T/W: Physical abuse, manipulation

Chapter Twenty-Seven: The Riddle House

The marble headstone seemed too small for the space she occupied in Harry's mind. A few mourners away, he heard Bella sobbing profusely, a black veil obscuring her face. He knew she was really crying, but he wondered if she was still trying to play it up for the Dark Lord's attention. He'd had plenty of time to prepare, reliving the feeling of Nagini's death over and over until it too became only numbness. He couldn't show weakness now that his two only allies were gone.

The Dark Lord's hand rested on his shoulder, it may have looked comforting to the other mourners and the Daily Prophet reporter standing thirty feet away, but Harry knew better. This is your fault.

Still, it was hard to mask his sense of grim satisfaction. He'd gotten the diadem, and even better. The previous night, he'd finally gained a fraction of control …

Harry gripped the bottle tightly in his jacket pocket, willing himself to shield his plan for the task at hand from the Dark Lord's view. Occulemency was the branch of magic he struggled with the most, although he suspected that had entirely to do with the fact that Professor Snape kept that part of their lessons quiet and brief. He waited a beat for the door to open.

The Dark Lord sat at his desk, holding a venomous orange serpent. Its fangs were pressed against the cap on a vial, forcing venom to slowly collect at the bottom.

"It's astonishing what you can accomplish when you've got the proper motivation." The Dark Lord said in a cutting voice. "I'm pleased you finally dispatched the blood traitor again." It didn't matter, Harry knew the only reason he'd even gotten this far was because the Dark Lord simply didn't feel the need to observe their return trip.

"I saw something interesting this evening in Ron Weasley's memory." Harry said, stopping in the exact same spot he had a hundred times before in front of the desk.

"I highly doubt that."

"I saw his memory of the Order of the Phoenix's escape from the ministry several nights ago." Harry's heart pounded in his chest, he took the diadem out of his pocket and held in aloft in his right hand. He only had one chance to do this. "So … if this prophecy says I can only be killed by your hand, why did you stop Regulus Black from casting the killing curse? You didn't show me that part."

"You would prefer I allowed him to harm you?" The Dark Lord set the snake back in its tank, but his tone did not change. "I've been hit by the killing curse many times before, it is actually quite painful."

"I can imagine." The burn on Harry's arm seared in agony, he reached into his pocket for the second item. "But it's actually because you don't know what happens, isn't it? You need me alive, because it means no one else can kill you. But is direct inaction in preventing someone from killing me also dying by the hand of the other?"

He pulled out the bottle of fiendfyre he'd stolen from the vendor's stand, and held it loosely in his left hand. One little slip, and it would shatter on the floor.

"This is my final warning—"

"Two horcruxes, and fiendfyre is nearly impossible to control." It was taking every ounce of Harry's willpower to not simply smash it on the ground and set the whole house on fire. "I wonder if you'd be fast enough to at least save the … backup plan, as you called it?" He waived the diadem in his right hand.

The Dark Lord did not say anything, did not blink. The expression on his face remained neutral, but Harry could feel his anger boiling, like scalding water in a kettle. But it didn't matter, he knew he wasn't bluffing. For one moment, Harry had all the cards … He needed to do this before the dark mark became permanent.

"Very well," the corners of his mouth hooked into a forced smile. "What would you like?"

"I have three conditions." Harry felt his palm sweat onto the bottle of fiendfyre, he hadn't expected to make it this far. "First that you will spare the lives of James Potter, and Lily Evans and …" he thought quickly, careful to close any loopholes, "they cannot be killed or harmed on your orders."

He didn't know how he felt about Lily and James, but that seemed like an adequate tradeoff for what had happened to them. Perhaps he'd stop thinking about them so much if he didn't feel like he owed James something. Although it was increasingly hard for him to not despise Lily for what she'd done.

"Agreed," the Dark Lord said after a moment of consideration. "They will not be killed by myself or my followers, and will not be harmed unless they attack. I will not order my followers to forgo protecting themselves, if their lives are at risk. What else?"

"You'll pardon Draco for his involvement in Snape's plan, he was only involved because I asked him to help. He'll be allowed to return—"

"That's out of the question," the Dark Lord breathed. "I have no use for a Death Eater whose loyalty lies elsewhere."

"But—"

"You'll learn, in negotiating you don't get everything you ask for," the Dark Lord said condescendingly. "You are trying my patience …"

"There's no difference between his involvement and mine—"

"Besides the fact that you're not a Death Eater, you mean?" the Dark Lord's smiled wider, sensing that he was losing ground. "You, the only survivor between your siblings, who gains the most from my work? But by all means, Harry, continue to stand there and complain about how unfair your life is."

