Tom and Voldemort
When Harry awoke again, he was no longer in the hidden room. Instead, he found himself lying on a soft bed, blinking as the bright light blinded him. His head hurt, his hands hurt, and his sight was incredibly blurry - a quick touch to his face revealed that this last part had been caused by him not wearing his glasses. He groaned as he forced himself to sit up and squinted to look for them, and groaned even louder when he did not.
"Ah, you're awake", a calm voice gently said, and Harry turned to meet the speaker - it took a short while before he recognized him, though.
"Professor Dumbledore?", he cautiously asked; worried he might still have confused him with someone else, worried the headmaster knew what had happened in the room, that he knew what Harry had done...
"Welcome back, Harry", Dumbledore - it was Dumbledore, Harry was now sure of it, the voice was too similar to not be Dumbledore - replied, and he... smiled? Harry couldn't tell for sure, but the headmaster's mouth looked like it was smiling, so he'd just assume that he was.
Still... "Have... have you seen my glasses?", he timidly asked, not sure if this question might offend the headmaster. It seemed that it did not, if the chuckle it elicited was any indication.
"Ah, the woes of those with poor eyesight", Dumbledore mused as he handed Harry his round glasses back. "A shame none seem to have devised a spell to adress this all too common ailment."
"Might be an idea for the future", Harry mumbled as he put his glasses back on, finally enjoying clear sight once again.
"How are you feeling, dear boy?", Dumbledore gently asked.
Harry grimaced. "Not too great", he admitted. "Sir... what exactly happened? Did... did Quirrell..."
Dumbledore sighed wearily. "You needn't worry about Professor Quirrell anymore, Harry", he replied. "He's no longer among us."
His eyes widened. "You mean he's dead?!", he exclaimed, and the memories of the past events rushed back to the forefront of his thoughts once again - the fire he started, the curses he threw Quirrell's way... the manner in which Quirrell's face had molten when Harry had lunged at him in a fit of rage. "Did I..."
Dumbledore merely shook his head. "No", he replied. "No, Harry, you are not responsible for Quirinius' death. His death was caused by his own arrogance, his serving as a vessel for Voldemort and all the consequences this entailed."
'That's one way to put it', a voice within Harry snarked, and he briefly wondered just why he thought this way... before he realized that it wasn't his voice that had said it.
It was Tom's voice.
"What you did", Dumbledore meanwhile continued, "was an act of defence with unforeseen consequences. Quirrell had been unable to touch you without great pain due to his possession by Voldemort, a side effect of the same protection that had saved your life all those years ago. And when it became clear that Quirinius would not survive the encounter, Voldemort abandoned his servant - he never was patient with those he considered to be failures."
Harry merely heard Tom grumble something under his breath, but chose to ignore it. "So... I'm not... in trouble?", he instead asked.
Dumbledore chuckled once again. "Aside from entering a corridor that was forbidden to the student body, you mean?", he returned a question, and chuckled even more at Harry's expression. "No, don't you worry, my boy, you are not in trouble."
'That ruddy bastard', Tom suddenly cursed. 'He knew this was going to happen!'
Harry ignored his companion's sudden outburst, instead choosing to sigh in relief. At least, until he remembered another tiny thing that had occured in the underground room. "But Sir, the Stone... what about Flamel?"
The headmaster nodded sagely. "I see you were quite thorough in your research - well done, well done indeed. The Stone, as you may already suspect, was destroyed during the fight."
Harry flinched uncomfortably. "I, ah, remember that", he confessed. "I... tossed it into the flames... sorry."
Dumbledore calmly raised his hand - a sign of comfort likely, but it did little to ease Harry's concerns. "No need to worry, Harry - I doubt you could have known that Fiendfyre could destroy the Mirror of Erised or the Philosopher's Stone. Regardless, the loss of the Stone, while tragic, is a far better outcome than Voldemort possessing it. Nicolas and Perenelle agree with that, and they have chosen to not recreate it."
Harry blinked in shock. "But - without the Stone, they'll..."
