You think you know someone

 uuuuck.

 Harry hadn’t meant for his friends to find out about his snake, lest they start interrogating him for using a skill he allegedly inherited from one of the darkest wizards of all time. He genuinely forgot about Monty still being attached to his arm until quidditch tryouts. When he realized he didn’t have time to do something about it before Ron came from the changing rooms, he impulsively gave him away to Al. He had thought that if anyone wouldn’t mind watching over a snake, it’d be his Slytherin self surely. But after Al went to the stands, Harry realized his stupid mistake. The Slytherin would be staying there with Hermione.

 Harry knew from that moment that once tryouts were over, he would be no longer able to hide Monty from his friends. In truth, he didn’t think them finding out about his new pet would be a big deal, he just worried that they would make a fuss out of it.

 Hermoine and Al came down to the pitch when everyone started leaving to congratulate Ron and Ginny. Harry used that distraction to quickly retrieve his snake from Al.

 “How dare you fling me to a Non-Speaker?!” The angry Grass Snake snapped at him. “Without any warning no less!”

 Harry waited after Al and everyone else was out of earshot before apologizing to him.

 “Look, I panicked! And he’s basically me, so I figured you wouldn’t mind—”

 “He is NOT you!” Monty said vehemently.

 “Yeah, I’m aware he’s not a ‘Speaker’ as you like to call me.”

 “No, you understand me not, Speaker. I detected a different smell on him. He is not you, and never will be.” Harry rolled his eyes. Sometimes he wondered if this co-dependency they developed over the summer could have left a bad impact on Monty. He figured it must have. “He wouldn’t let me reside in my favorite spot and he tossed me to the ground! And then locked me in. He. Locked. Me!”

 “Calm down, I said I was sorry.” Harry saw Hermione scurry toward him. “Stay quiet now.”

 “Yes, yes. It’s always stay quiet stay hidden. I knew you were ashamed of me!” Monty let out a wail that was a bit hysterical, but managed to shut up when Harry sent a glare down at him.

 Hermione must have heard him speaking Parseltongue because her expression turned grave as she made a gesture toward the snake in his arms.

 “Al says it’s yours. Tell me that’s not true.” She said urgently once they separated from the Weasleys and Al.

 “So what if it is?” He tried to sound casual, but he could hear how his voice had grown a sudden edge to it.

 “How long have you had it for?!” He knew better than to answer that truthfully. And anyway, Hermione wasn’t done. “Are you, er. . . you don’t speak to it regularly, do you?”

 “So what if I am?” He managed to say tonelessly, pretending he didn’t know where this interrogation was heading to.

 “Oh, dear.” Hermione’s eyes widened, a frown creeping onto her face. “Harry, don’t you think that maybe taking advantage of the. . . abilities you got from You-Know-Who is a bad idea? What if it can affect you—”

 “What’s going on?” Ron came toward them. “What’s with the snake? Is it Al’s?”

 “I think Hermione is being paranoid.” Harry said before Hermione could answer Ron.

 “I am not!” She said defensively before turning to their mutual friend. “Ron, do you think it’s a good idea for Harry to use his affinity regularly?”

 Ron had a puzzled look on his face that took a while before he pieced things together, staring at Monty and then at Harry.

 “Mate,” He said in an appalled voice. “given what happened to you last year, do you really think it’s wise to use the ties you still have t-to. . . You-Know-Who.” He whispered the last part.

 “Exactly!” Hermione whisper-yelled. “What if using something you got from him awakens something in you that he can use to try and possess you again!”

 “Voldemort won’t try to possess me again.” He subconsciously held Monty closer to his chest. “I know that for sure because it hurt his mind as much as it hurt mine.”

 “But what if he can use the bond you two clearly have to lure you into his side?” Ron said.

 Harry looked aghast at his best mate. “How can you possibly think that I would ever—”

 “Er, is everything okay?” Harry suddenly heard his own voice ask.

 All three of them turned to see Al walking gingerly toward them, as though he wasn’t sure he was supposed to be here.

 He’s not. Harry thought reflexively before responding, “Everything’s fine.”

 But Harry, for once, was genuinely glad of Al’s presence. He didn’t want to discuss the rubbish theories his friends had over his Parselmouth problem any more than he wanted to admit to himself that it was a problem. Because he failed to see how speaking to snakes could be classified as ‘dark’. It wasn’t. Harry thought it was pretty awesome to be able to speak to any animal at all when he was ten. Why couldn’t the Magical World think the same way?

 But then, Harry’s thoughts had unintentionally drifted toward Morfin Gaunt. The mad man who probably lost his ability to speak normally from overusing the language of the snakes. He shivered at the thought, nearly dropping Monty in the process.

