Chapter Text
Epilogue
Like a weight added to his chest, he feels it squeeze around him. He feels the magic, the beliefs, the emotions.
“Be better than me,” Voldemort whispers to him. “Have fewer regrets.”
“Live.” The other insists. The ring, the youngest of them, smiles.
The parchment rips, the ink bubbles to the surface, he swims through the growing dark and is spat back out into the world of the living. The 3-dimensional realm.
He slams into the floorboards with all the grace of a falling book, limbs spread out like loose pages, spine crooked. He holds onto his head as it spins, and nothing but nausea and dizziness fills him. His eyes adjust to the dull lighting of the room, the candles, the curtains, the dust. Harry is sleeping in the corner. He bends limbs and slowly pushes himself up feeling as if the Hogwarts train has run him down. Plowed him over and continued going. Tom Riddle takes the first real step that he has taken in what feels like a lifetime. He can’t really breathe, but he is close to it, he can push it through this form, something that Voldemort before him could do. He can feel the faint breeze that is blowing through the cracked window to the room of requirements because it knows that is what he needs. Air and Freedom. He needs a moment to just stand there, take it all in. And he does, he pushes with magic the fabric aside to stare at the vast castle grounds. He wants to feel the sun, he pushes at the window. Standing on his tiptoes in order to put his head out of it. The wind presses against this frail form, shifts his hair, ripples his flesh. He can almost feel it. There are still a lot of things missing, but of the few sensations that he can feel he is nearly overwhelmed. He had not been able to feel anything in the diary.
Nothing…
He shuts his eyes and he can still see the ink, the new blood being poured into the pages by Ginny Weasley, a foolish little girl, with silly hopes and dreams. Tom hadn't felt anything about sacrificing her if it meant his freedom. He would have done anything, so he played his role, he was patient, and even stirred up drama to make sure the focus was on other things than one annoying girl that was slowly being drained of her life force. He had not expected Ginny to abandon him, not when he had been so sympathetic to her, so kind, all things considered. He hadn't been that obvious about what he was doing, slowly taking what he needed, rather unpainfully too. He could have been a lot worse to her, been more persuasive in his methods, he could have weaved worse webs into her, broken her, destroyed her before finally taking her soul. But Tom didn't because as horrible as he was, he wasn't a complete monster. Not really, as long as things went the way that he needed them to he didn't see a reason to be needlessly violent or cruel. The world was those things without him adding to it.
It had all changed the second that Harry Potter had touched his book. It was suddenly so different. Static, buzzing, sensations, things he had not been able to feel before. Of course, he had been curious. Of course, he had been vengeful to the person that had in a sense killed him, lost him whatever position he had gained himself. It mattered little to him that Harry had a piece of their soul inside him or not. He needed to get out of the diary and Harry had unfortunately or perhaps fortunately been the one that picked it up. He hadn't needed to work his way into Harry's soul, by having him write endlessly his feelings, his desires, his dreams, he had a direct connection, as he had a small splinter of Tom already in him. He hadn't expected part of himself to consider death to be the best thing that could have happened to them. He had not expected Voldermort of all people to want to save Harry Potter so badly he would have stuck them all in the diary for all eternity. Proof at least to Tom that sentiment was dangerous and not worth it in the slightest. Still, sentiment might be the only reason that he is here.
His memories are jumbled, there are gaps, things missing. Of the strong things he feels he can tell, the ring had it perhaps slightly worse than him. No sensations and whatever was written in him he could revisit like old dreams. He had memorized them, every interaction, every promise, every word. The memories give him something to look at, analyze move about in. The ring had nothing but murdering their family to look forward to and the short amount of time he could dwell in the garden or house before it started again. The other Tom was attached to Harry, the tether and the sacrifice made is what is allowing him to stand here, a mended soul nearly 80% of it. Enough to almost be physical, enough to exist and never have to go back into those pages, the dark... 50 years it has been 50 years since he has seen anything in color.
