Disclaimer: Absolutely not.

A/N: It's me! Here's the next chapter of PTL, another giant update to make up for my poor deadlines. Uh, before we start though, I'd like to dedicate this chapter to an anonymous reviewer—AwesomeEraser—for the incredible review of my story. I wish you'd signed in so that I could thank you properly for really lifting up my day! I hope you enjoy this chapter just as much as you enjoyed the others.

That goes for everyone else too! I read all my reviews obsessively, you're all incredible, really.

And, onward!

Pretending To Live

Chapter 13: Magic Together

"I can help you."

"With what, Miss de Lioncourt?"

"With your Horcruxes."

The ensuing silence was unbearable. Not only because it was a silence I'd never before encountered in my life—the sound of utter stillness, the abrupt cease of Time—but because of my own debilitating fear of the reception of my proposal.

It was so stupid. So, so selfish.

At first glance, it would have seemed as if the subject of my proposition had not even heard me; he remained in the same position as I had found him earlier: standing relaxed by one of the library shelves, a heavy book tucked negligently underneath his arm. But I'd watched him for long enough from a safe distance to see the warning signs; the whitening of his knuckles around his book, the bleed of red color in his dark eyes. They were like flashing beacons, each one of them screaming for me to run.

I coughed sharply, breaking the excruciating stillness. "Look, I know it's hard for you to understand why I'm doing this but Riddle, I'm dying. I need you. And I know you need me because…"

Restlessly, I ran my hands through my hair and exhaled a sharp, tense breath.

"What I'm saying is…I think we can help each other out. And if not…I— I'd—I guess I'd definitely be curious to know what Dumbledore thinks about your little project."

He reacted then, much to my short-lived relief; my palms began to sweat when he took a single portentous step towards me. His face was expressionless, almost serene in its stillness—and yet there was a strange, cold, and livid fury that was almost palpable in its intensity, its hatred. I flinched.

"Is that blackmail, Miss de Lioncourt?" he said softly.

A bolt of pain sliced through my head, making me grit my teeth. "If that's what it takes, Riddle."

Something flickered in his eyes. "Interesting."

Beat.

I threw myself to the side, skidding across the library table beside me as a jet of green light crashed into the marble floor, the very same spot I had been standing in a split second earlier. I landed painfully, sending chairs and papers toppling everywhere and my hand fumbled for my wand as I struggled to get back to my feet.

Firing a retaliatory curse in his direction, I clambered over the lines of desks and chairs in my path, often tripping or slipping as I attempted to dodge the bolts of multicolored light that flew past me. One whizzed dangerously close to my ear and I stumbled over one of the chairs, landing on the floor once more with the stench of burning hair heavy and odorous in my nostrils. It didn't escape my notice that the chair the spell that had been meant for me had hit was now a wreck of splinters on the floor.

A succession of crashes alerted me to Riddle's approach; my head snapped up to see the series of mangled and broken obstacles in his path parting like the Red Sea; they slammed into the walls of the Library where they shattered upon impact. Quickly, I scrambled out of the way just in time for an entire table to explode into a hundred, sharp wooden fragments—I covered my head with my arms and continued to move blindly backwards in a feeble attempt to protect myself. I hit something stiff that didn't feel like furniture and I glanced behind me. It was the frozen figure of a girl.

Abruptly, I became viciously aware of the other frozen people around the Library, completely unaware of the danger that roared through the air towards them—cursing, I pushed the two second-years out of the way and aimed the Ventus spell at the others to move them out of Riddle's path of destruction. A bolt of red light grazed the side of my face and I jerked backwards, letting it miss me by inches as I dove towards the immobile first year girl in the middle of the room.

We crashed into the floor; without thinking, I kicked up a nearby chair into the air in front of us where it was then blasted into smithereens by the curse it had barely intercepted.

"Enough, Riddle!" I yelled out, acutely aware of the wide, glassy eyes of the girl on my face. Shoving the rubble away from us, I stood up to face the eerily still figure of Riddle on the other side of the room, his face expressionless, his eyes glittering red like blood. My hands were shaking badly from fear, my voice high and strained. My knuckles were bone-white on the handle of my wand.

"Protego!" The weak, shivering form of my Shield Charm expanded in front of me, deflecting the bolts of light hurtling through the air. Grunting with exertion, I sent a nearby table flying towards him which he tore in half mid-air with an annoyed twitch of his hand. He brought his hand down in a cruel, downward arc; there was a flash of purple light and—

My wand clattered onto the floor, the echoing in the abrupt silence that filled the room. I staggered, bringing my hand up to my face. It came away dripping and stained heavily with scarlet. For a moment, I simply stared at it, shocked.

Then pain for which I had no comparison—for I had never experienced it like this—struck me; it was like a blaze of fire blazing, burning, searing into the entire left side of my face. Slowly, almost gracefully, I sank down to my knees.

"Ri-Rid..."

Through my good eye I saw Riddle stride towards me, his wand raised and a thin smile on his lips. Then I saw my wand lying on the floor beside me; sluggishly, I reached for it, felt my fingers, wet with my own blood grasp around the alder wood…

There was a strange, ripping sound. Riddle and I froze, locking our eyes together for a single beat.

"What…what on earth…?"

My head jerked towards the direction of the unfamiliar voice, hands still clutched to my face. It was the first-year girl I'd tackled to the ground earlier, but she was…moving, staring wildly around her chaotic surroundings, her mouth hanging open.

My eyes flicked back to Riddle's frozen expression and then to the Locket glimmering around his neck.

Behind me, someone screamed; apparently, it wasn't just the girl who had broken out of the Locket's spell. People were getting up, buzzing in confusion or nursing mysterious bruises on their person as if some lunatic had shoved them roughly to the ground when they weren't looking.

