I'm just throwing in a mild tw for vomiting in the notes here because I used to basically cry if I even heard the word when I was younger. And I don't wanna be that one prick. You know the one. You all know the one.

Starts at "He woke up with a horrible jolt" and ends at "Harry laughed, slightly hysterical"

Riddle was standing over him, looking paler than milk, even for a half-dead boy. He blinked a few times, but the image wouldn't fade, and his head hurt terribly, and everything was spinning, so he concluded it was unfortunately real.

"I've concluded you've been an idiot again," said Riddle. "A part of me can sense my counterpart's anger. This is like never before. What did you do?"

"I think you put Liquid Luck in my tea," Harry offered. "I was an idiot. I just taunted the hell out of you. And you didn't like it."

"It takes true genius to figure as such." Riddle eyed him. "Why, exactly, did you feel that was, in any way, an acceptable plan of action?"

"I wasn't actually thinking. In my defence, that's not new." Harry sighed, and swallowed against the onslaught of dizziness. "You especially. It's like you absolutely destroy all my filters. Thanks for that."

"The burden of a connection between souls, I suppose." Riddle sat down on the bed, and Harry watched in apt fascination as the covers moulded to what shouldn't have been any mass at all. It was still so strange to face a ghost that wasn't, in fact, actually that dead at all. A part of Tom Riddle had died, of course, along with Myrtle; the first time he ever split his own soul was bound to have a few unfixable fissures. But, not, apparently, all of him. Not enough to make Voldemort immune to Harry's shite brand of insults, at the very least. "We'll need to start work on the Horcuxes immediately. Lucky for you, as much as you're undeserving, there's one far closer than you think."

"If you say it's me," Harry started, but Riddle only laughed.

"No. I'm sure your reaction would be a soothing balm on this... rather taxing day, but no. I don't have time for pedantry."

"I swear, if you hid one in the castle-"

"Of course I did," Riddle told him. "You would've, as well."

"Everyone would've, but you've got way more self-discipline than I do."

"It was a sweet revenge. One of the greatest of insults. To hide something he so reviled within the walls of his own beloved home." Riddle sneered. "What should have been my beloved home, too, had he been in a more generous mood for any of the countless school terms I passed here."

"At least you admit you're still bitter," said Harry. "Voldemort tries to act like he's above all that."

"I should be." Riddle hummed. "I don't know why I'm not. I do have your soul constantly trying to mix with mine. And the Tom Riddle of the past still had somewhat of a soul. I envy him. The current Lord Voldemort, that is. He is having a time of it."

Harry glared. "Murder is an absolute riot. Genocide, even better. Definitely a great time. Mad, really. We're all at war with him because, secretly, we're just jealous."

Riddle's eyes flashed, lit with self-satisfied humour. It was oddly comforting to see, after staring down Voldemort's dead eyes, even with a warm cup of tea cradled in his palms, snuggled in a luxury kitchen. "Oh, don't be petty, just because I get all the gruesome killing, and you're left here to cry into your pudding in the Great Hall."

"Ha. Ha."

But Harry was smiling anyway.

Harry woke up again, after a thankfully dreamless sleep, to Hermione and Ron's faces peering at him.

"Your ghost friend said we should leave you to sleep, mate, even though you've apparently done something 'monumentally stupid' and now we have to rush getting all the Horcruxes. Or something along those lines. You've completely mucked everything up again, haven't you? Don't think I don't know that look."

"Yeah." Harry grinned. "Me and you get it all the time."

Hermione tried to hide her snort. "He has a point."

Ron huffed, but there was no heat in it. "I didn't do anything this time."

Harry shifted. The true weight of his complete lack of control was finally hitting him, guilt so potent he could choke on it. His inability to filter his thoughts in Voldemort's presence wasn't just a risk to his own well-being - which he was honestly so used to sacrificing, he hardly felt - but also that of his dearest friends. "So, I might've... provoked Voldemort. A bit."

"More than usual," came Riddle's clarifying voice. "As hard as that is to believe."

Harry didn't even startle; really, he was beginning to expect Riddle's little additions to their conversation. Perhaps that was why Riddle seemed to do it so often, because part of Harry wanted to. He wouldn't be surprised at the lengths his own mind would go in trying to keep its own metaphorical head in the sand once confronted with absolutely anything to do with Voldemort. Certainly once confronted with the fact that Harry might be actively seeking his company.

"Explain 'more than usual'," Ron said. "We should definitely be worrying 'more than usual' or it'll blow over with time 'more than usual'."

Riddle was scowling. "The former."

