Chapter 2
When Harry woke, it was in a rather compromising position. Tom was lying sprawled across the bed, on his front, with one leg thrown lazily over Harry’s body, and one of his hands resting on Harry’s throat. It wasn’t like he was trying to strangle him, more like he was checking for a pulse. Though Tom was completely unconscious and his hand was relaxed so it took away from the affect.
But Harry was hungry and needed to get up to be able to go have breakfast, so that came first. Glancing back at what he could see of Tom’s face, which wasn’t much as most of his face had been smushed into the pillow, since he was sleeping on his front, Harry smiled.
Managing to carefully de-tangle himself from Tom and Nagini without waking them up, however, was a challenge. But he managed to just about make it work. He slipped out from under Tom’s limbs and snuck out of the room, not bothering to get dressed just yet. He didn’t really think he needed to, he was only going to have breakfast, then he’d come back up and change.
The next few months were bliss. They passed easily, though, of course, Harry’s conscience wasn’t exactly present. Tom was making major progress, progress that Harry was so pleased and proud with. It was amazing. Tom no longer stole from the other orphans, and if one annoyed him, he managed to simply ignore them.
Though some how some sort of misfortune always ended up happening to those who teased Harry, or was mean to him, calling him ‘weird’ and a ‘freak’ for hanging around Tom. Harry just brushed that off though. It was unlikely that was actually to do with Tom, right? And anyway, even if it was, it would be his subconscious speaking and acting, not his will. I mean, everyone has awful thoughts sometimes, right? He always used to want to get back at the Dursleys, but that didn’t mean he was planning to actually hurt them. He had no real intention of it, just sometimes when he was particularly angry, he thought of stuff. He was sure that was the only thing happening with Tom.
But, of course, all bliss comes to a close at some point.
It was a late night at their sunset spot, and, now knowing from experience how cold you get if you stay out late, Harry and Tom we’re making their way back to Wool’s. Tom was standing at the back of the building, Nagini around his neck as he watched Harry clamber down the piping lining the wall.
He was completely focusing on gently clambering down, foothold to foothold, just as he had watched Tom do mere moments ago. Even though he and Tom had been up to the sunset spot pretty frequently, he still needed to make Tom go first when climbing so he could remember where all the footholds were. As Harry placed his foot on one particularly slippery part of the pipe, it didn’t hold. His foot slipped down the pipe and a startled, sharp gasp escaped his lips as, trying desperately to steady himself, he accidentally fell off the pipe.
Harry could hear the whip of the wind past his ears, the scream from Tom, and the cushion that was Tom’s magic attempt to save him, but was too late. A sharp pain in the back of his head, Tom’s magic running wild in an unconsolable whirlwind, thrashing out wildly, and everything stopped.
Everything went black.
***
When Harry woke up, he was floating in a tank of almost green water. It didn’t have a roof, as though things were often taken out of it, or put in. Or people simply poked him a lot. The tank was about a meter deep, and a few feet longer than he was tall, plus about a meter wide. Realising that he was practically drowning, Harry jolted up, sitting up above water, as though he was in the bath, and started coughing up all the liquid that had previously been in his lungs. It tasted utterly revolting, and Harry blanched, about to be sick. Luckily though, his stomach didn’t appear to have any contents, as nothing came up.
When Harry finally looked around, he saw he was in the middle of the Great Hall, which was much different from when he was last here. Whenever that was, half of Hogwarts was broken, crumbling rubble everywhere, and countless bodies, being brought in from the grounds and laid in rows, where their loved ones crowded around and sobbed. Even then, Hogwarts had somewhat warm colours, the candles lighting the hallways in cozy yellows and oranges. But now…This Hogwarts was dark and gloomy. The previously grey stones were now a much deeper black, and all the hangings were black and green, with snakes adorning the furniture. Now that he looked, what had been the staff table had been turned to have an actual throne like chair on one end. The rest of the tables, now a dark wood, of course, were where they usually were, but every seat was completely empty.
What’s going on? A spot on the back of Harry’s beach was aching painfully and it was giving him a headache. Nothing made sense. Why and how was he at Hogwarts? He’d left when he had gone back in time to help Tom. Was that all a dream? Had it never happened? He was still master of Death, he knew that much, since he should have drowned, and should have been killed when Voldemort used the killing curse. Why was—
My apologies master.
‘Death?’ Harry thought, eyes widening as he gazed unseeingly at the throne. ‘What’s going on? Why am I back here?’
