An Ally

Chapter 4

Voldemort found himself smiling sadly at the picture that had appeared in his journal. It would seem that he was finally opening up about his situation. About bloody time, too. It had been almost a full week since he had sneaked his way into the house on Privet Drive. A large tear stain showed up on the paper, followed shortly by another.

Oh Harry. Thank you. I know you are in a nightmare of a situation. Please, I'm only trying to help. You don't have to open up to me if you don't want to but I cannot just sit idly by while you suffer in silence. It's tearing me apart, not knowing what's going on in your mind.

How can I just open up to a stranger when I won't even let my own mind in? He paused. Perhaps all the things Harry had been taught in school would help him in getting the boy to trust him.

I believe that it seems we are meant to be traversing this together. I can see things you cannot, and you can put things into perspective for me that I would not have considered. Perhaps we are meant to trust each other. A small blotch of ink grew as a quill hung in the air over the parchment without moving. Another secret then: I am the last person on this planet that you would expect me to be.

Harry's eyes widened. He had been curious as to who it was on the other end of these conversations, but he hadn't been bold enough to outright ask. The question just simmered in the back of his mind.

Not Severus Snape, surely. He's much too depressing and snarky to be you. And Draco Malfoy, he's much too proud. Am I even remotely close? Or will your identity remain a guarded secret forever?

You are...what's the saying? In the right ballpark? My identity is something that will not be divulged until you speak of your living situation.

He sighed. He was determined to keep the majority of his situation a secret, to bury it so deep that he would forget about it. But if he only told a partial truth, that couldn't do much harm.

Fine. I'm living with my relatives as I'm sure you know by now. They beat me and keep me locked away when I'm here. I don't handle this situation with grace, far from it. But I always survive to make it to the other side. And that is what is expected of me, the Golden Boy. The Boy-Who-Lived. The One Who Survives For Everyone Else. I am little more than a shell, just barely holding myself together. My body is a symbol of light and happiness, and yet I hold all this darkness and sadness inside. How can I possibly go on like this? How can I possibly expect to be a part of normal society once I'm done at Hogwarts? Once the war is over? I am a pawn. A chess piece that means little to those playing the game. He broke out of his thoughts for a moment at the sight of a response cutting him off.

Only one is playing the game, Harry. The other merely put up an illusion of himself playing the game. For this is no game. This is reality, and the cold hard truth of it all is that real lives of real people are at risk. Every sacrifice is a family torn apart, every single mistake is blood spilt. I appreciate your honesty, even if it was only a part of the truth. There is a larger story there, something I intend to find out sooner or later. But I won't force your hand in that. You can tell me in time. For now, take the potions I've sent and rest. You need not worry about your nightmares, for your dreams will be much sweeter tonight. Harry closed the book and quickly dug out the potions that were in the box under his floorboards. He smiled when he saw they were labeled.

Nutrience potion was first. Potions didn't taste very good, but he felt a little less weak almost immediately. Next was a blood replenishing potion. His veins went cold. How could he know? Did he even know or was it just suspicion? He couldn't know what he did to help himself stay sane. He shoved the panic down and took the potion anyway. There was a tincture he wasn't familiar with, although after he took it he felt much calmer than he did before. The panic wasn't as strong as he took the next one before he realized he didn't know this one either.

For the first time in years, he slept without a nightmare. He dreamt he was sitting on the edge of a river, listening to the water flow and feeling a gentle breeze on his face. After a little while, he felt a presence behind him and he beckoned for the person to sit next to him.

"So, you've finally come? Is this it then? The time to die has finally arrived?" A light chuckle followed his words as he saw legs in his peripheral vision settle down next to him.

"No, Harry. I have come to apologize." The voice was familiar, but Harry didn't question it. "I have realized that I have made many great errors in my life so far. My mistakes started years ago, back at the orphanage. I took pleasure in tormenting the children that hurt me. No one was there to tell me it wasn't right, but I knew it wasn't right anyway. Something in me told me to stop, that I was going to regret it one day.

"And then, Harry. Then I found out I was a wizard! Oh the joy I felt at knowing that I wasn't the freak they all let me believe I was. There were others like me. And then, summer after summer, I begged not to be sent back to the orphanage. And summer after summer, I was dumped on their doorstep. It was cruel of them to continue to send me back there.

"The children didn't come near me if they could avoid it. They all wondered when I would snap, when my mind would break. And it did, quite spectacularly I might add. In one month I managed to not only find a weapon to inflict pain onto others, but that weapon on my command could kill. And so started my descent into madness.

"I was obsessed with power, you see. I needed it, wanted it, craved it. And the more I killed, the more power I gained. It was an obsession, Harry and a very unhealthy one. And now I am stuck at an impasse. Do I continue to do what I craved so long ago, or do I simply disappear? Neither one of those options are good enough in my mind. Somehow, I've got to make the world see that they need to operate on peace and to heed the words of our children so they don't become the monster I was. The monster you are slowly becoming." Harry felt goosebumps travel over his arms.

"But surely...I'm not..." His voice trailed off. He knew it was a lie before it even left his lips. "You're right. I've been resenting others for a long time for sending me back every summer. A part of me wanted them to notice it wasn't healthy for me to continue returning." He paused, searching for the courage to look over at his companion. When he finally looked, it wasn't Tom Riddle or Voldemort that he was staring at. More of a mix of the two.

Skin paler than the moon, crimson eyes, high cheekbones, dark hair, long fingers...the combination of the two was intoxicating.

"I understand you so much better than I used to. I used to wonder how such a monster could arise from nothing. But I understand now. I understand how you could fall off the edge of sanity and then keep tumbling." His voice was quiet, resigned to the revelations he's had since owning the journal.

"There's...I'm not going to remember this, am I? I'm going to wake up and never remember anything that happens here in this dream. Is it even a dream, Tom? Is this something I've made up in my mind to justify the twisted emotions in my heart or is this real? Something to taunt me with later?" He looked out to the flowing water once more. "I can't stand the thought of this being real and yet, I find myself yearning for it to be. I've come to trust whoever it is on the other end of the journal I was given but I can't help but think that I made them out in my mind to be more than they really are. That they, somehow, could possibly understand the pressures of my position in this war. Is it possible that I've humanized you in my mind and imagined it's you on the other end of my quill? Or are you truly a changed person, twisted only by the events that have been thrown upon your shoulders with no one to guide you? I suppose I'll never know unless the journal itself tells me once I'm awake."

He felt cool fingertips grazing across his cheek and felt more than heard the final whispers of the man next to him.

"It's real."

The dream dissolved and Harry sat up in bed suddenly. The sun had started to creep its way through the window, heating the room to an uncomfortable degree. Looking out the window, he wondered about his dream the night before. There wasn't any way that it could possibly be real. It was too idealistic of him to hope that it had been real. Nothing that good was ever real. Hope, happiness, the feeling of being cared for. It was never real. But that didn't mean the the journal was his imagination. That was real. The dream, however, was not.

He reached for the journal and opened it. He didn't even get a chance to find his quill before words appeared before him.

It's real.