Little Hangleton was quiet in the night – smothered in darkness, light shining insistently from the windows of the village pub.

Inside, the villagers gathered. Bustling, feverish, and sombre, all at the same time.

"No offering has ever lasted this long!" Ginny's fists clenched at her sides. "He's still alive. I know he is, I can feel it."

"Maybe the Beast is dead," Ron said.

"If he were dead," Lucius Malfoy said, "then the boy would have returned by now. This is foolishness."

"We can't do nothing." Ginny looked to her family, eyes ablaze and cheeks flushed. "Not after everything the monster has done to us. Not after everything Harry has sacrificed!"

The argument was a familiar one from the last three nights, circling around the house on the hill and the fact that no body – mutilated or otherwise – had been returned to them. Of course, there were the rare times in the past where no sign of the offering was ever returned to them but…

"There were strawberries growing," Sprout murmured from her spot at the back of the room. She looked revitalized for the first time since forever. "Rubeus saw them too. Strawberries again!" Her large hat quivered on her head with excitement.

There hadn't been strawberries growing in the village in living memory. They were a sweet fantasy, from an age before the curse. Any who might remember that time, were long since dead or taken.

"The sun is smiling brighter too," Luna said. "The house isn't so sad anymore. Haven't you looked at it this morning?"

"That proves nothing," Mayor Fudge's face reddened. "I am not risking my life for – for strawberries and the sun going up a minute earlier than normal!"

And so it went on.

"If the monster is weakened," someone said. "Then maybe we could kill it! Now would be the ideal time. It's taken enough from us. From all of us. Who's next? Who's next year?"

"Nobody survives that house. It's just not possible. If he was alive, he wouldn't still be in there."

"Well, I'm doing something," Ginny's shoulders drew back. "Even if the rest of you don't believe."

"It's too dangerous," Molly's voice trembled. "The poor boy, if he is still trapped in there with that – that thing – but-"

Adults weary, children growing bold.

And the storm began to brew, as the kitchen knives and matches began to disappear.

Obviously, something had to be done.

Harry was sure he would get right to it once he figured out what exactly that something was, and how to get himself out of bed when it felt like he was being gouged even in perfect stillness.

Past. Riddle. Nameless. Beast. Monster. Prophecy.

The Past wanted a friend. The Riddle wanted an intellectual companion, someone to talk and connect with. The Riddle, the very epitome even by name of someone difficult to understand, wanted to be understood and not just understand the minds of others in turn. The Monster who wanted emotions, memories – a place. The Beast wanted his heart quite literally, so Harry wasn't quite sure what to do about that one yet.

To love someone – mind, body and soul. That was easy to wrap his head around, however convoluted their efforts in practice.

And the Prophecy wanted the future of a curse broken. When you loved someone, you wanted a future with them, right?

But what did the Nameless want?

A name?

If they all wanted love in different ways, then Nameless seemed a strange manifestation of pure hate. His kiss was a curse, a promise of poison and murder that distorted something that should have been the epitome of love to something terrible. What would Nameless want out of love when he didn't seem to want love or a heart at all?

Harry rolled over, unable to find a comfortable position on the bed. Dug his nails so hard into his palms that the blood bloomed like rose petals in his palms. He promptly rolled over to turn his back again.

How could it be a name, when Eurydice had said that calling Nameless by his name – aside from breaking one of the rules of the house – would merge all the shards together? Surely that had to wait until they were all unlocked? He didn't think he should be slamming broken jigsaw pieces together.

But a name was overwhelmingly what the Nameless was lacking.

Tom Riddle. Lord Voldemort. They were both the same, weren't they? The same person?

What then, was the point of a name? Why was there both Tom Riddle and Lord Voldemort?

What did a name give, that he could offer instead of the actual name?

He sat up abruptly, eyes widening.

"Why did the Beast pick the name Voldemort?" he asked. Nameless' eyes narrowed from the painting. "You have to answer me now," Harry reminded. He'd unlocked the Riddle, and so such truths and possibilities.

