The Riddle
Harry was lying in bed again. Light streaming in through the threadbare, drawn-shut curtains and the room heating up as the sun rose higher in the sky. It had been a few weeks he’d been here now, and he was starting to grow bored with the silence, with the isolation, with the boredom and the anticipation always hovering over his shoulders. He and Voldemort had arrived at some run down, abandoned looking house, on a street that looked much the same as the house, and had been rushed inside. Voldemort had left some vague instructions;
- Don’t leave - not that he could even if he wanted to, the exits were warded shut
- There will be food in the kitchen - Harry had started off using Narcissas book to cook meals, but eventually he grew listless and just ate food that didn’t need to be prepared, if he ate anything
- Harry could use magic now, the Ministry wouldn’t be able to track him - to which Voldemort briefly explained that there was a Ministry of Magic when Harry asked
- He should continue his studies - Harry had asked with what and Voldemort had indicated a familiar trunk sitting in the living room. He informed Harry that his bird was unobtainable when he inquired, and then he turned and left.
Harry turned his eyes to the trunk sitting on his floor, open with various things strewn out of it. It appeared to be his own trunk, with some slight singeing around the edges. How Voldemort had obtained it and why Harry was unsure, but it was nice to have his own things again. There was some muggle clothing in there, his fathers cloak, the photo album from Hagrid which he had poured over countless times in the past few weeks, some spell books which, while he had already completed his first year it was nice to have something to go over again and practice with. He had grown sad when he looked at his school robes, wondering if he would ever see Ron and Hermione again, if he would ever see the castle he considered home again and had proceeded to stuff the robes to the bottom of the trunk and gotten changed into his muggle clothes, preferring them to the uncomfortable, tightly fitted Malfoy robes he’d been given. Harry wondered if Voldemorts comment about Hedwig had meant that she had died in the flames of the car crash…or just that she was beyond even his reach. He hoped that she had survived and had simply been given to someone, but Harry felt lead in his heart thinking of her and knew it was much more likely that she had perished. It was actually this that had lead him to grow more and more lethargic with each passing day, the thought of his first friend, a birthday present from Hagrid, being gone.
Harry decided to drag himself out of bed rather than dwell on these thoughts and made his way down to the kitchen. One positive thing to come out of the past few weeks though, had been his friendship with Tom Riddle. Now Harry was no longer in Malfoy Manor, Tom didn’t have a way to help Harry, but he was a comfort and told Harry to keep him up to date with what was going on in case he could think of a way to help him. He didn’t reveal much about himself, but Harry knew he had grown up without a family and that he too had seen Hogwarts as his first proper home. Tom and Harry had a lot in common and he found himself strangely trusting him. Harry was in the middle of eating an apple when he felt a twinge in his scar which wasn’t unusual, he found it happening every once in a while, but what was unusual was when it suddenly intensified and he put his hand to his forehead, wrinkling his face in pain. Harry could hear the door opening and after a moment Voldemort appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, looking at Harry with a blank, distant look on his face. He eyed Harrys pyjamas and half eaten apple and Harry saw a slight twinge of disgust appear on his face.
“You’re still alive then.” Voldemort said, and it was such a Dursleyish thing to say that Harry found a bark of laughter escape his lips unexpectedly, he wondered if he had perhaps been left alone for slightly too long. Voldemort didn’t look amused and walked to the other end of the table. “I’m moving you. Go pack your things.” Harry didn’t need to be told twice, he was eager to get a change of scenery and after awkwardly walking past Voldemort while trying to stay as far out of arms reach as he could, Harry rushed upstairs, threw some clothes on and started piling everything back into his trunk, pulled the bag on his back and headed downstairs. Voldemort was leaning against the kitchen table, arms folded and head down deep in thought, but stood as Harry appeared and walked past him outside. Harry followed, a bit irritated and once outside he approached Voldemort with some apprehension, coming to hate apparation, certain that’s what was about to happen. Voldemort grabbed Harrys arm and sure enough they vanished with a crack.
As they reappeared on a stone path, Harry fell to the ground, dizzy and feeling a bit sick. He wondered if you ever got used to this feeling. Harry was surprised Voldemort was still next to him and hadn’t made some snippy comment yet. As he stood he found the man staring at the house in front of him before taking a quick glance at Harry and storming inside. Harry took a moment to look around and felt his heart clench, new waves of nausea appearing in his stomach as he realised where they were. It was the graveyard where Voldemort had returned, which must make this the house and, looking inside and seeing what room was there, that must be the kitchen where Barty….Harry took a step back. “Get inside Harry, don’t make me drag you in here.” He heard Voldemort call from inside. Harry calmed his breathing before taking slow, steady steps towards the door and then inside to the kitchen. “You’ll stay here for the foreseeable future, here.” Voldemort said as he tossed some books on the table. Harry was looking behind him at the far corner of the kitchen where he’d seen Bartys lifeless eyes staring at him, forever staring. “Don’t get into trouble. Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be back to check on you…at some point.” Voldemort said offhandedly and he started to walk past Harry.
“Wait!” Harry said, dragging his eyes away from the corner and stepping back hurriedly as Voldemort had paused directly next to him in passing and was now throwing Harry a blank look. “Er- Why-I mean, what are you going to do with me? I-Are you still looking for a way to remove the..uh…soul piece? What’s happening out there?” Harry said, feeling very small under Voldemorts piercing gaze, but wanting to know what was happening. Voldemort stared at Harry for a moment, at first Harry thought in disgust or amazement at how stupid he thought the questions were and he started to feel indignant and frustrated at Voldemort. But then he began to wonder if Voldemort even knew the answer to these things himself?
