And the Living Will Envy the Dead

by Severus divides into H

When Harry looks at Tom, he feels overwhelmed. There is a spark that makes him hopeful, the fear that nothing he does will save Tom from himself, and the horror at what his lies might lead to. When Tom looks at Harry, he feels nothing. Until he does, and then Harry's world starts drowning in blood.

5. Around the Truth Part 1

Chapter 5: Around the Truth. Part 1

Harry shivered when another icy blast of wind hit him in the face, eagerly biting into his skin. He took another sip from the cup he'd brought up here and gripped it tighter, allowing it to warm his fingers. Delight swirled inside him from this simple, innocent pleasure, and he smiled to himself, savouring the moment.

"Do you like the Astronomy Tower?"

The question seemed to tear straight into his mind. Harry looked up, suddenly embarrassed.

How could he forget that Riddle was here? He wasn't exactly the easiest person to ignore. And since when had his mind stopped registering him as a source of danger and allowed him to relax like this?

The need to reply rose up with gradual urgency. Harry shrugged.

"I do," he said, leaning against the edge of the wall and glancing at the snow-covered grounds stretching far, far below. From here, it looked like the sea of white, and if he had a broom now, he would be tempted to jump out and dash towards it at a neck-breaking speed.

One moment of hesitation, of pause, and they would collide. This sea would swallow him, making him a part of its white, endless coldness.

"Why?" Riddle asked. With a start, Harry glanced at him, and caught a glimpse of annoyance on his face. It vanished without a trace the moment he saw it, but it was too late by then. He'd noticed it.

Harry frowned.

What did Riddle find so irritating? The two-word answer? Or was something else going on?

It was the last day before the return of others from the winter holidays. The supper had been a quiet but cosy affair, and a small cauldron of hot chocolate stood in the middle of each table. Riddle told him it was brewed with the addition of pumpkin puree, and once Harry tasted it out of curiosity, he could no longer tear himself away.

By the end of the meal, he and Riddle decided to go to the Astronomy Tower and take a cup with the last portion of chocolate with them. From then on, Harry couldn't help noticing the increasingly long glances he was being subjected to. And now this sudden unwarranted flash of annoyance…

Things could never be fully calm with Riddle. He always had to do something to ruin the mood.

"It's beautiful up here," Harry elaborated. "And I like the heights. I always imagine taking a broom and jumping from here. Just… letting go."

Funny. He wasn't planning to voice this last thought until his tongue pushed it out.

Riddle scoffed, deeply unimpressed.

"Do you ever think of anything other than Quidditch?"

It was clearly a rhetorical question, one that didn't deserve even a semblance of an answer. That's why Harry was surprised when his mouth opened by itself and said, "Yes."

The moment he answered, his brows furrowed.

Okay, this was strange. He hadn't drunk any alcohol, had he? Maybe the hot chocolate had some.

But who would serve students anything with alcohol in it?

Riddle detached himself from the farthest wall and approached him. His face had smoothened miraculously, a charming smile curving his beautiful lips. Harry stared, mystified by his own behaviour and train of thought.

With a thoughtful hum, Riddle stopped near him, peering down from the tower.

"I suppose I can see the appeal," he said slowly. "It is beautiful. Even when everything is dead."

Harry angled his head to see Riddle better, examining his posture attentively.

His words sounded completely natural. But that fake smile, and the tension he couldn't see but which he felt… Riddle didn't want to stand here. He hated flying, and Harry thought it was obvious that he was uncomfortable with the heights, no matter how much he wanted to deny it. So why was he forcing himself?

The situation was getting more and more bizarre. Some vague suspicion shifted in the background of his mind, but Harry didn't have time to focus on it because Riddle grabbed his attention again.

"I wonder," he murmured, "in that other world of yours… who was the person you considered your closest friend?"

Harry's response was supposed to be predictable. He had to either evade the question or give some vague reply to it. But instead, once again, a strange transparent veil shielded what he had to say, pushing only the truth up front.

Ron Weasley.

His alarm lasted for a split second. His mouth began to open, and that's when anger and stubbornness came to life. They washed over him in one sobering wave, but it happened too late — way too late.

"…Weasley," Harry rasped. He almost missed the displeased tightening of Riddle's lips and the flash of hostility in his eyes — fear and rage blinded him for a moment, as his thoughts raced towards one disturbing conclusion.

Riddle had drugged him. He drugged him when Harry least expected it, either with Veritaserum or something eerily similar. The dose had to be small — Harry felt pretty clear-headed, but the foreign compulsion to reply sat somewhere deeply in him, so subtle and hidden that he had noticed it only now.

What was it all for? Riddle's questions were superficial, almost innocent. A test? An attempt to find out the truth without making the drugging obvious?

Maybe the goal was to gradually escalate. To ask more relevant and dangerous questions and see how Harry responded.

Anger continued to boil, but this time, it was joined by the barest sting of hurt.

He… didn't see it coming. Even knowing what Riddle was, even after Riddle had attempted to murder him… he still didn't see it coming. He thought they were simply spending the last quiet evening together.

Fool.

His heart throbbed unpleasantly. His jaw clenched — to stop accusations or the truth from spilling, Harry didn't know.

At least he hadn't said Ron's name. It would have created a number of new questions. Let Riddle try to guess which Weasley from this time he'd shared a bond with.

"Weasley," Riddle repeated. His voice dripped with venom. "Then what was I to you?"

No. Not this question. Not—

I didn't know you back then.

This instinctive answer took Harry aback. It smarted on his tongue, and it took an impossible effort to swallow it and lock it away.

He'd understand if his mind wanted to reply with "enemy." "The killer of my parents and friends." "A monster." But no, none of it occurred to him. Which left him with what? He didn't comprehend his own answer.

Compulsion began to tug at him with increasing urgency. He had to say something fast, and he didn't think he could lie entirely, not yet. He couldn't regroup, he felt too angry, too confused, too upset, he couldn't…

"I don't know," Harry whispered. Dread gripped his insides in a vice, but it abated somewhat when he saw a thoughtful look on Riddle's face.

Apparently, his stupid, incriminating answer made sense to Riddle. Harry couldn't even imagine why it was so, but he wasn't going to question this small miracle. He had to find a way to cut their evening short as soon as possible. Who knew what question would come next?

"I'll go back to the dormitory," he murmured. He rubbed his forehead, pretending to wince at the touch. "I don't feel well. Think I'll make it an early evening."

"Of course," Riddle replied instantly, a mask of fake concern flawlessly slipping into its usual place. "I'll come with you."

Great. More time together. More opportunities for Riddle to back him into a corner from which he would be unable to escape.

Harry counted the steps as they walked, the silence between them ringing louder and louder. He hoped dearly Riddle would attribute it to his imagined headache, but he knew it was wishful thinking. Riddle had gone to such trouble to spike the chocolate — and it had to be the chocolate, the only new thing on the table that Harry, with his appreciation for sweetness, was guaranteed to try. Riddle wouldn't give up now, after getting a few measly, irrelevant answers out of him.

They entered the Slytherin common room, and Harry almost lunged for the dormitory when Riddle's hand wrapped around his, halting him.

"Just one more question," he murmured, his fingers brushing against the inside of Harry's wrist in a caress. His eyes remained dark and alert, with no trace of gentleness he was physically displaying. "When you were talking to the Potters, you said you're considering becoming an Auror. Why?"

Harry nearly groaned when the hateful, compulsive need to respond stirred in him again. Fighting it was excruciatingly difficult by itself, but he also had to do everything to keep looking oblivious. Riddle shouldn't know that he'd recognised Veritaserum, not until Harry had more time to think about it and decide what to do.

"Because I like Defence against the Dark Arts," he said through gritted teeth. His blood was pounding furiously in his temples, and while he tried to smile at Riddle, he could feel it came out as a scowl. "And because I want… to help…"

People, his mind tried to add. Harry bit his tongue in his silent fury, letting the sharp taste of blood distract him from the veil of mindlessness.

What he said was acceptable enough. Riddle would probably assume that he wanted to help him and his Death Eaters. Would it finally shut him up?

"Help whom?" Riddle asked.

Damn it.

Riddle continued to hold his wrist, and the sight and feel of it sent a new surge of anger down Harry's veins.

He wouldn't be able to pretend for much longer.

With a scoff, he tore his hand away. Ignoring Riddle's visible displeasure, he took a step back, glaring.

"Those I care about," he snapped loudly. Take it, you bastard. "Are you done playing twenty questions? Can I go now?"

Riddle's eyes narrowed, but he didn't protest.

Turning away from him, Harry climbed the stairs, all the while feeling a heavy calculating stare glued to his back.

HTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHT

That night, despite going to bed early, he couldn't fall sleep until the dawn. Unwanted thoughts and feelings kept pestering him, forcing him to toss and turn in fervent restlessness.

The low-burning persistent hurt was the worst offender. It gnawed on him again and again, and even Harry's disgust at its existence didn't lessen its maddening impact.

He felt wounded, and convincing himself there was no reason for it didn't make him feel any better.

He and Riddle had gotten close lately. Or rather, he thought they had gotten close. They spent these holidays in a comfortable, almost friendly atmosphere. They agreed to spend the upcoming summer together. Despite everything, despite the lack of trust, it meant something to Harry. So realising that Riddle was more interested in playing his games than in preserving the fragile peace between them — it upset him. More than he thought was possible.

