Chapter Text
The first time Harry saw him, he assumed he was having a nightmare. The figure hovered across his room at the Dursley’s, silently watching him. It was startling, but Harry was so tired he simply rolled over and went back to sleep.
In the morning, as Harry helped himself to a breakfast of a single banana, the spector made a show of mocking Dudley for crying over his own breakfast. Harry tried his best to pretend he wasn’t losing his mind. Harry had heard about PTSD before, and while he felt that he had moved on from the events in the chamber, maybe there was something still subconsciously bothering him.
Regardless, he didn’t want anyone, wizard or muggle, to think he was crazy. Hearing voices in the wall last year had been more than enough.
The next time it happened while he was out in the garden, weeding. He heard the voice before he saw him.
“Have muggles gotten worse in the past fifty years?”
Harry refused to respond. The neighbors already believed he was a delinquent; a troubled boy. He didn’t need to be adding fuel to the fire. But Riddle didn’t care about how Harry was viewed by the neighbors. He spent the whole day complaining about muggles and their strange habits. The next day, Riddle spent his time mocking Harry, looking for a reaction. The day after that, he took to whining about Dumbledore.
“Would you shut it?” Harry finally snapped. He was lying on his bed, reading a textbook for class.
“Oh so he can hear me,” Riddle said. “I was beginning to wonder.”
“Why are you here? I killed you. Are you a ghost?”
“Obviously.”
“Then go haunt someone else.”
Riddle scowled. “I can’t.”
“Sure you can. Why don’t you scare the Dursleys while you’re here? Or go find Draco Malfoy. I bet you could make him scream like a girl.”
“You can’t be this dense. I refuse to believe the boy who defeated me is so oblivious to his surroundings that he hasn’t noticed other people’s reactions to me.”
“What reactions?”
“Exactly.” Riddle stood by Harry’s bed, towering over the other boy. His arms were crossed across his chest which was still clad in a Slytherin uniform. “No one else seems to be able to see me.”
“What?” That made Harry drop his book and prop himself up on his arms.
“You really are just a stupid Gryffindor,” Tom groaned.
Harry scowled. “I may be a stupid Gryffindor, but you’re just a dead Slytherin.”
Riddle didn’t like that. He floated through the wall and left Harry alone for a full three days before returning. When he finally came back, he slipped right into the role of Harry’s personal poltergeist.
Ironically, having the ghost of his worst enemy haunting him made the Dursley’s much more bearable. For one, Riddle was evidence that the magical world was waiting for him at the end of the summer. For another, Riddle was unexpectedly funny. As a ghost that no one else could see or feel, he was completely harmless and had to resort to hollow threats or miming violent hand motions. He’d make faces at Aunt Petunia and had a constant running commentary on how Dudley represented the decline in civilization.
But Harry was quickly realizing that Riddle didn’t want to say things as much as he wanted to be heard. He hung around the Dursleys because Harry was the only person on the planet capable of acknowledging his existence. He tried to hide it, but Harry started noticing how Riddle would subtly adjust his behavior to get the biggest reaction from him.
To be honest, it was kind of sad.
There were multiple times during the first month of summer where Harry picked up a quill, determined to write to Hermione, Ron, Mr. Weasley, or even Dumbledore about his unexpected roommate, but he never found the words. The entire situation was just so strange that he didn’t know where to start. And it wasn’t like Riddle was hurting anyone; he was already dead.
So Harry let him be. And if he started to enjoy the other boy’s presence, no one needed to know.
“You’ll have to forgive me for not getting you a birthday present,” Tom said as Harry read his Hogwarts letter. “I hope my presence is enough of a gift.” Harry sat cross legged on his bed, surrounded by letters and packages from his friends. Tom lurked in the corner of the room, arms crossed in front of his opaque chest.
“I still don’t understand why you’re here.”
“You’re the reason I’m in this state so you should bear the brunt of the consequences.”
“You wouldn’t have been in this state if you didn’t try to kill Ginny and release a basilisk on the entire school.”
“Don’t forget I also tried to kill you.” He leaned over to read the letters Harry had spread across his bed. Harry squawked and grabbed the parchment before Tom could read much. “You’ve got to sign a permission slip to go to Hogsmeade?”
“Apparently. Why? Didn’t you have to sign one?”
“No. It was assumed that muggle guardians would never be able to understand our world and so their children were more or less emancipated once they began attending Hogwarts.” Riddle spoke with a thoughtful expression on his face, but it quickly morphed into something akin to dark amusement. “I can’t see your relatives being too eager to give permission. What would everyone say if they knew the great Harry Potter had to beg his abusive relatives for something as simple as a signature?”
Harry glared. “What would the world say if they knew Lord Voldemort was raised in a muggle orphanage?”
“Then they would know my opinion on muggles and mudbloods is well informed.”
“If you say that word again, I’ll find a way to exorcize you and then you’ll have nothing keeping you from your eternal punishment in hell.”
“Funny, the local priest used to tell me that. Such a shame he ended up getting so ill from a poisonous snake bite.”
“I’m sure you had nothing to do with it,” Harry said while hiding his new food supplies under the loose floorboard. Riddle watched in silence as Harry went through the familiar steps of hiding evidence that he had friends. Harry braced himself for more teasing, but none came. The ghost just continued with his lurking.
“You could just force your relatives into signing it.” Riddle was being completely serious.
“How? They know I can’t do magic outside of Hogwarts.”
“You’re rich and famous in the wizarding world. Surely you could pay them off or threaten to expose them for being so awful?”
“It’s not worth the trouble.” Harry took his glasses off laid back down on his bed, assuming the conversation was over and he could go to sleep. After five minutes, his eyes were drooping and Riddle decided to speak again.
“You aren’t opposed to harming the Dursleys because of a moral dilemma. Your excuses have all been about your own inconvenience at the potential fall out.”
Harry opened one eye to glare at him. It was hard to see the ghost in the dark and without glasses so he aimed at where his voice came from.
“I just assumed the boy savior would be a paragon of virtue.”
“Threatening them is different. It’s not hurting anyone.”
“You’ve never wanted to hurt them before?” Riddle’s voice was soft. It was a trick question and Harry rolled over in bed, choosing not to answer.
Riddle laughed the entire ride on the Knight Bus.
