You think you know someone

 “I’m sure there’ll be plenty of law enforcement waiting on the other side.” Sirius grumbled, standing inches from one of the large veils in the Department of Mysteries. “If they chuck me in Azkaban again, I swear once I die, I’ll have my ghost travel through dimensions just to hunt the lot of you.”

 “Not if you get Kissed, you won’t.” Answered Adam flippantly, then, noticing the funny looks everyone gave him, he elaborated. “What? I’m being realistic. I’m sure I don’t need to explain to you the process of soul devouring and why it prevents you from becoming a ghost?”

 “It was metaphorical, you little—”

 “Look, I’m sure the ministry already considers you a free man.” Unspeakable Jones drawled tiredly. They’ve been over this before. “Your counterpart was cleared from all charges right after he died. And you’ve been assumed dead in your world since June—and our worlds are practically the same, so why worry?”

 “What if it’s different in that one area?” Sirius pressed. “I might still be convicted—”

 “Black, we’re ready for you.” Fawley stated impassively. Five other Unspeakables who formed a circle around the designated veil backed away, having finished the incantations to stabilize it. “Remember, when you see Albus, make sure to tell him to drink the other one entirely—” She gestured at the silver liquid inside the tiny jar in Sirius’ fist. He had a spare one for Albus. “—and I mean every last drop of it after he enters the veil.”

 Sirius scoffed. “Yes of course, because that ministry is going to willingly authorize us using the veil when I tell them to.”

 “I don’t care if the entirety of Britain in your word is under Voldemort’s rule!” There was a hint of frustration in her tone. “If there are employees in the Department of Mysteries left there with a shred of common sense, they will know better than to prevent Albus Potter from returning home.” Unspeakable Fawley firmly nudged Sirius’ back, making him almost tumble headfirst through the veil.

 Harry had moved out of her way beneath the invisibility cloak before she could sense him.

 Sirius closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. His fingers fiddled the air by his side to try and sense Harry. When the tip of his finger slightly grazed the cloak, he opened his eyes to stare at the giant veil determinedly.

 Everyone held their breaths as they watched Sirius Black walk through the veil, being none the wiser about the other man who’d done the same.

Several days ago, Ginny had received a message from Albus. She had been in their living room at the time with Sirius when two Unspeakables came to do their weekly harassments, which, alright, was a blessing at that particular moment. The two were able to verify Albus’ fragment of magic before the Patronus evaporated into thin air.

 At first, Harry was elated beyond compare upon learning of Albus’ survival. However, that elation was quickly replaced by a state of gut-wrenching worry when he knew what the context of his son’s message was. Yes, Albus was alive, but he was also in grave danger.

 In the course of the days that followed, the only Unspeakables Harry knew by name had been working overtime with what they’ve got. Harry spent the majority of the holiday not leaving the Department of Mysteries in spite of his feelings about that place, those didn’t matter when it was his son’s life at stake. And nothing, not even a possible world collision, would stop him from getting Albus back.

 While Harry had been beating himself about not being there for his son in months, Sirius was going through something similar.

 It had been Sirius’ idea to smuggle Harry here. Ever since he had been told of what happened to Harry after his own godfather died, Sirius wanted to ensure that his Harry would never have to go down the same self-sacrificial road.

 So not only was he going on a journey to save his son, but he was also going to kill another Voldemort so Sirius’ godson wouldn’t have to.

 In the dark void, their bodies drifted far off from the silver light which they came from. From the moment they passed through the veil, everything had gone eerily quiet. Sirius cast a Lumos and turned his head to look for his smuggled companion. Only then did Harry bother to remove the cloak, revealing neat brown hair and hooded brown eyes that were a far cry from his almond shaped green ones. The glow emanating from Sirius’ wand outlined Harry’s slightly pointed chin and wider nose, and most importantly, the scarless forehead.

 “This is weird.” Harry said, half expecting his voice not to carry out in this. . . nothingness. But he supposed if the conditions were to be the same as in space, then he wouldn’t be able to breath either.