I’m not exactly sure myself. Just…You hit your head, and it pushed you into a comatose state. What will happen from here, I do not know. Time travel is a temperamental thing, so it’s possible being knocked out of your head like that pushed you back. I am not sure, though.
Harry rubbed his aching head, grunting with pain. He didn’t know what was going on or whether he’d be stuck here or not, but for now, he needed to keep his head. For now though, he should explore. Nothings stopping him.
As he slowly clambered out of the tank, which was perched in the of the long, what used to be staff table, right in the centre. If he was correct, this was Voldemort’s Hogwarts. All Slytherin colours and preaching, torture instead of detention if you spoke out. The scar on the back of one of his hands seared angrily, as if reminding him that, on occasion, they were the same thing. But this Hogwarts, he realised, was after he had died and Voldemort had taken over.
God, that was a thought.
Hopefully, if his plan played out correctly, he’d never have to worry about Tom becoming Voldemort. He’ll hopefully learn to embrace being Tom Riddle, and maybe make a change for the good. That would be the right world to live in, wouldn’t it? Not having to worry for his safety and the safety of his loved ones, not having to focus on the fact one of the most powerful, most feared Dark Lords in history was after his guts.
Now, standing, dripping onto the cool, black stones that was the floor, Harry realised he was completely nude. He hadn’t really noticed when he was in the liquid, which he now recognised as a body preservative, so his previously dead body wouldn’t rot away, but in the cold air, it was more than obvious. Looking down at the expanse of goose flesh covering his skin, he realised his body was covered in letters, dark and likely magically burned into his skin. He supposed Voldemort must have done it. Preserving Harry’s body, naked, and carving words into his skin like some kind of disgusting humiliation act.
Most of the words were wizarding slurs, though some were runes he couldn’t understand. Part of him wished he took Runes with Hermione when he had the opportunity to see what these now said. The runes, unlike the burnt letters, were carved with what might have been a knife. The cuts were deep, but weren’t bleeding anymore. Perhaps because his circulatory system hadn’t been working in however long had passed since the whole ordeal in the Forbidden Forest.
After wondering around the Great Hall in the halfhearted hope that there might just happen to be some spare robes, Harry grabbed one of the black and green table cloths to wrap around his naked body. Even though he couldn’t defend himself since he didn’t have a wand, he could at least feel more secure by covering up.
Then he began to walk. He didn’t know where he was going, he knew he couldn’t leave Hogwarts grounds and apperate away, he didn’t have half the amount of magic energy he needed to do so. And he could leave without knowing what happened to all the people he loved, Ron, Hermione, all the Weasley’s and so many more people.
Harry knew Hogwarts like the back of his hand, it was so familiar even if it was all in different colours now. He wondered where all the people were. Last he knew, most students were evacuated, but some stayed to fight, as well as members from the Order, and others who came into Hogwarts to go against Voldemort. Where were they?
Harry found his feet approaching Dumbledore’s old office. Or, well, the headmaster’s office. The gargoyles were still torn down and one made a faint sound as he approached, but the other managed to get out a few words. “I…thought you were dead…?”
Harry grimaced, but didn’t reply, walking up the winding, circular staircase into the headmaster’s office. Somehow he didn’t feel much fear as he pushed open the door. There was only a numb neutrality as he saw Voldemort, holding his want behind his back as he faced away from the door, gazing out of the window.
“Lucius, I told you I’d kill you if—” Voldemort’s sentence was cut short when he turned and potted Harry, standing there, alive, covered in scares, nude and wrapped in a tablecloth. “—you entered without knocking…” Voldemort finished under his breath, eyes doubled in size.
“Harry Potter…This…What?” Voldemort had turned fully to face him now, his pale hands clenched around the Elder Wand in his fist as he gaped at Harry over the desk in between them. If Harry let him kill him again, would he go back to where he had been with Tom?
‘Death?’ Harry thought suddenly, an idea having just occurred to him, ‘if he kills me, will I no longer be Master of Death?’
No, master. Even if you only had the Elder wand under your control, it wouldn’t be possible as you intended to let him kill you. But as you have the full title of ‘Master of Death,’ you can only lose it if you pass it on your someone else purposefully.
Harry let out a breath at that, his eyes never straying from the freakish figure of Voldemort before him. If his plan played out as he hoped it would, his Tom would never become this creature of a man.
