Well, this is my first Portkey fic. I considered writing some one-shots to break the ice, but I'm kind of in love with this story right now, so I couldn't keep it shelved any longer. I hope it's to your liking.
Chapter 1: Back in Black
The dingy street on which 12 Grimmauld Place stood was almost exactly as Harry Potter remembered it. The windows in many of the houses along the way remained broken and rubbish was strewn about the sidewalks, giving the neighbourhood a distinctly run-down look. It made it seem as though Harry was strolling through a dodgy slum rather than paying a visit to what had technically been his house for the last year. The movement of shadows through the alleyways surrounding him made him jump slightly and he swiftly withdrew his wand from the hip pocket of his jeans. The sense of foreboding he had felt ever since deciding to come here alone was suddenly heightened. He hadn't told anyone where he was going and the world was now a very dangerous place with Albus Dumbledore no longer in it. Anything could happen to him out here with no one the wiser.
"You have to do this alone," a soft voice of determination spoke inside Harry's mind. "There's no need to put anyone else in danger just because you have a hunch."
Harry nodded his head slightly, as if in agreement with the voice. Ron and Hermione were still staying with him at the Dursleys', as they had all summer. It had been nearly a week since his seventeenth birthday, which meant that he was now 'of age', at least as the wizarding world determined such things. That in turn meant that he no longer needed to stay with his relatives at Number 4 Privet Drive. However, the Trio had been unwilling to relocate to the Burrow with Bill and Fleur's upcoming wedding making things unbearable there and they really had nowhere else to go. Of course, it was also a bit of a lark to give the Dursleys some grief now that all three of them could legally use magic.
His best friends would likely be angry with him when they found that he had gone out looking for a horcrux while leaving them alone with his wizard-hating relatives, but since his break up with Ginny Harry had been reluctant to put anyone else he cared about in danger if he didn't have to. He wouldn't let Ron or Hermione get hurt unnecessarily, not after what had happened to Dumbledore. If Harry had to watch as someone else he knew and loved was murdered while he stood there helpless to do anything about it, he wasn't sure that he could live with himself. 'Besides,' he thought, 'it's only information I'm after. If that information happens to lead me to a horcrux, so much the better.'
Harry had apparated here in the middle of the night, hoping that the cover of darkness and the lack of people about at this late hour would make him unlikely to be spotted. It appeared to have worked, as the streets were empty and the houses surrounding Number 12 had never seemed so desolate. Deciding not to take any chances, Harry threw his invisibility cloak over his shoulders and then over his head, taking special care that his legs and feet weren't showing. With the cloak firmly clutched in one hand and his wand in the other, he stealthily approached the home he had inherited from his godfather, Sirius Black.
Ascending the small stone staircase in front of the house, Harry gripped the cloak tighter around his shoulders, making certain that a gust of wind wouldn't make it look as though he had suddenly appeared from nowhere. The fingers of his left hand reached out through the cloak, grasped the silver handle that resembled a twisted serpent and rapped it firmly against the weathered black door. After waiting for a minute to see if anyone would answer, he finally saw the door crack open slightly. A large house elf eye scanned the outside. Harry could just make out the sound of angry muttering before the door began to close in front of him.
Harry sighed softly. He was only mildly surprised that Kreacher had taken the opportunity of Hogwarts' closing to come back to the Black ancestral home. Now that the curmudgeonly old house elf had returned here, Harry had mixed feelings about it. On the one hand, Kreacher knew more about Grimmauld Place and the history of the Black family than anyone else. On the other, Kreacher loathed Harry and still felt a perverse loyalty to the pureblood wizarding family who had abused him all of his life. Even though he was technically Kreacher's master, Harry knew he had to be careful around him. The house elf would cause his new master problems if he could.
Harry stuck his head out from underneath his invisibility cloak. "Kreacher," he whispered as loudly as he dared. "Kreacher, it's…me." It still didn't feel quite right for Harry to address Kreacher as the house elf's master. Perhaps Hermione's efforts in S.P.E.W. were not wasted after all. "Let me in."
Kreacher once again came to the door, although he took longer than necessary to do so. "Master?" Kreacher spoke in a voice that belied both disbelief and disgust. "Kreacher was not expecting visitors, no one has been here for months, the house is unfit…for you…lucky brat…" The last few words were muttered under the elderly house elf's breath, although Harry could hear them clearly.
