Riddle flicked into existence, arms crossed and eyebrows raised at the chaotic scene before him.
Glass was strewn across the floor as black ink pooled around the soles of his shoes. His diary lay open amongst the debris, its pages ruffled as meaningless ink sunk deep into his being.
Potter was standing amongst the broken glass, breathing heavily as his blood shot eyes fixed straight onto him. But it was the darkness that was alarming, it smouldered around the boy, so cold and encompassing that Riddle flexed his fingers, unsure whether to draw the wand concealed in his pocket.
"I'm guessing it didn't go well?" Riddle asked lightly as he leant back on the mirrors grand frame.
Potter's lips parted as his pale expression contorted.
"Scrimgeour," Potter spat the name as the darkness swelled. "Doesn't think I'm stable enough, he treats me like I'm soulless already."
Riddle tilted his head as his eyes narrowed.
"You are soulless."
"I have you," Potter said bluntly, but even as he said it, his dull eyes swung back to his reflection as he stepped forwards, socks staining in a mixture of ink and blood from where his feet had crunched into the broken ink bottle.
"Harry," Riddle stepped to the side, blocking Potter's view as he placed his hand firmly on Potter's shoulder. Potter faulted, his body tense as he drew a single sharp breath.
"The Ministry will never let you out," Riddle said, as a faint hum spiked between them. "Not while you remain tied to the mirror-"
"I didn't look in the mirror once," Potter snapped, knocking Riddle's hand away. "And I tried not look at their souls-"
Don't look at their dæmons.
That was the last message Riddle had given him, and it was clear from Potter's anger, from his complete despair that he had failed to show the Ministry that he was capable of such restraint.
Riddle sighed, disappointment apparent as his hand fell back to his side.
"What did Scrimgeour actually say?" Riddle asked.
Potter's expression darkened.
"He said I should be grateful enough they let me back to Hogwarts and that as long as I don't have a dæmon, I will never leave this room," Potter said.
"Which is why you need to show them you don't appear to need one," Riddle said. "You know my diary can-"
But Potter was losing patience now, he'd heard it all before, and not even the distant thrum of terror which flashed between them was enough to break his resolve.
"Move," Potter hissed as his curled his bandaged fingers at his sides. The darkness crept outwards, twisting in such a coldness that Riddle's fingers curled instinctively around the hidden wand.
No wonder Scrimgeour had been impassible, Potter was totally unhinged.
"Harry, you're being unreasonable, I'm just trying to help-" Riddle reached out his other hand cautiously, fingers skimming lightly across the top of Potter's cool forehead.
Only this time Potter didn't knock his hand away, instead his head shot up, eyes glowering but otherwise perfectly still, even the darkness seemed to retreat for a moment, and Riddle thought the boy had calmed.
And then Potter was stepping backwards, his mouth splitting into a delirious grin.
"Maybe your diary can help," Potter's voice was oddly quiet, his haunted eyes slipping onto the small black book as the darkness licked soundlessly across the top of his diary's open pages.
"One soul. That's all it would take, right?"
The shadow reacted, and Riddle felt the icy cold latch hold as the very depths of his soul twisted, pulling against his will.
"If you want revenge on the Ministry, this is not the way," Riddle hissed, stepping forwards abruptly. "Devour me and you destroy yourself. The Ministry control the dementors. You would give them that power over you?"
"They will never control me," Potter snapped. "They will regret the moment they put me and Tom in the guillotine. That they locked me away-"
But Potter's attention was already drifting, distracted by his instincts and the fresh soul before him, laid out and so easy to take.
Riddle took another step closer, just so they were only a few feet apart.
"There is only one way out, we've discussed this," Riddle hissed.
Potter laughed, eyes alight in sick amusement as if he knew his terrible fate.
"I've written in your diary. I don't know what else you want."
Now that was a lie.
The boy was not offering enough, even the Weasley girl Riddle had formed a tighter bond with, but Riddle would find a way to take what he needed, one way or another. Potter could only resist for so long.
Riddle knelt down suddenly, startling Potter as his knee cut into the broken glass and a dim pain shot between them.
"I'm offering you my soul, Harry" Riddle said, tugging Potter's wrists into his grip. Potter flinched, uncertainty flickering in his eyes but he didn't draw away, to memorised as the shadow twisted. "You can have it, I am willing to share myself with you. But, if you take it whole, if you devour what I am not offering, and you turn-" Here Riddle paused mouth curling into a cold smirk, despite his frozen eyes. "Do you know what you will do if you ever find Tom again?"
