Author's note: I'm late again, as usual. I'm really sorry for the wait. Please, consider this particularly long chapter as compensation. ;-)
I also didn't have much time to do some extensive re-reading, thus I must apologize for occasional grammar mistakes.
*****
The night visitor
Crowborough, Southern England
22nd December 2000, 19:12
Harry was on the way downstairs when the reality of the situation heavily weighted on him. One of his first thought was that he was imagining things because something like that couldn't happen; the second was if it did happen then he desperately needed a break, a pause or whatever would help him to regain sanity. He still couldn't comprehend what he had done. Touching the Riddle's back just like that, was he already crazy or something? He looked at his hands, regarding them as two perfidious traitors who found no better enjoyment than disobeying their master. Quickly, he rubbed his palms against the smooth texture of the borrowed trousers, hoping that the friction would help him to erase the memory of the other's skin. Unfortunately, it proved to be more persistent than the young man first thought. Their brief physical contact evoked something alive inside him, something what was affecting him deeper than he thought, giving him stupid and awkward ideas. Harry strictly refused to deal with it whatever it was. He did not like being with Riddle. He didn't like seeing him, talking to him and especially not touching him! The whole thing sounded preposterous! He didn't turn mad, not at all. And that's the end of it.
The young man nodded resolutely and wiped off these thoughts with something more encouraging. He was going to see his friends tomorrow and forget about this faux pas once and for all.
As his mind got filled with this new resolve, he descended to the ground floor, passed an old looking ebony shelf with some African art, turned right and entered the dining room. He quickly noticed that Daniel's family already sat around the table, feasting in comfortable silence. A delicious smell of the meal served him as an instant reminder of his repressed hunger.
"Harry!" Alice Rodgers called out as she saw him and rose from the table. He could only stare at how strikingly attractive she looked in a fitting chestnut dress. Damn hormones, he cursed silently. Daniel may not be a wizard and couldn't read his mind, but that didn't make him feel much better.
"Finally you're here," Alice said reprovingly and Harry for the first time hesitated. The sight of them sitting peacefully together made him feel like an unwanted intruder.
"Sorry, I'm late... I didn't want to disturb you though ... I mean I can wait a little longer. I'll wait outside...," Harry began but before he could finish his babble, Daniel's vibrant voice cut him off.
"Annie! Where are you going?"
Harry noticed that the doctor's daughter left her seat and furtively tried to disappear.
"I don't want to see him again," she pouted when she realized that her secret plan was revealed. "Is he coming here?" she asked and her big brown eyes glanced upstairs and then at Harry. When she folded her petite arms over her small chest and pouted Harry almost laughed at her rebellious pose. She was really very cute.
Unlucky for her, Daniel wasn't overly susceptible to her loveliness.
"Annie, stop showing that cheeky attitude of yours! What will Harry think about your manners? Come back, take your seat and be quiet!"
Harry watched her reluctantly shuffle backward and felt for her in that moment.
"Daniel, Vold ... Walter is scary, why should we deny it? Please, just ... don't be mad at her because she's afraid of him." She's a very clever girl after all, he thought inwardly.
Mr. Rodgers cast a short glance at him and then he turned to his daughter.
"He might look different. But it doesn't mean that we should treat him differently, right Annie?"
"Humph," she mumbled and sat back in her chair, prodding her food dispassionately.
Harry was so caught in the scene that he didn't notice Alice coming toward him until she carefully seized his forearm and led him towards the table.
"Come Harry," she said and smiled at him.
He followed her without any resistance and once they were all seated and Alice began to serve his meal, she asked in a slightly worried tone.
"So, what did Walter tell you?" She tried to make the question sound casual, but Harry noticed that she really cared.
"Uh," he muttered. "He said that he's feeling unwell, so he rather stayed up and took some rest."
"Shall I go and check on him whether he's all right?" Daniel asked and cut a small piece of his well done beef steak with tomato sauce.
Harry felt his mouth water at the sight of his own portion. He didn't wait for anything and anyone and began to eat. Merlin, it was so great that he even lowered himself to speak with full mouth.
"No ... don't worry."
His answers confirming Voldemort's absence made Annie clearly happy, because she enthusiastically stuffed her mouth with the delicious food. They spend several minutes in companionable silence which was only now and then interrupted by compliments of Alice's cooking skills.
However, moments of peace in Harry's life never last too long and this one was over when the door which Harry could partially see over his shoulder suddenly opened. Purely out of instinct he turned around and his whole body grew rigid at what he saw. A silver fork he held in his hand fell out and loudly chinked against the plate.
It really shouldn't startle him that much to see Voldemort there. The problem was that the Dark Lord standing at the door sill dressed in his usual black robes, bearing that haughty, indifferent look was always a way too discomfiting to stay calm. Riddle's extemporaneous appearance gave rise to a constrained silence. Annie and Harry were the first to wake up. She briskly slid down her chair to hide beneath the table, while Harry subconsciously began to grope his clothes, searching for his wand. Once he realized fruitlessness of this action, he stopped and idly rubbed his somewhat slacked chin.
He didn't know that the biggest surprise was yet to come until Voldemort spoke.
