Chapter 11

BETA: the wonderful Krysania

/PAST/

Little Harry knelt in a puddle of mud, his hands bound behind his back, his head hung low. The night was dark and silent. The only noise came from Tom's soft footsteps, as he moved around Harry and scribed letters onto the floor.

Tom was working on some sort of rituals. Using elaborate movements of his wand, Tom levitated few candles and rocks to form a spiral around Harry. Then, with the great care of a seasoned artist, he began hand-painting detailed characters on them, layering spells on the way. Harry recognized some of the twisted characters from books on Ancient Runes Studies, although what-ever purpose they serve... he can't begin to imagine.

Harry knelt in its center, motionless, trapped, like a fly caught in the spider's web. He could feel Tom's magic encircling him. It felt almost familiar, like whispers of an old friend, like the hidden warmth in the diary. Tom's magic was dark, yes, but familiar to Harry; within it held false comfort beneath layers of burning power, sweet and seductive.

Despite the heat of the summer, Harry felt cold inside. As he stared blankly at the mud, a familiar sort of desperation awoke in him, and pushed his mind toward a depthless numbness. The despair of being betrayed yet again, of being abandoned, of being a powerless, useless, fearful little boy— he felt it all, swirling in a cloud of incomprehension and anger, gnawing at him, tearing him apart.

Finally, he looked up at Tom.

"Are you going to kill me?" asked Harry simply, impassively.

"Perhaps," answered Tom without looking away from his work. "I haven't decided... You fascinate me, Harry Potter. But... you are also troublesome. It will be easily to just kill you, I suppose."

"What are you doing with all this, then?" asked Harry again, titling his head to the ritualistic substructures.

"This will help me get inside your head," replied Tom, his voice composed and pleasant as if he is discussing the weather.

"Don't look so surprised, my friend, because, technically, this is all your fault... Yessss, your fault for making things so... difficult. None of this ought to be necessary, if you weren't such an obdurate child. None of them— Miss Rachman or the Malfoy boy—needs to die, if you were willing to submit to me. But, alas, you weren't... So here we are..."

"I don't understand," frowned Harry. "I did everything you've asked, Tom, what—"

"Everything?" laughed Tom, a cold, high-pitched laugh. "I suppose I do want to everything from you, Harry. Everything... your body, your soul, your magic, everything..."

"You've been my target for the past two months. I've been working on you, trying to gain your trust, trying to find a part of your mind that I can attach myself to. You see, at some point, I need a physical body and you would be the perfect vessel for me. Just perfect... Harry... since we are so similar...Both half-bloods, orphans, powerful... We even look something alike."

"Perfect— except that whole natural occlumency thing... Harry, have you wondered why Voldemort's memory charm failed on you that day? Why are you doomed to remember forever? Hm?..."

Tom still didn't lift his eyes from the inscribings before him. Harry wriggled his arm, while keeping his movement as discreet as possible. The ropes that bound his arms weren't very tight; perhaps he could still do something.

"Mind-magic is a powerful thing. Not many wizards understand how it works, and even less can practise this ancient craft. However, there are wizards, who are fortunate enough to be born with power of mind-protection. It seems you are among them."

"I will admit you are a powerful Occlumens—" continued Tom "There are not many grown men who can keep my attacks at bay, let along a young boy. I've worked on you, but progress was slow... You wouldn't open you mind to me, not fully, anyways... Now why is that, Harry? Was it intentional...? Or is it because you didn't know how to control your powers? Or is it because, despite your pathetic co-dependent behaviours, you never— truly — trusted me...? "

"You weren't... teaching me occlumency?" asked Harry quietly, turning his gaze towards Tom.

Harry pulled on the ropes some more. It became looser. He had to keep Tom talking, to distract the other somehow.

"Tom... All the things you've told me... Is...is any of it true?" asked Harry again. He tried to keep his voice steady, but it came out as a feeble whimper.

Tom pretended to stoke his chin in contemplations. Finally, he looked at Harry. His red-eyes glowed ominously in the darkness. They roved over Harry, and met Harry's own, those green eyes ablaze with hatred. Tom smirked, his expression grew hungrier.

"My name is really Tom Riddle," said Tom, gleefully. "And I really do want Voldemort dead... and that's about it, I'm afraid—"

"Oh, yes. It's done. Finally. Wonderful," exclaimed Tom as he set down his paint-brush.

He strode toward Harry. His pale blue night-robe flittered in the windless night, swayed by the rhythm of magic that saturated the room. He stopped right in front of Harry, and tilted the boy's face toward him.

"Sorry for the wait," Tom murmured, as he gently brushed Harry's hair aside. "I haven't done a rite for so long, I'm afraid I'm a little rusty."

With a corner of his eyes, Harry saw the thin, leather-bound diary floating in front of Tom. Some ink dripped from it, leaking onto Draco— no, no, Tom's— fingers.