Another tug, somewhere deep at his core. With a quiet growl, Harry pushed his face into the pillow, trying to breathe around his disappointment.

And there was another thought that made his heart spasm painfully. That made vertigo swoop in, filling him with dread so profound, it paralysed his lungs.

Was Riddle suspecting him? Why else would he resort to Veritaserum? If he still believed that Harry's story was true, he would expect to get an honest answer out of him anyway, wouldn't he? He'd have no reason to drug him and try to take these answers by force.

But then, why would he ask such innocent questions? If Riddle ever decided that Harry had lied to him, his wrath would be unparalleled in its proportions. Harry doubted he would be able to escape from it alive.

Was he destined to always worry about it? Probably yes. Even five years from now, even if everything went as well as possible, he would wake up at night and dread the possibility of Riddle suspecting the truth.

His pulse began to thump erratically. Shutting his eyes, Harry slammed his face into a pillow a few times, cursing under his breath.

Enough, just enough of these speculations. He'd drive himself crazy like this. It was easier to accept as a given that Riddle didn't have a clue about Harry's lies, and whatever motivations he had for drugging him, it wasn't related to his doubts. If Harry was wrong about this — well, Riddle would surely let him know in a way that couldn't be missed. If there was no escaping it, then there was no point in worrying about it.

Revenge. That's what he could do. Riddle had been drawn to his lies because he thought Harry had been someone special to the other version of him, someone who stood apart from his followers.

If so, Harry couldn't disappoint him. He refused to be a pawn in Riddle's games, and he would prove it as many times as needed, no matter how it ended for him.

HTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHT

The next day, a crowd of students flooded Hogwarts. They arrived just in time for lunch, and the sudden flurry of activities and noises was tempting Harry to go find some quiet place to hide. He got used to the peace and silence — he had no desire to sit in the middle of this moving sea and listen to the endless stories other students were sharing with one another.

He made a move to stand up, but Riddle suddenly gripped his knee, squeezing it to the point of pain.

"Stay where you are," he ordered darkly. Harry's eyes widened incredulously. He was about to say something scathing, but familiar voices swallowed the beginning of his insult.

"Tom!" Greengrass reached them first. A smile was shining on her face, and Riddle's gloomy expression instantly turned into artificial pleasance.

"Greengrass," he said politely, nodding his head in respect. "I trust you've had enjoyable holidays?"

"Indeed I have, but I would have still preferred to spend them here." With another warm smile, Greengrass took her place. Her eyes stayed fixed on Riddle. Harry shook his head in tired bewilderment.

Avery and Lestrange came next. The first one alternated between grinning like a fool at Riddle and sending sour glares at Harry; the second one showed no interest in anything after a respectful greeting.

Alphard arrived the last, and unlike everyone else, his gaze

snapped to Harry first and foremost. Deep relief unfolded on his face, and he smiled at him before bowing his head to Riddle.

Riddle played his role perfectly. He showed an ideal mix of mild interest and detachment, making everyone in the vicinity feel a fleeting touch of his attention and leaving them craving more.

At this point, Harry found it boring. Really, how many times would he have to see the same people fall into the same kind of trap? Did Riddle never get bored with himself?

Maybe he could talk to Alphard, the sanest person from those surrounding him.

"Hey," Harry called quietly, leaning across the table to cut the distance between them. "How's your family?"

Alphard jerked a little, looking at him in surprise before relaxing. He seemed pleased with Harry's attempt at conversation.

"They are fine," he said in a whisper. "They left me alone entirely for the holidays. I barely saw them."

This… didn't sound fine, but for Alphard, it was probably the best outcome.

"How were things here?" Throwing one quick glance at Riddle, Alphard leaned even closer, speaking so quietly that Harry barely heard him. "I was worried that something might happen to you after you disrespected Tom. To think about the both of you staying alone together… I'm so glad you are all right. You are all right, aren't you? You preserved your seat, so it means you're are still a part of the— the group."

Harry stifled a sigh. His initial flicker of enthusiasm dimmed, and he felt cold all over again.

Right. How could he forget that Alphard was as obsessed with Riddle as everyone else — he just had fewer opportunities to act on it?

"I'm okay," he said vaguely. "Riddle and I solved our problem pretty quickly. Other than this, we didn't interact much."

He didn't know why he lied. Maybe to spare Alphard's feelings — Alphard was so desperate for Riddle's acknowledgement and appreciation, he probably didn't want to hear the truth. Worrying about Harry didn't mean he was eager to see him progress where he himself had failed.

He was right — Alphard's relief was palpable, even though he hastened to hide it.

"That's not quite how I remember it," Riddle said suddenly. It was so unexpected that Harry turned and stared at him in astonishment. Others did the same.

"What?" Riddle raised an eyebrow, ignoring everyone but Harry, even though he spoke loudly enough to be heard by all. "Unlike you, I have no interest in catering to his delusions. You earned your place by my side, there is no reason to hide it. He, on the other hand, refuses to make the slightest effort. Am I supposed to reward him for it?"

Dead silence set in. Harry froze, stunned and too attuned to the burn of Alphard's humiliation to come up with any worthy response.

Riddle's penchant for humiliating others was well-known to him, but somehow, he didn't expect it to get so public. Alphard went pale as a ghost. His grip on a fork he'd been holding loosened, and it clattered to the floor, the sound particularly grating now that everyone in the vicinity was silent.

What brought this on? Harry breaking the rules of perfect table etiquette and dragging Alphard into a conversation despite their seating positions? Or Alphard expressing joy at not spending time with his family? From what he'd shared, Riddle insisted on him getting close to other Blacks and playing the role of a worthy heir. Alphard's fear of doing something and getting cursed into insanity like many of his family members made him hesitate, which led to Riddle's disapproval. Was this what it was about?

In any case, Harry didn't want to be dragged into this. To be used as a tool to punish anyone, least of all someone as in need of some human decency as Alphard.

"Didn't your father teach you not to interrupt other people's conversations?" he asked coolly.

It was Riddle's turn to freeze. His body went rigid, and for a second, Harry was treated to the explosion of cold outrage on his face.

He knew it wouldn't linger, not in front of everyone — and it didn't. Riddle took his emotions under control quickly enough.

"I will interrupt every conversation if it involves lies about me," he replied. He sounded neutral, but Harry still managed to detect an edge in his voice. Riddle was really, really pissed at him. "So if you don't want my involvement, do not make me a part of your noble effort to get that pathetic worm to feel better."

Alphard blanched. The devastated shock on his face was quickly caught by everyone listening to this nightmare of a conversation. Avery and Greengrass were already starting to smirk in a very unpleasant way, and Harry's heart dropped.

He wanted to snarl something back… but his last remark had backfired. If he found what else to say, he was certain Riddle would just use this opportunity to spit something even more terrible back. And this could be enough to finish Alphard off entirely.

Helpless indignation kept sending anxious tremors through Harry's body. He looked down at his plate without seeing its contents, feeling worse and worse as the silence lingered. A quiet snort from Greengrass broke through his anger, and without letting himself change his mind, he grabbed his bag and stood up, instantly moving out of Riddle's potential reach.

"Happy poisoning," he wished coldly. Then he left without turning back, wanting to put as much distance between himself and this cursed table as possible.

The clammy feeling roiling somewhere in his stomach refused to leave. It stayed with him throughout the next couple of lessons, and it worsened when he saw Alphard again.

They used to sit next to each other occasionally, but now Alphard moved to the other end of the classroom. No one sat near him. The entire class ignored him even when Slughorn called on him to answer the question: not a single person turned to look his way.

Would Harry breaking this pattern be seen as friendly or humiliating, rooted in pity? He feared it would be the latter.

How had everything gone so bad this quickly? Would it still happen if he hadn't initiated a conversation with him in public? The answer didn't matter to him, but he felt it would matter to Alphard.

It was difficult to have a friend when their interactions ended in his complete humiliation. And Riddle clearly took delight in elevating Harry in front of Alphard, driving a further wedge between them.

Sighing, Harry tried to focus on his potion, but the ability to concentrate kept evading him until the end of the day.

When it was almost past the curfew and most students settled in the common room, he took his seat in the farthest corner and opened one of the defence-related books he'd dug out from the library. Alphard had already gone to bed, and Harry was still uncertain if he should try talking to him. What if he'd make things worse? Besides, what could he do if Alphard cared about public recognition and Riddle's circle's acceptance so much? As long as he wasn't willing to fight for himself, Harry had no way to support him. There was nothing he could say that he hadn't said already.

Realising the letters before him had grown blurry, he frowned and tried to focus again.

Learning the endless number of new spells was probably useless — barely a quarter of them stayed in his mind, and he practised even less than that, but who knew, maybe one of them would come in handy one day. Riddle's tricks with Veritaserum meant that some other kind of attack could occur at any moment, and the more he had to protect himself with, the better.

Since his thoughts went to Riddle, Harry turned his head a little and squinted at the spot in the middle of the room.

Of course, he was there. He was leaning against the fireplace, saying something quietly. Greengrass, Avery, and Lestrange were listening attentively, just like a couple of other students nearby.

