Chapter Text
"'Arry!"
Closing the car door, Harry turned and saw Mundungus Fletcher walking towards him, carrying an ancient suitcase.
"Just doing a dead man's bidding," Mundungus said, and flopped the suitcase down at Harry's feet. "You know I was just trying to make a living, don't ya?"
"Yeah, sure," Harry said, though he didn't mean it. He glanced at Uncle Vernon, who was turning a dark shade of purple. "You should go now."
"Right, right." Mundungus cast a forlorn glance at the suitcase, and then strolled back the way he came. "See ya, 'Arry!"
"Look," Harry said before Uncle Vernon could open his mouth. "I'll be here for two weeks, and then you'll never have to see me again. So can we just get on with it without the shouting and the accusations?"
Uncle Vernon huffed, his triple chin wobbling, and then marched inside the house, car keys jingling in his hand. Sighing, Harry managed to collect his trunk, Hedwig's cage, and the suitcase, and he dragged them towards his bedroom.
*0*0*0*0*
And then he spotted something gold stuffed in the corner of the suitcase.
Harry reached for it, and found a thin, golden chain, and when he pulled on it, a shiny, golden locket followed.
Gasping, Harry released the locket. It fell to the floor with a soft clink. He recognized the serpentine S instantly; he'd seen it a few times in the memories Dumbledore had shown him that year.
It was Slytherin's locket, the one Voldemort's mother once wore and had sold to Borgin and Burkes. It was the locket Voldemort had stolen from Hepzibah Smith.
It was one of Voldemort's Horcruxes.
Without giving it another thought, Harry grabbed the chain and rushed out of his room and down the stairs. He ran through the kitchen, out the door and into the yard to Uncle Vernon's tool shed. Inside, he flipped on the small light bulb hanging from the wooden ceiling, and reached for the hammer in the toolbox.
Throwing the locket down on the workbench, Harry raised the hammer, and slammed it down.
Nothing happened.
It was as though the hammer hadn't even touched the golden locket.
Harry tried again, and again, but no matter how hard he brought the hammer down, it wouldn't touch the locket. Harry threw the locket to the floor, and tried to stomp on it with his foot. Again nothing happened.
"Bugger," Harry sighed. He wanted to reach for his wand, to try to curse the locket, but then he remembered he wasn't seventeen yet. And he really did not need another Ministry inquiry for doing underage magic.
Staring down at the locket, Harry wished he hadn't told Ron and Hermione to go home for the two weeks he'd be at the Dursleys'. It seemed like a good plan at the time, to give his friends a chance to catch up with their own families before they joined Harry on his new quest. After all, while Harry was stuck at the Dursleys', he hadn't expected to need their help.
And then Harry decided it didn't really matter. He had the Horcrux, and while he was at the Dursleys', no one could touch him, so the Horcrux was safe there as well. He could discuss destroying it when he joined Ron and Hermione at the Burrow in a fortnight.
Harry picked up the chain carefully, and returned to his bedroom, where he dropped the locket in his trunk. He'd keep it there until it was time to leave for the Burrow.
*0*0*0*0*
It wouldn't hurt to examine it. Perhaps he'd find a way to destroy it after all if he took a good look at it. He leaned forward to open his trunk. Holding his breath, he pulled the locket out by its chain, sat back against the wall, and carefully placed the locket on his outstretched palm.
The golden lid opened, revealing a tiny black-and-white photograph; a portrait of a handsome young man Harry knew only too well.
Tom Riddle, just as he'd looked in the memory of Hokey the house-elf.
Harry dropped the locket to the sheets and stared at the picture with wide eyes. And Tom stared right back at him.
"You're not me," Tom said, and Harry clasped a hand over his mouth to muffle a surprised shriek.
"Who are you?" Tom demanded, and Harry slowly lowered his hand.
"Er..."
"Only I can open this locket," Tom said, his eyes narrowing.
"I'm -- " Harry silently wished Hermione were there. She was the smart one; she'd know what to say. "I'm a... friend."
"A friend?" Tom sounded as though he didn't believe Harry one bit.
"Yes. I'm a friend of him - you. He asked me to keep this locket safe." Harry wanted to clap himself on the back for coming up with a lie so quickly. This was only one part of Voldemort's soul, he figured. A part that had been locked away years and years ago. This Tom couldn't know who Harry really was.
"Why would I ask you to keep this locket safe?" Tom curved a daring eyebrow.
"Er..." Harry picked up the locket, glanced at the serpentine figure on the lid briefly, and then concentrated. "Someone is trying to destroy your Horcruxes."
Tom's eyes widened. "You speak Salazar's tongue?"
"Yes," Harry hissed eagerly. If he could convince this Tom he was a friend, there was a good chance he'd find out more about the other Horcruxes. "You gave me that gift."
"Are you my heir?"
"In a manner of speaking," Harry said. "You gave me some of your powers right after I was born." Harry pointed at the scar on his forehead. "You trusted me with your powers so I could keep your Horcruxes safe for you."
Tom looked thoughtful for a moment, and then he gave Harry a satisfied smile. "Very well. What is your name?"
"Harry."
"Who is trying to destroy my Horcruxes, Harry?"
Swallowing, Harry gave Tom a grave look. "Dumbledore and his followers. They've already destroyed your diary and Marvolo's ring."
A dark shadow passed over Tom's face.
"I was only just able to keep this locket out of their hands. I'll keep it safe for you. But I can't protect your other Horcruxes unless you help me." Harry bit his lip. He really hoped this photograph of Tom wasn't able to do Legilimency.
Tom stayed quiet for a moment, and then whispered, "I can help you."
"Can you tell me -- "
"No," Tom said with a smile. "But I can show you."
Harry's eyebrows rose. He remembered reading those exact words in his second year when Riddle had shown him his memory of framing Hagrid. It had just been a memory then. And if Tom wanted to show him a memory again, Harry might learn things that could help him destroy the Horcruxes.
"Okay," he said, and then watched Tom's picture blur until a vague image of a tiny room came into view. Harry raised the locket to his face and held it closer to his eyes, trying to peek inside that room. A familiar pull followed -- and it felt an awful lot like being sucked inside a Pensieve, Harry now realized -- and the world around Harry turned upside down until he felt a solid, wooden floor beneath his bare feet.
He stood inside a small attic room. The sparse furniture looked old and worn, but the room was clean and tidy. A single bed stood under a square window, a wardrobe stood beside it, and against the opposite wall was a desk at which Tom Riddle sat.
Harry moved a few steps, so he could see the objects on the desk. There was the diary, Marvolo's ring, and Slytherin's locket. Tom was reading an ancient book, the parchment yellowed, and Harry moved closer still to see what was on those pages.
