Solve the Riddle

Summary: Harry's in the past. There is no 'Lord' Voldemort. However, if Harry expects things to be easier just because he's older and Riddle's younger, he's going to be sorely disappointed. Harry's never been one for giving up, but neither has Riddle, and as they both are forced to work together- in more ways than one- the stakes slowly change. [Time travel, Dimensional travel, fem!Riddle]

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, because evidently, if I did, Tom Riddle would be female and there would be quite a bit of time travel involved.

Chapter One: A Lucky Accident

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August 8, 1949

Harry didn't groan or stretch widely as he woke up, more than used to coming awake instantly. He slipped out of bed with as little fanfare as possible, careful not to wake his partner. The sun was just coming up over the horizon and he highly doubted that the woman would wake up, considering how late they had fallen asleep.

Not because they'd had sex for literal hours- Harry's life wasn't poorly written smut- but because they'd hooked up late. As usual, really. Parties hadn't ever been his thing, and he wouldn't go to so many if he wasn't contractually bound to.

He'd arrived in the time- 1948- a little under a year before with nothing but the clothes on his back. Well, not including his wand and a few galleons in pocket change. Along with some things that just wouldn't leave him be.

Aside from those few galleons, he'd had nothing, and so he'd decided almost immediately to find some kind of temporary job. While he'd wanted to do nothing more than to rail at the world, to teleport to some uninhabited place and scream himself hoarse, to drown himself in alcohol, he'd had enough professionalism to keep himself going, to get himself set up before he broke down. And he'd happened on dueling.

With no qualifications in this time, he'd had nothing that could possibly net him a job. Nothing but his own skills. While they couldn't earn him back his job as an auror until he managed to at least retake his NEWTs, they had been able to earn him a victory at the first dueling tournament he went to. The only reason why he hadn't retaken them already is that, apparently, if you weren't taking them as part of a school graduation, you had to schedule nine months in advance.

Which was probably why he was reminiscing so much this morning, nine months and two days after he'd arrived in the past, nine months after he'd scheduled his NEWTs.

Dueling had been an obvious choice, for a number of reasons. First, and possibly foremost, locals were cheap. Their entrance fee generally consisted of eight sickles and the grand prize was often greater than twenty five galleons. There were an astounding number of kids who wanted to try out dueling, thinking that winning in an amateur tournament would make them the next Merlin or something like that.

The second reason, one nearly as important, was his dueling skills. Calling them better than average was an understatement. Others had called them amazing, and Harry was inclined to agree. He'd worked hard for his skills and he wasn't going to downplay them just to appear modest.

There had been a lot of aspiring Dark Lords and Ladies in the wake of Voldemort's death and Harry had taken it upon himself to deal with them. He'd dueled Voldemort multiple times- despite the fact that he'd barely managed to keep up, it had been fantastic experience. And it had also given him confidence that he could beat anyone who wasn't an exceptional fighter, because, to put it bluntly, Voldemort was to Wizards what Stephen Hawking was to a Southern Hick in the states.

Kingsley had tried to talk him out of it- he could be a bit of a mother hen sometimes, really- but Harry had insisted. He'd been wallowing in his own despair and just angry at the world back then. While he'd pretended to himself that wanting to stop the the many 'bad guys' was altruistic, he'd really just been looking for people to vent his frustrations on.

And his exceptional reaction time had also greatly benefitted his dueling. Though his poor eyesight had made it difficult to see which spells were coming in time to react sometimes, even with better glasses. One of the reasons he'd never gotten into dueling before, despite somewhat enjoying the adrenaline rush of a good fight, was his bad vision. It had also ruined any chance he had of playing professional Quidditch if he'd wanted to; he hadn't been too devastated, considering that he cared much more about the flying than the game itself.

