Chapter Text
With both his wand and the time turner confiscated, there was no logical reason for Tom to feel threatened. Hell, the boy hadn’t even managed to kill him with his wand, the time turner, the invisibility cloak and the casting of the literal killing curse. If ever there was such a thing as ‘harmless’; this boy was it.
And yet, and yet, and yet, Tom couldn’t shake the feeling of incredible unease. Who was this boy? Why had he come to kill him? Why hadn’t the killing curse worked? There was nothing Tom hated as much as uncertainty. It was uncertainty that had clung to him like shadows throughout those dreadful days at Wool’s orphanage. Uncertainty even as he’d been brought into his own kind, always wondering why he’d been abandoned; left to fend for himself. He knew now that none of it mattered. He knew uncertainty to be weakness.
It had to be eliminated. One way or another he would drain this boy of every last drop of knowledge and then dispose of him. The first thing to note was that the killing curse had failed. As far as Tom was concerned it could only succeed if the caster was fully remorseless for the murder. If the spell had failed to kill him, Tom could only infer that the boy didn’t really want him dead.
Unwillingness. That too was weakness. A weakness Tom could exploit.
~
Disbelief clouded his mind, now Harry was very much aware of Voldemort’s prodigious talent with magic, Dumbledore himself had ensured it, and yet, he had still underestimated the threat the future Dark Lord had posed. Now, in a disadvantageous position deprived of both his wand and time turner, the only thing he could do to save this interaction was to minimize any information Voldemort tortured out of him.
With his mouth open and ready to spin his lies, he was promptly interrupted by a petulant dark lord.
“Will you at least tell me your name?”
...unexpected. Yet still fitting for a monster like him to try and blatantly manipulate a person they’d just met. Harry tried and failed to identify a motive for such a question, so perhaps it couldn’t hurt to give a name at least...after all, there were no Potters during Voldemort’s generation in Hogwarts and it wasn’t impossible for a muggleborn to possess a surname of the sacred 28, only improbable...
“...My name is Harry Potter.”
~
People were all the same at their core. ‘Social animals’, they said, all Tom could really hear was ‘animals’. Even the most brilliant, beautiful or powerful people were ultimately subservient to the fear of being alone. Not Tom, of course, that’s what made him better; made him worthy. But this boy was certainly no Tom, you could see it in the way he chewed his lip and stared as if in protest (though it appeared more as a tantrum). He was no different than the girls who slipped letters beneath his door because he’d once lent them his quill, or the professors who sung his praises because he bobbed his head as they spoke. Subservience to that all-consuming, all-too-human desire to be wanted, to be recognised, to be loved, meant subservience to Tom.
Because people really were no different than animals and all animals could be tamed. If the boy didn’t truly want him dead, it was only a matter of time before Tom had him under his thumb.
Having made up his mind, Tom reached out, lending a hand to help him up. He would smile, but it wouldn’t come off as natural in this scenario, so he kept his movements unsteady, uncertain as though he really was just some pure-hearted honour student in an encounter with a potentially hostile stranger.
“Nice to meet you, Harry Potter,” he said. “Call me Tom.”
After a moment of thought, he added. “I don’t really know how to use the Cruciatus curse. We’re not supposed to use Unforgivable curses on campus.” He gives Harry a meaningful look.
~
No sooner had the words left his mouth had him tasting the regret that stood in place, truly, Voldemort’s manipulative prowess had no equal, rendering him helpless. It was as impressive as it was infuriating. Knowing all the good Voldemort could've achieved through this power, magic or otherwise, and spitting upon it to what—kill off future baby wizards?
Even knowing his motives, he could’ve run for Minister of Magic and commit to politics! He was certainly evil enough for it and would’ve had equally awful opponents to verbally spar with where he would virtually pose no threat against so many. Or went into the workings of the Unspeakables if all he wished was to perform dark magic and gain more knowledge on the dark arts. An utter waste of potential, he fumed, simply to become a dried out, crummy, bald and insane snakeman who fought teenagers.
So when the Dark Lord offered him a hand (?!), he did what every self-respecting wizard would’ve done in his place.
And slapped it away.
He then added a glare in to really solidify his opinion of him.
~
Really, really, if it were entirely up to Tom, he would have just trapped Harry in some cave until he successfully brewed a vial of Veritaserum. After which, he would strap this moron to a chair and force it down his throat, gauging him for every damned secret, before leaving his body to rot on the floor of the enchanted forest. But unfortunately for Tom, this failed assassin was either too stupid, too reckless, or both, to bother coming up with a murder plan that didn’t involve immediately disturbing the trace charm on campus that immediately alerted professors of use of unauthorised magic. The killing curse was decidedly not authorised.
