Harry looked down into the swirling waters of the Pensieve. The time turner sent little golden ripples pulsing through the glittering water. By his side, Tom uttered a soft spell in a language Harry did not recognize: "U temti rishar takki-me huttah..."
Dumbledore glanced up from his work for a brief moment and smiled before bending over his parchment again.
Harry drew his breath deeply. "So when I enter into this memory, I will be Regulus Black?"
Tom nodded. His face was pale. "I believe so, yes. The memory I just enchanted is his, after all. You should be able to see the past through his eyes. But remember, my love: This time you will not enter a mere recollection of the past. This time, you will enter the past itself, just like you did when you first came to Hogwarts as Elias Black. And because your visit to Little Hangleton is real, you will be able to change that past into anything you want. You have the power to draw your wand and kill the unsuspecting Dark Lord. But remember, my love: He also has the power to kill you. Be careful."
Harry nodded wordlessly. His glance flickered over to the dark-clad Voldemort, who hovered silently by Tom's side. The luminous mist from the Pensieve cast a light silvery sheen over Voldemort's black cloak. The Dark Lord looked up, and his eyes met Harry's for a moment. There was a strange soft look in them that reminded Harry, irresistibly, of Tom.
"One of us must die at the hand of the other." Voldemort's voice was calm and even. "This is how it has to be, Harry."
The door to Dumbledore's office creaked open behind them. Harry turned around, startled, and saw Alphard Black linger hesitantly in the doorway.
"Another visitor this evening?" Dumbledore smiled at the Slytherin boy. "Have you come to explore memories of the future as well, Alphard?"
Alphard blinked in surprise. He looked uncertainly at Dumbledore for a moment, then he shook his head. "No, professor. I... I have come to tell Elias something."
"Ah, I see. Well, in that case, just pretend I'm not even here." Dumbledore began writing again.
Alphard turned to Harry. "I have been thinking about what you are about to do, Harry, and I think you need to know what happened to Regulus in the days that followed the events of that memory."
"Regulus Black was murdered, yes." Voldemort spoke quietly.
Alphard flinched. He did not meet Voldemort's gaze. "Yes, I know. But there is also something else... My nephew Regulus Black had a secret, you see. A secret from you. A secret from the Dark Lord. I was reluctant to mention it at first, especially in front of Tom and... and you... but I have come to realize that it is something Harry should know."
"Regulus Black kept a secret from me?" Voldemort studied the face of the pale Slytherin boy intently. "What sort of secret?"
Alphard drew a deep breath. "He had discovered that you had created horcruxes."
Voldemort and Tom glanced at each other for a moment. "So Regulus Black knew about that?" Tom's voice was a whisper.
"Regulus knew, yes." Alphard's gaze traveled hesitantly to Dumbledore, but Dumbledore appeared quite immersed in his work. "And he was able to steal one of the horcruxes, a silver locket."
"Regulus had the silver locket?" There was a sharp edge to Voldemort's voice now. "How is that possible? Even if he guessed where it was hidden, he would not have been able to retrieve it."
"A loyal house elf helped him get to the cave," whispered Alphard. "The house elf helped him replace the true horcrux with a fake. But Regulus was swept under the waves, down to the waiting inferi..." He swallowed.
"Regulus went to the cave?" There was a slight tremor in Voldemort's voice. "I was wondering what had happened to him..."
Voldemort gazed into the silvery mist of the Regulus Black's memory for a moment. His face was deathly pale in the glow from the Pensieve.