"… Why would any of us want the name of the man who abandoned us?"

Harry smothered a grin, because as tragic as Nameless' non-answer was, it would be utterly inappropriate to smile. It faded as he glanced to the door, keeping an eye out for the others.

He was pretty sure neither the Riddle nor the Monster would be pleased to see him tackle Nameless, after what happened last time in the painting. He probably only had a limited amount of time before one or both turned up.

Last he checked, Riddle had gone to see about getting him more food. Harry had claimed to be far more hungry than he was, just to get some peace.

Step two – get out of bed.

Every movement shot pain through his bones, and stabs of agony like lightning sizzling through his forehead as his head pounded. The world swayed nauseatingly around him.

When he finally stood, his knees buckled instantly. The Nameless snorted. Harry gave him his best impression of a Basilisk in turn.

Step three – stand up, and go to the damn painting. Before he was stopped.

It was slow going. Every step was shaking by now, every step like walking on needles. He resisted the urge to check if his feet were actually bleeding. They felt like they should be.

He glanced at the door once more, wetting his lips.

Finally, he reached Nameless – tentatively held out a hand to the painting. Felt his fingers slide through, exhaled a breath.

Oh he could go through alright. Definitely the next one. The Nameless was studying him, no expression on his face. Or at least Harry felt like he was being studied, assessed to the very soul of him … he just wasn't sure if the painting could actually see him or not.

He took the plunge.

The darkness was just as thick as the first time. The type of shadow that could claw into his lungs and crowd his mouth and nose like smoke.

Those scarlet eyes were already fixed on him. For a long moment, Harry was petrified. Waiting for a move, perhaps, or trying to convince his legs that they should definitely start working now please.

A hand reached out, pale in eerie light from the other side of the painting. Fingers mapped out his features, and Nameless' lipless mouth twisted.

"You are afraid. Are you scared of the dark, Offering?"

Harry's jaw clenched, and he took step forward out of a pure, stubborn spite.

"I apologize for intruding on your painting without permission last time," he said. Recalling the rules. "I didn't mean any disrespect to you, or the house. May I proceed?"

The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end at the laugh he got in response to that particular comment. A hand snaked around his shoulders, drawing him further away from the light. At least in this room, he could find his way back.

"Uh, thanks," Harry said. Swallowed, tried to gather his scattered thoughts.

"You look terrible."

"Having the life squeezed out of you will do that." It slipped out before he could entirely help himself.

"If you're trying to get me to take it back-"

"-I'm not." Names. Names and their significance. Names were power, and Nameless had obviously been stripped of his. The name that they chose, before any of this. Of Voldemort. If Tom Riddle was a boy abandoned by his father, of who he was named, he didn't think he would want his father's name either. The name of someone he had been taught to believe was worthless. "I'm not so stupid as to think you would simply agree to that. I mean, if you want to, by all means I definitely won't complain and if you want to make a trade on the matter, by all means name your price … but I'm not here for that."

"I told you, you cannot give me what I want."

"Why don't you tell me what you want, and we'll see?" Harry kept his voice resolutely cheerful, even as he felt the thorny vines twisting around his legs again. Which, considering that right now he genuinely would not have been able to tell if they wormed into his veins was making him twitch. Far too much of a physical reminder of what was happening to him.

"Everything. The world." Nameless' tone was mocking. "I have far larger ambitions then trying to claim an offering that already belongs to me."

"I don't belong to you. If I did, I would be dead because like the Monster, or the Beast, you would have already taken what you wanted from me. The Past tried."

"The Past is a child."

And Nameless – Voldemort – hated how he had been as a child. Hated childhood and childhood things for the weakness he saw in them, the foolishness. Could barely stand the thought of Tom Riddle, when he had tried so hard to escape the trappings of that name and the boy he used to be. Harry considered.

Being important to someone was part of love. Accepting them was a loving act. To name something was to someway understand it. Names had power. He'd thought all this before. Steeled himself, now.

