Chapter 11:

It was Halloween Night.

Harry hated it. Something bad always happened to him Halloween, so, in all honesty, the paranoia he felt was completely justified.

After all, just because he was paranoid it didn't mean that everyone wasn't out to get him.

Like Tom Riddle.

Tom Riddle had been suspiciously lax in his attentions since their meeting in the corridor when he 'discovered' that Dumbledore was Harry's king. He only hoped that meant his tactics had worked.

For some reason, he doubted it though.

Those piercing eyes still rested on him far too often for comfort, and when they didn't, the eyes of one of Riddle's lackey's did. The problem was that he didn't know what Riddle was planning, but he had a horrible feeling in his stomach.

Besides, it was Halloween, something was bound to go wrong. He'd have to be extra vigilant.

Somehow, he'd been ensnared into attending a 'All Hallow's Eve' party in the Slytherin Common Room. He honestly didn't know how that happened, except that he'd somehow got caught in the crowd of snakes and swept along. He bet Riddle had orchestrated that.

The Slytherin Heir had an alarming control over every person in their house. It was seriously creepy. He couldn't get out either, because there was a constant stream of people wanting to talk or dance with him, conveniently whenever he made a move to leave.

Yet, it was done so it didn't seem staged, and he very rarely managed to get out of said dance. Now, to avoid it, he'd simply retreated to a shadowy corner alone, nursing his second firewhiskey of the night.

He'd almost choked when he first drank it tonight, but now, as he'd grown used to the blaze of heat when he swallowed it, and the slight bitterness, he was fine.

He felt pleasantly buzzed, actually, though he was being careful not to become so intoxicated that he would no longer be aware of himself or his surroundings. Who knew, maybe that was what Riddle was aiming for with this farce.

He sighed heavily, a lead-laden sigh.

He'd never missed Ron and Hermione - or even Roger and Imogen - so much. It was better than the company of baby Death Eaters and Riddle puppets.

The feast had been much the same as it had been in his own time, but he didn't have the pleasure of his friend's company, this time. Nor was he allowed to sit alone. Rosier, Mulciber and Avery had nearly dragged him to seat with them, despite how much he glared at them or tried to maintain taciturn.

It wasn't that they particularly liked him, he knew that. It was because Riddle had shown an interest with him and they were trying to gain favour and attention by association.

Sickening.

He wondered if anyone in Slytherin actually had friends, or whether or not it was all just alliances and backstabbing and political manoeuvring. Probably the latter. With Riddle at his head. And the rest of them running around like puppies looking for a friendly pat or word from their cruel and arrogant master.

It was pitiful, pathetic.

It was the same now at the party; all a big show to impress the young Dark Lord, who - to Harry's surprise - didn't merely stick to his elitist inner circle of Lestrange, Malfoy, Prince and Black and instead circled the room, with that charming smile on his face.

It seemed Tom played his role here too.

He supposed that was why Riddle had such a huge power base at Hogwarts; he tempted everyone every so often with what they could have, giving them just another attention that they felt special and thought they had a chance, before withdrawing back to his inner circle.

It made everyone in Slytherin want to be part of his group; and it was clear that to be in that group meant privileges. The best seats in the common room, for example, or a certain level of protection if you were a favourite, and increase in power from association.

All the inner circle members had their own followings and inner circles. It was a bit like a spider web or something. He wanted absolutely no part of it. He'd never liked rigid hierarchies, especially ones when he was expected to kowtow to Tom Riddle.

Never going to happen. The very idea nauseated him.

He took another sip of his drink. Looking to solve his problems at the bottom of a bottle probably wasn't he best way of doing things, but he was having fun trying. Where was the esteemed lord and master anyway? He found out a second later when someone snatched his drink from his grasp, taking a swig.

He stared at the other, un amused. He suddenly felt twitchy all ready, having to fight the urge to punch Riddle in the face because Halloween and Tom hadn't even said anything to him yet. Irrelevant, because his very presence and existence was infuriating, but still.

"What do you want?" he asked stiffly, reaching for his drink. Riddle held it out his grasp, absently.

"Careful, you're starting to sound a little slurred, darling. I take it you're new to alcohol."

Harry flushed.

"Just give me my damn drink, and go away. I hate Halloween, I hate this party, and I hate you. And I don't sound slurred!"

