memories, blue for predominantly sad memories and those in red covers… he didn’t really look in those. Mostly they were about life at Privet Drive.

At the very back of his mind, however, the ‘wall’ was made of stone, set with locked cupboards. Severus had forbidden him to open them, Lily warned him against it. Tom, on the other hand, said that, when Harry did spring one, he could go and talk to him, however late (or early) it happened to be.

So, here he was, lying on his bed, sunshine warm against his face, with a dog at his feet and Nagini curled up on his belly. Mum and... and Severus were out on errands, Tom was busy packing for his journey. No one, in short, was there to stop his mind from straying where it was expressly forbidden to wander.

Wiggle, wiggle, wiggle went his consciousness against a lock. Harry tried to distract himself, browsing through his first memories of Diagon Alley. Prod, prod, prod.

Hedwig Harry thought firmly. The first sight of her; smaller then, her feathers were white as fresh-fallen snow and those eyes, large and round as galleons, looking up at him with gentle curiousity. Wiggle, prod, wiggle, CLICK!

A sensation of movement, whilst remaining still. Fuzzy yet firm felt surrounded him, a warm little cave which cradled the tiny, plump body, securing him with straps which felt smooth under his podgy little hands. Two small, round legs poked out in front of him, clad in green corduroy and ending with cute brown shoes. Looking up, Harry could see two, black leather seats. Long, fiery hair peeked out from behind one headrest and, over the top of the other, wayward raven locks sprouted. The squares of glass around them revealed nothing but darkness, while the large rectangle in front of him showed a winding, grey ribbon of road, stretching into the distance.The silent warmth fogged against the image, slowly fading it into the dark peace of sleep.

A woman's cry, a sharp jolt, the scent of copper, a sharp pain in his forehead. The car’s bonnet was curved around a column of rough, grey wood, studded with glass that glimmered like diamonds.

The head of red hair was now hanging limply to one side of the headrest. Harry’s little hand stretched out, caught the hair in questing fingers. His mother’s head bobbed. Fear knifed through him and he wailed, a keening cry that cut through the night.

A click, an influx of icy air. A wrinkled hand untangled his fingers, pulled the car-seat out into the freezing night. Something glimmered palely and Harry’s hands twined themselves into the long white beard. As those wrinkled hands unfastened the belt, pulling him free, Harry looked up, eyes caught by the red shimmer of the half-moon spectacles which rested on the man’s crooked nose. When Harry reached up, however, the world span and a horrible, tight feeling squeezed him.

These new surroundings felt familiar but the acrid scent which befouled the air was not. Nor was the cottage in front of him. That is to say, the little white cottage Harry remembered was not collapsing into a blackened hole where the sitting-room used to be.

“Albus!” Arthur Weasley’s voice said, in tones of panic. “I saw cloaked figures enter so I set off the hex but… it wasn’t You-Know-Who, Albus! Just some kids!”

“Obliviate, Somnalus!”

There was a dull thud and, as Harry’s view moved forward, he saw Arthur Weasley lying on the ground, glasses askew, red hair tumbled against the grey grass like blood.

The jolting walk continued up the path, then there was a bang and the door thumped into view, flailing on its hinges. Through the hallway, up the cream carpeted stairs, into a room familiar, yet unfamiliar; the butter-yellow walls were darkened and, as Harry was laid down in his cot, his questing hands returned black with soot. Overhead, the Pegasus toys fluttered merrily around in a tight circle, their coats now iron-grey.

A bang startled him to tears and, although his cries became progressively louder, they did little to mask the sound of two further bangs and nothing, nothing could erase that smell which wafted up the stairs, the stench of burnt flesh…

Harry’s mind jerked back but, before he could stop himself, his consciousness was attacking another door.

The black flames obscured his vision, brushing over his body like icy leaves. Harry stepped forward, into a small stone room which was furnished only by a mirror, the mirror of Erised.

Quirrell knelt before it, muttering under his breath. “How to get to it? Show me how to get the damn stone, you wretched thing! I already know how I want to use the gold, just give me the stone!”

Green light cut past Harry’s shoulder and Quirrel slumped to the ground.

