Chapter 109:

A couple of days passed, and Harry avoided Tom desperately, submerging himself in feverish research.

He'd also experimented on the mark with the help of Marvolo, and what little sleep he got had once again grown tainted with thoughts of black marble corridors.

"He's just a bit full of wrackspurts at the moment, you know," a dreamy, oddly familiar already, voice stated.

Harry looked up, seeing Luna Lovegood drifting towards his table in the library.

If he wasn't in the Great Hall for a snatch of food (or perhaps more likely the kitchens), the Quidditch Pitch practising for the upcoming match, his classes or the Room of Requirement - he was here.

He went to Slytherin to sleep, despite the feeling that he could have gone back to Gryffindor by now.

"Luna?" his brow furrowed. "Hi….er, what are Wrackspurts and who are you talking about?"

"Tom Riddle," she said pleasantly, though a bit sadly. "He's full of Wrackspurts. Your head's full of them too. They're invisible creatures that make your brain go all fuzzy."

Brain go all fuzzy…confusion? Tom was confused? He looked at her.

"And I care because?" he questioned, dully. "Tom, not Wrackspurts," he added, to clarify. He didn't mind talking to Luna.

She gave him in an odd look.

"The heart has reasons which reasons knows not," she replied in a tone that suggested the answer was obvious. "You don't have to have a reason to care about him, you just do."

He thinned his lips.

"Unfortunately."

"Don't be like that," she plopped into the seat next to him, her…butterbeer cork(?) necklace rattling with her movement. "You have a very special bond."

"Yeah, we're real special," he said blandly. Dysfunctional. Twisted. He should get out of it. "Why's Tom confused?"

"He looks lonely without you," she remarked, seemingly ignoring his question.

"He looks fine," Harry protested, perhaps a little short, sick of the topic already.

He didn't want to talk about Tom. The problem was that he found himself talking or wondering about Tom a lot despite this…and that would be a really bad thing to admit aloud. It sounded sycophantic. And he was trying to…trying to…

"That's because he doesn't want you to see," she shrugged. "And you don't want to look."

Harry frowned, more troubled than he cared to confess. She stared at him, pale blue eyes shining like slices of a moon, ethereal, before smiling and promptly writing an essay in a loopy, cursive script.

She was humming under her breath as she worked, light tunes that changed and swooped to darker melodies, before bursting again to crescendos, seemingly with the nuances of her thoughts.

"It's usually more important how we meet our fate, Harry Potter, then what it actually is."

Ginny hadn't felt this good in weeks, but she still cursed the boy who made her feel this way.

She was stronger than before, no longer dependent, the sickly taint lifted from her mind, her energy restored to her. She felt much like she had after the Chamber of Secrets debacle, deeply ashamed of her uncharacteristic actions, relieved beyond compare and no longer breaking.

She was also angry; angry with herself, Tom Riddle and Harry freaking Potter.

She could have loved him, and would have been anything he needed if he ever allowed her to be and offered simple love in return. But he hadn't. He'd ignored and cut her out. He'd changed.

The person she had liked was gone. She supposed she'd first been attracted, drawn to him, because he was the famous Harry Potter…and then, when she got to know him better, this had deepened from fan girl admiration to feelings for the actual person behind the name.

He'd been so like the Tom she'd known.

Sweet, kind, considerate and funny, not quite as clever but just as resourceful. Powerful. They both had an aura of power too, one that she'd thought was softened by compassion and shaped by protectiveness. They even looked alike.

Now though, well, he was still like Tom - but the true Tom Riddle, the demon who he'd revealed himself to be.

Like Tom, he'd grown cold and cruel, with a razor sharpness of damage beneath a flawless exterior, wounding anyone who got too close like the jagged edges of shattered glass.

He, call her nothing? No. He was the one that was nothing. He was a mere shadow, pathetic.

She'd loved him.

She didn't love him anymore, and couldn't bring herself to care anymore about what he did.

She was better than this. She could survive without him; he wasn't her hero, she was her own hero, she had to be.

She used to be, before all this started…she'd finally began to grow comfortable with herself. Be who she wanted to be.

Grow up.

Now, she would start over, reground herself, and forget him because he was toxic.

And maybe, just maybe, someday she'd find the Gryffindor courage to tell him all this aloud.

"Harry," a voice called. Tom.

