)2000(

They say that on that day the blood ran down the walls of Hogwarts until the Quidditch field was a swamp of darkness. They are prone to exaggeration for poetic effect. The war at the end was not nearly as simple as rivers of life leaking away into the dark patches of the earth.

Harry had emerged from the final battle covered head to toe in putrid gore. Fluids, pus and curse residue soldered his robes to his skin and dirtied his face beyond recognition. Those that survived watched him with confused eyes as he plodded through the mess. So much of it was his own that when he finally turned himself into the tender hands of the medics, no one was quite sure he would survive. No one was sure they wanted him too. The most powerful wizard in the world might possibly awake completely and utterly mad.

Every friend he had was dead. Hermione, Ron, Neville, Seamus, Dean, Lavender...each had fallen and left little trace behind. The Weasley family was decimated, Remus Lupin, Severus Snape, Minerva McGonagall....dead. If the Boy-Who-Lived could withstand that, he was far stronger then any estimated him to be.

In truth, had Harry bothered to stay in the Infirmary long enough to hear the full list of fatalities, he might very well have lost his mind. But he did not intend to ever find out what had really happened. Because it had occurred to him, late in the nights before the last battle that there was no reason for any of it to remain the truth. He bounced the plan off Ron and Hermione, his two loyal lieutenants until the last moments. They had listened solemnly, argued with him for endless hours, eventually helped him work out the kinks and prayed that it wouldn't be necessary.

At the very least, if it didn't work, Voldemort was dead and his army in glistening pieces all over the field. That cold comfort drove him to the pre-picked spot and started a chain of spells that would propel him back in the time line.

) 1929 (

The cottage was small and charming. The roses were in full bloom, climbing up the trellis and birds sang merrily in the trees. Harry wanted to burn it to the ground. It had taken him the better part of six months to find his target. His own fault really, Hermione had told him to do better research. At least no one had noticed him. Wizarding traditions change slowly, his robes needed little alteration and his innovative spell work could be side stepped when he claimed to have been privately tutored. The curse scar was ignored. It meant nothing to thirties Hogsmeade, except that he had been to slow in a spectacular wizard dual. People would buy him a round of drinks if he told them, so he made the story increasingly fantastic every time.

A patina of gray surrounded him whenever he went outside. The Depression was an apt name for the hard times that had fallen on the western world. In the wake of the First World War, a general gloom had descended. Harry could practically taste the cynicism in the air.

No longer. Soon his task would be complete, the whole timeline changed and he would fade out of existence, bequeathing life to a happier, safer self. And he would complete his task. By broom he flew from the cottage and landed at a safe distance away from the glowering building. It loomed five stories on a paved yard. Hundreds of boys roved outside, screaming and laughing. They wore a uniform of gray, short pants, jackets and a glimpse of sloppily done tie knots.

The youngest boys clung to the walls in small knots watched over by a single grim matron. Occasionally she would bark at one or another and they would all become quieter for a time. At her side one of the youngest would watch the others play, his green eyes shining with intelligence, his shock of black hair falling messily into his face.

Every once and a while he would cast his glance away from the other boys and solemnly gaze into the bushes where Harry had concealed himself under his cloak. It would take a wizard of immense power to see through the cloak without aid. For a child to do so would make him unprecedented. Harry moved deeper into the under brush. Tom Riddle had made a name for himself doing the unprecedented.

In the dark. In the dark like a thief. No. In the dark like an assassin. What am I doing, what am I doing, what am I doing... Tiptoe to the bed, tiptoe, on tiptoes, on little cat's feet, like a fog comes in..

Well, Harry had remained mostly sane. Though as he stood over the cot of his great enemy, dagger poised ( a wand might just start the vicious cycle all over again), he wondered if mostly was good enough.

The boy woke.

" 'lo?" The small mouth whispered in the dark. "Who are you?"

Who am I? Harry asked himself. A murderer of children? Is this what I have become? In his mind, Hermione wept and Ron turned from him. As they had done when he proposed this plan in the first place. As they should have.

"I was a friend of your mother." He said suddenly, a plan full borne unfolding in his mind. Carefully, he sheathed the dagger and set it into his belt. "IÕve been away for many years and only learned of your existence yesterday."

"Oh." The small boy sat up in bed and Harry saw that the intelligence in his eyes gleamed even in the dark. But it had no malice yet. At three, Riddle had no conception of what had happened to him, no idea how harsh his life would be. He only knew fear, anger and the stiff cold of his dormitory. The lad shivered in his thin nightshirt and Harry instinctively muttered a spell to thicken the blanket. He was lost here.

"Tomorrow, I am going to take you to live with me. Would you like that?"

The young boy's eyes widened impossibly, then shuttered.

"Liar."

Startled Harry nearly fumbled his wand as he slipped it back in its holster.

"No, it's true. I promise."

"So did they."

"They?"

"A pretty lady and her husband. They said they'd take me home."

How many disappointments had already found Riddle? How many more need visiting on a tender mind to form it into the roughest clay?

"I promise."

"On what?"

"Something very important to meÉ" But what was left?

Solemn, confused eyes blinked slowly.

"I promise you on my life. How about that?" He conjured a phrase long ago heard somewhere. "Cross my heart and hope to die."

The little boy nodded and curled into the thicker blanket, not registering the change until the strange man had gone from the room.

The matrons, severe in dress and face, melted like butter when the charming young man in black arrived to take charge of his nephew.

"A terrible mix up," He explained, sad and clean shaven, "they thought I was dead you see."

They rushed over each other to produce the boy, who lit up when he saw that his midnight visitor had indeed kept his promise. A small hand captured his as he signed the papers and held on tight as his guardian smiled, muttered Latin under his breath and got them free of the orphanage faster then any other adoption on record. Which of course it wasn't. Paper trails are so sticky.

)1930(

It was a day like any other. Harry woke up with the first light and set about making eggs and toast. Breakfast was on the table when he went to get Tom out from under his covers. The young boy was cocooned under the animated sprawl of three headed dogs that growled warningly at Harry when he reached over to wake the boy.

"Up now, Tom."

"No. G'way."

Only two months out of the orphanage and he was already forgetting the protocol, the harsh words of the matrons. He knew that Harry wouldn't be mad if grumbled or whined. And the other man would never douse him with cold water to rouse him from his bed like the matrons would.

"If you don't get out of bed, I'll have to call the tickle monster." Harry warned and already Tom could feel cold fingers prying their way under the comforter.

"Noooo!" He shrieked and bounced out of bed, wide-awake and rumpled.

He blinked. Harry was staring at him as he sometimes did. It usually made Tom squirm. There was something cold about that stare, remote. Today it softened quicker then before and Harry was lifting him over one shoulder amid further vocal protests.

They ate breakfast together with the radio on. Harry had carefully explained to Tom the difference between wizards and muggles one night, instead of a bedtime story. Tom preferred the stories, but Harry said he would understand why it was important when he was older. In any case, he liked the radio, the music was pretty and the voices that read the news soothing. Sometimes Harry read a paper that had been delivered by owl or one that the local newsboy had thrown on the step. Tom preferred the owl borne papers because the pictures moved and sometimes made faces at him when Harry wasn't looking.

A quick wash and Tom's favorite time of day was upon them. They would go out to the backyard and Harry would take out a beautiful broom that he called 'a lazy antique' under his breath. With Tom seated before him, they would rise into the sky and the whole town would spread out below them. The whole trip was only seven or eight minutes long, before they landed at The Nursery for Precocious Youth.

Madame Gylan always greeted them with a frown.

"Really, Mr. Drover. " She said every morning as they set down. "I don't think that is suitable transport for a young child."

"Oh, Madame Gylan, a good morning to you too." Then he would wink at Tom, before leaning down to say,

"I'll pick you up at three."

"Promise?" Tom asked everyday though the fear from the first weeks had faded.

"On my life." Up again and already taking to the sky. "And a good day to you Madame!"

"That man." Madame Gylan would always say as she escorted Tom into the small class. "He's incorrigible."

As Harry shopped for dinner, picking up the ready to make dinners he relied on, he realized that he was going to have to find something to do. No one would believe his independently wealthy bachelor story without any past to back it up. It was a fortunate thing that Tom looked so much like him or he probably already would have been closely scrutinized when he enrolled the child in school.

With a frightening chill, Harry understood just how entrenched in this plot he had become. When he had first taken Tom from the orphanage, he had planned on finding a nice family to adopt him and hope that that would be enough of a shift. But Tom was already such a distrusting child and he had fallen asleep on him on the way home from the orphanage, thick black lashes sooty on one thin cheek.

It brought back the memories that never quite stayed buried. Of a cupboard and insubstantial meals and the sick feeling that there was no end in sight. Tom trusted him, counted on him to be there for him at the end of every dayÉHarry tried to remember having any adult he trusted that much and failed. It would be criminal to take it away from the boy. Probably counter productive to saving the boyÕs life in the first place.

That day in the marketplace, Harry said goodbye to his future in his own time and reconciled himself to building a new life out of nothing. No, not nothing. He already had a family. Tom was a good boy, inquisitive, intelligent and much to Harry's surprise, good-natured when shown kindness. It had taken years to turn Tom to Voldemort, years that would now be filled with something besides gray walls and near animal conditions.

Tom never saw Harry staring coldly at him again.



)1931(

"Harry?"

Sighing, Harry set down his quill and turned to find ridiculously large green eyes staring up at him. It was dark outside, the pale light of the moon giving everything a silvery glow. He'd put Tom to bed over an hour ago. The money he was putting into the store was more then enough, but he just couldn't decide on an inventory. This wasn't his part of the planning process, but his team was gone now. No Hermione for brains or Ron for motivation and sheer gall. Only Harry.

"What's up?" He picked up the little boy and plopped his lap, happy for the surprise companionship.

"Harry...where's my daddy?"

Oh, so it was time for that conversation. Tom knew his mother was dead, the matrons had told him that much. His father was another story and he'd put off telling it for a long time.

"He died. Before you were born." Harry supplied, cursing himself for his own cowardice.

But Tom Riddle had murdered his father and grandparents before reaching his majority.

"So you're my only family?"

"Yes." He lied and held the small body close to his, inhaling the soft scent of his hair and cursing himself. "But I will always, always be there for you."

"Promise?"

"On my life."

)1932(

"Are you coming in?"

Tom gazed up from the ground, his chest tightening with fear. He hadn't meant to hurt the poor thing. Harry would be angry with him, just as his teacher was always angry with him in school for doing things he didn't mean. Sometimes the teacher would call Harry in, but the older man would only come home shaking his head.

"You can't help it, I know." He would tell Tom. "They're only angry because they're afraid. You're very powerful."

"And you're not afraid?" He would ask, curled up under his blankets.

"I will never fear you." A soft hand on his shoulder would turn him to see Harry's shape in the dark. It was comforting, familiar. "One day you will learn how to control all that power and you will do incredible things. Now it's just like your friend Igon, who trips over his long legs."

"He breaks lots of things too."

"That he does." Harry smiled. "But one day those long legs will make him fast. He just has to grow into them."

But this was worse then a few broken chalkboards and drawings that took on lives of their own. Maybe he should run away. The thought had never crossed his mind before and it filled him with a sick dread. To live away again, without Harry was the worst punishment he could imagine.

"Tom?" Too late, a thick shadow fell over him.

"I didn't mean to."

Harry crouched down.

"Didn't mean to what?"

Tom opened his hands to show him the bird that he had found.

"I think he ran into the window and I was trying to fix him because he limping."

The bird was a terrible mess and obviously very dead. Tenderly, Harry took it from Tom's hand and shook his head.

"Remember what I told you about fixing things?"

"I know..I needed a spell, but he just looked so..." And shamefully, Tom began to cry. He was too big to cry.

And he was definitely too big to be taken into Harry's lap and rocked quietly, but that was what happened anyway.

"Shh, shh." Soft whispers muttered non-sensically into his ear. "You didn't mean it. It's all right, it's all right."

They buried the bird near the tomatoes and the next day, Harry brought home a calico kitten and presented it to Tom.

"This is your kitten. I'm going to trust you to feed him and change his litter box."

Curiously, Tom held out his hand, the kitten sniffed it and butted at his hands. He scratched at its cheeks and giggled when it began a high-pitched purr.

"Thank you." He remembered to say. "What's his name?"

"I don't know, what do you think we should call him?"

Tom thought for a long moment.

"Puck."

"Puck?" Harry laughed. "How'd you come up with that?"

"Teacher said that I reminded her of Puck. And I asked her what she meant, so she told me the story."

"Did she now?" Harry smirked. "Puck, it is then."

Better Puck then imperious Oberon.

The little calico cat was probably the most spoiled kitten that had ever graced the earth. Not once in the vast adventures of Tom and Puck did the feline ever come into danger. At the slightest sign of sickness, Harry was barraged with questions and concern while he stretched his Care of Magical Creatures training as far as it would go.

And when he returned the purring ball of fluff to waiting hands, Tom would smile at him like he had made peace between all the great nations of the world. Every time that smile was turned on him, the shreds of regret that had tethered him to the future became a little more frayed.

