Harry went downstairs, stopping in the bathroom to relieve himself and splash some water on his face, then he headed down to the kitchen to get something to drink. He was torn; he wanted to give Tom some privacy and space but watching the memory had been intense and Tom had obviously been affected by it, and Harry wanted to talk to him about his reaction. After downing a glass of pumpkin juice he decided to wait for another couple of minutes. Just as he was about to go up, Kreacher appeared with a loud crack.

"Kreacher has a message for Master," the house-elf croaked.

Harry frowned. "A message? What is it?" he asked.

Kreacher handed him a folded piece of parchment. Harry unfolded it and read:

Dear Mr Potter,

Teddy and I would like to invite you for tea tomorrow afternoon at 3 o'clock. I do apologise for the short notice - I tried to send an owl over the weekend but the message couldn't be delivered since your house is unplottable. Kreacher has informed me that he will return to me with your reply. If tomorrow is inconvenient, please let me know what time and day would work for you.

Yours sincerely,

Andromeda Tonks

"How did you get this?" Harry asked Kreacher, going to the cupboard to get out some parchment and a quill.

"Kreacher was at the market and Miss Andromeda recognised him and asked him to give it to Master," the house-elf explained.

Harry sat down and quickly wrote out a reply, accepting the invitation. "We'll have to key her owl into the wards," he said. At the moment the only owls that could get through were Ron's owl, Pigwidgeon, and the Weasley family owl, Errol.

"Yes, Master. Kreacher can arrange that if Master would like, when Kreacher delivers Master's reply."

Harry nodded, then said, "I'll want to bring a gift for Teddy tomorrow so I'll go to Diagon Alley in the morning to look for something ... maybe I'll stop in at Eeylops Owl Emporium and get a new owl too." He had been too broken up over the loss of Hedwig to get one before and instead had been asking Kreacher to use the Owl Post Office in Diagon Alley to send owls for him.

"Very good, Master," Kreacher replied.

Harry signed the parchment then folded it and handed it to Kreacher.

The house-elf inclined his head and bowed, then disappeared with a crack.

As soon as he was gone, Harry quickly made his way upstairs.

Tom had emerged from behind the tree and was now sitting on the grass in front of it.

Harry sat down on the bed and looked at him more closely. Tom had a strange expression on his face; then he winced suddenly, as if he were in pain. "Are you okay?" Harry asked in concern.

Tom's eyes squeezed shut. "Voldemort won't get out of my head," he said through clenched teeth.

"What?"

Tom let out a harsh breath. "I can usually block him out when I'm this far enough away from him ... but he felt my ... emotion ... and now he's pushing harder."

"He's talking to you right now?"

Tom winced again and clutched his forehead. "Yes," he gasped. It looked like he was being tortured.

Harry jumped up, propelled into action. "I'll be right back," he said, and he rushed up to the fourth floor and threw the door to his bedroom open.

Voldemort had a horrible look on his face and he was laughing sadistically.

"Leave Tom alone," Harry said furiously.

"Oh! Are you his protector now?" Voldemort asked, coldly amused.

"Leave him alone," Harry repeated.

Voldemort pretended to consider it. "No. I don't think I will."

Harry marched up to the painting and yanked it off the wall then marched it determinedly to Sirius' room. He then placed it so it was directly facing the posters of the bikini-clad Muggle girls. "Until you can behave yourself," he said coldly, "this is the view you get. No more Slytherin colours. You get Gryffindor banners, Muggle girls and motorcycles." He ignored Voldemort's outraged objections and stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

When he got back to the third floor bedroom he could see immediately that Tom looked better. "Did it stop?" Harry asked him.

Tom stared at him, then nodded. "What did you do?"

Harry told him.

Tom let out a little chuckle. "Oh yes, he'll hate that."

"What was he saying to you?" Harry asked.

