Despite Tamelyn's assurance that she wouldn't make my body pull all-nighters while I sleep, I still wake up surrounded by parchments covered in complex equations more than I care for.

As such, I am not surprised to find that my body is once again up and moving without my consent. What does surprise me is that I am neither in my bed nor surrounded by equations, but walking out towards the quidditch pitch surrounded by the other members of the Gryffindor Quidditch team.

Oh, thank gods, you're awake! The maniac you have for a Team Captain is insisting on a five a.m. practice session and no one's been able to talk him out of it! I am absolutely rubbish at flying on a broom, let alone Quidditch maneuvers! Also, I am super bad at convincingly acting like you, and I really don't want to be in control when everyone else finally wakes up enough to notice how unconvincing I am! Look, I'll just hand control back to you, alright?

I find myself thrust back into control of my body mid-stride, which predictably sends me toppling to the ground.

Oops. Sorry. I've kind of been worrying about this for a while and I may have been a little rash there.

'How long have I been awake?'

You just woke up. I thought that was kind of obvious.

'No, I mean… How long has my body been awake?'

Oh, uh, an hour and a half, maybe? I woke up at four and got in about an hour of work before your loon of a Quidditch Captain barged in and told me he was starting practice early this year. I kept trying to wake you up, but you were sleeping way too soundly for me to do anything so I was forced to play along for a while and then I started realising that if you didn't wake up then I'd have to actually fly and I really hate brooms and I'm honestly still not happy that you'll be flying, but better you than me, and-

'Tamelyn, please, for the love of God, stop panicking.'

I do not panic!

'Your emotional state says otherwise.'

…I am going to have to find a way to stop you from feeling my emotions, aren't I?

'Well you can always totally block yourself off from me.'

If I do that, then I can't see or hear what you're doing. I am still not convinced that without me guiding you, you'll not get us both killed.

'I'm not that reckless!'

You tried to fight a basilisk! With no plan! They are magic's perfect killing machine, and you, a mere second year, strode into the heart of enemy territory knowing full well that there was a basilisk! Parselmouth or not, that is beyond foolish!

'Will you stop going on about that? You bring it up every time you doubt my sense of self-preservation.'

Because it was that bloody stupid!

'Oh really? And what was your plan when you opened the chamber? Did you even have a plan?'

Of course I did. The moment the basilisk showed any signs of turning on me, I'd burn it with Fiendfyre. A wholly unnecessary precaution, in hindsight. Tessie is a big softie.

I roll my eyes at her continued affection towards that damn snake while Wood drones on about plans and strategies for the upcoming season. I admire his dedication, but the… single-mindedness of his focus is severely grating at any point that isn't during an actual game. As I sit there listening to his lectures, an idea occurs to me.

'Why am I even here?'

Why are you asking me? I hate quidditch.

'It's just… Seeker is a solitary role. I don't need any "plans" beyond good eyesight and maneuverability.'

I mean, there are several strategies that use the Seeker to disrupt enemy play.

'I thought you hated Quidditch?'

I do, but all the Slytherin pure-bloods were ravenous over the sport, no matter how calm and collected about it they pretended to be. I just feigned interest so they wouldn't give me crap about a "lack of team spirit".

'Your depressing social experiences aside, I don't play Seeker like that. These sessions are worthless for me.'

Yeah, they are.

'Well, this is shaping up to be a very boring morning.'

You could always talk to the delightful companion in your head to pass the time.

'…Why not? I seriously have nothing better to do.'

Good, now, let me explain the principles of Dark Magical Theory. It's highly practical stuff, especially for someone who is constantly getting into near-death situations.

Perhaps Wood was worth listening to after all.

Stop, stop, stop!

Tamelyn's shouts pull me out of my dive, making me lose track of the Snitch I was chasing.

'Stop complaining! It's not even that dangerous! It's just flying!'

You were accelerating downwards faster than gravity! How is that not dangerous!?

'I was in complete control!'

You must have a highly dubious definition of "control", then!

'You have no right to be pissy just because I'm a better flyer than you!'

I can excel at anything I put my mind to!

'Then put your mind to shutting up and letting me focus!'