"It was raining the day Regulus died," he said softly. "It was such an odd day. I felt strangely restless in my father's house. I looked out at the rain that danced against the windowpane, and suddenly I wished that Regulus would come back and tell me that he had changed his mind. I summoned a house elf, an odd little crumpled creature one of my death eaters had gifted to me. Winzy, I think his name was. I told Winzy to go and fetch me master Regulus at once, and the elf obeyed. But hours passed, and I grew impatient waiting for the elf to bring him back. The Riddle House seemed more desolate than usual that day, and something always seemed to stir in the shadows... And then the elf arrived with Regulus. What a sorry state he was in! Half drowned, by the looks of him. I wondered if he had tried to kill himself, as a way of escaping from his Dark Lord. I dismissed the elf, and soon I had Regulus sitting in front of the fire. My spells had revived him, but there was still a look of terror in his eyes. He sat for a long time without talking, as his damp curls slowly dried in the heat from the fire. I found myself half wondering if his curls would feel soft to the touch... Finally, Regulus spoke, and his voice sounded weary. "I suppose you saved my life," he said, staring into the fire. "But I'm afraid it was all for nothing..." I knew then what his answer to me would be. I knew that he had turned away from me in his heart. Regulus Black was no longer a death eater. He didn't even seem afraid when I drew my wand, just tired. "I'm ready, my Lord," he whispered. "Do what you must." And I bent over him and pointed my wand at his heart. But before I uttered the deadly curse, I ran my hand through his hair, and I leaned forward and touched his lips with mine, just for an instant. His lips tasted salty and bitter and sweet, all at the same time. I think I can recall that taste on my lips even now... Then I spoke the curse, and he crumpled to the floor. It wasn't until later that I realized that he fell in the same spot where my father had fallen, years before..." Voldemort's voice trailed away. He stood silently for a moment. Then he added in a whisper: "And in a moment, Regulus Black will be back at the Riddle House."
Voldemort's glance fell on Harry. Suddenly, the Dark Lord stiffened. "What is that around your neck, my dear? That silver chain?"
Harry pulled the silver locket silently out from under his shirt. It shone brightly in the silvery mist from the Pensieve. After a moment's hesitation, Voldemort reached out with a long, pale hand and touched the locket. His dark grey eyes searched Harry's face. "Now, how did you get the locket, my dear?" His voice trembled ever so slightly
"I gave it to him." Tom wrapped his arm around Harry's shoulder. "The first night we spent together."
If Dumbledore thought the conversation in his office had taken a strange turn, he certainly didn't let on; he dipped his quill serenely in the ink bottle and kept writing.
"You gave it to him?" Voldemort brushed his finger slowly over the silver chain. His touch grazed Harry's skin lightly. "That was a generous gift, Tom. But perhaps I would have been equally generous in your place..." Harry glanced up and met Voldemort's darkened gaze. His cheeks grew hot, and he turned away rapidly.
"Perhaps you are the ghost of Regulus Black come back to haunt me," Voldemort murmured against Harry's cheek.
Harry drew back and tucked the locket back under his shirt. It felt heavy and curiously cold against his skin.
"I am ready now." Harry looked at Tom and Voldemort in turn, breathed deeply and plunged himself into the Pensieve.
...
It was night in Little Hangleton. But the night felt strangely different from the one Regulus Black had remembered. Perhaps, thought Harry, all memories fade with time, become less than real...The cool air was full of scents now: the ancient, musty smell of yew mingled with the fragrance of lilac and earth and rain. Harry stood in front of the high wrought iron gate and looked up at the manor house that floated like a pale apparition behind the darkened trees. He put out a hand and touched the gate; the rain-slicked metal felt cold and ungiving under his hands. Real. It feels real. There was a slight gossamer whisper of rain in the air; tiny droplets fell against Harry's face and clung to his hair. The night was all about him now, dark and impenetrable. But the next moment, a light wind brushed the clouds aside, and a wan silver moon appeared in the sky, casting the garden beyond the gate in a pale ghostly light.
Heavy footsteps sounded along the gravel path, and Harry watched, breathlessly, as the familiar form of Mundungus Fletcher approached him. Mundungus Fletcher at the Riddle House. Is some of their silver already in your pockets, I wonder? Mundungus raised a flickering lantern and regarded Harry with dark, beady eyes through the iron bars for a moment. Harry held his breath, half expecting Mundungus to remember him from the future. He reached up and touched the unfamiliar rain-damp curls that hung about his neck. Regulus. I am Regulus Black now. Will you see me as Master Black as well, or will some strange recollection of a boy with a scar stir in your mind? But Mundungus merely sighed and muttered: "The master is expecting you. Follow me."
Harry followed Mundungus silently up the garden path. The scuff of his footsteps on the gravel seemed much too loud in the silent night air. He noticed that the moonlit garden had an air of neglect; it was overrun with nettles and tall, unkempt grass. Wild artemisia gleamed in the pale moonlight, and dark yew trees loomed along the path. The deserted black and silver garden had a faint graveyard air about it, and Harry remembered, with a sudden start, that the graveyard where Voldemort had risen again must be somewhere quite near, perhaps just down the lane. I almost forgot. This is not the first time I meet Voldemort in Little Hangleton. Somewhere nearby, a lone owl hooted mournfully.