"What is going on? What has happened here?" The reedy voice of Professor Merrythought cut into the growing din and I saw Riddle turn his head sharply. Distracted.

One hand pressed tightly to the side of my face, I slipped quietly out of the room, leaving Riddle surrounded by the wreckage.

"Like I said. I fell."

Madame Laroche clucked her tongue sternly and poked at the purple-green substance smeared on the side of my face sharply with her wand. "Your face will feel quite raw for some time," she told me and brought out a small jar of the same purple-green ointment out of her pocket. "I suggest you apply this each night, to help with tissue repair."

"Thank you," I said, pocketing it. One thing about the Hogwarts staff—they didn't ask too many questions.

She left then, and I sat on the bed, staring unseeingly at my hands. The Hospital Wing was quiet, and I took that to mean that he must have repaired the Locket's mistake…

Had I been wrong?

I couldn't have been. Impossible. Riddle himself, future Riddle had told me…granted, he'd said that I hadn't been doing well in the future…but I was still alive, wasn't I? Still breathing?

And even so…would that ridiculous semblance of survival be worth betraying the others, Dumbledore—would it be worth going back on the entire purpose of being in this Time? I was going to help him with his Horcruxes. I was going to help the Dark Lord—murderer—attain immortality. For a few breaths, a few more seconds of life—for an unfinished potion in a dusty bottle.

If he hadn't responded the way he had…

The left half of my face tingled unpleasantly.

I was so afraid.

This idiotic affliction—this cursed disease—hadn't I already gone through it before? Hadn't I felt my heart give out, my breath dissipate, my mind become engulfed in smothering, greedy darkness on the cold stone floor of the girl's toilet?

And by the most stupid of miracles, I had been saved. But only for a few precious days before everything repeated…

If I had battled with my Boggart again, what is it that I would have seen now?

Crack. Slumped over a wooden desk, eyes vacant and empty, veins swollen and black across shrunken cheeks and hands…

Crack. Against the stone walls of the corridors, a pool of dark blood growing under a broken silhouette…

Crack. Drowning, always, always drowning, suffocating under each polite breath—choking, dying—

Was it so bad then? Was it so bad to want to stop it, to do everything I can for please, just a little more time, anything to hold it off…

Well. No chance of that. Even to someone as classically oblivious as me, it was quite clear Riddle was not going to accept.

And I was going to die, again.

Furiously, I brushed at my prickling eyes—and then howled in pain as I scraped the still tender side of my face. Tears welling up in earnest now, I hurriedly unscrewed the jar of ointment Madame Laroche had given me, tossing its lid beside me where it landed face up.

I did a double take. There was something attached to underside of the lid. A small square of yellow parchment. Temporarily ignoring my stinging injuries, I gingerly peeled it off and unfolded it with slow, clumsy fingers.

Not yet.

I let my finger trace over the words, running over the sharp indents of the letters. It was mine. My handwriting. This was...me.

My mind was reeling; the paper fluttered to the ground. I must have—maybe in the future—would I have known?—of course I would have known, all of this must have happened already somewhere, some Time—

Abruptly a deep sense of calm filled me. 'I' was telling myself not to give up. So I wouldn't. Everything would be alright.

Everything would be alright.

"What are you doing?"

Ignoring my faux brother and my breakfast, I kept my eyes trained on the Slytherin table—or more specifically, a certain person at the table. "C'mon…" I muttered. "Where are you…aha!"

As was the custom each morning, a flood of grey and tawny owls burst into the Great Hall, temporary blocking the sunlight that shone in from the higher windows. I scanned the group. It should be there…

On cue, a handsome snowy owl—easily the largest out of the rest—landed gracefully on the Slytherin table and perched expectantly on top of the package it carried: a basket of deep red poinsettias. My favorite flowers.

Immediately the boys at the table quieted; several of them adopted looks of intense disbelief—or in one case, strong amusement (it might have been Alphard) at the unusually cheerful addition. However, the coldest stare came from—unsurprisingly—the flowers' recipient: one Mr Tom M. Riddle. His trademark indifference cracked slightly when he realized that the poinsettias weren't just poinsettias—

"FROM A SECRET ADMIRER!"

-but singing ones.

"When I see you, it's like taking a curse to the face

I feel a little breathless, a little outta place

But hey, come good or bad weather

I think we can make great magic together

!

I know you're mad (which makes me sad)

I guess lately I've acted kinda bad

But hey, come good or bad weather

I think we can make great magic together

!

I need you and you need me,

All in all, we're like two birds in a tree,

Honestly, I want to get better

I really, REALLY think we'd make great magic together

!

So don't be shy,

Just say hi,

Don't when you see me

Walk on by

If you're embarrassed right now, then please remember

I think we'd make great magic together!"

The flowers stopped their screeching abruptly and the Hall was filled with a deafening silence. I could just make out the others' reactions to my hastily made-up rhyme—Harry, Ron and Hermione were thunderstruck, and Draco looked quite close to tears of sheer disbelief.

Then someone laughed; an awkward, nervous tittering began to rise until normal volume resumed. I saw a guffawing Alphard slap Riddle on the back, who smiled mechanically in return. Smiling slightly, I turned to the ashen faced Draco next to me. "Some admirers, huh?"

"I think I need to lie down," he muttered, standing up. As I watched him leave, I glanced again at Riddle.

Oh, was he furious.

To be fair, it was a rather—ahem—not subtle way of getting his attention…but ever since the day in the Library, he'd been avoiding me. I'd made up my mind in the Hospital Wing not to give up, to continue with what was so obviously a suicide mission, but…

Suddenly he was gone from the halls, the corridors. It was a rarity to even see him at the Slytherin table these days. And even in our Potions classes…I could never get him to speak to me, to break past his usual façade of politeness. I think the both of us were surprised that I even wanted to continue what I'd started in the Library.

