Half Life, Livingston

It's just genetic, it's written in your DNA
It's symptomatic, at least that's what the doctors say
It's in your nature, findin' darkness in the brightest day
But here we are

'Cause you were made from stars to live a life you'll never love

So if this is the last night and you're feelin' hollow
I'll give you my half life so you'll see tomorrow
There isn't anywhere that I wouldn't follow
I'm chasin' your last light to wherever I go
Oh, our elements change into chemical traces
Reactions that they'll never know
If this is the last time that we'll ever borrow
I'll give you my half life so you'll see tomorrow

You know I said it, I'd never let you fade away
It's energetic, the bond was never meant to break

You were made from scars to live a life you'd rise above

Harry returned to the castle just past midnight and found Cassiopeia and Lydia sitting on the stones outside his room, whispering and giggling.

"Oh, good. I was hoping you'd be back before sun." The vampire stood up, and the matron did, too. "I'll catch up with you?" Cassiopeia asked Lydia, and she nodded, grinning sheepishly as she waved and turned for the stairs.

She must have seen it on his face because she said, "Yeesh, what happened?"

Harry opened his doors, sighing loud, squeezing his eyes closed and stopping so abruptly that Cassiopeia barged into his back.

"Are you still up for senselessly murdering Snape?" He asked.

"Not Snape, unfortunately, he's in charge of castle extensions. But I'm sure we could find someone to dismember brutally?"

"Eris?"

"Sure?"

Harry sighed again and collapsed into a beige armchair. "Have I ever told you how fucked up my Horcrux is?"

"Not in so many words," she sat down, smoothing her black and dramatic dress.

"I just watched him sing a lullaby. Then he bit my ear off."

She checked both sides of his head and raised an eyebrow.

"In a dream. He was in my head. With Voldemort." The adrenaline was still biting him, chopping his sentences short.

"…Since when can they do that?"

"The link. It's always been a possibility; that's not the point," Harry said, trying to locate the point.

"I think we should kick it back a notch to Friday because what the fuck are you talking about?"

He filled her in on the school visits rapidly and breezed past the prophecy to talk about the plan Tom had made with his Horcrux and where it had led so far—not much further than an overpowering unease, like he was standing on the edge of an unsound cliff.

"Uh, okay, slow down… You're making deals with the Horcrux you just said bit your ear off?"

"Yes. Thank you." Harry said, crossing his arms.

"Harry has described it as though it is madness, yes. But it is viable. And far more crucial now that there is a risk of fusion for the Dark Lord and Harry's Horcrux, and an apocalypse, which he failed to mention," Tom said.

"Haha, I thought you just said fusion and apocalypse." She waited, blinked, and then said, "Not haha? You're being fucking serious?"

"What a stupid joke that would be, Cassiopeia. The Unspeakable told Voldemort they run whatever odds we ran. At Uagadou, the Dark Lord was given a prophecy. One that Harry's Horcrux says is 'Doomsday', and our fault."

"Huh. Ah. Hold on," she held up a hand and frowned, then it was a scowl, then her mouth was open. "…Okay. Okay? Fucking Christ, Tom. How confident are you that the Horcrux is telling the truth? About the prophecy?"

"He is more guarded with the prophecy than almost anything else. All he has said is 'Doomsday' and 'us', not the how or why. No details. Based on the Dark Lord's reaction when he heard it, I would say the gravity is not far from apocalypse."

"Trust Tom Riddle to take something that is ordinarily very simple and make it so complex he fucking dies," Cassiopeia said.

Harry shocked himself by barking a laugh.

"…How are things going on that front? Any progress on project fuck Voldemort?"

"Ahhh, Don't," Harry cringed, "Say it like that."

"Harry's Horcrux seems to thin-"

"Say Harry's Horcrux again." He snapped.

"…Some progress." Tom finished, wincing.

"I'm tired." Harry stood abruptly, "Tired. Cassiopeia. Goodnight."

"I know you were joking about the mindless manslaughter, but I am getting the sense you need a break."

