encounter
Tom settles in at Hogwarts like he’s been born and raised there. This is no extraordinary feat to him, since he had been living in the castle for months on end each year for seven years in his past, but his classmates marvel at this.
After a bit of contemplation, he decided that acting as if he was just getting used to Hogwarts would be a waste of energy that he could channel somewhere useful, like meeting his Present-And-Future Self and chatting with him over tea on how to put down the Golden Hero. Besides, what can Dumbledore do anyway, even if he is suspicious of Tom's familiarity with Hogwarts? Expel him? ...Well yes, but Tom's pretty confident he won't, if only to keep an eye on him.
The new teachers make it somewhat difficult to truly settle in. Slughorn still teaching came as a surprise when he learned of it last month, but Minerva becoming a professor… It suits her, he thinks, as she raps on the desk and glares at chattering students. Flitwick is a menace, weaving between students in one of his makeshift flying carpets (that make up for his lack of height) as if those are still in circulation and encouraging students non-stop. Charms class is always loud but it also allows Tom some time to relax and numb his mind. Snape, who looks remarkably like Eileen Prince, one of his most recent recruits in his own time, teaches Defence Against the Dark Arts, or rather, How To Make A Fool of Yourself (And Fail At Defending Yourself) Because That’s What I’ll Be Giving You Practice In by glaring and growling and basically behaving like he doesn’t know how not to sulk. Sprout is good at teaching, better than the Herbology professor from his time, smiling and awarding points when someone gets an answer right.
They are all, however, very suspicious of him, and Slughorn seems to be outright denying his existence. He refuses to answer his questions, even if it is a simple how are you, professor, and Tom soaks in the sick satisfaction. His blood sings. Severus Snape stares at him for at least five separate minutes each class and Minerva uses her you’re in trouble, young man, tone on him every time she addresses him, which isn’t many times. The only ones who even try to be impartial with him are Flitwick and Sprout, and he thinks they’re being rather stupid by doing that. They should definitely be wary of him, but this will make the work even easier for him, so he doesn’t complain too much. Dumbledore’s hand in all of this is obvious, and Tom nods to himself. He didn’t really think the old coot bought his act.
He at least shares all his classes with Ravenclaw and enjoys the quiet company, sometimes visiting the library to take part in the few early study groups organized by seventh and fifth years.
Harry Potter manages to stay away from him exactly two days before he stomps over to Tom during lunch when he’s in the library looking up the advancement in Cauldrons in the time he’s skipped forward. Potter doesn't seem to be looking for him, rather approaches him like he knows exactly where Tom is, even though he can't possibly know Tom's schedule or use Legilimency on him.
“Riddle,” Potter growls and oooh, how scary.
“Potter,” he says back lightly.
“Is this another one of your tricks? I can see very well you’re not here, you’re… wherever you are, with all those creepy walls, but! You’re here! It’s not happening, am I seeing things, has Voldemort sent a doppelganger? Why can’t he leave me alone? Who are you!?”
He pants heavily, winded by his rant and eyes wide with fear and worry and panic, and Tom feels the zing in his veins that means joy. Sweet, sweet joy.
He smiles slowly, completely innocent. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Potter. I just got here. I am here. Whatever do you mean, 'I know you’re not here? '"
He did want the answer to this. How would Potter know where Voldemort was, and if he did know, why wouldn’t he arrange a sneak attack? A takeover?
Potter stares at him like he’s the cruelest person on earth and he revels in the gaze.
“Harry!” The brunette girl and the ginger boy rush to the spot they’re in. “Harry, what are you doing? I told you not to—“
“Let’s go,” Potter says abruptly and turns away, the other two staring after him.
The redhead turns to glare at him for a single second before the two of them dash after Potter.
~
On Friday, Tom decides to write to his future self.
Lord Voldemort,
As you may know, there is a familiar name which you will find in the registry of Hogwarts this year. If you are not as foolish as I may take you to be, you monitor this very closely. My name is Tom Riddle, and I am well aware that we share many things.
I am a seventh-year at Hogwarts. Though you have no use for burning daylight around children, I would appreciate an address and time for us to meet. You will find that I will not waste your time, like those people you so haphazardly call followers.
Yours truly,
Tom Riddle
He smirks. The short letter, the impertinence and the lack of deference will certainly piss his future self off, but Tom is not about to grovel at his own feet. He knows, though, that Lord Voldemort’s curiosity and suspicion will certainly overwhelm his annoyance.
He sends the letter off with a school owl and subsides to waiting.