So I'd resorted to some drastic measures. I'd spent hours in front of the entrance to the Slytherin dormitory much to Harry and Ron's stupefaction, just waiting for him to show up, which he never did. I'd practically stalked him to all his classes, missing several of my own in the process—until a passing teacher noticed and gave me detention for a week for 'disgraceful conduct'. My arse it was disgraceful. She wasn't dying of some stupid incurable illness—maybe from how far her wand was shoved up her—

Anyway, nothing worked. Obviously, I wasn't getting much better. So I'd resorted to this—a singing telegram I'd purchased from my last Hogsmeade trip. And a crappy rhyme.

He'd better respond to this one. Cost me ten freakin' Galleons.

The sudden increase in volume of my surroundings alerted me of the start of my next class, so hastily finishing the last of my breakfast, left the table.

He had to respond.

He burst into the Room, the door slamming shut with a boom behind him. Magic swirled around him in a thick, poisonous aura as, with a flick of his wrist, he sent one of the nearby desks crashing into the opposite wall. He noted bitterly that the Room had arranged itself so that it was now supplied with many large and breakable objects, sensing his destructive mood.

Riddle's lip curled and immediately everything burst into flame. When only cinders and ash remained, he extinguished the fire, although he was no less as incensed as before. Oh yes, he had been angry in the past—with his followers, with Dumbledore—but only for brief, violent periods of time, the length of which was just sufficient enough to exact his revenge. Ordinarily, he even would have referred to himself as patient; he had been fully prepared to bear all of that stupid little girl's attempts to persuade him to save her worthless skin until the perfect time to dispose of her—

But that stupid, nonsensical and humiliating rhyme was the last straw. Riddle grinned as he imagined his hands around her neck, choking, suffocating; he laughed insanely out loud as he imagined her final, gasping breaths coming from her mouth that he had often wished he could stitch shut for her—

Behind him, something rustled; Riddle whirled around and fired a curse. It knocked off a sizable chunk of wall as it missed its target and then he was faced with conflicting emotions of annoyance and relief that it had.

"You!" he said, livid.

"Yes, me," His handsome döppelganger said calmly, brushing off the rubble from his shoulders. "And you, technically."

Riddle watched him with a sort of furious fascination. He had briefly met his future self a number of times, and he noticed again how cockily unruffled he was, unperturbed by his past self's anger. Secure in that he had already experienced whatever Riddle was going through now, and amused at his antics as if he were simply reliving a fond memory…Riddle grit his teeth.

"What do you think you're doing?" he spat. "Letting out the Basilisk, ordering around my followers—"
"Never mind that," future-Riddle said carelessly and Riddle's fingers twitched on his wand, "If I'm correct—and I always am—my arrival now should be sometime after a certain incident in the Great Hall…?"

Riddle saw red at the reminder.

"That girl…" he hissed in Parseltongue, "…I will tear her into pieces with my bare hands."

"Is that so?" Future-Riddle said coldly. "Under that fool Dumbledore's overly crooked nose?"

"I can make it seem like an accident," he muttered, beginning to pace around the room. "Lure her into the Forbidden Forest and make it seem as if she were attacked by a wild animal…frame another student for a fit of sudden madness…"

"Don't be ridiculous. He'd suspect you immediately."

"He is not Headmaster yet!" He hissed in fury at his older counterpart.

"You are letting your emotions dominate reason!" His future self said sharply. "Have you even thought about what she is offering?"

Riddle stared at him, eyes widening in livid shock. "You are not…considering…?"

"Considering is not an option," he responded curtly. "You will do it."

"Are you—"

"I am merely informing you. How long would it have taken to create your first Horcrux otherwise? We hypothesized at least a few years—"

"Your point?" Riddle snarled.

His future self looked at him steadily. "I have just created my second."

He was silent then, his eyes darting between each of the eyes in his own face, as if to catch one of them lying.

"Besides," future-Riddle said in a softer tone, "what better way to kill her? To let her become dependent on you as the source of her antidote…and then…"

" 'The Lord giveth', yes?" Riddle responded dryly in English.

"Very good," the other boy drawled and Riddle felt his irritation spike at the other's condescending tone.

"Is that all you came here for, then?" he sneered. "To persuade me to accept her offer?"

His future self watched him expressionlessly. "Have I succeeded?"

Riddle privately thought not, and was annoyed when the other began to laugh, the sound ringing in the cavernous Room.

"You forget that I know what you're thinking," His future-counterpart tapped his temple and smiled. "Experience. And you will change your mind.

"One more thing," he added, as one hand held poised over the doorknob, ready to leave. "…and this will be one of the more strenuous tasks…try not to curse her."

Riddle burst out laughing.

"Her wand…" the other boy continued thoughtfully, ignoring him, "...it's not natural."

Riddle stopped to ask him what he meant by that, but he was already gone.

"It's not even close to Halloween yet, though," I said to Harry as we watched one of the Charms teachers levitate an enormous pumpkin to decorate the stairs leading into the Great Hall. Today was one of those rare times when all five of us were together outside of our weekly meetings in the Room of Requirement. Because of my earlier panic about my corpus defessum, I hadn't seen them very often. And today would have been exceptionally enjoyable, had it not been for the guilt that was slowly gnawing at my intestines like a demented parasite.

"It's in two weeks," he pointed out. Some of the other students were also helping with the decorations, pottering around with more of the giant pumpkins, or attempting to bewitch the knights of armor to cackle sinisterly as people walked past them.

"I've never celebrated Halloween before," I said wistfully.

"Really?" Ron said amazed, from his seat on the stone steps next to Hermione. "Why not?"

