A Dandelion

One year ago

“I can’t believe it took getting blown up for Headmaster Dippet to allow us to stay at Hogwarts over the summer,” Harry snorted, throwing a ball into the air.

“Mmhmm,” Tom hummed lazily. He waved his hand wandlessly and the ball hovered in the air without dropping.

“Show-off,” Harry pouted. Tom grinned. These last two weeks had been relaxing, of a sort. Both him and Harry were brought directly to Nurse Pilfoy by a very panicked Mr. Wilkes after the incident. Tom had a concussion and Harry had swallowed a bit too much ash from the collapse, but otherwise they seemed just fine. After a couple days confined to the medical ward for observation, they were released to Hogwarts halls with special approval to stay there until school began for the year.

The house elves were only too delighted to have children back in the Hogwarts halls again. They took very good care of the students - bringing them massive hoards of food, snacks, and sweets. In one day, Tom and Harry probably ate enough to compensate for an entire month of malnutrition.

When Tom saw Harry begin to get antsy, he took the initiative to re-establish a routine with his younger friend. It involved an hour of easy exercise in the morning (“Nurse Pilfoy says easy exercise, Potter. I’m not getting roped into any of your bloody Quidditch nonsense.”), followed by two hours spent on summer homework (“We have two weeks to do this, Tom.”), and then a rotating schedule of afternoon chores such as practicing spellwork, defense magic, and potions. 

Unfortunately, Tom discovered that Harry wasn’t as nearly interested in normalcy as Tom was. He’d sometimes disappear for hours before Tom would find him again. After several more days of this, Tom had had enough. The older wizard caught his friend by the shoulder as he attempted to once again sneak away.

Harry chuckled nervously. “Okay, don’t be mad.”

The older wizard raised his eyebrow.

“I’ve been… Seeing someone. No! Not like that,” Harry interjected quickly when he felt the ice in the air. “A therapist. A muggle therapist. He’s been helping me work through some stuff. I didn’t want to tell you cuz I know how you feel about muggles, but Professor Dumbledore actually recommended him and gave me the floo powder to go back and forth at will…”

“You’re not crazy, Potter,” Riddle frowned.

“It’s not- well, maybe you should come with me. It’ll be good for you too.”

And so they went.

Doctor Carl Rogers was an American Psychologist in Rochester, New York. He had large round glasses, a crooked, hooked nose, and a gentle countenance. According to Professor Dumbledore, Dr. Rogers stumbled upon the wizarding world when he treated soldiers with mental ailments who had forgotten they fought in the wizarding war against Grindlewald, not the Muggle war.  Because they were still at war, Dr. Rogers was allowed special dispensation to keep his memory of the magical world, as long as signed a blood oath to keep its secret from everyone, including his wife. 

He was very much unlike any psychotherapist Riddle had ever heard of or met with. Rogers was calm, gentle, and personable. He welcomed Riddle readily through his fireplace, even though it was the wee hours of the night in America, and escorted Harry and Tom to his private office at the far end of the apartment. Although seemingly kind, Riddle had been betrayed before. He kept his wand at the ready, just in case.

“Please have a seat, boys,” Rogers drawled in his heavy American accent. Harry shot a smile at this friend and made himself comfortable on the large two-seater across from Roger’s chair. Tom sat two with feigned casualty, one arm resting behind Harry’s back. 

“Tom,” Dr Rogers said. “Why don’t we start with you? How are you feeling today?”

“I’m doing well, Doctor,” Tom answered respectfully. “How are you?”

“I’m well, thank you! Well, almost. I had the strangest interaction with a wizard today.”

“Really?” Harry latched on eagerly. “What happened?”

“Well…” And then the Doctor spent the next hour talking with Harry about the wizarding world, all of its amazing mysteries, and the intrigue of psychotherapy and magic. At the end of the session, Harry was tired and content. Tom grabbed his hand and walked him back to the fireplace, where he allowed Harry to go first. As Tom took a step into the fireplace, the Doctor raised a hand to stop him.

