(TW: Sexual scene.)

Darkside, Oshins

Do what it takes
You must do what it takes
The Devil is not polite

One little lie
Or ten little lies
Won't keep you up at night

Will you cross over?
Will you cross over?
Will you cross over
To the darkside?

If they call you
Backstabber, betrayer
Black magic, that traitor
Backstabber, betrayer
Black magic, that traitor
You made it, you made it
You madе it to the darkside, now
You made it, you madе it
To the darkside

"Why's the Weasley avoiding you?"

"…You can call her Ginny; enough's happened," Harry told Draco. "I did something stupid—worse than stupid." He stopped because they weren't alone and because he didn't want to talk about it.

Every second of radio silence from Ginny was like a knife in his gut.

Reed, Pollux, Pansy, and Ruby were with them in the library while Harry caught up on the first mandatory Arithmancy class—that he'd skipped—which was harder to do with only a distracted, disinterested, and grumpy Tom Riddle to teach him.

Tuesday was one of two days with a free period—his only two. He had his first hand-to-hand combat training after lunch and DADA with Cassiopeia and Slytherins that night. He'd taken the muscle repair potion in preparation, and he was carrying the adrenaline and Pepper-Ups in his bag. He'd say he was entirely apathetic about the competition if anyone asked him. He'd gotten himself into a larger situation. He didn't want to train; he didn't want to fight. No one had asked. If anyone asked Tom, on the other hand, he was so thrilled at the prospect he was nauseous. If he wasn't panicking or nitpicking about their insane plan, he was talking about December.

"…Ginny, then," Draco said.

"So, you know what's happening in December? Because my cousin said that her friend, who goes to Beauxbatons, said you were there with the Dark Lord, and that they were invited here. To Hogwarts. Is that true?" Pansy asked.

"I dunno if I can…" He trailed off and spun in his seat at the pull that told him the Dark Lord was nearby, in the library during his free period. "…Can say?" He finished.

Voldemort was getting closer, but he couldn't see him. There was no sign or sound to indicate he was in the library. When he was so close that Harry knew he had to be able to see him, he understood that he was under the cloak. His cloak. The Dark Lord was standing right behind him, breathing over his shoulder.

"Oh, psh, come on. They said it like it was a sure thing. And the Skeeter article? Everyone is talking about it," Pansy pressed.

"Skeeter is pure drivel," Draco said.

"Has anyone… Read her flier?" Harry asked, doing his best to pretend that Voldemort wasn't there, being a blatant, stalking thief, and trying to steer the conversation away from December, Pansy being the only one at the table who didn't know, and the rest of them under an Irretio Charm.

"My mum used to. Years ago, though," Pansy said.

"Skeeter is pure drivel." Pollux said, "Ruby, will you shut up? Shut up."

"Sorry," Reed said, "We'll talk out loud."

"She did get hepatitis from a Muggle playground, though," Ruby said, "I swear that's what she said. And they had to regrow her whole face at Saint Mungo's."

"What?" Pansy said.

"I doubt they had to regrow her face," Reed said.

"That's what she said."

Pollux was covering his ears, so Reed put her hand on Ruby's shoulder. She frowned and stopped talking, glaring at her brother.

By then, Harry could smell cedar, and hear the Dark Lord breathing in the silence.

"…I'm just gonna say it: I think the no glasses suits him," Pansy said, nodding at Harry.

He'd been busy staring bug-eyed at arithmancy gibberish. "Huh?"

"No glasses? Suits you," she repeated.

"Oh. Yeah. Got my eyes fixed." He felt like a broken record. He swallowed again, trying not to do so repeatedly, smoothing his face when a frown wormed its way on.

'What is he doing?' Harry wondered.

'Making us uncomfortable for sport, as far as I can tell.'

'…How do we make him regret it?'

'It would be fun to tear the cloak off, but I have another idea.'

"Pansy, can you contact your cousin's friend?" Tom asked.

"I… Guess so? Why?"

"I was thinking about getting in touch with one of the students there."

