The Lost and the Found

The Lost and the Found

*****

Tom was a man possessed.

Not truly, of course, no being would be foolish enough to attempt to possess Tom, but he could not eat, sleep, even think.

And it was all God damned Harry Potter’s fault.

It started ten years ago when eight year old orphan, Harry Potter, arrived at Wool’s Orphanage. Tom, whose every bedmate had been scared away, was forced once again to let someone in his space. Tom stayed polite when the matron told him he would be sharing his too small room with a new boy, but he was seething on the inside.

It was Tom’s room.

It was Tom’s blanket on the bed and Tom’s things in the wardrobe.

The new boy would cry to be moved after a night or two, but it was Tom who would have to suffer him touching Tom’s things in the meantime.

When Harry Potter was brought to Tom, Tom breathed sharply. Harry had thick black hair, like Tom. Harry was rather short and skinny, like Tom. Their eyes were different - Tom’s were a dark brown while Harry’s were a bright green, but they looked something alike.

Tom interrogated the other boy, asking him if he knew of anyone named Marvolo or Riddle, but Harry shook his head and claimed that he knew no one by the name. It was disappointing, Tom thought - maybe —

But no.

Just because Tom was special didn’t mean that Harry Potter was.

Tom waited until Harry’s breathing turned even that night to begin driving him away. It was the same trick that worked a dozen times before. It was just far-fetched enough of a story that the matron could never punish Tom for it either. If the old lady punished Tom with the closet or switch then she would have to admit that she believed Tom could control snakes.

“Are you there?” Tom hissed in the darkness after his bedmate was asleep.

There were two snakes that visited Tom every night. Tom called them Marvolo and Marvala. They were harmless, unfortunately, but nobody else could stand feeling them crawling across their body.

When Tom called for his pets again, he finally heard them slithering through the hole in his floor. Tom couldn’t see them in the dark, but he felt better knowing they were there.

“Choke the boy,” Tom ordered in a quiet hiss. “Don’t kill him, only scare him.”

Tom expected Marvolo to crawl up on the bed and wrap himself around Harry’s neck. Marvolo would squeeze just enough to wake Harry and scare him, but not kill him. Tom would surely be blamed if Harry was found dead in his bed.

Tom was usually blamed for everything; they just couldn’t prove it.

“If you choke me I will cut your head off.”

Tom’s dreams of having his room to himself again disappeared with the sleepy hiss from the boy beside him. Tom flipped on his side to squint at Harry and he found round green eyes glaring at him.

“Be nice, Tom,” Harry whispered harshly.

Tom’s jaw dropped and those three words became the words that Harry repeated to Tom constantly over the years.

When the orphanage went out to the seaside and Tom talked Amy and Dennis into exploring the caves with him, Harry said it again.

“Be nice, Tom,” Harry whispered, holding Tom’s hand to keep from tripping over the rocks. Tom wouldn’t hold anyone else’s hand, but Harry was just as special as Tom so Tom made a special exception for him.

“I’m always nice,” Tom said with a very nice smile.

Harry rolled his eyes but Tom could make him laugh by poking his side. It was hard to be mad at Tom when he was laughing.

Tom laughed too when Amy tripped and fell, cutting her hand on a rock outside the cave, and Harry quit laughing. Tom laughed again when they were inside the cave and he called for any snakes nearby to attack Amy and Dennis.

Amy and Dennis were cruel and mean. They were always trying to get Tom in trouble with the matron. Tom had to spend an entire night in the closet when Amy said he tried to kill a rabbit outside. Tom had only been curious about what was inside the rabbit - could Tom really see the moment the rabbit died? would it be scared? could animals cry? Tom couldn’t, did that make him an animal? - but stupid Amy only saw cute white fluff and got to keep it as a pet.

Tom was going to make Amy regret getting him in trouble and then he was going to take the rabbit back. It had been his first, Amy had no right to take it.

It was Tom’s.

Tom’s laughs weren’t as loud as Amy and Dennis’ cries when he made the cave go all the way dark. The snakes tangled themselves up the other children’s bodies and Tom encouraged them to pull the kids toward the water that was so dark it seemed bottomless.

“Tom, stop it,” Harry whispered. Tom looked over and saw that Harry was pale and shaking while Amy and Dennis screamed.

“Dennis hit you,” Tom reminded Harry.

It had been for no good reason either. Harry saw Dennis and the other boys playing ball and asked if he could play. Dennis said yes but then he hit Harry in the stomach with their stupid baseball and laughed.

Tom stole the baseball that night and told Harry that he could have it. Harry had seemed happy enough about it, so Tom didn’t know why he was being a baby then.

Amy screamed really loudly when the snakes pulled her off the safety of the path and she fell in the water with a splash. Tom looked over at her and wished he could just… if Tom could control her then he would make her drown herself and save everyone else from having to listen to her loud mouth.

As if Tom’s very wishes were being granted by some force that understood revenge, Amy threw herself backwards in the water. Tom pulled Harry forward with his eyes on Amy’s splashing form, ignoring where Dennis was being suffocated by the snakes wrapped around him.

“You deserve this,” Tom whispered, enraptured by the sight of Amy thrashing in the water, held down only by Tom’s power. “I hate you,” he added for Amy.

Tom hated her so much. Tom hated that the matron always believed Amy and never Tom. Tom hated that all the girls followed Amy around like she was the leader of their stupid group.

Amy wasn’t smart or pretty. Amy wasn’t interesting or special.

Tom was all of those things. Why didn’t anyone believe him or want to follow him around?

Amy’s body began to go slack in the water and Dennis was hardly making any sound at all. The only sounds Tom could hear were the waves splashing on the walls, his own heart pounding loudly in excitement, and…

Tom looked over and saw proof of what he could hear. Harry was crying loudly and trying to pull his hand from Tom’s. Tom must have been holding it tightly without noticing it because he released Harry then and Harry fell backwards and landed on his back.

“WHY CAN’T YOU BE NICE?!” Harry screamed at Tom with his face twisted up in misery. “JUST BE NICE, TOM!”

Tom called the snakes off Dennis with a quiet command and he gave Amy control of her own body again with a wave of his hand. Tom took a step toward Harry, much more interested in his bedmate then.

Harry looked scared when Tom knelt down beside him, but he didn’t scoot away. Tom slowly reached out and Harry closed his eyes when Tom’s fingers touched his cheek.

“You’re crying,” Tom said, feeling the wet tears for himself. Tom brought his fingers to his mouth and dabbed them on his tongue, tasting what fear was.

Fear was salty, like the water Amy should have died in.

Harry helped Tom get Amy and Dennis back to the group with the others. Tom said that he and Harry followed Amy and Dennis when they ran off to kiss in a cave. It was all easily explained - Amy fell in the water and when Dennis tried to help her, he got tangled up in vines and seaweed.

The matron glared at Tom when he told her his story, but it didn’t matter. Amy and Dennis didn’t disagree or tattle. They didn’t say anything at all, actually.

It was a nice change.

But then Harry quit talking to Tom and that wasn’t nice at all.

Tom tried to get Harry to talk to him by poking him to make him laugh, hissing quietly in the snake language they shared, and even by offering to read one of Anne’s story books aloud to him. Harry wanted Tom to be nice and Tom was being nice.

When that didn’t work, because being nice was stupid, Tom came up with a new plan.

Tom found Harry on the front lawn on the orphanage, his eyes hungry while they watched the other boys play ball without him again. Tom saw the ball clutched in Harry’s two hands and knew that Harry wanted to play with the other boys.

But Harry was Tom’s friend and it was time for him to start playing with Tom again.

“Hey, come here.” Tom grabbed Harry’s elbow and pulled on it, wanting Harry to pay attention to him. “I have to show you something.”

Harry let Tom pull him around back, toward the barn, without saying a single word. The barn wasn’t used for anything other than whipping the bigger boys who made a ruckus during it. The workers at the orphanage better hope they never try to whip Tom in a barn because he would make them regret it.

The barn wasn’t too dark though with the sunlight filtering through the windows. It was dusty, dirty, and Tom only cared about the one thing hanging in the center of the barn, just above the whipping stump.

Harry made a sad noise when he saw Amy’s stupid rabbit hanging from a rope. The rabbit was twitching and panicking, Tom liked seeing how it kicked its back legs as if it could out run the rope around its neck.

Tom left Harry inside the door of the barn and walked over to the rabbit. Tom ran his hand gently over the rabbit’s white fur while he watched Harry to see if he would cry again.

“If I pull on the rope, the rabbit will be dead,” Tom told Harry. Harry watched the rabbit struggle to live while Tom waited to see Harry cry.

“I won’t do it if you’ll be my friend again,” Tom said. “You’re special too. We don’t need those stupid boys and their games. We can make our own games.”

Their games wouldn’t be boring and nobody could keep them on the sidelines. Everyone would want to play with them and they wouldn’t let them. Or maybe they would, but only if they followed the rules Tom and Harry would make.

Tom waited for Harry to make up his mind. It didn’t take long before Tom could see Harry swallow hard and nod.

