Chapter 26: A Change of Head

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Harry woke groggily, trying desperately to cover the sunlight streaming in from the window. Hadn't there been curtains in Ron's room? He was sure there was. Every time he opened his eyes, he was overwhelmed with the brightness of the room. Was the roof missing? He had never remembered a morning at the Weasley's that was this bright.

After a few moments, he pushed up off the bed and felt a large headache hit him suddenly. His whole head throbbed. He winced in pain and laid back down. His mouth felt unusually dry, and he found his memories of last night hazy at best. He was hungover. It all made sense at last.

He turned to the bedside table and found a mug of water waiting for him. In his mind, he thanked Mrs. Weasley. He could always count on her to carry him to bed and leave him some water for the morning. She really was a blessing, that woman.

When Harry grabbed the mug, he discovered that it was not water inside it, but a tea of some sort. He sniffed it a couple times, finding its odor rather peculiar, almost like the comfort of bacon and eggs. He took a sip and a warm feeling began running down his throat and throughout his veins. Harry sighed in relief, finding the room was not so bright any longer. Though Harry had searched and searched back in his younger years for the hangover cure, he would confess that Mrs. Weasley had the best treatment around. He didn't know if it was magic, but he didn't really mind either way.

Harry took a large gulp of the tea laying on his side, cafeful not to spill, and placed the cup down. He readied himself for another attempt at sitting up, hoping he would feel less of a headache through the process. He decided to stretch out his arms, but found that his left one hit something on the bed next to him. Harry turned, startled, to the figure now moving underneath the sheets beside him.

"Tom?"

Tom hissed and grabbed the sheets to cover his head completely underneath their darkness.

Harry, confused, could think of nothing but to poke him awake. "Why, in Merlin's name, are you in my bed?"

Tom growled a few times, but ultimately did not make a motion to move or answer.

Harry sighed. "There's some nice tea on the bedtable. It'll make you feel loads better."

With much difficulty, Tom turned his body to face the bedside table, reached out for the tea and pulled it under the covers for him to drink.

Harry just waited, deciding to drink his tea, as well. After a moment, Tom pushed away the sheets and sat up. His usually perfectly-styled dark brown hair was sticking up on one side, as if it were magnetized to the ceiling. Harry attempted to hide a giggle.

Tom turned to him, eyes narrowed. "Do not laugh at my state, Potter, as you are just as bad, if not worse, than I am currently," he hissed.

"Someone's grumpy," Harry mumbled just loud enough for Tom to hear. He took another gulp of tea and set the mug back down. He tossed his legs over the side of the bed and stretched his arms, as he had meant to do before. It was nice to feel the movement in his muscles. Harry smiled when he was done and stood carefully, finding he was perfectly able to do so. There was not a bathroom in this room, nor a mirror, as all the walls were blank. Harry instead looked hard for his reflection in the window to the right of the bed. He could just barely make out the ruffled craziness that was his hair, the darkness in his face, and the redness in his eyes. He didn't look too terrible. He had been worse.

It was quite hilarious, though, to see Tom in this state. He'd never even seen a hair out of place on Tom's head—except, of course, that day at Tom's house where Tom had been moping for a while in his bedroom. Compared to that day, this Tom was much more disheveled. There were lines on his face, and a flush to his cheeks. His hairstyle was present, but most certainly ruined in every fashion. His clothes that he had worn yesterday were wrinkled and bunched up in places, obviously slept in. Harry found himself amused at how normal he looked.

"What are you staring at?" Tom asked, not quite angry, but not quite casual.

Harry shrugged, smiling boyishly. "I dunno. Just…you. You're a right mess."

Tom frowned. "It was very unclear how potent the fire whiskey was, and I never intended to consume so much." Tom took another large gulp of his tea. "Honestly, I am unsure of how I made it through even one glass." He shook his head, attempting to clear his vision a bit.

Harry nodded. "It was very good whiskey. I rather enjoyed it." Harry attempted to recall what had happened after he finished his glass. "Not sure I acted like I enjoyed it." He could remember feeling sad, but much after that was a blur.

Without hesitation, Tom downed the whole mug of tea, swallowing it with ease. He turned to toss his feet off the edge of the bed and onto the floor. He did not try to stand, but instead let his upper body fall back onto the bed, closing his eyes.

