Harri had snuck through the school enough times to know that their escape would be without issue. The invisibility cloak, which she had always viewed as a blessing, now felt like a curse.
Up the pipe they had gone, after a hiss for stairs from Tom, and into Myrtle's bathroom. Harri had wanted to call out to Myrtle, but something stopped her. It was like a barrier on her tongue that prevented her from speaking. If she pushed through she was sure that she could vocalize a call for help, but that was the point, wasn't it? Her magic was giving her a warning that to call out would be to break her oath. Sure she could do it, but the line in the sand was clear.
Harri didn't call out, and carefully walked down the eerily empty halls of Hogwarts, until they reached the Great Hall and slid out of the school with no one the wiser. Riddle led her down to the Hogwarts Gate and smiled happily as they reached the barrier.
"Dumbledore will know that we're gone now," he said cheerily, taking out Harri's wand. "The Headmaster can always tell if someone is coming or going through the grounds."
Harri looked around desperately from under the cloak, hoping to see Dumbledore rushing towards them. He didn't appear. For the moment it took Tom to whisk them away, Harri was struck with how helpless she felt. Would it always be like this? Harri alone in the world, and no matter what the adults said- in the end, it was Harri who had to take care of herself.
Then they apparated with a pop.
The squeezing sensation always made Harri feel like she was about to vomit, but it was over quickly enough. They couldn't have gone too far. Certainly not all the way to Albania. When Dumbledore apparated them to Norway and Germany she had felt like the squeezing sensation would never end.
They appeared in a village.
They were standing at the head of a lane under a dark blue sky, in which the night's first stars were already glimmering feebly. Cottages stood on either side of the narrow road. A short way ahead of them, a glow of golden streetlights indicated the center of the village.
"Let us remove the cloak," said Riddle. "No need to hide, no one would expect us to come here first."
"Where is here?" Harri asked. Why would Riddle take her to a quaint English village?
"Godric's Hollow," Riddle replied, stowing the Cloak in his robe pocket.
Riddle made to walk forward, but Harri was rooted to the spot. He took her hand and tried to lead her on, but she shook her head.
It was in Godric's Hollow that, but for Voldemort, Harri would have had a family and grown up. She would have spent her school holidays here. She might have had brothers and sisters. Her mother might have made her birthday cakes. Her father would have taught her to fly. The life she had lost, but that hardly seemed like it could have been real at all… This is where it would have been.
This lane would have been familiar, not just a lane in a village she did not know.
"Come along, Harriet. You're making a fuss." She felt the push of magic at his words and made her feet move.
"I've never been here before," she told him. "Why are we here now?"
"My wand," he said simply. He hadn't let go of her hand yet and was leading her down the lane.
"Your wand can't be here still! They would have taken it with your body."
"My body?" he asked, almost laughing. "There couldn't have been a body. That vessel would have been destroyed when my soul was ripped away by the Killing Curse."
"How could your wand be here? The Ministry would have found it, wouldn't they have?"
"No. I made sure of that." That was all he said on the subject, and he led her towards the square.
As they approached the town's center what Harri thought to be a War Memorial shifted into a statue of two people holding a small child. Her feet moved faster, and soon she was pulling Tom along so that she could look at the monument.
Harri drew close, gazing up into her parent's faces. She had never imagined that there would be a statue… How strange it was to see herself represented in stone, a happy baby without a scar on her forehead.
"Yes, Yes," said Riddle, as he pulled Harri away. "A monument to my defeat and exile."
"Those are my parents. They died for me," she said, looking up hungrily into her mother's kind face.
Riddle paused in his tugging and looked more closely up at the statue. "What is it like, Harriet?"
"What?" Harri said, not looking away.
"To have parents who died for you. I can't say that I can relate. My mother died at the orphanage I was born in. My father… well, he died for me in a way. Not willingly of course."
"It hurts," Harri said, turning to look at Riddle. "It always hurts. You robbed me of childhood, of parents who would have shown me kindness, of sisters or brothers, of grandparents my children will never know. That is what you owe me, Tom Riddle." She didn't know where the words came from exactly, but she knew that they were true and she could feel magic thrumming in agreement.