"I wonder whether I might join you," the Dark Lord said pleasantly and his stern mouth curled slightly upward to form a mechanic smile. Harry choked on his saliva. The knife he still managed to keep in his fist slipped out and fell beside the fork.
By the corner of his eye the young wizard noticed that Daniel finally woke from his amazement too.
"Oh ... of course. Take a seat, please," the doctor said quietly and pointed at the empty chair next to Harry, who watched in silence how Voldemort bent slightly forward to pass beneath the doorjamb, overcame the short distance and sat down beside him without a shortest glance in his direction.
"Thank you," Riddle said blankly, his alien face showing no emotion.
As Harry heard it, he inhaled a morsel which lay forgotten in his mouth and began to heave and suffocate. Daniel after seeing this quickly leaned over the table and repeatedly slammed his palm against the young man's back until he helped him to cough the bite out. When Harry finally took a deep breath he looked at the doctor gratefully and then he turned to glare at his new seat mate.
"Next time be more careful, Harry," Daniel said and looked at Voldemort as well. "I hope you feel better, Mr. Moore. Harry said that you were a bit indisposed a moment ago."
"Harry's concern is always immensely touching," the Dark Lord whispered venomously and his long pale fingers circled around the fork lying before him on the table, "...and quite unnecessary. I'm perfectly fine."
Harry gritted his teeth and grasped the setting as well. Was the bastard trying to provoke a fight? But the Dark Lord was simply waiting for Alice to cut his meal on small pieces, so he could eat the dinner up even with his handicap. He was also doing a great job in ostentatious ignoring of Harry's presence, which was something the young man decided to do about him and failed completely. Irritated, Harry looked away and noticed that Annie's chair was empty. It didn't surprise very much. If he could, he would disappear too.
Meanwhile Daniel started a conversation and to Harry's utter shock Voldemort responded. He replied with ease, keeping his manners perfect and his politeness flawless. Within five minutes he had both Daniel and Alice in his pocket. Harry was sick from watching how they stared at him in awe as he naturally chatted about every topic which was brought up. Now he was taking his time to describe one of current Prime Minister's bad eating habits which Daniel and Alice found exceptionally amusing. Harry on the other hand couldn't have fewer reasons to laugh. Voldemort's perfect knowledge of Minister's manners and worse, his schedule, was downright formidable. The bastard had to spy on him which meant he certainly considered attacking him!
Harry surreptitiously watched their conversation and secretly fumed while pretending to be fascinated with his steak. So this was the Dark Lord's famous charm, the reason why so many great wizards and witches joined him without any resistance. Oddly, he found himself unaffected by Riddle's charisma. On the contrary, the simplicity of this manipulation made him furious. The dark wizard said nothing really entertaining, yet Daniel and Alice nearly cried of laughter. How easily he put them under his influence! The cup of his patience was already filled to the brim and the last drop was Annie's horrified face, which peaked from underneath the table to see what their parents found so outstandingly hilarious. It was the moment when Harry swung his arms with all his might and slammed his fists against the table. Every piece of porcelain set, every glass, saucer, plate and bowl rattled on the surface from the impact. The spotlight and chandelier twinkled several times and their light slightly dimmed.
Harry slowly turned to Riddle, looking like a god of menace who decided to burn the Dark Lord with his most hateful glare.
"Stop. It. At. Once!" he strained through his gritted teeth.
It worked surprisingly well. The charm was broken; Alice and Daniel stopped laughing and stared at him as if he went bonkers.
The only one who retained his self-control was the reason of Harry's sudden outburst, Voldemort. He lay down the fork, cleaned his mouth in a paper napkin and finally turned to look at the enraged young man.
"Tell me boy, who acts uncivilized now?" he said pleasantly, but his searing eyes could cast daggers.
Harry maybe had never felt so tempted to punch that pale face before. How very satisfying would it be to make Riddle flip over that chair! His fingers curled out of instinct and the Dark Lord's eyes immediately narrowed, noticing this.
But Harry could deal with this. He had to deal with this. He forced himself to breathe calmly and tore his eyes off his enemy.
"Daniel, Alice, I apologize for this. I really do. Please, if you excuse us for a moment, I need to talk to Walter alone." Purposely, Harry said that name as an insult. He strode out of the dinning room into the hall with a staircase, where he impatiently waited for the serpentine wizard. It didn't take too long. A moment later the Dark Lord emerged there and slowly closed the door behind him.
Voldemort eyed him in silence; his healthy hand adjusting the black robes attentively.
"What was that about?" the younger man hissed venomously and in response Riddle sneered in his glowering face.
"Isn't this my question to ask, Harry? Tell me, have you changed your mind and decided to prompt that stupid muggles to call the police on us?"
"Of course not! But you messed with their minds, bastard! Have you really thought that I would sit by and do nothing?-!" the young wizard sputtered furiously.
"Say it louder, Potter. They haven't heard you yet."
"You-" Harry growled and bit his lip hard enough to taste blood.
"What do you want, Potter?" Voldemort whispered and his stare, if possible, intensified.
"What?" Harry muttered; the question caught him off guard.
"You've heard me, brat!" The Dark Lord bristled visibly at Harry's ignorance.
"I don't know what you mean," Harry retorted, doing his best to hold his composure.
