a month to go
The air in the room felt heavier than usual, stifling and oppressive, even as the faint breeze from the cracked window teased at the edges of Harry’s fraying patience. He sat on the edge of the single bed, his arms resting on his knees, his fingers drumming absently against his thighs. Across from him, Tom Riddle paced the room like a caged predator, calm and deliberate but with an energy that was impossible to ignore. It must be a nervous tick of his harry mused.
It was late July. The summer holidays were just beginning, and Hogwarts was weeks away from reopening its doors. Harry had pointed that out earlier when Tom suggested they go straight to the castle in a surprising display of rashness, and for once, the man had actually listened.
But the real confirmation had come when they had walked into the small village of Hogsmeade to scout out their surroundings, their first step towards understanding this strange, unfamiliar reality. It was clear they had landed in a different time—different from the one Harry had known. They had tried to blend in, act as naturally as possible, but when Harry had slipped into the post office to check the date, it had been jarring.
“July 26th, 1976,” Harry had read from the calendar on the wall, feeling a strange chill run through him. He had already known the year of course but to know it was July instead of September had been. Shocking. It had been the last push needed to convince him it was not a dream but rather reality. Tom had stayed silent as Harry digested the information, his fingers tightening around a stack of parchment. They had both recognised the significance immediately—the height of Voldemort’s rise.
Now, with the summer stretching before them like an expanse of open ground, Harry couldn’t shake the feeling that everything was spiralling out of control.
"So," Harry said, breaking the silence as he gazed at the floor. "Hogwarts isn’t an option for at least a month. What do we do until then?"
Tom stopped pacing, turning to face Harry with that unnerving intensity he always seemed to carry. "We prepare," he said simply.
"Prepare how?"
"By ensuring that when we do arrive at Hogwarts, we’re more than ready to assume our new roles." Tom’s voice was calm but laced with a quiet authority that grated on Harry’s nerves. "We’ll need identities, histories, citizenships, and lineage that hold up under scrutiny. We’ll need money, accommodations, and supplies to sustain us until the school year begins. And, of course, we’ll need to alter our appearances. It’s imperative that we blend in."
Harry leaned back against the headboard, watching Tom carefully. The man was so controlled, so precise. Every word, every movement seemed calculated. But Harry had seen him at his worst—had fought him, had defeated him—and that knowledge kept him grounded. Tom Riddle wasn’t infallible.
"Right," Harry said. "Sounds like a lot of work."
"It is," Tom agreed, unbothered. "But it’s necessary. The fewer questions we raise, the easier it will be to operate within the school without drawing unwanted attention."
Harry nodded, though his mind was already spinning in a different direction. He knew Tom was lying—or, at the very least, holding back. There was no way someone like him was content to simply "blend in." No, Tom wanted something more. Harry didn’t know exactly what, but he could guess. Tom wanted to ensure Voldemort’s victory. To rewrite history so that his fall never happened.
And that, Harry realised with a jolt, wasn’t entirely unexpected. What was surprising was his own reaction to it. Because as much as he hated Voldemort, as much as he despised everything Tom Riddle stood for, Harry wasn’t sure he cared about stopping him. Not anymore.
This wasn’t his world. This wasn’t even his time. The war he had fought, the people he had lost—it was all gone. Even if they found a way back, it wouldn’t undo the fact that he had already failed to save so many.
But here… here he had a chance. A fresh start. A new timeline.
And if this was truly a new dimension, a world where their very presence had already altered the course of events, then Harry wasn’t going to waste it.
He wanted to save his parents, Sirius, Remus.
The thought hit him with such force that he almost flinched. He could feel it burning inside him, a desperate, aching need that threatened to consume him. He had always wondered what they had been like—what it would have been like to grow up with them, to have a family. And now, here he was, thrust into a world where they were alive, young, and just a month away from beginning their sixth year at Hogwarts.
He couldn’t let them die.
But he couldn’t tell Tom.
Tom wanted subtlety, anonymity. He wanted to move through this timeline like a shadow, nudging events into place without anyone noticing. Harry, on the other hand, wanted the opposite. He wanted to make a difference, to make changes, to ensure that this world didn’t become the one he had left behind.
He would play along, for now. He would let Tom believe they were on the same side, that they shared the same goal, That tom had him wrapped in his net. But when the time came, Harry would take a different path.
"Fine," Harry said at last, his tone carefully neutral. "What’s the plan, then? Where do we start?"
Tom’s lips curled into a faint smile, and Harry hated how smug he looked. "First, we secure money. There are several ways to acquire Galleons without drawing attention, though I’ll handle the specifics. Once we have funds, we’ll focus on creating our identities—names, family ties, citizenship documents, and so on. It will take time, but we have the advantage of knowing what to expect."
"And the disguises?"
Tom glanced at him, his gaze calculating. "We won’t rely on magic for that. We’ll need to make permanent changes to our appearances—subtle ones, of course—but ones that will withstand scrutiny. We’ll go through muggle means, such as altering our hair, our mannerisms, and perhaps a few more permanent adjustments. It’s the only way to ensure we aren’t recognised, especially if we need to integrate into muggle society for any length of time."
Harry nodded, though the thought of going through such drastic measures made him uneasy. The idea of becoming someone else, even in part, was… unsettling. But it was necessary. And for now, he would do whatever it took to ensure his survival—and more importantly, to protect his parents.
"Anything else?" Harry asked, trying to keep his voice steady.
"Not for now," Tom said. "We start tomorrow. For tonight, get some rest. We have a lot of work ahead of us."
Harry stood, stretching his arms above his head. Summer was still strong but the first hint of autumn lingered in the air, carrying with it a coolness that seeped through the cracks in the window. It felt like change—inevitable, unstoppable.
There was only one bed in the room. He glanced at it, then at Tom, who appeared entirely unfazed by the situation. Harry hesitated before settling down on the edge of the bed, the thin mattress offering little comfort. The room was small, cramped, with its peeling wallpaper and faint smell of stale mead, but it was better than the nothing they had come from.
As he lay there, his mind raced with thoughts of his parents, of Hogwarts, of the impossible task ahead of him. He would do whatever it took to protect them, to save them.
And if Tom Riddle thought he could control the outcome of this timeline, he was in for a surprise.