Drowning

The green light that had illuminated his eyes was replaced by a soft, intense burning. He squinted through barely-opened eyes at Tom Riddle.

No matter how many times I kill him I will never truly defeat him.

No… no no no! The light… had Voldemort killed him? Was this place Hell? Well, seeing as his enemy was here the basics were already covered. So… was this a memory? No… Riddle was shaking his arm, speaking to him. Had he been sent back in time? Ridiculous as it sounded, it was the only logical explanation. He realised he was being addressed and looked back at Riddle. "What's your name?"

"Harry. Harry Potter." He half-expected Riddle to kill him there, but he was far in his future, and his eyes were simply blank with acceptance.

"Can you stand?" Apparently he didn't feel it necessary to bestow his own name. Harry nodded and heaved himself up. Noticing the crest on his chest Riddle frowned. "You'd better be getting back to your Common Room."

"No!" Harry started to follow him. Riddle was his only tie to reality – his only known in this world. Apart from Dumbledore…

Riddle turned on him again. "Potter? They're purebloods, aren't they?" Harry nodded a tad frantically. "Blood traitors." Harry's face dropped. Riddle looked at him distastefully. "Well, I suppose it could be worse. You could be a Weasley." Harry's wand was at his throat. Riddle laughed and pushed it aside, turning smoothly and walking away. Harry wished he hadn't hurried after. "I haven't heard of HarryPotter." Riddle's eyes narrowed. "You're not some hushed-up Mudblood affair, are you?" Harry controlled his trembling, trying to block his mother's face from his mind when Snape had said that word to her. Hermione – the most intelligent, lovely, wonderful person in the world – reduced to tears just because Malfoy had spat that word.

"No. I'm not." Riddle's expression softened from one of extreme disgust to mild repulsion, bordering on – heaven forbid – tolerance.

"But your robes…" He gestured vaguely at them, his nose wrinkling at the symbol on his chest. "You're a Gryffindor. How did you get down here?" Harry didn't fluster – he had more self control than that – but couldn't stop the blank stare. "Don't tell me. McNair again, eh?" Harry's mind reeled. Just how many Voldemort supporters would he have to avoid? But no… McNair wasn't that old. It was probably his father… He realised that his long period of silence would look rather odd to the other, and looked back up at Riddle with a blink. "Did he Confuddle you as well?" he snapped, grabbing Harry by the arm and shoving him in a cupboard. "Just be quiet. I'll go deal with McNair and then take you to Dumbledore."

Harry floundered. "No!" He had a horrible feeling that Dumbledore knew all of his students by face, and would immediately notice that he was wrong. And what about timelines? Would something go horrendously wrong if he introduced himself to the man that would save his life so many times fifty years in the future?

Riddle raised an eyebrow before leaning in very, very close. "You're not supposed to be here, are you, Harry Potter?"

Harry shook his head quickly. "Look, I realise what this is going to sound like, but…" He leaned forwards and whispered conspiratorially in Riddle's ear. "I'm from the future."

Riddle shoved him away distastefully. "Confuddled. Stay here. Make a sound and the others will only come and find you. I'll come back for you later." Harry started to tremble as soon as the door had closed and the darkness took him in.

He should have either slept or squatted in fear, but he sort of hung somewhere imbetween; he sat, twisted, in a sort of perpetual limbo, his mind reeling, until Riddle reached in and dragged him out, a wand pressing into his throat enough warning not to make a sound. The Slytherin corridors were dirtier, colder and grottier than he'd ever expected, but Riddle's dorm was warm – magically, as the fire (although pleasant) was in no way big enough to dispel the damp that should be dripping through the ceiling. He hadn't realised how awful it must be to have to live down here, away from any light, heat or warmth. "Your own dorm?" he murmured, although they both knew it was less of a question and more of a simple icebreaker.

Riddle shot him A Look. "You're really not from here, are you? I'm Head Boy."

Harry found himself relaxing, eyes transfixed by the giant snake head in front of him. "It's… lovely," he murmured, and then yelled as he was pinned against the wall with empty eyes staring at him with pure contempt.

"Explain," he snarled. "No one knows who you are, you appear from nowhere and you're a Gryffindor speaking Parsletongue." Harry's eyes widened. He hadn't let Parsletongue slip since the last time he'd met Riddle. It sometimes frightened him how he had no idea that he'd used his… native tongue, as it were.

