The Claws Of Depression
A/N: Hey everyone! I hope you're all okay :)
I want to thank all those who read my last chapter, and I want to say another big thank you to all those who have reviewed! It really means a lot to me!
I'm very glad that you all liked my last chapter. I honestly didn't expect my story to appeal this much to you, so I'm extremely happy! Hopefully you'll like this one just as much :).
Rating: M, just to be safe.
Pairings: Harry/Tom Riddle.
Warnings: Contains swearing, depression, suicide attempts, and self-harm.
Summary: After the Battle of Hogwarts, a depressed Harry commits suicide, wanting nothing more but to rest in peace. But someone has other plans for him. Harry is instead sent to the year 1944, where he is reunited with his old arch nemesis, Tom Riddle? Will this experience heal him, or forever break him?
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.
Chapter Two:
Getting Pulled Through Time
As soon as Harry regained consciousness, he immediately knew that he didn't die. The sinking feeling he had in the pit of his stomach was still there. He was also, completely exhausted. Surely he shouldn't be like this if he was dead.
He had gone through the veil hadn't he? So why on earth wasn't he dead?
He sighed. He should have expected it. Nothing was ever easy for him after. Everything seemed to be hard for him, even dying.
A tear slid down his cheek. It just wasn't fair.
He didn't know how long he lay on the ground, tormented by his depressing thoughts. He was vaguely aware that he was shaking from the cold. Maybe he could just go into hypothermia and die.
If the veil didn't kill him, surely this would. He would just go into a deep sleep and his brain would gradually shut down, effectively killing him. And he was weak, so he knew that his body didn't have the strength to resist this. He didn't see how he could recover from this.
But then again he survived when Voldemort shot the killing curse, and he did again just now.
Maybe I just can't die... he thought.
He pushed that scary thought out of his mind. He refused to even contemplate that possibility.
He shut his eyes instead, and tried to will himself into sleep.
"The stars have told me you would be arriving here today, future child," A deep voice announced, some time after.
Future child? Harry opened his eyes. He blinked a couple of times in order to get rid of the blurriness that had settled in his vision, even though he was wearing glasses. Once he could see properly, he found a centaur looming over him.
"Are you alright?" the magical creature asked him, visibly concerned.
Harry tried to answer, but instead dissolved into a hacking coughing fit.
"We need to get you inside the castle," he heard him say.
Castle? Did he mean Hogwarts? Did that mean he was in the Forbidden Forest? No, no, no, he did NOT want to go back to Hogwarts and confront his friends.
Harry started to panic slightly.
"No!" Harry shouted, once his coughing had calmed down, taking the creature aback.
"No?" he repeated. He could hear the confusion in the centaur's voice. "Where do you want to go then?"
"Nowhere. Just leave me here," he declared, turning his gaze away from the centaur. He didn't like seeing the centaur's expression of concern. It made him feel worse.
"What?" the centaur cried, incredulous. "But you'll catch your death out here!"
"That's kind of what I'm aiming for," he replied dryly.
The centaur stayed silent for such a long time that Harry was beginning to hope that he had granted his request and left him. But he could still feel his presence, so he knew that he was still there.
"I'm afraid I can't let you do that," he finally said.
"Why not?" he asked, his panic increasing by the second.
"I am not about to watch someone die, especially when I can do something about it. I'm bringing you to the castle."
The next thing he knew, he had jumped to his feet and was facing the centaur, his eyes wild. He swayed slightly, but forced himself to stay upright.
"And if I don't want to go there? Then what?" he challenged, his voice shaking.
"Then I'm going to have to bring you by force."
On pure instinct, Harry tried to reach for his wand, but then remembered that Ron had taken it from him. Knowing he didn't stand a chance, he then contemplated the idea of just running for it.
The centaur must have sensed this as he took a cautious step towards him.
Harry stopped thinking at this point. He turned abruptly and tried to run. But he wasn't sure if it was due to exhaustion, but suddenly everything started to violently spin around him.
This caused him to lose his balance and fall. Fortunately, strong arms caught him before any damage was done.
"Let me go..." he whimpered.
But the arms just tightened around him in response. He then felt a whoosh of wind, and realized that the centaur was carrying him to the castle.
He tried to fight back, be was too weak. He was going to be brought back to the castle and there was nothing he could do about it. He was condemned to live until he got another opportunity to end his life.