"Then I don't want to be possessed again," Harry felt his heart pounding, he had to act quickly before he lost all three terms. "I saw myself in the memory, I want to know you can't force me to hurt anyone without me knowing …"

There was silence, Harry only knew time hadn't stopped because of the monotonous tick of the mantle clock.

"Agreed," the Dark Lord nodded. "But that is entirely conditional to your ability to control yourself, I cannot guarantee that any further murder-suicide threats will receive the same diplomacy. Now …" He stood up, holding out his hand expectantly for the fiendfyre. "Are you quite finished?"

Harry considered his options, he'd gotten more than he expected. He could feel the strings of the magical contract, one simple word and it would be finalized.

"Okay," Harry nodded, his hand shaking as he held out the bottle of fiendfyre. It was done. The Dark Lord strode around from behind the desk, and Harry instinctively took a step back, holding the bottle as far away from his body as possible.

But instead, the Dark Lord's hand closed over his left arm, yanking him forward and the bottle away in one swift motion. Harry grit his teeth in pain, feeling blood weep over the newly formed skin on his forearm. He dropped the diadem.

"It seems the message hasn't quite sunken in yet, has it?" the Dark Lord breathed. "If you ever try to pull something like that again, I'll make sure it's an eternity before you see daylight. Morsmorde!"

It felt like needles, driving their way into the burn marks, rendering it a permanent jet-black stain on his arm. He flung Harry away from him with all his might. Harry felt another bruise forming on his other arm from where he hit the floor.

"Get out, I've still got much to do ahead of your sister's funeral in a few hours."

Another cry from the crowd brought Harry back into himself. The casket was made of an elegant black wood, above it the stone epitaph read:

Beloved Daughter and Sister

We sing to you, dark gods beneath the earth, grant her passage

Well, about half of it was true, he thought bitterly. But there was a reason the Dark Lord had had so much success expanding out his control in recent years. There'd been reports of inferi as far west as France. The graveyard of Little Hangleton marked each Death Eater that'd lost his or her life in service, but they too were not allowed rest in death. Harry knew, without a fraction of a doubt, that the reason it'd been a closed casket had nothing to do with Nagini's decapitation.

They still had her body.

James looked up at the Riddle House, a dull ache gnawing at his chest. He wanted to smash each and every window; pull out the teeth of that thing, that monster that had latched itself onto his son's soul like a parasite. James didn't care about the prophecy, he'd find a way to kill Riddle himself. He stood under the invisibility cloak beside Snape, time did little to heal their rivalry. After all, it was his fault that they were standing there, he'd heard the full prophecy and delivered it to Riddle.

So why did James want to make him leave?

"Do you remember the plan, Potter?" Snape asked in a faraway voice. James noticed that he was looking instead to the small cemetery adjacent to the town.

"Second floor, seventh door on the left." James repeated, visualizing the layout Snape showed him of the house.

"I cannot stress it enough; you need to get Harry out immediately." Snape said, his black eyes boring into James, although James knew he could not see him. "Or else the Dark Lord will know of our plan; you have to stun him—"

"No—"

"James," Snape snapped, his knuckles whitening around his wand. "I can only guarantee you ten minutes, you don't have time—"

"I'm not Tom Riddle," James said forcefully, he didn't know how else to explain himself. "I don't make people do things when they don't want to."

"That is a touching sentiment, but entirely misplaced." Snape said, his eyes flashing dangerously. "This is escalating, like it or not. Teenagers are not notoriously good decision makers under the best of circumstances, and we have no idea what excuse the Dark Lord made up for your escape." James saw a slight tremor in Snape's hand. "I can buy you ten minutes, that is all; I cannot guarantee that my torture and death will entertain Voldemort long."

"How are you even planning on getting us in?!" James hissed, looking back at the looming shape of the house on the hill. "They've definitely rearranged the wards against you by now."

Snape smiled; a quiet fear still creased in the lines on his face.

"Simple, I intend to knock." Snape raised his wand arm aloft and yelled, "morsmorde!"

The dark mark erupted into the evening sky, a twisting constellation that occupied the majority of James's worst memories. He'd found the bodies of so many friends and allies under that mark … watched Frank's son choke to death under it … followed it like a beacon into the Forbidden Forest. No more, Riddle had destroyed the lives of too many people …

James watched in shock as a blue light shot up the manor gates. Snape strode forward to open them without protest. As James walked closer, he felt like the house itself was watching him, leering and mocking James with all it had taken. Snape walked in silence several paces ahead of James, unwilling to let go of his grudge even in the final hour of his life. But James was grateful, he couldn't stomach any more of this. He'd helped Snape stop Ron's bleeding, and sewn the stab wound shut. It was so incalculably cold, and Ron still wouldn't admit Harry did it. James would never forget the look on Peter's face when he died, he would not allow these people to force his son to become a murderer.

