Chapter 35
Freezing cold water broke against black rock, washing over the top and swirling around boots that squeaked and slid on the treacherous surface. Harry jumped to the next outcropping, arms windmilling to keep his balance. An incoming wave crashed beneath him, drenching him in a spray of frothy salt-water.
A monolith of the same dark stone he stood on speared up out of the water in front of him, hundreds of feet around and towering over the nearby shore, the ocean raging past it on either side. There was a small lip that jutted out of the base near his approach. The narrow bridge of rock barely peaked out of the churning waters, each wave fully submerging it, before drawing back, leaving it glossy and slick.
Another leap and he landed on the last natural rock outcrop. Salty mist coated his face, dripping into his eyes and mouth, stinging. He spat and futilely wiped his face. The wind immediately whipped another spray of water into the air, dowsing him.
The distance to the lip of the monolith was still well over a dozen feet, too far to jump. A Levitation charm carried him upwards into the driving winds, and tossed him across the gap. He dropped onto the bridge and into ankle deep water, kicking up a splash. As he recovered his balance the water receded from around his feet, pouring back off the edges of the rock.
The lip sloped down as it met the base of the massive feature, dropping further into the water as it snaked around the bottom, cutting into a small ravine chiseled into the side. There was no way he would've have noticed it had he not already been looking for it. He drew his robes around him even tighter to fend off the water, and started walking.
The opening in the rock led to a small cave, hidden around a curve, and safe from the raging elements outside. Harry took the moment to remove his thick outerwear, dropping the waterlogged fabric onto the ground. A quick charm pumped heat back into his shivering hands.
"This the right place?"
"Yes," Riddle answered from his chest, "Just beyond that far wall."
Harry eyed it carefully.
"How do I get through? Some sort of esoteric magic?"
"A password."
"Just a password?" Harry raised his eyebrows, balking. "That seems a bit—light, for you."
"A Parseltongue password," Riddle said primly. Harry blinked, and then nodded in satisfaction.
"Yeah, that'd probably do it. What's the password?"
"Memory," Riddle hissed, the word echoing through the small chamber, sibilant and heavy. The rock wall shivered, and then, with a great grinding sound, opened.
Harry found himself standing at the edge of a great black lake, stretching out well past where the feeble light of his wand could illuminate, to the very edges of the inside of the cavern, whose walls were so high, they too, were out of sight. A misty greenish light shone from the deeps of the lake, so very far underneath the surface, gleaming through the completely still water.
"Where is it?"
"Down."
Harry looked into the depths and felt a shudder pass through his shoulders.
"Is there an easier way to get down there?"
"No," Riddle sneered, sounding almost offended. "The point is that it is not easy."
Harry sighed. He'd thought so. His bag was dropped at his feet, quickly joined by shoes and socks, and then his shirt. He bent over the edge, trailing a foot through the water and bit back a grunt—it was ice cold.
"The water will strip you of any magic you attempt to use to traverse it. Do not cast a spell once we're down would be a deadly mistake," Riddle warned.
Harry paused, thrown off. "All magic? Then how am I supposed to do it?"
"Swim."
"You designed your protections to be circumvented by muggle means?" Harry said, almost incredulous.
"Why not? Muggles are not the ones who would be of any concern here. Only a witch or wizard could ever stand here, and try and breach my protections. But do you think they would expect me to just swim like a common muggle? Of course not. They would try and be clever, and spell their way to the bottom. And it would kill them."
It made an odd, but undeniably clever type of sense. Harry nodded and tucked his wand back into his pants.
He dove headfirst, knifing into the freezing waters with a splash. The shock hit him immediately, ripping the breath from his lungs. His limbs screamed in pain as all the heat was pulled out of them. He whipped his arms and legs forwards, driving himself back up to the surface.
He broke the surface with gasp, desperately trying to refill his lungs. The pain in his body subsided, as it already started to go numb. Looking down he could see where Riddle's face had fused back into the skin of his chest, sealing his mouth shut, leaving only one red eye which was glaring balefully back up at him—he could hear an imaginary Riddle's voice telling him, 'stop wasting time'. He took a massive breath and pushed himself back under the surface.
The world was silent underwater, and totally still, the eerie light from the bottom only providing enough illumination to see a few feet in front of him. He started kicking, driving himself downwards, pulling with his hands to speed up even further.
