Chapter Text
*****Hi, I'm not dead. I had to get a new laptop and didn't keep my saved works on my new one so I'm attempting to come back to this thing. I'm just cleaning things up as I try and get back into my headspace for this fic. I'll try and fix the second chapter too. Look out for a few updates this weekend. Also, big thanks to everyone who kept commenting and leaving Kudos, I needed that. *****
May 2nd, 1998 - Hogwarts, Scotland Highlands, UK
It was over before it even really started. Voldemort cast his spell and Harry never even felt his body hit the ground.
After the searing blaze of a toxic killing curse green, Harry’s sight went to a bright shadowless landscape.
At first, he didn’t move, blinking and too stunned and frozen by the sudden change of scenery, his heart still beating rapid staccato in his breast, fear only now beginning to thaw after having Voldemort murder him. His chest ached distantly, but every time he tried to focus on the dull throb it faded away in the silence of the train station. His ears screamed in protest at the change from the rowdy forest to near unbearable quiet.
Curiously, Harry had found himself in a pure white empty version of the platform 9 ¾. Stepping forward, he realized that there were no noises from his muddied and ripped trainers scraping the uneven stone beneath him, and even his breathing was muted in sound.
A whimper sounded next to him. Kneeling next to the bench to his right, Harry saw a truly disturbing sight.
A baby.
Skinned and noseless, a blight of red in the otherwise white sterile space, was shivering in a fetal position. Its frame was bony and skin paper-thin over shrunken muscle and dark veins. A stab of pity and sadness ran through him as he recognized the Horcrux for what it was. Lonely, in pain, and pathetic.
Tom Marvolo Riddles torn, and bleeding soul given form in this alter dimensional train station.
A coo fell from his lips as Harry reached an arm out, intending to swaddle and soothe the broken thing, his fingers only brushing the heated and raw skin of its skeletal shoulder when he was interrupted.
“Harry, my dear, brave boy. I wouldn’t recommend touching that poor creature, for no more can be done for it.” A familiar voice chimed behind him.
Whirling around, Harry found that none other than Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore had materialized behind him.
Clearing his suddenly dry throat, Harry stuttered out “P-Professor Dumbledore?!’ scrambling to his feet, Harry approached his old Headmaster, a strange mix of anger and joy swirling in him at the now-tainted man he once looked up to. Questions spilled from his lips.
‘What is this place? Am I dead? Does that mean he’s mortal now? Why can’t we help it, it’s clearly in pain? I-"
"Harry' Dumbledore interrupted, his voice old and tired, placing an aged palm on Harry’s shoulder. ‘Perhaps a walk is in order, come along.” He said, trailing past the squirming mass beside them without a second glance. Harry hesitantly followed; his face screwed up in indecision at the thought of leaving the Horcrux behind.
Dumbledore walked ahead, hands clasped behind his back, head tilted back as if admiring a sky that wasn’t there. His robes, while white, still seemed brighter than the ground they walked on, and his beard floated in the misty air that surrounded the pillars they walked between. In the distance, the farther they walked, faint train horns could be heard. It slowly drowned out the sound of the creatures’ cries, and Harry longed to run back and comfort the poor thing.
It was a strange feeling, this need to protect what had been a part of his enemy, but here in this place, his head felt oddly light, like he was missing a piece of himself.
Huffing out a sigh, Harry stopped walking. “Sir as much as I’m enjoying our walk, what is going on? Am I dead or not? Why does it look like Kings Cross Station?”
The headmaster stopped, gave another cursory glance around, and hummed.
“Hmm, Kings Cross you say? Interesting. Tell me, my boy, what is the purpose of a train station?” Dumbledore intoned in that annoying way he always did where no matter how you answer it, it’s always something of a riddle.
Clenching his jaw, Harry deadpans.
“To get on trains?”
Dumbledore only smiles his genial smile and gives Harry a look filled with all the fondness one finds upon the faces of teachers, all patience and encouragement. But perhaps sensing that Harry wasn’t in the mood to continue guessing, he responded.
“Ah, but before boarding, one must wait for the right train. This place we’re in is the waiting place. The in-between of the living plane and the land beyond. So, I suppose it all depends on whether you’d like to board a train, Harry.”
“You mean’ Harry swallowed roughly. ‘I could go on? See my family and be done with it all? Leave Voldemort and the war and finally be at peace?”
Sighing, as if slightly disappointed, Dumbledore nodded.
Almost as if sensing Harry's desire, a train was heard whistling down the tracks, and a bright gleaming scarlet train engine pulled up next to them, an exact imitation of the Hogwarts Express. There were many cars but only one had its doors open. Steam puffed gently from its spout and Harry got the feeling that it wouldn’t wait long.
“Harry,” Dumbledore spoke, pulling Harry’s attention from the train back to him.