Riddle snorted in annoyance, pacing back and forth in the narrow hall. "I mean everything. Sometimes it looks like you alone don't know it. Let me give you an example or two. You proclaimed to be my enemy and when you had a chance to kill me, you saved me."
"That's because-!"
Voldemort cut him off with a freezing glare and went on.
"You also urged me to treat those muggles nicely and when I did you were mad."
"You attacked Daniel's mind-!"
"What is it you really want, boy?-!"
The sight of Voldemort's resentfully raised upper lip should be threatening but Harry didn't really feel it that way. He replied as calmly as he could.
"Just leave Daniel and his family out of this. He saved our lives and he doesn't deserve to be a victim of your mind games!"
Voldemort stood there, towering above him, watching him for a good minute before he snorted in disgust.
"I see. Your precious Daniel is the only thing on your mind, right?"
"What do you mean?" Harry asked again and even though he tried to sound warningly, his voice displayed all his insecurity.
"Your beloved doctor is going to be all right, Potter," Riddle whispered acidly, turned away and began to climb the stairs. He halted on the fourth step and looked halfway back.
"But I have bad news for you, boy. He's already married."
"Wh ... What ... WHAT?-!" Harry screamed once he perceived the hint, but Voldemort was already gone and though the young raven was ready to follow him and have another fight, he ultimately decided that settling the matter with Mr. Rodgers and his wife had a higher priority. He would deal with the bastard later if he was given a chance.
*****
London, the Ministry of Magic
22nd December 2000, 20:00
It was long since Dragomir Negura last felt this thirsty. Being the Leader of a new vampire population in London and at the same time the highest adviser of the Minister for Magic was a difficult and time consuming task. He alone found it hard to believe that he was wiling to go this far for Voldemort, his dreamed-of trophy. The whole Dark Lord's pursuit was incredibly tiresome as it consisted of endless council meetings, Umbridge's persuasion, Death Eaters tracking and general playing the nice guy while plotting against him all the time. The worst of all was the lack of time for feeding in his schedule, which he to be honest denied himself for more than this reason. He wasn't too fond of an idea of wasting his precious time on some nameless muggle, some lost existence, which would only leave a gross aftertaste on his palate. He wanted something better and so he rather starved. It was something most of the vampires couldn't even imagine to do. Naturally, it left him feeling cold and empty. Dragomir wasn't stupid though; he was well aware of the risk of this state. Hungry vampires were always susceptible to act rashly and unpredictably. They were often driven by mere instincts, mad from their desire for blood and regardless of a danger they could be exposed to. It would be a great mistake to succumb to this when he was after Voldemort. Though he didn't believe that the Dark Lord could cause him a serious harm, underestimating him was something had done once and he didn't want to repeat it. He learned how cruel and merciless Voldemort could be if he wanted to.
Negura also knew that this wizard was one of the most determined survivors, so he expected him to stay alive and return to power. And he assumed that he'll do so quickly. Once back he was confident that the Dark Lord is going to be livid; especially after learning that that he, his age-long enemy, took over his Ministry. That he accomplished this within a couple of days while Voldemort never really succeeded during last thirty years (if he didn't consider some short-term exceptions).
He couldn't stop thinking how funny would it be seeing Voldemort seethe in rage that most of the Death Eaters, who were imprisoned in Azkaban, obeyed his enemy's orders now.
How amusing would it be to listen to the Dark Lord's screams of fury as he saw him, the Leader, with the army of Aurors at his service.
How priceless would it be to hear him acknowledge his defeat and join him without a fight. That's what he desired above anything. Seeing Voldemort on his knees, feeling his hot, rich blood flowing down his dry throat, knowing that it was given willingly.
Negura's tall body shuddered and he licked his dry cold lips. He wasn't sure if he could wait that long.
He needed to find him now.
It shouldn't be a major problem as he already knew where to start his search. He watched Potter carrying Voldemort from the quarry, witnessed the car accident and followed that muggle's vehicle all the way to the hospital.
If Voldemort was still there, he should prepare to have an unexpected visitor. If he was not, it didn't matter, he'll find him anyway.
Negura resolutely approached the fireplace grabbed a fistful of Floo Powder. He'll use this uncomfortable way of transportation to get to the surface, Diagon Alley most likely, and then he'll fly to the destination. It shouldn't take too long. He threw the powder into the flames, which immediately turned green and rose to reach his height. He watched it for a moment, amused, considering that he's possibly the only vampire unafraid of fire. Then he heard a loud knock on the door in the next room and Leontina's voice calling for him. He only smirked at her blatancy, steeped in the flames, shouted the name of the street and vanished.
*****
Crowborough, Southern England
22nd December 2000, 20:12
Harry was immensely worried about how the doctor and his wife were going to accept his apology for that dinner incident. If he did something like that when he still lived by the Dursleys, Vernon would be throttling him and Petunia would eventually persuade her husband to lock him in the bedroom or the cupboard under the stairs for the rest of the day. Unlike them, Daniel could easily kick him out and that was something Harry dreaded the most.
