Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The desire to sleep had all but left Harry as October slowly ticked toward Halloween, despite the deepening shadows that had become a firm fixture under his eyes – prompting a multitude of quiet frowns from Hermione's direction. He couldn't understand why his rest felt so disturbed. For the last four days he had woken early, drained and uneasy, feeling as if something terrible had happened. Though it was quickly apparent each time that nothing was out of place. At least nothing beyond the usual trouble of his fifth year at Hogwarts…

It wasn't a case of asking for Dreamless Sleep potion, for he couldn't even remember his dreams by the morning. If he had dreamt at all. His friends had asked, several times, if he was okay. But each time he had felt inclined to say something, it seemed as though there were prying eyes and cocked ears twitching in their direction. He had fallen low enough in the wizarding world's eyes following Voldemort's return; all he needed was more fuel to incense the 'Harry Potter is a crazed liar' fire. So, he said nothing. Said he was fine. Maybe he was?

Harry was several paces behind Hermione and Ron as he pondered this thought, trying to disguise his yawns as he slugged his bookbag higher on his shoulder – not quite understanding why they were heading to Potions with so much time to spare. Everyone else was probably still enjoying breakfast.

Sighing at the idea of spending the next two hours with the Slytherins and his irate professor, Harry tried not to drag his feet too much, rolling his eyes as his best friends began bickering about something; drowning out their conversation and glancing around at the oddly empty hallway. They really were early.

Just as he was about to pick up his step and interrupt whatever argument was brewing ahead of him, his eyes caught sight of a glint of gold shining in the alcove to his left. The small recess was half covered by an old draped tapestry, but something had definitely lit up in the shadows for a moment. Maybe it shouldn't have sparked his interest, but Harry's feet pulled to a halt, his green eyes fixed on the now darkened space; a tingling feeling of familiarity crawling up his neck. It had almost looked like a snitch, in the way the ball sometimes caught the sunlight on the pitch, giving away its location for just a moment.

Glancing back to his friends, he saw that they hadn't noticed him come to a stop. Ron was waving his hands around in a dramatic fashion, his Weasley stubbornness clearly coming to the fore. Taking advantage of their distraction, Harry approached the alcove and pushed the heavy fabric to the side, peering in at the shadowed and empty space; a cold torch sitting on the wall and a few abandoned cobwebs dropping from the ceiling.

Frowning, he shook his head. There wasn't even a spider moving around in the shabby webs, never mind glittering gold.

He really did need sleep.

Turning to leave, he had just let go of the dusty cloth when something snaked its way around his chest and arms, trapping them to his sides with an alarming firmness. Harry found himself dragged back into the dark, a smooth hand falling securely over his mouth, silencing his startled shout.

Panic hammered in his chest and he fought against the grip, suddenly aware of a body behind him. The hold on his face was so fierce he couldn't turn his head to look, but he struggled against the arm trapping him, aware that the skin he could feel against his was cool. Something about that turned his stomach and he recoiled as he was pulled farther back against a taller form.

He was sure his captor could hear the thundering beat of his heart, but they said nothing. Said nothing and did nothing, simply holding him in silence until he stopped fighting, his inhalation laboured as he fought to breathe through his nose, desperate for the wand concealed in his pocket.

The second he slacked slightly in the tight grip, the arm around his chest uncoiled. But it didn't release him. Instead, long fingers crept up to his throat, teasingly light at first, until they took a firm and painful grip.

The choking sensation drove Harry into action once more and his arms recalled their sudden freedom, elbows throwing themselves back in a sharp attack. An attack that met nothing. The force he had struck with pulled Harry backwards, a shout of surprise leaving his now free mouth as he stumbled, hitting the stone floor with a resounding smack.

Bewildered and fearful, he looked up, turning this way and that, aghast at the empty space around him.

There was nothing. He was alone.

Sitting on the ground trying to control his breathing was just how Ron found him, his astonished face peering from behind the tapestry, allowing soft light to filter in and reveal his friend, looking worryingly pale and completely out of place.

"Er, Harry mate? You alright? We heard you shout something."

He found the familiarity of his friend's voice to be jarringly normal after what had just happened and didn't immediately respond.

"Any reason you're sitting on the ground behind a tapestry of-" Ron cut off to pull his head back and glance at the scene woven into the front of the fabric. "-Salazar Slytherin? Ugh, bad luck there mate."

The other boy's voice had taken on an amused tone, but Harry couldn't find it in himself to crack a smile. Nothing about what had just happened was funny. Trying to shake it off, he pulled himself up, stepping out with a suppressed shiver.

Hermione came into view as soon as he was safely back in the corridor, and he instantly read the concern written across her features.

"Harry, what happened?"

"Huh? Oh, n-nothing." He couldn't bring himself to say more, his mouth drying up as he caught sight of Slytherin's face donning the moth-eaten textile in front of him.

Hermione's face turned down in disapproval, clearly not believing a word. But he didn't want a fight and quickly followed up with the subject he had previously been avoiding, happily distracting her.

"I just didn't sleep much at all last night. I think I'm a bit all over the place because of it. Thought I saw something moving in there and tripped in the dark."

It worked. Harry felt a tad guilty as concern flooded her kind eyes, Ron's own expression turning to one of sympathy.

"It's understandable, mate," the redhead said. "What with everything that's been going on this year."

Hermione solidly agreed, though Harry could see her expression momentarily flashing with soft suspicion. But she left it alone, too worried for her friend's exhausted state. Taking his arm, her warm hand chased away the feeling of those fingers gripping his throat.

"You should head back to bed, Harry."

But he shook his head. Not only because he didn't want to subject himself to sleep, but because in that moment he really didn't want to be alone.

"Nah, Snape will have my head. I'll have an early night tonight." Likely a lie. But necessary.

Reluctantly, she agreed, gently pulling Harry along by the arm toward the dungeons as Ron followed suit.

He tried to push the incident from his mind. Perhaps it was only sleep related. After all, didn't people start to hallucinate if they stayed awake for long periods?

This explanation didn't sit right with him, but he focused on it all through potions – losing twenty points in the process for blankly ignoring Snape's question regarding puffskein hearts. Though, it was worth it if it kept the thought of unknown hands trapping and choking him at bay.

He managed to get through the rest of the day relatively unbothered. Even when night fell, for a good hour he was distracted by a game of wizarding chess with Ron, the warmth of the Gryffindor common room keeping him grounded – though slightly drowsy. But then his eyes began to drop slightly of their own accord, getting to the point that even Ron told him to hit the bed. Reluctantly agreeing, he made his way upstairs, ignoring the distrustful eyes of Seamus Finnegan as he passed, diverting to the bathrooms with his pyjamas in an attempt to get away from the suspicious Gryffindor.

Dropping his crumpled nightwear on a nearby sink, Harry turned on the cold tap, letting the water run for a moment before cupping his hands underneath the icy liquid and splashing his face.

Lifting his head to glance in the mirror, he sighed at the exhausted eyes in front of him, towelling off the water droplets with a harsh hand, leaving his skin red as a result.

He had just picked up his toothbrush when the echo of steps on the tiles sounded harshly in the empty space. On red alert after the incident that morning, Harry spun around, though he berated himself for his paranoia when there was nothing there. It seemed as if he really would have to sleep soon, edgy feelings aside. If he kept imagining things, then maybe the Prophet would be justified in some of the things they had started to write about him.

Turning back to the mirror angrily, he raised his toothbrush to his mouth only for his hand to freeze mid-air, eyes widening and brain short-circuiting as he was met with the reflection of a boy in the mirror. A very familiar boy, standing a few steps behind him, his lips curled in a small smirk; a polished golden badge glinting on his robes. He spun to face him, to ensure he was really there – praying he wasn't.

"Hello Harry," Tom Riddle said softly, his voice carrying around the space with haunting familiarity.

The toothbrush clattered to the ground.

Harry's hands fumbled their way to his pockets, reaching for his wand; apparition or not.

But he found nothing, slowly lifting his wide eyes back to the young man ahead of him, blood draining from his face as nimble Slytherin fingers twirled Harry's holly wand in pretty motions, light and effortlessly – and wholly terrifying.