Potter jerked his head, failing to still his shaking hands.
"You will take him as if he was any other, you would destroy his very being, just to satisfy your hunger," Riddle continued. "Tom would never be the same again to you again. You would long for him forever, but would not hesitate to claim him."
Now Potter, practically melted at his touch, held calm in Riddle's lightest of touches, as his fingers skimmed across Potter's exposed skin, just enough so that the boy would not protest.
And then Potter spoke, his voice so quiet, his fearful gaze locked on the one thing that would destroy them both completely.
"What if I'm hanging on for no reason, what if Tom has gone already?"
The shadow withered, withdrawing from Riddle's diary as the despair fell back into the boy.
"You need to give yourself to me, Harry," Riddle said softly, his thumbs moved to stroke over Potter's wrists. Potter shuddered, eyes slamming shut. "I've told you, I can stabilise your soul and help you find Tom. If you just write in my diary more-"
Potter's shoulder's only sagged at this, his expression shadowed despite his eyes locking back to where the mirror stood. Riddle's grip tightened, his own fingers holding Potter in place as he barely contained his own anger.
This was not supposed to happen. Potter had promised he'd connect himself, give himself to Riddle but still the boy was refusing, even when his own soul hung precariously in danger.
Riddle had no other option, not when every day he lingered was a growing risk.
"The mirror needs to be destroyed," Riddle whispered as he squeezed his fingers. "Only then will the Ministry see that you are strong enough, that you do not need to be contained."
Riddle had expected the boy to argue, to protest and grow into an uncontrollable panic, however, Potter's only blinked his eyes shut as he nodded once.
"I know."
Riddle's lips tugged into the smallest of smiles, only something must have slipped between them as Potter jerked backwards suddenly, pulling out of Riddle's hold as he scratched his bandaged hands through his untamed hair. The shadow flicked hungrily to life.
"W-wait," Potter stammered, "We aren't connected properly yet-"
"And whose fault is that?" Riddle said coolly, his transparent form was evidence for that. "How many days have you wasted already, I've been with you a week and you've barely written a thing, and with each passing day your chances of finding Tom diminish."
Potter opened his mouth to argue, but his voice died as his own fingers twisted something terrible. The fear rippled across their weak connection and the darkness itched back towards Riddle's diary.
Potter stilled, his breathing tight at the harsh realisation that he might already be to late.
"I can't do this without the mirror," Potter said as he clenched his eyes shut.
Riddle sighed as he stood, his own knees now soaked from the ink. There was no discussing this with the boy, every second attempting to do so was wasted.
But Potter had a point, one minute really couldn't hurt. And this time there were no second chances.
Riddle twisted Potter around abruptly, startling him only momentarily as Riddle placed him before the mirror.
Potter relaxed instantly, his creased forehead disappearing as he placed his burning forehead against the glass. Potter was still for a moment, chest rising and falling sharply before his breathing came to an even pace. The darkness, so ensnaring and deadly was gone.
Riddle lent against the edge of the mirror, arm over the top of Potter's head as he looked down at him.
"Scrimgeour is right," Potter's said as his fingers trembled against the mirror. "I can't leave this room, I can't leave the mirror, not without becoming-"
"And you're failing to understand, I won't let you turn, Harry," Riddle's eyes were smoldering with a coldness the boy had not seen before. Potter took a step back, despite his need to cling onto the mirror, but knowing he had to let go.
Every second was crucial, every moment Potter was complete his own inhibitions would be returning, his own reasoning would put a rift between their connection.
The boy was annoyingly resilient.
"I need them both," Potter whispered as he pressed his hand against the surface.
Riddle's head snapped up at this, eyes almost catching his own reflection. He itched to push the diary into the Potter's hands, to urge him to write, but as it was Riddle only took a steadying breath.
"You see your true dæmon in the mirror?"
Potter didn't even flinch, didn't even acknowledge that Riddle had spoken aside from a flick of his eyes towards him.
But it was enough confirmation, enough to know that Riddle had decided on the right course of action. That Potter had something worthwhile to give.
And then Potter eye's were widening, his pulse quickening at the true realisation, the horror at what Riddle was about to do.
"Wait, not yet, I'm not ready," Potter started. "Don't-"
"You'll never be ready, Harry," Riddle said as he took a careful step forwards, his own hand curling gently back around Potter's outstretched fingers.
Potter flinched backwards, trying to draw away, but Riddle had him entranced already, torn between the steady hum of his comfort and the mirrors grounded influence.