“I can’t believe you actually had it in you!” He crowed. “Do you think she’s floating over London yet? Maybe we can see her if we look out the window!”
Harry was already on edge. The encounter with Aunt Marge had released some of his anger, but now it was fear coursing through his veins. Fear that he’d be expelled, fear that he’d be arrested. And after seeing the strange wolf-like dog and almost getting hit by a bus, his nerves were fried. Not that Riddle seemed to care.
With Stan Shunpike and the driver Ernie being in hearing distance, Harry couldn’t tell Riddle to shut it. He could, however, engage in some aggressive avoidance.
“The muggles were talking about that man on the news,” Harry said, nodding to the newspaper Stan held. Riddle rolled his eyes from the otherside of the bus. He floated around slowly, taking in the beds and the lighting fixtures. Harry couldn’t help but keep glancing at him, even as he tried to focus on Stan.
“They should be! That’s Sirius Black that is!” Stan cried. “First person to ever escape Azkaban!”
“Who?”
“Sirius Black! Murdered thirteen muggles he did. Say he’s You-Know-Who’s right hand man.”
A chill went down Harry’s back as he took in the face laughing on the paper. Even Riddle leaned in to get a better look at it.
“Sounds right to me,” the ghost said. “All the Blacks I knew were considered half-mad even by other blood purists. Escaping from Azkaban is impressive, though. I didn’t know it was possible.”
Ghosts couldn’t really get a gleam in their eye but Harry felt it in Riddle’s nonetheless. It was the same look of hunger that had appeared on his face in the chamber just a couple months ago. Riddle wouldn’t rest until he knew how Black had escaped from prison.
Riddle seemed lost in thought for the rest of the night, not even bothering to mock Harry for the blatant favoritism Fudge showed him. The meeting with the Minister had been stressful, but not just because of his fear of being expelled. That night was the first time he’d been around wizards since acquiring his ghostly roommate.
“I really am the only one who can see you,” Harry said to Riddle when they were finally alone in a room in the Leaky Cauldron.
“I told you that already.”
“I didn’t actually believe you.”
Riddle frowned. “Don’t you trust me Harry?”
Harry ignored the question. “Why am I the only one who can see you?”
“I think this is my punishment for all my sins- being bound to the world’s least intelligent savior,” Riddle said in all seriousness. Harry just continued to ignore his attitude; in their short time together, he found it was better when one simply ignored his sarcasm.
“Do you think it has something to do with my connection to Voldemort?” He found himself asking. That shocked Riddle into paying attention.
“Does this have anything to do with you also being a parselmouth?”
“I don’t know. Dumbledore said we had a connection. It’s why my scar hurts when he’s around.” Riddle’s eyes flickered to Harry’s forehead and then back down. He was frowning.
“That’s ridiculous. Curse scars don’t have that much power.”
“There has to be some kind of connection,” Harry insisted. “We have too much-” He broke off, not wanting to continue that line of thinking.
“Too much in common,” Riddle finished. “Does that bother you?”
“What?”
“Does it bother you that you see yourself in me? That I’m everything you could be, everything you could achieve?”
“You constantly call me an idiot. Clearly, you don’t think I could be like you.”
“You could. If you took things more seriously and were a little more ambitious. But maybe that’s the difference between us. You just accept what’s handed to you while I’m not afraid to work for something greater.”
“Well, you’re just a lonely ghost so I’m not sure your plans really worked out.”
Riddle did the apparition equivalent of storming out of a room and didn’t return for two days.
It was weird, trying to ignore Riddle with Hermione and the Weasley’s around. Part of Harry wanted to tell them what his summer had really been like. But he had also grown accustomed to the ghost and didn’t really want him to be destroyed. He’d already killed Riddle once, he didn’t have to wreck his soul as well.
That wasn’t to say Riddle was a pleasure to have around. Quite the opposite, really. Riddle verbally attacked the Weasley’s and used a wide array of derogatory language when referring to Hermione. Harry could only glare at him and hiss quiet warnings at him.
“I don’t understand why you care,” Riddle said. “It’s not like they can hear me.”
“Well I can and I don’t like what you’re saying.”
Riddle found the twins particularly obnoxious and Harry suspected it was because he saw Percy as someone more like himself. The twins were certainly going out of their way to mock their brother for his appointment as Head Boy.
“You’ll have to check the records when we arrive at Hogwarts,” Riddle said, “but I’m certain I was appointed Head Boy my seventh year.” Harry was creeping downstairs to help look for the missing Head Boy badge.
“I didn’t think they rewarded murders with that position.”
“It’s not my fault they were all too thick to catch me.”
They had had this conversation before, so Harry didn’t really pay too much attention to it. Instead, he found himself eavesdropping on Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. He hadn’t meant to, but when he heard his name among the heated words, he couldn’t help but freeze. Even Riddle was silent as they heard Mr. Weasley explain how Sirius Black was after Harry.
“If Black can break out of Azkaban, he can break into Hogwarts,” Mr. Weasley was saying. “I just want him to have his guard up.”
Harry crept back up the stairs, barely paying attention to Fred and George who were transfiguring Percy’s badge.
“I don’t know why you seem so shocked,” Riddle said when they were finally back in their room. “If Black was Lord Voldemort’s right hand man, then of course he’d be after you.”
Harry didn’t want to respond because he knew Riddle was right. He felt stupid for not figuring it out himself. Thankfully, the next day was chaotic enough that he didn’t have the opportunity to talk to Riddle.
Attempting to load all the Weaselys, Hermione, Harry, and their animals into the Ministry cars was a difficult task and by the time they arrived at King’s Cross, the Hogwart’s Express was mostly full and Harry, Ron, and Hermione ended up sitting in a compartment with a sleeping adult.
“He looks worse for wear,” Riddle said.
“R. J. Lupin,” Hermione said at the same time, pointing to the trunk above the man. “He’s probably our new defense professor.”
“Do you really get a new professor each year?” Riddle asked.
Ron was already speaking. “Hopefully he’ll be better than Lockhart, though that won’t be too hard.”
Conversation inevitably turned to Hogsmeade. Hermione and Ron were both frustrated on Harry’s behalf that he wasn’t able to get his permission slip signed but that didn’t stop Hermione from rattling on about the history of the village.
“The Shrieking Shack's supposed to be the most severely haunted building in Britain,” she said.