"No wand," Tom said gently, his eyes glinting with an ill intent that didn't match the softness of his expression or tone. "Whatever is our young Gryffindor hero to do?"

Harry swallowed. Was this even real? Surely it was impossible.

But the fact remained that he had put his wand in his robe's right pocket, and now it was dancing in the hands of the boy in front of him. A fact that strongly indicated the dreaded figure was at least somewhat corporeal.

The thought of strangling hands came flooding back to him so suddenly that he just knew, his subconscious connecting the dots almost instinctively. This wasn't some sleep-deprived daydream. Something in his gut told him that this was very real, and very wrong.

"It was you," Harry whispered.

Riddle's eyebrows simply lifted slightly.

"You grabbed me. Earlier."

There was a slight pause, but then the taller boy laughed lightly. "You were positively beside yourself with bewilderment. It was quite a sight."

Harry's eyes turned cold, his embarrassed anger chasing away a touch of his fear.

"How is this even possible?"

Surprisingly, Riddle looked quite delighted at the question. He spun Harry's wand faster.

"Now, that really is a fascinating story."

"You couldn't have survived the diary," the Gryffindor ground out, willing himself to believe it.

Riddle laughed once more, long and tinged with a playful quality. Harry hated it.

"Of course not. That version of myself is long gone. I admit, I think he is the reason you see me as I am. And not in my… true form, as it should be considering the time of my birth."

The words were completely lost on the green-eyed wizard and frustration edged into his mind at the careless explanation.

"I don't-"

The twisted smile that now interrupted the handsome face in front of him brought his words to a halt and he fell silent.

"I'm from far closer than any diary, Harry Potter. You've shaped me, in a lot of ways. It's rather amusing, how well I know you and how little you know of me; I thought you might suspect something by now. But magic has a way of revealing the truth, though even I didn't foresee how much your encounter in the graveyard would affect us both."

Before he could digest what any of that meant, Harry noted Riddle take a step toward him, destroying his immediate interest in the current conversation and alerting his nerves to the danger he was in.

He glanced toward the door.

"Oh, come now, Harry. I think you understand how much worse it could be if you run from me."

The words chilled him, the handsome face morphing into its snake-like counterpart for just a moment. Dread boiled in Harry's stomach and he furiously tried to think of a way out – one that wouldn't unleash this figure on his friends and the other students sitting downstairs, happily oblivious to it all.

Riddle had stopped twirling the wand, instead he pocketed it and took several steps toward the younger man. Harry backed up until he hit the sink, stumbling slightly.

"What do you want?" he asked, trying to instill some bite into the words, but his voice shook slightly on the last one.

The Slytherin said nothing. He simply stared at him, a hunger building in his expression.

Harry tried to avoid those eyes, instead glancing down to the pocket where the other had discarded his wand, wondering how he could get to it, knowing it was his only chance.

As they stood there, caught in an odd stand-off that the young Voldemort seemed perfectly content in, Harry decided to make use of his quidditch reflexes, weighing off the angle he could dive to in order to get to the pocket with the most speed. Riddle was currently unarmed, so this was his best chance. But the second he jolted forward, the other boy seemed to slip to the side slightly, twisting around in an odd sort of dance that resulted in Harry being forcefully spun around to face the sink, his body slammed into it, arms trapped behind him and a vicious fist locked into his hair.

Despite the manoeuvre and the resulting struggle, there wasn't a ruffled or unkempt thing about Tom's appearance, his expression oddly calm and dangerous, standing behind Harry and gazing at him through the mirror in front. The familiar feeling of the cool hand trapping his wrists left no doubt in Harry's mind that it was this terrifying form that had cornered him that morning.

"I'm afraid you can't fight me. It's as pointless as struggling against yourself."

The words halted Harry's movements as he was forced to look back at the remorseless face reflected in front of him, his breath heavy and heart in overdrive.

"Fighting against you will never be pointless," he said savagely. "No-matter what version of you it is."

The grip became painful. "You will never win against me. Do you understand?" The voice was calm, but the words were almost feverish in their intensity. "I will be your undoing, Harry. And I am better equipped to destroy you than my current counterpart. I can take you apart, piece by piece if I have to. For I know exactly which parts of you will break away first. That is something he has yet to learn."

Terror flooded Harry as he listened to the sadistic intent of the monster behind him.

"What are you?" he found himself whispering, awe mingling with his fright, letting the words form on his tongue without permission. This wasn't the collected and controlled Tom Riddle he had met all those years ago, nor was this the cold and callous creature that Voldemort had become. This… phantom was something different. Too familiar and far too close – his grip severe and nauseatingly intimate, making Harry pull away despite the pain throbbing across his scalp.

Riddle said nothing at first, simply angling his head to the side slightly, watching Harry's reflected eyes with unbridled intensity. But then he spoke, no smile on his lips, a curious expression dawning on his features – an oddly uncertain look for a boy so scarily sure of himself.

"What – or who – am I, you ask? Simply take a closer look."

The words were harsh, as was the strength that forced Harry's face against the ice-cold mirror, his cheek pressed up against the glass painfully as Riddle's eyes grew furious.

The taller boy leaned in, milliseconds from whispering something troubling in Harry's ear when the bathroom door banged loudly and Seamus and Dean strolled through, towels carelessly thrown over their shoulders, animated chat halting as soon as Seamus caught sight of Harry – their fellow Gryffindor collapsed over one of the sinks. Alone.

"Harry?" Dean asked, tentatively, unaware of what he had just disturbed, but clearly unnerved by the pasty pallor of the boy in front of him.

His question and inquisitive look went ignored as Harry quickly righted himself and turned around, desperately searching the tiled space for something, hands scrambling through his pockets – ignoring the toothbrush left carelessly on the ground and pyjamas on the sink as he fled the space.

His wand was still gone.

"Hey, wait-" came Dean's voice, with Seamus' hostile whispers underscoring the attempt to draw him into conversation. But he blocked them both out as he threw the door closed behind him and stood in the empty dormitory, leaning against the solid wood trying to control his breath.

This wasn't happening.

Stumbling over to his bed, he stopped short upon sighting one of his discarded schoolbooks lying on the covers, his wand neatly placed atop it.

Shaking hands reached down and picked the wand up, trying to find comfort in the familiar feel of it. Only then did he approach the book, fingers wary as he raised it into the light, as if holding it too hard would cause pain.

He was right to be cautious.

Burned across the front in a tidy script his twelve-year-old self had been rather familiar with was a simple, yet darkly effective, message:

'Not a word.'

He felt sick, dropping it as if it had burned him, looking around with a wild expression that he knew he'd have to smooth over before any of his housemates came to bed.

What was he supposed to do? How could he even prove that he wasn't just going insane? The words had been etched into the hardcover with his own wand, for Merlin's sake. Dropping down onto the mattress, Harry clutched his head, scrunching his eyes shut, wholly lost and undeniably afraid.

He needed help.

Chapter Text

Harry feigned sleep as Ron and the other Gryffindors made their way to bed, one by one, waiting until he heard even breath and light snores before throwing off his covers and disappearing, still fully dressed, under his invisibility cloak; stealing out of the tower and away from anyone Riddle could inadvertently, or purposefully, harm.

The phantom figure hadn't reappeared, but the book shoved in Harry's bag spoke volumes, reminding him that the threat made against him was very real.

Intent upon finding an empty classroom to sit and gather his thoughts, Harry found himself wandering for while – each step an attempt to cool his anxiety – finally hurrying down a neighbouring corridor to the one that housed the statue guarding the headmaster's office, suddenly aware of where his meanderings had carried him.

His legs pulled to a stop, eyes widening as he considered it.

The silence surrounding him offered no comfort and the warning left for him was a deadly 'no', but the promise of safety for his friends – and himself – would surely rest with Dumbledore. That had to be the most logical choice, instead of dealing with it himself as he had a habit of doing, which usually resulted in everyone around him paying the price. Besides, no-matter how distant the elder wizard had been this year, there was no way he could ignore this. And, he would believe Harry. Right? He wouldn't think he was mad…?

Shaking his head to rid himself of doubt, he turned toward the darkened passageway cautiously, searching for signs of that terrifying, handsome face, wondering if this was his chance and if he should take it.

