Fanning the Flames

"Indeed the book belonged to your master," that dratted Riddle said calmly, despite the fact he was addressing an animal. "But you know what the most curious thing is?"

The glow from the fire reflected on Tom's smooth skin made him look almost demonic. Harry had never been in a more uncertain position.

"Some of the pages were scratched," Tom continued silkily. "By claws."

Harry felt his heart thud.

"Cat claws."

Riddle smirked, predatorily, and glanced down at Harry in thoughtful silence before turning back to face the spitting fire. "You can hide nothing from me. I am what some would call a mastermind in the making and you are just… a cat."

Coldness had seeped into his veins, wrapping its tendrils around his neck. Harry shuddered involuntarily. His instincts screamed at him to flee, but he could not bring himself to move.

"Except that is not quite right, is it?" Tom continued, shrugging gracefully. "You are not just a cat. You may look like one but you certainly do not behave like one… and somehow… I doubt you truly…"

Harry tensed, feeling specks of cold sweat gathering on his forehead, amongst the fine black fur.

"The book belongs to Cygnus and so do you," said Riddle softly. "It is hardly surprising his cat might have come in contact with his book sometime and scratched it. The scratch marks prove nothing."

Tom cast him a disarming smile, bright as the sun itself.

Harry was taken by surprise. Disbelief. Relief. Anger. Replaced by a new wave of alarm as he recognised the plan for what it really was. A bluff. A trap.

"The scratch marks prove nothing," Tom repeated slowly. "I had nothing on you."

Harry could predict the next sentence before the Slytherin even uttered it.

"However, your reaction was ridiculously humanlike. I have never seen a cat pale so fast. It seems I have caught myself a little intruder."

An odd little chuckle emerged from the back of Riddle's throat. "I must say, though, I am glad my suspicions were warranted."

The blue eyes glistened in amusement.

"I would have felt rather foolish if you had not slipped up." Riddle shook his head in a self-deprecating manner. "It is not common that a Prefect would try to speak to a cat."

Harry knew he was caught, well and truly caught. He cursed himself for not having the foresight of avoiding Riddle like the plague before he had aroused his suspicions. He could not believe it.

"Come here, I'm not going to bite... much."

That was too much.

It was more a matter of impulse than a conscious decision, but Harry shot forward like an arrow and made a dart for the doorway, determined to get the hell out of there before he lost it in front of Tom Bloody Riddle.

He skirted around a couch, ears flattened against his head.

Riddle had not moved from his throne, but his hand had snaked into the robe pockets and had now reappeared with a wand dangling between his thumb and index finger.

Harry did not expect the Slytherin Heir to start tossing hexes across the silent common room – but that was exactly what the damned teenager did.

Curse after curse rushed towards him, none of them particularly deadly, but all of them packed a great deal of pain for a cat.

Harry hissed once in alarm when one singed his fur.

He zigzagged towards the exit, but an invisible force seemed to be holding him back. It was impossible to even get near it.

Damn Riddle to hell.

The Slytherin looked on coolly as Harry scurried like a mad, rabid animal around the limited space, tightly followed by twenty or so curses.

In truth, Riddle actually looked as though he was savouring the show. He leaned back with a sigh of relaxation and yawned. An expression of immense satisfaction was drawn across his face, mixed with merriment.

Harry desperately wished he could reach out and tear the handsome skin apart, leaving the blood to drip where a grin had once been.

"Getting tired?" Riddle asked loudly.

Harry clenched his teeth in rage, narrowly avoiding another angry hex.

You wish, Riddle.

This time, he hissed in pain when a Stinging Hex found its target on his hind leg. He wobbled uncontrollably.

"Oops, sorry," Riddle muttered, not sounding contrite in the least. "If you want me to stop, you need only ask, you know."

Something hard slammed into Harry's side with the force of a sledgehammer, and he felt himself propelled sideways, skidding against the carpet.

He came to a stop at precisely half a metre from Riddle.

Harry flinched at the proximity.

"Stubborn," Tom observed, with a ghost of a smile wafting across his lips. "I assume you have quite the temperament when you're in your human form."

The young Dark Lord looked genuinely fascinated, leaning over the couch until he had closed in the space between him and the black creature. Riddle interlaced his slender fingers and stared directly at Harry, as though he saw right through him.

"Are you an Animagus?"

Silence.

"I didn't think so… You do not strike me as an Animagus." Tom let out a breezy sigh. "Pity, I've always wanted to meet one."

Harry was now officially out of his comfort zone. He swallowed repeatedly, nervously, feeling the scrutinising look digging into the side of his face.

"And that got me thinking," said Riddle, his calm tone a stark contrast to Harry's racing heart. "If you are not an Animagus, then what in the blue blazes are you? What is your business at Hogwarts?"

Dear Merlin…

"Human Transfiguration is too difficult to maintain for several days let alone several weeks. In order to remain a cat, you must have used another type of magic. A powerful spell. Perhaps one that would not wear off until the counter spell is spoken…"

Riddle looked intently at him, gazed him in the eye.

"For a feline, you appear to have a rather large storage of secrets. More than your fair share, I should say. And I have a leisure pursuit of unearthing every mystery that appears in my way."

More silence.

"Come to think of it, I do have a few questions I am dying to ask you when you return to your human body." Tom paused to allow the message to hit home. "Once you become human again, I am sure we will get along superbly."

Harry started.

"After all, it is only a matter of time… I must show you the Restricted Section of the library sometime. It is wondrous, stocked with almost everything. In fact, I think I may go pay it a visit tonight when you retire to bed. I suspect there may be a reverse spell for your condition somewhere."

Harry's breath caught in his chest.

The young Dark Lord deserved far more credit than Harry had given him. He was a genius. He had the same cruelty and dangerous nature as Voldemort – but where the Dark Lord was outwardly brutal, Tom shimmered with a dark, powerful intelligence.

