Glumbumble's Treacle

"How can I be late for something I didn't even know about until five seconds ago?!" Harry snapped nervously at Hermione, who was standing near the door with an impatient look on her face.

"It's not like you couldn't predict it'll happen one of these days," she replied and gasped suddenly as if in pain

"All right, all right, I'm coming," he grabed his keys and helped his friend down the stairs. She was hardly walking now and Harry could only curse Ron and his department's delegation to New Mexico. Why now? Why couldn't he go after his wife gave birth? His question wasn't answered of course and all he could do was driving Hermione to the hospital - the road felt unexpectedly long, even though normally it seemed short and enjoyable, especailly when he was visiting the younger patients, using his time to cheer them up in any way he could.

Justin Finch-Fletchley, whom Hermione informed beforehand, greeted them at the door. Harry was surprised to notice - to his visable relief - that the former Hufflepuff was no longer the scared boy he remembered from their second year and the infamous meeting of the Dueling Club. Hermione was praising his medical skills and it seemed Justin was doing fine trying to connect magical and Muggle medical knowledge.

But now that Hermione was in safe hands - she insisted on Harry waiting in the hallway - he decided to drink something. It felt unreal to be waiting for his best friends' first child to be born and it reminded him of Sirius; was he waiting for his godson's birth so eagerly too?

There was a cafeteria on the second floor, he remembered it vaguely from his previous visits. A cup of hot coffee was everything he needed now. And maybe he could get some flowers nearby? It would be nice to give them to Hermione after everything was over.

"Harry, is that you?" A familiar voice snapped him out of his thoughts. Neville Longbottom was walking towards him with a familiar grin on his face. "What brought you here? Another charity event?"

"Not this time," he said with a faint smile. "I'm with Hermione."

"Hermione?" Neville seemed confused for a second, but then his tone changed: "You mean she's... Dear Merlin, why today? Did you inform Ron?"

"Of course... Oh no," Harry stopped suddenly. No one contacted Ron. "It was all happening so quickly," he tried to excuse himself.

"No one's blaming you, Harry," Neville patted him lighly on the shoulder. "I'm on my way to the healers' office, the fireplace should be usable. He's in New Mexico, right?"

Harry nodded. How could he forget about his best friend, the father of Hermione's child?

"If I catch him now, he should be here in minutes, so don't worry," Neville smiled again and added: "I'll get him, so in exchange could you deliver this to room 703? The healers there are constantly running out of Glumbumble's treacle, I wonder what they're doing with it..." Before Harry could say even a single word, he was standing in the hallway alone with a jar full of molasses.

He never wandered so far in the hospital - children were usually residing at third floor and room 703 was much higher at seventh tier. Something felt off about this place - the corridors were empty and suspiciously quiet, as if all the patients were either too ill to walk out of their beds or too dangerous to be let free. Harry wasn't sure where this second though came from - he wasn't thinking about such things for years now. After giving up on his Auror career there were so many interesting and exciting tasks to take he couldn't bother himself with thinking about what used to be. Or rather he didn't want to bother himself; the past was a dark and gloomy place and he had no intention of going back, there was no point.

Room 703 was at the far end of the dimly lit hallway; it reminded Harry of Hogwarts in a way, even though there was nothing welcoming neither pleasant about it. The door opened with a crack, unnaturally loud in the deathly silence. If he was younger, maybe he could feel a thrill of adventure of some sort, but these things were in the past too. It seemed his life was like he always wanted it - peaceful, quiet, ordinary. And a little bit boring.

The room appared to be uninhabited at first; there was no sign of any healer and the similar beds near the window seemed empty. But it was certainly brighter in here with the light of setting sun shining through crystal clear glass.

"Hello," Harry said aloud, surprised to hear a note of doubt in his own voice. He couldn't be scared, could he? "Is anyone here?"

Silence. Only his footsteps echoed in the the evening air.

"I... I brought the treacle," he stated, cursing himself for stuttering. What was he doing? The Chosen One scared of an empty room?