Harry watched curiously. He'd never seen Tom act this way before. He wondered if he was alright. He walked over to the foot of the bed and leaned over Tom, staring down at his face. The longer he looked, the more he thought it an unfamiliar face. He noticed each of his features separately, and then together, making a completely different face than the one he had gotten used to. He was unsure of just how, or why, his mind was doing such a thing.

"Tom," Harry said softly.

Tom below him opened his eyes. Harry noticed how they were a lighter shade of brown than normal, like a hazelnut rather than a chocolate. Perhaps, Harry thought, it was the white sheets. He considered, for a short moment, that maybe he liked how they looked against Tom's pale-cream skin.

"Why were you sleeping in the same bed as me?"

Harry saw the rise and fall of Tom's chest underneath the crumpled, worn button-up he wore. As his chest expanded, Tom's body caused the shirt to smooth out a bit, filling it out perfectly for just a moment before his breath released and his chest fell.

"An excellent question that may present itself to me in a few moments," Tom said, his eyes turning away from Harry and stared at nothing, as if he was concentrating on something else. "It is coming back slowly, but I am remembering nonetheless."

Harry stood up straight and looked to the empty mug of tea on the bedtable on Tom's side. Drawing a conclusion, he grabbed his own mug and drank the remaining contents quickly, finding his tea may have been a bit too hot for him to do so comfortably. His tongue and throat were a bit scalded, but his mind began to clear. He recalled, for a moment, the feeling he had that night he spent in Blaise's room, sitting on that enchanted bed. He wondered, for a moment, how the girls at Beauxbatons were faring without Blaise's parties to rid of their boredom.

His memories returned to him quite quickly. It had not been Mrs. Weasley to carry him up, but Tom. How in the world had they stumbled so far up the stairs? Harry could hardly walk.

"How did we manage to walk up the stairs?" Tom asked himself quietly, but Harry could hear.

Harry shrugged, though Tom could not see him. "We just…kept at it. Didn't stop until we were up them, I suppose."

Tom replied, "That does seem to be what occurred." He shook his head and sat up. "I apologize for my behavior last night." He began straightening himself, though was unsuccessful at smoothing his clothes or his hair. "I am sure that you understand I had no capability of controlling myself at the time due to…" he sighed, "unexpected intoxication."

Harry almost laughed. For a moment, he was seeing Tom as a normal person. He was someone who made mistakes, woke up with messy hair and clothes, had a hangover the next morning. Maybe Tom had realized it, too, Harry thought. That's why he's trying to fix it.

"No need to apologize, Tom. I got up to a bed. I might've fallen asleep at the table if you hadn't taken me up here." Harry smiled, hoping the human part to the former Dark Lord would return. "Thanks."

Tom did not look back at him. He knew he was disheveled to the utmost degree and was rather embarrassed for not only being drunk, but sleeping in the same bed as Harry. Tom Riddle did not share a bed with anyone!

Tom let out a shaky breath. Had he referred to himself as Tom Riddle? The name he despised more than anything else? He was not his father. He would never be his father.

"Are you alright, Tom?" Harry asked, concerned.

Anger flowed into every limb of Tom's body, brightening his cheeks and causing his hands to ball up into fists. "Do not call me that filthy name!" he yelled. He needed to part himself from everything and think. His body began to shiver. He forced his feet to carry him hurriedly from the room, down all the stairs, and through the front door. As he stepped outside, he tripped over Janet.

"Ow!" She exclaimed, covering her hands over her head suddenly.

Tom tumbled down the steps to the ground. His head hit the ground hard, as he had not prepared to land. In moments, he pushed himself up on his elbows, ready to unleash a fury of curses at her, but found his anger lost upon looking again for the first time without restraints or blood covering her.

Janet was covered in fading bruises, causing the little patches of unharmed skin to appear so terribly pale in comparison. Her eyes were dark and sunken into her skull. All the cuts she had before were gone, but Tom could still see scars from older ones that had not had magic to heal. As she attempted to hide herself under her arms, Tom could see the joints of her shoulder and elbow jut out from the thinness of her upper arm and forearm. The rest of her was thin, too. He could see her ribs, though the way she was hunched over would cause even the thinnest of people to have their stomach and sides ripple. Janet's stomach was not flat, but caved in.

Harry opened the door a second later. He took in the scene and kneeled down beside Janet. "Are you alright?"