Tom moved to in closer. Harry squeezed his eyes shut and felt Tom's soft lips pressed against his forehead.

"Be a good boy," Tom whispered soothingly. "Stay still."

Then, using the dark ink on his fingertips, Tom drew a symbol on Harry's forehead. The outline of the symbol felt like a squiggly line. Some ink dripped from Tom's pale fingers, and ran to Harry's mouth.

They tasted salty— salty with a tinge of metal.

Harry felt sick. He suddenly realized those aren't ink at all, but... blood— warm, fresh blood that smelled like death, probably harvested from that poor woman hanging above their heads.

Harry's heart pounded. He had to say something. Anything. Despite his occlumency shield being intact, Harry was afraid of the way Tom's eyes stared into his soul, afraid that the spirit knew exactly what he is thinking.

He's toying with me, Harry thought, breathless. He knows, he knows.

Red-eyes born into Harry's skull.

"You failed with me. So you had to use Draco—" blurted Harry, his voice still shaky.

"Oh, yes," Tom nodded. "My back-up plan. I know when it's time to move on..."

"You see, young Draco was much easier to fool. He took an interest in me, after noticing us together. I think he was jealous how much time you had spent with me... Once he began writing to me, though, it took no time to gain control of him. He was open book, easily to manipulate—" Tom smirked "—Oh, I want to be a wizard so bad, Tom...I will do anything, ANYTHING, to get in Hogwarts... I wish father would look at me; I wish he would be proud of me... "

Tom chucked to himself. He released Harry and stepped back. He seemed to tower over Harry, despite not being much taller. His molten dark magic swarmed them, revealing his true nature, a potent and domineering demon hidden by the facade of an innocent boy.

His pale blue eyes glowed bright red.

Red like blood.

"Off course, I would much prefer to be with you, Harry... but, sadly, you don't seem to share the sediment."

"So I had to change my plans... I had to take up temporary residence with Draco...here. But, unfortunately, as you know, he is a squib. And I can't do much without a reliable source of magic. I can kill people, here and there, and borrow their magic for a bit, but, eventually, all magic— any magic —need to be sustained by life. And so... Only living bodies will do..."

"So you understand, Harry, I'm a man great ambition—" Tom waved one hand dramatically "— I can't be a squib."

Harry digested the information slowly.

"Draco is still alive then?" whispered Harry.

"For now..."

Tom wiped his hands on his robe, leaving a bloody hand-print on the soft silk. He surveyed his work with a satisfied grin and, with a flick of his wand, he lit up the candles in sequence.

One by one, flames appeared, until all seven candles lit up. Their wavering glow filled the barn, leaving a melancholy orange tint on the Tom's pale skin, and, for a moment, he looked little a young boy again, like Draco Malfoy, Harry's naive brother, who adored magic so, so much.

Then, he withdrew a gleaming silver dagger from thin air. Tom's twisted smile grew broader under the candlelight. He held the dagger to Harry's face, pressing the cold steel into soft flesh.

"Has anyone ever told you—" said Tom quietly, staring at Harry with unwavering eyes. "— that your eyes look so lovely when they are full of terror."

Harry eyed the diary floating by Tom side. He didn't dare to answer.

Tom moved the blade to Harry's forehead, where the symbol was drawn, and pressed down hard. Searing pain torn through Harry. The pain was so, so terrible, great and incongruent with the size of the wound. Harry felt his head split open, something dark and needy was clawing at his mind.

Harry moaned. He slid to the floor. Blood and ink dripped from his face, in steady drops, until they disappeared into the mud.

Tom dropped the dagger and began chanting. His hiss was soft yet formidable, in rhythmic Parseltongue. As the rhythm of the spell rose and fell, Tom whirled his wand overhead, awaking the magic in the room.

Harry attacked.

With a twist of his wrists, Harry broke free from the ropes. He lunged for Tom. The other, whose eyes widened in surprise, turned just in time and managed to evade his attack. But he wasn't Harry's target.

Harry leaped for the ceremonial dagger and snatched the diary from mid-air. For a split second, both Harry and Tom, wand still raised, stared at the items in his hand. Then, with all his strength, Harry seized the dagger and plunged it straight into the heart of the book. *

There was a long, dreadful, piercing scream. Ink, mixed with warm blood, spurted out of the diary in torrents, streaming over Harry's hands, flooding the floor. Riddle was writhing and twisting, screaming and flailing and then — *

He stopped.

Tom stood up; mud and ink covered his night-robe, rendering it a muddy brown. He was no longer smiling.

"That was a terrible mistake, Harry," hissed Tom, raising his wand. "You think a knife can stop me? I have already transferred my conscious to Draco... There's nothing you can do to stop me now."

"Perhaps I've been too indulgent with you. It is time for you to learn your place—"

Tom lowered his wand to Harry's temple.

