Harry stared down at the Diary, almost looking offended at the object that was laid down on his mattress. It's blank pages seemed to jump at him innocently, begging to be stained by ink.

It had been a week. Possibly one of the longest weeks of his life, sans the end of the last school year after a man had burned between his finger tips. Harry still vividly recalled his agonized screams-

The young teen nearly slapped himself at the memory, his hands pressing against the back of his eyelids, trying to break his own trail of thoughts forcefully. He couldn't afford to think about that right now. He couldn't.

He forced himself to think about this week, where he had been profusely thanked by the Weaselys for rescuing their daughter. And it wasn't just Ginny's parents and Ron, but the twins, and even Percy had come personally to thank him. He had even been sent a letter from Bill that still laid on his nightstand. It was nice to appreciated, and he loved the Weaselys deeply - but the knowledge that he still had the Diary made the interactions almost sour.

There was nothing to thank him for, considering he was harboring the culprit of Ginny's attack.

Truthfully, Harry had been stuck in a standstill of what do with the journal. The weight of who possessed it held a heavy hand in his hesitation. Dumbledore's and Voldemort's words wound through his thoughts, playing over and over and over. It had left him with many restless nights, and when classes resumed, and left him with little room to concentrate on lessons.

In his opinion, his decision regarding the Diary was too important to set aside in favor of the small lesson plans the professors had been supplying in wake of the general unsteadiness of the staff and students after Ginny's kidnapping.

Though it was that very same air about his fellow students that let him get away with his distant and probably incredibly off behavior. Hermione and Ron had been nearly resolute that something else must have happened in the Chamber that he wasn't telling anyone about.

But he argued for himself, in the moment panicked and frightened that they knew what he had done. Everyone was still upset, and shaken despite their relief that the petrifaction had been stopped and Ginny had been rescued. The hallways that held the messages from the heir, unable to be removed despite Filtch's best efforts, were universally avoided.

"I almost died, Hermione! Again!" Harry cried out, agitated. "Can I not have some time to deal with that?"

In the end, they had yielded and apologized. Ron had seemed embarrassed, while Hermione had appeared incredibly guilty. Harry told them he forgave them, and just needed a little space. His own guilt that he carried after that conversation seemed worlds heavier than the diary that had been hidden in his breast pocket.

He could barely look at them, let alone talk to them with the same easiness their friendship had held before Hermione had been petrified. His friends were upset for their own reasons, but tolerant of his behavior. The made an effort to include him, but also gave him his space without hesitation.

Harry didn't know what he would do when they weren't willing to ignore his behavior anymore, and he still felt like the worst friend ever.

And Harry still didn't know what to do! The diary sat before him, looking like nothing more than a normal student journal. Looking as if it didn't hold the memories and image of one of the darkest wizards in his century. He should turn this in to Dumbledore right now, and pretend he had never considered doing this. He was a fool to think he could trust Voldemort in any capacity, and he should just stop this now before Harry hurt Ron and Hermione's trust more than he already had.

Keep me safe, Harry Potter.

He didn't move, staring at the Diary and glancing at the quill and ink he had brought out earlier. He could hear the soft snoring of his dorm mates beyond his drawn, red curtains. Harry could feel the softness of his mattress and quilt beneath him, incredibly alluring to his sleep deprived form.

He grit his teeth, indecision warring within himself.

"You shouldn't be so worried, Harry. Honestly, your handwriting isn't nearly as bad as you think it is." A familiar voice rang out, startling him from his deep introspection.

Harry couldn't help himself. He jumped, making a noise in alarm and losing his balance. He fell further onto the bed, barely catching himself from falling off with his hands. His eyes were impossibly wide as he looked back to see the nearly ghostly figure of Tom Riddle sitting behind him.

"Surprised?" There was a twist to the Slytherin's lips as he spoke, regarding Harry with an air of amusement. His sapphire eyes glimmered in the low light of the lumos he had conjured earlier.

