Re-write

Warnings: Cross posted on AO3 for anything that may exceed the M rating on FF. net.
AU. Time travel. Yes. Another one. Language. Violence. Torture. Adult situations. Suggestive dialogue. Disturbing adult content and themes. Grey/intelligent-Harry. Other characters will be OOC as well. Set to be an epic story spanning the boys' entire Hogwarts years and beyond. Un'beta'd!
I have warned you. If you are uncomfortable with any of this, then turn back now.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction, written because I can't stop myself one an idea strikes. Hopefully you'll like it.
Main pairings: None – I may make this slash eventually but will put this to vote when the boys are in their sixth and seventh year, so you still have plenty of time to consider as I'm willing to write it either way and it won't alter much by way of content regardless. (Tom will remain possessive and protective of Harry either way.)
Implied: Canon pairings

My aim is an epic story based around the boy's odd friendship. (Really short chapters)

-Re-write-

1

Gift from the future

-x&x-

Wool's Orphanage, July 1935

Harrison Prescott was a particularly... gifted individual.

He was blessed with a natural, almost clumsy charm. He was adored by complete strangers for his sweet, angelic appearance and by the caregivers of the orphanage where he dwelled—although, he never abused this power—for his softly spoken if insightful views as to the world. It helped he was rather intelligent. But most of all, he was gifted with the ability to... do things. Things no one else could.

But for all of Harry's gifts he had no friends.

The other children were jealous of him. They saw how on adoption day, he was usually one of the first picked out by potential parents—rare as it was, considering England was in an economic slump, still recovering from the war—to be taken. He never left, of course, but not by any fault of his own. He imagined Riddle was the cause of that.

Then again, he supposed if their situations were reversed he'd also have difficulties in letting the only person who didn't outright dislike him to leave and forget all about him.

If he knew anything about the older boy, it was that Riddle hated the idea of being forgotten. Loathed to believe that he could somehow fade away into obscurity and half-remembered recollections where he'd be referred to as 'That boy. You know, the troubled one.' He supposed it was no more than any orphan's greatest fear. Riddle was just a little more extreme than most when it came to expressing that sentiment.

No, Harry wasn't stupid. He saw Riddle's actions for what they were. Beyond exacting revenge for the years he was powerless to lift a finger to stop it—because yes, despite the way things were now, at one point both Riddle and he found themselves in the very same boat of being the favourite target for bullies—and more than acting on his own insatiable cruelty, when it was justified; it was a means of being memorable.

Crude yet effective.

One was never truly gone as long as they were remembered and no one ever forgot their childhood bully. Never forgot the name of the boy that made them cry.

And Riddle made all the children cry at one point or another. Or did other things to them which made them... odd. Harry, himself being the only real exception to this rule and he presumed this was just because he hadn't done anything to truly upset the older boy, keeping to himself most of the time.

Of course this would all change.

"Prescott."

Harry glanced up, squinted. His sight wasn't the best and assumed this was due to his reading at night in his very poorly lit room. Of course, Riddle did much the same thing and the younger of the pair had noticed the other's sight didn't seem impaired in the least. Still, Harry could identify the tall, pale figure of the other boy easily enough, if not his voice.

"Yes, Riddle?"

"Mrs. Cole sent me to retrieve you," the other informed him, arms crossed solemnly over his chest. It was no wonder many of the other children didn't like him, he was so very adult-like. Condescending. But to Harry he was simply 'Riddle' and that was all he needed for classification purposes.

Closing a book he'd been reading—an outdated encyclopaedia on plants—Harry rose from the ground, dusted the excess dirt and grass and twigs from his trousers, then followed behind the older boy.

He didn't bother to ask why he'd been summoned; Riddle would have told him the reasons if he knew them or wanted to tell him. Asking would only result in a caustic remark from the older or the opening of their usual bartering sessions in which he'd inevitably lose something that Riddle wanted. He supposed he should be satisfied that the other boy didn't outright demand anything from him.

He wasn't deluded enough to believe the times he stood up for Riddle when they were both younger would mean anything to the other. He'd seen Riddle's reactions to others' offers of friendship. They weren't welcomed.

