It looked like the Riddle.
Almost.
Same handsomeness, same form – it was as if the painting had sprung to life. Except … not quite right.
Instead of the gorgeous, albeit cold, blue eyes that Harry had seen in the painting, these were like obsidian ink. Then, in sharp contrast to the bloodlessly pale skin that had been creamy and healthy in the painting, the Monster's veins dipped to the same darkness as his gaze. Coupled with his dark clothing, he looked like an old black and white photograph. Something sucked dry. Only his lips, vibrant and bloody, had colour.
It smiled. "There are six of us," it answered, leaning against the door but not stepping in. "You've met the Beast, the Riddle, and You-Know-Who here." Unlike Voldemort's voice – high and cold – the man before him had Riddle's voice, pleasing in its baritone.
"And you're the Monster," Harry clarified.
"Quite," it murmured.
Okay. So the bastard looked rather creepy, Harry could admit that, but he didn't see how he was a monster. At least, he didn't see how this incarnation was any worse than the others in this house. The Nameless, or 'You-Know-Who' as the Monster referred to him, was actually more frightening simply from a visual comparison.
And if the Monster looked like a distorted version of the Riddle, he was guessing that the Beast in some way held resemblance to the Nameless too.
He glanced at the current painting again. You-Know-Who's expression was blank as he watched the two of them closely, though his attention seemed focused more on the Monster. Harry exhaled a sharp breath.
"Why do they call you a monster?" he asked quietly. The Monster shrugged.
"Why do they call you the offering?" it returned.
"By all means, feel free to answer that one too," Harry snapped. "I've been here less than 24 hours; I have no idea what's going on."
The screams, at least, had stopped.
"Must be frustrating," the Monster said. "Why don't you just run?" It took a step back, away from the door, as if to clear the path. Harry's insides rolled.
Maybe he was being biased and judging, but he wasn't going to trust anything called a 'monster' quite that easily. Still.
"The Riddle said I should leave when it gets dark, as well," he remembered, noting the words. Trying to figure this out.
"He would," the Nameless stated. Harry glanced over at the painting again, a shudder running down his spine. He was certain he'd heard that exact phrasing earlier today. Except that time, it had been the Riddle's response to Voldemort telling him he shouldn't leave.
It was a combination of unhelpful contradictions, and made it impossible to decide which one of them he was supposed to trust. Maybe he couldn't trust any of them, and wasn't that a cheerful thought?
But either way, he couldn't run. He'd volunteered for this. Admittedly, he hadn't expected this precisely, but nevertheless he wouldn't run now.
He looked between the two of them cautiously, a bad taste in his mouth. His limbs still felt uncommonly heavy – had done since dinner.
"Why's he called a monster?" he asked the painting instead.
"Because that's what he is," You-Know-Who replied.
"What's he done that's so bad?" Harry persisted, looking for an explanation rather than some tautological nonsense.
The Nameless said nothing in response, mouth turned down thin.
"What have you done?" Harry asked the Monster instead, frustrated by the lack of proper answers. It had answered him before, so maybe it would do so again.
"Come out and I'll show you," it said, giving him a singularly lovely, close-lipped smile. Harry's eyes narrowed, and he folded his arms.
It still hadn't stepped into his room, and considering Voldemort had told him not to leave it … he could only guess that the Monster couldn't enter. He wondered if the same held true for the Beast.
"Does that line normally work for you?"
It shrugged at him, smile only broadening. Harry shook his head, turning away. This day had been one development after another, and he was exhausted. He sighed, tugging a hand through his hair, and stared towards the window. Not that there was much of a view, with the building encased in shadowy night.
The screaming sounded again, shrill and sharp. Harry swore under his breath, whipping around again. The Monster continued to stand there, looking like he wasn't planning on moving anytime soon. Its eyes were less friendly now, as if it knew Harry's thoughts, and his dismissal. Knew that it made Harry's skin crawl. Harry wondered if he should just march over and shut the door in his face. Probably.
The screaming had stopped once more.
"Are you doing that?" Harry asked, in regards to the … screaming. He didn't know how the other could possibly be doing it, but …
The Monster opened its mouth properly for the first time, under Harry's scrutiny. Its lips stretched wide and cavernous, revealing teeth sharper than any he'd ever seen. Even those of the wolves that hunted in the forest. They were startlingly white, and between them rested a black, snake-like tongue. The screaming hit him a moment later – the voices spewing out of the Monster's mouth, as if they were trapped in his throat.