He let go of her wrist and stepped back a step. "Ah, now that is something," he hissed. "You've declared a debt. I acknowledge it, Harriet Potter." The tightness in his voice loosened as he said this, then he went on, "But you have put yourself in my power first- your word to me must be fulfilled before my obligation to you begins."
The held gazes for several long beats, the Harri turned and looked back at her parents. "Where to?" she asked softly.
"This way." He led her down a dark street leading out of the village in the opposite direction from which they had entered. Harri could make out the point where the cottages ended and the lane turned into open country again. They walked quickly and came to the house at the very end of the row.
A hedge had grown wild in the decade since Hagrid had taken Harri from the rubble that lay scattered amongst the waist-high grass. Most of the cottage was still standing, though entirely covered in dark ivy, but the right side of the top floor had been blown apart; that, Harri was sure, was where the curse had backfired. She stood, gazing up at the wreck of what must have been a cottage just like those that flanked it.
Harri felt her knees go weak and she grasped onto the rusted gate. Her touch on the gate activated something. A sign rose out of the ground in front of them, up through the tangles of nettles and weeks, like some bizarre, fast-growing flower, and in golden letters upon the wood it said:
On this spot, on Samhain 1981,
Lily and James Potter lost their lives.
Their daughter, Harriet, remains the only witch
Ever to have survived the Killing Curse.
This house, invisible to Muggles, has been left
In its ruined state as a monument to the Potters
And as a reminder of the violence
That tore apart their family.
She sniffed.
"Good Lord, wait here Harriet. I don't know what you'll act like if you actually go inside," said Tom in exasperation.
He hopped the gate and entered the house. Why would his wand still be here? Was that even possible? Surely the Ministry would have found it.
She shook her head and looked down at the sign. A monument. This was no monument in her eyes. She wished it wasn't here. What good was a reminder of pain? What sympathy did it generate? It felt like a place for people to come and gawk, just like when they looked at her a living monument with a lightning bolt scar.
Maybe she was being unkind. Plenty of families had suffered during the war. Mrs. Weasley had lost her brothers, for example. Her family wasn't the only one torn apart, and it was ungenerous of her to assume that wizards and witches wouldn't want to come here and see where it ended for their own peace of mind.
Only it wasn't over.
Here she was, on her way to help restore the Dark Lord. And for what purpose now? Ginny was alive. If she broke her word did that mean that Ginny would drop dead somehow?
Was she willing to risk it?
No. The answer came quickly. She had bargained for Ginny's life, and wouldn't risk it now that the apparent danger had passed. Her own magic, what did she care? She had lived without it for eleven years, she could go on without it again. The lives of others though… would there be some bargain she could strike with the Dark Lord so that it wouldn't be war again? No more killings?
Tom came out of the house, two wands grasped in his hands. He had been right after all.
"How did you know it would be here?"
"I soaked my wand in a potion I developed soon after I graduated Hogwarts. None would be able to see my wand unless they expressly planned to return it to me. Once holding it they would be compelled to find me, no matter the cost."
Harri eyed the wand uneasily. "Demiguise Hair, Scurvy Grass, Syrup of Hellebore, and Lethe River Water?" Harri guessed.
Riddle looked quite pleased, "and Doxy Eggs. That's quite clever. Little Ginny mentioned that you were Snape's would-be-apprentice."
"That potion you made is quite vile," she said.
"It wouldn't affect anyone unless they were able to pick it up," he said dismissively. "Which means they'd want to find me anyways."
"You aren't the whole Voldemort, why doesn't it affect you?"
"All I am is Lord Voldemort," he said simply. "I doubt it would do anything to you either, Harriet, if it makes you feel better."
She grimaced.
He swung himself over the gate again. "Here," said Riddle, holding out her wand.
"You're trusting me with a wand?"
"You already swore on your magic that you would cooperate until I released you," he replied with a shrug. "And we're going to be around God knows how many Muggles. I'd rather you had something to defend yourself with."
"Why are we going to be around Muggles?"
"We can't exactly Porkey to Albania," he said grumpily. "Those will be monitored. I suppose we could apparate, but I'd be using more of my new magical core than is wise. So we'll fly."
"On a Muggle airplane?"
"Yes. Have they come along since my day?"
"I've never flown in one, but I think so, yes. We'll have to go to Heathrow, in London. And we'll need money and passports. And I don't think Muggles will find it normal for two children to go flying on their own."
