Harry Potter 1. Prologue: Avada Kedavra

**A/N: I'm writting this with bubblegumpinktonks.**

**Please continue onto to the next chapter before deciding you don't like this story... I know this chapter is an information overload, but I can't think of any other way to start the story.**

**Not to mention this doesn't even vaguely resemble my normal writting style... the amount of information I was trying to convey turned this into a strange cross between my creative writting and my essay writting**

**Next chapter is better, I promise.**

**Basically its trying to explain how it's possible to have Tom Riddle at Harry's age, while still have everything before 1981 stay exactly the same, and mostly similar until 1990, when the next chapter is taking place stay the same.**

**If you don't care, it's not horribly important to the storyline, since Tom and Harry will be figuring out what happened Halloween 1981 themselves eventually, and they'll be doing it in more detail and not all at the same time so it will be less of an infomation overload, so it will make more sense.**

**So you can skip to the next chapter.**

**Tom is going to be less evil this time around at life, but still pure Slytherin, selfish, manipulating, exc. while Harry is Harry - I'm not going to suddenly make him do a 180 and start hating Muggleborns and so on. There will be some changes, but only what would be reasonable considering the influence that Tom and Harry would have on each other.**

**NO SLASH... I have nothing against slash, but its my pet peeve that Harry and Draco can't seem to get along without them being a couple, or Harry being in Slytherin and completley evil.**

**Disclaimer: I'm not JK Rowling. If I was, they're would have been at least a few more good Slytherins and/or Snape would have redeemed himself before his death.**

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**Prologue**

"Avada Kedavra"

A green light burst out of the end of Voldemort's wand, rushing at the green-eyed baby. The second the light hit the child, the magic of a mother's sacrifice bounced the curse back, hitting the Dark Lord.

Voldemort should have died that night, when the curse hit him. The green light ripped the wizard's soul from his body. The horcruxes that he made were the only things that kept him from truly dying.

The killing curse, combined with how mangled and broken his soul was, created another horcrux, which imbedded itself in the forehead of the green-eyed baby, leaving behind a jagged scar. The creation of the horcrux was unusual and unprecedented, but not the strangest of the things that happened that night.

A common misconception about horcruxes is that they are half of a soul. If that were true, it would have been impossible for Voldemort to have split his soul several times. A locket or a ring could not have a bigger soul than a human being. It isn't rational. A horcrux creates a hole in the soul, much like a hole puncher and a piece of paper.

And this is where the story splits, where a random, improbable fluke changes the future of the world.

What was unusual, improbable, and almost impossible, was the location of this final hole. Against impossible odds, the new hole threw the soul at an angle interacting with two other holes so that another piece broke off, much larger then a normal horcrux.

The original piece of soul fled, seeking someplace far away, needing only time to recover and regain strength.

The broken off piece of soul didn't have that option, since only the core of the soul was indestructible as long as there were horcruxes. The horcruxes themselves need containers. This piece of soul wasn't a horcrux, but it did need a place to reside in before it faded out of existence.

The soul was not quite Voldemort, though it held his thoughts and memories.

Magic is sentient when it doesn't have a guiding force, like a child's accidental magic. Once a person learns how to control their magic, it stops working to protect them.

The broken off piece of Voldemort's soul didn't have a conscience, needing a physical container to think and reason. Instead, it (magic is gender-neutral, as is a soul piece) was using its magic to survive.

Not powerful enough to posses a person, yet too large to reside in an object, there was no possibility for continued existence, until, yet again, the almost impossible happened.

Not far away, at least for a bodiless spirit, there was a body of a child, slowly dying of the cold on the steps of an orphanage. The magic sensed the child dying, and knew that it could reside in this fresh body. The soul fragment entered the body, reviving it with a new life.

The body fought against the magic, reacting to the new host. The magic was trying to make the body take the form it knew it should be wearing, changing everything from the eye color to the blood that was flowing through the baby's veins.

The baby's brain was overloading, not able to fit years of memories, knowledge and desires into a body just under two years old. If the magic hadn't drained itself trying to make the body as it felt it should be, then maybe it could have done something to preserve the memories of a lifetime inside the child.

However, the magic was exhausted and almost completely drained, and so it chose the only path available. It placed a blocker on all the memories, so they would slowly seep into the fragile mind. As the body aged, the mind would gain access, leaving, at that moment, the conscience with only the memories it possessed at the age of a year and a half.

The boy was now the exact replica, from body to memories, of Tom Marvolo Riddle.

When the matron of the orphanage opened the front door the next morning to put out the milk bottles, she saw another baby abandoned in the middle of the night, not even wrapped in a blanket. It was a beautiful boy with jet black hair and intelligent blue eyes, looking about two years old in her experianced eyes.

"Do you know what your name is?" she asked the boy, unsure if he was old enought to know the answer. Sometimes they started talking at a year, other times, you couldn't get them to say a word until they were almost three.

But the boy did answer. "Tom."

The lady added the last name Foster, for the records, since the boy didn't answer when asked about a surname, and took the boy into the orphanage.

And so Tom Foster grew up, a strange boy with strange dreams. He found out through the dreams, where he watched through the eyes of a boy that he was sure was himself, that his full name was Tom Marvolo Riddle. But by the time he understood that, he also understood both the fact that knowing something no one else did put him at an advantage, and that normal people did not re-live a life 50 years in the past. Being strange, being called a freak any more than he already was, didn't appeal to him, so his name stayed Tom Foster.

He was ten years old when he was adopted by a young couple, and taken to Little Whinging, Surrey.

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	2. Chapter 1: Tom and Harry

**While Tom's behavior in this chapter will seem slightly bizarre, next chapter will explain all of it... **

**Also - the story starts off a bit slow... the first really interesting chapter is Chapter 4.**

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**Chapter 1: Tom and Harry**

It was a morning like every other morning for Harry Potter. Dudley was threatening him, as usual. He had him pinned up against the wall in the middle of the crowded hallway, and it seemed nobody was paying attention, like usual.

"Gimmie your homework, freak. Or else I'll tell Mum and Dad that you stole mine, and then you'll get it…" Dudley trailed off, glaring threateningly at the boy who had approached them. "What are you staring at, new kid, this is none of your business. I'll cut you a break this time, but next time you won't get so lucky. This kid is a freak and he's just getting what he deserves. Everyone at school will agree with me. Those are the rules around here."

The boy was leaning against the wall, and he looked eerily similar to Harry. The only differences were that his eyes blue, not green, he was taller and better fed, his face was colder somehow, and his hair was perfect, not a single hair out of place. Besides that, he could have been Harry's twin.

Before Dudley's threat, the boy was just leaning against the wall looking mildly interested in the two of them, as if though they were a show for his entertainment. As Dudley finished speaking, his eyes flashed dangerously, making him look much older than ten years old.

For a split second he looked as if though he would like nothing better than to kill Dudley, and wouldn't mind taking Harry with him. Harry was suddenly very afraid. However angry Dudley got, he still looked and acted like a spoiled 10 year old with a view of the world that centered around him. This boy's eyes were cold and empty, devoid of life.

Looking into the boy flat eyes, Harry felt a fear that wasn't his own. It wasn't a fear of what was going to happen to him. It was the boy's fear, the fear of what he could do.

A moment later all of that was gone; he smiling apologetically, the image of a slightly nervous new kid, with just a hint of a sneer on his face, Harry feeling the anger coming from the boy, at all three of them, as well a confusion.

Without saying anything more, the boy walked off. Harry lost his connection with the boy's mind.

Dudley stood there looking confused. He seemed to have understood some of the danger he had been in a moment earlier. He turned and ran in the opposite direction down the hallway.

Harry sat on the ground for a while, trying to figure out where the knowledge of this boy's emotions came from, trying to remember how he had known that those emotions weren't his.

He opened his eyes and blinked. Everyone was going to classes, he couldn't just sit here.

…

Recess was always Harry's least favorite time of day. Dudley had seemingly recovered from this morning's events and decided to get back at Harry for failing to provide his homework. His gang and he were attempting to corner Harry.

Harry couldn't outrun them for much longer. His breathing was ragged. Getting on top of the dumpsters was probably his only chance. No one in Dudley's group was capable of climbing them. But they were too tall… he would never make it.

He closed his eyes and jumped.

He felt sick, like he had just been through a washing machine. He opened his eyes and terror flowed through him. He was on top of the roof.

Why? Why did all these things have to happen too him? His aunt and uncle were going to kill him. It was only October and they probably would lock him in his cupboard until Christmas. It wouldn't even matter if he could convince them he wasn't climbing the school building; if they believed that he had somehow managed to jump there while trying to get on top of the dumpster, he would get punished even longer for doing something "freaky and unnatural".

He was thinking furiously trying to figure out how to get down before any one saw. Dudley had yet to think of looking up to the top of the two story building, but someone would notice soon.

Someone had noticed. The strange boy from earlier was staring up at him. Harry could barley see him, but as they made eye contact. Harry was suddenly overwhelmed by a surge of emotions. Confusion, anger, excitement. And joy.

He was hit with the idea that him being on the school roof was the most wonderful thing that had ever happened. He couldn't remember why he would be upset. This was terrific.

NO! Why was he feeling emotions that weren't his own? Harry shook his head, breaking eye contact. He paused for a second, then prioritized. Getting of the roof came first, understanding random emotions popping into head around this boy second.

He felt at pull, and then a jerk, and he went flying off the roof. He was falling, the ground coming closer and closer, faster and faster. Then stopped.

He was suspended a foot off the ground.

The boy held out his hand. Harry stared at it uncertainly for a moment, than held out his own. He was pulled down to the ground.

"Hi, my name is Tom, pleased to meet you."

Tom looked so pleased with himself, his smirk not fading as he staggered, then collapsed on the ground.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked nervously. Tom had gotten himself off the ground and was pulling on Harry to move.

"I'm fine, I'm fine. Come on before those _idiots,_" the last word spoken in a snarl with so much loathing behind it Harry was frightened, "figure out where you've gone. Not that it's going to happen any time soon but…"

The bell cut off Tom in mid-sentence, causing another burst of anger from the boy.

_Honestly, the kid gets mad over the littlest things. It's like he's a time bomb, waiting to explode. _

Any other day Harry would be happy to hear that bell, and would consider it a good day since he hadn't been caught. But not today.

Tom staggered as Harry released him.

"Go on… Don't worry about me, I'll be fine. Meet me there," gesturing at a tree, "after school."

"But, my aunt and uncle… I can't…"

"I said _meet me there after school_. _Now go to class_" Harry blinked. He had to meet Tom after school. Of course, how could he think otherwise?

...

Harry shook his head already at his desk with no memory of how he got there. What had just happened?

...

Tom was waiting at the tree already when Harry got there. He shot him a glare full of icy rage.

"Sorry. Just wanted to see if I could, you know, not come. What did you do earlier?"

Harry didn't think this would improve Tom's mood at all, just give Harry more information to work with. Either Tom would think he was crazy, and mock him like everyone else for being a freak, or he would get mad because Harry had tried to resist whatever strange powers Tom had.

Unexpectedly, Tom seemed to cheer up. At least he didn't seem to be on the verge of killing Harry any more.

Harry stood there awkwardly for a minute, trying to understand what Tom wanted from him. Nobody spoke to him unless it was to humiliate him. He knew why, his aunt and uncle told him often enough.

He was a freak. Then weird things happened it was his fault. He thought he was the only one that was like that, but Tom seemed different from everyone else as well.

But he couldn't hope like that. Hope was dangerous. He was all alone. Tom was going to leave or realize that there was something wrong with Harry, and then he would be all alone again, and locked in the cupboard for good measure.

"Come on. My house is just a few minutes walk away from here. I'll explain everything there. We can't talk here." Tom glared at the children surrounding them, as if though their existence was an insult to him.

As they walked in silence, Harry wondered some more about Tom. Why was he so angry all the time?

Tom had treated him better than anyone else he had ever met, but there was something very _off _about him. Harry thought Tom might be stranger than he himself was.

They walked briskly in silence, until Tom turned and faced one of the houses and said quietly, "This is my home."

The house was nicer by a small margin than the Dursley's. Aunt Petunia would have had a fit if she had seen the garden, though. It was fairly well taken care off, but gave off the impression of growing wild and free, unlike the properly trimmed grass that grew on the front lawn of Number 4, Privet Drive.

"We need to avoid my _mum_." He said the word with a strange combination of uncertainty and contempt. "She'd be thrilled that I brought home a friend, but I'd rather she didn't make a fuss over you. I don't want to explain to her why you're here, since I'm not sure myself."

...

When they got to his room Harry asked uncertainly, "Why am I here?"

"Why do you think?"

Harry knew why, or thought he knew why. But he couldn't bring himself to say it.

What had brought them together was something that they had in common, something that Harry was forbidden to even mention. They were both _magic_.

Harry almost flinched just thinking the forbidden word. He would have to say it though. Tom was sitting on his bed waiting expectantly.

What if he was wrong? What if it was all a fluke and the freaky stuff that it looked like Tom did was really his fault as well?

He came to a decision.

"Magic, we're magic." Harry managed not to choke on the words.

Tom flashed him a smile.

"Yea, we are. Now I want you to meet my snake. We can talk about what we can do later."

Tom spoke to the room in general with in a harsh, hissing tone of voice, "Come here Nagini, I want you to meet my friend."

A long black snake came out from under the bed. Harry thought it looked like a cobra, but he couldn't be sure.

"Massster, are you sure this is wissse? The boy will probably be frightened by me. Do you not remember your guardians resssponse?"

The snake's voice sounded weird, similar to Tom's, but to Harry it was still fairly clear English.

"The boy will not be afraid. Do you not trussst my judgment?"

From watching Tom earlier Harry would have thought this last sentence would be accompanied by some sort of a semi lethal glare and and some of Tom's icy fury, but surprisingly Tom didn't seem to care about the snake questioning Harry.

Harry was a little put out by the fact that they were speaking as if though he wasn't there, or that he couldn't hear them. Clearing his throat, he addressed the snake, "Er, Tom is right, I'm not ssscared…"

Harry was going to say more but the snake cut him off, addressing Tom in an incredulous sort of tone, "The boy is a ssspeaker? And you sssaid nothing?"

"Ssso it would ssseem…"

This time it was Tom that was cut off in mid sentence, this time by Harry.

"Why are you talking about me asss if though I'm not here? And what do you mean, ssspeaker? Of course I ssspeak English…and why are you looking at me asss if though I've grown an extra head?"

The last sentence was added as both Tom and Nagini looked at Harry with matching expressions of shock and disbelief. In Nagini's case, that was just a rough estimate. Harry didn't have much experience judging the facial expressions of snakes.

After a moments pause, Tom managed to pull himself together. He put an unpleasant sneer on his face, and opened his mouth to speak. But Harry could see the amusement in his eyes.

Harry never found out what words of scorn Tom was going to say since Tom's self control broke at that moment, and he just fell on the floor laughing.

"Are you serious? Are you bloody serious? Can't you tell the difference between this and thisss."

Harry didn't appreciate being laughed at, especially when he didn't understand what was so funny. He was used to others laughing at him, but he had started viewing Tom as a... potential friend. His only response was a scowl.

"The second one's got more of an s… but, what is so funny?"

Tom laughed a bit more, but then his face clouded over. He frowned as he got up and took a deep breath. With a visible effort he spoke again, his voice sympathetic, but his eyes showing anger.

"I'm sorry for laughing. That wasn't very nice of me. Don't listen to the words, listen to the difference in sound."

"_Now I'm speaking snake."_

Harry almost started laughing at himself as he heard the hissing that didn't resemble human speech in the slightest. It was pretty stupid of him not to realize the difference, he thought. He wasn't mad at Tom anymore…until he realized that Tom had apologized with that anger in his eyes.

The apology was fake; Harry would have suspected that, even if he hadn't seen the anger and insincerity in Tom's eyes. His expression, his voice, his body language all screamed sincerity, but it was so out of his character that even after knowing him for only a day, it seemed impossible for him to make a true, sincere apology.

Tom was trying to manipulate him. He could have understood the fake apology, if Tom was afraid he would be angry, but the anger implied that Tom had to apologize, that the apology was forced.

Harry suddenly felt cold. This was too wonderful to be real; this had to be a trick. A mean cruel trick; that's why Tom was angry. The Dursleys had put Tom up to this, and he was apologizing to a person whom he didn't know, didn't like, a person who was a freak.

The second Harry reached that conclusion, he didn't think twice. It made so much more sense than magic, than him being special. He was worse than everybody else, not better.

Now Dudley could mock him, spread stories around the school that Harry believed in magic; in witches, wizards, dragons, and flying motorcycles.

He glared at Tom with all the hatred he could summon. He didn't wait to read his response, just stormed out of the house.

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**Authors Note: I know Tom may seem bi-polar, but the next chapter is this from Tom's POV, so it'll make sense. At least more sense than it does now.**

**Review, review, review! Please! As of the posting of chapter 8, this chapter has the least reviews! Only two. So I feel saaaad. **


	3. Chapter 2: Tom's POV

**/N: 00mrdragon00 – Tom is acting like that because he is very confused. Remember in HBP when Dumbledore came to get him from the orphanage he was switching from aggressive, to friendly and harmless, and back again. I wrote this from Tom's POV after reading it over. The chapter made sense for me, but only because I knew what Tom is thinking. I think his reactions do make sense after you read this part. That being said, this chapter is dedicated to you, since otherwise I wouldn't have written it. I assume people know what I'm thinking too much. **

**Tell me if you think the story makes more sense now and review again!**

**Chapter 2: Tom's POV**

Tom was beyond furious. He couldn't remember being this angry in his life. The entire day had been a series of events that he had absolutely no control over. He hated feeling that way: vulnerable and weak. He hated not knowing what to do, how to react.

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Tom woke up in a panic. Today was his first day in a new school.

He wasn't sure how he was going to cope, how to deal with so many children who didn't know him. At the orphanage, he gone to school with the same children he had known since he was just a baby. The children that had been at the orphanage avoided him like the plauge, and the new kids were easily frightened of him with a mire glance, and then by the time they got over the initial nervousness, they knew better than to bother him with idle chatter.

But in this school, they would talk to him, try to introduce themselves and start conversations.

He would do fine, he was sure of it, he was resourceful and could adapt quickly. It shouldn't take too long for the children to learn that he was not to be bothered. And that people who irritated him would suffer the consequences.

He would spend the first few days blending in. He would settle for not being bothered in the beginning, he could live without any authority for a few weeks. Still, it was human nature to be nervous in a new environment, like the first day in a new school.

...

Some fat boy pushed around this other boy that reminded him of a scrawny, unkempt version of himself. He observed with intrest, to better understand the dynamics and social structure of the new school. Besides, watching others fight was interesting.

The fat boy noticed him watching, and insulted him, told him to mind his own business.

Tom could barley think past his raging fury.

No one had dared to insult Tom in years, even before he had gotten a good enough grasp on his abilities, of his magic, to be able to hurt others.

It never occurred to him that someone could talk back to him that way, without fear or respect. He was furious, not able to rein his rage in quickly enough. For a second he was afraid of what he was going to do. Last time he had lost his temper and lashed out with his magic, he had nearly killed another boy, and that had been almost a year ago. He had grown stronger since then. The dimwitted blob would be punished, he would make sure of that, but he didn't want to kill anyone, especially not with so many witnesses.

...

Tom had realized that he was magic when he was eight. His dream-self, Riddle, still didn't believe in magic, but watching a reflection of yourself in dreams fifty years in the past and learning things while you slept that you couldn't have possibly made up was pretty convincing.

...

The scrawny boy looked at him with those startlingly green eyes, and Tom felt the boy's emotions. He sensed the fear that the boy felt by looking at him, and for some inexplicable reason, he felt sure that the boy could see his emotions as well.

In the split second that he had been looking into the boys eyes, he managed to take a hold of his anger and put up an appropriate façade, the one that he had been planning to wear, and left the scene.

It was too late to convince these boys he was harmless, but there was no reason to alert the other children. Besides, the fat one looked dim enough to forget how quickly he changed moods, and the scrawny one didn't seem important enough to matter, though the emotion thing was strange.

He spent the rest of the morning puzzling over what had happened, but put it in the back of his mind until lunch time.

...

Tom was sitting on the playground watching the other kids interact, figuring out which people were powerful and arrogant enough to be a bother to him, and devising plans to cut them down to size.

Halfway through, he noticed the fat boy was picking on the scrawny boy again, chasing him across the playground with a few of his friends. The scrawny boy was doing a fairly good job of staying away, but he was slowly being forced into a corner by the group of boys. Tom thought it would be interesting to see what they did to the boy - since he was rather curious about the scrawny boy and felt generous today, if things got too violent he would go over there and deal with the fat blob and his friends. He wanted revenge for this morning anyway; it wouldn't hurt if he helped someone else out while getting it. Besides, he wanted to know what would happen if he looked into the boy's eyes again.

The boy vanished in mid-air while trying to get on top of the dumpsters. Tom blinked, startled. Where had the boy gone? He sat up straighter, examining his surroundings.

There - on the roof. Two floors up. There was no way the boy could have gotten up there normally even if he had tried. And judging from what he could make out from the boys expression, even at this distance, he was just as surprised as Tom about his presence there.

Tom felt so many conflicting emotions he didn't know what to do. He was shocked and confused by the boy's disappearance and reappearance. Fury that he wasn't special anymore; he wasn't the only one that had special powers, that had magic. Joy at the same time, that someone like him was out there, that there were more interesting people than the empty minded, ordinary people around him. Then fury again, how dare the boys pick on someone with his powers and abilities, even if the scrawny boy wasn't as powerful, yet. Then joy again, the boy would be grateful to Tom for protecting him. The boy was obviously weaker than him, but still special. Tom could teach the boy, and get himself a follower, almost a friend.

Tom didn't want a true friend since he didn't believe in becoming attached to people, but the thought of being able to share his thoughts and theories on magic and playing games levitating objects sounded wonderful. As long as he didn't actually begin to care about the boy, he could have fun like that.

Tom wasn't used to feeling anything. When he did feel an emotion, it was usually anger, and he never felt more than one emotion at a time.

With the shock, surprise, happiness, and anger clouding his thinking, he didn't know what to do, how to react; it was all too new to him.

Then the boy noticed him. They made eye contact. He felt the boy's panic, and felt the boy's need to get off the roof fast, before someone else noticed him. In the back of his mind he also registered that the boy was sensing his emotions, again.

Tom had not been afraid for a long time. The sudden surge of panic that the boy felt made his magic react without his prompting for the first time in years.

His magic yanked the boy off the roof. Tom panicked, watching the boy fall towards the hard concrete, and his magic reacted again. The boy was hovering just above the ground, safe.

He tried to train his features into an expressionless mask, not wanting the boy to know that he was surprised, but was unable to keep the pleased smirk off his face, even when he collapsed due to the amount of magic he had used, right after introducing himself.

He managed to pick himself up quickly though, and started pulling the boy, Harry, who had returned the introduction, along to someplace where they wouldn't be noticed, putting in a cutting comment about the boys that had been bullying him earlier.

He would deal with them later, very harshly, but now he just didn't have the time.

As if though hearing his thought about the lack of time, the bell rang. He wanted to smash it, to break it into a hundred thousand pieces, for interrupting him. Now he would have to wait until after school, and his head was buzzing with questions he needed answered _now_.

Harry started something about not being able to come and meet him after school. Tom didn't have the patience for it. He simply reached out to his magic and concentrated on the command. "_Meet me after school. Now, go to class_."

And Harry went, his eyes glazed over.

...

The hours until school let out seemed like forever for Tom.

When Harry didn't show up after school, Tom was furious. He couldn't handle not knowing. Nothing like this had ever happened to him before. He had never felt that everything was out of his control. He could have handled this if he was still at the orphanage, but not here, not now. Not when absolutley nothing was familiar.

His first thought was fury when he saw Harry arrive so late, but when he realized that this confirmed the fact that Harry was special he cheered up again.

Harry seemed very confused, which further cheered Tom up. At least Tom wasn't the only one who didn't know what was going on. The one thing that he absolutely hated was not knowing what someone else was talking about.

Tom felt that the most prudent course of action to get Harry's support was to be friendly, so he invited Harry to his house.

The word house sounded strange in his head. It was not one that he expected to think for another 8 years, until he was old enough to live on his own. He now had _parents,_ a _mum _and _dad_. The words sounded even stanger in his head. He didn't think he would ever be able to say them out loud. But he would have too, unless he wanted to tell Harry that the Mason's weren't actually his parents. And the last thing he wanted was sympathy. It would make him lose his temper at Harry, and that would make him do something he would later regret.

That was more likely than ever to happen today. Normally he wasn't so volatile, so prone to changing his mood in a split second, but he was already unstable due to the sudden removal of everything he knew. He had gotten adopted two days ago and had only started adjusting to living with _parents _and leaving the orphanage, when someone else that had magic showed up out of the blue. He was good at adapting and improvising, but when so much was going on, he didn't quite know how to deal with it.

The walk home was silent as Tom tried to sort out all his feelings, determined not to lose control again today.

...

The word mum did sound strange to him as he explained why they were going in through the back door.

When Harry asked him to explain why he was here, he expected that Harry would either believe in magic or not. What he wasn't expecting was a feeling of panic so intense that Tom wanted nothing more than to hide under the nearest bed.

The boy was clearly terrified of what he was saying, even though he choked out magic as the answer. They would need to work on that. Tom was a bit confused as to why he would be so afraid, but had too much to think about already, and didn't dwell on it.

Tom called to Nagini, a name he had gotten from his dream-self. His instincts told him that Harry would not be afraid, and he always trusted his instincts.

What he hadn't been expecting however, was that Harry could speak snake as well.

The mild anger that he felt at it not being _his _thing anymore, something that only he could do, was rapidly replaced by amusement.

The fact that Harry was speaking snake while utterly convinced it was English struck him as funny - he wasn't sure why, it just did.

Tom couldn't help but laugh, something he rarely did, since he rarely found anything funny. He passed it off as being slightly hysterical after all the events of the day. He really needed to get some sleep, and hopefully just have an ordinary day at the orphanage. At least if something happened at the orphanage he could ignore it, it wouldn't really matter anyway since he couldn't affect it.

He felt Harry's displeasure at being laughed at though, and remembered that people take being laughed at pretty harshly. He would know, he reacted worse than most.

He changed his features to show sympathy and regret, trying not to be angry at the fact that the only time he had laughed in months had to be cut short to avoid irritating this boy.

He had forgotten, for only a moment, of the fact that as he had noted twice that day. Harry could read his emotions.

But nonetheless, Harry saw the anger, and misunderstood it. At least Tom thought he misunderstood it, because he couldn't think of anything that would have created the spike of hatred and self loathing that he felt from Harry, followed by his immediate departure.

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**Review! And if you make a good enough comment, I might just add a chapter for you!**


	4. Chapter 3: Accident

**A/N**

**Dark ass: Not the same Masons from CoS, but they're related. This Mrs. Mason isn't afraid of birds…**

**RRW and kittswitty: The revenge on the Dursleys won't be very magical despite what Tom may want to do because of the blood wards that protect them. But Tom will get revenge even if he has to do it the normal way. Dudley, however, will have an "accident" that's indirectly caused by magic. **

**kittswitty: He sounds like he's discussing his thoughts with someone else because I started it off as Tom sort of ranting at the wall about his day, then I decided I wanted more detail and turned it into a flashback, but I only fluffed it out, so it still sounds a bit like a rant. I'm too lazy to go back and change it, but he won't sound like his describing his feelings to a wall next time. **

**00mrdragon00: But you earned it! There needed to be an explanation for Tom's behavior, I just didn't notice it because I already knew what it was. **

**Chapter Three: Accident**

**Tom's POV**

When Harry slammed the door, Tom had time for one coherent thought. He sent Nagini after Harry so he would know where he lived. Then he let the anger take him, knowing that if he tried to keep it bottled up he would be a walking bomb, and it was better if he vented now, where no one got hurt. Hopefully Mrs. Mason would be intelligent enough not to come upstairs.

He knew his eyes were probably glowing red; he could feel the rage pulsing through him. How dare this boy disregard him like this? He was more powerful than that _boy_. He really wished he knew the boy's last name, calling him boy was redundant, and Harry sounded far too friendly.

The boy didn't know how to control his magic the way Tom did, he wasn't even sure it was magic. He was an idiot as well.

Tom had good reason to laugh at him. How could he be so idiotic that he didn't even notice he was speaking another language?

He paced back and forth across the floor, his anger building up inside him, pounding in his head.

The windows shattered.

The surge of uncontrolled magic brought Tom to his senses, his anger vented on the inanimate objects.

He had to calm down enough to fix the windows before Mrs. Mason came upstairs or went outside; or Mr. Mason came home. He hadn't had any strange accidents so far, and he didn't want to botch things up with barely a week in this new home.

He couldn't understand why they wanted to adopt him, of all people. When he was younger, he had dreamed of being adopted, but even then he couldn't hug and cuddle and laugh the way the other children did. He could have pretended of course, and when he got older he cursed himself for his stupidity, but at the time, he wanted parents who would love him for who he was.

He had outgrown that by the time he was six, realized that there was no such thing as love and happy endings, but by then he was too old, too sarcastic, too bitter. There were lots of adorable little three and four year olds that attracted the eyes of all the foster parents. Certainly the older children had chances to be adopted, _if_ they were willing to act like housebroken puppies, demonstrating an ability to follow instructions.

Tom wasn't capable of stomping on his pride like that, even for the freedom that being adopted would offer.

The Masons were the kind of foster parents he had dreamed of, not the kind, caring, overbearing type, but the type that understood that he wanted to be left alone.

Mr. Simon Mason was a famous defense lawyer, who made a lot more money than people looking at his house would think. And he wasn't interested in Tom at all. Mrs. Mason, Julie, had always wanted children, and when the doctors told her she couldn't, her husband agreed to adopt.

Tom was pretty sure that if he wanted to socialize, Simon would be more than willing, but otherwise he was indifferent.

Julie and Simon, for some reason that Tom couldn't even begin to understand, were hopelessly in love.

Julie had nothing in common with her husband. He fit the stereotype of a high profile lawyer: strict, organized, stoic. He had a streak of sarcasm and ruthlessness that Tom had noticed when he was taking a telephone call from work. Eventually, he might be willing to try and talk with him a little - being a lawyer sounded like a moderatley decent job. At the very least, having some legal experience ought to be useful in life.

Julie, on the other hand, reminded him of a teenage girl, despite being over three times his age. She laughed often and was always cheerful, full of life and energy. She never remembered where she put her car keys or that the plants had to be watered. She cooked random meals she saw on television, and added random spices into perfectly good food, resulting in the most bizarre flavors.

Julie could have been his worst nightmare, if she paid attention to him. Luckily, a few glares had quickly convinced her to leave him alone. He still didn't have any idea why they wanted to adopt him, though. The first time Julie had seen him, he was staring down a boy, Nicolas, who was in his year and who had the audacity to ask to borrow his textbook a few too many times. Tom had the nasty feeling that Nicolas had been dared to approach him, which infuriated him no end. Though he wasn't that demanding, really. He didn't hurt any of the other children, as long as they left him alone. When they figured that out, instead of leaving him alone, they made approaching him an object of dares. Did they truly have no sense whatsoever? It was as though they wanted to suffer. Tom had been using some of his magic to make himself look more intimidating while he interrogated Nicolas.

Then Mrs. Croft came into the room followed by the two Masons. Julie whispered something to her husband while staring at Tom. They left the room with Mrs. Croft, and 10 minutes later he was adopted.

It was _supposed _to take longer, but he figured Simon was more than capable of pulling a few strings.

It irritated him slightly, the way that he was adopted the way a puppy would be sold at a store. What irritated him even more was the way Julie kept on staring at him, examining him for something.

* * *

But none of that mattered now. All he cared about was that he wanted to stay. After he went through the reasons he had for wanting to stay, he had calmed down enough so that when he looked in the mirror, his eyes were a light purple, almost back to their ordinary color.

He was calm. He breathed deeply, and focused on the magic inside of him. Felt the glass and willed it to be whole again, complete.

He had his eyes shut, but he knew – he felt – that the fragments were floating up and putting themselves back together.

Finally, feeling drained, he opened his eyes. The windows were back exactly the way they were before.

Too tired for anything else, he fell into bed.

* * *

Despite his exhaustion, he awoke early the next morning, like always. It had been a fairly uneventful night and had gone by even quicker than usual. The couple hours he had spent as Riddle (he always thought of his dream self as Riddle to avoid confusion) had cleared his emotions remarkably well.

While he couldn't say that he regretted not having to go through the taunting and bullying Riddle went through in the period between when the children realized that there was something strange about Riddle and the time that Riddle grew strong enough to stop them, he felt a longing for Riddle's ability to feel nothing. If the only emotions he was capable of feeling were anger and rage, fiascos like yesterday would never have happened.

He knew what he was going to do about it, though. He had played nice, been kind, and it had gotten him nowhere. Now it was time to do what Riddle would have done.

Tom usually avoided the violence that Riddle had used, not needing to have everyone fear him. It was enough that they didn't disturb him and were wary of him. Even if he had to put up with the occasional idiot on a dare, he preferred that to spending a good portion of his time instilling the fear in people to make sure they wouldn't dare look at him.

But for Harry, he could make an exception, and he wouldn't even have to try and make his magic less obvious.

He could use the new trick he had learned as Riddle; the one that was now Riddle's favorite. If he concentrated on willing people to hurt, they would. No physical marks or unusual "accidents," just pain that resembled really, really bad cramps. It wasn't something that Tom had ever done before, not having the need or desire to make people suffer.

For Harry, he could make an exception.

While Tom wouldn't have admitted it to himself, part of the reason he had reacted so angrily the night before was because he had tried his best, and Harry hated him anyway. But now it didn't matter. If he couldn't get Harry to like him, he would have Harry fear him.

* * *

Today was Saturday, so he wouldn't see Harry at school, but Nagini had found his house easily enough the previous evening. He got the directions from her after breakfast, and walked to where she said the boy's house was. Left, second right, left, 4th house on the right.

Number four Privet Drive, was the correct house, according to the snake's description. He was going to ring on the doorbell to confront Harry when he realized that he was already outside, and he had noticed Tom. Judging by his even more scruffy appearance than the day before, he had been gardening.

A glance in the boy's eyes showed he was feeling apologetic. Not enough, Tom thought grimly, Not enough. He concentrated on feeling the same way Riddle did, on wanting Harry to be laying at his feet begging for mercy. It could have been different, but it was Harry who made the choice.

He focused how he had been feeling last night, and the magic surged through him, at Harry. Even as Harry fell to the ground, Tom felt that something was wrong with his magic.

...

A powerful force much stronger than Tom's own magic, threw him backwards, into the street. He couldn't move; he was being pinned to the ground by this mysterious power, the pain that he had intended to inflict on Harry searing him momentarily.

Then he saw the car speeding towards him – well over the speed limit – and he knew he was most likely going to die in a few seconds.

