Author's note: After reading magentasouth's stories found in aff, I felt compelled to write something. There are five chapters written, but it needs some more polishing before I continue to post. I have not abandoned my other stories and I'm hoping to update TPH before June.

Fatal Magnetism is a story that branches off from the Chamber of Secrets. The story will involve underage non-consensual sex, torture and gore. If you are squeamish about that, then this story is not right for you. The prologue is fairly clean, however.

(5/2/11) Lots of thanks to the anonymous reviewer who pointed out my em-dash abuse. More thanks to JT for agreeing to beta-read this chapter. While there might be leftover grammar or spelling errors, I hope that they are not as obvious as before. Enjoy reading.

(3/7/19) I'm currently doing a rewrite in AO3. I'll Repost chapters here once we get back to where I've left off.

Fatal Magnetism

Prologue

Harry Potter thought he was not lonely.

In a class full of children whose lives were simple, whose worries were fickle, he was horribly out of place. They had no idea what it was like to be in his shoes – not that they'll ever be in his shoes. How many people can survive an Avada Kedavra and vanquish a Dark Lord as a baby anyway?

'I'm not lonely.'

The child in him had long yearned for a companion. He longed for someone who can understand what he'd gone through. When he learned he was a wizard, it was the most amazing thing, and the excitement carried over when he saw others like him. He was even more amazed when he stepped foot in the wizarding world.

He thought it was paradise.

Until it wasn't.

In the wizarding world, he discovered that he was still different. He was was the Boy-Who-Lived. It was funny because so many claimed to know him, wrote books, told stories, and rallied under his name but he never found out until he he turned eleven.

One moment, he was a boy who can't even protect himself from his own magic hating relatives. The next, he was idolized. His coming was that of a messiah. He was on a pedestal; the pedestal was high enough that a fall would break his neck.

Once or twice he asked for help. He wondered why no one could see him as a child . He was robbed of normalcy . The problem was, a role was being forced upon him.

People wanted the Dark Lord gone and whoever did it deserved praise and so he got it. He was a miracle even when his defeat of the Dark Lord was a fluke. In the end, the people of wizarding world named him the savior out of convenience. His eleven-year-old mind did not understand that concept when he first entered the world of magic. His twelve-year-old mind still thought it was ridiculous.

So he had no choice but to accept his savior status. It was easy to pretend that nothing was wrong and the more he pretended, the easier it was to assume the persona of the golden boy.

The golden boy was this awkward, heroic, kind, self-sacrificing child. He had friends who were courageous enough to go on adventures with him. He was encouraged to do so. To be the hero and sometimes, if he was being honest… he really liked being that boy. He liked being the savior, and he liked helping other people when he couldn't even help himself.

Sometimes, he realized, it was becoming easier and easier to become the one thing he desired, and it usually worked. It worked well enough that people didn't really ask him if anything was wrong.

He adapted to the image the public wanted for him and thus he became epitome Gryffindor, Dumbledore's pet, and the lived up to the title... He continued to fulfill the role because it gave him purpose. In his mind he thought, somehow he was useful and somehow everyone loved him for he was the chosen one.

Still. It was… jarring how no one found it ridiculous...

He was a baby that somehow, through some magical unexplainable means, was able to deflect the killing curse.

As a baby, he saved them from the big bad wizard and was hailed a savior. He was famous for the fact that his parents died to protect him, and the wizarding world showed its gratitude by depositing him to his muggle family who abused him.

One moment, they say they love him, and the next, just because of a small incident which was definitely not his fault, they turn their backs on him.

Why can't the wizarding world forget about him? He did not want the spotlight. If it meant that every single "bad" thing he did would be judged and condemned, he didn't want it.

It all started when he was found in the wrong place at the wrong time. And then things escalated to where he had a duel with Draco Malfoy and the boy had the gall to use Serpensortia.

So what if he could talk to snakes? It shouldn't mean anything.

Slowly, for doing something that didn't fit their preconceived image of him, his friends started ignoring him. His house started doubting him and he was being ostracized by the entire school.

Harry Potter was not affected by it. Harry forced himself to believe that.

But he was alone now, and being alone brought all sorts of thoughts to his mind. It was comparable to smoke that clouded everything, even his common sense.

He'd gone through a lot more pain before, when his own family hated him. He thought it was nothing new, but this feeling was in fact different.

Because now he knew what it was like to be loved.

In the middle of the Gryffindor common room, he was writing on a black book. It was a diary covered with black leather, enchanted to write back to him.

He writes because no one else wanted to talk to him.