)1933(

The shop Harry had opened in Hogsmeade should not have succeeded. It sold a little bit of everything. Knick-knacks, oddities that ranged from the arcane magical to simple muggle artifacts. Safety pins were jammed in with jaw jamming gum, radios piled next to broken wands.

Tom loved it and spent his weekends playing with Puck up and down the musty, crowded aisles while customers browsed. The store stayed open and even thrived. People were attracted to the proprietor and his boisterous son. Women could smell his singleness and hunted him like Puck with a particularly big mouse. Men enjoyed his conversation, he always seemed a step ahead of the newspapers that he read three at a time, every morning without fail.

The teachers and students of Hogwarts poured in on their set weekends. One of them, Professor Dumbledore would often linger long after the others had gone on to other shops. He would gaze speculatively into the suddenly hardened face of the owner or glance at the child, who talked solemnly to his cat.

"Where did you say you came from, Mr. Dover?" Dumbledore asked one day as the last of his students toddled out the door.

"I never did." Harry returned with a cool smile. "Why do you ask?"

"I am always curious about my friends, Mr. Dover."

They both laughed pleasantly at the small joke, but Harry did not ask him to the backroom for tea as he would have with the other professors and shopkeepers who stayed for long visits. And when he left, Harry let out a long sigh of relief.

"Is he a bad man?" Tom asked him when the door clanked shut.

"No. You must never think that. Professor Dumbledore is a very good man, but he is also very powerful."

"More powerful then you?"

Guileless eyes revealed only a child's loyalty to his guardian, but Harry had to wonder.

"I don't know. Hopefully, we will never have to find out."

)1936(

Tom was a careful child in his own way. Other children came home with torn and muddied clothes, their hair mussed and a gaggle of friends with them to their parents despair. Never once had Harry had to repair a ripped shirt or, worse, a broken limb. Clothes remained neat and the thick black hair stayed settled in the style the young man seemed to prefer.

If anything, it was Tom who kept Harry out of dangerous situations, not in any deed or word, but by his very presence. Harry found that being a parent made him much less likely to go running bravely ( and blindly) into danger. A part of his thoughts would always be on the boy at home, who depended on him.

So it was shock when the emergency mirror all paranoid parents carried around with them flared to life in his pocket. His heart skipped a few beats as he apparated right out of the store, barely remembering to ward the door.

He landed in the middle of the schoolyard. A teacher Harry didn't recognize was shepherding the other children into the building while Mrs. Harper stood over a cowering Tom, her face red as a tomato. The moment she laid eyes on Harry, she started to yell.

"Mr. Dover! Are you aware that your ward is involved with the DARK ARTS?"

Harry eyes went wide and glanced over to Tom, who was trembling and biting his lower lip.

"And what leads you to that conclusion?"

"He was talking to a snake! Convincing it to bite another child!"

"That's a lie!" Tom burst out. "Sstassa was going to bite Greg, I was asking him not too!"

"Shut up, you miserable child! Mr. Dover, if you have trained this child in the dark..."

"If I were you I would stop talking, right now." Harry's eyes flashed with killing curse darkness and when the woman took a frightened step back, he moved to the child and enfolded him gently in his arms. Tom stiffened briefly as if the thought something harsher was coming and then melted into the embrace.

~Hush now, dear one.~ Harry hissed at him.

~I didn't know...I've never spoken to a snake before, honest!~ It dawned on Tom slowly. ~You...you speak snake too?~

~Parseltongue. I should have told you, I just...~

He had forgotten. In the intervening years, he had simply forgotten who this little boy had the potential to become.

~I'm not a freak?~

~No. You're special. Like me.~

Mrs. Harper had made for the safety of the building. Later Harry would talk to her rationally, explain about inherited talents and make her a very good cup of tea in his very comfortable (non-evil) living room. He didn't think she'd ever be quite as warm to Tom again, but the boy never complained about her.

~The other kids are gonna think I am.~

~No, they're not. Greg knows you saved him, he'll tell everyone else.~

They were quiet for a while, Tom clinging to Harry's robes as he hadn't done in a long time.

"You came." Tom said quietly. "I wasn't sure..."

"Oh, Tom." Harry pulled back. Could it be that after all this time, Tom still didn't trust him fully? He thought of the knife he had never brought himself to throw out, glistening in the dark over the bed of a child. "Dear boy, I will always be there for you. If you need me, I will come."

"You promise?"

"On my life."

)1938(

"It came, it came!"

Harry roused from the table to find Tom in the yard, feeding their owl Sal a ridiculous amount of treats. The owl looked slightly queasy both from the overfeeding and sitting on the jittering boy's shoulder.

Gently, Harry took the letter from sticky fingers. He'd want to frame it later and hang it in the study.

"I told you it would."

"I'm going to Hogwarts!" Tom stopped cold. "I'm going to Hogwarts. Will you be all right by yourself?"

Harry started to laugh and found he couldn't stop. The earnest look on the young boy's face, the sincerity of his tone, doubled him over.

"I think I'll manage." He wheezed and pulled the child into a tight hug.

"I'll be just up the road if you need anything." Tom went on, clutching his guardian tightly.

In the end, Harry wondered if Tom hadn't had a touch of prophecy. The shop felt empty without the two intrepid explorers and the house echoed his every step. The boy wasn't even gone a day and Harry was already wondering when Christmas hols started.

The first owl arrived the next morning, the letter was short, the handwriting sloppy and the punctuation copious. Harry nearly cried over it and felt like a complete twat as he reread it.

"Dear Harry,

Hogwarts is the best!!! I'm in Slytherin with Avarus Zabini, from down the road. The dungeons are cold and wet!!!! Please send more blankets.

Love, Tom."

Later, when he was feeling less melancholy, he wondered if he should be concerned about the house placement. He belatedly remembered that as SalazarÕs heir it was highly unlikely that Tom would have been sorted anywhere but. Well, he had given him the best childhood he could. One way or another, he would find out if that were enough.

Even later then that, Harry realized with a bolt that he could get a life again. So much time had passed since he had had a real bed companion...He knew other parents managed somehow, but he had always felt a bit dirty taking people home with Tom in the other room and far too guilty to leave Tom with a sitter all night just so he could get his jollies.

And to be honest, he had still been in mourning for those he had lost in the war. Nearly a decade had past now and while he missed them all, the pain was not so immediate. It was time for Harry Dover to get into the market and he knew just where to start.

)1940(

The snow lay thick on the ground as Tom walked into Hogsmeade. Clouds had thickened in the sky, promising more.

"It's gonna be three feet at least." Vermillion Parkinson had smirked as she said goodbye to him this morning. She could afford to be smug. The Parkinsons were going to Australia for the holidays.

"At least we'll be having a white Christmas." He'd muttered.

"Yeah," Avarus jumped in, "you'll just have kangaroos."

She'd rolled her eyes at them, before giving them fast, embarrassed hugs and boarded the train. The two boys had stared at each other awkwardly for a minute, before settling on shaking hands.

Now Tom was hoping the snow would hold out for him to get the shop. He didn't fancy being stranded out in the wet and cold. Not to mention Puck, who was currently curled up in her carrier, had a long-standing hatred of storms. As usual going home for the hols gave him mixed feelings. On the one hand, being back with Harry, having his own room and the festivities of Christmas were great, but on the other, he really did like being at Hogwarts.

It had been scary at first. He was sure the other Slytherins would tear him apart. The shop had lots of dark places and he'd used them to observe the students for years before getting his own letter. He knew all about the warring houses. There were the brave, loud Gryffindors, who would rampage about the store in gales of laughter, heedless of other glaring patrons; the curious, silent Ravenclaws whose sharp eyes found him in his hiding places and who made Harry delirious with all their purchases; the chattering, animated Hufflepuffs, who never stayed long among the brick-a-brack and the cool, calm Slytherins that turned their noses at the shop in groups, but snuck in alone or in pairs to haunt the aisles, always finding the most precious things.

They frightened him, these calculating mini-adults. As he'd sat down at the table the first time, the older ones sneered at him.

"Isn't he a mudblood?" "Heard he was adopted by some weirdo...""Owns that strange shop.."

"That little maggot," Lydia Zabini had interrupted, "is one of my brother's best friends."

Not only was Lydia from one of the oldest wizarding families, but she was a sixth year. If Tom was good enough for her family, he was good enough for them. To his shock and pleasure, the conversation was dropped and never returned. At the time Lydia had winked at him and continued with her friends.

It taught Tom an important lesson. People were like animals. They'd reject you if you looked or smelled wrong, but if you got on with the leader they'd take you in without a thought. From that day on, Tom made it a point to become friendly with everyone in his House. His motherless status turned usually cool girls hennish and protective around him and his mastery on the broom, thanks to endless hours illegally in the air with Harry, bought the boys' grudging respect.

Halfway through his third year now, he was one of the most popular and well-liked boys in his House. Just the week before, he'd interrupted some of the older boys while they talked about some political thing or another and lived to tell about.

"There is no reason we should put up with it." Yosef was saying. "Protecting these muggles while our own people are dying."

There were dark mutters of agreement. Tom knew, of course, that they were at war. It was hard to miss with the tensions in the hall and the quiet hush during breakfast when the Headmaster read out the current news from the front. Too many had older sisters and brothers, family that was fighting. Harry sent him long letters filled with clippings once he found out how starving the students were for news.

"After all," someone else said, "it's not like they're anything like us."

"They're exactly like us." Tom startled himself by saying. All eyes turned to him.

"Now Tom, we know your guardian's got a soft spot, but you can't go saying they're anything like us." Yosef said. "Everyone knows..."

"Well, then everyone's wrong. I mean, I've met lots of them and they're just people. Just because they don't have magic doesn't mean they aren't. I mean, it'd be stupid if I said you all were less then me because I can speak Parseltongue and you couldn't."

"That's different. So you can do one thing better, Muggles can't do any magic at all..."

"Neither can squibs, and I bet you all have one or two in your families. Should we leave them out to magical attack?"

Several of the boys started to look uncomfortable. He didn't know it yet, but it was already clear to anyone with half a brain that Tom was going to be a very powerful wizard. Yosef was no slouch with a wand and this conversation was definitely leaning towards a fight. They might have to choose sides.

"Squibs are like the handicapped. You couldn't just kill 'em. That'd be wrong."

"So how's a squib different from a muggle?"

"Well they grew up with magic, didn't they? Still have house elves and know the culture..."

"If we let muggles in then they'd be the same as squibs then." He retorted.

"No. Look..." Yosef floundered. The boys started to move towards Tom imperceptibly, ignoring their friend's imploring look. They may be loyal to a point, but they were still Slytherin.

"I'm not saying we should let them in." Tom said softly. "But we know more about what's going on then they do and it would be wrong to let them die because they aren't a part of us. It'd be like letting the American wizards get bombed because they don't know what's going on over here. "

"You're wrong." Yosef had finally said after a long, tense pause. "It took guts though, to say all those things. I don't think they'll make you very popular Tommy."

"Oh, I don't know about that."

Yosef glanced at his friends. They were all standing nearly on top of the younger boy, staring defiantly back at him. Without another word, the older boy had stormed out without once reaching for his wand.

Tom smiled at the memory. Retribution would probably come eventually, in one form or another. Right now though, he could savor the memory of winning over a group of sixth years. Smiling, he kicked at the snow, watching it fall in soft wet piles. Puck mewed piteously from her carrier as fat flakes started to fall.

He approached the shop, step lightening when he saw the familiar golden light spilling out onto the darkening street. No doubt Harry was waiting inside with tea and biscuits.

"Hello?" He called as he banged open the shop door the rustle of bells.

"Ooooh, little Tom! Let us have a look at you!"

Imperceptibly, Tom shuddered. Another con of coming home was dealing with That Woman. She was a newer addition to their household, a beautiful enough twenty something that had followed quickly on the heels of That Man. It wasn't that Tom minded these people floating in and out of his guardian's life. Much. It was more that they were always...so sticky. Loving and clingy, gazing adoringly at Harry and speaking to Tom as if he were hard of hearing or stupid.

That Woman wrapped him in an over perfumed hug and he fought not to gag. Suddenly, her embrace was gone and Harry was there, smiling down at him, on hand resting on her waist.

"Now, now. Let the boy breathe, darling." Harry winked at him. ~Welcome back, dear boy. Cup of tea and a biscuit?~

~Yes, please.~

"Oh, Harry," whined That Woman, "you know how I hate that sound."

Since Harry only sighed and turned to go into the backroom, Tom happily concluded that That Woman was not long for this family. He'd had some worries when he left for Hogwarts because Harry had been very upset about losing That Man and had intended to correct all his mistakes with That Woman.

Not that Harry had told him any of this, but over the years from paranoia that turned to a deep and abiding love, he had learned everything about his guardian. He knew what the slightest gesture meant, the slightest tremor in the glass smooth voice and the most careless phrase. It was comfortable and comforting. That Woman would be gone by spring break and they could go back to it being just the two of them for a while. Until the next person came along.