That's why he was really queasy when he stood before the doctor and his wife, stammering some stupid apology. The worst thing about it was that he couldn't tell them that he was actually trying to protect them. Once again, Voldemort made a total mess of his life. Mr. Rodgers would hardly permit him to stay in his house after seeing him throw such a fit, so Harry already began to prepare himself for a preliminary departure. He didn't dare to hope to be forgiven; hence he was shaken to the core when it turned out that he was wrong. Neither Daniel nor Alice held a grudge against him; they considered the whole mater utterly unimportant and instead of some reprimand they invited him for an evening tea. Harry was so happy that he even forgot to thank them for their benevolence.
It was hard to believe that just a moment ago he felt so uncomfortable in their presence. They were nothing like the Dursleys and Harry should have realized this long ago. Whilst Vernon Dursley detested everything what differed from normality, Daniel Rodgers totally loved it. How else could Harry explain that the two of them presently discussed the best vehicle ever invented and while he suggested a broom, Daniel opposed with a flying carpet? Harry was certain that the doctor didn't really believe that a broom or a carpet can fly; still it didn't stop him from having and enjoying this conversation.
In the end, it was Mr. Rodgers who was trying to convince the young wizard that a carpet must be much more comfortable to fly on, while Harry kept on reasoning that a broom is a considerably faster and has a better steering control. Annie and Alice who listened to the whole exchange were having a great fun too and kept on snickering at them all the time. Eventually, when they ran out of all utilizable flying items, Alice decided that it was time for Annie to go to bed, which her daughter vehemently refused. Alice was however very adamant; she sent Annie to the bathroom and also left to make some preparations for tomorrow. This reminded Harry that he still somehow had to survive the last night in Voldemort's company. His good humor quickly faded away and he began to contemplate the possibility of asking Daniel to sleep downstairs on the sofa. Certainly, the doctor wouldn't mind this settlement, but Harry knew he wouldn't be able to have a good rest if he didn't know what the Dark Lord was doing upstairs.
Daniel had to notice Harry's sudden seriousness because he unexpectedly asked: "What's the matter, Harry? You seemed to be lost in thoughts all of a sudden."
The younger man tried not to make a fake smile in response.
"Just thinking," he replied convincingly. Daniel tacitly accepted Harry's brief explanation and slowly stretched his stiff shoulders from the long sitting.
"Tired too, right? Honestly, I feel like following Annie's suit myself. My back hurt pretty much."
Harry wasn't surprised to hear that. After all, few hours back the poor doctor carried Voldemort to the upper floor all by himself. Frankly, Harry's own back ached from a similar task. So he simply nodded.
"You can stay here and watch TV or video and if you get hungry you can take whatever you want from the fridge."
"Thanks," Harry nodded again.
The doctor smiled at him wearily, scrambled on his feet and halted as he recalled something. "Either I or Alice will wake you tomorrow at half past seven. We will leave after the breakfast, is that fine with you?"
"Yeah. Sounds perfect. Good night, Daniel."
"Good night, Harry." The doctor replied and left the room and Harry was suddenly alone. He wondered whether he should or shouldn't do as Daniel suggested and watch TV. He ultimately decided against it and rather used that time to think. This was his first real chance to contemplate the dreadful cave incident and everything what happened thereafter.
He would have lied to himself if he said that everything stayed the same. Even though it was just one week since he and Voldemort happened to be involuntary prisoners in the cave, many things had changed between them. Before, his hatred towards the Dark Lord was endless and he could tell that the feeling was highly mutual. Regardless of their hopeless situation they tried to kill each other any chance they had. Some time later, when it became clear that no one will come to rescue them, his thoughts focused on taking a more active part in ensuring of his survival. His attitude towards Riddle turned to be more distant, except of their constant vicious arguments. When he considered this, he had to admit that since the moment they fell in the cave they either ignored each other or argued and fought. Reluctantly, Harry came to conclusion that maybe those frantic quarrels served as an 'explosion vent' which eventually diminished their antipathies to the current, nearly bearable level.
A week ago Harry could hardly rest on a sofa with the Dark Lord around. He would feel an unstoppable urge to get up and have a death match. How did that happen that a thought of killing his archenemy lost a substantial part of its importance? To make this confusion even worse, he noticed that Voldemort began to show similar misbehavior. Riddle's talking didn't change very much, but his activities did. Voldemort indeed confirmed that he wanted to kill him along with the doctor and his family; however this couldn't justify the lack of his action. As far as Harry remembered the Dark Lord always used every opportunity he had to try to murder him without a mercy. And yet, few hours ago when he was unconscious and Voldemort could easily slay him without any obstacle, Riddle spared him for some reason. Why didn't he finish it, called his Death Eaters and disappeared? What was he waiting for? Could it be that the Dark Lord felt a hint of gratitude, a trace of obligation? What exactly happened by the dinner? Riddle might have played a nasty game with Daniel and Alice, but he didn't harm anyone! His actions may be intolerable from Harry's personal point of view, yet according to Voldemort's standard demeanor he was surprisingly kind!
Harry knew that it was a lost game to try to decipher what he was up to by mere sitting here and pondering about it. So far, there was only one thing he was certain about.
Their relationship underwent some kind of unforeseen evolution.
Unwanted evolution.
Undesirable evolution!