 It was intriguing how the environment was almost passable. The Unspeakables had said that the void would take its time before it decides where to dispose an intruder’s particles. And as Adam Granger had once said, the void had a mind of its own, pushing and pulling entities like himself and Sirius to a universe where their counterparts couldn’t exist for the sake of maintaining order.

 Harry suppressed a shudder at the chill. “How long did you think you’ve been stuck here before you got pulled to our world?”

 “Can’t say for sure. It felt like hours passed, maybe it was days, even.” Sirius answered. “But once I got out of here, this place—if you can even call it that—it felt like it had just been a vision that couldn’t have lasted more than a second. It was quite odd.”

 “Yeah, I’d bet it was.” Harry wondered if Albus had experienced something similar. “So, shall we take our drinks?”

 Sirius frowned. “They used my blood to make these, you know that?”

 Harry made a face “I was trying to distinctly ignore that part if I’m being honest.” He took out the glass carrying a silvery liquid that, now that they were here, seemed to glow similarly to the gateway they’d passed through to get here. It was as though here activated something in the potion. “I don’t think it counts as cannibalism. At least not to you. It is your blood we’ll both be drinking—and Albus and I will have to drink someone else’s blood on our way here, so.” Harry grimaced as he inspected the silver glow emanating from the clear glass.

 There were four tiny jars. Two of them had Sirius’ blood in the mixture of the potion they each contained. Those two were the ones that would help drive them toward the gateway of Sirius’ original dimension. The other two potions carried the blood of a volunteer from the Unspeakables. Naturally, the Unspeakables gave Sirius only one of each; a one-way ticket for himself and the other for Albus. Harry had to steal the spare so that he could make the double trip.

 “Ready?” Harry raised his glass.

 Sirius eyed his repulsively. But then he and Harry shared a mutual look of resolution before pouring the radiating silver down their throats.

 The liquid was thick like blood, and the sensation it left tickled Harry’s throat. When the tingling effect dissolved, that’s when he felt a sudden tug that seemed to come from within.

 He shot his head up to look at Sirius’ widened eyes. He felt it too. Harry instinctively thought he ought to hold on tight to his cloak. Before they knew it, the two wizards were being hurled across the void, passing by countless of the far-off silver gates with exceptional speed that it became hard to speak or even cream. They were going faster. . . and faster. . .

 There was a single dot of light where they were headed. Harry knew instantly that this was it. That dot was where Albus was. As he and Sirius continued to build up speed, the dot was close enough to tell that it was a silver line—a gateway.

 Harry only barely managed to drape the cloak over them before they stumbled out of a veil.

Unfortunately, this wasn’t the first time adults had failed to immediately take his concerns into consideration. After all the disastrous years that led him to this moment, Harry thought they’d knew better than to be quick to dismiss him.

 The night before they boarded Hogwarts Express for the holidays, Ginny received a message from Al. She looked very troubled (distraught?) and hesitant to share the details. But she did share enough to confirm Harry’s worse fears and to let the Order know that Harry’s counterpart had been kidnapped and locked in Malfoy Manor.

 The Order of the Pheonix would take care of it, they said. Everyone was telling him not to do anything irrational. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley even kept an annoyingly close eye on him as though he were at flight risk. Ginny seemed keen on avoiding Harry ever since they came to the Burrow, though. Every interaction they had consisted of either her walking around him on eggshells or throwing backhanded comments when the twins were around. The things occupying Harry’s mind were far too disorienting to give Ginny’s shift in behavior much thought.

 He could still hear his last conversation with Al clear as day. His own voice sounding foreign yet familiar in his own head. He sounded like his aunt, like Tom, like himself. Was that his true self? He wondered. Was he a bad person? You are. His aunt’s voice responded. If Harry hadn’t let his envious resentment get in the way, Al would never have distanced himself from him and Ron and Hermione, and then maybe, he wouldn’t have fallen victim to Malfoy’s scheme.

 Speaking of Malfoy, last that had been heard of him was that he had been sent off to Mungo’s for the holidays. His winding up there was a result of Harry’s own foolishness, which made him feel even worse for trying to pin the blame on Malfoy for Al’s misfortune. It was all Harry’s fault, really. He caused all this to happen.