“Can I help you, Doctor?” Riddle felt absolutely nothing for this muggle fraud except boredom. This man and Harry talked about nothing for the past hour, and resolved nothing. Not that there was anything about Harry to fix in the first place.

“Maybe,” Dr Rogers said. “And maybe I can help you. Can I ask you something, Tom?”

Riddle imagined setting the doctor’s coat on fire. “Of course.”

“How often do you have nightmares, Tom?”

In a blink, Tom’s wand was at Roger’s throat. He could laugh. This muggle, threatening him? It was like an ant threatening an elephant.

Roger held both hands up peaceably. His eyes remained calm, unmoved. “If you please, Tom. You may keep your wand on me if it makes you feel comfortable, but I would like you to answer the question.”

“I don’t have nightmares,” Tom snarled. “And Harry will not be coming back here again.”

“Okay,” Rogers answered easily. “You don’t have to answer me, that is alright. But Harry Potter is his own person, Tom, and you are not his guardian. You do not own him, or his safety.

“Do you hear me, Tom? You are not responsible for what happened. Harry Potter is safe now, and so are you. And he is capable of taking care of his own safety in school.”

Slowly, the wizard lowered his wand. His obsidian eyes flickered unfathomably. “I seem to have been misunderstood, Doctor. I simply care for my dear friend’s well-being.”

“Oh, I’m sure you do,” Dr Rogers said. “And you have been doing an admirable job. Genuinely, you are one of the most mature 14, maybe 15-year-old boys I have ever met. You made yourself responsible for Harry’s schedule, for his studies, for his nutritional needs and his socialization. Forgive me, Harry enjoys talking about you.”

“Tom, in the brief hour I’ve met with you, I’ve watched you catalog every exit in my home from the hallway to this office. You kept your hand on your weapon - excuse me, your wand - from the moment I met you until now. You watch me more than you listen and you remain apathetic to concepts that Harry told me used to interest you.”

Dr Rogers sighed and swept his hair back from his forehead. “You are 15-years-old, and you are exhibiting the same signs as the soldiers in war. We call it Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - a mental affliction in which you are subconsciously trapped in the traumatic state you experienced. It causes nightmares, flashbacks, anxiety, paranoia… Do you understand this, Tom?” 

Dr Rogers hesitated. “I think we need more time to talk about this. If you’re willing, can we meet again next week?”

He’s not going to help you, Tom thought to himself. He’s a liar. A fraud.

“Have a good night, Doctor,” Tom said. 

“Tom, if I may,” Rogers pleaded. “No-one should have to take on the responsibility you have, or go through what you went through. You’re putting so much pressure on yourself, but there are good adults who are willing to help you. This is a safe space - free from judgment, free from harm. I am willing to help you.”

Seeing that Tom had no notion of leaving the fireplace, Rogers sighed. “I’m here if you ever want to talk.”

Tom didn’t see Dr Rogers again.

Present Day

Everard Weasley was a prefect in Gryffindor because he was diligent, talented, and well-liked. For Weasley, there were only three constants in the school of magic, but they were irreplaceable. His maddening family, for one, brought in every lost soul they could find even though they could hardly support themselves. Everard’s loyalty to Quidditch was another example. And ever since they had discovered each other in Potion’s detention in second year, Everard’s love for Harry was third. 

In a home with two younger brothers, Everard rarely felt as truly seen as he did with Harry Potter. If soul mates were a real possibility, Everard might have suggested that he and Harry get tested. If Everard could feel anything besides brotherly love and loyalty to Harry, he might have recommended they get married. As it was, the young, red-headed wizard made do with being Potter’s right-hand man in magic and mischief alike. 

That’s why, when Harry ran into the Gryffindor common room at the end of Weasley’s fourth year and asked him to keep the secret of a lifetime, Everard agreed without question. Together, they made a plan to divest their knowledge of a certain evil basilisk in Hogwarts to the professors while keeping out any names of who might actually be at fault. The Chamber of Secrets was only uncovered for the professors and a select team of aurors who removed the beast. Then, Everard insisted that Harry move in with his family over the summer with the permission of the school headmaster, and that was that.