Unlike what most people say, time didn't slow down when he reached this realization. It sped up.

It was all he could see, the grey blur that was speeding toward him, that was going to kill him. He wasn't watching Harry, didn't realize where Harry was until he felt himself being shoved out of the way.

He was off the road, lying on the sidewalk, and then the car hit _Harry_. Harry _bounced_ off the car at an angle and the car skidded to a halt.

The next few minutes continued to be a blur... all he could see was Harry, lying on the ground, bleeding, his leg held at an impossible angle, obviously broken.

Distantly he was aware of the people screaming about calling an ambulance, but all he could focus on was that he was alive, that he hadn't died. That Harry was lying there on the ground instead of him. He couldn't understand _why_. It was that thought that would haunt him for the next three days, while he waited patiently for Harry to wake up, barely sleeping himself. He had to know _why_, and the worst part was, he had a feeling that Harry wouldn't be able to explain.

* * *

**Sorry about that... the next update will come sooner. **

**I already have the next two chapters typed up, and the next one will be up in the next two or three days, the second bubblegumpinktonks is done editing.**

**Be patient with this story... I already started writting Tom and Harry at Hogwarts, because I like that part so much better. Most of what's going on so far is backstory, so the way Tom and Harry act at Hogwarts makes sense. **

**REVIEW!**


	5. Chapter 4: Aftermath

**A/N: **

**00mrdragon00**

**animeflunky **

**Tamira **

**RRW **

**the-salt-monster**

**THANKS FOR REVIEWING!**

**Mostly, everyone's questions will be answered in this chapter, or in the two next ones, so you can wait a little for the answers...**

* * *

**Chapter 4: Aftermath**

**Tom's POV**

Tom got over his shock by the time the ambulances and police arrived. So he was easily able to describe what happened, but substituted "flew through the air and was pinned to the ground" with "tripped while crossing the street and hurt his ankle". Luckily, the driver of the car was so drunk he couldn't even walk the straight line, so his statement that Tom had "come flying out of the sky" would be completely disregarded.

Soon after Tom gave his statement to the police, and then two people came running out of number four Privet Drive.

He eavesdropped on the conversation they were having with the police officers, and determined that they were Petunia and Vernon Dursley, aunt and uncle of Harry Potter.

Listening to the police talk to the Dursleys some more, Tom was glad that the driver was drunk, which means that either he or the government would pay the hospital bill. From what he could tell reading between the lines, the Dursleys despised Harry Potter. They wouldn't be very happy with the boy if they wound up paying his hospital bill. At least now everything would be covered.

Listening to the informative conversation gave him an idea. If he was in the hospital, it would be fairly easy to learn all sorts of interesting things about Harry. Now he just needed to convince everyone involved it would be for the best…

Less than an hour later, he found himself in the hospital waiting for Harry to wake up.

It wasn't very difficult. The police had taken him home, where he told his adoptive parents the same story he told the police, also mentioning the fact that Harry was already his friend, one of the only kids that talked to him the day before. (Which was true, if you ignored the part where Harry was the only person that he allowed to speak.)

Julie gave him another one of those odd looks when he mentioned the name Harry Potter, but was very supportive of him wanting to visit the hospital. And Simon just went along with whatever she said.

Tom didn't care one whit about Harry. That wasn't something that he was trying to convince himself of, it was already completely true.

Tom was upset, maybe because Harry had been hit by a car, but not because he particularly sympathized with his suffering. The main reason he wanted Harry to get better was because Harry saved his life… he felt an intense need to repay that debt, though he wasn't sure why. But he wanted to get it out of the way as soon as possible, since it was attached to his magic and that deeply unnerved him.

Not to mention he really wanted a better understanding of Harry. He simply couldn't understand what Harry's reasoning was, what could possibly be worth risking his life for. If it wasn't for the life debt, he would still regret the chance to find out more about magic. Having someone else to compare notes with would be very useful.

He was waiting in the hospital for him to wake up, simply because Harry was the most interesting person he had met. Ever. And the most puzzling. Any time spent gaining information about Harry was time well spent. By playing the grateful boy who wanted to stay near his new friend and rescuer, he got plenty of information about Harry, which would be very useful later.

The hospital was a dull place, full of faded colors and blank walls. It lacked any semblance of life, even though it was full of bustling doctors and overworked nurses.

Tom hated it. He hated passing rooms in the hallway, knowing that many contained people that would soon die. He didn't feel pity or sorrow for those dying, but the constant reminder that he would one day die bothered him, especially so soon after his close brush with death. It could have been him lying in one of those beds. While he could do so many things with his magic, no matter how hard he tried, he could do nothing for injuries.

That was another reason for his interest in Harry. It was funny watching the doctors try and figure out why the first test results showed internal bleeding and several places that would need operations, while later tests showed that Harry was almost completely fine. But it also bothered him. He didn't like the idea of someone possessing a power he did not.

In between laughing at test results, he used a combination of magic and natural ability to remain unseen in rooms while people discussed Harry.

He learned some interesting facts about Harry, as well as the ordinary paperwork.

The most startling piece of information was that the fat boy, Dudley, was Harry's cousin. Hopefully Harry wouldn't interfere with whatever revenge Tom deemed suitable, but judging by their relationship, that wouldn't be a problem. Tom found out other things, like that Harry's parents had died in a car accident, supposedly. There was a huge problem with that paperwork, but the next day, everyone had mysteriously forgotten about it.

Julie had gotten another one of those strange expressions on her face when he mentioned the mysteriously forgotten paperwork. He was watching for it this time and thought it looked like a combination of pain and longing. But solving Harry took priority, so he pushed that information to the back of his mind to be examined at a later date.

He didn't think there was anything very suspicious about the paperwork though, just that people were slacking off. Harry had picked a bad time to get hit by a car. The hospital was overcrowded: a combination of various diseases and numerous accidents caused by the rainy early November weather.

By the third day of this, though, Tom was bored. It was Monday, so he was missing school. He didn't care about the lessons, but he wanted to make a good impression.

There were no more people holding conversations to eavesdrop on, there were no more unusual test results. They weren't even checking on Harry often anymore, since the only injuries that were left were broken bones and they had too many more pressing cases to deal with.

Tom had finished up all the law books that Simon agreed to let him borrow, and he had nothing left to do.

Just when Tom was going to give up and leave, Harry stirred.

* * *

**Harry's POV**

Harry opened his eyes reluctantly, not wanting to see the damage. He couldn't regret saving Tom, knowing that his injuries would heal faster than anybody else's. His bruises healed the day he got them, and he remembered one time when he broke his bone and the Dursleys didn't want to take him to a doctor, it set by itself. When he was being locked in his cupboard, he only got lunch for school, so the teachers wouldn't ask questions, and while he was small and skinny for his age, he never lacked energy or felt extremely hungry. He never was sick, either. The only medical problem that he did have was his poor eyesight.

He was afraid that he had gotten hit too hard for even his _magic _(he really had to get used to thinking of it that way) to heal. He wasn't in a lot of pain, but that was probably because of the medicine.

There was someone else in the room with him, but he didn't have his glasses on, so he couldn't tell who it was. The person apparently noticed that Harry was awake though, and they brought him his glasses. As his vision cleared, he was startled to see Tom, looking exhausted and rumpled.

He was glad Tom was okay, he hadn't been sure he had gotten him far enough out of the car's path. The fact that Tom had been hurting him moments before he got hit by the car wasn't relevant. Harry almost felt he deserved that. He still didn't know why he stormed off like that when he was in Tom's room, why he had reacted without thinking. He had been speaking snake, how could that have been faked? But by the time he realized that, he had gotten home, and been locked in the cupboard for the night.

He knew the second he saw Tom the next day that he was going to be in pain. The fury that Tom radiated was calm and controlled, but no less frightening than the wild anger he had displayed the first time Harry had seen him at school.

He hadn't expected much from Tom for saving his life, that wasn't why he had done it. He would have done the same for Dudley, even if he had known that he would act the same as always. He didn't want Tom do be his friend because he felt bad for the "freak" that saved his life. He would want Tom as a friend, but not because he felt he owed him.

Back at the hospital, Tom said nothing, just glared at him coldly, which reassured Harry. Tom wasn't the kind of person who would do something because he felt he had to; Harry knew that much from the short amount of time they had spent together.

The silence continued. Finally Harry gathered his strength and whispered, "How long have I been knocked out? How bad am I injured?"

"You've been out for three days, but you don't have anything worse than a few broken bones. The doctors can't explain why nothing else is wrong with you; with how fast the car was going, you should have a lot of internal bleeding and all that other fun stuff." Tom smirked. "It's almost like magic." Then his face relaxed and his cold mask returned.

It was silent again. This time it was Tom who broke it, his frigid voice carrying a hint of anger. "I owe you my life…"

Harry tried to interrupt, saying that at worst he would be in the hospital right now, but Tom cut him off.

"I was lying on the ground, the only reason you're not dead right now is because you were standing up. I was completely unable to move, the car would have rolled right over my head.

"As I was saying, I owe you my life. Tell me what I must do to repay this debt. You can collect now or you can wait on it."

Harry was about to tell Tom that this was ridiculous, and he didn't have to do anything like that, when Tom's expressionless face gave Harry an idea.

"Um, would it be possible for you to answer whatever questions I ask you, as honestly as you can? They're going to mostly be about what you're thinking, I have a hard time understanding you. Er, I'll be as honest as I can if you want to ask me questions also, just to be fair."

Tom tensed, and an unreadable expression filled his face as he gave a curt nod.

"Like right now… what are you thinking about?"

A pained look flashed across Tom's eyes. He paused, as if he was considering whether or not to answer. When he finally did, it was hesitant and uncertain, like he wasn't used to speaking the truth.

"At first I was thinking that it was a … naïve request… one where you couldn't tell if I was complying with it or not. I could still lie and you wouldn't know… I was going to cooperate, but you couldn't know that. And I was thinking that it was not a very valuable thing; that the truth would cost me very little. When you asked me what I was thinking though, I realized that I had underestimated you. It was very valuable to have another person's honest insight and even more valuable to know what they're thinking. It's difficult to find out what people are thinking no matter how hard I push, and it doesn't work on stronger people, or people guarding a secret. I also didn't realize how hard it would be to say what I'm thinking… it's not something I'm used to doing."

There was a pause. Harry couldn't tell from Tom's expression whether he was planning on continuing or not, so he decided to comment.

"You were the one who offered in the first place. I wouldn't have asked for anything otherwise."

Tom's expression was priceless. He was looking at Harry in a way that made him wonder if he had grown a second head. Harry had never seen Tom looked so bewildered, not even when he pushed him out of the way of the car.

"But, but… WHY? You risked your _life_ to try and save me. The only possible motivation that made any sense is that you knew I was powerful and wanted something from me, and even then you're being generous and getting the worst end of the deal. Bloody hell, I was planning on punishing you for being disrespectful, you had to realize that. I was threatening you and I was about to… do something… to make you hurt, badly.

"You felt the beginning of it, didn't you? Even if you were the reason I was blown halfway across the street I don't think you did it on purpose, you looked too surprised. And if you did do it on purpose, it was self-defense. And if someone had acted to me the way I did to you… I would have blown them across the street, and _laughed _when the car rolled them over.

"I was sure that you were going to ask for even more than you had, that when I was done answering your questions you were going to ask for something more. Or you would find out how to cause pain the way I can and use it on me… you don't help others for nothing.

Tom turned away from Harry lying on the bed. "If you were a lot weaker than me, I'd say you wanted some of my power, but you're not. You're almost as strong as I am, if not stronger. There was nothing I could do to stop myself from being shoved across the street, nothing at all. You would have stopped a possible rival if you let that car kill me."

Tom was out of breath when he finished his passionate rant. He was clearly telling the truth; Harry had never seen him that convinced about anything. And he could see the truth in his eyes.

"Is that what the inside of your mind is like? I couldn't exactly follow it, but you had at least three possible reasons for my saving your life, two of them for why it was a bad idea that I did what I did. I bet that you could have kept on going for a good five minutes about possible motives, and reasons why they would or wouldn't be likely."

"I could probably go on for half an hour, if it came to that. But anywhere past the ten minute mark would be me talking to take up time. None of it a very realistic possibility." Tom said with a hint of a smile, amused by Harry's comment.

"Would you have mentioned the possibility that I would do that for anyone, without expecting anything in return, in that half hour?"

"No." Tom said simply, looking at Harry expectantly. He looked more and more impatient, until he asked. "So why did you save my life?"

Harry was confused. "I just told you, weren't you listening?"

Tom looked angry, which didn't surprise Harry much; but what he sensed under the anger made Harry doubt the accuracy of his newfound talent at sensing Tom's emotions. Disappointment was not a response he expected Tom to feel – ever – much less now, for no obvious reason.

"What's wrong? Why are you upset?"

Harry flinched, feeling Tom rage like a physical blow. He looked at Tom's eyes, hoping for an explanation there, but gasped at what met his eyes. Tom's pupils were slits, set in a blood-red iris.

Just as the Harry started to feel afraid, Tom closed his eyes and breathed deeply, his hands clenched into fists so tightly his nails were almost drawing blood.

When Tom opened his eyes again, they were almost back to normal, but Tom avoided Harry's gaze anyway, and started at the ground.

"I'm sorry. You don't have to tell me why you saved me."

"Look me in the eyes, Tom." Tom looked up. "Can't you tell when someone is lying, with magic? I'm telling the truth. I saved you because I felt I had a better chance of surviving the accident than you did. I would have done the same for anyone. I would have saved you even if I knew I would never see you again. I would have saved your life even if I thought you would try to hurt me again. And those few seconds you were hurting me hurt _a lot_. I _am_ telling the truth, Tom. Why won't you believe me?"

"You're telling the truth… almost. You did want something didn't you? But you weren't going to ask for it were you?"

Tom stared into Harry's eyes, confused, but determined to find the answer.

"_Tell me_," he hissed.

The words had a force behind them. Harry opened his mouth, and promptly closed it again. He blinked several times unnecessarily.

"Stop doing that! Now I've got a headache." Harry glared at Tom. "You keep switching between claiming you owe more than you can ever repay and trying to get more information. Make up your mind!"

Tom had the decency to look ashamed, even if Harry knew it was completely faked.

"Are you going to answer my question?"

Now Harry was the one to avoid eye contact.

Tom waited patiently, tapping his foot.

"I wanted a friend. Someone who Dudley couldn't scare off, someone who wouldn't think I was a freak."

Tom's eyes held a strange combination of anger, confusion, and Harry couldn't be sure, but, longing.

"If you wanted friendship, why didn't you demand it from me to repay my debt?"

"That wouldn't be friendship then… You can't order someone to be your friend."

"Why not?"

"It's about sharing interests, and helping each other without worrying about repaying them. It's about caring –"

Tom interrupted him, a sneer on his face. Harry was regretting answering that question. Tom's mood had shifted again, the rage that Harry could always sense was close to the surface again.

"Have you actually watched people… Just sat there and watched the way people interact? I've seen people order other people to be their friends. I've seen people intimidating people into friendship. People create friendships to get power or protection. Not because they care about each other. Love doesn't exist, Harry. People think it does, but it's worthless. Compared to fear, love affects nothing. Of course you can order friendship. You can command anything, if you have the power."

Harry was startled. He knew that Tom was more angry and cold than any person he had ever met, but the way he described the world was even more gloomy than he had expected.

"That's a rather… harsh outlook. Isn't it depressing, to feel that way about life?"

"It's realistic." Tom said shortly, "I see the world for what it truly is."

A silence fell between them.

"Now it's my turn to ask the questions. You said that the honesty would go both ways, yes?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Of course."

"What do you think of me now, that you know…what I'm truly like? Any regrets about saving my life?"

Harry looked at the floor. He couldn't tell Tom what he was thinking. Tom would kill him!

"Afraid to answer my question?" Tom's voice was soft, but alive with malice. "Perhaps you _are_ regretting saving my life. It wasn't a very good idea in the first place."

"No," Harry said softly, "I pity you. I would hate seeing the world that way. Does it make you happy? To feel more powerful than others?"

Tom laughed a cruel, disbelieving laugh. It was a laugh that reminded Harry of something: a flash of green light, screaming.

"You feel bad for me perhaps, but there's more, isn't there. No disgust, no anger? You're the least selfish person I've met. I _know_ you're judging me, thinking me evil. You were willing to lay down your life for a _stranger_; I would laugh as that stranger got run over. I wasn't just saying that. It's true, and if the person was someone I didn't like, I'd probably give them a good shove as well. Come on, tell me what a horrible disgusting person I am. Tell me I'm a monster. Tell me you hate me."

Harry's green eyes widened, showing Tom the truth behind what he was saying. "It's not my place to judge, Tom. I barely know you. I don't hate people, and even if I did, you're not that high up on the list."

Tom stared into Harry's eyes, and Harry got the uncomfortable feeling that he was reading more than what Harry meant for him to see.

Tom laughed again, but it wasn't the cruel laugh from before. The laugh was bitter, but coated with amusement.

"You are the strangest person I've ever met. All of that, and underneath it all, you're still hoping that perhaps I want a friend."

There was a pause, but Harry knew that Tom was thinking deeply about something.

"When I first met you, I wanted to have you as a friend as well. But the problem is your definition is different from my definition. I reacted that badly now, because if you agreed, then you would think that I actually cared about you, and I don't. I don't want to pretend to you. I'll be your friend, in the sense that we'll do things together, but don't get too attached. It's stupid, and will only hurt you in the end, since nothing can last forever. Sooner or a later a better deal will come a long, and then… "

"If nothing can last forever," Harry argued, "Then what's the point of living. You can't live forever either; you just enjoy life while it lasts."

Tom laughed softly, his most childlike laugh of the day, but it still had a dark side.

"I have a solution: I don't plan on dying. They're has to be a way to stop death, and I'll find it. You're an example of that. You should have died, but here you are, with no permanent injuries. Our magic can keep us alive."

Then he paused, thinking his words over. When he spoke again, there was a light smile on his lips.

"We're better than the other people are. That's something I've believed my whole life: that my powers made me special, destined for greatness. I am, and you could be, better than the ordinary people, in every way. _Their_ friendships are weak and fragile; prone to breaking over slight, insignificant things, but perhaps ours will be stronger, greater."

There was a pause.

"Don't count on it though. I'm willing to give it a shot, but I want you to remember this, as a final gift for saving my life. _I will always make the best deal for myself_. We'll spend time together, learn together, but don't think it's possible for me to care about you. I look after myself and myself only. As long as you remember that, this can work out."

He held out his hand, "So, friends?"

Harry took it. "Friends." And they shook on it.

* * *

**Tom's POV**

To say that Tom was deeply bothered by the conversation would be an understatement.

The boy was just… too naïve and too innocent. The reasons that he gave for risking his own life unnerved Tom, just as the request for honesty.

He regretted allowing Harry to name a request in return for removing the debt. While in the end, it had worked out fairly well, Harry could have asked for something much more difficult to give. And he hadn't realized that agreeing to speak the truth would actually force him to do so.

It never occurred to him that all his barriers might be removed, that he might be forced to speak what he truly felt for the first time in his life. Not completely of course, he didn't let Harry know that he was in fact _forced_ to speak the truth, and he could think of so many completely true answers for any question that by the time he got to something he didn't want to say, Harry had moved on.

But still, he had revealed much more than he ever would have willingly.

However the debt was paid now, the cost, not as high as it could have been.

While he had appeared weaker than he would have liked, Harry wasn't the type that would take advantage of that, and he had gained himself an ally, a friend as Harry put it.

He would be a good friend, he promised himself. Having a friend would be hard, stranger than being adopted or going to a new school. But he would do as good of a job of it as he could, without getting attached. Maybe if he could manage that, he would understand Harry better.

And if he knew Harry better, he might find out how Harry could heal himself. Something he wanted to know very badly.

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**A/N I know I'm a day or two late... but you got a thousand and a half word bonus that originaly wasn't in the chapter (Tom's POV, both parts) **

**I don't know when my next update will be, it might be a while, but no more than two weeks.**

**REVIEW!**


	6. Chapter 5: School

**A/N**

**I made some major changes in Tom's POV towards the end, regarding Riddle, and Tom's attitude towards Harry, so it flows better with the rest of the story. If you're re-reading this chapter, be aware of that. **

**Chapter 5: School**

**Harry's POV**

Harry got out of the hospital a week after regaining consciousness, the same day Dudley managed to fall down the stairs at school and break three bones, shattering them badly enough to need an operation. The Dursleys didn't want Harry near their precious Duddykins when he was defenseless even though they couldn't really blame Harry for the accident. They convinced the hospital personnel to let their nephew out early with the obviously transparent excuse that they wanted "at least one of the boys around the house."

It was a sign as to how desperate the hospital was for empty beds that they bought it.

Harry was glad; Tom had gone back to school the day after he regained consciousness and only came back to visit a few times, and he always seemed distracted, like he was thinking about something else. Harry thought he was probably regretting his decision to be friends, and Dudley was making life hard for him, along with all the other kids at school.

He knew he was being ridiculously naive about Tom, ignoring everything except his goal to be friends with Tom at least for a while; but the last time there had been a new kid at school, it had been one of the best times of his life. For two weeks he had someone to talk to at lunch every day; until Dudley recovered from the flu, and Jacob realized that being the new kid on his own was better than being the new kid with Harry.

But now that Dudley was in the hospital, it meant that Tom would stay his friend for at least a little longer. Even though Tom wouldn't let himself get pushed around as easily as Jacob, Harry still felt that with Dudley and his gang threatening everyone, Tom wouldn't feel it was worth his while being Harry's friend. Tom had a sense of power around him, but what could one person do against 20?

The accident had bought him a few days of peace; more, if you took into account Dudley not being able to do much in cast, or possibly a wheelchair.

Not only that, but the hospital costs were covered by the drunk driver, so the Dursley's didn't have too much of a reason to be angry at him. He wasn't even going to be kept locked in his cupboard outside of school for healing "unnaturally quick." The doctors claimed that he had gotten extremely lucky when hit by the car and didn't have that many injuries. But Harry had heard the doctors talking when they thought he was asleep, and they didn't want the added hassle trying to explain to his relatives why he had recovered from near fatal injuries so quickly.

For once in his life, things were going his way... Now hopefully without Dudley, the other kids wouldn't give Tom too much trouble.

He didn't know how much he had underestimated Tom.

**Teacher's POV (collective)**

The teachers all loved Tom, their star pupil who never caused any trouble. In the few days he had been in school after the "Potter boy's tragic accident," he had gotten perfect scores on all the tests and he was beautifully mannered.

The tale of how he had waited for three days until the Potter boy, who had saved his life, (hard to believe that of the nasty Potter boy, but if dear Foster says that, it must be true) regained consciousness, because he wanted to thank the boy and make sure he was alright, made them all think of what a sweet boy he was.

Perhaps they had misjudged the Potter boy, maybe the fights and strange happenings weren't his fault. After all, the children Potter claimed bullied him were trying to bother Foster, even if he dealt with the situation much better.

When they failed to provoke him, when dear Foster decided to stay inside during lunch and help out the teachers, instead of being harassed outside, they resorted to coming up with the craziest stories.

Did Polkins and Dursley and all their other friends really think that stories of people mysteriously falling down stairs or getting injured in other ways after they argued with Tom were really believable, especially since Tom was never near the scene of the accident?

Maybe there were more injuries in the few days Tom had been in school, many more than there had ever been before, but the only evidence that connected him to injured students was the claims of him threatening them, and only the trouble making students claimed that. The quiet students, the ones that did well in class, didn't have any complaints against Foster.

So how could such a nice boy be responsible? It had to be some of the trouble makers staging accidents trying to pin the blame on the new kid they saw as a teacher's pet.

Those boys were probably falling on purpose, all of them being friends and none of them hurt badly. The only fall that didn't seem part of this collective effort to get Foster in trouble was Dudley Dursley, and the only reason he fell was because of Jenny Everson, who had nothing in common with the other children that were making false complaints and didn't have anything to say about Tom at all.

…

**Tom's POV**

Tom couldn't believe it was that simple, couldn't believe that none of the teachers suspected him. Even the students that he hadn't threatened thought him to be innocent.

He had thought it would be much harder. It was just _too_ _easy_, away from the people who knew there was something strange about him long before he was able to control it.

The teachers here hadn't had years of glass breaking when he was upset, of unusual accidents when he was nearby.

…

As Riddle he was violent and unconcerned about being noticed.

This was because when Riddle was young, strange things happened around him too often for them not to realize he was the cause of it. The adults mostly ignored it, or punished him when they could reasonably pin the blame on him.

But the other children… they bullied him mercilessly, tried to break him, make him cry. Tom thought he understood why.

The other children were afraid of Riddle from the start; cold-eyed, blank-faced Riddle, even when he was barley more than a toddler. They knew he was powerful, Tom could see that in their eyes every time they pushed him down. When he refused to cry no matter what they did to him, it frightened them even more. They tried to belittle him, make him feel powerless, in order to prevent him from reaching his full potential.

Tom knew that neither he nor Riddle was capable of growing up to be _kind_ or _considerate_, but the other children broke Riddle in a way that they didn't intend. They made him hate with a deep, unbendable hate. Tom hated too, but not in the way Riddle did.

They also taught Riddle a lesson, a very important lesson. A lesson about fear.

For the most part the orphans were not evil, they were not vicious, and they did not take pleasure in Riddle's suffering. Yet, they made Riddle suffer for years and years, driven by fear, trying to intimidate him.

Not only did fear make people act irrationally, but fear destroyed confidence, and without confidence there could be no victory.

Once Riddle learned how to make people hurt and how to make accidents happen, most of the orphans immediately stopped picking on him, even though they outnumbered him a hundred to one. If they banded together, they could have easily stopped Riddle.

Return pain for pain, and Riddle would not have been able to fend off all the students. But they were too afraid, and their fear made them helpless.

The more he hurt them, the less they defended themselves, despite easily having the numbers to do something about it.

The power of fear at its finest.

…

Tom approved of what Riddle did, even though he had never tried anything of that magnitude.

While in the orphanage as himself everyone suspected the strange happenings, before he learned control, were because of him as well. But the children were not so afraid as to attack him, why he wasn't sure.So he didn't show off his abilities; there was no need to. The people around him simply weren't worth the trouble.

They didn't hurt him, and he didn't hurt them. He spent his time perfecting control and studying instead, waiting for the moment he would need to use his powers. But if they had tried to punish him unfairly, he would have reacted as badly as Riddle did, if not worse.

Here in Little Whinging, he wasn't quite as bad as Riddle; none of the accidents had been permanent, or even requiring medical treatment, except for Dudley, and that was purely an accident. This was only a preemptive strike, so the children would know what was coming, in retribution for what they did to Harry, as well as a general intimidation technique.

The idea of being friends with Harry was… promising. Riddle wouldn't be capable of it, but Tom wasn't Riddle. The hatred didn't run as deep in him, and now he finally had a way of proving it to himself.

Not that he was willing to suffer anything but minor inconveniences for the friendship, but still, it could be pleasant, enjoyable, and perhaps even _fun _if Tom went about it the right way.

Tom wasn't sure on how to be a friend. He'd never had one and he didn't want to base his friendship on observations of ordinary, worthless people. His friendship had to be better than theirs if he was going to bother with one at all. Tom wasn't very good at talking, and talking to Harry was worse than talking to other people, because he always wound up losing control.

Instead Tom chose something he was good at to show he was friends with Harry. Tom was sure Harry would want to get revenge personally, so he was only doing minor injuries. When Harry got back, he could teach Harry how to control his magic, and then they could come up with much more creative punishments.

Besides the obvious benefit of causing pain and instilling fear, starting off slow this way guaranteed that the people being punished wouldn't run to the teachers next time, since this time all it did was get them in trouble for telling lies.

That had to count as a good, friendly gesture; Tom was only hurting people that disliked Harry, which logically meant that Harry would dislike them back, and then he would give Harry opportunity to punish them further, without the teachers even suspecting him.

All the practice he had done, in both lives, paid off, giving him better control. Now he could make the falls truly look, if not totally natural, like the ones falling had caused them intentionally. A large improvement over an invisible force thrusting them off the stairs, which meant that the only people who knew for sure something strange was going on were the ones that fell. And not needing to be so close was just as good as being unnoticeable. Keeping his distance was the best thing.

Dudley's accident was the last one, one that he had put off because of what had happened with Harry. Until he found out what went wrong with Harry, he wasn't going to risk the ability being genetic, even if Dudley was about as magical as a dead slug.

The accidents he staged with the other students kept getting closer and closer to Dudley, but with no adverse effects to Tom, confirming at least one theory. While he wasn't sure he could use magic directly against Dudley, an accident could happen in other ways.

He had some girl from his math class, the one that kept tapping her foot until Tom wanted to strangle her, fall on top of Dudley from behind, in an empty staircase. Tom had made sure he fell from pretty high up, and his weight took care of the rest.

Dudley was the worst injury by far, shattering two bones in his leg and his wrist. They had to bring an ambulance for him; part of his bone was sticking out of his leg, blood spouting out all over the place.

Tom passed him as they were taking him out on a stretcher, and it took all his self control not to start laughing in the hallway. He hadn't intended for it to be quite that bad, but the fat slug had it coming to him. If he had weighed a hundred pounds less he would have been fine. But that wasn't Toms fault was it?

Hopefully Harry wouldn't mind too much, Tom could definitely find something more painful for him to watch. A cave would be good, someplace where they could keep hurting him until he wouldn't be able to even say what happened. He would suggest that to Harry later.

It wasn't until the evening before Harry was due to return to school that Tom had doubts about the whole venture. What if Harry hated it? Harry was so passive, so idiotically nice; he probably would be upset on behalf of the other kids. He had put the boy's cousin in the hospital with several broken bones. Tom didn't even have the faintest understanding of the bonds in a family; he might have misinterpreted everything, and Harry and his cousin actually cared about each other.

Despite his doubts, Tom wasn't going to hide what he had done. He was proud of it. Causing pain on a large scale was like a work of art, and what he had managed at Little Whinging was the beginning of a masterpiece. Never before had he had the chance to get away with so much without any suspicion.

If Harry strongly disapproved, then he simply wouldn't take things as far as he could. That had to be a reasonable compromise. As long as Harry didn't react too badly…

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**… I know I tweaked Tom's personality a little with this chapter, but otherwise it just wasn't working… I wrote something like five different versions of chapter seven to go with a less friendly Tom, and none of them worked. **


	7. Chapter 6: Friendship

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A/N -

Yay! It finally got beta'd...

**Disclaimer - I wish I was JK Rowling...**

For Harry, by the end of January his life was perfect. Or if not perfect, better than he had ever dreamed of it being.

At school, he was left alone. Tom did mostly keep his promise not to hurt others without a reason (there were a few days when he was in a bad mood and everyone suffered) but didn't harm anyone that didn't try to harass them first. Nevertheless, some of the kids refused to believe that it was rather unhealthy to bully "the freak" and even more dangerous to hassle "the new kid." And Tom viewed being bullied as permission to strike back in full force. By the time he managed to ensure that they were left in peace, there was more damage to go around than a few broken bones.

Dudley's self-preservation overrode his natural tendencies to torment Harry. Watching the devastation that followed when someone did something to get onto Tom's bad side, not to mention his own experiences, he did the first intelligent thing in his life.

He desperately tried not to irritate Tom or Harry. That wouldn't have helped him if Harry wasn't so forgiving. As for Tom, he wanted nothing more than to send him back to the hospital, and this time for a longer stay. But Harry had had enough of the violence, and insisted on leaving Dudley alone.

Even his life with the Dursleys had improved drastically. Maybe not improved, but simply lessened. He spent every afternoon and evening at Tom's, and most of the weekend as well.

Julie and Simon were everything he had dreamed of as parents. Julie mothered him constantly, feeding him so much he thought he would explode, taking him shopping for new clothes after clucking disapprovingly at his rags. Tom wasn't very complementary of her at first, saying that if she wanted a doll to play with, she could have gotten a five year old girl. Just because she made a mistake adopting Tom didn't mean she could make up her mistake by pretending to adopt his friend as well.

Harry eventually softened towards her, after Tom and Harry truly started getting along when Tom saw how much Harry loved the attention. Julie was still more of Harry's mother than his. Tom wasn't the kind of child that needed, or wanted, a mother.

Simon on the other hand, was Tom's father through and through. He treated Harry nicely and was a far better father figure than Harry ever any hope of having, but it was Tom whom he absolutely adored. When Tom finally started being social and started demonstrating his brilliance, Simon discovered that Tom was born a lawyer.

Harry thought he was possibly the only kind of person who Tom would consent viewing as a father figure. Harry had thought in the beginning that Simon was too nice to make a good lawyer. But he realized that was as far from the truth as it could get when he saw Simon working on a case. There was never an impossible case or evidence too overwhelming for Simon Mason. He was ruthless and cunning; there were no lines he wouldn't cross to make sure he won. He and Tom could unite under the common mantra "use any means to achieve an end."

He played chess with Tom, spent hours going over law books with him, even worked on cases with him. He swore to anyone that would listen that Tom could be a world class lawyer if wanted to be, and was already better than half the lawyers working at his firm.

Despite Tom's frequent denials, Harry knew that he did view Simon as a father figure, even if the part about him not caring was still true.

To Harry's intense relief no one asked him questions about his home life. Tom and the Masons both seemed to presume that the Dursleys simply ignored Harry, something he encouraged. Harry thought they assumed he had his own bedroom at least… he doubted they would have let him stay there if they knew he lived a cupboard.

Simon did pull him over one day and told him that based on the evidence, if Harry wanted, Simon could take the Dursleys to court and have Harry removed from their custody. But since the Mason's didn't have a legal claim on Harry, not to mention that they had already adopted one child very recently, it might be difficult for them to get custody of him.

He advised that as long as they left him alone it would be easier if he spent all his time at the Masons, but that the Dursleys retained legal custody. Harry chose to stay; he didn't want to put the Mason's through even more trouble than they had already gone through for him. It's not like it mattered, really. He got clothes, food, even spending money. Although the only thing he had bought with his money was Christmas presents for the Masons.

Simon did mention that he would "see what he could do and pull a few strings" in the beginning of December, and Harry had failed to discourage him.

The cupboard wasn't that small, and there were only three or four hours a day in which the Dursleys could make him do chores.

The Dursleys were surprisingly willing to let Harry out of the house as often as he liked. The work he did around the house was worth more than Dudley's hand-me-down clothes and leftovers from meals. They should have been protesting the work loss.

It wasn't until Uncle Vernon commented, "Let the Mason's deal with your unnatural freakishness, at least you're not in the house contaminating Dudley," that he realized the Dursleys had to know at least a little about his magic. But he hadn't had nearly enough strange events happen around him for it to be obvious to his relatives. Tom blew things up or made things float almost every week when he was younger, while he had maybe five or six unusual things happen to him in his whole life

After a month or so, right before the Christmas holidays, the Dursleys started to forbid him from leaving the house. Harry's theory was that they thought the Masons would get tired of having him around on their own, so they wouldn't need to interfere. But when that didn't happen the Dursleys realized they would need to take action.