"Gah!" Harry sputtered in annoyance and slammed his fist against the armrest. He was as clueless about it as he was at the beginning of the 'Horcrux hunt' about everything. It turned out to be pointless to torment his mind with more of these unanswerable questions. What he really needed now was a long portion of a healthy sleep to clear the mess in his thoughts.
Making a quick decision he got up, briefly stopped by the door to switch off the light and then hobbled upstairs and entered Annie's bedroom without any warning.
"Voldemort?" he muttered before he almost instantly noticed a dark figure by the window. He watched him for a good minute, waiting to be acknowledged. When another moment went by and the Dark Lord still stared outside without a slightest movement, the young wizard's asked with a certain curiosity.
"Are you waiting for someone?"
"Mind your own business, Potter," Voldemort spoke coldly, not bothering to turn around and look at him.
"I surely will!" Harry retorted acidly and added. "I'll leave you alone, bastard. But the bed is mine!"
Seriously, Riddle might no longer try to kill him any chance he had, but he was by no means more likable.
When Voldemort didn't voice any protest Harry took it as a silent affirmation. For all he cared, Riddle could sit on his perch by the window all night long. He didn't mind as long as he kept his distance. He took off his shoe, shed his shirt and put aside his borrowed glasses. He was determined not to look at Voldemort to check what he was doing. Instead, he covered himself with a warm blanket, lay down and closed his eyes, fully trusting his hearing to warn him in case of emergency. The pillow under his head was pleasantly soft and before he knew his eyelids turned to be so heavy that he wouldn't be able to open them even if he wanted to. Pleasant warmth spread through his tired limbs, dragging him slowly to a realm of dreams and Harry didn't resist it too long.
He fell asleep and had very strange dreams. He was swimming in a wild river. At first it was easy and fun and he enjoyed the feeling of his body weightlessly floating in foaming waves. Then the scene changed and he was suddenly mercilessly towed towards a violent waterfall. He fought the rapid stream, yet the harder he tried the faster he was hauled there. Ultimately, he submerged under water, going deeper and deeper until the darkness completely enveloped him. He felt dreadfully cold and couldn't breathe. And someone laughed at him. It was infuriating to hear that cruel laughter when he was drowning.
'Who's there?-! Who are you?' he screamed and realized that it wasn't possible to yell like this under water. That couldn't be real – he had to be dreaming.
Harry woke up with a tremendous start.
The room around him was dark and quiet. It took him several long seconds before he remembered the place. Once he did, he breathed out the air he held in his lungs and wiped off droplets of sweat from his forehead. His wet hair stuck to his skin, but he didn't care. Strangely, he still felt that awful coldness, even though his body was heated and drenched in sweat. Could he be sick? Harry cursed under his breath and automatically reached for his glasses. He put them on and looked around. First he noticed that Voldemort no longer sat by the window, right after that someone lay right next to him. Cautiously he leaned forward and instantly recognized the pallid face. The Dark Lord was facing away from him, his eyes were closed and he furrowed in sleep. Harry felt too miserable to be mad at him for lying there; the influence of that weird nightmare was too strong and very persistent. His heart was still beating frantically and he felt strangely itchy, as if someone was watching him through the darkness. It couldn't be the Dark Lord as he rested beside him, but who else could it be? It was very distressing, especially in his current state, so he sat still, waiting for that sensation to diminish. When it intensified in the deathly stillness, Harry started to be seriously nervous. That awful feeling made his skin crawl.
Voldemort muttered something, his long fingers dug in the soft sheets and his skinny figure shuddered briefly. Harry secretly hoped that he awakened, so they could talk. He knew it was an infantile wish, normal people wouldn't want their enemies to mollify them, but Harry couldn't help himself. As the Dark Lord still slept, Harry eventually decided to woke him and fabricate some excuse later. He couldn't stand that oppressive sensation anymore.
He leaned to his face, preparing to whisper his name, when suddenly an unstoppable urge compelled him to look at the window. Something deeply instinctive took control of his movements and he turned his head in that direction.
And then he saw it.
He should rather say he saw him, but on that instant he couldn't think very clearly. At first all he noticed was a tall black robed person behind the window, floating in the air without any support. If Harry weren't certain that the Dark Lord slept beside him, he would have promised it was him. Harry gathered all his courage and looked the person in the face. The man certainly wasn't Riddle because he saw was quite handsome face, even though its sharp features were crooked into a despiteful grimace. His navy-blue eyes were, however, very far from pleasant; they shined in an angry light, stabbing Harry like two long steel daggers.
When that person moved toward the window Harry couldn't hold back a yelp. He also backed off and fell over Voldemort who roused at Harry's exclamation.
"Potter!" the Dark Lord sputtered furiously and grasped Harry's naked shoulder. He was evidently going to scold him when he noticed Harry's shocked expression.
"What? What is it? What happened?" he quickly inquired, his cold voice was threatening and his grip painful.
"S... someone ... someone's outside," Harry stammered as he tried to shake off that icy constriction.
"Who's outside?-!" Voldemort barked rabidly, failing to cover his fury and fear behind his usual mask of indifference.
"I don't know!" Harry cried. "Look by yourself, he's behind the window!"