"I said starting to," Riddle replied, smirking. "Why do you hate Halloween and me?"

"Because you're a bastard who stole my drink and won't leave me alone," Harry snapped, reaching for the firewhiskey again. "Now get lost."

"Aren't you an unfriendly drunk," Tom stated, still smirking. "I think I'll be confiscating this for all our sake-"

Harry lunged, snatching the bottle back, feeling inordinately pleased with himself. This time, he made sure to keep it away from Riddle, and took a mouthful just to spite the Slytherin, watching the other's eyes narrow.

Tom studied him, leaning into the wall by his side, their shoulders almost touching. It was crowded.

Cassius Parkinson had began dancing on the table, and Harry noted a light sneer trace Tom's lips.

"What do you want?" Harry questioned, again. "Don't you have admirers to attend to?"

"Thought I'd catch a break and talk to my favourite rebel."

"I'm your only rebel," he said sullenly. Tom's smirk broadened.

"Precisely why you're my favourite."

"Ha ha," Harry deadpanned. "I'd have assumed you loved all the attention and the slavering fan club."

"Hmm, well you make a lot of assumptions about me," Tom shrugged, gracefully. "Why don't you like Halloween?"

Harry could feel his temper rising, and just wanted to make the other shut up.

"It's the night my parents were murdered."

Something indefinable crossed the other's face.

"I didn't know."

"And you don't particularly care either," he said coldly. "So spare me the model student condolences."

"I wasn't going to give any," Riddle stated. "Condolences are useless things, they change nothing."

Harry's gaze flicked to the other involuntarily at the opinion, staring.

"It's the socially acceptable thing to do," he replied, more for argument's sake than any disagreement with the other's words.

"You don't seem the type to care all too much about the socially acceptable thing," Tom returned. "Not that I blame you. Society is such a limiting thing."

"Careful," Harry said flatly. "Your true colours are showing."

Riddle merely smirked at him again, before straightening from his position against the wall, pulling him close for a second, to speak in his ear over the sudden din of cheering in the background, and the shouts for the Slytherin heir to come over.

"Happy Halloween Harry."

Zevi Prince watched the deterioration of Evan's condition carefully.

When his lord had approached him in search of a specialised drug and Veritaserum, he'd had his suspicions for what it would be used for. Now they were confirmed, and it was fascinating to see the effects of his creation.

To an outsider's perspective, it would merely look very much like Harrison was extremely drunk - stumbling, slurring, unable to walk straight.

In truth, it was the drug, sapping the strength from the muscles which led to the stumbling, as well double vision and shakiness as it attacked his nervous system.

It would incapacitate the boy completely, leaving him pretty much unable to move for a while. Certainly long enough to administer the truth potion.

He wondered what Tom wanted to find out, but it wasn't his place to question, only speculate in the relative privacy of his mind. For now, he had a role to play, and starting laughing and making jabs about how drunk their newest snake was.

Everyone around immediately bought it, and Tom stepped forward, just as Harry was about to collapse completely on his way to the dorms, eyes wide with fear. Harry knew he was drugged, but the slurring heaviness of his tongue ensured he couldn't tell until Tom eased off the effects.

That had been another criteria. Tom had to be able to fully control how strongly the drug effected the boy, and be able to reduce and maximise its potency whenever he wanted, while it was in Evan's system. To sort this out, he'd tied it to his lord's magic.

He was rather happy with the end product, if he said so himself.

All that Tom had needed to do was get Harry to drink spiked liquid, and it seemed he'd managed it. From watching their earlier interaction, he presumed his lord had baited Evans into it by trying to stop him drinking, which, naturally, led Harry to immediately snatch it back and drink in defiance.

He really was quite innocent at times, Evans. He almost felt sorry for the boy. Except he didn't. It was better that Tom's cruelty or sadism was directed towards Evans then towards them.

His Lord's arm hooked securely around Harrison's waist - perhaps a fraction too tight, not that all their drunken observers would be able to tell - and he pulled Evan's other arm over his own shoulders, lifting the weight onto himself, half carrying and half dragging.

There was an altogether pleased shine to his eyes, carefully hidden, and Zevi knew he'd done well.

"I'll take care of this," Tom murmured, rolling his eyes. "Lightweight."

