~To Kill You With A Kiss~

Chapter 10

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Author's Note: Thank you so much to all the readers who have taken the time to write reviews for this story!

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Harry pushed the familiar door to the headmaster's office open with trembling hands. The hideous gargoyle that guarded the door hadn't even bothered to ask him for a password this time; it just gave him a stony, downcast look and sighed as he walked past it.

The Pensieve stood there as before, grey and ancient. Harry scanned the small glass bottles on the shelf above it eagerly. Silver strands of memories glittered and swirled within. There must be more to the memory I visited. I need to find my way back into the memory... AD&GG, AD&GG, AD&AD, AD&AD, TR, TR, TR... But there was no vial marked TR &HP.

Harry stared at the little gleaming glass vials in dismay. How is this possible? The memory I got trapped in before isn't even here any longer. It is as if the memory itself never existed, as if it was nothing but a dream.

He read the labels, again and again, desperately hoping to see the lost memory somewhere. No. Nothing. Oh, Tom, where are you? How will I ever find you again?

He reached out for one of the little vials marked "TR" and poured the contents into the Pensieve. I don't care which memory this is. I have to see you, one way or another. The glittering swirls dissolved into the luminous waters of the Pensieve, and Harry plunged himself into the silvery mist.

The next moment, Slughorn and Tom Riddle appeared before him. Tom was dressed in school robes, and he was gazing at Slughorn with his quicksilver eyes: "What about... horcruxes, sir?"

Harry drew his breath sharply. He knew this memory of course; he had already been inside this recollection in the past. He didn't listen to the conversation between the potions master and the young Tom Riddle this time; he merely gazed at Tom. How beautiful he is... Harry reached out and tried to stroke Tom's dark curls, but there was nothing there to touch.

Tom! Turn around and look at me! I'm here!

But the memory of Tom could not hear him; the handsome schoolboy merely held the potions master's gaze with his own until a slight flush began to spread over Slughorn's cheeks. Slowly, like a man enchanted, the potions master began to speak of horcruxes.

Tom! Why can't you see me? Why do you keep dissolving under my touch? Harry reached for him frantically, but there was nothing but air.

The memory came to an end, and Harry found himself back in Dumbledore's office. He sank down on the floor, trembling. Where did you go, Tom? How do I find the memory of you and me again?

He read the labels on the glass vials yet again. It must be here somewhere? No. There is no recollection of you and me. Nobody remembers us...

But then Harry noticed that a few of the vials were still empty, and a curious idea began to form in his mind. Perhaps that's not true. Someone does remember you and me, after all.

He pulled his wand out and raised it to his head. How do I do this? Perhaps like this... He closed his eyes and let the memories of Tom flood his mind. The sound of your voice, the scent of your skin, the sunlight over the moor... All at once, he felt a strange trembling sensation in his wand, and as he opened his eyes, he saw a delicate pearly mist hover about his wand. My memory. My memory of Tom Riddle. Gently, Harry lowered his wand into one of the empty vials. When he withdrew the wand, the glittering swirl stayed inside the little bottle. He found a small stopper on the shelf and closed the bottle.

Harry stared, mesmerized, at the swirling memory in the vial. I wondered , when I visited the past, whose memory it was that I entered. I never realized that it was mine... Perhaps I should have known? Who else could have remembered you and me? But is this the enchanted memory I visited, where everything was so wonderfully real? Or is what I see in this bottle now merely an echo of the real thing, made up of mist and memories, like all these other recollections?

Harry held the bottle in his hand for a moment and caressed the smooth glass. I wonder if I can find you inside this memory? If I were to enter my own recollection, would I find the real you inside it?He unstoppered the bottle with trembling hands and poured the memory back into the Pensieve. Then he plunged himself into the whirling waters and held his breath as the world around him dissolved.

The next moment, he was back in the headmaster's office of the past. Armando Dippet was sitting behind the massive oak desk now, speaking to a boy with black hair: "So you are..." He consulted a piece of parchment on the desk in front of him. "Elias Black. Welcome to Hogwarts, my boy. We are glad to have you with us."

Harry stared at the dark-haired boy who was sitting in front of the headmaster. That's me! I mean Elias... He is touching his hand to his forehead now, searching for that familiar scar... How bewildered he looks, as if he doubts that what he is experiencing is real.

Harry watched as the dazed "Elias Black" was sorted, and he saw what his memory self did not see: The young man with dark curls who walked in through the door. Tom! Oh, God, why aren't I looking up? There. Now I'm sorted into Slytherin, and I'm raising my eyes and seeing you... How you look at me, Tom!

Now we are walking out of the headmaster's office together. You are gazing at me with wonder, Tom, touching my scar... If only I could feel your hand against my forehead! Harry reached out, desperately, for Tom's hand, but there was nothing there. There is just the memory of you, touching the memory of me... I can see you so clearly, and yet you are nothing but a dream, a hazy memory...

