This is an early update, and a double update, because I'm not sure if I'll be able to update at my regular time this week and next week. So I hope you will all enjoy, and I'll get chapter 8 out to you as soon as I can!

Thanks again to all my reviewers!

Chapter 6

Harry had returned to his own bed several hours ago, but Lord Voldemort remained awake thinking about their conversation. He found himself wondering why he had revealed so much to Potter. He never talked to anyone about his past. It was a part of him that was long dead and forgotten. He didn't like to think of it, and he didn't want anyone to know about it. He did not want to be seen as a pitiable child who had turned to evil because no one ever cared about him, and who could be redeemed if only someone could break through his hardened heart. That was a concept best left to children's stories. There was no such thing as evil, or good for that matter. That day at the orphanage, he had discovered what it felt like to have power, and he knew from then on that attaining power would be his goal in life.

In part, he had explained his side of the story to further Potter's trust in him. Dumbledore's plan to ensure that Potter would never see Lord Voldemort as anything but irredeemable, unabated evil in (mostly) human form had completely backfired, and telling his side of the story had undoubtedly gained Potter's sympathy. No, not sympathy exactly. It had strengthened the feeling of affinity Potter had for him. Being totally honest with himself, he realized that he also felt an affinity with Potter. Anyone else who heard the story of his childhood might have reacted with disbelief, or worse, pity. Potter, it seemed, had been through much the same thing, and could offer simple acceptance.

But that was not the only thing that bothered him about the conversation. Throughout the night, Potter kept touching him. The touches were innocent; a hand on the shoulder, connecting foot to foot, or a gentle tap on his arm. This desire for physical contact was undoubtedly an effect of the love potion, but it still made Lord Voldemort somewhat uncomfortable. He did not allow anyone to touch him, he had not since he was a Hogwarts student, and yet he realized he did not disdain these touches, except after the fact. He decided not to let it bother him. It was an unmistakable sign that Potter was becoming more and more bound to him, and he would encourage that binding through whatever means were necessary.

At Hogwarts the next morning, Harry once again woke up in a cheerful mood. He quickly realized that he had gone to bed slightly upset, and that he would have to tone down the cheerfulness before facing his friends. Ron would probably not notice, but Hermione certainly would, and she would want to know how his mood had changed so quickly.

As he got dressed and prepared for the day, he pondered Tom's final words. What, exactly, did Tom mean? Was he going to teach Harry more powerful spells, the way Dumbledore would not? But why would Tom do that? Harry was still the only one who could defeat Tom, and of course Tom didn't want that to happen. This could not be explained by Tom trying to dissuade Harry from attempting to kill him. Why would Tom do something so counterintuitive?

The answer was fairly obvious, and it came to Harry quickly. Tom wanted Harry not only to not fight against him, but to fight with him, on his side. Harry wasn't certain how he felt about that. On the one hand, he really liked Tom, and he had no desire to die, which was the likely outcome if they ever did fight. And he definitely didn't want to be on Dumbledore's side anymore. On the other hand, he didn't want to fight against those who counted themselves his friends. He couldn't imagine raising his wand against Hermione, or Ron, or any of the other Weasleys. Well, Percy, maybe, but he didn't count as a Weasley anymore. And Harry had very personal vendettas against many of the people in Tom's army. He wasn't sure if he could work with Bellatrix Lestrange or Peter Pettigrew. Nor were the Death Eaters likely to be very fond of him.

Tom had also implied that he would help Harry take revenge against the Dursleys. Harry knew Tom had killed his own muggle family before he even graduated Hogwarts. Did Harry want that, too? He considered his aunt, uncle, and cousin. He'd spent ten years of his life living with them, ten years of being treated like a particularly gormless house elf. His uncle and his cousin had greatly enjoyed smacking him around, and his aunt, his mother's sister, frequently reminded him that he wasn't welcome. She'd often hinted that Harry should find another place to go, even knowing that her house was the only place in the world that Harry could be safe. Still, Harry didn't think he really wanted them dead. Apart from feeling that it would be wrong, killing them would be over in a few seconds. He wanted the Dursleys to feel exactly as powerless as he had been made to feel. He wanted to see their eyes as they realized that he could do anything to them, anything at all, and there was nothing they could do about it. He wanted to watch them tremble and beg for forgiveness, and he wanted them to know that he could crush them like beetles.

