"You should not be here."
Harry whipped around fast, just as a hand landed on his neck. Too late for restraint. Too late not to see.
His mouth dried, first with how the Beast had got there so fast, and second with the possibility of fast-approaching death. But ultimately, in the burnt-gold strokes of dawn and maybe the last seconds of his life…
All he could possibly do was stare.
Scarlet eyes widened and burned beneath his scrutiny. Harry's heart raced.
The Beast looked like the Nameless, that much was true. Same eyes, same hairless head and lipless mouth, no nose and almost skeletal features, but … christ…
"Your chest …" he mumbled.
Of course, the Beast's heart was in a box, and so it couldn't possibly be in his chest too, but…
It would have been easier, in a way, if there was nothing where the organ was supposed to be. That could be expected, anticipated.
Instead, there was a red rose where the heart should have been, the stem of it taking the place of the sternum. The thorns, however, were grotesquely elongated, wrapping and twining around the rib cage and disappearing into the skin. There was only a thin, translucent layer of skin, pale as glass, atop the ribs. Easily seen through.
He was starting to wonder if there wasn't a thing about the roses.
"Isn't that painful?" Harry's voice cracked.
If the heart was wired to the Prophecy, and the Prophecy to the house – then this was the same, on the physical scale of a body. Harry swallowed thickly.
The dripping seemed to come from blood hitting the rose petals, and sliding down. It was as if Voldemort had thorns in his veins, too. As he watched, one of the petals fell gently towards the ground, vanishing right as it reached the bottom of his ribs.
The Beast continued to stare back at him, even more livid now. Harry took a step back, but the Beast just moved with him.
"You should not be here," Voldemort said again, voice softer than before. Harry tensed.
"You don't want to kill me," he said, fingers sliding around a freezing wrist. Honestly, considering the situation, he wasn't remotely comfortable with having the other's hand on his throat. He felt like he was going to be sick. "I talked to the Prophecy. I can help you."
The Beast's head tilted to the side, a fluid, reptilian movement – entirely too predatory for Harry's liking.
"I told you not to come to this side of the house. You are a fool."
"Monster said that too." Harry forced a faint grin, frantically trying to think of an escape plan. A way out of this. Maybe … maybe if he just got to his room, he would be safe? "Why do neither of you want me talking to the Prophecy?"
Maybe, if the Monster couldn't enter his room, nor could the Beast? He could bloody well hope.
He could feel the house shifting around him, starkly visible in the growing light of dawn.
"I never thought I'd agree with the abomination about anything," Voldemort said coldly.
Harry took another step back, tugging at the Beast's hands, but the fingers only constricted tighter on his throat in response.
Well, it solved the problem of trading something to look at the Beast, at least. Even if he'd taken his prize accidentally, he'd taken it nonetheless. Considering all this emphasis on offerings, maybe there was something to be said about the power of taking, too.
He was getting the horrible feeling, though, that he might pay the price anyway – with his life. His jaw clenched.
"Why shouldn't I talk to the Prophecy?" he asked again. "Do you not want the curse to be broken?"
"Prophecies are tricky things," the Beast said. "So are children. You may talk to the Prophecy all you wish, at night."
"What's that supposed to mean? You may as well tell me, before you presumably try and kill me." Harry kept his gaze locked on Voldemort, as if looking away would break the spell. Provoke the other into attacking. "Also … roses?"
Maybe it would break the spell. The man was called 'the Beast' after all.
"Not the shadow, but the clock. Not the curse, but the lock."
"Just because the lot of you keep saying that, doesn't mean I know what it means," Harry hissed, frustrated. "But I do know that I'm going to give you a heart again. That's how I end this, isn't it? The Prophecy told me. True Love's Kiss," Harry dared.
"That's how they refer to me."
"What?" Harry's brow furrowed.
"The shadow," Voldemort murmured, watching him inscrutably. "It's what your village used to call us, before they called us a curse. The shadow upon the town. A shadow is temporary, it passes. All shadows must end when they reach the light, by definition. Curses have connotations of something far more permanent – something deliberately inflicted – than a shadow, which is just the byproduct of something else."
Harry blinked. Why couldn't the Beast have told him this before? Was it because he hadn't met all of the pieces? Or because he hadn't met the Prophecy?
If … if the Prophecy really was wired to the game, controlling the board, like the Monster had suggested … then the Prophecy controlled what questions the pieces could and could not answer. After all, if something was out of the jurisdiction of the Riddle, it was in the Prophecy's hands, unless it was within the Monster's domain.