He likes the green of the forests, the blue of the sky, the bright flags that wave to represent houses that defined so much of his childhood. He feels the sudden urge to cry. Completely childish and he can not remember the last time that he has done so, but he is so relieved. He wants to laugh at himself, scold himself, maybe even bang his head against the wall till things make sense again.
At least in the Diary things made with its horrible bleak reality made sense. He knew himself, his desires, and all things. Here he has no clue, out here everything was bright and contrasting. His own feelings are a whirlwind.
He just feels a single tear bead up. He quickly wipes off his face, there is no moisture so it’s mostly just a change of expressions that Ghosts were capable of. He had seen the Gray Lady cry often enough. He isn't human enough for anything else. He still feels human in this new reality, weak, sensitive, unsure. Everything was spinning around in his head a thousand thoughts, memories, things a second. It stands out to him most that Voldemort had apologized. Voldemort had learned regret.
It seems impossible… that person had left him, had given him to Lucius Malfoy to be locked up in a glass cabinet under thick wards, would care anything about what was to happen to him as long as immortality was secured. And Tom if he had not been the one to pay the life sentence in a state of consciousness, with no stimulation, no power to leave, in constant torture brought on by the memories the book recorded... he wouldn't have cared either what happened to a soul shard of all things. There were other things to be achieved but the ache of wanting to be connected back to the larger part of his soul, it had damaged him. He had been so desperate… He had made foolish mistakes to get to this point. Yet he is the one that is to continue on the larger bit of soul, the one that would serve as a better magnet to the other shards, easier to overpower the remaining bits and heal. That is what Voldemort has asked of him and to protect Harry.
He doesn't want to owe the other, not listen to the one that had been foolish enough to destroy their original body, But he does owe the other for relenting, letting him have this.
He takes another metaphorical breath. Gathering himself and all the energy that he can get moving, he can't just stand around. He looks at this discarded book, it's in a puddle of ink and he looks at the boy that is slumped in the corner half covered by the magical cloak that his father had left for him. He bends down, his fingers disapate if he presses too hard against the other. He still can not touch him. Yet he wants that weird sensation that Ring had mentioned, that he has felt for himself
Warmth...
There are so many memories swirling around in his head, feelings that he can not really describe... Things that are not his own. And when he looks at that small boy he feels an ache in his chest, a harsh one knowing that he had done horrible things to get here. To stand here and he has hurt the one person that apparently cared for him or rather Voldemort. He wants to squish that hurt because they could not hold it against him and he can't hold it against himself. He matters more than other people, his survival mattered. This child would have to understand that. Understand that as fond as his other part is of him, he is not. Tom does not truly know him, and the child does not truly know Tom.
Still, Potter had to get up. Things would be difficult if the other was missing too long. He has no idea how long the other had even been there. He brushes his fingers against the other, the other doesn’t stir. Harry wouldn’t be much use, exhausted as he was.
He needs a plan to explain Harry’s disappearance and ensure that Dumbledores was content. Voldemort was a good scapegoat, the others already expected that he was involved. Tom rubs his fingers against the wand, he is more whole now there are a lot of things he can do.
~/*\~
Blood splatters against the hallway’s stone, loose feathers are left laying on the floor. Footprints lead, wind away from the display.
His body will lie in the chamber forever.
The message is written clearly and boldly for everyone to see, the entrance to the chamber is sealed and it will remain that way until the heir says otherwise. The snake will slumber under the school and the ghost of an annoying girl will never speak of what has taken place there. She is banished and hopefully not a soul will ever have to see her again. The bathroom is destroyed, pipes bow and snap. Water gallons of it rain upon him, the wand slick in his fingers, he watches it, feels it against cracked glasses, and savors the only sensations he will feel for a long time.
A boy stumbles into the hall holding the remnants of a leather-bound book, his arm bleeding and his glasses glittering from moisture. His mouth opens as a familiar teacher halts his patrol. His eyes widen and the Gryffindor smiles slightly at him before collapsing onto the tiled floor.
A silver Patronus carries a whispered message that he will never hear the meaning of as he shuts his eyes and lets this body rest.