 What made him feel even guiltier was that no one seemed to consider Harry to be at fault. No one was holding him accountable for his actions. That alone made his stomach churn uncomfortably at the unfairness of the situation. He was reminded of a time when his aunt and uncle would blame him for things he had no knowledge of. He’d never known what he’d done wrong but was still punished. It hadn’t been fair then, just like it wasn’t fair now. He actually did many wrongs and he was let easily off the hook. Harry knew he didn’t deserve to be let off the hook that easily. Not with all the pain he’d caused others.

 On a higher note (or a bitter one), Harry’s continuous dreams were another thing occupying his mind, almost drowning the sound of his and Al’s arguments.

 Tom Riddle used Hogsmeade trip as an opportunity to disapparate somewhere Harry wasn’t familiar with, but he could tell that it was someplace in London judging by the busy streets and gloomy weather.

 Harry (Tom?) lurked in an ally where he found some sort of python expecting his arrival. They ordered it to stay still and wait for their signal before striking. Excitement buzzed within them as they silently anticipated someone’s arrival.

 A man with no striking features whatsoever exited the building. He looked to be a muggle man who lived in this ragged neighborhood.

 The bloodlusts coursing through their veins was so pronounced it could almost be visible for the plain eye to see. The filthy muggle seemed to notice that something was wrong in the air. When he saw their gleaming red eyes, he gaped. The true horrorstruck came to him when they spoke in Parseltongue to command the serpent.

 They allowed themselves a moment to watch with satisfaction as the lying scum trembled as he became surrounded by the large body of the python. He fought against the serpent holding him in place, but each fuss he made was met with more force as the python wrapped itself tightly around him, suffocating him.

 “Keep him quiet.” They snarled at the serpent.

 The thick scales curled around the muggle’s throat, choking him. His bulging eyes started brimming with red veins, silently begging. The man’s face turned a shade of purple as he struggled to catch his breath.

 This helplessness almost reminded them of the failed family they rid the world of. Much like those weak muggles who were unworthy, this man shall parish from the face of the earth as well.

How pathetic did the braggart look now? Not so strong or grand as he had everyone believe him to be. Stealing money from helpless orphans all those years ago, exploiting their feeble-minded nature. The muggle shall be punished for attempting to do such a thing to them seven years ago. He might have grown forgetful, but they never forgot about him.

 “Shh, shh, don’t fight. It’ll only make it more painful, I promise.” They said reassuringly, though the callous smile probably gave them away, but that’s fine. They were no longer at Hogwarts, so there were no more charades to put up. The mask was off, and the ally was empty and would remain so for hours. “Last thing we need is to attract attention. You don’t want me to exact retribution on your whore as well, do you? Actually, no. I think you’d rather she takes your place. It won’t be surprising considering the selfish coward that you are. I told you I’d find you, didn’t I?”

 They savored the moment when the life left the man’s eyes, neck snapped. Just like that, the muggle was dead. They laughed manically as the serpent devoured its pry’s head just like they ordered it to do. Their voices strained as they reached a pitch like never before. They were never used to cackling as they were in that moment. Even when they killed the Riddles, the hatred inside them left very little room for pleasure. Yes, killing them had been satisfactorily, but this was such fun!

 The high pitch laughter was so unlike their usual polite chortles, those were as fake as their posh accent whereas this felt freeing. And they needn’t worry about giving themselves away here, where the only one privileged to witness their true selves was but a dying man.

 Dying. What a foreign concept that was to them. Death was a fate they ensured long ago that they would always escape.

 We did? They. . . Harry thought to himself. How?

 When Harry woke up, it was barely dawn and Ron was still sound asleep in the room they shared. He knew his friend to be a heavy sleeper, but that didn’t stop him from tiptoeing through the corridor leading to the bathroom.

 Harry locked himself in and sighed heavily. What was wrong with him? He never had trouble distinguishing his own thoughts and emotions from Riddle’s until now. Yes, he felt everything Tom did when he was having one of those dreams, but he still had a conscious of his own, dammit! It helped him navigate through Tom’s experience while still being aware of his own inner and most private thoughts. Where was that conscious a few minutes ago?

