Harry retreated from the drawing room, fighting the urge to look over his shoulder to see whether Riddle followed. He hurried into the kitchen and reached for the lock — there was no way in hell he was letting Riddle eat with him.

But Harry came up short. There was no bolt to latch, no key to turn.

Ice slipped down his spine as something dawned on him. Since entering the house, he hadn't seen a single lock anywhere, not even fasteners on the windows. The entire house was open. Harry couldn't keep Riddle out, even if he tried.

Riddle could come and go as he pleased. He could plant himself in Harry's presence like a black cloud whenever he wanted. The thought made Harry feel even more trapped, the house suddenly small, the island tiny. His isolation hit him stronger than ever before.

On the stove, the soup bubbled, the candles flickered, and Harry felt the heavy weight of despair settle over him like a cloak.

He had not realized how much strength he'd been using to keep his head afloat. He'd been willing himself, day in and day out, to not think about the Carcerem. Stay busy. Build fires. Pump the well. Walk to the Owlery. Walk to the boathouse. Survive and don't look. Survive and don't think. Survive and don't feel.

Survive, yes. But live? This didn't feel like living. Already his promise to his friends that morning was dissolving into meaningless words. Keep living? How did someone keep living when there was nothing to live for? Harry had thought the task of killing Voldemort would be his greatest challenge. He'd been wrong. Making a home with the man was a mountain Harry could not fathom conquering.

A glint of gold caught his eye, drawing his attention like a lighthouse in the darkest of nights. Had the Carcerem conjured a Snitch for him to help pass the time?

But it wasn't a Snitch. It was a doorknob. Harry frowned at it in confusion. There were only two doors in the kitchen, the one that opened onto the entrance hall and the one that led to the cellar. This door beside the breadbox was new.

Harry hesitated. He didn't trust the Carcerem, but anything it conjured might hold answers. Riddle was murderous and mad, but clever. If he believed there was another way out of the Carcerem, then maybe Harry should be trying just as hard to find it. Find it before Riddle did and keep it from him. Hermione had been the one to point out his saving-people tendency. Well, just because he was trapped inside a magical artifact didn't mean he had to stop looking out for them. They were safe as long as Riddle was here. Harry put his hand on the golden knob and gave it a turn.

He stepped into a walk-in pantry with beans and spices and liquorice wands.

"Harry, could you get me the cinnamon?"

Harry jerked around so fast he nearly fell over. He grabbed hold of a shelf to keep his balance. He knew that voice, though he'd only heard it a handful of times.

"Harry?"

A woman with long, dark red hair appeared around the door frame. Her green eyes gazed at him expectantly.

"What?" Harry croaked.

"The cinnamon," said his mother. "For the pudding. Hurry, I have to keep stirring — oh, damn!" She disappeared from sight and Harry, heart in his throat, rushed after her.

The kitchen was not Aunt Petunia's. It was cozy and welcoming with a vase of blue flowers on the windowsill and mud-caked rain boots by the door. His mother jabbed her wand at a pot on the stove. The spoon that had stopped stirring quickly started up again. The distinct smell of burnt milk permeated the room.

His mother let out a great puff of air, pushing her hair from her face. "Ah, well," she said, giving Harry an exasperated smile. "Won't be the first time the pudding's a bit off."

Harry's heart was too swollen to speak.

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There were so many people crammed around the dining table that Harry didn't understand how everyone could fit: all the Weasleys, Hermione, Hagrid, Sirius, Lupin and Tonks with a wriggling baby giggling in her lap. Perhaps the room had been magically enlarged. Or maybe logic didn't matter wherever this was.

It was a going away party for Harry, Ron and Hermione. They were starting their final year at Hogwarts, apparently. It took a while for Harry to catch on to this, but no one else noticed that he was slow on the uptake. No one took any mind to how little he spoke and how much he stared. Harry watched them all, drinking them in. His mother and father sat to the left, next to each other. His father had a habit of leaning in close whenever she spoke, his food forgotten whenever he looked at her. Sirius was laughing, the sound booming over them all. He was more whole and healthy than Harry had ever seen him. Gone were the traces of Azkaban. He was bright-eyed and handsome and cracking more jokes than Fred and George. Fred — alive and exuberant Fred. Even Lupin looked far less worn than he had ever been in Harry's memory. Tonks was in a heated competition with baby Teddy on who could transfigure their nose best, much to the amusement of the right side of the table. Harry watched it all, his heart so flooded with happiness it physically hurt.

