Chapter 36:

With only ten minutes until his Occlumency lesson, Harry knew that he had to come to a decision quickly. Would he go and have to deal with Tom, or would the fact he even had an Occlumency lesson somehow conveniently slip his mind? The latter sounded far more appealing, but the plan was a flimsy one at best - and not just because Tom wouldn't believe his temporary memory loss.

If he didn't go and find the young dark lord, from experience that just meant the Slytherin heir would track him down instead. Damn it. Okay, whatever. He could do this, even though Tom had specifically requested no attitude. No attitude…what did that even mean? Harry was almost certain that he and Tom had different definitions of the words.

It was just difficult, the other Slytherins assured him that he had an alarming abundance of attitude with Tom normally and Salazar knew he was even worse when he was pissed off. And he was, very, pissed off. He may not be able to reconcile Tom and Voldemort as the same person, but that didn't mean he couldn't reconcile Tom and memory-stealing bastard.

He took a deep breath, clenching his jaw and eyes shut in an effort to calm himself. He had to appear normal, Tom couldn't know who had sent the remembrall. Hell, he could deal with Tom's mood swings fine, but he wasn't willing to risk Draco Malfoy. Who would have thought he would have ever done anything to protect the ferret? His life was so messed up.

It was all Tom's fault. Right, Occlumency time. The room of requirement once again proved useful.

Was it possible to temporarily obliviate oneself?

***Fate's Favourite****

He entered without knocking, dropping his bag on the table. Tom looked up, his eyes shrewd.

"Right, let's get this over with," Harry said.

"You sound hurried. Do you have somewhere better to be?" Tom replied coolly. Harry paused, running a hand through his hair.

"No, no…just…tired," he finished lamely.

Tom's head tilted to one side. Harry willed himself to remain expressionless.

"I would imagine so. Sit, please."

After a moments hesitation, he dropped into the seat opposite. Despite popular belief, he didn't deliberately go out and do the something just because Tom had ordered him not to. Of course, he rarely took orders, but in the end it all came down to who cared more about the topic in hand. Sitting really wasn't an issue for him, so he would take it, it meant he was more likely to have leeway on other things that he did care about. The same worked for Tom, and what he wanted Tom to do. It was a twisted system, but it seemed to work well enough for them.

"First things first, what is the extent of your knowledge on Occlumency?" Tom asked.

"I know it's a mind art, used to protect ones mind from invasion or threat and that its counterpart is Legilimency," he glanced at Tom. "I also know you're good at both."

Tom's lip curled, just slightly.

"I'm more than good, Harry," he drawled.

"Amazingly modest too," he flashed a grin, hoping it didn't seem as forced as it felt. There was too much spinning in his head. He should have obliviated the lesson from his awareness until a conveniently too late time.

Pun bloody intended.

The merest hint of a frown settled on the older Slytherin's features.

"What?" he demanded, his heart beating against his ribcage like the frantic wings of a captured snitch.

"You seem distracted," Tom noted.

"Are you going to teach me or not?" he replied flatly.

"Is it the raid? Is that what's bothering you?" Tom questioned insistently.

"It's nothing, are we doing the whole Occlumency lesson thing now? Cause, you know, that's what I came for."

"Do you have another headache maybe?"

Something in him frayed past returning point.

"Will you back the bloody hell off!" he snapped. "Despite what you seem to mistakenly believe, not everything in my life is your business to know!"

Tom's eyebrows arched in surprise, his gaze darkening.

"Excuse me?" he demanded dangerously. Harry stood angrily, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

"Seriously Tom, what the hell do you want from me?"

"Want from you?" Tom repeated. "Haven't we already had this conversation?"

"You don't just want to convert me," he said stubbornly. Tom blinked, a lazy smirk on his face.

"Whatever gives you that impression?" Despite the smirk on his lips, Harry knew that Tom was far from pleased or even amused. His gaze was as cold and hard as diamonds. For once, he found he really didn't care.

He rolled up the shirt sleeve silently, revealing his left forearm. He was perfectly aware the snake probably had him tied with a collar around his neck.

"Oh, yes, I'd nearly forgotten about that." Harry's jaw tightened. That smug asshole. He had in no way forgotten about the mark and they both knew it.

"I'm sure," he sneered. Tom's fingers flexed, as if he were itching to reach for his wand. Harry smirked, some part of his mind sighing that he was just being deliberately antagonising now.

"You know what," Tom said suddenly, coldly. "Let's just leave this until you've finished your little temper tantrum."

