Harry's feet tore from the ground as his shield withered in a swirl of colour. He went flying backwards, hand outstretched and wand grasped in his hand. Harry had no time to brace himself as he landed hard, his wrist crumpling under his weight as his head cracked against stone.
Pain erupted, flaring outwards as his lips parted in silent agony.
Panicked hands found his shoulders as Harry swayed, sickness rising in his throat as a wand was waved in front of him.
"Stop it," Harry said and he pulled back his hand to shield his squinting eyes.
A strong arm locked around his elbow. Harry was hauled up which caused stars to blink rapidly in his vision.
"Tom stop, I'm fine, honest," Harry mumbled.
Tom was already steering him onto a nearby bench as he scanned Draco's wand over him.
"You're not fine," Tom said. "See, I told you this was a bad idea-."
Tom's voice was drifting and the light from the room was fading, pooling into one large black spot. It was very tempting to shut his eyes, to lean forwards and embrace the warm darkness.
"Harry-"
Icy water splashed across his face and Harry jerked backwards, the light cold and intruding as he spluttered.
"Harry, look at me."
Harry stared blankly, water dripping from his face as Tom's pale face zoomed wildly in and out of focus. Tom cupped one hand tightly around the base of Harry's neck while the other tapped Draco's wand gently on Harry's crown. Harry felt something warm and sticky trickle through his hair.
Whatever Tom had done seemed to be working as the room began to sharpen. Harry found himself staring at an empty Great Hall with its long table and benches pushed to the side.
Bitter disappointment flooded through Harry as he stared at his own wand lying uselessly on the floor. What hope did he have if he couldn't even hold his own against Tom.
"I want to try again," Harry started.
He made to shift off the bench to go and retrieve his wand, but Tom hands were firm, anticipating his movements as he held Harry down.
"That's it," Tom said as he raised the wand. "I'm getting Dumbledore-"
"No-" Harry stumbled forwards, his unbroken hand grasping hold of Tom's shirt. "I'm fine-"
Tom stopped and his eyes hardened.
"You have concussion."
"But Dumbledore will know we were duelling, he'll-" Harry rushed as the room spun slightly.
"Do what?" Tom said. "Put us in detention? Tell the Ministry?"
Harry flinched but thankfully Tom didn't raise his wand again.
Instead he crouched down, reaching tentatively out to pull Harry's hand towards him. Tom's fingers were cool and welcoming as Draco's wand flared into life, light soothing as it wrapped around Harry's wrist.
"Anyway, it's not the Ministry I'm concerned about," Tom said quietly as he stroked his thumb across Harry's bruised hand. Harry's stomach did a horrible sort of somersault.
"You're still worrying about Riddle?" Harry said.
Tom nodded, eyes shutting as anger pulsed.
"I don't like it, the very thought of you with him-"
Harry wrinkled his nose.
"It's only temporary, it's not like it means anything," he said.
Tom's eyes flashed, his nails digging in slightly.
"You said you'd share your soul with him."
"I-" Harry faltered, his cheeks flushing. "Don't say it like that-"
"Why not?" Tom said, and this time his eyes fell downwards, his shoulder's tensing. "It seems you want any soul but me."
Harry stared at Tom, his mouth opening automatically, but he couldn't find the words.
"You know I only did it because there was no other way out," Harry said quietly. "This has nothing to do with us-"
Tom was already pulling away and his disappointment apparent.
"This has everything to do with us," Tom muttered.
"Tom?" Harry started. But Tom had already slammed his lips shut.
Harry stared, his own words useless as Tom's emotions ran wild in distress. He reached out to tug Tom closer.
And Harry's hand enclosed around something very hard. Harry flinched backwards from the shock reverberating through him.
No warmth radiated from Tom's fingers.
"Tom-"
Tom had frozen, his lips parted and his eyes dead as he stared blankly down at Harry. Tom's hand was still outstretched and Harry stumbled onto his feet, vision swaying precariously.
There was no pulse running through Tom's lifeless skin.
"T-Tom-"
Tom didn't move as Harry's fingers enclosed tighter around Tom's unresponsive form.
"Tom, wake up-"
Tears swelled in Harry's eyes as his voice choked. But the emptiness was only growing, the realisation that Tom wasn't coming back, that he was unaware Harry was with standing before him.
And then the blade, silver and deadly, its point sharp and protruding, cutting through Harry's very existence.
Everything was warped, the Great Hall spinning wildly away as Harry was left standing in a horribly familiar room, the Mirror of Erised standing tall and pristine.
Unbroken.
Harry threw himself against it and slammed his palms against the glass.
Completeness, so perfect and natural coursed through Harry. Grounding his being in a moment of pure bliss.
"Tom," Harry breathed.
Only it wasn't Tom. Riddle was smiling with his hand outstretched like Tom's. Lyra lay discarded at his side, empty and faded.
Harry withdrew as if he'd been burned.
Silver flashed and Harry woke, his own screams echoing around the chamber, more amplified and horrific as the reverberated around him.
Harry shuddered and drew his arms around himself as he gulped down sharp breaths. Harry raised his hand automatically to trace across the bump on the back of his head as his thoughts swimming back to summer. It really felt like an age ago when Harry and Tom had been alone in the castle.
Just them. No Riddle, no Voldemort, no Lyra.
Harry moved slowly, his memories a mix of fresh terror and confusion as he tried to make sense of it all.
Tom's petrified body was perfectly still in the shadows, but despite this, Harry couldn't help and reach out and hope beyond anything possible. His hand enclosed around Tom's cold wrist.
