Harry was in a foul mood that morning, exhaustion weighing down his already low spirits.
More nightmares; a constant flash of green light burned on his eyelids, screams echoing in his ears, the cold laughter of the Death Eaters in the Graveyard and orders to 'kill the spare.' It all blurred into one, mixing to create a nightly torture to keep any hope of rest away.
He'd excused the cause of his bad dreams to be the recent slaughter that, in his cover story, was the reason he was at Hogwarts. It was plausible, and they all seemed to buy it, though it didn't stop their dark mutterings about being woken up every night.
Harry had curtly told them to put silencing charms up, as his for some reason weren't working. Prince had said it was something about the wards in Slytherin, which was just inconvenient. There was nothing to stop him screaming his nights away, unnoticed, in Gryffindor.
Oh, he wished he was in Gryffindor again, though he was used to the snake's common room now, and could even appreciate the shadows that lined it when all day was spent under the glaring light of scrutiny and public expectation.
Today would be the worst for that, for he had to spend his time with Riddle and his Death Eaters, lest he put Roger and Imogen into the firing line in his stead. He was currently seated in said common room, Riddle's inner circle and the young Dark Lord himself surrounding him.
He'd tried slipping away at breakfast, pride be damned - and, really, Riddle only went to Roger and Imogen cause he'd been there, and he'd been planning on disappearing into the Room of Requirement - but the snakes had closed around him, like a pack of wolves, herding him to where their alpha wanted him.
He'd then pulled homework out instead, hoping it would discourage them from talking to him, but Riddle and Prince had merely started discussing it with him and making him feel like an idiot with all their name-dropped theories and whatnot.
Either way, his homework had only bought him an hour of time at the most, as he did most of it when he first got it to avoid being in the common room in evenings.
So, now, he was finally forced to interact with them, brutally stripped of escape routes.
"So…" Alphard began. "Where'd you get the scar?"
"Excuse me?" Harry repeated, disbelieving that they jumped straight to that, and with the arrogant tone implying that it was their right to have him answer. He only realised, when a self-satisfied gleam crossed Riddle's eyes - opposite him - that he'd said 'excuse me' rather than 'what,' as the other had wanted. He gritted his teeth. "None of your freaking business."
"Just making conversation," Black shot him a lopsided smile, so like Sirius', except the edges of this grin was sharper, not directed with warmth and friendliness. "After all, you're being so rudely taciturn against our attempts of hospitality."
"Oh, what, having all of you attack me? Forgive me," he smiled back, sweetly, "I'm not yet used to Slytherin hospitality, it seemed so much less welcoming on my side of things."
"Consider it our active interest in your wellbeing, Harrison," Abraxas murmured.
"Indeed," he replied. "Actively harmful."
"Short term loss, long term gain," Prince dismissed.
"It's interesting how you're evading the question," Riddle said, quietly. Harry snapped to attention.
"What?" and he made sure to use 'what' this time.
"How you got the scar on your forehead," the Slytherin Heir clarified. Harry shrugged.
"There's not really much to tell."
"I doubt that very much."
He glared at Riddle, only vaguely aware of the eyes of the rest of the Slytherins upon him.
"I got it from the man who killed my parents," he said, coldly.
"I'm sorry," Prince said quietly. "That must have been hard."
The others all muttered something similar, though Lestrange rolled his eyes and Riddle said nothing for a moment.
"You said your parents were killed in the recent Grindewaldian slaughters, which is why your home schooling came to an end," the young Dark Lord stated.
"Yes."
"Your scar is old."
Crap. Old. Recent.
"You an expert on such matters or something?" he asked irritably.
"Or something," Riddle murmured, eyeing him. "It seems the mystery of your heritage continues to grow…careful darling, lies that build over time have the tendency to come toppling down."
"I suppose you'd know."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Lestrange demanded, pouncing on him. "Are you suggesting Tom's a liar? You don't even know him!"
"He doesn't really know any of us," Prince said coolly. "And yet Mr Evans has already assumed a great dislike for our characters, so don't judge him too harshly for it, Cygnus."
"Yeah, what do you have against us anyway?" Alphard demanded. "You seem to hate us."
Fabulous.
"I'm not wounding your egos am I?" he questioned, pulling a pout, widening his eyes. "I'm so sorry…you'll have to forgive my mistakes, I haven't quite learnt Slytherin ettiqute of shoving a stick up my arse yet."
They stared at each other, icily.
