The Ritual
Harry wasn't really sure what he was meant to do whilst here in the manor, waiting for Voldemort to finish researching a way to remove the soul. Waiting until he was of no use and killed. He refused to drown in his own fear, and was doing his best to keep himself busy and ideally not anywhere where Voldemort would think he was. The less of his remaining time he could spend around that man the better. Harry hadn't resigned himself to his fate exactly, he just couldn't see any option around it that didn't involve the slaughter of 12 innocent people. He'd been wandering around since breakfast, and the difficulty was finding somewhere where no one else was, and that wasn't the same four walls of the room he was staying in.
While Harry was here, Voldemort was, and while Voldemort was here, this place was a sort of central hub for the death eaters and so they were everywhere. He'd had one too many awkward run-ins to be comfortable, some of them just made nasty comments, but some were prone to trying to harm him in some way. Pushing him near the top of the stairs, for example. He'd taken to trying to get himself lost in the hopes of finding somewhere that wasn't well trafficked. One positive was that Draco Malfoy was avoiding him like the plague and he could really only see the benefits of that. He just wished he knew why Malfoy had looked so scared of him the other day. After a number of deliberately wrong and strange turns through the hallways and up a number of staircases, Harry found himself in yet another hallway with yet more doors.
It was only as he was walking down the corridor that one of the doors caught his eye. There was nothing particularly special about this door, but Harry decided he hadn't seen anyone else for a significant amount of time and decided that this door was as good as any other. It was unlocked, and stepping in he could see it was like the messy wardrobe of an otherwise clean childrens room, the rest of the manor was pristine but this room had cobwebs and dust and piles upon piles of boxes filled with miscellaneous items strewn about. Harry liked it, he couldn't help but be reminded of the cupboard under the stairs at the Dursleys which, while not the happiest of times, the cupboard had been his and was the only part of the house that wasn't overly clean.
Harry decided to go through the boxes.
There were various boxes with family portraits which Harry quickly moved on from after spotting a small blonde haired Draco Malfoy in his mothers arms. He had picked his way through the piles to near the back of the room, when he spotted something interesting. He ducked down to get a better look at an ornate box tucked away in the corner, there was something about it…He wedged himself in between a cabinet and a stack of books almost as tall as the ceiling, almost getting stuck despite how small he was for his age. The box was meticulously marked, Harry picked it up and as the light shifted over it he began to lose interest, even less so when he noticed there was nothing inside and he threw it aside, caring very little if he damaged a priceless Malfoy heirloom.
He was about to move on when he noticed there had been something interesting UNDER the box. A black leather book, like a jotter or a diary. He picked it up and flicked his way through the pages, all blank. As he put the book back down he noted an inscription in gold at the bottom, T.M.RIDDLE . Harry replaced the box on top of the book and shimmied his way out of the little nook and continued on his explorings, ignoring his hunger as he decided to forgo lunch and the prospect of having to interact with people. The book kept dancing into his mind, and as the light began to dip Harry left the room, deciding to come back to check out the book another day.
Harry returned the next day, picking a new corner to rummage through, but so far most of the items in this room hadn't been particularly interesting and he found himself drifting back to where the book was. Squeezing through the gap, he felt his hand brush against something sharp on the cabinet and winced before finally pushing through. He picked up the book and opened it again, nothing on it's pages except…a red smudge? Was that there before? It looked fresh, it looked like…Harry looked at his thumb and noticed it was bleeding slightly. He frowned at it, he must have cut it on the dresser when he was squeezing past, before sticking it in his mouth and looking back at the book, hoping it hadn't been a particularly important book to anyone. The red smudge, however, had gone and Harry watched in amazement as black, neat handwriting scrawled its way across the page.
Hello?
He almost threw the book down, but of all the things running through his head, he found that surprisingly sensibly, the potential of this being someone who could help him, sprung to the forefront.
Is someone there?
Harry looked around himself, turning in a circle, for something to write with. He flung a random chest open to his right, but upon only finding some old robes with cobwebs and spiders crawling out of them, he put the book back down and squeezed his way past the dresser and out of the room towards the library. He paused to catch his breath outside so as hopefully not to alert anyone inside to his presence, before pushing in. There was an awful silence about the room as he stepped in, but he ignored it hoping no one was around as he began searching for an inkwell and quill, doubting he'd find a pencil here. There, an inkwell and quill were sat on a table and he pocketed them before noticing the papers strewn about, perhaps someone was working here…he couldn't see anyone around though so hopefully they wouldn't notice the missing inkwell. He decided to have a look at the papers, his curiosity getting the better of him.
He couldn't make much sense of the papers, but he did notice his own name written down, there was a piece of paper set aside, it looked like a list of instructions, it appeared to mention a potion being needed. Was this what would remove the soul fragment from him? Harry began to get a cold feeling realising whose work this was and the fact that this all looked fairly ready. Maybe he could take the potion and escape? No, Voldemort would still kill those people. Take the potion and hide in the cupboard forever? Harry started to get the feeling he was being watched, a feeling only made worse at the appearance of a serpent slithering on the floor towards him. Harry began to step backwards but bumped into something solid behind him.
"What, are you doing?" a cold voice asked. Harry jumped away, turning to look at Voldemort standing between him and the door looking particularly unamused.