“Harry Potter…” Voldemort murmured again, eyes wide as he stared at Harry. “How are you alive? I killed you. You had no mother to protect you.”
Harry blinked at him, pulling the tablecloth closer around his body, not wanting to be so vulnerable in front of Voldemort. “I’m not sure. Maybe I’m just a hallucination.”
Voldemort’s lip curled in disgust and he took a low step around the desk. “Or maybe you’re just like an ant.” Voldemort had begun to walk slowly towards him, his words as high and pitchy as ever. “Even when I think I’ve crushed you, you’re not gone yet…There’s no way you could have made yourself immortal. You’re too pathetically good to make a horcrux.”
Harry’s body felt stiff as he stared at the tall man before him. “Where are the others? How long has it been since you killed me?”
Voldemort chuckled, a slightly hysterical sound as he ran his fingers over his wand. “Some are locked in the Chamber of Secrets. They get tortured. They have strong magical power, so it would be a waste to kill them, so I do the best alternative option and force them to submit to me, to kneel at my feet and kiss my shoes, by force. By pain.” Seeing Harry’s face contort in anger, Voldemort clicked his tongue. “I have my limits, Potter. I don’t want a replay of Longbottom’s parents. They lost all their magical potential when they lost their minds.”
Voldemort let out a solemn sigh and shook his head like he had suffered a great loss. “And as for the day, it is three days since I killed you. Perhaps I just need to make sure this time is the thorough squashing.”
Voldemort raised his wand and Harry didn’t fight back. It’s not like he could have done if he wanted to with no wand, but he didn’t even try to dodge. “Crucio.” Voldemort called, but Harry’s body was already too weak, and he couldn’t even withstand the Cruciatus curse without losing consciousness. Harry dropped like a stone, and everything went black.
***
Tom was distraught. He had just watched Harry fall a concerning height and hit the concrete below with a sickening crunch. The sight of Harry’s thin body, lying broken there on the floor, snapped something inside of him. Hissing to Nagini to go back to their room and stay hidden, to which she promptly vanished into the bushes, Tom ducked down and hauled Harry up into his arms.
Letting out a curse under his breath as he began to sprint through the trees and letting the thorns dig into his skin, Tom ran. He burst into Wool’s and barged past a startled Mrs. Cole, lurching up the thin staircase, where his knees almost buckled, he managed to make it to his and Harry’s room, where he spotted Nagini slithering into the wardrobe, hiding. That was good. He didn’t want anyone seeing her, but Harry—
He gently put Harry down on top of the duvet on their bed, gazing down at the unconscious body before him just as Mrs. Cole came bursting in. “Tom, what’re ya—” She gasped when she saw Harry, clapping a hand over her mouth as she gazed at him.
“Tom, you didn’t…” She was looking at him with wide eyes and Tom felt a wave of utter fury hit him. How dare she? How dare she even imply he’d ever hurt Harry. But something about his expression apparently softened her. Something in Tom’s expression convinced Mrs. Cole that he hadn’t hurt Harry.
Only then did he realise the hot, wet streaks running down his face. Was he crying? He had never cried. Not ever. What was wrong with him? He had never, would never, demote himself to the level of those pathetic, whining children here at Wool’s. He once swore to himself that he’d never cry again, not least in front of others, when he’d let his emotions slip and he cried because a boy a year older than him pushed him in the mud, calling him a ‘freak’.
But for Harry…Even if it was humiliating, and made him feel revolted, he would cry for Harry. He would do anything for Harry, he knew that. So he only stepped back when Mrs. Cole, ten minutes after springing out of the room, returned with a man who had eyebrows so thick they practically obscured his eyes. He yelled something about ‘being a doctor,’ but Tom barely heard it. He could only hear his own heart hammering in his chest, the blood rushing in his ears, and his own laboured breathing.
It took all his self restraint not to actively fight the man once he started touching Harry’s precious body. ‘He’s a doctor,’ he thought, curling his hands in fists and squeezing his eyes shut. ‘He’s trying to help Harry.’
Hours later, they had moved Harry to the hospital nearby, which Tom had tried his hardest to argue against. He couldn’t have Harry that far away from him, he needed to be by his side all the time. It wasn’t like he could force or intimidate the doctors and Mrs. Cole into letting him stay at the hospital, or Harry as Wool’s. Though, the doctors made up for it by saying he could visit Harry any time of any day.
