"No!" the Monster yelled out.

Harry felt his knees buckle and go weak, pain flaring through him. If the Monster hadn't still been clutching onto him, he was certain he would have crumpled to the floor.

It felt like his nerve endings were being shredded again and again, without ever managing to lose feeling. Just knives running through his veins. The Monster's shadows drew in tighter around him, drawing him back.

But it was too late – his head was spinning so fast he could barely see straight. The Nameless swung in his double vision. The Past watched wide-eyed from his painting, small hands pressed against the canvas as if he wished he could reach out.

Beware the Kisses Cursed.

Scarlet eyes burned into him as he stared up blearily, the kiss tingling on his lips.

"Vol–" Harry began, only for a hand to clamp over his mouth as the Nameless tutted.

"Don't make me gag you, Offering. You're going to have enough difficulty breathing as it is." Nameless glanced at the Monster. "Unless, of course, the abomination chooses to help you."

Help him…?

"He can take anything that has happened to you, since you struck your bargain," the Nameless reminded, with entirely-too-grim satisfaction. "Including that kiss. Take it, and absorb it into himself. Though, of course, with a curse so powerful as a failed true love's kiss –"

So that was what it was.

"It would do to me what it's doing to him," the Monster snarled back, glaring at You-Know-Who.

Harry couldn't see the Nameless' expression in the darkness; was struggling enough with following this conversation when they seemed to know precisely what was happening and he didn't. And the pain didn't fade. Instead it grew, spreading through his body, fire in his blood and ice at his fingertips. His breathing hitched.

"That is your choice," the Nameless said lightly. "As is this. You can stay here and fix him, knowing everything that will happen to you if you are still here once dawn arrives. Or … you can trade him. Renounce your claim, give me the offering, and I will let you leave my realm unscathed."

Harry's head was pounding. He twisted his head to look at the Monster in the light of the painting, heart hammering, only for the shadows holding him up to retract as if scalded. He hit the floor on his knees, and refused to feel betrayed.

"Tom …" His jaw clenched. The Monster's head snapped to him for a long moment.

He had no idea what the Nameless intended to do with him, but considering that even the Monster had seemed terrified of him, Harry wasn't going to count on a friendly chat and a restful night.

But, as the silence stretched, he knew he couldn't count on the Monster. Name and order him, perhaps, but…

"Go on, then," he spat. "We both know you're not going to pick me."

The Monster ran a black tongue over his lips, no expression on his face.

"You did jump into this painting to save me in the first place. I wouldn't wish to insult or waste your sacrifice, noble as it is."

Harry's eyes tightened. "Stop talking. Seriously. Go. Or I'll kill you myself, curse or cure be bloody damned."

The Nameless snorted.

The Monster studied him for a moment longer – maybe enjoying the sight of him in agony, for all Harry knew – before crouching down beside him. Harry didn't dare hope, but for a stupid second, with the pain tearing through him enough to make him want to sob, something awfully similar to hope surged in his chest.

"I'll come back for you, Harry Potter. One way or another. Unlike some –" he gave the Nameless a seething look that bordered on bravado– "I know that true claims lie outside of words, so easily fooled and played with."

"Don't bother," Harry replied coldly. He no longer cared if he offended the bastard or not. The Monster's expression shuttered and he straightened haughtily, shadows cloaking the air around him.

"I renounce my claim."

Then he was gone.

Harry sagged to the floor, aware of the Nameless still standing over him with those eyes. The Past had vanished too, no doubt attending to the Monster's presence in his realm.

Harry had the fleeting, vindictive hope that the Prophecy would torment the Monster whilst it was stuck in the painting, but that really would make all of this for nothing.

He shuddered, back arching as his breath constricted. It felt like something had gouged out his throat, though when he raised a hand to his neck, choking down shallow breaths of air, there was nothing out of the ordinary.

"Well," he snarled, "what are you waiting for? Finish the job, then."

The Nameless was studying him – well, it couldn't really be studying him. The Nameless couldn't actually see, could he? Even if he was staring at him with all the intensity of a basilisk.

The other moved closer to him, fingers tangling into his hair, smoothing down along the contours of his face, as if feeling him out.

"I don't need to finish anything. It is already happening, offering. You should have spoken up earlier, instead of siding with the monstrosity. The abomination has no loyalty to anyone, not even those it claims to be its own."

Harry snorted, somehow not surprised that this was turning into yet another competition between the pieces.

"So, Past turns me into a doll if I get stuck in his painting. The Monster drains my memories and soul, the Riddle my mind, and the Beast would tear me apart. What do you do? What do you want?"

The Nameless was the Beast's counterpart, except apparently Harry couldn't name him – or at least, shouldn't. But was there something here that could keep him alive?

"You cannot give me what I want."

