What is the meaning of life?

Who are you?

Answer my question and I'll answer yours.

Why do you want to know?

Because I don't know.

Neither do I.

Then I suppose I wont tell you who I am.

Yes?

Its all lies I swear.

Lies?

I'm not who they think I am.

Who are you? You can tell me. I wont tell a soul.

Not who they think.

Are you okay? You can trust me.

I can trust no one, don't be silly. And I have never been okay.

Are you mad?

I don't know.

How can you not know?

Because I am twelve. What is sanity?

I... don't know, but if you speak to me I wont tell anyone. You can trust me

People have promised that before, they have always lied.

Who?

My... jailers.

Where are we?

A new prison perhaps, I am not entirely sure. They say it is a school. They say I am a hero, famous, beloved. They say that I am a treasured child, a magic child, if such a thing truly exists. Yet they sent me back to my jailers last summer, and I asked to stay but they will send me back again after this. I tried to escape only finding my will lost, the need to stay, when I really wanted to leave. I cannot understand them.

A school, you say? Hogwarts perhaps? And tell me about your summers, your life...

It is a place called Hogwarts, or... so they tell me. I cannot trust them. I cannot trust anyone. And you... I thought you were merely a book but now... You are trying to take my will as well, trying to tell me to write more, giving me the need to write, making me think I can trust you. Magic is for tricksters, I will no longer be fooled.

Hello?

Hello? Are you there? I am sorry. You can trust me. Hello? Hello? Hello? Hello...

…

Are you living?

In some ways, not in others. I am a memory, trapped in a book.

Ah... You would not know the meaning of life then, if you are not living. I shall have to find another question to exchange for yours. Would you like to switch as well?

I would prefer to know your name. You can tell me.

The only reason I write to you is that I trust them less than you. An older student saw me with this book and asked me to give it to them. I think they were older... They were taller than me, but so is everyone. They may be older in body, but I am older in all in mind.

What was their name?

It was Weasel something. I heard someone call them 'Weasel girl', and I wonder if it was their name.

That sounds like an insult, not a name.

Insults are names. I have lived longer with my second name than my first, and then I was 'freed' to a new prison.

What year is it? Are you still at Hogwarts? How long has it been?

1992. It has been a long day. I grow tired of them, most of them. Your company is better, even if you try and steal my soul. They all want something, may as well get something out of the exchange. THEY want for nothing. They except me to simply give and give for nothing, like so many others. I have only met two others breathing which I tolerate. You... You may try and trick me, you may succeed, but at least I know for certain that is what you want.

You can truly trust me, I don't want to hurt you. I would never.

You write such sweet lies that some can be trapped in the web you have woven, being wrapped and devoured with a smile on their face. I am not one you can fool, but I shall be devoured anyway.

…

I met a blonde girl today. She was nice. Her name was Luna, although they called her Loony. I asked her about it and she told me that they simply have too many nargles to function properly, they are too short-sighted in their quest to be better to realise that they have already become entrenched in the claws of tiny otherworldly pests. Although Luna says they are cute, I find them parasitic. Not that I have ever seen them. Some tell me she is crazy, they whisper in my ear that she is not one to be seen with, that she is bullied because of her knowledge. They tell me that I need to stay away from her, that she is telling me lies. I know she is telling me truths, that they are the ones trying to deceive. Luna... is the only one that calls me by my real name here, it is refreshing.

Tell me more. It must be hard for you to handle so many people hurting you. I can help you.

The difference between you and them is you smell of rot whilst they smell of summer spice. It is subtle, not everyone can smell the 'good' from the 'bad'. They only let me meet summer spice smelling people, only lions or badgers. I do not like the smell of rot but it is a change. I much prefer the smell of ice. Many smell of ice. Luna does. But I am not allowed to see them often.

How dare they stop you! They have no right, you are your own person. You mustn't let them control you.