Tom turned in his seat and stared up at Harry. "Hello, Harry."
Gasping, Harry stumbled back until he hit the wall behind him. "What..how...?"
Tom rose from his chair and stood in front of Harry a second later. "You expected to see a memory?" he asked, and Harry gave a faint nod. "I expected to show you a memory as well, but it seems we're more alike than I initially thought." Tom raised a finger and trailed it over the scar on Harry's forehead.
Stiffening, Harry stared up into Tom's hazel eyes. Tom was taller than him, and Harry felt trapped standing between Tom and the wall. "I don't understand," he whispered.
"But I do," Tom said, smiling. "I understand it perfectly now." He grabbed Harry's arm and led him towards the bed. "Come, you must tell me everything."
Harry sank down on the bed beside Tom, his back straight and shoulders tense. "What do you want to know?"
"You can start by telling me what happened to my diary and Marvolo's ring."
"Oh. Right." Harry inhaled a deep breath. Everything around him was real. This wasn't at all like being inside a Pensieve. The bed Harry sat on felt real, the floor beneath his feet was solid, and Tom's hand on his arm had felt warm and alive. This was quite unexpected, and Harry looked up at Tom, and realized Tom was waiting for an answer.
"I'm sorry," Harry mumbled. "I'm just a bit overwhelmed."
"No matter." Tom smiled, and Harry marveled at how completely human Tom still looked.
"The diary," Harry started, and then frowned. He needed to convince this Tom he was a friend. "I opened the Chamber of Secrets in my second year," Harry continued solemnly. Tom's face lit up. "I briefly got my hands on your diary, and you - well, that you - showed me your memories of the Chamber of Secrets. I sent the Basilisk after Muggleborns, but unfortunately, before the Basilisk could kill anyone, Dumbledore intervened and killed it, and then destroyed the diary."
"That meddling old fool," Tom said, and his hazel eyes flashed crimson. Harry repressed a shudder. "And the ring?"
"Dumbledore found it about a year ago. I'm not sure how or where, but he destroyed it. Though it did curse him. It blackened his hand."
"It didn't kill him?" Tom asked, frowning. "I placed that curse on it not too long ago. It should have killed anyone trying to destroy it."
Harry frowned as well, trying to remember what Dumbledore had told him about that ring. Hadn't Dumbledore said he might not have lived to tell the tale if it hadn't been for Snape? And why had Snape saved his life then only to kill him later? Harry stopped that train of thought. He needed to concentrate on Tom now.
"It almost did kill him. But he made it back to Hogwarts, and one of his staff members saved his life. But Dumbledore is dead now. He died a little over a week ago."
"Did he now?" Tom's lips curved up in a terrible smile, one that made Harry shiver. "And how do you know all this?"
"I'm like a spy," Harry said, and then thought that sounded really stupid. "I'm a Gryffindor, and Dumbledore trusted me. I had him wrapped around my finger, and he had no idea who I really was or who I was really working for." Harry gave Tom his brightest smile. "You."
"Indeed," Tom said, leaning closer to Harry. He reached out and touched his finger to the scar on Harry's forehead. Harry really wished he'd stop doing that, even though it didn't hurt. It tickled a little. But having Tom Riddle - Voldemort - sitting beside him, completely fascinated with the scar he'd put there in the first place was almost too much for Harry's nerves to handle.
"No one knows about this," Harry said, desperate to redirect Tom's attention. "Even your closest followers don't know about my true allegiance. You always call me your secret weapon."
Harry hoped he wasn't overdoing it, but he knew Tom was suspicious by nature and needed more convincing. Or perhaps it was Harry himself who needed more convincing of whatever he was doing. If this plan worked, it was going to be the most brilliant plot ever hatched. If it didn't work...well, Harry really didn't want to think about any of the, most likely fatal, consequences.
"Of course," Tom said, sitting back with a satisfied look. "It is most fortunate then, that we've run across each other. I can use your assistance on the outside, Harry. There are a few things you can do for me."
Harry nodded eagerly, hoping it had to do with finding and 'protecting' more Horcruxes. Then he realized the only glitch in this plan so far. "I can't do magic yet, though."
Tom curved one questioning eyebrow.
"I'm only sixteen. I'll be seventeen in about three weeks. And I've already had two official warnings, plus one hearing, concerning underage magic," Harry said, and then added a heartfelt, "Fucking Ministry."
Tom's lips curved up in a grin. "There are spells to hide underage magic. I'm surprised you haven't used one yet."
Harry stared at him in disbelief. "There are spells? Really? I honestly didn't know."
"When you leave here, just take your wand and say: Velieris Veneficus."
"Velieris Veneficus," Harry repeated softly, memorizing the spell.
"It will allow you to do all the magic you want without the Ministry's interference." Tom gave Harry an expectant look.
"I'll do it right away."
"Good." Tom got up from the bed, and after a moment, Harry followed his example. "Open the locket when you're ready to do my bidding." Tom moved closer to the door. He turned and put a hand on Harry's shoulder. Harry tried not to stiffen under the touch. "Wear the locket, Harry. It is much too valuable not to, understand?"
"Yeah." Harry nodded, and glanced from Tom to the door. "Er...how do I leave, exactly?" He hadn't considered that before, but now he was suddenly worried he'd be stuck there forever. God, wouldn't that be fucking ironic. Having to spend eternity with a piece of Voldemort's soul in a tiny attic room.
"Just walk out the door, Harry. Come visit me again soon."
"I will. Tomorrow, probably."
Tom gave Harry's shoulder a little push towards the door. Harry gripped the doorknob and glanced over his shoulder one more time. "Bye," he said, sounding a tad uncertain.
"Goodbye," Tom said, and it was the last thing Harry heard before he turned the doorknob and took a step across the threshold. The world spun in spectacular colors, and within seconds Harry found himself sitting on his own bed, the closed locket resting quietly on the palm of his hand.
Harry stared at the locket for exactly three and a half seconds; that was how long it took him to realize just what he'd done. He dropped the locket to his bed and jumped up, putting as much distance as his bedroom allowed between himself and that cursed piece of Voldemort's soul.
He had just offered his services to Tom Riddle - no, to Lord Voldemort. He'd just turned himself into a spy, a willing participant in a deadly game of bluff.
Who was he trying to kid here? He wasn't smart like Hermione. There was no way he was ever going to outsmart Lord Voldemort, even if it was just one part of his soul. What had Dumbledore said? Voldemort was intelligent. Mad as a hatter, yes, but very, very intelligent. And suspicious. And paranoid. And he didn't have any friends. And here Harry was pretending to be just that.