Did that make him evil? Good people didn't have those kinds of thoughts, did they?

No, he decided, it didn't make him evil. It made him a rational, sane human being. He was talking about the people who had made his life hell for ten years. It was only natural to want to return their "kindness." Actually, he would be a likelier candidate for St. Mungo's closed ward if he didn't wish them some kind of harm.

He met up with Ron and Hermione in the common room and they went down to breakfast together. During breakfast, Harry took a few minutes to go over his notes for Charms. He was fairly certain he didn't really need to, he knew all the information and was even several lessons ahead of the class, but he didn't want to get overconfident.

"What are you doing, Harry?" Hermione asked with a slightly suspicious look on her face.

"Oh, just going over my Charms notes before class. We're supposed to start chapter 7 today, right?"

"That's right, beginning glamours," she answered. She looked hesitant, like she wanted to say something, but wasn't quite certain how to say it.

Harry was fairly certain that he didn't want to hear whatever it was that she was going to say just now, so he cut her off. "I just remembered that I left my Defence book back in the dorm, and there isn't much time left before class starts. I'd better run and get it. Don't want to give Snape—sorry Hermione, Professor Snape, an excuse to take points if I'm late, after all." He smiled at his friends, picked up his book bag, and left the Great Hall.

Harry spent the rest of the day finding small excuses to avoid Hermione's company. Finally, after dinner, he decided to just get the conversation over with. As he got up to leave the table, Hermione asked him "Hey, Harry, what are you doing now?"

"Er…I was going to do some homework."

Hermione gave him a look. "Harry, I know you finished all your homework a long time ago. You've even finished the essay Professor Snape gave us just this morning. Can I talk to you?"

Harry decided to play it innocent. "Sure Hermione. What did you want to talk about?"

"Not here, where anyone could be listening. Let's go back to the Gryffindor common room."

"Alright." They left the Great Hall together, talking of inconsequential things on their way up the seven flights of stairs. They arrived at the portrait of the Fat Lady, and Hermione said "carpe diem." The portrait opened, and Harry inwardly snorted. Had a Hufflepuff chosen that password?

They settled down into their favourite armchairs by the fire. Ron wasn't with them, as he had a detention with Professor McGonagall. "Alright," Harry said, sighing. "What did you want to talk about?"

Hermione, blunt as ever, came directly to the point. "You seem…different lately."

Harry raised an eyebrow at her. "Different how?"

"Oh, you know what I mean. You're a really good student now—you weren't a bad student before, but you never really put much effort into it, and now you answer as many questions in class as I do, and your homework is always done ahead of time, and it always gets an 'O,' except from Professor Snape, but even he can't justify giving you less than an 'E.' You always get spells right on your first or second try, you even get them before me, and you learn more than what you have to for class. You don't ever go flying except for Quidditch practice, and even then you only go for as long as you have to. And of course that's not a bad thing, it's wonderful, and I'm proud of you, but it's a really drastic change…and so I just wanted to know if everything was alright."

It took Harry a moment to digest everything that had just come out in that frenzy of words. Then he decided to tell her about the prophecy. Dumbledore had said it was all right, and it was the only thing he could think of to tell her that she would accept. "You're right, Hermione. There is something. And I would have told you sooner, but I just needed some time to think about it and accept it."

"What is it, Harry?" she asked softly.

"Do you remember how I told you that Trelawney's prophecy about Peter Pettigrew was, according to Dumbledore, her second real prophecy?"

"Professor Dumbledore, Harry, and yes, I do." Harry found it terribly amusing that she didn't bother to correct him about Trelawney.

"Well, her first genuine prophecy happened about 16 and a half years ago. It foretold the birth of a boy, born at the end of July, who would have the power to vanquish the Dark Lord. And that either he would kill the Dark Lord or the Dark Lord would kill him."

"And it was you?" The question wasn't really necessary, but it was the first thing Hermione had thought to say.

"It was me," Harry confirmed quietly.

"So that's why Professor Dumbledore is giving you private lessons!" Then Hermione frowned. "Harry, he's known about this prophecy since before you were born, right?"

