Chapter Eight- Reiterating
Harry staggered, collapsing into his godfather's arms as darkness washed over him.
Awareness came slowly to Harry, as he attempted to determine his surroundings and condition. Memories were hazy at the moment, but having had significant experience waking to dangerous situations, he pretended continued oblivion and willed his mind to return to function. As he worked to remember what had occurred to land him in his current state, he tested the feeling in his body, having the distinct idea something should be injured. All he registered was a vague sensation of dissociation from himself. The physical aspect of his being seemed to be reached through an obscuring fog.
Suddenly his memory supplied him with what had happened. The morning flooded through his mind, all the emotion and drama swamping him. Wondering where he was and whether Sirius and Remus were well, Harry then realized that he should feel rather in a bit of pain. Magic couldn't heal such a wound as he had sustained immediately, and pain relievers could only do so much. About that time he also grasped that he should physically feel something at the very least, and that registering his body in such an indistinct way as he was, was not a good thing.
Figuring that he wouldn't be able to determine his location without making his awareness known, as his senses were so strangely impaired, Harry forced his eyes open. Light and an unnatural whiteness assailed his sight, but the burning sensation usually associated with that was absent. Blinking, Harry focused and turned his head slightly to gaze around him.
What he saw caused him to sit up abruptly and struggle to contain a gasp. Glancing down at himself, he saw no sign of injury on his chest which was currently bare. He cautiously touched a hand to the unmarred middle of his pectoral muscles, where the dagger had surely pierced him. Then his hand dropped to his leg as he realized he was loosely clothed in linen trousers, set low on his hipbones and in a startling shade of red, matching blood more then anything. He wore nothing else, and his skin showed not the scars he had sustained through his life, even though he wasn't quite sure of his ability to be using a Glamour in this state.
Shaking his head slightly, Harry turned his attention to the area around him. As he slid off a cold tablet of stone, his strange attire stretched along the smooth sinew of his legs. Forcing himself to stand and steadily gain his balance, he looked at what he had been laying on. As the item registered, Harry took a quick step backwards. Before him was a sacrificial altar of pure white marble, apparently made with the utmost of care, the intricate etchings running down the sides well formed and made for the draining of life's blood. Unstained as those markings were, the stone mound had seemingly not yet seen use. Slowly looking at his surroundings once more, Harry concluded it fit most assuredly in this place.
Cast all in the same white marble, the walls too held complex carvings, these of apparent symbols that were not readily identified as writings. The ceiling was formed with blocks of the stone, held in place by tall round pillars. The altar itself, where Harry stood, was on a raised dais, surrounded by steps, all of the marble. The style and architecture was reminiscent of ancient Greek houses of worship to their many deities. Only this building was not aged, and seemed not to have been sullied by even so much as a physical presence alighting within it.
Harry moved down the steps, his bare footsteps made no sound, though it seemed as even breath should echo in the odd chamber. As Harry looked past the first line of caryatids, he saw many more in rows reaching to the solid walls. Glancing along these walls that effectively barricaded the room, he noticed that there were no doors or windows, indeed nothing present to suggest entrances or exits.
Thinking of possible spells that might be in effect, Harry felt along the thin material of his pants for his wand. Finding it futile as expected, Harry reached out his hands, palms down, and incanted a soft reveal charm. When nothing happened, including the feeling of the magic flowing through him, Harry's eyes narrowed and he attempted it again. Again the charm failed to be, and Harry dropped his hands to his sides. Muttering a couple of simple incantations designed to show magical lights and levels, Harry found himself rather panicked when they too did nothing. Forcing his now chaotic thoughts into a semblance of order, he worked to assess the situation.
Well, let's see, shall we? Harry thought sarcastically. No, no trouble. No idea where in the nine levels of hell I am, no way to get out, and no magic. Nothing is ever easy, is it?
Heaving a sigh, Harry curbed his frustration and looked more intently upon the seeming temple. What is this place? Harry then blinked as he realized it almost seemed familiar, though he knew he had never been to a place like it, in either realm. How could I know it?
Harry stepped to one of the near columns, glancing up and down it as though it may explain what was happening. Guardedly, he reached a hand to brush the slick marble. Once he lay his fingers upon the cool stone, a startled breath hitched in his chest and his eyes widened. Swiftly he attempted to pull back his arm, but it was as though his hand was held fast.