James's heart pounded in his throat as the door to the manor house opened, revealing a burly Rodolphus Lestrange. James noticed Lestrange was wearing a suit, he was caught slightly off guard, he only ever saw Death Eaters in their uniforms.

"Severus?" Lestrange smiled, unable to mask the sadism his voice. "We were beginning to wonder if you'd chopped your arm off." From inside, James heard multiple voices, his blood ran cold, he hadn't expected so many of them to be there at once.

"I am not here to speak with you," Snape said curtly.

"Of course," Lestrange stepped aside. He didn't bother to take Snape's wand; they both knew where he was going. "Please, follow me … everyone will be so delighted to see you."

A part of James simply wanted to blast Lestrange in the face with a curse, to make him crawl back to the rest of the inner circle like a cockroach. But he knew that he'd blow his cover, and everything Snape had sacrificed. Further back in the house, James could hear multiple voices overlapping. Snape followed Lestrange further into the house towards the voices. James paused, waiting for them to leave. He saw light glowing down the hallway into a very familiar parlor room. James could still hear the little girl screaming for her life, maybe if he did this right, he could prevent something like that from ever happening again.

James took a deep breath and began to climb a magnificent stairway in the foyer to the manor house. The inside of the Riddle House did not mask itself as well as the exterior, James saw a massive painting of several vultures eating carrion in the stairway and a white marble statue of a veiled woman's head that seemed to breathe as James walked by. Not in James's wildest imagination could he picture three small children in that house.

The screams started from downstairs, but James could also hear multiple spells hitting the walls. Snape wouldn't go down without a fight. James gripped his wand tighter, he needed to focus. There will be time, he told himself, you can ask him about it later, you don't need to think about all the awful things that could—

James felt his breath hitch in his throat, further down the hallway he saw Harry examining his own reflection in a mirror. He didn't look harmed, but James knew now that didn't mean anything. A floorboard creaked beneath James, and Harry turned around in surprise before a stunning spell hit him square in the chest. James cast a charm to slow his fall, before he realized his mistake.

In the weeks since the battle at Hogwarts, the lighting scar haunted every corner of his dreams. James knew immediately it was a curse scar on Harry, and ever since his escape from the Department of Mysteries there was not a shred of doubt in James's mind that the scar was a leftover mark from the horcrux somehow. So why didn't this person have it?

Nymphadora Tonks's features morphed back into place as she lay unconscious on the floor. James could only stare at her in shock, before he heard a second woman's voice laughing in his ear. A spell hit James in the back of the neck, and he knew no more.

James felt himself ripped back into the conscious world. His vision was blurry, he'd lost his glasses. He was upside down, and felt his ankles locked in place by shackles. James tried to move his arms, but felt another person's weight keeping them in place. James turned his head to see his arms cuffed tightly to the unmoving body of Severus Snape.

James's ears rang with laughter. The pressure around his ankles gave way, and James and Snape both crashed head-first to the floor. Snape groaned in pain, and James felt relieved that he was still alive. James felt unfamiliar hands slam his glasses back onto his face. The room came back into focus, Tom Riddle was watching James with a conceited smile. He was surrounded on all sides by Death Eaters, most of which James recognized as department heads or very high-ranking officials. The Lestranges, Macnair, Rookwood, the Carrows, Crouch, Nott—it was as if someone had found a list of all the people James hated most in the world.

But there was only one person that mattered to James.

Harry was on the other side of the room, looking back at James in apparent shock. Please don't do anything, James tried to project his thoughts across the room without saying anything, please, please, get him to make you leave. I don't want you to see this.

"Did you think," Tom Riddle began, his quiet voice ringing in James's ears. "That I would not reinforce my home's protections after the ordeal you put me through at the ministry? Or even better, that Nymphadora Black would not recognize such a pitiful disguise in the village? Honestly James, if I'd known all it took to get your attention was slaughtering a blood traitor, I would have had it done years ago."

Good, they didn't know Ron was still alive. Tom Riddle paused, walking methodically closer to James and Snape. Riddle turned his head, like a child curious to see what would happen if he stepped on an ant hill.

"My friends," he addressed the crowd of watching Death Eaters. "Potter and Snape see themselves as successors to Dumbledore's work. I'd like to test that conviction." There were hisses from the crowd, one Death Eater spat towards the two captives. "It has been far too long since I've allowed you all a proper witch burning, hasn't it?"

The Death Eaters erupted into applause and jeering; James felt dead inside, of course it wouldn't be quick. He'd die for his family, of course, but that didn't sting quite as much as the thought that he had failed to protect them over and over again. Bellatrix Lestrange practically threw herself at Riddle's feet, a hungry look on her face.

"My lord, I must prostrate myself before you, I desire this task." She looked up, "I want to cleanse the traitors in fire."

