lomonaaeren

Thank you again for all the reviews! This is the end of the story.

Part Three

“Wanted to warn you, Potter.”

Harry turned around, surprised. Behind him stood Cato Nott, the one of his roommates Harry had never spoken to. He’d sneered at Harry from the beginning, and never changed his mind, even when Riddle began spending more time with Harry.

Now he stood with his arms folded and beetle-dark eyes trained on Harry. Harry crossed his arms in return. “Warn me about what?”

“Lots of people have thought that they could bear Riddle’s attention, and they turned out to be wrong.” Nott raked Harry with his eyes and then snorted, as if to say that he didn’t see anything special there. Harry’s face burned in response. “Keep in mind that if you get in over your head and start drowning, no one is going to help you.”

“Because you’re the ones who want to be Riddle’s special chosen one?” The words chosen one rang a bell somewhere deep in Harry’s memory, but just like every memory from the time before he’d landed in Hogsmeade, nothing came to mind.

Nott flushed, and his eyes glittered with full-on fury. He started to reach for his wand, but retracted his hand sharply when the curtains on Riddle’s bed abruptly flew open.

Harry blinked. He hadn’t even realized Riddle was in the room. He half-bowed his head now, eyes locked on Riddle, who didn’t seem to notice him. He was too occupied in staring at Nott, who had lowered his head so that he was staring at the floor and didn’t look up even when Riddle rolled out of bed.

“You had something to say, Nott,” Riddle said softly. He moved a little so that his body was angled between Nott and Harry, but didn’t otherwise give any indication that he knew Harry was present. “I found it interesting. Do feel free to repeat it.”

“I don’t need to,” Nott whispered.

“Don’t you?” Riddle moved a little closer to him, and Nott made a choking sound. Harry, staring, couldn’t see any reason why, but the air around his face was a little darker. Maybe Riddle was strangling him with magic. “The thing I think is most interesting is the answer to Harry’s question. Say it.”

“What?”

“Do answer if you wish to be my special chosen one,” Riddle said. His smile was winsome, but still the most terrifying one Harry had ever seen on Riddle’s face. “I’m sure I could tell you how likely you are to succeed to that position.”

Nott moved a little further away, hands tearing at his throat, and then dropped to his knees. “Please,” he said, and then began to cough. “Please, my lord…”

“Answer. Harry.”

“Yes!” Nott gasped. “I’m jealous. He’s a half-blood at best! He doesn’t deserve your regard and respect, my lord!”

The choking spell must have vanished, because Nott tipped his head back and sucked in air so greedily that it sounded like it hurt. Harry blinked and focused on Nott as best as he could. He wanted to look at Riddle, but right now, his heartbeat sounded like a drum and he was sure that he would give away far too much if he did stare at Riddle.

Lord? And he had just decided that he had to pay attention to Harry and befriend him—and possibly take him to bed? That was what Nott seemed to be implying, at least.

By the time Harry paid attention to what was actually happening in front of him again, Riddle was looking at Nott the way a Kneazle might look at the mouse it had trapped. Then he smiled. Harry took a step away until he bumped into his bed.

Nott’s eyes flicked over to him, but Riddle didn’t seem to notice at all. “Well, I won’t punish you for obeying me and telling the truth,” he said.

Nott relaxed. “Thank you, my lord.”

“I will punish you for insulting Harry,” Riddle said, and his wand twitched. Harry didn’t recognize the movement.

Nott began to scream, his spine arching. Riddle watched him with the most disturbing half-smile on his lips. After a moment of standing frozen, and another one of hoping this was some kind of nightmare or Riddle would end the curse on his own, Harry lunged forwards and shook his arm. “Riddle!”

Riddle turns and glanced lazily at Harry. “Yes, my dear?”

“Don’t—don’t do that! Stop it! Please!”

“All you had to do was ask,” Riddle said, and he twitched his wand again. Nott’s screams didn’t end immediately, but after a few long seconds, they turned into broken sobs. Harry watched him with huge eyes, another one of those pieces of knowledge he didn’t have a source for arising in the back of his mind.

The Cruciatus Curse. That was it.

“Please don’t do that again,” Harry said, his eyes returning to Riddle. “There are—there are better ways to express your displeasure. Ones that leave the offender able to stand up and apologize afterwards.”