Inhaling several shaky breaths, Harry stared at the locket. It looked so innocent, lying there on his sheets. So harmless. But Harry had seen what lived inside of it. The memory of hazel eyes flashing crimson swept through Harry and he shuddered.
The best thing to do right now was bury that locket in his trunk and not take it out again until he'd figured out a way to destroy it once and for all.
But where was he going to find the other Horcruxes? It wasn't as if Dumbledore had left him a manual for Horcrux hunting. Harry didn't have a clue where to start looking.
What chance did he really stand against Voldemort if he didn't manage to find and destroy all those pieces of his soul?
None. Harry knew that much.
He had a piece of Voldemort's soul right there. A Tom Riddle of his very own, one that seemed to trust him enough to want to tell him things.
Harry squeezed his eyes shut and leaned back against the wall. He needed this Tom Riddle - this Voldemort -- if he ever wanted to destroy the real thing. He needed to earn the trust of this Tom. He needed to play the part of his loyal friend and servant.
And most importantly, he needed to keep this new plan an absolute secret. He couldn't tell Ron and Hermione. Harry suspected Hermione would disapprove, and he didn't have a safe way to communicate with them, anyway. Hedwig was too recognizable. And if anyone found out, anyone at all, and the real Voldemort learned what he was trying to do, he'd gather his Horcruxes before Harry could get to them, and everything would be lost.
Harry raised his hand and touched the scar on his forehead. He really did not want to find out how far the real Voldemort could manipulate their connection, what pains he could put Harry through with a mere thought. For the time being, Voldemort seemed content to leave Harry's scar alone, but Harry knew if Voldemort learned of this plan, he'd go after Harry with everything he had, and that scar, that connection, was Harry's greatest weakness.
Slowly, Harry sank down to the floor, back pressed against the wall and knees drawn up. A surge of anger burst through him. Anger at Dumbledore for not giving him better instructions. Anger at Snape for betraying them all. Anger at Voldemort for fucking his life up. And anger at himself for not being a better wizard.
He didn't stand a chance. He did not stand one fucking chance against someone like Voldemort.
No. That wasn't true. He had a plan now. A good plan. Dangerous, certainly, but no one would ever suspect him of working together with Tom Riddle. And that was his plan's greatest strength, Harry realized. No one would ever think he'd use one of Voldemort's Horcruxes against him. Not even Voldemort himself.
First things first. Harry needed his magic if he was going to play the part of Tom's perfect little spy. Harry pulled his wand from the pocket of his oversize jeans, and tapped it against his knee.
Was it a test? Had Tom given him that spell to see if he really trusted Tom? If he'd do exactly what Tom said? Harry had never heard of that spell before, but then again, he wasn't as big an expert in magic as Tom was.
If he was going to pull this plan off, he needed to trust Tom as much as he needed Tom to trust him.
Harry flicked his wand and said, "Velieris Veneficus."
A warm tingle shot through his hand and up his arm. Harry waited, looking around his bedroom, but nothing else happened. Chewing on his bottom lip, Harry aimed his wand at his trainer lying on the floor nearby, and thought with all his might: Wingardium Leviosa.
The trainer rose in the air shakily, hovered for a few moments, and dropped to the floor again. Harry sighed. He needed to practice his wordless magic. Still, he'd done unauthorized magic twice in a row now. If Tom's spell didn't work, the Ministry was sure to notice.
Harry pushed himself up and shuffled to the window. He stared at the night sky, looking for any signs of an incoming Ministry owl. For several long minutes he saw nothing that resembled an owl, until a faint silhouette appeared above the houses across the street. It soared closer and closer, and Harry's heart missed several beats. When the owl flew over the rooftop and into the light of a nearby street lamp, Harry released a deep breath.
It was Hedwig, returning from her nightly hunt.
"You scared me," Harry said with a nervous chuckle as he opened the window to let Hedwig in. Hedwig gave an indignant hoot, hopped inside her cage, and ruffled her feathers.
Harry closed the window and stared at the sky for a while longer, but no Ministry owls appeared. It seemed that Tom's spell worked. And that was a very good thing, because now Harry could spend his time at the Dursleys' practicing wordless magic and Occlumency, and whatever else he needed to defeat the most powerful wizard alive.
A glance at the clock told him it really was time to get some sleep if he wanted to have enough energy to practice the following day. Harry returned to his bed and noticed the locket. Tom had told him to wear it. And while Harry wasn't too fond of the idea of keeping a piece of Voldemort's soul that close, he had to prove to Tom he could be trusted.
With a sigh, Harry picked up the locket and slipped the chain around his neck. The gold was cold against his skin, but nothing suspicious happened, and Harry got into bed and pulled the sheets up to his chin.
This plan was going to work. He had to believe it was going to work, because otherwise he might as well turn himself in to Voldemort right away. And Harry had no intention of doing that.
*0*0*0*0*
He was going to use everything he knew about his enemies against them, and to do that he needed to retrieve a special little something from a fortress. And for that, he needed Tom's help.
Harry stuffed his invisibility cloak and the Marauder's Map in his bag, and sat down on his bed. He pulled the locket from beneath his t-shirt, and clicked it open.
"Hello, Harry," Tom said, offering him a pleased smile.
"Hi," Harry replied, and managed a small smile of his own. "Can I...er...visit?"
"Certainly." Tom's photograph morphed into the image of the small attic room, and Harry let it pull him in until he stood facing Tom.
"The spell worked," Harry said. "I spent the entire day practicing wordless magic. It went really well."
"I am pleased to hear that." Tom sat down on the bed, and patted the spot beside him. Harry hesitated for half a second, and then sat down as well, keeping a small distance between them.
"I need your help," he said, staring at his knees. He inwardly cursed himself and looked up to meet Tom's eyes. Tom looked perfectly calm and composed, and gave Harry a slight nod. "I need to get something from Hogwarts, but it's closed for the summer. I have a secret way in, but I need to know if any of the staff will be there, or if there are any spells protecting the castle."
"Breaking into Hogwarts?" Tom chuckled. "If you have a way inside the castle that shouldn't be a problem. Only the main entrances are heavily guarded with magic during the summer. And the staff are never there, except for the game keeper."
Hagrid, Harry thought. Well, that wasn't a problem. Hagrid trusted him, so if he got caught, he wouldn't be in any trouble.
"What do you need from Hogwarts?" Tom asked, tilting his head.
"A spell book. Last year, one of your followers gave me his Potions book to use, and it has a lot of useful spells and curses in the margins. But I had to hide it right before school ended. Dumbledore almost saw it."
"There are lots of useful books at Hogwarts. Take me with you, and I will tell you which books to get."
"All right," Harry said, though he wasn't sure if he wanted to go to Hogwarts with Tom Riddle. He briefly closed his eyes. He needed to stop thinking like that. He was going to use his enemies' knowledge against his enemies. So of course he wanted to know what books Tom was interested in.
