The following evening, Harry is much more mentally prepared and ready to face Tom.
As such, he isn't surprised when Riddle's spectre appears. This time, what he is surprised by is the show of how he appears from the Diary's pages. How he simply seems to bloom into existence, wisping from no particular source. It strikes him as a particularly magical sight, like seeing Diagon Alley for the first time, or seeing himself transform under the effects of Polyjuice. Magic was, even now, truly mesmerizing.
He absentmindedly wonders how he didn't catch it before. Had he truly been that wrapped in his thoughts? Shaking his head to dismiss his stray musings, Harry opens his mouth to greet his visitor.
Immediately Tom silences him; the ghost of fingers suddenly pressing against his feeling is like ice and electricity at once, and he is unable to do much beyond watch Tom motion with his hands and murmur an incantation.
The words are impossible to catch beyond the low rumbling snores emanating from his roommates.
He catches the way Tom's form seems to shudder slightly at the use of magic, but is also caught up in the use of wandless magic from the spectre. He knew Riddle could cast something before, but he expected an image of a wand from him. Though, Harry supposed, perhaps that didn't work at all considering it wouldn't be real.
His musing were cut off as the hand effectively silencing him was retracted. Embarrassment blooms from him at the realization of why he needed to be quieted to begin with. Harry ducks his head, sheepish. "I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking."
He peers up to catch an amused twist of Tom's lips as he speaks. "It's quite alright. Refrain from doing so in the future though, if you will. We don't need any unwanted questions, do we?" His tone was foreboding.
"No," Harry replies immediately. "Not at all."
He shudders to think what would happen if any of his roommates started inquiring about his late night conversations with someone unknown within his drawn curtains. Rumour would spread fast. He imagined that most likely Ron and Hermione would draw conclusions, getting upset if his excuse wasn't satisfactory. They might even draw in a Professor if they were particularly inclined.
He desperately didn't want to face that. They wouldn't understand.
"I'm glad you agree with me, Harry." Tom praises, with a soft dulcet smile. Harry is struck how innocent it makes the other look, and the fact Tom Riddle is to be the next Dark Lord makes him unsettled; the sudden duality of his appearance striking. The older teen begins to speak again, seeming oblivious to Harry's sudden internal distress.
"But speaking of which, I still intend to teach you the Silencing Charm. I can simply wait in the Diary until its cast, so that we wouldn't take an unnecessary risks." Tom tells him, before adding on, "Not that I don't trust you."
"No, that makes sense." Harry agrees easily. "I would like to learn it as well. It seems very useful, as you said."
"Quite," The phantom nods. "But in return, I have a favour to ask of you."
Harry swallows at the request, immediately reminded of dismal chambers and words written in chicken blood. Tom had never asked him of something before, even when they had simply wrote to each other through the Diary. "A favor?" He asks, both hesitant and wary.
"Nothing ghastly, I give you my word." Tom promises, seeming to pick up on his uncertainty. "But, I'm sure than you can tell that this form is... weakening." There's a bitter edge to his words.
Harry has noticed. The shuddering edges of Tom's form seemed to have been aggravated, and he seemed far less vivid than he had in the chamber. His touch was even less visceral, more ethereal and alike to the ghosts that haunted the castle.
He nodded.
"That you keep me with you, and that I'm in Hogwarts gives me a good amount of ambient magic." Tom tells him, "But it's not nearly enough to appear like this. If this continues, I'll be unable to contact you aside from the Diary." He seems to scowl at the reminder. The expression lasts but only a moment, but Harry catches it.
"If you wish to continue to meet like this, I would need a larger injection of magic." Tom explains to him delicately.
"Okay," Harry nods along at the explanation. But the amount of time Tom is spending in this explanation is only making him more unnerved. It would be far less suspicious if he came out with the request immediately. The build up is making him uneasy, sending off alarm bells in his mind.
"One of the easiest ways to do it would be a small amount of your blood."
And there it was.
"Absolutely not." The words shoot from his mouth in an instant, before Harry can even consider them.
Internally he balks at the request as it registers, cringing at the idea. He braces himself for Tom's reaction, uncertain of how he would explode in his reply to his defiance. Despite that, he can't allow himself to do something like that. Harry is uncertain if something like that would be dark, but it sounds unpleasant at the very least.
He needs Riddle to respect his boundaries, if anything.
So, Harry is surprised when Tom merely nods his head in acceptance. "I figured you say that. It's quite alright, I understand the aversion to such things."
After a moment of waiting for Tom to simply change his mind, to start frothing at his insolence, he exhales softly in relief. As soon as he denied the other, he expected a heated argument, perhaps even the other becoming violent. Despite his conversations with the teen, all he truly knew about the other was his status as a fifth year Slytherin student, and that he was the boy to become Voldemort. He knew the other could be cordial, but was still waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Everything he did seemed at odds with Harry's expectations, and he wasn't sure how to anticipate the other anymore.
"I simply... I've been trapped in those pages for a long time, Harry. I believe it nearly drove me mad, being unable to interact with anything lasting." Tom explains, giving him a depreciating smile."It was selfish of me to ask, really. I had figured you would be uncomfortable, I was simply... hopeful I suppose." His words carry a longing note, bathed in melancholy.