Hermione and Ron’s own worries got to him eventually when he started having the old dreams again. Not the kind that were prophetic and related to what happened last year, no, they were the dreams.

 When he started having them again, he found himself no longer at Wool’s but at Hogwarts. Surprisingly, the dreams weren’t as terrible as the old ones were. Probably because there were no threats of the creepy cellar looming in the background like there had been in that dreadful orphanage (Harry used to associate the dark cellar with his cupboard). He dreamt of walking through the halls of Hogwarts through Tommy’s sixteen-year-old body, but he was taller in his dreams.

 He wondered why that was before he remembered how tall he thought the preserved memory of Tom Riddle seemed to him when he was twelve. On the one hand, he was a bit disappointed that he didn’t reach that height despite being currently the same age as that Tom. On the other hand, he was morbidly aware that Tommy and Tom Riddle were one and the same. He already knew that since second year when he sensed that the diary had carried the memory of someone akin to a friend. Harry would never forget how familiar it felt. Holding that book and writing in it. In a way, it was the first time he’s been able to communicate with his oldest friend. The boy that lived in his younger self’s dreams.

 Once he had been at the Chamber, he almost felt ecstatic at seeing Tom’s physical form had he not been worried sick about Ginny. At the time, the other boy had looked older than to be Harry’s age at the time, which was understandable given that he came from a preserved memory of his teenage self. Harry had wanted to ask Tom for help, but the Slytherin had taken hold of Harry’s wand, and that’s when he started acting all cryptic and ominous. The discovery that he never had Harry’s best interest would never fail to leave the stabbing sting of betrayal.

 And now Harry was trapped in his sleep. Forced to relive what Voldemort’s sixteen-year-old self had done and been through. Stuck in Tom Riddle’s body and conscience, so he, Harry, could no longer have a moment of peace in his sleep.

 Harry wondered if that had been the effect which Hermione spoke of. Was she right about that? That speaking Parseltongue for as long as he had could somehow reactivate those dreams?

 It wasn’t just speaking to Monty that triggered them though. Dumbledore’s private lessons might have had a thing to do with it as well.

 After what happened to Katie Bell (Harry was certain Malfoy had something to do with it) with the necklace, Harry and Dumbledore had their second meeting, where they had discussed Merope’s pregnancy, and what led her to sell a family heirloom for a cheap price, and how she had stopped using magic all together as a result of her despair which led to her death.

 “But why?!” Harry had asked exasperatedly. “She could have helped herself with her magic! Why wouldn’t she?!”

 “Leading a life like hers, it is possible that she had grown depressed.” Dumbledore said. “I think she didn’t want to be a witch, believing that it was the part of her that ruined her life. Of course, it is also possible that given how she grew up, she might have died from the Obscurus inside of her. Whichever the case was. Merope wouldn’t attempt to save her own life, because the only way to do that would have been to abandon her pregnancy.”

 “So. . . she sacrificed her life so her son might live.” Something in the pit of his stomach twisted at the thought. Too many similarities. No wonder Ron was worried about Harry turning dark.

 Dumbledore regarded him cautiously. “Is it possible you might be feeling. . . empathy. . . for Lord Voldemort?”

 “Never.”

 With that, Dumbledore had implanted a memory of his own in the Pensieve before they both dove in.

 The feeling was very surreal. He was at Wool’s Orphanage but in his own body with his own thoughts rather than constantly sharing Tommy’s. What was even stranger was seeing Dumbledore interact with Mrs. Cole. It felt like a farfetched idea to have the Headmaster and the matron that was a product if Harry’s old dreams in the same room. Mrs. Cole might have as well been fictional. But she was real, he never imagined her. With each word coming out of the matron’s mouth describing Tom Riddle, Harry felt more and more uneasy because he remembered. He remembered everything.

“Do you mean to tell me that he is a bully?” Dumbledore’s memory asked after Mrs. Cole was done describing the child they were about to see.

 “I think so, but it’s very hard to prove if he really is. There were. . . nasty incidents. . .”

 Harry gulped. He knew exactly what she meant.

 The younger Dumbledore kept quiet, though it was evident in his face that he became interested.

 “There’s the thing with Billy Stubbs’s rabbit.” She continued.

 Harry remembered that name. He was the kid leader of his gang. Harry considered him to be Dudley’s counterpart.

 Actually. A sudden thought arose to him. What’s Dudley’s real counterpart like? Harry made a mental note to remember to ask Al about it later.

