Diagon Alley, London.

June - October, of the year 1998.

After the Final Battle, everything went back to normal, as though it were business as usual.

The dead, Death Eater and common civilians alike, were tossed into a pit, and buried in a single mass grave. There was a single plaque above it, engraved only with the somewhat ominous words – 'Lest we forget.'

The Malfoys disappeared from the public eye. There were a large number of people arrested for 'treason against the state'. The Dark Lord entrenched himself in his manor, and would not come out for anything, nor see anyone, which was perfectly fine with the general populace. He left Pius Thicknesse to run the Ministry, which he did with a lot of nervous looks over his shoulders.

Minister Thicknesse turned this into a trend. Your average witch or wizard would be sitting down at the Three Broomsticks, or strolling down Diagon Alley, when all of a sudden, they were hit with the insuppressible urge to take a casual look behind them. Only when that urge was fulfilled, could they go back to doing whatever they had been doing before.

It just so happened that one day, the Dark Lord decided that he wanted to build a tomb. No one knew why, but no one had enough of a spine to question him either. Perhaps they felt that it was better to conserve what little spine they had, rather than lose their spine to the bone-disintegrating curse. The Ministry tried to put a positive spin on it, though from their actions, it was clear that they had no clue what was happening either. 'Isn't it great that we're spending money on infrastructure?' and 'Isn't it great that we're creating jobs?' would become regular Ministry announcements on the Wizarding Wireless.

In the end, whenever the topic was brought up on the street, people would either shrug, or toss their heads back in a display of blaséness, and say "Who knows why the Dark Lord does what he does?" Honestly, no one wanted to think about it too closely, since there weren't many things a wizard could use a tomb for.

So Voldemort built his Mausoleum. And then he dug several kilometres underground, leaving an underground weave of traps and tricks for the unwary traveller. It would become Voldemort's own personal series of catacombs. He had help – many a political prisoner had died digging it. Their bodies were left there to rot.

:::

The Mausoleum itself wasn't hard to find. The entrance was marked by this great, ugly monolith of a structure, depicting some scenes from the tale of the Deathly Hallows. More specifically, it demonstrated the deaths of the three Peverell brothers, whose deaths were being supervised big a dark, tall figure which must've been the artist's anthropomorphized ideal of death. Ginny had expected to see corpses staked at the entrance, but she supposed even the Dark Lord had a nose, as flat as it was.

For a typical person, the hardest part of this expedition would have been making a decision to enter the Mausoleum – everyone knew that whoever passed the doors of the Mausoleum did not get to see the light of day again. How fortunate was it then, that those trivialities no longer bothered Ginny nor any of her fellow expeditionaries.

The remaining members of Order of the Phoenix assembled. They were a sad, sorry lot. Her brother George walked through without a pause, head held high. Then went Ron and Hermione, hand-in-hand. Professor Lupin. Auror Tonks. Auror Shacklebolt. Neville and Luna. Hagrid. Charlie, Bill and Fleur. Then her. Professor Snape would round out the end.

There were no words exchanged. Everyone knew what they had to do.

:::

The Mausoleum, Riddle's Manor.

October, the 23rd, of the year 1998.

02:53 a.m.

There was no light in the catacombs at all, except for what the wizards and witches conjured with their magic. Ginny had to settle with a low light – enough that she could barely see where she was going, not enough that it would stretch and disturb those things that were sleeping in the darkness. It made travel difficult, and it made her intensely aware of how tight she was holding her wand. She didn't want to imagine the horror that would befall her if she lost it in this place.

Eventually, she got to a stand-still. Ginny was standing on a raised platform and slowly moving her Lumos-lit wand across the floor, wondering how in Morgana's name she was supposed to get past the moving coalition of spikes and tentacle things that occasionally popped up from the pit.

Fortunately, she didn't have to come up with a solution. A silvery otter patronus came up from behind her and whispered into her ear.

"We've found Harry."