Harry opened his mouth to retort, but he stopped himself. He started to whisper, the sound almost inaudible. "My roommates-"

"Can't hear us." Tom cut him off nonchalantly. "Its a shame the Silencing Charm isn't taught until fourth year, its incredibly useful." he explained haughtily, "Perhaps I'll teach it to you later."

"Ah. That's -" Harry floundered for a moment, before Riddle's words truly registered. "Oh."

"Quite," Tom hummed, and despite his translucence he seemed to loom over Harry. The teen swallowed audibly as he studied Riddle's weak form, still shaken from his sudden appearance.

"I honestly expected you to contact me earlier," the elder teen explained with a note of disappointment. "But I suppose you needed time to consider everything that I said to you." Riddle reasoned for him, and Harry couldn't help himself from nodding in agreement.

"I..." Harry started, "there was a lot to think about."

"I'm sure," Tom agreed almost breezily. "But tell me, did Dumbledore confirm my suspicions?"

The Gryffindor hesitated, considering the words he had been thinking over nearly constantly the passed week, before replying. "...In a matter of speaking."

"Oh?" Tom leaned forward in obvious interest.

"The Headmaster said something about the fact they were fighting in a war, and that it was always a possibility that they could be killed at any time." The words sprang out of Harry's mouth nearly without permission.

It was almost a relief to say it, to tell someone about what Dumbledore had said. The way he had spoken about it, despite the way the old man seemed to be heartbroken about the fact the very thing was possible, had seemed like a brushing off of responsibility. Of course, people can be killed. Its a war. What, do you expect me to be able to keep everyone safe? Is what the words felt like in hindsight.

And Harry did. He did expect the man to keep his parents safe. Is a solider not the responsibility of his general? But it seemed to be outside of battle, so-

"Of course he would say something like that." Tom muttered almost under his breath, stirring Harry from his thoughts. The older teen spoke more loudly, directly at Harry. "There was generally no fighting outside of raids. The incident with your parents was a very special case."

Then he couldn't be responsible then? Anxiety spilled into Harry, suddenly very aware that he should be turning over the diary right now.

Tom seemed to study his jittery movements, before speaking to him in a soothing tone. "Did he tell you about the Prophecy, then? I assume that's also bringing you a decent amount of indecision as well."

Harry's spiraling thoughts about how the diary was a mistake faltered. "Prophecy?" He inquired, confused at the term.

And Riddle just froze at his question, looking at him incredulously. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, before seeming to find the words to say. "No one told you?"

"About a prophecy? No, I didn't even... I guess it makes sense, we have a Divination class here, right?" Harry reasoned, "But no. No one ever mentioned anything like that to me."

"Of course," there was heavy sense of disapproval from Tom's tone.

Harry watched the ghostly form run a hand through his hair. It was a very human motion, and something that felt very out of character to watch. Tom always seemed to be perfect, his body language eerily lacking in a way that he couldn't describe. Harry couldn't decide if the motion was relieving or disconcerting.

And then he bristled, anger flooding his expression. Harry flinched back, despite himself.

"I should have known." He felt more than saw the anger resonating from Tom, seeing his hands gripping tightly at his sides. His eyes glittered red from the light casting from his deep red Gryffindor curtains.

He built the courage to speak after watching Tom fume to himself for a couple minutes, "...What is the prophecy about?" His words seemed to break the other out of his spell, Tom seeming to recover instantly from his anger.

It was a little unsettling, but also a relief.

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies..." Riddle recited. "There was more to it, but that is all I know."

"And that refers to... me?"

"My counterpart must have thought so, to come after you so directly." Tom answered ambiguously. "However, there's something I have learned that makes that prophecy much more interesting."

Harry studied Tom, his interest piqued. "What is it?"

"Albus Dumbledore was one of the few witnesses to that specific prophecy. It's very convenient if he couldn't come to the same conclusion as Voldemort did, don't you think?"

"W-well maybe after hearing the whole thing, he thought it was someone else?"

"Ah yes, some other child who's parents defied the dark lord three times and is born in July. I'm sure the number of children that specifically fall into that category is huge, right?"

"T-that's-!" Harry cried out, before he was interrupted.

