Chapter 143:
Lord Voldemort strode down the corridor, his thoughts whirling.
He felt on edge, uncertain of his own future of even of his own creation. He hated it. He didn't doubt his actions though. Harry Potter would be destroyed if he was defeated…and if he won, if Tom conceded to become him (and then, he was ultimately in control wasn't he?) he could do what he wanted.
That included keeping his obsession.
Naturally, it wouldn't be the same, but neither was he, and he didn't want the same things anymore. Tom wanted to protect the boy from harm more than he want to make him suffer (though he knew the latter desire was there too.) He wasn't so juvenile, or so human, to make himself pick.
So long as Harry was alive, he would suffer, suspending forever on the edge of breaking entirely.
The longest game he'd ever played.
He just needed to win first.
Dumbledore and his little teaching crew charged to block his path, and he almost smiled. The old man may have been Headmaster, but he knew far more about how Hogwarts worked.
The wards couldn't possibly keep out all that meant students serious harm, children were petty and couldn't control their own malicious intentions. They recognised he wasn't a student though, not anymore, and he could feel them pressing and swirling around them.
If he moved severely against anyone within these walls, the castle would boot him out, its indulgence over his status of heir disregarded. Until then…he delighted in the fact that their was nothing Dumbledore could do, unless he erected his own wards and defences.
"Albus," he greeted with a smirk. "How are things at the ministry?"
"Tom."
He barely caught his eyes from narrowing at the name.
"What are you doing here?" the man demanded, voice like ice.
"Studying, learning," he replied, mockingly tipping his head. "Is that not what one does in a school?"
The next second, the elder wand was in his face, a curse billowing at the end, and the moment after that, there was a blur in front him before he could blink, shoving him aside. The corridor behind them smashed.
Dumbledore's wand dug into Potter's throat and Potter's wand was directed back.
He felt a moment of absolute shock, and saw it mirrored upon the eyes of every single teacher in the proximity. The younger had appeared out of nowhere.
"Harry-" Dumbledore began.
"He was just leaving," Potter said coldly, before glancing at him. "Weren't you?"
"Indeed," he replied, quietly.
"What are you doing?" Dumbledore questioned furiously.
Harry simply raised his brows, no expression on his face.
"Why are you protecting him?" Minerva near shrieked, looking appalled. "He's not-"
Harry's eyes darkened very suddenly, and he lunged on instinct, catching the boy's wand hand before he could attack. She'd been about to say 'he's not Tom.'
It was dangerous to talk about the two of them in the same conversation with Harry, he noticed - probably a remnant from his own nightly tortures upon the boy - and especially now, it wasn't a good idea to push the child.
He could, Harry expected it from him, probably took comfort from it even, but no one else could. Harry hissed in pain at his touch, but he only tightened his grip. The pain would be grounding to the other, masochist or not.
After a moment, Potter's eyes cleared again, flashing with too many emotions. He kept the boy in front of him, wrapping an arm more firmly around his torso.
Harry didn't struggle, no doubt guessing what he was doing well enough. Hostage until they were outside. Indeed, the other shot him a vaguely amused look, if not still full of hatred.
"Coward."
"Did you know about your Golden Boy's Horcrux?" he returned sweetly, his rage flaming abruptly.
Both Dumbledore and Severus froze.
"W-what?" Dumbledore looked truly shaken, turned ashen.
The next second, an elbow dug viciously into his ribs, hard enough to bruise it, a foot smashing on top of his, and the smaller form twisted away from his grip.
Harry's expression was murderous, purely murderous. Students were being ushered away from around them, terror upon their faces. He noted Potter glance at them, and the glint that appeared in his eyes. The other fished a locket from around his neck.
His Horcrux.
Then the infuriating brat raised his voice.
"Oi, oi, listen up people - yes, you too Boot."
"What-" he began.
"Voldemort has seven Horcruxes that make him immortal. This is one of them," Harry announced loudly, ensuring he would never be safe again. He lunged for the other, only for Harry to dodge out of his way, continuing, eyes never leaving his, viciously. "The others are a diary, which is destroyed, his snake, Hufflepuff's cup, a ring belonging to the Slytherin family and a diadem belonging to Ravenclaw. If you want him dead, if he wins the war, go hunt them down and destroy them - okay?"
The boy smiled, far too cheerily. They glared at each other.
"I believe you were leaving," Harry reminded, softly. He narrowed his eyes.
"Do you know what interests me-" he began.
"Me."
He sneered in response to the brash statement, the even more arrogant grin. Then, he returned it, leaning forward, patting the other's head.