Ron looked at Harry beseechingly. "You're supposed to be not an idiot. What happened to that?"

He wondered himself what exactly had happened to that. If Riddle was right, and the soul bond marred his self-control so significantly, did it also have an effect on Voldemort? Did it affect his Horcrux? Were there limits, or was it closing in more on the Veritaserum level? "I blame his soul." He pointed an accusing finger right in Riddle's face. His nose scrunched, and he looked about to sneeze.

"It's not my fault. It's simply the nature of a Horcrux."

"You're the one who bonded our souls."

"By accident."

"Accidentally on purpose." It was a mistake in Voldemort's eyes, in Harry's eyes, in everyone's eyes, except for Riddle's. He was so insistent that this turn of events was a blessing of fortune. But so far, Harry had done nothing but act a fool and take the piss out of the Dark Lord Voldemort. "You said you didn't even regret it."

"I don't," Riddle promised. "Well, the control issues are regrettable. Neither of us seem to be able to keep our thoughts to ourselves. But there are worse fates. Going mad, in this instance, seems to come to mind as a pertinent example."

"I need to find a solution to the control issues, or I'm bollocksed. I'll say something that makes Him snap, and Errol will end up delivering a nicely wrapped-up parcel of my head to your doorstep."

"I don't enjoy beheading," Riddle said, calmly. "It's too... uninvolved."

"Uninvolved?" Ron asked.

Riddle turned to him, face twisting up into a manic sort of grin. "They don't scream enough." Ron paled, gaped like a fish, and made choked off noises. Riddle attempted to keep his expression firmly under control, and failed miserably. He burst into high, amused laughter, and said, "I'm not going to apologise, Harry, I had to see his reaction."

"Okay. It was sort of worth it."

"Traitor," said Ron.

"So," Harry started, "anyone got any ideas about self-control? I should practice before we go after the Horcrux, right? Or Voldemort won't need to do anything but wave hello to get its location out of me."

"Occlumency is the most obvious answer."

"But I'm awful at that."

Riddle nodded. "But you're awful at that, yes." Suddenly, his eyes lit. "You can use me to practice! Of course, how could I not have seen- it's the perfect solution-! Your mindscape, Harry, it's never set in stone. I can easily appear in my newer form, and I certainly have a wealth of knowledge about my own inner workings that would perfectly allow me to simulate his current behaviour."

"Which is bloody insane."

"And drunk on power. Yet, I'll not have any issue pretending to be myself. And you can stop letting my counterpart intimidate you. I would be insulted that I don't have the same effect, but I haven't truly tried. I chose this appearance in order to keep you calm, but now, in a controlled environment..."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "Why do you sound so excited about this?"

"It might just save your life."

"And you might just enjoy terrorising me a little too much."

"It's for a good cause," Riddle soothed. "Come, now, Harry. You need only go back to sleep. I'll take care of the rest."

"Don't get too carried away."

"Why, I would never."

He opened his eyes to the room with the cupboard under the stairs, the strange blend of Voldemort and Harry that had become both their sanctuaries. He was lying against the cupboard door, feet splayed out before him, Gryffindor striped socks stark against the ornate rug draped over the floor. Across the room, one red eye was watching him intently.

"The other eye doesn't seem to want to be fixed," came Voldemort's voice. Unmistakably older, clearer, noticeably more haughty. Riddle spoke softly, gently shifting all attention away, but Voldemort had no need. It was the same voice in name only, so much more piercing and angry, so much more unsettling.

"You did a good job of that," Harry said, waving a hand over Riddle's new form.

"I'm still working on it." And it was true, too, he could tell, as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. From the moonlight shining through the windows, he could see Riddle actively morphing himself. His teeth were still shining white and blunted, his nails still trimmed short, and, much to Harry's amusement, he hadn't changed out of his school uniform.

"Your clothes," Harry pointed out, trying not to snort. His voice wavered a little.

"You should be so glad I'm wearing any," Riddle snapped, and then he was draped in the usual robes, flowing like a Dementor's, strangely as much a part of him as his skin.

"Now you look like yourself."

It was odd to see Lord Voldemort standing in the middle of a room, looking put-upon and slightly out of place. Riddle was leaning against the wall, watching his own nails grow, and flexing his hands against the minimal lighting. "You're right," he said, eventually, "my hands are the same."

"Except for the claws. That's very dramatic."