"Wait-" The fear in Potter's eyes said it all. "What if you can't keep me whole-"
Riddle didn't say anything, tugging Potter close to him as he faced the object that had hampered his every advance.
The Mirror of Erised had long since tempted Riddle, it had stood tauntingly before him for days as he had waited for the boy to become dependent on him. But that had never happened.
Potter struggled, but his eyes were still captivated by shimmers of his own reflection, and this was just enough to keep the darkness at bay.
And then Riddle's eyes connected with his own prefect reflection.
And it stole his breath away.
He'd known what the mirror was capable of, but to feel it was something else entirely. Riddle melted, leaning in closer as the remnants of his soul coiled behind the mirrors surface. For a moment, Potter in his trembling form was forgotten.
Riddle had long forgotten this feeling, only dreamed of it in every waking moment. And it was so tempting, would be so easy to stay in this room forever, locked away with the one thing that would he would destroy the world for.
Riddle's fingers remained entwined around Potter's own, pressed against the glass. If only he could fall through it and take what was rightfully his.
"Soon," Riddle whispered, voice coming out in the smallest of hisses.
Potter shivered.
And then with it came the pure uncensored fury. Potter did not know heartache. How could the boy even come to understand. He who had barely been alone and would not risk everything to take back what he had lost.
Fifty years wasted. Fifty years alone.
Riddle didn't need the wand. Not when his true motivation was before him.
The mirror cracked, splintering out from the centre of their palms. The glass zigzagged out in sharp, jagged lines, cutting Potter's completeness into just as many pieces. Potter's knees gave way, but Riddle held him firm, his arm wrapped tight around the boys shoulder's as Potter's soul twisted in anguish.
A distorted Tom would still there, but he was wrong, broken as Potter's despair returned in an overwhelming instant.
Riddle was back on his knees before the boy, his skin pressed into the new debris of the mirror's glass as it cut into his legs.
"Look at me," Riddle said as Potter flinched away. Every second was crucial. Riddle caught Potter's chin, turning terrified blood shot eyes up to his own.
"Write, Harry."
"I don't want to-" Potter mumbled, as the weak connection between them flickered. The darkness already swirling, consuming around them both.
"Emotions make our connection stronger," Riddle said calmly, despite his thumping heart. If the boy failed to cooperate now, then Riddle would have no other option. His hand itched back to his wand. But Potter was strong, he'd proven that, and Potter wasn't completely soulless, not while Riddle tied him to life.
And now, finally, the Potter was writing, fingers curling around the quill, desperate for what the mirror had previously provided.
Five words, but they were were enough. For now.
It hurts. Make it stop.
Riddle's words were forming on the page already.
Is your scar hurting?
Potter couldn't even bring himself to write and the ink dripped uselessly into the page. Instead Potter shook his head. Of course it shouldn't be, Riddle had seen to that.
The ink spilled out quicker now as Riddle wrote.
Tell me about when you lost your dæmon.
Potter winced at this, pain apparent in his eyes as he shook his head feverishly.
"Harry," Riddle warned, as his hand swept back Potter's fringe. Potter was burning up, his forehead alight despite the coolness trickling from his scar. "Tell me and I can help."
Potter nodded numbly, his hand shaking, writing barely legible as he turned his attention back to the diary.
It felt like this. Like ice.
Riddle faltered, his own memories resurfacing with Potter's uncontrollable shaking. And then Potter's next words, scribbled and full of desperation.
I need Tom.
Riddle knelt down, palm still pressed completely against Potter's forehead. Potter shot him a wary look, but he only drew closer as Riddle twisted the boys emotions to his own. Now the mirror was gone, Potter didn't stand a chance.
"You have me, Harry." And then more words, seeping from the pages.
Tell me about that day, tell me what happened with the guillotine.
Again Potter's writing was barely legible. His hand shaking as the quill nearly slipped from beneath his fingers.
I thought she didn't want me.
And for all Potter's scribbles, everything that he had written before had meant nothing. This was real substance. Potter must have known it too, as his breathing slowed, the darkness stilling.
Why wouldn't she want you?
Riddle's own writing was perfect in comparison, despite his own urgency, the desperate need for Potter to tell him more.
I said I didn't want her.
Riddle hurried to reply, but Potter continued, soft tears falling into the diary.
I didn't mean it. I never wanted her to leave.
It was a testament to what Potter had denied him, that now Riddle had something meaningful. The quill fell from Potter's hand as their connection steadied, coming to a sort of angry stable hum.
