A Tale of Two Toms

“Harry, for the last time, PINEAPPLE DOES NOT GO ON PIZZA.”

“Tom, for the last time, YES IT DOES.”

Tom raised his hand in a vaguely threatening manner, as if he were about to summon Fiendfyre and burn down... not sure what exactly, because they’re in the void and there’s nothing here. And it couldn’t be Harry, so neither of them really had any idea why he was even going through the motions.

Harry watched Tom as he realized the same thing, as if there were any other option to do, and slowly put down his hand and sighed. “Harry, as much as I absolutely adore you, pineapple on pizza is just.. No. It’s just a no. I would literally rather be sent to some weird-ass dimension then deal with you and your pizza.”

Tom seemed to realize exactly what he said the same time Harry did, because Harry started grinning with a horrible idea in mind. As in, he was gonna send Tom to another dimension so Tom can avoid dinner. Of course.

“Well, if you insist.”

Tom, never one to back down, tried to nod his head in agreement but was long gone already falling through a portal into a new dimension, because Harry couldn’t ever just leave it like a doorway and instead had to give Tom multiple heart attacks.

In another dimension...

“Does my master not enjoy seeing his slave on his knees?” Tom asked Harry neutrally. The boy stilled, staring into the fire.

“Do I enjoy it?” his master repeated softly, musingly. “Actually, as much as I hate to recognise it in myself, yes.” He twisted his head and looked Tom directly in the eyes. At the fiery embers glowing in those emeralds, Tom almost recoiled. Instead, though, he found a smile flickering at the corners of his mouth. His erstwhile nemesis still felt something for him – he could still kindle strong emotions.

“For what you did to the Boneses, the Smiths, the Petersons, the McKinnons, the Wilsons, the Johnsons, the Woods, the Robinsons and everyone else who died by your wand or by the wands of your Death Eaters, on your orders, I would gladly see you suffer a lot more than simply kneeling.”

“Then why don’t you, master?” Tom challenged, not quite sure why he did so. Perhaps the last few months had made him more reckless because he had less to lose. Although, was that true? His mind for one had never been this much under threat. So why? The boy sat back and the intensity in his eyes faded.

“Because it would make me feel worse than it would you,” he replied simply. Tom frowned, unable to understand that. His master continued speaking. “So you don’t need to worry, Tom – I’m not going to come into your room in the middle of the night and curse you, because with that collar on your neck, you are helpless. And torturing the helpless has always been Voldemort’s thing, not mine. But if you act like Voldemort in any way..” he trailed off, but Tom could finish the sentence himself. If he acted like Lord Voldemort, he would be treated like him, and that meant all bets were off.

A silence fell between them, somehow not uneasy as their frank discussion had cleared the air slightly between them, but not comfortable either. It was broken by a small sound. A small sound that got increasingly louder. Tom looked at his master’s face, only to see a frown.

“Tom...do you hear that?” the boy asked. Before Tom could reply, there was a sudden flash of light that drew their attention up to the ceiling. A hole had opened in the plaster, but not through to the room above. Instead, it seemed to open onto a black void, something which Tom almost expected to show twinkling of stars, so alike to Space was it. 

Suddenly, another flash of light almost blinded them, and someone was falling through, landing in a crumpled heap on the ground. The person groaned, probably in pain, and for a second, Harry swore that that voice sounded familiar, but it was hard to place.. Tom in turn felt that he was sure he recognised that hair from somewhere. Shocked by the sudden appearance, they were both silent.

“Uggghhh, remind me why I couldn’t have just died in the womb,” the man muttered, slowly getting himself into a sitting position and dusting himself off. He looked up and froze, or at least looked taken aback.

“What in Merlin’s name..?” exclaimed Harry as the face of the interloper was revealed. Tom couldn’t agree more. The person who had just invaded their sitting room was...himself? Tom’s master leapt from his chair, his wand flicking out from his sleeve. “Who are you?!” he demanded. Tom just watched - it wasn’t as if he could do anything without a wand.

“I’m him, but better,” Imposter Tom replied, pointing at Harry’s Tom, and wasn’t that a weird thought.

“...What?” Harry asked, in confusion. Could this be a horcrux? But he’d thought Lady Magic had restored Tom’s soul completely. Could She have... missed a piece? Was it possible for the embodiment of magic to make a mistake?

