Chapter Text
In 1997 Hermione Granger found her favorite red,suede armchair in the Gryffindor common room. Curling up in it, the bushy haired girl summoned her favorite leather-bound book. Hogwarts: A History. She’d re-read it on three separate occasions. Now she’d be re-reading it once more.
Ever since that student had disappeared, Gryffindor house had been in shambles. The savior of the wizarding world had all but left them for dust. Of course, Hermione Granger knew better. The student was fine, even if he was the most irresponsible, foolish, idiotic boy she’d ever had the misfortune of knowing. Hermione traced her index finger along the table of contents, and turned to the back of the text. She was searching for one name in particular. Harry Potter. If Harry was being as impulsive as she knew him to be, Hermione could soon begin expecting changes. She frowned wondering just how much damage Harry could possibly inflict. She’d warned him of the deleterious effects warping with the past could have on the present. For all she knew the present Harry could cease to exist. Hermione shook her head. No, no it wouldn’t do to mull over the worst case scenario, especially now that there was so little she could do.
“Aha!” Hermione mused. She was oblivious to the curious glances other students threw her direction. Hurriedly, she turned to page 2,466 and scanned its contents, eyes catching on Potter.
“Oh Haaaarry” she moaned as she read the short paragraph available, and read it once more. It was incomprehensible what she’d just read.
"Harry Potter better known as Harry the Mad is the only living wizard who claims to have time traveled more than a decade into the past. Such claims have been ongoing since the 40s and having not provided irrefutable proof his claims have gone largely ignored except by a few zealous fans, such as Xenophilius Lovegood, editor of The Quibbler. In 1942 Harry Potter made acquaintance with his long-time partner and intermittent lover, Tom Riddle, a brilliant magical-physicist, groundbreaking rune-master and one of the greater politicians of the wizarding world. Inspired by Harry Potter, Riddle invented the all- seeing-eye glass. Though detested by many a seer, such a magically powerful object has gifted wizarding civilization with omniscience and has allowed wizarding society to shape its own history as it happens. Many a crisis has been avoided thanks to the likes of Tom Riddle and his muse Harry Potter. Note: turn to chapter 42 for more information on the all-seeing-eye-glass”
A few minutes passed as Hermione contemplated the ludicrousness of her friend’s situation. Long time partner and intermittent lover? Hermione raised her eyebrows. Well then, there was one question about Harry that she now had the answer to. Though who would have thought of all things Harry would seduce Lord Voldemort. It was too unimaginable. It was ridiculous. They were mortal enemies. Moreover, Harry wasn’t exactly seductive was he? She surmised it all had to have been accidental. Still though, wasn’t this better than the alternative?
“Neither can live while the other survives” Hermione muttered, eyes gazing at the words: all-seeing-eye-glass
Hermione thoughtfully hummed and was about to turn her book to chapter 42 when…
Out of nowhere she felt very, very confused. as if she’d forgotten something very, very important. What had she been doing?
Hermione looked down at the book in her lap and furrowed her eyebrows. how many more times could she possibly read Hogwarts: A History. She looked at the page she was on. Really, there was only so many instances she could read about the time Harry the Mad had fought with the Brilliant Tom Riddle in the Hogwarts courtyard before it became monotonous. She sighed, reclining back in her seat. She wondered how her old DADA professor was doing. Harry the Mad was a kindly middle-aged wizard with dazzling green eyes, messy hair that began greying in her fourth year, and round glasses. A bit bonkers though. She recalled how he’d even given the Weasley twins that small fortune when they’d graduated. They had tried to refuse but he’d insisted. Told them to consider it an investment. Such a sweet man and one of the better professors she’d had, even if he never quite assigned enough homework for Hermione’s taste. He’d since retired and eloped with Riddle for the fifth time. Somewhere in India this time around.
As if in a trance Hermione hazily closed the book. She felt a headache coming on and she really needed to get started on her herbology essay. Hermione set Hogwarts:A History aside unbeknownst to how much her life had just changed from a mere minute ago. She didn’t pause to ponder if everything had always been this way. It just was.
It was 1942 and like many days before, Tom Riddle had found solace in the Hogwarts library. He’d spent approximately five minutes speaking to Madame Quincy, conversing about his in depth research on dark wizards of the 1600's when she’d at last let him scour the restricted section. Madame Quincy was so wholly dedicated to his learning, that she never suspected a thing.
