Chapter Ten:

Harry shut the door to the Headmaster's Office carefully behind him, angrily trying to refrain from slamming it.

Apparently, he was unlikely to get home any time soon, because Time itself had hardly been studied - they didn't even have Time Turners yet! - and the best, discreet minds of the field could take years to solve his 'problem.'

He refused to believe he was stuck here though, for any significant length of time. If the adults couldn't find a way to help him, he'd do it himself. It wouldn't be the first time.

Urgh, this was so infuriating! He hated it here! And he hated Tom Riddle most of all…Tom Riddle who was most likely waiting to pick up where they had left off…he shivered.

He'd never felt quite so vulnerable, not even around Voldemort or Dudley's gang as a kid.

With Voldemort, he'd always known quite clearly the danger he was in, and after the first time he'd kind of known what to expect and he could fight to full capacity - normally in some sort of duel or battle.

Tom was…different.

The danger was there, evidently, but layered beneath a charm that sucked you in like a black hole, ready to tear you and crush you into a million pieces and obliterate you.

Dudley's Gang, he'd also known what to expect, but there was little long-term chance of success as he lived with the moron and so, Dudley would always catch up with him eventually, especially as he had all the support. Yet, with Dudley's gang, they was slow and stupid.

With Tom, he again pretty much lived with the bastard, sharing a dorm and classes, so permanent escape was highly limited, and Tom was neither slow nor stupid. Hell, he was fast and probably infinitely more clever than Harry was.

The only advantage he had was knowledge; he knew more about Riddle than Riddle knew about him, and the Slytherin Heir was slowly working to steal that away from him too with his incessant prying.

He was so screwed.

He needed to find a way to diffuse the situation, and quickly. He needed a plan. He needed time to concoct a plan.

He would stay in the Room of Requirement for the n-crap.

That wasn't fair.

"What are you doing out the common room?" he demanded, infuriated. Riddle was the picture of innocence, but for the lazy threat and menace entrapped in his eyes and stance.

"I'm a prefect…I have prefect rounds."

"Outside the dungeons?" he questioned sceptically. Riddle merely smiled at him.

"Miss McGonnagal of Gryffindor was preoccupied, and I offered my assistance."

McGonnagal? Not his head of House McGonnagal? But- of course. Wow. His eyes narrowed.

"What did you do to her?"

Riddle merely blinked at him, pressing a hand to his chest.

"Such suspicion, Harry, I'm wounded."

"I'm sure you'll survive," he said dryly. "It's not like you have a heart for my barbs to strike."

"Thankfully," the other replied immediately. "For otherwise it would surely be broken. Don't you like me, darling?"

"Give me a second, I don't think you'd appreciate the response on the tip of my tongue right now."

"Since when has that stopped you? My, I guess you're desperate for my approval after all."

"Oh of course," Harry snapped, "in your dreams!"

He stopped, realising they'd been inching closer to each other during their conversation, and abruptly circled to both get past and keep a more healthy distance between them.

Riddle's eyes tracked his movements hungrily.

There was no way Harry was giving up the Room of Requirement as a hiding place and sanctuary, not now. He'd go to Slytherin, and get into his heavily warded bed while Riddle was doing his "prefect rounds." Or, even better, make it look like he was heading to the Common Room, then backtrack to the Room of Requirement.

Riddle simply smiled again.

"Get some rest, you'll need your strength," the other replied silkily. Harry's jaw clenched further.

"You too, Tom, you too," he said airily. He walked away, trying to appear utterly nonchalant.

A hand caught his shoulder, firmly, and he nearly pulled his wand out. Yet, in this scenario, such a reaction would be a failure and only inviting the confrontation he sought to avoid.

"Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"Make sure to go straight to the Common Room, I'd so hate to see you caught out after curfew…the professor's might become rather less accommodating to a troublemaker."

Harry ripped his shoulder away, gaze hard, whirling to face the other, furiously.

"Must be inconvenient for them to find out about your exploits then-"

"-My, my, golden boy, are you attempting to blackmail me?" Riddle smirked. "That's…adorable. I assure you, you'd never manage it."

"Oh, you don't think our encounters might prove interesting to Professor Dumbledore? He doesn't seem too fond of you, does he?"

"Perhaps, but you won't go to Dumbledore."

Harry stared; Tom sounded so certain. The Slytherin Heir's smirk broadened, with a deadly gleam of white teeth showing through his crimson lips.

"If you were going to involve someone else, you would have done so by now, when I first began 'stalking' you. It's not in your nature to accept help."

"How do you know?" Harry challenged. Tom arched his brows.