Feelings burst through his mind, overwhelming in their intensity. He knew this place, this chamber, because it was a part of him, made of him. It was a world his mind supplied, at least in portion. The whiteness now did burn in magnitude, seeming to contain Harry's soul, forcing him to face it in purity. That was not nearly so staggering, though, as within the pureness a darkness swirled in menacing forms. The whiteness hid a specter behind itself, held it in itself.
As this sense permeated Harry's being, he struggled to conciliate his thoughts and gain control. As cognizance reinstated within him, Harry focused on the varying images that flooded through him. The light seemed to dance with some of the darkness, in jointed movements, at times melding to shades of grey, but always in balance with one another. This balance seemed to be of him, and Harry was slow to realize it was. Concentrating on it, his mind cleared and the sensations calmed.
Nonetheless, a troubling sagacity was entering his thoughts. Aspects of the darkness were not in sync with the flowing of the rest. They were familiar, Harry knew to what these shadows belonged, just as he knew they were not a part of him. Understanding shot within him as he refocused upon the seeming physical structures before him. Harry slowly pulled his shaking hand from the pillar, now not the aberrant white, but the swirling masses of colours that had filled his sight moments ago. Turning, he saw that all the surfaces too contained the solder of opposite tones. He could still identify the tints of his own, as well as those that were not.
The chamber was not physical. Harry could now grasp that. It was a manifestation, but not just of his mind. It did not just belong to him; this odd place that appeared as a temple was a meld of not only colours, but the consciousness of those which the light and dark comprised. Harry realized that this mental plane, for lack of any other description, was also another's.
At the heels of that realization, Harry was hit with the awareness of the other's presence. The colours intensified their frenzied movements, and the lonely darkness was matched against the molded shades of grey. As Harry watched in resignation, the seeming stark black of the singular shadows altered to the red tinted brown of dried blood, slowly becoming more crimson as if liquefying. It looked as though now the partnered opposites that were Harry's were bleeding the other's evil.
Before Harry's representation of his physical body, another hazy outline lazily solidified and became definitive. The form of the man looked back at him, a cruel smile edging his lips. Harry stared in vague disbelief for a moment, not allowing his shock to be evident, before gathering his wits.
"Hello, Tom. Long time. I must say though, your image of yourself is much better than what I remember to be your real form."
The smile grew upon his opponent's face. It turned the features cold and ominous. Features that were nothing like the true ones of the man. Instead of the pale, skeletal, and snakelike countenance on a thin body conceived of dark magic, before Harry stood a distinguished specimen of humanity. Were it not for the vicious expression, the man would easily have been seen as handsome. Tall, full-bodied, with sharp and piercing angles in a tan face, he radiated confidence and arrogance. His black hair swept the sides of his face as he subtly shifted stance and he was readily identified as the young head boy he had once been. The form of Tom Riddle had little in common with Lord Voldemort, except the eyes. The orbs still burned their slitted red, much out of place in the fair features.
Glancing down at the sleeve of the tailored robe he wore, the older wizard rose his arm slightly and smoothed out non-existent wrinkles before turning his malevolent gaze back to his foe.
"Yes, improved if you like this sort of thing, I suppose." The lips turned their smile to a sneer. "Hello, my young serpent. It has been awhile. Much too long."
"Well, I can't say I missed this, Tom." Harry answered, watching his opponent carefully. He refused to show how much the presence of his one-time tormentor and continued enemy was affecting him.
"Oh, dear, I am nearly wounded, my lion-snake."
"Damn, only nearly." Harry smirked cheekily.
Tom merely raised an eyebrow, and glanced around their swirling surroundings. "Interesting place our minds formed."
"Yeah, quite impressive. So which of us has the Mount Olympus complex?"
Ignoring the flippant question, Tom moved over to the raised platform and the altar. Running his hand along the etched sides and smoothing over the cold stone top, he looked upon the table as though it was a prized possession. Watching this, his thoughts supplied Harry with the helpful knowledge that Riddle was clinically insane. As though anyone wasn't aware, Harry thought sardonically.
"Well, if you're going to caress stone, all power to you. I, meanwhile, must be leaving." Harry kept his eyes trained on his long time nemesis, but focused inward, attempting to force his being back to his physical self and out of this strange plane of consciousness.
With unperceivable swiftness, Tom spun back towards Harry and moved nearer to him. Harry stepped backwards, his nerves tensing in defense. When Riddle again walked closer, Harry took a step in reverse once more, his back hitting the column he had earlier touched. As the sensations swept over him anew, Harry focused on the parts of it he recognized as his own. He allowed them to push through him, giving him strength.