"You've avoided us from the beginning though, darling," Tom interjected, once again, smoothly. "Which would render that particular objection against our methods of welcome as invalid…that is what you are objecting to it, isn't it? The attack my associates attempted? It's perfectly understandable that you wouldn't like us…but then, you clearly had a full grasp on me within seconds of meeting me, without any attack on my part, so maybe you're just psychic, is that it?" the voice was deeply mocking at the last.
Harry switched his gaze to the Slytherin Heir again.
"You still believe I somehow know you?"
"It's not a belief," Riddle stated. "I know you do."
"How could I possibly know you?" Harry dismissed.
"How could you possibly make judgements on all of us before even having a full conversation?" Tom returned. "Unless you're merely a judgemental bigot yourself."
Harry's eyes narrowed.
"Guess I really am psychic," he replied.
"Nah, time traveller maybe."
Harry's blood froze, but Riddle's voice was still mocking. It was a mockery, nothing else.
"Oh, of course," he drawled, dryly. "How did you guess my supposed deep dark secret?"
Riddle's eyes cut into his skin, intense. There was a moment of silence, thick, suffocating.
"Who are you, Harrison Evans, who are you really?"
"I could ask you the same thing, Riddle."
"You could, but you already appear to know your answer, or, at least, would like to think you do," Tom replied. "I would be more wary of misconceptions if I were you, they will inevitably lead you to a crumbling precipice."
"You're giving me a lot of warnings, Tom," he said. "I'm wondering if I should be touched by your apparent consideration for my wellbeing."
"And you're not heeding any of them," the Slytherin Heir returned, with that dangerous sparkle in his eye. "Which makes me wonder if you want to fall."
"That would be ridiculous-" Harry began.
"Is it?" Riddle questioned softly, leaning forwards. "You've made many assessments upon my persona, perhaps you would like to hear a few about your own?"
"By all means," Harry returned, rolling his eyes, his stomach coiled tightly with tension. "Impress me."
He didn't shift his gaze away, and was only somewhat aware now that the Slytherins were shifting uncomfortably around them, or too still, watching, daring not interfere. A smirk graced the other's lips, dangerous, as he started his 'analysis.'
"I think that, for whatever reason, you've spent a lot of time catering to what society wants from you, raised on a pedestal of their expectations, be they good or bad, and, thus, guiltily, you find this situation freeing as you are not tied by any past experiences."
Harry stiffened, despite himself, and Riddle's smirk broadened, and he leaned forwards across the space between them, continuing softly.
"You're desperate for freedom, and freedom only comes when you've fallen from the pedestal, leaving you able to walk more than the few square inches of gold that is allowed to you. Now, some people like being on the pedestal, viewed as Gods-"
"-Like you?" Harry goaded, but Riddle only smirked at him again, continuing once more.
"-but you don't. You're a danger addict, sweetheart, and, thus, much better suited for the shadows."
"I'm not a danger addict."
"You wouldn't be here with me if you weren't. But, that leads me to my second observation: denial. Said pedestal and expectations have ingrained denial into your very blood - denial of your dark side and your own self in its full capacity, and so, denial about what you want. You said that if you wanted to fall, you'd jump, but someone will only jump when they're certain the abyss is where they want to go. You're denial impedes you from realising your own desires, and, hence, you subconsciously dance along your precipice, daring the monsters in the darkness to tug you down, painted shiny for a magpie's taking…because then you can maintain your delusion that you never wanted this, and instead blame the shadows which stole you away."
Harry blinked.
"You have an awfully high opinion of yourself," he replied.
"Excuse me?" Riddle's eyebrows raised.
"Magpies steal shiny things until they're no longer shiny, like you play with your toys until they're broken…and monsters in the darkness? Not your most subtle allusion, Dark Lord."
There was a sudden, sharp, intake of breath around them and Harry crashed back down to earth abruptly.
Oh crap.
He'd just outright accused Tom of being a Dark Lord! It didn't matter that he was, Harry wasn't supposed to know that! He'd just got so caught up in the flow of response, that somewhere along the line he'd forgotten Riddle didn't actually know him as well as the certainty in his voice suggested, or as well as he knew Riddle.
He rose from his seat, painfully aware of the ringing silence.
Riddle's hand shot out as he passed him, yanking him gracefully down onto his armchair, arms wrapping around his torso in twisted embrace. Under the incredulous gaping - however discreet they tried to make it - of the rest of Riddle's inner circle, Harry flushed furiously, far too aware of Tom's chin resting on his shoulder, breath on the shell of his ear.
"I'm not finished, Harry," the other chided.
His entire body was rigid.