"We can go right now." Harry got up and looked from Tom to the door.
"Keep the locket opened, Harry. I will be there." Tom gestured at the door, again offering Harry a pleased smile. Harry stared at him for a moment, only seeing handsome Tom and finding it hard to see the monster who had killed his parents inside the young man. He shook himself and placed his hand on the doorknob.
"I'll see you in a bit," Harry said, and opened the door. A few dizzying moments later Harry stood inside his bedroom, the locket safely around his neck. It was still open, and Harry glanced down to see Tom looking up at him.
"Still here?" Harry asked, picking up his bag.
"Yes," Tom said, and glanced around the room. "What is this place?"
"I live with my aunt and uncle. They're Muggles."
"Muggles?" Tom spat, and Harry sighed. He should have seen that one coming.
"I have to live here until I'm seventeen. I don't like them. They aren't very nice. But it's the perfect cover, because who would think Lord Voldemort's most loyal servant lives with Muggles, right?"
Tom stayed quiet for a moment. "Where will you go once you turn seventeen?"
Good question, Harry thought. He was supposed to go to the Burrow, but he couldn't stay with the Weasleys while he was playing the part of Voldemort's spy. Nor did he want to take a piece of Voldemort's soul with him to see his friends. Godric's Hollow briefly crossed his mind, but he didn't want to go there with Voldemort tagging along.
"My godfather died a few years ago," he finally said, his mind racing to come up with a plausible explanation. "He was a Black. I think you might have heard of that family? They're all purebloods."
"I have," Tom said. He sounded happy enough with this latest development.
"Well, he left me the Black family house in London. It's mine now, so I'll go and live there in a few weeks."
"Very well. Do you know how to apparate?"
"Yep. I'll apparate to Hogsmeade. I know of a secret passageway below Honeydukes that will get us into Hogwarts."
"It is still there?" Tom asked, surprised.
"You know of it?" Harry sounded equally surprised.
"Of course. You are not the only one to ever break into Hogwarts during the summer, Harry. Let's not waste any more time here."
Harry snorted. Really, why was he even surprised? Tom Riddle had discovered the bloody Chamber of Secrets. It wasn't very strange he also knew of a secret passageway in and out of Hogwarts. Harry shouldered his bag, closed his eyes and apparated to a deserted spot in Hogsmeade, not far from the Shrieking Shack.
He quickly patted down his body to see if all his bits were still attached.
"You're still new at this?" Tom asked, amused.
"Yeah. I'm always worried I'll leave something behind. Besides, the last thing we need now is a Ministry team to put me back together."
"How right you are."
Harry grinned, and pulled his invisibility cloak from his bag. He draped it across his head and shoulders, making sure his entire body was covered before he started making his way up to Hogsmeade's main street.
Tom made an appreciative sound. "This will certainly make it easier to avoid the portraits."
Harry blinked. He hadn't even thought about all the portraits at Hogwarts. If they saw him and reported back to McGonagall or any of the other staff, he'd be in trouble.
"You hadn't thought of the portraits, had you?" Tom asked. There was little amusement in his voice now.
Cheeks flushing, Harry glanced down at the locket. "Sorry."
"There is still much I need to teach you, Harry. You seem eager and you certainly have plenty of potential, but there is much work to be done with you yet."
Harry felt a little offended. "I cast a full Patronus when I was thirteen. It scared off a whole herd of Dementors."
"Really?"
"Yep. And I competed in the TriWizard Tournament when I was fourteen. I battled a Hungarian Horntail during the first task."
"And you didn't die. Obviously. How outstanding. Harry, it really is a good thing I have come across you. Your kind of courage is hard to find."
Harry tried not to feel too pleased with Tom's approval. This was Voldemort praising him, after all. Still, having the most powerful wizard in the world complimenting him wasn't the worst feeling he'd ever had.
Even though it wasn't fully dark yet, the stores in Hogsmeade were already closed and the streets were mostly deserted. The few people they passed didn't notice anything. Harry made sure of that.
When he arrived at Honeydukes, he found the store dark and the door locked. Good. He walked around the store to the back, so there would be less chance of prying eyes seeing the door opening and closing, seemingly on its own. A few charms cracked the lock on the back door easily enough, and once inside Harry hurried towards the basement and lowered himself down the hatch.
He cast a Lumos and started the long trek through the tunnel.
"It's just as I remember it," Tom said. "Do many students know of it at present?"
"No. My godfather and some friends discovered it when he was at school, and he passed it on to me and some of my friends. He even made a special map of Hogwarts. You'll see it when we get to the castle."
"I can't wait," Tom said, and Harry wasn't sure if he was being sarcastic or not. He decided it didn't really matter. He was playing a part, after all. Tom could think of him what he wanted, as long as Harry got him to cough up the information he needed. And perhaps spending a little time together at Hogwarts was what Tom needed to trust Harry.
Harry didn't know, to be honest. He'd never tried to be a spy before. How had Snape managed it for all those years? Yes, Snape was a lying, betraying, murdering bastard, but he'd obviously been good at playing a role, seeing that he'd managed to fool someone like Dumbledore.
And now Harry was attempting to do the exact opposite.
Harry stopped dead in his tracks as pieces of earlier conversation suddenly fell into place. If this Tom knew how to get inside Hogwarts, Voldemort knew as well. And with Dumbledore gone, nothing stood in Voldemort's way to invade the castle at any given time.
They couldn't reopen Hogwarts. The risk was too great. He had to write to McGonagall to tell her that.
"Everything all right, Harry?"
"Yeah," Harry said automatically, and continued his walk through the dark. "I was just thinking about Sirius. That's my godfather. I miss him." That was true enough, he supposed.
"Tell me about him," Tom said, and he sounded quite sincere.
"He spent over a decade in Azkaban. He got arrested for murder and was accused of being one of your followers. He escaped when I was thirteen and spent two years as a fugitive before he was killed. He was the only family I had left, seeing that my parents died when I was a baby."
"Tell me about your parents."
Something clenched inside Harry's chest and made it difficult to breathe. "I'd rather not talk about them. I don't know much about them, anyway."
"Very well. Are you a pureblood?"
Harry hesitated, and then said, "Sure."
"It's not very nice to lie, Harry," Tom said, a teasing hint to his tone. "How can you be a pureblood when your aunt and uncle are Muggles?"
Damn. That's what he got for thinking he could lie so easily to Voldemort. Best to just stay as close to the truth as he could. "Sorry," he said with a shrug. "My dad was a pureblood and my mum was a Muggle-born."
"A half-blood then. That's not the end of the world."