I have always been controlled, naïve book. It is how it has always been. Now it is better, I can evade my jailers, ignore their words, and the only way they punish me is disapproving frowns and imaginary deductions. I can see ones like me here, but they go by a different name; house elves. I can see Luna here, and she is different. I am sure she will be the only one I enjoy a gift from. Did you know there is a forest here? It is large. There is also a mighty snake, she is beautiful and often sings me soothing lullabies. I am not sure why. She thinks she is my mother, since I have never had one. I have also found a father, he is a bright red bird who also sings me lullabies, but he can only visit me when the old bearded man is away. Another one of my jailers.

You can speak Parstletongue? And do you mean Dumbledore?

I do not know what either of those are.

Parstletongue is the language of the snakes. Can you speak any other languages? Were you born with it? Did you learn it? And Dumbledore is a professor from Hogwarts, he became Headmaster I believe, and he is a terrible man.

I have always spoken to them, and they have always spoken to me. I can speak to other animals, but not with words. I can understand them, how they feel, how they will always feel, but I can never tell them how sorry I am. Dumbledore does not sound familiar but I am not interested in true names.

What about Luna?

She is different. I already told you.

So you said. How long have you known her? Is she your friend?

I believe the correct term is sunshine. She is my sunshine. I have known her two days, and already she is far better company than anyone else I have ever met. Apart from perhaps Ripper, I have always felt pity for that dog.

What year are you in?

Second, I believe. But I am in my twelfth year of life, but I don't expect to live too much longer.

Why is that?

Because you will kill me, no doubt. No question. But it is nice to have a companion before I die, and maybe in death they will stop following me.

I would never...

Do not lie to me my book. It is silly.

Fine. But... Do you want to die?

Not especially. I just simply understand that perhaps my time is up. It has been a terrible life, but who am I to complain. Just one boy.

If you... If you really don't mind dying I could take your soul now. You would only need to spill your blood on my pages.

Do you truly wish to live? Have you always been a book?

…

I have come up with a new question?

What is it?

What is a horcrux?

Where did you here about that?

Can you not answer, I felt for sure you could?

Where.

Luna told me. She said 'ask the book what a horcrux is, and if it tells you then you will understand if it wants to live'.

You told her about me?

You didn't say I couldn't, and she asked if she could borrow my magic book. I declined, Luna is too special for her soul to be drained.

Are you not special enough?

I have never been special, book. It is just how it has always been. Can you answer?

A horcrux is an object which holds a piece of a person's soul.

Oh. Are souls always in pieces?

No. Only splitting ones soul first would leave one able to make a horcrux.

How does one split their soul?

Murder.

That's not too difficult really. I can see why not many people know. But why would one split their soul and make a horcrux?

It achieves immortality.

No immortality is eternal, but I can see the appeal to some.

What is your name?

Is that your question?

It is.

Harry Potter. Your name?

Tom Riddle. Your jailers?

Everyone except Luna and the forest.

So... What did you do today?

Well first thing I had charms with a forest nymph, although he calls himself a half-goblin. I can't understand why. He was telling us a spell, a severing charm, and insisted we all needed our wands. I obliged as I always did, but I find it odd how everyone is so obsessed with their sticks. You don't need them, they're like shoving your magic through a brick, but I didn't tell them that. I told Luna and she told me that it would only upset them, like when she spoke of the free creatures. Anyway, he told us to imagine the thing itself being cut, when you were meant to imagine the magic wrapping around the thing to be cut and slowly slicing into it. I'm not sure how much I like him, but he never tells me I have to sit at the Griffindor table so maybe he isn't so bad. The school doesn't like it when I sit with Luna, or the Hufflepuffs. I tried to sit at Slytherin once, but this boy who said I was his enemy didn't let me. Then he hexed me. It was all a bit bizarre, I'll never understand the jailers.

And what else happened?

Well in Transfiguration I swear...

…

I'm ready to have my soul drained.

I have one more question.

Ask away.

Do you want to die?

Not really. Luna said living can be quite more fun, but respected my decision.

What if... What if there was a way for you to live?

Its up to you, Tom, I don't want to be a bother.

I swear its not... much of a bother. It will only mean I'll need a few weeks recovery.

So what is it?

