Title: Crossroads

Genre: Romance, Angst, Hurt/Comfort.

Rating: T (for slash, Violence and possibly gore. If any other warnings come up, I'll make note of them).

Pairing: Harry x Tom, Harry x Voldemort, mentions of Albus x Gellert.

Warnings: slash and SPOILERS. Lot's and lot's of spoilers.

Summery (extended): At the end of Harry's fifth year, Voldemort disappeared before the Ministry arrived, and everyone's memories have been tampered with. Declared insane and dangerous, Harry is sent to an institution with minimal human contact. With only his thoughts to entertain him, Harry isn't overly surprised when he starts seeing the ghosts of his past. He finds himself stuck between the Light side and the Dark side, staring down the crossroads of his life.

Disclaimer: I still seem to have a lack of ownership of the Harry Potter series. It's deeply upsetting.

Crossroads – Undulation

"No! Where has it gone!" Voldemort cried, explosions rocking the cave around him. Chunks of rock rained down heavily, slamming into still waters, creating fountains of water. Beside him, the house elf shook with fear, terrified of her snake-like master and his unexplainable temper. She took a step backwards – a step closer to the unsettled water – to escape the fury which frightened her so easily. Her master noticed her small, desperate step, because his crimson eyes flashed in anger and his slitted nostrils flared.

"You!" He roared, whipping out his wand until it was pointed at her. She fell to her knees, at the feet of her master, begging and pleading for forgiveness – for mercy, though she knew she had done no wrong. She was a good house elf! Her master was unmoved by the display. He become, if possible, even more furious.

"Crucio!" He cried, watching her small body shudder in pain at his feet; screaming. Pulling. Clawing at her arms and face. The curse, he knew, was far more powerful than he would usually dish out, though he hadn't felt so angry since... since...

Since Harry Potter.

Letting out another roar of rage, he kicked the useless house elf aside, as his body melted into the thick, ashy substance as he spat the incantation of his flying spell. He rose to the air in a moment, flying the water that curled around him in his rage, leaving small tsunami's crashing on the walls of the cave – the shore of the raised platform where the useless house elf resided. Good, he thought to himself, let the stupid creature suffer.

As soon as he was out of the cave, Voldemort pulled his wand out and disappeared with a loud crack; the accompanying sound of apparition. What appeared, instead of the dreary coastline, were motionless hills rose sharply in the distance, blocking the vast amounts of sunlight from a low hanging sun. Only small streams were let through the stubborn blockade – landing softly on willows of grass and water and mud. Cold air was clinging tightly to his clothing, the thin material giving way in favour of the icy winds. He shivered, casting a non-verbal heating charm to warm himself. Then, Voldemort jumped off the ledge, body once again turning to a smoky ash, trailing across the dark skies.

In his sight, as he trailed over the lowly hills, came the shady figures of ancient houses nestled together tightly. The closer he got, the more distinctive the cluttered houses became – falling down with time and age. The huddled mass of houses was covered by a thick cloud of smog, blown across the village by a near-by muggle industry. He touched down at the outskirts of the village, the smoke and ash disappearing with the swish of his hand.

Calmer now, after his flight, he raised thin pale hands lifting the wand to point it at his own face, words murmured softly until a gently tingling sensation ran across his skin – making changes. Drastic changes – the lipless mouth became soft and full, hair broke the skin on his scalp; long and wavy. A nose formed, painfully, where there were slits before. The red-slitted eyes, however, remained the same. Running his hands over his newly formed features, reminiscing about the days he appeared that way, and not as the snake-like man he became, the man sighed.

Ignoring the village entirely, Voldemort turned his disguised face towards a lonely path running the course around a hill, vines and webs closing around the entrance. He lifted a slim-fingered hand and muttered a spell. Instantly, the vines and webs were cut away until the path remained accessible. Voldemort started along the path, eyes and magic peeled for signs of any other unfortunate muggle who happened to cross his path.

"Asgjë atje poshtë për ju," an old muggle man said from behind him. Voldemort turned to meet the muggle, his newly full mouth curled up into a cruel smirk. The man visibly flinched, tired eyes jumping in shock when he met gazes with the young-in-appearance man.

"Avada Kedavra," he hissed, drawing his wand in an instant. The man's sagging face dropped in shock, his body falling with a heavy thump as the green light flashed. Voldemort stared disinterestedly at the form, though he did nothing to hide the body. He would not be returning to that location again, if all proved to go well.

Harry came to with the most uncomfortable throbbing in the base of his skull – a rough rhythm that beat to the sound of his heart; erratically. In his mind, he could still see Voldemort, young and handsome, picking his way through the uneven slopes and hills, vicious grin etched deeply onto his disguised face, though his anger boiled deep inside.

"Blimey," he muttered to himself, running a shaking hand through the wet hair glued to his burning head. The thin strands were tangled after the duration of tossing and turning in his sleep, knotted tightly together. His hand that had been running through his hair a moment ago stopped to rest on his scorching scar, pain still evident from the open connection with Voldemort.

