Earthen
Harry could hear the sounds of creatures beckoning him forward—the song of the bubbling brook a short distance away announcing for all that cared to listen of its richness and its fluidity. Harry could count in his mind each time a bird chirped in the darkness, the tenor of the calls different each time but beautiful all the same. He could hear the rustling of the leaves, the faint whimpers emanating from it announcing the life that hid in the corners of the rich dark wood.
“It is beautiful, is it not?”
Harry jumped at the sound of a familiar voice, panic flooding his veins as he turned around to face the last person he would have expected to find in the Forbidden Forest.
Tom Riddle stood before him, the picture of aristocratic grandeur and aloof charm. It was almost comical how different he looked between the bright green of the trees, the shrubbery drowning the boy’s figure in a series of shades of green.
Riddle was dressed entirely in black, making skin that was already rather pale seem almost bone-white underneath the shadows. His hair was perfectly piled at the crown of his head, the single hair curled at his forehead the only one setting itself apart from the rest. His eyes were black, swallowing all light that attempted to trickle its way inside, a morbid allusion to the slowly darkening nature of the boy.
Riddle looked like the muggle Grim Reaper, if Harry was being honest. It was comical how accurate a description it was considering just who Tom Riddle would grow up to be. At first glance, Voldemort and Riddle may not have looked anything like one another, but Harry, after months of watching the boy, could note the similarities between the Voldemort of the future, and the young Riddle of the now. A beginning and end, an evolution of sorts.
Tom Riddle will sacrifice it all on his quest for immortality and power; his beauty waning until there would be nothing left but the reptilian notes to his skin; a skeletal build to a once powerful body.
And his eyes. Harry was not quite sure when this transition would occur, but he knew it was inevitable once the boy, soon to be a man, would start to split himself one too many times. The black bleeding into red, no longer an abyss, but a reflection of the monster that he truly was on the inside. Riddle would never be capable of ruling through charm and seduction, as he often did now. The warmth of Riddle’s voice lost, and replaced with the icy hiss that resembled more a serpent than a man.
Riddle would rule with fear then, a permanent shift from the sweet promises whispered to his current followers, to promises of pain and agony for those that failed him. Instead of ruling them by instilling respect and worship in the minds of his followers, as Riddle of the now did for the stupid Purebloods, fear and obsession would rule instead.
It was almost pathetic.
At first, when Harry had first realized he had landed himself in the past, he had panicked. Harry recalled the world just blurred at its edges, the familiar warm face of a much younger and colder Dumbledore enough to throw him into a fit. It had taken him days for him to recover from that, his mind rejecting the mere notion that he had somehow landed arse first into a past where Harry would be forced to interact with Riddle.
He had resolved to speak to Dumbledore on the matter, unable to explain how it was that he landed there in the first place, and thus, unable to send himself back. Dumbledore had been cold to him, the twinkle in his eye absent and his tone more to ease Harry’s nerves than an extension of his own sympathy.
It made Harry long for the old man of his future—of the grandfatherly warmth and the odd things the man would say. But Harry did not mention that, having already been warned by the very man himself to avoid telling him tidbits of his future. Dumbledore had been very insistent that Harry avoid any sort of exposure to himself, and Harry understood readily enough that he was an anomaly that should not have been there at all.
Harry had tried to recall the situation that could have led him to the past, but the memories of it were hazy—the edges blurred unlike the vividness of the green swallowing Harry and Riddle in the forest. Harry had tried to remember—to put a date and a name to it, but it would leave him just as immediately as the memory flashed behind his eyelids when first waking. It was incredibly frustrating—knowing but not really knowing. Trapped and unable to do a bloody thing about the situation his own bloody luck must have landed him in.
So Harry shoved all thought of his shoddy situation to the recesses of his mind, focusing instead on a much more urgent issue.
Like why Tom bloody Riddle was even here in the first place. Harry had made sure that no one had followed into the forest. Waiting until Riddle was entirely too occupied with some first years before Harry made his escape from the Slytherin common room. Of course, it was very likely that someone had seen him leave and had informed Riddle of it.
