Liar, Liar Part 2

Wind

Three years since that night, that awful night when Sirius' world came crashing down around him. Three years since he nearly died and three years to the day when he found-

That something of the host remains.

Harry, finally forcing his way out to save his friends. Harry, screaming for their lives. Harry, seizing control for just long enough to say "I'm sorry" and flee.

Sirius would've died that night if it weren't for Hermione Granger; he still came closer than ever before. And he woke with a new purpose: to exorcise the spirit of the teen aged Voldemort from Harry's body and get his godson back. Because Harry was still alive and as long as there was a sliver of a chance, Sirius wasn't going to let it go. James would've done it for him and he was going to do it.

The only problem was that Harry's Voldemort had dropped off the map and a new one had sprung up last year, attacking the Ministry out of nowhere with a body nothing like Harry's. Another piece of the mad man's soul. It was chilling to think that there could eventually be seven of him running around.

But Voldemort didn't get the prophecy and there was still no word of Riddle. The Order of the Phoenix was on the front lines of every strike, but they couldn't predict everything. People were dying, families were being cut down the middle like the Potters like the Longbottoms like fucking everyone.

It kind of made Sirius wish he were still a convict on the run, blissfully ignorant of the news.

It kind of made Sirius wish he'd never found out about Harry; he was sure that living a lie would be better than living in Hell.

Speed

The years had passed quickly for Tom Riddle. Retraining this new body, and all the reflexes that came with it, took up a big chunk of those three years. The rest were spent traveling all over the world, meeting Voldemort's old contacts and using the blackmail and the charm that had first allowed him to use them.

With how much he got done, he wondered why he'd wasted half a year trying to subtly convert Sirius Black to the Dark. Maybe it was a personal challenge? To see if he could turn one of the Light's strongest supporters. It was a shame that the man was so strong.

Riddle still disliked him for not dying when he was supposed to.

But that half a year of roaming the countryside with the mutt hadn't really been wasted. It had given him time to fully assimilate the soul of the later Lord Voldemort, and when combined with Harry's memories-forcefully seized, of course-gave Riddle a good picture of what had happened since he was sixteen.

And he was not happy.

His older self was a fool, in Riddle's opinion. He hadn't fully solved the problem of Horcruxes causing insanity and decided that it didn't matter-he made the fatal mistake of assuming he could handle anything thrown at him because he was immortal. Tom was sorely disappointed in himself, and also quite disgusted. This Lord Voldemort didn't have loyal followers; he had sycophantic slaves branded like cattle, most of whom were as touched in the head as the Lord himself.

This was not the man he had envisioned himself becoming.

And then Voldemort came back.

Riddle wasn't entirely sure what he was going to do at first, but the answer came to him fast enough. He was being given the chance to start all over. This war would throw the Wizarding World into chaos, and in that chaos Tom Riddle would be a patch of calm for people to flee to. He would take Dumbledore's path, this time around. He would rule them through their hearts and they would deify him.

His name would resonate through history more than even Albus Dumbledore.

Freeze

It wasn't dark down here. It wasn't anything down here, which was really the worst thing. At least when Riddle visited, there was something. Something that wasn't just his own mind, and feeling little pieces of it drift away. Sometimes Riddle wanted to gloat, sometimes to talk, sometimes to hear him scream. (Oh damn he'd forgotten his name again. It might come back. Maybe.) And he couldn't help but look forward to those times, because he had nothing else.

But there was one thing. One more thing to live for. What was it again? He knew there was one.

Right!

Those few times when Riddle was stressed, or not paying attention, or even just relaxing his guard, Harry (his name!) could slip through the layers separating them (shivering at the desolate cold feeling this is Voldemort's mind) and reach the world outside. He could see again, hear and smell and once, memorably, when Riddle had been eating and Harry tasted an unfamiliar fruit and a truly delicious steak.

And then. Then there was another thing.

Control.

He hadn't had control of his body since first waking up after the Chamber. He'd only been able to watch, snapshots through stolen eyes, his godfather being tricked again and again. Being manipulated into killing the rat. But until the Shack, he'd never been able to do anything.

And in the Shack.

The solid feel of the knife, the strength behind the grip, pushing it in deep. Sirius falling. Horror.

thisisMYbody minemineMINEGETOUT

Pushing, harder than he ever had before. Everything burning as their wills collided and-

a bucktoothed smile brown eyes red hair freckles is this compartment taken bloody hell you're harry potter sallow skin wild black fur you have your mother's eyes you look just like your father

and-

"LEAVE! THEM! ALONE!"