Riddle smiled a little. “Is that so? What would you suggest, then?”

“The kind of public humiliation that Prewett inflicted on me,” Harry said, grasping at the first thing he thought of. He wasn’t sure it would always be kinder, especially given Riddle’s cruelty and how proud some of the Slytherins were, but it had to be better than the Cruciatus, at least. “Then you can show them how much it hurts to be left outside the circle of your regard, as well as how you can take them back on your word.”

Riddle gave him a smile that made Harry flush all over. “I knew that I chose you for a reason, my dear. Yes, I think I will—perhaps tell others about Nott’s ambition to climb into my bed.” He looked at Nott and smiled, and the gesture was terrifying in its sheer gentleness. “That will be enough.”

“My lord…”

“You do not deserve to call me that until you show that I should allow you to,” Riddle declared, and turned away from him, offering his arm to Harry in a courtly gesture. “Will you walk with me to breakfast, Harry?”

Harry told himself it was fear and nothing else that made him take Riddle’s arm. He walked out of the dormitory without looking back at Nott, and mentally stopped his ears when Riddle called out to someone in the common room and began to spread the first rumor.

He told himself it was the best thing he could do for Nott, really, when Riddle would probably kill the boy otherwise.

He was getting better at lying to himself.

*

“Who are you?”

Harry blinked himself out of the daze he’d fallen into of staring at a transparent Tom Riddle sitting in front of the common room fireplace and reading a book. He turned around, then reared back when someone pressed a wand into his face.

It was a tall blond boy Harry thought was in the year above him, but who he’d never interacted with. What was his name—Cormac McLaggen? Something like that. Harry leaned a little further back, and further back still, as the boy practically jabbed his wand into Harry’s throat.

“What are you talking about?” Harry asked, ducking when McLaggen almost poked him in the eye. “It’s me! Harry!”

“You don’t belong here. I don’t recognize you. Get out of here, Slytherin.”

Harry gaped at him, then down at his own clothes. There was—surely there was a faint flicker of green around the edges of his robes? But even if that was the case, McLaggen should still be able to recognize his face.

He heard footsteps on the stairs and turned around with relief. Maybe McLaggen was under a Confundus Charm or drunk or something, but anyone else should see the situation for what it was.

The person coming down the stairs was Ron. He rubbed his eyes and stopped, yawning. “McLaggen? What’s going on?”

“Caught this snake sneaking in here,” McLaggen said, and jabbed his wand at Harry again. “He says that he’s named Harry and he belongs here, but excuse me for doubting when his robes look like that.” This time, his wand rapped Harry’s wrist.

Harry stared at him again, then down at his sleeve. He swallowed. He was wearing—snake-shaped cufflinks. Made of silver.

Which were definitely not his.

“Slytherin? How did a Slytherin get in here? Why would the Fat Lady have let him in?”

“I don’t know, go ask her!”

“Ron, it’s me, McLaggen’s gone mental or something,” Harry said urgently. “Come on, help me get him to Madam Pomfrey—”

“Who are you?”

Ron was staring at him, and there was no recognition in his eyes. He didn’t immediately draw his wand like McLaggen had, but he began taking careful steps backwards, as though he thought that he would need to run upstairs and get someone else.

“Ron?” Harry whispered. His heartbeat sounded like it had when he’d watched Riddle put Nott down.

“I don’t know how you know my name, but stop using it! I don’t even know who you are!” Ron gave him a suspicious once-over. “Are you Malfoy or Nott using a glamour? But that was stupid of you, not to change your robes, too.”

“Ron,” Harry whispered, feeling as though someone had punched him in the chest with enough force to shatter his heart. “Please. It’s me. Harry. Harry Potter? Your best mate?”

Ron laughed a little, harshly. “You didn’t even do your homework. Neville Longbottom is my best mate, everyone knows that. Get out of here and go tell Malfoy that this was a pathetic attempt that didn’t work.” He drew his wand.

Harry stood up, backing towards the portrait hole. He could hear more footsteps coming down the stairs, and he waited one more minute, hoping that someone would say something about how Harry wasn’t in his bed and he could—he could ask—

But no, Ron’s wand was coming up now, and McLaggen was incanting some kind of hex. Harry turned and stumbled through the portrait, into the corridor.