It honestly would not surprise Harry in the least. The snakes did not exactly like Harry, and it was entirely mutual from his end. He was still shocked that the hat had gone against his wishes and forced him into the last place he wanted to be, trapping him in the house of silver and green.
“It is.” Harry responded after the long silence, casting his gaze away from the cold eyes of the young dark lord and back to the surrounding greenery.
It really was beautiful, but it was a shame that Riddle was there with him. Harry had been looking forward to at least having a moment away from the Slytherins and their petty mind games. Here, Harry did not have to play along, or restrain the desire to scream or shout when a Slytherin made a particularly scathing comment.
Harry was free here, even if only for a short moment. But Riddle had ruined that.
“This is perhaps the first time we have ever been alone in the same space.” Harry tensed when he realized the truth of Riddle’s comment. Harry had in fact never been alone with the boy—hoping that he was subtle in his attempts to flee the room whenever the boy entered. Harry had made it his mission to not suffer too long under Riddle’s seemingly all-seeing gazing, feeling too exposed and out of his element with a monster that Harry was entirely unfamiliar with.
Harry understood Voldemort. But Tom Riddle, Harry knew absolutely nothing of.
Harry may have seen memories of the boy manipulate his way into acquiring knowledge he should not know of, or of the boy lying through his teeth when asked about his activities by Dumbledore, but he did not really know him. The boy was charming—almost uncomfortably so, and Harry knew that. Had heard it in his voice when he announced that Hagrid had brought in an Acromantula to the school. He knew bloody well what Riddle was capable of, but it was the kind of knowledge passed down from another source, there was no true firsthand experience from Harry’s end. Sure, the Diary had been a younger version of Riddle, but he was tainted by the knowledge of Voldemort’s defeat and Harry’s hand in that.
Here, Riddle was in his element and would play the game far better than he had in the Chamber. Harry would see aspects that none of the memories were able to reveal. He had no bloody idea of what to do when in the presence of such a force that was Voldemort, but also was not him; knowing the future that would inevitably come and also understanding that Harry could not blow his own cover.
Hermione had once instilled in him the importance of not interfering with time, and the Dumbledore of this time had affirmed this harsh lesson. Harry was not happy with what that essentially meant, but he knew the consequences.
Riddle was an important figure in history—the boy’s destruction would be the birth of a new monster. Perhaps, Harry’s meddling might even influence time in such a fashion that the outcome of the war would be for the worst.
It was that fear that stayed Harry’s hand when in Riddle’s presence. It was simply better for him to avoid Riddle than to risk shoving his foot in his mouth, and so, Harry did everything in his power to avoid Riddle. Even if it grated him to act so…cowardly. It was the smart thing to do.
It was total bollocks in Harry’s opinion, but he would not risk it all just because it just rubbed him the wrong way to see Riddle ingratiate himself to his peers.
Harry watched the forest for a few moments longer, before begrudgingly turning his attention back to Riddle. Harry watched the way Riddle’s robes billowed in the breeze that filtered through between the trees, the fabric breaking the silence that had fallen between them.
“I hadn’t noticed.” Harry watched him for a longer moment, before deciding he’d much rather look at the trees instead. The trees did not taunt or creep him out, unlike his unwanted visitor. So Harry turned his back to Riddle, feeling every nerve in his body scream at him for doing it but deciding it was for the best. Harry was supposed to be a transfer from private tutoring—another boy orphaned by the war exploding in tiny pockets in Britain. Harry was supposed to like Riddle, to trust the boy, after all, the boy had not done anything suspicious enough around Harry.
It made sense to turn his back on him—only someone that trusted their companion would do that. But Harry did not trust him in the least.
“Do I make you uncomfortable, Harry? I confess that you are the least…accommodating of the students in Slytherin.” Harry did not face Riddle despite the growing temptation in his gut to do so. He forced his body to remain as lax as it could, taking a glance at his hands to make sure that he was not clenching them into fists where he stood.
