Harriet stared at the words in front of her, but for the life of her she couldn't recall a single thing of what she'd read. The heat was unbearable in her small bedroom; the old fan her relatives had given her after they'd bought their expensive air conditioning set did nothing to help. The papers that littered the ground, the broken quills scattered her and there, the books that piled on the sides of the bed… the mess only served to aggravate her further. She felt hot and asphyxiated in the little cramped room, and certainly not in the mood to do any homework. Besides, the holidays have just started, she thought. And I might turn into Hermione if I finish this too early.
She decided to take a small shower to cool herself. As she stood under the showerhead, feeling like the cool spray of water on her sweaty skin was the gift of the Gods, she reviewed her decision to try and work on her homework as much as she could. She'd done it mostly to avoid thinking too much about what had happened at the end of the year, and what was coming this summer. During her little stunt in the past she'd attended sixth year classes, so she was reviewing concepts that seemed a little easy for her now. But it was a way to keep her mind busy, which was exactly what she needed now.
The confused stares of her friends as she arrived at the infirmary. She wasn't a mind reader like Voldemort, but she knew the question going through their minds at the time. Where were you?
She scrubbed her eyes, feeling the tell-tale sign of the crushing guilt she'd felt right then. I had to lie to protect them. To protect everyone. To protect myself.
She wasn't used to the word 'I'… Is this selfish of me? Now that I truly want something, someone… it's like an all-consuming need, and I'm doing stuff I could've never thought I'd do. Like lying to her friends. After arriving at Hogwarts, portkey discarded in the snow, her only thought was to check to see if everyone had arrived safely to the castle. So she went to the infirmary, before Dumbledore, Snape, McGonagall or any Order member could stop her.
She didn't stop to think about what she was seeing. She mindlessly counted the heads of the people she knew, and found that only Ron was missing. The questions then came tumbling out of her mouth, 'wher e is Ron?', 'is everyone all right?','what happened?'
It would be another hour before she got her answer, as the wrinkled hand of Albus Dumbledore fell on her shoulder, and she let herself be taken to the man's office.
"Girl! Have you drowned? You've been there for half an hour!" the shriek of her aunt Petunia came from outside the door. Harriet shook herself out of her stupor and turned the faucet off. "Yes, aunt Petunia," she replied. "I'll be out in a minute."
The park had never seemed gloomier. The clouds had gathered ominously in the sky, and she knew that the oppressing heat was just the first sign of the storm that was brewing above her head. She was alone, as most people had sought refuge in the comfort of their air-conditioned homes or in the privacy of the pools in their backyard. It suited her just fine. In the suburban paradise that was Privet Drive, she'd never been regarded as much more than a mere annoyance. Her aunt and uncle used her name to take out all of their frustrations; money was tight? It was the Potter girl's fault, and her never-ending spending. Dudley was doing badly in school? It was that Potter girl who made him nervous. Petunia had a dizzy spell? Potter.
It was understandable then that to the bored middle-aged mothers who littered the neighborhood, she was just the one little ugly spot ruining Petunia's perfect life. When she went out, whispering followed her along with turned up noses and disgusted sneers.
Two people knew of what had happened. As she'd expected, the same veil that had lifted over Voldemort's memories had been also torn from Dumbledore's mind. She didn't know what she could say to the old man. She was in love, and her beau was the man who was terrorizing the wizarding world. She wished she just could've had more time to prepare to this.
But then the door to the headmaster's office opened, and a pair of inscrutable black eyes greeted her. She was taken aback by the familiarity of them; but this wasn't the distant, calculating gaze of her Tom. Severus Snape with all his cruelty and stoniness; standing just a few feet from the door.
"Ah, Severus, I'd hoped you would be here by now" said Dumbledore amicably as he made his way to his desk. Harriet followed him, sitting herself on one of the chairs placed in front of him. She didn't understand what business Snape had being there, but she chose not to say anything. She'd long ago decided that her headmaster's mind worked in mysterious ways.
"Lemon drop? No? Ah, a shame" the old wizard sighed in mock seriousness. His sparkling blue eyes soon turned serious. "I think it'd be best if you gave us your report first, Severus."
Snape looked between Dumbledore and Harriet, and said in his usual slow, quiet voice "I don't believe it is prudent to talk about these matters in front of Potter."
"Oh, but you see Severus, I suspect that Harriet might know much more than we do about the reasons behind Voldemort's sudden change of tactics."
The girl in question looked at the man with a frown in her face. What did he mean by 'change of tactics'?
"Very well," Snape said after a moment. "The Dark Lord called off the attack shortly after the Order arrived, and instructed the death eaters in the ministry to go back to his base. He then called the rest of us," at that Harriet gave him a dirty look. "He spoke of change; he said that something had happened, which had given him the key to success. He didn't specify what it was, he simply warned us to be prepared for what was coming."
Harriet looked intensely at the Death Eater in front of her, her green eyes scorching with unanswered questions and worry. Her mind was fixed on Tom, and what this meant. What was the man playing at? What did he mean by 'the key to success'? What had he learnt in the department that could give him such power? So lost was she in her thoughts, that she didn't notice the small gasp that came out of her potions teacher's mouth at her gaze.
"That's very interesting, Severus" said the headmaster, snapping both of them out of their reveries. "Very interesting, indeed…"
The aged man stood, and with his wand in hand he performed what Harriet knew to be the method to extract memories for a pensieve. A thin silver strand came out of his head, shimmering in the bright light of the office. Dumbledore walked the steps to the cabinet that held the urn with the rest of his memories, and dropped the memory inside the pensieve. As he looked at the ghostly liquid, Harriet heard him murmur "I wonder if…"
"Harriet," he said, closing the cabinet and turning to look at her once more. "I imagine that it was with Tom's help that you're now here among us."