 Harry shook his head vigorously. No, there was no use pondering on that question. What he should be asking was why did Tom think he’d live forever?

 Obsession.

 Immortality.

 Something to do with the ring on Tom’s finger.

 The ring was familiar. Harry thought that it was because he’d seen it before, but what if the familiarity came from something. . . deeper? Didn’t Tom have a weird fixation about it? Tom’s feelings toward the ring were as extreme as they were toward the diary Harry knew he kept hidden either under his pillow or trunk.

 The diary that Harry destroyed several years ago. The diary that felt as familiar as the diadem he and Al destroyed a couple of months ago.

 The ring was the same, he mused coherently. It had to be destroyed if it hadn’t already been.

 How many possessions like those does he have? Just the three? Please be only three.

 Dumbledore ought to know about the ring, but how could Harry possibly explain this new revelation without sounding insane? At least with the diadem, Al was technically the one to find it (only Ron and Hermione knew about Harry finding it first.) Harry had no proof to present to Dumbledore without having to expose himself as the freak he was taught he always was.

 Harry’s scar was bleeding again, which could only mean Voldemort was still attempting to summon him for a chat. Harry had done well to ignore those calls so far, but he grew more tired from them. Plus, it would be nice not to stop his scar bleeding randomly during his stay at the Burrow.

 He gripped each side of the sink while his eyes rolled up until they disappeared in their sockets. His eyelids were probably wide open for all he knew. The diadem wasn’t around to make him pass out again, so he could still feel himself standing and the sink tile beneath his palms.

 Once his consciousness entered the greyish fogginess which had Voldemort waiting in, Harry didn’t even bother being cautious. Voldemort could not hurt him here. “What?! What do you possibly want?”

 Voldemort had his back to him, saying nothing as steams of grey continued to fog the outline of his figure.

 Harry circled around the slender man, gritting his teeth. “I said what. Do. You. Want.” He stopped in front of Voldemort, his head tilted upward so he could properly address the noseless bastard face to face. “Answer me!”

 Voldemort’s red irises merely brushed over him before they moved to stare off at a distance. “You’ve been deliberately ignoring my calls. If I could, I would curse you right this instance.”

 “Excuse me?”

 “Not yet.” Voldemort gestured with his hand without looking at him. Harry rolled his eyes. “You do realize I have held your. . . counterpart prisoner for days.”

 “So all the time my scar’s been bleeding is because you wanted to confirm something I already knew?”

 Voldemort’s fingers twitched near his wand. Harry knew it was a reflex of Voldemort’s to curse (or kill) whomever dared spoke crudely to him. Harry took mindless satisfaction in watching the Dark lord being helpless in that sense. The contentment was then overshadowed with the worry he had over Al. What if Voldemort took out his frustrations on Al? Harry decided to lay off provoking the mad man just in case.

 “From what I’ve learned of his escapades in our dimension, he assisted you in destroying something of mine.”

 Harry could feel his hands—the ones that were still holding on the sink at the Burrow—clench the tile harder. He forced his voice not to betray his emotions. “I don’t know what you’re—”

 “Don’t,” Glowing red eyes seemed to pin Harry on the spot, they were fueled with piercing hatred that mirrored the malice tone. “you dare lie to my face, Potter. I have half a mind to march a bounty hunt to kill all that you love if you continue down this road.”

 Harry stood his ground despite everything in him shuddering at Voldemort’s words. His Gryffindor’s hot temper overshadowed any reluctance he might’ve had as he seethed. “Why not just kill me?”

 The cold anger in Voldemort’s eyes seemed to dissolve into something almost human. “That would be counterproductive, I’m afraid.”

 “Why?” Harry couldn’t help the note of desperation in his voice. That question, along with many others, had been nagging at him since he and Voldemort last spoke. “Why do I keep reviling your life in my sleep?”

 Voldemort cocked his head, eyes surveying Harry in wonder and slight bafflement. “What?”

 That word alone made Harry freeze in petrifying shock.

 He doesn’t know. 

 Despite the connection their minds had and what happened in Harry’s fifth year, Voldemort must have believed that those dreams that were occurring to Harry were just Voldemort’s own memories. He must not have been able to differentiate them from his own thoughts. Because they were his, not Harry’s.