The summer flew by in a whirlwind of fanmail and magic. While Potter and Weasley had never actually faced the basilisk head-on, they still enjoyed a little bit of popularity for their “heroic acts” investigating the basilisk. Potter was especially attractive to a new mass of admirers as he had just been nicknamed the “Prince of Gryffindor” earlier that year. Harry and Weasley never revealed who had opened the chamber in the first place, although rumors of the “Heir of Slytherin” spread amongst the pureblood families. 

Tom accepted an invitation to spend the summer with the Malfoys and hadn’t managed to get a word to Harry since. Only Everard noticed the subtle shift in Harry’s mood every time a letter in Tom’s handwriting landed on Harry’s lap… Or the soft scent of ashes shortly after. Everard thought the cold shoulder was the least of what that monster deserved. 

But Harry was different. A little more muted, a little less brilliant. Harry was handling a traumatizing betrayal with more grace than a 15-year-old should have, but that didn’t stop the new nightmares that plagued him every night, or the dark circles beneath his eyes every morning.  Before the pair knew it, a new school year was upon them.

Aboard the Hogwarts Express, Weasley and Potter had barely managed to escape their admirers for a private compartment when Levira Greengrass stepped in. Her presence was accepted with a scowl and a smile from Weasley and Potter respectively. 

“It’s been a while,” The Slytherin said, tucking her long hair behind her ear.

“Not long enough,” Everard grunted. Harry and Levira ignored him and hugged briefly before Levira took a seat beside him. The three made awkward small talk for a few minutes, but it was clear that Levira had come there with purpose.

“Harry,” Levira said softly. “I know what Tom did.”

Everard held his breath, looking at his friend. Potter ran his fingers through his hair. It had gotten long without Tom to cut it for him - and he hadn’t felt like doing it himself. Tom, Tom, Tom. Everything he did, everywhere he went, there were reminders of the one who betrayed him. Someone he might have…

“Tom has become erratic without you. Perhaps you could speak to him-”

Everard slammed his fist against the train seat, making Levira jump. “You obviously don’t know everything he’s done. Potter doesn’t need to say a damn word to that dark wizard.”

“It’s okay, Everard,” Harry put a calming hand on his friend’s arm. “How is he, Levira?”

Abruptly, the young witch looked nervous. With wide eyes, she leaned forward. “He’s not right, Harry,” She said. “I’ve never seen him so volatile. He disappeared Abraxas’s pinky for speaking out of turn. Even the Malfoys’ personal medic couldn’t get it back. Everyone’s afraid, but since the purebloods know he’s the Heir of Slytherin, the great “Lord Voldemort”, no-one wants to speak against him.”

“And he’s Harry’s problem because…?”

Levira huffed. “Look, I brought this to you because you’re the only person who seems to genuinely care about Riddle. Not for power, not for glory, but for some other unfathomable reason. The only person I care about is my brother, and if this continues then he’s going to end up dead or worse. And… I’ve been hearing other things.”

Potter and Weasley glanced at each other. “Other things?”

Levira leaned forward. “Riddle’s planning something, Harry.”

Harry closed his eyes. He had spent all summer ignoring the inevitable by entertaining Weasley’s rambunctious younger brothers, Mitick and Arthur, or degnoming the lawn at Mrs. Weasley’s request. Harry did read all of the letters Riddle sent him, several of which mentioned a plan of some sorts, but he wasn’t ready to face the great Lord Voldemort. Ironic that the savior of Magic and Muggles alike would go under a fake name. 

Abraxas Malfoy was a prefect in Slytherin because he was wealthy, ambitious, and connected. For Malfoy, there was only one superior force in the school, and it was unmistakable. Tom Marvolo Riddle. All of the Slytherins knew it, but only Malfoy had been granted the honor of having Riddle stay in his family’s home for an entire summer after years of Riddle being tied to that idiot Prince of Gryffindor. At last, he had the ear of the most important wizard in the new age. And Tom had promised his followers that the new age was coming.