Tom noticed Harry's more frequent absences and didn't seem to buy the excuses that Harry made. The first day of Christmas break, Harry was basically kidnapped to the Masons for the week. Everyone was in on the plot – and nobody would tell him why he wasn't allowed back to the Dursleys.

When school was let back in, he returned to the Dursleys to discover that his "Christmas present" was Dudley's second bedroom. He never had to do any more chores, and the Dursleys, especially Uncle Vernon, got an angry yet frightened look on their face whenever the Masons, especially Simon, were mentioned. They also paled when the word "lawyer" came up, even when it was the radio or television that had said it.

Whenever Harry mentioned this to the Mason's, Tom and Simon got matching smirks, and Julie smiled one of her rare, predatory smiles. The only thing he ever got out of them was "You'd be surprised at what inconsistencies can turn up going through old records … Vernon should have been a little more honest at his job."

As for the actual friendship between Tom and Harry…

Tom and Harry sat on the couch in Tom's room. Tom insisted on it, despite there being only a half meter between it and the bed – a couch was the best thing for having discussions on, and he wasn't going to talk in the living room where he could be overheard. They were eating a fresh baked batch of cookies and laughing. Tom was scribbling something in his notebook, while Harry stared at his own notebook blankly. Tom insisted that he get one himself, for organizing his thoughts.

"What am I supposed to do with this, exactly?"

"Write something"

"Write what?"

"You know, it's been two months since you got out of the hospital… we should reminisce about the early days of our friendship."

"Two months isn't that long, you know. Most people start getting, what's that fancy word, oh yea, nostalgic, when they've known each other for like twenty years or something."

"I'm pretty sure there are people that have changed less in twenty years than we have in the past month…And nostalgic isn't that big of a word, really Potter, must you struggle like that?"

Tom pushed Harry, lightly. Harry stuck his tongue out. He knew on a certain level that the laughter was forced. That people didn't change overnight. But it didn't matter. He had a friend. Something he wouldn't have believed possible a few months ago. Thanks to that friendship, he had a family as well.

It was enough to have friendship and family…to be wanted and cared for. It didn't have to be real.

"Write it down Harry, so we can remember it… what you were feeling about everything that was going on."

"I don't want to write in a stupid diary."

"Then write in third person or something."

"Fine. But it's still stupid."

_If it wasn't for the fringe benefits that being Tom's friend bought, Harry wasn't sure the friendship would have made it past the first week._

"I knew it! You were only my friend because it got you things. And to think… I actually believed you cared."

Tom pulled a wounded expression. Flawlessly convincing, showing Harry openly how well he could lie. In a way it comforted Harry, knowing that Tom was dropping subtle hints so Harry would suspect the deception.

"At least I care now…Do you?"

"No. But I tell you frequently you are an idiot. You caring is a further example."

Harry sighed…Tom still didn't care, even though he could joke around and act like a proper friend. Tom always told him not to worry about that, that his friendship with him brought him closer to caring than he would have thought possible. And Harry believed that was true. Had to believe it wasn't all a lie, at least part of it.

Still, Harry knew that Tom could turn on him in a second, if it benefited him.

He picked up his pen and started again. He glanced at Tom, "Don't interrupt, I'm trying to focus here."

_Even after Tom had explained what he had done to the other kids, Harry passed it off as self-defense or Tom being overaggressive since he was a new kid and therefore really nervous, and would rather be the attacker than the attacked._

_It wasn't until the second day, when a few upper-year boys tried to get some of Tom's lunch money that he realized that something was deeply wrong with Tom: he really was the individual who cared for nobody. Harry had thought, before, that it was because he was like Harry, and never had anyone to care about him and therefore no one to care for._

"You know better than that now… right? You wouldn't have any delusions about me caring about anyone besides myself?"

Harry had recovered from his melancholy. He got off the couch, and said with a dramatic voice, "You wound me so… And here I thought you loved me?"

He fell forwards onto the bed while Tom laughed and beat him up with a pillow.

"Imbecile."

There was a real smile under that laughter. Tom was enjoying his charade.

"Careful… you'll spill the cookies. And I thought I told you to be quiet. Writing is hard work. And you reading over my shoulder is getting annoying."

_The upper-year got away with the money, but Harry had a feeling that Tom could have stopped him. But he wasn't looking for an excuse to hurt somebody. Even though Tom was getting better at hiding his emotions from Harry, there was a feeling of deep satisfaction and longing coming off him when he said that he had a valid reason for retribution, which he couldn't completely mask._

_The boy stood next to a wall, right by a window. Some boys played catch, while Tom watched with a look of intense concentration on his face. He flicked his hand, and one of the boys threw the ball hard, but at a wrong angle, straight at the lunch money thief by the window. The boy reached to catch the ball, but his hand was too close to the window… the momentum of the ball carried his hand through the glass, shattering it._

"That was brilliant, first time I tried that, and I got it absolutely perfect. Worked better than I had expected."

"You're sick, you know that? The kind of sick they lock people into mental hospitals for."

Despite hating the violence, Harry didn't say those lines with seriousness. It was another sign that there was something real. Tom could have found excuses for himself, not shown openly how little the suffering of others affected him. But he didn't, he showed his true colors. One less lie.

"There is a fine line between genius and insanity. I'm on the genius side of the line; you just have bad eyesight, and can't tell the difference."

"If that was supposed to be a joke, it was pathetic."

"Never mind. Keep writing."

_There was glass in the boy's hand, in his arms; even a few spare shards marred his face. There was blood everywhere, and Tom smiled a feral, satisfied smile watching the blood even as a teacher ran out and tried to stop the flow. His gaze was fascinated, his eyes jet black, tinted with red. Tom gazed at Harry's horrified expression, and said calmly, "He took my lunch money. I hurt him more than he hurt me, but he's the one attacking people he sees as defenseless, without provocation. I plan on keeping my word: I won't attack people who don't try to hurt me first. So who's the monster, me or him?"_

_"But, but… you enjoyed seeing him in pain…" Harry trailed off. He didn't know the words to describe the feral joy on Tom's face when he watched the blood flow and heard the screaming._

_"Did you ever think the boy doesn't enjoy the fear he creates taking money from children half his size? I know your cousin and his friends enjoy beating up younger children, for no other reason than to cause pain. How is what I do worse than that?"_

_Maybe Harry was wrong… maybe it wasn't the feral, vicious joy that made Tom's actions seem crueler than anything his cousin did. Maybe it was the ease with which Tom caused pain. A few seconds and a flick of a wrist, and he had more damage than Dudley could ever hope to achieve._

_He was glad Tom didn't ask whether he was a monster then… he wasn't sure he could answer no._

Tom wasn't laughing anymore. "I saw it in your face… I could see what you thought of me. I didn't regret it, not for a moment, but I did wish I hadn't done that in front of you."

"I still don't understand why… But I can't hate you for it, anyway, even though I still believe you're wrong."

"There is no right or wrong, Harry. I've told you that already."

"There is only power and those too weak to seek it… I know, I know. Repeating it doesn't make me believe it anymore, it makes me want to write it out and then burn it. And then spread the ashes to the four corners of the earth."

Harry smiled again, his comments designed to lighten the mood. Tom always got irritable when it came to morals. He wanted Tom's good mood to last as long as possible. Not for his sake. Regardless, Tom wouldn't hurt him, at least not unless he had something fairly big to gain from it. But other people around him…

It worked. Tom laughed. Real or not, Harry couldn't tell.

"Burn it? Spread the ashes? Clearly I'm a bad influence on you."

Tom must have realized how much he had horrified and repulsed Harry. He hadn't performed any acts of violence like that near Harry before. A few other children didn't believe that Tom was dangerous, but Harry heard about them second hand, as he was nowhere near Tom when they happened.

Friendship with Tom didn't have a great social aspect either. The only thing which he seemed to want to talk about was magic. He took notes of what Harry said, asking him to describe every time he could remember something strange happening around him and what he was feeling at the moment.

"I didn't know what else to talk about. I've probably said more to you than I've said to everyone else in my whole life. Besides, you weren't exactly starting the conversations either. And you can't say that finding out where our magic comes from isn't important."

Harry wasn't sure if it was even worth trying to separate the lies from the truth… Tom's lies meshed with his truths seamlessly, perfectly crafted.

"Any luck yet?"

"No. Shut up."

_Tom also seemed unusually interested in Harry's dreams, and seemed disappointed when Harry told him that the only repetitive dreams he'd were one of a green light, one about a flying motorcycle, and a really strange one with dogs and rats and horses._

"I really thought you were crazy for a bit there. I couldn't figure out what you were looking for. And I still don't know actually."

"Once I figured out you didn't have your version of Riddle, I still wanted your dreams anyway. They can tell a lot about a person."

_A source of information, that was all that Harry was to Tom._

_Tom didn't seem to care about anything that he couldn't write down in his little notebook, filled with charts and circles and diagrams._

_Harry was getting tired of everything. Tired of having to deal with Toms monosyllabic answers, tired of knowing the real reason why Ben Hill had broken two bones falling of the monkey bars, tired of being interrogated by his only friend._

_Then Tom told Harry about Riddle, and his dreams at the end of the first week. That was the first major stepping stone. Harry understood enough about Tom to value what he was told. He grasped the fact that he was the only person that Tom had trusted enough to tell a secret to, that he was the most important person to Tom in eleven years._

"I didn't know what else to do… I had been hoping you'd do the talking, and I'd nod and listen. I couldn't figure out what to talk about, you know? The only things that really excited me were causing pain and learning. You despised the first and were horrible at the second."

"Hey, I resent that. Not everyone can have an IQ score that's off the charts… Besides, if I'd been smarter than you, you probably would have killed me. Couldn't handle the competition."

"If you'd been smarter, you would have stayed as far away from me as possible. No matter how much I tell you not to, you keep investing your emotions in me. When will you listen and realize that I DON'T CARE."

Tom was angry again. Harry always thought it was intentional, the way the last sentence got more and more emotional as time went on. In the beginning, it was just a statement. Now it was a shout.

Some days, that upset him, the subtle lies that Tom wove into everything, a façade designed to make Harry believe that Tom cared.

Today was one of the other days, a day when he tried to tell himself that Tom was warning him off, reminding him that this was all a game, one in which the objective could change at any moment.

Instead, he went back to writing. Writing his own lie, writing what he wished was true.

_Tom was still violent and cold and uncaring… but Harry knew he was trying to be a friend. That counted for something. That might not have been enough to sustain their friendship for long, but at the end of the second week Harry discovered that Tom had an incredible gift._

_Tom was a brilliant, amazing liar._

"It's not like you discovered the lost island of Atlantis. I knew I was a good liar before that. Hey! Maybe Atlantis was real, and we're related to the descendents of them or something. Hold on."

Tom had a new idea, and when Tom had an idea, he stopped the idle scribbling and started drawing diagrams and writing intently.

Harry took advantage of Tom's momentary preoccupation to continue writing.

_Tom knew that, of course. What he didn't realize was how entertaining this gift could be, if used right. On a whim, irritated by the math teacher for giving him a bad grade, he started telling Harry a story._

_He could make his expression earnest and honest; he even managed to lie with his eyes somehow. Then he could make the most ridiculous statement with a completely straight face, all bright eyed and innocent._

_By the time he was through proving that their math teacher was in fact a mafia boss escaped from prison, Harry was laughing so hard that there was a he was afraid he would suffocate to death._

Unfortunately, Tom wrote much faster than Harry. By the time he was done writing those three paragraphs, Tom had finished whatever notes he had written.

"Bright eyed and innocent?" Tom started laughing. "I think you need to worry about me laughing myself to death now. And I told you, you can lie with your eyes to me too. All you need to do is meditate, until you have your emotions in one small spot, and then you start building a wall around them."

Harry knew that well enough. He had done the same thing, by pretending he had no idea Tom was lying.

If Tom had wanted to be, Harry knew he could have been the most convincing friend in the world. It would have been a complete and utter lie, of course, but Harry probably would have accepted it, as long as it had been suitably convincing to let him pretend to himself.

But Tom hadn't wanted to play the role of the typical best friend, and out of nowhere he chose a different style. A style that was more honest, for all that it was just as faked, a style of friendship that bore actual resemblance to him. The only part that didn't really bare much resemblance to what Harry thought Tom was like underneath was the over exaggerated silliness. The dark humor was real, the sarcasm was real.

The truth was so unexpected, that Harry almost believed it. He still thought so for a few seconds, a few moments a week where Tom laughed for real, instead of forcing it.

Despite pretending otherwise, Harry could sense Tom's emotions fairly well. Hide his own, not quite so well, but it was easy to mask the distrust. He wanted to believe so badly that he was wanted, that he could have probably managed even if Tom was a worse actor, and had chosen a role less convincing.

**Chapter 7 should die. A slow and painful death. Eight is done, nine is halfway through, ten is done... and seven? I'm not even sure if I'm keeping the version I have now, or if I'm going to try and rewrite it from scratch _again._**

**I'm really, really going to try and get it up soon...**


	8. Chapter 7: Riddle

**A/N: I'm sorry it took so long to post this, this chapter really killed me. I wrote three different versions before I realized that the reason this chapter wasn't working, was because chapters five and six didn't mesh at all. One moment Tom hates the idea of being friends with Harry, the next, they're best friends. So I changed the end of chapter five, adding a couple of paragraphs about Riddle which sort of leads up to this chapter, and makes Tom less unfriendly towards the idea of being friends with Harry. And then I added more of Harry's thoughts to chapter 6, so Harry realizes that Tom is just acting at least part of the time, and the reason he goes along with it is because its better than nothing. Its not necessary to go back and reread the chapters, since you'll easily still be able to figure out whats going on.**

**Also, this chapter takes place between five and six... I sort of like having it after six, so you can see the reason behind the shift, but it doesn't really matter to me... If you think it would do better between five and six, review and tell me!**

Chapter 7: Riddle

Tom wanted to do something, anything. Anything at all. Even being able to regulate his own breathing would be a step up from the level of helplessness he felt now.

After almost a dozen years of nights spent perfectly conscious and aware, trapped watching through Riddle's body but not able to effect anything, Tom was fairly used to it.

He no longer got headaches trying to figure out how it was possible that he was fifty some odd years in the past… and not even just straight years… it was December instead of November.

But what really bothered him was how he couldn't control his body. He was able to focus now, which was an improvement, instead of being constantly distracted by unexpected movements and panicky from being unable to breathe.

This was made easier by the fact that in general Riddle was very similar to Tom. Identical in appearance, which definitely made things less awkward.

Riddle _was_ little slower, a little less mature, but that was probably because of all the extra hours Tom had to a day: Tom had at least four or five years on Riddle.

Riddle was more sadistic, but not more likely to cause pain. Riddle caused pain simply because he wanted to cause pain. Tom did because he wanted to see how _well_ he could cause pain. The reasons were different, but the end result was generally similar.

Today – tonight – was the first time Tom was furious directly with Riddle.

Tom was trying to figure out a reason, any reason, any reason at all, as to why hanging Billy Stubbs's bunny from the rafters was a good idea.

Billy Stubbs's being punished, yes, Billy deserved it. He was new, but that almost made it worse. Tom viewed him as even lower than Dudley Dursley. Picking on the new kid was understandable and logical. It made sure he knew his place.

But a new kid mocking Riddle? Suicide, plain and simple. Stupidity of that magnitude shouldn't be allowed to exist.

Killing Billy's rabbit was understandable. Stubbs's bunny was possibly his most important possession and Riddle enjoyed his habit of taking other people's prized possessions. Since a rabbit would be a little difficult to store in a small box in a wardrobe, killing it made sense. The argument just made a good pretext.

But hanging the rabbit from the rafters? _Barely h__ours _after a huge argument with Billy? What was Riddle thinking, if he was thinking at all?

Tom knew Riddle extremely well, even if he couldn't read his mind, having watched well over half his life from an insider's view of all his actions. He had a feeling he knew exactly what Riddle was thinking. Revenge, as fast as possible.

But the artless, graceless way in which it was done offended Tom's values. It should have been done silently, during the night, perhaps, a few weeks from that day. A mutter in Billy's ear, _you will pay for your insult to me,_ a dead rabbit the next day… perhaps mangled by a dog and left by the door to Stubbs's room.

No evidence, nothing obvious, nothing out of the ordinary; only Billy's word, against his.

Not something that obvious needed a culprit. Not so soon after an argument. A rabbit couldn't hang itself, could it?

If the argument wasn't fresh on everyone's mind it wouldn't have been so bad. But there was no way that the connection wouldn't be drawn.

Now all Tom could do was watch helplessly while Riddle waited a few hallways down from the swinging corpse, waiting for the inevitable reaction.

Tom was far more worried about the outcome than Riddle.

There was a good chance, of course, that Mrs. Cole would let this slide, unable to find a reasonable explanation for Riddle to have been able to reach the rafters, especially without being seen.

But still, something so unconcealed, so shortly after a loud argument with dozens of witnesses, was barely short of madness.

Maybe Riddle was right to be worried about the asylum. Clearly his grasp on reality was weak, Tom thought bitingly.

…

In that moment Tom would have shuddered if he had the body to do so with. An image came into his head, unbidden.

_Billy's rabbit, a large butcher knife pinning it to the wall in __the dining__ hall, at an impossible to reach height, especially for an eleven year old boy. Sliced up, blood and guts everywhere, insides hanging out._

Still, even that excessively sadistic picture could have been better than what Riddle had done if it was done properly, with a sense of mystery and the unknown, not just brute violence.

…

Tom thought all of his basic rules that Riddle had broken.

Leave no evidence. Have no witnesses. Think. Plan. Don't draw a bloody sign screaming, _I'M GUILTY_.

Tom was getting more and more incensed at Riddle, and his nervousness grew. Why wasn't anyone coming? Shouldn't someone have noticed by now?

…

It was almost physically painful, the helplessness. Time seemed to be moving at an impossibly slow pace. People who complained about nightmares where they were being chased and yet were unable to move had nothing to complain about. Nothing at all, compared to this.

…

A horrible thought entered Tom's head, an idea that violated his sense of identity. _What if everything he was, every action he took, and every decision he made, was because of Riddle? What if all the things he did were because acting out of harmony with Riddle resulted in the frustration and agony of watching his body do something his mind wasn't agreeing too? _

It wasn't entirely unrealistic. He couldn't remember being two or three or four, at least not very well. His entire sense of self could have developed from Riddle's actions. When he was that young he might have even thought that Riddle was normal. That dreams were guidelines to follow, an inner voice that everyone had, telling them how to behave.

If he agreed with everything Riddle did, thought the same way, acted the same way, it wasn't painful. It was an extra couple of hours every day which he had for himself.

…

Tom didn't _really_ believe that Riddle influenced him all that much. He knew, logically, that under the same circumstances, he and Riddle would be exactly the same. The reason that there was a difference now wasn't even because of Harry, it was because of what Tom had managed a school.

Before, Tom had always lacked complete confidence in his abilities. He had better control and greater reach with his magic than Riddle did, and he believed himself to be more powerful and mature, but he never _did _anything, not on a truly large scale.

He thought, sometimes, that he could do a better job than Riddle, but he couldn't be sure. He didn't have anything to compare it to.

But now, a week and a half after starting school in Little Whining, Tom knew for sure. Gaining power could be something artful and graceful, not just crude fear and pain wielded with a heavy hand.

…

But what he knew and what he felt were two different things. And what he felt was an intense desire to make himself as different as possible from Riddle in the shortest amount of time.

Harry popped into his head almost immediately. He decided less than a minute later.

He would create a new personality for himself, one that was as close as possible to his genuine thoughts and feelings as possible without driving Harry off. He would do something that Riddle could never do, would never do. He would do everything he could to try and view Harry as an equal, as a true friend.

Better to have an equal than to have someone influencing his decisions from fifty years in the past.

**A/N **

**Okay... I got rid of the little rant I had here, which was basically me being jealous of my other story... which didn't really make sense...**

**REVIEW!! Please? Pretty please?**

**Tell me if you think this chapter works well here, or if it should be put in front of chapter 6... which is where it's supposed to be chronologically...**

**I promise the next chapter will come much quicker than this one... especially if you review!**

**And I know this chapter was sort of wierd... next one will be more like the earlier chapters. **

**And in the chapter after the next one, things finally start getting interesting.**

**And please review... its been up for more than a week and I've only gotten three reviews, but I can see the hits on the story traffic thing and I know that people are reading this... is it so bad that no one wants to review?**


	9. Chapter 8: Nagini

**A/N**

**I know I promised I'd update faster - I'm sorry!!!**

**I was doing Nanowrimo for the past month - 50,000 words in thirty days!!! **

**You should all be happy, really, though. After all that, I had so much built up story in me and I had so much practice at writting a lot quickly, that I scared myself with how much I wrote. Every chapter between now and 14 has a rough draft! Yay! **

**And I really thought that Chapter 11 might turn out worse than Chapter 7 (in terms of difficulty to write - I've decided that I actually do like Chapter 7)... but I managed to outline it and do a _very_ rough draft in only a day. Which is good - it means there won't be any more massive hold-ups. **

* * *

**Chapter 8: Nagini**

It was a rainy Sunday in early March. Tom and Harry sat in their usual spot, the couch in Tom's room.

Nagini was wrapped around Harry and he was stroking her smooth black scales. She was hissing with pleasure while Harry and Tom practiced switching between English and snake. The practice was more for Harry's benefit than Tom's. Tom had control down enough so that switching between English and snake was like switching between two languages. He could speak English effortlessly while staring at a snake… Speaking snake without seeing one came just as easily for him.

"Nagini doesn't really do much but sit in your room all day. Doesn't she get bored? We ignore her most of the time." Harry strained to speak in English while watching the snake.

Tom closed his eyes as he hissed back, _"She's a very old snake. In the wild she would be dead already. Mostly all she ever does is sleep under my bed. The furthest she's gone in the past few months is to Privet Drive, when she followed you home. And she seemed tired for days afterwards, though she didn't complain."_

"_It was the cold, not the distance that bothered me, master. I did not wish to say anything because you were in a strange mood." _The snake hissed, not at all bothered about only understanding half the conversation.

"_Why do you call Tom master?" _Harry asked the snake, and then he turned to Tom, paused to make sure his words were English and asked. "And Tom, where on earth did you get a cobra. They aren't exactly native to England."

The snake answered first, _"Among the cobras there are stories of speakers from the land which we come. I grew up hearing about speakers and was taught to respect them. Of all the snakes at the zoo, I was the only one who had heard stories about them. I obey my master because that was part of the agreement we made."_

Tom hissed so the snake wouldn't feel left out. _"We were on a trip to the zoo when I passed by the snake cages. I heard them hissing, and I hissed back. It was about a year ago now and I already believed in magic by then. I rather enjoyed being praised, even if it was by a snake, and agreed to take her from the zoo, if she would agree to stay with me and be my pet."_

"_Though I was happy at the zoo since being in a cage is not much of a bother when one does not wish to travel, serving a speaker seemed a wonderful idea. I had never met another snake who could claim that they had done the same. Besides, I got such a beautiful name, Nagini."_

"You named her Nagini? Why? Don't snakes have their own names? How did you get the snake out of the zoo anyway? And how on earth did you keep her? Did you try to find other snakes to talk to? Do you think that snake charmers can speak snake like we can?" In his rush to ask his questions, Harry accidentally switched back to English.

Tom replied in English, intentionally, "I named her Nagini because snakes don't really have names. When another snake would be talking about her, the snake would just describe her with "old black snake who suns herself on the large rock" or something like that. I named her Nagini because I called another snake I had as Riddle Nagini. I can't remember why, but that Nagini was only a garden snake, while this one is a queen among serpents."

Tom smirked, thinking how much superior his Nagini was to Riddle's. He needed to remind himself, now and again, that he wasn't simply Riddle's reflection, that he was more powerful in his own right.

The silence stretched for a while, Harry stroked Nagini, until he remembered that Tom had only answered one of the questions, "You didn't answer my other questions. How did you get Nagini and how were you allowed to keep her?"

Tom looked blank for a second. Surely Harry was creative enough to think of a way to get a snake out of the zoo. "Getting Nagini out of the zoo was simple. The windows were all glass; I shattered them. In the resulting panic, it wasn't at all difficult to walk of with a snake. Getting her back to the orphanage was tougher… Nagini isn't that big for a cobra – she's only about a meter long, which is a little smaller than the average length, but still rather difficult to carry around in a backpack– "

Harry interrupted. "I get the picture already. You stole her from the zoo and came up with a cunning plan to take her back to the orphanage. You probably kept Nagini hidden the whole time you were at the orphanage, but what about Simon and Julie."

Tom stared at Harry incredulously again. "You honestly think I have permission to have a snake that highly poisonous and is illegal to have as a pet? I mean, you haven't noticed that no one besides you is allowed in my room and my parents never mention a snake at all. Doesn't that seem a bit suspicious to you?"

Tom sighed. Harry seemed confused. "I remember you saying, or maybe your snake said, the first time I was here, something about how Julie and Simon reacted."

Tom thought for a second, trying to remember what Harry was talking about. It was brilliant, really, how dense Harry could be when he tried.

"Oh, that. Nagini wasn't talking about them seeing her, she was talking about this snake I picked up. I'm not sure what kind it was, it was just in the garden. I only wanted to look at it, but it also convinced me never to show Nagini to anyone. Well, except you, but I had this strange feeling it would be a good idea, and my instincts are almost always right. Simon panicked, and even Julie looked like she was about to start screaming. Speaking of Julie we really need to look into her."

"What do you mean? There's nothing wrong with her."

Harry knew he sounded a bit defensive. He really loved Julie, who was practically his mother. He couldn't imagine anyone else giving him second servings for dinner or trying to smooth down his hair, the same way he couldn't imagine anyone but Simon ruffling his hair back to its usual condition and filling him with pride whenever he said "that's my boy"

Sometimes he worried that it was disloyal to parents, but he couldn't remember anything about them. How could he picture them as his parents when he didn't know what they looked like? He didn't have a single memory with them. He only knew their names, Lily and James. He didn't even know whether they had loved him or not. The Dursleys had told him that he wasn't wanted, that they only got married because they had him and they hated him.

He didn't believe them, knowing what liars the Dursleys were, but he didn't know for sure that they weren't right. In either case, he couldn't justify caring more for dead people he didn't know than those who cared about him and were alive.

The Masons were his family now. No matter what happened in the future, even if Tom found something worth trading their friendship for and they could no longer call each other friends, Tom would always be his brother.

Sometime in the past few months, Harry felt the gradual fading of Tom's façade. Not that Tom was being entirely honest, but a lot of the silliness and good humor were gone. Harry didn't miss the laughter and jokes; they were worth far more when they were real.

Tom smiled when Harry told him they were as good as brothers, but stayed in form with the comment, "Cain and Abel, Harry. They were brothers too."

He doubted it would end that way… he knew Tom was better than him in everything, except for sports, but he couldn't imagine being jealous at all. Tom was better than everyone, so it didn't make him feel bad. He could hardly imagine killing anyone, much less Tom.

And as for Tom killing Harry, well, Harry had no doubt he could, though jealousy wouldn't be the motive if it happened. Tom didn't really care about sports, and that was the only thing Harry was better at. But even then he would view Tom as his brother.

"Relax." Tom said, the barest hint of a smile on his face. "I actually like the interfering woman. At the very least, she cooks well. Regardless, its time we look into who she is. It's been over four months and we still haven't tried to figure out why she adopted me, why she seemed to recognize your name, and why she didn't seem surprised when there weren't any records on you parents. Actually, we should probably look into that too. Here, look, I have some notes."

Before Tom had kept a stack of notebooks by date, but eventually there had been too many, and he had wanted something neater. Now there was a whole shelf full, all color coded.

Riddle was red, four books of third person diary entries. Blue was sort of Tom's diaries, except they contained mostly dates with lists of notes like _see Violet book 2 page 47_. Green was Harry, the only color he wrote in, but still shorter than either the blue or red. Black was everything they knew for certain about magic, violet was speculation.

Yellow was from the economics class Tom was taking, one of the advanced classes that Simon insisted on signing him up for after seeing how far ahead he was. Orange was law class, with notes on all of Simon's cases. White was for Algebra, a class that Tom insisted he was ready for and refused to drop even when he had to spend as many hours on that class as he had too for all the others combined.

Tom had started all the extra classes about a month ago, when Simon had realized that Tom could skip school for the rest of the year and still score perfect on all the tests. Tom hadn't been very enthusiastic until he realized that the extra classes not only put him ahead of Riddle, but that extra knowledge could be put to good use in the future. While Tom was brilliant, he definitely didn't believe in learning for the sake of it.

Harry had extra classes as well, at Tom's insistence. They weren't academic – instead, Tom made Harry take a variety of sports classes, in case something ever came up.

The odd combination of track, karate, swimming and rock climbing lessons tired Harry out, but he loved them and all the activities came naturally to him.

He was the best at track, from all the years of being chased by Dudley. Having a balanced diet improved on his already excellent fitness. His time on the mile was inching closer to 7 minutes by the week.

Swimming was tough, but he got better quickly. A month ago he had never been swimming. Now he could swim eight laps in the Olympic sized indoor pool without stopping.

Tom attended both swimming and track, but only once a week, not twice each like Harry did. At track he was a lot worse than Harry, struggling to reach 10 minutes a mile, but he was decent at swimming, since they got to go swimming at the orphanage sometimes.

Karate was pleasant, and Harry liked knowing that next time someone tried to beat him up, he could take care of himself even if Tom wasn't there. Tom wasn't taking karate with the argument that his schedule was already too full and he could defend himself fine.

Rock climbing was Harry's favorite. He was built for it because he was small and light, but the reason he was excellent was because he would take any jump without a thought. Most people were too scared to make risky moves even when they were harnessed to a rope; Harry thought he wouldn't be nervous with out a rope. He loved being high, the height not bothering him in the slightest.

Tom had not gone rock climbing once, despite how often Harry asked him to. He thought that maybe Tom was afraid of heights, but the idea of Tom being scared of something irrational seemed strange. Tom believed he was better than everyone else; his logic was that if everyone else was fine, than he definitely would be.

Tom pulled out a violet book and flipped toward the end. There was a long list under _Julie: What does she know?_. Tom was about to give the book to Harry to read when they heard a Julie shouted from downstairs. "It's almost noon! Time to go!"

Tom muttered, "I need to write that down. That's at least the second time she called us down for something when we were talking about her."

_Frequently calls for dinner/other when discussing her. 15/3/91 (Low)_

"I'll admit there is a few suspicious things about Julie, but isn't that note little paranoid? And where are we going anyway?" Harry asked as Tom put his book on the shelf and pulled out another one.

"It probably is a bit farfetched, that's what the low was for. Its unlikely, but it could be –" Tom paused, and looked at Harry, "I didn't tell you? We're going back to the orphanage, to fill out some paperwork to make this permanent. They need me there, to make sure the living conditions I'm in are adequate."

There was a fairly short list under the heading _Snake Speak. _Tom quickly noted something down.

_LOOK INTO Connection to India – snake charmers. 15/3/91(Medium/High)_

Tom put the book away, commenting to Harry. "That was clever of you – I should have thought of that a long time ago."

Tom and Harry left the room, Tom locking the door behind him. Whenever Tom left the room, he locked it, with an order that if anyone but Simon and Julie came in Nagini was supposed to bite them. Tom originally wanted Nagini to bite his guardians as well, since he had told them repeatedly that he wanted his privacy, but Harry tried to convince him otherwise. Now, Nagini was only to bite them if they tried to read his journals. Otherwise she was supposed to hide under the bed. Harry still wasn't happy, but there wasn't much he could do. So far, the Masons hadn't tried to enter Tom's room, so he thought the odds of them trying to read Tom's journals were pretty slim.

Instead he asked about something else.

"Why do you have to keep talking like that? I know you do it on purpose, most of the time you sound normal, and then all of a sudden you start using words like adequate and conditions."

"Condition isn't a tough word, except for maybe you, but I'll admit adequate is a little advanced. I'm practicing, in case I ever want to be a lawyer. Having an extensive vocabulary is imperative in generating a superior dispute." Tom said the last sentence loftily, in a snobbish tone of voice. Harry could easily tell he was joking.

He responded in kind as he they left the house. "A lawyer? You've dropped your sights a fair amount recently. Here I was sure you were planning being a dictator."

Tom smiled. "Oh, I can't possibly be a dictator straight out of university. I need to occupy my time and make connections for a few years, until I'm at least thirty.

Their cheerful banter continued as they got into the car, not knowing that their lives would change forever in a few short hours.

* * *

**Okay - I'll admit it. That chapter was only because I finally remebered about Nagini, and realized that a pet cobra had to have some follow-up. Just assume Nagini dies of old age at some point in the near future, without much notice or fanfare. (Unless you really want Nagini to show up in some of the later chapters - if you ask nicely, I'll throw something in. I'm sure I'd be able to squezze a year of life out of her if I had good reason to.) **

**This chapter is only a transition, really. Next chapter is when things finally start getting interesting. **

**Thank you for reviewing the last chapter. It was the only time I've ever got more review in the second week a chapter was posted than I got in the first. My plea for reviews that I posted after I only got three reviews the first week must have worked! I feel kind of bad for begging like that... but I really wasn't sure if that was a horrible chapter or not... I don't think I've ever re-written a chapter as many times as I did Chapter 7. **

**A special thank you to Kamarile Sedai - for your extremely long review, and then your extremley long reply. Really motivating!**

**I'm adapting a different plan for reviews this time... I've decided that my summary is really bad. But I can't think of a better one. Despite the fact that I compulsivley change it. They're all really bad. So I want suggestions for new summaries. **

**Whoever comes up with the best summary gets to pick one pairing, and if its not one that I'm considering then they get to pick a pairing that they definitley don't want to see and I will guarantee that its not in the story. Only it has to be a pairing not involving Harry - I already know who Harry is going to end up with. And no slash... sorry.**

**Or if whoever wins wants something different story related, I'm open to suggestions.**

**Of course, reviews just to say what you liked / didn't like about the chapter are really appreciated too - don't feel that you can't review if you don't have an idea for a summary!!! Review anyway. **

**The next chapter will come sooner... for real this time. I promise. **


	10. Chapter 9: Twins and Squibs

**Happy New Years! **

**Chapter 9**

**Twins and Squibs**

Tom was trying to eavesdrop on the conversation that was happening inside the office, while Harry examined the place where Tom had grown up. The Masons were sitting patiently, reading magazines.

The office was worn looking, with faded paint, and worn couches, but still clean and orderly.

The door leading to what Harry assumed was the actual orphanage was slightly ajar, and Harry thought he saw a shadow behind it, perhaps someone eavesdropping. If so, it was an even more pointless attempt than Tom's. At that distance there was no chance of overhearing anything.

After examining the room for another minute, Harry grew bored.

"So… is your last name going to get changed now? To Mason, now that you're officially adopted instead of just being a foster child?"

