This is a friendly reminder that this story was bumped to mature for a reason. Enjoy.

Harry traced his fingers against the mirror's rough surface, scrapping away its thick cover of dust. Beneath this, a layer of rust and grime only added to Harry's haunted expression as he was left with a true pang of desperation. The Mirror or Erised, which he had known so intimately was truly an age ago, and instead of Tom's untouchable soul hidden within, Harry was left staring bitterly at his own reflection.

Black hair stuck up like usual and Harry's face was hollow while his shoulder continued to weep, scorched from Riddle's curse.

Harry pressed his palm against the distorted surface, but like Riddle's diary it did not respond, it only remained ignorant as Harry remained alone, locked in a decrepit bedroom while Riddle's diary lay discarded across the floor.

And as the hours past, the silence lingered, the empty pages holding only Harry's frantic scrawls.

Although, despite being ignored, that hadn't stopped the fleeting images of Riddle's emotions leak through, they had been every extreme and Harry had no way of tearing himself away. Harry had thought Riddle would push him out, would separate himself and hold his dilemma private, but for whatever reason the young Dark Lord wanted Harry to feel his conflict.

Harry had lost Tom, had lost Lrya. He knew Riddle ached for Nagini just as much, surely he would not choose to be alone. Riddle would fight to keep Harry.

But with each passing second, Harry wasn't so sure. Voldemort would never gamble on his soul and give him the luxury of remaining free, not when Riddle was determined to steal Nagini.

It all depended on Riddle.

No. Harry slammed his hands to his ears, his body plunging into terror. He would not think on it, but that didn't stop the guilt simmering through Harry, lingering uncomfortably in his throat as he clenched his eyes shut.

Tom and Lyra.

How could Harry abandon them both.

Had Harry really done enough, was he failing them by giving in, specially compared to Riddle who had torn souls apart, had killed, just for a slim chance at Nagini. Would Harry ever be capable of going that far. To find his soul would be to destroy himself. Only Harry's breathing slowed, his eyes peeling open as he remembered.

Black knew how to find lost dæmons.

The man had been frantic, he'd been convinced he could do it, but he was mad, how could he possibly find Lyra when not even the auror's had achieved it. It didn't make any sense.

Still Harry was left clinging onto the thought as he curled up on the large mattress which had been shoved into the corner of the room. It had half a dozen broken springs but it was such a comfort from the bare chamber floor.

Harry stared up at the stained ceiling as his emotions mixed with Riddle's. Harry might have been able to convince himself that he'd done enough, that their souls were linked intimately, but he'd fought the Dark Lord's soul the whole way. Harry's vision was dizzy and every thought was obsessed but there was nothing he could do now, only wait, with no indication of how long he'd been in here. The large bay windows had been covered in wooden boards and no light penetrated into the empty room.

Harry rolled over, staring blankly at where Tom would normally be.

It wasn't the same. And Riddle knew it.

Riddle.

Harry darted up, gasping as his head spun, the onslaught of fear overwhelming, but their bond had never been clearer.

Riddle had made his decision.

It was like Tom's betrayal all over again, yet Harry could not justify any anger. He'd known it from the start. Riddle had only ever intended to use him, to take what he wanted and disregard Harry when he was finished. Harry was nothing to him, had known it to be true from the start, and yet it still hurt.

Harry clenched his fists, if only to stop himself shaking.

Surely there was something, they'd shared their souls, bared their weaknesses.

Riddle had to care.

Harry fell to his knees, barely containing his fears as he pulled the diary into his arms.

And then Riddle was there, he rested one cold hand on Harry's cheek which flooded with warmth and reassurance.

"It won't hurt, I promise."

Harry's mouth ran dry, but he kept his eyes bearing into Riddle's.

"He'll never let you have her," Harry burst out, dropping the diary as his fingers instantly curled into the front of Riddle's robes. "Whatever Voldemort has promised you, he won't-"

Riddle's eyes narrowed, but he didn't need to say anything, instead he pulled Harry close arms wrapping tightly around him.

He couldn't help himself, Harry melted into Riddle, head falling into his shoulder, because it was easy, it was to let all of his fears drift away.

"Come on," Riddle said. "Just stay close to me."

He swung a long black cloak around Harry's shoulder's which caused him to sag under its weight. Riddle summoned his diary from the floor as he slipped his arm under Harry's arm, hauling him up from the floor.

Harry didn't move, he'd rather stay still forever, just like Tom. It was only Riddle's encouragement, the lingering pull of comfort that had Harry moving one foot in front of the other.

The rest of the house was just as rundown, creaking with every step as Riddle led Harry through the once grand manor. An old staircase, where the carpet had patches of damp and mold, led down to an old hall, with large patio doors leading out into the garden.