"I'm the offering," Harry said flatly. "That I probably can is precisely the point –"

"I don't want it," the Nameless interrupted coolly, letting him drop to the floor. "I just want to see how much the others would give me to have you back."

Harry's stomach dropped.

"Apparently not much, if we're going by the Monster. So it was a pretty terrible move on your part," he spat.

The Nameless simply hummed, a smile on his lips.

"We'll see. I think I know them a little better than you, despite everything." There was something in the Nameless' expression. Harry shoved himself up to stand as best he could, the world spinning nauseatingly around him.

"The Monster suggested you might be the piece that … created the other pieces. Including the Prophecy, then?"

"Smart boy."

"Except you're now trapped in a painting which the Prophecy controls," Harry said. The Nameless looked rather less amused, grabbing his throat in a lash of movement. Harry refused to flinch. What could the creature do to him that he hadn't experienced already?

"You want control again," he rasped insistently. "But you don't want him free. You want him in chains." He tugged at the icy fingers around his throat. "You don't want me to break the curse."

"You can't get in too much trouble in here, with me. You can't even see, let alone scheme," the Nameless said. "It's a pity, as you have been quite amusing so far."

"Scheme?" Harry growled, black spots in his vision. "There's a lot of bloody scheming in this house, but I'm not the one doing it!"

"You plotted your way into my domain of your own free will. I don't like trespassers … I could kill you just for that."

"Wouldn't be very good leverage then. Besides, dawn will come soon enough. I could just leave then, when you're not around!"

The Nameless let him drop to the floor again. Harry coughed and rubbed his airway, jaw clenched.

"Even if you run, that won't relieve you from the curse," the Nameless said. "You would be safer in here."

"And how do you figure that?" Harry managed. The Nameless didn't seem very safe to him – he'd already lined him up to die with a kiss, let alone whatever else he could apparently do and hadn't yet.

He felt the vines begin to coil around him again, pinning him to the spot in the darkness. The Nameless disappeared from sight, as his gaze finally turned away and he slipped back into the shadows of his world.

"Because I do not intend to let the Prophecy have you."

Even when Harry asked after that, there was nothing.

Harry looked up, dazed, as pale sunlight hit his face, startling him from his uneasy sleep. The vines had slid away sometime in the night.

The pain hadn't.

If he'd had the energy anymore, he would have started. Somehow, actually, he wasn't even surprised for once.

"Eurydice, right?" He gave a tired sort of smile.

His own green eyes stared back at him. Younger than he himself was, just a child – and that really shouldn't have been a surprise to him either.

That wasn't what had him staring.

It was the way the small boy's skin was half-turned to stone, the rock trapping his left arm, shoulder, and throat to become part of the wall behind him, one leg melding stone to the floor as the grass and the roses bloomed around him.

"You need to get out of the painting," the boy said quietly. "It will do you no good to become too much a part of the house." He glanced down at the stone that was forming around him.

Harry's body still throbbed with pain, like something was clawing at him. "Because the rest of the house is so much safer," he scoffed. "And I don't know if Riddle's around, but the bastard hasn't been too helpful recently. Any chance you can give me passage?"

Why had Hermione said to beware Eurydice? If he couldn't even trust himself, who the hell was he supposed to trust?

"You do not want to use me yet. If ever. The price might be more than you could possibly afford. You should be more concerned with the Offering right now. He will show you the truth of what is happening to you. Of the cursed kiss."

Right, the painting in Riddle's room. Still … if Eurydice represented something that Orpheus went back for, and thus maybe his connection to Ginny, as he had started all of this to save her … why was the painting of him? And not of her?

"What's the price?" That, at least, was the one question they always answered.

"You know the story. To look back is to turn to stone. The walls here are made up of the dead. You will be drawn into the foundations of the house, tied to this place as much as the rest of us are.

"Each painting has their role to play," the boy murmured. "The Riddle will answer your questions. The Past will tell you of the curse's past, of his past, and lead you to your potential future together and so the Prophecy."

"And Nameless?"

"He created the pieces, as you know. He can join them again too. Of course, he would need … persuasion. Neither he nor the Beast would much like to see this curse broken. A heart is a painful thing, and death is the greatest fear of men."

Harry's eyes widened as he absorbed that. The Beast didn't want the curse broken in the sense of being united again, but was forced by the Prophecy to enforce it anyway. The Monster … who even knew what the Monster and the Riddle wanted. Maybe to have it broken? Maybe to have darkness spread?

"And you?" he asked.

"The Offering is your future. Eternal. He reflects what is happening to you now, as well as what will happen, depending on your current plan of action. I am what you have already done. And I am the opportunity to do something again."

That definitely grabbed Harry's attention.

"I can choose to redo something? Whatever I like?" Right now, with every inch of him in pain, not jumping into this bloody painting after the bloody Monster seemed like something he would very much like to take back. "How does that work if I just turn to stone?"