“I’ll be your friend again,” Harry whispered, still looking at the rabbit.

“Are you sorry for ignoring me?”

Harry’s eyes snapped up to meet Tom’s and Tom didn’t even blink. Friends weren’t supposed to ignore each other and Harry needed to apologize.

“No, I’m not,” Harry said rudely. “You ignored me when I asked you to be nice.”

Tom slowly pulled on the rope, tightening the noose he made around the rabbit’s neck. A noose was hard to make, it had taken Tom three tries to get it right. The rabbit squealed and kicked harder and faster and Tom touched it’s small chest to feel it’s heart racing beneath his fingers.

The rabbit was so tiny and weak. Tom could take away its life or let it live. All the power was in Tom’s hands and it couldn’t even beg him for mercy.

It made Tom feel giddy.

“I’M SORRY!” Harry finally yelled as he ran up to try and grab the rabbit. “I’m sorry! Please, don’t!”

Tom loosened the knot and let Harry catch the rabbit in his hands. The rabbit got to live because Tom let it, not because of anyone else butting in and tattling.

“We can play ball,” Tom offered Harry kindly. Harry was cradling the rabbit in his hands, whispering silly little things it couldn’t even understand. “Go get your ball and we’ll play catch.”

Harry chewed on his lower lip when he looked up at Tom and held the rabbit a little closer to his chest.

“You won’t hurt the bunny?” Harry asked.

“I said I wouldn’t,” Tom huffed. “I’m not a liar.”

“Okay…” Harry still carried the rabbit to the barn door and set it down carefully before he ran off to fetch his ball. Tom stepped outside and looked down.

The rabbit had only taken a few weak steps toward the patch of trees that the other kids were always climbing. Tom tilted his head to the side while he watched the rabbit. Tom stood on tiptoes to make sure that Harry couldn’t see him before he crouched down to touch the rabbits chest.

It had been exhilarating holding all the power over it, but Tom had a different kind of rush when he snapped the rabbit’s neck and got to feel the final few beats of its heart.

Technically, Tom didn’t hurt the bunny, he killed the rabbit.

After the old man left Tom and Harry’s room, Tom exploded.

“HE CAUGHT OUR STUFF ON FIRE!” Tom yelled. Nobody could hear him, that was a neat trick that Harry learned.

Tom could make people do what he wanted, Harry could make a room soundproof. Tom could start fires, Harry could make water. Tom could make people hurt, Harry could mend scabbed knees and broken noses. They did it with nothing more than their hands.

Dumbledore was a weak old man with a wand who would pay for tricking Tom when he burned their wardrobe. It made Tom twice as mad when Dumbledore told Harry that he knew his parents but he didn’t know Tom’s. Tom demanded he tell the truth, but he wouldn’t budge. Tom was just as powerful as Harry, more even, so if Harry’s parents were a witch and wizard then Tom’s had to be too.

“We’re magic,” Harry whispered, staring at his hands with little stars in his eyes. “Wizards, that’s what he called us.”

Tom liked that part too. Tom liked that Dumbledore seemed afraid when Tom slipped up and mentioned what all they could do. If Dumbledore was already afraid of them then it meant that they really were already better than any of the other students he visited.

“Let’s go get supplies,” Tom said after carefully replacing his trophies in the wardrobe. Each trophy held a certain memory—

The yo-yo was Charlie’s, a gift from the farmer who paid him to clean his horse stalls.

The thimble was Allison’s and Tom had it halfway down her throat after she called him the devil before he got caught.

And the harmonica used to belong to Ronnie. Ronnie kept showing off, making everyone follow him around while he played it.

Ronnie couldn’t play it after Tom cut his tongue off, but Tom could play it. Tom could learn to play the harmonica and then everyone would like him too.

Tom kept a hold of Harry’s hand when they went to the magic village for the first time. They both had a pocket of gold from the charity Dumbledore told them about and Tom made sure they got everything on their list before they looked at anything else.

Harry wanted a pet and Tom tried to explain that they didn’t have enough money to buy one.

“I know.” Harry made a sad face while he stroked the wings of a white owl. “I just… I like this one and she likes me too. And,” Harry’s sad face got even sadder, “it’s my birthday.”

Tom shooed Harry out of the store and distracted him in the sweets shop when he told Harry he could pool the rest of their money to buy sweets. Tom didn’t like sweets, they made his stomach ache, but Harry did.

While Harry was busy, Tom crept back to the pet store. He lingered outside until the shop was empty of anyone but the shopkeeper. The man who ran the shop was harder to control than Mary or Amy had been, but easier than Harry, who never did what Tom tried to make him do.

It took some time, but Tom was able to surprise Harry with the white owl from the shop for his birthday. The practice alone made it a worthy trip, but Tom liked it when Harry smiled at him as if Tom was the best part of his whole life.

Tom was.

Tom knew he was because he worked hard to be the best part of Harry’s life. It got easier the older Tom got… as long as Tom was nice around Harry then Harry would follow Tom around and only play with him.

And then Harry ruined everything by going to stupid Hufflepuff when they agreed on the train that they should be in Slytherin! Slytherin was the house of snakes, Tom and Harry could talk to snakes! It was the only place for them!

“I asked for Slytherin,” Harry told Tom at breakfast the first day of classes. Tom was sitting by himself at the Slytherin table, jotting down a list of all the things he needed to learn immediately in his journal.

Mudblood. Pureblood. Magical ancestry.

Mudblood sounded like an insult when Rosier sneered it at Tom, but Tom wasn’t a mudblood. He just knew it. Pureblood was what Malfoy called himself loudly, like he was proud of it, but Malfoy couldn’t do anything special, not like Tom.

“Go sit with your yellow oafs,” Tom sniffed, still angry that Harry went to the wrong house. “I’m busy, Potter.”

Harry looked sad when he trudged back to his table and Tom glared at him as he went. They weren’t supposed to be separated. And… Tom watched as some boy bigger than most of the adults handed Harry a plate of food, making Harry smile… they weren’t supposed to make other friends.

But Tom had bigger things to worry about, like what a mudblood was and how to find his parents. Tom also had to find a way to sleep… Tom had shared a bed with Harry for three years. It was too cold and drafty in the dungeon by himself, surrounded only by boys who didn’t like Tom and who laughed at his robes he had to buy used.

Tom sent one last subtle glare at the Hufflepuff table before getting back to his work.

Stupid Harry.

Tom sat quietly in the library in October, his eyes moving quickly as he scanned page after page of the text he read.

It was all about—

“… a Parslemouth?”

Tom’s head snapped up at a quiet whisper of a Parslemouth. Tom was a Parslemouth, Harry was a Parslemouth. Salazar Slytherin had been a Parslemouth.

Tom had plans of revealing that to his housemates in a careful and controlled way. All Tom wanted was to be acknowledged as someone important, someone powerful.

And Tom wanted to see Abraxas Malfoy, Thaddeus Nott, and Orion Black to choke on their tongues. Those three thought they were so special, so clever.

They weren’t.

Tom was special. Tom was clever.

Harry was special too, but he wasn’t very clever. The teachers all liked him, Tom could tell. Tom saw Professor Dumbledore winking merrily at Harry in class, he never winked at Tom, but Slughorn never told everyone how Harry’s potions were some of the best he had ever seen either.

Tom carefully marked his page in his book and stood up to follow where the discussion on Parsletongue was happening. Tom walked on silent feet through the bookshelves until he could peek between them.

At a cozy little table with only two chairs sat Harry, all bundled up in a red Gryffindor cap and scarf, with pink cheeks and a garden snake slithering around his hands. Beside him sat Alphard Black, Walburga Black’s younger brother.

Walburga was a year older than Tom and a Slytherin, she was related to everyone and looked down her nose at Tom for ‘being a mudblood’ and orphan. Tom didn’t know anything about her brother except that he was the only Black in recent history to go to Gryffindor, something Orion said the night of sorting, and that he was a disgrace.

Tom agreed wholeheartedly.

Alphard shared a resemblance with Walburga with his thick hair that curled in soft waves. They had the same shaped face, upturned nose, and grey eyes. That was where the resemblance ended though, as Tom had never seen Walburga smile like how Alphard was smiling at Harry.

All of Alphard’s teeth were on display and Tom thought about yanking them out, one at a time.

Harry hissed little sweet things to the snake and Tom glared at how Alphard chuckled and gushed over Harry’s power.

“I wonder if you’re related to Salazar!” Alphard said to Harry while the snake was crawling back and forth on their hands, twisting in their fingers and making them laugh.

“I dunno,” Harry said, his smile slowly slipping away until he was frowning. “I - I don’t really know much about my family. Except Tom.” Harry brightened up and smiled nicely at Alphard again. “Have you met Tom? He’s, er… well, he’s mad at me right now, but he’s basically the only family I have.”

“Riddle? In Slytherin?” Alphard laughed when Harry nodded. “Anyone that my family hates and you like has to be a blast! Oh! You think he wants to go fly with us tomorrow?”