It was snowing lightly, and Harry watched as his breath swirled amongst the snowflakes which twinkled in the dark. A thick blanket of snow covered the ground and Harry pulled his cloak tighter, although it did little to settle the biting cold.

Up ahead, less than fifty meters from the house, sat a huge cauldron upon a fire. It was crackling loudly, the only sound in the otherwise eerie night and its light illuminating Quirrell who was waiting with a small selection of Death Eaters.

Harry hesitated, but Riddle kept his hand firmly on his shoulder as he pushed him into the centre of the broken circle.

Despite the fire, the snow around its circumference had yet to melt and the air hung with a distinct chill as Harry had the horrid realisation that there was no point in running, he couldn't leave, not without the diary. But it seemed Voldemort didn't want any chances.

Thick iron wound itself around Harry's right ankle. Its short chain was buried deep into the ground as it burned against Harry's skin.

Riddle gave Harry's shoulder a tight squeeze before he came to stand by Quirrell's side, his head dipping into a bow as Voldemort's gruesome eyes watched intently.

The surface of the cauldron was bubbling loudly now and spitting with a pure silver substance which Harry couldn't help but recognise. Unicorn blood.

Dread rushed through Harry as his memories flashed back to less than a year ago to when Tom had placed him in the guillotine. Harry jerked against the chain, panic consuming.

And yet Voldemort's gaze never left Riddle, and for a fleeting moment, Harry thought he had a chance. The Dark Lord had made the mistake of trusting Tom. Only Voldemort's chilling command and the searing pain which pierced through Harry's head told Harry that the Dark Lord had no doubt in his Riddle's loyalties.

"Begin."

Quirrell, whose turban had been discarded, lowered himself into the large cauldron, his robes staining in the thick blood.

Riddle's voice was unwavering as he drew Harry's own wand from his pocket.

"Body of the servant, deliberately spiritless, you shall entwine your master."

Quirrell sunk into the blood, until he was submerged completely, as not even Voldemort's distorted face remained above the surface. Harry could only hope that they had drowned.

Of course, it was not to be, as Riddle paced around the cauldron, leaving imprints in the snow as he withdrew his diary.

For a sick moment, Harry thought Riddle would cast it into the cauldron, but instead Riddle levitated his diary high above the cauldron. His voice remained just as calm and clear as it echoed around their surroundings.

"Piece of the soul, purposely fractured, you will find your dæmon."

Ink began seeping from the diary, dripping heavily into the liquid as something hissed, green and coiling from within.

Nagini.

Harry stared, the giant snake flickering into life, in place of the where the diary had been, but she looked far more than just a memory.

Riddle's face was lit by the flames, his eyes haunted, but he wasn't the only one for Voldemort was just as enthralled as Riddle, Harry could feel it, had never been surer. Had Riddle been wrong, had Voldemort lost Nagini too.

But Riddle had already turned away from his deepest desire, and Harry was forced to tear his attention away from the dæmon.

Harry took a tentative step back, but the chain constricted, leaving him horribly exposed as Riddle knelt down before him. Long fingers reached out to curl around Harry's wrist, Riddle was soothingly warm, but there was no smile behind his cold eyes.

"Hold still," Riddle whispered.

And then Riddle had a knife.

Harry could do nothing to prevent it, he was secured too tightly to the ground, his ankle bruising as he yanked it hopelessly. Behind him the cauldron bubbled all the more fiercely.

Harry didn't dare speak or breathe, instead he could only watch as Riddle ran the knife across his wrist deliberately slow, the blade was cold, and for a fleeting second Harry thought Riddle wouldn't.

Riddle plunged the knife in deep.

Harry screamed as it tore into his skin so effortlessly.

It burned.

Harry's vision swam rapidly into black, before rushing back into the sharp moonlight. Even now, Riddle's lies hurt, but Harry's only choked on his screams, his head ringing as the young Dark Lord pulled him across the frozen ground and closer to the fire. Harry's arm was thrust over the horrendous heat of the cauldron. His skin was burning, rupturing in blisters, but Riddle didn't seem to notice as the flames licked mercilessly at Harry's arm.

Harry's eyes rolled back, but Riddle held him steady as he squeezed Harry's wrist. Blood dripped down his arm, pooling into the cauldron.

Riddle's voice was just as calm, just as cruel and without a single waiver.

"Blood of the fractured, forcibly severed, you will bind your foe."

The cauldron bubbled, hissing and spitting violently. Nothing happened...

Had it gone wrong, had Harry's blood not been enough. Riddle however, did not look concerned, and Voldemort's hiss was only enough to confirm Harry's fears.

"Hurry!"

Nagini too, was hissing more frantically, coiling above the cauldron.