"Weird I don't know what would give you that impression," he said as she got to her feet.

"I have a sixth sense for these things," she said, opening the doors and looking at him with what he could only describe as genuine concern; then she said, "Goodnight, limpet boy." And closed him in his room alone.

Though exhausted, he didn't sleep, his mind playing a loop of his Horcrux tunelessly singing a lullaby.

"Tell me again that this is worth it," Harry said in Parseltongue as Tom rolled them out of bed with the sunrise, limbs leaden, eyes sandpapered.

"I would never make a claim I could not substantiate."

He rolled his eyes, "You know what I mean."

"I am doing what I can with what I have and what I know," Tom said.

"What did you say to me? In French? In the dream?" His heart palpitated, and his hand missed the shower tap when he reached for it.

He didn't answer and Harry rolled his eyes again, stripped his shirt off, and set the water to scalding.

Tom got them ready for classes as normal. As jarring as the prophecy, his Horcrux, and the possibility of fusion were, he wasn't supposed to know any of it. His first lesson on Wednesdays was transfiguration with Hufflepuff.

He didn't look at Reed or Ruby while Rabastan Lestrange continued to lecture on self-transfiguration. A few brave students made the first attempts, animal limbs sprouting from human bodies, shrieks and giggles ringing out.

'What did you say to him, then? Voldemort? In the dream?' Harry wondered.

'I…' There was a long, hesitant pause in his head that narrowed his eyes, 'Was attempting to make him reconsider the …Utility of your… Horcrux.'

'I don't like the way you said that.'

"I do not like it either, to be honest.'

'What do you mean?'Harry insisted.

'I mean, as far as I can discern, that was the first time they have ever 'laid eyes' on each other. The sooner the Dark Lord sees him as a sentient entity, the better.'

Zacharias Smith looked at him like he had an age-old vendetta to settle, though all he had been to Harry was a punching bag, virtually faceless.

In Charms, Pollux sat beside him anyway, silently reading the wrong book.

Harry wondered, 'So, the dream was your idea, and my- he did it?'

'Yes.'

'He said you asked him to scream.'

'Yes, in a manner of speaking. To observe the Dark Lord's response.'

'He said some pretty messed up-'

'I know. You have been thinking about it. Harry, most of the things he says are demented. He lies more than you do—as far as I can tell, for the chaos of it. I did ask him to react convincingly, but I did not even tell him what I would do once we were inside the dream.'

'…He asked me what stuff feels like.'

'He is incapable of sensation unless they are fused. Or, if the Dark Lord allowed it—incredibly, astonishingly unlikely.'

At the start of the free period, Tom drank a muscle repair potion and sprinted from the Room of Requirement all the way to the Forbidden Forest, so Harry assumed they weren't going to stop, dropping automatically to the cold dirt to do sit-ups when Tom stopped running, almost without a thought in his head.

'…No,' Tom thought, standing up and shaking himself off.

He took them through the tree line and pushed into the main Vivarium doors like he owned it, interrupting Rookwood, who was teaching a second-year class of Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs. They crowded around a strange lizard hanging from the branch Augustus was holding. It dangled almost like a monkey—long ape-like limbs and prehensile thumbs. Rookwood narrowed his eyes at Harry as he passed.

"Don't mind me," he said, "No classes."

His guard hadn't followed him inside the Vivarium. They were an oppressive constant that he'd grown used to, omnipresent and silent. Their absence was starkly relieving whenever it occurred. Tom bee-lined for the cliff-side path. Harry was happier to feel the sun's warmth after the nearly winter chill outside than he would have suspected.

'What are we doing?' He wondered, halfway to the beach.

'Anything else,' Tom thought.

When they reached the sand, Harry stripped his outer robe and left it on the nearly white beach, the fine grains partially swallowing the fabric. He rolled both sleeves up, pretending the mark wasn't there.

The cave wasn't visible from where he stood, but he knew where it was: at the far end of the beach, around the curve of the stone cliff face. Tom was walking, and Harry was content to let him lead.