Both of them simultaneously looked there, but saw no one. The window was empty, merely glittering in the soft light coming from the street.
"He was there, just a moment ago!" Harry held his own, feeling a bit silly and paranoid.
Voldemort hesitated only for a second. Then he turned to Harry and grasped his chin.
"Look at me, Potter," he enjoined and when Harry did, he immediately felt the Dark Lord's mental probe.
"Damn!" Voldemort cursed under his breath and before Harry could comprehend what was going on, he was pushed away wildly and Riddle disappeared from his sight.
Harry felt like swearing too.
"Who was that? What's going on?"
"Be quiet, Potter!" he received a clipped reply and then he heard a grumble and clatter of pencils against Annie's desk.
"The hell I won't! Not before you tell me...!"
A cold hand covered his mouth stopped his tirade.
"Be quiet, boy," Riddle repeated and maybe it was just Harry's imagination, but he sounded somehow desperate. "I need to listen." Harry tried to wrench out of Voldemort's cold grasp, but the second arm, the one covered in plaster, circled around his chest and held him steady. "Don't move."
They stood in silence and Harry was so anxious that he had troubles breathing. Seconds quickly passed by and so far nothing happened. The only sound Harry unmistakably heard was his own heartbeat, pounding in his ears. His eyes were fixed on the window, which looked completely harmless in its emptiness. He felt his fear gradually ebb away as an irritation took its place. That bastard kept his hold on his mouth and the smell and taste of his cold skin nettled Harry beyond any measure. Voldemort was also breathing on his neck and his hard ribs every now and then rubbed against Harry's naked shoulder blades. It made the young wizard squirm. He refused to acknowledge first traces of heat forming between their bodies as well as his sudden, involuntary reaction to it. Resolutely, he seized Voldemort's wrist and pulled it away from his face. His breathing eased and he turned to look over his shoulder and whispered.
"I'll go check it out."
"Don't be a fool, Potter. He's here," he heard a terse hiss against his earlobe. Funny, if Voldemort knew him any better he wouldn't have tried to stop him. He would have known it was meaningless. The young man pried himself off the Dark Lord and with last glance over his shoulder he carefully approached the window pane. He convinced himself that there was nothing to be afraid of. Whoever made Voldemort nervous should mean no harm to him, right? He stopped about two feet from a window sill and cautiously leaned forward. It was dark outside, the sky was covered with heavy clouds and it seemed to be raining a little. His eyes skimmed over the street lights, rooftops and branches of trees swaying in the breeze. When he saw nothing unusual or alarming, Harry slowly relaxed. He was just about to turn back; already looking aside when he heard someone whisper his name. That melodic voice sounded playful and seductive, yet somehow false and dangerous.
In a split of second Harry glanced back and the stranger was right there, facing him a couple of inches from the glass, his pale fingers touching it experimentally.
"Harry Potter, right?" he murmured against it. Oddly, Harry heard him as good as if he stood right next to him.
"It fascinates me that you're still alive."
"Who ... who are you?" Harry forced through his constricted throat. The piercing navy-blue eyes focused on him and the man's handsome face lit up as he smiled.
"A friend ... maybe ... though I haven't come for such a mediocre boy like you. I want the Dark Lord. I'm tired of waiting for him. Bring him to me."
It shocked Harry how much he wanted to obey the stranger's order. It cost him all his willpower to refuse.
"No you say," the man whispered again. For some reason Harry felt like a chicken under hawk's stare. "You can't know it, but ... by refusing my order you're getting yourself into serious troubles."
"Who are you?-! Either tell me your name, or get lost!" Harry sputtered, keeping his chin up, showing no fear. It only began to dawn at him, that this guy had seen him and Voldemort together. Indeed, the consequences of this may be severe.
"Stubborn kid," the man smiled softly. "Maybe this is the reason why Voldemort let you live for so long. I remember how dearly he values bravery." He licked his lips and his smile turned to leer. "But enough of stupid talks, boy. Open that window."
Those blue eyes had an incredible coercive power. Harry felt he would freeze to death if he disobeyed. Hesitantly, he raised his hand and stopped again. It felt like being under Imperius Curse; he was also forced to do something he didn't want to. If possible, this was even harder to fight off.
The man on the other side of the window leaned closer and took a deep breath through his nose.
"You have a very nice smell, Harry. Reminds me of him a lot. Maybe ... just maybe I'll change my mind about you..." As he spoke his nice full lips slowly revealed a set of white teeth with suspiciously long canines.
"Open that window!"
Harry's hand trembled. Somewhere in the back of his mind he recognized all the warning signs of the man's vampirism. He knew that the worst mistake he could do was looking in his eyes. But he already did that and couldn't look away, no matter how hard he tried. His treacherous body moved once again and his fingers touched the cold glass. As he felt this, his trance weakened for a moment and he forced himself to close his eyelids.
"No," he strained through his teeth. "Go away."
The vampire laughed. Coldly. Cruelly.
"Still resisting. I'm really amused. Honestly, I can't wait to taste your tenacity..."
The icy feeling in Harry's insides intensified and he began to be seriously afraid of his blood freezing in his veins. He couldn't endure it anymore, he simply couldn't.