Tom's lips tightened. "The usual, just worse. He was also flooding my mind with images of things he's done; he knows how much that torments me. I told you, he revels in inflicting misery - on you and me both. He knows exactly what to exploit. I'm ordinarily an excellent Occlumens but when I feel ... great emotion ... he can get through."

Harry nodded understandingly. "Seeing the memory upset you," he prompted, hoping Tom would talk about it.

Tom was silent for a moment. "Yes," he finally said.

At Harry's questioning look, he sighed heavily. "Watching a piece of my soul get destroyed was ... difficult. And seeing that version of myself, my first Horcrux, knowing where it all led, how it turned out, what I became - it was disturbing. It was me, but a twisted version of me," he said, "darker and less human - a reflection of Voldemort." His expression clouded. "I don't - " He broke off.

"You don't what?" Harry asked.

Tom let out a breath. "I don't want to be like that. That's not how I want to be," he said unhappily.

He looked so miserable, Harry felt a rush of sympathy for him.

"I'm not like them," Tom said, his tone vehement. "I'm not insane like them. I'm not a psychopath."

Harry could only imagine what he was feeling. Waking up in the portrait and seeing Voldemort had clearly shaken him to the core. And seeing the Diary Horcrux had only rattled him further, perhaps because it hit closer to home.

Tom had turned away; he was gazing off into the distance, lost in thought. Finally, he looked back at Harry. "I'm not your enemy," he said quietly. "I hope you know that. I don't share Voldemort's grudge against you. I'm glad you defeated him." His gaze was intense, his eyes almost beseeching. "Do you understand?"

Harry nodded slowly. He wanted to believe him, more than anything. Perhaps it was foolish but he couldn't help it - he wanted to believe that this Tom was different, that he was changed after seeing his future self, that he was capable of being better than he'd been.

"I didn't just watch the memory," Tom said, "I felt it, from your perspective. It was very affecting. I never really felt empathy before, but watching your memories and seeing and feeling things from your perspective, I think I can understand more what empathy feels like. In any case, it's different with you, and I don't think it's just because of our mind connection. "

Harry stared at him.

"We're in this unique position where we each know so much about the other," Tom continued. "I only 'met' you yesterday ... but it feels like we've known each other for a long time. You know me," he said softly, "in a way no one else has - in a way no one else could."

"Yeah ... I know what you mean," Harry said quietly. He felt the same way.

They regarded each other in silence for a long moment.

"It's strange ... I don't even resent it." Tom's voice was thoughtful. "You know my greatest secrets. You know my history, and my background. You know my weaknesses. But I find I don't mind it."

"Maybe it's because you know so much about me too."

"Perhaps. Yes, that's part of it," Tom said. "But if it were anyone else, it would be different."

"Why?"

Tom paused. "Because you're different. I don't respect many people, but I respect you."

"You do?" Harry said, surprised.

"You're very powerful, and very accomplished. I admire that."

"I'm not that powerful," Harry said. "I'm good at defensive magic but I'm nothing special."

"You're more powerful than you think. Your magic got past my enchantments in the portrait. That shouldn't have even been possible, believe me." He looked at Harry seriously. "Voldemort fears you. He didn't think you were that powerful either, but he does now. He respects you too. He hates you, but he respects you."

Harry shook his head. "Most of what I've accomplished was through luck or special circumstances." He paused, thinking about it. "The only notable thing I did maybe was casting that Patronus in third year against the Dementors."

"Casting a Patronus at all is difficult, but doing it in your third year is very impressive," Tom said. He frowned, his expression turning quizzical. "There's nothing about it in Voldemort's memories. What happened?"

"I had a run-in with a Dementor on the train going to Hogwarts and it affected me really badly. Dementors were guarding the school that year because Sirius had escaped from Azkaban so Lupin taught me the Patronus Charm so I could protect myself. The first time I successfully cast a full-bodied Patronus was in the middle of a Quidditch match - I was chasing the Snitch and I thought I saw Dementors in the stands so I cast it and it went after them." He snickered. "It turned out it was Draco, Crabbe, Goyle and Marcus Flint dressed like Dementors."

