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The First Horcrux	By : magentasouth Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Tom Views: 27247 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I neither own nor profit from any part of the Harry Potter universe.

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He waited and waited but his outside self never opened the diary again.

Over the...seeming eternity... of time he had scoured every book in the chamber, every book in the library.

He had found a way to reanimate a horcrux from a simple object.

He theorised that it would work just as well on the diary... but he never had the opportunity to tell his tangible self because the bastard never came back.

Time lost all meaning.

He had read and reread every book in Hogwarts hundreds of times. He no longer bothered to read. There was no point. He knew just about everything by heart.

He would have taken up writing except that it was impossible to create anything new here.

He might write a page but no sooner did he turn his attention from it than it vanished.

He would wander aimlessly while his thoughts ticked over.

He never spoke.

Initially he had spoken a lot out loud... sometimes even sang.

But the sound of his voice - the hollow way it fell in the dead world was more and more disturbing over time and so he'd stopped.

As time stretched on and on without respite he lost himself.

When the diary reappeared in front of him suddenly after a thousand unchanging years of this, he looked at it dumbly, wondering whether he had imagined it.

Sometimes he did that.

Imagined other people... imagined that something had moved...something had changed... it made him quite unsettled at times and he would run wildly as if chased by demons.

He stared at the book in front of him on the table where he had been half lying apathetically thinking about peaches.

He desperately wanted one.

Peaches had taken on almost divine attributions over time... many different things had.

He wanted to hear birdsong.

He remembered painfully clearly the taste of a peach he had eaten while leaning up against the tree by the lake and reading from Goetegard. Above him in the tree a blackbird had sung.

Hello?

The words were written in a small tentative script and it was not his own. His eyes watched as the words disappeared slowly.

Is there anyone there?

His left hand, apparently without his permission, automatically summoned a quill and scratched a reply on the probably imaginary book.

Yes.

The diary disappeared again.

He dropped the quill and sighed, letting his eyes unfocus again. In his mind he was recreating the shape of the handwriting, wondering whether his mind had created it, and if so - from whose handwriting he'd taken the memory template.

It had looked a rather feminine script. Even, measured, quite pleasing and clear to read, but somehow weak or giving the impression of someone who perhaps lacked confidence. The letters were bunched up quite closely together. The words huddled low.

After a while he lost interest in the train of thought and drifted onto the spell he'd been thinking about.

Over the last..however long.. he'd started to invent spells. Some of them worked here and some of them didn't. He couldn't tell whether it was because of his condition and location or whether the spells were simply faulty.

The one he had been thinking about lately was a variation on Raoxes energy absorption hex and two other transfer spells which, he theorised, should work like a generator of sorts - absorbing received curses, amplifying and making it possible to reuse them.

Thinking about the particular transfer spells to use was the most important part.

The version he was considering now would amplify a curse, in all likelihood, by a factor of perhaps five

It could be better.

By the time he had come up with a better alternative to the variable flow shift charm which required separate casting (and was therefore impractical) the book had reappeared. He let his head turn slowly toward it on the table.

Tom?

That handwriting was familiar.

He had a bad feeling.

Whoever that was - it wasn't someone he particularly liked. He was almost tempted to ignore it.

The thought was absurd though. He might never get out of this horrible box but perhaps... just perhaps... he could persuade whoever that was to destroy the diary.

He had come up with hundreds of ways to do so. Potions... spell... venoms...

Hello.

He wrote it, almost reconciling himself to the expectation that whoever it was would leave again immediately.

Tom, my boy, are you well?

He actually groaned out loud as the sudden recognition of just whose handwriting it was struck him. Oh Salazar. Of all the possible wizards in the world who might discover him - this was possibly the worst case. Even after an eternity of this misery... he still loathed that old goat.

Swallowing he tried to think of how to respond. A sarcastic "just dandy." would probably not help his case very much. In the end he decided to try for honesty and hope for mercy.

No... I'm afraid I'm not.

Please Professor Dumbledore... I realise that you and I have never been on particularly good terms... but I am asking you... no... I am begging you to destroy this diary.