"The 'lucky brat' doesn't much care what kind of shape the house is in," Harry replied insistently. "Now let me through." Kreacher's utterances might set his teeth on edge, but if what he suspected was true, then he would need Kreacher's help to find Slytherin's locket, the horcrux that he and Dumbledore had been searching for on the night the elder wizard was murdered. Unfortunately, what they had found had only been a decoy, while the real item containing one-seventh of Voldemort's soul had been taken by someone who identified himself in an accompanying note only as 'R.A.B.'
Kreacher moved slowly to allow Harry entrance, eyeing him with loathing as he entered and removed his cloak. "I didn't come here for a friendly visit. I need your help with something."
The malfeasant house elf cringed at the thought. "Kreacher will help Master," he rasped. "But Kreacher will not like it, not one bit…" he muttered, taking care to clumsily hang Harry's invisibility cloak on a nearby coat rack.
"Kreacher, I need you to tell me the full name of Sirius' brother, Regulus," Harry said commandingly, stooping slightly so he could look straight into the house elf's eyes.
"Why would Master be wanting to know that?" Kreacher asked, his eyes narrowing as if he were trying to see something at the end of a dimly lit tunnel.
"It doesn't matter," Harry snapped back. "Just tell me."
"Young Master Potter already knows his first and last names," Kreacher said, clearly hoping to stall as long as he could. "His middle name was not used much; Kreacher has to think of it…" Harry gritted his teeth as Kreacher stood there torturing him for a few painfully long moments. "Adhara. Adhara it was. So many star names in the family of Black…a grand tradition…sullied by the young masters…oh yes…"
"Regulus Adhara Black," Harry said aloud, ignoring the house elf's rambling. "R.A.B." Kreacher winced, perhaps knowing somehow that he had given Harry an important clue. "Kreacher, do you remember a locket that some members of the Order found two years ago? The one we could never open?"
"Many precious items in this house," the wrinkled blue house elf replied wistfully. "Befouled by mudbloods and traitors…oh, how Mistress would have wept…"
"What happened to the locket?" Harry asked slowly, attempting to feign only casual interest.
Kreacher cleared his throat to cover a slight growl in his voice. "Kreacher hid it away, to keep it from filthy, thieving hands."
Harry nodded, figuring out who Kreacher meant in an instant. He had caught Mundungus Fletcher filching many of Sirius' old family heirlooms last year. A rare item such as Slytherin's locket would be hard for the most disreputable member of the Order of the Phoenix to pass up. For once, Kreacher's tendency to squirrel things away was working to his advantage. "I need you to give me that locket, Kreacher."
Kreacher bowed slightly in contrition, although an evil smile began to spread across his face. "Kreacher regrets to inform Master that the locket is no longer where Kreacher hid it."
Harry fought down a sigh of exasperation. "Do you know where it is now?"
A fearful expression emanated from his bulbous eyes. "Kreacher is not certain…"
Harry saw through the ambivalent demeanor of the malevolent house elf. "But you have some idea, don't you?" Kreacher said nothing, preferring simply to gape at Harry as though he had gone mad. "Take me to the locket, Kreacher. No more stalling."
Muttering all the way, Kreacher led Harry up the stairs as slowly as possible. They walked past the bedrooms where he, Ron, Hermione and Ginny had stayed over the summer before his fifth year. Harry took the time to appreciate the fact that the Order must have resumed their cleaning efforts over the last year. The walls and banisters were far from spotless, but the interior no longer had that pallor of gloom that he had felt so strongly when he had last been here.
Finally, Kreacher stopped in front of a wall just beyond Buckbeak's old room. The blue house elf muttered something in such a low voice that Harry had to ask him to repeat it. "This is the Master's study," Kreacher said begrudgingly. As he spoke the words, Harry watched a large mahogany door appear where only a blank wall had been before, completely filling the space from the floor to the ceiling. Harry's eyes widened in surprise as he watched it take shape. A large golden handle in the form of two intertwining snakes sparkled incandescently, seemingly inviting him to enter. Harry felt strongly compelled to do just that and shot his misbegotten house elf an expectant look.
"Well, what are you waiting for?" Harry asked Kreacher a bit snappishly. "Open it up."