He felt a couple of tears leak from his eyes. Harry reluctantly abandoned himself in the familiar feeling of fading in and out of consciousness, gradually loosing grasp of reality.
Tom Riddle was sitting in a secluded corner in the Hogwarts library. As it was the Christmas holidays, his followers had all gone back to their families. So he was now alone, but he didn't mind. He actually preferred it this way. This meant that he could study The Dark Arts for hours at a time and nobody would disturb him.
Some would say that he was a loner, something he couldn't deny. He had after all, lived eleven years of his life in an orphanage where everyone was terrified of him and treated him like he was some kind of freak. He never had any friends, so he had kept to himself. And plus, he had to return there every summer, which didn't arrange him.
His group of Death Eaters were, let's say, amusing to have around, but they were also, ironically, boring. They were nothing but insignificant human beings, with perhaps a slightly more elevated magical power than the norm. But they were nothing like him.
Even though his followers knew that he studied the Dark Arts, seeing as he taught them new spells and tricks on a weekly basis, he kept the details of his more profound researches to himself.
His followers were all afraid of him, so Tom could successfully order them to do anything for him, and they wouldn't dare question his judgment. But if he told them one day that he had made two Horcruxes, there was the likelihood that one of them might squeal to the headmaster.
He had asked Slughorn information about Horcruxes, something he would have never done if he wasn't one hundred percent sure that he wouldn't tell someone.
And the only reason his head of house had given him any information in the first place, was probably because he was certain that his model student wouldn't dream about going on a killing rampage to split his soul. Well he was wrong about that.
And that was what Tom was studying right now in the library. Usually he would do those studies in his dorm, but now that it was the holidays, the teachers insisted on keeping as eye on every single student, seeing as there was only about thirty of them in the school at the moment.
So he had gone to the library. Of course, he had switched the cover with one from another book. He wasn't so stupid as to let himself be caught with a Dark Arts book so easily. If a teacher caught him with a book of this kind, it would ruin his image.
Tom had also noticed a couple of side effects from creating the two Horcruxes last year. He was having trouble keeping his emotions reigned in. He was now prone to having fits of rage, which he could thankfully control until no one was around. So no one noticed his sudden change of behavior.
But those mood swings, as annoying as they were, were definitely worth the price of being immortal. And after creating a couple more Horcruxes, he would never have to worry about death.
A sudden "CRASH!" suddenly distracted him from his research. He was just about to discard it when a couple of people screamed. Curious, he closed his book, put it in his bag, and stepped out of library.
Being in the school for now nearly seven years, he knew immediately where the screams had come from.
Tom made his way to the entrance hall of the school, with slow, but confident steps.
A group of first years were huddled around something, but he couldn't see what.
"Move," Tom ordered.
They shot him a terrified look before scurrying away, effectively giving him a view of what caused the commotion.
A young man was sprawled out on the stone floor. He couldn't help but raise an eyebrow.
This is what all of this was about? Sure, he wasn't a Hogwarts student, seeing as he knew nearly every face in the school, but he seemed to be harmless.
But still, he Accioed the man's wand, for precaution. Except he didn't receive anything. He tried the spell again, but still didn't get an extra wand. That's when he realized that the man didn't have his wand.
His other eyebrow was now raised. What kind of person would willingly walk around without a wand?
Tom took a couple of confident steps towards the man, until he was leaning over him.
He noted that he looked terrible. He was filthy, covered in cuts, and had purple bags under his eyes. His clothes were ripped, and looked like they had been ripped so many times that even a Reparo spell wouldn't repair them now.
The young man's eyes were closed. His breathing was ragged. If not for the incomprehensible things he was mumbling, Tom would have thought he was unconscious.
It was clear that he couldn't have gotten there on his own. But then how did he end up there?
Tom quickly glanced outside and got his response. He saw a thin outline of a centaur retreating back into the forbidden forest.
He had half a mind to just leave the person on the floor, as he wasn't of any interest to him, and go back into the library, but he knew that it would just cause him problems later on.
He leaned down and grasped one of the young man's arms to pull him up. That's when the man's eyes shot open.
Tom found himself gazing into green emerald orbs. While this action may have surprised some, Tom was unperturbed. He noticed that his eyes were unfocused, like he was in some sort of trance.
He adjusted his grip on the man's wrist and pulled him to his feet, none too gently. He then proceeded to drag him to the Hospital Wing. He was forced to stop however, when the young man stumbled.