He acquired the diary in a girl's' bathroom. What he was doing there, he had no idea, but it felt sad to just throw away a good enough book.

T.M. Riddle.

No one really knew who owned it, and so he kept it.

He then learned that it could talk back. Harry knew that there was something odd about a seemingly alive person within the worn pages of the book, but he could not help himself.

The book was very kind to him. Tom listened. He never judged.

To a twelve year old, it was all that mattered.

So he wrote of things that he shouldn't have written, entirely too trusting.

Dumbledore refused. Again.

He said that he would...

But not now.

Not the right time.

WHY?

I don't know.

Maybe he thinks I'm evil.

I think he's avoiding me.

No one wants to tell me anything.

Is there anything else about the heir

that you know, Tom?

The diary absorbed the words, and a perfectly loopy " I " appeared. It was followed by words that intrigued the young child.

Sadly, I have shown you everything.

There is nothing more but

I can tell from the way you're writing

that you are not alright.

What's wrong, Harry?

Harry took a deep breath and sighed. He wondered if writing to the diary would help, but perhaps it would. His ink made a blot on the page and it spread and was absorbed by the paper like a sponge that never ever got wet.

If it's something

you'd like to keep to yourself,

Then you don't need to tell me.

Harry drew squiggles, then, trying to calm himself, before writing in very tiny letters.

They hate me.

There was a big pause as Harry wondered if he should continue... but the thought of writing it on paper, made it all the more real.

I can't tell you why but

they hate me for something that they don't

even understand.

Maybe tomorrow, I will write again.

The diary was quick to respond.

I am always here for you.

Sleep well, Harry.

Harry nodded, feeling sleepy all of a sudden.

Goodnight, Tom.

Harry hauled his tired self off the desk and got into his pajamas. He burrowed under the covers and whispered for the drapes around his bed to close. The dark surrounded him and he fell asleep with the diary under his pillow.

Days passed and the people around him grew to hate him even more. Dobby was still annoying him but the elf was the least of his concerns.

Sometimes he just wanted to scream at everyone and say, "Hey. I'm innocent. Where's your proof that I'm the Heir of Slytherin? Why do you hate me so much?"

It was maddening.

It was as if they collectively branded him as the one responsible for the attacks. Ron and Hermione were still hanging out with him though and for that he was grateful. He didn't know what it'd feel like if they left him too.

He also had the Diary.

Tom was the only one who ever listened, without judging. He told him to be optimistic, and between his two friends and Tom, it became bearable.

They grew close enough to the point that Tom began to invite him in his faded world, where things were a lot simpler. It was just the two of them there, and it felt like he had another friend, someone even more special than Ron and Hermione…

Because Tom was perfect.

It was becoming difficult to sleep on his own. He tried to use sleeping potions but it could not be used for a prolonged amount of time. His body might grow dependent on it. His other alternative was the diary.

It was the best solution. It was better than having nightmares. Within the diary he had an added perk of staying awake while being technically asleep.

Inside the little golden world, he was safe and protected.

Tom was so nice and he gave him what he needed.

It was hard to hear them talking against the din.

The students were afraid.

On the staff table, the headmaster's seat remained empty. Hagrid was in Azkaban. The rest of the professors were worried and they could not hide it from the students.

Snape looked upon Harry with calculating eyes and Harry had gone so used to it that he did not bother to glare back.

"Silence!"

Minerva McGonagall stood up from her seat and attempted to reassure the students and the staff as well, that they were doing their very best to capture the culprit of the numerous petrifications. It was only a matter of time, she said.

But it only served to agitate the students even more. Some even asked out loud, "What are you even trying to do about it?"

To this, McGonagall mentioned "Potions are being brewed to counter, but it will take a few months before we get that ready. In the meantime, we will enforce a curfew..."

Among other things.

The Malfoy heir was gloating to his loyal band of followers that in due time, the mudbloods would all end up getting what they deserved. He told them that Dumbledore will get sacked, and that his father would make it a point to do everything in his power to do.

Harry couldn't find it in himself to disagree or bother to prove the Malfoy heir wrong. For one, he wondered why he should actually bother. Arguing with someone who can't listen to reason would be a waste of his time.

His thoughts on Hagrid were divided. He still didn't know if Hagrid was behind all this. He didn't have the heart to question him, and Hagrid was simply avoiding him too… ever since the half giant found out he could talk to snakes, he'd been guarded.

It made no sense that Hagrid wanted to kill mudbloods…. Hagrid would not willingly harm him, or would he?

"Harry... we have to do something."