“Better?” spluttered native Tom. 

“Well, yeah, better. We’ve got to differentiate between us somehow, because I believe I’m stuck in this dimension for a while,” Imposter Tom shrugged. “Of course, you could always just call me Tim or something. That’s what.. Nevermind,” He trailed off.

OK, Harry was now even more confused, and starting to doubt that this was actually a horcrux. He really couldn’t imagine any version of Tom willingly offering to be called...Tim. But if this wasn’t actually Tom...who was it? He decided that he’d had enough of the situation - after a long day at Hogwarts, then the whole mess with his Tom - wait, what? - he was out of patience for this interloper. 

“Incarcerous,” he cast, ropes shooting out of the tip of his wand to bind the stranger.

Imposter Tom’s (Tim??) eyes widened, before he seemed to turn some sort of translucent and the ropes went right through his body. “Y’all are fiends, shooting an innocent person like this.”

Harry and Tom just gaped at him. Then Harry’s eyes narrowed. He had missed it at first, so used to seeing it on his Tom - which still felt strange to think - but the stranger actually had a collar around his throat, just like the Tom kneeling on the ground. And just like Harry’s Tom, it also had a sideways eight on the front...which shouldn’t be possible. Which just left one conclusion in Harry’s mind. He rounded on Tom, his Tom, that is.

“How did you gain access to your magic?!” he demanded angrily. The Tom kneeling on the ground stared at him, an expression of complete bewilderment on his face.

“Master?”

(Under his breath, the other Tom muttered, “Kinky, I like it.”)

“How did you cast an illusion? Or create another homunculus? Was this what you were plotting - create a double to take your place as a slave and then escape to become Lord Voldemort once more?!” A part of Harry knew that he was jumping to conclusions, but the rest of him was being consumed by the anger that his slave had done something so...stupid. And obvious.

(Under his breath again, Tom started mumbling a song, “Voldemort, Voldemort, ooh Voldy Voldy Voldy Voldy Volemort!” from Potter Puppet Pals.)

Tom frowned, wincing as the collar sparked with his master’s anger.

“Master, I don’t understand what you mean! I didn’t cast any magic.” Harry stared at him angrily, but the sincerity in his eyes and the fact that his collar wasn’t punishing him for lying made him, reluctantly, believe his slave’s words.

“Then how do you explain him?” Harry asked, waving vaguely in the direction of the Tom sitting on the floor eating popcorn. Wait, when did he get popcorn? And where?  Harry dismissed the thought, focusing on what was important. “And how the incarcerous flew right through him.” He hesitated for a moment. “He couldn’t be a...ghost, could he?”

Tom shot him a withering look. 

“He’s eating popcorn. When was the last time you saw a ghost eating popcorn?” he asked with derision. “Master,” he added on as an afterthought. They both turned and looked at the figure on the floor, taking in all the details: the hair which looked so similar to Tom’s; a pair of black jeans; a bright red T-shirt with ‘ask me about my fanfiction’ written in large, white letters that he would never have imagined Tom wearing, not in a million years; the collar; and bright red eyes. Harry realised that the last were the main difference between his Tom and the interloper, apart from the T-shirt, that is, as they were much brighter than he’d ever seen either Tom’s or Voldemort’s eyes. 

Seeing that Harry was completely flummoxed and uncertain about what to do, Tom decided to actually ask the elephant in the room - or, the imposter Tom at least. But first, the most important question.

“So, Tim,” he drawled. “What in Merlin’s name are you wearing?!”

“Uhhhh, khakis?” The imposter replied, seemingly on instinct, but then actually responded, “I’m not sure how to answer that, because it’s... Literally a t-shirt and jeans?? I can see you wearing them, so I know that they exist here, and like, how is that your first question, you know, besides the whole “who are you??” spiel and whatnot. I mean, there is this really fancy schmancy collar I seem to have, and you also seem to have, and if that’s what you’re asking about then I’m afraid I know very little about it, so.”

Tom leant back, worried the verbal diarrhea was catching. Then, when it seemed to have finished, he responded, a glint in his eyes.

“You may  very well think that it was a strange question, but in fact, it proves that your initial statement of being a better version of me, is fallacious. I would never wear something so...Gryffindorish. So, who are you?” Harry just watched, starting to find the whole situation amusing despite himself. 