Maybe certain moves could only be made under certain conditions. Hermione had said that though the moves were unlimited, there was always a price to be paid for them.
Considering the price was currently looking to be his life, that wasn't all that comforting a thought.
Not the shadow, but the clock … not the curse, but the lock…
Beast by day, Monster by night. Beware the war, when shadow meets light.
"I don't understand." His eyes moved over the rose on Voldemort's chest.
"It can be difficult to see in darkness, but you do seem more obtuse than most. Sometimes, I feel I should kill you for that alone."
The fingers tightened again, this time to the point where he couldn't breathe.
"If you're the shadow … but you're not a shadow … because you're a … clock? If you're a clock, what would you be counting down to? Or am I supposed to be ignoring you and focusing on a clock?" he wheezed.
This was maddening.
He'd never been good at riddles. There was an awful irony to that, now.
But the one thing he'd always been good at was surviving.
Harry couldn't help but notice that for all the Beast clenched an iron, suffocating grip around his windpipe … he hadn't killed him yet. And out of all the ways to murder someone, there had to be more effective methods.
He'd yet to be ripped into pieces, for one.
And if the Beast wasn't a shadow, but rather a clock … then did that mean that the curse was a lock, by the same logic? Harry had no idea, but it was an ominous thought. Or maybe not.
Maybe the curse was a lock, in the sense that breaking the curse broke the lock on the Beast's heart.
"I cannot say."
Harry would have sighed, if he had the air to. He squirmed in the relentless grip, as Voldemort studied him with cool eyes. Black spots popped in his vision. He was on the verge of passing out, when the Beast finally let go, eyes flaring from scarlet to white.
Harry doubled over, nearly collapsing to his knees, coughing and gasping down air. He massaged his throat gently, glancing up. The Beast's eyes were red again, so he almost thought he had imagined the change.
"Why didn't you kill me? That's what you do, isn't it?"
"To offerings, yes. Like Miss Granger."
"I'm an offering!"
"No, you are The Offering."
"Because I volunteered? What difference does it make?"
The Beast paused. "An offering is offered up by the village, and thus has already been sacrificed. The Offering is an act of offering, in itself, ongoing. He who is offering. You do not yet belong to us – I cannot take that which you don't offer."
Harry's eyes widened. Well, that explained a lot.
"And the Monster?" he queried.
"The Monster does not abide by the rules. He will take indiscriminately, if you leave your room. He is – as Miss Granger put it – the chaotic agent in the game."
"He didn't take from me."
"You made a vow of safe passage with him. He was bound by it to try and protect you," the Beast said. "He must want your soul very much, to agree to such a thing. He wants you to like him. I presume he kissed you."
The Beast's lips pressed thin with distaste. Colour flooded Harry's cheeks.
"Well, it was that or my first love, so I think I did okay," Harry snapped.
"You shouldn't trust his kisses," Voldemort said. "They're dangerous."
"Kisses cursed?" Harry snorted – still eyeing the rose in Voldemort's chest. Really, it did have to hurt, all those thorns twisting inside him. And he couldn't help but notice that the Beast hadn't answered his question about the pain.
"Has anyone told you how the curse came to be?" Voldemort asked quietly, hauling him up. A hand pressed against the small of his back to turn him around and guide him further away from the left side of the house. Towards the dining hall.
Harry's head twisted around.
"No. The Prophecy only spoke about the future. I believe his exact words when I asked him how to fix this – meaning the curse – were 'a true love's kiss' and 'giving Voldemort the heart of an offering'. Then he told me I should get back to my room before dawn."
"And the Past? What did the brat say to you?"
"Outside of that he'd kill me if I wasn't friends with him?" Harry raised his brows. "That things are not what they seem, and that the future is informed by the past."
"He told you things are not as they seem?"
Harry froze at the sudden fury in the Beast's tone. His jaw clicked shut.
"He said I need both the past and the future to see clearly," Harry replied tersely. "Honestly, a bit of clear vision would be very useful now. The lot of you aren't exactly as helpful as you could be. Speaking of – what the hell is this about sides; and you still haven't explained the roses?"
There were far too many questions that demanded answers, here.
Voldemort came to a stop.
"Not the shadow, but the clock," he said again.