Eager to shake off my frustration, I pull into another dive, my feet skimming the grass as I pull up. I do my best to ignore the waves of panic emanating from my companion.

'You know, you're taking all the fun out of this.'

Good! Maybe you'll stop doing it if you don't find it fun!

'You wish!'

I really do wish…

I let out a deep sigh.

'Are you sure you can't just block yourself off from me for a while? It would make this easier for both of us.'

Oh, and what do I do when someone jinxes your broom or tampers with a bludger? I refuse to block myself off from you when you have already been in mortal danger while flying on two separate occasions!

'Both of those were your fault!'

I am not responsible for the actions of my core self or a mad house elf trying to "save" you!

'Whatever. Honestly, what are the odds that something will go wrong in Quidditch for the third year in a row?'

Now that you've thought that? I'd say "guaranteed".

'…Great'

My days gradually fade into a routine of sorts. Classes, homework, Quidditch practice, and the occasional moment of waking up to find my body is already active.

That last one is highly annoying, though at least Tamelyn has refrained from pulling another all-nighter since our first delve into the Chamber. With my mental companion constantly feeding me info, my homework and classwork are better than ever, though I insist on doing things on my own when I can get her to agree to it. Schoolwork has become a sort of battle between us, with her desire to not be bored fighting against my desire for independence. Occlumency meditation is the only thing I'm left to do on my own, since it's a solitary act by nature.

As October begins to fade into November, the first Hogsmeade visit approaches, one which I will actually be able to attend thanks to Tamelyn's use of the imperius curse. I am somewhat grateful for that, since I doubt I could have convinced Vernon to sign the permission slip without some serious coercion.

Technically, "serious coercion" is exactly what I did.

'The fact that you consider using a dark mind control curse to be "coercion" is why I know you have a bad moral compass.'

Excuse you! There are far worse things than having a bad moral compass!

'Like what?'

Being stupid. Or being boring. Or, gods forbid, both. At least I'm interesting.

'…Right.'

Besides, you have no right to complain about my moral compass when you hang out with Granger.

'What's wrong with Hermione?'

She is utterly ruthless once she decides to abandon her adherence to the rules. I suspect she only uses the rules in the absence of a proper sense of morality.

'Are you sure you aren't projecting? That doesn't seem like the Hermione I know…'

She lit a teacher on fire to try and save you! She lit the wrong teacher on fire! When she thought that Malfoy was the Heir of Slytherin (which is a totally laughable idea, by the way), she decided that her best course of action was to brew a restricted potion made from stolen ingredients, then knock out some of your classmates and shove then into a closet while you took their place!

'Huh… I suppose you may have a point.'

It's a pity she's so fixated on rules. If she cut back a bit, she'd be a lot like I was at her age.

'I don't think the world needs another you, Tamelyn.'

Yeah, you're right. I wouldn't appreciate the competition.

'…That is not the point I was trying to make.'

"So, are you excited to go to Hogsmeade?" Hermione asks as we near the Entrance Hall.

"Yeah." I reply. "It will be nice to have something to do besides studying and Quidditch practice."

"I get why you could get bored of studying," Ron adds, ignoring Hermione's glare, "but getting bored of Quidditch? I could never do that."

I sigh. "It's much easier to get bored of Quidditch when Oliver Wood is waking you up for five a.m. practices three times a week."

Ron winces at the thought of having to get up that early. "Yeah, it's probably for the best that the only position I'm after is Keeper. By the time I try out, Wood will be off the team."

"Lucky…" I murmur under my breath.

Hermione evidently heard me, as she immediately turns to face me. "You know Harry, if you don't enjoy it, you could always quit the team and join another club."

Ron looks aghast at the prospect of quitting the team, while I'm simply confused. "There are other clubs?" I ask.

Yeah, but they're mostly stupid.

'Ah.'

"Of course there are!" Hermione says, switch to her chastising lecture voice. "There are clubs for games like Wizard's Chess, Gobstones, and Exploding Snap. There are probably some others, too, though those three are the most popular among Gryffindors. I know there's not a bookclub, though. It was one of the first things I checked."

"I'll stick with Quidditch." I say. "The practice times are a pain in the arse, but at least I have an excuse to fly."