But Riddle didn't mind, he had enough for now as he pulled Potter's hands back into his own, if anything to stop the boy from rubbing his own skin to blisters.
Rest and keep me close.
Potter nodded numbly.
It wasn't much, but Potter hadn't tried to attack him at least, which was a significant improvement from last time.
Riddle unraveled his fingers from around the wand as he breathed a sigh of relief. It really would've been a shame if he'd had to kill the boy, but as it was months of progress was finally coming together. He flicked his eyes back to the empty frame, nothing would stop him now.
Harry lay motionless, his eyes scrunched up as his heart pounded violently in his chest. Every breath was empty, jagged and sharp as he shivered. The urge for a soul was still there, but oddly muted and withdrawn.
Harry's eyes flicked open as he scrambled up, disoriented by the disruption to his usual routine as he came to a still on the edge of his bed, staring at his shimmering prison and the empty frame before him. It was like first year all over again, and Harry exhaled, trying to bury the distinct despair that the mirror, his one salvation, was now useless.
Instead Harry was left fumbling with the diary, desperate for that rush, the fix that he needed. Only Harry remained still as his quill hovered uselessly above the pages.
"How long was I asleep?" Harry asked as he felt the bed dip behind him.
"A few hours, it's not yet dawn."
Riddle's arms slipped around him, the gently lull soothing despite Harry's heartache.
Harry drew back, instinctively, thoughts strained as he tried to piece together his own disjointed desires.
"Stay still," Riddle muttered. His fingers curled tightly around Harry's wrist as he held him close.
The nails digging in hurt, but Harry wasn't about to give Riddle the satisfaction. Harry fidgeted as Riddle placed a hand on Harry's forehead, sweeping back his hair to reveal his scar.
"No, don't-"
"Stay still," Riddle repeated. This time his voice was colder.
As soon as his hand pressed against Harry's forehead the pain dissipated. Harry couldn't help it, he sunk forwards, leaning into Riddle's embrace as warmth coursed into him. It was like he was grounded, a part of his soul whole again.
It was what Tom used to do.
Riddle's grin widened, his eyes dancing in clear contentment as Harry felt the satisfied hum spark between them.
"No," Harry kicked away, but he instantly regretted it. The emptiness returned, consuming and overwhelming.
Harry jumped forwards, arms coming to wrap around Riddle's waist. He hated himself, but the emptiness was worse.
"What did you do?" Harry hissed. But Riddle didn't need to answer, Harry's memories from the previous night were disturbingly clear. The ice, the useless shards now scattered across the floor.
And the worst part was that Harry had barely resisted, he'd done what Riddle wanted, been unable to prevent the destruction of the one thing he depended on.
Riddle smiled, hand coming to rest on Harry's head as he looked down at him.
"I told you I wouldn't let you turn."
And it was unnervingly true, Harry felt oddly grounded. The hunger was still there, the itch that was not quite satisfied, but it was minor in comparison to his usual absence from the mirror.
"Let go of me," Harry said, but even as he said it, he knew his request was half hearted. Riddle's eyes softened as his mouth tugged into a smile as he ruffled Harry's hair.
"How do you feel?" he asked.
But Harry couldn't find the words, he wanted to scream, to push Riddle away but it was so hard when the familiarity was only growing with every second, as if Harry had forgotten what Tom used to feel like.
"Stop it," Harry muttered, as his eyes flicked to the diary lying before him on the bed. But the urge to write more was only growing as Riddle held him calm, as Riddle teased his fingers across his exposed skin.
"I can't give you what you want-" Harry continued, gaze unfocused as he attempted but failed to pull himself away.
Riddle rolled his eyes.
"You don't have a choice, Harry. You won't survive long if you continue to deny me."
But Harry was blinking, desperate to hang onto to what he once was as he stared blankly at a piece of the shattered mirror, wishing that Tom and Lyra were still hidden in it's surface.
"Haven't I given you enough?" Harry said.
Riddle laughed.
"You have given me nothing. You are barely sustaining yourself. Even now, you refuse our bond, fail to support our connection. You are hanging onto reality by a thread, gambling with your very being."
And Harry knew that what Riddle said was true, Riddle was definitely less solid than he had appeared last night.
Harry shut the cover, fingers now tracing over the elegant golden stamp of Tom's name.
"I've nothing I want to say to you."
His hunger simmered and the darkness flicked slightly.
