"That was a very stupid thing you did, Harry," Riddle breathed in his ear, voice soft and laced with venom.

Harry could not respond. All his attention was going into panting desperate little half-breaths around the sharp spike of rock digging into his chest. After a moment, Riddle seemed to realise this; he eased up a little and Harry heaved in a beautiful lungful of air.

But rather than beg for his life, which was clearly what Riddle had been anticipating, Harry began laughing - giggling, really - as the cocktail of adrenaline and endorphins thrumming in his veins curdled into something resembling hysteria.

Riddle didn't appreciate his amusement. He growled and shoved him back into the rubble and held him there. When he finally let him up again Harry's laughter had died, leaving behind a cold simmer of rage.

"Stupid? You think?" he snarled breathlessly. "You tried to kill me - what did you expect me to do; lie down and wait to die?"

Riddle went still behind his back. Then, to Harry's surprise, he let go of the arm he had twisted to such an uncomfortable angle. However, before Harry had a chance to do more than awkwardly shake it out, something traced down his spine, causing him to almost jump out of his skin.

His own wand . . .

"Incarcerous!"

To his horror, conjured ropes wrapped tightly around his wrists, pulling them together behind his back. He hardly noticed as Riddle stepped away - he was too busy tugging frantically at his hands. There was no movement whatsoever.

He whirled to face Riddle as light flared to life from the wand.

"Release me!"

"Don't be stupid," Riddle spat, absolutely scathing.

Harry glared at him silently, still pulling at the bonds. He couldn't feel a knot or a loose end anywhere. He swallowed again, acutely aware of how vulnerable he was with his hands tied.

"I suppose Pansy is dead?" Riddle asked, his voice clipped.

Harry didn't answer, but it must have been obvious. Pansy wasn't there with them, so she had to still be in the Chamber. And no one who was in the Chamber could still be alive, after that. For some reason, Cedric's face was in his mind, specifically, Cedric's expression of pure surprise when he toppled to the ground in a flash of green light.

Riddle ran his hands through his own hair and began to pace. Harry slowly noticed that he did not look quite solid anymore - in fact, the light from the wand seemed to almost shine through his body. Harry's eyes found his shadow on the opposite wall, larger than life and misshapen by the uneven surface. It was grey rather than starkly black.

"What's wrong with you?" he asked before he could stop himself.

Riddle stopped his pacing and turned to him, wand raised. Harry refused to cower back. He kept his back straight and stared unflinchingly back, chin set mulishly. He didn't care if Riddle tortured him. He was going to face his own death as bravely as his parents had faced theirs.

"I needed to kill her myself," Riddle snarled hatefully, "To use her soul to cement my hold on this body. Without her, I will eventually be drawn back into my diary."

Now he looked for it, Harry could see the rectangular outline of the book through his robes.

"And what?" he asked defiantly. "You're going to use me instead?"

"If only I could . . . but it had to be her." His eyes narrowed and he drew closer to where Harry stood, backed up against the wall. "Of course, that does not mean you are going to live. If I am going to lie in this passageway forevermore, your bones will too." Riddle gripped his chin roughly with his free hand, tilting his head back so he could stare down into Harry's eyes.

"I have not decided how to do it yet - do you have any requests?"

Harry tried to kick, but the other boy slid his own leg between his, trapping him. His fingers tightened, digging bruises into Harry's skin.

Harry glared up at him, determined not to show Riddle any fear at all. The other boy's dark eyes bored down into his own. Harry could feel his breath on his cheek.

"There's an awful lot I could do to you with something as simple as a slicing hex", Riddle said softly, not breaking eye contact. He raised the wand between them, tracing the tip beneath his eye. It slid slowly and deliberately up his temple and across his forehead, pushing Harry's sweaty hair out of the way to expose his scar.

"Fuck you," Harry spat.

But Riddle did not seem to be listening. Instead, he was gazing at his forehead. He had gone very still.

Harry struggled again, vainly. Riddle's eyes snapped back to his.

"How can you speak Parseltongue?" Riddle breathed wonderingly. "Your parents surely couldn't speak it . . . but it is a genetic trait. There's no reason you should have it . . ." His eyes were roving over Harry's face, gleaming in an excitement that seemed to have come out of nowhere.