Malfoy’s summer with Riddle had been inspiring. Tom Riddle was an extremely busy wizard. Every day he met someone new and more important than the last. When he wasn’t meeting the truly powerful wizards who pulled the strings of the political puppets, he was deep in Malfoy’s library, not to be disturbed. Only Abraxas and Tom’s other most trusted advisor, Bellatrix, knew what Tom was studying, although he wasn’t ready to tell them the details. The last time Abraxas pushed too hard, Tom disappeared the tip of his pinky. 

When Tom was in one of his better moods he gifted Abraxas and Bellatrix with a tease of information.

“I’m calling it the Alterum Terrarum Stone,” Tom said. He brushed his thumb over the small, green gem. It glittered with an unearthly light. “It stands for ‘The Other World’. It is capable of amassing power.”

“It’s so… Small,” Bellatrix said meekly. “You have such precise power, Lord Riddle, to create such an amazing artifact.”

Tom shrugged, stroking its glazed surface. “It may grow. It has a type of sentience I did not intend when I created it. And it does not yet hold even a fraction of the power it is capable of harnessing. Beautiful, isn’t it?”

Malfoy and Black nodded their heads and agreed quickly and loudly, eager to please their lord. 

“What does it do, Riddle?” Malfoy asked. He flinched when the wizard’s dark gaze turned to him, but Tom was in a good mood.

“My lovely Bellatrix, my loyal Malfoy. This world has been poisoned by senseless bloodshed for what? Useless, petty things. Lands, or titles, or power. And the root of all of this is the unending conflict between Muggles. Why, even Grindlewald’s war began because he sought to put order to this world, with Muggles on the bottom and the greater good on top. But he is going at this all wrong. Muggles do not belong beneath us.”

Malfoy and Black were speechless. Bellatrix twisted a black curl around her finger nervously. “They… Don’t?”

Tom reached his hand out to Bellatrix and smiled when she flinched before taking it. Gently, he brought his lips to hover just over her white skin. Very quietly, he murmured, “Thank you for asking the question, my dear.”

Bellatrix blushed a deep scarlet.

“They don’t,” Confirmed Tom. “They belong somewhere else entirely. And only I have the good sense to see it. Don’t you worry - there will be no meaningless deaths in the future. Can you imagine? No collateral damage, accidents, lost innocents, nothing. Instead of wars with hundreds or thousands of lost souls, it will be a seamless passage into a peaceful state.”

Malfoy frowned. “But how..”

“Shh,” Tom put a finger against Malfoy’s lips. Bellatrix glared at Albatrax enviously. “All will be revealed in time.”

Tom Riddle was mesmerizing. With Harry Potter gone, it was like the young lord had unleashed his full potential into his true purpose in life - whatever that was. If Riddle was a little more unpredictable than before, it was a small price to pay for the new world. And sure, Riddle spent days without sleep, waiting by Malfoy’s owl for a reply to his letters. And perhaps the dark wizard had taken to inspiring loyalty through fear, wrapping threats like rope around the necks of everyone he spoke to. In the end, Albatrax was certain this was a necessary evil. 

When the new Hogwarts school year came around, Malfoy and Black used all of their discernible influence to keep their lord as far away from the Prince of Gryffindor as possible, on the opposite end of the train. In the meantime, Tom settled into the cushy seats of the Slytherin cabin, relaxing into the book he had brought with him. Just as Malfoy was beginning to let down his guard, an unmistakable voice echoed down the train corridor.

Tom’s head shot up.

“Yes, thank you, we’ll talk at Hogwarts definitely,” The Prince of Gryffindor was saying. It appeared that a small group of girls were trailing after the Hogwarts hero eagerly, tittering to each other.

Tom shoved past Malfoy and Black to the cabin door and slid it open a fraction, then paused. It took a moment for Malfoy to realize that his mighty leader, a man he had seen not a day earlier threatening the prime minister with a “mysterious disappearance” of his wife and daughter, was eavesdropping from behind the train door like a schoolboy with a crush.

“My lord,” Malfoy tried.

“Say one more word and your pinky isn’t the only digit that will disappear today, Malfoy,” Riddle hissed, pressing his ear against the door. 

In the room next door, Potter and his muggle-lover friend had managed to escape from their adoring crowd. The two of them were joking about some unorthodox Quidditch tactics they had come up with over the summer, resulting in resounding laughter from the pair. Tom’s expression flickered dangerously.