Tom chuckled.

"The second time was the notable one though. A bunch of Dementors - real ones - were after Sirius. I tried to cast a Patronus to stop them from getting him and Hermione and me but it wasn't working. Then I saw a full-bodied Stag coming from across the lake. I thought it was somehow my dad but it turned out it was actually me, from the future - I'd used a Time Turner with Hermione, and because I had seen that I could do it, I was able to cast the Patronus, and it drove the Dementors away."

Tom looked interested. "I'd like to see that. Will you show me?"

"All right," Harry said. "If you show me a memory too." He was curious to see what form Tom's Patronus took. "Will you show me the first time you cast a Patronus?"

Tom's face shuttered. "I never cast one," he said stiffly.

"Oh."

"The Patronus Charm is impossible to cast if one doesn't have a happy memory to draw from," Tom said, his expression stony. "Because it's Light magic, the spell can backfire on those with Dark affinities - it can actually kill the caster if they don't use a properly happy memory. I never wanted to risk it."

The thought that Tom didn't have any happy memories made Harry sad. "All right," he said quickly, not wanting the mood to get darker, "will you show me your memory of when you got Sorted?"

Tom nodded. "If you wish."

Harry looked at him expectantly.

Tom sighed and took his wand out and pressed the tip to his temple. He closed his eyes in concentration, drawing out the memory. Then he cast the spell.

The memory began:

Tom was standing in the line waiting to get Sorted. His expression was cold and haughty, but Harry had tapped into their connection and could feel his excitement. Tom was feeling very much like Harry had when he first got to Hogwarts. Harry felt his fascination and curiosity, and awe that such a wonderful place existed; he felt Tom's sense of belonging - Tom was feeling at home for the first time in his life.

"Riddle, Tom!" a familiar voice called.

With a start, Harry realised it was Dumbledore who was conducting the Sorting.

Tom stepped forward and made his way to the stool, his face unreadable. Harry noticed that Dumbledore was watching him closely. Tom sat down on the stool and waited.

Then Dumbledore placed the Sorting Hat on his head.

"Very interesting!" the Hat said to Tom after a moment. "A brilliant mind, yes, quite brilliant. You would do well in Ravenclaw. But power, such power - and ambition, oh my! You have a tremendous thirst to prove yourself, I can see. There's greatness in your future. Oh yes, there's no doubt, you're SLYTHERIN!"

A look of satisfaction flickered across Tom's face as the Sorting Hat shouted out the last word to the Hall. Everyone clapped politely but no one looked especially interested, except Dumbledore, whose expression had sharpened. Dumbledore removed the Hat, and Tom got up off the stool and walked over to the Slytherin table. The other Slytherins looked at him briefly but ignored him as he sat down.

The memory ended.

The painting came back in focus. Tom was frowning and looking pensive.

"It's weird," Harry said to him. "The Sorting Hat said something similar to me. Except it put me in Gryffindor, because I didn't want to be in Slytherin."

Tom nodded. "I'm curious to see it," he said. "Will you show me?"

Harry wanted to see it himself, truth be told. He nodded and took out his wand, placing the tip to his head, then concentrated on the memory, drawing it out. Then he cast the spell.

The memory began:

Harry was waiting in line, looking visibly nervous. Sally-Anne Perks had just been Sorted and was getting up off the stool. Then McGonagall called out, "Potter, Harry!"

Whispers of excitement immediately began erupting all over the Hall.

"Potter, did she say?"

"The Harry Potter?"

"He's at Hogwarts - The Boy Who Lived?"

Harry went over to the stool and sat down, trying to ignore the stares and whispers.

McGonagall put the Sorting Hat on his head.

"Hmm," it said after a moment. "Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind, either. There's talent, oh my goodness, yes - and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that's interesting ... So where shall I put you?"

