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by Morgan Steelgrave

Author's notes: The basic premise of the story is that Harry, using a Time-Turner, has gone back to the Hogwarts the Tom Riddle knew in an attempt to prevent him from becoming Lord Voldemort. Harry manages to enroll himself as a Fifth year Slytherin with Tom, the details of which I'll cover later. Tom is suspicious of Harry from the beginning, but somehow they form a friendship (despite Tom's investigations into Harry's past and current activities) that leads to something more than a simple friendship. But then, things between them have never been simple.

This particular snippet takes place after Tom's found out that Harry's story about transferring to Hogwarts from Durmstrang is false. They have been meeting regularly to discuss certain dreams that Tom's been having...more on that later.

Harry arrived at the top of the Astronomy tower shortly before midnight. As a Prefect, Tom had duty that evening, so when Harry found himself alone, he shrugged off the invisibility cloak and settled himself against one of the turret walls. It was not long before he heard footsteps climbing the spiral staircase.

Tom appeared, walking slowly and thoughtfully. Harry grinned at him from his corner.

"Evening, Tom," he said. Tom looked down at him for a moment, an unreadable expression on his face. Harry's smile faltered somewhat. "What's wrong?"

"I received some interesting news today. From Durmstrang," he added, watching Harry closely.

Harry's mind was racing, wondering what Tom could have learned from the school Harry definitely never attended. All he could think to say in response, however, was, "Oh?"

Tom reached inside his robes and pulled out a small vial. "Do you know what this is?" He held it up so the clear liquid inside caught the light.

"Veritaserum," said Harry. He would recognize it anywhere, especially after being threatened with it by Snape. He swallowed, hoping his nervousness wasn't obvious. "How did you manage that?"

Tom smiled faintly. "I borrowed your invisibility cloak. Useful, that."

"Breaking the rules, Tom? I'm surprised," said Harry, unable to suppress a chuckle. It withered at the look on Tom's face. It took Harry a moment to identify it as hurt.

"I needn't have done it if you'd been straight with me from the beginning," Tom said quietly. He turned and leaned on the outer wall, his chin resting on clasped hands. Harry stood.

"I have been straight with you," he said, placing a hand on Tom's shoulder. Tom whirled, jerking away from Harry's touch.

"No. No, you haven't." His voice raised in anger, he tugged a piece of parchment out of his robes and gestured with it wildly. "The receptionist at Durmstrang sent me last year's roster, as I requested. You're not on it. I've checked with every other school in the wizarding world, and not a single one has ever heard of a Harry James. It's like you don't exist.

"I'm tired, Harry," he said suddenly, his anger fading as quickly as it had flared. "I'm tired of being bloody brilliant at everything this school can throw at me, but when you come along you're a mystery wrapped in an enigma that I just can't figure out. Perhaps it's because I can't tell the facts from the fiction."

Harry sighed, sitting down once again. "I've never lied to you, Tom. Not once."

"What do you call this?" Tom raised an eyebrow, indicating the letter from Durmstrang.

"You asked if I liked it there. I said that I don't, which is true," Harry replied with a shrug. "If you want the right answers, you have to ask the right questions, Tom."

Tom regarded him levelly for a moment before seating himself where he could watch Harry's face. "We'll see. I'd really rather not use this," he said, tucking the Veritaserum back into his robes. When he spoke again it was with an urgency that made Harry's heart climb into his throat. "I'm giving you one more chance to tell me who you are and what the hell you're doing here. And don't lie to me, Harry. Please. I don't think I could bear it."

"I told you, I've never lied to you. Why should I start now?" said Harry, his voice uneven. Clearing his throat, he said louder, "Right then, I suppose it would be best to begin with the basics. My name is Harry James Potter. I was born on the thirty-first of July," he paused, his last-minute hesitation giving way as he finished, "nineteen-eighty."

Harry waited for Tom to say something, anything, but the other boy made no response other than to nod slightly. Harry took that as a sign to continue. Here we go.

"Anyway, in my time we're facing one of the most powerful dark wizards to ever emerge, and--"

"Grindelwald hasn't been defeated by then?"

"No, not Grindelwald."

This was the part Harry was dreading most. It was just too surreal to tell Tom about his future incarnation as Voldemort. Besides, what if Harry's story was the very thing that was to give Tom the idea in the first place? "This person...I'd rather not tell you his name, so I'll call him You-Know-Who...he's bent on purifying the wizarding world by eliminating Muggle-borns. And anyone who opposes him, Muggle-born or otherwise, is rewarded with torture and death." Harry's voice was shaking with suppressed rage as he went on to describe Voldemort's reign of terror. "He enjoys killing because he's one step away from immortality, himself. He plays with Muggles for fun. He and his followers have countless others in the wizarding world under the control of the Imperius curse, so it's nigh impossible to tell who's following You-Know-Who's orders willingly from those who are following them because they don't have a choice. His greatest weapon is the fear he instills in people. They'd rather die in blissful ignorance than admit he exists and is very much a threat."

