Chapter 4
Three days. Three days he lost in the ring.
Ron and Hermione were frantic. They were beyond pleased to have him back, but clearly had been frightened out of their minds that they had lost him to the ring forever.
Harry couldn’t bring himself to tell them just how close this was to reality.
He had been gone for the entire weekend and the greater part of Monday. Naturally, Ron and Hermione reported his absence to Dumbledore, and told him all they knew about the ring. Harry understood why. He would do the same thing if their roles were reversed.
But it did make for an unpleasant conversation, as Dumbledore wanted to speak with him the moment he returned, disregarding the fact that it was the middle of the night and all Harry wanted to do was sleep.
“I’m pleased to see your safe return, Harry. I must confess I was worried,” Dumbledore said, sitting across from Harry at his desk. Harry squirmed a little in his seat.
“Thanks, sir.”
“Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley have filled me in on everything. Though they were very frantic while telling, it is my understanding that you have gone inside a ring. A very curious ring with a black stone. Is this correct?”
“Yes.”
"And inside the ring, you spoke to a boy called... Tom?" The way Dumbledore said Tom's name struck Harry as odd. He put a strange emphasis on the syllable, as if the name meant something to him.
But why would it? "Yes."
“And Tom allowed you to see your parents?”
Harry couldn’t look Dumbledore in the eye. “Yes.”
“Harry, I do not blame you in the slightest for growing attached to this ring. However, I must remind you of what I told you last year. No spell-”
“Can bring back the dead,” Harry finished, bitter over the amount of times he has heard this phrase. “I know.”
Dumbledore remained silent for a stretch of time. Harry stared down at the desk, noting the small pattern in the wood.
"This...Tom. Did he..." Dumbledore trailed off, as if unsure what question to ask. "How did he act?"
Harry shrugged. "I don't know. He's a bit annoying, I suppose."
Dumbledore's mouth did a funny thing, quirking up into a little, pained smile. He cleared his throat and folded his hands on the desk. “I would like to see this ring for myself. Do you have it with you?”
Harry did. It was right in his pocket, pressing against his leg.
But Harry knew that Dumbledore didn’t just want to ‘see’ it. He wanted to ‘keep' it. This simple fact shouldn’t have bothered Harry, considering how terribly his last visit had gone. However, even now Harry wasn’t so sure he was ready to part with it, and his parents. A piece of him was still attached.
“No sir. I already got rid of it,” Harry said, meeting Dumbledore’s piercing stare. The lie burned his tongue. He tried to ignore the pinch of guilt. “I threw it in the fireplace.”
"Threw it in the fireplace?"
"Yes."
"And the fire destroyed it? Completely?"
"Yes."
For a moment, under the scrutiny of his stare, Harry was certain Dumbledore was going to call him out on his lie. But then the moment passed.
“A very wise choice,” Dumbledore noted. Something was strange about his tone. To Harry's embarassment, something akin to pride was shining in the old man's eyes. “Wiser than many wizards would be. Wiser than I would’ve been.”
Harry felt his face heat under the undeserved praise.
Dumbledore stood, gesturing towards the door, drawing their meeting to a close. Harry was grateful for the opportunity to leave, because if he had to face the man just a second longer, he was certain he would reveal the truth.
XXX
“That settles it!”
Harry and Ron jumped as Hermione dropped a stack of books on their table in the corner of the common room. Two days had passed since the ring incident, and Harry and Ron had been going strong in their resolve never to speak of it again. Hermione, however, seemed unable to let the past be the past.
“Give us a warning, next time!” Ron complained.
Hermione ignored him. “I’ve searched through every book that even so much as mentions death, and not one mentions anything about a ring that shows the dead! Nothing can, I’m sure of it!”
“Well, I don’t know what to tell you Hermione,” Harry said, feeling very ticked off. “Seeing as it did.”
Hermione shook her head, her bushy hair swaying with the motion. “But it doesn’t make sense.”
“I saw it with my own eyes!” Harry said. “What, do you think I’m mad or something?”
“Of course I don’t think you’re mad! But you can’t deny that it’s awfully strange that not a single book mentions anything like it!”
As she correctly presumed, Harry couldn’t deny the strangeness. “It doesn’t matter anymore does it? Seeing as I’ve gotten rid of the ring.”
He hadn’t. The lie simply was easier than the truth that the ring was still firmly in his pocket and it had been ever since that day.