Harry closed his eyes.

Harry sat in front of a bubbling cauldron, One Thousand and One Potions for Medical Use open beside him. He dropped three Thandox roots into the potion. A pungent smell emitted from it as he stirred the potion anti-clockwise.

The Room of Requirement transformed its interior akin to the Slytherin Common Room, with its lime-green lamps and black leather sofas, even the frayed tapestries hung from the exact same locations. This was Harry's default room, his comfort place, his home. Yes, his home has always been at Hogwarts, and only at Hogwarts.

The door clicked open.

"Hello, Tom," greeted Harry without looking up. "You got my baby with ya?"

Tom tossed over the Firebolt Light. Harry caught the broom before it hit the floor and set it down gently.

Tom sat down next to Harry. He returned to looking like Draco, although his blonde hair was tossed in an uncharacteristic manner. Harry deduced that meant of either Tom taking the Firebolt out for a ride or that the Polyjuice potion had worn off recently.

The second explanation was the most probable. Harry frowned. Tom was gone for two hours... He shouldn't need two hours to deal with Snape, unless —

"Everything alright?" asked Harry as he stirred with unnecessary tenacity. "You are late."

"Am I?" hissed Tom, softly. "Now you know how I feel every time you run off. We established an order, no? Next time, when I call you, you answer, got it?"

"Is this about yesterday?" grumbled Harry. "Because I was fighting of my life, you know, so sorry I missed your calls—"

Suddenly, Tom shifted closer. He placed a hand on Harry's cheek and turned the other boy's face toward him. Harry's eyes widened in surprise, but before he could protest, Tom leaned in and rested their forehead together.

Harry felt a tingle of magic rang through the lightening-shaped scar. He inhaled involuntarily; Tom's scent filled his nostril, the smell of rain and old books. Harry became very aware of Tom's staring at him intently; his cheek burned warm where the other's hand rested on his skin.

"This is not about me controlling you," said Tom softly. "And you shouldn't fight me, Harry. We are at war, but not with each other... We need to learn to communicate. It is the key to winning any battle. It is the difference between life and death... By acting so reckless, without any plan, you are endangering us both."

"We have a soul bond, Harry. Take advantage of it. Our minds are linked together, yours and mine, by blood and by magic. Certainly, mind-links are frail, and it shouldn't be used very often, but it shouldn't be ignored either. Next time—"

Tom's words abruptly stopped.

Next time,a sweet voice hissed in Harry's head, drifting at edge of his Occlumens' shield. Next time don't you dare ignore me.

Harry blinked. Tom's red-eyes looked so brilliant at this proximity, like the world's most exquisite rubies

"Promise that you will work with me—" whispered Tom, switching back to speech again. "—that you trust me... If you need me, brother dear— always ask— you know I am there for you."

Harry stared at Tom.

He wanted to believe him, he really did. But if there was one thing Harry learned from all those years living with Tom Riddle, it was that he couldn't afford to give his trust away.

"I promise," said Harry thickly. But he didn't really mean it.

Not, he didn't.

Harry turned his head and shook off Tom's hand. They sat together in silence, watching the cauldron simmer, until Harry spoke again.

"What happened with Snape?"

"I spoke to him," replied Tom. "And, unfortunately, he is suspicious of you. However, fate has yet to abandon us, Snape is unaware of our true goal. He thinks you are sneaking to Hogsmeade to conduct illegal activities with the Weasley twins, so I let him think that."

"You LET him think I'm a smuggler?" dead-panned Harry. "Great... Just great. Because that prick doesn't hate me enough already."

Tom shrugged.

"Precisely, which is why I arranged for a time for you to go and apologize to the Headmaster. Formally. With a letter of regret, as dictated by pure-blood custom."

Tom tapped the cauldron with his wand, and the potion turned bright lemony yellow. He put out the heat, and placed a cooling charm around the cauldron.

Reading the sour expression on Harry's face, Tom laid a solemn hand on Harry's shoulder.

"Perhaps you should try a different tactic. You see, men like Snape don't response well to force or threats. So, why don't you try a softer approach? Appeal to his softer side, his sympathy or compassion. Sometimes... great soldiers must lay down their swords before they can advance."

Harry snorted.

A softer side, as if that greasy-haired git has a softer side... except maybe for his doughy mid-section.

Harry stared at Tom, horrified. "You are not telling me... to grovel at Snape' feet?"

"I am," Tom smirked. "I am telling you to cry as well... And to appear pitiful in general. Don't worry; you are adorable...so it shouldn't be too hard for you."

"Argh...Why can't we just kill him?" groaned Harry.

Tom rolled his eyes.

"Because life doesn't work like that, Harry. Trust me... I wish it did. Anyways, I had a rather... enlightening conversation with our dearest Headmaster, earlier. Dare I say he can be useful to us, one day... eventually."

