Harry was awakened by a loud knock on his door. "Wake up, Freak! Today we are going to the caves."
Harry heard his cousin walk away with heavy footsteps. He sighed, preferring to stay in bed today. Harry has spent the whole weekend in his room. The Dursleys had gone out twice without him and hadn't missed him. However, a number of guests noticed that this little teenager was left alone in his room. If the Dursleys didn't like something, it was gossip. At least as long as the gossip was negative about themselves. Petunia had heard people whisper about her nephew the night before and decided right away to show that they were wonderful people. She had spoken excessively loudly about the caves located at the Heights of Abraham. She even put an arm around Harry and told him in front of all the guests that he had to come now, she did not accept "no".
Harry would have loved Aunt Petunia's play, if he hadn't known she hated him, he would have believed she had tender feelings for him. In fact, he thought it was pretty smart of his aunt. In a few words, she had managed to portray Harry as a typical teenager who wanted to hang out with his 'parents' as little as possible and looked like a caring mother who yearned for the attention of her dark-haired nephew.
He got out of bed groaning. He really didn't feel like the outing. The brochures of the caves had shown beautiful photos, so these were not his objection. No, Harry knew the caves were interesting, but he didn't feel like spending a day with the Dursleys. He would probably have to carry the bags with provisions. Not only that, he would have to listen to nagging and groaning from his family for a day. He would rather spend a day with Ginny while she updated her "Harry my Savior" scrapbook. He would even add personal comments to her extensive photo collection. Harry shuddered at the thought of writing under another uncomfortable photo: "Love Harry" or "I'm thinking of you, Ginny."
Harry brushed his teeth extra well and washed well. He sprayed himself lavishly with deodorant, at least he wanted to smell nice during this active activity. He didn't want to be confused with his cousin's smells. He put on shorts with a blue short-sleeved shirt. The outfit suits him well, it belonged to Dudley, but from two years ago. As a result, he did not have to tighten his belt tight and looked reasonably smart.
After breakfast, the foursome hit the road. The Dursleys went by car, of course, while they could have walked easily. Anyway, they were already going for a walk in the caves, which was more than enough exercise for the Dursley family. After the short drive, Uncle Vernon had to park quite far from the entrance, so they still had to walk for fifteen minutes.
They signed up for the tour, led by an expert. Vernon thought that was the least, he was not overly impressed by such a damp, dripping cave. The tour was fascinating, however, and Harry was amazed. He had never seen anything like it before. They had beautifully illuminated the cave so that all kinds of colors could be seen on the high walls. There were complicated corridors, with all kinds of stairs going up and down. At one point there was a very narrow passage as the group climbed the stairs. Uncle Vernon and Dursley eventually had to get on their hands and knees to get through a sloping but narrow opening. The space on the ground was very wide. Harry could have moved past the heavy rocks without difficulty, but Vernon was immediately trapped. Harry had watched the spectacle with wide eyes: he would not have missed a thing.
Uncle Vernon had later stated that only real men could end up in such a dire situation, their large muscle mass had caused the two men to get stuck. Aunt Petunia had supported her husband and had proudly proclaimed that her Dudleykins would later become a tremendously strong guy. The situation was meant to be very serious, as a time to boost the egos of Dudley and Vernon. Unfortunately, this was ruined by the flatulent-sounding noises from inside the cave when flood water is draining away. They had arrived at 'Devil's Ass' , named after these flattering sounds. Harry had laughed tremendously at hearing the farts after his uncle and cousin's idolization and resolved to cherish this memory forever.
Once outside, it was time for Harry to finally take off his heavy backpack. The Dursleys had found an empty picnic table, and it was up to Harry to serve lunch. Harry had kept a sandwich for himself, along with a bottle of mineral water. His family ate chicken legs, sandwiches, chocolate cake and drank soft drinks. Harry hoped that all the food was gone, then he would have a light backpack for the way back.
On his way back to the car, Uncle Vernon suddenly stopped walking. His aunt looked up in surprise, she had not expected the interruption. Vernon stopped right in front of Harry and glared at him.