"Language!" Hermione chides.

"Whatever." I reply. "It's hard to find convenient times to fly when the pitch isn't booked by one of the four Quidditch teams. Being on a team circumvents the issue. Therefore, I will stay on the team."

Much to my chagrin.

'Nobody asked you.'

Hermione starts grumbling about Quidditch and other sports, causing me to roll my eyes. Hermione's still in a bit of a tiff as we arrive at the carriages that take us to Hogsmeade, so we all remain quiet as we hand our permission slips to Filch and board the carriage. My eyes linger on the thestral as we board; I still feel weirded out by my ability to see them.

I think you simply lack the ability to appreciate beauty.

'You have the most twisted sense of beauty.'

Aw. That's sweet of you to say!

'That wasn't…! Nevermind…'

About halfway there, Hermione pipes up, her earlier disquiet forgotten.

"So, where do you think we should go? The Three Broomsticks is supposed to have the best butterbeer in Europe, and I'd love to visit Tomes and Scrolls to see what their book selection is! Oh, and we should totally go see the Shrieking Shack! It's supposed to be the most haunted location in Britain!" She rambles.

I'm sorry, "The Shrieking Shack"? You would think that "the most haunted location in Britain" wouldn't be less than fifty years old.

'Hang on, what?'

I've never heard of the Shrieking Shack. It was definitely not around when I was attending Hogwarts.

'Huh. That is odd. Was the building even around when you attended Hogwarts?'

I won't know until I see it. If it did exist, it wasn't known by that name.

'Well hey, if this turns up more questions, then we can do some investigation into it ourselves. Neither one of us are the sort to let a mystery stay that unsolved.'

You're right about that Harry. You're right about that…

After lunch, a visit to Tomes and Scrolls (at Hermione's insistence), and a visit to Zonko's (at Ron's insistence), we finally approach the Shrieking Shack. The entire area surrounding the ramshackle house is fenced off over a hundred metres in every direction, with a small plaque describing the house placed in the small clearing nearest to Hogsmeade. Hermione immediately rushes over to the plaque to read it. In the meantime, I feel Tamelyn shift into control of my body as she tries to identify the shack.

Hmm… I think I remember about this place. It was owned by some reclusive old couple. I never came here, at least not personally, but I certainly don't remember there being some sort of haunted house over here. It seems we have something to look into, after all.

'Yeah, the fact that this place seems to have suddenly become extremely haunted is highly suspicious. What would be a good place to start?'

Probably back issues of The Daily Prophet. The library keeps a pretty decent store of them. Sorting through them will be the hard part, since we don't have a timeframe more specific than "between 1945 and now".

'Good point. I'll try asking around and find the earliest reference to it being haunted. That should hopefully help us shave at least a decade off of our search timeframe.'

Either way, it'll be a lot of newspapers to look through…

'At least we can skim most of them. I doubt we need to thoroughly read every article to figure out what the deal with this place is.

Fair point. Well, this should help keep things interesting for a while. I do hate being bored.

'…Noted.'

After a final stop at Honeydukes, we head back to Hogwarts. Unfortunately for me and Tamelyn, Hermione, for once in her life, doesn't let us go to the library.

"Come on, Hermione! I want to do research!" I complain.

Hermione shoots me a glare. "Attending the major feasts is mandatory unless an exemption is given by the Headmaster or a Head of one of the houses.

"Wait, really?" I ask.

I didn't know that, either.

'Guess that makes two of us.'

Hermione glares at me. "Yes, really. I broke that rule my first year and I was attacked by a troll! And then we broke the rule again last year by attending Sir Nicholas's Deathday Party, and look where it got us!"

I groan. "It's not my fault that Quirrell released a troll into the school or that the Heir of Slytherin unleashed a basilisk."

Yeah, it was actually my fault. Both times, technically, if you count core-me as being the same person. You're welcome.

'Nobody asked you.'

That's never stopped me before.

I roll my eyes, a gesture that Hermione unfortunately sees.

"Don't roll your eyes at me, Harry! This year, we are all attending the Halloween Feast so that we will have responsible adults to protect us and/or witnesses surrounding us as proof that we didn't do anything!" She says, clearly in full lecture mode at this point.