"All the better to scratch you with." With everything settled into place, Riddle was unmistakably the perfect picture of Voldemort, straight out of Fourth Year. The only tell, aside from one glaring green eye, was the cool expression. The new, improved version was always wearing a cruel sneer, but Riddle's looked genuinely amused. He was teasing, joking, and Harry could see he meant it. They were friends and they were enemies, but Harry could always see the humanity in him. Voldemort's face was devoid of all life entirely. "Are you ready to begin?"

"Almost," Harry promised. Then, he ran forward, and barreled straight into Riddle, wrapping arms tightly around him, burying his face into his robes.

Riddle flickered slightly, to human flesh once more, and then righted himself. "What in Merlin's name are you doing, Potter?"

"Not trying to get myself killed, I swear. I haven't started practice yet. I'm just doing this because I can, now. You won't throw me under the Cruciatus curse for it. Also, you're much more comfortable and cuddly. Warmer. I think you forgot to make yourself cold-blooded."

"You are honestly a great deal less sane than I am, and here we are, on a quest to restore my mind. Are you sure you wouldn't like to seek some form of help?"

"I just need a reminder this isn't real real. You are him, but you're not, y'know? It could be so easy to get you two confused. You've only half lost your mind, but you know yourself. If you two stood next to each other, I'm more than sure you could make it so I wouldn't be able to tell either of you apart. I just want to be able to see it's you, actually you."

"And you think clinging to me like a child is going to help with that?"

"Yeah, I do."

"I can't fault you. You're right, I won't curse you for touching me. So long as you know my future self would never be as forgiving."

"I'll be so glad when you get your mind back. You'll finally stop cursing me out in the real world, away from this mindscape."

It was almost hysterical to see concern in Voldemort's face, staring down at him like an actual friend, a mate from school, not the man who wanted to see the light leave his eyes. "I won't be the same, Harry. You know that, don't you?"

"You'll have all your memories of now. And also the ones of being nuts and torturing me. But I'm making these ones count, so I can hopefully persuade you taking the piss out of me is better than... whatever the hell it is Voldemort likes to do now. Toying with me. Scaring me into doing stupid shit."

"You'll do 'stupid shit' without my help," Riddle offered, pleasantly.

"See? Calling me an idiot is way more preferable to killing my friends and walking around with bare feet in their blood, and my own."

"You call this grounding yourself?" But Harry just nodded. "We'll need to practice soon. Our time is limited."

"Will you hurt me?" he asked, and Riddle practically did a triple-take. "I mean. To make it more realistic?"

If seeing Voldemort in a school uniform wasn't unreal enough, watching his scandalised face at this suggestion was enough to break suspension of disbelief. But it seemed Riddle was genuinely horrified at the thought. "No, boy," he snapped. Panic appeared to be reverting him to old habits, like patronising nicknames. "Of course not!"

"I- you're Lord Voldemort, though?"

"Whatever self-loathing you believe resides in me, I can assure you it doesn't extend far enough to even deign to think about hurting you."

"Just because I'm your soul?"

"You're also my partner," Riddle hissed. "My prophesised equal. Hurting you would be-" He was frantic. "It would be unacceptable. It cannot be allowed to happen."

"You think your counterpart feels the same?"

"He bloody well should!" Given a few moments, he settled slightly. "He does feel the same. Did he do any serious damage, when you provoked him?"

"No. He threw me around a little, but to be fair, I think he'd gone into some kind of fit of rage by that point. No serious damage. No Cruciatus."

"Precisely," said Riddle, and Harry almost wondered if he were trying to convince himself as much as his 'fated partner.' "I don't need convincing." Harry blinked. "We're sharing your mind, Harry, honestly."

"No, I mean- I'm just surprised is all. You're probably the biggest sadist I know. Aside from Bellatrix. She- I tried to cast the Cruciatus on her. I never tried to do that to you."

"With Cedric?" Riddle offered.

"I can't remember, but I'd think any Unforgivables then were more out of fear than anger. There was anger, too. But you tied me up above your father's grave and drained my blood into a cauldron, so. Y'know. Fear."

"We share blood," he replied, as if just remembering. "I wonder if that strengthens the connection. Perhaps it's why I cannot restrain myself around you; I presume Nagini isn't privy to my every whim and secret."

"Yeah, no, you seem pretty secretive." Harry tilted his head, and cringed. "Did you have to use that turn of phrase? You can't 'restrain' yourself? Really?"

Riddle stared at him, searching, for a moment, before huffing out a laugh. "Given our conversation about hurting you, I think I could have said worse."

"Like what?" Harry asked, and then cringed harder. "No, that was the Link, I don't want to-"

"You were just talking about me tying you up, Harry. Have you truly changed your mind about me so fast?"

