Chapter Nine:

Harry subtly wrapped his fingers around his own wand handle - he didn't expect to be able to come out victorious, but he sure as hell wasn't going to roll over and not fight at all if it came to that! Riddle was studying him, lazily, eyes intent, like a coiled serpent just waiting to strike.

"So, my dear, how about the truth?" he asked, after a while. Harry forced himself to remain expressionless, though it was exceedingly difficult not to clench his teeth or fists.

"So, arsehole, how about minding your own business?" he returned coldly. "I am telling the truth, besides."

"If you're telling the truth…why do you care so much for hiding?" Riddle questioned. "You should have nothing to hide, if, by your claims, you are 'nothing,' ordinary, mediocre."

"Even ordinary people have their ordinary secrets, and ordinary desires for this thing called privacy…have you ever heard of it?"

"You admit you have secrets then," Riddle said, eyes gleaming. Harry's jaw tightened with exasperation.

"Don't we all; I dare say you have your fair share. Why don't you tell to the class, Tom? Come now, prefect, lead by example," he taunted. Tom's head tilted back.

"I'll show you mine if you show me yours," the other smirked. "A secret for a secret? You first, mind."

"Why should I?" Harry raised his brows, thinking fast, not liking the feeling of getting trapped into a corner again, like a bug for inspection beneath a microscope. "Clearly I lose nothing from my silence, and you care more about my life than I do of yours."

"Because," Tom smiled. "I'll take refusal to…ah, play, as forfeit and simply take the knowledge out of your pretty little head."

The wands around him pointed directly at him now, at a small gesture from Riddle, who continued to survey him, calmly, a pleasant smile upon his face.

"What's it to be, darling? You gain nothing from silence, either."

Harry's fists clenched, and he flicked his gaze around, silently considering whether he could take them all and Riddle on at not. Maybe without Riddle there, he could. But not with Riddle. How could Riddle take anything out of his head?

He decided to ask.

"A mind art called Legilimency," Riddle replied promptly. "Your turn. What are you hiding?"

Shit. That was not fair, he hadn't agreed to 'play,' and, if he had, he certainly wouldn't have asked such a trivial question.

And yet…it implied Riddle really could simply read his mind if he got bored playing, if Harry refused and forfeiting the game.

The young Dark Lord was easily bored, he wanted something to do, a challenge? It was the challenge that was keeping him from simply doing this the easy way.

Harry needed to somehow be interesting, interesting and a good enough opponent that Riddle played the game rather than merely taking what he wanted.

He thought frantically for anything that could buy him time, give him time to slip out of this, escape.

"If I'm playing," he replied, after a moment. "I'll play with you, not them. Unless, of course, you're feeling threatened and are overcompensating? In which case, I dare say I'm flattered that you're too scared to deal with me without four little lackey's to hold your hand."

Riddle's lips curled upwards slightly, but he tilted his head at his Death Eaters after a moment, indicating for them to make themselves scarce.

They did so without question, though Lestrange shot him a resentful look.

Harry swallowed, somehow not feeling as relieved as he should have been with them gone. There were no witnesses now, and he highly doubted Riddle's pets would let anyone in to interfere either…or let anyone out.

He took a discreet, steadying breath, forcing his posture to relax, trying to seem nonchalant, placing his hands in his pockets - around his wand more firmly, and to hide how they wanted to shake with nerves.

"Would you like me to repeat the question?" Tom asked, innocently.

"I'm hiding everything I don't want people to know," he said, carefully.

Riddle's eyebrows arched at the non answer, before he rose from his seat, circling him, examining him. He followed the other with his eyes, but didn't turn, not allowing himself the weakness.

He thought, for a question to ruffle the other, to cause the other to back off, hopefully without highlighting how much he already knew. And, yet, he didn't want to trade useless information by asking about what he already knew.

"You have plans, regarding me, what are they?"

Riddle stopped behind him, probably doing it deliberately to unnerve him, and Harry could hear the smirk in his voice.

"I simply want to get to know you better, sweetheart."

Harry scowled, looking for a translation…find out his secrets? Probably. Not going to happen, not with anything important.

He realised that neither of them were actually going to be directly answering questions, the information in this game was about reading between the lines, sifting through vague ambiguities and prying for any slip ups or revealing changes in expression.

"How do you know me?" Tom questioned, circling to stand in front of him once more, eyes locked upon his.

"I share a dorm with you, Dippet introduced us, you were there, I believe."

The next second, the air had grown frigid, darkening considerably and…hissing. The snakes around the common room were coming alive, animating from the stone walls, descending down, looping around them.

His eyes widened.

Riddle didn't need Death Eaters to point wands, every surface in the house of serpents was a weapon to a Parseltongue.

Like him.

Except, unfortunately, he couldn't actually use that particular talent right now without admitting to it…which would not be good.