“I’ve never heard that,” Riddle said. He was floating by the luggage rack, staring down at the group. He probably got some perverse pleasure in being above everything.
“Must be an unusual group of ghosts,” Harry added. “None of the ones at Hogwarts seem to act particularly spooky.”
“There’s the Bloody Baron,” Ron said. “He’s spooky without trying. And I guess Peeves could be considered spooky if you aren’t expecting a poltergeist.”
Hermione opened her mouth to say something but paused as the train shook and began to slow down. The three exchanged looks of confusion with each other and even Riddle straightened, letting his form float down so he was level with Harry.
“We can’t be there yet,” Hermione said.
Ron stood to look out the window. “I think there’s people coming aboard.”
“Maybe we’ve broken down?” Harry asked. The lights began to flicker before going out and the temperature was dipping quite noticeably. The compartment door opened again.
“Sorry, do you know what’s going on?” Neville’s voice came from the dark.
“I’m going to go ask the driver,” Hermione declared. Harry heard her get up but let out a cry as she ran into someone.
“Hermione?”
“Ginny? What’re you doing here?”
“Looking for Ron. Do you know what’s going on?”
“Whatever is going on, you are all making it worse.” Harry jumped in his seat and glanced over. Riddle was sitting very close to him, ghostly aura providing the only light in the compartment. He looked just as confused as Harry felt.
“Quiet!” A hoarse voice called. Light from a wand lit up the compartment and Harry found himself looking the mysterious professor in the eyes. He still looked tired, even as alert as he was. “Stay where you are.”
As he spoke, the door opened again revealing a scaly hand and a dark, cloaked figure. The figure took a rattling breath and the air turned frigid. The cold seemed to permeate every facet of his being and suddenly felt very hard to breathe.
The last thing Harry remembered was Riddle saying “Oh shit” before his eyes rolled into the back of his head.
Someone was screaming .
“Harry! Harry, are you alright?” Harry blinked and Hermione’s worried face came into focus. He was on the floor of the compartment. The lights had turned back on and there was no sign of the creature. Riddle was floating by the door, arms crossed, keeping watch over the hall and occasionally glancing back at Harry.
“W-what happened? Who was screaming?” He asked.
“No one was screaming,” Hermione said. Ron, Neville, and Ginny were sitting in their seats, all looking pale. Ginny looked particularly sick. R. J. Lupin was crouched just behind Hermione, watching Harry.
“Here, this should help,” the man said, handing Harry a chunk of chocolate. Harry accepted it, more out of shock than anything else.
“What was that thing?” Harry asked.
“A dementor,” Riddle and Lupin said at the same time. A flicker of annoyance passed over the ghost’s face as he was once again reminded that no one could hear him.
“One of the dementors of Azkaban,” Lupin continued. “I am going to go speak with the conductor. Eat the chocolate.”
And with that, the professor was gone. Ron, Hermione, and Neville filled Harry in on what had happened when he collapsed. To his surprise, the chocolate really did help and some warmth flooded his limbs.
Riddle spent the rest of the journey on edge. He floated between the corridor and the compartment, not settling down the way he had on the first half of the journey. He kept shooting Harry’s friends annoyed looks, so it was clear he had something he wanted to say. But he wanted Harry to respond to it.
When they arrived at Hogwarts, McGonagall pulled Harry and Hermione aside. After being looked over by Pomfrey, Harry stood in the hallway, waiting on Hermione and McGonagall.
“Have you heard of dementors before?” He asked Riddle in a low voice.
“Of course. They’re part of the defense curriculum for third and fourth years. Patronus charms are taught to NEWT students.”
“What’s a patronus?”
“It’s what Lupin used to scare the dementor away. You could consider it a manifestation of positive emotions that’s used in a defensive manner.”
“Weaponized positivity?” Harry joked. “I bet you struggled with that.” An uncomfortable look floated across Riddle’s face and Harry immediately became serious. “You did, didn’t you? You couldn’t cast a patronus charm.”
“It’s a silly spell. Only really useful in one setting. Besides, dementors don’t, well didn’t, affect me the way they do others.”
Harry, who was quickly realizing his own reaction to them was unusual, shifted. “How do they affect you?”
“Dementor’s only prey on positive emotions. Other emotions like anger, pain, fear, aren’t affected. If you have enough discipline, you can ground yourself in those.”
“That’s sad,” Harry said without thinking. “You’re so unused to happiness that its absence isn’t even noticeable.”
“I didn’t ask for a psycho-analysis,” Tom snapped as the door to McGonagall’s office opened. The ghost stormed off to do whatever it was he did in his free time while Hermione and Harry went to join the welcome feast.
Harry wasn’t sure what he was expecting, being at Hogwarts with the ghost of Tom Riddle, but it was very much the same as being at Number 4 Privet Drive with the ghost of Tom Riddle. He followed Harry around, providing a running commentary on his dislike of people and creatures alike. He implied Harry was an idiot at least twice a day and kept him up to date on all of the drama Harry didn’t even know was happening.
Tom would haunt a variety of classes and demand Harry turn pages of books for him in the library. His hunger for knowledge also extended to the Hogwarts dating scene. He took great joy in sitting in the midst of groups of girls during lunch in order to hear gossip about the student body.
He also liked feeding Harry answers on homework assignments. Which Harry accepted for a forty-eight hour period before realizing Tom was purposefully feeding him a mix of correct and incorrect answers to mess with him. He ignored Tom for three days after that.
No matter how long Tom spent away from Harry, he always came back. He craved attention; desperately wanting to tell someone his clever remarks and comebacks. He wanted someone to think he was smart, wanted someone to acknowledge he was better than others. So he always returned to Harry.
It was almost a relief that their relationship was positive during the first Hogsmeade trip of the year. With Hermione and Ron gone, Harry found an empty classroom he and Tom could camp out in. He spread his work around the floor and even let Tom pick out a book to read from the library. He worked on his homework while turning the pages for Tom.
“I still say you should investigate the Shrieking Shack,” Harry said, stuffing his charms assignment back into his bag. Tom made a big show of sighing and turning his attention away from his book.
“I can’t believe it’s as haunted as it’s said to be. None of the ghosts were around in the 1940s.”
“Maybe they took up residence recently. You’re a ghost and you move around all the time.”
