What Do We Fight For?

Disclaimer: Harry Potter never has been and, to my distress, never will be mine…

A/N: Wow… Thank you so much for all the favourites, follows and reviews. That was more than I ever could have expected.

Sorry about the long wait. I am currently coming up to exams so I've had little time to spare for writing. More accurately the time I have had spare from studying and working I've spent doing other things because, you know, life.

Anyway, next chapter…

People fear death even more than pain. It's strange that they fear death. Life hurts a lot more than death. At the point of death, the pain is over. Yeah, I guess it is a friend. ~Jim Morrison


Chapter 3:

He was back again. In his first life towards the end, the final minutes of his life.

He was running, his breath coming out in pants and his forehead dripping with perspiration as he focused on putting one foot in front of the other. Finally he made it to the run-down shack that he and Ginny- his wife- had been hiding in. They'd managed to last five months before the muggles found them. Muggles. He almost laughed. Running from muggles, how ironic was that?

If Voldemort could somehow see them now Harry was sure he was laughing.

Little over 4 years ago war broke out between muggles and magical beings. They might have had magic at their disposal but the muggles outnumbered them in masses. First they would capture any being that wasn't perfectly 'normal' and experiment on them, finding their strengths and weaknesses- what made them 'tick'- and trying to see if they could take their powers for their own. Then came the murdering. There was no mercy on either side as the war progressed but they soon lost, in all reality, they had never really had a chance at winning. Now it was just the straggles of wizards and witches left to hide and run for survival.

Everyone Harry once knew was dead with the exception of his wife. He'd even watched as his children were murdered in front of him: something that he could never rid his mind of. Thinking back on it, he and Ginny had done relatively well, managing to stay hidden for several years even if they could never truly relax. But it seemed their luck had come to an end.

Something was wrong with the shack, he realised as he got closer and the smell of burning filled his nose. Panic gripped at him as he saw the flames soar high and engulf the shelter. Ginny! She was his only thought as he rushed into the flames, his mind not registering the pain as the flames viciously attacked him. He barely got very far before he became blind, the smoke was too heavy and it obscured his vision. With a cry filled with emotion he collapsed, his shout signalling everything he couldn't say.

Despair, hopelessness, anger, hatred, pain, grief.

As he hit the ground however he felt something near him. Focusing his magical core he managed to create a small bubble of space, cleared of smoke. His wand had long since been taken and broken. What he saw however made him scream in grief and rage. For there was Ginny, her lifeless corpse barely recognisable in it's twisted and deformed state, burnt to crisp.

Alight with furious anger at the muggles who had taken everything from him he apparated, managing to appear just behind the group of ten muggles who were all staring at the burning shack, an expression of victory and glee on their repugnant faces.

Viciously and without warning, Harry attacked, using only his knife and gun and the occasional wandless magic. He managed to take them all out but then more came, but he never stopped fighting, never gave in. But his old bones were worn and strained, he'd lived for 123 years after all and it was catching up to him.

As he prepared to swipe his knife at yet another muggle, he suddenly felt a sharp pain in his chest and he paused, glancing down to see a red patch spread over his torn shirt. He blinked, not quite comprehending what had happened before he fell to the ground. The last thing he saw was the muggles triumphant face and his last though was that he'd finally be with everyone again. Then he slipped into darkness...

Harry gasped and shot up in bed. That was the first time he'd had a nightmare since... well it had been a while, in fact he could barely remember anything of most of his lives. That day just seemed to stay with him though, tormenting his thoughts occasionally and a constant reminder of why the muggles should never learn of them. A constant reminder of a burning hatred that had eventually fizzled out into indifference.

It was a Sunday and Harry soon heard several loud thumps to the door of the bedroom. The sound of a fist against wood caused him to flash his glazed eyes in the direction of the noise and chase away the remnants of his nightmare.

Once downstairs and with a plate of toast and milk, Harry noticed Riddle already seated at 'his' table and a twisted sort of grin spread across his face. Balancing the food and glass on his tray he started to make his way over there, enjoying the way Riddle's posture tensed the moment he noticed Harry.

Ignoring the fact that the Dark Lord-To-Be clearly didn't want him there, Harry plonked himself down on the stool opposite. Whatever reaction he was hoping for however, he didn't get- as other than the earlier stiffness, Riddle showed no outward signs of acknowledging his presence.

Humming quietly to himself in the hope that it would annoy the other boy, Harry took a massive bite out of toast that was lacking in flavour save for the crisp taste of burnt bread and continued to chew- all the while gazing at Riddle through half lidded eyes.

Still there was no reaction and the teenage Dark Lord merely carried on eating his breakfast calmly- acting as though Harry wasn't even there.