"I know you're a half-blood as well," Harry said, hoping he wasn't pushing things too far. He glanced down at the locket, and saw Tom's shadowed face looking up at him with an amused smile.
"Do you now? And what else do you know about me?"
"That you were a brilliant student when you were at Hogwarts. And that you experimented with powerful magic after you left. And that you managed to become immortal. They tried to kill you about fifteen years ago, but it didn't take. Even the Killing Curse didn't work on you. Two years ago, you came back."
"And is that why you are so keen on serving me, Harry? Is it immortality you seek?"
Harry bit his lip. He needed to stay as close to the truth as he could. "Revenge," he said. He took a deep breath. "It was Dumbledore who sent me to live with my Muggle aunt and uncle after my parents died. They hate magic. They locked me up in a cupboard for most of my childhood. Starved me half the time. They think I'm a freak."
"Revenge," Tom whispered. "A noble cause. You shall have it, Harry."
You have no idea, Harry thought, fighting to keep a grin off his face. The passageway began to rise, slowly at first, but by the end Harry had to drop to all fours to climb up the steep stone tunnel floor. He tapped the back of the stone witch with his wand, muttering, "Dissendium." It moved aside obediently, and Harry had to hold his breath as he squeezed through the narrow space. He wasn't thirteen anymore, he realized.
Well, this also explained why Voldemort hadn't used this passage to get his Death Eaters inside the castle a few weeks ago. Most of them wouldn't have fit through.
"We need to get to the seventh floor," Harry whispered, checking his invisibility cloak.
"The Room of Requirement?" Tom asked.
"Yep," Harry said, and glanced down at Tom. "Are there any secrets in this castle you don't know about?"
Tom chuckled. "I doubt it."
Harry doubted it, too, and that thought was a scary one. He pulled the map from his bag and tapped it with his wand. "I solemnly swear I am up to no good."
"You were right," Tom said, as ink appeared on the paper, forming walls and corridors. "That is a special map."
"Told you." Harry studied the map for a moment, but the only name he saw was Hagrid's, and he was outside on the grounds near his cabin. "All clear."
They kept quiet as Harry navigated the corridors and stairs with ease. The castle was deserted, save for the countless portraits they encountered. Most of them were snoring, but some seemed awake and alert.
I need to get my book back, Harry thought several times once he reached the right corridor, and promptly the door appeared. The immense space beyond was as Harry remembered it; filled with mostly rubbish and forgotten things, and one pile of splintered wood that had been a vanishing cabinet until recently. Harry tried not to stare at it too long.
He retrieved his book from the cabinet where he'd left it, and looked at the worn cover. He'd liked the Prince. Defended him, even. And all that time the Prince had been a traitor and a murderer. Well, he'd just see how Snape liked a close encounter with Sectumsempra the next time Harry saw him.
"This is the book you need?" Tom asked. Harry'd almost forgotten he was still there. A dangerous error, he realized.
"Yeah. This will come in handy."
"Good. I suggest we make a brief stop at the library before we leave."
"All right." Harry tucked the book inside his bag, adjusted his cloak, and left the Room of Requirement with mixed feelings swirling through him. Malfoy and Voldemort had used that room to their advantage, resulting in Dumbledore's death. And Harry had known something was up and no one had believed him.
Not this time. Harry had a plan and he'd be damned if he was going to let anyone tell him he was wrong. He had to make things right. He had no other choice.
As he strolled through the fourth floor corridor towards the library, Harry glanced to the side and spotted something white through the window. His breath caught in his throat, and he halted at the sudden sight of Dumbledore's tomb.
Even in the darkness outside it was clearly visible, a patch of white on a stretch of dark-green grass.
"Is that the old fool's final resting place?" Tom asked, and Harry had to grind his teeth to keep from saying something that would betray him.
"Yeah," he whispered, and swallowed.
"How did he die?"
"He was killed by one of your followers. Snape. He'd been fooling Dumbledore for a long time. Dumbledore had no idea he was really on your side."
"A Killing Curse?"
"Yes."
"Too merciful, if you ask me. That meddling bastard deserved a whole lot more pain than that."
Pursing his lips, Harry glanced down at the locket. He got the overwhelming urge to snap it shut and throw it out the window. Instead he put his hands on the window sill. "Destroying one of your Horcruxes put him in a lot of pain," he said, his voice trembling at the end. He cleared his throat.
"Good," Tom said, lips curving up in a nasty smile.
Harry ignored him and stared at the tomb, and wished with all his might that he could have one final talk with Dumbledore, ask all those questions he didn't have any answers to, and demand his worries for Hogwarts' safety be taken seriously.
There was no use in wishing, though. Dumbledore was dead, and all Harry had to aid him now was a chatty piece of Voldemort's soul.
Well, at least Voldemort seemed far less cryptic than Dumbledore had always been. The chances of getting answers had improved with these recent developments. That had to count for something.
"Let's go, Harry."
Harry turned away from the window without a backwards glance.
*0*0*0*0*
Harry was busy staring at the pile of books on his bed and trying not to feel too guilty for having stolen them from Hogwarts' library. He kept telling himself it was for a good cause, even though those pages harbored the kind of magic Harry wouldn't have sought out on his own.
"Harry? Are you even listening to me?"
"Sorry," Harry said, glancing down at the locket. "What were you saying?"
"I said I assume you know the Unforgivables." There was an impatient note to Tom's voice.
"Er..." Harry worried his lip. "I've cast the Cruciatus Curse before. Sort of."
Tom's eyes narrowed, and even though his face was small trapped in the locket, the air he gave off was menacing. "Then I suggest you start practicing at once."
Harry's eyebrows rose. "I can't cast Unforgivables. If the Ministry finds out they'll -- "
"They won't find out. The spell you used will see to that."
Swallowing, Harry looked away from the locket. Truth was, he did not want to cast Unforgivables. He did not want to lower himself to that level. "I'm not sure if -- "
"If you cannot use the Unforgivables you are useless to me," Tom said. "I demand you return me to my living self right this minute."
"No!" Harry's knees gave out and he sank down on his bed. "I can learn to cast them. You can help me, right?"
Tom's lips quirked up and he looked positively cheerful. "Certainly. I suggest you start by transfiguring something into a small animal. You'll need a subject to practice on, after all."
Harry's heart hammered in his chest, so much so breathing became painful. He was playing a part, he reminded himself. He was supposed to be Voldemort's perfect little spy, and any of Voldemort's followers would know how to use the Unforgivables.
"If you really want to keep my Horcruxes safe you'll need to know how to protect them, Harry. What do you think the Ministry would use should you ever come up against them? A Stinging Hex?"