These were the thoughts that ran through his head as he sipped tea and munched a biscuit. Harry quizzed him on school. Outside the snow was falling and That Woman was tinkering with something in the front, far away from them. It was already a perfect Christmas.

Lulled by the mood, he told Harry all about the confrontation.

"That's my boy." Harry said when he finished. "Bigotry is a plight of the stupid and angry."

"I don't think Yosef is stupid. His parents are purebloods and they don't think much of mudbloods."

"You think that's what makes people hateful? What their parents tell them?"

"I dunno. Maybe. I mean, when you're a kid people can tell you what to do and what to think. Yosef's not stupid, he just doesn't think about what people tell him, especially parents."

"Sounds about right to me." Harry cuffed him slightly on the arm. "When'd you get so smart?"

"You two are so cute together!" That Woman barged in, fake smile well in place. "Like bookends! The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, I suppose."

The pair made eye contact and laughed, leaving That Woman confused and gaping like a fish.



)1941(

The library was eerie in the evening. Especially on the weekends when few students would be caught dead bent over a desk and diligently studying. Not that Tom was studying exactly. Independent research was more like it. Information on Parseltongue was, quite naturally, scarce. As far as Tom knew, only he and Harry could currently speak it and they were the first in centuries.

Mostly the sprawl of books around him contained a line or two about the mysterious gift and they usually paraphrased the same two bits of information: Parseltongue was the ability to talk to snakes. It was a rare and dark talent.

This was about as useful as a spoon against a hydra.

"Merlin's balls." He muttered, enjoying the small use of dirty language.

Of course, there was always the restricted section. There was no way he could gain legal access to that part of the library, for one he was too young and for another, he had no desire to explain what he was looking for and why. Not to mention that some of those books could be quite temperamental.

He sat bolt up right in his chair, nearly knocking over the mug of chocolate he'd had balanced a few inches above the table. The books of the restricted section had life of their own and surely he couldn't be faulted if one decided to come with him. Sneaking as only a Slytherin could, he cased out the rest of the library. Three other students remained. One had fallen asleep at their books while two others were sitting, no doubt Ravenclaws, in the midst of voluminous texts.

The librarian was carefully charming shelves wider. Wary, he set muffling charms and crept to stand at the entrance of the forbidden books.

~Hello?~ He called cautiously. ~Is there anyone in there?~

~Who disturbs our rest?~ Hissed a deep and hypnotic voice. ~Who speaks with a forked tongue?~

~I am called Tom Riddle Dover.~

~How came you to my language, Tom Riddle Dover?~

~I was born with it.~

~Then you are who I have waited for. Come, retrieve me from this shelf.~

~I cannot reach you. I am not allowed within.~

~Worthless.~ There was a long pause, a thump and the distinct sound of a slithering snake. The book appeared at Tom's feet, emerging from the shadows with a long undulation movement. The cover was snakeskin, but the pages were vellum, falling open to Tom's reverent touch. The words were legible to his eyes, though the characters were foreign. He would have to translate it by hand.

The first page was a note:

"My precious heir. Read well this book and learn these lessons. Go forth and find your destiny."

Tom clenched the book closer and made for the dungeons, barely stopping to gather his things. Had he been more aware, he would have seen Professor Dumbledore rushing in through the library's back entrance. He would have seen the dark look on that face as he observed Tom's retreating and the slow, search for the book that had disappeared.

)1942(

Taking to the air, she let out a very unfeminine whoop, turning circles around her housemates. The other Gryffindors hooted and cheered her on as she climbed higher, taking her position against the Slytherin seeker. They exchanged their traditional handshake and settled in to watch the game.

"Your keeper is drifting to the left again." She pointed out.

" I think he's gone to sleep. You really must work on your offense." He drawled back, keeping his eye to the sky.

"True."

They hung lazily there for a moment longer, before she caught a glimpse of gold out of the corner of one eye. Out of the other, she saw him twitch. Without another word, they were off, racing through space without regard to anything else. All became air, wind sky. The snitch dove near the dozing Slytherin keeper, nearly knocking him to the ground. She had her fingers on it, when it shot upwards eluding her. She could feel him along side of her and together they bore upwards, fighting the wind and each other.

On the field the commentator was really getting warmed up.

"And our two Seekers are giving us another battle royal, neck and neck, they're into the clouds down and ooooh down they come, Gryffindor's own Minerva coming within a hair of the stands, Dover close on her heels and another upturn. The winds are playing havoc today...and they're nearing the field now, interrupting a stunning move by Holt....and they've crashed! But the Snitch was caught! Who has it?"

Minerva let out a breathless laugh.

"You complete bastard." She coughed. "You did that on purpose."

"Of course I did. You would have caught it otherwise." He rose triumphantly, opening his hand to show off his prize. They would both need a few hours in the Infirmary which they would use to criticize each other's techniques, but for now they both stood, glorying in the moment.

When his team swept him up and away, she let out a shaky breath and limped off the field. Flying against Tom was like any drug. Exhilarating and wonderful when high, horrid and draining the moment it was over. And like a drug, she felt hopelessly addicted to the nimble boy.

)*(

The script blurred under his vision as his thoughts wandered yet again.

"Down, you insolent bastard." He muttered at his lap.

"Problem there?" Avarus looked over with vague interest from his bed where he was eating candy and perusing a novel.

"No." He turned back to his book, wishing that Parseltongue were as easy to read as it was to speak.

"You don't have to lie to me." Unfolding gracefully, Avarus stalked over stopping just behind him. Silently, Tom spelled the book blank. "What's a little physical reaction between friends?"

A hand soft from luxurious living rested delicately on Tom's own, spelled clean, one. Even after writing reams of translation his hands remained clean of ink and well manicured. These two hands briefly united were a mark of the Slytherin ideal. Appearance, regardless of background or situation, should be a smooth mask that gave nothing away.

"I was watching you." Avarus purred. "Out of the robe with your crisp shirt sleeves rolled up to your elbows, legs spread and that wrinkle forming between your eyes. And I thought, now what could a friend do to ease his friend's serious, overwrought mind."

Clever fingers worked open his belt and the button fly of his trousers. Tom watched in bemusement, listening to the smooth cadence of the voice in his ear.

"You think too much. If you want to be as clever as you are smart, you'll have to learn to relax"

A whispered lubrication spell and Avarus' hand was on Tom's cock, slick and stroking. Mindlessly, the raven-haired boy bucked up.

"Vermillion says that you tried this on her, but she's saving herself for marriage. Know your friends, Tom. If you need this," a pointed squeeze which drew a moan, "you will come to me for it."

"But you hate to be touched..."

"Who said anything about touching me? You are too strong, too much of a genius to dally with silly girls, my friend. Come to me for this and nothing more. No kisses and flowers between us. No, no, sweetheart." He flicked his wrist faster, keeping his lips soft near his ear, "you would have your love own you utterly. A very pretty bauble you are, but far too volatile for my tastes."

On the heels of 'tastes', Tom came with a short, stifled scream. Within moments, Avarus was back on his bed, nibbling a honeyed candy and reclaiming his novel. The only concession he made to the event was the handkerchief he summoned to fastidiously get the nooks and crannies a cleaning spell would miss.

Languidly, Tom tucked himself away, banishing the mess and was soon translating with new swiftness. After a few minute, he started to hum tunelessly. Avarus smirked, licked one fingertip and turned a page.

)1943(

"I'm telling you, it's none of your business." Harry curtly informed the overeager woman leaning over his counter.

"Oh spill, Harry. You know I do love a good bit of gossip."

"Minnie, back off." He said tartly to the seventh year girl. Why, why, why of all the other inter house mates Tom could have made had he chose Minerva? There weren't any other over bright, keen eyed girls he could have a weird platonic friendship with?

"You're such a stiff. If Tom didn't think the world rose and set on you..."

"Tom does what?" The boy himself bustled into the shop, dropping a handful of books on the counter. "I swear the books this year are the heaviest yet."

"Or perhaps you are merely weakened from far too much studying and not nearly enough Quidditch." The girl poked her friend in his softening stomach.

"I told you Minnie, I can't possibly do Quidditch and be Head Boy."

"One of the only sixth years in history to be Head Boy. Have I mentioned that I'm proud of you? " Harry cut in, before Minerva started on the tired argument.

"Only about a dozen times. Today." But a faint blush of pleasure darkened pale cheeks. "What were you saying, incautious Gryffindor, before I came in?"

"I was commenting, suspicious Slytherin, that you idolize your Harry."

And the color drained away.

"No more then you think Professor Dumbledore holds the world in one hand." He managed to retort though Harry caught the bobbing throat and had to wonder what subtext he was missing here.

"That's because he's gorgeous." Minnie replied rather matter-of-fact.

Both men made near identical faces of distaste.

"That's disgusting. The man is nearly a century old!"

"So? That's not bad for a wizard. And he doesn't look a century. He barely looks thirty."

"You're mad." Patting a stray hair back into place, Tom looked to Harry for help.

"I think that Professor Dumbledore might be out of your league, young lady. At least until you graduate."

"Men." The young lady huffed like the matron Harry had known her to be. "It's not as if I actually want to marry him! I just like to look."

"I think I'm going to be ill." Tom muttered.

"Lovely. Don't be sick on the floor. I'm going to go do the accounts. Wait on anyone who comes in?"

"No, I think I'll just let them stand at the counter with that hopeful confused look they get when no one comes to attend on them."

"Monstrous child." The affectionate smile took out any sting in the barb as Harry disappeared into the back.

When he was gone, Tom let out a long breath of air and went to stand behind the register while Minerva watched him with sharp eyes.

"Harry is quite the looker."

"A compliment coming from the lover of senior citizens."

"It's all right, you know. I won't say anything."

"About what?" He sniped back, keeping his eyes firmly on the book he was tickling open.

"Don't be such an impossible Slytherin."

"Only if you can stop being such an honorable Gryffindor."

"It...I understand it, if that helps."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Amazing, she thought as he went about charming the book open with lithe fingers. She was only a year older then him, but it suddenly felt like decades. Popular, handsome and brilliant, Tom was a catch for any girl, but she'd never had a single doubt about who he belonged to heart and soul. Until now, she'd said nothing.

"Fine, but if you did know, I would just want you to know that you can talk to me about it."

"Emotional, pushy..." The book snapped shut and he muttered a string of curses.

"Tom." Tentatively, she touched his arm.

"Please." The word startled her. Passionate green eyes took hers and she felt herself sinking. "Leave it, Minnie. I can take care of myself."

"I..I.." She shook herself free, wondering if he'd tried to work some magic on her unintentionally. "All right."

"Now. You were going to harangue me about Quidditch?"

"It's just that Gryffindor will get lazy without their best competitor." She launched in merrily, relief prickling on her skin.

Tom, she decided privately, was not to be underestimated. And he was a friend best kept close.

)1944(

Closing his eyes, Harry could still trace the lines of the photos beneath his hands. He would never meet them again. The timeline had severed utterly as Myrtle lived and breathed and Tom Riddle never made the jump to Lord Voldemort. Too many letters in his name for that, thank Merlin. He caressed Hermione, RonÉall of them products of their own timeline.

Even he would most likely never exist here though his parents might. Even if they still got together and had a child, the chances of it being him were slim. His silly dream of changing reality dead, the renewed vision of a life with a good son and some hazy potential vision of a mate. A family of his own, different and gorgeous.

The floor creaked. Whirling, Harry withdrew his wand and searched the room. It was dark in the back of the shop, the front long since closed. Someone was in the door. The cast of the lamp on the table made their eyes glint red. Only years of training stopped him from casting a hex right then.

"Harry?" And then it was Tom stepping from the doorway, a tired teenager not an evil immortal.

"Tom! You scared the shit out of me!" He scolded, clutching his heart.

The boy stood in the doorway, poised and strained.

"I'm sorry. They only just let everyone head home. They were worried about the air raids." He moved slowly, easing his way into the other chair wincing.

"Are you sure you don't want to stay for the holidays?"

"I want to be with you. There are only a few children staying back for the break and three teachers to watch them." A hard edge entered his voice, taking Harry by surprise.

"I didn't mean I didn't want you here. Is everything all right?"

"Yes. No." Hands scrubbed childlike at his eyes. "I'm so tired. The children are scared and they look to me. It's too much. And..."

"Yes?"

"It's just...what do you think about fate, Harry?"

"Fate?"

"If we're meant to do something, do we have to do it? Like if some relative told you to?"

"Of course not. Is this about the league because I told you, you don't have to join if you don't want too..."

"No, no, I was just thinking. Though IÕm not going to join the league." He shook his head. "Anyway, how are things here?"

Harry allowed himself to be distracted, but the image of the haunted stranger at his door with a glint of red stayed with him long into the holidays.



)1945(

"We are all very proud of you, Master Riddle-Dover." Headmaster Dippet patted him on the shoulder. "Your Head of House assures me that the children will miss you as Head Boy."

"I'm sure that my replacement will be more the adequate."

Get to the point, he thought you doddering old fool. His friends were waiting to take him out for a night to remember. Avarus had promised untold debaucheries, which were most likely figments of the other boy's overtaxed imagination, but tantalizing nonetheless.

