He couldn't move. His arms were locked to his side and his breathing was tight and compact, as if his lungs had been crushed by some horrendous weight. His eyes were wide strained and dry, and they itched at the influx of light which could not be shut out.

His memories also cut to nothing, leaving him with disorientated thoughts and no clear answer as to why his body wouldn't function. He remained paralysed, staring upwards at a plain white ceiling, with only a sense of urgency that something was horribly wrong.

Someone was speaking but he couldn't make sense of the words. It was like the voice was standing at the end of a very long tunnel making the sound distorted and faded.

He felt different, detached, with an unfamiliar faint growing desire. Something he had never known before, something dark and intrusive which only added to the pure dread in his heart.

Magic flowed around him but it was not his own. It had a warmth which was long forgotten, rushing through his limbs to his fingers and his toes.

He attempted to heave himself up, but his body wasn't ready to coordinate itself. Instead, he stretched out his fingers, but each movement remained crippling as his joints cramped up in protest.

There was only one thing that mattered, one question that burned on his lips more than any other and he forced them apart, his lungs emptying of stale air.

"H-Harry?"

The silence was deafening.

Tom blinked his aching eyes shut, wincing at the intensity of the light as he reopened them. He forced his aching neck sideways.

Two people came into view.

Alastor Moody stood next to a person in a lime green coloured robes. The witch, who must have been a healer, bit her lip and glanced over Tom anxiously.

"You really shouldn't move. The draught takes a short while to restore your body functions."

Tom ignored her as he stared at the auror he didn't much want to see again.

"W-where's Harry?"

The healer had the nerve to look away, sharing a glance with her dæmon, a small dormouse which was sitting tentatively on the end of Tom's bed.

Moody however, only stared at him with such contempt. Tom tried to stifle his panic, but each restricted breath made it impossible to stay calm.

"Where is he?" Tom demanded as he tried to ignore the obviously bare room.

Moody looked more than comfortable staying silent, but the healer nudged him as her dæmon scurried back and forth. Moody rolled his eye as he crossed his arms.

"What do you remember?" he said gruffly.

Tom grasped at his memories, all flashing thick and fast.

Detention. The disembodied voice. Ginny and Galian. The bathroom filled with mirrors. The snake, with those burning yellow eyes. So intense, that it was as if death would take him.

And then nothing, no memory that continued, no memory that bridged the gap of why he had come to be here. Or where Harry had gone.

Tom's confusion was clearly apparent, as he stared blankly. It was as if he'd had a dream that was long forgotten yet the fragments felt like they should still be there.

"You were petrified by a basilisk," Moody grunted. "About six months ago."

Tom blinked.

Petrified. Six months.

But then-

Harry.

No, no, no, no, no.

Tom shot up, his body breaking from its stony hold, but Moody was ready. His wand twisting, as an invisible hand seized Tom's shoulder, jerking him back down.

No, no, no, no.

Tom kicked out, but the pressure was uncompromising, locking him firmly on the bed as his throat closed up. The healers dæmon scurried up their arm, as the pair of them flinched away.

Moody held his wand steady as he hobbled forwards.

No, no, no.

Moody didn't matter, the basilisk didn't matter. Nothing that had happened in the last six months mattered.

All Tom knew was that he had left Harry alone.

Alone and without a soul.

Which meant one thing only.

Tom slammed his eyes shut, because his body wouldn't move, his mouth wouldn't scream. There was no release, nothing which could ease the pure terror which coursed through him as he remained imprisoned in his anguish.

Yet the worst part was the twisted connection, already more prominent and growing, creeping in and so disturbingly wrong. It meant Tom could not deny the apparent, the one thing he feared above all else.

Harry had taken a dæmon.

No words were appropriate, no thoughts safe as Tom's resolve shattered. His mind crumpled as he tried to grasp at hopeless possibilities that all came out with the same result.

He was too late.

And nothing would bring Harry back.

Nothing.

Moody seemed to acknowledge Tom's resignation for his spell released him.

But Tom didn't move. He couldn't.

He could only stare vacantly ahead, hot tears prickling at his vision as he was left with a gaping hole that could never be filled.

"Why did you wake me up?" Tom bit out. "Why couldn't you have just left me?"

