Chapter Text
When Dumbledore had invited him to his private lessons, he hadn’t known what to expect, but it certainly hadn’t been watching a young Tom Riddle through Dumbledor’s gaze. And, as he watched each scene play out, lesson after lesson, so many things echoing his own childhood, he had come to a very serious conclusion:
Never, not once, had Tom’s birthday been celebrated.
Harry knew all about the pain of going without any presents or well-wishes every year. He could only imagine what it was like to have your own birthday completely overshadowed by Christmas.
It was at this point that Harry had come to the startling realisation that this was why Tom had become a Dark Lord. Sure, it wasn’t the only reason, but it was most certainly the biggest reason.
So, he decided he was going to fix that.
The only issue was how he was going to fix it, but he was sure he would figure it out.
*
As it turnt out, time travel was not an easy subject. In fact, in terms of topics for his first-time foray into research, it was one of - if not the - worst topics to choose. Harry, however, was nothing if not stubborn, and so he kept at it.
He had come to the conclusion that all his answers lied in time turners. The more times you twist the hourglass of the time turner, the more you go back. So, what if he twisted it enough times to go decades back?
All the books he consulted said it was impossible, or that one would find themself in more than just a spot of trouble, but Harry suspected that they just weren’t trying hard enough.
Better yet, he knew exactly where to get a time turner.
During one of his sessions with Dumbledore, he had noticed the glint of a time turner in the shelf behind his desk. He wasn’t quite sure why Dumbledore had it, considering he was pretty sure the Unspeakables kept them under lock and key, but he wasn’t going to look the gift horse in the mouth when it made his life a whole lot easier.
Sure, it would be borrowing without permission (it wasn’t stealing because Harry had every intention of giving it back), but he had a Very Good Reason.
It was no issue to sneak into Dumbledore’s office under the cover of the invisibility cloak, and then he was in his own room, the gleaming gold time turner held dangling in his hand.
He stared at it in interest. He had never actually held one before, just seen Hermione use it before because she was absolutely mad and had a rather questionable attraction to academics. It was very warm, and he couldn’t help but be transfixed by the tiny grains of sand shifting inside the glass.
He hid it away in his trunk.
Now for the truly hard part: figuring out what to get baby Voldemort for his birthday.
*
When asked the age-old question, ‘What do you get your megalomaniac prophesied enemy’s past’s self for their birthday?’ Harry’s gut answer would be the corpse of said prophesied enemy. There were a number of reasons that he could not give that, however, the first and foremost being that he didn’t quite fancy dying yet, the second being that trying to figure out how to gift a corpse seemed like a bit of a headache.
So, unfortunately, Riddle would have to settle for the next best thing: books.
If there was one thing Harry had learnt being Hermione’s friend, it was how to spot a SWOT. And Riddle was most certainly the SWOT-iest SWOT to ever be seen.
Sneaking out of Hogwarts was as easy as always, and before he knew it, he found himself raiding Grimmauld Place’s library. He wasn’t really sure what sort of books Riddle would like, so he just started shoving a bunch of them into an extension charmed bag. He was sure that at least one of them Riddle would like.
*
Hidden away in the Room of Requirement, bag full to the brim with books tucked away in his pocket, Harry began his preparation.
He pulled out the time turner, staring at it intently. He held it up to his ear, gently shaking it. He could hear the fine grains of sand sifting around and hitting against its glass confines.
Now, to twist it as many times as he possibly could.
He pinched the gear in between his fingers, and he began to twist. A weightless sensation filled his body, as if he were flying in the sky without a broom, and a ripple spread out through the air.
And then he turnt it again. And again. He did not think, just continued to turn the time turner without pause. However, he was quickly realising that this was highly impractical, considering it was only one hour back per twist, so he abruptly stopped.
He held it up in front of him for a moment, eyebrows furrowed, before he came to a wonderful idea. Raising his wand, he muttered, ‘ Circumrota ,’ at the hourglass, and suddenly it began to rotate on its own.
