Memory\'s Ghost

Title: Memory’s Ghost (1/8)
Pairing: Harry/Tom Riddle, Harry/Tom/Draco, Harry/Draco
Disclaimer: The characters and places in this story are borrowed at no profit from the wonderful world of Rowling.
Archive: Please ask.
Author\'s Note: This was my first Harry Potter fic, so I hope you enjoy! As always, feedback would be most welcome!

All of my stories can be found under the files section of my group: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Dimensions_of_Dhvana/


Memory’s Ghost


“Mr. Potter! What do you think you’re doing?”

Harry didn’t answer. He continued to shove his books into his bag, his jaw aching as he ground his teeth together, barely able to contain his fury. He spelled his Potions supplies away, threw his bag over his shoulder, and stormed out of the classroom. He’d worked hard to earn his place in the class, but he’d be damned if this was what all his studying had been for.

“Mr. Potter! Get back here!”

Harry determinedly ignored the sputtering Snape.

“Ten points from Gryffindor!”

Though he winced for his House’s sake, Harry kept on walking.

“Twenty points from Gryffindor!”

Harry bit back the words he longed to tell the Potions Master and forced himself to put one foot in front of the other.

“Two weeks detention!”

But Harry had finally had enough--enough of Snape’s snide remarks, enough of Malfoy’s smirk, enough of their thinly veiled insults, enough of Hermione’s self-righteousness, enough of Ron’s resentment, enough of the Creevys’ hero worship--no, make that all of their hero worship, and when they weren’t worshipping him, they were looking at him with suspicion or hate, and he had had enough.

He had had enough of being Harry fucking Potter.

But he couldn’t escape for long, not like this. If he returned to his room, his well-meaning friends would find him. The library, Hagrid’s, the Quidditch field--none were safe. He had to find a place where no one else could find him, where no one else could go.

Stomping down the hall, he suddenly realized he was not just stomping, but splashing.

“Myrtle,” he said with an irritated sigh. Flooded the loo again. That ghost really should find a hobby, do something a little more productive with her afterlife--Harry’s eyes widened. Wait a minute. The loo!

Spinning on his toes, he headed directly towards the door of the haunted bathroom and pushed it open. Myrtle was moaning piteously in one of the stalls, but that was fine with him. He had his own problems right now--she could moan for the both of them. Plus, it would help cover up the noise of what he was about to do.

Standing in front of the sink, Harry began to speak in sibilant syllables, the secret words hissing all to easily from his lips to open the passage. It was a language he didn’t understand, but that didn’t matter. All that mattered was his ability to speak the words, yet another mark that he would forever be different, separate from the rest. Almost instantly, the sink began to rearrange itself to reveal a dark tunnel, a hole that burrowed deep into the depths under Hogwarts. The school was the only home he’d ever known, and right now, the only place he couldn’t leave fast enough.

From her stall, Myrtle gave a startled shriek, choking on one of her moans. She peered up over the door, her eyes widening as she recognized the young man who stood there.

“Harry? What are you doing here?”

He didn’t answer. Taking a deep breath, he jumped over the edge.

“Harry!” Myrtle called as the entrance began to close, and he pointed his wand towards her rapidly disappearing head.

“Obliviate!” he yelled as he slid down the slimy passageway to land in the pile of filth below. He hoped he hadn’t done her any harm, but he had no choice except to make her forget. If he’d let her be, she’d go blabbing to the first person she saw, flesh or otherwise, that the famous Harry Potter had returned to the Chamber of Secrets.

Which was exactly what he didn’t want.

This was the one place in the world where he could have some peace and quiet, where he could be alone. No one else would be able to follow him down here. There was no one else at Hogwarts who could speak Parseltongue, and unless Fawkes was allowing students to hitch rides down to the Chamber, he was pretty much on his own.

And hopefully he wouldn’t break anything, he thought with a snarl of impatience as his foot slipped on a boulder, causing a rockslide of pebbles and small rocks behind him. The pile of rubble wasn’t much more stable from the last time he’d been there, but at least the hole to the other side wasn’t too difficult to reach.

Scrambling through the space between the rocks and the ceiling, he carefully climbed back down to the floor, arriving with only a bruised knee and just one layer of skin scraped off his palms.

But it was worth it to finally find someplace where no one else could reach him.

He approached the snake-bound door with only the tiniest flutter of apprehension in his stomach and used Parseltongue to hiss his way inside. The magic still worked and the stone snake slithered around the circumference of the door to unlock it. Harry stood back as the door swung open and taking a deep breath, he climbed the ladder that led into the Chamber.

Nothing in it had changed much since his last visit--except, it all seemed at bit smaller than he’d remembered. Of course, he’d also grown a couple feet in the past five years, but there was more to it than that. Now that he no longer had Voldemort to worry about, the entire world appeared a bit smaller.

Maybe that’s why he’d waited so long to come back here. He’d had to wait until a time when he could be certain Voldemort could no longer harm him.

