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The Order had insisted on giving Tom a guard when he went to buy his school supplies in August, 1997. They hadn't wanted him to go at all, terrified of an attack on Diagon Alley, but Tom had insisted he had already told Abraxas and Theron he'd be meeting them to buy their books together.

Tom had a healthy dose of dislike for the Order. Ever since he'd been sorted into Slytherin, they'd been clutching their pearls and bemoaning how cruel it was for the savior of the wizarding world to be from such a dark house. Tom hadn't been anyone's savior. He'd been eleven, wearing hand-me-down shoes and patched robes, not evening aware of the man that had killed his parents— that had tried to kill him. The Dark Lord, only known to the public as the Phoenix, had died and come back to life many times, but Tom was the only one who had survived his killing curse.

Even up to his seventh year, he had Order members trying to warn him away from his supporters in Slytherin. He never listen, of course. Abraxas and Theron had been his closest and most loyal confidants since his first year, when they saw the benefits of how having the chosen one be on their side.

Tom tried to ignore the subtle guards placed around him, the people who happened to move when he moved and stop when he stopped. He strode through the Leaky Cauldron, acting as if everyone was beneath him. And they were. Not just because of some mysterious prophecy, but because he'd earned it. The Slytherins knew that. His professors knew that. The Phoenix knew that.

Being surrounded by magical people for the first time all summer, Tom felt a weight lift off his shoulders. He was back in the world he belonged in. He let himself linger at the entrance for a moment, admiring the stree, before continuing on. The group planned to meet at the tiny coffee shop tucked by another alley. Abraxas was already inside, two cups of tea placed in front of him. He stood when he saw Tom.

"Tom," he greeted. "Good to see you. Have a nice summer?"

"It's hard to have a nice summer with this lot breathing down my bag," Tom murmured, inclining his head towards a figure suspiciously leaning against the window of the shop. "Could hardly go anywhere."

"Yes, well, you can hardly blame them. With the Phoenix still unaccounted for…" Abraxas trailed off, as if what the Dark Lord was doing while unaccounted was too horrible to name.

"The Phoenix," Tom mused, watching as Theron Lestange wandered into the shop, seeking them out. "What a ridiculous name. Really. Even Grindelwald had the sense to just keep his own name."

"Are we complaining about the Phoenix again?" Lestange said as greeting. He dropped his stuff at the table and went to order a drink for himself. Tom took the one Abraxas had ordered for him. When Theron returned, they continued the conversation.

"We were," Tom said, "but the next person to mention that name in front of me will be crawling down Diagon Alley."

"He has been all over the papers," Abraxas said sympathetically. "Must be a slow summer for the journalists. Half the headlines have been wild stories about where he'll be next."

"There was that report early this June that an auror finally quartered him, but he came back to life before they could properly restrain him," Theron added. "Estimates of his resurrection are officially in the twenties."

"If only you had other things to busy your minds with," Tom sniffed, "like you summer coursework."

"Only you would care more about grades than the Dark Lord out to murder you," Abraxas joked.

"Death and poor grades will equally ruin," Tom replied, "now let's go get our books."

The three boys left the shop, pretending not to notice the guard fanning out around Tom as they began to walk. Some days, Tom felt Abraxas and Theron handled the fame better than Tom himself did. Abraxas practically blossomed when given attention and Theron couldn't care enough about anyone in general to care what they thought of him.

Tom craved the attention, but in equal parts he despised it. Dumbledore's attention in particularly was grating and all the wizards watching him today were firmly in the headmaster's pockets.

They arrived at the bookstore. Tom pulled the door open and stepped in. The moment his feet crossed the threshold, he knew something was wrong. No one else was in the store. The door swung shut behind him with a bang, locking out Abraxas, Theron, and the Order guards. Despite the outside having appeared normal, the inside was dark and shadowy. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end and the scent of electricity hit his nose. He knew that scent anywhere.

He pulled out his wand and tried the door behind him. Locked. Probably sealed. He couldn't even see through the glass to tell if Abraxas and Theron were trying to get to him. He spun around again, wand raised as he surveyed the room.

"I know you're there," he called, voice echoing in the room. "Come out!"

A laugh. Cruel and maniacal. It seemed to come from everywhere at once. Tom forced himself not to feel afraid, not to shrink away.

"Little Tommy boy, all grown up," the voice crooned. "So brave. So smart. So handsome."

"Careful, I might get the wrong idea."

More laughter, this time, Tom could pinpoint the location to the center of the space. The Phoenix, sensing the game was up, appeared from thin air, the hood of the invisibility cloak he always wore slipping from his head.