'Go back to sleep, Harry. It's... I don't know, early,' Riddle's tired voice slurred from the corner of his sleep deprived mind. Harry, rather unwillingly, could imagine Riddle as the words escaped the his lips: hair tousled from sleep, eyes cracking open, lips parted, expression befuddled. A hesitant, though amused, grin split his face at the amusing image his mind conveyed as Riddle growled in annoyance.

'I'm not joking. If you can't sleep, I can't sleep. And if I can't sleep, I get grumpy and make you sleep,' his irritated voice called. Harry, however, was too far lost in the memory of his recent dreams to take the threat into consideration. His thoughts were preoccupied with the flash of green from the handsome man to even attempt listening.

"Voldemort's up to something!" He cried, eyes widening as the reality started to completely set into his tired mind.

'Good. Why don't you scurry on back into his mind and see what exactly he's doing instead of pestering me,' came the reply moments later in a mindless drone. Riddle must have fallen asleep in the period of his silence, Harry absently mused, while he contemplated the dream.

"He killed someone!" He was yelling now, the world was beginning to come too, unchanged and unexceptionably mundane.

'Close to death anyway,' Riddle said, surrendering on sleep to search through Harry's most recent memories and paying close attention to the details. As the man fell to his sudden death in the memory, Riddle merely hummed in bordered approval. Obviously, the death hadn't bothered him as much as it had bothered Harry.

"Don't you care?" Harry asked, shocked. While he was still slow from the hefty awakening, he unwisely forget the man he was talking to.

'No, Harry, I don't. Now seriously, go to sleep. M'tired,' Riddle muttered, feeling the sudden pull of sleep again. Harry, though, was beyond enraged at Riddle's attitude, this was a human life they were talking about. Not only that, but Voldemort had deemed something so important that he left Britain. There was something wrong. So very wrong.

"What are you going to do? Read me a bedtime story?" Harry snarled, though Riddle's voice remained unusually silent for a moment; contemplative.

'They didn't tell us any bedtime stories in the orphanage... they never really told us anything. Well, anything of actual value,' Riddle said quietly. Harry licked his lips, his anger melting, uncomfortable at how their stories seemed so similar in some ways. As much as he hated Riddle's uncaring response to a death, he couldn't remain angry at someone while pitying them.

"I don't know any either. My uncle and aunt think I'm a waste of space, actually. They wouldn't bother themselves with my lack of sleep if it meant they had to do anything," Harry said truthfully, though bitterly, turning onto his side. He imagined Riddle's face looking at him in curiosity, the dark fathomless eyes peering from under a cascade of dark hair, not unlike his own.

'Harry Potter... a waste of space... well, I'm proud to say I've never seen eye-to-eye with muggles,' Riddle thoughtfully remarked, much to Harry's complete shock and disbelief. Out of all the people to hate him... to call him a waste of space... why not Riddle?

"Well... um... thanks. I think," Harry replied, gobsmacked though thankful.

'You're terrible at thanking people,' Riddle replied, a teasing note in his voice now. Harry, befuddled, found Riddle's human-like attitude far more attractive than the artificial politeness.

"And you suck at cheering people up!" He laughed, shifting his head on his pillow to a more comfortable, more relaxed position. Hearing Riddle's deep laughs, Harry his eyes drift shut, memories of his dream already fading to the background to be hidden by another memory, more recent and by far more pleasant.

-X-

Dumbledore paced the length of the broken platform with his annoyance on the same level as his concern. The house elf, Dimpy, was being catered to by Severus as the dark-haired man gently probed the elf for information. At first, she had been reluctant to say anything, as house elves usually were, though the more Severus healed her wounds, the more trusting she had become. Dumbledore, however, doubted she would be of much assistance.

"Master was so angry! So angry at Dimpy, but Dimpy didn't do nothing wrong!" She wailed, swollen eyes fresh with tears as she spoke. Dumbledore listened with an open ear while studying their surroundings – calm and peaceful, though he saw the tell-tale signs of uncontrolled rage and destruction in the murky waters below. Bits of rock managed to penetrate the surface of the water in the more shallow areas, leaving gaping holes in the roof of the cave from their once established position. Magic was thick in the air – Dark Magic. He shifted uncomfortably, remembering the feel from his younger years as an energetic Albus practising Dark Magic with his friend and love interest - the sound of Severus' voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

"And what was your master looking for?" The younger man asked, an unusually quiet tone to his voice. Dumbledore turned to watch them with interest, thought he could already guess what his former pupil had been after – the locket which once belonged to his mother.

"Master left it here, in the basin. He made Dimpy drink from a cup – it was terrible! Dimpy hurt!" She whimpered. Although he had already searched the basin, Dumbledore still managed pulled himself up to the basin height, studying the inside. He could see remnants in the hollowed cylinder of the liquid, something Dumbledore did not recognise, though no artefact.

"Are you sure, Dimpy?" He asked politely, dropping to his knees to search the ground for any sign of the golden locket he knew to be here.

"Dimpy sure," she confirmed, bobbing her head in a mock of a nod.