"Sensum Pro Repo: In short, a curse to confuse the senses and nerves. Most often used as an interrogation technique between warring municipals at the start of the 18th century, this curse caused many a wizard to lose their mind. This curse elicits an extremely loud form of tinnitus along with prickling pain all over the body and an overall sense of dread in whomever it is cast on. The curse can be raised and redrawn repeatedly. Sir Dunsmuir the second who claimed to have died and come back to life on five separate occasions described hell as “one hundred people stuck in a very small room, all with sharp needles sticking out of every pore of their body.” To make someone experience a special kind of hell was exactly what this curse was designed to do. To use it, though yours truly does not recommend it, one must simply flick their wand upwards and then-“
“What are you reading?” a voice inquired from over his shoulder.
Tom would have jumped if he weren’t half expecting it. At the mere thought of the boy, Potter had a most irritating tendency to suddenly appear.
Everyone at Hogwarts knew that the new student, Harry Bleeding Potter was barmy. But that didn’t explain why the unfortunate Tom Riddle had to be repeatedly subjected to his madness. It was like he had it out for him, Tom speculated. But he quickly threw that notion out his mental window. Potter lacked the forethought and contrivance for that. For whatever reason though, ever since Potter had transferred to Hogwarts at the beginning of the school year, he’d attached himself to Tom’s hip. Of this, Tom was certain.
The fifth year Slytherin swiftly shut the book on morally-ambiguous curses he’d wheedled out of the restricted section. He leaned back casually, folding his arms and crossing his legs… but not before he drew his school bag closer. As usual, Potter stuck his nose where it didn’t belong.
“Brushing up on my Transfiguration” Tom replied
Edging around the table, the sixth year Gryffindor grabbed the book lightning fast. Fast enough that he rendered Tom unable to do anything but reach to stop him. Tom’s hands paused midair as Potter examined the book’s spine.
“Curses that aren’t yet illegal, but probably should be, by Bazzie Bowers” Potter read out loud.
“Hmm yes,” he mused.
“I remember when I studied this in transfiguration last year.” He announced this somberly, with a completely straight face.
“You didn’t attend Hogwarts last year” Tom seethed. Not to mention Bazzie Bowers was hardly on the curriculum… But Tom wasn’t about to admit that now that Potter had played along with his unbelievably awful lie. Potter was just toying with him, he had to be.
“My great Aunt err Mum-no great Aunt... great Aunt-Mum”
“Your great Aunt Mum, that doesn’t make a lick of sense potter” Tom interrupted. The scathing tone of his voice would’ve singed anyone-else, but as per usual Potter was immune to Tom’s hateful demeanor. Frequently, Potter was the only one on the receiving end of it anyway. Keeping his façade up around someone so astoundingly irritating, so outright bizarre exhausted Tom. At some juncture, Tom'd grown tired of bothering. Besides, Potter was mad. No sane wizard would believe him no matter what he said.
“As I was saying, my great Aunt Mum… errr… Marge, sat me down at a table, much like this one. And she SLAPPED this book down in front of me.”
Another infuriating thing about Potter was that he never spoke as if he genuinely wanted to convey his thoughts and feelings. He was only filling the silence and wasting Tom's time. The lack of validity and cohesion in his statements made him impossible to manipulate.
With one hand, Potter had begun opening a library window as he told his immensely fascinating tale, the other still clutching the publication close to his side. Tom only glared at him, eyes flickering between the messy-haired boy’s face and his precious book.
“I became a transfiguration genius last year, when she made me study every detail, every word, every period. Even the appendix… She wouldn’t let me leave until I memorized the whole thing. And with my newly acquired knowledge I accomplished many things. Many great things… I even won a few awards. Best home-schooled magical custodian was one, I still have the 11th place ribbon somewhere.” Potter sighed wistfully, book still clutched in both his hands as he appeared to stare far into the distance out the library window. An incoming breeze blew Potter’s hair back.
