DISCLAIMER: The following story is based on situations and characters from the Harry Potter books which are created and owned by J. K. Rowling, and various other publishers, including, but not limited to Warner Bros., Inc., Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, and Raincoat Books. No use other than entertainment is intended and no financial gain is being made. No trademark or copyright infringement is intended.

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Chapter 25 : Lost Friends, Bound Enemies

What can you do when you have another version of your greatest enemy following you around? What do you do with someone who knows every little secret of yours, even your darkest thoughts and plans for the future; and using it shamelessly to his advantage?

It was the worst thing that could've happened to Harry, given the circumstances. But there was nothing he could do about it now. Well, at least until he figured out how to sever his ties with Tom Riddle permanently.

And that was nearly impossible, wasn't it? If Riddle didn't manage to do it, then how could Harry?

He'd worked so hard to have a relatively Voldemort-free life at Durmstrang and now all his efforts had gone to waste. None of his schemes at Durmstrang, his training with the Aurors, even his shaky alliances with Norway's top seemed to matter anymore. In fact, he felt like a helpless child again, with no control over the situation. Having Death Eaters or their traitors at his school was nothing in comparison to the real deal after all. And somehow, this Riddle was so much more terrifying to deal with, especially with the amount of intimate knowledge he held over Harry's head.

Harry stared at the boy in front of him, his intent gaze never leaving Riddle's form as they sat together in one of the carriages that was taking them back to school. He was alone with the other boy. No Krum. No Dolohov to distract Harry from his own anxious thoughts. No friends that could help him out in this situation. It was pure madness.

No, he'd have to figure it out all by himself, as usual. This was soul magic of the most complicated sort, after all. A type of magic that shouldn't even be possible. Their case was unprecedented, not normal by any standards, which is why he couldn't simply find a book in order to solve his problem. One just didn't split his soul and attach it to a living, breathing human being by accident. Such accidents went against every law, every logic that governed even the darkest forms of magic in existence. He knew that. Durmstrang had hammered that lesson into his brain since day one.

But this was something else entirely.

Horcrux.

That was the term for it, although Harry could've never imagined that it would be possible to actually create such a thing. But Voldemort did and the prophecy only sealed Harry's fate, overcomplicating matters even more. On top of that, Dumbledore had withheld information for the sake of keeping Harry as ignorant as possible. A tragedy in the making. That's what the headmaster engineered since the moment Harry had lost his parents.

His own fate. Insignificant in the eyes of the most powerful people in this war. He'd known that for a long time now.

It's why that bitterness and anger almost swallowed him up after his talk with Riddle, before he managed to get out of his self-induced pity party to actually do some research.

Harry swallowed, averting his eyes from his stoic companion.

Tom didn't know Harry had researched Horcruxes behind his back after their talk, in the safety of his office at Potter manor. One copy of the book Magick Moste Evile, written by Godelot of all people, had hinted at Horcruxes, describing them as soul pieces. Not much was said beyond that, but Harry had been amused nonetheless, knowing that Godelot had at some point possessed the Elder Wand, which supposedly helped the man in his dubious research.

The last days had been grueling and the books on soul magic he acquired with the help of his ancestors made his head spin. Augusta's infinite wisdom for example had certainly been illuminating, to say the least. And she wouldn't talk to Riddle. None of his ancestors would, because they were loyal to Harry. Funny that such a light family as the Potters had no qualms about collecting information about the Dark Arts, but it was helpful in the end. Potter manor even possessed a copy of Secrets of the Darkest Art by Owle Bullock, which Harry had taken to his office as soon as he left Riddle to his own devices. Merlin knows, what the other wizard would do with such books.

Let him think that Harry hung onto his every feeble explanation regarding soul magic. It was Harry's first secret that he guarded against Riddle's inquisitive nature, well aware that the other boy had refrained from using the actual term when explaining what happened at the ministry. Even then, the bastard had talked about their link in general terms. The more important stuff, how to destroy a soul piece with Fiendfyre or basilisk venom, how to separate your soul, none of that had been mentioned.

It told him all he needed to know about Riddle's loyalties.

In a way, Harry was glad, though; satisfied that the association had inadvertently freed Riddle's tainted soul piece from Harry's body. This way, he didn't have to share his thoughts with a stranger anymore.