Ginny's heart beat spiked. She followed the otter as it scampered past mud, rats and bones, through a confusing combination of doorways and openings, until she came to an antechamber. The otter made a gesture to move onwards, and then disappeared. There was light coming from one of the doors, a true rarity in the catacombs, so she pushed it open.

I was starting to think that this room didn't exist. In a complete contrast to the decaying walls of stone and rot outside, Harry's room had been decorated.

Harry's body was placed in the middle of the chamber in a glass casket, splayed on an elaborately carved stone altar. The strong, pulsing white glow of the wards embedded in the glass walls bathed Harry in a brilliant white light, which faded to the same dark nothingness of the catacombs as it moved away from him. He laid silent-still, in a parody of Snow White. Voldemort had even dressed him in white. Maybe he found it funny.

As she walked closer, she began to notice other things. Like the fact that he was adorned with several items. There was a burnt, tarnished crown resting on his head. A cleaved locket that was slung over his neck, resting on his chest. He was holding a deformed cup with one hand, a stone-less ring around one finger. The other arm was folded over a ravaged book, opened across his abdomen. The effect was so that Harry looked like something sacred, bathed in daylight – a fallen king, or a sleeping saint. His chest raised and lowered with soft little breaths. He really is alive.

"We didn't get Nagini."

Ginny spun around sharply, to where Ron and Hermione were arriving with the other members of their ragtag group.

"Ron, you scared me. What if I hexed you?"

Her brother gave her a half-hearted smirk. "I'll be louder next time, so that dementors will hear. Hagrid, Professor Lupin and Luna all got caught in traps. Fleur's broken half the bones in her left leg. But at least we know the portkeys Snape gave us work. Just so you know."

Neville was pale-faced, walking around the display, trying to absorb every aspect of it. The lighting didn't help his features.

"He looks like he's sleeping. Can we wake him up?"

Professor Snape held up a hand.

"If it were as easy as shaking him until he woke, I would've done so long before, and with pleasure, Mr Longbottom. Look here."

Ginny was too caught up in the overall effect to notice before, but there was a drip cord of some sort hidden on the inside of his right elbow. It was very thin, and nearly invisible. The tube was attached to an overhanging cauldron, hidden in the shadows. That was a little jarring.

Snape walked over to the cauldron. "This potion was one that I made for the Dark Lord. I called it the 'Somnium Semper.' It is something like the Draught of Living Death combined with the antithesis of dreamless sleep, so the drinker is always sleeping and always dreaming. Unlike the Draught of Living Death, there is no antidote."

There were loud noises of dismay at this. "What the bloody hell did we come here for then?"

"There is no antidote, but there is a way to bring him out of his dream-state."

He put one hand into his sleeve and pulled out a canister. "This is a similar potion. You will take one drop, and then find a comfortable place to lie somewhere within the range of the wards on the floor. The potion will trick the wards into giving you access into Mr Potter's dream."

"I will warn you. This will be a long, hard mission. Although the boy appears outwardly well, it is very likely that the Dark Lord has kept him under Somnium since May, and my potions students should know that the Dreamless Sleep is addictive. Somnium is likely to be the same. There is no telling how his health and psyche will have deteriorated underneath the potion. But remember that regardless of whatever happens in his dream world, your physical body rests in this chamber, and so, you cannot die."

"Okay Professor, you're scaring me a little here." Charlie had spoken up. "What should we be expecting after we drink the potion?"

It was like Professor Snape was back in the classroom again, and lecturing to his OWL students.

"You will drink the potion. You will find yourself feeling sleepy. And then you will drop to sleep. Once you are sleeping, you were join Harry's dream. Your mission is to find Mr Potter, and then to kill him, so that he will drop out of his dream."

"Kill him? I could never do that!" was Ron's response.

Snape gave him a withering glare. "Death is the only way to drop out of the dream. You are not murdering your friend; you are expediting his transfer from the dream world back into the realm of the living! If you cannot do it, then he will remain dreaming forever!"