"I-I was just..looking for a boo-"Harry stumbled backwards into the table behind him, knocking some of the papers with his hand by accident to the floor and causing the potion bottle to wobble precariously before settling. Voldemorts eyes were shut in annoyance when Harry looked back at him and he was closer as though he'd made to lunge forwards. "Get out" He said with venom in his voice and eyes which looked a bit alarmed once they'd opened again. Harry sprinted around Voldemort and out of the library doors, he was half way down the corridor before he realised he'd just stolen the dark lords inkwell and quill, which he'd been in the middle of using by the looks of it. Harry decided to just keep running.
Once safely hidden back in the room, Harry sat on the ground and took out the book again, he hovered the quill over the page, only now beginning to wander if this was a safe thing to do. If Voldemort was close to finishing whatever it was he needed to do to remove the soul, then Harry didn't have much time left and felt desperate. How wrong could it go? He asked himself before setting the nib down and responding.
Hello, who are you?
The words sank in and a reply formed a moment later
My name is Tom Riddle, who am I speaking to?
Tom Riddle inquired and Harry responded a moment later, his heart thumping in his ears and his hands slightly sweaty.
My name is Harry Potter. Can you help me?
Hello Harry Potter, what can I help you with?
Harry frowned, unsure what to ask. He decided to just start somewhere.
Do you know about Voldemort?
The book took longer to reply this time, and Harry was worried he'd scared Tom Riddle off, but eventually words appeared again.
I have heard the name.
Harry decided that was good enough
He's holding me here as a prisoner and is going to kill me soon. Can you help me get out?
Is he now? and where exactly is here?
In a dusty storage room. In the Malfoy families house. I don't know where that is exactly.
I see. I may be able to help you, but whatever you do don't let Voldemort find me, he won't want my helping you.
Ok. What should I-
Harry stopped writing as he heard the door to the room slam open. He saw the words Harry? Appear before he quickly snapped the book shut.
"Come out here now Harry." He heard Voldemort call angrily. Harry had a brief moment of panic, wondering what to do and where to hide everything before he placed the book back under the box and placed the quill and ink inside of it. He had just stood up when he saw Voldemort walking past the gap in front of him, catching sight of Harry in the corner of his eye and doubling back as he did. "What are you doing?" Voldemort asked, glaring. Harry suddenly felt stupid for hiding the book UNDER A BOX and in another stupid moment he shuffled slightly to the side to try and obscure the book.
"Er, I was just…cleaning." He could have slapped himself. Voldemort noticed the movement and in a moment the cabinet had been magically pushed aside.
"Move" Voldemort said as he walked forwards and pushed Harry aside. Voldemort looked at the ornate box for a moment and opened it. Inside was the quill and inkwell Harry had stolen. He turned towards Harry, with a horrific glare that clearly meant the Dark Lord wished he could spontaneously set Harry on fire just now, before grabbing his arm and dragging him out of the room. Harry couldn't decide whether to be thrilled Voldemort hadn't found the book or horrified at the turn of events. Had Voldemort really come all this way looking for his inkwell?
"Where are we going?" Harry said, as he began to struggle against the grip. Voldemort tightened his hand like a vice.
"Everything's ready for the ritual. We're going to remove the soul piece," Voldemort said with some amount of impatience.
"Oh", Harry replied. His time had run out.
"Wait, wait no. Shouldn't you…do some more research or something?" Harry said desperately, eyeing up the potion bottle Voldemort had just handed him, his heart beginning to race as though it were trying to get in as many beats as possible before the end.
"I have done plenty of research, now drink the potion! It will either cause a slight painful sensation or it will poison your body and you will die in utter agony." Harry didn't like the sound of that, they were in his room, the door locked and warded, his mind was trying to come up with any way out of this. To remove the soul, would be perfect, Harry didn't want it, Voldemort was doing him a favour. But his immediate death upon the separation was filling Harry with anxiety and dread.
"Why would you want to risk that?" He asked again, backing away.
"Because there is a chance it will remove the soul fragment, and at least in one of those outcomes I get to sit back and watch you die writhing on the floor, foaming at the mouth. In the other I get to strike you down with my own hand." The dark lord said angrily turning away from his notes on the spell work "I can store the fragment somewhere else, something worthy of my soul." Voldemort crossed his arms, tilted his head slightly at Harry now, his demeanour shifting to a calmer, quieter stance, and almost a curious, regretful one too. "You weren't the only one the prophecy could have referred to you know. There was another, a pureblood boy. But I think I saw something of myself in the halfblood baby, something that made me decide not to go for what most wizards would have considered the obvious choice. You have caused a lot of trouble, Harry Potter, but there is nothing special about you."
Voldemorts voice grew more and more venomous as he spoke. "You possess no great intelligence or talent at magic. Your mother may have given her life up to save you, but it was a wasted effort, and had she stepped aside as I'd asked her, she would still be alive. But you, you were always going to die at my hand Harry, now dri-" Voldemort was cut off by something hitting him in the centre of his face as Harry had thrown the bottle directly at him. He didn't see if it had hit however as he was already rushing for the door, his mind making one last attempt to escape this nightmare. "Crucio!"
Harry collapsed to the ground, the feeling of knives stabbing his entire body, fire licking at his nerves, pain beyond anything he'd ever felt, he couldn't breathe it hurt so badly. And then it was over, and he was panting on the floor, shaking and feeling completely drained. His body became immobile and a hand grabbed his jaw "Stop, stalling." Voldemort said, glaring at Harry before he opened his mouth and poured the contents down Harrys throat. And then a whole new agony began, erupting from his scar.