 “Er, you see, Tom claims he had nothing to do with it and I don’t imagine how he could have really, but even so, it couldn’t have hung itself from the rafters on its own.” Mrs. Cole said.

 He did more than hang it.

 Harry remembered the rabbit alright. Though it had been a bunny, rather.

Harry would never forget his first kill—or Tommy’s—whatever—he remembered vividly how the blood surged from the wound as he stabbed the poor thing. He had felt no remorse whatsoever while doing it too (the mourning came after he woke up). There had been only cheerful satisfaction bubbling inside him as the bunny stopped kicking its legs, indicating that it could no longer breath. Harry had trouble remembering much of what happened after that since he was so mortified by what he’d done, but he figured Tommy must have cleaned the blood before levitating the corpse and hanging it from the rafters where it would be considered out of his reach. That way, no one could ever prove it was him.

 He and Dumbledore continued to follow the auburn-haired man until they reached Tom Riddle’s room.

 Harry felt uncomfortable throughout the entire conversation playing before him. Not for the first time, Harry thought about telling Dumbledore. But that was the one thing even his Gryffindor spirit couldn’t bring him to confess.

 He felt ashamed.

 It was right after that meeting with Dumbledore that Harry began having those dreams again. Between having Monty to constantly chat with in Parseltongue and these private lessons, Harry wasn’t quite sure what made the dreams occur to him after having lived six years without them.

 He didn’t want to dwell on that mystery though, not when there was clearly a conspiracy going on that he believed Draco Malfoy to be involved in. He didn’t know what it was that Voldemort could want from Malfoy, but that necklace didn’t curse Katie Bell on its own.

For weeks, Harry kept checking the map multiple times a day. Malfoy’s name would sometimes not show at all. How is he leaving the castle? When he told his friends about this, they just dismissed his worries and said that he was being obsessive again, whatever that meant. At least Monty believed him. Though given how his friends felt about the snake, Harry wasn’t very reassured.

 He kept scanning the Marauders Map persistently one evening in the common room with neither Malfoy nor Al’s names being shown. Though to be fair, there had been a nameless pair of footprints on the map that he realized a while ago to belong to the other Harry Potter. He supposed it made sense the map couldn’t record a space traveler’s identity. At least the map was aware of Al’s presence regardless of not being able to identify him.

 “Here’s Malfoy’s name, it’s back!” Harry said. “It appeared on the seventh floor all of a sudden, but he couldn’t have apparated there, so he must’ve found another way to leave Hogwarts!”

 “What are you waiting for? Use the camouflage blanket and hunt your prey!” Monty gave him a confidence boost.

 “It’s an invisibility cloak, Monty.” Harry sighed. He should know better than to keep up the fruitless attempts to correct him.

 He gave Ron the offer to join him, which he refused, so Harry left before he had a chance to stop him or worse: tell Hermione.

 He hurried under the cloak to the seventh floor where he’d seen Malfoy’s name pop on the map.

 Malfoy was making his way down the moving staircase when Harry silently moved pass him (years of sneaking out of his cupboard to use the loo without his relatives knowing had paid off), his eyes lingering on the blonde’s hidden left arm. He had to stay beneath the cloak even after he was alone because, unlike Malfoy, he didn’t have the prefect privilege of being out past curfew.

 Once he made it to the seventh floor, he dashed toward the spot he’d seen Malfoy’s name appear suddenly on the map minutes ago. But there was nothing there—oh!

 Harry cursed himself loudly for being a complete idiot.

 “That’s a new one, what might it mean, Speaker?”

 “It’s a swear word.” Harry paused. “Don’t use those.”

 “Hmm, you swear a lot, Speaker. It’s hypocritical—what are you doing?”

 “Pacing.”

 “Whatever for?”

 When the giant door appeared, Harry got in and took off the cloak before pulling his sleeve up to expose the snake curled around him. “Forthis.”

 He’d though about needing to find where Malfoy kept disappearing to, and the Room of Requirement revealed a place that was stuffed with many artifacts and other things. Some were as insignificant as abandoned school sweaters, but some of the stuff here looked ancient.

 “Must you wait until we got in to say this? Your flair for the drama is tacky.”

 “I miss the days when your vocabulary range was so limited.” Harry muttered, eye darting around the clock. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for exactly, maybe something that screams Dark Arts or a portal of some sort. Well, perhaps not a portal since apparently Malfoy never left Hogwarts. What were you doing here, Malfoy?

 Harry decided to trust his instincts and started walking toward where he felt an affinity with. It was as though an unspeakable source was calling for him.