He felt a flash of irritation at this, but he kept his face emotionless, like he always did.
"Do you want me to summon a stretcher?" he asked, keeping his voice neutral.
His voice seemed to shake the young man out of his trance, or at least a little. He stared at him with wide eyes, before trying desperately to free himself from the grip. Tom instinctively tightened the grip, just in case the other decided to do a runner.
"NO! LET ME GO! I WON'T GO WITH YOU, JUST LEAVE ME BE! IS IT SO FUCKING HARD FOR EVERYONE TO JUST LEAVE ME THE HELL ALONE!" the other screamed, taking him aback.
What the hell? Tom thought.
"You have to go to the Hospital Wing, you're injured," he said simply, not really knowing how to deal with a delirious and emotionally unstable person.
"NO! I WON'T GO! YOU CAN'T MAKE ME! WHY WON'T YOU LET ME DO THIS! I'VE DONE WHAT YOU ALL WANTED, WHAT MORE DO YOU WANT OF ME?" the other continued, obviously not hearing a word he said.
Tom thought for a brief second, about stunning him and levitating him to the Hospital Wing. But then the young man's eyes unexpectedly widened. But with what? Recognition?
"No..." the man whispered. "It can't be! I... I..."
And then the man suddenly collapsed back onto the floor, unconscious.
Tom Riddle blinked.
Harry's eyes blinked open, only to be met the familiar site of the Hospital Wing ceiling. This was ridiculous. He'd been there so many times that he was able to recognize the place, even without his glasses on.
Judging by the small rays of sunlights creeping though the windows of The Hospital Wing, he guessed that it was about seven or eight o'clock.
He reached blindly for his glasses on the bedside table next to him and slid them on. He then slowly pushed himself into a sitting position on the bed, ignoring the pounding in his head the action brought him.
It was at that moment that he realized that he had no idea how he had landed here. The last thing he remembered was being manhandled to the school by a centaur.
Clearly the centaur had gotten what he wanted, otherwise he most certainly wouldn't be in a hospital bed right now. In any other situation, he would have been furious towards him, but nothing could replace the cold emptiness he felt right now.
He sighed. He swung his legs over the bed so that he was touching the cold floor and stood up. He attempted to take a step forward, but his knees buckled under the strain. He grabbed on instinctively to the bed to stop himself from falling.
I must have been out for some time. He commented mentally.
After a few more attempts, he managed to make his way to the window opposite him. He sat down on the window sill and looked out the window.
It was something that had always soothed him, gazing out at the... Snow?
Harry frowned. Something didn't add up. It was May, the last time he checked. So why was there snow on the Quidditch pitch?
Seeing as he was trying to freeze to death earlier, he should have noticed that something was off, apart from the fact that he didn't die.
And why did the centaur address him as "future child" ? It just didn't make any sense.
However, Harry had no time to ponder on his thoughts as the Hospital Wing's doors opened quietly, revealing two people. The one of the left he didn't know. But when he saw who was on the right, he paled. He was face to face with his dead headmaster, Albus Dumbledore.
How in the hell was Dumbledore alive? He'd seen his dead body, he'd been at the funeral. He'd even talked to him when he "died" the first time.
They walked towards him, while Harry stayed frozen on the window sill, staring at Dumbledore.
"Oh good, you're awake!" the man next to Dumbledore said. "We were starting to get worried. You've been out for three days."
Harry ignored the man who was speaking, and kept on gawking at his old headmaster.
"You're in the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, in the Hospital Wing to be more precise," the man continued, not noticing that he didn't have his attention. "I'm Professor Dippet, the school's headmaster, and this i-"
"Huh?" Harry said stupidly, snapping back to reality. "But Professor Dumbledore's headmaster. Or was at least..."
The two professors shared a confused look. Harry couldn't take it anymore.
"What the hell is going on here?! Professor, how can you be there, you're supposed to be dead!" he blurted out before he could stop himself, taking the other two men by surprise.
Their confused looks had now turned into alarmed ones. Dumbledore's eyes had stopped twinkling, making Harry, for some unknown reason, regret what he had just said.
"How do you know Professor Dumbledore?" Professor Dippet finally inquired, choosing his words carefully.
"He was my headmaster for six years, before he... well..." Harry trailed off, uncomfortably.
An awkward silence settled between them. Harry tore his gaze from Dumbledore, and fixed a spot on the floor instead, feeling uneasy.