Harry's lungs burned as he dove. The cold drained the fight from his body, making each stroke that much harder, straining against the creeping hypothermia.
Something floated past him.
A pale hand, rotten, skin pulled so tight that each articulation in the joints stood out in stark detail. Harry spun away, water flooding into his nose as he tried to put distance between him and the hand. The limb stretched back to a moldering stump of an elbow, the rest of the body missing.
Bands of pressure squeezed his lungs, reminding him of his dwindling air. He started descending once more. The pressure grew, gripping tighter and tighter on his chest as he dove, until finally the floor came into view. It was lighter than the black stone of the cavern, a layer of finely ground sand, whitish-tan, coated the floor, glowing dimly from the reflection of the green light, enough that he could make out the tall figures scattered beneath him. They were motionless, and distinctly human looking—but he wasn't sure if that floating hand came from one of them, or if it was an example of their handiwork.
He swam towards the source of the light, passing right overhead the waiting sentinels. They didn't react.
There was a circular hole carved into the foundation, its diameter as tall as Harry, dug straight through the solid rock multiple feet deep, a metal portcullis drawn across and fitted into the grooves of the hole preventing him from seeing the bottom. The eerie green light blazed from a ring of unquenchable torches surrounding the hole.
He clawed himself down to the hole and grabbed a bar of the gate with one hand. Using the leverage he swung the rest of his body down to land on the metal. Except Riddle hadn't told him how to get past it. He saw the eye on his chest was open, fixed intently on the bars beneath.
A pallid white hand grabbed his shoulder from behind. Bony fingers dug into his exposed skin like claws, hard enough that streamers of blood swirled out. He thrashed against the grip, trying to kick forward and throw it off, but it held tight, pulling him flush against the back wall of the hole. He managed to turn partway around and crane his head upwards.
A corpse stared back at him, its eyes and hair rotted away, leaving empty sockets of petrified flesh and skin pulled tight to a smooth skull, coated in shadows from the flickering torches. Its mouth was frozen open, like a mockery of a surprised exclamation, toothless and empty, its gums mostly gone, except for an oily black tongue that coiled around its exposed jaws, flicking like a serpent's.
Another hand shot out, quick as a snake, reaching for his face. His left hand closed around its wrist like a vise. It jerked to a stop, inches from his head, small flecks of remaining flesh and detritus flaking off under his metal fingers and swirling away into the darkness. The creature kept pushing, putting more and more weight on its trapped hand, fingers clenching on the empty water between them, driving the tips of its other hand even deeper into Harry's shoulder in the process.
His hand shot to his wand, tucked into his pants. He stopped before he could pull it out. Riddle said not to use magic. But did that still really matter?.
Another creature appeared over the lip of the hole. And then another. They walked normally, upright, their movements fluid and human-like despite the water around them, like it wasn't actually touching them. Harry's limbs were sluggish and weak, the resistance of the water pushing back against his already chilled muscles.
He punched at the creature holding him, hitting its exposed cheek bone with his fist, but the weight of the water stripped all speed from the blow. It bounced off harmlessly.
One of the other creatures jumped down, dropping straight onto the portcullis without floating at all. It walked toward him at a leisurely rate, much faster than he could swim away. If he wasn't already pinned down.
A sharp pain stabbed into his chest. He was running out of air.
He grabbed the wrist of the hand holding him with his free hand, leaving his wand where it was, and tried to pull it away from his shoulder. It scraped along his arm as he pulled, drawing more blood, but slid off, and he ducked back out of the way, keeping the creature at bay with his grip on its other hand. It leaped from the lip at him, claws grasping.
He jumped, letting the water support him, and used the arm he was holding as a fulcrum, spinning around in the water so that his body was parallel to the floor, before firing a mule kick right into the creature's chest. This time, it hit with power. He felt its chest collapse under his feet, ribs crunching. The corpse went flying back, much further than it should've in the water, sailing into the far wall and bouncing off with a hard rattle.
The other creature swiped at him as it approached and he barely pushed away, windmilling through the water to keep his distance. His body screamed in protest as the pressure on his lungs reached agony.