Mundungus led Harry into the vast marble foyer. "Wait here."
He disappeared, and Harry stood for a moment in silence and looked around the high hushed entrance hall of Riddle House. The air felt cold and stale in here, and goosebumps formed on his flesh. Somewhere nearby, he could hear the ticking of a clock measuring out the slow rhythm of time, out of beat with his own racing heart. Harry glanced up at the pale marble walls. All at once, he noticed three faint dark shadows along the walls, as if portraits had once hung there. Perhaps even the Dark Lord did not want to walk past the portraits of his murdered father and grandparents.
"The master will see you now." Mundungus reappeared, and Harry followed him wordlessly into the familiar dilapidated sitting room, where a dark figure hovered in the shadows by the unlit fireplace.
"Ah, Regulus." Harry heard the faint rustle of a cloak as the dark-clad figure stepped out into the light of the flickering candles. The Dark Lord. Harry felt a dark thrill at his spine as he saw the familiar face, so cold and cruel, and yet so terribly beautiful... Tom. Voldemort. You.
"You wish to see me, Regulus?" The man who was neither quite Tom nor quite Voldemort stepped closer. "Come, sit with me by the fire. Mundungus, bring us some wine."
Mundungus nodded gruffly and was about to disappear when Harry grabbed his arm. He had noticed Mundungus' glance lingering on the silver chain around his neck, and his old anger over Mundungus' thefts from the future rose to the surface. Harry leaned forward and whispered in Mundungus' ear: "Be careful, Mundugus! If you ever visit the Black House, you will do well to remember that there is an ancient curse upon our treasures that will protect them from pilfering fingers."
Mundungus eyes widened, and he swallowed audibly. He nodded briefly and scurried rapidly to the door.
The Dark Lord smiled slightly. "What was that about, Regulus?" He flicked his wand, and the flames in the fireplace began to cast a warm golden glow over the darkened room.
"Ah, here's Mundungus with the wine. You can leave us now, Mundungus. It appears that Regulus wishes to speak to me in private."
Mundungus darted away, and the Dark Lord drew closer to Harry. "What did you wish to speak to me about, Regulus?" Suddenly, Voldemort stopped, frozen mid-step. "What in Merlin's name-?" His voice was a startled whisper, and he stared at Harry as if he had seen a ghost. "What is happening? What is this strange sensation flooding through my mind? It feels like you are touching my mind with yours..."
Do you recognize me, Tom? The thought flickered through Harry's mind, and Voldemort's eyes widened.
"Recognize you? Regulus? What sort of magic is this?" Voldemort stepped closer, his crimson glance fixed on Harry's face. "And why are you calling me "Tom"? Where did you hear of that name?"
Harry gazed at the cold, angelic face of the man in front of him, the Dark Lord of this unfamiliar time, of this strange no man's land between past and future. Voldemort's thoughts flowed into Harry's mind, dark, jagged, torn apart by murder...
Do you remember me, Tom?
"Regulus?" The Dark Lord was pale as death.
I remember you, Tom. I remember that you killed you father in this room. Do you remember, Tom? You told me about it the night you gave me this horcrux.
Harry felt the sudden superstitious dread that pulsed through the Dark Lord's broken soul as he pulled the silver locket out from his robes.
"Where did you get that? Who are you?" Voldemort's voice was almost inaudible. "What are you and where did you come from? You are not Regulus; you are a ghost or a dream of some sort. What are these strange images that fill my mind all of a sudden, sweet dreams of a boy with eyes the color of the Avada curse? He speaks in the ancient serpent tongue, and his skin is warm against mine. I never knew that anything in the world could feel this sweet... "
Harry reached out and touched the cold face before him. "I am your soul, Tom. But tonight I am you assassin. I have come from the past and the future to set time right again."
"You are my soul?" The Dark Lord's voice was a whisper.
"I love you, Tom." Harry's heart hammered in his chest, and his fingers closed around his wand. He leaned forward and brushed the Dark Lord's lips with his own.
"You love me?" Voldemort's words were faint, like a breath against his lips.
Their first kiss tasted of salt and rain. The second had a bitter taste of fear. But the third kiss was sweet and tasted like heather.
Harry pointed his wand at the Dark Lord's heart. "Avada kedavra."