The only thing left to deal with was the link between them.

Harry sighed internally, his upper lip twitching in irritation. Riddle had nothing in common with Voldemort in terms of looks, but he rivaled him in deviousness and magical talent on any day. Harry would never let the bastard return to Potter manor, just for that reason alone.

Tom was holding a copy of The Oracle, a subsidiary of the Daily Prophet in his hands. His stony expression told Harry everything he needed to know. Riddle was re-reading Rita's article about the origins of You-Know-Who, which had been released earlier this morning under a pseudonym.

From this day forth, the entire wizarding community of Britain and beyond would know that the pureblood supremacist wasn't as pure as he claimed to be. And it was brilliant. From the Gaunt connection, to the poverty and madness that clung to this particular name, the Orphanage, everything was laid out for the public to see. It wasn't much, though. Nothing about Voldemort's living conditions nor his school days had been revealed. Harry had recounted what Dumbledore had given him, knowing quite well that Dumbledore still had so much more to tell about Voldemort's origins, perhaps even his research into Horcruxes, which the headmaster hadn't bothered to explain.

But Harry wouldn't go so far as to talk about Merope using a love potion on Riddle Sr. And he hadn't. Dragging bystanders into Voldemort's issues wasn't very smart and Merope Gaunt had been a desperate and immoral person, but not an evil one.

"Very clever, Potter. I'm impressed," Riddle said, sounding anything but. Folding the paper in half, he then carefully set it aside, ignoring Hedwig's annoyed hooting.

Good girl. She didn't seem to like him much.

"Glad to meet your standards," Harry replied, pushing his glasses up a bit. "I'm sure your alter ego will be delighted to hear about this."

Voldemort would be furious, of course.

Riddle merely smiled, running a hand through his hair, still keeping his eyes trained on Harry's form. "It's amusing, really," he said, his expression aloof. "He will retaliate, you know. And it won't be pretty for you."

Was that supposed to scare him? Honestly, Riddle would have to try harder than that.

"It doesn't matter," Harry drawled, waving him off. "Besides, the oath doesn't stop me from damaging his reputation. It's simply another method of keeping him in line."

Riddle chuckled darkly, his foot grazing Harry's slightly as he shifted in his seat. "You've already exhausted your blackmail material, child. I find it hard to believe you will be able to circumvent the contract, trapped as you are now to do his bidding. He's playing with you."

"And I'm using him. So where's the difference?" Harry shot back. He knew he would have to play the bait until this whole mess with the association was dealt with. But it wasn't an endless affair and given the progress Voldemort's Death Eaters made with the association every day, it wouldn't take long before an all out war broke out; at which point, Harry would be free to do whatever he wanted. It was Voldemort who was doing all the work. Not Harry.

Placing his arms behind his head, he went on. "I know what he wants me to do. And he knows that I'm aware of it." Averting his eyes, Harry briefly looked out of the window. It was a bit disconcerting, staring at this stranger and knowing that it was just a corpse he was talking to. Granted, Riddle's new form hadn't been innocent, but still.

Riddle remained silent, schooling his features. Harry took it all in and decided to be honest with him. He had a feeling that it would work better with this version of Voldemort than the original one. Though, he couldn't exactly pinpoint why that was the case.

"I'm not underestimating him, if that's what you think. But I'm also not fooling myself into believing you wouldn't retaliate either, Riddle," he said, voice sharp as he locked gazes with the other wizard again. "I know how to deal with him. But you. You have your own plans. Don't think I didn't notice."

To his surprise, Riddle began to laugh, the sound chilling and high but oddly fitting for someone like him. Taken aback, Harry didn't even react to it outwardly, but he couldn't deny that Riddle's attitude was exceptionally patronizing.

"Your attempts at playing this game are quite ludicrous." Riddle smirked. "But go on. Tell me what you think."

Unfazed, Harry lowered his arms and made himself more comfortable in his seat. It was a challenge, trying to keep up with Riddle's mood swings and his wit. Admittedly, it was also quite stimulating, talking to him. He'd never met someone who could make Harry feel as if he was dealing with an equal. With adults like Karkaroff or Farnes Harry simply brushed off their efforts at controlling him. And with his peers at Durmstrang, well, he usually felt 10 years older in their presence.