Hermione faltered under Harry’s argument. She turned to Ron. “Don’t you think it’s strange?”
“A bit,” he shrugged. “The only thing I can think of that talks about bringing back the dead is that one children’s story my mum used to read to me. You know, the one with the three brothers and the Resurrection Stone.”
Both Harry and Hermione gaped at Ron, unfamiliar with the story.
“You’ve never heard the story?” Ron’s eyebrows furrowed. “I thought everyone knew it.”
“Muggleborn, remember?” Hermione said, shaking her head in disbelief. “Did you say Resurrection Stone?”
“Yeah, it was this small, black stone that let the second brother talk to his dead wife. Only, she didn’t come back quite the same and eventually the brother killed himself to be with her,” Ron explained slowly, his mind making the connections as he went on. “Harry, didn’t the ring have a black stone on it?”
“Yeah,” he said. “It did.”
“But that’s a children’s story. Could it really be true?”
Harry pondered the story, hating just how familiar it sounded to his own situation. Particularly the part about the brother killing himself to be with her. Hadn't that been exactly what his parents had tried to convince him to do? He shivered.
But, on the other hand, what if his parents truly were just trying to help him? Maybe the afterlife really was better than this life? They were his parents after all, so why wouldn’t they do what was best for him?
His eyes roamed around the common room as he thought. By chance, he caught the exact moment in which a girl with long red hair climbed through the portrait hole. Ginny Weasley.
She carried a piece of parchment, and when she caught him staring, her face flushed the color of her hair.
Still, she approached the three of them.
“What do you want?” Ron asked, rudely. “Shouldn’t you be in class?”
"Shouldn't you?" she shot back, glaring at her brother. Then, she held out the piece of parchment. “Hagrid invited you for tea.”
Ron grabbed the parchment. Harry leaned over to, indeed, find an invitation from their half-giant friend to stop by later that day.
“Thanks, Ginny,” Harry said. Ginny let out a squeak in response, before fleeing.
“Do you reckon Hagrid knows anything about the stone?” Ron asked.
Harry shrugged. “I reckon there’s only one way to find out.”
XXX
“Sorry ter tell yeh, but I never heard tha’ story,” Hagrid said when asked, distributing cups of tea and rock cakes between them. “Me dad wasn’ much o’ a reader.”
Beside him, Hermione’s shoulders sank with disappointment. Harry, on the other hand, wasn’t surprised. He had figured coming to Hagrid would be a dead end. The best he could hope for was that this would make them drop the subject once and for all.
“Why did yeh wan’ ter know anyways?” Hagrid asked, looking at each of their faces, undoubtedly catching onto the fact that something wasn’t right.
Hermione took a deep breath, before delving into a complete, drawn out explanation of everything that had happened with the ring. From Harry’s parents, to Harry’s disappearance, to Tom.
“Tom?” Hagrid squinted in confusion. “The ring is named Tom?”
“Not exactly,” Harry said, reluctant to explain again. “Tom says he’s the memory of a student who went to Hogwarts fifty years ago.”
“Fifty years ago? That’s when I went ter school!”
Harry, Ron, and Hermione perked up at this information. Harry in particular. Hagrid knew Tom?
“Did you know a boy called Tom Riddle?” Harry asked, leaning forward so fast he accidentally knocked his cup of tea over. Hastily, he picked it up. “He was in Slytherin.”
Hagrid’s expression darkened. “I did know ‘im,” he grumbled. “Tha’ one got me expelled he did.”
Harry’s jaw dropped. “Tom’s the reason you were expelled?”
Somehow, it didn’t surprise Harry in the slightest that Tom - mean, angry, insufferable Tom - was the one who caused Hagrid to miss out on his magical education.
“What did he do?” Ron asked.
Hagrid shook his head, as if batting away an annoying fly. “I don’ like ter talk ‘bout it.”
Ron opened his mouth, probably to ask about it again, but Hermione cut him off.
“Don’t you think the whole thing is very odd, Hagrid? I mean, a magical ring with the memory of a dead student bringing back Harry’s parents?”
The mention of Harry’s parents, caused Hagrid’s black eyes to swim with emotion. “Well, I don’ know ‘bout odd. I think it’s nice Harry gets ter see his parents. How are they, Harry?”