"Keep in mind that nothing in that dream world is real. They will all be elements conjured up by Mr Potter's subconscious. For example, the people you will see are projections of his subconscious. His mind's self-defences, if you will. And his projections will not be afraid to do whatever it takes to throw you out."

"To reiterate: the boy's subconscious will not recognise us. It will see us as foreign bodies and it will generate obstacles. His subconscious mind will try to make your life in his dream a torturous experience."

"Ideally, we will get in, remain unobtrusive so that his subconscious does not realize that we are the source of the disturbance that they feel, and then we will find Harry, and kill him. Once he is dead, his dream should unravel, and we will all find ourselves back here."

"You didn't say anything about potentially torturous experiences either!" Ron lamented. Gosh, Ginny thought, this was going to be a horrible mission.

Snape's black eyes glittered. "Did you want Harry Potter back, or not?"

:::

The Dining Room, Grimmauld Place.

Sometime before Hogwarts starts.

08:10 p.m.

"Soooo, Tom Riddle," the name was drawled out, in the same way that the bodies of the damned could be wrung and spread over a rack, all prepared for the judicious use of stab-able kitchen utensils. "It's good to see Bellatrix bring someone home. I know you're an unspeakable, but what is it that you do, really?"

Sirius had finished dessert, and was now lounging back in his expensive chair, waving his fork in the air. He had a half-smile on his face, which meant that he was bored, and very much looking for something to stab at. Often, until they exploded or confronted werewolves, as Severus could attest to.

Riddle had that ever polite smile on his face. "I can't tell you very much about what I do, without breaking various important points in my contract, I'm afraid. But I can assure you that for all the rumours about the Department of Mysteries, what we really do is quite tedious, and is nothing interesting to speak about. Research, mostly."

"Uh-huh. And what sort of intentions do you have towards my scion?"

Those words caused the table to erupt in exactly the sort of commotion that Sirius had been hoping for since 5 o'clock that evening. "Cousin!" Bellatrix hissed in a sharp voice, slamming her hands down on the table. "Decorum, Bella," was the soft murmur coming from Narcissa. Everyone else sighed and settled down for the show.

"What? My job as Head of the House of Black. Thought you wanted me to be more of a Head and show some more responsibility." Sirius' puppy-dog eyes had been carefully crafted through years and years of practice at Hogwarts, and were practically an art-form in itself. They never had any sort of effect on his relatives.

"I am not some sixteen year old witch, bringing her boyfriend back to her parents, and I certainly don't need your approval!"

Riddle interjected at this point, forcing Sirius to keep the words 'Yeah, it's obvious you're a lot older,' in his mouth.

"I have nothing, but the purest of intentions, Lord Black."

"Yeah? Tell us about yourself then. Your family, friends, yourself. History and schooling. Religious and political views. You've got thirty seconds. Go."

"I'm an orphan. Mother died giving birth, no Father to speak of."

Oh.

Riddle continued.

"I was born in London's East End. Lived in a muggle orphanage, until I was blood-adopted by a couple who turned out to be the last of the Peverells. They were hiding, due to events at the time. Home-schooled. Graduated. 10 OWLs, 8 NEWTS." Someone whistled.

"Then I went overseas. Germany, Ukraine, Albania. Went back to England, met Bellatrix. I'm a half-blood. Pagan. And I think the Minister's an idiot." There was a lot of laughter at this. It was true though. Minister Fudge wouldn't be able to tell hippogriffs from thestrals. Lucius Malfoy could personally attest to this.

Sirius knew it was ungracious, but he looked at his watch, just to be an arsehole. "Twenty-eight seconds, not bad."

He was immediately scolded by Andromeda. "You made the man spill his guts all over the table. Rude, absolutely rude." Sirius made a face, and turned to his friends, as if to say 'What the hell, why is she yelling at me all of a sudden?' But he got no support from that quarter. Remus was looking at him in that disappointed way of his, and James shook his head, gesturing to Lily and Narcissa, who, being mothers, were glowering. Okay, maybe I shouldn't have done that.