He just didn't fit in. And he never would.

Of course, everything changed when he'd met and actually talked to Voldemort for the first time. Harry had felt inferior, but still rebellious enough to change the status quo. However, Tom was different, which was odd, considering the fact that this person wasn't that much younger or less powerful than the original version. After all, the soul had attached itself to Harry when Voldemort was at the height of his reign.

But Riddle acted differently, as if he actually wanted Harry to challenge him, coaxing out whatever potential he had for this 'game'. And enjoying the results, even if he claimed they were ludicrous. His actions were contradictory.

Harry grinned, inwardly hoping that he wouldn't regret meeting those challenges.

"Very well," Harry began, his hand absently smoothing down the wrinkles on his Durmstrang robe. "The link we share doesn't allow you to leave my side. We both feel pain if you do."

Riddle inclined his head. They'd both tested that theory a couple of days ago when Riddle unexpectedly attempted to Disapparate, leaving Harry behind. Needless to say, Riddle had returned, holding his head as if to hide the pain. It hadn't been necessary, because Harry had been delirious at that point, barely keeping himself from throwing up.

Normally, Harry didn't think Riddle was the type to let pain stop him from achieving his goals, but it must have been just as bad for him as it was for Harry, though the older wizard was somewhat better or more experienced at hiding it. In the end, they figured out that they -at least- had to be in the same place in order to keep the link between them from lashing out. They could be in different rooms, different parts of a building, but not in different places altogether.

Then, there was the fact that Riddle had been correct about Harry's soul being so closely entwined with Riddle's that it was impossible to separate them physically. It was the reason why the other was even following Harry back to Durmstrang.

Harry's eyes narrowed in thought. "Obviously, you wouldn't have bothered with me if that link didn't exist in the first place."

A strange expression crossed Riddle's face for a moment, before he returned to stare at him in silence. Harry had no idea what to make of it, but he went on, ignoring it for now.

"You didn't react to the article the way I thought you would." Scratching his chin, Harry leaned forward a bit, eyeing his companion in suspicion. He wondered what this was about. Voldemort would have tortured him for this. Riddle at least should have done something. "Then there's the fact you didn't Apparate us both straight to the Dark Lord's lair, although I'm sure you can guess where he is," he said lowly.

Tilting his head to the side, he observed him. "You refused to reveal yourself, which means you're bidding your time or you have plans that have nothing to do with Voldemort's at all."

Riddle's lips twitched.

"It makes me think you aren't exactly on his side," Harry concluded, watching as Riddle's eyes seemed to darken, taking on a crimson shade. "Maybe, just maybe you want to take over instead, getting rid of the competition and all that."

A pale hand shot out, gripping the collar of Harry's robe tightly and pulling him forward in a shockingly violent movement that left Harry breathless.

"You presume too much, boy," Riddle hissed, their faces mere inches apart.

"Really?" Harry mocked, ignoring the proximity, though it was extremely difficult. "I'm certain you didn't like being stuck with me for over a decade, while your other self was calling the shots." His own hand reached out, curling around Riddle's wrist. With a forceful tug, he pushed it away, sneering at the look of smug satisfaction on Riddle's face. It was obvious he was taking pleasure in Harry's discomfort.

"You don't strike me as the type who follows people easily, even if it's a version of yourself," he concluded, his eyes hard.

"Yes," Riddle admitted without emotion. "Leaving aside the fact that I'm linked to you, it's distasteful to consider abandoning my own ambitions and plans for the sake of my Other Self."

"So you do want to take over? Is that it?" Harry pushed. Nearby Hedwig hooted again, briefly distracting Harry from his staring contest with Riddle. They would be arriving soon.

"Maybe," the other wizard replied enigmatically. "Don't forget I'm his immortality, Potter. And so are you, until we destroy the link between us."

"Isn't he your immortality as well?" Harry frowned, having wondered how this whole immortality thing even worked when you split your soul. He didn't think Riddle would readily abandon his only chance at immortality just to take over. He wouldn't destroy his own soul on purpose.