Tom snapped back an answer, irritated as having his concentration broken. "I _told _you already. _Yes_. I want to hear what's going on… it sounds like someone's arguing."

Tom's efforts became pointless a few short second later. The door to the office flew open, as a girl, maybe six or seven years old, ran out shouting. She had honey blond hair and dark blue eyes, and she was furious.

"I won't!" she shouted, "You can't make me leave Emma! I'll kick and scream and burn down the house –"

All the windows in the room shattered, and fell to the ground with a light tinkling noise.

Harry and Tom stiffened at the same time and glanced at each other.

_You? _Harry asked Tom with his eyes, having developed the ability to communicate silently as long as they had eye contact.

_No. You sure its not you? Are you stressed or angry or anything?_

It wasn't an unreasonable question – Harry was now able to lift objects and shatter glass just by willing it though not as well as Tom could. And he still couldn't do the weird command thing – Tom insisted it was only because he didn't want to. As for the causing pain thing – he wouldn't even consider it.

But Tom couldn't honestly believe that Harry would be stupid enough to practice shattering windows in public, and he had yet to lose control and start breaking things. If one of them was breaking windows, it would most likely be Tom – but Tom was always aware of his mage, even when it got beyond his control.

Harry could almost see Tom's arm shaking with suppressed emotion. The one thing he could deal with better than Tom was unknown situations. Unexpected situations Tom was fine with, as long as he understood what was going on. He could lie to teachers, police officers, government officials, and all the rest of them with unnatural ease, as long as he knew what the problem was and what the ideal solution would be.

But when he didn't know what was going on…

Harry wasn't sure what answer Tom would be happier with, but he wasn't about to lie.

_Nothing. _

_Then it must be her. _Tom watched the girl for a few seconds, who was staring at the exploded windows, clearly shocked and looking like she was about to cry. _She's new. I've never seen her before._

Tom glanced at Julie, and Harry followed his gaze. He was surprised to see an expression on her face that usually was present on other members of the family: calculation. She was watching the girl and whispering something to her husband.

Harry was further from them than Tom was and missed whatever made Tom mutter. "I'll help convince them. But when we get home, you're explaining everything."

Before Tom could use some of his acting talent, the people in the office seemed to recover from their shock, and they all flowed into the lobby.

…

Emma was waiting behind the door leading into the orphanage, blinking away tears from her eyes. Her twin was all she had left, after the fire that had killed their parents and burned all their belongings.

Now some idiot family wanted to adopt Ella… without her.

The man and his wife were the sort of people that Emma thought had the most potential.

Emma was an excellent judge of people. One of the best, for all that she was only nine. With a single glace she could tell they were a fairly wealthy, upper middle class, and the sort that would love a pretty face.

Emma wasn't vain, she was simply aware of the truth. She and her twin were considered to be beautiful and adorable.

They were tiny for their age, so young looking they could pass as six. They had delicate faces, with curly golden hair and blue eyes.

Unfortunately, Emma had difficulty standing still and smiling while the couple stroked her hair and pinched her cheeks. She was able to keep herself from openly reacting, but some of her desire scream at whoever touched her face and cooed about how adorable she was must have shown.

They insisted they only wanted one child, Ella. Emma could have never imagined that the people in charge of the orphanage would agree.

They would never take her away from her sister. No matter what she had to do to stop them.

Her sister had started a fire for her. She could do no less for her sister.

To keep herself busy while waiting to see if they would decide that they didn't want Ella after all, she glanced behind the door again, trying to figure out the family inside.

At first glance it had seemed like a standard family, mother, father, and a pair of boys that looked almost like twins, though not identical twins. Dull. Uninteresting. Just another family out of thousands.

The father was in his thirties, clean shaven and sharp, neither fat nor thin, with light brown hair, well dressed. His wife seemed suited to him. She was slender and vaguely aristocratic, even with friendly brown eyes and dirty blond hair, similarly well dressed.

However, at second glance she decided that while the two boys, who were wearing similar clothes to each other and of the same quality as the clothes their parents were wearing, weren't necessarily brothers.

Though they were both lightly built, with fine, pale features and inky black hair, they were somehow completely different.

The green eyed boy, had a face that was trusting and open, with messy, unkempt hair which made Emma think he was easygoing and friendly. He gazed around the room, not trying to disguise his curiosity.

The other boy, with icy-cold, blue eyes, managed to take the same basic features and turn them into something completely different. He was intimidating by simply sitting there, not moving a muscle, and trying to eavesdrop on the same conversation that Emma desperately wanted to hear.

The green eyed boy glanced at the door. She moved further behind the door, hoping that the shadows would hide her. He stared at the door, puzzled, for a few seconds, but let it go.

He asked the cold eyed boy a question that she couldn't hear, but it didn't seem to be about her.

She sighed in relief, but her relief was short lived.

As the door burst open she stiffened, seeing her sister in a rage.

"I won't!" Ella shouted, losing her infamous temper. "You can't make me leave Emma! I'll kick and scream and burn down the house –"

Emma would never be sure who exploded the windows. It might have been her sister in her rage, or it might have been her, silencing Ella in the only way she could without giving them away.

Whatever remaining thoughts Emma had had about the unoriginality of the family in the lobby had disappeared after the reaction to the shattered glass.

Emma would assume that a normal reaction towards breaking windows would be panic and fear. Perhaps accusations towards her sister, since the timing was a bit suspicious. But not the calm collected plotting that all four engaged in within seconds, passing whispered messages up and down the row of seats after some sort of silent exchange between the two boys.

…

Tom stared at his arms, forcing himself to breathe calmly and steadily, not allowing his hands to tremble.

He glanced around the well furnished sitting-room. Harry wasn't fooled by his act, but since he was practically bouncing on the sofa, he obviously didn't care about how he appeared.

That made Tom slightly worried about Harry reacting impulsively to something and giving away information, but after further consideration he decided he was fairly confident that wouldn't happen. Or at least it wasn't significantly more probable than Tom losing control and spilling secrets himself.

It was a good thing Ella and Emma were upstairs, unpacking their belongings. Julie wanted to discuss whatever she was going to say with only him and Harry first. The two twins were uncannily observant, and trying to analyze their thoughts while trying to avoid their suspicion would have made this conversation even harder.

"I'm not sure if you knew this, but I was in an orphanage as well when I was a child."

Julie paused and brushed back her smooth light brown hair, gazing around the room as if waiting for their reactions.

Tom firmly kept his neutral face on, not giving away a drop of emotion, but he clenched his fist.

She had better not play him for a fool. If she claimed adopting him, adopting the twins, was because she was an orphan and sympathized with them… Tom was already going through scenarios that would loosen her tongue.

He stopped the violent thoughts. Just because he had gotten over the similarities between him and Riddle, and could act normally without questioning whether his actions were his own or not, didn't mean he _had _to be violent towards _everyone_.

If Julie fed him and Harry some fake story, he would first try other means before resorting to torture. If nothing else, torturing Julie would definitely cross Harry's moral boundaries.

If he had to lose Harry's friendship, he would rather do it over something slightly more important than over some information of questionable value. _Friendship _had turned out to be significantly more enjoyable than he had anticipated.

Besides, Julie hadn't finished, and it was foolish to try and assume what she was going to say.

Julie started speaking again. "I don't remember ever living anywhere else besides that orphanage."

A pause, as if she was uncertain on how to continue.

"While I know the same was true for you, Tom," with a smile and nod in his direction, "it was a good deal stranger for me."

Another pause, slightly longer. Tom tried not to let his impatience show. At least this was promising to be interesting.

"My first memory was when I was eleven years old – the first thing I remember is waking up on a bed in a white room, with doctors moving around me. I had been found in front of the hospital with serious head trauma, dressed in black robes. The memory loss was explained as brain damage.

"Only I kept calling the doctors healers, for some reason." Julie added as an afterthought.

"The next few weeks afterwards were horrible. I felt as if though I had been dropped in a strange new world, even though I had no memories of being anywhere else. I didn't know how to turn on the lights, or write with a ball point pen – but when I found a feather, from somewhere, I wanted to write with it and asked for ink, of all things. I – do you believe in magic?"

Harry shrugged and glanced at Tom who made a non-committal noise. Harry wasn't going to say anything without Tom's approval, and Tom was fishing for all the information he could get before he said a single word.

"Wizards and witches using wands to do magic, broomsticks to fly, fireplaces to travel all seemed perfectly normal, not that I remembered any of them, but the terms sorcerer or mage, or magician all seemed utterly ridiculous, while shape changing and time travel seemed to be absurdly complicated and unlikely, but possible. I expected pictures to move.

"But I didn't have any memories of any of this, just – a sense of normalcy and familiarity that just wasn't there when I tried to turn on the television. Even my appearance didn't match up with what I thought it to be."

Stoic expressions from Harry and Tom gave away nothing, but Tom was grinning mentally, almost feeling guilty for not believing that Julie would say anything. More like annoyed at himself for jumping to conclusions yet again, without thinking through the evidence – and he criticized Harry for being impulsive.

"I was bright enough to realize within days that none of these things were possible, or considered real, and decided to try and pass it all off as side effects of my head injury. That, combined with the robes I had been wearing when they found me, convinced the doctors that my parents or guardians must have been part of some sort of occult and I had gotten injured during some sort of ceremony.

But few of the things mentioned in common cults applied to my memories – some of the thing they did were so obviously ridiculous and impractical I had to laugh. I denied it even to myself, trying to fit in.

But my denial of it didn't change the fact that when I was released from the hospital and sent to an orphanage, my English was just fine and my math was decent, but the sciences were a nightmare – I refused to believe in gravity for months, convinced that of course things could float.

I knew next to nothing about history – one time I wasn't focusing on an essay, and I started writing about Merlin and four wizards who founded a school, of all things. Luckily I checked my essay before it was due."

As Julie kept talking, her confidence in what she was saying grew. She was no longer hesitating in between sentences, waiting for a response. Not that either one of the boys were eager to comment.

"For years and years that was all the evidence I had – a sense of familiarity, fragmented sentences and halfway forgotten dreams. A strange reaction to certain words and items– broomsticks made me think of 'Kwidditch' and a familiarity with Latin."

Simon was the only person I ever told –" Julie paused. "But the story of Simon and me is a story for another day."

"Anyhow, by the time I married him, I had pieced together a story from my memories. I had grown up in a family of wizards – I know that sounds bizarre – but for some reason I had no magical ability. And I supposed that was the reason my family had abandoned me and had my memories removed and I was sent into the "normal" world.

I spent years searching through orphanages, looking for a child who would be "Muggle-born" – according to my memories children could be born with magic to non-magical parents, or at least the words were part of my vocabulary, tied in with the rather derogatory word "Mudblood."

I was trying to find evidence that the life and world I had pieced together were real. Just when I was about to give up, I found you, Tom, and I knew that you had magic, I could feel the power coming from you. And you know where everything went from there."

Julie finished with a nervous smile, waiting for a response.

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**A month... and I promised it would be quick... I'm sorry... I _really _think that chapter 10 will come out in the next two weeks. I hope. **

**Choices for the summary (I came up with them myself, with the aid of someone who had no idea about the bribe of a pairing... since no one suggested any summaries)...**

**Voldemort is supposed to be dead, so when Tom Riddle's mirror image shows up as Hogwarts as Harry Potter's best friend, it causes quite a stir. But this new Tom is determined to be more than reflection and plans to find his own path no matter the cost. AU**

**or**

**His whole life, Tom Foster has had reoccuring dreams about a boy nearly identical to him, Tom Riddle. But when he discovers that they are really memories, he must make a difficult choice - to remain a reflection or to find his own destiny. AU. NO SLASH.**

**Or you can vote to keep the original... **

**AU Voldemort accidentally made another Horocrux besides Harry that night, which possesesed a baby boy, who gains the memories of Tom Riddle as he ages. But Tom wants to be more than just a reflection of himself. NOT SLASH, UNIQUE Previously "Second Chance**

**Everyone who reviewed, thank you! Especially Kamarile Sedai for a really long review again. ;)**

**As always, review, even if all you have to say is "update"! Even those six letters will make me happy. Though the more words, the happier I am. And the happier I am, the more I write...**


	11. Chapter 10: Dumbledore

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Look! I'm updating EARLY!!!

Chapter Nine and Three Quarters is dedicated to Moi, for petitioning to keep Nagini alive. It doesn't really havemuch of a point, besides to give Emma and Ella little screen time.

Chapter Nine and Three Quarters

Nagini was curled up under the bed, sleeping lightly, the floor vibrated. Someone was opening the door. She started to uncurl to greet her boys when flicked her tongue. Something was wrong. The scent was off – not either one of her masters. There were intruders in Tom's room.

She continued to unravel slowly, so as to not make any noise. She flicked her tongue out continuously to make certain of the scent. She recognized the scent now – the two small females that had recently come into the house.

She wasn't sure whether the protection that the grown male and female had (if they touched nothing of importance, not to harm them) applied to these girls. She had no instructions about them. They were not intruders to the house, but they had no business in her first master's room.

She pondered what to do. They hadn't touched any of the things that Tom had prohibited yet, but they were seemingly gathering the courage to do so.

Still, she didn't want to bite them, because she understood that it might cause trouble for her human masters.

She stuck her tongue out again, trying to see if she could still scent the boys.

They were downstairs, in the room with the talking box. She knew where everything in the house was, because Tom allowed her to wander around the house at night, as long as she managed to be unseen.

She realized something else as she processed the many scents – the grown male and female were not in the house. Actually, now that she thought about it, she distinctly remembered the engine of the car starting a little bit ago.

That knowledge let her form a plan.

She slithered out from under the bed rapidly, and hissed in her most intimidating manner, expanding her neck flaps to the fullest.

Both humans turned to the source of the noise and shrieked.

Not very loudly, but hopefully it would be enough.

One of the girls reacted quickly, much quicker than Nagini would have thought, from years of watching humans from the zoo. She grabbed the other girl, and moved towards the bed, jumping up on it. The second girl realized what she was trying to do almost immediately, and also got up on the bed.

Nagini hissed again, trying to frighten them. If she truly desired to, she could have gotten onto the bed. But her goal was not to bite them, but cause them to make enough noise to summon Harry and Tom.

But they weren't screaming – a feat that she knew was unusual. She could see that they were frightened – they were visibly shaking. But no screaming.

Before she could try and decide what to do next, one of the girls solved it for her.

"_Harry_!" she shouted, in the harsh, grating, human manner of speech. "_Tom_!"

Nagini could recognize her human's names, but very few other words.

She felt satisfied. Tom and Harry would come. And they would tell her what to do.

…

Ella nervously eyed the snake as she waited for Tom and Harry to arrive. She had a feeling that this was their snake, or at least Tom's. Tom was strange like that.

Emma wasn't pleased – she knew that much.

She glanced at her sister to ask what was wrong.

Her sister glared back at her.

"Between getting eaten by a cobra, and getting dissected by Tom, I think I'd rather pick the cobra. Tom is going to _kill _us."

"He can't kill us – he'd have to come up with an explanation for our dead bodies." She said smugly.

"We're in here!" she shouted out, hearing Tom and Harry thundering up the stairs.

"I'd think he'd rather that, then us telling he has a pet cobra!" Emma said, now sounding resigned to her fate. She was probably just relieved at the thought of the snake no longer staring at them unnervingly.

The door slammed open. Harry entered first. He was entirely unsurprised to see a snake on the floor - he _hissed _something at it. The snake immediately sank down to the floor.

Emma almost allowed herself to breathe a sigh of relief. But her relief was short-lived.

Tom entered, his eyes dark. He asked, his voice furious. "_What the bloody hell do you think you are doing in **my **room."_

He started towards the bed - from his expression, Emma thought for a second that he would simply throttle them.

Then Harry hissed something, quickly, urgently. Tom paused, turned around, hissed something back, still furious. Harry hissed again, soothingly. Tom seemed to calm down, but he hissed some more, gesturing at the snake. This continued for another few minutes. The snake swiveled its head back and forth, but otherwise didn't make any noise.

Finally, Tom looked at them again, visibly calmer, but still furious.

"Get out of my room. And if you breathe a word to anyone, you _do not _want to know what I will do with you."

The two of them scampered out as quickly as they could go.

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**Moi – Thank you! Even though you don't know why I'm thanking you... The reason is - while trying to figure out what to do with Nagini I figured out whats going to happen in third year, in a rather unexpected way. And my plan for third year involves Nagini surviving until then. So I'm glad I hadn't killed her off yet...**

**Which is good, even though I'm no where near even outlining that. So you need to stick around and keep reviewing, and I'll tell you exactly what you helped me with when it shows up - though you'll probably realize it when you read it. Sin****ce Tom really can't take Nagini to school (for all that he's brilliant, it's a bit difficult to hide a large snake in a small dormitory), she'll be given to Emma and Ella as a pet, which this chapter sets up for. Though she's still Tom's until they leavefor Hogwarts. And don't apologize for reviewing twice – the more reviews the better! **

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**Chapter 10: Dumbledore**

"We're going to magic school," was Tom's way of a greeting when Harry entered his room.

Harry had basically moved into the Mason's at this point – he had his own room and everything. He stayed with the Dursley's occasionally, because they technically did have custody of him and they ignored him completely anyway, but he spent much more time with the Mason's. He had protested at first – this had been right after the twins had joined the family. If he took a room, then the twins would have to share.

But the Mason's had insisted that he get a room, and he wasn't going to suggest sharing with Tom – he wouldn't have minded, of course, but Tom would have been displeased. And the Emma and Ella hadn't minded sharing at all.

It was the first Saturday in June, and they had been expecting to find out about magic any day now.

Julie had said she was found at the orphanage in early August, meaning that however magical schools choose their students, it had to happen in July at the latest, and 43 days (the exact amount of lag between Riddle and Tom) from this Saturday put it right in the middle of July.

Harry looked at Tom, knowing immediately something was wrong. Tom didn't seem to be in as good of a mood as Harry thought he would be. "What happened?"

Tom looked like he was about to deny it for a second, but must have realized how futile lying to someone who knew him as well as he knew himself was.

"I hate Riddle." Tom said in a blank voice, hating admitting his weakness, but knowing he had to explain what happened eventually.

Tom wasn't looking at him; instead he was bouncing a ball on the wall.

Harry sat down on the bed. "It can't have been that bad… besides, you're not Riddle. Separate entities that cannot enter each other's spheres of influence, whatever that means. You said that, remember?"

"Three three-syllable words in that sentence, and all of them upper level. Impressive. Copying me of course, but still." Tom said, smiling lightly. "You're right, of course. Or rather, I'm right. But that doesn't mean Riddle doesn't annoy the hell out of me."

"So what exactly happened?"

"Mrs. Cole sent some man named Dumbledore in to see Riddle." Tom laughed coldly. "He claimed to be a Professor from a school. Riddle started freaking out, thought he was from an asylum. Can't say I blame him, really, the man was dressed in a plum velvet suit. So Riddle started freaking out, especially after the fellow didn't respond to his 'tell the truth' thing."

"So is that a common magic, or is it just something you can do?" Harry had been wondering where Tom's ability to give people orders that were almost impossible to disobey came from.

"I don't go shopping for school books until tomorrow. Dumbledore didn't say anything."

"Dumbledore's a strange name…" Harry tried to remember what he was going to say, "Oh yeah, now are we going to tell Julie and Simon about your dreams?"

Tom gave the matter some consideration. "I think we have to… if we were just going to go there and buy stuff, we could probably manage just by sneaking off. But we need to dye our hair, put in some colored contacts, and do something about your scar."

Harry blinked. "What? Why?"

"The main reason is I look exactly like Tom Marvolo Riddle, share the same first name, and have no parents. Anyone I met as Riddle would recognize me immediately.

As for you… what if whoever's going to come introduce you to the wizarding world sees you shopping. What are you going to tell them? How did you know about the wizarding world? That goes for me too. And as for the scar, it's a bit recognizable. How many people do you know with lightning bolts in the middle of their forehead?

And remember, Julie recognized your name – your father may have come from a magical family. Since we don't know what your parents look like, for all we know you could be a carbon copy of one of your famous relatives or something."

"Aren't you a bit paranoid? I doubt people are going to remember two boys shopping, and me having a magical relative that looks like me is slim to none." Harry said tentatively. Tom looked a bit too excited about plotting an untraceable shopping trip to be safely discouraged. He was right. Tom didn't even bother debating, which meant the subject was closed. They were going to go in disguise whether he liked it or not.

"Back to my story… Anyway, it gets worse. The asylum bit is understandable. I'm pretty sure that even if it's not a common reaction, it doesn't arouse undue suspicion. But when Dumbledore mentions magic, I go off on a tangent about the things I can do. Revealing abilities is usually a bad idea. I didn't how magic worked, what type of magical ability I should have… but it wouldn't be too bad if I told him a few basics. But this man is a teacher, at a school, and I tell him 'I can make them hurt if I want to.'"

Harry had to laugh at that. "And here I thought your motto was, 'Never give anyone extra information.' You must have gotten more cunning with time… you got all the information out of Julie that you could before you even mentioned anything that you can do, and then you lied and told her that sometimes things happen when you lose your temper."

"I wasn't lying. Strange things do happen when I lose my temper. I neglected to mention that I intentionally cause them. So Riddle's an idiot… but I hate that Dumbledore fellow as well."

"Because he made Riddle look stupid? That's not really a good reason to hate someone." He knew that Tom didn't really need a reason; he just wanted to annoy Tom. Harry had already resigned himself to a lifelong grudge against Dumbledore. Tom was perfectly capable of loathing someone for existing.

Hopefully, since it had been fifty years, Dumbledore no longer taught at Hogwarts, and there would be no need for a confrontation.

"Yes, it is. I lost it, the shock made me act without thinking. And I know that for the next seven years, as long as I'm going to Hogwarts, he's going to look at me through the light of the words 'I can make them hurt.' Every day, every time. If I do something nice, he's going to be suspicious of my motives. If I do something cruel, it fulfills his theory. He's probably going to 'keep an eye on me,' watch to make sure that I'm not up to my old tricks again, hurting others. Not that his first impression is far off, where Riddle is concerned, but still, he couldn't know that for sure from the short conversation with me.

And I bet Mrs. Cole didn't tell him about what the other children did to me when I was younger… I know she didn't, someone like him would have been giving me bucketfuls of sympathy before he walked into the door. That's more than enough reason to hate him!"

"So, you would have wanted him to pity you?" Harry was just playing now. Tom wouldn't give it up, but he might as well have a little fun with it.

"No!" Tom was glaring furiously. Harry had to remind himself that he was safe, that even if Tom did lose his temper, Tom would be the one in pain.

"So you'd have only liked him if he was a complete idiot, been completely oblivious and fallen for your charade of goodness?" Harry continued.

"NO!" Tom said, even sharper then the first time.

"Then what would you have wanted?"

Tom relaxed a bit, smiled softly. "A letter, maybe. One explaining everything ahead of time, so I could stay in character during the meeting."

"So you want the school to send you a letter explaining everything, so you could do a better job lying to them?" Harry asked, sarcasm dripping off his voice.

"Enough! Drop it. Anyway, I haven't finished telling you what Riddle did. So after a comment about how he always knew he was special –" he glared at Harry, but with amusement, "Stop laughing like that. Yes, I think the same thing. The crux of the matter is I'm not stupid enough to voice it to someone who is going to be my professor and is more powerful than me. Anyway… I told him to prove it, so he set my wardrobe on fire. Julie was right, by the way, we do need wands –"

"He set your wardrobe on fire!" Harry was starting to think if he had misjudged this Dumbledore. Up till now, he seemed like a nice enough character, who had the misfortune of running into Riddle at a bad time.

"It was just an illusion… but when he got rid of it, a box in my wardrobe started shaking. Everything I had ever taken from anyone was in that box, and he gave me this look and told me to give the things back, said he would know if I didn't. That was another one of those casual ways he kept showing he was more powerful than me."

"Amazing. The fully trained adult wizard is more powerful than the eleven year old boy who found out about magic that very day. And he disapproves of your little magpie habit. The surprises just keep coming."

Tom glared. "I think you've been spending a little too much time with me. Sarcasm is contagious. You probably are right, and I'm being ridiculous, and we've already established that Riddle is more than a little mental. All last night proved was that his insanity lowers his intelligence drastically.

Now I have to watch life through the eyes of a fool, not to mention deal with the fact that the first person I respected in my life is completely and utterly worthless, furthering my point about not putting faith into other people. Worse things have happened.

So anyway, Riddle tells him he doesn't have money, and Dumbledore gives him money. Riddle acts rudely, takes the money and starts interrogating the man about where to buy spell books. Then he tells the professor that he doesn't need him when he goes shopping. Of all fool things to do –"

"I would have thought that you would want to go by yourself." Harry commented.

"The man is a professor at a school. He is most likely very knowledgeable about the wizardingworld. By rudely dismissing him, I went and displayed another of my abilities, fierce independence. I might as well be hanging a sign on my head that says 'Watch closely. Dangerous.' If I'd gone with him, I could have come back later… maybe I could haveeven gotten him to give me more money. And for the grand finale, I told him I could speak to snakes. It turns out that it's rather rare. Wonder why the two of us can?"

"So when are we going shopping?"

"I'd aim at a week and a half from now, maybe two weeks. I don't know whether it's better to go during the week or on a weekend. It's more people vs. more likely to be remembered. Maybe we should go after school is out… don't want to get added attention from adults asking if we should be in school. I need to find out when the Hogwarts term is supposed to end… Maybe Riddle will ask about it.

After Riddle goes to Diagon Alley, I'll have a better idea of how our trip is going to go. Don't worry; I'll be the one explaining to Simon and Julie."

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"Do you want the good new first or the bad news first?" Tom asked Harry as they walked home from school. He looked unusually solemn, but Harry had learned long ago that his expression didn't actually mean anything, and he had been in a fairly good mood all day at school.

"The bad news first. School's out. I think I can handle anything." Harry said. He was walking with a bounce in his step. He really hated school.

Even though his grades were much better now, and no one ever dared pick on him, spending time with Tom at home was much more enjoyable.

Besides, they were going to Diagon Alley in just a few days. As long as the bad news wasn't about that, he wouldn't care. And if something had messed up the Diagon Alley trip, a few kids would have wound up in the hospital, despite Tom's improvement in his ability to keep a reign on his temper.

"We're moving."

Harry stopped walking. "You've got to be joking. Or no, you are moving, just to a bigger house in Little Whinging. Number Six Magnolia Road is a bit crowded with six people."

He resumed walking.

"No. We're moving to London. It's about Simon's job."

Harry didn't even stop walking this time. "You're losing your touch. We're right by London. Simon has always worked in London. Therefore, not a believable lie.

"He got promoted. He's the head of the firm now and he needs to be available around the clock. He'll get a lot of money for living expenses if he agrees to move to London.."

Harry stopped again, trying not to seem desperate. "You can't do this. You can't just leave me here all alone." He couldn't say anything else.

"Remember Harry. How many times did I tell you I don't care? I still don't care; it's far more profitable to move to London than to stay here, and Simon's raise is very important. Being in London would be a good place for me to start building social connections." Tom said this levelly, without a trace of sorrow or laughter.

Harry almost collapsed onto the ground, trying not to hyperventilate. The people he thought of as his parents and his little sisters were leaving, along with the boy who was his best friend and as good as a brother. He wasn't going to cry, he wasn't going to cry. Not to mention the Dursleys wouldn't let him go to Hogwarts if the Masons weren't here to threaten them with all sorts of legal stuff.

"Harry." Tom shook him gently. "Breathe. I might ditch you, but do you really think my parents would? Ella and Emma would set fire to everything they could touch if we tried to take them away from you, and property damage is something no one wants. Besides, we're going to Hogwarts next year. We're spending nine months of the year together, and living locations are irrelevant."

"The Dursleys aren't going to let me go to Hogwarts if you're not here, genius – wait, so you mean you're not moving? I'm going to kill you!"

His heart started beating again as Tom answered the question in his typical insulting fashion.

"You really aren't at all bright. Yes, we are moving. We're simply taking you with us. As of now, Simon can pull all the strings in the world. His new salary is a few million pounds a year… he won't tell me exactly how many. It's already been arranged – he's been planning it as a surprise. The apartment has been bought – he showed me pictures, it's really nice and it has five bedrooms, and the papers for adopting you have been all drawn up."

Harry stared at Tom blankly for a moment, trying to process all the new information. Finally, he had to laugh. There was nothing left to do, really. Events like this were common when your best friend was a sadist.

"I guess that was the good news then?"

Tom and Harry continued moving towards the house.

Tom looked confused for a few seconds, which surprised Harry. He must really have a lot on his mind, since it usually took a lot more to bewilder Tom. As they entered the house he replied.

"No, no, that was the bad news, or the closest thing to bad news I could think of. We're going to Diagon Alley the day after tomorrow is the good news. And tomorrow, we're going to see one of Simon's friends to get colored contacts in and dye our hair."

Harry groaned as he sat down on the couch in Tom's room. "You still haven't given that up?"

"Harry, are you really that stupid as to think that the work needed to get fake identities isn't worth it? That we should just go like this?"

"When you put it that way, what am I supposed to answer? Yes, I am that stupid? But whatever, we'll do it your way."

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"We'll go as twins, so no one will be looking for single children. I think blond hair with dark streaks should be good. What eye color do you want?" Tom said, peering into the mirror, trying to figure out which colors would change his appearance, but leave him just as threatening as always. "I'm leaning towards violet myself. Or gold."

"I thought you said you didn't want to be noticed? Having violet eyes kind of attracts attention."

"But I want cool eyes like that." Tom whined playfully and thought. "I know the perfect color! Black. It's threatening and rather unusual, but not completely unique.

An hour later, Tom and Harry couldn't recognize themselves when they looked into the mirror. Tom had reconsidered on the eyes, going with a dark brown instead, to avoid attention. The hair had been toughest part; Tom's wouldn't look messy no matter how much he ruffled it, and Harry's wouldn't stay neat. Hiding the scar had been tougher than Harry would have thought, but it still didn't hold a candle to trying to make their hair stay the same.

Finally, they were ready to go into the wizarding world.

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**This was my favorite chapter so far, by far, so I hope you enjoyed it. And I hope you review it. **

This is the chapter (in cannon) that made me want to write this fic. Because for all that Riddle was the Heir of Slytherin, he did not show any cunning or subtility at all when meeting Dumbledore. So I set out to create a Tom that would be the perfect Slytherin, the true heir to his house.

**Okay, so a couple people had questions about Julie – she knows nothing about the wizarding world, besides a few residual memories. It's the same way that people with complete amnesia still remember how to speak and drive cars after they've forgotten who they are. She doesn't have any idea of how to contact it or anything - those memories were wiped the stronges. **

**Emma and Ella were a complete coincidence - her goal in life to find one magical child. But once she got the one, the rest just started appearing... :)**

**And she vaguely recognized the last name Potter when combined with the disappearing paper work. Since it's an old pureblood family and all. She knows nothing about Harry being the boy who lived. **

**ToLazyToLogin^_^ () – I've never been quite sure what a mary sue is, but Emma and Ella will only get a couple of mentions before school starts (chapter nine and three quarters is the longest bit they have all to themselves before Christmas), and there might be some letters home, but other then that, they're completely minor characters until third year. I'm not sure what their purpose is either, actually – they're the only character's I've ever written in my life which seemed to create themselves, and they refuse to tell me anything about themselves. **

**Hopefully no one is too disappointed with the new summary... There was a tie in the votes between the two new versions by reviewers, so I let my beta pick.**

**Review!**

**I'm going to try and do two weeks for the next chapter to, but that one is a little rougher around the edges. I wrote this one months ago... I hope you agreed with my assessment that Riddle was completley incompetant. **


	12. Chapter 11: Diagon Alley

**Chapter 11: Diagon Alley**

Tom froze, looking at the Leaky Cauldron, from across the street. It hadn't changed at all, still a run down, shabby looking pub, though its surroundings had undergone some rather drastic changes.

A small part of his brain whispered that was a good thing – it improved the chances that nothing had changed on the inside, that they would be able to enter unquestioned.

But a much larger part of his brain drowned it out – replaying the inferiority he had felt when Dumbledore had set fire to his wardrobe, the helplessness.

He couldn't walk in there unarmed, defenseless. Always, always, his entire life, he had power over the people around him.

As Riddle, his fear had been manageable – he was supposed to be walking in there, he was sure it would be there.

But he couldn't really believe that after fifty years the entrance to the wizarding world would have remained the same – that no one would question their admittance. Certainly it wouldn't be unreasonable to demand that they produce some sort of identification.

While school was out, it was too early for the letters to have come out yetIt wasn't Hogwarts season yet, so even if it still was the entrance, wouldn't two muggle-dressed children seem out of place?

But he couldn't back out – he wouldn't be able to tolerate whoever came to inform him of his magic without having at least some knowledge. He would settle for not having a wand – he understood that would be too risky to get hold of.

But, he told himself that would be fine – by the time someone came to inform him of magic, Riddle would have already started at Hogwarts. He wouldn't need to know more than that; he could wait.

He turned to Harry, to explain the pointlessness of this effort.

Harry was looking at him strangely, most likely wondering about his hesitation.

"Is that the place?" Harry asked before Tom had a chance to say anything, staring at the Leaky Cauldron.

Tom replied, "Yes, but –"

He never got a chance to finish. Harry rushed across the street, with the sort of recklessness that made Tom's breath catch as Harry crossed just a few meters ahead of a passing car.

It took him a minute for the cars to have thinned enough for him to cross, muttering curses the whole way. He would have felt like an idiot walking down the street to a crosswalk, while Harry stood there impatiently, but couldn't Harry even consider safety for a _minute?_

Harry looked at him expectantly when he finally got across the street.

Tom clenched his jaw. He couldn't back out now – he would look like a coward. And he was not _afraid. _Simply wary and aware of danger.

He forced a smile, flawlessly, keeping his emotions out of his eyes.

In return, Harry grinned. "Come on then."

Again, Harry turned and walked into the Leaky Cauldron, confidently. He stood in the doorway, propping it open, waiting for Tom.

This time, Tom followed quicker. While he wasn't eager to go inside, there was no inherent danger walking through a door. And he couldn't see anything immediately threatening on the other side.

Once inside he eyed the room suspiciously. It had hardly changed at all. Even the bartender (another Tom, he thought with irritation), was the same, only older.

On one hand it was comforting – there had been no probing questions last time. Not to mention it was proof that he wasn't in the slightest bit paranoid to have thoroughly disguised himself. On the other, he couldn't help but compare it to the image of the street outside.

That, out in London, he could hardly recognize – everything was new. In here, he could barely even see the changes besides aging.

The bartender approached them while he was still looking around, and asked them whether they wanted to go into Diagon Alley.

Tom felt as he was dreaming again – as if he were watching through Riddle's eyes.

He was sending the message to his body – _smile, look relaxed, ask for him to open the wall into Diagon Alley _– but his body wasn't responding.

A second passed, two. He stood there, looking paralyzed.

