Property

The boy and his owner left the rented room a few scant hours later. The owner didn't touch the boy. He was very careful of the boy's personal space. But his eyes followed him carefully, evenly, so fixed upon the boy that it would have been next to impossible for the boy to escape. The snow was thick outside, and the sky was black as pitch, with a pale stars gleaming out their faint light on its surface. The boy shivered.

"You're cold," said Tom.

Harry nodded and refused to meet his eyes. He was still tempted to run, his instincts all screaming that he had to get away from this man now, now, now. Tom clasped his shoulder and drew him close.

"Here," he said. "Share my cloak."

The cloak did make him feel warmer than he had felt before, but that was partly a result of the closeness of Riddle's body. Riddle was warm, and his clothes felt smooth and well-made and gentle to the touch, though the body underneath them was hard and unforgiving. It was awkward being so close to him, but Harry dealt with it as best as he could, walking carefully by Tom's side past houses and inns with warm lights shining within.

"Where are we going?" he asked. His breath misted the air.

Tom didn't look at him, but his lips did quirk at the corners.

"I'm going to show you a little trick our kind are fond of."

"Devilry?" asked Harry. When Tom didn't answer he let out another sharp breath, the fog from his voice curling up into the air. "The things our kind do. Kill crops and people and, and. Dark things," he finished lamely.

"Wizards have better things to do than kill crops," said Tom, mocking. He said nothing about the people. "Forget what people used to tell you, Harry. You're better than them, and they knew nothing." Tom began to walk faster and Harry hurried his footsteps to keep up with him, nearly running with his creaky boots sinking deep into the snow. "No, Harry. I'm going to show you magic."

All Harry knew about magic - or devilry, as he'd always known it - had been what he'd learnt from his aunt and uncle, and from the small village where they'd lived. Any tragedy was the fault of a monster. One particularly bad year the villagers had burnt a young girl to death, and blamed all their misfortune upon her. Harry had only been protected by his relative isolation on his aunt and uncle's farm. He was not allowed to leave. He was not allowed to talk to strangers. He'd always wondered, considering how much his aunt and uncle had hated him, why they'd kept him safe. To protect themselves, maybe? The girl's family had been driven out of the village only months later. Homeless.

"Magic," he murmured. "If you say so, sir."

The 'magic' turned out to be a large black stone, set behind a huddle of gnarled trees at the end of the town. Tom looked at him.

"Are you ready?"

"Ready for what?" Harry said warily. It was just a stone, after all. He curled his fingers against his palms. "I don't understand, sir."

"Don't call me 'sir'," Tom murmured, taking a few firm strides forward. The cloak slipped off Harry's shoulders. "Call me..." he trailed off, and shook his head, eyes gleaming with dark humour. "Never mind, Harry. Sir will do for now." He held out his hand, palm upraised. "Now come over here."

"Yes, sir."

Harry moved to Tom's side and, at his command, kneeled in the snow. His knees grew damp. Riddle took his hand, moving it until it pressed firmly on the stone alongside Tom's own. Harry shifted uncomfortably.

"I don't understand," he began, and suddenly felt a sharp jolt in his stomach, as if some strange force was sucking him forwards into the big black nothing.

"Surprise," said Tom. And they vanished.

He fell to the ground with a resounding thud. His body was covered with snow. New snow, from this new place Tom had dragged him to with the use of his devilry. He gave a choking little cough and rose up on to his hands and knees, blinking icy water from his palely green eyes. Tom had landed far more gracefully. He was already standing, brushing his clothing clean with his hands, his eyes fixed on something in the distance.

Harry stood up too, swaying a little as he tried to regain his equilibrium. His heart was hammering hard in his chest, breathing rough and raw with the shock of the journey and the fall. The world around them was entirely blanketed in white, vast and empty fields stretching out into what looked like infinity. He swallowed hard. Nowhere to run.

Tom gripped his arm shoulder again, striding across the ground to some unknown destination. He dragged Harry with him. Harry stumbled; struggled to keep up. The older man's grip was tight like a vice, and the boy was sure his fingers would leave marks. He gritted his teeth hard, his mouth hot with the pressure in an effort not to give his own pain away. He was too proud for that.

They stopped. Tom's grip loosened as he raised one hand into the air, muttering a few quiet words that the boy could not quite make out.

"More magic?" Harry whispered, too quietly to be heard, or so he thought. Riddle's sidelong glance at him suggested otherwise.

There was no need for Riddle to speak. The air before the two of them grew coloured, as if a veil was lifting to reveal the surface beneath. First Harry saw the grass. It was near dead from the cold. The pathway, wide and paved, appeared next. A dark mansion built up slowly from the earth and followed it, wide-branched trees cloaking it in shadows.

"Come on now," Tom murmured, tightening his grip again. "Inside."

"I won't go in," Harry hissed, fighting Tom's grip. He hunched his shoulders, turning away so Tom would not be able to see his eyes. He'd had enough of magic, and enough of Riddle's games, subtle as they were. "That place is... places shouldn't appear like that."

"Look at me," Tom murmured. His voice, for that single moment, was hollow and terrible. Harry turned to look at him, unable to disobey even if he'd wanted to. Tom's face was eerily expressionless; a blank and pale mask. "Inside."

Silence. Then Harry nodded, staring at the ground.

The building was empty. Their footsteps echoed as they made their way across the large, spacious hall (grander than anything Harry had seen in his life) and up the curving staircase. Harry was afraid, at first, that the building would sink back into the dark it had come from, but when he craned his neck to look out of the large windows that world still looked the same. Snowy. Empty. Cold.

Tom's grip stayed strong. Harry did his best to ignore his presence. The railings of the staircase were beautifully carved with small flowers: roses and vines and wreaths. He traced them lightly with his fingertips as they strode upwards, stopping only when Tom dragged him closer still. Above them the ceiling was arched and dome-like, and Tom's hand at his shoulder was a constant ache.

Harry knew, as surely as he could know, that Riddle was going to punish him. There was no one to protect him here. Not even his aunt and uncle, as weak as their care had been. In fact, had anyone ever tried to protect him or defend him? Had anyone ever really cared for him? Shaky, crushed, he bit back his insecurities. They were useless, and he needed to be strong. He tried not to think too hard on what a man like Riddle could do to him if he wanted to.

He gave Mr Riddle a swift glance. Riddle's face was still cold, and entirely calm.

There's nothing I can do, thought Harry. I'm his.