Nothing.
Disappointment, so sharp and intense flooded into Harry as his eyes fell to Riddle's diary lying on the floor. Each echoing footstep was a fresh betrayal, the guilt deep and unsettling, but that wasn't enough to stop Harry from falling to his knees to pull the book into his lap.
Harry fumbled with the pages, his hands shaking as he pressed the quill into the parchment. He didn't need to write anything.
Riddle appeared silently, arms wrapping around him tightly, as Harry's body shook with tremors with his breathing heavy and uneven. Riddle hadn't lit the torches, the light pooled around them, just enough so that Harry could see Tom's shadowed statue.
Riddle hummed as he ran his hand through Harry's hair.
Harry sunk into him.
"I told you you hadn't written enough today," Riddle hummed.
Riddle's diary now lay discarded to the side, ink seeping in from where Harry had left the quill tip.
"I didn't feel like it," Harry mumbled.
It was true. Harry felt rotten. His arms and legs were aching, trembling from a lack of energy. It was like Tom was there, but not. Everything was as it should be, yet so horribly wrong.
Riddle seemed to know what he was thinking, for he too found Tom's shadow.
"You are still so helplessly dependent on him even though I can give you everything." Riddle said.
Harry made to turn, but Riddle's grip tightened, his nails digging into Harry's wrists as he held him in place.
"And yet," Riddle continued "My brother is so helplessly dependent on you. He could have had power beyond his dreams and instead he chose you. He settled for someone less worthy."
The light in the chamber was dim, the green light soothing, but Harry had never felt such an intense chill pulse through his heart.
"How did you turn Tom against our Lord?" Riddle asked quietly.
"I-" But Harry didn't even know how to start. Surely Riddle would understand, would know Harry's own desperation for Tom. He'd written about it often enough. How could Riddle not see that it had to be the same the other way around.
Riddle, either wasn't expecting a proper answer or he was lost in his own thoughts as he continued quietly.
"The Dark Lord is everything, and yet Tom, if he had known anything else, would never had wanted you again."
Harry tried to shift away again but Riddle's grip tightened, daring him to move.
"I don't understand it."
Even as Riddle spoke, some level of unease trickled between their connection. And if it hadn't been so apparent, Harry could have thought he'd got it wrong.
"Tom has always known me," Harry replied cautiously. "It's always been me and him together."
And what was stranger was that Riddle seemed oddly satisfied with this answer as his frustration waned.
"Voldemort said I had to die," Harry said, knowing that one wrong word could make Riddle snap. "He told Tom that when he put me in that guillotine. That nothing would change his mind. Tom even said Voldemort would have had his unwavering loyalty, but Voldemort's mind was set from the start."
Now Riddle paused at this, his brow furrowing in genuine confusion as his fingers stilled.
Riddle's emotions, which were usually so violent and jagged, where swirling in a mixture of panic and calm.
Harry didn't dare speak again. Instead he settled for trying to make his presence as mute as possible. It was along time before Riddle broke the silence again.
"Are you sure, Harry?"
Riddle's voice had an odd tone to it, as if he didn't believe him, but wanted to cling to this as if it would save him.
Harry nodded. He understood that now more than ever.
"Why do you ask?"
"No reason."
And this time there was nothing which could hide the genuine spike of Riddle's concern which rippled between them.
A few days earlier.
Thick smoke lingered across the platform, billowing out from the scarlet engine which alone sat colourful against the fresh covering of snow.
"Firs'-years, firs' years this way."
Hagrid's voice boomed over the huddles of students and their dæmons, while a group of first years hurried after his long strides. Further up the path, Illaria was herding the last few stragglers up to the Hogwarts Express.
Hermione stood on her tiptoes, neck strained as she teetered back and forth, her hands stuffed deep into her cloak. Beside her, Ron held his hand to his brow, shielding his eyes from the heavy dusting of snow.
A loud whistle sounded as Neville and Cryrilla hurried past them, her form a snow leopard as she left a trail of large imprinted footprints.
Ron nodded in the direction of a group of second year Slytherins who had just arrived.
"Come on," Hermione said, as she pulled her scarf tighter around Ramiron.
They weaved through the last mingling students.
"My father has already arranged for Professor Dorsey Webworth to tutor me," Theodore was saying as his sparrowhawk perched on his shoulder. "Of course Therru prefers the skies around Hogwarts-"
Draco Malfoy was among the group waiting to board the train. Adara was tucked into his collar, her small body shaking as the snow melted into her fur.
And she wasn't the only dæmon to look miserable, Camelai, Crabbe's hyena was shivering, tail tucked between her legs while Blaise had wrapped a Slytherin coloured scarf around his cheetah.
Hermione, Ron and Ramiron hurried up to them as Sephrona bounded up behind.
Twelve pairs of eyes turned to them.
Patamon, Pansy's black swan ruffled his feathers, while Blaise's cheetah crouched down, watching Ramiron hungrily. Olesia grunted, her usual intimidating form failing to portray anything menacing.
Hermione opened her mouth to say something but she needed have bothered, for Draco gave them one look before he sighed, his breath fogging up in front of him.
"I'll catch up in a minute."
"We'll save you a seat, Draco," Pansy said as Adara looked longingly back at the warm carriages.
They moved past the last few lingering students, winter boots kicking up the remaining slush and snow.
Draco turned to them and made a single jerk of his head.
Hermione's expression fell and tears swelled in her already puffy eyes, her mouth parted and her words barely carryed across the emptying platform.
"N-nothing?"