"If you say the words 'naughty' or 'spank', I will literally stab myself with a Basilisk fang, right this second. I'll go straight to the Chamber of Secrets."

Riddle pouted theatrically. "You're only saying this because I'm not in my school uniform anymore."

"That's so funny," Harry said, looking up to an empty Heaven, an indifferent god. "This conversation is going to kill me before you do." But the Link was inquisitive. "Actually, at school, did you- with people-? No, stop, wait, no, I don't-" He choked. "There was Hepzibah, but I think that was just for the Trophy, oh God, you actually, with her-" He had to swallow a few times, throat clicking, before he could speak again. "Merlin, someone knock me over the head already. Put me out of my misery."

"Yes, not one of my finest moments," said Riddle, and then clapped a hand over his mouth. "You're making it worse," he accused, sulkily, and shimmered like a mirage back into his normal form. "There's no point to this elaborate semi-Glamour if you're asking me about my sex life within minutes, Harry."

"She wasn't your first, was she?" Harry gagged. "Tell me, tell me you had some- dalliance- with some talented Slytherin or whomever- just not her, oh, Merlin's frilly knickers, I'm going to vomit, you- What if you tied her up? No, that just makes it worse. Oh, no, you actually did tie me up, sort of metaphorically- Tom, help, I literally can't stop-"

Riddle put a hand over his mouth, but Harry kept talking into it, muffled. "I think sharing a mindscape is rather throwing our connection into turmoil, wouldn't you say?"

"Do you really want to spank people, though? Is that a thing you're into?" was all Harry said. Riddle looked slightly pink.

Humiliation curled his face into an ugly, twitching scowl. "Potter, that's enough-"

"She wasn't your first, though, right, please?"

"No, of course not, half of the school was after me by Second Year, yes, Second Year, I had no shortage of- No, I wasn't interested until at least Fourth- Would you please stop? This is far more than either of us need to share-"

"Oh, thank Merlin. I was so scared for you. I- really, did you need to kill her, though? Because my soul would have split just sharing a bed with that woman. She was so... slimy. Like a toad. Oh, fuck me."

"Much better idea, you'd be preferable, you're right-" And then Riddle looked frankly ready to explode. His voice was rising quickly to match his counterpart's, even without his Glamour. "Potter, get us out of the Mindscape, now."

"Better idea...?" Harry blinked. "Nice joke. Did you mean that?"

"Yes," said Riddle, his face splotchy and his eyes darting from one end of the room to the other like frightened rabbits. "But anyone is preferable to her."

Harry accepted this. Even Dumbledore was a more likeable option. But, as soon as his stream of consciousness moved along, so did his mouth. Eventually, he was talking so fast he could barely breathe. "Wait, do you think Voldemort still thinks Hepzibah was worth it? Could him loving someone stop the war? Probably someone's asked you that already. And probably you hexed them for it. I bet you did. Anyway. Love. Sometimes you kill people because they can feel it, but sometimes you don't? I mean, you seem okay playing along with Bellatrix's infatuation with you, that works in your favour, but the same applies to a lot of your other Death Eaters, as well, you know, and I think you're observant enough to notice that. Actually, they're super obvious about it. That's strange enough in itself. Do you wear a Glamour around or do they just reject being shallow despite being elitist, prejudiced twats? What was I saying? Oh, loving people - did I already say that? I think I already said that - but y'know, have you ever loved before? That's probably a bit prying, but my mouth won't stop moving. God, it won't stop movi- Hold on a sec, my brain's catching up with me now, do you think I'm a lot more preferable because I'm not her or because I look better than her? Tom, I think I'm too curious to stop, you've got to get us out of the Link-"

Harry's inability to shut up for even a second didn't seem to have affected Riddle's comprehension at all. "Much to his regret, yes, he still thinks Hepzibah was worth the trouble, the Trophy had incredible value even before I fragmented my soul. Then: no, it couldn't possibly affect my ambitions. Love? I'm not sure, it's theoretically possible, but that in itself is a lucky guess, considering I tolerate their ridiculous adulation to maintain loyalty; I've no interest in any scared and shaking sycophants, especially not Bellatrix. And I think both, I suppose, but surely you must know Hepzibah pales in comparison to you," he said, and then made a sort of wrenched out screaming noise. His hands were embedded deeply in the curtains, rigid with exertion, and with this comment, they began to come loose. "I can't get us out either-"

"Do you ever get jealous? That they've felt love and you haven't?"

