Play Dirty, Kevin McAllister

Do you wanna put up a fight?
Or do you wanna get out alive?
Everybody is picking a side
And this can only end one way

Would you give the Devil this dance?
Would you be a part of his plans?
Now you got some blood on your hands
Well, this can only end one way

If you wanna live, gonna have to kill
If you wanna win, blood is gonna spill
If you wanna play, we can play all day
But we play, play dirty, play dirty

Three days later they still hadn't left their room. Harry was swamped by the reality that the Dark Lord wanted him to kill Dumbledore. That he wanted to do it. If he didn't, he was trapped in the manor. He'd managed to avoid all thoughts of being tried as an adult with thoughts of the headmaster, but neither train was particularly sunny. When he let his mind wander, it would go there, to what he wanted to do, while Tom would softly suggest spells that would make his daydreams a reality; until Harry registered what he was doing and shook him off, filled with disgust at himself while Tom tried to convince him it was perfectly fine to murder, particularly if you really wanted to.

Harry was adamant that just because he wanted to, didn't mean that he would or should. Tom didn't seem to mind his protest much.

Cassiopeia had spent more time in their room after Nagini had told the Dark Lord nearly nonsensical things about Grindelwald and someone called Credence, things that made no sense to even Tom, apart from the clear impression that he'd been prophesized to kill Dumbledore by one of the darkest wizards of all time over fifty years before he was born.

'Do you think it's true? Is that possible?'

'Visions and prophecies are highly… Volatile. He was a powerful seer, but it is possible that Grindelwald saw you, and applied the vision he saw to the most likely candidate - Credence - though the true subject of his prediction was yet to be born. Or it may be that his vision did not come to pass for other reasons. It is possible he did see Credence, but that those events were circumvented. Trying to force a prophecy to come to pass can- well, just as trying to prevent one can bring it to fruition… It is possible Grindelwald ruined his vision… I do not know enough, Harry.' Tom said.

'So, it is… Possible?'

'…Yes.'

'What's an… Obscurial?'

'Ah. An Obscurus is a… Parasite, of sorts. It occurs when a young witch or wizard suppresses their magic -if they have come to despise it- it becomes a sort of… A sentient being, outside of the host's control.'

'Sounds familiar, can't think why,' Harry thought.

'…Usually, the Obscurus kills its host quite quickly,' Tom deadpanned.

'So that's not what you are?'

'No.'

'Could we ask Nagini about Credence?'

'Absolutely not. We do not know anything we know, understand?'

'Oh. Okay. Makes sense actually,' Harry realised he'd paused in the action of throwing a cork repeatedly at the ceiling as he lay there, frozen with his arm poised to toss it for over a minute while Cassiopeia watched him.

He put his arm down and watched her from the corner of his eye. Tom had decided that Voldemort must have told her about Nagini and Grindelwald, that it explained her sudden intense interest. She was in their room, mostly silent; half smiling; almost taunting, every night since. They'd decided to ignore her.

They could hear the Slytherins outside, shouting, without Cassiopeia to chase them. Tom was itching to leave the room, but Harry was less enthused. The vampire opened her jaw wide like a yawn from her seat next to them, shaking her head.

"Go eat," Tom said as he resumed throwing the cork.

"Mm… You're a little freak- but it's not a bad idea," she stood, and when she opened the door and exited, she left it open.

Tom stood them up and followed without question, though Harry didn't feel like it. She moved through the manor ahead of them, out the front door, where she shouted at the Slytherins to not let Harry Potter escape and to have him back in bed at a 'reasonable' hour. She Disapparated once outside the gates. Both Greengrass sisters scurried back inside the manor at the sight of the Boy Who Lived, which seemed to annoy Malfoy and Zabini both.

Harry was wearing pyjama bottoms and a white t-shirt, barefoot, which felt like inappropriate exercise attire, but the cold grass felt good as he sprinted away from the Slytherins, towards the greenhouse, then sprinting back before they got worried he was attempting a breakout.