"You're probably wondering while I brought you here."

Not really, I simply love sitting in this hideous office when I should be getting good and drunk.

"I was wondering, you see, what you planned to do now."

"It is in my record that I plan to go to work for the Ministry."

Make your move, old man.

"I was wondering if I could cajole you to take on a position here."

Here?!

"What position?"

"I was thinking as a general assistant teacher. We should have a more permanent position opening up in a few years and by then you'd be adequately trained."

It would be a good job. Comforting and familiar. Unchallenging.

"I already accepted my position.."

"The Minister is a friend of mine, I'm sure he'd understand. Besides, doesn't your family already leave in Hogsmeade?"

He could live near Harry. Live with Harry again. It was a thrilling, seductive thought. He'd been planning to move into a small flat in wizarding London.

"No. We just have a shop there."

No, no, no! That was the whole point of moving on. He was not going to live with Harry anymore. He needed to get away. To live, to forget his silly, sick fantasies and find some nice bloke or bird to settle down with.

"I think you would be very happy here, Tom."

He'd be miserable here. He was made for the Ministry, the delicate maneuverings and hard work would sear from his brain any extraneous thoughts until he was ready to move on. Power suited him. Leading. Not teaching.

"Thank you for your kind offer, Headmaster, but I must decline."

"Ah well. I told Professor Dumbledore that you'd say no, but he did go on so."

Thank bloody Merlin he hadn't said yes! Was that man behind everything?

Tom said his goodbyes and beat a retreat. The relief he felt was disproportional to the ensuing events, he was sure. When he glanced back over his shoulder, he was sure he caught sight of Professor Dumbledore in one distant window, watching him. Barely suppressing a shudder, he tried not to run back to the shop.

The man disappeared from the window and went to meet the Headmaster in his study.

"I don't understand it, Albus. The boy is definitely Salazar's heir?"

"Oh, it's him."

"Does he know that?"

"He should. He has all the clues at his disposal and no one doubts his intelligence..."

"But the Chamber remains closed."

"It does. And you say he had no interest in staying?"

"None that could be traced to the castle itself in any case." The Headmaster sighed in relief. "It looks like we might be spared after all my good friend."

"Indeed." Albus smiled back, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Lemon drop?"

"No thank you." The Headmaster shook his head. "You shouldn't keep offering everyone sweets all the time, you know. Makes one think you're going to drop bad news on them."

)1947(

The tiny restaurant was nearly empty. A few couples dined together in the fading light as the waiters cleaned up from the lunch rush and prepared for the dinner crowd. The Ministry was exhausting and he was only now getting his lunch break.

"They're working you too hard."

The voice startled him out of his mindless reverie of his teacup. Obviously his heart was paying better attention as it started to rattle unevenly in his chest long before his brain caught up.

"What are you doing here?"

"I can't be concerned about you?" Harry slid easily into the other chair, eyes bright with some mischief.

"Nothing to be concerned about. "

"That's not what my eyes and ears tell me."

"You've been spying on me?"

"How else would I know what you're up to?" Messy black locks fell haphazardly into the beloved face. Tom fought to keep his fingers twisted in his lap. "I haven't seen you for more then an hour or so this month."

"I've been..."

"Busy, I know." There was no accusation, but a sort of hollowness.

"You broke up with Helena?" He guessed and almost screamed when Harry nodded dully. He'd thought just maybe Harry had come to see him instead of ragging on about another worthless tart.

"Two months ago. This is what I mean, it's like we're not even on the same continent. It's not the same without you around." Harry shifted uneasily in his chair, unaware of how happy he'd just made his ward.

"The promotion..." He trailed off. "I guess I could come around more often."

"They aren't going to strip your rank for not working every Saturday."

"I know, I know. Is the store still in tatters from that stupid fifth year?"

Lunch passed all too swiftly for him. It was so good to sit and talk again that he almost lost track of time. Almost.

"I have to get back." He rose, wishing that he could stay, knowing it was better that he went. The longer he stayed, the more likely he'd do something beyond stupid.

Before he could escape entirely, Harry pulled him into a hard hug, patting him roughly on the back.

~Your so tall...you're a man now. I promise to remember that.~

~Good, then you can tell Minerva to stop spying on me.~

~All right, all right.~

~You promise?~

~On my life.~

)*(

"Please, Professor. I'm not going to tell you anything more personal about Tom." Minerva blew out a stream of irritated air. "It's not fair to him and it's wrong of you to put me in this position."

"I'm only worried about his welfare. He's a very powerful wizard and he's doing desk work..."

"Work that could easily lead to him becoming a very powerful politician." She sighed and turned back to the tests. Sometimes, she wished Tom had taken the job offer. It wasn't that she had other things lined up, but it would have forced her to look a little harder. Be a little hungrier. "I fail to see the problem."

"He should be inventing new spells! Reaching the heights of magical research!"

"Why does it matter to you so much? He's not your student anymore." Frustrated, she pulled at her hair and much to her dismay it all came tumbling down out of its neat bun to cascade over her shoulders.

"You're right." Was that a hitch in the Professor's voice? She looked up to catch him staring at her. "He's on his own now."

She thought about Puck, Avarus, the Slytherin good ole' boys' club and most of all of Harry. Did the Professor think that being away from school was being on your own? Tom would never be without the supports he seemed so desperate to shrug off.

"He's strong enough to stand on his own. Was there anything else I could do for you Professor?"

"No, no. That's really all. Thank you for your help Ms. McGonagall."

"You're most welcome." She hesitated. "Would you like some tea?"

"I would love some, thank you."

In the little office, with all the books and parchment gathered around, it was downright cozy. Minerva fought the urge to pin her hair back up and luxuriated in the warmth that suffused her corner of the world.



)1952(

"I am not going to do this." He said softly as he clutched the highly illegal potion in its inconspicuous glass vial.

A passing witch stared at him and shook her head softly before turning her head to whisper to their companion,

"Poor thing. Such a good looking chap, too, standing out here in the snow. Probably hasn't a place to go home to do."

I don't, he wanted to tell them, not really. You see, I'm not crazy. At least not in the conventional sense. I'm just sick. Sick to the soul. There is one person in the world that truly loves me, you see. Purely and without conditions, he took me into his home and centered his life around me. I never wanted for anything.

And I am not content.

I want to own him utterly. I want him to own every particle of my being. And for that I should be kept as far from him as possible.

The witches went on their business, oblivious to these thoughts. Tom clenched the bottle tighter to him until it threatened to shatter uselessly in his hand. It had taken him a year to gather the ingredients. Most of them were esoteric and bizarre, so he had to order them one at a time, cooking up excuses as he went. The brewing had taken two days of careful vigilance and fighting his own conscience the whole time. But he wouldn't use it. It was a test of his strength really, to possess it and not use it.

"Tom! Whatever are you doing out in the snow. Get in here!" Minerva appeared out of the shop depths to drag him amid the sweet sound of the bells that hung on the door. "You're just lucky I was about to leave and saw you standing about there like a stunned crup. What were you thinking about?"

"Oh stop going on, Minnie. It's just a little snow. I was hardly going to freeze to death." He shrugged off her hand and moved into the warmth of the shop. "What were you doing here anyway?"

"Haggling with Harry over some of the broken wands. I'm doing some research on the effects of fractures in the wood on transfigurations." She patted her satchel contently. "I got what I wanted."

"Good, good." He took off his gloves and flexed his reddened fingers, ignoring her worried expression. "Tell everyone back at school hello for me."

"I will." She went back to the door and glanced at him. "Harry's in the back."

The bells chimed again and Tom found himself alone in the store front, breathing in the musty air. The vial was cool and alien in his hands as he slipped into the back. The tiny room looked well lived in and Tom wouldn't be surprised if Harry was going through another period of living in it exclusively. Their cottage remained well maintained, but occasionally Harry stopped going home. Usually after one of his affairs ended in a mess.

There wasn't much back here. A small kitchen nook with a two-person table, a cluttered desk and full size bed that never quite looked like it should fit in the room. It probably didn't, but a little space saving magic never did anyone too much harm. There was a small bathroom hardly big enough to turn around in the miniscule shower. All the comforts of home for a perennial bachelor. The man himself was seated at the table, sipping at a hot cup of tea, his back to him.

"Hello, Tom." He turned, a bright grin on his face. "I thought I heard you come in."

"You're looking well." Sliding easily into the other chair, he plucked at the book-splayed open on the table. "Werewolves?"

"I'm looking for something." The older man shrugged. "But I don't think itÕs been invented yet."

"That would depend on what it is. You know the Ministry research department is moving forward in leaps and bounds."

Harry regarded the younger man with a soft contentment. Age was mellowing him, he realized, maybe both of us. I'm a little over forty now. No great age for a wizard, but twenty years ago I didn't think I'd live to see the day. And the boy will be turning twenty-five soon. I'll have to see about getting him that watch Avarus said he was interested in. Maybe get in engraved.

"You aren't listening to me are you?" Tom noted, bemused. Caught.

"I've had a long day. I was about to have a nap when you arrived."

"Don't let me stop you. The Ministry closed for the weekend and they're not even letting us die-hards back in. I can keep the shop open if you'd like?"

"No need." A yawn cracked at his jaw. "Wake me in an hour? I would like to have a nice visit."

"All right."

Under heavy lids he watched the older man take off his glasses and climb into the old bed. It sighed under his weight then settled on his back. Pretending to leaf through the book, he waited until he was absolutely sure that Harry was asleep. Then waited another five minutes. Gingerly, he crept along the creaking boards and set himself carefully on the edge of the bed.

It felt oddly familiar. He vaguely remembered doing this when he was very small. Wondering into the Harry's bedroom late at night to look at him and make sure he hadn't gone off somewhere. The older man had never woken up then and didn't look like he would now. Hesitantly, Tom reached forward to brush wayward hair off Harry's forehead. The regular rise and fall of the other man's chest against his jumper was reassuring and he almost resolved to do nothing more then this. Enjoy the moment and then let it pass into the wind. Almost.

Instead he took out the vial and very carefully unstopped it. He'd originally thought to dissolve it in a glass of tea or something, but a direct dose would require fewer drops. With all the precision he'd used in the brewing, he tipped a few drops into the slightly opened mouth. They hit the tongue and slid back. According to the texts it would start working in seconds.

The plan was simple. The potion would destroy all of Harry's inhabitations, all his morals and enhance his libido. It would leave him little better then a lusty animal, which would fuck the first thing that came across his path. The potion would only last a few hours there was no worries about intrusions. The shop was closed and the streets deserted with the snow coming down in trips. When it was over, he would Oblivate Harry and Tom would finally be able to breath right around him.

When he was sure the dose had taken effect, judging by the slightly elevated body temperature. He rose and stripped himself then turned his attention to Harry's clothing. He managed his pants, but when he pulled off the jumper he found brilliant green eyes blinking up at him.

"Tom?"

He froze. For the first time he had a doubt about the quality of the potion. And then the air was being sucked from his lungs and he forgot all of that.

Now. It was going to happen now. It was warm and wet and it was unstoppable. Harry was shorter then him by a few inches, but he still flew on a regular basis for the Hogsmeade shopkeeper team. The man was pining to him the bed and he felt utterly consumed. Hands roved aggressively until Tom was wondering just what he had unleashed. In fantasy, he had acknowledged that Harry would be a skilled lover or he wouldn't be able to keep populating his bed with winsome beauties of all ages, but this raw consummation had not entered into it. He would have wondered if it was the potion or something integral in Harry when a sucking, greedy mouth was engulfing him and he was too busy grasping for purchase on the sheets.

A flurry of motion and he was rolled on his side and suddenly an angry looking cock pulsed near his mouth. Taking the demand, he grasped at slender hips to suck hard. A deep groan shuddered from the delicious torturous mouth and he fought to keep pace.

Harry's fevered mind struggled to keep up with his own actions. He was sure something was wrong, but he couldn't imagine what and the rushing waves of pleasure turned the mountains of reservation to a sandy smooth beach. He kissed the head of the flushed cock he had been sucking at and reluctantly pulled away from Tom's mouth. He crawled to the reddened lips and tried to climb in.

"You taste..." He trailed off, unable to find words to describe his scattered thoughts. Instead, he pressed a dry fingertip to the hungry entrance of the younger man's body.

"Sweet Merlin, yes." Tom gasped.

Harry moved back to grab up the jar of unguent. When he turned back he found Tom spread wanton before him, legs open in a decadent invitation. Unconsciously, licking his lips, he covered that sparse body with his own, petting Tom's hole with slicked fingers, watching the younger man's face. The careful caresses drove Tom wild, bucking up, trying to coax a more substantial touch.

"Please." The younger man whimpered and Harry finally plowed mercilessly forward, wresting a cry.

Balancing on an elbow, Harry delved deeper, adding a second finger with no warning. The expression that flitted over the usually cool mask would later remind him of more innocent times, but at the moment they only made him more merciless, adding a third finger. A look of joyous anguish tightened the skin around green eyes until Harry changed the angle of his hand. The gland pressed hard against his fingers turning Tom into a flurry of ecstatic whimpers.