Tom was always struck by the Dark Lord's appearance. Messy, dark hair tumbled down, resting just above his shoulders. The robes under the invisibility cloak were black and worn. A ring lay, perched on a long, spindly finger. Half of the Phoenix's face was marred by a lightning scar. It started under his hair line and branched out, tracing down the forehead, over his eye, onto his nose and cheek. But the eyes were what burned into Tom's mind: vibrant, glowing green. Like a killing curse.

"What do you want?" Tom demanded.

The Dark Lord blinked, cocking his head. "What do I want? I thought I was clear the last time we met. I want you erased from this world, but I'm afraid that mght take a little more work than I planned."

"Always so dramatic." The Phoenix through his head back and roared with laughter.

"Pot meet kettle," he finally said, when he calmed down. Tom didn't dare ask what he meant. He held his wand tighter, hoping the Order would finally break through the barrier and provide him with back up.

The Phoenix had his wand held loosely by his side. He didn't bother pointing it at Tom, knowing Tom was outmatched. It bothered Tom, that he wasn't even considered enough of a threat for the man to be on guard.

"Are you shopping for Hogwarts supplies?" The Phoenix suddenly asked. "What classes are you taking? No, don't answer that. I know. All of them. Except muggle studies. Were you raised by muggles here? I can't keep that straight. So many different lives."

Tom was used to the Phoenix's ramblings. They rarely ever made sense. But ever since their encounter his fourth year, he increasingly felt that the man knew him better than anyone. How, he wasn't sure.

The Phoenix stayed silent, green eyes on Tom, waiting for a response.

"You're correct," Tom said, begrudgingly. He wanted the conversation to continue, if only to end the encounter soon.

The Phoenix grinned again, showing too many teeth. "So smart. So gifted. Such a shame. Really it is. You could've made something of yourself. You always could. But again and again, it's all the same. Death upon death upon death. I've grown tired of counting. And tired of letting you go."

"You tried to kill me before," Tom said, "it didn't work very well for you."

The Phoenix frowned. "Neither can live while the other survives," he said. His voice changed as he spoke those words, dropping in pitch and rhythm changing. He stepped forward, closer to Tom. So close, Tom could see his reflection in his pupils.

For a split second, a traitorous part of Tom's mind thought about how beautiful those eyes were. The Phoenix hadn't aged since their first encounter. He couldn't be killed, so maybe he couldn't age either. Maybe one day, Tom would look into those eyes and they'd be the same age; two sides of the same coin watching each other until whatever it was that held them together finally snapped.

The Phoenix took a step back, raised his wand and opened his mouth.

The door to the bookshop swung open and whatever spell was about to come out of the wand died on the Phoenix's lips as he turned to address his new opponents.

A duel broke out, sending Tom diving behind a bookshelf. It didn't last long. Even the Phoenix, despite being immortal, hesitated to take on so many Order members at once.

Mad-Eye Moody grabbed Tom by the arm. "Alright Riddle," he said with a scowl, "I think that's enough excitement for one day. Let's get you back to headquarters."

"I'm not done yet," Tom said, trying to pull himself out of Moody's grasp. "The Phoenix already tried and failed to get his hands on me. He won't try again so soon."

As Tom spoke, he knew it was true, but the question remained: why hadn't the Phoenix tried to kill him? They had been so close to each other. Close enough to touch. He'd never hesitated when trying to hurt or kill Tom before. What had changed?

"I'll take him back to Malfoy Manor," Abraxas said, suddenly appearing at his side with Theron. They were both wide eyed and pale. "He'll be safe there."

It took a little bit more convincing for Moody to agree to let Tom out of his sight, but as Tom was an adult, there was little he could do to force him back to headquarters. Tom left with his friends, disapparating out of Diagon Alley and appearing on the manicured lawns of Malfoy Manor. There, he was bombarded.

"Are you alright?" Abraxas demanded.

"We saw the Phoenix! Did you fight?" Theron asked.

"Did he hurt you?" Abraxas asked again.

Tom ignored them both and made for the Manor. He'd been a guest there several times over the years, winning over Lucia Malfoy with a charming smile and Caius with his wit. In the end, neither could complain that their son had befriended such an intelligent, well mannered boy, even if he was a half-blood.

"Tom, at least say if you're hurt," Abraxas said, exasperated.

"I'm fine," he said without turning around. He strolled into the Manor as if he owned the building and made his way up the stairs, heading straight for the Malfoy library. "When I was with the Phoenix, he said something to me. It sounded like he was quoting something. I want to know what it was."

"What did he say?" Theron asked.

"Neither can live while the other survives."

The ominous words hung over the boys. Abraxas and Theron exchanged a glance.

"That's not a lot to go off of," Abraxas finally said. "It could just be a play or a poem."