'Are you trying to imitate me?' Harry wondered. 'You're not doing a good job.'

'It won't matter; watch this.'

"Who?" Pansy asked, and Tom grinned.

"His name's Marc Dufresne."

The Dark Lord shoved Harry's head into his books with a dull crack, giving the impression that he'd had sharply head-butted the table. Tom laughed when he sat up, nose bleeding, probably more alarming. Pansy looked horrified, looking around at the others as if to confirm they'd seen what she'd seen.

'Got you.' Tom was smug in his head.

"Why would you do that?" Pansy asked, growing more bewildered when only Ruby seemed to share her enthusiasm.

"Can someone get this?" He asked, head back, holding his nose, voice nasal as blood poured down his throat.

Draco healed his face, more curious than suspicious, and Ruby removed the blood from the books and his face. Throughout, Voldemort didn't leave, lingering behind him.

'Wait, is he jealous?' Harry wondered.

'Easiest way to force his hand.'

'You mean your hand?'

Tom didn't answer that question, but he didn't need to. 'I believe this is further along than I initially thought.'

'What do you mean?'

'Jealousy is telling. We might win this yet.'

"No one is answering me; he just hit the table with his face so hard?" Pansy repeated, and Pollux snorted a laugh, not looking up from his book.

"Accident," Harry said.

"Accident?" Ruby said. "How?"

"Uh. Head got heavy? I'm… Going to go and find Ginny." He wasn't going to look for her. He knew where she was and who she was with. He wasn't insane enough to talk to her about Charlie with the Dark Lord hovering over his shoulder.

"I'm so confused. Does he want me to owl my cousin?" Pansy said as he left.

"You're insane," he said in Parseltongue once he was out of the earshot of all but his probably baffled bodyguards. Voldemort had followed him out, apparently not dislodged by Tom's attempt.

'Which one was Marc Dufresne?' Harry wondered.

'You are hilarious.'

'Why?'

'He was the one fucking you with his eyes,' Tom thought.

'We're talking about France, right? Beauxbatons?'

'…Incredible. The one with the curly hair, tied up?'

'Oh. Oh? He was? …No, he wasn't. I think you're reading too much into it.'

'Regardless of whether you noticed, it is a tool in our arsenal.'

'Always talking like it's war.'

'It is war.' Tom was taking them somewhere, moving his legs so confidently Harry forgot they were his.

'What are you doing?' He wondered when he realised they were headed for the Room of Requirement.

'Bait.'

'What?'

'I am laying bait.'

'I don't like your tone.'

'No matter what I do or say, don't panic. I need to gauge something.'

'Now I hate your tone,' Harry nearly stopped on the stairs leading to his room, the Dark Lord right behind.

Tom paced, then stood with his back on the doors to hiss Parseltongue into the hallway, "I was going to make him cum before class. You are welcome to join us. If you ask nicely." Then, because Harry nearly collapsed, he thought, 'Relax, he won't.'

"…Or you can watch." Tom continued, walking backwards into their room, tapping Harry's temple, a savage smile on his face as he cleared all their contraband thoughts.

'What?!'

'…Relax.' Tom closed the doors as the thread that bound them to Voldemort abruptly disconnected, signalling that he'd Disapparated.

'He's gone? Does that mean he's not going to…? Aren't you telling him too much?'

'He has told us plenty; he knows we know what he is doing; it is clear what he wants.' Tom unbuttoned his robes, folded them, and set them on one of the armchairs, smirking at nothing.

'He's gone, though; you're acting like he's gonna-'

'If he takes this free 'win', Harry, I can assume several things.' Tom continued to sweep away their thoughts as they came, stripping his clothes methodically while Harry struggled to breathe past the heart in his neck, 'If he does, focus on me.'

'What… But he left? It'd be pretty hard to focus on any- Oh fuck off, no way.'

'There he is. Are you ready?' His grin was manic, eyes wild and vibrating with the force of his pulse.