"I'm not sure. It always seemed like a morbid holiday."

"That's what my mum thinks as well," Ron said. "It's not, really. I reckon it's just another excuse to have a bit of a get together, dress up and stuff. I remember Fred and George—they're my brothers—you couldn't get within a foot of them without at least five Dungbombs going off…"

"It has a fascinating history, though," Hermione said earnestly, having finally looked up from the heavy textbook in her lap.

"Go on then," Ron said, amused. "Can't help yourself, can you?"

Hermione sniffed. "It's supposed to celebrate the end of summer, in the medieval Irish and Scottish calendars. People thought that otherworldly beings—demons and such—were able to enter into our world more easily during this time; that's why wearing costumes or masks is such a big part of tradition. It was supposed to confuse them, and protect the people from possession.

"Of course," she said, "it's all nonsense. I've never heard of anything of the sort happening before. Not even wizards really believe it—I suppose they just do all of this for fun."

A coughing fit overtook me then and Draco's eyes narrowed.

"Are you ill?" Harry asked.

"Yes, are you ill, Ari?" Draco repeated coldly. Ah, he sounded angry. I hadn't told him anything about the return of my illness…

"No, it's fine. Oh," I said suddenly, gesturing at the students in front of us. "Look. Riddle's helping."

Their heads swiveled in the direction I was pointing. Riddle was speaking to one of the professors as some of the students nearby levitated a giant, heavy brass chandelier into the air. As he moved around the floor his eyes met mine by accident; I flushed and looked away.

"We haven't had a Knights meeting in a while," Harry said, watching him.

He's distracted, was the first thought that came to mind. My eye settled on the wobbling form of the chandelier as I tried to get my thoughts straight. It was becoming very hard to focus on the one thing…

Was he thinking about my offer? One of the students helping to levitate the brass chandelier yelled out as they slipped on a stray miniature pumpkin; the chandelier began to shake in earnest now and then I was on my feet, eyes wide with horror as they traced the path from the gigantic ornament to the tall, dark-haired Slytherin boy directly beneath it. I shouted, "Riddle!"

A few students looked my way and though Riddle's shoulders twitched slightly in irritation, he didn't even glance in my direction.

"What are you doing?" Harry said, alarmed.

Next thing I knew I was running, tripping down the stairs.

"Ari!"

The chandelier jolted downwards, several people screamed as pieces of crystal fell and shattered on the floor and Riddle's head jerked upwards—

I collided into him, sending us both to the ground just as the brass ornament fell, with an almighty CRASH into the floor, where Riddle had been standing barely a breath earlier.

Shards of glass showered on us, nicking the backs of my hands as I weakly tried to shield myself, lying flat on my back on the floor. My breath had left my lungs in a great whoosh—running into Riddle felt like running into a brick wall. How was that even possible? He was so skinny. If he had been any old Muggle boy, I reckon I would've been able to take him.

Wheeze. Wheeze. My chest hurt.

"Is your…stupid pride…worth your life…you idiot?" I gasped out to the Slytherin boy next to me, also covered with shards of crystal.

"You dare—" he said furiously, in a rare display of emotion when his words were drowned out by the approach of Professor Slughorn.

"Oh ho ho ho!" he cried, his face blanching at the sight of two of his favored students on the ground. "Someone, get these two to the Hospital Wing—"

"I'm fine, sir," Riddle and I interrupted at the same time, with the same words. There was a short, awkward pause before he continued smoothly, "It was a simply a minor accident. None of us were hurt."

"Speak for yourself," I muttered, thinking of the backs of my hands.

"Severely," Riddle amended.

Slughorn looked flustered. "But—the chandelier! A great thing like that, surely there must be some damage—"

"…which is easily repaired," Riddle finished, getting to his feet and, with a flick of his wand, sent the chandelier to zoom upwards into its rightful place and the floor to return to its formerly pristine state before our very eyes. Slughorn began to laugh.

"Oh ho ho ho!" he cried, still chuckling. "What cheek! Ah Mr Riddle, you'll do great things someday…and you," he swiveled around to face me, his pale eyes twinkling. "…that was a very heroic thing you did, Miss de Lioncourt!"

"What?" I said stupidly.

"Saving a fellow classmate from grave injury! Ah, don't look so shocked! In fact," he turned to Riddle, "you may even owe your life to this fine young lady here!"

"No!" At Slughorn's stunned expression, I hastily said, "I mean—no he doesn't, I didn't—I didn't mean to save—" I should have let him die.

"Ah, modesty!" Slughorn chuckled, waving a plump finger in front of my face. "Such a very rare, overlooked trait…"

Helplessly, I looked around for the others. "I didn't mean—"

"He's right." I stared at the calm, pleasant looking young man in front of me. Riddle smiled. "You are too modest, Miss de Lioncourt."

And then he bowed slightly and brought my hand to his lips.

"Thank you," he murmured and he straightened up. Addressing Slughorn in a more formal tone, he said, "I'm afraid I have other things to attend to, unless you have further need of me, Professor…?"

"No," Slughorn said, looking rather dazed by his abrupt gesture himself. "No, thank you Tom…"

"You know," Slughorn whispered conspirationally to me as I continued to stare disbelievingly at his retreating figure, "I think that boy may have taken a liking to you!"

"What do you think you're doing?"

I was face to face with Draco in the Room of the Requirement. The others were watching us solemnly.

My mouth trembled. "I didn't do anything—not on purpose—I just—"

"It could have ended!" Draco yelled. "We could have gone back, gone home if you hadn't decided you were too much of a saint to just let him die!"

"I couldn't just stand there!" I argued furiously. "This isn't my fault! He wasn't doing anything Draco, he was just there, underneath all of that—"

"Maybe he was supposed to be there," Harry said quietly.