"It depends on whether you make what you do count – or not. There are always consequences."

Harry's heart was slamming against his ribs. He found himself taking a step forward, and then another, as Eurydice watched him quietly.

"Or … you can just look," Eurydice murmured. "Freeze yourself in a memory, and let the world crumble as it will. Any memory. You don't remember mum and dad, do you? I do. I could show you that as well, if that is what you choose."

Longing swelled sharp in his chest, until he felt he could burst open with yearning. His limbs quivered, his insides ached. Everything seemed tired and drained, like his very bones had lost the will to keep working.

The Riddle appeared out of nowhere.

"Stay away," Riddle hissed, yanking him back roughly. "If you want even a chance of leaving here, you can't look back."

"And there was me thinking the plan was that I never left anyway," Harry growled. "Or does it infuriate the Prophecy that I might die on my own terms?" It felt like he was dying. The failed kiss was like poison in his veins, submerging him in ice and fire.

The Riddle's grip on him tightened. "I'm not letting you go." He turned away, tugging Harry with him.

"You know where to find me, Harry." Eurydice's whisper hung in the air.

And, for a moment, as he glanced back at the smiling painting, he could have sworn that those green eyes turned red.

Harry had expected the Offering to look different in light of what Eurydice told him, but the truth of his situation was still a slap in the face.

The thorns and roses were no longer merely a crown around his head; they had bled out of the surrounding painting to wrap around his throat. They dove into his skin and slid through his veins only to burst out of his wrists to wrap around his arms like shackles again. His legs, too. His torso – vines gouging open his chest to reveal the largest rose around his heart.

It seemingly squeezed the beating life out of him, smearing the painting and his skin with blood as he was yanked back against the wall in the painting in a manner eerily similar to the Prophecy's position in the nursery.

Harry's knees nearly buckled as he stared in horror.

It wasn't like before, when the picture presented an image he couldn't actually feel. He realized, now, that the pain was as if the thorns were crawling through his veins, choking him from the inside out as the roses bloomed with a bloody vibrancy at odds with the withered petals in the Beast's chest.

The Riddle kept him upright, dragging him along.

"I can't fix this," the counterpart murmured, leaning over him where he'd pushed him to the bed, fingers stroking along his face. "But I could make it stop hurting. Pain, pleasure … it's all in the brain. Give me your mind, Harry, and I could make all of the pain go away."

"Go to hell," Harry rasped. "If you hadn't locked the Monster in here in the first place, this would never have happened. Where is the bastard, anyway?"

He felt fuzzy around the edges, as if the whole world was sliding nauseatingly around him. All he wanted to do was bury his head into the lovely cool sheets and never get up again.

Unfortunately, he had far too much to do for that.

He struggled to push himself up, only for the Riddle's hand to plant firmly on his chest and guide him down. Not for the first time, Harry felt a sharp frisson of fear.

"Tom …" he warned.

"I just want to see," the Riddle crooned, other hand sliding to pet his hair. Harry suspected the git would reach in and claw at his brain if he physically could. Examine the nerve endings, and play them like violin strings. "Please let me see, Harry. Why would you do this to yourself?"

"Me?" Harry spluttered. "Nameless is the one who kissed me!"

"But why would you jump into the painting after the Monster? You have indicated that you are not so eager to die, but considering the apparent hero complex, sometimes I wonder."

"I can't break the curse if you've killed each other and lost the puzzle pieces," Harry hissed, mouth suddenly dry. "That's all it is."

Riddle's head tilted to one side.

"You're in no position to get around on your own. If you stay in the painting long enough, you'll become like me," the shard whispered. "I can wait you out, if you won't give me what I want."

Okay. Enough. Absolutely enough.

"You think that's how love works?" Harry snapped. He shoved hard, pain be damned, and Riddle staggered backwards as he sat up, panting hard for breath. "You can't force someone to love you. You can't force someone to be friends with you! Or to give you something, if you want it to count."

Riddle stared at him in astonishment. Harry's fists clenched at his sides.

"You want to know what I'm thinking?" Harry advanced on the creature, finding some strange irony in the fact that the Riddle actually backed up a step before haughtily stopping himself. "Why don't you just ask? Why don't you just choose to give a damn about somebody who isn't yourself?"

"When someone loves you, you possess them: body, soul, and mind," Riddle began. Harry made a scathing sound that crumbled around a despairing incredulity.

"You think possessing my mind will make me love you?" It was actually kind of tragic. "That's about as stupid as the Beast thinking he has to actually eat my heart."

"Harry –"

"No, seriously." Harry's head pounded, and he grabbed hold of the edge of the bed for balance. "Explain it to me. What the hell is going on in your head?"