So since, Tom didn’t have time to incapacitate Harry before the professors arrived, he withdrew his hand politely, already thinking of how he’d bail this idiot out of his own mess.
“Ah, Tom!---”
Blank smile ready and pasted on his face, he turned to Professor Slughorn and let the words drip out of his mouth as he “retold” the incident that had occured.
~
Despite hating him and everything he’d ever stood for, Harry was pained to admit following Voldemort’s lead in this situation was the least damaging method by far. Nostalgia clawed at his chest as he once more walked down the familiar halls of Hogwarts, passing banners dyed the colours of houses and paintings snoring aloud. Harry kept his eyes fixed on the Dark Lord, searching for any opportunity to take back his wand, or even just slam him into the wall. Could he beat him an outright brawl?
They walked until they reached the Slytherin dormitories in the west wing of the palace. It was a place Harry had never properly visited, and it was just a dreary as he’d imagined it to be. The future Dark Lord then stopped abruptly in front of an empty stretch of wall. Harry’s hand reached for his wand, only to remember it had been stolen. Why had they stopped in the middle of nowhere? What the hell was he supposed to do to defend himself right now?
“Atria.” He spoke.
“What are you talking about?” Harry replied, fear replaced by annoyance. Could he at least have the decency to make some damned sense— Oh, he thought, as the stone scraped across the floor, gaping open to reveal the snake’s den.
“That’s the password,” Harry muttered.
Voldemort spared a glance over his shoulder and Harry shuddered to find himself reminded of Hermione. It was the same look she’d given him when he’d asked if the mandrake was a plant or an animal. Like he was insulted to be in the same year as him.
And okay, maybe he had stated the obvious but, in Harry’s defense, he’d thought that the Slytherin password would be something obnoxious and stupid like “Pure blood” or “Death to muggles” not just some rubbish word.
~
Convincing the professors of his story was an effortless task on a good day, much less with Professor Slughorn present. The man adored his talent and made no efforts to hide it, to Tom’s distaste. To see one in a position so prestigious yet still catering to mere students was a disgracful sight in Tom’s opinion. Once he amassed the power in his inheritance, he would be different, higher than the lowly rabble who’d ever mocked him for his blood.
Smiling through his irritation, he escorted his new pet project to the Slytherin dormitories where he was once more reminded of his place in the hierarchy, beneath Tom’s sole of course. Every proper wizard had a wand and to lose it in mere seconds into a duel was a humiliation as much as it was leverage upon them.
...Though he would need to reassess this Harry’s intelligence, seeing him bumbling around like a fool would only be entertaining for so long before he became a nuisance. Perhaps he was from the same vein as those mentally challenged children he’d seen in the orphanage. This task may prove to be easier than he’d thought.
Once more observing the boy before his eyes, the nervous twitching creature he was...remained an utter mess. Tom decided to cut the stuttering meaningless words off before he wasted more of Tom’s patience.
~
Harry stood speechless over the twin bed of Voldemort’s chambers. The Dark lord sat on the mattress; cold eyes trained on him like a serpent’s tracking his every move.
“You—” Harry’s stomach was having something akin to a civil war, blood coursing beneath his skin, burning so feverishly it felt as though his skin would burst into boils.
“I’m not—” He could barely get the words out. What the fuck? What the fuck? There was just no way! Him, him and bloody Voldemort under the same duvet?!
“You aren’t what?” The Dark Lord asked, voice syrupy sweet in a way that made Harry throw up a little in his mouth.
“I’m not sleeping here,” Harry blurted. There was just no way in hell they were sharing a bed. Harry would sooner kiss a dementor or deepthroat a cactus.
“And where will you go?” Voldemort rolled his eyes, the charming persona falling off like snakeskin. Apparently, that happened whenever he was too annoyed to keep up his head boy act. Harry somehow preferred him that way — not that he preferred him any way— but at least when he dropped the smile, Harry’s arm hairs stopped trying to defy gravity.
“I don’t know,” Harry shot back. “Anywhere?” Anywhere would be better than this. “Back to the bloody woods, if I have to.”
“And what?” The Dark lord scoffed. “I’m supposed to let a criminal roam free?”
“I’m the criminal?!” Harry gawked. “You of all people—"
Tom nearly smiled, so did that make him criminal in the future? What crimes had this boy seen Tom commit?
“Yes.” Voldemort looked infuriatingly smug, his boyish features dissonant with the cruelty Harry knew him to be capable of. “Unforgiveable curse user, remember?”