Janet moved her arms and sat up cautiously. She shook like a leaf, as if a large gust of wind would carry her away to the unknown.

"I apologize greatly," Tom said, standing and brushing the dirt off himself. "I was not looking where I was going."

Tom watched Janet as Harry spoke quiet, reassuring words to her, keeping his distance. She had not seemed to hear Tom's apology. He was sure it would not have made a difference. The way her large round eyes teared up, he was sure nearly anything might've set her off.

She was weak, a part of him thought almost automatically. The best she deserves is someone's pity.

Tom turned his attention to Harry. Harry was careful with her, taking the utmost care not to touch her or say something too loudly and startle her. As Tom evaluated it, he realized that was not pity. Of course Harry doesn't pity her, that part of him said. He's Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Bloody-Lived, Golden Child of every wizarding home.

But Harry was no longer a child. He was grown. He had children, a family, a job. He was no longer the Golden Child of anything. He wasn't the only one fighting in the war against Thomas. He had seen how Harry had cared about many, from his kidnapped friend to his ex-wife. Even Tom. He'd saved him from the clutches of Thomas (a monster he had not meant to create) and ensured he was housed, fed, and protected just as his friends were. Tom would define that as "noble." He used to think the word an insult. Now, he thought, maybe it was not so terrible. He wondered further that, if Harry was noble, what was he? Tom was not noble, but he wasn't quite evil anymore. He didn't have the capability to be. At times, he missed that power. At other times… he wasn't sure.

Harry smiled now. "It's alright," he said softly to Janet. "It was an accident. Are you sure you don't want to come inside? No one will touch you, or do anything without your permission."

After a moment, Janet nodded and began to stand. Harry was quick to move out of her way, holding open the door for her.

"We have blankets piled up in this corner. If you are cold, you can use as many as you like." Harry smiled again. "And if you get hungry, Mrs. Weasley is making some soup. If you would like some, you're welcome to have some as soon as it is ready."

Janet disappeared into the house. Harry shut the door carefully behind her, turning his attention to Tom.

Tom had not been listening before to what Harry said to Janet, but he found he was now confused at how he had just treated her. While he had not exactly been rude, he had told her to get her own blanket and food.

"Why not give her a blanket and soup? Is that not polite?" Tom asked.

Harry sighed. He walked down the steps and stood before Tom with a sad expression.

"Do you have any idea what she's been through, Tom?" he replied softly.

"Clearly, she was tortured on a regular basis." Tom glanced over Harry, unsure of why Harry was asking.

"She was kidnapped," Harry said even quieter, looking to the house a moment to make sure he was unheard. "Thomas didn't just torture her. He raped her, abused her, controlled every aspect of her life because he thinks that she is his dead wife."

Tom carefully took in a breath, measuring the amount of emotion he gave off. Did he want to seem sympathetic? Would that work in his favor? He released his breath in a shaky manner and turned his eyes to the ground. Surely that was what Harry wanted to see. Tom wondered, for a moment, if he really felt anything at all but anger, or if he just acted as if he did.

"I don't want to alarm her or invade her space. I'm sure she needs time until she will be comfortable with that again, if she ever will be." Harry took in a deep breath and let it out.

Tom nodded. He was sure that he did not like looking at Janet. It reminded him of a time when he had been neglected and abused. He hated the thought. He concluded that he could be empathetic, if he wanted to. He just chose not to be. Was that such a terrible crime?

"I'm sure you can understand that." Harry looked at Tom, trying to mask his sympathy. Tom did not want his sympathy.

"That was long ago," Tom hissed. What an insult, he thought. As if I am a poor helpless person in need of healing.

Harry's sympathy disappeared as his eyebrows drew closer together, his eyes unsure. "What is your problem?" Harry asked, confused.

Tom did not respond. Harry's expression faded and he sighed.

"Tom," Harry said, some exasperation in his voice. "You help me rid of the posters at Hogwarts and rescue Hermione and Janet from Thomas without protest, but then you yell at me for calling you by your name and clearly do not want me to mention your past." Harry looked, unfaltering, into Tom's eyes. "Do you want to be a human being or not?"

At this question, Tom was unsure of what to say. "I…If I recall correctly, I am a human being whether or not I have the desire to be so."