"Yes. Trelawney told it to him directly."

"And how long have you known about it?"

"He told me last year, after we got back from the Department of Mysteries."

"But—if Professor Dumbledore has known about it for so long, why didn't he do more to encourage you? Or tell you about the prophecy earlier? You should have been studying as much as you could for at least as long as you've been at Hogwarts!"

"He said he wanted to give me a normal childhood, without having something like that hanging over my head."

Hermione actually snorted at that. "No offence, Harry, but your chance at that was destroyed in Godric's Hollow 15 years ago. Not to mention that you've encountered Voldemort at least once a year as long as you've been at school, and it sometimes seems like Professor Dumbledore wants you to meet up with him. And a normal childhood is all well and good, but surely he could have balanced that with giving you a better chance at having an adulthood!"

She paused for a moment, and then what she'd said seemed to catch up with her. "Oh my goodness, Harry, I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have said that, and it's not true at all."

Harry wasn't angry, though he realized that Hermione's comment wasn't exactly diplomatic. "Actually, I think it is true. If he hadn't finally told me about the prophecy, I might not have ever decided to take my classes seriously. When I asked him if he would be teaching me more powerful spells, he said no, because I didn't have a chance to catch up with T-Lord Voldemort in terms of magical power. He's got a point, certainly, but it kills me to think how much stronger I could be if I had been really focusing for the last 5 years. I used to think the consequences of not paying attention in class were lost house points, and maybe a detention, and then I found out that it could cost me my life."

Hermione hadn't missed Harry's slip of the tongue. Harry had been about to say "Tom," or maybe "Tom Riddle." She decided it was just because Harry had recently seen a memory of Voldemort as the child he'd once been, a child called the ordinary name of Tom. "Well," she said, "I don't have that time-turner anymore, so we can't redo the past five years, but we can certainly do our best now. I'll do whatever I can to help you."

Harry smiled. "Thanks, Hermione."

"So, can I ask you about last night now?"

"What?" Harry asked, somewhat startled.

"The memory Professor Dumbledore showed you, of Tom Riddle's life."

"Oh! That, of course!"

"What did you think I was talking about?" Hermione asked with a puzzled expression.

"Nothing. I guess I just wasn't thinking about that at all anymore, and so I wasn't expecting you to ask me about it."

"Well can you tell me about it now, then?" Hermione asked, sounding a bit impatient.

"Sure, but there wasn't really that much to it. Um, it was a memory of his life at the orphanage, when he was eight years old." Harry paused, unsure of how much of the truth he should tell his friend. Her capacity for sympathy was enormous, but so was her cleverness. She would easily discern that Harry's empathy for Tom Riddle was born out of his own life's experiences. Her sense of moral outrage might cause her to seek justice, which could lead to her saying the wrong thing to the wrong person. She also might tell Ron, and Harry really didn't think Ron could handle it without overreacting.

He decided to tell her just the facts, for now at least. He would see how she reacted to that, and decide how much more to tell her based on that. "The memory was taken from a muggle girl named Amy Benson. She lived at the same orphanage as Tom, and they were the same age. She was watching him—Tom, I mean, from behind a curtain. Tom wasn't doing much of anything, just sitting on his bed and staring out the window. I went over to see what he was looking at. He was watching all the other kids outside playing. Then, while Tom was busy looking out the window, she came out from behind the curtain and asked him what he was looking at."

Harry paused for a moment. "Dobby!" he said.

The over-enthusiastic elf appeared instantly. "Yes, Master Harry Potter sir, what can Dobby be doing for you?"

"Could you bring us two mugs of hot chocolate and some biscuits, please?"

"Dobby is being happy to! Dobby will be right back!"

"Harry," Hermione said, after Dobby vanished again, "you really shouldn't take advantage of him like that."

"I know, Hermione, but if I don't call him and ask for something at least once a week, he shows up on his own asking if I need anything, and if he's done something wrong, and I have to stop him from hurting himself."

"Oh." Hermione considered this for a moment. "Have you tried calling him and just talking for a while, not asking for anything?"

Before Harry could respond, Dobby reappeared with a loud crack, carrying a silver tea tray. The tray had two huge mugs of steaming hot chocolate, and an overflowing plate of all kinds of biscuits.

