What Lies Ahead

Three

Harry was suffocating. Air was forced from his body as giant bands squeezed around him; the immense pressure building until he thought his head would explode. He clenched his eyes tight despite the impenetrable darkness that had swallowed him whole, hoping that his eyeballs would not erupt from their sockets. Despite his desperate attempts to draw a breath, his lungs refused to expand. He was going to die.

Suddenly, cool night air flooded his lungs and he took in several long gasps of it. Eyes streaming, he doubled over in a coughing fit, sputtering as he tried to regain his bearings. However, a tight grip on his bicep pulled him forwards as they set off down a gravel-strewn road. Ahead he could see ottoman style buildings stair-stepped into a hillside; scattered lights beamed in the dark despite the late hour. A river roared to their left, filling the night with the sounds of rushing water. It would have been a splendid sight if it had not been for the fact that Harry was being dragged down the street by a mad man.

"Ow. I can walk just fine on my own," Harry hissed while attempting to pull his arm from the fingers digging into his skin.

"Just a second ago you couldn't even stand on your own," Tom pointed out amusedly.

Stopping immediately, Harry stood his ground in the middle of the road. "What's keeping me from yelling for help? The muggles," he nodded towards the buildings looming above. "They could hear me."

Riddle dropped Harry's arm with a long sigh, agitation clear on his young face. Turning, he was silhouetted by the streetlights behind him, his shadow stretching out to Harry's feet. "By all means, Potter, give it a go. However, before you do let me give you a couple of different outcomes. First, the muggles rush down here and save you from whatever monster stole you away. They notice you're not from here, and they also notice no one has reported you missing. Strange, a young boy ended up in Albania without anyone caring about his absence." He paused here and, leaning in closer, continued. "Second, you scream and I kill you. The muggles find a young boy dead in the streets but no one knows who he is or where he came from. It's a mystery for the ages. Personally, I prefer the second one." His lips curled in a wicked smile.

Stiffening, Harry glared at Tom for a long hard minute; his mind whirling for an alternative solution. He couldn't continue willing following Riddle, knowing that every step he took led him closer to witnessing Voldemort's return; however, at the young age of twelve, death seemed impossibly scary. He stared into those dark pitiless eyes, knowing that he only had one choice. He dropped his eyes in defeat; his body seemingly deflated with surrender.

"Good choice," Tom gloated and he motioned Harry to step in front of him.

Harry, like any child who had lost an argument would do, stomped ahead of the teenager, arms crossed and hands buried deep in his armpits. He allowed himself to be marched up the street until they met an intersection that ran along the lower tier of buildings. Here, Tom grabbed his shoulder in a silent command to stop as he peered down the strip of road; first to the left then to his right.

"What are we looking for," groaned Harry.

"An inn, Potter," came the short reply as Tom pushed him to the left and they continued down an empty sidewalk.

They passed block after block of bright white buildings, all with lightless windows that reflected the pair walking determinedly onwards. Harry caught himself staring into these windows, wondering silently what their inhabitants were doing. Were they sleeping? Were they lying awake, tossing and turning? What if they knew that right outside their door a boy was being marched to his unmistakable doom?

A solid stream of yellow light brought him back from his ponderings. Tom grabbed his shoulder again and they came to a stop in front of one of the few buildings with lights on. Unlike the rest of the houses, its white walls had faded into an ugly shade of yellow; the paint was peeling in several areas as if it had been neglected for the past few years. Overhead a sign swung creakily in the breeze; the letters had long since been stripped away but Harry managed to make out the word 'lodging' at the bottom of the cracked wood.