So the prompts I received for this fic were as follows:

-Mpreg tomarry
-Harry making a deal with tom to spare Ginny's life in the chamber, only for tom to come collecting a few years later.

Obviously, this oneshot got out of hand, so it's a little long.

The Chamber of Secrets was cold and wet, with the only signs of life coming from Harry's rushed footsteps through the stagnant water that pooled on the cold stone. There was no sign of the Basilisk, but Harry had to remain on his guard if he had any hope of saving Ginny.

When he finally did locate Ginny, laying at the base of Slytherin's statue, he was secretly glad that Ron was unable to be with him. No doubt his friend would panic at the sight of his baby sister being so lifeless on the floor. She was clutching Riddle's diary, but other than that, there was no signs of life from the small redhead.

"Ginny please, you need to wake up…"

"She won't wake."

Startled by the new voice, Harry turned to see Tom Riddle standing behind him. While the teen was a handsome as ever, his features were somewhat blurred, as if Harry was seeing him through smudged glasses.

"Tom... Tom Riddle?" Harry whispered in disbelief before turning his attention back to Ginny, "What d'you mean, she won't wake? She's not..." He gulped, fearing the worst.

The teen cut through Harry's fears, "She's still alive. But only just."

"Are you a ghost?" The question seemed stupid the moment it left Harry's mouth, as he knew what ghosts looked like, but he couldn't help himself.

Riddle raised an eyebrow as he moved to circle Harry and Ginny, "A memory. Preserved in a diary for fifty years."

Harry didn't know how one could preserve a memory in a diary, or how those memories could come to life an act on their own, but he couldn't really be bothered to find out, he had more pressing matters to attend to, "She's cold as ice. You've got to help me, Tom. There's a basilisk —"

"It won't come until it's called." Riddle was twirling a wand in his hand nonchalantly. Harry's wand.

"Give me my wand, Tom." Harry tried to command with as much strength as his twelve year old body can muster.

Tom only smirked, "You won't be needing it."

Harry could feel the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. He knew his body was telling him to get out of there and get out of there fast, "Listen, we've got to go! We've got to save her!"

"I'm afraid I can't do that, Harry." Riddle was smiling now, a charming, but terribly cold smile, "You see, as poor Ginny grows weaker... I grow stronger."

Harry could feel his blood run cold, "You're killing her…"

"Of course."

"You can't!"

A chuckle escaped Riddle, "I believe you'll find, Harry, that I can indeed."

Harry shook his head, standing up and rushing at Riddle, "I can't let you kill her!"

Harry didn't know what he was expecting when he barged at Riddle, after all, the teen was a memory leeching the life out of Ginny. But when Harry's hands mad contact with Riddle's chest, and he was able to fist the front of Riddle's shirt, he stopped, unable to process what to do next.

Riddle also appeared shocked, not expecting Harry to be able to touch him no doubt. The two of them stood like that for some time, simply staring at where Harry's hands met Tom's chest. Then Riddle lifted his hand, reaching out to touch Harry's face. The hand passed through Harry's cheek, though Harry could feel his scar throbbing in pain. To his surprise, Riddle winced at Harry's pain as well, as his hand continued to pass though Harry's body.

"Curious…" Blinking, Riddle locked eyes with Harry, "How badly do you want to save her?"

Harry shied away from Riddle's intense gaze, "Save Ginny? I'll do anything to save her."

To Harry's dread, Riddle grinned, "I was hoping you'd say that, Harry." He lifted the wand, "Give me your hand."

"Why…"

"Do you wish to save poor Ginny, or no?"

Harry was more than aware that what he was doing was a bad idea, but he really didn't have much of a choice. Taking his hand from Riddle's shirt and extending it to Riddle, Harry could only watch as Riddle cast a spell under his breath. He couldn't tell what it was, he could only see the silvery threads wind their way around Harry's wrist, leaving delicate scars in their wake.

"What are you doing?" Harry asked warily, watching the other boy carefully.