Harry turned, looked into blue eyes which cut into his brain, tearing away his memories of the car crash, of hearing Quirrell’s greed. The cold, blue light thrust the writing memories into the gaping blackness and Harry felt a hot, sharp pain as the spell poured into the void, filling it like molten wax. Cupboard doors formed out of the whiteness, locking away the recollections like dirty, misbegotten secrets.

Then came a sharp, thrusting, squeezing sensation as new scenes pressed into his mind, scenes of a scaled monster blasting away the white-front door of Harry’s first home, of green light hitting a tousle-haired man, sending his glasses flying as he slumped onto the floor, of Lily’s flight up the stairs, of furniture being shoved against the door, of a desperate declaration, his mother’s arms thrown wide to shield him, her tiny son, from the vivid green death, of her scream…

Of pain in his scar, whenever Harry looked at Quirell, a nagging ache which became progressively pronounced on the days leading up to today, when the man's attempted to steal the stone. Of Quirrell pleading to his 'Lord, of a high, cold, commanding voice, of that same, white, snakelike face being slowly revealed as Quirrell unwrapped his purple turban. There was a weight in his pocket and lies about his parents, then flight and pain and desperation…

The next cupboard's lock yielded at the slightest touch.

Harry, Ron, Ginny, Lockheart and Lucius Malfoy, all sitting in Dumbledore’s office. The latter four were slumped in their chairs, their breathing soft and slow. Harry felt confusion; he didn’t know how he arrived here; the last thing he remembered was kneeling amid the Professor’s robes, listening to the news of Ginny’s disappearance. Yet here she was, asleep. And why was Lucius bloody Malfoy here, and that curled, little, grey shape on the floor... wasn't that Dobby?

Harry looked up at the grim-faced Dumbledore, green eyes wide and questioning, then that sharp, tearing blue light cut through him…

“Harry?!”

Harry jerked upright. Tom’s concerned, kohl-rimmed, crimson eyes swam into view.

“I…” Harry’s breath tore through his lungs in violent gasps, the horror of what he’d seen, what he’d felt, racing through his brain.

“You’ve been messing around in there, haven’t you?” Tom asked, a frown twisting his handsome features.

“Dumbledore…” Harry gasped, his eyes wild.

“Yeah, I expect he did” Tom replied wryly. “Went through them all?”

Harry swallowed “Yeah,” he took a long, deep breath “Damn.”

Tom shook his head, raven hair shushing against the purple silk of his kimono. “Nagini came to get me, said you were putting yourself in a trance.”

“Um, thanks.” Harry said quietly.

“Come on, kid.” Tom grabbed Harry’s arm and gently pulled him upright. “As you seem to need supervision, you can come and help me pack.”

Harry followed Tom down the hall and into a large, airy bedchamber; pale gold silk glistened on the walls, forming a sharp contrast to the ebony furniture, a wardrobe, desk, wash-stand and four-poster bed. On the white counterpane of the bed, a small, leather suitcase lay open. Inside, two crisp white silk robes were folded and beside them lay a couple of pairs of wood and leather sandals. Next to the case was an old but obviously well cared for leather wash-bag, a set of pyjamas and a couple of dark ribbons.

“Travelling light?” Harry asked, jumping on the first topic of conversation to present itself; anything was better than those awful memories.

Tom smiled rakishly “I don’t need to take much. His lordship’s hospitality includes a huge wardrobe of silk kimono, hakama and haori…” noticing Harry’s confused expression, he elaborated “that means trousers and jackets to you, kid.”

“What, he gives you clothes to wear?” Harry gaped.

“Yes, it may sound strange to a Westerner but it makes a lot of sense: some visits to court are protracted and not having to carry an entire wardrobe is a big bonus.”

“I suppose.” Harry said, rubbing his eyes viciously. The image of his mother’s slumped form kept on replaying itself in the horror theatre which was his conscious mind.

Tom closed the case with a click, then turned to open the wardrobe. Inside was something huge, white and very fluffy.

“Is that a fur coat?!” Harry gasped.

“Yeah” Tom replied, throwing it around his shoulders and shrugging his arms into the flowing sleeves “My wondrous coat of one colour. Had it for ages, Capella gave it to me as a goodbye gift when I left for Japan. She thought it would be appropriate” he chuckled.