He would recognise that voice anywhere and at anytime…and wasn't that just lame? To be so aware of a person's voice that he could automatically pick it out in a whole crowd.

Pathetic.

And it had to be Tom's voice too. He'd know Ron and Hermione's anywhere and everywhere too, but it didn't pierce so sharply.

Tom had a very piercing voice for one so smooth. He was not going to start analysing Tom's voice! Ugh.

He didn't stop, continuing down the corridor to Herbology with his best friends. Hermione and Ron exchanged what seemed to be nervous glances, and Hermione seemed about to murmur something, but it became largely unnecessary when he was pulled to an abrupt stop by his left arm.

He grit his teeth in fury. Tom seemed to revel in doing that. It was getting repetitive. Tom had largely avoided using the mark when Harry had first received it, but now it seemed to be a common occurrence.

He turned, knowing Tom well enough that the other would allow him to face him. He always would.

Harry remained silent, having too much to say, but not knowing how or where to even begin. Ron and Hermione dithered, looking uneasy.

"Tom-" Hermione began.

"-This doesn't concern you, Granger," Tom said, tone already cooler than it had been mere moments before, when he'd called out. Harry's stomach knotted.

"-If it's to do with Harry it concerns me, unless he tells me otherwise," Hermione said fiercely, protectively. Tom didn't glance her way, focus intent, and maybe that was a response, a dismissal, in itself. In Slytherin, it would be.

Ron's hand had fallen to his wand, but Harry's sharp look warned his best friend against drawing it. Tom would flatten them in a duel, however above average for their age they were.

"You know, I think you're really started to develop that flair for the dramatic, golden boy," Tom drawled. "But I've allowed you your three days to sulk, time to be a bit more mature now."

"I'm not sulking," Harry said flatly. "I just have absolutely no desire to waste my time talking to you."

"And by this stage of life, you, of all people, should know that we can't always get what we desire or want," Tom returned, immediately. "Come along, or I swear I will just drag you because I have neither the time nor the inclination to pander to your sensibilities."

"You wouldn't dare," Harry spat. Tom arched his brows, smirking coldly.

"Never dare me, sweetheart."An invisible force tugged him closer, just to prove it. Harry clenched his fists.

"Hermione, Ron, can you make some excuses to Sprout?"

Hermione watched them go with some trepidation, her lips thin with anger at the scene that had just occurred.

She really shouldn't be surprised that Riddle was so willing to walk across another's choices as if they were nothing - he was the teenage Dark Lord after all.

Still.

She'd thought Tom was smarter and more academic than to recklessly drag Harry out of classes.

It was OWLs year! It was important! Oh. Harry had already taken his exams…hadn't he? In the past. Nonetheless, the life and grades of Harrison Evans wouldn't necessarily hold for the life of Harry Potter, and it was stupid of Riddle to jeopardise Harry's future like that.

Harry clearly hadn't wanted to go.

Ugh. Riddle was so infuriating.

Sometimes, she honestly did not see what Harry saw in the bastard…sure, he was charming when he wanted to be, Hermione had witnessed that first hand, that dangerous seduction…and he was intelligent and witty and an almost perfect opposite and equal to Harry…but…other than that?

Riddle was callous where Harry cared too much, overly demanding and domineering. Harry craved freedom. How did they work?

She'd wondered that many times before, and come up with answers each and every time too.

Harry liked freedom, but Tom in a manner gave him freedom…the freedom to explore his darker sides without stipulation, where her and Ron allowed him to revel in his lighter nature. And Tom…Riddle thrived off the challenge of Harry's defiance, and in his own way, sought freedom too.

It was strange how they could be so alike and yet so different. Paradoxical.

She only hoped it would work out well.

Harry didn't fold his arms, unwilling to restrict his ability to react, and reach his wand.

"I don't know what you think you're doing; I have nothing to say to you," he said.

The next second, Harry could feel the very tangible fury that had descended on the room. It had the brewed feeling of an emotion that had been growing, and Harry guessed the rage had been rising in all the time he'd been ignoring the other.

Often, giving Tom space allowed for him to cool off and let his brain catch up with his emotions and rationalise…the flipside was it allowed for that brilliant mind to work out exactly what it wanted and what it needed to get that.

Including revenge plans.

He hoped this wasn't a revenge plan, but could see no other reason that Tom would suddenly be so angry.

It wasn't visible on his face, but Harry could feel the cold sting of it on his senses. He resisted the urge to shiver, aware that his muscles had tensed slightly.