Tom shook his head. "The Phoenix has never quoted anything before. Whatever this is, it must be important." As he said it, he knew it to be true. He knew the Phoenix better than anyone did.

The first time the Phoenix tried to kill Tom, he was a baby. He didn't remember it, of course, but he'd been told the story often enough. His father had abandoned him and his mother. His mother had died giving birth to him and minutes later, the Phoenix showed up at the muggle hospital, wand in hand. The killing curse rebounded and the Ministry has dozens of minds to wipe from the entire affair.

In Tom's first year, the tracks of the Hogwarts Express had been destroyed, almost causing the train to crash. While many believed the Phoenix to be behind the attempt, nothing ever tied it to him.

In his third year, Tom had been kidnapped by a distant Black relative. A raving lunatic who muttered about rats, and prophecies, and someone named Harry. He'd never been happier to see Dumbledore in his life. Later, aurors tied the man to the Phoenix based on testimony given under veritaserum.

No one really knew much about the Phoenix. Everyone agreed he was powerful. He had a perfect invisibility cloak, excellent dueling skills, knowledge of ancient magic, and the ability to come back from the dead. But no one knew what his goal was. He seemed to attack at random. He definitely had a grudge against the Ministry. He'd gone after the dementors of Azkaban before as well, but he'd never tried to conquer anything. He didn't seem to be for or against anything specifically. Except for Tom. He was decidedly against Tom.

Tom had learned just how much the Phoenix hated him when he was forced to compete in the Triwizard Tournament and brought to the midst of a graveyard when his fingers closed around the cup. Before he could even raise his wand, he was tied to a tombstone.

Across the cemetery, perched on another tombstone, pointing a spindly wand in his direction, was the Phoenix. It was the first time Tom had ever seen him before face to face and his breath caught in his chest. No descriptions would ever be able to capture how enthralling and otherworldly the Phoenix truly was.

They stared at each other in silence. Finally, the Phoenix slid off the tombstone and stalked towards Tom, eyes glowing green in the dark.

"Resurrection is a little easier for me than you," the man finally said. His voice sounded hoarse, as if from disuse. "Otherwise, I would have set up a cauldron."

"A cauldron," Tom repeated, disbelief and confusion overpowering his fear. "What are you talking about?"

"No," the Phoenix mused, "I suppose you wouldn't get it, would you? You know, I always tried my best to show you other ways to live. But again and again you let me down. Do you like me better this way, Tom, darling?"

"Don't call me that!"

The Phoenix grinned. "It's always the two of us, in the end. I must admit, I've come to respect you, to appreciate you for what you are, your limitations and flaws included. But we can never be on the same side.

"Do you know where we are? Where you stand? I brought you home, Tom. Your father is buried right here." With a terribly skinny finger, the Phoenix pointed to the ground Tom stood on. "And your grandparents. Car crash this time. Saved them from you, I suppose. Oh! And your mother's family is from just over the hill there." He gestured again. "I stopped in to see your uncle. Unpleasant man, isn't he?"

Tom didn't want to believe the mad man, but something told him everything he said was true. Somehow, Tom knew when the Phoenix was telling the truth or not. He still didn't respond, choosing to stay silent as the man stared at him with those unsettling green eyes.

"Why did you bring me here?" Tom finally demanded, breaking the eerie silence.

"I need to destroy you," was the response. "Your entire being needs to be wiped from this existence. It's the only way. I truly am sorry, Tom. I tried so hard to save you. But now I understand; it must be this way."

"It doesn't have to be," Tom replied, trying to be gentle and talk down a man dead set on murdering him. "You could set down your wand and we could work together. You're powerful and I will be powerful. We could help each other."

"You would want this wand."

"I have no interest in your wand. I have my own, which I like very much."

"I used to have my own. Now all I'm left with is this." He raised it, sending sparks flying from the tip. He looked profoundly disappointed, as if the wand in his hand, the wand he'd used to cause so much havoc and pain, was worth nothing to him. Moreover, his face had softened, eyes relaxing, looking pensive, almost nostalgic. It was such an unusual expression to see on a dark lord's face that, for a moment, Tom forgot to be afraid.

Finally, the Phoenix sighed, as if pulling himself from a well of memories. "Alright then. It's time for us to duel now."

"Duel?"

"Yes. I am going to try and kill you, but I want to give you a fighting chance. You are still a child, afterall. And it's what you gave me."

The ropes pinning Tom to the headstone were released and he collapsed to the ground. The Phoenix tossed him his wand. As soon as his hand wrapped around it, spells were flying. It became increasingly clear that the Phoenix was an excellent duelist. He was quick on his feet and with his magic. He seemed to favor simpler spells, the disarming and stupefying ones, but he used them aggressively. Tom was skilled for his age, but he was still a student, lacking the experience his opponent obvious had in heaps.