He opened his eyes and heard a loud clash. He backed away just in the moment when the window shattered and its small shards flew inside the bedroom. Harry instantly thought that it was the vampire who did that. But why did his face display so much of surprise?
The cold wind blew in and the dark robes of the person who knelt beside the window sill billowed.
Voldemort.
Harry had completely forgotten about the Dark Lord, who used a chance that no one was paying him attention. He was holding up his right arm, all stained in blood from breaking through the window. Harry's eyes focused on his fist, which was dangerously close to the vampire's thorax. His long, spidery fingers were circled around three pencils, which morbidly protruded from the creature's chest.
The vampire looked down at the dark wizard and his mouth slacked and formed an astounded 'o' shape and his face prolonged in comical disbelief. Voldemort noticed this and his mouth curled upward as he spoke with malicious pleasure.
"I thought you were searching for me, Dragomir."
The two of them stared at each other for an unbearably long moment, during which the vampire's lips moved and he produce a sound which remotely reminded cursing in some foreign language.
"Haven't you heard Harry, freak? Get lost!" the Dark Lord whispered viciously and released the hold on the pencils.
The stabbed creature clearly lost the ability to fly and immediately slumped along the wall and its body heavily thudded against the ground fifteen feet lower. Then a heavy, shocked silence spread around the room.
It was Harry who first broke it with a sharp exhalation. He watched Voldemort lean from the window, turn around and look him in the face.
"You ... killed him," he finally whispered.
"You killed that vampire," Harry repeated with a stronger voice.
"If only that would be so simple, Potter," Voldemort spoke distantly and began to wipe off the blood into his robes.
"But...," Harry began.
"He's alive - if you can say this about a vampire - and he's already gone," Voldemort cut him off. "You can take it for granted."
Harry was at a loss of words. "I ... I," he began, "what the hell ...? Just tell me what that was about!"
Voldemort opened his lips to speak, but quickly closed them and froze, listening again. This time Harry heard it as well. Someone was going upstairs; the sound of the stairs creaking was unmistakable.
"Daniel," Harry breathed out and his blood pressure dropped in exhaustion. How was he going to explain the broken window and Voldemort's bleeding hand when he alone didn't exactly know what happened?
"Go back to bed, Potter!" the Dark Lord ordered and Harry did as he was told, half because he was freezing cold and the blanket was still warm and half because Riddle's tone disallowed any protests.
"Reparo," Voldemort hissed softly and Harry turned around and numbly watched how the scattered shards flew across the room, latched themselves together and refilled the empty window frame. It was remarkable how quickly Voldemort recovered. Twelve hours ago he was unconscious, almost dead; when he awakened he couldn't even untie a knob on his clothing and now he was fighting vampires and practicing a wandless magic.
The train of his thoughts stopped when the steps halted behind the door. By the time the glass was once more intact and Voldemort lay down beside Harry, covered himself with a second quilt and closed his eyes calmly, hiding the pools of blood behind his white eyelids.
The door handle softly clicked and room was instantly filled by a meek light coming from the hall.
"Harry?" asked a soft voice, which the young man immediately recognized as Daniel's.
"Harry?" he repeated and the doctor carefully stepped inside. The young wizard raised his head, pretending to wake up from sleep. Voldemort didn't move.
"Is everything all right? I was woken by some strange sounds coming from here," the Mr. Rodgers whispered quietly.
"Really?" Harry muttered, blinking and rubbing his eyes beneath glasses. Damn it, he completely forgot to take them off.
"I haven't heard anything."
"That's very strange," Daniel whispered confusedly. "I would have promised that I heard something shatter. Nah, I still had to be dreaming. Sorry for waking you up."
"Never mind," Harry mumbled and lay back onto the pillow.
"Isn't it a bit cold here?" Daniel asked lowly as he stood up from where he was kneeling.
"No, it's fine," Harry breathed out.
"Okay, sorry once again. See you in the morning."
The young wizard nodded and watched the doctor leave. Once he was gone, he awkwardly shifted onto his elbows.
"Voldemort?" he asked and looked down at the man beside him.
"What?" Riddle whispered coldly.
Harry wondered how to compel the Dark Lord to talk to him. He didn't want to sleep; his body was still overdosed with adrenaline. He desired to learn more.
"How's your hand?" was the first question which left his mouth. It made Voldemort open his eyes and raise an eyebrow and Harry considered that as a success.
"Why do you care, boy?"
Harry just shrugged his shoulders.
"The last thing I need is your concern," Riddle snapped and turned on his back, giving the younger man a sign that the conversation was over. But Harry didn't give up.
"Why don't you tell me who was that Dragomir? What did that vampire want? Why was he after you? How did he find us so easily?"
"Once again you're overly curious about something what doesn't concern you!" Voldemort retorted. "It's my private matter; get it finally into your thick scull!"
"Oh, is it so very private matter because Dragomir was the vampire who already had the pleasure to bit you?" Harry made a well educated guess as he remembered the horrendous scar on Voldemort's throat from the hospital.
He hoped to get some reaction and received it. Voldemort spun around and grasped a handful of Harry's untidy black hair and pulled harshly.
"How did you learn about this, Potter? Where did you get this information?-!"
The young man yelped in surprise and pain, pushing the other man away.