Tom nodded again, impassively processing all this information. Harry had opened his mouth to continue when Tom asked, "What is he to you?"

Harry's mouth snapped shut in surprise before he could recover with a surly, "What? I'd think that would be obvious."

"Something has happened between you and this You-Know-Who person," explained Tom calmly. Harry glanced away; it was beyond strange to hear Tom Riddle unknowingly refer to his future self as You-Know-Who. "That much is obvious, yes. Something made this hatred you have for him different from your usual popular fear. It's personal," he said, leaning forward to force Harry to meet his gaze.

Harry had wanted to keep things general in his explanation of the suffering Voldemort had inflicted. It was just easier that way. "Yes, it is," he agreed, hoping Tom would drop his line of questioning, "I can't list the people I know who have suffered at his hands one way or another."

"He killed your parents, didn't he?" inquired Tom quietly. "That's what I saw in my dream."

There was a long moment in which silence dragged its feet between them. Staring at the stones of the floor, Harry said at last, dully, "I was a year old, and he killed my parents before trying to kill me."

Tom looked puzzled. "But Avada--"

"It rebounded and hit him instead," Harry interrupted before Tom could finish his question. Tom stared at him incredulously, as if the idea of the killing curse backfiring were the strangest thing he had ever heard, a time-traveling Harry included. "Being what he is, it didn't kill him. He was reduced to a shadow of his former self, and I was left with this." He pointed at the scar on his forehead. Tom's eyes drifted upward toward it briefly, then back down to Harry's eyes.

"In a way, we're bound because of it. Our powers and our minds are connected," Harry sighed. Even explaining it all made his head hurt. "I always know when he's angry, when he's happy, when he's nearby, or when he's killed again. It's like an echo of the pain he's inflicting on others finds its way to me.

"He is regaining power, and those who were once powerful enough to stop him are growing weaker by the minute. I've confronted him on several occasions, though it was mostly his idea and not mine. It seems he wants to finish what he started, to perfect his killing record," he said grimly. "So I was given a Time-Turner to go back to the days before You-Know-Who started on his path to power in an attempt to stop him."

"How do you plan to do that?"

"Using my greatest power, whatever that may be," Harry snorted.

"Assuming what you've said is true, that you do hail from years to come during which misery abounds...assuming you do prevent You-Know-Who's rise to power...that's a fairly significant change in the course of events. It's one of the strictest wizarding rules that you don't tamper with time."

"This calls for an exception," said Harry, "I have to sacrifice time to preserve our fates."

"If you succeed, that will change everything. The world as you know it in your time might turn out completely different from what you left behind," Tom mused, a note of admiration in his voice.

"I know. That's a risk I accepted." Harry ran a hand through his already unkempt hair, trying to focus on the good that would come from his mission if he were successful. He didn't want to think about Ron, or Hermione, or Dumbledore. Focus on defeating Voldemort, he thought determinedly, so thinking about all of them won't have to hurt.

"That's brave of you."

Harry grinned through his fatigue. "In my time I am a Gryffindor, you know."

Tom groaned, "I knew there was something odd about you. Only a Gryffindor would break the rules often enough to know this school as well as you do."

"Yeah, I have been called a bit of a troublemaker," Harry said with a hint of pride. "Ron, Hermione and I have pulled so many stupid stunts I'm amazed we weren't expelled. Or killed," he added as an afterthought.

Tom said quietly, "You must miss your friends."

"I do," Harry admitted with a contemplative smile, "very much."

"It's not the same, I know," said Tom, "but...if you succeed...and you can't go back to your time...would it be so bad to stay here?"

Tom's words came out in a nervous flood. He was obviously unused to being nervous, and he hadn't the foggiest idea how to handle it. The openness Harry found in the other boy's countenance was a first; he was used to seeing Tom closed off from the world, every aspect of his expression and voice guarded at all times. At that moment, however, it seemed all the walls had been dropped.

He really wants me to stay here. And right then, all the misgivings Harry had about being stuck in a time not his own seemed faraway and unimportant, because this time seemed his own, too.

"I could get used to it, I guess," he said slowly. On an impulse Harry reached for Tom's hand and gave it a gentle, reassuring squeeze. Tom made no response other than to smile broadly again and squeeze back, their fingers twined together in a kind of unspoken pact. They remained like that for a long while, simply smiling at each other in the dark.

Tom was the first to break the silence. Harry felt his eyes on the scar on his forehead long before Tom ever spoke. "Harry? I don't mean to be rude, but...may I? If it's too strange, I understand, but..."

It occurred to Harry that though nearly everyone he met in the wizarding world had stared at his scar, not a single one had asked permission to touch it, let alone Voldemort. "Go ahead," he said, not completely masking the uncertainty in his voice.