"Harry, you sleep under silencing charms, rather regularly if your initial surprise at how they weren't working for you was anything to go by. You don't share your problems."

Damn it.

"I'm sure I could make an exception just to spite you."

"I'm sure you could," Riddle agreed pleasantly. "But you won't."

Tom approached him again, and, this time, he resolutely stood his ground. They stopped with barely over a foot between them. "I know hatred intimately well, hero. Yours is personal, and it blinds you.I don't know what I've done to you, or what your problem is, but you can rest assured that I will find out."

"My problem?" Harry returned, coldly. "My problem is that you don't know when to mind your own damn business!"

"Oh, but I am minding my own damn business, aren't I, sweetheart?" Tom said, voice low. "We just covered that with this being somehow personal. Do try and keep up."

The other studied him, eyes ablaze. Harry stared back, warily.

He'd expected Tom to pretty much jump his mind with his legiliwhatsit's the second they met again, but this…this he didn't expect. What was Riddle up to?

"If you're that curious about me, how come you haven't used your mind arts on me yet?" he asked.

"Because I'm easily bored, and you're not going anywhere," Tom replied simply. "Why are you involved with Professor Dumbledore?"

And Harry remembered his plan again with startling clarity, forcing wariness into his eyes - not that he had to try particularly hard on that account, around this boy.

"Involved?" he asked, quickly, knowing full well it was too quick. "What do you mean involved? Why would I be in anyway associated with Dumbledore?"

Tom's gaze sharpened.

"Sounds like you might be."

"Sounds like you're deluded," he replied. He couldn't give in too fast. It was too much of a personality shift. He stepped back, knowing Riddle would push, follow. Indeed, he did, and on one level it felt so amazing to be doing the manipulating and not just being the manipulated for once. "Back to the common room you say?" he continued hastily. "I'll just be on my way there then, you have your rounds to complete-"

"Dumbledore," Tom stated, in an incredulous, disgusted murmur. "Dumbledore is your king?"

Harry shifted, as if to betray panic.

"No! Don't be absurd-bye-"

Hands lunged for his upper arms, holding him locked in place, studying him, head tilted.

"No…no that can't be right. You're acting all wrong for a spy, a spy would be trying to get closer, not back away…" Tom seemed to be muttering more to himself now, his grip painfully tight, no doubt bruising.

"Exactly," Harry said, trying for an expression of subtle relief. "That wouldn't make sense-"

"-Except my love of playing with people and the chase isn't exactly hidden from the man," Tom continued, gaze piercing. "Everything about you draws me in…you're like jail bait."

Harry's brow furrowed. Now that was just-

"But then," Tom countered himself, "Dumbledore doesn't know me half as well as he thinks he does; though he may have more awareness of my character than most, he certainly doesn't know me so well as to create you so flawlessly, and he can hardly orchestrate all your responses…no, it's you who's interesting, not his portrayal of you…Dumbledore may be your king, but you're your own man…the pawn who could be anything."

"So now you know," Harry said, quietly, angling his posture as if ready for fight or flight, muscles bunching beneath slender fingers. "And you should also know that my loyalty will always be to the light."

Tom hummed, not looking as put out as Harry had hoped, nor as disinterested in working out the mystery.

"And I said you wanted to fall," the other stated, but the tint to his eyes suggested that was only a throwaway observation, gaze probing at something deeper. "Your hatred is personal," Tom repeated, softly. "That's not manufactured by Dumbledore…nice try though, darling."

He was brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. Harry couldn't deny it.

The way the young Dark Lord's mind worked was incredible…it made him wonder what had happened to make him Voldemort.

But he was already Voldemort. Wasn't he? He didn't know anymore, and it scared him.
Of course Tom was Voldemort. Tom Marvolo Riddle. I am Lord Voldemort. Tom could be nothing else. He'd even admitted to being the Dark Lord. And Tom being a genius prodigy really didn't help when he had something to hide.

"Nice try?" he questioned. It seemed to snap Tom back to attention.

"Making me believe your spy connection to Dumbledore was what you were hiding, I'll admit, it almost worked, but for the…hate in your eyes. So, so personal. Do you really hate me that much?"

Why did Harry suddenly feel…guilty. This was utterly ridiculous!

"You have your prefect rounds to complete," he reminded.

"Or do you hate that you don't hate me as much as you feel you should?" Tom pressed, intently staring at him.

Harry didn't know if the question was rhetorical or not, but didn't answer either way, and he didn't want to. It was far too uncomfortable a query.