"My Valkyrie," Riddle said softly, pulling Bellatrix back up to her feet. "As admirable as I find your bloodlust, Bella, I'm afraid that their lives have already been spoken for."

James felt terror seize him, they'd still make Harry kill him. James looked back over to Harry and noticed how pale he'd gotten. He was furious, glaring back at Riddle with unmasked hatred. Harry spoke in parseltongue, and the smile immediately dropped from Riddle's face. James didn't think that any of the Death Eaters noticed, still feverishly celebrating how easily they'd apprehended both James and Snape.

"The rest of you may continue to enjoy yourselves while I see our guests … settled …" a new fake smile locked in place on Riddle's face. "Except Bartemius, you stay."

The Death Eaters continued laughing and jeering as they made their way out of the parlor. Only Riddle, Crouch, and Harry remained. James fought viciously against his restraints, but Snape remained unmoving. Harry stepped forward towards Riddle.

"You said—"

It was too late. James watched helplessly as he was hit with the cruciatus curse, the screams piercing James's soul as if he'd been struck by the curse too. Then it stopped, Riddle nodded for Crouch, who immediately took Harry's wand and cuffed his hands behind his back.

"The deal was that neither myself, or my followers could kill James Potter," Riddle said coldly. "Of which, you are neither—"

"You must feel really pleased with yourself, Tom." James spat, unable to contain himself any longer. "The great and powerful Dark Lord, outwitting a teenager." He just needed to redirect their anger back at himself.

"You have to correct them, or they never learn. But I wouldn't expect you to understand any of this, James, after all," Tom Riddle turned to look at him, a truly evil smile alight in his features. "You have no children."

James saw red, he threw himself against his restraints once more, feeling Snape's dead weight behind him. James was screaming curses at the top of his lungs, no longer aware of where he was or what he was facing. He felt the cruciatus curse hit him in the face. It was as if James's muscles and bones were splitting apart, the room rang with the sound of mirthless laughter. Finally, it stopped, and James opened his eyes.

Harry was watching James with a newfound clarity, like he'd never seen him before. He struggled against Crouch, the man placed a hand over his mouth. "Shh, let your father handle it," Crouch hissed in his ear. James felt his heart break further, he realized Harry hadn't expected James to defend him at all. Riddle was staring at James in satisfaction.

"What would you do in my place," Riddle asked, in a bemused voice. "If you knew beyond a fraction of a doubt, that you were the most sublime version of yourself? That the universe itself sent you a sign that every single thing you've done over the past fifteen years has been in service of—as Albus put it—the greater good?"

James did not answer, his gaze instead fixed on Crouch with a burning hatred.

"Or perhaps," Riddle continued. "The worst version? So inept that your fiancée would rather place your child's fate in the hands of a stranger. I have now seen the answer to all these things and more, James Potter, within the Mirror of Erised. Regulus Black once described such phenomenon to me as an exit wound in the flesh of reality. You have seen one such point before, although my offerings to the Veil have yielded poor results thus far."

James could see the cold white tendrils of the Veil, wrapping themselves around Regulus's body, pulling him down into crushing nothingness.

"But ah … the mirror, James!" Riddle drew nearer. "You cannot imagine my surprise when I learned you had it in the castle several weeks ago. The mirror beckons and distorts, all at once. It craves balance, and I intend to give it such." Riddle turned to look over to Harry and Crouch. "You may have guessed already, but the Weasley brat was only able to cross because he is dead here, a reflection of a life forfeit. I wonder … does that mean the mirror also works in reverse?"

Terror seized James, he could feel blood pounding in his head. James struggled against the cuffs chaining him to Snape's unconscious body. Ron had told him already, I died. He thought it was just the pain-relief potions at the time.

"Don't worry, James Potter," Riddle said in a silky voice that felt like needles driving under James's skin. "Harry can't go through … besides … what a waste that would be, no I only need one Death Eater for the task at hand, to inform my other self about the seventh piece. One I know to be dead, just as you are James. And Bartemius has already kindly volunteered for such a mission."

"An honor in the highest, my lord." Crouch bowed his head in reverence.

"It is a shame you will not live to see the mirror again, James Potter." Riddle flicked his wand, and James felt invisible hands seize himself and Snape. "I suspect you would quite enjoy the entropy of our kind in a world still under the control of muggles."

"I think we'll place the two traitors in the cellar until the aurors come in the morning, I'd be remiss to pass up another opportunity to learn where the rest of the safe houses are." Riddle said, talking to himself moreso than any of the other people present. "Besides, it seems fitting that they see Hogwarts once more before they die. Might as well drug this one for now," he nodded towards Harry. "His rebellious streak will come to an end the second the traitors perish."

Riddle pointed his wand at James. "Albus's man through and through, it's only fitting you meet your end the same way he did. "

There was a flash of red light, and James's world disappeared.