“If a ghost is interested in relocating, I can’t imagine they’d pick a dilapidated house near a school full of annoying children.”
“Maybe they’re trying to stick with the theme.”
“The theme?”
“You know, being spooky? Ghosts, haunted houses?”
“I feel like most ghosts would find that offensive,” Tom sniffed. “Now turn the page and be quiet.”
“What’s the difference between a ghost and a poltergeist?” Harry asked, flipping the page. Tom glared in response. “Why do some people come back as ghosts while others come back as poltergeists? I feel like your life would be easier as a poltergeist- er, well, your death I mean.”
“I’m sure I’ll regain a body eventually,” Tom grumbled. Harry stilled. Tom had never been very open about his opinions on being a ghost beyond finding the entire thing dreadfully dull. But until then, he’d never expressed a plan to regain a body.
“I won’t help you do that.”
“Won’t you? You’re the boy savior after all. And even you must admit that this is no way to exist,” Tom said, gesturing to the book whose pages he couldn’t even turn.
“Last time you tried to gain a body, you almost killed my best friend’s sister. And me.”
“And I’ve learned my lesson. I’m a changed man.”
“I’m not helping you.”
“If you did, I would leave you be. Let you live out your mundane existence without me, ghost or otherwise. It would be beneficial to the both of us.” Tom looked so earnest that Harry almost felt guilty for what he was about to say.
“I won’t help you. And if you try to make me, I’ll tell Dumbledore about you and he’ll find a way to end your existence entirely.”
Hurt flashed across Tom’s face quickly followed by anger. Without saying a word, he dramatically sunk through the floor and disappeared. He didn’t reappear for the rest of the day.
Harry tried to be happy for Hermione and Ron as they filled him in on Hogsmeade and he tried to enjoy the Halloween feast, but he couldn’t stop thinking about Tom. About how desperate he had been and how hurt Harry’s response made him. Maybe Harry hadn’t been fair: eternity as a ghost sounded intimidating. Surely there had to be a better alternative besides destroying Tom completely.
All thoughts of Tom were chased from Harry’s head when the Gryffindor’s realized the Fat Lady had been attacked. Dumbledore was the only one able to get an answer out of Peeves.
"Oh yes, Professorhead, he got very angry when she wouldn't let him, you see. Nasty temper he's got, that Sirius Black."
If the students weren’t freaked out before, they were once they learned the notorious murderer had tried to break in. Dumbledore and the other teachers ushered them back to the Great Hall. The other houses arrived and Percy and the other prefects caroled everyone into sleeping bags. Harry, Ron, and Hermione gathered in a corner and whispered theories to each other until Percy told them to be quiet.
“ Harry !” A sharp hiss woke Harry up from the state of semi-consciousness he had fallen into. He jolted up and his movements attracted the attention of Tom Riddle, who had been peering into sleeping bags.
“Tom?” Harry whispered, as quietly as he could.
“Oh there you are. Still alive then?” Tom slipped next to him, laying on the ground he couldn’t feel. Their faces were mere centimeters apart.
“Where were you?”
“Ravenclaw common room. There’s a seventh year in ancient runes who leaves her essays out all night so the ink doesn’t smudge. I didn’t know what was happening until Flitwick appeared. Black really did try to break in then?”
“Yeah.”
“Lucky you weren’t there.” Tom had been speaking in a normal tone until this point. No one else could hear him, but now it was as if he was half hoping Harry wouldn’t hear him either. He stared up at the starry sky above them, refusing to meet Harry’s eyes.
“Were you worried about me?”
“No. Just didn’t want my only source of human interaction to die before I convinced him to help me.”
“So you were worried for selfish reasons.”
“I came to check up on you. Can’t we just leave it at that?”
Harry watched Tom’s adam’s apple move. They had never been so close and for a split second, Harry wanted to reach out and run his fingers along the edge of Tom’s jaw. It was a ridiculous notion- his hand’s would pass right through him. But he found himself considering what it would be like if Tom was physically there.
“Yeah, we can leave it,” Harry whispered. Tom nodded in acknowledgment.
“The professors are searching the school, but I don’t believe anyone will find Black. He’s probably long gone. I might spend some time searching out passageways in and out of the castle. I’d love to figure out how he’s getting in and out of all these places.”
All evidence of the sensitive Tom Riddle were washed away by the analytic, knowledge-hungry one. Harry let himself be lulled to sleep by Tom’s various theories.
The match between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff featured the worst weather Harry had ever flown in. In less than a minute his clothes were sopping wet and he could only see out of his glasses because of a nifty charm Hermione used during a time out.. He could barely see the rest of his team, let alone the snitch.
Flashes of lightning illuminated the pitch and Harry caught sight of what looked like a large dog under the stands. The hairs on the back of his neck raised. Despite both Hermione and Tom insisting that the grim was nothing more than an old wives tale, he couldn’t help but feel unsettled.
Tom was in the crowd somewhere. Ghosts don’t get wet and they don’t feel cold so the bastard was probably having a wonderful time watching Harry suffer. Harry wasn’t naive enough to believe Tom was there to support him: quidditch matches were whole-school events full of drama. It was Tom’s version of mid-day soap operas middle aged women watched.
A flash of gold came from the corner of Harry’s eye. In an instant, he and Cedric Diggory were tearing after the snitch, both desperate to end the game. The cold was biting into Harry’s skin. He couldn’t feel his hands, couldn’t hear the crowd. He glanced down, noticing the eerie silence.
Dementors.
He heard a woman scream and his eyes rolled back in his head.
Harry was falling.
.
.
.
Waking up in the hospital wing was never fun. Learning that Gryffindor lost and his broom had been destroyed made things even worse. Hermione and Ron filled him in on everything that had happened by the time Madam Pomfrey chased everyone out. That left Harry alone with Tom, who had been lurking in the corner the entire time.
“I’ve decided to turn this into a game,” Tom informed him, floating over so he could sit on the bed. “How many times can Harry Potter escape death in one year? My count puts it at three already.”
“I’m glad you find this all so amusing.”
“Come on, there’s been much more serious quidditch accidents. I knew someone would catch you.”
“But now I have to put up with everyone thinking I’m weak. I can’t even look at a dementor without passing out,” Harry said. Tom went still, a look on his face that Harry had come to associate with internal conflict.