"I'll try that again," Riddle murmured, seemingly not wanting to play 'read between the lines.' Impatient. Or was he just escalating from mere verbal sparring to add another layer onto the interrogation, more pushy? "How do know me so well, you knew my name within seconds of meeting me, how?"

The snakes coiled closer, looking ready to lash out. Harry would have moved away from them, but, frankly, they were everywhere. Slytherin had put a lot of snake engravings into columns, walls and borders and fireplaces and the wooden legs of sofas and armchairs.

"I answered your question already," he replied, evenly, keeping his gaze on the other. "It's not your turn…although, you could always forfeit yourself…"

Riddle's expression was carved from ice, frosty and deadly and smooth as glass, but he merely made a gesture with his hand for Harry to make his move.

He was tempted to ask 'are you a fast runner?' before legging it, but he didn't trust the snakes around the room, and Riddle would catch up with him eventually.

Besides, the lackey's were probably outside, no doubt ready to block his passage. He smirked, lighting on the perfect question.

"What is your most guarded secret?"

To his shock, Riddle smirked back at that, moving closer to him, and Harry automatically moved back, only for his knees to hit the sofa behind him.

The sofa with snakes.

He immediately realised that Riddle had anticipated the move - and clearly, he was going to have to learn not to recoil from the other's close proximity or touch, as the Slytherin Heir merely manipulated it - because the snakes wrapped around his calves, yanking him off balance so he fell to sitting on the sofa, and two others immediately circled his arms, pulling them, and his wand, from his pockets.

He eyed them, suddenly wishing Riddle knew he was a Parselmouth, so hiding it wasn't an issue, but made no movement.

The hissed, excitedly, around him, a horrible sensation against the material of his trousers and shirt. Tom loomed over him, leaning down, arms resting on the back of the sofa either side of Harry's shoulders, effectively caging him.

"Wasted question, Harrison, as you seems to have already guessed it."

Lips moved, mockingly, to his ear in an imitation of children's secret-sharing.

"I am not what I appear."

Right. Of course. That was the reason for the whole model student act, wasn't it? Riddle's constant masking of his true nature, of the Dark Lord. The dark side Harry knew full well was there.

It was a wasted question - it had just seemed so foolproof at the time! Now would really be a good time for his luck to begin again and allow him to escape.

"So, how did you know me so well as to know my name within seconds of meeting me?"

Harry's heart stopped, he couldn't afford to not answer, but…oh. Brilliant. He smirked, triumphant.

"Your reputation precedes you."

There. An answer, a truth, but it revealed nothing Riddle didn't already suspect and answered nothing.

The other studied him in silence for a minute, eyes doing sparkling, though whether that was good or not, Harry wasn't sure.

The air between them was thick with tension. After a while, the other smiled, not particularly nicely.

"You're strange, Harry, different. I tell you I'm a Dark Lord, and you, tied up in snakes that you've no doubt heard I can control, continue to defy me. Who are you? What are you?"

Harry stayed silent, not really sure how to even think about countering such a statement. Tom stared back. Harry was amazed he hadn't gone for his wand yet - Voldemort would have, and Tom was Voldemort…wasn't he?

After a moment, Riddle drew his wand with a mocking sigh.

"I suppose that's a forfeit then."

Oh, he hadn't realised that was actually a question, not a rhetorical musing. Damn it.

"I am what I am," he replied, quickly. "More patient than you, it seems. Why do you want to know me?"

Riddle's wand stilled again, satiated. Harry's appraised the other cautiously.

Games.

Challenges.

Riddle loved them, thrived on them, it was the only thing that kept him at bay from simply striking in immediately for fatal wounds. Tom loved the hunt, a true predator.

He'd already kind of established that.

He just didn't know what constituted as a challenge or not, he didn't know how to be…challenging.

"Knowledge is power," Riddle replied smoothly.
Power. Riddle wanted power over him. It was the submission thing again.

As much as he loved the challenge, Tom didn't tolerate threats to his person and his empire. How…paradoxical.

Riddle studied him for a moment, thoughtfully, and the wand swooped up, idly, tracing up the line of his cheek to brush his fringe aside.

"What's the story behind the scar?"

Harry immediately felt uneasy, and he didn't know why, this was one of the easier questions to answer. Then he realised it was the wand.

It was…the hand holding the wand, so close to the cursed lightning bolt. The hand that had caused it. It was giving him a headache.

It wasn't the agony of Voldemort, but it was there, nonetheless, and Tom wasn't actually physically touching him yet. He shifted his head away, physically unable to help himself as the aching pressure seemed to build around the scar, intensifying, starting to actually hurt, as if his head was going to explode.

"Freak accident," he said, quickly, hoping to move on, his mind spinning.

It was an accident, Voldemort had meant to kill him, and it was freak because you weren't supposed to survive the killing curse. It reacted to Voldemort…why? It reacted to Tom…even more why?

"What do I have to do to get you to leave me alone permanently?" he asked, abruptly.