"I am, get off me-"
"-you run when things get too heated for you, when people hit too close for comfort, consolidating your tendency towards denial, which leads to point three. Point three; only prey run away, suggesting you're feeling rather like prey right now - have another warning, just because I'm feeling generous, in Slytherin, you don't want to come across as prey because it makes the predators attack you. However, that you're feeling like prey, implies that I'm right so far in my observations."
Harry could not believe he was doing this in front of the other Slytherins, it was like punishment, utterly humiliating, payback for challenging him so publicly.
"Point four…if you were truly prey you would have attempted to bolster a fierce, powerful reputation for yourself, like some butterflies have patterns like eyes upon their wings to make them seem bigger than they are. You did the opposite, pretending to be weak. You have a conflicting personality. You're in flux, and while that could be attributed to the traumatic experiences that led you to be here, I'm curious as to what those experiences are. You lied about your scar, you lied about the extent of your abilities, so what else have you lied about? Your entire story? Your name? If your identity was fake it would explain why you're in personality flux, as your torn between who you are, who you pretended to be, and the role you're playing now."
Riddle's talons uncurled from around him, shoving him back towards the centre of their circle. A quick flick of his gaze noted the others all had their wand peeking from their sleeves, angled in his direction.
In case he tried to run, he realised. Apparently, in Slytherin, no one left until Riddle wanted them to.
He'd have to do something about that.
"So, did I impress you, darling?" Riddle questioned, after a moment.
Shit.
He frantically thought; for a comeback, for anything to say.
"Yeah, you can consider me impressed," he shrugged, "…with your continued display of stalking skills. Seriously, did you take a class? Or are you just naturally a creep?"
"I took a class," the other deadpanned. "Stalking 101. It was quite popular - lots of teenage fangirls clutching their witch weekly smile award posters."
Harry snorted.
Riddle smirked at him, but there was still a danger in his gaze.
Harry's mind drifted back to eerie conclusion of point four.
"Everyone's torn between who they are, who they want to be, and what other people think they are, you can't attribute that to me alone."
"But I can attribute it to you?" Riddle questioned, eyebrows arched. "Thank you for the confirmation."
Harry mentally cursed.
The games continued.
Tom kept his eyes lazily fixed on the boy before him, trapped between them, hemmed in, with all escape routes, blocked.
He knew his followers didn't understand why he was quite so interested in the boy, but he thought they were beginning to, after today, after watching Harry's responses to him.
He knew the other was uncomfortable with it, but, for now, he wanted it to be public so his Slytherins knew exactly what Evans was capable of, how strong he was.
It would have a far greater impact if they knew what he managed to, inevitably, crush the boy from. He wanted them to be able to see what he he'd caught, and the effect of his dominion.
It was no fun if they just assumed there was no challenge involved, no game, and they would only question his investment. It didn't need to be a repeated thing, but, at least once, at least now, they'd needed to see Harry for what he was, to prevent any misconceptions or doubts later.
Those defiant eyes had taken on a vaguely trapped glow, but only burned fiercer for it, wild, like a caged animal.
Harry was slippery, he'd give him that, but Tom - while only joking about 'stalker' classes in the definition the other was using, was well practised and talented in the more predatory connotation of the word.
He knew how to catch his quarry, and how to toy with it, when to toy and when to strike and when to tighten his webs and coils simply to thwart escape. And this was better than most, because he hadn't been lying when he said Harry wasn't merely prey, there was a natural predator, dominant streak to his newest snake.
Harry was an alpha too, however hidden that element of his personality was by circumstance.
It was so much more fun.
He'd always clearly been in charge with all his other toys - they'd pursued him, but in the manner that some animals flaunted themselves to catch the attention of the best partner available. No one clashed with him quite like Harry did. It was exhilarating.
He was certain he would reach the end of the other's endurance soon enough, but, for now, he was somewhat content in this game, and in finding out his answers. He would find them.
It was only a matter of time.
No one had ever beaten him, and Harrison would not be the first.
Besides, he had so many questions...
How did Harry assert that he was a Dark Lord? How much did he know? How did he know?
Who was he? And where was the scar really from?
It was time to push a bit harder.
A/N: Well, here you go :) I hope you liked. Thanks for the reviews :)
I'm sorry if it feels like nothings happening, they are making progress, but it would, I feel, be unrealistic if they suddenly knew everything. Sorry if it just feels like more of the same.
I'm looking forward to Tom finding stuff out too!
PS: Loveless; have you considered writing your own Tom and Harry fanfiction? You clearly have the ideas and the potential, and fanfiction is all about seeing text and having your own ideas bounce off it. :)