Forget me not

Chapter III

St. George

Harry felt that he had a headache. However, he didn't know why. He didn't recall playing quidditch or doing anything dangerous. After a moment he felt a twinge of pain in his left leg and was completely disoriented. What happened to him?

He heard a movement nearby an so he decided to open his eyes. With a surprise he discovered that he wasn't in the Gryffindor dormitory, but in some unidentified room plunged in darkness. He raised himself on one elbow and saw a window through the thin curtains. He thought it must be very late, because it was completely dark outside. How long has he been sleeping? And where was he now? He glanced at the dark blue walls and didn't recognize any of paintings hanging on the walls. Moreover, he saw a huge wardrobe with equally large mirror standing in the corner and some old-fashioned bookshelves. In fact, books were everywhere in the room. Harry felt as if he was in a place Hermione would admire.

He was about to get out of bed and look closer at this unknown room, when he located the source of the sound that had woken him up.

Right by the window, in the silver light of stars, stood a man. Harry was horrified at the sight. What was this guy doing in his bedroom? Oh, well, maybe it wasn't his bedroom, but he didn't understand why he was in one room with a stranger, it was late at night, and he remembered nothing from last few hours. His mind offered him various bad ideas - maybe he has been kidnapped? Maybe this guy was a murderer or something?

He didn't have time to consider other possibilities, because the man (or rather boy, as he seemed pretty young after looking closer) turned in his direction, and Harry recognized him. Well, maybe not quite recognize him, but he had a vague impression that they had met before. The boy smiled at him encouragingly, but somewhat timidly.

"I'm glad you woke up."

That voice... Where had he heard it before?

"Do we know each other?," he asked and tried to disentangle himself from the sheets. The result was rather poor, because the blanket tangled around his legs and his headache was now even worse.

"Don't get up so quickly," said the stranger and he found himself next to Harry in two steps. He put his hand gently on his shoulder and stopped him from moving. Harry didn't know why this movement startled him. Who was this guy? They have met, he was sure. But recollecting anything from before his sleep was so hard...

"Where I am? And what happened? Did I have an accident? My leg hurts terribly..." said Harry in an exhausted tone and the stranger looked at him with concern.

"You... you don't remember anything?"

"And what should I remember?," said Harry angrily. He hated such stupid questions. "Can't you just tell me where we are?"

"Oh, of course..." the stranger seemed confused. "We're in my house, or at least I think so."

"You think so? What do you mean?" Harry was a bit annoyed with this bizarre conversation.

"Well, when I was here for the last time, everything looked a little bit different... The house probably adapted to you."

Harry looked at the boy like at a madman. What did he say? And why was he staring at him?

To divert this freak's attention, Harry pointed to a picture next to him and asked:

"What is it? Quite interesting picture for a bedroom..."

The painting showed sort of a dragon with two heads. On the animal sat a man who was fighting with it and in the background there was a strangely deformed woman. The whole thing was quite macabre, as Harry assessed with a quick look.

"It's one of the things that surprised me..." replied the boy, somewhat relieved with the change of subject. "Previously, there was no such painting here. I've seen it before, but never thought that it will appear in my bedroom one day."

"And what does it represent?" Harry asked innocently though his thoughts went toward the door. How could he get away?

"It's St. George fighting the dragon," replied the boy, looking thoughtfully at the picture. "I have no idea why it came here."

"Who was this George?" Harry hoped that the stranger didn't notice that he was trying to get out the blanket again. Maybe this time he'd succeed.

Fortunately the stranger was too interested in the painting to pay attention to Harry.

"George was a knight. A village was tormented by a dragon. Every day people offered a sheep to the dragon, and when there were no more sheep, they had to give him one of the girls instead. The victim was chosen by drawing lots. One day the princess was chosen. Her father begged for her life, but the dragon wouldn't listen to him. She had been offered as a prey, but then St. George appeared. He defeated the dragon and rescued the princess... What are you doing, Harry?"

Harry stopped in his tracks. He managed to get out of bed already and now he was trying to put his shoes on – he hasn't seen his clothes anywhere, but he came to the conclusion that his shoes and pajamas have to be enough to escape.

"I'm already late," said Harry and he moved quickly toward the door. He didn't foresee that his untied laces can make it harder and after a second he was laying on the floor, rubbing his forehead with a groan.

...

"It wasn't too wise," said the elder boy as he gave Harry his hand. Now he was standing face to face with the stranger, who was unknown and familiar at the same time. He looked at his gray eyes and wondered where he saw them for the first time?

It was dark then, he thought suddenly. It was even darker than in this room and there were no stars in the sky.

He was holding my hand then, but why?

Who are you? Harry was wondering, looking at the handsom, yet unreadable facial expression.

The other boy probably noticed Harry's thoughtfulness, as he asked:

"Is something bothering you, my dear?"

Damn!

Harry suddenly jumped away, which made him hit the back of the night table and crashing an amber lamp standing on it. He survived another close encounter with the floor.

"What happened?," asked the stranger, who wasn't much of a stranger now. He tried to approach Harry, but the boy shouted:

"Stay away!" There were both anger and panic in his voice. "I know who you are!"

A grimace appeared on the elder boy's face. Harry suddenly felt that he's in danger.

"Do you really think you can escape from here?"

"It's not happening. It's only in my head. You don't exist!"