"Harry," he said, after a moment. "Harry Potter. Harry James Potter if you want to be really formal about it. Nice to meet you."

The Nameless stared at him. "What?"

"My name," Harry didn't lower his gaze. Heart frantic in his throat. "You can have it, if you like."

"There's a power in names," the Nameless said.

"Then I trust you won't abuse the privilege of having mine."

"Then you are a fool." Unlike what Harry had expected, those eyes had darkened. In the shadows, the vines and the thorns stirred with a violent unrest. "A fool who will be left without a name in the pages of history. Left without connection to what will come, or what has come before you. You may as well … be a ghost."

Harry felt the vines beginning to converge on him, the darkness too, like something visceral crowding every inch of his body.

"Wait-" he really hoped he didn't have to resort to naming in return. "Wait. You don't want to kill me."

"I wasn't going to kill you; you're already dying," the Nameless said. "I was going to put you somewhere for safekeeping."

That didn't sound all that more reassuring.

"You want power," Harry said, heart hammering. "I get that. You chose a name of power and it was taken from you, everything you were and worked for was taken from you by the curse, and made into a mockery. A man who didn't want his heart, is in physical agony without it. A child who wanted an important future is given no future at all. A man who can get into the minds of the others so well, is denied the possibility to be understood by anyone in turn…" Harry swallowed. "A man who spent his whole life being called a monster was turned into one. It's not fair."

"Life generally isn't." The Nameless seemed unmoved. Harry's fists clenched.

"And then some boy you never chose and never wanted walks into your home, with all the power to change your situation when you can't. When you don't have that power at all, and are just stuck in the Prophecy's game. A boy who you think is a complete idiot."

The vines stilled, a coiled serpentine threat around his limbs. But what could really hurt him now anyway? Harry didn't flinch, staring back even as his pulse fluttered frantic.

"I have a quest for you," the Nameless said, before he could continue. The thorns slowly melted away. Harry felt like the worst quest-hero ever, considering it was something of an effort not to throw up on the Nameless' feet.

The lack of not being murdered had to mean something, didn't it?

"A … quest?"

"To prove yourself worthy of the powers of the Offering. I have no use for children who rely on Prophecies and luck and love."

Harry squared his shoulders, jutting his chin up.
"What's the quest?" he asked.

"There is an item I wish for you to retrieve. A wand."

"Like a magic wand?" Harry's eyes widened.

"Yes, like a magic wand." The Nameless gave him a withering look. "Of course a magic wand."

Harry tried not to be offended, giving a nod.
"Where do I find this magic wand of yours?"

"In the Prophecy's room."

This day just kept getting bloody better.

"Don't be ridiculous," the Riddle said. "You're not facing the Prophecy in your current state."

"He's a child quite literally chained to his nursery bed," Harry replied. Making sure not to look too clammy, or at least to sound convincing considering he doubted he could make the beads of sweat on his forehead mysterious disappear.

"And what of the Monster?"

"He seems to be avoiding me fine so far." Harry headed for the door.

"I didn't put a question mark on the matter," Riddle grabbed his arm. "You're not going."

Harry's eyes narrowed.

"I'd rather not argue whilst we were getting on so well," he said. The grip only tightened further.

"No."

"And again we're back to I chose this and you don't get to tell me what to do." Harry's eyes flashed. "I'm already dying, not much point waiting lying in bed whilst I still have some strength to move." He forced his expression to soften, cupping Riddle's cheek. "I'll be fine. Trust me. I've survived the lot of you so far, haven't I?"

"I am communicating my concern."

"And your concern is appreciated and duly noted, but unnecessary. Besides, the Prophecy already promised me to you didn't he?" Harry rolled his eyes. He was pretty sure at this point Riddle was saying anything so that he didn't go. "Come with me if you're worried." He shot Riddle a teasing grin. "Protect me from all the Monsters, Tom."