Harry frowned. "Like what, Hermione?"

As the golden trio, were they expected to miraculously save the day again? He refused to do anything at this point. He wondered if the adults are utterly useless on their own that they would resort to allowing mere twelve year olds to do their work. Why? He stared past Hermione and saw his less than subtle housemates eavesdropping on the conversation..

"I've been doing some reading in the library… I think I might have found something, but I'm not sure."

Harry was still amazed at what Hermione could do, "Alright, let's go."

They spent hours in the library.

In the end, they were only able to narrow down a number of things that may cause petrifications and the list was long. Harry still thought it was some amount of progress.

What that achieved was making Hagrid the least likely suspect… and yet Tom insisted he was at fault.

He questioned Tom repeatedly about but somehow... somehow Tom always managed to avoid the topic, and sometimes, Harry would completely forget about it, together with a lot of other things.

"Tom, do you agree with this saying... that there is no good or evil... that there is only power and those too weak to seek it?"

Harry found himself abruptly pulled by the teen.

"Who told you that?"

His back hit the wall. There was a dangerous look in Tom's eyes.

"Tom... it hurts."

The teen snapped out of trance and the tightness on his eyes loosened. Harry attempted to move away, still afraid, but soon found himself encased in a familiar hug.

"Forgive me, Harry. I was surprised... at what you just said. It brought back a few unwanted memories." Tom tried to convey his apology by resting his head atop the smaller boy's eternally messy hair.

Harry could not understand why he started to relax.

Tom brought them towards the sofa where he told the child to lay on his lap while he began.

"I hope I didn't scare you..."

Harry shook his head and stopped Tom. "It's alright. I'm fine."

Tom laughed. It was warm and it was contagious. Harry smiled and he tilted his head to the side. His eyes fluttered close.

"It was Voldemort… he told me that he could bring back my parents… I wonder if he could. It would be nice to have father and mother with me..."

Tom was silent before he began saying, "There are powers that can bring back the dead… but it will take a great deal of magic to bring back the dead with their souls intact. Did he hurt you?"

"He wanted to… but when I touched him… his body… Professor Quirrell… it turned to ashes."

Harry thought he could fall asleep then. It got better when Tom combed fingers on his hair. An utterly hypnotic feeling.

"Let me tell you a story..."

Harry woke up with tears in his eyes. Tom had a horrible life. He knew the boy in the story was him. Tom was abandoned by a mother who died soon after he was born…

When he could have been living with his muggle family, he was stuck in an orphanage who did not understand why he was different. It was worse for Tom because those around him didn't understand the nature of his freakishness . Harry experienced the same with his muggle relatives. They absolutely hated the thought of magic and he knew how it hurt.

Tom's father was alive and his father knew that he had a child but did not bother finding him.

Like him, Tom wanted love. He wanted a family. They both wanted a place to call home.

He dreamed that one day his father would come and take him away from the godforsaken place. No one came. All those who bothered to request for adoption would – in the end – back down, because the matron believed he was cursed and she made sure everyone knew about it.

When Tom decided to fight back, no matter how it tore the child – no older than five and he harbored a thick indignation at the world for being born that way – he became cruel and Harry felt miserable for him.

He knew Tom was deliberately hiding things but he knew there were things you had to keep to yourself.

Just like how he hated talking about his muggle relatives, and the cupboard under the stairs.

He knew that it was callous that he never really thought about Tom being a real person. He was just a diary, but lately, as their interactions grew, Harry wished Tom was a real boy. If someone hurt more, it was probably Tom.

They were so similar and sometimes, he was left wondering about where the real Tom Riddle was in the world. He tried searching for him but he could not find records.

Unlike Tom, Harry did not have it in him to fight back. What a Gryffindor he was. Perhaps things would have been different if he was in Slytherin. But he shook his head. If he was in Slytherin, it would have been impossible to meet Tom.

Harry stopped his musings and tried to distract himself by taking a shower and preparing himself to face another day full with unashamed staring, whispering and unfounded animosity.

Harry was sore the next morning and told Ron that he was feeling sick.

"You sure, mate? Snape will be furious."

Harry mouthed with a grin. "Let him be."

Ron whined, "but Harry, the house points!"

Harry chuckled then, and buried his head on the pillow wondering why it smelled different, almost like...

A waving hand to his face snapped him out of his reverie back to Ron who was a little bit ticked annoyed he kept on being distracted.

"I'll make sure to visit Madam Pomfrey and get a pass so don't worry. We won't lose points and Snape can't dock points for me for getting sick. Um. Tell Hermione to lend me her notes later and... I just need more sleep," Harry said.