But something was making him uneasy about this place and soon enough he found the reason.

He wasn't alone.

One of the beds was occupied by a sleeping figure he didn't notice at first. And when he came closer - guided by curiosity rather than reason - he gave out a muffled scream. He would scream louder if he wasn't afraid of waking the sleeping man, but at the same time he felt like running away and disappearing from this place forever - not only from the hospital, but from England, Europe, hopefully even from this planet if he could.

He should have known better. If Harry Potter was able to go back from that weird, misty place where he met Dumbledore ten years ago, why should he be worse? There must have been a way to escape the Limbo. Maybe if he had stayed there, it wouldn't be happening? A chaotic race of thoughts was ruling his head.

But once again he was brought back to earth:

"How can I help you?," somebody asked and he had to turn away from the sleeping figure.

"I... I brought the treacle," Harry repeated, this time sounding even weaker than before. His legs were shaking and there was no way he could hold a conversation now.

"Oh, it's from Neville, right?," the healer asked merrily and took the jar from Harry. "He's probably mad we needed another fill, but our patient seems to respond only to this kind of medicine..."

"Your patient?," Harry heard his voice as if it was coming from a great distance. "What exactly is wrong with him? If... If I may ask, of course."

The healer looked at him for some time like he was judging his intentions, but in the end he gave in:

"He's suffering from a rare kind of personality disorder, or at least we think so. It's certainly amusing in a way to see you here," the wizard cast Harry another puzzling look. "You see... He believes he's You-Know-Who."

Harry tried to smile, but he wasn't sure whether it worked out. Of course the sleeping man believed he was Lord Voldemort, because he indeed was him. He might be looking like the boy he remebered from his second year and the cursed diary, but there was no mistake - Voldemort was lying in this hospital bed for Merlin knows how long and no one knew the fate was again playing with them all.

"We've tried each and every medicine, every potion and herb, but nothing's working on him," the man waved his hand around the room and placed the jar on a nearby table. "We can only make him suffer less with sedation, so he's sleeping most of the time, years to be precise."

"What do you mean by years?," Harry asked terrified.

"He's here since 1998, we got him right after the Battle of Hogwarts... We were pretty sure it's some kind of post-war trauma," the healer continued, looking at the sleeping patient. "But as it wasn't going away month after month and other patients began to complain, we had to move him here, where no one can hear his mumbling."

Harry was hoping he wouldn't get to know what exactly this mysterious patient is mumbling about, but his hopes were soon gone:

"If we weren't familiar with such conditions, somebody could belive he really is who he thinks he is... To be honest, he's obsessed with you," the healer looked at his guest with a mixture of amusement and apology in his eyes.

And just when Harry was trying to find an excuse to escape this conversation - and this room - another sound cought his attention. His name, spoken in a soft tone he never knew could exist, made him shiver.

"He's about to wake up again," the healer announced, walking past him and taking the jar in his hands again. "Thank you for the molasses."

"Wait!" Harry said suddenly, grasping the man's shoulder. "Maybe I could... talk to him? Maybe if he sees me..."

"He'll be cured?," once again the healer seemed rather amused. "You may try, but we all abandoned hope already. Of course none of us is The Chosen One," he grinned slighlty, walking towards the door. "He shouldn't be dangerous... But if anything happens, don't hesitate to call me."

Harry nodded in approval and sat down by the bedside. Could he be mistaken? No, there was mistake - the man in front of him surely was Tom Riddle as he remembered him from the diary and the memories Dumbledore collected. He seemed a little bit older, no longer a teenage boy, but rather a man his age, but it was certainly him. And if his appearance wasn't enough, he could recognize his voice for sure. Just like in the Chamber of Secrets - it was tempting and stangely pleasant, lovable even.

"Harry," he heard his name again, this time more clearly. There was something unknown in this voice too; a mystery he wanted to discover, a history of a man who escaped death once again.

