Sixteen year old Harry Potter didn't sign up for the life he lived. Sure, being a wizard was all cool and would be awesome when he was considered an adult, but that was only if he was ever considered normal, per se. Even in the Wizarding world he was given strange looks— and that was in a world where people wore neon capes and thought they were the height of fashion.
Honestly, he was okay with being a wizard. In fact, it was amazing. But did he want to be the boy who lived? No. Harry couldn't help but worry that he would never be able to defeat Voldemort— he was sixteen! Why couldn't he have been given the choice back when he was a one year old to participate in this magical arms race?
The whole 'saving the world from evil' thing only really caught up to him at the end of fourth year, when Cedric Diggory was literally murdered in cold blood right before his eyes by the same man who had murdered his parents. Until then, Harry hadn't really believed it. Now, he knew better than to underestimate it. Besides, if he couldn't trust himself, who could he really trust? His friends were nice, but they were so quick to turn on him. The ministry is somehow still in denial after seeing Voldemort in the Ministry itself— Harry still couldn't understand how they could be so closed minded. Dumbledore was keeping something from him, and Harry knew it. But what? The only person who had never lied to him was the one person who wanted nothing more than him dead in the ground.
Until Harry figured his life out, he'd have to go with the flow and act like he trusted everyone. But truthfully, he barely even trusted himself.
That evening during dinner, a random second year ran up to him in a flustered manner, shoving a letter in his hands before rushing off to her other giggling friends. Raising a brow, Harry ripped open the letter to read the insides.
Meet me in my office at 7:00 for further studies.
Ps. My favourite candy is Lemon Pops.
'Well,' Harry thought as he casted a quick tempus over his food, 'there's only one person that could be. I'll just have to take a breadstick for the road— if the man wanted me at 7:00, why couldn't he get in contact before 6:55?'
His friends, whom had previously been talking about Lavender Brown, Ron's current girlfriend, noticed Harry's hurry to get up. "And where are you going?" Seamus questioned. "Explosive diarrhea or what?"
"I've just realized I've got a Potions essay to finish," Harry lied easily, "and Slughorn expects me to be a model student, right? See you all later."
Everyone said goodbye as Harry walked out of the Great Hall. The corridors were empty, save for the few students scurrying around the hide in closets or those who wanted to get back to their dorms. Harry munched on his breadstick in contemplation. What would Dumbledore show him now? He knew it would be about Tom Riddle, but what now? He didn't really care as long as he got to bed at a half decent hour tonight— he'd hate to go McGonagall's class tomorrow morning with half a brain, she'd have his head on a stick.
By the time he reached the Headmaster's office, he'd finally finished his breadstick. Dumbledore, of course, was seated on his regular chair with his phoenix Fawkes to his left. The room was very ornate, that was certain, but one of the objects that could never be overlooked was the grand pensieve in the middle of the room.
"Hello Headmaster," Harry greeted as he eyed the pensieve. "Is today another memory journey, or..?"
"No," Dumbledore replied briskly. He seemed more nervous, and he was twiddling a gold chain in his fingers, something Harry had never seen him do before. "Now, I'm afraid, we have to put all your knowledge to good use."
Harry groaned. "A pop quiz? Headmaster, please don't make me do this, I promise I'm learning!"
Dumbledore didn't laugh, even though on a regular occasion he would chuckle. It was making Harry anxious. "It's not a pop quiz, my dear boy, although I would prefer that," he fished the necklace from his robes, displaying it to Harry. "I would assume you remember this?"
Looking quizzically at the necklace, Harry did indeed remember it— it was a Time-Turner, probably the same one he and Hermione had used to save... Sirius...
"Yeah," Harry croaked before he could get worked up. Best not ruin the same office twice. "Yeah, I remember it. But why do you have a Time-Turner when the ministry banned them, and how come you have one now?"
Dumbledore sighed as he removed the necklace from around his neck. "Now that you know Tom Riddle's past, you must change the future."
Harry was silent as he processed the information. "So... what? I need to go back to fourth year and kill him before he resurrects?"
"A little farther into the past."
"Back to when he killed my parents?"
"Again, a little farther."
Harry's eyebrows furrowed. "Then when, then? To when he was born? That's a long time ago."
Dumbledore shook his head, the gold metal glimmering tantalizingly from his fingertips. "You must go back to his sixth year and change his ways. It is our only hope to win this war. I have faith in you, Harry— if anyone could change his ways, it would be you."