There is a potion, a very complicated potion, which will mean I only need half of your soul essence to regain a corporal form. Its called Life of the Death Elixir, and it is very hard to make.

What about buy? I have some money.

Yes. That would work. They do sell it, in a place called Knockturn Alley, it is right off the side of Diagon Alley. Should be some in a hag's shop, or perhaps if Billingries Bottles is still running it might be there. You should go disguised, find a way to hide your aura, wear a large cloak, and speak in a different voice. Come up with a cover name for yourself.

Starlight. Starlight Jenkins.

Really?

Luna calls me Starlight, my true name, she knew it before I did. I had always wondered why all the other names felt wrong when they said it.

How many names did you have?

The first was Harry, I think. Then Freak and Boy, respectively. Occasionally would be Brat, You, or Waste of Space. I never liked it when they called me Kitten. And I came here and they all called me Harry again, I was glad when Luna called me Starlight.

I am sorry.

For what?

What they did to you.

You say it like it is a thing of the past. I am still jailed. Kill me if you want.

Harry? Hello? Starlight! Are you still there? Hello?

…

I have the potion.

How long has it been?

It is Christmas. I believe weeks. The old man was not happy when I decided to leave for the holidays. Some of the staff said it was good I was seeing my relatives, when I said I was staying in Diagon Alley they were not happy. Sometimes my jailers become silly. Strange. At a chance glance you would think they cared, but I can see it deep in the pretty pits of their desolate and desperate eyes that they follow the old man like an old god.

Dumbledore?

I don't know him well enough to know his name. I discovered the red headed one's though. Ginerva. Luna said they call her 'Ginny', I found it strange. She was the one who used to have the book, do you remember her?

She spoke of you often. Always. Every time she wrote it would be more about you. Your hair. Your eyes. Your plump pink lips. Your smile. Your friends. What you said. How you looked at her. She was scared after Halloween and then you found me... Harry, I have never been so relived to let go of a soul.

She is not like the normal summer spice. She smells of rotten cinnamon. Often meaning she is one of the 'good' but is really 'bad' but she tries to hide it by having the spice surrounding her. Her family are all spice and all smell the same. The boy who says he is my best friend smells the worst, their mother too, they are with the jailers. Their smiles are fake.

I am not surprised. Please believe me, Harry, you can trust me. Once I get corporal form I will take care of you.

I know you lie, my Tom, but that is fine. I will probably die soon anyway, Luna agreed to bury my body in the forest. She said the unicorns like me, they do not usually like men, but they like me. I can be buried at their old nest, under the dew drop leaves and the winter snow. It will be magical. No one but Luna will be invited, and her nargles of course. She quite insisted.

I will not let you die Harry.

I have to go, your sweet sweet lies are so blatantly honest that I can't bare to write more. I almost might believe them if I do. Tell me what to do tomorrow, I need to say goodbye to Luna.

…

Tom felt the blood soak into the page. The blood of his Harry. He didn't know how it had happened, whether it had been an obsessiveness developed from Ginny's soul, listening to Harry and becoming fond of him, or that otherworldly pull that he could not explain, but Harry was his. With all his quirks, enemies and injuries he would belong to Tom. It was the only way. And now... he felt his magic singing to him as half of Harry's soul was sucked deep into the book.

Harry would not lose half his soul, since it was not split, or half his magic, or even half his life, Harry was bonded to him now. He would forever belong to Tom (and Tom to him but he chose to forget about that and never tell Harry). They shared half of Harry's soul now, if Harry died... Tom would probably die. If Tom died, Harry would regain full use of his soul. Not that he seemed to be using his soul for much of anything except living.

He would love to see his Harry, to truly see him without the aid of words on a page. Hear him. Smell him. Tom wondered absently if he would smell of rot. Touch him... God he wanted to, but he had to wait a while. He had to wait weeks and become strong enough to walk and cast magic. He certainly wouldn't be in any shape to truly show his poor too-old-for-his-skin the wonders of sex. Tom wondered then what Harry's jailers in the summers had done to him, Kitten, that didn't sound like a promising name. Of course, if Harry didn't want that or wanted to wait then Tom would surely accept that.