Mrs Tonks turned to Riddle. "As the Second-In-Line to the Lordship, I apologize on his behalf. It was crass and unworthy of a Head of a House. Personally, I'm sorry to hear about your birth parents."

Did Riddle just have that one smile? Harry thought that Riddle must have had practice, because it had been pasted on for a good half-an-hour now, without showing any signs of slipping.

"I'm fine. It's been a long time, and I've come to terms with it in my own way."

"We-e-ell," the Head of the House of Black cut in again, "Surprise, surprise, I don't actually have any problems with you. Good job Bellatrix, you can keep this one."

Bellatrix scowled. "Why don't you try being interested in him as a person, and asking him about the things he's interested in, instead of trying to keep the spotlight on you?"

Sirius spread his hands, as if to show how accommodating and considerate he was. "Ok, so what do you like?"

"I'll admit to a certain amount of enthusiasm for books and magical artefacts. I have quite the collection at home. It comes with being an unspeakable, you see. I also have something of an interest in history and politics, because I work at the Ministry."

"Okay, so you're a Ravenclaw nerd. I should've guessed, what with the OWLS and NEWTS and the research."

"You could say that." That smile was a little different – indulging, instead of merely frozen.

And this next smile was different too. "Coincidentally, I met your brother recently, and Regulus has been telling me about a locket of his. Supposedly it had once belonged to Salazar Slytherin. I've been meaning to take a look at it for him."

Riddle had that perfect ability to find someone's weak points. He wasn't even trying this time, but he managed to hit on exactly the right topic to make Sirius insecure. "Regulus? Wow, small world. Is he doing ok? I bet him and his wife are having one hell of a honeymoon. I haven't heard from him in a while, we should go and see him sometime."

"He seems to be enjoying Paris."

"But yes, a locket. I don't know anything about a locket, do you Bellatrix?"

She shook her head. "Narcissa, Andromeda?"

Andromeda shrugged her shoulders, but Narcissa looked as though she were thinking. "May I, cousin? If anyone would know about Black heirlooms, it would be the house elves."

Sirius shrugged, and yelled out for Kreacher. The house elf popped in within an instant, appearing to be polite and professional, but this impression only lasted until he caught sight of who was summoning him.

"What does filthy blood-traitor master want from Kreacher?" Kreacher snarled. Sirius suddenly remembered why he usually left it to the girls or Regulus to summon the house elves. This one gave him attitude.

"Now listen here, you little maggot," Sirius was speaking in a low voice, low enough that only Kreacher could hear his words. "My brother has a locket somewhere. It's probably an heirloom. You'll find it, and then you'll bring it to me." Kreacher looked up at Sirius with resentful eyes.

"Kreacher shall be searching." And with that, he clicked his fingers and popped back out.

Sirius tried not to grind his teeth. "It'll probably be a while before the house elf deigns to grace us with his presence again. Until then, does anyone want more dessert?"

:::

Now that everyone's curiosity about the new shiny thing had been satisfied, Sirius' guests quickly got bored, and split up into their own little groups, standing up and swapping chairs, or simply talking to the people next to them.

Remus had stopped by to talk to Harry, and he was asking Harry questions about his school work, and how he felt about the girls in his class, but Harry was obviously distracted. His green eyes would be looking directly at the werewolf and smiling one moment, and then slide sideways the next. Then Harry would catch himself, and pull himself forcibly back into the conversation.

The next time it happened, Remus followed Harry's gaze – to Bellatrix's date, Tom Riddle. He let the conversation die. It took Harry a while to realise, although he quickly looked back at Remus the instant he did. Remus quirked an eyebrow. Harry lifted his own eyebrow back at him, although the effect was ruined by the way he had flushed bright red.

Remus wanted to laugh, but he held it in. "I wondered when you were going to get over Sirius."

If Harry wasn't embarrassed before, he was now. "What?"

"Your mother owes me a few galleons now. She thought it would last until the end of Hogwarts."