Harry didn’t know what to say. In all the conversations he’s had with Ron and Hermione about the ring and his parents, never did they ask him how his parents were. They were always too focused on how the ring works or how the ring is dangerous. He found the question rather touching.
“They’re great,” Harry said, softly, disregarding the last visit and instead focusing on all the good times they had. “We fly together.”
Hagrid gave a watery smile. To Harry’s horror, tears were forming in the Half-giant’s eyes. “Tha’s nice.” Hagrid reached into his pocket for a handkerchief, which he proceeded to noisily blow his nose into. “Tha’s nice that yeh an’ yer dad can fly together.”
“My mum plays with us too,” Harry said, confused why Hagrid left her out.
Hagrid paused, his handkerchief halfway to his nose. “Yer mum?”
“Yeah.” Harry glanced sideways at Ron and Hermione who looked just as confused as he felt.
“Bu’ Harry,” Hagrid said slowly. “Yer mum hated flying.”
It took a moment for Harry to register Hagrid’s words, as if he were speaking a foreign language. He blinked. And blinked again, providing no outward reaction to the statement.
Then it hit him like a punch to the gut.
All the air left his lungs. The edges of his vision darkened so Harry could see nothing but Hagrid’s worried face. Distantly, he saw his lips move, as if he were speaking, but Harry couldn’t hear anything but his own heartbeat thumping in his chest.
His mother hated flying.
Meaning, whatever was in the ring…wasn’t really his mother.
He remembered Ron’s words about how the brother's wife never came back the same. This was much the same thing, wasn’t it? They looked like his parents from the outside, but in reality they were nothing but pale, cold imitations.
Imitations that wanted him to die…
“Harry!” Hermione reached out and grabbed his arm. By the urgency in her tone, she had been calling his name for quite some time.
“I’m fine,” Harry managed, shakily getting to his feet. “I think I’m feeling rather tired.”
And ignoring his friend’s worried questions, he fled from Hagrid’s cabin.
XXX
“Really, Ron, I’m just tired. Honest,” Harry said for what must’ve been the hundredth time.
“Are you sure you won’t go into the ring again?” Ron asked. He stood a little ways away from Harry’s bed, pale and serious.
“I told you I got rid of-”
“You can’t trick me, I know you’ve still got it.”
Harry’s heart missed a beat. Was he really that obvious? “I-”
“Just promise me you won’t go in again. I don’t want to lose you-” Ron’s voice broke. He tried to hide it with a cough, his ears turning red.
“I promise,” Harry said. He couldn’t meet Ron’s eyes. Ron cared so much for his safety. It made Harry wish he didn't have to betray his trust.
He at least had the decency to wait until Ron fell asleep.
Sitting on top of his bed, the curtains drawn around him, and the sound of snores surrounding him, Harry reached into his pocket and slipped on the ring.
XXX
Unlike all the other times he entered the ring, this time Harry only had eyes for Tom.
He was there for a very strict purpose. He couldn't afford to waste time. And yet, he couldn’t stop his chest from giving a throb at the sight of his parents all the same.
Focus.
Tom stood leaning against a wall, tapping his fingers rhythmically against his crossed arms. Unfortunately, James and Lily stood close by, looking like they were trying to converse with him, meaning there was no way to get to Tom without drawing his parents' attention.
Inhaling deeply, Harry marched towards the three of them.
“Harry,” Lily beamed, her smile as bright as ever. Harry tore his gaze from it as if the sight burned. “Nice to-”
“Tom,” Harry interrupted. “I need to talk to you.”
Tom raised an eyebrow, lazy. “No one’s stopping you.”
“Alone.”
Lily frowned. She shared a glance with James. “We’re all part of the same family, aren’t we?” she asked. “There’s no need for secrets.”
Harry could hardly look at her without feeling ill. It was like two sides of him were at war. The side that knew this was not really his mother, but a cold, imitation, and the side that, despite knowing that, still wanted her to love him.
Hagrid’s words replayed in his mind over and over. He couldn’t help but repeat them. “My mother hated flying.”
Harry expected her to, perhaps, grow angry that he called her out on her flawed portrayal of Lily Potter. Perhaps now that Harry knew the truth, she'd stop pretending. Perhaps her skin would melt away revealing her true, hideous, evil form.
