This short story is written for the Slytherin House, prompt being Heartbreak(emotion)- 2,091 words
A long, long time ago, Harry Potter promised himself never to fall in love.
Cowering in his small, dark cupboard under the stairs, hurting from the drunken hits from Uncle Vernon and ears ringing from the words shouted between him and Aunt Petunia, Harry asked himself: Was this love?
At the tender age of five, he could not understand the concept of love like an older child could, but one thing he knew with perfect clarity. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon claimed to love each other publically, but privately, they often argued violently, shouting words he and Dudley were forbidden from ever repeating and throwing breakable objects at each other.
If that is love, Harry decided with a huff, bringing his knees up to his face and hugging his legs, I'll never fall in love.
And he stayed true to the promise he had made.
Growing up with Dudley meant any prolonged contact with a girl – or any type of company, for that matter – was as likely as Hell freezing over, so the Promise could not be tested.
Hogwarts, on the other hand, posed a completely different problem. His fame for something he hadn't done and often wished never happened meant quite a few girls approached him to spend a few minutes in BWL's presence and maybe get him to like them. Thankfully, Ron and later Hermione quickly took care of that, taking great pains to avoid his admirers and using remote and isolated corners of the castle to slip away.
Ron's brothers' help was truly invaluable. Fred and George did not like how some people simply thought they could interrupt Harry's Quidditch training sessions only to ask him for a quick word or something similar, and were quite efficient in 'persuading' the intruders to go away and stop bothering Harry. Although, it was a mercy in disguise for the hapless fools; Oliver Wood once got to a third-year Hufflepuff student before Weasley twins. Harry heard quite a few versions of what exactly happened and what was said between the intruder and Gryffindor Captain, but the end result was not pretty. The girl ran off the field in tears, shaking and stumbling the entire way back. McGonagall was definitely not pleased with her Captain, but she reluctantly admitted some lines should not be crossed, even with Harry's fame factored in.
With all of that being said, Harry felt completely relaxed when he entered Hogwarts for his second year. Even Dobby's warning and the strange petrification of Mrs. Norris could not truly rattle him. He'd dealt with the Philosopher's Stone and Voldemort last year and gotten out alive, right? Besides, Hermione might be targeted, but he and Ron would protect her at all costs.
As long as his Promise remained unbroken, he didn't need to worry.
The little black diary, formerly belonging to T. M. Riddle, was nothing special to look at. Even Hermione's spells and tricks could not bring out any sort of secret out of it. That made its ability to write back to Harry even more special. Showing memories, though, was on a completely different scale of special. And seeing Tom in real life – okay, in his own memory, but still – was so unreal and out of question, even for a boy who learned he was a wizard from a giant man. It made Harry slightly possessive. He didn't want to share the entire truth of the diary with Hermione and Ron. Tom was amazingly clever, better than Hermione, and definitely more patient than either of his friends. Also, he was more surprising than them.
You were a Slytherin Prefect and a Head Boy once? Harry wrote hastily that evening, remembering his little excursion to the Trophy Room.
I was. A little pause. You didn't trust my story?
Harry blushed in embarrassment. People rarely tell the whole truth, if they deign to tell it at all, he wrote as an apology.
The reply was instantaneous. Quite true, little Lion. Or am I speaking with a Snake now?
The Sorting Hat wanted to put me into Slytherin, Harry admitted, slightly ashamed. Tom was very proud of his House, and it felt wrong to badmouth the current Snakes in front of him. I asked him not to.
And why not? was the curious inquiry from Tom.
I met a rather nasty boy on the train ride, Harry explained quickly, accidentally smudging some letters on the edge, but the diary soaked it in, not caring about the mess. He insulted the boy I had just made friends with, and was sorted into Slytherin.
And you didn't want to be stuck with him for the next seven years, Tom replied. I admit it was not unwarranted from your side. What was the boy's name?
Draco Malfoy.
Ah, Abraxas' descendant. It would explain quite a lot. Son or grandson?
Grandson, I think. I met his father, his name's Lucius.
Light one, eh? Abraxas never had conventional sense of humor. And you're not sure? Malfoys are almost as old and well-known family as Potters.
Harry paused, quill hovering over the paper. With great reluctance he dipped the quill into the inkwell and penned the reply.
I was raised by my Muggle aunt and uncle. My mother was a Muggleborn, and both my parents were killed by Voldemort.
Tom didn't reply for a few moments.
I see. A pause as the words sunk back in and new ones rose up, written with precision and deliberation. My mother was a witch, and my father a Muggle. He left her before I was born, and she died in childbirth. I was raised in a Muggle orphanage.
Harry shuddered and scribbled the reply.
Was it really bad there, Tom? I often wished I could there to avoid Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon's arguments, but never went to one.
It is and it isn't. I grew up in different times, Harry. But generally, for a magical child, it would be quite bad. A pause. Your relatives argued?
A lot, Harry confirmed. Broken glass, swears, whole nine yards. And they hate magic, but pretend everything is perfect but me. They blame a lot of things on me.
That, Tom replied slowly, is much worse than an orphanage, Harry. Whose genius idea was to leave you there?