And for a short, glorious time, Harry(! He remembered-everything! How could he have ever forgotten?) was back in control.

Harry had suffered at Riddle's hands for a long time for that night, but it was worth it. The pain was nothing when he remembered that he'd been able to save his friends-it was nothing when he remembered the sharp tang of Riddle's terror. The spirit of the younger Voldemort was scared of things he couldn't control-like death. And Harry.

Harry did not die, at first maybe out of the hope that he could do something and then purely out of spite. And Riddle couldn't control Harry's mind, he couldn't force Harry to back down and he could cause as much pain as he wanted but Harry wouldn't break. Not when there were people he loved in danger.

It was a great satisfaction of Harry's that Riddle hadn't dared to even think about his friends, for fear that Harry would find that strange strength again and take over for good.

So Harry waited in a place that wasn't dark or small or real. He lost pieces of his mind, his memories, his self, sometimes, but underneath the rambling surface thoughts there was a deeper, stronger one.

Protect them.

Burn

"It's happened again, Albus." Remus Lupin said, sitting down in the armchair before the Headmaster's desk. He didn't like giving his reports in the Headmaster's office; it made him remember all the times he'd been in here with three other boys, chastised and sent on their way. He felt like a child again and like there should be three warm bodies at his back while he made up a ridiculous, obvious lie.

"Where was it this time?" The old man sighed. He was getting too old for this-no, he was already too old.

"A muggleborn's house just outside of London. Thought they could wait it out there, I guess. Two dead, a man and a woman." Remus' voice didn't even waver as he reported the deaths, but he wished it would. It might've sounded masochistic, but he wanted to feel something.

He hadn't felt anything in a very long time. Just a bone-deep exhaustion that told him he wasn't as young as he used to be and werewolves had shorter lifespans than even muggles.

"But." Remus said. Albus looked up from cleaning his glasses with thin, aching fingers. "But there were signs of about three others living with them, another family taking refuge behind the wards."

"Captured?"

"No. Escaped. And his calling card was there."

Albus looked stuck between troubled and relieved. "Any more leads? A message?"

"No, but I think it's message enough that he hasn't contacted us yet-and if this proves anything, he could if he wanted to. He doesn't want to cooperate with us."

"That's... troubling." Albus looked like what he was feeling was a lot stronger than troubling. "We still don't know who he is? Not even a clue?"

Remus shook his head. "Just that he's showed up at all of the last seven attacks, and managed to save some of the people there. And considering that two of those were at the same time, our biggest lead is that it's probably a group of people charmed or polyjuiced into the same body type-no one's even gotten a look at his face behind that wolf mask or under that weird white cloak he's always got."

"Hmm." Albus was thinking. Remus knew he had several hunches, one of which was probably right. He wasn't sharing them, however, waving away all questions with 'just an old man's delusions' and 'a few senile theories.'

"He's definitely got a spy in with You-Know-Who." Remus kept talking. "And he's not afraid of facing the man himself-Tonks was in Diagon when it was attacked, she saw Wolf holding off You-Know-Who. Some pretty advanced wand-work, she said."

"Have we been looking for the people he's 'saving?'" Albus asked thoughtfully.

"Yes, since the first attack. No one's showed up so far. They might be held against their will or they might think they're safer with this guy than with us."

"And who's been taken, so far?"

"Mostly muggleborns and their families. Dean Thomas and his parents-he was a prospective for the Order. One pureblood traitor family, the Zabinis. They refused to join You-Know-Who and decided to stay neutral but, well, with You-Know-Who you're either with him or against him. Why?"

"Try not to mention it to the others, but..." Which Remus translated to 'do not admit even under torture.' "I think he's recruiting."

"You're right, that does sound crazy." Remus deadpanned.

"I never said it was-"

"Well, Tonks is waiting for me back at Headquarters." Remus stood quickly, trying to forget what Albus had just said. He had friends among those saved by the White Wolf (and he winced at even mentally using the press's cliched name for the man) and he didn't need to think about those people being kept in cells, slowly brainwashed into joining the suicidal Wolf.

"One more thing, Remus." Albus called him back. Remus turned around with a look that said, 'I'm tired, make it quick.' "What was the name of the family attacked today?"

Remus' head bent. He'd been trying to avoid this. Avoid saying it out loud and admitting it was true. "...Granger." He muttered finally, and left before the old man could destroy his life any more.

That night, it took him a long time to get to sleep with thoughts of Harry Potter's two best friends whirling around his head.