He ached for oblivion, to be petrified again where the truth couldn't hurt. Where Tom could pretend for eternity that he still had Harry.

Moody didn't see fit to indulge him in an answer, he didn't even have the nerve to look at Tom. Moody's blue eye was fixed on something behind him, not once spinning in Tom's direction.

The unhinged feeling flickered, a rising sickness taking hold. Only confirming the true horror of what Tom was now connected to, what Moody was transfixed on, hidden away where Tom could not see.

He was glad Moody didn't have his dæmon with him, thankful that the healer had retreated, their dæmon hidden away. It was already difficult to think coherently, to make sense of what was so wrong without any distractions.

And yet Moody's silence lingered, his normal eye unwavering at Tom's unanswered question.

If the inevitable had happened, if Harry was truly lost-

Tom's lips burned with the same question, his heart pounding all the more fiercely as he dared to think the impossible.

It was the only thing that gave Tom the strength to look up, his magic darkening as he dared anyone to hold Harry from him.

"Why did you wake me up?"

There could only be one reason.

Harry had survived.

"Where is he?"

Hollow eyes stared through impenetrable glass. It spanned an entire walls length, denying Tom everything but the remnants of a broken connection. Tom pressed his palm against the smooth surface, nails scratching against the steady hum of its protections, solid and resistant to any form of magic.

Beyond it, in the centre of the adjacent room, beside a single stone shallow basin, was the only thing that deserved Tom's rabid attention.

Harry. Or rather what was left of him.

There were patches all across his skin, bandages lining his body, hiding the worst of the decaying flesh beneath. The most noticeable dressing was wrapped around Harry's right eye, covering the whole side of his face. Yet Harry remained perfectly still, laying on a bed of restraints as his chest rose and fell in uneven patterns.

An auror stood in each corner, guarding Harry as they guided their dæmons, the white light of their patronus' holding the very darkness at bay.

Tom watched with haunted fury, fingers tapping against his unwavering confinement as flickers of Harry's want, so vibrant and repulsive pulsed between them.

That was the one thing the dæmons could not prevent. Harry's unfiltered desires, sent through their bond and Tom had no reason to shut them out. A little bloodlust towards dæmons, despite how nauseating would not deter him. He wasn't ever going to be separated from Harry again.

A sudden movement jarred Tom's thoughts, his attention stolen from Harry, as a door to Harry's prison melted into existence.

Scrimgeour.

Any rational that Tom had, left him then and there as he snarled, livid, fingers curling into fists as he willed the glass to splinter and pierce the auror in blistering pain. Scrimgeour had no right, not after the failure to protect the one thing most precious.

But Scrimgeour paid no heed to Tom alone in his confinement. Instead the auror approached the stone basin which sat at Harry's side. Tom watched in morbid obsession as Scrimgeour took out a small vile, depositing what could only have been one of Harry's memories back into the basin. Its contents were tainted black as turbulent memories swelled within.

Nala flicked her tail back and forth as large glowing yellow eyes fixed on Tom. She must have sensed it, Tom's aching want to destroy, unnatural and caused by Harry lying only a few meters away.

Scrimgeour raised his wand, and for a moment, Tom thought he was going to take another memory.

"Don't you dare touch him," Tom hissed, eyes flashing as his own repulsion flared.

Scrimgeour didn't lower his wand. Instead he held it steady as he walked up stand before Tom. Nala followed, her tail high in the air.

"Are you ready to give us what we asked for?"

Harry's missing hours.

They were so unimportant, and yet Tom found no desire to part with them.

"You've yet to give me a valid reason for why you need them," Tom said coolly.

"We still don't know how Riddle got into the castle or who he was collaborating with. It's entirely unacceptable considering he killed a student."

"You don't need my memories to work that out," Tom commented dryly. "You know who was out of bed that night, just find the person with the weak dæmon."

Scrimgeour gave him a funny look.

"Everyone's dæmon's have been thoroughly examined and they are all perfectly healthy. It isn't evident that anyone has bled their soul into Riddle."

Tom's eyes flashed, and for the first time since he had woken, a slight smile tugged at his lips. His eyes turned to linger on the basin, holding Harry's memories within.

"How much have you seen?" Tom asked. The aurors had clearly gone routing around, they'd found where Riddle had taken Tom after all.