She actually does make a good point. Having witnesses around is a great way to have an alibi ready, and you have had pretty bad luck when it comes to Samhain.

I groan. "Fine, I'll attend the stupid feast so no one will think I'm involved in whatever goes wrong this year."

Hermione immediately becomes smug and starts walking towards the Great Hall.

Oh, come on! Don't get too mopey! We can always do research tomorrow. You know, patience is a virtue.

'What would you know about virtues?'

Well that's presumptive of you. Just because I lack morals doesn't mean that I don't know the value of patience or hard work.

'…Right.'

Around halfway through the feast, the ghosts show up. Hermione begins animatedly speaking with Nearly Headless Nick.

"Hello, Sir Nicholas. Did you have a happy deathday?" She asks.

Nick regards her for a moment before going on about the politics of the Headless Hunt, at which point I rapidly lose interest. Just as I'm about to turn back to my food, an idea hits me.

"Hey, Nick? What do you and the other ghosts know about the Shrieking Shack?"

Nick turns to face me. "Not very much, I'm afraid. None of the ghosts even dare go there."

'Well that's suspicious.'

Yes, it is.

"When was the first reference you can remember to it being haunted?" I ask.

Nick thinks for a moment. "I can't say for certain, although I believe it was sometime in the nineteen-seventies? Time does get hard to keep track of when you're dead…"

I nod. "It's fine. Thanks for helping."

Well, that narrowed our timeframe by about twenty years. That should help.

On my way up from the feast, I run straight into a large crowd that has accumulated in the corridor containing the Gryffindor common room entrance.

'What the hell's going on?'

Beats me. Probably nothing life threatening, though, or there would be more panic.

'True. Instead, people seem more confused than anything.'

It doesn't take long for McGonagall to show up, and soon after that, Dumbledore makes an appearance as well, the two of them pushing their way through the crowd. An increasingly confused crowd is directed back down to the Great Hall. I feel completely lost about what or why this is happening until we get down to the Hall itself.

Ron and Hermione push their way up to me and start asking me if I'm alright, which just gets me to raise an eyebrow.

"Why wouldn't I be alright?" I ask.

"Well…" Hermione twists her hands. "I mean, Sirius Black is supposed to be after you, and he was spotted in the school."

"Woah, back up." I say. "Sirius Black was spotted in the school? When?"

"Just now!" Ron exclaims. "He cut up the Fat Lady's portrait, and Peeves heard her wailing about it as she ran away."

Oh. Well that's unexpected.

"Um… How did he get in?" I ask. "Wasn't the whole point of bringing in the dementors to stop this from happening again?"

"I'm not sure. But, I mean, he got past them once, so it's not too surprising that he could do it again."

"So the Ministry decided that the best way to deal with him was to bring in soul eating demons that everyone knows he can already get past? Please tell me they at least plan on getting rid of the dementors, since they've already proved their worthlessness in this situation."

"That's not very likely, Harry." Ron adds. "Dad's always talked about how Minister Fudge hates to be seen backing down, even when he's wrong."

I barely stop my jaw from dropping at that revelation. Seriously? That's the person that was elected to be Minister of Magic!? The kind of person who puts soul eating demons around a children's school and refuses to move them away when said demons prove that they can't fulfill their one purpose!?

As the teachers direct us to sleeping bags in the Great Hall, there's only one thought on my mind.

'Tamelyn, when you get a body back and try and overthrow the Ministry, can I help you?'

I thought you'd never ask, Harry.

The next day, we go to the library, and Tamelyn directs me to a side room which she informs me is where newspapers and magazines are stored. Once we're in the room, I stare at the rows upon rows of backissued Daily Prophets.

'You know, I don't think I ever considered how much several decades worth of a daily newspaper would accumulate.'

Yeah, this is a lot of stuff to look through. Thankfully, I have a good idea where to start. We're going to begin by looking at obituaries starting in the year 1945, and look for anyone with the last name "Calverton".

Tamelyn shifts into control of my body and, in a fit of bravery that even I wouldn't attempt, begins using magic to levitate the newspapers from the rack.