And finally Riddle turned to face him, and Harry understood, his heart enclosed in stone as he clutched his burnt and bleeding arm uselessly to his chest.

"Don't-"

Harry's voice broke, his resolve withering. This could not be his fate.

Riddle had to choose him, he had to because he was so similar to Tom. Each ruthless, but so possessive and caring for anything they deemed worthy of being theirs.

Tom defied Voldemort for Harry, so Riddle would too.

The tremor in Riddle's hand was so small, that anyone else would have missed it. But their souls were shared now, interconnected so deeply that Harry only knew Riddle.

Only Riddle wasn't Tom. And Nagini was there, twisting above the cauldron so tantalisingly close. Riddle didn't even look at him, didn't offer one further word as his hand dropped away.

Tears swelled in Harry's eyes.

"Tom-"

It was enough to make Riddle pause and he had the nerve to tense. Only, it was fleeting, Riddle was already set on his decision, he had been from the start.

It was as effortless as flicking a wand. Harry fell to his knees, slipping down into the snow as his being shattered, Riddle's Occulumency locking Harry out of whatever bond they had ever shared.

Riddle stood over him, he alone had the power to stop it, but each second was sentencing Harry to unbearable agony, with no hope of turning back.

Harry couldn't breathe. The feeling was all too familiar, yet worse than any memory.

The shadow erupted as if it had never been suppressed. Darkness lashed out, desperately searching for a soul. The Death Eaters were dæmonless, they were all useless to him. Harry locked onto Nagini, floating above the cauldron, but she was protected, there but hidden out of reach.

And Riddle remained empty, somehow void to anything Harry could detect.

But there was something, a shimmer. Hidden and weak, so small that Harry had never noticed their presence, a dæmon that Harry had never seen before.

An iguana, long and glistening, invisible from everyone but Harry. He could feel their small fragile heart pulsing inside Quirrell, captivated within Voldemort's hold, while his being leeched off of her.

It was a lifeline and the shadow lunged to life enveloping the cauldron in a desperate hunger.

There was a ear splitting crack, just before the cauldron shattered. Embers and hot iron burst outwards, scolding Harry's hands, his face, but that was not enough to stop him advancing.

Harry was blind to anything but the small dæmon, ready and offered for him to take from Quirrell's outstretched arms.

Harry took the dæmon and pressed the writhing creature to his lips. It's body was scaly and rough, it felt so real, so alive, but Harry calmed, he knew that this was right.

The darkness lashed out, enveloping around the dæmon and in one deep breath, Harry absorbed Quirrell's very essence. Harry gasped in his giddiness, he knew only euphoria, completeness and this wasn't like the mirror. This connection was real, was pure bliss.

Harry took another deep, drawing breath. The dæmon went limp in Harry's hands as Quirrell's soul became his, the iguana's light vanishing as she dissipated into nothingness.

It was like he had Lyra again, had Tom, had everything that once made him whole. The long forgotten feeling of before the trial.

For a moment, everything, everyone was quiet, it was almost peaceful around the shattered cauldron with the flames still crackling. The Death Eaters waited in fascination as Harry remained still, on his knees and satisfied from the soul that he had devoured.

Quirrell was before him, his body limp, just like his dæmon, and even Voldemort's usually terrifying eyes were strangely glossy and lifeless. Harry could not bring himself to be horrified, not when everything was perfect, his soul was complete.

Nagini was still hissing and spitting, hovering only inches above the open remnant of the cauldron. Harry reached forwards mesmerised, they were both connected to the Dark Lord, tied together by their souls that Harry felt like he knew the snake intimately.

Nagini lunged, and Harry scrambled back into the snow, barely avoiding her sharp fangs, but he needn't have moved.

Nagini tore herself into the empty shell of Quirrell's body. Only it wasn't empty, it was rupturing, the skin bubbling like the unicorn blood. Quirrell's eye sockets were bursting as Nagini coiled within.

Harry's ears were ringing, but he couldn't bring himself to move.

The Dark Lord was hideous, as sharp movements distorted, the skin contorted leaving nothing of what Quirrell had been.

Voldemort was thin, his robes strained in silver which draped off his skeletal body. His face was just as disfigured, with wide livid scarlet eyes, and a nose that was a couple of slits for nostrils. Nagini was no where in sight, vanished as Voldemort stood tall, his own hands held out before him as he examined his new form.

Riddle stepped forwards, out from the surrounding Death Eaters.

"My Lord," Riddle dipped his head low as he presented Voldemort with his wand.

Voldemort took it, his long spidery fingers curling around it as his expression glowed with triumph before he moved, bare feet pressing into the snow, he offered no acknowledgement to his Death Eaters who had dropped into the snow their heads bowed. Instead, fierce eyes settled on Harry, who remained on his hands and knees, chest rising and falling rapidly.