"I pass for eighteen," he said confidently.
"Well I don't," she replied testily.
"You can be my cousin, and we're flying to meet family in Greece. I'll confund anyone who questions it."
She supposed they could pass as cousins. They didn't look at all like siblings. She had red hair and hazel eyes, and he had dark hair with dark eyes. Cousins didn't ever look alike though; Dudley being blonde with blue-eyed.
"If you say so," she shrugged. "Do you know where Heathrow is?"
"Not a clue. Is it where the London Airport used to be?"
"I've no idea. It's off A4 I think." He looked at her blankly.
"We should get a cab in London, then," she offered. He nodded, well at least that word made sense to him. She wondered when Hackney had fallen out of the vernacular.
"But what about a passport or money?" she implored.
"We're magic, Harriet. I think we can take care of it," his smirk made her want to hit him, and she wondered if it would be breaking her Vow if she did.
The forests of Albania in May were stunningly beautiful. Harri never would have thought, most of what she knew about Albania came from Muggle Primary school discussions of the Balkan states since 1989. She had imagined poor old ladies that were humped from all the communist labor.
And maybe such women did exist, but Albania had never been a proper Soviet State. It was poor, and not exactly densely populated. The people there didn't seem interested in drawing attention to themselves, much like Harri and Tom. Thus it was easy to slip into the treeline and be as forgotten as the wind.
When they made camp that first night Tom conjured two tents that were much nicer inside than they were outside. They had real beds and working (though antiquated) appliances. Most importantly they had bathrooms with flushing loos. Harri hadn't fancied the idea of dealing with that particular issue, having never been 'Muggle Camping' before. Even her African adventure with Snape had involved hotels, inns, and occasionally a very grand tent that he kept tucked away in his magically expanded satchel.
Harri made herself useful and built a fire, wondering as she cast if it would alert anyone as to where she was. She glanced around speculatively after each spell she cast, and when Tom noticed he only said, "I doubt Albania is monitoring magic use closely. Britain is rather singular. They've had the Ministry cast observation wards on every corner of London. And when a Muggle-born presents they cast the wards all around their neighborhood." Harri thought of the CCTV cameras that Uncle Vernon had praised London for installing, with plans to put 200 million pounds into the infrastructure over the next decade.
Muggle or Magical, they weren't so different, were they?
"What did you do for fun growing up"
"I'm sure I don't know what you mean. I lived in an orphanage during the War. There wasn't fun."
"Did you amuse yourself somehow?"
"I would occasionally instruct my fellow orphans on proper respect for their betters." She didn't want to know what that meant.
There was a lull as Harri stared into the fire. It had been four days in the woods. She tried to keep the date straight in her head. She had gone into the Chamber of the 29th of May. It was now June 5th.
Tom left her most of the time. During the day he would leave the camp and go off into the woods. Usually, he came back with something; a cauldron, some ingredients, tea, or food. Today he had come back empty-handed, and he looked worse for wear. He sat very quietly by the fire.
"What happened today?" she asked finally, unable to stand the silence. He looked forlorn.
"Are you willingly helping me, Harriet?" Tom asked.
"No," she answered. The press of magic forced her tongue to keep speaking. "But I'm willing to do what you ask for the vow I made."
"Hmm…" he stayed quiet after that for what must have been a quarter of an hour. Harri gave up talking to him and laid down in the clearing to look up at the stars. "What did you do as a child for fun, Harriet?" he asked suddenly.
"I didn't have a fun childhood either," she said softly. "I used to play the piano and guitar some. I don't really anymore."
"Why not?" he asked from his perch on the log she'd levitated into their camp on her second day there.
"I used to play because I was alone and unhappy."
"And you aren't anymore?" he asked, and it was mocking.
"I don't know if I've ever really been happy," she said. "You keep messing it up for me. Whenever I think I'm close… you come in and ruin it all."
"Then why did you stop playing?"
"I had other things to focus on. Life wasn't about surviving until I was eighteen and escaping my relatives. It was about my friends, classes, Snape, potions. There were lots of things that I liked doing so I didn't have to focus on…" Harri trailed off.
"On how unhappy you were," he finished.