"Do you know the date?" Professor Dumbledore unexpectedly asked him.
He shot the man a weird look.
"May, 1998. I don't know the exact day though."
The man's eyes widened with understanding, only adding to Harry's confusion.
"What?"
"It's the 26th of December, 1944," Dumbledore announced, gravely.
Harry's face went white. He felt like a bucket of icy water had just been poured over him.
"You're joking right?" he whispered, even though he knew he wasn't.
He had to admit that it made perfect sense. The change of seasons, the centaur's way of addressing him. Dumbledore was still alive and even looked a lot younger. And his hair was no longer gray. It now had an auburn shade to it.
No, no, no... This can't be happening to me. All I want to do is to die and rest in peace, is that too much to ask for?! He thought desperately.
"So what happens now?" he asked, tiredly.
"Well," Dippet uttered, "I must say that this is an unusual case, Mr-?"
"Potter, Harry Potter."
"Right, well as I said, this is an unusual case, Mr. Potter. Time travel is something rare, but not unheard of. But it still remains a mystery to us, as it is so unpredictable. I've never heard of a case such as this though. The only people who have managed to time travel, have only been able to travel short distances. I've never heard of a wizard travel fifty years in the past. Do you have any idea how this could have happened?"
"No, sir."
"Surely, something must have triggered off this incident. What was the last thing you remember?" Dumbledore gently prodded.
"Er..."
Harry couldn't possibly say that he tried to commit suicide, or else he would be shipped off to the magical equivalent of an insane asylum.
But the problem was that he was a terrible liar, so they would immediately know if he didn't say the truth. So he settled for a half-truth.
"I uh... remember falling through a veil," he conveyed. Well, technically he stepped though it, but they didn't need to know that.
"A veil? The only veil I've heard of is the one in the Department of Mysteries. But I know that it's heavily guarded. How did you end up there?" Dippet questioned.
"I don't know, sir. One minute I was in the grounds, and the next I know, I'm falling through a veil." Another half-truth.
"Oh..." Professor Dippet sounded confused and disappointed. "Well, in any case, Professor Dumbledore and I will try to find a way for you to get back to your time. Now seeing as you said that in your time you studied at Hogwarts, I think it's best if you continued your education here, at least until we can get you back home."
Harry nodded. He had expected as much.
He glanced at Dumbledore. He sported a calculating look on his face. Harry could tell that his old headmaster knew that he was hiding something. Dumbledore was one of the most powerful and intelligent wizards of the century, so Harry reluctantly conceded to the fact that he would most likely figure out the whole truth.
He hoped his old professor wouldn't figure it out too quickly, so that he would have the time to jump off the astronomy tower, before it was too late.
"How old are you?" the other man inquired, bringing him out of his thoughts.
"Seventeen, sir."
"Ah, so seventh year. Well, seeing as you haven't been born yet, you're going to have to be resorted," he told him.
He nodded again, feeling numb. He watched as Professor Dippet summoned the Sorting Hat with his wand. A couple of seconds later, the hat was plopped on his head.
"Well, well, what do we have here?" the Sorting Hat's voice muttered in his head. "A time traveler? You really are full of surprises, Harry Potter."
"You can say that again," he said bitterly.
The hat sighed.
"Life has been unfair to you, Mr. Potter. Nobody should have been subjected to such a life."
"And yet I was," he countered. "I'm the Boy-Who-Lived after all, and the fucking Chosen-One. Of course nobody would leave me alone.
The hat stayed quiet for a moment.
"You blame yourself for the death of your loved ones," it stated.
Harry felt a like someone had punched him in the stomach.
"Not just of my loved ones. Voldemort killed thousands of people, even children. I am responsible of all their deaths," Harry told him, not bothering to hide the self-resentment in his voice. Even though I may not have killed them directly, my actions brought them all to an early grave. If I had really tried, then I would have found out about the Horcruxes ages ago, and killed him before things got too bad." Harry tried to contain a sob. "Look, can we just get this over with?!"
"... As you wish. You have changed a great deal from when my future self first sorted you, Mr. Potter. While you still show admirable Gryffindor traits, I'm afraid that there's only one house suited for you-"
"SLYTHERIN!" the hat shouted.
Harry took the hat off, and handed it back to Professor Dippet, while trying to contain his emotions. He didn't want to start crying in front of them. He didn't want to seem weak and vulnerable.