Please, Harry, help me! Stop him! Please, just make it stop, I'll do anything –
Harry blanched. He stared, wide-eyed, unable to look away from the sight. After a moment, the Monster's teeth clicked shut once more. Back to a pleasant smile, and silence with it.
Oh god. Harry swallowed.
He glanced at the painting once more, even if he suspected no reassurance or explanation would be found.
The Nameless raised a delicate brow at him, picking at its nails.
Worst of all, Harry had an uneasy feeling in his gut that hearing his loved ones crying out when the Monster screamed was only the beginning. His fists clenched at his sides.
He was starting to get the awful suspicion that this was going to be a nightly ritual. He could shut the door, but that wouldn't stop him from hearing, would it? How the hell was he supposed to sleep with all of this? He never asked for this! Well, he volunteered, but he hadn't expected it to go like this.
He'd expected to be hunted, ripped to pieces and eaten on the spot – not thrown into this 'game' where he had to willingly choose to step out and die. He'd already volunteered for death once. It wasn't so easy to do so again, when he'd done his part on the matter already.
"What do you want?"
"You," the Monster said simply. "I want my offering. And I won't stop until I have it."
"It?" Harry repeated incredulously. "I'm not a bloody it. Person. Human. Is this registering to any of you?" He looked between both of them, eyes flashing. "From the minute I arrived, you've all been acting like this is some kind of game."
"It is a game," the Nameless stated. "More or less."
Harry's jaw tightened at that. Of course, the Riddle had said something similar, but the fact that they all obviously treated this – his life – as some kind of amusement…
Bile clawed up his throat.
"You make me sick." His voice cracked.
"So run," the Monster all but sang. "It's not like you chose to be here."
"Actually, I did," Harry snapped. They both froze.
"You … volunteered?" Nameless repeated.
"You act like that's never happened before," Harry said. For creatures so different in countenance, they had exactly the same expression now as they stared at him. Harry blinked. "It has happened before, right? Parents for children? Siblings for siblings?"
It didn't make sense that he would be the only one.
"He actually is the Offering," the Nameless murmured, breathless.
"That's what you've been calling me the whole time?" Harry raised his brows. It was hardly a new development, after all, though it didn't make any sense to him.
"Does the Beast know?" the Monster asked the painting. "The others?"
The others. He'd met four out of six. For a moment, he wondered what the hell they called themselves. He wondered, too, if there was a nice one among them. The Heart would be a nice one to meet, all things considered.
"Know what?" Harry snapped. "What do you mean? What are you talking about? Why is my volunteering such a big deal?"
He wasn't sure if this was frightening, or just confusing. He was veering towards confusion, considering the safety of the room would leave terror pointless. The Monster was intimidating, but if it really couldn't get at him so long as he didn't leave the room … he had nothing to be scared of.
Meeting it outside of the room, in the middle of the night, would be a different matter entirely. One he sincerely intended to avoid.
When the Monster continued to simply study him, he looked to the Nameless again for explanation.
"He can't tell you anything," the Monster stated then. "I can. The Riddle will. The Beast and the Nameless can't. It's against the rules."
"You can but the Riddle will? And you keep going on about rules?"
"The Monster is a monster – outside of stepping into this room, it can do whatever it wants. It is an abomination," the Nameless said tightly. "That doesn't mean it will. The Riddle is compelled to answer any questions that you put towards him, regarding the house and your … situation."
But, of course, as the name suggested, that didn't mean the bastard answered straight. He answered in his namesake, even if the information was probably correct. Bloody fantastic.
"And the Beast?" Harry pressed. "Why can't he do the same as the Monster? And don't say it's because he's not the Monster."
The Nameless' jaw clicked shut again from where he'd been about to speak.
"It goes against the rules for the Beast to do so," the Monster said, shrugging. "He can't."
"Why don't you just break the rules? What's stopping you?" He was definitely getting a headache. Just being killed would have been so much easier.
"Nobody breaks the rules," the Nameless said.
"Why not?" Harry persisted. No answer came. "Beast, Riddle, Nameless, Monster. What about the other two? What can they do? Who are they? Am I going to meet them on a bloody full moon or something?"
He didn't know why he looked at You-Know-Who when the painting simply continued to pick at its nails, watching him but not replying. Harry figured he probably couldn't.