Riddle didn't address Harry until after he was finished, "They are simply a mark of a Wizard's debt. I'll let you have Ginny for now. But you'll be hearing from me again, and I'll be needing a favor from you."

Harry didn't even have a chance to respond to Riddle's offer, as the teen was already dissolving in front of his eyes. In no time, Harry was grasping at thin air, standing alone in the Chamber of Secret.

Only the sound of Ginny gasping for air reminded him that he was not, in fact, alone.

"Ginny!"

Harry had been dreaming of that night in the Chamber of Secrets for nearly four years. It wasn't every night, it wasn't even every week, but he kept dreaming it. He never told anyone, not even Dumbledore, not even Ron or Hermione, about the deal that Riddle had struck with him. To the rest of the world, Harry had slain the Basilisk with help from Fawkes and the Sword of Gryffindor, rescuing Ginny from certain death. No one knew the truth behind how he rescued Ginny.

But the dreams still came. Even when Voldemort returned to power, and Harry began to have his visionary dreams, the Chamber of Secrets dream would make an appearance every so often. And out of all the dreams Harry had, from dreams of other people's murders to manipulative visions from Voldemort, the Chamber of Secrets dream unsettled Harry the most. Because it wasn't a dream, it was a memory that he was constantly reliving. As if the spider's thread thin scars on Harry's left wrist weren't bad enough…

Part of Harry wanted to inform Ron, Hermione, Dumbledore, anyone, about his plight. Surely someone could give him guidance, or at least help him decipher his dreams (actually decipher them, not make up stuff for a Divination's mark). But Harry also knew that everyone was caught up with their own personal issues, especially Dumbledore. Between their lessons on Voldemort and horcruxes and all the attempts on Dumbledore's life, Harry doubted their was time to tackle another of Harry's problems.

And so he dreamed.

The Chamber of Secrets was cold and wet, with the only signs of life coming from Harry's rushed footsteps through the stagnant water that pooled on the cold stone. There was no sign of the Basilisk, but Harry had to remain on his guard if he had any hope of saving Ginny.

Slytherin's statue, that's where Ginny was. Harry ran as fast as he could to the stone image of the Hogwarts founder, dreading seeing Ginny's lifeless body lying on the chilled ground.

But there was no body.

Harry blinked, "Ginny?" This wasn't how it was supposed to go…

"Looking for someone?"

Harry's heart stopped in his chest as he heard the voice that had been haunting his dreams for nearly four years. He dreaded turning to face Riddle, but he knew deep down that it was the only thing he could do. So, after a deep breath, Harry turned.

Riddle was just as ghostly as Harry remembered: handsome, but seemingly in a haze. Four years of dreaming had changed nothing.

"Where's Ginny?"

Riddle laughed, "Did you come down here expecting to save her like you did when you were twelve?" He raised an eyebrow, "Or perhaps you thought you were reliving that memory?" A dark chuckle escaped Riddle's lips, "I feel obligated to inform you that you are awake, Harry."

A chill ran though Harry as he looked down and realized that Riddle was right. At least, Harry wasn't his twelve-year-old self, but rather a sixteen-year-old in pajamas. "How did I…"

"No doubt you walked yourself down here while you dreamt." Riddle smirked, "Have you noticed you sleep-walk, Harry? No, I doubt it…"

Harry gripped his wand (which he had somehow managed to grab while sleepwalking), raising it to point at Riddle, "I know what you are, Riddle. You're no memory, you're a horcrux."

Riddle's smirk melted away, leaving the teen with his usual professional mask, "Yes, I am." He replied evenly, taking carefully measured steps toward Harry regardless of the wand pointed at him, "And so are you."

"What?" Harry couldn't help it, he lowered his wand, "What are you talking about?"

The other teen tutted as one would a slow child, "Did Dumbledore really never tell you, his precious golden boy, the truth about who, and what, you are? How your connection to the Dark Lord is because you are a vessel for a fraction of his soul?"

