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Chapter Text

Merope Gaunt.

The name was scrawled across Tom’s left wrist in uneven, malformed letters. The handwriting of a child, except it couldn’t be so. If his soulmate was that young, his soulmark would not have appeared yet.

Someone barely literate then.

Like everyone in Little Hangleton, Tom knew about the Gaunts, a father and son who lived in a squalid little shack in the woods. He had never heard about a daughter. 

Surely there wasn’t one. The name Gaunt, though it sounded uncommon, could not belong to a single family in all of Britain. The soulmate of a Riddle could not come from such filth. 

Yet, even as he repeated these arguments over and over again, Tom felt uneasy. Every book said soulmarks were always written in the soulmate’s own handwriting and no finely-bred woman would write so poorly. 

It was that unease that drove Tom to ride past the Gaunts’ shack, either alone or with Cecelia in tow. He didn’t do it very often and he never lingered long as the Gaunt son would hurl the vilest of abuse at him. Yet these rare visits were enough to catch a few glimpses of long dark hair framing a pale face. A young woman, around his own age or maybe a little younger. 

The next logical step would have been to find out her name but Tom never did. Many a time, his mother had told him the story of her meeting his father, how she had known instantly he was her soulmate before he even opened his mouth. “When you meet your soulmate, you will know.”

Tom knew. This was Merope Gaunt, the one being whose fate was intertwined with his own. A dirty, ugly tramp that could barely write her own name. 

Soulmarks were not destiny. Most often, soulmate bonds were romantic so people would naturally seek to marry their soulmate. However, there were still plenty of examples of people disregarding their mark entirely. Sometimes they chose another spouse, especially among the unmarked. Such marriages could be as happy as the marriage of soulmates. 

So Tom never enquired about the girl living in the Gaunt shack, never spared her more than a quick glance as he passed by. He wore a band of tissue around his left wrist, as all who bore marks did in polite society. He smiled and flirted with Cecelia, knowing that nothing serious would come out of it. He had never asked to see the name on her wrist, just as she never spoke of his own soulmark. They knew they were not a match, as one could only have a single soulmate and the bond was always reciprocal.

Which meant that Tom’s name was written in neat cursive on Merope Gaunt’s wrist. He rarely spared a thought about her feelings on the matter. Her horrid father and brother must not have known, as they would otherwise have cleaned her up as best as they could and come begging at the Riddles’ door. Why she had not thrown herself at his feet, he didn’t know and would not learn until several years later when the two Gaunt men were finally arrested.

Tom had bumped into the constable that did the deed and, though the man had a truly bizarre taste in fashion (maybe a new fad from London?), he had to commend him for his efficiency. Shortly after his visit, the two men disappeared and villagers soon whispered that they would remain locked up for a while, though on what exact charges they didn't know. As the Gaunts were the least liked inhabitant of Little Hangleton, no one cared overmuch. 

Merope was left the sole inhabitant of the shack and a part of Tom wanted to  keep avoiding this corner of the woods. Another part of him was curious. She was his soulmate so there must have been something special about her, something that set her apart from the rest of her family. A brief conversation with her couldn’t hurt. 

Tom already knew that Merope Gaunt was no beauty, but once he met her properly, he realised that she was perhaps the most ill-favoured girl he ever had the misfortune of seeing. While her lank hair and pasty skin could perhaps improve with proper care, nothing could be done about the coarseness of her features and the way her eyes stared in opposite directions. 

Even more revolting than her appearance was the way she immediately reached for Tom’s wrist cover, a beatific smile upon her face.

In every film or play that depicted the first meeting of soulmates, there was this very scene. The two lovers would uncover their wrists, the music would swell as they gazed upon their soulmarks then looked into each other’s eyes for an endless moment. Smiles, tears and declarations of love would then follow. 

Tom was very much not living this moment.

Merope’s left wrist was bare and seeing his name there in his own handwriting was like a punch to the gut. It had been a mistake to come there. He had nothing to say to her and no desire for her filthy hands upon his person. 

He snatched his still covered wrist out of her grasp and left without a word. She kept following him, begging to know why he was leaving. Tom didn’t want her to create a scandal in the village (that uncovered mark was scandalous enough) so he had to answer, “We are not soulmates. Please stop following me.”

She frowned, looking on the verge of tears: “But it must be you, it’s your name.”

“My soulmark doesn’t match yours. There are other men named Tom Riddle.”

She looked at him, her mismatched eyes glassy, “You’re lying. Why are you lying to me?”

Tom had to repress a wave of fury. Who was this little tramp to harass him and call him a liar? He smiled at her coldly, “Believe me or not, it makes no difference. Look at yourself! Do you believe someone like me could ever love you? Crawl back into the hole you came from and bother me no more, or I’ll have you thrown in the same jail as your degenerate family.”

Two ugly red blotches appeared on her cheeks as she cried, “You can’t say that! I waited for you, I protected you all these years because you were supposed to save me, you were supposed to love me. You have to love me! ”

The strength of her words hit Tom like a sledgehammer and he was no more.

Tom whistled as his shift ended. Only a quarter of an hour and he would see his wife again. He was careful not to crush the red rose he had bought for her on his walk home. He used to bring back whole bouquets until Merope had told him their finances were too fragile for expensive gifts.

As usual, he greeted his wife with a kiss. Dinner was bubbling on the stove, far away from the potion ingredients she used daily. Between Tom’s job as a salesman and Merope’s mail order potion business, the couple was able to afford the rent of their small London apartment and all other essentials. Merope had gained weight and seemed much healthier than in Little Hangleton. 

He had to go back

Tom helped his wife set up the table and serve the stew, which was as delicious as usual. After dinner, they curled up on the couch, Merope read a mystery novel and Tom pretended to read a newspaper while looking at her. She was the most beautiful woman in the world.

No.

It was time for bed. Merope slept fitfully as she was wont to do and when a nightmare woke her, she reached to Tom for comfort.

“It was Morfin again. Beating me, calling me a stupid little Squib.”

“I’m sorry, darling,” said Tom and kissed her hair.

“Father used to be kinder when Mother was still around. They were a real match, a soul match, and her death broke him, I think. But Morfin was always terrible, even as a child. I’m so glad he is in Azkaban! He cannot hurt us now.”

“Of course not.”

“I beat him in the end, harder than he ever beat me. I kept my mark hidden, with a quick little charm or even with plain old dirt when no one was looking too close, and he never suspected a thing. Then he got himself thrown into jail and we could finally meet. The “stupid little Squib” outsmarted him.”

“You’re so smart, my dear.”

The silence stretched between them, growing thinner and thinner until it snapped. “Will you not tell me anything about your family, Tom? Your parents, are they a true match as well?”

“My parents…”

He would escape. He would see them again. He couldn’t do anything while the witch was watching, but tomorrow he would 

Merope muttered a spell and Tom’s head emptied out. “My parents are soulmates but they cannot love each other as much as I love you.”

Whatever foul magic Merope was using on him was weakening. Tom’s body felt like an automaton but his mind was mostly his own nowadays. It was both a blessing and a curse in a way. A blessing because every moment he remembered who he was was a victory over her and a step closer to freedom. A curse because he was conscious of everything that happened to him. 

It would have been easier to resist the spell if it caused him constant pain. Instead it was oblivion, everything disappearing except her and how much he loved her. Of course he was happy! Who wouldn’t be with such a fine wife

No. He didn’t love her, never would. She was a monster wearing human skin and he would only be happy when he was free of her. 

Merope wasn’t happy either. After months of observing her and listening to her pour her heart out to him, he could read her perfectly. He knew her better than anyone else in the world, better than his own parents, than any of his friends. He didn’t want to, God he didn’t want anything to do with her but this was his best way to freedom. 

He could not beat the witch, could not run and hide from her forever but he was growing more and more confident that he could persuade her to let him go. Under her spell, he was an empty-headed fool, good for nothing but meaningless romantic gestures. What Merope wanted, what she craved, was real love, not this pantomime. Increasingly she was asking him (ordering him) to speak his mind and he did so, slowly getting her used to the idea that he wanted to leave.

That did not mean Merope would allow it when it meant a return to miserable loneliness for her. He had to provide her with another victim, one who would love her sincerely and unconditionally. A child.

Tom didn’t like to think about the child because it reminded him of what he had to do to beget it. When Merope wanted to be intimate, he let her spell wash over him so he didn’t have to think about what he was doing. Except once, when he had been so thoroughly fed up with the whole exercise that he decided he might as well get something of it. Merope was ugly, true, but her body could still give him some pleasure. That night, instead of playing the part of the tender loving husband, he was as brutal to her as he thought he could get away with, chasing his own pleasure while thoroughly ignoring her own. She loved it, her body melting against his as she begged him for more. The whole experience left him feeling so dirty that he fervently prayed he would never have to touch her again. Thankfully, Merope stopped forcing him into it and she was pregnant soon afterwards so he didn’t have to force it upon himself either. 

“I was thinking of Tom Marvolo if it’s a boy and Mary Eudora for a girl. What do you think?”

“You know I cannot raise that child.”

“But the baby needs his father!”

“Did you need the father who constantly beat and belittled you? I could never act as badly as he did, but neither can I love and care for this child as a parent ought.”

“And you think I can? I don’t know how to love anyone,” Merope broke down into sobs. “You’re my soulmate and I hurt you so much. I ruin everything I touch! Why would it be different with our child?”

Outright lying to Merope was a bad idea so Tom couldn’t simply say she would make a wonderful mother. The truth was, he didn’t know. “The only thing you can do is try,” he said, sounding disappointing even to himself.

“Then stay with me. Let’s try together. I promise I won’t force you to do anything anymore.”

“No. Staying together for the child’s sake would make all three of us miserable. If you raise this child, I won’t be by your side but I can provide you with a monthly stipend so you are both comfortable. If you prefer that I care for them instead, then I will do so alone. You have to swear that you won’t try to see either of us ever again.” Tom felt smugly satisfied with himself. There was no way Merope would give up both of her toys. 

She was pensive for the next few days, clearly thinking over the choice Tom had presented her. Her answer wasn’t the one he expected, “It will be better for the baby if they are raised as a Riddle. They will be beautiful and loved, wealthy and respected, like you. And when they’re old enough, they will go to Hogwarts and learn how to do magic properly. Do you promise me that you will try your utmost to give our child such a life?”

Tom floundered, and answered with another question, “Will you swear not to seek us out?”

“I do, though it will be a hard promise to keep. Actually, it would be easier if you left now so I don’t have to say goodbye to both you and the baby at the same time. There is a charitable institution nearby, Wool’s Orphanage, that can take care of them until you pick them up. I will send you an owl.”

Tom didn’t trust in Merope’s promise. As he made his own and was finally allowed to leave, he felt on edge. Yet, just being able to return to Little Hangleton and hug his parents felt like a balm to his very soul. After his sudden disappearance and months long silence, they had feared him dead. Tom wished that he could tell them the whole truth but he was afraid that, as loving as his parents were, they would still think him mad. He certainly would never have believed in magic before being subjected to it.

Therefore, the story he told them was carefully curated. That his soulmate was Merope Gaunt, the tramp’s daughter, they already knew though they had never discussed it before. That Tom attempted to have a relationship with his soulmate which failed because of their difference in class and breeding, was a believable lie. Though divorce was of course unthinkable, spouses living separately was far from unheard of among the gentry. Tom had the feeling his parents pitied him for being cursed with such an inadequate soulmate. If only they knew!

He never told them about the child. If they knew, surely they would insist on taking care of poor, pregnant Merope. They might still get the chance to if she showed up on their doorstep, as Tom feared she would every single day.

Merope never showed up. She sent no owl. Instead Tom woke up on New Year’s Day with a faded soulmark, Merope’s name barely legible on his wrist.

Tom laughed hysterically for several minutes because that was it . She was dead and she would never come back. He could stop jumping at shadows, fearing every dark corner, wondering if his life would end under her spell. He was finally truly free. 

The matter of the child, however, clouded his happiness. Considering the date of Merope’s passing, it was likely that she had died in childbirth. Perhaps the child had died with her, but they might also be alive and well in Wool’s Orphanage.

If he did nothing, the child would probably grow up in that orphanage. They would have food in their belly and clothes on their back, maybe a kindly caretaker that would cherish them. They would have neither social standing nor wealth.

There was no one to enforce his promise, except himself. Yet Tom had the feeling that, if he broke it, he would be in a world of trouble. Vows to supernatural beings, including witches, were not to be taken lightly. If any stirrings of concern about his son or daughter played a role in his final decision, Tom did not dwell upon them as he bought a train ticket to London.

Finding Wool’s Orphanage was easy and the beleaguered-looking woman who answered the door recognised his name immediately. Merope had named her son after him and claimed Tom would come back to claim him. None of the employees had believed her. Tom hardly believed it himself.

To explain the strange situation, he quickly made a story on the spot about how his poor wife suffered from an affliction of the mind and had run away from home heavily pregnant. He had been looking for her in every hospital and orphanage ever since. He clutched the black ribbon around his wrist as he spoke and tried to look stricken, knowing that he was probably failing miserably at it. 

His outlandish story was met with disinterested looks and no questions whatsoever. It was obvious that the women of Wool’s had plenty of children to look after, more than they could truly care for, and thus the opportunity to get rid of one of them was not to be passed upon. The child would never have been loved here. 

Feeling some measure of satisfaction with his decision helped Tom face Merope’s son. He immediately looked for deformities in the child and breathed a sigh of relief when he found none. Tom Marvolo Riddle, as she had named him, was a fine-looking boy with dark hair and eyes. 

That the son looked nothing like the mother made it considerably easier for Tom to bring the baby back to his parents. He had to make up another story, about how his wife had hidden her pregnancy from him, then wrote to him on her deathbed to reveal the child’s existence. His parents were flabbergasted by it but could not deny the living, breathing proof of it. They immediately loved the baby and cooed that he was “the very image” of Tom himself at his age. 

Tom considered his promise to Merope well and truly fulfilled but his mother disagreed, “A child needs a mother’s love. I know you worry because of your soulmate's passing but it is quite understandable for a widower with a young child to marry again within six months. There are many fine girls, unmarked of course, who would take good care of our little Tom.”

Tom sighed, but let his mother talk him into it. Truth was, it was becoming harder to deny that “little Tom”, as he was now called by the whole household, was his son. Not only did they share a name but the similarities in their appearance were commented upon nearly everyday. Yet it didn’t feel like the baby was his son. The identity of his mother was like an invisible taint on him. 

Even more disquieting was Merope’s certitude that the child would be a wizard. For now, nothing out of the ordinary had happened, but Tom wasn’t certain when those “abilities” usually manifested themselves. It was hard to see the baby as anything but a ticking time bomb.

Tom had been right when he told Merope he could not properly care for the child as a parent ought, but he could make sure that his second wife would be able to do just that. 

His mother introduced him to a few young ladies from suitable families and he found them all to be sweet, biddable girls who blushed prettily when he talked to them. Once upon a time, he would have flirted with them all, eventually married one of them and probably been happy. Maybe Merope had also left her taint on him as he could no longer do that. Playing at love and affection when none could yet exist inspired nothing but revulsion in him.

The only woman he liked amongst all he met was May Worthington. Though the eldest of three sisters in birth and beauty, it had been her sister Edith that his mother had expected him to court. Tom had been intrigued as to why until meeting May herself. She was a very odd sort of girl, often forgetting her courtesies and lapsing into silence for several minutes. 

May was the only person who did not immediately offer him her condolences for Merope’s death. She apologised afterwards about forgetting to do so, upon which Tom could honestly reply that he wanted no condolences. Instead of being shocked at his callousness towards his dead soulmate, May had smiled and said she was glad she had not hurt his feelings.

She was not stupid, as he would once have thought, just strangely divorced from societal niceties. It was obvious that her mother had drilled her into behaving like a proper lady and that she tried to do so, but failed because her own thoughts distracted her. “My mother says it’s because I’m selfish and only care about myself,” she confided in Tom with her usual candour. 

“That is certainly not true, as you always pay attention when something truly important is being discussed.”

“That is very kind of you to say, Tom. I’m afraid I’m still a very bad daughter. The only expectation upon me is to marry well but I’m failing terribly at it. I just cannot pretend at anything for long periods of time.”

“For which I am grateful, as your lack of pretence means that I can also dispense with it.”

She turned to smile at him, “It’s very nice to talk to someone besides my sisters who don’t mind my oddities. We have become very good friends, haven’t we? I almost wished you would marry Edith so we could keep talking, though it would be a terrible idea as you do not suit each other at all.”

“What if I married you?”

She blinked, obviously surprised. “Are you quite sure? I would not make a very good wife. I… It’s not that I don’t care for you. I do. It’s just that… I don’t think I feel things in the way others do. When my sisters are angry, or happy, or in love, it seems to inhabit them somehow. When I feel things, it’s almost as if I think them instead. So I cannot love you the way a normal wife would. I’m sorry, I am explaining things rather terribly, aren’t I?”

“It’s quite alright. I truly do not mind that the way you think and feel is different from others. I’m different too, though I cannot explain to you in what ways yet. What I’m looking for is mutually agreeable company for myself, and a mother for my young son. I’ve no doubt in my mind that you could be the former. As for the latter… Do you like children, May?”

“I do. I get along better with children than adults.”

They agreed that the Worthingtons would be guests at Riddle Manor, so that May could meet the baby and see if she could become a mother to him. It turned out that “Little Tom” was pretty easy to love for anyone not his namesake: he almost never cried, even as he was passed from one set of arms to the next, and smiled and gurgled at anyone who interacted with him. 

Thus, less than six months after his first wife passed away, Tom Riddle married May Worthington in the parish church of Little Hangleton. Society considered it a fine match, and it would truly become one in time. As years passed and love grew between the couple, Tom even came to consider May as his true soulmate and often wished her name would have been on his wrist. 

However, he had to admit to himself that, had he never met Merope, he probably would never have bothered to understand May or come to appreciate her uniqueness. He could never feel any gratitude towards Merope, but he was glad that some good had come out of their ill-fated marriage. 

As for the other consequence of his marriage to Merope, the existence of one Tom Marvolo Riddle, he accepted it with some equanimity. The child was thriving under May’s care so Tom felt he would turn out tolerably well.

That proved to be quite the understatement.

Chapter Text

Tom Marvolo Riddle was four years old when he realised he could do magic. Whenever he did anything notable, like drawing a new picture, making his toys float around the room or writing his name neatly in big letters, he would rush to show it off to his mum. She always gave him a big kiss and congratulated him. Sometimes she also told him that what he had done was special, that it was magic.

Magic was special because only Tom could do it. It was really sad that his mum could not make things float but she assured him that it was okay because she liked seeing Tom do it more. He really wished he could show off his magic to others but his mum had told him not to.

“They wouldn’t understand, sweetie. And when people don’t understand things, it makes them scared.”

Tom couldn’t imagine how his grandma, who told the best bedtime stories, or his grandpa, who proudly put Tom’s drawings on his bedroom walls, could possibly be afraid of him. Yet, he agreed not to show them his magic because his mum said it would be their secret, hers and Tom’s. 

Having a secret was really exciting, especially if it made his mum pay more attention to him. She had to spend so much time taking care of Christopher, who was so boring because he did nothing but eat, sleep and cry. Once Tom had offered to use magic to try and soothe him but his mum had said no because using magic to make others do things was wrong. 

“You make me do stuff all the time, like brush my teeth. Why is it different?”

Mum had thought about it for a while and said, “You could refuse to brush your teeth. You wouldn’t get dessert obviously, but you could still say no. If you use magic, people can’t say no because their will is replaced by your own.”

An order that simply could not be disobeyed was scary so Tom agreed not to do that kind of magic on humans. He was still allowed to use it on animals, as long as he wasn’t hurting them. At first, he could only make animals like and trust him but eventually he was able to teach them to perform tricks. The best animals were definitely snakes because they could talk, though their conversation was not very interesting most of the time.

“Mummy, why can snakes talk?”

“I don’t know, my dear. I hear nothing but hissing when you speak with them so I guess being a wizard means that you can understand and answer them. Maybe all animals have their own language and other wizards can understand them.”

“There are other wizards?”

“Yes, though I never met any of them. It’s a rare talent.” Tom was happy to hear that he was still really special. It would be great to meet some other wizards and see what they could do with magic.

“Why are some people wizards and others not?”

His mother sighed as she sat him in her lap, “Magic is something you get from your family. Your birth mother was your father’s first wife. Her name was Merope and she was a witch.”

“Birth mother… So you’re not my mother?” asked Tom quietly.

She looked at him with her piercing blue eyes. “I may not have given birth to you but I’ve taken care of you since you were tinier than Christopher is now. I love you so very much, Tom. However you chose to think of me, I will always see you as my son.”

“Of course you’re my mum!” said Tom and when she hugged him, he clung to her as tightly as he could. His mum loved him, and he loved her, and that counted more than blood. More even than magic.

“If you want to ask about Merope, I won’t be offended. It’s quite natural for you to be curious about her. I just won’t be able to say much as I never knew her,” explained his mother gently.

“Can I ask Father?”

His mother grimaced. “I haven’t been entirely honest with you, Tom. When I asked you to keep your magic a secret, it wasn’t just because it could cause others to fear or resent you. It’s also because your father had a very poor experience of magic. If you were to use magic around him, or to talk to him about Merope, it would bring back extremely painful memories for him.”

“Did Merope hurt Father with magic? Is that why he doesn’t like me?”

“Why do you think your father dislikes you?”

Tom told her everything, in fits and bursts. How he had noticed that, despite his father talking to him every day, he always seemed distant and his smile never reached his eyes, even as he congratulated Tom. Tom had initially thought that it was a father’s job to be strict just as his mum was kind and his grandparents were fun. 

Then, Christopher was born and Father’s behaviour towards him was obviously different. He smiled genuinely as he held the baby and, once, Tom had even surprised him playing peekaboo with Christopher. Even without the magic, Tom knew way better games than peekaboo so why would Father play with a baby and not him?

It was almost as if Tom had done something wrong and Father was upset with him. But that definitely wasn’t true because Tom was always on his very best behaviour around his father. 

Thinking about it hurt so Tom had tried to push it at the back of his mind. But now that he knew about Merope, it all made sense. Tom hadn’t done anything bad, she had, and Tom’s presence was a reminder of her so Father disliked him.

“Merope did hurt your father. But he doesn’t dislike you. He knows that you are not Merope and that you are in no way responsible for what she did.”

“Then why can’t he treat me like Christopher?”

“Knowing something and feeling it are not the same. This all happened five years ago, which probably feels like a long time to you. But, from your father’s point of view, it is still quite recent. It will get better as he has more time to heal.”

Tom admired his father. He was always so composed, like nothing truly got to him. That he was hurt so bad that he still thought about it five years later boggled Tom’s mind. He asked about what happened, but his mum said Father had told the story to her only and she could not betray his secret. Still Tom could guess it was something truly awful.

“I hate Merope! If she had not hurt Father, everything would be alright.”

“Oh, sweetie,” said his mother as she caressed his head. “I don’t think it’s very helpful to you to hate her. I certainly don’t, for she gave me the very best gift. You , my precious son. Also, though it in no way excuses her actions, her life was a short and miserable one so it is easy for me to simply pity her.”

Tom could not feel pity towards Merope, though he was grateful for her magic. His opinion of her became even poorer when two years later, he realised she had not only been his father’s first wife but also his soulmate.

It was their first family holiday in Morecambe. His father always wore elegantly-tailored suits but, at the beach, he had changed to a swimsuit. This was the first time Tom saw his father without long sleeves, and thus noticed the black ribbon coiled around his left wrist.

Tom was familiar with the wrist covers soulmates wore. His grandmother had them in every possible colour, to match her outfit for the day. The only exception was black, as wearing a black ribbon meant that one’s soulmate had died. 

Tom also knew that people often married their soulmates. This, plus the fact that his father’s soulmate was dead, meant that she was most likely Merope.

Tom had always assumed his father was unmarked, just as his mum was. Your soulmate was supposed to be your perfect match, your ideal companion in life. Yet his father’s soulmate was Merope, and not his mum? It made no sense. Tom rubbed his bare wrists and hoped that he did not get a soulmate as he grew up.

They kept returning to Morecambe every summer. As years passed, Father did grow more comfortable around Tom but Christopher was still his favourite. Tom’s baby brother was no longer boring but he was still a nuisance. He was energetic and loud, and somehow able to rope anyone of his choosing into whatever hare-brained scheme he was pursuing at the time. If he ever messed up, he would get away with a slap on the wrist.

Ton, meanwhile, never messed up. He was quiet, polite, studious and, even at the tender age of eleven, always neatly dressed. Strangers would remark upon him in the streets and congratulate his parents for raising such a fine child. Seeing his father proudly accept such compliments warmed Tom’s heart but it wasn’t enough to dampen his jealousy when he then saw him spend hours helping Christopher to build his “dream sandcastle” with ten towers and a functioning moat. 

Tom knew that his brother did not choose to be Father’s favourite in order to spite him, but he did not feel it. He wished he was more like his mum, whose feelings always matched her rational thoughts. 

His resentment was stronger on days like this one, where Christopher demanded his attention. The novel he was reading was riveting and he really wanted to finish it but his brother kept pestering him to play together. 

Finally, he had enough and decided to teach Christopher a lesson. During a walk the previous day, Tom had noticed a cave close to the beach. It was small but deep, so when you went inside, it quickly grew pitch black. Christopher was a big cry baby so, if Tom suggested they explore the cave together, he would quickly grow frightened, run out and finally leave Tom alone. 

The plan started out fine, as Christopher started snivelling as soon they were in the cave. However, instead of running away, he clung to Tom’s sleeve and asked him to make some light.

Tom rolled his eyes, “I don’t have a torch with me.”

“No, I mean magical lights. I saw you make coloured ones for Mum.”

Tom froze. Christopher was not usually quiet. How could they have missed him sneaking up on them?

“You’re just imagining things,” he said nonchalantly. 

“I’m not! You and Mum, you must really think I’m stupid. Did you really think I was never going to find out your secret?”

Tom truly had not thought about it at all. “That is none of your business, so you should stay out of it.”

“Why not? I understand why you wouldn’t show your magic to Dad because he’s always so cold to you, but why keep it from me?”

He’s always so cold to you. Hearing so casually, and from Christopher of all people, made it somehow hurt more. 

“I didn’t tell you because you are stupid, and annoying, and you don’t know when to keep your mouth shut,” snapped Tom.

“Fine, I don’t care! You can keep it between you and Mum, since you’re always clinging to her skirts.”

“You’re just jealous that we share something you’re not a part of, you little egotist!”

“You’re not even her real son!”

“I am her real son!” Tom’s voice cracked, and so did the rocks. There was a deafening crash, then silence.

“What was that?” finally said Christopher. It was impossible to investigate in pitch darkness so Tom reluctantly summoned a small light in the palm of his hand.

Christopher openly admired the magical light but what it revealed was disheartening. The entrance of the cave was blocked by fallen rocks, trapping them inside.

“I didn’t mean it, you know. Of course, you’re Mum’s son. And you’re kinda right that I was jealous because she prefers you,” said Christopher quietly. 

“She doesn’t. She just spends more time with me because Father doesn't like me that much,” said Tom coolly, evenly. Somehow it was alright to acknowledge it out loud as long as he was in control of himself.

“It makes no sense, though. You’re older than me, smarter, better-behaved, you even look more like Dad! He should like you better than me. I am always second best at everything.”

“You’re just trying to make me feel better so we can get out of here.”

Christopher smiled ruefully, “That doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

“You’re not stupid. Annoying, yes, but not stupid.”

“Knowing how high your standards are, Tom, I’ll take this as a compliment! Now let’s try to move this rock, it seems smaller than the other.” Christopher was back to his cheerful, energetic self. 

By pushing the rock together, they were able to create an opening and squeeze through it with just a few bruises. When Mum asked about them, Christopher smoothly lied about slipping on some rocks while playing together. He definitely wasn’t stupid, if he already knew that Tom didn’t want the story of his blunder shared further.

He had a tight control on his magic for years. That he had been so angry as to cause a rockfall… It was truly embarrassing, not to mention dangerous. He and Christopher could have been seriously hurt. 

He couldn’t wait to go to Hogwarts in the autumn and learn magic properly. Meanwhile, it couldn’t hurt to practise more. Maybe he could show some more tricks to Christopher. His brother had liked the magical light very much, but Tom knew many spells that would impress him even more. 

Chapter Text

Tom’s Hogwarts letter was not delivered by post, as he expected, but in person. He didn’t get to see the wizard carrying it as his father met him at the gate and returned alone some ten minutes later. 

“Tom, I would like a word with you after lunch,” Father had said and Tom’s heart had clenched with the absurd fear that he was going to be forbidden to go to Hogwarts after all. His mother had said that it was Father’s wish that he go, and he wouldn’t change his mind now, would he?

Once he was in his father’s office, Tom was given his letter and told he would go to London the following week with his mother to buy his school supplies. He then thought that the privacy was simply to avoid his grandparents getting a peek at the letter (they thought Tom was going to a school for gifted children) but his father continued:

“When you are at Hogwarts, you will have to be careful. Many wizards look down on people with no magical powers and everyone connected with them, including fellow wizards. It might be prudent for you to emphasise that your birth mother was a witch and avoid mentioning the rest of your family to your schoolmates.”

Tom felt his jaw drop. That his father would speak to him not only about wizards in general, but about his birth mother in particular, after nearly twelve years of complete silence on the topic, was nothing short of mind blowing. This warning had to be very important for him to convey it despite his clear discomfort. 

And, yet, Tom could not follow his father’s advice.

“Hiding your existence would imply I feel ashamed of you, and I don’t. It would be an insult to you all, to Mother especially, if I were to pretend she doesn’t exist and only my birth mother matters.”

The smile Father gave him was small, but genuine. “We would all understand, your mother especially. You know very well how her mind works: she won’t feel any offence at the lie if it’s necessary for your safety.”

“But I can defend myself, Father! I’m a great wizard.” Tom regretted saying it as soon as the words crossed his lips, as his father looked pained.

“I don’t doubt you are. But these people…” He took a deep breath. “If your birth mother’s family had discovered I was her soulmate, they would have killed me.”

Tom blinked. Were wizards really that vile? “Should I even go to Hogwarts?”

“Your birth mother’s family did not attend because they thought Hogwarts had too many students with non-magical relations. So there will be plenty of people like you, and probably only a small minority of dangerously prejudiced wizards. Still I would prefer it if you did not make enemies out of them. These people do not deserve anything from you, not even the truth of who you are. It doesn’t matter if you lie to them about us.”

“It matters to me,” said Tom quietly. 

His father sighed, “I’m sorry, Tom, if I ever made you feel less than you are. You are and always will be my firstborn son. Whatever you choose to say while at Hogwarts, you are a Riddle and this is your home. As long as you hold this truth within yourself, I will always be proud of you.”

“Thank you, Father.” Tom was elated. Despite what his father had gone through, he still loved Tom and wanted him to be safe. How could anyone despise him simply for not having magic? 

Tom promised to himself that by the time he left Hogwarts, everyone would have learnt to respect the name Riddle. If they tried to hurt Tom because of who his father was, he would make them regret it. 

Tom’s resolution was put to the test from his first night at Hogwarts. From reading the first few chapters of Hogwarts: A History and some smalltalk with fellow first years on the train ride, he knew he was going to be sorted into one of the four Houses. The singing hat was a surprise though, and an impressive feat of magic. 

When it was his turn to put on the hat, Tom couldn’t help but flinch at hearing its voice straight into his mind: 

“Hmm, you’re a peculiar one, aren’t you? You’ve got plenty of brains. A healthy amount of bravery as well. Ambition too, and plenty for one so young. You’d do well in every House but where should I send you?”

“The House that will most challenge me. The House that will push me to become the best I can,” thought Tom.

“Is that your wish? Very interesting. Then, the only right option for you is… SLYTHERIN!”

Though he had not wanted to ask for a specific House, Tom was pleased to end up in Slytherin. Not only ambition and cunning were fine qualities to have, snakes had always been his favourite animal. It seemed almost serendipitous. 

His pleasure was short-lived though, as the blond boy sitting next to him at the feast asked whether Riddle was a wizarding family name. 

“No. And you are?”

“Abraxas Malfoy,” said the other boy haughtily. “Is your mother a witch then?”

The question was so blunt as to actually leave Tom off kilter for a moment. 

“Who my mother is is no business of yours,” he finally bit out. “She’s certainly a finer lady than yours since you obviously weren’t taught any manners.”

Two ugly splotches of red appeared on the pale boy’s cheeks. “You don’t know who you’re talking to, Riddle.”

“I know exactly who I’m talking to,” answered Tom dismissively. What bad luck to immediately stumble upon the very kind of wizard his father had warned him about. 

Malfoy ignored him for the rest of the feast, and so did the other first years (Tom counted three boys and four girls). He didn’t need friends but if they were all bigots, it didn’t bode well for Tom’s life in Slytherin. 

Tom found out just how much when he was awakened in the middle of the night by a bucket of ice cold water to the face. He immediately jumped out of bed and saw Malfoy sneering at him. One boy (Avery maybe?) was hovering next to him, trying to look as menacing as an eleven year old could be. The other two boys were still in bed but they were wide awake and watching in silence. 

“You didn’t answer my question, Riddle. Mudbloods have no place in Slytherin. Especially Mudbloods that talk back to their betters.”

Tom didn’t reply. He was willing the water clinging to his bedsheets, clothes and hair to form into a ball. He had initially learnt this water manipulation trick to get himself dry quickly. The ball of water was just a bit of showmanship that Christopher had loved. 

Malfoy and the others had obviously not expected him to use wandless magic, as they stared at the ball of water in Tom’s hand in disbelief. “I thought we were all wizards here, Malfoy, so why use something as mundane as a water bucket? Here, let me show you a little trick.”

Tom poured all his anger in the water and it quickly went from cold to boiling hot. He then casually threw the ball of water at Malfoy and Avery. It exploded all over their arms, legs and torso, scalding them. “Next time you wake me up in the middle of the night, I’ll aim for the face.”

“You’re mental, Riddle,” spat Malfoy. “I’ll get you expelled for this!”

“Is that so?” Tom said sweetly. “Would you like the whole school to learn that a “Mudblood” beat a Malfoy using wandless magic? I think it would be best for us both if no one speaks of this incident ever again. Now, if I were you, I would go to the hospital wing and get those burns treated if you don’t want them to scar.”

Malfoy shot him a look of pure hatred but he and Avery left the dorm. One of the remaining boys whistled, “That was impressive, Riddle. Malfoy really needed to be taken down a notch.”

“You’ve made an enemy for life though,” added the other one thoughtfully. “Malfoy’s father is on the school board so he can really get you expelled if you continue to fight him.”

Tom decided Malfoy was not a threat to him at the moment so he just shrugged and went back to bed. He slept soundly the rest of the night.

The next morning, Malfoy was studiously ignoring him and the other first years were once more taking their cues from him. Tom could feel that he and Avery were properly scared of him now, so, instead of attempting another attack, they had decided to go for social ostracism instead. 

Which was fine by Tom. Not only did he not want to talk to Malfoy and his cronies, he was also disappointed in the other students for being so cowardly as to side with Malfoy despite some of them clearly disliking him. Was Malfoy’s father really such a big deal that they would all be cowed by him? 

Tom’s first order of business after class was to go to the library and find out more about how things worked in Slytherin. He quickly discovered that the Sorting Hat had omitted to mention in its charmingly whimsical song that Slytherin House was strongly associated with “blood purity”. 

Of course, not every Slytherin was a pure-blood and not every pure-blood thought themself superior to others. Still, a few students from a handful of pure-blooded families seemed to hold most of the power within Slytherin, with the other students either unwilling or unable to challenge them.

Malfoy, Avery, Black, Carrow, Lestrange… All of these names appeared in the Pure-Blood Directory.  No wonder Malfoy was so confident about being obeyed, he was basically wizarding aristocracy!

The thought was a little disconcerting to Tom because he was used to being part, not of the aristocracy, but of the gentry. The Riddles had been the most prominent family in Little Hangleton for centuries and Tom knew for a fact that, for all that he loved his grandparents, they behaved pretty poorly towards the other villagers. Still, there was a big difference between being a bit snobbish and rude and straight up attacking somebody for having “inferior” blood. 

Tom browsed the list of the “Sacred Twenty-Eight” families and wondered if his birth mother belonged to one of them. He had a feeling she did, and he could probably find out easily enough by checking genealogy books (how common could a name like Merope be?) but he didn’t really want to. 

He was a Riddle, and that was as fine a name, as ancient a family line as he could ever want. In Little Hangleton, it made him the respected heir of the local squire and, in Hogwarts, the despised “Mudblood”. There was a lesson there, about not letting well-deserved family pride turn into arrogance and an urge to spite others, as Malfoy did. 

Tom set aside his book. All of this was very interesting but it didn’t tell him what to do about Malfoy. The other boys in his dorm were probably right that antagonising him would get him expelled but Tom refused to simply kowtow to him. 

In the end, the solution came to him easily. It was magic. Tom was very, very good at it. Every time he bested Malfoy in class (in every single subject except broomstick flying, in which he didn’t bother to apply himself much), the blond boy was humiliated by a “Mudblood” showing him up. This was the kind of revenge Tom could never get expelled for. All the teachers adored him and his Slytherin housemates appreciated his sizable contribution to them winning the House Cup, though they showed their approval discreetly. 

None of the Slytherin first years dared sitting next to Tom in class but he was perfectly fine with it. He could always sit with students from the other Houses. The Hufflepuffs were a universally friendly bunch, the Ravenclaws shared his passion for learning and the Gryffindors… Tom thought he might have a problem with them as Slytherins and Gryffindors had a bit of a rivalry. However, on their first day of Potions, Charlus Potter had decided to partner with him because “as a Muggleborn in Slytherin, you must have a lot of guts!”. That apparently made Tom alright in the eyes of the other Gryffindors as well.

Charlus Potter’s case was an interesting one because he came from an old, pure-blood family and had a lot of influence with his year mates, just like Malfoy. However, unlike Malfoy, he did not care about blood status and seemed able to get along with just about anyone. Though his incessant extrovertedness was a bit tiring, there definitely was value in someone like Charlus considering him a friend. That was why he had agreed to help the other boy with his Transfiguration homework.

“What is that?” asked Charlus one day in the library. Tom looked in confusion at his pen and notebooks before he understood the question.

“You mean my notes? I only use quill and parchment for essays. If I’m just writing something for myself, it’s a lot faster and easier to use paper and pen.”

“May I see them?” Tom’s pen was sleek, black and gold, a beloved present from his father. His leatherbound notebooks were given to him by his mother before he started Hogwarts. Maybe Charlus was looking to buy something similar for himself?

No, that couldn’t be it, not when the other boy was looking at them like exotic curios instead of everyday objects. Were wizards really not used to pens?

“Charlus, why do wizards use quills instead of pens?”

“I don’t know actually. I guess it’s just tradition.”

“Do you know what a typewriter is?”

“Can’t say I do.”

So it seemed that even pure-bloods that were not actively prejudiced against non-magical people were still woefully ignorant about them. Was it really so surprising when Hogwarts taught nothing but magic? No languages, no history unrelated to wizards, no sciences. Tom would have to catch up on all these topics during the holidays, he refused to give up on studying them just because he was a wizard.

“Riddle, a word?” His thoughts were interrupted by one of the Slytherin prefects. 

Dorea Black was sixteen years old but something in her bearing - maybe the poise with which she always carried herself - made her appear older. She was a pure-blood but Tom had never heard of her mistreating Muggleborns. There were some Slytherin prefects that Tom would have refused to be alone with, but she was not one of them.

“I don’t know what game you’re playing at by hiding your lineage but you need to stop it”, she said once they were alone.

“I’m not sure I follow.”

She scoffed, “We both know you’re too good to be an actual Muggleborn. It’s starting to upset some people that the most brilliant first year in decades is a Slytherin claiming to be Muggleborn. They’re thinking about teaching you a lesson about respecting your own blood.”

“And what if I am Muggleborn? Plenty of brilliant witches and wizards are.”

She looked at him in disbelief. “Then you wouldn’t be a Slytherin. We don’t take in any Muggleborns.”

Tom was left momentarily speechless by that. She forged on, “Listen, you don’t have to describe your entire family tree. Plenty of Slytherins have… somewhat vague ancestry. But you need to come up with something soon. Trust me, you don’t want to deal with Carrow and his ilk.”

“Why don’t you ? You’re a lot stronger than any of them.”

“It’s not that easy! I’m already on thin ice with my family for declining an engagement to Carrow. If I step once more out of line, they’ll surely disown me.”

Carrow was a seventh-year student who was more brute than man. What were the Blacks thinking, offering him the hand of a talented witch like Dorea? 

“Right,” said Dorea after seeing the disgust on Tom’s face. “You’re not a bad kid, Riddle. You have what it takes to become a Slytherin prefect, if you don’t upset the wrong people. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you!”

Dorea’s words replayed in Tom’s mind over the next few days. He knew he wasn’t strong enough yet to beat a bunch of upperclassmen but going out of his way to deny being Muggleborn still felt like a slap in the face of his family. He was lost in thought and remained sitting in class after the bell rang, looking glumly at his Transfiguration textbook. 

“Are you alright, my boy?” asked Professor Dumbledore. Tom liked him fine, he was a powerful wizard and a pretty good teacher, but that didn’t mean he wanted to confide in him. He quickly brought up another less personal topic that had been bothering him. 

“Actually, Professor, I was wondering how words and wand movements in spells relate to magic. I mean, I know they aren’t strictly necessary but they make getting consistent results so much easier. I couldn’t find the reason why in any of my textbooks.”

“That’s because it is an advanced topic of magical theory,” replied Dumbledore with an indulgent smile. “If you want to study it, I can recommend a few books. It is nothing dangerous, just not usually of interest to younger wizards. But, then, you are a most peculiar young man.”

“Why would you think that?”

“I was the one sent to deliver your Hogwarts letter. It was quite the surprise to meet your father and learn that no explanation or demonstration of magic was necessary because your birth mother was a witch. So I’m quite curious to know why you would pretend to be Muggleborn in the House where they are the most poorly considered.”

Tom ignored the implied question and replied with his own, “Is it true that no Muggleborns are sorted in Slytherin?”

“The Sorting Hat would not send a child to a House where they would be bullied.”

“That’s no solution at all! Why not stop the people doing the bullying?”

“You’re absolutely right, Tom. However, those few pure-blood families that hold Muggleborns in contempt are some of the most powerful in the wizarding world. Not only do they have seats on the board of this very school, they are also influential in the Wizengamot and the Ministry of Magic. Though many disagree with them and fight for better policies, our society is slow to change. I hope that, one day, Slytherin will be merely the House of the cunning and ambitious with no attention paid to blood status. You may see it in your lifetime, my boy.”

“I’m sure I will, Professor.” 

In the next period, Tom had Herbology with the Hufflepuffs. He made the point of partnering with Joyce Cattermole, the biggest gossip in their year. It was easy to steer the discussion towards their families and to offhandedly mention that his birth mother had been a witch but he never knew her. Within a few days, everyone in the castle would know. 

He couldn’t deal with these powerful pure-blood families right away but he would as soon as he had a good plan. It wasn’t a defeat, just a strategic retreat.

Chapter Text

Tom wrapped his coat tighter around him and bitterly regretted his life choices. Why was he standing in the woods in the middle of December?

It had all begun, well, with the war being declared. Little Hangleton was a small village of no strategic importance so they were quite safe there. When the Germans started bombing London and other major cities, his parents had agreed to take in a group of evacuees. They ended up hosting four siblings, aged between five and twelve.

The younger children were quite happy to stay in the manor and help his mum decorate for Christmas, trying to bring on the usual cheer despite the shadow cast by the war. The eldest, Deirdre, was quite different. She couldn’t stay still for a very long time and had taken to wandering in the village. Now she wanted to explore the woods around Little Hangleton even though it was cold, wet and potentially dangerous for a child.

Tom would have left her to her own devices if Christopher hadn’t decided to come along. His brother, deprived of a playmate when Tom was at Hogwarts, had quickly latched on to Deirdre. She was even more stubborn than him so telling everything to his mum and having the both of them grounded would not work. They would just sneak there while Tom was away. 

No, it was better to go into the woods with them and let them realise how miserable the whole experience was. If they got lost or into trouble, Tom always had his wand with him. He wasn’t supposed to use it because of the idiotic and unfair laws that prohibited Hogwarts students from using magic outside of school. Still, exceptions were made if the situation was an emergency. 

The walk in the woods proved as boring as Tom had expected until they came across a ramshackle little house. Ominously, a snake was nailed to the front door. 

“We don’t want to meet someone who does that to animals. Let’s go,” said Tom quietly. At that very moment, the door busted open and a drunken man staggered out, holding aloft both a knife and… was it a wand? 

His cross-eyed gaze fell on Tom and he bellowed out, “YOU! YOU!”. He started charging at them in fury, but Tom quickly drew his own wand and Stunned the man. 

“What was that?” asked Deirdre. She had seen the red bolt of light from his spell and she wasn’t the type to be fobbed off with a lie. 

Tom took a deep breath, “Christopher, can you explain everything to her? Not here, back at the manor. I need to find out who this man is and why he attacked us.” 

“Will you be fine alone with him?”

“Don’t worry, I can handle him.” Tom had already seized the man’s wand and knife. 

“Alright, but you’ll tell us everything straight after you come home, right?”

Once Christopher and Deirdre had left, Tom floated the man back inside the shack and bound his arms and legs. He had a look around the place but found nothing useful. Everything was broken and filthy. Well, he would get his answers straight from the horse’s mouth. 

As soon as Tom cast Enervate, the man’s eyes fluttered open and he hissed in Parseltongue: 

“ You filthy Mudblood, have you come to finish what your whore of a mother started? ”

“You will answer my questions truthfully or you will be silent.” The man’s eyes bugged out as he tried to speak further and found he couldn’t. Tom was so furious he didn’t even mind the involuntary use of magic. 

“Good. Now tell me who you are and how you recognised me.”

“Name’s Morfin Gaunt. It’s obvious who you are. That little slut Merope ran off with that Muggle while we were gone, got a child from him and died. You look just like him.”

It must have been quite the scandal. Tom wondered why he never heard this story in Little Hangleton. The villagers probably didn’t mention it within his earshot. It would, after all, be rude to gossip about a dead woman in front of her son. 

“While you were gone? Where were you?”

“We got thrown into Azkaban, Father and I. The Ministry’s full of Mudbloods and blood traitors. It’s a wizard’s right to curse any Muggles they want! And Father didn’t even do that, he just smacked Merope around a little.”

“Did he now?” said Tom in a tone chillier than the snow outside. “And what was she like?”

“She was useless at everything. Couldn’t cook right, couldn’t clean right, couldn’t do a simple spell without messing up. Always mooning at that Muggle, the little blood traitor! Father died because that ungrateful bitch wasn’t there to take care of him when he returned. After all we did for her, she repaid us by sullying our bloodline. If she were still around, I’d kill her with my bare hands.”

Tom’s grip on his wand was so tight it was starting to become painful so he forced himself to relax it and continue with his interrogation. “You said I came to finish what she started. What did you mean?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know! She took the locket, and now, you’ve come back for the ring. Thieves beget thieves! But Slytherin’s relics do not belong in your filthy hands. They’re the mark of the truly pure!”

“Look at yourself! Look at this place! You’re pathetic, a drunkard living in a hovel! What good is your pure blood? What good is it, when you have nothing, when you are nothing? I don’t care that I’m a descendant of Salazar Slytherin. I don’t care for his ring, or his locket, or any of the objects you desperately cling to to pretend at greatness. What I want is for you to feel even a sliver of the pain, of the humiliation that you inflicted upon Merope. I’ll start by throwing that ring of yours into the ocean.”

Tom easily pried the ring, an ugly, blocky thing, off of Gaunt’s finger. The man howled like a pig about to be slaughtered. 

“No, you can’t, you can’t! Father will kill me if I lose his ring.”

“Your father is dead. You said so yourself. Are you losing your mind? How many centuries of inbreeding were necessary to make you that feeble in body, mind and magic? Merope was right to abandon your ways and marry my father. If she hadn’t, I would be as twisted and ugly as you are.”

“She was no better than us! Nobody cared about her, nobody wanted her. She must have charmed that Muggle to go with her, or fed him some love potion.”

Tom felt like a block of ice had dropped in his stomach. Of course. It had to be it, the hurt Merope had done to Father, one so deep he still felt it years afterwards. 

He was a child born of rape.

“I should burn this house, with you in it. Nothing good comes from you Gaunts!”

“I wouldn’t recommend doing that,” said a calm, familiar voice. Tom whirled around and came face to face with his mother.

She was wearing her winter coat made of silver fox fur and her riding breeches. Her blue eyes were looking curiously at the dark, dank interior of the shack, its collection of broken pots and half-mouldy food. 

“Christopher told me everything as soon as he was home. He was very worried about you, Tom.”

“Mum, you shouldn’t be here.”

“I think I should. I know what Merope Gaunt did to your father, Tom. Yet, I told you I pitied, rather than hated, her. Do you know why?”

He shook his head mutely. 

“Because Merope was a product of her environment. She was constantly belittled and abused. She quickly learnt her life was worth nothing, and the life of a non-magical person even less. And here you have one of her abusers, but also a victim of the same toxic environment. Killing that man would fix nothing, Tom. You have to prevent the circumstances that created him and his sister.”

“I don’t know if I can… The pure-bloods have so much power…” Tom floundered, feeling traitorous tears prick his eyes.

“Maybe you will find a way. And, even if you don’t, you can at least stop this cycle of abuse.” She took his hand and gently closed it on the ring. “You should keep it. This is part of your family legacy, Tom. It may be a dark and violent one but I know you can redefine it.”

She turned to Gaunt who had listened to the whole conversation in silence, “As for you, I will be taking this and this.” She pointed at his wand and knife. “I trust that you will behave but, if you don’t, you should know that Riddles do not make idle threats.”

“You owe your life to my mother’s mercy, Gaunt. Don’t forget it.”

“It’s no mercy. I’ll quickly starve without my wand.”

“Oh, you won’t starve, I’ll make sure of it,” his mother answered then, as if to herself, she murmured, “The quality of mercy is not strained. It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven upon the place beneath. Maybe I should send some Shakespeare as well? This place needs books.”

Tom couldn’t help it, he laughed heartily. If his laughter had a little edge of hysteria to it, his mother didn’t say anything. 

They made their way back to the manor in silence, Tom walking and his mother slowly riding her palfrey. Once they arrived, she assured him she would handle Christopher and Deirdre's questions. Tom gratefully escaped to the solitude of his room.

He felt torn. Merope had been abused all her life, but what she had done to his father was unforgivable. His mother was right though, that there wasn't any point in hating a dead woman. He did hate Morfin Gaunt but the man was no danger to him or his. Tom could leave him to his life of misery and squalor if it pleased his mother.

Furthermore, Gaunt could still be of use to him alive: his house was probably considered a wizarding household so Tom could go there during the holidays to use magic. After all, he hadn't received any warning from the Ministry about all the spells he used today.

It would be unpleasant to come back to the dirty shack. Yet, he didn't have a choice, did he? He couldn't afford to lose any time if he wanted to achieve the staggering task of ending pure-blood supremacy. 

That was what he must do, wasn’t it? The Gaunts were only the “purest” expression of this belief system, taken to its logical extreme. Destroying it would end this cursed family line better than killing Morfin ever could. 

Tom had learnt he was a descendant of Slytherin by reading about his rare gift of Parseltongue and how it was passed down his family line. At the time, he did not think that was important at all. Now, it seemed almost poetic. Salazar Slytherin was one, if not the most, prominent champion of pure-blood privilege in history and he, his descendant, would be the one to end it.

He had been thinking about the how for a while. The solution was incredibly simple, yet seemed almost impossible to achieve: have more wizards coming from non-magical families. If the number of Muggleborn wizards would grow exponentially, the pure-blood supremacists would become increasingly irrelevant, their political and societal influence diluted. Eventually they would have no choice but to either let go of their prejudices and marry outside their ranks or die out. This process was already happening but it was far too slow for Tom's liking.

Now, if he could only understand what made a wizard! It was an hereditary ability for sure, but not as simple as the one gene, two alleles Mendelian genetics he had learnt from his biology textbooks. There was much more to it, but Tom could not divine what. Maybe the whole field of biology was not advanced enough yet.

Science and technology marched on but it still took decades for important discoveries to be made. Suddenly a wizard's two-hundred year lifespan didn't seem enough.

Tom rolled Morfin Gaunt's ring between his fingers before sliding it on. It was an ugly thing but it would remind him always of the task he had set for himself. If he needed more than a lifetime to enact his plans, he would have to find a way to live longer.

Chapter Text

To his shame, Gellert Grindelwald’s stratospheric rise in popularity took Tom by surprise.

When he had learnt about Grindelwald in his first year at Hogwarts, Tom had not perceived him as much of a threat. His ideology of wizarding supremacy didn’t seem to hold broad appeal: the pure-blood supremacists agreed that wizards ought to rule over Muggles but could not stand being considered equal to Muggleborns and Half-bloods. Meanwhile, the majority of wizards had no desire to rule Muggles, preferring to continue their lives in peaceful isolation. 

However, in the five years that followed, the number of Grindelwald’s supporters had done nothing but increase. The man was a canny politician and the horrors of the war had been a boon to his rhetoric. To those wizards who cared about non-magical lives, he talked about the terrible ways Muggles hurt and killed each other. Wouldn’t it be better, kinder, for them to be ruled by wizards who obviously knew better? To those who did not care much for Muggles, he described how fearsome their new weapons were. Very soon, he said, their “technology” would allow them to find and eliminate wizards. Shouldn’t they strike the first blow now, when they still had the advantage, in order to protect wizardkind from this existential threat?

Grindelwald always made his position sound reasonable, just even. However, it all rested on the assumption that wizards were inherently better than Muggles, and thus more deserving to rule. This assumption did not hold up to the slightest scrutiny. 

Parallel to his regular studies, Tom had poured much of his energy into learning what exactly magic was. What he managed to glean from wizarding literature was dismal. Magic was a powerful force that some humans (and other beings such as centaurs or goblins) could yield. What magic could or could not do was unclear. Each wizard seemed to have their limit, which depended on both innate “talent” and training. Overusing magic would exert a toll on a wizard’s body and mind. Yet, small children were able to achieve magical feats instinctively and effortlessly, though never consistently. 

Gifted wizards and witches could use magic to bind a desired outcome to words and wand movements, creating spells. Anyone who then learned and used the spell would contribute to the continuation of the binding. For that reason, many spells formulated centuries ago in Latin were just as potent in modern Britain, despite their pronunciation evolving over time.

Most wizards and witches never created spells. Among those that did, most weren’t interested in the nature of magic itself, only in obtaining results. The few wizards that did attempt to study magic as a part of the natural world did not achieve much, because of the lack of interest from their peers and the inability to collaborate with any non-magical people. 

If only geniuses like Einstein knew of magic and what it could do! Grindelwald was right that the Statute of Secrecy was harming wizards, he was just right for the wrong reasons.

The overwhelming majority of wizards used magic as a tool of everyday life without comprehending it, just like non-magical people listened to the radio or drove a car without understanding the underlying technology behind them. Wizards had no innate wisdom that Muggles lacked, they were not more driven and they were certainly not kinder. 

The ideal world was not one where wizards ruled over the non-magical but one where they lived peacefully in full knowledge of each other. Then, with the best minds among both wizards and Muggles working together, human knowledge of both magic and science was certain to progress greatly.

It would never happen though, if Grindelwald was the one to break the Statute of Secrecy. If he declared war on Muggles, either he would lose, and wizards would be decimated, or he would win, and non-magical people would become only thralls, their ingenuity and ambition suppressed, as any technological advancement would be perceived as a threat to wizarding supremacy.  

Tom could not let such undesirable outcomes come to pass. Grindelwald’s whole movement was centred upon his person. If he were to die, wizarding supremacy would fade into obscurity again.

Killing Grindelwald was no easy feat though. There were only a handful of wizards in the world that could hope to defeat him in a duel. Perhaps, in ten or twenty years, Tom would be one of them but he couldn’t afford to wait that long. 

There was still someone in Hogwarts skilled enough to beat Grindelwald. However, despite alleged pleas from the Minister for Magic himself, Albus Dumbledore refused to challenge Grindelwald. No one knew exactly why. Many whispered the two had been friends in their youth, or even lovers. The fact that both bore soulmarks only made the rumours more lurid. 

Tom’s best chance of getting rid of Grindelwald was to compel Dumbledore to move against him, which first meant finding out the real reason for his reluctance to do so. He really hoped it wasn’t just pointless sentiment over a shared soulmark or past relationship. 

Assuming it was true that the two met as young men, where could it have happened? Not at school, since they had attended different ones. What about after graduation?

Dumbledore’s biography said he moved back to his family home in Godric’s Hollow, to take care of his younger brother after their mother’s death. As for Grindelwald, his biography only contained a passing reference to him having spent a few months in England “living with a relative”. Fortunately, wizarding genealogies were extensive: Grindelwald’s only living English relative was his great-aunt Bathilda Bagshot, the famous historian. Tom wrote to her publisher to obtain her address, and found that she did live in Godric’s Hollow. 

Tom then wrote to Bagshot herself, feigning interest in becoming an historian after graduation. He played the role of the wide-eyed fan and she bought it completely, agreeing enthusiastically to the meeting he requested in his third letter.

Hogwarts students were not supposed to use the Floo Network but Tom was a prefect and Slughorn’s favourite student. Obtaining an exemption to interview the well-known witch he was writing an essay about was no issue at all.

Bathilda Bagshot turned out to be even more useful than Tom had expected. She obviously enjoyed gossiping and needed little to no prompting to speak about her former neighbours, the Dumbledores, and her great-nephew, who was really such a nice young man back in the days. 

“They were as thick as thieves, these two,” she said with the self-satisfied expression of a cat eating cream. “Spent the whole summer talking together. I hardly saw Gellert when he lived here!”

“What did they talk about?” asked Tom mildly. “Magical theory, I suppose?”

“Oh, they wouldn’t let an old lady like me in on their secrets. They were interested in the Deathly Hallows, that’s for sure, because they asked me about all potential historical sightings of them. I told them, wizards who like to pretend their wand is extremely powerful are a dime a dozen. It’s a nice fairy tale though.”

Tom had no idea what Bagshot was referring to, but she clearly expected him to know. He made a note to check on the Deathly Hallows later and changed the subject. 

“They didn’t stay friends for a very long time, didn’t they?”

“Oh no! One evening, Gellert came home with a face like thunder and said he had to go home immediately. He would not tell me what happened, and I could hardly ask poor Albus. He was already so grieved because of his sister’s passing.”

“His sister?”

“Of course, you wouldn’t have heard about Ariana! They kept her hidden away. Poor Kendra, it’s always such a stigma to give birth to a Squib. Anyway, the poor girl died around the same time Gellert left. It must have been so hard for Albus, he looked completely devastated at the funeral. Then, instead of comforting him, his brother shouted at him and broke his nose! The Dumbledores were always the oddest bunch.”

Bagshot had obviously not made the connection between her nephew’s abrupt departure and Ariana Dumbledore’s sudden death. Squibs’ lives were as worthless as Muggles’ in Grindelwald’s book so he could definitely have killed her. Yet, he had no reason to alienate his lover by doing so.

Furthermore, if Grindelwald had murdered Ariana, would Dumbledore have let him leave? If someone killed Christopher, Tom would strip the flesh off their bones. Dumbledore was not as bloodthirsty, but he was surely not cowardly enough to just let his sister’s murderer walk free. 

There was something there, something worth investigating, but he couldn’t progress any further without tracking down Dumbledore’s brother, the only other person who might know what happened to Ariana. Instead, it was easy to head to the library upon his return to Hogwarts and look for information about the Deathly Hallows. 