“The fragment cannot be removed. You are stuck as its host body.” Voldemort said with an underlying edge before he stalked out of the kitchen and was gone with a crack. Harry took a deep breath, taking in all that had happened so suddenly. He found he was reluctant to look at the corner of the kitchen still and so looked at the two books on the table instead. One was household charms, which he looked at with apprehension thinking that, were she a witch, it would be the sort of thing Aunt Petunia would consider entertaining reading. Even worse, the other was a book on magical theory, the sort of thing Hermione would find fascinating. Harry suddenly found himself feeling a deep aching loneliness the sorts of which he hadn’t even felt at the Dursleys. One family burned to a crisp because of him, the other he would probably never see again. Harry picked up his trunk and bag and began to drag them up the small staircase in search of a room he most wanted to stay in. Preferably not the one he had been staying in last time.
After Harry had unpacked in his new room, deciding he should try and make himself as at home as possible, he had gone downstairs and, feeling a new lease of life in a new environment, he began to make himself a good lunch. He ate in his room, not wanting to be in the kitchen any longer than he had to, but not feeling like sitting outside and seeing the graveyard either. Afterwards Harry decided to explore the house properly. He found a number of other bedrooms, all covered in cobwebs and dust and a locked door he couldn’t get into. There was a dining room and a small library with a desk in it as well as a painting on the wall of a very rich looking family. He eventually braved the stairs up to the top floor and decided to ignore the room at the end of the corridor. There was one other doorway, which he found contained a staircase leading up to an empty attic. When Harry came back downstairs he found another door going out the side of the house and leading into a small garden, with a stone wall around it. The wall was low enough that he could just see out and sunshine got in, but if he sat down then the graveyard was completely hidden. Harry found himself enjoying the faint breeze playing on his skin and the bright sunshine hitting his face mercilessly. It was good to be outside again and he spent the rest of the day laying in the sun, listening to the wind and the birds.
As the daylight began to dip, Harry went and made himself some food and then suddenly he remembered he had to let Tom know of this! Maybe the boy in the book could help him escape from here.
Hello Tom.
Harry, how are you doing?
I’m good Tom. Voldemort showed up today, he’s moved me to a new house.
That’s very interesting, do you know where you are?
Sort of. I’ve been here before, I was kept in this house when Barty first kidnapped me and there’s a graveyard where Voldemort got his body back after some ritual.
A graveyard? Harry what else is in the house? Have you found anything about who used to live there?
Harry found this a bit odd, but he did remember seeing a painting that might help.
There was a painting, hang on I’ll go and look.
Harry couldn’t remember exactly which painting it had been, and where, as there were a few of them. He found himself in the dining room again, and noticed a painting he hadn’t seen before of a handsome young man with dark hair and blue eyes. Harry noticed a name engraved onto the frame and stepped closer to have a look.
Tom Riddle
Harry froze, feeling the book in his hand growing heavier every moment that passed. Surely this couldn’t be…was this HIS Tom Riddle? Was this house Tom Riddles? It seemed so muggle, but Tom seemed to have recognised the graveyard when Harry mentioned it. Harry left the dining room and went in search of the other painting again, eventually retracing his steps back to the library and seeing the portrait of the family again. This time the portrait simply said Riddle and there again was the young man, Tom Riddle, and that must be his parents standing behind him. Tom Riddle had a rather haughty look on his face and Harry looked at it for a moment, feeling as though he recognised it from somewhere…Was Tom Riddle a Death Eater? Was that why Voldemort had access to this house? Harry began to feel a sinking feeling, perhaps he'd been tricked.
He finally set the diary down and wrote to Tom.
Tom. I think this might have been your house?
What have you found?
There’s a portrait of a Tom Riddle in the dining room, and a family portrait in the library of Tom Riddle and his parents.
Harry waited as Tom took his time to respond.
That is most likely a portrait of my father, we share a name. The house is not mine, I never really knew them.
What happened? Why would Voldemort keep me here? What happened to you and your family Tom?
Voldemort sought to kill every one of the Riddles, I managed to preserve a part of myself in this book. He knows no one will expect him to be keeping you there.
Harry thought all of this over. The portrait was Toms father, and Voldemort had hunted them down and killed them. What did Voldemort have against Tom Riddle? Why had he killed them all? He realised then, that Tom Riddle had lost everything to Voldemort the same as Harry had.
Do you know a way for me to get out of here Tom?
I imagine you could try walking out of the front door.
I’m serious.
As am I. If you bargained with the Dark Lord and swore you wouldn’t leave or else he could kill twelve people, then he won’t be expecting you to go anywhere. I imagine he may even be testing, taunting you by giving you the freedom to leave whilst knowing that you never would.
Toms knowledge of Voldemort had always been a curiosity to Harry, but it gave him some sympathy for the other boy now, knowing it was likely a knowledge he had had to use to keep alive himself.
There is a way however.
Harry didn’t know if he dared hope, and at the lack of a further explanation he replied.
What is it?
There should be a town nearby, called Little Hangleton. Beyond that there will be a house, a shack really and I think there might be something there that could help you.
Really? What is it?
I’m not completely sure, and it may be well guarded.
Ok. Well could I go now?
No. You should wait, if you leave now then Voldemort may know where you have gone. You should wait until you know he will be away for a long period of time.
Harry didn’t like the sound of this, there were a lot of unknowns and he didn’t want to risk other peoples lives just for something that ended up being useless or a trap…but he felt he could trust Tom, he didn’t know why, but he felt a kin with the other boy. Noticing how dark it had gotten by now, Harry decided to head to bed.
Good Night Tom.
Good Night Harry.