“God, I wish it had worked.” Harry muttered, more than loud enough for Voldemort to hear.
The Dark Lord didn’t give him the reaction he wanted, his sneer only curling a little further. “That’s why I have to keep an eye on you.”
“You’re really that desperate to get in bed with me?” Harry taunted. “Riddle, are you that pent up?!”
It had been Harry’s intention to provoke Voldemort, but he hadn’t expected the boy’s jaw to hit the floor. Voldemort stared at him as though Harry had just insulted his mother (though, now that he thought about it, he couldn’t imagine Voldemort caring if someone insulted his mother).
The Dark lord stood from the bed, recovering infuriatingly quickly, wand already settled against Harry’s chest. “No, Potter,” he said. “I don’t expect you to share a bed with me.”
He tapped his wand against Harry’s chest, languidly, as though disciplining a pet rodent. “I expect you to sleep on the floor.”
In addition to all his other hideous traits, Voldemort was also paranoid. Harry could only move his mouth after a cast of Petrificus Totalus and after double casts of Incarcerus, Harry was fairly certain even Houdini wouldn’t be able to escape from the Dark Lord. Now the teenaged Dark Lord was manually winding a third set of ropes around his wrist.
“I could probably have escaped the second layer of bindings, but now with the third layer you’ve definitely got me,” Harry gibed. “Who would’ve thought you’d be into bondage?”
It had all been very stressful at the beginning, but now that Harry was kind of, sort-of sure that Voldemort wasn’t planning to end him, mocking him was the only way Harry could think to blow off steam. Unfortunately, Voldemort was harder fluster after the first comment. He only pulled the rope taught, briefly cutting off the circulation in Harry’s wrists.
“You’ll have to forgive me for being a little wary.” Voldemort said, his knee now digging into the small of Harry’s back. “You did try to kill me, after all.”
Now that Harry had little else to do, he was forced to confront that Voldemort was correct. He had failed. He’d failed everyone back home and even though it was far from over (no, he’d bring down Voldemort even if it meant his own death) it wasn’t looking good. But more than anything, he couldn’t understand why the Killing Curse hadn’t worked. It hadn’t missed, not unless Harry’s glasses were broken beyond repair; he’d seen it hit him full in the back. And he had meant it. Maybe more than he’d ever meant anything, more than he’d ever wanted anything. He had wanted Voldemort to die, and if he had, if only he had, Harry was certain he would feel nothing but pure relief.
Yet somehow, somehow, he had failed. Which meant there was something he was missing. Harry let Tom loops his legs through another round of rope. Voldemort must know something that Harry did not. He had acted surprised when the Killing Curse had failed, but he was probably faking it.
Late into the night Harry stayed up, mind racing. How he wished Hermione was here to work this problem through with him, but no, he had to figure this out on his own. Somehow, he would have to make Tom tell him his weakness. Somehow, he would have to make Tom trust him.
~
Walking the halls with the stupid boy stuck by his side was a lesson in patience. Breakfast proved to be an eventful experience where he had attempted take on a fight against the entire Slytherin table before Tom had the sense to drag him off to his Charms class. The rest of the day consisted of only his insistent complaints which were promptly tuned out and dealt with until Transfiguration with Dumbledore.
“Tom.” Dumbledore stopped him where he stood. “Would you introduce your new friend?”
The common twinkle in his eye was absent as it usually was when interacting with Tom. The hate was mutual, he would nurse that grudge til the end of time. He could still see the burning wardrobe behind his eyes some days, the joy of learning he was truly magic and he wasn’t a liar that quickly transitioned into a terror that had been all encompassing.
“Of course Professor, Harry is a friend of mine who was found lost and injured after a muggle robbed him blind, he managed to make it to the Hogwarts wards before he passed out and I found him.”
He looked to the boy. “Isn’t that right Harry?”
The boy only glared at him uselessly behind the Silencio Tom had casted after first period. Tom only smiled wider and gripped the wrist in his hand tighter as he repeated his words.
It appeared the boy had some sense left in that dense head of his as he gave a reluctant nod before brushing past them to take a seat.
...
Tom retracted his earlier thought. This boy was an imbecile. An imbecile sitting in Malfoy’s seat.
Hmm.
As much as the ensuring catfight would be entertaining, as Abraxas would no doubt puff up like the peacocks he raised, Tom already had a headache keeping the boy in line and refused to suffer the presence of more fools. At least Abraxas had the advantage of being filthy rich, the boy had nothing going for him except for the mysteries Tom would be cracking out his head soon enough.