There was nothing. Just empty cold space and flickering torchlight a few metres down.

His body moved forward slowly; his invisible steps wary as he approached; heartbeat building to a vibrating crescendo beneath his ribs.

He hadn't made it more than seven paces, not yet through the stone arch, or within sight of the stone gargoyle, when his heart stopped at a soft noise of disapproval from behind him, an ice-cold shift of movement drawing the invisibility cloak off his pale form and letting it drop to the ground with a quiet wisp of fabric.

He turned slowly, dread icing his veins, meeting Tom Riddle's cold eyes as the other stood only a few feet behind him. His expression was no longer playful or teasing; it was wrought with malice.

"Honestly, Harry. You do make things rather difficult for yourself, don't you?"

He shook his head, stepping back and feverishly drawing his wand. It remained with him this time, though Riddle's lack of concern at the sight was worrying.

"Stay away from me," he breathed, voice gaining strength at the familiar magic set between his fingers.

Riddle's eyes flashed scarlet in the dark, only for a moment.

"That is the one thing I will never do," he hissed, stepping closer.

Harry fired a stunning spell, but his mouth stiffened in horror when it simply passed through the other boy, hitting the far wall with an ineffectual burst.

Lowering his only weapon, he understood that he was trapped. He didn't have the password to Dumbledore's office, and he doubted he could even get to the damn statue in time – never mind having room to negotiate entry.

He physically stepped away, longing to put distance between them, but Tom's fierce gaze drew his eyes back involuntarily.

"Let me make myself very clear," the boy said, voice smooth and careful. "This is our little game, Harry. I won't allow anyone to interfere and I will have what I want. So, if I see you attempting to spill my secrets to Dumbledore, I won't just hurt you, I'll ensure your personal responsibility for the destruction of everyone that sees fit to aid you."

Green eyes were wide at the very serious and malevolent promise in the young monster's tone.

"Then we'll see how willing you are to disobey me."

Tom's voice had turned cold and high on the last few words, the harsh sound ringing with echoes of the Voldemort he would later become, sowing a feeling of hopelessness into Harry's mind with disturbing ease and little effort.

"Leave everyone else out of this," he said quietly. "It's me you want."

"And it's you I don't quite have!" Riddle snapped, his words suddenly vicious, stepping right up to Harry and grabbing him roughly by the jaw with a now very physical body. "So, if you drive me to threaten others to force you to yield, who's truly at fault?"

The Gryffindor winced as the grip turned bruising, but he didn't answer, understanding that a response wasn't required.

There was silence for a long moment, before Riddle sighed softly, his face falling from displeasure to content with jarring ease.

"It's remarkable how pliant you become once the threat is to someone else. Have you no care for your own welfare, Harry? Is it really all about love and the greater good?" The tone was snide, mouth curling in disgust as the shorter boy levelled a glare in return.

But his hostile expression only earned a despicable laugh, Riddle's form beginning to fade until only the echoes remained, with Harry rooted to the spot for far longer than he could admit to.

Despite the personal and private sphere of hell that his life had become almost overnight, things at Hogwarts continued on with nauseating normalcy, and breakfast rolled around the next morning with a rather red sunrise. He hadn't dared return to Gryffindor Tower, aware that Tom seemed to manifest where he himself existed – meaning his friends were likely safer in their slumber once he was at a solid distance.

Ridden with that scary thought, Harry dragged himself, still in yesterday's robes, to breakfast; having slept for an hour in the library. If Madame Pince was surprised to see him awaiting her unlocking of the doors first thing, she didn't deign to say anything about it, merely casting him and two rather flustered seventh years disapproving glances as they wandered through her sacred shelves.

Luckily, one of the comfortable reading chairs in the Herbology section made a half-decent resting place for the fitful nap Harry had taken. Though, even after splashing water on his face in the quiet fourth-floor boy's bathroom, his eyes were still bleary and bloodshot, and his entire posture was very clearly wrecked with exhaustion. He knew he'd have to avoid eye contact with Professor McGonagall in the first class of the day.

As he made his way down several flights of stairs toward the Great Hall, Harry fingered the wand in his pocket, biting his lip at the knowledge that his spell last night had zero effect. Not only could he not tell anyone about what was happening, but he had no real way of defending himself.

Riddle hadn't appeared after the incident outside Dumbledore's office, but Harry was starting to guess at the other boy's omniscience. Perhaps, even when he couldn't see him, he was still there? The very thought sent shivers down his back and he cast wary looks around him, glancing over his shoulder with such distraction that he ran smack-bang into someone as they stepped into the stairwell.

"Watch it, Potter!"

Another day, Malfoy's tone might have set Harry's teeth on edge, but right now he didn't give a damn, barely acknowledging his schooltime enemy, simply stepping out of the other boy's path and continuing his descent, missing the gaping expression the blonde was left wearing.

It didn't occur to him that his aloof behaviour would catch the other's attention, unaware of the grey eyes that watched him through breakfast as he made up excuses to his friends about why he was up so early and the reason he looked like literal hell. Nor did he see those same eyes glaring at him throughout the two classes they shared that morning and the lunch that followed – an hour in which Harry barely touched any food and skirted off to the library without his best friends in tow, layering excuse upon excuse to get them as far away from him as was feasible until they were safely back in class and under the watchful gaze of their professors.

Harry didn't realise that Draco Malfoy was one of the first to notice, and the person who continued to throw suspicious looks in his direction over the next five days – as the Gryffindor's form grew gaunter by the hour, shrinking into himself; haunted by a terror no one else could see.

The days passed agonisingly slow. Every waking moment was spent on edge, waiting for Riddle to make himself known again – though he did so infrequently, layering soft threats and unwarranted words onto Harry in these short-lived moments, enjoying the torment with unreserved satisfaction.

Consequently, sleep was more elusive than ever, even after finding an old couch in a sixth-floor classroom which offered a dusty, though relatively comfortable, place to rest – far away from everyone. But in this place of solitude, Harry swore he could hear someone whispering to him every time he fell into that half-space between waking and dreaming – only to encounter nightmares when he finally fell under.

One particularly horrible night, though he did his best to deny it, he even felt as though fingers were brushing against his cheek. But his stomach rolled at the thought, so anytime the idea surfaced, he squashed it back down.

What he couldn't deny, however, was the pasty visage he now wore, and the indented shadows that weighed down his eyes. His friends were beyond frustrated at this point, the worry and confusion evident even when emotions spilled over to anger at his constant refusal to communicate anything to them.

Hermione had a one-sided argument with him over his health, threatening to go to McGonagall if he didn't start addressing the issue that he looked like a walking waif. Ron stood, rather stunned, in the back; supporting neither. But his hushed, "she's right, mate," after the fact made it clear who he agreed with. Really, it wasn't like Harry could deny it. He knew something had to give soon, but he was trapped between Riddle and the rest of the world. He was too afraid for those around him to take action, resigned to live in limbo until he could figure out how to get away.

However, before any such epiphanies occurred, something finally did give on the Friday of that hellish week – and Harry paid the price for it.

It all started with Potions.

History of Magic had worn on for what seemed like hours and Harry was already exhausted, dragging his body to his next class with heavy steps, barely speaking a word to his friends as they questioned his aloof attitude for the millionth time. Ron was quite cross with him by the time they reached the dungeons and he saw this as a chance to get away, grabbing a table two over from the redhead and Hermione, willing to work alone in the lesson.

Guilt settled in his stomach at their hurt expressions, but he couldn't bring himself to regret the distance.

Snape's barked orders disappeared into the background, much as they had the entire week, as his nervous hands worked on chopping his ingredients, barely paying heed to the scrawled instructions on the board. He managed to get through a quiet hour of half-hearted brewing until, of course, he was called out.

"Potter!"

If Snape was surprised at the visible wince his ire had called up in the drawn boy in front of him, his expression certainly didn't show it. "What part of 'pale lavender' managed to confuse you? If my personal instructions on the board are too difficult for you, then refer back to the more remedial guidance within your book."

There was a long pause as obsidian eyes scanned the table, finding no potion's book in sight. Harry had left it in his bag, quite forgotten.