"Of course, darling, you're my other Horcrux. Don't forget to kill him too, old man."
Potter snarled, and he laughed, striding away.
"Two days," he called behind his back.
"I'll be there."
Harry's heart was pounding with absolute fury and sickness. Dumbledore was staring at him with utter horror and disappointment. He stared back impassively.
"Well, as pleasant as this has been-"
"My office. Now."
"I have stuff to do."
"THIS ISN'T JOKE!" The Headmaster roared, wand pointing a wand at him. Harry's head tilted. How…out of character.
"I gathered," he spat, rearing. "Do you think I wanted it? Do you think I wanted anyof this. But for crying out loud have a bit of perspective - the world is about to be blown up and you want to have a chat in your office?" he burst out laughing.
"What I want to know is-" Snape started, venomously.
"-How much wood could a wood chuck chuck if a wood chuck could chuck wood?"
He flashed another, disarming, smile, before continuing.
"If you have anything useful to say that I can't already think of myself, speak now, if not, adios. I have stuff to do."
He spun sharply, storming away.
He needed to find a way to deal with Dumbledore. He'd noted the wand too, the elder wand. He could use that. Then he'd have the wand, the cloak, and he would soon have the ring, and so, being Master of Death, could persuade Tom to let him remove his Horcrux.
But for now, he needed that Diadem. Desperately. And, it was the Diadem, for otherwise Voldemort would have called him up on it, or just killed him on the spot.
Think. Think.
Where was the Diadem? Where was it? It was in Hogwarts, he was sure of it. He just didn't know where. But he'd seen it. That, he was sure of too. Where did he go that he could have seen-oh.
It was the room of requirement, of course it was…he remembered Tom's hesitance when he talked of how many Horcruxes were in the room. He'd hesitated on the number five. There was another Horcrux in the room of requirement.
But, it wouldn't have been in any of his normal hot spots. So…oh…stupid! When he was considering dumping Tom's notes.
Next to an old tiara! It was the Diadem!
He quickened his pace, not having the time to waste. Get the tiara, and then set everything up for the final showdown. The finishing line.
He needed to get Dumbledore off his case, so he had room to work, and he needed to set things up for…after. For the first time, he shuddered, a splinter of terror driving through his heart.
He wouldn't feel anything when he was done, but doing it would be agony. That wasn't important now though. He needed to sort things out, and deal with Tom.
Tom would try to stop him, and, normally, he would revel in the challenge and the fight and the push and pull power. But, this time, he didn't have the luxury of play.
He'd get Hermione and Ron onboard, get them to stun the Slytherin Heir when Tom was busy with him, and Zevi and Abraxas, in case Tom suspected.
He'd imperio them if he had to.
He also needed to check Hermione had the final points down on the time spell.
It would all fall into place. He could feel deadlines crashing around him, not much time at all.
He thought he might only have a day or two before everything ended, for Voldemort's trip had seemed spontaneous…he just felt it in his , everything would be over. His chapter would close.
"Harry."
He stopped at the call, at Tom.
He didn't have the luxury of playing anymore, time was too short, but…this was Tom. He could find the minutes this one last time, just to have fun with their game, before everything turned all too serious.
The Slytherin Heir caught up with him, eyes like steel and ice, suspecting nothing of his goodbye.
The other was still angry with him…and was looking at him oddly.
"What?" he asked.
"You stopped. You never stop," Tom said flatly.
"I thought I'd try a new tactic, shake things up a bit," he replied blandly.
"Well, that's a change indeed. For the last day or so you've been clinging to me and normalcy like a lost puppy, growing your independence back, are we?"
His eyes narrowed to slits at the jab. How dare he?
"You didn't enjoy the feeling of being needed?" he returned, snidely. Tom approached him, and he stepped back before he could help himself, some part of him not trusting himself, before holding.
What did morality matter, when he'd be prevented from any spiral within the week, anyway?
"You still need me," Tom replied, with that smirk. "I just much prefer it when you also have a spine. Less pathetic. Less…Lestrangey?"
He nearly hissed at the other, no words, just savagery.
Tom's eyes glittered.
"You really can't control your emotions at all, can you?" he murmured. "Not now. Before…you were starting to get the hang of it, but now-"
"And who's fault is that?" he growled.
This conversation wasn't going right. Tom's jabs were too…pointed. They played with words an awful lot, but most of the time they also refrained from cutting at certain points, more…carving. Moulding each other, pinning flags and victories. They didn't…do this.
Tom never targeted their dynamic like this. His personality and his plans, all the time, but them?
He felt uneasy. It probably showed all too clearly.