Were they hoping to take Alphard's place now that he seemed to be cast out for good? Even more people were paying attention to Riddle today than usual, probably trying to demonstrate their interest in joining his inner circle and accessing the benefits — and punishments — that came with it.

The most offensive thing was that Cygnus and Walburga Black were here, too. Cygnus was younger, Walburga was older, and both evidently took the news of their brother's demotion as something that had been coming for ages. At least Walburga didn't seem as enamoured with Riddle as others: she was throwing interested glances at him but sat some wary distance away. Cygnus, on the other hand, had boldly taken Alphard's seat, and his face reflected his badly hidden greed and excitement.

Resentment rumbled in Harry's chest. He started to turn away, but not before Riddle suddenly looked up and caught his gaze.

Something gleefully satisfied flashed in his eyes, and Harry curled his lips in disgust. Angry now, he stared at his book, but all he saw instead of the words were the swirling images depicting him punching Riddle in his smug, arrogant face.

Harry was so busy with his fantasies that he barely noticed how the air near him shifted. Someone took the seat nearby, and when he glanced to his left, he saw none other than Riddle, with the exact same mocking smirk he'd just been envisioning.

"Won't your fans miss you?" he asked coldly, straightening the book page needlessly. He thought Riddle might be equally annoyed with him for making that remark about his father, but the rage from morning seemed entirely vanquished. Riddle was watching him with the same intense attentiveness as always, the one that made shivers run up Harry's skin — either in dread or a thrill, he still couldn't tell.

"Are you angry at me?" Riddle asked. He sounded curious. "Your Gryffindor need to defend those weaker than you is that strong that you'd risk compromising your own place for the sake of someone who'd never return the favour?"

"I'm not afraid of 'compromising' my place," Harry said through gritted teeth. He turned the page over with such force that he nearly tore the paper. "I'm appalled at the strength of your brainwashing and the absolute lack of understanding of what loyalty is among the Slytherins. Why did you choose to make Alphard a part of your inner circle instead of all other Blacks to being with?"

"Oh, for many reasons." Riddle angled closer, peering to see what Harry was reading. He placed his chin on his shoulder casually, and Harry froze. His heart jumped, fell, and raced frantically, and it took a moment to restore his ability to understand what Riddle was saying. "He's a middle child, most desperate for acceptance of the bunch. His sister is too spoiled and self-absorbed. I'd have to apply too much effort to court her to my side, and the rewards of this courtship would be fickle. His younger brother is obsessed with fame over everything else. He's impatient, too, so he'll favour short-term benefits and shift his allegiances accordingly. Alphard is more loyal, more malleable, and more potentially efficient in bringing me what I want. He hasn't pledged himself to anyone yet, not fully, but once he does, his loyalty will be unwavering."

"Yeah?" The paralysis finally fell away. Harry shifted away from Riddle, giving him the stink eye. "Then why do you treat him like shit, and what's the point of kicking him out? Do you plan to let him back in again?"

He must have said something Riddle was waiting to hear because a satisfied smile slid across his lips.

"Why do you wish to know?" he drawled. "Do you want me to let him back in? And if so, what would you be willing to do in exchange?"

Harry blinked, momentarily taken aback.

He was angry on Alphard's behalf, sure, but he wasn't planning on doing anything to talk Riddle into accepting him back into his circle. Now, though, knowing that this possibility existed, he couldn't help but grow curious.

"Since you're asking, I assume there is something you want me to do, but you think I'll turn you down unless you blackmail me into it?"

Riddle shrugged.

"Blackmail is too strong of a word," he retorted loftily. "I'm not planning to demand anything untoward."

Harry sent him a sceptical look, and Riddle's smile turned a little more genuine.

"Don't you have Alphard's best interests at heart?" he inquired innocently.

"I do. That's why I have no desire for him to re-join your little club. He deserves more than to be a pawn you disrespect — even worse, a pawn you don't really need if you consider inviting him back only in case you and I reach some agreement."

"You can be so exhausting," Riddle sighed. Harry frowned at him. "Alphard is not the kind of person who can survive on his own. Either he bows down to his family, or he risks being cut out of their family tree. To someone like him, it's a death sentence. I offer him the third option. A way out in the short-term future, a chance to preserve his name and reputation without becoming a perpetual slave to the sick whims of his relatives."

"Yeah, you want him to become a slave to your sick whims," Harry grunted. A troubled feeling settled inside, growing heavier the more he considered Riddle's words.

Why hadn't he asked Sirius more about Alphard? What choice had Alphard made then, and how could Harry help him to make a better one? Staying with Riddle couldn't be a good decision in any of the universes or timelines.

On the other hand… if Harry did make a difference… maybe he could improve things not just in general, but for Alphard in particular, too?

Riddle seemed determined to keep him close. Harry could be and probably was a fool, but despite the Veritaserum and everything that had taken place before it, he didn't think Riddle was actively planning anything malicious against him. Not now. And wasn't it already a change for the better? For Riddle to need someone who could not be truly useful to him, even being willing to trade favours with him…

"Out of curiosity, if I agree, what is it that you want me to do?" Harry asked carefully. He saw a flash of Riddle's teeth.

"I want you to start attending our meetings," he replied immediately. "It's high time you joined us properly."

All thoughts fled Harry's head. He stared at Riddle, stunned, unable to believe what he'd just heard.

Join the Death Eaters? Or the Knights of Walpurgis — this was how they were calling themselves at the moment.

This was so… He hadn't expected Riddle to issue this offer. Despite their strange relationship, Harry had never tried to pretend like he shared any of Riddle's views, and Riddle had never bothered to turn him into one of his followers. Why was he doing it now? What changed?

"What does joining you entail, exactly?" he asked. His voice was wary, and he felt even warier when Riddle seemed to take his question seriously.

"You'll be training with us and participating in some discussions. I might want to hear your opinion on certain topics, and at a later point, I might involve you in the planning of some operations."

Why did it sound like the last point was the only one that mattered? And why did his pulse begin to race again?

Because he was excited. Still wary, deeply suspicious, but also elated — this was a huge step forward. Riddle wouldn't have invited him if he didn't trust him.

Although how could he trust him if he had to blackmail him into agreeing to join? This was an odd contradiction. What was going on in Riddle's head?

"I'm not taking any marks," Harry warned. "And I'm not going to stick to all these crazy cult rules about sacred seating patterns, calling everyone by their first or last names, and whatever else you might have thought of."

An amused snort escaped Riddle, and then he nodded with fake solemnity.

"Consider yourself freed from them. So, do we have a deal?"

Another wave of hesitation washed over him, stilling his tongue before it could push out any affirmation.

Riddle was a mystery with a thousand different motivations behind his plans and ideas. Who knew why he wanted Harry to be present at the meetings of his followers? And would this deal really help Alphard?

"I go to your meetings, and you let Alphard re-join you?" Harry clarified. "Without forcing him to obey his family and humiliating him for refusing? Because if nothing changes and you still demand that he break himself, I won't be making any deals with you."

Riddle toyed with a page of Harry's book for a moment, as if deep in thought.

"Yes," he said at last. "I'll let him re-join, and his position will be better than before. I won't make any demands. Only he won't return immediately."

Harry knew there had to be a catch somewhere.

"When?" he pressed. "Give me an approximate time frame."

Riddle narrowed his eyes, as if doing some calculations.

"Two weeks at most," he decided.

Another shadow of suspicion flickered in Harry's mind. It was darker this time, and he couldn't simply brush it away.

Why two weeks? If Alphard's return depended solely on Riddle's invitation, there would be no need for delays. Riddle would permit him to come back, and Alphard would jump at this chance — Harry didn't doubt it. So why the ambiguity?

No matter how much he tried to come up with the answer, there was nothing that would make perfect sense. Finally, Harry stopped these fruitless attempts and gave Riddle a nod.

It was impossible to say if he'd made the right decision, both for himself and for Alphard. But the biggest part of his relationship with Riddle was based on spontaneous choices and intuition, and so far, the benefits outweighed the drawbacks.

He hoped this time wouldn't be an exception.

HTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHT

Riddle began to borrow his crockery.

At breakfast, Harry believed it was a simple mistake. Riddle was talking to some seventh-year, giving him all his undivided attention. He gripped Harry's cup of coffee without looking, took a sip, and then placed it back.

Harry didn't think much of it. He moved his cup a little farther away and continued to drink from it.

However, the situation repeated itself. At lunch, Riddle used his goblet with juice and then returned it like there was nothing strange about sharing a drink. At dinner, he actually stole some food from Harry's plate.

Watching it all happen, Harry thought he might be going insane. No one else seemed to notice it, not even Greengrass, whose eyes never strayed from Riddle far. Maybe he was imagining things?

But why would he imagine something as crazy as this? Three times in a row, no less?

His confusion lingered, gaining new depths with every passing minute.

Riddle was definitely toying with him. Harry just wished he could understand the point of it all.

In the end, he decided to ignore the borrowing and the stealing, at least for now. He wasn't squeamish, so he didn't see a problem with eating or drinking something Riddle had touched. If it was some bizarre power play, then let Riddle feel like a total fool by being the only person playing.

HTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHT

The first meeting of the so-called Knights took place that very evening. Tension crawled in every part of him as Harry walked into the Room of Requirement, ignoring the irritated looks Greengrass and Avery were throwing at him.

He didn't know what he was expecting — to be led into a torture chamber? To be tortured or to be forced into torturing someone else? Riddle's goals were incomprehensible, and Harry wanted to steel himself in advance for whatever was coming.

What he saw inside was so ordinary that for a moment, he doubted his own eyes. The room was... just a room. Spacious and elegant, and decorated with so many expensive things that Harry immediately concluded Riddle was the one in command of how it looked. He could be wrong, the others might have added something too upon walking in, but for some reason, wherever he looked, everything screamed Riddle to him.

A long table made of odd dark green wood stood in the middle. It was as pretentious as the endless twisted shapes of snakes decorating the walls and the furniture, and as pompous as the regal-looking statue of Salazar Slytherin frozen above the fireplace like some ethereal grim observer.

Riddle walked straight to the table and took his place at the head of it. Lestrange, Greengrass, and Avery promptly sat down, too, surrounding him from left and right. Harry had no idea where he should sit, so he just chose the spot opposite of Riddle.

Apparently, even in something as innocent as this, he did something wrong because Greengrass and Avery instantly glared at him, and Riddle tilted his head in mocking amusement.

What now?

Annoyance swept over him, pinching his already strained nerve endings. Harry looked over the seats once again, searching for clues, and then the most obvious answer occurred to him.

Riddle was sitting at the head of the table, and Harry was sitting… at the other head. Did it mean he was challenging Riddle or something? Maybe mimicking him?

It wasn't his fault that he didn't understand a thing about all these grand seating patterns!

"Let's begin," Riddle said after a pause got too long. "No one here requires introductions. I'm simply pleased to announce that our circle has grown by one member. Black will also be re-joining us soon, so from now on, we'll have an even number of practise partners."

Greengrass' attentive face grew sour. It took another moment for Harry to understand why.

She probably thought that out of all of them, he would be the one to partner with Riddle.

A thrill shot through him at the idea, pounding in his blood and making it run hot. Duelling Riddle who knew the secret of their wands was a dubious idea that could easily end in his embarrassment, but Harry still wanted to do it. He couldn't imagine him and Riddle engaging in something friendly and passionless, so any duel between them was bound to stir his excitement and make him push himself to his absolute limits.

"We won't be discussing what you accomplished over the holidays," Riddle continued. He exchanged a meaningful glance with Greengrass, and her tense posture loosened. "Today, I want to hear your thoughts on magic. Think carefully. Reply honestly. There are no wrong or right answers."

No wrong or right answers? Harry arched his eyebrows in doubt, but no one else seemed perturbed.

Okay, so he knew already that Riddle wasn't Voldemort. This was yet another point of difference between them. For the life of him, Harry couldn't imagine Voldemort uttering anything like 'there are no wrong or right answers.' Any answer that differed from the one he'd give was automatically wrong.

Riddle touched the surface of the table with his wand, observing them all leisurely. Other than this, it was impossible to tell what his face reflected.

"In your opinion," he asked, "what is the worst thing magic can do?"

The question caught Harry off guard. A thousand answers shot through his mind, immediately followed by a string of rejections.

Back there, at the Ministry, he'd seen magic at its worst. He'd witnessed how much horror and pain and suffering it could bring — he even learned to recognise the smell of some particularly powerful spells. One inhale, and nausea twisted his stomach so violently that all he could do was try not to retch. Fighting anyone became an impossibility.

Thinking about the Ministry sent his heart racing. His pulse began to quicken, channelling short hot bursts through his blood, and Harry rubbed his chest, trying to calm down.

"It's easy, isn't it?" Avery asked. He must have come up with an answer immediately because now he was throwing confused looks at everyone like he couldn't understand why no one was speaking. "The worst thing magic can do is kill."

Harry snorted under his breath. Riddle sent him a look, and while it was too quick to decipher it, for some reason, Harry felt that he shared his sentiment.

Such a boring answer.

"What do you find so funny?" Avery demanded, turning to glare at him. Harry had already forgotten how much he liked to glower.

"So what if magic can kill?" he asked instead. "So does a knife, and next to everything else. The ability to kill isn't exclusive to magic, and death can also come in different forms. It isn't always terrifying."

Avery stared like Harry had lost his mind.

"Death is final," he said slowly, making emphasis on every word. "Its finality is more terrifying than anything else could be."

On second thought, Riddle probably agreed with this statement. Considering how much he feared death…

But no, Riddle feared it in general. Harry really doubted he considered death the worst outcome of magic.

"To me, the worst thing magic can do is twist a mind," Lestrange said suddenly. He spoke so rarely that everyone's gazes instantly snapped to him. He didn't pay them any mind, staring at the wall passionlessly.

"You mean like, love potions?" Avery asked. Lestrange didn't look at him.

"Them, too."

This was a more interesting answer. Harry supposed it was true — it was scary to think how completely magic could transform a person. Amortentia, spells like Imperius, even Cruciatus, which could reduce the strongest people to mindless wrecks ready to betray their closest friends and allies just for a brief reprieve… Their power was absolute. It could change people into someone they were not.

The unwelcome memories flickered before his eyes, and he forcibly pushed them down.

Not now. Seeing them in nightmares was enough, he didn't need to actively call them to the front of his mind.

"I think I agree with this," Greengrass said. She brushed a long strand of blond hair from her face, her eyes sparkling in interest. "Magic is most terrifying when it turns us vulnerable. Affecting the mind — or making it open to invasion. I don't doubt for a second that the old fool Dumbledore uses his Legilimency to spy on the students who don't possess sufficient Occlumency skills. A person with no shields is destined to lose all their secrets."

She glanced at Harry when she said it, and his blood ran cold. Ice settled in his chest, slowly melting out into the rest of his body and leaving a trail of chill behind.

Why did she look at him like that? Could she have glimpsed anything incriminating in his mind? After his Dumbledore's lessons, Harry hoped his shields could withstand basic attacks, but if Greengrass was very skilled… if she was even half as skilled as Riddle…

Riddle.

The name burned his mind. Harry looked at Riddle only to catch him exchanging glances with Greengrass.

…Could Riddle have asked her to spy on him by breaking into his mind? He hadn't tried to do it himself after Harry's attempt at intimidation — he probably agreed that seeing the memories from the so-called other world could be dangerous for the one looking… so he could have put Greengrass up to it. If something happened to her, if she were sucked into the parallel universe, he wouldn't care. It was a guaranteed safe way to find out more without taking any personal risks.

The panic that engulfed Harry was so strong that his vision blurred for a second. Dread pooled inside, but before it could spread, another thought came to his mind, bringing the weak light of hope with it.

If Greengrass had seen anything in Harry's memories, why would Riddle need to use Veritaserum on him? And would he really risk someone else uncovering information that could make him vulnerable? Even if he suspected Harry, he had no way of knowing what Greengrass would see in his mind.

This line of reasoning made sense, so Harry found it comforting. He relaxed a little, trying to focus back on Riddle's question.

Just on time. Everyone was suddenly looking at him, waiting for his response. Harry considered all the options again.

"Disappear," he said finally. As soon as the word left his mouth, he knew he made the right choice. "The worst thing magic can do is disappear."

His answer was met with silence. Avery, Greengrass, and Lestrange looked surprised, but Riddle froze for a second. An undisguised interest flared on his face, and the look he sent Harry's way was filled with approval.

For some reason, seeing it sent a spark of thrill down Harry's back. He hastened to look away from Riddle, not knowing what expression his own face was making but not wanting to display it openly.

"What nonsense is that?" Greengrass demanded with a huff. She measured Harry with an arrogant, irritated look, like she couldn't understand what someone so stupid could be doing here. "Magic cannot disappear. If you are born with it, it's yours forever."

"I don't think that's true," Harry said. He wasn't going to pretend he knew more than he did — he wasn't Hermione, who had read the entire Hogwarts library and more. But now that he began to think about it, his thoughts rushed forward, offering examples and inspiring theories. "Magic can do anything. New spells and new artefacts are being invented every year. A lifetime isn't enough for a person to fully understand what magic can offer, so who's to say that it can't vanish?"

"There is no recorded case of magic vanishing through the centuries. If it hasn't happened before, the chances of it ever taking place are so slim that they aren't worth a discussion."

"What about magical exhaustion?" Lestrange asked suddenly. Both Greengrass and Harry looked at him in surprise. "It happens."

He didn't bother to add anything else. Greengrass frowned.

"Not to the extent of magic disappearing entirely," she said sharply.

"But has anyone ever tested it?" Harry pressed. He thought of Voldemort doing the impossible and splitting his soul into a crazy number of parts; then he thought of himself — practising Accio relentlessly, trying to conjure the Patronus, fighting at the Ministry, and feeling completely, entirely drained. Bone-tired. Thinking that if he tried a single other spell, he would get so weak that he'd lose some inherent part of himself.

These sensations had likely been exaggerations, but who knew? Maybe, if someone like him were to try the spells of Dumbledore's and Voldemort's calibre, he'd end up drained of all his magic, losing everything up to the last drop.