Harry huffed. "A relatable human being? Before you got out of your portrait, you were such an ass. No one could see you as anything but the Dark Lord because that's how you acted." Harry's voice was rising. "Now, you are giving me all these impressions that you are a different, actually decent person, but you constantly refute them. It's like you're trying to be the same person you used to be." Harry shook his head. "You are far past that."

Tom said nothing. He knew Harry was right. He didn't want to let him know he was right, but what was the point? His façade was over. He had to face it.

"I do not know who I am," Tom whispered. He felt bare and vulnerable, as if any hawk flying overhead could swoop down and snatch him up for lunch at any moment. Harry was no hawk, but Tom was not sure that he wasn't something just as bad.

Harry's frustration faded, but did not leave completely. Tom could see Harry wanted to yell at him like Tom had yelled earlier. He hoped that maybe, by some miracle, Harry would yell and he would be taken back to his house to sulk in the person he used to be.

"I understand," Harry said after a moment of silence. "I don't know who I am, either. I thought I was some hero, a perfect hero in everyone's eyes." He shook his head. "I'm not that anymore. I'm grown. I've made mistakes." Harry took in a breath. "And I've moved past it."

Tom said nothing. He held his composure, pretended he felt nothing. If he pretended long enough, he would believe it was truly nothing. It was how he had lived his life.

"Tom," Harry spoke up again, "Don't try to be some all-powerful dark wizard. That's now who you are anymore. Just…" Harry thought a moment, "add up the actions you've done. Is that who you want to be?"

Tom looked away from Harry. He wasn't sure what he wanted. A part of him longed to be the same man he had been for so long. He was frightened that if he wasn't, he'd return to the helpless child he had been long before that. He would never let that happen. But if he could not be that man, who was he?

Before Tom could react, Harry grabbed his wrist, and they disapperated just as Mrs. Weasley cried out, "Lunch is ready!"

They landed in Tom's library. Harry released his wrist and began walking to the fireplace with a purpose. His wand in his right hand pointed at a chair to transfigure it, but Tom stopped it.

"There's a letter opener above the door," he said.

"Oh," Harry said simply, feeling silly for a moment. He held out his wand to the doorframe and the letter opener came rushing through the air to his hand. With it, he pricked his palm and let the blood fall into the fireplace.

"Why are we here, Harry?" Tom asked with little emotion. The door to the lab swung open and Harry marched inside, fearlessly. Tom rolled his eyes, but followed Harry inside.

Harry picked up a book from a stack and began flipping through them in a flurry. "No…no…" he muttered. One by one, be flipped through and put them back. When he finished the pile, he went back into the library and began looking at those books.

"Harry, what are you doing?" Tom stood between the lab and the library, watching Harry disappear into the bookcases.

Harry did not answer. Instead, he emerged with a rather large book in his hands and a large smile on his face, flipping page after page. As he neared Tom, he found the page he was looking for.

"Here!" Harry laughed. He pointed to one line. "You read this line and I'll read the next."

Tom stared at Harry. "Harry, why-"

"Read it," Harry insisted.

Tom sighed. He looked to the page, found Harry's finger, and read in a monotonous voice, "'Thou hast undone our mother.'"

"'Villain!," Harry read with ferocity, "'I hast done thy mother!'" Harry waited with a smile for Tom's reaction.

There was none. Harry pressed his lips together and began flipping the pages again muttering, "That was a classic. Honestly."

Tom placed his hand over the book between pages and pushed it down so Harry would listen to him.

"Harry, what are you doing?" Tom's voice was growing angry.

Harry grew a bit smaller in stature, as if he was younger than he was. "Looking for a good joke. I promised."

Tom's brows furrowed. "That," he released the book, "was a joke?"

Harry nodded. "I suppose if you haven't read the story it's not quite as funny."

Curiously, Tom tipped up the book so that he could see the cover. "The Complete Works of Shakespeare," he read, finding himself intrigued. "And this was in my library?"

Harry nodded again. "You haven't read any of it?"

"No," Tom answered. He grabbed the book, wondering how it had gotten here. Had he forgotten it? He had often been distracted the last time he was alive. He supposed it could have passed his notice.

"Well, that story is Titus Andronicus. Big Roman story with lots of drama and death. You might like it. Or, if you fancy something more devilish…" Harry flipped the pages backwards until he reached the play he was looking for.

"Richard the Third…" Tom read curiously. "How is this one devilish? It's about a king. Of England, I presume."