"No, no," he dismissed airily. "Wouldn't want to waste your time. I'm raring to go, really. Teach me oh wise one, you know everything, don't you?"

Tom's hands clenched into a definite fists this time.

"What on earth is the matter with you today?" he demanded, taking a step closer, appraising him with an undecipherable emotion. It could have been something like concern, but he Harry knew it wasn't.

"Nothing," he smiled. "Why would there be anything wrong with me? I enjoy spending every night watching people getting tortured and killed, that's entertaining, right? Then again, maybe it's the fact I'll be dead by the time I'm seventeen because a mass murdering psychopath is out for my blood. Or hell, maybe, just maybe, it's people constantly trying to manipulate me, use me and screw me over. I don't know. I forget."

Tom went very still.

"You worked it out then," he remarked softly. "Harry-"

"What do you want with me?" Harry interrupted, his voice icy, tired, resolute. "Or are you just going to obliviate me again? Because, just so you know, it would probably be better if you just killed me, because otherwise this cycle is going to keep repeating back to here over and over again."

"I'm not going to kill you," Tom replied.

"Then your IQ must be dropping, because I am never going to willingly go along with whatever it is that you're planning. Apparently I wouldn't like it - not that you really care about that, do you?"

The other was watching him intently, in silence, his expression unreadable. "Well?" he demanded.

"Harry," he replied carefully. "You do know I was the one who told you about the less known function of remembralls. You wouldn't even have that memory back if it wasn't for me."

"Yeah, cause I'm too thick to work out anything on my own, aren't I?"

Tom's eyes flashed.

"That's not what I said."

"No," he breathed. "That's just what you imply."

He shook his head, dismissively. "Whatever, Riddle, I'm out of here."

A hand closed vicelike on his upper arm, and he spun, wand in hand, pressing it against the hollow of Tom's throat. He was surprised to see that the young dark lord hadn't drawn his own yew and phoenix feather.

"Let go of me," he said quietly, through gritted teeth.

"Are you going to curse me?" Tom's lips twisted as his eyes flicked to the wand directed his way.

"Do I need to?" he enquired. "Or are you going to back off before I start slicing your appendages off; starting with, but not limited to, your fingers?"

Tom's grip was burning against his skin, and he could feel the mark activating at the touch. He could sense the other evaluating exactly how serious he was, before the fingers dropped. He took a step back immediately, heading for the door.

"I'm not looking to force your allegiance," the words were soft, but stopped him in his tracks. He turned again, slowly. "Not if there is any other possible route, barring killing you."

"What are you looking for then?" he asked, before swallowing dryly, realisation hitting him like a high speed truck. "You're looking for me to join you willingly."

"Yes," Tom said quietly.

"You know, obliviating someone isn't the best way of doing that," he replied tightly.

"It's a learning curve," Tom drawled. "Just in case you haven't noticed, I don't normally work this way."

"I would have been a bit worried if you time stalked someone before," he deadpanned. Tom's lips quirked slightly into what could have been the beginnings of a grin.

"Indeed," he said.

"I don't forgive you," Harry said. "So stop smirking." Tom's face grew solemn, but his eyes glittered.

"I don't expect you to," he replied. "Are we still on for Occlumency?"

Harry hesitated. He did really need to learn the mind art, and Tom would be an extremely proficient choice of teacher, but…

"Are you going to try anything?"

"No. Even I'm not that underhanded." Harry raised his eyebrows. "Okay, I am that underhanded, but I won't. You have my word."

"If I tell you to get the hell out of my head and stop poking around, will you?"

Tom was silent for a moment. Harry almost turned and walked out, but he knew…or he thought he knew…Tom well enough to see that he was merely logically analysing the ramifications of agreement and disagreement.

"Okay," Tom conceded. Harry almost grinned, it felt so great to have Tom somewhat yielding to him for once.

"Okay," he agreed. Tom's head tilted, his walk slow and deliberately unthreatening. Harry felt the first stirrings of amusement; Tom was acting like he was trying to soothe a particularly tempestuous and hostile snake. He was almost wary for some reason.

"I have one question though…" Tom glanced at him.

"Shoot," he said. Tom arched a brow. "It means go ahead," he explained. Tom nodded.

"Why do you think I think you're thick?"

Okay. That wasn't what he was expecting.

A/N: Wow, it's a spectacularly long chapter for my standards. I hope you guys enjoyed it. There's a lack of their normal banter, but I figured Harry wasn't really in the mood to play, I hope it's okay. Thank you for all the reviews. Adios! - The Fictionist.