"Don't say that!" I snarled at him, my hands shaking.

Draco growled, "Ari, just because you think you need him doesn't mean—"

"Shut up! Shut up!" I roared at him. How dare he bring that up? He had no…no right to bring up something that private, he…

"Alright!" Harry bellowed. "Enough, stop it! I mean it, Draco," he snapped as the blonde opened his mouth to retort. "Ari…what are you trying to say?"

I racked my brains, trying to rationalize my actions. "Look…don't you think if he was supposed to have been offed by a piece of furniture, it would have happened already?"

"Yeah, well we changed things when we arrived," Ron pointed out.

I felt a ripple of anger. "Fine! Then how about this? Could any of you have lived with yourself—letting someone die a horrible, violent death in front of you? Could you have lived with yourself—knowing that you just—just stood there and watched as they—they…" The others shifted in their places uncomfortably—except Draco.

"Yes," he said coldly. "I would do what needs to be done."

A silence hung between all of us.

"Class will start soon," Hermione said in a shaky voice. "We should leave now or…"

"Yeah," Harry said finally. "Yeah, Hermione's right. Look, we'll just take a break, okay? Just…mull things over for a while."

Draco turned on his heel and stormed out of the Room.

A few beats later, I followed suit.

"I've changed my mind," Riddle said to himself; the one leaning against the wall with his arms crossed across from him. He knew he would be there, because his future counterpart had known that he had wanted him there.

The other Riddle smirked. "I told you—"

A sudden movement, a burst of light and then his future self was nursing a deep cut on his cheek, looking faintly surprised. "Counterproductive."

"I feel much better now, though," Riddle hissed, eyes lighting up dangerously. "I will not owe my life to vermin!"

The other spared him an expressionless glance; a trail of blood ran down his face like a tear.

"Then don't."

It was raining.

I hated rainy days. I wanted spring, I wanted sunshine. Warmth. Not this.

I stared at the tremors running through my hands. Over time, I'd noticed that I'd begun to appreciate each quiver, each tiny quake that ran through my fingers—all the different intensities of alternating pain and numbness that passed through my body.

Of course, this was all borne from someone with a lot of spare time and very little to do with it.

Sweat beaded on my now nearly constantly feverish forehead and I shifted in the open window of the stone pillars in which I had taken to spending my time. I was watching the students make their way to Hogsmeade from my isolated spot. I spotted the familiar trio of heads—inky black, fiery red and curly brown.

They were avoiding me. I was sure of it. Even Draco…I'd been sitting by myself in a lot of my classes lately.

Bitterly, I watched them leave the courtyard.

I wish I didn't feel so alone. I mean…I should have been used to this, for crying out loud, what with all the days I spent by myself at the orphanage, or at school…

Lethargically, I swung my legs off the stone ledge. They buckled slightly as they touched the ground and I leaned, panting, into the wall to steady myself.

Worse. I was getting worse.

I made my slow, arthritic path down the steps that led into the courtyard. As much as I hated the rain, I didn't want to stay trapped in the castle.

Bracing myself for the irritating pinpricks of water that would assault me as soon as I stepped out of cover, I closed my eyes, pulling halfheartedly at the cloak around my shoulders.

And then I opened them again.

Thousands of droplets of water hovered in mid air before me, just inches away from my—very dry— clothes. The weak sunlight shone through them, making them glitter like tiny diamonds. Hesitantly, I reached out to touch one; it rolled off my fingertip, falling gracefully to the floor.

It was beautiful.

My heart—so sluggish only minutes earlier—began to pound forcefully in my chest. With an excruciating slowness, I turned to face the young man watching me from the top of the stone steps.

Grey eyes never leaving mine, he walked towards me, his footsteps echoing in the unnatural silence of the courtyard. Then he was only inches away.

"You'll do it?" I whispered hoarsely.

A long pause; then the stiff, marble-like figure broke to give a curt nod. I felt incredibly faint.

"Do not presume I owe anything to you, de Lioncourt." His voice was harsh.

"I—" I broke off, coughing heavily into the sleeve of my robes. Wiping the blood from my mouth, I said, "I don't."

Riddle stared at me and I met his gaze tiredly. "You know of the Room of Come-and-Go."

"Yes."

"You'll be there at midnight." I nodded. "If you are even a minute late…"

His words hung in the air. I nodded again.

Riddle's eyes bored into my own before he abruptly turned on his heel, cloak billowing out as he made his exit. Shortly afterwards, the raindrops began to move again, drenching me in seconds. Normal background noise resumed.

It seemed something good had come from all of this after all.

"C'mon de Lioncourt… get yourself together," I muttered as I stood in front of the familiar patch of wall, knees knocking, stomach twisted in knots. I was ten minutes early, but knowing Riddle…

I took one last breath. I need the place where Tom Marvolo Riddle is…

A door handle appeared and I turned it, slipping quietly into the room.

I'd seen this room before, I thought as I looked around. Large, and littered with long wooden desks…a number of strange apparatus on their surfaces, and in the desk closest to where I stood, a medium sized black cauldron…I remembered it from the time I'd spoken to future-Riddle, the night of Slughorn's party.

"Riddle…how did I convince you?"

"You made an offer that was…very, very hard to turn down."

Surely this meant I was on the right track.

"Close the door."

I jumped, and then did what Riddle asked. Like me, he was still in his day clothes despite the late hour, although his were considerably less rumpled. While my eyes were heavily bagged and dull from sleeplessness, his were sharp and alert, and fierce. I sighed.

"So…" I began awkwardly, walking up to the desk over which he currently presided, "…er…how d'you wanna get started? I mean, I don't know much about healing potions, but I reckon we could start with—"

"Sit down." I complied at once, taking a seat in the large, wooden chair directly in front of his desk. Immediately, glowing green chains erupted from the wood, binding my arms and legs to the chair. I yelped, "What the f—"

Riddle smiled. "A precautionary measure."