"You're lying," Ron snapped and Sephronia jumped forwards, skidding on the ice slightly as her teeth bared. "No one else is capable-"
"Are you forgetting what the Ministry tried to do?" Draco interrupted as he crossed his arms. Adara who had her nose buried in Draco's scarf pulled her head up to hiss at Sephronia. "It's just a little too convenient that Harry couldn't remember anything, don't you think?"
Hermione's mouth fell open, her eyes widening.
"But that's-they couldn't-"
Draco shrugged but he didn't look very pleased about it.
"It's a neat way of getting rid of Tom. All they have to do now is just sit back and wait until Harry's real dæmon returns."
"That's stupid," Ron muttered as Sephronia growled in agreement.
"Well if it's not the Ministry or the Dark Lord, who else is it going to be?" Draco said.
Draco had a horribly good point as Ron and Hermione exchanged glances.
"My father has been owling me daily asking if I've heard of seen anything, so I don't think the Dark Lord knows what happened to them."
"Now isn't that convenient," Ron retorted.
"Would you two just stop it," Hermione said. "There has to be a way that Harry survived. The prophet are reporting Harry as missing, not demented."
"The Ministry would get lynched if they said Harry had turned," Draco said and his expression darkened. "I mean, he could be in Azkaban already for all we know."
Hermione flinched, Ramiron jolting on her shoulder, but she was determined as she raised her voice.
"But-" Hermione said. "Harry might still be okay-"
"He has no soul, Hermione," Ron said glumly as Sephronia tucked her tail between her leg. "I don't see how he has any chance."
Hermione wiped a fresh tear away as Ramiron pulled out his chilled nose to peer at Sephronia and Adara.
"Well if you two both want to give up-" she said stiffly.
"Hermione, I don't want to give up," Ron said. "But Harry wasn't right. Sephronia could feel it and I know Ramiron could too-"
Draco glanced over his shoulder as Adara made an odd squeaking noise. Hagrid was heading towards them, Illaria guiding the last remaining students and dæmons on board.
"I just know that if it were me, I'd rather be dead," Draco said quietly.
There was a horrible silence at this, and neither Ron or Hermione could deny their own fears as their dæmons clung to them.
Draco sighed and the mist swirled in front of his face.
"Nothing will change Harry's fate now, and until him and Tom are found, unharmed or otherwise," here Draco paused as he hopped onto the carriage, his glove scraping the ice that coated the doorway. "My guess is that Hogwarts will remain closed."
Ron and Hermione were left standing dejectedly in the cold with both their dæmons shivered.
The snow was falling thicker now, casting the empty platform in a dim light.
Hagrid walked up to them.
"Come on, onto the train with yeh," Hagrid sniffed, a large tear was frozen onto his beard.
"Hagrid, does Dumbledore think they'll find Harry or Tom?" Hermione whispered as another large tear threatened to blink from Hagrid's eyes.
"If anyone is going to find them, it'll be Dumbledore-" Hagrid said.
Illaria growled suddenly as she bared her teeth.
Ramiron shot up in an instant, suddenly so terrifyingly alert while Sephronia scooted behind Ron's leg. Hagrid didn't seem to notice as Ron and Hermione took an alarming step backwards from the snarling dæmon.
"And now with Sirius Black on the run-" Hagrid continued.
"Ow-" Ron said, withdrawing his hand from his pocket. "Scabbers!"
Ron's rat squeaked, scrabbling out of Ron's pocket as he landed sprawled in a small pile of snow. Sephronia jumped forwards and caught him by his tail.
"Thanks," Ron said as he scooped down to retrieve the rat, stuffing him back in his pocket.
Whatever had disturbed Illaria seemed to have passed as Hagrid scratched her behind her ears.
"Anyway," Hagrid said. "Yeh best get on the train, there's no point staying 'ere, not anymore."
Sephronia didn't want to hang as she eyed the larger dog warily.
Another whistle sounded.
They jumped on board, stamping the snow off their boots as Hagrid shut the door behind them.
The feeling was starting to return to Hermione's face but she didn't feel any warmer. She wrapped her arms around herself, moving along numbly to find a compartment.
"In here," Sephronia said, nudging a compartment door open. "Everywhere else looks full."
Ginny was sitting by herself with her hand entwined tightly in Galian's mane. She was staring back in the direction of the castle and glanced up when they entered.
"Do you think Hogwarts will stay closed for long?" she said.
It was the question all the students had been asking.
"I'm sure it won't," Hermione said, although it was as much for her own reassurance. "At least your parents can teach you in the mean time-"
"No, I'm not worried about that," Ginny said. She turned her head back to the window. "I think I've forgotten something."
"Well don't tell Mum," Ron said as Sephronia shook her fur, before tucking herself up onto the seat. "She went ballistic when we had to go back for your diary last summer. We almost missed the train."
A smile tugged at Ginny's mouth but she didn't turn back to look at then.
Ramiron poked his head out of Hermione's damp scarf as he contemplated whether the carriage would be warmer then his spot on her neck.
"I'm sure you'll get it back," Ramiron said.
"I don't think I will," Ginny said, Galian neighed as he butted his head against her leg. "But I think that's a good thing."
Riddle was watching him again.
Harry sat with his legs crossed and his back against Tom's legs. Riddle's diary lay open on Harry's knees as ink seeped deep into the page.
Harry ignored Riddle as he moved the quill slowly, each stroke grounding and carefully placed as Harry attempted another sketch of Lyra.