~/*\~
Harry Potter wakes in the hospital wing, he always finds himself there. He is starting to hate this place, this castle… He always seems to end up here because of Tom in one way or another. He stares at the ceiling and the thick bandages that are on his arms. The small ring that he has become fond of is missing, his finger feels strange without it. His chest is heavy, he looks around the room trying to catch a glimpse of Tom, some indication of what had happened. But his eyes rested on the headmaster sitting in one of the chairs and some of the other staff seemed to be present. His head of house, Flitwick, and of course the Healer. He rubbed his eyes in case he was dreaming, the last thing that he remembers is the diary. He had felt the need to touch it, and then he remembered the other Tom standing over him…
He bolts upright, wondering what happened to the book, the ring, if Tom was okay. His heart racing and his breathing became uneven, he had almost died again. And Tom couldn't see him. He might have disappeared again trying to save him… what if this time he really didn’t come back. The last time had stolen his more solid form and his voice…
“Be at ease Harry.” Dumbledore pats him on the back and he jerks away. The old man lowers his hand. “The book was destroyed and both yourself and Ginny Weasely are safe and sound.”
This doesn’t calm him, while he is glad that Ginny is okay, and that he is going to heal, the book had Tom’s soul in it. He takes a few deep breaths, steadying himself. Panicking wasn’t going to help. He needed as much information as the adults were able to supply. He needs to piece things together, and know if there was any way to salvage the ring, or perhaps if he felt the book he would know if there was still a part of the soul inside. He had always felt warmth when near something that belonged to Tom.
“How did I get here sir?” Harry says softly. “I don’t remember…”
“We found you in the far corridor on the second floor, this clutched in your hands.” He held up the diary that had a large hole in the center as if it had been stabbed. There was dried reddish ink that looked like blood.” His breath caught and he made a strangled sound at the thought that someone had destroyed the soul that resided in the book. Dumbledore studied his expression, his eyes softening.
“Perhaps this is not the time Albus, the boy just woke up…” Pumphrey started, “I still need to run diagnostics. Nothing physically seemed wrong with him but I would like to make sure he is alright.”
“You found the book… what about…” He trails off hoping the other will finish it for him. He pushes past the healer's worry, as he is more interested in knowing the state of things. His head feels like it was splitting.
“Tom Riddle, the owner of this diary?” The old man looks at him knowingly.
“I met with Voldemort.” Harry shifted the name elsewhere. The more problematic part of Tom was the one that committed to that name. The adults looked uncomfortable, but he pressed on. “I remember him standing over me, he wanted to succeed this time. He had my wand.”
“Your wand has been recovered. I doubt that you meant to write the second message on the wall. Ms. Weasley admitted to writing on the walls and petrifying Mr. Carvery. She of course had no control of what she was doing, Tom had possessed her, and he seemed to have done the same to you. It takes a very willful person to fight that type of mind manipulation, and destroy the object.” He dares to sound proud of him like Harry has accomplished something profound.
He can’t help but stare at the man, that seemed to have no issue with allowing a child to fight against a murder for the second time, not that this one was as obvious as what was going to happen the previous year. But he has a role to fulfill that usually is enough to get him away from the legillimens.
“Thank you…” Harry trails off. He suddenly and has a very sick feeling that someone else had piloted his body from the room of requirements to the end location.
He lowered his eyes, feeling a slight pressure, but as quickly as it came it disappeared. Harry feels like Dumbledore is looking for more information but Harry doesn’t have it to give him. At least in what really happened in the supposed Chamber of secrets or with the large snake that was probably down there. He has other secrets to protect. And so he deflects the questions Dumbledore asks and the others. The old man presses for Harry to spend the summer under the protective wards of Pivot Drive, stressing that they did not know how the book became into the possession of Ginny nor if Voldemort wouldn’t try anything else over the summer holidays.
“I told you before, I wouldn’t go back.” Harry says darkly, “I would be safer near anywhere else. I would rather fight Voldemort than the Dursleys.”
“Harry, I seriously hope that you do not mean that.” The old man attempts to lecture him.