Riddle gave him a sour look, but said nothing. And maybe it said something that in the end the other didn't come with him either.

Once he was down the corridor, some of Harry's facade of strength gave out. Still, he had to reach the Past's portrait and get through before daybreak, heaven's help him he did not want to end up in Eurydice's portrait inadvertently. If that was possible.

The tendrils caught him as he stumbled on the stairs.

"Careful," the Monster's voice came from next to his ear. "Falling down the stairs would be the most pathetic way an offering has died so far."

Harry's expression shuttered.

When he turned around again, however, there was no sign of the Monster anywhere.
Harry continued his way unimpeded, entering the Past's painting.

The Prophecy's room was the same as it had been the first time that Harry had seen it.

Those white eyes opened as he entered, fixing upon him with the same unnerving white.

"Do not give him the wand," the child said.

Harry wetted his lips.

"You know, when you say stuff like that, it makes me think you don't want the curse broken." He stepped further into the room, circling the room whilst keeping a healthy distance from the bed. Trying to spot the damn magic stick.

"I don't want him to have it." Now that sounded almost petulant.

Harry ignored him, for now, continuing his search. Ducked the letter opener thrown in his direction, that swerved towards his head again with an alarming accuracy.

"Why not?"

Another narrow miss, and the chest of drawers wrenched free and flung across the room in his direction. Harry threw himself to the floor, breath knocked out of his lungs. Rolled as the objects crashed down again – denting the ground he'd just been lying on.

He needed to find that wand, fast.

Where could it possibly be in the room though? Under the bed? Among the sheets? In that thrice damned chest of drawers set out to bludgeon his head into a pulp?

As the chest went for him again, Harry dove for the bed. Skidding under among the dust, coughing and groping in the dark as the vines writhed around him unnervingly. One seized his foot, dragging him out towards the chest again.

No wand.

He kicked at the roses, as more vines surged to immobilize and trap him. A far more vicious attack than he'd grown used to, even in this house.

Heart hammering, nausea rolling and throwing his reaction times off. The chest hovered ominously above him.

"Tom, don't you dare," Harry hissed. "You kill me, and you're stuck against that wall forever either way. You need me alive."

The chest hovered for several inches still, as the Prophecy seemed to debate crushing his skull. Then the drawers were placed back in the corner, and the vines flung him back towards Past's paintings. He landed hard, smacking his head against the wall with a groan - glaring at the damn brat.

"Go away," the Prophecy said.

"Not without the wand."

"I'll hurt you."

"I'm already hurting." Harry shoved himself to his feet, as the vines coiled like vipers about to strike. Harry shoved his sweat-plastered hair from his face, body trembling.

The wand wasn't under the bed. Where else could it be?

Harry lunged for the drawers next, wrenching them back open and rummaging through. It immediately lurched into his knees, another draw smashing into his stomach in a warning to keep back.

He grappled with it with a grimace of pain - bruises seeming nothing considering to the assault his body was already under.

"I'm ordering you to leave! He can't have the wand!" The Prophecy said.

"Yeah? I don't really do orders." Harry gasped the words out through sharp intakes and wheezes of air - aha!

His fingers grasped a slim stick of wood, yanking it out as a grin split his face. The grin vanished as the letter opener hurtled for his eyes.

He fled for the painting.

If that was the best the Prophecy had, he really didn't see what everyone was so worried about.

It didn't stop him from sagging in relief as the portrait closed up behind him.

He wiped a shaky hand over his forehead, heart stuttering something sickly. He leaned heavily against the wall of the painting – just a second to catch his breath.

But he couldn't stay there. Dawn, and the painting would change from Past to Eurydice, and then where would he be?

He staggered forward as Past watched him.

The young painting was pale, chewing on his lip, eyes dark.
"Don't go out there," the Past said.

"I have to."

"He'll kill you."

Harry continued onwards nonetheless, refusing to be deterred. He didn't have time for hesitations – he was so close that the end was actually beginning to be in sight! Nameless, Beast, Monster, Prophecy. If he could just get the wand to Nameless, that was only three more to go! Right?

