Property

"A boy?"

The only response to her question was the rustle of papers. Her Lord was preoccupied: she watched his lean, slim fingers trace words. His eyes were distant.

"My Lord," she prompted again. She knew he would not punish her for her impatience. He valued her for her stubborn determination; her will and her mind. And he knew how she worshipped him, too. He was her God - and to her, at least, he was kind. At times.

"A boy, yes," he replied, as if he had not ignored her at all. His eyes were bright as he leaned forward, closer to her apparition in the flames of the grate. "You'll like him, Bella," he said fondly, and a familiar shiver ran through her spine. "But I won't care concern you with him until later. I have a different job for you." He smiled. "I'm sure you won't find it difficult."

"As you say, my Lord."

Would it be long, she wondered, until he would allow her to see him again? To truly see him, close enough to discern the pallor of his skin, and hear the sleek hiss of his voice? As if reading her mind he leaned back again, drawing away from her. She felt suddenly cold.

"This is what you'll do," he began.

Anything, she thought. But of course, he knew that.

Harry's eyes opened with a snap. It was a very sudden thing: first he was asleep, and then he wasn't anymore. There was no transition, no grogginess. The disorientation came later, once he'd sat up and the dreams came filtering back into his mind.

("There's no one here," he said, but Mr Riddle shook his head.

"Look again," he said. And Harry took a step forward - )

His feet hit the floor with a thump, toes curling and uncurling as he rocked back and forth, regaining his balance. He was hungry and dirty, and even he could tell that he smelt, well, not very good. He'd never cared about that before with his old owner but here in this grand old house it made a difference. His room looked neglected but the air was sweet. Like flowers.

The door wasn't locked. There wasn't any reason to lock it, really. Not when he had Riddle's gift around his neck. The metal still felt warm though he'd grown a little used to it now; still, he couldn't help but brush his fingers against it as he stepped out into the empty hallway, dingy and faintly lit by gleaming lights. He didn't know where Mr Riddle was, or whether he wanted to find him at all.

He turned to look down the hall, and counted the number of doorways. He stopped after ten.

"Maybe I need him after all," Harry said quietly, grimacing. He had no idea where to find a bathroom from here, or any food either. The whole house was a mystery to him. He had a sneaking suspicion that magical houses were like mazes that an ignorant person could likely get lost in forever. But the risk was worth taking, really - he was sure Mr Riddle would find him eventually anyway. For the first time in months he felt a spark of adventurousness, however small, growing inside him again. He'd thought it had died when his aunt and uncle had sold him.

He picked the left corridor and walked down it, eyeing the walls with suspicion. He half expected something to jump out at him, but nothing did. He pushed open the first door, nervously. The room inside was empty, and dark. He closed it and continued walking. "I'll never find anything," he said to himself, feeling a little crazy, as if everything that had happened had cracked his mind through the middle. "I'll never - "

Here.Tiny whispers curling up together; tickling his ear, making him start.Here, in here.

One of the doors cracked open, as if in a breeze. Harry hesitated, then stepped forward and peered inside. If he'd thought or hesitated for a moment longer he would perhaps have thought better of following the call of something faceless in a house like this, so far away from anything he could possibly understand. But he didn't.

It was a bathroom. White tub, white walls - the same flickering lights that illuminated the rest of the house lined the walls. Of all the things I expected a magical voice to show me, he thought, it wasn't this. He felt a smile, small and tentative, tugging at the corners of his mouth. It was the first time he'd smiled in what felt like years and it felt it... good. Like healing.

"The house likes you," said Mr Riddle.

It took a second for Harry to realise that Mr Riddle was really there, right behind them. Then he gave a delayed flinch, pivoting to face his owner. His smile was gone. He felt like Mr Riddle had stolen it, taken it without Harry's permission. It was a stupid feeling, he knew that, but he couldn't shake it off.

"The house?" asked Harry. But Mr Riddle smiled and said nothing. There were hollows under his eyes, as if he hadn't slept, but his expression was still sharp and honed. He was standing too close.

"You'll find new clothes here when you're done," said Riddle. "I suggest wearing them." There was an unfamiliar remoteness to his voice; despite the closeness of him, despite the knuckles he moved to press beneath Harry's chin, he was hardly there at all. "I'll meet you at my study. You remember where it is." It wasn't a question.

"Y-yes," said Harry. "Yes, sir."

A brush of knuckles, warm, and Mr Riddle was gone. Harry pressed his own fingers to his chin. Then he gave one long shuddering breath, and stepped into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.