"Of course I do," Riddle said, miraculously condescending, despite how great a window into his soul he'd just unintentionally built. "My mother forced my father to love her. I've never been able to smell anything but blood in Amortentia. That says enough about my ability to feel it."

"It doesn't. Nobody's ever loved you-" at this, Riddle actually winced "-but that's not because you don't deserve it. It's because your magical talent blinded people, y'know. Everyone liked you because of what you could do for them, right? Even the Death Eaters."

Riddle scowled. "You have that same burden, and yet your friends are devoted to you. Purely. Not for self-serving reasons."

"I got lucky. Circumstance and blood purity don't matter as much in Gryffindor. And truthfully, they shouldn't in Slytherin, either, but thanks to your house's founder, you're sort of saddled with that. I haven't been, though. I found people who love me for me, not because I'm the Boy Who Lived."

"You believe your house granted you that luck? Not your inherent ability to come off as caring, genuine, and sweet? Which I had to fake so desperately, and likely ultimately failed at, if we examine Dumbledore's level of trust for me."

Harry, absurdly, flushed a deep red. "Thanks. But it's really my house. It's not inherent. People don't think I'm genuine. They think I'm doing it for more attention, or because I was raised to bathe in the glory of being famous, or because my dad was, according to Snape, an arrogant prat. It runs in my family, apparently. Potters are egomaniacs who live and breathe the limelight."

This got him a disdainful scoff. "Who would really believe that?"

"The whole school. People made anti-Potter badges during the Triwizard Tournament. Cedric was the real Hogwarts Champion. And I won't ever debate that, they were right about him, he honestly was the real Champion. He was brilliant. And then there was me. I'm alright with that. Happy, even. I actually suffocate under the spotlight. But, I just. Thought I might be ignored, not outright- well, whatever that was."

"And yet your friends still love you. Have you ever once doubted that?"

"That's not because of me, that's because of them." Harry looked at him, imploring. "Surely you don't believe it was your fault nobody loved you?"

"Of course it was my fault," Riddle snapped. "I used my friends like Chess pieces."

"They signed up to get used, in the hopes that they would get somewhere with it. You don't think your Death Eaters are actually your friends, do you? Could you sit down and have a chat with any of them?"

"I'd rather destroy my own Horcruxes personally."

"Then they're not your friends! Go make a genuine friend. Then you'll see."

Riddle smiled incredulously down at him. "Believe it or not, I already have."

"Really? Who are they? Where are they?" This was fantastic news, Harry had so much to tell them, he'd make certain Riddle would see that he wasn't unlovable by default. Even if he had to do it himself.

"They're standing right in front of me."

Harry blinked. "See, I knew it was right to hug you," he said. "Thanks. I'm kind of useless at saying things like this. But thanks. I'm glad. After all, I am great."

Riddle shot him a dry glare. "I find I cannot contain my laughter."

"But, if we can be friends, then that just proves my point, doesn't it?"

"I don't look like the man who killed your parents. Thanks to your soul, there are a great many times where I find I don't have to act like him, either."

"I don't know about your other half. But I've forgiven you for it. You want to change."

"I want to be sane," Riddle corrected, gently.

"And, with your sane mind, would you say you'd still go back and kill them?"

"No. I'd want to, I want you as my Horcrux. But you're a talented, kind boy. You have so much magical potential. You never deserved the weight of their deaths pressing down on you."

"I love them so much. What you did is still disgusting. But you've been on your spiral into insanity for a long time." He hummed, thumbing through scattered pictures of Hermione's books in his mind. "What did I read about law? You have to be of sound mind and body to be tried? You definitely weren't. You still meant it, and you didn't feel remorse. But your judgement was honestly shot to hell. Could someone have talked you out of it?"

"Now, they could. Not back then."

"Pretty shot to hell, then."

"And what if I never change? What if I'm like my counterpart for the rest of eternity? Would I still be worthy of love, then?"

"I wouldn't want you to be. I'd hate you. But you'd still deserve it. Even more than that, you need it, don't you?"

Riddle actually startled. "Need it? I wouldn't call it a necessity, Harry. Not like eating, sleeping, breathing."

"It is, though. You die if you can't eat, or sleep, or breathe. But look at how much of yourself you killed. Look at how gladly you rid yourself of your own soul." He frowned. "You're in this state not just because you weren't loved, but because people treated you like you didn't need to be."

"That's what you believe?"

"Yeah. Yeah, it is."

Riddle returned to gazing through the slightly-parted curtains. "It's rather too late now. Who could love me, after this?"