"The fact that this is happening in your head doesn't mean that I don't exist," Tom Riddle replied with an impish smile, and Harry couldn't help thinking that his mortal enemy once looked like an angel and even had a sense of humor.

...

"Harry, do you hear me?," a pleasant voice came to him from the darkness.

He opened his eyes and recognized the red canopy above his head. He sighed with relief. It was only a dream. I have never met Tom Riddle, because he simply doesn't exist.

Are you completely sure?, asked a mocking voice in his head, but Harry ignored the provocation. He had other problems now.

He saw that Hermione was looking at him with concern and recalled a stranger looking at him in a similar way. Why was he staring at him like that? After all they were enemies... Enemies doesn't look at each other this way. Enemies should throw deadly curses upon themselves or pretend to fight, rather than help each other.

But he helped you. Or at least tried to. Maybe you should have been nicer? asked the same voice Harry's head, but the boy replied quickly:

This is Voldemort. No, just a memory of Voldemort. It is not worth the worry.

He prefered to things his usual way - forgotting about this strange event, the conversation with Riddle and his visit to the cemetery, but it wasn't as easy as he would like it to be...

The next day brought him only new concern. Students and some parents he passed by in the corridors were looking at him suspiciously. He had to endure their cold gaze. He felt that some of them blamed him for Cedric's death, and most didn't believe in what he said about Voldemort's return. He couldn't understand why people were so stupid. Also, the minister didn't believe in his story, which put him into an even worse situation. He also pitied Dumbledore, who stood at his side, even though it would probably cost him much. Harry had no strength at all. In addition, he passed Cho Chang on the stairs a few times and couldn't stand her gaze – it was breaking his heart. Ron and Hermione also weren't too helpful – all they were able to do was reasuring him that everything will be all right, but he knew they weren't right. He would prefer if someone had listened to him and tried to understand. At times he began to regret having escaped from Voldemort's diary - at least it was a relatively calm place. Of course apart from it being some Dark Lord's haunted memory.

Sometimes Harry was able to caught himself looking at his trunk. Riddle's diary was lying on the very bottom and he put it out several times already trying to throw it away, but something was always stopping him. Probably he felt some remorse, when dealing with Riddle. Maybe he wasn't Voldemort in the memory, but one day he became Voldemort. How could he look into Dumbledore's eyes knowing that he's secretly maintaining contacts with the Dark Lord? Sometimes Harry tried to explain himself, that he could take advantage of this strange memory, he could get to know Voldemort's weaknesses, but he didn't believe in it. Firstly, he doubted that Tom would tell him anything after his last spectacular disappearance. In addition, Riddle wasn't probably the type of person who shares his secrets with everyone. He would have to gain his trust first, and this would require some closeness, maybe even friendship.

He wasn't that good at keeping in touch either. And looking at Cedric's case he came to a sad conclusion – he was bringing bad luck, even death, upon everyone he knew.

With or without Riddle Harry was still struggling these days. His life was an agony. He would gladly surrendered and disappeared forever, but he knew that he couldn't do that. He was, after all, The Bloody Boy Who Lived and not The Boy Who Died Because He Was Tired Of Living. Hours flowed between his fingers and when after a few days he had to pack up and prepare to return to the Muggle world, he felt as if not an hour had passed since his return from the cementary.

Packing his Invisibily Cloack and the Maruder's Map, Harry looked casually at the diary. It was still lying on the bottom of his trunk. Harry glanced at it for a moment with hesitation, but eventually he held out his hand. Did he have anything else to lose?

...

Hello!

Are you there?

Hello, is anyone there?

Oh, well... I'm sorry I yelled at you.

Really, I'm sorry...

Do you think you can just stop talking to me like that?

I'll shut you up in this trunk for the next forty years!

I'm not kidding.

Why haven't you tell me who you are? Maybe everything would work out differently if I knew.

Try to understand, I was slightly shocked when it turned out that you're him.

Ok, well - you're not him. Or at least I think so...

What am I doing? I'm talking to some memory. In addition, the memory of Voldemort. Another story like and I'll end in St. Mungo for sure. But it wouldn't be that bad, I suppose.

I offended a memory. I wasn't aware it's possible.

Please, Tom, don't do this to me...

I'm really sick of you!

Why are you doing this to me?!

Tom, I need you!

At your services, Harry. As usual. Oddly enough, usually you talk to me when you need something. What do you want this time? Should I help you with your homework? Maybe there's a basilisk I can kill? Nothing difficult at all. Well unless you want me to kill Voldemort, but it may be somehow problematic, because it just happens that I am only his memory!

Are you mad at me?

No, I just sometimes like to shout at people.

Tom, I'm sorry, really.

Isn't it ironic? Harry Potter apologizing the memory of the Dark Lord.

You're not him, Tom.

That's what you think. How can you know who I am?

You tried to help me. He wouldn't do that.

Maybe I just want to use you?

I don't believe it.

You've completely lost your mind.

And why do you think so?

You are mentally unstable. Two weeks ago you ran away from me, because you were so sure I'm Voldemort, although I only tried to help, and now when I say that I am him, you don't want to believe me.

It really doesn't sound well for me, right?

What do you want?

Don't leave me.

You do like those melodramatic chats, don't you?

Still angry?

Who said that I'm angry?

Tom, don't leave me all alone, all right?

If you don't leave me.

So you'll always be with me from now on?

Maybe I should also swear my marital fidelity and honesty, and that I won't leave you till death parts us?

Could you?

Tom?