He'd ruled that out. He was certain there were several fail-safes in place in the event of his attempted escape, with no magic behind him, combined with the fact that he knew Tom wasn't planning on going anywhere, his odds were none. And he knew Voldemort knew it, too. He examined the core again as he ran laps, and found that it seemed more solid, that the hairline fractures weren't as present, the green glow deep in the centre of the dark, jagged crystalline ball. It felt alien in his head.

'Is it… Going to be normal? When we can use magic again?' Harry asked as he paused to catch his breath.

'Honestly, I have doubts.'

'Great.'

Harry looked up to find that Malfoy and Zabini had approached him, and Tom straightened them.

"Pansy thinks that we should bring you with us when we raid the wine cellar. She wants to watch you up close, doesn't she, Blaise? I think it's a stupid idea," Malfoy said when they met his eyes, Zabini nodded once, eyes narrowed. Harry could tell that Malfoy wanted him to say yes despite his words to the contrary.

'Wine cellar?' Tom was immediately interested.

'Do you have a problem with alcohol? Like, an alcohol problem?'

'I think we have bigger issues than that, but no, I do not have an 'alcohol problem'. Wouldn't you prefer to be drunk right now?'

'With the Slytherins?'

'Does the company truly matter at this point?'

"Lead the way then," Tom said, gesturing with their arm while Harry was still undecided.

'Stop doing that,' he grumbled as the Slytherins turned, eyebrows raised as they led them back toward Pansy and Goyle. Crabbe was nowhere to be seen; Harry assumed he'd gone to bed.

Malfoy ran them through the manor like they were on a spy mission, signalling them to stop every time he rounded a corner, wand raised until he gave the all-clear. Harry rolled his eyes each time they stopped. Once they reached the cellar the blonde seemed to relax, along with everybody else. The blonde lit three candelabras in the far back side of the cellar.

Tom was already scanning the bottles, till one, in particular, caught his eye and he snatched it.

"That's-" Malfoy started, reaching to take it, but Tom stepped backwards out of his reach and interrupted him.

"Dom Bénédictine," he said, brushing the dust off the bottle, the label in French and crumbling off, "Seventeen-fifty vintage?" He continued as he popped the cork free and took a small swig, -burning on the way down- then a longer one.

"What the hell, Draco," Blaise said, taking the bottle Pansy had collected, "Did they have Dom Bénédictine from the year seventeen-fifty in the Weasley cellar?"

Tom straightened, and went still as he watched the Slytherin, the bottle pressed to his lips.

"…Blaise," Pansy said, voice low, "That-"

"Did you do it? Did you kill him? Your best mate Weasley?" He continued, undaunted.

Tom hadn't allowed them to move, kept Harry locked tight, though he could feel that his face was red while their eyes narrowed.

Malfoy stepped in between them, facing Zabini, and the dark-skinned Slytherin moved away, chin in the air while he passed the bottle back to Pansy and sat down with another -randomly grabbed from the shelf- far enough away that he was almost in the dark. Goyle was white in the face and silently looking between them like he was watching high-stakes tennis.

The blonde turned to face him, "Posturing," he said, taking the bottle slowly from Harry's hands and taking a sip, "He was in the hall that morning. So was Crabbe… And Daphne. She said…" He trailed off, scowling as he passed it back.

"It… Was accidental," Harry managed to say, guilt washing over him as Tom resisted their facial expressions. His eyes flicked to Zabini, who was frowning at him, swigging wine repeatedly. Harry returned his eyes to the blonde.

Both he and Tom had questions that they couldn't really ask, and they could see that Malfoy felt the same.

"When did… The vampire show up?" Tom asked a safe question, one that he hoped might lead to other answers.

Draco looked flabbergasted and sat down cross-legged on the stone floor. Pansy shuffled over to them while Goyle chose to sit with Blaise, the two of them silently passing the bottle back and forth.