'You know that if Madam Pince catches us using magic in here, she'll expel us from the library for at least a week?'

Not if I obliviate her.

'You can't just wipe someone's memory any time they catch you.'

True. Anyone with a decent skill level in occlumency is resistant to obliviation, and an exceptionally skilled occlumens can throw off the charm altogether. I should remember to fall back on my sweet talking skills now that we're around magicals.

'And once again, you completely miss my point.'

Tamelyn doesn't reply, instead choosing to put greater focus on scanning the stream of newspapers. Several hours pass in silence before I check in again.

'Are you holding up okay?'

Of course. Why wouldn't I be?

'Because you've been in control for several hours and using magic the whole time? When we left my relatives, you basically passed out after being in control for twenty minutes and casting far fewer spells.'

Huh. You're right. That is odd. It could be a time thing, since I've been in your body for longer? Or it could just be because we've been switching control a lot more often and fight each other less when one of us takes over. Either way, it's… Oh.

'What, did you realise something?'

No, it's just… This obituary.

I look down at the newspaper in question. I scan through several names until I see the one that obviously caught her attention.

Tamelyn Merope Riddle

December 31st 1926 - June 30th 1959

Slytherin Prefect, Head Girl

Found murdered in Knockturn Alley

I knew I was going to try to separate myself from my old identity, but it's still bizarre to read your own obituary.

'I can imagine it would be. Any idea how core-you faked her own death?'

Not really, my memory of planning my own death was disjointed and lacking in context. She couldn't have done it through a transfiguration, as those don't last… I'll have to ask her the next time I see her.

'That is an occasion I am NOT looking forward to.'

Tamelyn continues to stare at her obituary for a bit before she resumes her search. Eventually, she finds what we've been looking for.

Ah, here it is. The Calvertons both died in late March, 1963.

'So what's next?'

Ideally, we could check the real estate records, but such things are held at the ministry. I doubt we'd be able to get clearance to view them. On the other hand, since we know that it became haunted sometime in between 1963 and the mid-1970s, we now have a much narrower timeframe to search.

'That's true. I think we should call it quits for now, though. I'm already getting a headache from being here for so long.'

That's probably because I've been in control for several hours. Here, I'll let you take over again.

Tamelyn flicks my wand, directing all of the newspapers back onto the shelves before I feel her withdraw herself from control of my body. As soon as I shift back into control, a piercing pain lances through my head, causing me to fall to my knees.

Ah, yeah, I probably should have warned you that would happen.

'I am never letting you take control for that long again. At least, not if you plan on doing large amounts of magic.'

There's just no satisfying you, is there?

As November begins, the continually grey skies darken into a blanket of clouds of constant rain. Tamelyn insists that it's a side effect from the Dementors, though I think it's just because we're in the Scottish Highlands. Either way, Oliver Wood steps up Quidditch training to even more extreme levels in response, to help us prepare for Quidditch in adverse conditions. This does turn out to be a good thing, as when the day of the match arrives, the rain is harsher than ever.

I still can't believe you're doing this. I also can't believe that the teachers are allowing the match to continue! I know that everyone is stupid, but I would have thought they had more common sense than this! At least when I attended Hogwarts, Quidditch matches would be cancelled for inclement weather.

'Well, it'll be an interesting match, that's for sure.'

I thought you were only on the team because you liked flying!? How are you supposed to have fun in this!?

I ignore her as we walk out onto the pitch. On the way there, Wood moves up next to me.

"Alright, Harry, we're counting on you here." He says. "Catch that Snitch or die trying, alright?"

Don't you dare kill yourself over a stupid game, do you hear me!?

'Loud and clear. Mostly loud, though.'

Sarcastic git.

It's only when I'm in the air that I realise just how bad the rain is. Spotting the snitch is hard under normal circumstances, and it's even worse when I can't see more than twenty feet in front of me. After an hour of flying and several times where I nearly slip off my broom (each of which causes Tamelyn to panic, much to her denial), I spot the Snitch nearby. I start chasing after it, and Malfoy is on my tail far faster than I would have liked. The Snitch pulls upwards and I follow, nearing the top of the highest stands as it finally comes within my grasp. Before, I can grab at it, though, a chill moves through me and something dark moves past me in the edge of my vision.