Now Tom was curled on Harry’s bed, next to him, gazing down at Harry’s unconscious face, when the doctor, who he found out was called Dr. Morris, walked in, thick eyebrows furrows. “It’s Tom, right?”
Tom sneered at the man, his lip curling in disgust at him using that name, but nodded shortly, deciding to focus on the more important thing that was Harry.
“Alright…” The doctor nodded and glanced between Harry’s face and Tom’s. “He’s, uh, in a coma. He got a pretty bad hit to the back of the head, I’m afraid.”
Tom stiffened, but still managed to push out some words. “When will he wake up?”
The doctor grimaced. “That’s what we’re not sure. There’s the possibility, though it’s faint, that he might never wake up again.”
Tom felt his heart drop to his stomach. Never wake up again? What did he mean?! Harry was going to wake up! He had to! He was going to wake up and Tom was going to keep him at his side forever and protect him. Even if he was a deity, he was Tom’s deity, and so his to keep and protect.
Dr. Morris, obviously uncomfortable, gave Tom an odd, slightly awkward nod. “It might be from a few weeks to a matter of years. I will keep you updated, of course, but there isn’t anything we can do.”
Tom felt his shoulders sag and he rested his head on his knees, closing his eyes. Dr. Morris seemed to take that as a dismissal, as Tom heard him bustling out of the room. Tom shifted, curling up on his side and pressing himself against Harry. He’d stay here as long as he possibly could.
***
Not long after Harry fell, Tom decided to start writing him letters. So when he woke up, he could find out everything that happened to Tom by reading them.
Dear Harry.
It’s Tom. It is a month after you fell. The doctor who came to see you, who was probably some sort of a scam considering Wool’s doesn’t have the money for a proper one, said you were in a coma. That’s not dead, so there’s still hope for you. I’m scared. I want you to wake up, but the doctor said there’s only a very small chance you will wake.
Things here at Wool’s is still pretty awful. The new girl, her name is Jenna, keeps following me around. But a nice old couple are coming to adopt her soon, so I don’t need to worry too much about her. Luckily I won’t have to dispose of her myself. Mrs. Cole, I believe, suspected I had something to do with your fall, and looked just about ready to bring the police into it. But apparently she decided against it. I suppose my genuine tears showed her. I am not ashamed to say I cried, Harry. You are my dearest friend and losing you…was perhaps one of the worst things to happen to me. Though, you are not dead. You will come back to me. You have to.
Come back.
Tom.
***
Hello, Harry.
I have decided to write you letters often. Then when you wake up, you will be able to read everything I have done in order and know what things impacted me more than others. I hope you are as happy about this idea as I am. I will, until further notice, keep all the letters bound in a box beside your bed.
It’s now August and a strange man came to visit me. He was tall, had a ginger-y beard and hair, and was wearing an awful dress looking thing. He said they were called ‘robes’ but I thing he just looked terrible. The colours were all clashing and it hurt my eyes to look at. He told me his name was Professor Dumbledore, and his school had a place open for me. To begin with, I believed he was just trying to get me to agree to go to a mental facility he worked ad, it’s certainly not the first time, after all, Mrs. Cole had been trying to get me to go to one plenty of times, especially now that you’re asleep. But Dumbledore was being truthful. He told me I was a wizard, someone who could do magic with a thin stick called a wand. He set our wardrobe on fire, but put it out before he could do too much damage.
I told him I would come to his school, Hogwarts, in September. I am excited, though I’m not supposed to tell you. It is, apparently, illegal to tell any muggles, that’s the word for people who can’t perform magic, and you must be a muggle as you did not get the letter inviting you to Hogwarts. That is okay though. I will become the strongest wizard in the world, so when you do wake up, as I know you will, you will be the only muggle to know about magic, and I will protect you.
In a few days, I am going to a place called ‘Diagon Alley,’ where I will buy all the materials I need for school. Dumbledore offered to take me, but I want to go on my own. He gave me gold too, the money is from the orphan’s fund at Hogwarts, and the currency is in Knuts, they are bronze, Sickles, silver, and Galleons, gold.
Wake up soon.
Tom.
***
My Harry.
I have just gotten back from Diagon Alley. It is the most exquisite place I have ever been. I share the name, Tom, with the bartender at the pub which is the entrance of Diagon Alley. But Diagon Alley. It’s huge, with different streets leading off into other parts, and everything is so positively magical. Things float and the odd creatures and objects that surround the streets had me in awe.
When you wake up, I will show you around, I swear I will.