"Honestly Potter, your willing ignorance is astounding. Too good to even take out your books?"

The no-nonsense tone that lilted through the potion master's voice had the younger wizard grabbing his bookbag, hastily dropping the four books from within onto the desk.

It hadn't occurred to Harry what an impact this simple action would have. He had only wanted to appease the man and get him away from his table. But the curious look in the dark eyes caught his attention immediately and the blood drained from his face as Snape's pale hand reached down and picked up the very book Tom Riddle had burnt his warning into several nights ago.

There was a long pause between them.

Surely the professor would see it as some mindless teenage nonsense, and he'd be called out for vandalism and a lack of care synonymous with all Potters. But no, as soon as Snape's fingers touched the cover, the man drew them back with a short twitch of apprehension.

The tome was dropped back on the desk with a heavy thump and an odd second dragged between professor and pupil. Harry didn't dare look up, keeping his eyes down and fixed on his cauldron, waiting – until miraculously, Snape swept away, barking an order of detention before dinner.

Of course, nothing could occur with so little fanfare now that he was under dark surveillance – and as soon as Harry dared breathe a sigh of relief that the professor had lost interest, he felt cold fingers on the back of his neck, gripping the small hairs at the nape painfully. His spine straightened against the pressure.

"Careless," whispered a voice in his ear.

His eyes widened in fear – and he was so unfortunate as to directly meet the gaze of his now seated professor; metres away at his desk. It was only for a moment, but Harry's heart skipped a beat as something passed between him and Snape, a foreign feeling jutting through his mind with a strange intensity– one that had nothing to do with Tom Riddle's murmured threats.

And then it was gone.

Perhaps it was ironic that his desire to protect others naturally only made him more vulnerable to Tom's threats, for as soon as the Gryffindor was alone that evening, stranded in a dark stairwell that offered a less-travelled route to Snape's office, he was punished for what seemed to be another attempt at calling for aid.

"What exactly is unclear about the message 'not a word', Harry? Did you misunderstand? Deciding that showing him the very message was not a violation of that?" The boy said, his voice smooth as he looked upon his victim, crumpled in a heap on a landing of the long flight of stairs.

Harry pulled himself up, wincing at his bruised side and grazed arm – the skin beginning to bleed and sting.

"I didn't mean to show Snape," he said quickly, watching the older boy descend the steps. He scrambled backward. "It's not like he'd do anything anyway. He's on your side, isn't he!"

That made the Slytherin pause, his expression turning curious as it stayed fixed on the pale student below him.

"One would think," Riddle said cryptically. He was silent then, his body still. It was a long time before he spoke.

"Tell me, do you think a man like Severus Snape would follow a muggle-loving fool like Albus Dumbledore?"

Harry's eyes widened at the question, wholly unsure as to where this was going. He was afraid to answer either way for some reason. But Riddle's face was growing impatient.

"I don't know. But Dumbledore's not a fool."

Riddle pointedly ignored his last words.

"Then why is it he has protected you these past five years, when all evidence points to his absolute loathing of your very existence?"

Harry shook his head. He couldn't answer that, it made no sense to him either.

"It's a fascinating puzzle, I admit," Tom said quietly, oddly distracted. "I might have made the argument that he was keeping you alive with the intent of delivering you to my other self. But as that did not happen upon his return last year, it's a defunct theory."

Silence fell upon them for a moment, split only by the sound of Harry's breath – the far-off noise of clatter in Great Hall barely reaching the odd twosome.

"In any case, his interest has been piqued. I witnessed his reaction to touching that book, Harry. As did you."

His nerves spiked at the cool tone that naturally fell into Riddle's voice and Harry's mind urged him to get up from the ground and into a less vulnerable position.

He clambered to his knees.

"I need to get to detention," he said quickly. "Otherwise he'll be more suspicious."

Riddle smiled then, cruel and slow.

"Oh, he's already suspicious, Harry, and I'm highly aware that he may draw more solid conclusions if the opportunity to spend more time with you arises. Severus has a talent for such things. In any case, I don't think it matters much at this point. I would much rather we travel somewhere wholly private."

An ominous mood descended on the space then, and Harry had the oddest inclination to hold his breath.

"So private, in fact, that you and I are the only two in this entire castle who have access to such a space."

It took a moment to understand what Riddle meant by that, but then it dawned on Harry, sensing, rather than knowing, that they had come to the final episode of Tom's little game – far sooner than either of them had assumed. Snape's off behaviour had spooked the monster in front of him, and now he was making up for it.

"No."

The rejection fell from Harry's lips without permission.

It seemed extraordinarily loud for such a simple word, drawing a small frown of displeasure from Riddle. "No?"

"I've done as you said, to protect my friends. I've told no one, even though I knew you were going to try and kill me at some point. But knowing you're going to do it eventually is a lot different from willingly walking to the execution spot. If I let you lock me in there, I know I won't come out again."

The words were filled with a strength that Harry hadn't felt in days, but his survival instincts were still there – perhaps crushed under exhaustion and the heavy hand of Tom's control. But this was different. Now he knew it was life or death, and Riddle wouldn't win the game so easily.

"I see," Tom said softly. "Though your courage is admirable, if not foolish, you are mistaken. I do not intend to kill you. What a waste that would be."

Harry's surprise must have read on his face, for the other laughed almost immediately.

"Come now, why would I kill the very thing keeping me alive?"

The world stopped for a moment, tilting on its axis as the Gryffindor stared at the taller boy, his head beginning to shake from side to side before he even realised.

"You – you're lying," he breathed, searching for the deceit in the other's face. But he found none.

"Am I?"

"Yes! I can't- you didn't even-"

Harry's spluttering halted as he took a deep breath. "That's not possible."

"I myself thought the same once, but magic of this branch can be rather unpredictable. Even if you don't understand it, Harry, my intent is not to kill you, but to ensure your survival."

The threat that lilted those words completely defied their face value, and he understood that whatever Riddle was proposing could be so much worse than the simplicity of death.

"You should be grateful. Enchanted entombment in Salazar Slytherin's legendary chamber for eternity is quite an end for the famous Harry Potter. A monumental status that most wizards couldn't dream of."

Harry's breath caught in his throat. Entombed?

"And so long as you rest there, alive though docile and forever in healthy stasis, I shall never die."

Dawning horror flooded his body, the reality of Riddle's intentions washing over him like an icy wave, plunging him headfirst into panic and fear-driven anger.

"I won't be a trinket that you can just lock away, feeding your life force with my own!" he spat.

Riddle smiled. "As if I'm giving you a choice. The only reason I have delayed this long is that I so enjoy watching you squirm under fear and pressure. I knew I would never be able to truly enjoy you after I put you to sleep, so forgive me for such little frivolities, Harry."

Nausea twisted his gut at every word, but something about the shameless mocking conjured up a resentment that Harry could find courage in, and he stood suddenly, aware that it was now or never.

He had to run.

The cold drifting up from the lower dungeons seeped into his bones and he realised who he needed to run to – the very man whose suspicions drove Tom to abandon his torment and move forward with his intentions. Whether or not he liked it, Snape was the closest aid – he just hoped the man truly had sensed something wrong in their lesson that day, and he wouldn't be dismissed so easily and sent back into Tom's waiting arms.

A quick intake of breath seemed to give something away and Tom's eyes were suddenly alight, his body poised to strike, flying down the remaining steps just as Harry himself turned and dashed down the final two flights and nearly fell into the corridor below, begging his bruised body to move faster as he withdrew his wand.

But luck had clearly abandoned him.

He might have made it, in hindsight, had he not had the misfortune of smacking straight into a blonde head of hair – for the second time that week – hitting the other body so hard that they both were sent flying to the stone floor in separate directions, wand clattering to the ground in the fray.

"WHAT THE HELL, POTTER?"

Malfoy's livid tone was so out of place in the midst of Harry's panic that he didn't immediately react to the echoing shout that rung in his ears, a sharp pain in his shoulder slowly pulling him back to reality.

"Can't you even- who's that?"