"Don't think I've forgotten your behavior in the cave," Vernon snapped at him.
Harry had quietly hoped his uncle had indeed forgotten but realized it had been wishful thinking.
Uncle Vernon pushed Harry towards the walkway, which continued into the woods. "You're going this way. You can walk back to the Bed and Breakfast yourself. Maybe that will make you a bit more humble."
Harry didn't bother going against his sentence. He knew his uncle wouldn't listen to him anyway. He walked away quickly, with the backpack on his back. He did not stop walking until his family was out of sight and took the Height of Abraham brochure from the bag. The walking routes were clearly marked in this folder. Harry eventually chose to follow the red route. This slowly descended into the valley and ended in Little Hangleton. Harry could easily find his way back from there.
He saw that there was also a sandwich and two bottles of water in the bag. He also found a flashlight and a crumpled five-pound note. Harry was happy with this discovery, he would not starve or be hopelessly lost in the process. With renewed courage, he adjusted his current route and followed the red path down.
Several hours later, he had to admit that although the red route was easy, it was further away from Matlock Bath and Harry would not return to the B&B until late at night. He arrived in Little Hangleton early in the evening, around seven o'clock. He sat down on a wooden bench and started his sandwich.
Meanwhile, he looked around and realized he couldn't see the cafe yet. He did see an imposing country house, complete with its own driveway, garden shed, and an enormous green lawn. The house would have looked nice back in its glory days, Harry realized. The ivy on the walls had beautiful fall colors and gave the house a cozy feel. The walls were white but had cracks in the stucco. He saw a lonely light burning on the second floor, flickering like a candle in the wind. The rest of the house seemed uninhabited and, moreover, looked dilapidated. Heavy chains with large locks hung on the doors to keep out unwanted visitors.
Harry was now looking at the house with interest. Would anyone still live there? And were the old occupants of the house related to the Tom Riddle from the diary?
Harry closed his eyes and pictured the handsome dark-haired boy from the diary. He had lighter skin than Harry, an aristocratic nose, and graceful hands. Somehow Harry could still picture his hands, they were so graceful but deadly, like a beautiful little snake with the most deadly poison. But the most striking thing about Tom Riddle's appearance was his eyes. He had the darkest blue eyes Harry had ever seen. They had shined maliciously, but Harry had seen other emotions as well. Fear, passion, drive, and a certain possessive glow when he could almost touch Harry. Those eyes were still the main event of Harry's dreams, and Harry had to admit that the nature of those dreams was changing.
When he was twelve and had just fought with the Basilisk, the dreams had been violent in nature. They were nightmares, with Riddle as the evil protagonist, who kept sucking out the life of people he loved with his diary. Harry had seen Hermione lying on the floor, but also Ron staring into nowhere with lifeless eyes as Riddle emerged from the diary. Harry had regularly lost his fight to Riddle and Riddle had spoken to him with a sneer, as if he were nothing. Nothing more than a Flubberwurm being prepared for a magic potion in a first year's class, only to be banished by Professor Snape.
But the dreams had changed by now. His friends were still lying on the floor, but Riddle's emotion had changed. The aristocratic boy no longer looked at Harry disdainfully but spoke of 'his ' Harry. He said 'Dear' to him and gently touched Harry's cheek. Riddle now praised Harry's powers and that he wanted to own and protect him. That Harry was his dearest possession and that he always takes good care of his belongings.
Harry always woke up rushed from these dreams. Sweat always clung to his body, his hair stuck to his scar. His scar always seemed to throb after such a dream. And Harry had to admit that not only had his scar been throbbing for a few weeks, Harry recently woke up with a throbbing erection. He had always looked at that with suspicion and confusion, because how could he get such a strong reaction from such a bad man? Each dream ended with the death of one of his friends, but all his male genitals picked up was that Riddle's hands fit very nicely around his throbbing penis. That those graceful fingers only had to stroke to undo Harry.
Startled, Harry ran his hand over his face. 'What the fuck is the meaning of this, Potter?' He thought angrily. Even now that he was awake, his body responded to his thoughts. The idea of a young Riddle was terrifyingly vivid to his mind.