“Maybe!” Harry cried eagerly.

Tom curled his lip up and turned away from them when their talk turned to brooms.

Alphard’s family hated Tom? Really? And Harry was just - just going to sit there and do nothing about it? Harry called Tom family but he didn’t treat him like family.

If Tom had a family then he would make sure the people who hated them weren’t a problem. And since Tom didn’t have a family to do it for him, Tom went to do it himself.

Tom went out to the forest first and waited around the fringes to find a snake that would work for him. Garden snakes were common, safe, boring.

Nobody would be impressed with a garden snake except for someone as dumb as Alphard Black. Alphard wasn’t even smart enough to go to Slytherin with his family, it was no wonder he and Harry were… friends.

It took a while, Tom had missed dinner by the time he found what he wanted.

“Come with me,” Tom hissed at the black and white patterned adder snake that tried slithering through the leaves silently. The adder turned to look at Tom and he had to use some of his power he had to make snakes not only hear him, but do as he said.

“I said… come with me.”

The adder began sliding toward Tom and he smiled for the first time since arriving at Hogwarts.

Tom walked through the doors to the Slytherin common room with the venomous snake wrapped around his neck, it’s head harmlessly laying on Tom’s shoulder. It took until Tom walked from one end of the common room to the other, but it was the snob Abraxas that noticed first.

And when Tom began speaking to the adder, acting as if it were responding with anything other than complaints of hunger, nobody dared call Tom a mudblood again.

The rest of Tom’s first year at Hogwarts was much more enjoyable than the first month and half had been. Tom’s housemates were much nicer, Thaddeus even sent him a book of every magical family in Europe for Christmas. When Tom found the family he had to be related to, it was Harry that he ran to with the information.

All of Harry’s mishaps with going to Hufflepuff, being friends with the giant boy, Hagrid, and the disgrace, Alphard, were forgiven then.

Harry was as excited as Tom was when they were able to trace Tom’s lineage to Marvolo Gaunt - surely his daughter Merope was Tom’s mother? - and from there, straight to Slytherin himself. Harry’s family was on there too, traced clear back to the same Peverell’s that Tom was related to, but Harry was a half-blood.

“My father had to be a wizard,” Tom said fervently. “He just has to be.”

Harry of everyone knew how much Tom wanted to find his father. His mother - Merope - had died, just… some common death? It made no sense. Tom sometimes thought that he was too powerful, powerful enough that it killed his mother to give birth to him. But power like that had to come from his father.

“Alphard said we could visit his house this summer,” Harry said as he squeezed Tom’s hand and smiled. “Maybe he can help us find your father?”

“No!” Tom had snapped at Harry and glared him down until Harry understood how serious he was. “We tell no one, Harry! They - it’s just for us,” Tom insisted.

If Tom’s father wasn’t a wizard, Tom would be no better than Harry. And then all the work he put in with his housemates would be for nothing. Tom couldn’t be the best if everyone called him mudblood and orphan and a loser. It didn’t matter if Tom could trace his mother clear back to Salazar Slytherin, Tom’s father had to be just as special or else his housemates would hate him again.

Harry agreed to keep it between them and Tom said they could be friends again after he made Harry apologize.

By the end of the year, Tom had secured an invitation to Walburga Black’s home while Harry was invited to visit Alphard. Their house wasn’t too far from the orphanage, but it gave Tom and Harry the problem of clothes.

Tom would not show up in snobby Walburga’s house in his secondhand robes or shabby muggle clothes. Harry said that it ‘didn’t matter if they were their friends’ but Harry was… stupid.

Tom was not stupid, Tom was a genius. And so it was Tom who led Harry to Knockturn Alley during the days for the first month of summer, finding odd jobs. Harry ran errands for Borgin at his shop, Harry had the sort of face that didn’t get stopped often while he carried suspiciously shaped packages. Tom made more money than Harry though, as he accompanied him on some trips and swiped trinkets that he sold at Borgin’s shop.

Borgin was a stingy bastard, but Tom and Harry only had to work for a month to earn enough to buy nice clothes and robes. Harry wanted trainers, Tom made him buy boots. Harry wanted to save their gold for schoolbooks, Tom wouldn’t go cheap on clothes.

Hogwarts had their charity fund the boys could use on books and supplies. The money they had was theirs, they earned it. Tom wouldn’t waste it on the supplies that should be provided for students anyway.

Tom and Harry spent two weeks at the Black home in Belgravia. Tom spent his time soaking in the culture, the cleanliness, the very air that was so different from the orphanage. Tom spent time with Walburga’s older brother, Cygnus Black, the one who graduated Hogwarts the year before Tom started and who was working beneath the new Minister of Magic, Minister Spencer-Moon.

Tom and Cygnus discussed the muggle war, the one that recruited muggle children and then used them as canon fodder. Cygnus was as disgusted by it as Tom and the two of them got along like a gasoline fire.

Harry was an embarrassment while they were there. Harry ran around with Alphard, flying in the back gardens and talking about swing music. Harry and Alphard made their owls race in the garden and they could be heard hollering like brats from clear in the parlor. Tom could just tell that Pollux and Irma didn’t like Harry, they pinched their faces up at him just as they did their middle son.

Tom tried to tell Harry that he was making a mess of everything Tom tried to do, but Harry didn’t seem to understand it.

“What are you trying to do?” Harry asked when they laid in the bed they shared in the Black home. They each had a room, but Tom slept better when he knew Harry was beside him.

Harry was a menace to Tom when Tom wasn’t supervising him, who knew what he would do to embarrass him if he didn’t watch him?

“I’m making important people like us,” Tom said with an air of superiority. “You should do the same.”

Harry grinned and tucked them more securely in the blanket.

“I don’t care if people like me, they don’t seem very nice anyway.”

Harry was such a child. Even if Tom was only seven months older than Harry, he felt years older. Harry just acted like such a kid sometimes.

All he cared about was niceness, as if being nice had saved his parents or Tom’s. As if being nice had kept them from being tossed in an orphanage or called devil spawn. Nobody lived longer just because they were nice. All the older boys dying in the war were probably plenty nice - and they died anyway. They were nice and dead and blown to pieces until they were just forgotten about as casualties of war.

Tom didn’t want to be nice and forgettable and if Harry didn’t stop acting like a kid, then he would be one of those forgettable names in the future.

The boys’ second year at Hogwarts felt grim and quiet. There were students missing, big gaps in tables and solemn faces in the sparsely filled stands for quidditch.

And Tom only attended those matches because Harry joined the Hufflepuff Team and it made Abraxas furious. Harry was a terrific flier and Slytherin wanted to win the Quidditch Cup. Abraxas begrudgingly called Harry a ‘decent seeker’ which Tom knew was code for ‘extraordinary’.

It was during a match between Hufflepuff and Gryffindor that Tom saw proof of Harry’s own extraordinariness.

Harry was pretty when he flew. He got all excited and shiny until he was the only person worth watching in the air. Harry outshined them all with his speed and smiles.

Harry was a winner too, he outraced Alphard and caught the golden snitch that Tom’s fingers never could clutch just right.

Tom sat in the stands that day and felt a fierce rush of — mine — the same urge that led him to steal the yoyo and the harmonica.

Harry was pretty and precious and Tom’s.

Alphard Black didn’t seem to understand that Harry belonged to Tom.

All year while Tom was distracted by a variety of problems - finding Slytherin’s Chamber that Thaddeus said was open to only his Heir, researching any Riddle or Tom to ever step foot in Hogwarts, and watching as the muggleborns and half-bloods were called to the war - Harry only seemed to care about Alphard.

They fought about it once, in front of Tom’s group of… acquaintances. Harry was Tom’s only friend, and only because Harry knew too much about Tom to not have his own separate label. But Harry was being an idiot and when he came to Tom with his group and his complaints, Tom told him so.

“Oi!” Harry had his fists clenched at his sides and glared past Tom at Walburga. Rubeus Hagrid stood half a step behind Harry and Alphard was beside him with no love lost as he scowled darkly at his sister.

“Harry,” Tom said pleasantly, closing the book he borrowed from Professor Slughorn. Tom and the other Slytherin students had been discussing Abraham Walter, a sixth year Ravenclaw who turned in his perfect badge and left Hogwarts to join the war happening outside the castle.

Harry did not seem as if he were in the mood for pleasant greetings or discussion on the fairness of drafting wizards for a muggle war though. Harry looked furious and Tom tilted his head in curiosity at what would cause him to look that way.

“What’s happened?” Tom asked him.

Harry had his jaw clenched and he glared at Walburga while he answered Tom.

“That - that twit took Rubeus’s toad!” Harry cried, immediately embarrassing Tom.

While Tom had always worked hard to keep from falling in the accent that marked him as a common boy from London, Harry never bothered. It had been embarrassing over the summer and was worse with the likes of Malfoy and Nott snickering at Harry beside Tom.

“It’s a toad,” Tom said slowly, his eyes flashing with a warning for Harry. Tom couldn’t care less what Walburga did, certainly not anything to do with a toad.