"There are Squibs, too," Lestrange intervened again. He spoke so monotonously that Harry couldn't tell what he felt about their subject of discussion. "And half-breeds like that thing that lives in the cabin on Hogwarts' territory."

It took a moment for Harry to realise that Lestrange was talking about Hagrid, and when he did, rage exploded in him so powerfully that his magic crackled with it. His wand jerked, and before he could control it, a stinging spell shot out of its end, hitting Lestrange in the chin.

"Watch your mouth," Harry warned coldly. Avery gasped, almost choking on his indignation. Greengrass bristled, but Lestrange barely flinched. He turned to Riddle for a moment, studying his reaction. There was none — Riddle watched them all silently, clearly not planning on interfering. Harry wasn't going to bother trying to understand him, but apparently, Lestrange came to some conclusion because he faced Harry again, giving him a long, indifferent look.

"It's not what they are that matters," he uttered. "It's that magic behaved abnormally with them. Since it did, it can happen to others in varying proportions. Including disappearing entirely. In theory."

"In theory," Riddle agreed. He'd barely spoken through the meeting, so every word he said somehow seemed more impactful than it was in reality. Even Harry found his gaze instantly drawn to him.

Knowing he had everyone's attention, Riddle stood up, making an unhurried circle around the table.

"Magical exhaustion exists as a phenomenon," he continued, his voice carefully measured, like he was voicing the thoughts he hadn't considered before. "Without experiments, it's impossible to tell from what point it can begin to replenish itself, so we can hypothesise that under certain circumstances, it can indeed vanish without a trace. And if it can vanish without a trace, then it's possible to invent and refine a curse that would evoke magical exhaustion with an identical devastating effect. If this were to happen and wizards were to learn about the existence of such a curse, the entire wizarding world would be under the threat of extinction."

A wave of coldness breezed through Harry. He shivered, imagining himself without magic — imagining the world he knew and loved so much all plain and lifeless. His eyes met with Riddle's, and the image he held in his mind exploded with grim vividness. The link between them burned, and Harry was suddenly certain that Riddle was seeing what he was seeing right now.

He shied away from this closeness by looking away and ignoring how Riddle's stare continued to sear holes in him. A part of him ached in dismay, craving more contact, a deeper connection, and Harry would have liked nothing more than to throttle it.

Of all people, why did he have to be connected to Riddle?

"So… we can use it?" Avery's voice broke the silence. When everyone looked at him, he raised his head proudly, as if he'd just contributed some crucial piece of information to their discussion.

"Use it how?" Greengrass asked curiously. Lestrange looked at her. It felt like observing her reaction was more interesting to him than whatever Avery said. Riddle just stayed silent.

"If we could come up with a spell or artefact that robs people of their magic, we would be unstoppable," Avery glanced around the room, obviously seeking support. "We wouldn't need to manoeuvre and negotiate if something this powerful was in our hands. Whatever goals we set up, we could accomplish them immediately. No one would want to lose their magic."

Riddle considered this — or pretended to. Maybe it was the remnants of the connection they had just experienced, or he was simply making it up, but Harry could swear he felt Riddle's utter rejection of the idea echoing somewhere in his blood.

Riddle detested the thought of a spell like this existing. But why? What Avery said was revolting, but it was right up Riddle's alley. A tool that helped to squash the resistance and establish his absolute dominance over everyone. Wasn't he supposed to love it?

Confusion made him hesitate, and hesitation awakened his curiosity. Unable to fight himself on this, Harry sought out Riddle's eyes again.

This time, he didn't feel the flare of the link uniting them. He simply looked at Riddle, and Riddle looked at him, and just like that, the answer materialised in his head like it had always been there.

Riddle would never be interested in the creation of anything with the power to steal the magic away from this world. He was willing to kill his opposition, but he was too enamoured with magic to let anything threaten its existence. The very idea of it probably felt like blasphemy to him.

With this realisation came another one. A strange, dark thought that had no place in his mind.

If it was possible to destroy the magic… Out of the two of them, Harry would be the one to go for it.

He loved magic dearly. But he would not prioritise it over the peace and safety of everyone else. If Riddle waged war again, if both Muggles and wizards found themselves in danger, and there was a chance to save them all by sealing magic away, Harry would do it. He would probably be hated by all, despised even by the people who used to care about him, but he would do it. Anything to stop the world from drowning in the bloodbath the Ministry had become.

Unease trickled down his spine. Harry shivered, and with it came a belated understanding that he was still sharing eye contact with Riddle.

Startled, he hastened to break it, but it was too late. If there was something to see, Riddle had already seen it.

Damn it. Why did it feel like he kept making mistakes every day, and that each of these mistakes drove Riddle to dig a deeper and deeper grave for him?

The burning sensation didn't abate in the slightest, so Riddle probably continued to watch him.

Harry refused to look up until the end of the meeting.

HTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHT

Overall, it was surprisingly underwhelming. He had plenty of ideas about what Riddle might be doing with his followers when they locked themselves up somewhere, and simple talking wasn't a part of any of them. Maybe it'd been done for his sake? But no one seemed disturbed or concerned. They all acted like sitting around the table and discussing magic-related topics was commonplace, something they were used to doing.

Harry supposed he should be relieved. Instead, he just felt suspicious. Something motivated Riddle to invite him to his meetings, and this couldn't be his interest in listening to Harry's random thoughts.

Alphard was the first thing Harry saw upon entering a bedroom. He paused, frozen in the middle of taking his robe off, unsure if he should say something.

Nothing came to him. At the same time, Alphard stared at him with such wounded, betrayed eyes that Harry felt irrationally guilty. He opened his mouth to try something anyway, maybe to offer some reassurance, but Alphard suddenly stood up. Ignoring Harry, he approached Riddle, wearing a determined look on his face.

"Tom," he called, "may I speak with you in private?"

Riddle, who had just entered the room, threw a disinterested gaze at him.

"Is this conversation going to be worth my time?" he asked. Harry immediately wanted to smack him.

To his surprise, Alphard didn't falter under this blow of indifference. He nodded, his eyes glowing with the same determined fire.

"It is," he said. Riddle nodded, gesturing for him to follow him into the common room.

Harry watched their exit, and that's why he caught Riddle turning his head and sending a satisfied, ridiculing look in his direction.

He frowned, not sure what it meant. Slowly, he began to undress, but the thoughts of Riddle and Alphard kept distracting him. They crowded his head, trying to unite and form a comprehensive network of ideas, but either he was too tired or things simply didn't make sense.

Okay, maybe he should try again, this time from the beginning.

Riddle had approached him with his strange offer to join the Knights in exchange for letting Alphard back in, this time on better terms. He said his return would happen within the next several weeks.

They had a meeting without him, and then, as soon as they came back, Alphard was running to Riddle and asking him for a private conversation. Was he going to…

Harry stopped. Finally, the pieces clicked, and he could have hit himself for not realising something this obvious from the start. Incredulous fury crashed into him, and he nearly tore his Slytherin tie off his neck, gripping it so hard that the fabric shrivelled in distress.

He'd been trying to understand the situation from the wrong angle. Riddle had never intended to invite Alphard back — from the very beginning, he planned to kill two birds with one stone. By talking Harry into joining the Knights, he made Alphard feel even more left out. He provoked him into overstepping his reservations and agreeing to go along with whatever scheme Riddle had wanted him to pull off.

Alphard knew he wouldn't be accepted back if nothing changed. Seeing Harry, a newcomer, not only getting closer to Riddle but also starting to attend the exclusive meetings was too much, so he decided to break through his fear of his family and the insanity curse, and finally do what Riddle had ordered him to.

It was a clever plan. And Harry was an even bigger idiot than he thought for falling for it so completely.

Indignation continued to simmer in his chest when he unmade his bed and lied down, trying to breathe around his electrical knot of anger that tied his lungs in a string.

Riddle used him to get to Alphard. And he got an extra benefit out of it by making Harry a part of his group, another goal he was obviously interested in accomplishing.

Sure, Harry mostly agreed to attend the meetings because it was something he had already been considering for himself. But temporarily securing Riddle's unconditional support of Alphard was another strong advantage.

It seemed like the best route from all available ones. Alphard was wary of his family and wanted to be a part of Riddle's gang, and the latter was a lesser, more vague form of evil for now. Later, Harry hoped to change things for the better, making sure that Voldemort's army of Death Eaters never came into existence. Alphard was supposed to get the most he could without making any sacrifices.

But no, it's just that Harry was a complete fool. Riddle had never considered letting Alphard in and then just leaving him be. He devised a scheme that would make Alphard willingly agree to try becoming a favourite of the Blacks by going along with all their twisted wishes. Yeah, Riddle didn't make any demands, just like he'd promised — he simply manipulated Alphard into offering everything he wanted. Through Harry, using him to poke at Alphard's envy and desperation.

In retrospect, the scheme seemed obvious. How the hell had he missed it?

Harry heard how Alphard and Riddle got back, but he didn't bother removing the canopy and making his way outside. Disappointment and bitterness weighed him down, stirring his ages-old self-disgust.

There was nothing to do or say. He lost another round to Riddle, and this time, the price would be high. Alphard would feel happy at first, but what would he do when the time came for him to follow his family's whims and start participating in their rituals, whatever they were? What would it do to him, to his soul, his mind?

