January and February flew by without Harry receiving so much as a note from Dumbledore, and it wasn't until March the tenth when their next lesson took place. For a change, Harry hadn't been looking forwards to this meeting, because he had had no success in his attempts to convince Slughorn to give up the memory of Tom Riddle. He had tried cornering the Professor after class, as Ron had suggested, but this act had only resulted in Slughorn now avoiding Harry as much as he possibly could. He had even gone so far as to stop his Slug Club gatherings… although Harry couldn't say that he was exactly opposed to this particular fact.

Dumbledore had been very disappointed, on the night of their fourth lesson, to see that Harry had failed in getting Slughorn's memory. Harry was embarrassed by it, but he thought privately, as he sat in Defence Against the Dark Art's class a week later, that Dumbledore couldn't possibly be more annoyed about this than Harry himself was. Harry spend almost all of his free time between (and during) classes thinking about how he could trick Slughorn into giving him the memory, telling him the secrets of Voldemort…

The latest memories that Dumbledore had showed Harry had been extremely interesting, and despite feeling bad about his lack of contribution, Harry was extremely happy that he had seen more pieces of Voldemort's past. He spent a lot of time thinking about Riddle at Hepzibah's Smiths house, as well as him being interviewed by Dumbledore for the Defence Against the Dark Arts teaching post at Hogwarts. They were important, these memories, and they were giving Harry a perfect idea of what Voldemort was like…

Harry had to force himself many times to not mention the fact that Voldemort had a blatant reason to kill Hepzibah Smith. He knew that neither Ron nor Hermione would be willing to agree with him, even though Hermione's argument had been contradicted, relating to Voldemort not knowing what happened to his mother and thus having no reason to seek revenge. There was still the strange fact that Riddle had murdered someone to steal a few objects… Heirlooms, and objects of great historical meaning, yes, but still just objects.

But there was something else that bothered Harry every time he dwelt upon the newest memories. Tom Riddle had wanted to return to Hogwarts as a teacher so badly that he even cursed the Defence Against the Dark Arts post. Harry didn't care that the teaching post would be jinxed for quite a long time, nor did he care that such an eerie thing had been done for a mere job. It only bothered him to know that wanting to stay at Hogwarts for as long as possible, and thinking of the great castle as home was another thing that he apparently shared in common with Tom Riddle.

The more Harry thought about it, the more peculiar it seemed that Tom Riddle had once walked through the same corridors that he now walked along, attended the same classes that he now attended, and enjoyed a similar life at Hogwarts, as their one and only home. Harry knew that Tom must have adored this school as much as he did, with all its secrets, comfort, magic, and astonishing beauty, and it amazed Harry to know that even someone like Voldemort could find it within him to care for this school.

Riddle must have dreamt of the glorious days when he could return here again, in any way, to continue living the happy life that Hogwarts supplied… Even if Harry wasn't blind to know that Tom had, unlike him, studied the darkest magic imaginable within these walls, the thought of Riddle relishing in the freedom of Hogwarts made Harry think that perhaps he hadn't been all that bad – as a teenager, at least. Harry felt almost guilty for thinking this… but it wasn't as though he would have to tell Ron and Hermione, anyway.

Harry didn't know what he was going to do about Slughorn. Even after what had happened on Ron's Birthday, concerning Ron being fed a love potion, then poisoned by a class of mead in Slughorn's office, and Harry miraculously saving Ron with a bezoar while Slughorn stared in shock, Harry had had no luck what so ever in speaking to the Potion's Master about the memory of Tom Riddle. Harry wanted the memory very badly, but was completely out of ideas on how to acquire it.

What could Slughorn possibly he hiding, Harry wondered? Harry hadn't the slightest clue what a Horcrux was, and even Hermione couldn't work it out, despite the research that she had kindly – and bravely – done upon the subject. Harry felt that he would be willing do to anything to get the answers off of Slughorn… It wasn't so much defeating Voldemort with this information that interested Harry, he just wanted to understand what could possibly have been going on in young Voldemort's head.

–X–

The following weekend, Harry had been attempting to break into the Room of Requirement, where he had discovered Malfoy was hiding – doing something under Voldemort's orders, he was completely sure. Ron and Hermione were at Hogsmeade, taking Apparition Lessons, and Harry was frustrated and tired after hours of trying different combinations to open the unknowable room.

He had been watching the Marauder's Map determinedly, still waiting for his chance to catch Malfoy in the crimes he was evidently committing, or going to commit. What task might Voldemort have set Malfoy to do, Harry wondered? Harry knew that he wouldn't be able to just guess randomly what it could be, so he stuck with being as intent as he possibly could upon finding ways to catch Malfoy. He decided that he wasn't going to give up trying to break into the Room of Requirement today until he finally opened it, even if he would be here until nightfall…

This was, of course, before Tonks showed up.