Hogwarts’ copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard was beautifully illustrated and while the Tale of the Three Brothers did not overly impress Tom, the symbol of the Deathly Hallows felt very familiar. 

Surely it couldn’t be…

Tom removed the Gaunts’ ring from his finger for closer inspection. It really looked like the Hallows symbol was engraved upon it.

He would need to be alone for the next part, because he would either look incredibly stupid if it didn’t work, or cause an uproar if it did. Fortunately, he quickly found an empty classroom and locked the door with a charm. How did it go in the fairy tale? Turn the stone three times while thinking of the person you wanted to bring back.

When Ariana Dumbledore appeared before him, Tom got one of the biggest fright of his life. She wasn’t alive, but she definitely wasn’t a ghost either, which meant the Tale of the Three Brothers was at least partially real and Tom the owner of the Resurrection Stone.

“Sorry, I don’t think I know you. My name’s Ariana,” said the cheerful revenant. 

“My name’s Tom Riddle. Do you know why you are here, Ariana?” he asked her gently.

“Shouldn’t you tell me that, since you’re the one who summoned me?” She grinned. “I do know that I’m dead, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Can you tell me what happened to you?” Ariana had no qualms telling him of the fight between the Dumbledore brothers and Grindelwald, and about the stray curse that had killed her. 

“I don’t understand. Even if it’s unclear who cast the spell that killed you, Grindelwald bears the most responsibility as he started the fight, and by casting the Cruciatus Curse no less. Why isn’t Dumbledore going after him?”

“You mean Albus? Because he loves him. They’re soulmates.”

“So, because Grindelwald is his soulmate, Dumbledore’s willing to let slide the fact that he attempted to torture his brother and likely murdered his sister.” Tom could hardly keep the disgust out of his voice.

“Don’t blame Albus! He and Abe sacrificed so much to take care of me. I’m the one who ruined our family by losing control of my magic. I’m the one who killed our mum! So, when Albus met Grindelwald, who was beautiful and brilliant and his soulmate, of course, he wanted to leave with him. But he couldn’t because of me. Then, Grindelwald showed his true colours by attacking Abe and Albus immediately jumped to defend him. And, once more, I ruined everything by straying too close to the fight and getting myself killed. I bet Albus is feeling crushing guilt but it’s not its fault, really.” 

“I think you should tell him that, Ariana.” That had to be it. Whatever lingering feelings Dumbledore had for his soulmate, the “carrot” of getting to speak to Ariana and obtaining her forgiveness had to be enough to motivate him to fight Grindelwald. And, if that didn’t work, Tom always had the “stick” of threatening to reveal Dumbledore’s secrets to the public, which would undoubtedly ruin his reputation and potentially get him fired from Hogwarts.

In the end, Tom chose to directly confront Dumbledore. The man would clearly not have believed him, if not for his Legilimency. However, thanks to Tom’s own Occlumency, Dumbledore could only tell that his offer of the Stone was sincere, not where he had hidden it. 

As Tom had predicted, Dumbledore agreed to defeat Grindelwald in exchange for the Resurrection Stone. He refused to kill him, but Tom did not really care as long as Grindelwald was effectively out of commission. Wizarding supremacy was dead for the foreseeable future.

Chapter Text

Several months after Grindelwald’s defeat, Dumbledore asked Tom to stay after class.

“I need to return this to you.” He put the Gaunts’ ring on the table in front of Tom.

“Why?”

“Being able to talk to my parents and Ariana, even if it wasn’t truly them, helped me immensely. I’ve made my peace with the dead so I don’t need the Stone anymore.”

“What do you mean “not truly them”? Isn’t it supposed to bring back the souls of the dead?”

“Do we even have souls? Many wizards believe so, yet there is no definitive evidence. What we know for sure is that certain spells are able to reproduce the personality and memories of people, at least to an extent. Magical portraits are a good example of this, though they are a rather crude copy of their model. 

What this Stone does - and calling it the Resurrection Stone is a misnomer, as it was probably never intended to bring anyone back to life - is create a much finer, though somewhat idealised copy, of the deceased person. Even after a year of studying it, I cannot be entirely certain of its purpose but I would guess it was created to comfort the bereaved.”

Tom nodded, as Dumbledore’s conclusions agreed with his own research about souls. It also confirmed his hunch that the Deathly Hallows story was largely fanciful: death was a biological process, not a reaper-like figure handing out gifts to cunning wizards. Still the Stone remained an incredibly powerful magical artefact and Tom quickly pocketed it. 

“I wonder, Tom, why you gave this Stone up so easily,” Dumbledore quietly said. “A dedicated scholar of magic such as yourself would not pass up the opportunity to study it, nor would any Slytherin fail to see its potential usefulness.”

“Why did you fail to confront Grindelwald for years? Not a very Gryffindor way to act, if you ask me. I had to come up with a significant bribe to force your hand,” answered Tom dismissively.

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled, though his smile was melancholy. “The human heart is a complex thing, especially when it’s broken. My guilt and my shame made me unable to face him again, and it turned me into a coward. I can only guess as to whom you are afraid to speak to through the Stone. Do not let your misgivings about the past cast a shadow over your future, Tom. It would grieve me to see a brilliant young man like you make any of the same mistakes I did.”

And, just like that, after delivering his little soliloquy, Dumbledore left. Tom was glad of it, since it spared him the effort of having to hide his anger.

The sheer arrogance of the man, thinking he had the right to lecture Tom about his life! As if they were anything alike, as if Tom was afraid… 

It didn’t matter what Merope Gaunt had to say. It mattered even less now that Tom knew it wasn’t even her, just an echo. A fake designed to comfort him. Why would he need that?

Yet, if he refused to summon Merope, it would feel as if Dumbledore was right, and Tom was a coward. But, if he did summon her, it would be like his teacher had forced his hand. How utterly infuriating.

After weighing his options, Tom decided that it was better to use the Stone rather than not, and take the opportunity to further gauge its abilities.

Merope Gaunt, or rather her shade, looked very like her brother Morfin and nothing like Tom himself. She recognised him straight away and thanked him for being willing to talk to her.

“Why did you do that to my father? To your own soulmate?”

“I’d like to say I didn’t know better but I did. My parents were soulmates and, while my mother lived, she kept my father's worst instincts in check. After she passed away, I stopped being a child and started becoming a servant. I wasn’t allowed to go to Hogwarts, I was barely taught any magic but still expected to use it to cook and clean. If I didn’t do well enough, I would at best be called a worthless Squib, or at worst, get a beating from Morfin. He and Father despised Muggles, but I never did. How could we be better than them, when they slept in warm, cosy beds and we lived in that cold, dirty shack? When I got my soulmark, I was so happy. Your father was the perfect prince that would rescue me from my misery. Every time he rode past, I thought he was looking out for me. The only reason he never approached me, I told myself, was because of the danger Morfin posed. He hexed your father just because he caught me looking at him.”

“What?” If he’d known that, Tom might have killed Morfin before his mother had the chance to intervene. 

“He wouldn’t remember it. The Ministry erased his memories, just like they did to Morfin’s other victims. I knew he was bound to get arrested someday. They took Father in too, and then I was on my own. Your father came, just as I had predicted, but he left as soon as he saw me. He said such awful things.” Her voice broke. “He said he would never love me. And to crawl back into the hole I came out of.”

“My father would never say that!”

Merope smiled sadly. “Maybe he wouldn’t say it now. But he did say it back then. And I just got so angry. I was used to being abused, of course, but I had built this whole fantasy in my head that your father would be different. That he wouldn’t care that I was ugly, ignorant and dirty. That he would love me because we were soulmates, and that was fated. So, when he rejected me, I just completely lost control of my magic. I didn't mean to, but I compelled him to love me.”

“So that is your defence?” said Tom cooly.

“No. It was unintentional the first time, but I chose to keep casting that spell. I just couldn’t go back to being alone and unloved after I married your father. Of course, it was all fake, and not even a very good fake. Love is not something you can conjure up with a spell. And I knew I was hurting your father. He was fighting the Imperius with everything he had. So, eventually, I let him go.”

“Just like that? Out of the goodness of your heart?” Tom jeered.

“Not quite. I still hoped your father would stay with me willingly. Not out of love, never out of love, but because of his duty towards you, his firstborn child. He gave me an ultimatum instead. Either he or I would raise you alone. No matter how much I wished otherwise, I couldn’t trust myself to be a good mother to you. I named you Tom Riddle because I wanted you to be like him, and not me. I named you Marvolo because… My father had loved me once, and though I couldn’t forgive him for everything he did, it still mattered to me.”

“I don’t think I can forgive you either.”

“I cannot ask for your forgiveness, when I could not even forgive myself. When I gave birth, there were complications… but I could still have healed myself. I chose not to, because I thought I wasn’t worthy of it. Living.”

That somehow made Tom irrationally angry. “You should not have given up! To die rather than face one’s actions, that’s cowardly.”

“You’re right. Ultimately, I wasted my life. I spent most of it dreaming of escaping my prison and, when I was finally out, I became your father’s jailor. But, for all the mistakes I made, you are not one of them, Tom. I cannot say how proud I am to see you as a Hogwarts student. A prefect, no less! It’s not my place to have any expectations for you, but I know you’re going to be extraordinary.”

“I’m going to destroy it. This pure-blood society that created you and your family.”

Merope laughed, and for a moment, she looked startlingly young. She was only a teenager when she died. “I believe you will. If anyone can do it, it’s you, the Half-blood son of Slytherin. I know you’re not doing it for me, but thank you. From the bottom of my heart.”

His mother was right. It was easier to pity Merope than hate her. And, as much as Tom hated to admit it, Dumbledore had also been right. Using the Stone had made him feel better. 

Chapter Text

It was freezing on the day they buried Tom’s grandfather. 

His death had been so sudden that most of the congregation seemed almost stunned to be there, lowering into the ground a man that had been healthy a fortnight ago. Tom’s grandmother looked pale and shrunken. His father’s cool reserve sat upon his face like a mask, but Tom could glimpse the brittleness under it.

Christopher’s eyes were red-rimmed and he fidgeted absentmindedly during the ceremony. His brother was clearly uneasy at something besides his grief, and Tom had no idea what. For once, Christopher’s natural tendency to always speak was in Tom’s advantage, as he could hardly keep his secret when directly confronted about it after the funeral.

Instead of answering, Christopher pushed back his sleeve. On his previously bare left wrist, there now was a familiar name, in a somewhat blocky but perfectly legible handwriting.

“Deirdre is your soulmate?” She had been at the funeral with her siblings, a neat row of children in cheap but carefully-pressed black clothes. Though calling Deirdre a child was not really accurate anymore. She was now a lanky sixteen-year old, more striking than beautiful, who always carried herself with an air of confidence. She also had a much better poker face than Christopher, because Tom had not noticed anything out of the ordinary about her.

“Of course, you wouldn’t want to announce it now.” Obtaining a soulmark was celebrated as a rite of passage towards adulthood and this joyful event was hardly compatible with their recent bereavement. “But you know you cannot hide it forever. When are you and Deirdre planning to tell everyone?”

Christopher remained silent, his gaze fixed upon his shoes.

“Don’t tell me… you haven’t spoken with her about this? Why not?”

“When I came back for the holidays, I immediately went to see her. She didn't say anything, acted like nothing had happened at all, so I didn’t say anything either. I guess she doesn’t want to have to reject me.”

“Nonsense.” Deirdre was the type of person who confronted problems heads-on and spoke her mind. For her to avoid the topic was strange. Christopher being tongue-tied was also very unusual.

His brother, who secretly hated Eton but still was the most popular boy in his year and well on track to become a member of Pop, unable to speak to a girl? And, not just any girl, but one who had been his best friend since he was ten? 

“Christopher, please don’t ask me for advice on how to speak to your soulmate.” Tom had never been so glad for his unmarked wrist.

“But you’re my older brother! If you come with me, I’ll just feel so much braver.”

Despite Tom’s protests that this was a conversation better kept between soulmates alone, Christopher still managed to drag him along. He even made Tom speak to Deirdre first. Knowing her, he opted for a direct approach:

“What do you think about your soulmark?”

She looked surprised. “I thought we had decided to ignore that.”

“Decided? We didn’t speak of it at all!” Christopher interjected.

She looked at him with something resembling scorn. “When someone like you gets an unsuitable name on their wrist, it is simply not spoken of. How do you think your family would react if you proudly claimed some Irish Catholic working class thrash is your soulmate?”

Christopher’s face fell. “I did not think of that.”

“I can’t afford not to. Any scorn heaped upon you for your soulmark, I would receive tenfold.”

“It would not be so very bad. Grandma would hate it, but Mum would definitely be on our side! As for Dad…” He looked at Tom, who only shook his head. He wasn’t sure either. 

“Anyway, whatever people say, I can face it if you’re by my side. So it’s up to you…”

“Do you really think I can turn you down?” snapped Deirdre. “My Da is dead, my Ma is working herself to the bone, I have three younger siblings that are counting on me. Folks like us don’t have choices, at least not good ones, we just make do and survive. People like you, who live in manor houses, whose bellies are always full despite the war, you have all the choices. So it’s really up to you , Christopher.” 

He cringed. “I thought that the only thing that mattered was whether you liked me or not. But it is irrelevant, isn’t it?”

“It is not. I would much rather spend the rest of my life with someone I like rather than not, and I do like you. I’m not even angry at you, really. If not for the kindness of your family, me and my siblings would be in a dingy London flat, huddling for warmth and praying not to be hit by an air raid. We’ve been so very lucky to come here. My parents and many others have not had such good luck.” She sniffed. “It’s the world I’m angry at. Why do some have so much and others so little?”

“I can bring you and your family to the most fortunate side. But I cannot do anything for society at large,” said Christopher sadly.

“Why though? Why does it have to be this way?” said Tom suddenly. “I was so focused on having more Muggleborns… I’ve been the biggest fool! Thank you, Deirdre. You just made me realise something very important.”

“What’s going on? You don’t usually get worked up about anything,” asked Christopher.

“I just realised how different poverty is in the wizarding world. Poor wizards just live a more modest life than rich ones. But they always have a roof over their heads and enough food on the table. They also don’t get sick or have to work exhausting jobs. So, if non-magical people could become wizards or witches, everything else being equal, they would massively benefit.”

“Is that possible? Becoming a witch?” asked Deirdre. 

“Right now, it’s impossible. You’re either born with magic, or you’re not. But, given a few decades or so, I think I could change that.”

“When you figure it out, I definitely want to become a wizard! You’re so amazing, Tom. You just never let things lie, do you? I may not have magical powers yet, but I still should do something to change society for the better. Maybe I should go into politics,” mused Christopher. 

“I don’t dream so big,” said Deirdre. “I just cling tightly to whatever I have.” Her right hand reflexively grasped her left wrist. 

“Of course, of course. I apologise for not taking your situation into consideration, Deirdre. If that’s alright with you, we can tell my family about our soulmarks in a few months. I just want to leave them time to mourn for grandpa.”

“I won’t be offended if you change your mind,” said Deirdre evenly, though Tom knew it to be a lie. Christopher, his cheerful smile back in place, assured her that he wouldn’t.

All in all, that conversation had gone about as well as it could have. Later that day, Tom had his own difficult discussion to face up to.

“Do you have a moment?”

Tom’s father looked up from the papers on his desk. His face looked pale and drawn and, for an instant, Tom saw himself, decades in the future, sitting at the same desk and mourning his own father.

It wouldn’t happen if he could help it.

“Certainly. What is the matter, Tom?”

“A certain artefact came into my possession. It allows one to speak, not to the dead themselves, but to spirits who have their memories and personality. Would you like to use it?”

His father smiled sadly. “I don’t think so. I had plenty of time with him when he was alive. It is kind of you to offer, though.”

Tom knew he should take his leave then, but one niggling doubt held him back. The silence stretched, growing more uneasy.

“Did you speak with her?” his father asked. Tom nodded. 

“She claimed that, when you first spoke, you said some… unsavoury things. Everything else I could believe but this… Is it really true?”

“It is. I thought her beneath me, so I was deliberately cruel. I was well and truly punished for it.”

“Father, that’s not…”

“Karmic retribution? Perhaps not. I did learn an important lesson. Never underestimate the poor, the ugly, the downtrodden. Courtesy is free, while rudeness can cost you everything.”

Tom smiled. He was glad his father had changed, gladder even for Christopher and Deirdre’s sake. Which reminded him… 

“One last question, Father: would you be willing to become a wizard if it gave you tangible benefits?”

He seriously pondered it. “Well, having magic is a pretty tangible benefit in itself. Is there something else?”

“Wizards have a much longer life expectancy than non-magical people. Not only do they age slower, they are also largely immune to mundane diseases. As long as a wizard avoids magical ailments, they can live for two hundred years or more.”

“I see. Well, I don’t think anyone in their right mind would refuse to have both a longer and healthier life. I would also appreciate not being powerless ever again.”

That was another thing Tom had missed. Ever since he could remember, he had magic at his fingertips, so he had never felt truly powerless. His father, though, had lived under the Imperius curse. For months.

Yet, he had managed to escape through his wits and willpower alone. He had survived, then thrived while Merope had let herself die. Incredible magical potential counted for nothing when one’s character was weak.

Magic was wonderful and Tom would always love it, but it didn’t make him special. Magic was just a tool and wizards were simply those lucky enough to be born with the ability to wield it. In changing that, Tom would transform the world forever. That would be the ultimate proof of his greatness. 

Chapter Text

Tom hated the Quidditch World Cup. 

To the sport itself, he was indifferent, but any major wizarding events in Great-Britain brought his lot of headaches to Tom and the healers under him in the Janus Thickey Ward.

It wasn’t the injuries sustained by the spectators, or even the players, that were an issue. The on-site first aid tent was more than equipped with the means to mend any broken bones and counter the usual jinxes thrown around by drunken fans. Only the very few that were seriously injured would be transferred to St Mungo’s. 

No, the problem was injury to the non-magical people that lived around the event site. Of course, they noticed crowds of bizarrely dressed people who used strange words and seemed bewildered by a ten-pound banknote. Then they asked questions. The usual reaction for a wizard in this situation was to whip out their wand and cast a memory charm. 

Memory charms were very dangerous. A skilled Obliviator was able to only erase selected memories and replace them with a convincing enough facsimile. While this was a huge violation of a person’s mental integrity, they would generally accept the false memory and move on with their life with no adverse effect on their health. When done by the average wizard, with neither skill, nor care, the consequences were quite different.

“I’ve got a man who had ten memory charms in a row and can barely remember his own name. The lazy and incompetent have no business casting such spells.”

“I know, but your proposed law of only Obliviators being allowed to use memory charms on Muggles won’t pass through the Wizengamot. What if the Statute of Secrecy is broken and the wizard on the spot needs to act quickly before any Obliviator can arrive?” said Charlus soothingly.

“If the Wizengamot was so concerned about the Statute of Secrecy, maybe they could enforce a dress code at major events instead of having wizards making a spectacle of themselves in front of Muggles,” replied Tom acidly. 

“A dress code? No way! The old pureblood families would squash it in an instant. I’m sure Malfoy wouldn’t survive the indignity of Muggle clothing touching his precious bum,” laughed Charlus but Tom remained grim. There really was nothing funny about the situation.

“In any case, Muggle clothing and money are not that easy to get right so mistakes will always happen. Sure, maybe some wizards could make more of an effort to be discreet but it’s the Quidditch World Cup! You can’t blame people for getting excited about that. I’m sure your patient will get better in no time. By the way, you never replied to our invitation for dinner on Sunday. Dorea’s expecting you,” Charlus, visibly bored with the topic, abruptly changed the subject.

“Sure, I’ll come,” Tom forced a smile. Charlus was too useful of a contact in the Ministry for Tom to drop him, even though he rather felt like bashing his head in at the moment. 

There was a polite knock at the door. Miriam, one of the trainee Healers, poked her head in, “Sorry to interrupt you, Healer Riddle, but your next appointment is there.” Tom thanked her with a more genuine smile, sent Charlus on his way and welcomed in the Lupins. 

“So nothing happened during the full moon?” he asked as he examined young Remus. He was only six but stayed very still and quiet, looking up at Tom curiously. 

“Nothing at all,” replied Mrs Lupin somewhat breathlessly. “Is he truly cured?”

“Yes, as were the other werewolves I treated. I merely wanted to check on Remus, as he is the first child to benefit from my counter-curse.”

Mrs Lupin dabbed a few tears with her handkerchief while Mr Lupin said gravely, “Our family is in your debt, Healer Riddle. If there is anything at all we can do for you…”

“No need for that. I’m merely doing my job,” Tom cut him off but still mentally filed away the offer to call upon it later if needed.

“There is one thing I don’t understand. When Remus was first bitten, we went to the Dai Llewellyn Ward and they said there was nothing to be done for him. That might be a stupid question but, since this ward does not treat injuries from magical creatures, how did you manage to find a cure while they could not?” asked Mrs Lupin.

“That is not a stupid question. Werewolves' bites have long been treated as creature-induced injuries but werewolves are not, in fact, magical creatures. They are cursed humans, so to cure lycanthropy requires a counter-curse, which is this ward’s speciality.”

“A curse? Lycanthropy as a whole is a curse? Who could have cast such a heinous spell?” exclaimed Mr Lupin.

“A very powerful dark wizard or witch, no doubt, whose name has been lost to time. The cleverness of their spell was to use their victims’ own magic to perpetuate it. I realised it when I noticed that, though non-magical people can turn into werewolves, they are incapable of passing the curse on to others.”

“No one noticed this before?” There was a slight edge of disbelief in Mrs Lupin’s voice but, mostly, she looked resigned. She must already be used to the lack of interest most wizards had in Muggles, and everything related to them.

“No one did, no. Not only lycanthropy is a pretty rare condition, but there is such a stigma associated with it that not that many were looking for a cure.”

Mr Lupin’s eyes suddenly dropped to the floor, and Tom wondered if he had been one of those wizards prejudiced against werewolves. He clearly wasn’t anymore, as he looked up to Tom again and said, “Then we can only be grateful that you did not share such prejudices. Hope, can you go with Remus to the tea shop upstairs? I’ll be with you shortly.”

She nodded, clearly unsurprised by the request. Remus was already bouncing ahead, excited at the prospect of a sweet treat. Being a werewolf was not just dangerous but also horribly painful so Tom was glad to see it had not destroyed his spirit.

“This might be nothing but I have to warn you nonetheless.” Lyall Lupin then explained about his job in the Ministry, how he listened to interrogations for criminal cases involving magical creatures and how he became utterly convinced that a man claiming to be an innocent vagrant was in fact a werewolf who had murdered two children.

“None of the other committee members believed me, and I’m ashamed to say I lost my temper and said some truly vile things about werewolves. Of course, I know now that I was wrong about werewolves in general, but I still think I was right about Greyback. A mere month after he was let go, our house was broken into and Remus was bitten. The werewolf went straight in from his bedroom window, as if he knew where Remus was sleeping. I can’t help but think it was Greyback, getting revenge for what I said earlier.”

Tom nodded thoughtfully. “You said the name was Fenrir Greyback? It would be an odd coincidence for someone to be born with such a name, then later become a werewolf. But, if it were instead a pseudonym he chose for himself, as a sign of his pride in being a werewolf, it would make sense.”

“We don’t have any record of a Fenrir Greyback in the Ministry, so it might well not be his real name,” said Lupin grimly. “I wanted to tell you this story, Healer Riddle, because I feared he might also target you. The Prophet published an article about your lycanthropy cure so it is, or soon will be, common knowledge.”

“And, if Greyback glorifies his wolf form and purposefully uses it as an instrument for murder, he would not see kindly the inventor of a lycanthropy cure,” finished Tom. “Thank you for the warning, Mr Lupin. I will take it under advisement.”

Greyback would probably target his nieces at the next full moon. Tom could lie in wait and surprise him then, but werewolves were extremely strong and resistant to magic when turned. He also refused to risk his family’s safety, even in the slightest.

No, it was better to capture Greyback in his weaker human form. He would probably come to Riddle Manor before the full moon, to find out where his victims were sleeping. Tom added a little trap specifically for him in the wards around the manor. 

As he found out a few days later, Tom’s deductions were broadly correct, but he had made a major mistake in assuming Greyback would come alone. It turned out the man had a little coterie of followers and he brought one of them to the manor. When Tom’s trap successfully incapacitated Greyback, his minion first tried to free him (unsuccessfully) then, instead of doing something rational like going for help, he had blindly rushed towards the manor to find the spellcaster. 

He hadn’t gone very far because Christopher had Stunned him. 

“What were you thinking? If the intruder alarm goes off, you’re supposed to barricade yourself and wait for me, not rush off to meet the enemy,” yelled Tom when he arrived a few minutes later.

“I panicked, alright? I’m so tired, I wasn’t thinking rationally. Having twins under one will do that to you.” 

“I notice that Deirdre didn’t throw herself into danger, and she’s even worse off than you.”

“Deirdre’s smarter than me, you’re smarter than me.” Christopher yawned. 

“Don’t be glib. If this man hadn’t been a terrible wizard, you could be dead right now.” Christopher didn’t reply, just blinked owlishly at Tom. His little brother was a full grown man now, a father and a MP, but sometimes he was still as impossible as he had been at eight. 

“Let’s tie up both him and Greyback and go back to the manor, alright? The others must be getting worried about us.”

That proved to be true, and Tom was happy to let Deirdre castigate Christopher for his Gryffindor-like tendencies. Which only left open the question on what to do with the two captured men. 

“I planned to bring Greyback to the Ministry. I have a few contacts in the Auror department that I can use to make sure he will be interrogated under truth serum this time. Since he killed at least two children and assaulted others, he will probably spend the rest of his life in prison. As for his goon, I’ve no idea what he has done exactly but helping Greyback should net him at least a few years in Azkaban. The only problem is that he saw Christopher using magic.”

“Can you just modify his memory, so he remembers you Stunning him instead of me?” asked Christopher. “We look quite similar, and he must only have seen me for a few seconds.”

“Will the false memory still hold while he is under truth serum?” mused his mother. Tom was about to answer but Deidre beat him to it, “Yes. The way Veritaserum works is that it makes the subject tell what they think is true, not necessarily the objective truth. So, as long as he has no reason to question his memory as being false, it shouldn’t be a problem.”

Tom nodded. He was no Obliviator but he should still be able to do the Memory Charm competently enough. It helped that he only had to change one small detail, and that human memory was naturally imperfect.

“I would help you if I could,” said his father, who had developed a special interest in memory charms while trying to undo the ones placed on him, “but I don’t think I’m capable enough to do it just yet. Which brings me to another point I wanted to discuss. While Christopher acted recklessly today, there might come a time where we cannot rely solely on you in case of an attack. We need to learn more magic, but it’s difficult to do so with the means at our disposal.”

He was right. There were four of them learning magic, but they had only two wands - Tom’s own, and the one his mother had taken from Morfin years ago - and a pile of books. Tom would also teach them of course, but he was extremely busy between his job as Healer-in-Charge and his many side projects. His family needed more support to become accomplished wizards.

“Studying lycanthropy gave me just the answer I need to be able to give more people the ability to do magic. I will start with several families with at least one wizarding member, picked at random around the globe. Once other non-magical people seemingly spontaneously become wizards and witches, we can safely say the same happened to you without the origin of the spell being traced back to me. Then, we can get you all wands and the Ministry will probably help with tutors as well.” 

Tom did not need to expound on what would happen if his grand plan was discovered. He would be lucky to end up in Azkaban. No, for his and his family’s safety, he needed to proceed slowly, over the course of decades. It would also minimise social unrest. With his mastery over the human body increasing every day, he was confident he had all the time in the world to see his plans come to fruition. 

Chapter Text

“Good evening, Tom. I’m pleased to welcome you again to your alma mater.”

“Thank you, Professor. Oh, it is Headmaster now, of course. I just realised that I’ve never congratulated you on your appointment.” Tom Riddle’s smile was perfectly pleasant but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“It’s nothing, you’ve led a very busy life. Would you like some wine?”

“Thank you, but I don’t drink alcohol. Water is fine.”

Albus poured a glass of water for the young man in front of him while taking a goblet of wine for himself.

“I must say, Tom, that your remarkable looks cannot simply be due to your healthy living habits. Why, I know you’re over sixty years old but you look half your age.”

“It’s no mere glamour, if that’s what you’re asking. I am thirty. I’ve been thirty for a while now.”

“Tampering with one’s body in such a way is dangerous,” said Albus softly.

He could see Tom restraining an eye roll. “Not dangerous, merely difficult. This,” he gestured at his body, “ultimately is just flesh, and flesh can be moulded if one has a sufficient understanding of biology and enough magical power. If I taught you the spells I crafted, I’m sure you could manage it too. Tempted to recover your youth?”

Albus’ throat was suddenly dry. Tom knew how to hit where it hurt. “I think I prefer to keep my grey hair, and remember the wisdom age has brought me.”

Tom’s smile was still firmly in place, but Albus didn’t need Legilimency to know what he thought of his wisdom. 

“Let’s get back to the reason for your visit. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I heard Professor Quirrel is taking a sabbatical. I would like to teach Muggle Studies in his stead.”

Albus couldn’t quite believe Tom Riddle wanted to teach Muggle Studies of all things, Hogwarts’ most poorly considered subject. Some of his thoughts must have shown on his face, as Tom’s expression soured slightly. “Surprised at my choice?”

Albus recovered quickly. “I’m merely surprised that you already know something Quirinus confided in me only recently. I guess your reputation for omniscience is well-deserved, Tom.”

“I have friends everywhere.” 

“No, you don’t,” thought Albus sharply though he did not voice it out loud. As far as he knew, none of Tom’s informants were coerced by him. He merely won them over with his charm and generously rewarded every service rendered to him. That was coldly manipulative, but not evil.

Albus had spent decades studying Defence Against the Dark Arts and he knew Tom Riddle wasn’t Dark. Which didn’t mean the man was not dangerous. He was, very much so. His looks alone… If Albus had been younger and more inexperienced, talking to such a devastatingly handsome man would have made his palms sweat and his heart beat faster. Thankfully, he was old enough to be able to ignore the effects of unwanted physical attraction.

“So do I get the job? You know I’m qualified for it.”

“Oh, you’re quite overqualified for it. You were awarded an Order of Merlin First Class for curing lycanthropy, you’ve been the Ministry’s top diplomat for years and you also somehow found the time to complete a Bachelor of Medicine and a PhD in Cambridge University.” Tom’s eyebrows shot up as Albus mentioned his non-magical qualifications. “You’ve been offered the position of Minister for Magic. Why haven’t you accepted it?”

“We both know the Minister’s powers are severely limited in practice, if they don’t have the support of the old pure-blood families that control the  Wizengamot. I wouldn’t want to end up like poor Nobby Leach.”

“You’re nothing like Nobby Leach. You could crush Malfoy and his ilk under the sole of your boot if you wanted.”

Tom’s smile was sincere this time, amused even. “And interrupt their fast descent into irrelevance? Why bother?” He suddenly grew serious. “In the past two decades, we’ve seen tens of thousands of Muggles around the globe somehow acquiring magical powers. Most wizards are not aware of what an exponential function is but that is the current trajectory the wizarding population is following. In another couple of decades, there might be a hundred times more wizards than there are now. How long do you think the Statute of Secrecy will last? I’ve been spending most of my career in the Ministry trying to get both magical and non-magical governments to prepare for this upheaval, and I’ve only been partially successful. Wizarding Britain remains woefully unprepared for its inevitable integration with the non-magical world. Part of the reason why is the widespread ignorance about Muggles, which I’m hoping to remedy in my students if you grant me the position of Muggle Studies professor.”

“I have to admit I didn’t realise the situation was quite so dire. The end of the Statute of Secrecy will cause many deaths.”

“More widespread use of magic will also solve many problems, like cancer, most communicable diseases and world hunger. All mere trifles, of course, and no concern of yours,” Tom bit back.

“And they are a concern of yours?”

Tom didn’t reply immediately, looking at the office around him. “You know, this place hasn’t changed at all. Hogwarts is exactly as I remember it from my time as a student fifty years ago. Meanwhile, the non-magical world has changed so much. Terrible things happened of course, but beautiful ones as well. Isn’t it amazing that Muggles managed to reach the moon with technology alone? What I admire the most in humanity is our drive to go farther, dig deeper, dream bigger and, yes, be better than we were before. Unfortunately, most people are held back by poverty, disease and death so they cannot reach their full potential. Magic will change that, once we stop hoarding it for ourselves. Isn’t it funny that the average wizard has the power of a god, but uses it only for cheap party tricks? We’ve grown complacent, Headmaster, in our tiny, unchanging corner of the world. We could all benefit from a little injection of Muggle innovation and ingenuity. I would start with allowing my students to use pen and paper,” he quipped. Albus didn’t even smile. He suddenly felt very cold. 

“I believe your intentions are good, Tom. But you have no idea of the consequences of what you are advocating for. If magic was known to all… Such incredible power would be open to abuse by every would-be dictators, sociopaths and deranged criminals the world over.” 

“And many more would finally have the power to fight back against them! How dare you sit there and lecture me when you, one of the greatest wizards in the world, have spent your whole life hiding in this school because you made one mistake in your youth and now you’re too scared to hold any position of power where you could actually improve things.” Tom abruptly stopped, visibly upset at having lost his temper. “Since you don’t want to give me a job, we have nothing more to say to each other.” 

He stood up to leave but Albus held a hand up to stop him. “Wait, Tom. I didn’t actually say I declined your offer, did I? On the contrary, I would be inclined to accept it.”

He sat back, looking sceptical. 

“Your anger is not unjustified. When I became Professor, then Headmaster of this school, I thought that helping young wizards develop their talents was the best use of mine, that even if I was unfit to lead myself, I could help my students become the leaders the wizarding world needed. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I should have done more to make the world better with my own hands. There are still things I can do though. The current curriculum for Muggle Studies is a joke and you can without a doubt massively improve it. I guess you’ve already drawn up a new lesson plan?”

Tom nodded. “I can send it to you for review but we should keep it away from the rest of the school board. Some of its members definitely wouldn’t approve of it and, though they are not as powerful as they once were, it’s still better not to provoke them.”

“They might learn about it eventually.”

“I doubt Malfoy Junior and his cronies would ever think of attending Muggle Studies, or even listen to gossip about it.”

“Very well. Then I look forward to working with you, Tom. And please call me Albus, we are colleagues now.” They shook hands more cordially than Albus would have thought possible ten minutes ago, then Tom left the office. 

Albus sat back at his desk, sorely tempted to get himself a second goblet of wine. Instead he grabbed a piece of trash from the bin by his desk and created a Portkey. 

A minute later, he appeared in front of Nurmengard and made his way up the highest tower. Gellert looked up from his book when he entered his cell.

“Albus, you’re two days early! Oh, but you look rattled. Did something happen?”

Albus went to sit beside him, untying the ribbon around his wrist as he did so. Gellert’s wrists were already bare. Who would look upon them except Albus, his sole visitor?

“I met Tom Riddle today.” And he told Gellert everything they had discussed. When he was done, his soulmate cackled for five minutes straight.

“What’s so funny?”

Gellert looked at him with an impish grin. “You mean you haven’t figured it out?” 

Albus rolled his eyes, but his smile was fond. “I’m not going to play one of your guessing games, dear. Either you tell me, or you keep your secret. I’ll figure it out eventually.”

“I’ll tell you in a few decades, if you don’t know by then. But I’m glad you gave him the job. I owe Tom Riddle a lot.” He took Albus’ left hand and raised it to his lips to kiss the name on his wrist. Albus shivered deliciously. No matter how many years passed, Gellert still had the same effect on him.

“Maybe I’ll write him a thank you card when I get out.”

“You still have more than fifty years before you can ask for parole, and you might be refused.”

“I’m sure they won’t refuse. Haven’t I been an exemplary prisoner?” The heat of his gaze made Albus blush as red as his former hair colour. “Seriously, you know I am genuinely remorseful for what I did, and I can convince the parole board to believe it as well. The only problem is that I will be far too old by then. I don’t intend to spend a century in prison only to kick the bucket after a decade or so of freedom.”

“Gellert, no.”

“Albus, yes. Learn Riddle’s spells. He offered.”

“It’s unnatural!”

“It doesn’t mean it’s bad! You said yourself he wasn’t Dark. Listen, there’s nothing romantic about growing old. And, frankly, I don’t want to see you slowly dying out of some misguided feeling you deserve it.”

“That’s what Tom wants. That’s how he operates. He gives people something they want, then later calls in the favour he’s owed.”

“That sounds fair. If you don’t make a deal with him, I will, as soon as I get out. Then, you will have to rejuvenate yourself as well, or forever look like a cradle robber.”

Albus couldn’t help himself. He laughed. For a moment, he imagined himself and Gellert looking as they had before their duel, before the war, before the death of Ariana. The image was as bitter as it was sweet. “I don’t think I can. I’m afraid to go back to the way we were.”

Gellert kissed him soundly on the lips. “There’s no way we could ever go back. We can only go forward.”

“That’s not even what I came to talk to you about. Is Tom right about the Statute of Secrecy collapsing within the next two decades? Can we stop it? Should we stop it?”

“Albus, Tom Riddle is not you. Our vision of the Greater Good was severely misguided but it doesn’t mean that his is similarly flawed.”

“An awful lot of people would have to suffer and die first to reach this utopia of his,” said Albus sourly.

“You can’t make an omelette without breaking eggs,” shrugged Gellert. Albus glared at him. “I think Riddle is being a lot more circumspect than I was in bringing about change. He’s actually trying to reduce the number of broken eggs.”

“So you think I should be helping him?”

“You already are. You granted his request after all.”

“I thought he would actually be less dangerous as a Hogwarts teacher than left free to pursue other things.”

“You may be right. Riddle may be right as well, about the Statute of Secrecy coming to an end. You know Divination is not the most precise of Arts.”

“So you’ve seen something?” Gellert smiled, but stayed silent. One of the promise they had made was never to lie to each other. Albus huffed. 

“I’m not trying to mislead you, at least not entirely. Riddle doesn’t have a soulmark, does he?” Albus shook his head. 

“Since one’s soulmate is the person that has the most influence on one’s fate, visions about people with soulmarks are always much clearer. When Riddle gets his, I should know more about his future.” Albus did not argue about how exactly Gellert knew Tom would get a soulmate so late in life. He was one of the foremost experts on soulmarks and viewed them with profound reverence.

“I’ve never regretted it, you know. Getting your name,” said Gellert as if he’d heard Albus’ thoughts.

“Even when we were trying to kill each other?”

“Even then.” Gellert smiled ruefully. “Soulmates are very important. It’s a magic at least three thousand years old, and I don’t fully understand it, but I do trust it.”

“Love is the most powerful magic of all.”

Gellert laughed. “You’re so cheesy, Albus. But you might be right sometimes.”

Albus laid his head on his lover’s shoulder and relaxed. The future was uncertain and full of danger but, at least, he didn’t have to face it alone. He could only wish for Tom to be as happy with his soulmate as he was with his.

Chapter Text

“Mum’s favourite cup turned up fine after she accidentally broke it. And the papers Dad left in a pile on his desk sorted themselves overnight. That can’t just be me, right, Severus?” said a young girl with bright red hair. 

Her dark-haired companion huffed. “You must have done this to help them out.”

“But I overheard Dad asking Mum about his papers after the fact. And I got the whole story about the cup from Tunie. I wasn’t even here when it happened!”

“Lily, you have to be born with those powers. There is absolutely no way your parents could have been Muggles all of their lives, then…”

He suddenly stopped speaking, as another, slightly older girl stumbled from behind a tree. She reddened, mortified at being caught out.

“Who’s spying on who now? What do you want?” Severus asked harshly.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about. We can all do magic, not just Lily.”

Severus’ eyes narrowed. “You’re just a delusional Muggle.” Lily immediately tugged on his sleeves, telling him to stop insulting her sister. But Petunia Evans wasn’t finished:

“You’re the delusional one if you think you’re good enough to talk to Lily. Look at yourself!” Her eyes were wet with tears, but also bright with contempt as she took in his assortment of odd and tattered clothes.

There was a loud crack, and a tree branch fell on Petunia. Or it would have fallen on her if it hadn’t stopped right above her head, as if it had hit an invisible wall, then broken in two. 

Severus immediately looked to Lily. “It was her, not me!” Petunia’s cheeks were still red, but she now looked pleased with herself. 

“That’s right. That’s right,” she repeated more firmly. “Now come, Lily. I told you not to speak to Snape.” The red-head threw an angry look at her friend before running after her sister.

“Should we try speaking to Mum and Dad again?”

“I tried this morning. Mum just said I had an overactive imagination.” Petunia sniffed. She was extremely proud of being level-headed, to the point of boasting about her complete lack of imagination.

“They know something strange is going on. Why can’t they admit it?”

“That’s adults for you, Lils. If there is something they don’t understand, they’ll just pretend it doesn’t exist,” said Petunia proudly. She was only two years older than Lily but she acted as if it made her incredibly wiser and more mature.

“Severus says a Hogwarts teacher is going to come soon, to explain about magic and give me my acceptance letter. They can’t deny it then.”

“You shouldn’t believe everything that little sneak says,” hissed Petunia. 

“Come on, Tunie! I know he’s not very nice to you but you could also make an effort. And you can’t call him a sneak and then listen in on our conversations, that’s hypocritical.”

Petunia turned to look at her sister, her cascade of wavy red hair, stunning green eyes and perfect heart-shaped face. “You’re too young for boys, Lils.”

Her sister laughed, calling her old-fashioned. She clung to her like a child but she would soon be a very beautiful young woman. Petunia loved her fiercely and she tried not to be jealous, but it was hard not to be when Lily was also kind, brilliant and gifted with magical powers. 

Magical powers Petunia and her parents now shared, whatever that stupid Snape boy said.

To the delight of one Evans sister and the dismay of the other, Severus proved true to his word in at least one matter, as a Hogwarts teacher visited the Evans that summer. Her name was Minerva McGonagall and Lily liked her immediately. She turned into a cat to demonstrate magic, what could be cooler than that?

After Professor McGonagall’s explanation was finished, there was a long, awkward silence in the Evans’ living room.

“Surely, you must have questions. Please don’t hesitate to ask anything that comes to mind.”

Mrs Evans hesitated before saying, “Is magic contagious?”

The professor paled. “Absolutely not.”

“But my parents can do magic too. So can Tunie!” Lily insisted.

McGonagall explained that there was a spell to detect whether someone was a wizard or not, and, if they consented, she would cast it on them. The process was quick and painless and revealed the whole family had magical powers. Lily’s smile was triumphant. 

“Whenever a wizard or witch is born in Great-Britain, their names automatically appear on Hogwarts’ registers.” McGonagall looked to Lily, who still clutched her letter. “We only had Miss Lily Evans’ name. Which means Mr, Mrs and Miss Petunia Evans must have acquired magic quite recently.”

“It started about three years ago,” explained Mrs Evans. “Strange things always happened around Lily so, at first, we thought it was more of the same. But then, we realised she could not possibly be responsible for all of those events. We just didn’t know what to think.”

“Three years ago.” Professor McGonagall’s mouth was a thin, angry line. “It was around that time some Muggles started developing magical powers. It simply is impossible! We cannot understand why.”

“Are we in danger, Professor?” asked Mr Evans. 

“Being a wizard is not hazardous to your health. Magic, however, can be dangerous if uncontrolled. Thankfully, adults have much fewer incidents of accidental magic than children. You should still learn how to properly use it.” McGonagall started explaining about a correspondence course via owl, and the necessity to acquire a wand discreetly.

“Why can’t we just buy wands for all of us at the same time as Lily’s?”

She sighed. “I’m sorry to spring this on you all at once, but the Ministry of Magic deemed it best that the appearance of “new wizards” should be kept from the general public until more is understood about it. So you and your wife will have to pretend that you were wizards from birth. Maybe you could say you moved recently from abroad?”

“I lived there all my life,” said Mr Evans somewhat petulantly. Mrs Evans just shook her head. “Dear, we have to trust in the Ministry’s decisions, as we know nothing of the wizarding world. We can just say we were homeschooled. That is a thing wizards also do, right?”

Professor McGonagall nodded. “What about me?” asked Petunia.

“How old are you?” 

“I just turned thirteen, Professor.”

“Learning magic at Hogwarts would be preferable. You’re too old for a first-year but we could allow you to join directly as a second-year, as you would be almost of an age with your peers. You would need to work very hard to catch up on your missing year, though.”

“I will, Professor. Thank you!” Lily started talking excitedly about all the fun she and Tunie would have at Hogwarts.

When September came, the Evans sisters were Sorted back to back. Lily was sent to Gryffindor almost immediately. For Petunia, the Hat deliberated for a few minutes before choosing Hufflepuff. She mentally thanked him for not putting her in the same House as Lily, where she would be endlessly compared to her sister and found wanting. 

Hufflepuff did not find Petunia wanting. The second-years listened to her story about having been too sick to attend the previous year and promised they would help her catch up. Petunia was the hardest worker in Hufflepuff, made lifelong friends and even met the man who would eventually become her husband.

Petunia and Lily’s parents were also adapting to a life with magic. Matthew Evans was an electrical engineer by trade and quickly grew frustrated by the fact that his television and phone stopped working once he and his wife practised magic regularly. He researched spells that would prevent it, found the existing ones really inadequate and soon created new and improved versions. Jane Evans had a keen business sense and suggested that he sell his bespelled machines to other wizards.

Business was slow at first, with the first customers being a handful of Muggleborns wizards and witches nostalgic for their mundane childhood. Then, some half-bloods and the more open-minded purebloods became clients, as wizarding entertainment options were severely limited and watching television sounded like good fun.

After a few years of tidy profit, Mr and Mrs Evans sold their house in Cokeworth to open a shop in Diagon Alley, and lived in the flat above it. It was a bit cramped when Lily and Petunia were there for the holidays, but the whole family much preferred London to Cokeworth.

On one long summer day after her fifth year at Hogwarts, when Lily was minding the shop for her mother, the doorbell chimed. She looked up, expecting to see Mr Weasley. He came every week, supposedly to verify that their wares were enchanted in accordance with wizarding laws, but truly to talk shop with her father.

It wasn’t Arthur Weasley though. The man who came through the door was taller, dark-haired and very handsome. He also felt vaguely familiar. He greeted Lily politely and asked if he might have a moment of her father’s time.

“He will be back very soon, sir, if you don’t mind the wait.” Suddenly she remembered who he was. “Oh, but you must be Tom Riddle! I got your Chocolate Frog Card just last week. I'm Lily Evans.”

The man smiled indulgently and said waiting would be no problem. He looked so very young for someone so accomplished. The card had mentioned his birth year but Lily couldn’t quite recall it. Surely he couldn’t be over forty?

Lily offered him something to drink. He accepted a glass of Petunia’s homemade lemonade (delicious) and sat in front of the counter, making small talk. 

“Remus will be so jealous I got to see you. He really admires you.”

“Oh, but I remember young Mr Lupin. How is he doing these days?”

“We are both Gryffindor Prefects. Remus wants to follow in your footsteps and become a Healer.”

“I’m glad I could inspire him, though I’m no longer a Healer. I work in the Ministry now, in the Department of International Magical Cooperation. It’s fascinating how different countries and cultures use magic. And you, Miss Evans, what do you plan to do after graduation?”

“I don’t know yet. I might join the Ministry as well…”

She was interrupted by her father’s return. He led Tom Riddle into his office and Lily had to wait until dinner that night to find out what they had discussed.

“Capital fellow, this Riddle. He wants to invest in the shop.”

“That’s wonderful, dear. Everyone says he might be the next Minister for Magic. That’s why he left St Mungo’s and took this job at the Ministry, to shore up his support.” Mrs Evans was the most interested in politics in the family and a daily reader of The Prophet.

“Politics? I don't think so. It's his brother who is a Cabinet Minister.” Mr Evans preferred The Times to The Prophet. “No, Tom Riddle is a scholar. He was really interested in how my spells convert magic into electricity to make our television sets work. He even bought two of them! One as a gift to his parents and one to take apart.”

Lily looked at her father in surprise. Their products weren't cheap so the Riddle family must be quite wealthy. 

“We had a discussion about the nature of magic, whether it is associated with an elementary particle like the electron, or whether it is a more complex phenomenon like the dual nature of light. Fascinating stuff. I'm no physicist, of course. Neither is Riddle, he's a biologist by training, but he's interested in all scientific fields. He joked he would bring in a theoretical physicist someday to figure it all out!”

They all laughed. “He sounds very smart. Now I wish I had been minding the shop today so I could meet him,” said Petunia. 

“But you couldn't possibly, Tunie,” teased Lily. “Because, if you had been here, you wouldn't have been kissing your boyfriend and we all know poor Michael would die after a day without you.”

Petunia poked her in the rib but she was smiling. Lily felt a little bit envious of her sister. She was unmarked, and so was Michael, so they were together because they liked each other, and not because of fate or ridiculous notions like that. Lily's own soulmark was hard to ignore, the pressure of her wrist cover a constant reminder it was there 

Her efforts to forget her soulmark were derailed even further when she received an unexpected visitor a few days later.

“Severus, what are you doing here? Are you alright?” He looked paler and more gaunt than usual.

“I had to talk to you. I overheard Potter boasting that he was your soulmate in the Hogwarts Express.”

“And you travelled all the way from Cokeworth to London for that? Why not just send an owl? Hell, why not talk to me on the train?”

“Potter Stunned me,” Severus admitted reluctantly. “Is it true then? Is he your soulmate?”

“What if he is?” Lily ground her teeth.

“Lily, you can't date him…”

“I can't?” she snapped. “It's strange that you and James Potter don't get along better because you're exactly the same. He says I should date him because it's fate, and you say I shouldn't because… Because of what exactly? What gives you the right to come here and tell me what I can or cannot do with my life?”

“Because we're friends,” said Severus lamely. “And because Potter is a prick.”

“I'll give you the latter, but are we truly friends, Severus? We don't talk much lately.”

“That is not entirely my fault,” he shot back. 

Lily coloured. “Maybe I don't like the company you're keeping. Avery, Mulciber… you know what they would do to me if they found out I was a Mudblood.”

Severus paled even further, and Lily panicked. “They know? Did you tell them? You swore not to!”

“Of course not! But they have connections in the Ministry, they know who the new wizards and their families are.”

“Shit. These guys are way worse than Potter. What are you doing with them, Severus?”

“They're right on one account. Muggles cannot keep turning into wizards. It has to stop!”

“Why? Because people that Avery thinks are unworthy, people you think are unworthy of magic, are getting it? People like my family? And you wonder why I don't talk to you anymore!” exploded Lily.

Severus just looked at her, then he said quietly, “My father is one now. A wizard.”

Lily's anger disappeared as fast as it had come. “Oh. Does it help? Does he understand you and your mum better now?”

“No. He always had a temper. Now it's worse.” Severus curled his lips in an awful caricature of a smile.

“You don't have to go back if you don't want to. You can stay here. I'll work something out with my parents.”

“I don't need your pity, Lily.”

“It's not pity! Listen, I'm your friend, alright? I'm sorry if I didn't always act like one.” She hugged him.

“I'm sorry too,” he said, barely above a whisper. "I have to go back. My mother is still there.”

“You’re sure?” He nodded. “Then, I'll see you in September, Severus.”

After that conversation, Lily still felt angry, though she wasn't sure if it was at herself, Severus or both. She settled for sending an Howler to James Potter about boasting about his soulmark to all and sundry. A few days later, she received an uncharacteristically apologetic answer. James had only shown his soulmark to his three best friends. Severus had been eavesdropping on their conversation until James caught and Stunned him. He clearly shouldn't have done that, but Severus should not have been listening in either. Lily sent a grudging apology to Potter for assuming the worst of him.

A couple of weeks later, her mother opened The Daily Prophet and paled.

“Snape? Isn't that the name of one of your friends, Lily?”

“What's wrong, mum?”

She wordlessly handed the newspaper to her daughter. The front page said “Demented Muggle murders wife and son”.

Why hadn't she insisted? Severus clearly had not wanted to go back. She should have told her parents something was wrong. She should have found a way to keep both Severus and his mother safe.

Lily Evans came back to Hogwarts with red-rimmed eyes. They had a memorial for Severus. She was the one to lead it. Avery and Mulciber didn't volunteer help. She felt vindicated in her hatred of them but that victory felt like ashes on her tongue. 

After the memorial, James Potter came to give his condolences. 

“Really, Potter? Don't pretend you're sorry he's gone.”

“I am! I mean, yes, we hated each other, but I never believed that… I never thought he would die, and in such an awful way. I really am sorry, Lily.”

She stared at him hard, but could see no lie in his hazel eyes.

“Then be better. He's dead, and you're alive, so don't waste your life being an idiotic bully.”

“I will,” he said softly. 

Letting Severus go that last time remained Lily's greatest regret for the rest of her life, but she did live on. She graduated from Hogwarts and stood besides Petunia on her wedding day. When the truth about the new wizards came out in The Prophet, she helped her parents repair their smashed shop windows. Thieves, they had written on the walls in big red letters, as if her parents had stolen anything in their lives.

James Potter helped her sort through the wreckage of the shop. That had been a positive surprise, how the immature and arrogant teen had turned into a thoughtful, loving young man. Lily no longer minded her soulmark and, when James Potter asked her to marry him, she said yes.

Shortly afterwards (it was an accident, but a happy one), Lily became a mother. She almost named her son after Severus but decided against it because she knew he would have hated it. Lily had forgiven James for his years as a teenage bully but Severus would not have. He was the type of person to feel both love and hatred so strongly that he would never let go of them, even after years had passed. 

So Harry James Potter was born with his father's face and his mother's eyes and, unbeknownst to either of them, just a touch of the obsessive nature of his almost namesake. But that is a story for another day.

Chapter Text

“Mr and Mrs Potter, how lovely to see you again! You have come to buy a wand for your son, I suppose?”

The old man’s greeting was cheerful but he had bags under his eyes and frazzled hair. 

“Indeed, Harry’s about to start Hogwarts,” his mother proudly laid her hand on his shoulder. “But, forgive me, Mr Ollivander, I must ask… are you alright? You look a bit tired.”

He sighed. “These are difficult times, Mrs Potter. With wizards ever growing in numbers, the demand for wands is increasing as well. Wand making, however, is a subtle art and only very potent magical ingredients can be used. Some of my competitors might have chosen to lower their standards to produce more but, here in Ollivanders, you will only find the finest wands in all of Europe! Therefore, my stock is much diminished nowadays. I hope we can still find the right wand for young Mr Potter, as it is a true pleasure for me to serve the old families.” He bowed somewhat awkwardly. “Shall we begin?”

Mr Ollivander took Harry’s measurements, then made him try several wands. Once he had gone through half a dozen of them, Harry half turned to his parents and asked, “Is this normal?”

Mr Ollivander replied while rifling through his inventory. “It is unusual, but I do love a tricky customer. After all, why not… Try this one. Holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple.”

As soon as Harry held it, he knew this wand was different. It was the one. “Wingardium Leviosa!” The boxes on the chair immediately jumped into the air. His mum clapped and his dad congratulated him. 

“Congratulations, young Mr Potter! A very fine match for a most unusual wand. Not only holly isn’t often used in wand making, but the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather – just one other. Yes, your wand is one of the rare ones to have a brother. Yew, thirteen and a half inches, very powerful. I sold it to Tom Riddle over fifty years ago, but I still remember it as if it was yesterday. He was standing right where you are now, in this very spot.”

“With such a wand, you’re guaranteed to become a great wizard, Harry,” said his father enthusiastically.

“What does having brother wands even mean?” he asked Mr Ollivander who was wrapping up his purchase.

“This is such a rare event that it is difficult to say. Previous wizards who owned brother wands were always somehow connected, similar yet different. Brother wands cannot work against each other, only together, and they can accomplish incredible feats of magic when doing so.”

This wasn’t much to go on, but Harry thanked the man nonetheless. His parents paid for the wand and they returned to the bustling atmosphere of Diagon Alley.

“You don’t seem very happy, dear,” his mother said.

Harry sighed. He had been very excited to get his wand but now he felt as if it belonged to a stranger as much as him.

Tom Riddle, the saviour of Uncle Remus, the kindly investor in his grandparents’ shop, the almost Minister for Magic, the champion of Muggle rights, the darling of everyone except the most conservative of purebloods. And, of course, one of the most powerful wizards in the world.

How could Harry ever measure up to that?

“Could we keep the whole brother wands thing a secret? If people know I’m connected to Tom Riddle in such a way, they will see me differently, and I don’t want that.”

“Of course,” his mother replied, softly but proudly. “Should we go to Florian Fortescue’s now?”

Harry nodded. His parents had promised him his favourite ice cream to celebrate him getting his wand and he wasn’t going to let Tom Riddle spoil that.

The rest of the summer passed in a blur and, before he knew it, Harry was aboard the Hogwarts Express, lugging his heavy trunk and the cage of his new owl, Hedwig. He peered inside the compartments, looking for a familiar face. 

“Oh hi, Neville! Can I sit with you?”

“Of course, Harry!” The only other person in the compartment was a girl, probably also a first year, with a black kitten on her lap. 

“Hi, I’m Hermione Granger. And this is Morgana, Neville’s new cat.”

“Harry Potter. So your parents finally got you a cat, Neville? Mine gave me an owl.” He put down Hedwig’s cage, who hooted softly. 

“You’re so lucky,” sighed Hermione. “My parents said I was too young to get a pet but they might reconsider in a few years. You both come from wizarding families, right?” They nodded, and she continued speaking very fast. “I have so much to catch up on compared to you. I've learned all our course books by heart, of course, I just hope it will be enough.”

“My aunt did that too,” said Harry. “But she had to start Hogwarts a year late so she did have a lot to catch up on. You’re starting as a first year so everyone is roughly equal, though it is true that wizarding families tend to teach their children some simple spells.”

“What kind of spells…” Hermione was cut off by the compartment door opening. A familiar mop of red hair appeared.

“Hi Harry, your compartment is not full, isn’t it?”

“Of course not, come on in!” Ron stumbled inside, dragging his own trunk. He sat down next to Hermione and there was another round of introduction. 

“So do you know what House you'll be in?” asked Hermione. “I hope I'm in Gryffindor, it sounds by far the best.”

“It is,” said Harry. “Both my parents were in Gryffindor.”

Ron sighed. “Everyone in my family is in Gryffindor. If I end up in another House, it will be awful.”

“I’m sure your parents wouldn’t mind that much, Ron,” said Neville somewhat shily. “My parents were Gryffindors too, so I hope I can become one as well.”

“So is Sorting a familial thing?” asked Hermione. “Hogwarts: A History certainly did not mention it, but it would be strange for entire families to end up in the same House if it’s solely based on personality.”

“It’s probably a bit of both,” said Harry before she could go on a longer tangent. “I mean, if several of your family members are in one House, then you’re probably going to have a positive image of that House and ask the Sorting Hat if you could also join it.”

“The Sorting Hat?” asked Hermione at the same time as Ron exclaimed: “Wait, so you can just ask for the House you want?” 

It took a few minutes for Harry to explain about the Sorting Hat. Apparently, it wasn't in Hogwarts: A History to preserve the surprise, a fact that clearly seemed to annoy Hermione. Ron rolled his eyes while she complained about it, and Harry glared at him.

“Ron, why don’t you teach Hermione wizard chess? You’re always beating me so she could prove a more worthy opponent for you.” 

“You would?” Hermione turned to Ron, her mouth hanging open softly. It made her look younger and more vulnerable. 

“Sure,” he said gruffly and took out his old, battered chess set. Harry left them to it and caught up with Neville. After a while, the trolley-lady came by and Harry insisted on buying far too many sweets and sharing them with everyone. Hermione delivered a token protest on behalf of their dental health but ended up trying most of the wizarding sweets anyway, her eyes round as she beheld her first Chocolate Frog. 