Imposter Tom looked at other Tom’s clothes and wondered what in the world he was talking about. “Like I said, I’m you, but better. Also old as frick and ready to die whenever death wants to hit me up, but uhh, I’m actually Tom Riddle from an alternate dimension. My dimension is long gone at this point, but thanks to my wonderful husband, who is trying to poison me currently, we’re able to travel through dimensions and whatnot. So, here I am,” he explained, before looking over at Harry. “Speaking of that, if he ever really pisses you off make him eat pineapple pizza.”

“Thanks for the tip,” Harry said with a bemused tone. He leant forwards, leaning on his knees. “So, say we believe you’re from a different dimension -”

“Master! He’s obviously lying about that,” Tom interrupted. “How could he be me from a different dimension, for Merlin’s sake?” Harry shot his Tom an annoyed look at the interruption. “Sorry, master,” the man muttered rebelliously as his collar shocked him. Harry looked back at the other Tom.

“So, as I was saying. Say we believe you. If you’re this...uh, ‘old as frick’ being who can travel through dimensions, why exactly are you here?”

“I was avoiding dinner, to be honest. I would swear my husband is trying to kill me, except he knows that I’m immortal and therefore is just trying to ruin my entire existence with pineapple on pizza. I mean, who does that?!” Imposter Tom glared at the place where the hole in the ceiling had been, about to flip it off but deciding to hold back.

“Husband?” exclaimed native Tom. Harry shot him a look.

“You’ve only got that now?” he asked dryly. Tom glared at his master, before turning that glare onto the imposter. 

“I would never get married! You must be lying.” 

“Dude, I’m the one who proposed. Then again, it had been six thousand years and he still had no idea that I even liked him, and when I told him “I’m in love with someone but they’re very stupid” he responded with “Well maybe you’re being too subtle, just come out and say that you love them” and so I literally told him “I love you” and he went, “See! Just like that, now go tell them.” and I’m still not letting him forget that.” Harry couldn’t help laughing out loud. He knew he wasn’t the most observant of people himself, but that seemed really obtuse even for him! 

“Who is your husband?” he asked, curious as to whether it was someone with whom he was familiar.  

The Imposter Tom stared directly at Harry with an indecipherable look, as if Harry out of anybody should know the answer to that question. Quietly, almost too quietly, a direct contrast from his apparent talkative nature, the other Tom murmured, “The Master of Death.” Harry frowned. 

“Like in that story about the Three Brothers?” Imposter Tom gave him a weird look.

“You mean you- I mean, no one’s united the Hallows here?” Other Tom looked startled. Harry shrugged. 

“Not to my knowledge. I thought it was just a fairy tale.” Native Tom made a noise of agreement.

“Damn wand was supposed to be powerful, but my original was better,” he commented.

“It would never obey you. It had already claimed a master by the time you had ever held it,” Imposter Tom replied.

“Who?!” Tom demanded angrily.

“Speaking of masters,” Harry interjected, ignoring his slave’s outrage. “If you’re from a different dimension, why exactly do you have Tom’s, my Tom’s, collar round your neck?”

“My Tom?” muttered the native Tom with angered bewilderment.

“Well, would you first mind explaining to me exactly what this does?” Imposter Tom asked, feeling around the collar.

“You mean you don’t normally have it?” Harry asked with interest.

Imposter Tom (ImposTom??) paused for a moment, trying to figure out how to word it. “Not this variant, usually. It’s different wherever I go. Actually, I think one of my favorites was when the collars all had a giant bomb inside them and if you tried to run or take it off they would explode and kill the slave. Good times.”

Harry looked at his Tom’s face. His slave looked as if he was torn between disbelief and horror at the thought. 

“Right…” Harry responded, not sure himself whether to believe it or not. “Moving on. This variant is a behaviour-correction device. Basically, it sends pain if the slave disobeys orders. I think it also sends pleasure if the slave obeys. It also stops him from hurting or killing people and from leaving the building without me. Uh...there’s a guidebook, if you want to read it?”

“I might as well,” ImposTom shrugged. He waved his hand, and suddenly the same guidebook Harry was talking about appeared in his hand. While both Harry and native Tom were in complete shock about this other Tom using magic, the other Tom skimmed through the book in a matter of half a minute. “Okay, the book has been read. What now?”