“His name’s Jimminy,” Hagrid said as he twisted his fingers anxiously in front of him. “He ain’t hurt no one and he’ll be gettin’ hungry soon.”

“Will he?” Walburga asked coolly with an even cooler smirk. “Exodus will be getting hungry as well. I hope, what did you call him? Ah, Jimminy,” Walburga sneered the name and the others snickered, “I hope he can hop faster than Exodus can fly.”

Tom smiled down at his lap. He didn’t know where the toad came from when Walburga locked it in with her family’s Eagle that morning, but it was surely dead by then. Tom wanted to watch the iron claws of the eagle tear the toad open and spill its blood and string out its tiny organs. Classes had beckoned though and Tom had to wait until after dinner to see what was left of the toad.

“You - you’re a monster!” Harry cried, his hand on Hagrid’s giant arm. Tom looked up and grimaced at the fat tears leaking from Hagrid’s eyes. It was a concept as foreign to Tom as any other; crying.

Tom wouldn’t cry over a toad even if he could.

“Watch yourself,” Walburga spat at Harry with a dark look. “I tolerate you for Tom’s sake, mudblood.”

Tom stiffened and clenched his own hand in his lap until the nails broke skin and drew blood. Damn Harry for putting him in such a position. If Tom defended Harry, it would tie him to… whatever disgrace Harry was. If Tom agreed with Walburga, Harry would make eyes at him and tell him to be nice.

Harry wasn’t going to let Tom say nothing though.

“Tom, really?”

Tom lifted his head and scowled fiercely at Harry.

“Yes, really,” Tom said, mocking Harry just enough to save face. “It’s a toad, Harry, get over it.”

“It’s Rubeus’s pet!” Harry yelled, bringing all sorts of attention to them in the library. “How would you feel if someone killed Hedwig?!”

Harry’s owl? Fine.

Tom would be mildly annoyed that he wasted his time getting the damn thing if it only lasted less than two years, but Tom wouldn’t be screaming about it.

“Forget him,” Alphard told Harry with a hand on his shoulder and sneer for Tom. “He’s as warped as my dear old sister. And the Black madness spreads.”

“You would know about madness, poof,” Abraxas said.

Tom ignored the verbal spat breaking out between his acquaintances and Harry’s while he and Harry had a quietly hissed argument that shortly shut down the other.

“You’re embarrassing me,” Tom said furiously.

“Your friends called me a mudblood and killed his toad,” Harry argued back. “That’s more embarrassing.”

“I do not control them,” Tom hissed.

“You could if you wanted to!” Harry stomped his foot and the others fell silent when they realized Tom and Harry were arguing in Parsletongue. “You know you could, Tom! Why can’t you just be nice?!”

“I AM ALWAYS NICE TO YOU AND WHAT DO YOU DO?” Tom waved a furious hand toward the Black family disgrace and the giant-boy. “YOU HUMILIATE ME BY ASSOCIATING WITH THE WRONG PEOPLE!”

“They are my friends,” Harry said. He curled his lip in a mimic of Tom’s own look of disgust as he eyed Thaddeus, Abraxas, and Walburga. “I’m not the one with the wrong people, Tom.”

Tom stood up and slammed his hands on the table. He tried, he tried until he was red in the face, to control Harry. Tom pushed and pushed and pushed and there was just something wrapped around Harry’s head that would not let him in.

A steel wall of stubbornness.

“If you do that again I will never talk to you,” Harry warned him, recognizing Tom’s moves.

Nobody knew Tom as well as Harry, nobody.

“I hope that starts now,” Tom said. He sneered at Alphard’s hand that was still on Harry’s arm. “Run off with your poof and giant, Potter. I have no need for anyone who causes a scene over a toad.”

“Yeah?” Harry switched to English smoothly and his smile was twisted and mean.

That wasn’t Harry’s smile, it was Tom’s, and Harry should never use it.

“‘I sleep better when you’re here’,” Harry said in Tom’s slow and careful speech. Tom’s face flamed dark red when Alphard laughed loudly.

“‘Is it strange that I never wanted to share my bed with anyone and now I can’t—’”

“Dead,” Tom whispered, the soft and dangerous sound cutting Harry off immediately. Green clashed with brown when Harry looked at him without regret.

“I will kill you,” Tom swore to him.

Tom broke the yoyo, Tom cracked the harmonica.

Tom would kill Harry.

“You can try.” Harry didn’t cower and he didn’t cry. “I’m not a toad and you’re not an eagle, Tom.”

No, Tom wasn’t anything as common as an eagle. Tom was something stronger and more powerful by far.

And while Harry slept that night and Tom laid the shredded organs and bloodied pieces of Hagrid’s toad on the table between Harry and Hagrid, Tom proved it.

Tom pressed his bloodied fingers to the pulse in Harry’s neck and he smiled when he thought of what Harry would wake to.

Blood. Death. Tom’s fingerprints on his neck.

Harry Potter lived because Tom chose to not kill him.

Harry didn’t speak to Tom for the rest of the year.

When summer arrived and it was time for them to work in Knockturn for a while before Tom would be going to stay with Abraxas, Harry still wasn’t speaking to Tom.

“I’ll make my own way,” Harry told him when they left their trunks inside the room they shared in the orphanage. Harry turned and had no smile for Tom at all. “The less I see of you, the better.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Tom lied. Tom raised an eyebrow at the empty cage that Harry usually kept his snowy owl in. “Did you lose your pet?” he asked.

Harry jammed his trunk beneath their bed and huffed at Tom.

“You think I trust you alone with Hedwig?” he asked from where he kneeled on the floor. “You’re crazy, Tom. You left Jimminy on Rubeus’s table and I know you’re the one who strangled Eileen Prince’s cat!”

“Lies,” Tom said evenly. Tom didn’t strangle the black cat of the weird Slytherin girl that stared at him with hollow eyes. Walburga teased Tom, told him that maybe Prince fancied him, and Tom wanted to ensure the weird girl never did anything about it.

And Tom ordered the adder that he kept in his control to strangle the cat. It had amused everyone else in Slytherin at the time, Tom still smiled when he thought of how Prince had cried and sniffled and hated Tom.

“Whatever,” Harry muttered. He straightened up and brushed the dust from his shirt and trousers. “I’m going to meet up with Al. Have a great summer, Tom.”

Tom watched Harry turn his back on him and storm away and Tom felt nothing. He was irritated by Harry’s disrespect, but if Harry wanted to go their separate ways then Tom would allow it for then.

Harry would return, he always did.

And Harry did return.

On August 28th, when Tom was organizing his new supplies to pack away for his third year, the alarms went off.

Harry laid on their bed with a book lazily floating itself above his head and when Harry sat up in a panic, he smacked himself in the face with it.

“What’s that?” Harry asked, the first words he had said all summer. They had staggered their visits so they shared their room only two nights. Tom knew they would have to spend just two more nights in the room before returning to Hogwarts, but the alarms filling their room with a blood-boiling buzzing had other plans.

“Nuclear sirens,” Tom whispered, his skin erupting in goosebumps. There were children screaming, workers trying to organize them out the building. Tom could only look at Harry, Harry at Tom, as they understood the gravity of the situation.

“Tom…” Harry’s voice broke on a terrified whimper and he reached out for Tom. All their fighting and feuding was nonsense, not when they could be dead by morning.

Who cared about Purebloods or Mudbloods when the Germans would burn them in their beds?

Tom couldn’t think, he couldn’t focus on the other children in the orphanage. Tom only took Harry’s hand and kicked their trunks out from beneath the bed. Tom yanked Harry under the bed and held him close. When they both clenched their eyes shut, Tom chanted instructions to Harry.

“We can’t get hurt,” Tom whispered. “Shields, Harry. Impenetrable shields. We can’t die, we can’t.”

“We need to find a shelter,” Harry whispered back, choking up. “Tom, we can’t keep ourselves safe from BLOODY BOMBS!”

“Think!” Tom snapped at him, punching Harry’s side hard. “The closest shelter is under St. Mary’s, do you think we’ll make it? Shields, Harry! We are magic, we can shield ourselves.”

Harry cried, but he finally did as he was told.

They kept themselves alive, but Tom would never understand how.

The bombing began not an hour after the sirens went off and Tom was right to think they wouldn’t make it to a shelter. The first bomb that landed in London set off like an earthquake and shook the four story orphanage hard enough to make Harry scream. There were more screams, other children and workers trapped and hiding in the building.

Tom didn’t care about them. Tom cared about not dying in a pile of ash and becoming one of the unnamed bodies the news would report. Tom cared about keeping Harry by his side and not letting the muggles kill them.

Tom Marvolo Riddle did not die at the hands of the Germans.

After the first bomb, there were more. The next one set off fires that filled the windows with thick black smoke. It was stifling beneath the bed, but they couldn’t leave it.

The next bomb hit the orphanage and Tom actually sweat as he held his magic through the free fall that took them clear to the ground. The rubble fell around them and the boys weren’t crushed, but they were trapped.

