Not you
The forest was dead—just like him. Harry Potter stood in the clearing, a ghost of the boy he used to be. The wind whispered through the charred remains of trees that had long since lost their ability to grow, the air thick with the scent of decay. The war was over. Voldemort was dead. But Harry had never felt less alive. The faces of the fallen haunted him—friends, mentors, comrades—each one a living memory he couldn’t shake. Fred’s laughter, the way Sirius had called his name just before... before everything had fallen apart. He had fought for them, had "died" for them, only to end up in this hollow shell of a life. The victory that everyone had celebrated had come at the cost of everything Harry had ever cared about. He couldn’t even remember the last time he had truly slept, or if he had ever truly mourned. Everyone he’d fought for, every person he’d loved, had been lost. It was a twisted joke, wasn’t it? To win the war but lose yourself in the process.
Harry didn’t know what he was searching for here, in the heart of the Dark Forest. But the whispers had reached him, they haunted every one of his waking thoughts and plagued his dreams too. Truth was, he hadn’t been able to stop himself. Maybe it was madness, he thought, but madness has always been a part of me, hasn’t it? Besides, why couldn't he, for once in his life, be selfish? He knew what the stone was. The Resurrection Stone. He knew the legend, knew it was one of the fabled Deathly Hallows, but he’d never thought to give into the temptation, not until now. After the war. After the world had gone quiet, save for the whispers of ghosts he couldn’t lay to rest.
Harry bent to his knees in the ashen clearing, the stone heavy in his palm. It was smaller than he’d remembered, cold to the touch, almost... cruel in its simplicity. He turned it over and over in his hands. It wasn’t much. It was a relic, a myth, a thing that should have stayed buried. But Harry wasn’t looking for some grand epiphany anymore. He wasn’t even sure he believed in anything anymore. He had nothing left to lose.
With a shuddering breath, he whispered the names that had haunted his dreams: “Lily. James. Sirius. Remus.” The words felt foreign, like a prayer to a God he didn’t believe in. He closed his eyes. There was a sudden pull in the air around him, an eerie tension that filled the space. The ground trembled slightly beneath him, and a flash of light blazed against his eyelids. Then, nothing.
For a moment, Harry thought he’d imagined it. The world around him felt unnervingly still, and the clearing looked the same. No one. Nothing. But as his heart sank with the weight of disappointment, he heard a voice—one he’d never thought to hear again.
“Harry…”
Harry froze. His breath caught in his throat. Impossible. He spun around, but the clearing was still empty. Then, his stomach dropped as a figure appeared before him.
Tom Riddle. Tom bloody Riddle.
Harry’s hand instinctively went for his wand, but the movement was sluggish, as though something was holding him back. Riddle stood tall, alive—no, not alive, not quite. There was an inhuman, unnatural quality to him now. His pale face, too perfect, too smooth, was framed by dark hair. His cold, serpent-like eyes fixed on Harry with that same mocking, calculating look.
“Not who you expected, was it, Harry?” Riddle’s voice was smooth, a sharp contrast to the violent thoughts that raced through Harry’s mind.
Harry’s throat tightened, his mind scrambling to find words. “You’re—you're dead. I saw you die, I watched you burn—” His voice cracked, but he forced himself to continue, every word laced with disbelief and anger. “I... I killed you!”
Tom tilted his head, a cruel smirk playing at the corner of his lips. “Did you? Did you truly think killing me would end me?”
Harry’s grip tightened on his wand, though he wasn’t sure what good it would do. His heart was pounding so hard he could feel it in his teeth. “This is impossible. You’re not real. You can’t be.”
A cold laugh escaped Tom’s lips. “And yet here I am, Harry.” His smile deepened, and he took a slow step forward. “You called me here, didn’t you? This was always your doing. You can’t hide from your own actions.”
“Shut up,” Harry growled, his voice bitter and sharp. “You’re just a ghost—just a shadow trying to drag me down with you.”
Tom’s eyes gleamed with something predatory. “Is that what you think, Harry? A ghost? Perhaps. But I am no mere figment of your imagination. You brought me here—whether you intended to or not.”
Harry’s mind was racing. He had summoned something, that was clear. But this? This wasn’t what he had expected. Not Tom, not like this. It was madness. It felt like madness. Was this even real? Was he going insane?
“I didn’t summon you,” Harry spat, stepping back, trying to shake the overwhelming sensation of being trapped in this moment. “I used the bloody stone to try and see my parents. You… you’re just a trick. You’re not them.”
Tom’s smile didn’t falter. “Oh, Harry,” he cooed, his voice turning sickly sweet. “What did you expect? You thought the dead would return to you, warm and full of life? You thought you could cheat death like that?”
“I didn’t—” Harry broke off, clenching his jaw. His throat was tight, his chest aching with a kind of emptiness he had never known before. God, what was wrong with him? He had come here expecting answers, but he hadn’t expected this. He hadn’t expected Tom bloody Riddle to show up in place of his parents, or anyone else he had lost.
“You’ve always been so certain of your choices, haven’t you?” Tom said, his voice like a velvet-coated knife. “The Boy Who Lived. The hero. You think you understand death, Harry. But death understands you better than you’ll ever understand it.”
“Shut up!” Harry yelled, pointing his wand at Tom, his words sharp. “You don’t know a damn thing about me!”
Tom’s eyes glinted darkly, and for a moment, Harry swore he could see the serpent behind the man’s smile, the twisted, monstrous thing that had once tried to dominate the world. “No, Harry,” Tom murmured, his voice soft and dangerous. “But I know your greatest weakness. I know what haunts you. What keeps you up at night.”
“I said shut up,” Harry repeated through gritted teeth, his hands trembling around his wand. He could feel it—Tom was pushing at him, testing his boundaries, getting inside his mind. And Harry hated it. He hated how easily the words got under his skin. How easily he was slipping back into the same vulnerability he had fought so hard to escape.
Tom’s gaze darkened. “You’ll never escape me. I’m not just a memory, Harry. I’m your failure. I’m the part of you that you can never defeat.”
Harry’s breath hitched. The pressure was suffocating, but he refused to give in. He was done. Done with feeling like the broken boy, done with the ghosts of his past trying to take him down. With a snarl, Harry forced himself forward, lifting his wand. “You don’t get to control me. Not anymore.”
For a moment, it felt like the entire world held its breath. Then, just as quickly, everything exploded. A wave of power surged around them, cracks of light cutting through the air like jagged glass, the air vibrating with the force of their wills colliding. Harry staggered back, nearly losing his balance as the force of the magic sent waves through him.
And then, just as quickly as it had begun, everything stopped.