For a moment, he stood there, a chill wracking him.

Then he began to run, not sure where he was going, not caring.

*

Harry leaped down the stairs and turned around to look over his shoulder. There was no one there. He swallowed and began to walk through the dungeon corridor at a slightly slower, more natural pace.

His back prickled with pleasure and heat, and he looked up briefly, but there was no on there.

Yet.

He could still hear Riddle’s hissing voice, plucking and striking at his nerves. You want to run from me? You want to prove that you don’t need to lie with me just because I’ve asked you to? Then let’s make it a real chase, darling.

And Harry had agreed, even though part of him thought he shouldn’t have. When Riddle spoke like that, like Harry was something to be valued and pursued, instead of shunned, something in his chest went as warm as phoenix feathers.

A step on the stairs.

Harry whirled around, but could see nothing. He gripped his wand. After all, Riddle could be under a Disillusionment Charm.

“Finite Incantatem!” he called, aiming up the stairs.

His charm crackled past emptiness and hit nothing. Then another sound came from the corridor in front of him, and Harry turned around just in time to see shadows breaking and rippling over the motions of a whole horde of green snakes.

Harry stumbled back a step, eyes locked on them. Then he stopped and reminded himself that he was a Parselmouth and that it was kind of silly of Riddle to try and frighten him with serpents when he could command them, too. “Stop,” he called.

The nearest snake reared up and swayed back and forth for a moment. From its flared hood, Harry thought it was a cobra, although admittedly he wasn’t sure.

“Master said that if the prey speaks, we are not to hurt it, but we are to bring it to him,” the snake said, and then darted forwards. Before Harry knew what was happening, the cobra had swarmed up his body and poised with its fangs an inch from his cheek.

Harry froze. He hardly dared breathe, wondering if something he did would irritate the snake and make it strike.

“Down that corridor.”

Harry turned and began to walk stiffly further into the dungeons. The snakes behind him followed. Harry listened to the dry rustling of many scales over stone and swallowed a little.

He didn’t think Riddle wanted him dead. Probably the snake on his shoulder wasn’t going to bite him, and neither were the ones following him. Besides, it seemed, well, traceable for Riddle. The kind of revenge he delighted in getting was the kind he had got on Prewett, where no one could connect him with the deed. Someone being bitten by poisonous snakes would point straight at the only known Parselmouth in the school.

That was the only thing that kept Harry from getting too upset, admittedly, as he walked deeper and deeper into the dungeons.

*

Harry hammered on the door of the Headmaster’s office, once and then again. He had managed to get past the gargoyle because Dumbledore hadn’t changed the password since the last time Harry was here, but he couldn’t get past the door.

“Sir!” he bellowed, aware that his throat hurt from the force of the yell, but not caring. “Wake up! Please!”

He jumped as what seemed to be a firework went off in the narrow space of the stairs, but then realized that it was Fawkes, hovering in front of him. A second later, the phoenix descended to sit on Harry’s shoulder and gently rub his head against Harry’s cheek and forehead. His croon made Harry take a deep breath.

“Can you get him for me, Fawkes?” Harry whispered, touching the delicate feathers on the back of the bird’s neck. “Something’s happening, something bad. I don’t know what it is, but if it keeps on going—”

Fawkes looked up and faced Harry. Harry gasped aloud. The phoenix’s eyes were a brilliant blue-white, the color of a leaping flame. Harry couldn’t remember if they had always been that color or if he had simply never looked into them before.

He found himself traveling down and down as if through a brilliantly lit tunnel, tumbling over and over.

*

“Welcome, Harry.”

Harry looked slowly around the room that Riddle’s snakes had guided him to, taking his time. It had a fireplace on one wall that roared with flames, and some of the snakes were already lying down in front of it, hissing in contentment. There were bookshelves with ancient tomes along three walls, and a thick rug on the floor woven in patterns of black and red.

And it had a bed.

Harry’s breath came a little faster as he looked at that bed. It easily took up half the room, and it was covered with dark red sheets that reminded him of the color of Riddle’s eyes. Harry found himself taking a dreamy step forwards and reaching out. His hand glanced off sheets so smooth that they had to be Transfigured.