~
Studies go swimmingly well and he keeps well out of Potter’s reach while simultaneously keeping a close eye on his actions, but he seems so obsessed over the Malfoy boy that he sort of forgets Tom exists, for a while. Malfoy does garner attention with the dark circles under his eyes so early in the year and his near-constant wariness around others. Potter's attention seems to spontaneously shift to Tom sometime in the middle of October, and Tom briefly wonders why.
However, a few days after the Christmas-New Year break when Potter comes back from the redhead’s house, he stalks him to the dungeons even with all the diversions that Tom takes with a small thought for the walls to move and let me in.
Tom is, of course, aware of Potter’s meetings with Dumbledore (Theodore Nott is tracking him for Tom) and so far, he has received word of two, both late at night when the other students would be in their respective common rooms.
When Potter corners Tom, he glares and points his wand at him. Tom smirks back and rolls his own wand in his fingers, gazing at Potter with a tilted head. Potter stops glaring and stares incredulously.
“What, Potter,” he drawls in a while. “Did you follow me all the way to the deep dungeons just to stare at me? If you’d said, I would’ve given you a photograph. A moving one, maybe.”
Potter shakes his head. “It’s weird to hear you call me Potter when you’ve always called me Harry before,” he mutters.
“Do you mean my… doppelganger, was it?” Tom raises an eyebrow.
“So you admit it?” he demands.
“Haven’t you found out already?” Tom taunts. “It’s been months.”
It’s been months, and Lord Voldemort has not replied to his letter.
Potter scowls. “Don’t change the topic.”
“I did not,” Tom mutters.
“I came here to ask you something.”
Tom raises his eyebrow again. “Oh? You want an answer?”
“Obviously,” Potter scowls. Oh, he looks so tortured with that expression, like he hates the very sight of him.
“Well, ask away!” Tom exclaims with false cheer. He’s going to have fun now that the rabbit has entered the den all by itself.
Potter hesitates and Tom’s anticipation rises.
“Did you kill your father?”
Tom blinks. Of all questions, he was not expecting this one. But oh, well.
He curls his lip. “What is it to you?”
“Did you?” he presses.
“Did not,” Tom says, just to annoy him. Potter lets out a frustrated sound and Tom laughs.
“You did,” Harry sulks.
“Quit sulking, Harry,” Tom says. “That wouldn’t do, now, would it, Golden Boy? You have to smile, always smile, smile and—”
“Fucking shut up,” Harry groans suddenly, and Tom blinks again. “Shut— shut up. Like. Seriously.”
Tom shuts up because he wants to see where this goes and Potter is being way too comfortable with who he believes is a spy for Voldemort or Voldemort himself. He’s even more curious now as to what kind of interactions the two had in the past. His future self would’ve surely been interested in such a boy who was not killed by a curse designed to kill, no matter what.
“Did you… Did you grow up in an orphanage?” Potter asks and Tom immediately understands, puzzle pieces falling into place.
“Keep the enemy closer,” he muses, one finger tapping on his chin mockingly. “Is that it, Harry?”
So that’s what happens in Potter’s and Dumbledore’s meetings. Tom wonders what good it would do the Boy Who Lived to know he lived in an orphanage and killed the father who abandoned him at said orphanage.
“So you really are him,” Potter says, staring at the ground. “Of course, I knew that as soon as I saw you, but. He says my name exactly like that.”
Tom feels like something weird is going on but he also feels amused, so he laughs. “Who’s “he”?”
Potter rolls his eyes. “So anyway, did you kill your uncle? And your father?”
Tom stares. He feels the ground falling from under his feet, and he wants to wonder why he is surprised by this question more than all those questions and demands and shouts and screams at the orphanage and on the streets but he knows. His uncle— he can’t even call him his uncle— Morfin Gaunt was supposed to remain buried forever under false blame, as a penance.
Potter notices, of course. The silence answers Potter's question, Tom's eyebrows knitting together in a frown, the smirk falling from his lips. Tom feels all this in his face but he can’t for the life of him do anything about it.
“So you did,” Potter whispers. “It wasn’t a lie. They… they weren’t lies.”
“Dumbledore always lies,” Tom manages to say. “He always lies. Stay away.”
Potter stares.
“And I didn’t kill my uncle, nor my father. They were dead when I first got to know that such people existed.”
Potter won’t believe his lie, but Tom needs to say something, and he can’t leave it at silence. That would be incriminating, could lead to all sorts of complications he doesn’t want in his life.
He turns on his heels and stalks away to the Slytherin Dorms. He feels the other boy’s gaze steady and kill-green on his back until he turns the corner, but Potter doesn’t follow him.