It wasn't actually that bad, but Harry had no time to savour her as the lines sunk away from him. Harry watched numbly, wishing he'd had her for just a moment more before she faded. And this in itself was terrifying. Harry knew that with every quill stroke Riddle was becoming more constant, that Lyra was fading past anything recognisable.
It was going to make surviving this harder.
Harry wanted to stab the quill into Riddle's heart, but Riddle was irrational even at the best of times and Harry was sure the young Dark Lord wouldn't take kindly to that.
Instead, Harry exhaled sharply and set the diary aside while the quill clattered to the floor.
"What?" Harry said.
Riddle was standing only a few metres away, his head tilted as his eyes drifted down to Harry's left hand. His brow was furrowed and Harry could sense his curiosity brimming.
"What's that?" Riddle nodded.
Harry's fist clenched around the small stone enclosed in his palm.
"Nothing."
Harry made to stuff it into his pocket but Riddle had only flicked Harry's wand, wrenching it towards him. Harry scrambled onto his feet, closing the short gap between them as he swiped at Riddle's hand.
"Give that back," Harry snapped.
But Riddle only took a step back as he inspected it.
"The rune is wrong."
Harry's halted as his face flushed.
Riddle pointed Harry's wand at it. There was a flash as the small stone hovered high in the air, just above Harry's head.
With another flick of Harry's wand, the small stone spun rapidly, small bits of pebble splintering off in multiple directions. It only lasted for a moment and then the stone came to an abrupt halt, falling to be level with Harry's face.
"Take it," Riddle nodded.
Harry snatched it from the air. The stone was hot to the touch as Harry stared at it.
Riddle had traced over the ink Harry had scribed onto the stone, carving the rune smoothly, just like Tom had done for Harry's birthday. But the original had been taken from him weeks ago, along with all of Harry's other possessions when he had been sectioned in St Mungo's.
Harry didn't want it anymore. His fingers uncurled, the stone falling into the dust and limescale that covered the chamber floor.
"Ungrateful," Riddle said. "They don't work by the way."
"Shut up," Harry mumbled. "How do you know anyway?"
But Riddle had that look on his face again.
"Lost dæmons stay lost," Riddle said. "They are nearly impossible to find."
Harry's throat dried as he looked away from the stone.
"Nearly impossible?"
"Well," Riddle smiled, head tilting and Harry's stomach churned as some unplaced emotion flicked between them. "Unless you know where to look."
"Helpful," Harry bit out.
But despite everything, Harry couldn't help but kneel down, scooping it back into his fingers. Lyra had to come back before Riddle took too much, only Harry needed Tom back first. Harry clenched the stone tight in his palm. If Harry wanted to wake Tom, he'd need to find out what Riddle had done first.
"How did you petrify Tom?" Harry asked.
Tom was good at magic, he'd managed to kill the troll in first year with ease, so it seemed alien that Riddle had escaped completely unharmed.
Riddle looked up mouth curling into a knowing look but he answered all the same.
"Have you heard of a Basilisk?"
When Harry didn't reply, Riddle tilted his head back to rest it against a stone pillar, his gaze turned to the darkness of the chambers ceiling.
"A Basilisk is the King of Serpents," he explained. "A fearsome beast which can reach a gigantic size. It also has a murderous stare which causes anyone who gazes at its eye an instant death."
Harry's stomach did a horrible sort of somersault, but Riddle's mouth only twitched in amusement.
"Tom did not see the Basilisk's direct gaze," Riddle said. "You will not remember it, but I ensured he would only catch a glimpse of the Basilisk's reflection which resulted in something else entirely."
Riddle nodded towards Tom's petrified form.
"Wait, you're telling me there is a basilisk roaming around the school?" Harry said. "How is that possible, surely someone would have noticed?"
"Well he doesn't often roam up into the castle," Riddle said. "The only entrance into the school that is sufficient is the entrance we came down and he has long since forgotten how to open it."
Harry stood awkwardly, taking an instinctive step back towards Tom.
"You mean it's down here?"
Riddle nodded and his sickly grin returned.
"I have secured the main chamber but if you hear him, be a good boy and close your eyes. I did ask him not to eat you, but he has always been a little temperamental."
Harry couldn't help but turn his eyes to the far end of the chamber and he almost expected to see a scaly body curling in its depths.
"You've set a Basilisk on people before?"
"When I was at school," Riddle said. "Of course, I had to be very careful, any indication to the Chamber of Secrets would have immediately implicated me."
"Why?" Harry asked.
"Because I spoke to my dæmon solely in parseltongue," Riddle hummed fondly. "And the Chamber, which Salazar Slytherin built himself, was mistakenly believed to hold a monster deep within which his heir alone has control."
"Mistakenly believed?" Harry gaped. "A Basilisk doesn't count as a monster?"
"That's not what I meant," Riddle said as he stretched his arms out in front of him, Harry's wand held in his palm. "The mistake is that people assume the heir has control. I already told you he is fairly temperamental at best."
Harry frowned at this, remembering what Riddle had told him previously.
"So what are you saying? That you didn't mean to kill that Slytherin that night, that the Basilisk was meant to find me and Tom instead?"
Riddle didn't even flinch, and that was frightening enough.
"Oh no, I killed the Slytherin. The Basilisk had no part in that."
"But why, if we were your target?"
Riddle shook his head, spinning Harry's wand absently.
"The crowing of a rooster is fatal to the Basilisk."
The understanding was cruel.
"Her dæmon? You killed her because of her dæmon."
Riddle only examined his nails, and he flicked his eyes up, shoulder's shrugging as his lips curled.
"It was necessary."