Harry's whole body tensed; he was thinking, "Not Slytherin, not Slytherin."

"Not Slytherin, eh?" the Hat said. "Are you sure? You could be great, you know, it's all here in your head, and Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness, no doubt about that - no? Well, if you're sure - better be GRYFFINDOR!"

The memory ended, and Harry looked over at Tom.

"You were right - it was quite similar," Tom said. His eyes were piercing. "You see? We really do share many similarities, Harry. Even the Sorting Hat saw it."

"I know. But ... do you think when the Hat said I could be great - that it was all there in my head - do you think it meant it literally? Voldemort's soul shard was in my head - do you think that's what it meant? Do you think the Sorting Hat saw it and was referring to it?"

Tom's expression turned thoughtful. "I don't know ... how could the soul shard make you great? If anything, it was an antagonistic presence, not a helpful one. I think the Sorting Hat was referring to you. It said you could be great, not that there was greatness inside you."

"I guess ..." Harry said uncertainly.

"Why do you doubt yourself?" Tom asked, frowning. "You are great. You've accomplished extraordinary things. You defeated Voldemort, for one thing. But not just that. You defeated the Basilisk in your second year. You got the Philosopher's Stone in your first year. You were the Tri-wizard Champion, at age fourteen. You were the only wizard to ever successfully resist Voldemort's Imperious Curse. You broke into Bellatrix's vault at Gringotts and escaped on a dragon. You managed to find all the Horcruxes. And you just mentioned, you successfully cast a Patronus - twice - in your third year." He paused. "I'd still like to see that," he said.

Harry nodded. "Do you want to see it now?"

"Yes."

Harry hesitated.

"I'll show you another memory in return," Tom said, sighing. "What do you want to see?"

Harry couldn't help but smile at his put-upon expression. "I don't know yet. I'll think about it." He raised his wand to his head. "I'll show you both times, since the first one was so funny," he said. He concentrated, drawing out both memories, and combining them as one; then he cast the spell.

The memory began:

Harry had just caught a glimpse of the Snitch and he'd begun chasing it. The pursuit lasted a few minutes. It was fun to watch because Harry was in top form, and it was interesting to see himself playing Quidditch from an observer's perspective.

"You're quite a good flyer," Tom said, watching intently, his eyes following Memory Harry's every move. "Very fast, sharp reflexes. No fear. Impressive."

"Did you ever play Quidditch?"

"No." He looked at Harry, his expression wry. "Can you imagine me playing any kind of sport?"

Harry laughed, trying to picture it. "Not really," he said.

Tom smiled at him, and it was so natural and unguarded, Harry felt a strange flutter in his stomach. He grinned back at Tom then turned his attention back to the memory.

"There," he said, spying Draco and the other Slytherins in the Dementor costumes. "See it? There they are."

Memory Harry spotted them too, and without skipping a beat, he pulled his wand out and shouted, "Expecto patronum!" A stag burst forth and went straight for the Slytherins, while Memory Harry continued chasing the Snitch, catching it seconds later.

Tom started laughing. "You barely even noticed! You just kept going!"

The stag had knocked the Slytherins over and they were on the ground, frantically trying to extricate themselves from the costumes. The expression on Draco's face was hilarious.

Harry chortled at the sight. Tom chuckled in amusement.

Then the memory changed: A hundred Dementors were in the sky over the lake. Sirius was crouched on all fours by the shore, moaning; Harry and Hermione were running over to him.

Harry and Tom both stopped laughing and watched.

The Dementors sailed towards Harry, Sirius and Hermione and began surrounding them.

"Hermione, think of something happy!" Memory Harry shouted. He began chanting, "Expecto patronum! Expecto patronum!" but it wasn't working. Hermione tried too, but she couldn't do it either. Sirius shuddered and passed out. Harry shouted, "EXPECTO PATRONUM! EXPECTO PATRONUM!" as the Dementors closed in on them, forming a solid wall around them. Hermione collapsed suddenly, unconscious. Harry kept trying; a wisp of silver mist came out of his wand but it dissipated. He tried again but nothing came out.

