Harry slept on, settled and happy in the knowledge that it was all his fault. He heard faint murmurs of voices around him, but he didn't really pay them much attention. He floated in the black, blank void and knew he was guilty -
"Oh really, Harry?"
Harry opened his eyes to a very, very impossible scene.
He was lying on a psychiatrists' sofa, and sat in a poofy chair near him, was Tom Riddle.
Harry eyed him speculatively.
"This is going to sound insane," he said at last.
"What doesn't?"
"You're either in my head or you are my head. Could you please define which you are?"
"You know I've been trying to get into your mind for a while now. I imagine my first right-out attempt hurt a little."
"You erased my memories temporarily and left me lying on a cold stone floor."
Harry could not muster any sense of hatred, or fear. The room he was in -
The room he was in was oak-panelled, and lit by soft, clouded glass globes on the walls. Everything had a slight orange tint, including the ceiling. The carpet was a sort of cream colour. There was a mahogany table next to him with a glass surface. The walls were four, square, door- and window-less. He wasn't too bothered. He felt quite secure, and for some strange reason, could think quite lucidly.
He looked at his hands, and found that they were smaller than he remembered... his body seemed to have shrunk. The clothes he was wearing -
Of course. He was ten years old in this place. He wondered why.
The couch he was lying on was a futon, a maroon-red colour. Riddle's chair was a sort of... poofy, chintz-style thing. Harry had to laugh. The room was friendly, safe and welcoming. How deliciously ironic.
Harry felt happily uncaring. He didn't care why.
Riddle had allowed him time to speculate, and had his fingers steepled. Harry noticed one thing about him, which made him know it was definitely Voldemort in his head: Riddle's eyes were a bright red.
"So. How's life?" asked Harry comfortably.
"The usual. You have no idea how Death Eaters have such little regard for plans."
"You'd be surprised."
"Are you kidding? They're like children fighting over sweets, trying to win favour."
"I'm living in a castle populated by viciously hormonal adolescents. I win."
"Are they trying to kill each other?"
"Often," said Harry, remembering Malfoy's last 'prank' attempt. McGonagall had not accepted that teaching a suit of armour with a nice, shiny axe to chop Harry's limbs off had been a 'funny thing to do'. Harry had escaped after blasting the armour to bits with a well-aimed reducto curse, and had known it was Malfoy after Peeves had... inadvertently told him.
"So, why the depression, Harry?"
Harry gave him an incredulous look.
"You're not very clever, are you?"
"You might want to talk about it."
"To Mouldy Voldy, leader of The Fart Eaters?"
"Ha ha ha. Note how I am not impressed."
"Neither am I. It's a bit feeble."
"I'm here to -"
"Check out your adversary?"
"In a manner of speaking. A friendly chat with your enemy wouldn't hurt once in a while."
Harry changed the subject. "Where are we?"
"A place you feel comfortable."
"So if I felt comfortable floating on a lilo in a poolful of jam -"
Suddenly, they were sat in the prefect's swimming pool, Harry on an inflatable bed and Riddle on an inflatable chair. The pool was full of raspberry jam. Harry tasted some. It seemed real. He said so.
"Of course. What's real in your head will be real to you. A hypnotist can make you believe an onion is an apple. You bite it, it tastes sweet. That is real to you." Riddle examined the plastic chair he was sitting on. "Interesting what Muggles come up with."
"Do your Death Eaters know you're a half-blood?"
"They never believed you. I can't think why."
"Because they're stupid?"
Harry closed his eyes and imagined the room they had left. Opening his eyes, with no feelings of change, he found he was back.
"We are in your head, after all," pointed out Riddle, answering the unasked question.
Just for a second, Harry's mind broke away from the dreamlikeness of it all and he began to wonder. Why was Voldemort being to formal? Why was he, for that matter? He could not equate Riddle with the terror-inspiring, cruelly soft-voiced white snakelike spectre he knew and hated so well.
"How is fame suiting you, as the Boy-Who-Lived?"
"Badly. I can't walk down a street without someone wanting an autograph."
"I can't walk down a street."
"I empathise."
"So. What's life like without your mother and father?"
The change of topic was sudden, momentarily throwing Harry. He recovered.
"I dunno what life was like with them. You killed them. You're insane, did you know?"
"I prefer the term 'psychotic'."
"Clinically insane."
"Not much of an improvement. You've a way with words."
"Why are you being so..."
"... nice?"
"... human?"
"I want to explain something."
Now, instead of leaning back comfortably, Riddle was leaning forwards.
"I would like you to understand that there is a very good chance of you getting killed."
"Just 'very'?"
"Don't make jokes." Riddle seemed serious. "However, there is also a chance I will get killed."
"Possibly."
"I would also like you to know that you are going to be the next Dark Lord."
"No I'm not."
"Yes you are"
"No I'm not."
For the first time, Riddle got angry.
