'Monsters are real, and ghosts are real too. They live inside us, and sometimes, they win'
~Stephen King
It was dark. It was so, so dark.
Harry's heart sped up, his eyes straining to grow accustomed to the gloom. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on edge, his palms were sweaty, and he wished he had his wand. Slowly, his eyes adjusted, he could vaguely see the outline of shapes. He was leaning against a cold wall, the bricks were chipped, the sand beneath the glaze coating his fingers, getting stuck under his nails. Closing his eyes, he moved forward, his hands reaching out, staggering like a blind man.
Feeling another wall meet his slick palms, he had counted five steps. He was either in an incredibly small room, or a corridor. The claustrophobia set in, clawing at his nerves. For some reason he felt he had to move, to run away. It was as if eyes were on him, stalking him, following his every move.
Left or right?
Either way could mean death, of that Harry was certain. Inching along the wall, he chose left, moving slowly. If Ginny could see him she would be laughing at his pace. But she wasn't here, it was just him, and whatever was watching him.
His fingers felt bloody, the walls cutting into his flesh like shards of glass. Releasing his pressure on the bricks, he tried to calm himself down.
He was alone, it was dark, and someone was watching him. Yes, he could already feel himself relaxing.
It appeared he was indeed in a corridor, but unable to see a foot in front of him, and without any map, he had absolutely no idea where he was going. It felt like he had been walking for miles, his heart was beating a tattoo against his chest as his nerves grew. For all he knew he could be going in circles, doomed to go round and round without even knowing it.
Stopping, he tried to think. How had he gotten here? Casting his mind back, all he remembered was a duel with Voldemort in the Department of Mysteries. Bellatrix was long gone, having ran into one of the floo's as soon as her Lord had arrived. However, Voldemort had changed. If Harry never knew any better he would have said it was Tom Riddle. Maybe Voldemort had found some way to get his looks back? Although his physical appearance was appealing, as soon as he smiled, his face transformed, reminding Harry more and more of the man in the graveyard.
They had fought, Harry knowing that he was no match for the Lord. However, if it helped the cause, he would use his last seconds against the man. Seeing Tom's eyes widen, Harry glanced over his shoulder, seeing Dumbledore appear in front of the golden fountain. His eyes were burning with cold fury, but that rage faded as soon as his and Harry's eyes met.
He had turned his back on Tom Riddle, and feeling a spell strike him in the back, he fell, Dumbledore's concerned face the last thing he saw before the darkness claimed him.
Where was he then?
Was he still unconscious?
The questions tumbled about in his mind, crashing off each other and only creating more confusion. Deciding to keep moving, Harry stumbled onwards, trying to ignore the crushing weight of the darkness, the fear trickling down his spine as still he met nothing.
He never knew how long he had been here, he couldn't see his watch, but he had a feeling that time never applied anymore. If this was indeed a prison, he would be in a cell, not a long corridor - the rat in a maze thought came back, but he pushed it down vehemently. However, if he was at Hogwarts, then it wouldn't be so quiet.
Was this place even real?
No, he couldn't start thinking like that, that path only led to insanity, and the last thing he wanted was to prove the Daily Prophet right.
Moving further, he was welcomed by more darkness, his eyes only able to see the rough outline of a wall.
His watcher could be three feet in front of him, and he wouldn't know it.
The thought sent a shiver down his already sensitive spine. Any minute, he expected a hand to lunge out from the darkness, grabbing his throat, and making him completely at its mercy. He had never been a fighter. He had always ran from Dudley, never fought him, but running wasn't an option with his impaired sight. Quidditch only gave him so much muscle, and in a physical confrontation he was a serious disadvantage. The reminder of his vulnerability made him hug the wall even tighter, and as he shimmied along, he couldn't help but register the silence, wondering in his racing mind if it was a good or bad thing.
At first he wasn't sure what it was. The cool metal feeling slippery to his abused fingertips. Clasping it, he realised that it was a door handle, and turning it, he found himself falling into a room, the brightness searing his vision.
Rubbing his eyes, he peered into the space, wishing away the colours appearing in and out of existence, as his traumatised retinas tried to repair the damage the light caused. Eventually, his sight came back, bringing with it the image of the room.
Two chairs sat in front of a fireplace, the flames crackling as they devoured a log, bringing heat into the sparsely furnished room. A rug lay between the chairs, it looked rich, and was purple in colour, the swirls and stitching forming a pattern that gave Harry a warm, safe, feel. To one side was a drinks cabinet, atop the polished mahogany, crystal decanters glimmering in the light given by the candles in the sconces. Next to this was a bookcase, stuffed with tomes that looked as if they had been read over and over again, their spines straining with the volume of compact information.
"Finally, I was getting rather tired, you're life really isn't that interesting, it's a wonder the Wizarding World find you so fascinating, I was bored within five minutes," came a silky voice, caressing his ears, and making him hang onto its every word. However, there was a sinister side to it, a side that dripped with venom, tainting the lulling tones, and giving it a dangerous feel beneath the comforting exterior.
What would his life have anything to do with it? The Wizarding World only knew so much, and yet the man - the voice was distinctively male - implied he knew everything. A theory began to bloom in the back of his mind, its thorny vines piercing his consciousness...
"Where are you?" he asked, looking around wildly, trying to find the speaker.