"For what?"

He shushed me. "Now…before we begin, Ariadne, you and I have…ah, some business to discuss first." He sat down behind the desk, a pleasant look on his face. "As I'm sure you can imagine, I've become very curious about you."

"Ditto," I spat.

"So," he ignored me, "I would like you to answer a few questions of mine, before we do anything."

"What makes you think I'll do that?"

His expression grew dark and then abruptly lightened. He laughed. And then in a flash, he was next to me, tipping the tasteless contents of a vial into my protesting mouth.

"Swallow," he ordered, one hand across my mouth and nose, and the other holding up my chin. His nails cut into my skin. After a few seconds, I bitterly complied.

"Good girl," he let go and I gasped for air. Furious, I tried to bite his hand as it left my throat, but he was too quick. It felt like lead weights suddenly weighed on my tongue; although my head was still perfectly clear, it was with a keening fear that I realized I could no longer control my words.

"Veritaserum," Riddle said, resuming his seat behind the desk. "I assume you know what it is…?"

"Yes."

"I thought so." He sounded amused. "Now…where to start…perhaps something simple first, yes?" He interlocked his long fingers together. "Why did you come to Hogwarts?"

"I came here because I didn't have anything else left back home." The words that flew out relieved me; I hadn't said anything incriminating…

"Because of the war?"

"N-no."

"Why?"

"I-I—bec—" He watched me struggle with myself. It was like trying to stop an enormous boulder from rolling down a steep hill, attempting to lie despite the Veritaserum—futile and inevitable. "Because I didn't have anything else back home!"

Riddle stared at me. My fear turned into horror at his next question. "You and your brother…you are not truly related, no?"

A series of muttered curse words and grunts followed my monotone, "No."

"Why did you say you were?"

"F-For protection. His name is…too recognizable. Dumbledore…he suggested it."

His brow furrowed; he looked frustrated. "Why does he help you?"

"Mhh—war."

His eyes narrowed. With a dark expression, he leaned forward, his next words an unforgiving whisper in the silence of the Room. "How do you know about my Horcruxes?"

"I read about it."

"Where?"

"Back home."

His was visibly angrier now. I wondered why he hadn't attacked yet. I wouldn't have been able to defend myself, trussed up as I was. "How do you know about the Twin Lockets?"

"I read about it." I winced and tensed for a curse to come heading my way—but to my intense disbelief, he didn't, despite the obvious scarlet in his eyes.

"Why did you think I could help you?"

I would have answered this question truthfully without the Veritaserum. "The day Grindelwald attacked Hogsmeade, I lost myself in the Forest. Two of his men—of his army—found me. They were about to kill me when you appeared. You saved my life. You gave me a potion before you vanished into thin air. At first I didn't understand…but then I saw you again, at the castle. You were different. And then I understood."

The whitening of the skin around his eyes, the flare of his nostrils all indicated his shock. When he didn't say anything I spoke again.

"I need your help. I can't do this by myself. I can help you too."

"What do you know of immortality?" he sneered.

"Everything," I whispered.

We both fell silent because we both knew that I was still telling the truth—at least, in the sense that Riddle imagined it. After an eternity, Riddle finally spoke.

"We'll begin next week," he said coldly. "I have other things to attend to. However," he raised a finger, "there is one final thing."

When he pulled out the silver dagger from the folds of his robes, my eyes widened to the size of dinner plates and I began to struggle frantically against my binds.

-a flash of silver—

No! No! No! No! No! No!

I screamed as the tip of the dagger formed a small, shallow cut into my forearm and Riddle collected it in a small glass vial which he held up to the light. Panting hard, I stared wild eyed at him who met my gaze with an unreadable expression.

"Divulge anything spoken in this Room to anyone other than myself," he warned, pocketing the vial, "and you will wish you had never been born."

Abruptly, the chains retracted back into the chair, I clutched at my bleeding arm, small gasps still catching in my throat. Riddle spared me one last glance before I heard the door close behind him.

I fainted.

The sound of Saturday morning cartoons played on the television. Though I considered myself too old for them these days, there was nothing else on and I was too lazy to reach the remote lying inches out of my reach, sprawled ungracefully on our red couch as I was.

The doorbell rang. Thinking my mother would get it, I let out a shout of laughter as the cartoon cat was outsmarted by the mouse again. Dumb cat.

The doorbell rang again.

"Mum, the door!" I yelled out, flopping a leg vaguely in its direction.

"Aria, get the door please, honey, mum's a bit busy—"Groaning, I stood up, hearing my joints pop lethargically. I stalked unenthusiastically to the door.

"How have you been feeling lately?"

"Hello." I looked up at the man in the doorway. He was dressed oddly, especially for the warm season. "Who are you?"

"I would do what needs to be done."

Why was he staring at me like that?

"I can't do this without you."

I opened my eyes. Daylight bled in through the hangings of my four poster bed. I sat up stiffly.

Still tired. What day was it? Thursday. Been awhile since saw Riddle last.

Get dressed. Brush teeth. Go down for breakfast.

Chew. Swallow. And repeat.

Can't think anymore. So tired. Hurts.

Herbology.

"Late, Miss de Lioncourt. Five points from Gryffindor."

Draco ignoring me. Prat. Pick up trowel. Hands shake. Trowel drops. Pick it up again.

So tired.

Worried. Riddle again tonight. Worried. Can't think.

Cough. Cough. Cough.

Bell rings. Next lesson. Lunch. Next lesson. Girl's bathroom. So tired.

Dinner. Draco again.

Dormitory. Stay dressed. Wait. Wait.