"You're the one who can't take the strain," Tom replied dismissively, scorn in his voice.
Harry turned away, only for a hand to lash out like a cobra, seizing his shoulder, spinning him around again, fingers digging into his skin, his pulse.
"Why did you stop?" Tom demanded, softly. "And how are you still alive after your rendezvous with Voldemort?"
"Is that what this about? Jealous, Tom?"
"No," Tom replied, voice too light. "I dare say that's him."
"Excuse me?"
"He thinks you're in love with me, by the way."
"And did you believe him?" he returned, making sure to edge a sharp shard pity into his voice.
Tom's fingers tightened.
"You're crueller like this," the other noted.
"It comes with the territory. Improvement?"
"Not really."
Harry felt a pang of shock, of irrational panic, and shoved the other away from him more violently. This was a crappy conversation.
Tom lunged back, fingers tangling into his hair, baring his throat in a parody of their hotel room conversation.
"I don't like this new Harry at all," Tom told him, slowly. "You're more brutal, perhaps, but now…now you're just like everybody else. I never realised what it was before, the challenge, before it was gone…and now I think I know-"
"-Let go of me-"
"You were the complete opposite of me, and yet, so similar." Tom's hand slid down, playing with the Locket, not letting him pull away, lips moving to his ear. "If I wanted to see my reflection, I'd look in the mirror. Pull yourself together, hero."
The next second Tom was gone, and he stood there, utterly shaken and not sure why. His hands were trembling. Had Tom actually just -?
He felt numb.
Was Tom bored of him? Typical. Figures, the second he became what Tom wanted to make him, the other sodded off. He supposed he'd always been warned.
Tom played until he thought he'd won, and got everything he wanted. Until he found the "blackest parts" of someone, and moved onto something shinier, less tarnished and damaged. He just…damn.
He closed his eyes, tucking the locket back beneath his shirt.
Right. Well.
Diadem.
Room of Requirement.
Albus Dumbledore was deeply troubled, his head buried into his hands, the tick of his clock far too loud in the silent office.
How had things escalated this far? He felt completely out of his depth, and he wasn't used to it.
Harry had tied his hands together in that deal which, he, foolishly, thought he could control. He thought he could control Harry.
He should have known better.
Oh Harry…he still remembered the bright eyed, relatively innocent boy who had first walked into Hogwarts, so eager to please and endearing enough to most. He was supposed to be their saviour. He was supposed to die, and then come back to life, and live and everything would be perfect.
Voldemort would be gone, forever. The light side would be consolidated in its power, and he'd have a powerful wizard to shape into taking his mantle when he was gone.
He'd liked the boy, despite what a more cynical person may have thought. Now…a Horcrux? Bile rose in his mouth. He could just watch everything spiralling around him, crumbling in the dust.
All because of Tom Riddle.
He hated that boy more than anything. He was a piercing reminder of his own past, of his muggle-killing father, of his own plans with Gellert.
Watching Tom with Harry was like watching himself get tugged about under the thrall of Gellert Grindewald, of the hope that someone understood completely, someone who recognised him for what he was. He'd been naïve.
Gellert had forsaken him for power, and Riddle would do the same.
Oh, they would be around when it suited them, but in the end, they would leave and expect the same person to still be waiting or helping. His fists clenched. He couldn't watch history repeat itself like this, he couldn't. He just didn't know what to do right now.
He could do nothing against Harry…but he could kill Tom. He'd considered it many times since the Slytherin Heir haunted his halls again, but he'd always stopped.
It was a dangerous thing to meddle with time, after all.
And yet…what other outcomes were there? That he let that boy, either of his variations, destroy everything that he'd hoped and dreamed and worked for? No.
He wouldn't be able to tell the difference, certainly, and would simply have a second chance from the year 1942. The year everything went wrong, or began to. He was certain that was when it started.
Now, he merely needed to find the best way to do it.
Harry grasped the Diadem carefully, scarcely daring to believe it.
He tucked it in his moleskin with all the others, before heading towards Gryffindor Tower.
Soon….
For now, he had some letters to write, and some plans to finalise.
A letter for Hermione. A letter for Ron.
A letter for Zevi, Abraxas and Alphard.
A letter for Sirius and Remus.
And a letter for Tom.
A/N: Thanks for all the reviews, you guys are amazing!
About chapter length, as some of you say you'd prefer longer chapters less frequently...I'll bear it in mind for the next story I write :) But it's a bit late now, isn't it? To complain? Anyway. I update chapters by how 'endy' the last bit sounds, and yeah. Anyway. Next time!