"Give it some time, and we'll be best mates for life. Best soul-mates. Hah. Soulmates." Riddle looked at him blankly. "Because, coincidental- oh, nevermind."

"And when the shards of my soul are restored to my body? Will you be as willing?"

"As long as you want to be friends, so do I. Even if you still look like a big snake." Harry winked. "We can make your Death Eaters think we're criticising their every move by talking in Parseltongue. I could ask you if you wanted to go play bloody Quidditch and they'd think we were completely tearing them down. Just look intently in their direction and make 'hmm'ing noises once in a while. It'll work like a charm."

"Are you sure you're a Gryffindor?"

"I'll have you know that red is the best colour, and green is terrible."

"House loyalty." Riddle huffed. "Green is much better, but you simply won't admit it to yourself."

They stood like that for a while, quiet in the dark, just breathing. "What will I tell everyone?" Harry asked.

"Will they be more or less likely to kill me if they know we're friends, do you figure?"

"I should tell them you want to be. They need to trust you."

"I know. I'm not quite sure why I've told you any of this in the first place."

Harry parroted Riddle's own words back at him, "I asked you nicely."

"And it worked better than Imperius."

The cheery mood dissipated. Harry went white. "You think our connection is worse than an Unforgivable?"

"Not worse. Stronger." Riddle, for no conceivable reason, was wearing a manic sort of smirk. "Soul magic is stronger than an Unforgivable. And I have direct access to it. We both do. What else does our connection hold? The possibilities are endless. The power I seek is willingly lying down in my hands, and the only consequence is a looseness of tongue I find I don't particularly care about. I'm not even bothered!"

"Your counterpart will. You might still be, when we get out of here."

"He will see what I see. The power is too great to give up."

Harry felt ill. "What if he doesn't? What if he's too mad to see?"

"Then," Riddle growled, "I'll make him see."

"How do you propose to do that?"

"Show him this memory."

"And if he still won't?"

"You can just ask him to."

"He won't listen."

"Yes, he will."

"He'll never listen to me!"

Riddle buried his hands in his hair, nostrils flaring. "He will in the mindscape!"

Immediately, the both of them seemed to realise the gravity of that statement.

But before they could appropriately lose their minds, the windows shattered, and Hermione and Ron's voices came echoing through the shadowy night outside. At that, Harry promptly passed out.

He woke up with a horrible jolt, stomach lurching. His mind was spinning so quickly, his sight was beginning to blur and twist around him. The world was tilting, and he couldn't seem to organise a thought, and he'd just been dosed with the most potent form of mental Veritaserum imaginable. Tensing, half-blind, and dizzy, he leaned over, and was sick on the floor. Hermione held back his hair and rubbed his back, whispering soothing words he couldn't hear over the ringing in his ears.

Ron unhappily Vanished the mess. "What happened?"

Hermione hugged him tightly. "Are you alright, Harry? You were tossing and turning and thrashing around, and you'd gotten quite pale and sweaty. We were worried something had gone wrong."

Oh, nothing, he thought about saying. My parents' killer just divulged any secret that came to mind because I asked him to. I had complete control over him. And it didn't really bother me, really, I was thinking more along the lines of how to use it to help us win. Everything's just fine! He tried, but his mouth wouldn't make any sound.

"It's okay," said Ron. "You've been so composed and all, but I think you have a right to a little breakdown."

Harry half-laughed, half-sobbed. "So, I don't think Voldemort has any filters around me, either," he said. But talking about that still made him want to retch. So instead, he continued, "And I'm beginning to think he might be capable of true feeling, or at least something close to it, even though the Order insists he isn't. He didn't kill me when I pushed too far. That's leaps and bounds compared to, well, every other reaction he's ever had, y'know, with the love of genocide and insane bloodlust and disregard for life. And- and everything." He had to physically lock his jaw in order to keep himself from rambling. "Yeah, no control. Over my speech. At all. That's probably obvious."

Ron made a horrified little sound. "Oh, Merlin, I- does You-Know-Who actually like you now?"

"What? No, nothing like that, I'm not even sure if that would be worse." Harry breathed deeply. "We completely lost control in the Mindscape, that's how I know about the feeling," he elaborated. "I mean, completely. Riddle's very, uh, charming, and it makes him too easy to talk to. And I'm naturally curious, but I have some tact, except for now, because, our connection and all, and- did I tell you he seduced a woman for a Horcrux? I didn't know until Dumbledore showed me. It was awful. And I was so curious, why would he do that, why'd he go that far? And I asked-" Harry was chewing his tongue, now, from the effort of restraining his unbearable babbling. "He said it wasn't one of his finest moments. I asked if, y'know, he had ever truly loved in his life. Which was rude." He shrugged helplessly. "We ended up in an incredibly long conversation about it. And he seemed to want it. Genuinely. To love and to be loved. Fucking Voldemort."