Harry didn't care that he got sorted into Slytherin. It didn't really come as a surprise to him anyway. As the years passed, he learned that there were much more important things than being sorted into a particular house.
The Sorting had become something so trivial in Harry's eyes. After all, there were only houses. A house didn't necessarily define the human being. Someone could be brave, yet cunning at the same time. It didn't mean that someone wasn't loyal and hard-working if they weren't sorted into Hufflepuff.
And anyway, it wasn't as if he was planning on staying alive long enough to get used to his new house.
"Well that's done!" Dippet stated happily, completely unaware of the younger wizards depressing thoughts. "Excuse-me for a moment, while I go bring your new Head of House."
With that said, he strolled out of the Hospital Wing, leaving Harry in Dumbledore's company.
Dumbledore reached into his pocket and pulled out a little box containing Lemon Drops.
"Lemon Drop?"
"No thank you," he kindly declined.
Harry felt decidedly uncomfortable in the man's presence. He was restraining himself from striking a conversation with him, like old times. He had to keep reminding himself that this Dumbledore wasn't the one he knew.
A couple of minutes later, Professor Dippet reentered the room, with a familiar man at his side.
"Mr. Potter, this is Professor Slughorn, your new Head of House."
"Please to meet you sir," he said politely.
"It is I who is pleased to meet you, Mr. Potter!" the Head of Slytherin boomed, cheerily. "Having a time traveler appear at Hogwarts and sorted into Slytherin certainly is a feat!".
Harry gave him a fake smile, hoping it didn't come out as a grimace, before turning to Professor Dippet.
"Sir, about what happened... Should I tell the rest of the students that I'm from the future, or should I make up some story instead?" Harry asked him.
All three teachers seemed to ponder on this for a while.
"I'm sure we could make up a plausible story, but I'm a firm believer that the truth is the best policy. We could invent something if you really wanted to though, but the chances that someone with eventually figure out the truth are high," Dippet replied. "What do you think, professors?"
"I agree," Dumbledore said. "Seeing the state in which you turned up in the school, we could eventually spin some type of story concerning the war, but there's no use in terrifying the students anymore than they already are."
Professor Slughorn had the same opinion, even though Harry could easily tell that it was not for the same reasons. He just wanted to parade around his newest trophy.
"Do you have any objections, Mr. Potter? Dippet asked him.
He shook his head.
"Well that's settled. I will go fetch the nurse, so that she can do a final check up."
Harry, just noticing that he was still sitting on the window sill, got off. He was careful though to not put too much pressure on his knees. He didn't want to collapse and make them keep him there an extra day.
He sat back down on the bed, and waited.
A quarter of an hour later, he was walking towards the Dungeons with Professor Slughorn.
Harry was praying that the man would stay quiet. Of course, he had no such luck.
"Time travel... That's something that has always fascinated me. I must admit that I'm slightly envious. Who wouldn't want to have the privilege to travel back and forth in time. You must tell how you managed to do it."
"I didn't come here of my own free will, Professor," he corrected him, surprised that the man would think that.
"Now, now, no need to be modest, my boy!" he said, beaming at Harry.
Harry was a little annoyed that he didn't believe him, but he knew that it would be impossible to change his mind. So he just let it be. Slughorn miraculously dropped the subject after that.
"Just out of curiosity, what house were you in before?" he then asked him.
"Gryffindor."
"Ah, well then it must be a big change for you."
"I suppose."
Slughorn chuckled.
"I don't know if the seventh year curriculum has changed much in Hogwarts over the last fifty years, but it's best if you check, and eventually catch up on the things you may have not done."
"Actually I quit at the end of my sixth year, so I wouldn't know."
"Ah, well all the more reason to catch up then." He smiled. "I'm sure your fellow classmates will help you out. Most of them have gone back home for the holidays, but there's no need to worry. Our Head Boy decided to stay. So you can ask him."
"Oh well, that's good," he commented, even though he didn't really care. "What's his name?"
"His name is Tom Riddle."
Harry froze for the second time that day. But this time it was in pure horror. The only coherent thought that traveled through his head at the moment was one word:
Shit...
A/N: Well that's the second chapter ! Again, thank you so much to all those who have read, and those who have reviewed! I hope that you will continue! I'm in the process of writing the third chapter, so it should be posted soon.
Let me know if you've enjoyed this :).
Until next chapter!