"Are you saying he is trust-worthy?" asked Harry slowly.

"NO, absolutely not," Tom shook his head. "You can't trust anyone but me... However, what I am saying is that... the loyalty of Severus Snape is not as steadfast as you would think. The world is not black and white, Harry dear. People are not divided into friends or enemies. I think Snape can become... useful to our cause."

"So...You want me to test him?"

"Let me deal with that," said Tom as he conjured a cup from thin air. "All I want from you is for you to rest, heal, and to not cause trouble for the foreseeable future. Obviously, though, that is not happening. So I think I am being very fair, Harry. We both can't get what we want."

Harry signed. He still wasn't very happy with the idea, but he supposed it was the best possible out-come.

"Drink," demanded Tom, as he thrust a cup of yellow potion to Harry's lips.

Harry obeyed. The potion tasted awful, bitter like bile and it smelled like old socks. But it worked. The burning sensation on his right leg vanished instantly, not even a scar was left behind.

Harry got up. He wobbled a bit and almost fell into Tom's lap.

Tom steadied Harry with both hands. He guided to boy toward a large bed in the middle of the room, which wasn't there a second ago. The bed was a four-poster bed, with green and sliver drapings, just like the ones in their dormitory, except it was much larger, king-sized.

Harry plopped onto the bed. A sudden drowsiness over came him.

"The potion contains Sopophorous beans' juice," explained Tom as he also climbed into the large bed. "So it has sleep-inducing functions. Rest here for tonight. I will send a house-elf to fetch our clothing for tomorrow."

Harry closed his eyes. He heard Tom laid down next to him, their shoulders touching, lining up side-by-side.

"Do you think the Slytherins'll notice we are missing?" mumbled Harry, his eye-lids heavy and droopy.

"Oh, they will notice," replied Tom, nonchalantly. "Although I doubt they dare to say anything... Go to sleep."

"Night," whispered Harry.

He wasn't sure if Tom heard him, but, judging from the reassuring squeeze Tom answered with, Harry was going to assume the spirit did.

Author's rambling:

*Adapted from Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secret.

AHHHHHH! I don't know why this scene (between Tom and Jerry, I mean... Harry O_o) is taking so long, I seriously planned for it to take two chapters! TWO CHAPTERS!

And now it's been four chapters since Dobby showed up... And I'm still not done. OMG! I blame it on Tom's monologues. Because I ain't gonna blame it on myself :) His monologues tend to run for too long, maybe I just had too much fun writing them or something... (I swear I'm not a psychopath... or sadistic... or whatever). -A-

But, okay, Tom... shut up... I want to finish this scene. Don't you know that when villains monologue, THEY ALWAYS END UP LOSING. You have too much screen time already...

And I still have to introduce Voldy and Lucius. Man, it's going to take a while. T_T

Special thanks to my reviewers— sheetamoon, Colette Hyuga, Celestialuna, phoebe turner, Cupcak3, EMERALD69, , BloodyRose90, xDarklightx, thebellowingpixie.

And a huge shout-out to my BETA, Krysania ! *Clap, clap.*

Bloopers:

Scene #3

(Harry and Tom lay on the bed in the Room of Requirement. They stare at ceiling.)

Harry: Pssst, Tom, you asleep?

Tom: ...

Harry: No? Good... Tom, I forgot to ask you. Why did it take you two hours to talk to Snape?

Tom: It didn't. It took me ten minutes. Then your teammates saw me, and obviously they thought I was you, so they dragged me to their idiotic celebration party.

Harry: OH! What did they do?

Tom: The usual. They tried to get me to do shots and dance like a manic... Nothing I couldn't handle. Although...what is WRONG with that Nott boy?

Harry (laughs nervously): Yeah, Theodore tends to act a bit too familiar when he's drunk.

Tom: Remind me to cut his arm off.

Harry: ... Please don't. I would be one Chaser short... And I really, really can't put Markel Lestrange on the field, that kid is less coordinated than a tap-dancing Gatorbeast.

Tom: Also, remind me to punish Greengrass.

Harry: Astoria Greengrass?! Why? What did she do?

Tom: She tried to kiss me.

Harry (grins): Ohhh! You mean she tried to kiss me. Wicked!... She's hot.

Tom: ...

Harry: Hey, Tom. Can you tone down the murderous intent? It's hard to sleep like this.

Tom (grabs Harry's arm and holds it to his chest): ...

Harry: What?

Tom: If you insist on annoying me, I am going to do the same.

Harry: Okay, Okay. I'm sleeping. Nightie, night. Don't let the Crumple-Horned Snorkacks bite.

Tom (closes eyes): ...

Harry: Tom?

Tom (opens eyes): ...

Harry (grins): Can I get a good-night kiss?

Tom (throws pillow at Harry): ... For Salazar's sake, go to sleep before I curse you.