Harry followed the memory of the boy who went by the name of Elias Black through the corridors of Hogwarts, into the Slytherin common room, where he was greeted by his new friends, into the green-hued dormitory, and onto the Hogwarts grounds. He stood silently by and listened as the dark-haired boy spoke to Dumbledore; he followed him to the dinner table in the Great Hall, back to the dormitory, and into his dreams the moment his eyes closed. When the boy who was called Elias was dreaming, the rest of the memory dissolved, and Harry stood still and breathless as the darkness and silver winds of Elias' dream whirled around him.

Harry trailed the memory of Elias through the few days he had been at Hogwarts; he walked behind him into Hogsmeade with Orion; he stood next to the cloaked and invisible Elias and Orion at Madam Puddifoot's, suddenly more than invisible himself. He strolled behind the memory of Elias and the memory of Tom over the moor in the golden sunshine; the edges of their robes got caught in the heather, but his own robes passed unhindered over the ground. Perhaps this is what it feels like to be a ghost... He reached out and tried to touch Tom again and again, but his trembling hand found nothing at all.

Harry laughed as he watched the memory of Elias try to kiss Araminta; it really did look terribly clumsy. He shook his head and smiled a little as Abraxas pressed a kiss against the lips of the recollection of Elias, and he watched, with a beating heart, the frozen expression on Tom's face as he caught sight of them. He saw Tom and Elias walk together through the hallway, and he watched them enter Tom's office together. His heart began to beat wildly as Tom stepped hesitantly closer to the bewildered dark-haired boy. He is kissing me now. Tom is kissing me... Oh, the torment and the sweetness of seeing him kissing me so tenderly, and not being able to feel it! Tom! I'm here!

But Tom could not hear him, and neither could Elias; they fell to the floor together, overcome with passion, and Harry watched them, flushed and breathless. He watched them lying in each other's arms as the night gradually turned to dawn, and he saw, witch a heavy heart, that Elias got up to leave. That's not your shirt, Elias; that's Tom's shirt you are putting on. But the recollection of Elias was in a daze; his glance lingered on Tom's face, and he paid no attention at all to what he was doing. The gift of a horcrux, a final kiss, and then the ephemeral Elias Black left Tom Riddle. Harry walked behind him to the Slytherin dormitory and watched him until he fell asleep.

The moment Elias Black's eyes closed, Harry felt himself being jerked back into the headmaster's office, into his own time. For a moment, he stared at the silvery mist that still floated in the Pensieve. Is that all you are, Tom, a glittering memory? Then Harry took his wand and lifted the memory carefully out of the vessel and into the vial it had come from. He found a blank label and a quill, and marked the little bottle "TR&HP". He put it on the shelf next to the others, right where it had been before. Then he sank down on the floor and wept.

...

A hand touched his shoulder gently.

"Are you all right, Mr. Potter?"

Harry looked up and saw the plain, familiar face of Minerva McGonagall. He managed a little smile. "Hello, Professor."

She patted his head clumsily, as if it were the first time in her life she had attempted such a thing. "There, there, Harry. I know that things have been rough lately, but it won't do to fall apart. The headmaster would have wished for you to be strong." Her voice quavered a little.

McGonagall's glance fell on the open cabinet that housed the Pensieve. "Visiting the past, Mr. Potter?" Something glittered in her eyes for a moment. Tears? Surely Professor McGonagall is not crying?

"I suppose that's only natural... We all wish to remember that which was. But now you should get up, Mr. Potter. It is time for us all to think about the future. There are dark times ahead, but you have many friends who will stand with you against the dark, Mr. Potter. Myself included."

Harry scrambled to his feet. "Thank you, Professor." He stood for a moment, uncertain, and gazed at the kind face he knew so well.

"Can I ask you something, Professor?"

"Yes, of course, Mr. Potter. Anything."

Harry took a deep breath. "Did you... did you ever work for the Ministry of Magic? Before you became a Hogwarts professor, I mean?"

She smiled then. "Indeed I did. But after some years of paperwork, politics, and intrigue, I realized that I much preferred teaching magic to regulating it. And Merlin, the reports! The endless reports..."

"Do you remember attending a party here at Hogwarts when you were working for the Ministry? One of Slughorn's soirees? It was a very elegant affair, with dozens of people, and there was moonflower punch."

"Moonflower punch?" McGonagall smiled slightly. "I haven't tasted moonflower punch in years. It was all the rage in my youth, but then it fell out of fashion for some reason."

"Do you remember a party where Abraxas Malfoy had too much moonflower punch and had to be escorted from the room?"