Harry gave up. "You and my mom? Who else thinks that I've got a thing for my own godfather?" He remembered something that Ron had said, back in the dorms at Hogwarts.

"It's not a gay thing, it's just a – a man-crush. You're allowed to have man-crushes without being gay. Uncle Sirius's got leather jackets and a motorbike, and I think that's wicked awesome, and nothing else."

"And that's another 'man-crush' on Mr Riddle? I don't remember him saying anything about a motorbike."

To be fair, Harry couldn't explain this one.

"He's an unspeakable. That's cool too." He didn't think saying 'why yes, I felt an instant connection from the moment I met him' sounded very good. Uncle Remus was making satisfied 'hmm'-ing sounds, as though he was listening and agreed with everything that Harry said.

"I understand. He's new, and naturally everyone's wondering what he's going to be like. Why don't you go and talk to him then? He's sitting there by himself. You can ask him about his research." Remus didn't even try to hold in his vaguely wolf-like smile. "In fact, I insist, as your godfather-by-association."

"No, it's ok. I wouldn't have a clue what he was saying. Also, he gives me the heebie-jeebies."

"Harry, there's nothing wrong about being curious. You should go and introduce yourself. It's only polite."

Uncle Remus was the gentle, thoughtful and considerate Marauder in Dad's group of friends, so Harry gave his suggestion some thought. His mom had even pulled him over one time after a Marauder party, and explicitly told him to follow Uncle Remus' and Professor Snape's example, rather than his Dad's or Uncle Sirius'. He could understand why, since their living room now stunk of cheese, but Harry never liked being told what to do, so he asked her why she married Dad and not Professor Snape then. That was the end of the conversation. Come to think of it...

"Also, the heebie-jeebies?" Remus said, nonchalantly, "Makes you shiver, does he?"

Harry abandoned his train of thought to shove Remus. "Could you stop teasing your poor innocent godchild-by-association for a minute? You make it sound so bad."

Uncle Remus smiled. "It's only my prerogative as a Marauder."

Harry was suspicious. Revelation slowly dawned upon him. "You're going to pummel me about Sirius until I talk to Mr Riddle, aren't you? Why does Mom think that you're the nice guy? You're just more subtle about it."

"Look, I'll go talk to him, only because someone should go and make him feel welcome. But I don't want you to think that it's because of any funny stuff. Because it isn't. Not with Sirius, and not with him."

"Of course not." Remus could be magnanimous in victory. Harry threw him a dubious look. Remus waved to Harry as Harry stood up, and began chatting to Tonks.

:::

Uncle Remus was right, Mr Riddle was sitting alone. Bellatrix had simply pushed him to Lucius and the Malfoys with a 'Lucius works in the Ministry, you can discuss your politics with him,' before dashing off to yell at Sirius some more. The resulting conversation, while interesting, had lasted only five minutes before Lucius apologized and said that he had to be going now, there was an early morning conference in Venezuela that he had to attend. On the other hand, his wife and son would be staying the night. Riddle was gracious or not interested, depending on your point of view, so he waved Lucius away.

At the moment, Tom Riddle seemed like he was perfectly content to observe the room, and lose himself in his thoughts. Harry wondered what he was thinking about.

He pulled out a chair across from Mr Riddle. He was about to plonk himself down on the chair as usual, and sprawl all over the seat, but he thought of Mr Riddle's grace, and mimicked Draco's way of sitting instead, with one foot on the floor, and the other crossed over. Now that he was here though, he couldn't think of a single thing to say to the stranger. Hello would be a good start.

Riddle saved him. "Hello. If I remember Sirius' introductions right, you would be Harry – James and Lily's son. How are you finding his soiree?"

"It's fine. Aside from you sitting with us at the table, it's mostly the same as it always is, really. We have them at least twice a month, more if Mrs Malfoy wants to throw some too, so nothing really changes between family dinners. I'm still a little disappointed that I miss a fair amount when I leave for school. Though it's rare that everyone's here tonight." Harry tended to run his mouth off when he was nervous, like now.