Back in his time, he'd gotten fed up with his poor vision inhibiting him about a year after Voldemort's defeat and just advertised a fairly ludicrous reward for any potions master who could create a potion to fix eyesight with little to no repercussions. He'd been able to afford it mostly because of the multitude of public appearances and advertising deals he'd been obligated to go through with while he was technically a Ministry employee. His inheritance from his parents had been a nice nest egg, but not nearly enough to entice any potions master worth their salt to take such a request and make it their foremost project.

Ultimately, he'd been presented with the completed potion a little over six months later. It had been created and brewed by a prodigal Brazilian wizard who happened to be the great grandson of Libatius Borage. Long story short, it hadn't been a problem by the time he was temporally displaced and decided to take up dueling.

And once he had started dueling, he'd won everything he entered. Harry didn't know the condition of duelists or dueling circuits in his own time, but the duelists he'd faced post-displacement had generally been in poor physical condition and far too used to being 'gentlemanly' and taking turns flinging spells. Which definitely wasn't in the rules, so Harry had abused their outdated styles and, until other people wised up, all of his fights had been ridiculously easy.

And even when they had figured out that standing in one place and yelling, "It's my turn," wasn't helping them, they still couldn't touch him. Harry was just of a higher caliber; he had exponentially more experience.

He'd been sponsored almost immediately as soon as he started entering regionals- luckily, there were at least some semi-competent duelers entering at that level- instead of locals, which pretty much solved his money issues. The only problem with that was that as he progressed in the dueling circuit, he was invited to bigger and bigger tournaments. Tournaments that inevitably had celebrations after for the victor- which was Harry in every tournament he entered. Harry had skipped the first party, but then the company he was being sponsored by- incidentally a less corrupt Daily Prophet- had pointed to a spot in his contract that stated that he needed to attend at least one afterparty for every tournament he won.

Which sucked for Harry, but there was nothing he could really do. Even though it was less corrupt, the Daily Prophet was still a newspaper and wanted positive publicity. And that was what had led to his sleeping around. Or at least the means for him to sleep around.

Harry was just glad that when he'd been sent back in time, he'd been on the outs with Ginny. Their relationship hadn't exactly been the best and they'd frequently broken up only to get back together a month later. Luckily, they'd just split up a week before he was sent back so he didn't have to feel guilty at all about sleeping with other women.

Contrary to the means, there hadn't been some long process of events that led him to actually start choosing to sleep around. It had been for one main reason, really. Harry had never really gotten into alcohol, but he wanted a way to keep his mind off of his situation, to maintain his eternal denial towards the fact that he would never see his friends again. So he slept around- sometimes it could be as much of a narcotic as alcohol and others he just did it so as to not break routine. Which seemed a bit callous even to him, even when he was in somewhat of a depression induced haze. He couldn't explain exactly why he did it on nights when he wasn't all that interested- in the mental sense; due to the fact that he was a guy, he was almost always interested physically- he just did it, without knowing why.

But that wasn't what had happened with the girl from the night before, the one that was in his bed. He'd definitely consciously chosen to sleep with her; if he only payed attention to her looks, she was a goddess. A beautiful, regal face, piercing gray-ish black eyes, midnight black hair, curves in literally all of the right places . . .

And that was where the dream ended. While she had the looks, she didn't have the brains. To put it simply, from how she'd been acting the night before, not even drunk as far as Harry could tell, she was a total ditz. Harry wasn't entirely sure how she'd passed her schooling, wherever she'd gone, and he'd been fairly surprised that his routine subtle check- of his sexual partners, medically- hadn't turned up any STDs.

If she'd had a mind to match her body, they might have had something more than a one night stand. As it was, Harry was bored of her already. She was great in bed- from a lot of experience, probably- but one night was enough for that. To date, he hadn't met anyone that he actually saw himself having a future with- which made sense, when you considered the fact that he only really slept with girls who were enamored with him- in other words, fangirls.