The blonde's words pulled everything to a halt, and Harry turned to the very doorway he had just come barrelling through, just as Tom leisurely stepped forward, eyes glancing between the boys – clearly willingly visible for the first time to someone other than his intended victim – before reaching down and lightly retrieving the Gryffindor's wand from the stone floor. Harry paled immediately.

When no one spoke and Tom's lip simply curled into a small sneer at Harry's misfortune, the other Slytherin got impatient, his own mouth forming a sneer of his own.

"Scared of the other students now, Potter?"

"Malfoy…" he started, interrupted before he could warn the other.

"Now, now. Do be quiet and let young Mr Malfoy be on his way," Tom said gently. "I'm sure he has more pressing matters this fine evening."

But the blonde's arrogance won out, undeterred by either of them, lips falling into a frown as he read the situation as unwarranted dismissal – unwilling to read the clear unease and danger hanging in the air. He pulled himself to his feet, a haughty expression dawning on his face.

"I'm sorry, do I know you? How is it that my schedule this evening is any of your concern?"

"Malfoy, don't!" Harry's shout drew an annoyed eye from his school nemesis, but the boy merely crossed his arms and waited for an answer to his ill-advised question.

Tom merely tutted, stepping closer, approaching the Gryffindor and grabbing a fistful of his hair as the other attempted to put distance between them.

"Don't make me silence you," Tom whispered, tugging harshly on the strands and pulling Harry up to stand in front of him, wand digging into the younger boy's neck to still the physical resistance he was met with.

When Harry's eyes met Malfoy's again, the cold grey orbs were stunned by what he was seeing, his body frozen as he finally understood that something was very, very wrong.

"Now, Mr Malfoy. I doubt your father would approve of such manners, least of all when they are directed to me. You have a singular chance, before I lose my patience, to run along and simply be grateful for the opportunity to keep breathing."

Draco Malfoy had never looked so owlish in his life, his wide eyes bulging as his skin drained of all healthy colour.

He almost seemed to seek reassurance from the green eyes he hated so much, searching his fellow student's face for some sign that this was a stupid trick or misunderstanding. But as they locked gazes, something flashed in the emerald orbs for a moment and Harry spoke two words, loud and clear; plainly disobeying Riddle's direct order.

"Malfoy. Run."

Chapter Text

Even with the distraction of imminent danger, Harry couldn't help but consider how strange it was to see Draco Malfoy look as he did in that moment. There was hesitation, discomfort and a bizarre reluctance written into every inch of his face. In hindsight, it might make sense. His school-time enemy had just told him to flee, to desert him in favour of saving his own skin; leaving Harry in the literal grasp of a boy exuding anything but harmless intentions.

What was abundantly clear however, as he watched the blonde stumble backward – the fright evident on his pale features as he turned on his heel and ran the length of the corridor to safety – was that Riddle had allowed Malfoy to leave. The wand digging into Harry's skin had not so much as twitched in the direction of the prone Slytherin at any point. Tom could have so easily killed the boy where he stood only moments ago, but he hadn't.

"I need at least one witness, Harry," the dark-haired Slytherin said softly, as if reading his very thoughts.

"Wh-" Harry started, but the wood under his chin tightened in warning.

"I think it's time we move this conversation elsewhere. No doubt Severus will be Draco's first stop."

It was the urgency in Riddle's voice that reinvigorated his earlier panic, making Harry raise his foot and strike back down onto the other's with his heel, causing Tom to let out a quick shout of pain as the fingers abandoned his hair and the threat disappeared from his neck for just a moment. It was enough time to turn and wrestle the distracted figure, gripping his arms in a wild fight for the wand clenched in the boy's right hand. Harry's energy spiked at the knowledge that Riddle could be hurt in this form. He could feel.

But even with this weakness, Tom didn't let up so easily.

They slammed into the wall, both falling off to the side as they attempted to physically overpower each other. Harry knew his opponent was strong. His semi-existence didn't seem to hinder his physical prowess when he wished it. The memory of the first time they interacted sprung to his mind as Riddle snarled, wrenching his left arm free and slamming Harry's back against the heavy stone.

But it was imperative that he try. And if he could delay long enough, maybe someone would come.

With his fingers still on Tom's wand wrist, Harry wrenched it toward him unexpectedly, the taller boy's smooth hand smashing into the wall beside his captive's head; a sharp, short scream of pain leaving him as bloodied fingers loosened around the wood, leaving just enough room for it to fall and clatter to the ground – where Harry promptly, though regretfully, forced his foot down once more.

A very clear splintered snap rang through the corridor, signalling the demise of the Gryffindor's faithful holly wand.

The struggle stopped immediately upon that wretched sound. Both were frozen, horrified at the willing destruction of magic that had just occurred. Particularly in front of two souls that clung so desperately to the magical world and all that it entailed.

But it was the only way, as Riddle had no wand of his own. Dealing with his physical strength was one thing, but Harry knew he would be a fool to expect to compete with Lord Voldemort's magical skill – no-matter what version of him it was. Besides, he doubted he could fight the other off much longer in any capacity. His body ached from the fall he had suffered. He was at a severe disadvantage and Tom knew it.

Things were eerily quiet now.

The torch-lit corridor was only alive with the sounds of their mutual laboured breaths – until Tom growled viciously, attention wholly on Harry once more. He towered over him as he pressed him into the wall, his hand wrapping around the prone throat and squeezing without mercy.

"How dare you," the Slytherin breathed, face but a hair's breadth from Harry's own, their lips almost touching. A choked sound was the only response that could be given, but green eyes were defiant and wilful.

"A wizard destroying his own wand. I should kill you for that alone."

The anger in Tom's voice was unprecedented and Harry felt his adrenaline give way to jolts of fear in the face of it.

But a shaky exhale left the other's lips then, as if he was attempting to calm himself, the twisted expression falling into its neutral cold, hand loosening on the Gryffindor's windpipe, allowing him short moments of air.

"Don't think that will save you. You should count yourself extremely lucky that I cannot perform wandless magic in this soul form. If I were at full strength… Regardless, I can easily procure another wand to perform the finalities."

Harry grabbed at the hand still on his throat, his nails digging into the wrist, aiming to hurt as well as free himself.

But Riddle was not playing anymore. An impatient hiss left his lips and he grabbed the slimmer shoulders, pulling toward him and then forcing them back against the stone - slamming the shorter boy's head straight into the rough-hewn masonry without mercy, causing a splitting pain to break across the back of Harry's skull, his eyes wobbling and vision flickering as a wave of dizziness overtook him.

"I said I needed you alive, Potter. I never said anything about unharmed."

The words seemed rather far away for a moment, but Riddle's eyes flashed red right in front of him. Swiping without true aim, Harry's arm was caught and he found himself spun around; the motion making his stomach lurch in response, head now pounding.

"Get off me," he bit out, squirming as hands grasped his own with bruising force.

"Such trouble," was whispered from behind him, before he was abruptly pulled back and forced several steps down the corridor, Tom's grip now secure on his arms.

"You'll regret making this so difficult," he murmured.

Harry yanked away from him to no avail, trying to blink away the spots dancing across his vision.

They got to the end of the corridor before he felt Tom's fingers tighten on his skin and the other's body come to an icy standstill. Looking up somewhat blearily, Harry's own form froze as he caught sight of Severus Snape stepping through the archway with his wand drawn – a wide-eyed Draco Malfoy trailing behind him.

Harry's breath hitched at the sudden stand-off, hyper aware that the outside world had been instantaneously drawn into his Riddle-laden nightmare. He watched as Snape's eyes darted between himself and Tom, expression calculating. Settling on Harry's face for a moment, dark orbs narrowed, a familiar mental jolt passing between them once again before the professor broke away.

Nothing changed in the man's posture to indicate what he made of the odd scene, and while the tightness of his jaw seemed to flag some sense of alarm, his wand was completely steady.

"What is going on here?"

Riddle sighed bitterly at the inconvenience of it all, pulling Harry against him.

"Severus," he said softly, the breathy sound of his name causing an enquiring eyebrow to rise on Snape's face.

"Have we met?" the man said, his words flat, as if this was an everyday occurrence.

"Sir, he's-"

Hands abandoned Harry's arms in favour of gripping him around the chest and throat, cutting off the attempted words immediately. Snape had the audacity to seem almost bored by this turn of events.