"That isn't really right either," she said. "I just wish… I wish that people didn't sway so easily. Snape tells everything to Dumbledore. Dumbledore is- well I don't really know, do I? It's all calculation, isn't it? My friends… well as soon as Draco Malfoy, the worst person EVER, tells Hermione I'm possessed- by YOU thanks a lot- she starts searching through all my things. Ron and Neville let Malfoy set a snake on me instead of just ASKING. It's always the same, isn't it? No matter how good I am, everyone is looking at me from a thousand different angles searching for my flaw."
"You'll always have me, Harri," he said, and she felt his eyes on her. She kept looking up at the stars.
"No I won't," she answered at last and then got up to go to bed.
The forest was dark and Harri was tired. She hadn't been able to sleep well for weeks. The constant movement of camp, of Tom leaving for long stretches at a time, and the general disquiet of the forest had left her perpetually frightened.
Harri was certain that Tom had found Voldemort. For some reason, he never brought him up. Harri had expected to be dragged before the Dark Lord and used to miraculously bring him back to life. Instead, it had been bitter weeks alone in the dark forest. Tom could be gone days at a time, and when that happened every sound made her jump.
She liked it better when he stayed at camp. At least then there was someone to talk to. He was surprisingly chatty about his childhood at the orphanage and his time at Hogwarts. He didn't make any more of those strange sexual advances, didn't even try to touch her. Sometimes she would catch him looking at her for too long, and when she would catch his gaze it would feel like fire was licking her skin. But he didn't touch her, which was a relief.
He was brewing a lot. He had five cauldrons going at once and had left specific instructions for how to stir them each day. He didn't let Harri add any ingredients, which she was glad for. The magical compulsion would have made her help, and that felt far too close to actively assisting in the Dark Lord's return for Harri's comfort. Maybe Tom realized that and knew there was only so far he could push her before Harri would break her vow unintentionally.
She mulled over the date. June 19th. It had been three weeks since she had been stunned and taken down into the Chamber of Secrets. Three weeks since she'd last seen Snape. Was he alive? Was Ginny? They had been left down in the Chamber with Fawkes. Harri liked to think the Pheonix had flown them out, or at the very least gone to get Dumbledore. What if it had all closed up and they could escape? What if they were dead? Would everyone think that she was dead too? Rotting down in the Chamber or in the stomach of a Basilisk. Too morbid, she reminded herself. Think about something else.
What else was there to think about? She had already gone through every topic she could think of. She had made list after list of potions ingredients and their various uses. Listed out loud every potion she could think of my heart. Written out as much transfiguration theory as she could recall. She had even written out every Magi-Zoologist manual she could remember, trying to compile animals and their different characteristics from multiple perspectives; like an encyclopedia. She found several contradictions between Newt Scamander and Edwardus Lima on the subject of Sphynx. She felt like Hermione but was really just stir-crazy.
Harri stood to add a log to the fire. Technically, she could cast magical flame that would burn all night, but with very little to do, Harri had started casting the severing charm to hack up trees. She burned the wood at night for lack of anything else to do, not to mention the burning wood smelled better and the smoke kept the bugs away.
There was a rustle in the treeline. Her head snapped up from the fire and she looked around. Harri's heart began to race with fear. Was it Tom come back? Had the spirit of Lord Voldemort come to kill her? Some sort of animal? She gripped her wand and tried to think of a spell to defend herself with. If some great bear rushed out at her though… would a severing charm do the trick?
A large black dog stepped out of the darkness.
She stifled a scream. Was it a Grimm? Those weren't even real animals! The were omens of death that cracked up witches and wizards would go on about. No magizoologist had ever seen one. Had she cracked and gone mad in her loneliness? Was that what this was?
Then the dog began to change. It grew into the shape of a man. A mass of filthy, matted hair hung to his elbows. If eyes hadn't been shining out of deep, dark sockets, he might have been a corpse. The waxy skin was stretched so tightly over the bones of his face, it looked like a skull.
Harri knew him.
He was much aged from the photos she had of him, but ten years with Dementors couldn't be good for someone's looks. It was Sirius Black. Had he come to rejoin the Dark Lord then? The man who had betrayed her parents and had claimed to have been their friend all along. She thought of Remus Lupin. She thought of poor Peter Pettigrew who had been blown apart.
"Go away," she snapped at him. "He's not here, so go. I don't want to see you."