"Tonks?" Hermione and Ron had asked simultaneously.

"Yeah," Harry said, "she said she'd come to visit Dumbledore."

They were sitting in the Great Hall at lunch. Harry had found Ron and Hermione here a few minutes ago, after begrudgingly giving up his search for Malfoy. Ron and Hermione had both returned form their Apparition Lessons in Hogsmeade, and from what they told Harry, they had made quite a lot of progress in this week's lesson. Harry was glad to hear it, even if he himself couldn't take the lessons.

Harry began explaining the short story of him meeting Tonks.

"If you ask me," Ron said the moment Harry finished speaking, "she's cracking up a bit. Losing her nerve after what happened at the Ministry."

"It's a bit odd," Hermione said, appearing worried. "She's supposed to be guarding the school, why's she suddenly abandoning her post to come and see Dumbledore when he's not even here?"

"I had a thought," Harry said. He paused, feeling somewhat awkward with what he was going to say. "You don't think she can have been… you know… in love with Sirius?"

"Why on earth do you say that?" Hermione asked, bewildered.

"I dunno," Harry said, "but she was nearly crying when I mentioned his name… and her Patronus is a big four-legged thing now… I wondered whether it had become… you know… him."

"It's a thought," Hermione said, "but I still don't know why she'd be bursting into the castle to see Dumbledore, if that's really why she was here…"

"Goes back to what I said, doesn't it?" Ron said, seeing his chance to speak. "She's gone a bit funny. Lost her nerve. Women," he said, directing his words to Harry now. "They're easily upset."

"And yet," Hermione began with no hesitation, "I doubt you'd find a woman who sulked for half an hour because Madam Rosmerta didn't laugh at their joke about the hag, the Healer and the Mimbulus mimbletonia."

Ron glowered at Hermione.

"Speaking of Dumbledore, though, where do you reckon he goes when he isn't at Hogwarts?" Harry asked, leading them back to the subject that interested him, as well as diverting the conversation from an argument, as he hid a smirk. Ron and Hermione had only recently begun talking again, after all. "He can't have been away for this long in other years."

"Well, obviously he's just getting more memories about Voldemort," Ron said, appearing happy that the subject was being changed, "which he never did any other year."

"He doesn't show me that many memories," Harry said. "Dumbledore is barely even at the school anymore…"

Harry watched Ron glance at the staff table, and more specifically at Dumbledore's chair in the centre of it, which was once again unoccupied.

"We've realised this as well as everyone else – including Scrimgeour, as I told you."

"But Dumbledore's absence only to be expected," Hermione reasoned. "With the Death Eaters rising to power again, and Dumbledore finally having the chance to speak to people, be them Ministry involved or not, he likely has meetings constantly."

"Not to mention, there's the Order to run," Rom added. "Maybe that's why Tonks wanted to see him so much today."

"I hope there's nothing wrong," Hermione said.

"She would have mentioned it," Harry assured her. "But I wonder why she thought Dumbledore might be here…"

"Why are you wondering where Dumbledore is, anyway?" Hermione inquired. "Your next meeting won't be until after you get the memory off of Slughorn."

Harry's heart sank. He had forgotten about that…

"I dunno, I just…" Harry trailed away. In full honesty, he now realised, he had been hoping restlessly that Dumbledore might indeed have more memories for him. "I just want to know why all of these facts about Voldemort are so important."

"Well," Hermione said, her tone overbearing, "there's only one way you can find out why it all matters."

Harry didn't want to hear her say it again, so he made no reply to this.

"Oh, just tell you're at least trying to talk Slughorn into giving you the information!" Hermione pleaded, sounding exasperated and exhausted with this subject now.

"Of course I'm trying!" Harry replied, annoyed.

"I'm sorry to say it, Harry, but continuously chasing after Slughorn just won't do it. You have to think of a proper plan."

"Why don't you do it, then, if it's that simple?"

"It's not my responsibility to do it," Hermione reminded him. "Dumbledore wouldn't set you this task if he didn't think you could handle it."

Harry didn't reply to this.

"But even if Harry does fail," Ron began, appearing unconcerned when Harry scowled at him, "Slughorn can't hide that memory from Dumbledore forever. He must be dreaming, if he–"

"I had a dream about Tom Riddle about two months ago," Harry interrupted, without thinking.

There was a pause, where Hermione and Ron both appeared confused.

"So?" Ron asked.

"It was really real," Harry said. He didn't know how to explain it. "It was like… we were actually standing there."

"We?" Ron asked. "Were Hermione and I there?"