"You're deteriorating already," Riddle said lightly, all amusement gone from his expression. "You need to give me something if you don't want to fall into shadow already."
"I'm cooperating aren't I?" Harry muttered.
"Hardly," Riddle's voice was suddenly deadly, his grip tightening painfully. "You hold onto your old attachments, you have no desire to completely connect yourself to me, even though I had your promise."
"I have every intention to honour my word," Harry whispered. "But finding Tom comes first."
That was the one thing that Harry was certain.
"Is that so?"
There was an edge to Riddle's voice, one that Harry couldn't place, but it unnerved him.
And then Riddle was shifting away and Harry was left dangling in suspension, his hands moving out almost instinctively to grab hold of what he needed.
But Riddle stepped to the side as his fingers dipped into his pocket as he withdrew a wand and fixed it straight onto Harry.
"What are you-"
But Harry's voice froze, his eyes widening. It wasn't just any wand.
Harry took an instinctive step back, his heart racing as hollowness coursed through him. Harry had assumed that Tom had his wand.
"Where did you get that?"
But Riddle didn't answer as his head tilted, eyes cold, lips twitching into a thin smile.
"Riddle-"
But Harry's voice was swallowed up by his own wand as Riddle flicked it suddenly. But that wasn't the worst part. Riddle turned, back to Harry as he slashed Harry's wand down violently.
The shimmering shield grew brighter, and Harry had to cover his eyes, retreating back into a corner as it pressed against his very being. And then the light exploded, shattering just like the mirror, only there was nothing left as it dissipated in a moment. Riddle's smile widened as he gestured towards the door.
"Shall we?"
Harry's blood ran cold.
Harry was brimming with a mixture of terror and adrenaline as they emerged from a room halfway along the forbidden third floor corridor. Riddle had taken out the aurors guarding Harry with ease. Even their dæmons who were more alert to their surroundings had fallen quickly under his curse.
And now Harry's feet were tracing the same old corridors he'd walked time and time again as the portraits slept peacefully in their frames.
The windows they walked past were dark outside, and Harry held Riddle's diary tightly in his arms, trying to distract himself from the temptation of hundreds of tantalising souls. Even the thought of the night skies and fresh grass, that he hadn't seen or felt in weeks was negligible compared to Harry's awareness of the dæmons stirring deep within the castle walls.
It was intoxicating.
But Riddle kept one firm hand on the base of Harry's neck, guiding him carefully as if knowing that in a moment Harry could snap.
Harry had been sure that Riddle would take him out of the castle, so he was surprised when he was led down to a girls bathroom on the first floor. Harry frowned at the dead end, opening his mouth despite his lost voice.
And then Riddle started hissing, the sound barely a whisper, but totally foreign. Harry spun around, half expecting a snake to appear, but Riddle only took a step back behind Harry as he placed both hands on his shoulder's.
A tap was glowing before them, cast in a brilliant bright white before it started to spin. And then Harry watched amazed, as the stone and ceramic started moving, the sink and pipes disappearing deep into the ground, to leave a huge gaping chasm at Harry's feet.
Harry could hear the sound of running water as he peered over the edge, cold stale air from the pipe rushed up, leaving his eyes watery.
And then Riddle was pushing him forwards, his hand moving into the flat of his back as he prized his diary from Harry's grip. Harry dug his heels in, but he could only glare as the suffocating pillow remained lodged in his throat.
"Behave," Riddle tutted, as he held Harry's wand firm.
Harry snarled, spinning round despite himself, but the darkness remained dormant, just simmering below the surface, sealed by whatever slim connection he had with Riddle.
But it wouldn't last long. Even Riddle was aware of that, and then Harry would have him, would make him regret destroying the mirror.
Riddle pushed him forwards, he didn't even have to use magic, being at least physically four years older there was little Harry could do as he was forced into the pipe.
It was like rushing down an endless, slimy, dark slide with more pipes branching off in other directions, but Harry could do little to focus on them as he plunged deeper under the castle. Perhaps this was a secret way out, maybe Riddle was already set upon leaving. In which case, Harry didn't have very long to work out what to do next. But Harry had little time to dwell on the matter as he plunged into darkness, landing in a wet hard thud.
Riddle was just behind him, and Harry had to scramble out of the way, shaking off the slime that now soaked his clothes. Riddle stood, dusting off his robes as he lifted Harry's wand alight, causing long beams of light to cast shadows on their surroundings.
They were in what must have been a dark tunnel, hundreds of metres below the school. The ground itself was littered with small skeletons and they crunched horribly into dust beneath Harry's feet as Riddle moved forwards.