Professor Dumbledore, Harry wrote yawning. The exams were very close, and he had studied a lot with Tom's help… he guessed feeling tired was pretty normal, even with it only being three in the afternoon…
Tom Marvolo Riddle couldn't help but snort, stroking the unconscious boy's warm cheek. So naïve and trusting, yet so observant and cynical, Harry James Potter was a study in contradiction. An anomaly. Little Weasley whelp was quite powerful, but ultimately he could not drain too much power from her soul at once due to his incompatibility with Light Magic, and had to wait until he was strong enough to completely drain her.
Harry's soul, on the other hand, was a delicious mix of utter innocence and blazing hatred, banked and balanced by twin seals of his mother's sacrifice and his own rebounded magic and so, so easy to feed on. He couldn't believe he didn't sense his own magic – a part of his own soul – residing in the boy's body, but he was soon going to fix that.
There was no need to kill the charming child; just to break him, and then remodel him in his own picture. A son he never had, and will never need now.
"Wake up, Harry", he purred, feeling his body slowly solidify as more magic poured out of the sliver of his soul embedded in boy's scar.
The first thing Harry registered when he woke was the dankness beneath him. The second thing he registered was intense cold he usually associated with dungeons. The third thing was the soft hand on his cheek, stroking it rhythmically.
Fourth was the strange yet familiar voice calling his name. His eyes snapped open and he found himself face to face with –
"Tom?!" he exclaimed in disbelief. He had only seen the older boy once, in his own memory, but there was no mistaking that face. The boy – Tom – smiled, his face transforming into something almost angelic.
"Hello Harry", Tom greeted him. "Had a good nap?"
Harry rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Sorry for falling asleep on you, Tom, I guess I was really tired after all the studying with you – what's the time?"
"I don't know", Tom answered, still smiling, but now with an unsettling edge. "I haven't checked it since we came down here."
"Down here?" Harry craned his neck then snapped it back, locking his emerald eyes with Tom's slate greys. "We?"
Tom laughed; a cold, high laugh Harry heard numerous times in his nightmares. "You were quite a fool, Harry, to trust a talking diary. Did it ever cross your mind it could trick you? Harm you?"
"Well, Ron did mention some books had rather nasty curses on them…" Harry spoke, feeling very much uneasy. The place he and Tom were in was dimly lit in greenish light, similarly to Slytherin common room, with the snake motif repeating everywhere. Then it clicked.
"Tom", Harry stared, horrified, at the boy he came to trust, "did you take us to Chamber of Secrets?"
Tom's lips quirked up in a smirk.
Very good, Harry, although a bit late, wouldn't you say?
It took Harry a moment to realize that Tom had spoken in Parseltongue.
It was you, wasn't it? All those years ago… Harry was shaking and slowly crawling backwards.
Tom stepped forward. And this time as well. You never wondered who had the diary before you, Harry. I was curious at first why you didn't ask, then I realized why. You didn't want to know. You wanted to keep me all for yourself, and pretend I was only yours. Harry shook his head in denial, but they both knew he was lying. Ginny Weasley had it before you. With me in command of her, she opened the Chamber. She set the basilisk on Squib's cat and Mudbloods.
And you did the same to me, Harry hissed back, scrambling to stand up. Tom flicked Harry's wand and immobilized the younger boy.
Yes and no. I did possess you to get us here, but I didn't let the basilisk out. I don't need to. He shrugged. "Your energy is enough to resurrect me."
"I won't let you", Harry hissed out, paying attention not to slip into snake language again.
"Oh Harry, there was never really a question of willingness", Tom's smile was victorious. "A few more minutes and I will be alive."
"And then? What then, Tom? You'll kill me?" Harry spat, sounding braver than how he really felt.
Tom shook his head. "Why would I, Harry?" He twirled Harry's wand lovingly between his fingertips. "This wand feels quite compatible with me. Almost like my old wand. It was yew and phoenix feather though, not holly."
Harry felt as if someone knocked the breath out of his lungs. Similar wands… yew and phoenix feather…
"You… you're…" he couldn't bring himself to say it.
"Tom Marvolo Riddle. Anagram for 'I am Lord Voldemort'", Tom finished, looking quite pleased. "Quite ingenious of me, don't you think?"
Harry could find no words. His heart felt like it would break any second. Tom, his friend, helper, confidant… enemy? He felt like throwing things and cursing at Tom, and yelling at him until his throat got sore –
He froze.
"No", he whispered, horrified and disgusted with himself. He broke the Promise. But how? How could he break the Promise without knowing it? He couldn't have fallen in love with Tom?
There is more than one kind of heartbreak, child, and more than one kind of love, a voice spoke from the back of his mind – the voice he had never heard before, but was familiar in the most horrifying of ways.
"What did you do to me, Tom?" Harry whispered, crashing to his knees as Tom released him from his binds, his eyes watering. Steps echoed through the Chamber as Tom approached Harry and knelt beside him, so close to solid it didn't matter anymore.
"Nothing, Harry." And the worst thing was, it was a complete truth. He let Tom in, shared his secrets and listened to him – and grew to love him as a friend. He sobbed, and Tom hugged him, drawing him close and trapping him in his embrace. "You did this all to yourself."