But god it would be amazing to feel another's warm skin. Feel hot sparks shoot down his spine. Kiss. Caress. Stare deep into their eyes. Fuck them. Pleasure them. Make love to them. It would be simply perfect if he could do that to his Harry... Ginny had always described Harry as gorgeous. It would be a wonder to see him in real life.

Maybe he would even enjoy meeting Harry's precious Luna, she seemed fine with their communication. But Tom wanted Harry first, always, and was restless to finally be out of that god-damned book. It was awful only being able to speak to someone through writing, awful having to cater to little snot nosed brats, or being stuck on a shelf in Malfoy Manor for years and years.

God Tom was looking forward to this. It had been so many years, and he really hadn't noticed. Time always seemed distorted in the book. But it was finally over, and he could have his Harry, mind body and soul, and take over the wizarding world. Obviously not make the same mistakes as his older version, who his own Harry had somehow defeated if Ginny was to be believed. Perhaps he could ask Harry to rule with him, he seemed to be apathetic enough. He didn't seem too jostled about murder, and perhaps torture wasn't that much worse. Surely somewhere in his Harry was a sadist waiting to spring out?

If not Tom could always keep Harry away from the torture and meetings, unless he wanted to come.

Perhaps Luna could be of some use as well. She was well connected to the forest after all, like his Harry, but she might not like him much when she realised he was a younger memory of Voldemort. But, she was grey. Harry had said she smelt like ice, and Tom was perceptive enough to realise what the smells meant.

Tom felt his essence try to suck more of Harry's soul, but he held fast. He would not lose his Harry, not like this. He had never even seen him yet, and he promised to protect him. No harm would come to him, no more. Harry would be a pampered prince, skilled in whatever arts he wanted. A Dark Consort. A Dark lover. His Harry had so much potential.

An icy chill ran through the book, the potion had been poured. Stopping him from involuntarily devouring any more of Harry's soul. As long as Harry lived he lived. Tom felt himself being funnelled upwards, out into a mist like setting, his senses dulled but still there! He opened his eyes, seeing a small dusty room, quite like the one above the Leaky Cauldron. And there was his Harry, and god he was beautiful. Raven locks messily hanging on his head, beautiful pink lips that just begged to be kissed, striking green eyes staring at him... dully. As if his Harry didn't trust him.

He was gorgeous, looked just delectable, but was also... too short... too thin. What had they done to him! No! His poor Harry. He would skin them alive and feed them to the sharks. He would burn down their bloody castle and smash the stone to rubble. He would boil their bones and melt their hearts. For hurting his Harry!

Suddenly Tom could hear again and no no no no! His Harry was sobbing. Oh no. Having a soul drained must hurt, and hurt more if it wasn't fully drained. Tom knelt down on the floor, ignoring the dust, trying to bring Harry into his arms, but he wasn't fully corporal yet. He was weak. So weak. Weak kneed and he felt like he would faint. The rush of senses, emotions, power was fading and... Oh he could feel his Harry now. So warm in his arms, tears streaking down his face, so warm... so warm...

Tom leaned forward to kiss him. He needed to. His Harry. He needed to mark him. Harry looked back to him with wide green eyes, eyes that grew even wider when his lips brushed against his. Only a small chaste kiss. Tom stroked his weak sleepy fingers through his Harry's hair. And Harry said quietly,

"Tom?"

Tom replied, his voice as smooth as ever, if a little groggy,

"Yes my Harry?"

Harry's adorable little face graced with a small smile, a somewhat disbelieving smile, his eyes shining with something akin to hope. Which didn't seem real because no one really had that expression around Tom. And his Harry, his possession, his pretty little heart throb, was smiling at him, and Tom felt like he was melting. His Harry said so so quietly,

"I'm not dead, am I?"

And Tom brushed another hand over his Harry's face, leaned in again to give a kiss on the forehead, and said,

"Of course not. I would never let you."

And then Tom fainted... trapping his Harry in a tight, possessive, loving, strong and weak embrace. Feeling that little heartbeat thudding so quickly. His.