"You're lying…" Harry hissed, gripping his wand all the tighter. He couldn't listen to anything Riddle said, he was a liar and a manipulator.

Riddle shook his head, "Did you never wonder, Harry, what made you so special?" The horcrux stepped close to Harry, ignoring the wand altogether, "Did you never wonder why you shared his gift for parseltongue? Why you could always sense when he was near? Why, in your dreams, the two of you share a subconscious? Did you really never wonder, never question your real connection with the Dark Lord?"

They stood in silence, with Riddle staring intently at Harry's face. Harry, for his part, did the best he could to shield his true feelings and doubts about the fact that he could be Voldemort's horcrux.

Fat lot of good it did him, as Riddle snorted, "That's what I thought."

Harry growled, stepping away from Riddle once more, "It doesn't matter if I'm a horcux, Riddle—"

"I assure you, Harry, it truly does." Riddle smirked, "Because I'm calling in that favor you owe me."

At once, Harry could feel the markings on his left wrist warm slightly, the magic in them humming to life. And Harry, for all his Gryffindor bravery, was frightened, "What do you want from me?"

Riddle stepped close once more, tracing Harry's cheek with his ghostly hand, "You see Harry, I need a soul to become whole once more. I had fully intended to use poor Ginny's soul all those years ago. But why settle for a weak little first year's soul…" His hand traveled to Harry's chest, "When I can have the soul that is rightfully mine?"

Harry's heart was pounding against his ribcage like a battering ram, "Then why wait? If you wanted the horcrux, why didn't you take it four years ago?"

"Because, my dear Harry," Riddle smirked, leaning in close, "a horcrux thrives off its host. Why take it from a twelve year old when I can wait for the soul to grow, to mature and become even stronger." He chuckled, a smooth and deep noise, "Ideally, I would have waited until after you reached majority, but at the rate your hunt for horcruxes is going, I have a feeling you won't be here next year. Thus, I had to move up my deadline."

Riddle was far too close for comfort, all sorts of alarm bells were ringing in Harry's head. But he couldn't get away from Riddle, as his back was met with the damp carvings of Salazar Slytherin, "I won't let you do this…" He protested weakly, gripping his wand as it if were his last lifeline.

"Oh Harry." Tom shook his head slowly, "The time in which you had a choice in the matter has long since past." As Harry stared up at Riddle's monochrome features, he could see the cold, steely eyes staring back at him. The longer their eyes remained locked, the more Harry could see the familiar scarlet that haunted his dreams bleeding into Riddle's pupils.

"I would tell you that this won't hurt a bit, but…well, why spoil the surprise?"

Harry was cold. In fact, he was downright freezing. And wet. Gasping, Harry opened his eyes, only to be greeted with the bleak reminder that he was not, in fact, in his dormitory bed and the whole ordeal with Riddle had simply been another nightmare. The dark and dank cavern ceiling of the Chamber of Secrets was a stark reminder that, no, he could not be that lucky.

His body felt like he had been poured from melted lead and left there to cool on the Chamber floor. Even the thought of moving hurt. It was all Harry could do to turn his head to check his surroundings.

Riddle was next to him, sprawled out gracefully on the stone as if he had simply chosen to sleep there. Though now, Harry realized with dread curling in his stomach, Riddle was no longer in hazy monochrome. Every detail of the teen, from his tousled dark hair to his sharp cheekbones to his strong jawline to his elegantly straight nose, were all in perfect clarity.

Riddle was alive and, even worse, he was waking up.

The taller teen took his time in standing up, enjoying each stretch of his limbs and subtle movement of his muscles, "In over fifty years, I haven't felt this alive." He chuckled, as if he had made a joke. When Riddle was on his feet, he looked as composed as ever, as if he hadn't been lying on the dingy ground. "I really should thank you, Harry, for managing to stay alive all those years, despite my counterpart's best efforts."