"Not quite." Riddle said, lips thinning as he paused to consider how to explain it. Still, the word Horcrux hadn't been mentioned between them, but Harry could see the mounting suspicion in Riddle's cruel gaze. "He is the master soul, Potter. A soul piece is meant to tether him to the world of the living, which is why he didn't die that night he attacked you. I wasn't meant to return in human form, though. I'm merely the receptacle for his ongoing survival."

Harry stilled. Riddle made it sound like there weren't many soul pieces out there, as if he had an active part in ensuring Voldemort's survival. But he was an accidental Horcrux, not the first one. Besides, human Horcruxes weren't good enough to keep a soul grounded to this plane. Harry guessed they were too unstable as containers, especially with another soul possibly botching up the entire process. It meant the other wizard didn't want Harry to know how many Horcruxes had been made in the first place. It was too horrifying, though; thinking that Voldemort readily split his soul multiple times. Two was already bad enough. Three was complete madness. The author of Secrets of the Darkest Art had warned of the consequences, explaining how splitting your soul just once already caused irreparable damage.

Though, it kind of explained why Voldemort had already been so out of it, before attacking the Potters. The history books had certainly described him as a monstrous being, incapable of any rational thought process.

Something else made sense now as well. Voldemort's return to sanity meant that he must've done something with his Horcruxes to repair any damage, be it internal or external. For example, he looked like an older Tom Riddle and he certainly acted like the Riddle from Hogwarts, albeit with a sharper and more cruel air to him. He also made choices he wouldn't have made before that fateful night.

This time, Voldemort's priority was to get rid of the association, before attempting to kill Harry or Dumbledore. He'd said it himself. The prophecy was only secondary to his plans. Something must've changed significantly, though Harry couldn't figure out if it was his own involvement with them that made Voldemort so determined to get rid of their enemies, or if it was something else. One thing was certain, though. Voldemort was back to his most powerful state.

Harry recalled watching Dumbledore's memory of the day a Muggleborn witch had been killed at Hogwarts. The Voldemort from now was poised, confident, just as capable of charming his followers as his younger version. They were eerily similar. And so was this Tom Riddle in front of him.

But there was a crucial difference as well.

"Something you wanted to say, Potter?" Riddle asked, crossing his legs.

"No."

Harry decided to ignore him for the rest of the journey. He had his answers. Harry knew that he'd have to find out how many Horcruxes he'd have to collect to get more "blackmail" material. And finally, he needed to succeed in destroying the link between them. Failure in that was not an option.

Durmstrang, Harry thought, was a majestic sight, especially against the night's sky; an impenetrable fortress that guarded its students against enemies of every kind. The open, green field contrasted nicely with grey stone walls that sprung up from the earth.

His carriage joined the row, as students all around them were making their way to the entrance hall. Past the edge of woodland, Harry could see the shimmering wards surrounding the castle, but the most surprising sight was the small group of Norwegian Aurors patrolling the grounds.

Amongst them, Auror Rendahl was barking orders left and right, which drew the attention of several students walking past the group. Harry was wondering what the Aurors were doing here in the first place, since Durmstrang wasn't exactly under siege now that Voldemort has finally gotten what he wanted. They were acting on Farnes' orders, but he had a hard time imagining what that meant.

He was so distracted that he didn't notice a figure approaching Harry quickly. A body knocked into him and arms encircled Harry, attaching themselves to him like an octopus.

"Harry Potter," a female voice shouted in his ear, before withdrawing. Mercia Robards was looking up at him, a frown marring her face. "You didn't write. Shame on you."

Harry pried her arms away, aware of Riddle's cold stare at his back. "You've seen me at my birthday party." Riddle shot them both a brief, irritated look, before leaving their side, wordlessly joining the professors near the entrance. Seeing him go made Harry feel a bit uneasy about the situation. At Potter manor, it hadn't been difficult trying to keep an eye on the Dark Lord, but here he would have a hard time seeing past Riddle's machinations.

And that was the thing. Riddle could've kept Harry a prisoner, could have controlled and shaped him to do what he wanted, but he was letting Harry go instead, even going so far as to play along. It was just wrong, seeing him like that, acting utterly harmless.

Harry had to remind himself that the man was an expert manipulator. Whatever he had in mind, it didn't bode well for Harry's wellbeing.

"Who was that?" Mercia suddenly asked, her eyes sweeping past the masses to settle on Riddle's lean form. He was tempted to tell her the truth, but he couldn't.