Hermione put in a valiant effort at wizard chess but was still soundly beaten by Ron. She was obviously sour about it, but when Harry pointed out how nice it was of Ron to teach her how to negotiate with her borrowed chess pieces, she put a lid on it and thanked him sincerely. 

“Oh, but we’re almost there already. I’ll leave you to change here and go to the toilets.” Hermione grabbed her robe and went out.

“She’s such a know-it-all,” hissed Ron. 

“I think she’s nice,” said Neville. “Maybe a bit talkative, that’s all.”

“I think she’s overcompensating,” said Harry. “She learnt she was a witch a month ago. Wouldn’t you want to read everything you could about it, if you were in her shoes?”

“I don’t think I could ever read as much as she does. She already memorised so much, it’s crazy!”

“Then, maybe she can help us with our homework and you can keep teaching her wizard chess. Seriously, Ron, just be nice.” One thing Harry’s parents had taught him was that bullies were the worst and Hermione with her bushy hair, large front teeth, Muggle background and burning passion for studying, would be a bully magnet. He didn’t want Ron to give her a hard time too.

Harry’s suspicions were proven correct when Hermione returned and looked at them with slightly shiny eyes. “You’re all so much nicer than the boys in my old school. I really hope we are in the same House.”

“Let’s all ask for Gryffindor, alright?” said Harry. The others enthusiastically agreed.

As it turned out, the Sorting Hat wanted to send Harry to Slytherin, which he absolutely refused. Not only was it associated with Dark wizards, but Hermione and Neville had already been Sorted into Gryffindor. Harry pleaded with the Hat to let him be with his friends and obtained what he wanted. A few minutes later, Ron joined them at the Gryffindor table.

Harry was determined to excel in Hogwarts, partly because he didn’t want to disappoint his mother. She was one of the brightest witches of her age and expected her son to do just as well. Then, there was the secret weight of Harry’s wand. His father was surely right that being chosen by such a wand meant that Harry could become as great a wizard as Tom Riddle.

Harry’s spellcasting was quite good but he struggled with magical theory. Researching things in books and writing essays bored him terribly. Hermione absolutely loved it and she was an invaluable help with his homework. Neville and Ron also attended their study sessions. They dragged their feet a little bit, especially Ron, but Harry knew how to moderate Hermione’s enthusiasm and cut things short when needed. If not for him, she would end up sleeping in the library.

The subject Harry looked forward to the most had nothing to do with books, however. Ever since his parents had put him on his first broomstick, Harry absolutely loved flying. He had been crushed not to be allowed to bring his beloved Nimbus 2000 to Hogwarts. The school brooms were terrible in comparison but he just wanted to soar through the sky again.

In that regard, Harry’s first flying lesson proved to be a big disappointment, as Madam Hooch only allowed them to fly slowly while staying a few metres from the ground. Harry ground his teeth and focused on keeping an eye on Hermione and Neville. While she had never flown before, Neville had been taught by his parents but remained very uncomfortable on a broom because of his fear of heights. 

While Harry was chatting with Hermione and giving her a few tips, he saw from the corner of his eyes a blond boy from Slytherin rushing towards Neville. He did not collide with him, missing him by a couple of inches, but Neville panicked, slipped off his broom and landed awkwardly. “I think I sprained my ankle.”

“I’m sorry, Professor,” said the Slytherin student. “This broom is so old I lost control for a second.”

Madam Hooch grimaced, but did not contest this. “None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing! You leave those brooms on the ground or I’ll get you expelled from Hogwarts before you can ever play Quidditch.”

She left, carefully supporting Neville so he didn’t put weight on his injured ankle. As soon as she was out of earshot, Ron rounded on the Slytherin boy.

“You liar! You did that on purpose, Malfoy.” 

The blond turned to the two hulking boys behind him. “Oh look, what trash I’ve found on the ground.” He sneered at Ron. “I didn’t do anything, Weasley. Longbottom is just that clumsy.” He mimed Neville’s fall and his cronies laughed. 

Harry was about to tell Malfoy to cut it out when Hermione beat him to it: “You didn’t seem to find it funny when Professor Slughorn corrected the spelling mistakes in your essay. Maybe you fly so well because your brain is light.”

That was surprisingly vicious of her. Harry and Ron guffawed while Malfoy’s face reddened.

“Nobody allowed you to speak, you filthy little Mudblood,” he snapped.

How dare he? Harry drew out his wand and was about to hex Malfoy when Hermione shrilly said “Stop! Professor! Over here, Professor!” She was looking at a man dressed in black who was walking by the Quidditch pitch. When he turned and made their way towards them, Harry recognised Tom Riddle.

“What’s the matter here?”

“Malfoy called Hermione a Mudblood,” said Ron sullenly. His wand was also out and pointed at Malfoy, who just crossed his arms and smirked.

“I did no such things, Professor. I accidentally caused their friend to fall during our flying lesson and they want to hex me in revenge.” He looked at his cronies, who both agreed with his lie. 

“That’s not at all what happened,” said Harry, looking up to Riddle in appeal. “Malfoy made Neville fall on purpose and, when we confronted him about it, he called Hermione a Mudblood.”

Riddle’s eyes were such a dark brown that they looked almost black. It was slightly unsettling but it did not detract from his good looks, far from it. He looked Harry in the eyes for a few seconds, then turned to Malfoy. 

“Thirty points from Slytherin for you three lying to me. And Mr Malfoy, for endangering one of your classmates and using slurs, you will spend next Saturday afternoon in detention.”

Malfoy’s crestfallen face was hilarious. Hermione warmly thanked Riddle for his help and he left, just as Madam Hooch was returning from the hospital wing. They only had ten more minutes of flying lesson, then they were free to go and visit Neville.

“Calling Malfoy light-brained was brilliant, Hermione,” said Ron as they walked. 

“Thanks,” she replied, her cheeks slightly tinged with pink. “I can’t believe he did that to Neville! He could have gotten seriously hurt if he’d been more up.”

“The whole family’s rotten. Dad knows that they’re hiding Dark artefacts in their manor but he can never catch them out.”

“My dad never speaks of them so the Malfoys must be clever enough not to attract the attention of the Auror department,” said Harry. Malfoy certainly knew how to avoid trouble. He had lied to the teachers very smoothly, though Tom Riddle had still seen through him instantly. That seemed strange and Harry was about to bring it up when they arrived in the hospital wing. 

Neville was sitting on one of the beds, sipping hot chocolate. “Madam Pomfrey healed my ankle in a minute but she allowed me to stay here so I wouldn’t have to return to the flying lesson.” He shivered.

“You won’t believe what happened while you were gone,” said Ron and he told Neville the whole story. Hermione asked what Mudblood meant and they filled her in.

“I still really wish I could have hexed Malfoy,” sighed Ron.

“If you had, you’d be spending your Saturday afternoon with him in detention,” said Hermione.

“I really appreciate you standing up to Malfoy for me but I don’t want you to get in trouble because of it. Hermione was right to call in a teacher,” added Neville. 

“Professor Riddle was so cool,” gushed Hermione. “He just saw straight through Malfoy’s lies.”

“How did he do that though? He couldn’t possibly know what happened,” said Harry.

“Maybe he’s good at reading body language?” said Hermione just as Neville piped up, “Maybe he’s a Legilimens?”

They all turned to him. “It means a wizard that can read minds. My great-uncle Algie is one.”

“Isn’t that unethical?” asked Hermione.

“I guess,” said Neville. “Though a Legilimens can only read surface thoughts without being detected. If they look deeper, their target can feel it for sure and defend themself with Occlumency.”

“That must be it,” said Harry. “He looked me in the eyes and knew I wasn’t lying.” He wasn’t overly upset about it, because it had to be the only way for Riddle to find out the truth. 

“I never heard of Legilimency and Occlumency before,” said Hermione. “It sounds interesting so I’ll head to the library to grab a book on the topic.”

“Sure you will,” said Ron but his smile was fond rather than mocking. 

“It all turned out alright in the end,” said Harry when the three boys were back in the Gryffindor common room. “Neville’s completely fine now, Malfoy will spend his Saturday polishing silver and we didn’t lose a single point.”

“Next time it happens, you’re going to call a teacher too?” grumbled Ron. 

“Oh no, I’m all for hexing Malfoy. We just have not to get caught.”

Ron grinned. 

Chapter Text

When the time came to choose his third-year electives, Harry seriously pondered his decision.

Arithmancy and Ancient Runes were eliminated right away, as they were purely theoretical subjects. To choose between the remaining three courses, he first asked his friends what they were taking. Hermione smugly said she would follow every single elective and refused to elaborate on how that was even possible.

“I think I will take Care of Magical Creatures,” said Neville. “I mean, I love Herbology so it kinda makes sense for me to learn about magical fauna as well as flora.”

“Care of Magical Creatures can be a bit scary sometimes, because Professor Kettleburn has a very… different notion of danger. He’s retiring soon but his teaching assistant will take over so that probably won’t change much. My brothers told me the class is fun though,” added Ron.

“Sounds good to me,” said Harry. “What about our second elective?”

“Divination is very cool but it’s also really difficult,” said Neville. “I heard Dumbledore had to hire a centaur because no human applicants were qualified enough. Maybe it could still be good despite none of us having the Inner Eye?”

“Actually, I think I’ll pick Muggle Studies,” said Ron. “That class used to be terrible, but Fred and George still chose it because it was a soft option. Then, Professor Riddle took it over and completely changed the lesson plan. They complain about the hard work they have to put in now, but they still really like it. They say that Riddle teaches the best magic.”

“He teaches magic? Isn’t that supposed to be Muggle Studies?” asked Hermione.

“I know. They refused to give any details. Riddle wants to keep it quiet apparently.”

“And they just obey him?” asked Harry incredulously. Fred and Georges Weasley were known for many things, but religiously respecting their teachers’ wishes was not one of them. 

“It’s crazy, right? Now I’m just too curious not to take the class.” 

Harry had been tempted to choose that class solely because Tom Riddle was teaching it. Ron joining it clinched the deal for him. As for Neville, he was easily convinced to pick it over Divination in order to stay with his friends. Once the three boys submitted their paperwork, they mostly forgot about their electives until the beginning of the following year.

Harry felt a bit nervous as he stepped into his first Muggle Studies class. The option had clearly become popular as many students were already seated in. Harry even spotted a few Slytherins, though Malfoy’s little gang was unsurprisingly absent. 

“Good morning, everyone,” said Tom Riddle as he arrived at nine o’clock sharp. “Welcome to Muggle Studies. First, I would like to tell you that the class name is no longer accurate. I will teach you not just how non-magical people live but also the rudiments of science, history and culture. This class will also include practical use of magic.” Several students, who had been frowning upon hearing about the Muggle school subjects, cheered up upon hearing about magic. 

Riddle was clearly expecting this reaction. “Eager to do magic, aren't we? What you must remember, the very first and most important lesson of this class, is that there are no such things as the magical and non-magical worlds. There is only one world, we all live in it, whether we have magical powers or not. The way Muggles study the natural world can absolutely apply to magic as well, and furthering your understanding of science will help you become better wizards. Before I dive into a first example, I’d like to address an organisational topic. Some of you may have noticed that this course did not require you to buy any books before the start of the term.” Harry could see Hermione nodding frantically next to him. She had been disappointed not to be able to read the entire course material in advance.

“That wasn’t a mistake on my part. No single book could cover this entire course and I cannot ask you to buy an entire library. Instead, during class, we will use the supporting documents that I prepared for you.” He pointed to a stack of paper next to him. “I also compiled a reading list that I will give you in a moment. It’s long so I don’t expect you to cover everything on it but I highly recommend reading at least a few books on the topics you’re struggling with. All of these books are non-magical so you will have to go to a Muggle bookshop to purchase them.”

Riddle then briefly explained how to dress as a Muggle and use pound sterlings to buy mundane objects. As he spoke, students passed around the pile of paper, taking one booklet each. Harry opened his immediately after receiving it. The first pages were a summary of what Riddle was saying, containing helpful pictures of acceptable Muggle dress and of Muggle coins and notes with their current values in Galleon. Next, came the reading list. It was huge, several pages long in fact. No one bar Hermione could hope to read so many textbooks in a year. The last few pages of the booklet had diagrams and equations, so their first lesson would be some kind of science course. 

Harry shared a pained look with Ron. Maybe they should have gone for Divination after all? 

Meanwhile, Riddle had finished his explanation. “We will now move to our first lesson. Let’s imagine that we would climb up the Astronomy Tower and throw down two balls, one heavy and one light. Which ball would reach the bottom first? No need to raise your hands, you can just speak up.”

“The heavier one?” said one Ravenclaw student hesitantly.

“No, they both reach the bottom at the same time,” said Hermione. 

“If we disregard air resistance, Miss Granger is right. Five points for Gryffindor. The reason why the two balls fall at the same speed is because the only force acting upon them is gravity.” Riddle explained that gravity was one of the fundamental interactions in the universe, that any two objects would attract each other through gravity but that this was only noticeable when at least one of the objects was very large. “The Earth's gravitational pull is the reason your feet stay on the ground and things fall down when dropped. The weight of objects is also entirely dependent on Earth gravity.” 

He wrote the formula to calculate the weight of the two balls, then their acceleration, which turned out to be the same. 

“All objects under the sole influence of gravity will accelerate downwards at the same rate. This is called free fall. Now that you have some understanding of what gravity is, let’s talk about a practical application. I would like you to remember the very first spell you cast in Charms. You were asked to levitate a feather. Now, why do you think feathers were used?”

“Because they’re light?” hazarded a student. 

“Precisely. The heavier an object is, the harder it is to lift… with your muscles. Why would the same logic apply to the Levitation charm?”

“It doesn’t,” stammered Neville. “So our Charms textbook was wrong then?”

“Not quite, Mr Longbottom. If you think lifting something with the Levitation charm is similar to physically lifting it, then it will indeed be harder for heavier objects. Most wizards think this way, so they have to train themselves before they can levitate things heavier than they could normally carry. But what if you see things differently? You know about gravity now and how it exerts power on all objects on Earth. If you instead think of the Levitation charm as cancelling gravity on an object, then you can make anything float. Doesn’t matter if it’s a feather or an elephant.”

The whole class started to whisper excitingly. Hermione looked a bit sceptical though. Harry too was bothered by something:

“I’m sorry, Professor, but if you’re saying that we can lift anything because we believe we can, can’t we just accomplish any task by believing in ourselves hard enough?”

Tom Riddle smiled at him, and Harry felt his throat turn dry. “Very good question, Mr Potter. There is a limit to what you can do with magic, as your body and mind will be strained if you overuse it. However, this limit is highly flexible and depends on the way one thinks. So you’re right that if you truly believe in yourself, you will find incredible feats of magic much easier. However, sincere belief is hard to manufacture. If I told you you were capable of levitating an elephant at the beginning of this class, you wouldn’t have believed me, right? Why would you, when your Charms textbook says you can’t? This is one of the reasons I taught you about gravity, to give you logical grounds to believe in yourselves. The other reason is that it is always good to broaden your knowledge for knowledge’s sake.” The Ravenclaw students nodded approvingly. 

“And now, it’s time for you to try it out.” He casually sat on his desk. “You will take turns trying to lift both myself and the desk. You can use wands and incantations if you want to, but that’s not necessary.”

Hermione’s mouth was agape. “That’s at least N.E.W.T. level magic!” she whispered furiously. Then she said louder: “Professor, the Levitation charm doesn’t work on humans.”

Riddle tilted his head quizzically. “Why wouldn’t it, Miss Granger? Gravity applies to me as much as to any inanimate objects.”

Hermione sputtered, but Riddle didn’t seem offended. “I do like a sceptic. Let me demonstrate first then.”

He didn’t move, didn’t say anything else, yet Harry felt himself lift. Everything in the classroom - students, desks and all their belongings - was suddenly floating. On his right, Harry could see Hermione’s hair sticking up comically. On his left, Ron had a look of pure amazement on his face that Harry must have shared because this was unlike anything he’d ever experienced before. He’d flown countless times, but he always felt the broom under him, the pressure of the air around him. This time, he felt nothing but pure weightlessness.

It only lasted for a few seconds, then everything was back in its proper place. Harry couldn’t help but look at Riddle, who didn’t have a single hair out of place after doing something that was supposed to be utterly impossible. Reading about his accomplishments in the paper or hearing it in passing from his parents was completely different from witnessing it himself.

Tom Riddle was amazing. Harry felt his stomach contract with envy, and something else that he did not care to identify. 

Riddle started to call the students alphabetically, and one after the other, they failed to levitate him and his desk. While waiting for his turn, Harry thought frantically about what to do. Most students were using their wands, while Riddle said they were not necessary. Maybe it was better not to bring his wand at all, maybe it would help with the mindset change Riddle had described? He wasn’t lifting the desk, he was negating gravity. But how? Gravity had an effect on Harry his whole life, and because of that, he had only ever truly felt it when it was suddenly absent. 

That had to be it. 

When Harry was called, he stood up, leaving his wand behind, and faced Tom Riddle. Somehow, watching him made it easier to recapture the feeling of weightlessness he had felt while floating in the air. 

If Tom Riddle had levitated Harry and his desk, then surely Harry could do the same to him? They were similar yet different, capable of incredible feats of magic when working together, Mr Ollivander had said. He had been talking about their wands but, if Tom didn’t need his, why would Harry? 

Then things happened very fast. The desk lifted from the ground, and the man from the desk. The students erupted into talks. Tom Riddle looked at Harry like he had never seen him before, then escaped from the grasp of his magic and leapt gracefully down. 

“You should let it go before it hits the ceiling.”

Harry did, and gravity reasserting itself, the desk fell down with a very loud crack. The class was full of noise. Harry could feel a hand on his shoulder and hear someone congratulating him but everything seemed unimportant besides Tom Riddle’s eyes on him and his smile. 

Harry suddenly realised that he was still standing and quickly sat back down, cheeks burning. 

“Well done, Mr Potter. And you didn’t use your wand either, very good. Everyone, please follow his example.” But no other student was successful after Harry either.

“Do not feel too discouraged,” Riddle reassured the students. “This is a difficult exercise. In fact, Mr Potter here is the first in three years to manage it on his first try. I think Gryffindor deserves fifty points for this.” This was a lot, and Harry’s housemates cheered as the bell rang. “Your homework for next class will be to practise this on your own with a heavy object. Don’t use anything fragile, dangerous or any person or animal. I will give you detention if you break someone’s leg by dropping them. Mr Potter, will you stay for a minute?”

The other students flooded out of the classroom while Harry walked to Riddle’s desk, his stomach still tight. “Yes, Professor?”

“Since you’re ahead of the other students, I thought I would already give you an extra assignment. It’s a pretty challenging one, so don’t feel bad for not getting it right away. I can give you a few pointers during our next lesson.”

Harry took the booklet he was handed, thanked him and left. He felt strangely disappointed. Riddle had already congratulated him and given Gryffindor fifty points. What else could he expect? 

Ron and Neville were waiting for him in the corridor. “What did he want you for?” asked Ron as they walked to their next class. 

“Extra homework,” replied Harry absent-mindedly.

Ron grimaced. “Now I’m glad I didn’t succeed on the first try! Muggle Studies is sure going to be difficult, though it wasn’t as bad as I expected when I first saw the science stuff. I was afraid it would all be gibberish, but Riddle actually explained it pretty well.”

“I liked it too,” said Neville. “I often struggle to cast spells as they are described in our textbooks, so maybe Professor Riddle’s approach will work better for me.” He paused. “Are you alright, Harry? You seem distracted.”

Harry nodded, and was spared the need of a longer answer by their arrival in the classroom, just as Transfiguration was about to start. Thankfully, it wasn’t a practical session today but an overview of the magical theory behind Human Transfiguration. Harry could let his mind wander and borrow Hermione’s notes later.

He couldn’t help but replay in his head everything that had happened during Muggle Studies. He wanted Riddle to look at him again, in the same way he had when Harry had first levitated him. He wanted Riddle to treat him differently from the other students, to see him as someone who could be as brilliant as him, as someone who would one day be his equal. 

Harry had to become the best Muggle Studies student ever. He had to blow Riddle’s expectations of him right out of the water. Completing the extra challenging assignment given to him had to be the first step.

Harry read the booklet while keeping it hidden behind his Transfiguration textbook. It was physics again: it defined energy, explained the relation between mass and energy and the law of conservation of mass.

Harry was broken out of its concentration by the round of applause McGonagall received after turning into a cat. That was a blatant violation of the law of conservation of mass. The booklet suggested that maybe its generalisation, the law of conservation of energy, was still respected in such cases. So, when McGonagall turned into a cat, some of her mass turned into energy and vice-versa when she returned to human form. 

The only problem with that was that, when Muggles converted the tiniest amount of matter into energy, it created such huge explosions that they could be used to wipe out entire cities. As Harry and his fellow students were still alive and well, it couldn’t be the same process, could it? 

The booklet sounded tentative about the whole thing, as if Riddle’s intention was to encourage his students into forging their own theory on how Transfiguration could be compatible with the law of physics. How could Harry do that, when he could just about understand the content of the booklet?

In class, Riddle had linked one of the laws of physics to a practical magical application. Maybe Harry could try to do the same. He wasn’t a scientist after all, but he was a damn good wizard.

Chapter Text

“Hey, have any of you seen Morgana?” asked Neville during lunch.

Harry shook his head, his mind still full of Riddle’s assignment. 

“I’m sure she’s just exploring the castle,” said Hermione reassuringly. 

“But she always comes back when it’s time for me to feed her…” The bell rang, interrupting Neville. If they tarried on too long, they would be late for Care of Magical Creatures. 

Harry shook himself out of his trance. “She’ll be back in the common room by the end of class. If not, we’ll go look for her, alright?” he said to Neville, who smiled tremulously at Harry before following him outside. 

The new professor of Care of Magical Creatures was a jovial man called Rubeus Hagrid. After introducing himself, he led them into the Forbidden Forest. Their first lesson would be observing unicorns in their natural habitat. Unfortunately, they were really shy, especially around males. Harry, Ron and Neville were stuck at the back of the class while Hermione was able to go for a closer look. 

“Hey Longbottom.” Harry sighed. Of course, they would share an elective with Malfoy. “Have you seen your stupid cat recently?”

“What did you do to Morgana?” said Neville, voice low but furious.

Malfoy smiled unpleasantly. “I saw a black cat wandering in the forest. Maybe you should keep a better leash on your pet, Longbottom.”

“Morgana would never…” Neville’s face became white, then red. In a second, his wand was out and he whipped it towards Malfoy, no incantation, just sheer rage. Boils erupted all over Malfoy’s face and he cried out in pain. 

Hagrid immediately rushed towards them, the female students on his heels. “What’s going on?”

“He cursed me!” whined Malfoy. 

“He threw Morgana in the forest!” said Neville. “His cat,” explained Harry.

“He’s just making stuff up to attack me.”

“How could you, Draco?” They all turned towards the girl who had spoken. She was very tall and strong for her age so Harry had noticed her before in the crowd of Slytherin students, but he had never exchanged a single word with her. “Longbottom’s cat went down to the dungeons and somehow got into our common room. She was hissing at my cat so I caught her. I was about to bring her back when Draco said he wouldn’t mind doing it. I had to reread my Charms essay during lunch, while he had time to spare.” Malfoy and the girl exchanged looks of utter betrayal. 

“Well, Mr Malfoy?” said Hagrid.

“I didn't do anything. The little beast just escaped me and went to the forest on its own.”

“You liar,” said Neville in the coldest tone Harry had ever heard from him. Hagrid did not seem convinced either. “That’ll be a detention for both of you, and fifty points from Slytherin for endangering an innocent animal. Meet me in front of the forest after your afternoon class.” He turned to Neville and smiled sympathetically. “We’ll be looking for your lost cat, so bring one of her toys for my dog to get her smell from.”

“If you’re looking for Morgana, we’re coming too,” said Harry and Ron and Hermione nodded in agreement. 

“The three of you aren’t in trouble but, if you want to give us a hand, I won’t say no.” Harry could see that Hagrid wasn’t optimistic about finding Morgana. 

Poor Neville could hardly concentrate during the rest of their afternoon classes. As soon as the bell rang, he rushed to their common room to get Morgana’s favourite blanket. Then, they returned to the Forbidden Forest. Hagrid was already there with a large black hound. A disgruntled-looking Malfoy arrived a few minutes later. Harry was sorry to see Madam Pomfrey had already cured all his boils.

“We’ll split into two groups to cover more ground.” Hagrid looked at them, clearly trying to determine who was less likely to fight with Malfoy. “Mr Malfoy, Miss Granger, you’ll be with me. Mr Potter, Weasley and Longbottom, you will take Fang with you. Always stick to the paths and, if you haven't found anything by the time the sun starts setting, return straight here!”

Neville let Fang smell the blanket and they were on their way. The weather was still warm and sunny so the walk in the forest would have been almost pleasant, if not for its purpose. They spent about half an hour walking with no signs of Morgana until Fang suddenly picked up a scent and veered off the path. 

“Finally!” cried Neville and he ran after the dog. Harry and Ron had no choice but to follow. 

The trail Fang was following went deeper and deeper in the forest. It was becoming darker too, so that they had to light up the tips of their wands to be able to make out the silhouette of the black dog against the shadows of the forest.

“Wait a minute,” said Harry. “It’s only five o’clock, it shouldn’t be that dark yet.” The foliage around them was dense but not so dense as to prevent the light of the day from reaching them. He looked up, peering at the canopy of the trees. “They’re something up there. Cobwebs?”

“Spider webs,” stammered Ron. Before Harry could wonder out loud what kind of spiders would make such large webs, they heard Neville shouting and rushed out to meet him. 

“Morgana, I was so worried!” Neville had wrapped up the cat in her yellow blanket so she wouldn’t leap out of his arms. She looked disgruntled but unharmed. 

“Let’s go. Now,” said Harry. Ron nodded, his face ashen, and they walked quickly towards the path. 

Only for a gigantic spider to jump in front of them.

Ron let out a yelp of terror. Harry reacted on pure instinct. “ Impedimenta!” he shouted. 

Unfortunately, the spell did nothing but aggravate the spider. It went straight for Harry, burying its pincer into his right leg. It was the worst pain he had ever felt. He vaguely heard a shout (“Let him go!”) and saw the light of a spell. It hit the creature in its beady eyes and then his leg was free. 

Harry couldn’t move though. Not only the pain radiating from his leg was unbearable, his whole body felt cold and his vision was getting blurry. Ron and Neville were still standing. There were more spiders, so many more. Or maybe he was seeing double?

He was going to die here, because of that venom… Ron and Neville could still survive… He had to do something… Something, anything to help his friends… 

Magic was energy… Many kinds of energy… He could try Fire… Protect….

Harry raised his wand, and the fire came like a ribbon of blazing light. It was so warm and beautiful. For a split second, he could see everything, his friends’ terrified faces, the spiders burning, the forest burning.

Then, he could see nothing at all.

Harry regained consciousness slowly. There was light behind his closed eyelids and noise in the distance, raised voices arguing about something, interspersed with loud, wracking sobs. 

He was feeling so very tired and his right leg was throbbing duly. Maybe it was better to just go back to sleep. He could make sense of it all in the morning.

A cool hand touched his forehead and Harry was curious enough to barely open his eyes, just enough to check who it was. 

Tom Riddle was looking down at him with a small frown on his face. 

Suddenly, Harry was not sleepy anymore. “What?” he mumbled. 

“You shouldn’t be awake yet, Mr Potter. You had enough Acromantula venom in your system to stop your heart.”

Everything suddenly came back to Harry. The forest, the spiders… “Are Ron and Neville alright?” 

“Your friends are unhurt. Do you feel too hot or too cold? Dizzy, nauseous?” 

Harry shook his head, and, to his regret, Riddle removed his hand from his forehead. Most of the time, he looked like he had just stepped off the glossy pages of a magazine, beautiful but remote. Now that he tilted his head curiously at Harry, as if he was some kind of unsolved puzzle, he seemed more approachable somehow, though just as handsome. 

“Is something the matter, Professor?” Harry dared ask.

“Nothing for you to worry about. In fact, quite the opposite. I’m surprised at how healthy you are considering what you just went through. I’ve never seen anyone respond so well to my healing before. Are there any protection spells or other blessings upon your person?”

“Not that I know of.”

“I would most likely be able to tell if there were. Very curious indeed. Would you mind answering some questions? I can also let you rest and come back later.”

“No! I mean, I don’t mind answering any of your questions.”

“Could you tell me what happened from your perspective after the spiders attacked you?”

“My thoughts were scrambled by the venom, but I remember thinking that I had to help Ron and Neville escape, even if I was a goner myself. Then, I thought about how, in the extra assignment you gave me, you likened magic to energy.”

“You read that already?” Riddle seemed shocked. Harry looked down in embarrassment. He could hardly tell Riddle how eager he had been to impress him. 

“Anyway, I didn’t understand everything in it, but it made me think of using magic to generate other forms of energy, like fire. My father is an Auror and he likes to tell me stories about his work. One of them was about this amazing Firestorm spell he used once when surrounded by Inferi, so I just tried it. I vaguely remember seeing some flames so it must have worked at least a bit.”

“You are mistaken, Mr Potter. Fire is the result of a chemical reaction that produces energy, not a form of energy itself. Yet, I’m amazed you manage to think of this at all when severely poisoned, and even more than you actually succeeded in casting Firestorm. You burnt the spiders and part of the forest itself, triggering the castle wards. I was the second member of staff on site after Professor Hagrid. A good thing I was too, because I was able to treat you right away.”

“You saved my life.”

“If I hadn’t been there, Madam Pomfrey would have stabilised you before sending you to St Mungo’s for treatment. Acromantula venom is thankfully not fast acting so you would have survived nonetheless.”

“But you still healed me. Thank you.” Harry smiled at Tom warmly. He felt great, and that was all thanks to him. “By the way, what happened to Morgana?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Neville’s cat. The reason we were in the forest in the first place was to look for her.”

Riddle snorted with laughter, an inelegant but genuine sound that Harry immediately loved. “Mr Longbottom was clutching a cat for dear life last time I saw him. It looked fine. I do wonder about your priorities though, Mr Potter. One would think you would be more concerned about your near-death experience and less about someone else’s pet.”

“I heard someone crying so I was worried.”

“Ah. You are right in a way. Professor Hagrid’s dog was killed by the spiders.” Riddle said it matter of factly, as if the death of his colleagues’ dog left him perfectly indifferent. It seemed rather cold of him, so Harry asked:

“Not a dog person, Professor?”

“More of a snake person,” he said with a smile, but such an earnest expression in his dark eyes that Harry was incapable of telling if he was serious or not. “But enough about me. I have to admit that, this morning, I gave you an especially difficult assignment, fully expecting you to fail. What you made of it was certainly unusual, and your understanding of it was definitely flawed, but it was by no means a failure. You surprised me no less than three times in a single day. No other wizard can claim to have done so, and you’re only thirteen years old. Honestly, I wonder what I should do about you, Harry Potter.”

Harry felt his cheeks reddened at the praise. “Be my tutor!” he blustered out. Riddle’s eyebrows rose, but he didn’t immediately refuse. “You’re a great wizard, and I would like to become as strong as you are.” This was entirely truthful, but far from the only reason Harry wanted as much time alone with Tom Riddle as he could get. 

“After all, why not? I did come here to teach, though I honestly expected it to be easier. Just as well, otherwise I would be bored of it already. I don’t think you will be boring, Mr Potter, though I will expect you to work extremely hard in exchange for my personal instruction.”

“I will. I won’t disappoint you, Professor.”

“Very well, then I expect you in my office every Wednesday at four.” Riddle got up to leave. “Do you want me to send your friends in? They’re very impatient  to see you. Your parents wanted to come in immediately as well, but since you were supposed to still be asleep, the headmaster asked them to come tomorrow morning instead.”

“Yes, please. Thank you, Professor.” He heard them briefly talking in the corridor then Hermione, Ron and Neville rushed in. “Oh, Harry,” she said with tears in her eyes and hugged him tight.

“I’m so sorry, Harry,” said Ron, looking deeply ashamed. “I just froze up, I was so useless.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself. I know how much you hate spiders, it must have been like your worst nightmare.” Ron grimaced at the memory, and Neville cut in:

“What matters is that you were amazing, Harry. You saved our lives, and Morgana’s life too. If there is anything I can do for you, just say the word.”

“Actually, there is something you could do. Do you think your great-uncle Algie would know an Occlumency tutor? I will ask my parents too, of course, but in case they don't know anyone.”

“I will write to him and ask tomorrow,” replied Neville with a smile. “But why do you suddenly want to learn Occlumency, Harry? It has nothing to do with what happened today, right?”

“Of course not,” lied Harry. “I’ve been interested in it for a while, just forgot to ask you before today.”

It felt bad to lie to Neville, but Harry had just admitted the truth to himself and he definitely wasn’t ready to tell it out loud. 

He had a huge crush on Tom Riddle and, if he ever found out, Harry would definitely die of embarrassment. Harry didn’t think his new tutor was the type to read the minds of his students for no good reason, but better safe than sorry. 

Chapter Text

On the first night of his fifth year at Hogwarts, Harry went to seek out Tom Riddle. He had to wait until the end of the feast, then guide the first years to the Gryffindor common room, so it was pretty late. However, with his shiny new Prefect badge, Harry didn’t need to worry about curfew. 

He softly knocked on the door to Tom’s office. “Enter!”

“Good evening, Professor. I thought I would bring you the ingredients you discussed with my mother. Some of them are pretty fragile, I think.” To be entirely truthful, they could have waited until the next day but Harry just wanted to see Tom.

“Thank you, Harry, you can put them on my desk. I’ll write to Lily to thank her as well.”

“You looked pretty annoyed when Dumbledore announced the Triwizard Tournament would take place again.”

Tom smiled. “Was my eye roll visible from the Gryffindor table? When I was Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, I never bowed to the pressure to bring back this stupid tournament. You don’t need to have school children being chased by dragons in order to foster friendship between nations. Unfortunately, my successor disagreed with me, so we’re stuck with it now.”

“I was thinking of entering it actually,” Harry said in a neutral tone. 

“Well, you would have to best Dumbledore to put your name in the Goblet of Fire. Difficult, but you could manage it. Then, beating the other two champions would be considerably easier. I wonder though, why you would bother. Considering how wealthy your family is, you don’t need the prize money. As for glory… You’re an excellent student, you’ve won every single Quidditch match you’ve ever played in and you’ve just been made prefect. Your whole House adores you and no one in Hogwarts actively dislikes you, except for the envious. It seems to me that winning the Triwizard Tournament wouldn’t add much to your reputation.”

“I just like to win, I guess.”

“You know, it baffles me how you were not sent to Slytherin, Harry.” “You know I prefer Gryffindor, Professor.” This old argument had been rehashed so many times it was practically a private joke at this point. They said good night and Harry returned to his dorm room. 

He collapsed in bed, suddenly feeling exhausted. Truth was, as soon as Dumbledore had announced the tournament, Harry had seen himself holding the Triwizard Cup in front of an adoring crowd. His friends were cheering for him. His family was glowing with pride at his accomplishments. But the face that stuck out to him in the crowd was Tom, finally looking at him like…

Harry drowned his growl of frustration into his pillow. He had spent most of last year trying to get over his crush. He had dated several people, all of them smart, funny, and attractive. Yet, all his relationships ended up either not being serious, or with Harry breaking things off before they could get anywhere near. When his boyfriend or girlfriend started to look at Harry with stars in their eyes, he had to end it because he could not reciprocate. 

Only Tom made him feel this way. 

Last summer, Harry had finally succumbed to temptation and trawled through his aunt’s gossip magazines for rumours about Tom’s personal life. There wasn't a single hint of him ever having any romantic or sexual interest towards anyone. Nothing. Zilch. Nada. 

Of course, Tom could have had a secret relationship or two, but Harry thought it unlikely. He mentioned his family regularly and warmly. If he had a partner, he would have no reason to hide it.

So, even if Harry had not been a teenager and Tom’s student, he still wouldn’t have stood a chance with him. Knowing this didn’t make his feelings disappear though. The only thing he could do was ignore them and move on with his life. 

With this depressing resolution in mind, Harry finally managed to fall asleep. After a few hours of fitful sleep, he staggered to the bathroom to take a shower. As he undressed, he checked his left wrist, as he did absolutely every morning. 

It was no longer empty. Instead, curling on his skin in beautiful, familiar handwriting was the name Harry had always wanted - but never even dared dreaming of seeing there. Tom Marvolo Riddle.

His shout of joy was audible from everyone in the dormitory.

“Harry, you ok in there, mate?” called Ron. 

Harry shouted back that everything was fine. “I just got my soulmark,” he announced after getting out of the shower. Everyone clapped him on the shoulders and congratulated him. They were obviously curious about his mark, especially Ron and Neville, but they would not press him to reveal it. Most people chose to show their soulmarks to close friends and family but it was no obligation. 

Harry dressed in a hurry, and managed to catch Tom just as he was heading out for breakfast. “What’s the matter, Harry?” He seemed surprised by his presence. 

“You mean you don’t know?” Tom’s puzzled look was all the answer he needed. “Let’s step in your office for a minute.” The corridor was empty but anyone could walk in, and they had to mind the portraits as well.

“You should check your wrist, Professor.” Tom blinked at him but slowly did so. There was a name on his wrist, too small for Harry to read from a distance. 

What Harry could plainly see however, was the look of utter horror on Tom’s face as he beheld his soulmark. All the joy Harry had felt this morning was suddenly sucked right of him. 

Tom must have noticed his crestfallen face as he said, “It’s not your name that is the problem. It’s having a name at all. I don’t like soulmarks, never did. I would much rather freely decide who I associate with, rather than being influenced by fate one way or another.”

That made Harry feel better, but only marginally. Unlike some other pureblood families that valued lineage above everything else, the Potters had always believed that soulmarks were the most fortuitous way of choosing a partner, and the happily matched couples all around Harry seemed to prove them right. He was thinking on how to explain this without sounding childish or, worse, inappropriate when Tom tapped his soulmark with his wand. It promptly faded away.

“Disillusionment Charm. I’ll have to cast it regularly but, if we started wearing wrist covers on the same day, someone could connect the dots and guess we’re soulmates. It would start the most lurid rumours… Not only would I no longer be able to tutor you, I would probably be asked not to speak to you for the next two years, to avoid the appearance of impropriety. Please only confide in the people you have the utmost trust in. The fewer, the better. If we keep this quiet, we can continue as we did before.”

“No! I mean, I agree we should keep it quiet. But I don’t want to continue exactly as before. The fact that we’re soulmates matters to me. I…” Harry quickly cycled through all the sincere answers he could possibly give in his head, before settling on the least awful one. “I want to know you better.”

Tom quirked his head at him. “You already know me pretty well.”

“That’s not true. You hardly ever speak about yourself, about your past, about what led you to become the person you are now.” Harry’s mind was working as fast as possible to create a plan on the fly. Just asking Tom wouldn’t work. The best way to obtain something from him was to make it the reward for a job well done. “I’ll take part in the Triwizard Tournament and, for each Task where I win first place, you’ll show me a memory that is significant to you.”

Tom looked at him incredulously and, for a second, Harry thought he had made the worst mistake of his life. Then, Tom burst out laughing. 

“You really have a lot of guts, Harry Potter. Maybe Gryffindor suits you best after all. You know what, I’ll consider it. But, first, you have to be chosen as the Hogwarts champion, which means getting past Dumbledore’s restriction on underage participants. I’ll add an additional handicap for you: you must put your own name in the Goblet of Fire, not convince or trick an adult to do it for you. Think you can manage that?”

“Yes.” Harry had no choice. He wanted to see Tom’s memories that badly. 

“Good luck!” said Tom with a smile that meant Harry was in big trouble. But he could not give up that easily. His first step, as always, was to speak to his friends. 

That evening, he led Ron, Hermione and Neville to an empty classroom and locked the door before he showed them his soulmark. 

“It’s not platonic, right?” asked Ron. Hermione glared at him. “What? It’s a fair question to ask!”

“It’s not platonic on my part. Of course, Professor Riddle only sees me as his student but I intend to change that.” 

“Harry!” Hermione exclaimed in shock. 

“I don’t mean right away! Later, after I graduate.” 

“Professor Riddle is still over fifty years older than you!”

“I don’t care,” Harry said stubbornly. “Right as I was about to give up on him, I got my soulmark. Don’t you see it, Hermione, it’s a sign! I know you don’t believe in fate…”

Neville cut him off. “Let’s all calm down. Hermione, Harry’s mind is obviously made up so there’s no point in shouting at him over his decision. Harry, don’t be angry at Hermione for being concerned for you. I think we all are. You know pursuing a relationship with Professor Riddle is going to be really difficult, right?” he added gently, and Harry felt his anger fade. 

“Right. I won’t be fifteen forever but, even when I’m fifty, I will have absolutely no chance with T… Professor Riddle if he keeps me at arm’s length. I need him to trust and respect me as an equal.” Harry then told his friends about his plan to get Tom to share his memories with him by winning the Triwizard Tournament.

“Harry, that’s… People have died in this tournament! And you want to do this for only three memories?” pleaded Hermione. 

“I mean, he hasn’t even agreed to it, right?” said Ron. “What if you’re chosen as champion and he says no? You probably can’t back out then.”

“I know. I’m willing to take the risk.” His friends were exchanging discrete glances, visibly wary of confronting him again. Harry didn’t need Legilimency to read their thoughts. It was a crazy plan after all. “Listen, I was thinking of entering the Tournament before I got my soulmark. Now I just have an extra reason to do it. I’m aware it’s dangerous, but I’m confident I can win if I have your support. Please, for me?”

“I believe you can do it, Harry,” said Neville. “You will always have my help if you need it.”

“This is crazy, mate, but I’m with you,” added Ron. “Let’s help you win this!”

Harry thanked them, then there was an awkward moment of silence. They were all looking at Hermione. She sighed loudly. “I don’t like this at all, Harry. But Neville is right, this is your choice. So I’ll help, as long as you promise me not to get… involved with Professor Riddle until after graduation.”

“Thank you, Hermione, and I promise.”

“I guess I should start researching the Triwizard Tournament then?”

The next day, Hermione already had more news about the champion selection process. “It’s all decided by this magical artefact called the Goblet of Fire and, in the past, it chose several champions under seventeen years old. I guess Professor Dumbledore could enchant it to take age into account but that might be considered tampering under the rules of the tournament. He will probably use a spell to prevent anyone underage from putting their name in in the first place. There are so many different ways he could go about it though…”

“If you don’t mind, you could start looking into some of them while I try to find out exactly what Dumbledore will do.”

Who would know that? Dumbledore himself, of course, but he would never tell Harry. Probably the Heads of the Department of International Magical Cooperation and Magical Sports, as they were organising the tournament. 

Harry knew little about the former, except that she was Tom’s successor and they didn’t always see eye to eye. Tom didn’t surround himself with incompetents though, so she was unlikely to just blab to a teenager about Dumbledore’s plan. 

That left Ludo Bagman, whom Harry had met last year at the Quidditch World Cup. He had seemed like a genial man, but there had been some unpleasantness between him and the Weasley twins. What was it again? Fred and George had won a bet with him, but Bagman had refused to pay up. After a year of sending him owls to try and retrieve their money, the twins had given up, vigorously cursing Bagman’s name in front of the whole Gryffindor table. 

That gave Harry an idea. When he next saw Bagman hanging around the Quidditch pitch, making sure everything was set up properly for the tournament, he went and greeted him. “Hello, Mr Bagman! Nice to see you again. We met at the Quidditch World Cup final. Great game, wasn’t it?”

Bagman smiled genially. “It was, it was. And you’re James’ son, of course, the very image of your father, and just as passionate about Quidditch. I always like to talk to a fan.”

“Actually, I was coming to speak to you about the Triwizard Tournament. Is there going to be much betting, you think?”

Bagman’s eyes immediately started gleaming, and Harry knew he had hit the jackpot. “Absolutely! As this is an international event that hasn’t taken place in centuries, interest in betting is through the roof.” He dropped his voice. “Are you perhaps interested in placing a bet yourself?”

“No, but I know a bet with long odds and guaranteed success that could bring you a lot of money if you place it. I’m going to win the Triwizard Tournament,” said Harry, careful to project the utmost confidence in that statement. 

Bagman looked him up and down with a frown. “Sorry, but you are not seventeen yet, are you?”

“I’m not. But if you tell me how Dumbledore is planning to stop underage people from participating, I can find a way around it.”

Bagman laughed heartily. “No offence meant, boy, but there is no way an underage wizard like you could get past Dumbledore’s Age Line. You’re just wasting your time. Tell me if you ever change your mind about placing that bet!” He walked away from Harry, still chuckling to himself. 

Harry’s triumph in finding out about the Age Line was short-lived. “It’s a very complicated spell,” said Hermione after burying herself in books for a few days. “As far as I know, Mr Bagman is right. The only way for you to cross it would be to retroactively change your birthdate, which is impossible even with time travel.”

Harry nodded grimly. The obvious answer would be to get an older person to put his name in the Goblet of Fire, which was why Tom had expressly forbidden it.

There had to be another way. He had to think outside the box. If he could not trick the Age Line, why not break it? After several weeks of thinking about it, he still could not find a way to do it without risking damaging everything around it, including the Goblet. 

It was hopeless. He could not walk past the Age Line.

He could not walk past the Age Line.

“I have an idea.” He told it to his friends. “In theory, it could work,” said Hermione after consulting her books again. “But there is no way to test it. What if it fails dramatically in front of everyone?”

“Then it will look terrible but it shouldn’t hurt me.” He hugged her tightly. “Thank you again, Hermione. You don’t know how much this means to me.”

She hugged back. “Just be careful, Harry.”

On Halloween morning, Harry arrived late to breakfast following the previous night’s exertions. “Well?” asked Ron. 

“It’s in. And I only got a few bruises to show for it.”

“Congratulations, Harry! Now we only need to wait until tonight for the results,” said Neville.

Harry felt nervous during the feast but, since he had been unable to participate in the previous one, he still ate heartily. Things were out of his hands now, he could only hope the Goblet of Fire would recognise his worth as Hogwarts champion.

Finally, the plates were cleared and Dumbledore stood up to announce the names of the champions.

“The champion of Durmstrang is Artem Dolohov!” he called.

A dark-haired, grim-faced young man got up from the Slytherin table and made his way to the champion-only area.

“The champion of Beauxbatons is Fleur Delacour!” 

Harry had noticed her before, like everyone else in Hogwarts. With her silver-gold hair and stunningly beautiful face, Fleur Delacour had to have more than a drop of Veela blood.

As she disappeared into the other room, the tension in the Great Hall was palpable. Dumbledore smiled as he reached for the final piece of paper flying out from the Goblet of Fire. 

“Last but not least, the champion of Hogwarts is…” His face and voice fell as he read out the name. “Harry Potter.”

Chapter Text

For a minute, you could have heard a pin drop in the Great Hall.

Then, someone at the Gryffindor table started clapping. Soon every Gryffindor, a majority of Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs and even a few Slytherins were cheering for Harry. He smiled at them and walked to the champion-only area. 

He was followed by the two Ministry employees, the headmasters of all three schools, Professor McGonagall and… yes, Tom too had gotten up from his seat. Once they were all in the room, he closed the door after him. 

Dolohov and Delacour were already seated by the fire and looked up at Harry in surprise. “You look young for your age,” Delacour said in charmingly accented English. 

“Mr Potter is only fifteen,” said McGonagall acidly. “How exactly did you put your name in the Goblet of Fire?”

“This doesn’t matter,” cut off Professor Karkaroff. “The Hogwarts champion has been chosen, and that decision is final.”

“I’m afraid he is right,” said the Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation. “Putting one’s name in the Goblet of Fire is a magically binding contract, so Mr Potter has to participate.”

Madame Maxime sighed. “It is no good to have a child in such a dangerous tournament, but Beauxbatons will accept that outcome, undesirable as it is.”

“I would still like to find out what happened. Did you put your own name in the Goblet of Fire, Mr Potter?” asked Dumbledore.

Harry looked him right in the eyes. “Yes, Professor.”

“You must have made a mistake while drawing the Age Line, Dumbledore,” said Madame Maxime. 

“We all know Professor Dumbledore did no such thing!” said McGonagall, incensed. “I’m very disappointed in you, Mr Potter.”

“How did you cross the Age Line?” Dumbledore continued, his eyes still fixed upon Harry. 

“That’s my business,” he replied firmly. 

There was a chuckle from the back of the room. “Surely, you don’t expect him to answer that in front of his competitors.”

Dumbledore turned to Tom. “Is this part of one of your schemes, Tom?”

“If you knew Harry as well as I do, Albus, you would know he doesn’t need my help to put himself forward. No, putting his name in the Goblet of Fire was entirely his own achievement.”

“And a fine achievement it was!” said Bagman jovially. “Shall we crack on then?” McGonagall was still glaring at Harry and Dumbledore looked grim, but neither made any objections. “Anne, if you would explain the rules of the tournament to our three champions?”

After a rather vague description of the First Task, which would take place the following month, Harry and the others were free to go. Delacour and Dolohov left the room, engrossed in discussions with their respective headmasters. “Shall I walk you back to your common room, Harry?” asked Tom. 

“Of course, Professor.”

“So how did you do it?” he said once they were walking in the corridors, quiet and deserted at that time of the night. 

“Is our deal on then?” asked Harry. As Ron had helpfully reminded him, Tom had agreed to nothing yet.

He smiled thoughtfully. “Maybe. You performed flawlessly after all. I’ve rarely seen Dumbledore this annoyed by anything. However, before I show you my memories, you have to earn them. Anne is clever but she’s too soft, and Bagman is a downright fool. The Tasks they came up with won’t be that difficult. It’s too late to change them outright but I can use my pull with the Ministry to make them significantly more difficult. So what do you say, Harry? Would you rather take part in the regular tournament or in my version of it? Only the latter will get you my memories.”

“Will these memories be ones that matter to you?” Tom nodded. “Then I will face any challenges you throw at me.”

“Very well. Will you tell me how you crossed the Age Line?”

“I didn’t. I was already next to the Goblet when Professor Dumbledore cast the spell.”

“Your invisibility cloak, I presume? I thought of something like this when I didn’t see you at the feast. It must have been difficult to stay invisible for hours, careful not to bump into anyone and to remain perfectly silent.”

“When Dumbledore put the Goblet on the table, it got easier because I could just sit under it. Technically, I had to cross the Age Line once to leave, and it did throw me away from the Goblet, but my name was already in it so it didn’t matter.”

“Clever of you, as expected. I look forward to your First Task.” They had arrived in front of the portrait of the Fat Lady, and Tom left Harry to celebrate with his housemates. He only allowed himself one night of revelry though. The game was on. 

“I think I might have an idea of what the First Task will be,” he whispered to his friends the next morning. “Tom criticised the tournament by saying that having school children being chased by dragons is not necessary for diplomacy.”

“And you think he was being literal?” asked Hermione.

“They must have pitched the revival of the tournament to him while he was Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation. Maybe this detail stuck in his mind.”

“Where would they even find dragons? They’re as rare as they are dangerous,” said Neville.

“I bet Charlie would know. He works in the only dragon sanctuary in Europe. Should I try writing to him?”

A few days later, Ron came back triumphant. “I bluffed! I told Charlie I heard they would be bringing dragons to Hogwarts for the Triwizard Tournament and asked him how exactly they were planning to do that. He was astonished I knew! It’s supposed to be top secret, so Charlie made me swear not to spread this “rumour” around.”

“You’re brilliant, Ron! Thanks to you, I will be much better prepared than the two other champions.” Harry clapped his friend on the shoulder. Ron denied having done much, but the pink tip of his ears showed how pleased he was at the praise. 

“What will Harry have to do with a dragon? Not kill it, surely?” Neville shivered despite sitting close to the common room’s fireplace. 

“Most dragon species are protected so I don’t think so,” answered Ron. 

“Patterns in historical tournaments show that the First Task is usually to retrieve an object, which is then used to provide a clue for the Second Task. So most likely, Harry will have to steal something from a dragon,” said Hermione.

“That’s a downright insane task! To be honest, I was kinda regretting not putting my name in that Goblet, but if it’s going to be dragons, I’m happy not to participate,” said Ron. He threw a quick look at Harry. “You really like Riddle that much?”

“I’m in love with him.”

Ron gasped. “And you’re just… saying that out loud?”

“Why not? Would it be better to deny it? Remember, Ron, the Potter family motto: Don’t lie to yourself.”

Hermione’s cheeks were pink. “I think it’s good… I mean I still don’t like to think of you with someone that is that much older and also your teacher. But I like that you’re honest about your feelings. I think it’s romantic.”

Ron frantically looked between Harry and Hermione, then said, “Can we literally talk about anything else?”

“We’re supposed to find a way for Harry to steal something from a dragon,” said Neville with a smile, and the conversation was back on track. 

Over the next few weeks, the four friends refined their plan. Dragons were magically resistant so fighting one head-on would be unwise. Dodging as much as possible was highly recommended, so they decided early on Harry should Summon his broom to have more mobility. It was hard to prepare more without knowing the object he would have to steal so they settled for him learning as many useful spells as possible. 

The only notable thing that happened in the run-up to the First Task was Rita Skeeter’s request to interview Harry before the Weighing of the Wands. Thankfully, his mother had warned him never to make an enemy of The Prophet reporter so Harry forced himself to play nice as that awful quill made up bullshit about him. 

“So, Harry... What made you decide to enter the Triwizard Tournament?”

He laughed awkwardly, playing for time. “Well, I guess for the same reason everyone else entered. I really want our school to win. And, of course, it’s exciting to take part in such a historic event.”

“So you’re ready to jump into the Tasks ahead? Not even a little nervous about them?”

“Of course I am. It would be foolish not to be, right? But I’m still confident I can do well.”

“Of course you would be,” said Skeeter with a somewhat unpleasant smile. “You’re the son of hit Auror James Potter and Potions prodigy Lily Evans Potter. Is there anything you can’t do?” 

“Er,” said Harry, desperately looking for an answer that wouldn't make him look either weak or falsely modest. 

Skeeter continued briskly. “You’re fifteen, two years younger than the minimum age set for entering. Aren't you underestimating this tournament? Champions have died in the past, haven’t they? Have you thought about that at all?”

Harry floundered. “I know I’m young, but I hope, despite my age, I can still achieve something in this tournament. And, yes, I’ve thought about the risks but, for me, the benefits of participation outweighs them.”

She looked at him from head to toe, before her gaze settled on his wrist cover. “What is the driving force behind this incredible motivation? Hoping to impress your soulmate, perhaps?”

It was such a good guess that Harry was struck dumb. 

“Of course, I cannot ask you who the lucky lady is, but any hints for our readers?”

“Er,” said Harry again. “I’m afraid it will have to remain a mystery, Mrs Skeeter.” 

At that point, they were interrupted by Dumbledore’s arrival. Harry had never been so happy to see the headmaster before.

The article that came out a few days later was horrible. Not because it was negative per se (Skeeter had described him as “a dashingly handsome boy wonder”) but because it claimed that Harry’s main motivation to enter the Triwizard Tournament was his tragically unrequited love for his mysterious soulmate.

Skeeter made him sound pathetic, a child throwing his life away for a chance at romance, and she was right. The whole thing made him want to vomit. 

The publication of the article also brought a letter from his mother, crushing in its gentle disappointment: Lily Potter deplored learning of her son’s soulmark in the newspaper. Harry was going to talk about his mark to his parents, of course he was! He just wanted to do it in person, where he could explain that his bond with Tom was entirely platonic, that he felt nothing but respect and admiration towards his mentor.

If only that were true. 

Harry shook himself. In a few weeks, he would have to face a dragon. He could not doubt himself now, or he would fail and then all his efforts would truly be for naught. 

Chapter Text

When Harry stepped out of the tent to face his First Task, the first thing that struck him was the roar of the crowd. 

Then came the dragon. 

It was one thing to know in advance what he would be facing and another to see the giant, fire-breathing beast for himself. Harry’s dragon was curled protectively around her eggs and, looped around her neck, was a thick chain holding a golden medallion. 

Stealing this pendant was Harry’s objective, which meant he would have to come close enough to the dragon to cut the chain off her neck. 

He Summoned his Firebolt (it was laying on his friends’ lap in the stands so it came quickly) and started circling around the dragon. She swiped at him a few times but she seemed almost lazy about it, as if Harry was a bug who was not worth the effort. Which he supposed he was, from her perspective. 

While he evaded the dragon, Harry concentrated on the chain. It was either iron or steel, too thick and strong for even the powerful cutting charm he had studied with Hermione. If he could Transfigure it into something else… 

Harry had learnt with Tom that the simplest of Transfigurations conserved the mass and structure of an object, so he decided to keep the chain a chain and transform it into pure gold. Since a volume of gold is about four times heavier than the same volume of iron, the Transfigurated chain was much thinner than the original. Gold was also soft for a metal, soft enough for Harry’s cutting charm to sever. 

As soon the chain was off the dragon’s neck, the medallion started shrinking. Soon it was only a little golden dot falling towards the grounds. Harry rushed towards it while the dragon, thinking he was going for her eggs, let out a stream of fire. Harry barely dodged, feeling the heat burn the skin of his left arm, just as his right hand closed on the shiny trinket. 

Harry got off his Firebolt and was rushed to the first aid tent. The Task had seemed unending while it happened but he now realised he had been there for about five minutes. 

“You were by far the best,” said Ron as Madam Pomfrey treated his burn. “Dolohov completely screwed up! I don’t know what spells he used to cut off the chain but it really pissed off the dragon and she trashed her entire nest. The judges docked a lot of points for that.”

“To be fair, Fleur Delacour wasn’t half bad,” said Hermione. “She put the dragon to sleep then used a spell to melt part of the chain. In the end, she didn't have a hair out of place but her approach took a lot of time, so she didn’t get full marks either.”

“Let’s go see your scores, Harry!” said Neville.

As expected, he lost a few points because of his injury but he was still in first place, with Delacour a close second and Dolohov far behind. He had done it. Tom’s first memory was his. 

Harry was eager to claim his reward, but after listening to Bagman’s spiel about the medallion containing a hint for the Second Task, he was ambushed by Rita Skeeter.

“Congratulations on winning first place, Harry! Would you have a quick word for our readers? How did you feel facing down that dragon?”

“I feel I was incredibly lucky that the First Task allowed me to use my flying skills. I’m sure the Second Task will be even more of a challenge, but I hope not to disappoint your readers.” He bowed half mockingly, and Skeeter smiled.

“I see you are starting to understand ours is a mutually beneficial relationship, Mr Potter.” 

“I would certainly hope so,” said Tom, as he stepped from behind the first aid tent. Skeeter’s face froze and, for a split second, she looked like a mouse facing a serpent. Her customary smile then returned, though it remained a tad forced.

“Professor Riddle, how nice to run into you! Were you looking for Harry?”

“Actually, yes. I’m tutoring Harry so I would like to talk to him about his performance in the First Task. If you would excuse us.”

Skeeter did not insist, in fact, she seemed eager to be gone. “How do you know her?” asked Harry.

“We have a deal of sorts: she doesn’t publish anything that would upset me and, in return, I keep her own secrets. She’s a very useful woman, Rita Skeeter, though she needs to be kept on a short leash sometimes.”

So, if Harry had asked Tom, he would have been able to keep this awful article from being published. Except, no, it wouldn’t have worked, because it would have entailed revealing to Skeeter that Tom cared about Harry’s soulmate in the first place. She, of all people, should never get an inkling of the truth.

“But enough about her. You triumphed over your First Task. Nice Transfiguration work, though you got careless at the end.”