Wincing, Harry shut his eyes, trying not to think about it. But his mind rebelled. It was already rubbed raw from withstanding today's onslaught of Ministry-related memories — imagining the consequences of Alphard's decision only made it worse.

At least the next Quidditch match was taking place only a day from now. He still had time to rest. Maybe not sleeping tonight would mean being able to do it tomorrow.

Harry opened his eyes again, staring at the canopy blankly.

Although, considering his latest track record, something else would probably happen to ruin his next night, too. And this something would be Riddle. Of this, he had no doubts.

HTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHT

He was right, but only partly.

The next day stretched for eternity. Harry somehow made it from one class to another, but his focus was getting increasingly looser, and everyone's growing excitement before the match only fuelled the stress he was already feeling.

Who played Quidditch just a few days after the holidays? There wasn't time to practise and to develop any new strategies, and the mood was all wrong.

But Harry appeared to be the only one who thought that. Rodger Lyre, the captain of their team, didn't seem to mind in the slightest, and all other players showed the same mindless enthusiasm.

This time period had strange rules. Or maybe Harry was the strange one.

With everything going on, he forgot about Graytwig and his Quidditch vendetta against him. The notion of danger came to him absurdly late, when he was moving up the swiveling staircase with a group of other students and someone suddenly pushed him down.

The fall wouldn't be deadly — it was only a second floor, but it would definitely result in several broken bones and probably a concussion.

Harry thought of all this as his body angled dangerously, desperately trying to keep its balance. The staircase jerked, cementing his loss in this fight, but before he fell, someone's hand grabbed him by his robe and pulled him back.

At first, Harry thought it was Riddle. He didn't know why his thoughts went to him so immediately — Riddle was his curse, not salvation. When he looked up, though, he saw Lestrange, with the same blank expression he always wore.

"Thanks," Harry muttered after a surprised pause. Lestrange nodded but didn't reply.

The identity of his saviour was established. Now what about his attacker?

Harry quickly examined the students in his vicinity, and his gaze stopped at Graytwig. The moment their looks crossed, Graytwig glanced away like he had no idea what was happening.

Right.

Shaking his head in angry disbelief, Harry began to move. His fingers clenched his wand, but with an effort, he forced himself to let go.

He'd have to think about what to do about Graytwig, after all, but he wouldn't make any decisions until after the match. Their team had to be complete, and honestly, Harry didn't feel up to having any confrontations right now. His movements were sluggish — even his eyelids refused to obey him for long. They kept closing against his will, plunging him deeper into a state of half-consciousness, and though he was still certain he'd win in a duel against someone like Graytwig, he had no strength to bother.

Riddle would probably have a lot to say about it.

He was pathetically grateful to finally be able to go to bed that night, but even though the sleep swallowed him immediately, it wasn't long or peaceful. His brain barely began to cool down when a wave of new memories assaulted it. They were enveloped in a layer of dream-evoked fog, so Harry saw himself running endlessly — sometimes with Ron and Hermione, sometimes on his own. The explosions of spells and curses kept deafening him. The people they occasionally encountered continued to die — sometimes in real ways, sometimes in imagined ones.

There were no screams, no discussions, no prayers. Just tense, hopeless silence, broken only by the spell blasts. It went on and on, and Harry was rapidly losing his mind. He wanted to stop, to give up and accept the inevitable defeat, but his limbs continued to push him forward. He ran, ran, ran, and ran, knowing he wouldn't find an exit, knowing that sooner or later, one of the curses would hit him, but still unable to stop.

What felt like endless hours later, Harry could no longer stand it. He reached out for his magic, tugging at it with all the desperation he felt, wanting to self-combust, to finally break the cycle of running, but it didn't work the way it should have. Another wall of magic pressed against him instead, cold, soothing, and powerful. It surrounded him in a bluish glow, separating him from the rest of the dying world. It was the reprieve he wanted but didn't dare to hope for, so with a start, Harry managed to break out of his dream.

At first, he saw nothing but darkness, but then his eyes distinguished a silhouette of another person sitting on the edge of his bed. Harry jerked in alarm, but before he could move anywhere near his wand, a firm hand pushed him back down.

"It's me," a low voice said. And just like that, his body relaxed, even as his mind went instantly sober.

"Riddle?" Harry murmured. He tried to sit up again, this time more carefully. "What are you doing here?"

Riddle didn't reply right away. In the darkness, Harry could catch only a few glimpses of his expression, and they didn't clear anything up. He had no idea what Riddle was thinking.

"I was curious," he heard finally. He blinked, and Riddle shrugged his shoulders, managing to look completely unapologetic in the process. "I knew about your nightmares, but tonight I wanted to see how you look as you experience them. You use magic in your sleep. Did you know it?"

"I… what? No," Harry mumbled. He was still reeling from Riddle's bold confession, torn between confusion, embarrassment, and indignation. His eyes continued to adjust to the darkness, and belatedly, it occurred to him that Riddle was wearing pyjamas.

He didn't know why this sight shocked him. There was nothing special or funny about it — the pyjamas were green and sufficiently elegant, not unlike the sleepwear Harry had on, but for some reason, his brain ground to a halt. He realised he was staring — at Riddle's pale throat, so vulnerable without the layers of clothes; at his collarbones, underlined by the thin piece of fabric; at him as a whole, looking as if he was sitting here in royal garments, all tall, proud, and arrogant.

"Like what you see?" Riddle asked. A smug smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

Mortification rushed through him, flooding his face with redness. Harry's eyes widened in shock, and Riddle laughed at him, waving his spluttering denials off.

"No need to pretend otherwise," he said carelessly. "I certainly liked what I saw five minutes ago."

A snort of horrified laughter escaped Harry's throat before he could stop himself.

"You liked seeing me struggle with a nightmare?"

"Yes. You make the most interesting expressions."

This shameless confession robbed him of his speech. Harry shook his head, marvelling at the level of Riddle's unapologetic boldness. Sometimes he forgot that with all the progress in their relationship, Riddle stopped pretending to be a normal person in his company for the most part. In a way, it was gratifying. Harry would rather see someone real, with all their crazy ideas and plans, than be treated to a flat, fake copy.

"What was that part about me using magic?" he wondered, tugging at the blanket to get it out from under Riddle and cover himself. Riddle tugged back — as the result, Harry lost more of the blanket than he acquired. He huffed in annoyance, but amusement quickly prevailed.

The ghostly presence of the nightmare was fading faster than ever. He felt surprisingly light-hearted, something that never happened to him so soon after waking up.

To think that he had Riddle's uninvited presence to thank for it.

"It's what woke me up," Riddle explained. Ignoring Harry's wide-eyed stare, he took his wrist and pressed his fingers to the bluish vein there. "I could feel your magic slowly magnetising the air. It was surprisingly intense, so I assumed you wouldn't be awakening any time soon. I never had a chance to observe the impacts of nightmares on wizards, so it was a good opportunity to gain a rare experience."

"Creep," Harry muttered. Riddle's touch burned his skin, fuelling the blush that felt permanently stuck to his face now.

"I made a few curious discoveries," Riddle told him, stroking his wrist in a blatantly possessive manner, like it was his own. "Your pulse transmits your magic. Your wrist grew heated before letting out a stream of power — I felt it right here," Riddle pressed his fingers to a specific spot, and Harry's breath hitched.

For a moment, he found himself transfixed by the lowering of Riddle's dark eyelashes, the conceited curve of his smile, the feel of his fingers against his skin. A shiver of some undefined emotion ran through his body, and he hastened to yank his wrist out from Riddle's grip, clearing his throat awkwardly.

"I'm glad I could serve as your laboratory rat," he uttered sardonically. "Is it something you do with all your Knights? Erase their right to privacy to watch them have nightmares?"

"None of them is interesting enough to entice me into bothering," Riddle responded. He leaned further back, pressing against Harry's knees, absurdly comfortable for someone sitting on a bed he wasn't invited to. "And you are not one of them. You'd make a terrible Knight."

"What?" Harry crossed his arms against his chest. He knew it was ridiculous to feel offended, but he thought he'd done pretty well during his first meeting. "Why is that?"

"You'll never follow my orders without arguing until we both get a splitting headache. You are disrespectful and impulsive. If I were to give you a task, I would never be certain that you'd complete it in a way I told you. Most likely, you'd end up accomplishing it in your own manner, which may or may not create additional difficulties for me."

Well, Harry supposed this was true enough. Although it posed another question.

"Then why invite me at all?"

"Exactly for the same reason," Riddle replied. He moved a little, stretching more comfortably across Harry's legs, leaning back until his head touched the wall. "You have an unconventional way of thinking. I do, too, but the way we both think often differs drastically. It can be very useful to me in certain situations. Case in point, your suggestion that the worst thing magic can do is disappear. I've spent years focused on learning all the ways to amplify magic — I have never once considered the means to vanquish it."

The compliment birthed a warm feeling in the pit of Harry's stomach. He relaxed, pushing against his pillow and moving his legs a little, ignoring a displeased look Riddle sent his way.

"It's not like you'll be considering them now," he noted. "You hate the idea of the existence of anything that could nullify someone's magic."

"Indeed," Riddle agreed. He looked at Harry intently, as if dissecting him. "All the more surprising that you don't seem to hate it, even though you acknowledged that it's the absolute worst thing to happen. Why is that?"