"You were better at this before," the Phoenix said, disappointed. "You can usually duel me to a stand still. Maybe you're less ambitious this time. Or you just grow a lot in your late teens."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Tom said through gritted teeth. Something inside of him was greatly annoyed that he was not impressing the Phoenix with his abilities. He'd have to survive this encounter and train more.

"No, you won't. I've given up trying to explain it to you."

With that, the Phoenix sent a green killing curse flying right to Tom's chest. He felt the impact from the spell, but not from the ground he collapsed on. The world went black, his senses no longer working. But then, he was blinking his eyes open, entire body feeling sore and aching. The Phoenix watched him, a look of resignation on his face.

" I suppose we should try some other spells," he said.

Tom decided winning against him wasn't something he could do and so, desperate to preserve his life, he summoned the Triwizard Cup back to his hands and portkeyed back to Hogwarts, the Phoenix's maniacal laughter ringing in his ears.

After that encounter, the Order reformed with the goal to protect Tom and take down the Phoenix. Tom, for his part, became obsessed with the man trying to kill him.

He bought himself a pensieve just to review their encounter again and again. He trained under Professor Snape to become a better master of dueling and defense. He worked with Dumbledore (with much reluctance) to collect more information about the Phoenix.

But the encounter at Diagon Alley brought fewer answers and more questions.

Tom looked everywhere for the quote the Phoenix had said, but he couldn't find it anywhere. He searched the Malfoy library, the Lestrange library, and when the school year started up, he searched through Hogwarts. Begrudgingly, he finally went to Dumbledore.

"Ah, Tom," the headmaster said after Tom entered his office. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Tom bit down on a harsh remark about how Dumbledore never took pleasure in his presence. Instead, he forced out a smile.

"I had a question that I've struggled to find the answer to."

"I'm always happy to help where I can."

"When I encountered the Phoenix in Diagon Alley, he said something to me that sounded awfully like a quote. It seemed rather important and I'd like to know where it comes from."

Dumbledore's face immediately took on a serious look. He leaned forward in his chair, arms on the desk. "That is odd," he said. "Do you mind sharing with me what he said?"

"'Neither can live while the other survives.' I've search all sorts of libraries and have failed to find any source for it."

"Do you truly believe he was quoting something? The Phoenix is known for his illogical ramblings."

"This was a quote," Tom asserted. "His voice changed when he said it and he looked at me like… like I was supposed to understand the meaning of it." Only when the words passed his mouth did he realize how absurd they sounded. How could he possibly read a homicidal maniac so well to interpret the subtlest changes in expression and tone? But somehow, he knew, as if he was born with the knowledge.

"What else did the Phoenix say during this encounter? Dumbledore asked. Tom recounted their exchange, glossing over the strange compliments the Phoenix had thrown his way. Those felt too odd, too personal to reveal.

When he was done, Dumbledore leaned back in his seat. "Well," he finally said, "I may not be correct, but it seems as if he is referring to a prophecy. That would certainly explain why he has been so set on killing you of all people."

Tom bristled, somehow offended by the idea that the Phoenix needed a special reason to be obsessed with him. He pushed the emotions down.

"Have you heard of a prophecy with that line in it?" He asked.

"I can't say that I have. I must confess, I do not hold much weight in fortune telling, but the Ministry keeps a record of all prophecies told in Britain and tries to decipher their meanings. Perhaps one of my contacts in the Department of Mysteries would be willing to search for the line among them."

Tom nodded, pleased with the progress he had made during the encounter, but Dumbledore's attention was now on him, bright blue eyes piercing.

"There can be something… appealing about power," he began. He spoke slowly, as if weighing every word that came from his mouth. "While the Phoenix does not seem sound of mind, his power over death can be attractive, but it is clear the cost has been great. Do not let yourself become wrapped up in that. Remember all he has tried to do to you."

"We don't know why he's done anything at all," Tom said, frustrated because Dumbledore seemed to be misunderstanding what he said and frustrated because Dumbledore clearly understood him perfectly. Tom was attracted to the Phoenix, on a certain level. Maybe more than he was willing to admit. But Dumbledore had no right, sticking his crooked nose in Tom's business.

The semester dragged on. Abraxas and Theron tried to distract him, to set his mind back on recruiting his Knights and setting himself up for a position of power upon graduation, but every time he closed his eyes, all Tom saw were green eyes staring back at him.