From down the corridor, a light thumping of footsteps was the only warning before someone slipped into Potter’s cabin. The train gave a little jolt as it chugged forward. 

“Harry,” A girl said. One of the Greengrass twins. Tom frowned thoughtfully.

“Levira,” Harry said. He sounded pleasantly surprised, which, in itself, wasn’t that surprising. Of course Hogwarts-hero Harry Potter would be friends with Slytherins while being a Gryffindor. “It’s so good to see you.”

The other Gryffindor wasted several minutes exchanging barbed greetings with Greengrass before Tom could hear Harry speak again. 

“I assume you aren’t here just to flirt with Weasley, Levira,” Harry teased over the offended sounds of his cabin mates. “Is there something you need?”

There was a pause, and then subdued murmuring just barely indistinguishable over the sounds of the train. Annoyed, Tom flicked his wand and cast a quick hearing charm. Levira was whispering, “The only person I care about is my brother, and if this continues then he’s going to end up dead or worse. And… I’ve been hearing other things.”

“Other things?”

Levira's voice was haunted, “Riddle’s planning something, Harry.”

Tom pressed his ear hard against the door, awaiting Harry’s response. For several long moments, the only sound he heard was the quiet rumble of the Hogwarts Express. Then Harry spoke, so softly Tom wouldn’t have heard it all had he not been attuned to the young wizard’s every word. 

“I’ll speak to him.”

Tom smiled.

They’re at the welcome banquet the first time they spot each other, so conscious of one another that Harry can’t resist looking Tom’s way. 

Green eyes met black.

Headmaster Dippet began his speech, lamenting the losses of the previous year and lauding the courage of the students who have returned to advance themselves. It was a precocious speech belonging to an ignorant man who was oblivious to the cold war between the school’s two princes: Tom and Harry. 

For Harry, this anticipated meeting was strange. For the longest time, Tom had been his protector, his brother, his other half. Only a year ago, Harry would wink cheekily at the young wizard from across the room and hear Tom’s voice in his head as clear as Tom’s reluctantly-amused expression: “Pay attention, Harry.” 

Now, Riddle could have been made of cut glass the way his empty smile carved into his handsome face. He had certainly picked up a few things from the Malfoys, judging by his impeccable posture and carefully groomed hair.  Harry glared at Tom, unwilling to back down. “Disgusting,” He thought at Tom as loud as he could. As if the other wizard heard him, Tom turned his back to the room. Not to be outdone, Harry hunched toward Weasley and began an argument about the most recent Quidditch controversy. For once, he couldn’t wait for dinner to be over.

Dinner, as usual, was a grand affair, not that Harry remembered any of it. There was a constant barrage of Weasley and Potter fans (several of which bore “Prince of Gryffindor” shirts that had been spelled to show a cartoon version of Potter stabbing a snake over and over again) followed by a second barrage of Slytherins bearing thinly veiled threats (“Sleep well tonight, Potter”) and then 30 seconds to stuff as much food in his mouth as he could before it started all over again. 

By the time Harry had escaped the banquet room, he could scarcely stand. Dragging his feet and fighting to remember why sleeping in the middle of the hallway was an unsociable idea, Harry tripped over an unfortunately placed stack of books. Before he could land, a long arm swept up beneath his stomach and pulled him towards a rather broad chest.

“Harry.”

Harry closed his eyes. Even without hearing his voice, he could smell his Tom - warm and safe and not at all like the hollow man in the banquet hall. “Tom,” he breathed. Harry turned in his arms and looked up.

From this close, the dark shadows under Tom’s eyes could be seen. Where Harry fair skin was brushed in gold under the summer sun, Tom looked pale and almost unearthly. But one thing was for certain: The smile of relief he shared with Harry now was faint, but absolutely real.

“The clumsiest Quidditch star I have ever known,” The handsome wizard teased.

Harry stood up fully, gently prying himself from Tom’s grip. As his touch disappeared, so did the temporary lapse in sanity. Harry shivered with the sudden desire to scrub his skin. “Thanks,” he muttered. “I can take it from here.”

