A/N:This can be read as a stand-alone piece, but it is an AU.
In my fic Second Chances, when Harry went back to his timeline from Tom Riddle's he created a completely new one. He took over the body of the Harry present in the new universe, and this is the story of that Harry up until a week before time-traveler Harry went forward in time - if that makes sense... just bear with me, it makes sense on its own.
This was a request by David-El, and I want to dedicate this fic to him for giving me the idea :)
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter.
He had been this way since he could remember. Sometimes it wasn't so bad, it was…. Manageable, and he ignored it, however, times like this it was crushing, compressing him under the weight of some invisible force. Harry Potter wasn't very acquainted with luck, it seemed to always be others that found a galleon on the street, who never got lost in Diagon Alley. However, Harry did concede that it was lucky these attacks always occurred at night, the resulting questions would have just created more confusion.
Pain gripped his chest once more, and the only sensation he could compare it to was having your heart ripped out. Muffling a whimper with his pillow, he squeezed his eyes shut, the overwhelming sense of despair ruling his senses once more. He felt empty, the pain the only emotion really coursing through the young child's body at this moment in time. From behind his curtains, the moon peaked out, bathing his room in lunar light, bleaching the colour from all that it touched.
Was this real? Was he really here?
These were questions that had often popped into his head at random, the origin unknown, but thankfully they generally signalled the end to the pain. A sort of contentment would wash over him, and he was allowed to rest, sliding easily into slumber.
But even his dreams were more confusing. Sometimes he only remembered snatches. A brief scene, a dark haired man, his blue eyes gazing intently at his face. He was well acquainted with this man. Every night he saw him, sometimes they talked, he thought they had even kissed once, but when he woke up remembering what had transpired was about as easy as cupping water. It always faded with time.
All he really remembered was the man. He had aristocratic features, brown hair that was always impeccably neat… and those eyes, always searching, and burning with an emotion Harry had yet to identify.
At aged eleven, Harry Potter got his letter to Hogwarts. Remus and Tonks had been delighted, twin smiles gracing their features as they discussed what he would need from Diagon Alley. Part of Harry felt hollow though, and he went back up to his bedroom, unable to stand the discussion of the couple downstairs. Grimmauld Place was his home now, but he couldn't help but long for that other life. The life where his parents had been alive, instead of felled by Death Eaters. They should be in the kitchen talking about what he needed, not the two people whom he'd come to see as family, but who could never really replace the real thing. The hollowness gripped him once more, but at the same time longing burned through his mind, his fingers automatically reaching to trace the bottle green letters.
Arriving at Hogwarts had felt like coming home. Ron was also in the same year as him, and on the train they met Hermione Granger. Two friends, more than he had expected to have. Together they entered the wrought iron gates, sailed across the lake - Hermione with a boy named Neville Longbottom since it was only two to a boat - and made the harrowing walk though the Great Hall to the Sorting Hat.
GRYFFINDOR!
His new house accepted him with open arms, and to he was in the same house as Ron and Hermione. The Weasley twins shouted the loudest, and he grinned at the red headed duo, getting cheeky winks in return. Once the Sorting was over, Albus Dumbledore stood up, giving warnings about the Forbidden Forest, and Filch the caretaker. However, Harry wasn't listening. Instead, his eyes were drawn to the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. He had caught glimpses of Tom Riddle, the Order meetings were generally conducted at his home, but he had always been confined upstairs with the Weasley children. Now, however, he felt his eyes rake over his appearance hungrily, and almost involuntary. Almost.
The aristocratic features… the hair… Those could have been coincidences, but the eyes were most definitely not. They seemed to burn, just like in his dream, warmth exuding from their previously cold depths.
And then Harry Potter realised, he was being studied too.
Both of them seemed to notice this at the same time as both turned away. Riddle talking to Professor McGonagall, and Harry engaging in a debate about Quidditch.
The first DADA lesson was when he really noticed it. Throughout he was mesmerised by his teacher. Tom… No, Professor Riddle… was going over the syllabus, but for all Harry knew they could be learning to tap dance with spiders - not that Ron would appreciate that one much. They way he talked, his lips brushing together, the enthusiasm he projected… Harry shook his head, returning his mind to somewhat normalcy.
Second Year, he was at a duelling club, watching Snape and Riddle perform feats of magic he never thought he would be able to do even with the best instructor in the world. Watching Riddle's reflexes, his snake-like strikes, he felled the Potions Master, binding him with a shimmering orange rope before turning to his awed audience.