Tom didn’t know where to start. On top of not speaking a word of sense Potter was blatantly speaking a load of shit as well. After his madness, Potter was infamous for his irredeemably lacking transfiguration skills. Rumor amongst the sixth years had it, Dumbledore had been forced to give him a Troll on the last exam. Dumbledore, whose preferential treatment of Gryffindors bordered on fanatical. Dumbledore.
Tom had been about to point this out when abruptly Potter tossed “Curses that aren’t yet illegal, but probably should be” right out the window. Down, Down the book fell, and the two of them could hear a few surprised yells as the book fell onto the courtyard lawn. Tom’s jaw nearly fell open in shock, but he quickly composed himself. He stood up, clenching his fists. It hadn’t been easy getting his hands on that work, it hadn’t been easy finding it among all the fodder of historical texts and biographies. Underneath Madame Quincy's watchful eye it was near impossible to discover anything substantial. Yet Potter had just unceremoniously tossed it out of a window. A bloody window. “Potter, this... this misconduct of yours... As a prefect…I cannot stand to-”
Did Potter just roll his eyes?
Abashed, Tom continued.
“I cannot stand to witness this any longer, I’m afraid I will have to punish-“ He could not get any further as he was then hindered by the screeching librarian.
“HARRY POTTER!!!” Madame Quincy shrieked, her hands thrown up in the air.
Potter briskly pointed at Tom… almost as if prepared. “It was his fault Madame! Riddle made me do it!” Potter wore a convincingly apologetic expression. Tom squinted at him. It was instances like this that made him wonder if there was actually a method to his madness.
Madame Quincy lifted an eyebrow. Doubt found its place in every crevice on her face.
“Mr. Potter, unlike yourself, I have known Riddle for every year he has attended Hogwarts. Ever since he was a wee little first year.”
Tom grimaced at her humiliating description of himself.
“I trust Mr. Riddle. He has never once disappointed me in his respect of literature.” Madame Quincy shook her finger at Potter. She was trembling with held back rage. Tom smirked. Potter would be getting his just desserts.
“Suffice to say, I am not impressed Mr.Potter. Now that’ll be detention for you. And I never want to see something so vile… so absolutely disgusting from you again.” She lectured as if Potter had pillaged an entire village. Tom could've lost it.
“I swear, Riddle made me do it. He dared me to!” Harry Potter insisted though he was losing some of his earlier urgency.
Keep trying Potter. It’s your word against mine, and I’m far more credible to a foolish old bat like Quincy, Tom thought. For once Tom would be telling the truth as well. It was refreshing to not even have to do anything.
“Miss, Potter has been harassing me all afternoon. I see now he is hoping to land me in trouble.” Tom explained gently. “I've no idea why. I've done nothing wrong”
For added effect he feigned a hurt and indignant expression. “I wish I could understand why you dislike me so, Harry” he turned to the other boy and looked him right in his vivid green eyes. Potter looked supremely unimpressed.
Madame Quincy nodded, seemingly taking Tom’s word. “I’ll be contacting your head of house, and he will come up with a suitable punishment” she said to Potter. She walked away but not before shooting Potter an especially nasty evil eye.
Potter glowered after the librarian, and turned his pinched face to Tom.
Tom fought back the urge to laugh, his lips twitching as he folded his arms and looked gaily at the older boy. He leaned against the table, next to his bag. “Just what were you attempting, Potter?” he drawled
Potter merely considered Tom for a moment. Then, without a word, he just… just GRABBED Tom’s bag and then he just... ran away with it. He'd knicked Tom’s bag and was sprinting between the grand bookshelves. Tom gawked after him. What was wrong with Potter? A nifty accio should subdue the dunce. Tom felt along himself, looking for his wand, heart falling by the second as he realized it’d been in his bag the entire time. Tom groaned. Surely Potter wasn’t about to make him follow him. But it appeared so as the athletic Gryffindor dashed out the library door, only stopping to stick his tongue out and childishly push his thumb into his ear and wiggle his fingers.
A rare sunny Sunday afternoon had finagled its way early into the month of October. The Hogwarts halls and courtyards were interspersed with socializing and lazing factions of students. They spoke of studies, future plans and of course, gossip.
“Did I just see Tom Riddle… run” Said one long haired Hufflepuff.
“Impossible. Riddle never runs… strides or paces purposefully perhaps,” replied her friend.