"Our new Dark Arts professor." Harry turned his back, fiddling with Hedwig's cage instead. She'd been getting restless in the carriage.

As soon as she was free, his owl settled on his shoulder, briefly nipping his ear before flying off.

"Huh? Doesn't he look at bit too young for that?" Both of them joined the student body, slowly following the pathway back to the castle. Up ahead, he could see Krum's broad back. He must've spotted them both at some point, but Krum was obviously keeping his distance, which wasn't all that surprising.

"Maybe," Harry replied dryly. He wanted to laugh. Voldemort, difficult as it was to admit, was the perfect teacher for the Dark Arts.

Together they entered the main hall, ignoring their classmates as they made their way over to one of the tables reserved for third year students.

"He's moody. I don't know what's wrong with him." Mercia whispered, briefly shooting Krum a look, before taking her seat. He was ignoring them both. And so was Dolohov, as far as Harry could see. The boy had taken to sticking with his usual crowd of pureblood fanatics.

"Did you manage to talk to Filipp?" he asked. Mercia nodded, but her lips thinned, as if that particular memory hadn't been pleasant at all.

Ignoring the commotion around them, Harry raised his head, watching carefully as the new headmaster took his place at the front, ready to address the students. The man looked frail, unassuming, but that didn't tell Harry much. The wizard had been chosen by the school board and Minister Farnes, which meant nothing. He could be perfectly harmless or another idiot ready to cause trouble. Only time would tell.

"Welcome back-," a raspy voice announced and Harry tuned him out for the rest of the speech, opting to look at Riddle instead, who was conversing in low tones with the Transfigurations professor. It was an interesting sight. Irritating perhaps, but interesting to see Tom Riddle put up a mask, as he skillfully began to draw people into his sphere of influence. It looked so easy, but it was anything but. Harry could tell. The professors at Durmstrang were no fools that fawned over others just because they exhibited charm or some sort of skill. It was a testament to Riddle's rhetoric skills that he managed to get people to hang onto his every word in less than five minutes.

Harry clenched his hands in frustration, hating it all.

School work was boring. Now that he had no Death Eaters or association followers torturing him in class, life became bleak and grey, feeding into Harry's restlessness. He would have been happy with anything at this point. But no, Minister Farnes had truly purged the school of all Voldemort supporters, excluding their children of course. The teachers were harmless and neutral, the headmaster efficient and happy to do whatever was necessary to protect Harry, which was...nice. But well, boring.

No challenges, no conspiracies. There were no dead or missing students, no Death Eaters patrolling outside the wards. And if they were present, Rendahl's group of Aurors dealt with any threats as swiftly and silently as possible.

Actually, Rendahl was the only person aside from Mercia and Eileen who still bothered to talk to Harry outside of class. Danielle had been pulled out of school by her mother. The others, the small group of students still met in Grindelwald's hideout once a week, but Harry only taught them how to fight. They weren't close friends, only acquaintances. The distance between Harry and the others grew slowly and it was with no small bitterness that he recalled Lupin's words. It was a business arrangement. Nothing more, nothing less.

Krum ignored him, for the most part. Sometimes Harry imagined he could see guilt, or maybe regret in his eyes, but Krum never joined their group. Some argued that he was too busy with preparations and training for the Quidditch World Cup, but Harry knew better. The other boy had never offered an explanation, but his silence was all Harry needed to figure out what had happened. Krum probably had passed on information about Harry to the association and that's why he'd been present during the questioning; betraying him in exchange for something else. His family's safety maybe. Or his career. It was hard to tell.

It didn't even matter, to be honest. Riddle had been right about that. If Krum didn't want to explain himself, so be it.

The same applied to Dolohov. The boy had requested a change of rooms at the start of term, leaving Harry alone in his dorm. The new headmaster had agreed, perhaps more for Harry's sake than Filipp's, but Dolohov's reasons were slightly murkier than Krum's. People gossiped behind his back, aware that Filipp had lost his father just recently. And in such a brutal and cruel way.

Harry couldn't find it in himself to pity the boy. It wouldn't help anyway. He had other problems to deal with.