And he was also charismatic, Harry had to give it to him.

Not that it made Riddle any less irritating…

"I think it is time for me to adopt… a new pet project." The rims of the pale lips rose upwards in a half smile.

Harry glared at the teenager in front of him, unable to believe the choice of words was a mere coincidence.

"Oh, my apologies," Tom said. "Pardon the pun. It was quite inappropriate."

Somehow, he didn't believe that Riddle was sorry for one minute.

"You are an enigma… If only you are capable of speaking back… I am sure you will have a lot of things to say. Ah, well, that will have to wait."

Tom's blue eyes sparkled, and he might have pulled off a kindly look if a sneer did not tug at the corner of his lips.

"Now, be a good boy and scoot upstairs. It is past your bedtime," Riddle said, mockingly. "It's a bright and shining day tomorrow – and hopefully, I can complete my pet project. I cannot wait to see you."

It was a dismissal, as blunt as any.

Harry bristled at the rudeness of the subtle command.

In spite of that, he found himself racing away to the dormitory, as fast as his paws could take him. One more suffocating second with the teenage Dark Lord and he might just go ballistic.

Still, Tom Riddle had discovered he was a cat and wanted to turn him back into a human for the sake of sheer curiosity. Riddle also thought Harry had wanted to maintain his animal form; he thought Harry had an ulterior motive.

Now, Harry wondered if it was a good thing after all. If anyone could break Voldemort's charms, it was sure to be another version of himself. Perhaps he could use this to his advantage.

Perhaps once he was human, he could find Dumbledore and tell him everything.

With that thought in mind, Harry padded across the dormitory, spared a glance on the bed with a Cygnus-shaped bump where he normally slept, and planted himself in one of the furthest corners in the room.

Cygnus's bed was right next to Tom's.

And as much as Harry longed for the soft covers, he would have to make do with the floor if he wished to put as much distance between himself and Riddle as possible.

He curled up into a ball, tucking his tail underneath his paws.

Harry watched the shadows dance on the wall while he listened for any noises that suggested Riddle was coming.

There was none.

Perhaps Riddle had truly gone to the library to research him.

Harry heaved a sigh and shut his eyes, hoping for a night of restful sleep.

...

In his dream, he sat elegantly on a high-backed chair, a wand twirling between his spidery fingers. The cold air blew around him. Harry enjoyed it. The windows, with their wildly fluttering curtains had been left open on purpose.

Just the way he liked it.

The flickering flames from the candles threw the sallow face of the cloaked man into relief. Severus Snape. His trusted servant.

Harry stood, spread out his hands mockingly, and uttered a welcome. "Severus, come closer… I won't bite…"

The man shuffled forward, eyes fixed firmly on the ground. "I bring the information you requested, my Lord."

"Then do not keep me waiting. What of Dumbledore?"

"Of course, forgive me, my Lord," Snape apologised, bowing low to his feet. "Dumbledore is grieving for his lost hero. The Golden Boy, it seems, has vanished off the face of earth. The Ministry is still hiding the news from Britain."

Triumph hit him. A gust of joy swelled in his chest. Finally, he had gotten rid of the brat. He nodded at Snape to continue.

"Granger and Weasley, Potter's little friends, are panicking. Dumbledore is doing his best to calm them, but he, himself, is unstable from shock."

"Good, good."

"It is not everyday that a boy disappears – and it is an even rarer occurrence for the Boy Who Lived to go missing for so long."

Harry laughed, thin lips spreading into what looked like a twisted smile. "Not just missing," he corrected coldly. "Potter will not ever be coming back."

"My Lord?"

"I tried, time and time again, to kill the boy. I failed. All four times. I changed tactics. Let us put it this way: Potter is gone for good and will not interfere with my plans again."

Harry could tell his spy was unnerved, no doubt taken aback by the sudden knowledge.

He flung his hand out in emphasis. "Spread the news that the Boy Who Lived is dead. Shock Britain. Let them believe hope has died. It is time the world discovered I have returned and Harry Potter is dead!"

...

Harry panted, coiling into himself to escape from the pain digging in his forehead. He forced his eyes open. The world spun around him.

He could taste blood. That coppery, salty liquid dripped into his mouth. He choked. His limbs thrashed violently.

It was not a nightmare… It had to be a vision. It had to be.

He had seen Snape from his perspective… Voldemort had issued an order. Within a few days, or possibly a few hours, the whole world would believe he was dead.

Dear Merlin…

This was bad. This was bad. Very, very bad.

His stomach heaved uncontrollably, and Harry had the awful impression that he was about to be sick.

Could cats even be sick?

He only managed to get to his feet when bile rose in his throat. It was disgusting. A bitter, acrid taste mixed with a sharp, sour tang. He could not stop it, and anyway, the last thing he wanted to do was to swallow his own vomit.

Harry tipped his head, and retched.

Vomit, complete with bits of undigested food, spewed forth, spattering the carpet.

He made a sound of distress.

The next thing he knew, a cool hand was placed on the entirety of his back, soothingly, rubbing up and down. The fingers ran themselves through his fur.

He retched again.

This time, a velvety voice, dry and sarcastic, muttered, "You cannot choose a better time to be nauseous, a better time than five in the morning? God, do cats even get nightmares? You are fortunate I am not queasy…"

Tom.

Tom Riddle.

Harry barely had enough time to sigh before he retched again. This could not get any worse. This could. Not. Get. Any. Worse.


My gosh, I need to thank you for your reviews! Forty four! Forty four whole reviews - and just for me! I feel so honoured. I have two pieces of news...
Newsflash one: My exams, torturous and painful as hell, are finally over! I now have more time to write!
Newsflash two: I love reviews... so please review. :)