He'd be halfway!

And hopefully not dead yet.

He emerged from the portrait to the sound of Past's entreaties, relieved to find that it was still dark. Not so relieved to find the Monster materializing in front of him, studying him.

God, Harry really wasn't sure he could do two battles in a row. He steeled himself.

"Take what you want of my memories and get out of the way," he rasped.

"You should not be out here," the Monster said. "As funny as I find you irritating the Prophecy, I'd rather my food source not be abruptly terminated."

"You lot have no faith whatsoever in my capabilities of survival," Harry said. He shoved his way past. "If you were that concerned, why haven't you absorbed this damn kiss off me yet? You-Know-Who seems to believe you can."

"That kiss is poison. I have no way of spitting out what I consume, it's not like I sit down at a dinner table."

Harry nearly rolled his eyes. Of course it was that.

"Unless, of course you happen to be in love with me?" the Monster materialized in front of him again.

Harry raised his brows. "Yeah, sorry. Not yet."

"Inconvenient."

"Love normally is," Harry said.

"Is it?"

"So I've been led to believe." Harry shoved past again, with an increasing unease. "I'd quite like to be in and out of the Nameless' painting tonight, thank you."

"Do you want the Nameless to have unspeakable power?" The Monster asked.

Harry glanced at him, nails digging into his palms. Suddenly intimately aware of the weight of the wand in his pocket.

"I want to break the curse, preferably without dying," Harry said.

"And you are willing to offer everything, sacrifice everything, to that goal?"

Harry's eyes narrowed. "Do I have a choice?"

"Presumably," the Monster said. "If you truly are the Offering. The others didn't. The curse is weakening, has it occurred to you to run?"

Harry froze, stopping and turning to face the Monster. The thought hadn't even crossed his mind since that first night.

"Where could I possibly run to?"

"Anywhere. Everywhere. If you can survive the forest wolves, you should be able to leave Little Hangleton now. If Riddle can leave his portrait."

Harry's mouth had drained dry. "Wouldn't stop the kiss from killing me, though."

"Unless you were in love with somebody else."

Harry faltered, scuffing his feet against the floor. "Why are you telling me this?"

"I told you, I don't want your memories terminated yet. I'm not done with you yet."

"I thought I'd be outside of your influence if I left?"

"Maybe if I was tied to the house," the Monster said. It leaned in, suddenly intent, licking its lips. "You would have better chance leaving if I helped you. I know this area, I know the passages and the secrets. I feed on people's innermost secrets and hopes. We could go, together."

"… You're asking me to run away with you." Harry's head was spinning. "What about the others?"

"What about them?" the Monster blinked. One eye, then the other, in quick succession. Eerily reptilian.

"You want me to just leave them?" Harry was surprised to find his blood boiling, chin jutting up. "What the fuck?"

The Monster's head tilted. "You have no reason to stay."

"I told them I'd help them."

"You're mine."

"Fuck you." Harry recoiled. "You don't get to just swan in, after ignoring me for however many days and leaving me to die, and claim I'm yours. You renounced your claim. I told them I'd help them, I'm not going to abandon them."

"Even when they're trying to actively kill you and don't want your help?" The Monster's eyes darkened to impossible levels. "You're a fool."

"You know the thing I find funny about all of this?" Harry took a step forward. Despite how all instincts generally screamed to keep distance between himself and the shadowy figure. He wetted his lips, cold prickling up his spine. "You've been loved before. The lot of you can be charming when you want to be, and I've seen people falling over themselves trying to be your friend and impress you in Past's memories. Before this curse began."

The Monster's expression soured.

"Is this really about me loving you, or is it about the lot of you learning to give a crap about somebody other than yourself?" Harry demanded.

"They were in love with a fairytale, Harry Potter. One that was always cursed."

Dawn spilled over them.