“No no… Look, he’s running”
Sure enough, Tom Riddle was bolting across the green courtyard, avoiding congregations of surprised scholars. Someone would swear later that he even pushed someone aside as he ran after what appeared to be Harry Potter. It would take several spins through the rumor mill before someone began claiming it was a student’s visiting grandmum Tom had pushed. In due time that would be the only thing Harry Potter said in 1942 that the other students actually believed. It’d actually been Abraxas Malfoy, but alas he was too ashamed to admit that he’d been pushed face-first into the lawn. Letting someone's fictional grandmother take the fall for his literal fall and letting Tom Riddle take the blame would be a secret he’d die with. The students all watched, amused, for this was the most entertaining thing to happen all day. Potter was attempting to run and scavenge through a schoolbag at the same time. Teetering and tottering and just minutely avoiding Isobel Ross, he tossed Tom Riddle's secondhand schoolbooks behind himself. Potter came to a stop as he pulled out a black journal. Harry Potter had only barely flipped through it when Tom Riddle charged at him full force, knocking him over.
Hogwarts students went mum with shock as Riddle jumped on and tackled the Gryffindor boy, trapping him with his knees. Harry Potter laid beneath him, panting and grinning madly, clutching onto the journal. Riddle was attempting to coax it out of Potters fists, but the other boy refused to loosen his grip.
“Potter let go!”
“How about… No” wheezed Harry
“I don’t want to. But if you continue testing me like this... I might just have to kill you, Potter.” Riddle scolded him. Students all around gasped. Never had they ever heard their debonair prince speak in such a manner. But at that moment they only smiled fondly. It appeared Tom Riddle was more human than they had initially thought. It was exhilarating to see Mr. Perfect exhibit such anger. Of course, they were completely unaware of how Tom had desired to kill Harry Potter since the start of September. Been plotting it really...
“You always tried, and failed and failed and failed over again. Really, either I’m invincible or you’re more incompetent than everyone thinks”
“What???”
Indeed what. That was the beauty of Harry Potter. He always spoke as if he was speaking to someone else. Always referred to family members nobody had and instances that had never happened. The student body had long learned to just accept this part of him, as it was the only way to sufficiently deal. Fortunately, for many Hogwarts students, Harry spent his days heckling the golden boy, Tom riddle, inadvertently saving them from the pain of interacting with him.
Harry Potter had just called him incompetent. Momentarily, shock enveloped Toms body. Tom couldn’t believe it. He’d been called many things. Intelligent, gifted, handsome, precocious, strapping and so on. But never ever “incompetent.”
That was it. Tom had had enough of Potter. He’d been biding his time, plotting ways to eventually exterminate the Gryffindor pest at some opportune moment but the sixth year had finally crossed the line. He NEEDED to be punished. Without a thought, and forgetting every single person surrounding them, Tom fitfully backhanded the older boy.
Hard. His violent slap resounded throughout the courtyard.
Their spectators inhaled sharply. Briefly, Tom wondered if he would regret marring his perfect image, but it felt good. It felt amazing to hit Potter. Even if regret came to him later, Tom couldn’t regret this now.
Potter's face had turned to his right from the impact of Tom’s hand. He shifted it back, this time with a split lip and a bright red mark sullying his clear skin. He didn’t look dismayed, but rather as if Tom had just given him exactly what he wanted. Perhaps, Tom realized, he had. He had certainly given Potter an excuse. Perhaps this was what Potter had originally desired when he stole Tom’s belongings. What he'd originally desired, when he'd thrown an entire tome out a window.
With a smirk on his countenance the Gryffindor spit blood out of his mouth. Letting go of Tom’s journal, he grabbed Tom by the green collar of his robes and smashed his head against Tom's.
A throbbing ache circulated throughout Tom’s face, but more than that, rage encompassed Tom. So potter wanted to brawl. Blinded by his fury, Tom growled. He’d grown up in a hardened orphanage where fighting for scraps of food was a regular occurrence. He wasn’t about to let this toothpick of a boy best him. No-one would hit Tom Riddle and get away with it. Thus, Tom threw himself at the Gryffindor. Potter may not die just yet, but Tom would insure he’d suffer.