"One would think you might recognise your master, Severus. I admit the form might not be one you expected."

The words were colder than those previously aimed at Harry, recognisable as the tone Lord Voldemort dropped to when speaking to his Death Eaters. Snape's eyes widened a fraction in response, surprisingly caught unaware. But his gaze settled almost as quickly, becoming closed and guarded.

"The Dark Lord is currently residing at Malfoy Manor."

It was a careful answer. Neither baiting nor giving away any allegiance. Harry's mind flashed back to the conversation he and Tom had exchanged on the stairs – what side was Snape on?

The Gryffindor swallowed against the grip on his throat, aware that he might not be any safer in the presence of the three Slytherins around him than he had been whilst with Riddle alone. He had momentarily considered Snape a chance at aid given Riddle's suspicion, but what if they were all wrong about the unpleasant professor in front of him? What if Dumbledore had put his faith in the wrong man, just like his parents had done with Pettigrew?

But Tom didn't seem affected by Snape's response.

"Do you really think it beyond my power to create another form for my purposes?"

Riddle's answer was as calculated as Snape's had been. He would never betray his own secrets to any follower but doubting Lord Voldemort's power out loud was surely grounds for severe punishment and mistrust.

But the Potions Master didn't falter.

"There is very little the Dark Lord cannot accomplish. But to acknowledge another as him would be ill-advised if it turned out to be false information."

Harry could imagine Riddle suddenly smiling dangerously behind him, wincing as the grip on his throat tightened instinctively. Not enough to cut off air, but uncomfortably close, making his headache pound harder in his skull.

"How true…" Riddle said softly. "But what could I offer as proof?"

The air was thick with tension. Snape seemed more one edge now, whereas Tom's tone indicated he was suddenly enjoying himself.

"Perhaps the fact that my knowledge of intimate details relating to your joining the Death Eaters' ranks could only come from your master and no other. Do you remember the night I marked you, Severus? Unusually, it was not with the expected circle and ceremony. No, you and I were alone in the uppermost rooms of Lucius' home. The hearth was empty and you were shaking, I believe. Not from cold or fear, but in anger. You desired simple revenge above all else."

Riddle paused for effect, hungrily watching the man in front of him pale in response.

"Usually my Death Eaters come to me with obvious ideas of power and glory imprinted on their minds, but not you. You wore your deep-rooted hatred and regret on your face that evening. A fascinating prospect, I admit. You didn't even scream when the mark hit your skin."

It was awful being present for such an intimate story – and given the porcelain pallor of Snape's face, every detail rang true and terrible.

Harry couldn't help but stare, his skewed vision managing to focus on the man in front of him clearly for a moment; stomach now churning with the knowledge he had of his most hated professor's initiation into the dark.

"How…" Snape suddenly seemed to have no desire to finish his question, mouth snapping closed and posture straightening, his features falling back into neutral.

"This proves nothing beyond access to private information. Now, as much as I sympathise with someone wishing to wring his neck, I must ask you to release Potter."

Riddle's sharp intake of breath indicated his unpleasant surprise at the response.

"Don't be a fool!" was hissed at the dark-haired professor, but the man was non-plussed. It was almost as if the spilling of one of his secrets had closed Snape off to the form in front of him.

A long stretch of silence passed between them, until the head of Slytherin seemingly ran out of patience, stepping forward, a curse on his tongue.

The snarl that echoed in Harry's ear was vicious, but as soon as it sounded, the grip on him vanished, causing him to stumble at the lack of support. He turned hastily, but his captor was gone.

Wide-eyed and dizzy, he took a deep, beautifully free, gulp of air.

"What on earth is going on, Potter?!"

The familiarity of Snape's fury was almost comforting, but now with a momentary break in the danger, Harry's body finally gave in to all it had suffered. He raised a hand to the back of his head, at last able to inspect the wound there. The digits came away coated in blood.

The professor swept to his side almost immediately, grabbing the bloodied hand and forcing him to turn, inspecting the state of the injury.

A murmured spell sent a cooling sensation across his skull, the pain dulling almost immediately.

"Hospital wing. Now."

"No," Harry said, trying to force a firm tone despite the ache of his head. "He could appear at any moment professor; we need to go to the headmaster. We need to check my friends are alright. He threatened-"

A short scream cut off Harry's words, both he and Snape whirling around to face Malfoy, who had fallen to his knees only metres away from them, clutching his chest in desperation as Riddle stood over him, the blonde's wand grasped firmly in his hand.

Snape reacted faster than Harry thought was humanly possible, but the wordless spell he began died just as quickly when his wand was ripped from his grasp and skidded across the ground, coming to a halt at Riddle's feet. The boy didn't so much as look down at it, as if the very action was beneath him.

"Never dare to challenge me, Severus. No-matter how I may look as I stand in front of you."

Riddle's words were scarily final, and the Slytherin professor took a step to the side, as if to move in front of Harry. But he was blasted off his feet by a violent purple light, blown back several paces to crumple on the ground as Tom lowered Malfoy's wand finally, a look of disgust marring his handsome face.

"To think he doubted me," he said quietly, before turning to Harry. "I believe I have my answer."

There wasn't time to so much as blink before everything went dark.

Harry awoke to stagnation and cold.

A strange feeling permeated his body, tingling slightly with every movement; seeping into his skin like the damp he could feel from under him.

He was lying on his side, the cold ground hard beneath his bones. Snapping his eyes open, his gaze immediately found the mighty carving of Salazar Slytherin towering above him.

He was in the chamber.

Panic set in and he moved too quickly, jarring the bonds that held his wrists trapped behind him. Swallowing against the building dread, he awkwardly pushed himself up into a seated position, looking down to see his ankles bound just as tightly.

The suffocating silence of Slytherin's secretive dwelling was only broken by the far-off drip and trickle of water. Wide eyes noted the rotting basilisk skeleton that lay off to his right, its form still home to slices of flesh in some areas.

Sick to his stomach at the sight, he was distracted by echoing steps approaching, turning to watch Riddle come to a halt a mere meter away. Tom seemed satisfied to simply look down on him, the sudden pleasure of his win lighting his face with malice and glee – like a young boy who had been given his favourite toy for Christmas.

"It's a fitting punishment considering what you did to Slytherin's monster, Harry," he said, smiling. "You murdered the one who called this space home. Well, now this ancient chasm will have a new tenant, won't it?"

Harry glared up at him, trying to hide the slight shaking in his limbs that had nothing to do with the unpleasant cold of the damp stone.

"I won't let you do it," he snapped.

Riddle cocked his head to the side.

"Do what?"

The Gryffindor bared his teeth at Tom's willingness to play innocent.

"Put me to sleep!"

He thought the words had been strong but he had barely spoken the last when Riddle began to laugh, the sound truly terrible, echoing with haunting magnitude throughout the chasm, as if his voice sought out every chilled corner to haunt it.

"Oh, my dear Harry. It's already done."

The world stopped for a moment and Harry almost choked on his breath.

"W-what?"

Tom smiled. It was almost apologetic.

"Your little scene in the castle really did push forward my timeline. Do you honestly think I required you to be awake to enact the magic? I simply needed a wand. Draco's worked beautifully."

Harry shook his head, unwilling to accept it. He didn't feel any different, did he? A far-off ache from the headwound was still there, numbed by whatever Snape had done to relieve it. And he was cold, somewhat shivery. But look at where he was! There was nothing unus-

But then he recalled the odd tingling in his body.

"What did you do?" he whispered, looking up at the other, failing to hide the growing internal despair.

Tom considered him for a moment.

"It's a curse not unlike the Draught of Living Death potion. Except it can be bound by a singular magic. My magic. Perhaps you are unaware that the Draught most students deem so terrifying is nothing but a powerful sleeping solution that can be easily reversed with a Wiggenweld Potion. This curse is not so easily remedied, I'm afraid."

"But…" Harry hated the terror that was spiking through him. "I don't feel-"

"You will," Riddle said simply. "It's slow to take effect, as it begins in the bones and works its way outward. Your mind will be the last thing to fall under. But you were unconscious for over an hour; I expect you shall feel some symptoms take effect very quickly."