"Yes, they will die... eventually", Dumbledore confirmed with a sigh. "They have enough serum left to put their affairs in order, and even without, they can live for a while... but yes, their lives will end."
Harry fell back onto his pillow. "I didn't mean for that to happen", he muttered.
"Some things, Harry, are outside our ability to control, I'm afraid", Dumbledore sighed. "Still, you shouldn't feel responsible for their deaths - Nicolas and Perenelle chose of their own accord to not recreate the Stone, and in truth, I suspect they had intended on leaving this life behind for quite some time."
'Might explain why it was at Gringotts in the first place', Tom darkly muttered.
Harry numbly nodded. "And... what of Voldemort?", he finally asked. "When Quirrell died, did he also..."
The headmaster sighed wearily. "I'm afraid not", he admitted. "Voldemort is a great many things, and has always been capable of a great many things, but... dying easy or being easy to slay never was amongst these things. No, he is still out there, scheming his return to power and looking for yet another poor, lost soul to fight his battles for him. All we can do now is wait and prepare for his inevitable return - and his inevitable downfall."
He chuckled again. "And by 'we', I mean us adults", he clarified with a twinkle in his eyes. "You, my dear boy, ought to focus on your schooling before anything else."
'Hypocrite', Tom grumbled.
Harry meanwhile sighed and leaned back again, taking a moment to look at his surroundings, finally taking note of the countless gifts he'd received, the sweets and flowers and books (he suspected those were from Hermione, and it made him smile a bit). "Just how much time has passed?", he wondered, more to himself.
"Oh, a little over a day", Dumbledore answered nonchalantly as he too looked at the gifts. "Your recovery was surprisingly quick, all things considered."
Then, something strange happened; for the briefest of moments, the headmaster's eyes widened just a bit, a gesture of surprise so small Harry barely noticed it, and over so quickly Harry wondered if it hadn't actually been his imagination.
"Apologies, Harry", Dumbledore said as he stood up. "But I'm afraid there are some things I must handle. I do wish you a quick recovery - and hopefully, I shall see you on the Quidditch Pitch in two days", he added with another of those twinkles.
Harry in turn let out a deep breath he didn't know he'd been holding in, and allowed himself to drift off to sleep once again.
When he awoke, he found himself standing in a ruined castle near a cliffside, overlooking a restless sea on a dark day, with heavy clouds obscuring the sky and sun from sight. It felt as though the location ought to have been cold, yet Harry felt no discomfort, no freezing, not even a chill as he stood, watching the waves crash against the cliffs below.
'I must be dreaming', he realized. 'But where am I?'
"Cornwall", a voice suddenly spoke up behind him. "In the ruins of Tintagel Castle, in fact."
Harry turned to meet the speaker - and was met with a tall, haggard figure, with pale skin and dull black hair, his hollow eyes an ugly brownish-red colour, and a face that was barely more than skin fastened over a skull, with his facial traits disfigured by deep scars that seemed fresh, yet drew no blood. This pale and near dead appearance stood in stark contrast to the silky black longcoat that blew wide open in the wind, or the clean black and dark green suit the man wore underneath said coat, with silver snakes lining the outer coat, making no secret out of who this was.
"I was here before", Tom Marvolo Riddle continued, "first with the orphanage on a holiday, back in 1933, and I came back of my own accord, years later... there's a cave nearby, you know, one of great importance to me. And in all honesty..." He chuckled, a hoarse sound that stood in stark contrast to the surprisingly strong voice that did not fit with the decrepit state of its wielder. "I rather like the scenery."
"I imagine it could be quite nice, if the weather was better", Harry replied. "Why am I here?"
Tom adjusted the collar of his shirt. "I wanted to meet face to face, Harry", he replied. "Have a proper conversation for a change. I feel like there is much we need to discuss, and this setting was the best way I could think of."
Harry frowned, but nodded. "Yeah, we really need to talk... Voldemort", he said in turn.
Tom had the decency to wince. "Yes... that." He sighed wearily. "I suspect I have quite a bit of explaining to do, then."