"What?" Harry cried out as he stood still in shock, giving Dumbledore the perfect opportunity to slip the necklace around his neck. "His sixth year? Are you insane? He'll kill me! How— how could you think this is a good idea?"
The old man only smiled sadly as he took out his wand. "Hatred is a very strong emotion, my dear boy," Dumbledore admitted, "a very strong emotion indeed. However it could always be triumphed by the power of friendship. Turn him light, Harry. The world depends on you."
With that, Dumbledore's wand reached the Time-Turner and Harry's world turned to chaos.
Once more, anyways.
~
"Turn him light, Harry. The world depends on you."
Hadn't Harry just said he didn't want the fate of the world resting on his shoulders? And not to have a choice in this? Why couldn't Dumbledore have just asked him? Granted, he would have said no, but it's the thought that counts.
The world became less blurry in only a minute, and Harry found himself within the same office, but with a different Headmaster in front of him— Headmaster Dippet, if he was right. A sudden crumpled parchment piece appeared in his hand.
"Well, this was certainly unexpected!" Dippet boomed enthusiastically and pleasantly. "Magic is certainly a strange thing, innit? What's your name, son?"
"Harry—" Harry stopped. Should he say Potter? Was there a Potter from this time zone that could spoil his cover? "Harry... I don't remember my last name, sir," he lied, pretending to act scared and confused.
Dippet chuckled deeply. "Well, Harry no name, how did you get into Hogwarts?"
Harry was sure he was sweating profusely as he uncurled the parchment in his left hand. Wordlessly, he passed the parchment over to Dippet and watched in worry as his eyes skimmed over the words and his facial expression didn't change. Harry was only reassured when a huge smile overtook the current Headmaster's face and placed the parchment back on his desk. "I see! Well son, your father must have been powerful to Apparate you into our wards when he was in danger!"
Quickly catching on, Harry nodded his head to agree. "My father must have been the strongest wizard alive," he faked the loyalty. Honestly, how could he know his parents? No offence, they died when he was one and a half. And they didn't die to make his choices— they died so he could be happy in whatever he chose. Even they wouldn't want him to be the saviour of the Wizarding world if he was this unhappy to be doing so. He risked peeking down to see what had happened the the Time-Turner— there was a gold chain peaking out of his now regular and not red and gold robes, but it was barely noticeable for someone who didn't know it was there. It must have slipped under so that Dippet wouldn't question the story. Nice.
Hearing Harry's comment, Dippet laughed whole-heartedly and clapped him on the back. "A good lad, you are! Well, we're gonna have to go ahead with a sorting now, unless you'd rather do it in front of the school?" In answer, Harry shook his head wildly. "No? Well then. Let me just get the Sorting Hat."
Harry stood awkwardly as Dippet moved onto a ladder to get the Sorting Hat, which had been laying innocently on one of the many shelves. If he was truly here to save Tom, he would have to be in Slytherin, where the Hat wanted to place him in first year. But if he wanted to be a normal wizard... he could just be Hufflepuff, maybe. He'd find nice friends there. Have a nice life.
Fuck his Gryffindor tendencies, honestly.
Soon enough, Headmaster Dippet came back with the raggedy Hat in his hands. He swiftly placed the hat on Harry's head before stepping back.
"So we meet again," the hat chuckled in Harry's head. "I see my future self placed you in Gryffindor— tsk, tsk, what was I thinking? A great mind, very cunning and ambitious— brave, yes— but so very SLYTHERIN!"
The Hat was suddenly ripped from his head, not that Harry was surprised. He wasn't necessarily opposed to new things— just over the summer he had figured out he was gay and liked it up the ass— but being in Slytherin was definitely going to be a change. What would Malfoy say if he saw Harry now? Would the green make him feel at home, or at prison?
"Well then!" Dippet exclaimed as he placed the Hat back on the shelf. "I should only be one second to contact one of the Slytherin Prefects to guide you to your dorm," he clapped his hands and the regular robes Harry had been wearing turned into Slytherin's. "As I said— one second!"
Harry wondered who the Slytherin Prefect was. Probably one of Tom's henchmen, if he were being realistic. He couldn't help but feel nervous— what if they somehow noticed him? Or outcastes him? How in the ever-loving fuck is he supposed to get close to Tom Riddle? The more he thought about it, the more impossible it seemed. Although it was his only voice of reason, Harry shut that part of the brain off so that he didn't drive himself crazy.