This really wasn't going as he planned. He'd expected confrontation and attacks…not this. In a way, it was an attack, a different type of one.

"You're an enigma, Harrison Evans," Tom murmured, "and regardless of what side you're on, I will enjoy figuring you out."

And with that, Harry realised he had to get a grip, however confusing or surprising Tom Riddle was, he couldn't afford to let the other find out his secrets about the future.

There was more to this than just the two of them, more even then that this boy grew up to murder his parents…in the scheme of things, he didn't matter. And it didn't matter if Tom Riddle maybe wasn't a carbon copy of Voldemort either, Tom Riddle could not discover the future.

"Misconceptions," he stated, after a moment. Tom's eyebrows arched in question. Harry clarified.

"You have this misconception that I'm someone interesting…special, whatever, and it infuriates you to be wrong as so you keep trying to justify it with some conspiracy that's larger than it actually is. I'm just the new kid, Riddle. Nothing more, nothing less, and life isn't a detective story that you should try and make it more than that, however bored you are. You want me to be interesting, you've got into your head that I am - and I suppose that's partially my fault for not acting like one of your slavering fans - but it's a misconception. You're fabricating me. That's why I'm flawless, Tom, you're creating an image of what you want and projecting it onto me because I'm there and something you haven't broken yet."

Tom stared at him.

"Or you could be desperately trying to keep me away from your secrets," he replied. Harry arched his brows.

"Or I could just be telling you the truth, and trying to spare you the disappointment of discovering that I'm ordinary, just like everyone else."

Tom's eyes had darkened now, dangerous. The air around them was growing heavy. Whatever the Slytherin Heir was outwardly saying, on some level, he must have been starting to doubt it or otherwise he wouldn't be annoyed.

"The curse scar-" Tom began.

"-Designed by Dumbledore to get your attention. I was talking about it with him just now."

"No."

"Yes. He's clever, Tom, even cleverer than you-" and why did he suddenly have to urge to doubt that? "-he knows how to fake the affects."

"You were in pain."

"Sacrifices must be made. Sometimes we all have to choose between what is right and what is easy." He threw a Dumbledore-quote in there for good measure, trying to consolidate the connection between him and the Transfigurations Professor.

Tom's eyes were narrowed to slits.

"Then why would you be admitting to the deception now? Seems redundant."

"Because you're not what I thought you were," Harry said, "and so my battle is not with you. I have better things to be doing."

"Like what?" Tom questioned, folding his arms. "I don't believe you. You're hiding something. This is just you trying to throw me off."

Damn, he was good.

"You don't believe I have better things to be doing than entertaining you? Wow, aren't you a narcissist," Harry replied dryly, before sighing. "I'm telling the truth-"

"-the truth?" Riddle laughed, coldly. "I highly doubt that. You've done nothing but lie since you've got here…now, even if you do tell the truth, I won't believe you, boy who cries wolf."

"Then that's your mistake, not mine," Harry said, evenly. "And I would have thought you too much a perfectionist to make such an obvious mistake. You talk about my hatred blinding me, your own desires blind you. Like I said, you're fabricating me."

"Then by that standard, I should be your God and King, not Dumbledore," Tom replied, seeming to compose himself, smirking. "After all, if I created you than surely you're mine."

Harry immediately felt his temper rise.

"I am not yours and never will be you arrogant git! I'm my own person! I don't belong to anyone-"

"Not even Dumbledore?" Riddle drawled, slyly. "And there was me thinking he was your King."

Shit.

Harry closed his eyes for a moment, knowing full well he'd just been trapped by his own words again, his own rage. Tom smirked at him, practically purring his words.

"So personal, so emotional, darling. Wearing your heart on your sleeve will only allow the vultures to peck and steal it for their own perusal."

Harry stared back, flatly, no longer gaining any sense of amusement from this conversation.

He was too inexperienced, he couldn't play Riddle on his own field like this, and Riddle wouldn't play on his. He needed to find his own style; somewhere between Slytherin and Gryffindor, and coax Riddle out towards it so he could beat him fair and square.

Manipulations…he couldn't manipulate like this, he didn't know which buttons to press, he'd spent too long among the lions where threats and games were played on an open arena, away from the cover of half-truths and subtleties.

It didn't help that Riddle could play without limitation, when by the very nature of the game Harry was tied to hold his secrets and talents to himself. Bizzarely, the more Tom won the more Harry could fight back.

He wanted to wipe the smug smirk off Tom's face so very, very much. It was maddening.

"I can be loyal to someone without them owning me-" he began, trying to rectify the disastrous effects of his unthinking temper.