"You're right," Harry said, more to halt the conversation than to agree with Tom. He just wanted it over with now that he had given in. He summoned an old trainer from his closet and dropped it to his sheets. In a bout of vengeful inspiration he transfigured it into a rat. It didn't look perfect, seeing as it had three blue stripes on either side of its furry gray body, but it behaved enough like a rat as it sniffed around, so Harry thought it would do.
"Start with the Imperius Curse. Will it to do your bidding."
Harry aimed his wand at the rat, who looked at him with beady eyes and sniffed the air nervously. "Imperio," Harry said with as much conviction as he could muster. The rat's pointy face went slack.
"Now give it a command, Harry."
"Roll onto your back," Harry said, and held his breath as the rat tried to move away, once, twice, and then fell to its side and rolled over, small paws sticking up.
"You can do better than that. Again."
Harry sighed, and raised his wand.
*0*0*0*0*
"There must be someone you'd want to inflict great pain upon!"
"At the moment? You!"
"Then use that, Harry. Use whatever hatred you have and cast the bloody Cruciatus Curse on that rat!"
Harry buried his face in his hands and took a deep, shaky breath. The Imperius Curse had gone all right after about two dozen tries. But the Cruciatus Curse was a disaster. The rat didn't do more than twitch in annoyance every time Harry cast it.
"I am not going to torture anyone so why do I need to know how to cast it in the first place?"
"My God, but you are a stubborn boy," Tom said. "Fine. Then cast the Killing Curse."
Harry looked down at the locket with wide eyes. "You want me to - now? It's two in the bloody morning. I want some sleep."
"Cast the Killing Curse, Harry."
"This really can wait until tomorrow. It's no use to try a new curse now!"
"Cast the Killing Curse, and then you can get some sleep," Tom said, sounding almost soothing. If anything, it was a lot scarier than Tom screaming and shouting at him.
"Look, Tom, I don't have the energy to -- "
"What did you call me?" Tom's voice was cold enough to freeze water, and Harry realized his error.
"Sorry," he muttered. "Lord?"
"Cast the Killing Curse, Harry."
Harry stared at the rat, which was sitting still on the sheets, exhausted after all those rounds under the Imperius Curse. "Not tonight."
"Kill the bloody rat!"
"No!"
"Kill it! Now!"
"You fucking bastard!" Harry raised his wand and slashed it through the air. "Avada Kedavra!"
A great green flash struck the rat and it dropped to its side, dead.
"Finally some decent progress. Well done, Harry."
Harry couldn't breathe. He'd just cast the Killing Curse, right there in his own bedroom. And it had worked. He'd killed something. He lowered his trembling arm and leaned closer to the small rodent. It was dead as a doornail. He'd really killed it.
He glanced around, suddenly panicked, expecting the roof to collapse or Aurors to break down his door. He'd cast the fucking Killing Curse.
No, he was playing the part of Voldemort's spy. So he cast the Killing Curse? All Death Eaters used it, of that he was sure.
"Er..." He picked up the dead rat by its tail and moved towards Hedwig's cage. "Do you want this?"
Hedwig turned her back to him, feathers ruffled.
Sighing, Harry opened the window and dropped the small corpse. It landed in the hydrangea bush beneath his bedroom. Harry was sure some bird or cat would find it and dispose of the evidence soon enough.
He'd cast the bloody - no, he was playing his part. It was all part of his plan. Harry tugged off his t-shirt and kicked off his trainers. He'd always known that someday he might have to cast the Killing Curse. After all, how else was he going to kill Voldemort when the time came? Push him off a cliff, or levitate a piano and drop it over his head?
"Tomorrow we can practice the Killing Curse some more. You really did well tonight."
"Sure," Harry sighed. He tossed his jeans into a corner and slipped under the sheets. The locket rested on his bare chest. "Good night. Lord."
"Good night, Harry."
Harry clicked the locket shut with a snap.
*0*0*0*0*
Harry surfaced through a fog of sleep and bizarre dreams of rats and books and green light. "Huh?"
"It's time to get up."
He knew that voice, but it seemed awfully wrong somehow. Harry blinked his eyes open and saw Tom smiling. The locket lay on the pillow beside his face.
There really was something wrong with the world when the first thing he saw in the morning was Voldemort smiling at him. If anything, it woke him up at once.
Harry glanced at the alarm clock. It was past ten. Tom was right. Time to get up.
"After you get dressed, we can practice the Killing Curse again."
Or perhaps not. Harry threw an arm over his face and groaned. "There's plenty of other stuff I can practice," he mumbled, and licked his lips. "I can show you the Sectumsempra. It's a really nasty curse. Slices a person right open."
"Sounds fascinating, but I do think you need to perfect your Killing Curses first."
"Joy," Harry sighed, and pushed himself out of bed. "And once I perfect it, am I good enough to protect all your Horcruxes then?"
"I should think so, yes."
That cheered Harry up a bit, enough to face the prospect of killing a few transfigured rats with the darkest kind of magic known to man. He listened at his bedroom door for any sounds of his family, but the house was quiet. They were probably out again for the day. Harry suspected the Dursleys were planning day trips for the entire two weeks he was there.
Not that Harry was complaining, mind. It made his life a lot easier, especially now he was playing host to a piece of Voldemort's soul.
He shuffled towards the bathroom, and once inside he looked down at the locket. "Sorry, but I want some privacy," he said, and before Tom could respond, he clicked the locket shut. He relieved himself in the toilet, and stepped under the hot shower spray.
The familiar morning routine of washing his hair and body allowed him a few moments of peaceful thoughts, a chance to recollect himself after the last two turbulent days.
Everything was going fine. Tom was starting to trust him, and even if Harry was now forced to do magic he'd rather stay away from, it would all be worth it when he got his hands on those Horcruxes.
He rinsed his body and his hand automatically reached down. He had time for a quick wank. He needed to be relaxed to get through another day with Voldemort's soul. Just some tension relief. Harry closed his eyes and stroked his cock. It hardened at once - he was sixteen, after all - and he enjoyed the building sensations, pleasure coiling in his belly and balls.
"What on earth is taking you so long?"
Harry snapped his eyes open, released his dick, and glanced down. The locket hung opened against his chest, and Tom was staring up at him with one curved eyebrow.
"Jesus! Which part of I need a little privacy didn't you understand?"
"The part where you are wasting valuable time with masturbation, Harry."
Harry turned around in the shower, searching for a way to hide himself from Tom. Unbelievable. Un-fucking-believable. He'd been caught wanking in the shower by Voldemort.
Cheeks burning and erection wilting at an alarming pace, Harry turned off the water and reached for the nearest towel. He wrapped it around his hips, and wiped the condensation off the mirror.