Harry looked at him, uncertain, waiting for him to speak. But he wasn't in the least bit nervous, the trust in Tom the most prevalent emotion. He believed in Tom wholeheartedly, not doubting for a second that he would know what to say.

Tom unfroze – the panic that had been holding him still dissipated. He had to act _now._

He instantly changed his demeanor, knowing that he had to change something to make his rather lengthily hesitation explainable.

The smile that grew on his face was a little sheepish, as if he were feeling silly for not responding initially. He didn't quite look relaxed, a little nervousness showing. He tried to make himself look as small as possible, as he asked, "Could you open the wall into Diagon Alley?" in a small, shy voice, looking at the floor.

He could have been on the telly with that acting, the perfect image of a young, uncertain child, told to pick up something for a parent, perhaps. He would neither be recognized nor remembered with that demeanor.

The bartender didn't even look suspicious as he gestured for them to follow him to the wall.

When he tapped the bricks Harry gaped as the wall opened for just a second, recovering before the bartender turned around.

When the entered the alley, Harry whispered to him incredulously, "That was brilliant! Damn, I knew you were good – but that was just scary. I couldn't even recognize you for a second!"

Tom just grinned easily, pretending that had been his plan all along.

"Let's hope Gringotts goes as well."

…

The goblins were, if it were possible, even less curious than the bartender (Tom steadfastly refused to think the bartender's name - it was bad enough he had to share his name with Riddle).

He handed the goblin the crisp, pound notes from his pocket. The goblin told him the exchange rate and handed him Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts.

He didn't even have to say a word.

…

With the money in a leather bad in his hand, Tom looked down at his clothes. They were wearing the most generic Muggle clothing possible, dark shirts with jeans, and while there were a few people wearing Muggle clothing as well, he still wanted to blend in even better.

So they headed towards the nearest clothing shop, just down the street. They were quickly fitted for robes.

Tom did have to do some talking and smiling there, to explain they they wanted normal robes for everyday wear.

But the person who measured them didn't ask any questions besides the obvious. No probing "Where are your parent's dearies," or anything like that, thought Tom was sure he would have been able to improvise an answer.

…

The second they left the shop, Tom opened the first of the packages, and threw a robe on over his head, gesturing for Harry to do the same.

He looked in satisfaction at his robes – he was feeling a little more confident now. There was very little that could go wrong at this point. They were completely generic, unmemorable.

…

Tom walked along the aisle of books, reverently touching the covers, picking out yet another two that looked promising. He was mostly taking out history books, favoring the ones with a dark theme, like _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts, _and _The History of the Dark Lord_. A few on the political side _Prominent Purebloods _and _Political Power_. He also took a few generic titles like _Hogwarts: A History._

No point in spell books just yet – he'd need a wand for that, and those were a bit tougher to buy.

Harry was staring at the Quidditch books with longing, but Tom handed him a half a dozen books instead, looking at the Quidditch section with disdain.

The purchase went smoothly; barely a dozen words were exchanged. The storekeeper eyed the books they were getting a little strangely, but didn't comment. It wouldn't matter – there was nothing to remember them by.

_Two boys, 'round eleven _was the only part of the description that would be accurate. And dozens of other children had to fit that description.

…

They took of their robes when no one was looking, so they were in the clothes that they entered with, before going into the Leaky Cauldron again

They walked through the Leaky Cauldron easily, without anyone glancing at them twice.

They had made it – everything had gone better then he had even hoped.

…

The underground was quick, but to Tom it seemed to take forever. He didn't want to take the books out in public, where someone might see them.

He comforted himself with the thought that at least they were staying in London for now - all the arrangements had been done by Simon already The move had been planned for well over a month, but Simon had wanted it to be a surprise for when they got out of school; the house in Surrey already had an interested buyer, and the adoption papers for Harry were all drawn up – the Dursley's only had to sign.

If they were to travel all the way back to Surrey, he would have surely gone mad, with all those books next to him that he couldn't open.

* * *

**A/N: That took a bit longer then I had hoped, but that's because the chapter kind of got huge... The second half is almost twice as long as this... It should be up in about a week. **

**Thank you to everyone that reviewed!**


	13. Chapter 12: YouKnowWho

**For everyone that said that last chapter seemed to cut off abruptly, and not matter much in the long run, they were completely right... This is the ending to that chapter. And the last pre-cannon chapter. **

**Chapter 12**

Tom had been afraid that Julie would question them, ask them for minute details about every aspect of the trip.

When they walked into the house, she asked whether they would mind if she looked at what they bought.

Tom willingly handed her the books and robes – they hadn't gotten anything illegal yet, he wanted to be well informed about the world before he tried the black market, or the wizarding equivalent of it in Knockturn Alley.

But she only looked at the clothes and books for a few moments, an odd expression on her face while mouthing out the words on the covers of the books, before handing them back and she didn't ask any questions.

The surprise must have shown on his face.

Julie smiled, "You expected me to interrogate you about everything, didn't you?"

Tom nodded, not seeing a reason to lie.

"I'm not going force myself back into a world I don't belong, Tom. It's enough that I know it's there, not just something I made up. I belong here now, attending dinner parties as the wife of a lawyer, in a mundane world without magic."

She thought back upon her words and added.

"Of course, that doesn't mean I don't want to hear about your trip, or read your books. But I can tell that you want to start reading them right away, so badly you can barely hold still. I can wait – I've waited many years already, and I never thought I would find even this much."

Tom was briefly annoyed that she could read him so easily, but since it made life easier for him, he didn't really mind.

Harry would enjoy telling her later. For now, both of them had to start reading.

…

There was a minor delay while Emma and Ella tried to interrogate them about the trip (they had been informed about the magical world, and they knew Julie's story, but not given the specifics about how Tom knew how to get in), but they were placated by a copy of _Hogwarts: A History, _and a promise of being told everything later. They ran off to their own room to read together.

…

He had been reading about wizarding history for almost an hour, and he had just started the section on the Dark Lord, while Harry studied the _Standard Book of Spells Year One_(it took him quite a while to convince him to read even that, because Harry was sulking over the Quidditch books – Tom had only managed to get him to read even that by using the argument that he would need to read it sooner or later anyway, and that if he read it now, he would have more free time later), when his breath caught.

_On October 31, 1981, You-Know-Who attacked the residence of the Potters. Lily and James Potter (Aurors) were both killed but somehow, the killing curse backfired when used on Harry Potter. Harry Potter mysteriously survived and rebounded the curse on You-Know-Who, earning him the title of The-Boy-Who-Lived. Harry Potter's present location is unknown to the general public for safety purposes. His place of residence was determined by Albus Dumbledore. _

Tom stared at the paragraph, reading it over and over again, the words blurring together.

October 31st – the day before he was found in the orphanage – it couldn't be a coincidence.

That Riddle became a Dark Lord didn't seem unreasonable – it seemed almost inevitable, now that he had considered the idea. The Dark Lord that this book described seemed to match Riddle's personality well.

The thought had occurred to him earlier, when he was reading, fleetingly, but he hadn't wanted to speculate without some sort of evidence.

Inciting the public to fear whatever name Riddle had used so much that they referred to him as "You-Know-Who" seemed a little ridiculous, but would have been an interesting experiment in using fear. Definitely not out of character for Riddle.

He felt blank somehow – he should be thinking about this revelation, plotting. Figuring out the pro's and con's of being a Dark Lord. He should have been gloating over his achievement of immortality, even if it was flawed immortality – he finally had proof that he _was_ Riddle reincarnated, not just bearing his memories and an uncanny resemblance (or maybe mourning the fact that they were, in fact, roughly the same person… somehow); or even reviewing all the mistakes he had made on his rise to power – he had been quite critical of the Dark Lord when he had been reading the book.

Or he should have been figuring out how to use Harry's fame – "The-Boy-Who-Lived" – to his advantage, since that would be more immediately practical.

Not this quiet emptiness that made him feel hollow inside, as if though something utterly horrible had happened.

He examined his emotions. He was pretty sure he didn't feel guilty for killing the hundreds of people that he must have murdered, directly and indirectly, as the Dark Lord.

It didn't really give him pleasure, thinking about people dying in front of him, at his orders, by his own hand – tortured perhaps, like the book mentioned he had enjoyed doing.

But neither did it repulse him, the thought of people screaming for mercy.

Either way, it was distant, disconnected from him. Riddle was the one who killed them – without watching it though his dreams it was like considering a story that had nothing to do with him.

The best way to describe what he was feeling towards all those deaths was indifference – he felt no more for those people than he would for a twig being snapped. Neither pleasure nor pain. But then what was he feeling horrified about?

It hit him all of a sudden, like a sledgehammer out of nowhere.

Riddle had killed Harry's parents.

The deaths of Harry's parents, as people, didn't bother him more or less then any of the other deaths. They were two people among many – irrelevant.

It was the fact that they were Harry's parents. He would tell Harry – and then what?

He contemplated not telling Harry about what Riddle grew up to be. He would be able to act as if he knew nothing about it, he was sure of that.

But – Harry wasn't an idiot, for all he was hopelessly naïve and gullible. He knew the date that Tom had been found in the orphanage – Tom hadn't seen any reason to conceal it.

Harry had no idea when he himself had been orphaned – the Dursley's never bothered to tell him – but when they went to Hogwarts he was sure to find out the date sooner or later.

No, Tom realized, not even that would be believable. He would have to tell Harry about him being famous now – Harry wouldn't believe that it wasn't mentioned once in all of the books – and natural curiosity ought to make Harry read the articles about himself, and he had to notice the date. Which would lead to the inevitable confrontation.

And even if somehow Harry failed to make that connection, there had to be mention of "You-Know-Who's" real, original name somewhere.

Then it would be worse than if he didn't tell Harry now – because he knew that if he told Harry now, explaining what Riddle had done with an appropriate amount of horror and regret Harry would forgive him, most likely, because Harry was like that.

No – the only question that remained was if he was willing to trample his pride for the sake of friendship. Because he wouldn't be able to pass that apology off in half joking, half sarcastic way he always did. For this, he would need to pull all the stops – he would have to pretend he was _really _sorry.

Was it worth it for a friendship with Harry?

For just Harry, he probably wouldn't even consider it. But a friendship with "The-Boy-Who-Lived" would be worth a fair amount. But would it be worth his pride?

Then something else occurred to him. He started cursing mentally, clenching the book so hard that he was surprised that Harry didn't look up from the book he was laboring over.

There was no option of simply walking away from the friendship – without it; there was no way of guaranteeing Harry's silence. He would forever be at Harry's mercy, wondering if he had figured out the pieces of the puzzle, if he had told anyone.

There were only two options. Continue to be Harry's friend – a course of action that would require his apology. Or Harry had to die.

Before he could even consider the second option though, he had to see that he was still capable of that – of killing Harry in cold blood.

He knew he could kill some random stranger or a kid at school, though he couldn't really imagine _wanting _to. He could picture their deaths without guilt or sorrow.

Even when he replaced those children with Emma or Ella, or even Simon or Julie, he thought he would be able to pull the trigger of a gun or say whatever magic words would be necessary, though it would be with regret.

But Harry – Harry was a different story.

He contemplated that for a while, finally remembering to turn the pages of the book, though Harry clearly wasn't paying attention.

In the end, he came to the conclusion that he would be able to kill Harry if he _really_ had good reason to, but the motivating factors would have to be much stronger than for anyone else. The situation now wouldn't be enough for him to be willing to kill Harry – his pride wasn't worth nearly that much. And it wasn't worth the guilt he would feel afterwards.

Killing Harry would be a last resort - only if the apology failed, if Harry completely refused to be reasonable when faced with the knowledge of what Riddle grew up to be. If he thought it would be likely that Harry would immediately tell his identity to the first person who could do something about it.

He decided to do it now – it would be more believable that way, and he would better be able to convey his surprise.

"Harry," he asked, his voice shaking slightly, intentionally.

Harry looked up. "What's wrong?" he asked, concerned. Even the slight quaver in Tom's voice was unusual – Harry noted it immediately.

He paused, and took a deep breath. "Riddle, he… You wouldn't blame me for whatever Riddle did when he grew up, right?"

Harry didn't even think about it – "Of course I would never blame you for _anything _Riddle did."

Then he added with a shrewd grin, "So what _did _Riddle do, that's apparently horrible enough that you need confirmation that I won't hate you for it?"

"He gave himself the title of Dark Lord and killed anyone who disagreed with him would be the short summary of it."

Tom said, a little flippantly, but had his voice break at the very end.

Harry flinched a little – Tom could see the horror in his eyes. But he shook his head. "That's Riddle, not you. I don't care. You know that by now."

Tom said grimly, "It gets worse."

Harry looked at him silently.

"The Dursley's lied to you."

Harry raised an eyebrow.

"About what in particular?"

"Your parent's didn't die in a car accident – they _had _to know about magic, because Petunia's sister, your mother, was a witch. Your father was a wizard as well."

Harry was silent, but Tom could tell that he could sense what was coming.

"Riddle killed your parents – _I _killed your parents." He looked at the ground, shame clearly written on every feature. In a second, the truth would sink in – and he would have to see if the was capable of apologizing well enough to convince Harry not to go.

He already prepared himself for the inevitable reaction, a prediction of Harry's response playing in his head.

"_You killed my parents." Harry would say coldly. "And what – you expect me to forgive you, tell you "It's okay, I don't care."_

Then Tom would have to really break his voice, sob, something that he should have rehearsed maybe. Plead. "I'm sorry, I'm really sorry."

Would he be able to? He couldn't even picture his face in his own head, the way his voice would sound thick with tears. He didn't think he would be able to cry – he couldn't ever remember crying, no matter how much he was hurt.

Maybe thinking about the regret he would feel if he had to kill Harry? That didn't help either. His eyes stayed dry. He wondered, a little hysterically, if there was something wrong with his tear glands. He remembered being told, in both timelines, that he had never cried when he was young – not even as a baby.

Harry was still silent, staring at the book unseeingly, his face unreadable. He was clearly deep in thought.

Tom wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. The longer it took, the more difficult it would be for Tom to change whatever conclusion Harry reached, but it also meant that Harry was _thinking_ about it, that the hatred wasn't automatic.

Tom didn't get that – he didn't even care about his parents, nor about Riddle's parents, yet if they had been murdered, he was quite sure he hunt down the murderer and would kill them. Automatically, without a second thought.

He wasn't even sure why – he didn't really care about his parents. It was more of a sense that – who ever had acted against his parent's had acted against him somehow, indirectly. Condemned him to the orphanage.

Though Harry's anger would be for a different reason – he was sure that Harry had managed to form quite a strong emotional attachment to people he hadn't ever met.

Finally, Harry looked up.

Tom tensed.

"_Riddle _killed my parents," Harry said, with a voice of finality.

Tom blinked. It was a simple sentence, four words, something like six syllables. Yet Tom couldn't quite wrap his mind around it. He felt as if he were missing a crucial bit of information, that would bridge the gap between _I killed Harry's parents _and _Harry doesn't care_.

No, he thought. That wasn't true. Harry did care. He could see it in his eyes – anger against Riddle, sorrow about his parents deaths.

And unlike Tom, Harry's eyes weren't completely dry, though he wasn't exactly crying either.

He just wasn't connecting it to Tom. Tom and Riddle were separate people to him – something which made Tom exceedingly glad he had established his dislike of Riddle a long time ago.

Harry must have noticed his confusion. He laughed.

Tom stared. Harry just found out that his parent's had been murdered, and he was laughing.

"I know, I shouldn't be laughing, but the look on your face was _priceless." _Harry broke into a renewed burst of laughter.

"And you're making it worse," he added, as Tom continued staring.

Finally, he stopped laughing, the grief visible on his face again. "It's just – you couldn't have been more surprised if I'd grown a second head. Tom, you're my best friend, and as good as my brother.

Did you really think I would hate you for something that you didn't have control over?"

It took Tom another few moments to collect his thoughts. Finally he spoke again.

"Well, now that that is cleared up, we need to figure out what we're going to do about this summer…"

* * *

**As you can tell now, this is the climax to the last chapter - I can't believe that only a few people noted the fact that Tom was buying a load of history books about the Dark Lord... **

**I'm not really happy with it, but I couldn't figure out how to make it go better... **

**I'd say more, but I'm not sure how long the glitch free period will last - so just know that I'll be updating again in two weeks (hopefully). And that the story will have finally reached the beginning of cannon by then. **

**And as a final note - any one know anything about why log in was down for so long?**


	14. Chapter 13: Letters

**

* * *

**

A/N - ... I remembered to put this disclamer this time... "I am not JK Rowling, nor do I own Harry Potter"...  
Does it actually matter whether or not I write it?

**Chapter 13: Letters**

The room was empty now – Tom and Harry sat on the carpet.

"Are you sure that you'll be alright?" Tom asked Harry.

"I already told you – I'll be fine. Besides, what else can I do? You said it yourself, just because the wizarding world didn't seem to look into the Dursley's when they left me there, doesn't mean they'll be that impassive about my custody getting switched. And I refuse to endanger you because someone might look too closely into your background."

Tom looked uneasy, despite the fact that it was his idea that Harry stay behind with the Dursley's. "They'll be looking into my background either way, sooner or later."

Harry sighed. He didn't want to stay behind in the slightest, but he _refused _to cause any more trouble for Tom or the Masons then he already had

The Masons had already promised to pay for all his school things and for the tuition, since Harry probably wouldn't qualify as an impoverished student because the Dursley's had plenty of money. That was, if he hadn't inherited any money from his parents – the books mentioned that the Potter's were an old and fairly wealthy pure blood family, but since none of them knew the wizarding laws about inheritance, they decided to always assume the worst.

Tom gave up on that front. He half-heartedly suggested, "How about we stay here then?"

Harry raised an eyebrow and gestured around the room, emphasizing the lack of furniture.

"Isn't it just a _little _late for that now? You know, with the house being sold and all?"

Tom laughed a little. "Probably. Simon feels completely horrible about all this, you know. He thought it would be a brilliant surprise, to learn that you're being adopted by us, and coming to London. Now it turns out that his early actions result in you being abandoned."

Harry shook head. "It's only a month – and it's not his fault. If he had told us right away, I would have agreed, and we'd still be here in this position. It wasn't until after the trip to Diagon Alley that being adopted began to look like a bad idea."

He knew Tom didn't _really_ want him to say that he needed the Masons – he was just making sure that Harry wouldn't resent him for this, that Harry understood why it was necessary.

Tom moved on, to the more concrete details, now that the issue was firmly closed – "I'll be calling you – I don't trust the Dursley's to let you use the phone, but if I call, they'll say yes, to avoid any trouble with Simon. Be sure to be home after six everyday. Whenever you get the letter, or if someone comes, call right away. First try the house, if no one's home, call Simon's job. You have the numbers?"

…

One week passed. Two weeks. Nothing – which didn't necessarily mean anything was wrong.

Tom hadn't gotten a letter, or a visit, either. But Harry couldn't help but be nervous.

Despite Tom's certainty that his Hogwarts letter would find him as long as he was in the country, Harry was afraid that Tom wouldn't get his letter because of the move.

And on top of that, he was slightly regretting agreeing with Tom's plan, because even though Tom's insisted that the school would send someone if the Dursley's acted as expected and tried to keep Harry out of Hogwarts, Harry was afraid that if the Dursleys said no, the school would have to comply with their wishes.

Without Tom around, Dudley and his gang had taken up Harry hunting again. It had taken less than a week for them to forget why they had stopped in the first place. Harry didn't want to use his magic against them, but he didn't want to think on what Tom would do to them when if he had found out how they treated him.

But most of all, he simply missed the Mason's.

He wanted a pair of out-of-breath girls to run through the house, begging him not to tell Tom where they went. He wanted Tom to search the house up and down, looking for whatever Emma and Ella had taken and hidden this time. He wanted Julie to cook some bizarre meal she had seen on television, and grin while eating it regardless of how it tasted.

He wanted his family.

He wanted Simon to take them to work again, where most of the secretaries gave Tom whatever he wanted. The office where everyone greeted Tom with "You're Simon's boy, aren't you? I've heard that you're his spitting image – you've got both his quick tongue and you don't give a damn about what anyone thinks, just like him."

Sometimes they noticed Harry, sometimes they didn't. It was enough that Tom was happy at being compared to Simon – when Tom wasn't angry, Harry no longer had headaches.

Only sometimes, on the bad days, the world with the Mason's, a world where he belonged and felt wanted, seemed like that was the dream. As if he had never left the Dursleys – as if Tom had never existed.

The phone calls alleviated his worries somewhat, but it was different then being there in person. He couldn't tell what Tom was thinking, at such a great distance – with Tom, word were never even half the picture. Actually, with Tom, what he said wasn't remotely related to what he meant.

And the conversation always felt so stilted over the telephone – half the time the conversations consisted off, "Nothing new here, anything on your end?", "No, no sign of magic."

…

In the beginning every day that the letter didn't come made Harry breathe a sigh of relief. At least one more day until plan "I have no knowledge of the wizarding world" would go into effect. By the middle of July, however, the fear of what would happen when his letter came was replaced with a different fear. What would happen if his letter didn't come? Despite being able to levitate and break objects wandlessly, a feat that the books said was almost impossible, he was terrified that it was all a fluke, a side effect from spending too much time around Tom, maybe.

He most certainly didn't believe that he was actually famous as the books said. It had to be a mistake, someone else. Really – why on earth wouldn't another wizard have had adopted him, if he was that famous?

It was the lack of Tom that was the problem, he finally decided. After more than six months of having someone who could almost read his mind, not being able to talk to anyone properly was driving him crazy.

…

He collected the mail voluntarily everyday – Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon probably wouldn't have forced him to do that, their memories running slightly further back than Dudley's – but he wanted to have advanced warning when the Hogwarts letter did come.

A postcard from Marge – unimportant. A bill from the electrical company – unimportant. He looked at the last item, his breath catching. The address was crystal clear.

_Mr. H. Potter  
__The Smallest Bedroom  
__4 Privet Drive  
__Little Whinging  
__Surrey_

He turned the envelope over – there on the other side, was the Hogwarts seal.

His hands trembled. What to do, what to do? After all this time, and he hadn't developed a clear plan. Just – pretend to know nothing.

He walked towards the kitchen – the Dursley's had to find out eventually, so there was no point in trying to hide it from them. Harry handed Uncle Vernon the postcards and sat down, slowly opening the envelope. He was in the process of unfolding the letter when Dudley noticed.

"Harry's got a letter!" he commented, pointing.

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia looked up. Uncle Vernon eyed him suspiciously. "Is that from that boy, Foster or Mason, or whatever his name is now?"

Before he could answer, Petunia snatched up the envelope.

"Vernon, it's from _them_!" She hissed, outraged, her face paling. She grabbed the letter away from Harry and handed it to Vernon. He read the letter, his face rapidly changing to a pale grayish white.

They stared at each other, seemingly forgetting that Harry was in the room. Harry was tense – had he made a mistake, giving them the letter? What else was he supposed to do? He had expected there to be trouble, but how was he supposed to go off to magic school without informing them?

Dudley interrupted their silent staring – "I want to see the letter!"

That brought his aunt's and uncle's attention back to the two of them. They were summarily thrown out of the room.

The swift and silent fight over the keyhole that followed was won by Harry, much to Dudley's surprise. While he still couldn't win out-numbered, the karate lessons allowed Harry to hold his own in a one-on-one fight.

The conversation that followed between his aunt and uncle convinced him of their idiocy. Ignore the letter and Harry's magic might just go away? It wouldn't work that way, Harry told himself. He hoped. Tried to ignore the empty feeling in his stomach.

He needn't have worried – letters came the next day. And the day after that. And the day after the day after that. And so on. Multiplying every day – he wondered what the Dursley's would do if too many came to burn or otherwise dispose of.

He got hold of a copy the third day, but it didn't help him much. How was he supposed to _reply by owl _if he didn't _own _an _owl_?

For the rest of the week, when Tom called, the Dursley's insisted Harry was sick. He was locked in his room whenever no one was around to watch him, so he didn't have any opportunity to call Tom to contradict the Dursley's statement.

But he still expected Tom to show up and do something. So he wasn't surprised when Friday night, he awoke to a tapping noise at the window. He got up quickly, and rushed to open it. The Dursley's hadn't put bars in the window – probably assumed that if he had anywhere to go, he would have already gone, and if the Mason's liked him well enough to adopt, they would have before leaving.

He leaned out the window, and there was Tom, standing on the ground, with a few pebbles in his hand.

_I'm assuming you're not sick then. _Tom hissed, instead of speaking.

_Perfectly healthy, except for being locked in my room. The letters have been coming since Tuesday. How about you? _He hissed in response, assuming that Tom must have a reason.

_The witch in charge of muggle borns came on Wednesday, for me-_

_Why are we hissing?_ Harry asked, cutting Tom off.

_The sound carries better. _Tom said slightly annoyed at being interrupted.

Harry though about it for a second. Tom was right. They could hear each other perfectly clearly, but they weren't being very loud.

He was about to agree when the neighbor's dog started barking. Loudly. In the next room, he could hear Vernon grunting, getting up.

Tom cursed.

_Bloody hell, someone's going to hear that. I have to go. Hold out the weekend, and if they haven't changed their minds by Tuesday, we'll come and get you. I would rather not have to stick my head out this early in, but if it's between that, and you not getting into Hogwarts-_

Shouting came from the front door as Vernon stuck his head out, "Whoever's dog that is, shut it up before I call the police for disturbing the damn peace!"

Tom disappeared into the shadows before Vernon spotted him.

…

…

…

"Lemon drops"

Minevra McGonagall said briskly, moving swiftly past the gargoyles, and up the stairs that lead to the Headmasters office.

As she entered the room, Albus Dumbledore looked up, his eyes twinkling.

"Why, Minevra, what is the matter?"

She dropped into a seat with a sigh.

"Tom Riddle. It looks like… but it's _not_…" she trailed off.

"Start from the beginning. I believe you were informing the muggleborn student's of their magic today?" Dumbledore asked patiently.

Minevra nodded, pursing her lips and composing herself.

"I had reached my fifth family of the day, the Masons, in London. Tom Mason –"

"Tom Mason?" Dumbledore interrupted with a note of question in his voice.

McGonagall nodded. "Have you heard of something about him?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "I have… but it's unlikely that they are one and the same…" He trailed off. "Go on."

"The boy for whom the letter was addressed was out, so I spoke to Julie Mason, who I believe was his mother. It was just an ordinary conversation – Julie was rather easy to convince of magic, but not remarkably so.

"It was a rather ordinary meeting, all in all, until Tom Mason showed up. It wasn't his appearence so much as the... you knew Riddle as well as I did. He was so courteous and refined when he wanted something, just the perfect little gentleman, but always there was something that seemed off. Everyone always shrugged it off - but nobody could forget how unnerving he could be."

Dumbledore was watching her attentively now, the twinkle in his eyes gone.

"His appearance was _precisely_ that of Riddle's?"

Minevra shook her head. "His eyes and hair, they were different, both brown instead of blue and black. And his hair, it was longer then Riddle ever grew his. But his face, the way he talked and gestured... I was in his year. Most people who'd only seen him a few times at that age wouldn't immediately remember, especially since most people never knew what he grew up to be…"

Albus Dumbledore looked pensive. "How did he react to discovering he was a wizard?"

Minevra considered the question. "He seemed somewhat surprised, and rather enthusiastic to learn more about it, though he had the same undercurrent of _something _that made me wonder if he was faking everything."

Dumbledore drummed his fingers agains his desk, thinking deeply, "No comments that would seem to indicate that he could control his accidental magic, or any mentions of violence or power? Speaking to snakes, perhaps?"

McGonagall was startled by the question. "Heavens, no! At that age, was even Riddle obviously violent?"

Albus nodded gravely, "He was. I was Deputy Headmaster at that point, and there was something clearly dark about him, even then. I still remember his words, "I can make them hurt if I want to". Afterwards, he grew more subtle, in order to fool the other teachers, and fool them he did. Even I was occasionally lulled into thinking that perhaps I had been mistaken."

He shook his head and stood up, "Minevra, continue with your duties. I must ask some questions of some old friends. Come speak with me tonight, I will be in my office late."

* * *

**A/N: Not the sorting yet... and unfortunatley not for another while. On the plus side, I'm early again, on the two week posting schedule. Since I feel bad for drawing all of this out. **

**I kind of regret keeping the chapter this close to cannon - but that's really the way I envision it playing out, since at this point, not really that much has changed. **

**And I couldn't justify any other choice for Tom - anything else he could have done, such having his parents adopt Harry (at some point theres going to be a little scene where Julie and Simon talk... I need to justify that they pretty much rubber stamp whatever Tom wants) would have caused more complications in the long run. **

**Actually, I just had an idea... I was going to finish the McGonagall/Dumbledore scene up next chapter, but I could instead do something showing why Simon and Julie act the way they do, and a little more background on them. **

**Either way, I'll do whichever one wasn't voted for eventually... not the chapter after next, because I already have something that NEEDS to go there, but the chapter after that. **

**Sort of rambling author's note... I hope I got all of my main points. Whatever... just review! :)**


	15. Chapter 14: Hagrid

**Chapter 14: Hagrid**

The storm raged more and more ferociously as the night went on. Harry couldn't sleep. He shivered and turned over, trying to ignore the sinking feeling that he was never going to get to go to Hogwarts, never get to see, Tom, Julie, Simon, Emma or Ella again.

He remembered what it said on the scrap of letter he managed to get his hands on. _We await you owl by no later than July 31._ He had twenty four hours, three minutes, and forty-three second left according to the digital clock on Dudley's wrist.

He had that much time to get off this island and get a hold of a magical, mail delivering owl, and confirm his attendance to Hogwarts without revealing that he even knew about the magical world.

Two minutes to go to his birthday. What a wonderful birthday present that would be, Harry thought to himself sarcastically. Discover that all his hopes and dreams were all permanently crushed.

He couldn't even hope for Tom to find him. Even if Tom was willing to risk his cover being less then believable, it was doubtful Tom would be able to locate him on this island in the middle of nowhere. Not in less than twenty-four hours.

One minute to go until he was eleven. And then the countdown started.

Maybe he could sneak out in the middle of the night, take the boat, find a telephone booth, and call up Tom. He was supposed to anyway – Tom had promised to pick him up today, if the Dursley's hadn't been convinced by the onslaught of letters. And Tom would be able to think of a believable story… But if he stole the only boat of the island the Dursleys would kill him if he ever had to spend time with them again.

Thirty seconds – maybe he could swim to shore – twenty– the sea slapping hard against the rock reminded him otherwise, even with swimming lessons he wouldn't be able to survive the sea in a storm – five… four… three… two… one…

BOOM.

The whole shack shivered and Harry sat bolt upright. Someone was outside, knocking to come in.

BOOM.

Dudley jerked awake. "Where's the cannon?"

It couldn't be Tom… Tom would go for subtle… unless it was the police… Simon could have probably pulled a few strings, convinced them that the Dursley's had kidnapped him…

Uncle Vernon was holding a rifle – Harry's guess as to what was in the long, thin package confirmed.

"Who's there?" he shouted. "I warn you – I'm armed!"

There was a pause. Then – SMASH! The door was broken clear off its hinges.

_It's not the police then…_was all Harry could think coherently while staring at the giant man in the doorway.

He looked wild and shaggy, but for all his size, he didn't seem half as dangerous as Tom did. Something about him was friendly, kind. As the giant man replaced the door back into its hinges and _casually asked for tea_, Harry had an epiphany. He understood why Tom couldn't deal with something unknown.

The amount of panic at the unexpected seemed to have a direct correlation with the amount of different stories that had to match up.

Harry almost smiled at that sentence. It sounded like something Tom would say.

He never had to worry about any of that – just nod and go along with whatever Tom said. He normally wouldn't even have to remember his own lines – if he forgot, Tom would prompt him mentally. This was the fist time he had to do it on his own.

"An' here's Harry!"

Tom, Harry reminded himself firmly as he looked up with a confused but vaguely hopeful and friendly expression, think like Tom. The memory of Tom gave Harry confidence - the smooth, calm, confidant liar.

"Las' time I swa you, you was only a baby. Yeh look a lot like yer dad, but yeh've got yer mom's eyes."

Wizard then, Harry thought automatically, trying to figure out who this man was.

Uncle Vernon started talking. "I demand you leave at once, sir!" he said. "You are breaking and entering!"

Harry briefly wondered at Vernon's sanity. The man was probably a wizard, and even if Vernon didn't know that, the man seemed large enough that unless Vernon had perfect aim, a bullet would be more likely to enrage than incapacitate him. Sort of like taking down a large bear.

And he had never seen Vernon use a gun, so he probably didn't have the best aim.

"Ah, shut up, Dursley, yeh great prune."

Harry was rather impressed at how little time it took the giant to bend the gun. Though he wondered if that was dangerous, with there being gunpowder and whatnot. When it didn't blow up after landing in the corner of the room, Harry shrugged internally. He didn't know much about guns anyway.

"Anyway – Harry, a very happy birthday to yeh. Got summat fer yeh here – I mighta sat on it at some point, but it'll taste all right.

Hagrid pulled something out of his pocket.

Harry stared at the cake with _Happy Birthday Harry _written on it. Was he supposed to eat a cake offered by a total stranger? Fearing poison was probably more than a little paranoid, and the man seemed nice enough, but still, he hadn't even introduced himself.

In one of those moments when Harry's mouth got ahead of his brain. "Who are you?"

He regretted speaking for about a half a second, when he realized how appropriate that question was.

His biggest worry wasn't to appear to not know enough - it was knowing too much.

"True, I haven't introduced meself. Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of the Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts."

Harry tried not to groan. Now he had to lie well enough to convince this Rubeus Hagrid that he didn't know anything about magic, since that man clearly assumed he knew everything.

He was trying to figure out the best way to go about doing that when he was distracted by sausages that Hagrid started making. He was starving… he hadn't had anything to eat all day.

Finally, after eating enough that he could think clearly without being distracted, he tried to get more information out of Hagrid. He hoped it wasn't suspicious that it had taken him this long to ask again.

"Um, I'm sorry, but I'm still not sure who you are."

"Call me Hagrid, everyone does. An' like I told yeh, I'm Keeper of Keys at Hogwarts – yeh'll know all about Hogwarts, o'course."

Harry tried not to roll his eyes. Hagrid definitely wasn't making this any easier for him.

"Er – no. Sorry."

Finally, Hagrid caught on. After shouting at the Dursley's for a little, Hagrid turned back to Harry, "Did yeh never wonder where your parents learned it all?"

Harry sighed again, this time with frustration. He had thought to soon. Hagrid still didn't get it.

It took another few minutes of playing dumb, but eventually Hagrid got to the point – "Harry- yer a wizard", and handed Harry the letter that had been causing so much trouble.

Harry read the letter again, seeing as last time he had only managed to get a portion of it. He paused when he noticed the name Dumbledore. He had known that Dumbledore was the headmaster previously, of course – he had been forced to read various portions of _Hogwarts: A History_, but he hadn't had much of a chance to consider what that would mean.