Tom’s smile turned a little cool. “You can’t bear to touch me, can you? Surely there are more mature ways to reject a profession of love.”

“Of love?” Harry couldn’t believe it. Tom thought that… Myrtle’s murder was an example of love? From behind the pair, a group of first years could be heard chattering as they exited the hall. With a hissed, “Come here,” Harry grabbed the taller boy’s arm and dragged him into an empty classroom and shut the door. The pair looked at each other quietly as the students passed them on the other side of the wall. 

“I’m sorry, Harry.”

Potter blinked. “Sorry? Just like that?”

“I am capable of regret, you know. And I meant what I… Harry, I’ve always loved you. But the way I tried to force your feelings like that was too fast.”

If Harry had been hit by a meteor at that moment, he could not have been more at a loss. “Tom, you’re apologizing because you… confessed too quickly?”

For the first time, Tom’s mask broke. He looked shattered, desperate, confused. Bending his head, he stepped towards Harry. On impulse, Harry moved back towards the door. Tom hesitated. “You can’t even stand to be in the same room as me.”

“You killed Myrtle.”

“Who?” Tom tilted his head. Then he shrugged, as if it didn’t matter, and looked at Harry beseechingly. “You don’t need to be so scared. I promise I’ll go at your pace this time. And I would never hurt you, you know. The basilisk is gone - I felt it disappear. I have a whole new plan that will change the world and there will be…”

“You’re mad,” Harry whispered. The thought hit him hard. 

“Harry-”

“No, I…” Harry opened the door from behind him. “I’m sorry, Tom. I just need some time…”

“More time?” Tom reached right over him and slammed the door shut again. His face was screwed up in anger or anguish, though it was hard to tell which was which. “A week, a month, a year? What is so wrong with loving you, Harry? How long do you need to accept the truth? You need me, Harry. You belong to ME.”

And then Harry’s wand was at Tom’s neck and the dark magic brewing in the air thickened to an almost physical weight. 

“I belong to no one.”

Tom just smiled, “We’ll see about that.”

---

Whether by fate or some other sinister manipulation, Tom and Harry constantly crossed paths throughout the week. And thus school became an interesting routine of cat and mouse. While Tom had insisted he would “take it slow,” he seemed to have misunderstood that his confrontation with Harry after the feast was the icebreaker their relationship needed. If Harry attempted to ignore Tom, the wizard would become… unpredictable. After the first week of one-way greetings, Tom escalated to more violent means for attention. A month into the school year, Weasley landed in the medical ward with over a hundred stings from a pixie that Harry suspected was somehow controlled by Tom. Eventually, Harry resolved to keep his interactions as limited as possible to avoid bloodshed.

“Good evening, Harry,” Tom would greet.

“Tom,” Harry would greet back shortly.

“Murderer,” Weasley would say cheerfully.

“Muggle-lover,” Bellatrix would hiss.

And so it went.

As the seasons changed from Fall to Winter, a chill crept into the castle and nipped at the dark edges of the corridors. Most of the students kept to the warmly lit main hall and lounge areas where a thrum of quiet excitement began to build towards  the holiday season. Green boughs of holly hung in handsome extravagance from every common area. Some of the mischievous 6th-Years had magicked mistletoe to appear above students’ heads and chirp “Now, kiss!” If the unfortunate couple tried to walk away, it would effectively chase them back to each other and then circle them until they gave in to its demands before it would giggle madly and disappear. The poor caretaker, Mr. Apollyon Pringle, had yet to figure out how to break the spell.

Today, the mistletoe had found its newest victim - a handsome young wizard with obsidian eyes smiled cooly at a fawning younger witch with wild, curly hair. Tom was just about to turn around when the giggling plant appeared in his path, chirping at him to turn around and kiss the girl. Vaguely annoyed, Tom ignored it and turned the other way, only for the mistletoe to appear in his way again.

Behind him, Bellatrix blushed brightly and said, “We- we better do as it says. It’ll be faster that way.”