"Thanks, Dobby," said Harry.

The elf beamed brilliantly at him, then asked, "Will sir and miss be wanting anything else?"

"No, Dobby, thank you. This looks wonderful," Harry replied.

The elf smiled again before disappearing with another loud crack!

Harry took a sip from his mug. The cocoa was perfect, like always, rich and creamy, and exactly the right temperature. "So, where did I leave off?" Harry asked.

"Amy came out from her hiding place and asked Tom what he was looking at. Quit stalling, Harry."

Harry winced at that. Hermione knew him just a little too well. "Okay. So she asked him what he was looking at, and he snapped at her in response. She asked him if he wanted to go outside with her and play with the other children. That made him suddenly really angry. He yelled at her, and his magic pushed her to the floor and held her down. He went to the trunk with her name on it and got out a doll. It was dirty, but it looked like it had been an expensive porcelain doll, so I think it must have been from her parents, before she came to the orphanage. He picked up the doll and threw it head first at the cement floor. He must have used more accidental magic, because the doll shattered completely, and its dress caught fire and burned to ash. He walked back over to the girl and told her not to tell anyone about it. She said she wouldn't, and then his magic let her go. She ran out of the room."

"And then?" Hermione asked.

Harry shook his head. "That was end of the memory."

Hermione pursed her lips thoughtfully. "That's perfectly awful, of course, but there's something you aren't telling me."

"What do you mean?"

"You're leaving something out. What you said happened is horrible, and it makes Tom Riddle sound like a monster, even at the age of eight, but you're not talking about him like that. You're talking about him like you feel sorry for him, so there must be more to this than what you've told me so far."

Damn that girl's perceptiveness! Harry supposed he'd have to tell her, now. He couldn't think of any lie that Hermione wouldn't easily see through.

"Well," Harry began slowly. "It was just that Tom looked really sad when he was staring out the window, like he really wanted to be down there with the other kids, but something was holding him back. And why was she behind that curtain in the first place? She was spying on him. Finally, when she asked him to outside and play, her voice sounded almost like Umbridge's—you know, that too-sweet tone she used to make sure everyone knew she thought she was better than they were. I don't think what I saw in that memory was the whole story."

"Then what do you think happened?" asked Hermione, though her tone was inquisitive and not contradictory.

"Honestly? I think she was planning to play a cruel joke on him. She didn't want him to come and play, she and the other kids probably wanted him to come outside so that they could do something mean. The look on his face, when he was watching out the window, was so lonely. He obviously wanted someone to be his friend."

Hermione gave Harry a sympathetic look that said she knew exactly why Harry understood just how the young Tom Riddle had felt. Well, of course she did. Her bookwormish traits had isolated her from her peers in her early Hogwarts career, and the same thing undoubtedly would have happened at muggle school. To Harry's surprise, though, she didn't pursue the matter further.

"What did Professor Dumbledore have to say about it?" she asked instead.

"He didn't agree with me. He said the memory happened exactly as I saw it, and there was nothing more to it. He also said I was wasting my compassion on Tom Riddle."

"What?" gasped Hermione. "Everyone deserves compassion, especially when they're only eight years old! Just because he became who he is today doesn't mean he was always a monster!"

"That's what I thought, too, but Dumb—Professor Dumbledore," he corrected, before Hermione could interrupt him to do so, "said he showed me this memory to help me harden my heart against what I have to do. He doesn't want me to think of Lord Voldemort—or Tom Riddle—as a human being."

"But you do," Hermione answered softly. "You see yourself in him, especially in this memory."

Now they came to it, the thing he did not want to talk about. Harry decided to subtly shift the subject. "I don't know if I can do it. Even if magical power and experience and duelling weren't involved, even if he was brought to me wandless and in chains, and all I had to do was cast the final curse, I just don't think I could kill him." That was especially true now, but Harry thought it had been true before he talked to Tom, too.

"Oh, Harry," Hermione said, wrapping her arms around Harry in a hug. She didn't know what else to say. There wasn't really anything she could say. Telling Harry not to worry, that he could take a life, wouldn't be the least bit reassuring, and she didn't think it was true. On the other hand, telling him that he wasn't capable of killing would be telling him that the prophecy would go the other way, and Harry would die.