Without thinking carefully, Harry walked to the gate. He slid his hands over the cast-iron bars. He looked at the gate and looked for a weak spot. He didn't have to put in much effort and found a part that had broken off. All Harry had to do was swing his leg over it and he was on the estate. The grass felt soft under his feet, the grass was not dry yet but looked green and healthy. This was in stark contrast to the house, which looked sickly as if it were waiting to be revived.
Harry strode to the door. He felt the doorknob for a moment but quickly felt that the door was locked. A brief inspection around the building provided him with a new entry point; an open window in the kitchen. Harry squirmed through the opening and caught himself with his hands on the floor. He slid gently to the floor. There was a layer of dust on the kitchen floor. He did see footsteps under the thin layer of dust. Harry realized that someone had been in the kitchen recently, but that it had been a few weeks ago. This reassured him.
Somewhere, deep inside him, a voice (strikingly similar to Hermione) tried to reason with him. "Harry go out, now! Harry, walk back to the B&B! It's dangerous in here, Harry!" The voice spoke, like a broken record that kept repeating the same song.
But Harry kept walking, the tension in his body was addictive. He felt more alive than ever before as if he had to be here. That he belonged here. For a moment his body seemed to react in the same way as in the dreams of Riddle, a warm feeling shot through his body through his scar, like a warm shower. The pleasant feeling lingered and grew stronger with each step Harry took.
Deep within him, Harry realized how crazy the situation was, that it was not normal to just enter a house. That it was terribly foolish to enter a house that he strongly suspected was the Riddle House; the home of Tom Marvolo Riddle. Voldemort's home.
But the feeling in his head, chest, and other limbs told him a different story. A story of belonging, of a home. Not a half-home with the Weasleys, where he was mostly Harry 'The-Boy-Who-Lived'. Not a half-home at Hogwarts, where half of the population disliked him because of his so-called fame and where the other half always wanted something from him. Not a half-home like with the Dursleys, where he had to work to make a living. No, it felt like a warm welcome here, as if he belonged here.
He quietly looked around the corner but saw no one. He hated himself for leaving his invisibility cloak at home with the rest of his school supplies. He only had his wand on him, as a last resort.
He climbed the stairs. Although the interior was dusty and dated, it was all in good condition. The stairs didn't even creak under his feet but instead felt solid. He arrived on the first floor but saw or heard nothing. He decided to go up one more floor and quickly arrived on the second floor. There it got more exciting, he felt his heart beat faster with adrenaline. He saw light coming from under the door at the end of the corridor.
Harry in his mind hated his 'Gryffindor tendencies' but went on. Very gently he put his fingers around the door and gently pushed against it. He heard the door creak from the movement. He held his breath and didn't move. His ears pricked up, he listened to any sound that would indicate a living presence, but it never came. He carefully stepped into the room and took it in.
In the smoldering light of the fire, he saw a dark room filled with heavy velvet furniture. There was a large dark green sofa in front of the fireplace, with a burgundy red bedspread draped over it. On the walls were many rows of books, neatly lined up in heavy oak cabinets. An old-fashioned chandelier hung from the ceiling, gleaming sadly in places, where the rest of the carefully polished stones were covered with a thick layer of dust. The smell was musty and slightly sour, as if a very old person lived there, with questionable personal hygiene. It reminded Harry of Mrs. Figg, who always reeked of cat urine and other bodily fluids.
He walked over to the fire, which seemed to be extinguishing slowly. The room was therefore not warm, but rather it felt damp against his skin. He picked up the poker from the rack next to the hearth. Harry prodded the fire and rearranged the wood so that the remains would still burn. In the corner of his left eye, Harry saw some movement. Startled, he turned and looked at the green sofa.
Harry blinked, but no matter how often he wanted to see something else, his eyes kept sending him the same image. He saw a bundle of cloths, in the bundle lay a white creature. The creature was no bigger than a small child and looked sickly. In fact, it looked like it had been dead for weeks. The arms were long and terrifyingly thin. The hands had spidery long fingers but were as white as Alabaster. However, the face was the scariest, it did not belong to a child, but to a man. A very old man, with almost transparent skin and hair falling out. The creature did not have a nose worth mentioning either but appeared underdeveloped as if it were a fetus. The eyes were red and did not blink.