For fifty-six days, Tom and Harry were trapped.

For fifty-six days, London was bombed endlessly by the Germans. It was meant to break their morale, cause their troops to surrender.

Why would the troops surrender when they had no homes to return to? No family or friends awaiting their return?

The orphanage fell and only the two wizards survived. Tom had to keep Harry by his side when they crawled through rubble, safe enough in their bubbled shield, to find food. There was twisted metal and broken boards, Tom had Harry summon cans that they sliced open with magic, Tom had to keep them from dying beneath a bomb.

Harry rearranged boards and made them a small dug-out area. Harry had thrown up and swayed when he saw the dead body of a child, one that had lived in the orphanage. Tom didn’t look, didn’t care. Tom kept one hand on Harry and all of his focus on survival.

They rationed the food they could summon, Harry cried. They felt the bomb’s blasts shake their bodies, Tom could feel his very bones vibrate.

And they talked.

For fifty-six days, Tom exhausted himself magically while he and Harry talked and talked to keep their minds off the death and destruction happening around them, on top of them. Harry fed Tom tiny bites of canned beans and told him that Alphard got him a broomstick for his birthday. Tom kept Harry from crying while the sirens overwhelmed him and he thought the bombing would never end by talking about Slytherin’s chamber and all the places it was not.

When Tom tried to sleep for an hour at a time, just long enough to recharge some, Harry whispered about magical creatures he wanted to learn about in the upcoming school year. When Harry was humiliated over the body functions they no longer had privacy for, Tom told him he didn’t think his father was a wizard after all.

Tom didn’t think they would live to see the sun shine again, he really didn’t. But on October 23rd, when the bombs stopped for at least one day, the boys were rescued from the rubble by a team of aurors sent out by Hogwarts.

And as much as Tom knew something inside of him changed forever during those fifty-six days, something changed inside Harry too.

Tom and Harry spent three weeks at St. Mungo’s Hospital being fed nutrient potions and given tiny tasks every day to bring them back to strength. Tom kept his charm up perfectly, thanking the healers and shyly accepting the accolades offered to him for the strength it took to keep shields up for so long. Harry was by Tom’s side the entire time, clinging to him and singing his praises.

“Tom kept us alive,” Harry said, one hand bunched in Tom’s shirt.

Professor Dumbledore came once a week to check on them and brought along letters from classmates and baggies of sweets. Tom asked him the first time to bring their homework, but Dumbledore refused.

Tom was still silently seething over that. What did letters and sweets do for Tom’s education? Nothing! Tom didn’t need distracted by letters or to gain a stomach ache from sweets. It felt intentional, that refusal to bring homework. Dumbledore would love it if Tom, who he never seemed to like, fell behind in his studies and looked as oafish and idiotic as Hagrid.

Dumbledore gave Harry a twinkling smile then that, of course, dimmed some when he looked at Tom.

“It was marvelous display of magic, Tom,” Dumbledore said quietly, his eyes searching when they met Tom’s dull ones.

It was a marvelous display of magic. It was possibly the most marvelous display of magic to ever be done by a thirteen year old.

Tom wished that made him happy. Tom wished that when he slept, he had dreams or nightmares or any of the things that made Harry kick and scream at night.

When Tom closed his eyes, all he felt were his bones vibrating and the world ending in smoke and fire. He couldn’t scream, he couldn’t cry, he could only count on himself to see the sunshine again. And Harry.

Tom could count on Harry. Harry didn’t leave him while they were buried under the rubble and he didn’t leave Tom when they were in the hospital. The bombs tore them apart and they were stitched back together as one.

The boys returned to Hogwarts the first week of November and they were treated as heroes by their classmates. All of Tom’s acquaintances wanted to know how he kept shields up for so long, all of Harry’s ‘friends’ kept feeding him treats and thanking Tom.

Tom was quiet when Headmaster Dippet commended him on his power and Harry on his bravery. Tom was quiet when the other Slytherins talked about the war and the muggles that were destroying the world. For months, Tom was quiet.

If everyone thought Tom was traumatized - like Harry - or that he was suffering some long-term psychological effects of the bombing - like Harry - they were wrong.

Inside of Tom was all the fire they tried to burn him with and it was twisting his insides and turning everything to hate.

Tom hated muggles.

Tom wanted to take them all and bomb them, ruin their lives and kill them as they tried to do Tom.

Harry didn’t agree.

When the two of them were sitting outside by the lake and Harry laid against Tom’s side, Tom told Harry what he thought. Harry wrapped his cloak around them both more securely and laid his head on Tom’s shoulder.

“It’s not all muggles,” Harry said quietly. “There’s some bad ones but—”

“Name one good muggle,” Tom challenged him. “The ones who beat you after your parents died? The ones that ran the orphanage? Or the ones that dropped bombs on us?”

Harry had nothing to say to that except the chorus from the song as old as they were.

“Be nice, Tom.”

Tom would not be nice. Tom would burn the muggles to ash and dance in the rubble of their homes.

Tom began finding people who agreed with him the same summer that Harry began calling Tom his boyfriend.

The boys were given a suite in the Black Home that Pollux and Irma insisted they have. When Walburga made a simpering look at Tom behind her mother, Tom only smiled politely.

“Salazar’s descendant in our home,” Irma tittered and made a simpering face similar to her daughter’s. “We’re quite honored.”

“Mmm.” Pollux made a less than pleased face at Harry who held steadfast to Tom’s hand. “Yes, quite honored.”

Tom and Harry found a wardrobe of new clothes in their suite and when Alphard asked Harry to go fly, Harry hesitated too long.

“Go,” Tom said shortly. As much as Tom used to wish that Harry would leave Alphard alone and stay with him always, it was tiring. Harry was weak and needy and wouldn’t listen to Tom’s ideas of using fire against fire for muggles.

Cygnus would.

Tom spent nights he couldn’t sleep puffing cigars with Cygnus Black and sharing ideas on showing muggles exactly what powers were stronger than their bombs.

“Over a thousand wizards died in the Blitz,” Cygnus said in the dark office they shared. “It’s disgusting, those muggles. And the way that Minister Spencer-Moon licks their grimy boots? It makes me sick.”

“If I were Minister I would strike back,” Tom said harshly, finally able to share his thoughts with a like-minded individual. “They killed a thousand of us? I would flay open the skin of five thousand of them, show the rest what we can do.”

“How would you make mudblood lovers like the Minister stand down?” Cygnus asked.

Tom waved his hand lazily and made Cygnus stand up and bow deeply at Tom. When Tom released him, Cygnus laughed darkly.

“Force?” Cygnus asked. “Imperio them all? Every person who stood against you?”

“Mm, no.” Tom stared in the flames that flickered in the fireplace while he thought of the muggles that disgusted him so much and those that would defend them.

“I would kill anyone who stood against me,” Tom said, his eyes on the flames that changed him forever. “They can burn with their precious muggles.”

Cygnus poured Tom two fingers of whiskey and they clinked glasses together.

“Let them burn,” Cygnus said.

It was of the upmost importance that Harry not know of Tom’s plans that firmed themselves more and more every day.

Tom spent fifty-six days sweating, grinding his teeth, working himself to magical exhaustion to keep Harry alive. Tom would not lose him once they were meant to be safe.

Harry flew with Alphard, but he looked for Tom before and after. Harry stayed quiet during meals, one hand curled around Tom’s knee beneath the table. They shared a bed and Harry glued himself to Tom as they slept.

“I thought we would die,” Harry breathed one night, his face hidden in the curve of Tom’s neck. Tom had his hand on Harry’s back and held him close.

“Do you think we should have?” Tom asked him thoughtfully. Did the world want Tom Riddle to die? Did the world want Harry Potter dead?

Did Tom spit in the face of fate when he made them survive?

“No.” Harry pulled himself back until he could cup Tom’s face in both hands and stare in his eyes. Harry’s eyes were filled with all the emotion Tom didn’t have.

“I think we should live forever,” Harry said with a crooked smile. His eyes flickered from Tom’s eyes to his lips and Tom knew what Harry was going to do as much as he knew that he would allow it.

When Harry tilted his head forward and so sweetly, so shyly, pressed his lips to Tom’s… Tom felt nothing.

“I love you, you know,” Harry whispered that night.

“I love you,” Tom lied, his mind replaying a much more important line: ‘I think we should live forever’.

Tom didn’t need to live forever, but he did need to live past the war… Tom needed to outlive the Germans that bombed them, the Governor that continued to send troops out.

They didn’t get to kill Tom.

The boys returned to Hogwarts in September for their fourth year as ‘a couple’.

Tom didn’t care what Harry called them, he cared that nobody called Harry a mudblood and that Harry - the new post-bombing Harry who was quiet and clung to Tom - didn’t embarrass Tom. Tom’s crowd took Harry with silent resentment, Walburga seemed especially furious with his presence at meals and in the library.