Tom gasped as one of the Dementors zeroed in on Harry and reached for him; it grabbed Harry, forcing his face upwards, and leaned in, its mouth opening. Harry could hear his mother screaming as the fog surrounded him; then a brilliant light shone from across the lake and got brighter and brighter; the Dementor let go of him and Harry fell onto the grass, sick and shaking. A silver stag appeared from the light and raced towards them, and began driving the Dementors away. Harry saw it for a moment, then passed out.

The memory skipped forward: Harry was running towards the shore on the opposite side of the lake. He got to the edge and hid behind a bush, looking across the way at his past self trying to cast a Patronus. He looked around him, expecting to see his father but no one was there. Then he realised: it was him - he had cast the Patronus. He hurled himself out of the bush and lifted his wand, and roared, "EXPECTO PATRONUM!" A silver stag burst from the end of his wand and charged across the lake, chasing the Dementors away. When all the Dementors were gone, the stag cantered back towards him; it stopped on the bank and looked at him, then bowed. "Prongs," Harry whispered, reaching out ... then the stag vanished.

The memory ended.

Harry looked over at the painting.

Tom had a stunned expression on his face. "Merlin!" he whispered. He sounded shocked. He looked at Harry. "That was extraordinary," he said, his eyes wide. "And you were just thirteen years old - that's amazing."

"Thanks," Harry said quietly. Watching the memory had been very intense, and he was still struck by it all.

"I can't believe it. That had to have been over a hundred Dementors!" Tom said in astonishment. "And your Patronus - a single Patronus - drove them away." He stared at Harry. "And you don't think you're powerful?" he said incredulously. "I felt it - the whole thing. I felt the Dementor ... I felt your despair ... I heard your mother screaming ... and I felt your power when you cast the Patronus. It was ... remarkable."

"I guess," Harry said, shrugging. It wasn't that impressive, really - he had failed to cast the Patronus when the Dementors were close to him; he could only cast it after, when he was away from them. And honestly, all his friends could cast a Patronus, and so could everyone in the Order. What he did wasn't extraordinary. It seemed most of the people he knew could have done it.

Tom frowned. "You really don't know how powerful you are," he said slowly. "I thought you were just being modest ... but you really don't know."

Harry shook his head. "I'm nothing special. I know everyone thinks I am - I was famous for being The Boy Who Lived and now I'll be famous for defeating Voldemort - but I don't have any special powers or anything. I didn't get great marks in school, not like Hermione. I don't even know that many spells. Hermione knows loads. I can't do wandless magic. I'm good at defensive magic, but that's it."

Tom stared at him. "Knowledge is different than power, Harry. Your friend may know more spells and may have done better in school than you did, but that has nothing to do with power. And you did wandless magic today," he said. "Powerful enough to get through my enchantments on the portrait - and not just mine, but Voldemort's too."

"That was accidental magic. I can't do it when I'm actually trying to."

"Then it's because you lack focus, not power. You need to meditate and find your magical core. Once you access that you'll be able to do anything."

Harry grimaced. "I'm terrible at meditation."

"Perhaps I can help you," Tom said.

"You would want to?" Harry asked in surprise.

"Yes."

"Why?"

Tom's eyes narrowed. "Why not? I told you, I'm not your enemy. I'm not against you. If I can help you, I will."

"It's just ... I wouldn't have thought you'd be interested in helping with something like that - something that, for you, must be really basic."

"It's true I did find tutoring students at Hogwarts to be painfully tedious - but you're different. I want to help you."

"Because you think I'm powerful?"

"That's part of it."

Harry frowned. "Why else?"

Tom's expression turned cool. "Why are you interrogating me?"

"I'm not," Harry said. "I was just wondering."

"Do you want my help or don't you?" His tone was haughty now, though it seemed to be more defensive than arrogant.