But Riddle's gaze had shifted, upon the scar now, his head tilting to one side.

"You weren't so uncomfortable before," the other noted. "It's the curse scar. There's more to it. You," Riddle crouched to put them on eye level, seizing his jaw with his free hand, inspecting closer. "You're in pain."

How on earth did Riddle know that?

Harry shifted back as Riddle let his wand drop on the sofa where Harry's wand lay, a few inches away from his snake limited hands...and Riddle seemed to have a slight obsession with physically preventing his movement…pinning him down, using snakes as ropes…why?

It was…a power play. Riddle had picked up on his dislike of his touch, and had also picked up in his hatred of not being able to move very well.

It reminded him of the graveyard, being tied to the headstone…or in the room with Quirrel and the mirror. He'd been somewhat tied up there too.

It was a threat eliminated, he supposed, the physical threat. It allowed Riddle to toy with his mind without needing to pay attention against getting punched in the face or whatnot, or duelled. It limited the board down, and increased his opponents vulnerability while improving the Slytherin Heir's own position. R

iddle's hand caught his face, brushing his fringe aside. His body locked with tension.

"Don't-" he began.
The pain exploded.

Tom's hand shot back as a strange sensation buzzed through his fingers, tugging painfully at something inside him, pushing him back and pulling him all at once.

He staggered back as Harry's magic swelled, shoving him back. Violent, raw power. His breath hitched at the suddenness of it, the power.

So much, hidden power.

Blood. The scar was bleeding. He…that was not normal. It…his thoughts were scrambled.

"A curse scar," he whispered. "That's a curse scar. A dark one. One that….reacts to me. How on earth do you have a curse scar like that?" he demanded.

Harry glared at him, fire in his eyes, teeth gritted, the magic settling back to something more like what he was used to. He stared at the boy in shock.

He didn't know what he'd expected to lie beneath the layers upon layers of deception, he didn't even know why Harry knew him, but…this was…he was confused. He didn't know. He didn't like not knowing.

There was something far bigger at work here. He was starting to wonder what he'd got himself into, and yet, he'd never felt so…exhilarated.

Harry was actually dangerous, playing with him was truly a challenge, cause he wasn't just playing with him as a toy, they were both playing. It was…different. New.

He actually had a genuine opponent!

"I don't believe it's your question," Harry replied, infuriatingly. Tom abruptly wondered why he thought being constantly challenged was a good thing.

He stepped forwards, menacingly, deliberately. He shouldn't push, but….pushing was what he did best. Push and pull.

"Why do you have a curse scar linked to me?" he repeated, softly, his mind racing. Was this how Harry knew him? Except, how could he…Tom had never met him. He would remember meeting Harry.

"Remove your snakes, your repetition is starting to bore me," Harry replied, rolling his eyes, dismissively.

He lunged forwards, fingers fisting in the boy's hair to bare his throat, and he let his other hand hover above the curse scar. Harry stiffened.

"Why do you have a curse scar linked to me?" he whispered, again. He let his fingers descend when no answer was forthcoming.

Harry twisted in his grip, trying to squirm away from the incoming pain. The pain he could cause just by touch….did Harry know? Was that why he flinched? Or was it something else?

"You bastard, don't you dare-" Harry started, snarling.

"Why is your curse scar linked to me!" he demanded, for what they both knew was for the last time, barely managing to stay in English.

And then the Common Room Door swung open.

The snakes reverted back to their positions instantly, and Harry immediately straightened his posture to something casual, as did Tom, and magic swept across his face, any trace of blood from his features.

They stared at the door.

Harry's heart was pounding madly in his chest, and he was suddenly hyperaware of the boy standing so close to him that he could feel the heat searing off his skin.

Horace Slughorn: potion's professor, head of Slytherin House.

Tom's mask had snapped on flawlessly, a second skin.

"Professor? Is something the matter?" he asked. Horace looked between the two of them, for a moment, with a vaguely distracted air, brow furrowed.

Harry looked down at himself, confused, but could see nothing that would cause such scrutiny.

"I-Mr Evans, the Headmaster and Professor Dumbledore wish to see you in the Headmaster's office," the man huffed, seemingly disgruntled to have become a post owl. "Now."

Harry stood, disconcerted, not needing to glance to the side to know dark eyes were fixed on the side of his face.

"Of course," he murmured. "Thank you, sir."

"I'll see you later, Harry," Riddle called, smilingly, at his back. Fully aware of Slughorn being present, Harry merely offered a tight smile.

This just kept getting worse.

It was Halloween in three weeks.

A/N: Thanks for the reviews :) I hope you enjoy this one as much as the last!
And...guess what, there's progress :P

PS: SHockingly enough, I have actually written a DD slash piece...would any of you be interested in my posting it? Note, this does not mean any of my stories are becoming slash, they won't be, non slash is my thing and I like it like that, but, yeah, for a onshot...?