"Ah... Severus, may I borrow you a moment?" He said, returning to his usual height with a groan as the ancient muscles clicked. Severus nodded, pulling himself to his own feet before treading up the deeply uneven slopes of the platform to stand by his colleagues side.

"Do you recognise this particular potion?" Dumbledore asked, using a shell to carry the clear liquid up. Severus leaned close, studying the substance.

"If memory serves, then this potion is one of the Dark Lord's own inventions," he remarked after a moment. Dumbledore nodded, tipping the substance back into the basin. He cast a pitying look to the poor house elf, sitting by herself, regretting how Tom had forced her to drain the potion.

"I see... it appears Tom didn't find what he was looking for. No doubt he will become suspicious and blame myself for the removal of it. Hm..." He trailed off, deep in thought. Unbeknownst to Harry, Dumbledore had received the letter, asking about Tom Riddle's diary. While it deeply unnerved him, Dumbledore had been more worried for his young champion's safety. If Tom had discovered the absence of his horcrux's and contacted Harry... then he had discovered their connection. He had chosen not to write back – for Harry's sake.

"What, exactly, are we after?" Severus droned, glancing around the dim cave. Dumbledore sighed, knowing that now would have to be the time to tell his young spy. If he didn't, he feared he would lose Severus' help in the matter, which could come to grave consequences.

"Something very precious to Tom – the way Tom retains his immortality, in fact," Dumbledore said. Severus nodded, finally realising the importance of their trip. "Something called a horcrux," he finished.

"It appears as though someone else knows about them too," he pointed out, motioning to the house elf. Dumbledore sighed for the second time, shaking his his head in regret.

"I had guessed that. Unfortunately, that makes our job far more difficult. Without the horcrux, we don't know whether Tom is mortal or not. And now Tom knows about activities, he will most likely move the rest," he said, also staring at the house elf.

"There's more than one?" Came Severus' shocked reply.

"Yes... I've counted seven so far. Two have been destroyed and three are in unknown locations. The sixth is currently with Voldemort, to my understanding," he said, thinking of the large snake Voldemort seemed in favour of.

"And the seventh?" Dumbledore turned saddened eyes on Severus.

"The seventh is... in our possession, though the seventh will have to be destroyed last,"

-X-

'This is actually becoming rather pathetic...' Riddle commented as Harry attempted to move the parchment for the umpteenth time that day, without success. In reply, Harry growled menacingly in the back of his throat, feeling closer to moving the parchment than he had in a long time. Riddle, however, didn't seemed convinced.

'It's not working,' he commented dryly. Harry let out a huff of air, dropping his arms to his side in surrender, knowing Riddle had a point. It wasn't working.

"That's why I keep trying," he snapped, earning a chuckle.

'Have you even figured out what wards are placed around the little prison to keep you in?' Riddle asked, wondering himself. It could have been anything from an alert system to something far more sinister – something bordering on Dark Magic.

"I've thought about it... how do I sense wards?" Riddle chuckled at his response, amused at the young boy's lack of knowledge on magic. Perhaps, depending on how long Harry remained trapped, Tom would end up teaching the child more about magic than five years of Hogwarts had.

'You have to feel it with your magical signature. Every spell leaves a different kind of trace – like footprints, for instance – that when you feel, you can recognise the spell used. Wards are much easier to sense than distinctive spells because they usually cover a much larger area, using much more magic to keep them in place. Finding wards is basically reaching out with your magical core to feel the air around you, and detect any traces of magic,' he lectured, most likely reciting from a textbook. Harry nodded, though, understanding Riddle's explanation.

"Right... so how do I do that?" He asked, slouching over to the bed from his position opposing the desk.

'Merlin! In the five years you went to Hogwarts, did you manage to learn anything at all from those teachers?' Riddle cried, unhelpful in his answer.

"Not everyone's a sponge, Riddle," he teased, ignoring the scoff in his mind.

'Apparently not... and they expect you to defeat me,' Riddle began quietly, 'it's similar to wandless magic, though more like a sensor. When you detect wards, imagine your magic like a ripple, yet in only one direction – it'll change when it encounters another object, magic, in this case,' he finished.

"Oh. Okay, I think I get it. Actually, on second thoughts, you know this stuff, don't you?" He asked, suddenly changing ideas.

'Yes. You want to see my memory?' Harry nodded, and in only a short moment after, he felt himself falling backwards, his white cell blending in with the colours of the past, spinning together until the world around him disappeared in a violent flash of pain and colours.

I must admit... I don't like this chapter either. I liked the last one (practically wrote itself), but I encountered a lot of difficulty with this one... which is why it's late. Anyway, apologies for the Albanian... I don't speak Albanian. Truthfully, that's the first time I'd ever seen the written language. The translation comes from google translate, which is not the best translation tool but... well, it's all I could find. Feel free to correct me if you see any problems, I'll edit it straight away.

Also... my internet has, once again, failed me. Hope it's fixed by next week!

Cassandra: He lies so much because he's a pathological liar, wanting to manipulate Harry. I think you can add 'I want to torture you' to the list of things that are possibly truths. Blimey! More than one? I don't know where you find the time...