Deciding that that wouldn't do at all Harry finally decided to say something.

"Hi." Was the only word that escaped his mouth but other than a slight tensing of the shoulders, Riddle continued to stare down at his food, one hand curled tightly around a glass containing water.

"How's life?"

Still no reply.

Harry shrugged, opening his mouth once more in the hopes of triggering some kind of response. Before he could however he was paused by a soft voice saying his name.

Glancing to the side Harry took in the sight of the young woman standing there- offering her a lazy lopsided grin that felt miles from his eyes.

Martha smiled kindly back at him. "We will be heading off to church in about fifteen minutes Harry. Some clothes have been put on your bed for you to change into."

Church?

As Martha turned to leave Harry called out to her. "Wait." She did, coming closer to him expectantly. "What if I don't want to go?"

Martha blinked a few times, as though she was unable to fathom why Harry might not want to. "Of course you do Harry." Was all she could say, a small frown creasing between her brows.

"No, I really don't."

At this a strained smile took over her features, "I'm sorry but you have no choice Harry. Please be ready in fifteen minutes."

Then she left, with Harry scowling slightly at her back. Deciding that it was up to him in the end- Harry turned back to his table only to find Riddle staring shamelessly at him through sharp eyes.

"Finally find something more interesting than your tray?" He couldn't help but ask emotionlessly and Riddle only raised a single eyebrow in response.

Then Harry's gaze turned curious, "Do you go to church?" He asked though he was pretty sure he already knew the answer. Somehow, he couldn't quite imagine a young Voldemort sitting in church uttering prayers and listening to the droning voice of a priest.

Confirming his suspicions the young Dark Lord scoffed and Harry could only take that as a no.

"So… What's your name?"

Riddle paused in eating, gazing at Harry thoughtfully through curious black eyes for a few seconds before replying. "Tom Riddle." His voice was soft- barely a whisper and yet at the same time, it was as though he had shouted it.

"Harry Potter." Harry watched for any signs of recognition at the pureblood name but received none, Riddle's face remaining perfectly still- sculptured from stone.

And that was that. Not another word was spoken and both went their separate ways once breakfast was done with.


Upon entering the room he was staying in Harry noticed the slightly smarter clothes laid out for him and simply stared at then for a brief second. Was it really compulsory to go to church?

Harry decided that he didn't care. Why would he dress up and pray to something that he didn't believe was there? And if there was a God? Well Harry had decided a long time ago that he was cruel.

And why did his head hurt? His scar to be precise but why? He had assumed it would disappear, fade away after a while and yet it was still there. A constant pain, a consistent pressure as though the soul inside was trying to escape.

Harry watched from a storage room window as all the members of the orphanage left for church save for him and Riddle- though Harry had no clue as to the whereabouts of the other wizard.

Once the group of muggles had disappeared from view, Harry made his way downstairs to the front door. Not a sound reached his ears save for the slight creak of the floorboards from the pressure of his weight and Harry began to doubt Riddle was even in the orphanage.

Reaching the exit he half heartedly tried the handle to find that it was (unsurprisingly) locked- and, glancing over his shoulder just incase Riddle was still there, Harry focused once more on his magic. Feeling it travel underneath his skin through his fingertips and into the lock. Bending it to his will until a small, barely audible 'click' was heard.

Now that he was out Harry had to wonder why he was even bothering. Because what could he do? Where could he go? The previous weeks had shown him that he couldn't simply remain on the streets and he had no birth certificate, to record, no proof of any kind that he existed in this world because he didn't.

Staring at the floor Harry wished, not for the first time, that he had died when the muggles had caught up to him. He had been ready. Prepared… happy even because he hadn't been in a world he had wanted to live in. But then he had woken up and had to do it all over again. At first he had thought it was a gift- a chance to get things right but it happened again. The wizarding world didn't listen. It didn't matter that he was Harry Potter and had killed the Dark Lord. His voice just wasn't enough in the end. The wizarding world didn't believe him enough when he said that the muggles were deadly- that they needed to make extra precautions to avoid discovery. And his history had repeated.

Harry wasn't sure how long he simply stood there, eyes cast down and tracing the cracks in the concrete but it was long enough for Riddle to come back from… wherever it was he had disappeared to.

The teenager paused for a millisecond when he saw Harry, taking in his unmoving figure and the open door behind him.

Looking up when a shadow fell across him Harry observed Riddle, the too bright sun outlining him as though he was some kind of angel, a stark contrast to pitch black hair and dark eyes, a perfect lie.

"What are you doing?" Even his voice sounded alluring; a charming smile bewitching and deceptive. Cleverly hiding the deceit and darkness inside. So opposite from Harry who could rarely be bothered to put on an act anymore unless he needed to.