As his mother levitated the pudding to the table, Harry's eyes caught a figure standing in the back garden through the windows lining the wall. His spoon slipped from his fingers.

"Harry, what is it?" Ginny asked. Her hand covered his wrist.

"Nothing," said Harry quickly. "Only Hedwig. I'll go and make sure she can get in." It was a feeble excuse, and had this been real, it wouldn't have held water, but no one at the table tried to stop Harry as he walked out the back door.

The garden was just as Harry would imagine it to be, softly lit with fairy lights, flower beds overflowing with cabbage-sized blooms, frogs croaking wetly in the underbrush, a garden gnome darting out of sight. It was perfect, save for the man under the apple tree.

"You're not allowed here," said Harry firmly.

"Funny," said Riddle, clasping his hands behind his back. "I was about to say the same thing to you." He tilted his head, peering over Harry's shoulder into the house. "You've had your fun. Time to go."

"Go?" said Harry, wishing the apple tree was a Venomous Tentacula. "I'm not going anywhere."

"You will," Riddle ordered sharply. "And if you do not come to your senses soon, this Strangleweed will kill you."

"Strangle-what?" Harry spat.

"Strangleweed," Riddle said clearly, closing the distance between them with a few long-legged strides. "A parasitic vine that is currently wrapped so snug about you that you cannot move. It has clouded you in a numbing haze that causes an intense dream-like state. It does this," Riddle continued coldly, never shifting his eyes from Harry, "so that it may eat you without interference." Riddle jabbed Harry's chest. "Do you feel that? Right there? That burning behind your ribs? That sharp pain whenever you try to draw a deep breath? That, Potter, is the Strangleweed's needle-like tooth. It has pierced your heart and soon it will drain you dry."

Harry swallowed. "You're lying. You're always lying."

"Yes," Riddle agreed. "But not about this. You need to wake up now, Potter."

Harry shook his head.

One of Riddle's eyebrows rose. "No?"

"No," Harry said with force. He spun on his heel, heading back to the house.

"They are dead, Harry. I saw to that."

Harry jerked to a halt. His clenched fists shook.

"Is the only way to get you to come to your senses is for me to do it again?" Riddle asked. "Because I will most happily do so. I've been longing to murder something."

Harry wheeled around.

"You've taken everything! Let me have this one thing!"

Riddle was unmoved. "I can't do that."

"Why?"

Riddle's eyes flashed.

"Because," he said in a voice of pure venom, "your death belongs to me. I am the only one who is allowed to take it. No one else. Certainly not a plant. That pleasure is mine and mine alone."

Harry had never been so furious in his life.

"You're insane." Not trusting himself, he turned his back on Riddle, walking as quickly back to the house as he could.

"And yet it is you who lives in a fantasy," Riddle replied.

Harry swung back around. "How are you even here?" he snarled.

Riddle's mouth twisted in dislike. "You're the host, Potter. The only way to break the Strangleweed's hold is for the host to wake up. I touched the vine to be taken into your dream as well. To save you," Riddle added with a sneer.

"Bad gamble on your part."

The barest hint of fear finally crossed Riddle's face. "You are dying, Potter."

"And you'll be next," said Harry, lightly. "All in all, a good day."

The alarm was vivid now. Riddle strode forward. He grabbed Harry by the arm. "Die here and there is no hope of returning to your friends. To the people who are still alive."

Harry's voice was steady. "We can't return. And even if we could, I wouldn't let you. While we're here, they're safe. You can't hurt them ever again. I'm making sure of that. You've lost, Tom. Get used to it."

Riddle's grip tightened to the point it bruised. He pulled Harry closer.

"And the people who died for you?" he whispered, eyes like shards of ice. "The people who shielded you? Is this gratitude you show them or selfishness?"

It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live.

Harry tried to yank his arm free, but Riddle's hold was like iron.

I'm going to keep living. I won't give up.

You wonderful boy.