Riddle stepped up behind Harry and rested his hands on his shoulders. “Do you like it?” he whispered, his lips so near Harry’s neck that Harry found himself arching his head back. Riddle’s mouth brushed his nape this time.

“Whether I like it depends on the answer to a question.”

Riddle’s hands caressed and slid, caressed and slid, down his arms, headed for his waist. Harry tensed, but they rested there, without descending any further. However, Riddle still stood behind him, and wouldn’t let Harry turn around to face him when he tried. “Speak,” Riddle whispered.

Harry took an intense, shivering breath, and began. “Why are you so obsessed with me? Why do you want to take me to bed? Nott is a prat, but he’s right about one thing: everyone else who has earned your attention has been temporary. Why should I risk this, when you’ll probably throw me aside? I don’t have any status in Slytherin or friends who can help me recover from that.”

“That is far more than one question, Harry.”

“You’re a prat, too.”

Riddle laughed softly, and finally let Harry turn around. Harry did so, shivering with impatient desire and fear and wonder and anger. Riddle gazed into his eyes for a long moment before he began to speak in Parseltongue.

“You are not temporary because you are a Parselmouth. Because you appreciated what I did to Prewett, even though you like to pretend that you did not.” Riddle’s hand rose and brushed across the scar on Harry’s forehead. Harry started. There was no sensation there, but it felt as though there should have been. “Because you are an outsider in Slytherin, just as I was, but you did not try to climb the ranks and you do not cringe when others insult you. You have your own strength.”

“Most people would say that that last part just makes me lazy or weak,” Harry whispered. He didn’t know the words were going to come out in Parseltongue until they did.

Riddle laughed. It was a dark sound, a triumphant sound, but also warmer than Harry had ever heard him be. He crowded close. “Most people, but I am not them. I know that you are a prize worth winning. As for why I want to take you to bed instead of have you as a follower…I wish to have everything you are.” His hand slid downwards again, and landed on Harry’s arse this time. “Will you deny me, Harry?”

And that was Riddle’s question, Harry thought, blinking at him. Riddle knew exactly what Harry was thinking, and he knew that he could leave the door open for Harry to walk away. He didn’t know if Harry would or not.

His eyes were locked on Harry, unblinking, and he didn’t know.

“I should. You’re still a prat. You hurt Prewett even though you weren’t the one he hurt.”

“That is not a no.”

“It’s not,” Harry agreed, and made the decision. He had hated Riddle when he came here, but the reason why was locked behind walls of mist and memory loss. At this point, he didn’t think he would ever get those memories back. He placed his hand behind Riddle’s neck and dragged him roughly closer.

Riddle kissed him, and the world began to spin as if Harry was falling down a long tunnel.

*

Harry tumbled past walls and doors of golden light. He flailed constantly with his hands, trying to catch hold of one of the handles or latches, but they continued to spin. The only thing that kept Harry from panicking and screaming completely was the fact that Fawkes was with him, soaring on great wings next to him, and uttering a soft, sad, soothing croon.

And even then, he wanted this to stop. He wanted to—

One of the doors abruptly opened beside him. Harry turned towards it with a grateful gasp, but stopped when he saw through the door a vision of himself walking through the Forbidden Forest, accompanied by ghosts he knew well.

His parents. Sirius. And Professor Lupin.

Harry stared as he fell away from the door, craning his neck to watch it for as long as he could. Fawkes spiraled around him, and then another door beside him opened and Harry saw himself walking up to Voldemort, who stood in a clearing in what was probably the Forest.

Voldemort shot the Killing Curse at him. And Harry just stood there and took it.

Harry let out a short scream as he fell, even though that door had already shut and they were falling past a window now where Harry stood amid a clutter of objects on the floor. Harry didn’t recognize most of them, but he did see the diary from second year and the thick, heavy ring that Dumbledore wore on his blackened hand.

“What is going on?” Harry yelled at Fawkes.

The phoenix turned and hovered in front of him, exactly at the height of Harry’s face, not moving no matter how far Harry fell. He let out the saddest sound in the world and reached out to touch his beak to Harry’s scar.

Harry knew, suddenly, as though Fawkes had passed the knowledge to him like light or song.