The Beast replaced the Monster in seconds, and Harry had never been so infuriated by that fact in his whole life. Because an explanation to that last comment would have been nice.

The Beast's eyes were white.

Harry stiffened, taking several large steps back – stumbling in his nausea.

"The wand," the Beast – or maybe it was the Prophecy he was really talking to? – said. "Give it back."

Definitely the Prophecy.

"Did you really expect that one to work after you just tried to murder me with the furniture?"

The other was silent for a moment, then the Beast's body gave a sickening crack. Limbs twisting as Harry's eyes widened and his stomach knotted. Nails sharpened to vicious claws, head rolling and snapping back more … beast-like than before.

Harry didn't know that was even possible.

It was at that point that he figured he should run though.

He sprinted for his room, on automatic. Or just away, really … except, the Prophecy was what had kept his room safe. There was nowhere in the house that was truly safe now.

Harry's head span. Each thump of his foot on the ground sent a new wave of pain throbbing through his body. Black spots popped in his vision.

He heard a feral snarl behind him, but didn't dare glance back.

Think. Think. Think. Where could he go? Somewhere small, so that the Beast couldn't fit?

The creature barrelled into him with impossible force. Harry didn't hesitate to kick at snapping jaws, breath trapped in his throat. Hot breath blew his hair back, saliva dripping to his leg as he scrambled back.

There was nothing human to the Beast now – no rationale in those eyes. They remained as white as the creature's hairless, hideous body, the colour of bone. Misshapen, with a gaping hole in the chest that oozed blood out of the beating rose-heart.

Scratches gouged into the floor.

"Voldemort-" Harry began.

"Harry!" The shout came from behind him. He narrowly missed another bite as he lurched to his feet, the Beast whining after another kick in the face.

The Riddle seized his arm, tugging Harry's battered body along as the Beast righted itself.

"You took your sweet time showing up." Harry could have kissed him. "What the hell is going on?"

"You irritated the Prophecy. Get behind me,and run. I'll see if I can buy you some time. Find somewhere to hide. Small, where he can't fit."

He'd gathered that part! He'd been rather more concerned with the fact that the Beast had turned into his rather more literal namesake, and seemed invested in ripping him from limb to limb. He staggered back as Riddle shoved him behind him, the former-portraits shoulders squaring as he faced the Beast.

It approached them slower this time, as if knowing there was no where they could really go. Heavy, feral breaths as Harry stared.

He didn't know how to describe the creature – vaguely canine, perhaps. Except canine seemed too pale a word, and there was no fur.

Harry swallowed, throat thick. "Don't suppose you can shift shape too?"

"Run."

"I'm not leaving you to-"

"You can swoon over my heroics later if you're still alive. I'll expect complete adoration. Now go. It's not me it's trying to kill and you're a liability right now. Go!"

The Beast lunged.
Riddle went for the heart. Exposed, pulsating, protected only by a thorny maze.

Harry's feet had rooted to the floor. They were going to kill each other. They were honestly going to kill each other.

The Riddle screamed as jaw clamped on his neck, and the Beast howled as fingers clawed at the wilting rose.

What happened if one piece died?

Then the Riddle was tossed aside with the grace of a ragdoll, slumping against the wall.

White eyes fixed on Harry.

Shit.

Harry stumbled back a step, as the Beast once again growled low in its throat. Harry held his hands up.

"Voldemort, you don't want to do this. Tom. I'm trying to help you."

It sprung at him again, and Harry flung himself to the floor towards the Riddle. Scrambling to think - maybe he should have ran when he had the opportunity. The Beast pivoted quickly.

"The wand." Riddle's voice was weak, but mercifully there. "Give me my wand."

Harry reached into his pocket. The creature attacked again, tongue serpentine between shark-sharp teeth. Harry's heart was hammering, shot off.

The wand landed between them, out of reach. White eyes gleamed, fixating on the stick.

Harry jerked himself off the floor without thinking, lunging for it the same time as the beast did. They collided, heavy body pinning him down and jaws in his face - a petal falling with obscene gentleness towards Harry's stomach.