River

The last thing Hermione remembered was Death Eaters shattering her carefully-constructed wards (stupid to think that would keep them out stupid stupid) and bursting into the house. She and Luna, defending, her parents and a green light and a rushing sound like waves or wings or waterfalls.

Her parents were dead.

Strangely, she didn't feel anything. This was probably the comforting first stage of shock. Later she'd break down in tears and wish for her parents back. Later she'd allow herself some weakness.

But right now, she had to find out why she was not dead, and why she was staring at an off-white ceiling.

"Hermione Granger." A voice greeted her from somewhere to her left. "You're finally awake." It sounded like it came from smiling lips, but there was no true warmth. Just a careful toneless neutrality.

She rolled over. "...So you're the White Wolf."

Harry Potter's body shrugged, his hands raised palms up. "Guilty as charged."

She rolled onto her back again. She didn't want to see her friend's face and hear that voice coming out of it. It was too different. "Why?" She asked.

"I am the spirit of a younger Lord Voldemort." Tom Riddle said. "And when I see what I came to be... it makes me sick. I'm insane, I've taken things too far, and I don't want to live forever if it's going to be with a mind too fractured to function. Not even reuniting all the little pieces of my soul would heal me now.

"But I'm still sane. I've taken it upon myself to fix this. I brought him into this world, and I'm going to take him out."

"And then?" Hermione said. "I'm not believing that you'd do this out of the goodness of your cold, black heart."

"Well... I'm not going to just fade away. Voldemort won't even really die-not as long as I'm tying him to this world. I'll find a way to contain his spirit. When this body is at the end of its natural lifespan, I'll die with it and someone will kill the true Lord Voldemort."

"Are you trying to say you're not him?"

"In a way, I suppose I am. But more than that, I am just a memory, and he is the mind."

"You telling me all of this makes me think I'm not going to be living for very much longer." Hermione stated calmly. This reminded her of the villain gloating before the hero's death-except Hermione was pretty sure she wasn't going to be rescued, or escape.

"I'll admit, it's going to be difficult to push Potter down every time I'm within sight of you. He doesn't even know you're here, and if I have my way he won't ever. But I'm telling you this now so you can trust me now, and we can get all the useless posturing and hiding out of the way."

"Why? What do you want?"

"You're a strong, brilliant witch, Hermione Granger." This time, the smile might've actually been real. "I'm going to need someone like you on my side, when I take over the Wizarding World."

Hermione laughed and found she couldn't stop. Four minutes later, breathless and still spurting fits of giggles at times, she looked up to find that Tom Riddle was gone.

Nails

"Sirius." Remus tried to catch the man's attention. It was difficult; Sirius had practice at ignoring the world around him. "Sirius look at me. I have something to tell you and I think you'll want to hear it."

Sirius' head turned on a stiff neck. There were dark shadows under his eyes, and he hadn't shaved in days. His skin was too pale, his hair too brittle and dark.

"You've got to eat, Padfoot." Remus said gently.

"If that's the oh-so-important thing you came to tell me, you can shove it and leave me alone." Sirius rasped. He went to go back to his searching through the book in front of him.

"No-Siri, Padfoot, listen to me. It's about Harry."

That brought the man's head up like it'd been jerked on a leash. There was a strange light to his eyes and Remus was forcefully reminded that twelve years in Azkaban had not served Sirius' mind well. "What? What is it?"

"It's... well, it's sort of about the White Wolf, too." Remus took a deep breath. "He was seen fleeing the latest attack, after rescuing an entire family."

"So?" Sirius demanded.

"He changed into a wolf..."

Blind

"This is the practice room." Blaise said, waving an arm at an open door. "And right next door's the school, but it's really just a library where people share what they know, because we don't have teachers. But they're both open to you at any time."

Hermione looked more interested in the library than the practice room. She opened the door and looked inside; it had nothing on the Hogwart's library, but for being a personal collection it was huge. The room itself was the size of the Gryffindor common room, all the walls lined with book shelves and all the bookshelves filled out. In one corner the shelves were starting to form rows; those ones were half empty, waiting for new arrivals.

"Wolf wants us to know how to protect ourselves. He says anyone who can land one hit on him in a duel is allowed to go out with him to fight." Blaise explained.

"So he's keeping you all here?" Hermione asked, looking at the collection of tables in the center of the room. There were six people seated there, but she didn't recognize any of them. "Forcefully?"