"Kreacher…Kreacher cannot," the house elf replied in a strangled voice. Then Kreacher did something Harry had never seen him do before. He punished himself. Unlike Dobby, who usually pounded his head with something blunt, Kreacher raked his own sharpened fingernails down his face. Harry watched in disgust as blood began trickling down either side of his wrinkly blue cheeks. "Only the Master of the House can enter, Kreacher is unworthy…young master is unworthy, too, but Kreacher cannot do anything about that…"
Harry eyed the house elf suspiciously. "Is this a trap, Kreacher? Is there something dangerous in there, waiting for me?"
Kreacher returned Harry's gaze with a contemptuous one of his own. "Young master wanted the location of the locket. Kreacher can only guess this is where it lies. If Harry Potter is not ready to face the power of real magic…"
Harry let out a growl of frustration. "Fine. Stand back, Kreacher." The elderly house elf complied, moving a few meters away from the newly materialized entrance. Harry wrapped his fingers around the gold handle and was somewhat surprised when the door opened easily as he pulled it toward him.
Inside, the room was cavernous, pitch dark and lined with surprisingly few cobwebs, given how long it must have gone without use. There was also quite a bit of antique furniture that appeared to be untouched by dust. 'It must be charmed to stay clean,' Harry thought to himself, 'because no house elves can enter.' The question of why the family would need a house elf if it could afford such luxuries was answered quickly in Harry's mind. 'Status. Or cruelty. Or both. It's not important right now. No need to start acting like Hermione.'
Thinking of his female best friend made him turn around to address Kreacher once again. "Kreacher, if something bad happens to me, if I'm attacked or hurt in any way, I want you to leave the house and find Ron Weasley or Hermione Granger. Tell them everything you know about what's happened to me. They'll probably be at #4 Privet Drive, but they might also be at a place called the Burrow in Ottery St. Catchpole. Tell no one else where I am and come straight back here. Do you understand?" Kreacher nodded and with no hesitation, Harry entered the room, wand at the ready for whatever strangeness might await him.
To Harry's great relief, there were no booby traps, dark wizards or evil creatures ready to pounce on him. The large room was eerily still and bore a musty smell that put him in mind of an old basement. In appearance, however, it was a far cry from any basement. With a quickly spoken "lumos", Harry discovered that the room was not only adorned with plush furniture, but also ancient weapons that looked like they had inflicted more than a little bit of pain in their day, complex instruments filled with the images of foul, screaming things that he guessed might be some dark wizarding variation on the foe glass or the sneakoscope, as well as portraits of what Harry supposed were departed members of the Black family. Many of them gave Harry cross looks, but said nothing. They most likely supposed that if he was here, he was supposed to be.
Sprawled across a large oak table near the entryway were reams of parchment surrounded by moth-eaten quills, miniature jars of a very pungent ink and a few thick tomes that looked as though they belonged in Hogwarts' library's restricted section. As if to reinforce this notion, a bookshelf that took up the entire wall to his left was filled with works on dark spells, barely legal jinxes and creatures of the night. It looked very much like a place Hermione would have enjoyed, if only she'd been sorted into Slytherin.
'This is fascinating,' Harry thought to himself somewhat sarcastically, 'but it isn't what I came for.' His eyes scanned the area surrounding the table until he spotted a golden glint, round and small and looking as though it had just been neatly polished, coming from the far corner of the room. It was unmistakably Slytherin's locket. Harry's seeker instincts got the better of him and he rushed towards it, his hand reaching out to grasp it. In retrospect, he was probably lucky that it didn't char his hand or teleport him once again into the presence of Lord Voldemort. Instead, it simply sat there in Harry's hand, looking rather unimpressive. 'For a priceless ancient piece of jewelry, at any rate,' Harry added.
Slytherin's locket gleamed in the light of Harry's wand as he turned it over slowly in his hand. There didn't seem to be anything special about it, nothing that screamed 'horcrux'. Nevertheless, Harry felt certain that this was what he had been looking for. For a fleeting moment, he wondered whether he should attempt to destroy it. He thought better of it as he remembered Dumbledore's ruined hand from last year. A voice that still sounded remarkably like Hermione's warned him to wait until he had more information, or until there were others present who could assist him. Heeding its wisdom, Harry sat down at the table in front of him and began examining the parchment that lay before him. His eyes grew wide as he started to read from the top page.
'To S.O.B.:
If you are reading this, it means that I am probably dead. Since I'm alive and well as I write this, I can't worry too much about it now. However, there are some things that are important for you to know in the event that I die.