Tom smiled triumphantly at him in the damp surface of the mirror. Harry narrowed his eyes and reached for his toothbrush.
"You know, that was really very rude," he said, smearing toothpaste on the brush.
Tom's smile grew wider. Harry sighed. Telling Voldemort he was rude was about as effective as telling a snake it looked scaly. Harry brushed his teeth with a vengeance, and wondered, not for the first time, how the world had become such a surreal environment.
Right. The plan. Destroy Horcruxes, kill Voldemort, and enjoy a life of peaceful wanking in the shower.
"Am I allowed to have some breakfast, or do you plan on starving me like my bloody Muggle family?" he asked, glaring at Tom in the mirror.
"Honestly, Harry, you know I am not that cruel. Of course you're allowed to eat."
Harry decided not to comment on that and marched back to his bedroom in search of clothes.
*0*0*0*0*
"Thanks," he whispered, and thought about the ten dead rats lying in the hydrangea bush. It was a bit worrying how easy it had become to cast the Killing Curse with just a little practice. Of course, the shouting match with Tom preceding the practice session had helped. And then Tom had 'invited' him to spend some time inside the locket. At least, that's where Harry thought he was. It was still slightly confusing.
What wasn't confusing was feeling Tom's body pressing against his own as they leaned back against the wall, legs stretched out in front of them, feet hanging off the bed. That sensation was merely disturbing.
"Do you have a girlfriend, Harry?"
Harry glanced at Tom, surprised by the change of topic. "No," he said. He stared at the desk opposite the bed and thought of Ginny. Taking the current circumstances into account, he was very glad he'd broken things off with her. He noticed the diary lying on the desk. Frowning, he wondered if there was something he was missing. Something obvious that should occur to him.
"Or a boyfriend?"
Harry snapped his gaze towards Tom. "No," he said quickly. "Nothing like that. Do you?"
Tom grinned. "Girlfriend or boyfriend?"
"Either."
"No."
Harry felt relieved. Somehow the thought of Voldemort with a significant other was really very disturbing.
"So you're still a virgin, then?"
Cheeks flushing, Harry tried to move away from Tom, but there was nowhere to go. "What's that got to do with anything?"
"Nothing. I'm just curious." Tom leaned a little closer and made no attempt to hide his gaze as it swept across Harry's body. "Though by your response I can tell that you still are."
"That's bullshit. Maybe I just don't want to talk about it," Harry said. This subject made him very uncomfortable. His sex life, or lack thereof, was not high up on his list of topics he'd ever want to discuss with his worst enemy.
"Harry, you're sixteen. If you'd had an intimate encounter with a boy or girl, you'd be bragging about it by now." Tom chuckled, and it made Harry want to hit him. Stupid bastard.
"How old are you anyway?" he asked in a desperate attempt to change the subject. "I mean, how old is this version of you?"
"This version," Tom echoed, and laughed. It sounded foreign and warm. "I was twenty when I created this Horcrux."
"Ah." Harry eyed Tom with both suspicion and curiosity. "So you're still a virgin as well, then. Seeing that you're not bragging about anything either." He felt an odd burst of triumph in his chest at that conclusion and offered Tom a wide grin.
Tom leaned closer. "The first time someone sucked me off I was fourteen. The first time I fucked a boy I was fifteen. It seems you have some catching up to do, Harry."
Harry's eyebrows rose. "You're queer?" he blurted, and then prayed Tom wasn't able to perform Unforgivables on him in their unusual setting.
"Is there something wrong with being queer, as you put it?" Tom asked, and Harry heard a challenge in his voice. Disagreeing meant pain of some sort, Harry could tell that much.
"No," he croaked, and tried to move away again, shuffling on the sheets. Tom's hand on his arm stopped him.
"Tomorrow, I want you to collect one of my Horcruxes for me," Tom whispered, his breath tickling Harry's ear. Harry turned to look at Tom, his face almost bumping against Tom's. Those were the words he'd been waiting to hear. Casting Unforgivables for that was definitely worth it.
"But first, there is something I want from you," Tom said.
Harry nodded, eyes never leaving Tom's. "Sure. What do you want?"
"This," Tom said, and pressed his lips to Harry's. Eyes wide and round, Harry sat frozen. Of all the things he'd expected Tom to want from him, this wasn't one of them. Not even in his wildest dreams had he ever expected to feel Tom's - Voldemort's! -- lips on his own. His body caught up with his frantic thoughts and he pulled away, gasping for breath.
"I'm not like that," he said. And even if he were, he wasn't doing anything with Voldemort. Not in a million, billion, trillion years. Ever.
"That doesn't matter in here," Tom said, his hand sneaking up and curving around the back of Harry's neck. "This isn't real, is it?"
Harry blinked and wondered if that was a trick question.
"This is all in your mind, Harry." Tom leaned into Harry, deftly maneuvering him to the side so Harry had no other choice but to lie down on his back. Tom followed him down. "This isn't really my body you feel. I don't have a body, now do I?"
Utterly at a lack of words all Harry could do was stare up at Tom and think that for someone without a body, Tom felt suspiciously solid on top of him.
"I have been stuck in here for such a long time," Tom whispered, breath ghosting across Harry's cheek. "All alone. Allow me a little companionship. That's all I ask." Tom's lips touched the corner of Harry's mouth. "Just a little mind fuck, Harry."
Harry shivered, as though the temperature had suddenly dropped ten degrees. "Er...I...er...I don't think so," he stammered, raising a hand to push Tom away. He was paralyzed by something; fear, most likely. His hand touched Tom's shoulder, but without any strength it just rested there.
"I am entrusting my soul to you," Tom said. His breath tickled Harry's lips. "I need to know how far you are willing to go in serving me."
Tom was blackmailing him, Harry realized that much. His instincts told him to struggle, to get out while he still could. Yet Harry knew if he refused Tom now they wouldn't be going to get a Horcrux the next day. And he needed that Horcrux if he wanted to do Dumbledore's bidding. He had a choice to make and only a split second to make it.
It was just sex, wasn't it? It wasn't as if they were making eternal vows. Besides, Tom did have a point. Nothing in here was real. It was all in his mind.
"I...er...really am a virgin," Harry said. "I haven't done more than snogging before."
"Snogging?" Tom asked, brow furrowed.
"Kissing. I'm not sure what else to do."
"I'll show you." Tom brushed his lips across Harry's. "Relax, Harry. You are the keeper of my soul. I am not going to hurt you."
Strangely, Harry believed him. It did little to ease the tightness in his chest, but he was quite sure Tom had no intention of doing things with force and against Harry's will.