Harry was on thin ice. He had thought he was being slick, but he supposed that Riddle at some point would inevitably catch wind of his dilatory and avoidance tactics. Bollocks, he thought he was doing pretty well too.
“N-no, of course not.” Harry tried to appease, his heart beating rapidly when he heard movement come from directly behind him. Harry sincerely hoped the boy would not try anything now, it would be rather inconvenient if Harry revealed too much.
Dumbledore had warned him enough as it was, he did not need to hear Hermione’s imaginary voice in his mind telling him to behave too.
Harry turned to look at what had caused the sound, the shifting of grass and of leaves rustling in the wind, and froze at the sight of Riddle leaning in close to him. He was so close that if Harry breathed too hard his chest might brush against Riddle’s.
Didn’t Riddle hate physical touch? Hell, didn’t the man loath to be in the presence of anyone but his own reflection?
It was strange, and so very unnerving that Harry could not help taking a step back, watching how Riddle followed his motions, their chests brushing for a split second, before Harry managed to outpace him. Riddle was still too close, but it was better than the sliver of space they had had earlier.
Harry was livid and anxious, the adrenaline coursing through his veins giving way to the familiar whisper of unease that he only felt when around Riddle. He wasn’t sure if he was masking his disgust well enough now, but he threw all care to the wind when Riddle suddenly smiled at him as if he had just had the most delightful idea.
It was malicious, the way the smile transformed angelic features to that of a cherubic demon in an instant. Harry had never seen the boy give anyone that face before, and it was with sick realization that Harry just knew Riddle suspected something.
“Oh, but I do. You look about ready to flee at any moment’s notice.”
“I do not!” Harry denied, stubbornly holding still despite all the instincts in his gut screaming for him to move. To do that would be to confirm Riddle’s own assessment, and Harry would not give him that satisfaction.
Riddle chuckled, the sound rich with humor and mirth despite Harry’s growing look of anger and discomfort. “You’re a terrible liar, Harry.”
Harry sputtered at that. Were they on first name basis now?
“Well, that’s all well and good, but that doesn’t explain what you are even doing here.” Harry lifted his chin, watching the way Riddle’s eyes seemed to glitter more brightly with amusement at Harry’s show of bravery. This was the most emotion Harry had ever recalled seeing from the boy since having landed a half-century into the past.
It downright creepy.
The seconds trickled slowly without Riddle speaking a word, the expression on the boy’s face one of thoughtfulness. Harry was just about ready to ask again, before the boy released a breath Harry had not realized Riddle was holding.
“Time is a fickle thing, don’t you agree? Almost as beautiful as the leaves flitting above our heads.” Harry was confused for only a short second before he felt horror seize him entirely when he noticed implication hanging heavily in Riddle’s words.
Time.
Harry took a hasty step back, wincing at the crunching sound the dry leaves made as he moved. He did not want to seem as if were entirely unsettled, but there was no helping the fact that Harry was in deep trouble.
Riddle never spoke without meticulous consideration; a trait unremarkably different from Harry. For all of Harry’s scathing comments, reckless as they were, Riddle’s were a carefully crafted blade, made to sever flesh from fat; muscle easily yielding beneath the strength of Riddle’s sharp tongue. Riddle was deliberate, the manipulation of such a subtle nature that the victim hardly knew they were being manipulated at all.
It was easy for Harry to assume the worst from the mention of “time.” It was such a bizarre comparison to the natural grandeur of this forest.
“Ah, yeah but you still haven’t answered my question.” Harry finally responded. He was tempted to flee, not so much because he was frightened at what could happen, but more concerned that he’d completely blow his cover and do some irreparable harm to the future. He could hear the warnings in the back of his mind whispering and begging him to not draw any more attention than he already had.
Harry could behave. Harry had to behave. Even if he didn’t like it in the least.
“For entirely the same reasons you are here.”
Harry watched the way Riddle’s lips formed the words, noting the ease that the lie left his lips. It was just easy for Harry to assume that everything the boy said was a lie. Harry was already aware that even if he had more intimate knowledge than most about the dark lord, that Harry still could not read him.