The boys had only wildly thrown fists, kicked legs and wrestled for a few minutes before several professors ran forth and broke them apart. Tom had had Potter in a headlock and was slowly suffocating the purple boy when Professor Ryan grabbed him and pulled him backwards. Tom instantly simmered down, realizing what had just ensued, what he’d just done. He stiffly looked around at the astonished student body, attempting to garner their opinions. Potter, of course, was still having a hissy fit. He was kicking and spitting around himself as Professor Slughorn dragged him backwards, hands beneath his armpits. Potter cursed rashly and crudely at Tom, stomping his feet as Slughorn held him up. “Throw you out the window next Riddle!” he finished shouting before Ryan cast a silencio.
“Headmaster?” Ryan said to the older professor.
“Regretfully” Slughorn agreed. "Isobel Ross?" he called. "Yes, Professor?" the Ravenclaw headgirl replied. "Do be a dear and clean after the mess these two made. The Houseelves should deliver Riddle's belongings to his quarters."
The professors lugged the two boys all the way to Headmaster Dippet's office, and Tom could’ve mourned as they passed his book of curses laying open and face down on the Hogwarts grass. Professor Ryan picked it up dutifully, examining it's pages with concern. He grabbed Tom’s biceps once more and pulled Tom through an archway. Tom was now beginning to regret what had transpired.
“Harry Potter. Your behavior has been especially egregious since you’ve enrolled here,“ Dippet began.
Tom Riddle and Harry Potter awkwardly sat side by side in the headmaster's office. Potter had a black eye and bruised, broken lips that Tom thought suited him surprisingly well. Tom couldn’t breathe through his nose and had a pulsating headache. “We cannot afford to continue giving you chances. You must change your behavior, Mr. Potter.”
“Yes professor” Potter mumbled, his eyes downcast.
“And you, Tom Riddle” Dippet turned his balding head and beady eyes toward Tom. “Never in your Hogwarts career have I, your professors, and your fellow student body ever witnessed you act in such a reprehensible fashion. We expect far more of you. Both as this school's brilliant academic, and a prefect. I’m afraid your prefect's badge will have to be temporarily suspended.”
Tom nodded faithfully. Inside he was boiling, but he’d figured as such. He unpinned his prefect badge, leaving it on Dippet’s mahogany desk. His eyes followed every movement of Dippet's as the man picked Tom's inkling of power up and examined the glistening badge, before haphazardly shoving it in a drawer of his desk. The badge didn’t belong there. Tom resisted the urge to slap Dippet upside the head.
“I’m truly sorry Professor. I don't know what came over me, and I understand there is little I can do to atone for this but I will surely not let it happen again. It’s true, what you said. Hogwarts deserves better behavior of me. I acted childishly, and I will grow from this experience to become a better, superior student” Tom looked willfully at dippet, considering whether or not he should bow his head. He found the thought of it distasteful.
Dippet nodded, already keen to accept Tom’s apology.
“Well, if anyone deserves a second chance, it is certainly you. You're a decent boy, Riddle, you'll go far with an attitude like that.” Dippet responded, and then cleared his throat. “In time, you will get your badge back. Two weeks I think, should suffice. As long as you are on your best behavior.”
“Of course, professor.” Tom abhorred it. Being treated as some good little boy. As if his badge had to be earned and did not rightfully belong to him. In time Dippet would understand just how below Tom he was, but for now Tom played along. It was only the means to reach an end.
“The two of you will serve detention sanitizing the fourth floor trophy room each Thursday night until the first of December. If such a circumstance repeats itself, there will be much harsher sentences to serve for the both of you. Potter, you will have to see your head of house, Deputy Headmaster Dumbledore on account of your actions in the library earlier today” Dippet frowned. “For now though, the two of you should check yourselves into the hospital wing and have your injuries resolved.”
“Yes, professor” the boys replied in unison.
“I do not wish to see the two of you for such a thing again. Ensure that this does not happen.”
“Yes, professor,” they repeated.
“Dismissed.”
Tom and Potter left the Headmaster's office together. Potter was not a model student. He was not even remotely sorry. Of course, neither was Tom. Potter walked a few meters in front of Tom and reaching inside his pocket the sixth year pulled out a snitch and began tossing it. Throwing it up in the air and catching it gracefully. Potter was not a quidditch seeker as far as Tom knew. At least not at Hogwarts. But he was adept, catching the winged ball with practiced fluidity. What was wrong with Potter? Tom thoughtfully examined Potter's gait, walking behind him. he came to a conclusion when Potter did a small little skip. Potter was far too cheerful for someone who’d just earned himself multiple detentions and a busted face.