It makes Harry feel terribly guilty, horrible for denying Tom. He didn't even consider how awful it was to be trapped in a book for over fifty years. He couldn't comprehend it even if he tried.
And in that moment, in hindsight, with those words something clicked. The whole Chamber of Secrets debacle gained a new clarity for Harry. Tom's actions made sense in a horrible way. He wasn't excusing his actions for what he had done, for petrifying the students and nearly shutting down Hogwarts. For intending to kill Ginny. But if he had been put in the same spot— trapped in a book for decades, without contact without freedom, knowing the world was moving on without him and he was still frozen in time —he didn't know what he would do if he had to chance to be free, despite the cost of someone's life. Would Harry even be sane at that point?
Was Tom even sane at this point? Excusing the incident with the chamber, he seemed to be. Perfectly so. And yet—
"I changed my mind," Harry says suddenly. "Tell me what you need me to do."
And Tom's image of downtrodden boy immediately changes into something of surprise. "Truly?" He breathes, hopeful. Before seeming to hesitate. "You don't have to feel compelled top do so for my sake. I'll be fine, I promise."
"No, it's fine." Harry insists adamantly. "I want to do it."
And Tom smiles, and it's a breathtaking thing as he seems impossibly pleased and fond all at once. "Thank you, Harry. It truly means a lot you would be willing to do this for me."
"Of course, Tom. I'm happy to." Harry tells him honestly, feeling a bit flushed at Tom's response.
The spectre of a teen leans in, peering down at Harry through dark lashes. "So, here's what I need you to do..."
Harry exasperatedly rubs at his dry eyes, trying to get them to focus on the words written in Snape's spidery scrawl on the chalkboard. His glasses nearly fall off in the process, but he can't bring himself to care, leaving them crooked as he peers at the text.
He was exhausted from last night, most likely from the late hour and the new spells he had learned. They had been spells for the higher years, so it would explain his sluggishness. He had felt terribly drained after them, after all.
Ron and Hermione had appeared incredibly concerned at his obvious fatigue at breakfast, but he waved them off easily with the excuse of nightmares. They had accepted the excuse, and told him with worrying glances to take it easy. He didn't offer up any more words at breakfast, absentmindedly listening to their conversation groggily.
His arm was sore from the cut he had been instructed to make, with Tom having instructed him how to use a cutting hex. Apparently it had been coming they had taught in fifth year. It had been a spell used by Mediwitches to remove clothing when they could not be spelled off, Tom had told him.
Despite that, Harry couldn't help but be pleased. Not only with his new repertoire of spells, but that he had managed to make Tom nearly as solid as he had been in the chamber. The older teen looked openly surprised at the effectiveness of the tribute, seeming nearly giddy at the effectiveness. It was a unexpected, but not unpleasant sight.
Tom said he would be good for quite a while with the magic he had been given, and thanked Harry profusely. Despite his exhaustion, Harry was positively beaming for most of the morning.
But dealing with an especially volatile Snape for two blocks could put a damper on anyone's mood, naturally.
The man seemed to be on a rampage, agitated and nitpicking at everyone in range. Even his own Slytherin's. It was an odd sight to see, and the class was uncharacteristically silent, despite working in partnered groups. Everyone was working diligently and quietly, trying desperately to escape the man's wrath. From the low mutterings of the other students, no one quite seemed to know why either.
Snape criticized him especially viciously, spelling away his potion several times with declaration of it being impossibly flawed. Of course, despite the fact it seemed perfectly fine to Harry. But he really didn't have the energy to argue, and despite the glares and clipped agreements he gave, Harry had no interest in kicking the hornets nest. He simply wanted to go back to bed.
He could probably get away with sleeping through lunch if he immediately headed to the dormitory.
His classmates immediately fled the room with a fervor usually saved for only the last day of classes. He took his time
"You seem tired, Mister Potter. Getting into trouble after curfew are we?" Snape honed in on him, and Harry wasn't the least bit surprised.
Harry was prepared though. He planned to be completely cordial to avoid a spontaneous detention, but he knew if the man was particularly determined, that it was a moot effort.
"No sir," he replied duly as he gathered his potioneering tools. The scale easily fitting in his charmed bag as the other continued to hound him.
"Ten points from Gryffindor for lying, Potter." Snape snapped in response. Harry didn't deign it with a response, uncaring.
Snape suddenly, without warning, struck out like a viper, grabbing his forearm as he made a move to leave. Harry froze in his tracks, the tight grip stopping him in his tracks.
The man leaned down, as he spoke, "You should be careful, Mister Potter." He murmured to him lowly, "And glamours go a long way to hide dark circles like yours."
And then suddenly the grip was gone, and Snape was walking away with a fluttering of his robes towards his desk. He saw Snape glance back it him, but Harry was still frozen, baffled by the action.
"Well what are you waiting for? Class is over, Potter." The man snapped, sneering at him as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. "Get a move on," He barked. "I have other classes to attend to."
The man heralded him out, and Harry didn't need to be told twice. He fled out the door into the dungeon halls, unseeing where he was going. Mind spinning as he narrowly dodged other passing students. He heard someone call out for him, Ron perhaps, but he ignored the other and continued to walk briskly.
What the bloody hell was that about?