As I'm sure you are already aware if you're reading this, I was entrusted by the Dark Lord with one of his h.'s. Instead of hiding it where he instructed me to, I have taken it. I am keeping it in the Master's study here at Grimmauld, which is as safe a place as I could think of to keep it away from You Know Who. I hope to have destroyed the h. before you receive this letter, so hopefully somewhere nearby will be scraps of golden slag that used to be an h. If not, I must confess that I'm not surprised, as it has been a tricky little bugger.
I have gone to L.E. with my problem as you suggested I might so long ago. She seemed to think that I should seek out the other h.'s before I try to destroy this one. L.E. would know better about these things than most, I suppose, but there is a reason that I was sorted into Slytherin while you lot ended up in Gryffindor. There are some things that are better left alone if you value your life, although I suppose I crossed that line when I decided to steal this blasted thing in the first place.
At any rate, the h. has resisted all efforts on my part to destroy it, remaining perfectly intact. Only one spell has had any effect whatsoever, a rarely used charm I read about in Ancient Curses of the Near East called 'atash inflammare'. It managed to make the h. jump a bit as I attempted it, almost as if there were something living inside that was afraid to get burned. Also, L. E.'s Animus Signatus potion has been one of her rare mistakes, as it only showed me a young, dark-haired man and some sort of blank book. I doubt the Dark Lord would make something like that into an h.
So L. E.'s grand quest will have to wait for now, as I continue to search for a way to destroy the locket. I will not tell you who I have recently gone to for help in this, for fear that you will curse me for my stupidity. You should know that it's someone that you've never trusted. I don't trust him either, but I don't think I have much choice in the matter. The longer I hold onto the h., the more danger I'm in. If the Dark Lord is to be brought closer to mortality, the h. must be destroyed and soon.
If I die without destroying the h., what follows is a record of what I have done to make the attempt. I beg you to finish what I have started. I also advise you to trust no one. The Dark Lord's servants, both willing and unwilling, are everywhere.
Your misguided brother,
R.A.B.
P.S. In my haste I forgot that L. E. is L. P. now. I couldn't leave out your best mate's greatest accomplishment.'
Harry's head seemed to spin a bit as he looked up from the parchment, his brain slowly processing the information contained in the letter. Regulus Black had attempted to destroy Slytherin's locket after stealing it and most of what he had used was still here, in this room. It would be foolish not to put this treasure trove of information to good use in his effort to find and destroy the horcruxes. With the Order apparently having abandoned the house in the wake of Dumbledore's death, #12 Grimmauld Place could easily become the Trio's headquarters as they searched for a way to finally defeat Lord Voldemort.
Also, although it was difficult to tell through Regulus' incessant use of initials, it appeared as though the letter was addressed to Sirius and that the younger Black brother had sought Harry's mother's help in destroying the horcrux. 'Does that mean that my parents knew about Voldemort's horcruxes?' Harry asked himself, a bit perplexed. 'Did Sirius? And what kind of mother gives her son the initials S.O.B.?' Thinking back to the hate spewing portrait of Sirius' mum, Harry decided that the initials were rather appropriate after all.
There was really no point in going over all of Regulus' notes and looking through the large number of books on dark magic that lie within this room, as Harry was certain that Hermione would be eager to do so once he returned to Privet Drive and informed his two best friends of what he had found. But of course there was still the matter of the horcrux in front of him. The knowledge that destroying it would take Lord Voldemort one step closer to the grave made him reluctant to simply leave it alone. Harry had the sudden ridiculous urge to attempt to open the locket, even though he knew it had proven impossible when various Order members had tried to do so nearly two years ago. He was also certain that Regulus knew more destructive spells than he did, so trying all the ones Harry knew would likely be pointless.
Harry's green eyes examined the locket, looking for some significant clue, some sign that it was vulnerable. He saw only the pure gold chain, the smooth surface of the metalwork and the faint outline of a serpent coiled around the hinges. Harry grinned ruefully. "Too bad you're not a real snake. Then you could tell me what to do with this…"
Just then, Harry was startled by a thumping sound outside the room. Turning his lit wand away from the interior of the Master's study so that it illuminated the hallway, he saw the source of the disturbance: Kreacher, who looked as though he had jumped several feet in the air in surprise and then came crashing down hard on his backside. When Harry shot him a puzzled look, the house elf stared at him in both reverence and fear. "Young Master Potter speaks as a parselmouth!" he exclaimed excitedly.