Walburga should get on with marrying the cousin she was promised to, Tom would never touch a hair on her head. Harry knew Tom, knew Tom’s heart and his soul. Walburga only knew of the descendant of Slytherin, the one with enough power to save two people from bombs.

If Walburga had been the one in the orphanage with Tom the day the Blitz began, Tom would have let her burn. Harry though… Harry was Tom’s and Tom would keep him safe as long as he could.

Harry couldn’t enter the Slytherin rooms where Tom met with those who agreed with his views on muggles though. Harry didn’t follow Tom at night when Tom searched the castle for any indication of where Salazar hid his chambers. Harry didn’t know of the books in the Restricted Section that Tom read or the books that Cygnus sent him. And Harry wasn’t a member of the Slug Club and didn’t know about the old papers that Slughorn was too happy to fetch for Tom.

Hogwarts was built centuries ago, there were many additions to it that were unnecessary when it was first built… the main ones of which were the bathrooms on every floor.

Tom ignored his acquaintances that begged for his attention as he explored the bathrooms on his own, searching high and low for any indicator of a chamber fabled to contain a monster. What the monster was, Tom could only guess. What it could help Tom accomplish, Tom could only dream.

On Halloween night, when the rest of the students feasted for All Saints Eve, Tom found it.

Tom found the Chamber!

And there was a monster inside… a beautiful and glorious monster that only Tom could control… a sleeping Basilisk.

On November fifth, Tom woke the basilisk for the first time.

“My beauty…” Tom whispered, stroking the scales of the beast that could kill with only its eyes. “You work for me, don’t you? You’ll follow my command? Never look me in the eyes?”

“Yes,” she whispered, all but preening under the attention. “Tell me your enemies, Master.”

Tom would. Tom did.

Tom told her about the muggleborns inside the castle, the ones that would one day join the war and would put other wizards through what Tom barely survived. Tom told her about their contaminated blood, their desire to fight other muggles until they destroyed the world and killed off wizards entirely.

And then… Tom let her loose.

Tom told his select handful of acquaintances of the basilisk, Harry was not one of them.

Malfoy, Nott, and Orion Black were terrified and impressed in equal measure when the first student was petrified. Tom was furious.

“You were meant to KILL!” Tom snarled at his beast. What good was a petrified mudblood? They would be revived within months!

Petrification was temporary, death was permanent.

Unless…

Tom curled his lips in a smirk at the thought that appeared in his mind. He corrected his thoughts accordingly, some death was permanent.

The basilisk was useful for spreading fear and uncertainty, if not the death Tom craved, and Malfoy was excellent at pointing out that the four students who were petrified were mudbloods. The muggleborn and half-blood students talked about leaving, Tom hoped they would. Harry came to Tom after the fourth petrification with a pale look and tremble to his hands.

“They’re taking about shutting down the school,” Harry said. Alphard and Hagrid were with Harry and Tom would not placate Harry with an audience.

“Dippet would never,” Tom said with arrogant confidence. Tom chatted with Dippet frequently, he was a shoe-in for Prefect, quite likely he would become Head Boy. Dippet saw the future of magic in Tom and Tom went out of his way to make himself available to Dippet whenever the old man needed someone to walk and talk with.

Tom still despised him for refusing to allow himself and Harry to stay at the castle in the summers, but Tom his that hatred deep down inside.

“Professor Dumbledore is going to recommend it,” Harry told Tom. “And - and Rubeus thinks he knows what the monster is.”

Tom looked sharply past Harry to the fifteen year old boy who was already taller than every other person in the castle. Hagrid met Tom’s eyes, only for a second, before looking away uneasily. Hagrid was a thorn in Tom’s side. He was always taking Harry’s attention to freak creatures in the forest, that was when he wasn’t sneaking them in his dorm. More than once Harry came to Tom with tales of baby wolves, cappas, and snakes that Harry translated conversations with for Hagrid.

“Does he?” Tom asked Harry smoothly, watching Hagrid. “And what does dear, brilliant, Hagrid believe is attacking these innocent students?”

Alphard looked between Tom and Hagrid with a furrowed brow and puckered frown. Tom ignored Alphard though; as much of a disgrace as he was to the Blacks, he was no longer a threat to Tom.

It was Tom who Harry kissed and whispered words of love to.

“Reckon… reckon it could be anythin’,” Hagrid said shiftily. “I’ll see yer later, Harry. Al.”

Tom tilted his head and twirled his wand between his fingers when Hagrid walked away. That oaf couldn’t know about the basilisk, it was impossible.

… and yet.

Tom brushed aside Harry’s fears over Hogwarts closing and focused on one of his other goals he had for the year.

The creation of a horcrux.

It was dark magic, twisted, ‘evil’, brilliant in its simplicity.

Tom would tear off a piece of his soul and anchor it to the world with an object.

All Tom needed was the death of a mudblood to complete the ritual. He had the anchor ready, he was ready.

One death…

Tom had never taken a persons life before and he wondered if he should be more bothered by the idea. Should it keep Tom awake? Weigh on the soul that was still intact within him?

“Do you think the men who bombed our country ever think about the people they killed?”

Tom and Harry were laying out on the dock beside the Black Lake. It was nice weather for mid-May and Tom wanted to absorb as much of the sunshine as he could. Almost two years ago, he never thought he would see the sun again.

Tom had Harry’s head in his lap, his head tilted back to receive the warmth on his face. Herpo the Foul claimed to have never felt properly warm after he split his soul and with Tom’s encouragement for his basilisk to feed, Tom knew it was a matter of days.

Harry hummed and reached a hand up to lace it with Tom’s. It felt right, holding Harry’s hand. It was like holding a piece of himself.

“I hope they do,” Harry said thoughtfully, answering Tom’s question. “Forty-three thousand people died, someone has to regret that.”

Only a thousand lives that mattered though. Only a thousand deaths of men, women, and children of magical heritage.

“But they probably don’t,” Harry said, surprising Tom. Tom looked down and saw that Harry was frowning, a crease marring his forehead.

Tom looked down at the only conscious he ever knew and made a sound of agreement.

No, they probably didn’t regret it.

They would one day.

When Tom led the magical world, they would regret their bombs and their guns.

It wasn’t a month later that Tom was able to cement his continued life. When the basilisk killed the girl in the bathroom, it was finished.

Tom wouldn’t die.

They could drop a million bombs on Tom’s head and he would still live.

Tom was giddy, ecstatic. His diary held not just his secrets but his very soul! No wizard had ever completed such extraordinary magic at his age! No wizard would ever consider it!

Myrtle Warren’s body was removed from the school, Rubeus Hagrid was blamed for the death, and Tom could never be killed.

Tom went to find the one person he wanted to celebrate with. It had been such a rush when Tom watched the life leave Warren’s eyes that Tom felt his body becoming excited in the way that Harry frequently was.

They had never taken their relationship to a point where Tom allowed Harry to undress him. Tom had no interest before, but with a horcrux created and Warren’s lifeless eyes floating around in his memory, Tom was interested.

Harry, as it turned out, was not.

Harry was found in Professor Kettleburn’s office with Alphard Black. When Tom knocked lightly and poked his head in, he was immediately incensed.

“What did you do?!” Tom demanded, pulling his wand and aiming it at Alphard. Harry - Tom’s Harry - was bent over at the waist with his face buried in his hands and heavy sobs shaking his entire body. Alphard had been kneeling beside Harry’s chair and he jumped to his feet and pulled his own wand when Tom burst in.

“I didn’t do a damn thing! What about you, Riddle?” Alphard yelled. “Who turned Hagrid in for those spiders, huh? They didn’t kill Myrtle!”

No, they didn’t. It was terrible amusing that Dippet fell for Tom’s cover story. It worked for the best though; Hagrid was expelled, Hogwarts would stay open, Tom would live forever.

Tom even received an award for his efforts and Dippet’s word that Tom would be prefect next year. Slughorn had promised it to Tom already, but it was nice to have confirmed by the Headmaster.

“Boys! Enough!” Kettleburn said firmly. “Emotions are high, we’re all upset. Let’s not make matters worse.”

Tom wasn’t upset, Tom wanted Alphard Black to keep his disgusting hands off Tom’s property. But Tom made a slow show of pocketing his wand, Alphard as well.

“I apologize,” Tom said with perfect politeness to Alphard. “I thought you harmed Harry. You can see why I would be upset.”

Touch him again and I will kill you, Tom’s eyes said.

“I would never harm Harry,” Alphard said back.

You can try, Alphard’s grey eyes and half-smirk mocked Tom.

Tom would kill him one day, of that, he was sure.

“Harry?” Tom reached out a hand for Harry and did his best to look sympathetic at whatever was causing Harry to cry once again. “Can we talk?”

“Yeah, of course.” Harry wiped his face off with the handkerchief from Kettleburn and he gave Alphard a trembling smile. “I’ll see you later, Al.”

Harry took Tom’s hand and Tom pulled him as close to his side as he could, a place where Harry was happy enough to be. Tom only resisted shooting Alphard a triumphant look as Kettleburn would have seen it as well.