"Like I said," he gasped, spluttering for breath. "I'm from the future."

Riddle snarled and muttered a spell under his breath. Harry's head burnt for an excruciating moment and he yelled, blacking out, but Riddle's cruel, hot hand against his throat stopped him from slipping away. An odd green light appeared to be bathing both of them; from the angle he saw in Riddle's glittering eyes it appeared to be floating somewhere above Harry's head. "Say that again," he snapped, wand digging slightly into his neck.

"I'm from the future," he spluttered. Riddle stared expectantly at the orb above his head, but nothing happened.

Riddle growled again. "You're telling the truth." He frowned. "Or, at least, you think you are." His eyes narrowed and he gripped onto his wand harder. "Legilimens," he snarled, and Harry screamed.

When the blackness stopped eating at his eyelids Harry was warm and safe. He scrambled up and shoved on his glasses, looking around, panicky, searching desperately for Riddle. His other hand wrapped around his wand and he glared at the other boy, who was sitting on the bed, his hands entwined and hanging between his legs, hair flopping over one eye as he leaned on his knees. Riddle's eyes were cold and sad. "I'm sorry, Harry. I shouldn't have done that." Harry's brain was slow and fogged from pain but the sincerity pierced him. He blocked out his mother's screams and closed his eyes, breathing in deeply.

"It's alright," he muttered, but they both knew it never would be – not really. Riddle had broken him before they even started.

"The future…" Riddle shivered, hand clutching onto his upper arm. "It feels so… sad. And scary." Harry was reeling. This wasn't the Voldemort… this wasn't the Tom he was expecting. He realised he wasn't really expecting a human at all.

"Not everyone's future," he said quietly.

Riddle's eyes were curious. "Why yours?" Harry's throat clogged. He couldn't lay the blame for his life on this boy. Riddle smiled and looked aside. "It's alright. My carer did always say I was too nosy for my own good." His face had darkened and his voice was cold.

"It's fine," Harry gabbled. "I'm fine, I mean I'm used to it by now."

Riddle was staring blankly into the fire. "So if you are from the future, how did you get 'back here', as it were?"

Harry smiled. "No idea. I mean, for all I know someone hit me over the head with a Time Turner." He frowned for a moment. "No… I was… I was in a station. Dumbledore was there… yeah… Dumbledore was there." His brow furrowed. "I'm not supposed to be here," he murmured. "I was supposed to go back and make things right." Harry frowned. Maybe he was supposed to be here. Giving Riddle a second chance.

Riddle frowned. "Did you get the wrong train?"

"Yes. No… it wasn't a train. It was… something else." Riddle snorted once. His eyes were dispassionate.

"I should take you to Dumbledore."

Harry's eyes widened in panic. "No! No."

Riddle frowned. "From what you've told me you have no reason not to, but I think I'm going to trust you." He stood up and stretched, yawning, strolling over to the bed and beginning to undress. "I'm going to bed. You can sleep on the couch." Riddle paused in pulling on his pyjamas. "Goodnight, Harry," he said softly and climbed into bed, turning out the light with a flick of his wand.

Harry fell asleep in the knowledge that Voldemort would not plague his dreams that night.

The blast that pinned him to the wall the moment he flickered awake wasn't exactly unexpected. He didn't bother to struggle, seeing as being pinned to the wall by Voldemort wasn't something he was a complete stranger from. Riddle surveyed him for a moment, before spinning around with disinterest, causing him to fall to the floor rather painfully. Riddle yawned, did a vague ruffle that reminded him too much of himself before crouching in front of the fire and relighting it with a flick. Harry sat up carefully, unsure whether he would be 'attacked' again. Riddle crouched back on his haunches and stared at Harry for a moment, eyes sparkling oddly, before stretching his legs and strolling back towards the couch, which he slumped on heavily with a sigh. Harry simply stared from his awkward fallen-from-wall position. "I still can't find anything on you," Riddle said conversationally. "I'm starting to believe this rubbish you're spewing might actually be true."

"It's not rubbish," Harry said quietly, standing up unsteadily. His hand convulsed around his wand. He took a small step towards him.

