12 Chapter 12

Harry had been wondering what to do about Tom. Ever since he'd discovered that the sixteen-year-old was actually Voldemort's younger self, he'd been torn between hating and distrusting him or trusting him. He knew most of his hatred for and distrust of Voldemort was because of Dumbledore's manipulations, but he didn't know how much of his hate and distrust was actually needed.

He paused in the action of pulling out Tom's diary and slapped his forehead.

"What's up, Harry?" Neville asked curiously, looking up from his Herbology book.

"Nothing, Neville, I was just being stupid," Harry responded with a snort. "I'll need quiet for a moment, Nev."

"Yes, Harry." Neville turned back to his book.

Harry closed his eyes and thought, Tom, it's Harry again.

Voldemort replied, Don't call me Tom! And that took you long enough.

I had to listen to my parents' wills, and I had a lot of controlling potions, compulsions and blocks. Is Marvolo acceptable?

There was a long pause. Then Voldemort replied, I suppose.

Question, Harry said. Did you kill my parents, or is that another one of Dumbledore's lies?

I did NOT kill your parents! Voldemort said angrily.

Calm down, Marvolo. Tell me what actually happened, Harry soothed.

Voldemort growled wordlessly before sighing and speaking.

A week before the Halloween of 1981, one of my followers overheard a prophecy concerning you. He only heard the first few lines: 'The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches. Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies....' There were only two couples that dared defy me thrice: Frank and Alice Longbottom and your parents. The prophecy could have applied to either of you.

I was going to study both you and the Longbottom heir, secretly, before deciding what to do about it. Unfortunately, Dumbledore had other plans.

When I arrived at your house, invisibly, I found Dumbledore speaking to your father. Potter looked angry, and he kept saying 'You will not touch our son!' Dumbledore replied, 'I'm sorry, but the only way to defeat Voldemort is to turn your son into a weapon. If you won't help me do it, then I no longer need you.' And he killed him.

Harry snarled in wordless fury.

I haven't finished yet, brat.

I didn't want Dumbledore controlling the boy who could supposedly defeat me, so I went up the stairs to stop him from taking you.

You were going to kidnap me, Harry asked dryly, still furious that Dumbledore had killed his father.

Yes, Voldemort replied, unapologetically. When I arrived, your mother was casting a Blood Protection on you, crying. Before I could take you away, Dumbledore appeared and began threatening your mother. She refused to let him near you, and he told her the same thing he told your father: 'If you won't let me make your son a weapon, then I don't need you any longer.'

I was going to stop him ⎯ I respected your mother, and my most trusted servant considered her a sister, asking me to spare her several times ⎯ but before I could, she was dead. She collapsed in front of your crib, and Dumbledore pointed his wand at you.

Harry was fuming at this point, but he stayed silent while Voldemort finished.

I revealed myself before he could cast a single spell, and he said, 'Ah, Tom. You're too late. He is mine.'

'I am not letting you harm a magical child, even if he is destined to be my downfall!' I responded, and fired a killing curse at him. I thought it would hit him, but he moved out of the way at the last moment.

It hit me, Harry guessed.

Yes, but it bounced off of your mother's Blood Protection and went back to me. The only reason I didn't die was because I created Horcruxes.

That reminds me. What exactly is a Horcrux? Harry asked.

A Horcrux is an object that contains a piece of soul, rendering the maker nearly immortal, Voldemort responded. He can still be killed, if one destroys the Horcrux. Or in my case, Horcruxes.

How many did you make? Harry asked dryly.

I don't think that's any of your business, brat.

I am one of your Horcruxes, and I want to gather them so we can bring you back, Harry drawled. I want the one inside me out, but I don't think you want your soul-piece to be destroyed.

Voldemort was silent for a moment. What do you mean, you want to bring me back, brat? I'm your enemy.

We are enemies because Dumbledore wishes it, Harry pointed out. I, for one, do not want to follow Dumbledore's wishes. Do you?

Of course not, brat, Voldemort snapped.

And it would be rather intelligent that you have 'the one with the power to vanquish' you on your side, Harry added.

...I suppose, Voldemort grumbled.

So, I need the location and number of your Horcruxes, so I can return all of the soul-pieces but your strongest one to you, Harry finished.

Fine, Voldemort complained. The one containing my biggest soul-piece is my diary, which Lucius Malfoy has.

Harry blinked. Tom was a Horcrux?

The others are the Slytherin locket, which resides in a cave by the sea; the Hufflepuff cup, which is currently in Bellatrix Lestrange's vault; the Ravenclaw diadem, which is in the Room of Requirement; the Gaunt Ring, which is in the Gaunt cottage in Little Hangleton; and Nagini, my snake, who I am currently possessing.

After a moment, Harry said, And the defenses?

In the cave there is a lake full of Inferi; Bellatrix's vault is protected by a dragon; the diadem is in the Room of Hidden Things, so it's nearly impossible to find and can't be Summoned; the Gaunt ring has several Dark curses on it that makes anyone but myself die in two months; and Nagini is a huge, venomous snake, and she's being protected by me.