This wasn't going to be good – though Tom would be too practical to do anything drastic, a constantly irritated Tom would be hard to deal with. Hopefully, Tom would decide that it was stupid to continue to bear one of Riddle's grudges. The man had to be fairly ancient by now…

The next half hour or so was rather interesting.

Harry discovered that owls were a lot more resilient then they looked – apparently one survived in Hagrid's jacket for an unknown period of time with no permanent damage.

Then he discovered what Riddle had been known as before he had become You-Know-Who.

Lord Voldemort.

Well, he thought to himself, Tom ought to be moderately pleased by that. He would probably consider a minor title improvement from "You-Know-Who".

Tom had always insisted that there couldn't possibly be a worst title to be known by than _You-Know-Who. _As Tom had told Harry – It sounded like a bunch of girls gossiping in a bathroom about a kid whose name they couldn't be bothered to remember.

Harry had to say he agreed – he could picture kids discussing him that way, before the Masons.

_You know who__ I mean – that weird boy with the glasses and the oversized clothes…_

Harry drifted off into his memories, trying to avoid listening to the conversation about Tom, and yet knowing that he ought to commit it to memory, knowing that Tom would want to know what had been said in detail.

It was just so – bizarre, hearing Hagrid talk about all the things that he knew that Riddle had done, from Tom's summaries of the books, and from the sections he had read himself. It had never seemed real before. It still didn't.

Tom could be vicious and petty and mean. Harry had little difficulty imagining him commiting murder or attempting to take over the world.

It was the randomness, the pointlessness that didn't fit. Tom wouldn't bother breathing if it wasn't necessary for staying alive. He certainty would not have conducted such a – random and disorganized… something.

Above all, they're would have been a clear goal at the end, something that Riddle would have wanted to achieve. Not a mismatched jumble of events that were very poorly attempting to "purify" the wizarding world.

Becuase that, out of everything else, made the least sense. Tom wouldn't care if someone was purple with green spots – he judged people solely on how useful they were to him.

Harry stayed mostly quiet while Hagrid talked, commenting when appropriate, trying not to get too lost in his thoughts.

He was getting fairly comfortable with everything going on – it wasn't as difficult as he thought it would be, and if he was a bit inconsistent, Hagrid wasn't noticing – when Vernon decided to interfere.

The moment that he had been afraid of. The moment where his legal guardians forbid his attendance of the school.

"**I won't pay for some crackpot old fool to teach him magic tricks**!"

Harry had expected some negotiations, perhaps, an explanation to Uncle Vernon as to why it would be a bad he hadn't been expecting was Hagrid's response.

Harry really, really had to wonder what it was about Dumbledore that provoked such a strong reaction from Hagrid. But he wasn't really complaining.

Though he was rather curious about the pink umbrella – he was positive wizards were, in fact, supposed to use wands. Though apparently pink umbrellas aren't at all very effective, seeing as all that happened to Dudley was that he grew a curly tail.

He had been a little relieved to see that Hagrid had failed at giving Dudley more than a tail – for all that Dudley harassed him constantly; Dudley hadn't done anything permanent to him, while Dudley still limped occasionally, from the broken bones. They were more then even.

All in all, Harry thought to himself, as he lay awake under Hagrid's wiggling jacket, it had gone as well as could have been expected, and better then it could have been.

…

Minevra McGonagall was calmer now – thinking it over, she realized she had reacted a tad unreasonably. Riddle had never had a very _unusual _face – she had seen dozens of children over the years that had borne some passing resemblance to him. And while half the Slytherins seemed to have picked up on his style somewhat, few could pull it off the way he could. She just never had one with both the face and the personality sneak up on her unexpectedly.

Still, she walked up the stairs to the Headmaster's office with some degree of curiosity as to what Albus's search had turned up.

Albus looked rather more cheerful then he had when she had last seen him – his eyes had returned to their natural twinkle.

"Did you find out anything about Tom Mason?" Minevra asked, blunt and to the point as usual.

"Indeed I have, indeed I have." Dumbledore replied, with a rather serene smile.

"If I may be so bold as to ask you to share that information?" She was still rather tightly wound, and was in no mood to stand around while Dumbledore spent the next few hours getting to the point.

Dumbledore sighed at her impatience. "As you might have noticed earlier, I recognized the name Tom Mason. This is because Arabella Figg, the squib who has been watching Harry the past couple of years, mentioned him, as a boy who had befriended Harry.

"Apparently, up until a month ago, when the Mason's moved into London, Harry visited the Mason's very frequently – so frequently, that he no longer needed her services as a sitter."

Minevra looked scandalized. "And you consider this to be reassuring news? Have you not considered what might have happened, had this truly been You-Know-Who reborn? He's at about the right age for it, and you are the one who continually warns people about the lengths he had gone to maintain his immortality."

Albus looked sternly over his half-moon glasses. "First, however Voldemort planned to return, the last guise I would expect for him to wear would be that of a child. If it were him, then I would have expected him to have resorted to any magic necessary to make himself at least appear adultlike. Second, there are blood wards around Harry – the sort of danger that a reincarnated Dark Lord would pose to Harry would have triggered them immediately… and the only time the wards have been activated was when Harry got hit by a car, almost a full year ago. I'm sure that Harry hadn't even met the boy yet – it wasn't until sometime afterwards that Arabella began seeing them together, or hearing from the Dursley's that her help wasn't needed, that the boy was staying at the Mason's."

McGonagall calmed somewhat. Still, she was far from satisfied about the information.

"Since I felt it best to take some precautions about the boy, I decided to speak to someone who had actually met him. The teachers at the school proved difficult to track, at least at such a short notice, as the majority was vacationing over the summer months, so I decided a different approach. The place of work for a Mr. Simon Mason was not difficult to find – and apparently Tom spent a good deal of time at his father's job, especially after the move to London."

He paused momentarily, having one of his lemon drops.

"All of the employees agreed that while Tom may seem somewhat unnerving, he bore a strong resemblance to his father, who was, while occasionally ruthless, a rather good man to work for – demanding, but fair. One woman recounted, rather tearfully, how much Mr. Mason had helped her when her eldest daughter took ill with some muggle disease."

Dumbledore frowned in concerntration. I believe it was called _cancer_, perhaps lukakima or something of that nature. Anyhow, the point being that while we shouldn't be surprised if Tom is a Slytherin, judging by what I heard, we need not fear the rise of the next Dark Lord."

Minevra nodded, satisfied with the explanation. Obviously the child couldn't be Riddle. "I'm sorry to have wasted your time – I don't understand what made me react so irrationally."

Dumbledore smiled amiably, "It was no trouble at all – one must think of this as an opportunity to learn about our new, incoming students."

* * *

**Yeah... sorry about the onslaught of lines from cannon - I tried to quote as little as I could, but whenever I took things out, it sounded like I was just summarizing. Yet another chapter when not much is achieved. But it's really, really early - it's been less then a week, which I'm pretty sure must be a record for me.**

**Is anyone really annoyed as to how long this is all stretching out? Because I'm pretty sure I could simply cut out most the next chapter, and it wouldn't affect the storyline at all, but I've already pretty much written it, and don't want to get rid of it... It's not really going to affect the timing of the chapter after that being published, because merging the two would take as much time as finishing the next one, so it's soley based on how much people are willing to read. **

**The ending of this chapter is what I meant by it'd be more complicated if the Mason's adopted Harry. Obviously, Dumbledore wouldn't be satisfied with this sort of background check if this was where the Boy-Who-Lived was living. **

**The reason no one mentioned that Tom was adopted was because Arabella Figg is an odd old lady that raises cats, in the eyes of the neighbors - she's not going to get the juciest bits of neighborhood gossip, while the people at Simon's job either don't know or don't think its worth mentioning. **

**Review!**


	16. Chapter 15: Draco Malfoy

**Chapter 15: Draco Malfoy**

Harry woke early the next morning. Though he could tell it was daylight, he kept his eyes firmly shut.

"I will not botch this up," he told himself firmly. "I will act like a boy who has just found out he was a wizard."

There was a loud tapping noise.

He wanted to stay in bed, where his head wouldn't hurt from remembering the things he should say, could say, and the things he must not say under any circumstances. He still couldn't believe that he had survived last night's conversation without giving anything away or bursting into laughter.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

He finally sat up, Hagrid's heavy coat falling off of him. The hut was full of sunlight, the storm was over, Hagrid was asleep on the collapsed sofa, and there was an owl rapping its claw on window, a newspaper held in its beak.

He went to the window and jerked it open. The owl swooped in and dropped the newspaper on top of Hagrid, who didn't wake up. The owl then fluttered onto the floor and began to attack Hagrid's coat.

Probably wants to get paid, Harry thought, before stopping himself and trying to figure out if he would have figured that out without prior knowledge.

Better to wake Hagrid up and see what he says, Harry thought, he couldn't pay with Hagrid's money without permission anyway.

"Hagrid!" said Harry loudly. "There's an owl –"

"Pay him," Hagrid grunted without looking up.

Harry looked through the pockets, trying to find wizarding coins in mounds of rubbish. Tom would have had a fit; he hated junk.

Finally he came up with a handful of wizard coins.

"Give him five Knuts," Hagrid muttered, not completely awake.

Harry almost gave the bird five of the little bronze coins, before remembering that he in fact, did not know what a Knut was. Couldn't Hagrid be at least a little helpful and give more vital information _before_ he asked for it?

He almost laughed – that thought was so similar to what Tom had said after Riddle had met Dumbledore, about giving more information to aid in lying. Slightly different circumstances, but the idea was the same.

If he wasn't careful, he'd turn into a copy of Tom – not that he didn't act like Tom's shadow, often enough.

"Knuts?"

"The little bronze ones."

Harry put the money in the owls pouch, while Hagrid finally got up.

"Best be off, Harry, lot's ter do today, gotta get up ter London an' buy all yer stuff fer school."

The rest of the morning was passed in a similar fashion, Harry asked explanations for things he already knew, and then acted surprised. By the time they got to the Leaky Cauldron, Harry had only learned only two new things; Hagrid wanted a dragon, and he was picking something up for Dumbledore from Gringotts.

…

Harry was deeply relieved when he saw Tom waiting on the inside; reading one of his school books in a corner, though he was a little confused. Hadn't Tom said that he was going to get him today from the Dursley's? So what was Tom doing here?

He looked up the second Harry entered, and ambled over casually.

"Why didn't you tell me you were famous? You're in half a dozen books, and don't even try to tell me you're not the same Harry Potter that's in all of them. At that, why didn't you tell me that I was a wizard? I made a lot of random things happen."

He sounded slightly accusing, but also amused.

Harry didn't even have to think to respond – the words came effortlessly. He slipped into his role as if he had rehearsed it a dozen times, his lines scripted.

That was what he had missed, in the past month – the confidence that came from being around Tom, knowing that all Tom had to do was smile and say a few words and everything would be fine. He was no longer worried about slipping up and saying something he oughtn't.

As they continued bantering, Harry mentally asked _Weren't you going to fetch me from the Dursley's today?_

_I went last night. No one was there – the neighbors said you had left on Sunday, on what had looked to be a long trip._

_I came down here to think on what to do next, and to see if you would show up. Guess I got lucky. _

Hagrid eyed Tom strangely when he was introduced, with a vaugue unfriendliness, "Yeh look like 'nother Tom I used to know, a few year's 'bove me in 'ogwarts."

Tom's mildly enthusiastic and completely authentic seeming, "That's interesting… Do you think it's possible I was related to him? I never knew my parents; I grew up in an orphanage," quickly placated him.

Hagrid willingly agreed to let Tom accompany them for the rest of the trip, though Tom was only coming to keep Harry company – he had already gotten all of his supplies.

When the people in the bar got up and started shaking Harry's hand he wanted nothing more than to run away quickly or hide behind Tom, but a quick glare from Tom told him that would not be advisable.

The rounds of hand shaking were largely unmemorable. Though they did meet their future Defense Against Dark Arts teacher, who had a horrible stutter. Tom was pretty much openly scornful.

After that, they continued into the Alley. Harry managed to be surprised when Hagrid tapped the wall and it opened. Walking down the streets towards Gringotts was easy, since he just had to nod whenever Tom said something, and look wide-eyed and amazed.

When they entered the bank and Hagrid dumped piles of moldy dog biscuits out of his pockets during his search for Harry's key Tom and the goblin had matching expressions, both wrinkling their noses in disgust.

While he was digging through the mess, Tom eyed Harry. _Why on earth does he have your key? I wouldn't start an argument about it now, since we really don't know enough, but that's on the list of things we need to do should we ever get around to them… For now, just take as much money as you reasonably can._

Tom perked up with intrest when Hagrid mentioned a "You-Know-What in vault seven hundred and thirteen."

A goblin named Griphook led them out of the hall, while Harry asked what the "You Know-What" was.

"Can't tell yeh that. Very secret Hogwarts business. Dumbledore's trusted me. More'n my job's worth ter tell yeh that."

Tom muttered well out of Hagrid's earshot, "Can't be something that important, not even Dumbledore is that stupid. And I doubt your job is worth two knuts."

Harry shot Tom a glare. Hagrid might not be the brightest man alive, but he was nice enough, and Tom didn't have to be contemptuous of everyone.

Tom simply rolled his eyes in response.

The narrow stone passageway lit with flaming torches that Griphook led them to didn't require fake surprise from either of them. Neither Tom nor Harry had had the chance to take one of the small carts down to a vault.

Tom's eyes were glazed over, a look of intense concentration on his face, as the cart hurtled through a maze of twisting passages. Harry didn't even bother trying to remember the way, but had a feeling that was exactly what Tom doing.

Harry stayed quiet not to distract him.

Both Hagrid and Tom looked rather green by the time they stopped beside a small door in the passage wall. Hagrid got out and had to lean against the wall to stop himself from trembling. Tom on the other hand, stayed steady and looked contemptuous of Hagrid's show of weakness.

Harry had a hard time resisting the urge to comment on his indisposition, but the urge to keep his limbs intact won out.

After a couple seconds, Tom flashed a weak smile and whispered, "Memorized the path"

This time Harry rolled his eyes, "Because it will be useful, when?"

Tom sneered and didn't respond.

Both of them exited the cart and gaped at the sight before them. When the green smoke cleared, there were mounds of gold coins.

It was incredible. He wouldn't have to rely on the Mason's to buy him anything ever again. He could repay them all the money he borrowed and he'd never have to feel like a charity case again.

He knew that compared to the Masons he far from wealthy, but he would have enough to pay for everything he needed to buy over the next seven years. All the times he had felt like an idiot, and there had been a small fortune belonging to him, buried deep under London.

He had known there was a good chance he had inherited a fair amount from his parents, but he hadn't truly believed he had any money, much less this much.

He piled the money into the bag, taking more than Hagrid thought he should. When Hagrid cautioned about spending money wisely, Tom tensed and glared, an inch away from a biting comment. Harry forced himself to feel calm and soothing, just so Tom wouldn't snap. He didn't know how they were going to survive Hogwarts, if Tom's temper didn't settle down.

Hagrid's comment about an appropriate amount of spending money politely disregarded by Harry, they went into the cart again - this time Tom's contempt of the weakness showed by Hagrid when he requested that the cart be slowed down was numbed by his obvious desire for the same.

Unfortunately for both of them, the goblin didn't slow down.

Harry wanted to look over the side of the cart, to see what was underneath, but thought better of it looking at Tom. He didn't want yet another lecture on hazardous activities and risking his life for no reason.

Vault seven hundred and thirteen had no keyhole – Griphook simply stroked the door with his finger and it simply melted away. "If anyone but a Gringotts goblin tried that, they'd be sucked through the door and trapped in there."

"How often do you check?" Harry asked.

"About one every ten years," said Griphook, the nasty grin on his face joined by the one on Tom's.

When Harry and Tom saw that the vault wasn't full of gold and jewels, but only had a grubby little package wrapped up in brown paper lying on the floor, Tom nudged Harry and muttered, "Told you no one sane would trust Hagrid with anything important. And even though Dumbledore's sanity _is_ questionable, even he's not that crazy."

Harry didn't even bother trying to respond. Tom would be Tom, and there was nothing anybody could do about it.

…

When they got to the surface again Hagrid said, "Might as well get yer uniform. Listen, Harry, Tom, would yeh mind if I slipped off fer a pick-me-up in the Leaky Cauldron?"

…

Tom sneered at Hagrid's retreating figure as they walked into Madam Malkin's, who sent them into the back. There was another boy their age standing in the back being fitted for a robe already. He had a pale pointy face, and blond hair. Tom thought he looked rather self-important, and the material that his robe was being made out was looked to be very high quality, more so than a standard fabric.

He hissed at Harry, "It's probably someone important. Mention you are Harry Potter as soon as possible, though don't seem to brag about it – sneak it in there."

Harry ought to know that already – they had had a conversation about it.

…

"_We're starting with a disadvantage, not knowing anyone. We don't have any connections, and I'm _muggleborn, _at least as far as anyone is allowed to know_. _Do you know how hard it's going to be to get up to par socially?"_

_Tom was pacing the floor in his bedroom, agitated._

"_Do you see all these books on purebloods and family trees," he gestured wildly at the stack of books on his bed, "Blood is important. Connections are even more important. Everything depends on who you know. I have to befriend all of the important purebloods. You need to help me. You're the boy-who-lived – and the last remaining member of an old pureblood family. You'll be able to accomplish far more than me, at least with first impressions that involve surnames. So if you see anybody that looks like a spoiled brat make a beeline for them, and play nice, but not subservient."  
_

"_Why should I have to make friends with prats like that? I don't want to spend time with kids that think they can have whatever they want," Harry asked, folding his arms._

"_It's not really their fault. Children are a product of their parents. After they spend some time with me they'll realize that their not the most important people in world. At best they're a very distant second..." Tom decided to lighten the mood, so he paused dramatically. "To me!"_

_Tom just laughed as Harry a pillow at him. He could have never imagined how _entertaining _acting silly and foolish could be – or how useful. The more amused he was, the less likely he was to lose his temper over something trivial, thus reducing the chances of him mucking up the way Riddle tended to. _

"_See, you survive long periods of time with me, and I have to be the biggest prat in the whole universe. Just toss your name around a bit, see what response you get."_

…

Still, it never hurt to remind Harry.

The boy spoke first, "Hullo, Hogwarts too?"

The boy spoke with a bored, drawling voice; definitely worth talking to. He hoped Harry had picked up on that. He wanted Harry to do the talking today, to see if he had learned anything, and to see if the years of being bullied by Dudley and not socializing had left their mark. Harry had agreed, on Tom's insistence.

Harry's lack of ambition annoyed Tom, especially since he felt that Harry was becoming less and less ambitious the more time he spent with him. He was always happy to let Tom get all the attention and sit in the background. Before he knew of Harry's fame, Tom hadn't minded talking the spotlight – had actively encouraged that, in fact. Still, that had to stop now, if Harry wanted to keep some of the influence being the boy-who-lived had given him.

"Yes, we're just starting."

"This is going to be my first year too. My father's next door buying my books and mother's up the street looking at wands. Then I'm going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don't see why first-years can't have their own. I think I'll bully father into getting me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow. Have you got your own broom?"

The boy sounded more and more like the son of someone both rich and influential, which most likely meant a pure-blood family.

"No, but I think the sport sounds fascinating. Tom reckons I'll be good at it, but I'm not sure."

"You mean you've never flown on a broom before? You're not a mudblood, are you?

The last part was said in such a horrified voice that left no question about the boy's opinion on blood.

Tom hoped Harry had remembered the lectures he had given him, and would reply appropriately.

Harry hesitated for a moment, but then realized how to frame his answer.

"Not, muggle-born, just raised by muggles. My mum and dad were a witch and a wizard, but they died, and I got sent off to live with my aunt and uncle. They're horrible. My cousin is a fat pig, and all of them are terrified of magic."

Tom smiled to himself. Harry had put in a nice amount of disgust into his voice, which seemed to reassure the blond boy, who had looked a bit disappointed when he heard Harry was raised by Muggles. His parents probably wouldn't let him socialize with anyone that didn't have sufficiently pure blood.

And Harry had been completely honest in his response, which was good. As long as it was possible to frame the truth in the way you want it to be seen, it was simpler than lying and trying to remember different stories. And there wouldn't be any risk of an ugly mess happening if the truth did come out.

"I'm sorry about your parents," the blond boy continued.

He didn't sound very regretful, instead he sounded slightly anxious about what he was going to say next.

"They really shouldn't let the other sort in. They're just not the same; they've never been brought up to know our ways. Some of them have never even heard of Hogwarts until they get the letter, imagine. I think they should keep it in the old wizarding families. I know that you haven't been raised in the wizarding world or anything, but you at least knew that you had magic, and anyway, the blood matters as much as the raising, if not more. A pureblood raised muggle, with no idea of his heritage, will still turn out better than a mudblood raised by wizards."

The first part sounded like a memorized lesson, but the second part was a genuine attempt at comfort and reassurance. Hopefully Harry wouldn't decide to correct him on his misconception about Harry's knowledge of magic – though technically Harry did know about magic for a little while before the letters came.

Before Tom could analyze his words more deeply or Harry could respond, the boy spoke again.

"What's your surname, anyway?"

"Potter. I'm Harry Potter."

The blond almost fell of his stool. He looked at Harry in shock. "You're Harry Potter. And they sent you to live with muggles!?!"

He sounded incredibly outraged.

"The public doesn't know where you have been for the past ten years, for security, but muggles? They send one of the most famous wizards alive to live with muggles!"

Harry replied tersely. "Who's the "they" that you just mentioned. I want to know who's responsible for the past 10 years of my life."

Tom almost visibly smiled. Harry was getting into his role well – he most definitely knew who had sent him to live with the Dursleys, but it fit in nicely with the flow of the conversation.

"Albus Dumbledore. He's the Headmaster of Hogwarts, and most people think he's the greatest wizard alive. My father thinks he's a crazy old fool. No one knew what happened for the first few days after You-Know-Who fell, you simply disappeared. Everyone trusted Dumbledore when he said you were safe. I mean, the Ministry of Magic knew where you were, but the information was so confidential, not even my father could find out."

Dumbledore… Tom thought back to that man with loathing. While Riddle was always a little insane, Dumbledore had made it a thousand times worse – Riddle had never felt so weak or foolish as he had in that moment. Tom knew Riddle, knew that after that Riddle would have opposed anything Dumbledore stood for on principle after that – followed by a hatred muggles, because it was their fault he had been uninformed and helpless.

He couldn't say for certain that Riddle would have chosen a different path if Dumbledore had treated the whole thing differently, not if he was being honest to himself. But it couldn't be ruled out as a possibility.

And for all that he hated Riddle sometimes, he couldn't help but view a slight against Riddle as a slight against himself.

He was glad of the way the conversation was going; Harry clearly didn't need his help. He didn't want to attract attention just yet, but it would be good for Harry to get experience.

Tom had no doubt that whatever happened, whatever path in life he chose to take, Harry would follow him. Tom also knew that no matter what, he wouldn't simply resume his role as Voldemort.

Manipulate people. Certainly. Kill people. Possibly. Torture people. Again, possibly. Take over the wizarding world. A reasonable goal.

But he wouldn't go around attacking innocent people going about their lives. He knew he viewed most people as inanimate objects, to be moved around and tormented at leisure, but he still had trouble believing that he would go around killing people just for the fun of it. He had never killed anyone in either life yet, and while the thought of it didn't horrify him, he had never felt any pleasure at the thought of people dying; and torturing people had lost a lot of its appeal since meeting Harry. It was annoying actually, his morals kept increasing, while Harry showed no sign of losing any.

This all went through his head in the pause between the blond boy and Harry speaking. He snapped back to reality when Harry responded. He really had to stop overanalyzing everything.

"I think I may have to agree with your father about Dumbledore," Harry said darkly, "But let's forget about that now. Tell me about you. You know my life story, and I don't even know your name."

The boy looked thrilled by the opportunity to talk about himself.

"My name is Draco Malfoy."

Malfoy, yes, Tom remembered that name. The boy's father was most likely a Death Eater who bought his way out of Azkaban. As he tried to remember everything he knew about the family, Draco prattled on about himself.

"My father is a very important man. He's on the board of governors at Hogwarts. I'm going to be in Slytherin. My whole family was there…"

Finally, Tom noticed Hagrid approaching. Draco noticed too.

"Look at that man," he said pointing.

"That's Hagrid. He works at Hogwarts," Harry sounded smug about knowing something the other boy did not.

"I've heard of him. He's a sort of servant, isn't he?"

"He's gamekeeper." Tom could tell Harry didn't like the tone Draco's was using to reference Hagrid. Insulting a group of people in general didn't bother him, but he wouldn't stand for someone he liked to be attacked. He hoped his curt tone would discourage Draco from continuing. It didn't.

"Yes, exactly. I heard he's a sort of savage – lives in a hut in the school grounds and every now and then he gets drunk, tries to do magic and ends up setting fire to his bed."

Tom managed to resist agreeing with Draco. This was Harry's moment to shine, he would come in later. Best to be ignored now.

"No, he's not a savage. He might not be the smartest bloke alive, but he got me away from my aunt and uncle and that counts for a lot to me. Don't insult him in front of me again."

Harry had gotten the commanding tone perfectly, Tom thought proudly, regardless of whether he approved of what was being ordered.

"Fine. Wait, what – got you away from … They were trying to keep you out of Hogwarts!"

"Burned my letters, then dragged me halfway around the country when they wouldn't stop coming," Harry said casually, as though it was uninteresting, "I was serious when I said they were horrible. I don't judge people without evidence."

Tom winced slightly but Draco didn't seem to have taken that the wrong way. Harry had said it completely neutrally, with no hint of judgment. In fact, Draco was looking rather thoughtful.

…

"Come on, Hagrid's nice, I swear. I bet he'll take us to get ice cream if we ask." Harry tried to convince Draco to meet Hagrid after they had paid for their robes.

"Fine, but only if you come meet my father. I'm meeting him at Florish and Blotts in 20 minutes. He'll be pleased that I'm friends with Harry Potter" He eyed Harry after the last bit, as if daring him to disagree.

"Brilliant," Harry said agreeably, eyeing Tom's smirk. Harry easily picked up on the body language telling him he was doing well with the conversation.

* * *

**Once I have the chapter completley finished, I can't help but post it, even though I know that I won't be able to keep this pace up later. It's not being beta'd right now, so pardon any spelling mistakes (though do point the out to me - I'll try and fix them)**

**The reason that I'm posting so quickly now is because I wrote these chapters ages and ages ago, because they were easier then coming up with my own chapters... I've updated them, of course, but that's why they're keeping so close to cannon... I didn't have the heart or energy to completley trash what I wrote, even though I'd probably do it differently if I was doing it from scratch again. **

**Next chapter will take somewhat longer to post. **

**If anyone has any questions or is confused, ask and I'll reply... (though I'm not going to say who's going into which house, or other such plot spoilers). I just don't want to keep posting a whole flood of answers to questions I think people will ask in all my authors notes...**

**Review! And thank you everyone that reviewed last chapter! That was the most reviews I ever got for a single chapter :)**


	17. Chapter 16: Wands, Snakes, and Parents

**Chapter 16: Wands, Snakes and Parents**

"Hagrid, can we go get ice cream, we met Draco while getting our robes, he's starting Hogwarts this year too."

"Oh, o'course yeh all get some ice cream. It's great that yer both makin' friends already. What's yer name?"

Hearing the name Malfoy, however, made Hagrid scowl dangerously.

That didn't stop Draco from speaking, a dangerous glint in his eye. "Have something against my name, do you?"

"Yer father is a disgrace to all wizard kind, oughta be in Azkaban with the rest of them murders." Hagrid said with feeling.

….

Tom wanted to hit his head against the nearest wall, repeatedly. Or better yet, find someone else and hit their head against the wall repeatedly. It would make him feel best if he could do so with Hagrid's head, but any other person would do as well.

A pink tinge had appeared on Draco's cheeks, and he looked ready to attack someone. Instead of turning on Hagrid the way he expected him to, Draco glared at Harry.

"I'd be careful if I were you, Potter," Draco said slowly. "Unless you pick politer friends you'll go the same way as you parents. They didn't know what kind of people were good for them, either. You hang out with riffraff like this Hagrid, and it'll rub off on you."

Now he wanted to take both Hagrid and Draco, and slice them up slowly. Probably starting from the toes and working his way up.

Tom had thought earlier that Draco deserved to be in Slytherin. Now, he was convinced that Draco would be in Slytherin, but only because all the other houses would reject him.

He grabbed Draco and pulled him away before either Harry or Hagrid could respond. He pushed him into a deserted side alley and said menacingly, "What were you thinking? Do you want Harry to hate you? Because you're done a very good job with that little speech right there. Unless you got really lucky, you're number one on Harry's _to hate_ list. And I would have thought that staying on the good side of the 'Boy-Who-Lived' who lived would be a way to gain influence and remove suspicion from your family name, not to mention impress your father, but if you have a different plan, don't let me stop you."

He was having a hard time restraining himself from hitting the boy. For a second Draco looked like he was going to try and play the aristocrat, but Tom could easily be more intimidating than the boy's father, and Draco responded like a chastened child.

"I didn't mean to say that," Draco stammered, "I was mad at Hagrid, and Harry was supporting Hagrid, which means he thinks that about my parents too, and I wanted to say something that would hurt him."

Idiot boy.

"Did you think, for a second, that Harry knew that Hagrid was going to respond like that? I don't think he's ever even heard of your father. Muggle raised, remember?

"Think before you say something, otherwise you'll wind up in Gryffindor. And wait until you get to know people before you insult them, otherwise you may lose allies that could be very valuable. Unless you want to live your whole life using the importance of your family name as your only redeeming quality, start acting like a true Slytherin."

Hopefully Draco wouldn't pick up on the fact that as Tom, too, was supposed to be muggle-raised, and therefore shouldn't know anything at all about the houses or about the Malfoy family history.

Draco couldn't do anything but nod quickly. In another timeline, Tom had grown up to be a Dark Lord. Even with light brown hair and brown eyes chosen to make him look as unthreatening as possible, he still strongly resembled Tom Riddle, a boy who managed to get Slytherin House to both respect and fear him despite everyone thinking he was a muggle-born. He wielded the kind of power that was almost impossible to refuse, drawing those who seeked it like a moth to flames.

Tom knew that he could make the air was crackle with power, and while he didn't want to show his full potential before he even got to Hogwarts, he felt that having the boy on his side would useful. The Malfoy's were one of the most important pureblood families. If the sole heir supported Tom, he wouldn't receive much trouble from the other children in Slytherin.

Tom grabbed Draco, and dragged him back to where Harry and Hagrid were yelling at each other.

"Apologize." Tom hissed venomously, before letting Draco go and shoving him towards Harry.

Harry clearly didn't buy the sullen sounding apology, but accepted it anyway, knowing that was what Tom wanted.

Hagrid looked like wanted to say something, but whatever Harry had told him while Tom was of with Draco seemed to be keeping him quiet.

There was an awkward silence for a half a minute. Finally, Draco left, eyeing Tom nervously. "See you at Hogwarts."

…

The rest of the shopping passed fairly uneventfully – until Hagrid decided he wanted to buy Harry a present.

Tom seethed with anger, as Harry repeatedly thanked Hagrid for his damn owl. He glared at the snowy white bird.

He had remembered it was Harry's birthday, of course. It just hadn't occurred to him to get Harry a _present. _Or even acknowledge it in any way. Which, now that he thought about it, was slightly inconsiderate.

_He _had never gotten a birthday present either – but he wouldn't be so ridiculously pleased if he did get one.

They were heading to Ollivander's now… Tom had an idea, seeing as he wanted to avoid the unnerving man who had given him his wand, when he had first come to Diagon Alley after he had been "officially" informed of Hogwarts

…

"_Hello," Tom said uncertainty to the seemingly empty store._

_Without Tom seeing or hearing him, and old man appeared from behind one of the shelves. Tom clenched his fist, trying not to let his anxiety show. He recognized the man – the same person had sold him his own wand. _

_He looked at Tom, and for a second he was convinced that Ollivander knew exactly who he was, or whom he had been. Just as that feeling started to pass, he spoke._

"_I didn't think I'd be seeing you again." His voice was soft. _

_Tom replied, a little stiffly, "I don't recall having ever met you."_

_Ollivander stared at him some more, and then laughed, an old wheezing laugh. "If you say so young man, if you say so… Perhaps I am mistaken. What did you say your name was?"_

"_Tom Mason," he answered curtly. _

"_Ah… Tom. I have a feeling it should be difficult to find you a wand." the old man murmured to himself as he pulled wands off shelves._

_And so it was difficult… a few of the wands responded slightly to Tom's grip, but none of them provided the same sense of instant certainty that Riddle had felt picking up his yew wand. _

_Finally there was a wand that, while it didn't feel quite perfect in his hands, he at least felt he would be able to cast magic with it. _

"_There is one more wand that might fit you, the one that I thought of first, when I saw you." Ollivander said softly._

_Tom shuddered internally when Ollivander hinted yet again, that he knew something about Tom. This wand, when Tom picked it up, gave him the oddest feeling – it was _his, _he felt a bond with it instantly… and yet he knew it didn't belong to him, it wouldn't work properly for him. He put it down. "No, not this wand."_

_Ollivander stared at him with and inscrutable expression. "Perhaps I was wrong - I am growing rather old now… You probably should stick with that first wand. Perhaps in a few years you should return to see if anything's changed – sometimes people can't find a wand that matches them perfectly when they first get a wand. Their characters are not yet fully formed. When you come back, your wand may be able to recognize you more easily."_

_Tom paid quickly, leaving the store without a backwards glance. _

…

Tom mentioned to Hagrid and Harry that he had just thought of a book he wanted to by from Flourish and Blotts, and promised to meet them in the Leaky Cauldron later.

Harry didn't question him, and Hagrid seemed glad to be rid of him.

He stopped at the entrance of Knockturn Alley, pulling his hood up over his head, so that his face was concealed.

Tom had been down the Alley a few times in the past week, learning where all the stores were. So had no trouble locating what he was looking for. The so called "pet shop" - from what he had heard, it was mostly a good place to obtain illegal potions ingredients from various rare creatures, but they also had a nice selection of snakes, mostly of the venomous variety.

After making sure his hood was secure, he entered. The shop was dark and dusty – he didn't need to know of its reputation to know that it dealt in illegal objects. The atmosphere in the store could be created by nothing else. The shopkeeper was in a heated debate with some customer, so Tom took advantage of his distraction to sneak towards where he could hear snakes hissing to each other.

Dodging between the shelves, he reached a row of cages, each with containing at least one snake.

Tom crinkled his nose – the cages were all dirty, and the snakes were clearly underfed. A few were simply hissing, _food, hungry, feed us. _Not that Tom felt bad for the snakes – it was just so unsightly… and he wanted to have a snake that would be in reasonably good condition. Pulling out his book on magical snakes (obtained at another shop in Knockturn Alley – he was reasonably sure that the Ministry had labeled this book as Dark and had it banned), he flipped to the page that had caught his attention earlier.