“That isn’t your fault,” Tom finally said. “Dementor’s are magical beings and the fear they produce is not normal. A person’s reaction to a dementor is rooted in how many negative memories that person has. When someone has a strong reaction, that just means they’ve already had to be braver than most.”
“Really?” Harry asked. He hated how unsteady his voice was.
“I’m not going to pretend like I’ve never lied to you, but I would never lie to make you feel better about yourself,” Tom replied, dead serious. “Now you either need to rest so you can turn the pages of the new books I’m reading at the library.”
“So demanding,” Harry teased. He didn’t want to admit it, but his conversation with Tom had made him feel better. Better than when he had spoken to Ron and Hermione. The thought gave him a pause and he considered the ghost for a moment. They’d been in this strange circumstance for half a year now, and Tom knew him better than almost everyone.
Tom Riddle: the boy who tried to kill Ginny. Who did kill Myrtle. The boy who would kill his parents.
As he faked sleep, he wondered if he should be more upset with himself. Tom was an objectively bad person. He was rarely kind (although he was becoming more bearable) and he was open about using Harry for his own ends. Ron would be furious if he found out Harry had befriended Tom and Hermione would probably be very disappointed but he couldn’t bring himself to actually cut the ghost off. He liked having Tom around.
He liked Tom Riddle.
Christmas at Hogwarts was always wonderful. The Weasley twins had gifted Harry the Marauder's Map, allowing him to sneak down to Hogsmeade for the first time and explore the village with Ron and Hermione before the holidays.
Tom had been captivated by the map and the cloak, harassing Harry with questions about both objects until Harry finally started ignoring him. This annoyed Tom, but he didn’t leave, as he was interested in seeing how Harry would manage sneaking in and out of the castle.
It would have been a perfect day if it hadn’t been for the conversation they overheard at the pub. Harry had known Sirius Black was after him, but finding out he had been best friends with his father and was his godfather, changed everything.
For the first time, Harry felt an ugly, dark hatred fill him. It was the kind of hate he imagined Tom felt; that motivated him to do terrible things. It scared Harry, but he found that he couldn’t get rid of it. The only thing he could do was distract himself, which Hermione and Ron were willing to help with.
Tom, on the other hand, spent the entire break trying to goad Harry into taking his revenge. It was his new game alongside counting how often Harry could cheat death. Harry would wake up in the middle of the night to Tom whispering ideas for torture in his ear. He’d tried to throw a pillow at the ghost, but it had just hit a disgruntled Dean Thomas.
It was a relief when the students went home for the holidays. Ron and Hermione chose to stay, but nearly everyone else had gone home. It was relaxing, not having to deal with the taunts from the Slytherins or the continued predictions of death in divination. Tom found the whole thing very boring and spent several days shadowing various teachers in order to fill Harry in on all their strange habits.
“Flitwick sleeps with a teddy bear,” Tom said. They were hiding in an unused classroom so Harry could flip pages in Tom’s book without people thinking it was weird. This week it was a tome on the usage of human body parts in potions. Madam Pince had looked scandalized when Harry checked it out.
“You’re lying.”
“How would you know?”
“Because you think it’s funny when I fall for your crazy lies. And that is a crazy lie.”
“I don’t think it’s so crazy. Plenty of people sleep with stuffed animals and baby blankets. I think almost every Hufflepuff has one in their beds right now.”
“You should stop going into people's private rooms.” Harry scolded.
On Christmas day, Harry awoke to Ron throwing a package on his bed. Tom was nowhere to be seen so Harry got to open presents in peace. Mrs. Weasley had knitted him a Weasley jumper and had sent plenty of sweets to go with it.
There was one present that had no name attached: a Firebolt.
He and Ron spent most of the morning alternating between staring at it and reverently holding it. Hermione, for some reason, seemed bothered by the gift and even more bothered by Ron and Harry’s reaction to it.
Harry didn’t dwell on it anymore until after the Christmas feast, when Hermione brought McGonagall to confiscate the broom. Tom had reappeared at that point and watched in amusement as Harry and Ron shunned her.
“Don’t know why you wanted to be friends with a know-it-all mudblood in the first place,” he crowed.
“Don’t call her that!”
“Call her what?” Ron asked, at a loss. Harry flushed, shooting Tom a glare before muttering an apology and leaving the common room.
“Be careful or else people will think their boy savior is going mad,” Tom said, floating behind him.
“I don’t care what people think about me,” Harry lied, “but if you want to continue haunting me, then stop with the pureblood nonsense.”
“I didn’t realize I needed your permission to haunt you.”
“I’ll go to Dumbledore.”
Tom scowled. “You can’t keep threatening the same thing over and over again. It becomes less effective.”
“But I will do it. I’m mad at Hermione but that doesn’t have anything to do with her blood status. And my mother was a muggleborn.” His mother, who he heard begging for his life every time he was near a dementor.
“You have to admit that there’s logic behind my beliefs,” Tom insisted. “Muggleborns are tainted by the muggle world. They’ll never truly assimilate into the wizarding one. They take opportunities away from purebloods and half-bloods, whose families have been pillars in the community before the Ministry of Magic was even a thought.”
“If muggleborns are tainted then you and I are too. We were both raised in the muggle world.”
“But we shouldn’t have been. We should have been raised as heirs to our respective families.”
“But we weren’t. And muggles have plenty of excellent ideas. Wizards could learn a thing or two from muggles. They already have- I mean, trains are a muggle invention and so are radios and buses.”
“Muggles only use their inventions for destruction. Wizards have improved each creation every single time.”
“Muggles don’t just destroy. They’ve created all kinds of medicines and machines to help people. They have video games and music, roller coasters, airplanes, they’ve even been to the moon!”
“No they haven’t.”
Harry paused and turned to face Tom, jaw dropped. “Oh my gosh you missed the moon landing.”
“You need to start sitting in on muggle studies classes.”
“Not a chance.”
“Do you know about computers? Mobile phones? Nuclear bombs? The polio vaccine? They’ve landed on the moon and have sent spacecraft to take close up pictures of other planets.”
Tom, who hated being told he didn’t know things, looked very uncomfortable. “It can’t be that impressive.”
“How much progress has been made in the wizarding world since the 1940s? I don’t think much has changed at all. But the muggle world is constantly moving forward. It’s almost scary how quickly their technology evolves.”