'No? Fuck no... I mean, are you sure about this? I-'

'Focus on me,' Tom thought as he allowed the Dark Lord into their head, adrenaline nearly buckling his knees.

Voldemort examined his thoughts casually, nonchalantly, while Harry panicked.

'I'm more likely to freak out than cu- oh.'

Tom summoned the curse while he tried to object, leashing it around his neck. Suddenly, the Dark Lord watching was less horrifying, becoming something else entirely.

"Don't worry about him," Tom crooned.

He realised he was already whimpering, leaning into it, forgetting why he was anxious to begin with, as Tom trailed his hands down his bare chest, finishing the buttons on his pants and tearing them down.

'He just wants to watch,' there was laughter in his thoughts, a smugness that grew when he tightened the darkness around Harry's throat, then wound it down his torso, making him moan and roll his hips. He'd fallen against the wall, unable to hold his own weight.

'Who is it you want, Harry?'

'You,' was the easy answer.

A yawning hunger grew with his thoughts, an obsessive and intoxicating cloud that blinded him to all but Tom. A need to feel him had been expanding alongside it since he'd been pinned to the Snakewood tree, one that felt like it might grow to consume him. 'You.' he repeated.

"What do you want me to do?" The Parseltongue was neatly placed, somehow vibrating right through him.

"Make me cum. Please. Tom."

"Good, Harry. Show me how badly you want me." He snaked the curse around his legs as Harry bucked his hips hopelessly, Tom's hands still not on his cock. Though he desperately wished they were, they didn't need to be; the pressure built anyway.

"Please…" He'd lost control of his body, Tom in charge of his hands, not allowing them lower while he writhed, moaning, wrapped in the darkness. "Tom. I'm-"

"Cum for me."

He immediately did as he was told, crying out. Every inch of his skin lit with the stinging agony of the curse, sinking deep into his muscles where the pleasure was blooming, exploding through him in the way only Tom could incite. Like a supernova that blinded him, stunned him every time.

'La mienne. Avec tant de douceur. Aisément,' Tom thought, laughing softly while Harry gasped, fighting to stay upright.

The Dark Lord pulled back from their mind without a word.

"Uh…" Harry yanked his pants up, face blazing. "What the fuck."

"Well done."

"Well done?" He snorted a shocked laugh.

Tom was so smug it was tangible, grinning, his eyes squashed into slits with the force of it, repeatedly huffing like it was hilarious.

"What is going on with you? What was that?"

"War."

"You said that you think it's further along? That you could assume several things if he took the bait? What things? How long do you think this will take then?" The questions tumbled out one on top of the other while he ran the shower.

"He was willing to show his hand to watch you. He wanted to see you. Us. His curiosity outweighed logic. And I have no idea how long; I have never been this… Enthralled."

"Enthralled? You are? You think he is?"

"You make me hideously weak. As for him, he wants to annihilate you. A fair fight, you see."

"Huh," Harry said as he re-stripped his pants and stepped into the hot water.

"Huh?"

"You're trying to distract me from how you said I'm enthralling."

"I am not."

"You are."

"No I'm not stop it. You should be paying more attention to the word annihilate."

"Yeah, but you think we stand a chance?"

"Maybe."

"And you're enthralled."

"Harry."

"Tom."

"Forget that I said that."

"Probably not."

His new hand-to-hand instructor was a stocky, brown-haired man named Gale Everglade. As the class was an elective, there was a mix of houses and year levels, though only fourth-years and higher could enrol.

All the students who'd been chosen by the Dark Lord to participate in his classes had opted to take Physical Combat Training, and so he and Draco had fought while Tom and Gale both corrected Harry's stance and technique repeatedly. He'd used his potions and technically won, but it was allegedly a messy win.

Tom had pulled Reed aside at the end of the lesson and asked her to meet him at the Room of Requirement after Harry finished Defence Against the Dark Arts that night. She'd agreed, frowning, then shrugging.

Cassiopeia had immediately taken him away from the group when he approached her on the lawn, yelling over her shoulder for her students to 'Beat the shit out of each other'.