It was a wonder how Riddle did not believe his own lies, the amount of them and the sincerity of each one entirely too real. It was too bloody convincing.
“You don’t strike me as the kind to go off wandering into forests, Riddle.” Harry hedged, furrowing his brows when Riddle’s face suddenly froze for a second, before a slow smile creeped up his lips.
Harry pictured a beast consuming its prey in that split second.
“And what sort is it that, Harry?” Riddle leaned closer to him, as if he were unable to stay away. It forced Harry to take another few steps back, unsure of what it was that the boy wanted now. None of this conversation was making any sense to him.
Harry suspected that Riddle knew something; that Riddle came out here to finally get some answers to the mystery Harry had cloaked himself in since arriving. But it seemed that Riddle had a completely different plan in mind, and Harry was at a loss at what it was.
“You’re a bit too…graceful for all this. You’re a shadow while everything here is bright and alive.” You’re death. Harry supplied, noting with immense relief that Riddle had stopped leaning towards him. But Harry was not going to admit that. Especially not when he was still alone with a much saner version of the dark lord.
Merlin, this was all just too unreal. He could not believe this was his life.
“That’s quite the compliment.” Harry did not think it was, not really. He’d practically called the boy death, which again, was not far from the truth. “Tell me, do you know about the Fae?”
The fae? Harry had never heard of something like that before. What in Merlin’s name did that have to do with anything?
“The Fae are considered to have absolute dominion of the earth, their grace rivaled only by the resplendence of their cities.” Riddle started, his voice soft and light despite the tenseness in the air.
“They dwell in the evergreen, immortal and beautiful—“of course, Harry almost scoffed. Riddle would know all there was to know about anything that could yield an answer to immortality. No stone left unturned, after all. Even if Riddle could have done better without splitting his soul one too many times.
“—but cruel to those that interest them.” Harry swallowed at how Riddle’s eyes seemed to burn into his own, something in the way Riddle explained the creatures making Harry more than a bit uncomfortable.
“You see, they are quite selfish, even malicious depending on who one asks.” Harry watched the way Riddle’s adams-apple bobbed as he spoke, disturbed by what he had glimpsed in Riddle’s eyes earlier. There was a hunger in them that reminded Harry of the same look the diary had given him before Harry had destroyed it. It made the hairs on his arms stand on end, and he just could not bear to look any longer. “I find the sentiment quite understandable, I am almost…sympathetic to their plight.”
“I don’t understand why you are telling me this.” Harry eyed the way Riddle leaned into him once more, closing the gap between them step by single step, but he held his ground. He was tired of running away like some scared kitten, he may not have been put in Gryffindor this time, but he was most definitely a lion. “What do the Fae have to do with all this? Is that why you are actually here?” Harry focused on the way Riddle’s lips quirked into a smile, the way his eyes caught Harry’s and held them with an ease that Harry should have been disturbed by. Harry felt trapped in a way, unsurprised when Riddle was suddenly enveloping Harry completely with his magic.
It was heavy; so potent that it felt like Riddle was physically restraining Harry with the power of it alone.
“The Fae come without warning. Following the scent of a human playing in their territory. Sometimes it is a child that wanders in. But there are moments, where it is an adult instead, just as curious of a world they know little of.” Riddle was all Harry could see, awed by the way Riddle’s voice wove a tale of creatures hidden in the trees, unsure of when the fear in his gut had dissipated into this strange emotion. Riddle’s voice was no louder than a whisper, but there was just something there. Harry could not put his finger on it—a message written between the spaces of each uttered word.
“They beckon for the human with their calls, their voices sweet and enchanting to the ears of their victim.” Harry felt something coil in his stomach as Riddle continued to speak, but he could not find it in himself to stop listening to the story. Harry was oddly compelled by it, even if it was a monster sharing it.
“They bring the human to their camp, share with him their stories and their favorite games. The human is wary at first of them, but over time, the human starts to grow comfortable with the strange creatures he had befriended in the forest. This trust entirely misplaced.” Harry sighed when Riddle paused from the tale, awed and horrified at how relaxed he suddenly felt.