“I’m like them,” he whispered, numb, as he fell past a window that showed his twelve-year-old self driving the basilisk fang into the diary. “I have a piece of Voldemort’s soul inside me.” He closed his eyes, feeling the tears creep down his cheeks, while Fawkes crooned again and again, as if trying to say Harry was right and soothe him all at once. “That’s the reason I have to walk into the Forbidden Forest. I have to let him kill me, or he’ll never stop being able to come back.”

There was a sudden disturbance in the air next to him, and Harry opened his eyes, fearing that Fawkes might have flown away. Instead, the phoenix had settled on his shoulder. He rubbed his beak one more time against Harry’s scar, and then raised his wing.

A wing? Harry frowned. This time, he didn’t understand what Fawkes was trying to tell him. Maybe it was just because his brain was scrambling to catch up with the idea that he had always been part of Voldemort, like—

No, he realized as Fawkes again lifted his wing high and hard. Not wings. Feathers.

Like the feather he had in his wand. And that Voldemort—Tom Riddle—had in his wand also.

Harry stared at Fawkes in disbelief. “Are you doing this?”

Fawkes crooned at him, and the fall dissolved.

*

Harry opened his eyes.

He was standing in the Headmaster’s office, but he had no memory of getting through the door. He raised a hand towards Fawkes’s perch, and discovered that it was transparent. Now he was the ghost.

Had he died? Harry felt oddly calm about it. If Fawkes had killed him, at least that would put an end to his awful grief about being part of Voldemort, and it was better than standing there waiting for a Killing Curse.

Abruptly, the door to the Headmaster’s office flew open. Harry whirled around. Snape stood there, his eyes darting around the room with such ferocity that Harry started to open his mouth, assuming Snape could see him.

But instead, Snape ran across the room and hammered on the inner door. “Albus! Albus!”

Harry just watched mutely as Snape managed to get the Headmaster up. Dumbledore came out of the room, and Harry blinked. The hand that had a few hours ago been burned and crisped black was healthy now, and Dumbledore yawned as he pulled his nightcap more tightly around his ears.

“What is it, Severus?”

“The Dark Lord is gone.”

Dumbledore stared at Snape with wide eyes, and then grabbed his arm and hustled him towards the desk. Dumbledore sat down behind the desk and stared at Snape. “Tell me everything, Severus. How could this be? I thought, after he had retrieved the Philosopher’s Stone five years ago, nothing would ever be able to disembody him again.”

“Not merely disembodied, Albus. Gone.” Snape pulled back his left sleeve, and Harry flinched, but there was no trace of a Dark Mark on Snape’s arm, ugly or otherwise. “You know very well how black this was. It’s not there now. I did a Seeking Draught—”

“This has been long enough ago that you had time to brew—”

“I always keep one on hand, you know that,” Snape said impatiently. “There is no trace of him under any name. Not Voldemort, not Tom Marvolo Riddle, not the Dark Lord. I tried other variations, too, like Tom Riddle, Jr.,” Snape added, presumably because he could tell what question Dumbledore was starting to ask. “He is nowhere in this world.”

Dumbledore breathed out slowly. “Then…”

“Yes. We must assume that the ritual he was telling me about backfired more badly than he anticipated.” Snape folded his arms. His face was stern, but Harry could see something like a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth, as if he were so giddy that he couldn’t help expressing some happiness. “He is gone, Albus.”

Dumbledore bowed his head. Harry saw his shoulders shaking slightly, and almost wanted to step forwards to comfort the Headmaster. He looked like he was crying, or just laying down a burden so heavy that he had thought he would never be free of it.

He was whispering something. Harry stepped closer to him.

“You are avenged, Marlene,” Dumbledore was whispering. “Edgar, you are avenged. There is vengeance at last for Fabian and Gideon, for Lily and James…” He took a deep breath and continued, “And for little Harry.”

Harry’s mouth fell open. He made a distressed sound, he knew he did, but neither Dumbledore nor Snape noticed. Snape had already turned his head away, as if the glee trying to overcome him was so strong that he wanted to be by himself to really express it.

“If you will excuse me, Headmaster?”

Dumbledore waved a hand at Snape without looking up from his desk. Snape turned and left. Harry started to walk towards the Headmaster again, but the shutting of the office door caught him up in a whirlwind of golden light, and he was elsewhere, suddenly.

