Tomarry One Shots

Our Strange Duet

Summary: Harry found his pianist at the end of the corridor just as the final, haunting chord was struck."Harry Potter." His name had been whispered, so softly that it seemed intimate. Harry paused, a foreboding feeling of familiarity flickering through him. "Join me. We will... duet." It's Tom Riddle's lucky day; he will finally be escaping the Gaunt ring, one way or another.

Ship: HarryPotter/TomRiddle & Horcrux/HarryPotter

All credit goes to Confunded on Ao3

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In the hours of the night absent of all noise, moonlight streamed through an open window. The illumination jostled Harry Potter's attention, rousing him from an apparent state of stupor. He sat up, movements as fluid and charming as clockwork, bed covers pooling around his waist, and glanced around at his surroundings.

The room was spacious yet empty; its only furnishings were an impossibly soft bed and a bedside cabinet. Lifeless, entrapping came to mind, but that thought was fleeting, a phantom quickly forgotten.

Instead, Harry focused on the curtains, the elegant drape of velvet. Although the night drained away all colour, he could discern their hue as dark. He speculated that they were a deep blue, or perhaps a royal purple.

Harry blinked slowly, not quite sure why the colour of curtains was so significant. It couldn't be, and so his thoughts shifted again. There was a tugging feeling inside him that suggested he indulge in a night-time adventure, that told him he had a habit of such escapades. So, unwise as it might be, in the hours of silent predators, he slipped out the bed. He noted that the sheets were of very fine fabric as he did so, for they glided smoothly over his skin almost caressingly.

The air was biting without the covers to shield him. Shivering, his legs moving of their own accord, Harry crossed the room. It took him nearly two dozen strides to reach the opposite side, each step that resounded against cold stone floor reminding him strangely of a heartbeat—but not his own. There was so much emptiness, so much space to fill; it seemed impossible that he was alone.

Harry shivered again, this time the action not caused by the nightly chill.

When he reached the window, he discovered it as casement style. It was large enough that he had to lean out to reach the handles.

He was not sure why, but he looked down. Made the mistake of doing so.

There was an endless stretch of stone wall between him and the ground. An image crossed his mind, that of falling and falling and falling, down and down and down, into a fantasy land, where time passed differently... Harry shook his head. It was a mere fantasy, he knew that much, though no names slotted into his mind.

The window now closed, warmth slowly returned to his frame. He frowned to himself, tendrils of some thought starting with where beginning to take hold... but then the sound of a piano drifted into his ears. It was faint, but there was something stirring about it, with the minor key, the chord progression that hinted at foreboding.

The melody was familiar, yet elusive. A half-remembered tune that lingered at the edge of his consciousness, just so tauntingly out of his grasp.

Entranced, Harry was gripping a cold, ornate doorknob and twisting before he knew it.

A spiral staircase unfurled before him. Down, and down, and down. Harry charted it, one foot before the other, his footsteps padding softly against the stone. He reached out, allowing his fingers to skim the wall as he descended. It was grounding, waning off the dizziness, but still he could not escape the haze that had encompassed some part of his consciousness.