"Are you at Hogwarts?"

"Yes, I'm going into my sixth year. I'm a Gryffindor. That probably doesn't mean much to you – Hogwarts is split into four houses, and the house I'm in is Gryffindor. We value bravery. When Sirius called you a Ravenclaw before, he was also talking about one of the houses – that house is known for its smarts."

Riddle smiled, a quirk of the lips that looked a little odd, but still recognisably a smile.

"I'm familiar with the Hogwarts schooling system. Most of the unspeakables I work with graduated from Hogwarts. I don't think that Ravenclaw is the house for me though. Books can become very dull if all one does is read all day."

Harry was going to ask him more questions, like 'what house do you think you'd be in, if not Ravenclaw' and 'can you tell me more about being an unspeakable' and even 'how are you finding the family dinners' which he really should've asked from the beginning, but then he caught sight of something.

"The ring on your hand."

"Oh this thing?" Riddle quickly looked down at his hand, and then back up at Harry. "What about it?"

Harry hesitated. "I think I've seen the symbol somewhere before."

"It's not a surprise that it would be familiar to you. It's the Peverell crest."

"Oh, you told us that the Peverells adopted you. But why would their crest be familiar to me?"

Riddle was frowning slightly. "Family is important," he began. He meant it as 'the family you come from is important', but Harry took it as 'the people who you consider family are important. "As such, you should ask your father about your lineage. At one point, there were three Peverell brothers. To understand how significant these brothers were in history, consider that Salazar Slytherin is a descendant of one of those brothers. The Potters – your family – are descended from another brother. That makes us distant cousins, though I wouldn't be able to tell you the degree, or how far removed we are from each other."

"So we're family?"

"Most of the pureblood houses are related to one another. Wizarding Britain isn't that big."

Harry didn't make distinctions between distant cousins and close cousins – family was family. He also didn't notice, but throughout the conversation, he had been leaning closer and closer, to get a better look at the symbol on the ring. He couldn't understand why it was making alarm sirens go off in his head. Harry didn't notice, but Riddle sure did.

Riddle was still looking at him, even as he pulled the ring off for Harry to examine.

"Oh, you didn't have to take it off."

"No, curiosity is a good trait to have. I encourage it in others."

Harry took the ring. The instant his fingers brushed against it, the world froze and turned grey. Harry could tell that his eyes were still open, but they weren't seeing anything in front of him. Something flickered – a snapshot of an old man's withered hand. Then more pictures came, passing through as quickly as lightning strikes the heart. A man screaming. An old hut. A snake head, nailed to the door. His own invisibility cloak. A wand, laid next to a body in a grave. The stone on the ring could resurrect people from beyond the veil –

IT'S A DEATHLY HALLOW. It was like Harry had been wandering in the dark, and someone switched a red neon light on. The words flashed red into existence, flickered, and then remained put in his mind. Harry didn't know what a deathly hallow was, he had never even heard of the term. But although he couldn't remember coming across the word, he knew that the sentence was true – he felt it with a surety. It echoed and reverberated throughout his head. There was something else in his head, something that he was missing – but it fled.

The sound of people chattering trickled back in. Harry heaved a small sigh. The entire episode felt like it had gone on for a while, but really, it had only been a few seconds. "Wow."

Riddle laughed. "It's nothing amazing. I've inspected it and I can say there's no power or anything attached to the ring. I wear it for sentimental reasons."

So the Resurrection Stone doesn't work anymore? "Is that because the stone's cracked? That's no good."

"That had already happened when I found it."

The crack could probably be fixed. Harry wanted to know how Mr Riddle had found the Stone. One of the most powerful items in the Wizarding world, and it was here, sitting on his palm. He wondered if Riddle knew what it was worth. Then he mentally slapped himself. Of course he did, the man said that he collected artefacts, and the Resurrection Stone was one of the most prized of artefacts. Riddle had just extended to him a great trust in even letting him handle the Stone, and here he was, thinking about the power it held.