"I was talking to a Potter, actually. They'd never heard of you." Although his heart skipped at the possibility of meeting the grandparents he'd never even considered before, he continued to take miniscule steps towards Riddle, his wand burning against his palm.

"They wouldn't have. I'm probably their grandchild."

Riddle grunted uncommunicatively. He passed a hand across his eyes for a moment and that was when Harry took his long-since growing opportunity; his wand ripped out of his pocket and he pinned Riddle against the wall. Not a heartbeat later Riddle had cursed him back and flown off the wall, coming to stand in front of him. Harry pressed his wandtip harder into Riddle's neck as Riddle's dug into him. "Go on then, Harry Potter. Go on."

"I will!" he yelled. I'll have to someday. But they both knew that from the minute the sentence had left his lips he never would.

Riddle's eyes glittered. "Go on then, Harry. Kill me. I can feel you wanting to. Burning with it. I know how I tortured you. The famous Harry Potter. You didn't want it. You didn't want to be known as the 'Boy Who Lived'. You didn't want your parents to die. You just wanted a normal life. I took all of that away from you."

Harry snarled. "You took everything from me!" His hand wavered slightly, but his eyes burned.

Riddle laughed softly. "Legilimens has told me everything. Your deepest hates… your darkest desires…" A chuckle. Low. Mocking. "Go on then, Harry Potter. Go on." His eyes flickered closed for a moment, his throat bobbing softly against the wand, and Harry couldn't tear his eyes away.

"I could save everyone." It was a whisper, and his eyes were dull and glazed. Far away. "I could stop the war." His eyes shimmered slightly. "I could save my parents. Sirius."

"Would you really save them though, hmm?"

Harry frowned, digging his want in ever so slightly more. "What do you mean by that?"

"Well, you're a smart young thing. Think about it. You kill me now, a million possibilities wink out of existence. Who's to say your parents even meet, if hatred of evil doesn't bring them together?" His eyes glittered dangerously. "And even if they don't go, who's to say you all play happy families forever?"

"Shut up," Harry barked. "Don't you dare talk about my parents!"

"All those arguments. Such a young mind… you never really understood what was going on. Much too young. Memories long since gone, long since buried." His wand lazily caressed Harry's neck. "And that's normal, I suppose. No one can remember what happens when they were only one year old."

"My parents were happy!" Harry yelled.

"Oh, but I suppose that's what they want you to think. After all, people only want to be remembered for their achievements. No one needs to remember the arguments - "

"Stop it!"

" – the tears - "

"Shut up!"

" – the pain - "

"SHUT UP RIGHT NOW!" Harry's wand dug into his neck more, and Riddle laughed.

"But what separates you from me, hmm? If you do it. I've always said we're so alike." A chuckle.

"We're nothing alike! You're a monster and a murderer! You killed Myrtle and destroyed Hagrid – "

Riddle laughed. "Oh, now that was fun!" Pure hatred coursed through him, but Riddle's eyes were cool. "What are you, Harry Potter? A monster, like me, or a coward, like your loving father?"

Harry's eyes closed, but all he could see was red hair burnt across his vision. Ron… Ginny… his mother… Sirius… he could save all of them. But he might die himself… was he prepared to do that? Of course he was. But… could he really kill?

His arm fell beside him. "Coward," he whispered. "Always."

Riddle turned away, laughing softly, striding back to the door and stretching out with a long yawn. His eyes glittered softly as he turned back to Harry. "Well done, Harry," he murmured, and his eyes were glowing in the half-light as he slid the door shut. Harry had never felt more alone.

He only woke up when his scar burnt harder than he'd ever believed and when he tried to take breath something was clamped over his mouth. The cause of both of these jumped at him when his eyes fluttered open and he found Riddle pressing up to him, mouth firmly and gut-wrenchingly clamped over his own. He felt his whole body explode in shivers at the realisation of what exactly was happening, and he sat dumbly, scar ripping through his head from the intense pain caused by Riddle simply being so close to him. He tried to force Riddle away but something about the simple heat and the way that his whole body felt so wonderful that made him stop. Riddle gasped, desperate for breath, but his hands gripped hard in Harry's hair. Harry felt a keen build up in his throat and was suddenly filled with repulsion – though whether it was for himself or Tom he wasn't sure. He shoved him away and wriggled out of his grasp, slamming the door on Tom's start and cry of "Harry!"