Pomfrey shut that idea down masterfully, with his head of house after that. Even bringing up the Ministry inquires into the home and why there was a letter auto addressed from the school to the cupboard under the stairs. The Dursleys were set for having him under thick guidelines and forced check-ins. The Grangers were more than happy to take him again and Mcgunagall was more than content to add protective charms upon his person and that home if he wanted to stay there. Harry held fast to the hope that he wouldn’t have to spend any time with his real ‘guardians’ and that he could quickly head to Hermiones or the Weasleys as they were also willing.
It was to be sorted out in the next few days, right now all the adults wanted was for him to rest and to get the children that were practically trying to break into the medical ward a chance to visit. His friends apologize for not realizing sooner that he was possessed, all incredibly grateful that he had managed to survive another year. He honestly feels horrible for making them think that they were in any way responsible for anything that happened to him, but the excuse of being possessed at least gave him leeway in ignoring them in favor of learning about souls and Horcruxes. And gives him an out if Dumbledore ever catches the tail end of any of those research-related questions.
“To think I have seen Tom Riddle’s name in the trophy room.” Ron shudders. “Voldemort went here.”
“To think that Harry’s snake is named Tom too, what a horrible coincidence.” Neville shakes his head.
“Oh, that's right.” Hermione sniffs. “I bet that name’s a bit sour for you now.”
Harry can’t tell if it is or isn’t one side of Tom had been rather pleasant the encounter with what lived in the diary wasn’t. He would be having nightmares for weeks about drowning in ink, unable to breathe, move, think clearly. He shakes himself. “It is in a way…but the first Tom was wonderful and my snake is used to his name.”
“Maybe just use a nickname like T for a little bit if it helps.” Hermione leaned into him and assured him that he is welcome with her all summer.
When they leave Harry sleeps then the whole rest of the evening and late into the next day.
He wakes to see a face over him, the very human face makes him pull away, and his eyes narrow. He looks exactly like the diary. Pretty features that are more like a ghost than that of the shadow that has been following him the last 12 years.
“Tom.” He blinks.
“Hello, again P-Harry.” The figure nods. Harry gets a chill as the other sits on his bed and smiles at him.
“Where have you been?” Harry studies him, finding that he almost misses the burning red eyes, they always made it easy to find him.
“Out of sight, you haven’t been able to check behind you.” The other responds and Harry knows that Tom wouldn’t have hidden from him. Not even if Harry had reason to be upset, nor mess up his name. His chest tightens.
“You’re not him.” He reaches for his wand and the boy’s hand mixes with his hand pushing it down with a gentle but definite force.
“Let’s not resort to noise or violence.” The younger soul shard pulls his hand back out and Harry still holds his wand tightly. It's violating to feel that, he is grateful that it only happened a few times. It still makes his skin crawl knowing the other was inside him when he was defenseless and couldn’t have fought it.
“Talk where is my Tom?” Harry hisses. “And if you ever try to do something like pilot my body again, I’ll find a way to banish you painfully.”
The eyes widen momentarily and then a very unpleasant smile forms on the other's lips. This version didn’t like being told off, apparently. And Harry hasn’t perhaps shown such hostility before, he wouldn’t be fooled again. The teen seems to take a few breaths, in and out, and Harry is painfully reminded of the Tom he is used to.
“I am me, him, we mended.” He says as if that explains everything.
Harry’s eyes narrow, not buying it in the slightest, especially when this version seemed so sweet and kind seconds before trying to drain him of his soul and magical core a few days ago.
“Perhaps a better way of thinking about it is I absorbed him.” The shard gestures to himself. Harry can see when he looks at him a much bigger blue light logged in his chest, so he did have a larger soul than his Tom. “There is no exact separate version of just your Tom and me. We're all the same person, just taken out of the main host at different times; some just have more memories than others.” The Horcrux soul shard says with conviction and it makes Harry obligated to believe him. “I am probably as “Tom” as it gets; the later smaller shard you're familiar with was more Voldemort in what it knew.”