There was the expected round of laughter, and everyone was already turning back to the next intoxicated scandal.

Zevi smiled slightly as his lord pulled the protesting boy firmly away from the crowds, already slipping away from people's minds and attentions.

He flicked a mild repellent on the door after them. They would have about an hour, undisturbed, for whatever the hell they were up to. He wasn't entirely certain he wanted to know. He didn't want to know.

Now that his part was over, he threw himself into enjoying the party.

He hoped Evans got what was coming to him.

Harry's heart was thudding in his chest, like a trapped golden snitch, frantic, lashing against his ribcage as if it had done it personal offence.

"You…drugged….me," he accused, even as he felt Riddle carefully slide Harry's wand out of his pocket.

The world was spinning nauseatingly around him, making it hard to think straight. Everything was slipping and sliding around him and, bizarrely, it felt like it was only Riddle's solid grip on him that anchored him to the skin of the earth.

"You should watch what you're drinking. Rule on of alcoholic consumption," Tom replied, in a mocking tone of voice. Harry snarled, wordlessly.

He was dragged into their dorm room, and pushed into a sitting position on one of the beds. It took all of his effort not to simply collapse like a pile of goo or something the second his support system - and it felt so wrong to attribute 'support system' with anything to do with 'Riddle' - vanished to leave him to his devices.

He figured that was the point. If he didn't want to look absolutely pathetic, he had to channel all of his will into his shaky, suddenly alarming weak, arms to keep himself vaguely upright.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he demanded, as venomously as he could when his tongue refused to obey his brains command. It came out as more a hiss, for it was easier than trying to verbalise his words.

Riddle froze.

Harry blinked, wondering what he'd…crap. Hissed. Oh no. He had NOT just spoken Parseltongue, now, inadvertently, after all the time he'd spent carefully hiding the ability!

"Did you just-?" Riddle began, staring at him, with utter shock in eyes.

"Question…you?" Harry was very cautious to stick to English, sneering, to let Riddle think it had been a mistake. "We rebels…do that…sometimes."

Tom wasn't expecting him to be a parseltongue, and in Harry's experiences it could be difficult to tell the difference between snake language and English if you weren't specifically watching out for the shift.

He prayed the same hold true for Riddle.

Tom thought he was the only Parselmouth, it would be illogical for him to jump straight to the conclusion that Harry shared that trait. Especially as it was only supposed to be the gift of those in the Slytherin bloodline.

The young Dark Lord stared at him for a moment longer, an almost disturbed glint in his normally composed gaze, before he seemed to shake himself out of it, dismissing it…for now, at least.

Harry almost felt his heart slow down again, before Riddle approached him, resting one hand next to his knee, leaning slightly.

Right.

He was still in a utterly crap, hellish situation. Drugged, vulnerable, and alone with a total pyschopath. Fabulous. Had he mentioned that he really hated Halloween?

Riddle traced a hand down his cheek, across his lips, onto his chest, pushing him back further so he was resting on his elbows, uncomfortably contorted on the edge of the bed.

"So…here we are," he murmured, with a rather wicked smile, "all alone."

Harry's blood chilled, his heart beat accelerating again, wildly, with absolute terror. Was Riddle…no way…he wouldn't…he…

"Riddle - Tom-" he began, having the horrible feeling that he would beg if this was…that. The smirk broadened, as Tom appraised him.

"-Have you ever heard of Veriteserum?" the other questioned.

His heart slowed down again for a moment, thank god, Riddle wasn't going to…rape him. He'd just been messing with Harry's head.

Okay. He could breathe again.

Then, once more, his blood plummeted as the other's words caught up with his addled mind Yeah, he'd heard of Veriterserum.

The truth potion. Shit.

He clamped his mouth firmly closed, and Riddle's eyes gleamed.

"Now, really, Harrison, what did you think I wanted…you?" the Slytherin Heir mocked, cruelly. "If I wanted that, I assure you I wouldn't need to drug someone."

"My bad," Harry retorted, through gritted teeth, trying to force his tongue around the suddenly difficult words. "I just…thought…with your general lack of…desirable qualities…otherwise…that you…might. No one…would…willingly."

Tom merely raised a brow, uncorking the bottle, and Harry automatically shut his mouth again.

"Wow, I've find a way to shut you up," Tom murmured, rather dangerously. "Open your mouth."