Riddle seemed to know where he was going as he led Harry through numerous large passageways which were little more than large pipes.
Harry's unease was growing with every step, and they must have walked for a number of minutes before Riddle stopped suddenly, Harry's wand held above their heads.
There was a solid wall ahead on which two entwined serpents were carved, their eyes set with great, glinting emeralds.
Riddle approached, his voice soft and hissing once again.
The serpents sprung to life, parting as the wall cracked open. But the light from the wand barely projected into the new darkness before them, swallowed up by the vastness.
Riddle stepped around him, pure satisfaction as he held his hands out to the void.
"Welcome, Harry, to the Chamber of Secrets."
Riddle flicked Harry's wand, green flames erupting into the distant lanterns that lined the huge chamber, flooding it in an eerie light as it revealed its true enormity. Harry felt his voice return to him.
"The Chamber of Secrets?" But Harry's question trailed off in a murmur of echoes. Pipes pooled into the centre, water streaming down the large limescale covered walls. It looked like no one had been down here for centuries.
But there was something at the end of the chamber, something silhouetted against the flames and the towering stone pillars. Something distinctly human shaped, hand outstretched, barely lit by the green fires.
Harry's chest felt like it would cave in on itself.
"Tom-"
Harry approached so slowly, his footsteps echoing loudly in his head. It was everything he had hoped for, but it was so so wrong.
Harry felt nothing. No soul, no completeness. Even the darkness which was so aware, so desperate for a soul failed to identify any life.
And the reason soon became apparent.
Tom was stone.
And yet Harry could remember nothing. Tom's eyes, captured with a terror that Harry could understand, as if he knew that something would rip them so ruthlessly apart.
Harry reached out slowly, as if he thought Tom might disappear before him, but instead his fingers came to rest gently on Tom's outstretched arm. Harry didn't know what to expect, he thought Tom might jump to life, or that their connection would flicker back into some remnants of life.
What Harry didn't anticipate, and it only made his heart ache all the more prominently, was that Tom remained unmoving, frozen in stone.
He was just like the mirror. Empty.
It hurt.
Tears prickled at the edge of Harry's eyes, a hard lump forming in his throat.
If anything it was worse than the mirror, Tom didn't move at all, he was just a cold statue. A shadow of what he should be.
And Riddle in comparison seemed so full of life, his being was more constant, so warm despite his transparent form. It was odd, it left Harry settling for something that was so similar to Tom, yet not his at all.
Then the cold realisation, the true danger that Harry was now in.
Harry's voice was numb, as if his own voice wasn't connected properly to his mouth.
"You did this."
Riddle who had been waiting patiently, didn't need to respond.
"W-what is wrong with him?" Harry asked.
"Nothing," Riddle said almost lazily as he settled against a stone pillar. "He's perfectly fine."
Immense relief, as well as a mixture of distress and anger flooded through Harry, as his fingers traced across Tom's stone skin.
"Wake him up," Harry said. His voice was meant to be firm, was meant to make sure that Riddle could not deny him, demand what Harry was owed, but Harry's voice faulted in response, barely a whisper through his own despair.
"Our Lord is not pleased, Harry," Riddle said. "It's a fitting punishment for what he has done."
"Voldemort wants Tom secure, he doesn't want this-" Harry gestured at Tom. "This was you."
Riddle smiled, as he raised his hand to trace his wand across Harry's heart.
"So bold, or maybe foolish, to declare what the Dark Lord desires."
Riddle prowled around him, Harry's wand tapping at his side and Harry was reminded horribly of Tom when Harry had been trapped in the guillotine. That disturbed look, with a horrible sense of power.
Harry drew closer to Tom, but there was no friendly hand in his, no reassurance that Tom would always be there.
"Give him back to me," Harry hissed.
Riddle only laughed as he flicked Harry's wand casually.
"Unfortunately, waking Tom is way beyond my resources."
"Liar," Harry hissed, fists clenched. "Why did you do all of this? I agreed to help you months ago."
"Do you really believe Tom would have let me take you?" Riddle's gaze was intense. "He would have sooner killed me then let me touch you, regardless of whatever agreement we had come to. And we never do like to share our most prized possessions."
Hot anger flared within Harry as he took a unsteady step towards Riddle.
"Prized possession? You abandoned me, you stole Tom and left me to rot!"
And Riddle's response was even worse, as his eyes only narrowed slightly.