But he still took a moment to peer around the Chamber, just to be sure he was alone and there were no surprises waiting for him. Mottled gray light fell from unknown sources in the ceiling, providing just enough illumination to keep him from knowing what might be hiding in the shadows. Sentries of carved snakes watched with open mouths and unseeing eyes as he made his slow path towards the face in the center, the head that looked as if it belonged atop a statue of Zeus instead of hidden in Hogwarts’ basement of basements.

The bones of the basilisk lay where he had left them, half in and half out of the pool at the base of the face. The flesh of the monster had long since been picked clean by the Chamber’s less sinister but equally noisome denizens so that its own pale skeleton was all it had to mark its grave.

Reaching the end of the walkway, Harry paused. Now that he had found his way there, he didn’t quite know what to do. He’d wanted peace and quiet, he’d wanted to be left alone, and lucky him, he had achieved both of his wants in abundance. But what now?

He could study, he supposed. There were always tests to prepare for, lessons to memorize, notes to take, papers to write, and as usual, he had no desire to do any of those things. He could think, but about what? He was constantly mulling things over in his head. He didn’t need to come here to do that.

Maybe he could conjure up a deck of cards.

Or his broom--plenty of flying space here with obstacles galore. He always welcomed a chance to work on his Seeker skills, but getting his broom down here wouldn’t be easy.

He suddenly wished he’d brought a sleeping bag. If nothing else, he could catch up on all the sleep he’d lost over the years, thanks to that son of a bitch. And thinking of Voldemort brought him back to where he was.

Glancing down, he saw the stain on the floor and a shiver ran through his body. The dark flower burnt into the ground stood out against the starkness of the stone as a chilling reminder of what had happened all those years ago. He’d almost died here. Ginny had almost died here. One of Voldemort’s incarnations did die here.

Kneeling down, he ran his fingers over the darkness. Voldemort’s memory had been just about his age when Harry had encountered him, already a warped and twisted human hiding behind a pleasing façade. Meeting Tom Riddle had helped Harry to understand why so many wizards had flocked to Voldemort in the beginning--he was handsome, charming, charismatic--even Harry had felt his appeal.

But why they’d stayed when his true nature was revealed, Harry would never understand.

Pressing two fingers to his lips, he then placed his fingertips against the ground.

“I’m alive, and you’re dead,” he said with a grim smile. “You’re never coming back. I win.”



Harry eventually began escaping to the Chamber every time he found the life of Harry Potter becoming a little too oppressive. The Chamber of Secrets, a place regarded by all as a place of evil and horror, had become his refuge. He kept blankets and cushions down there, candles, books, parchment, pens, ink--everything he needed except food. If he didn’t return to the hall for meals, everyone would start pestering him about where he went. He had to attempt to be sociable in at least some of the normal ways, or his friends would never let him alone.

And if they found out where he was disappearing to, they’d throw him into St. Mungo’s without even bothering to ask him why.

He wasn’t insane. He wasn’t sick. He wasn’t under a spell. He was just looking for a little peace and quiet, and this was the only place he could find it.

Fortunately, so far, Hermione had simply commended him on being so dedicated to studying for the NEWTs, while Ron commended him for finding a hiding place from Hermione. Harry, meanwhile, was thankful that Ron was content to study near his girlfriend and didn’t hint too often that he wouldn’t mind sharing Harry’s secret.

But it wasn’t a secret he ever intended to share.

He’d never once considered the Chamber was hiding an even larger secret.



Rereading through his Transfiguration notes from the past year, Harry felt his eyelids growing heavy and the pages were slowly lowered onto his chest. Instead of trying to fight it, he allowed himself to drift off to sleep, giving himself the excuse that a short nap would better help him retain information. Settling into the cushions, he put the notes aside, placed his glasses on top of the pages, and pulled a blanket over himself.

He’d only meant to sleep for an hour or so, but by the time he finally stirred from his nap, the Chamber’s filtered light was almost gone. However, it wasn’t the oncoming night that woke him, or even the rumbling in his stomach that warned him if he hadn’t already missed dinner, he was about to. No, what woke him was the gentle cadence of another voice.

The voice seemed to be holding a conversation with him, even though he wasn’t responding.

Harry slowly reached for the wand at his side, hoping his companion wouldn’t notice. The man was only a dark shadow against darker shadows, but if he was down here, Harry had to assume he was dangerous.

“Lumos.”

The wand lit up and Harry reached for his glasses. The voice kept on talking.

“Oh, you’re awake now. I guess you’ll be leaving again. I wish you didn’t have to. I wish I could go with you. It’s better when you’re down here, not quite so lonely, but at least you always come back.”

Sliding his glasses on his face, Harry took one good look at the person belonging to the voice and gasped, scrambling away from the figure sitting naked and cross-legged on the floor.

“Impossible.”

The blue eyes widened, the young man’s jaw dropping. “You can hear me?”

Harry answered by pointing his wand at him, trying to think of a spell, any spell, but his mind was blank.