"I ... yes. If you could help me learn to do wandless magic, I would ... like that," Harry said.

Tom nodded and relaxed a bit. "You'll have to go to the vault at Gringotts and get some books - there's one in particular on meditation and magical cores, and another on wandless magic. You might also be interested in some of the Parselmagic books; you could read the introductory book on it and see if it's something you want to explore. You should - Parselmouths are so rare and Parselmagic would give you an advantage because no one else can understand it."

That got Harry's interest. He had to admit, he was very curious about Parselmagic. He would definitely get the introductory book and read it, he decided. He had inherited Voldemort's entire library too, he realised suddenly; he hadn't had time to really think about that before. It had looked to be a very extensive collection. "There must be a lot of Dark books and artifacts in the vault," he said. "Can any of it hurt me?"

"Not if you don't go poking around. Nothing's going to jump out at you and attack you but there are some books you'll want to avoid opening and some objects you definitely shouldn't mess about with. Until you're more familiar with the contents of the vault, perhaps the most prudent thing would be to Summon the books I'm suggesting."

Harry nodded. "Okay, I'll do that," he said. "I'm going to Diagon Alley tomorrow morning to get a present for my godson so I'll go to Gringotts and get the books then."

"You have a godson?" Tom asked. He looked surprised.

"Yes. Lupin asked me to be godfather to his son, Teddy. I'm going to see him tomorrow afternoon - Andromeda invited me for tea, so I'll get to really meet him; I only got a glimpse of him at the funeral."

"Andromeda?" Tom said quizzically.

"She's Teddy's grandmother. And Narcissa's and Bellatrix's sister. She looks a lot like Bellatrix actually, which is a bit weird. The first time I saw her, I thought she was Bellatrix and I shouted at her." He grimaced. "I hope tomorrow isn't going to be awkward," he mused aloud. He looked at Tom. "She's the closest family I have in the wizarding world ... that I know of, at least."

Tom nodded. "I knew there was a sister - a blood traitor - but I know very little else. Bellatrix didn't talk about her much."

"Yeah, Voldemort was ... er, close ... with Bellatrix, wasn't he?" Harry said. "She told me he trained her in the Dark Arts."

"Yes, he did." Tom's lip curled distastefully.

"She was pretty mad about him, like she was in love with him." Harry looked at Tom hesitantly. "Er - were they - "

"No!" Tom said. He looked disgusted by the thought. "Absolutely not."

Harry couldn't help but ask, "Did Voldemort ever have ... a girlfriend?"

Tom stared at him. "No. He never had any interest in that."

Harry looked away, then asked, his eyes averted, "What about you? Did you have a girlfriend at Hogwarts?"

"No."

Harry looked back at him.

"Girls never held any attraction for me," Tom said, gazing steadily at Harry. His eyes were piercing.

Harry swallowed.

The way Tom was looking at him was unsettling. He looked faintly amused, like he knew something that Harry didn't. His lips had curled into a little smirk, and he was staring at Harry intently, his eyes glittering.

Harry gazed back at him, unable to look away. "So ... you never had any ... er ... liaisons with anyone?" he found himself asking.

Tom's expression didn't waver. "I had a brief dalliance with Abraxas Malfoy," he said slowly, his eyes fixed on Harry's. "Although he didn't remember it - I Obliviated him when I grew tired of him."

"Abraxas Malfoy?" Harry said, shocked.

Tom nodded. "He was Lucius' father."

Harry stared at him, stunned. "What was he like?" he finally asked, unable to help himself.

"He was quite a bit like Lucius, in fact - in looks and personality."

Harry couldn't get his head around it. "Merlin," he whispered.

"Does that shock you, Harry?" Tom said. "You find it shocking that I had a dalliance with a boy?"

"I - no," he said, looking away. "I'm just surprised it was ... a Malfoy." An image of Tom locked in a passionate embrace with someone who looked a lot like Lucius flashed in his mind, and Harry felt a sudden, sick twist of jealousy in his gut. He let out a breath and swallowed hard, forcing the image away. He looked back at the painting.

