IV.
Harry Potter flips the book open, flitting through the pages.
It feels like something inside of him lights up at the touch. Something comes alive, inside him.
When Lucius Malfoy had slipped it into Ginny Weasley's cauldron, he'd been curious. Cautious, maybe, because he'd wish no harm on someone that is part of the closest thing he can call family, but mostly curious.
So he'd taken it. Stolen it, indirectly, from Lucius Malfoy, and really, that makes the entire thing worth it.
He flips from page to page, and despite the unusual feeling that accompanies Harry's touch, the exhilarating feeling of right , the book seems relatively unremarkable. There's nothing written, just endless pieces of blank paper, ready to be marked on.
Huffing out a breath, he snaps the book shut, and, though he feels something inside himself grow cold at the loss, tosses it into his trunk.
He hesitates to say he's disappointed, but really, he'd hoped there might be something special about it. Special enough that Lucius Malfoy would want Ginny Weasley to find it. Would make Harry's whole body light up like magic.
Guess not , he thinks, and he flops onto his back on his bed at the Burrow, staring at the ceiling.
As he thinks about it, really thinks, he begins to hope that this year may be normal, after all.
It'd be nice not to have to deal with any nasty surprises.
After the fiasco at King's Cross, Harry had fallen into uneasy slumber. And the diary, sensing the embarrassment, the anger, the injustice of it all––
Had seen its chance, and it took it.
Even just a fleeting, forgotten touch could link a horcrux to a person. Could form a connection beyond words. And when two horcruxes make contact…
Well. Unprecedented things are bound to happen.
Harry jolts awake, an electric shock to his entire body.
He sits up, chest heaving at the suddenness of it, but as his breath calms, he can't seem to find anything unusual to have woken him.
And then…
"Harry Potter…"
Harry's head swivels around so fast he can hear his neck crack.
"Hello?" he calls out, softly, into the darkness.
" Harry… Potter…"
Harry's sure, now.
That definitely came from his school trunk.
He looks over, sees the snoring forms of his dorm mates, of Ron, and turns back, carefully, to his trunk once more.
"Harry…"
Harry shudders. His name, on that tongue…
It feels like a siren's call. Sends Harry's whole body tingling, like pins and needles up and down his spine, from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. Feels like connection.
And Harry––Harry has always craved connection, since he had been denied it for so long.
Before he knows it, he has the soft, black leather gripped tightly in his hand, kneeling on the floor as his whole body sets on fire. He can feel a buzzing in his ears, in his chest, in his scar ––feels a completeness so real, so present, it chokes him with the onslaught of it.
He trails a finger down the spine, and he observes the book with keener eyes than before. And there, at the bottom––
Tom Marvolo Riddle.
Harry's brow furrows, even as he caresses the book, unnoticed.
Why would Lucius Malfoy have someone else's diary? Why would he give it to Ginny Weasley, of all people?
Harry has every intention of finding out.
But first…
Harry, though hesitant to release the book, reluctantly sets it aside as he roots through his trunk. Quill. Ink.
He rests his back against the side of his bed, his only light that of the moon, shining through the window. He props the book against his thighs, getting comfortable. His skin feels warm where it makes contact, even through his pajama bottoms.
Harry doesn't stop to think before he puts pen to paper.
My name is Harry Potter.
He watches with anticipation, and feels just a sliver disappointment when nothing happens immediately, and then––
Hello, Harry Potter.
My name is Tom Riddle.
Harry grins, triumphant, blinding, even in the darkness.
He knew there was something special about this book.
Harry Potter and Tom Riddle became fast friends, and it was not long after Harry discovered his Parseltongue ability that Tom had become even more present in Harry's life. Harry had also, strangely, felt a driving urge to be closer to Ginny Weasley.
Tom marked it down as sisterly affection.
Harry secretly entertained the idea of a crush.
And slowly, with Tom's company, Harry had felt himself growing stronger, bolder––more confident, just like Tom. He became more keen to be around Ginny, to be more forward in his friendship with her. And as he spent more and more time with her, he saw her grow weaker, paler.
But Tom said not to worry, and so Harry didn't.
Harry would do almost anything for Tom.
Harry, Tom writes.
Harry smiles down at the page, fingers tracing the words with affection.
Yes, Tom?
The words rest there a moment, and Tom––dear, charismatic, kind Tom––in a moment of uncharacteristic hesitation, waits before he answers.
And then, he says, Harry, you have come to my world.
And Harry had. In memories, Harry had seen Tom, had heard the low tone of his voice. And it wasn't much, it wasn't enough, but it was what Harry had. Harry was used to not enough; he knew how to appreciate it.
If you'll allow me… May I introduce you to a part of yours? I used to go there, when I walked your world.
Harry feels excitement flutter in his stomach. He refuses to call them butterflies.
Immediately, he says, Of course!
And strangely, Harry has the funniest feeling that Tom is smiling. Not kindly, not softly…
But hungrily. Sharklike.
Wonderful.
Harry looks up at Tom in utter, abject fear.
He had woken up in the center of a ritual circle, in a yawning, ornate cavern he'd never seen. Each rune was carefully drawn in red. It looked suspiciously like blood. And that dark silhouette on the floor, with red hair like a halo, spanning the floor like a sunrise…
That looked like a body.
That looked like Ginny .
"Tom?"
Tom smiles down at Harry, his eyes glinting in the low light. Something red glistens on his face, coating a cheek, dripping down his jaw.
"Harry," the older boy purrs, stepping closer, though still careful to stay outside of the circle. Careful not to smudge his work.
And suddenly, Harry is so, so afraid. Suddenly, when he sees movement in the corner of his eye, he is sure he is not imagining it.
Something is circling, and it is not just the basilisk.
Tom had been a mentor. A teacher, a friend, a family.
"Tom…" Harry says, backing away, but his feet won't move. They can't break the circle.
Tom shakes his head, his once stoic face, so handsome and caring in memories, seems suddenly so cold. So ruthless, and yet still so, so hungry.
"Don't worry, Harry," Tom says, wiping something from Harry's cheek. His thumb comes away red.
"Today, you and I will be linked forever . I will be your eternal mentor, your brother. Your idol. I will mold you into me."
His eyes shine with something feverishly greedy.
"Today, you and I become one."
When the pain starts, it is nothing compared to the raw, scraping feeling of betrayal fresh in Harry's chest, right where his heart lay.
Right where Tom had carved himself, and had every intention of staying.