In all honesty, Harry didn’t really care about muggle technology. The wizarding world was away from the Dursley’s and where his friends were, which meant he’d always prefer to be there. But defending muggles from Tom made him actually pause and acknowledge just how amazing they really were.
Tom would never admit defeat, so instead he changed the subject.
“I’d be surprised if she was right about the broomstick,” he said.
“Why?”
“Brooms are very hard to curse. It’s even more difficult to place a long lasting curse on one that will remain in effect far away from the caster. Anyway, I think if Black really wants to kill you, he should do it himself and not through expensive, cursed objects.”
In the blink of an eye, the holidays were over and the rest of the student body returned. Harry and Ron were still ignoring Hermione, but she was so busy with classes that she wouldn’t have had the time to hang out anyway.
The start of the new term also marked the beginning of Harry’s lessons with Lupin and while he had entered with a healthy dose of optimism, he left feeling both discouraged and exhausted.
“What do you hear?” Tom asked, quietly. It was one of those rare occasions when Tom deigned himself to actually sit with Harry. They were on the floor of the corridor outside of the defense room, Harry eating a bar of chocolate Lupin had given him after his patronus lessons.
“My mum. My dad now, too. They’re trying to save me. And then they’re screaming and then they’re dead.” He took another bit before glancing up at his personal ghost. “Do you hear anything?”
Tom was silent for a while before responding. “When I was alive, I did. Never really ran into many dementors though.”
“How many times have you seen one?”
“Twice. Once when the Ministry tried to use them to search Hogwarts when the Chamber was opened and the second time as part of an extra credit presentation for defense.”
“What do they make you remember?” Harry wasn’t really anticipating a response. Tom didn’t like admitting to any sort of weakness, but he surprised him.
“The Blitz.”
“You were in London during that?”
“Dippet refused to accommodate students living in the muggle world. I don’t think he really knew what he was subjecting muggle-raised students to. Grindelwald mostly terrorized the continent, so while we were aware of the war, it didn’t really interrupt daily life.
“The muggle world was different. We’d be woken up in the middle of the night by air raid sirens. That’s what I heard around the dementors. The sirens, and the sounds of planes overhead and the explosion of bombs. And the crying. All the children at the orphanage wouldn’t stop crying. I hated it.”
“I never really thought about that,” Harry said. “I wish I could give you some chocolate.”
“Don’t get sentimental on me, Potter.”
“You make it impossible to, Riddle.”
They sat in silence for a few more minutes until Harry finished his chocolate bar.
“What memories are you using for the patronus charm?” Tom asked. He looked thoughtful.
“You were in the room when I told Lupin.”
“I didn’t know if you were lying to him or not. Maybe you have some secret memory you didn’t want a teacher finding out about.”
“Finding out I was a wizard is my strongest memory. It meant I was leaving the Dursleys.”
“I tried that one.” Tom was staring at the wall in front of them but his face had twisted into something ugly. “It didn’t work for me.”
“You tried when you learned you were a wizard?”
“Yes, though I suspect Dumbledore ruined the moment. He’s the one who told me what I was, but a second later he set fire to all my things.”
“What?!”
“He didn’t burn them, but I didn’t know that at the time. He then accused me of stealing and bullying the other children at the orphanage and threatened me.”
“That doesn’t sound like Dumbledore,” Harry said, doubtfully. Tom sent him a hateful look.
“He always hated me. Right from our first meeting.”
“But were you stealing from and bullying the other kids?”
“I was finishing things I hadn’t started,” Tom defended.
“So you were.”
Tom stood up. “I don’t have to listen to this.”
“I’m the only one you ever talk to!” Harry cried at his retreating back. The door to Lupin’s office swung open.
“Harry? What are you still doing here? Who were you talking to?” Lupin glanced up and down the hall, but saw nothing except Harry sitting cross legged on the floor. Harry flushed and stammered out a response, silently vowing to get back at Tom.
Harry and Tom’s relationship continued to be rocky, particularly with the success of Harry’s patronus during the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw quidditch match. Tom had actually been kind after the match against Hufflepuff, but Harry’s success with something Tom could never do made the ghost bitter.
They had a hissed argument in the boy’s bathroom before dinner and Harry didn’t see Tom for the rest of the night. He’d resolved to not let the situation bother him; Harry had won the match and confronted his greatest fear and no moody ghost was going to ruin it.
Harry’s bubble burst later that night when he was jolted awake by Ron screaming.
“What’s wrong?” He asked, but his voice was drowned out by the shouts of his other roommates. It didn’t take long for Ron to finally vocalize what had happened.
“Sirius Black! Sirius Black was in here with a knife!”
The entire room was sent back into an uproar. The boys tumbled down into the common room where the other Gryffindor’s began arriving, seeking out the source of the noise.
“Are we continuing the party then?” Fred asked, cheerfully.
“Everyone is going back to bed!” Percy shouted. “Now!”
“Perce- it was Sirius Black!” Ron cried “He was standing over my bed with a knife!”
That moment, the portrait swung open and McGonagall stormed in, pulling a night robe around her. “Now I am just as happy as you that we won but the party is over!”
It didn’t take long for the story to come out. Ron explained everything to McGonagall who went out to ask the painting of Sir Cadogan if it was true. Neville confessed to keeping a list of the passwords and promptly lost Gryffindor many house points.
The tower was put on lockdown as the teachers searched the school. No one went back to sleep. Harry noticed Tom floating along the periphery of the common room, but made no attempts to speak with the ghost.
Finally, around dawn, McGonagall returned to say that Black had escaped again. Students began moving, heading back to bed or down to breakfast where the rest of the castle would hear about the night’s events. Dean, Seamus, and Ron were all too wound up to go back to bed and left to get breakfast. Harry told them he was going back to sleep, but he really wanted time alone with Tom.
“The wrong bed, huh?” Tom said. He was pacing the floor of the third year’s dorm. Harry crossed to his bed and sat on it, pulling his knees to his chest.
“Did you see him?”
“No, I arrived with McGonagall. I thought I’d get to see you all get detention.”
Harry narrowed his eyes. “You’ve been floating around this castle all year. Are you sure you haven’t seen anything suspicious?”