"Now, I do not expect you to be able to reach this levels unless you put in years of training. This was just to show you what a real duel is like. Now, I need to students to demonstrate today's spells…"
Harry never knew why he had been picked. He wasn't special, and his grades were only slightly above average. However, as he faced Draco Malfoy, he heard Riddle whisper 'Expelliarmus' in his ear, and fought the shiver that so wanted to make its way down his spine.
It was a draw, and he expected to see disappointment in Riddle's eyes, he had been chosen by him, and he had failed. Instead, the cold DADA professor bestowed him with a smile. In that smile there was so much that could be guessed at, but only one thing was certain. Riddle liked him, he wasn't hopeless, and that was enough to carry him through the year.
Sirius Black. His name adorned headlines everywhere, the menacing man chained up in Azkaban, and lunging at the photographer. Harry never knew who he was, it was only when Ron was shocked that he never knew the man's crimes, that he knew something had been kept from him.
Harry chose to ask Remus. His guardian had been more worried as of late, his hair growing noticeably greyer, and his face more tired. Remus told him he was his Godfather, and that it was thought that he gave the Death Eaters his parent's position when the Order raid was planned so long ago. The Potter's were some of the best of the Order, and with them gone it would be easier to take down the others. Remus thought that Black was out for revenge, wanting to kill the last of the Potter line in retribution for his incarceration. This was only backed up by Arthur Weasley, who told them that since Harry had been enrolled, Black often mumbled in his sleep 'He's at Hogwarts.'
Anger. Harry never had much experience with it. It ceased all rational thought, and when he boarded the Hogwarts Express in September, he vowed he would destroy that man who had robbed him of his family.
Dementors were placed around the school grounds. They lingered, haunting the grounds in packs, and every time Harry was near one he would feel that heart ripping pain once more, the one he had thought he had gotten rid of as soon as he came to Hogwarts.
Professor Riddle noticed, and he taught Harry the Patronus Charm. Little did he know how much this would help Harry, the night that he found Sirius Black.
The Shrieking Shack wasn't haunted. Harry knew that it had been Remus's refuge when he underwent his transformation at school. Still, as he, Ron and Hermione moved through the dusty rooms, Harry kept hearing creaks and groans that seemed to come from the aged building itself. Not enough to convince him that Remus had been wrong, but enough to make him realised they weren't alone.
Ron was frantically looking around for Scabbers. The fat rat had scampered away when they were on their way back up from Hagrid's. The Whomping Willow was where he had ran to, where the trio had managed to spot the secret passageway, and, with a little help from Hermione's cat Crookshanks, get inside.
Moving upstairs, they swiftly found the rat, and the man whom Harry had been hunting for so long.
When Peter Pettigrew appeared, everything changed. Hearing his story, they went back up to castle, having to battle through a swarm of Dementors to get there. It was worth it, and an hour later, his Godfather was freed.
Fourth Year everything changed. The Tri-Wizard Tournament was being held at Hogwarts, but that wasn't it. He moved in with Sirius… or, well Sirius moved in with them. He had been living there with Remus before his incarceration, and so the werewolf had been allowed to keep the house. Now, with Sirius living there, it seemed as if the derelict building had been given a new lease of life, an Harry loved it.
He heard stories of his father that Remus had been too grief ridden to tell, saw pictures of their years at Hogwarts, and was told of the many pranks the Marauders had pulled on their poor teachers. It was a fun year, the best by far, and when Cedric won the Tri-Wizard Cup, they celebrated as a family. For the first time since his parents died, Harry felt almost complete. However, the throbbing in his chest hadn't abated. It only happened when he wasn't near Hogwarts, but he couldn't be that lucky, now could he?
Fifth year he learned more about Riddle. After scoring high on his tests, Riddle chose to mentor him, to 'hone his abilities' as the older man had said.
After a few months, Professor Riddle became Tom, and Mr Potter became Harry.
Harry was thrilled. In the Duelling Chamber, they danced around each other, both literally and figuratively. The desire was there, he knew now that he was attracted to both sexes, and sometimes, after a hard days training, he would see Tom give him a look, his eyes filled with sadness, and the pain in his chest would start again.
It took Harry a while to realise he was grieving.
Grieving for what, he wasn't sure, but once the name was given to the feeling, it never hurt so badly. It had been recognised, and so it only came out sometimes, as if to remind him it existed. Other than that, he felt content, as he leaped out of the paths of Tom's spells, he felt a certain familiarity coat him, and he swore he had done this before… or at least it felt like it.
He grew in power. His friends were shocked by some of the things he could do, and he surprisingly breezed through his OWLs, much to the delight of his family.