Black didn't move. He stared at her with those piercing eyes. His mouth was open slightly, as if in shock.
"Did you hear me? He's not here! Leave."
"Harriet," Black said softly. She felt so angry she wanted to hit him. She raised her wand instead.
"I'll curse you if you if you don't get out."
Before she could manage, Black drew his own wand and croaked, "Expelliarmus!" Harri's wand flew out of her hand, and Black caught it. Then he took a step closer, his eyes fixed on Harri.
"You can't kill me," she spat at him. "Voldemort won't like that. He needs me alive for this," she gestured around at the cauldrons.
"I'm not here to kill you, Harriet," Black said softly.
"Then you're here to see him, so leave. I don't want to see you. I don't ever want to see you."
"I don't blame you for that, Harriet. But I'm not here for the bloody Dark Lord either. I'm here for you. To help you escape."
"No, you aren't. It's a trick." Harri said, shaking her head. "Did he set this up? To see if I'd leave? Because I'm not. Ginny's life for my cooperation. That was the agreement. I'm not breaking it and losing my magic just so Ginny can die."
"I'm not sure I follow," Black said slowly. "But perhaps we should clear this part up first. I'm not a Death Eater."
"Yes, you are. You killed my parents." Black stared at her out of those sunken eyes.
"I don't deny it," he said. "But if you knew the whole story."
"The whole story?" Harri repeated a furious pounding in her ears. "You sold them to Voldemort. That's all I need to know."
"That's not true," said Black. "Harriet… your parents-" his voice cracked, "Lily and James are dead because of me. But not in the way you think. I would NEVER give them up to Voldemort. NEVER. James was my brother- and you…" he looked at her with those haunted eyes. "You were all any of us had, Harriet. We loved you."
"That makes no sense at all, you liar," Harri spat. "You gave them up, everyone heard Pettigrew-"
Black cut her off, "That RAT," he snarled. "That rat is the one who betrayed your parents, Harri. Not me. NEVER me."
Harri looked at him hard. Something had always felt wrong in the tale she had heard about Sirius Black, loyal best friend, suddenly turning Dark. Like she had missed five chapters in a story.
"Tell me then. Give me back my wand and tell me. Because after all the stories I heard from Remus, it never made any sense."
So he told her.
It wasn't a long story, but it was tragic. It was the Count of Monte Cristo, only Peter Pettigrew had probably died that day, and with him any chance of Sirius being cleared.
"He could still be a rat somewhere," Black told her, "I've no idea if he's survived. I hope he's rotting in hell for what he did, Harri. All those years living with Snape of all people. It must have been the worst kind of childhood."
"Snape didn't raise me."
"The paper said that he's your Guardian."
"He is. But he isn't the one who raised me. I lived with my Aunt and Uncle until I was eleven. But my magic was all wrong, and Snape noticed, and well… he got me to submit a bunch of memories to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and…"
"Those Muggles abused you," Black said bluntly.
Harri took a deep breath before answering, "Yes."
"I should kill them," Black snarled. "Then at least I really would be a murderer."
"No," Harri gasped. "No. It isn't what my parents would want. They wouldn't you to become a killer- just for them ."
"We should go, Harri," Black said, "but from what you first said, you can't leave, can you?"
Harri shook her head. "I made a vow in the Chamber of Secrest on my magic that I would stay with Tom, that is the young Voldemort that opened the Chamber if he let Ginny Weasley live."
Black shook his head. "I know it's a lot to ask for you to give up your magic, Harriet, but it isn't worth him coming back…"
"I know," she said. "I'd give up my magic in a heartbeat if it meant he wouldn't return. But I can't let Ginny die."
"It might not mean her death," Black said slowly. "He didn't cast Captivus, did he?"
"I don't know, I've never heard of that spell," Harri said shaking her head.
"It's not like an Unbreakable Vow or a Magical Oath. If you break the Unbreakable Vow, it's you who suffers. Sometimes a wizard might decide it's worth his life to break one. Captivus though… well, that uses someone else as collateral. It uses a third party as insurance. If you were to break a Captivus Vow, then Miss. Weasley would die if that was the term of the agreement."
"How do I know if it was cast?" Harri asked.
"Her magic would be saturated into something, usually parchment so it can function as a contract. Then the two making the bond would sign in blood."