"Abraxas Malfoy?" McGonagall thought for a moment. "You know, Mr. Potter, I do think I remember that! Merlin, it's been so long since I had thought of Abraxas Malfoy, I had almost forgotten his name. But that was what he was called, Draco's grandfather, I remember now. What a rogue he was! Not in the same way as his grandson, mind you; I don't recall Abraxas ever being spiteful or malevolent. He was just... well, a little wild at times." Her mouth quivered in a little smile.

"Do you..." Harry could feel his own heartbeat now. "Do you remember another boy at that party? A Slytherin student called Elias Black? He was a new student that year, and Slughorn introduced him to you. He was the one who helped Tom Riddle get Abraxas Malfoy off to bed."

"Elias Black?" McGonagall was silent for a moment, lost in thought. Then she said hesitantly: "You know, I think I might remember him, now that you mention it. I think I only met him that one time, fifty years ago. But now that you said his name, I seem to remember something... He had dark hair, didn't he? And a scar of some sort?"

"Yes." Harry tried to keep his voice steady. "Yes, that's him. Do you know what happened to him?"

Minerva McGonagall shook her head. "I'm afraid I have no idea, Mr. Potter. This was all so long ago, you see." Her earnest brown eyes scrutinized Harry's face for a moment. "You know, I seem to recall that he looked a little like you. Or perhaps I just think he did, now, all these years later, because he had a scar as well. I can't really tell..."

Harry swallowed. "What about Tom Riddle, Professor? He taught at Hogwarts in the autumn of 1945, didn't he?"

McGonagall nodded curtly. "I'm afraid so, Mr. Potter. He was still quite young then, you see, and no one was able to tell at that point what he was destined to become."

Destined?

"Did...did anything happen to Tom Riddle that autumn?"

McGonagall frowned a little. "Happen? Not that I know of. He taught Defense Against the Dark Arts for a few months, and then he went off, Merlin only knows where, and began to immerse himself in the Dark Arts. And little by little, he became less than human... Now, if you will excuse me, Mr. Potter, I need to get this office in order."

She smiled at the sight of Harry's bewildered glance. "This is my office now, Mr. Potter. I am the new Headmistress of Hogwarts, remember?"

"Yes, of course. I'm sorry, Professor. I shouldn't have been in your office without permission. I... forgot, you see. I thought this was still Dumbledore's office."

"Yes. Yes, I suppose you did." McGonagall's glance was surprisingly kind. "Sometimes it takes us a little while to adjust to a new and harsh reality, Mr. Potter."

...

That night, as so often before, Harry fell asleep in his fourposter bed in Gryffindor Tower and dreamed of Voldemort. In his dream, he was walking into the Shrieking Shack at night. The old half-rotted floorboards creaked under his feet, and the moonlight that streamed in through one of the cracked windows shrouded the empty room in silver. He recognized the cavernous chamber; this was where he had first met his godfather, Sirius Black. How strangely reality shifted that night! The man I thought had betrayed my parents became my friend, and Ron's rat confessed to selling its friends to the Dark Lord. Someone was waiting for him in that room now, a dark hooded figure in the shadows.

"Tom?" Harry's whisper sounded eerie in the large empty space. "Did Draco give you my message, then? Do you remember me, Tom? Do you remember walking over the heather together? Do you remember that I told you that my name was not Elias, but Harry? Do you remember telling me how you killed your father? Do you remember my lips, as I remember yours?"

There was no answer.

"Tom? Do you remember me?"

"What do you want?" Harry couldn't tell if the voice came from the dark figure in the corner, of from inside his own mind.

"I want you..." Harry breathed. "You, Tom. I never meant to leave you. I got lost in a strange time, in a different reality. I tried to find you..."

The dark figure stepped out into the moonlight. Voldemort. The terrifying, serpentine features of the Dark Lord... There is no trace of humanity left in his eyes now.

"You have tried to find me, Harry Potter?" His voice was soft, like a breath of wind. "Do you not know that I will kill you?"

Harry trembled. "I know you will. Perhaps there is no other way. But I had to see you first, Tom. I love you..."

"You love me?" The silky voice sent an icy shiver down Harry's spine. "You love the Dark Lord, Harry Potter?"

Harry nodded silently, and the monstrous figure stepped closer. Harry shivered as a pale hand brushed, almost imperceptibly, through his hair.

"Your hair..." Voldemort's voice was only half-familiar. "How soft it is to the touch! How strange... I have sometimes thought to myself that I would like to touch you hair. You have grown quite... beautiful... these past few years, since we first met. But I shall kill you all the same, Harry Potter. The Dark Lord knows no mercy. But perhaps..." The hand touched his cheek now, ever so lightly - "perhaps I shall kill you with a kiss..."

Harry's eyes flew open in the darkness, and he sat up in bed, bewildered. Was that you, Tom, or was that just a dream? He searched for the silver locked under his pillow. Its coldness felt comforting in his hands. Real... At least the locket is real...