"No," Harry said. "I meant me and Riddle."

"What happened in the dream?" Hermione asked. Her tone was indifferent.

"I was in the Chamber of Secrets, and Riddle was there too. He was just… standing there. He had my wand, as well. And he kept smiling every time I spoke, and wouldn't answer me fully when I asked why we were there. He stopped smirking when I asked if it wasn't a dream… and it looked like I said something he either didn't want to hear, or wasn't expecting."

"That's sort of creepy," Hermione said, only a little bemused.

"No, the creepy part was when he started bleeding," Harry said. "Out of his nose and mouth."

"What about it, though?" Ron asked. "Was there a basilisk around or something?"

"No," Harry replied, "It was just me and him."

"Well, you should be glad he was bleeding," Ron said. "Better him than you."

"But you don't get it," Harry said, unsatisfied with their reactions, or lack thereof, "It was like I was actually there."

"But it can't have been a view into Voldemort's mind or anything," Hermione said apathetically. "I think it must have just been a vivid dream."

"Maybe…" Harry said, still very unconvinced. Ron and Hermione moved into other subjects after this, leaving Harry to feel alone in the notion that this was somehow important.

–X–

Whether it was his mind dwelling upon the thought too much, or else some sort of indication that he wasn't completely wrong, Harry had another dream about Tom Riddle that very night. After hours of lying in bed, contemplating the things that Ron and Hermione had said, or else thinking about how to trick Slughorn, Harry found himself drifting off to sleep…

He was standing in Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, in the drawing room. The room was perfectly recognisable to him, with large, curtained windows overlooking the street outside, a writing desk sitting in view, the tapestry displaying the Black Family Tree still taking up an entire wall, unable to be removed, and the fireplace set between two large and elaborate glass-fronted cabinets, storing many items that Harry, Hermione, Sirius, and the Weasleys had gone through two summers ago.

Harry was standing in the centre of the room, with the ability to feel and see as clearly as he might have, had this not – perhaps – been a dream. The only thing that stopped him believing all of this was real was his somewhat fuzzy mind, and his unnaturally calm emotional state. He felt slower than usual, as if either something within him, or something within his current physical existence, was a little off.

He stood for perhaps minutes, just thinking. When he heard light footsteps, and the sound of the door leading to the hallway creaking open, he turned around calmly. Kreacher had just walked into the room, and was now looking up at Harry with his ever-resenting eyes.

"How do I look?" Harry asked, not choosing these words himself, he felt.

"Lovely, sir," the house-elf replied, perhaps mockingly. "He'll be here any moment, Kreacher should think."

"Who?" Harry asked. His first thought was Sirius…

"Mr Riddle, of course," Kreacher replied. "Kreacher was told you knew this… but Kreacher would only expect as much from the master he is forced to serve, friends of Mudbloods and blood trait–"

For once Kreacher stopped mumbling. The doorbell rang. Harry didn't hear the portrait of Sirius's Mother yelling and screaming, which surprised him slightly. But he knew that the portrait would have set a different feel upon the air, one he was more familiar with… and that hadn't happened in the Chamber of Secrets. Kreacher had left the room, but Harry was too busy thinking to notice this, before the house-elf returned.

Kreacher was accompanied, of course, by Tom Marvolo Riddle. Tall, pale, and exceedingly handsome, Tom's eyes traveled carefully as he examined the room. He walked in smooth, tranquil movements, and seemed pleasantly interested in Grimmauld Place, before he ceased walking. His eyes finally fell on Harry, and that familiar smile curled softly on his lips. They stood only a few meters apart.

Kreacher left the room, closing the door behind him. Harry's heart was beating quickly, and he wasn't sure why. Perhaps it was in anger at seeing young Voldemort, or fear? It didn't feel like it, somehow… He pushed the thought out of his mind, concentrating instead upon Tom, and the silent room.

"What is this?" Harry asked.

"What is what, exactly?" Tom asked quietly. His voice was full of as many hisses as Harry had heard in the Chamber, but they were quieter now, in this smaller space.

"All of this," Harry said, "Everything in this… dream, or whatever it is."

Tom took a moment to decide upon a reply to this question. Harry was relieved that he was actually speaking today, and he watched as Tom tilted his head to the side slightly. "You again believe this is a dream?"

"Well, what else can it be?" Harry asked.

He waited for a reply, but Tom did not give one.

"My friends don't understand when I say these aren't ordinary dreams," Harry said.

"They wouldn't."

"Why not?"

Again, Tom took his time in deciding upon an answer. "They have likely never felt anything similar to this. They likely never will."

"Then how do I feel it?"