"Turn over." He ordered, keeping his fingers firmly locked as Tom scrambled to obey with the intrusion scraped within him.

Only when he was on his hands and knees did Harry free his hands, stretching and shaking the joints loose as he moved behind Tom and drew him up to his own chest. He nuzzled his face on the milk pale skin, lavishing sucking kisses on juncture of shoulder and neck. Reaching down, he positioned himself and thrust home. Tom's hearty groan stilled him for only a moment. Curious, he felt around to the beautiful flushed cock and found it still hard and eager in his hand.

"My beautiful boy." He murmured and pulled out almost entirely before thrusting in again.

Seeking and finding a harsh, delicate rhythm, he stroked the proud column of flesh as Tom trembled and spoke in tongues. Harry said nothing as the potion robbed him of the least of coherent thoughts. Sweat covered, heaving, they were dyed orange by the setting sun.

Unable to take any more, he squeezed the straining flesh that was weeping precum and Tom cascaded into a series of jerking shoulders that captured Harry deep within him. Slowly, the younger man collapsed forward, catching himself of his arms, but Harry wasn't finished and held his hips in place, leaving behind all semblance of civility. Harry pounded into the quivering body lying prone beneath him. When he finally came, it seemed that they had always been locked in this moment, soldered together on faded paisley sheets, their fluids mixed and stinking.

Harry rolled off Tom and listened dully to the litany of cleansing spells, before collapsing into darkness.

Cleansed, shaking and aching, Tom wasn't sure he could move, let alone cast a decent spell. Not that he had a choice. Resignedly, he moved from his jelly state against the mattress, wincing as muscles ached and throbbed. The other man had obviously simply passed out and Tom toyed with the idea of leaving the memory in place and hope that Harry would pass it off as an odd dream. But no, it was far too dangerous.

With no little tenderness, he aimed his wand,

"Obliviate!"

But nothing happened. No fissure of a spell done right, not even the fizzle of one done wrong. Puzzled, he turned to the table.

"Accio cup." It flew into his waiting hand.

He stared down into the sleeping face.

"Obliviate!" Still nothing.

He sat back. There was only one thing he could think of, but it wasn't possible. Occlumency. Why would his guardian, a shop keeper, hobby Quidditch player...why would he become such an advanced Occulmencer that he could keep out unwelcome spells while in a deep, drugged sleep. Tom knew some of course, had to for his subtle work. So with careful movements he crept into Harry's mind.

Within fractions of a second he knew he was in trouble. He had thought his own defensive forces formidable, but they made his traps and walls look like cardboard box propped up with a stick. This was an armed fort. He only had time to observe this before he blacked out as those mental machine guns automatically turned on and blasted him out of Harry's head.

The sun woke him, cracking under his lids and rubbing his aching head all the wrong way. Fear filled him instantly for there could be no good outcome. He had been fearless for so long that the emotion felt foreign, like it belonged to someone else. Taking a deep breath, he opened his eyes and winced. Harry was sitting in the deep windowsill, holding a steaming mug and staring at the bed. Swiftly, he shut his eyes again.

"I know you're awake. Your eyelids always twitch too much when you're faking." For the first time, Tom thought Harry sounded old. Old and tired. Gutted.

With sinking guilt, he rose, the sheet falling back to reveal his well used body. He expected Harry to look away, to yell at him, anything, but to stare at him with a perfect, unreadable mask settled on his features. A flash of memory of cold eyes and a glint of steel in the dark assaulted him meaninglessly then faded.

"I..." He began, but there seemed nothing could be said to fill the awful silence.

"You have always shown me parts of myself that I didn't know existed. Until this day I thought them joyful happy things. Not until last night did I know I had that ugliness locked inside of me."

"I..."

"Now all that was ugly and dirty that I have worked so hard to prevent. That I thought I had salvaged... it was in me too all this time."

"I..."

"Get out." It wasn't particularly angry or even sad. Pure ice, brittle and fragile.

Longing for any of the easy words that should come to his tongue, he reached for his clothes, gathering them. Instead of waiting to dress, he apparated away.

Harry sat on the windowsill long after his tea had gone cold and the sun rose full in the sky.

)*(

"I don't understand it, Albus." The young witch flopped down on the huge bed, her thick black hair spreading like a cloak over her naked chest. "He won't return my owls or open the floo. The Slytherins won't tell me a thing about him, but I can see they're worried."

"You're the one always assuring me that he can take care of himself." Albus slid into bed, beside her.

"He can. That's what I'm worried about. His work is unaffected and his other friends are closing in around him like an iron curtain." She sighed, sliding under the sheets. He rolled to meet her, brushing a kiss on her furrowed brow and another over her lips.

"You cannot take on the weight of the world, my dear."

"Tom is not the world. He's one of my best friends and somethingÕs gone wrong."

"If he's not talking to you about it, maybe he doesn't want you to get involved."

"I don't recall that ever stopping you. If you want information, you stop at nothing. That's what I've always admired about you." She pressed a kiss onto his arm and then chuckled.

"That sounds dangerous."

"It is. I know how to get the information I want."

"Oh?"

"I have to go to the source. "

Of course, she couldn't go right then and Albus had cut such a fine figure today in his newest scarlet robes...

In the morning, she packed a satchel and set out off for Hogsmeade. The shop was open, but she found the listless girl that Harry hired for his occasional days off.

"Where's Harry this morning?"

"Dunno."

"Thank you." She snapped and did a quick locating spell. "That's weird."

She apparated to coordinates and found herself in a soggy meadow several miles away.

"Bugger all! For Merlin's sake, Minnie." Harry's tousle head rouse out of the brush. "I almost had it."

"Had what?"

"Never mind." He spelled a clear space and sat. She transfigured a flower into a reasonable enough cushion and took the space next to him. Dark circles weighed heavily under his eyes. Curiouser and curiouser.

"Harry.."

"I know. You're worried about Tom." The tone was cool, but the look troubled and she stared at him.

"What's going on, Harry?"

"Ask him."

"I tried. He's not talking to me. When I tried Avarus, he gave me the cold shoulder. So did Vermillion."

"They're protecting him."

"Should they not be?" Her eyes widened a little in alarm.

"I'm sure they don't know what's going on."

"And if they did?"

There was a long pause.

"He made a mistake. A rather grave one. We're both suffering for it."

"He told you, didn't he?"

"Told me what?" When he didn't meet her gaze, she plowed ahead.

"That he loved you. Merlin, men are stupid. I mean Tom's always loved you."

"Of course he does. I raised him."

"You know what I mean."

"I don't."

"He once loved you as a boy loves a father figure, but that's changed. He loves you like a man loves another man."

"And that's all right with you?"

"Of course not! It's...disturbing. But I'm hardly in a position to judge. Albus is old enough to be my grandfather after all."

"But he isn't."

"No."

They sat in silence.

"So what you have to decide is, do you love him back?"

"It's not that simple." He rose, dusting off the back of his jeans. "Go home, Minnie. Try to figure out where you end and Albus begins."

This time when he apparated the location spell couldn't get a fix on him, but that could have been because she was too angry and distracted to think.

)*(

)1952(

Rolling onto clean sheets, freshly showered and decently dressed in laundered boxers, the feeling of dirt clung to Tom like a malicious second skin. It was a nightmare, this separateness that was at once so new and so familiar. Dimly, he recalled his days in the orphanage, so long gone and repressed that they had a faded quality like pictures left to long in the sun. But he remembered this clearly, the emptiness and the distance. How cold he had always felt, no matter how high the sun was and how desperately and constantly alone.

The thing he missed the most, more then the warm embracing arms, more then the comfort of knowing somewhere come whatever may that someone somewhere loved him unconditionally, more even then the all to brief memory of naked skin...the thing he missed the most was talking to someone else in Parseltongue.

He hadn't realized how much he'd come to depend on that soothing whisper in his ear. The echo of his own hissing slide. It was so seductive and familiar that it was almost a physical ache to know that he would never hear it again.

At that moment, he had no doubt that his exile was permanent. His crime was unforgivable and even if Harry managed to forgive, he certainly would never ever be able to forget. It would lie between them, festering and stinking until just to look at each other would bring horror and revulsion. No, this was better, this cool silence.

The bed was too large for one person. He rolled to the middle, dragging sheets with him to bunch up like armor.

Something tapped at the window. Instantly tense and wary, he whipped out his wand and approached the noise in shuffling silence. Yellow eyes blinked at him once, slowly and then a long piteous meow followed.

"Puck! Get in here you ridiculous animal!" He unlatched the window and watched the slinking tom jump smoothly to the floor and then onto the bed. So caught up was he in his relief that the owl that entered after the cat nearly gave him a heart attack.

"Bugger!"

Nonplussed, the owl dropped the small package it held in its beak. It didn't wait for him to fumblingly find treats, but flew off in a huff. Cautiously approaching the box, he untied it with a spell. A scrap of parchment lay on top.

"Happy Birthday." He read. There was no signature. His birthday was tomorrow, but none of his friends were in the habit of sending him gifts. Especially since he would be seeing most of them on the weekend for a small celebration.

~Let me out.~

His eyes widened and he pulled off the cover. Rising up like a cobra about to strike was a small silver beauty of serpent.

~Hello~ He was surprised how nervous he was. How long had it been since he'd spoken to an actual snake? There hadn't been much opportunity lately.

~You are the one called Tom?~

~Yes...and you are?~

~Essmani. A man found me in the grass and told me that he would send me to Tom. And that you would keep me well fed and well cared for. In exchange, I am to look out for your safety since he is currently unable to.~

"My safety..."

That bastard, that awful bloody honest bastard. How could he have known? Stupid, so stupid to believe that he knew Harry so well, when it was Harry who had raised *him*, Harry who knew his every breath, every thought and premeditated him so well that he had sent him the one thing that he could not provide. Harry with secrets within secrets.

~This is well with you, our deal?~ Essmani was surprisingly close, flickering her tongue into his ear.

~Yes, this deal is very well with me.~

It was quite impossible to hug a snake, he had discovered, but Essmani didn't seem to mind being cradled in his hands. Puck regarded the new member of their household with amused disinterest before going back to sleep.

"Yes, this is very well with me."

Harry was thinking of him, wished him safe and that was a better birthday present then a thousand promotions and gadgets.

)*(

"And then he had the gall to imply that Albus was manipulating me!" She fumed.

The bored young man across the table from her let out a soft channel of air. Avarus Zabini had grown well, a languid pure breed with all the motivation and drive of a lap cat. He spent most of his days in bookshops, reading and collecting rare works, then going out for delightful dinners with his companions.

This was not one of those dinners. He'd never liked Minerva and he didn't intend on starting now. She was too sharp for his tastes with her severe bun and matronly manner. Tom raved about her brains, but Avarus found her slow in social matters.

"And he isn't?" He drawled, mourning that he'd already finished his meal and so couldn't busy himself with food.

"No! Well, not much. Look. I just want to talk to Tom."

"Then talk to him."

"He won't let me!"

"Then you should leave him alone. We're not children any more. He is a grown man and he doesn't need to run to his mother with every scraped knee."

"I do not act like his mother."

"If you say so." He lit up a fag, taking a deep drag and blowing a perfect O of smoke. "My point is, some things need to work themselves out without nosy interference."

"Oh my." A grin lit up the edges of her face. "That's why you won't tell me anything. You don't know! He's blocked you out as well."

Another long careful drag.

"And what if he has? In Slytherin house we respect the wishes of our companions. Tom is a generally sociable person, prone to fits of hermitage. If he wants to sequester himself away, then so be it."

"Do you know about.."

"If you say one more word..." He stabbed the cigarette out in the ashtray. "Listen to me you silly little girl because I will only tell you this one more time: It is his private business and if you know anything about it, you'll keep your mouth shut. There is more going on here then what you and your wrinkled paramour have to say about it."

"That's nearly what Harry said." Her eyes filled with tears.

Bugger. He lit another fag and willed her not to start sobbing. Women's tears always made him uncomfortable.

"Maybe we're both right then."

"All right, I'll leave off..." The tears went unshed, but her eyes stayed bright as she rose and moved to pay the bill. "Just...tell him that I miss him."

It fell neatly together for him, all of a sudden. Her obsession with the older powerful man, the constant meddling. How very Gryffindor of her, to make sure Tom's happiness was ensured over her own longing heart. Letting loose a litany of internal cursing against Tom for putting him in this position, Avarus laid a hand over one of hers when she tried to set down the Galleons.

"Lunch is on me. And a word of advice: loving snakes is all well and good, but keep the adder away from your breast. "

With that cryptic message, he threw down the money and swept out the door.

)*(

It was time, he realized. He'd been too terrified before. Of what he knew he had to do. It was a muggle time bomb lying there waiting for someone, somewhere to find it. Before, he had had something to lose. A career, friends and an endless painful hopeless dream, but the dream was shattered now. Friends...career...they were nice enough.