Harry was afraid for himself then, unsure of when exactly Riddle had spelled him. Wondering what spell could have done this to him in the first place. Riddle had not waved a wand, had not spoken any incantation.
The sensations of his limbs felt like what he would imagine rubber felt like. Stretchy and lax.
“And once the human has grown comfortable enough, the Fae he had met would come before him with a goblet and a fruit. The scent wafting from both the fruit and the goblet unlike anything the human has ever encountered before.” Harry shivered at the darkness that settled in Riddle’s tone, closing his eyes when Riddle smirked up at him, the same hunger in them burning much more obviously now.
Riddle was himself here. No mask or show put on for Harry to see.
“The human then drinks from the goblet, growing drunk with each sip he takes. Do you know what happens next, Harry?” Harry shook his head no, unwilling to answer. His insides felt tight with worry, horrified when Riddle finally closed the space between them, the sensation alone forcing Harry to open his eyes.
Riddle’s lips pressed against Harry’s ear to whisper the rest of the tale.
“The moment the boy takes a bite of the fruit, consumed by the haze of the drink supplied by his most generous hosts, he seals his fate. Trapped, forever in their company. A slave to their demands, death unable to release him from the imprisonment crafted by these wily beings.”
Harry’s breaths came short, his lungs unable to quite gather the oxygen he needed as he began to panic. Horror overtaking curiosity, but doing nothing to jump start his body into action.
What had Riddle done to him!?
“You see, Harry. You made a rather poor decision coming out here, not only making it easy for me to follow you, but to make what needs to be done, possible.” Harry swallowed when Riddle stepped back to take in the look of fear in Harry’s bright green eyes; the hue of them very fitting in the surrounding earth around them.
“I know you are not from this time. You were clever enough to hide this knowledge from me for a time, but it seems, not clever enough to escape while you still had the chance.” Riddle pressed his fingers against Harry’s scar, the sensation of it drawing an unwilling gasp from Harry.
The scar tingled almost as if recognizing Riddle, a strange elation and hunger curling its way into Harry’s mind. “Similar to how the Fae bind their prey through their consumption of fae fruit, you and I seem to be bonded just as tightly. I am curious, what piece of me did you consume to bind us this tightly?”
“No, I—!” Harry fought against the invisible power restraining him, noting with dismay how his body refused to comply with his demands. He needed to move. He needed to do something.
Anything.
“Tell me Harry, who were you in my future? Were you someone so important to my future self that you were readily given a piece of myself?” Riddle sounded eager, no longer bothering to hide his emotions as he stared deeply into Harry’s own wide eyes.
Harry closed them quickly, suddenly recalling that Riddle was a master at legilimancy in the future. He may not be one now, but with how shoddy of an occulmens Harry was, it would be easy for Riddle to delve into Harry’s thoughts if he wasn’t careful.
“I-I don’t know what you are talking about!” And Harry sincerely didn’t. Bonds? Harry could not recall any instance in his life where he and Voldemort had become bonded. Perhaps the prophecy? But no, that did not make any sense when the prophecy did not even exist yet. The blood? Harry did have his blood unwillingly taken when Voldemort was being revived.
But no, that did not make much sense to him either. The spell made it so Voldemort could override the strong magic Harry’s mum had used, it didn’t create a bond.
“…I see that you are already familiar with my abilities. Were you an ally? No, that does not seem quite correct with how much you fear me.” Harry could hear Riddle speak above him, his voice pensive as Harry fought the pressure restraining him.
Harry struggled against his bonds, a grim determination settling into him because Riddle could not learn about his future. Harry could not risk his life here when they had yet to defeat Voldemort. Britain was counting on him, he could not fail them now when there was such a hefty price hanging over them.
Riddle hummed above him before pressing his fingers once more to Harry’s scar, the fear swept up immediately by a warmth that Harry had never felt before. He was familiar with pain, of the scar weeping red tears when Voldemort spoke into his mind or shared visions in Harry’s sleep. But this warmth was unlike anything Harry ever experienced before. It was actually pleasant.