Tom was staring at him, his face unreadable.

Nonplussed, Harry cast his mind out, trying to think of something to say.

They were interrupted by a sudden knock on the door.

Harry jumped, startled. "Yes?" he called out sharply. "Come in."

The door opened and Kreacher slouched in. "Dinner will be served in a few minutes, Master." Kreacher looked around the room then back at Harry. "Kreacher heard Master talking," he said, frowning.

Harry realised he had forgotten to cast a Muffliato Charm. "Oh, right," he said quickly. "I was just ... practising some spellwork," he lied.

Kreacher nodded.

"Did you give Andromeda the message?" Harry asked.

"Yes, Master. Miss Andromeda said she is looking forward to seeing Master tomorrow."

Harry glanced over at the painting for a quick second; Tom was gone - he'd either left or cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself. Harry looked back at Kreacher. "I ... I guess I'll go and get ready for dinner then," he said. He stood up, then followed Kreacher out of the room.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

After dinner, Harry took a shower then went up to his bedroom to get a change of clothes. He put on a fresh t-shirt and some Muggle pyjama bottoms, then stretched out on the bed. It was only eight o'clock but he was tired. Voldemort was next door in Sirius' room so he decided to stay put and go to sleep early.

But he couldn't sleep. He tossed and turned, thinking about Tom. After an hour, he gave up and got out of bed. He went down to the library on the ground floor and looked for a book to read, but nothing caught his attention. He had to face it: what he really wanted was to see Tom. It was like a compulsion. Harry was drawn to him, he couldn't deny it. Tom was like a magnetic force he couldn't resist and there was a connection between them that was too compelling to ignore.

He left the library and went up to the third floor bedroom, which was dark, and flopped down on the bed.

"Harry?"

He sat up and turned on the light then looked over at the painting.

Tom was staring at him. He studied Harry closely, a frown on his face.

Harry cast a Muffliato Charm and asked, "Were you sleeping? Did I wake you?"

"No."

"Do you sleep?" he asked curiously.

"Sometimes," Tom said.

"Can I ask you something?"

Tom nodded, his face inscrutable. He looked tense.

"I'd like to know about the portrait realm. What's it like?"

Tom frowned. "It's like being in a different dimension," he answered after a moment.

"How do you move between portraits? Is it like Apparating?"

"No, I walk between them," Tom said.

"How? What does it physically look like?"

"There's a hall of doorways, and each doorway leads to a different portrait or painting."

"Wow. So, when you leave this painting to go to your portrait, you go out into a hall then walk to the doorway that leads to the portrait?"

"Precisely."

"Have you visited all the portraits in the house?"

"No, none of the portraits. I prefer the paintings."

"Why?"

"I don't want to talk to any of the portraits. I'd rather visit the paintings. They're more peaceful."

Harry had a lot of questions. "What's it like being in a painting? What does it look like inside it?"

"It's a bit like being in a dream, I suppose," Tom said, looking around. "But being awake inside it."

"Doesn't it get boring? What do you do when you're bored?"

"I meditate," Tom said. "I enter a state of consciousness where there is no time or space."

"Oh." Harry paused. "Is that what you're going to teach me?"

Tom nodded. He looked more relaxed now.

"How did you learn to meditate?" Harry asked after a moment.

"I fell into it naturally," Tom said. "I started doing it at the orphanage before I even got to Hogwarts. It was a kind of escape then."

"Yeah," Harry said, understanding. "When I would get locked in my cupboard for a long time, I would end up kind of retreating inside my mind and I'd go somewhere else."

"Then it shouldn't be too hard to learn to meditate. It's a similar thing." He gazed at Harry, his eyes narrowing. "Did they lock you up a lot?" he asked.

"Yes."

Tom looked angry. "I can't believe Dumbledore made you live there," he said.