“They’re wrong about Rubeus,” Harry told Tom once they were in a quiet corridor of the castle together. Tom was subtly seeking out a private room, one where he could truly celebrate his victories. Harry was caught up in his ranting about poor Warren and poor Hagrid and poor acromantulas that he missed it when they walked past the same stretch of a wall and a door suddenly appeared.

“Quiet,” Tom ordered Harry absently. That door had not been there just a moment before. Tom tugged Harry toward it and turned the knob slowly with a muted sense of excitement.

The inside of the room was precisely what Tom wanted to find. It was as if Hogwarts herself was congratulating Tom on his victories and offering a private room, complete with a large and comfortable looking bed, to celebrate in.

Tom laughed when he pulled Harry in after him and closed the door. Tom pushed Harry against the door and had his lips against Harry’s in a quick and bruising kiss. Tom grabbed Harry’s hips and pulled them against his own while Harry’s hands tangled in Tom’s shirt and tie.

Behind Tom’s eyelids he didn’t see Harry’s face or body, but Warren’s. It was the lifeless body of the first person Tom ever killed - Tom knew it wouldn’t be the last - that boiled Tom’s blood and sent a moan spilling from his lips.

That was when Tom realized Harry’s hands weren’t pulling him closer but shoving him away, hard.

“What is wrong with you?!” Harry cried out. Harry’s face was twisted with angry while his eyes were still red and swollen, tears still built up at his lower lid.

He looked lovely like that. It reminded Tom of the first time he saw Harry cry; the thrill had never dissipated in the years since.

“What?” Tom asked, still heated and itching inside to sooth himself in another new exploration. “What’s the problem, Harry?”

Harry was a constant mess of hormones, who knew that better than Tom? Why would they not work in Tom’s favor, just once?

“Myrtle is dead, Rubeus might be headed to Azkaban!” Harry snapped. He pushed Tom away by the chest and Tom glared in warning.

“A mudblood is dead and a half-breed is expelled, who cares?” Tom said flippantly, forgetting just for a moment who it was that he spoke with.

Harry was not Abraxas or Thaddeus, who hoped the muggleborn students who joined the war would die off at the hands of fellow muggles. Harry was not Walburga or Orion who believed that Hagrid was an abomination and should never have been given a wand.

Harry was… Harry.

“You’re sick,” Harry said faintly, his eyes wide. He stared at Tom so long Tom wondered if Harry and Harry alone could see damage Tom did to his soul.

“Was it you?” Harry asked abruptly, his eyes narrowing and his fists clenching. There was fire in his eyes, the only deep emotion of his that Tom could recognize.

Hate.

“DID YOU KILL MYRTLE AND FRAME RUBEUS?” Harry howled, his wand appearing in his hand immediately. Tom already had his, it was pulled the instant Tom was shoved by the boy who claimed to love him.

“Read the papers, Harry,” Tom said with a perfect smile. “Your friend did it.”

Harry shook his head and his scowl became ferocious.

“It was,” Harry said, sounding disgusted as he spat the words at Tom. “Why? Are you really so bloody twisted that you wanted Rubeus to go to Azkaban? He’s innocent, Tom!”

“You know me better than anyone,” Tom crooned in a mimic of Harry’s rough accent. “How can you be so off mark?”

As if Tom would wake the basilisk and kill Warren only to have a giant sized thorn in his side removed. There were much simpler ways to have that accomplished.

“You’re a monster,” Harry said flatly, his wand limp in his hand. “You’re- you’re sick, Tom.”

When Harry grabbed the doorknob behind him, Tom gave him one final warning. It was one warning for the boy that belonged to Tom and would return eventually.

“Nobody will believe you,” Tom said as a partial taunt and true warning. “If you go spreading tales about me, not a soul will believe you, Harry. But I’ll know, Harry, I always do.”

Harry gave Tom one more look of disgust before he left the room, leaving Tom in a place meant to celebrate in a sudden rage. Tom turned to the room and slashed his wand over and over, destroying everything within it. When he finished, Tom went to find Walburga Black.

Harry never aired his suspicions of Tom to anyone who brought it back to Tom’s ears. Harry also never returned to the Black home that summer. Neither did Alphard, an irritation that Walburga and Cygnus were quick to blame Harry’s dirty blood for.

Tom allowed it. Tom allowed them to curse Harry’s name, blame his poor bloodline for his many faults.

When Harry returned to Tom, begging to find a place in the circle that Tom was cementing around him, Tom would end the slander. Until then, he hummed noncommittal sounds when Harry’s name was tarnished.

The start of Tom’s fifth year brought a deep sense of paranoia that Tom could not shake.

All the connections Tom built, the people he charmed, the opinions he stated as fact, were at risk. Tom could feel the eyes of his classmates - of Dumbledore - on him when he wrote in his diary. It was when Harry let his eyes linger on Tom’s book in Transfiguration a few moments too long that Tom knew.

Harry knew what it was. Harry knew it contained more than just Tom’s secrets but his very soul. And if Harry knew, then Alphard knew. And that meant Dumbledore certainly knew.

Tom had planned on leaving the diary behind at Hogwarts as a gift to the next generation of Slytherins who wanted a school safe from the threat of muggleborns. It was a foolish plan, Tom could see that as clearly as he could see the way that Harry and Dumbledore watched him.

“You will have a son one day, will you not?” Tom asked Abraxas when the two of them were studying in their dorm together. Abraxas was worried over his History OWL, a grade that Tom had no lack of confidence in for himself.

Who had studied the victories and mistakes of past wizards more closely than Tom?

“I will,” Abraxas said evenly, showing no surprise at Tom’s sudden change in topic. Of all of Tom’s circle, it was Abraxas who saw Tom’s potential and his future as clearly as Tom did.

Abraxas planned to ride Tom’s coattails to fame and Tom planned to allow it.

“When your son joins my cause, I’ll have a gift for him,” Tom said, thinking of that future. Abraxas had his marriage promised to Viola Black, a pureblooded witch. They would have a son who would attend Hogwarts one day and when he did, Tom would guide him to reopen the sealed chambers through his diary.

Abraxas tilted his head in gratitude at what he knew was an honor.

“As long as he doesn’t turn out to be as disgraceful as Alphard,” Abraxas muttered a few moments later.

As Alphard was a taboo topic for Tom’s inner circle, Tom sat back in his bed and flicked his wand at Abraxas. Abraxas screamed and writhed, ruining his his notes with a bottle of ink he knocked over.

When Tom released him and Abraxas apologized profusely, Tom accepted it graciously.

Alphard Black was not only a disgrace to his family, but one to every student inside of Hogwarts that year. Alphard strutted through the corridors with his prefect badge, the match to the one Tom wore and Harry was gifted, and a hand usually entwined with Harry’s.

It was amusing more than anything when Tom was forced to hear of or witness the romance between the Hufflepuff and Gryffindor seekers. Alphard was a stupid boy playing with Tom’s old toy. When Harry saw the inferiority - when Harry realized that he could never escape Tom whose eyes followed him in the hall and in classes - then Tom would teach Alphard to never touch Tom’s things.

Harry was only a secondary worry of Tom’s though. Harry came after Tom’s worries over his parentage, his safety, and the thought that itched in his mind since the day after he created his horcrux.

If someone found Tom’s horcrux… he would be as vulnerable as any other. While the war still raged, was it safe to stop with just one anchor to life? If Tom was bombed again - if his diary were destroyed - he would never live to repay the muggles for their crimes.

“Seven? Merlin’s beard, Tom…” Slughorn swallowed hard and Tom clocked his every reaction to Tom’s question.

Slughorn was the only one that Tom would speak with. Slughorn was hardly brilliant in his own right, but he knew all the right people to keep himself in high esteem in society. Slughorn knew that one day Tom would lead the magical world and would never offend him or betray him.

“Tearing your soul once is reprehensible,” Slughorn said, searching Tom’s eyes as if he would see any proof within them of what he may suspect. “Seven is…” Slughorn shook his head. “This is all academic, I suspect?”

“Of course,” Tom lied. They both knew it was not big Tom knew something else as well-

Slughorn never said it couldn’t be done, he merely called it ‘reprehensible’.

That Christmas Break, when Tom finally found the fool who his mother named him after, Tom took another step toward becoming the greatest wizard to touch the earth.

Harry was who Tom sought out when he returned in January, another piece of his soul stored in the ring he wore. Tom’s circle found it terrible amusing that Tom had ended the life of Tom Riddle and framed it on his Uncle Morfin. Tom was unamused and promised death to any that leaked any information on him. Tom also promised pain to any who ever associated him with the muggle again - no longer would he be called Tom.

They would call him the name that would be as revered and feared as Hitler himself - Voldemort.

Vol de mort, the theft of death.

Tom defied death in the bombing and he brought death even in his birth. Tom would live forever and Death would never touch him.