He'd wondered, sometimes, in the year since he'd arrived in the past, if he did it for nostalgia. Which was a really bad joke, he admitted readily- and kind of cruel to Ginny. He didn't hate Ginny for their tumultuous relationship- on the contrary, he still cared for her. But looking back on it, he realized that there'd been no love anymore. It was such a tenuous relationship and Harry suspected he'd just been following a routine- break up, sulk, vent on up and coming dark wizards, sulk, get back together, repeat steps one through five.

So occasionally, just to cheer himself up a bit, he would poke fun at parts of his life pre-time travel. Some of the things he'd done truly were ridiculous or ridiculously stupid- sometimes both- and just recounting adventures with Ron and Hermione to himself could raise his spirits more than pretty much anything else.

He tended to do that a lot- get into a routine, that is. He'd gotten particularly talented at it- shutting off his brain and doing things by rote. Which wasn't a good thing, at all, but it was the coping mechanism he'd used after the battle of Hogwarts, when he'd realized the scope of the war, all of the people Voldemort had killed, non-magical and magical alike. He'd blamed himself for it, in retrospect, for not challenging Voldemort sooner.

The logical portion of his brain told him that there was nothing he could have done and that he just would have died a fool, but the irrational, emotional part told him that he should have done more, that he was a coward and that it ended up costing thousands of people their lives. And the irrational part was stronger, mainly because he'd known many of the dead at the battle of Hogwarts specifically.

And because it was one case where he could have gone earlier and gotten roughly the same results- not that he'd known that he was a horcrux before actually dying. Although he would still have had to find the diadem and find a way to kill the snake, so he really couldn't have gone earlier, no matter how much he wished he'd ended it at the start. Hence, irrational.

But slowly, ever so slowly, he was coming to terms with his new life, his progressively less precarious situation. He was seeing it as an opportunity, to prevent some of the tragedies. He could save everyone, even if he was much too old by the time he cycled around to the present to have nearly the same relationship with all of his former friends. It was a new chance and one that he was more than ready to take.

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"Welcome. Mr. . . . Evans, was it?"

The speaker was a tall, stick-thin man with a stern countenance. He was obviously the all work, no fun type of person. The kind that Harry generally steered clear of with extreme prejudice. But he didn't really have a choice at the moment, because this was the NEWT examiner. So he'd just have to put up with the man for a little while.

"Yes," Harry told the examiner. Of course he'd used his mom's maiden name, considering that it was a fairly common muggle last name, while calling himself Potter would just bring up awkward questions.

"And you are twenty four years old?"

"Yes." He'd just turned twenty four a little over a week earlier, in fact.

"No formal education?"

"Correct." Not in this time period, at least.

"Here to take your NEWTs in Charms, Transfiguration, Defense, Potions, Herbology, Arithmancy, Care of Magical Creatures, and Muggle Studies?"

"Yes." They were all courses he thought he could get an O in. Back in his own time, he'd eventually gotten Hermione to teach him arithmancy, mostly because he was bored, and he'd found that he enjoyed it enough to continue with the subject. Care of Magical Creatures and Muggle studies had just required brushing up. Care because his memory was far from perfect and he didn't remember many of the more obscure creatures they'd covered- and he'd missed his seventh year of school. Muggle Studies because he hadn't officially taken the class- despite his inherent knowledge of muggle affairs- and he'd needed to brush up on the situation in the current time to make sure he didn't list off future events.

"Very well then," the examiner said, setting his clipboard down on the desk in the testing room. "We will do each practical in succession before moving onto the written exams. We will begin with the Charms practical. Turn this vinegar into wine."

Harry complied, doing the spell nonverbally.

"Very good," the examiner said, making a mark on his clipboard. "Please perform a summoning charm on the pillow on the far left of the room."

Harry did wandlessly, making sure the examiner saw that his wand was pointing down by his feet and his left hand was up. He figured it wouldn't hurt to show off a bit and summoning was one of the easiest spells to do wandless anyways. The examiner looked much more interested after that.