Harry gave a smirk, feeling quite proud of himself. He continued to hold it up, watching the hourglass continuously flip, sand sliding back and forth. At some point it began to heat up, warming his hand. The rippling in the air became more distorted.
There came a point, however, that it became too hot, and with wide eyes he watched the time turner slip through his fingers and drop to the floor. It smashed into a million tiny little pieces.
Harry sucked in a cold breath, unmoving, before he crouched down, gathering the broken remains of glass and sand and metal in his hands, tiny little shards embedding themselves into flesh.
‘No no no,’ he muttered.
The ripples in the air began to distort the colours, filling his vision with shades he had never seen before; shades he hadn’t even known existed, or that the human eye could perceive. His head hurt, feeling lightheaded. And then he blinked, and suddenly the air had stilled, and the queasy feeling in his stomach vanished.
He was in the Gryffindor dorm once more, except it wasn’t his dorm at all.
He was also, quite unfortunately, sitting on top of someone. Someone who was staring at him with wide eyes.
‘G-ghost!’ exclaimed that someone, before twisting and rolling across the bed, tangled in the bedsheet, and then there was a thump . The boy had fallen off the other side.
Harry did not think, he merely stood up and hurried quickly to the door, running down the stairs and through the common room, and then out into the halls.
He grabbed at his hair. There had been someone in his bed . Or rather, he had been in someone’s bed.
It was at that moment that he loosened the grip on his hair, and giddiness filled him.
He had done it. He wasn’t sure what time period he was in (if it was the wrong time, he could always get his hands on another time turner, surely), but the fact that there was someone else in his bed meant he had succeeded. All those stuffy books written by academics that wouldn’t know humour if it birthed them into existence had been wrong.
Clearly, they had not even bothered to attempt to do what he had done, too busy being lost in their heads theorising (what Harry didn’t know was that many had tried it before, and those many who had tried had all vanished, never to be seen again. It was presumed that they had died, ripped apart by time, their very existence unravelling once they surpassed the point at which they were born).
He pulled out his wand, checking the date: 17th December, 1943 . Good. He still had plenty of time.
‘Trying to go out past curfew,’ said a voice.
Harry turned around, surprised to see auburn. It was most definitely Dumbledore, but his hair was a darker red, and not nearly as long and grey. Harry hadn’t known that Dumbledore had had red hair.
‘As you are at the Gryfindor entrance, I’ll let you off easy, but…’ A pause. ‘You…are not a student,’ he said with a surety that Harry could not argue against.
‘Hi, Dumbledore,’ said Harry. ‘I have a perfectly reasonable explanation.’
*
‘Lemon drop?’ offered Dumbledore, still the same even decades younger.
‘No thank you,’ said Harry, nervously sitting in a chair in his office.
‘So, about that “perfectly reasonable explanation,” was it?’ said Dumbledore.
‘Well, I’ve come here with a very important mission.’
‘And what is this mission?’
‘I’m…well…’ Harry glanced around the room, eyes landing on a little sprite in a painting. ‘I’m the Birthday Fairy.’
‘The…Birthday Fairy?’ said Dumbledore, peering down at him over the top of his spectacles.
‘Yes. Haven’t you heard of me?’
‘No, I can’t say I have.’
‘Well, anyway. I’ve come to give someone very important birthday presents.’
‘And who is this person?’
‘...You don’t like him, but I swear that this is all for a good reason. It’ll change things for the better.’
A pause.
‘You are wearing some interesting school robes,’ said Dumbledore. ‘Very,’ he squinted, ‘modern.’
Harry let out a nervous laugh. He should’ve known trying to fool Dumbledore of all people - especially when he was caught in such a suspicious way - was a lost cause.
‘Only fools meddle with time.’ He looked to the side, the twinkle in his eyes seeming to intensify. Harry clutched at his robes. ‘It is a good thing that I am a fool,’ he continued, and Harry felt his muscles relax.
‘Thank you so much, professor.’
‘Your very welcome, nephew.’