If Harry hadn't known better, if he wasn't constantly reminded through their shared bond, then he wouldn't have believed Tom to be apart of the same soul. But Riddle wasn't finished.
"After I had dealt with the rooster, I then had free realm to persuade him to leave the chamber," Riddle clarified. "Fortunately, aside from the lack of your cooperation afterwards, it all went smoothly."
Harry glared at him. All this time, Riddle had been gambling with everything. His actions had been extreme from the start and it gave Harry little reassurance that Voldemort would disapprove of his actions, that Riddle could easily have destroyed a part of his own soul.
But Riddle was twirling Harry's wand around now, his eyes gleaming.
"What's so funny?" Harry snapped.
Riddle smirk split into a grin.
"Why are the symbols of the Hogwarts crest a Badger, Eagle, Lion and a Serpent?" he asked.
Harry shut his mouth, brow furrowing as his mind flicked back to Hogwarts, A History, and what Tom had told him.
"They represent the founders dæmons," Harry said slowly, unsure where this was going.
Riddle's grin widened.
"Very good, Harry."
Harry clenched his fist at the sheer condescending tone, but Riddle only nodded towards the ancient statue of Salazar Slytherin and his enormous serpent dæmon that towered over the chamber.
"Think about it, Harry. Salazar Slytherin was a great wizard, he wouldn't have had a normal dæmon."
Harry stared at the carved stone as sick cold understanding consumed him.
"A basilisk? Slytherin's dæmon was a basilisk? But then you mean...that basilisk is-"
"Yes, Salazar Slytherin is an animgai," Riddle said. "Of course, he is more beast than the great man he once was, after hundreds of years trapped in such a magnificent creatures body, only those animalistic instincts remain."
Harry gaped.
"But that's horrendous, can't he just become a man again?"
"His body would disintegrate," Riddle explained. "Basilisks live for many hundreds of years, wizards do not. In any case, I think he has forgotten he ever was a man."
And then that horrible familiar lump in Harry's throat.
"Then he can never speak to his dæmon again?"
"Which only aids his madness," here Riddle smiled mirthlessly. "And we both know what a lack of a dæmon can do to a person."
"I think I would rather die," Harry said as he looked back to the ancient statue of Salazar Slytherin and his dæmon. "To choose to be separated from your dæmon. I don't understand it."
Riddle tilted his head, a funny expression crossing his face.
"What?" Harry said. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
Riddle shrugged, eyes lingering on Tom's petrified form before skirting across back to Harry.
"Salazar Slytherin's steps are no different from your own."
"I didn't choose to be separated from Lyra or Tom," Harry bit out at once.
"Yes, you did," Riddle said.
"I didn't-"
"Your dæmon chose it, which is the same thing," Riddle cut across sharply as he stepped up to Tom. His fingers grazing across Tom's petrified form. "Don't you understand dæmons at all?"
Harry clenched his jaw shut as he glared at Riddle.
"Lyra is you," Riddle continued. "You are one and the same, Lyra's decisions are your decisions."
"Lyra left because she had too," Harry said.
Riddle smiled, and it wasn't a very nice smile.
"No, she didn't. Lyra left because you chose Tom, you wanted to be tied to the Dark Lord in the most intimate way possible. You could have been whole, you could have had your dæmon completely, but you mutilated her, you sent Lyra away, all to remain tied in the Dark Lord's servitude."
Fury bubbled up inside Harry, as he stepped forwards, retort on his lips, but Riddle caught him, snatching his arm as he twisting him into a tight hug.
Harry struggled at first, but Riddle's comfort was overwhelming positive that Harry relaxed into his embrace, his head falling back against Riddle's chest.
"It's unnatural. To chose another soul over your own, do you really think it is right, that it is normal to have a connection so deep with another?"
It was wrong. Riddle was wrong. But Harry couldn't find his voice, couldn't deny the choices he'd made.
Riddle spun Harry around as he lent down, amusement coursing between them as he pulled up Harry's chin to meet his own. His breath washed over Harry's face.
"You don't have to be ashamed, Harry."
Harry took a deep breath, eyes clenching shut.
"I'm not ashamed-" but even as he said it, his words faltered, the doubt overwhelmingly intrusive as his fingers curled around the front of Riddle's robes.
Everything about Riddle was Tom, the steady hum, the consistency. It was perfect.
Riddle's smile was spreading on his face.
"There is a fine line when it comes to souls. To you, Tom is your everything, the single part of the Dark Lord's soul which is different, which is so precious," Riddle sneered the word. "And when compared to the Dark Lord, who is disfigured and repulsive, who's mere proximity brings you pain-"
It happened so suddenly, Harry's scar flashed white hot. Harry's hands withdrew from Riddle, shooting up to grab at his scar, but already the pain was dissipating, no more than a phantom.
"You can't even hope to compare the two, only, that's not so true anymore?"
Riddle's look was predatory, his teeth showing in his terrifying smile as he tugged Harry closer.
Harry willed his legs to step back, his arms to punch out and his mouth to scream.
"I-" But Harry couldn't find his voice. Days ago, he would have answered without a doubt, known that Riddle for all he had done deserved to die.
But he didn't want that. Not really. Riddle was everything, just like Tom had been. But he was just like Voldemort, cruel and irrational. Repulsive.
It was all so confusing.
And then there was the fact, the thing that Harry had been trying to deny for days. Riddle was completely solid. His transparent form long since gone.
Harry had pushed Tom away before, at the end of first year, he'd been totally in control. So why was it now, that Harry's legs were trembling, his very being wanting to never let go.