The rest of the charms exam went much in the same fashion, the examiner asking him to do about ten more spells, all of which he completed perfectly. Some, those he was more familiar with, he completed wandlessly. The examiner was practically vibrating in his seat by the end of it.

"And for extra credit," the examiner said breathlessly. "Have you created any spells before, Mr. Evans?"

Harry nearly rolled his eyes; that was like seventy five percent of arithmancy- spell creation. Of course he'd created his own spells on the way to becoming proficient in the subject. In the end, he chose to answer with a simple, "Yes."

"Excellent," the man said, rubbing his hands together. "Would you mind showcasing a few of your original charms, then?"

"No. I wouldn't mind," Harry said, plastering a polite smile on his face. He waved his wand and glowing golden chains shot out, waving around in the air as if anticipating wrapping around a prisoner. He could do almost all of his original spells wandlessly- his greater understanding of the spells helped him with the belief aspect of the casting, the part of magic that many younger wizards and witches couldn't nail down. It wasn't a well recognized part, frequently confused with willpower, but it was something that Harry had found greatly helped with his own casting. The particular spell that he'd been attempting, however, was simply more convenient if he had the chains come out of his wand.

"May I have an explanation as to the charm's effects, Mr. Evans?" Despite the fact that he was literally bouncing up and down in his seat, the examiner still spoke in a proper, slightly stuffy manner.

"It's a modification to the incarcerous spell," Harry explained. "You could call it a transfiguration, at least the conjuration part of the spell, but the main difference between this and the incarcerous spell are the effects of the charms that are infused into the chains.

"These are chains capable of stopping an animagus transformation, whether the animagus is in human form or animal form, whether they're a human or a beetle. The chains will grow or shrink to encompass them. Of course, I can accomplish this manually, for demonstration purposes, but the chains themselves also have another of my creations, an auto-adjustment charm, created specifically so these chains can hold the most slippery of animagi."

"Amazing," the examiner breathed out. "Simply marvelous, Mr. Evans."

Harry couldn't stop a small smirk from twisting his lips. He was very proud of the completed product, considering that it had been incredibly complicated to create, as well as, for some reason, completely unprecedented. Sure, Hermione had helped him through some of the process, but he'd done most of the work on his own.

He'd suggested it once to Hermione, remembering how easily Wormtail had escaped back in their third year. She'd immediately cottoned on to the idea and insisted he do it as a project so she could 'check his progress.' He'd already completed his Arithmancy NEWT and Hermione hadn't given him a lesson in two months by that point, so he had no idea what her angle had been.

The examiner was still staring, awestruck, at the chains almost half a minute later and Harry decided that it had been long enough. He dispelled them with a wave of his wand.

"That's two charms in one," Harry said. "Do I need to do any more?"

The examiner looked wistful for a second before regaining his composure. "No, no, Mr. Evans. That should be enough; we're under time constraints, no matter how much I might wish otherwise right now. So, on to Transfiguration. Hmmm . . . how about a bird conjuring charm?"

The rest of the practicals went similarly, though he wasn't asked to showcase an original potion in the exam, most likely due to to time. He didn't feel any guilt at all, however, when he copied the eyesight correction potion as extra credit on the written exam. He'd bought the rights to it, after all, so it wasn't technically plagiarism. Especially because it didn't actually exist yet.

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There was a wizard waiting outside of the testing room when Harry exited, one who apparently felt the need to strike up a conversation. "Sorry, mate."

"Hmm?" Harry said, half focused on the man and half focused on what he was going to have for lunch. "For what?"

"You got Mr. Macmillan as your examiner," the man said. "He's widely thought of as the harshest there is. My condolences."

"I don't think I'll have a problem," Harry said, lips curling upwards.

"That's what they all say," the man scoffed. Then he grinned and held out his hand. "Marcus Avery."

Just then, the examiner came barreling past them. Well, it was more of a dignified speed walk, really. He stopped and turned around to face them when he registered Harry.