“Tell me.” Riddle hissed in parseltongue, the sound making something within Harry purr pleasantly despite how wrong the emotion was. Harry most definitely did not feel safe in Riddle’s presence. Something was wrong, and Harry felt the familiar warmth coax him into opening his lips against his will.
The sound that left him did not sound like Harry at all.
“He is your enemy. Your future self had made this boy an unwilling vessel to a piece of his soul. Made a fool by a Seer that knew little of her craft.” It was something from within Harry that spoke, horror mounting with each pressing second when it continued to speak.
“His blood was what reanimated you after you destroyed yourself. The boy’s face caked in dried mud and grass as he watched you rise from the cauldron. His arm bleeding profusely as he wished for you to drown.”
Harry was trembling, the desire to bite his tongue strong, but apparently, not strong enough to silence the sentient being within from speaking. “Your future self lost it all in his avarice, losing piece by piece of his sanity as he split his soul into pieces. It allowed for the boy to break us, your future self blind.”
Harry could hear the way Riddle’s breath caught at that, but Harry did not bother to open his eyes. Even if it was useless now to hide the secrets, he took comfort in the fact he did not have to look at the boy’s face.
“Treasure him. He is the key.”
And then the presence was gone, freeing Harry completely from Riddle’s influence. Harry scrambled back as fast he could, relief mounting with each foot of space he created between himself and Riddle.
Riddle was frozen completely where he stood, his face utterly blank as he stared in Harry’s direction. There was a long silence between them, broken only by Harry’s harsh pants. Riddle did not move at all despite the speed with which Harry continued to back away.
It was after a long silence that Harry was finally convinced that Riddle was not going to follow. He turned away from the boy, ignoring the burning at his back as he rushed into the dark space between the trees. Harry needed to get away. He doubted he could maintain his composure any longer after having his world completely twisted on its head.
I am a bloody horcrux.
Harry thought he was going to be sick, the churning in his stomach the only warning he had before he had to stop and choke out what he had had for lunch from his stomach.
Oh merlin, I’m…
Harry felt hot tears trickle down his cheeks, but he ignored them in favor of getting as far away as he possibly could from Riddle. Rising from where he had bent over to puke his guts out, and stumbling over twigs and tree roots over the uneven path he had taken.
He wanted to scream his lungs out, but instead, he laughed because he could do little else in his predicament. He laughed, the sound of it making him sound absolutely mad but it did not deter Harry in the least.
I am have a piece of him inside him. This is just…
He laughed harder than before, the panic drowning his senses as he felt trees snag at his hair and robes, the sharp sting of it not enough to rouse him from the hysteria mounting with each second.
He heard a faint sound behind him, but he did not care to listen to it. Not wanting to face the reality of just how screwed up this all was—
It is almost fitting, Harry imagined Riddle whisper to him when they would inevitably find themselves alone in the Slytherin common room in the near future. Harry would be trapped and afraid, rebellious and unrestrained as he bit and clawed at the boy, after recovering from the shock he had experienced in their encounter in the Forbidden Forest. Defiant to his last breath until Riddle would finally force him against the wall, his wand pressing harshly to Harry’s throat. Harry could imagine the fear he would feel in that precise moment, unsure of what the boy was planning but knowing that it would be dangerous.
When I told you that story Harry, I never thought it would be quite so pertinent to us both, Harry imagined the words in his mind, the sound of it enough to force another laugh from Harry as he ran. Of course, Harry could not escape the monster, even in his own head.
Never in his own head.
Riddle’s voice sounded soft and gentle in Harry’s mind, the imaginary scenario between them not lending itself to much violence from Riddle’s end. Riddle had already won this battle, the boy would feel no need to speak harshly when he was just so pleased. The sound of Riddle’s voice so very unlike the creature he would become.
Oh Merlin, please help him.
A bond that even death cannot extinguish¸ Riddle would say and Harry would snarl in denial and rage. Choosing to ignore the truth of his words.
Fitting. That’s what this all was.
It hardly mattered that Harry had run, he doubted that distance could smother this.
Not even death will separate us.
Harry would find a way.