Voldemort towered over him, a cruel smile twisting on his snake like face.

"Nothing can save you now, Harry Potter."

Harry's head seared with such a sharp pain, but this was nothing to the deep fear rooting in. He tried to speak, but his voice came out raspy, his breath absent of all mist in the freezing night air as he made a horrible drawn out noise.

"You have misguided my soul for too long," Voldemort hissed, his voice so soft that Harry could barely hear. "Although, it should give you some comfort to know that Tom will be forgiven for his foolish choices, so long as he acknowledges his mistakes."

Tom would never. Tom would sooner destroy Voldemort, nothing would stop that now.

"Isn't that right, Riddle?" Voldemort hissed.

Riddle was standing just behind the Dark Lord, but he didn't say anything. Riddle didn't even nod his head, he only watched Harry with such hurtful indifference.

Quirrell's dæmon had been weak, barely there, perhaps it had not triggered what everyone had feared.

But Voldemort's chilling smile was enough to tell Harry otherwise. And in each passing moment Harry knew something was so so wrong, each breath drawing less than the previous.

Harry's burning scar was nothing compared to the sickness rushing through him. Quirrell's iguana had only sustained him for so long. Harry had taken something unforgivable and he wanted more. He needed more.

The darkness had all but dissipated now, but Harry knew that it wasn't right. It was no longer lashing out, instead it was rushing through his being, devouring him from within.

Voldemort watched fascinated, his head tilted just like Riddle used to do, just like Tom. His red slit like eyes were intense, and his lipless mouth curled into something which could only be a smile.

Harry's hands scratched into the frozen ground, his fingers red and raw as the snow practically became hot to his freezing body. His breath was being sucked from him, his being broken as Harry's very existence burned.

Harry tried to reach forwards, his limbs burning as his finger's shook uncontrollably. Riddle had been there, every time, every nightmare.

And finally, Riddle approached, his footsteps crunching in the half melted snow. Harry wished he could shut his eyes, force them closed and embrace pure oblivion, but he could only watch helplessly as Riddle raised Harry's wand.

And then Voldemort's voice, calling shrilly through the pounding in Harry's ears.

"Leave him-"

Only Riddle had already acted, the wand flicking in his hand, but he did not stay Harry's torment. Instead, Harry went tearing away from the ground, but the sensation was nothing compared to his convulsing desperation as his body finally broke.

Harry had no awareness of where Riddle had sent him, only that he landed soundlessly screaming, his back arching, twisting as all warmth shot from his body.

His skin was rotting, flesh dropping from his hands, his arms, while his neck snapped back as coldness, beyond anything comprehensible, ran like ice through his veins.

Something was crawling over his right eye, bubbling in, as the darkness gouged mercilessly inwards. Harry screamed, but no sound came out, his hands wouldn't move, they were snapped to his sides as his face felt like it would rip in half. It was carving over his body, into his eye, holes tearing into his pupil, sending prickling vibrations through his vision.

Harry's head lurched as the darkness settled into his right eye, simmering just beneath the surface. He was going to be sick, his lungs were tight, suffocating as the smallest flutter of darkness was torment.

Each breath was agony as Harry twisted in excruciating pain, he couldn't think straight only remain a slave to his deteriorating body. The shadow was foul and evil and yet it danced across Harry's skin as if it belonged, cutting into his flesh, severing Harry from whatever he had once been.

It took so much effort to cry out, to feel his body crumble as his right eye finally ruptured.

And in that instant Harry calmed, his own panic descending as the world exploded in such mesmerising light. Harry forgot the pain, forgot himself, he was blind to everything but his clearing vision, so sharp and with everything perfectly defined.

Dæmons.

Harry could see them, so bright and enticing, each pulsing with life. Harry grinned elated, dæmons surrounded him in every direction. And there was nothing that would keep them from him, he wanted to devour their beautiful bright light, so dazzling and tempting.

Pure instinct, drove Harry forwards, but he didn't make it very far, his body was still deteriorating. Another light, distorted and just as bright flicked into existence, but this one was cold, empty and unwelcome. Harry lashed back but the light was too strong, so overpowering and with everything Harry despised.

This dæmon was protected.

People were yelling, but they were so dull, so empty compared to their souls, dancing tantalisingly close for Harry to take. Only more dæmons were flicking to that terrible cold light, rippling around like a repulsive echo and Harry could only watch distraught as his prey was snatched from him.

Cords flew out, grasping around Harry's wrists, tethering him as he tried to retreat, but there were dæmons everywhere, all strong and defended as Harry recoiled as they suppressed his deepest desires.

A dæmon approached, but it was not to give Harry what he craved. The tabby was untouchable, and the intrusive white light was nothing Harry could contest as he fell into shadow.