The Weight of Shadows
The corridors of Hogwarts felt oppressive, as if they were closing in on Harry with every step he took.
The shadows cast by the torches on the stone walls seemed longer and darker, hiding secrets that were too dangerous to uncover. Harry had grown accustomed to the undercurrent of tension that had followed him ever since he found himself back in this time, but now, it was different. Tom Riddle—young, brilliant, and dangerous—was an enigma he could not unravel.
In their secret meetings, Harry had begun to question the decisions he had made. Tom, despite being a reflection of the future Voldemort in his cunning, ambition, and charm, had no knowledge of the future. That meant Harry was the only one who could shape what was to come—and that responsibility weighed heavily on his shoulders.
Tom’s desire for power was undeniable, but what Harry had yet to fully grasp was the extent of Tom’s own ignorance. He had no idea of what he would become. The knowledge that Harry had of Tom's future only made their interactions more complicated. Harry wasn’t sure how far he was willing to push things or what he was willing to sacrifice to reach his goals.
The day after their heated confrontation in the Slytherin common room, Harry and Tom met again in the library. It was a quiet afternoon, the usual hum of student chatter absent as most students were away attending their extracurricular activities. The silence between them felt suffocating, yet necessary.
Harry sat at one of the back tables, pretending to study his Charms notes, while Tom browsed through a book on the Dark Arts. Harry kept his eyes on the pages in front of him, unable to ignore the creeping sense of unease.
Tom looked up from his book, his gaze sharpening. “You’ve been distant, Potter.” There was a hint of amusement in his tone, but also something darker. “What’s bothering you?”
Harry didn’t look up from his notes. He could feel the weight of Tom’s stare, but he knew he had to remain calm. “I’ve been thinking,” Harry began, carefully choosing his words. “This timeline… it’s not right. Things are changing too fast, too suddenly. The way you’re moving, how things are unfolding... it’s not supposed to be this way.”
Tom tilted his head slightly, intrigued but not showing any signs of alarm. “You sound as if you know what should and shouldn’t be. Do you know something I don’t?”
Harry looked up, meeting Tom’s dark eyes, and for a moment, he hesitated. Tom had no idea what he was getting into. Harry’s knowledge of the future was the only thing that made their alliance so dangerous.
And yet, Harry couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if he guided Tom further down this dark path. Would he be creating a monster, or could he shape Tom into someone who could help him achieve his own goals?
“I know enough,” Harry finally said. “But you, Tom, you don’t. You have no idea what’s coming for you. You can’t see the bigger picture, and you don’t realize the mistakes you’ll make. The things you’ll do to get what you want.”
Tom smiled, a cold, calculating expression. “And you do? How convenient.” He leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping the table lightly. “Tell me, Harry. What do you think I’m destined to become?”
Harry swallowed, knowing that if he told Tom the truth, it would only set the stage for more manipulation. He could see it now—Tom would use that knowledge to further his own ends, pushing even harder to shape the future to his will. So, instead of answering, Harry changed the subject.
“You don’t belong here, Tom. I don’t know how or why you’re here, but I know you weren’t supposed to be.” He leaned forward, lowering his voice so no one could hear. “You’re out of time.”
Tom’s expression didn’t shift, but Harry could see the slight tightening of his jaw, a sign that he was processing the statement. “I’m exactly where I need to be,” Tom said finally.
“And as for ‘out of time,’ that’s a peculiar thing to say, don’t you think?” He raised an eyebrow. “You act as if you understand time itself, as if you can control it. But you’re just as lost as anyone else.”
Harry’s heart pounded in his chest. Tom wasn’t lying, and Harry knew it. Tom didn’t understand what he was truly capable of. It was Harry who held the power, Harry who knew the consequences of every step he took.
The whispers of Sirius Black’s escape from Azkaban grew louder with each passing day. The fear and paranoia spread through the school like a disease, and despite the rumors, Harry knew something wasn’t right. There was something more at play here.