Dumbledore received word back from the Department of Mysteries that no prophecy with that phrase was in their records. That didn't mean that the prophecy wasn't made elsewhere, but Tom thought that unlikely. For all of the Phoenix's eccentricities, he was firmly English.

Part of Tom started looking forward to the next time he encountered the Phoenix, if only to receive more clues to the puzzle that made up the man.

"You know," Theron said one day as they lounged by the fire working on potions, "I think it's possible the Phoenix is from the future."

Both Tom and Abraxas dropped their quills and stared at him. People rarely brought up the Phoenix around Tom, probably convinced he was traumatized or something. Tom had briefly explained both encounters to his friends after they happened, but they had never really had a conversation about it.

"That would be why you haven't found the source of the quote. It hasn't been said yet. And that's why no one knows who he is, despite the fact that he's a British wizard and not that old. Out of all the years he's been active, you'd think someone would come out and give some dirt on him."

"Time travel doesn't work like that," Abraxas said, dismissively.

"The Phoenix has been killed by aurors at least 10 times now and he comes back the same each time," Theron countered. "He clearly knows magic beyond what anyone else knows. Is it that outrageous to think it extends to time travel as well?"

"But if he came back to kill Tom, that would alter future events and destroy the future he came from."

"I said he was a time traveler, not that he was sane. Maybe he's alright with his future being destroyed. Maybe his grudge against Tom is so large it overrules any sense of logic."

Tom leaned back in his chair, thinking over what Theron was proposing. He had to admit, it explained a lot of the strange things the Phoenix said. How he already seemed to know Tom. Why he seemed convinced Tom needed to die. It didn't make anything easier, really. There were still many questions, but maybe Theron was onto something.

The best way forward, Tom decided, was to face the Phoenix again. His legilimancy skills were top notch and he was certain he'd be able to get some answers from the Phoenix, one way or another. All he had to do was wait for the right moment.

The Phoenix knew he was a seventh year at Hogwarts and he seemed to have some familiarity with the school, or at least its curriculum. The Phoenix was unable to get onto Hogwarts grounds, but maybe he'd still be nearby, waiting for Tom. Maybe he knew Tom would be searching for him.

Despite both Dumbledore and Snape encouraging him not to, Tom decided to join his friends on the first Hogsmeade trip of the year. The air was crisp and cool that day. The sky was clear blue and the leaves hadn't yet lost their leaves. Students wore heavier cloaks out and about, but didn't worry about piling on scarves and hats just yet.

Tom walked down to the village with Theron and Abraxas by his side. They were aware, vaguely, of what he planned to do and while they protested, Tom had no problem putting them both back in their place.

For the first hour or so, the trio did the usual Hogsmeade activities. They bought butterbeers, checked out what new sweets Honeydukes was selling, before trailing out towards the Shrieking Shack. A few third years stood around as a fifth year told them stories about the atrocities that supposedly occurred in the building.

Tom idly wondered if the Phoenix was staying there when something caught his eye. Something silvery glowed just around the corner. Abraxas and Theron had joined in the the fifth year, trying to out do him with their ghost stories, so no one noticed when Tom slipped away.

It was a patronus. A fully corporeal stag that bounded off as soon as Tom came close to it. Clearly, it wanted to be followed. Tom pulled out his wand, but let the stag lead him around the outskirts of Hogsmeade and up an incline of the mountain that sat just beyond the village boundaries. Tom didn't hesitate and hiked up the incline. The stag watched him as he did and just when Tom was finally about to reach him, the stag vanished into a dark cave. Tom cast lumos and quietly followed after.

The silvery glow of the patronus disappeared, which was how Tom knew he was were the stag was supposed to bring him to. There was an area on the ground that had remains of recent fires. Tom stood by it, not wanting to go any further into the depths than he had to.

"I know you're in here," Tom called, voice echoing.

The Phoenix seemed to melt from the shadows of the cave, appearing bit by bit until he was standing fully in front of Tom. He felt his heart rate increase as his eyes met the electric green of the man in front of him.

"Where you looking for me, Tom, darling?" The Phoenix asked.

"How can you cast a patronus? Dark magic users can't cast a patronus."

The Phoenix blinked at him, as if he had never been told that before. Then he smiled with too many teeth. "Really Tom, I had thought you would understand by now. How many times have I used an unforgivable against an innocent?"

"You tried to kill me as a baby!" Tom insisted. "A baby who had done nothing."

"A baby who would grow and grow and grow until he became a monster. Really Tom, if only you knew the worlds you've destroyed. The billions of beings you have massacred. And every time, I have been forced to watch only to be thrown into it again."

"That makes no sense," Tom defended. "I've never killed anyone." (That Myrtle girl had been an accident, one he was expecting to occur eventually what with playing with a basilisk, but still. It wasn't like he planned on killing her. She was just at the wrong place at the wrong time.)