At that moment, the portrait hole opened and Ron came in, covered in sweat, dirt, and other substances best left unnamed. "McGonagall kept me for hours, catching mice for the fourth years to use in class," he muttered. Then he spotted Hermione, with her arms still wrapped around Harry. "Hey, what's all this, then?" he shouted angrily.

Hermione rolled her eyes as she moved away from Harry and back to her own chair. "It's nothing, Ronald. Harry and I were just talking."

"Talking? Talking! Is that what that was? Oh, well that's all right then! Tell me, Hermione, how often do you and Harry 'talk'? Is it every time I'm not there? How long has this been going on?"

"Nothing is going on. We're just good friends," Hermione said, visibly struggling to remain calm.

"Yeah, I can see that. You're really good friends."

The last thing Harry wanted was to end up in the middle of this row, so while Hermione, who had lost her battle to rein in her temper, was screaming back at Ron, he crept quietly out of the room. As he walked up the stairs, he heard Hermione shout, "Harry is not my boyfriend! Not that that's any of your business at all, because you're not my boyfriend either! And I don't want you to be!"

Harry winced. He knew Hermione didn't like Ron that way, but that wasn't really the most delicate way to turn him down. He hastened his steps up the stairs, wanting to be in bed with the curtains Sealed and Silencing charms up before Ron could get to the dormitory. He did manage to do that, and warn Seamus, Dean, and Neville of Ron's bad mood and the reason behind it. He hadn't been able to brush his teeth, so he took out his wand and muttered a mouth cleaning charm. He fell asleep thinking of the small boy in the orphanage, a boy so much like himself.

The next morning, he woke up early and decided to go down to breakfast before Ron woke up. He didn't want to deal with Ron's moodiness. It turned out that he needn't have bothered, though, since Ron spent the rest of the day, and the rest of the week, avoiding him.

A year ago, that would have made Harry horribly upset. Two years ago, it had made Harry horribly upset. Now, though, maybe it was that Harry was much busier with studying, or maybe they had just grown apart, but Harry found that he didn't really mind. Quidditch practices were a little awkward, but Harry could deal with that. The rest of the team seemed inclined to his 'side' of the argument, although that could just be because Harry kept it off the pitch, whereas Ron never missed an opportunity to snipe at Harry's back.

One day, after a particularly vicious comment, Ginny flew over to Ron and slapped him on the face. "Get over it already!" she yelled. "Harry is not the reason Hermione doesn't like you, but even if he was, one would think you would be happy for them! They're supposed to be your best mates!"

Ron's ears flashed red, but he didn't respond. Instead, he flew to the ground, landed, and started walking back toward the castle.

Harry blew his whistle in three short bursts. The team responded to his command, catching the quaffle and the two bludgers. Harry grabbed the practice snitch, and they all landed in the centre of the field. "Right. Well, I guess that's uh…all for today. We'll have another practice next week on Thursday at 5:00."

The team dispersed, heading off to the showers, but Ginny remained behind. As Harry wrestled the bludgers into the ball chest, she knelt down next to him to help. "I'm sorry I made Ron off and ruined practice," she said.

"Huh? No, Ginny, he ruined practice, not you. You didn't do anything but tell him the truth. And you stuck up for me, so I really can't be mad at you, now, can I?"

Ginny smiled. "Thanks, Harry. You always know just what to say."

Harry smiled back. "After we both finish our showers, do you want to walk to dinner with me?"

"Sure!" she responded brightly.

The met up again outside the doors to the girl's and boy's locker rooms. "Ready to go?" Harry asked, appreciating that Ginny wasn't one of those girls who needed an hour just to rinse off after Quidditch practice. She had even beaten him out of the locker room.

"After you," Ginny said cheerfully.

They walked in silence for a few moments, before Ginny spoke up. "So Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"I know you're not the least bit interested in Hermione as a girlfriend, but is there…um…anyone else you might be interested in?"