I went to so many shops. There was a shop where I got fitted for these black robes, like Dumbledore’s but much more stylish than that disgusting, clashing vomit of colours that was his robes. These were fine, black ones with these grey parts, which the woman measuring me explained turned your house colour when you were sorted.
Hogwarts has three houses, you see? And they all have their own animal, There’s Ravenclaw, a raven, of course, known for their smarts, Hufflepuff, a badger, known for their kindness, Gryffindor, a lion, known for their bravery and Slytherin, a snake, and known for their slyness and ambition. I hope I am in Slytherin, and I think it makes the most sense, as I can talk to snakes, so why wouldn’t I be in the house represented by a snake? And in any case, that house seems to have the most respectable families connected to it. And if I want to be powerful and important for you by the time you wake up, making these connections early on is a very good idea.
And then there was the wand shop. Ollivander’s, if I remember correctly, was filled with boxes upon boxes covering the shelves, all containing a wand. Ollivander was a fascinating man, if a little too in Dumbledore’s pocket, kept singing his praises, see? He could remember every single wand he had ever sold throughout his life. My wand is made of yew, and its core phoenix feather.
You will come one day, I swear to you. I will bring you around with me, and show you every nook and cranny of every magical place in Britain as your own personal guide, even if you are a muggle.
Come back to me soon.
Tom.
***
Harry awoke, and had vivid memories pass through his mind. Voldemort inside Dumbledore’s study, turning to face Harry and raising his wand. He remembered Voldemort casting the Crusiatus and how his own body was too weak to withstand the curse, and had collapsed upon impact. Now that he looked around, he realised he was in the Chamber of Secrets. That’s where Voldemort had said he was keeping the defiant people on Harry’s side, wasn’t it?
Sitting up from where he had been lying, strewn, on the cold, wet stone floor, Harry looked around. There were large, strong cages everywhere he could see. There were no people in them, though obviously there had been at one point, based on the fact that there were rather suspicious bloodstains on some of the thick, metal bars.
Actually, scratch that, there were two people in the cage right next to his, both asleep. Two people he knew incredibly well. Jerking to his feet, Harry stumbled to the bars of his cage and rattled them, calling two Ron and Hermione. “Hey!! Ron, Hermione, wake up!”
Stirring with a groan, Hermione sat up, her bushy brown hair sticking up in every direction, and an almost dry trickle of blood running from a gash on her forehead. As soon as she spotted Harry, she gasped and jumped to her feet, sprinting over to him to gaze at him through the bars of her own cage. “Harry? It’s really you? I’m not just—just hallucinating?”
Harry nodded, making sure the tablecloth, which was still draped over his body, was hiding too much of his skin from view. “It’s me, ‘Mione.”
Hermione let out a quivering breath and turned to grab Ron, shaking him awake. “Ron! Wake up, it’s Harry! He’s here!”
Ron, jerked awake and gazes at Harry, jaw dropping open. “Harry?! Jesus Christ, mate, I thought you were dead!”
Harry laughed awkwardly and sat down against the Sid of his cage, an action Hermione and Ron quickly followed. “It’s a long story. So, uh, you know the Deathly Hallows?”
Hermione frowned, “Harry, we thought you agreed to stick to horcruxes, not the Hallows.”
“I’m the Master of Death, Hermione! Voldemort did kill me in the forest, yeah, but I didn’t die because I’m the Master of Death. I can’t be killed!” Harry gave them a look.
Ron gaped at him, ginger hair tousled. “I’m sorry, Harry, but what the fuck are you on about?”
Harry snorted. “Right, so, when we were at Malfoy Manor a while back, I disarmed Draco Malfoy, who was currently the master of the Elder wand, since he disarmed Dumbledore before he was killed, so I was the mastiff of the Elder wand. Then, when died, I died willingly, so I was never ‘beaten’ so the wand was still my own, and I also had my invisibility cloak, and the Resurrection stone, so I am the master of death.”
Hermione, seeming to understand before Ron, who was staring at Harry like he was mad, nodded. “That…Makes sense, actually. So the story is real?”
Harry nodded. “Must be. Or part of it, anyway. So when I died, I met Death. He’s actually quite a nice guy, but anyway, I went back in time—”
“What?!” Ron interrupted, eyes bugging from his head. “What the hell do you mean ‘went back in time’? You can do that without a time turner?”