Despite Harry's troubles with the social side of life, his classwork was as good as always, although he was using his holly wand and not the cursed Rowan one; courtesy of Tom Riddle, of course. He'd actually given back Harry's wand in exchange for another one they had found in the cellar of Potter manor. No doubt, Riddle would've preferred to pay Ollivander a visit, but they both hadn't had the time nor the inclination to meet the wandmaker. He'd figure out their situation in five seconds or less, contacting Dumbledore just as quickly.

It just added to Harry's suspicions about Riddle. The bastard was planning something. In fact, he was constantly seen at Durmstrang's library, obsessively researching obscure magic and keeping his distance from Harry.

The worst thing about this situation was the fact that Harry couldn't talk to anyone about this, not even the minister who had accepted Riddle to teach at Durmstrang in the first place, not knowing what kind of darkness swirled behind that mask of innocent politeness.

That was the deal. Harry's silence in exchange for Riddle's cooperation and more freedom. They both knew however that it wouldn't hold, especially with Voldemort still demanding that Harry fulfilled his part of the contract. Riddle must be dreading the day he was forced to leave with Harry in order to meet the Dark Lord. Merlin knows what would happen if Voldemort discovered Riddle's presence at their meetings.

Harry stared ahead, not really listening to anything.

"Are you incapable of staying awake in my class, Mr. Potter?" the devil in question suddenly said, interrupting Harry's daydreaming. How rude.

"I don't know, Professor," Harry replied cheekily, surveying him with an air of boredom. "Maybe it's your voice." Staring up at Riddle, Harry smirked at him."I know you're talking and it might be important, but all I can hear is the sound of your overinflated ego."

Silence met his statement.

Then, "Detention, Mr. Potter. With me," Riddle announced silkily, his smirk promising retribution. At that, Harry blinked and placed a hand underneath his chin, enjoying this game between them. It's been more than a month and Harry was probably the only person in the castle who didn't swoon at the sight of their new Dark Arts Professor. Someone had to do the job after all; reminding this asshole that he wasn't in control.

Mercia sucked in a sharp breath, gaping at Harry as if he'd completely lost it. She wasn't the only one, though. Everyone seemed to adore him.

The lesson continued as usual, with people occasionally glaring at him for daring to insult their beloved 'Professor Thomas Deverill'. And really, that name was quite stupid, but it still made Harry aware that Riddle had gleaned too much information out of Harry' brain. He'd probably done it on purpose, choosing that name in particular. Barnabas Deverill had been another owner of the Elder Wand at some point, which was not something Harry had ever shared with the Dark Lord.

At the end of the lesson, Harry picked up his essay on vampires, briefly glancing at the bottom of the page. Riddle had scribbled down the time and place for Harry's detention. The Potter heir sighed and left the classroom, well aware of the man's infuriating stare.

"Remind me again why we're here and not at the ministry, Potter," Rendahl hissed, eyeing the cramped space in the abandoned classroom in distaste. Harry shot a wandless Bombarda at him, enjoying how much more powerful his magic had become over the last months, how clear his mind was without the Horcrux dragging him down. He'd refused to even touch his Rowan wand, but so far no negative side-effects had come out of this.

The Auror deflected the spell, but his annoyance was palpable.

"It's because you have to obey Minister Farnes," Harry voiced, sidestepping a Crucio.

"That doesn't mean I agreed to train you here. This place isn't working. It's way too small," Rendahl said. And to be honest, he had a point. Durmstrang didn't have a training hall and the duelling chamber in the dungeons wasn't up to their standards yet.

What the Auror didn't know was that Harry had begged Farnes to let him stay in the castle. He didn't want to drag Riddle along with him to his training and he certainly didn't want to see Riddle during one of Harry's ministry sessions, spying on everything Harry discussed or even making his own allies and thus undermining Harry's work.

"It'll have to do for now. Expelliarmus." Harry disarmed him swiftly, catching the Auror's wand just as quickly. "We'll find something else," he murmured and Rendahl bowed his head, hiding a smile that threatened to appear.

Someone clapped loudly and both of them turned around, only to see Eileen floating towards them, smiling brightly. "That was excellent, Harry. You're making swift progress."

"Of course he does," Rendahl shot back, rolling his eyes. "With me there's no reason why Potter should fail. Soon, he'll be ready to fight off any Death Eater he encounters." The Auror was spreading his arms, as if to make a point. It looked ridiculous.