_The Apert Trepa is a rare variety of snake. Two snakes always hatch from a single egg, and should the pair be separated, they will find each other again unerringly – if they are further than a mile apart for more then a week, they both die at the same instant. __Their fangs are frequently used as the potions ingredients of communication spells. _

_There is some speculation that there is a mind link between the two snakes, but this has never been proven or disproven, as there has yet to be a parseltounge willing to comment. _

He looked up again. Apert Trapa, Apert Trepa…possibly the only good thing about this store was that the cages were labeled.

It took him only a few moments to find the cage. There were two snakes intertwined, sleeping. They were smaller then he had expected – he looked back at the book – well, it did say that they grew to be a quarter meter in length, and only a few centimeters thick, but he had gotten rather used to Nagini.

He knocked on the cage. One of the snakes raised his head and hissed.

_Stupid human, leave us alone._

Not an auspicious start. Still, it had never taken him long to convince humans to go along with whatever he wanted, and snakes had always been even easier to convince than people.

_There is a question I must ask of you._

All the snakes on the shelves turned towards Tom.

_Speaker, _they hissed softly,_ there is a speaker once again. _

_Speaker, your wish is my command_, said the snake which had spoken rudely before.

Now, Tom had been expecting to have to spend a little time convincing the snakes to go along with him, promises of food and shelter. Not an immediate offer of lifelong servitude. The snakes at the zoo had been interested in him, but only Nagini wanted to go home with him.

The matter was cleared up momentarily, once he asked for an explanation – there was only one way magical snakes could grow more powerful, and that was by bonding with a parselmouth. It was what every magical snake dreamed of – food, shelter, a guarantee to not be chopped up into potions ingredients, not to mention an increase in ability that would usually give it immunity from all but the most powerful of snakes.

…

He had been so engrossed in his conversation that he didn't notice the approach of the shopkeeper.

"Little boys shouldn't be in here looking at snakes. Scat, your parents are probably looking for you and they wouldn't be pleased if they knew where you were."

Tom whirled around, managing the motion without seeming startled, simply swift. His laugh was short and confident - with his arms folded, he replied, "I'm fairly certain that my parent's are not looking for me – and should they know where I was, I doubt it would come as any great surprise."

He touched the door of the cage, the lock opening – it hadn't even been locked with magic, he thought scornfully. He wouldn't have been able to open it if it had been.

The man, who had momentarily appeared uncertain at Tom's confident statement – he was probably worried that Tom was the child of one of his clients, whom he would do well not to offend – looked startled.

"Hey! What did you do with that lock?"

The surprise swiftly turned into panic however, as Tom placed his hand into the cage.

He started running towards Tom. "I don't know what you think you're playing at, boy, but those are _poisonous _snakes. Slowly take your hands out of that cage. No sudden motions, you might startle them into biting you."

Before he could reach Tom, the snakes slithered up his hand into his sleeve.

The shopkeeper stopped, staring at Tom, who pulled out a pouch from inside his bag.

"How much for the pair?"

For a second, the man looked like he was about to protest. Then he shrugged. That was what Tom loved about black markets – if someone was paying, their identity was irrelevant.

"Two hundred galleons for the pair," the shopkeeper frowned, another problem presenting itself, "And I don't think you're going to have that much in that little pouch of yours."

Tom walked over to the counter, where he poured out money, much more then it looked like the bag held. He rolled his eyes and added sarcastically, "It's magic – ever heard of that?"

If Tom had been willing to be generous, he would have had to admit that it was a reasonable mistake to make – the expandable bags were rather expensive and few eleven year olds would ever need one. Not to mention the fact that children his age carried a hundred galleons in their pockets anyhow.

He muttered a spell under his breath, and the coins neatly stacked themselves into piles of ten. That spell was, ridiculously enough, classified as a restricted spell. Not Dark – not even the Ministry of Magic could claim _that_, but it was difficult to come across.

Of course, any _legal _transaction that involved this amount of money could be handled through Gringotts, with all the necessary paperwork. And most normal transactions could be counted out by hand.

It wasn't even that difficult of a spell – any second year could probably manage it, but the shopkeeper stared. Though that was probably because he had done it without a wand…

He was glad for his hood now. For the first time, the shopkeeper was earnestly trying to get a glimpse of his face. He turned away, walking out the door.

The shopkeeper looked like he wanted to stop him for a second, but then shook his head and scooped up the money.

…

"Don't worry about Harry." Tom forced a smile onto his face. "I was going to invite him over anyhow… And I think the Dursley's are probably rather upset right now – I got the impression that they didn't like magic… when there was a show on television that mentioned magic, I thought his uncle," he gestured towards Harry, "would have a right fit."

Hagrid didn't even look the slightest bit suspicious. In fact, he looked rather sheepish. "Yer probably righ', I don't think the Dursley's will be feelin' very kindly towards Harry at the moment. Better give 'em some time to calm down. Yer sure you'll get home fine?"

…

"Here," Tom said shortly, holding out his hand. One of the snakes – he had no idea which, Harry could name them if he liked; he had simply gotten them because they were useful – slithered out of sleeve.

Tom had thought that Harry had overreacted before, when he had gotten a present from Hagrid. But when Tom gave Harry one of the snakes… he didn't think Harry could have been happier if he'd delivered the world on a silver platter.

It took Harry a bit to come up with names, but he eventually settled on Sal and Slyth. Slyth stayed with Tom, Sal went to Harry.

…

"What about Nagini?" Harry asked.

Tom, who had been reading, looked up, slightly confused. "What do you mean, what about Nagini?"

Harry continued. "Well, what are we going to do with her, now that we have these new snakes?"

Tom shrugged. "She'd have been kind of useless at school anyhow. We'll leave her with Emma and Ella."

"How will they be able to take care of her though? They won't understand what she's saying!"

Tom rolled his eyes. "Harry, normal people have pet snakes _all of the time_. And most of them don't have the benefit of having the snake promise not to bite. I'll leave them enough money to take care of her."

Another thought occured to him. "And by the way, you haven't shown me your wand."

Harry perked up, "I forgot about that! And I wanted to tell you about it, too."

Harry got up to get his wand and then handed it to Tom. He recognized it before Harry spoke. "Ollivander said the phoenix feather was the same as in the wand that Riddle had."

It was the wand that felt like it was almost his, but not quite.

"Is that okay?" Harry asked worredly, "I mean, do you mind that I'm using it? Or do you feel it ought to be yours?"

Tom pondered that for a moment, and eventually shook his head. "It's yours... it wouldn't work right for me. I don't think I'd want it anyway.

...

...

...

Julie and Simon sat silently, enjoying the silence of the empty house – Tom and Harry had taken Emma and Ella out for a trip of London, as a sort of farewell present. Hogwarts started tomorrow.

Julie broke the silence, putting the glass she had been drinking out of on the table.

"Aren't you worried about them – at all?" she asked, sounding frustrated.

Simon looked up from the newspaper he had been reading.

"About the boys going away to school?" he asked, sounding slightly puzzled.

Julie sighed and took a deep breath.

"Not about them going to school, exactly… I'm just wondering if we're doing the right thing, giving them such free reign. Tom, especially, never tells us anything. He just demands things without explanation, and expects us to comply. Like when he went to Diagon Alley with Harry – he simply told us that he had found the entrance to the magical world, and he needed a disguise, because he didn't want anyone recognizing him later, since he wasn't supposed to know about it. And you didn't ask questions, you simply called up one of your "acquaintances", told him that your children wanted to play at being undercover for a day. He expects us to lie for him, to change our plans at his whim – and you don't try to discourage him or forbid him, and you keep telling me not to interfere!"

She breathed out deeply, as if she had wanted to get that off her chest for quite some time.

Simon folded his newspaper slowly, and placed it on the coffee table, and then leaned back in his chair.

"Do you really think that we could make the slightest difference?" he asked, his voice rather unconcerned.

Julie seemed slightly outraged that he didn't seem to be the least bit worried about what she was saying. "Of course we can – we're the adults. You didn't need to let him dye his hair and get colored contacts – not the first time, and not now, when he apparently feels the need to go to this school in disguise. You didn't need his permission to adopt Harry – you could have gone ahead after he said no. You let him have obscene amounts of spending money – God only knows what he does with it. I didn't have to pretend to have never heard of magic, when the lady from the school came, but you convinced me to go along with it."

She got louder and louder as she kept talking, leaning forward, until she finally slumped back into her chair.

Quietly, she added, "I just feel so _helpless_. I can't do anything about him at all, and sometimes I feel like he's just looking right through me. As I though I wasn't even there – as if I didn't even exist.""

Simon sighed and shook his head. He rose slowly, and started pacing."

"No, we couldn't do anything. Sure, we could have refused to get his disguise – do you think he would have simply said, "alright, sure" and have left it at that? He's not stupid – very far from it – do you think he couldn't have managed on his own? It's not like hair dye and colored contacts are hard to buy – and half-drunk teenagers know where to find false ID's, if he really wanted them. True, if we cut off his money, he'd have a bit more trouble, but in some ways that would be even worse. Do you really think Tom wouldn't do something illegal if someone was going to pay him well enough for it? Between his intelligence and his magic, unless we locked him in the house, we'd never even what he was up to."

He paused, both in speech and pacing, for a moment. He looked at Julie, trying to see if she understood what he was trying.

"As for adopting Harry – the boy would stop breathing if Tom demanded it from him. If Tom had really set his mind on making sure that Harry wouldn't be adopted by us… well, while I don't need Tom's permission to adopt Harry, I do need Harry's – and if Tom told Harry to say no to being adopted, do you have any doubts as to Harry's response? I probably still could have pushed through the paperwork, but for what? And as for that woman from the school – there has to be some reason as to why he'd trying so desperately to keep something secret, and I doubt that it would improve anything if we didn't cover for him. The only reason that we know anything at all is because he trusts us to look the other way and pretend we don't see. It's better to know what's going on and be unable to affect it then to simply not know what he's doing."

Julie looked away, silent. Simon didn't say anything more, he simply sat down and waited.

Finally, she sighed. "I know you're right – I've known that myself from the very beginning. That he wouldn't appreciate us coddling him, telling him to eat his vegetables or tuck in his shirt. I knew better then to ask if he'd done his homework – I took him seriously when he said his room was off limits, and we were only allowed in to help move the furniture. I didn't need to tell you to tell me that - but isn't there a line that has to be drawn somewhere? A point where we say 'no'?"

Simon opened his mouth to answer, but before he could say a single word, she replied herself. "It would be like drawing a line in the sand to try and stop the ocean."

"That would be the metaphor I'd be looking for, yes."

For some time there was silence, each thinking.

Julie was the one who spoke again, her voice lighter then before. "Now that we've determined we can't affect the future of our older children in any way, shape, or form, what shall we do about the younger?"

Simon raised an eyebrow. "What, exactly, do you propose we do something about? While with Tom, the list of things we ought to be forbidding him from doing would probably stretch across this room, it's harder to fault Emma and Ella with anything. Except for nagging their older brothers, they're not really doing much wrong."

Julie smiled at that, and raised an eyebrow in return. "I think you mean _entertaining _their older brothers... If Tom really wanted them to stop, they would have stopped weeks ago."

"True, that. Not to mention its good for his character, learning to deal with such things. So what exactly are you worried about?"

"You should know. Their teacher says they don't talk to the other children at school. They never go to other children's houses, or play with them in the street. When what's his name from the office came over with his daughter, you could tell they were only playing with her because you told them to. That isn't normal…"

Simon shook his head, an amused smile on his face. "I thought you would be the one explaining this to me – they're not normal, none of them are. They're magic - you can't expect them to be the exact same way other children are. They know they don't belong, that this isn't their world. If you wanted a child that would be normal, we should have taken that little boy that we almost adopted, Michael."

Julie frowned. "I don't regret it, not for a moment. And you know it."

"I know. So stop worrying about it. What's done is done. Right now, the most we can do is sit back and watch."

* * *

**Next chapter they're FINALLY off to school. **

**Sorry I dragged it out a bit, but I wanted to develop all of the characters more. **

**Thanks to everyone that reviewed!**


	18. Chapter 17: Train Rides

**Don't own Harry Potter, if I did, I'd be able to update more often. Sorry for the long wait.**

**Chapter 17: Train Rides**

Tom woke up at 5 o'clock September 1st, too nervous to sleep. He pulled out his list of prominent pureblood families and double checked he had all of them memorized. By five thirty he had woken Harry up and proceeded to quiz him on them. At first Harry complied, since he was just as nervous and exited as Tom was, but within half and hour, he wished that Tom had some other way of getting rid of his nervous energy.

"Tom, stop it, my head hurts. You're being paranoid you know."

Harry then had to rapidly duck, as Tom had thrown the _Standard Book of Spells Year 3_, across the room at Harry's head.

"Focus, Harry, this is _important, _we have to make the right connections. Now tell me again, who are the Longbottoms."

"Um, Aurors, tortured, permanent mental damage, hospitalized. Have a kid our age, Nell or something like that. Possibly a threat, if he really hates Dark Magic cause of what happened to his parent. He'll probably be anti-Slytherin. Did you do this last time you started school?"

"Yes, but it's even worse this time. First of all, anti-Slytherin prejudice is much higher this time around. We can blame my future self for that… It was easier for him to recruit in-house, I guess, and Slytherins _are_ the ones that will respond most easily to both the threat of fear and the allure of power. The worst part is that I can't attract attention the way I did last time; I can't be seen as a threat. Dumbledore must not notice me Harry, which means you need to play my part."

"But I hate this kind of stuff… and anyway you told me I had to make Gryffindor, since we don't need both of us in Slytherin. You're probably corrupting me with all this plotting, we should go to the park and I should help old ladies get cats out of trees or do dares or something."

Harry gave Tom such a pleading look that he relented. At least that's what Harry thought until Tom pulled out a copy of _A Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi _and tossed it to him, with a comment of "No worries about you being in Ravenclaw, so you can finish memorizing that."

…

Despite getting up early, they left late, barley making it to the station on time. Emma and Ella had come up with a brilliant plan to get their big brothers to stay at home. They took all the school supplies they could get their hands on and hid it around the house. Harry protested Tom's interrogation method. Dangling Emma upside-down (even if she probably was the one who came up the idea) off the staircase was cruel. But he had to admit it was effective. It still took some time to put all the books back into the trunks, though.

Julie had to take all four of them to the station, because an emergency had come up at work for Simon. The car ride started off tense, because the twins spent the whole time describing exactly what they would do if they weren't allowed to come along, but by the time they had gotten to the station, it had turned into a cheerful competition, with points being awarded to the most creatively destructive ideas.

Even though they were in London, the ride took a while due to traffic – there had been an accident and everything was gridlocked.

Tom started off as the judge, but halfway through he decided he wanted to compete too, so Harry took over. Despite the fact that the twins had an overwhelming head start, by the time they got to the station, he had beaten both of them, and was aiming at beating their collective score. He would have beaten it, except Harry started deducing points for "unnecessarily graphic violence".

It wasn't the violence itself that bothered Harry, really. It was the way Tom's face lit up when he talked about it. Normal children were scared when they watched horror movies. Tom found them amusing.

They arrived at the station with barely five minutes to spare. Luckily Tom knew how to get through the barrier; otherwise they would have never made it in time. They rushed to find an empty compartment, which they quickly levitated their trunks into.

They returned to say farewell to the twins and Julie. Though Tom would never admit it, he had grown attached to his new family, almost as much as Harry had.

As they were saying their goodbyes they heard snatches of conversation from a family of red-heads. A pair of twins was being lectured by a red-headed woman.

"If I get one more owl telling me you're – blown up a toilet or –"

"Blown up a toilet? We've never blown up a toilet."

"Great idea though, thanks, Mum."

Emma and Ella couldn't resist jumping into this conversation. "It's a brilliant idea –"

"Can we come and help you? Our brothers are mean and won't let us come."

"We're really good at things like that –"

"We blew up a toilet once, its not that difficult."

"If you know what you're doing."

The red-headed twins stared at the blond twins for a moment before grinning widely and declaring, "We would love to take you on as our apprentices –

"There's nothing this school needs more than another pair of pranking twins."

"They wouldn't know which pair to blame,"

"You see. Alas, it can not be so."

"Someday, my dear friends, you shall join us."

"Until then, you will be in the same predicament as our dear sister."

"Never fear, we will give your brothers a toilet seat to send to you as well."

"Fred – George – stop that this instant –"

The red haired lady that was obviously the twin's mother turned to Julie and held out her hand. "I'm Molly Weasley. I apologize for my sons, they can be a handful sometimes."

"Julie Mason, and I don't think you have to worry about that. Blowing up toilets is quite possibly the least violent act they've planned this morning."

The four boys went into the train, while Ginny and the twin girls struck up a conversation, and the two mothers continued talking.

"Gred and Forge Weasley, pleasure to meet you."

"Your sisters are awesome - too bad they're so little - we can't wait 'till they come to Hogwarts - hopefully it will be before we graduate."

"You'll only have to wait two years – they're nine, even if they don't look it. And they're not exactly related, we were all adopted, except Harry here, of course. He just came for the ride. I'm Tom Mason, by the way, and this is Harry Potter."

Hearing the name Harry Potter, both twins stared, but collected themselves rather quickly. There was an awkward silence for a moment or two. Tom felt that they were probably trying to decide whether or not to ask to see his scar. They were going to get two points in his book for tactfulness if they didn't, on top of the half dozen they got for resembling Emma and Ella.

"We're going down to see our friend Lee Jordan – he's got a tarantula," they said finally.

Tom and Harry sat down in their compartment. Harry asked Tom, "The Weasley's, I don't remember you mentioning them."

"Not very important. Poor and considered blood-traitors by most purebloods. Pro-Dumbledore and on the Light side."

"You seemed to like them."

"Dumbledore probably is going to try and set you up with Light children, to make sure you aren't "corrupted". He'd try to interfere if you make friends with a lot of Death Eaters children. Besides, they're nice enough, for Gryffindors, and they don't seem to be the type to report on you and what you do. Also, they seem to be fond of causing trouble, which means they have a lot of inside information, like secret passageways and patrol habits of teachers."

Harry shrugged carelessly, a slight smile on his face, "Glad you approve then. Malfoy, he's a spoiled prat. I know you think he's important, and he probably is, but he needs to learn the world doesn't revolve around him. I like the twins much more."

"I'm not going to try and control you, you know. If you don't want to be friends with Malfoy, you don't have to be. Just act friendly and whatever you do, don't insult him or his family. Besides, you don't mind me, and I act like that."

"But you're much more subtle about it. You didn't go around telling everyone who would listen "all Mudbloods must die", did you. You were more likely to act neutral and then kill off all the muggleborns in the middle of the night, at least until you were powerful enough to declare yourself openly."

"Considering whom I grew up to be, I probably did kill off muggleborns in the middle of the night. And I told you, by the time I declared myself openly, I'd think I must have completely lost my mind."

Harry never got the chance to answer. Another red headed boy came in and pointed to the seat across from Harry and Tom.

"Anyone sitting there? Everywhere else is full."

Harry glanced at Tom. Tom nodded.

"You're another Weasley, aren't you?"

The boy reddened and looked down, muttering, "Got a problem with that?"

"I didn't mean it in a bad way… I just met your brothers, the twins. And we saw your mum at the station with your sister. You looked related."

"I have a lot of siblings."

"You don't sound very happy about that."

"I'm the sixth in our family to go to Hogwarts. I've got a lot to live up to. Bill and Charlie have already left – Bill was head boy and Charlie was captain of Quidditch. Now Percy's a prefect. Fred and George mess around a lot, but they still get really good marks and everyone thinks they're really funny. Everyone expects me to do as well as the others, but if I do, it's no big deal, because they did it first. You never get anything new, either, with five brothers. I've got Bill's old robes, Charlie's old wand, and Percy's old rat."

He glared at Harry and Tom, as if he was expecting them to comment.

Harry frowned slightly, trying to organize his emotions the way Tom taught him to. He would have liked the boy, except for his attitude towards his siblings. Harry just didn't get the jealousy. If he had several older siblings, he wouldn't mind if they were all better than him. He knew he would never be Tom's equal in anything important, but it had never even occurred to him to be jealous. He decided to reserve judgment for now, until he had gotten to know the boy better. At least he was better than Draco. Tom clearly didn't like the boy, since he had known beforehand that the Weasley's were poor, but Tom wasn't making decisions for him.

The boy broke the awkward silence that followed. "Well, anyway, I'm Ron."

Harry ruffled his hair nervously, hoping not to get gawked at, "I'm Harry –"

He got cut off. Ron had noticed the scar and stared at it, pointing.

"You're Harry Potter!"

Harry shifted nervously. "Er, yeah, I am."

Ron's sullenness from earlier disappeared, to be replaced with enthusiasm.

"So that's where You-Know-Who hit you with a killing curse! Do you remember anything?"

"No, I don't"

"Nothing?" Ron asked eagerly, leaning forward off the edge of his seat.

Harry didn't want to encourage Ron, so he didn't mention the green light.

"Nothing."

Ron stared at Harry as if though he were a particularly interesting animal at the zoo, at least until he noticed Tom's death glare. He quickly looked away then, staring out the window.

It was quiet for a while. Tom was re-reading his copy of _Hogwarts, a History_ and Harry was trying to read his copy of _A Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi _a third time. Ron stared out the window. Harry thought he wanted to talk, but had noticed Tom's intense dislike and decided it would be safer to stay silent, which it probably was.

Eventually, Harry got tired of reading, and started a conversation on Quidditch with Ron. This seemed to perk Ron up quite a bit, and he went off on long description of all the teams, especially the Chudley Cannons, which were apparently his favorite team.

Harry was quite eager to listen. He was still sore about the fact that Tom hadn't let him buy _Quidditch through the Ages_.

By the time the cart came around with candy, he had almost forgiven Ron for his thoughtless questioning.

It might have made a bad first impression, but his first impression of Tom was most definitely worse, and now Tom was the best friend he had.

This train of thought was encouraged when Harry bought all the different varieties of candy off the cart. It took him a bit to convince Ron that he wanted to share, but it was worth it for the in depth explanation of each type.

If he had asked Tom, he would have received a short, "If it tastes good, eat it. If it tastes bad, don't. I doubt they're selling poisonous candy, so whatever happens it won't kill you." Tom grabbed a half a dozen chocolate frogs, without taking his nose out of the book. Harry was rather unnerved by the fact that he was scribbling notes in the margin. If he didn't know better, he would have sworn that Tom was going to become a Ravenclaw.

After going through most of the candy, the compartment was silent again. Harry was finishing up his book, and Ron had resumed staring out the window.

A short while later a round-faced boy that looked like he was about to cry came in.

"Sorry, but have you seen a toad at all?"

Ron and Harry shook their heads. Tom looked up, decided that the intruder looked neither interesting nor threatening, and went back to his book.

He wailed, "I've lost him! He keeps getting away from me!"

Harry said, "Don't worry; I'm sure he'll turn up. Do you want to take a break from looking and have a chocolate frog?"

Harry wasn't sure whether there was a point to helping such a pathetic looking boy, but he could use whatever friends he could get, and it never really hurt to be nice. He wasn't Tom, after all.

Besides, the boy looked absurdly happy for a second before he remembered about his lost toad.

"No, I've got to keep looking for Trevor. Thanks anyway."

He tripped on his way out of the compartment.

Ron decided to comment, "I don't know why he's so bothered… If I'd brought a toad, I'd lose it as quick as –"

Ron shut up when he saw Harry's glare, which was quite dangerous, even if it wasn't quite up to Tom's standard, and went back to staring out the window.

Harry wasn't really mad at Ron – he had to agree about the toad – but Ron did need to learn to think before talking. Perhaps it was true, but you shouldn't say insulting things about others out loud where people might disagree.

Shortly afterwards a girl wearing Hogwarts robes already came. She had bushy hair and large teeth, and said in a bossy sort of voice, "Has anyone seen a toad? Neville's lost one."

"We've already told him we haven't seen it." Ron said, but the girl wasn't listening, she was looking at Tom reading _Hogwarts, a History_.

"That book is really good, isn't it? I've already read it twice. I felt I needed the extra preparation, since nobody in my family is magic at all. It was ever such a surprise when I got my letter, but I was ever so pleased, of course, I mean, it's the very best school of witchcraft there is, I've heard – I've learned all our course books by heart," Harry barley suppressed a groan and hoped that Tom would be too irritated about being interrupted to team up with this girl or maybe still disliked muggleborns, despite claims of the contrary, "of course, I just hope it will be enough – I'm Hermione Granger by the way, who are you?"

She said this all in one very long breath.

A glance at Tom nearly made him groan again. Tom didn't look upset about being interrupted; instead, he looked pleased that there was a girl who had some degree of intelligence.

Tom stood up and held out his hand to shake saying, "I'm Tom Mason."

Ron sounded mad as he mumbled "Ron Weasley" and continued to stare out the window.

"Harry Potter"

"Are you really?"

No I'm not said Harry's inner Tom, I just said that too annoy you. What is it with people and stupid questions?

"I know all about you, of course – I got a few extra books for background reading, and you're in _Modern Magical History_ and _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_ and _Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century_."

"I know." Harry said glumly. He did know. Tom had made him read all the sections about himself. He had barley talked his way out of memorizing them.

"Do either of you know what house you'll be in? I've been asking around, and I hope I'm in Gryffindor, it sounds by far the best; I hear Dumbledore himself was in it, but I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn't be too bad… Anyway, I'm off to look for Neville's toad. You three had better change, you know, I expect we'll be there soon."

And she turned around and left before anyone could respond.

"Whatever House I'm in, I hope she's not in it," Ron muttered under his breath, quietly enough so that Harry almost didn't here him, "Bloody know-it-all."

Tom apparently hadn't heard Ron. Considering the approval he could feel pouring off Tom, he would be _very_ displeased about Ron's comment. And Tom's displeasure was not something that anyone wanted to be on the receiving side of, even if he was playing nice and laying low for the time being.

Regardless, Harry had to agree with Ron. If they both got into Gryffindor, he would never get away from the studying. He had hung his sanity on the fact that not even Tom would be able to talk his way into the Gryffindor Common Room, at least not for a few years, and as long as he stayed in there he would be safe. Not even the Common Room would be a sanctuary from knowledge with that girl around though.

"We'll have to start from scratch on her social skills, her interactions with others leave a lot to be desired. She need to learn to let people talk, people want to listen to themselves, not someone else." Tom muttered, quietly enough so Ron didn't hear him, "Not much to look at either. But the fact that she's not a people person will make her all the more loyal. Harry, she was completely serious about memorizing the books. Can you imagine how useful a person with that kind of memory can be? Of course, it remains to be seen how well she can process and apply that information, but _still._"

While Tom picked up his book again, Harry could tell he was plotting instead. He wasn't even turning the pages.

Harry decided to talk some more with Ron.

"Your brothers are in Gryffindor, aren't they?"

"How did you know that?" Ron asked suspiciously, as if though he had used Dark Arts to gain that piece of information. Unfortunately, he didn't know how Tom had gotten that information, so he just shrugged.

Ron didn't seem to mind the fact that he didn't answer. He was gloomy about his family again.

"All five of them are in Gryffindor. Mum and Dad were in it, too. I don't know what they'll say if I'm not. I don't suppose Ravenclaw _would _be too bad, but imagine if they put me in Slytherin."

Harry decided to start Tom's attempt to "rebuild the image of Slytherin to its former glory"

"What would be wrong with that? It's the house of ambitious, cunning people. Maybe it'd be good for you, you seem to be ambitious, if you want to do better than your brothers."

Harry was taken by surprise at the vehemence of Ron's reaction. He turned red, looking furious. "How dare you accuse me of being a Slytherin? They're all Dark Wizards! You-Know-Who was in that House, and so were all his followers!"

"What about before Voldemort –"

He didn't get a chance to finish because Ron cut him off with a gasp.

"What?" asked Harry, irritated.

"_You said You-Know-Who's name_. I'd have thought you, of all people –"

Harry managed not to laugh as he remembered the conversation he had about that.

"_So You-Know-Who, what are we doing today?" Harry asked a few days after his birthday, both of them sitting on the bed in Tom's room._

_Tom threw a pillow at the wall, with a frown. "Don't call me that! I have no idea what was wrong with my future self, but the not making everyone use the name Lord Voldemort proves I went insane. That is a nice name – has a good ring to it. "You-Know-Who, on the other hand…_

Tom was in a good mood that day, enough to joke around, something that still happened rarely.

"_I'm never going to forgive my future self, that "You-Know-Who". Anything else, maybe, but making people call me that ridiculous title is unforgivable!" he said, in his most dramatic voice, falling backwards onto the bed.  
_

Tom had set himself up so perfectly, Harry couldn't resist, even thought he knew he shouldn't make fun of Tom's guilt or make light of his parents death.

"_So the fact that he got rid of your name is worse than him killing my parents, is it?" Harry asked in his best upset/disappointed voice. "You don't care as much about my dead parents that I've never had a chance to know, as you do about your precious name. You'd have forgiven him, that, wouldn't you have?"_

_He turned his face away, knowing that Tom wouldn't even need to look into his eyes to know that he was lying. He had the voice down perfectly, but he couldn't keep a straight face for his life. _

_Tom's voice sounded panicked and guilty, "Harry, I'm sorry. You know I didn't mean that. I was just kidding –"_

_He cut off, staring at Harry, who was desperately trying not to laugh. _

"_You bastard!" he shouted, tackling Harry to the floor. _

_Harry laughed and after a second Tom rolled off Harry and began to laugh as well._

Those were the moments that Harry would treasure forever, the moments where he knew that choosing to be friends with Tom was worth everything he had done three times over, the times when Tom would laugh like that, so different from the harsh, bitter laugh he usually had.

"Let's look at it this way. Nobody's parents would name their child Voldemort, I mean really. So clearly it's a name he picked himself, right?"

Ron looked a bit confused, as well as pale at the casual way Harry said Voldemort, but he nodded anyway.

"That means that at some point in his life, he liked that name enough to pick it. I understand not wanting to use a birth name, but when he picked a name, he should continue to use it. Even Dark Lords should have to live with the consequences of their choices, not just say, 'You know what, I think my name is ugly. Since I don't like it, everyone else is forbidden from using it.'"

Harry could see Tom was having trouble keeping himself from laughing; Ron let out a weak chuckle, but said "Say what you want, but it's still scary."

They never had a chance to resume their conversation about houses, because Draco Malfoy entered, followed by two large, rather dim looking boys that flanked him like bodyguards.

"They're saying all down the train that Harry Potter's in this compartment, so I thought I'd stop by."

Tom put down his book. "Nice to see you again."

Harry agreed, still a little sore about their last encounter. He was looking at the thickset boys curiously.

"This is Crabbe and this is Goyle," Draco said, noticing where Harry was looking. "And I'm Draco Malfoy, if you've forgotten."

"No, I remember." Harry replied, as Ron hid a snigger behind a cough.

"Think my name's funny, do you?" Draco said to Ron with venom, before noticing Tom's glare, which was intense enough to have been causing pain, and remembering what had happened in Diagon Alley.

He turned back to Harry, raised an eyebrow and drawled, "I _would _say something insulting about him, but I doubt you'd listen, so I'll just ignore him if that's agreeable with you. I'm taking Tom's advice and I'll wait until I know him well enough to insult his qualities, instead of just his family."

"Want some candy?" Harry asked, trying not to let his dislike of Draco show. He was willing to bet that whatever Draco was going to say involved Ron's family and their lack of money.

Ron exploded at his offer. "What are you offering him candy for? His father was a Death Eater! He's going to be a Slytherin and go Dark like the rest of the slimy snakes!"

Harry thought it wouldn't be a good time to point out that snakes aren't actually slimy. Instead, he tried to play peacemaker.

"Look, I don't want any fighting. I'm not asking you to be friends, but I barely know any of you and I don't want to pick sides before I get to Hogwarts. If you can't be polite, just ignore each other."

Tom looked on approvingly. Draco sneered but surprisingly didn't complain, probably because of whatever Tom told him in Diagon Alley. Crabbe and Goyle were too busy shoving candy into their mouths to care.

Ron however, shouted. "I'm not going to share a compartment with future Death Eaters. They're evil, Harry! Either they leave, or I do."

Harry floundered. He wanted Ron to stay, but he knew that Tom would be furious if he tried to kick Draco out. Even though he was pretty sure Tom wouldn't hurt him, it still wasn't something he wanted to face. And it wasn't like he had kicked Ron out of his compartment just because. Ron had brought it upon himself – . So despite what he would like to have done, he put on an indifferent face and said, "Then leave."

Ron was bright red and breathing heavily as he grabbed his trunk and dragged it out of the compartment, with the parting words, "I guess you'll be going into Slytherin with them then – and I never thought Harry Potter would be evil."

* * *

**Um, yeah, long chapter, not much happens. **

**I didn't want to completley redo it, since you've all been waiting long enough. I promise that the next one will be better. And you'll finally find out their houses!**

**Review! Motivate me! I'm exhausted becuase of finals, projects, and other real life messes... **


	19. Chapter 18: Sorting Hat

**Disclaimer: Not JK... obviously...**

**Chapter 18: The Sorting Hat**

"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall"

Hagrid's words made Tom jerk up again.

The tall, black-haired witch that had come to the Masons stood in the doorway. She still reminded Tom of one of Simon's secretaries, the strict one that didn't like him and always complained that he was wandering around the office and reading classified information.

So seeing her wasn't surprising by itself. It was the visible evidence of how much time had passed since the last time he walked through these doors startled him. Not even a full day ago, he had seen her in this exact spot at age eleven.

He tried to avoid eye contact, suddenly worried that his disguise wouldn't be good enough. He should have broken his nose or something, gotten a scar or two. Dyed hair and a different eye color wouldn't be enough. She had been startled when she had seen him before, but his guise as a muggleborn had somewhat sheltered him. He was afraid that once he became a Slytherin she would be more suspicious of him.

He was too deep in thought, trying to figure out if it would be worth the pain if he were to break his nose, to pay attention to the speech that McGonagall gave. It couldn't be too much different from what he had heard the first time around.

Neither did he look up when the ghosts arrived, though he did look at Harry scornfully when he gasped. He _had _warned Harry about the ghosts – there was no reason for surprise.

Harry was standing close to him, slightly behind him. Almost as if he was hoping that Tom would protect him – Tom snorted. When there was danger, Harry rushed headfirst into it. When it was perfectly safe, Harry was terrified. Of course.

Tom wanted to shake Harry for his nervousness – it was pouring of Harry in waves so strongly that he was getting nervous as well.

Finally, McGonagall returned.

"Now, form a line and follow me"

Harry's nervousness increased yet again. Tom could only be incredulous. He ran across streets at a full run, and into unknown situations without second thought, and yet he was nervous about something that Tom had broken down minute by minute.