While Harry was resting, the whole school was in an uproar. Another child had been petrified. A wall was painted red with a message that chilled their bones.

At dinner, Ron cried out in misery. Hermione whispered meaningless words in an attempt to soothe the boy.

Harry was transfixed by the black swirling on his plate.

"Harry… Hary something happened. Hey, are you listening to me? What's wrong with you?!"

But Harry found it difficult to really concentrate. He felt tired, and his bones ached.

Harry could see how tired he was from the reflection of his face on the glass water. Harry acknowledged that Ron was angry again. Ron would blame him, and for awhile, ignore him, and after some time would pass, make up with him. They'd be best buddies again.

Right?

Had it always been that way? He felt like any moment now… Ron should calm down, and just leave him alone.

He did not want to see the eyes that stared back at him in silent accusation.

But he kept silent. Maybe that was the wrong thing to do because right after dinner, Ron exploded.

"YOU KNOW SOMETHING! That's why you're keeping your mouth shut. That's why you can't look me in the eye. You're a bloody liar!"

Hermione tried to pull Ron back. The red-head promptly shoved Harry until his back was to the wall.

"I'm, sorry Ron, I really don't know what you're talking about. I just got back from the hospital wing, I don't know what happened while I was gone..."

"Don't pretend you don't bloody know!" Ron took out his wand and seethed, "I should have known all along… the others kept telling me you're the one one who did it!"

Harry closed his eyes as a sudden wave of nausea hit him. He felt really sick, and it was because of this that when Ron shot a curse, Harry couldn't dodge.

What Ron was cast a severing charm, and it hit his arm, slicing a part of it like ribbons.

Hermione slapped Ron and proceeded to shake him back to his senses. "Ron, stop. Can't you see Harry's sick? What has gotten over you… We can't be fighting like this… Just... let it go. Ron–"

But Ron was distraught, and red eyed almost to the point of tears, "Harry… if you really are my friend… we have to do something! Ginny… she's gone missing. We can't find her… Give me back my sister…"

But Harry was unresponsive, and could only stare incredulously at his bleeding arm, still not able to comprehend the fact that Ron hurt him, and how no one tried to stop him. He was shocked and speechless that Ron would accuse him of ever hurting his sister.

All the other students were just looking at him.

Hermione's eyes widened when she looked at Harry, "Oh God, Harry," she knelt to next to him and was at loss at what to do, "you're bleeding."

Hermione offered a hand but Harry slapped it away, afraid, and hurt. Hermione looked at Ron's retreating back and Harry's injured state. "Let me help you, Harry."

And it was then that Harry suddenly started laughing because sometimes, sometimes you couldn't help it and it stopped the tears from coming, "do you really want to?"

She backed away, afraid, and left, running after Ron.

Harry remained on the floor and no one, wanted to go near him. He looked at the scandalized faces of the other students.

He should get up… He really should.

He blacked out.

Harry woke up and found himself in the hospital wing. The white walls, the white bed and the smell of antiseptic was strong. The matron guarded the door and wouldn't let him leave but eventually he was able to sneak out.

He wanted to see the Headmaster.

He found himself in front of the rotating staircase trying to guess passwords and when he got in, he was disappointed to see no one. Dumbledore was gone.

Harry thought that maybe he'd come back, but it was pretty evident that when sunrise came and the headmaster was still gone that he was wasting his time.

The portraits were looking at him strangely when he started crying all to himself.

He skipped his classes, and traversed through the castle like a mindless ghost. He just felt so lost… All he wanted was for someone to listen to him and believe in him.

He shouldn't have pushed Hermione away… she was only trying to help.

He missed his friends.

He got back to the Gryffindor common room, and by the time he got to his bed, his hands were shaking.

He only had Tom.

Something's wrong with me.

They call me the boy who lived.

But... I'm nothing.

If the wizarding world really wanted me...

my muggle relatives...

Harry huddled near the glass window and the leaves flew by swirling, as if dancing to his mood. Harry didn't notice the way the glass was slowly cracking, and the way the air frosted over.

His quill dipped in ink and he started writing, his thoughts.

I'm tired.

I'm really tired.

I tried to look for Dumbledore.

But he probably left the school.

Something's wrong.

Everything hurts.

My hands can't stop

shaking.

Madam Pomfrey says it's cause

I'm not sleeping well.

Ron Hates me.

Ginny… I hope she's alright

She's gone missing, Tom.

I hope we find her.

I can speak to snakes, you know?

