The Final Cut

Chapter one - Mutual Understanding

Harry woke up again in a cold sweat for the third time that night.

It wasn't even as though his dreams were bad. His scar had progressively ceased to hurt and the nightmares with it had stopped. He was suffering from a different problem; guilt.

He felt like he was betraying something inside himself when he realised that he wanted to speak to Voldemort. It hurt worse when he realised that he was actually looking forward to doing so. From his previous conversations it was obvious that Voldemort understood more about Harry than Harry had given him credit for, even pointing out his own strengths and weaknesses where Harry was clueless.

Harry shook his head to try and clear out the cobwebs in his thoughts and reassure himself that he wasn't as bad as he sounded. Some would say that enjoying talking to the person that murdered your parents was sick and sadistic, but Harry believed that they would have felt differently in his situation.

How had he got into this position? Harry stiffened inside his bed and reached onto the mahogany dressing table for his glasses. Picking up a muggle book that he had stolen from the library when the Dursleys wouldn't give him anything to read, he tried to become engrossed in it and ignore the fact that his mind was screaming at him. He turned the pages trying to banish the evil demon from within his brain. He had fought Voldemort on numerous occasions; he had tried to save everyone he cared about. He wanted to kill Voldemort. He didn't know why the guilt was suddenly overwhelming his insides or why the bad taste flickered across his tongue but there was something about his physical demeanour that scared him, like a warning. His back ached and his stomach lurched, perhaps the wrongness outward was showing a real problem inside. It was ridiculous to suggest that Harry was feeling anything like compassion for Voldemort; he could not feel sorry for a cold blooded murderer. But it was true that he was interested. How could the head boy, who everyone considered so great have turned out like that?

Harry glanced at the badge on his nightstand, he had written to professor McGonagall time and time again, insisting that he wasn't coming back to school. She, however, had refused to accept his answer and stated that whether he came back or not, he still owed Hogwarts a head boy. His eyes darkened. He hated to admit it to himself but he was more than mutinous at her, how could it be important to be at Hogwarts when the horcruxes still needed to be found? The letters from professor McGonagall all occupied the same part of the room, the dustbin. And until peace washed over the world, Harry swore that that's where they would remain.

Putting down the book and closing his tired eyes he willed his thoughts away from Voldemort and tried to concentrate on other things. But the difficult fact to accept was that Voldemort was his world and that his life couldn't continue until he was dead. It was definitely morbid to realise that he couldn't carry on until he became a murderer, but sometimes, Harry mused, the end really did justify the means.

The swirling colours that accompanied his fall into slumber bought about an echoed calling of his name. Before long, Harry opened his eyes. Now completely immersed in the world of dreams, he strained hard to hear the dulcet tones that called for him so assertively.

He floated through an iron grate, revelling in the power of the dream. Harry enjoyed his dreams, there were no limitations to him, if he wanted to do something, he did it. Falling back to solid earth he walked slowly across the cast iron floors, his footsteps echoing with the same eerie consistency of the voice. A rhythm built up around him. For every step he took, his name was cried out again. This ominous beat accompanied him on his way but it seemed far more natural than it would in the daytime, in the real world. As Harry had secretly suspected and hoped for, he found himself staring down at the visage of Tom Riddle. Tom was hugging his knees and as Harry looked down he could see that Tom's ankles were tied to the sides of the wall. The metal clasps were rusted, but had still stood up to the obvious heaving and pulling as Tom had tried to wrench himself free. Tom looked up and smiled a nice smile motioning for Harry to sit down. Without really thinking, Harry did so, and Tom adjusted his position, the chains clunking against the floor as he moved creakily.

'Where are we?' Harry asked without looking the teenager in the eyes.

'Prison,' Tom responded with a glance at the overly welded door. 'A place where you and I will spend much of our lives.'

'I don't know why I'm bothering to tell you this... but I need to say it anyway.' Harry paused for breath. Tom simply looked at his feet. 'I can't keep talking to you in my dreams, not like this, as thought we're...' Harry hesitated and Tom looked up.

'Friends?' asked Tom in a monotone way.

'No! I couldn't... no! Well...' Harry's speech drained away from him. He couldn't possibly admit that, not even to himself.

'It doesn't matter to me anyway, I never did have any friends,' Tom told him shrugging.

'I'm betraying everyone I love by talking to you... Not only that but I hate you,' Harry said shakily.

'You betray no one by being here. In dreams we have only ourselves to contend with.' Tom glanced over in Harry's direction. 'You don't hate me anyway; you simply hate what I'll become.'

'But you are Voldemort, you've told me before! You know what you'll become because you still are the same person! You're just talking to me in a slightly different form.'

'Not quite true. Indeed I am Voldemort, but only to the extent that your middle toe on your left foot is you.' Tom raised his eyebrows at a confused looking Harry.

'I don't understand Tom!' Harry shouted at the boy, clenching his right fist slightly. Calming himself down, Harry quickly forced the fact that he had clearly called Voldemort 'Tom' to the back of his brain; it was difficult to forgive himself of even the slightest transgressions in these situations.

'Voldemort lacks emotion, soul and even reason at times, you would never be able to really talk to him. I, however, am the part of Voldemort that can still make you understand.'

'But why?' Harry couldn't see the purpose behind these meetings besides his own disgraceful curiosity.

'Harry... even Voldemort dreams.'

'Does he know about our meetings?'

'Of course he does, I am Voldemort, but I believe that he only recognises these meetings on a level that he does not wish to explore. Do you truly believe that Voldemort can do the things he does whilst there still remains the human Tom Riddle inside him in an active role? No. I can only speak to you when Voldemort's guard is lowered and only then because you and I have a connection.'

'You know why I talk to you don't you?' Harry asked quickly.

'I know that you need to tell me to ease your conscience,' Tom told him grinning.

'I've thought about it and as weird as it sounds... you're the only person who understands me,' Harry looked to the sky before hanging his head in shame. It sounded as ridiculous in his head as it did when he said it out loud.

Tom however, tried to get up to come nearer to him, but the chains sent him swiftly back to the cold metal floor. Tom gave his feet a dark look and shook his head at Harry. 'It's not strange at all; of course I understand your problems. I know you like I know myself.'

'I've been made head boy,' Harry suddenly blurted out, staring at his foot.

Tom looked up at him and nodded softly as though he knew that this was inevitable.

'It's not all it's cracked up to be. I thought I'd have everything disclosed to me to quench my curiosity but it seems that the teachers are not as forthcoming as they'd appear to be.'

'Not even Slughorn?' Harry asked angrily.

Tom smiled, his bright eyes contrasting to the dirtiness of his robes and the streaks of mud across his face. 'You mean the horcruxes of course. Everyone is scared of death Harry.'

'Not everyone is willing to kill to near immortalise themselves.'

'Of course. But didn't even a tiny part of you consider making a horcrux when you finally defeat Voldemort and finally allow me to rest?'

Harry didn't answer.