“You could still go back if you so desire, make sure the world is rid of Lord Voldemort once and for all. Live, for all those who couldn’t.”
Nodding his head Harry thought over his choice, deliberating what to do. To stay, and fight, make sure everything went to plan. Or, to go on, meet his parents, and let his pain end.
But even as he mulled over it, he had already made his choice. Looking back up at Dumbledore, Harry intoned.
“Wait one minute.” Before turning and dashing back down the walkway they had come from, until those cries and whimpers were heard. Skidding to a stop in front of the bench, Harry pulled his jumper off and gathered the Horcrux into his arms, off the cold concrete, and bundled it in the only piece of clothing he had that could convey love, a red and gold Weasley sweater. Standing up Harry shifted the horcrux until it was comfortably supported in his arms. Its head turned inwards, hiding in his chest. Taking a deep breath, Harry started his walk back.
Glancing down at his little bundle, the Horcrux had stopped its cries and was instead nuzzling into Harry, seeking his warmth and its little chest slowed down, drifting into a sleepy state.
Holding Tom, because what else could he call the abandoned and pained creature, tight to his chest, Harry walked back to Dumbledore and his awaiting train. The old man could only stare as the young man returned, holding something he could barely stand to look at, much less comfort. But no one ever said that Dumbledore knew how to help children in any form of distress.
Harry stopped in front of his former mentor, inches away from the open doors of the train car.
Looking stricken, Dumbledore asked, “Are you sure my boy? Once you cross this threshold, you cannot return. This will truly be the end.”
Huffing a laugh, Harry looked back up at Dumbledore with a grin and gave the only answer he could.
“Sir, I have accepted death. I will not run; I will not flee’ At this he looked down fondly at the horcrux in his arms. ‘After all, to a well-adjusted mind, death is but the next great adventure.”
Startled at having his own words quoted back to him, Dumbledore laughed. Mirth and tears mixed in his eyes as he gazed at Harry fondly and in amazement.
“Very well my boy, I wish you all the best in the next life, and peace if nothing else.”
Taking a deep breath, Harry gathered his courage and stepped aboard the train, and the door closed behind him. The train jolted forward and off he went. He only had just enough time to look back at Dumbledore still standing on the platform, waving him off.
Slowly, Harry opened the nearest compartment and sat, facing the window ad Tom slept on, soft breaths puffing up at him.
Soon, the illusion of Kings Cross had faded and there was nothing left but an expanse of white, blank, and bright.
Oddly, the farther they got from the station, the heavier Tom got. His skin was gaining a healthy flush upon his face and a cute button nose had started to form, plump lips and long eyelashes that brushed his cheeks coming after.
In almost no time, Tom appeared to be a toddler, no older than three or four.
Suddenly, Tom shifted, eyes squeezing tight as his awareness came over him. Blearily, he looked up at Harry, chocolate eyes staring up at him, with a ring of dark burgundy along the edges of his irises. Harry smiled down at the boy, letting him sit up in his lap. The sweater looked adorably too big for him.
“Hello, Tom. It's nice to see you again.”
The boy only stared, gaze boring into the scar that ran down Harry's forehead and right eyebrow, before pursing his lips in thought.
“Are- are you the one who kept me safe?” the boy asked, voice small and high. And Harry could only nod.
Tom nodded back. “Thank you, I think.”
Harry opened his mouth to respond when a sharp pain in his head cut him off with a gasp, and the throbbing in his chest came back with a force. His vision blurred and a burning encompassed both of his wrists. Looking down, it looked like golden bands had wrapped themselves around his wrists and symbols began blinking into existence in the air above it. Runes, Harry bet. But not ones he had seen before. Static filled his head.
'ssssssssssssssss massssssssss freeeeeeeeessssssssssssssssss.'
Watching Harry choke in pain, Tom scrambled off his lap and grabbed a hold of Harry's shirt in his tiny fists.
“What- What’s happening, what are you doing?” The boy cried out, eyes wide in fear.
“I-I don’t know, I don’t think this is supposed to be happening,” Harry replied through heavy pants.
Suddenly a loud tone rang in his head, the buzzing of it disorienting and painful. The boy in front of him started to reply before his eyes rolled back up into his head and he slumped over into the seat, his form fading away from sight in a bright beam of light. Yelling Harry lunged towards Tom, but he was gone. A low, deep, genderless voice spoke out. It was repeating, chanting, summoning him. The first few times felt like knives piercing his eardrums before Harry began understanding.
‘Master, I call on you to free me. To take my reins out of this tyrant’s hands and into your rightful ones. I call on you, child of Death.’
“Wait, what about Tom!” Harry cried out to the voice. The boy was gone, and Harry was panicking. But the vice simply repeated, over and over, until Harry's body began fizzing.
' I call on you, child of Death.'
The tether around his wrists grew hotter and tighter, literally burning into his skin, the symbol branding him.
And all went black.