“Was it very hot there, then.”

“Oh no,” Tom replied, smoothing the soft, pale fur “Not at all; the Western lands was very cold at that time of year. Like winter in Switzerland.”

“So why wasn’t it appropriate?” Harry asked. "Is it because you're vegetarian?"

Tom, who had been binding his hair into a high ponytail paused “With this face Harry, not to mention these eyes and this hair, turning up in the Lord of the West’s domain wearing a long, white fur coat was like kicking an unexploded bomb.”

“Wha.. why?”

“Their last dark-lord was an arsehole of intergalactic proportions; he imperiused a kid to kill his entire family, spelled a black hole into a man's hand, morphed himself into the form of Kikyo and attempted to kill her lover, Inuyasha, and turned up in the form of Inuyasha and mortally wounded Kikyo, leaving her just enough strength to shoot her lover, kidnapped the Lord’s young ward, attempted to kill the Lord and his brother, Inuyasha’s, party about a hundred times and practically pissed on their beloved Dad’s grave before they finally finished him off. Not a popular guy.” Tom smiled darkly “And he looked just like me.”

“But you said they killed him, right?”

“Given that Inuyasha's lover, Kikyo's soul had been reincarnated into his friend, Kagome, Inuyasha couldn't be blamed for thinking Naraku returned from the grave.”

“Oh!” And, of course, there's always horcruxes, Harry thought, feeling even more of an idiot.

“So," Tom said languidly, "I was walking through the woods, minding my own business when this cute teenager with big golden eyes, long white hair and white-furred, triangular ears, a bit like an Alsatian’s, bounded into view. I said ‘Hi’, he screamed and pulled a sword on me. I surrounded myself with my shield, he screamed some more, then we had a lovely game of chase, with him firing fatal curses at me and me running for dear life.”

“What happened next?” Harry gasped, agog.

“Fortunately, Sesshoumaru and Yuuhoshizumi, Lucius' Dad, turned up and grabbed us before any real damage was done. Yuuhoshizumi had the useful talent of identifying people by their auras and, having met Naraku, he was quickly able to aquit me of being the bastard's reincarnation.” Tom smirked “I was invited into the palace and, during a fairly long and complicated conversation, told Sesshoumaru of my desire to research my ancestors. He allowed me houseroom and the rest, as they say, is history.”

“What happened to this Inuyasha guy?”

“Nothing bad” Tom grinned. “As I said, he's Sesshoumaru's brother and, moreover, he had a very bad time in the last war. After everything was explained to me, I couldn’t fault him. Naraku, by all accounts, was pretty terrifying.”

Harry looked at Tom; the fine white fur emphasised the blush of the man’s otherwise pale complexion and vividly contrasted his long hair, which lapped in inky waves around his shoulders, and the dark kohl lining his eyes, augmented, he now noticed, with a pale blue eyeshadow which emphasised the colour of his garnet eyes.

“Yeah” Harry replied heavily. Killing old snake face would hold no horrors but to raise a wand against someone who looked like that? It shouldn’t matter but somehow it did and, suddenly, it struck Harry how easy it would be to fear Tom: he’d never really seen it before, not when Tom was pottering around the kitchen or playing with Godric or feeding the chickens. Now, however, in this stately room, which positively rang with the harmony of the man’s inherent magic, Tom looked as regal and powerful as this Western Lord he seemed to respect so much. Like a man who deserved followers.

Still, no one had explained what Tom had done to get so far up Dumbledore's nose; yeah, he could see why the Headmaster might have mistrusted and even disliked Tom after Hagrid's expulsion but that didn't exactly make him a threat, did iit?

“Tom, why did Dumbledore think you wanted power?”

Tom turned and raised an elegant, arched eyebrow, reminding Harry forcefully of Severus. “I got myself involved with politics, Harry.”

“What sort of politics?” Harry asked, perplexed.

“Look," Tom replied tiredly "Let’s go downstairs and, when Lucius is here, I’ll explain.”

“What’s Malfoy got to do with it?” Harry asked, his green eyes bemused.

“Everything.”