"Want it? Who'd he even love? His Death Eaters? Only the people willing to kiss his arse, but not too much?" Ron said, and then winced. "I- that came out a bit wrong, didn't it?"

"Apparently not his Death Eaters," Harry offered. "No love lost there."

"Oh, okay, I don't have to join you in being sick now, then."

Harry laughed, slightly hysterical. "I feel terrible. He didn't have a choice in telling me, but I kept on asking. Shite. I can't believe..."

"Isn't it an advantage?" Hermione asked. He and Ron turned to gape like fish at her. "I mean, if Riddle talks to you, it's possible that crosses over to the actual, physical Lord Voldemort, doesn't it? And he's more likely to be lenient with you, because you hold his soul." She blinked. "Merlin, I'm not saying do what he did, manipulate people left and right. I'm just pointing out it might not actually be all that... bad?"

"But that interpretation is best case scenario, right, 'Mione?" She nodded, guiltily. "I want it to be a real advantage, but I doubt it crosses over. Things could go worse." Harry smiled wanly. "Much worse. Look, what I'm really worried - sorry, absolutely bloody fucking terrified - about isn't that Voldemort may not be entirely invulnerable to emotion after all, it's that Voldemort would die before he told me about something this personal in the real world. Liability is weakness, etcetera. Riddle will tell me anything, legitimately anything at all, if I ask. That's a huge threat to Voldemort. He might make me choose between them, in order to protect himself. And he has no hair, no nose, fangs, and claws."

"Are you implying that makes a difference, mate?" Ron snorted, teasing. "So, if You-Know-Who was fit, that'd be okay, then?"

"No, Ron, but- What if he-" Harry didn't finish the sentence.

Ron grinned, but it didn't quite reach far enough. "What? Whisks you away to a tower like a princess?"

"Or worse. Locks me away forever. I'm too much of a risk."

He felt something in his chest twist, and yank, and suddenly a very upset, flustered-looking Riddle was standing in front of him, looking almost close to devastated, for a mass murderer. "You know I would never, Harry!"

"You wouldn't, but Voldemort-"

"I am him!" Riddle cried. "Stop talking about us as if we were different people, Harry. He's my past, present, and future - I've told you this! Everything he does, I do. Everything he wants, I want." Arguably, there were two meanings to that last part that were perfect for one of his usual jokes, but conveniently, Harry's mouth was perfectly alright staying shut for once. Suddenly it felt like anything he could say would doom them, even messing around. "Locking you away would effectively kill you. Only your body would be left, never your mind. I would never lower myself to that level, not even if you weren't a Horcrux."

"Probably Harry's just a bit ruffled that the other you isn't exactly ménage à trois material." Ron's terrible French made Harry choke out a frantic, uncontrolled giggle, and Ron winked. "Isn't that right, Harry?"

But Riddle wasn't having any of it. "I'm him. I'm him. I have all his memories."

"You're sane." Harry threw up his hands. "You're nice to me!"

"He can't help it," Riddle protested. "Fear has driven him mad. You know I'm quite seriously on the brink myself? It's not hard to miss. The last Horcrux you had the pleasure of meeting was entirely Tom, and he painted Hogwarts in blood and tried to kill one of your friends. And then he set a giant snake on you, and watched as you lay poisoned and dying on the floor. That's hardly 'charming'."

"You're really wooing me," Harry said.

"Don't sugarcoat me, Harry! I kept up that façade for my years at school, not now!" Riddle gripped his shoulders. "I've been trying to teach you to stay a realist."

"The Dark Lord wouldn't even bat an eye at this, Riddle," Harry said. "He wouldn't get offended at implications. He'd probably be excited I was imagining all sorts of ways to do his job for him."

"He's lost his mind and hasn't spent sixteen years intertwined with your soul. If you removed my memories, I'd be just as excited. But I know you."

"And Voldemort doesn't know me."

"No, he doesn't," he said. "That's what I'm saying. Once he does, he'll change his mind. He'll do anything for you."

"You're comfortable admitting that?"

"I haven't a choice," Riddle said. "But I trust you not to abuse the power."

"But Voldemort doesn't!"

"But you can show him!"

Harry let out a hysterical, frustrated scream. "Why do you have so much faith in me?"