“It won’t happen again, Professor,” said Harry with a slight wince. Madam Pomfrey’s burn ointment was working wonders but his left arm still hurt.

“Actually, let me have a look at your arm.” Harry rolled back his sleeve and Tom carefully undid Madam Pomfrey’s dressing. 

Harry was somehow absurdly conscious of Tom’s fingers hovering not far from his covered soulmark (it was very lucky the dragon fire had missed it in the first place). Soulmark touching was one of the most stalwart romance tropes and, if Harry was honest with himself (which he always tried to be), he had thought several times of what it would feel like to have Tom’s long fingers curled around the bare skin that bore his name. 

This was not happening now, and it was for the best. Tom’s current and only interest in Harry’s skin was healing it. Better to save Tom’s first touch upon his soulmark for when it meant something to the both of them. 

Harry felt the barest hint of a shiver on his skin, then the absence of pain. “That burn is completely gone now. Healing you remains far too easy, but don’t take that as an excuse to be reckless. I don’t like to see you hurt, Harry.”

“Of course not,” said Harry. Tom’s gaze made him feel just about ready to take on another dragon. 

“I suppose you will want your reward now.” Harry nodded, and they made their way back to the castle. 

“This memory is of my first night at Hogwarts. I think you’ll find it an amusing one.”

Tom’s memory was an absolute treat. First, Harry got to see his eleven-year-old self, whose combination of childlike features and earnestly serious behaviour was utterly adorable. Then, he was able to witness Tom’s Sorting, and his takedown of Malfoy and his goon, which was just superb. 

“You were the most intimidating eleven-year-old I’ve ever seen. But I wonder why you chose that memory. You dealt with Malfoy so quickly, he must have not bothered you after this.”

“Indeed, Malfoy himself is not important. What he, and his family, still represents is. My family members were all Muggles back then. When I arrived in Hogwarts, I had never personally experienced blood prejudice. This was quite the welcome for me.”

“So, when you were sent to Slytherin, you had no idea what awaited you? Would you have asked the Hat for another House if you had?”

“Probably not. I wanted the House that would push me on the path of greatness, not the one where I could make the most friends. That first night in Hogwarts was the beginning of one of my lifelong goals: getting rid of these prejudiced purebloods plaguing House Slytherin and the wizarding world. You cannot realise, Harry, how powerful they were back then. Now, their influence is fading. Dumbledore would not be able to have a centaur and a half-giant on staff if Lucius Malfoy wasn’t weaker than his father was, and his obnoxious son will be weaker still. Maybe Abraxas’ great-grandson will be the one to make do with pureblood prejudice entirely and bring his family into the twenty-first century. Who knows?”

Harry knew that Tom disapproved of blood prejudice, it was one of his public stances and a well-known one at that. Still, it was different to hear him speak of it with such venom. There was an undercurrent of anger there, and Harry did not think it was directed at Malfoy or any of his ilk. 

Maybe the second memory would shed more light on this. 

“Thank you for showing me this, sir. I did find it funny.” 

“If you want to see another memory, you should start working on the Second Task. It’s going to be a difficult one.”

Harry agreed. Though Neville and Ron begged for a break, he and Hermione jumped right into studying the horrible noises coming from the medallion when opened. That is, until all four friends were distracted by the announcement of the Yule Ball. 

“We’ll have to find dates,” said Neville with horror. He was very shy around girls. 

“It doesn’t have to be romantic, you can just ask a girl you’re friends with. Someone that makes you comfortable,” suggested Harry. 

“Well, there’s Hermione, but obviously, I can’t ask her.” “Why?” asked Ron and Neville gave him his most exasperated look. Coming from the usually gentle and patient boy, it was extremely funny. “Ginny is nice too, but she’s also kinda scary. Maybe I could ask Luna?” 

“You’re going to ask Loony Lovegood?” laughed Ron. 

“Why not? She never looks down on others, and she’s very funny.” 

“You shouldn’t call her that, Ron. If your sister overhears you calling her best friend names, you’ll quickly see why Neville finds her scary,” added Harry. 

Ron harrumphed, but didn’t dispute the point. “And you, Harry, who are you going to ask?” 

“I have an idea.”

The following breakfast, Harry stopped by the Ravenclaw table. “Can I have a quick word with you, Fleur?” She nodded, tossing her river of gold and silver hair over her shoulders, and followed him.

“What is the matter, Harry?” She was pronouncing it “Arry”, but, as everything else Delacour did, it seemed more attractive than awkward. 

“Would you come to the Yule Ball with me?”

She looked at him from head to toe. “You’re not asking because of the Veela magic.” Her eyes fell on his wrist cover. “You cannot bring your soulmate to the ball?”

He gritted his teeth. “That’s my business.”

She smiled, dazzling him for an instant. “I understand, Harry.” 

“Somehow, I don’t think you can.”

Her smile froze, her pearly white teeth looking like fangs for a mere moment. “So you think, because I’m beautiful, my soulmate must love me? How naive. Veela magic creates infatuation, not love.” For the first time, Harry noticed the silver bracelet around her wrist, positioned just right to hide a soulmark. He wondered who they were, and if maybe he had more in common with Fleur Delacour than he had first thought. 

“I’m sorry for making assumptions, Fleur. Just forget I asked.”

“No, your idea is not bad, Harry. Since I cannot bring my soulmate to the ball either, attending it with a fellow champion seems like the next best thing. And since Dolohov is…” Fleur’s beautiful face was marred by a frown of disgust. 

“Probably a Dark wizard,” Harry continued. 

“You’re the only champion who can be my date. I would never usually go out with someone so young, but I’ll make an exception just for the Yule Ball.” She tossed her magnificent hair again, and was gone. 

“You asked Fleur Delacour, and she said yes?” Ron almost choked on his toast when Harry told his friends. 

“It’s not like that, Ron. She’s absolutely not interested in me. We both want to go to the ball with a fellow champion, that is all.”

“Every guy in Hogwarts is going to hate you!” Harry only smiled, he could not deny some masculine pride at having the most beautiful girl on his arm at the Yule Ball. 

Hermione rolled her eyes, but kept buttering her own toast in silence. 

“I can’t believe you and Neville already have dates,” moaned Ron. “If all the girls get snapped up so quickly, who am I going to ask?” 

How he could say that while the girl he should ask to the ball was sitting right in front of him, Harry did not know. He wasn’t sure whether Ron was completely oblivious to his crush on Hermione, or merely very insecure, but Harry was increasingly thinking it was the former. For Hermione, it was definitely the latter. She was waiting for Ron to see her as a girl and ask her out, and every day that passed without Ron doing so must have felt painful to her. Harry and Neville had decided they would not try to nudge their friends together, but if this kept going on for too long, Harry would have to intervene to protect Hermione’s heart.

Thankfully, he did not have to because, a mere week afterwards, Ron got his soulmark. He showed it to Harry and Neville almost immediately after noticing it. Hermione Jean Granger, it read in neat, familiar handwriting. 

“Congratulations!” said Neville, but Ron just looked so queasy that Harry wondered if he had completely misread him. 

“Is it really so bad? Hermione is your friend at least.”

“That’s precisely it! We’ve known each other since we were eleven, and now she’s my soulmate. Isn’t that a bit weird?”

“Not really,” said Neville. His parents had been precisely in the same situation and they were very happy together.

“She’s not eleven anymore, she’s sixteen. Have you really noticed no change in Hermione over these five years?” asked Harry.

Ron blushed. “Well, of course, she’s more…. huh… She’s older, obviously.”

“Just think about Hermione going to the Ball with someone else, dancing with them all evening and snogging them afterwards. How would it make you feel?”

Ron turned full on crimson. “She doesn’t even have a date yet!” 

“She could get one, or do you think she’s so unattractive no other guy is going to ask her out?”

“Why are you insisting on this so much, Harry?” shouted Ron, before remembering they were still in the dormitory and drastically lowering his volume. 

“Because Hermione’s out there, in the girls’ dormitory, probably freaking out about her mark as much as you are and, if you come out and imply that, not only you don’t like her this way, but that you think she’s inherently unlovable, you’re going to break her heart.”

“You’re right, I should have thought about Hermione’s reaction,” said Ron much more calmly. “She’s probably disappointed right now.”

Harry and Neville exchanged a long-suffering look. “That’s not what Harry said,” Neville told Ron gently. “If you want to know what Hermione thinks about her soulmark, you need to ask her yourself. Just be sincere about your own feelings.”

“What are my feelings?”

“You don’t need to figure everything out right now,” said Harry. “The Ball is pretty soon though, so you need to decide whether you ask Hermione to be your date or watch someone else do it.” It was really hard not to be angry at Ron right now. Harry would give his right arm to be able to go to the Yule Ball with his soulmate.

Ron looked conflicted for a moment, but then his mouth pressed down in a firm line. “I’ve made up my mind. Now let’s go downstairs before I chicken out.” 

Hermione was already in the common room and Harry had never seen her so frazzled before. Her hair was sticking up even more than usual and her cheeks were bright red.

“Oh, Ron, I’m so sorry! When I saw the mark, I just shouted and Parvati and Lavender came over, and they saw it. Normally I would never have shown them my soulmark! Now they're going to giggle and gossip about us constantly…”

“It’s ok, Hermione,” said Ron, touching her arm briefly before dropping it like he’d been burnt. “Since our marks appeared on the same morning, most of our classmates were probably going to guess it anyway.”

“You’re right,” said Hermione. “I still should have been more careful though.” There was an awkward minute of silence, then Ron took a deep breath and said: “Would you like to go to the ball with me?”

“Yes, I’d love to go to the ball with you, Ron,” Hermione said so smoothly it sounded almost rehearsed. “Shall we go to breakfast then?”

After that, things were normal again between Ron and Hermione though there was a great deal of blushing between the two of them. Ron asked for help with his terribly old-fashioned dress robes, clearly wanting to make a good impression on his first date. Neville carefully cut away all the lace at the cuffs and Harry Transfigurated the fabric so the robes would look more modern. 

As they found out on the night of the ball, their hard work was next to nothing compared to how much effort Hermione had put in her own appearance. Her bushy hair was completely tamed in an elegant hairdo, her periwinkle blue dress robes fit her perfectly and even her front teeth looked smaller and straighter. 

“You look beautiful, Hermione,” said Neville.

“I think Ron is still picking his jaw off the floor,” added Harry with a smile. 

Hermione smiled back proudly. “Lavender and Parvati helped me quite a lot, I think they felt bad about peeking at my soulmark earlier. Should we go to the Great Hall?” 

Rom had recovered enough at this point to offer her his arm. Harry and Neville followed, as their dates were waiting for them downstairs. They were both easy to spot: Luna was wearing the most ridiculous dress ever with her usual aplomb while Fleur looked like a Greek goddess in a sheer silver gown. 

Harry was suddenly very grateful that his mother had insisted he learn the rudiments of ballroom dancing, as any good pureblood boy ought to, so he was able to open the ball with Fleur without embarrassing himself. 

Once their duty was done, they mostly stuck to their own group of friends though Harry made sure to check on Fleur regularly and bring her food and drinks if she needed anything. He was, after all, a gentleman. 

Meanwhile, he kept looking for Tom, discreetly of course. He had not been on the dance floor, that was for sure. If Harry had seen him dancing with anyone, jealousy would probably have burnt a hole through his stomach. 

It was while he was fetching Fleur a cup of punch that he finally ran into him. 

Harry was pretty inured to Tom’s looks by now. He interacted with the man on at least a weekly basis, he could not be an incoherent wreck around him. His pride would not accept it. 

Still, even after years of perfecting the art of hiding his attraction towards his mentor, Harry still slipped up sometimes. This was one of them. 

Tom was not wearing dress robes, as most other guests did. Instead, he looked absolutely gorgeous in a black two-piece suit with an emerald green tie. Harry could not tear his gaze away from him, which was terrible, because Tom noticed him and came over. 

“Good evening, Harry. Oh, that’s funny. We match.”

Harry’s addled brain took a minute to understand that Tom referred to their clothes. His dress robes were mostly emerald green with black accents around the cuffs and hems, the perfect counterpart to Tom’s suit.

They could not have planned it better had they come as a couple.

Harry felt bile in his throat, and suddenly, he could look anywhere but at Tom. His eyes wandered to the dance floor, where Ron was twirling Hermione around. She was laughing at something, and he looked at her as if she hung the moon. Perfect, happy soulmates. 

Harry closed his eyes for a moment, and wished fervently to be anywhere else on the entire planet. He would take an active volcano over being so close, yet so far, from Tom. Their wands, their soulmarks, even their outfits, they all matched, but it didn’t matter at all.

“I don’t feel well, I have to go,” he mumbled, then disappeared without looking at Tom. He went straight into the closest men’s toilet and leaned on one of the sinks until he could breathe normally. 

“Are you alright, Harry?” The voice almost made him jump out of his skin. 

Fleur Delacour was standing in the men’s toilet, her shiny hair and gown so at odds with the lines of urinals that it looked almost comical. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” said Harry, and he hurried to wash his hands as if he had just gone to the toilet instead of having a breakdown. 

“As if anybody would care,” said Fleur with her usual hair toss. Harry looked at her, trying to get lost in her beauty, but it didn’t work. She was incredibly attractive, but she wasn’t Tom. 

Fleur saw his appraising look and smiled. “Veela magic doesn’t work as well on people who are in love. Like you are with Tom Riddle.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I came for my drink, and I saw you talking with him. The way you looked at him, it cannot be mistaken for anything else.”

“Then you need to get your eyes checked, because Tom certainly did not see it that way,” said Harry bitterly. 

“I’m sure Professor Riddle is a very intelligent man, but he doesn’t know love when it’s staring right at him. I’m sorry you are in this situation, Harry.” Fleur’s look was full of gentle compassion and Harry felt tears at the corner of his eyes. He hastily looked away from Fleur. 

“Why are you here?”

“I’m a romantic at heart. When I see true love, I want it to triumph.”

“True love? Tom does not love me the way I love him, and probably never will.” There, Harry had said it out loud. 

“You know, Veelas live a lot longer than humans. My grandmother was several decades older than my grandfather. He was already an adult when they met, but had he been younger, he would have waited before courting her.”

“Wait? I can’t wait! Tom is already… He’s so amazing at everything he does! He’s one of the most powerful wizards in the world, he’s so smart he invented whole new fields of magic, he could be Minister for Magic in the blink of an eye if he wanted to. How can I compare to that? Trying to catch up to him, it’s like running on a treadmill. I feel like I’m never getting anywhere.”

“Then jump off the treadmill. Love is not a competition you can win.”

Harry narrowed his eyes at Fleur. “You’re trying to throw me off my game, but you won’t succeed. I’m definitely going to win this tournament.”

Harry walked past her and back to the ballroom. He found his friends and said he did not feel well and would turn in early. He insisted they don’t worry about him and enjoy the ball.

This day had not been a good one, but there was always tomorrow. He would figure out the hint in the medallion and win the Second Task. Then, he would have another one of Tom’s memories. And, then, he would do the same for the Third Task and take away the Cup and Tom’s last memory. 

“ Love is not a competition you can win”, whispered Fleur Delacour’s voice in his head. But what did she know? She did not understand Harry at all. No one did. 

Chapter Text

Harry figured out the secret of the medallion through trial and error.

He asked his grandparents for an enchanted tape recorder for Christmas, and listened to the sounds coming from the pendant forward and backward, sped up and slowed down. He listened to them day and night, high up on his broom and deep inside the dungeons. He took the medallion with him everywhere. It finally paid off when he opened it while taking a bath and the horrible, screeching noises became a song:

“Come seek us where our voices sound,

We cannot sing above the ground,

And while you're searching ponder this;

A monster dwells in the abyss. 

Will you quail before its stare, 

Or stay as long as you might dare?”

That was pretty straightforward. The fact he had to go underwater to hear the song and the reference to an abyss meant the Task would take place in a body of water, which had to be the Great Lake. There, they would be another creature for him to face “for as long as he might dare”, which probably meant he would have to at least outlast the other two champions. 

While he explained his reasoning to his friends, Hermione actually grimaced:

“It’s great that you figured it all out, Harry, but did I not suggest you take a bath to relax?”

“Well it worked, I’m way more relaxed now that I figured this out and I’ll be even more relaxed when I have a solid plan to win the Task.”

Neville provided the Gillyweed that would allow Harry to breathe underwater, then they spent the remaining weeks preparing different strategies and learning new spells that could be useful against all kinds of underwater creatures.  

When the day of the Second Task finally came, the three champions were instructed by Ludo Bagman to reach the bottom of the lake and stay there as long as they could. 

Only a few Grindylows bothered Harry during his descent, so that part was easy. What awaited him in the abyss though… 

Every Hogwarts student was familiar with the giant squid. It was harmless, friendly even.

Up close, it certainly did not look friendly. It had one big yellow eye, a translucent red body and innumerable tentacles, all of whom were shooting at the champions and trying to grab them. 

Dolohov cut off dozens of them but it was no use, as they grew back pretty much instantly. He was the first to be caught and thrown out of the lake. 

That put a whole new spin on “stay as long as possible”.

From the corner of his eyes, Harry could see Fleur dodging the tentacles, as graceful in the water as she was on the dance floor. There was no way Harry could beat her at that game. He had to find another strategy, another way to stick around as long as he could. 

Stick around…

With a smile, Harry used a spell to give himself a burst of speed, taking the squid by surprise by diving straight towards it. As soon as he touched the head of the beast, he used a Sticking charm to glue himself to it. Now the creature could not reach Harry without risking smacking itself in the eye. 

He could no longer see Fleur, so she had probably been eliminated already but what did he matter? Harry could stay there all day. 

He was about to laugh when he felt a clawing sensation in his throat. The Gillyweed… How long had he been in the water? 

He hastily released his Sticking charm and started to swim towards the surface but he was far too deep to reach it in time. 

As he started to choke on the water, Harry felt something gently grabbing him and lifting him out of the lake.

The giant squid had deposited him on the shore. Harry coughed for several minutes, feeling like he was spitting out half of the lake. Yet, the burning sensation in his lung was nothing next to his ire when he found out his score a few minutes later. 

“I stayed so much longer than Fleur but we got the same score! How the hell is that fair?” 

“Did you not listen to what the judges said? You were reckless, Harry! You almost drowned,” shouted Hermione. 

“The giant squid saved your life,” added Neville. He looked like he was about to cry, and Ron was not even meeting Harry’s eyes. 

Harry opened his mouth, ready to reassure his friends that really it hadn’t been that bad, when Tom appeared. 

He looked absolutely furious. That look in his dark eyes could probably kill on sight. Harry certainly felt like dying right now. 

“Miss Granger, Mr Longbottom, Mr Weasley. I will have a word with Harry now.”

“He should probably get changed first,” Neville managed to stammer. Harry, who was still dripping wet, felt an immense wave of gratitude towards his friend. 

Tom grimaced in annoyance and, with a snap of his fingers, he dried Harry’s clothes. “Now run along.” Harry’s friends hurriedly left. 

Tom turned the full force of his stare on Harry. “What were you thinking?”

“I… I just forgot the time…” babbled Harry.

“I told you not to be reckless, and you agreed. Were you lying to me?”

“I… I did not do it on purpose! I just wanted to win!”

“You don’t get it, Harry: death is the ultimate enemy. As long as you’re alive, you’ve never truly lost, because there will always be a next time. So I absolutely forbid you to die.”

Then Tom hugged him. 

It was so unexpected Harry felt like his heart must have skipped a few beats. He was quick to recover though, and buried his face in Tom’s shoulder. The embrace was so warm and comforting, and his soulmate smelled so amazingly nice, that Harry felt himself relax in a way he hadn’t done in months. 

“Seriously, what were you thinking?” asked Tom again after pulling away. “You've been acting oddly since the night of the Yule Ball. I know you’re very driven, but usually not to that extent.”

“I did it because I’m in love with you,” Harry suddenly wanted to shout. He swallowed hard, and said instead, “You’re so effortlessly good at everything. I just feel I can’t possibly compare. I thought, if I won the tournament by a mile, I would start proving I can be as good as you.”

“You’re wrong, Harry. It’s not effortless.” Tom sighed. “I think I will have to show you that memory. It’s one of my worst ones, so I’m not looking forward to it.”

Since he tied with Fleur, Harry was not even sure he was supposed to see another one of Tom’s memories, but he was certainly not about to point that out. What kind of memory could put such a look of distaste on Tom’s face?

“I told you before that my family were Muggles, and it is true,” said Tom once they were back in his office. “What I didn’t tell you was that my birth mother was a witch. She died giving birth to me and my father never spoke of her, even though she had been his first wife and soulmate. Even as a child, I could guess she had done something wrong, but I didn’t know exactly what it was until I met my maternal uncle.”

The memory was harrowing. “Was that man really your uncle?” Harry could see nothing in common between Tom and the ugly and violent drunk in the memory.

Tom nodded. “Thankfully, I inherited my looks from my father and not those inbred degenerates.”

“And he was telling the truth about Merope… I mean, she used a love potion to…” Harry trailed off, incapable of finishing his sentence. 

“To rape my father. You can say it out loud, I’ve had a lot of time to process it now.”

“Love potions used to be treated as a bit of a joke, but a recent law made people selling and using them liable to end up in Azkaban. I guess you championed that?” Tom wasn’t part of the Wizengamot, but everyone knew he had a lot of influence there.

“I try not to let history repeat itself, yes.”

“How could she even do this? She was his soulmate!” No matter how much Harry craved Tom’s love, he had never been tempted to obtain it by force. In fact, it had never even crossed his mind. But, to be fair, he’d had quite the different upbringing from Merope Gaunt. 

“Soulmarks don’t prevent people from hurting each other.” No wonder Tom had a negative view of soulmates after being confronted with this. In the memory, he had looked on the verge of crying, and Harry was pretty sure he would have burnt Morfin Gaunt to death had his mother not intervened. 

Seeing Tom hurt and being comforted by his mother was very strange. Harry felt horrible witnessing it, because he wished to shield his soulmate from all pain, but also selfishly reassured by the fact that Tom had once been a teenager, as lost and unsure as Harry sometimes felt. 

Not for the first time, he wished he and Tom could be closer in age. 

“Thanks for showing me this, Professor. Did you choose this memory so I would be less hard on myself?”

Tom nodded. “Everything you see about me is carefully curated, the product of more than six decades of hard work. I won’t be falsely modest and say I have no natural talents, but then so have you. I won’t ask you to stop trying to surpass me either, because I like your drive to excel. But you must realise that you have time. When I was fourteen, my goal of ending pureblood supremacy seemed unattainable many times. Now, I get to see it happen in slow motion, watching bigots desperately clinging to the last shreds of their power while I know it’s already over for them. The fact that it’s so slow makes it all the more enjoyable, really.”

“I’ve never had your patience, sir.” Waiting two years to be allowed to kiss Tom already seemed unending to Harry. 

“Your impatience has driven you to achieve much already, I just don’t want it to drive you into a wall.”

“I understand, Professor. I promise I’ll really be more careful next time.”

Harry left Tom’s office with a spring in his step. He would still have to apologise to his friends, maybe give them something really nice to make up for all the worry he had caused them, but he felt able to do it sincerely now. 

Chapter Text

The day of the Third Task was a joyful one for Harry. All his family members had come to Hogwarts to cheer him on - his parents, his grandparents, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Michael with his young cousins and, of course, his honorary uncles, Sirius, Remus and Peter. He especially enjoyed showing the castle and grounds to his grandparents, who had never gotten to attend Hogwarts and were suitably impressed. 

After the feast, it was time to walk to the stadium. Ludo Bagman immediately sidled up to Harry and asked him if he was alright. “Need any last minute tips, Harry?”

“Actually, Mr Bagman, could you do something for me?”

“Of course!”

“Could you pay Fred and George Weasley? They still haven’t seen any of the winnings from their bet at the Quidditch World Cup.”

Ludo Bagman’s smile fell and he looked at Harry rather coldly. “Naturally, naturally,” he mumbled. He then started walking much faster, quickly catching up with Fleur and Dolohov. 

Harry smiled. He would win tonight so Bagman would make a lot of money from betting on him. The least he could do was reimburse his debts to Harry’s friends.

“Good evening, Harry. May I have a word with you?” said an unfamiliar voice.

Harry immediately turned around. He had seen that man before, most recently as a child in Tom’s memory. Then, he had been a couple years younger than Tom. Now he looked at least a decade or two older, though the only signs of his age were shots of silver through his dark hair and a few lines around his eyes. He still looked quite a bit like Tom, tall and handsome with dark eyes, which clashed oddly with his pleasant, fatherly air.

“Of course.”

“My name is Christopher Riddle. I’m really sorry for ambushing you like this, Harry. The whole family’s there for the Third Task but it would have been way too overwhelming if we’d all come to speak to you, so I was nominated as the family representative.” 

“Your whole family is there?” repeated Harry incredulously.

“Well, of course. How could we miss it after hearing Tom sing your praises?”

“He…what?” Tom sometimes spoke of his family to Harry, but it had never occurred to him that he would speak of Harry to his family, especially in glowing terms.

“So how do you feel about the Third Task?”

“Confident,” replied Harry simply, ignoring the tightness in his stomach. 

“I know what it feels like not to be able to measure up to him. Don’t worry too much about it, Harry. Just do good.”

“I know you don’t take me seriously because I’m fifteen,” said Harry with a touch of annoyance. “But I’m definitely going to win.”

Riddle smiled. “Figures that Tom’s s…tudent would be as much of an overachiever as he is.”

“You’ve been Prime Minister, so aren’t you an overachiever yourself?”

“Oh no. I might have led this country for a few years, but that’s nothing compared to what Tom has done. My brother is an exceptional man. I’m sure I don’t need to recite his many qualities to you. However, it has always worried me, how alone he is.”

“Alone?”

“Of course, he has us, his family. But no friends, no partners. Never wanted any.”

Harry felt a pit open at the bottom of his stomach. So it was truly hopeless after all. 

Christopher Riddle looked at him with something resembling pity. “You said you were fifteen, right?” “Sixteen next month.” “God. Well, I can’t in good conscience encourage you now but, since Tom won’t age past thirty, you’ll catch up to him eventually.”

Harry perked up. “Do you think I have a chance?” he couldn’t help asking.

“You’re probably the only person who will ever have one.” 

They had arrived at the edge of the maze, where the teachers were patrolling. Tom immediately noticed them and came over. “What are you doing here, Christopher?”

“Your tone wound me, brother. I was merely wishing Harry good luck.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Harry with a huge grin. Tom’s own brother thought he had a chance with him! A slim one, maybe, but it was definitely better than none.

Tom looked between his brother and Harry suspiciously, but he didn’t have the chance to say anything. It was time for Harry and Fleur to enter the maze.

Harry first took the time to orient itself, then he started to walk towards the centre of the maze. He had encountered nothing more dangerous than a couple of Blast-Ended Skrewts when a spell hit him from behind.

It was the worst pain Harry had ever experienced; his very bones were on fire, his skin was being peeled off, even his eyeballs were boiling.

After a minute, an hour, forever, the pain suddenly disappeared. Harry was face down on the ground, his throat hoarse from screaming. He tried to reach for his wand but he felt so weak he could barely lift his head.

“You don’t look so clever now, Harry Potter,” said Dolohov. “I thought I’d give you a little taste of pain before killing you, as a lesson for upstaging me in the first two Tasks. But I don’t have all day, I still need to take care of the half-breed. Avada…”

“Stupefy!”

Gentle hands were helping him sit up. “Are you alright, Harry?” asked Fleur.

Harry patted his limbs. He didn’t have any injuries but the phantom pain from that curse lingered in his mind. “Take it easy. You’ve just survived the Cruciatus curse.”

“Dolohov…” said Harry hoarsely. “I can’t believe it… You should bind him, Fleur.”

She did so, then returned to sit beside him. “I’m afraid I’m not very good at healing magic.” Fleur was rummaging through her pockets. “The only thing I have that could help is… seventy-two percent dark chocolate, single origin.” She broke off a piece and offered it to Harry.

He let the chocolate melt into his mouth. It was a little bitter for his taste but still very comforting. “Thanks, Fleur. But why are you still here? You should go for the Cup.”

She looked at him like he was crazy. “There’s more important things than winning a tournament. Like not abandoning someone after they’ve been tortured.”

“You saved my life. I… I’ve been such an ass to you, Fleur. I invited you to the ball just so I could use you as a trophy. When you gave me advice, I immediately assumed you were trying to sabotage me. I’m sorry.”

“I forgive you, Harry.” She smiled and tossed her shiny hair. “I'll stay with you until you feel better. Then, we can both go in opposite directions. This’ll be a fair fight this way.”

“Don’t trust your wand to point North. This whole maze is enchanted to make us go in circles. Tom just loves that kind of trick.” Harry looked up at the stars. They were shining bright that night, showing the true way towards the Cup. “Just a free tip, as a thank you for saving my life. I think I’m good to go now.” They shook hands and were on their way. 

The next creature Harry encountered was a sphinx. He had neither the time for a long detour, nor the energy to fight her, so his whole chance of winning the tournament probably rested on finding the right answer to her riddle:

“When tied to luck or health, my first is a problem.

My second isn’t alone, and always combats them.

My third is the smallest thing that cannot be neutral.

My whole entraps fools, and it can be brutal.”

“My first… Bad luck and bad health are definitely a problem. Maybe “bad”? My second… No idea. My third… Let's take it literally… The smallest thing I can think of is an atom, not neutral, so an ion? Something ending in -ion that entraps fools… Oh, I get it! It’s not “bad” but “ill”, and it's “us” versus them. An ill-us-ion!”

The sphinx smiled and stepped out of the way. The path ahead was straight and led to a large, circular clearing where the Triwizard Cup stood, tall and gleaming in the darkness.

Harry smiled and was about to rush in to grab it when something made him hesitate. Wasn’t it a little bit too easy? Were there really no more obstacles after the sphinx?

My whole entraps fools, and it can be brutal. What if the riddle wasn’t just a test, but also a warning?

Harry murmured one of the spells Tom had taught him to see through illusions. Immediately, the green grass surrounding the Cup vanished, replaced by muddy water. The whole clearing was a swamp, and Harry was positive he wasn’t meant to touch that water. 

Well, simple solutions first. “Accio Cup!” It didn’t move by an inch, but the brownish water bubbled menacingly.

As he was wondering how to cross the swamp, Fleur emerged from one of the other paths. She saw Harry and started sprinting towards the Cup. However, as soon as she entered the swamp, she started sinking into it until she was waist-deep.

Fleur swore loudly in French then started trying different spells to free herself. Harry probably only had a few minutes before she managed it, so he had to figure out a way to reach the Cup, and fast. He opted once again for something simple. The mud might be magical but it was still mostly water, so he froze a path to the Cup. 

As soon as he touched it, the swamp disappeared and the maze rearranged itself, opening a new path leading straight outside. Harry could hear Bagman’s magically amplified voice calling his name. 

Fleur was clearing her robes of the remaining mud. “If only I hadn’t fallen for that illusion… Anyway, congratulations, Harry. It was a good competition.”

He nodded, and lifted the Cup. It was much lighter than it looked but still unpleasantly heavy. His arms still felt like jelly after the Cruciatus curse. 

He had done it. He had won the Triwizard Tournament. 

He had been tortured, and almost died. 

Fleur’s voice seemed to come from far away. “You can leave the Cup for now. Let’s get you to the first aid tent, alright?”

Harry offered her his arm, half out of gallantry and half because he didn’t want his legs to give way while they walked back to the edge of the maze. As soon as they emerged, Bagman rushed in to congratulate Harry.

“You need to arrest Dolohov. He cast the Cruciatus Curse on me. He tried to kill me!” he urgently whispered to the man.

Bagman’s eyebrows rose so high it was almost comical, but Fleur cut in before he could open his mouth, “It is all true, I saw it! Dolohov must be arrested immediately, and Harry needs to see a Healer.”

Bagman plastered his cheerful smile back on and said the ceremony would be interrupted for a few minutes while Harry received healing. He then discreetly signalled two of the Ministry officials to come over.

“You can go, Harry. I'll make sure Dolohov is taken care of,” said Fleur, and Harry smiled at her in gratitude before making his way to the first aid tent.

“Could you ask T… Professor Riddle to come over?” he asked Madam Pomfrey, who looked surprised and, frankly, a bit offended at his request. Harry didn’t care. He wanted Tom. He wanted his soulmate.

He didn’t need to argue with her though, as Tom walked in at that very moment. “Sorry, Poppy, but I think it’s better if I handle this.” She left in a huff. “You don’t look well at all, Harry. What happened?”

“Dolohov cast the Cruciatus curse on me.”

Harry thought he had seen Tom truly angry before. Harry had been very wrong. 

The expression that passed on Tom’s face… It was more animal than human, and entirely terrifying. It only appeared for a split second though, before his face smoothed out into its customary handsomeness. His dark eyes, though, were still burning like a furnace. 

Harry quickly grabbed Tom’s arm. “Don’t kill him.” 

“Feeling merciful, Harry?” Tom asked lightly. His smile was as charming as ever, but his eyes danced with the promise of pain. Harry should have felt repulsed by it, but he wasn’t, quite the contrary. Maybe there was truly no part of Tom he didn’t want.

“No, I don’t care what happens to Dolohov. I just don’t want you to get in trouble because of me,” said Harry bluntly.

“Oh, you needn’t worry for me, Harry. And, of course, I’m not going to kill Mr Dolohov. There are, after all, many fates worse than death.”

“A lifetime in Azkaban is one of them,” said Harry firmly. “Please drop it, Tom.” He immediately bit his lip as his gaffe, but thankfully Tom didn’t seem to have noticed Harry using his first name. 

“If you insist. I still have to clean up Durmstrang. Karkaroff will have to go, definitely, and any of his enablers as well.”

“No dead bodies, please?” insisted Harry. Tom looked him in the eyes. His gaze was no longer incandescent with rage. Instead, he looked almost thoughtful.

“The things I do for you, Harry,” he mused with a smile. 

Harry realised he was still holding Tom’s arm, just above his soulmark. He quickly let it go.

“Anyway, Dolohov was about to kill me when Fleur Stunned him. She gave me some chocolate and sat with me until I felt better. She was so nice I think she deserved the win more than me.”

“I disagree. I’ve seen adults sobbing for hours after falling prey to the Cruciatus curse, yet you pushed through and reached the Cup first. Don’t worry about Miss Delacour, I’ll make sure she’s amply rewarded for her service.”

“What I don’t get is what is wrong with me. I have no injury but my body doesn’t feel right.”

“The Cruciatus curse affects the mind, which affects the body. I’m always careful before recommending mind manipulation but, in this case, I would advise removing your emotional memory of the event while leaving your factual memory untouched.”

“So I will remember what happened but not the pain? I will still be able to testify against Dolohov?”

Tom nodded. “Then please do it, Professor.”

Harry was asleep during the procedure, which lasted only a few minutes. He woke up feeling much better. As promised, he still remembered Dolohov casting the curse and knew he had felt pain, but it was as if he was reading a description of the events instead of reliving them. His body was tired, but it was only normal tiredness.

“Thank you ever so much, sir. I think I can return to the ceremony now.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow then, for the final memory.”

Chapter Text

The day after the Third Task was a Saturday, which was very lucky since every Gryffindor stayed up late at night celebrating Harry’s victory. Harry himself was still yawning over his breakfast when a glance at his copy of The Daily Prophet woke him straight up.

The front page was about the Third Task, including Dolohov’s attack on Harry. He was in Azkaban awaiting trial, his extradition request having been summarily rejected. Karkaroff had likewise already been dismissed from his position as Durmstrang headmaster. Tom had been busy.

The truly shocking part of the article, though, was Skeeter’s speculation about Harry and Fleur. She reported (correctly) that Fleur had saved Harry’s life, slyly mentioned that they had attended the Yule Ball together and got out of the maze arm in arm, which led to the not-so-subtle implication that Fleur was the mysterious soulmate Harry had been trying to impress. It allowed her to wrap up her story with a neat romantic bow. 

Of course, this was all bollocks but Harry could not say a word against it. He threw down the newspaper in disgust just as Hermione was huffing about another article.

“They’re talking about the no contact law again!”

“Don’t worry too much about it,” said Neville. “Everyone knows it’s unenforceable anyway.”

“But all my parents’ patients are Muggles! What are they supposed to do, change jobs? There are no dentists in the wizarding world.”

“Wait, your parents are wizards now?” asked Ron. “You never said!”

Hermione reddened slightly. “They discovered it a few months ago, when my mum’s joint pains suddenly disappeared. Other than that, it didn’t change much for them, so I forgot to mention it. But, if the no contact law is actually applied, they won’t be able to see any of their patients, or any Muggle friends or family member for that matter.”

“Neville’s right, Hermione. How would they apply it? I mean, even wizards that don’t like Muggles much have to get their food from somewhere. Mrs Wilkins, the grocer in Ottery St Catchpole, has…” Ron frowned. “Wait, is she a witch now too? Dad might have mentioned it. There are so many new wizards nowadays. At this rate, everyone will end up being one.”

“My mum says there are more and more breaches of the Statute of Secrecy too,” said Neville. “One guy even tried to go on tv; they had to modify the memories of everyone in the studio and pass it off as an elaborate prank. That was such a stressful day for her.”

“People wouldn’t do stuff like that in Ottery. Wizards or Muggles, everyone has known each other forever and they don’t want any trouble. You’re alright, Harry? You’ve been staring at your plate for ten minutes.”

He was still fuming about Skeeter’s article. “I’m ok. Anyway, I forgot to mention it yesterday, but I’d like to share my winnings from the tournament with you.”

Ron choked on his pumpkin juice. “Harry, that’s like two-hundred fifty galleons!”

“I know, but you deserve it. I couldn’t have done it without you. Hermione, you can consider it my donation to S.P.E.W. Neville, I know you’ve always wanted to build your own greenhouse. Ron, how about that new broom you wanted?”

Ron’s ears were pink but, since Harry had divided the sum fairly, he could hardly say it was charity. It only took a little convincing for all his friends to accept their share. 

“I should probably go see T… Professor Riddle. See you later!” Harry stuffed his cold toast in his mouth and left the table. 

“Morning, Harry,” said Tom. “You look upset. Did something happen?”

“Just annoyed by that Skeeter article.”

Tom smiled. “I think she rather outdid herself. The Ministry wanted to keep what Dolohov did under wraps but she cracked the whole case in only a few hours.”

“Was the part about Fleur your idea too?” Harry strove to keep his tone neutral.

“No, that was all her. I have to say, Mrs Skeeter really has a compelling imagination. I couldn’t have come up with a better misdirection myself.”

Of course, Tom wanted to keep their soulmarks a secret at all cost, but it still hurt to hear him refer to their bond so glibly.

“You came for the memory, right? This one is rather short.”

After entering the Pensieve, Harry found himself in a small cemetery. “It’s my grandfather’s funeral.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” he said automatically. 

“Don’t be, it was over fifty years ago. By the way, that’s my father, not me. I was over there, at the back.”

The resemblance between Tom and his father was absolutely uncanny. They didn’t just look similar, they also dressed and carried themselves the same way. It was interesting to find out Tom had modelled his image after his father.

Harry scanned the crowd to find Tom’s teenage self. God, he was absolutely scrumptious and only a couple of years older than Harry, so ogling him was completely natural, right?

The ceremony was reaching its end. As people were breaking off in smaller groups, Harry saw the teenage Tom approach his brother with a determined look on his face.

“We should go. There’s nothing more to this memory.”

“But…” Harry held his tongue. He thought Tom might be lying. Not that he had any obvious tells but Harry had known him for several years and spent a significant amount of their time together staring at his face. He was very good at reading Tom’s moods and body language.

“Why did you show me this memory?” he asked instead, once they were back in Tom’s office.

“That was the first time I lost someone close to me. Before, I’d never really thought about death that much. Suddenly, I realised I would bury my own father someday, and I couldn’t accept it. Neither could I accept my own mortality, when I had so much to do, so much to see, so much to learn.” Tom smiled ruefully. “You’ve never asked me about my appearance, Harry. People are usually very curious about it.”

Of course, Harry knew that Tom was vastly older than he looked. He didn’t like thinking about it, as it made the gulf between them even vaster. “I don’t care how old you are.”

“I am, and will remain, thirty for the rest of my life. This body can live pretty much forever, barring any accidental or deliberate damage, but even then, I made it very sturdy. Biology is a wonderful thing, Harry. Of course, the kind of spells I use are very complex to maintain. My family members are not quite as skilled with them as I am but their ageing is still vastly slower than the average wizard. By the time they need to worry about dying, some enterprising team of scientists will have figured out how to stop ageing and everyone will be immortal anyway.”

“Would that really be a good thing? How would that even work?”

“Do you mean what would happen with constant population growth? Magic is a source of energy that, as far as I can tell, is unlimited and allows one to fold space-time. You could use it to fit a lot of people on Earth or, if that seems cramped to you, colonise other planets. Ever thought about visiting Mars, Harry?”

“I can’t say that I have.”

“Why not? You have your whole life ahead of you, and, if I have any say about it, it will be a very long one. I’d like to teach you my spells, Harry. With your potential, I’ve no doubt you could fully master them.”

Harry frowned. Unending youth seemed somehow greedy and wrong, like something a villain from a fairy tale would do, but he could not come up with a rational reason as to why. Tom was not hurting anyone by living forever. On the contrary, he had helped many people already, including Harry and his family. If he lived longer, he would no doubt continue to do good.

Then, there was also the fact that, if Harry ever managed to get in a relationship with Tom, he could not keep ageing while his partner remained thirty. It would be really weird, right? Harry imagined himself with long white hair and a beard while Tom stayed as handsome as he was now. No, it would not do.

“I’d be honoured to learn them, sir.”

Tom smiled somewhat bemusedly. “I was honestly expecting more resistance, but I’m glad you see where I’m coming from. We can start after the summer holiday. See you later, Harry.”

Thinking back on the memory he had just seen, Harry felt frustrated. It was too short, too uneventful. The way Tom had ushered him out of the Pensieve didn’t feel right. He was hiding something.

Why? Harry had seen him during some of his darkest moments, and had never turned away from him, never given him the slightest reason to doubt his loyalty. Why was Tom still not trusting him?

After ten minutes of frustrated pacing, Harry headed to the library to find Hermione.

“I need to borrow your Time Turner.”

Hermione let out a surprised squeak and her hands immediately rose to cup the pendant around her neck. “Harry! How do you even know about this?” she whispered urgently.

“You’ve been following all five electives for three years. We were bound to figure it out at some point.”

“Sorry for not mentioning it earlier, Professor McGonagall made me swear. But why do you need it, Harry?”

He took a deep breath. If he said he needed it to break into Tom's office and see his memory, Hermione would say no. You’re completely crazy, Harry. It’s a huge invasion of privacy, Harry. 

“Professor Riddle is hiding something very important from me, and the Timer Turner can help me figure it out. I can’t explain it now, but I promise I will afterwards.”

“Harry, tampering with time is dangerous…”

“I know, I know. I won’t use it past its limits. Hermione, please, for me?”

She sighted and removed the Time Turner from around her neck, putting it in Harry’s hand. “It better be a really good explanation.”

“Thank you! I’ll bring it back in a few hours.”

Harry knew he had no chance in hell of getting past Tom’s office wards. The only way in was to be invited. And Tom had invited him in, about an hour ago. 

Putting on the invisibility cloak, Harry rewound time by an hour. He then waited next to Tom’s office door until his past self entered and he was able to sneak in. 

Harry saw his discussion with Tom again from an outside perspective, which was very strange, then his past self left. Harry then settled for a couple more hours of wait until lunchtime. As soon as Tom left for the Great Hall, he immediately went to the Pensieve and found the memory of the funeral swirling inside. 

At first, the conversation between Tom and his brother seemed innocuous, just another proof that he was uncomfortable with the concept of soulmates but still willing to help Christopher with his. Harry was starting to feel very ashamed of himself for doubting Tom…. until he saw his epiphany while talking to Deirdre.

“If non-magical people could become wizards or witches, everything else being equal, they would massively benefit.”

“Is that possible? Becoming a witch?” 

“Right now, it’s impossible. You’re either born with magic, or you’re not. But, given a few decades or so, I think I could change that.”

That strange phenomenon of Muggles turning into wizards, that nobody understood, it was Tom all along. It seemed impossible, but it had to be.

Harry left the office and ran back to the Gryffindor common room. He took his friends to a quiet alcove and started explaining what he had found. 

“You’re babbling, Harry,” said Neville. “What are you saying about Professor Riddle turning Muggles into wizards? How could he do that?”

“I don’t know, Neville, but it’s him! His main goal was always to end pureblood supremacy. Now that new wizards are popping up left and right, the influence of people like Malfoy is fading fast and he gets to watch it happen, laughing all the while because they have no idea he’s behind it.”

“But how could he do that?” repeated Ron. “I mean, he’s a great wizard and all, but we’re talking about thousands of people around the globe. He can’t cast a spell on all of them, right?”

“He must have found a way! That’s what he said he would do in his memory fifty years ago, and it happened!”

“I can’t believe you did this, Harry. You broke into Professor Riddle’s office and watched his memory without his consent,” said Hermione, disgusted.

“He could have just told me! Haven’t I suffered enough for his damn memories? I almost died to win this stupid tournament. Twice.”

“No one forced you to!” shouted Hermione. “This isn’t love, Harry, this is… an obsession. You need to stop!”

Harry took a deep breath. “No. I’m sorry I deceived you into helping me, Hermione, but I’m not sorry I found this out.”

“I can’t help you anymore. All this time, I was worried about protecting you from Tom Riddle. Now I think I should have been more worried about protecting him from you .”

Chapter Text

Hermione’s forgiveness did not come easily. She gave Harry the cold shoulder during the whole summer and, when he tried to apologise again on board the Hogwarts Express, she laid her conditions: 

“You have to stop obsessing about Professor Riddle’s personal life. And you must apologise to him for what you did.”

“He might not want to talk to me anymore.”

“That’s precisely the point! You’ve betrayed his trust, so you need to earn it back, not hide what you did.”

Harry looked at Ron and Neville beseechingly but neither disagreed with Hermione. “Fine, I will.”

As it turned out, he should not have worried. “Nice little trick there, Harry. I'll have to improve my wards so they are not fooled by temporally displaced guests anymore. Maybe you should try breaking in again, that’ll be very instructive for the both of us.”

“So you’re not upset I saw the rest of that memory?”

“Harry, if you were a meek little boy who always did as he was told, you wouldn’t be my personal student. As for the memory, I actually thought about showing it to you in its entirety, but I decided against it.”

“Why?”

“Why? Because you can’t be trusted with it, of course.”

Harry suddenly saw red. “That’s not true! I would never…”

“Tell anyone about it? But that’s the first thing you did, didn’t you? You told everything to your friends.”

Harry floundered for a moment. “That’s different! Hermione, Ron and Neville are completely trustworthy.”

“They might betray you, even without meaning to. Decent people are so easy to manipulate.”

“I would have kept it a secret, if you’d actually told me.” Harry had come to apologise but he was the one who was yelling at Tom. It was utterly ridiculous, but he just couldn’t deny the pain in his chest.

“Listen, Harry, this knowledge is dangerous. What I’ve wrought can no longer be stopped, but I know several people who would still go for pointless revenge if they knew I was behind it. Nothing I couldn’t handle myself, but they might target my family. Or even you, if they ever learnt about your mark. So it’s safer if you just forget about this and tell your friends to do the same.”

That was easier said than done. Every day, more people became wizards because of Tom, and Harry had no idea how that was even possible. How could he simply let it lie? He had promised Hermione not to look into Tom’s personal life anymore, but surely that was more of a professional achievement of his? Not that Harry was eager to debate this fine nuance with his bookish friend. He would have to do his own research for once.

He wasn’t helped by Tom’s secretive nature. Unlike most famous wizards, Tom didn’t write books, and he didn’t contribute to papers such as Transfiguration Today either. When he invented spells, he would teach them to individuals, who were allowed to pass on this knowledge but not to write it down.

Harry had learnt many of Tom’s spells by now, and he was starting to study the terribly intricate ones that allowed him to stay permanently young. The gist of them was rapid cellular regeneration. Would Tom have adopted a similar, biological approach to turning Muggles into wizards? Harry thought it likely, but it didn’t explain how he was able to affect so many people.

In despair, Harry started to study the different parts of Tom’s career. He finally struck gold several months later, when he visited St Mungo’s to meet some of Tom’s former colleagues. His cover story was that he was thinking about a career as a Healer.

His uncle Remus, who was accompanying him, didn’t really buy it though. 

“Are you sure you’re really interested in becoming a Healer? It might be a bit of a staid job for you. I always thought you would be like James and Sirius, chasing down Dark wizards.”

“It never hurts to consider something different,” said Harry lamely. He really didn’t like lying to Remus. 

His uncle looked at him sceptically and said, “Is this about Tom Riddle?” 

Harry almost tripped in surprise. Surely, his parents hadn’t told Remus about his soulmark… They had promised not to share it with anyone! 

Remus continued, “He’s your mentor, right? It’s normal to look up to him. I mean, he inspired me to become a Healer and I only met him a couple of times when I was a child.”

“How was it, being cured of your lycanthropy?”

“Completely painless. At the time, I didn’t fully understand what was going on. It was only years after the fact that I realised exactly what Riddle had achieved in ending such an ancient curse.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“It’s a little known fact, but lycanthropy was a curse. It exploited a wizard’s own magic to propagate itself long after the death of the original caster. Much like a blood malediction really.”

Harry was left speechless. So that was how he had done it. 

“Are you interested in this, Harry? Miriam, who works on the Janus Thickey Ward, is a great expert on blood malediction. I could introduce you if you’d like.”

“Actually, I would. Thanks, Remus.”

Ancient curses like lycanthropy or blood maledictions were always gruesome, deadly or both, while becoming a wizard boosted one’s health and longevity. No wonder nobody had made the connection with Tom’s spell, even though it was the exact same mechanism. The Darkest of magic, repurposed.

From his chat with Miriam Strout, Harry found out that such curses were very hard to cure. It had taken a decade to find every single werewolf and individually apply Tom’s counter-curse to them. Blood maledictions were treatable nowadays, but they had an unfortunate tendency to reappear several generations down the line, if you had one upon your bloodline, regular health checks in St Mungo’s were a requirement.

As far as Harry understood, Tom was right when he said what he had wrought could no longer be stopped. Even if someone found a way to turn new wizards back into Muggles, they would need to apply the counter-spell to hundreds of thousands of people. Werewolves had been far less numerous, because lycanthropy required infected bites to spread. 

Tom’s spell, however, was probably able to spread through mere touch. That would explain why the Ministry of Magic was pushing its no contact law so hard: it was a last-ditch attempt to slow it down.

It wouldn’t work, of course. Tom’s spell would continue his relentless march throughout the world until there were no Muggles left. 

Tom had to have predicted this. Hell, that must have been his goal from the beginning. Hadn’t he said in Harry’s very first class that there were no such things as the magical and non-magical worlds, only one world? He hadn’t meant it metaphorically. He was bringing about the fusion of the magical and non-magical worlds, had been since before Harry was born. 

Hell, Harry’s grandparents and aunt were some of the first new wizards. His childhood had been shaped by Tom’s master plan, without him ever being aware of it.

And now his adulthood would be defined by it too. As more and more Muggles turned into wizards, the collapse of the Statute of Secrecy was inevitable. Harry could hardly imagine the chaos that would bring. He could probably spend a lifetime cleaning up the resulting mess, smoothing things over between wizards old and new. That would be the responsible thing to do. Taking the cards Tom had dealt him, trying to build a better world out of it. 

But that meant he would never be Tom’s equal, merely his helper. 

The only way to be Tom’s equal was to oppose him. Stop the number of new wizards from growing, stop the Statute of Secrecy from collapsing.

Could Harry do that? Should he do that? His own family had massively benefited from Tom’s spell; could he deprive others of the same advantages because he didn’t want to live his life in Tom’s ever lengthening shadow? 

Harry had to stop and think. He had to choose the path that would benefit the wizarding world the most. His final decision came after a visit from the Minister for Magic himself to Hogwarts, just before the beginning of the summer holidays. 

The sixth and seventh year students were summoned to the Great Hall, where Bartemius Crouch addressed them directly. He was alone except for Dumbledore, who looked as grim as him. 

“I’ve gathered you here because you are the future of wizardkind. Our world is under threat. It’s only a matter of time before the Status of Secrecy is broken. When it does, our laws and customs will come under attack. I can tell you for a fact that several Muggle governments are already planning to strip us of our right to bear a wand! Because they fear us, they would deny us the right to defend ourselves when angry mobs come calling, as they will, if every Muggle learns of our existence.

To preserve everything we have built, I’m founding the Statute of Secrecy Task Force. Its members will be tasked with arresting those wizards foolish enough to endanger the Statute of Secrecy and modifying the memories of Muggles who came in contact with them. I know many of you still have a year before graduation, but the situation is urgent enough that we cannot afford to wait even for that. I need the wand of every witch and wizard willing to defend our world. If you have the courage to join us, be next Monday at eight in the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic. That is all.”

He strode out of the room, leaving a trail of anxious and angry whispers in his wake. Dumbledore then cleared his throat, calling the crowd to attention. 

“What the Minister shared with us is no doubt very distressing, but I would urge you all to think about this calmly and rationally. Whatever challenges lay ahead of us, we are stronger if we face them in unity and friendship, rather than descend into aggression and acrimony. I was very much against Minister Crouch addressing sixth year students tonight. Hogwarts still has much to teach you, I beseech you not to leave it before you are ready. For those of you who are about to graduate, the path you pursue after school is of course entirely your own. There are no right, or easy, choices in the situation we are facing. Just remember that help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it.”

After his speech, all hell broke loose as every student started to discuss what Crouch had said. “I’ll meet you in the common room,” Harry yelled to his friends over the din and ducked out of the Great Hall. He went straight to Tom’s office.

“Is it true? Are they going to strip us of our wands?” 

“I see Crouch’s melodramatic little speech is over,” said Tom dismissively. 

“Did he lie?” insisted Harry.

“He did not need to. British wizards are so emotional about their wands, the mere prospect of losing them is enough to whip up a crowd.”

“Of course people are taking it seriously,” said Harry angrily. “We’ll be defenceless without our wands.”

“Who is “ we” exactly? Not me. Not you, I taught you better than that. Not most wizards either, as wands are only prevalent in Europe and North America. Even there, wand owners are now the minority, because production simply cannot keep up with demand.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s right for Muggles to take them from us!”

“Wands are weapons of mass destruction more dangerous than any guns, and we give them to eleven-year-olds and idiots. It’s not surprising that Muggles don’t want us to carry them around in public. Yet, a wand ban is far from a fait accompli. Wizards have significant leverage to stop it.”

“Leverage?”

“The wizarding world institutions are essential in teaching new wizards how to use magic safely, and non-magical governments are fully aware of this. They know they cannot afford to upset the Ministry of Magic too much. Some compromise over wands will be reached in time.”

“You’re assuming everyone will act rationally, but people behave in stupid, cruel and petty ways all the time. Also, we don’t really have the time to reach a compromise. The number of new wizards needs to stop growing so fast, or the Statute of Secrecy will end before we’re ready.”

“On the contrary, it needs to grow even faster: the more wizards there are when the Statute of Secrecy breaks down, the less likely we are to become an oppressed minority. As for time to prepare, the Ministry had over twenty years already, and they wasted them in increasingly futile attempts at cover-ups. You could give them twenty more and it wouldn’t change anything.”

“I disagree. I’ll be around this time to make sure things are different.”

“Thinking about joining the Ministry, Harry?”

“Yeah. I’ll be going next week.”

Tom blinked, then something like disgust passed over his face. “You’re going to waste your talents in this ‘Statute of Secrecy Task Force’?”

“Of course not, I know it is ultimately futile. But I still need to join the Ministry, because they will give me the time and resources I need to find a way to radically slow down your spell.”

Tom’s face was perfectly blank. “I see. How convenient for you, now that all your family members are wizards. What is this really about, Harry? Has your desire to surpass me overcome your reason?”

“Is it so hard to believe that I disagree with you about what is best for the world?” Harry shot back. 

“You always seemed to understand me before,” said Tom with a hint of wistfulness. It disappeared back into blankness as quickly as it had come. “You’re making a mistake. You shouldn’t leave Hogwarts yet, it still has much to teach you.”

Tom wasn’t wrong. There was a big part of Harry that didn’t want to leave Hogwarts, that didn’t want to leave him. But, if he stayed, he would never forgive himself for letting things happen around him, for not trying to stop something he knew was wrong.

“Goodbye, Tom.”

Harry didn’t look back. He didn’t know what he would have done if he had.

He walked back to the common room like an automaton. As he went through the portrait, he was hit by a wall of noise. It felt like every Gryffindor student was up and about, discussing the Statute of Secrecy Task Force.

“Over here, Harry!” His friends had saved him a seat in their favourite alcove. 

“Are you alright?” Neville asked as soon as he sat down. 

Harry did not directly answer, instead briefly explaining his decision to leave Hogwarts. “Would any of you like to come with me?”

“I understand, Harry, I really do, but I don’t want to leave Hogwarts before graduation. Maybe afterwards?” said Hermione. 

“I’m leaving too, except I’m really joining the Task Force” said Neville with a determined look on his face. “This is what my mother has always been doing, I should help her.”

Hermione started tearing up. “I can’t believe you’ll both be gone next year.” 

They all turned to Ron, who cringed a little under their combined stare. “I don’t know. I mean, I see Crouch’s point and I don’t want us to lose our wands, but something about his speech didn’t feel right. Dumbledore was trying to warn us not to jump into things, so I think I’ll stay until graduation. Besides, if I left, who would be there for Hermione to boss around?” 

She squeezed his hand and they shared a little smile that felt like a knife buried into Harry’s stomach. He ruthlessly pushed down his jealousy and said, “Even if we’re not together next year, we’ll always have each other’s backs, right?”

His friends all agreed. There were many promises, laughter and tears that night and, though it technically wasn’t Harry’s final one at Hogwarts, it certainly felt like it. When he finally went to bed in the early hours of the morning, he thought of Tom’s words again.

He could only hope he wasn’t making a mistake.

Chapter Text

There was a teenager sitting in his office. 

It only took a minute for Bartemius Crouch to recognise him. He had been pleased by Harry Potter’s victory in the Triwizard Tournament, of course. It was always good to see British wizards showing their quality, and it helped bring those foreign Ministers down a peg. 

That didn’t explain what Potter was doing in his office. He didn’t have an appointment, Crouch would have remembered if he had.

“How did you get in, Mr Potter?”

“I’m sorry, Mr Crouch, but I had to break the wards on your office door. I need to speak to you about something really important.”

Crouch’s mouth tightened into an angry line. “I should have you arrested right this instant. Due to my esteem towards your father, I will let it go this once, but do not darken my door without an appointment again.”

“It’s about the new wizards! I could find a way to stop their numbers from rising so much.”

Crouch paused. Normally he would pay no mind to the ramblings of a teenager, but he had to acknowledge the desperate nature of the situation.

“Very well, Mr Potter. Speak.”

“Muggles are turning into wizards because of a curse, which means it’s possible to stop it.”

“Preposterous.” It wasn’t anything like a curse. And yet, the mere possibility of it was…

Crouch was startled out of his thoughts by a knock on his office door. His actual appointment was there. 

“Father, I think he might be right,” he said from behind the door. 

That boy was still eavesdropping. Disgraceful. 

“Enter,” said Crouch coldly. “The Head Unspeakable, Bartemius Crouch. Harry Potter.” He went and shook Potter’s hand with a false smile on his face. 

“Mr Potter, if your theory has the slightest chance of being true, then it must not leave this room. After all, if a curse can turn Muggles into wizards, a counter-curse that deprives wizards of their power is within the realm of the possible. That possibility must never be explored.”