"Good show, Mr. Evans," he said. "Good show! I should be able to contact you about the patents soon. Await my owl."

"Will do," Harry said, holding his hand in a still wave until the examiner turned and continued on his way. Avery turned to him, looking like someone had just kicked him in the nuts. "What's wrong?"

"Huh?" Avery said. A second later, he shook his head vigorously, presumably to clear it. "Ah, sorry about that. I just . . . exactly what did you do in there? Why was Macmillan talking about patents?"

"Oh, that," Harry said, turning away slightly so Avery couldn't see his smirk. "Nothing much. He just got a bit enthusiastic about a couple of my spells and my potion. Said something about them revolutionizing law enforcement. The spells, that is- not the potion. Wanted to get them all, including the potion, patented. I accepted his offer of assistance in that."

"Wait, wait, what?" Avery stuck his finger in his ear and pretended to clean it. "Did I hear that right? What kinds of new spells did you show him, exactly?"

"Sorry," Harry said, "but I don't think I'm allowed to talk about the exam in specific detail."

"So you don't want to tell me about the spells," Avery deduced. He was sharper than he acted, Harry realized. "Will you at least tell me what potion it was?"

"Ah, just a sight correction potion," Harry said. It couldn't be that difficult of a concept, right? Surely wizards had thought of something like it in the past.

"Like, general purpose sight correction?" Avery asked, suddenly bouncing on his heels.

"Yes," Harry said.

"And it works?"

Harry gave him a strange look. "Yes. I tested it on myself. My eyesight used to be crap. Now it's perfect."

"Just on yourself?" Avery asked.

"No," Harry said, shaking his head. Many others had used it once he'd made it public in his time. He knew for a fact that it worked.

"Give me a second," Avery said weakly, slumping against the wall.

"Sure," Harry said, shrugging. "We're not walking or anything."

"We should be," Avery said.

Harry quirked an eyebrow at him.

"I mean," Avery elaborated, "I'm supposed to guide you to your apparition test. But I got so caught up in chatting . . . and . . . yeah." He laughed sheepishly, relaxing against the wall before tensing up again almost instantly.

"Ah. Well, that's not for another forty five minutes- we've got time," Harry said. "Anyways, why do you seem so shocked by the idea of my potion?"

"Do you know how many years wizards have been trying for a potion that will correct all sight?" He seemed to be calming down but still looked and sounded slightly hysterical.

No, he didn't. This might be interesting. "Nope," Harry said, shaking his head. "I was homeschooled, so I'm not exactly caught up on modern wizarding culture."

"Forever," Avery breathed out, "is the answer you're looking for."

Huh. "Oops?"

"Oops?" Avery's laughter was slightly hysterical again. "Oops? Practically every potions master tries their hand at this at some point and you just did it successfully on a whim in your early twenties? Are you some kind of prodigy or something?"

"Not in potions," Harry said. "That's for sure."

"But you made- you made . . ." Avery trailed off, seemingly unable to find the words.

"A lucky accident, really," Harry assured him. And it apparently had been- whatever had made that prodigal Brazilian able to complete a task that had been tried for centuries, if not millennia, now seemed like the luckiest thing in existence. Especially the fact that he'd gotten results in such a short time.

"A lucky accident, he says," Avery whispered to himself, though Harry heard perfectly fine; he was right next to the man.

"Shall we be going then?" Harry asked.

"I guess we shall," Avery said. "Follow me." The man was silent for the trip, lost in thought; Harry suspected that he knew what the man was thinking about- his master.

Avery was one of the names he definitely remembered from the memory of the 1940's slug club lesson, the one which Tom stayed after to ask about horcruxes. And since that was the case, the man was probably sizing him up to see if he'd make a good Death Eater.

While that could potentially be helpful, Harry doubted he could last even a day in the Dark Lord's presence without trying his very best to murder him. So, no infiltration, for sure. Still, maybe he could figure out Tom's current location from this. If he remembered his timeline correctly, Tom was probably working at Borgin and Burkes right about now. But it would be nice to have confirmation and maybe even to find out where Tom was holing up.