Oh no. Not now. Please not now.

'What?'

Dementors…

As soon as she says that, another dark blur rushes past me, followed by another, then another… I try and shake off the lightheadedness that their presence gives me

'How many are up here?'

Another Dementor comes close to me and starts to draw its hood. I feel myself start to lose consciousness once again as my vision closes in. Much like last time, I hear a feminine voice scream out my name. I feel Tamelyn lose her grip on her occlumency barriers at the same time I lose my grip on my broom. As I fall through the air I try and reach out for her presence in my mind. Without her occlumency barriers to separate us, rather than get her attention, I find myself sucked in…

I run through the streets, hoping desperately that nothing lands near me.

I knew that all of the other children in the orphanage hated me, but I didn't think they hated me enough to lock me in my room when an air raid occurred! I should have known better. By the time I got out of my room, the shelter was sealed up, and no one opened it no matter how much I screamed. Either they couldn't hear me, or they were actively ignoring me. It was probably the latter. Most of them would be glad to see me die.

I try and run for a nearby river. My memory has improved since I started learning occlumency, and I recall an exit from the sewers being nearby. It will be nasty, but at least I'll have a better chance of survival than I would in a building. The roar of an airplane overhead makes me duck down and cover my head. A series of explosions rock the ground as the bombs detonate, spraying brick, dirt, dust, and stone everywhere. Once the ringing in my ears subsides, I look up. The building just down the street from me is now a pile of rubble that spreads into the street.

If that's what it does to a building, then I don't want to know what it does to a person.

I try and suppress my overpowering desire to vomit. I wasn't able to eat much today, and I know I'll need the energy.

I still feel unsteady, but I push myself to my feet anyways. Staying here would be foolish. I need to reach cover, and I need to do so soon.

My vision swims as I start to make my way down the street. I feel too unbalanced to run, but fear for my life should I stay still for too long.

Oh gods, I could really die here.

I pull out my wand, taking a second to gaze at the length of pale yew wood.

This is the only thing that has a chance of protecting me, and I'm not even allowed to use it. My hatred for the ministry and its bureaucratic laws reaches a high point at that moment.

I used to be able to make my magic do whatever I wanted it to, but that ability has been gradually diminishing as I've learned wanded magic. It begins to sink in that I'm almost totally helpless. That realisation sends a streak of rage and indignation through me. I spent years instilling terror in my fellows at the orphanage so that I would never feel the helplessness of letting other people have power over me.

This is all Dumbledore's fault! I never should have listened to him and his stupid demands!

Another series of explosions sends a shiver down my spine, though thankfully, these are more distant than the last ones. I finally arrive at the river, and slide down the coarse gravel of the riverbank. I glance around, before heading to the right, to where the sewer entrance should be.

I step over several unconscious vagrants before I continue jogging along the riverbank. I should be close, at this point, assuming the sewers still drain here. That thought is interrupted as another plane comes down right ahead of me. I whirl around and duck down, praying for safety from a God that I know doesn't exist.

The first bomb lands far too close to me. It doesn't hit me, but it does hit the crowd of vagrants. I'm close enough to the explosion that I'm still sent flying backwards. I scrape myself on the gravel when I land, but I'm alive. More than can be said for those homeless drunks…

I pull myself off of the ground, trying to focus my vision and end the ringing in my ears. It takes longer than I would have liked and leaves me feeling uncomfortably exposed. I continue going to the sewer entrance when I step on something unpleasantly soft. I stare down and see that I'm standing on a blown-off human hand.

Oh gods.

I feel even more exposed now than I did before. Even if I was allowed to use magic, I don't think I could make a shield charm strong enough to deflect something that could blow a person to pieces like that.

I shake my head. I can think morbid thoughts when I'm safe. I walk up to the sewer entrance… only to find it's been covered in a grate.

Dammit!