“How did you do that?” asked Tom slowly, suddenly hoping beyond hope that the appearance of this other Tom had somehow disrupted the collar’s enchantment enough to allow him to...He turned to Harry and cast stupefy, expecting the red light to flood from his palm. There was a beat where he looked at his empty hand in disbelief, and then the pain hit. 

Agony. Worse than anything he had ever felt, and that included all the pain which the collar had given him so far. Absently, in some small corner of his mind that wasn’t screaming in absolute anguish, he realised that by attacking his master without permission, he had committed the worst crime a slave could do. 

Harry looked at Tom with a mixture of resignation, and disappointment that the man had been so...Gryffindor-like. Seriously, he understood that the man would curse him at the first possible opportunity, but by doing it when he wasn’t even sure the collar wouldn’t activate...Well, he deserved what he got really. Turning back to the Impostor Tom, he repeated the question - Tom had had a point.

“If you’re wearing the collar, does that mean you’re bound by its rules? And if so, who’s your master, according to it?” Because so help him, if he had picked up another unwanted Tom Riddle stray…

“My master? I would say you know him quite well, actually.” ImposTom broke out into a grin, the likes of which Harry had literally never seen before on any Tom Riddle and was quite horrified to see. “Severus Snape.” Harry wasn’t sure whether to be even further horrified or rather intrigued at the circumstances which must have happened to lead to that result. Tom, on the other hand, having finally recovered enough from the pain to push himself back into a kneeling position, almost fell over again from shock.

“Severus Snape?!” he squeaked in a voice that he would later insist was more like a manly groan of anguish. That was worse than being enslaved to Harry Potter for Merlin’s sake!

Other Tom laughed, obviously enjoying their pain. (Perhaps he wasn’t that different after all.) “Nah, I’m joking. My master is Harry Potter.” Harry almost choked on his own saliva.

“Don’t tell me I've been landed with another one?” he moaned.

“Another one?” native Tom demanded in outrage. “You should be grateful to have one of my superior selves!” he exclaimed at Harry angrily. “Master,” he added on angrily as the collar shocked him. Harry just looked at him, his eyes lingering pointedly on the trembling still in his limbs from the punishment he’d just brought on himself by attacking his master. 

“Frankly, I could have done without you,” he said wryly. “But unfortunately Lady Magic had other ideas.” He turned back to ImposTom with an expectant look on his face.

“You’re stuck with me forever, oh master oh mine!” Other Tom smirked, which was a much more familiar look on his face. “I mean, unless you don’t want to, in which case-” He brought his hands up to the collar and unclasped it without a single pause, then twirled it around his finger, showing it off.

Native Tom just gaped, envy in his eyes as he lifted his hands to his own neck and felt for whatever the other Tom had obviously done to release the collar, only to find it as seamless as usual. Harry instead just leaned back in his chair, his gaze measuring. By this point, Tom had resorted to hooking his fingers between the collar and his neck to pull it off, tugging fruitlessly. Harry wondered why exactly he continued to try and copy the other Tom, despite everything so far pointing to the fact that, for all that they looked so similar, they were actually very, very different people. The only thing he could think of as an explanation was that Tom simply could not conceive of a reality where he wasn’t the smartest, most powerful person in the room. 

ImposTom watches Harry’s Tom for a while, amused at how he’s failing miserably. After a moment, he clicks the collar back on his neck, like it had never been taken off. “I’m not- I’m not Voldemort. I haven’t been him in a very long time, and I have no wish to be anything like him. He.. He hurt you a lot, my version of you, and I still regret ever becoming him. So if you would like me to be your slave while I’m here, I will, but if not, I can also be your friend.” Harry looked at him for a moment, a long moment.

“So, if I told you to come and kneel in front of me here, would you?” he asked in a curious tone. 

Other Tom cocked his head to the side, letting his bangs fall onto his forehead. “Of course, if that is what you wish.” Harry met his eyes, seeing the sincerity within them, then shook his head.

“I don’t need another slave,” he snorted in amusement, casting a glance over at the Tom who had finally stopped trying to get the collar off and was back to glaring at his counterpart. “Frankly, I’ve got my hands full with him...but I could always use another friend.”

“You’ll always be my friend, no matter what realm I’m in, or no matter if you treat me as your slave or not,” Tom smiled, and it looked genuine for once (unlike his Tom).