Potter paled. “Of course, Minister. My aim is solely to remove the component that passes on the curse to others.”

“How interesting,” he said. “I wonder how you got that idea.”

“Independent research.”

“It’s fine if you don’t want to tell me. We Unspeakables are also wary of oversharing.”

“If only you were as good at getting results as at keeping secrets,” sniped Crouch. 

The boy bristled at that. As if Crouch had not warned him several times that he was wasting his time in this department of eccentric idiots and loose cannons. At least the boy fit in there, being a constant disappointment.

“You’ve been studying new wizards for years and have nothing to show for it. Now you tell me that Mr Potter has successfully determined their origins. How could you be bested so, and by a mere child?”

They both looked offended, Potter presumably by being called a child and that boy by Crouch pointing out his failures once again. 

He gritted his teeth and said, “I don’t know if Mr Potter is right, but his theory is certainly compelling. Maybe he could join the Department of Mysteries? I’d happily give him all the support he needs to further his research.”

Crouch nodded without great enthusiasm. If Potter ever achieved anything of value, it would be a new thing for the Department of Mysteries. If he didn’t, well, it would be the boy’s problem. Maybe having the son of a prominent Auror around would motivate him to lessen the stink of Dark magic about his person.

“Thank you,” said Potter with a smile. He clearly didn’t have his father’s instinct if he was that easily fooled by him.

“Dismissed,” said Crouch. 

The boy and Potter left his office talking animatedly. Crouch soon forgot them, his mind turning to more important matters. 

Chapter Text

“The True Master of the Elder Wand was Draco Malfoy.”

For a mere moment, cold fear washed over Lord Voldemort. He had ordered Draco Malfoy to kill Dumbledore, fully expecting the son to be as much of a disappointment as the father, and thus had not cared much for the details of the boy’s plan. Now, it seemed Draco had achieved something great indeed, and he had to learn it from the mouth of his very own enemy.

How disappointing. Yet the situation was far from unsalvageable. 

“But what does it matter? Even if you are right, Potter, it makes no difference to you and me. You no longer have the phoenix wand… and after I have killed you, I can attend to Draco Malfoy.”

“But you’re too late. You’ve missed your chance. I got there first. I overpowered Draco weeks ago. I took his wand from him.” Potter paused, smiling smugly. “So it all comes down to this, doesn’t it? Does the wand in your hand know its last master was Disarmed? Because if it does… I’m the true master of the Elder Wand.”

Voldemort repressed the urge to chuckle. So this was Potter’s great gambit? The boy had as little understanding of wand lore as most other types of magic. 

A mere Disarming spell might be enough to win the allegiance of the notoriously fickle Elder Wand, but Potter was holding Draco Malfoy’s personal wand. It had chosen him, had served him faithfully for years… why would it be so easily swayed to his enemy’s side? And, even if it did now belong to Potter, that was irrelevant to the ownership of the Elder Wand. Did it know its last master was Disarmed? How exactly would it know, since it had never been by Malfoy’s side?

With a smile, Voldemort moved to finish Potter once and for all.

“Avada Kedavra!”

“Expelliarmus!”

Their spells met in a blast of golden light, then Potter’s body crumpled to the floor.

What an ignominious end to the famed Boy Who Lived. Dumbledore’s puppet had its strings cut at last. 

Time to rectify another one of his mistakes. Voldemort himself went to the boy’s body and made sure he was truly dead. Then, he took Malfoy’s wand from his lifeless hand. He was about to move away when another trophy caught his eyes.

Potter’s invisibility cloak. Voldemort had no need for it, but it was still a rare and valuable item, probably even a Potter family heirloom. It was also his rightful spoil as the victor. 

With the wand and cloak tucked in his pocket, he straightened and called for his Death Eaters to find the Malfoy family. It was time for him to get true ownership of the Elder Wand, and reward the Malfoys as traitors deserved. He would kill Narcissa last. Seeing her husband and son writhe in agony would be a fitting punishment for lying to her lord. 

The Battle of Hogwarts quickly ended after this. Potter’s supporters were demoralised by his death and Voldemort, with the Deathstick in his hand, was truly unstoppable. Some survivors managed to flee like the rats they were, but even that was part of Voldemort’s plan. 

He had made two noble family lines extinct today. It had been necessary of course, but pure blood was too rare to be needlessly spilt. He also needed more supporters to replace the Death Eaters he had lost today. People cried and shouted Potter’s name today, but tomorrow they would forget their teenage martyr. Most would realise the futility of fighting against Lord Voldemort, and some would even join his side, for power, riches or simply safety. 

Now that he had defeated Potter once and for all, it was time to shore up his support, both at home and abroad. He also had to address his vulnerability. His enemies had managed to destroy all of his Horcruxes, a feat he had genuinely believed them incapable of. He had grown too reliant on his Horcruxes, too confident in the magical protections surrounding them. Another mistake that had almost proved fatal.

Maybe Horcruxes were never the right way to achieve true immortality. There were still avenues of magic that even Lord Voldemort had yet to explore. In his long bodiless exile, then subsequent obsession with killing Harry Potter, he had stopped performing much of his research. Perhaps it was time to pick it up again. 

Chapter Text

There was a room in the Department of Mysteries that was kept locked at all times. 

The only way to enter was to obtain one of the very few existing keys. After two years, Harry had finally earned the privilege of having one.

“I’m sorry my father did not do more to recognise your achievements, Harry, but everyone in the department knows the only reason the Statute of Secrecy is still in place is because of you,” said Barty with a smile as they walked towards the locked room. 

Harry grimaced. Bartemius Crouch Senior was a rigid and unpleasant man but, as frustrated as Harry was with him, he couldn’t imagine how bad it was for poor Barty. He was a brilliant wizard and the youngest Department Head at thirty-seven, yet his father seemed to regard him as something scraped from under the bottom of his shoe.

“Here we are. The Bond Room. Some still call it the Love Room, even though it's far from accurate. Sentiment, you know?”

The room was smaller than Harry had imagined and unfurnished except for a few benches and, of course, the Fountain. It was carved in stone and filled with what seemed to be pure water. It cast a beautiful, subtle glow as if it was reflecting a starry sky. 

Without thinking, Harry walked up to it and bent to look into the water. 

The twinkling lights were resolving into a picture. There was Harry’s name, many names in fact, all connected to his by ribbons of light. And one who shone much brighter than all the others. 

“What is this?” asked Harry, mostly to distract himself from the lump in his throat. His left hand was hovering just above the surface of the liquid.

“It’s just water, but that’s about as helpful as telling you the Veil is just an empty archway. The only thing this does is predict bonds between people. Now you can only see your own, used to be you could see everyone else’s too, but they cast a powerful Disillusionment Charm on the Fountain after someone murdered their wife over it.”

“Does it just show the bonds or does it actually embody them? Did anyone ever try to tamper with this?”

“Oh, people tried all sorts of things. Nothing seems to be able to truly alter its light or what it shows. I mean, they tore the whole thing from a rock in the Syria Desert two hundred years ago and it didn’t even blow up in their face. That means it’s pretty tame for an Anomaly.”

Harry nodded absent-mindedly. Anomalies were usually impossible to move, and always too dangerous to ignore. They had to build the Ministry of Magic around the Veil, after all.

“Speaking of Anomalies, why is this room locked up while the Death Chamber is not?”

Barty smiled faintly. “Historic reasons. The Death Chamber is open on all sides because they used to execute criminals there and people came to gawk at it. We could build a smaller room around the Veil now, but the traditionalists want to preserve the original room.”

Harry couldn’t understand why. The Veil creeped him out, so he avoided the Death Chamber if he could. 

“Are you alright, Harry? You look a bit shaken up.”

“I’m fine, thank you,” he replied pretty unconvincingly as Barty tut-tutted at him. “Not returning your owls, is she?”

“Sorry, what?”

“Fleur Delacour.” 

Harry sighed. Due to that one article from years ago, most people around him still believed Fleur was his soulmate. Since she was now famous enough for her love life to figure in the newspapers, Harry received a few looks of pity each time she had a new date. 

“She’s just a good friend.” 

Barty smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry, Harry, I didn’t mean to pry. Whoever’s your soulmate, I’m sure things will get better with him eventually.” He patted Harry on the shoulder and let him be.

It was kind of Barty to try and cheer him up, but Harry was not so optimistic. The last he even heard of Tom was a brief article in The Prophet about a year ago mentioning he left his position at Hogwarts. Harry had really hoped he would take another job in the Ministry so he could contrive to run into him. Alas, it was not to be. 

Tom was out there somewhere, no doubt doing something to further his plan, the very plan Harry was working day and night to stop coming to fruition. What right did he have to further meddle in his affairs?

Harry shook himself. He had to refocus on his research, no matter how poorly suited he was to the job. Now that he had his own key to the Bond Room, he could study the Fountain further. If only he could use it to propagate his own spell, then maybe…

Harry’s thoughts were eventually interrupted by the grumblings of his stomach. He suddenly remembered he had promised to have lunch with Ron today. A quick look at his watch confirmed he could make it to the canteen in time if he left right away.

Ron was already waiting for him at their usual table. “Hey Harry, how is it going with work?” 

“You know I’m contractually forbidden to answer that. How about you and Neville?” Ron had joined the Statute of Secrecy Task Force after graduation.

“Same old. Your spell helps a lot, but they start spreading it again after a while.” Harry nodded. He had found that any wizards, not just new wizards, could be affected by Tom’s spell and spread it through touch. His counterspell stopped that, but not only were its effects not permanent, it had to be manually cast. 

“I’ll get it right eventually,” he said as much to himself as to Ron.

His friend grimaced. “Some of the folks breaking the Statute of Secrecy, they’re not bad people. Some just want to help others, or need help themselves. Sometimes I wonder…” He trailed off awkwardly.

“I know,” said Harry looking glumly at his plate.

“But, then, I think about a future where we don’t have to hide anymore, and I’m afraid. Does that make me a coward?”

“I think it means you haven’t taken leave of your senses,” Harry smiled.

“You sound like Hermione.” Ron smiled back, the mood now much lighter. “Speaking about Hermione, if there is one thing I’m sure about the future, it’s her. I’m thinking about asking her to marry me.”

“Wow, Ron. Congratulations!”

“You think she’ll say yes?”

“I’m absolutely certain she will.”

Ron sighed in relief. “I really hope you’re right, mate. You know, back in Hogwarts, I sometimes got mad about how you pushed me to be more honest about my feelings for her, but you were right.” He paused somewhat awkwardly. “Are you going to do anything about him?”

“What can I do? I don’t even know where he is.”

Ron threw him an exasperated look. “You know where his whole family lives. You could send an owl, or even a regular letter, to Riddle Manor and he would get it eventually.”

“And what would I write? He’s not my teacher anymore, and we’re not friends either,” said Harry. It came out louder and angrier than he had wanted.

Ron looked like he wanted to reply, but Barty was walking towards their table. “Sorry to bother you, Harry, but we have a staff meeting in ten minutes.”

“Sure.” He took a bite of his now lukewarm food. Ron waited until Barty was gone before continuing, “I’m sorry for bringing it up, but it’s been two years and Hermione, Neville and I, we can see that you’re not happy. We worry, that’s all.”

“So Hermione doesn’t think I’m dangerously obsessed anymore?” said Harry darkly.

“Harry, please…”

“That was out of line, I know. Sorry, I really need to get back to work now.” Ron just looked at him sadly while Harry quickly finished his plate and left. 

In the elevator back to the Department of Mysteries, Harry already regretted snapping at Ron. What was wrong with him today? It had to be the Fountain. Actually seeing his soulmate bond made him miss Tom all the more, but he had a goal to accomplish first. Either he would succeed in stopping Tom’s spell for good, or all hell would break loose. In both cases, there would be no point in keeping apart any more. 

As Harry hurried towards the meeting room, he collided with someone coming from around the corner. She was carrying a large mug of tea that splashed all over Harry’s clothes and notes.

“I’m so sorry,” exclaimed Myrtle Warren as she bent to recover Harry’s drenched papers, crumpling them even more. “I’m so clumsy, I can’t do anything right!” She repeated her apologies several times as Harry tried to soothe her. 

“It’s ok, Myrtle, really. Nowadays, I keep copies of all my work so nothing is truly lost.”

“You’re so smart, Harry,” she sniffled. “Unlike me.”

“Don’t say that,” he said sincerely. Myrtle was far from an idiot; if she were, she would never have been able to work in the Department of Mysteries. However, due to her clumsiness and horrible luck, she had almost no self-confidence and behaved more like a moody teenager than the middle-aged witch she was. This made her extremely grating most of the time.

“You’re too kind, Harry.” She dabbed her eyes. “I really am sorry. Let’s go before I make you late to the meeting.”

They were the last two people to reach their seats, just as the meeting was about to start. It was Bode presenting today, and he was once more talking about Time Turners.

“I’ve finally created one that can bring its user as far back as needed, without restriction. However, they can only stay in the past for five minutes before being automatically sent back to the present.”

“Five minutes is already more than enough,” said Croaker. “Unspeakable havoc could be wrecked…”

“I’m aware,” Bode cut him off dryly, “but it’s precisely why we need it.” He brandished once more his “timelines map”, a crazy tangle of bifurcating lines. “All these alternate timelines already exist, thus there must be time travellers that created them. If those time travellers are in the present or future of our timeline, then they need the tools to do their work.”

“So you’re saying we should develop time travel, because time travel already exists. That’s circular reasoning.”

“Time travel logic is always circular! We need to be able to close the loops…”

“This conversation is going nowhere,” cut off Barty. “Any changes made by a time traveller are either already baked in their original timeline, or they happen to an alternate one. In both cases, the original timeline is not truly altered, so Time Turners are of limited interest to us. You’ve all heard what the Minister said: we need to do our part to protect the Statute of Secrecy, and that means bringing real changes to this timeline.”

He nodded and smiled at Harry, who smiled back, before the meeting moved on to another topic.

Harry’s work life was excruciatingly boring. He kept attending meetings, avoiding the consequences of Myrtle Warren’s clumsiness and trying to improve his counter-spell, often sitting by the Fountain as he did so. His personal life was much livelier, as many of his friends and acquaintances from Hogwarts were always up for a drink. 

Hermione had accepted Ron’s proposal and they would marry the following year. Harry and Neville were both best men so they had to help with some of the preparations. Ron’s parents were also heavily involved in planning the wedding. They were turning it into a huge bash, with over a hundred guests already. 

“Actually, Harry,” said Hermione one evening as she enchanted her quill to sign the ridiculous pile of invitations, “I was thinking of sending one to Tom Riddle.”

He almost choked on his Butterbeer. “Wouldn’t it be weird to invite him?”

“Not really. I mean, I've actually met him unlike…” She frowned at the invitation currently being signed. “Perkins… I think he’s a colleague of Arthur. When the guest list is that large, it’s hardly strange to include one of our old teachers. Weren’t we all very fond of Muggle Studies?”

Harry couldn’t help but giggle at that, as Hermione had spent half the class butting heads with Tom about their different ways of doing magic. 

“It’s good to hear your laugh, Harry.”

“You can invite him. He won’t come.” Harry refused to get his hopes up.

“Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure.” Hermione turned to look at him, a serious look on her face. “When we were at Hogwarts, I gave you a hard time about your feelings for him because I was afraid he’d take advantage of you. Not that he ever behaved inappropriately, but he was obviously very fond of you. He favoured you over everyone else in Hogwarts. That last year, when you were gone, he started a Duelling Club for the seventh years because, in his own words, he was bored.”

“You never mentioned that!” Harry felt somehow hurt by the omission. 

“What would have been the point? You’d have felt sorry to miss it, but it wouldn’t have changed your decision, right?” 

“Yeah, you’re right,” admitted Harry. “It sounds like you had a lot of fun,” he couldn’t help adding somewhat bitterly.

“Fun? It was gruelling. Having to cast so many different spells, mostly nonverbally, attacking and defending while not exhausting one’s stamina…” Hermione trailed off when she saw the longing look on Harry’s face. “Sorry, my point was not to make you regret missing Duelling Club, it was to show you Professor Riddle was affected by your absence. I think he missed you, so he taught us duelling to pass the time.”

“Thanks, Hermione.” Any sign that Tom felt even a fraction of the gaping hole in Harry’s chest was welcome. “I do agree that Tom was fond of me. However, you don’t go to a wedding just to see your old students, even if one of them was a personal favourite.” That was something someone like Horace Slughorn would do, and he and Tom were about as different as Slytherins could be. 

“It still doesn’t hurt to send him an invitation. I’ll let you know if he answers.”

Chapter Text

Sticky: frequency/type of contact to spread magic?

Missy36 (User) posted on 17 May 2000 03:40 pm

I thought I would start this thread to summarise what we know so far about how to become wizards or witches: 

• Physical contact with an existing wizard/witch is an absolute requirement.
• The more frequent the contact, the better. Fastest way to ensure transmission is to live together with a wizard/witch, as happened to Lovelace and starz.
• Sex might help but is clearly not required as seen by magic passing between friends (Lovelace and Jade) and family members (lonely_boy and his parents).
• Type of contact (hugging, shaking hands etc.) and length of contact’s role is unclear.  
• Touching part of a wizard/witch’s body (probably) doesn’t count: Lovelace sent me a lock of hair which I wore for weeks against my skin. Nothing happened.

Lovelace (Admin) posted on 17 May 2000 05:06 pm

Thanks for the great summary, Missy36! I’m sorry that the hair didn’t work.

Missy36 (User) posted on 17 May 2000 05:10 pm

Np, Lovelace! And obviously I’m not giving up.

lonely_boy (User) posted on 17 May 2000 09:32 pm

ive been wondering about the type of contact thing. im pretty sure i could manage to touch the cashier’s hand when he gives me my change back. if i do that at least once a week, with no other contacts, how long do you think it would take for him to become a wizard?

Missy36 (User) posted on 17 May 2000 09:46 pm

If it does work, how would you know? They wouldn’t tell you, right? Not that I’m shooting down your idea, lonely_boy. The more wizards, the better in my book. 

I’m certainly shaking as many hands as I can, even though my chances to become a witch that way are so low. I just wish I would live close enough to one of you guys so we could meet up... 

Jade (User) posted on 18 May 2000 12:23 pm

If you ever make it across the pond, you’re welcome to visit us anytime Missy36!

Missy36 (User) posted on 18 May 2000 03:04 pm

Thanks, Jade, but I can’t afford the airfare, not even once. I spent so much on treatments already and I still can’t work full-time because of that damn fatigue and brain fog. :(

LordVoldemort (Guest) posted on 18 May 2000 04:55 pm

If you DM me the general area where you live, Missy36, I could give you the name of a wizard or witch you could meet regularly.

Lovelace (Admin) posted on 18 May 2000 04:58 pm

This board is closed to guests, how the hell did you get in?

LordVoldemort (Guest) posted on 18 May 2000 05:00 pm

Magic. 

Missy36 (User) posted on 18 May 2000 05:01 pm

DM sent, LordVoldemort!

Lovelace (Admin) posted on 18 May 2000 05:04 pm

What the hell, Missy36? Don’t just hand out your personal info to a hacker!

Missy36 (User) posted on 18 May 2000 05:08 pm

What do I have to lose? I can’t do anything, not even rest properly these days. But you know that, Lovelace. You were the same before you had your own personal miracle. I’m still chasing mine. 

Lovelace (Admin) posted on 18 May 2000 05:12 pm

If LordVoldemort is a Ministry agent, he could erase your memories and send the rest of us to Azkaban.

Missy36 (User) posted on 18 May 2000 05:21 pm

That’s a fair point, Lovelace. I’m willing to risk my own memories. The rest of the board should be safe since I don’t know anyone’s real names. 

LordVoldemort (Guest) posted on 18 May 2000 05:22 pm

I wouldn’t worry about that. The Ministry is still processing what television is. Their awareness of the Internet is very limited and they certainly wouldn’t look into ME/CFS online support groups for signs of sedition. 

Jade (User) posted on 18 May 2000 05:30 pm

But you would? What are you doing here LordVoldemort?

LordVoldemort (Guest) posted on 18 May 2000 05:32 pm

It’s my job to heal people.

Jade (User) posted on 18 May 2000 05:34 pm

So you claim to be a Healer? How long have you been a wizard?

LordVoldemort (Guest) posted on 18 May 2000 05:35 pm

My whole life. 

lonely_boy (User) posted on 18 May 2000 05:33 pm

rofl this guy is unreal. claims to be a natural born wizard and knows what  ME/CFS is. dont even need the dumb username to call this out as a prank guys

Missy36 (User) posted on 18 May 2000 05:34 pm

What makes you think that?

lonely_boy (User) posted on 18 May 2000 05:40 pm

nb wizards dont give a flying fuck about mundane diseases. why would one show up just to help a muggle/nomaj/whatever cutesy bullshit names they call us?

Missy36 (User) posted on 18 May 2000 05:41 pm

You’re a wizard!

lonely_boy (User) posted on 18 May 2000 05:45 pm

i have magic yes, but im not one of them and ill never be. once you grow up muggle, you never go back. :)

LordVoldemort (Guest) posted on 18 May 2000 05:50 pm

Some wizards do care about mundane diseases, but our capacity to help is limited by the Statute of Secrecy. 

lonely_boy (User) posted on 18 May 2000 05:52 pm

thats real convenient. cant help those muggles dying, got to protect the secret!

Lovelace (Admin) posted on 18 May 2000 05:59 pm

To be fair, we’re all protecting the secret. I created this board to help others within the ME/CFS community get better, but I deliberately kept it small so I could vet each one of you. No matter how much I wish all of us could be cured, I can’t risk myself or my gf going to Azkaban. That is why LordVoldemort’s presence creeps the hell out of me, whether he is a wizard or not. Maybe I should close down the board?

Missy36 (User) posted on 18 May 2000 06:05 pm

That’s a bit excessive? I don’t really believe LordVoldemort is a government agent, it just sounds so far-fetched. He could be just trolling as lonely_boy said, or he could be genuine. In either case, we should be fine.

Jade (User) posted on 18 May 2000 06:07 pm

Or he could be trying to scam you, Missy36. You’re the one meeting him IRL.

LordVoldemort (Guest) posted on 18 May 2000 06:10 pm

Not me. Someone I’ve helped before. Your little group is far from the only one of its kind, though they mostly exist in silos for the reasons outlined by Lovelace.

lonely_boy (User) posted on 18 May 2000 06:12 pm

yep definitely not a wizard

Tom decided there was little point in replying to that. In truth, “lonely boy” wasn’t wrong about most natural born wizards’ callous indifference to mundane problems. Hopefully, Tom’s example would help assuage some of his resentment. If so, there might be one less person holding a torch and pitchfork when the Statute of Secrecy ended. 

He closed his computer, gathered his papers and left the office. The Sanger Institute was much quieter at this hour, most of the employees already on their way home, but Tom waved goodbye to the people still at their desks. 

It was a busy time for the Institute, with the first draft of the human genome about to be released. The bulk of the work remained to be done though, as a genomic sequence was useless without knowing the location and function of the genes therein. This genome annotation process was why Tom had taken up a job at the Sanger Institute. Finding genes and other regulatory elements playing a role in wizardry helped him improve his spell, which was sorely needed now that the Ministry was pulling out all the stops to hinder it. 

There were, of course, many other ways to make sure the population of new wizards kept growing. His little foray on the Internet was one of them. Health and longevity alone meant that many would naturally seek to become wizards or witches, and none were more determined than the chronically ill. Tom was only too happy to help.

He passed the EBI building, walking away from the campus until he was certain to be completely alone. Then, he Apparated back outside of Riddle Manor. 

He was still putting away his coat when Christopher greeted him. “There’s a letter for you, Tom.” 

A letter, not an owl. That was unusual. He took the envelope from Christopher, checking the back for the name and address of the sender. 

His brother had already done the same, as he said. “Isn’t Hermione Granger one of Harry’s friends? Why is she writing to you?”

Tom ignored him and opened the envelope. It was an invitation to the wedding of Miss Hermione Granger and Mr Ron Weasley on the twelfth of August, at The Burrow. Kindly reply before the first of July. 

“Two of my former students are getting married.”

“How nice of them to invite you. You should definitely go.”

“I don’t know them that well.” Did Harry ask his friends to invite him? But, no, surely if Harry wanted to talk to him, he would just write to Tom himself. No need for such a convoluted plan. 

“But you will still go, right?”

“Why should I?” 

Christopher gave him an exasperated look. “You know, refusing to talk about Harry won’t make you miss him any less.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Harry has made his choice. I made mine a long time ago. That is all there is to say about this.”

He turned away and climbed the stairs before Christopher could say anything more. His brother was turning more and more aggravating. No doubt he would bring up the invitation again at dinner, and try to convince Tom that he should go. 

Should he though? Were there any objective reasons to go? 

His contact in the Department of Mysteries recently reported that it was getting more difficult to spy on Harry’s work and sabotage his progress. Was he suspecting anything? If Tom met him at the wedding, would he be able to get an inkling of the truth?

No, Harry wouldn’t talk to him about this, no more than Tom would tell him of his own activities. Legilimency wouldn’t work on him either. 

What about alcohol? People often drank excessively at weddings, then ended up saying things they would later regret. Would Harry even drink though? He didn’t three years ago, but he was still a minor then. 

This was all pointless speculation. That wedding would probably be a waste of Tom’s valuable time, hence he shouldn’t attend. 

He braced himself for an argument about it at dinner, but Christopher studiously avoided the topic. Tom knew better than to think his brother had forgotten. He was concocting one of these little schemes of his, which would probably involve roping in other family members to help pressure Tom into going to this stupid wedding. 

In the end, Christopher’s scheme was much simpler and more brazen. “I wrote back to Miss Granger on your behalf and said you would come.”

“What the actual hell, Christopher?” 

His brother shot him an unimpressed look over his morning coffee. “We both know you want to go. Now, instead of twisting yourself into knots to find an excuse to do so, you got one on a silver platter. I believe the words you’re looking for are “Thank you, dear brother”. Now, you go and make Harry grovel for your forgiveness.”

What could Tom say to that? Christopher was utterly convinced that Tom was unhappy without Harry Potter in his life and refused to hear that he was fine, thank you very much. It also technically wasn’t wrong that Tom could hardly write to Miss Granger and rescind his acceptance of her invitation. That would be extremely rude. 

Now he had to find a wedding gift for her and Mr Weasley. It couldn’t be too ostentatious, since he wasn’t especially close to them, but his pride would not accept handing out an inferior gift either. Well, it would be an occasion to further his skill with enchanting objects at least. 

Jewellery being ever suitable for wedding gifts, Tom opted for two small silver lockets. When opened, one would give the general whereabouts of the groom, the other the ones of the bride. This type of charm was really popular with old wizarding families so nothing groundbreaking there, but they generally were used on bigger clocks. Making it work on a watch small enough to be worn inside a locket was a minor accomplishment. 

The day of the wedding, Tom put on his more formal suit, took his finished gift and Apparated to the Burrow. 

The sight that greeted him was quite tacky. Golden chairs, golden balloons, gold and red flowers everywhere, their scent almost suffocating. Well, all accounting for taste, Tom supposed. That the extremely poor by wizarding standards Weasleys could afford such an extravagant wedding said all about how much magic was useful in almost every aspect of life. 

After dropping off his gift at the designated table, Tom was escorted to his seat by another one of his former students, Fred Weasley. He and his twin were apparently doing very well with their joke shop, which Tom was glad of. Their ambition, ingenuity and disregard for the rules should have placed them squarely in Slytherin. They probably had chosen Gryffindor instead, just as others had. 

The ceremony started soon after he got to his seat. It had all the usual bits about loving, honouring and cherishing one’s spouse and also an additional thinly veiled sentence about destiny, in order to convey that the bride and groom were soulmates and thus a “true” match. 

At last, they exchanged the rings. Tom was about to sigh with relief that this saccharine ceremony was about to end when Harry turned away from the bride and groom and looked straight at Tom. 

He ignored the tightness in his chest and looked away. 

The ceremony ended with a shower of stars and some singing birds, then the space neatly reorganised itself to form a dance floor and a dining area. Guests started to mingle and it wasn’t hard to find someone to talk to. There were over a hundred invitees, and Tom knew at least half of them. 

He was grabbing himself a drink when the bride herself came over. “Hello, Professor. I just saw your gift. It’s very beautiful, thank you.”

“I’m glad you like it. Congratulations on your nuptials, Miss Granger.” He was about to smoothly step away but, no, it was too late. Harry was already coming that way and he was too close for Tom to leave without making it look like he was running away from him.

Tom quickly changed tack, pasted his best smile on and addressed the bride. “So Miss Granger… or rather Mrs Weasley, if you prefer, I heard that you’re working for the Wizengamot now. How is it going?”

She smiled warmly at the mention of her work. “Oh, just Hermione is fine. And, yes, it’s all been extremely fascinating. My team is working on combining magical and mundane laws for when our two worlds inevitably have to integrate. Soon, people who stand accused in court should have the right to legal representation, not a barrister unfortunately since there are not yet any specialising in magical law, but better than having to speak for oneself. It’s an even tougher task, but I’m also hoping to get better treatments for beings, especially House Elves. Minimum wage and statutory annual leave and sick pay, at the very least.”

“That’s impressive, Mi.. Hermione. I wish you every success,” Tom said sincerely.

“It is,” added Harry, who had appeared at his friend’s side. “We’re trying to give Hermione every single day we can, to allow her to finish her work.”

“I would rather these changes happen sooner than later,” said Tom, still looking at Hermione. She looked back at him, then at Harry, a pained look on her face. “I think you two need to talk.” She left surprisingly quickly for someone wearing a wedding dress.

“Tom, why are you avoiding me?”

Tom finally turned to look at him. Harry Potter had changed both very little and quite a lot in three years. He was almost as tall as Tom now, and just as broad shouldered. His dress robes could not have been exactly the same ones he wore at the Yule Ball, but they were very similar. Black and emerald green, to bring out these extraordinary eyes of his. 

“Harry. Long time no see. I won’t ask you about your work.”

He looked genuinely hurt at that, and Tom couldn’t help feeling a small spike of triumph in his chest. 

“Looks like we match again,” Harry said awkwardly, looking at Tom’s black suit and green tie. “Would you like to dance?” And, just like that, he held out his hand to him. 

Tom felt like he had forgotten to breathe for a moment. It seemed like a law of the universe that, no matter what, Harry Potter always found a way to surprise him.

Tom didn’t dance. He didn’t know how. Why would he learn, when no one had ever asked him? People knew better than to ask him something like that. 

Except for Harry Potter. The stone walls that kept others away from Tom might as well have been wet tissue paper to him, as he blithely walked through every single one of them. And Tom had let him, had thought him charmingly bold even. Harry Potter, so precociously brilliant, with his instinctive grasp of advanced magic combined with his almost limitless drive to work towards his goals, who could make a lifelong friend of nearly anyone he met and gave himself generously in return. Tom had to admit he had been taken in too, and what did that bring him?

“No,” he said bluntly. “This conversation is over.”

He was about to walk away when Harry quite purposefully tripped and spilled his whole drink on him. “Oh my,” he deadpanned. “I’m so sorry. Let’s step out for an instant and I’ll clean this up.” Then, he grabbed Tom’s arm and practically dragged him away from the party. He only let go once they were alone in the quiet of the back garden. 

“Tergeo,” murmured Tom and the stain immediately disappeared. “Seriously, Harry, couldn’t you find a better excuse to talk to me alone?”

“I didn’t have much time. If I had let you go, you would have spent the rest of the evening avoiding me. I know we’ve had a disagreement, but won’t you please talk to me?”

“A disagreement?” Tom suddenly felt so incandescently angry he quite forgot himself. “You walked away and didn’t speak to me for three whole years. That’s a disagreement to you?”

Harry paled. “At first, I was afraid I would run back to you if I did. Then, I thought you might not want to talk to me at all. After all, I'm working against you.”

“Yes, and for what? To be able to say you've beaten me? To satisfy your ego?”

“No! Well, yes, it is a little bit about my ego, I suppose. But mostly…. It's about proving that I'm worthy of bearing your mark.”

Tom blinked, before remembering Harry was referring to his soulmark. “You're placing far too much importance on soulmarks then.”

Harry looked like he'd just been slapped. “You don’t understand what mine means to me. Nor can you imagine what it’s like to grow up in this world you moulded to your own design.”

“Don't we all inherit the world of our elders? Is the one I built for you so repulsive?”

Harry's lips curled in distaste. “You're not my elder. I mean, you're much older than me obviously, but we're still peers. We have to be.”

“Why does this matter to you so much?”

“Because I'm in love with you!” Harry yelled, then fell silent. For a moment, the backyard was eerily quiet except for the distant noises from the wedding.

“If you loved me, then why did you leave me? I've told you secrets I've never confided in anyone else. I've taught you spells that took decades to craft, some of my life's work at your feet. I've healed you, supported you, worried for you so much that, if it were physically possible, I would have grey hairs. You still left. You didn't even look back.”

That last sentence came out so small and pathetic that Tom felt a tidal wave of horror at how thoroughly he had lost his composure. Harry looked just as horrified, though for completely different reasons. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have left in this manner. I shouldn’t have kept silent for three years. After all you’ve done for me, it wasn’t just ungrateful, it was cruel. I hurt you and I’m so sorry. Please, please forgive me.”

“You might try to say please a third time,” said Tom drily, though he was only half joking. There was something about Harry begging him that felt sweetly satisfying somehow. 

“I’ll say it as many times as you like. Please let me make it up to you.”

Harry had apologised for the manner of his leaving, not for the deed itself. He was still opposing Tom, but how long could he hold on to that position when he felt both deep remorse for how he had acted and romantic feelings towards Tom? Harry’s little crush was just begging to be weaponized really. 

“You may try.”

Harry's answering smile was blinding. “Thank you, Tom. You won’t regret it. First, I have a gift for you.” He dug through his pockets and got out a mobile phone, a sturdy brick-like model that was increasingly popular amongst non-magical people. “Obviously this can call Muggle phone numbers, but it is also always able to reach the other ones of its kind, anywhere in the world. My grandfather and I made four of them for myself, Ron, Hermione and Neville as a wedding present. It symbolises how we will never lose track of each other, wherever we are in life. Then, when Hermione told me you were coming, I made an extra one by myself. Perhaps it was presumptuous of me, but I was hoping you'd return my calls.”

He handed the phone to Tom, who looked at it curiously. It looked perfectly mundane but there were several powerful enchantments on it. “Thanks. It’ll be interesting to take apart, if nothing else.”

“If you want to do that, I’ll just make you another one,” replied Harry evenly, and Tom couldn’t help but smile. He had forgotten how delightfully persistent his former student was.

“You just don’t know the meaning of the term “giving up”, do you?”

Harry winced slightly. “Hermione called me out for being a little bit obsessed with you, so if I come on too strong and make you uncomfortable, just let me know.”

Tom wondered how Miss Granger (or Hermione, as he was supposed to call her now) would react if she knew reading his spy’s report about Harry's activities in the Department of Mysteries was the highlight of Tom’s day. Probably she would be just as aghast with Tom as she was with Harry. Which didn’t matter because their relationship was between the two of them only, and Tom very much didn’t care for the opinions of meddling friends and family members. 

He looked his former student in the eyes and said, “Harry, there is no way you could ever make me feel uncomfortable.” He was rewarded by seeing him blush most becomingly. “Should we go back? We've been gone for a while, and you wanted to dance, right?”

Harry looked astonished, but as expected, he didn’t point out Tom’s change of mind. They rejoined the party and, as soon as they stepped on the dance floor, the music changed to become slower and more romantic in a way that felt too convenient to be coincidental.

“Did you bribe the DJ to change the music if we danced?”

“I may have asked him nicely.”

“One more proof you should have been sorted into my House.”

Harry laughed. “If I wasn’t a Gryffindor, I wouldn’t have had the courage to ask you in the first place.”

The dance itself didn’t require any skills on Tom’s part. Harry’s body was warm against his, his hair tickling Tom’s neck as he spoke, “Thanks for this. I was very disappointed not to be able to dance with you at the Yule Ball.” He sounded touched and grateful, and his cheeks were still a little flushed. It was the perfect moment to strike.

Tom bent his head just a little so he could whisper straight into Harry’s ear, letting him feel his breath like a warm murmur over the skin of his neck. “Harry, stop this foolishness at the Department of Mysteries. Help me instead. It will all be for the better, truly.”

“Why are you doing this? With the numbers of new wizards we already have, the era where pure-blood supremacists held significant power is anyway over. You don’t even need the Statute of Secrecy to end!”

“Why do people do anything? Every human being is striving towards something. In its most basic form, escape from hunger, from poverty, from disease, from death. Magic will provide that to everyone. Of course, there will be problems, but wizards, old and new, can face them together. It is certainly better than this endless stagnation we’ve condemned ourselves to, the comfortable complacency of our hidden society.”

“Maybe you’re right. But it means this will end.” Harry's wave encompassed the whole wedding party.

“Yes, the wizarding world as we know it will end. I've never liked it much anyway.”

“I do. I like our society, so I want to preserve it despite knowing how unfair it all is. I guess it makes me selfish.”

“I’m not just doing this to help others, or to be fair. I want to be the greatest sorcerer in the world, and this is the way I chose.”

“You already are. And I can’t be your helper, or your assistant, or even a passive observer while you're destroying something I cherish.”

“So you would rather be my enemy?”

“No!” Harry’s whisper in his ear was outraged. “I could never be your enemy, Tom. Whatever we disagree on, I would never hurt you.”

“You already have,” thought Tom rather bitterly. But Harry wasn’t wrong. Tom cared far too much about him to ever see him as an enemy, and the feeling was clearly mutual. 

“Very well. You’re not my student, not my helper, not my enemy. What are you then?” Tom could see goosebumps on Harry’s neck, the skin stark white against the red of his cheeks. He wondered idly how it would feel against his lips. 

“Your soulmate, in deeds, not just words. If you’d let me,” replied Harry surprisingly steadily despite being so flustered. 

“Now that would be unlikely.” The song was ending, so Tom took a step back, almost regretfully. He hadn’t achieved his goal to lure Harry back to his side, but he had learnt a lot. First, Harry was even more of a romantic than previously thought, quite an achievement knowing the reputation of the Potter family. Second, his former student wanted him very badly. 

Being an object of lust was nothing new to Tom. At best, it was occasionally useful, at worst, it felt vaguely disgusting. Harry’s blushes, though, were somewhat amusing. It would be no hardship to use his crush to make him see reason. It would even be fun.

Chapter Text

“You’re grinning a lot.”

“Am I?” said Harry with a smile, his eyes still fixed upon the lights of the Fountain. He was more and more convinced he could use it as a vessel to spread his spell countering Tom’s “curse”, but there was no way to safely try it. 

“Making good progress on your work?” prompted Myrtle, and Harry's attention snapped back to her. He was being awfully rude.

“Maybe?” Even if it were possible, it would still feel almost sacrilegious to use the Fountain to go against his soulmate. He had to put a pin on that idea, think more about it later. “Everything’s alright with you, Myrtle? Did you have a good weekend?”

“Nothing happens to poor Myrtle on the weekend,” she moaned. “Not like you, Harry. You went to your friends’ wedding.”

“How do you know that?”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. The half of the Ministry that got invited gossiped about it to the other half. I heard you danced with Tom Riddle.”

“Yeah.” That dance had replayed in Harry’s mind at least a dozen times since the wedding. Tom’s hands on the small of his back, his breath against Harry’s neck, the downright flirtatious way he had acted… Harry’s stomach was still in a knot over it. 

Of course, Tom had also said, once again, that their soulmarks didn’t mean anything, but he would come around. Harry just had to be both patient and persistent: he had asked a lot of Tom already and not acknowledged what was given, hurting him badly. As Tom’s soulmate, he had to do better. 

“You know,” continued Myrtle, “Tom was actually in Hogwarts at the same time as I was. Just two years ahead! He was just as incredibly dreamy back then, but he wasn’t interested in anyone at all. Still, I’m not surprised he’s interested in you now. You’re obviously special to him, Harry.” She actually winked at him. “I’m rooting for you.”

“Uh, thanks?” Harry was spared the need to answer more by Barty clearing his throat. He had been trying to catch Harry’s attention for a couple of minutes already.

"Morning, Harry, Myrtle. I see you’re not really focused on work this morning but I’ll let it slide. Mondays, am I right?" Barty also seemed in a good mood. “Can I get a quick word with you, Harry?” 

“Sure.” Myrtle understood she had to make herself scarce. After tottering through the room holding on to her huge pile of notes and half-full tea mug, she  left without even closing the door. 

“I’ve been working on something big, something that could finally safeguard the Statute of Secrecy.”

“Congratulations, Barty! But you never mentioned it?” 

“Whenever my father hears my ideas, he always shoots them down. I’ve been working on this in secret, just to be sure it will all work out before I reveal it. Now that I’m almost done, I need a fresh pair of eyes. Will you help me out?”

“Of course. Do you need my help now?”

Barty frowned. “It still needs a bit more brewing. Would you mind staying a little while after work? I wouldn’t ask if it were not important.” 

“Not at all.” Harry didn’t have any plans for that evening, and he was very excited to see what Barty was working on. 

At the end of the day, Harry knocked on Barty’s office door. “Hi, Harry. Is everyone gone?”

“I think so, yes.” 

“If you can wait a minute, I’ll just make sure.” 

“Why all the secrecy?” asked Harry after Barty checked the other offices. 

“Oh, you’ll see. It will blow your mind.” Barty finally let him into his office. His desk had been pushed back to the side, to leave more space for a huge cauldron where a dark purple potion was bubbling away. 

“So what does it do?”

“It still needs the final ingredient. Could you pass me the aconite?” Harry turned to grab some from one of the shelves, then stopped dead as a multitude of ropes tightly bound him. He lost his balance, falling on the floor as Barty chuckled darkly:

“How very foolish of you to turn your back on me, Harry. I guess prudence is something Tom Riddle never managed to teach you. Accio wand!”

Harry felt his wand fly out of his pocket. He tried to move his arms and legs but Barty’s Incarcerous Spell left him little room to manoeuvre. He was confident he could cut the ropes, even without his wand, but it would take him a bit of time. 

“Why?” he asked, as much out of curiosity as to distract Barty from what he was doing. 

“To stop this plague of “new wizards” from destroying our world, of course. I’m going to achieve a great deed today, Harry, and it will be all thanks to you. You gave me every piece of the puzzle. First, when you so arrogantly walked into my father’s office, claiming the false wizards were born from a curse. How could a mere child have found out what had always eluded me? It certainly wasn’t your superior intellect,” Barty spat. 

“No, someone must have told you, and who better than the originator of the curse itself? This type of curses don’t occur naturally, they have to be cast by a powerful witch or wizard. So I thought to myself, who around Harry Potter would have the opportunity, motivation and sheer power to pull it off? Riddle was basically the only name on the list. How odd that he mentored you during your formative years at Hogwarts, yet you were careful not to so much as mention his name after you started working here.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” said Harry somewhat distractedly. He had managed to cut off some of the ropes, but he didn’t want to make his move against Barty yet. To stand a chance in a duel against him, he had to get his wand back. Where was it? He tried to crane his neck, but he couldn’t see much from his spot on the floor. 

He still had some time to figure it out, as Barty needed little prompting to keep monologuing:

“You know, Harry, making potent poisons is easy. Making sure they only kill the right targets, not so much. I spent years looking for the difference between true and false wizards in order to eliminate only the latter, and you handed it to me on a silver platter. Their power originates from Riddle, and so his blood was the ingredient I was missing.” 

Harry felt a rising wave of nausea, thinking of this madman after Tom’s blood. Crouch’s whole plan was insane. Eliminating the new wizards meant murdering millions of innocent in cold blood. His own grandparents, Aunt Petunia, Hermione’s parents, Tom’s entire family, so many friendly faces from Godric’s Hollow…

He had to focus. Stop Crouch first, feel disgust later. 

“Tom Riddle is notoriously paranoid so obtaining his blood would be extremely difficult, especially in the quantity needed to wipe out all the false wizards. But, then again, you provided me with the solution. Soulmates are irrevocably linked by magic so, after slight adjustments to my potion, your blood will do just as well as his.”

“Tom Riddle isn’t my soulmate,” scoffed Harry. “He doesn’t even have one.”

“Is that so? You spent days after days sadly gazing into the Fountain, clearly pining for your soulmate, and letting many hints as to his identity slip,” Crouch said mockingly. “Until today that is, when you grin at the Fountain like a lovestruck fool instead. And that’s right after you danced with Tom Riddle in front of a hundred witnesses. It would have been so much wiser to keep trying to hide your relationship, but you just couldn’t resist it, could you? Thank you for the final proof.”

Crouch walked up to Harry and roughly pushed him into a sitting position. Harry tightly held the frayed ropes around his hands, so Crouch didn’t notice them. What Harry noticed was his wand in Crouch’s pocket. He would only get one shot at summoning it back though, so a distraction would be ideal.

“You got it completely wrong,” Harry said. His throat felt like sandpaper. 

Crouch used a small pen knife to cut his cheek. Harry’s body was so tense with adrenaline that he didn’t feel the pain, just felt the blood dripping on his skin.

“We shall see. If it turns out you’re not Riddle’s soulmate, I can just kill you and toss your body in the Veil. If you are, you’ll enjoy a few more months of life locked up in my trunk. Dead men do not bleed long after all.” 

Crouch let a few drops of Harry’s blood fall into the potion. It hissed, then turned ruby red. Crouch filled a glass bottle with it and held it under the light, smiling in satisfaction. 

“Rejoice, Harry, for you’ll get to witness my triumph! I wonder how many this will be able to kill. Emptying it in London’s water supply…”

The door suddenly opened with a loud bang. “Stupefy!” Crouch barely dodged the red bolt of light, then fired one back at… Myrtle?

Harry didn’t waste time wondering what she was doing there. “ Accio!” His wand jumped back into his outreached hand and, with a flick of his wrist, he destroyed the remaining ropes binding him. 

“Expecto Patronum! Go warn Tom Crouch attacked Myrtle and I in the Department of Mysteries.” The silver snake quickly faded out of view. 

Crouch, wisely deciding not to stick around until Tom arrived, fled the office, but Harry could not let him reach the Atrium and Disapparate. He had a vial full of that horrid potion and the knowledge to make more of it. 

Harry pursued him through the Time Room, where they destroyed a large number of Bode’s beloved Time Turners. 

“Harry!” Myrtle was following him, out of breath and glasses slightly askew. “I’m no duellist, but I’ll try my best to assist you until Tom is here.”

“It’s ok. Just stay safe and try to get that vial of potion while I distract him,” Harry whispered back while hastily throwing a Shield Charm to deviate one of Crouch’s curses. The truth was, he wasn’t distracting him as much as fighting for his life. Crouch was a very skilled duellist, whereas Harry had never been formally trained in it. If only he had stayed a year longer in Hogwarts…

Crouch’s flight had brought them to the Death Chamber. He was standing right in front of the Veil, which kept gently swaying, indifferent to the fierce fight around it.

“Give it up already!” shouted Harry. “You cannot get past us before Tom arrives.” 

He hoped that would get Crouch talking again. He hadn’t noticed that his potion was no longer in his pocket, but hidden in the folds of Myrtle’s robes. Now it was just a matter of holding him off. 

“Looks like you won’t get to live to see my triumph after all,” replied Crouch with a smirk. “I’d better get all the blood out of you before your timely demise. Exsanguis!”

Harry was a second too slow to dodge. The curse felt like a thousand knives, a pain second only to the Cruciatus Curse. His knees gave way as he blinked frantically, trying to keep his own blood out of his eyes. 

“Harry!” He heard Myrtle’s cry of anguish, then felt her hands supporting him, preventing him from toppling over.

“Why aren’t you dead already?” drawled Crouch. “Is this another of Riddle’s spells? He must really love you to teach you all of his tricks. What a pity, that all his help wasn’t enough to save you in the end.”

“Avada Kedavra!” Crouch nimbly jumped out of the way, shouting back, “Expelliarmus!”

“Myrtle,” he chuckled, twirling her wand. “You must be another one of Riddle’s creatures. I have to say, you fooled even me. Assigned to spy on the Department, or to keep an eye on Harry? Maybe both?” 

She laughed very awkwardly. “Of course not. I just happened to stay late, that’s all.”

“So you just happened to listen at my office door, despite the anti-eavesdropping wards? Just like you happened to hide when I checked nobody was around?” She stayed silent. “Now that your master has been sent for, you might as well report Harry’s death to him in person. I’m sure he will give you an even more painful death that I could possibly imagine.” 

He turned to Harry, smiling madly. “Any final words?”

Harry swallowed thickly. The rapid cellular regeneration spells kicked in immediately in case of life-threatening injuries, and they were working as hard as they could to heal Harry’s wounds and regenerate his lost blood. All his magic was tied up. 

Except, maybe, for one final spell. A very simple one. 

“Depulso!” he poured all his remaining power, all his rage into that single world. 

Crouch’s eyes widened as he was forcefully shoved towards the Veil. For a split second of pure bliss, Harry thought it was over. He had won. He and Myrtle were safe. 

Then, black tendrils shot out of Crouch's wand, grabbing him and pulling him towards the Veil. 

It swallowed him whole and everything went black.

Chapter Text

When Tom finally broke into the Department of Mysteries, it was eerily quiet. 

Harry’s Patronus message gave him no clue where to start looking. He found the first signs of a struggle in the Time Room and followed the trail of broken glass and twisted metal to the Death Chamber. 

Myrtle was standing alone in front of the Veil. Her clothes, the floor around her, everything was covered in blood. 

“Myrtle, where is Harry?” he asked urgently, rushing to her side. 

She blinked at him slowly, her eyes filled with tears. “He fell…”

At first, Tom didn’t understand her. Then he followed her gaze to the Veil and, for one awful, interminable moment, he believed Harry was dead.

It only lasted a moment, because his very soul rebelled at the thought of it. Harry couldn’t be dead. Myrtle had to be either lying, or mistaken. 

He turned away from her, removing the Disillusionment Charm from his left wrist. His soulmark bloomed back into view, as sharp as the day he had first beheld it. Pure relief flooded his body at the sight, and he let out a sound that was half a sob, half a laugh.

It seemed his soulmark had its use after all. Harry would rejoice to hear him say that, when they would next talk. Tom didn’t know where he was, but he would retrieve him from the depths of hell if he had to.

“Myrtle, Harry is not dead. Tell me what happened here.”

She started stuttering, still clearly under shock. Tom didn’t have the time to coddle her. “ Legilimens!”

Seeing Myrtle’s memories plunged Tom into the blackest of rage. How dare Crouch kidnap Harry, threaten him, make him bleed. 

He was probably still alive, maybe even in the same place as Harry. Tom would find him and, by the time he was done with him, there would be less than a thimbleful left of him to bury.  

But vengeance would come later. Rescuing his soulmate took precedence. 

First, find out where he was. Tom had brushed up on his locator spells to make the Weasleys’ wedding gift, but these were not so precise as to find a person anywhere in the world. 

Except… Harry was carrying his phone, right? Tom had studied the one in his possession and it was connected to the four other phones via a modified version of a two-way mirroring spell, to enable constant communication between them.

Tom opened his phone and wrote a quick text to Harry. The message failed to send. Timeline error. 

He sighed. That had to be a safeguard to prevent time paradoxes. Which meant Harry had been sent by the Veil not just to another location, but to another point in time.

It didn’t matter. Tom would find him anyway. He was even in the perfect place to do so, as the Department of Mysteries studied time travel extensively. 

“Myrtle, didn’t you mention that one of your colleagues kept a timeline map? Can you bring it to me?” 

She seemed to progressively come to her senses, as she nodded to him and led him to the office belonging to one Broderick Bode. She even started meticulously breaking the wards on the door, until Tom beat her to it by just slicing through them like a knife through butter. It would make the intrusion obvious, but, at this point, Tom didn’t give a single damn. 

With the phone and the map, he was able to locate Harry. He wasn’t even in the same universe anymore. He was about nine months in the past, but in a timeline from which their own had diverged about three millennia ago.

Tom sat down heavily in Bode’s chair. Time travelling was no easy feat, but travelling between timelines? How could he do that? 

Well, if he looked at it in the right way, travelling between timelines was just another form of time travel. If he went back all the way to before the two timelines had diverged, then returned to the present, maybe he could end up in the timeline where Harry was. 

“Where is Bode’s Time Turner? The prototype?”

“It’s not here. He keeps it with him at all times.” Myrtle swallowed a sob. “I’m so sorry, Tom. I had no idea of what Crouch was! I just thought he might share some valuable information with Harry, so I’d listen in. If I had contacted you earlier…”

“You should have,” he agreed coldly. “Just as you should have found out Crouch’s true nature much earlier.”

Part of Tom wanted to kill Myrtle for her failures. If Harry had been dead, he no doubt would have. But he wasn’t, and Myrtle could still be useful to him. 

“I’m going to go and rescue Harry. I don’t know how long it will take though, so, in my absence, you must follow my orders exactly. First, dispose of all the blood and of the rest of Crouch’s potion. Then, take that vial you stole from him and any notes you find in his office about the potion. Bring them to my sister-in-law in Riddle Manor, so she can make an antidote, just in case. Explain to my family what I am doing, they will cover for my absence. Finally, there will be people looking into Harry and Crouch’s disappearances. Lie to them. You weren’t there, you don’t know anything. The only people you should tell the truth about what happened to Harry are his parents and his three best friends. Did you get all of that? If you fail me once again, I won’t be as forgiving as I am now.”

She nodded. “Can you really bring him back?” To her credit, she looked more afraid for Harry, than of Tom. “He was so kind. The only one not to look down on me in the entire Department.” She snivelled. 

Of course, Myrtle would have become fond of Harry. Anyone who wasn’t a raging psychopath quickly came to love him.

“Don’t refer to him in the past tense: he’s not dead, just trapped in another timeline,” snapped Tom. “Of course, I’ll bring him back.” 

He got up, pocketed the timeline map, and left Myrtle to her tasks. It was time to visit Broderick Bode. 

A quick detour to the “security” desk (not so aptly named, since it was manned by only one guard that Tom had Stunned earlier) allowed him to find Bode’s personnel file, including his home address. He also took the time to blur any memories the guard had of him, so no one would know of his presence in the Ministry.

He then directly Apparated in front of Bode’s flat. The man himself was surprisingly cooperative at having his home barged into and being interrogated by a stranger on a quiet Monday night. All the better, it saved Tom the need to use force. 

“Your prototype Time Turner really has no limit on how far one can go back?”

“No,” said Bode. He actually showed it to Tom. “Instead of turning a dial to go back an hour at the time, you input your target date in here. You only have five minutes in the past though.”

“If I travel back to just before this point in time,” he tapped at the point of divergence between the two timelines on the map, “then, come back to the present, in which timeline will I be? Ours, or this one?”

“You can’t do that!” Tom glared at the obvious self-contradiction. “I mean, you can travel three millenia into the past, but you won’t return to the present alive. Time travelling takes a huge toll on the body and the protective charms on the Time Turner can only do so much. The furthest anyone ever went back was a few hundreds years, and she returned completely decrepit with old age. All the improvements we’ve made to Time Turners since then probably won’t be enough to stop you from turning into a desiccated corpse.”

“I don’t age,” said Tom briskly. He had spent decades gaining control of his body on a cellular level: what was his hard work worth it if he didn’t allow him to survive a spot of time travel? “Answer my question.”

“I don’t know. No one ever tried this before.” Bode sounded really excited. “What a pity that you would never come back to tell the tale. Even if you survived against all odds, you’d still be stuck in this other universe.”

“I can come back in the same manner.”

Bode raised an eyebrow. “So your plan is to travel back to the Bronze Age, somehow steer the Time Turner to bring you back to the present of another timeline, do whatever you’re so desperate to do there, then travel once again several thousands of years into the past and return to our own present?” Tom nodded. “And my colleagues call me insane. I recognised you, you know. I know you’re a great wizard, one of the best in the world even, but the chances of this working are incredibly small.”

“You mentioned steering the Time Turner. How?”

“Got a bit of a one-track mind, have you?” At Tom’s impatient look, he continued, “I’ve never implemented such a functionality but I don’t see why it would be impossible. If you go back to before the point of divergence of the two timelines, both of them should be open to you. It’s like a fork in the road, you just need to communicate to the Time Turner which path you’d like to take to return to the present. You’ll only get five minutes to do so though.”

“Alright.” Tom grabbed both the Time Turner and the map. He thought for a moment of erasing himself from Bode’s memory. However, as soon as he realised that his two precious creations were missing, the Unspeakable would probably go poking into his falsified memories. Maybe even find a way of undoing Tom’s Memory Charm altogether. No, it was better to use Bode’s obvious passion for his work to keep him quiet. 

“I’ll report back to you when I return, in exchange for your silence. As far as anyone else is concerned, this conversation never happened and the Time Turner and timeline map are still in your possession. Understood?”

Bode immediately agreed. He was a typical Unspeakable, always eager to keep secrets. “Thank you for offering to test my prototype. But my ethics as a researcher compel me to ask: are you absolutely sure you want to do this? As soon as you enter the target date in the Time Turner, you will no longer be able to change your mind. Your life may be forfeit.”

Tom forced himself to think about it. If not this, what could he do? Wait, and hope Harry would find his own way back to their timeline? Knowing Harry, he would certainly try his damndest to do so, but who knew what tools he had at his disposal in that other universe? 

The Ministry had used the Veil to execute criminals for years, thinking it sent them straight to Hell. It hadn’t killed Harry upon contact, but that didn’t mean he was safe either. Tom’s plan already relied on Harry surviving nine months on his own, how much longer could he afford to wait? 

With frightening clarity, Tom saw himself waking up one day with a faded soulmark. Never seeing Harry again. Never even knowing what had happened to him.

“No,” he whispered. “I mean, yes, I am sure.”

Without another word to Bode, Tom left the flat. Standing outside in a darkened alleyway, he looped the chain of the Time Turner around his neck and entered the target date.

Rewinding such a long stretch of time was surprisingly fast. The city of London blurred around him and was replaced by a quiet countryside. Tom didn’t really have time to admire the scenery though. He had five minutes to steer the Time Turner towards Harry’s timeline. 

That wasn’t enough time to create a spell, but Tom didn’t need one. All enchanted objects had a (most often very rudimentary) form of consciousness. Tom knew where Harry was and his determination to get to him was absolute. That - and raw magical power - was enough to bend the Time Turner to his will. 

The five minutes were up. The world was blurring again, the Time Turner emitting vivid pink sparks as if protesting what it was forced to do.

Then, Tom started dying.

Chapter Text

When Harry opened his eyes again, he was in Hogwarts. Somewhere on the seventh floor, if his memories were correct. It was very quiet, the soft crackling of the torches the only sound in the empty corridor.

For the first few minutes, he simply sat on the floor, breathing deeply. His body was still knitting itself back together, and that last spell had taken the very last drop of his magic. Yet, Harry felt nothing but relief. The Veil had not killed him, and, since Crouch wasn’t there, he was safe for now. He just had to find a teacher to help him.

Actually maybe better not to. He was covered with his own blood from head to toe, which would surely terrify anyone he approached. Not to mention the very awkward explanation he would have to give. 

Maybe he could contact Tom directly? He didn’t have the energy for a Patronus but his phone was still in his pocket. Harry relaxed the death grip he had on his wand and fished it out. When he turned on the phone, the screen displayed the time and date: December 19, 00:01.

Harry blinked confusedly. It was August, not December. The date and time had been correct the day before, he was almost certain of it. He opened the phone’s calendar app and it stubbornly showed that the date was December 19, 1999.

Could it be? Had the Veil sent Harry not just through space, but also back in time?

He tried to send a quick message to Tom, but it didn’t go through. Neither did his texts to Ron, Hermione and Neville. Timeline error.