“So what you are saying is you consumed him,” Harry said sadly, almost feeling like he had indeed lost someone. “You’re what’s left when you took his soul piece.”
“What’s left?” He sounds offended, his perfect face once again scrunches up, and unlike what he is used to with shadows that flare he can actually see the other shake and his fist clench and unclench. He can see what mimics muscles in his face, grinding his teeth and jaw set in fury. “I am over 50% of the soul, the other 25% you should be more than grateful that you did not come across, the small bit that followed you around only equated to 3%. If anything you were friends with a pathetic pale imitation of myself and because we agreed to heal I have his memories, some of his feelings, even if I can not understand all of them.”
“I can understand.” Harry says, “But you have to understand that you are different from him. Even the way that you talk is different, so you will have to excuse me for feeling as if the part I knew is dead. It also doesn’t help that the more prominent part of you, as your calling it tried to murder me.”
Riddle runs a hand through his hair, the curls stand up just like real hair. “Would it help if I said that I am sorry for putting you through all that?”
“Only if you meant it.” Harry folded his arms. “Do you actually mean your apology?”
He has a strong feeling that the other doesn’t.
“Partially,” Riddle admitted. “I am not sorry for mending with myself, nor that I am free from the Diary. I was, however, desperate and admittingly made a poor decision in targeting someone that shares part of my soul.”
“Oh is that all.” Harry glared.
“I don’t have a strong connection to empathy or other weaknesses. The 3% was borrowing a lot from you, core, emotions, and magic. He would be more childish, as he needed to borrow from you, a child.” Riddle talks to him like he is a toddler and he needs to explain everything tirelessly too. Harry bristled. He hadn’t been a child for a long time, not since these secrets all started to pour themselves out into the open. Not since he had read all he did to help the person before him.
“Don’t treat me as if I am nothing but a child. Empathy, emotions, and caring about people are not childish. I would say apathy that you seem so fond of is far more childish. Being able to show emotion correctly and deal with it is a sign of maturity.”
Riddle laughed at that. “Quite full of surprises and vocabulary aren't you? I disagree with you, caring about people is a weakness to be exploited by those that are stronger.”
“Were you taken advantage of or left?” Harry tilted his head, “It would explain your reluctance if you had been played before. Voldemort as we are calling him was close to me and I know that he was scared of his attachment to me. He was scared I would give up on him, leave him. Maybe he got that from being attached to a younger person, but I think it’s so far rooted into who you are that you can’t accept it. You not only fear death, you fear being alone. If you're alone on your own terms that's fine, but you never want to be left again.”
Riddle gets a very unpleasant look on his face, dare he think it is a cross between fear and anger. He can almost picture a snake coiling, ready to lash back if needed.
“You were,” Harry confirms it for himself. “Even if I don’t like the current version, it doesn't mean that I am going to use the memories you now have against you, nor the attachment. Our souls as we have discussed greatly are connected and we both can feel things from each other. You can trust in my desire to survive at the very least, and I can trust that you will not try to steal my soul again because it wouldn’t be good for yours.”
“So an alliance for convenience.” Riddle nods as if that is something he is very used to.
“I think that is what it has always been between us.” Harry agrees with him. “I don’t have as much reason to have an attachment to you if you aren't the one that cares for me, as that seems beneath you.”
There is something unreadable that crosses his face, glitters behind the eyes. Harry knows he has hit the right button. He won't be as passive as he has been, especially if this version of Tom didn't understand kindness, care, not empathy as well as the other. Promises weren't exactly enough anymore, it might have even been foolish... He really needs to start playing a more active role in his own story, or he will always be pulled along. Caring and compassion were important but Riddle was right it could be taken advantage of by the wrong sort.
“Am I wrong Riddle?”
“Don’t call me that.” He hisses, voice really low. “I hate that disgusting Muggle name.”
“I’m not calling you Voldemort, Tom is muggle too I am sure, so what other name would you prefer?”
He is silent for a moment completely still. “Tom is not too despicable.”
Harry can’t help himself, he laughs shaking his head. “Tom it is then, what are your aspirations for the future?”