"Yeah, you do", Harry said. "How long? How long did you know?"
"Know?" Tom scoffed in frustration. "I don't know, in all honesty. I first began to suspect my true origins when that old coot Ollivanders brought up that darned wand. Holly wood, eleven inches, phoenix feather core... too specific to be a coincidence, and while I tried to convince myself of it, the idea that Voldemort merely took it as a trophy just didn't make any sense. There were other hints even before that in retrospect, but I never once wanted to admit I'd cock up this bad to become... that thing."
Harry snorted in disbelief. "So denial really was a river, or what?", he asked.
Tom gave a frustrated sigh and shrugged. "I know you likely expect me to reveal that this was all some grand master plan to take over your body or to redeem myself, but I honestly didn't want to believe I'd lost control of myself to such an extent. Devil curse me, even when we literally bumped into Quirrell and I noticed... it... lurking around in the background of his mind, I didn't want to acknowledge it. Of course, that goshdarned mirror didn't care and went for what subconscious desired most." He snorted.
"The mirror..." Harry thought back to january, when he and Tom had looked at the Mirror of Erised. "That shape with the glowing red eyes walking up to the mirror, the one that transformed into you... that was Voldemort, wasn't it?"
"Unfortunately, yes", Tom muttered as he rubbed his eyes. "Though like I said, even then, I didn't want to acknowledge it, even with the truth laid bare before me..."
"Until it was too late", Harry completed the thought. "And you slipped up when you realized Quirrell was really possessed by your alter ego."
Tom pursed his lips. "I did", he admitted.
"So why did you help me against him?", Harry asked as he ran his hands through his hair.
"Because it's like I said", Tom replied. "I made a mistake, at some point in time, one which led to me becoming Voldemort. And... I hate mistakes."
Harry shook his head in frustration. "So how were you able to survive at all - you and he, for that matter? And while on the topic of you saying things, how were you able to take over while I was being tortured by Quirrell? Because as I recall, you should not have been able to do that on your own!"
"Well, not to be too nitpicky, but technically, you did allow me to take over when you begged me to help you", Tom retorted. "But even without that little tidbit, I'd have been able to do so in that instance. As for how, it ties in with how Voldemort is still an annoying factor: Horcruxes and their ability to protect themselves."
Harry blinked in confusion while Tom continued. "A Horcrux, when it is at risk of being damaged or even destroyed, will attempt to prevent that outcome by any means necessary, drawing on the magic of the soulshard within to that end. The results can be quite fascinating - they range from mental manipulation to active usage of magic against the threat and even the soulshard itself taking a semi-corporeal form to engage a foe. I long suspected that my state of conscience was a result of this safeguard, a way to prevent permanent damage to the soulshard's vessel."
Harry's eyes widened. "So, when Uncle Vernon beat me all those years ago, and you spoke to me for the first time... it was a way of self-preservation?"
"It's what I suspected, yes", Tom confirmed. "I was initially sceptical of this idea, because historically speaking, these vessels do not have a conscience of their own. But between that particular event and my ability to take over your body for a moment while you were under the Cruciatus... it appears that at least in that sense, we are akin to regular Horcruxes."
"So... when Quirrell used that curse on me, it would have... damaged me? And this allowed you to circumvent the wards that keep you locked in my scar?", Harry asked.
"That's the gist of it, yes", Tom answered affirmatively.
"And the fact that you exist within me is the reason why Voldemort is still alive?", Harry asked further.
Tom's face twisted. "That... is more complicated, I'm afraid. It is part of the reason, in a way, but far from the sole factor."
"What do you mean?", Harry asked, once again confused.
Tom sighed heavily. "Because, Harry, you are not the only Horcrux he - I - created. That cave I mentioned earlier, the one that's within spitting distance of these ruins here? It contains another one, and there's others, hidden in locations not even I can remember in this state. In total..." Tom was lost in thought for a short while. "In total, counting us and the wraith that we encountered, there's seven pieces of my soul littered about."