Harry had no desire for power, nor any need to resurrect anyone. Even his grandparents were alive, although his dad's parents didn't like his mom, and his mom's parents didn't like his dad. He didn't need the Resurrection Stone. So Harry held his hand out guilelessly, although still wide-eyed with awe, and waited for Riddle to take back his ring.

Just as casually, Riddle slipped it back onto his finger.

"Thanks. So I'm related to the line of Slytherin? Maybe that explains something."

"And what does it explain?" Riddle asked, humouring him.

"Well, the talking to snakes thing. Dad had always said that it was a Slytherin blood trait, and something that could only be genetically-inherited or passed on through very dark magic. He completely freaked out on Mom when he found out I could do it."

"Talking to snakes." Harry was still remembering his Dad's reaction and how he wouldn't calm down until the paternity results came back, so he completely missed the expression that passed over Riddle's face.

"Yeah. It doesn't weird you out, does it?"

"Say something in parseltongue then."

Harry sighed. /I know that humans think snake-speak is a sign of a bad person. You think I'm evil./

"Au contraire, Harry." Riddle gave a conspirative smile. /I don't think being able to snake-speak has anything to do with whether a person is a bad person or not./

Harry jerked in surprise. In his shock, Harry accidentally up-ended someone's glass of orange juice, and it would have spilled over the floor, except Riddle froze the liquid mid-air and did some sort of fancy time-manipulation trick to bring the glass back to how it was. /You are a speaker as well!/

"It was always thought that the ability originated from Salazar Slytherin, and his dark experiments. However, if you, excuse me, we can speak it, then it proves that the language of parseltongue originated from a time before Salazar, although he is the person who is most associated with it. Perhaps it was a latent trait that the Peverells carried, that manifested in Salazar. It's fascinating, that a recessive gene should reappear, after so many years."

Harry was amazed. He hadn't been this excited in a very long time. "Could you go and explain that to my dad? Tell him that Parseltongue is a Peverell thing and not a Slytherin thing? It doesn't mean much coming from me, but I mean, you're not a Slytherin, or a descendant of Slytherin, and you can speak it, so he'll believe you."

"Being a Slytherin isn't a bad thing. The Malfoys are all Slytherins and you remain good friends with Draco, aren't you? Do you think him evil?"

Harry looked across the room and found Draco, who was pestering his Aunt Andromeda. "Sorry, I didn't mean for it to come out that way. It's just what my dad thinks. Can you talk to him, please?"

"I'm normally a very busy person."

Glub, glub, glub. That was the sound of Harry's heart, sinking like a dead-weight stone.

"But, us parselmouths, we have to look after one another, don't we? I also think it's a downright shame that you have learnt to despise this ability, instead of revering it as the gift it is."

Was that a 'yes, I'll talk to your dad?' Riddle seemed to come to a decision. "How about this? I have a snake. Her name is Nagini, and she is a beautiful creature, even for her species. Would you like to meet her? I think she would welcome the chance to talk to another speaker."

"Sure, I'd love to meet Nagini."

"I'll bring her over to Grimmauld Place in a week then. I'll talk to your father at the same time."

That was a yes. Thank you, Mr Riddle. So who cared if the man smiled like he had been practicing in a mirror? He was amazing. Who needed a motorbike? He was still amazing. He had a snake, and he could talk to it, like Harry. Harry couldn't remember when, but he had a really cool conversation with a Brazilian Boa Constrictor once. Or was it a Burmese Python? They were friendly – he had liked them. What would Nagini be like?

As soon as Riddle finished the sentence, there was an outcry from Sirius' part of the room. "Hey Tom, Bella's back, with Kreacher!" Tom nodded to acknowledge that he heard Sirius, and they both stood up. As Riddle was walking across the room, he looked back over his shoulder, and said one last thing to Harry.

"Bellatrix has my gratitude, for allowing me to meet you. I think I should like to get to know you more."