Watching the movements of the man opposite him, Harry kept his gaze from Riddle's eyes. The man's form was disconcerting, but didn't send Harry into flashbacks as easily as Malfoy's had, as Riddle this way was unfamiliar. But the eyes were the same, and Harry couldn't afford to let emotion, be it fear or anger or anything else, to override his reason. Harry worked through the situation and possible ways to manipulate it. So intent was he on his thoughts and on monitoring the man who was now moving as though stalking him, Harry was slow to realize Riddle was speaking to him.
". . . know I find this much to my advantage. You see, I've great experience in levels of mentality, and as you so apparently do not, we could have such . . . fun."
Harry glared at him and moved so while his hand was still grazing the pillar, he was further removed from Tom's immediate vicinity.
"Harry, no need to be so apprehensive. I could make this very nice for the both of us."
Suddenly, Harry felt a rush up his arm of soothing pleasure, and he quickly jerked his hand from the pillar and moved away from it. He kept a firm gaze on the continued steps of his enemy and kept pace to stay far from him.
"Didn't like that, my little snake? Perhaps you're more masochistic than I thought. Very well, why don't we try the hard way?"
Abruptly, pain lanced up through the soles of Harry's bare feet and up his legs. The sharpness sent him to his knees, but not a sound escaped his lips. Focusing on making the continued agony manageable, Harry tried to comprehend just how Riddle was doing this. As he clenched his jaw and tucked his head to his chest, Harry stared at the floor.
"Harry, I could stop this. All you have to do is agree to that which you so foolishly denied two years ago. What you went through could have been ended with a mere yes. And I can assure you that it was nothing compared to what I can do here."
Harry watched the spiraling of the colours on the floor, noticing that the crimson seemed to be running in lines to his legs. He shook his head, as much to clear it as to refuse.
"Come now, my little serpent, my patience grows short. Don't tell me that you haven't thought of the power the darkness could give you. I know very well that has been something you have considered, quite recently in fact."
Forcing himself to ignore the increasing burning through the nerves in his body, Harry rose his head.
"And h-how exactly would you know this?" he sneered with a sharp inflection in his voice.
"Oh, I have my ways, my boy. I have quite the influence in many places."
"R-really. Well, your sources are r-rather mistaken, Tommy."
Riddle's eyes glinted dangerously, and Harry desperately swallowed a yell as the pain spiked tenfold, now encompassing his entire being.
"They are never mistaken, my protege. Now, a simple proposal. Join me, follow me, or die and know you are condemning all who oppose me to their own deaths."
"Nunquam, notha vipera."
"Igitur, nex."
White hot agony speared through Harry, bursting through his vision and removing cognitive thought to beyond his ability. The thought that the cruciatus curse seemed a mere trifle in comparison ran briefly across his brain before it seemed to shut down. He collapsed down, unconsciously wrapping his arms around his chest in a vain attempt to resist the pain. The muscles of his back worked painfully under his skin, writhing as the nerves were wrenched apart. Harry's entire body shook in spasms, and he could no longer remain on his knees.
Sliding down to his side, not aware of anything but the seemingly increasing torment, Harry's bare skin twitched against the cold stone. The red penumbrae in the marble continued to flow towards him, overpowering the grey across the entire chamber. As Voldemort's essence overwhelmed his, Harry's agonized movements slowly stilled. His body rested more fully against the floor.
As the blackness encroached on his awareness, promising sweet timeless oblivion, Harry moved past the pain still in him. Slowly his soul condensed to a single form of energy, all of the grey of the room moving and surrounding the manifestation of his body. As the energy sharpened in one last effort at life, it thrust through the still form laying there, disintegrating it and flowing through the chamber. Everything was consumed, the columns, altar, walls. As the life force surged over the figure of Tom Riddle, a scream was swallowed in its wake.
As the force rushed backwards, the mental plane split with a burst of light and pain. The energy refocused upon itself, and with a rushing of power, was impaled back within its physical form.
With a gasp of much needed air, Harry awoke clutching a sheet. Disoriented, he registered others around him. Summoning a dagger, he sprang from the bed and put the blade dangerously against a person's throat.
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A/N: Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoy this and everything coming up! A special Thank You to all of my reviewers of this and my other story - The Good Fight.
Nunquam, notha vipera - Never, bastard snake.
Igitur,nex - Then, violent death.