The Phoenix just kept blinking at him and Tom's anger rose. He didn't have to encourage the Phoenix to hold his gaze, as he seemed willing to do that. All it took was a little push of magic and he was inside the other's mind.

The more recent memories were on the surface, as to be expected. Memories of hideouts and raids and interaction with various witches and wizards. He even saw the madman, Black, speaking to the Phoenix.

He pushed further only to have the feeling of the world falling away beneath his feet. He found himself in a vast, empty space, which he knew must be the Phoenix's mind, but it had sucked him in like no other mind had ever done. Before him was a wall made from what appeared to be a fractured mirror. Each piece displayed something different. Some showed Hogwarts, in various season, with different students. But others were different. One scene looked like it was set in medieval England. Another in 1950s America. One had a beach. Another had a school of magic he'd never seen before. One appeared to be in outer space.

He reach out a hand and placed it on one of the scenes with Hogwarts. The barrier felt hard, but if Tom pushed, he knew he could break through. Instead, he spoke a name. "Tom."

All the fragments rippled like the surface of water being disturbed and the each turned over to show the same face. Over and over again. There were modifications here and there. Red eyes. Pointed ears. Buzzed hair. Long hair. But one image looked unrecognizable. It was more creature than human: hairless, noseless, pale skin and red eyes. Tom walked over to that image and pressed a hand against it. This fragment was thicker and more durable than the other he had touched. Perhaps it had been here the longest.

He pressed harder against it until the wall gave way and he found himself falling once again. He heard whispers all around him as he fell through nothingness.

"Bow to death, Harry."

"Voldemort is my past, present, and future."

"There is no good and evil. There is only power and those too weak to seek it."

"I can make bad things happen to people."

"The boy who lived, come to die."

And then he found himself in the Chamber of Secrets. It looked just how Tom had last seen it, murky, dark, and empty. Emptied except for a young boy crouched at a girl's side…

It had to be the Phoenix. The green eyes, hidden behind a pair of glasses, weren't as supernatural, and the messy hair wasn't as long, but it had to be him. He looked young. Small and skinny. He was covered with grime and filth and was desperately shaking the girl before him.

"She won't wake," came a voice from the other side of the Chamber. The hairs on the back of Tom's neck stood on end as he watched a slightly younger version of himself come into view. Younger, but still older than the Phoenix.

"Tom?" The Phoenix asked. "Tom Riddle?" He sounded shocked. Astounded. But the Other Tom didn't. He looked… hungry.

"Are you a ghost?" The Phoenix asked.

"A memory. Preserved in a diary for fifty years." A horcrux, Tom suddenly pieced together. Other Tom was a horcrux. Tom had been looking into paths to immortality, but Dumbledore, in all his wisdom, had removed the darkest books from Hogwarts and the ones Tom need were too expensive for him to buy for himself. It had been on his list of things tolook into once he graduated.

Tom watched as the Phoenix, harried and anxious, tried to encourage Other Tom to help him, but Other Tom just watched, twirling the Phoenix's wand in his hand.

"I've waited a long time for this, Harry Potter" Other Tom said with a grin. "For the chance to see you, to speak with you."

Tom and the Pho- Harry both watched Other Tom in confusion, not understanding what was happening. Why was Other Tom so much older? And what was his fascination with Harry?

Other Tom began a long monologue, explaining how he had used Ginny Weasley to open the Chamber of Secrets and petrify mudbloods. Then he turned to hearing more about Harry from her. Other Tom then began describing a Hogwarts Tom was unfamiliar with, with different students and professors and a journey to open the Chamber that differed from Tom's.

What was all this doing in the Phoenix's head?

Then came the name. Voldemort. It dripped from Other Tom's lips like a prayer. A dark wizard who had tried to kill Harry as a baby. Only Harry survived the encounter.

"Why do you care?" Harry demanded. "Voldemort was after your time."

Other Tom's eyes lit up with mischief. "Voldemort is my past, my present, and my future." And with a flick of his wand he summoned the letters of his full name and rearranged them to make Lord Voldemort.

The scene blurred and the other memories came quickly. A graveyard where a snake-like figure taunted and tortured Harry. A duel in the Ministry of Magic. A prophecy. Neither can live while the other survives. A face off in a forest.

"Would you please get out of my head?" A voice came from all around. Blackness fell over Tom's vision and then, without warning, he was back in his body in the cave. He was sitting on the floor, torso propped up by the stones behind him. He must've collapsed at some point during the dive into memories.

The Phoenix, or was it Harry?, was drawing himself to his feet, shaking off the dust.