To her disappointment, Tom simply flicked his wand so quickly Bellatrix almost missed the action. With a soft light, the chirping plant caught aflame and began to scream horribly as it wasted away into ashes. The pair watched it tremble and die mutely, one with apathy, one with a twisted grin of awe. 

“You’re incredible, Tom, “ Bellatrix swooned.

“Focus, Bellatrix. Do you remember what I need you to do tomorrow? We are so close to the end now.”

“Of-of course! I’ve been sucking up to that dumb old bat for the last month, and he’s agreed to twenty unicorns in addition to our sacrifice-” Bellatrix quieted when Tom held a finger to his lips and then glanced to the side. A group of young Hufflepuffs had come around the corner to this uncommonly-used corridor and were scurrying down the hall, obviously lost. With pursed lips, Tom grabbed the witch’s wrist and pulled her around the corner to a cold, forgotten hallway. The hall was so unused that even the warming spells placed around Hogwarts seemed to neglect that space, leaving Tom and Bellatrix hunched together in the foreboding silence. The Hufflepuffs rushed past them, giving the drafty hall a wide berth.

Tom and Bellatrix leaned close to each other - the young witch’s back was up against the wall, and the much taller wizard leaned over her, one hand still wrapped silkily around her wrist. In any other world, the position might have been romantic. But as dearly as Bellatrix wished it so, she knew better. With a quiet voice, Tom drilled Bellatrix once again on everything she needed to complete before the night of the winter solstice.  There was only one shot at this - and it was imperative that everything go as planned. 

“And the sacrifice?” Bellatrix asked. Her pupils were blown as wide as saucers. In reply, the Heir of Slytherin simply handed her a note with three words. Bellatrix stared at the note until her hand began to shake. Quickly, she ripped it into shreds and threw it out the window.

In the dark, the only thing you could see of her leader was the handsome curve of his lips. “I trust you, Bellatrix Black.”

It was like a world opened anew. “Of course, Tom,” She simpered. “You will get everything you want.”

Dismissed, the young witch rushed into the noticeably warmer hall so quickly she almost bumped into another student. Still caught up in her delirium, she barely looked his way before picking up the hem of her robe and hurrying away.

The student was left staring after her with narrowed eyes. Without turning around, the wizard frowned. “What are you up to, Riddle?”

Tom chuckled and walked up to the boy. Shamelessly, Tom delighted in being allowed to approach his person from such an accessible angle. The untrainable black hair, the vulnerable swatch of skin at the base of his neck, the proud line of his back… “How do you always know where I am, Potter?” 

Harry whirled around, green eyes ablaze. “You’ve got the sixth and seventh-year Slytherins practically bowing your way, along with several of the professors. You’re skipping classes, talking in hushed tones in empty corridors, stealing unicorns? It’s like you’re preparing for war. Please tell me you’re not-”

For the first time all year, Tom laughed loudly. So clever, his little Gryffindor. “It wasn’t too long ago that you wanted nothing to do with me. It’s lovely to hear that I’ve caught your attention-”

“Don’t you dare treat this like a romantic relationship,” Harry spat. “After what you did.”

Tom composed himself quickly, posturing with a sober expression. “And I’m very sorry for that. You know I am. I only meant that it’s nice that you aren’t avoiding me, as close as we are. Or we once were.”

Harry twitched. “I know you want to do something on the full moon of the winter solstice. You need moonlight… And a sacrifice… And a bunch of stuff that shouldn’t be legal. Just tell me what you’re planning, Tom. Why are you doing this? Is it dark magic?”

“Eavesdropping, are we Potter?”

“As if you don’t send your lackeys to stalk me about, reporting my every movement to you. And unlike you, I’m not planning world domination with Bellatrix Black.” Harry winced at how jealous he sounded, but fortunately, Tom didn’t seem to notice. Instead, Harry’s oldest friend was looking at him with an indiscernible expression.

“Oh, Harry.” Tom smiled and started walking away. “If I thought you would join me, I would show you everything.”

Harry froze. There was something big coming; he couldn’t let Tom leave like this. Forcing himself to act calm, Harry leaned against the desk and rested his palms to his sides. “I’m listening,”  he called out.