 Harry eventually found the object that sparked something within him. It was a diadem. It looked like the kind of accessory someone from Ravenclaw might own. He stretched out the arm that had the snake around it. The tip of his fingers barely grazed the cold blue stone before something within him lit up.

 The sensation felt similar to what he experienced when he’d had his hands on the Dark Lord’s diary, but this was so much stronger. Harry snatched his had away as though the tiara burned him. It might as well have because what was lit inside him remained that way even after he broke the physical connection.

 It’s like the diary.

 Harry’s breath jagged from the realization as he staggered backward.

 The diadem must contain something that was similar to what had possessed Ginny. Did that mean there would be a memory preserved in it too? Harry wondered how that could work considering there was no way to write on the diadem. Then was the person supposed to. . . wear it for it to posses them like the diary was made to do?

 The diary that he thought felt so familiar to the point of mistaking it for something akin to friendliness?

 Harry knew what he had to do. He had to take this to Dumbledore immediately. Harry used his cloak to wrap it around the diadem so he wouldn’t have to touch it. He couldn’t care less about being caught wandering well after curfew. This was much too important to wait.

 As he was about to head toward the door to leave the Room of Requirement, he felt something tug in his chest. He felt exhausted all of a sudden. Something inside him was weighing him down.

 “Are you alright, Speaker?” He heard a distant voice. It sounded worried. But before an answer could escape his lips, Harry felt an agonizing pain pulsing in his forehead.

 No. no, please—

 Why was his scar hurting now? It hadn’t acted up since what happened at the Department of Mysteries. Why now?

 Not again NO!

 Before he could prosses what was happening to him, everything within his sight went black.

When he opened his eyes, he was flouting in a thick grey cloud of everlasting fogginess. Once he started taking in his surroundings and adjusting to the fact that he no longer was in Hogwarts, his body gained its footing, and he was able to stand on solid ground that could not be seen.

 He could no longer sense the weight on his arm that he grew used to having.

 Had he lost Monty?

 “Where am I?” He had to voice it out loud. He felt the need to check his vocal chords. He wasn’t really expecting a response, and if he did, it was only Monty’s voice he expected to hear.

 Not Voldemort’s.

 “Relax, Harry, you are still at Hogwarts.”

 Harry did a 180-degree spin before his eyes could make out the outline of the monster that ruined his life.

 “This is a place where only my conscience and yours are able to meet.” Voldemort took a step forward, which had been enough for his entire figure to appear more clearly through the grey fog.

 Harry haphazardly searched his pocket for his wand. He nearly rationed the possibly of not finding it, that Voldemort had taken his wand before he woke up in. . . wherever he was, so he was exceptionally relieved when his hand closed over the wood.

 He reflexively stood in a defensive stance, his wand having a clear aim toward its target.

 Voldemort clicked his tongue in mild annoyance, like Harry was a senseless child whom he’s trying to reason with. “Put that away.”

 He didn’t have his wand on him, in fact Harry couldn’t see Voldemort’s wand at all. But Harry was no fool. He knew a wandless Voldemort was still extremely dangerous.

 “It would be futile to duel here considering that wands have no conscience.” Voldemort said in a raspy voice. “They are like plants, you may consider them to be alive, but that does not make them sentient.”

 Harry remained in the same stance stubbornly without saying a word. But he knew the other wizard wasn’t lying. He couldn’t feel his wand warm up to him like it should. It felt like he was defending himself using a stick. He would have felt embarrassed under any other circumstance, but not when he was opposing the biggest threat. Maybe if he held his ground, he’d be able to convince himself that he wasn’t entirely vulnerable.

 “Suit yourself.” Voldemort sounded almost bored, and then started pacing as he spoke. “When I killed your parents that wretched night when you were but a wee thing—”

 Harry seethed at how casual the monster was brushing over the atrocity like it had been some regular Tuesday.

 “—something went wrong when it came to your turn to join them, I may have created an abomination.”

 Harry barely resisted the urge to point out that Voldemort was the only abomination that could have ever existed.

 “I may have become busy throughout the years to properly check the possibility—because you simply cannot be. It would be inadequate.” Voldemort had been pacing back and forth, hands behind his straight back, not really addressing Harry. “It was only after my resurrection was completed that I tried testing that theory.”

 His face turned grim, possibly recalling how poorly that turned out. Harry was also recalling the horrible mind penetrating he’d been subjected to in fifth year.

 “After the disaster that had befallen in the Department of Mysteries, I had to try another approach if I wished to continue testing my theory.” He continued. “It is how I found this. . . mutual void we share at the back of our minds. It was just there, like a chamber that could be accessed through our connection. Only I haven’t been able to access it until this summer.” His red eyes examined Harry intently. Harry couldn’t sweat in this place, but he figured that he would be if it were possible. “Tell me Harry,” His raspy voice turned into that of a feathered whisper that pierced Harry’s ears. “were you enjoying using the power you gained from me a little too much lately?”