"I bridge the gap," Riddle continued. "I lie somewhere in-between the familiarity of what you know in your heart and what you can never hope to understand."
"Tom is not Voldemort, he's not you-" Harry's voice barely echoed around the chamber, but this time the same words failed to sound as certain as they had before.
Riddle laughed, but his eyes were cold as he moved to drum his fingers across the top of his diary. Harry's shivered as a rush of pure warmth washed over him.
"You're lying to yourself," Riddle said. "Tom will even look like me in a few years."
Harry's stomach jolted at this as he scanned his eyes over Riddle's handsome face, his so familiar smile.
"But why haven't you aged?" Harry asked as he glanced across at Tom. "If Voldemort created you when he was sixteen, surely you should be much older now?"
Riddle hummed.
"I have been bound to a diary for the past fifty years, bound with no real substance, suspended from any form of reality. Static, dæmonless, you could say." Again, Riddle had that look in his eye. "I am a prefect representation of the Dark Lord in the exact moment his soul split. I remember everything. Does that not make you curious?"
Now that caught Harry's attention.
Harry took a deep breath, his words teetering on the edge of his tongue, knowing that he as good as confirmed everything Riddle had said previously. But he had to know. Surely Tom, he couldn't, he wouldn't turn into something so unhinged.
"When did you become Voldemort?"
Riddle's lips twitched.
"I fashioned the name for myself, known only to those closest to me, when I was at Hogwarts-"
"You know that's not what I meant," Harry interrupted.
"If you're looking for an exact date you're going to be disappointed," Riddle said. "And you're deluded if you think you can prevent Tom from becoming anything different."
But for the first time, Harry's head cleared, his thoughts more grounded.
This was a lie. And Harry was more certain than anything, because already their paths were different. Tom could be cruel, he'd already proved that he was capable of killing, but there was one thing that set him aside from both Riddle and from Voldemort.
Tom didn't remember.
Riddle was for all and purpose, the Dark Lord, at the start. Nothing separated them, Riddle had already become Voldemort at that point.
"You're in denial," Riddle said. "If anything Tom should be more like the Dark Lord than me. He should be the exact replica of the night he was created."
"Stay out of my head," Harry hissed.
But Riddle wasn't listening and Harry's wand remained firmly in his palm.
"Would it really have been so bad? To be attached to a piece of the Dark Lord's soul who did remember. You would have grown with up away from muggles, been taught about the wonders of magic, been treasured above all else but-"
"Tom treasures me-" Harry interjected. "Anyway that's not the point. Tom can never be the same as you-"
"Which is interesting in itself," Riddle mused. "For all intents and purpose, Tom should be, regardless of his creation being unintentional."
Harry stopped, the true horror of Riddle's statement only to apparent.
"Voldemort made you on purpose? Why?"
But Riddle didn't answer, at least not at first. He surveyed Harry with a horrible look, his grin sharp.
"There is far more evil in the world than you can imagine, Harry."
Harry looked away, eyes fixing on Tom's petrified form.
He didn't have to imagine.
Harry stirred, his head ringing as hands shook him awake.
A blurry Riddle was leaning over him in the darkness.
"You didn't have any nightmares?" Riddle asked.
"Huh?"
Harry blinked as he fumbled for his glasses.
"I guess not," Harry mumbled, he couldn't really remember but the fact that he hadn't woken up screaming was evidence enough. Harry looked down, stomach churning when he realised the diary had been tucked in his arms. He threw it away and instantly regretted it.
Riddle didn't seem to mind, in fact he was brimming with an excitement and nervousness that Harry hadn't known before.
"I've got a surprise for you."
Riddle flicked Harry's wand summoning his diary into his hand.
"You've been feeding me your soul so it's only fair that I gift you a little something in return," Riddle said.
Harry flinched as he shifted to sit up.
"What do you mean?"
Riddle placed his diary into Harry's hands, the pages held open on January 1943. Four words appeared.
Let me show you.
Harry looked back to Riddle who was waiting expectantly. What could Riddle possibly show Harry. That in itself was enough for Harry to grasp the cover, to hold the diary close as he peered at the small window which was forming in the centre of the page.
It all happened so quickly.
Harry's chest compressed, the air in his lungs exhaling as he was thrown forwards abruptly onto a hard carpeted floor. Harry scrambled up, only to find himself in an all to familiar room, the green tinted filter of the chamber removed.
It was the Hogwarts library and there were dæmons everywhere. Harry stumbled back, nearly knocking into a table as he sought out the missing diary.
It wasn't there.
Harry was left standing awkwardly, barely daring to move. His hunger hadn't been prominent for days, not since Riddle had first appeared solid, but still Harry didn't want to chance it. But no one turned to acknowledged that a twelve year old with no dæmon had suddenly appeared before them.
Harry took an uncertain look around only to stop abruptly.
Riddle was there, he stood with his back to Harry, inspecting a row of textbooks a few shelves away. Riddle didn't turn to acknowledge him though, instead he withdrew his wand, summoning a book from higher up on the shelf. He flicked it open and scanned its pages.
Harry watched, chewing his lip and unsure whether he should call out. Riddle however, seemed to have found what he was looking for as he closed the book, before turning to weave his way in-between the tables and bookcases.
Only, he wasn't alone.
Harry stared, his mouth parting slightly at the sight. It was impossible.
Nagini.
Lord Voldemort's dæmon.
Her green scales glistened and her eyes shone a deep intense yellow as her muscles eased her powerful body across the floor.