Scrimgeour's expression darkened considerable at this, and even Nala hissed, her back arching with her claws drawn.

"You should have told us about Lucius Malfoy. We could have done something."

Tom laughed, yet there was no warmth in his eyes.

"We've demonstrated we are willing to cooperate," Scrimgeour said. "It does no good for Potter if you aren't willing to share critical information with us-"

"And you would've done what exactly?" Tom sneered. "Raided Malfoy manor and found Riddle's diary? If I'd have told you Malfoy was a Death Eater-"

"Then Potter may not have been placed back in Hogwarts," Scrimgeour interrupted. "Lucius Malfoy certainly convinced some of the other governor's that Hogwarts was the safest place for Potter. Malfoy helped place him back into Riddle's waiting grasp."

Tom couldn't believe what he was hearing and it was worse because Scrimgeour didn't know the half of it.

"You're blaming me?" Tom's voice was strangely numb.

"I'm saying that your inaction had consequences," Scrimgeour said. "And although you could not foresee what would happen, you contributed in allowing the Dark Lords plans to proceed."

The words washed cruelly into Tom's ears, as he replayed in his own head what he'd been trying to convince himself wasn't true.

Tom had known Riddle was in the castle and yet he'd walked right into the trap. The actions he had done, had been insufficient, because he knew Riddle's real target had been Nagini. That Harry was not his true interest. And although he'd found the book on stealing dæmons, he'd prepped himself encase Riddle tried the same thing with Harry, and still Tom had been one step behind, he'd underestimated Riddle's own want, the lengths he would go to.

And it had cost him everything.

Yet despite this, if Tom had done everything in his capacity, if he'd thrown away his pride and let the Ministry know about Malfoy and Riddle, then Harry would have been safe.

"What do you want then?" Tom said bitterly.

Scrimgeour smiled grimly as he tapped his wand against the glass, he glanced towards the basin.

"Potter's missing hours."

"No."

It wouldn't change anything now.

An odd expression crossed Scrimgeour's face as Nala brushed against his leg. He knew they had reached an impasse, that nothing would change Tom's mind. He nodded once, before he removed his wand and pocketed it.

Tom only glared back, his chin held high, but any defiance soon evaporated in Scrimgeour's next sentence.

"We're waking Potter up today."

For the first time, Tom flinched as any composure he had shattered.

"Harry-" Tom's voice caught in his throat, his palms now held out uselessly in front of him as his desperate gaze flicked back to Harry lying so horribly still. "He's not ready yet."

Scrimgeour cleared his throat, an unpleasant grimace crossing his face.

"The Minister has been explicitly clear. Our priority is to find out how much of Potter is left, if anything-"

Tom could only stare, as he struggled to make a coherent sentence.

"Waking Harry up-"

Would result in one thing only.

"Any advancement of Potter's decay has halted due to your presence alone," Scrimgeour said.

"I know that-" Tom's hissed, his magic flaring up, but he stayed cautiously still. "But Harry can't-"

"Would you leave him like this indefinitely?" Scrimgeour cut across. Nala hissed, her back arched and her tail upright. "Leave Potter in this cruel limbo where he can never advance unless Lyra returns-"

Tom's attention snapped to Harry's memories swirling in the basin. How else could they know.

It was impossible to keep his voice steady, to keep calm as he pressed his hands back against the glass as his fury simmered.

"You know what animal she is."

It wasn't a question.

Scrimgeour didn't even flinch at the accusation, as he nodded.

"You had no right," Tom hissed.

Lyra was Harry's alone.

"Anything Potter shared with Riddle is in the interests of the Ministry," Scrimgeour said.

It was like the ground had swallowed Tom up.

"Harry-"

He wouldn't. Thick jealously coursed through Tom. And even though he knew it was an empty threat, he could remember so clearly Harry's promise. That he'd never share Lyra. Not even with Tom.

Tom could barely hear his own voice.

"What else did Harry share with Riddle?"

Scrimgeour surveyed him carefully, and it was the deliberate silence that Tom couldn't stand.

"He wrote plenty about you," Scrimgeour said at last.

Tom didn't know if that was a good thing or not.

For the first time, not caring that Scrimegour was watching, Tom's gaze fell to the floor, tears slipping out before he could stop them.