At the nearest tapestry, Tom grabbed the hood of Potter's robes and dragged the older boy behind him. Tom pressed the Gryffindor up against the wall. “My snitch!” Potter cried as it flew away.
Tom pulled his head back by the hair. The angle he was pulling Potter's head at must have been painful. It excited Tom. Potter, who was already below him by half a head was forced to look up into his eyes as Tom cornered him against the castle wall and lodged his knee between the Gryffindor's legs.
“Tsk, priorities...” Tom sneered.
“Don’t make me bash you again, Riddle” the shorter boy growled as Tom only pulled tighter on his hair. Tom ignored him, watching in fascination as the older boy’s eyes began to water. “I don’t want to. But I will” Potter warned. Potter did want to bash him if the expression on his face was anything to go by.
Tom scowled down at him. “You’re always lying, Potter” About horrendously doltish things too. Potter was aimless and too damn chaotic.
“Pot meet kettle.” The boy retorted.
“I’d been brushing it off, chalking it all up to a personality quirk. Potter’s just a nutcase, he couldn’t possibly have any other intentions. I can admit it. I underestimated you.”
Potter’s expression was blasé, uncaring, but he seemed to refuse to look away from Tom’s eyes. In fact, Potter's eyes were positively boring into him. Most others couldn’t bear to look into Tom’s eyes for more than a few seconds. That was another curious aspect of Harry Potter.
“There’s more to you, isn’t there?” Tom hissed.
Potter was unresponsive.
“Why,” Tom's free hand came up, brushing against Potter's throat. “Why do you keep following me? Why. Why won’t you stop bothering me. Why can’t you stop being such a bloody nuisance?” his upper lip curled at the last word.
Delicately, Tom’s hand enclosed around the Gryffindor's neck. He wanted to see fear enter the light in Potter's green eyes. Wanted to feel him quiver and shake beneath his hands. Wanted to see and hear him cry. Most of all, he wanted to see Potter give up his last shred of control, and his last semblance of pride. Potter only stared back at him with the same reckless abandon, that stubborn look on his face that said he wanted Tom to know just how unafraid he was. Tom held tighter to Potter's throat. Not enough to strangle, but certainly enough to feel it.
“Why, Potter, won’t you leave me alone?”
Potter jutted his chin. “You really want to know Riddle?” he sang.
“If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be asking you!” Tom spat.
Potter smirked mirthfully. He displayed a strange cross between amused, bitter and angry.
“Tom... Marvolo Riddle. You killed my parents. You robbed me of a family, a happy childhood and the one chance to live out a normal, content life. And now, here I am... stuck with you.”
What? Tom released Potter’s neck. Once more, the Gryffindor devolved into nonsensical language. It was no use attempting to understand his absurdities.
“I’m going to sabotage you at every chance I get, Riddle.” Potter assured him. “You won’t accomplish a thing as long as I’m around”
Pushing Tom out of the way, Potter shot one last derisive glare over his shoulder and stalked away.
Nagini pleasantly greeted Tom from his night-stand as he entered the Slytherin dormitory. Sparing her only a short nod, Tom loosened his tie, rolled his dress shirt up to his elbows and collapsed onto his four poster bed. Tom eyed the possessions the Hogwarts Houseelves had returned to the foot of his bed. Deliberating over his long day, Tom grew weary. He threw his arms above his head in a relaxed position, stretching languidly and examined his patched up fists. Tom flexed his fingers, fondly remembering the cracking sound Potter's jaw had made on Tom's second or third punch. Augustus Bulstrode ambled in next. Fortuitously, he knew what was best for him, and put in effort to not disturb Tom. Tom exhaled and drew his jade curtains closed. He ruminated over his awful, bothersome day. He lamented his imprudent actions, but ultimately Tom determined Potter was to blame. Potter needed to be dealt with and quickly.
With that last thought Tom Riddle nodded off completely and utterly unaware that one especially essential object of his had not been returned.
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