Harry's voice caught in his throat.
This was Voldemort or rather Tom Riddle when he was at Hogwarts, fifty years ago. The memory was pristine as if it had only been captured yesterday. It reflected Riddle perfectly and permitted Harry to see what no other could.
Harry took an instinctive step closer, drawn by an urge so painfully familiar as he came to stand only a few meters away from their table.
Riddle and Nagini were hissing, voices soft and completely private as a genuine smile, one Harry had only seen from Tom, flicked onto Riddle's face.
Riddle opened his school bag, setting the book aside as Nagini coiled her way up the table leg.
Despite the apparent ease of everyone else in the library, their dæmon's actions told another story. Two tables down, a small rabbit sat tucked under a table leg, pressed close against the young witch. An older boy who was placing books back on the shelves didn't spare Riddle a glance, but his dæmon, a raven which was perched high a top the bookcases peered down, watching the giant serpent intently.
Even those who moved past Riddle's table did so with ease, despite the nervous twitches and apparent desperation of their dæmons who hurried past.
Riddle was hissing again, voice soft as Nagini coiled against his finger tips, the table creaking beneath her weight.
It was such a uneventful memory but Harry couldn't help but stare, blind to anything else around him.
This was Voldemort's soul, just like Lyra was his, and she was beautiful.
Another Slytherin slipped into the seat across from Riddle. Their puma dæmon prowled around on the floor behind them.
For the first time Riddle turned away from his dæmon.
"Rosier," Riddle nodded.
Nagini had also moved her attention away, her slit eyes narrowing onto the puma.
"Is that Slughorn's essay?" Rosier asked as he pulled out a roll of parchment from his bag.
"No."
Riddle closed the book suddenly, its heavy pages slamming shut.
"Ah, extracurricular," Rosier said, nodding in understanding. "Anything I can assist with?"
Nagini hissed suddenly, her fangs protruding and sharp as her jaw clicked open. Even though it had been clear before her presence dominated the room.
The puma dipped its head low at once, its black eyes averted as Nagini coiled her body.
She was such a contrast from the relaxed, normal student that Riddle was portraying. Riddle hissed to her softly, hand brushing the top of her head, and although she stilled, fangs retreating, her predatory eyes never left the Slytherin's dæmon.
Rosier hadn't said a word. Not that it mattered, for the scene whirled suddenly.
Harry staggered, head spinning as he fell away from the ground. He was torn from the memory, only to be left lying on the flat of his back, staring blankly up at the obscured chamber ceiling.
For a moment Harry didn't move. He couldn't.
This was the missing piece. The one thing that made clear Riddle's distressed, drastic actions, gambling with everything just for that one chance to set things right.
Riddle had even told Harry explicitly. He'd said he was incomplete, that Harry and Riddle both shared the same goal. And Harry hadn't realised it then because Riddle's longing was as deep as his own for Tom and Harry hadn't been able to distinguish between then two.
The hairs on the back of Harry's neck pricked under the fierceness of Riddle's stare.
This was everything.
Riddle was deadly silent as he watched Harry pick himself up. Harry didn't care to dust the grime of the chamber off his clothes.
Harry had been without Lyra for an entire year and the weeks were ticking by as Tom remained absent. Harry could barely comprehend Riddle's grief, his madness that drove his every decision.
Fifty years alone.
At least Salazar Slytherin had the mercy of being lost with his dæmon, connected so completely and without the concerns that he had once been so much more.
Riddle however, was still tied completely to this awareness, his need that he was apart of something, that he had once had his own soul.
"You miss her don't you?" Harry said quietly.
Riddle didn't answer. He didn't need to. There were no words which conveyed the fury, the loss that pulsed between them.
And then there was the realisation, the cruel understanding that Riddle would inflict the same pain on others, that he had torn Harry and Tom apart, just for a chance to regain his own. Harry could understand completely, for he would have done the same, rip another dæmon from another just to take back Tom.
Harry shuddered, maybe he was more like a dementor already.
"What happened to her?"
Riddle looked away, his eyes falling to the feet as his fists clenched, Harry's wand sparking in violent red.
"I don't know. He won't tell me."
And then the anger and uncensored horror, pulsed through Harry so that he gasped and grasped at his scar.
"Voldemort lost Nagini?" Harry spluttered as he pressed his palm tightly to his forehead.
"She is not lost," Riddle spat, eyes glaring, shooting up to meet Harry's own. "She is hidden from me. I was sixteen, sixteen, when I was created," Riddle stressed as he stepped around Harry. "Nagini was all I knew. I was the perfect representation of my soul and yet was never allowed her-"
Everything was slotting so clearly into place. All those disconnected pieces of information now pointing towards the same thing. Even Tom's scribble of Riddle's name in the restricted book from the library, underneath the chapter about Stealing Daemons. Tom had known. He had worked it out weeks ago.
And then the terror, the pure danger that Riddle wanted to put them in, which was only now so painfully obvious.
"You want Nagini?" Harry spluttered. "You want to take her from Voldemort?"
This had been Riddle's intention from the very start. All those months back in Malfoy manor when Harry had bargained for his and Tom's escape.
Again, Riddle didn't need to answer. His urge, the desperation was so clear to Harry now as he nearly staggered from the pain shooting through his scar, the desire that only Nagini mattered.
It was disorientating.
Harry tried to focus onto Tom, to remember what he held dear. But Riddle was so strong and his connection to Harry complete.
"But I still don't understand why you want my help?" Harry spluttered, anything to distinguish Riddle's own want from his own. "As soon as you'd convinced Voldemort to release you from Malfoy Manor you could have gone to look for her? You never needed me?"