"I first heard of her… Sometime near the end of April," Draco took the bottle back even though Tom hadn't had any.

Pansy was watching him warily, sipping her drink, "Why do you wanna know?"

"Curious," Tom said, snatching the alcohol back off the blonde and drinking more of it than Harry would have liked, singeing his mouth, nose, and throat.

"What… Happened that night? After we- I mean, after I… With the Vanishing Cabinet…" Draco asked, ducking his head, looking anywhere but at Harry.

Tom stared at him with a blank expression, took a swig then passed him the bottle.

"Oh, I get it, you ask questions but have no answers?" Pansy sneered.

Tom flicked their eyes to her while Draco said, sighing:

"He's sworn a Vow, Pansy."

"Oh... Oh!" She said, eyes wide, hiding her mouth with wine, "What can we ask?"

Harry shrugged one shoulder while Tom asked, "All of you?"

"They swore not to talk about what happens at the manor, over the break, with anyone who wasn't here at the time of swearing," Draco said, watching them carefully.

'Why is he being so… Free with this information?' Harry asked in his head.

"And you?" Tom pressed.

It was the blonde's turn to stare blankly while he took a swig.

"Fair enough," Harry said.

"This is so… Weird," Pansy said, shaking her head.

"You said it," Blaise called, startling Goyle.

Tom took the bottle and finished it while resisting Harry's fairly urgent desire to choke. By then it was burning in his stomach and spreading outward.

"So, the vampire chasing you around every night is…" Harry began.

"Training. She's brutal. She bit Goyle like... How many times was it?" Pansy asked, half turning to look at him.

"Three," Goyle said, holding up three fingers, looking sick.

"…Three times like, bam. Bam. Bam," she pretended her fingers were fangs and punctuated each 'bam' by biting an invisible neck with them.

"Did you call her a bitch?" Tom asked, almost smiling as he sucked in his cheeks to prevent the grin.

"Did you?" Pansy asked, incredulous.

"No, I didn't even do anything," Goyle said at the same time.

"Sorry about that… Extended training session," Harry said.

Malfoy guffawed, stood up and grabbed another bottle, popping the cork.

"When did you meet Cassiopeia?" He tried as he passed Harry the wine.

Tom just looked at him until he nodded.

'I really feel like we've had enough,' Harry thought as Tom took a long swallow of the wine.

'Probably true.'

"Draco, tell me…" Tom began, searching for the words, "What has changed?"

The blonde looked at them for a long time, squinted, shook his head, opened and closed his mouth. Harry realized Tom had called him Draco out loud and that he was pretty sure he had never formed those syllables. The Malfoy struggled with the vague question while Harry took a sip of the wine.

"Well… He- I mean you've- Everything is…" Draco looked at Pansy, begging with his expression. She shook her head, eyes wide.

"I don't know how much I should say," he finally said, as he gave Harry the same pleading look.

"You could say anything, and it would not leave this cellar," Tom whispered.

That seemed to be all Pansy needed, she leaned in conspiratorially, "There's rumours he's changed his strategies. Draco heard his mum talking to the vampire and they were discussing-" She stopped when Draco reached across the space to snatch her bottle, "Oh. Sorry. They weren't discussing anything. But he doesn't torture us for like, no reason anymore. He seems… He's far more concerned with… Well, we don't know, but he's training and recruiting like," she spread her arms and fingers wide, "Big time."

"And… The Ministry?" Harry asked, though he already had his suspicions.

"It's his. The Minister is under his control, and he's already reshuffled the Wizengamot, changed several laws and regulations," Draco took a swig of the wine he'd taken from Pansy while Tom did the same.

The blonde watched them with thinly veiled disbelief.

"Such as?" Tom pressed.

"He's not gonna blow up like he did in the hall, is he? Right? Because Crabbe… Well now he doesn't really want- You know," Goyle interrupted them, eyes on the stone floor.

"I dunno, is he?" Blaise nearly shouted.