Harry bit his lip, unsure what to say. The truth was out of question, it was directly related to the future — the past — he abhorred. But Riddle didn't ask for the specifics, so…

"I think sometimes, one worst thing can be better than a thousand bad things," he said carefully. "If our world descended into the same war the Muggles have… maybe ridding us all of magic could be the solution."

Riddle quietened. His silence was cold, and tension began to build up in Harry again, brick by brick.

He thought about adding something else, but Riddle suddenly shifted towards him and grabbed him by his chin, squeezing it tightly. His eyes were abnormally dark.

"If you ever repeat something like this," he said softly, "if I ever catch you even simply entertaining this thought again… what I did to you in the Chamber of Secrets will seem like a child's play. Understood?"

Harry's insides turned to ice. His lungs forgot how to expand, so whatever air was inside froze there, paralysing his chest.

Riddle was taking his reaction in sharply, and this sudden change from closeness to threats left Harry's battered mind scrambled. He didn't know how to react. Every part of him rebelled, hissed in an angry, offended protest, but the appropriate answer wouldn't come.

Just as well. Harry always preferred action to speaking.

Swallowing, he pried Riddle's fingers off his chin and pushed his hand away harshly, narrowing his eyes in a warning of his own. As soon as the physical contact broke, his thoughts flowed freer, and just like that, he knew what to say.

"Don't provoke me," Harry said hoarsely. "Then I won't have to think about it."

A flare of heat in Riddle's stare took him by surprise. He couldn't imagine what it meant, and right now, he couldn't care less.

He felt betrayed again. Humiliated. Lowered to one of Riddle's pawns who could be threatened and punished and who continued to stare at him in admiration anyway.

No matter how liberated he could feel sometimes with Riddle, it was only an illusion. He was not free to say anything he wanted. One serious misstep, and Riddle would make good on this threat.

Riddle stood up. His expression spoke of nothing but indifference.

"Remember what I said," he warned. Then he walked away, leaving Harry even more restless and miserable than when he was stuck in his nightmare.

Needless to say, he failed to fall asleep again that night.

HTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHT

In the morning, Harry was the last person to crawl out of bed. He felt shattered — his bones groaned with every movement, and the room kept tilting slightly, making accomplishing the simplest processes an impossibility.

Dressing himself took him an eternity. He was barely done when the door to the room slammed open and Riddle walked inside, his features drawn in a tight, displeased mask.

The morning had just started. Why was he already pissed off?

"I've heard the most fascinating story just now," Riddle said. Had Harry spoken aloud without realising it? No, he didn't think so. He wasn't interested in listening to a reply to a question he hadn't asked.

Ignoring Riddle, he looked around in search of his bag. One slow blink, and then Riddle was already standing in front of him, appearing even more irritated.

"Were you planning to tell me about Graytwig's petty scheme from yesterday?"

It took Harry a few genuinely confused seconds to understand what Riddle was getting at.

"That unsuccessful attempt to push me off the stairs? Why would I tell you about it? It was nothing, and Lestrange helped me anyway."

"And if Lestrange hadn't been there?"

Amazing. Riddle was suddenly worried about him nearly getting his bones broken when just mere hours ago, he'd threatened him with something far, far more deadly.

"Can we not do this now?" Harry asked tiredly. His eyelids felt so swollen that he feared he might be physically unable to keep his eyes open. "The match starts in thirty minutes. I still need to force myself to eat something and to change. I've had a very bad night, and considering that I'll have to evade Bludgers not just from Hufflepuffs but also from our own Beater while looking for the Snitch, my chances aren't good. So I'd really appreciate it if you stopped adding yourself to my list of nuisances today!"

His outburst didn't impress Riddle. He continued to study him, his eyes sharp and dissatisfied.

"Explain to me why you are so eager to defend some half-breed when you refuse to defend yourself," he said. Clearly, he chose to dismiss Harry's words altogether.

Aggravation stirred in his stomach, and Harry almost growled with it. Damn Riddle. Why could he never back off?

"Because I can take care of myself," he snapped. The corners of Riddle's mouth twitched.

"You had a bad night," he echoed sardonically. "You are about to enter the field where you'll have to evade Bludgers not just from Hufflepuffs but also from Graytwig, all the while looking for the Snitch. As you have eloquently put it, your chances aren't good. So how exactly does that translate to you being able to take care of yourself?"

His headache grew worse. The pain pulsed in his temples, radiating unpleasant heat, and it took a huge effort to stop himself from yelling.

Sometimes it was completely impossible to deal with Riddle. He was like a dog with a bone, and he must have really despised Harry standing up for Hagrid during the meeting if he decided to harass him about it now.

"Graytwig didn't manage to knock me off my broom the last time and I won't let him do it today," Harry uttered through gritted teeth. His temper continued to crackle dangerously, and he knew he had to step carefully. "Hagrid is defenceless. I am not. Is that enough for you or do you—"

"You aren't defenceless in theory," Riddle pointed out darkly. His eyes flashed. "But as you refuse to defend yourself, I think the word fits. You haven't followed my advice. You did nothing to make it clear that you are not to be interfered with. What do you think is going to happen today?"

That's it.

"I don't care!" Harry shouted. He knew that everyone who was still downstairs, in the common room, would hear him, but at the moment, it barely registered with him. "Let him do his worst! If Slytherin is that eager to lose, who am I to disappoint them?"

Riddle pursed his lips. Harry couldn't tell what he was thinking and he was beyond caring. Jerking his tie in a fruitless attempt to make it look presentable, he crossed the bedroom and walked towards the stairs, bypassing Riddle. Or trying to. Because when he came close enough, Riddle grabbed him by his hand, gripping his index finger and twisting it back. His other hand wrapped around Harry's waist, jerking him closer, and all his angry thoughts instantly vacated his mind. Harry stared, shocked into speechlessness.

Riddle was unexpectedly close. Throughout the months Harry had spent in his company, he had memorised his features well, but this close, they gained a new disturbing layer of almost supernatural beauty.

This, the arm around his waist, and the way Riddle was staring quickly sent a rush of blood to his head. Harry tried to recoil as his heart pounded unevenly, the remnants of his thoughts racing forward but failing to form any coherent conclusion.

It was some… some mockery of an embrace. Despite the unbearable closeness, Riddle's face remained dispassionate, his eyes calculating and cold in their assessment. Worse, he continued to crush Harry's finger in his fist, slowly but unwaveringly bending it back.

"Have you ever tried to fly with broken bones?" he asked. "To catch the Snitch with numb fingers? How about sitting on a broom that keeps sending electric shocks through you whenever you change direction? Because these are the most innocent plans I know for a fact Graytwig has been nurturing. Are you still prepared to walk out there and ignore him?"

Blood kept roaring through Harry's ears so loudly that it took him a while to interpret what Riddle was saying to him. Something was smouldering in his chest, in his stomach — his whole body felt on fire, and not in a good way. The confusing mix of fascination with Riddle's face, the pain in his finger, and trepidation electrified every nerve ending he had, and all Harry wanted was to shake himself out of this daze and regain normalcy, whatever normalcy meant these days.

"I have," he said finally. His voice came out rough, and he frowned at this. "I played Quidditch with a broken hand and I still caught the Snitch. I fell from my broom because I lost consciousness and it didn't stop me from being ready to play again after I recovered. And if I feel that something is wrong with my broom—"

"You fell?" Riddle interrupted him. He stopped his assault briefly, but his grip remained unyielding, and Harry almost hissed in pain. "From that height? That is blatant suicide. I assume you survived because I caught you with my magic."

"What?" Harry's frown deepened. "You didn't. It was Dumbledore."

The brief flare of surprise on Riddle's face mirrored his confusion. He almost made a step back, although his grip on Harry's waist only tightened.

"Why wouldn't I catch you?" he wondered slowly. "You could have died."

"I don't know, but you didn't!" For a moment, Harry felt genuinely dismayed, but then the awareness flooded him, and he swallowed back more words that were swirling on the tip of his tongue.

What was wrong with him? Of course Riddle hadn't caught him — Riddle didn't exist in his world, there was only Voldemort!

"Anyway, it doesn't matter," he added awkwardly. "I survived. I really doubt that Graytwig can do anything new during the match to surprise me. I'm not going to attack him now just to maybe prevent something I can deal with. After that, we will see."

Riddle's eyes narrowed. Something dangerous flickered there, and then he jerked Harry's finger back with such malicious force that the bone snapped. Harry cried out, half in pain, half in surprise. The same moment, Riddle finally let him go, stepping back and watching him silently.

Clenching his teeth to avoid making any new sounds, Harry stared at his finger in angry disbelief. It was broken, no doubts here. Right before his match. Why would Riddle keep warning him about Graytwig just to go ahead and attack him himself?

He didn't know what to do about it. Confusion and shock paralysed him briefly, and Harry glanced at Riddle, cradling his hurt hand against his chest.

How was he supposed to respond? By attacking Riddle back? But… it was just a finger. It felt strange to curse Riddle over this. Punching him would definitely be satisfying, but Harry wasn't sure he could do it as long as they weren't involved in an active confrontation.