Harri thought of the diary and her slashed hand. She wasn't sure if that was what had actually happened, but if she had to guess it was. The Diary had been saturated with Ginny's magic. Tom Riddle didn't have blood. It had been ink that had oozed out of his split lip.
"I think it's that," Harri said. "Captivus. I think that's what he used when I agreed."
Black nodded. "That does complicate things."
Harri sat down on the forest floor. What she needed was for Riddle or Voldemort to release her from her vow before he used her. That… or she needed to be able to negotiate with him once he was back in power to prevent another war. If this was a game of Poker, her hand was looking like she should fold. What she needed was for Dumbledore or Snape to show up. Black was a welcome addition to Team Harri, but what could he really do?
Well… he could deliver a letter.
Tom Riddle returned the next night none the wiser of Harri's visitor.
Despite his friendly smile and lack of conversation on the matter, Tom Riddle was in the forest of Albania to resurrect the Dark Lord. He described himself as a fraction, a mere splinter of the whole, and as such he wanted the larger soul portion to be the living piece.
"Wouldn't you rather it was just you instead?" Harri had asked.
"I crave what is best for the whole," he had answered with a shrug. "Don't be fooled by my corporeal form. I'm still not real. It's ink that flows through my veins. Stolen magic that powers my core. I am the soul of Lord Voldemort, but I'm not the First portion."
"Are you willingly helping me, Harriet?" Tom had asked her weeks ago.
"No." she had answered.
A week later he had asked, "Would you say that I'm forcing you to help?"
"I… yes? Why?" but he didn't really need to answer her. Intent mattered with magic, and with potions most of all. He was brewing like mad, and Harri could tell where this was going. It was intent that fed the magic of potions. A Muggle wouldn't be able to brew them. Magical intent went into the simmering ingredients and they warped and changed accordingly.
"I'm going to take something from you," he had told her. "Whether you view yourself as willing or not matters."
Would she rather be willing? Would she rather it be forced? Harri didn't have an answer.
On June 22nd Tom Riddle appeared back at camp with a strange bundle. He carried it gently, like a baby. It made a harsh hissing sound, and Harri backed away from the on instinct when they entered the clearing.
"What is that?" she asked, not taking her eyes off the strange bundle. Before Tom could answer her, her scar began to throb with pain. Her back was against a tree, and she slid down it into a crouch. The magic of the thing was like a tidal wave, and she was drowning in the pain it was causing her.
"Now now, Harriet, none of that," said Riddle. He put his bundle in his tent and came back to her. "We thought that this would be an issue, and it appears we were right. Drink this," and he unstoppered a vial.
"What is it?" she asked in a croak.
"A stabilization potion. The connection you have to the Dark Lord should have been stabilized years ago. You magic probably gets spent out trying to maintain it. Do you find it hard to cast spells still?"
Harri took the potion and gave it a sniff. She wouldn't really be able to tell if it was a poison; poison could be scentless, sweet, or bitter. It made her feel better and like she had some modicum of control.
"I'm not here to kill you, Harriet," Riddle snipped. "Drink up. It will help with the pain and it's time for us to get going. Back to England." She downed the potion, and it did soothe the pain. She only had a faint headache by the time they had finished packing up their campsite.
Not one to pull the same trick twice, Riddle had them on buses and trains this time to get back to England. The horrid bundle that Tom carried was wrapped in the Invisibility Cloak. The train from Paris to London arrived promptly at eight in the morning on June 24th. Harri wasn't stupid. She knew that they had returned to England on a day Dumbledore was sure to be out of the country. Would he come looking for her instead of fulfilling his rites as the Lord of Light?
She somehow doubted it. Even if, as Riddle claimed, the magic didn't do anything, Dumbledore followed his role. He would be in Estonia today. Riddle cast a subtle notice-me-not charm on them once they were on the other side of the channel, cast portus on his watch, and had Harri grasp it.
When their train pulled into the station there were two fewer passengers onboard.
Instead, they appeared on a hill overlooking a village. The house before her was worn down. Some of the windows were boarded up, tiles were missing from the roof, and ivy had spread unchecked over its face. It had the look of a once very fine manor, but it was currently derelict and unoccupied.
"Where are we?" Harri asked Tom, still looking at the sad old mansion.
"Little Hangleton. This used to be the home of Tom Riddle."