Harry gaped, thrown by the sudden change in topic and mood. But then he closed his mouth stubbornly, determined not to answer. Riddle had already wheedled enough information out of him. He wasn't getting any more.

Riddle let go of him and stepped back. He smiled charmingly down at Harry.

"Really, Harry, what is the harm in telling me?" he cajoled. "We are all dead men here . . . you may as well indulge my curiosity."

Harry kept his silence. Riddle's countenance darkened. He drew close again and raised the wand to Harry's temple, looking deep into his eyes. At the last moment, Harry realised what he was about to do. He tried to close his eyes, but he couldn't - the Slytherin's eyes were dark pools of black, drawing him in -

"Legilimens!"

Harry tried to clear his mind, but it was impossible. His head was full of the fight in the Chamber, Pansy, and the quiet fear that he was going to die here, and never see Ron or Hermione or Sirius again –

He could feel Riddle moving inside his mind. Somehow, Harry could tell that he was less experienced than Snape – initially, he seemed aimless, poking nosily at random memories - Harry chasing Hagrid's damned Monster Book of Monsters around his room in Privet Drive . . . Detention with Umbridge - Harry's messy scrawl on a long roll of parchment, and also stinging on the back of his hand . . .

But gradually, the memories became more relevant – the boa constrictor in the glass tank . . . the fiasco in Duelling Club in second year. Harry could sense Riddle's wonder at hearing another human being speak the language of the snakes, his building excitement.

But how? How can you speak Parseltongue?

The question dropped heavily into his mind like a stone into water. A memory swam unbidden to the surface - an old man in vibrant purple robes decorated with little crescent moons . . . Dumbledore . . . a week after he'd been accused of setting a snake on Justin Finch-Fletchley, Harry had finally come to him with trepidation, to ask that same question . . .

". . . Unless I'm much mistaken, he transferred some of his powers to you the night he gave you that scar. Not something he intended to do, I'm sure . . ."

Riddle broke away, smiling. Harry blinked again and again, shaking his head like a dog, trying to clear away the buzzing. It was like Riddle had let loose a swarm of bees in his skull.

"Not just Parseltongue?" Riddle demanded, his voice hungry. "What other powers?"

"You just -"

"Legilimised you, yes," Riddle finished, very smugly. "I'm very good at it. I'll do it again if you won't talk. Of course, it will be tiring for both of us, but I assure you, it will be far more uncomfortable for you than for me. I won't be so gentle next time."

Harry carefully avoided meeting his eyes. He bit his lip, but when Riddle sighed and raised his wand to his temple again, he spoke reluctantly. He didn't like discussing this topic with his closest friends, let alone with Riddle.

"His emotions. I sometimes feel what he's feeling. And my scar hurts when he's near."

"Is it hurting now?"

Harry hadn't thought of that. His scar wasn't hurting, despite the juvenile version of Voldemort stood so close to him that Harry could count every eyelash. It hadn't hurt in the Chamber either, not even when Riddle had been angry.

"No."

"And when I do this?" Riddle touched a long finger to Harry's scar. Although the gesture brought back the memory of the head-splitting agony when Voldemort had touched him in the graveyard, there was no pain. Harry could feel only Riddle's skin, smooth and cool against his too-warm forehead, and then a slight numbing tingle that seemed to branch out from his scar, spreading down his spine, to his lungs, his heart . . . it was electrifying, energising . . .

". . . Harry? Are you still with me?"

Harry jumped.

". . . huh?"

Riddle waited expectantly, tapping his foot. Oh yeah -

"What was that?"

"I felt it too," said Riddle, almost to himself. He began pacing up and down again, clearly deep in thought. Harry looked down. Pansy's wand was still on the floor in front of his feet. Perhaps if he crouched down he could pick it up even with his hands behind his back? But before he could attempt it, the other boy came to a halt in front of him.

"There's something I need from you."

Harry raised an eyebrow, but Riddle didn't seem inclined to speak further.

"What?" he prompted after a moment, driven by reluctant curiosity.