"Why don't you see that you are my child? Can't you see that you're the next wizard the world is going to fear? If you kill the great Voldemort then no-one will trust you with a wand in your hand again. You will learn to make use of that. You will learn revenge."
With a sickening twist of his stomach, Harry remembered Snape.
"I've already done that. I don't want to do it again, thanks, if it's all the same to you."
Riddle calmed a little, and a smile twitched his handsome lips.
"I doubt it."
Harry thought for a moment. He couldn't be bothered sitting up, he was too relaxed.
He settled for sounding suitably sarcastic.
"Yeah..."
Riddle did not respond.
"Tommy-boy? I'm waiting."
"What exactly do you have left to live for, Harry Potter?" he said quietly. Harry gave this due contemplation.
"You know, I'm not answering that one," he said at last. "Even if you are a figment of my imagination, there's still a chance you're the real deal. And if I tell you what I've got left, you may go and destroy it."
Riddle gave him a long, slow stare.
"You're smarter than you look."
"According to Draco Malfoy, it's not hard."
"I disagree. So, tell me. How is Draco Malfoy doing?"
"He's perpetually being shamed. A muggleborn persists in beating his score in every test. Even in subjects the muggleborn doesn't take."
"His father's not very happy about it."
"Tell me about it."
"How would you know?"
"It's complicated."
"Tell me."
"Fuck off."
"Language, Harry."
Harry lay back on the couch and shut his eyes, folding his arms behind his head. He was tiring of this lighthearted banter.
'You wanted to know what I lived for," he said at last. "I live for... for, well, life. I live for everything there is in the world. If you take that away from me, I won't miss it. I'll be dead."
"Everyone misses things. What do you miss?"
Harry gave Riddle a stare. He didn't know if he should answer this. What he missed was already gone. Still, no point exposing any weaknessess, right?"
Harry settled his head back on the futon and stared at the ceiling again, hands folded on his stomach. He shut his eyes.
There was silence for quite a while. Harry thought over everything he missed... everyone he missed.
He opened his eyes, looked at Riddle, and sat up so fast it was a blur. He tried to back away, but the couch was leaning up against a wall and all he did was hit his back rather hard.
The room was full of people. James and Lily Potter, Sirius Black, Neville's parents, Cedric Diggory, some members of the Order he recognised but didn't know.
"Riddle," he breathed. "What the hell is this?"
"What do you miss, Harry Potter?" said Riddle soothingly. He knew there were people behind him, Harry could tell. "Do you miss memories of life, death, intoxication? Or are you human, not the Boy-Who-Lived, and do you merely miss people?"
Next Chapter:
"I told you I could give you them back, Harry," whispered Riddle, but he wasn't Riddle anymore. Now he was Voldemort, stood, fingers steepled. His white, white face was thin and reptilian. His lipless mouth was crooked upwards ever-so-slightly in his cruelly knowing smile. His red eyes stared unblinking. He was shrouded in a simple black robe.
crazNM: Amazing, cool. You made me all smiley. : )
I've figured that Harry is, after all, kinda human, and I thought about what I'd do if I was in his position. It involved straightjackets. I built on that. Insanity, fun fun.
The world did actually reverse... I figure there are parallel dimensions out there, and because Harry wasn't himself he could access them... I forget who it was (some rival of Albert Einstein) who discovered quantum mechanics, but this guy reasoned that you can never fully predict things because merely observing them causes them to change... I built on that. If you took that scene in normal colour and flipped the colours, like in the colour negative of a photograph, that's what you get. I tried it out on Kid Pix.
Breanna Senese: Yeah, I guess it was about time for him, anyway.
forty-two dreams: I'm glad this has become more unpredictable... if this story were predictable I think it would take some of the fun out of writing it.
rosiegirl: I felt it was time for a confrontation. Fun, fun.
Shada Bay: Yello there Shada Bay, you faithful reviewery person you. No specific praise? General praise works just as well (egotistical grin).
Fun fun black-leather-cloakey. I'm trying to write that in for later chapters.
Errr... what's a 'blog'?
HPbabe143: The only writers who think constant reviewers are annoying are out-and-out twits of the first water. Lalala, I'm feeling strangely happy today. : )
This fic very nearly didn't get posted on the internet due to general reluctance/incompetence/both, and it was only due to nice reviewery people like yourself which kept it from being a one-shot fic. You can kinda tell... the first chapter has a lot of the one-shottiness about it.
cupotrevor: All 23 in one sitting? Wow, super-reader-reviewery-person! I'm impressed. Kinda glad you like it. Incidentally, 'cupotrevor'... if you gotta cup of him, where's the rest?
KrazeyForever: I thought it was time Snape took a little duffing due to his general nastiness i.e. a big ol' confrontation, and I'm quite pleased on how it worked out. Especially as when I was writing it, my computer had a nervy spatz and deleted the last few pages... and so the entire confrontation scene had to be re-written from the ground up. It seemed reasonable.