"Snape was right," he muttered, "I'm pants at occlumency."

"What was all that?" Tom demanded. Harry's eyes drifted to him.

"You were the one rummaging inside my head. I'm curious at what you've found. The kraken, maybe?"

"Kraken? No, I saw you as a child. And you were talking to me, but it wasn't me. And then I was like a human snake? And you killed me, but only because I was trying to kill you."

"Ah," Harry said, "so the first time round, then."

"First time round?"

"We've done this before. Again and again and again. I find you in every universe, at every

time and place and every time I do, you kill. You kill and you kill and you kill. I try to stop you. I organize rebellions and resistance groups. I train young, enterprising wizards. I try to persuade you and charm you. You never seem convinced. So I thought, maybe, I should beat you to the punch. Maybe it would be a mercy to this world, if it never got to know you. But then I couldn't kill you. I thought it might have been a fluke when you were a baby, but then I was consistently unsuccessful."

"You wanted to kill me as a baby in case I turned out to be a murderer again?"

Harry stared. Up close, Tom could see the irises of his eyes were bleeding into the pupils and the white rims. They didn't look anything like they had when Harry was a child. Harry. What a common, plain name for a dark wizard. Or a whatever wizard.

"You have to understand," Harry began, slowly, "in every universe you turn evil. Every single one. I have never met a version of you that even hesitated to seize power. Even this version of you opened the Chamber and killed Myrtle Warren. Do you know you've killed her 65 times? That's a lot."

Tom chose to ignore the comment about Myrtle. "Why do you have these memories and I don't?"

Harry pulled out his wand, grabbed his cloak with one hand, and slid his ring off his finger in one easy movement. He brandished the three items in front of Tom. Everyone knew about the invisibility cloak and Tom had become acquainted with the wand, but the ring he had always assumed was some fashion statement.

"I am the Master of Death!"

It was Tom's turn to stare blankly. "You're what?"

"The Master of Death! You can't kill me. No one can. I stay in each world until it's time to board the train to the next one, where I still can't be killed and I find you. Again and again and again.

"You take a train between worlds?"

"I only really last a few decades in each one before I'm prepared to take the next train out. It usually happens once you've finally been defeated or when you've finally decimated the population to the point where it's almost unsustainable."

"But you can't kill me," Tom repeated.

Harry's face twitched and he put the three object back in their original places. "I've never really tried, to be honest. I was never one for killing. The Order gave me all kinds of shit for that. And Dumbledore has tried to encourage me to do it at least seven times. That man is such a hypocrite. He couldn't bring himself to kill Grindelwald and now I'm the bad guy for not wanting to kill you! Well, serves him right, I can't kill you anyway."

"But I saw you dueling the snake face me in a memory."

"Yes, but I didn't kill him. His own spell did that."

"What about all the folks at the Ministry? The assassination?"

Harry shrugged. "They have been or will partake in heinous crimes. I decided I'd help clean up the world while I was brainstorming a plan to kill you."

"Are you going to keep trying other ways to kill me?" Tom finally asked.

Harry stood with his cloak billowing around him with some ghost breeze, lips pursed. He actually looked confused, as if Tom had asked him a strange question instead of referencing their previous encounters. He looked more… human, now that Tom knew his name was Harry Potter, that he was a Gryffindor, and an orphan.

"I could try," Harry admitted. "Part of me wants to. But— well, you haven't raised your wand."

"What?"

"Since you saw my patronus, you haven't lifted your wand to attack or defend. Not once. You always try to kill me too. I've died so many times staring into your eyes."

Tom tried hard not to squirm. The way Harry talked was nostalgic, almost reverent, as if being killed by Tom had been a privileged. People always said the line between love and hate was thin and it seemed as if Harry had spent so much time hating that he was mixing it up a bit.

And Tom… didn't mind the thought so much.

"If you don't kill me, then what's your plan?"

"Well, I have to keep an eye on you, of course. I think I'll throw you in Azkaban on the next sign of misbehavior and when you break out, I'll feed you to the kraken and you can spend some time in its stomach thinking about what you've done."

Tom blinked. He hadn't know krakens existed in this world. Or maybe Harry was getting his lives mixed up again.

Shaking aside the idea of gigantic monsters of the sea, Tom asked, "May I make you a proposition?"

In August of 1998, the Order was in a panic. They hadn't heard from Tom Riddle since he graduated (top of his class) from Hogwarts. No one had. Though that would quickly change.

Abraxas Malfoy and Theron Lestrange walked into the White Wyvern, a seedy pub in Knockturn Alley. They had their cloaks drawn close around them in spite of the heat of summer, but they blended in well with the other occupants of the pub, everyone looking like they didn't want to be seen.