How had everything gone so wrong, where the unthinkable had become fact, with Harry damaged past anything recoverable.

It would have been better if the guillotine had separated them, if Lyra had stayed and not tried to protect Tom.

None of this would have had happened.

Tom's forehead rested against the glass as he watched. His eyes barely wavered, lingering on each and every part of Harry's exposed skin. What the healers had salvaged was little, and black veins streaked out across pale skin, cutting across like angry scars.

Harry hadn't moved once. His breathing remained jagged and his desires just as constant. It would almost have looked peaceful, if it hadn't been for the cold air which clung to Harry's skin like frozen beads, and the small drops of silver which stained Harry's lips.

There was no indication that Harry was anything but soulless, reduced to the worst kind of nature. Cursed and evil.

The door melted into existence. Right on time.

Clunk, clunk, clunk.

Tom twisted his head against the glass, to stare blankly at the intrusion.

Scrimgeour and Moody.

Tom eyes slipped to the four other aurors in the corners with their patronus' held strong.

"Are you sure you can handle two underage wizards?" Tom asked dully.

Moody drew his wand, his blue eye fixed unwavering on Harry.

"One Dark Lord and a dementor," Moody grunted.

"That is to be seen," Scrimgeour corrected, but he too drew his wand.

The glass faded.

Tom didn't move. If anything he took half a step back, suddenly hyper aware that nothing between him and Harry.

"I've told you," Tom said. "Harry can't wake up yet. He won't know me-"

Tom shut his eyes, he could deny it no longer.

"Harry will devour my soul."

It was worse, saying it out loud. To acknowledge what he'd been trying to ignore for his last few hours, since Scrimgeour had told him their intentions.

"Personally, I'm counting on it," Moody grumbled.

Even Scrimgeour looked unconcerned.

"It's certainly possible. However, this is the only way to establish if Potter is still human and if he isn't, well-" There was a very nasty pause. "Your sentence was agreed by the Wizengamot before. Or had you forgotten?"

For a moment, Tom thought he had misheard.

"It is only because of Potter that you are still allowed to exist, that you were unpetrified," Scrimgeour continued gruffly. "And now under the current circumstances, with the Dark Lord's return, the Minister's patience is wearing thin."

It was like a rush of pure terror, cruel and bitter as Scrimgeour dared suggest the incomprehensible. And yet the words echoed around in Tom's head, as he digested what would be his fate.

How sickeningly neat and tidy. For after the guillotine, Tom was to be destroyed through one means only. Tom didn't care that he didn't have a wand.

"So that's it?" Tom snarled, magic reverberated around him as he lashed out. "Harry gets one chance, after everything you have done to him."

Nala's large yellow eyes were unwavering as Scrimgeour only steadied his wand, eyeing Tom cautiously.

"It is a chance no one else would receive. If Potter is truly demented-"

Scrimgeour's voice was fading as Tom could only feel the wild beating of his own heart, drowning out the word. He wished he could shake his head, to look Scrimgeour in the eye and say undoubtable that Harry would not attack him. Would not want his soul in the worst possible way. But Tom and Harry were connected so perfectly that Tom knew what Harry craved, and nothing, not even the patronus' which guarded him could diminish that desire.

"I...if Harry doesn't devour my soul," Tom blurted out suddenly as red hot fear consumed him. "If any part of Harry has survived this-"

It was a false hope, Harry wasn't coming back. And the cruel realisation of what the Minister wanted to gamble on was unforgivable.

Harry deserved peace and they would steal his only opportunity. His only way out of the inevitable.

Scrimegour nodded sharply, as Nala brushed around his ankles.

"If you can prove to us that Potter is human enough, then the Minister has agreed to talk."

"He didn't see fit to come himself then?" Tom said bitterly.

"The kiss is something most would avoid witnessing," Scrimegour said.

"Not as clean as a guillotine," Moody added with a rather unpleasant grin.

If looks could kill. But Moody looked like he was itching for an excuse, as his blue eye swiveled once in its socket to lock onto Tom. But it was fleeting, before his eye flicked back to the greater threat in the room.

Tom's fierce gaze instead turned to linger on their dæmons, each in turn, whether they were protected or not.