I seriously consider using my wand, but Dumbledore's had it out for me since he first gave me my letter, and there's no way he wouldn't use a breach of underage magic restriction to push for my expulsion. I consider my other options. I doubt I could do magic without my wand, unless…

I read up on basic magical theory at one point. The idea behind accidental magic was that it was a manifestation of powerful emotions combined with a lack of magical control from young mages. It was chaotic in nature, not manifesting in the structured form of a spell. Usually.

I had a strong grip on my emotions as a child, and that lent itself to above average control of my magic. On a few occasions, though, I was able to "teleport" in a manner very similar to what I later learned was called apparition by the magical populace. I pocket my wand, just to be sure that this doesn't qualify as wanded magic, and focus on my need to be on the other side. An awful squeezing sensation suffocates my body for an instant before dumping me on the ground. I look up to see that I succeeded. I'm past the grate. As I walk down the sewer a few metres, the totality of what I just saw comes crashing down on me.

I just saw someone die like it was no big deal. His life was snuffed out in an instant. And it was nearly me instead.

Sure, I've tormented and tortured people before, but killing them? The concept of death is so utterly terrifying to me that I don't dare inflict it on anyone. I don't want to think about the fact that someday, I simply won't exist.

But I just watched someone die. They were blown to pieces. Magic can heal far better than muggles can, but I doubt that even magic could heal something like that.

The nausea returns, and this time it brings tears with it.

"I don't want to die…" I say, speaking for the first time since escaping the orphanage. The words come out soft, a harsh contrast to the deafening explosions

It's true, though. The one thing I'm afraid of is the one thing that can't be beaten.

At least, in theory. Magic can do so many things. Surely there's a way to protect oneself from death, right?

As I fight off waves of nausea in a city filled with death and dust and destruction, I make a vow to myself. I swear that I will find a way to beat death through any means necessary, because I refuse to let myself feel this weak ever again.

I wake up in the expanse of my mind, gasping for breaths that I know I don't need.

My name is Harry Potter. I'm Harry Potter. I am not Tamelyn Riddle, no matter how difficult it is to remember that at the moment. That memory did not happen to me; it is not mine, even if I just re-lived it.

Knowing that the memory isn't mine doesn't help me shake off the visceral fear of death that it instilled in me.

A deliberate cough alerts me to the fact that Tamelyn's already here. Her face is blank and she's staring down at me. I stand up to try and face her on equal footing, but she's still more than a head taller than I am.

She stares at me for a while more before she speaks up.

"So." She says curtly, as though she is trying very hard to hold in her anger. "What did you see?"

"Um… I don't…" I don't even know how to explain what I saw. Despite living through the memory like it was my own, I have only the vaguest sense of context for it.

"I'm sure you can imagine my surprise when, just as the dementors were about to make me live through my worst memories, an outside presence barges into my mind and forces me out. I value my privacy, Harry, so I need to know: what. did. you. see?"

I gulp. I don't think I've ever seen her this mad except for the time I had a nightmare about uncle Vernon. "In the memory, I…" No, it wasn't me. "You were locked in your room during an air raid. There were bombs, and you…"

She stares at me for a moment. "I saw several people blown to pieces. That was the first time I saw someone die."

Tamelyn takes a deep breath, closes her eyes, and starts clenching and unclenching her hands.

I raise an eyebrow at that. "What… what are you doing?"

She takes another deep breath, but doesn't open her eyes. "I am trying very hard not to violate the uneasy trust between us by blocking out your memory of viewing my memory. As I said: I value my privacy."

I hold in a scoff. "That's kind of rich coming from you, isn't it? Haven't you been looking through my memories this whole time? You talk about trust, but how am I supposed to trust you if so don't even know you? You're basically a nonentity before you became Voldemort. Would you like me to start judging you based on the actions of your older self?"

She slumps against a nonexistent wall and sighs. "I've spent most of my life being judged for things I didn't do…"

I see an opening and grab it. "We're on the same side, if only for now, and whatever has happened to you in the past is obviously bothering you. You have an oath from me not to share your secrets. Shouldn't you take advantage of the opportunity to talk with the one person who can't tell anyone else about you?"

She stares at me again, though this time it's less judgemental and more… calculating. I only realise she's rummaging through my thoughts when I feel her withdraw from my head.

"Hey!" I hiss.