Dippet never came back. Five minutes after the man left, Harry couldn't help but become curious as to where he went. He wanted to go and look for him, but if he were to stay on his good side and not get detentions to stay close to Tom, he couldn't act as intuitively as he usually did. As he strained to see or hear the Headmaster, Harry heard the door open and close behind him. As soon as he turned around, he gasped.
Although Harry was gay, he never necessarily... checked guys out, strangely enough. He'd technically grown up with them and considered them his brothers. Before this moment, he just sort of knew he wasn't sexually or romantically attracted to girls. But damn, did the boy in front of him change that.
He was wearing Slytherin robes, so he must have been the Prefect that Dippet had been talking about. He stood about six feet tall, a normal height for a sixteen year old, however Harry was stuck at 5'5 and was forced to look up at him. His robes were precise, clean, and steamed, and his badge seemed perfectly placed. His lips were slightly open and his eyes looked shocked, those deep blue orbs... although his hair was perfectly combed, it looked fluffy enough that Harry knew he would love to run his fingers through it. And even through the robes, Harry could see a hint of abs... damn, boy. With a start, Harry realized this was Tom Riddle, aka Lord Voldemort, the man who murdered his family.
"Boys!" Harry heard from behind him, but neither boy took their eyes off the other. "I see you've met each other! Harry, this is Tom Riddle, one of the Slytherin Prefects. Tom, this is Harry no name. I do suppose you should wander down to the dorms? It's after dinner and I'd say you both are tired." He turned his attention towards Harry. "Son, if you ever need any help, don't hesitate to come and ask. We'd share a cup of tea!"
Harry thanked him mindlessly as Tom opened the door for him to exit. As he walked next to Tom, he had to keep reminding himself he shouldn't know where he was going. The Hogwarts here was just as familiar as the one in fifty years.
"So," Harry almost melted at the voice, "Harry no name?"
Feeling the blood rushing to his cheeks, Harry nodded. "Yeah. I can't remember my last name."
Tom hummed. Harry couldn't help but look over and see that Tom was regarding him contemplatively. "I see," he answered, "although I cannot see that being a problem. You wouldn't have kept your old name for too long, even if you remembered it."
Harry's eyebrows furrowed in confusion and his lips inadvertently pushed out into a pout. "What do you mean?"
"I will be showing you around for however long as you need it," Tom changed the subject, "and do not feel the need to wander the castle on your own just to spare my time. Anyone could easily get lost in here, and I find it hard to believe everyone could be as... helpful as I am being."
Harry couldn't help but giggle— not only because he knew this castle like the back of his hand, but also because Tom sounded like he was... worried about Harry, and honestly, it was one of the only times he had ever heard that tone directed towards him. "You make everyone out to sound evil," Harry teased lightly.
Tom suddenly stopped and placed a gentle hand on Harry's forearm, making the smaller boy stop too. "Not necessarily evil, just untrustworthy," Tom muttered in a slightly angry manner, his eyes seeking Harry's. "You needn't worry about them, I will take care of them for you. I will never lie to you."
Despite what was happening, Harry smiled genuinely, something he hadn't done in a long time— probably since Sirius was murdered. If Harry could convert Tom to the light, everything would be wonderful. If Tom wanted to never lie, then Harry would happily agree to his terms. And if he wanted to help Harry in his problems... then Merlin, that would take a lot of stress off of his back. The idea of someone being his backbone sounded wonderful, and Tom sounded wonderful too.
Harry wanted to save him. Badly.
"Thank you," Harry said genuinely, smiling up at Tom, who was looking at him with all of his attention. "I really appreciate that, Mr. Riddle."
"Please," Tom whispered, his head inching towards Harry's slowly. "Call me Tom, hmm?"
Without noticing, Harry's head inches forwards as well. The force of magnitude was too strong, and the attraction was overwhelming. Tom slowly snaked an arm around Harry's waist and Harry placed both hands on Tom's shoulders, the two of them too afraid to make sudden movements in case they scared the other away.
Inches before their lips met, a cough sounded and echoed through the hallway. Embarrassingly, both both stopped holding each other and looked at the figure who was interrupting them— The one and only Transfiguration teacher, Dumbledore.
"Shouldn't you both be in the common room?" Dumbledore asked, although he diverted the most attention to Tom. Harry frowned when he saw this— they were both out of bed, how come Tom had to face the anger?