Harry furrowed his brows. Did he really think…? But then he saw the amusement dancing in those eyes, and he realised. Right, he would need an excuse for why he was in Hogwarts, he thought.
‘Oh, and I may need a little help, once I‘m done with my task. You see, there was a bit of an incident on my way here…’
*
Dumbledore’s nephew was staring at Tom intently. He had shown up out of the blue one day, Dumbledore announcing that he would be temporarily staying at Hogwarts. It figured that Dumbledore’s nephew would get special treatment. He wasn’t even a student. Whenever Tom asked to stay at Hogwarts over the summer…
He clenched his fork, shooting the boy a look. He had tried to ignore the staring at first, figuring that the boy’s uncle had already told him of all the terrible things Tom was, but during the entire dinner the boy had hardly paused to even take a bite of food. It was getting on his nerves.
‘Looks like you have an admirer,’ snickered Abraxas. ‘Though I’m surprised it’s a male - they’re usually not as bold.’ He looked over. ‘And Dumbledore’s nephew of all people, too.’
Tom gave Abraxas a glance, frowning, before looking back over at the boy. He wasn’t quite sure about that. In fact, he was quite certain that the boy’s staring was not out of something silly like a crush, or even the wary suspicion of Dumbledore. It was certainly full of intent, but he could not guess what kind.
‘Maybe you should indulge him, even if it’s just to see the look on Dumbledore’s face when he finds out his nephew is consorting with a Slytherin.’
Tom stabbed at his carrot. ‘Abraxas.’
‘Sorry.’
*
Hogwarts was quiet now that the majority of students had left for the Christmas holidays, and it was the perfect time for Harry to start scheming. Gladly, he had brought the invisibility cloak around, so following Riddle around was no issue, and figuring out the password to the Slytherin dorms - Serpentine, how original - was a simple matter of loitering by the entrance.
As it turnt out, Riddle’s dorm room was up the stairs and the last door at the end of the hall. Riddle had the entire room to himself, his roommates having all left, and his bed was tucked away the farthest from the door. Surveying the empty room, and then turning his gaze onto Riddle’s bed, Harry knew exactly where he was going to put the gift.
*
Harry walked down the hall, in a very cheery mood. Tonight was the night. He hoped Riddle would enjoy the birthday gift.
As he turned the corner, he looked up to see Riddle himself, the birthday boy. Harry gave him a big smile. ‘Hello!’
Riddle frowned, clearly not in a good mood, before giving a nod of his head. He stepped to the side, moving to pass him.
Harry didn’t let him. ‘How are you today?’
‘Do you need something?’
‘No, just asking.’
Riddle took in a breath. Harry could see irritation growing on his face. It was quite funny. He hadn’t thought that his perfect little persona would slip, but he supposed he was just upset that no one had wished him Happy Birthday yet.
When he moved to pass Harry let him.
‘Enjoy your dinner!’ he called out to his back. ‘And have a Happy Birthday!’. Riddle stiffened, turning his head, but at that point Harry had already disappeared. He had a lot to do today, after all.
*
Tom opened the curtains to his bed, only to stop short. He blinked, blinked again, and then did so a third time for good measure. But no matter how many times he blinked, the sight in front of him did not change.
It could only be described as an invasion of books. They were many, covering the entirety of his bed, and then piled up high. It was not piled in the neat stacks that resembled towers, but in a somewhat haphazard way where some books were upside down and others partially open.
His eyes scanned over the various titles, realising with a strange glee that there were many rare and old books he would otherwise have no hope of getting his hands on. He picked up one of the books at random, noting that he had seen the old and thick tome hidden away in the Black library before.
He set it down and reached for another book. A fluttering of paper caught his attention. It was a simple note, written in atrocious, sloppy handwriting:
Happy Birthday!
-The Birthday Fairy
Tom picked up the note.
That cheeky smile and familiar twinkle in the eyes from Dumbledore’s nephew flashed in his mind.
It couldn’t be, could it?