Briefly closing his eyes, Harry inhaled the stifling air inside the classroom. Death Eaters were the least of his problems.

"Is there something you wanted, Eileen?" Harry asked, turning around to address her. The ghost looked solemn now, withdrawn even. Her eyes were serious and even Rendahl sensed the change in atmosphere, keeping his mouth shut as a result.

"Yes," she replied. "Have you figured out what those numbers mean?" Her gaze landed on one of the tables, where Harry's book bag had been carefully deposited. For a moment, Harry didn't know what she was talking about, before he remembered the journal he'd been gifted with.

"Hepzibah's entry, you mean?" he asked carefully, now alert. That book had caused him too many sleepless nights already, despite the utter rubbish the witch had written about a certain young Dark Lord. Upon returning, Eileen had insisted on doing more research, though Harry never figured out why she thought the journal was so important.

"Indeed," Eileen said, ignoring Rendahl's questioning stare. "While you were too busy discrediting the Dark Lord in public, I took the time to look it up." She sighed, her ghostly fingers brushing back a strand of lank hair. There was something in her expression, some sort of pain or perhaps fear when she mentioned the Dark Lord that made Harry think he wasn't getting the full picture.

"Well?" Harry prompted, tapping his foot impatiently.

Shaking her head, Eileen floated over, inspecting Harry's bag. "The witch was stupid, but she knew what she was getting into. In the end, she left a clue behind. Something that would help people out, in case they ever managed to find her journal."

Harry frowned, stepping closer as well. Rendahl remained silent, though. "But that can't be right. If it's so obvious, the wandmakers would've never given me that book in the first place," he argued.

"Can someone explain what's going on?" the Auror interrupted.

"No," both Harry and Eileen said, effectively shutting him up, although he wasn't very happy about it.

"Anyway," Eileen continued smoothly, "I think the wandmakers wanted you to know what those numbers meant. They wanted you to figure it out in order to carry out their Lord's task."

"And what do they mean exactly?" Harry asked, suddenly feeling uneasy.

"Coordinates," the ghost replied. "Or to be more specific. They reveal the main location of the people who are currently trying to hunt you down." At that, Rendahl looked up, just as interested in the topic as Harry.

"Nurmengard prison, that's the main base."

Harry froze, his suspicions finally proven right. So it was Lord Grindelwald who had been somehow involved with the association, possibly directing their attacks even behind bars. And Harry was meant to go there, meant to confront the old man. Granted, it was risky. But it would also give him the opportunity to strike back against these people. And their leader, if that's what the man was. It made sense though. Voldemort wouldn't put aside his issues with Dumbledore and Harry, if it hadn't been important.

"Absolutely not, Potter. You're not going there," Rendahl hissed, intently gazing at Harry's scheming expression. "Obviously it's a trap, you dunderhead."

"It is," Eileen agreed, though she tried to hide her concern. "I don't recommend going there all by yourself if you want to confront the Ex-Dark Lord."

"He won't be going alone," a cool voice suddenly interrupted and three heads turned simultaneously, instantly spotting the figure leaning against the door.

Oh bloody hell.

Brilliant. Just brilliant. Riddle was standing there, gazing at Harry and looking entirely too satisfied. "I was beginning to think you'd never figure it out." Riddle's eyes were sharp, almost crimson. And while the Auror had no reason to suspect anything, Harry could see that Eileen was watching the young teacher warily.

"What do you want, Professor?" Harry pressed his lips together, not entirely certain what Riddle wanted from him. It was unexpected. This whole thing.

Evidently, he'd known about Grindelwald long before Harry put the pieces together. It was frustrating, knowing that this Horcrux was using Harry's subconscious knowledge to his advantage without telling him anything.

Riddle raised an eyebrow. "Me? I'm simply offering my support."

"Don't make me laugh," Harry spat, disgusted. "There's something you want, so spit it out. I'm tired of your secrets." His aggressive reaction was probably confusing the hell out of Rendahl, but Harry decided to ignore his two 'friends'. He couldn't care less. So Riddle wanted him to confront the retired Dark Lord? Very well.

Riddle offered a smile. It didn't reassure Harry in the slightest.

"Follow me, child. And I will tell you."