Harry swore under his breath. He couldn’t ask anyone for help, or even let people see him. The chance of causing some kind of time paradox was too great. 

But first, he had to find a place to rest. He was exhausted, and he couldn’t simply collapse in this corridor, still covered in blood. Where to go though?

Harry was still thinking about it when he heard the sound of footsteps approaching. He pushed himself up and hid in the first place he could find, behind the tapestry of the dancing trolls. 

It was a very poor hiding place, as his feet were sticking out, but Minerva McGonagall paid no attention to him as she passed through the corridor like a ghost. She looked… she looked worse than Harry felt, and he’d just survived a Dark spell that was supposed to drain him of all his blood. Her face was deeply lined with grief and her jet black hair had gone completely grey. 

Harry racked his brain. Did something happen to Professor McGonagall in December ninety-nine? Perhaps the loss of a family member or a very close friend?

Most of Harry’s friends had graduated from Hogwarts by then but his cousin Ben was a second-year, and a proud Gryffindor. If some tragedy had befallen McGonagall, he’d surely have mentioned it in one of his letters. He knew that Harry’s mother was very fond of her old House leader and would have sent her condolences, at the very least. 

Something wasn’t right, but Harry couldn’t think about it more. He was so tired his mind was running in circles. He needed a place to rest, just somewhere quiet to sleep…

Between one blink and the next, a new door had appeared opposite of Harry. He tried the handle cautiously. The room was unlocked. It was a bedroom with an en-suite bathroom, a fresh change of clothes waiting for him on the comfy-looking bed.

Harry didn’t question his good luck. He locked the door, stripped out of his ruined clothes and jumped in the shower. The hot water and soap, lightly scented with sandalwood, helped him get rid of all the dried blood in his skin and hair. He then tried on the clothes on the bed and they all fitted him perfectly. There even was a new soulmark cover for him, in a shade of dark green he favoured. 

Feeling already immensely better on account of being clean, Harry collapsed on the bed and was out like a light. 

He woke up about eighteen hours later. His body had finished healing itself, and he even felt able to attempt some magic. He was ravenously hungry though. 

Sitting on the bed, Harry took the time to assess his situation. The best course of action not to disturb the flow of time was to find a place to lay low for nine months, preferably somewhere abroad where he would not risk running into himself or any of his friends. It would be a pretty lonely and miserable few months, but at least he had the comfort of knowing his loved ones wouldn’t worry about him. From their perspective, it would be as if Harry had not disappeared at all.

But, first, he had to find some food. Contrary to what Gamp’s Law said, it was possible to conjure food out of thin air, but the slightest mistake could result in something inedible or even toxic so Harry decided not to attempt it. It was better to just get food straight from the kitchens. With a strong Disillusionment Charm and the House Elves focused on preparing dinner, he could sneak in unnoticed. 

Harry left the bedroom regretfully. Since it had appeared when he most needed it, and had given him exactly what he needed, it had to be some incredible piece of magic. Tom would absolutely love a room like this, wouldn’t stop until he had uncovered all its secrets. Maybe Harry could find a way to show it to him when they were reunited? 

Thinking about Tom was both sweet and bitter. Nine months without him. He had endured three years already. He only had one day with his soulmate before he was taken away from him.

Harry then made a vow to himself that, when he found his way back to Tom, he would never let himself be parted from him again. Hermione and the others could call him obsessed, or clingy, or whatever else they wished. He could not bear another separation. 

Harry shook his head. Time to stop ruminating on this. Something was definitely wrong. The corridors of Hogwarts were strangely empty. He only saw a handful of Slytherin students, and they all looked grim. There was no joking or chatting around. Even the ghosts seemed to be absent. 

Dread was building up in Harry’s stomach with every step. He stopped dead when he reached the Entrance Hall. Out of the four hourglasses marking the points of each House, only the Slytherin one remained. 

He was in Hogwarts, but it was not his Hogwarts. This was another timeline, which meant he would never get to go home. He would never see Tom again, or his parents, or any of his friends. 

No! He couldn’t give up that easily. The first thing Tom had taught him was that the limits of magic were highly flexible and that sincere belief in themselves allowed wizards to do incredible things. Harry hadn’t heard of anyone successfully travelling between timelines while at the Department of Mysteries, but it didn’t mean it was impossible. He would just have to figure it out.

First, some food, as his stomach was both roiling with nausea and growling with hunger at the same time. He headed to the kitchen corridor and tickled the pear in the fruit bowl painting to summon the door. Inside, the House Elves were as busy as expected, but they lacked any of their usual cheer and pride in their work. 

Was absolutely everyone miserable in this universe? Harry wished he could help them, but unfortunately, he had to raid their pantry first. He grabbed an empty bag and enough food for two meals. Now he just had to find a quiet place to eat. He chose the annexe next to the Great Hall, it was hardly ever used except during the Sorting Ceremony. 

After wolfing down some food, Harry felt a lot better. The first, obvious thing to do was to find out more about this universe. Since he wasn't supposed to be here at all, he should stay well out of sight. Harry double-checked his Disillusionment Charm before cautiously heading out. 

Students were filing into the Great Hall for dinner so Harry sneaked up behind them. The first thing that struck him was that three of the four tables were empty. He quickly ducked below the Gryffindor table, as every student went to sit at the Slytherin one.

From his hiding place, Harry risked a quick look at the staff table. The creature sitting in the Headmaster’s chair… Could Harry even call it human? It was shaped like a very tall, very thin man but its face was deathly pale, noseless and hairless, with bright red eyes. 

What kind of Dark magic would make someone look like this? The last Dark wizard to make the wizarding world tremble, Grindelwald, had done some truly foul things, but even he had stayed unambiguously human. This… this had to be worse than Grindelwald. And Hogwarts, and presumably the rest of wizarding Britain, was under his control. 

Harry had another look at the staff table. There were several familiar faces, such as Professor McGonagall, Flitwick and Sprout, but also some people he didn’t recognise. A man and a woman, probably siblings since they shared the same looks, were the only ones looking happy to sit there. 

Then, there were all the missing faces, including Professor Slughorn, Dumbledore and, of course, Tom. What was he doing in this universe? Harry couldn’t imagine he would accept the rule of any Dark wizard. 

Maybe there was no Tom? Harry couldn’t assume that everyone he knew had even been born in this timeline. It would also make a certain kind of sense for Tom not to exist in this universe. Any version of him would bring Harry some measure of comfort, so, of course, he would be denied even that. 

There was little more he could learn here. He would follow the students out and head to the library. There had to be some books about what had happened to this universe.

However, when the dishes were finally cleared out, the students were not allowed to leave. Instead, the Dark wizard stood up and spoke in a high, cold voice that chilled Harry to the bones:

“I have two momentous news to share with you. First, one of my most faithful servants has returned from beyond the Veil, and with very valuable information. Bartemius Crouch regains his rightful place at my side tonight.” Crouch came out of the antechamber behind the staff table and took a seat, looking smug.  

Harry was seething. Crouch was here after all! And, of course, he would side with the resident madman, as his counterpart in this timeline apparently had. Which meant that the inhuman-looking Dark wizard knew all about Harry and his timeline. He would have to be even more careful. 

“Second, one of our enemies has been captured while attempting to rescue some Muggles. Bring him in!”

The double doors leading to the Entrance Hall suddenly swung open and Harry scrambled further under the Gryffindor table to stay out of sight. Someone was being marched in, escorted by two guards. He waited until they had passed him before taking a look at the prisoner. 

A young man was standing in manacles, his face bloodied and bruised as he stared at the Dark wizard defiantly. Could it be… 

“Neville Longbottom,” hissed the Dark wizard gleefully, as if taking joy from confirming Harry’s fears. “You have defied me many times. Yet, Lord Voldemort is not without mercy. Kneel before me, and much power and glory can be yours still.”

Neville actually chucked. “You’ve already made me this offer once. Getting a bit desperate, are you? It must be hard to find wizards willing to serve you when you constantly murder and torture your own followers.”

One of the guards punched Neville in the face. “Do not disrespect the Dark Lord.”

“Your answer?” asked Voldemort coldly. 

Neville had bent under the force of the blow, but he quickly straightened, “Never! I would never betray Harry!” 

Harry knew Neville wasn’t calling for him, but hearing his name from his friend’s lips still felt like a blow to his heart. Yet, he was also filled with pride at seeing Neville so wildly defiant in the face of evil. He was the best of Gryffindor and a true friend, in both universes. Harry had to find a way to help him. 

Voldemort laughed, an ugly, high-pitched sound. “Harry Potter is dead! I killed him with my own hands. How deluded must you be to still call upon his name?”

Harry felt slightly queasy. Well, at least that clarified what had happened to him in this timeline.

“You still don’t get it, don’t you?” said Neville furiously. “Harry is still with us! He will always be, as long as a single one of us remains to continue his fight.” He turned towards the Slytherin table. “He’s in you too! You can stand up and fight!”

None of the students moved an inch. Harry thought they looked absolutely terrified. 

“You will find no help here, Longbottom,” said Voldemort, amused. “Unlike you, they are wise enough to fear me.”

“There are things stronger than fear. Love is one of them. Not that you would ever understand it, Riddle,” spat Neville, and the guard hit him again.

Harry’s heart stuttered. He had to have misheard, right? Neville couldn’t have called him…

“If you don’t change your mind by dawn, you will die. Take him away.” Neville was roughly pulled up and dragged away by the guards. 

“Your choice is the same as his,” said Voldemort once the door of the Great Hall had closed behind them. “Serve me faithfully and be rewarded, or defy me and die. You may leave.”

The students all got to their feet and Harry trailed them as they left the room. He still felt in a daze. Voldemort couldn’t be this timeline’s version of Tom. It simply didn’t make any sense. 

Harry resolved not to think about it for now. He had until dawn to find a way to rescue Neville. 

First, find out where they were keeping his friend. The logical place would be the dungeons. They were the coldest and darkest places in the castle and, if he remembered correctly one of Hermione’s stories from Hogwarts: A History, they had been used to hold prisoners in the past. 

Harry was about to head down there when the doors to the Great Hall opened again, and Voldemort swept out. He took the direction of the dungeons. Had he decided to kill Neville already? Harry could do nothing but follow him from a distance, his spell allowing him to blend almost seamlessly with the shadows. 

Voldemort finally stopped in front of a cell. “Out, both of you,” he coldly ordered before stepping in and closing the door behind him. Mere seconds afterwards, Neville’s cries of pain were ringing through the entire corridor. 

Harry was dying to help his friend but he couldn’t face both Voldemort and his two minions. It would be pure suicide, and wouldn’t help Neville in any way. 

After what felt like hours, but was probably minutes, Neville’s shouts and sobs of denial of knowing anything quieted down. Voldemort went out, locked the door with a spell and ordered one of his servants to stand guard all night. 

That was Harry’s chance. He waited until the guard was getting bored and restless and wordlessly Stunned him. Then, he considered the door. He didn’t know what spell Voldemort had used on it but he could neither open, nor destroy it. 

Well, no matter. If he couldn’t go through the door, he would go through the wall. His Blasting Curse was strong enough nowadays to destroy a few stones. It even felt good to pour all his anger into it. 

Inside the cell, Neville was curled on the floor, his hands manacled to the wall. “Alohomora!” The manacles fell open and he stirred, “Harry? I must be going mad already.”

“No, I’m really here! Come on, let’s get you up.” He supported Neville’s weight as his friend struggled to his feet.

“I saw you die,” whispered Neville. “How? How did you survive?”

“I’m Harry, but not the Harry you know. I’ll explain everything once we’re out of here, ok?”

He put another Disillusionment Charm on Neville, then started heading towards the third floor. 

“Where are we going?” asked Neville.

“The one-eyed witch passage. It’ll lead us straight to Hogsmeade.”

“They've blocked that already. Let’s go to the Room of Requirement.”

“The what?”

“You’ve forgotten the Room of Requirement?” Neville sounded incredulous. 

Harry didn’t want to repeat that he wasn’t from this timeline, it was obviously a lot to take in for poor Neville at the moment. “Assume I don’t know anything about it.”

“It’s this room on the seventh floor that will give you what you require, but only appear if you pace three times in front of it while thinking about what you need.”

Could it be? He hadn’t paced in front of it, but he had wished for a place to rest at least three times and the room had appeared. “In front of the tapestry of the dancing trolls?”

“Now you remember,” said Neville with a smile. “Let’s go!” 

They slowly made their way to the seventh floor corridor. “My legs still feel wobbly. You should open the room, Harry. Just ask for our old passage to the Hog’s Head.”

Harry faced the empty wall, mind racing. “I will, but I have something else I need to ask the room first.”

“Someone could realise I’m gone and raise the alarm any moment. We should leave!” pleaded Neville. 

“I know, but it’s very important.” Harry chanted in his head three times, “I need to find a way back to my own timeline, please.” As soon as the door appeared, he rushed to open it. 

The room was completely empty. Even the walls and floor were stark white. 

Harry’s hopes were crushed, until he noticed a piece of paper lying on the floor. It was a map of a place he didn’t recognise, with weird symbols written on it. He had no idea how it would help him, but it was something at least. He quickly tucked it in its pocket. 

“What was that?” asked Neville curiously.

“I’ll explain later. We can go now, sorry about the delay.” Harry asked the room for the passage to Hogsmeade and they made their way out of the castle.

Chapter Text

“We have a number of hideouts under Fidelius Charms, each of them with a different Secret Keeper,” explained Neville as they quickly walked through Hogsmeade. “You-Know-Who made me give up the location of mine tonight, but they must have evacuated it as soon as I was caught anyway. We should send a message to Hermione, so she can tell you about hers.”

“You know who? Do you mean Vol…”

“Don’t say that name! It’s Taboo. It’d bring them straight here. Just call him You-Know-Who or Riddle.”

“About that…” Harry said, feeling queasy. “Is Tom Riddle his real name?”

Neville looked at him with wide-eyes. “It’s what you called him, Harry.”

“It wasn’t me,” he replied miserably. “This isn’t my world, Neville. I was… fighting a Dark wizard in the Department of Mysteries. There was an accident, and I ended up here.”

“Let’s not talk about that now,” said Neville, not quite keeping the disbelief out of his voice. “We’re outside the village now. Do you mind sending a Patronus to Hermione? I still don’t feel too well.”

“Of course. Expecto patronum!” A silver snake slithered out of Harry’s wand. “What should I say to her? Neville?”

His friend had suddenly frozen up. “Your Patronus is a snake? When did it change?” he said almost angrily. 

“My Patronus has always been a snake,” replied Harry gently. “I guess the Harry in this timeline had a different form?”

“It was a stag,” said Neville, a terrible grief in his voice. “I’m sorry, you did say you weren’t our Harry. But I couldn’t quite believe it… I mean, you showed up to save me, just like he would have!” He looked on the verge of breaking down into sobs. 

Harry hugged him. “I’m very sorry for your loss, Neville. I can’t possibly replace him, but I can still try to help.”

“Thank you.” Neville looked at the snake again. “You’re very like him, despite the different Patronus. Still, maybe it would be better for me to send the message to Hermione. She might think it’s a trap otherwise.”

It took some ten minutes for Neville to cast a non-corporeal Patronus and send it to Hermione. She Apparated almost immediately.

“Harry!” She threw her arms around him and hugged him tight. “But how?”

“I’m not the friend you lost,” he said reluctantly and saw her face crumble. “It’s a long story.”

“We shouldn’t stay here, Hermione. Tell him the secret, then we can speak somewhere safe.”

“Are you sure? He could be an impostor.”

“He would be a very poor one then, since he never pretended to be the real Harry. But he saved my life, I know he’s on our side.”

“Very well.” Hermione whispered in Harry’s ear, “One of the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix is at number twenty-six, Rue des Chats Bossus, Lille.” She grabbed both his and Neville’s hand and Disapparated.

“We’re in France?” asked Harry, as they appeared in front of a pretty, pink-painted building on a cobbled street. 

“Much safer this way. France’s Ministry of Magic is not yet controlled by You-Know-Who’s allies. He can’t afford to be as aggressive here without risking alienating the local wizards,” explained Hermione briskly as she unlocked the front door. 

Harry followed her into a short entrance hall, then a cosy living room where most of the Weasley family was sitting. As soon as he entered, they all rushed to him. Mrs Weasley, in particular, embraced him like a son and started crying on his shoulders. “You survived… If only Ginny had known… If only she had known…” 

The intensity of her grief was so strong that he didn’t have the heart to tell her that the Harry she knew and loved was truly gone. He could only pat her awkwardly on the back and murmur soothing words into her ear. Behind her shoulders, he could see Ron and Hermione furiously whispering to each other. 

More wizards were coming out from the fireplace. Some Harry knew, some he didn’t, but they all cheered for him. “Harry!” “He beat him!” “The Boy Who Lived!” These last few words were repeated over and over again like a chant. “The Boy Who Lived! The Boy Who Lived!”

Harry had received its fair share of acclaim before, because of Quidditch and, of course, the Triwizard Tournament. This wasn’t anything like that. These people weren’t cheering for him as their champion. They were looking to him as their saviour.

He could hardly swallow because of the lump in his throat. The barrage of questions was incessant, the most common by far, “How did you survive?”

“Because of his mother’s magical protection, of course,” said Hermione. Harry looked at her confusedly and she shook her head very slightly. 

“Don’t crowd him so much. Harry’s escaped You-Know-Who once again, he needs some rest,” said Ron, laying a hand on his shoulder. “Come on, mate, we’ll find you a room.”

Grateful to escape the suffocating atmosphere of the living room, Harry followed him, Hermione right behind them. Neville was hanging back so Harry gestured for him to join. He seemed confused, but came along anyway.

Ron led them to a bedroom that was clearly meant for guests as it looked rather bare. Harry sat on the bed, exhausted. “What the hell was that?”

“We should be asking who you are, since you’re not Harry,” drawled Ron. 

“I am Harry! Just not the one from this timeline.” He took a deep breath. “How much do you know about the Department of Mysteries?”

“We went there in our fifth year.”

“Oh.” Strange they’d been allowed inside, but it made things easier. “Did you see the Veil? I went through that.”

“I thought falling through the Veil killed you!” said Hermione.

“I thought so too, but here I am.”

“Does this mean Sirius is alive?” she continued.

“Sirius… Did he go through the Veil in this timeline? Why was he there? Why were you there?”

“We were fighting Death Eaters over the Prophecy,” said Ron.

“What are Death Eaters? And which prophecy? I’m sorry, but I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Hermione walked up to him and gently pushed back the hair from his forehead. “He doesn’t have a scar.”

They explained to him what had happened to their version of Harry when he was a baby. “Oh. Well, my parents never died.”

“So You-Know-Who never attacked them in your timeline?”

“There is no You-Know-Who in my timeline. There is a Tom Riddle, but he’s not a Dark wizard.”

“I can’t believe it!” said Ron. As he scratched his head, his slightly too short sleeve revealed a sliver of his bare wrist.

“Ron, where is your soulmark cover?”

“My what?”

Harry asked permission to see his left wrist. There was no name on it. 

“This universe doesn’t have soulmarks?” said Harry, horrified. He then had to explain the concept of soulmarks to his puzzled audience. He didn’t say anything about his own: these versions of Ron, Hermione and Neville only knew Tom Riddle as the monstrous Voldemort and would no doubt be aghast to see his name on Harry’s wrist. 

“Looks like there are many differences between ours and Harry’s universe,” said Hermione. “Should we compare them?”

Ron and Hermione spent several hours telling him about their and Harry’s lives in this universe, Neville only interjecting occasionally. Harry’s own tale was much shorter, especially since he edited out most of his personal relationship with Tom, only mentioning him in his role as teacher and mentor. 

“I can’t quite believe it,” said Harry when the tale of the short, sad life of his alter ego was over. “First, Aunt Petunia. She’d never make me live in a cupboard! Sure, she has a bit of a sharp tongue but she’s a loving, brilliant woman. She and my mother are very close too. Then, Uncle Peter. My father never had any siblings, but his three friends are like brothers to him. I’ve known Peter Pettigrew my whole life. He’s been there at every Christmas, at every birthday. How could he betray my parents to a Dark wizard? Then…” There was Tom, but Harry couldn’t speak about him, not right after hearing Voldemort’s backstory. “None of this makes sense,” he finished lamely.

They stared at him in silence. “I just think you’ve been lucky, Harry,” finally said Neville. “Lucky to be born in the right universe.”

Harry looked at them three, really looked at them beyond the resemblance to his own friends. They all looked older, thinner, more tired. They were veterans of war that had started before their birth and touched every aspect of their life since then. Harry had only known peacetime.

“You’re right, I am lucky. Now, how are we going to tell all these people downstairs that I’m not the Boy Who Lived?”

“We don’t,” said Hermione firmly. 

“What? Why?”

“After he killed y… Harry, You-Know-Who seemed unbeatable. A lot of people just gave up and, even for those of us who kept fighting, it became incredibly hard to believe it wasn't futile. You saw how people reacted when they saw you? It’s the first time they had any hope in more than a year! If we tell people you’re our Harry, that you survived once again against all odds, then they will be inspired to rise up against him!” said Ron. 

“But it is a lie. A very cruel one.” 

“We’ve had to do a lot worse than telling a few lies!” said Hermione with tears in her eyes. “We need to win this. Otherwise, Harry died for nothing.”

“It’s not just Harry,” added Ron grimly. “They killed Fred and Ginny. I’m not resting until You-Know-Who is dead.”

“I… I’m not sure I can do it. I’m not a great liar.” Impersonating his dead alternate self just seemed so fundamentally wrong and disrespectful, not just to the friends who mourned him but to this Harry’s memory itself. Yet, he could see Ron and Hermione’s point too. 

“We’ll say you got confused, lost some of your memories and it’s why you took so long to get back to us.”

“I got confused for over a year? Will people really believe that?”

“They will,” said Neville. “They’ll believe it because they want it to be true. But the question is: do you want to do it? We all chose this fight, but you’re not even from this universe. You could just walk away.”

“I can’t! I can’t just leave you to face You-Know-Who alone. I just wish I could help you as myself, not pretend to be someone I’m not.”

Hermione was definitely crying now. “Harry always had a…. a “saving people” thing.”

“It got him killed in the end,” said Ron darkly. 

“I’m not going to die! Once You-Know-Who is defeated, I need to get back to my own universe. It will be very difficult but, if you all help me, I’m sure we can find a way.”

Hermione was dabbing her tears away. “You’re asking for our help?” She seemed almost surprised. 

“Of course. Why shouldn’t I?”

“Harry never had to ask. Of course, we’ll help you too. It really is the least we can do after what we’ve asked of you.” 

It was now quite late and they were all bone tired. However, before they all went to sleep, Hermione found a makeup crayon and drew the lightning bolt scar on Harry’s forehead. “It will be easier than using magic. You’ll have to keep redrawing it though.”

He nodded grimly.

“I really am sorry,” she murmured before leaving him alone.

Chapter Text

Being the Boy Who Lived was both easier and harder than Harry had imagined.

It was easy, because he was so busy he hardly had the time to think. As one of the leaders of the Order of the Phoenix, he had many missions. Some of them were hands-ons, such as defending Muggles from Death Eater attacks or smuggling Muggleborns out of Britain. Harry couldn’t take too many of those though, as his safety was paramount, especially now that everyone was aware of his existence.

The many rumours of Harry Potter’s reappearance had finally spread far enough that The Daily Prophet had been moved to comment upon them. Voldemort’s propaganda mouthpiece called him an impostor, a last ditch attempt by the Order to exploit a dead man’s legacy, which was true in a way. Yet, Voldemort also promised a very handsome reward to anyone who would capture him alive. 

“Shouldn’t he want me dead?” Harry had asked Ron one day over breakfast.

“You-Know-Who has a bit of an obsession with personality killing you. He probably doesn’t want anyone else to do the deed.”

Harry had dropped his spoon afterwards, suddenly unable to stomach his cereals. 

There were other, considerably safer, missions that Harry often took for the Order. These were political in nature. Voldemort couldn’t hope to crush both Muggles and Muggleborns without the support of the worldwide wizarding community, and he had started to extend his influence in Europe. Every week, Harry and Hermione would pour over their map of the continent, listing governments that were sympathetic to Voldemort’s ideas, those that were not and those that were on the fence. 

The Order tried to reach out to those in the latter two categories and obtain their support. Foreign governments were not keen to act overtly against Voldemort: his rule of Britain through his puppet Minister for Magic was legitimate enough that an attack on him would be akin to a declaration of war. Covertly, however, there was much they could do, such as providing the Order with money, resources and, of course, people. 

“We did it, Hermione!” Harry collapsed in his chair after a particularly difficult, but successful, negotiation. A whole contingent of French Aurors would take a leave of absence from work and join the Order, in a strictly personal capacity, of course. 

“The French Minister for Magic is quite a character, isn’t she? I think you handled the discussion very well.” Hermione paused and her smile fell. “Harry… wasn’t very good with Ministry officials. He snapped at them.”

“Your Harry suffered a lot more under the Ministry than me.” Harry wondered what had happened to Dolores Umbridge in his timeline. He'd never heard of the woman before. Had Tom quietly disposed of her? How typical of him, just making their universe a better place without Harry even realising it. 

Harry quickly cut this painful line of thought. “Hermione, did you find out anything about this map I gave you?”

“Yes. The writing on the map is cuneiform, which was used thousands of years ago in the Middle East. Based on that and some natural landmarks, I think it might be a map of Syria in the Bronze Age. I cannot be sure without deciphering the writing first though.”

“Oh, alright. Thanks, Hermione.” How was a map of Ancient Syria supposed to help him return to present day England? Harry had no idea but he couldn’t lose hope. The Room of Requirement had to have given him the map for a reason.

Even if he found his way home, Harry had promised he would stay in this universe until Voldemort was defeated, which would be no easy feat to accomplish. He had a formidable weapon with the Elder Wand and they were fairly certain he was seeking the other Deathly Hallows as well. 

They had reached this conclusion thanks to Neville’s testimony: “When I was at Hogwarts, You-Know-Who interrogated me about a ring with a black stone. He kept asking where it was. Thankfully, I knew nothing, so I could say nothing. Do you think this ring could be important?”

“That was one of the Horcruxes! The one Dumbledore destroyed,” immediately recalled Hermione. 

“Why would You-Know-Who even want it back?” said Ron. “Do you think he wants to make it into a Horcrux again?” He shivered.

“I don’t think so,” said Harry. “I mean, you destroyed all of his Horcruxes, right? It doesn’t seem they did such a good job at protecting him. I think he would try to find another way to immortality.” Tom, at least, would never stick with a failing method. 

“Oh no,” gasped Hermione. “Harry had this theory… that his invisibility cloak was one of the Deathly Hallows and that the stone on You-Know-Who’s ring was another. He never had any proof though.”

Harry frowned. He had never questioned the greatness of his invisibility cloak. Nor had he ever looked closely at the ring on Tom’s finger, the one he had taken from Morfin Gaunt so long ago. If only he had… “What if he was right? Where are the cloak and ring now?”

“Harry had the cloak at the battle of Hogwarts. It must have been next to him when…” Hermione clearly didn’t want to finish her sentence so Harry continued:

“You-Know-Who probably took it. This could mean he already has two Hallows out of three. What about the ring?”

“Dumbledore had it for a while. Then, he passed away and we never saw it again. Harry… Harry would get fixated on an idea sometimes. He was persuaded that the ring was hidden inside the Snitch Dumbledore had bequeathed to him in his will. He kept it with him at all times, but he could never get it to open.”

“If You-Know-Who had this Snitch, he no doubt would have found a way to break it open. Maybe it never contained the ring, and Dumbledore hid it somewhere else. Or maybe it did, but it was Harry who hid it.”

“But where?” asked Ron. 

They agreed the most likely place was Hogwarts, but had no idea where exactly. With the castle being Voldemort’s current residence, it wasn’t like they could do a general search.

“If he finds all three Hallows, will You-Know-Who really become the Master of Death? As in immortal, all powerful?” asked Neville.

“I don’t know,” said Harry. “We can’t really afford to find out, can we?” 

Despite their urgent need to find the ring before Voldemort, Harry still didn’t have any clue how to do so after months of thinking. And, even if they did, by some miracle, get to the Resurrection Stone first, they would still have to beat Voldemort wielding the Elder Wand. 

“You look glum, Harry,” said Neville as he sat in front of the fire, lost in thoughts.

“I think the Order is becoming strong enough to beat You-Know-Who’s followers. I just don’t see a way to defeat the man himself.”

“Even You-Know-Who cannot stand against the combined might of the rest of the wizarding world. You’ve done so much for the Order already, Harry. You don’t have to take up this additional burden alone.”

But Harry was alone, wasn’t he? That was the hardest part of being the Boy Who Lived. To almost everyone around him, he had to play a role. To Ron and Hermione, he was a constant reminder of the best friend they had lost. To Neville… Neville knew who he was, but he also hadn’t been close enough to the Harry of this timeline to constantly compare the two of them. 

“It looks like something big is weighing on you, Harry. Please tell me, and I’ll try to help in any way I can,” said Neville, and Harry made up his mind. He had to talk to someone . 

“Will you keep it to yourself, even if you don’t like it?” Neville swore he would. “I wasn’t completely honest with you about my life. Tom Riddle wasn’t just my teacher. I care about him… a lot, and I think he cares for me too.” 

Neville looked so utterly shocked that Harry moved to quickly explain, “He’s not anything like You-Know-Who! They couldn’t be more different! Tom admires Muggles and their ingenuity, and he’s a big defender of their rights. He doesn’t give one whit about blood purity or about being the Heir of Slytherin. He isn’t a Dark wizard; in fact, his specialty is healing magic! Even physically… You-Know-Who looks utterly monstrous and I’ve never seen Tom look anything but his best. So, yeah, it doesn’t make any sense that they’re technically the same person.” He laughed nervously. 

“Harry, are you trying to convince me or yourself?” asked Neville gently. 

“If… If Tom had decided to become a Dark wizard and pure-blood supremacist, he would have excelled at it, just like he excels at everything. So You-Know-Who being so powerful and utterly terrifying makes sense in that way.”

“Does learning about him make you think less of Riddle?”

“No? What I mostly feel is… inadequate. My universe is great, partly because Tom has done so much to change it. I don’t always agree with him, but I can’t deny how many people he’s helped. Your universe is a terrible place, because You-Know-Who has killed and hurt so many. Whether good or bad, Tom is a giant that looms over all our lives. I can’t possibly reach his level.” Harry sighed. “God, I sound so whiny. You must think I’m pathetic to complain about something like that when we have real problems to solve.”

“Of course not! I’ve been feeling inadequate nearly my whole life. I was a late bloomer and my family never missed the opportunity to remind me I was failing to live up to my parent's legacies. The more they criticised me, the worse I felt and the worse I did with magic. Until, one day, I realised that it didn’t matter if I was never good enough for them. I could be good enough for myself.”

“Harry, I don’t think there will be a point in your life where you think you’ve achieved enough to be Riddle’s equal. What you can decide is to be proud of yourself and everything you’ve accomplished.” Neville’s eyes narrowed. “He never treated you badly, did he? Never looked down on you?”

“No! He was never unkind to me, or to any of the other students for that matter. A big part of Tom’s teaching style was to build up our confidence. But, Neville, you never mentioned any of this before. What exactly happened to your parents? Why were your other family members so cruel to you?”

Neville’s story made Harry both sad and furious. “Your great-uncle dropped you out of a window? You could have died!”

“I guess they wouldn’t have minded a dead Squib,” said Neville in an unusually dark tone. “I don’t talk to any of them anymore.”

“What about your parents? Can nothing be done to help them?”

“The healers in St Mungo’s say no. They just keep them fed and clothed, that’s all.” 

“Did they even try?” Neville shook his head no. “That…. that doesn’t seem right. They’re still alive, aren’t they? Maybe there’s a way they could get better.” 

“You know, you’re the first person to say that. Everyone else treats my parents like they’re dead already. I wish… I wish someone would actually try to help them. After the war, when I can visit them again, I’ll try and find a way.”

“If only Tom were here,” thought Harry bitterly, desperately. Tom would know how to heal Neville’s parents. Tom would find a way to defeat Voldemort. Tom would make Harry’s life brighter just by being in it. 

Harry missed home every single day. As the winter turned to spring then summer, he kept reminiscing about the wedding. He could see in his mind’s eyes the Weasley family, whole and happy, Molly crying tears of joy instead of sorrow. Ron and Hermione’s first dance as a married couple. His father joking around with Sirius, Remus and Peter while his mother and Aunt Petunia rolled their eyes at their antics. Neville shily escorting Hannah Abbott to the dance floor. Tom, hearing his love confession in the garden and not rejecting him, giving him a second chance instead.

Harry might never see any of them again. 

The only things he had from home were his wallet, phone and wand so he carefully kept them near him at all times, like precious treasures. Therefore, when, on a warm August night, his phone actually rang, Harry immediately heard it and took the call. 

Tom was here. 

Chapter Text

As it turned out, dying was a very unpleasant experience. 

Tom wasn’t sure how he had found the strength to call Harry and tell him which street he was on. His head felt like it was being split in two, his legs were too weak to support his weight and he was pretty sure his heart had stopped twice already. 

He couldn’t black out though. Who knew how his spells would fare if he wasn’t in control anymore?

“Tom!” He was treated to the incongruous image of Harry Potter running towards him in his pyjamas. He would have laughed, if he hadn’t risked groaning in pain instead. 

Harry knelt beside him. “What’s going on? Should I bring you to St Mungo’s?”

“No… The regeneration spells… Cast them on me…”

Harry didn’t need to be told twice. His magic hitting Tom felt like… like that very first sip of coffee in the morning, like a warm bath on his aching muscles, like the comfort of sleeping in his own bed after being away, all rolled into one. He slumped in relief and Harry was there to catch him, but he didn’t stop using the spells. Tom had never been more grateful for Harry’s raw magical power in his life. 

Was Harry’s sheer talent the only reason this was working so well? Tom had always found it easy to heal him, was the reverse also true? Something to investigate later. 

“You can stop now. Don’t exhaust yourself for me.” The pain had faded and he was definitely no longer in danger. He could heal the rest of the damage himself over time.

“Tom, what happened to you?”

“I smashed through the limits of my magical ability.” That hadn’t happened in several decades. That feeling of being unable to cast a single additional spell left a bitter taste on Tom’s tongue, but it had all been worth it. He’d managed to travel to the other timeline, he’d found Harry. He was currently on top of Harry in fact. He should probably move. 

“No! I mean, you were dying! I could feel it.” Tom was feeling very tired and Harry was rather comfortable. No need to move really. “Sorry, I shouldn’t bombard you with questions now. It’s also not safe to stay here. I’ll bring you somewhere else. Will Side-Along Apparition hurt you?” Tom shook his head.

Harry whispered in his ear, “One of the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix is at number four, Stevenson Street, Cokeworth.” Tom’s mind was too fuzzy to properly process that sentence. In fact, he didn’t remember anything between hearing it and waking up in a bed that was decidedly not his own. 

Harry was sitting in an armchair next to the bed. As soon as Tom stirred, he came over and asked how he was feeling. 

“Much better, thank you. I’m just hungry now.” 

“I stole some breakfast from the kitchen for you.” Harry brought him a tray and even reheated the coffee with a mere press of his hand against the cup.

“That’s actually… These are all foods I like. How very thoughtful of you,” said Tom before digging in.

“Well, I’ve watched you having breakfast for several years.” Harry’s smile fell and he hastily added, “Not that I memorised all the foods you like or anything!”

“Not like you were watching me sleep a moment ago,” Tom teased.

Harry’s cheeks were definitely pink. “God, you make me sound like a stalker. I was watching you because… I just can’t believe you’re really, actually here.”

“You don’t need to justify yourself to me. I don’t mind.” Tom took another sip of his coffee. “Actually, I could think of many worse ways to start the day than having you bring me breakfast in bed.” He then enjoyed the sight of Harry turning even more red. 

“Anyway, how are you here? I found a Time Turner around your neck, but it was broken. Was it Bode’s?”

“Yes. I used your phone and Bode’s timeline map to track you to this timeline. Ours diverged from it about three thousand years ago. I travelled to this point of divergence with his prototype Time Turner, steered it towards this timeline and let it kick me back to the present.”

Harry was staring at him, open-mouthed. “Most of what you said should not even be remotely possible. Three thousand years? No wonder you almost died from the recoil. Did Bode warn you this would happen?” He sounded angry.

“Yes. I insisted.”

“Today’s the fifteenth of August, so you must have followed me right after I disappeared. Instead of carefully planning things out, you just rushed ahead and did something extremely dangerous. This isn’t like you at all, Tom.”

Harry was right, he had acted unusually rashly. What had been his thought process? The events of the previous night were foggy, like a half-remembered nightmare. Even his gut-wrenching fear of losing Harry seemed distant now that he was in this brightly lit bedroom, a coffee in hand, and Harry was right in front of him, safe and sound.

“Time was of the essence,” he finally said. “I knew from the timeline map you were sent nine months in the past and anything could happen to you during that time. I couldn’t afford to wait even longer.”

Harry frowned. “I guess that’s right. But you still almost died!”

“I knew my cellular regeneration spells could handle the recoil from the time travel.”

“You were wrong then. You would have died if I hadn’t come right away and been able to help,” said Harry, a stubborn set to his jaw. 

“But you did come, and I didn’t die, so everything’s fine.” Harry’s face was still frozen in what could have been either sorrow or rage. Tom set aside his breakfast. “Come here.” He opened his arms and Harry flew into them, burying his face into Tom’s neck. 

“It’s not fine! I felt you dying in my arms. You’re not supposed to die, Tom. You’re supposed to be invincible!” Tom could feel hot tears falling on his skin, dripping into his shirt. 

“I apologise, Harry. I behaved very foolishly and I swear it won’t happen again. Me dying, that is. I’m afraid both of us will have to time travel again to return to our timeline, but we won’t do it right away. We have to get that Time Turner fixed, I need to improve my rapid cellular regeneration spells and you need to fully master them. I will be a very harsh taskmaster, Harry.” 

His sobs had quietened. “I do want to go home, but only if it’s safe for both of us,” he murmured against Tom’s skin. 

“It will be. I’ve strived my whole life to be invincible and I will succeed. So will you, Harry.” 

While gently carding through Harry’s hair (slightly longer than he remembered, but it suited him), Tom noticed a red ribbon on his left wrist. “How did that get here?” 

Harry snuck a quick look before disappearing into Tom’s shoulder again. “Your soulmark was actually visible last night, so I put one of my own covers on your wrist. I hope you don’t mind.”

Right. He had removed the Disillusionment Charm the previous evening and forgot to put it back on. “I used the mark to quickly ascertain that you were still alive after you went through the Veil. It has proved useful in that way.”

Tom could almost feel Harry grinning against the skin of his neck. “My soulmark gave me courage so many times. I’m glad yours helped you too.” There was just a hint of smugness to his voice, and that made Tom’s stomach twist in a strange way. 

“This universe doesn’t even have soulmarks, you know? Just one more way in which it’s terrible.” Harry pulled back from Tom and went hunting for a handkerchief before settling back in his armchair. “I really need to explain more to you about this timeline. Sorry for ruining your clothes by the way.”

“It’s nothing.” A quick cleaning spell, and they were impeccable once more.

“Ok, you need to brace yourself, Tom. What I say will probably come as a huge shock to you. In this timeline, wizarding Britain is under the control of a Dark wizard. He’s a pure-blood supremacist who views both Muggles and Muggleborns as less than dirt. He calls himself…. I can’t actually say it out loud, because he made the name Taboo. Saying it would give away our location. I’ll write it down instead.”

Tom took the piece of parchment from Harry and immediately burst out laughing. “That’s my username on Internet forums,” he managed to wheeze out between fits of laughter. 

Harry just looked at him, completely nonplussed. “It’s an anagram of my name.” Tom added “I am” in front of “Lord Voldemort”, then tapped the parchment with his wand to rearrange the letters. “See? I thought it was clever. Does my alter ego really make people call him that in real life? Because that is very juvenile.”

“Tom, nothing about this is funny,” said Harry. “Look, I better start over from the beginning.” He then told Tom a summary of his alter ego’s life, from his unlikely survival as an infant to his death two years ago at Voldemort’s hands. 

“Well, that doesn’t make any sense,” said Tom. 

Harry let out a sigh of relief. “Right?” 

“My alter ego’s supposed to be a pure-blood supremacist, but he’s killed so many pure-bloods and talented half-bloods from respectable families. He’ll never have the manpower to dominate Muggles and Muggleborns.”

“Shouldn’t you be more upset by You-Know-Who’s ideology than by his failures to uphold it? Don’t you hate pure-blood supremacists?”

“You know I cannot stand incompetence, least of all in myself. As for the ideology, pure-blood supremacy is petty and cruel but it does make sense that, in this universe, I would believe in it. If both my parents had left me behind, if I’d grown up in a Muggle orphanage, neglected or even abused, I could have come to hate Muggles and renounce my father’s name, and even my father’s face. I can imagine it very easily.”

Harry’s face was thunderous, but he bit his lip and said nothing. “Harry, why are you upset that I’m not upset by this?”

“Because you’re a good person! A Healer! Of course, you should be upset that you’re a deranged killer in this timeline.”

“Harry, I don’t kill because the overwhelming majority of people are more useful to me alive than dead. I help people when it’s advantageous - or, at least, not disadvantageous - to my interests. They’ll owe me later. What is “good” or “evil”, “fair” or “unfair”, matters to society at large. By staying within the acceptable bounds of morality, I am much more likely to accomplish my goals. This has nothing to do with kindness or selflessness or anything you think of as the attributes of a “good” person. I don’t have any of those.”

Harry’s face fell and Tom braced himself for rejection. Of course, Harry’s crush on his charming facade wouldn’t resist contact with the darker parts of his personality. 

“Does it matter though? You didn’t cure Remus of his lycanthropy out of the goodness of your heart, but he’s still happy and healthy thanks to you. He’s dead in this timeline, by the way. You didn’t turn my mother’s family into new wizards to be kind, but you still transformed their lives for the better. In this timeline, my grandparents died before I was born and my aunt is an awful, bitter, abusive woman.” 

Harry shook his head. “Good intentions are overrated. I thought going to work at the Department of Mysteries was the best thing I could do to help the wizarding world. Yet, because I was naive and careless, I helped Crouch find a way to mass murder the new wizards. If he had poured that potion of his into the water supply… what would my good intentions have been worth then? Your path to greatness led millions to have longer, healthier lives. If that doesn’t make you good, then what does?”

“Don’t make me into a hero, Harry. You’re setting yourself up for disappointment when I fail to live up to your standards.”

Harry looked him in the eyes. “I don’t want you to be a hero. I just want you. And you’ve never disappointed me, so please stop trying to push me away.”

“I think you’ve thoroughly established that would be a waste of my time,” murmured Tom, but he couldn’t help smiling. “Don’t blame yourself for Crouch’s actions. While you were definitely too trusting, the man managed to fool even Myrtle, and she’s far from naive.”

“So Myrtle was your spy after all? I thought she destroyed my work by accident!”

Tom laughed. “You never suspected her then? She really is clumsy, she just plays it up so people underestimate her. She’s quite the useful asset, especially in the Ministry’s most secretive department. Speaking of which, we might have to go there to find a way to repair the Time Turner.”

“I thought about that too. However, since You-Know-Who took over the Ministry, the Department of Mysteries has been under lockdown. The Unspeakables are all held there at all times and forced to work for him.” Harry sighed. “I have another thing to tell you that you won’t like. I… kinda have to stay here until You-Know-Who is defeated.”

“Why?”

“I promised Ron, Hermione and Neville I would help them. And the rest of the Order is counting on me too! I can’t just abandon them.”

Tom got out of bed, went up to Harry and pushed his hair away from his forehead. “You idiot! Why would you paint this huge target on your face?”

“I wasn’t keen on this idea either, but I can’t just help them as Harry. I have to be the Boy Who Lived, so people have the hope and strength to fight back.”

“And whose idea it was?” said Tom acidly. “Mr Weasley or Miss Granger, I presume? They learnt treachery at this version of Dumbledore’s knees. You know, the wizard who got close to a vulnerable child and set him up as lamb for slaughter? It worked great. Your alter ego destroyed all of the Horcruxes, including himself.”

“Whatever do you mean?” asked Harry, frowning.

“Oh, you haven’t figured it out already? The Harry from this timeline could speak Parseltongue. He could see into my alter ego’s mind. You can do none of these things. Why? Because the Boy Who Lived was a Horcrux, and thus he needed to die. Now you appear, a how-so-convenient replacement. Do you think anyone in the Order would hesitate to sacrifice you if that’s what it would take to defeat their enemy?”

Harry audibly swallowed. “Neville would. I can’t be certain of the others.”

“Then why are you risking your life for them? Your real friends, your family, they are all waiting for you in our universe. So let’s get back to it and leave the people in this timeline to fix their own problems.”

“But defeating You-Know-Who is the right thing to do!” Harry took a deep breath. “You’re not wrong, Tom. Dumbledore should not have used Harry in this manner, and Ron and Hermione shouldn’t have asked me to impersonate their friend. However, they’re trapped in a desperate situation with no good choices. It’s very easy to judge people when you’re not in their shoes. I probably would have become just as callous if I’d lost as much as they did.”

“You’re always so eager to see the good in people, Harry. So willing to risk your life for those who do not deserve it. It’s going to get you killed someday.”

“Hey, I’m not stupid, or suicidal. I’ve kept myself safe for nine months in this timeline,” said Harry, annoyed. “Actually, you’re the one who almost got yourself killed yesterday.”

“That’s entirely different.”

“How so?”

“Because I did not risk my life for the sake of almost strangers. I risked my life for you.”

Tom regretted the words as soon as they had left his lips, but he knew he could not take them back. Harry’s eyes widened for a second, then he smiled, just a little bit smug. God, Tom wanted to wipe that smirk off his face with a kiss. 

“And I am glad you’re here. Really, really glad. Should we make another deal? If you help me defeat You-Know-Who, I’ll help you when we get back to our own timeline.”

Tom sat back on the bed, stunned. “Last time we discussed this, you adamantly refused to help me.”

Harry scratched his head, abashed. “Yeah, about that… At the wedding, you asked me whether the world you built was that repulsive and I never actually answered you. The answer is clearly no. Our timeline is a paradise compared to this one. Of course, there will be chaos when the Statute of Secrecy ends, but it’s nothing compared to the damage You-Know-Who has done and will continue to do if he isn’t stopped. So me helping you in our timeline is really a small price to pay to get your help in this one. Also…” 

Harry took a deep breath. “Part of the reason I was reluctant to help was because I didn’t want to play second fiddle to you. But, after discussing it with Neville, this universe’s Neville, I realised that my fixation on being your equal is really my problem. I should just gain confidence in myself instead of constantly comparing us.”

“It looks like I owe Mr Longbottom for finally getting you to see reason.” Tom would have to find him a suitable reward for his service, no matter how unwitting. “Very well, I accept your deal but I have a few conditions. First, do not go after my alter ego. I will handle him.”

“I have no desire to do so, but will you be fine facing him?”

Tom rolled his eyes. “Harry, please. Do you really think he can beat me?”

“He’s very powerful. And he got the Elder Wand.”

“Power is not everything. Skill is just as important to a wizard, not to mention intelligence, both areas in which my alternate self is severely lacking. No one in their right mind would make one Horcrux, much less six of them.”

“Why not? Besides the fact that it requires sacrificing a life.”

“People don’t have souls and, even if they did, killing someone would not split it. Why would it? It’s obvious nonsense. What Horcrux creation does is make a degraded copy of yourself, so you’re essentially creating your own competition. Furthermore, if my alter ego is representative of the process, the more you make, the worse they get, both the original and the copy. He really should have stopped at one, two at most, and taken better care of them. But I digress. My second condition is that you improve your duelling skills. Even if you stay far away from my alternate self, his followers could still be a threat to you. You almost died facing Crouch.”

Harry grimaced. “Speaking of Crouch, he’s also here. He arrived in this timeline just before me and joined You-Know-Who.”

“That’s great news. I’ve been eager to speak to Mr Crouch since he drew every drop of blood from your body. I had to watch it, you know, through Myrtle’s memories. When I’m done with him, he will beg for the sweet release of death.” Harry didn’t say anything. “Not going to ask me to spare him?” 

“I thought I was killing him when I threw him into the Veil, so no. Honestly, I don’t even care if he suffers or not. He was going to murder millions of innocent people, after all.”

Tom smiled. Even Harry’s compassion had its limits. If only he valued his life as much as everyone else’s. “Then Crouch will be dead at your feet, Harry. Which brings me to my third and most important condition. You stay with me. Twice you went somewhere where I could not protect you and twice you almost got killed. There must be something about you that attracts psychopaths. In any case, I won’t let it happen a third time.” 

“What do you mean by “stay with me”? I’ve seen you for two days out of the last three years and nine months so, if you leave it to my interpretation, I might get a bit clingy.”

“Take it however you will. Just don’t walk away from me again.”

“No. I shouldn’t have left you, and I never will again.” Tom rolled his eyes at the juvenile promise. “I can’t believe I missed your Duelling Club! But now, you can teach me, right?”

“Obviously. Who else could teach you duelling?” Harry’s answering smile was impossibly bright and Tom could practically feel the excitement radiating from him, which made him look rather adorable. 

Tom was in a pretty good mood himself. In fact, it was almost exhilarating, finally getting Harry on his side. Having to defeat Voldemort seemed a small price to pay for that, especially since he was stuck in this timeline for the foreseeable future anyway.

Chapter Text

Getting Tom into the Order of the Phoenix proved incredibly easy.

Most of the Order knew the name Tom Riddle but none had seen the face that matched it. Harry only had to introduce him as a new recruit, a Muggleborn that he had rescued from the Snatchers. 

“So what was your name again?” asked Kingsley, who was evaluating Tom. Harry was hanging back, pretending to look disinterested.

“Thomas Worthington, but please call me Tom.” His smile must have looked perfectly pleasant to Kingsley, but to Harry, it was obviously fake.

“And you’re a Healer, correct?” Tom nodded. “I have to warn you that the missions we undertake in the Order can be extremely dangerous. Are you sure you can handle that as a non-combatant?” 

“Duelling is one of my hobbies so I shouldn’t have any issues defending myself.” Kingsley looked doubtful, but he didn’t press. The Order could hardly refuse volunteers, and people with healing skills were always useful.

“If you join us, you’ll have to learn the Patronus Charm. That is how we communicate between ourselves.”

“I already know that spell. Expecto patronum!” 

A silver mist came out of Tom’s wand, taking the shape of a lion. It stalked around the room and let out a mighty roar before dissipating.

Both Kingsley and Harry were amazed. “You know how to cast a Patronus? Only people fighting Dark wizards and creatures usually learn this spell.”

“A Patronus is a projection of the caster’s positive emotions, so they’re actually really useful for therapy as well.”

“I see. Anyway, it is impressive that yours is corporeal. You were a Gryffindor, I presume?”

“Oh, I wish I was! My parents moved to the States when I was ten, so I went to Ilvermorny.”

There were a few more banal questions after that, then Kingsley left. He clasped Harry’s shoulder on his way out. “Good find here, Harry. Someone with such a Patronus definitely belongs in the Order.”

“When did your Patronus change form?” It was Tom who had taught him that spell, years ago in Hogwarts, and his Patronus had been a snake back then.

“I’m not actually sure. I do prefer this form though. A snake was too obvious. People see a lion Patronus and think the caster has to be brave and pure-hearted. It’s the perfect disguise.” 

Harry could think of another reason Tom would have a lion for a Patronus, but he didn’t dare get his hopes up. Instead, he said, “Can a Patronus actually help with therapy?”

Tom smiled. “You know, I just made that up but it might be true. Anyway, are you ready for your first duelling lesson, Harry?” 

He nodded enthusiastically. “Then let’s go somewhere no one can see us. I don’t want your “friends” in the Order to realise I’m a little too competent for an amateur.”

Harry Apparated alongside Tom into a clearing in the middle of a forest. “This place should do. Now, for the basics of duelling. You know I’m not fond of over-reliance on wands, but complex wandless magic requires a sharp focus that is impossible to maintain in the rapid-fire rhythm of a duel. Therefore, duelling and wands are intrinsically linked. In fact, duelling is spellcasting with a wand brought to its finest form, as much art as it is combat. In order to overwhelm their opponent, a good duellist requires not just magical power and skill but also speed, stamina and adaptability.”

“You’ll be glad to know there is no magical theory of duelling. The only way to learn how to duel is to do it, then go over what went well and what went wrong, to build upon one’s strengths and cover one’s weaknesses. Formal duels start with opponents bowing to each other and end when one of them either gives up or becomes incapacitated. In real combat, of course, your enemy won’t politely let you know they’re about to attack you and won’t stop when you want them to. We will go over this later. However, since this is our first duel, we should observe the niceties.”

Tom’s smile was as bright and sharp as a knife, and he’d never looked more beautiful. “Oh, and Harry? Don’t hold back.”

They bowed and the duel began. Tom cast a spell lightning fast, Harry dodged and fired back. Though the spells should not have connected, they seemed to somehow attract each other. They met in the middle in an orb of light, which then exploded outwards in a multitude of golden ribbons. 

“What is this?” murmured Tom, wonder in his voice, as the threads of light shot in every direction, forming a sphere around them. Harry then felt his feet lift from the ground. He tentatively took a step forward and found he could walk just fine in mid-air.

Tom was moving towards the centre of the sphere so Harry joined him. The golden light streaked the sky above them and every thread was vibrating, giving off a sort of humming sound. They combined into a strange but harmonious melody. “It’s beautiful,” said Harry.

“I’ve seen a lot of strange magical phenomenons in my life. I’ve never seen anything like this.” Tom was enthralled by the spectacle and Harry could hardly stop looking at his face. Whatever this was, Harry was glad it brought him such joy.

“It all triggered when we started casting offensive spells at each other. I wonder… This duel is over!” As soon as Tom said the words, the golden lights started gently dissipating, the music slowly fading and they were lowered back to the ground.

Tom frowned at his wand, then used it to make a leather sofa appear. “Hmm, it works fine now. Why would I be unable to use it in a duel against you?”

The reason why suddenly became obvious to Harry. “It’s because our wands are brothers!” 

“I beg your pardon?”

“When I purchased my wand, Mr Ollivander mentioned that the cores of our wands come from the same phoenix.”

Tom was aghast. “And you never mentioned this before?”

“You never mentioned you had one of the Deathly Hallows on your finger!” Tom’s ring was now safely tucked in his pocket, so no one would mistake it for the lost ring from this universe. 

“The Deathly Hallows don’t matter, Harry! I mean, they are fascinating magical artefacts but they remain mere objects. This… this is a lot more important. I already have so many ideas on how I might make use of it.” 

“Really? But you don’t even use your wand most of the time.”

“It’s not just about our wands, but our magic in general. These brother wands chose us because we are compatible, not the other way around.”

“Yeah, we’re very compatible,” murmured Harry with a barely suppressed grin. Tom wasn’t paying attention though. He sat on the sofa, looking lost in thoughts. 

“I noticed that healing you was easier than others, but it wasn’t just healing. Everything I do is easier when you’re with me.”

Harry sat next to him, rather closer than was entirely proper. “I guess that’s right for me as well. I always seem to learn things better and faster when you’re teaching me. I just thought it was because you’re a good teacher and because… well, I’ve always worked harder to impress you.”

“Have you now?” Tom’s smile and the feeling of his leg pressed against Harry’s was very distracting. “Teenagers do go to great lengths to impress their crush, it seems.”

“I’m twenty, so definitely not a teenager. Also, if my feelings for you were a mere crush, they would have disappeared by the time I was fourteen.” 

Tom’s eyes widened slightly. “You felt that way even before getting your soulmark?”

“Of course! Our wands, our soulmarks, now even our Patronus, they’re just signs. I would have loved you without them, but they encouraged me to keep going when you did things like, not talk to me for three years. If you missed me, then why didn’t you reach out?” Harry hadn’t meant to bring that up now but he’d been bottling up that hurt for a long time and he’d never been good at keeping his feelings to himself. 

Tom was silent for a moment, his face a mask. Then he said, “Because there are only two sides: for and against me. You were against, and now you’re for me. That’s all there is to it.” That last part was a lie, Harry was almost certain of it, but he didn’t dare call it. If he didn’t push back against Tom's boundaries, he would never get anywhere but, if he went too far, too fast, Tom might start avoiding him again. He had to be patient, even if that killed him. 

“Right,” Harry said. “Now, if our wands refuse to fight each other, how can you teach me to duel?” He could feel Tom relax at the change of topic. 

“Well, the obvious solution would be to duel using other wands but that would be far from ideal. As I explained before, wands are such a fundamental part of duelling that one cannot become truly skilled at it without using a properly matched wand.” 

“Mr Ollivander said brother wands couldn’t work against each other, but we aren’t really doing that, right? In fact, it’s the opposite: you’re helping me by teaching me to duel, not harming me.”

“That is correct, but how would your wand know that? Wands have some form of sentience but they are by no means omniscient. You’ve used your wand for almost ten years now so it might know you mean me no harm. However, it cannot possibly guess my intentions as your opponent.” Tom paused, then smiled broadly. “Of course! Let’s try that. Give me your wand, Harry.” 

Tom waved it, releasing a shower of golden sparks. “Interesting. Feels quite adaptable, almost friendly really. I think it will serve me well. Now, you try mine.”

Tom’s wand was a deep caramel colour, as unlike Harry’s pale holly wand as possible. It was also longer than Harry’s and seemed heavier somehow, though it was probably his imagination. Holding it, Harry felt a sense of… not quite foreboding, but some kind of expectation.

Harry stood up and aimed at a tree. “Confringo!” The whole thing exploded into splinters. “Protego!” His Shield Charm deflected the debris away from himself and Tom.

“That’s… more powerful than I expected. It’s definitely not like using someone else’s wand. This doesn’t feel wrong, just different, I guess.”

Harry turned towards Tom and caught him staring with such an intensity that he felt himself beginning to blush. “Tom? Is something wrong?”

“My wand is a rather unyielding one. It has never performed well for others. But, of course, you would be different, Harry. It really shouldn’t come as a surprise to me anymore, how strong you are. My wand obviously recognised it. Which is fortunate for you, because you will have to duel with it against me.”

“Won’t the exact same thing happen again if we duel with each other’s wands?” Harry paused and thought it over. “Is the switch so my wand knows that you mean no harm to me, and vice-versa?”

“Precisely.” Tom’s grin was almost feral.

“But wasn’t your whole point earlier that we shouldn’t duel with someone else’s wand?”

“Oh, we’ll switch back, as soon as our wands understand us both. In the meantime, this is the best thing we can do.” Harry didn’t protest. In fact, he was quite eager to try using the yew wand in a duel.

Duelling with Tom was one of the hardest, most tiring and yet most exhilarating things Harry had ever done in his life. It was obvious that Tom had all the attributes of a great duellist: he had an enormous amount of raw magical power and a huge repertoire of spells, he was incredibly quick on his feet and able to come up with unusual strategies on the fly. He skillfully used the environment against Harry, who had to stop the ground from swallowing him up and the trees from giving him a beating. 

Yet, the most frustrating thing was that Harry knew Tom was holding back. If he’d really been trying to hurt Harry, then he would have been on the ground already, probably missing a limb or two. 

Harry was very much not holding back. He wasn’t worried about hurting Tom, because he could barely touch him. Just keeping up with him required every ounce of his strength. 

And he did keep up, for about an hour. Then, exhaustion caught up with him, he became too slow to dodge and was finally disarmed.

After his loss, Harry collapsed on the sofa. He felt like he’d just run an entire marathon. Tom looked like he’d barely broken a sweat. 