Native Tom scoffed, glaring at ImposTom. 

“How you could ever think you’d convince us that you’re Tom Riddle when you’re so...so weak?!”

“I mean,” Other Tom started, “I don’t really believe I have to prove to myself that I am myself, but if you really want I can speak Parseltongue, or like six hundred different languages, or like, we can duel if your Harry would approve, seeing as one of us has our magic bound, and it isn’t me. Orrrrr, a better idea! We can eat dinner, and then maybe duel afterwards.”

“Good idea, “ said Harry with amusement. “Tom, I think it’s your turn to make dinner.” Looking thoughtful, he met Other Tom’s eyes. “Do you want to join him? It’s up to you, but I’ve got some work I need to do, so if you stay here, you’ll have to be quiet.” 

“I can certainly try.” Other Tom never expanded on that, instead starting to walk towards the kitchen.

.. Only to be met with a giant barrier that he ran straight into, head first. It wasn’t a small bump, it was like when Harry had tried to cross into Platform 9 ¾ back in second year and it ejected him with force.

Other Tom fell backwards, then groaned up at the ceiling. “Oh come on!! I only burnt down the kitchen once!”

Just as Harry was about to question exactly what that could possibly mean, and if he had somehow dodged a bullet having some weird barrier in his kitchen doorway, a tiny version of the portal from earlier opened up just long enough for a.. Ball?? To fly through and hit Other Tom straight in the forehead. It was covered in a note, which Other Tom deigned to ignore and instead lay on the ground.

Harry picked up the ball and took the note off it. Smoothing it out, he saw somewhat familiar handwriting scrawling over most of its surface. He read it out loud, “You burnt down the entire city block three times, Tom!”, deciding to forgo reading it in all caps like it was written in.

“Did you really?” he asked the Tom lying prone on the floor, not sure whether he wanted to know the answer or not.

“I am.. Not the best cook.” No more was explained or said. Harry started looking worried for his kitchen before he remembered that his Tom had been cooking for several nights already without more than just burning the occasional dish. Eventually shrugging, he turned back to his Tom who was hovering in the doorway.

“Looks like you’re cooking on your own, then. What are you going to do then, uh, other Tom, um, Tim?” 

“You know, I just got some great inspiration for some crappy Tomarry fanfic to write, so I might write some notes for later.” Harry decided he really didn’t want more of this madness, but he couldn’t help the question from emerging.

“...Why does that sound like a mixture between my name and Tom’s…? Wait. Never mind.” He held up a hand as if to ward off a blow. “I don’t think I can take any of this right now. Charms is calling me anyway, so…” With that, he moved quickly over to his desk in the sitting room, collapsing in his desk chair with a book on Charms theory. 

“If you need help I’d be more than willing to! I only invented about sixteen new charms within the past fifty years or so,” Other Tom shouted after him, finally getting up from the floor to go lounge on the couch. Harry hesitated...it would be useful to get some help with some of the questions that had come up that day with the theory tests…

“If you teach me, am I going to be infected with your madness?” he asked warily. It was a valid question, he defended in his own mind - the diary hadn’t exactly been innocuous, neither had the locket. So far he had the idea that this Tom Riddle was surprisingly benign, but he wasn’t convinced about his sanity.  

“I cannot promise you one way or the other. However!” He whipped out a small.. Weird mirror? Out of his back pocket and started talking into it. “Hey Siri,” Harry felt a bolt of pain go through him at the name, and for a moment wondered whether this Tom would be summoning Sirius Black from his dimension, for some reason, “Do you think I’d drive Mr. Harry insane if I helped him with Charms?”

The weird device responded in a woman’s voice, “Opening the music app.”

“No!- Siri I absolutely loathe your existence.” Okay, that didn’t sound like Sirius Black in any shape or form, unless he had undergone a sex change when he’d tumbled through the veil. 

“Okay, I’ll remind you to make your bed at 3 A.M. tomorrow morning.”

“SIRI IF YOU DON’T DELETE THAT RIGHT NOW-” Harry decided that no help with Charms would be worth this kind of madness, so swiftly erected a silencing barrier. Finally - peace and quiet!

Other Tom noticed the barrier and snorted, and then went back to his device and started tapping away at the screen.