"I promise it's not something you'll miss."

"Oh, so long as you promise," Harry said, drawing himself up to his full height. "Tell me what it is and I'll decide whether it's something I'll miss."

"I don't think you'll thank me for telling you -" Riddle began, but broke off when Harry growled in frustration.

"But if you insist . . ." he began, scratching his chin speculatively. "You experience Lord Voldemort's emotions, his dreams -"

Harry was about to snap that they'd just been over this, to demand that Riddle get to the point -

"So do I."

Harry was surprised, but not excessively so.

"Right," he said. "I guess that makes sense because you're a - what was it?"

"Yes," Riddle replied, eyes bright. "I am a Horcrux. A piece of his soul. But the question is, what are you?"

For a moment Harry didn't get it. Then it dawned on him what Riddle was saying and he felt as he did when the sinks had slid away hours earlier and a hole had opened in the floor beneath him. His mouth went dry and his eyes danced across the Slytherin's face, as if there would be another answer there.

"I just got some of his powers," he said, almost pleadingly. "When I got my scar. It's not like what you're suggesting."

"What am I suggesting?"

Harry could not say it. The idea that had crawled into his mind was just too disgusting. He squirmed, feeling unbearably dirty - which of course he was, since his robes were covered in dust, slime and who knew what else. But he felt dirty inside - sullied in the most intimate way possible. The most terrible thing was, it all made sense. Harry had never really understood Dumbledore's explanation and every year there seemed to be more freakishness . . .

"Don't be upset, Harry, this is a good thing."

Harry did not see how it could possibly be a good thing.

"We can help each other. You want the Horcrux out of you, correct?"

The desperate, wretched look on his face must have answered that question, because Riddle laughed.

"I thought you might. I don't have enough of a soul to live on my own. But if I take out the piece you're carrying, well. I'll be able to leave this place, and you won't be a Horcrux anymore. You'll be a free man."

Harry closed his eyes for a long moment, trying to slow his breathing. When he opened them again, Riddle was still looking at him expectantly.

"Right, you take it and then you kill me."

Riddle's hand flew to his own chest. "You wound me! I'll take it and leave. I won't need to kill you - all I want to do is leave the country and live peacefully -"

Harry stared at him, marvelling at his abrupt shifts in mood - from angry and hateful, to excited, and now playful. Less than ten minutes ago he had been threatening to torture and kill Harry, but now he was talking as if they were the best of friends.

"Like you aren't going to go straight to Voldemort."

Riddle shook his head dismissively. "He isn't going to want another version of himself walking around. Horcruxes are meant to be objects that can be hidden, not people with minds of their own."

"And you expect me to believe that? How do you know he wouldn't want you?"

"Because I wouldn't trust another version of myself. I'm too intelligent, cunning and resourceful."

Harry rolled his eyes in disbelief at Riddle's unabashed arrogance.

"It's not like I need your cooperation, anyway," Riddle mused, serious again. "I can take what I want, although it will be more pleasant for both of us if you let me have it."

Harry was pressed back against the wall as far as he could go.

"What - how do you extract it?" he asked nervously, shifting from foot to foot as Riddle drew closer.

Riddle smiled broadly. "I knew you'd see it my way." He gripped Harry's jaw again, gently but firmly, and tilted his face up.

"I - wait, what are you doing?"

Riddle was very, very close.

"Taking it out."

"Do you have to stand so near? How do you take out a bit of soul anyway?"

"How do Dementors do it?" Riddle breathed. Harry felt his exhale on his cheek.

It clicked.

"NO! You are NOT kissing me - no way -"

"You'd rather I left it inside you doing Merlin knows what?"

Harry physically flinched at the thought. The other boy's smile turned unbearably smug.

"Don't fight when you feel it trying to get out, and whatever you do, don't hold onto it. Open your mouth a little, this isn't going to be some chaste peck."

Harry fidgeted. Riddle did not back down - instead, he was waiting expectantly, his eyes on Harry's face. Reluctantly, not wanting this to last any longer than it had to, Harry opened his mouth the barest amount.

"Good boy."