“Was I that easy to beat?” he couldn’t help asking.

Tom sat next to him, as straight-backed as ever. “You mean, because I don’t look tired? I am, actually. I just have a spell to hide the effects of exhaustion.”

Harry laughed. Of course Tom wouldn’t want anyone to see him even a slight bit sweaty or dishevelled. “You’re really the vainest person I know.” 

“And you, my dear student, are really not thinking straight if you call yourself easy to beat. You duelled me for an entire hour.”

“Is that a long time?”

“Most people wouldn’t last twenty minutes.” Tom handed Harry a glass of water, which he drank gratefully. “Let’s go over the duel together.” He then provided a run-down of everything that happened during their fight, with constructive criticisms and helpful suggestions.

“Now, let’s summarise. First, your weaknesses. You need to broaden your catalogue of spells, which is a common problem for beginners. Then, you tend to always choose a direct approach and you’re very aggressive. That’s not necessarily a bad thing, as this can allow you to finish a fight quickly if you’re short on time. The downside of this strategy is that your attacks are more straightforward to avoid and you will tire quicker. Now, your strengths. The fact that you lasted this long while attacking aggressively is a testament to your stamina. You’re also very fast, almost as fast as me. As I said earlier, you’re powerful; in fact, you could probably beat a weaker opponent using raw strength alone. Finally, you have that most coveted talent amongst duellists… instinct. You’re just naturally talented at duelling. By the time I’m done with you, you will be magnificent, one of the best in the world.”

“Good enough to beat you?” teased Harry. He felt absolutely giddy at receiving so much praise from Tom.

He smiled. “That’s the great thing about being a teacher, Harry. If you ever defeat me, I can still claim victory, because you did so thanks to my instruction.”

“Who taught you duelling then?”

“No one. I taught myself.”

Harry felt his jaw drop. “But you’re so amazing at it! You became that good on your own?” His belly churned with a heady mix of envy and lust. 

“Naturally. And I will become even better with you as my opponent. So you won’t find beating me that easy.” Tom relaxed on the sofa, edging slightly closer to Harry so their legs touched again. “Not that I’m discouraging you to try. Maybe I will even find you a nice reward to act as an incentive. Getting to see my memories really motivated you to win the Triwizard Tournament, did they not?”

“Your memories are the reason I entered. That, and impressing you.”

Tom appeared surprised for a moment, then he laughed. “Actually, this makes complete sense. Only Harry Potter would fly straight at a dragon, then almost drown himself, in an attempt to get closer to his crush. Did your friends try to talk you out of it?

“It’s not a crush,” Harry insisted. “And, yes, they tried. Ron even called me crazy, I think.”

“Then Mr Weasley was incorrect. While your plan was reckless, it wasn’t crazy. In fact, it was rather astute. It worked perfectly, didn’t it?”

“Yeah. Except for the part where I almost got murdered.” Tom’s flirtatious smile immediately dropped, a cloud of black fury passing over his face. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to bring back bad memories.”

“You really should have let me kill Dolohov, Harry.”

“I thought you wanted him to have a fate worse than death?”

“Oh, he would have known agony first, then death. I don’t have time to waste on making people suffer forever.” Tom sounded so spiteful that Harry could not help but smile. Tom caught his expression and said, “I do wonder why you’re not afraid of me, Harry.”

“Why would I be? You’d never harm me. In fact, you saved my life. If you hadn’t started teaching me your rapid cellular regeneration spells, I’d have died in the Department of Mysteries. Thank you for that.” Tom’s eyes were still burning with rage and his grip on Harry’s wand was so tight his knuckles were white. Harry gently pried his fingers loose and took his hand. “Hey, I’m alright now. And I’ll stick so close to you it won’t happen ever again.”

Tom relaxed a bit, but he didn’t let go of Harry’s hand. “If not afraid, then why aren’t you disgusted? You ’ve never felt any real urge to hurt others. Righteous anger is the most you can manage.”

“Well, you wanting to hurt some truly terrible people that tried to kill me doesn’t bother me. Actually…” He reddened. Tom noticed his embarrassment and bent his head closer to Harry, close enough to kiss. “Do tell me, Harry.”

“I… kinda like it. It makes me feel special. That you would want to kill someone because they hurt me.” Harry said that last part very fast, eyes screwed to the floor. 

Tom laughed delightedly. “Oh, Harry. It’s nice to know that even you are not entirely selfless.” His left hand tipped Harry’s chin back up in a slow caress. “Won’t you look at me, my dear?” 

If Tom’s touch had not turned him into a quivering wreck already, the look in his dark eyes would have. Harry’s throat felt so dry that he could hardly speak, “Tom… I’m trying not to push you too much but, if you keep flirting with me, I’m going to kiss you.”

“Is that a threat?” he replied, amused. 

“Just a warning,” murmured Harry, then he kissed Tom. 

In retrospect, Harry should have probably been less enthusiastic. Tom had most likely never kissed anyone before and there was Harry, sticking his tongue down his throat. 

“Was that too much?” Tom’s expression was unreadable. Harry really shouldn’t have nipped the bottom of his lips with his teeth. That was weird, right? 

“It was interesting. We should probably go back now.” He returned Harry’s wand and took back his own. 

Harry sighed. He had definitely gone too far today, but he could probably have been worse. Tom hadn’t broken off the kiss or said it was disgusting, so maybe he was a little bit curious about it. Perhaps Harry would even get to kiss him again, which was good because, now that he had one tangible memory to add to his collection of fantasies about Tom, he would want him even more. 

“Be patient,” he repeated to himself over the next few days, but patience had never been his strong suit. At least, Tom wasn’t completely avoiding him, though he had stopped flirting with Harry. 

About two weeks after Tom’s appearance, Harry’s phone rang once again. He checked the screen for the caller’s name and almost dropped the phone.

“Neville?”

“It worked!” Harry could hear some muffled noises of cheering on the other end of the line.

“Neville, is that really you? These phones are not supposed to work across different timelines.”

“Well, they do now! Everyone worked non-stop to modify them until we could reach you.”

“Everyone?”

“Yeah, me, Ron, Hermione, your parents, your grandparents, your aunt and uncles, everyone!”

“Weren’t Ron and Hermione supposed to be on their honeymoon?”

There was a pause, then Hermione’s voice came out of the phone, “Harry, how could we stay on our honeymoon when you simply disappeared? The only thing your colleague could say was that you were “trapped in another timeline”. We’ve been worried sick about you! How are you? ”

“I’m fine! Well, I’m fine now.” Hearing the voices of his friends, his real friends, was a balm to Harry’s heart. “Can you put me on speaker? I’ll tell everyone what happened.”

Harry’s explanation was very sanitised, because he didn’t want his loved ones to worry about events they could not change. They weren’t fooled by it, though. “Why do you have to go after this Dark wizard?” said Ron. “You’re not supposed to be in this timeline, you should just come back.” “And come back in one piece,” added Hermione.

Harry laughed. “That’s pretty much what Tom said.”

He could almost hear Hermione’s eye roll. “You should listen to him then! And how is Professor Riddle even with you? Mrs Warren mentioned something about a Time Turner but it all sounded quite impossible.”

After hearing a brief description of how Tom had managed to get to Harry and how he planned for both of them to travel back, there was a long silence on the line. Then Hermione said, “It still sounds impossible. And extremely dangerous. Just be careful, Harry.”

“I’ll come back. Even if it takes months before we’re certain we can time travel safely, we’ll get there. I promise.”

“We’ll hold you to that, mate,” said Ron. 

They passed the phone around the room so Harry could talk individually to everyone. He was near tears by the time his mum got on the line.

He was so very lucky to have so many wonderful people who loved him and wanted him back. 

“One last thing,” said Harry once the phone returned to Neville. “Tom almost died to reach me. His family must be really worried about him too, and they don’t have any way of contacting him. Could you give them one of your phones?”

“Of course, Harry.” There was a pause. “So Professor Riddle risked his life for you. Should I congratulate you then?”

“Not yet. I’m… I’m working on it.”

“We can talk about it later. Good luck, Harry.”

Chapter Text

St Mungo’s was much quieter at night. 

Of course, there were still people around - mostly healers unlucky enough to have gotten the night shift. However, none of them were looking for intruders. Who would break into a hospital? 

Tom, Harry and Neville Longbottom went through the corridors, invisible and silent, until they reached the Janus Thickey Ward. Longbottom wordlessly pointed at the last two beds at the end of the room and they went there and drew the privacy curtains. Tom added a spell to muffle the sounds of their voice.

He then summoned a small light and put it on the bedside table. It wasn’t strictly necessary for his work, but it would prevent unnecessary questions from his companions. 

Frank and Alice Longbottom were asleep on their hospital beds. It took a moment for Tom to even recognise them, as they looked so little like the couple he had last seen a mere few days ago at the Granger-Weasley wedding. There, the Longbottoms had been the picture of success and health, the renowned Auror and the Head of the Statute of Secrecy Task Force. 

In this universe, they were terribly thin and prematurely aged. Yet, the damage to their bodies was supposed to be nothing next to the one done to their minds. Tom put a hand on Frank’s forehead to take a look. 

He could not stop grimacing at the results.

His alter ego was really incapable of keeping his subordinates in hand. There was no point in inflicting such barbaric brain damage to anybody. Not vengeance, as the Longbottoms were tortured long past the point of feeling pain, and certainly not interrogation. 

“Can you do something?” asked Longbottom quietly. 

“I can heal the damage to their brain, though it will take time. There’s also no telling how much information has been lost. They will never regain some of their memories.”

“But they will still get better, won’t they? They will be able to leave this place?”

Tom nodded, and Longbottom made a choked off noise. Harry put a hand on his shoulder in comfort. 

Tom then checked on Alice. “There’s something here. A memory block.”

“Did the Lestranges…” 

“No. Alice Longbottom is supremely skilled with Memory Charms, is she not? I think she understood what was happening to her and tried to protect some of her memories by separating them from the rest of her mind.” It was an impressive feat of magic, to modify one’s own memories while being tortured. 

“Can you remove the block? Then she would get her memories back.”

“I could, but, as she is, she probably won’t be able to make sense of them. It might even cause her further distress, if she wants to speak about them but is unable to. Let me treat her and your father first, then, once their communication skills improve, I can remove it.”

“Of course. Thank you.”

Tom’s life soon settled into a new routine. During the day, teach Harry duelling and the rapid cellular regeneration spells, work on improving said spells and go on occasional missions for the Order. Some nights, sneak into St Mungo’s to heal the Longbottoms. 

Harry told him of his family and friends’ breakthrough with the phones, so he wasn’t surprised to get a call from his family. It started with a rant from Christopher about how Tom had disappeared almost without a word. 

“Your minion only said, “He went to an alternate universe to rescue his soulmate, it could take them months to come back.” What kind of an explanation is that? And, then Harry’s friends came by and said you almost died getting there.”

“They were exaggerating.”

“No, I don’t think they were,” his brother said scathingly. “None of us could believe it, you know? I mean, we all know that you love Harry so the rescuing part was expected, but the rushing into extreme danger part, not at all.”

Tom’s brain was still stuck on the beginning of that sentence. “What do you mean, we all know?”

His brother sighed. “Tom, we’re your family. We live in the same house. Do you really think any of us could have failed to notice your quiet misery over the last three years? And, if that hadn’t given it away, how smug you looked after coming back from that wedding and hearing Harry’s dramatic love confession definitely would have.”

“You’re reading it far too much into things. I just found it amusing, that’s all.”

Christopher laughed. “Right. Because if someone else had confessed their love to you, they would have gotten cold, flat rejection but, when Harry Potter does it, it’s amusing, charming and brilliant, like everything else this kid does.”

“It’s not… I don’t find it amusing anymore.” He’d expected Harry to only be able to give him a peck on the lips, which he could laugh off. However, it seemed that, despite Harry’s profuse blushing, he was no bumbling adolescent but a young man that had been pining for Tom for over five years.

Goading Harry into kissing him had not, in retrospect, been Tom’s brightest idea.

“Did something happen between the two of you? A good or a bad thing?”

“Christopher, your ability to pry into my personal life even though we are literally in different universes never ceases to amaze me.”

“I’m just trying to help you out, like you did with my own soulmate decades ago.”

Tom scoffed, “We’re nothing like you and Deirdre.”

“Aren’t you? From what you told me of Harry and my own brief encounter with him, I’d say you’d be great together. You love each other. The age difference is staggering, but Harry is an adult now and able to make his own decisions. So what’s wrong with pursuing him? What are you afraid of exactly?”

Tom gripped the phone so tightly it hurt. “Christopher, if you don’t drop this right now , I will hang up on you.”

“Alright, alright! Our parents want to speak to you, so don’t hang up.”

Christopher passed the phone to their mother first, who was so understanding about what Tom had done that it actually made him feel worse.

His father was curt in his disappointment, “I didn’t think I would ever have to chide you for being reckless. Don’t do this again, Tom.”

“I won’t, Father. Did I… Was I ever in a London orphanage as a baby? Or maybe I almost went there, but did not?”

His father paused at the nonsequitur. “You were born in an orphanage, yes. I came to fetch you there.”

“How was the place?”

“It was over seventy years ago, so I hardly remember. Grim, I think. Certainly no fit place for my son.” He paused. “Does this matter?”

“No, it doesn’t. Thanks, Dad.”

Another pause. “Just come home, Tom.” 

Tom promised he would, then ended the call. It would soon be time to visit the Longbottoms again. 

They were both improving a lot. Both of them could speak now, and though they were still confused by many things, they understood enough to know that they were in St Mungo’s. And, for Frank especially, to resent it. Tom saw it as an encouraging sign of his original personality returning. 

As for Alice, she was well enough to have noticed the memory block and tried to tamper with it. “I want it gone.”

“If you’re sure.” She nodded. 

Alice’s eyes grew unfocused as she regained her memories, then her gaze fell on her son. “Neville, is that you? But you’re so big…”

“Mum, you… you recognise me?” he said, voice quivering. 

“Of course! Frank, that is our son.” 

The man stared attentively at Longbottom. “I did think you looked like Alice. But why didn’t you say anything, lad?”

He was sobbing too hard to answer. Alice enveloped him into a hug.

Her husband turned to Tom and Harry. “Look, Alice and I can’t stay here. Our son needs us. Also, if we come with you, you can heal us without having to sneak past Voldemort’s…”

“The Taboo!” cried Harry, but it was too late. By the time they all made it to the entrance, two of Voldemort’s goons had already Apparated. Thankfully, his alter ego hadn’t sent his best and brightest for an alert that, coming from a place full of mentally confused people, was probably low level. It only took Tom a minute to ascertain that Harry alone could defeat them both with ease. 

Maybe this incident was actually an opportunity? 

Tom checked that Longbottom was fully focused on protecting his parents, slid his ring on his finger and whispered to Harry. “Let them go. Discreetly.”

Harry frowned at him, but he didn’t dispute this. He gave Voldemort’s minions a slight opening to escape, cleverly disguising it as a duelling misstep, and they were smart enough to take it without questions. 

They then Disapparated before reinforcements could arrive. Tom’s ring was already back in his pocket.

“What was that?” asked Harry. 

“Later.” It was night, and they already had to explain the presence of the Longbottoms to the Order. 

Most current members of the Order were too young to have met them, but almost all had heard of the Longbottoms’ fearsome reputation as Aurors and terrible loss in support of their cause. They were therefore feted as returning heroes, and Tom himself was heaped with praise for healing them. He now had all of the Order eating out of his hand, which could prove very useful in the long term.

The following day, as he was compiling a diet and exercise schedule for the couple to regain their physical as well as mental strength, Neville Longbottom came by his new office. 

“I never thought I would ever get to speak to my parents, much less have a relationship with them. Thank you, for all you’ve done and are still doing for them. I am in your debt.”

“I’m just doing my job,” lied Tom easily. 

Unknowing as it was, Longbottom had helped him, and Tom always rewarded his helpers. They might prove themselves useful more than once. 

“What you did went far beyond the duties of a normal Healer. Why did you help us?”

“Harry requested that I take a look at your parents’ case, and it sounded interesting. I’ve worked with victims of the Cruciatus Curse before, but none as badly affected as them.”

“Harry requested…” Longbottom cut himself off. “You’re very different from what I thought you would be.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I know who you really are.”

Now things were getting dangerous. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anybody! Nor do I think anyone else could guess. It’s just that Harry told me a lot about you, and you’re pretty much exactly as he described. Also, it’s usually hidden by your sleeve but earlier, I saw this band of tissue around your wrist. People from this universe don’t wear that.”

Tom hid his annoyance behind a blank mask. Of course, Harry would, once again, reveal far too much to his “dear friends”. 

“I have to say, I fail to see the point of this conversation, Mr Longbottom.”

He stammered. “The point was to thank you. Whoever you are, I’ll help you if you need.”

“I’m sure I can find you something to do,” said Tom cooly. “In the meantime, you should continue to support Harry. He’s not coping so well with the role you and your friends imposed upon him.”

Longbottom reddened. “Of course! And I did suggest for him to walk away…”

Tom laughed humorlessly. “As if Harry would ever walk away from people who need him, regardless of the danger that puts him in.” 

“Harry’s a great person, and I’m glad you care for him. So do I, as a friend. I’ll do my best to keep him safe.”

Longbottom inclined his head respectfully and was gone, leaving Tom stewing in his own thoughts. 

Were his feelings for Harry so obvious that a near complete stranger could see them? A stranger who likely didn’t even know that he’d almost died for Harry?

No, that wasn’t quite right. Tom hadn’t risked his life for Harry. He had risked it, because he could not bear the thought of losing him. 

When had he started thinking this way? Tom had no idea. Harry Potter’s place in his life had started small but it had grown and grown, and Tom had not noticed. Not until he could no longer imagine a future without him in it. 

Some part of him must have known it early. Hadn’t he always pushed Harry to become as strong as him, as untouched by age, injury and death? All so nothing and no one could take Harry from him. 

Harry could still leave him though. Had done so once already. And it had hurt, no matter how deeply Tom had tried to bury it. 

If this continued, if his life became even more intertwined with Harry, what would happen to him?

Chapter Text

Tom was broken out of his thoughts by another knock on his door.

Harry poked his head in. “Tom, I wanted to talk to you about…” He abruptly stopped. “What’s wrong? You look… not entirely self-possessed.”

He came in, closing the door behind him, and went to sit on Tom’s desk. “Can I help you?” 

“Harry, when did you fall in love with me?”

His mouth fell slightly open in surprise. “I… I think it started during the very first Muggle Studies class. When you levitated everyone. That you could do something so amazing in such an effortless way, on top of being incredibly smart and handsome… I really had it bad, though I didn’t realise it until later, when you healed me from the spider venom.”

Of course, Harry would fall in love in the space of a day. He did everything at breakneck speed. “And did you try to stop it? Your crush?”

“Obviously. I mean, I was thirteen, you were my teacher, I knew how inappropriate it was. I tried to get over it. But I couldn’t. And that’s why it’s not a crush,” Harry stressed out that last part, his annoyance somehow making him look more adorable. 

“So, since you couldn’t stop those feelings, what did you do instead?”

“Well then, we got our soulmarks. And I thought… I should try to go for it? I know you don’t like them, but I do believe I got your mark for a reason.”

“Not all soulmate bonds are romantic.”

“I know! But it’s better to try, isn’t it?”

“Is it? What about rejection?”

Harry frowned. “Well, rejection would hurt, but that’s something I could move past. Regrets, they can stick with you forever.  I’d rather risk getting hurt over spending the rest of my life wondering “Maybe this person was actually perfect for me, but I missed my chance because I was too much of a coward.”.”

Tom flinched. 

Harry’s face crumpled in worry. “Tom, what is this about? Are you… are you rejecting me?”

“No, I’m not.” Tom took a deep breath. “I despise cowardice. In myself, even more so than in others. But I’m not good at getting hurt. Physically… or emotionally.”

“What are you talking about? Who hurt you?”

“Oh, Harry, you still don’t understand, do you? Who would have the power to hurt me, but you?”

He paled. “Is this about what happened when I left Hogwarts? I already told you, I shouldn’t have left you like that and I never will again.”

Tom smiled without humour. “Harry, if you want me to stop treating you like a teenager with a crush, then stop behaving like one. You’re promising never to leave me? What next, a vow of undying love? Or will you go as far as swearing not to hurt me ever again?”

Harry opened his mouth, then closed it. The pained look on his face made Tom’s insides squirm with guilt. He was cruel and he didn’t deserve Harry, had never deserved him for all that he wanted him. 

Then Harry sighed, and he smiled. “You’re right. I can’t promise any of that. Even the couples that love each other and stay together their whole life do hurt each other sometimes. So what can I say, except that it would be worth it? If you gave me a chance, if you returned my feelings, I would make sure that the joy I would give you would far outweigh the grief. That I can promise.”

“Yes.”

“Yes to what?”

“I can’t reverse or stop this process I’m in the middle of. I’m not ready to embrace it yet, but I can’t keep ignoring it either. I have to see where it goes.”

“Tom, what are you talking about exactly?”

“Us. I’m giving you the chance you want to be my…”

Lover? He could hardly use that term when he had only kissed Harry once. Boyfriend? Tom was seventy-three, he refused to have a boyfriend. Soulmate? That would make Harry very happy indeed, but Tom had not chosen him because of some whim of fate. 

“…partner,” he finally said, then cringed inwardly at how inadequate the word was. 

“You really mean it?” 

“Why would I say it and not mean it?”

“I don’t know. You’ve been flirting a lot so I thought you were interested, but then, after I kissed you, you completely stopped and refused to speak about any of it, so… I’m confused.”

Tom grimaced. “I don’t go around kissing people, so it was new to me. And not quite what I expected.” Something that involved not just lips, but tongues and teeth, should have been disgusting. 

“But you didn’t hate it?”

“It would have been much less disconcerting if I did!”

“It’s alright if you don't know how to feel about it quite yet. Just don’t shut me out, ok? If you’re not sure or if you hate something or… if you want something, tell me.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“You really are serious, are you?” Harry grinned. “I can’t quite believe it yet. Would you… would you mind if we keep our soulmarks uncovered when it’s just the two of us?”

It was a thing soulmates did, which of course would appeal to Harry’s romantic heart. It also seemed harmless enough, so Tom nodded. “Actually, I’ve never seen the mark that inspired you so, Harry.”

“You mock me, but I don’t care.” Harry thrusted his left wrist forward. “Have a look if you want.”

Tom carefully undid the ribbon. The soulmark was what he’d expected, his full name in his own handwriting. What was more surprising was how rigid Harry’s arm felt in his hand. Whenever Tom touched Harry, his body was usually fully relaxed, warm and yielding against Tom in the most pleasant way. 

Tom grasped Harry’s wrist lightly, taking his pulse. Elevated. He looked into his eyes. Pupils dilated. 

“Harry, am I indulging one of your fantasies?”

“You know what soulmark touching usually means.”

“You mean in romance novels? It’s just your wrist.” 

“Then, you don’t mind if I touch yours? I didn’t do it last time.” Tom liked the flushed look of his skin, the hunger in his stunning green eyes, the low murmur of his voice. “Desperately needy” was a good look on Harry, as long as what he was longing for was Tom. 

“Very well.” It was just skin and a little ink, as studies, both magical and mundane, had shown. Tom’s left wrist should be no more sensitive than his right. 

Yet, when Harry’s fingers retraced his name, Tom felt the barest of shivers, leaving goosebumps on his skin. Harry saw it and smiled, that little smug half-smile irresistible on his insolent mouth. “You feel it too.”

Tom grabbed him by his left wrist, pulling him closer. He purposefully pressed his fingers on Harry’s soulmark, just to make him freeze up, before kissing him, long and slow, until the knot of lust in his stomach eased a little. 

“Nothing else to say, my dear?”

Harry took a few minutes to be able to form a coherent sentence again. “I thought you didn’t like it!”

“I never said that.”

“You didn’t say anything!” Harry laughed. “Or is “It was interesting” an unusual euphemism for “It was great, let’s do it again”?”

Tom smiled. “Pretty much.” Actually, his thoughts at the time had been much closer to panicked flailing about how he was very much not supposed to enjoy Harry’s aggressive kissing, but no one needed to know that.

“Then why didn’t you do it sooner?”

“Because I knew, once I started kissing you, I might not be able to stop.”

“And that’s a bad thing, because?”

“I don’t like depending on others for anything, especially not out of some base instinct.” 

Harry was trying very hard not to laugh at him. “There is nothing base about lust. Hopefully, I will be able to change your mind.”

Kissing Harry again would have meant losing the argument, so Tom changed the subject, “Isn’t it time for your duelling lesson? I warn you, I won’t go easy on you.”

“Oh, you shouldn’t.” Harry was still grinning wildly but, to his credit, he wasn’t distracted during their duel. Of course, he wouldn’t be: good duelling was a display of cleverness and strength, and Harry knew perfectly well how to impress Tom at this point. He was glad that they had been able to switch back to using their own wands: Tom found the sight of Harry wielding his wand with incredible power and grace almost unbearably attractive. 

Once the duel was over, they settled on the couch to discuss it. Except this time, instead of sitting close to him, Harry somehow folded himself in Tom’s lap. “Do you mind? I’ve always wanted to do this.”

“Will you still be able to focus?”

“Of course. Will you?” he replied cheekily, so Tom went through his whole lecture with Harry’s body sprawled against his. It was surprisingly comfortable, so much that he didn’t really want to move once it was over. 

“Harry, didn’t you want to speak to me about something? When you first came into my office this morning.”

“Right! With everything that happened, I completely forgot. I wanted to ask you about what happened last night. Why did you ask me to let those two Snatchers go?”

“I needed them to see me with my ring on, and report it to my alter ego.” They might not have noticed the ring in the heat of the moment, so Tom would have to do the same thing several times, just to make sure. 

“What? Why would you want him to know that you have the Stone?” asked Harry, alarmed.

“So I can use his desire to gather all three of the Deathly Hallows to lead him into a trap and kill him.”

“What kind of trap? How much danger does that put you in?”

“As little as I can contrive.” Tom briefly explained the outline of his plan. 

“I don’t like it.” Harry buried his face in Tom’s neck. “I love you. I don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t.”

“What happened to making impossible promises?”

“Harry, no matter how extraordinary you are, you’re still a normal person. I am not. I don’t move past things, and I don’t let things go. Ever.” If Harry had the slightest sense of self-preservation, he would have run away from Tom at that very moment. Instead, he remained perfectly relaxed in his arms. 

Harry had no sense of self-preservation, and Tom was glad of it, for once. 

“If you hate the idea of me facing Lord You-Know-What that much, I don’t have to do it. You’re the one who insisted that he be defeated before we return to our timeline. If you’ve changed your mind, we can disappear now and I’ll assure you no Dark wizards will find us.”

“I could be the bait instead,” immediately suggested Harry. 

“Absolutely not! You have no reason to wear this ring. I do. My alter ego had it for years without knowing what it truly was, he must believe the same of me. Anyone else, and he’ll get suspicious.”

“I don’t like it,” Harry repeated. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe we should just hide until we can go home.” Tom was astonished that Harry was even considering abandoning his current crusade to help the helpless, just because of a slight risk he might get hurt. “But then, I see all the horrible things he and his followers did, like what happened to the Longbottoms. He really needs to be stopped.”

Harry sighed. “We can go forward with your plan but, if anything goes wrong, just drop it, alright? Don’t risk your life over this.”

“I never intended to. I can’t help but notice, though, how comfortable you are with risking yours.”

“I said I would stick close to you, right? I don’t think I can be in danger if you’re there.”

Tom smiled. With his talent as a duellist, Harry’s extremely rapid progress and the combined power of their twin wands, the two of them should be pretty much unbeatable. “You’re not wrong, but you still shouldn’t act recklessly.”

“I won’t! As if I would do something stupid now that you’re finally mine.” Tom didn’t belong to anybody but himself, yet hearing Harry calling him his brought a not entirely unpleasant shiver down his spine. 

What was happening to him?

“We should head back now. People will start wondering where we are.” There was still so much to do. Tom’s plan to get rid of his alter ego had to be foolproof, then he had to find a safe way back to their own timeline. Harry had shown him the map he’d gotten from the Room of Requirement, but he didn’t quite know what to make of it yet. 

A few days later, Tom got another phone call from his brother, which strangely gave them a second cryptic clue about their journey home. 

“Hi Tom, I hope I'm not calling at a bad time? You didn't pick up earlier.”

“I was otherwise occupied.” Tom absentmindedly rubbed the trail of bruises alongside his neck. His skin was very pale and Harry had been as enthusiastic as ever in his affection. Not that anyone else could see the love bites, hidden as they were under his collar, but Tom could no more forget their presence than the feeling of Harry sucking on the skin of his neck. 

“Is everything fine with you?”

“Perfectly fine.”

“Alright, what happened? You sound very strange.”

Better bite the bullet. Otherwise, Christopher would bother him until he fessed up. “I took your advice regarding Harry. You may have five minutes to gloat.”

Christopher laughed. “I'll wait until you're safely back home to gloat in person. And congratulate the kid, of course. But, seriously, are you happy?”

“I am.” Disconcertingly happy, in fact.

“Good. That's all that matters. Now, the reason I called in the first place is that you received some really strange mail. A postcard, actually. It reads: “To come back home, trust your soulmate and close the loop. Thank you for everything, G.G.”. Do you know who that is?”

“No.” The only people in Tom’s timeline who even knew he had a soulmate were his and Harry’s family, Harry’s best friends and Myrtle, none of whom had any reason to write this. “Anything special about the postcard?”

“It’s one of those touristy ones. Shows the Trevi Fountain, but the stamp is Austrian. No spells of any kind on it.”

“Thanks for letting me know. Do tell me if I receive anything else.”

Tom didn’t like this at all. Far too many people knew he had a soulmate already. Now, there was one more, an unknown quantity who thanked Tom and claimed to offer him advice. Whoever it was, their “help” was highly dubious, and he told Harry as much when he described the postcard to him. 

“Close the loop… That sounds like something Bode would say in his tirades about time travel. But Bode would never write something like that. Detailed memos are far more his style,” said Harry. “Honestly, this feels almost like some kind of joke. I know you don’t like it,” he squeezed Tom’s hand, “but I don’t see how this message can harm us. Also, I have to appreciate G.G. advising you to trust me.”

“I trust you more than anyone else.”

“Which does not mean much, since you put very little trust in people in general.”

“And it has avoided me a world of disappointment, thank you very much,” said Tom tartly. 

“It’s really hard to get close to you, you know?” sighed Harry. 

Tom kissed him. “You seem to be doing fine.” 

Harry smiled. “I’ve certainly worked hard for it. And I guess I’ll have plenty of time to earn your trust. I think I’ve finally gotten it right, you know? The part of the cellular regeneration spells that suspends ageing. In ten, twenty, fifty years, I'll be thirty, just as you are.”

“Congratulations, my dear.” It would still take Harry at least a couple more months to fully master the spells, then they could finally go home. 

Which meant that, by that time, Voldemort would have to die. 

Chapter Text

The Dark Lord was standing in Barty’s chambers.

He immediately fell on one knee and kissed his master’s robes, wracking his brain as to why Voldemort had chosen to appear before him instead of summoning him to his side. His mind came up blank. 

“Rise,” said the cold, high voice. Barty did, meeting his Lord’s eyes. He immediately felt a pressure in his mind, Voldemort reading his memories as though a book, sometimes lingering on one, but mostly flicking through them at high speed. 

Barty submitted to this inspection gladly. His loyalty to the Dark Lord was absolute. Indeed, even though failing to kill Potter still rankled, falling through the Veil was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

Here was a timeline who was not crawling with beasts masquerading as wizards, where the truly pure held their rightful place in society, standing over the rabble. All thanks to his Lord and master, the greatest sorcerer that ever lived.

Voldemort smiled thinly. “I have a mission for you.”

Barty bowed once again. “Anything my Lord requires.”

“The ring. You will bring it to me.” Voldemort had instructed his inner circle to look for any sign of a black-stoned ring, to listen for any whispers about it. When it had finally been spotted, it was on Tom Riddle’s hand.  

He - and Potter, of course, for one was never seen without the other - had managed to hold onto the ring and escape Voldemort once. It would not happen again. 

“It shall be done, my Lord.”

“You are not best pleased with the task I gave you,” Voldemort said, amused. 

Barty swallowed. He would never lie to his master, but neither could he admit the real reason for his reluctance. He didn’t need to, as Voldemort plucked the answer straight from his mind:

“You are wise to fear Tom Riddle. He is my alter ego after all, no matter his twisted beliefs.”

Barty said nothing. It made his blood boil to think of Riddle, that champion of commoners, Muggles and Mudbloods, as related to his beloved master in any way. 

His Lord too loathed Riddle. His fury had been terrible indeed when he’d escaped with the ring. Yet, here he was, speaking about him quite calmly. 

“This task I bestow upon you is commensurate with my trust in you, my most faithful servant,” said Voldemort, pleasing Barty beyond measure. “You already know Riddle’s weakness, do you not?”

Barty thought quickly. “Potter. He loves the boy.”

“Precisely. In his haste to protect Potter, he will lower his guard. This will be your chance to strike. Riddle is mine to kill, but he needs not be unspoiled. You may sever his hand if need be.”

“Yes, master.” Barry wet his lips. “What about Potter?”

“Leave Potter alive and unspoiled. I will handle him.” Voldemort’s red eyes were boring into his, and it felt as if needles were poking into Barty’s skull. He blinked.

“Are my instructions clear?”

“Yes, master,” repeated Barty. Find Riddle. Take the ring. Take his hand with the ring. Bring it to his Lord. Leave Potter to him.

“Very good. If you succeed, you will be honoured beyond your wildest dream.”

Barty was given the opportunity he needed a mere few days later. One of Potter and Riddle’s pathetic Mudblood rescuing missions had gone wrong. The fighting between the Order and the Death Eaters was fierce, and nowhere fiercer than around Riddle. Barty had to admit that he was a very talented duelist, but he was wasting his time protecting the incompetent, hot-headed Potter.

Finally, there was the opening his master had told him to watch for. Instead of Disarming Riddle, he severed his right hand and Summoned it.

Potter let out a howl of anguish. Riddle didn’t make a sound, quickly stopping the flow of blood gushing out from the stump of his arm. He then picked up his wand with his left hand. He could try to keep fighting on, but it would all prove pointless. Lord Voldemort had answered the call of the Dark Mark.

Barty immediately sank to his knees and presented him the ring, still on Riddle’s hand. “It is yours, my Lord.”

Voldemort’s eyes widened slightly in surprise. He probably hadn’t expected Barty to succeed so fast. 

Eagerly, he pried the ring from Riddle’s finger, letting the severed hand fall on the floor. “At last. The Deathly Hallows are mine.”

The other fights had stopped, all eyes were on his master as he slid the ring on his own finger. All but one pair: Potter’s face was turned away, as he gazed at Riddle instead. Pity that the boy was too cowardly to look death in the eyes, or perhaps he wished to spend his last moments staring at his lover. How sentimental.

Riddle was not looking at him though. Instead, he stared at Voldemort, his face a blank mask covering a composure that was starting to crack.  

For an instant, the black stone gleamed on his master’s finger. 

Then, Lord Voldemort began to scream.

Chapter Text

The chaos that erupted when Tom’s curse hit Voldemort was hard to describe.

Most Death Eaters were at loss as to what to do. Not so the Order members, who had been waiting on this very signal to resume the fight.

“Are you alright?” asked Harry, face still creased with concern.

Tom Summoned back the stump of his hand and reattached it. He could have grown a whole new one, but it was much faster this way and required less magic. He flexed his fingers in front of Harry. “See, as good as ever.”

Harry had not liked that part of the plan, of course, but Voldemort needed to pick up the ring in circumstances that would not arouse his suspicions. Such as, delivered to him in the midst of battle by his most faithful servant.

Said servant was now trying to remove the ring from his master’s finger. 

“You're wasting your time, Mr Crouch. Your master is already dead, and you're the one who killed him under my orders.”

Tom's impersonation of his alter ego had been far from perfect, and Crouch had come close to questioning it several times. Thankfully, Voldemort's servants only knew blind obedience, Crouch even more so as he was desperate for the slightest crumb of praise from his father figure. 

That was why Tom hadn’t cast the Imperius Curse on him: Crouch would have fought fiercely any direct attempt to subvert him. The compulsion he had used instead was much subtler, using Crouch's own eagerness to obey Voldemort to implant Tom's instructions deep into his mind. 

“Now you will die like him, in an excruciating amount of pain.”

“Tom,” whispered Harry urgently. “Something’s wrong. He’s not dead.”

Voldemort was swaying on his feet, but he was still standing, despite Tom’s curse inflicting catastrophic damage to all vital organs. It was almost like he was using some kind of cellular regeneration spell to stay alive. A much cruder version than Tom’s, but even an imperfect replica was impressive, since Voldemort would have seen his spells in action only once, and through Crouch’s memories. 

Tom guessed that his alter ego could not be entirely incompetent, after all. 

Well, time to end this. “Avada Kedavra!” 

Crouch, who had been holding Voldemort’s hand in a death grip, flung himself in front of the curse and immediately fell dead on the ground. A far quicker and more painless end that he deserved. 

“Well,” said Tom drily. “Anyone else willing to serve as a meat shield?” No one paid him any attention. “I thought as much.”

But Crouch’s sacrifice seemed to have given Voldemort’s new strength. His smile was self-assured as he drew his wand, casting a silent Anti-Apparition Charm. “I require no help. Indeed, I should thank you for gifting me the last of the Deathly Hallows through your feeble attempt on my life.”

Tom turned to Harry. They had discussed the possibility before, remote as it had seemed, of the plan failing disastrously, of their escape route being cut off. “Looks like we’re going to have to do this the hard way.”

Harry nodded grimly. As he looked at Voldemort, his eyes were full of an odd mix of revulsion and terror. It was such a strange look on Harry, who usually feared too little rather than too much. “Are you alright, my dear?”

Harry turned towards him and smiled. The love and trust behind that smile were enough to light up the whole world. “I am not worried, Tom. I am with you.”

“You two are nauseating,” said Voldemort, and he cast the first curse of their duel. The Killing Curse, of course.

It seemed to be Voldemort’s only offensive spell. Had his and Harry’s life not been on the line, Tom would have been disappointed. Yes, Avada Kedavra was powerful and it was efficient, but overusing it made Voldemort painfully predictable.

It also turned the fight into an elaborate game of hide and seek. The Killing Curse was too dangerous to dodge, so it had to be blocked by something sufficiently strong to take the hit. Tom used anything and everything he could think of: he raised walls of dirt straight from the ground, Transfigurated obstacles, even pulled in Voldemort’s own servants, who he thoughtlessly killed. 

As he played defence, Harry was on the offence, and he was pushing Voldemort hard. Tom could see in his alter ego’s eyes that he was taken aback by Harry’s strength. He was used to dealing with the untrained Boy Who Lived, not fighting the finely honed blade that was Tom’s student. 

“How is this unbeatable wand going for you?” Tom taunted. “It seems even the Deathstick is no match for brother wands working in tandem. It does decuple their power.” Voldemort couldn’t entirely keep the surprise from his face. “So you didn’t know, then? I guess, as soon as your original wand failed to kill Harry Potter, it was quickly forgotten. You’ve always discarded your toys too quickly.”

Voldemort’s eyes flashed with rage, then he smiled unpleasantly. “Perhaps I should steal one of yours then. If I take Potter alive, he might have some use teaching me those spells of yours. His existence won’t be pleasant, of course, and his death will be agony once I’m done with him.”

The mere thought of Voldemort laying one of his spindly fingers on Harry was enough to fill him with rage. “Tom,” said Harry warningly. He forced himself to relax his grip on his wand. Of course, Voldemort was trying to provoke him into anger. He would not succeed. 

“Your love for that boy is your weakness.”

Harry scoffed, “If love is a weakness, then why are we kicking your ass?” 

Tom couldn’t help but smile. His relationship with Harry made him more vulnerable (how acutely aware of it he was!), but also stronger. What better proof than this duel? They moved together in perfect sync, Tom’s defence covering Harry, Harry’s offence slowly wearing down Voldemort to render him too weak to block and too slow to dodge his final blow, just as Tom had taught him. 

“The power of love didn’t save Dumbledore, it didn’t save the boy you’re pretending to be, and it won’t save you either,” hissed Voldemort, as he dodged a jet of flames from Harry’s wand.

“You still don’t get it, do you? The power of love is not some mystical force, it’s people working together because they care for each other. You only had two servants that were powerful and loyal, and they are both gone. Now you are surrounded by the weak and cowardly, who will abandon you at a moment’s notice. You are quite alone, Voldemort.”

“What does it matter? I am the Master of Death now, and none shall stand in my way!” The sheer power of Voldemort’s Killing Curse shattered Tom’s shield of ice into a thousand shards, so he took the opportunity to hurl them at Voldemort while bringing up two more shields. 

“Death is not something you master by collecting shiny trinkets. Horcruxes, Hallows, they don’t matter. True strength comes from the self. And, yes, from others as well.” Tom was really glad Dumbledore was not there, he hated losing arguments with the old man. “You never understood that because you never grew up. You’re still that little bully from the orphanage, collecting his trophies and terrorising small children. You’re still that self-important teenager, giving himself a grandiose new villain name because your real one was “too common”. And all that because Daddy didn’t love you enough to come back for you, didn’t he, Tom?”

Voldemort’s face was deformed with a rage so great he made a very grave mistake indeed.

He forgot about Harry. 

“Avada Kedavra!”

“Now that’s a proper use of the Killing Curse. It’s a finishing move, not a spell to wantonly throw around. Well done, Harry.” His student flashed him a smile that, had they not been in public, would have make Tom kiss him soundly. 

Instead he walked to his alter ego’s corpse and pried the ring from his finger, returning it to his own. He also took the Elder Wand and handed it to Harry. “This is yours, my dear.”

“I think I prefer my own wand.”

“You should still keep it. I would like to have a look at it later.”

Harry nodded wordlessly. The Order members had triumphed in their own battle against the Death Eaters and they were crowding him, congratulating him. 

“Calm down, everyone! There will be time to celebrate later, and to mourn. For now, we press our advantage. To Hogwarts!” 

They all cheered for him as one. How could they not, when Harry exuded such effortless charisma. God, Tom ached for him.

Later. They would be alone soon enough. 

“Take the body,” he said. “They won’t put up much of a fight once they realise their master is dead.” Tom then excused himself from the battle, feigning exhaustion after his duel with Voldemort.

“Some people in Hogwarts may recognise this face. I should stay out of their sight,” he whispered to Harry. 

“Can you still stay around? I was planning to show you something and, well… it would bring me comfort to have you close.”

“I’m not leaving you. It’s still enemy territory after all. I’ll be nearby, but none will see me.”

As it turned out, Tom didn't need to intervene at all. When the news of Voldemort’s death reached Hogwarts, the teachers and older students joined the fight, and the Order’s work was considerably easier for it. Harry was once again acclaimed as a hero but, as soon as he could, he slipped away towards the Headmaster’s office. 

The Gargoyle lay in ruins, the entrance instead covered by a shimmering veil of light. Figuring out a way to break through it was a nice little puzzle that occupied Tom for half an hour. 

“What are you looking for?” he whispered as Harry rummaged through the office. 

“This.” He held up the invisibility cloak, then folded it and tucked it in his pocket. 

“What do you need it for?”

“It’s not for me,” said Harry simply. 

They took the stairs back down and had barely walked a few steps when they heard voices and footsteps coming their way. 

“Harry! Here he is!”

Longbottom, Granger and Weasley were rushing towards them. “The people who were under the Imperius Curse have been released! The Ministry is ours now!” said Granger, very fast and somewhat breathlessly. 

“That’s wonderful news, Hermione.”

“What are you doing on your own? There’s a party downstairs,” added Weasley. 

“I’m not joining,” said Harry firmly. “I’m done. I’m not pretending to be the Boy Who Lived for a second longer.”

“But it is your victory, Harry,” said Longbottom. “Don’t you deserve to celebrate it?”

“It’s not my victory alone.” Harry’s eyes wandered around the corridor, looking for Tom’s invisible form. “And I do want to celebrate, but not with the Order. None of them really knows me. They never got the chance to, because I’ve been lying to them for months.”

None of the three could meet Harry’s eyes. The silence stretched for an awkward minute, then Weasley said, “I am sorry, Harry. We should never have asked you to do this.”

“No, you were right. It worked perfectly, didn’t it? Voldemort is gone, and no one could be happier about it than I am. Actually, it’s good that you found me, because I wanted to say goodbye. After I leave, you will tell everyone the truth.” He took the invisibility cloak out of his pocket. “Harry would have wanted you to have this.”

Granger’s eyes shone with tears. “His cloak…” She took it with trembling hands. 

“Now, you listen to me. Voldemort’s supporters may have scattered away, but what they believed in - the blood prejudice, the contempt towards Muggles and non-human beings - it is still out there. Only you can fight it.” 

They all swore they would. “So this is goodbye,” said Longbottom. “Do you already know how you will go back to your own timeline, Harry?” 

“Oh!” Granger hastily wiped away her tears. She took a piece of paper out of her purse and handed it to Harry. “That map you gave me. I finally managed to translate it. I hope it helps.”

“I’m sure it will. Thanks, Hermione. There’s still a few things I need to figure out, but then I will be on my way.” 

“I’m going to miss you,” said Longbottom. He hugged Harry. “Just go home and be incredibly happy, alright?”

“Harry never liked being the Boy Who Lived either,” said Weasley. “All he wanted was a family, and a quieter life. It kills me he never got the chance to have one. So Neville’s right, you have to be twice as happy for his sake.”

“I will be. You should be too.” Harry hugged Weasley and Granger in turn. “You take care of each other, ok?” 

As Tom looked at Harry saying his goodbyes, he had trouble reminding himself that these were not Harry’s friends, the people who had been his loyal companions from childhood, but alternate selves who had known him for a mere year and mostly used him as a weapon. 

Yet, Harry obviously cared for them deeply. He really was unbelievably kind, and yet no pushover, the perfect mix of compassion and strength. Tom wanted him… no, he wanted him and he loved him. 

That revelation ought to have felt scarier. But it was far too late to be afraid. He already belonged to Harry Potter, and nothing would change that. Ignoring it, running away, it would all be pointless.

It was time to embrace the process instead. 

Chapter Text

“This is it. The Room of Requirement. You should try it.”

Harry looked avidly at Tom’s face. A small smile was playing on his lips, but his expression was otherwise unreadable. 

The door appeared and Harry eagerly followed him in, curious to see how far Tom had pushed the limits of the Room. He was surprised to find himself in a perfectly ordinary bedroom. 

Tom opened the wardrobe and drawers, quickly checking their content. “Impressive. A perfect replica. Even the view from the false window is accurate.” It was currently showing a snow-covered lawn. 

“Is this your room back home?” asked Harry. Tom nodded. The room could have been called austere, if everything in it was not obviously well-made and expensive. The cotton sheets on the bed looked luxuriously comfortable. Harry was about to touch them when he realised exactly where he was. 

Alone with Tom. In his bedroom. In the Room of Requirement, which would only open for those who already knew its current form, so no one could possibly disturb them. 

Harry swallowed. His heart was beating fast and his hands were itching to touch Tom, but he had to make sure. “Why are we here?” 

Tom smiled with a strange sort of playfulness. It was almost like he was flirting again, but there was an intensity to it that Harry found he very much liked. “Shouldn’t you tell me that, Harry? You’re the one who wanted to show me this room.”

“I knew you would like it. And, after that duel, I was hoping… maybe you would find a reward for me. If I did well enough, that is.”

“Fishing for compliments, my dear? You know you were superb. Fast, powerful and deadly.” Tom’s voice was low, his dark eyes hungry, and Harry kissed him hard. 

“I was afraid though,” he admitted after burying his face into Tom’s neck. 

“Why? Not that it isn’t natural to fear a powerful wizard trying his hardest to kill you, but I could see on your face there was more to it than that.” 

“When I looked at Voldemort, I saw something of you, blackened and twisted almost beyond recognition. Him being this grotesque, mirror image of you made him all the more terrifying. I am so glad he’s dead.”

“So am I. Voldemort was a bad joke that lasted for way too long.” 

“How can you say that?” Harry stopped hiding his face to peer at Tom’s instead. “When we fought him, not only were you not intimidated at all, it was almost like you were playing with him. I mean, it was really amazing to watch but… how?”

“Because Voldemort’s failures throw my every success into sharper relief. I am the most powerful wizard in the world, respected and admired by almost everyone, feared only by those foolish enough to cross me. I may not openly rule it, but I’ve reshaped our universe according to my beliefs. I have mastered death and preserved the beauty of my youth forever. My family, my home are thriving under my protection. And finally, Harry, I have you.”

“So, if your alternate self had been more successful than you, regardless of morality or any other consideration, you would have been upset?”

“Obviously.”

Harry couldn’t help laughing. “Your ego is so big a planet could rotate around it.”

“And yet you love me, do you not?” Tom whispered in his ear, and Harry shivered. 

“I do. I love you as you are.”

“I love you too.”

Harry’s breath caught in his throat. He felt no urge to pinch himself to check if he was dreaming: he could smell Tom’s skin, feel his breath on his neck so, of course, it was all very real. He still couldn’t believe it though. 

“How nice to be the one surprising you for once.” Tom removed his soulmark cover, letting it fall on the floor uncaringly. He then tugged at the ribbon on Harry’s wrist, who automatically gave him his arm to make it easier to untie. 

“I’ve been afraid too, Harry. Afraid of you and the growing importance you’ve taken in my life. And, in a way, I still am. There are so many ways you could be my undoing. And yet there is much you could give me as well. Your love and devotion, for once.” He kissed Harry’s neck. “Your loyalty. Your strength.” His long fingers were undoing the buttons of Harry’s shirt. “Your mind. Your body.”

Harry tilted his head back, to give Tom’s mouth easier access to the hollow of his throat. “I can only be as much yours as you are mine.” 

“Of course. You’re neither a fool, nor a martyr to give yourself away for nothing. So what do you want from me?”

“Everything,” hissed Harry. Tom’s hand was sliding across the naked skin of his belly, and still going further down. “Don’t stop. Please.”

“Everything?” repeated Tom amusedly. “You want me to be your partner, your lover, your soulmate… how did you so charmingly put it? In deeds, and not just words?”

“Yes.” Tom’s fingers wrapped around Harry’s cock, and the whole world disappeared in a haze of lust. “Tom, please.”

“How sweetly do you beg me.” He squeezed a little harder. “Maybe you should say please one more time?” 

“Please.”

“Get on the bed, my dear.” Harry had never obeyed an order so quickly before. 

He did a lot of begging in the hours that followed. His pride was nonexistent as far as sex with Tom was concerned. All that mattered was getting what he wanted, and Tom did give him everything. 

“I should defeat Dark wizards every day if this is my reward,” Harry said once they were done. His body was sprawled against Tom’s, and he felt wonderfully relaxed. 

“This isn’t your reward, my love, but your due. You belong to me now, and I take great care of what’s mine.”

“So that makes you mine then?” teased Harry. 

“Utterly and irrevocably.” 

Harry kissed him. “You’re not running away from me anymore. I love that.” 

“I promised you everything, and I’m a man of my word. Now, my love, I wonder why you are still shielding your thoughts from me.”

“Well, it’s basically second nature for me to use Occlumency at this point. Back at Hogwarts, one of my greatest fears was that you would read one of my… more perverted thoughts about you. The humiliation would have been unbearable.”

“So you mastered a difficult branch of wandless magic as a teenager, just so I wouldn’t find out how much you were lusting after me?”

“Pretty much?”

Tom laughed. “That’s so typical of you, Harry. And, in general, you should keep using Occlumency: you never know who might be trying to eavesdrop on your thoughts. However, there is no need to do so when we’re alone. We have no secrets for each other, haven’t we?”

“You want to see my fantasies that badly?”

“Among other things,” whispered Tom into his ear. “We can go through them one by one. I’m sure some of them will be very inspiring.” 

Harry squirmed in delight. “Alright. Do I get to see your thoughts?”

“You might not like some of them.”

He scoffed, “Aren’t we over this? I’m not going to run away because some of your thoughts are a little dark.”

“Oh, it is far too late to run away, Harry.” There was an implied threat in there, but he felt no fear, just a thrilling mix of love and lust. 

“I’ve been chasing you for seven years, I’m not going anywhere. Your thoughts, Tom. Are they mine as well?”

He smiled delightedly. “Of course, my dear. Am I correct that you don’t yet know Legilimency? Shall I teach it to you?”

Harry nodded enthusiastically. “Then let’s start now. There is no time like the present.” Tom sat up on the bed, nudging Harry to sit in front of him, lodged between his thighs. “Comfortable?” “Very.”

“I prize myself in giving you the best learning environment. Now what do you already know of Legilimency?”

“Not that much honestly. I know that a skilled Legilimens can read surface thoughts entirely unnoticed but, if they go deeper into their target’s mind, they will usually be detected. The simplest, most obvious way to protect oneself from a Legilimens is just to block them off entirely. Some very skilled Occlumens are able to actively deceive Legilimens by making them see only what they want them to see, but I had no interest in learning that part.” 

“That is all correct. The simplest way to do Legilimency is through a spell, but it is also the most obvious and easiest to defend oneself against. True Legilimency is silent and wandless, so that is what I shall teach you. Both Occlumency and Legilimency requires concentration, but while Occlumency is focused on the self - mastering one’s emotional and mental state - Legilimency is focused on others - bending their will to your own.”

“Wasn’t Legilimency about reading people’s minds? This sounds more like the Imperius Curse,” said Harry hesitantly. 

“The human mind does not like intrusions and will resist them, even entirely unconsciously, so merely “reading people’s minds” does require subverting their will. But your comparison to the Imperius Curse is more apt that you know. Legilimency can also be used to send thoughts, images and even emotions to the target.”

“So we could use it to communicate with each other telepathically? Sounds very useful.” 

“Quite. The sharp focus needed for Legilimency is hard to describe, so the best way to understand it is to “feel it” against your own mental defences. I will try to read your thoughts while you try to block me, then we exchange roles until you get a feeling for the necessary mindset.” 

The exercise proved to be incredibly difficult for Harry. Tom’s mind was like a deep, dark lake. There were some furtive movements at the bottom, but he could barely perceive them. 

Tom was much more successful reading Harry’s mind, of course. “How are you so good at this?” 

“How are you so good at flying? There are some branches of magic that one has a natural affinity for, and when such intuitive understanding exists, learning is barely necessary. That doesn’t mean you cannot master Legilimency through hard work instead. Did you glean anything from this session?”

“You like my eyes.” 

Tom smiled. “I do indeed. Well done, Harry. As for myself, I could see something has been troubling you for a while. Something about soulmates. Why didn’t you mention it to me?” 

Harry looked down. “Well, you’re not exactly fond of the concept of soulmates. And it’s probably nothing important, so…”

“No concern of yours is too small for me.”

“It’s just that this timeline… Ours separated from it three thousands years ago, which is around the same time as soulmarks were first recorded in our universe, so I would guess the apparition of soulmarks to be the point of divergence between the two. But then how come they are so similar? You would expect three thousands years of soulmarks to have huge consequences, but the course of history has largely been the same in both universes until… well, until your birth.” 

“That is odd. I have to admit, I never bothered to learn much about soulmarks. Maybe I should have.”

“I can’t believe I finally found one topic - I mean, besides Quidditch - where I know more than you do.” Harry couldn’t stop smiling, even as Tom pulled him closer and thoroughly kissed him. 

“Do you want to be the teacher for once, Harry? Because I am an excellent student.”

“Hmm.” The sensation of Tom’s naked body against his own was divine. Harry was starting to get aroused again. Soon he would be able to do more than just tease. In the meantime…

“There isn’t that much to teach you, unfortunately. No one really understands soulmarks. The Unspeakables have come the closest, because we have the Fountain. You know about the Fountain, right?”

“The Divination tool? Myrtle mentioned it.” 

“The Fountain predicts the bonds people will make during their lifetime. For children, its results are blurry and ever-shifting, then, around the time people hit puberty, they become fixed. Some people have one bond that appears much brighter than the others. In every case the Unspeakables could verify, that is the soulmate bond, though the marks only appear when both soulmates are old enough. Large age gaps are very rare though. You might be the oldest person ever to get a soulmark.”

Tom frowned. “When I was a teenager, you weren’t born yet. Neither were your parents. How could the Fountain predict how important you would be to me when you didn’t exist yet, and might not exist at all if your parents or grandparents had made slightly different choices?”

“Well, if you ask me, I think it’s fate. I was always meant to exist, and to meet you, and to fall in love with you.” 

He rolled his eyes. “I can’t believe that. There’s no fate, only our actions and their consequences.” 

“Does being my soulmate bother you? I know I mention it a lot, but if it makes you uncomfortable…” 

“No, it doesn’t bother me. I’m even growing fond of your soulmark.” He kissed the inside of Harry’s wrist, in a sloppy way that had to be purposeful (Tom was never accidentally sloppy). The hot flash of his tongue made Harry moan helplessly. “My name belongs on your skin, does it not?” 

Harry was definitely hard now. “Tom, can we…” He stopped speaking, bringing down all his Occlumency shields instead. Tom met his eyes, then smiled wickedly before pushing him down onto the mattress once more. 

Chapter Text

Tom did not know exactly how long they spent in the Room of Requirement. They talked, they made love, they ate food stolen from the kitchens. At some point, he must have fallen asleep, because he woke up feeling incredible. With his own considerable powers and Harry’s ever growing strength - Harry, who would do anything for him now - he truly was invincible. 

The price to pay had been steep, but Tom found that he could not regret it. Even if he had, he knew he was now utterly unable to stay away from Harry. As soon as that boy had crawled into his bed, he was never coming out of it. 

“Wake up, my love. It’s time for us to go home.” 

Harry blinked blearily at him, before giving him a dazzling smile. “I used to dream I would wake up next to you one day. I can’t believe I finally did it.”

“Do you want a pat on the back for seducing me? Or maybe breakfast in bed?”

“Hey, I seem to recall you seducing me yesterday. Not that I’m complaining, mind you. And breakfast in bed would be lovely, thank you.” 

Harry ate straight from Tom’s hand. “So obedient,” he couldn’t help crooning as Harry licked his fingers clean. 

“You fed me without even me asking, so who is the obedient one?” 

“Your wishes are my commands, my dear.” Harry hadn’t realised - and probably never would, because of his unerring goodness - that he could ask Tom for anything. Harry could become the king of the world if he wanted, as long as he remained his. 

“When you look at me like that, it makes me really horny. But no, we should focus. You mentioned going home. Do you think we are ready?”

“You’re as good as me with the cellular regeneration spells now. As for the Time Turner, I’ve finished repairing it with Bode’s help, but we couldn’t come up with a new functionality to switch timelines.” Like all spirits brought forth by the Resurrection Stone, Bode’s shade shared the knowledge the man had had in life, but he was creatively sterile. Tom’s alter ego really had the most annoying habit of killing off potentially useful pawns.

“We could use brute force, as you did the last time.”

“That wouldn’t be wise.” According to Bode, Tom had been very lucky not to blow up both himself and the Time Turner with that stunt. Not that he would share this with Harry, he didn’t want to make him cry again. “Bode did mention that the Time Turner would be easier to stir the closer we are to the point of divergence in spacetime.”

“That must be what the map from the Room of Requirement is for. It gives us the exact location where the divergence happened, while Bode’s timeline map gives us the exact time.”

“That’s certainly a compelling theory. Should we investigate the place?” 

Granger had not only translated the text on the map but also added modern landmarks, so Tom was able to create a Portkey straight to the location marked on the map.

It was a barren stretch of desert. The only thing of note was a slab of stone on the ground. “This has been cut with magic. It was a very long time ago, but the spells they used were so powerful they left a trace.”