Harry merely glared. No way was this happening. This couldn't possibly be happening, he tried to move backwards from the immediate danger zone, stopped by Riddle's grip shifting to clamp down on his lower thigh, just above the knee.

"Now, now," Tom tsked. "Let's not be difficult about this. I don't particularly want to pin you to the bed, and I'm sure you would want to avoid the misconceptions should anyone enter too."

Harry clenched his teeth, but stayed put, Riddle was right, the git. He really did not want someone to walk in and see Riddle pinning him down to his bed. It would be…too wrong. Urgh.

He'd never hated anyone so much then he hated the boy in front of him right now. He just seemed to know exactly what to say, how to pinpoint Harry's fears and flaws to use to his own advantage and get the outcome he wanted.

It was bloody infuriating.

Harry's only consolation was his small level of smugness from having managed to get away with talking Parseltongue in front of the Slytherin Heir.

"Open your mouth," Tom ordered. Harry merely smiled, tauntingly, tight lipped in return. No way. This was a nightmare. He felt sick…and he was sure it wasn't just whatever the hell Riddle had put in his drink. "Now."

Harry made no move, simply looking back.

The next second, he couldn't breathe, and Riddle's wand was in his hand, pointing at him. He couldn't breathe; not through his nose anyway, and his vision was greying and-god, he needed air.

His mouth opened on its own accord, gasping down the precious oxygen without his permission, and at the same time, Tom struck, fingers fisting in his hair to tilt his head back, forcing the three drops of veriteserum on his tongue, before quickly covering his mouth before he could spit out.

He still couldn't breathe through his nose and damn it…he was going to have to swallow.

Riddle's eyes were lit with triumph, and he glowered, ferociously, wishing he had the energy to punch. Alas, the drug was still in effect - and Riddle had no doubt planned it that way. It was to obliterate the level of physical fighting, once again.

An odd glaze and calmness descended on his thoughts, and, at the same time, he felt the slurring on his tongue fade.

Riddle looked like the cat that got the cream. Harry wanted to punch the expression of his smug, arrogant face. As Tom opened his mouth to begin questioning, Harry abruptly bit down on his own tongue.

Hard.

Copper filled his mouth, his tongue swelling with a sharp stinging. He shot the other a goading grin. Riddle's fists clenched, and he looked almost disbelieving, though the other spoke calmly despite the tightness of his jaw.

"Are you a masochist, or something, Evans?" he demanded, pointing his wand in Harry's direction, presumably to fix his mouth so he could talk properly and clearly again.

Harry immediately scooted back, as fast as he could - which wasn't very fast at all, his felt like he was wading through treacle - misconceptions be damned.

Tom could not question him under truth potion! He'd do anything to avoid it…not that he could do much due to the drug…andoh Riddle had planned this so very meticulously, hadn't he?

Tom leapt at him, face lined with a ruthless determination, slamming him back down onto the mattress so hard that the breath was knocked out of his lungs.

"Ah, ah," he murmured. "I don't think so. You seem pretty good with evasion and escape attempts, but not this time, sweetheart."

His tongue was promptly healed, and, this time, before he could bite it again, Riddle dragged his head backwards into an awkward position to prevent it, baring Harry's throat.

They were both breathing harshly, shooting daggers in their eyes. Then, Riddle smiled again, nothing pleasant in it at all. Pure, chilling, danger and threat.

"Now, Harry, why do you hate me and how do you know me?"

Harry tried in vain to stop himself from answering, but the truth serum had caught a fast grip on his mouth now.

"Because you grew up to murder my parents."

And then there was silence.

Worst. Halloween. Ever.

A/N: Don't you just love me for leaving it here? :P Thanks for all the reviews, I'm glad you're enjoying the story :) Tom will finally be getting some answers (woo! Depending on who's side your on, haha). But yeah, enjoy. As always, any feedback is much appreciated!

Many of you expressed concerns that with my new story - Dearest Darkness, a Tomione - I would be abandoning these stories. That is not the case. Tom and Harry are still my natural preference, but I promised a friend I'd write her a Tomione, and she challenged me, and I'm quite enjoying it, so I will be working on that...and whatever oneshots or projects I decide to do be it in the HP fandom or other fandoms, too. :) Okay?