Still, why was he being called to Mrs. Cole's office? He hadn't done anything... Not that this stopped him from getting in trouble for things he hadn't done before. He hadn't heard a peep out of Smith and his boys in a week or so... and they were usually the culprits to frame him. However, he had noticed just how jumpy Smith had been around Riddle so, maybe he was too preoccupied with watching out for himself?

The stares and whispers from the other children playing around them went largely ignored as Harry climbed the concrete stair of the grim, near prison-like institution that served as his place of occupancy. 'Home' seemed too personal a term to be applied.

The inside of the building was like an icebox, despite being the middle of summer and he shivered.

"Where'd you get that book from?"

Harry barely stopped himself from flinching. Still, perhaps his whitened knuckles gave something away as Riddle's cursory, backward glance at him seemed maliciously amused.

To lie or not to lie?

"Sarah," he replied.

"The girl that's utterly smitten with you at the library?"

Again, he nearly flinched. Smitten seemed hardly fair... Sarah was just terribly lonely. He tried to ignore the longer, more probing stare from the other's unusual dark eyes. Feeling uncomfortable, he shrugged.

"She's just lonely..."

Riddle's expression was flat, his eyes sharp, burning in something that seemed almost like warning. The older boy hummed, noncommittal. That more than anything seemed the most threatening.

Harry held himself tall despite the way his skin was starting to crawl in unease.

"She doesn't have many friends," he tried to justify.

Why was he even bothering? Honestly?

"I find her exceptionally friendly for someone who's merely wishing for simple companionship," Riddle volleyed, sharply. "One might consider her advances rather... presumptuous of her; frightfully forward and she is older than you. Perhaps you enjoyed being pursued in this manner?"

How did Riddle know tha—? Oh right, he knew practically everything. He was insanely observant for a mere eight year-old. Helped the boy had eidetic memory.

"Sarah isn't being... pre—forward," Harry grumbled, defensive.

"Oh?" Riddle murmured silkily, smile rapier sharp. "So her advances are welcomed by you? And here I thought you had more sense than the rest of the idiots we live with..."

That surprisingly hurt.

Tom wasn't exactly the easiest person to please and the fact the Prescott was held in a semi-decent regard by the boy was something Harry kind of prided himself in. No one else at the orphanage could claim such and now, because of a statement he was tossed in with the rest...

"Sarah's just a friend," he snapped, upset. "Aren't we a little young to be thinking about girls anyway?" he tacked on as the older boy's face darkened.

Riddle knocked on Mrs. Cole's door without waiting for Harry's reply—when had they reached it?—then stepped back. The door opened immediately and a skinny, sharp-featured woman looked down upon them.

She was nervous. Something Harry noted always happened whenever Riddle was around. It made him frown. Riddle was accused of many things but none of it could be proven and while he himself had witnessed some of the older boy's acts of violence, it was usually in retaliation. Riddle never did something without purpose. He was incredibly cruel but not without motive.

"Ah boys," she said and her smile twitched, like Stubb's rabbit's nose; before Tom gutted it and strung it from the rafters, lifeless head through a noose of old, brown twine. "Thank-you for getting Harry for me, Tom. You may go." Stepping aside, she held the door open. "Harry, if you'll please step inside?"

"Is he in trouble, Mrs. Cole?" Riddle asked, unmoving from the door. The matron's face tightened.

"No, Tom," she assured, in a raspy, placating tone. One reserved for Riddle alone. "Harry's not in any trouble. Go on, now."

She could never sound stern when it came to Tom.

At least, not anymore.

"Then why has he been called to your office?" the older boy pressed. "If he's not in trouble?"

Expression turning more anxious, Mrs. Cole replied. "There are just some... issues we need to discuss." She paused, then added, tone almost a plea. "Nothing major. He'll be out... in a short while. Don't you worry."

Narrowed smoky eyes fixed on her before Riddle nodded. Apparently appeased. Still, he didn't move.

"I'll wait out here."

Harry eyed Riddle warily. What did he want? They weren't close to friends by any stretch of the imagination. "You don't have to," he said.

Riddle smiled. It wasn't particularly pleasant. "I insist."