Harry wanted to tell Riddle where he could shove those thanks, but unfortunately, his entire body didn't seem too keen on him voicing any opinions at that moment. His body was so weak, after all, that he couldn't even put up a decent fight when Riddle reached down and pried Harry's wand from his hand.

"I suppose the best way I can thank you," Riddle said softly, though that softness didn't reach his eyes, "is to allow your death to be as painless as possible. You're welcome."

With that, Riddle raised the wand, Harry's own wand, to Harry's heart. And Harry, for his part, was torn between the fear of dying and being annoyed that he was going to be killed where no one could find him.

"Avada Kedavra"

Harry closed his eyes out of sheer reactionary instinct. But though Harry had seen the Killing Curse in action on a number of occasions, but he couldn't say that he had much experience in actually…experiencing the curse (even if he had more experience than the rest of the world). Did it hurt? Would he be able to feel his soul leave his body? Would he feel anything?

…Was he already dead?

Unable to contain his curiosity, Harry opened his eyes slowly.

Riddle was still standing over Harry, wand pointed at him. But the easy look on the older teen's face was gone, replaced by a look of annoyance and, at least to Harry's eyes, confusion.

The Slytherin's face twisted into a sneer, "Avada Kedavra!"

Harry flinched at the words, but again, nothing happened. No green light, no soul leaving Harry's body, not even the slightest bit of a reaction that a spell had even been cast.

By now, Riddle looked like he was ready to murder someone (not that he wasn't trying already). There was a small skittering noise as a rat ran across the Chamber floor, catching Riddle's attention and his ire.

"Avada Kedavra!" Riddle bellowed, pointing the wand at the rat. This time, the normal reaction occurred: the flash of green, followed by the unfortunately drop of the rat's lifeless body. And while Harry had no love for rats, he couldn't help but feel sorry for the poor creature. But there wasn't much time to dwell on the rat's demise, as Riddle had seen fit to cast every curse he could think of at the walls of the chamber.

"Bombarda!"

"Duro!"

"Reducto!"

There were several spells that Harry didn't recognize, and stone pillars that were reduced to dust during Riddle's tantrum, and Harry couldn't help but wonder if the other teen would bring down the Chamber on them both.

As if reading Harry's mind, Riddle turned back to Harry, his cheeks red with fury, "Avada Kedavra!"

Again, nothing. Harry didn't even blink that time.

Riddle rushed to Harry's side, grabbing him by the shirt and shaking him, "Why can't I kill you?"

Harry, after fighting off the wave of nausea that came from being rattled about like a rag doll, blinked his eyes back into focus, "I can imagine your counterpart has been asking himself that for nearly fifteen years."

For all of Harry's bravado (a rather weak shield given the circumstance), he also had no clue as to what was happening between them. But as Harry focused on Riddle's face, and locked eyes with his would-be killer, he realized something: the oh so familiar scarlet was only present in one eye.

The other was green.

"Riddle…can I ask you something…" Harry ventured. After all, his body was only barely reacting to his commands, and Tom seemed keen on killing him anyways, so he hardly had anything to lose.

Riddle was quickly regaining his composure, "I suppose I can cater to your whims for now."

"What color were your eyes, before you started making horcruxes?" Of all the things Harry could ask, this was probably the most outlandish, but his curiosity had a tendency to get the better of him.

Riddle, for his part, didn't scoff at Harry like he thought he would (perhaps that was because Riddle was too wrapped up in not being able to kill Harry), "If you must know, they were hazel." He raised an eyebrow, "Why?"

"Because they aren't now."

"Of course they aren't, you fool." Riddle was sneering again (oh goodie), "I have shed my mortal self."

"Well only one of your eyes is red now, the other's green."

Riddle blinked, meeting Harry's gaze. And, if the circumstances had been different, Harry might have laughed at the sight of Tom Riddle, aka Voldemort, staring at him with wide eyes. Of course, the urge to laugh passed the moment Riddle spoke.

"The same goes to you."

It was Harry's turn to blink in confusion, "What…" He needed to see with his own eyes before he would believe anything Riddle told him. With all the strength he could muster, Harry climbed to his feet.