Harry gawked at the Great Hall as well, to Tom's irritation. He had described the entire thing, even the ceiling.

He heard Hermione whisper, "It's bewitched to look like the sky outside. I read about it in _Hogwarts, A History_."

Looking at her, he wondered what the relationship between Ravenclaw and Slytherin was like. Would she be suspicious, if he tried to befriend her, especially considering that she was a Muggleborn? And how would the other Slytherin's react?

Those two questions occupied him throughout the Sorting song, though he did note that it was different from the one he heard, but that the general idea was the same.

He started paying attention again when McGonagall began calling people up to try on the Sorting Hat.

"Abbott, Hannah!"

The name didn't ring any bells, and he watched impassively as she became a Hufflepuff.

"Bones, Susan" was related to someone in the Ministry, he was sure of that, but he couldn't quite remember who. She too became a Hufflepuff.

A few people, all of whom seemed to have limited importance, were sorted while he made mental notes, resolving not to forget a single name.

After "Finnigan, Seamus", he stood up straighter, expecting to be called at any moment.

But no, the hat called, "Granger, Hermione!"

He blinked in surprise as she walked up to the stool. Foster definitely came before Granger, didn't it? It took him a moment to remember his new name. The letter had been addressed to Mason – clearly that was what the school had him down as. Hopefully.

If he was down as Riddle – well, he could always try using Harry as a hostage to get out of the castle. He wasn't sure if it would be worth keeping Harry with him afterwards – it was having a valuable hostage vs. being searched for by more people. Maybe he would let Harry decide – it would only be feasible if Harry was willing to remain a hostage. Otherwise it would be too difficult and impractical.

Just as he decided that, Hermione became a "GRYFFINDOR", much to his surprise. He would consider the ramifications of that later. At least if he got on good terms with her, she would be useful in making sure that Harry didn't slack off.

Weasley, the irritating boy, groaned.

Tom wasn't quite sure why the boy bothered him so much – sure, he was an idiot, but there were many idiots in the world. He was not much stupider than the norm – perhaps he could even pass as average.

Perhaps it was the way that Harry smiled when they talked about candy and Quidditch. Normal things, things he knew Harry liked, but things he couldn't relate to or discuss.

He could so easily see a world, one where he hadn't met Harry before Hogwarts, where Harry would have been Ron's friend, not his. And their friendship would have been one that didn't seem to be partially based on intimidation and otherwise born from lack of other options.

The next notable sorting was "Longbottom, Neville". His first thought at seeing the hopeless looking boy who had lost his toad was that he must have forgotten his own name. Surely that wasn't the son of the famous Auror.

He _fell over _on his way towards the stool.

While the hat decided, he tried to figure out why Longbottom was so different from the boy he had expected.

After a moment of thought, he realized that he had started with one rather unreasonable assumption. That either Neville or his guardian had something in common with his outlook on life.

If his parents had been tortured into insanity before he was two years old, he would have grown up plotting revenge and planning on eliminating anyone that had anything to do with harming his parents. Of course that's assuming he would have cared about his parents – but since that was a fairly common characteristic, he had thrown it in with his assumptions.

But whoever had been in charge of Neville clearly hadn't shared that mentality – probably had kept him in a protected bubble afraid that something would happen to him, as if he were made out of blown glass. Raised him to be afraid of his own shadow.

A Hufflepuff for sure, he thought, looking at the hat impatiently. It had been the longest sorting so far.

"GRYFFINDOR" the hat screamed, again taking Tom by surprise.

He sniggered as the boy ran off towards the table still wearing the hat. Perhaps the hat was getting old – he might even have a shot at making Gryffindor. Maybe he didn't have more courage than Hermione – he didn't know her well enough to judge – but he was definitely braver then Longbottom.

He watched Draco's sorting trying to decide whether he ought to try and fool the hat and worrying whether or not the hat would reveal him.

The hat screamed "SLYTHERIN" the moment it touched Draco's head.

Draco smiled at him as he walked towards his new table – perhaps he believed that Tom's words had helped him get into his new house.

He held his breath – his name ought to be next.

And it was.

"Mason, Tom"

The name still sounded unfamiliar – almost as if he couldn't connect it to himself. No one ever called him that… he had remained Foster at school, for the sake of simplicity.

He walked forwards, trying to appear calm.

Even though he tried not to look around, he was still aware of the scrutinizing looks he was being given, by McGonagall and Dumbledore especially, but also by Quirell and a dark haired teacher that he didn't recognize.

The hat dropped onto his head, but before he could think anything, before it even fully touched his head, it screamed out "SLYTHERIN".

He walked towards the green and silver table with mixed emotions. On one hand it was Slytherin – he belonged in here. On the other – the scrutinizing and suspicious looks had grown even stronger from the staff. Even Hagrid now eyed him with a rather unfriendly look – not that Tom cared what the oaf though anyway.

Draco was clapping, which meant his two lackeys, Crabbe and Goyle, were clapping as well. But besides that, the table eyed him with suspicion. Not that he felt horribly let down – not even Draco had gotten a lot of applause.

Still, the table seemed – less friendly, though it had never been friendly to begin with – but also more wary, even more suspicious then it had been fifty years before.

No one said anything yet – he got a few searching looks, and a general air of unfriendliness, but everyone was still watching the sorting.

"Potter, Harry"

He looked up from his examination of his housemates - as everyone started whispering and staring at Harry.

Harry ignored them, and shot Tom one last look, before going forward and placing the hat on his head.

One minute passed – nothing.

He wished he knew what Harry was thinking. All he knew that Harry was nervous, but not any more or less then he had been for the past hour.

Just as he was starting to worry himself, the hat screamed "GRYFFINDOR".

Harry walked unsteadily towards the red and gold table, which had burst into loud applause, louder than for anyone else.

The Weasley twin's had started cheering "We got Potter, we got Potter."

Almost in that exact moment, Tom regretted telling Harry to go into Gryffindor. Yes – it would be useful having connections in the two rival houses – but could he really guarantee Harry's loyalty when he was so far away?

He needed Harry more than Harry needed him – all Harry had to do was tell Dumbledore or McGonagall who he really was – it wouldn't take much to convince them, they were already suspicious of it.

Now, Harry was safe – there was nothing Tom could do, if Harry decided to betray him. He wasn't sure why that hadn't really occurred to him before – that in another house he wouldn't have as much influence over Harry. For some reason, it never occurred to him to doubt that Harry would always stand beside him.

He was laughing at something the twins said, looking relieved – Tom wasn't sure if that was a bad sign.

Harry glanced up, as Tom quickly checked that Harry wouldn't be able sense his doubt and suspicion.

He was almost expecting a taunt, a _you can't get to me here_. But no, Harry grinned, _The hat almost put me in Slytherin. Probably because of the snakes. And then it realized that it was because of my loyalty to you that I was asking to go to Gryffindor, despite wanting to be in Slytherin with you. So, it almost put me in Hufflepuff. But I made it!_

That still didn't prove anything, but Tom felt better, just by knowing Harry's thoughts. Harry wouldn't need to bother to lie to him at this point – and it was silly to think that the most naïve person he had ever met had been plotting to betray him.

Harry's nervousness must have infected him; that was why he had suddenly thought that Harry might decide to betray him, just because they were in different houses. Harry was too honest and straightforward to do something like that.

He would just have to be careful, and make sure that Harry remembered what he had promised.

Now, he would have to make sure he could take care of himself. The sorting had just ended, with Blaise Zabini ending up in Slytherin.

He watched as Albus Dumbledore said some nonsense – the man was as much of a fool as he always was.

Then he turned his attention back to his table.

He was sitting surrounded by the rest of his year mates – Draco to his left, with Crabbe and Goyle sitting to the left of Draco. Across the table was Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott, and Daphne Greengrass.

Next to him was a pug-faced girl – he could recognize her as Parkinson, even without needing to remember her from the sorting. She had the same unpleasant face as her grandfather.

But unlike her grandfather, she did more than just sneer at him. She spoke up, her voice nasal and annoying. He wanted to strangle her already.

"You're a filthy mudblood aren't you? I don't recognize your name – and you've never been at any of the social events."

He blinked for a second, startled by the comment.

Last time, he had been subjected to whispering and some snide comments, when the others found out that he was from a muggle orphanage. And he knew that people might have been calling him mudblood behind his back. But nothing like this.

Surprisingly, he wasn't even very offended by the comment – just disappointed, that the little cat and mouse games that had been played were reduced to these heavy handed insults. Where was the subtleness, the testing, the refinement that had been so present in the veiled questions that had been asked of him the first time around?

The words came easily to his mouth, for all that he hadn't prepared them ahead of time nor expected the need to defend himself or his birth. If she didn't want subtleties, he didn't have to have them either.

"I suppose it is a compliment that you think I'm so cunning and ambitious that I don't even need pure blood to aid my entrance."

He practically hissed, staring Parkinson in the eyes.

"And my entrance came more easily than yours – it took the hat almost as long to decide with you as it did with Longbottom. I suppose that means you are as much of a Slytherin as Longbottom is a Gryffindor.

"The only reason he became a Gryffindor is because of his parents – the same applies to you. If you hadn't insisted on Slytherin, the hat wouldn't have placed you here."

His voice was soft, yet threatening. There was a glint in his eye.

Pansy Parkinson shrunk a little, and looked slightly confused, but then continued, "So you admit that you're a mudblood! Filth like you don't belong in this house."

Tom, who had gone back to eyeing the other students, glanced at her again. His eyes darkened to a subtle shade of violet. He hissed even more venomously before.

"I'm glad to see you have such faith in Slytherin – after all, I thought the hat was supposed to choose those he would have chosen. Then again – the hat chose you as well. I shouldn't be too proud.

"I suppose I can't entirely blame your parents for you ending up in this house.

"If you had prominent qualities of another house, the hat would have put you there. But you are too _stupid _to be a Ravenclaw, too _lazy _to be a Hufflepuff, and too _cowardly _to be a Gryffindor.

"You might have the _ambition _to be a Slytherin, but you are deeply lacking in _cunning._"

He leaned into her face for the last words.

She flinched, unable to reply with anything besides, "You're filth, nothing but filth!"

Tom simply looked away, pretending to concentrate on his food, while really he was examining the faces of the other students.

Draco simply looked smug, like it was he who had accomplished something. Probably satisfied that he had chosen well – he had gone out on a limb respecting a boy who he knew nothing about, and who in all likelihood was a Muggle born, a person he had been taught his entire life to scorn.

Crabbe and Goyle simply looked distant – he almost believed that they were faking it. Sure, their grandparent(or maybe great-uncles) – whichever of their relatives had been in school at that time – hadn't exactly been brilliant. But they could do more than grunt monosyllabic answers. He would consider that later.

Theodore Nott, smiled at him, and raised his glass of pumpkin juice at him slightly. The three Nott's he had known in Hogwarts, two boys and a girl, all related, had all been rather quiet. Theodore rather strikingly resembled the eldest one.

Blaise Zabini looked on quietly, no opinion shown on his face. Zabini, Zabini. He didn't remember the name, didn't remember anyone who could be related to Blaise from Riddle's time at Hogwarts. He would have to look that up.

Daphnie Greengrass smiled at him as well, toasting him even more obviously than Theodore had.

It was excellent really – he could remember how much he enjoyed eating the food, on his first stay here.

The quality was still excellent, but somehow it didn't taste as good as he remembered. He chewed slowly, trying to figure out what was missing. There was nothing wrong with it – and that was the problem. He almost laughed as he thought that statement.

He had gotten too used to Julie's food – he almost expected some random, exotic spice to be thrown in, or some new recipe to be tried. Not just a bland meal.

With that thought came a surprising feeling – he missed it, all of it. He was _homesick. _An emotion he had never been able to comprehend, last time around, as to how people could possibly long for anything other than what Hogwarts offered.

He was happy that he was at school, of course, and he wouldn't leave for the entire world. It was a pleasant feeling though, realizing that he would have a home to go back to next summer. Perhaps even for Christmas.

…

Tom looked around the silver and green room, Slyth wrapped around his neck, still asleep. He now regretted feeding the snakes this morning, they'd been sleeping all day... still, he'd have had to feed them eventually.

He felt out of place.

There seemed something truly off about everything, something that didn't match up from his different memories. The atmosphere was different somehow, and he didn't think that it was just his altered perspective that was making him think that.

He watched silently, as students in various years interacted with each other.

There seemed to be more bite than he remembered before, more viciousness. It was no longer the slightly playful, slightly teasing games for power – this was especially visible among the older years, but even the first years seemed to have taken on some of the seriousness.

The upper years especially talked derogatively about mudbloods, much more then in Riddle's time. Everyone seemed determined to prove to the others as to who hated them more.

Of course, it had been visible in the Great Hall, but he had assumed that it was the Slytherin house putting up a unified front for the school, as they were prone to do when they felt they were threatened.

But this tension in the Common Room was unusual. Of course, he couldn't say for sure _how _unusual – Riddle had only been at Hogwarts for a month now. But it still felt off.

It was almost half an hour later when he finally realized what was wrong.

It had been apparent from the beginning, now that he realized it, he just hadn't considered it. And most of the people in the room probably didn't realize it either.

But there was fear everywhere, so strong that Tom could almost taste it, now that he knew what to look for. It wasn't the normal type of fear, the kind that he would recognize. None of these children were particularly afraid, personally.

They acted like children _raised _around fearful parents.

Parents who had raised them to promote pure blood ideals whenever possible, under any circumstance, no matter the cost. Because no matter what trouble they got into, it would still be better then what would happen should the Dark Lord guess that they had been disloyal in their actions, should he ever return.

Watching the people in a new light, he could see what governed their actions – everyone, every last person, was acting as if they were cornered.

A snake backed into the wall would always strike.

That so much could change in fifty years… it wasn't one generation of difference, it was two. In one generation, the change wouldn't have been so complete. But in two…

All of these children's parents had grown up in a world where he ruled. The fear would have been second nature to them – those who served him feared his wrath if they displeased him; those who did not serve him feared that he would remember them and come and send people to see why they did not.

It shouldn't have surprised him – he had mastered the art of fear at a young age. This wasn't something new and unexpected. And yet it was.

They were _his_ house. Not in the way he had been thinking before – that he belonged there, that it was home. No. The people in it _belonged_ to Riddle.

A brief moment of satisfaction engulfed him. Even half-mad, he still managed to gain an unbelievable amount of power. If he managed that much unable to think rationally, he could scarcely begin to imagine what he could do his second time around.

It faded after another moment though. Looking around the room, he finally realized what the Dark Lord had destroyed. Somehow, the death counts hadn't affected him much, and the tales of torture were almost less stirring. He didn't feel a connection to it, any regret or compassion, except maybe in the case of Harry's parents.

But looking around the Slytherin Common Room, he felt a pang of regret. In a way, he had destroyed his old house, the first place that had ever felt like home for Riddle. Not as obvious, but even more lastingly than the other damage he had done. Ten years after his demise, and scars were still fresh. If they had healed somewhat, he didn't want to think on what it had been like before, when he had still been reigning.

Even Parkinsons little tirade wasn't surprising anymore, it was simply inevitable. What was surprising, looking back, was how many of the other firsties hadn't agreed with her. Maybe the spirit of the old house wasn't completley broken. To gauge someones power was instinctive in this house - the reason no one had said anything about his blood to his face. They could see that he would have power. Maybe there was still hope for this house, if his blood wasn't the only thing they thought of when they saw him.

As he thought that, he realized that he had to come up with an answer to the question that he had been trying to avoid. What did he want? And what price would he be willing to pay to get it?

* * *

**Quicker than you all expected, isn't it? Thank you, all the reviewers - sorry I didn't reply to most of them... I was really busy the days after I posted the chapter, and then just I figured instead of going through all of them and sending everyone a "thanks for reviewing", you'd all appreciate a new chapter more. Special thanks to Kamarile Sedai (yeah, I know I said it would be "today" on Saturday, but its still pretty quick) and Shining Sunny, for giving me really long reviews. But all of them are REALLY appreciated.**

**And as for the chapter *hides under desk*. Everyone wanted a different sorting! A lot of people actually wanted Harry and Tom in the same house (though which one was split about 40:40:20... twenty percent for the other houses besides Gryffindor and Slytherin)... still, I'd had Harry and Tom in different houses before I'd even written the first word of the story, before I'd even worked out how exactly Tom would be Voldemort and yet not Voldemort.**

**Don't think that just becuase they're in different houses, they'll be any less of best friends. I just needed to seperate them, because they need to find themselves without each other. Harry needs to have something in life that matters to him besides Tom's opinion of him, and Tom needs to have some basis of right and wrong other then "how horrified would Harry be". And if they were always together, they'd never be able to figure that out... **

**Let me know what you think! And lots of reviews like last chapter make me write quicker. :)**


	20. Chapter 19: Neville Longbottom

**A/N: Yes, that was a ridiculously long time. I'd pretty much abandoned this story for a while, but then I got a new beta, SynFoNi, who motivated me to post this chapter. **

**Chapter 19 - Neville Longbottom**

_Hmmm. Difficult. Very difficult. _A small voice said in his ear. Harry almost jumped up in surprise. Tom hadn't mentioned that the hat _talked_.

Though that was more likely due to the fact that the hat didn't need a conversation with Tom to determine his house – Harry could swear that the hat was still dropping when it started screaming Slytherin.

_Ahh, yes, your friend. A pure Slytherin that one is. You take after him rather strongly and you are a snake-speaker as well…_

_Gryffindor, Gryffindor, _Harry chanted in his head, trying not to think that Tom would never know if he had asked the hat to put him in Slytherin.

_You ask for Gryffindor, despite what you want. Perhaps my first thought was wrong – you have the ambition, the cunning, and the thirst to prove yourself – but all of that is driven by loyalty. You have no ambition for yourself, and your only desire is to prove yourself to your friend. Not quite the strongest work ethic, but you have more than enough loyalty to make Helga proud. Perhaps Hufflepuff is the place for you._

Before Harry quite had a chance to think up an argument against Hufflepuff, the hat spoke again.

_But in Gryffindor there would be chances to heal the rift that has stayed between the houses since Slytherin left, a rift that has only grown wider since your friend's time at Hogwarts. A rift that was not meant to be in the first place._

_And in the end, you have all the characteristics of Godric's house, despite trying your hardest not to cultivate them._

Harry didn't have time to ponder the hat's words about Tom, or anything else.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

As he walked towards his new house's table, he noticed his sorting had received the loudest applause by far – the Weasley twins were shouting "We got Potter! We got Potter!" while another, older Weasley shook his hand when he got to the table.

He sat down in the free spot between Hermione and Neville and sat quietly, observing the way Tom had trained him to.

He grinned at Tom – he hadn't let Tom down. He briefly relayed his conversation with the hat. Tom seemed relieved and shot him a brief smile before he turned his attention back to his housemates.

Ron was sorted into Gryffindor – he seemed to have at least partially forgiven Harry for the incident on the train, shooting him a smile before sitting a few chairs down.

Harry tried to decide if he was happy to be at Hogwarts or if he'd rather be home with his family.

On one hand he was at a magical school. He would soon be learning proper magic. He was surrounded by people who he might potentially make friends with, people with whom he might have more in common with then Tom. People who didn't occasionally seem like they were on the verge of snapping and causing massive amounts of harm. People that weren't potentially a reincarnation of a Dark Lord that had killed his parents.

On the other – he couldn't care less who Tom was or how short his temper was. Tom was his best friend and brother. Tom protected him and looked after him and gave him a family. No matter what, no other friend he would have would ever matter to him as much as Tom did.

He wanted to be back home, with the Mason's and the twins and Tom. He couldn't imagine that this school offered more happiness than sitting at dinner surrounded by his family.

These thoughts distracted him as Dumbledore made a speech and food appeared. He ate dinner without much enthusiasm, trying to fight of the encroaching homesickness.

He reminded himself of everything that Tom had told him, of how fantastic the school was. He reminded himself of how happy Tom was to be here. Everything was better when Tom was happy. He didn't have a headache, things didn't explode at random intervals… maybe school would make Tom more even-tempered. And if he got other friends, that didn't mean he cared about Tom any less – after all, Tom wanted him to make as many friends as he could. He began to cheer up.

He was paying only a bit of attention to the conversation on parents, when something Neville said made him jerk up.

Harry stared at Neville for a moment, slightly incredulous. "Your uncle dropped you_ out a window_? That could have _killed_ you!"

Neville still didn't seem to find anything unusual about that statement. He simply shrugged.

Before that moment, Harry hadn't realized what it meant, to be a Squib. He had never really considered what it had meant, that Julie had been abandoned and her memory wiped. He had just accepted it and moved on.

"What would your grandmother have done, if you really had been a Squib?"

Neville was horrified by the very thought. "I don't know," he stuttered nervously. "It would have been horrible though. My gram would have been furious that I'd disgraced the family name."

The people that said they'd grown up in magical households all nodded at that, as if it were an understandable idea. That being born without magic would be the worst thing that could possibly happen.

Hermione, on the other hand, was frowning. She didn't say anything, but she pursed her lips and looked like she was thinking.

He hid his fury at Neville's relatives. His tone was simply curious as he asked, "Did they do anything else to see if you had magic?"

"He pushed me off the Blackpool pier when I was eight. I nearly drowned, that time. Didn't do anything magical at all."

Harry stared at Neville and blinked. He sounded more upset at his lack of magic then at the fact that his relatives had tried to drown him.

Admittedly, Harry wouldn't have been very concerned or surprised if his aunt and uncle tried to drown him, but he had always assumed that that was something unique to his family.

He eyed the round faced boy again, two different thoughts passing through his mind towards the same purpose.

The first, lighter thought was simply one of sympathy and protectiveness. He simply wanted to look after the boy that didn't seem to have had much better relatives than his own, someone who'd be able to understand him. The very thing that made him follow Tom also made it hard for them to relate. Tom couldn't understand what Harry felt about his relatives, because no one had ever used him as a punching bag. Metaphorically, if someone punched Tom, they weren't just punched in return. They were kicked, knocked to the ground, and then pummeled with metal objects.

But Harry's second thought wasn't as innocent. It was a thought that could have come straight out of Tom's head. Neville would be simple to control – somehow, possibly the same way that Tom had instinctively known how to control him, he knew that Neville never had had a friend. And he knew personally what lengths a person would go to keep a friend when they had no other options.

This darker train of thought continued, as he looked at Hermione chatting with Percy about classes. The bushy haired girl probably hadn't had much in the way of friends either. And he wouldn't have to argue this one with Tom – convincing him that Neville was worth befriending might take a bit, but he would see the value of Hermione immediately.

He watched the students talking, analyzing all of them, trying to decide who was powerful and who wasn't, who would be easy to manipulate and who would be impossible to control.

Eventually, he had to give up. He wasn't Tom, he couldn't tell everything about a person from a single glance. He could see that Hermione and Neville would both be useful, but that was it.

…

Sudden searing pain shot through Harry's forehead as he looked at the teacher's table. The kind of pain that only happened when Tom was furious and not even attempting to control it. He glanced at Tom, afraid as to what he would see.

Nothing.

Tom was leaning back in his chair with a slight smirk on his face, clearly content with the situation. He watched Tom for another minute… but he could tell that there was no way that the pain had come from him.

He turned back to the table, puzzled. Only Tom had ever affected his scar before… he pondered that momentarily, but soon pushed it out of his mind. The sheer number of people that he was conversing with was slightly overwhelming.

He didn't get a moment of peace until he got up to the dormitories,

…

Finally, a moment of silence. Harry was sure that his bunkmates were asleep. He could hear their rhythmic breathing.

He prodded Sal awake – Sal had been sleeping, wrapped around his neck, for most of the day.

Both the snakes had been fed this morning, partially in order to make the trip easier on them. Neither Harry nor Tom wanted to keep them locked in the luggage – someone might search it, it didn't have much air, the snakes might get squished - but the snakes tended to grow uncomfortable if they stayed wrapped around an arm or neck, hidden underneath clothing, for long periods of time.

In the end, they decided that carrying them was the best option available – it was easier for someone to search their luggage than to search their person, and they'd always be able to drop the snakes so they could slither away if someone searched them, while in the luggage they'd be trapped and helpless.

Sal slithered down Harry's arm and on to the bed, hissing happily about finally being able to move.

Harry watched, fascinated, as the snake grew lighter and redder, blending in with his surroundings. This was something that Sal had only been able to do for the past couple of days. Tom theorized that Sal and Slyth were getting new powers because they were bonding with Parselmouths.

Initially, Slyth's and Sal's only magical ability was the ability to sense each others' locations and, at short distances, communicate mentally. In the month that Harry and Tom had had the snakes, they developed the ability to camouflage themselves, though imperfectly (Harry could still fairly easily tell that there was a snake on his bed), as well as the ability to communicate with each other much more clearly over longer distances.

Tom had told Harry that he was hoping as they learned more magic and grew more powerful, the snakes' abilities would expand even more as well.

In Harry's opinion, they didn't need to get any better. They were quite brilliant already. Especially now that Tom and Harry were staying rather far away from each other, the snakes were extremely useful for communicating.

He hissed to Sal, _"How is Tom?"_

After a moment, the snake hissed in reply,_ "He is well. He is going to sleep now and says you should too, so you are well rested for your first day of classes."_

Harry smiled slightly. Not quite the same as spending time with Tom in person, it was still reassuring to have some kind of connection with him.

Tom often mocked him for worrying, saying that Harry was more likely to get himself killed than he was. It wasn't that Harry was worried about someone hurting Tom, exactly. More that he was worried that Tom would loose his temper entirely and harm someone else, and the potential consequences of that.

Harry yawned.

Tom had a point. It was time to sleep. He hissed good night to his snake and lay his head on his pillow, asleep within minutes.

* * *

**Sorry about how it took me forever and a half to get this up - thanks to everyone who reviewed, sorry about not replying.**

**Thank SynFoNi for this chapter - without their help I would never have gotten this up. I expect to be updating again now, though I can't make any promises about the pace. I should have the next chapter up in at least a month, potentially a week or two.**

**Once again, sorry for the really long absence and thanks so much, everyone that reviewed. Sorry I kept you waiting for so long!**

**(Forgot to put this in the initial upload - I now have a wordpress, though not all the chapters are on yet, they will be soon, and will probably be getting chapters up slightly faster then on fanfiction. also, I'll probably be better at responding to comments there. snakesandlionsunite-dot-wordpress-dot-com**


	21. Chapter 20: Severus Snape

Chapter 20: Severus Snape

Severus was miserable. There was very little in life that he hated more than teaching these students. Especially Potions – Defense Against Dark Arts wouldn't have been so bad. But Potions was what he was forced to teach – watching idiots mangle such a fine art always cut him to the core.

Perhaps some of the Dark Lord's raids qualified as more painful… not that he had attended many.

The more _frivolous _attacks, the ones that were less about fighting Aurors and more of Muggle-baiting, tended to be voluntary – there was a low risk of getting caught or injured, seeing as the Death Eaters would disappear before the Auror's ever arrived.

Not to mention that they would usually be followed by a rather rowdy party for the participant. They tended to only be handed out by the Dark Lord as "rewards" for exceptional behavior.

The more combatative ones he tended to avoid due to a combination of his own expressed disdain for such amusement, and the fact that the Dark Lord considered his time to be better spent making potions. Still there were two or three times, when the Dark Lord felt the need to be assured of his loyalty, that he had been forced to go along. He still felt the need to vomit, even after all these years, remembering what he had done.

Still, even those raids had the benefit of being short lasting. The torture of teaching, however, refused to fade in time.

…

Snape looked over the class list. He glanced over _Harry Potter_, but that was already a known quantity. The boy would be an arrogant brat, just like his father, a self centered Gryffindor the extreme. Instead, his eyes were drawn to _Tom Mason. _

That boy was an enigma, that much was certain. As a muggleborn in Slytherin, Snape had expected that he would need to do some swift maneuvering to keep the other children from doing lasting damage – when he, a half-blood from a reasonably prominent pureblood family, had entered the House his reception had been much poorer. And attitudes towards muggleborns had only gotten worse since then.

There had been a slight uptick of tolerance in recent years – probably because the Dark Lord had been gone for ten years now. But he had felt the tension at the end of the last year – though it wasn't talked of openly, his Slytherins were intelligent enough to do the counting. Potter would be coming and that in and of itself would be enough to polarize everything again, regardless of what the boy did. Because he would be a Golden Gryffindor, and they would have to hate him.

So it had surprised him when no one had laid a hand on Mason, especially considering the rumors that claimed that he was friends with Potter, or at least had been before coming to Hogwarts. There had been some talk, some insults thrown around, but not a single hex had been thrown his way. Severus had had half a dozen in his first week.

But he realized why, soon enough. Tom had a gift – the ability to make others gravitate towards them. Like Dumbledore and the Dark Lord, and Lucius to a smaller degree – and as much as he was loathe to admit it, like Black and Potter.

Snape had never had that magnetism – he could lie convincingly, make people believe that he was on their side. But he had trouble being friends with people, forget about making them fight and die for him the way some could.

The change he had wrought on Draco Malfoy, however, was what made him feel more generous towards the boy than anything else.

He had known the boy since infancy, and Draco had been haughty and arrogant since he had learned to walk and talk – partly out of his own character, partly because Lucius and Narcissia did nothing to discourage him.

Draco was always impulsive, speaking first and then thinking, always quick to offend and be offended.

But Tom had wrought a change in the boy, making him quieter, less prone to outbursts. The change unsettled Severus, but he had seen nothing indicating that Draco was harmed in anyway, so he was just going to appreciate it for now.

…

Severus watched silently as the first years walked in, separating themselves instinctively along the lines of house. Their first class together, and they already knew the rules, as if they had been doing this for years.

He recognized Potter the second he walked in – he looked exactly like his father at that age. He waited for him to take the inevitable seat on the Gryffindor side of the room.

But he didn't. He walked over to, of all people, Tom Mason. Who was sitting straight in the middle of the Slytherins.

For a minute he was convinced that Potter had come to harass Mason, despite the grin on the boy's face, and a slight smile on Mason's.

But he sat down right next to Mason, pulled out his books and a quill, and sat facing the front, looking attentive. The other Slytherins gave him a look, but no one said anything.

Snape wondered whether he should make up a rule that Gryffindors and Slytherins weren't allowed to be partners. Well, as of yet, the two hadn't decided on being partners, they were just sitting together. Potter would probably decide that he wouldn't risk making a potion with a slimy Slytherin and decide to pair with a Gryffindor when it was time to find a partner. Or Mason would sense what a fool Potter was and decide he was better off pairing with someone who wasn't liable to explode their potion.

The class finished filling in, and Snape started taking attendance.

He paused briefly at Potter's name on the list, wondering if he should make a sarcastic comment about the brats celebrity, and looked up to see the boy staring at him unblinkingly with emerald green eyes.

He moved on down the list without commenting.

After he called all the names, he ran through his usual speech to first years, while they all stared at him apprehensively.

He glanced at Potter again. He realized what was bothering him.

In his time teaching at Hogwarts, he had never seen a Gryffindor and a Slytherin sit together for Potions. But the memory of a certain Gryffindor walking over to a certain Slytherin and partnering with them for the better part of five years in Potions was etched into his memory with perfect clarity.

No matter.

So Potter wished to partner with a Slytherin? That didn't change the fact that he was his fathers son, through and through. He might as well be a clone of him. Doubtlessly as abysmal at Potions as his father had been before him.

To prove that to himself, he fired off a question at Potter.

"Potter! What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Grangers hand shot into the air the moment he finished asking the question. Impressive that she knew the answer that quickly, but raising her hand at a question addressed specifically to someone else was quite rude. Probably going to be an irritating know-it-all, convinced that she knew everything there was to know.

He turned his attention back to Potter, not expecting anything. He was rather surprised when Potter tentatively stammered the correct answer.

True, the answer to that question was in the first dozen or so pages, so all that proved was that Potter had bothered to open a book before coming.

He shot another question, more from a later section this time. "Alright then, Potter, where would you find a bezoar, if I told you to look for one?"

Granger's hand shot up in the air again, but Potter answered this question more effortlessly then before, this time with a confident smile on his face.

Snape sneered. So the brat was getting cocky, was he? Well, he clearly had skimmed through the book, but there was no way the brat had thoroughly read and absorbed it.

"Very well. How about the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

This time, Granger's hand didn't go up. Snape wondered if it was because she was stumped, or because she decided that Potter would be able to answer it. For a moment, though, it looked like he wouldn't be able to. Potter simply looked bewildered. Then he exchanged a glance with Mason, smiled, and replied "There isn't a difference."

"So it appears you have read the book, Potter. Congratulations upon your basic literacy." Snape sneered, and then glared around. "For everyone that _didn't _know the answer to those very basic questions – which I suspect is a majority of you – why aren't you all copying that down?"

…

He'd let them choose their own partners, curious as to whether the boy that he had previously suspected to be one of Slytherins finest could possibly partner with the brash, egoistical self-centered brat he believed the Potter boy to be. Especially in a science as fine as potion making, something that the Potter brat surely had no aptitude for.

He was surprised when not only did they partner, but they moved together with an unrivaled efficiency.

It wasn't so much that they handled the potions ingredients much more quickly or skillfully then their classmates. It was just something in the way they worked together – their communication seemed to consist entirely of shrugs and gestures, as they sorted out whom would do which part.

It was subtle admittedly, but Snape had been a spy. He was used to watching people and noticing how they interacted. And these two children worked with an almost uncanny coordination.

He stopped observing them from across the room and started pacing around the class, providing scathing criticisms of the potions that needed it. He twice just caught students about to make imbecilic mistakes that would have blown up their potion.

As he glanced back at Potter and Mason, he noticed that the pair next to them, Longbottom and Finnegan, had a potion that was smoking a color that indicated that their potion was not going well. As he strode across the room, robes billowing, Tom had apparently had noticed this as well and nudged Potter.

Before he had yet reached the potion and ascertained what precisely they had been doing wrong, Potter had spun around and grabbed Longbottoms arm.

"Stop! Wait! You can't put the quills in before you take the cauldron off the fire."

Longbottom looked at the instructions sheepishly and put the quills down, and assisted his partner in taking the potion off the fire. The potion was still rather discolored, but at the very least it hadn't exploded, which would have been the inevitable consequence had Longbottom finished his action.

"A point from Longbottom for endangering his classmates." Snape sneered as he swept by, pondering the oddness of Mason and Potter.

How did Potter realize what Longbottom was doing wrong so quickly? The mistake was a fairly obvious one, if Potter had been watching. But he hadn't been. Up until the moment that he had spun around and stopped Longbottom, he had appeared to be entirely engrossed in his potion. Mason had been watching, but Snape knew how to read lips. And Mason hadn't said a word to Potter, only nudged him.

Those boys would bear watching.

* * *

**Short-ish chapter, but the next one is decently started.**

**Sorry about the incredibly long break but I think I might be actually writing again.**

**Also, sorry for not replying to any of the reviews, this time I promise I will! Thank you to everyone who reviewed!**


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Harry Potter, Adventure, Friendship