"All right," Harry whispered, his stomach clenching. "Could you just -- "
"We'll go slow. And you'll enjoy it, I promise you that." Tom's eyes were soft. So fucking human. Harry almost wished to see them flash crimson so he had physical proof who was lying on top of him again. All he saw now was a handsome young man, not a murdering madman. "A little kiss to start with, I think." And Tom did exactly that.
It was different than the first time. Harry moved his mouth against Tom's, and he felt a tongue slip past his lips. He answered it with a tentative touch of his own tongue, and he had to admit, it really did just feel like kissing a person. Tom deepened the kiss, exploring Harry's mouth, and Harry inhaled desperate breaths through his nose and tried not to think that he was kissing Voldemort of all people, or at least a part of Voldemort's soul.
This was all very confusing. Harry tried with all his might to let go of those thoughts and just focus on the physical contact, even if that physical contact wasn't real.
Something shifted, and Harry's clothes disappeared. So did Tom's. He was naked, and there was a naked man on top of him, pinning him against the bed. Harry pulled back from the kiss.
"I thought you said slow," he gasped.
"This is as far as we'll go today," Tom whispered, pressing feather-light kisses to Harry's lips. He moved his body, one leg sliding between Harry's thighs, and Harry had no choice but to part them, and oh crap. For someone without a body, Tom had a really pronounced erection. It pressed against Harry's cock, and much to Harry's horrified surprise, his prick decided it quite liked that feeling.
I'm sixteen, Harry told himself. Friction will do that to a teenager.
Tom was kissing him again, and it became frantic, just like the thrusts of their hips. Yes, Harry realized he was bucking up, trying to meet Tom thrust for thrust. He was having sex. With Tom Riddle, Voldemort, a piece of someone's soul - oh dear, that didn't feel bad right there.
He felt Tom grin against his lips, and he realized at one point he'd closed his eyes. He looked at Tom, panting and bucking and thrusting, and this was going to be over really soon. Harry's entire body focused on the feeling of another hard cock sliding and pressing against his own. Such a wrong feeling, but damned if Harry could stop now.
"You're close, aren't you?" Tom asked, tongue darting out to lick his upper lip. Harry nodded, too busy inhaling air to speak. He was clutching at Tom's shoulders, his legs spread wide - and when the hell had that happened?
It wasn't real. It felt real, sure, but he wasn't really having sex with his worst enemy. Harry had to tell himself that or else he'd go insane. Or he'd sick up.
He was going to come soon, the tightness in his thighs and balls familiar, and he was going to have his first ever shared orgasm with Voldemort.
Not real. A mind fuck. It was all just a mind fuck.
"Come, Harry," Tom whispered, driving his hips down hard enough to force the air from Harry's lungs. "Come now."
And Harry did. He held onto Tom for dear life as pleasure rolled through him in waves, his cock spurting his hot release between their naked bodies.
Tom smiled, hazel eyes narrowing. He clamped his mouth down on Harry's again, groaning, and Harry was sure he'd pass out. He didn't, though. He gasped for breath and felt Tom's body tense and heat pool between them.
And then it was over, their heaving chests the only parts of their bodies still moving.
Well, this was different. When Dumbledore had sent him on his mission to find the Horcruxes, Harry had expected a lot of things. Violence and death and destruction. Not...sex.
"You liked that, didn't you?" Tom rolled off Harry, resting on his side. Harry finally felt like he could breathe again.
"Wasn't bad," he said, and licked his lips. In fact, if you forgot about the whole Voldemort factor it had been pretty good.
Tom propped his head up on one hand and placed the other one on Harry's chest. He found a nipple and traced a circle around it with his index finger. Harry lay still and stared up at the ceiling.
"I am surprised my living self hasn't sampled you before," Tom said. The word 'sample' sent a shudder through Harry.
"He's been busy, I think," Harry mumbled.
Tom shrugged. "Ah well. More for me."
Harry was going to ignore that comment. Hell, if it was up to him he was going to ignore their entire encounter. He glanced down his naked body and then moved his gaze up Tom's.
"I didn't know you could do magic in here," he said, gesturing at their nakedness.
Chuckling, Tom trailed his finger down Harry's chest. "Nothing is real in here, Harry. If we want to be nude, we can be nude. You don't need any spells for that."
Harry was quite sure he hadn't wanted to be nude, but he decided to let the matter rest.
"We don't even have to be here." Tom raised his hand and covered Harry's eyes. Before Harry could struggle to regain his sight, he felt grass beneath his bare buttocks and wind swept through his hair and the air tasted salty. Tom dropped his hand, and Harry blinked against the brightness of the afternoon sun.
They were lying on a grass field, which ended in a steep cliff not thirty feet away from them, and in the distance Harry could see the ocean, calm and peaceful.
Their surroundings seemed awfully familiar, but it took Harry a few moments to realize where they were.
Tom had somehow transported them to the seaside and Harry would bet his wand that below them, at the foot of that cliff, lay the cave where Voldemort had initially hidden the locket.
"So you can go anywhere you like?" Harry asked, glancing at Tom.
"Not anywhere." Tom lay on his back and stretched his arms above his head. "Certain places that are significant."
Definitely near the cave. Harry plucked at the grass beneath his hands. It felt real enough. And then he realized they were both naked, and people might see them. He sat up and looked around in alarm.
Laughing, Tom sat up as well. "It's not real."
"You keep saying that," Harry said. He pulled his knees up to hide his privates. "But if it's not real, then what is it?"
"Just magic." Tom placed a hand on Harry's shoulder and eased him down again. "Magic that comes with a Horcrux. Relax."
Easier said than done. Harry felt tense and restless for a while, but eventually the warm sun and soothing breeze won out. He dozed, lulled by the sound of waves in the distance, and that turned into sleep.
When he woke -- minutes or hours later, he wasn't sure -- Tom lay pressed against him, an arm and leg draped over Harry's body, face buried in Harry's hair.
So Voldemort liked to snuggle? God, there were so many things wrong with that.
Harry cleared his throat, and it had the desired effect. Tom blinked his eyes open. "I need to get going," Harry said. Tom sat up and nodded. The air shifted and at once they were back in the attic room. Harry got up from the bed and glanced around the room.
"My clothes?"
"You never had them in the first place," Tom said. He stretched out on the bed, unconcerned. "Tomorrow, we're collecting a Horcrux."
"Yeah, all right," Harry said, and decided he might as well go back without his clothes. He'd land in his bedroom anyway. "See you tomorrow."
"Goodbye, Harry." Tom smiled at him, and it looked lazy and sated, like a tiger resting after a particularly satisfying meal. Harry quickly reached for the doorknob and dashed across the threshold.
He was back in his bedroom, sitting on his bed fully clothed. The only evidence of his unusual afternoon was the sticky mess in his underwear. So much for it not being real.