Harry smiled. "That's the thing. Richard was thought to be evil. He's the main villain and the main character."

"Very interesting…" Tom began scanning the page. The book had an introduction to the play that he began to read over, finding himself very intrigued, indeed. For a moment, he paused. "How do you know of these stories?"

"My aunt and uncle, actually. They kept the book around. Thought it made them seem educated or something. I didn't have much of a life outside of the school and chores, so I spent my free time trying to get lost in stories. I liked plays, mostly because you get to read it and imagine how it was happening in your head." Harry shrugged. "You had the dictionary, I had Shakespeare."

Tom spared a glance away from the book and to Harry. A part of him hated that he knew so much about his past, yet there was another part of him that saw the knowledge was being reciprocated. He thought that there was an ever growing list to things they had in common. He wondered what else they shared during their terrible childhood years.

Suddenly, Tom closed the book. "Well, I am not certain we have time to waste on this."

Harry's expression faded into something else. He seemed to age in an instant, gathering wrinkles on his face and dark circles under his eyes. "Yes, I suppose you're right. We ought to be planning our next move."

Tom felt the drop of Harry's spirits, and felt an absence of something in himself. He wanted that Harry to return. "Well, we do have a new tactic at our disposal. One that Thomas can never get his hands on."

Harry sighed. "Do I really have to learn Parseltongue? In the middle of a war?"

"We might be able to use another method." Tom turned to his bookcases. There were so many of them. But which one did he need? He gave the Shakespeare book back to Harry and walked briskly down an aisle, trying to remember a time roughly 24 years ago, when he had first delved into the depths of his studies.

"Another method?" Harry asked, unsure of what to do with the large book in his hands. He didn't quite remember where he got it from. He carried it along with him as he followed Tom down the aisle.

Tom was quietly reading the titles of each book to himself at rapid pace, so that it all sounded like vague gibberish to Harry. At nearly the end of the aisle, Tom stopped and removed one book from the shelf.

"This is the book I read when I first realized our mental link through the horcrux."

Tom held the book lightly in his hands, as if it were a piece of history. And as Harry looked at it, it seemed to be. The leather cover was worn beyond repair, and many pages seemed to be trying to fall out.

"What's it called?" Harry asked.

Tom opened the cover carefully to the title page. "Paranormal Connections: The Dead, The Living, and Beyond; A Guide for the Weary, Dead, and/or Curious Witch or Wizard, From 210 to Modern Day. What an interesting title."

Harry scoffed. "Interesting? It's almost an entire page, it's so long."

"Back in the era this was written," Tom began, carefully flipping the pages, "and I assure you, it's era is extremely far from modern day-titles were meant to be a cover-all summary of the book. Everyone wanted to know what exactly they were reading."

"How'd you get this book?" Harry asked, realizing the pages were handwritten, not printed.

"I killed a man," Tom replied, nonchalant.

Harry's attention snapped from the book to Tom. "Did you really?"

"No," Tom said, attempting to focus on reading, "I had someone kill him for me."

Harry's mouth opened to say something, but could think of nothing to say. Had he really killed a man just for a book?

"Here," Tom said, interrupting Harry's thoughts. "It explains the connection we had. As I recall, you could only speak Parseltongue because I spoke it. None of the knowledge was in your head, so you have no memories of the words and their meaning. I, on the other hand, diligently learned and spoke it for most of my life. For this reason, I can still speak it even after losing my magical abilities."

Harry nodded in agreement.

"So," Tom flipped a page, though he was no longer reading, "in order to bypass learning the language, which has already proven difficult enough for you to speak, let alone understand, my conclusion is that we will have to reestablish the connection so that you have my knowledge of Parseltongue."

"Reestablish the connection?" Harry asked, confusion apparent in his tone. "How?"

"Well," Tom replied, closing the book carefully, "it might be better to say we need to create a new connection."

"Create a new connection?" Harry asked, even though he instantly placed the pieces together in his head. "What do you mean?"

Tom sighed. "We would need to create another horcrux."

Harry was breathless. "Create another horcrux?" He could hardly believe the words he had just heard, even spoken. "Are you honestly asking me to do that?"

Tom gave him a stern look. "Would you rather take the time to learn the whole language?"

Utterly unbelievable, Harry thought. "Yes! I would," he answered. "I would rather learn the language than kill a person and create a terrible piece of dark magic as a shortcut."