"Ouch! That hurt, bastard! Stop it! I was just guessing, okay?-!"
Voldemort growled darkly, yet released Harry's hair and slowly lay back. Both of them were silent for a few moments, breathing heavily, watching each other.
"Why don't you tell me," Harry insisted, his eyes never leaving Voldemort's pale, smooth face.
"I hate you Potter. You won't stop bothering me until I tell you, right?" the dark wizard said cuttingly, glaring at him defensively.
"That's correct," Harry grinned, nestling his head on the pillow.
However, Voldemort didn't speak. His head moved away and he let out an exasperated sigh.
"That guy, that Dragomir," Harry continued when the silence prolonged, "I met him first in the quarry, right? You tried to run away from him, but he caught you. I bet it was him, wasn't it?"
The Dark Lord took his time to reply quietly. "Your deduction abilities are certainly interesting, Potter." He paused, thinking, and then he spoke again.
"His name is Dragomir Negura. He is a bizarre vampire who's specialized on hunting dark wizards and he came to finish a certain job he left undone."
"Which means he wants to kill you," Harry butted in and Voldemort scorched him with his flaring gaze.
"I'm sure that finding us wasn't an easy task for him," Riddle continued as if he didn't hear the interruption. "Though, he is clever enough to use every opportunity he gets to obtain what he wants and that's why he mostly succeeds. I want you to know Potter that I only told you this, because everyone who learns the truth about him is doomed to die. Sweet dreams, brat."
"Hang on!" Harry gasped and grasped Riddle's shoulder, which elicited furious hissing from his companion. He quickly retracted his hand and spoke.
"How is it possible that I've never heard of him before?"
Voldemort slowly turned around, facing him, fully agitated now.
"That's because everyone who did is already dead, or undead – which means a vampire in his service, moron!"
"But if he hunts dark lords, why would he represent a threat to ordinary people? Why would he kill them?"
"Don't be so naive, Potter! The fact that he kills dark wizards doesn't make him a good guy! Don't you know the old Aurors' saying: 'To kill the devil you must be worse.'? By the way, why do you think that a substantial part of dark wizards stems from their hunters? Because there's no difference between good and evil. There's only power and those too weak to seek it. I thought I explained this to you ten years ago and yet you still haven't understood the true meaning!"
Harry kept Riddle's gaze, wanting yet unable to contravene the statement instantly.
Voldemort used that chance to continue.
"Aren't you a bit old to live in that childish illusion - the one which that old fool implemented in your brain? Love will never gain victory over hatred and hostility. Face the reality, Potter!"
Harry's lips tightened in a stern line and he slowly shook his head in refusal.
"If you're right, then why we're still alive?"
"What do you mean?" the Dark Lord hissed venomously.
"I mean if hatred and hostility always win above everything what's good inside you, then why we are still alive?"
"You ... stupid boy! I don't want to know about the depths of your insanity which brought you to that ridiculous act of saving my life."
Harry's face was serene and he even smiled a little as he spoke.
"You could have let me drown in that cave, you know. You could have easily killed me when I was unconscious or asleep. You could have let that vampire murder me, but you..."
The cold hand returned to his lips, squeezing them firmly.
"Just don't tell me anything about the depths of my insanity," Harry muttered through the chilly fingers.
Voldemort looked aside, clearly fighting a fit of violence. He also seemed to be distracted to the point that even his anger couldn't fully hide it.
"You don't understand any of this, Potter! If you haven't diverted Negura's attention, I wouldn't have the slightest chance against him. I'd be dead. He would have killed me."
He paused, inhaled deeply and when he spoke again, his insistent voice was a way much softer.
"It's you who saved me again, not the other way around."
The clasp on Harry's mouth slackened and the cool fingers moved slightly away. Now they only lightly rested on the young man's heated cheek.
"You really are exceptionally brave ... Harry. So much that it borders with stupidity. I wonder what happened to your self-preservation."
The younger man had never seen this side of Voldemort before. Unbelievable happened; he was being praised by the Dark Lord, his archenemy. Why couldn't he bring himself to protest? He didn't want to listen to that, right?
When he finally blundered out something, it lacked his usual fierceness.
"I didn't intend to do anything courageous," he said. "I just ... underestimated the threat..."
He was too perplexed to continue and rather stared in turns Voldemort in the face, in his dilated eyes, and back at his hand which moved along his jaw.
The long pale digits traced his cheekbone and touched the frame of his spectacles. Harry's confusion grew constantly, it felt too weird. He wanted to move away and wondered why he didn't yet.
"Hey ... what are you doing?" he finally stammered, losing his nerves under the other man's stare.
Voldemort's seemingly lipless mouth opened, then closed and tightened for a brief moment before he the mask of indifference slipped back onto his face and he simply said.
"These glasses don't suit you very much. I liked the old ones better."
Harry didn't know why but with his indignation came a strange relief.
"Then you shouldn't destroy them, bastard!" he yelped and Voldemort only nodded once. "I know," he said and finally pulled away.
"You should get some sleep, Potter," he added quietly a moment later. "Who knows what will happen tomorrow."
Then he turned on the other side and left the bewildered youngster to his restless thoughts.
R&R