"You would defend a man that allowed your parents to die so you could become a prophecy child." Tom's words dripped with distain. "I'll admit, you're quite devoted to the man. It's almost admirable if it wasn't so sad," The teen seemed to study his finger nails nonplussed, ignoring Harry's anger at the statement. "And I know you can see it too, how disingenuous he is."

Tom's eyes met his own, studying him. Waiting for his reply.

"You don't know what your talking about," Harry seethed. "How can I even trust you, anyway? Just because you saved Ginny, I'm supposed to accept everything you say as truth?"

Tom smiled, "I'm glad you're taking my lesson about blind belief seriously."

Harry was about to speak again, furious, but Riddle put a single index finger before his mouth, effectively silencing him.

"I don't expect you to go about to Dumbledore, asking him about a prophecy you couldn't have known about to confirm what I say. I want you to think about what I said, and I want you to trust me." He leaned in as he spoke, his eyes never moving from Harry's own. "There is nothing I can offer to you right now besides my knowledge and trust, Harry Potter. I'm nothing more than a wraith, a weak memory of a child from years passed. What evidence would you like from me?"

Harry broke his gaze, feeling somewhat reprimanded by his senior. Embarrassment clawed up his throat, so much that it was difficult to even consider how to answer Riddle's question.

"I don't know," he said finally. Riddle's eyes seemed to brim with satisfaction as he spoke.

"I just..." Harry trailed off hesitantly, before continuing. "It's hard to trust you after what you did. After knowing who you are."

"After knowing who I would become," Tom corrected. "And I did what I had to, not because I wanted to. I let her go, Harry." His expression changed to something pleading. "What else can I do to gain a second chance from you?"

Harry looked at Tom, the pout of his lips and the desperation in his gaze. He watched his form, how it seemed to flicker. He thought about how the boy had been trapped in the Diary for decades, and despite not knowing specifically how time passed for him - he felt a twinge of sympathy.

He was asking Tom to do something impossible, wasn't he? He had been stuck in a book for twenty years, how would he-

Wait.

"How did you know about the Raids?" Harry asked suddenly.

And he watched as Tom's expression broke, changing to surprise as he reared back. "I beg your pardon?"

"How did you know about how they only fought during battles? It's been years, I'm sure Voldemort could fight dirty if he wanted to." Harry asked, suspicious. "How could you say that and be sure?"

The tension between them was high, as Riddle stared at him. He didn't speak, or even twitch for what felt like a century. It was if the other was a statue; a very washed out, incorporeal statue.

And then he laughed.

It startled Harry, as he realized deftly that he had never heard really Tom laugh before. It was more of a breathless giggle, but it was much more than the mere huff he had heard in the chamber.

It was absolutely charming.

Harry shook himself from his thoughts, noticing Tom's laughs tapering off. The teen still was smiling, looking at Harry with something like fondness.

"You're right," he shrugged. "There is absolutely no reasonable way for me to know that in my current state. Well done."

It took a moment for the words to register, but when they did, it felt like an inevitable betrayal. He knew it.

"Voldemort has contacts in this school, and I abused them with the help of Ginny to get information about what I had missed out on." And just like that, the anger quelling him Harry's chest evaporated once again into something like shock.

"You spoke to... A Death Eater...?"

"Yes," Tom confirmed. "I won't say who, but I certainly did acquire external information in regards to what happened that night."

Tom didn't apologize for withholding that information from him.

I... Fine. Okay." Harry finally acknowledged, a headache forming between his temples. "So there's a Death Eater in this school and he told you about the war. Okay." Harry nodded, deciding to take the road of least resistance. "Did you tell him you were Voldemort? Did he recognize you?"

"Now that would be telling," Tom bantered, seeming coy before conceding. "But yes, I deceived him."

"...Okay." Harry said after a moment. "Okay, I'll trust you for now. At least since you let Ginny go."

"I appreciate that." The taller teen smiled. "I won't take your trust for granted, Harry." Tom promised, sounding heartfelt.

Harry felt a small weight release from his chest, and he nodded back to the other, pleased.

"Thank you, Tom."