"I gave Ginny your message. She nodded and said, 'Thank you.' With a scary, blank expression," she said. "And oh, look who's in the trees again. Stalking you." She jerked her head in the direction he assumed the Dark Lord was.

Harry couldn't feel him, too far for the thread to pull at his middle, but Cassiopeia could hear him.

She cast privacy wards around them and said, "How's that going?"

"Err," Harry said. "Did Ginny really just say thank you?"

"Yeah. Sorry kiddo. She was looking right through me."

"I need you to witness another vow," Tom said, keeping Harry's eyes away from the tree line.

She laughed, then tackled him to the ground. "You remind me of someone. I owe you an ass-kicking first."

Though their magic was strong, fighting a vampire was an exhausting undertaking. She was increasing the difficulty, throwing more and more unnatural and underhanded tactics at him each time they fought. The curse was shockingly effective, but Cassiopeia, like the Dark Lord, was growing resistant to it.

This, combined with Tom's continued relinquishing of the reins, pushing Harry to fight for himself, and the tie that bound him to the Dark Lord announcing that he was close and watching, landed them in a draw that night.

He was one of the first to walk away from the lawn, Cassiopeia beside him, when his head was suddenly ringing, splitting with pain. It took him a few seconds to register that he was bleeding, that someone had thrown a rock at the back of his skull. Whoever had thrown it was yelling, the words garbled until his senses returned. He turned, mostly baffled.

A Gryffindor had thrown the stone, screaming, "Traitor!" At the top of his lungs. Harry didn't even know his name, a new student. Presumably, the result of either the continuous changing of the laws or the destruction of Azkaban, making the whole thing stranger in Harry's opinion.

Tom held up a hand to stop Cassiopeia and the advancing Death Eaters from rushing across the lawn with their wands ready. "Heal my head, will you? I am dizzy," he said, showing the vampire the blood on his palm. She tsked, doing as he'd commanded.

"You're right," Harry told the unnamed seventh-year, loud to drown his voice out. He stopped immediately, the Slytherins and Gryffindors muttering, then falling silent. "I am. A traitor. I don't stand with the Order. I'm a Death Eater." He repeatedly clicked his fingers to ensure they were listening, "Next one dies screaming."

Tom was grinning like a maniac. Harry turned away to find Cassiopeia smiling the exact same way.

"Grr," she said, laughing as they made their way to the castle doors. "You okay, champ?"

"…Please don't call me champ."

"Little limpet boy?"

"What does that even mean."

"I like it. Who are you swearing to a vow this time?"

"Reed," Harry said. "She's dangerous." Then he thought, 'Are we going to tell her anything? Because I really don't want to. Is there a way-'

'I will not tell her anything.'

'Okay. Good… Thank you.' For some reason, thanking him made his face red.

"He's following us. Under your cloak? When did he get that?" She whispered when they reached the library annex.

"For the Skeeter interview. Won't give it back," Harry muttered.

"Oh, wow. Harry. Harry, he's gonna get you."

"Why would you say it like that?"

Her eyes were as wide as her grin, made frightening by her black eyes and sparkling fangs. Then she giggled, running up the staircases and dragging Harry with her until they were sprinting through the transfiguration courtyard. Then up another half dozen sets of stairs, their Death Eater entourage begging them to stop, left at the bottom of the third staircase, wheezing for air.

Reed startled when they barrelled up the staircase, laughing and breathless. Cassiopeia held a hand up to silence them and listened, blinking. Then she was laughing all over again.

"Quick, open the doors," Cassiopeia shoved Harry, and he did, pacing while Reed questioned. "He kept up I'm going to die of laughter please," she was buckling while Harry frowned, opening the doors, and gesturing them both in.

(AN: Tom: Watch this. Harry: *Dunked repeatedly*. Ya'll, I literally have to close my writing program to get work done. I zone out on what I'm supposed to be doing; suddenly, I'm fucking six-hundred words deep. Possessed.)