It may take a few months to gather all your Horcruxes. Do you remember where you put the diadem? Harry asked, remembering with irritation that the locket, diadem, and cup belonged to him.

Next to the bust of a rather ugly old warlock, Voldemort replied. A few piles away from the door.

Piles? Harry thought to himself. Whatever. He addressed Voldemort again. Thank you. I will update you when I've found each Horcrux. Side note, I already possess your diary.

What-! Voldemort shouted, but Harry had already cut the connection. He smirked when he realized that Voldemort would be extremely annoyed when he contacted him again.

He opened his eyes and looked down at the diary thoughtfully. He would, he decided, forgive Tom. But he had a few questions to ask, questions he didn't want anyone to hear except for Tom....

"Neville," Harry said, and instantly his friend looked up. "I want you to keep everyone out of the dormitory for two hours. Can you do that?"

Neville immediately nodded and stood up. "Everyone including the twins, me, and Peeves?" he asked shrewdly.

"Yes," Harry agreed. "Thank you."

His honorary brother smiled and left the room, casting a spell on the door before leaving. Harry recognized it: anyone who wasn't Neville or himself would see fog coming out from under the door, and wouldn't be able to hear anything going on inside.

Harry shook his head, amused, and opened the diary, writing quickly.

Tom, is there a way to enter the diary?

The reply was almost instant, as if Tom had been waiting for him to talk to him again.

Go to the first page and wait..

To his surprise and worry, the words were accompanied by what looked like tear drops.

Will I be able to come back out? Harry questioned.

Yes, I'll send you back when you're ready.

Harry frowned, then turned back to the first page.

A small square, revealing a tiny room, appeared in the top corner. Harry leaned the book closer, squinting; and then the little window grew wider and wider, and he was suddenly falling into it.

With a loud yelp, Harry staggered forward, and he felt someone catch him with strong arms. He looked up, and for the first time, he saw Tom Riddle's face.

Tom had long, neat black hair, pale skin, emerald eyes that were darker and more masculine than Harry's, a rather powerful build, and was nearly a foot taller than Harry, who was a foot and a half taller than a twelve-year-old's average height. He was, Harry admitted to himself, rather handsome.

It was then he realized that Tom's eyes were bloodshot and his cheeks tearstained, as if he'd been crying. Harry instantly wrapped his arms around him and nuzzled into his chest. Tom gave a soft, tiny gasp.

"I'm not mad," Harry said quietly, "and I don't hate you."

Tom instantly hugged him back, sobbing quietly. Harry waited until his crying subsided before looking up at him.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you," Tom croaked as he tried to wipe the tears off his face.

"I understand why you didn't," Harry said gently. He didn't know why he was being so soft with Tom, when usually, he would have been blunt. Something about Tom made his heart soften.

"And anyway, Voldemort didn't kill my parents," he added in a more savage tone. "Dumbledore did."

Tom froze, looking both angry and horrified. Harry took his silence as an opportunity to look around the room.

It was small, with only a comfortable-looking couch and a desk full of papers. There was an identical black diary on the desk, which Harry assumed was to reply to whatever was written in the larger diary.

After a long pause, Tom said quietly, "You're one of Voldemort's Horcruxes."

"Yes," Harry replied. He smirked. "Your older self is a bit funny. He's snarky and keeps calling me 'Brat.'"

The older boy seemed to be a cross between amused and irritated. "You're not a brat," he muttered.

"Oh, I'm not?" Harry smiled innocently, making Tom give a short, rather hysterical laugh. "I was trying to be, anyway. Which reminds me: I'm going to gather all his Horcruxes and put his soul-pieces back into himself, except you."

Tom looked startled. "Why...?" he trailed off.

"Why am I not returning you to him?" Harry asked. "One, so he's still immortal; he'll probably be furious if he isn't. Two, I like you, and I'm not getting rid of people I like." He ignored Tom's dark blush and continued. "Three, the reason I'm free from Dumbledore is because of you, and I haven't rewarded you yet."

"Rewarded me?" Tom asked in a puzzled tone. "What-"

Harry interrupted him by giving him a tiny peck on the lips. When he stepped back, both of them were blushing very, very hard.

"Can I sit?" Harry asked, ignoring the extreme embarrassment. "I have a lot to tell you."

"Uh..." Tom shook himself. "Y-yes." He sat down on the couch, and Harry collapsed beside him.

"Sorry, I'm rather tired," he admitted when Tom gave him a slightly concerned look. "I had my compulsions, blocks, and controlling potions removed, heard my parents' wills, got adopted, got a new wand because my magic didn't work with the old one, and had a long conversation with Voldemort about what actually happened the night my parents died."

"Lie down while you tell me, then," Tom insisted. "I don't want you to overwork yourself."

Harry smirked inwardly and lay down ⎯ with his head on Tom's lap. He ignored the tiny squeak from Tom and started talking. He fell asleep a bit after telling Tom his mother's will.