The Riddle was silent for a long time, glaring at him furiously.

"If I own your mind, you would think of me. You would only think of me, with complete devotion. You wouldn't –"

"Wouldn't?" Harry prompted, tone a little softer now, brow furrowed.

"You can't judge or leave if I control your thoughts. You think we can't see the disgust with which you look at us? The way you would see us condemned, like everyone else?"

The silence was ringing. Harry opened his mouth to say something, but nothing would come out.

He was rather abruptly reminded of the Past, though considering everything he knew of the pieces, their totality together, that should not have come as a shock. Same problem, different angles. Same man, shattered.

Eventually, he sighed. "Come here."

"What?" But he did step forward, tentatively, as if waiting for a trick.

Harry made an impatient gesture, pulled the Riddle to sit next to him, and then curled up exhausted against the idiot because he was in too much pain to have this mess of a conversation upright. Riddle stiffened at first, which Harry thought was a bit rich. Still, he stayed stubbornly put, and waited for the other to relax.

He just didn't think it would be so easy as a hug this time. Riddle dealt in thoughts, after all. In intelligence, and minds.

"I wouldn't see you condemned," Harry said. "But you can't force me to love you."

"Actually, in regards to conditioning there was an exper–"

"Shut up," Harry huffed. "You can't. Not properly. Love necessitates choice, not force. Though it says a lot about all of you that you all view love as taking or consuming something of me. I'm not saying that's not some form of love, but – this prophecy, and your mother's curse – don't you think there's a reason it's based on offering and not taking?"

"My mother was a fool. You could tell that much by her choice of husband."

"Funny, the things we'd do for the people we care about," Harry said dryly. Riddle glanced at him.

"Would you do that for me then? Give me your thoughts?"

"You have a one-track mind." Harry forced down his frustration. "It's called talking, you overgrown blob of paint! That's how you share thoughts. You talk. You begin trusting each other and letting them inside your head."

"Sounds unnecessarily dangerous," Riddle muttered. "Who knows what you would do in there."

"Are you –?" No. Harry already knew the Riddle wasn't joking. Even so, he was almost amused, because with his insides feeling like they were being shredded, there weren't that many other defences to go to. "How do you expect me to let you get in my head if you refuse to reciprocate?"

"What? No – this is about you loving me …"

Sometimes, Harry wondered.

But as he lay there, Riddle's fingers in his hair and the portrait of the Offering a grotesque sacrifice on the wall … Riddle began to talk.

When Harry woke once more – not even sure when precisely he'd lost consciousness in the first place – he was on his bed and it was night.

There were platters of food set alongside his bed, water and wine too.

He stirred, pain still throbbing an insistent presence on his insides. The Nameless was watching him impassively from his frame.

Bile clawed up Harry's throat.

"What … happened?" he asked.

"The Riddle took you out of the painting," the Nameless replied delicately. "Between him and the Beast, you were sickeningly well taken care of. Still dying, of course …"

Harry blinked.

"They … took care of me? I passed out?"

"You're in the process of having the life squeezed out of you," the Nameless said. "Of course you passed out." His voice was quiet. "And of course they did. They would rather have you suffering a million agonies than see someone else get you – death most definitely included."

Harry studied him for a moment longer. "You don't seem as pleased about that as I thought you would be. My dying, I mean. Considering you treat the rest of us like we're fools for trying to play this game."

"I do not wish for the curse to be broken," the Nameless allowed. "And you are in direct contradiction of that goal."

So … he did want him dead?

"Apparently I'm not. The Monster took my future, by all regards," Harry muttered.

"The Monster wants the curse broken," Nameless said. "He simply does not want the Prophecy to be free. And, as you might have gathered, the two are … inextricably linked."

"I'm not sure I understand."

"How shocking. How novel. You understand so much, I simply cannot comprehend how the complexities of this are surpassing you."

Harry glared furiously.

"I'm dying, and it's your fault. Fuck off."

"If you go by the logic of the pieces, if the Monster has your future, he can control it. If he controls the future of the offering, he controls how this works out … to the mind of most. Childish logic, but then the Prophecy is a child, is he not?"

Harry's brow furrowed at that, not sure what to think. A thought suddenly struck him.

"… you're answering my questions."

"Astute of you to notice."

"I thought Riddle was the only one who could answer my questions." Harry's heart suddenly felt like it might burst out of his chest. The phantom memory of the Riddle's fingers in his hair, of the liquid baritone in his ear as the Riddle just talked.

Talked … when to talk, meant to share a brain and thoughts, and so your mind. His eyes widened.

"You'd best hurry up, offering," the Nameless murmured. "Four to go, but you'll be dead before the month is out. I suppose you had best hope for a true love's kiss at the end of this. Without the Monster, it might just be the only thing that can save you now."

God, he was screwed.