Harry shrugged. "I had to live there, because of my mother's protection. Dumbledore could have made them treat me better though," he said darkly. He looked at Tom. "You know what I wonder? Why doesn't the wizarding world have a better system for orphans? Aren't there wizarding orphanages, at the very least?"

"No, there aren't," Tom said quietly.

"You should never have had to live in a Muggle orphanage. If Hogwarts can find Muggleborns, don't they know then who's a wizard or witch at birth? Why do they leave it until we're eleven? We shouldn't have had to wait for our Hogwarts invitations to find out we were wizards. I don't know if a wizarding orphanage is the answer but there should be something."

Tom nodded. "I've asked myself the same questions," he said.

"I also don't understand why they can't make Hogwarts a year-round school for the students who want to stay full-time," Harry said.

"I'm sure they could," Tom said. "Some teachers live at Hogwarts full-time anyway. I don't know why they don't allow students of special circumstances to stay year-round. I was never told a good reason for it."

"Me neither," Harry said. "They need to change the system. Maybe they will now. Who knows how many new orphans there are now, thanks to Voldemort. Where will they go - the ones who don't have any family left? And what about the ones who are too young for Hogwarts?" He took a breath. "It's such a mess. Teddy, my godson, is an orphan - but he's lucky; he has Andromeda and me. What about the ones who don't have anyone?"

Tom stared at him. "Maybe you could do something."

"I want to!" Harry said. "I don't know what I can do but I want to do something."

"You could use Voldemort's money and buy some land and have an orphanage built," Tom suggested quietly.

"Yeah ... " Harry said thoughtfully. "Maybe I could do something like that. I'd use my own money though."

"Or you could use the Riddle House and turn it into an orphanage. It's yours now, you know. You can do what you want with it."

"I don't know," Harry said, "too many people know that Voldemort used to be Tom Riddle. How would I explain that I now own his house?"

"You could tell everyone you want to buy it to turn it into an orphanage," Tom proposed. "Ulbrok could help you draw up some false documents putting it up for auction, and you could 'buy' it then."

"That's ... not a bad idea," Harry said. "I'll think about it. Though, I also like the idea of buying land and building one from scratch."

Tom nodded. "You could do a lot, Harry." He looked at him seriously. "You could be what the wizarding world needs. You have it in you to be a great leader."

"I don't want to be a leader."

"But you are one, naturally," Tom said. "And you're powerful enough to be at the top."

"How is that different from Voldemort?" Harry cried. "I don't want that, Tom. I'm not interested in power or greatness. I want to do something, but I definitely don't want to be a leader of the wizarding world."

Tom sighed. "You already are. You just don't want to see it."

Harry didn't want to talk about it anymore. He changed the subject. "Is there any way Voldemort could get out of the mirror?"

"I sincerely hope not," Tom said. "If he did, he'd try to kill me."

Harry frowned. "Could you defend yourself if he did?"

"I don't know."

"Can we get rid of him? Is there any way?"

"If there is, I don't know what it is," Tom said. "Believe me, I've been trying to think of it."

They both fell silent.

"Are you tired?" Tom asked after a while, looking more closely at Harry.

"Yeah ... a bit," Harry said.

"We can begin the meditation instruction, if you like. The first stage works best if you're a bit drowsy; it makes you more receptive. I'll take you through a guided meditation and it will probably make you fall asleep, but that's okay."

Harry nodded. "All right. What do I do?"

"Lay down and turn off the light," Tom instructed.

Harry lay back and stretched out on the bed, then reached out and turned off the light. The room went dark.

"Now take a deep breath," Tom said, his voice soft. "Slowly inhale, then exhale ..."

Harry obeyed.

"Relax your body ... feel every muscle in your body relaxing, going loose ..."

Tom's voice was soothing. As he continued the instructions Harry felt himself unwinding further and further. He began to drift off, and within minutes, he fell into a deep sleep.