Harry groaned in frustration. He must have spoken parseltongue as he jokingly talked to the snake portrayed on the locket. Trust Kreacher to have a newfound respect for him because he found out his master could talk to snakes. Harry was just getting ready to say something mildly reproachful to the house elf when he noticed the locket giving off an eerie green glow. It then began to shake violently, so much so that he let it drop from his hand and onto the table below. After a few moments the glow dissipated into nothingness, but the locket continued to flip back and forth on the flat surface of the table in a perpetual rocking motion.
Harry gave the locket a bemused look. The horcrux appeared to be responding to parseltongue, a serpentine language that only he and Lord Voldemort could speak. It was usually associated with evil wizards and had netted Harry an unpleasant reputation among his fellow students in his second year at Hogwarts. He scratched his head thoughtfully. Perhaps speaking the unofficial language of the dark arts was the key to destroying the horcruxes. Was that why Dumbledore had taken Harry along to search for Slytherin's locket in the first place; why he had felt safe in his student's presence?
Harry scooped the still teetering horcrux into his hand and examined it carefully. He didn't know why Dumbledore had made the choices he had and with his former Headmaster gone to his 'next great adventure,' he never would. The only thing Harry did know for certain was that he needed to know more than he did now. Running his index finger over the graven image of the snake, he spoke to it once again, oblivious to the hissing noises coming from his own mouth.
"Open," Harry commanded, taking the locket in both of his hands as he waited for something to happen. The neon green radiance returned slowly and the horcrux once again began to quiver, as if enraged. "Open and show yourself to me." In one great burst, the locket cracked open like a walnut shell and a green mist poured out of it, filling the corner of the room where Harry stood. With a loud popping sound, a tall, dark figure materialized in front of him, wearing dark green dress robes and looking very perturbed.
Harry found himself staring at a version of Lord Voldemort that looked to be a bit older than Bill Weasley was now. His appearance had suffered with age, as his hair was already receding and his eyes no longer possessed the fire that they'd had when he was still a Hogwarts student. His visage seemed somewhat inhuman, but it did not bear the monstrous, snake-like form it would eventually take.
Tom Riddle's eyes locked on Harry's with pure loathing. "You meddlesome fool! How dare you disturb me! Do you have any idea what you've done?" Voldemort glared menacingly at him. "I should destroy you where you stand. However, as I have in rare moments been known to be merciful, I will allow you the opportunity to explain your insolence."
As the self-styled Dark Lord prattled on in the usual Slytherin way, Harry noticed something he might not have when he was younger: Voldemort was afraid of him. By now he was used to the threats and taunts of superiority that one usually came to associate with He Who Was Not Normally Named, but not the look of fear that was now in the face of the man who was once Tom Marvolo Riddle. It wasn't hard to figure out why either. "You don't know who I am," Harry assessed smugly.
It was a little bit on the ironic side. All of his life, whether it was as "The Boy Who Lived" or "Dudley's freak cousin", Harry Potter's reputation had preceded him, defining who he was to the people around him before his actions could speak for him. The fact that some incarnation of Voldemort, the wizard who had inadvertently put him on the path to fame when he was little more than a year old, was the first person he had ever met with no preconceived notions about his identity struck him as more than a little bit funny.
He didn't laugh, though, as Voldemort sized him up quickly. "You clearly possess the abilities of a parselmouth. Which is…unexpected." Indeed, since Tom Riddle was the last living descendent of Salazar Slytherin, the world's most infamous parselmouth, it was more than unexpected, it must have seemed entirely impossible. Harry himself didn't even understand how he had come to speak parseltongue, save for Dumbledore's vague explanation that Voldemort had accidentally transferred some of his powers to Harry when he had attempted to kill him as a baby. Still, Harry said nothing, content to watch a flustered Voldemort attempt to make sense of the situation. "You stand in the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black. The Blacks have always been proud supporters of the Dark Arts and every wizard who ever lived that spoke parseltongue has been of Salazar Slytherin's line. Perhaps we two are of like mind."
Harry bristled at the comparison. "You don't know who I am," he declared defiantly. "You don't know anything about me."
Tom Riddle let a thin sneer of a smile escape his lips. "I know you dress in muggle clothing. I know you've sought out Slytherin's locket, most likely to destroy it. So who are you, then? A rival dark wizard? A young Auror out to make a name for himself? Or one of Dumbledore's pet students?" Harry got a stormy look in his eyes at the mention of his deceased mentor's name. "I believe I've hit the mark on that one." He began to strut about the room, now exuding an aura of self-confidence that he hadn't before. "So you're Dumbledore's latest boy. How is the old fool these days? Does he remain convinced that he can make everyone follow him like a lost pup, just because he defeated Grindelwald? I'd wager he's still at that worthless school, wasting his time teaching the future herbologists of Great Britain how to transfigure teacups."