Moving. I need the place where Riddle is…

I put a hand to my mouth, closing my eyes as my throat muscles clenched in the familiar pattern. The doorknob appeared and stumbled inside, moving quickly past a frozen Riddle; I grabbed the large basin that promptly materialized out of nowhere and began to retch into it.

Quickly they became dry heaves; there wasn't anything left in my stomach. I realized I was kneeling on the floor and panting, I flicked my gaze back to Riddle. He was watching me expressionlessly. I noticed the pile of books stacked high on the desk beside him.

"What's that?" I rasped.

"Research," he responded after a short pause.

"Right." Forcing myself upright, I staggered across the pitching and heaving floor towards the main desk. I muttered something incomprehensible as I stumbled into the chair I had been chained to previously; finally, and with a tremendous effort, I collapsed into the one that appeared beside it.

Riddle stared at me, one still placed between the pages of a book. "Ariadne…"

"Muh?"

His mouth moved, but I didn't understand the words. I gave a reply that I didn't quite understand either and his expression morphed from mildly surprised to wary. He held up his hand.

"How many fingers?"

"….what fingers?"

An awkward silence passed. Then Riddle said quietly, "Ariadne, if you want me to help you, you have to wake up."

Minutes passed. "I brought this," I slurred finally, drawing out the empty vial that had previously contained the potion future-Riddle had given me in the Forest. "Dunno how you made it. Saved my life."

A line formed between his brows and he took it from me. Leaning against the back of my chair, I watched him through hooded eyes. I closed them for a moment…

"Ariadne."

I opened them again. Riddle held a flask of something towards me. "Drink this."

"Whatzit?"

He gave an impatient sigh. "It will help."

Eyeing him with a sort of drunken suspicion, I took the flask, sniffed it and knocked it back. It didn't taste poisonous…

A weird, crackling sensation ran through me; it felt like all my hair was standing on end. The fog lifted from my mind and despite the continued ache in my bones, I felt mostly conscious for the first time in days.

"What did you give me?" I asked the dark-haired boy in front of me. He leaned against the desk, folding his arms across his chest.

"Essence of Jerusalem berry," he said calmly.

"But—" I stopped myself in time. He raised an eyebrow but continued speaking.

"It's a powerful stimulator, but it doesn't do anything for pain. I want you to be coherent when I speak to you."

"Okay."

"Corpus defessum is a degenerative disease," he said in a brisk, business-like tone. "From what I've read, it appears to attack the peripheral nervous system first—that is, the nerves that extend from the spinal cord. Obviously this leads to several somatic consequences such as…"

"Er…my hands shake, like I can't control them." I racked my brains. "Sometimes they go numb. Ah…well, upchucking's an obvious one…

"There are times where it feels like—like I'm drowning. Just for a moment. And then it's gone, and it's like waking up from a bad dream…but it's not. It's real."

"There is no mention of any of the causes of the disease," Riddle continued smoothly. "However, I have my own theories.

"Tell me, Ariadne…what is your relationship with Time?"

My mouth became very dry all of a sudden. "What are you talking about?"

"I wonder sometimes," Riddle said coldly. "…exactly how badly do you want to survive, Ariadne?"

Enough to betray my friends. Enough to help turn a sixteen year old boy into the most powerful tyrant the world has ever known.

But to tell him that I was a time traveler…that was another matter entirely. I'd be putting the others at definite risk, if I hadn't already done so, not just myself. Perhaps, if there was something else…

"My wand," I said.

Riddle frowned. "What?"

"Its core is Time. A Strand of Time." Anxiously, I watched his reaction; his brow was furrowed and he appeared to be thinking intensely about something. "What are you thinking?"

"The day in the Library," he replied, still frowning. I winced and unconsciously held a hand to my now fully healed face. "Why did the First Locket fail?"

I hadn't even thought about it since. "I dunno."

"I attacked you."

"I got hurt," I recalled.

"You dropped your wand."

"I picked it up…" I suddenly remembered the ripping noise that had sounded when my fingers had closed around the wood. Could my wand have restarted Time? One glance at Riddle and I knew he was thinking the same thing. "…I don't understand. And what does this have to do with my corpus?"

"Have you been on any lengthy trips lately?" Riddle switched subjects abruptly, making me hesitate.

"The trip to Hogwarts." Fifty-three years back in time.

"Something mentally or physically exhausting…combined with your connection to the Time core of your wand…ah. I see."

"What?"

His eyes snapped back to mine. "Your body is chronologically unstable."

"Er…"

Riddle began to pace, his hands clasped behind his back. He stopped, looking over his shoulder back at me. "Think of it as…sped up ageing. Your body is deteriorating, much like it would naturally…but an elevated rate. "

Ageing? What did that mean? I stared at my hands, imagining them pruning before my eyes. Would my hair fall out, my back become stooped and twisted beyond repair?

And then…

"Then I'd die," I realized. It sounded awful. To have to go through all of that…was there such a thing as a fate worse than death, with death as a side anyway?

"I suggest we better start working then," Riddle said in clipped tones. I stared at him. He obviously wished I…well, I couldn't blame him. To be blackmailed into giving someone a few more years of life…huh, at least it wasn't immortality I was asking for…

"Isn't it funny," I said quietly. "We both want the same thing, don't we? In a way…"

"The same thing?" He repeated, his tone dangerous. "You have no idea what I want."

I watched him begin fiddling with various potions and vials, turning his back to me as he did so. The rest of the night passed in silence.

"Ari!"

I turned around, eyebrows arching high in surprise at the sight of Hermione jogging down the sunlight-flooded corridor towards me.

"Hi," she said, a little uncomfortably. "Er…the House Quidditch trials are on today. I was just going down there, would you like to come?"