When the mouth of the cave came into view, Tom didn't take them inside; instead, he stopped a good distance away, stared at it, and sat down in the sand.

'I understand your growing frustration. Please believe me when I say I feel it, too. I do not hate your Horcrux. I know you want me too; I simply see you, a piece of you, trapped in him. I know his pain as well as I know yours. The first time I spoke to him, he said that I should know why he will not relent. Because he wants freedom. Just as I did. As I still do. I know you can comprehend that much,' Tom thought.

Harry had buried both hands in the warm sand, frowning at the gentle waves that rolled in as though on a metronome timer. 'Why- why does he make you hard?'

'That is complicated. I- in part, it is the same for me as it is for you, with the Dark Lord. Part of my mind cannot comprehend a difference. It does not seem to matter if I resist it. What I give to him- it is not sexual but…' His heart was hammering so hard he had to readjust his seat and take a steadying breath, 'I desperately want to give it to you. I can't say any more than that please don't ask me.'

The pop of Apparition disrupted any follow-up questions Harry might have had. He didn't need to turn around; only one person could Apparate within the wards, and he felt it was Voldemort. The thread of magic that attached them announced him.

"You have been skipping classes," he said, like it was important.

"Yeah, I had a crazy weekend. And this horrific nightmare. I'm not skipping them right now; I'm free after Charms. Got Necromancy tonight, not that you've let me go to that one. Or like my magic is controllable or even usable inside the castle." He didn't turn, throwing handfuls of sand into the wind.

The Dark Lord surprised Harry and Tom both by sitting down beside him, "I am aware of your schedule and the classes I prevent you from. Are you responsible? For the dream?"

Harry switched to Parseltongue with him, "Are you joking? I never want that to happen again. He's… Terrifying."

Voldemort scoffed, glaring at the ocean. He was unmasked, paler than usual. The dark rings under his eyes made the green seem brighter. His checks were so sunken Harry had to assume his ribs were poking out of his skin as well.

"He. He? It. It is nothing. Agnat."

"Glad it's your gnat and not mine," Harry said, though he felt himself not meaning it, watching the Dark Lord from the corner of his eye. "Have you ever… Dreamed like that before? With him, I mean."

Voldemort didn't scoff the second time he said 'he' instead, he flinched. "…No."

"Does he dream?"

"Yes, it dreams." He laid back in the sand as though their conversation was casual and he didn't sound one wrong comment away from drowning them both in the sea.

"What does he dream about?" Harry could guess the possible contents of his Horcrux's dreams if the fact that his favourite song was a lullaby was anything to go by.

The Dark Lord pulled something out of his pants pocket and presented it to him briefly, his hand opening and closing on the blue stone he'd left with him the night before.

"A droplet on a blazing forest fire," he said, but he didn't return it.

"If you don't want it?" he held his hand out, and Voldemort smirked at the sky, slipping the stone back where it had come from.

"If I'm a liar, you're a thief," Harry muttered, but he heard him anyway.

"Yes?" The Dark Lord's eyes were closed, and Tom was smirking.

'Already, results.' He thought. 'Watch him try and find a way to justify taking you everywhere with him any minute now.'

The bottom of Voldemort's dress shirt had freed itself from his pants, revealing that he did, in fact, look starved half to death—his hipbones protruding—hiding it under robes and apparently held upright by nothing more than willpower. His hands were already twitching, and Harry felt sympathy. It was Tom's face, somehow, illogically and perfectly logically, on the Dark Lord's body. His lizard brain could not make sense of it, not much more than commiseration and panic at the sight of his bones jutting under his skin, even when he tried to enforce a sense of justice on himself.

'Did he come here to nap?' Harry wondered.

'Whatever his intention was, he is asleep now.'

'What's your favourite food?'

'What?'

'Your favourite food?' Harry repeated.

Tom blinked hard, then frowned, '…Why?'

'What the fuck I'm not asking the location of all the Horcruxes I'm asking what you like to eat? Food?'

Buckbeak was circling overhead, and he would have called him down if he were certain the Hippogriff wouldn't immediately try to gore the Dark Lord. He wondered where Iphine was, not in the air with him.