“Of course! The Fountain must have been here. They tore it away from the Syrian Desert two hundred years ago and brought it to the Ministry. Well, they did it in our universe, so maybe in this one as well.”

“If you’re right, the point of divergence between the two timelines is right at the Fountain’s location and around the time soulmarks first appeared in our universe. It can’t be a coincidence. Someone must have used the Fountain to create soulmarks, and that caused the timelines to diverge.”

“Not someone. Me.” Harry wet his lips. “Back at the Ministry, I studied the Fountain for a whole year, and I had this idea I could use it to propagate a spell. At the time, I was thinking of the one I created to counter your curse, but it didn’t feel right. This does.”

“What do you mean “it didn’t feel right”?” 

“The Fountain shows soulmate bonds, and bonds in general, to bring people together. I couldn’t just use it to work against you. It would be like… going against everything the Fountain stands for.” 

Tom gritted his teeth. To think Harry could have beaten him if he hadn’t fallen victim to rampant sentimentalism. “The Fountain is a magical artefact, not a symbol of true love.”

“It absolutely is! And that’s why if I use it to make soulmarks appear, it will definitely work.” Harry’s face crumpled. “I know you don’t understand, but can you trust me on this? Please?”

Trust him. Trust his soulmate, and close the loop. “That damn postcard. So that is what it was about. We need to travel to the past and make a change that we know already happened, so history remains internally consistent and our timeline exists.”

“Right. Though if G.G. wanted to help us figure this out, why not write clearer instructions?” 

“They must be a Seer, these people can never express themselves clearly. I’ll figure out exactly what game they are playing later. In the meantime, if you’re truly confident you can create soulmarks, no matter your reasoning, then you probably have a high chance of actually succeeding. What do you need from me?” 

“It’s a simple spell. Just a little bit of indelible ink on people’s wrists. Most of the magic will come from the Fountain, but I would like for you to be with me.” 

“I will always be with you,” said Tom automatically. “We will only have five minutes in the past though.” 

“Five minutes is enough,” said Harry, and Tom couldn’t help but admire his confidence. His faith in soulmates and soulmarks was truly unshakable.

“After we return to the present, we won’t have a drop of magic left to do anything, so I’m changing the Portkey to take us to the safest place I know. It will bring us there after the five minutes are up. Are you ready?”

Harry nodded, and Tom put the Time Turner’s chain around both of their necks. As soon as he entered the destination date, the world blurred around him once more, but this time, the scenery didn’t really change. The only difference between the desert of the present and of the past was the Fountain. 

To the untrained eye, it looked rather plain, nothing more than a water basin crudely carved out of dark stone. Yet, the Fountain had a powerful feeling of magic to it, almost as if the air around it held an extra weight.

He sneaked a peek into the water while Harry worked on his spell. The way the Fountain spelled names out of light and connected them like constellations had a certain elegance to it, Tom had to admit, though its predictions were not entirely accurate. He wondered who had created it, or whether it was wild magic. 

He couldn’t spend too long investigating the Fountain though, as he had to make sure they returned to the correct timeline. This time, Tom didn’t have to be forceful. The Time Turner seemed almost eager to cooperate, kicking them back to the present a few seconds after Harry declared his work done. 

The Portkey was not as gentle, as they landed face first in a bed of cabbage. 

“Mind your step!” yelled Frank Bryce. His eyes widened as he recognised just who it was that had crushed his beloved vegetables. “Mr Tom, you’re finally back! Everyone will be so relieved to see you.” He looked curiously at Harry, but didn’t say anything.

“Harry, this is Frank. He’s been our gardener for… almost sixty years now.”

Harry shook the man’s hand. “Nice to meet you, and sorry about the cabbages.” His gaze slid around the garden. “What a lovely place. You can’t have any flowers in December, but the greenery is arranged so nicely you don’t even miss them.” 

Frank’s chest puffed up. “These grounds have always been my pride and joy. I can see you’re a polite, proper young man, not like most of the ruffians running around nowadays. Not that Mr Tom would ever bring one of their lot here.” 

Tom couldn’t help but smile at Harry immediately winning over the most irascible member of their staff. Though, to be fair to Frank, his temper had improved a lot once magic had taken away his everyday aches and pains. “Is the family at home?”

“Mr and Mrs Riddle are out, but Mr Christopher and Mrs Deirdre are entertaining a guest.” 

“Thank you, Frank.” Tom led Harry inside, to the yellow parlour that Deirdre favoured. 

As soon as he opened the door, there was a shout of “Harry!”, then Miss Granger launched herself in Harry’s arms. 

“Hermione! I’m so happy to see you, but why are you here?”

“I’m having tea with Christopher and Deirdre,” she replied, as if it explained anything. 

Tom endured his own hug from his brother, while Deirdre, who knew he did not enjoy people invading his personal space, just smiled at him in welcome. “Are you friends with Miss Granger now?”

“Absolutely. A remarkable young woman,” said Christopher. “You should make sure she becomes Minister for Magic,” he added, sotto voce. 

“Harry, you’re swaying! Are you alright?” 

“We’re both exhausted because of the time travel. We should sleep for at least twelve hours.” Tom had been tempted to head straight to bed, but he knew Christopher would be unbearable if he learnt Tom was back from the gardener. 

“I’ll speak with everyone tomorrow,” said Harry with one last hug to his friend. “Just let them know that I’m back, and I’m safe.”

“I guess he won’t need a guest room,” said Christopher slily.

“Don’t be daft, Christopher. Do you sleep apart from your soulmate?”

His brother looked shocked and Deirdre laughed a little behind her hand. “You’ve truly changed your mind. I’m glad. I will still get my five minutes of gloating, mind you, but not when you’re dead on your feet.” He waved to Harry. “Nice to see you again. Just don’t mind us and go have some rest.” 

Tom quickly grabbed Harry’s hand and led him to his bedroom, the real one this time. He was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

He woke up to Harry’s bright green eyes looking down on him, a worried expression on his face. “What’s wrong, my love?”

“I’ve been thinking about the timelines again. Now it makes sense that there aren't that many differences between the two. I mean, I caused soulmarks to appear three thousand years ago, but none of the marks from then until now could possibly start a chain of events that would result in me not being born, you not being born or us not meeting or travelling through time.”

“And?”

“You don’t see the issue? It means your soulmate is not your perfect match! At least, it can’t be the only consideration. The Fountain must also take into account the need to keep this timeline “on track” when picking soulmates.”

“Well, that does neatly explain why my father had Merope Gaunt’s soulmark.” Harry looked horrified. “Don’t you dare feel guilty about that. You know exactly how he fared without the mark.” He probably spent years in constant fear of being enslaved and raped again, then was killed by his own son. 

“Alright, so it helped your father at least. But what about all my ancestors? Was the only reason some of them got together that I had to be born?”

“Does it matter?” 

“Of course it does! I thought the marks would help people find love, not manipulate them.” Harry sighed. “Why are you not upset? Everything I said applies to you. I put my name on your wrist so we would end up together!” 

“First, I would be the worst of hypocrites if I condemned you for manipulating people in order to reach a desired state of events. Second, if anything, the fact that my soulmark comes from you makes me feel better. It’s not the product of some nebulous magic, but of your actions. Actions that were perfectly justified under the circumstances.”

“Well, I guess, if I hadn’t done it, we would have a huge time paradox on our hands.”

“I don’t just mean it that way. In the universe without soulmarks, I was a hideous failure, you - and almost everyone you ever loved - were dead. You said yourself that, compared to it, this timeline is a paradise, and creating paradise requires some sacrifices.” Harry’s face was still downcast. “Stop torturing yourself over this. By the way, what you said only applies to existing soulmarks. Since we’ve already created the timeline, all future soulmarks should not be influenced by the need to preserve our existence.”

“You’re right. It does make me feel better.” Harry gave him a small smile. “If not about this, why were you mad at me earlier?”

It took a moment for Tom to remember what he meant. “I was not mad at you. I was mildly upset that you found a perfect way to counter my curse through the Fountain, and I had no idea until you told me. The only reason I didn’t lose to you was your belief in the sanctity of soulmarks, of all things. How galling.” 

Harry laughed. “It was just an idea. It might never have worked. And, anyway, I don’t want to beat you, not really. Well, I’d like to beat you in a duel eventually, but that’s just a game. What I truly want is for you to love and respect me.”

“Of course, I respect you.” How Harry could think otherwise when he was the most impressive wizard of his generation baffled Tom. “As for love… Do you want me to show you just how much I love you?”

“That’s extremely tempting, but we should probably eat something first. I’m starving.”

“You’re right. We can eat with my family, it’s almost lunchtime.”

“Your family?” replied Harry, alarmed.

“My parents, Christopher and Deirdre, maybe my nieces and nephew if they come by. Is that a problem?”

“No, it’s just… I need to make a great impression!” Harry looked at his clothes in frustration. “Urgh, I’m all sweaty from that desert, but I don’t have any changes of clothes.”

“You can borrow some of mine. Let’s shower first though.” Tom started stripping. Harry’s eyes widened and he quickly followed suit. 

A few minutes under the warm spray of water and Tom’s hands on his body were very successful in helping Harry relax. By the time Tom wrapped him in a fluffy bathrobe, he was putty in his hands. 

“You shouldn’t be worried about lunch, really. My family has every reason to love you. If anything, I’m the one who should be nervous about meeting your parents again as your soulmate, after being your teacher for years.” 

“Oh, my dad won’t be a problem. You thought I was bad about soulmarks? He is even more of a believer. My mum… will probably give you a hard time at first, but I’m as stubborn as she is. I’ll fight her on this if I have to, and I will win.” Harry’s determined expression was so adorable that Tom couldn’t help kissing him. He knew he had to stop at that though, otherwise they wouldn’t make it downstairs until well past lunchtime.

Instead Tom helped Harry get dressed into one of his suits. They were almost the same size so, after minor magical adjustments, it fit Harry like a glove. The style suited him as well: he looked more handsome than ever. But, more than that, Tom felt a thrill at seeing Harry wearing his clothes. Marking Harry as his made his blood sing in a way that would have frightened him if he didn’t feel wonderfully alive. 

Lunch went as well as he expected. It was good to see his family again, and they all welcomed Harry with open arms. None of them showed any surprise at meeting him, so Tom had to admit that Christopher was right: his feelings must have long been obvious to those who knew him best. Not that Tom would ever say it out loud, his brother was already far too smug about the whole thing.

After lunch, Harry took his leave to reunite with his own family and friends. He asked to speak to Tom first, so they walked together in the garden. “It might be dumb, but I just realised I have no idea where to go after I see them. I mean, I have a flat in London, but it wouldn’t feel right to return to it without you. I guess we’ve lived under the same roof these past few months because of the Order, and I got used to it so…”

“You’re babbling, my dear. If you’re asking whether we’re going to keep living together, the answer is obviously yes.” Harry sighed in relief. “As to where exactly, I would prefer your flat.”

“But isn’t this house your home?”

“It is, but it is also full of relatives and servants. I’d like to have you all to myself for a little while.”

Harry smiled and kissed him. “Sounds perfect. I’ll see you after dinner then.” He Disapparated and Tom walked back to the house. He wanted to see that postcard with his own eyes. 

The identity of G.G. was obvious in retrospect. There were only a handful of Seers in the world that were powerful enough to have predicted Tom and Harry’s predicament. Only one had the right initials, and lived in Austria to boot. 

The only remaining mystery was why exactly Gellert Grindelwald would involve himself in Tom’s affairs. He intended to find out the truth straight from the horse’s mouth. 

The wards around Nurmengard had clearly been designed to keep Grindelwald in and everyone else out. They were also impressively intricate and powerful. It would have taken Tom quite some time to break through them, if someone had not already done most of the work for him.

There was an almost imperceptible flaw in the wards, and Tom was convinced it was no mere mistake from its creators. Instead it was as if a powerful wizard had picked apart the wards one by one then rebuilt them, leaving himself a backdoor access to enter and leave as he pleased. 

Now Tom merely had to pick open that backdoor. It was not too difficult because Dumbledore - it had to be him, it was his style - had clearly not expected anyone to even see it.

Once he was through the wards, he made his way to the cell on the top floor. It also had an intricate lock, one he bet Dumbledore had fashioned himself a key for. Tom had to pick it open, which pretty much announced his presence to the occupant of the cell. Therefore, he didn’t bother to knock, pushing the door open as soon as he was done.

“I thought you would come, Tom. Would you like some tea?” said Grindelwald cheerfully. For someone who had spent the last six decades in prison, he looked remarkably healthy. In fact, if not for his odd, mismatched eyes, he would have been the very image of a mischievous grandfather, the one who always helped the kids with their pranks and slipped them sweets. Tom knew better, of course. 

He sat down, but didn’t touch his cup. “You’re very comfy here.” The cell - though it was more of a studio flat than a cell at this point - was one of the most crowded rooms Tom had ever seen. It was full to the brim with objects both magical and mundane: there were piles upon piles of books, a Pensieve perched precariously upon some of them, and a crystal ball under the television set, among other things. The whole room gave off a feeling of organised chaos.

“All thanks to Albus’ generosity. He knows being bored drives me up the wall so he tries his hardest to keep me occupied. Won’t you try the tea? I’m told I’m quite good at making it nowadays, up to an Englishman’s standard, I daresay.” Grindelwald was no Englishman himself, but his Received Pronunciation was flawless. 

“If you’re bored, you could just leave.” It would be harder without a wand, but even so, a wizard of Grindelwald’s calibre would be able to notice and exploit the flaw in the wards. 

“Oh, but I couldn’t possibly. This is part of my penance, you see. I have to stay here until they let me out.” 

“Do you expect me to believe you’re really sorry for what you did?”

“Why wouldn’t you? Fifty-eight years in prison is surely time enough for a man to reflect about his mistakes. I admit I made many, though I wasn’t wrong about everything. I’ve always thought the International Statute of Secrecy to be a terrible mistake, and I know you quite agree with me on this, Tom.”

“Do not presume to know me,” he said coldly.

“Of course not,” Grindelwald agreed easily. “I’ve only ever had secondhand accounts of you, and whatever my Sight could reveal to me. Even so, it wasn’t hard to guess what you did. Muggles don’t turn into wizards spontaneously, do they? I have to say, I’m one of your biggest fans. Brilliant way to achieve wizarding supremacy, and with so little loss of life.”

“It’s only wizarding supremacy in the narrowest sense. Muggle culture will win out in the end.”

“You’re quite right, and that would have been very upsetting to me once, but not anymore. Muggles - and their delightfully varied forms of entertainment - have contributed to keeping me sane these past few decades. Wizards imprisoned me in a barren cell, no visitors allowed, nothing but water and barely enough food to survive on. They meant for me to die slowly, torturously and entirely alone. And I would have, had Albus not come.” Grindelwald’s blue-and-brown gaze got lost in the distance, a fond smile on lips, before he focused on Tom once more. 

“Albus was only able to come and see me, because he had made his peace with his parents and sister through the Resurrection Stone, which you gave to him, Tom. I see you didn’t bring it today but, really, you needn’t worry I’ll try to take it from you. Chasing after the Hallows was another one of my mistakes.”

Everything about Grindelwald - his face, his voice, his thoughts - seemed perfectly sincere, but Tom wasn’t buying it. “How convenient. Are there any of your past actions you don’t regret?”

“Naturally. I do not regret cursing that bastard Abelforth, though, of course, considering the consequences, I wish I hadn’t done it.” Grindelwald’s affable smile dropped, his eyes glinting coldly, and, for a second, he looked every inch the Dark wizard who had terrified most of magical Europe. “Aberforth Dumbledore is a profoundly mediocre man who never had a greater ambition in life than tending to his goats and who always resented Albus for wanting anything more for himself. If only I had struck him down instead of Ariana. I had nothing against her, the poor lamb.”

“I’m sure knowing you meant to kill his other sibling was a great comfort to Dumbledore. How could he possibly forgive you?”

“It wasn’t easy! It took a very long time for Albus to forgive me. But he did, because I was genuinely sorry, and because he loves me. You of all people would understand, Tom.”

“I really don’t.” 

“Don’t you? There is very little I wouldn’t do for Albus to be mine.” Grindelwald pushed back his right sleeve. Long, thin lines were burnt into the skin of his hand and forearm, the telltale signs of an Unbreakable Vow. 

Grindelwald listed the vows he had made, and Tom was pleasantly surprised by Dumbledore’s thoroughness. Of course, Grindelwald could still try to find some kind of loophole to subvert the vows without breaking them, but it would be extremely risky. Any misstep, and his death would be instant. “If you don’t believe me, you can ask Albus. Or Minerva, she was holding the wand.” 

Tom nodded. He would definitely check later, though he didn’t think even Grindelwald could lie to him when reciting a list of facts. “So, you see, I’m quite harmless now. Just an old man, hoping that he might get a second chance at life. Now, maybe we could finally discuss the reason you’re here today, Tom. As pleasant as chatting with you is, I understand this isn’t a social call.”

“Why did you send that postcard?”

“I wished to thank you, and prove the extent of my Divination talents. They could be at your service, for a fee, of course.” 

Now he was finally getting to what Grindelwald wanted. “What kind of fee?” 

“You don’t know how frustrating old age is, Tom. You were very wise to skip it entirely. I want my old body back, the one I had when I was twenty. I was quite the looker, you know.” 

Tom scoffed, “So you want me to make you immortal?” 

“Why not? It’s likely everyone will be, eventually. I just want to be one of the firsts. I’m not a very patient person, Tom. Also, it's not just me. I'm also doing this for Albus. He's not getting any younger either and, unlike us, he thinks ageing and death must be endured, though he never quite managed to explain me why.” Grindelwald shook his head in frustration. 

“You're asking a lot.”

“I am aware, and that's why I would offer you the use of my Divination powers for the next twenty years in exchange. With my help, I can assure you that the end of the Statute of Secrecy and the subsequent integration of the Muggle and wizarding worlds will happen in the most peaceful way possible.”

It was a very tempting offer, so, of course, there had to be a catch. “Why twenty years?”

Grindelwald laughed. “I see why Albus always spoke so highly of you! In about twenty years, I should get my first chance at freedom. This depends, of course, on how smoothly the takeover of our justice system goes. No wizarding court will let me out before the end of my initial hundred-year sentence, but a mundane one could prove more amenable.”

So Grindelwald was counting on the very people he had once tried to kill and enslave to let him out of prison. Tom smiled coldly. “How can I trust your predictions, when even you admit they are self-serving?”

“That’s precisely why you should trust me. If new and old wizards descend into acrimony, I will be forgotten and left out to rot here even longer. So our interests are entirely aligned there. Besides, I’m no fool. If I deceived you, you would become my enemy, and I’ve got quite enough of those already.”

Tom nodded, then got up to take his leave. “I will consider your offer.” 

He would have to speak to Harry first. And also to Dumbledore, to confirm Grindelwald’s story. He didn’t look forward to that conversation, though it would at least give him the opportunity to go to Hogwarts again and put the Room of Requirement to the test. Last time, he had been too… thoroughly distracted to think much about the possibilities it offered.

There was so much to do, but at least he had Harry with him to share the load. If Grindelwald was trying to play him false, he would find out quickly, and make him regret it. If he was sincere, Tom might have found his most useful tool yet. 

Chapter Text

Harry woke up on the last day of twenty nineteen, comfortable from the knowledge he had the day off, and thus did not actually need to go anywhere. 

Instead he cuddled closer to Tom. “Happy birthday,” he murmured into his ear.

“Mmm,” was his husband’s only answer. Tom Riddle was one of the many people who didn’t feel truly human before their first cup of coffee. He could force himself to be alert, of course, but he didn’t need to when Harry was there to make him breakfast.

He got up, started the coffee machine and grabbed bacon and eggs from the fridge. Tom refused to get presents for his birthday - which, honestly, was a relief because the man was impossible to shop for - but Harry could at least make him his favourite breakfast.

“Good morning, love.”

“You didn’t need to get up.”

“You know it’s not good to laze around in bed.” Tom hadn’t bothered to fully dress though. He was wearing boxer shorts and an oversized T-shirt Harry got from the previous year’s Quidditch World Cup. He had let his hair grow a bit longer at Harry’s request, so he had to pull it in a slight ponytail to keep it out of his eyes. 

Harry knew for a fact that Tom wouldn’t be caught dead with messy hair and unclassy clothes outside their home, so this sight belonged to him and him alone. He couldn’t help but drink it in.

Tom smirked as he poured himself coffee. “Am I going to get my breakfast, or are you staring at me all day?”

“You’re one to talk. You’ve been watching me play Quidditch, and I know you’ve got less than zero interest in the sport.” Harry slid the full English breakfast onto two plates and laid them on the table.

“I know how disappointed you would be if I wasn’t there to watch you. Thank you, my dear.” Tom started digging into his food. “So what is planned for today?”

“We don’t have anything until the party this evening. I just wanted us to have a quiet day together. Things at work have been crazy lately. It’s great to bring so many new people on board, but it takes time and effort to train them up.” 

In a world where everyone had magical powers, violent crimes, both from individuals and organised groups, were more dangerous than ever. At least, people smuggling was finally going down, as global living standards improved. 

“Also, now that the Auror Department is under the supervision of both the Ministry of Magic and the Home Office, I have two bosses to deal with.”

“One of them’s your childhood friend though.”

“As if it would ever stop Hermione from giving me a bad performance review.”

Tom smiled. “As if you would ever be bad at anything you put your heart into.”

“What about you? Ready to collect your Nobel Prize in Medicine to hang next to your Order of Merlin?” Harry was exaggerating, but only slightly. 

He didn’t fully understand Tom’s research, but he knew that wizards had an excellent immune system, so mundane diseases only mildly affected them. However, for new wizards, no longer getting sick did not mean their existing diseases got magically cured. In some cases, acquiring magical powers when unwell could make things worse. Tom was currently working with dementia patients who were a danger to themselves and others, because they could not possibly control their powers. 

“Well, if I crack dementia, I’ll certainly expect one, but gaining as much mastery over the mind as I did over the body is its own reward.” Tom paused, toying with his empty coffee cup. 

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing. Shall we go for a walk?” For once, they had a perfect winter day, sunny and cold with a bright blue sky, so Harry accepted easily. Whatever was on Tom’s mind, he would tell Harry later, when he felt ready.

They dressed warmly and started strolling towards Hyde Park. London was bustling: there were many locals like them, taking time off between Christmas and New Year, but also more tourists than ever, thanks to Portkeys replacing planes and long-distance trains. 

Yet, the streets hardly felt crowded: Apparition and the newly expanded Floor Network had made the car fall out of favour and the roads had been opened to pedestrians and bikes. Restaurants and cafes had been allowed to expand too, and former parking spaces were now open-air terraces, fully heated of course. If travel was cheap, then energy was practically free.

That hadn’t come easily, of course. At first, the widespread use of magic had made electrical equipment go haywire, causing huge problems for people who depended on it for their everyday life. However, in the process of adapting the grid, a team of physicists and engineers had discovered how to convert magic into electricity on a large scale. That discovery had netted them their own Nobel Prize, and had made magic more popular than ever. 

You could see magic everywhere nowadays, though most of its signs were very subtle. It was visible, for example, in the way most buildings were bigger on the inside than the outside, to allow more room for an ever growing population. Of course, the ability of wizards to expand or fold space had initially caused a metaphorical explosion (a property crash) as well as several literal ones (tragedies caused by unscrupulous or ignorant people stretching space too thin), but, in the end, it had all been for the better. Harry could hardly recall the last time he had seen a homeless person. 

In fact, looking at his fellow Londoners - a young father entertaining his baby with a levitating toy, an ancient-looking lady effortlessly keeping pace with her energetic dog, a group of teenagers complaining about trigonometry and Transfiguration in the same breath, and many others - Harry felt hopeful for the new year. The decade they would leave behind hadn’t been called the Troubled Tens for nothing, but things were better, and they would keep improving.

“I was wrong,” he said out loud.

“About what, my dear?”

“I loved the old wizarding world. And, in a way, I still do, like I love my childhood home in Godric’s Hollow. But I outgrew both. This new world… it’s not perfect, but it’s so much better. I’m glad I helped you create it, and that I get to live in it with you.”  

Tom stared at Harry’s face, his expression unreadable. “I’m glad it makes you happy.” 

Harry frowned. Tom loved being right, but he wasn’t even gloating a little bit. Harry couldn’t help but be curious about his strange mood. He would ask him directly. Not outside though. “Let’s head home.”

“If you ever miss the old wizarding world, you can go to Hogwarts. They only admit children of former alumni nowadays. Salazar Slytherin would be proud,” said Tom with a smile.

“I wouldn’t be so sure. Even Hogwarts had to adapt to the times.” Harry received regular owls from his goddaughter, and her letters were full of frustration about things like not being allowed to use her phone outside the common room. 

Rose was a child of the new world, who had never lived under the Statute of Secrecy. She was bright, brave and very capable with both technology and magic. Salazar Slytherin wouldn’t have stood a chance against her and the other kids from her generation. 

“Maybe you’re right. A big change is certainly coming to Hogwarts. Albus is going to resign.”

“Is it because he has to testify in Gellert’s trial?”

Tom nodded. “He plans to tell the whole truth, and he knows he’s going to get vilified for it. He doesn’t want the scandal to touch the school. Also, he’s been headmaster for over sixty years now. It’s time for him to pass the torch to someone else.”

“Makes sense. Do you think they will free Gellert?”

“I don’t doubt it. He has the best lawyer in Austria and enough charisma to convince almost anyone of anything.” 

Harry laughed. Tom wasn’t wrong: Gellert was hard to dislike, because he was so genuinely friendly and fun to be around. He was also a former terrorist with an explosive temper and an ironclad conviction that he was always right. Still, his Divination powers had helped them a lot these past two decades, and his Unbreakable Vow meant he could no longer hurt people. All in all, Harry couldn’t begrudge him his freedom. 

“Well, I hope he gets out. He and Albus deserve it after all these years. Do you remember the very touching speech Albus did at our wedding, about the power of love?” 

Tom rolled his eyes. “I wish I could forget it.”

“I liked it! Also Christopher had just said he had no embarrassing stories to tell about you, and you can’t get married without getting a little bit embarrassed.”

“You’re just saying that because of all the funny stories your friends had to say about you. Still, I appreciated Albus’ warning not to open Gellert’s gift in public. That would have been highly embarrassing.”

Harry smiled. It was a very good gift. Maybe they could use it later today. But, first, he had to find out why Tom was behaving strangely. “Penny for your thoughts?” he asked as they hung out their coats in the hallway.

Tom kissed him slowly, tenderly, and Harry found himself melting in his arms. He led Tom to the couch and curled up against him. “You’re worrying about something. Tell me.” 

“I’ve been thinking about my mother recently.”

“Is something wrong with her?” asked Harry, alarmed. He had spoken to May the previous week and she had seemed as happy as ever. 

“I mean Merope Gaunt. Maybe I was too harsh on her. She was married to my father, and she still let him go. I don’t know if I would have the courage,” Tom said softly. 

“Are you seriously comparing yourself to your birth mother, and myself to your father? Because, Tom, that’s absolute bollocks, and you know it. I certainly wasn’t under the Imperius Curse when I married you.”

“You might still want to leave someday. Plenty of marriages break down.”

“Well, if I ever wanted to leave - and we’re talking purely hypothetically here - you would let me go. Magic cannot manufacture real feelings, and you would be as unhappy with a sham marriage as Merope was.”

“Maybe it can.” 

“Sorry, but what?”

“Total mastery over the mind. Do you know what this means, Harry? You wouldn’t get the chance to fight back. You wouldn’t even realise anything was wrong. I could make it so you would never, ever leave me, and it would be so easy. You never even shield your mind around me.” 

Harry took a deep breath through his nose. “Tom. Please stop this… trying to warn me off. I trust you, with my body, heart, and mind. I wouldn’t have married you if I didn’t.”

“Why?” 

“Because you’re a good person, and you wouldn’t hurt me.” Tom huffed, and Harry poked him in the ribs. “Hey, I’m basing my opinion of you on hard facts. Despite saying the contrary, you’ve done an awful lot of good, and not much bad.”

“Maybe you’re right in general. But this isn’t about how I behave towards other people. This is about you , Harry. You weren’t around for most of my life, and I was fine on my own, but, for the life of me, I cannot remember how I did it. I’m so used to your companionship, your support, your mere presence. If I lost you, I…” Tom was uncharacteristically unable to finish his sentence. He was hurting, and all Harry wanted was to take his pain away. 

He crawled into Tom’s lap, started trailing kisses on his neck. “I gave you a soulmark and a wedding ring already. If there is anything else that would convince you that, no, I’m not leaving you, you need only name it.”

Tom’s voice was low, amused. “You’re so eager to forge your own chains. How convenient for me.”

“You still don’t get it, do you?” said Harry in disbelief. “Love has nothing to do with being in chains. Yes, I’m bound to you, as you are bound to me, but it doesn’t make me your prisoner. When I’m with you, I am free, and I am whole. You’re my other half, my soulmate, my husband. You’re mine, Tom Marvolo Riddle.” He bit Tom’s neck just hard enough to leave a mark. Tom yelped, half in pleasure, half in pain, then pushed Harry down, pinning him on the couch. They wouldn’t make it to the bed, and Harry very much did not care. 

“You want to know what would happen if you left me? I wouldn’t let you go easily. I might not be able to literally change your mind, but I would do everything in my power to keep you with me. It would be the worst foot-dragging divorce in history.” 

Tom laughed against Harry’s skin. “How you can make me laugh, even about something like this. I’m happy with you, Harry. I don’t think I can come back to merely being fine.”

“You won’t have to.” Then Harry shut up, because he had to prove to his husband the extent of his love and devotion. 

“You’re mine now,” said Tom after he had very thoroughly done so. “But in another twenty years? Fifty? A hundred? Nobody knows for sure what the future will hold, even with Divination. There’s no assurance you can give me that we will be together forever.”

“No, there isn’t,” admitted Harry. “But it doesn’t matter, because we’re together now.”

“I wish I could enjoy the nice things in my life without worrying they will be taken from me.”

“That’s why I’m here, to help you not to worry.” Harry kissed his husband. From his perspective, the future looked bright. His loved ones were healthy and happy and, since magic and science were improving life at a fast pace, likely to remain so for a very long time. Tom certainly wouldn't die, and he wouldn’t leave Harry. All the time in the world stretched before him, to be spent at his soulmate’s side. 

Harry smiled as his mind focused on the near future, the party that evening to celebrate Tom’s birthday and ring in the new year. Everyone would be there, and there would be fireworks. 

He couldn’t wait.

Chapter Text

The first thing Harry and Helios noticed about Tom Riddle was his daemon.

She was the most gorgeous snake they had ever seen. Her long, slender body was dark blue, with two electric blue stripes on either side, and her head and tail were a vibrant red. Since she was always wrapped around Riddle’s arm or neck, and the man wore nothing but black, she stood out even more. Her head usually rested on Riddle’s shoulder, her small, black eyes unreadable. 

Daemons greeted each other in much the same way humans did, with a nod, a few words, or some brief physical contact, depending on the closeness of the relationship. Riddle’s daemon did none of that: whenever Harry saw him interact with students or other teachers, he was polite, and she remained still and aloof. 

He never even heard her voice, until that eventful first day of his third year where he got bitten by an Acromantula. Riddle had healed him and Harry had asked him to become his tutor.

Instead of Riddle replying, his daemon spoke in a low, pleasant voice: “He’s just settled.” 

Harry turned to his daemon, who was sitting next to the bed. “Is it true? Is that really it?” He had felt Helios’ impatience earlier, but had attributed it to him wanting to participate in the conversation with Riddle, which he couldn’t do since it was considered rude for daemons to speak to humans not their own.

Helios barked excitedly. “It is! Do you like it?” 

“I love it,” said Harry sincerely, scratching his daemon’s head. He was a wolf, his coat a mix of many shades of grey. His settled form wasn’t entirely a surprise: Helios had always favoured mammals, but he wasn’t usually that large. Harry would miss him being able to climb on his shoulder, but he was still incredibly fluffy and very huggable. 

“That child has a warrior’s demon,” said the snake on Riddle’s shoulder. Helios turned to her, having decided that this counted as her addressing him. “I’m Helios. Nice to meet you! If you and Professor Riddle would do us the honour of accepting myself and Harry as your students, I swear we won’t disappoint you.”

She didn’t move, but Harry was almost certain she was amused. Daemons that did not have expressive faces still somehow managed to convey their emotions to others. “Sadrella,” she said. The single word felt like a precious gift.

Riddle raised one eyebrow at his daemon, but didn’t say anything to her. Instead, he told Harry to come to his office every Wednesday at four. He and Helios were elated. They’d done it! 

The next few days were a whirlwind of congratulations and gifts for their settling. Harry and Helios weren’t particularly prone to vanity, but even they could not be unaffected by the many appraising looks they received as they walked through Hogwarts’ corridors. Most daemons were small enough to be carried and even those that were not tended to be more common animals, like the horse daemon belonging to a fifth year Hufflepuff student. She and Harry had commiserated over the many problems having a large daemon entailed. 

Because Helios was large. His head reached Harry’s hips and he was as long as Harry was tall. Which meant he was way too big to fit on a broomstick. 

If Helios had been a real wolf, they could have tried a Shrinking Charm but, since daemons were made of Dust, spells didn’t affect them in the same way as organic beings. Performing any kind of Transfiguration on your daemon was therefore highly discouraged. People had killed themselves trying it.

Harry had tried flying without Helios but, as soon as he lifted a few feet off the ground, their bond started stretching painfully. Harry did not dare go too far and risk fainting off his broom. 

“We’ll have to tell Oliver to take us off the team,” he said to Helios dejectedly. His disappointment in being unable to fly was only compounded by the fact that he was letting everyone down. There was no replacement Seeker in the Gryffindor Quidditch team.

“If only I wasn’t so big…”

“Hey, don’t say that. You’re perfect just as you are.” He ruffled Helios’ fur.

“I still miss flying. I may not be able to turn into a bird anymore, but I could still fly with you. Using four eyes.” That was the ability for a human and daemon to share their five senses, not just vision. Harry and Helios were pretty proficient at it. They had practised a lot, because it was so fun for Harry to experience soaring as an eagle or swimming as a fish. 

“You could, but first I would have to be able to fly away from you.” They fell silent, because they both knew what that meant. 

Separation allowed a human and daemon to go far away from each other without any ill effect, but it was a process few people went through. It was painful and difficult, so why put yourself through that?

“I want to fly, Harry. I know you do too. Maybe we should ask Professor Riddle if separation would be possible for us?” 

He nodded. Riddle would be able to answer, because the man seemed to know everything. He was not only highly intelligent, grasping complex magical concepts very easily, but also talented at breaking down those concepts into simpler pieces for others to understand. It was a privilege to be his personal student, and not just because it gave Harry more occasions to sigh over his good looks. 

As bad as Harry had it for Riddle (and his crush sometimes felt so enormous that he wondered if his rapid progress with Occlumency would be enough to conceal it), Helios was worse. When they were together, Harry could feel his daemon’s laser-like focus on Sadrella, his almost physical need for her to speak so he could reply. And she did speak, though it was rare. 

One such occurrence happened when Harry asked Riddle about separation. “They should do it.”

“Separation requires a lot of physical and mental strength, and they are only thirteen,” countered Riddle. 

“We were fifteen.” 

Riddle’s brows furrowed. Everyone argued with their daemons sometimes and Harry wondered if this, a curt conversation with no raised voices, was how he and Sadrella did it. They seemed to reach an agreement without speaking further, as Riddle smiled and gently caressed the top of his daemon’s head. It was the first time Harry had seen him purposefully touching her like that. 

“Very well. You shall be put to the test. If you’re not sure about this, you should give up right now. This will be the worst pain you will ever feel.” 

Harry looked at Helios. “It will be temporary though. You no longer feel pain when you and Sadrella are away from each other, right?”

“No. The bond need only be stretched once, but the ordeal lasts several hours.” And Riddle and Sadrella had done it at fifteen. They were so amazing Harry wondered how he and Helios could possibly compare. Except Sadrella thought they could do it. She and Riddle were not the type to give their students impossible tasks. Extremely difficult ones, yes, but not impossible. 

“I’ll do it,” said Harry. “Helios?” His daemon nodded. 

“We can go this Saturday then. Bring your warmest clothes, as much as you can wear.”

Harry understood why when Riddle’s Portkey brought them to a frozen wasteland. “We’re very near the arctic circle. Ahead of us is a place daemons cannot enter. It takes about four hours to cross on foot.” 

“So separation is just walking away from your daemon?” Harry had imagined a much more complex ritual. 

“There’s nothing just about it. If you were alone, it could kill you. Since I’ll be going with you and Sadrella will stay with your daemon, it won’t happen. If you’re ever in danger, I’ll bring you back immediately.” 

“What about our daemons?” It didn’t seem safe to leave them alone in this icy desert.

“They won’t encounter any predators, or any living things really. This land is cursed.” 

Harry nodded. He bent over and hugged Helios tightly. “I’ll be back, and we can go flying together. I love you.” 

“I love you too. And, even if it feels like we are apart, I am always with you, because I am you, Harry. Just hold on to that, alright?” 

Helios had rehearsed that speech to try to help Harry feel better but, when his human started walking away from him, he could not follow his own advice. The pain was excruciating, as if his heart was being slowly pulled from his chest, inch by miserable inch. For what felt like an eternity, he couldn’t stop writhing on the ground, whimpering. 

“It’s been an hour,” said Sadrella, but he couldn’t understand her. The words were just noise drowned out by the pain. 

Eventually, the pain stopped taking up every corner of his mind, and Helios desperately tried to think of something, anything that would serve as the slightest distraction. Thoughts of Harry were unbearable. They had done this to be able to fly, but he could not remember what that felt like. Surely, it couldn’t be worth it. Why, why had he let Harry go? He wanted to run after him, but the empty space in front of him might as well have been a thirty feet tall wall, as impossible to cross as it was.

“Two hours.” 

This time, Helios was able to grasp her meaning. Two hours, this meant halfway, right? Surely he couldn’t survive two more hours of this? He would die, as would Harry, and he would never see him again.

No. He couldn’t let that happen. Dying was better than this pain, but he would not die far from Harry’s side.

Helios cast his mind again for a distraction. He was now conscious enough of his surroundings to remember he wasn’t alone. Sadrella was right beside him, so he made himself focus on her, and only on her. She really was very beautiful, a drop of red and blue against the blinding white of the snow. What was she thinking of? Was she bored? Did she think he was pathetic? Or was she sorry for him? She had done this too, and survived. 

“Three hours.”

Helios found he could breathe a little easier. Was the pain lessening, or was he just getting better at ignoring it? His mind was full of thoughts of Sadrella. He had the distinct feeling she was uncomfortable. Was it because being here brought back memories of her own separation ordeal? 

He kicked himself when he realised the reason was probably much simpler. Sadrella was a snake. Cold-blooded. Of course, she would be highly uncomfortable in freezing temperatures. “Are you cold?” he asked quietly. 

She seemed surprised. “I’m not a real snake. I would already be dead if I was.”

Of course, she was correct: daemons were not animals, for all that they looked like them. They still shared some quirks with them, though. Helios vocalised like a wolf, and he was almost sure that Sadrella disliked the cold as much as a real coral snake would. No wonder she was always wrapped around Riddle. “You can come closer to me if you’re cold. After all, the only reason you’re here is to help me. You shouldn’t have to suffer because of it.”

She laughed, low and throaty, and, hell, Helios was even more smitten with her now. “You’re incorrect. I’m not just here to help you. I wanted to see if you could take it. Since you’re able to speak in full sentences, I think you’ll be fine.” She slowly uncoiled herself, creeping closer to Helios. He tried not to fidget, not to show his eagerness to touch her.

“I’m venomous, you know. Very.” Helios already knew: he’d begged Harry to look up Sadrella’s form in a zoology book. She was a blue Malayan coral snake, an elusive, deadly creature who preyed on other snakes with its fast acting venom. There was no known antidote. 

“I don’t mind.” Actually, he couldn’t stop himself from taking a step towards her. He had sharpened his awareness of her so much that his whole mind felt like a knife trained on a single target. 

She started wrapping herself around his body, burying herself into his fur, and he shivered because she was freezing cold. He really should have noticed how bad she felt sooner, and offered to help. 

Helios was very tactile with daemons he liked. He was used to goofing around with his friends, curling up next to his mother and being preened by his father. Touching Sadrella was the same, and yet entirely different. It was natural, comfortable, but also intense and exhilarating. When she tightened her hold on him a little bit, it felt even better. Helios wished Harry were here, so he could experience it too. 

Harry. He could think about him. There was no pain anymore. “We did it!” 

Sadrella’s voice was very close to his ear. “Indeed. They will be back shortly.” 

Helios couldn’t quite believe that it was over. “I’d never have done it without you. Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome,” she said, amused. Then, Harry and Riddle Apparated back. Helios felt such joy at the sight that he almost jumped on Harry. Only the most ingrained of taboo (a daemon should never touch another human, or even come close enough to) stopped him. Instead, he waited for Sadrella to return to Riddle, and then rushed towards Harry. They clung to each other for a very long time. “I’m sorry, Helios. I should never have left you.”

“Don’t apologise. It was my idea as much as yours. Now we can fly again. Let’s flatten Hufflepuff in the next Quidditch match.” Harry laughed, and they were alright again. Their bond felt as strong as ever. 

“Again!” 

Harry stood up, undeterred. He always stood up, no matter how many times Tom knocked him down. His perseverance really was one of his more admirable qualities. “You're faster every time,” he said encouragingly.

“But not as fast as you.” A brief shadow passed over Harry's face. Tom did not like it, and neither did Sadrella. 

“Maybe we should take a break,” she said. She and Helios were sitting outside the duelling arena. Well, Helios was sitting, Sadrella was wrapped around him, as she often was. 

“What's troubling you, Harry?” asked Tom, as they sat next to their daemons. 

“It's just… Do you think I'll ever be able to beat you?” 

“Of course.”

“Of course?” repeated Harry incredulously, before giving Tom a bright smile. He found himself smiling back; Harry's joy was infectious. “I didn't know you had such faith in my abilities, sir.” 

“I wouldn't have tutored you for five years if I did not. But I wonder why you would doubt yourself. You're one of Hogwarts' best students. A Triwizard Champion at fifteen.”

“That's impressive, yes, but nothing compared to everything you've done.” 

“I'm over fifty years older than you, so it's only natural I've accomplished more.” Tom thought this would reassure Harry, but his frown only deepened. 

“Yes. Yes, I suppose you're right, sir.” Not for the first time, Tom wished Harry didn't have such damnably good Occlumency shields. Still it would have been rude to barge in his student’s mind. 

“You're not happy with my answer. Why?” 

“It's not… I just wish we'd be closer in age. Then we could be peers. Friends.” 

“We are friends,” said Sadrella. “Some secrets we've told you, we've never confided in anyone else.” During the Triwizard Tournament, Harry had won the right to see three of Tom's most important memories. He'd hesitated before showing him the last one, and revealing his plans to turn Muggles into wizards, but Sadrella had convinced him to tell Harry everything. 

He'd taken it well, all things considered. He didn't agree with all of Tom's actions, but that didn't mean he would ever betray his secret. In fact, the debates he had with Harry had brought him a fresh perspective, and allowed him to improve upon his plans. “I do enjoy your company, Harry, not just the experience of teaching you. Though I guess I will be bereft of both in a few months.” 

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you will graduate at the end of the year, and then we will see each other much less often.” Tom strove to keep his tone neutral, though he felt an increasing anxiety at the prospect of Harry leaving Hogwart behind. He'd even thought of finding a new job in the Ministry, so they could work in the same building. 

It was pathetic. He was acting as clingy as Sadrella. 

“You can't believe we'd just abandon you like that!” said Helios, shocked. “We'll visit you as often as you want, every day even!”

Harry shot him an embarrassed look. “What Helios means is that we also think of you as friends. Of course, we'll make time to see you after graduation.” He paused. “Can we… Can we call you by your first name?” 

“Not in class, of course, but when we're alone, I don't see why not.” Harry knew him better than anyone bar his own family, surely he'd earn the right to call him Tom.

“Thank you, Tom.” He'd always liked his name, but he liked it even better when Harry said it with a smile on his face and a sparkle in his pretty eyes. 

Better stop thinking about that. “Well, that was a long enough break, I think. Let's go back to our duel.” 

After their lesson had ended, Sadrella pestered him again. “Did you see that? Harry is not the type to fawn, but Helios always gives it away.” 

“If you are right, it hardly matters. They won't be the first or the last student to have a crush on their teacher.”

“You’re being completely irrational,” she said, clearly exasperated. “Is it not enough to deny your own feelings, that you must be willfully blind to theirs as well?” 

“Irrational?” he snapped. “You're the one being irrational, spending your time draped all over Helios like a clingy schoolgirl! I refuse to lose my head over a child.” 

“He's not a child anymore. I know you've noticed it, so don't try to lie to me, Tom,” she said, voice dangerously low.

“They’re still seventeen and we are seventy-one.” 

“I don't care. I don't care, and, deep down, you don't either. You're just afraid to lose them.” 

“Because we will. Harry and Helios can't… They can't love us the way we love them. They might be exceptionally brave and brilliant, but they're still normal teenagers with their whole life ahead of them. Better not to get too involved.”

“You're wrong. You underestimate them,” said Sadrella softly, but he could feel her doubt. He petted her head. “Time will tell. They are genuinely fond of us, that much is true. If we remain friends for a decade or two, then maybe…” 

She laughed. “A decade or two? Tom, this is Harry and Helios we're talking about. I bet they will confess within an hour of graduating. Prepare yourself.” 

Tom tried, but nothing could have prepared him for it when it came. 

Harry knocked on his door the morning after graduation. He looked unwell, and seeing him unhappy was enough to sour Tom's stomach. “Good morning, Harry. Please take a seat, and tell me what is making you frown so hard.”  

“Will you promise me to listen and take it seriously?” 

Tom nodded. Anything that caused Harry pain was to be taken very seriously indeed.

“I love you. I've loved you since I was thirteen.” These three words were like a hit to the chest. They fed the hungry beast within him, the one Tom had successfully kept caged so far. 

Harry continued, “I know what you're thinking. ‘Plenty of students get crushes on their teacher, it will all fade with time and distance.’ But, I promise you, that is not the case here. If it were a crush, it would already have faded years ago, but my feelings have only grown stronger with time. The better I come to know you, the more I want to be close to you.” His face briefly distorted with anguish. “I know you don't do romantic relationships. But I couldn't… I couldn't just stay silent. Is there any hope… Could you ever see me that way, one day? If you can't, I will never bother you about this again.” 

Tom opened his mouth, but Sadrella was faster. “If you lie to him, I will bite you,” she almost snarled. Harry stared at her, shocked and confused. Helios took a step closer, eager to comfort her. He'd never been afraid of her. 

“The issue is not a lack of feelings on our part. If anything, we feel too much for you.”

Harry still looked confused, but a little bit hopeful. “What do you mean ‘too much’? If you… like us, how is it a bad thing?” 

“Do you remember, after the Triwizard Tournament, when I asked you to learn the spells that sustain my life and youth?” 

“Of course. I mastered them, just like I promised you I would.” 

“You were fifteen back then, so my feelings for you were purely platonic. And yet, I already couldn't bear the thought of losing you. Can you imagine what would happen if we were romantically involved?” 

Harry smirked. “I may be young, but I'm not stupid, so, yes, I've got a pretty good idea of what a relationship with you would entail. But please give me all the gory details, so you can fail to scare me off.” God, Tom loved that cheek. He wanted Harry so much, and, for once, he could let a little of that desire show. 

“If you were my partner, I would want everything from you. Your body, of course, but not just. I would read your mind as well. And, eventually, I would touch your soul.” That was supposed to be his killer argument, but, instead of looking horrified, Harry blushed most becomingly.

“I wouldn't be opposed to that,” said Helios happily. “In fact, I'd be lying if I said I'd never thought about you touching me, Tom.” 

“Helios, stop being weird,” said Harry between gritted teeth. 

“What if we are weird? They're not normal either, so I say we match,” the wolf said nonchalantly and Sadrella laughed. “You're very right, my sweet pup. So, Harry, how many times have I figured in your fantasies?” 

He blushed harder. “Sometimes? I tried not to… I know I had no right to think of you that way, when we are… Many couples who've been married forever have never touched each other’s daemon, so it's definitely not normal for me to want this. I don't want to make you uncomfortable…” 

“I am very comfortable, I assure you.” And she was, buried deep into Helios' fur. “You can think of me and Tom however you like, Harry, though I do wish you'd let him read your thoughts.” 

“I will, if he lets me read his.” Tom suddenly had a very pleasant vision of teaching Legilimency to a naked Harry curled up in his lap. “I know you're possessive. I don't mind. I just want us to be equals. Mind for mind. Soul for soul.” 

“Body for body?” he finished with a smile. Harry was so adorable when flustered that he couldn't resist flirting a little. 

“To be honest, I never even hoped you'd be interested in that part. I always told myself that, if you loved me and showed me affection in other ways, I would do without sex. But, if you are interested… Well, I am too. Very.” 

Harry had taken a step forward, probably without even realising it, and his pink lips were so invitingly parted. “What are you waiting for?” said Sadrella. “He's ripe for the taking.”

He looked into Harry's lovely green eyes and told the truth. “If I kiss you, I will never be able to let you go.” Yes, one bite of that particular apple would be enough to damn him for eternity. 

“I don't want you to.” 

“Now you don't. But in the future?” Harry's face scrunched up in anger, and he added hastily, “I'm not saying you have a shallow crush on me. But feelings, no matter how deep, can fade with time. If we are together, you will never have a normal marriage. You will never have children: as fond of my nieces and nephew as I am, you know I'm not cut out to be a father. Think about whether this is what you want for the rest of your life.” 

“We don't want a normal relationship. We want a relationship with you,” said Helios stubbornly. 

“Think about it,” repeated Tom. He glanced at his watch: it was nearly half past ten. “The Hogwarts Express is about to depart. Go home, discuss it with your loved ones if you wish - only those who can keep a secret, of course. If, in a month, your mind hasn't changed, then we can be together.” 

“A month?” Harry exclaimed, before realising complaining would make him sound like a petulant child. “Alright. It won't change anything, but I'll wait as long as you like to prove to you I'm serious.” 

“We'll take you on a great birthday date to make up for your waiting,” said Sadrella cheekily, before very slowly untangling herself from Helios.

Tom sighed amusedly at his daemon's antics. “Very well. I can pick you up from the square in Godric's Hollow at seven. If you're not sure about this, don't come,” he added, very seriously. “I promise I won't hold it against you and we can stay friends. But, if you do come… you will be mine.” 

Harry smiled softly. “I've been yours for a long time, Tom. The only difference is that you will be mine. See you next month!” He and Helios had to run to catch their train.

“I don't want to say “I told you so” but… Actually, I absolutely want to say “I told you so”. I was right, Tom. They're perfect for us.” 

He smiled as he picked up his daemon. “We're not next month yet.” 

“You do not doubt they will come.” It wasn't a question.

“No, but I want them to be certain of their decision. I also need time to… to get used to the idea of not just being Harry's friend, but his romantic and sexual partner.” 

“I think your wet dreams got you plenty used to the idea,” said Sadrella sardonically, and he bopped her on the nose. 

“You know I tried not to think of him that way. Now I guess I will do just the opposite.” Disappointing Harry on his birthday just wouldn't do. 

On the last day of July, he was a tad nervous Apparating to Godric's Hollow, but Harry and Helios were already waiting for them. He used a quick spell to make sure they were alone before approaching them. 

“Good evening, my dear, and happy birthday. You dressed up for me.” Harry's new robes were emerald and silver, a very pointed hint. They fit him remarkably well. 

“Of course I did. You look wonderful, as usual.” In his seventy years, Tom had received countless compliments, propositions, ugly leers and a few unwanted touches (fingers had been lost). Harry's appreciative look was far from unwanted, however. Maybe it was the knowledge that he wasn't just a body to him, that Harry would still love him even if he never touched him. 

“You’d look great even in a garbage bag, but we do love you in a suit,” said Helios, and Sadrella laughed. “And we love you wearing our colours. Shall we?” 

Harry gave him his hand, and he couldn't resist kissing it. First, the back of his hand, gallantly, then the palm, just because he wanted to. Harry's fingers gently cupped his chin. “Tom,” he said softly. No one had ever said his name like that. No one had ever looked at him like that.

He wanted this so badly. But he had to make sure. 

“Is this truly what you want? Me, over a normal relationship?

Harry smiled. “Why would I choose a candle over the rising sun?” 

How could he resist? He took a step forward, wrapping his arms around Harry's waist. Their lips met in a gentle kiss. 

His first taste of Harry was as scrumptious as he'd imagined. “I’m never letting you go now,” he whispered into his ear.

“Well, good things I don't plan on going anywhere,” he cheekily replied, and Tom stole a second kiss - just as good as the first, but a lot more heated. The way Harry nipped on his lower lip, he was obviously eager to devour Tom. 

“So what have you planned for my birthday?” 

“Tonight, I invite you to dine, and then to my bedroom. You won't be disappointed, I assure you.” 

They Disapparated, Tom bringing them both to the back door of the restaurant of his choice. “What is this place?” 

“A very fine Italian restaurant, but I chose it because I did the chef a significant favour years ago. We will have a private room tonight, and he will serve us himself, so that other people don't see us. If they did, they would no doubt think I'd coerced or manipulated you.”  

Harry frowned. “I understand. I don't want to lose your job over this, Tom.” 

“Actually, I was thinking of quitting.” 

“What? Not because of me, I hope?”

“Not just because of you. After eight years, I think it's time for a change. But, I have to say, Hogwarts wouldn't be the same without you, my dear.” 

“Where will you go next? The Ministry?” There was a hint of hope in Harry's voice. 

“Hoping to run into me in the corridors?” he teased.

“Frankly, yes. Helios was telling the truth when he said we'd see you every day if we could.” They paused to order their food, and Tom picked the wine. 

“Actually, my plan partly relies on us “running into each other” in the Ministry. What's more natural than two colleagues going for a drink after work to catch up? We will see each other for a few months ‘as friends’ and then we can tell people we are dating. That is, if you're alright with the deception, my dear.” 

“I don't like it, but I understand it's necessary. We'll still spend time together, just us, right?” 

“Of course.” He squeezed Harry's hand. Helios and Sadrella had long disappeared under the table. Whatever they did made Tom's heart feel considerably lighter and his cheeks warmer, and he hadn't even drunk a drop yet. 

After they'd savoured their starter, he said, “I have a gift for you, my dear. Several, actually. First, a token of my appreciation.” He handed Harry a small jewellery box. 

It contained silver cufflinks decorated with a single emerald. “They're lovely, thank you.” 

“I did want to give you an entire set, but I know being covered in jewellery is not your taste. So, for my second gift, I thought of something less tangible, but I hope, more valuable to you.” 

“What is it?” said Harry with a grin. 

“Your first Legilimency lesson. You've always been eager to learn more about my past.” 

Harry smiled self-deprecatingly. “Eager is a bit of understatement. I entered the Triwizard Tournament just for your memories.” 

“Did you? A risky, but cunning, plan.” Harry could be very single-minded, even obsessive sometimes. All the better, a normal person would quickly find Tom's love entirely suffocating. But Harry… Harry understood.

What he said next proved it. “I also have an intangible present for you, Tom. I know you wear a mask in public, but you don't have to do so around me. Whatever you're thinking or feeling, you can tell me. I may disagree with you, but I'll never reject you.”

“You’re perfect, every time. Sometimes, I wish I could keep you all to myself. My lover, my prisoner.” 

“You don't need to keep me prisoner. I'm here because I want to be. I love you, and I'm yours as you are mine.” 

Tom smiled. “Can you say that again?” These three words, he would never get tired of hearing.

“I love you, and I'm yours. Tonight. Every night.” 

“I love you too, my dear.” 

Harry grew an absolutely lovely shade of pink. “I can't believe you actually said it.” 

“Did you ever doubt it? I took you in my confidence. I taught you my spells. I laughed with you, I worried for you. I've loved you for a long time, Harry Potter, even if it wasn't always romantic.” 

“I'm so glad it is now. If you’d only ever loved me as a friend, I would have accepted it, of course, but it would… it would never have been enough for me. You understand.” 

“Oh, I do.” He looked at Harry and let himself really want him, in every way. “I'll show you just how much once we finish our dinner.” 

Like most people, Tom was rarely happy to be proven utterly wrong. But, when it came to sex, he was.

He'd thought it a base pleasure born of animalistic instinct. And it was raw and physical, but there was nothing lesser about it. 

Sex was a feast for the senses. The sight of his former student naked on his bed, cock fully erect and begging for his attention. His skin, so soft and warm under Tom's fingertips. The sounds Harry made in bed - he and Helios were wonderfully loud. They moaned, they whimpered, and Harry cried out his name as he came. The smell and taste of him - saliva, sweat and semen. There were fluids everywhere, and it should have been disgusting, but it wasn't. 

It was liberating. And, once the high of his orgasm had faded, very relaxing. He refused to let Harry go and instead curled up closer to him, burying his face into his neck. Helios jumped on the bed, Sadrella still wrapped around him. The wolf laid at their feet, and he could feel his warmth through the thin sheets. Could easily touch him if he wanted to. 

And, one day, he would. 

Sadrella slithered up to his neck, perilously close to Harry's bare skin. “I told you so,” she whispered and Tom laughed.

“What was that?” said Harry.

“Sadrella is being very smug right now, because she was right about us getting together.” 

“It would never have happened if I hadn't nagged you about your feelings.” 

“You pushed me to date my own student, you menace,” said Tom, but his tone was fond.

“Well, you didn't, so morality is preserved, thank God,” she said in her driest tone, just to make it obvious she couldn't care less. “What matters is that all four of us - that we are happy.” 

“Mmm.” He was happy. Sated, safe and warm, with his mate in his arms. “This is good. Better than I imagined.” 

“Who would have thought that Tom Marvolo Riddle liked to cuddle?” teased Helios gently, and he smiled. 

“I don't like touching people. I enjoy touching you. Perhaps it's because you're the first person outside of my family that I've ever truly trusted. It feels safe to want this, to want you.” 

“I'm so glad that you trust me, Tom. I know it means a lot from you, and I promise I won't disappoint you,” said Harry fervently, and and he'd heard it a thousand times. Harry promising him that he would get better, faster, that he would master this one skill, that Tom wouldn't regret taking him as a student. 

He raised his head a little to look his lover in the eyes. “You have never disappointed me. It's strange how someone as gifted as you has such low self-esteem.” 

Harry flushed. “Well, I've always compared myself to you… I know I shouldn't. We are lovers now, equals, that is all that matters.”

“There's nothing wrong with a bit of friendly rivalry, and I do hope you keep trying to beat me in a duel. But, beyond that, you are right. There's no point comparing yourself to me, because all that I have, and all that I am, is yours now, just like you are mine.” He dove back into Harry's neck, sucking the skin of his collarbone. 

Harry moaned again, softly. “Tom. Fuck, that's good. You love me, and you want me, and I feel like I've won the lottery.” 

“Enjoy your prize. That's the only one you will get for the rest of your life.”

“Maybe you have low self-esteem. Why do you think I would want to leave?” 

“I… I don't know. I'm just afraid of what would become of me if you did,” he admitted quietly. Not just the pain, but what would come after. What he would do to keep Harry with him. 

“I'm not leaving. I'm right here. I can sleep here, right?” 

“As if I would ever kick you out. This is your bed as much as mine, my love.” 

“You're never getting rid of me. I'm going to fall asleep beside you, and wake up beside you, for the rest of your life, Tom Marvolo Riddle.” 

He laughed, out of pure joy. “I certainly hope so, my dear.”