Harry lightly coughed, catching the other two males' attention. "If I may, sir, I just arrived and Tom has been showing me around the school. I'm sorry for taking so long, sir, I would just like to make sure I won't get lost in the future," he rambled, making sure to bite his lip at the end. Dumbledore had always been less angry or anxious when he seemed innocent. Maybe if he seemed innocent here, the teacher would leave them alone.
It was silent for a moment before Dumbledore nodded. "Very well. On you go to your rooms now. And no detours, you two! I would hope that you, Tom, know better than to risk a petrification."
Harry smiled in thanks as Dumbledore entered the Transfiguration room again. From next to him, Harry could hear Tom chuckle. "What a good Slytherin you are," Tom complimented as they continued to walk on. "No wonder you're in the snake den."
"Yeah, but Tom?" He asked, receiving à court nod. "What was that petrification risk that teacher talked about? And who is he, anyway?"
Tom seemed to growl before composing himself. "That is the Transfiguration professer, Dumbledore," he spoke the name with spite, "and he is only talking about a little problem the school is facing. Although I have no fear that you will be one of the victims. You definitely won't be, so do not fret."
The smaller boy knew what the petrifications were. He even knew Tom was doing them. But he couldn't help but feel warm inside when Tom said he wouldn't get petrified, because that was basically a conformation that he wouldn't be hurt yet from the person hurting the people. But just in case, he had to make sure. "How are you sure?"
"The same way I know the sun will rise tomorrow," Tom answered. "Completely and irreversibly."
Harry could feel his cheeks flame up again. Who knew Tom could be such a gentleman? "But Dumbledore seemed worried about us."
"Dumbledore doesn't care about us," Tom dismissed. "If he cared, he'd let us stay in his room until he knew we were safe enough to make the rest of the way back, or he'd even accompany us. He doesn't care about Slytherins— Gryffindors are his favourite, and Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs are okay for him. Although we have our own Head— Professor Slughorn. If you need anything from a professor, go to him. He even has his own club, and I'm certain if I ask you will be allowed to join me."
"You don't have to," Harry shyly said as he glanced up at the other male. "I just got here Tom, why are you being so nice to me?" The question was a true one.
There was silence for quite a while, and Harry thought Tom wasn't going to answer. Until, of course, he heard the answer.
"You're the first person to ever interest me."
'How do I take that?" Harry thought desperately. 'A compliment? A critic? Is interest a good or bad thing? Is this bad for the plan? I don't want to be on Tom's bad side!'
They found the door to the common rooms and Tom told him the password before opening the door for him like a gentleman. Swiftly, Tom guided him through the throngs of people and to the private dorms, where there were four beds, one unused next to Tom.
"I figured you were tired enough, so we didn't stay to talk to people," Tom said as he took off his outer robes. "Time to get changed. Tomorrow will be a long day for you."
Nodding his agreement, Harry was about to search around for his pyjamas when he realized he hadn't necessarily packed before Dumbledore caught him by surprise on the trip to the 40's. Not looking Tom in the eyes, Harry mumbled. "I don't have a pair of pyjamas, I'm sorry."
If he had looked up, he would have seen the mischievous and cunning smile on Tom's face. "That's perfectly all right," he answered, quickly picking out a dark green top from his closet. "You can borrow my clothes until you can go out shopping."
Stuttering out his 'thank you's, Harry carefully grabbed the top. Turning around, he stripped out of his clothes down to his boxers and put on Tom's shirt, which reached just below his privates and uncovered a little of his arse.
He turned around to see Tom sitting on his bed with the blankets suspiciously piled around him. Harry smiled. "Thank you so much!"
Tom just nodded quite vigorously as Harry got into his bed, lightly pulling the curtains around his bed, leaving only a tiny space. "Goodnight, Tom."
"Goodnight, my emerald."
Harry turned around and closed his eyes, trying not to let his face flush for the dozenth time in the past hour. He couldn't help recall what he was trying to do— get Tom from dark to light. If Tom kept being this nice, Harry would definitely have fun. But... what about Dumbledore? He seems like an asshole, now that he thought about it— never told Harry the truth, let Lockhart be a teacher, let a Death Eater be a teacher, let Umbridge be a teacher, let Harry compete in the tri-wizard tournament, appointed the job of defeated the Dark Lord on the shoulders of a teenager... the list could go on. Yet Tom couldn't be a saint, either, could he?
Grey. He wasn't light. He wasn't dark. He was grey.