After the Biggest Mistake Ever, he thought that what he had done was unforgivable. He knew it was Unforgivable, but he worried that it was also unredeemable. Then Harry had extended an olive branch. An acknowledgement that he still cared for him, even if he never wanted to set eyes on him again.

So now he could be redeemed. He would do this or die trying.

Essmani thought it was a bad idea and Tom considered leaving her home, but couldn't part from the one thing that remained to connect him to Harry.

There wasn't much preparation that could be done. He showered and dressed in clean black robes, strapped on a belt with a heavy leather wand holster and a sheath. Closing his eyes, he held out his hand.

~Accio Salazar Slytherin's Sword.~

He kept his eyes closed for a full minute until a thick strong hilt filled into his waiting hand.

It was a marvelous piece of work, all sharp, deadly iron with only delicate etchings in the hilt. He slid home into the sheath. Made to the specifications in the text that had fallen into his hands at the tender age of thirteen.

Time to do the job those centuries of marriages and events had bred him to do.

)*(

On the one hand, Harry was glad that Hagrid was here. It was wonderful to see him, alive and happy. Young the half-giant hunched protectively over his middle and fiddled with his belt constantly. As far as Harry could tell, Tom had never even noticed that Hagrid existed, let alone set him up for the fall that would ruin his life. So now, here he was, still passionate about animals and with the Hogwarts degree that would allow him to follow that passion into becoming a magical vet. It was wonderful.

On the other hand, Hagrid's lecturing mode hadn't gotten any more interesting and the backroom chairs weren't going to withstand his weight much longer.

"And I said to him, 'Sure grendals are rare, but they can be really loving if raised properly' and he said..."

"I am not helping you get a grendal."

"I wasn't goin' to ask." But the young half-giant shifted and looked guilty. "Do yah hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"LikeÉ.a kinda high pitched noise."

Concerned, they headed back into the shop proper, looking through the shelves for the offending item.

"Found it!" Hagrid cried triumphantly. "That's odd. It's a monitor mirror."

Perplexed, Harry took the small mirror and watched it flash warning orange.

"That's not right. I only sell these new. They can't be recharmed."

"Maybe a parent left it here or sold it to you?"

"No..."

The memory came to him quickly. One morning, before Tom had gone to Hogwarts, Harry reached in his pocket to look for the monitor mirror to find it gone. Taking it as a sign that Tom was too old for such things, he'd never thought much beyond that.

"He stole it and hid it at the bottom of the others. It's a miracle it lasted this long."

"What about it flashing like that?"

"It means that he needs me and whether he knows it or not, he's calling me."

The mirror started to flash a more urgent red and Harry's fingers tightened to white-knuckled pain around the tiny indicator.

"Are you going to go?"

Anguished eyes cast around the store floor and up to his trusted friend's face.

"I don't have a choice. I promised." The mirror flashed the location.

In a flurry of motion, the mirror smashed onto the floor and Harry's loyal broom whizzed through the air to his empty hand.

"Wouldn't it be faster to apparate?" Hagrid shouted as the shopkeeper mounted and made for the air.

"Hogwarts!"

)*(

"Minerva! Get up, girl!"

She slit her eyes open to find Albus, hair wild and eyes flashing over her.

"What is it?"

"The Chamber of Secrets has been opened!"

Up like a shot, she hurried into her robes while Albus fire talked the other Heads of House, organizing the evacuation.

"What happened?"

"You're young Tom." Hissed the older man. "Sent me a post telling me to get the children out of the school."

"What does that have to do with the Chamber?"

"Are you daft? Or are you playing at stupid?"

She stared, paused in buttoning up her blouse. Albus had never spoken to her like that before.

"I don't..."

"He's Salazar's heir or had you not noticed between the Parseltongue and being one of the most powerful wizards ever encountered at Hogwarts."

"I never thought...what does it matter? Tom would never..."

"He has. And soon we will have to pit ourselves against a basilisk. Finish getting dressed."

"We can slay it. Can't we?"

"That would depend. Godric's heir hasn't been located in several generations." He growled. "I had him...I could have sworn, but it isn't possible."

"What isn't?" She swept her hair up into a tight bun and made for the stair.

"Just get the children out. I will find you when it's over."

"No! I can't let you go by yourself."

"You cannot help me with this." His expression softened. "Dear girl, don't make me worry about your safety too."

Reluctantly she turned to leave.

"Be safe."

"I will do my best."

)*(

"Oh this isn't over done or melodramatic at all." Tom shook his head at the giant, nearly Eygptian-esque chamber. "Very subtle Salazar."

~Who dares to enter the chamber?~

Tensing, Tom gripped the hilt of the sword that grew warm in his hand.

~It is your master.~

~Master?~

Essmani curled tighter around his wrist, the closest a snake came to expressing fear. Two yellow eyes gleamed in the torchlight. The head was huge and the body curled out of sight. Tom stared back, unblinkingly.

~I am Salazar's heir and I have returned to finish his work.~

~The sword...you need the sword.~

In one swift motion, he drew it from his belt. It caught the torchlight and the intricate etchings gleamed white-hot thought metal remained cool.

Behind him, he could hear a commotion. They were coming for him. It had to be now.

)*(

"Now!" Harry shouted as his feet hit the tile of the legendary bathroom. "Come to me now, my birthright!"

The sword arrived without aid of Fawkes this time, landing with a solid smack in his hand.

"You!"

Harry whirled, snarling.

"This is not a place for bystanders Professor Dumbledore!"

"Bystander...I...you! Your ward is going to release a basilisk on this school!"

"I am aware of that and now I'm going to stop it."

"You can't be Godric's heir...how can this be?"

"You'd have to ask my parents, but they haven't been born yet." Without another word, he plunged into the Chamber.

The scene that greeted him was sickening. Tom stood before the great serpent, Salazar's blade raised triumphantly above his head. Anger, fear, betrayal raced through him and Harry hefted his sword and rose to it to strike.

And the younger man sunk boneless to the ground.

"Tom!" The sword clattered to the ground and Harry rushed to his side, heedless of the great serpent.

~He was bitten!~ Essmani crept out from under one voluminous sleeve. ~But I have neutralized the poison.~

~What? How...~

Bemused, Harry took a good look at the basilisk. It was lying, motionless on the floor, its head quite clearly separated from its neck.

~That is my nature. Did you not know it when you found me?~ Essmani hissed, crawling up to flick a worried tongue in Tom's ear. ~Wizards have long looked for our kind. Our venom is a powerful healing draught to them. I thought that is why you chose me.~

~I didn't know. I didn't...~

"You speak Parseltongue and yet carry Godric's sword."

"It's a long story, Professor." Harry gathered up the young man in his arms.

A double flash of memory. Carrying a child to bed, having him naked in his arms as a man. He was relatively light and Harry was sure he saw ribs poking through the finely tailored robes.

"Oh, Tom! Is he all right!" There was a blur of black and high-heeled boots that came to rest at Harry's side. Soft hands caressed the sleeping face.

"Minerva! I told you to wait with the children."

"Shut up, Albus. I'm not happy with you right now. Is he all right?"

"I'm taking him to St. Mungo's."

"We can treat him fine right here." Albus cut in.

"I know what type of treatment you would give him." Acid dripped from that normally kind voice. "Do you think I don't know how he found out about this place?"

"I had nothing to..."

"Tell it to someone younger and more naive, Professor." Carefully, Harry shifted the weight in his arms and walked towards the exit, prepared to levitate them both if that's what it took to get out without the school's assistance.

"He was supposed to be neutralized as a threat. We would have caught him when he made for the Chamber and gotten rid of him."

"Trust me. It was a terrible plan. You were severely underestimating his intelligence and ability." He assured him, before leaving the Chamber behind. The dead weight was making his arms hurt, but he didn't dare spell the man in this condition.

The bathroom looked entirely too normal and he left it quickly behind. It took some maneuvering to get them both seated safely on the broom. At least it was a relatively short flight to the apparation line. Intent only on getting them both their in one piece, he didn't notice Minerva flying along side them. Reaching the emergency room doors, he was grateful for her appearance and asked to questions as she aided him on getting Tom inside and to a medi-wizard.

It was only when they asked him to have a seat in the waiting room that he realized he was covered in Tom's blood. For the second time in his life.

)*(



)1952(

Darkness. Was this death? Pain. Was there pain after death? It was sharp and harsh, piercing straight through the haze that surronded him. Voices. Retreating, returning, pressing and prodding. Silence. Darkness.

The early morning sun crept across the floor, coaxing him awake again. Groaning, he moved to awareness tentatively, testing the thresholds of pain. Initial impressions were much improved, so he chanced waking up. His chest and stomach ached fiercely, but nothing like sharp incessant pains earlier. Gingerly, he opened his eyes and the headache beat softly at his temples.

The room came into focus slowly. General shapes resolving themselves into detail as his eyes adjusted. He was in a hospital bed in a private room. A small chest of drawers sat at the foot of the bed, covered in magazines, a food tray and a pair of glasses. There was a chair next to it, pushed away at an angle and another, facing it as if two people in deep discussion had only recently vacated them.

~You are awake.~ A small silver head appeared in the corner of his eye. ~This is good news.~

~Essmani, how did I get here?~

~The man came for you. The one who first found me.~

~Harry...are you sure?~ How would Harry have known? It was impossible.

~Yes. He came for you and took you here. And he has been here keeping us both company for many days.~

~ How long have I been asleep?~

~Nearly a week. My venom could only do so much. It is a great shock to the body to be near death. Some do not wake, believing themselves already dead.~

~I did think I was dead. For a little while.~ He sat up, slowly. The world tilted, but did not spin. Leaning against the headboard, he closed his eyes wearily.

~I will tell him that you have awoken.~

~No! Don't. I need a few more minutes before I can face him.~

~As you wish.~

Rays of sun gathered in the corner of the room and swept outward while he gathered his thoughts and tucked in stray emotions. He truly had believed he would never see Harry again. How was he going to face him?

The door opened and he caught the tail end of a conversation.

"...I don't need another break."

"But Harry..."

And the pair stopped cold. Minerva came to him first.

"Tom! You're awake! You marvelous, stupid, man! And here I thought Gryffindors were the headlong into danger type." She kissed his forehead, ignoring his expression.

"I'm sorry."

"You're what?" She shook her head. "It would figure that the first time I ever hear you apologize about anything and itÕs probably the first time you don't need too. You're a hero."

"I can't be...I shouldn't have opened the Chamber...it was just..."

"If you ever do anything that dangerous again...."

The pain was laced so heavily in that usually calm voice that Minerva went to Harry's side, cautious and gentle. The older man picked up his glasses from the tray and cleaned them on the hem of his shirt.

"I don't think I could do it again if I wanted. Only one basilisk to slay..." He joked weakly, only to be subdued with the dark look Minerva sent his way.

Harry cleared his throat a few times, but said nothing. Minerva wavered between the two of them.

"Er...,I think I should go tell the medi-wizards you're awake." She fled the room like the hounds of hell were on her heels, leaving the two men to stare at each other in silence.

Tom looked away first, a dark blush of shame painting his cheeks.

"Every time I think I understand, you do something I can't believe." Harry sat on the end of the bed, carefully not touching him. "To take on the basilisk...if you hadn't opened it, there might never have been anyone who could."

"That's a big might. " He picked at the sheet, not looking at the other man. "And I wanted to do it."

"You wanted to die."

"No! Maybe. But that wasn't why. I wanted...I mean...I thought..." He gave a small cry of frustration.

"Redemption? Forgiveness?"

"I wanted you to be proud of me again." The words spilled out without his accord and his face went even deeper red. He was sure that his chest was tightening imperceptibly. "I made such a mess of everything and you're this stranger underneath it all. Those shields and you never would explain how you knew my mother or tell me anything about her. And I have these memories of a knife and a promise and...despite all that, all I want is your arms around me at night. Which is sick and wrong and only proves that I'm lower then any snake belly. My soul is black and my heart is perverted."

"Are you finished?" Panting, he nodded and unclenched the sheet from his sweating fingers. "I am going to tell you some things. I don't know what they'll mean to you, but I think its time you know."

He talked for an hour, telling him about his life, the war, his own decision to jump back in the timeline causing a split, his inability to murder the young boy and his subsequent decision to raise him with warmth and affection.

Tom listened without asking a question, his mind blank and his heart racing. The implications were foreign as if this was all true of someone else, no more real then any other bed time story Harry had told him over the years.

Lord Voldemort, red eyes and racial impurities...it didn't seem like him and yet, as he turned it over in his mind, how close had he come? Wasn't the act of using a potion to illicit sex without consent the act of the criminal mind? And what would he have been like without Harry? Alone and embittered, would he have twisted into some festering evil shade?

"That's all." Finally came and Harry stood, stretching. "You know all that I know."

"Harry..."

"What?"

"Why did you come for me? I mean, I know how, I think. The mirror, I guess...but if all this is true, if you really thought..."

"On my life, I promised, that I would always come if you needed me. It is not a promise I made lightly."

"And you would have killed me if I had been raising the basilisk?"

The silence was so thick that Tom's breathing threatened to become labored again.

"I don't know."

"If it had happened before..."

