He was suffocating. The Sword of Gryffindor at the bottom of the lake once more; forgotten in his struggle with the locket. He scrabbled at the strangling chain around his neck as he thrashed and kicked in desperation. Death was calling for him, "Harry. Harry. Harry."

He thought to himself that this was it - Death embraced him with warm arms that held him under. His eyelids drifting shut as he fell further down into the depths of his mind until he was being submerged into a pool of darkness, the surface rippling and flowing over him like a thick oil until he lost consciousness and disappeared.

Red eyes snapped open in place of the green eyes. An unfamiliar expression crossed Harry's face as those unnatural eyes took everything in from under the water; it struck out oddly in comparison to the stricken doe-eyed boy from before. His eyes seemed more intelligent, cunning, and most of all, ruthless.

His frozen fingers absently trailed over the cursed locket, which quickly responded to the unspoken command; unraveling and coiling like a snake around him. The distinct hum of magic surrounding it had a note of confusion and awareness as it recognized his prescence and what exactly it entailed; however, an explanation would have to wait.

He turned in a whirlwind of bubbles and apparated to the lake edge. A maniacal grin spreading across Harry's face once he landed, drenched to the bone as the wind whipped through the trees overhead and the frost bit his bare skin.

"Open", he hissed in parseltongue and a malicious shadow excitedly entered his mind at the same time the golden doors of the locket swung open.

The walls of his mind dripped black like candle wax. Shadows of snakes slithered like waves on the surface. A being in the shape of a young man with a replica of the locket around his neck took form as well as his first steps, footprints lingering like a wet stain behind him as he became solid in his journey to the center. Smoke lingered behind him in a willowy trail as he took to his knees, reaching beneath the liquid surface for the body of the boy that he had trapped inside and pulling him back up.

A head of messy black hair bobbed into view, followed by the rest of him, black matter sticking like vines; snapping and straining with resistance. Red eyes flashed at the sight of the frail body in his arms, the lightning bolt scar dripping red from his forehead. He tightened his hold on him, chest flushed with his, before he dived down, limbs tangling with the other's; their souls forcibly and tightly intertwined by the power of the locket.

Red eyes watched their departure with a sardonic grin before reappearing in the body of the Boy-Who-Lived. He took in his surroundings, recognizing the Forest of Dean and committing it to memory. A distant and vague image of a nearby campsite shared with his mudblood friend came to mind. A whisper echoed in response, "Keep him safe..." As if he needed to be told by his other self what he already knew.

He reached out through the link between the boy and the Dark Lord and with a turn of his heel, he was gone. Lightning flashed in his wake and lit up the silhouette of a red-haired boy with horror caught in his throat.