Harry had no more words to offer. Everything was happening too fast.

"Don't worry, I won't leave you to an eternity bound on the icy ground. I'll fashion you a more fitting arrangement. Any requests, while you can still speak?"

The Gryffindor hated the false kindness that permeated those words, unable to process the inevitability of what was happening to him.

"You-!"

But he stopped, the word stuck as he felt something strange deep in his chest. An eerie numbness came over his lungs, halting his speech for a moment.

Desperately, he focused on his breath, pulling air in and out. He could still breathe, but the motion seemed slower than it should be considering the panic fluttering inside.

"As I said," Tom stated. "You will start to feel it soon."

Harry's eyes found him again.

"Your breath will slow now, but don't worry. You still have some time left. Your limbs might grow a tad heavy in feel, and your heart won't beat so many times a minute. Your mind though, will hold out until the very last."

It was all too familiar, Harry thought. Watching Riddle stand over him in the chamber, as he grew weaker on the ground. But unlike his second year, this time there was no Falkes coming to save him.

At the very least, it was only his life on the line now. Ginny was safe. Ron was safe. Hermione was safe. That was a measure of comfort.

But he knew it was bad when Riddle seemed confident enough to vanish the bonds on his wrists and ankles. He made to get up, but his body was so heavy, so suddenly. Without warning, he found himself falling out of his seated position, his back about to hit stone when he was caught in careful arms.

"Get… off me," Harry whispered, the words long and exhausting.

Riddle said nothing, merely lowering him to the ground gently, kneeling by his side in a show of quiet victory.

"Did you ever think it would come to this, Harry? I admit, even I am touched with a little melancholy. After all, you have given me true life. I am the perfect combination of Lord Voldemort's brilliance, and Harry Potter's inner strength. I will take all of it from you as you sleep. Your life is now mine, a reversal of how I have spent my existence. I shall be the soul piece to walk free now."

"You won't win," Harry rebutted breathily, the falling pace of his heart now noticeable.

Riddle didn't mock him in that moment, nor did he smile or seem angry. Instead, he moved to trace a finger down Harry's cold cheek, before sliding his thumb across the other's bottom lip in an agonisingly slow and possessive gesture.

"If it gives you comfort, you may think that. Perhaps you'll even dream of my defeat. It's the only thing you can hope for now. Pleasant, thoroughly false, dreams. Let us hope these last moments don't give way to nightmares instead."

Harry wanted to recoil or shove him away, eyes abandoning the smug expression above him – only to land and lock on something sticking out of Tom's right-hand robe pocket, the handle visible due to the angle of the older boy's domineering lean.

Draco Malfoy's wand.

Swallowing thickly, he forced himself to look at Riddle again, willing his sluggish body to cooperate with him one last time. He barely had the strength to move, let alone pull this off. But maybe…

Keeping Tom's gaze fixed on his own, he knew a distraction would be necessary. He called on a similar argument he had played out with another Tom Riddle in this very spot.

"You can do what you like to me… but you won't defeat Dumbledore."

The words cost energy, but the incensed look on the other's face was worth it, as Tom took a firm grasp of the Gryffindor's robes, leaning right down over him.

Harry's hand closed around the wand and drew it away quietly as Riddle hissed threats in his ear – paying no attention to the body below him, believing its immobility already to be in full effect.

"I will make Dumbledore crawl. My power will soon be beyond his own. And don't forget, your inner impression of me has afforded my soul youth once more. The headmaster is nothing but an old man."

With his grip growing weaker, Harry knew it was now or never. He willed himself to have the strength for one last spell, closing his eyes and picturing the corpse of the basilisk laying several metres near the odd twosome. A powerful spell was beyond him now, but an Accio charm was simple, even though he knew he wouldn't be able to control the trajectory or aim properly. But one hit would be enough…

"You're wrong, Riddle," he whispered.

"Am I?" Tom said coolly, his eyes boring into green depths. "Such confidence from a lost soul."

Harry's lip quirked slightly in an attempt at a smile, silently lifting the wand in his hand, praying.

"Accio basilisk fangs," he said hoarsely.

Tom's eyes widened as several raw snapping sounds broke from behind him, but he didn't have time to turn before nine of the rotting teeth flew toward them, some angled entirely the wrong way – but two were pointed to kill, one flying through the air with true aim and heavily lodging itself in the back of Tom's neck with a sickening thud.

The scream was immediate, as Riddle stood upright and stumbled, his hand reaching around to yank out the offending object.

But as he held the tooth out in front of him with a shaky hand, Harry could see the understanding dawn in the taller boy's red eyes. It was too late.

Much as Harry had come to understand at the age of twelve, basilisk venom was immediate and potent, taking effect as soon as it entered the body. The fact that the basilisk itself wasn't attached made little to no difference, as the poison remained impregnated in the tooth. As soon as it had broken the skin, it had spelled out Riddle's end.

"You-"

Disbelief was written into every inch of the handsome face, even as fury and fear began to overwhelm it. But the phantom didn't disappear or retreat into nothingness, as he had before. Had he become too whole to revert now, taking too much life from Harry while enacting the sleeping curse? Or maybe disappearing just wouldn't help? Perhaps the poison would still follow.

Either way, the damage was done.

Harry couldn't do much beyond lay on the ground, Riddle's curse still drawing him under despite the panic its creator was currently suffering.

When his would-be captor dropped to his knees, his skin white as a sheet and hand still clutching the wound in his neck, Harry's grip on the wand that had been his last hope slackened, leaving it to fall uselessly by his side. He realised with an accepted sadness that Riddle's demise didn't seem to be negating the curse. As the other wilted in front of him, Harry could still feel himself succumb to oblivion. He almost wished a fang had hit him too. Death would be welcome over an eternity of nothing. He could have seen his parents again.

It felt like an age, lying under Riddle's glazed eyes, feeling himself fall further and further away from the world – just as the boy next to him was.

"I won't grant you death, Harry," Tom said, his voice raspy and laboured, face sweating and distorted. "Your end has already been decided and you will suffer it in consequence."

Harry couldn't speak anymore, his breath was passing through his lungs as if sucked through a straw, his inhales drawn out and desperate; aware that they were on a countdown.

But when his thoughts became jumbled and his mind started to cloud over, he knew this was it. Riddle had said his mind would give in last, and he wasn't wrong.

It wasn't the comforting lull of a true slumber, it was an all-encompassing fade, suffocating him from the inside out.

And then things disappeared from existence. He couldn't tell if his eyes had closed or simply darkened over. He couldn't feel anything, didn't understand anything. Fear was all he could recall just then, as a low thump sounded beside him and a burst of magic rushed through the space he was bound to, his breaths coming to a sharp halt.

His last thought was strange, considering words burned across a book. A rule that had come to pass in its own way. He somehow knew that it should have bothered him, that he should hate it.

But then everything fell away from him and was lost.

Epilogue to follow…

Chapter Text

There was water dripping from somewhere.

That was the first thing he was aware of as his limbs stirred from slumber, the idle thought slipping in and out of his mind before he could linger on it.

Green eyes opened before his lips managed an intake of breath, their unfocused gaze unsure of the surroundings, dimly recognising the ghoulish light and smell of damp.

But thoughts began to rush back as soon as Harry choked in his first bite of oxygen, lungs burning with the unexpected rush, coughing and heaving as his body returned from magical abyss.

Pins and needles unlike anything he had ever felt raced through him with a vengeance, causing an anguished cry to leave his lips; the sound startling his unaccustomed ears as all of his senses came to life too quickly.

He lay there for a long time, hours perhaps, as the blood pumped around his body once more, heart hammering intensely as if it were attempting to catch up on lost time. It was nauseating, feeling his fingers twitch and leg muscles spasm without any true control over the movement, waiting for things to even out.

When he could finally inhale without serious discomfort, wincing at the dryness of his eyes and mouth, the Gryffindor cautiously tried out his limbs; shoots of white-hot pain jutting up and down his body sporadically, as if protesting the adjustment. Shaky hands eventually pushed himself up into a half-seated position, not trusting his legs to support him yet.

