Chapter Text
The exchange happened in a fraction of a moment as sorting hat had just barely covered his neatly combed hair.
“Ohh,” it crooned. “Quite the character Hogwarts has found itself, eh? Plenty of strong traits. Your taste in glory almost rivals your thirst for greatness. And a hunger to know everything about our Wizarding World, no doubt about that. Not one for fairness or trust— oh but who’s that I see?”
Tom gripped the sleeves of his new school robes.
“Harry Potter, now that’s interesting...”
He’s not important.
“Oh but that’s not true at all, you can’t hide that from the sorting hat! In fact, I think he may very well change your way to greatness. Well then, better be SLYTHERIN!”
And without dropping over his eyes, the old piece of leather was swept right off within a second.
Out of the corner of his vision, Tom could feel Dumbledore’s piercing stare as he deftly slipped off the stool. The applause from the Slytherins was unenthusiastic to the point that sparse obligatory applause from other tables stood out to his blood-rushing ears. Dark, clever eyes skimmed the sea of guileless faces lining the long tables as confident, powerful strides carried him to the far right where his new housemates awaited.
If anyone had really been paying attention to this new no-named Slytherin, they might have seen a slight falter in his steps indicating the exact moment that Tom saw him.
Him. Dark hair that always stuck up in the back, round glasses, careless, easy smiles. Him. What was Harry Potter doing, here of all places, sitting at the Gryffindor table, wearing student robes?
Even after Tom tore his eyes away, his mind was so thoroughly consumed by the image of this that he hardly remembered greeting his housemates and taking a seat at the table.
“Rosier, Evan!” called the eccentrically dressed Professor Dumbledore.
The Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables vanished between Tom’s wide unblinking stare and the oblivious wizard.
“SLYTHERIN!”
The cheer for Rosier was louder compared to Tom’s reception, but his ears were deaf to everything but the dark-haired wizard’s laughter to the witch beside him.
When he finally blinked, however, all resemblance vanished instantly, and Tom wondered how he ever mistook that person for Harry. Harry’s hair stuck out far more. His glasses were circular, not oval. His jawline was sharp, not rounded. And in all the time that Tom had ever known the man, Harry had the uncanny ability to know when Tom was staring at him and would unfailingly return the stare with blazing green eyes. Those oblivious eyes, on the other side of the Great Hall, were ordinary.
“Spudmore, Randolf!”
Tom scowled inwardly. He had just seen Harry hours prior at Kings Cross station, even if it had possibly been for the last time. And yet… Harry haunted him, invaded his thoughts from the moment the train left the station to the moment he sat on the stool for sorting. It was ridiculous.
“Gryffindor!”
“Riddle, huh?”
Tom tore his eyes away from the Gryffindor table.
The owner of the voice was a weedy older student who put too much attention on the quality of his clothes and not enough on his waxy complexion. “Haven’t heard that name before,” he continued, not meeting Tom’s eyes. “Who are your parents then?”
“Wigginton, Gillian!”
“I don’t know. I’ve never met my father,” Tom lied. “My mother passed away when I was very young, so I lived with a different wizard who knew them.”
“Oh. Must be our kind then.” He smiled crookedly and met Tom’s eyes through his thick spectacles. “That’s good then. I’m Barrett Fay.” He stuck out his spindly hand. “If you ever run into any problems, we Slytherins always help each other.”
His handshake felt as weak as he looked.
By then, all the first years had been sorted and the four tables were filled with students and loud, excited chatter. All quieted, however, when the headmaster, Professor Dippet got to his feet. “Welcome to another year at Hogwarts! I do have a few announcements to make before we can enjoy the feast.” His frail unsteady arms reached up to adjust the oversized hat and then lifted a parchment. He smacked his lips. “The forbidden forest is still forbidden. Our caretaker, Mr. Pringle, wants to remind everyone to be mindful of their pets...”
Mr. Pringle, who was sitting at the farthest end near the Gryffindor’s side, glared intensely at every table.
“You don’t want to get on his bad side,” muttered Fay to the nearby first years. “Despite his pretty face, he can be quite foul to troublemakers. Unless you want to lose Slytherin house points, you’d do well to have good pain tolerance.”