Harry nodded. “Yeah, Death can anyway. I figured, with all the people we’ve already lost…” Harry shook his head. “If I went back in time to when Tom Riddle was young, I could become a friend that he so obviously needed. Then he’d never become Voldemort, and therefore so many lives would be preserved and saved. What do you think?”
Hermione looked concerned, obviously about to start on a rant about not altering the past, but Ron got there first. “Thats brilliant, Harry! Then we’d never be locked, well, here.” He looked around the Chamber with a mistrustful expression.
“Ron, Harry, that’s not— You shouldn’t—It’s dangerous!” Hermione chastised, but seemingly couldn’t help her smile, which curled at the corners of her lips. “I know how stubborn you can be, Harry, so I won’t try to change your mind, but be safe, won’t you? And try not to get to close with anyone you know’s ancestors, since it’s possible to change whether they were born or not by it.”
Harry nodded and opened his mouth to reply when he heard footsteps. Turning in his cage, he spotted Voldemort, his long robes brushing the ground, and his snake-like red eyes fixed on Harry. If everything played out right, Harry would die again, and see Tom once more, then could help Tom not ever become the monstrosity of a man standing before him now.
Voldemort approached Harry’s cage and flicked his wrist in a perfect demonstration of wandless magic and the cage’s door clicked and swing open. “Come here, Harry Potter.” Voldemort murmured, and beckoned with one, long finger. He just needed to get this over with, that he knew, so Harry pushed himself to his feet and slowly, every so slowly, left the cage, keeping his eyes fixed on Voldemort the whole way.
“How,” Voldemort inquired, “did you manage to escape death?”
Harry’s thoughts began to speed up. How was he going to explain it? It should have been impossible. Any minuscule mistake, and his whole plan would fail. Voldemort might decide never to kill Harry so he couldn’t go back into the past again, or he might force Harry to pass over the title of Master of Death, so he couldn’t murder Harry without Harry going back into time. Because Voldemort was content with this situation. He had horcruxes, or at least he thought he did, and he could kill Harry right now, so he didn’t want Harry to change a thing. Harry decided to settle on the half truth. “I don’t know.”
Voldemort sneered at him, and pulled his slender yew wand from the holster on his forearm. “I would give you back your wand so you could duel with me, but I’ve learnt my lesson. You’re as slippery as an eel and with even the slightest, most tiny possibility of escape, you will somehow manage it.”
Harry glanced back at Ron and Hermione, who were watching him with wide, terrified eyes. He could see the clean streaks their tears were making down the muck on their cheeks and felt that wave of calmness wash over him again. This was right. This was what needed to be done, and he would manage it.
“You’re not monologuing as much, Tom.” Harry said, watching as Voldemort seemed to flinch at the use of his real name. If his plan works, he will love that name. If his plan works, he will be Tom Riddle, just Tom Riddle. No Voldemort.
“Like I said, Potter, I learnt my lesson. I know now that giving you any minute chance of escape, you will take it. I cannot take my eyes off of you, or beat around the bush.”
Harry felt a hysterical laugh bubble up from his chest when he heard that and he took a step towards Voldemort. He was learning Harry so well, huh? Another step. Then another. And again and again and again until Voldemort’s wand was pressing against his chest.
Harry heard the sharp intake of breath from Hermione some way behind him, and the startled ‘ack—’ from Ron. He watched as Voldemort’s expression gleamed, with what he did not have time to decipher, since—
“Avada kedavra!”
And, once again, the world spun into darkness.
***
My Harry.
Dumbledore seems to be under the impression I will be willing to go to Hogwarts without you. He has never seen you in person, of course, but he says that no muggles can enter Hogwarts. Whether he means they physically can’t, or they’re not allowed, I don’t know, but there is no way I am leaving without you. What if you wake up while I’m away? I need to see you every day. It’s not a want, it’s a need, and Dumbledore needs to understand that.
I am sorry it’s such a short letter today. I will continue writing though, of course.
Tom.
***
My Harry.
I had to take Dumbledore to see you today. I did not want to. But he said that the only way he might ever possibly take a muggle to Hogwarts, is if he saw them personally, even though he’s not even the headmaster. I explained that you were in a coma so of course you wouldn’t be responsive, but he insisted. I don’t want anyone to see you except me, but I had to let him if I wanted to continue seeing you at Hogwarts.
As soon as he entered your private ward, he stopped and stared at you. I do not know what it is that made him freeze, and he entirely refused to explain when I asked him to. But then he came close to ‘inspect’ you. I almost broke his wrist when he touched your face, if I had squeezed just a little harder I’m sure I would have heard a snap. No one but me is allowed to touch you.