"No. Never. I couldn't have killed the boy I considered my son."

Finally, Tom looked up. Harry's face was completely closed down, his eyes half-shuttered though they rose to meet him.

"So I really have ruined everything." He sank back under that green gaze.

The familiar hand caressing his face gave him a start.

"My dear boy." Dry lips whispered over his forehead. "It's time for you to go away. See the world, get away from me. Love someone else."

"I cannot. There's no one else for me.. "

"I donÕt accept that. Go, Tom. Live, love. "

"And will you be here when I return?"

"That's not in my hands..."

Tom turned away and Harry sighed.

"I will be."

"Promise."

"Tom..."

"Promise me you won't leave when I'm away."

"On my life, I promise. Where would I go, what world would I run to in escape? You are waiting for me in all of them. Sleep now."

The command must have had a magical suggestion underneath because Tom sank into sleep without another word. When he woke in the morning, Harry was gone, leaving only Minerva to fuss over him. She filled in the gaps of the story, her own fight with Albus and what the Professor and Harry had snapped at each other.

"I'm going to take up the Ministry's offer to be an ambassador."

"When did they make you that offer?"

"An hour after I convince them to." He flashed her one of his old, confident grins.

"Will you be back?"

"You can count on it."

)1953(

The winter was the worst, she decided. Hogwarts had been her home since she was eleven years old, except for the year of training in France between graduation and taking her job. That had been different, thrilling and invigorating. But this was lonely. Her parents had happily let her move back in and were busy planning another more illustrious career for her.

But all she wanted was to be back in her school, surrounded by the ancient walls where everything made a reasonable amount of sense most of the time. Your friends and your lover were on the same side and no one was plotting against each other.

"Stop it. You're a grown woman." She scolded herself. The house elf making her a midnight cup of tea looked over, concerned and she smiled weakly at it.

"There is a visitor for Miss!" Vibby, her personal elf dashed up, eyes bright with excitement.

"A visitor, at this hour?"

"He is at the door, Miss!"

"Who is it, Vibby?" She asked as she called a more appropriate outfit from her room and dressed rapidly.

"Vibby is thinking Miss already knowing!"

"Vibby is very observant." She said tartly, smoothing her robes and checking the hall mirror before answering the door. Ignoring the throbbing hopefulness. After all, he hadnÕt been back in England for more then a short scheduled meeting in two years.

"Minerva."

Her heart sank. Albus peered out at her from a bright blue over robe, his warm boots caked with snow.

"What do you want?"

"Please, my dear. I've come to apologize. It seems every owl I sent met with an unfortunate incident with your wards and lost their messages."

"I have nothing to say to you."

"Please..." And he looked so lost and cold out there in the snow that she almost gave in.

"No. Tom..."

"It was a regrettable course of action." He sighed. "I should have trusted your judgment of him and left well enough alone, but I never did do anything about it."

"I was a tool. To get to him."

"That's not true! I love you."

"No you don't.." She trailed off. He had never said it to before, really. Not when it mattered.

"I do. You are a vibrant, intelligent young woman, who deserves better then a manipulative old man like me. And even if you donÕt take me back, you should consider my other offer."

"What other offer?"

"The school wants you back, dear. And I think you should return...you're suited for the job." He stared deeply into her eyes. "If I'm what's stopping you from returning, then I'll leave, find some other work."

"Oh, Albus." She leaned against the doorframe, overcome with a mix of emotions.

He kept staring at her like the earnest young boy she sometimes fancied him to be. How could someone so old and so experienced still manage to look like an errant child? His nose red and his hands shaking, he could have been any first year out too long in a snow fight.

"Come in then." She moved aside, letting him pass in.

The door closed resolutely behind him.



)1955(

Mounted over him, Sara was oddly silent. He loved her for her voice over all things. In fact, it was how they met. He had been in a busy pub and had become intoxicated with the sound of a woman four booths down. When he came over and complimented her, she had clicked her tongue at him and told him he would have to try harder. Easily, he found and tracked her movements, showing up wherever she was, learning her likes, dislikes, habits and mannerisms. Carefully, he formed himself to her idea of the prefect man. Within a month, she was a near permanent fixture in his bed, her lovely voice rolling over him at whim.

It's melodic tones made her one of the most famous mesmerists in the world. During sex, it could pull the most delicious sensations from him, a puppeteer and her willing marionette.

But tonight, silent and fucking herself on his shuddering, heaving body, it was clear something was amiss. Sapphire eyes bore into the headboard.

"Have I got spots on my face?" He joked, trying to cajole her attention back.

"Shh...listen."

The thrum of their magic in the air was hitting glorious notes, barely audible, more intuitively felt then heard. Tom sensed them before during sex. The more power, the louder and more complex the tune grew.

"What about it?"

"Can't you hear..."

And suddenly, he could. A terrible dissonance, whispering at first, and then cascading into tortured screeches. By the time he came, it was incidental to the deformation of their magic.

"What was that?" He panted as she collapsed next to him.

"You don't want to get married. Not to me."

"Of course I do!" he sat up, sick to his stomach. "I have some reservations, but so does every groom."

"It is." She soothed. "But it's more then that."

"Our magic always sang together before. Hell, I've had lovers with no music at all. It doesn't mean everything."

"It's not the music!"

Sara never got mad. It bothered him as much as it attracted him, her perfect composure. Even Avarus could be roused if just the right buttons were pushed. Now, the queen of composure, watched him from where she lay with the slightest irritation tightening around her mouth.

"The wedding is in two months away. Why is everything wrong now?"

"I wanted to think I could make you forget, but itÕs always there. This ghost. I could only see it with you when we talked about the wedding or children. Then it started pouring into everything, mundane conversation, and casual moments...everything, except sex. And now that too."

"What ghost? What are you talking about?"

"I don't know. But it's there nonetheless." She stood, wrapping the sheet toga like around her.

"This is insane!"

"Don't lie to me!" She moved towards the bathroom. "And don't worry about the wedding. I'll call it off. Even make it look like it's my fault so as not to damage your precious reputation. Our time was not meant to last. I see that now."

"Sara!'

"Go." Only then did her voice crack and then she was in the bathroom, locking herself in.

He tried to reason and plead with her through the door, trying to avoid listening to her weep. Only when his fists were bloody from pounding on her door and his voice raw from reasoning, did he decide to leave. He would return tomorrow when everything was calmer.

Back in his own flat he spent the night pacing and practicing what he would say to her tomorrow morning. With dawn came the post, including a thick letter from Harry. It was filled with trivial things, just like all their letters. He read and reread it and then masturbated in the shower with the smell of Harry's cedar desk still on his hands. Cleaning up, the time took him by surprise and he rushed to his morning meeting.

Only as he was making his apologies did he remember Sara. But the negotiations once begun could not be ended. It was hours before he could get away. He apparated directly to her flat. It was empty, of course, but her perfume still lingered. He had no doubt he would not find her now. The engagement contract lay on the stripped bed. Her signature neatly removed from it. With a gesture, it burned taking the bed mattress and soon the bed they had shared. Once it was ash, he extinguished the flames and left, feeling at once hollow and lighter.

)1957(

The mismatched pair stood, staring at one another next to the portkey slot.

"Do you think itÕs for good this time?"

"He's never said it was before." Avarus hedged.

"I know what he says, but.."

"Yes, but. "

Minerva sighed and shifted her weight to her other foot.

"Have they talked at all?"

"Letters only. Polite, informative missives. Or so he says."

"Would he lie?"

"No, but he never needs to tell the truth, least of all in this."

"And the marriage is off?"

"For a year now. You know all this."

Minerva sighed. She did know it, but there wasn't anything else the two of them had to discuss. They shared an uncomfortable silence. The spot was idyllic for quiet contemplation at least. The trees bent protectively around the grove and at midsummer the forest was teeming with vitality. Nearby a bush boasted a bumper crop of berries. It was probably one of the most beautiful arrival spots she had ever seen. Used to such luxuries, Avarus was studiously ignoring his surroundings, flicking his extinguished cigarette butt into the bushes. Once she was sure he wasn't watching, she transfigured it into a flower.

"You never can help yourself." The distinct displacement of air was accompanied by the wry comment.

'You ponce!" She grabbed him into a hug. "Sending an invitation here three hours before you arrived. Do you know how many lies I told to get here?"

"None or at least it should have been." He scolded. "Tell old Albus you were seeing an old friend."

"Speaking of old friends..." Avarus interjected. The aristocrat painted a terrified look as the hug turned on him. "A handshake would suffice, thank you."

"Forgive me for the trespass. The Italians have rubbed off on me. Where is Vermillion?"

"A victim of your tardy notice. She'd already promised her daughter a visit to the menagerie."

"And your familial responsibilities?"

"Negligible as always. Trist is after me for a child, but I don't think she realizes what it means to have the Zabini heir."

"The maternal instinct is on the rise, eh? What about you Minnie? Or do the children satisfy the nesting instinct?"

"Not back two minutes and you're already teasing. " She shook her head. "Reprehensible really."

Overwhelmed with the joy of being home and the congenial, familiar faces of his friends, Tom picked up the prissy girl and spun her around while she shrieked and beat at him with her fists.

"Children." Avarus hissed. "We're not alone."

Swiftly, Minerva was firmly back on the ground and two sharp pairs of eyes scanned the forest.

"We'd best be going. Who knows who they're coming to meet..."

"Who else would I be coming to meet?"

Minerva had forgotten how the air vibrated between these two men. A thick mix of power, surpassed emotion and brittle tentativeness. It had undoubtedly worsened with time.

"Harry."

"Tom."

"Who told you I would be here?" His eyes flickered over to Minerva who shook her head.

The other Slytherin raised his hand.

"You?" Minnie fumed. "Mr. Its-None-of-Our-Business? King of Discretion and Neutrality?"

"I am entitled to a single moment of impetuous meddling. Now are you coming to lunch or not?" He preferred an elbow in her direction.

Her mouth in a thin O of surprise, she took his arm and they apparated away.

"Why here?" Harry asked, breaking the silence. "Why not just apparate or at least portkey into the Ministry."

In answer, Tom turned to one of the thick berry patches and lifted a few branches away. They had bent over a simple stone marker that read "Reese Riddle" . He sank to his knees, one hand reverentially caressing the stone.

"I had a private investigator find it while I was away. My father...you said I killed him and my grandparents?"

"Not you. Lord Voldemort."

"I would have. If I had known I would have. Is that why you never told me?"

"No." A hand alighted on the younger man's shoulder. "I didn't want you to think you'd be abandoned. But at the time, I wasn't thinking about the future. You were a child and no child should think their parent abandoned them. I almost told you a half a dozen times as you got older, but there never seemed to be a good time."

"What if I told you that I'd done it? That I'd killed them when I found out?"

"I wouldn't believe you." The hand on his shoulder tightened. "You're mine. Here, in this time, you belong to me and not to the dubious legacy of the Riddle name."

"When I went to the house, there was only this middle aged man there. Muggles age so differently from Muggles, I wasn't sure who he was. He had a full head of white hair. He was sitting on a chair, watching the sunset. When I walked up to him, I could see his glasses were on a table next to him. He squinted at me with bleary eyes. I could see myself in him. Around the nose and jaw line. And do you know what my first thought was when I realized who he was?"

"What?" Asked softly with a tinge of weariness.

"At least now I know I won't go bald, but I'm going to need glasses. " He snorted. "And wearing glasses is only going to make me look more like Harry, not more like this bastard."

"Go on."

"He asked me who I was and I told him that he wouldn't remember me. That'd we met a long time ago when I was a child. I asked him if he'd remarried. He must have been sleepy or else lonely because he wound up telling me all about his second wife and their children. The wife left him a few years back and none of his kids talk to him. Even his parents had passed away. He was a lonely, bitter old man, destined to live out his life in solitude. It wouldn't exactly have been some great vengeance to kill him then."

"Life usually metes out its own punishments."

"When I got up to leave, he stood up too. Only he got his glasses first and put them on. The deck had gone dark by then, but a few Muggle torches were lit around us. He asked me where exactly I knew him from. I told him we'd never really met, but that I had always wanted to meet him.

"'What a good man you've become,' he said, 'your mother would have been proud.'" Tom stared at the marker. "Would you have, Mom? Would you be proud of me?"

"I know she would have been. "

Awkwardly, Tom turned under the grip of Harry's hand to stare up at him with beseeching eyes.

"I've come home. I can't live away any longer. The Minister is grooming me as his replacement, after my successes in New York and Belize. I almost married one of the most beautiful and intelligent women in the Northern hemisphere. I've sampled food, wine, drugs and brothels from every area of the world. I have been lauded, nearly killed and been forced to kill.

"I've lived, I've loved and I've come back. Are you proud of me?"

"I have your picture hung up behind the counter of the shop as I have always done." Harry kept his hand on his shoulder. "Every day people see it and pump me for information about your whereabouts. How could I fail to be proud of you when the whole of wizarding England thinks youÕre their golden boy? Traipsing around the world, making peace agreements, helping the goblins rebuild the economy and of course, slaying the basilisk."