"Right," Avery said after a while, coming to a halt. "Right in there. Go in and do your thing."

"Thanks," Harry said.

"Yeah," Avery said. "No problem." He still looked a little out of it, but Harry put it out of his mind as he prepared himself for one of the easiest tests he'd ever taken.

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A woman leaned forward in her chair, facing her servant. Her face was beautiful and regal in equal measures, entrancing to the male viewer- which frequently included her 'friends.' Not that she cared about that in any sense other than that the more attractive she was, the more likely people were to follow her, or do whatever else she wanted them to, many times without her even asking.

"What was so important that you needed to call me, Avery?" She frowned. "I am rather busy at the moment; you know this. Explain yourself."

"I apologize, My Lady," Avery said, dropping to his knee and bowing his head.

"Oh, get up," she said, both amused and frustrated. While she'd first been rather gratified by the deferential respect shown to her by her 'friends,' there was such a thing as being too subservient. It had lost its luster quickly and the only thing stopping her from banning people from kneeling in front of her was the fact that it was apparently a longstanding pureblood tradition to bow to your sworn lord.

Still, it amused her to see proud purebloods prostrating themselves in front of her every day, simply because they wished to earn her favor. She, a half-blood, had control over a great deal of the influential purebloods in this society. They would never have even considered kneeling to a half blood thirteen years ago, but now, here they were in all their subservient glory.

"Yes, My Lady," Avery said. He slowly climbed to his feet.

"Explain why you asked for this audience," she said, picking at her nails in a calculated show of disinterest.

"My Lady, I was assigned to guide a test taker at the ministry today. He was taking his NEWTs and was assigned to Macmillan, the undisputed harshest grader."

"Go on," she said, waving her hand. She could tell where this was going, somewhat. Something about the wizard must be exceptional for Avery to call a meeting just for him. At the very least, this promised to be somewhat interesting.

"When he left the room, he looked deep in thought, although he responded when I said hello and introduced myself. But before he could introduce himself- I already had his name of course, since I was supposed to be guiding him- Macmillan came rushing out of the room, very fixated on something in his hands.

"When I snuck a glance, I could tell that they were the wizard's tests. That in itself was odd enough, but right after that, Macmillan told the wizard that he would owl him about patents! Patents! Multiple patents!"

"Do calm down, Marcus," she said, just barely refraining from rolling her eyes.

"Pardon, My Lady." He bowed his head for a moment before looking up again. "But you must realize-"

"I must?" she hissed, glaring suddenly. Her gray- almost black- eyes flashed red for an instant and she resisted the urge to giggle as he recoiled. Ah, scaring her minions was such a fun pastime.

"I had not intended to presume, My Lady!" Avery hastily backtracked.

"Very well," she said, once again smiling pleasantly. "Continue with your tale, then."

"After Macmillan was gone, I asked the wizard what Macmillan had been talking about. And he was so nonchalant, My Lady, when he told me that they had just been discussing patenting all of the invented spells that he had shown off during his test, presumably for extra credit. And his potion as well! His potion!"

She was about to reprimand him again when he visibly calmed himself down.

"His potion," he continued, "was a blanket eyesight correction potion. My Lady, wizards and witches have been trying to produce something along that line for millennia! And when I asked him how he had managed it, he just called it a lucky accident!"

She actually did giggle this time. Purebloods- so close minded. Of course none of them could have managed a potion like that- there wasn't a drop of ingenuity among them. Wizards could affect large body parts with potions, but any other than pure destruction or basic physical healing was beyond them when it came to smaller and more delicate organs- eyes, for example.

She could probably have devised such a potion if she was inclined to waste months of her life on it. So, it was rather impressive that the wizard hadn't had much difficulty, assuming he was telling the truth. Which he probably wasn't, if he said it was a lucky accident. Evidently, he was hiding something; whether it was important or not was yet to be determined.