You've been so brave.

His mother's face glowed before him, full of kindness and love. His mother. His mother was dead. His mother had come to him when he'd needed her most, on a lonely, terrifying walk through a dark forest. It wasn't right to live with a pretend version of her, a version that couldn't ever possibly come close to the real, radiant Lily Potter.

It wasn't right to her.

It wasn't right to them.

This was an illusion. A lie. And as badly, as desperately as he wanted it, it was not real.

The agony in his chest was unendurable. A twisting, horrible, bone-crushing pain that was so deeply rooted Harry feared he would never be rid of it. He couldn't see. He didn't know where he started and where he ended. All he knew were the fingers — strong, unbreakable fingers — wrapped around his own. He squeezed back. If those fingers let go, he'd be lost in this abyss of misery forever.

Harry's eyes flew open as a high-pitched scream filled his ears. He was covered in golden vines and they were shrieking as they released him, recoiling as if his flesh scorched their leaves. Harry had not imagined the hand; Riddle held him fast. With a forceful yank, he half-dragged, half-pulled Harry to his feet. They were over the threshold. They were back in Aunt Petunia's kitchen. Riddle pushed him clear and Harry crashed to the floor. He rolled over onto his back and watched as Riddle held the door shut. It trembled and shook against him. The golden doorknob jerked wildly like someone on the other side was trying to force their way to them. Riddle gritted his teeth and pushed all his weight against the door—

It stilled. The rattling doorknob quieted. Riddle released a breath, a curl of hair on his forehead damp with sweat. Slowly, he removed his hands from it and took a step back. Harry tried to rise to his feet, but his knees were shaking too badly to support his weight.

"How did that — how did that happen?" he asked. "That door wasn't there before."

"It seems," said Riddle, panting slightly, "that the Carcerem disapproves of our agreement to not kill each other."

That had Harry scrambling to his feet. He held onto the back of a chair to steady himself. "What? But wasn't that its point? That we don't kill each other?"

"Kill each other? That was our agreement. The Carcerem wants us to act. The crypt I found was full of tombs and they were labeled meticulously with many of the names on the list you found. It appears that the Carcerem will not allow us to simply co-exist."

"So it's going to test us?" said Harry, horrified. "It wants to see if one of us lets the other die? Do you think if we pass enough tests, it will let us go?"

Riddle's face was expressionless. "I suppose that all depends on how determined you are in sacrificing yourself. If given the choice, would you choose to stay here and rot just to spite me?"

"For every innocent life saved," said Harry with conviction, "it'll be worth it."

There was no time to react. In a flash, Riddle was on him, pinning him to the wall, a hand on his throat.

"Do not forget who I am, little boy," Riddle hissed, nose inches from Harry's own. "Only one wizard in all my days has ever made me pause and he has never been you. I have cut down more witches and wizards than you can possibly imagine. I did not suffer thirteen years of exile to simply lay to waste here. You will help me escape."

"Why's — that?" Harry gasped, clawing at Riddle's hand.

There was murder in Riddle's eyes. Violence in his smile. "Because while we are here, I will keep saving you. The Carcerem knows how its prisoners tick. You, Harry, would rather stay trapped here forever to keep me from escaping, so it knows that temping you to attack me is unlikely. But …" He squeezed Harry's throat so tight, stars burst in Harry's vision. Riddle leaned closer and whispered in his ear, "I have a weakness. I need you alive. Two enter. Two leave. So I will save you from the Carcerem's pitfalls. I will steer you clear of its traps. And when I find the way off this god-forsaken island I will drag you along with me and kill you as I have dreamed of doing since the day you were born."

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A/N: The big inspiration behind this chapter was the Doctor Who episode with the Dream Crabs. Love it when Doctor Who goes creepy.

Fun fact! Strangleweed really is a plant. It's called many names (lady's laces, wizard's net, devil's guts, goldthread, witch's hair, you get the point) but its name is actually Dodder aka Cuscuta. It wraps around a host plant and absorbs water and nutrients, eventually killing the host and climbing upward and onward to the next. It made sense to me that that the wizarding version of such a plant would be a tad bit more violent in its 'absorption' hence the 'blood-sucking tooth' and dream-like drugging.