"Not right now," Tom said as he stood, sensing the hostility growing on the far side of the room. They wobbled as they realized how drunk they were, "It is late, I need an escort."

Malfoy got up and the others followed, eyes wide. Blaise and Goyle stormed and scurried away respectively, beating them out of the cellar as they slowly trailed behind. Harry had to brace on the walls as Malfoy led him and Pansy with all the tact of a set of drunken teenagers through the manor. Tom hadn't let go of the bottle.

"This has been… Strange. Good night, thanks for the Dom… Ben… Whatever," Harry said as they reached their room.

'Bénédictine,' Tom told him.

"Dom Benedict, thank you," he said as he pushed his door open, then closed it in their faces.

'Nearly.'

He was close to nauseous as he lay on the bed, unable to close his eyes for the spinning. Tom struggled to put the bottle on the nightstand while Harry took his glasses off.

"I don't… Want to think about any of it I'm so tired."

'Then don't,'

Harry let out a shaky breath as he fought the lump in his throat, "Do you know any- like… Happy… Poems?" He didn't want to cry, was sick of it. He wanted a distraction, and he felt awkward asking, but he'd grown to like the way poetry sounded in Parseltongue.

"I am going to be honest with you, none that I can recite from memory," he said in the Serpent language, "…Wait, I have one…"

Harry didn't know why his stomach jumped with nerves.

"Thunder blossoms gorgeously above our heads, Great, hollow, bell-like flowers, rumbling in the wind, stretching clappers to strike our ears…"

Harry focused on his hand floating in front of his face and not on the fact that there was too much saliva in his mouth and that he couldn't shut his eyes or that Voldemort wanted him to kill Albus Dumbledore and he wanted to do it.

"Full-lipped flowers, bitten by the sun, bleeding rain, dripping rain like golden honey— And the sweet earth flying from the thunder."

The next night Cassiopeia collected him to cast the curse early, saying that the Dark Lord would be busy for the next few days, and they were barely holding the wards around him as it was. Harry frowned but he didn't argue as she escorted him to the foyer to collect the Malfoys, then out the front door and the wrought iron gates.

He hadn't seen Nagini since he'd last cast, and Tom said it was likely jealousy on Voldemort's part. They'd spent that day under the covers wishing they hadn't drunk so much the night before. Harry was certain that Liquida Tenebris was going to force his guts out of his mouth. He was grey in the face as they came to a stop in the clearing. The Dark Lord stood, robed, with Nagini next to him; a snake coiled outside the ward radius.

'Wait… Are we casting without Nagini?' Harry asked.

'It looks that way.'

His heart fell into his stomach as he sat in the grass, not looking at any of them as Tom kept their breathing level.

'I hate this,' Harry repeated, feeling like a broken record.

'I know.'

Though Tom didn't say it he could feel that he hated it too. Most of the adrenaline wasn't Harry's. They fought to keep their face expressionless until the wards were solid and the curse ripped out of every inch of them.

He could feel it pushing the wards as though it was an extension of himself, as though he was being torn to atoms, exploding into dark tendrils that clawed at the wards like demons while his mind was white hot with agony. Alongside it, the angry, biting pleasure, was near equal in intensity and beyond his comprehension. He found the more he summoned it; the longer he held it; the easier it was to hold. The more familiar it became the more it felt like it was his. Like his magic knew the tune; he could sing it with his eyes closed. He could lift a finger and summon it. A cataclysmic event.

He ended it with a wave of his hand, panting but still standing, before he Apparated to the gates of the manor and walked himself back to their room.

Three days later the Dark Lord had returned from wherever he had gone, signalled by everyone's tense attitude, the whole house walking on eggshells apart from Cassiopeia. The Slytherins duelled with more vigour than usual while Harry sat in the sun, sweating, done with running.

'I… Still like how it- it numbs me out. It's different but it still…' Harry had been caught thinking about Liquida Tenebris for the umpteenth time since they'd last cast it and had felt the need to defend himself.