"Well, perhaps I still have things to stay to you, so tough," Tom replied, calmly enough. The Slytherin Heir was still keeping his notorious temper, and keeping it carefully.

Harry could feel his own emotions churning; the frustration, the helplessness, the fear, the determination, the sorrow and most of all, the exhaustion; everything just rolling into one huge mass that his Slytherin Side was having trouble masking.

They were both too volatile for this conversation - too involved for this to go smoothly.

"More words to console the path you're choosing?" he questioned, lips twisting without humour. "Direct them at the mirror, because you've made your stance perfectly clear to me."

"Ah, so that's what this is about," Tom murmured, a vindictive edge to his tone, and a bitingly mocking one. "Is my little lion feeling rejected? Did I hurt his feelings?"

"Screw you," Harry sneered, ignoring the uncomfortable feeling of verbal daggers sinking into his skin like another bullet to pepper his armour. "And no, I knew well enough that you're a psychotic, hypocritical bastard who cares about no one but himself. You've told me it enough times, certainly."

Tom's jaw tightened.

"Hypocritical?" he questioned, delicately.

"You do what's best for you," Harry said quietly, the tiredness growing. "I know that, and I understand that's the way you are, and I know you begrudge me for trying to change your mind. Now allow me my own selfishness…you've made your choice, I've made mine…I'm not going to stick around and watch you become him, Tom. I believe I've made that obvious. So, I'm doing what's best for me. I'd thank you to leave me to it."

Tom was silent for a moment, features frozen.

"You're walking away…?" Tom questioned, emotionless. Harry swallowed.

"Walking away would suggest I'm washing my hands off all of this. I'm still going to do everything in my power to make sure you don't-"

Hands closed on his shoulders before he could even blink, the grip crushingly tight and liable to live bruises on his skin. His back hit the door behind him.

"-No." There was no argument, no denial, just a cold, hard statement, like a fact. "How dare you?" Tom hissed. "You would just cut me out without a *** goodbye? You bastard."

"I'm only taking the next step in what you started," Harry snarled, his fingers closing around Tom's wrist, leaving bruises of his own no doubt. "You told me to accept your view, and now you have the audacity to attack me for doing just how that? I guess you misjudged my masochistic streak for your own, because I'm not the one trying to pretend that there's no problem and dragging this out!"

"Dragging this out? You think I should just go to the past?" Tom demanded.

"I don't understand why you haven't!" Harry exclaimed. "This is all your choice Tom, be Voldemort or not. In the end it's not going to matter what solutions I find if you're not willing to use them, and you seem pretty damn convinced on where you're heading anyway, so what's the point of being here, Tom? Enlighten me, because I guess I'm too stupid to work it out!"

"And you're response to that is to leave? Without a goodbye?"

"It's not as if you haven't been saying goodbye every second since you decided to become him," Harry snapped. "I've told you before, Tom, you can just keep pinging and pushing me and hoping I'll always come back for another round of having you mess me up."

"Well, considering I'm such a selfish bastard you probably know my response to your choice. No."

"It's my choice, you can't take it away from me!"

"Hey, I'm a psychotic, hypocritical bastard who cares about no one but myself - walking over your choices is what I do," Tom smirked, but there was nothing but ice and hardness on those lips. "On the subject of promises made and things we've told each other before, I told you that I'm never letting you go. Or did I not make that stance clear enough?"

"You're becoming Voldemort!"

"But I'm not him yet, so don't act like I am!"

There was a deathly silence. Oppressive and heavy, suffocating. Harry looked away, trying to regain his composure.

"You make no sense," he accused, bone weary, confused. Drained.

"What, you don't know where you stand with me?" Tom mocked.

Harry glared.

"No, actually, I have to say I don't. And it's a horrible familiar occurrence which I'm getting sick of returning to as if I'm some clingy stray you picked up."

Tom's grip loosened fractionally on one shoulder after a moment.

"This wasn't supposed to go like this," he murmured. Harry snorted.

"Oh, you think?" he mumbled. Tom rolled his eyes at the response, retreating a little bit, heading for a window to look outside.

Harry knew it would be logical to just walk out the door.

He'd been trying to convince himself of the logic of just giving up and getting away from Tom all week, and that had perhaps come out in his speech as made decisions more than the plans they were.