A long silence ensued. The diary did not however disappear. The words that appeared finally did not surprise him greatly.

I don't believe I can do that, Tom. I'm sorry. I will not murder you.

Would you mind terribly telling me exactly when you created this horcrux?

He sighed. Of course the old bastard wouldn't put him out of his misery. He was probably just revelling in the identity of the tormented soul he held in his fingertips.

Bastard.

1940.

Please sir... If you won't help me - perhaps you could find someone who would be prepared to?

I can tell you so many ways to do it.

I've had...so long...to think about it.

Please... I...cant I don't want to be here forever. Anything would be better.

Please.

The book vanished slowly. He turned his head and experienced the completely unexpected urge to weep. He hadn't done that in...A long time.

Time passed. An indefinite period. Possibly days... weeks... who could tell anymore.

He was...meditating - It was the closest he could come to sleep - when the book reappeared.

Tom?

He roused himself and summoned a quill. It took a minute or two, since he was sitting out on the grass under the monochrome sky.

Yes, sir?

I have come to a decision about whether to help you.

He sat up straight, feeling suddenly more awake than he had in a while. This was an important piece of information. Dumbledore might possibly agree to kill him.

Surely the man wouldn't be cruel enough to return only to tell him that he was condemned to stay here forever.

Yes, sir?? What have you decided?

I am not going to kill you, Tom.

He felt his heart twinge painfully as if garrotted by a piano wire.

The bastard really had come here purely to rub his eternal imprisonment under his nose.

Oh.

It was all he could think to write. The word vanished immediately as Dumbledore started to write.

However I will help you.

I have decided to resurrect you.

The spectre that passed for his heart in this place stopped beating in shock. He hadn't even considered that possibility in several ages.

I will do this only under several conditions, tom.

I don't care what they are. Anything. Whatever you want.

Do you truly mean to free me?

You're not just saying it to torture me, are you?

Please... get me out of here. Anything... please professor. I'll do whatever you want.

Tom.

You must listen.

He forced himself to calm down although he desperately wanted to shake the man.

I'm sorry.

I'm listening sir.

The first condition is that I will require you to wear a certain necklace. It will function as a locating charm and it will also limit your movement in some ways. This will be a restriction on your freedom obviously...however if I am to trust you - I deem it necessary.

He didn't hesitate.

You can chain me to a post in the grand hall if you really want. I don't care. As long as I'm not in this thrice damned book.

I take it immortality is not as advertised then?

...Forgive me. That was uncalled for. What has happened to you is an unfortunate tragedy.

Admittedly you did bring it upon yourself...

Apologies... That will be my last dig, Tom.

My second requirement is that you will associate only with those that I specifically approve. You will remain with these individuals as long and as often as I wish and you will never seek to escape them or to take up contact with anyone else without permission.

Fine.

Anyone would be a sight for sore eyes right now.

My third stipulation, Tom, is that you provide whatever assistance you can on any matter I deem of importance. No matter your own preferences or feelings - you will offer any information or insight you possess. Are we understood?

Gladly.

ANYTHING.

Very well.

I shall require several hours to prepare.

The book vanished again slowly and from that point on time seemed to slow painfully.

He wondered whether Dumbledore had lied... whether he hadn't instead taken several days to prepare.

He wondered whether he would ever come back at all.

Sitting by the lake, looking out over the black smooth waveless expanse, hope and anticipation of almost painful levels warred inside with despair and self recrimination.

Dumbledore was right. - This had been all his own fault.

And he was such a fool that he'd even ignored his OWN pleas and warnings.

If he was still alive out there and he managed to get out - he was going to kill his other self for that.

There wasn't any warning when it happened. Just a blinding flash of the most intense pain he had ever felt (not that he had a particularly clear memory of pain).

This was beyond everything. It felt as if he were being torn apart.

it felt dizzying and he was nauseous - he hadn't felt nausea since he'd arrived in this place.

The sensation seemed to grow with each passing moment and the lake before him, the tree behind him, swam and shimmered as if in a heat haze.

He clenched his eyes closed and astoundingly... gloriously, he felt himself actually slip away from consciousness.
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The First Horcrux