"Seven soulshards...", Harry repeated. "And you wonder how you ended up the way you did. That cannot have been healthy for you."
"Yes, well, the process should have been perfectly safe", Tom muttered. "I do not understand where he went wrong. Regardless, this poses a bit of a problem for us: I only remember the Horcrux I hid in this cave, but unfortunately, it is one of the best protected locations. And the others I do not even remember where I hid them, meaning that no matter how we look at this, there's no way we can reach them."
"I'm sorry, but why should I want to help you reach these Horcruxes?", Harry asked. "The smartest thing I could do right now is wake up and tell the headmaster that you've been living rent free in my mind for almost five years now!"
Tom rolled his eyes at that. "If you really wanted to tell Dumbledore, you'd have done so already", he lazily answered and made a dismissive hand gesture. "Besides, I doubt even Dumbledore could be of much use here - if he knew where I hid the damned things, he'd have dealt with them already, which he has not. Oh, and I do not believe he truly has your best interests at heart - otherwise, why else would he have taken until the dead of night to swoop in and save you from Quirrell? No, that ruddy old schemer must have known this confrontation would happen, one way or another, and I'm willing to bet that he wanted to know whether or not we'd allow Voldemort to walk away with the Stone."
Harry scoffed. "Yeah, right - even if he were that clever, why should I trust you over him right now? Because from where I'm standing, you're just as conniving as he is, mister seven-souls - and that's assuming he is this infallible."
"Trust me, if it weren't for his affinity for bravado, he'd have made a fine Slytherin", Tom darkly replied. "As for why you may wish to trust me instead of him: we both want Voldemort gone for good. With the old goat, I'm not so sure it'd be in his interest. He has an angle in this mess, and that angle involves Voldemort - and you."
"What do you mean?", Harry asked.
"Something Voldemort said, his wording... the one born to those who thrice defied him, the one who is his equal, as was foretold... it strikes something within me. I suspect Voldemort had a very specific reason to go after you in 1981, and I suspect that reason involved prophecy, and that Dumbledore knew about it and allowed it to play out to see some grand destiny come to pass. Merlin knows it would not have been the first time", Tom explained.
Harry scoffed again. "What, am I suddenly the Chosen One?", he muttered. "Like anyone believes this crap."
Tom snorted. "Like I said, it would not have been the first time. Voldemort, at least, seems to believe it, and I'd be surprised if Dumbledore did not. Sadly, this gives us little choice in the matter, because I doubt especially Voldemort will try to go against the tides of perceived destiny by delaying some confrontation for too long."
"Wonderful", Harry groaned. "An ickle firstie against an undead wraith, what could possibly go wrong?"
Tom laughed. "Well, your track record so far is two you, zero Voldemort, so you can probably guess on whom I'm placing my money", he joked.
"Thanks", Harry muttered, and surprisingly enough, he meant it. He did still feel some frustration over Tom's apparent dishonesty and evident secrecy, but he did genuienly believe that his oldest friend had really not known about his prior life, and if he was honest, he could somewhat understand why he'd been hesitant to bring up the matter at all. Still, he was unconvinced that Dumbledore was really some ruthless puppetmaster in the matter - from where he stood, maybe the old man had simply too much on his plate to be truly efficient.
That reminded him... "By the way, did you notice Dumbledore's look of surprise earlier?", he asked.
"I did", Tom confirmed grimly, all humour gone from his voice. "Can't say I'm surprised, either."
"Wait, why?", Harry wondered. "Why did the two of you see?"
"One of the flower bouquets consists of black orchids", Tom explained. "I suspect we both thought of the same person to be the sender, though this would be next to impossible, given he has been indisposed for quite some time."
Harry narrowed his eyes. "Who?"
Tom sighed wearily. "Remember what I told you about Dumbledore's lover, the one who ended up causing a magical world war along side the Second World War? Black orchids - a symbol of power and perfection and death - are his favourite flowers."
Harry blinked. "Hang on... you don't mean?"
"Oh yes", Tom sighed again. "There is a small chance that Gellert Grindelwald himself sent you his best wishes."