"Yes, you're not a shadow, you're a clock. I got that part, if that's what you're trying to say," Harry said irritably. "What are you counting down to, then?"
"The Prophecy counts a different clock, to I."
"What are you counting down to?" Harry asked again. Suddenly, there was something that was alarmingly close to pity in the Beast's gaze. It made Harry's insides lurch. He repeated the question, louder this time.
"When the last petal falls, nobody will be able to break the curse anymore."
Harry's gaze locked on the rose uneasily. He tried to judge how many petals it had left. Not too few, but definitely not as many as he would have liked.
"And I am, presumably, dead then?"
"That depends."
"On what?"
"On you."
Well, that wasn't the most illuminating of answers. Harry let out a deep breath.
"And the offerings? Will the offerings stop if the curse cannot be broken?"
"No. It will never stop," Voldemort said. "It will spread."
"… what do you mean, it will spread?"
"Beyond the borders of the village. The shadow will spread, and devour everything in its path until nothing is left." The Beast sounded far too casual for Harry's tastes. His mouth dried out. They were in the dining room, but he had no appetite left.
He looked at the rose again, blood running cold.
"And the Monster, where does he come into this? He's … trying to stop the curse from being broken? So that the shadow spreads?"
"It is difficult to say what the Monster wants. Monsters can be as tricky as Prophecies can. He does generally attempt to stop offerings from advancing in the game, despite offering a piece of the puzzle himself."
"You said generally."
The Beast looked away and said nothing in response. Harry's teeth gritted, and he resisted the urge to rub his temples. He was exhausted and he could feel a headache building.
"Why are you suddenly being so forthcoming? I thought only the Riddle and the Monster could answer my questions openly." Harry asked.
"The board has shifted. The past is open to you."
Harry's eyes flickered. He was silent for a long moment, mulling over the new information. He didn't exactly miss that 'the past' being open to him could be taken two ways either.
"You asked if anyone told me how the curse started."
"Yes," the Beast said, a small smile curling his lipless mouth.
"How did it?"
"You would need to consult the Past for that – not now," Voldemort interrupted, as Harry started to move towards the left side of the house.
"You're seriously still stopping me from going to the left side of the house? Why? I already know what's there."
"Prophecies are tricky things, and children demand amusement. Why do you think this is a game? It doesn't have to be."
Harry's eyes widened slightly.
"Why does the Prophecy only want me visiting at night? That's when the Monster is wandering around."
"Yes. You have read Miss Granger's notes."
Harry definitely had a headache.
"I have a feeling you're referring to a specific comment, but I don't know what it is," he said. The Beast looked at him with what could only be called irritated contempt.
"You are unbelievably obtuse. The Monster wanders around at night. Yes."
"… the Prophecy wants me to have to – oh." Harry could have hit himself. "Night forces me to confront the Monster. Offerings would stay in the room, otherwise. Where they're safe." He frowned. "I thought everybody here hated the Monster."
"Riddle does not. Everybody else does. But he is a piece as much as any other."
"And to break the curse, I have to confront all the pieces," Harry sighed. And so the Prophecy forced him to do so, by stripping away the other options. "You'd think, if the Prophecy wants the curse broken so badly, that he'd stop you from tearing the offerings to pieces."
The Beast just looked at him again, like he was being incredibly moronic. It was getting tiring. That look of 'you're missing something'.
"I take it you're not going to explain?"
"I am not the Riddle. I am not compelled to answer you."
In other words, he was annoying the other.
Fantastic.
Harry glanced at the rose again.
"Do you have any way of pruning it?" he asked quietly. "Roses can be difficult to take care of." And this one was clearly overgrown. Oh, it looked remarkably good considering a body was hardly ideal for growing roses, and he could only assume it was in some way … enchanted, but…
Voldemort looked at him with something like surprise.
"So are hearts, or so I am led to believe," was the response. Harry dropped his gaze for a moment.
"I used to take care of the flowers in the village. When we had any, anyway. Do you want me to – can I –"
"I would not trust you to take a pair of scissors to my chest," the Beast said coldly. "You might tear it out."
"But you're in pain," Harry said. "There's no way you're not. You have – you have a bloody rose in your chest, it –"
"I could still kill you."
Harry's chin jutted up defiantly.
"Yes, but you don't want to. If you wanted to, you would have already done so. But you need me. To break the curse. You want –" The memory of the Beast digging his nails into his chest flashed through his mind. "You want my heart. I – oh my god. You took it literally. 'The heart of an offering.' You actually take – you do know that 'the heart of an offering' isn't literal?"
