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Tom felt a presence pulling him, but that was impossible. The magic that contained him shouldn't have activated except upon the death of his creator. There was no way that Voldemort had died! Yet that was the only explanation - no, he realized as he emerged, not the only explanation.
oOo
Harry had no sooner put on the locket than he felt it burning against his skin. He didn't know why, but he felt compelled to be alone. "Someone should keep watch outside," he muttered, rising and hurrying out of the tent.
Seconds after he emerged, the locket emitted a blinding light. Harry grabbed it and tore it off his neck, tossing it on the ground among the dead leaves.
The locket flipped around for a moment, as though someone invisible was jerking on its chain. Then suddenly it burst open with a rush of green light, and Harry threw up his hands to shield his eyes. As soon as the light faded, he lowered his hands, immediately scrabbling at his pocket for his wand.
Before him stood Tom Riddle, looking slightly older than the last Horcrux Harry had faced.
oOo
With a whisper, Tom had the boy's wand in his hand, and he cast a stasis bubble around them so they would not be disturbed. The boy looked furious, and Tom felt a surge of desire flow through him. Hatred could contribute more passion to a relationship than love.
"Hello," he began, "I am-"
"Tom Riddle Jr., bastard son of Riddle the Muggle," the boy spat.
"Ah, so you're familiar with me," Tom chuckled. "I take it you've met some other version of me?"
"Several."
"Hmm." That was a little troubling, as it meant that another Horcrux had likely been activated. Still, that was not the concern of Tom at the moment. "And did any of these other versions of me tell you about my mother?" he asked.
"I know she used a love potion to ensnare your father, as no one'd go near her otherwise!" The boy growled.
"Ah, and do you know what she used in that potion?" Tom asked gleefully.
The boy froze. "Er... whatever ingredients... the potion called for?" he sounded uncertain, but still with hints of his earlier bravado. He had most certainly been a Gryffindor. Tom loved corrupting Gryffindors.
"One would think. However, my mother was something of a secret, or perhaps unintentional, potions genius. In an effort to make herself appear more attractive, my mother added Veela blood to the potion. She mistakenly believed that it would help my father's perception of her appearance. However, the blood had a far different side effect." Tom concentrated and he felt his black, scaly, wings spring from his back and rip through his robes.
The boy appeared stunned, but whether that was from the revelation of his mother's actions or the wings, Tom wasn't sure. "Tell me, little Gryffindor, have you studied Veela in DADA?"
"My teachers have been a little spotty in that area, no thanks to you!"
"So you don't know that every part-Veela has a predestined mate, who will find themselves immune to the thrall of that particular Veela? And you don't realize that I've been attempting to enthrall you since my wings appeared?"
Emotions flickered across the boy's face - really, Gryffindors were so easy to read - but he seemed to settle on determination.
"Right, well if you can't enthrall me, then the way I see it, I've got an advantage," he growled.
"Brave and somewhat clever. Impressive." Tom noted. "But just because my thrall doesn't work on you, doesn't mean that you're not utterly helpless in this situation." To prove it, Tom moved faster than the boy could follow, pocketing his wand and wrapping his arms around the boy from behind.
In that position, Tom's mate was pinned, his arms caught at his sides, leaving him deliciously vulnerable. Tom began to suck on his ear, licking the rim of it and enjoying the way it made the boy shudder.
"You're mine, little Gryffindor!" he whispered into the captive ear. The boy shivered delightfully again.