Riddle shook his shoulders, teeth grit against a familiar rage. "I'm joined to your soul," he ground out.

"And you can see that much good in it? I was almost sorted into Slytherin, and you trust me enough to let me know I can get you to do whatever I'd like?"

"Yes, easily. In a heartbeat, now that I know you."

Harry was speechless.

After an eternity, he asked, "Hey, wait a minute, d'you really think I'm better looking than average?" Riddle gave him no answer, and Harry let himself feel a little smug. "You admitted it, not me! I asked you about Hepzibah, and you went ahead and told me I 'paled in comparison'."

"That's what you choose to take from this?"

"The other stuff has to do with my soul. Which I can't bloody see. But I can see my face, and most of the people who have ever looked at me were just interested because I'm the Chosen One. Like Romilda." He winced. "That was something."

"I am nothing like-"

"Not like that. Romilda was genuinely awful about it. She tried to feed me a love potion!" Harry waved his hands. "It's because I look a lot like you, isn't it, you vain twat?" He laughed. "It doesn't matter, I'm just saying I'm not used to it, is all. And the fact that it's you gives me a free pass to be merciless about it."

Riddle, for a split second, looked something almost like blissful at hearing Harry admit he'd be merciless at anything, the absolute bastard, but immediately smoothed, flowing naturally into a silky smile. "I can help you get used to it, if you'd like."

Harry's cheeks warmed. "Right. Anyway." He cleared his throat. "I guess this isn't really the worst possible scenario. Hermione's right. Even though Voldemort obviously considers himself above seeing the value of human emotions, unlike Riddle, and definitely wants my mouth sewn shut, I can still appeal to his obsession, or at the very least, use his own soul against him. I'm not guaranteed a spot in his tower, and that makes all the difference, right?" He sighed. "So... we can... look on the bright side?"

Riddle ignored this. "Voldemort knows we are one and the same. Can you truly be above the things your perfect mimic is not?"

He grimaced. "I wouldn't like to test it and find out, thanks."

"A fair enough point."

"Shouldn't we- with the Horcruxes? Right now?" Ron started, awkwardly. "You-Know-Who hasn't had any of these revelations. He's still mad at you for taking the piss, right?"

"Shite," Harry said, and then a few times more for good measure. "Riddle, you said there was one in the castle? Where?"

"In the Room of Requirement." At Harry's daunted look, he said, "Don't worry. Both of us will be naturally pulled towards it. And I have the power to float around as I please."

"It's going to talk, isn't it? Try to lie to us like the Diary?"

"As soon as this fragment is aware you're another Horcrux, it'll simply cease trying to kill you and try to protect you instead. You'll be fine. Your friends will be fine."

"Yeah," said Harry, dryly. "This'll be a real walk in the park."

Author's Note: first, to my darling reviewer (on ffn) who caught the history of japan reference in chapter 4. bless you, your review was lovely, and also, that video is the most glorious thing to grace the internet, and i'm so glad to find people who share that love. xx.

right! the notes.

erm. uhm. er. do i have an excuse for this? truthfully, no. no, i don't. at all.

obligatory: "this chapter wasn't rly one i was happy with and one i tried to rewrite like sixteen times" from the author

a lot of the time readers can power through (bless u) one awkward "i wrote this twenty-five times and it shows" chapter, but im my own worst critic and im still going to cry about things in the notes. i promise some things are still right in the world? kind of? it's only that i have actually no control and tOM CAN'T SHUT HIS MOUTH AND ALSO HE JUST WANTS A HUG DAMMIT.

no excuses. im just self-indulgent and want to write about the dark lord voldemort's tru wuv for harry. and kind of (probably mainly) harry getting genuinely flustered at tom's flirting because he knows tom thinks he's ccuuuuu~uuute. forgive me ;a; all i want is reader approval, except i keep pulling shit like this. vaLIDATE MY BAD DECISIONS ;A;. dont but actually do tho.

tHE ACTION WILL RETURN (o wait did it ever make an appearance) NEXT CHAPTER I SWEAR

/also i knowww voldemort doesnt do the wandering around in blood shit until !~THaT GOTTDAM ICONIC DH SCENE IT'S THAT GOOD SHIT~! FAM. FAM. THAT WAS SO EXTRA TOM WHAT THE FUCK. but shhhh. shhh. i had to ok? i will be unapologetic abt this one smol detail and nothing else

/when ur extra self-conscious about ur writing bc the sherlock finale like

/hey bitch do u rly rly rly wanna go hard?/ tHANKS mofftiss. girl run ur own show but dont be on some ho shit.