"I'm here," he replied, trying to stay calm. It was hard at first, but his initial fear vanished. He was embarassed to recall the terror he felt mere minutes ago; a Gryffindor like him shouldn't behave this way. It seemed he was braver at the age of eleven than he was now.

For some time his companion was silent again. His eyes were still closed, but he was certainly regaining his senses; even his sickly pale skin was looking less deadly.

"Harry," the voice was heard again, sharper and with some sort of understanding in it. "Harry."

"I'm here," he repeated, wondering what comes next. His wand was still in his pocket, close enough to use it if it was necessary.

"It's real this time, isn't it?," the patient asked hesitantly. "I've dreamed... I've lived this scene too many times. And strangely... when it's finally happening, I have no words."

Harry had no words too. He had never thought about things to say for such an occassion - why should he? This man was a part of his past, a world long gone, a world of ashes and stolen moments of happiness. There were no words to describe what he was feeling either now or then.

"I think... I should start with saying that I'm truly sorry for trying to kill you again," Voldemort - Tom Riddle? - said and Harry could swore he saw a hint of smile on his deceitfully angelic face. He felt something twisting in him painfully. Was this man mocking him again, even though he should be dead? "If I knew that you were a horcrux, I would have never try to kill you."

"Because I was a horcrux?," he coudln't believe what he was hearing. What kind of a sick joke this was?

"Because you were dear to me. Or rather you were dear to a part of me, this part."

"Tom Riddle?" Harry looked at his companion with a puzzled expression. "I thought he was gone a long time ago."

"He - I - did my waiting. As you may guess the Limbo isn't the most pleasant place to spend eternity. But it certainly gives you time to think. So after thinking about all the things that could have been and what went wrong in my plan, a part of me - the part that was once called Tom Riddle - decided to go down a path of redemption and it's all because of you."

"So you've heard my entreaty," Harry said quietly, looking at his shoes. This converastion was like nothing he had ever imagined. "I was never sure whether I made it clear enough."

"Tom heard it. You see, out of us all, he was always the one with too many doubts and too little self preservation instinct." This time Harry was sure the man smiled and he looked like a person he never knew before. "If the Limbo was worse than hell, then there is no way to describe what happened to us next," the man shivered visibly. "But in the end we were able to come back."

"But... how?," Harry had to ask. "It wasn't supposed to end this way, you were gone."

How many times do I have to kill you to finally get rid of you?, he wanted to say, but stopped himself. He was in a hospital full of people and who knew what this man was caplable of doing. He had to be careful.

"How? Isn't it obvious? You brought us here," the man said, as if he was stating a known fact. "To be precise - you brought Tom here."

Harry must have looked perplexed, because the man continued:

"Redemption, foriveness, love, all the silly things Dumbledore taught you about, they do work, even though it seems you gave up on them too. Funny how you've become a little bit more like me these past few years."

I'm nothing like you, Harry wanted to say, but the words couldn't escape his mouth. The mockery wasn't false this time. What was he doing all these years? He gave up on his career, his fiancee, his plans for the future. He was lost. And alone. The last stand on the battlefield everyone left a long time ago. A symbol of no use.

There were times he thought it would be better if he was gone too, just like his nemezis. If there was no Lord Voldemort, there was no need for Harry Potter. If he had anything to say, he would change the prophecy to something more suitable: neither can live while the other perishes.

And he did think about Voldemort at times; during the sleepless hours before dawn, when everyone was calmly resting, he was aimlesly wandering around London trying to figure out what went wrong. But the answer was unknown, haunting him time after time from the shadows.

"But you... You're not Tom, are you?," Harry asked in the end, still trying to understand what was happening.

"Tom's still sleeping," the man answered, looking nearly concerned all of a sudden. "He's suffered the most and there aren't many things that could cure him."

"Not even the Glumbumble's treacle?," Harry asked, looking hopefully at the jar.

"No, not even Glumbumble's treacle."

"But I'll be able to bring him back?"

"You can try."

AN: It turned out much longer than I thought. And there will be a second part someday I guess, because didn't even appear? And I certainly have plans for him.