Harry sighed. He'd thought Ginny had gotten over him, but apparently she'd just learned to cover up her crush and behave normally around him. He wasn't sure what to say. He considered saying that he just didn't want to date right now, that he was too busy with studying and the war. But that would just give her false hope that something could happen later. "Oh," he said, finally. "Um…I really like you Ginny, I think you're beautiful, smart, and fun to be around, but I see you as more of a sister than anything else."

"Oh. I see."

"Please don't be mad, Ginny."

She shook her head, and a forced smile came over her face. "Nah, don't worry about it. Ron's a huge git, you can take his place."

Harry laughed politely at that. They reached the Great Hall, and out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Ginny shake her head slightly at Hermione. Hermione gave Ginny a sympathetic look and raised her eyebrow questioningly. Ginny nodded slightly, and Hermione got up from the dinner table. The two girls walked out of the Great Hall together. Harry swore that girls had some arcane ability to have mental conversations when they wanted to talk about something without boys hearing it.

Just then, Harry noticed that the Great Hall was elaborately decorated, and that a feast was laid out on all the house tables. He frowned. It was Halloween already? Usually he was all-too-aware of Halloween's approach, but this year he'd forgotten about it entirely. It was probably because he'd been so busy recently. He decided he'd take his dinner to-go, eat in his room, and get to bed early. People always stared at him more on Halloween, and the Wizarding Wireless played commemorative broadcasts in honour of his parents. He didn't want to hear it. He conjured up a muggle-style styrofoam box, put some food in it without really looking at what he was taking, and went back up to the Gryffindor common room, and from there to his bed.

He spent a few hours reading, not school related, but a book on Occlumency. He realized he needed to learn it, and badly, and so it was the first "extracurricular" subject he pursued. He couldn't get away with avoiding Dumbledore's eyes forever, after all. He had discovered about five minutes into the first book he read that Snape's succinct instruction of "clear your mind" had been accurate, but hardly complete. Now Harry was on Volume III of a five volume series written by a man who was a gifted Occlumens and a gifted teacher. He had a basic idea of shield building, and he was now quite good at clearing his mind. As he put the book away for the night, he realized that he would need an actual teacher soon, if for no other purpose than to test his shields.

Almost as soon as he had fallen asleep, he found himself conscious again and in Tom's study. Tom's intense vermillion eyes connected immediately with his own viridian. "Good evening, little serpent. I thought you might like some company tonight."

"Halloween isn't really my lucky day. Something bad always happens to me. But not this year."

"No, not this year. This year, I am no longer trying to hurt you." Well, not at the moment, anyway.

"Why?" Harry asked pleadingly. The question seemed somewhat random, but Lord Voldemort was quite insightful, and needed no further explanation.

"I seek power. I thought you were an obstacle to gaining power and a threat to my life."

"Why my parents then? Couldn't you have left them alone and just killed me?"

"Your father fought me. I do not take well to those who resist me. You know very well that I offered to let your mother live, if she would give you up, and that she refused, creating the situation we find ourselves in today."

"I know. It's what I hear whenever I get too close to a dementor."

"I do not apologize, little serpent."

"I know. You know, it's not actually their deaths that I'm angry about."

"No?"

"No. I was still a baby when they died, and I have no recollection of them."

"Then what is it?"

"The life I could have had, had they lived. What it might have been like to be loved."

It seemed it was Harry's turn to be freer than he would really have liked with information this time.

"Severus has told me that you were given into the hands of those who did not care for you."

"That could be the biggest understatement of the year."

Tom looked deeply into Harry's eyes. "Tell me," he commanded.

"It was a lot like your own childhood. They hated me, and they blamed me for everything that went wrong."

"Who, Harry?"

"The Dursleys. My 'family.' My mother's sister Petunia, her husband Vernon, and their son Dudley."

"Muggles?"

"Muggles. Though my aunt and uncle knew that magic existed, and that I was a wizard." Harry laughed mirthlessly. "Not that they ever told me that. They thought that if they beat me every time something weird happened that they could make me be 'normal.' They told me my parents died in a car crash, and that I'd gotten my scar from that. I didn't find out that I was a wizard, much less what really happened to my parents, until my 11th birthday."

"Surely there was someone else to take you in. Even if you hadn't been the boy-who-lived, the Potters were a well regarded family, with many friends."