“There’s a Ravenclaw boy with the largest eyebrows I’ve ever seen, Hagrid is raising slugs, Crookshanks has befriended some sort of coyote in the woods, and a Slytherin girl mysteriously lost all her nose hairs last week and has become significantly more attractive.”
“What?”
“That’s all the suspicious activity I’ve noticed. Besides Lupin, of course, but I don’t think he counts in this case.”
“You think a boy with large eyebrows counts as suspicious?”
“I think I’ve seen them move on their own.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
“There is one thing I’d like to know,” Tom continued, thoughtfully. “Black supposedly blew up thirteen muggles and betrayed his best friend to Lord Voldemort.”
“And?”
“So why not kill Weasley? Why let him alert the rest of the castle to his presence? And if he could make such a quick get away, why not attempt to kill you before making a run for it?”
“Maybe he didn’t know he had time to.”
“If he really is Lord Voldemort’s second in command, then he should have been prepared for a situation like that. I’d imagine my future self would prize ruthlessness, so why would a dedicated follower hesitate to silence any witnesses?”
“He’s sick in the head. He’s insane. Nothing he does is logical,” Harry retorted.
“But that can’t be right. He escaped Azkaban and broke into Hogwarts at least twice all while avoiding dementors. He can’t be so far gone that he can’t silence one thirteen year old boy before moving on to his target.”
“Careful, you’re starting to sound like you want me dead.”
“I should want you dead.”
“Are you joking?”
“I’m not. I should want you dead because you’ve defeated me three times now. I should want Black to stab you in the heart.”
“I’ve only defeated you once. The other times were Voldemort.”
“But I am Voldemort. Voldemort is my past, present, and future.”
Harry blankly stared at Tom. “You’re the memory of sixteen year old Tom Riddle. You’re a psychopath, but you aren’t Voldemort.”
“There’s no difference.”
“I disagree. Because Voldemort has never hesitated to kill me, but you freak out everytime you think I’m in danger.”
“I do not!” Tom’s eyes had become slits and his voice had dropped into a hiss. He was furious, but Harry didn’t want to drop the subject. Tom couldn’t be Voldemort because Voldemort killed Harry’s parents. Tom couldn’t be Voldemort because Harry liked Tom. Tom made him laugh, distracted him from his negative thoughts, sat up with him on nights when everything was falling apart.
Tom couldn’t be Voldemort because Tom was beautiful and sometimes Harry wished he was alive.
“You were with me in the hospital wing and the last time Black broke into the castle. And you spent the whole night here after hearing he broke in again.”
“I’m using you, you stupid little lion!” Tom seethed. “I’m taking advantage of the fact that you can see me. I garner no enjoyment from our interactions and I’m hoping to manipulate you into helping me back into a body! Are you really so stupid that you think I like you?”
“If you were really trying to use me, you wouldn’t have told me.”
Tom let out a sound that was a cross between a sigh and a snarl before doing his typical stomp out of the room. Harry watched him go and then collapsed on his bed. Tom could say whatever he wanted, but Harry was finally starting to feel like he knew him.
Tom stopped ignoring him after a few days. They didn’t talk about their fight, but Harry returned to his job of turning Tom’s pages for him and listening to his schemes. Harry’s life had also become significantly more entertaining to watch. Trelawny continued predicting his death, Gryffindor was in the running for the quidditch cup, Buckbeak was on trial, Scabbers was presumed dead, and Hermione and Ron’s relationship seemed to change from day to day.
Tom hadn’t bothered attending Harry’s divination final. The ghost only liked sitting in on the class to watch Hermione’s reactions and her dramatic departure had also signaled the end of his interest in the subject.
Harry didn’t get the chance to speak to Tom about Trelawny’s prophecy. He didn’t have the chance to speak to Ron or Hermione either, as Hagrid sent a note telling them Buckbeak was going to be executed.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione snuck under the invisibility cloak and made their way down to Hagrid’s Hut. Tom was already down there, floating around the pumpkin patch and shaking his head at the hippogriff. When Hagrid opened the door for the trio, Tom followed them in too.
“I’ve never watched an execution,” he said. Hermione busied herself making tea for the distraught Hagrid while Ron and Harry sat down. Harry couldn’t talk to Tom with the others around so he just sent him pointed looks out of the corner of his eye. He was so preoccupied that he almost missed the miraculous reappearance of Scabbers.
“Dumbledore said he’s gonna come down, yeh know,” Hagrid said. “Says he wants ter be with me when it... when it happens. Great man, Dumbledore.”
“Weak old fool is more accurate,” Tom said.
“We’ll stay with you too, Hagrid!” Hermione promised.
“I’ll be here, but only because I want to see how one goes about killing a hippogriff,” Tom added. He had to be trying to get a rise out of Harry.
Hagrid refused to let them stay and Harry made a big fuss of insisting everyone leave and they all go back to the castle together. Hermione and Ron looked puzzled, but Tom rolled his eyes and dutifully followed them out.
“I don’t see why you have to ruin my fun,” Tom complained. “There’s only so much a ghost can do for amusement.”
“Ouch! He bit me!” Ron cried. His hand was bleeding and Scabbers threw himself onto the ground and began to make a run for it right as Crookshanks appeared. Ron dashed out from under the cloak, chasing the cat who was chasing the rat.
“Ron! Look out!” Harry cried. They were dangerously close to the Whomping Willow.
But the Willow wasn’t the problem: it was the large Grim-like dog who pounced on Ron and began dragging him under the tree. Hermione and Harry cried out and ran to follow, only to be knocked back by a branch.
Crookshanks nimbly avoided all the flailing limbs and pressed a knot at the trunk, freezing the tree. Hermione and Harry only hesitated long enough to share a look before they threw themselves after Ron.
“I take it back,” Tom said. “This is much more interesting than watching a hippogriff die.”
They hurried down the pathway and arrived in a old, decaying room full of destroyed furniture.
“We’re in the Shrieking Shack, aren’t we?” Hermione whispered. Harry nodded and pulled his wand out. They heard movement on the floor above them. When they finally found Ron, he was lying on a dusty bed, clutching Scabbers, and yelling about it being a trap.
“Expelliarmus!” Harry’s wand was ripped from his grip and flew into the hands of a gaunt, dirty man. His eyes shone bright with a manic energy and Harry suddenly realized he was face to face with Sirius Black.