Tom leaned forward and with his free hand brushed aside the fringe of dark hair that lay in a messy sweep across Harry's forehead. The touch was incredibly gentle, constantly seeking permission, and Harry let his eyes slide shut after noting the look of intense concentration on Tom's face. Then came the feel of a cool finger and a faint tingling sensation as it traced the outline of the scar. It reminded Harry of the quiver that ran up his arm the first time he ever grasped his wand, the almost effervescent feeling of magic awakening and uncoiling within him.

"Does it hurt?" Tom whispered, his touch hesitating.

Harry realized he had been holding his breath. He didn't know what he had been expecting-the white-hot lances of pain that shot through him when Voldemort touched him? Whatever this was, it certainly didn't feel evil. He relaxed, not without some force, and said, "Not at the moment, no."

Tom chuckled. "You sound surprised."

"You have no idea." Tom's hand left his face, and he opened his eyes to find Tom looking at him intently.

"May I ask you one other thing?" Tom asked.

"Sure," said Harry, still feeling a pleasant tingling in his head.

"Are we...do we know each other in your time?"

Harry forced his concentration back to the present and what he would tell Tom about his future self. He was finding it increasingly difficult to associate Tom Riddle with Voldemort in his head. He decided to stick with minimal facts until he thought of something else. "I met you once, yes." All the thoughts running through Harry's head came to a standstill when Tom asked something Harry never expected.

"Am I happy?"

Oh, hell.

Harry knew he could never have concealed the look of shock, horror, and grief that crossed his face in that split-second. How in God's name could he tell this person, his friend, that his mere memory was an evil Harry had confronted? It was simply not an option at that point. "You had your moments, I suppose. Tom--"

The other boy's face had closed off suddenly, all emotion vanished save a brief flicker of sadness and resignation. "I see," he said levelly, "how do I die?"

The idea crossed Harry's mind to correct him. No, you don't die, you turn into Voldemort and kill hundreds of people. But even that statement, which Harry would have taken for fact until mere moments before, seemed false. Harry's mind wandered back to what he had seen in the Mirror of Erised-the dark-haired figure at the very, very back of the crowd of Voldemort's victims-and the idea that took shape in his mind, though he would have thought preposterous not long before, was rapidly becoming what felt like the truest thing Harry could say.

Aloud, he said, "Him. You were his first victim."

Tom made a hollow attempt at one of his arrogant smirks. "I hope I at least gave him some trouble."

Harry could only give a troubled murmur of agreement. "I hope you did, too."

They fell silent once again, oscillating between the comfort of knowing that so much had been laid out in the open between them, and unease at the knowledge of that particular information.

"It's getting late," said Tom, standing. "You'd best get back to the common room." He brushed the dust off his robes before giving Harry a hand up.

"I guess you're right." Harry shook out the invisibility cloak and prepared to pull it over his head.

"I've got to make one more duty round," Tom said, catching the cloak before it covered Harry's face. He smiled. "You cover up and I'll walk you back." Harry smiled back before tugging the cloak out of Tom's fingers and over his head.

The walk back to the common room was uneventful. Keeping up with Tom's longer stride was no longer a difficulty, since following him under the cloak was nothing new for Harry. He kept behind Tom, but close enough that he could watch him. There was something different about Tom tonight, he noted, other than the fact that he was aware of Harry's presence. It was as if there was a confidence, an ease to his walk that had not been there before, as if Tom felt more comfortable in his own skin. Harry was so engrossed in watching Tom he was surprised to find himself outside the common room.

"Right, I'll need to borrow that cloak of yours. I've got to replace this Veritaserum before anyone notices it's gone," Tom said. Harry extricated himself from the invisibility cloak and handed it to Tom.

"Tom," Harry said, fumbling for the words, "thanks...for believing me."

"I know you didn't tell me everything. I don't expect you to. You can't," said Tom with an appreciative smile. "But for what you did tell me, thank you for trusting me with it. Even if I did have to force it out of you," he added, ruffling Harry's hair. Harry pulled a face and swatted at his hand.

And then Tom's hand had slipped down to the place where Harry's jaw met his neck, his thumb stroking Harry's cheek tentatively. Harry's heart was hammering; he was sure Tom could feel it beating where it had leaped into his throat. Quite before Harry's brain had churned out something for him to expect, Tom leaned down and touched his lips briefly to the scar on Harry's forehead, hovering there for a moment where Harry could feel his breath still on his face. A shiver went through him; one that, if he was not mistaken, was echoed by Tom.

"'Night, Harry," Tom murmured before pulling on the cloak. Harry remained frozen in place as he strained to hear the telltale soft swishing noises made by someone wearing an invisibility cloak. Stunned and wide-eyed in the dark before the blank wall that led to the Slytherin common room, Harry raised a hand to touch his still-tingling scar.