"This was an orphanage?"
"No. My father and grandparents lived here, once. They are very dead now."
"Why are we here then?"
"For something my father left behind," said Riddle. "We're off to the graveyard Harriet. No more questions. Just sit once we get there and don't interfere."
Harri followed Riddle down the hill to a small old church where there was a dark overgrown graveyard and a large yew tree next to it. Once they entered through the gate, Riddle began to cast wards around the perimeter so that they wouldn't be bothered. That was good, Harri supposed while finding a bench, some Muggle didn't need to die just because they had wandered to the wrong place.
Once done with his wards, Riddle began used the cracked headstones to make something… after a few moments, it became a large stone cauldron. Bigger than any that even Snape had, she thought morosely. Big enough for a grown man to sit in.
Tom returned to his bag and pulled out one of the potions he had brewed. He poured it into the cauldron, and despite the small size of the flask it didn't run out. It poured and poured until the entire stone cauldron was full. Next, he flicked his wand to start a fire, and the potion began to heat quickly.
Harri tried to remember which potion this was, but it was fairly clear even after brewing. That could be any number of brews. Was it the one that had used Dragonfly wings; used for rejuvenation. Or perhaps the potion that had utilized all that blood, but had still somehow come out clear at the end.
The surface of the potion began to send out fiery sparks, as though it were on fire. Steam was thickening, blurring the outline of Tom tending to the fire. The whole surface of the water was alight with sparks It might have been encrusted with diamonds.
Tom turned back to his bag and carefully lifted the horrid baby-like creature from Harri's cloak. It raised its thin arms, put them around Riddle's neck, and Tom lifted it. Even Tom looked revolted by the hairless and scaly-looking thing.
Tom lowered the creature into the cauldron; there was a hiss, and it vanished below the surface; Harri head its frail body hit the bottom with a soft thud.
Maybe it won't work Harri thought hopefully. But she knew that Tom would be too good for that. He began to speak in a chant; "Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son!"
The surface of a grave near the cauldron cracked. Harri watched as a fine trickle of dust rose into the air at Riddle's command and fell softly into the cauldron. The diamond surface of the water broke and hissed; it sent sparks in all directions and turned a vivid, poisonous-looking blue.
"Come here, Harriet," Riddle called. Though she didn't want to, she was compelled to move forward.
Riddle produced a silver dagger. "Hold out your hand over the fire," he commanded. She wondered if he would take her whole hand? She wanted the vomit.
"Blood of the flame, forcibly taken, you will resurrect your foe."
Riddle sliced her hand, and her blood dribbled in. The potion turned a burning red.
"Well Harriet, it's been nice," Tom said to her carefully.
"What?" she said, turning to him.
"No questions, Harri, remember," he said with a twist of his lips.
Riddle climbed into the cauldron, the hot stone burning his hand as he touched it. He grimaced in pain, but his voice clear as he said, "Soul of my Soul, return to true strength with this sacrifice of self."
Harri wanted to say that Tom Riddle looked afraid as he plunged the knife into his chest. Perhaps it was only resignation instead of fear, but she wanted it to be fear. He deserved to afraid after everything he had put her through. Let him fear that it wouldn't work. That he died for nothing. That the thing in the cauldron would drown.
Life drained from his face, and the memory of Tom Riddle dipped below the surface. The liquid within the cauldron turned a blinding white. Harri stepped back.
Could she run now if Tom Riddle was dead? That was what the bond had agreed to, hadn't it? She turned to leave the graveyard but felt the press of her magic telling her that her bond had not yet been fulfilled. If Tom Riddle wasn't dead then…
The cauldron was simmering, sending its diamond sparks in all directions. Then, suddenly, the sparks emanating from the cauldron were extinguished. A surge of white steam billowed thickly from the cauldron instead. Then… through the mist in front of her, she saw the dark outline of a man.
He was taller than Tom had been. More muscular too. A man full grown that had lost all trace of boyhood. The face was no longer the horrible snake-like visage that had gone into the cauldron. It was Tom's face, or at least an older version of it. He was horribly handsome still, but it was worse somehow. More like a predator, which Harri hadn't thought possible. They weren't Tom's eyes looking at her, no. The eyes were still the blood red of that creature.
"Hello, Harriet," said the cold voice of Lord Voldemort.