With a morbid interest, Harry took a step towards the creature and touched it. He felt that the skin was cold and almost hard due to the underlying bone. Harry curled his fingers under the creature's jaw to feel its pulse. He withdrew his hand in shock when he felt this: a dull, slow heartbeat. He looked into those red eyes again and realized the creature could see him but did nothing.
Harry looked around frantically, for water or possibly food to feed the creature. He felt he had to help it, that the creature was close to death and that it was up to Harry to intervene.
"Can I help you?" Harry asked the thing. He hardly dared to look at it. The creature looked so ghastly and repulsive, yet so defenseless and small. So helpless that Harry felt compelled to keep looking at it, to offer the creature companionship in its solitude.
The creature looked at Harry with its red eyes and a grimace appeared on its face. "Are you here to kill me, Harry Potter?"
Harry looked shocked at the creature that seemed to recognize him. Harry dug into his memory for a clue to the thing's identity. But he couldn't find anything. His confusion appeared in his face as the sickly child said, "Ahh, but you don't know, I see. You don't recognize me."
The creature turned its head and looked straight at Harry now. The eyes were no longer faint, but frighteningly purposeful and sharp, like a predator approaching its prey.
Harry swallowed and stared at the creature wide-eyed. "V-Voldemort?" he managed to say.
"I see you've made the connection. It is startling that my biggest opponent can casually find me. That a boy of only thirteen years old knows where to find me. How come boy?" Voldemort sounded weak and his voice hoarse.
"I don't know if it's smart to talk to you," Harry said, confused.
A sly smile appeared on Voldemort's face. "Look at me, Potter. Do I look like I could hurt you? You just have to get up and walk away, and there's nothing I can do to stop you. You could even smash my head with a loose brick and I wouldn't be able to stop you. You are in control, I am at your mercy."
Harry examined the creature and realized it was right. Voldemort may have been the most powerful dark wizard of his generation, but this Voldemort was a shadow of his former self. Harry grabbed a chair and pushed it closer to 'baby-Mort'.
He laughed softly at the circumstances. "I'm on vacation here, believe it or not. My Muggle family is staying in a B&B in Matlock Bath, we went to visit the caves today. My family was going back to the B&B by car and I had to walk back. In the end, I chose to go via Little Hangleton, because I was here a few days ago and so I knew the way."
Harry shrugged and then said, "I had heard stories about this house, it piqued my interest. Besides, this house felt like home, as if..." Harry broke off his story, blushing. He almost said he felt at home here, as if his family were here. That he belonged here. He didn't want to say that to an evil man at all, even though this man was harmless at the time.
At that moment Voldemort started to cough, a nasty, raging, cough. Harry couldn't help but look concerned at the 'man'. "Are you okay?" Harry asked against his better judgment.
Voldemort let out a fruitless laugh. "What is this? Is the great Harry Potter concerned about the evil Dark Lord? Rest assured, I don't need your help."
Harry felt anger bubble up in him. He just wanted to show his compassion and this is how he was thanked? He got up and straightened his back. "Then you will have no problem with me taking my leave. A good evening."
Harry did not wait for Voldemort's response. He felt that luck was on his side and that he might have escaped from a dangerous situation with ridiculous ease. His legs carried him down the steps of the stairs. Harry easily found the kitchen and quickly saw the open window. He went through it again and ran across the lawn to the fence. Once outside the fence, Harry turned. He could still see the light flicker, as the only proof that the bizarre meeting between him and Voldemort had really happened.
Harry hurried down the hill toward the center. There he quickly spotted The Hanged Man cafe and walked towards the cafe. He resolved to appeal to Evan's kindness again. He would offer to do the dishes for him in the cafe tomorrow. Harry was eager to give back for Evan's help. Satisfied with his solutions to his problems, Harry walked into the cafe and closed the door behind him.