Does that make me a dark wizard?

They all think I'm the Heir of Slytherin…

I'm evil…

I'm the next dark lord.

Am I evil?

I didn't hurt anyone.

I'm innocent.

It's not fair.

No one understands.

I only want to be accepted.

To just be Harry...

I want to run away,. Tom.

Harry wiped the tears off, and his hand trembled.

I want to die.

Words appeared before he could finish writing more.

No you do not, Harry.

Don't say stupid things like that.

You're upset your friends betrayed your trust.

They're simply children and children make mistakes.

I hate them Tom.

I don't want to stay here anymore.

Hogwarts doesn't feel like. Home.

I have no home.

Breathe.

There will come a time that...

you will not hurt anymore.

Harry trembled, shaking his head. The past few weeks hurt a lot. The whole school hated him. He didn't know where else to go and he didn't want to go back to his family.

Harry was engulfed in a blinding white light.

Someone was rubbing his back. Harry felt helpless in his misery and allowed arms to wrap around him. It wasn't as warm as a real body should feel but Harry felt it all the same.

" Just let it out. You will feel better."

Harry failed to register that it was murmured in parseltongue. Had he cared to notice, he would have known then... The child might have saved the world from a terrible fate. Yet Harry was so distraught that all that mattered was the warmth . Tom Riddle possessively held the child against him and waited for a confirmation of his hunch. The boy felt so right in his arms, it was a wonder why his older self could not feel it.

"I'm so... tired Tom... can't stop... crying," Harry replied in parseltongue.

Ron and Hermione avoided him like the rest.

Madam Pomfrey ended up cornering him in order to have the cut looked at. Some nosy students probably mentioned it to her and so he went to have it healed.

She urged for more rest, and for a longer stay in the hospital wing.

And here he was, attending classes anyway. Transfiguration was an easy subject once he put his heart to it. Ron was missing at his side, and he was alone at the back row. It was no matter.

The class progressed the way it should be. Professor McGonagall refused to tell them anything about the Chamber of Secrets but assured them that they were doing something about it.

They studied the theory of changing inanimate objects to animate objects and vice versa. Obviously, it was trickier to render living objects into seemingly-non living ones. Hermione was more than happy when the professor mentioned they'd be tackling a small bit of human transfiguration and eagerly waited for a demonstration.

When Hermione's hand turned into a paw, she was not as happy however. Harry was called once or twice to recite a passage. It was relatively uneventful and he heard to occasional whisper of his name but that was all the excitement for Transfiguration.

He caught Ron staring and Ron looked guilty.

Harry looked away, unable to deal with Ron's ever changing mood. One moment he hated him, and another he looked as if he wanted to apologize.

Harry tried to stop his hand from tracing the cut on his arm. He wanted to show everyone he was not affected..

Whispers.

" They're not friends anymore."

" He deserves it."

" No he doesn't... I feel sorry for him."

" No you don't. He's looking at you… you might be his next target."

Harry watched as others turned away when he stared back at them.

Annoyance.

Why don't you scare them a little, Harry?

He did.

To his pure amazement, they all flinched or backed away when he hissed a small "Hello" to them.

Hermione Granger was the next to fall. In the hospital wing, there were thirteen victims. Hermione Granger was holding a mirror. On her hand was a small note that lay forgotten because no one bothered to look for it. Someone started a rumor that those who associated and sympathized with mudbloods and blood traitors would be targeted.

Harry felt numb.

He was beside her, and yet he could not summon an ounce of sadness… Ron was crying, and Ginny was still missing.

Harry was sick.

He was sick in the literal and figurative sense.

Sometimes, things would happen, he would wake up in a place he did not intend to be in. He would lose track of time, and his body would start hurting.

He could still hear the whispers in the walls, and sometimes he talks back to it.

He wonders why it does not kill when it obviously wants to.

Harry does not know what to make of it. Others think he is losing his mind and Harry thinks that it might be the case when he suddenly stops walking and whispers in the air – trying to coax the voice to respond.

And when it does…

Harry finds himself afraid.

But he does not remember.

He never writes on the diary anymore. He just allows it to engulf him. It was slowly becoming his home .

When Harry Potter finally understood that it was better to live within the little golden room than the hateful outside world, he impulsively asked the question.

"Tom... is it possible to stay here, forever?"

Time stopped. The hearth was snuffed out of color. The gold began to chip away and fade. Tom came closer, his smile was wide like a cheshire cat.

Harry thought Tom's eyes turned red before everything faded to black.

"Why yes. I will grant you that wish."