She ignores my outrage and continues to stare at me. "You didn't see my memory. You re-lived it."

"Yeah. Is that not normal?"

She lets out a wry laugh. "I should have realised that your inability to make barriers between us would have weird consequences. No, you should have been an intangible observer to the event in question."

"Oh…"

"Yes, 'Oh'."

"So…" I feel like I need more information on what I just experienced. "What was that? When was it?"

"That was the Blitz. It started in the summer between my second and third years, and went on for almost twelve months. Muggle London was never safe during World War II, but that was the worst that it ever got." She lets out another long sigh. "I always begged Dumbledore not to make me go back there. Everyone there hated me. Some of my caretakers thought I was possessed by a demon and tried to have exorcisms performed on me. I always blamed Dumbledore's negligence for the danger I faced that summer, for more than one reason. When he still insisted on sending me back to a city that was actively being bombed, I began to suspect he actually wanted to get me killed."

Oh, that's… wow. I don't even know what to say. I settle on the only thing I can think of.

"I'm sorry."

Tamelyn looks at me with an expression of pure confusion on her face.

"Why?" She asks, as though she's never experienced sympathy in her life… which may be tragically true, come to think of it.

"Because…" I don't think I can say this without it sounding stupid. "Because you didn't deserve that. You may have done terrible things later, but you shouldn't have had to watch someone die when you were only my age. You shouldn't have had to fear for your life like that."

She goes back to staring at the endless nothingness in front of her. "I tried to avoid thinking about what my life 'should' have been like. It got depressing surprisingly fast."

I sigh and slump against a nonexistent wall opposite her. "Yeah, I know what that's like."

She chuckles. "Yeah, I imagine you would… Thanks, by the way. It's nice to not be pitied for the stuff I've been through."

I scowl. "I hate being pitied."

Tamelyn laughs. Not the haughty laugh she did back in the chamber, not the maniacal laughter she does when she's winning, and not the chuckle she does when she's mildly amused. She lets out a natural, earnest laugh.

"We really are similar," she says, "you do hate being pitied. I suppose I should have known that it wouldn't be like you to pity others."

A long silence stretches out between us before Tamelyn speaks up again.

"You know, when you entered my mind, you pushed me out of my memory. I saw something else instead."

"Oh? And what was that?"

She grins at me. "I saw the night my core self tried to kill you."

I… don't even know how to begin to feel about that.

"I found it very enlightening, actually. Would you like to see?"

Morbid curious quickly wins out against sensibility. "Sure."

"Good. I'll pull up the memory now. Just remember. You are Harry Potter. No one else."

I raise an eyebrow. "Why do I need to keep that in mind?"

She just looks down at me and grins. "You'll see."

A/N (Tendra): Ah, I finally got to write this chapter. Harry and Tamelyn interacting in the blank mindscape is a lot of fun to write, since they can use body language to communicate.

The Shrieking Shack investigation subplot kind of came out of nowhere once I realised that, what with it being a recent thing, Tamelyn would immediately find the existence of a recent yet somehow highly haunted building to be very suspicious.

Harry experiencing Tamelyn's worst memory in the first person was one of the earliest scenes I had planned in this story. I don't think I totally did my original idea justice, but I am pleased with how it turned out.

I changed a few details for the sake of the story. In reality, the blitz started after Hogwarts would have reconvened in 1940 and ended before it let out in 1941, so there was never a real-life time-frame when Tamelyn would have been in London during the Blitz. Good thing this is fiction, huh?

The other thing I changed was Voldemort's timeline. In canon, Riddle's last appearance was 1971 when he tried to get the Defence against the Dark Arts position. For the sake of my story, she faked her death over a decade earlier with the intent of disappearing and re-emerging later under a new identity.

Thanks to Foadar and Xgenje for helping with editing

E/N (Xgenje): To the people who did the math to figure out the explosions from the dementor would have lined up with the blitz; pat yourself on the back.

To be honest when Ten told me about the idea they had about this story and plot I thought "Harry/Fem!Voldemort WTF. How does that even?" but this story is actually coming together really nicely. It's even more impressive considering that she is writing both this and HP&SS simultaneously.