But eventually, he agreed and so you will come to Hogwarts with me. He said that he will pick you up and transport you to Hogwarts himself on the day I take the train for the beginning of the term, which is tomorrow. I don’t want you going with anyone else, but he swore not to touch you skin on skin, and though I don’t trust him, I am willing to make sacrifices to keep you near me.
I’ll see you then, Harry.
Your Tom.
***
My Harry.
It’s the first week of Hogwarts.
I was sorted into Slytherin, of course, but to begin with, the others called me names since I wasn’t a pureblood. Apparently that means your entire heritage is of wizard relation, no muggles whatsoever. I cannot imagine how much inbreeding they have. It’s a shock they can even function. But in any case, they practically seemed to fall at my feet once they saw me talk to our gorgeous daughter, Nagini. Apparently only Slytherin himself and his dependents can speak to snakes, which I learnt is called parsletongue, so they practically worship me. I’m Slytherin’s heir, after all. I must be.
And I was pleasantly surprised to find that I have a natural talent for magic. Everything comes easily to me, and I can outperform many of the strong pureblood families who have been studying magic for years. I hope your proud of me. I know you would be.
Even if you’re a muggle, I will keep you by my side, even at Hogwarts. You can do your own studies here, in the castle, and I can be by your side forever. Oh, and currently, you are staying in a room called the Room of Requirement. Dumbledore showed it to me and explained that you walk three times past a black stretch of wall on the seventh floor, opposite a tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, and think of what you want. For you, I thought of a bed to keep you comfortable in your coma. The door appeared and we brought you inside. It’s a good place to keep you, as no one can get in with the protection the room had on it, and no one can possibly harm you, since you may be a muggle. And no one will look at you. No one other than myself should be able to lay eyes on you.
But I have successfully integrated myself into Slytherin house, and am well respected there. It means you will be able to join without being disrespected.
Your Tom.
***
When Harry woke up, it was in a rather lavish room, with drapings of deep, emerald green. Glancing down at his body, he saw that he was sixteen once again, and this must be Hogwarts—where else looks like this?—and the stones weren’t a dark black colour, so this was back in the past. So Tom was sixteen as well.
Harry propped himself up on his elbows. Glancing to his left, he saw there were a few ornate wooden boxes sitting on his bedside table, and he reached for them. He pulled one onto his lap and read the carved lettered on the top. ‘Harry Evans’. They were for him, then? He opened it and out fell what may have been hundreds of letters, bound together with that common white and red string.
Each had his name inked on the envelope, so of course he opened the top one and began to read. Each was a letter from Tom, telling him about the accident. He had been in a coma for the last six years? And then how Dumbledore had come and told him he was a wizard, and about his immediate dislike of the old man. Some of the things Tom wrote, about his stupid little escapades, made Harry laugh, and the others made him frown. He understood where he was now, at least, in the Room of Requirement, and how he got here. He also understood that Dumbledore, upon visiting him in his comatose state, must have sensed his magic and realised he was a wizard, a strong one at that, and that was why he allowed him to stay at Hogwarts.
Harry read about how Tom went to large pureblood balls, and charmed politicians there. He read about how Tom would cut his hair every few months to keep it how he knew he liked it. And he read about how Tom found the Chamber of Secrets and how he was the heir of Slytherin, and how Myrtle Warren was killed upon making eye contact with the basilisk. He was too late for that, then. But at lease Tom was telling him, at least through the letters he knew Harry would read when he woke up, that was a step in the right direction. He could still guide him in the right direction, couldn’t he? Tom and all his future victims could be helped and saved, and no one would have to meet a premature death.
Harry was still sitting in the green, silken bed, which was actually the most comfortable bed he’d ever slept it, hundreds of open letters strewn around him. Tom must have written a at least two a week for the past six years. That was when the door swung open, and Tom Riddle stood there.
He was panting, like he had just been running to the Room of Requirement, and was staring at Harry with wide eyes. He looked just as handsome as he had from the diary, except this time there was no malice in his eyes, only pure, unadulterated relief and something else Harry couldn’t quite decipher. Tom’s shoulders dropped as he stumbled into the room, letting the doors swing shut behind him. He broke into a sprint towards Harry’s bed where he launched himself on Harry, wrapping his arms around Harry’s body in a crushing embrace.
“Harry…”