But Lily did nothing of the sort. She merely blinked, reacting to his words slowly, calculating the best thing to say. “Of course, I did,” she said finally, her tone nearly sympathetic. “But things are different in death.”
She reached out to place a hand on Harry’s shoulder, but Harry dodged it, taking a step back.
Tom observed the interaction closely. Something about it must’ve intrigued him, because suddenly he was on Harry’s side. “Harry and I really should talk alone. Don’t worry, we won’t be long.”
For the first time Harry was grateful for Tom Riddle. Together, without giving Lily time to argue, they crossed to the opposite side of the room. Harry could feel his parents' stares on his back the whole way.
With a wave of Tom's hand, the brick wall appeared once more, giving them plenty of privacy. It separated the room perfectly in half; the sofa and fireplace on his parents' side, and the bed on theirs. The long table from Harry's last visit, had since disappeared.
Harry opened his mouth to begin the tirade of things he had planned to say to Tom, starting with confronting him about getting Hagrid expelled, but Tom spoke first.
“What’s wrong with them?” Harry was taken aback by Tom's tone - low and serious and, if Harry was not mistaken, maybe even a little scared.
“What?”
“Your parents,” Tom clarified, running a hand through his hair and glancing around, looking rather harassed. “They’re not acting right. They haven’t been acting right ever since the last time you were here when they tried to convince you to…”
“Die,” Harry finished, softly. “How am I supposed to know what’s wrong with them?”
“They’re your parents!”
“No they’re not,” Harry said. It was the first time he spoke this truth out loud. “I don’t know what they are, but they aren’t my parents.”
Tom went quiet as he took in this information, eyes darkening. “I tried to vanish them earlier,” he revealed.
Harry caught his meaning. “Tried?”
“I couldn’t do it.” Tom’s hands clenched into tight fists, anger radiating off of him in waves as he began to pace back and forth in a line parallel to the brick wall. “I’ve been able to vanish everything else without any problem - every meal, every decoration, every last piece of blasted furniture - but I couldn’t vanish them. My magic has never failed me like this before…”
Harry recalled how effortlessly Tom had vanished Ginny's dream Ring World the first day he arrived. Tom’s dilemma was certainly a strange one, and yet the moment Harry pondered it he came to the solution as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
“Because it’s not your magic.”
“What do you mean?”
“You didn’t bring my parents here. You only thought you did. But when I wished for my parents, it was really the Resurrection Stone that was activated.”
“The Resurrection Stone?”
Harry squinted at him to make out whether Tom was being serious. He showed him the back of his hand. “You know, the stone on the ring that brings people back from the dead? It’s from a children’s story?”
Tom made no indication of understanding.
“How do you not know when it’s your ring?”
“Forgive me, if I don’t spend my free time reading children’s stories,” Tom sneered, crossing his arms.
“You mean, you’ve never had anyone to read them to you.”
Harry’s words clearly hit home. They paused, glaring at each other.
Harry took the opportunity to confront Tom about Hagrid. “Fifty years ago, why did you get Hagrid expelled?”
Tom drew back, caught off guard by the abrupt change in topic. “How do you even-”
“Hagrid’s a friend of mine.”
Tom pursed his lips. “Of course he is.” He took a deep breath. “Hagrid was keeping a baby Acromantula in the castle. I reported it. They found it fit to expel him. I hardly see how that is my fault.”
Harry deflated. That did sound like something Hagrid would do. But expel him for it? Hagrid may see the best in even the most dangerous creatures, but he never meant any harm. Surely, he deserved a second chance.
“He didn’t deserve that.”
“Didn’t he? No one forced him to raise a monster under his bed.”
“Yeah but it still feels…wrong.”
Tom let out a laugh, high and cold. “It feels wrong,” he mocked. “Well, Harry, I hate to break it to you but there’s no such thing as right and wrong. There’s just the strong and the weak. Hagrid, I’m afraid, falls into the latter category.”
Something about that statement made Harry’s brain itch with familiarity. As if he heard a similar philosophy somewhere else…
The face of Quirinus Quirrell flashed in his mind’s eye. Just last year, the man had told him that, “There is no good and evil. There is only power and those too weak to seek it.”
But those words didn't originally come from Quirrell. He learned them from somebody else.
Lord Voldemort.
Suddenly, the room's lighting made Tom’s face appear oddly sinister. It brought out the sharp, harsh angles of his face, making what was usually handsome downright ugly.