He wondered what the point of the bastard was. He assumed, if this was a game, that he would have a point to being there. Though really, what was the point of a nameless thing?
He looked at the Monster again.
"Let me guess, you don't fancy answering any of these various queries?" Harry huffed, jaw clenched.
"Why do something for free, when I can do it for a price?" the Monster purred.
"And what's the price?"
"Don't," Nameless warned. Harry ignored him this time.
"Oh, that depends on what you want to know," the Monster said. "It could be your first smile, perhaps the scent of your childhood home, or the sound of your voice."
Harry's mouth had gone dry. What the hell type of pricing list was that supposed to be? He looked at the Nameless.
"You mentioned a library. Can I find my answers there?" he asked.
"Some of them, and the rules," the painting replied. "You can also ask the Riddle, free of charge, providing you can solve what he's actually saying."
But if he wanted immediate and unlimited knowledge, he needed to deal with the Monster.
At least, that was what he assumed hovered unsaid on the Nameless' countenance.
"No deal then," Harry said to the Monster. It bared its teeth at him in response.
"You're going to have to pick a side sometime, offering."
"My name's H–"
"Don't."
Harry looked at the painting once more – the initial sharpness of its first reprimand was back, the urgency for silence.
"You really do have a thing about names, don't you?" Harry returned.
"Names have power," the painting replied. "You should be careful what you name, and who you give your name to."
Harry's brow furrowed.
If names had power, what power did 'offering' have? Because they certainly seemed to have something about that one, and his volunteering.
"It already knows my name." The screams had addressed him directly, after all.
"Knowledge is not the same as giving something. He cannot use your name freely," the painting said.
Right. Had he mentioned that dying would have been the easiest option?
He would have asked, too, what the other meant by 'picking a side' – but he had a feeling that unless he wanted to exchange something, he wouldn't be getting a helpful response.
Still, how much did he really need his first smile, anyway?
It seemed stupid to do anything hasty before he'd looked at the library, though. For now, he was stuck, stuck until daybreak.
He had a feeling that it was going to be a very long night.
The next morning dawned with bleary eyes and exhaustion.
Harry hadn't got a wink of sleep. The Monster had stayed outside of his door all night, screaming those voices at him when it couldn't get in, and he wouldn't come out.
It was only when the first thin shaft of sunlight hit the door from the window, that it disappeared. Fuzzed like a bad connection, and vanished from sight.
The painting went black; and the Riddle was back, eyeing him with the same terrible look of amusement that they all had. Harry squared his shoulders.
"The rules. What are they?" he demanded immediately.
"Good morning, Harry," Riddle replied, settling comfortably against the frame. "I see you survived your first night."
"You have to answer my questions," Harry said. Tom grimaced in response to that.
"I presume you mean the rules of the house?"
"What else would I mean?" Harry felt wariness coil in his gut.
"Rules of the house," Riddle said. This time, his voice was flat, expression blank. "One – if you eat something, you cannot leave again. Two – respect the paintings and the house. Three – seek not to name the nameless. Four – if you are granted the right to leave, don't look back. Five – coming or going, there is a price to pay. Same goes for the moves of the game."
Harry blanched. Well, at least it wasn't a riddle? He supposed the painting had to offer the rules, if asked. Even if Riddle had freedom to, well, riddle on other matters. But … well, he'd eaten, hadn't he?
"You could have told me this before I went down for dinner," he hissed, fists clenching. Riddle smirked at him.
"You didn't ask. You chose to dine with the Beast."
Harry spluttered at that response. He didn't ask? How was he even supposed to know to ask in the first place?
"And … the offering? What does that mean?"
"The offering. The sacrifice. It is given to the house and its inhabitants, by the village, to keep Voldemort from entering the town." Riddle was looking at him as if he was stupid for needing to ask. Harry's teeth gritted.
"Does it make a difference that I volunteered? I'm not a sacrifice, I chose this."
Riddle's expression changed, just as the others' had.
"Then that is beyond my jurisdiction," the painting said evenly. "You would need to ask somebody else."
"Who? The Monster?" Harry laughed bitterly. "What's the point of you then? What does 'beyond your jurisdiction' even mean?"
"If that is the path you choose –" Riddle eyed him for a moment. "Go and have breakfast. The Beast is waiting for you. And eating no longer matters. Be careful."
"I met the Monster and you're telling me to be careful now?"
Riddle merely gave him a smile in response.
Harry sighed.
He supposed surviving the first night counted for something, at least.