Many small heads bobbed attentively, only to be stunned by a soft giggle nearby.
“Of all the things to be engraving in their fresh minds,” whispered a witch with glittering dark eyes, “you talk about his pretty face? Although... he is very handsome.”
“Fuck off, Black.”
“Watch it.” She smiled wickedly, twisting the ends of her raven hair. “He’ll take points for language.” She nodded to each of the new Slytherins. “I’m Lucretia by the way.” She had a playful attitude despite her aristocratic air.
“Mind your own fucking business you damned cunt,” he grumbled much quieter now that Pringle had progressed to scrutinizing their table. “I’m the one teaching them right.”
In a soft exhale, without even moving her mouth, Black answered without a trace of humor, “No. You’re trying to get their respect before anyone else. It’s pathetic. Everyone learns House Expectations in the common rooms, not during the feast, so shut your foul mouth.”
Fay did not shut his mouth. He only carried on muttering a string of profanities under his breath with his head bowed so the caretaker could not see his lips move.
The nearest of Tom’s year began shifting away and lowering their heads as Pringle’s eyes moved toward their end of the table.
The Headmaster continued droning down his list. “Lastly—” the wizened man cleared his throat. “We must welcome two new professors. Professor Kettleburn, who has taken over Care of Magical Creatures after the retirement—“
Only Tom’s head was held high and his eyes clear of conscience. When Pringle saw him, he smiled like an innocent first-year student ought to, even if it wasn’t very effective to the man.
“It shouldn’t be a problem,” Tom said softly. “You only get in trouble if you get caught.” He met his peers' wide eyes and felt their intrigue in him flutter in his chest. Lips stretched charismatically. “And we’re much too clever for that.”
That end of the table fell silent, even Fay’s muttering had ceased.
Tom felt the stares, felt Black’s little grin, felt the magic of the castle, and felt the magic swirling within him. He would easily have the entire school under his control. Head tilted, his eyes drifted to the high table to memorize every face that would soon be utterly charmed by him.
Bored faces, stern eyes, good-natured smiles, every single—
The smirk slid off Tom’s face.
There, second to the far left, right beside Pringle. Sharp jaw, messy black hair, round glasses, and those unmistakable green eyes. It couldn’t be.
Tom was imagining him again. He who continued to haunt his waking thoughts. Who stumbled through the gates of his orphanage, into his life, in the most recklessly determined manner. Only to leave Tom at Kings Cross Station like it was the easiest thing in the world.
It wasn’t real, Tom told himself, don’t be pathetic.
“…and for our second appointment, I’m pleased to welcome our new flight instructor, Mr. Potter.”
The walls could be crumbling around them and Tom would still be unable to turn his gaze away from the familiar wizard standing, giving a shy little wave, and finally, finally returning Tom’s stare with his own.
It was real.
The world fell away into mere background noise. From across the Great Hall, between the different tables, their eyes found each other.
It should have been too far away to see Harry’s eyes crinkle in amusement but Tom saw it anyway. He saw the way Harry’s eyes seemed to tell Tom to eat because everyone else had already begun piling their plates, and Tom looked weird just sitting there and staring.
Tom’s eyes would not be distracted by any food. How?
Harry held his index finger in front of his smiling lips. Secret.
Tell me.
Harry’s eyes looked away to glance pointedly around the room. Not here.
You didn’t tell me—I thought you’d leave—Why are you here—Tom wasn’t sure how to convey those words with his eyes, but he tried anyway. He could not make sense of Harry’s reply, only that he was immensely amused by whatever Tom’s face was doing.
They were so completely absorbed with each other that they hardly noticed the curious looks from a few professors and students nor did they see the entrance of a great crimson bird. It was only the haunting music of the phoenix that stole Tom’s attention just as the great creature swooped right before him, making the briefest eye contact before gliding toward the high table.
Tom could have sworn he’d seen it before in a dream.
In a flurry of red, it descended gracefully just before Harry’s plate.
The Great Hall fell silent as another professor—professor Dumbledore—introduced the creature. “Fawkes is a phoenix, fascinating creatures, they are.” He stroked his beard. “They can carry immensely heavy loads, their tears have healing powers, and they make highly faithful pets.”