A cautious sliver of excitement lit his black eyes ablaze, and Riddle turned back to gaze at the smaller wizard.

Before the bomb at Mr.Wilke’s study, before Tom entered the halls of Hogwarts, before everything… There was just Tom and his Harry. Back then, the younger boy was a real thorn in Tom’s side, as dearly as he loved him. The naive child insisted on protecting the other orphans from his older friend - sometimes even resorting to deception to get his way. Unfortunately for the emerald-eyed child, deception was not his strong suit. He had a tell when he was attempting manipulation - the muscles near his lower left mandible would flinch, causing the pudgy cherub cheeks to dimple slightly there. And now, almost a decade later, there it was again - creasing the soft skin of Harry’s cheek. 

Even so… Hope was a treacherous lure. 

“Okay,” Tom said.

 With a flick of his wand, Tom conjured a spiral of dust, pebbles, and twigs that eventually turned into two clans of twig people fighting on a classroom table. One clan, apparently meant to represent the wizards, used mini wands that sparked streaks of light blue and green tinted spurts of dust. The clan that represented the muggles hid from the dust behind a tank made of pebbles and twigs. A quiet whistle resounded in the empty classroom, and a pebble blasted out of the “tank” and smashed into two or three “wizards”, blasting them into pieces. Fallen twig people rolled off the table and plummeted to the ground in pieces. Quickly, it became obvious that the “wizards” were losing badly, with several “wizards” seeming to mourn the loss of their peers, falling to their knees and crying squeaky little cries.

“Rather pathetic, isn’t it? The state of the world today. But now, imagine this…” Tom waved his wand over the scene tenderly. The muggle clan was caught up in a gentle wind that cradled them onto the next table over. For a moment, the two clans stared at each other. A few “wizards” cast a spurt of dust at the enemy clan, only to see it fall short due to the distance of the tables. The “muggles” launched a pebble from their “tank”, and it didn’t even make it halfway across the gap. Separated with no way to reach or compete with each other, the muggles and wizards seemed content to begin rebuilding their lives on their respective tables.

It took a moment to sink in. “You’re what- Apparating muggles to a new country?”

“More like a separate plane of existence.” Tom smiled as one of the twig wizards materialized a twig baby on the first table, drawing a round of cheers from the surrounding twig wizards.

“Impossible,” Potter breathed. “No such thing exists - you’d have to fabricate an entirely parallel universe yourself. And create a sentient magical artifact that will continuously pull the magic into this world and the non-magic into that world.”

“Not impossible,” Tom corrected calmly. “And even better, I’m already mostly there. This is a sustainable solution that draws on the existing laws of the universe. In the same way mixing oil and water will automatically lead to segregation due to their innate density, so too can we convince nature to employ a similar law for the magical and non-magical.”

“You could tear families apart,” Harry murmured aloud, thinking of his muggleborn classmates.

“I’d be bringing our people home,” Tom asserted. The wind whistled around them. “We already exist on two planes of existence, in a sense. There’s the wizarding world of magic, wonder, and power. And there’s the muggle world of science, technology, and progression. The fine lines where our two worlds overlap have caused the greatest war in human history.”

Tom flicked his wand. All of the little twig people in his spell fell to the ground simultaneously, squealing shrilly before becoming silent.

Harry glared at the broken twig people. “Think this through, Tom. There are wizard children you would be taking from muggle parents-”

“Would you rather they die?” Tom interrupted. “Because that is the fate you promise them. I guarantee no death, no war, no torment. I guarantee the opportunity for every human to keep their future - granted they do not go against me, of course. This spell will simply relocate all muggles to an absolutely equal, parallel plane of existence. They will be left with everything their own - governments, systems, people. It will be as if magic has never existed in their world, which should consequently be an unnoticed change in their lives.”

This proposal was tempting. Separate, but equal. 

Riddle smiled when he saw the hesitation in his friend’s eyes. “If you really want to stop me, come see me tomorrow night at Hogsmeade. Ask for ‘the strongest love potion’. He’ll take you straight to me.”

“I’ll think about it.” That was the best Harry could do.