However, all was not well. Luck could only last so long, and the event that broke this streak was the Death Eater's breakout from Azkaban. No one felt safe, and he and Tom trained harder than ever. A small part of him wondered if there was a purpose to this. Why would Tom waste all this effort on him?
In Sixth Year he found out. Dumbledore showed him memories of the Death Eaters, their rise through Abraxus Malfoy, to the group that was at present terrorising the Wizarding World. In his words 'He could not fight them, without knowing where they came from.' Surprisingly, he found that Tom knew the founding members. Asking him about this, Tom grew pensive for a few moments, before sitting him down on the stage in the Duelling Chamber.
He said that he had been their friend, their leader for what of a better word. He had been a less than pure student, not reflected by his high grades, and he had been expected to start a revolt against the Ministry, using them as troops. At this point Tom had paused, his eyes misting over slightly, cobwebs of memory obscuring his view of the present, before continuing, his voice lower than normal. He spoke of a man, a good, kind man who had showed him another path. He had tried to get his friends to follow, but they were too far gone in Dark Magic to turn their back on it. His penance was fighting them, to kill the ones he himself had brainwashed in their youth.
And when Harry had asked where the man went to - as he obviously wasn't still here - Tom had grown quiet again, the silence only broken minutes later by a few painful words -
'He had to leave for a while, but he will be back soon.'
Seventh Year. His final year. Harry became a member of the Order, making his family, and Tom proud in the process. Ron and Hermione had joined too, and he remembered well the party that had followed.
Firewhiskey had been flowing freely, all the Order members for once having a night to let go, and get away from the war for a while. Tom had pulled him aside, asked if he wanted to become his apprentice, to train under him so that one day he could take over his post. Harry hadn't had to think twice before answering, and whilst taking classes, he spent more time with Tom. His mentor's enthusiasm was infectious, and he found himself staying later and later, much to the amusement of Ron and Hermione.
It felt almost natural in Tom's chambers. He could stay there with ease no matter the hour, discussing various spells, or recent developments in the Wizarding World. Whatever they talked about was fascinating, and Harry could listen for days to Tom's stories about his life. He frequently visited Albania, and he promised to take Harry there during the summer holidays in a weeks time.
It was inevitable really, and with hindsight amazing that they had ignored their attraction for so long.
It had been a Tuesday, almost midnight, and everyone was asleep except them. They sat in front of Tom's fireplace, the fire having died hours before, leaving only embers, glowing in the hearth. When it came time to return to his dormitory, Tom had shown him to the door. They had drank firewhiskey, as Tom never had to teach until the afternoon, and Harry had a study period first thing. Both were a little buzzed, and that was all Harry could blame for his next action.
Bidding each other goodnight, Tom made to retreat, but Harry stopped him, running his fingers down Tom's face, wanting to feel the smooth alabaster skin, and seeing the older man lean into his touch.
That was all the invitation he needed.
The kiss had been hesitant, but to Harry's surprise Tom seemed to know exactly what he was doing, and exactly what he liked. Be it intuition, Harry never knew, but he really couldn't bring himself to care. Pulling apart, he saw Tom look at him tenderly, before murmuring.
'Not now, I can't just now, but soon, I promise."
Harry never minded, he wasn't ready either, and he was still too high from their kiss to care deeply. Saying another goodnight, he headed back through the castle to the common room, his chest thrumming happily, but still not whole.
Now the holidays had nearly began, and Harry breathed in the warm summer air. He had gotten up early and spent the morning at Hagrid's, now Tom was waiting for him, ready to plan their trip to Albania. His heart swelled as the last thought entered his mind. But then, without warning, a stabbing pain ripped through his head, and his knees buckled, sending him face first into the still dewy grass. Against his will, a steady stream of images flashed before his eyes:
First Year: Discovered I was a wizard, met Ron and Hermione, Philosopher's Stone...
Second Year: Basilisk, Tom Riddle, Ginny...
Third Year: Sirius Black, dementors, taught Patronus by Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew...
Fourth Year: Tri-Wizard tournament, Voldemort, Cedric dying...
Fifth Year: Umbridge, smear campaign, Sirius' death...
Sixth Year: Horcruxes, Memories, Dumbledore's death...
Seventh Year: Horcrux hunt, Voldemort's death, time-travel, Tom...
Dimly, he felt something else enter his mind, the source of the myriad of memories pouring from his subconscious. He was compressed, merging with the new mind, before recognising it as his own. Different, but still him. Another Harry from another timeline. He felt comforted, the ever-present hollow in his chest filling. What he had been grieving for all his life was here, he wasn't missing it anymore. Smiling, Harry stood up, embracing this new world. He was finally complete.