He belted down the corridor, mind spinning with confusion. He found his feet purging a way before he even knew what he was doing; they knew what he wanted, even if he didn't. They remembered his refuge from before; he stood at the blank wall with a terrified glance behind him. I need somewhere to hide… please, keep me safe… I can't… I can't… keep me safe…

The wall in front of him stayed stubbornly blank, no matter how many times he paced and paced and screamed inside of his head. He kept glancing in terror behind him, though whether it was in fear of Tom finding him or his past catching up with him he wasn't entirely sure. He wondered whether he'd got the location wrong, and almost stamped his foot in frustration as he was taken by bitter regret of not having the Marauder's Map with him. He glanced at a familiar-looking statue in an alcove to the right; no, this was the right place. So why wasn't the Room opening?

A shimmer of translucent material glimmered at his vision, and he dived forward, pulling it from a crack in the wall. It glittered ethereally in his fingers and he recognised it from the second his fingers disappeared. He sent a silent word of thanks to the Room, letting it slip through his fingers and pool on his palm. It wasn't his cloak; it felt more… rubbery, and it was much too long; when he swung it over his head it covered all of him easily. He huddled in a corner for a moment before jumping out of the way as a door appeared behind him; he froze as Tom stepped out of the room. It seemed that if the Room was being used it obviously couldn't be opened by someone else. He wondered for a second how Tom had got here before he did, but realised that the Marauders couldn't have found all of the secret passages – the Chamber of Secrets was proof of that in itself. He hardly dared breathe as he watched the other; he was burning with an intense anger, but the frown playing around his face and the set of his shoulders didn't seem to reflect this. Heartbeats later he turned and walked away, his head towards the floor, feet rapping on the stone harshly.

He watched the other retreating with a rush of relief swamped by dread. Dumbledore. He had to find Dumbledore. He didn't care any longer about interfering with time-zones; Dumbledore would understand. He always did. He made sure that Tom was long gone before padding as softly as he could down the corridors. He stood in front of the gargoyle with a moment's pause, before stepping forward and opening his mouth confidently. He jumped back again when it opened, scrambling back against the wall with a rush of panic. He saw Dumbledore leaving (pressing himself harder against the stone) followed by another unfamiliar face; he felt a hot rush of embarrassment as he realised that at this moment Dumbledore was still just a teacher. This must be Professor Dippet. He watched them walk down the corridor together and padded after them, hanging back, wondering whether Dumbledore's office would be the same as Professor McGonagall's. He decided he could only follow him and did so, overcome with a rush of relief when Dippet parted company with him and he hurried forward, trying to catch his attention, but he disappeared.

It took him a moment to figure out what had happened and another to find the door in the wall. He pushed it open as quietly as he could and stood inside.

He felt the bile rise to the top of his throat and clamped a hand across his mouth to stifle his yelp of fright. He backed hurriedly out of the door and ran down the corridor, adrenaline and desperation to get away from that smell fuelling him as he ran faster and faster. He eventually collapsed against a wall and huddled underneath the cloak, trembling.

Harry didn't know why he hadn't really realised it before; Dumbledore… probably had a lot of things in his past that he didn't want people knowing about. But still… that horrible stench… he didn't want to know exactly what was occurring in that room, but one thing was blindingly obvious. He couldn't trust Dumbledore. He couldn't trust anyone.

He was utterly on his own.

A/N

Wow. Stories can be a bitch to write. (This one was. Kudos to those who can tell.) My new OTP is definitely HarryTom. And the song Time Is Running Out is bloody perfect, and I think I might have to make a video for it.

Anyway, this chappie's for my Princess-Angel (she knows who she is) for no matter how long she submits me to Thunderbirds torture I will still luff her. And she was a much overworked beta for this story; our progressional emails went something along the lines of "Good, but Tom's OOC,", "Better, but now Harry's OOC,", "'Lichay, this makes no sense," until I finally refined it God-knows how many times to refine her tastes. Honestly. But here is the much slaved-for final. Yay.

Kudos to JKR, who we all know owns Harry. Oh, and the wonderfully buff boy who plays Tom in CoS deserves a mention too for sending me into a puddle halfway through my Stats exam.