"Harry!" He'd never heard Tom scream like that.

Harry groped for something to defend himself, anything, god anything please it couldn't end here - his hand landed on something and he jabbed it forward without thinking.

The Beast smashed against the opposite wall.

For a moment, eerily, nothing moved. Harry expected to see someone else, anyone else who had done something. For Riddle to have attacked the Beast again, but when he glanced over Tom lay limp. Staring at him. Staring at Harry's hand with wide-eyes.

Harry looked down.

The stick was glowing at the tip. The wand...the magic wand.
Harry laughed, giddily. Tears in his eyes as he gritted his teeth, shakily pushing himself up on one elbow. He dragged his aching body towards the Riddle, slumping next to him as the ink smeared against his fingers.

He kept the wand pointed at the beast, chest heaving.

It stayed still. White eyes were fixed on his hand now too, wide just like the Riddle's were.

"You can do magic like me?"

Harry had never thought he'd be so relieved to hear Voldemort's voice, to watch the white eyes darken back to that bloody scarlet.

Harry blinked. "It's a magic wand, isn't it?"

He had no idea why they were both staring at him like that. Couldn't even imagine ever seeing that look on their faces, considering half the time they were skeptical that he could survive them at all.

But this...this was reverence. Or wonder, or something.

"That's our wand. It should be loyal - you - you're a muggle!"

"Is that the non-magic people you bitch about in your memories?"

They ignored the question. Harry tentatively allowed his throbbing arm to lower, spent, now that the immediate danger seemed to be over.

The Beast's body seemed to wither back to what it normally was. But broken, crumpled from the fight. Shuddering.

Harry looked between them, both wrecked over this. Over this wand, and the Prophecy, and some stupid clutch for power that Harry didn't even understand.

The nausea lurched in his mouth more than ever, bile burning on his tongue. But he couldn't give up yet, he couldn't. The rose looked worse than ever too. There were only a few browning petals left. Riddle must have managed to wrench at a good part out, during their fight, because the thorns were bent out of shape too.

"What can I do?" he asked, looking between them. "You're both hurt."
Nameless wouldn't appear until nightfall anyway.

"I don't need your help," the Beast said.

Yeah, sure. Harry nonetheless turned his gaze to the Riddle, whose lips curled.
"I thought you owed me a kiss for my heroic actions?"

Harry felt an absurd rush of fondness.
It was official - insanity was contagious.

He entered the Nameless' portrait that night, clutching the wand in his hand.

The Riddle and the Beast would, apparently, make a recovery. More or less. Immortal bastards that they were. Apparently they'd been fine to neglect to remind him of that for hours as Harry worried over them. Bastards.

Harry squared his shoulders, as the darkness of the Nameless' painting immediately smothered him.

"I have your wand." He held it out. "Please don't use it to kill anyone."

"...and the Dark Lord shall mark him as his equal. For he will have the power the Dark Lord knows not."

Harry's nose wrinkled. "Now you're giving riddles too?"

The Nameless accepted the wand, fingers trembling around it.

...fingers trembling around it. He could see the Nameless's fingers. It wasn't just darkness! Harry barely dared to hope.

"Maybe you might have something to offer me in the world, after all. You are full of surprises."

Something had clicked on Nameless' face, some realization, and Harry's eyes narrowed.

"What?" he asked. "Don't tell me now you want me to go into the literal Underworld past a three headed dog next?"

The Nameless responded by raising the wand into the air. Harry flinched, bracing himself. You-Know-Who responded by tracing fiery letters into the space between them instead.

Tom Marvolo Riddle.

I am Lord Voldemort.

"I believe you have earned the honour to address me as such, Harry James Potter, when the time comes."

A/N: Well, this was a hellish chapter to write. I hope you guys enjoy it! We're getting near to the end now. Only 2 chapters to go! (3 potentially, but it would be fantastic to finish on 13)