Parseltongue

Chapter 56:

Harry froze, his blood turning to crushed ice in his veins.

He whipped around, raising his wand to face the speaker. Voldemort.

He looked exactly the same. Evil, scarlet eyes, mere slits like his nose, lipless mouth and the aura…that unmistakable, black, murderous aura that made you certain that you were seconds away from death. His breath caught in his throat.

He had part of this monster's soul. He felt sick.

A quick flick of his gaze noted that a few dozen new Death Eaters had apparated into a loose circle around both him and Tom. The gaunt, haunted, insane tint to their countenances suggested that they were fresh out of Azkaban. Shit. He should have been aware of an Azkaban breakout…but the connection was blocked by the mental wall, so he wasn't. Was learning Occlumency really that good an idea? He'd take torture over deadly obliviousness.

"Salazar…" he heard Tom murmur, before the other's voice sharpened. "How are you here? The para-"

"Tom," came the silky greeting.. Harry realised with a jolt that this was the first time that Tom and Voldemort would be meeting face to face, and they were certainly assessing each other with a rapt fascination.

There had been that incident with possession, unrepeated due to the clear presence of the paradox…the paradox. How could Voldemort be here with the paradox?

"How are you here?" Tom repeated, fiercely, sounding more than a tad annoyed. "You do realise you're interrupting my conversations. Again. It's very rude." Voldemort's eyes flashed at the tone.

"The paradox only works with identical, twin souls," the Dark Lord explained, icily. "It appears ours no longer are." No longer-? Tom was moving away from the Voldemort path? God, he hoped so.

"And you're here to correct that, I presume?" Tom returned, casually.

"Indirectly, perhaps," Voldemort said, with a mirthless smile.

The next second Harry found that oh so familiar wand levelled in the direction of his heart. He tightened his own grip on his holly wand in response. His throat felt dry. "Avada-"

Harry prepared to intercept the curse and force the prior incantatum in his defence, but Voldemort's spell had already come to an abrupt, slicing stop when Tom stepped forward, in front of him, raising his eyebrows in challenge. The Death Eaters around them shifted, but didn't move, held at bay by their master's lack of orders. Voldemort studied his younger counterpart silently for a moment.

"Stand aside," he ordered. Tom's head tilted, curiously.

"Do you really believe that I'm going to comply with that?" he asked, mockingly. "Or do you just love the sound of your own voice?" Tom paused, looking thoughtful. "Never mind, don't answer that one, gramps."

A Death Eater with thick black curls hissed, muttering something Harry couldn't quite hear.

Voldemort took a step forward, nearly pressing the wand up against Tom's chest, but not quite touching…Harry assumed that paradox wasn't weakened enough to allow actual contact…did that include magic? Tom's hand shot out behind him, seizing hold of Harry's own in a bruise-inducing grip, tugging Harry behind him further, simultaneously using his hold to twist him around to face the Death Eaters instead of Voldemort.

It was like some twisted version of their normal duelling stance, used in the rare occasions that he duelled with Tom rather than against him. He wondered if Voldemort knew that, or if he had…forgotten. Okay. No. He was NOT going to go down that thinking route. Tom's theory was bullshit anyway. He didn't become Voldemort. Harry refused to let the story end that way.

"Stand aside," Voldemort repeated dangerously.

"Or what, you'll kill me?" Tom smirked, defiance imbued with arrogance.

"The cruciatus curse may be more suitable," Voldemort replied coolly.

Harry felt a thrill of fear, separate to his own panic, and realised it had to be Tom's. Without thinking, he used Tom's grip on his arm to spin them around so he was facing Voldemort again, and Tom was facing the Death Eaters. Voldemort grinned, horribly.

"Atta boy, Harry," he hissed, tracing the yew wand over Harry's heart.

Harry pressed his own wand back. Even if he couldn't kill Voldemort, he could splatter him into a million pieces so he could wander around as spirit again.

But he was going to die…and in pain, because Harry was pretty sure a small bone shattered in his hand (not his wand hand, mercifully) as Tom attempted to reverse their positions once more, but held his ground.

A second later, the furious pressure vanished, but he didn't let go, hoping to keep Tom in place. An electric shock ran up his left arm instead, an intense burn on his forearm that automatically caused his own grip to loosen with pain. Tom yanked his arm free, turning to face Voldemort.

Now they both had their backs to the Death Eaters, but Harry figured Voldemort was by far the greater threat. Besides, if Voldemort was anything like Tom, then he probably wouldn't allow the Death Eaters to kill either of them. He hadn't in the Graveyard. He wanted to kill Harry himself, though this was definitely the first time Harry found that to work in his advantage.

It was the first time in a long time that he was looking for the similarities, not the differences.

"You don't want to kill him," Tom said, quickly. Harry's eyes widened at realisation of what Tom was going to do. He was going to bring up the horcruxes.

"Shut up," he hissed, warningly, nausea bubbling his stomach.

"And why is that?" Voldemort questioned, in a bored tone of voice, sounding like he was losing patience.

"He's-" Harry pointed his wand at Tom instead.

"Silencio." Tom's words went on mute at the spell. Harry felt distantly aware that if they got out of this alive, Tom was going to murder him.

"Someone who rebounds killing curses…quick to forget that, aren't you?" Harry finished, tauntingly, flicking his wand back to Voldemort. "I suppose the truth hurts."

As predicted, the Dark Lord's aura flared with rage, and his scar flared up with agony. It took all of Harry's effort to remain standing and not pass out. Or throw up. While throwing up over Voldemort had some entertainment value, life had more.

"Forget murder," Voldemort said softly. "You'll commit suicide and beg for death by the time I'm through with you, golden boy." A shiver ran up his spine. He was too close. He couldn't dodge.

"Crucio."

"Confrigo!"

Nothing like déjà vu fifty years later.

A/N: Well, um, hope this was somewhat satisfactory, I realise you guys probably had high hopes of what you wanted to happen and see with this meeting. Um, yeah. Thank you for all the reviews, please keep them coming because I read them whenever I'm feeling insecure about my writing, and they always cheer me and keep me going and trying with my scribbles. Much appreciation. Adios.

ps: I know i'm probably killing all interest with my super fast, impatient updates, so i apologise for the lack of suspense.