Harry's eyes widened furiously, but before he had a chance to cuss at the condescending arsehole, lips were closing over his in a forceful, careless kiss. A tongue coaxed his mouth open further, and he grudgingly allowed it. For a moment nothing happened - nothing other than warm lips moving sensuously against his own, a hand angling his jaw. Harry's hands bunched into fists behind his back at the thought that it might have all been a lie, that Riddle might just have been playing with him -

Oh.

Something shifted in his chest - wasn't it supposed to be in his scar? - some small, spiny creature that had been quietly coiled up inside the cage of his ribs, wrapped tight around his heart, had woken from a long sleep and was trying to crawl up towards Riddle -

Riddle made a little noise and shifted impossibly closer, winding one hand around Harry's waist, deepening the kiss.

But Harry could hardly even feel the lips moving against his anymore, his second-ever kiss, over the indescribably strange sensations in his chest as the little creature fidgeted and turned and seemed to scrape against the inside of Harry's ribs, as if it was not sure how to get out, was not even sure that it wanted to leave -

But leave it did. There was a terrible tightness in Harry's lungs, followed by a strange, electrifying tingle in his throat. Knowing instinctively what to do, he breathed it - the soul - into Riddle.

There was a brief, completely irrational pang of loss as his passenger left him.

Riddle broke the contact, raising a hand to his own mouth. "Oh. That was most peculiar . . ."

Harry nodded in agreement. He felt suddenly very tired and cold. He leant against the wall for balance, shivering a little.

". . . did it work?" he asked, then coughed. His throat was sore.

"I think so," Riddle said, patting down his own body experimentally. He looked much more solid - his outline was sharp and clear again; the contrast made Harry realise how blurred it had become while they had been talking.

"So what now?"

Harry immediately regretted the question. Riddle's eyes snapped to his again. He smiled, sharp as broken glass, and there was a moment when Harry was sure that he was going to cast the Killing Curse, murdering Harry with his own wand.

But then he shrugged. He picked up Pansy's wand from the floor in front of Harry and turned to go.

"You can't leave me like this," Harry cried, panicking. His hands were still bound, and it would be pitch black when Riddle was gone.

"You'll be able to find your way out eventually," Riddle called over his shoulder dismissively. "You might have a bit of trouble with the door, but I think you should eventually be able to open it without your hands. It leads to the Forbidden Forest - although, you might want to wait until morning. I won't feel bad if you're eaten by something."

"Wait!"

"Don't tempt me to break one of your legs."

Harry shut up and anxiously watched Riddle (and the light) recede down the corridor. His knees were trembling - they had been since the kiss. He slowly slid down the wall, legs drawn up in front of him. How on earth was he going to get back to the castle? Had anyone noticed that he was even missing? Harry didn't know how long he'd been unconscious for, but given his comment about the forest at night, Riddle seemed to think that it was late in the day -

Then, with no warning, there came a horrifying tug, as if someone had wrapped steel wire around his heart and pulled. He gasped, choking, terrified - it seemed that all of the air was being drawn out of his body, as if his lungs were being squeezed by an invisible hand -

Either Riddle's footsteps had stopped, or Harry couldn't hear them over the blood rushing in his ears. With a great effort, he lifted his head and searched for Riddle with eyes that couldn't seem to focus, because the boy must surely be the cause of this, he had said that he wasn't going to kill Harry, but he had lied, and of course he had, because he was Voldemort!

But Riddle was leaning against the wall, not nearly so far away as Harry had thought, his face very pale in the flickering light of Harry's stolen wand.

As if it took a great effort, Riddle pushed himself away from the stone and stumbled gracelessly back towards where Harry was sat . . .

As he moved closer, torturously slowly, the colour bled back into the world (and he hadn't even noticed it was gone) and the pain inside his chest receded. Harry began to draw in great sobbing gulps of air. Dimly, he realised that Riddle was right in front of him. There was sweat beaded on his forehead and his eyes were wild.

Harry had been about to ask what he had done. But now, looking at Riddle's face, he knew that he had been similarly affected. He hadn't done anything to tug the soul out of Harry's chest.

Anything other than walk away.