 “It certainly has to do with why you are a Parselmouth.” Voldemort said in that low tone of his that signified his deep interest. No. Harry corrected himself. Not interest. Obsession. “What is it that you know?”

 Harry knew the smart thing to do would be to shut the hell up and return to his physical vicinity. But there was quite literally nothing he could say that wasn’t of Voldemort’s own knowledge. “Just a couple of minutes ago you were taking revenge on a muggle that scammed you when you were little and stole your pocket money. And there was this python you ordered to choke him to death before it disfigured his entire face. . . by the way, was that your inspiration for the Dark Mark?” Harry added as an idle a quip. He definitely didn’t expect the wistful look to appear on the Dark lord’s face, or him answering.

 “I supposed it might have been, yes.” Voldemort mused.

 Harry hated himself for allowing the surprise laugher to escape his lips. He knew the wizard he shared a mind with was extremely petty, but for Riddle to plot elaborate revenge years prior over little change that could barely afford a school textbook? And that act of pettiness would be forever remembered as the Dark Mark. Really?

 Voldemort didn’t look bothered at the least at Harry’s outburst, he still had that pensive air about him. If fact, he seemed to forget Harry was there with him altogether before he shook himself off that trance. “This changes nothing, Harry Potter. I can overlook what you’ve done to my diary, and you may consider the diadem to be your final warning, but if you dare continue this search of yours of my possessions, you will lose everything you hold dear, while I remain victorious.”

 “Whatever, Tom.” He murmured while rolling his eyes. IDIOT! Don’t antagonize him when he still has Al at his mercy! “Er, how about this. I do as you say in exchange for A—my other self’s safety. Deal?”

 “We’ll see.” Voldemort answered vaguely.

 Harry suppressed a groan.

 He was tempted to ask Voldemort if he’d happened to see a Grass Snake around Al, but remembered he still didn’t have an answer to his badgering query. “Why aren’t you interested in killing me anymore? What’s in it for you?”

 Harry wondered if Voldemort’s glare could bore his soul. It felt like it did as he smirked patronizingly down at Harry. “Life insurance, to put it lightly.”

 Harry furrowed his brows in confusion. He would have found it amusing for Voldemort to use a muggle term if that condescending tone didn’t unnerve him so much.

 What could he possibly mean by that? If he didn’t kill Harry, then Harry should be the one to kill him as the prophecy plainly stated.

 Maybe Voldemort was just pulling his leg.

 Harry jumped when he heard an abrupt knock. It seemed to come from someplace else. That suspicion was confirmed when Voldemort looked at him questioningly.

 Harry? A voice from the outside called. It sounded like someone speaking with their head under water. Harry dear, you’ve been there for nearly two hours. Is everything alright?

 Hours? Did time somehow pass slower here?

 “Alright,” Harry was eager more than ever to put an end to his and Voldemort’s little meeting, and he wanted that end to be permanent, so he said: “Will you stop trying to call me here then? I’m sick of having my scar bleed out just because you fancy a chat. It’s irritating.” Ginny and the twins already started calling those moments as ‘Harry’s time of the month’. He didn’t want this teasing to escalate into a badgering interrogation. Hermione and Ron were already suspicious.

 “That solely depends on you, Harry.” With that, the fog seemed to swallow Voldemort’s form, making him disappear from the mist.

 He left, so Harry did the same.

It used to be almost easy to tell which parts belonged to Harry and which parts belonged to Voldemort. But recently, Harry wasn’t so sure. It made his sleep deprivation worse than ever. He constantly tried not to sleep, but his body would not yield to his command. He knew he needed the rest, but how could he ever accomplish that if he got sucked into Tom Riddle’s mind at any given moment?

 The next time Harry’s eyelids unwillingly shut themselves was right after breakfast.

 He and Tom were one again. And they were, as always, fixated with their most prized possession, the ring.

 It was hours from when they killed that muggle man. They had apparated back to Hogsmeade and returned to the castle. There, they were greeted warmly by everyone, and they responded to those greetings with their façade that contrasted with what was going on in their head.