He blinked, trying to focus on the corpses, but his vision was starting to go black around the edges. Two hands grabbed his arms, pinning them to his sides. Another one had snuck in behind him. The one in front approached, hands outstretched, reaching for his face. He kicked and thrashed, trying to draw himself up and kick out, but his body was weak in the creature's grasp.
Rotted hands grabbed his head and pulled it forward, bending towards its gaping maw. Bony fingers slipped in between his lips, curling around his teeth and started prying his mouth open. His last breath was gone, his body desperate for oxygen as it started to fail—he had no strength to resist. Water flooded into his mouth.
His fingers fumbled at his waist for his wand. They trailed across the fabric searching for the handle of his wand—but were too numb to find it. His vision faded to a dark circle.
And then his chest exploded.
Blood and viscera, with bits of bone and skin, fired outwards in a billowing cloud, the red slurry washing over Harry's face. His mouth filled with the taste of copper. A pair of arms unfolded out in front of him—not from his shoulders, but his abdomen. They were twisted and barbed, covered in strange barnacle-like spurs, and stained red from the floating gore around them. They tugged awkwardly at his stomach as they moved.
Red eyes glowed in fury from his chest.
Riddle.
Something in his throat closed, blocking the flow of water. Like a sink plug had been removed the water drained out of his lungs, shunted upwards, spurting from his nose in stream of bubbles, as air flooded into his flailing lungs.
The corpse in front reached for his head once more. His new arms lashed out, independent of his control, slashing at the creature with lightning quick swings. The barbs caught easily in the desiccated skin, shredding them apart. A hooked elbow punched through a reaching arm, severing it completely, and flooded the water with a cloud of putrid grey fluid.
The corpse reeled backwards.
The arms twisted in their sockets, grinding against Harry's organs, until there was a visceral pop that vibrated up his spine, and they turned completely around. They snaked around his back.
There was a ripple of water, and another cloud of fluid that washed over him from behind. The oily substance coated his face, sneaking into his mouth and nose—it tasted like kerosene. The grip on his hands let go. He pushed forward, taking a quick look back. The corpse was floating down to the bottom of the grate, two massive holes punched through its mangled head.
More movement caught his eye.
A crowd of shambling corpses came into view over the top of the hole. Dozens and dozens of leering skulls, marching through the water. The whole lake floor had come alive.
Another breath of air filled Harry's lungs. He looked down and saw Riddle's eyes were focused on him. They flickered downwards.
Taking the hint, he bent down on the grate. Riddle's arms stretched out and grasped the metal. There was a flash of magic and then they were falling, straight through the portcullis like it didn't even exist, and into open air, the water suddenly gone. Harry bounced off the stone floor with a smack.
You idiot Harry, you absolute idiot! You'd be dead, again, if Riddle hadn't saved your ass.
He pressed his forehead into the cold stone, rocking forward on his knees.
Was that on purpose? Did you want to die?
No, no, that definitely wasn't true. Why would he even think that?
Do you think you deserve to keep living? After all the people who've died because of you?
Delaney stared back at him, sitting cross legged on the floor in front of him. Blood dripped from his open mouth, a steady stream that pooled in his lap, staining the head of hair laying in it. His wife, neck bulging awkwardly, lips blue and hard and open in a permanent scream, glared at Harry from her husband's grasp. Her arm was outstretched across the floor, hand open, reaching, begging, inches from his knees. Save me.
You let them die. To save your own skin. Do you deserve life more than them just because you're Harry Potter?
No of course not. But he couldn't have done anything, he knew that. He'd just be another dead body.
Little Edward stood over his parents and put a hand on his father's shoulder. His face was hard and angry. Faceless men and women seeped out of the shadows, crimson red auror robes torn and bloodied. A hand rested gently on his shoulder. Harry craned his head upwards to look.
A small family stood around him, dressed in muggle clothes, a man and woman, holding hands with a small girl between them. Their faces were cold and blank. Soulless. Kissed.
You couldn't save one, yes, but them all? If you had traded your life for theirs at the start, if you had refused to stand down, to cower—if you had stood in front of them like your mother did you? You would be dead and most of them would be alive.
A little boy wouldn't be left without parents.
Harry looked up and saw Edward staring back at him, so lost, and small, and fragile. The apology caught in his throat. It meant nothing.