I do so love Voldemort... I love being able to describe him (I do it quite well in later chapters, hint hint) and I love his body language. I love the semblance of control he keeps over his followers and I love him because he is the MOST cliche character in the story. He likes snakes and he's the bad guy. Nuff said. Evil bastard. ; )
And as for the strawberry jam... tee hee. I bet that caught you out.
Strega: I don't blame Harry for going crazy ad I'm surprised other, more talented authors haven't thought of it before... it seems like the obvious thing to do... or am I being assumptious? Nevermind.
Personally I think it was about time SOMEONE fried Snape's butt because he so blatantly needs it... he's so far up his own backside sometimes it's a wonder he can see daylight. He's stinks of Slytherin so much he could be wearing Salazar's used jockstrap. I still love him, though.
And believe me, there was no kidding about the strawberry jam.
ckat44: Thanks. Yum, strawberry jam...
Pleione: Hehe... that jam's been getting everyone.
fhippogriff: Every time I look at that name it brings a smile to my face... 'fhippogriff'. Just saying it is cool.
The strawberry jam is not part of any insanity, as you can see. Fun fun.
starinthedark11: I am a control freak sometimes, and so I hate it when things seem unstoppable. But I loved writing this, I have to say.
S: Why, hello there, 'S'. Cool and simple.
Um, yep. I'm fifteen and have been for little while. I'm pretty sure. My birth certificate says so, anyway... but who trusts the government?
Assuming from your cry of 'you're only 15!' you must be somewhat older than I am, and it's cool to get such praise from you. : )
I'm impressed you think my writing style is mature... I read too much, I think that's why.
Saying that Voldemort is 'not exactly normal' is like saying Hitler was a little bit of a control freak, but there you go.
If you like this fic, I'd advise you read one of my others, called Conscienceness. Chapter one isn't the greatest, but chapter two's not too shabby... I've finished the fic. I would appreciate it if you could review it... you evidently know your stuff. Also, I think I'll be posting another fic at the same time, called 'Shards'. Would you reviewy? Pleasey?
Sanity... veeeery strange idea...
Review again!
Kawaii - Syaoran: Angst is, despite is general depressing tendencies, really quite fun. : )
I know what you mean about losing interest, there just aren't as many good stories out there as there used to... either that or you've read them all. I keep track of my favourites on my... er... favourites page. I hope this story is good enough to keep you going. : )
TeahLeafs: Oh, irony, such a wonderful thing.
My favourite thing about writing this, I have to say, are the dialogue-y bits where I can really let rip with some dark sarcasm. Fun, isn't it?
sakura saisaka: Nuts? You are what you eat. : )
Yes, the world is a straaange place... but that's why it's so fun to live there. Most of the time, anyhow.
XxgemxX: I'm glad you think it's different. For a start, it does a lot for my ego. : )
Don't shout too much at your computer, you might hurt its feelings, and we all know what computers do when they're upset... ; )
In accordance with your wishes, I am doing the updating-thingy as fast as I possibly can. : )
(I think this is the most amount of smileys I've ever done in a reply.)
Ija Ijewna: Wow, you're a pretty zippy reader.
Yep, you wold be the second/third eagle-eyed reviewer to spot Pratchettian references... it started out as a private competition. My friend bet me that I couldn't sneak in five without people noticing. I forget how many I put in, but I won anyway. So yay me.
I think it is truly impossible not to love Pratchett's work (but not Pratchett himself: I saw him on TV once. He has a head bigger than Jupiter. Still, who can blame him?)
I find it interesting that you think I've got a good sense of 'ironical humour' (your words, not mine : )) as I've always loved ironies.
Do I honestly have a Pratchett-ian approach on ethics? I've always found Pratchett to be more observant than your average bear, and I have always admired that. What I did was tackle stuff from a darker, more cynical angle; I don't know if that's the same. Neh.
Snape? In canon? I'm actually getting quite paranoid about that. ; )
I don't think it's physically possible to write an angst fic with Harry IC, because, truth be told, I don't think it's possible for so naturally curious a character to withdraw into himself. I wondered what it would be like, and lo and behold, here be Wingbroken.
I had no idea that English was not your first language as I read this. You have better grammar, spelling and sentence structure than many of my English speaking classmates (e.g. believing that 'He wor cool, innit' is the height of social intercourse. Dear Lord.) And if you are less skilled in writing that in reading, you must be quite the formidable reader. My own grip of foreign languages comprises of GCSE course Spanish for which I have studied for three of my fifteen years. I can now sing a song about cats in hats but, should I ever go to Spain, not be able to get a filled baguette for love nor money.
BlownAway: Hey there, BlownAway. Nice to here from you again.
I've been thinking... is your name a Terry Pratchett-ian reference ('Moving Pictures'), or am I just thinking too much about them since responding to my last reviewer?
They watched for ten minutes without acting because they're a) stupid and b) wanted to see how it all ended. I wanted to bring Fudge into it, but didn't really know how.