'I've never really thought about it,' Tom thought, attempting to examine his idea without being obvious.

'Yes, you have.'

'…Bread.'

'Bread?' Harry repeated.

'Yes.'

'…Huh.'

'What?'

'I wouldn't have thought bread, that's all.'

'Your favourite food is chicken? Just chicken?'

'I know, I didn't say anything. I thought it would be like, I don't know, a rare species of fish that you can only catch every forty-second year on a full moon or something. Not… Bread. Just bread?'

'Well, fuck, Harry, it helps if it is good bread. You have a tone when you say bread.'

'It's a tone of disbelief, Tom; Voldemort's favourite food is bread?'

'…Yes, I feel like I have established that.'

'…Reckon Kreacher can pop in here?' Harry glanced at the Dark Lord, asleep, mouth open, one arm above his head—shielding half his face. He was frowning—perpetually scowling even while unconscious.

'I do not see why not.'

"Kreacher," he'd whispered the house elf's name and the pop of his appearance made Voldemort flinch, but he didn't wake.

"Can you get… Some really good bread? And uh. Do you think there's a bottle of Dom Benedict in the castle?"

"Dom Bénédictine," Tom corrected, raising his eyebrows. "Narcissa Malfoy might be able to help you." He told the elf.

'A good idea,' Tom thought as Kreacher bowed and vanished, again barely bothering the Dark Lord.

'Yeah, even though you nearly wouldn't tell me you like bread?'

'Let's not keep bringing this up, shall we?'

The house elf took ten minutes to reappear, bringing a bottle, several glasses, and a platter with a range of bread and charcuterie. He frantically bowed three times before disappearing, two of them for Voldemort, even though he was twitching and unconscious in the sand. The bread was still hot, and Harry figured that was perfect, breaking the crust in front of Voldemort's face and holding it there until the twitches became spasms; then, he pretended he'd been eating it the entire time. He popped the cork on the bottle of Dom Bénédictine, loudly, and swigged directly from it—earning a grin from Tom.

"What are you doing?" The Dark Lord asked, sitting upright rapidly and pouring sand, appearing properly confused.

"I'm drinking. Eating various breads and cheeses. What are you doing?" Harry took a forceful bite of the bread and noticed that though he couldn't hear Tom's inner thoughts, his mouth was watering profusely, almost painfully. "This is really good bread."

Voldemort blinked at him for a long moment, frowning, "You are being obvious."

"It is good bread. You came here; I don't care what you do?"

He snatched the bottle and squinted at it, then at Harry. "Dom Bénédictine for a casual pre-dinner snack?"

"I like it." He shrugged and grabbed another bun, ripping it in half and jamming a cheese cube inside. He made a point of staring at the ocean and fought the smile that tried to worm onto his face when Voldemort swiped some bread like he would be arrested if caught.

'Well done,' Tom thought, making his heart jump. He took the bottle back—left in the sand in favour of food—and took another sip, pleased with the burn and the praise.

Though Harry could literally hear his stomach growling, the Dark Lord ate like he was full, pulling tiny pieces off. "You have not asked about the prophecy."

He scoffed, "What's the point? Would you answer?"

"No." Voldemort said, tearing a moderately larger piece and closing his eyes when he ate it, "Silence. Une putain de paix."

"I can tell it's not good. The prophecy. Don't need a magnifying glass to see that." Harry said, then thought, 'What did he say?'

''Fucking peace'.'

"…Granger has been leaving notes. Hiding them around the castle. Increasing in urgency and number," Voldemort said, ignoring his comment.

"I think you'll find I don't care at all what she does," Harry's attempt at nonchalance was slightly undercut by too large a swig of alcohol, making him cough. He hid it with bread.

(AN: Anyone with keener eyes than me will have noticed that Harry called the female Horned Serpent Iphine while in Massachusetts. This is incorrect because my notekeeping is abhorrent. Iphine is the Hippogriff; Ekeer is the Horned Serpent. I'll fix it eventually, but here's the public service announcement.)