"My Lady?" Avery asked, clearing seeking her opinion or approval.

"This is very interesting information," she said. "However, I don't see how this is relevant to me." She wasn't lying. While the potion he had created was undoubtedly a masterpiece, she had no need of eyesight correction and neither did any of her 'friends.'

"My Lady," Avery continued. "I asked him about the spells that he had used in the exam, but he refused to tell me. He did say that Macmillan was of the opinion that they would revolutionize law enforcement. I believe you should recruit him, My Lady, before he can assist the pathetic aurors. Of course, they still wouldn't be much more than a nuisance to you, My Lady, but all the same, you should still take preemptive measures."

"Do not tell me what to do," she hissed, smirking when he again stammered denials. "However, you have suggested a plausible course. What is this man's name?"

"Harry Evans, My Lady."

She ran a hand through her midnight black hair. Of course. Because every time things were going well, fate had to throw a wrench in her plans.

"Very good," she said, letting none of her distaste show. "You may leave, Marcus."

"Thank you, My Lady."

Avery exited the room after taking one last sweeping glance at her body, focusing more than anything else on her chest- yes, she'd known where he was looking practically the entire time, at least after she'd let him rise. While she didn't feel the indignation that most women would at this conclusion, her lips still thinned and she felt vaguely frustrated. It was the same way with the rest of her Knights. Literally all of them were men, and it showed in their complete lack of subtly as they ogled her.

No, she wasn't frustrated because they generally took to staring quite rudely and blatantly at a place men were generally not supposed to stare at- or at least not supposed to be caught staring at- on anyone but their lover, and even then, only in private. Her body was a tool to be used and if it kept all of the mindless, drooling animals in line, all the better. No, she was frustrated because it clearly showed the lack of inhibitions, intelligence, or any form of common sense in her loyal followers.

No- now was not the time to be lamenting the stupidity of her followers. Now was the time to be figuring out what to do about Harry Evans.

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A/N: The first third of the chapter is a prologue, really, and the lack of dialogue is not indicative of the rest of the fiction. No, 'she' is not omniscient. There is a reason why she knows of Harry- I probably just gave it away by saying that- and if anyone manages to guess it- by being awesome or reading carefully- they get an invisible and intangible cookie. I left far more than enough clues.

Same goes for anyone who can guess fem!Riddle's first name. And no, this isn't an attempt to scrounge up ideas. I've already come up with it through some rather simple and logical reasoning, along with a very tiny bit of research. Anyone who can guess both gets TWO invisible and intangible cookies. Three if anyone can guess both those and the reason why Riddle 'met' Harry in the way she did- Riddle's reason, not mine.

I added that part at the end about Riddle's view on her body to show that while there are some ways that she, and even this dimension, are different from canon, in others, there's practically no noticeable difference. Like both this Riddle and canon Riddle's view of their body as a tool. Though Tom doesn't have quite the same problem with his followers in canon because many if not all of his followers are straight and not interested in pasty white, red eyed, vaguely humanoid things. Of course, there's always Bellatrix.

Harry's finally shaking off his depression, which is why he's only just starting to look for 'Tom' and into 'his' actions. Bet it'll be a shock when he realizes an . . . essential difference between here and his own time, as well as the fact that he also traveled through dimensions.

I've really got my work cut out for me, getting Riddle in a genuine relationship with Harry, getting her to a mindset where she's not just using him. But I've got a couple of ideas on how to go about it.

I will readily admit that this fiction is cliché in a couple ways, but hopefully not overly so. Clichés aren't all bad. And some are fairly inevitable when writing a fanfiction with a farfetched premise and an elusive pairing.

If you enjoyed this chapter, remember to favorite and follow. If you have any specific comments, positive or negative, please review. If you have something that you don't want to waste your review on or just something you don't feel fits in a review, PM me with your concerns/questions/ideas.