 Harry’s mouth turned very dry. His eyes widened.

 Voldemort smiled. “You were.” He took a measured step toward him, and Harry automatically took a step back. Voldemort chuckled softly, as though he didn’t want to scare Harry away. “Oh don’t you worry, Harry, I am not mad about that. I should be thanking you, rather. You just made this significantly easier to happen, which proved my theory in the prosses.”

 “What, you mean about you passing some of y-your powers to me?” Harry finally spoke to him. “Do you want them back? Is that what this is?”

 “I thought about that when you were eleven.” Something in his demeaner changed. He made slow strides toward him, a hungry expression apparent on his face that caused Harry to take a leap backward, wand still pathetically raised.

 “What do you want from me?” He hissed.

 Voldemort stopped in his tracks to grin acidly. “Absolutely nothing.”

 “Huh?” Harry unthinkably lowered his wand, but Voldemort still kept his hands behind his back. He didn’t try to attack him, so that must a good sign.

 Was it though?

 “Why would I remove the part of me that resides in you when it could be convenient for me not to.” His snake-like nostrils flared in triumph.

 This can’t be good. Harry thought that anything that would make Voldemort look like he won the bleeding lottery must be a terrible, terrible thing.

 “I only wish you’d tell Dumbledore about this, Harry. Let the old man have a nice heart attack that could rid us of him. Of course, I must not set my hopes up too high, lest I end up disappointed.”

 “I. . . I don’t want this.” Harry whispered. “I never asked to have your powers—I—I don’t—want—I—”

 “Breath, Harry.”

 “DON’T GIVE ME INSTRUCTION TO SOOTH ME YOU BASTARD! ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!”

 Nothing made sense. Why was Voldemort being nice to him all of a sudden? Why would he want Harry to be like him? Why—why why why why why whywhywhywhy. . .

 Harry tried very hard not to show weakness, to be brave—to show that he was brave! In truth, Harry never felt more like a snake than he did now. “I don’t want to become you!” His voice cracked.

 Voldemort cackled loudly. His infamous, cold laugh echoed through the grey fog they were in. When mirth seemed to finally leave his face, he looked at Harry in mock sympathy, smiling condescendingly. “You can never be me. No one ever will, dear Harry.”

Harry woke up gasping loudly as if he had been drowning. He could taste blood.

 “Speaker!” A cry of utter relief could be heard from nearby. “You’ve awakened!”

 Harry noticed that his entire body had been covered by his cloak. He took it off as he got up from the cold floor with a groan. He could have lied to himself by choosing to believe that this had been just a nightmare, but his prickling scar tells a different story. He could feel it itching. It does that hours after it hurt.

 “How long had I been unconscious for?”

 “Nearly the entire night.” The snake said from the floor. “Your head was bleeding, Speaker, it was hilariously frightening!”

 “Uh huh.” Harry traced the dry blood from his chin all the way up to the source. His scar must have bled as he was passing out from pain.

 He looked at the floor near the snake and noticed that the diadem had gone missing.

 “Monty?”

 “The prey took the shining.”

 “Malfoy was here?!” Harry demanded.

 “Worry not, Speaker! I made sure to use the blankie so he wouldn’t see you.”

 “Why the ruddy hell didn’t you hide the diadem, too?”

 “It made you bleed and fall. I had my priorities.”

 Harry sighed defeatedly. “Thank you, Monty.”

 The snake made a satisfied noise as he let Harry pick him up.

 He was aware that Monty sort of caused this to happen. But he couldn’t bring himself to get rid of his snake just like that. He should have done that when Hedwig expressed her jealousy and had the chance to get rid of him before they’d grown close. Monty cared for him and supported him better than his own friends could. But it was only thanks to Voldemort that the snake became dear to him. Well, the damage was already done, so there was no use to dispose Monty anyway.

 So, Malfoy came and took the diadem. How had he known? Could it be that Voldemort figured out where exactly in Hogwarts Harry was and made Mrs. Malfoy write to her son and order him to retrieve the tiara? If it had a memory of Voldemort’s old self inserted inside of it like the diary, then Harry needed to alarm Dumbledore now.

 Should he also tell the Headmaster about speaking to Voldemort?

 (“I only wish you’d tell Dumbledore about this, Harry. Let the old man have a nice heart attack that could rid us of him.”)

 Absolutely not.