Harry deserved to devour them all.

Tom took a steadying breath, his eyes shutting briefly, lump forming in his throat.

"Now?"

Scrimgeour nodded as he steadied his wand, levelling it at Tom.

"Are you going to be difficult?"

Tom stared at the six aurors, each armed and ready to act without mercy. Tom couldn't speak, but he shook his head slowly.

Everything had been so abrupt, and Tom wished beyond anything that he could just stop, rewind time and lock them both back in their cupboard, together, with no knowledge of the wizarding world. Nothing was worth this, for in moments, both Harry and Tom would be shells of what they had once been.

Scrimegour gestured for the aurors to move away and cross over where the glass had been. Their dæmons lingered, hovering around as patronus' but ready to retreat. Moody's stump clunked loudly, as he gave Tom another nasty grin.

Tom only stared back numbly. He wished he was still angry, for that would be easier, to remember his fury at Voldemort, Riddle, and the Ministry, anything to stop his deepening fear.

He wasn't supposed to be afraid.

Not of Harry.

Tom's heart was pounding as oxygen flooded to his head, making him only hyper aware of what about to happen. He shut his eyes, as he placed one foot in front of the other.

If anyone was worthy of taking his soul, it was Harry.

Each step was harder than the last and for a moment, Tom hoped Harry would never wake, that he would lie undisturbed in sleep forever. Protected from this cruel reality.

And then Harry was there, lying only an arms distance away, like Riddle had taken everything and then tossed his toy aside.

It was worse up close. Mutilated skin wept through bandages, staining patches in red and black, while what little skin remained was sickly white and clammy. The left hand side of Harry's face was untouched, but this only highlighted the contrast of how disfigured and sunken his appearance had become.

Tom thought his lungs would collapse, as his breathing became sharp and unnatural yet, disjointed and slow as he raised his right hand.

It had been easy when they had been locked apart, where Tom only wished to destroy anyone who would withhold Harry from him.

But now, Tom was left hesitant, unsure if Harry would disintegrate with the slightest touch or erupt in passionate fury.

Tom slipped his hand gently into Harry's. Harry practically melted under his touch, his staggered raspy breaths becoming more constant, relaxed almost.

Tom's fingers moved to wind tightly into Harry's shirt as he pressed his head against Harry's own. A flutter, so satisfying and small scratched between them, it was like a desperate breath, saving them from drowning, their souls linked as one. Like it was supposed to be. And for a moment, Tom dared to believe, but then it was gone and all that remained was Harry's twisted instincts.

Tom buried himself closer, cradling Harry close as he tried to remember, tried to burn every moment into his mind. Harry's smile, his touch, his smell, the way he'd tug on Tom's sleeve and run his hand through his hair if he wanted something.

All those moments gone, and so many more wasted. Eternity could have passed and it would have been insufficient. Yet the patronus' were ready, and they would not stay forever.

Tom pulled back, leaving Harry's shirt stained in heavy splotches as his body shook with uncontrollable tremors.

Tom could do this. He had to.

All that mattered was Harry. And nothing would change that now.

The Ministry would not have Harry, not in any form, which offered Tom no other option.

The patronus' slipped away, the spells and enchantments fading as Tom's surroundings plunged into darkness, drawing away all light and happiness. Tom barely noticed, he was already trapped in his nightmare, having lost the one thing he needed more than life itself.

Finger's traced down to rest on Harry's exposed bandaged neck. It wasn't supposed to end like this.

He had to be quick, before the Ministry realised his intentions, before his own resolve would shatter. To save them both from a fate worse than death. And this way, they would always be together. Always.

"Harry-" Tom choked on his own words, his eyes swelling. "I-"

Harry's undamaged eye, bloodshot and haunted snapped open.

Toms' world spun as Harry moved, impossibly fast, as if he'd not been asleep for months.

And then their roles were reversed as Tom lay where Harry had been. With Harry's frozen hand tight around Tom's neck, and Harry's eye darting back and forth unseeing, and yet he was so enthralled, as if Tom was perfection in itself.

One kiss to claim Tom as his own.

Tom shivered, as coldness beyond anything held him still, yet he could not protest or look away. Harry leant forwards, his mouth twisted into a sickly grin as his lips ghosted against Tom's.