*

Harry opened his eyes. He had drifted to a halt in the middle of the tunnel of brilliant light, but he couldn’t see any more windows or doors around him. Instead, there was only Fawkes, floating in front of him and singing with all his might.

“I don’t understand why you did this,” Harry whispered. “Why did you make me a ghost? Or take me to a world where I was a ghost? What’s the point of trying to make things different?”

Fawkes brought his wings forwards and encompassed Harry within the circle of golden feathers. Harry swayed where he floated, and in a few seconds the storm of what had happened overcame his mind.

So that Harry would not have to die—Fawkes could only do it because of the feathers—feathers in the wands—golden light in the scar—he was in another world, but he had to be with Tom Riddle, and he could not—

The storm overcame him, and Harry pulled loose and free. He was panting. Already, the truth had begun to fade from his mind. There were reasons why Fawkes had done what he had done, but it wasn’t possible for Harry to remember all of them. They were the sorts of reasons that only made sense to phoenixes.

“I’ve lost all my friends,” Harry whispered.

Fawkes sang to him again, and Harry caught another glimpse of the reality that Fawkes embodied. And his eyes widened as he realized one reason that he had landed in that other world without any memories.

“No! I want to remember! Even if I have to lose all of them, Ron and Hermione and Dumbledore and everyone else, I want to—”

Fawkes swept around him in a circle, and the world around him danced, and Harry tried to cling to the image of his parents and the image of himself dying in front of the Killing Curse—not the worst thing that could have happened—and he was falling—

*

He fell onto the bed with Riddle on top of him.

Harry laughed aloud as he tore at Riddle’s robes. He didn’t know why he was suddenly so happy, only that he was, and he was fierce, and free. It felt almost as if the fog around his memories had vanished, even though he still couldn’t recall things like his parents’ names or where he had grown up.

But he was here now, and Riddle was here, and there were things he could do something about.

He tore at Riddle’s robes some more, and then they vanished under his touch. Riddle leaned over and whispered what sounded like an incantation made into a love spell into Harry’s ear, and his own robes vanished, too.

His socks were gone. His boots. His pants. Naked, they rolled against each other, and Harry tossed his head back with a gasp that might have ripped his throat in two.

Riddle was above him, hands gripping Harry’s shoulders, eyes mad with lust and power and joy. He thrust down, and Harry answered him, and the way their cocks laid along each other was like the answer to a question Harry had also forgotten.

They were here.

Riddle came first, which Harry felt a little smug about, at least until Riddle’s thrashing provoked his own, and he hurtled over the edge of the cliff like a small boat riding a waterfall. He shuddered and shuddered, and when his climax was over, went on shuddering.

“You are magnificent.”

Harry turned his head, blindly seeking Riddle, not wanting to open his eyes yet. Riddle’s lips met his, then skimmed across Harry’s eyelids. He laughed aloud and dragged Riddle closer, murmuring, “So are you.”

Riddle bent over him, feverish with excitement. His skin was hot, hot, hot, as if Harry were touching a fire. There had been golden fire like that, once, Harry thought dreamily, rolling a little closer to Riddle. Yes, it had been golden.

He wondered if he was ever going to get his memories back. He was starting to think he wouldn’t, but also that that didn’t really matter.

He could make new memories, here, with Riddle.

“Your scar is glowing golden again.”

“Is it?” Harry forced his eyes open, wondering if Riddle would conjure another mirror.

But all Riddle did was lie beside him, one hand on Harry’s shoulder, staring in fascination. Then he blinked and glanced up at Harry with a small smile.

“It’s stopped. I don’t think it will ever glow golden again.”

Harry wondered how he could know that. But, thinking about it, he decided that Riddle was most probably right. It felt like that. It felt like the scar wouldn’t glow again, and his memories wouldn’t come back.

That was all right. He would have this one, and no one would take it away.

“We have brother wands. We are both Parselmouths. We are both Slytherins. Stay with me, Harry.”

“Yes,” Harry said, and curled up closer, and shut his eyes. There was one more distant memory sparking in him, of golden fire and song. He reached out and caressed it, and then let it fade back into darkness.

If he dreamed of walking through the Forbidden Forest and meeting a Killing Curse from a man who had Riddle’s shining eyes, he did not remember it on waking.

The End.