Voldemort's expression was stony.
"Don't be ridiculous, of course it is. What else would it be?"
Now Harry's chest was really aching.
"Love. Giving someone a heart, or possessing someone's heart, is a euphemism for love."
"No."
"Yes!"
"I have a rose in my chest. I daresay an actual heart will be of far more use, and has been of far more use, than any of your sentimental nonsense."
And with that, the Beast turned and stalked back towards the left side of the house.
The Riddle didn't look at him when he finally managed to find his way back to his room.
His head was spinning with new information. He felt almost dizzy with everything that had happened.
"The Prophecy said that the curse is broken by True Love's Kiss. Giving Voldemort a heart. I have to kiss the Beast and mean it, right?"
Of course, it seemed easy – except for the fact that he couldn't exactly fall in love on demand, even if he had wanted to. And he certainly didn't love the Beast.
The Riddle shot him a dark look – and it was only then that he realized that the painting was furious with him. He came to a halt.
"Or … not?" he added. "Are you annoyed that I made a deal with the Monster?"
But the Beast had just said that the Riddle was the only one who even liked the 'abomination'.
"What did you think of him, Harry?"
"Of whom? The Prophecy?"
"Yes."
Harry hesitated, trying to measure his words carefully.
"I felt sorry for him. He's a child. Being wired up like a machine can hardly be a pleasant existence."
"And being trapped in a painting, by all accounts, is so much fun."
"Trapped in a painting?" It was the first time Harry had heard it phrased in such a way. He couldn't help but remember the Past's comments too, and recall the knowledge that he could enter the paintings.
Indeed, if Hermione was to be believed and he had to confront each piece before kissing the Beast, then surely he would have to?
He studied the backdrop of the Riddle's portrait for the first time. It seemed to be the very room that he himself was in, mirrored. How dangerous could that be?
"You observe much, and see little," the Riddle said finally. "Perhaps because seeing will prove too painful an experience, while ignorance is bliss."
Harry's head tilted.
"Hermione said to beware the Prophecy." Among other things. "Because he controls the board?"
"What is a Prophecy?"
"A child." That was what they all seemed to be caught up about, certainly. The Riddle's lips curled, though his eyes remained deadly and cold.
"Indeed, he is. But what is an actual prophecy?"
"A … prediction of the future? A foretelling of something that will happen?"
"Prophecies are, by definition, a controlling agent. They are fate. They dictate a particular series of events to happen, out of the numerous potential futures that can occur within the parameters of free will."
"And the Monster is the counter," Harry said. "The chaotic agent. Yes, I already figured that out. I'm not completely stupid. The Prophecy and the Monster don't get along."
He'd seen the Monster running towards him in the painting, after all, even as a portal closed on it. If the Prophecy controlled the paintings, then he would assume that had been the Prophecy blocking the Monster's advance.
Was that why the Monster had complained of sides? The Monster's side – whatever it was the Monster wanted – and the Prophecy's side?
"And children?" Riddle questioned.
"What?"
"Children are creatures of infinite possibility. The whole of the future is open to them, theoretically, because they have yet to live them. And children are known to be imaginative."
"But the children in this house aren't," Harry murmured after a moment. "One is, like you, trapped in a painting, and stuck specifically in the past, not the future. And the Prophecy is … well. If a prophecy is fate, that's not a limitless future. You just said that. Prophecies dictate a certain future, or try to. The Prophecy is a child in chains."
"Not the curse, but the lock," Riddle stated.
"I break the lock, and the Beast's heart is no longer in a box? The Prophecy is no longer in chains?" The Riddle was giving him a look as if he was an idiot now. He was getting sick of that look and – oh. Oh god. "All of them?" Harry yelped.
"You have unlocked the Past. Information pertaining to the past. With time, all things in this house become unlocked."
It was amazing that everything he learned simply left him more confused.
But either way, he needed keys. And apparently, he'd done something to unlock the Past. Was it because he'd confronted the child in full? He had no idea.
It seemed simple enough. In the way a true love's kiss was simple.
Except, well…
Sometimes, things were locked for a reason.
A/N: Information dump chapter. I do apologize. On the bright side, I've extended the length to 13 chapters, not 10. And things will be picking up soon, once Harry figures things out. Thanks again to Lydia Theda for her amazing retrospective beta work!