"Yeah, definitely!" We began walking together towards the direction of the Quidditch Pitch, a place I hadn't even thought about since my arrival at Hogwarts. Quidditch! How could I have possibly forgotten about that? "Are Ron and Harry trying out?"

"Obviously." Hermione rolled her eyes. "Boys…"

"And…" I trailed off, but Hermione caught on.

"He is too."

I didn't say anything, instead taking out a few of the Jerusalem berries in my pocket and popping them into my mouth. We hadn't come close to developing a potion anything like the one future-Riddle had given me, but the Riddle of the present had put me on a daily diet of potions that doped me up like nobody's business and Jerusalem berries to keep me coherent.

I was nowhere near healed, but I was slightly more comfortable than I had been before. However, this also gave me a lot of time to think about Draco…

It's not that I missed him or anything…but it was getting to be awfully lonely, lately. I hadn't been talking very much to Harry, Ron or Hermione either (hence my surprise at seeing her today), but I was closer to Draco than I was to them. Or so I'd thought.

"Is there something going on between you two?" Hermione asked me timidly and I choked on one of the berries I was eating.

Thumping myself on the chest and gasping, I replied, "What? No! No way! Why would you even think that, Hermione?"

She flushed. "Never mind, then."

I shook my head disbelievingly. "Besides, we'd make a crap couple. I mean, he's been avoiding me like the damned plague ever since that stupid incident with the chandelier…"

"Ari," Hermione said slowly, "it's you that's been avoiding us."

I gaped at her and she continued, "Every time we see you in the corridors, you start walking in the opposite direction…you don't even look at us in class…"

"It's you that won't look at me!"

"Ari, be sensible. Why would we avoid you?"

"But…" I was starting to feel a bit silly, "…you all looked so shocked in the Room…"

"Of course we did!" Hermione said exasperatedly. "A dirty great chandelier nearly did you in! Did you really expect we'd be pleased? Ari," she said sternly, "we may have been a bit confused about why you went through all that trouble to save him, but we were never seriously angry at you for doing it."

"Oh." Now I really felt stupid.

"Besides, now that I think about it, that was probably the best thing you could have done at the time," Hermione caught my surprised expression and clarified, "We still don't know where the Second Locket is, do we?"

"Yeah," I said smiling, feeling lighter than I had in weeks. "Yeah, you're right!"

Soon we found ourselves walking the grassy path around the elevated seats that surrounded the pitch and we settled ourselves at the front, watching the players zoom across the perfect blue sky. I gaped at them as they flew around, passing balls to each other so quickly the movements were blurs. Meanwhile, Hermione gave a sigh and pulled a textbook out of her bag.

After a while, the players flew down and I saw Ron and Harry, looking strange in their silver and green Quidditch robes but muddy and grinning, approach us.

"Hey," I said shyly. "You guys were amazing up there."

"Thanks," Harry said, looking slightly wary. An awkward silence fell. I cleared my throat, readying myself for an apology.

"Listen, er…I've been a little out of it lately. So…"

"Don't mention it," said Harry, grinning. I grinned back.

"So, what happened?" Hermione asked.

"Of course Harry got Seeker down pat, you should've seen the look on Black's face," Ron said almost disgustedly. "I'd be surprised if he didn't pop the question soon, the way he was staring at you. I got Chaser…"

The rest of the gorgeous Friday afternoon passed in relative relaxation, watching the other players go through their trials and cheering on the ones we liked best. I fought Ron's half joking suggestion to teach me how to fly a broom tooth and nail until at last they gave up and then we took a lazy stroll around the grounds, skipping pebbles across the Black Lake. The others laughed at my terrified reaction when a giant tentacle rose up to take one of the pebbles from my pile but weren't as amused when it descended back down into the water with a splash, rendering them soaking wet in seconds. I talked to Ron a lot about his brothers—I had been an only child, and I'd always wanted to know what having a big family was like—and he'd answered my questions with a reel of stories that kept me doubled up with laughter for hours afterwards. It was the perfect way to end weeks upon weeks of built up stress. Almost.

"Where are you going?" Harry asked as I stood up from our grassy spot.

I shrugged. "I'm a bit tired. I'll see you at dinner!"

Later, I found myself in front of the stretch of wall I was rapidly becoming acquainted with and let myself into the Room, which had changed once again—it was now completely bare save for two armchairs in its center, separated by a small coffee table upon which sat a tray of chocolate cupcakes. It was nearing the time when I'd asked Riddle to meet me, so I took the seat furthest from the door and munched on the cakes to quell my nerves.

When he did arrive, I asked him politely to sit down. He did so stiffly.

"Okay," I said. "Let's talk Horcruxes."

A/N: Ooh…

I hoped you all liked it! I had a lot of fun trying to figure out the dialogue for this story. Normally for talky-talky scenes I write the dialogue out first and then add in actions and thoughts later to direct the flow of the conversation.

My thoughts on this chapter:

Poor Draco, he had his moments of glory last chapter and now he's being pushed to the background again. Ari's also getting a bit indulgent with her self-pity, isn't she?

I sort of wanted to convey Ari's perception of time as short, sharp and fleeting as a result of her corpus, so you'll notice that line breaks pop up all over the place in this chapter. But things should run smoother soon...

Finally, in regards to Riddle: I always imagined him as a very vicious, bestial person when he's not putting on shows for other people; this interpretation was taken mainly from certain scenes in the books like the Chamber scene in the CoS and in Slughorn's memory in the HBP. So I feel that when he interacts with his future self, he'll always be more 'relaxed' (in his own way) that an any other point in the story, because, well...he's essentially talking to himself.

Looking back on the books again, I'm surprised at just how much Riddle likes to laugh...

Anyway, please tell me what you think!