Harry noticed Mrs. Cole looked suitably frightened as she closed the door behind them. The lock clicking into place he found to be a bit excessive, but if it offered her peace of mind then he supposed he was all for it. Her hand jerked upward, as though aborting the need to cross herself.

That was just plain silly. Riddle was hardly a demon. Slightly demonic in nature perhaps but still, not a demon.

"Are you alright, Mrs. Cole?" he queried when she didn't start speaking straight away. Her head jerked up and she gave a shaky nod.

"Riddle," she murmured, shooting looks at the door, almost as if she expected the knob to lunge for her nose. "He has never... hurt you, has he?" The look she settled on him then was one of concern.

He shook his head. "No," he replied. "He's never done anything to me. If he wants something from me we'll barter over it, one exchange for another." Not always of equal value but she didn't need to know that. "Then again, I've never done anything to him, so that could be why."

Mrs. Cole looked perplexed but intrigued. "What do you mean, Harry?"

"Well," he began slowly. It wasn't like he wanted to confirm any assumptions, after all. "The other children aren't very... nice, see? They don't do much to Riddle" or me "now but, before they could be really mean to him." Us.

Actually he wasn't sure why they had taken to leaving him be now. For the most part. Excluding Smith's little group, of course. Although, he had his assumptions.

"Are you saying, what he's done is in retaliation?"

Harry shrugged. "I'm saying that for everything they've done, I wouldn't be surprised if he'd want to," he murmured, honestly.

"Harry," she spoke gently, she'd always had a soft spot for him. "Just because someone else does something first, doesn't make it right."

"Nor does allowing them to continue," he returned, promptly. "Or turning a blind eye to the situation based on incorrect assumptions."

The woman's eyes lit in something close to understanding. Her face whitened and she nodded to herself and then stepped around her modest and cell-like office—like everything else in the orphanage, it had clearly seen better days—pulled out a parcel from within her buckled cabinet. She pressed it toward him, over her paper strewn desk.

"Happy birthday, Harry," she said, lowly, eyes once more on the door behind him.

Vibrant green eyes took in the small parcel within his grasp. He blinked. It wasn't often the orphanage could afford to give presents. Certainly not for something like birthdays. It singled children out and made them targets to the other ones, it was one of the reasons he was so disliked.

He shifted, pleased and troubled at once.

"Thank you, Mrs. Cole," he murmured, glad he'd been pulled aside for this. There had to be some way he could hide he'd received something from her... Despite the gift's small size it would still be noticeable beneath his second-hand sweater.

The woman nodded, smiled thinly. "These items were found with you when you were discovered on the doorstep," she informed him and his eyes snapped back to the newspaper wrapped bundle. These had been his? He felt an overwhelming sense of... something flood him but the emotion eluded his comprehension and he thought no more on it. This was part of his history... A link to his parents and the life he'd had before the orphanage.

But, did he truly want to know?

Presumably his parents hadn't wanted him or been able to afford his upkeep; why else abandon him on the steps of an orphanage?

Oh, he knew possible reasons as to why that may have been the case, none of them pleasant by any means. Regardless, was he truly willing to open that can of worms? For the sake of curiosity? Closure?

With unsteady fingers, he fumbled. Hands trembling with anticipation and emotion he very gingerly unwrapped his gift. Newspaper crinkled between his long slender fingers, stained them black with ink.

He wasn't sure what, entirely, he was to expect.

What he found within the paper was a beautifully embroidered pouch of dark, emerald green satin—the detailing alone told him how expensive it must have been—an old antique looking skeleton key and a delicate, intricately designed ball of glass, its insides a swirling crimson mist.

So, to continue or not? I'm not going to bother working on it when I could be working on something else. BTW, I removed chapter 3 and 4 from Game of Thrones to be rewritten after some helpful advice, however I've reached a snag.

I'm working on "Descent": As Virgil claimed, the descent into Hell is easy; especially when dealing with his troubled student: the Potter heir, a recalcitrant little snot with a penchant for spewing insults and an extreme hatred of all things female. TR/HP

Interested? All reviews, concrit and comments are welcomed! Thanks for reading to the bottom of my chapter :)