Blaise actually laughed at the question. "No, not at all. We're allowed to leave any time we want. So far, no one's wanted to. It's a safety in numbers thing, and Wolf's wards are very strong, so that helps. We're a lot safer here than out there, everyone knows it."

"Doesn't it seem too... convenient to you?" Hermione asked carefully. Wolf had saved Blaise and his parents (her parent hadn't been saved she forced the grief down be strong now cry later) from the Death Eaters nearly a month ago. He idolized the man, even though he'd never seen what was behind the wolf mask.

Blaise looked at her. "I was Slytherin, you know. I know just as well as you do that no one is like this. This... kind. He wants something. I don't know what, but he wants something, and right now I'm inclined to give it to him."

"What do you think it it? You must have some ideas, some theories." Hermione pressed.

"I do have one. Wolf strongly encourages everyone to learn to defend themselves."

"He's building an army." She breathed.

Blaise nodded. "Completely loyal to him, no less. It would be scary... it should be. But it's not. Somehow. Doesn't make sense, but not much around here does."

"I hate him." Hermione blurted. "The White Wolf. I can't... I can't stand to be around him. I hate him."

"Yeah, well, he's not easy to like. I've never seen his face, but you get the feeling that he's talking down to you, lowering himself to interact with us mere mortals. Still, it's even harder to hate him."

"I want to leave. I have friends who might think I'm dead. My par-(are dead too stop don't think about that)-friends are probably worried."

Blaise shrugged. "Like I said, leave any time. The door's down this hall, take a right and then it's the third left. A warning: once you leave, you can never come back."

Hermione had the door halfway open before she realized she was never going to step through it.

Stars

"Don't do this, Padfoot." Remus was practically begging now. "Please. You can't just-you have a life here!"

"Not much of one." Sirius muttered.

"Stay!" Remus caught the other man's shoulder as he turned back to his packing. "Sirius, please don't. I don't... I can't lose another friend."

"Then come with me!" Sirius snapped. "You're his godfather too."

"I can't, Siri. I have Tonks. The Order. All the people and all the reasons you shouldn't be leaving on some wild-goose-chase. We don't even know for sure! It doesn't make sense."

Sirius stopped, finally, with his back to his friend. "Moony." He said, staring down at the floor. "I never understood it, before. We were the Marauders. I thought we'd always be as close as that last year in school. I thought it would never change and I never wanted it to.

"But James loved Lily more than he loved us. He left. We didn't know it then but the second she said 'yes' we started to fall apart. I thought that when he finally got her, she'd join us. We'd just have one more Marauder. Except he left us. He chose her over us. I kind of hate her for that."

"Sirius." Remus said weakly. Sirius didn't stop talking.

"The Marauders fell apart." He said, even though it hurt them both. "It was James who moved away but it was you who couldn't be trusted. I was watched because of my blood. Peter fell into trouble and we weren't there to pull him out because we had our own problems and nobody there to help!" He was shouting now.

"And I can't help but think it could've all gone differently if we'd just held on. Things wouldn't have fallen apart and landed like they did. So now I'm going to hold and I'm going to find Harry and bring him back, no matter what I have to do. Are you coming with me?"

"N-no. Padfoot, I can't. You shouldn't-"

"Please don't ever call me that again. Goodbye, Remus."

"Sirius!"

Wings

Riddle hadn't seen his newest recruit since she first woke up in the 'hospital wing.' During their short discussion, it had been nearly impossible to suppress Harry Potter; the boy was interested in what Tom was trying to keep from him.

Tom Riddle was worried.

Of all the people he'd ever possessed, Harry was no different. Riddle became the dominant personality with little resistance. He stayed in control almost without trying; he was stronger and he had more will. He had only to concentrate to shove Harry down into a corner of their shared brain that he would not escape for a while.

Except that Harry was different.

After three years, he had not faded. Not even the tiniest bit. His mind burned like a banked fire, but it never flickered out.

Sometimes, Tom thought it was growing stronger.

Harry was moving around easier. He escaped almost instantly now; it took a constant pressure to push him to where he couldn't sense the outside world. And sometimes, when Tom was deep in thought and not paying attention, he would become aware that his arm was moving on its own.

He wasn't sleeping anymore. Not after the first time he'd woken up in the middle of his room with no recollection of moving there.

Under the mask, there were dark half-moons under his eyes. His hands shook. He was falling apart.

He could afford to rest a moment. Voldemort had no attacks planned. He was safe in this house, safe in this room. He could just rest his head on his arms and he'd be up in a few minutes...

Dragon

Harry opened his eyes.