:::

Everyone had gathered in the same area, to witness the conclusion to this night's events. They called Kreacher to attention. They asked about the locket. And after some threatening and cajoling, he presented it to them.

Sirius was the first to comment. "Huh, it looks like it's been stabbed."

And then Harry got sledge-hammered. Well, he didn't literally get sledge-hammered, but it certainly felt like someone had hit him in the head with one. Ouch. He keeled over, both hands pressing down hard onto his forehead. To top it off, he proceeded to overbalance and fell over, adding several bruises on his leg to his wonderful collection of pain.

His mother jumped to her feet. "Harry! What happened? Are you okay Harry?" (On the other hand, Malfoy five feet away was grinning in glee. Harry could picture Malfoy crowing 'You fainted!' at him for the next few family events.)

Harry left one hand on his head, and used the other one to wave his mom away. "Yeah, just. Sudden headache." It was dying down. He tried for a sheepish smile. "Brain freeze. Too much ice cream."

James Potter, who was also on edge for a minute there, relaxed. "Ah, my Lily-flower, you worry over him too much. He's about to go into sixth year! He's not a kid anymore." Next to Harry, Azalea added "Does that mean that I can have all your ice-cream from now on?"

Sirius was still holding the locket, and dangling it from his fingers. "Hey, he's ok. So Tom, I guess this is the locket that Regulus was talking about. Though I'm also thinking that this was not what it looked like when Regulus first found it–" MERLIN sudden spike of pain, going through Harry's head, " – wonder where Regulus got this thing?"

If Harry could think properly at the moment, he would've been extremely worried. Sudden headaches occurring with the kind of intensity he was feeling at the moment is usually not a good sign – in the wizarding world, it could mean anything from brutal leglimency to incompatible compulsions. In the muggle world, it was a symptom of brain hemmorhaging. It wasn't fading. It was getting worse.

"Would you mind if I took a closer look?"

"Would I mind? Hey, you can keep it." Sirius threw the locket to Tom, and although his aim was horrible, Tom's reflexes were excellent. He caught the locket with one hand, before it hit the floor.

"Not sure you'll be able to get anything out of it the way it's been damaged though. Sorry."

Riddle's complete lack of expression could've been considered extremely disconcerting. He straightened up. "I've received a lot of apologies today. I'm afraid I must make one of my own. It's getting late."

Bellatrix immediately protested, moving just as quickly, and hanging on to one arm. Her ringlets bounced with the movement. "Won't you stay the night?" Riddle responded by looking at the hand she had placed on his person, and back at Bellatrix. She removed it.

"No, I've other things I ought to be doing, Bella," he stated. Then he turned to look at Harry. "I should be back in a week's time." As he left the room with the locket in one hand, he used the other to quickly brush by Harry's hair, in an offhanded, lazy manner. His headache disappeared abruptedly.

"Huh. That was extremely strange."

"No Potter, it just so happens that when anyone sees your scraggly excuse for hair, they can't help but try fix it. To no avail." Great, Malfoy was coming over to talk about the fainting thing. Also, bloody hell, what was it with people and his hair? It looked messy and untamed because all these people kept on messing it up.

Draco smirked as if he knew what Harry was thinking "That's why I keep my hair gelled back, loser." Harry scowled.

:::

Diagon Alley, Alternate London.

Sometime before Hogwarts starts.

10:16 a.m.

The sky was too blue. That was the first thing George noticed when he popped into the dream world. It was like someone had been playing with graphics-manipulating charms, and accidentally set the contrast too high.

Looking around, George thought that it would be easy to remember that he was in a dream. There would be spots that were alright, and other spots that had such an intensity of colour that it hurt to physically look at them directly, and other spots which were greyed out.

Red, grey, orange, purple, blue. Grey. Grey. Grey. Rainbow. Blue.

This effect would make for an interesting Wizarding Wheeze. He turned around to ask Fred about it, except Fred wasn't there. He met Bill's empathetic gaze instead, a few more feet down the path, and turned his head forward.