Harry seethed. "You wanted to teach at that 'worthless school'. Too bad they wouldn't take you."
Voldemort looked stricken for a brief moment, but recovered quickly. "A short lapse in my judgment caused me to seek a position there, yes. How is it that you know so much about me, yet I know so little about you, Harry Potter?" The image of the young wizard smiled menacingly. "I can see into your mind, you know. Nothing is hidden from me for long."
'Legilimency,' Harry thought in a panic. Quickly, he attempted to shut Voldemort out of his mind, trying to remember everything he could from his occlumency lessons with Snape. Memories of the man who killed Dumbledore weren't helping him gain control of his emotions, however, and Riddle laughed haughtily at his effort. "It is too late, I'm afraid, Mr. Potter. I already know everything worth knowing about you. You're like an open book; I can see your hatred of me, your overwhelming desire to destroy me and my horcruxes, your two pathetic friends, the tall red-haired dimwit and the plain bookish mudblood. Your devotion to them is sickening. I can also see a girl with red hair, who looks a bit like that large oaf you call a best friend. You care for her, don't you?" Harry's blood began to boil. He wouldn't have been surprised if things around the room had started to explode. Riddle's demeanor remained unchanged, however, as he continued on in his condescending tone of voice. "And Dumbledore's been killed by one of my servants. That's a bit of a disappointment, really. I was hoping to finish the old man off myself."
In a blind rage, Harry balled his right hand into a fist and swung wildly at the image of Voldemort. He felt nothing but frustration as his arm passed through the spectral form of Tom Riddle's face. "Really, you've been spending too much time with that muggle cousin of yours, resorting to fisticuffs so quickly when you're angry. You should know by now to always reach for your wand." Voldemort's hand opened up and Harry's wand flew into it, as though he had cast a nonverbal wandless summoning charm.
Harry cursed himself for leaving his wand on the table where it could so easily be taken. He simply hadn't expected anyone to be in here with him. "Have you ever considered why your wand and mine are brothers?" Riddle sneered. "Of course you haven't. You have a woefully incurious mind. It is because we are alike, Harry. We are each the greatest wizard of our generation. Fate and the manipulations of Albus Dumbledore have made us enemies, but we needn't be. You have untapped power, magic beyond your wildest dreams. You could learn to harness that power, control that magic."
Harry looked skeptical. "And I suppose I would be learning all of this from you?"
"Who else knows what I know?" the Dark Lord replied with a slight shrug. "Dumbledore taught you parlor tricks and wasted precious time traipsing through pensieves with you, but he failed to unleash your true potential. He was afraid that you'd replace him as the most powerful wizard in the world. Even in death, he still controls your life, sending you on this idiotic quest to destroy the source of my power when you should be discovering your own. You're renowned for your precious Gryffindor bravery, yet you're still too cowardly to follow your own path; to seize your own destiny.
"Think of your future, Harry. Do you really want to waste your talent working as a faceless Ministry drone, an overworked Auror catching petty ruffians for meager wages? Or teach Defence Against the Dark Arts to a class of bored first years who wouldn't know the summoning charm from the killing curse? You could be so much more than that. You have the potential to do whatever you want. Become Hogwarts' new Headmaster. Overthrow Scrimgeour. Take the redhead and settle down somewhere far away. The possibilities are endless." Voldemort examined him carefully. "Our world has dubbed you 'the Chosen One'. They've chosen you to perform their thankless tasks for them, but you've yet to choose for yourself. What is it that you want out of life, Harry Potter, most of all? Whatever it is, I can help you to accomplish it. You need only ask."
Harry hated to admit it, but Voldemort knew just how to tempt him. He wouldn't be surprised to learn that at this phase in his life Tom Riddle was becoming quite expert at recruitment, building support for himself among those who would become his first Death Eaters. This shard of Voldemort's soul must be talented enough at legilimency to read all of his desires (from his deepest, most closely held dreams to fleeting fantasies he'd quickly dismissed as impossible) and offer them to him on a silver platter. It would have been a hard thing for most people to resist.