At Thaddeus’s suggestion, Tom told his circle that they would call him Lord Voldemort. It was an open secret within Slytherin that Tom would take over in Europe after his graduation. Abraxas, Orion, and Thaddeus knew some of Tom’s magical discoveries - they knew of the basilisk and that the death of Myrtle Warren gave Tom immortality. They knew Tom killed the muggles who bore his name and they knew he would kill them just as easily if they ever shared his secrets.

As shameful as the secret of his paternal line was.

Tom’s mother had been infatuated with a muggle. Tom’s paternal grandfather had built a fortune in the muggle wars, there were proof through their grand house that Tom entered. It made Tom feel sick and even with the ring bearing the mark of the Peverell’s that proved Tom’s heritage that was greater than any other, finding his father had been a disappointment that Tom could not overcome.

“Harry?”

Tom found Harry two nights after returning to the castle. Harry stood in an alcove not far from the secret room Tom discovered at the end of the year before. When Harry turned to look at Tom, the moonlight washed over his face and Tom’s breath caught in his throat.

Harry was lovely, truly. He was beautiful in his way and Tom had never lost the desire to own him in every way possible. Just the thought of hearing Harry call Tom ‘Master’ as the basilisk did and Tom’s circle were beginning to had Tom washed over in goosebumps.

“Tom?” Harry pulled his eyebrows down when he saw Tom, a worry plaguing his face. “What’s wrong?”

Tom took two steps toward Harry before hitting his knees before him and holding himself upright only by his grip on Harry’s waist.

“My father,” Tom whispered to the conscious that once led him. “I found him.”

Harry’s hand landed on Tom’s head and he gently curled his fingers in Tom’s hair.

“Is he - did he… what happened?” Harry asked.

“He’s a muggle, Harry,” Tom said, sharing the most shameful secret yet. “And…”

“Witch! Get out of my home!”

“He didn’t want me.”

Tom had hoped to one day find a father as powerful as Tom was. What Tom found was a muggle who had been tricked and trapped by a witch. A muggle who saw Tom and yelled in his face, threatened to shoot him with a rifle strapped to the wall.

Tom had no family, like Harry.

They were truly orphans together.

“Tom… I’m sorry.” Harry’s voice was as soft as his touch. “You don’t need him, you really don’t. You’re- you could be great, Tom.”

Tom had his head bowed while he played those words over and over.

You could be great.

Tom was already great. Tom was a hero, Tom was more clever than any wizard in the world. Tom carried a piece of his soul in a ring while another piece was locked away in his diary forever. Tom opened Salazar Slytherin’s Chamber and he controlled the beast from within it.

Tom shoved Harry away, knocking him in the wall, as he roughly got to his feet.

“Could be?” Tom stood up and laughed, laughed in Harry’s face. “You have no idea - none. You don’t know what I’ve done or how great I am! I kept you alive, Harry! I kept myself alive! I have nearly half of the students in this castle willing to lick my boots if I ask and the professors adore me! Could be?”

Tom laughed again before he spat at the floor by Harry’s trainers.

“You have no idea,” Tom sneered. How was it that Tom thought Harry knew him? Knew his soul and his mind? Harry stood there with his hair tangled, his shoelace untied, his tie crooked.

Harry wasn’t extraordinary.

Harry was plain, as common as the trainers he wore on his feet.

“You’re right,” Harry agreed coolly, his eyes flashing. “I don’t have any idea. I don’t know how the nice boy I used to look up to turned into such a monster. I don’t know where Tom is or if he can even be saved.”

“The nice boy?” Tom curled one side of his mouth up in amusement. “Ah, yes, that’s all that’s ever mattered to you before. Niceness. I was never nice, Harry. You were just blind.”

Harry swallowed and Tom watched his Adam’s apple bob and the pulse in his neck race. Harry looked scared, as scared as he should be.

“You didn’t hurt the bunny,” Harry said, a plea for Tom to be the boy Harry thought he was.

Tom laughed and turned his back on Harry. It was a foolish act of sentimentality that drove Tom to find him. Harry was no conscious, no special person in Tom’s life. Harry was a memory, nothing more.

“I didn’t hurt the bunny,” Tom agreed over his shoulder. When Tom’s eyes locked on Harry’s, Tom smiled his nicest smile. “I did kill the rabbit.”

When fifth year ended, Harry Potter and Alphard Black disappeared.

Walburga Black claimed that they went to Germany on Professor Dumbledore’s orders, off to fight against Grindelwald. Thaddeus Nott claimed they feared Voldemort’s retribution against them, they fled the country to hide. Tom was inclined to agree the most with Abraxas Malfoy who claimed that Harry had used his magic to join the war and Alphard was not bright enough to stay away from the loose lover he favored so obviously.

It was unsafe for Tom to have Harry out in the world. Harry knew too much of who Tom was, he knew too much of what Tom could do - had done. Harry was no Dumbledore, who was quietly suspicious. Harry was loud and stubborn, Harry would spill all he knew if he were heated enough.

Tom sent Cyprus to find Harry and Alphard and received updates through his sixth year.

They were in Germany, Cyprus had it on good word of a wizard within Grindelwald’s order. They had joined Grindelwald and Cyprus wrote how proud he was of his brother. Tom was skeptical, he knew Harry too well. Harry would never join Grindelwald’s order, the order that agreed with the subjugation of muggles.

It made Tom clench every muscle within his body to learn that Harry was within Germany. It was a country being torn apart by bombs, gunfire, and muggles. It was unsafe and Tom’s Harry would be hurt without his protection.

Let him die there… Tom told himself.

His body never identified? Never knowing if he was truly dead or not?

It was an argument that Tom had to ignore as he worked diligently on building his circle outside of the castle. Tom had to finish his education with top grades and then Tom could go on to what was next for him… completing the seven points of the ritual, securing his everlasting life. Tom would repay the muggles for their cruelty and Tom would be the one to lead wizards and witches to a new era.

Tom would lead them to glory and he would lead them to their rightful places. It would not be Grindelwald with his rallies and speeches, but Tom, Tom who had always worked best from the shadows that the world hid him in.

As soon as Tom finished his education - a gift that Harry threw in the garbage - Tom would travel the world and he would discover all the secrets that magic could offer. Tom would travel the path alone, returning only when he was ready to make his moves.

On November 2nd in 1945, Harry Potter was ecstatic as he and Alphard ran toward the small house they shared just outside Berlin.

Harry was laughing, Alphard’s grey eyes sparkled with merriment.

It was over.

It was all over!

The muggle war ended in September and Professor Dumbledore cut off the head of the Dark Wizarding Army being built that day. And by his side stood Harry and by Harry’s side, where he had been for the last six - nearly seven - years was Alphard.

Brave, brilliant, honest Alphard.

Harry launched himself at Alphard and was caught by strong and sure arms that swung him around while warm and soft lips found his in a mutually needy way.

“It’s done!” Alphard cried between kisses. “It’s all done!”

“I know!” Harry laughed again and tugged Alphard toward the home they shared. It was small, but cozy. It was a gift from Dumbledore, one given to them when they offered to infiltrate Grindelwald’s army two years ago and one that they would keep until they felt like journeying back to England.

The home, as cozy as it usually felt, was wrong the instant Harry opened the door. The first thing Harry noticed was the silence… there was no hooting from Hedwig to welcome Harry home, no soft meows from the kneazle kitten Rubeus sent Harry and Alphard as an engagement gift.

Rubeus promised them a ‘perfectly unique and wonderful’ creature when they were able to be married and Harry hastily made him promise it wasn’t dangerous. Rubeus was brilliant and Harry adored him as much as he imagined he would a brother, but the last thing Harry needed was an acromantula guarding his home.

Maybe Harry shouldn’t have turned it down so quickly…

Harry stepped in the house slowly, Alphard’s hand in one of his hands and his wand in the other hand…

The quiet was oppressive and the only light in the house was above the dining table. Harry felt a mixture of fear and nausea filling him from the inside out as he crept closer. When Harry saw the white feathers, the orange fur… the blood and the guts… he knew what was coming.

“Avada Kedavra.”

Tom was a man possessed.

Not truly, of course, no being would be foolish enough to attempt to possess Tom, but he could not eat, sleep, even think.

And it was all God damned Harry Potter’s fault.

When Harry went missing, off on a task assigned by the fool Dumbledore, all Tom could imagine was Harry spreading Tom’s secrets, ruining all that he had worked to become. It was simple to find Harry, all Tom had to do was track Dumbledore.

On the day that Dumbledore defeated his friend turned foe, Tom Riddle did as well.

Tom struck down Alphard Black with the sense of completing a task long overdue. The boy beside him, the boy who knew Tom better than anyone ever had, the boy who could ruin him, was both a loss and a promise that Tom had made long ago.

Harry fell to the ground in a flash of green light and Tom used the baseball he stole for Harry years ago to secure the piece of his soul that Harry’s death freed from him. With the ball tucked away safely, Tom kneeled on the ground beside where Harry lay dead beside his paramour.

Tom cupped both sides of Harry’s face and pressed a bloodied kiss to the center of his cold forehead.

“Be nice, Harry.”