Sending Riddle a glare, he turned away and stormed from the dormitory, skipping over some stairs to put more distance between them faster. To his frustration, Riddle followed him.

Some Slytherins were still loitering in the common room, including Graytwig. He gave Harry a long derisive stare, and the hostile challenge in it instantly proved that Riddle had been telling the truth. Graytwig was planning something, emboldened by Harry's continuous lack of reaction.

He should have responded yesterday. He should have duelled him regardless of the consequences.

Disgust welled up inside him, and Harry walked to the door, too fed up to stay here a second later. With the corner of his eye, he saw Riddle emerge. Everyone immediately fell silent. Ignoring them, Riddle traced Harry's steps, moving towards the exit, but when he reached Graytwig, he paused, subjecting him to a long, chilling stare.

"Do not," he warned. Without waiting for a reply, he crossed the rest of the distance and opened the door, giving Harry an expectant look.

Feeling completely at a loss, Harry followed him.

HTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHT

The match went surprisingly smoothly. Their team performed as if they'd trained together for months, if not years. Graytwig played well — any time Harry was in danger from the Bludger, he dutifully intercepted it and sent it flying in the opposite direction. He didn't risk looking at him for extended periods, and if it weren't for his aching, useless finger — and for Alphard, and for the threat last night — Harry would have allowed himself to feel a spark of gratitude towards Riddle.

Just two words, and a person vying for his blood transformed into his helper. Riddle's power over Slytherins was ridiculously unlimited.

Harry caught the Snitch on the thirstiest minute of the match. It was plain, boring luck — the flash of gold crashed into his shoulder, and all he had to do was react quickly and grab it.

His finger continued its violent protests for hours after the match, but Harry decided against visiting the hospital wing. He didn't know why. He kept sneaking glances at it, torn between the darkness of resentment and the strangest flickers of longing.

Riddle's threat from tonight had cut him much deeper than the breaking of his finger. The former was cold and devoid of any feelings. The latter was… confusing. On the one hand, Riddle had attacked him, but on the other hand, he'd done it out of frustration caused by Harry's refusal to stand up for himself. Somehow, it didn't seem as bad.

Or was it sleep deprivation messing with his mind? Maybe he would think about it later. Much, much later. In the morning, after getting at least a couple of hours of sleep.

The entire Slytherin was celebrating their victory. Everyone was loud and excited, so Harry huddled up in the corner, wondering if anyone would notice him slipping out.

Finally, after twenty more minutes of nothing, he decided to do just that. He stood up, but Riddle appeared out of nowhere, intercepting him before he could take a single step.

"Fed up with the crowd?" he wondered. "We can always leave for a quieter place. Perhaps the Astronomy Tower?"

All the sleepiness evaporated, chased away by the creeping sensation of being thrust under a cold shower. Harry took an instinctive step back, struggling not to glare at Riddle with all the fury that had instantly filled him upon hearing this so-called invitation.

Riddle wanted to go to the Astronomy Tower with him? Just like the last time?

Maybe it meant nothing. Maybe this time, Riddle just wanted to talk to him, and he didn't want anyone to overhear them.

But considering the events of the last couple of days, Harry really, really doubted it.

He shouldn't go. Going was a potential suicide. Riddle could either attack him or drug him again — actually, maybe he had already been drugged? He hadn't drunk much of anything, just took one sip of Butterbeer, and it was a while ago. If Veriatserum had been there, he should have already felt its effects.

"Fine," Harry said. His rational part scowled in disbelief, but he steadily ignored it. "Let's go."

They walked in silence, and every step infused him with more and more anger.

How had the peaceful holiday days turned into this minefield so quickly? What happened to make Riddle start attacking him this relentlessly? Drugging him, threatening him, blackmailing and misleading him, breaking his finger, doing whatever he was planning to do now?

Harry could take a lot, especially if he thought it would do any good in the long term, but he had his limits, too.

Riddle wanted him to stand up for himself? He would. Starting tonight.

The Astronomy Tower was expectedly chilly, so Harry busied himself with putting on the warming charms.

"Are you cold?" Riddle asked, fake concern wrought into every word. The question was so absurdly redundant that Harry stared at him silently, waiting for him to start making sense.

With a crook of a smile, Riddle snapped his fingers, and a House Elf appeared before them with a pop.

The elf brought a tray with two cups. Full of hot chocolate.

Drugging it was, then.

"Is that be all, sirs?" the elf asked timidly. Riddle sent him a curt nod, moving one of the cups towards Harry in a way that seemed natural and automatic.

With a heartfelt bow, the elf disappeared, and Harry stared at the cups, feeling the fury burn in his gut. The force of it was terrifying — he needed to spew it out, to get rid of it somehow, but he knew it wouldn't be happening unless he found a way to turn this assault on its head.

He needed to switch the cups.

As soon as the idea flashed in his mind, he knew this was exactly what he would do. Simply refusing to drink, pouring the hot contents all over Riddle's head, throwing some nasty curse his way — it wouldn't be enough. Not nearly. The violent thirst for vengeance slid underneath his ribs, wrapped around his heart, his lungs, his everything, and Harry knew there would be no expelling it until he satisfied it.

It was his time to ask Riddle some questions.

The only problem was, how could he change the cups without it being noticed?

Riddle was saying something — probably some bullshit about the victory celebration and having drinks away from all the annoying people. Harry barely listened to him. His brain was alight with his goal. Fiery determination surged through his veins as he desperately tried to come up with some solution — any solution, no matter how weak or bad.

The easiest way was to force Riddle to drink from the cup. The Muggle-styled violence took most wizards aback and helped Harry to deal with more than one opponent effectively.

Unfortunately, Riddle knew about it. Besides, his magic was not something that could ever be taken lightly. It could lash out by itself even before Riddle understood he was under attack.

What else? What else?

Every second of silence pushed him closer to the inevitable disaster. He couldn't fight Riddle physically, he couldn't curse him, he couldn't make him look away for a second — any of these tactics would get him instantly caught. Unless…

Unless he used the same ace card he'd been wielding from the beginning. His made-up story and Riddle's uncertainty as to what kind of relationship the two of them might have shared.

For a second, doubts surfaced. He'd never been big on physical contact, and initiating it with Riddle?

But then, hadn't Riddle initiated it, too, again and again? If he could do it, Harry could withstand suffering for a few seconds as well. Riddle was standing with his back to the cups. It could work… as long as Harry managed to pull off the non-verbal feat of magic, and do it quickly.

Riddle had told him his power reached its peak when it was fuelled by emotions. Well, now was a chance to find out if there was any merit to it.

"I can't believe you did it for me," Harry blurted out. Riddle stopped talking and sent him a questioning look.

Okay, he had to do it now. Hopefully, the minute-long mortification would be worth it in the end.

Putting on a silly grin, Harry swiftly crossed the distance between them and threw himself on Riddle, wrapping both hands around his neck and pressing embarrassingly close to him.

Good. The hateful cups were in his line of vision.

"I forgot how thoughtful you can be," he said, more loudly than was warranted. "Choosing this place and having the elves prepare my favourite drink… it's really the best way to celebrate our victory."

He could sense Riddle's confusion and wariness. Slowly, hesitantly, Riddle raised one of his hands and encircled Harry's waist with it. He didn't pull him closer, nor did he push him away. He went still like this, as if trying to adjust to this sudden shift in their dynamic and understand what to do with it.

If the circumstances were different, Harry might have actually died out of mortification. He might have been too focused on the feel of being so close to someone — when was the last time someone hugged him?, on the knowledge that it was Riddle he was hugging, Riddle who was half-hugging him back.

But fortunately, his lividity took care of it. It continued to storm and rage inside him, and he stared at the cups with all the intensity he could muster, allowing his tongue to babble while urging his magic up. Up. Up.

For several long moments, nothing happened. The cups remained where they were.

Harry gripped Riddle tighter by his neck, pressing closer to him out of pure spite and almost missing the way Riddle slowly raised his second arm and put it around his waist. The stupid cups consumed all his focus — the world narrowed to a tunnel consistently fed by his rage. This rage filled him to the brim, and Harry converted it into magic, pushing it forward harshly, sensing how it washed over his insides in scalding waves before breaking free and hastening to do his bidding.

The cups moved. At first slowly, but then more eagerly. In five seconds, it was over: the drink Riddle had intended for Harry was standing on the opposite side of the tray. The distance between the two cups was wrong — Harry's magic had overdone it a little, pushing them farther away from each other, but he doubted Riddle would notice it. And if he would…

Well, Harry was ready to accept the consequences.

The need for the intimate charade was over, so he let go of Riddle abruptly, attempting to move a safe distance away.

Riddle's hands clung to him for a moment longer before his hold loosened, too. He wore a strange expression — it carried the same traces of uncertainty Harry had felt in his touch.

It didn't matter.

The first step was done. Now he needed Riddle to drink the damn thing.

Harry tried to smile, ignoring the way his heart pounded in his chest furiously.

"Shall we?" he asked, opening his palm trustingly.

Riddle schooled his expression. With an answering polite smile, he took both cups and placed one in Harry's hand. The one he believed had a drug in it.

Bile filled his mouth, but Harry swallowed the bitterness and kept a small smile plastered on his face.

He took a sip.

Riddle did, too.