"I cannot answer that," Tom said softly. He spoke again before Harry could interrupt. "You may, however, be able to guess… eventually."

"Why can't you tell me?" Harry inquired, thinking Tom might just enjoy watching him struggle.

"You haven't given me the equipment to."

"And how do I give you the equipment?"

"You can't. You must work it out, and do it yourself. I cannot help you piece together a puzzle while I reside in your head." Tom smiled. "You cannot ask another to think for you, if it is that you wish to get a satisfactory and untainted answer."

"So, what your saying is that you can't help me at all to understand why we're here?" Harry asked, feeling somewhat annoyed.

"Quite," Tom responded.

"Then why do I need you at all?"

"I'm a part of this, evidently." Tom said, finding amusement in all of this, it seemed. "But I believe you are mixing up quite a few things… It isn't the 'dreams' that you're supposed to be figuring out, but rather the purpose behind them, as a whole."

"What do you mean?"

Tom paused, thinking. "Perhaps it is too soon for you to understand…"

"No it isn't," Harry said quickly.

When Tom made no reply, Harry thought back to what he said, trying to understand it more.

"So… these 'dreams' are just to cover up something else?"

Tom inclined his head, the soft smile on his lips again. Harry took this as a 'yes'. He wanted to ask what these dreams were covering, but he knew that Tom wouldn't answer him directly.

"Am I even asleep?"

"A worthy question," Tom stated. But he did not carry on.

"What are you?"

Tom's smile broadened, and he remained silent.

"Am I imagining you?"

"If you were imaging me, I do believe that it would be somewhat easier to get answers off of me," Tom said, his hiss filled voice progressively softer, as he examined Harry.

Harry didn't know whether to believe Riddle. He couldn't see how this wasn't a dream… while at the same time, he couldn't see how it was. Everything was so clear, so convincingly accurate… He didn't feel like Tom was a figure of his imagination. He would be able to control the Heir of Slytherin if he had created him…

"Why did you come here tonight?" Harry asked, realising he hadn't asked this before. The room was very quiet past their voices.

It was a while before Tom answered this question, but Harry didn't interrupt his evident thinking. Tom was walking towards him slowly. "Do you wish for me to leave?" he asked gently.

He continued taking careful steps towards Harry, and Harry watched him. "No, I just…"

Harry didn't understand what any of this was even about. Tom was standing very close to him now… Harry might have thought Tom would attack him, had it not been for the calm expression in his eyes. Harry couldn't remember what they were speaking about, and his heart was beating progressively quicker. Tom smiled, watching him contently.

"I brought you flowers," he whispered, conjuring red roses from nowhere.

The roses floated in the air, but Harry barely saw them. He felt fingers clasping around his own, and he gazed into Tom's dark grey eyes. Tom brought their hands up, to bring Harry's closer to his lips. He kissed Harry's hand softly, his eyes never breaking away…

Harry awoke. Immersed in utter darkness, he lay on his back, his heart hammering and his breath uneven. He might have merely closed his eyes while standing in front of Tom, except he could feel the bed beneath him, and could no longer feel Tom's fingers around his own. The skin on the back of Harry's hand felt oddly cold…

Harry was bewildered with the dream, and he couldn't think properly. Part of him, perhaps the part that was numb while he was standing in Grimmauld Place, was terrified at the idea that he had seen young Voldemort again this clearly, while another part of him, the part that was perhaps forcing his heart to beat at an alarming rate, had actually enjoyed seeing Tom, speaking to him, feeling him…

Harry closed his eyes. He didn't like Riddle. He didn't want anything to do with him… These dreams – and Harry refused to call them anything else, now – were just out of his control. Harry tried not to wonder why his mind created a vague imitation of what had happened at Hepzibah Smith's house so many years ago, and tried not to wonder why Tom's hand had felt so good around his own… Was Harry only keen upon seeing memories of Voldemort because he wanted to see Riddle more?

Harry scowled in the darkness. He didn't want to see Riddle more often, and he didn't think about these memories just for Tom… he wanted to defeat Voldemort. He was sure of it… There was no explanation for what had happened, and why. Did this not prove that these were mere dreams? Just random events collected together, and made to seem more real, maybe because his mind was scared of Tom, or something.

Harry was extremely tired. Tom's actions had been meaningless, and Harry was sure they had happened only because of the memory of Hepzibah Smith. Harry had only liked it because… because none of his emotions were right in that dream. If he had actually been himself, he would have been alarmed at the sight of Tom, and wouldn't have hesitated to either flee the scene of fight the Heir of Slytherin. Yes, Harry thought, this sounded like a reasonable explanation…

Yet in spite of an explanation, Harry lay awake for over an hour, replaying the dream in his mind, to try and make more sense of it.