Slightly dizzy, Harry looked around with disbelief; at last able to acknowledge the fact that he was awake. Not just awake, but fully aware and cognisant of what he had been through. Which meant Riddle had failed.

But as he considered the phantom's ill-fated curse, a dark thought passed over him…

How long had he been asleep?

Mildly terrified of the potential longevity, his eyes searched edgily for any sign of Riddle's body. But there was nothing to see. Only Draco Malfoy's wand and a littering of basilisk fangs – one uncomfortably close, standing out as the tool of Tom Riddle's destruction.

Frowning in thought, Harry managed to drag himself up, stumbling as he moved to take the Slytherin wand at his feet. His hands couldn't grip it with any real strength but the desire to leave this place was overwhelming, so he settled for the loose hold and hurried a 'lumos' spell, casting a soft glow around him; somewhat surprised that Malfoy's wand worked so readily.

A touch breathless, he made his way across the chamber, his steps unsteady but mind determined. Tom Riddle was wrong. He wouldn't be here for eternity, He was getting out. Now.

As he passed beyond the entrance, the snake-laden doors closed softly behind him with a low hiss. The eerie sound made him shiver and he pushed on, slowly making his way down the tunnel, grabbing desperately at the rough wall to hold himself up. Fallen rock still marred the passage from Lockhart's long-ago mishap and he fell several times.

But loose stones were the least of his problems, for a real obstacle was waiting for him when he made it to the end.

Distress gripped his mind as he stared up into the darkened pipe that led back to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. Not only was the reach up impossibly far and too steep for his weakened body to climb, but if the never-ending dark was anything to go by, the entrance was likely closed on the other end. There's no way Riddle would have left it exposed.

Taking a rattled breath, Harry realised his body was trembling. He understood that he was beginning to be overwhelmed by all that had occurred. No doubt a sleeping curse from someone so powerful wasn't simply shook off. There would be lingering symptoms and perhaps unknown consequences.

The urge to collapse against the wall in defeat was extremely tempting.

But under the growing despair, there was an unmistakable will to fight the notion of giving in. He thought about Riddle and all he had put him through. The boy – monster – had physically, mentally and magically assaulted him, treating him as if he was some sort of toy.

But, of course, that's exactly what Tom had thought. From the moment he had grabbed him in that dusty alcove, pinning Harry to him, clamping a hand over his mouth and holding him as if he was handling a ragdoll, he had shown his disregard for the Gryffindor as anything but his plaything and pawn.

He would have left Harry to eternal damnation down here, trapped in the gloom; forever separated from his friends. And even his parents. All for the sake of feeding Tom's apparent need for immortality.

There was strength in the anger and resentment he felt bubbling inside and Harry clenched his fists unconsciously, some power returning to his fingers as they finally tightened around the wand he held.

He couldn't let Riddle win in any capacity.

Frowning upwards, he called up into the pipe with a hoarse shout.

"Open!"

As raw as his throat was, the parseltongue lilt carried up into the plumbing with surprising ease, effortlessly echoing along the cylindrical passageway until, miraculously, the low groaning sound of a mechanism clicking and something shifting reached him from far above.

He swallowed against a feeling of victory, knowing the more dangerous part was now upon him. It was risky, but staying here was not an option.

Taking a long breath, he raised Malfoy's wand in firmer fingers and stood directly under the pipe, closing his eyes and praying that he wasn't about to launch himself straight into a more permanent head injury.

"Ascendio."

The sudden jolt was terrifying, his body unsteady as the magic pushed him higher and higher, feet and shoulders grazing the pipe's lining at some of the rougher patches. He knew it was a spell usually reserved for underwater, but he didn't have Falkes this time...

The rush was dizzyingly fast and he could soon see flickering light looming closer.

He urged the incantation to keep working, until he finally reached the top, his body thrown through the open gap in the sinks, crashing to the tiled floor of the bathroom before he thought to consider a cushioning charm. His chest made the initial impact, a sickening snap from inside signalling his landing.

Letting out a short and guttural scream, he gingerly rolled over onto his back, pain flaring from his ribs. Wheezy breaths left him in succession, his lungs in torment.

But even as he lay there, body aching in utter agony, he couldn't help but relish his freedom.

He had gotten away.

Of course, the question of how, or why, he had awoken remained. Riddle said the curse was tied to his magic, but he had seemed so confident that Harry would be lost to his fate even when the basilisk fang had spelled out his own end. Perhaps it simply arrogance? Lord Voldemort did seem to type to think his magic would surpass any boundary.

Taking in small gulps of air that didn't antagonise his aching lungs as much, he allowed himself a moment. He didn't think he had the strength to get up again, but he needed to find Dumbledore.

However, before he had any real time to chance moving, Moaning Myrtle herself flew straight through the wall between the brackets of two lit torches, her silvery form shining in the night-time hours.

Muttering quietly to herself amongst bitter sniffles, she suddenly stopped mid-air. Wide eyes took one look at Harry's bruised, deathly-pale body and she began to scream.

"MURDER! MURDER IN THE GIRLS' BATHROOM!"

She had zoomed through the door before Harry could raise a hand to warn her that he was very much alive, her wailing still audible in the exterior corridor.

Blinking in bewilderment, he decided to rest for a bit – turning to stare up at the ceiling. Maybe it was just as well Myrtle was so dramatic; help would come to him instead. Which was just as well, for he could now taste blood at the back of his mouth. Hardly a good sign.

It couldn't have been more than a minute before several figures burst through the doors – far too quickly to be a mere reaction to Myrtle's alarm. Harry turned his head to the side wearily to see a horrified McGonagall, an intensely pale Snape and an alert Dumbledore standing before him. He let the relief wash over him.

It wasn't just thankfulness for the arrival of aid – but also at the simple fact that none looked as if they had aged a day. Time sat funny in Harry's head. He felt as though one hundred years could have passed just as easily. So to see the proof that it hadn't was balm for his anxious mind and he drank in the sight.

Dumbledore made it to him first, surprisingly agile for his age, sweeping down on Harry in a mass of purple robes, his wand tracing over his prone figure in specific figures and movements. When he seemed satisfied, his eyes turned kind.

"Harry, my boy. Can you hear me?"

"Y-yeah, professor," he rasped.

The wizard's wise face blanched at the slight gurgle underlying his student's words, but Harry pushed himself to speak. He needed to know.

"How long…? Was, was I gone?"

If Dumbledore was surprised by the question, it didn't show.

"Hours, Harry. Severus reported what had happened in the corridor. Once we informed Mr Weasley and Miss Granger of your disappearance and Riddle's suspected involvement, they returned with a very determined Ginny Weasley – who had the foresight to recognise where a shade of young Tom might take you."

Dumbledore's eyes flashed toward the sinks for a moment.

"We were on our way here when Myrtle must have discovered you. But no more of that now, you need the hospital wing. You are badly hurt."

Harry didn't argue.

He allowed himself to be magically lifted and placed on a make-shift stretcher.

It was all so strange. His enchanted sleep had felt much longer than a few mere hours. But the curse must have been broken from the moment Riddle was vanquished. Meaning Harry had only suffered the beginnings of the spell.

He shivered at the thought of how deep he could have gone under, had its caster survived.

"Wait, sir," he said very softly, catching a glimpse of the sinks – the sight disturbing him from his inner musings. Dumbledore halted, as did the other two professors.

"Close," Harry murmured, the hissing sound falling from his lips with surprising ease. He couldn't explain why, but he didn't want to leave the Chamber exposed like that.

An uneven sigh left him and he turned away, only to meet the disturbed eyes of his Potion's professor. Snape's black orbs were fixed on Harry, as if he had never truly seen him before.

As they moved, Dumbledore's words were serious.

"Do we need to be on the lookout for Tom?"

Harry shook his head slowly.

No, Tom Riddle was gone, he was sure of it.

And perhaps that should have been of more comfort; openly acknowledging the other's defeat.

But lying there, his mind in a whirl and body seriously damaged, Harry couldn't help but concede that Tom was merely a precursor to the fight against the more frightening form of Lord Voldemort.

And if a phantom of the boy could do this much to him, who knew what the wizard he had become was capable of.

End