“I thought you’d come for your friend. Your father would have done the same for me,” Black said. His voice was hoarse from disuse. Harry’s face contorted. Tom moved towards Black, not quite in between the two, but enough to be intimidating. That is- he would have been intimidating if Black had been able to see him.
“If you want to kill Harry you’ll have to kill us too!” Ron declared. His face was white with pain.
“Only one person will be dying here tonight,” Black said, calmly.
“Why’s that? You didn’t seem to care last time when you killed all those muggles!” Harry demanded. Hermione hissed at him to be quiet. Harry could barely listen to her. He threw himself at Black, letting loose and throwing as many punches as possible. Somehow, Black ended up on the floor with Crookshanks on his chest and Harry had managed to get his wand back into his hand.
“I guess it’s true,” Tom said. “Only one person will die here tonight. And it will be you,” His eyes were trained on Black but he walked towards Harry and his voice turned soft. “I know the words, Harry. All you need to do is point your wand and kill this bastard just like he killed your parents.”
“Are you going to kill me, Harry?” Black whispered.
“Do it,” Tom hissed. “ Avada Kedavra .” But Harry couldn’t do it. His mouth wouldn’t form the words. No matter how tightly he gripped his wand, he couldn’t bring himself to kill Black.
His chance was taken from him by the arrival of Lupin, who disarmed Harry and caught his wand.
“Where is he, Sirius?” Lupin asked.
Harry couldn’t understand the exchange between Lupin and Black until it ended with Lupin helping the criminal off the floor. Hermione let out a cry and Harry felt his own fury return. They both began to scream at Lupin and Tom paced the room looking absolutely flabbergasted as he glanced between Lupin and Black.
“Harry, don't trust him! He’s been helping Black, he wants you dead too! He’s a werewolf!” Hermione cried. Lupin wore a thin smile while Tom threw his head back with a laugh.
“I’m so glad I wasn’t the only one to piece it together! Oh this should be an eventful night! Front row seats, anyone?”
Harry couldn’t spare Tom so much as a glance for the next half hour. Sirius Black’s revelation and the shock of Pettigrew’s reveal dominated all of Harry’s thoughts. The arrival of Snape made things much messier.
But things were looking up. Snape had been knocked out, Sirius cleared of all guilt in Harry’s eyes, Pettigrew was captured, and Sirius would take custody of Harry as soon as the whole mess was taken care of. Even Tom had quieted down. Sure, he’d been upset that Harry hadn’t killed Sirius or Pettigrew, but he hadn’t left yet and if there was one thing Harry had learned about Tom, it was that he loved storming out in a dramatic fashion.
When everything went wrong, Harry didn't have the chance to think about it. Between being knocked unconscious, time travelling, and fighting for his life, all thoughts of the ghost slipped his mind. There was too much going on, too much Harry was trying to absorb before he could finally piece together what had bothered him about Tom's behavior.
It wasn’t until the next day when Harry finally figured it out.
“You knew, didn’t you?” He had just been released from the hospital wing. Sirius and Buckbeak had escaped last night only due to Hermione’s shocking revelation of having a time turner and Harry’s newfound ability to cast a perfect patronus. Tom had floated in and out during the night, unable to join them on their adventures in time, but willing to fill Harry in on the state of the castle. It wasn't until being discharged from the hospital that they could talk. The corridor was empty. Harry could finally speak freely.
“That Granger had a time-turner? No, but I suspected. Can’t believe they let thirteen year olds meddle with time magic.”
“About Lupin,” Harry clarified. There was still much he didn’t understand about the night before; much he was still processing. But there was one thing that his mind constantly circled back to.
“I knew he was a werewolf, yes.”
“You knew it was a full moon.” The ghost rolled his eyes and turned to face Harry directly. In the past year, Harry had grown several inches and was slowly catching up to Tom’s height. He hadn't noticed until this moment: how he was aging while Tom was stuck forever at 16.
“What makes you say that?”
“You knew Lupin was a werewolf this whole time and never told me about it. When Hermione revealed that she knew, you said it would be an interesting night. And you kept watching him as we walked back up to the castle.”
“I’d never watched him transform before. I’d only ever caught him in wolf form. I won’t apologize for being curious.”
“Then apologize for letting Pettigrew get away!”
“Excuse me?”
“You knew Lupin was a liability and you said nothing! You let me wander into mortal peril without saying anything! And you let us chain Pettigrew to him!”
“No one died.”
“Do you think that makes this any better? You blew my chance at getting away from the Dursleys! I could have lived with Sirius! He could have been free! And he’s not and it’s your fault!”
Tom glowered. “I’m not the one who forgot to take the stupid potion. If Lupin was more careful then he would have remembered the full moon. Snape and Black also should be held responsible. They should’ve known about the moon cycle before spending time with a werewolf.”
“Do you even care?!” Harry was shouting but he wouldn’t have quieted down even if Dumbledore turned the corner. All the pent up fury he had at Snape and Pettigrew and Fudge was coming out at Tom.
“Care about what?”
“ME! The boy who’s spent a year listening to you and talking to you and turning all the stupid pages in all your stupid books!”
“I told you I was using you.” The words were spoken as if they weren’t tearing apart something in Harry’s chest.
“That’s it then?”
“What more do you want me to say? I was bored and wanted to see how the night would play out. I won’t apologize for it. I’ve warned you plenty of times I am only concerned with myself.”
“Right,” Harry said, stiffly. He felt exhausted. Drained. “I forgot. You really are Voldemort.”
“And you really are an idiot,” Tom teased back. He'd said those same words so many times over the past year, but they hurt so much more this time.
“You're right," Harry muttered before continuing in a stronger voice. "Don’t bother coming back to Privet Drive.”
“What?”
“There’s no point. I’m never going to speak to you again. I’m never going to look at you. And I’ll never tell anyone about you. You’ll have to exist for the rest of eternity ignored and forgotten.”
A flash of genuine surprise passed over Tom’s face. He fought it down before smirking. “As if you could ignore me. We’ve played this game before and you always crack.”
Harry let his focus drift from Tom and walked right through the ghost for the first time ever. The feeling of cold water passing over his body was shocking, but made sweet by the sounds of Tom sputtering behind him.
Harry might not have been the brightest wizard of his age but he did learn. And he vowed to never trust Tom Riddle again.