One evening, while sitting in the Gryffindor common room with Hermione and Ron, Harry let his thoughts wander. They were talking about the most recent attack on a student, and Harry could barely listen to the panic in their voices. Hermione, with her ever-growing concern, had warned Harry to be cautious around anyone, especially those with suspicious motives.
“Harry, you have to be careful. Sirius Black is dangerous,” Hermione insisted. “He’s not just an escaped convict—he’s after you. He’s after revenge.”
Ron, ever the skeptic, nodded in agreement. “We don’t know where he is or what he’s planning, but you should keep an eye out, mate.”
Harry took a deep breath, fighting the urge to reveal everything. But the weight of his knowledge, the burden of the future he carried, was becoming unbearable.
That night, as Harry sat alone by the Black Lake, contemplating everything that had happened and everything that was to come, he felt it—the subtle pull of something beyond the mortal realm.
A presence, ancient and all-encompassing, enveloped him like a shroud. For the first time in his life, Harry felt truly insignificant, as if he were nothing more than a puppet in the hands of forces far greater than him.
Before him, the air shimmered, and two figures materialized from the shadows—figures so old and powerful that Harry’s mind couldn’t fully comprehend their existence. One was tall and dark, the air around it cold and oppressive. The other was warm, the very fabric of reality seeming to bend in its presence, radiating a soothing, yet all-encompassing power.
“You’re here,” the dark figure spoke, its voice low and calm. “The Master of Death. The one who walks between worlds.”
Harry’s heart skipped a beat. “Who are you?” he asked, his voice trembling despite his best efforts to remain calm.
The warm figure spoke next, its voice like a gentle breeze. “I am Mother Magic, and he is Death. We have watched you both, Harry Potter and Tom Riddle, for far longer than you can imagine.”
Tom, who had secretely followed Harry to the lake, stepped forward, his eyes wide with disbelief. “What is this? What do you mean by ‘watched us’?” His voice was filled with a mix of awe and suspicion.
Mother Magic’s gaze softened as she looked at both of them. “We have seen your previous timeline—the one that ended in devastation and despair. Both of you suffered in ways no one should have to. Death and I have been trying to fix what was broken, to give you both a chance at something better.”
Death, with his cold, emotionless presence, stepped forward. “You were both fated to destroy each other. But fate is not absolute. We have given you this chance, this second timeline, so that you may choose a different path. A path where your futures—your destinies—are not set in stone.”
Harry’s mind raced, his heart pounding. “You did this? You brought Tom here? Why? Why us?”
Mother Magic’s voice was soft, almost sympathetic. “We did not create this path, Harry. You and Tom have done that. But we gave you this chance—this chance to undo what was done, to save yourselves from the darkness that would consume you both. It is not a gift without its price, but it is a chance nonetheless.”
Tom stepped forward, his face a mixture of confusion and disbelief. “So, you’re telling me... I’m here because of you? Because of this... this ‘gift’?” His voice was almost accusatory, but there was a flicker of understanding in his eyes.
Death nodded, his voice grave. “Yes, Tom Riddle. You are here because of our intervention. You can change the future. But the price of that change is not yet clear.”
Harry took a step back, trying to process everything. “What’s the catch?” he asked, his voice thick with suspicion. “What’s the price we’ll have to pay for this second chance?”
Mother Magic’s eyes flickered with sadness. “The price will be the choices you make, the sacrifices you will both have to endure. This timeline is not free from consequences. But we are not here to force your hand. The path you take is yours alone to decide.”
Tom looked at Harry, his eyes now filled with a new kind of determination. “So this is my fate,” he said softly. “I can choose what I become.”
Harry nodded, the weight of his own future pressing down on him. “Yes. But so can you, Tom. You can choose to be something better. Or not. The choice is yours.”
For the first time, Tom’s face softened, just slightly. He didn’t look like the monster he was destined to become—just a young man caught in the web of fate.