"But I haven't changed. I am the same man I was when I left."

"Not so much the same, I think. For one, you're thirty, not twenty. You're more confident, certainly smarter."

"That is not what I meant." Though internally he preened with the compliments. "My heart is still the same."

"Oh, Tom.." He withdrew his hand and Tom lowered his eyes to the ground.

"I love you, Harry. But if I must, I will never mention it again after today. I have learned that I can live without having it though is it is a life a little less full. My other goals I have within my grasp. In a decade or two, I will be the most powerful man in England and one of the most powerful wizards, magically, in the world. That should be enough to satisfy any one person. I do not want to lose your support again and if that means closing off that piece of myself then I will."

"I correct myself. You haven't changed. You're still very melodramatic for a Slytherin." Harry reached down and grabbed at Tom's arm, urging him upwards.

"Not all of us can be blunt Gryffindors." He teased, surprised by the rough move and the proximity of the other man's body.

"Some things never change." Long, pale fingers caressed his cheek. "Other things do."

The kiss took Tom by surprise and it was several moments before he could respond, moving to plunder the mouth that opened readily for him. He didn't know what to do with his hands and he wound up settling them on the sharp points of Harry's hips, praying that this wouldn't scare him off. The older man pulled away from the kiss, only to enfold Tom in his arms.

The embrace had the double sensation of the warm hug of a father and the heat of a lover's claim. Tom relished in the multiplicity of feeling, snuffling at Harry's collar to inhale the spice of his aftershave.

"My boy." A hand laced through his perfect hair, mussing it beyond redemption. "My precious boy. I've given my life to making you happy and whole."

"I'm sorry. I don't want to want this." He kept his face hidden, clasping the moment.

"But you do. For many years now. And it's not going to just go away."

"No."

Delicately Harry drew up his face. Green eyes, death spell eyes, met and understood.

"Then I will be this for you too."

)*(

)1957(

Having Harry as a willing, fully conscious participant made the experience forty times more overwhelming then the first time. It was one thing to rut like animals, quite another to approach each other as adults. It should have been horribly strange and awkward. And it was for the first few minutes.

They went back to the house and went straight up to the bedroom, neither wishing to delay the inevitable. Hesitant, Tom trailed a finger down Harry's jaw, waiting for a tightening, a tremble anything. He wasn't expecting his fingers to be caught and a delicate kiss to be pressed into his palm. The intricate dance Harry initiated was nothing like the last time. If anything, its intention was clearly to wipe any memory of the last time from their memories, leaving only this tender, raw thing between them.

Harry insisted on stripping Tom himself, pressing closed mouth kisses on revealed inches of flesh. From wrists to waist until Tom was sure he was going to scream in frustration. A flash of teeth on his stomach distracted him from fast fingers on his trousers. Then he had to perform the awkward shoe/sock removal dance that was never ever sexy, no matter how many times he practiced it in front of the mirror.

Naked and vulnerable, he had no fear. Harry pushed him on the bed, before stoping to remove his own clothing.

"You're wearing a glamour." It caught both of them by surprise and Harry paused halfway through pulling off his trousers. " You don't usually. You put one up today."

"I always wear one when I..."

"Even then..."

"I have them called up automatically. No one wants to pause in the middle of something to do complicated spells."

"Could you drop them?" He moved sat up, curling his legs underneath him.

"It's not as pretty." The warning was half-hearted as if Harry knew this battle was lost before it began.

"Pretty is overrated."

The release of energy signaled something more then the dropping of glamour. Shields, massive thick layers of them crumbled and lay bare the man Tom had once thought he knew. Power, slick and quivering with potential lapped at his mind, caressed it and rolled through it. It left him starving for breath and half-hard. Locking eyes with Harry, he took down his own layers of protection and he was gratified to find the older man swaying.

Power drunk, Harry finally managed to rid himself of his clothes and crawl over to Tom. In the bright afternoon light, Tom could easily make out what Harry had struggled to hide. Long ropey scars that must be from claw marks slashed down from one shoulder to abdomen, three curse burns puckered the skin over his hip and the print of a hand was seared over his heart. Reverently and afraid, Tom placed his hand into the groove of the hand scar. It fit perfectly, already countered. Harry hissed at the contact, but didn't pull away.

"That was me."

"Not you, never you." Harry kissed him again, this time possessive and hard. "Another life time, another time line."

Feeling the need to repent for the pain he had not inflicted, Tom rolled them, before slithering down the older man's body to suckle at his interested cock. Encouraging hands stroked his shoulders, neck and carded through thick black hair. He worked, sloppy and obscene noises filling the air. This time Harry spoke. It was nonsense mostly, but a harsh cascade of words that spurred on his younger lover.

When he came, Tom managed to swallow some of it before he started to gag, then spit out the rest into a corner of a sheet. A fresh breath charm dually muttered, he climbed back up the sheets to press his own kisses on torso, neck and face. Harry's wild hair had taken on epic proportions of disarray, creating a black nimbus of chaos on the pillow.

Slowly, teasingly, the older man lifted a hand and spat into it , before reaching down to take Tom in his hand, using his other arm to guide the younger man down next to him. Laying on his side, staring into Harry's eyes, he arched into the sensation, letting loose a series of embarrassing squeaks.

It was just a hand job, he repeated to himself, you've had sex with dozens of the most gorgeous men and women in the world. Some of whom had degrees in sex magic. You will not be undone by a vaguely out of shape forty year old wizard.

Another wave of magical force washed over him, causing the most deafening cascade of notes he'd ever heard in a sexual power melding. He came so hard, he could have sworn that he blacked out for a moment.

When he came to, Harry was still watching him. The shields slowly rebuilt themselves though not as thickly as before.

"I do love you." Harry said softly. "Never question that."

"I know." He moved closer, eager to keep the intimacy that they had shared. "I never doubted it. Not even that day in the hospital when you told me you would have killed me. You have to really love someone to kill them to save them from themselves."

"I wasn't thinking of you then." And it should have been harsh, but Tom knew that it was a lie and let it go.

"You and I are bound by more then love anyway."

"Oh?" There was only a hint of amusement there. A quirk of a brow and a pause in the hand that had been stroking his side. He moved into the touch a little to encourage it again.

"We have spared each other from horrible fates. Saved each other and laid each other low. We have been allies, enemies, monsters and angels. Even, on occasion, simply men. What other couple can claim to have truly known each other all their lives, from the darkest depths of their souls to the most trivial of habits? I love you that is sure, but what I feel for you is not that simple."

"You should take up poetry." The hand resumed its stroking.

"I've had time to refine my speeches. There's one that I like that is solely about your arse."

"You are a troubled young man."

"Not so young anymore."

"No, I guess not. But if you're old, then I'm ancient, so allow me my few self-deceptions."

"You," Tom pointed out helpfully, "have not even been born yet. Which means I am taking advantage of a much younger man."

The low chuckle shook Tom's head. Content, he draped one leg possessively over Harry's and fell into a deep black sleep.

)*(

The translation was fascinating. Harry read it, eyes widening and making happy little discovery noises as he paged through it. Dimly, he was aware of Tom watching him. It was the first time heÕd dared showed anyone else Salazar's text and only when Harry was through did he ask the question that had weighed on his mind since he had left England.

"What if.." He paused, tapping the spine of the tome. "What if he meant me to kill the basilisk?"

"But it says directly here. The whole plan is for you to let it loose. Kill off the impure ones." Harry pointed to several chapters concerning just that.

"Harry, think...this is Salazar Slytherin, the most manipulative man in the history of ever. Do you think he would write a text to his heir with the sole intention that the heir carry out his every command mindlessly?"

"No, I suppose not."

"What if it was a test?"

The two men stared at each and then rouse at one.

"The fastest way to Hogwarts is floo." Harry reminded him as Tom went for his broom.

"IÕll call Minerva."

They were there within minutes, a very eager Minerva armed with a few good torches.

"No Albus?" Harry asked tartly.

"No." She glanced away. "I wouldnÕt tell him about this."

ŌMinnie..Ķ

"IÕve made my choice, Tom. Not all of us are so fortunate as to trust the ones we love."

Now it was HarryÕs turn to glance away, remembering his furious rush to the Chamber, ready to slay the greatest love of his life.

Together, they secured the bathroom and Tom opened the entrance. In silence, they made their way down. The room was as over done as ever. It seemed no one could stomach coming down to clean up the corpse, so the basilisk lay where he had slain it. It hadnÕt rotted at all and Tom shivered as they muscled by it into the room it was blocking.

The small, plain chamber had none of the ostentatious marks of the outside. Instead there was only a painting of a classically handsome young man. Black haired and green eyed, he peered at them with a certain amount of contempt.

~What took you so long?~

~I'm sorry. I hadÉbusiness to attend to.~ Tom stepped forward. ~Did I pass your test, sire?~

~You know you have. There is no need to fish for compliments.~ Salazar sneered. ~Are you ready for the great work, child?~

~I will not rid the world of muggles or mudbloodsÉ~ He glanced over to Harry, who nodded supportively back at him.

~Don't be stupid. Sweet Merlin, where's your head? I could careless about those miserable impurities. I am concerned with the wizarding world. Tell me of politics, the world. I have spoken with the other portraits over the years. Spied in offices, but much is lost. And we have an empire to rebuild.~

"What are they talking about?" Minerva whispered anxiously.

Harry watched as Tom moved to his ancestor, talking a mile a minute with animated hand gestures and diagrams drawn in the dust of the walls.

"Oh, just the future of the world."

"Should we worry?"

"Honestly?"

Tom glanced over at him, a happy grin on his face, eyes sparkling before turning back to the portrait.

"Harry?" She looked frantic, so he smiled broadly at her.

" I can't think of any one whose hands I would rather it to be in."

) 2000 (

The man sitting in front of her did not look like the new President of the United Wizarding Nations. Dressed neatly in plain black robes with a crisp wave to his salt and pepper hair, he looked competent, but reserved and content. Certainly she hadn't expected his personal residence to be reminiscent of her own family home. The cottage was clean, but cluttered. Stacks of books lined the walls, objects of art and magic, both priceless and worthless lay side by side on shelves the length of the living room.

The man himself was sitting in a comfortable armchair, having already taken a glass of water from his house elf and offered her a choice of beverages.

"Now, Ms. Skeeter, you were saying?"

"Tom, where in bloody hell did you put my..." Another man halted at the door. "Right. Sorry. Forgot you had the interview today."

"Don't worry about it, we hadn't started yet."

The older man, Harry Dover presumably, was one of the greatest enigmas in the wizarding world. He had no past that anyone could discover. He had arrived in this cottage one day and adopted the boy who would be the man who virtually ruled the world. It should have been enough of a scandal to keep Riddle out of office, but he was too good at what he did.

For a man of mystery, Harry looked even more innocuous then his adopted son. Hair gray and thick radiated from his head at all angles, framing a finely featured face including eyes the same vibrant shade of green as the man sitting across from him. His jumper was soft and worn looking and his pants were rumpled.

"I'll be in the kitchen when you're done. I think Dotty made some scones."

The interview went well. Tom's answers were to the point without being dull. She found herself easily pulled into the charm everyone had warned her about. The full extent of the hypnosis wasn't clear to her until she sat down to write out the story and found her notes seriously gaped in some places. Confused, she flipped through the transcripts. He had simply not answered some of her questions and she'd been so taken with him, she hadn't noticed.

The only moment that stuck out in her mind was in the middle when Harry wandered in again to bring Tom a fresh baked muffin. Involved in his answer, Tom had taken it without looking, but his fingers had acted on their own volition, caressing the offering hand before it retreated.

She decided that her readers might like this humanized side of President Dover with his adopted father and turned the hand touch into a ruffling of the hair, before shipping it off to her editor.

"This is complete tripe." Tom said happily, setting down the paper.

"Honestly. If I ever ruffled your hair, I'd be lucky to keep my fingers."

They were sitting on the couch together, Tom's head pillowed on HarryÕs lap. In about five minutes, Tom would have to go back to work running the world and Harry would apparate to the store. Nothing would convince him to give up his shop, not that Tom wanted him to. Sometimes after hideously long days of snarling knotty problems, the only thing that made it bearable was the thought of Harry waiting for him amid clutter and dust.

"Harry?"

"Hmm?"

"I want you to know that I release you."

"From what?"

"From your promises. I was thinking of all those things...that's a lot to bind someone too. Consider them fulfilled."

"My dear boy." He pushed Tom into sitting up and cupped his cheek. "As long as I draw breath I will not have fulfilled the promises I made to you. It's part of being a parent and a lover."

"President Dover." A soft voice called from an intercom on the wall. "YouÕre first briefing is in three minutes, sir."

"I'll be right there." He called, before terminating the connection. "You were saying?"

Harry leaned forward and kissed him.

"I was saying, have a good day at work. Wake me when you get home and don't forget to eat supper."

"Yes, Daddy." He rose, getting up only for one last deep kiss.

"Promise me?"

"On my life."

Port-keying to his office and sauntering to his first meeting, Tom whistled. It was going to be a good day.

End.