“You can see me? Nobody can see me. Nobody can hear me. How are you doing this?” The confused young man raised his hand and even though he was too far to reach him, Harry flinched. The other man lowered his hand, his expression hurt.

“You’re afraid of me. I guess I’d be afraid of me, too.” He holds up his hand in front of his face and Harry can see right through the hand, as well as the young man’s head and body. He was completely transparent.

“What are you?” Harry asked in a strangled whisper.

“I. . . I don’t know. I’m just. . . here,” he shrugged, then looked at Harry, eyes filled with a hesitant hope. “You don’t happen to know who I am, do you?”

Harry knew him, better than he’d ever wanted to, but he’d never known him like this. He’d never known his adversary to be young, vulnerable, or a ghost. But was he a ghost? He was transparent, yes, and definitely dead--of that, Harry was certain--but he wasn’t completely white like the other ghosts he knew. He had the faintest hint of color, which meant he was something else.

Typical.

Just when Harry thought he’d finally got rid of the son of a bitch, he found an entirely new way to hang on, and now Harry would have to destroy him. Again.

This was getting to be really tiresome, and looking into the trusting blue eyes of the young man in front of him, it was going to be extremely difficult as well.

How could Harry kill Voldemort when the young man didn’t know he was Voldemort? When he didn’t have any idea of the monster that he was? How could he kill someone who was innocent?”

And this. . . thing. . . was innocence personified as he looked at Harry, his blue eyes filled with trust and hope and even a tentative joy. What truly gave him away, however, was that he was looking at Harry with fear. Even as Voldemort had disintegrated in front of his eyes for what he had thought was the last time, his enemy had looked at Harry with disbelief, but not a hint of fear. The thing in front of him was afraid--though whether of Harry or something else, he didn’t know.

The young man lowered his head, heaving a mournful sigh. “Of course you don’t know who I am, but I had to ask, just in case.”

“Why are you down here?” Harry finally managed to say, then stammered out a more pressing question, “Where are your clothes?”

The not-ghost looked down at himself and blushed.

The thing actually blushed.

“I’m sorry. Since no one else can see me, I stopped putting them on. Getting dressed, it. . . tires me? I don’t know how else to explain it.”

Harry frowned, wanting to know more, when the young man closed his eyes, his face creasing with concentration, and suddenly, he appeared fully dressed. It took Harry less than a second to place a finger on what was wrong when he realized the clothes the ghost-thing was wearing were exactly like his.

“No!” he cried out and the ghost blanched, the clothes disappearing as he looked up at Harry.

“I’m sorry! I thought. . . I thought that’s what you wanted me to do!”

“Yes, it is. . . just. . . not those colors,” he finished lamely. He would be dead before he let his mortal enemy walk around in Gryffindor colors.

“Oh,” the young man, clearly not understanding, but the clothes reappeared. “What do you want me to change?”

Harry didn’t dare tempt fate by dressing him in Slytherin colors, though it was the obvious choice. “Get rid of the patch on the robe.” The patch representing Gryffindor House vanished. “Good, now, turn anything red and gold to blue and white.”

The colors were switched and instantly gave the young man a gentler appearance.

“Better,” Harry nodded, and the ghost gave a cautious smile.

“Thank you. But. . . why?”

How to explain to him all the intricacies of House loyalty without revealing all the details about him being a mass murderer? Harry couldn’t, so he shrugged. “The blue matches your eyes.”

“I have blue eyes?”

Harry gave a startled nod. “You don’t know what color your eyes are?”

“I have no reflection.”

“Oh.”

“I have nothing. No reflection, no idea of where I am, no memory, no identity, no name—”

“Tom,” Harry said before he could stop himself, and the ghost’s eyes widened.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing.”

“You called me something.”

“Yeah,” he grimaced, wishing he would learn to think before speaking. “I called you Tom. It’s just. . . you look like a Tom.”

“I do?” he asked, and smiled. “Tom. I like that. It’s short, simple, easy to remember. Tom.”

“Tom,” Harry nodded, and once again, his mouth moved ahead of his brain. “I’m Harry,” he offered, and gave himself a mental slap upside the head. Why don’t you just invite him back to the common room for biscuits and tea while you’re at it?

“Harry,” Tom said, testing the name on his lips. “Another nice, simple name. We have something in common now.”

Harry didn’t know what to say to that, so he just climbed to his feet. “I’ve got to go.”

“Already?” Tom asked, also standing up, and Harry couldn’t help but notice they were the same height now, that he was in fact an inch taller.

“My friends will be worried about me.”

“Oh. Right. Of course,” he said, then gave Harry a brave smile. “You should hurry.”

“I’ll come back.”

“You will?” The smile brightened and Harry felt a strange burning in his stomach. The only smiles he’d seen on that face before had been full of contempt. This was a genuine, beautiful smile, and it warmed him in ways he didn’t quite comprehend.

“I will, I promise,” Harry said, and found himself returning the smile.


[Completed November 23, 2003]