If Quirrell had learned those words from Voldemort then that meant Tom…
“You work for Voldemort,” Harry accused, pointing a finger at the boy.
Tom flitted through several emotions in mere seconds. Surprise. Then anger. And finally one that took the form of a cool, smug, smirk.
“Close,” Tom drawled, sounding very amused. “I am Lord Voldemort.”
Harry made a jerky motion towards the ring, planning on tearing it off right then and there.
But Tom snapped his fingers and a heavy, metal handcuff encased Harry’s left hand, the kind of handcuff that covered everything from the middle of his forearm to the tips of his fingers, making it impossible to even see the ring, much less remove it.
“Not so fast, Harry,” Tom said, voice filled with humor.
Using his free hand, Harry tried to pull the handcuff off, but it didn’t even budge.
“I thought you said you couldn’t make me stay here,” Harry said, slowly backing away from Tom.
“Ah, I said you have the power to take the ring off. And you do. You do not, unfortunately, have the power to take off that handcuff.”
Desperate, Harry scrambled for the wand in his pocket, pulling it out and pointing it at Tom.
Before Harry could even come up with a spell, Tom waved his hand and the wand went flying out of Harry's hand and into Tom's. Harry gasped, watching helplessly as Tom slipped the wand into his own robe pocket. A sharp, panicky feeling lodged itself into Harry's chest. He had no escape. No way to remove the ring. And no wand.
"Don't feel too bad, Harry. Even if I did allow you to have a wand, your magic wouldn't stand a chance against mine."
Harry glared at Tom with all the hate he could muster. Tom merely laughed.
“I created this ring fifty years ago, so that should I ever die, I could revive myself. And I think you of all people know of my need to revive myself, Harry Potter, seeing as you thwarted Lord Voldemort not only as a baby, but just last year as well,” His eyes flashed dangerously. “Yes, I learned all about your little Philosopher's Stone adventure from dear Ginny."
Harry swallowed, his breaths quickening. He glanced around for any sign of an exit, but there was nothing on this side of the room but the bed and brick wall.
"Now, as you may have already assumed, I cannot revive myself on my own. In order to bring myself back to life, I need to take someone else's life. I need someone else’s soul to be confined to this ring in a ghostly state, while I am free to reenter the outside world in a physical body, completely alive." He gave a threatening smile. “I tried so hard to let you stay here of your own accord, Harry. It’s so much easier if you simply want to stay here. But I see now that you’re far, far too difficult. Well, I’m not going to make the same mistake I made with Ginny and let you go. Who knows where I’d end up.” Tom wrinkled his nose, no doubt thinking of toilets.
Harry continued to step backwards, as Tom advanced forwards. Harry felt his back hit the brick wall.
“There’s only one thing left for you to do Harry. All’s you need to do is promise that you will stay in the ring, forever, and your soul will live on in here. It’s a rather inconvenient part of the ring’s magic, that you must agree to stay before it can fully claim you. Luckily, a simple verbal promise will suffice, even if you don't truly mean it. If not for that annoying barrier, I would have simply killed you long ago. But it’s not such a bad fate, Harry. You’ll have your dear mother and father and all the flying you could ever want.”
“And if I refuse?”
Tom tilted his head to the side, considering Harry’s question. “Well, let’s just say I have ways to get people to do what I want.”
Harry swallowed, heart pumping wildly in his chest.
"So, Harry, why don't you go ahead and promise me that you'll stay? It'll be easiest if you get it over with now."
Harry shook his head. Tom clicked his tongue. "Come now, Harry..."
"No."
"No?" Tom repeated, raising an eyebrow. “This is your last chance to do as I say, Harry. I won't ask nicely again.”
“I won’t,” Harry said, raising his chin.
Tom’s lips curled. “How brave. A true Gryffindor, aren’t you? A lion, through and through.” His smile widened, turning threatening, predatory. “Let’s see how the little lion does against a real lion.”
Tom waved his hand and Harry watched on in terror as a ferocious lion rose from the floor, with sharp teeth, black eyes, and a big, bushy mane. It gave a low, menacing growl and Harry didn't have to speak lion to know that it meant it was hungry.
There was a beat in which neither Harry nor the lion moved, locked in some sort of primal staring contest.
Harry wasn't sure which one of them broke the stillness first, but the next thing he knew he was running for his life.