 There were some classmates that they’d fantasized about killing slowly one day. That day shall come after graduation and not before; they could not afford another Myrtle Warren incident. They’d been lucky the last time to have found someone to pin the blame on before the school could have shut down. But since experiencing bloodshed from that moment on, they were desperately craving for more, which was what led them to kill the Riddles and that muggle from several hours ago.

 Of course, everyone remained clueless of their true nature. They successfully manipulated everyone into believing they could never mean any harm. Who would believe that such talented, poor orphans could be anything but the spiffing image of innocence? No one but the Transfiguration professor did. He stubbornly would not fall to their charms (no, no, no. It’s Tom’s.) Afterall, a master manipulator could easily recognize another one.

 There was Horace Slughorn in the dungeons. They—Tom! It’s all Tom—approached him to ask about something they—TOM already knew the answer to but only required his honest academic opinion. Something that had to do with their Tom’s diary and ring.

 Harry knew the information was locked in his head somewhere. It had to be. But only through Tom could he access it. Remember it.

 But what it was they were about to discuss had been rudely cut short when someone violently shook Harry awake.

 “Harry!”

 He groaned but didn’t open his eyes. He was just so bloody tired. All the bloody time.

 “Harry,” Hermione repeated in a tad of a bossy tone. “you’ve got to wake up. Professor Dumbledore’s here!”

 “He is?” He yawned, stretching his limbs in an effort to wake himself up, but instead managed to glide down the couch and land his head on the floor with a thud.

 The hit helped in knocking some sense into his head. Dumbledore’s here.

 Harry forced himself up from the floor just as Hermione bent down to help him. He stumbled a little and she held his arm to steady him.

 “Thanks” He muttered in embarrassment before regaining his own footing.

 She bit her lip in guilt. “Sorry I woke you. I didn’t want to because you’ve looked so tired lately, but you’ve been wanting to speak to Dumbledore for many weeks now and I know you’d be annoyed if you missed your chance. You’ve got to hurry though, he was just leaving.”

 He knew he must look so disheveled, but he didn’t care to tidy up or even wash his face before presenting himself in front of the Headmaster, especially if Dumbledore was leaving soon as Hermione said.

 The Headmaster had been walking alongside Remus Lupin outside the Burrow as he spoke intently to him.

 Harry’s mind halted a bit. When had Professor Lupin gotten here? Did that mean other Order members had been here as well?

 Professor Lupin was the first to notice him from the two, and he greeted Harry with a gentle smile contrasting his otherwise severely scared face.

 Dumbledore also turned to see Harry once he’d realized he’d lost Lupin’s attention.

 “Harry.” Professor Lupin started. “It’s good to see you.”

 “It’s good to see you, too, Professor.”

 Lupin’s soft smile strained a little. “Please, you may call me Remus. I haven’t been your teacher in a while.”

 Harry wasn’t used to address his teachers informally, even the ones that wished him harm, oddly enough. He was tempted to say yes sir but that might come off as a little passive aggressive, so instead, Harry only smiled awkwardly and hoped it would be enough of a response.

 Lupin’s forehead furrowed in a Hermione-like fashion as he surveyed Harry’s form. “Have you been getting enough sleep lately?”

 Harry respected the man far too much to just lie through his teeth, so he resorted into a shrug.

 He turned to Dumbledore, who, much to Harry’s irritation, wore a similar furrowed expression. “My boy, when was the last time you had a good night’s sleep?”

 “Just got up from a nap, sir. It’s fine.” He tried and failed to keep the exasperation from his voice.

 He couldn’t possibly look that bad. He was just a little sleep deprived, which was honestly a very tiny price to pay for endangering Al and nearly killing Malfoy. He was lucky he wasn’t expelled!

 He hated the way they looked at him with care he didn’t deserve. He ought to have been punished for his reckless behavior, but he still wasn’t. He was here instead, at the comfort of the Burrow while Al was rotting somewhere with Voldemort in it. Harry once thought that his recklessness was what caused his godfather’s death, but since he found out that it didn’t, he’d been toying with fate, and someone would sooner or later pay for Harry’s misdeeds with their lives. And he’d rather that life be his own than someone else’s.