He ignored Tom because he needed space to think, because he couldn't deal with the battle of being around the other yet, and in stupid, careless words that had come out as something else, a thought.

He knew he should leave. Let it go. Walk away. He couldn't. He never bloody could. It was why the were still friends, or whatever they were, over a year in despite the near constant arguments.

It worked because they were utterly invested in making it work.

"Don't bother trying the door," Tom said, when Harry shifted on his feet at this uncomfortable thought process. "I've locked you to not be able to walk away from me past ten metres."

"You're unbelievable," Harry said, numbly.

"I know what I want," Tom corrected. Harry's lip twitched.

"You do realise what that sounds like, don't you?" he asked. Tom glanced around at him, startled, before smirking.

"You've spent way too much time with Alphard."

There was another silence, a tiny tad less choking this time round.

Tom turned around to face him again, noticeably more composed, leaning back against the window ledge. He was also noticeably more unreadable, masks up, locked and bolted against anyone who'd try and get past them.

Harry sighed.

"I don't…want to do this," he explained, softly. "But, I don't want to watch you destroy yourself either, and I know if I stay close I'm just going to be fighting with you all the time…and, I don't want that."

He was sick of people leaving him, and if there was going to be some inevitable goodbye here, he was going to take it and control it because it was the only power he had left with their fates. The rest of the choices were all up to Tom.

The Slytherin Heir studied him silently.

"I don't think you'll find any solution that I'm willing to accept," Tom replied, in a measured tone. "You got that right. But…if you do, find something that is, I'm not going to face my Fate before I have to."

It took Harry a few seconds to translate what Tom was actually saying.

He was staying for the tiny hope that it would work out.

He hadn't…completely…given up.

"Why didn't you say this earlier?" he asked. "You made me believe you'd given up."

"I'm not one for encouraging false hopes when it doesn't benefit me," Tom replied.

Harry bit his lip.

"But you're still going to try and stop me from executing my plans?" he verified.

"Less so if you don't try and leave. Research all you want, look for a solution, I won't stop you with that…only if you put your research into practise in a manner that doesn't befit my own…plans."

"I was under the impression I wouldn't like your plans," Harry probed warily. "Whatever they may be."

"You wouldn't," Tom agreed.

"So why would I let you go through with them?"

"Why would I let you go through with yours when I find them equally distasteful?" Tom returned, arching his brows. Harry frowned.

"Self interest…isn't that what you're supposed to be good at that?"

"Clearly I've spent too much time around you," Tom said, whether in jest or not Harry wasn't sure. He stared, before looking away.

"If I say I've changed my mind about keeping my distance from you, would you drop the…restrictions?" he questioned.

"No," Tom replied. Harry blinked.

"You're seriously going to stop me from going more than ten metres away from you?" he demanded, incredulous.

Tom favoured him with that obvious-answer-stupid-question look.

"Uh…you know I have different classes to you, right?"

"I could do my OWLs practical examinations with my hands tied behind my back," Tom shrugged. "And the theory with no sleep for a week, and a hangover. I have no reason to attend classes. They bore me."

"Then why have you so far?"

"Because it benefited me to somewhat blend with my environment," Tom said.

"So you're just going to follow me around?"

"No. You'll be doing the following as I control your boundaries, but I'll allow you to go to your classes."

Harry gaped.

"You're not serious," he accused.

Tom's expression was flat. Salazar…he was serious.

Harry's mouth felt dry. When exactly had this situation flipped to be this skewed? He wasn't going to…he didn't…

"Just because we're on seperate sides...that doesn't mean we're enemies, Harry," Tom stated, quietly. It was the closest to an apology Harry knew he was going to get.

"Don't get in my way," he warned. Tom merely smirked in response to that, before continuing, smoothly, as if the whole scene hadn't even happened.

"I think we should go and visit Little Hangleton again."

A/N: Art thou my longest chapter yet? Possibly. I hope you liked it, and that it didn't seem too off or anything. Hehe. Hyper. My friend gave me Death Note DVDs (The live action) and I just watched the two of them back to back…five hours straight. I'm such a nerd. And it's almost Christmas and the end of term! Booyah! Though I still have a ton of work, but…

Anyway. Thank you for the reviews. Much much love. I hope you love this chapters as much if not more. Something actually happens! I think so anyway. I'm nervous though. As I think you would either like this chapter, or absolutelu despise it and wonder what I was playing at...