A flash of anger pierced between them but Riddle's expression didn't change, instead he stepped closer to Harry, brushing a hand lightly over Harry's face as he tilted his face up to meet his own.
"You turned a piece of the Dark Lord's soul against himself. Now that makes you very special."
Harry swallowed, his lips drying, distracted by Riddle's impulses to slip his hand lower to tighten around Harry's throat.
"But I-"
Riddle tilted his head, almost daring Harry to deny his help, to refuse to do what he had done before.
Harry exhaled, not daring to move as he was held in Riddle's grip.
"You think I can help you get Nagini to choose you over Voldemort?"
"And will you?" Riddle's eyes bored into Harry's.
Harry didn't answer. This was everything Riddle desired hanging by a thread. How could Harry turn Nagini against Voldemort. Only Riddle could do that.
But all the same, this was a way out.
"If I succeed will Tom be cured?" Harry asked.
Riddle tisked.
"That is not my decision. He disobeyed his own soul and that is never a good idea."
"So did you," Harry said. "You were supposed to take me to Voldemort."
Riddle didn't respond to this and Harry was left with a horrible chill coursing through his very depths of his being, even though he known it to be true before.
"You're still going to give me to Voldemort?"
Riddle frowned as if Harry had been foolish to think anything but.
"In the end," Riddle said.
Harry's heart nearly stopped. At the pure dreaded implications of this, for after Voldemort had his blood-
Harry slammed his hands over his ears, turning away but Riddle grabbed his arm tightly, twisting him back.
"I won't help you-I won't-" Harry started.
"You don't have a choice, Harry."
But that was the worst possible outcome. If Tom remained here and Riddle had Nagini and then left Harry, than what else was left to sustain him. Nothing would be left to stop Harry turning, to prevent him from falling to the shadow.
"I can't-I won't-"
Harry's voice died in his throat, terror in his eyes as Riddle knelt down, a small smile on his lips.
"The Dark Lord might be merciful, he may even spare you-even let me keep you." Harry shook his head knowing in his heart it wasn't true.
"The Dark Lord does not know for certain whether Tom can live without you yet," Riddle said as his fingers ran up Harry's arm.
Harry shivered, hating the soothing feeling Riddle brought.
"What if Voldemort doesn't care?"
"Tom is apart of him. Our Lord won't dispose of you, not until he knows his soul can be sustained by another means."
But that's not how Voldemort had acted last year. Harry had to die. Voldemort had been very clear on that.
Harry had to get Tom back, he had to find a way to cure him. But he didn't even know where to start. Surely someone in the school would know, Riddle had said there was nothing wrong with him.
There was only one options left, one way for Harry to even have a hope of regaining Tom.
"You depend on me as much as I do you," Harry said quietly. That was one thing Tom had made very clear to him. The influence he held over any piece of Voldemort's soul was great.
Riddle's eyes narrowed.
"If I don't help you, you'll never find her. Nagini will never be yours."
Riddle was so fast, he didn't need a curse as Harry's forehead erupted, splintering in complete pain as he fell to the floor.
"Don't even think it," Riddle hissed and he grabbed the front of Harry's clothes, hauling him closer as Harry blinked back the onslaught of pain. "You are only here because of me, still alive because of me. You swore to help me, Harry. I could have left you to the Dark Lord all those months ago, and you would have nothing-"
"I would still have Tom," Harry spat back. "Voldemort would have taken my blood but he didn't have the guillotine, he couldn't have separated us."
Riddle laughed, his voice high and cold, completely delusional as his teeth showed.
"I have already proved to you there are other ways of tearing a soul away. You will want to help me, each day I see it, I grow stronger because of you-"
"And Lyra grows weaker," Harry said. He'd already fed Riddle too much. How much more than worth the price.
But this worked both ways. For if Harry sunk himself in deeper, gave himself to Riddle completely-
"Alight," Harry said, voice steady despite his rising pulse. "I will help you, I will help you find and take back Nagini."
Riddle was observing Harry carefully now.
"But I will make you choose me," Harry said, voice oddly firm. "In the end you will disobey Voldemort to save me, that I will promise you."
Riddle's cold expression stilled, his hard eyes intense, blind to everything around them. And then a smirk, so small on Riddle's lips that Harry nearly missed it.
Riddle's fingers uncoiled from Harry's neck, nails withdrawing from his raw skin as he slipped his fingers so tenderly under Harry's chin. Harry remained obediently still, heart hammering as their eyes were locked.
"It's when you say things like that, I almost believe you," Riddle whispered, fingers grazing over Harry's cheek.
Harry was sure his heart skipped a beat.
But then there was the slightly more pragmatic problem.
"You said lost dæmons are nearly impossible to find unless you know where to look."
And here Riddle's expression darkened considerably and Harry attempted to take a cautious step back at the pure uncensored rage which was directed towards him. Only Riddle's grip tightened, his nail pinching into Harry's skin as his hand slipped to rest on his collar bone.
Riddle was deadly quiet, voice barely raising above the continuous drips of water running down the chamber walls as he leant forwards to whisper in Harry's ear.
"The last known sighting of Nagini was with the Dark Lord, shortly before the evening of Hallowe'en 1981."
The hairs on the back of Harry's neck prickled.
"I-" Harry wetted his lip, he didn't dare move. "You think Nagini is still alive?"
Riddle's eyes flashed, Harry's wand twitching in his hand.
"For your sake, Harry, you should hope so."