Abraxas and Theron took a seat in the table in the corner, the one specified in the letter. Then, they waited.

"Do you think he'll be able to recognize us?" Theron asked in a low voice.

"Of course he'd recognize us," Abraxas snapped, "we've been mates for how long now?"

"The only way I can pick you out in a crowd is by your hair," Theron returned with a nod to the cloak currently covering the blond, Malfoy locks.

The door to the pub opened again with a slight chiming of the bell. No staff bothered to greet the newcomers, but both Abraxas and Theron strained their heads to look at the new arrivals. Two cloaked people approached the back table. The taller one strode with confidence and the hood, despite being drawn still revealed a strong jaw and pale skin. The shorter one looked completely hidden beneath the cloak, but if one watch long enough, one could catch a shimmer of green appear near where his eyes would be.

The pair sat across from Abraxas and Theron. Now that they were so close, they could make out the features of Tom Riddle, handsome as ever under one cloak. And under the second…

"This is Harry Potter," Tom introduced, gesturing to the person beside him. "Harry, this is Abraxas Malfoy and Theron Lestrange."

Both Abraxas and Theron gave weak greetings in returns, too terrified of the Phoenix to say anymore. Once Tom had introduced them, the enchantment around the Phoenix's face dropped. Beneath it was just… a man. Maybe in his mid-twenties with unhealthily pale skin and eyes that looked like they had been splashed with a neon green potion. When he smiled, he showed too many teeth.

"We've met before," the Phoenix said. "Before, before, before. I never did like either of you much, but I suppose we can start again." Abraxas and Theron slid their eyes from the Phoenix back to Tom who just looked amused and maybe, just maybe, there was fondness in his eyes.

Abraxas was the first to recover. "How have you been, Tom?"

"Well. We've taken up residence at the old Gaunt shack. After we renovated it, of course, though we won't be staying there long. We'll be traveling the continent for a while, learning. And then, when the time is right, we'll return back to England and I will begin my climb though the Ministry."

"And the Phoenix will be with you? For all of that?" Theron asked.

"Of course," the Phoenix replied. "Someone has to keep an eye on him."

"You've tried to kill him," Theron said.

"We've come to an understanding," Tom said. "Harry will teach me the magicks he knows and lead me to places where I can learn more. In return, he will advise me on my future plans and I will grant him pardon when I'm Minister."

"I'm not sure that is a fair trade," Abraxas began cautiously.

"I get to veto Tom's plans that I dislike and in return I stop trying to kill him," the Phoenix said simply. "That's more than fair. He's taken away my life's goal, after all."

Abraxas and Theron didn't know what to say. Even as they took in the relaxed posture of Tom's body, of his pleased face, they struggled to believe Tom was their Tom, or sane. Tom seemed to sense what they were thinking and attempted to reassure them.

"We've been living together for over a month now and nothing has happened. We've gotten on better than I would have expected. Besides, we were wrong about the 'neither can live while the other survives' thing. That was only for one world. Now, we must live with each other. I suppose it's like a curse or something."

"None of that made any sense," Abraxas said.

"It's a very long story and I'm not sure you'd understand it anyway," Tom said dismissively. "We're just here to tell you that I'm alright. I'm going to be gone for a while, but I will come back and I need to know that I'll have supporters when I do."

"He wants to know if you two will still be friends with him if he's gone for a few years," the Phoenix said. He'd somehow gotten his hands on a butterbeer and was taking sips of it. His fingers seemed almost skeletal wrapped around the glass.

"Um, yes," Abraxas replied. "We'll still be your supporters and friends."

"Great," the Phoenix said. Tom had started shooting him dark looks, but the Phoenix didn't seem to mind. He could kill everyone in the pub if he wanted to and Tom was still making faces at him.

They all had a round of drinks, trying to find a topic of conversation that didn't result in the Phoenix saying something weird or mildly alarming. Tom was no help, and seemed to enjoy that his companion's mind flew in so many directions.

By the time their glasses were emptied, Abraxas and Theron had at least somewhat warmed up to the Phoenix, or Harry as he insisted they call him. They certainly weren't happy about the idea of Tom disappearing with him, but he seemed to be of sound enough mind to make such a decision and really, he had always been more of their leader than their friend so they weren't used to telling him he was wrong.

The group stood up to leave and Harry reached out to pull Tom's hood over his head, mumbling something about how charms would be more effective for hiding and Theron suddenly had the strangest thought cross his mind. If they were living together and traveling together, then would it be possible that they meant more to each other than enemies, or even friends?

Theron didn't voice his thoughts, but as Tom and Harry set off towards the Leaky Cauldron, he could have sworn that he saw their hands brushing together.