Tom scoffed. "You do not have to kill a person. You simply have to be around when they are murdered."

Harry threw his hands in the air and raised the volume of his voice. "Brilliant! That's loads better! Let me just mess with someone's soul and my own! I don't want to split my soul, Tom!"

Once again, Tom sighed. "Then split mine."

Harry shook his head. "No! No one is going to be splitting any souls! End of discussion."

Tom's mouth drew into a scowl. "How are we to teach you an entire magical language without years of practice?"

"Are you so completely frightened of dying that you must continue to create horcruxes?" Harry's tone rose with anger. "That is evil magic! Magic that Voldemort did!"

Tom sneered. "Yes, and when all my Death Eaters used the unforgivable curses the side of the light used nothing but paralytic charms and grade level curses," he said sarcastically. "Sometimes this magic is necessary to use no matter the morality of the party involved."

"Curses are one thing!" Harry yelled, "But splitting a soul is another entirely! It's unnatural!"

"And normal magic fits completely under your definition of natural, then." Tom's eyes narrowed and his pale face began to grow red on his forehead and cheeks.

Harry gave a shout of frustration. "Just because we can to do something doesn't mean we should! We're not meant to mess with our bodies like that!"

"But why give us the ability if we cannot utilize it?"

Harry's magic began to fly around him, rattling the bookcases a bit as they began to sway. "I don't know! But it's bad."

"As if you know even an ounce about bad." Tom could see Harry's fury flying about him. Sparks came off the enchanted lights, and though the bulbs did not flicker, they were beginning to dim. He was intrigued.

"I know how to defeat bad!" Harry screamed. The anger felt like it was stuck in his throat in a large, dense lump. He was trying not to lash out with his arms, but he was certain somewhere in the back of his mind that his magic may do it for him.

"But you cannot defeat it permanently." All of Tom's anger was gone. He was simply watching Harry, wondering what he could further his anger into. "Clearly," he added, deadpan.

Harry closed his eyes, inhaling deeply through his nose and exhaling through his mouth. He would not get angered. He didn't have time for it. He had a war to win.

"Tom," he said at last in a collected tone, "you'll have to find another way or it's not happening."

Tom's eyes narrowed. "There is no other way."

"Have you bothered to look?" Harry asked. "Or are you really telling me we have a whole world of magic and there is no way for me to-"

Harry turned to see a white, misty horse gallop towards him from across the room. Upon seeing it, his heart pounded in his chest, awaiting worriedly for the news.

"Harry," Ginny's voice stated urgently, "I've lost Gemini! We were in the house, and I put up extra warding, but the kids say he was there one moment and gone the next. He's not here. We've searched everywhere."

Harry and Tom shared a short glance. It did not take much to think of where Gemini had gone.

With a quick flick of his wand, Harry sent a silvery stag in reply.

"Do you think he's taken him to the torture house?" Harry asked Tom softly.

"It may be a good place to begin searching." Tom pondered a moment. "He may not need saving."

Harry's brows furrowed. "Not need saving? If Thomas took him, think of what he would do to a son he didn't want. He's only a first year student."

Tom raised an eyebrow. "A student with extraordinary abilities. A student that you have been training."

"I've only taught him for a week," Harry replied, incredulous. "We never even made it to one animagus training. He might have extraordinary abilities, but he may not be able to use them very well. Or even completely understand how they work."

Tom did not know how to respond, so he simply did not.

Harry huffed. "Maybe I was wrong. Maybe it was all an act. You haven't changed at all. You're still Voldemort, deep inside." He shook his head. "And I don't have time for him."

After a moment of silence, Harry disapperated, just barely dropping the heavy Shakespeare book to the ground with a thump before he disappeared.

Tom stared at the book a moment. What on earth was wrong with him? Why could he not shake this person he once was? Did he even want to be that person any longer? It was difficult to say. He had always wanted power to prevent himself from being weak. He stayed with Harry, feeding off his protection, even allowing himself to fight alongside him, as if he himself were powerful like he is. If he could not truly be these things, what could he be?

Tom picked up the book, opening it up to a random page right in the middle. He flipped onward until he reached the play he was looking for: Richard III. He made his way over to a chair and began to read.

That was the chapter! If you liked it, don't forget to favorite, follow, comment, PM me, whatever you want. I love each and every thing I get.

Until next time, my readers.