Only to empty his stomach contents onto the stone below.

"Watch it, Potter!" Riddle hissed, jumping out of the way, "What is wrong with you?"

"Excuse me, you just tore a piece of soul from me!" Harry shouted, trying to catch his breath, "Forgive me if I'm not exactly used to it!"

"Get over yourself Potter, it wasn't your soul to begin with." Riddle scoffed, brushing of imaginary dirt from his robes, "I only took what was mine."

"Then you want to explain why you have one of my eyes?"

That got Riddle to shut up. And no doubt the Slytherin loathed not having all the answers, if Harry had gathered anything from his knowledge of the boy-who-would-become-Voldemort. But honestly, Harry wouldn't have minded Riddle having the answers, because frankly, Harry wanted to know as well. Because the sluggish body, nausea, and mis-matched eyes were more than Harry wanted to deal with at that moment.

And then the searing pain started to rip though his abdomen.

Harry didn't want to admit that he had screamed in response to his abdomen feeling as if it was being ripped in two. Nor would he admit that he had collapsed in Riddle's arms when his legs gave out.

"What the hell are you playing at, Potter?" Riddle grumbled, lowering Harry to the ground (though, thankfully, away from Harry's own vomit).

Harry gasped between his screams, "Does it bloody look like I'm playing at anything, Riddle?"

Riddle rolled his eyes, "The pain from soul separation should have passed already…" He passed his wand over Harry's body slowly, "I don't know what you did, Potter…"

"You're the one who did this too me!"

Tom didn't reply, his wand paused over Harry's abdomen, "Bloody hell…"

Now, Harry liked to think he knew a bit about Tom Riddle during his lessons with Dumbledore. He knew the teen was reserved, charismatic when it suited his needs, cunning, and always, always, always in control.

Tom Riddle did not curse.

Taking a deep breath, Harry reached up, curling his hand in Riddle's shirt, "Riddle, you're going to tell me what is wrong with me right now, or I will use your intestines to skip rope."

Riddle raised an eyebrow, "Rather violent for Dumbledore's Golden Boy."

"These are extenuating circumstances."

"Very true." The other nodded, "In short, Potter, you're pregnant."

Now if Harry hadn't known Riddle better, he would have shrugged off the comment as a cruel joke. But Harry did know Riddle, and the Slytherin joked about as much as he cursed. "What did you do to me?" Harry tightened his grip on Riddle's shirt.

"I wouldn't worry too much, Potter." Riddle smirked, "You're predicament will be over just as soon as I figure out the best way to kill you."

"The hell you are." Harry growled, Gryffindor courage returning to him like a bursting floodgate, "I did not come this far to be killed by some sixteen year old with delusions of grandeur. I wasn't scared of you when I was twelve, and I'm not scared of you now, and don't think I won't kill you like I'm going to kill your counterpart. Now give me my wand!"

The wand was in Harry's hand before he had finished the command, Riddle's body acting of its own accord, leaving both Harry and Tom in shock.

Riddle stared at Harry, "What did you do to me, Potter?"

"I asked first." Harry, feeling more comfortable now that he had his wand in his hand and the pain had subsided. Sitting up, Harry turned to face Riddle, "So you're telling me that you tried to take the Horcux from me, yet somehow, we have mixed eyes and I'm pregnant, and for some reason, you can't kill me and I can command you. Is that basically what's happening right now?"

"Basically." Riddle sighed, reluctantly accepting the situation.

Harry sighed, getting to his feet (but not letting go to his wand or Riddle's shirt), "So, I guess we need to figure out what exactly is happening and figure out how to fix it."

Riddle didn't respond, but then again, he didn't need to voice anything. Harry already knew what he was thinking (because he was thinking it too).

What the hell do we do now?

I'm still not satisfied with how this ended, but I couldn't just keep going on. If you would like to see more (and have ideas of what should happen next), feel free to submit them to my tumblr inbox