Sharing Spaces
Summary: When the Killing Curse rebounded, it gave Harry his lightning scar; and the shredded pieces of Tom Riddle's soul a second chance.
I suppose I have severuspheonix and her story '3 Slytherin Marauders' to thank for giving me the plot bunny. And also insomnia. Beware those who might wish to read it: you will suffer from 'oh, let's just read one more chapter' until you fall asleep on your keyboard and dream about semi-amnesiac teenage Tom Riddle's from before he was pure evil living in the head of a young Harry Potter.
So, yeah, this story started out as a dream. But unlike most of my dream stories, this one made a suprising amount of sense, and refused to leave me alone, so... yeah. Here it is. This is only the prologue, so the other chapters would likely be longer.
(About the 'pure evil' comment: Nobody is born evil. Not Hitler, not Stalin, and not Tom Riddle. I will admit that even as a child he was not entirely innocent, but he wasn't evil. I'd say he hit that marker somewhere in his fifth year.)
Disclaimer: If I was J.K. Rowling, why would I be writing fanfiction for my own series?
Prologue:
He had been ripped apart. He didn't know much, but he knew that, at least.
Everything about him was torn into pieces; his memories, his mind, even his very soul had been shredded.
What kind of monster would tear asunder a man's very being, the way he had been? What had he done to deserve this?
Nothing. At least nothing that was left in him, after being torn to shreds like a common ragdoll.
Deep down, he bristled. How DARE they? He was always being blamed for things he didn't do, or things he didn't mean to do! Who gave them the right to pass judgment on him when he was innocent of all crime!
It had been the same wherever he went. At the orphanage; where he was supposed to be nurtured and cared for because no one else would, but instead it was a fight for survival against those who would rather see him dead or on the streets. At his school; where he was supposed to be embraced and accepted for his abnormality, but instead, was rejected still for things he could not help.
Wherever he went, he wasn't welcome, whoever he was. Who was he?
He was… Tom. Tom… Something. Tom… Mal? He searched his mind, but it was all he could find. His name had been slashed to pieces, just like the rest of him.
At one point, he had hacked his name up himself, taking it to bits and moving them around. He wished he could remember what he turned them into. Then he could take it apart again and hopefully try and put it back together, the way it's supposed to be. One day he'd find his name again; until then, he would have to stick to Tom Mal, as choppy as it sounded.
What else was there about him? He was… different from the other children, somehow. They had thought that he was worse than them, but then again, he thought he was better than them, so it all worked out.
Why did they hate him? They most likely had a reason, unless they were just full of bile and spite. Actually, that was very likely. Still, he knew it wasn't the only reason. So what else was there?
They all called him 'freak', even Mrs. Cole; although she whispered it when she thought he couldn't hear her, along with 'devil spawn'. But why? What did he do that was so horrible, so 'freakish' that even the matron was afraid of him?
He had never picked on the other children. They picked on him. He just fought back, and fought hard, because nobody else would fight for him. He had learned to take the punishments he was given for protecting himself. He knew he was right to defend himself, but his enemies had allies who would happily lie for them, blaming him as the attacker.
He held up his shield of uncaring arrogance, but every whisper was a blow to the chest, every scared glance a knife to the back. He had tried to become the brave hero instead of the villainous freak in their eyes, protecting the young and the innocent from those who would harm them, but when his efforts only drove his peers away further, he gave up all hope of ever being accepted.
Instead, he made himself act more subtly, enough so that, despite knowing fully well that he was to blame, there wasn't enough evidence to properly convict him. That wasn't to say he was never in trouble, however. Even if there was a lack of proof, he was punished for every 'freakish' accident, even on some rare occasions where it truly wasn't his fault.
He had investigated those instances thoroughly, so he could either persecute whoever dared to frame him, or to find another 'freak' like him. He didn't hold much hope, but it was still worth checking out, just in case his childish fantasies of befriending someone like him, or just making friends with someone in general. Even if they didn't want to interact with him, even if they became an enemy instead of a friend- he would still have the knowledge that he was not alone.
Much later, he had found out it was true, that he wasn't alone, that there were so many so-called 'freaks' that there was a whole school for them! It was one of the best memories he had, aside from… parts of it.
It was only later, once he had been sorted into the green and silver house, Slytherin, the Snake House - it made sense, he liked snakes, they were his only friends, he could even talk to them; it was the best house for him, it was for those ambitious and cunning enough, he was promised greatness in it, where was that greatness now? - that he learned that he was still alone. Slytherin was the house of purebloods and bigots, sneering down at those with non-magical blood in them. In a world full of freaks, they thought he wasn't freaky enough.
They had called him mudblood and muggle-lover, told him to go back to the muggle world where he belongs, threw hexes and curses at him at any and all times. But he showed them… he didn't really remember HOW, but still, he knew he showed them. And then…
He was here, wherever here was. He still didn't know if he finished school, or how much he learned, or even how old he is. What happened to him?
When he was young, about five or so, he had asked his first snake, Isssabella, what it was like to hibernate. She told him that it wasn't like sleep, but instead like… being nothing. You simply didn't exist. Then, little by little, you come back to life. You begin to remember who you are, what to eat, how to hunt… But slowly, all the while feeling time trickle by through your scales. It sounded exactly like what he was going through right now.
When he first heard about it, the thought of it worried him. She had to go through that every winter? What if she didn't wake up? Isssabella was bemused by his fears, but reassured him that she would be fine. Mother Nature was a cruel mistress at times, but even she wouldn't be malicious enough to let her cold blooded children die in the winter. But now those fears resurfaced. He had no reason to doubt his first friend, but at the same time, this pseudo-hibernation wasn't natural. Humans, even freaks like him, DO NOT hibernate!
He was beginning to panic, when a thought suddenly struck him. This isn't natural in normal situations, but there's no saying that this is a normal situation. He goes to Hogwarts, for crying out loud! Abraxas Malfoy or one of his cronies must have cursed him when his guard was down. Hmm… good for him to actually manage to hit him, but he'd have to do better than this to take down Tom Mal… whatever the rest of his name is.
He had discovered in his second year that he could overpower most spells with his magic. It had managed to make life more bearable, if only by a little. He took a deep breath, and with his magic in hand, he pushed forwards, past the darkness.
Plotting what downfall for Malfoy to await, he opened his eyes… Only to find himself looking out eyes that were not his.
"What the hell?"
Well, do you think that Tom will lead the innocent young Harry to the Dark Side? Or will Harry's inner goodness overshine Tom's cynical nature, bringing him to the light? The only way to share is to fill in that little box below!
Also, if anybody has a better title/summary suggestion, it would be greatly appreciated!