"I am everywhere, but if you wish, I can give myself human form," the sneer around the word 'human' did not escape Harry's attention, but again the velvety tones negated it, making the hatred merely brush his subconscious.
Darkness gathered next to the drinks cabinet, curling around a form, giving it arms, and legs, before finally forming a man. Tom Riddle.
Tom looked a lot like the image in the Chamber, however, his eyes were more burgundy, and danger seemed to coat him like a second skin, sending warning signals to everyone present. His motions were graceful, as he strode towards the drinks cabinet, more cat-like than the Voldemort he was used to. It made him seem alluring, whilst showing the power in his physique.
Piercing red eyes raked down his body, a smile curving on the wicked mouth as he saw he too was being observed. Poured himself a generous amount of an amber liquid - whiskey, Harry thought - the splash of liquid against crystal resounded throughout the room, singing to Harry's unpractised ears.
"Would you like a drink?" asked Tom, turning his attention back to Harry, arching an eyebrow, as if daring him to take him up on his offer.
"No, I'm fine thanks," replied Harry, remaining where he was.
There was something wrong about this, it was as if he were thinking through fog, squinting at the scene from afar, not in the middle of it. It seemed to be spreading fast, and Harry wondered of Tom was using some sort of magic on him, it wasn't beneath the man to do something so sneaky - in fact for the heir of Slytherin it was somewhat expected. Watching Tom sit down in one of the armchairs, red eyes met green, narrowing slightly as he never moved.
"Sit down," he ordered, and Harry was half tempted to say no, but he was so tired, and the chair looked so comfortable, that he decided otherwise, sighing as he sunk into the soft cushions, much to the amusement of his companion.
"Where is this place?" asked Harry, running his fingers over the velvet armrest. The fire was incredibly warm, and the woody smell permeated the room, setting him even more at ease. Vaguely, he was aware of a slight throbbing in the back of his head, as if trying to alert him that something wasn't right. But he couldn't quite make out the whole message, and so ignored it, sinking further into the chair.
"Now Harry, do I really have to tell you that?" asked Tom, sipping his drink leisurely, and eyeing him as if he were a particularly interesting specimen.
"This is my mind," replied Harry shortly, lacing his fingers together, and propping his elbows on the armrests.
"Correct, but, as I said on your arrival, you are indeed an incredibly boring person," said Tom, crossing his legs as he shifted to get more comfortable, his eyes, however, never left Harry's face.
"Why are you here? If this is my mind, surely I can throw you out," said Harry, feeling a brief moment of clarity sweep over him, his heart racing as his mind caught up with the conversation.
"Try it," hissed the older man, smiling like the cat that got the cream. His eyes glowing slightly, and his posture changed, erasing the calm façade, instead making him appear more dangerous by the seconds.
Pulling every shred of focus his mind possessed, Harry tried to throw him out of his mind. He had never been particularly good at focusing, but now he strained mental muscles he never even knew he possessed.
He. Wanted. Him. Out.
However, it was as if there was a barrier around the wizard, and then Harry felt the realisation bloom in his mind. If this really was his mind, then surely he could control things, however, he hadn't been able to control anything since he had gotten here, and that only meant one thing: Tom had control.
Icy fear gripped him, as the implications of this made themselves known. If he couldn't control his mind he was susceptible to anything. He was absolutely vulnerable, and there was nothing he could do about it.
He was trapped.
"You have always been weak, Harry, your mind was no more challenging to invade than Wormtail's," sneered Tom, sitting forward, and levitating his drink back to the cabinet. "Don't try to fight me, embrace it. I once said we could be great together, watch me prove it."
"No! I can't... I..." started Harry, trying to fight the other man's will, but his body wouldn't listen. Throwing everything Snape had taught him in Occlumency at the older man, Harry felt his energy wane as once more he was met by a barrier.
"Now, now, Harry, that just won't do," said Tom, acting more a stern parent, than a psychopath with the upper hand.
Feeling bands wrap around his arms, crisscrossing over his torso, before snaking down his legs, Harry was completely immobilized within seconds. Squirming, he tried to get free - toppling out of the chair, and landing with a painful crash ontop of the previously friendly rug - but they constricted more, tightening to a painful level.
"You're completely at my power, Harry, however, being a merciful Lord, I will not obliterate you completely. No, instead, you shall watch as together we take over the Wizarding World, destroying all who stand in our way, including your precious friends," whispered Tom, kneeling down, and cupping Harry's face in an almost loving caress.
"I will beat you," growled Harry.
"You will fail," retorted Tom, smirking at his captive, before straightening up. "But know this, you, and you alone, shall have the pleasure of destroying your loved ones. They shall die knowing you betrayed them."
"They'll know it wasn't me," bit back Harry, trying once more to make a bid for freedom.
"Oh, will they now? I guess we shall see," smiled Tom as the scene faded, his eyes the last to go, hovering in the darkness, watching, and forever monitoring his prisoner.
In the Infirmary at Hogwarts, Harry Potter opened his eyes. He barely registered the screaming in the back of his mind, the boy trying to gain control once again, instead, he smiled, almost peacefully. He had a job to do.
A/N: Wow, this turned a lot darker than I had intended. It's been a while since I've written a Tom/Harry fic, so if there are any errors, please alert me. I hope you enjoyed - is that the right word? - this, and I would appreciate it if you reviewed :)
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter.
I apologise for any spelling and/or grammar mistakes contained within this story.