Is your life worth more than all of theirs combined? You already know the answer. That's why you let those creatures grab you.
You deserve to die Harry Potter, and you want to.
"Harry!"
More hands joined the one on his shoulder, resting on his head and arms, small child like fingers grabbing on to his own.
"No," he gasped, weakly. "I still need to get back. I—Voldemort!"
Get back where Harry? Our old world? How are you going to do that? Do you really think Riddle is going to help you? You know he wants to keep you here. And Riddle always gets what he wants with people.
"I'll find a way."
And how long will that take you? Years? Decades? You lost Harry. Your friends and family were left unprotected and Voldemort will have had his revenge. Long before you return.
The hands on his head tightened, gripping his hair and pulling his head up. A pile of corpses littered the floor, shattered and broken. Ginger hair mixed with crimson liquid, draped almost protectively across a smaller body. The smell of charred flesh filled his nostrils and he fought the urge to retch.
You have nothing to live for, nothing but false hope and a rotten carrot dangled by a manipulative psychopath.
"Harry!"
Harry vomited onto the floor, a mix of half digested food, brackish water, and a splatter of oily, grey fluid. He hiccuped, and then hacked, another spray of the same noxious liquid coating the flagstones beneath him. Tiny flecks of blood dotted the discharge.
He blinked. The room was empty, a small chamber carved into the rock of the lake-bed. A handful of torches threw light across the room.
"Good. That should've been all of it," Riddle said.
"Wha—" Harry paused as his gorge rose, holding it in and letting the wave of nausea pass. "What was that?"
"You ingested some of the ichor from the guardians. A defense mechanism should someone defeat them. Luckily I was able to purge it from your system before it was too late." Riddle clicked his tongue in displeasure. "I misjudged. I was sure you would be unnoticed. I can't help but think—it must've been your arm, they must have sensed it. It didn't even occur to me that they would."
"What would've happened to me if that stuff stayed in my body?" Harry asked.
"You'd die."
"I'd die or I'd kill myself?"
There was a pause. "The latter."
Harry let loose a rattling sigh, and laid back on the cold stone. Water and blood dripped off his bare upper body in small rivulets, spreading out in a cloudy pool around him.
"So all that was its influence?"
"Mostly," Riddle said. Harry could hear the hesitation in his voice. "It targets what's already there and magnifies it: things like guilt, or insecurities—it attacks them as strongly as your subconscious can, but consciously."
Harry closed his eyes.
"I thought so."
"Will you be alright? I have some small experience in mind healing, you know."
"Yes, I—" Harry kept his eyes closed, focusing on taking deep breaths. "I just need a moment."
Riddle was mercifully silent for the handful of minutes he lay there.
Eventually he cracked his eyes back open, and stared up at the ceiling. He could see the portcullis overhead, as well as the dark mass of water suspended above it, but no corpses. They must've returned to their resting spots.
He finally looked down at himself. The scarred ridges of Riddle's face were still present on his pec, but now it was joined by two grotesque limbs, folded up on themselves from where they had erupted from his stomach. He stared at them in disconnected interest.
"Riddle," he finally spoke, his voice scratchy, "What are those?"
"Extensions," Riddle answered, "of my possession, manipulating your biology with my magic. Similar to how I project my eyes and mouth through your body. Except more specialized."
"Oh," Harry said softly. "Didn't know you could do that."
"It was not something I'd do lightly. All the strength I had gathered over these last weeks has been depleted, I can feel it already. It will certainly be some time before I could even imagine attempting something like that again."
"Well, I'm glad you did. Probably saved my skin." Harry winced at a thought. "But—is it reversible?"
"Of course."
"Oh thank Merlin," Harry exhaled in relief.
The arms twitched and started to shrink, spooling back into his stomach like they were being wound up. In a few seconds the ends slipped back under his skin, and the only evidence of their existence were two massive circles of discolored, scarred flesh. He'd take it.
He stood back up to his feet. On the other end of the room was a massive slab of stone, upon which was their purpose for coming here.
Harry leaned over the slab and looked down.
Pale skin, delicately fine features that almost crossed the border from handsome into pretty, stripes of grey mixing into jet black hair. Harry used his fingers to pry open one shut eyelid. Dull, sightless, crimson eyes met the light.