Noises of awe and fascination filled the large room, yet the bird continued to stare at Harry, who awkwardly found nowhere else to look except right back. At length, that was how they carried on, and Tom found himself stabbing a slice of ham very aggressively at the way the animal was monopolizing Harry’s attention.
It was not an issue for much longer because a sudden movement launched over the back of Harry’s chair and pounced on the phoenix. It was all wrinkly albino skin, with a flat face, and blood-red eyes. Harry’s awful pet cat.
Tom's lips curled even further.
“Do you know him?”
Tom looked around and found that although most people were staring at Harry trying to stun the cat off of Dumbledore’s pet bird, a few sets of eyes stayed curiously fixed on him. “He’s the one I live with,” he answered Black.
She seemed to erupt with delight. “We could get a leg up in points then! Perhaps he’ll give us a bit more leniency during the matches this year.” She winked suggestively. She pushed her plate of food over like it disgusted her in comparison to the conversation. “What sort of person is he?”
Tom tilted his head and observed Harry wrangling with the clawing cat in his arms as he apologized profusely to Dumbledore. “He’s the strangest man I’ve ever met,” he answered softly, yet still heard under the commotion. “Half of the things he says are utter nonsense, and he is a walking pile of contradictions. Boring and mysterious, bumbling and graceful, silly and wise, harmless and not, strange yet familiar. I’d go mad trying to understand him.”
∞∞∞
“You really should have seen it!” Harry insisted gleefully as he floated his clothes in his new wardrobe. He glanced at his golden wristwatch where the cover had popped up like a lid to reveal a two-way communication mirror with his friends from the future. “God, his expression was priceless! I’ve already stored it in a pensieve memory!”
There was a box shape at the corner of the room covered by a sheet of linen. It was rattling furiously as though a beast was trying to escape.
“Never mind that,” said Ron impatiently from the little mirror. “Go back to the part with the cat!”
Harry soured and slammed his trunk shut. “I don’t know how it followed me! I swear it, it couldn’t have gotten into my bags.”
Luna, who was barely visible behind Ron’s big head, gasped softly. “The nargles told him. They’re in league with each other.”
Harry nodded gravely, “My thoughts exactly.” He tapped his wand to his large four-posterbed and the drapes rippled from grey to Griffindor red. “But then after I got him under control with some pickled toad, that Pringle prick wanted to ‘dispose’ of it when I said he wasn’t my pet.”
“Oooh,” said Ron. “Mum and Dad hated Pringle in school.”
The covered box thumped against the desk and hissed angrily.
“Harry,” Hermione gasped, horrified. “You didn’t…”
“I don’t know what came over me.” Harry shook his head, climbing into bed. “I claimed that horrible cat.”
Neville blanched. “It’s official?”
He nodded. “I had to name it and everything.”
“And the name?”
More hissing came from the box, accompanied by several thumpings and scratchings.
He sighed, staring at the canopy. “Mortdevol.” Without looking, he could already identify Hermione’s little groan.
“That’s actually kind of brilliant,” Ron exclaimed. “That way, if Riddle ever comes up with the anagram, I am Lord Voldemort, he’ll have to concede the similarity. Ohhh, he’ll hate it!”
“I wasn’t thinking that far, really,” Harry said, with his wrist hovering above him. “I was just panicked when Pringle put me on the spot.”
“You’ll have to get used to that,” Hermione sniffed. “You can’t just keep letting things slip like you did with Tom. Other people might actually take you seriously, and what happens when they do?”
“My cover is blown and the timeline collapses on itself before we can find a way to get me back to the future?” Harry guessed.
Hermione gave a rare nod of approval. “Very good.”
“I guess we’ll just have to send me back to the future before I can mess up that badly then.” He scratched his chin idly. “Any new developments?”
His friends relayed different time travel methods, some of which were extremely outlandish—“No, I’m not going to find a blackhole to launch myself into.”—and some which were just ridiculous—“No, manually turning the hands of Big Ben over and over until I’m fifty-five years into the future will not work.”
Mortdevol had somehow pulled the sheet into his cage and shredded the fabric until it became a mangled mess of a bed.
Well, it didn’t need to happen immediately. Harry didn’t mind killing some time in the past while keeping an eye on Tom Riddle.