"That was unintentional."
"U-unintentional?" Harry gaped. All his torment, all his days being locked away with no relief on his empty soul was nothing but an accident.
"I tried to bond with you then," Riddle said, expression darkening, "I thought I was strong enough to claim you, but you were unstable. I had been reaching out to you for months, both in Malfoy Manor and at Hogwarts. But it was not enough, I underestimated your attachment to Tom and in turn your inability to be separated from him. I assumed that your reaction would be similar to when you originally lost your dæmon, distraught but still capable."
Harry blinked, fleeting nightmares resurfacing, but otherwise he had no recollection.
"I had no other choice," Riddle continued coldly. "I had to retreat into the chamber, I believed you were lost."
"But I survived?" Harry said, a horrible lump forming in his throat.
"You survived," Riddle agreed, eyes gleaming. "And that changed everything. Imagine my surprise, my elation to hear that you not only hadn't transformed, but that Dumbledore was returning you back to the school. I could breathe again. I would not have to settle for another-"
After all of this, all of Riddle's best laid plans and Harry had only been saved by the answers of the Ministry and Dumbledore, that if they had not acted swiftly enough then Riddle would have splintered Harry, destroyed him past anything recognisable, all because of a mistake.
"Why didn't you?" Harry asked, voice tight and shaky. "If you could've connected yourself to anyone, surely it would have been safer than tearing Tom away from me, I could have destroyed you?"
Riddle only looked amused at this.
"I promised our Lord your blood, Harry."
There was something in Riddle's expression that didn't quite add up, and that despite everything Harry was still missing vital information.
"And now," Riddle continued, arms spread wide to the dark depths of the Chamber. "We have all the time in the world to familiarise ourselves."
Harry's body went numb with shock, mind reeling back to what he agreed.
"You can't just keep me here?" Harry said indignantly.
Riddle just smiled, and it wasn't a particularly nice smile as he twirled Harry's wand around.
"Am I not being merciful? I would have thought you wouldn't want to leave Tom's side. Or perhaps he foolishly believes you care for him as much as he does you."
"Don't-"
"You haven't exactly been treating Tom well-"
"You don't know anything-" Harry started, guilt flaring despite himself.
"Did I touch a nerve?" Riddle said, lips curling into a smirk.
Harry crossed his arms glaring at him as he jutted up his chin.
"You'll never find what you're looking for it you keep me trapped down here," Harry said.
Riddle tutted, wand tapping against his leg.
"Have you learnt nothing, Harry? Our Lord will already have guessed my intentions, which only makes our next steps all the more dangerous. Our connection needs to be secure, for if you do not cooperate completely, if you will are not willing to do anything for me, how can I trust you to not betray me?"
"That will never happen," Harry snapped. "You will only throw me aside in the end, I have no reason to help you, specially not now." Harry gestured at Tom.
Riddle's eyes shone with amusement and then suddenly he was there. Straight in front of Harry and hand reaching out to grip Harry's chin, tilting it up so that Harry's neck was horribly exposed.
"Why are you so afraid to give yourself to me?" Riddle trailed his thumb across Harry's cheek. "You already love a piece of the Dark Lords soul, am I really any different?"
It took Harry's breath away, he wanted to look away. He wanted to jerk back, kick Riddle, but he was captivated, as if Riddle was the only thing that could make him whole again.
"I-"
But Harry's voice trailed off as Riddle lent closer, breath tickling Harry's ear.
"Write, Harry," Riddle whispered.
Harry shivered, but he didn't move, pulse thumping as he blinked numbly. The thick blanket of shadows were subsiding, and every anxiety Harry had didn't matter, that Riddle would take care of everything.
The urge to give in was so overwhelming, that the ink would swallow his dim, hollow aloneness.
"Harry," Riddle's voice was so soft, so welcoming as fingers traced across his pulse. "Forget about Tom-"
But the rest of Riddle's words faded into nothing.
Tom.
Ice poured down Harry's spine, melting any delusion that Riddle had fabricated. Only cold stone remained in Harry's soul, in the place where Tom should be, the place that Riddle was trying to take.
Harry would never forget Tom. No amount of ink or stone would stop his deepest desire, the mirror had proved that already.
"No," Harry shouted, and he pushed Riddle back as hard as he could. And with it his head cleared, and the butterflies in his stomach were swallowed into darkness.
Harry was left breathing hard, and the despair, the longing to reconnect and be complete was only growing again with every desperate moment.
