Bound To You

Chapter 3: Hello, Harry

Things got boring for Voldemort, despite the many thoughts running through young Harry's head--although he'd admit that the Heir of Slytherin proclamation more than a little bit... unsettling. When he'd finally gotten enough strength to get out of the mind-scape bed, he did, laying the 'inner-Harry', as he'd dubbed it, on the bed. He liked the weight of the boy in his arms, too bad he was bored.

He looked around the room, impressed that despite the fact that it was him whom had 'created' it, Harry had subconsciously added some more things into it--a few broken toy soldiers, an oddly rickety stool, a muggle stove and fridge, and the most intriguing, a burnt teddy bear. Why he'd place broken toys inside the room, he'd never guess. But then again, it could be just Harry's mind adapting from the small, cramped storage cupboard to the new and improved lavish bedroom with luxuries he might not have even thought about in his whole life.

Oh, the possibilities...

But there was a door, which he knew wasn't there before. Frowning, he tried to open it, only to find it to be locked. Interesting... Perhaps a simple Legilimens could forcefully open the door? But that might damage his mind, what with mind magicks dealing with the nervous systems and fragile, sensitive cells from the brain. Shaking his head, he walked around the 'room' again to inspect the muggle appliances and broken toys. Maybe he could, after all, figure out why they're there in the first place?

After witnessing the coop massacre--in which he blamed himself for not being able to stop it from happening, now that Ron's complaining about the lack of chicken meat and eggs in quantity--Harry had started to guess who was behind all the chicken murders and blood writing, and petrifying students. There were several candidates, the most prominent one was Draco Malfoy. But he remembered a muggle film, Sherlock, he thought, saying that the most obvious answers may not be the correct one.

So while Hermione, Ron, and he were brewing the Polyjuice Potion, he started observing others. He might not know other people's behavior by heart, but sometimes he'd notice some others acting strangely--a fifth year Hufflepuff fidgeting as he looked around in a suspicious manner, a Slytherin, whom despite having their masks erected, looked terrified, a few fourth to sixth year Gryffindors talking about putting brooms in cauldrons, and many Ravenclaws not having a dozen books in hand having blank looks on their faces, mumbling about something or other, or maybe that's what they do when they don't have books to read, homework to be done?

Maybe that was something normal for Ravenclaws.

The most peculiar in his opinion was actually Ginny and Luna--Malfoy was being the same pompous git he was and had always been.

Ginny, when he was in the room, would immediately turn all of her attention towards him, like she was doing at the moment as he walked to his next class. Sometimes he'd see a flash of red within her blue eyes, and she always had a black book in hand, always writing into it when she thought no one else was looking. Judging by the way she reacted when Ron tried to read it over her shoulder, he concluded that it must be her diary or journal, or something similar to it.

But still, her stares were creepy, to say the least.

Luna on the other hand... was in a world far, far different than the one in which he knew of. They knew of. She was very keen on daydreaming, walking around barefoot--though he found out later that the other Ravens were hiding her shoes almost all the time--and coming up to him and saying something about the "Nargles are being very good with you, Harry. I wonder why?"

She was odd, but nice. As if she could be a big sister to him, despite her being younger, if she wanted to. Or if he'd ask her.

"Of course I can, Harry, I'd be happy to!" he was startled out of his thoughts when Luna said that. How did she even get there without him noticing? "You're thinking too much," she giggled. "You should try meditating. Little Krimmies don't like meditation. They like to lock things up too much." And with that, she skipped away, humming a tune as she went.