"My godfather was framed by Peter Pettigrew and sent to Azkaban, as you know. Somehow Dumbledore ended up in charge of what happened to me, and he decided that I was better off away from the wizarding world, where fame might give me a big head. He also cast blood wards to protect me at my aunt's house, wards based on the sacrifice of my mother, that would protect me as long as I lived with someone who shared blood with her. Aunt Petunia and Dudley are the last living people who share blood with her, other than me."

"Does Dumbledore still send you back there during the summers?"

"Yes. Why?"

"There is now one other living person who shares the blood of Lily Potter. Do you remember what I said about your mother's sacrifice, that night at the graveyard?" He touched Harry's scar to emphasize his point.

Harry got the point almost immediately. "I can touch him now…my mother's sacrifice used to make it impossible for you to touch me, but you took my blood, and so now you also share her blood. That means…that means the wards at Privet Drive are now worthless too!"

Tom nodded. "There must be some other reason he continues to send you back there."

"I guess I'll have to ask him about that at our next meeting," Harry said darkly.

"You know that you cannot tell him about this discussion."

Harry snorted. "Of course not! I'll tell him that I was thinking back on that night, and I realized it on my own."

Tom pondered that for a moment. "That could work, I suppose."

"I know I'm not as smart as you, Tom, but is it really so hard to believe that I could have figured it out for myself?" Harry asked.

"Of course not. Actually, you did figure it out mostly on your own. I just gave you a small hint." Tom decided to change the subject. "In fact, Severus tells me that the standard of your work has greatly improved, and not just in Defence Against the Dark Arts, in all of your classes, even Potions. He said that he was quite surprised by the level of work you've been doing, even surpassing Miss Granger, when you showed no trace of such intelligence before." Scarlet eyes gave Harry a piercing look. "Could it be that you were, for the sake of friendship, deliberately underperforming?"

"Nobody likes a swot. I learned that growing up, and if I got good marks at muggle school, the Dursleys yelled at me for showing off."

"Then why have you changed that habit now?"

Green eyes that had been diffidently looking down rose to meet the challenge in the scarlet eyes. "I knew you wouldn't like me if you thought I was stupid."

That comment made Tom's inner snake dance wildly. Potter was absolutely under his control, that was certain. It was time to start seriously training the boy.

"Severus once attempted to teach you Occlumency, though I am given to understand that your progress in the art was not ideal."

"No, it wasn't." Harry hated to admit that. He knew that in the past, he hadn't been up to Tom's standards. At least he had a chance to change that now. "But I've started studying on my own, and I think I've made a lot of progress."

"Do you feel confident enough for me to test you?"

"Not yet," Harry was ashamed to say it, but he knew that failing to live up to what he said would disappoint Tom more than honestly admitting his inability. "Give me another three weeks."

"Very well, then. Tell me, little serpent, do you remember the way to the Chamber of Secrets?"

Harry looked stricken. "I know I didn't put a lot of effort into study before, but really, just how stupid do you think I am?" After he said it, Harry clapped a hand over his mouth. He really didn't want Tom to be angry with him.

It just made Tom chuckle a bit, however, a dry, sensuous chuckle, one that Harry wanted to hear as often as possible. "Relax, Harry, I am not angry. You are not at all unintelligent, of course you recall the Chamber. Well, if you go into the chamber, stand in front of the statue of Salazar, and say 'library,' a door will open up on the left. I'm sure you can guess what you will find behind that door. Salazar wrote a book combining Occlumency with Parselmagic."

"Wait, Parselmagic? What's that?"

"A branch of magic even older than Salazar Slytherin, created by one of his ancestors. I am not surprised that you have not heard of it, as it can only be used by Parselmouths. Once you have mastered Occlumency, there are several books in the library on that subject. I think you would enjoy them."

"Can the books be taken out of the Chamber? Only I can't really disappear for too long without people getting worried."

"They can, though you will need to disguise them well. They are written in Parselscript, so while no others will be able to read them, they would wonder why you are reading something that appears to be gibberish. In "Secrets of the Serpent," there is a Parselspell for disguising books."

Harry smiled charmingly. "§Thank you, Tom§," he whispered sibilantly.

Tom returned the smile. "§You're welcome, snakeling. Enjoy your studies.§"