"-Not with light and dark, you belong to either one or the other. You cannot have an affinity for both."

He was dying to say that 'you supposedly can't survive the killing curse either, but I seem to have managed it.'

"Well, then there must be something wrong with the system, as I'm light, and the teenaged dark lord seems obsessed with me," he replied instead, irritably. "Do you know how I can fix that flaw in the universe?"

For the first time, Tom seemed genuinely and visibly surprised.

"You - light? Who told you that?"

Harry stared back, unnerved. He was light. Sure, he could speak Parseltongue, but, essentially, he was light. Tom's head tilted.

"Do you actually know what the difference is between light and dark?" the Slytherin Heir questioned, suddenly soft again.

Harry wondered, for the thousandth time, why he wasn't walking away, allowing himself to get drawn into conversation, and why Riddle wasn't continuing on his prefect rounds.

It was as if they were just there, on the spot, frozen, as if all the world had fallen away, time stopped but for the two of them and it was…exhilarating.

That, more than anything else, more than Tom Riddle not being a carbon copy of Voldemort, terrified him. He couldn't…enjoy the other's company, let the Slytherin creep under his skin like this, like no one else ever had.

It was just…hard.

He realised, disgustedly, that Riddle was right. He was too emotionally and personally invested in the other, in one way or another. He was fascinated.

Time to let it end.

Winning the game aside, getting a grip and coming out victorious, was still giving Riddle what he wanted. A challenge, a game, an opportunity to find out what he wanted. This whole conversation was just another allure and tactic to pin him down to be dissected.

He pulled away, nearly sprinting down the corridor.

Yes, time to let it end.

He would just find a way home, no game, no power play.

Riddle couldn't play against himself…

Tom stared at the retreating figure, before continuing on his rounds, deep in his thought. He'd assumed Harry to be aware of the game and aware of everything, because he played so well and seemed to know so much…but he…wasn't.

He didn't know why that struck him so hard.

Harry was fighting, but he didn't even know what he was fighting for.

He truly had, up until this point, somehow, been a pawn. He couldn't imagine it. He'd guessed Harry had spent a lot of time glorified or vindicated on a pedestal, but, somehow…he hadn't quite thought through all the ramifications of that. His brow furrowed.

He needed to change this game of cat and mouse, if he wanted to win. If he wanted to find something out.

Harry was too…distracting. He drew Tom into much. He was too…interesting. When he talked to his challenge he inevitably got caught up in the verbal sparring, in trying to pick out secrets off that cutting and careful tongue.

His endgames were stalled, humoured, by watching the other boy attempt to dance around him, clumsily, but with an intriguing effectiveness.

The truth was, he was torn between efficiency and tearing the boy's mind open with legilimacy, and yet, to do that, had become a concession in itself.

Harry had set it up as one, because it was the easy way out, and it was beginning to gall him that he had to revert to such brute means to get what he wanted out of Evans. That he couldn't get it out of it without falling to something so crude, without deception or skill.

At some point, this had come to be personal for him too.

It made him want to grind his teeth.

He assumed it was because Harry already knew so much about him, through whatever source that Tom would discover, and so had automatically started playing with Tom rather than his persona.

Harry, for the first time out of anyone he'd ever met, had engaged with challenging his full personality, not just his persona or even 'Lord Voldemort' alone because they moved across both the model-student public arena and a private one where he was the Dark Lord….and, so, Harry had cut through numerous defences instantly without his notice, by passing the normal distance he kept between his himself and his prey.

Normally, he played with them, and they only played with whatever side of him he showed to them. But Harry knew both sides of him, knew him.

And he didn't know Harry.

It was almost a role reversal. He nearly laughed, incredulous, delirious at the thought.

He couldn't toy with Harry like he did with everyone else.

The rules had changed. He needed to devise a new plan of action, a new board.

Slowly, a smile spread over his face. Yes, that was what he would do He just needed some time to set up.

And on Halloween, he would finally claim his prize.

A/N: Bit of a filler chapter, sorry :( I hope it was still enjoyable enough to read. Next chapter should make up for it...Tom actually finds something out :P I'll leave you to guess what. Spoilers. I think I have writers block. :/

Thanks for the reviews...:D

Happy Easter! 3 I'm gutted I don't have any chocolate eggs. I'll go and buy some tomorrow, when they're cheap. I'll bake a cake or something instead.

PS: Still not slash, my main stories, as far as I'm aware, will NEVER be slash. There are enough of those, and my current characterisation for Tom and Harry is now my headcanon characterisation, and so, no romance. I don't write it. 'kay? :)