For Harry, however, it was remarkably easy. He knew Voldemort's promises were empty, that his words meant nothing and that his heart was full of only hatred for his enemies and an unquenchable thirst for immortality. His so-called help would not be forthcoming, unless it served his purposes.
"Do you really want to know what I want?" Harry asked, a note of bitterness creeping into his voice. "I want a normal life. I want to be able to walk down the street without people staring at my bloody scar. But most of all I want to live my life without you ruining every chance at happiness I've ever had."
Tom Riddle snorted by way of reply. "Those are far too simple dreams for such a powerful young wizard and all of them are so easily achieved. You hardly even need my help." Voldemort bent slightly to look Harry in the eyes. "If that is really what your heart desires, then the answer is simple, my young friend. Run. Hide. Conceal your identity from everyone. Live among muggles if it pleases you. Tell no one who you are or what you've done. Be as ordinary as you can stand to be." Riddle's image began to cackle. "If you do all of that, 'Chosen One', I can give you my word that you will never see me again."
Voldemort smiled wickedly as a curious expression filled Harry's face. "To think that Dumbledore trusted you to continue his legacy. You, who only wants to be 'normal' and live a life free from the burdens of fame. How tragic! Most wizards would kill to be as well-known as you are, and some have. Yet you seek only obscurity." Riddle scratched his chin thoughtfully. "I suppose Dumbledore was the lucky one, after all. At least he got out before he could see you fail as spectacularly as you're about to."
Harry began to shake with rage, but could do nothing to silence the spirit of Lord Voldemort that hovered in front of him. What was Riddle playing at here? Was he hoping to weaken Harry's mental defenses and possess him, as he had attempted to in the Department of Mysteries? Or drain him of his life force somehow, as he had done with Ginny in the Chamber of Secrets, so that he could take corporeal form? Or was he merely drawing his attention away from the locket, which lay forgotten on the floor?
Yes, what of the locket? It was now open and presumably much more vulnerable than it had been when Regulus Black had tried to destroy it. With Riddle's spirit out of the horcrux and taunting him, it would be the perfect time to try something destructive. Harry found himself wishing fervently that he still had his wand. It only took a moment for his wish to be unexpectedly granted, as it zipped across the room and flew into Harry's open palm.
Voldemort looked as though he had been punched in the gut. "How did you do that?" he asked, a slight tremble in his voice revealing that he was once again afraid of Harry's magical abilities. Mustering up the bravest face he could put on, Tom Riddle attempted to take it in stride. "It doesn't matter. You are but a child. With Dumbledore dead, I am now the most powerful magical being in the world!" Despite his swagger, his words seemed unconvincing.
Harry cocked his head and gave Voldemort a determined half-smile. "We'll see about that." Now what was that spell that Regulus had used to attempt to destroy the horcrux? Oh yes. "Atash inflammare." A stream of bright orange fire poured out of Harry's wand, flooding the floor aimlessly for a few seconds and then zeroing in on the locket. The flames formed a ring around the horcrux and the metal exterior began to melt slowly. Harry's strength wavered a bit, though, and soon the fire tapered off, leaving him standing there with wand extended, his breathing ragged and sweat pouring off of him.
"You haven't the will to finish the job, have you?" Riddle asked mockingly. "Even if you destroy the rest of the horcruxes, even if you take out as many of my Death Eaters as you can, you won't be able to kill me. Do you know why?" Voldemort moved closer and lowered his voice to a whisper. "Because I will do anything, sacrifice anyone and take whatever I need to survive. Can you say the same?"
As if in answer, Harry looked at the locket with a new sense of determination. "Atash inflammare!" he cried out. This time the flaming stream headed straight for the horcrux, finishing it off in seconds as the image of Tom Riddle screamed in agony. Almost instantaneously he disappeared.
Harry was just getting ready to congratulate himself on a job well done when he noticed that the fire coming from his wand hadn't gone away when the horcrux was destroyed. After consuming the locket, it shot straight up into the air, taking the form of a cloud. Harry tried to end the spell with a hastily spoken 'finite incantatem' but either the fire or his wand wasn't listening, as it continued to hover in front of him. His eyes widened in surprise as the flame turned itself into a fireball and launched toward him, knocking him out of the Master's study and onto the floor of the hallway. Harry's final words before passing out from the intense heat and burning pain were aimed at his cowering house elf. "Kreacher… get help…" With that dim possibility giving him some small amount of hope, Harry lost consciousness.
A/N: Thanks for reading! Reviews are greatly appreciated.
ITL