AN: Aloha, its been a while, but enjoy. Damn, I have so many ideas for this fic but I can't get them to all slot into decent writing. Sorry. Thanks for all the reviews anyhow. Enjoy, I hope - The Fictionist.

Chapter 15

He stared at the bird, his insides chilling. Somehow, somehow, he knew who its owner was. He picked his wand up, approaching the hawk with no small amount of trepidation.

'Go away,' he hissed. 'I don't n it.'

The black demon stared at him with cold, menacing eyes. Jeez, he licked his dry lips. 'Go on!'

The bird hopped towards him, sticking it's leg out. It clicked its sharp beak in warning. A short battle of wills ensued. He checked the letter for curses, portkeys or any other enchantment or danger. Nothing. Inhaling deeply, he opened the letter.

'Who's it from?' Ron asked curiously. 'What does it say?'

His vision began to swim, his heart constricting. It was a list, a list of names. The names of everyone he cared about, some of the names were crossed out: such as Lily Potter, James Potter and Cedric Diggory. It was a hit list. Written in a spidery script across the bottom, nothing like Tom's elegant handwriting, was three things.

1) Hello Harry Potter, or is it Evans?

2) How many more will die?

3) Your choice.

Voldemort.

___

He stared at the parchment, in silent horror. Even as he watched, a thin line went sharply across the name 'Sirius Black.' It was as if someone had just crossed it out…and the crossed out names were people who were dead, or dying. His breath caught. No. Please no. He scrunched the parchment in one hand, sinking into an armchair. This couldn't be happening.

'Harry?' He looked up at Hermione's worried face. 'What is it?' she demanded.

'He - he's got,' he stared blankly at the list of names. What did he do? He was the man with the plan. The hero complex…but he didn't know how to save his Dogfather. He didn't even know if this was a trick. He stood up decisively. Desperate times; desperate measures. He couldn't believe he was doing this. 'I have to see Tom.'

___

He walked down the familiar dungeon corridors, his heart in his chest. Oh god. What if he was too late? What if Sirius was dead? What if - he hated what ifs.

'Open,' he hissed. The stone wall slid open. Everyone turned around, staring at him. Some were hostile, others, like Zevi, looked concerned.

'Harry -?'

'Is Tom here?' he blurted. A dead silence.

'He -' Abraxas began.

'Went to the library,' Cygnus finished coldly. 'I'll tell him his newest pet dropped by, shall I?'

His hackles bristled, but then dampened as he saw Alphard's face. Once more he was hit by the likeness to his godfather. Sirius. His eyes shut briefly Perhaps this, going to Tom and the snakes, was a terrible idea. They would laugh. They weren't exactly against the Dark Lord, were they? He took a deep breath.

'No, it's fine,' he said quickly. 'I'll just -'

'Are you okay?' Zevi, again. He looked at the young Prince, offering him an utterly fake, strained smile.

'Yeah, I'm good. I'll just, um, go…'

'Harry?'

___

He paused as Tom came out of the dorm. His jaw tightened. Damn Lestrange and his stupid power plays. He didn't have time for this. 'Hey, I was just, look, never mind.'

Before he could back out, Tom's eyes flicked to Lestrange, then back to his ashen face.

He came over in one swift movement, his fingers closing around Harry's arm.

'Dorm. Now. Zevi if you could?'

'Oh, sure!' Zevi said quickly, taking up a position by the door. He was pulled into the familiar dormitory, now expanded to fit both the current Slytherin's and the time travellers. His throat tightened. No going back, right?

'What's happened?' Tom demanded. He looked at the future Dark Lord silently for a moment, wondering if he could still take everything back and deal with the situation on his own. He wasn't used to asking for help, but he couldn't exactly go to anyone else either. They were on the list. Tom's eyes were intense on his face, heavy in their scrutiny. Silently, he flicked up some privacy wards, silencing spells - advanced level. 'Harry?'

He dithered helplessly for a moment, then opened his fisted palm, revealing the letter. Tom gave him a long look, then plucked the crumpled parchment. He read it silently, his eyes tracing every line and every letter. His expression didn't change, remaining closed and unreadable. The only visible emotion was a slight, almost unnoticeable, tightening of the mouth and muscles. Those dark eyes flicked up to his face.

'Voldemort?' Tom asked.

'Yes,' he nodded stiffly. He shut his eyes for a moment, feeling a headache that had nothing to do with mental invasion building at the base of his skull. His eyes felt hot. He had never felt so ridiculous, so scared. The war was becoming real. The casualties were rising and he couldn't stand it. He needed to save them, but he couldn't. Society deemed him their savoir, their light in the darkness; but they also deemed him a child, keeping him bundled in cotton wool and without the resources and freedom he really needed. They expected him to win the war for them, but they wouldn't let him fight. He was fifteen, for crying out loud. 'Salazar,' Tom murmured, swearing quietly in parseltongue. He looked up, his eyes hardening. Time to drop the kid gloves. No more simple training, he had to up the game. He had to fight hard and learn hard. No more play time.

'Name your price.'

____

TOM'S POV

He stared at Harry, pale but full of determination.

The other boy's pride had taken a severe blow in coming to him for help, he knew it. He kept his features impassive, cool and composed. His eyes scanned the list, before glancing at Harry's expression.

Voldemort was never meant to be this. Still, he wasn't a Slytherin for nothing, if he could use this he could. Still, he indulged himself by allowing himself to swear. This was just…

'Salazar.'

Those killing curse eyes opened, snapping to his face. Cold and haunted. His eyes. The eyes of a soldier.

'Name your price.'