Riddle's expression had soured, and his head was tilted as he observed Harry coldly. Harry glared at him, but he didn't move away when Riddle approached, voice deadly.
"You agreed to this, Harry."
Harry lunged towards Riddle snarling, darkness simmering.
"I didn't agree to this, I never agreed to this."
Riddle only sidestepped him, wand fast as Harry hissed, clutching his burning hand.
"My brother did try to warn you there would be consequences you hadn't thought of," Riddle said.
"I won't do it," Harry spat.
Riddle tisked, before raising his wand and directing it at Tom. There was a loud bang as dust and stone exploded out from part of Tom's statue, landing in a small pile of rubble.
Harry's stomach churned as he scrambled up to him, fingers tracing over the otherwise smooth stone.
A thin hair line crack ran around Tom's wrist.
Harry flinched back, panic onset as if one touch and Tom would crumble.
Riddle stepped up to Tom and lent leisurely on his shoulder. He smiled down at Harry.
"Write, or he'll lose his hand."
Harry glared at him and snatched the quill from Riddle's open palm. The ink dropped from its tip and sunk deep into the page.
All Harry had to do was pretend. If Riddle thought he cared, if he believed that Harry would give anything for him- Tom had tricked Voldemort. Harry would be able to trick Riddle.
"What am I supposed to write then?"
Riddle's grin widened.
"Something personal."
Harry paused, quill suspended just above the diary. This would be harder than he first thought, but still he had to give Riddle something worthwhile.
"Your first trip to the zoo?" Riddle sneered when Harry finished writing and he leveled his wand at Tom again. "You can do better than that."
"What do you want then?" Harry snapped. "I've been writing for days."
"You've been writing the wrong things," Riddle said, eyes simmering.
Pure dread flooded through Harry as his eyes came to lock with Riddle's terrifying smile. Harry didn't want to do this, but he knew exactly what Riddle wanted. He'd known it from the start. It the one thing he hadn't given away.
And it was painfully familiar.
Tom had put Harry in the guillotine, because it was the only way. Harry closed his eyes, taking one shaky breath, he understood now so completely. Understood why his connection to Riddle had been precarious at best.
Harry would sacrifice the one thing that was most precious. The one thing that Riddle wanted and would settle for no less.
Harry wrote one word.
Lyra.
Her name sunk into the page and an instant calmness along with a deep shame settled over Harry.
Lyra was his alone, not anything to share. Harry hadn't even shared her with Tom. But something had changed, already he felt grounded, the balance of his soul no longer leaching out for something that wasn't there.
Riddle reacted instantly. Wand dropping as he gazed at Harry intently. Eyes simmering. Riddle didn't speak, instead three words appeared as his transparent form instantly shifted into something more solid.
Tell me more.
"Is that not enough?" Harry snapped.
Riddle tilted his head, a horribly sharp smile flicking onto his face. It made Harry's stomach churn.
"Give me your soul, Harry."
"Harry Potter can't be missing," Fudge said as he brandished the morning paper in his hand. Two days. It had already been two days since the boy had vanished and Potter's picture had been plastered over every paper.
"We will find Potter and proceed as necessary," Scrimgeour said as Nala skirted around the minister's bulldog, Gracia.
"Proceed as necessary?" Fudge gaped. "The boy won't survive, you know that. He was already falling apart, he must have turned by now."
"We would know if that had happened, his guards dæmons were left relatively unharmed," Scrimgeour said gruffly as he peered don't shrewdly at the Minister. "And the boy has already proved he is resilient."
"That means nothing," Fudge said as he paced back and forth, although he halted suddenly as the door slammed open causing Gracia to dart behind Fudge's leg. Amabel, Kingley's Lynx entered, eyes sharp with large padded feet coming to an abrupt halt.
A moment later, Kingsley appeared in the open doorway, gasping heavily and wand drawn.
"What?" Fudge snapped, eyes bulging at the aurors alarmed state.
Kingsley ignored him, as his dæmon snarled.
"We have a problem at Azkaban," Kingsley said to Scrimgeour.
Fudge's face drained of all colour.
"Potter?"
Kingsley's eyes flicked to the Minister only briefly, before he jerked his head.
"No, sir. Not that."
Nala was alert, bushy tail straight as she arched her back and hissed, sensing whatever alarm Amabel was projecting.
Kingsley took one deep breath.
"Sir," he nodded towards Scrimgeour. "Sirius Black and Mintaka have escaped."
Scrimgeour was out the door before Fudge had time to swear or his dæmon time to bark.