Thinking back to the question Harry could't help but ask himself the same thing. What was he doing? What had been his intentions when he opened the door? Had he even had any?

"I don't know." He answered truthfully he eyes glazing over as though in another world: staring straight through the wizard before him.

He didn't even notice the way Riddle's eyes sharpened almost curiously.

The teenage wizard glanced down the street for a few seconds, a contemplating look on his face before turning back to Harry. There was an unreadable look in his eye that Harry was almost certain didn't bode well for him however he stayed perfectly still, slightly interested as to what was running through Riddle's head.

Suddenly he felt his tiny wrist being seized by a harsh grasp and he had barely registered what was happening before he was being dragged back inside the orphanage, the tips of Riddle's nails digging sharply into his skin and bringing a sudden surge of pain to his scar. He could have tried to escape and he could have fought back… but he didn't.

Instead his expression remained blank if slightly inquisitive as he was dragged into a small side room and if Riddle noticed the lack of resistance he didn't comment on it.

As quickly as it had come the grip on his wrist disappeared and Harry found himself staring into the sinister eyes of Tom Riddle- whose lips had titled up slightly into a malevolent smirk.

"I want to make one thing clear." He started, his voice quiet and deadly as he stared coldly at Harry, "You are not to sit near me and you are not to even speak to me."

However unaffected by Riddle's words he was, Harry could feel the pure magic in the air. Swirling around them menacingly, pushing. A different form of the imperious curse. It was a command- an order enforced by magic and Harry knew it would be suspicious if he remained impervious to it. Then again Harry decided that maybe he wanted to raise suspicion. Create a bit of excitement in what was otherwise going to be a very dull experience.

And so Harry merely tilted his head to the side, eyes staring smugly into Riddle's. "No." He said simply, observing the slight shock that flitted through the black orbs followed by an intense scrutiny as they searched his own. Suspicious, curious. Because how could a six year old muggle resist the practised, strong compulsion from Riddle's magic.

And the game began.

"No?" Riddle repeated slowly though Harry noted his voice was more bemused than angry.

Harry didn't answer, choosing instead to smile slightly. As though he hadn't just completely ignored something he shouldn't have been able to; brushed it off as though it was nothing.

"How..?" Riddle mused softly, the word whispered almost to himself. But before anything else could happen the sound of the main door opening and the shrill chattering of orphans reached their ears.

Shaking himself out of whatever inner debate he was going through, Riddle gazed intensely at him, "We're not finished." He said simply. Then he merely turned and left- casting one more darkly curious glance at Harry before leaving the small wizard standing alone, wondering to himself about what had just happened.


Later that day Harry found himself sitting on the wooden windowsill looking out into the back garden. The sun was high up in the sky by now and most of the orphans were out enjoying the heat. Had he ever been like that? Harry couldn't help but ask himself as he scrutinised the teenagers and children laughing and playing together. Had he ever been that carefree? Maybe once, in a distant life that had almost faded to nothing. Maybe there had been times like that with a certain redhead and a brunette who's lives had once meant so much to him.

Whatever the case he could only watch with a mixture of boredom and wonder. Wonder because he had lost the capability to understand how people could go about such trivial things without a care in the world. Didn't they see that they were nothing. That in the end they were merely a speck of dust. And yet they didn't even try to add some meaning in their life. To become something greater.

But above all Harry supposed he was envious.

Turning his gaze away he let his eyes trail absently around the bedroom, searching for something, anything to occupy his time with. Then his hand lifted slowly to his forehead, fingers pressing gently into his scar.

An idea came to him then.

He suspected that the pain has something to do with the fact that the soul piece inside of him already existed and had now come in contact, technically, with itself. Whatever the case, two of one thing existed at the same time and he couldn't imagine that that was a good thing.

Knowledge wise he was limited in that area however and the only way that was going to change was by research- research he was not going to gain by sitting in the bedroom doing nothing.

Mind made up Harry debated the risks of apparating. While it would be a much easier method of getting to the Leaky Cauldron- it was also more taxing as despite everything- he was still in a six year old body whose magical core had yet to be fully developed.

After all: the only thing he retained from being reborn was his memory. His thoughts, his intelligence- but everything else started from scratch. He might have more control over his magic, he might be able to focus more but that came from knowledge and experience. It was frustrating but unavoidable and it's wasn't like he had long to wait. 5, 10 years was nothing to him anymore.

Deciding that in the end, apparating was the most efficient method, Harry turned on the spot and disappeared with a small 'crack'. Leaving behind not a single trace.


A/N: Hope you enjoyed the chapter. Any questions or suggestions please review or PM xx