Tom was silent, which made his cheeks go red.

Their magical core was repaired -as far as they could tell- entirely. It felt different, solid like diamond, and far more reactive. A wandless Accio had disintegrated a cork to dust in his fist. Because of that he still wasn't duelling with the Slytherins, or casting much of anything. Tom was concerned they'd render the manor to cinders if they weren't careful.

they still hadn't been allowed to see Nagini, which had, by that point, made Tom angry. Harry found he missed her. Her presence was soothing, and in the event of a panic attack, she was efficient at preventing or ending it, whether he liked it or not.

He'd alternated between avoiding thinking about the headmaster at all costs, -unable to grasp the full weight of what the Dark Lord wanted, what he wanted, and what Nagini had said about Grindelwald- to considering everything Dumbledore had ever said to him through a new lens. That was where his mind wandered while he sat in the grass, yanking green strands from the dirt while Tom silently watched his thoughts.

'Is Nagini a Horcrux?' Harry asked suddenly, thinking about Dumbledore's suspicions.

'I… Don't know. If she is- it was after…'

Harry thought about what Nagini had said, -that Liquida Tenebris didn't hurt her- then about how it hadn't hurt him, before they'd become fused… The way his magic connected so easily to hers... How Tom said Voldemort won when he created him, how Cassiopeia had said 'You've lost two…' The Diary... The Ring… And adrenaline hit him in a wave before the realization did; all of it clicking together with a snap in his head; forcing his breath out in a whoosh. He was standing, heart pounding, feet already carrying him back toward the manor while Tom panicked.

"…Horcrux. You're a Horcrux," he muttered dumbly as he shoved the doors open with his full weight, arms and legs numb; Narcissa behind him, nervous, chattering, trying to stop him without force.

Tom clamped his mouth shut but Harry forced it back open, suddenly screaming into the manor:

"Tom! Riddle!"

'No, no, Harry- don't. Stop it! Think. Think!'

"Riddle!" His vision tilted and swam while Tom fought for control, his mouth opened and closed not unlike a fish, each time he won control he howled the name into the halls. Rage pounding so hard and fast in his heart he felt it might burst.

"Potter," Narcissa's hand was on his shoulder, but he snatched away.

Some of the Slytherins had followed her in, but he didn't check which. He was aware that the blackness was wrapped around his right arm, crackling and sizzling, but it felt like nearly nothing in comparison to the weight of the realization.

"Riddle!" Harry's throat was hoarse with the effort, so he did it again, amplified by wandless Sonorus his voice shook the walls of the manor, "TOM! RIDDLE!"

'Oh… Fuck.'

The Dark Lord appeared in the doorway that led deeper into the mansion, unmasked, Nagini beside him, both looking human. She was calming him already, hand on his neck, begging Harry with her glowing eyes. He ignored her and cracked the darkness like a whip.

"Go, go! Go! out. All of you!" Narcissa's voice was further and further away.

Tom fought Harry for control while the Dark Lord smirked at them, wand in hand. The result was a stalemate, magic crackling but not responding, arms and legs working but not moving as he screamed inside his head, furious.

"Having difficulty?" Voldemort asked, he sounded bored, but he looked disgusted, raising his wand.

"Wait! Wait, don't," Tom pleaded in Parseltongue while Harry tried to push them forward; the curse gnarled and twitching on his arm like a savage, confused demon, reacting to their competing commands.

The Dark Lord flicked his wand and instantly Harry realised what he'd done. The pain dropped him to his knees, onto his face, blood spilling from his mouth from his bitten tongue. As he writhed, the furious pleasure ripped through him. Heavier than the pain; immediately lighting every nerve to a blinding degree, stopping his breathing and robbing all sound from his throat. The Dark Lord didn't hold the Cruciatus for long. Harry didn't take a breath for much longer.

(AN: Tom recites Storm Ending by Jean Toomer.)