"Yes," she said, ignoring the questioning glance of her potions professor. "I showed him the journal you gave me, and we both worked on making the ritual that'd send me back."
"Did Tom ever pose a problem for you in that regard?"
"What do you mean, professor?"
"We both know how possessive he is," Dumbledore chuckled. "I would think more likely of him to do the impossible not to let you go."
"Oh," Harriet said with a blush. "I simply told him we'd meet in the future. I guess he didn't care that much about the wait."
Dumbledore took a seat once again behind the desk, giving Severus a soft smile. "Ah, I fear that you're a bit lost, my friend. You see, Harriet here had a bit of an adventure this night. I'd tell the story myself, but I think she could do a better work than I."
Harriet cleared her throat. "Uh, sure. It's just that… I mean, what happened earlier tonight… It's been a year for me, so I might not remember some things clearly. But I know it all started when Umbridge called me to her office, I had a vision right there. I thought Voldemort was torturing Sirius in the Ministry."
"You insufferable girl, what did I tell you about clearing your mind?!" Snape interrupted, and Harriet looked at him blankly for a moment, then grinned sheepishly, "yeah, sorry about that. I should've listened."
Snape looked like he'd been prepared for an emotional outburst, and was now biting back the words he'd prepared for an answer. Harriet thought that she might've been more irascible had she not spent a year thinking about what had happened that night. She knew that her carelessness had put her friends in danger, which is why she'd tried to be more prudent in her dealings with Tom and his Slytherins.
"I know how stupid my actions were that night, uh… this night. I know that if I'd paid some attention to what you said to me, I wouldn't have gone into the Ministry," Harriet noticed Dumbledore smiling brightly at this, and she wondered if the man was hoping they could settle their differences. She was to disappoint him, as she continued in a sharper tone, "I also know that if you'd been more patient, or even understanding with me, instead of adding yet another torture to everything I had to endure this year, I would have been more open to your advice."
At this, Snape remained silent, but something in his gaze softened. He nodded, almost imperceptibly. Harriet took it as a sign to continue.
"I ended up getting the thestrals to fly to the Ministry. My friends followed me. We arrived at the Hall of Prophecies, and I found one that mentioned Voldemort and I. The Death Eaters appeared; they wanted the prophecy. I knew then that the vision had been a fake. We managed to get out of there, but we landed in a strange room. There were time turners in it… other stuff. I can't remember what happened at all… the next thing I know, I'm in a broom closet in Hogwarts, in 1948."
"About that," Dumbledore softly interrupted, "your friends provided us the details of what happened. Apparently, the Death Eaters burst into the room and carelessly began attacking all of you. A stray spell hit one of the time turners, which created a chain of reaction in which you disappeared. Your friends thought you dead."
Harriet's gaze widened. "What happened to them after that?"
"The explosion confounded everyone in the room, which gave them time to escape. They went into an adjacent room, where they found the Order members I sent after Severus warned me of your vision."
Harriet breathed a sigh of relief. At least they hadn't directly faced the Death Eaters. She'd worried that in her absence they'd been captured, or worse, killed by Voldemort's blood-thirsty followers.
She snuck a look at the potions master next to her, and found him looking quite bewildered. "Fifty years is a lot of time, I guess?" she said to him.
"It's thought impossible," he simply answered. "No magic manages to be stable enough to interrupt the flow of time in that way."
"Well we all thought no one could survive the Killing Curse, and yet here I am," Harriet said.
"Touché, Harriet, touché…" said Dumbledore with an amused smile. "So you arrived in 1948, and you found the late headmaster Dippet and I discussing the arithmantical implications behind the colors associated with Christmas, if I recall correctly," Harriet nodded at that. "Which is quite an interesting topic, should any of you ever feel like discussing it." Snape snorted.
"After I realized I was in the past, you gave me permission to stay in Hogwarts as a student while I figured out a way to go back."
"Yes, and we agreed that should anyone ask, you'd claim to be home-schooled."
"Nobody asked, you know," Harriet said with a half-smile. "Except for Riddle."
At that, Snape's eyes widened comically, and he turned to look at Dumbledore. "Riddle? Tom Riddle? That's the Tom you were talking about?"
"Yes," the old wizard answered. "Harriet attended her sixth year with Tom Riddle."
From the man's expression, Harriet could almost see the wheels turning in his head. What Dumbledore had said earlier, her own words… She figured that Dumbledore had brought Snape there to hear the complete truth. And that's what she would give the two of them, even if the last thing she wanted was to discuss her personal life with her potions professor. "Tom wasn't fooled and soon guessed that I was a time traveler. He also learned I could speak parseltongue. It wasn't long until he began trying to maneuver me into his merry band of followers."
"Long story short, he sent some of his friends to seduce me. When it didn't work, he tried that himself," at that, she looked at Dumbledore. "His little plan backfired. We both fell in love. Or as close to love as he can feel."
Harriet heard a sharp intake of breath beside her, and turned to look at Snape. He was sneering at her, in a way she'd never seen someone do before. It was sheer spite, complete rejection. It was the expression of someone who thought you were less than dirt.
A small hissed voice brought her out of her reverie. Less than dirt, she thought to herself, and looked at the small snake making his way to her. The little thing was barely noticeable among the overgrown grass leaves. She stood up from her place in the only swing that had yet to be broken by Dudley's gang, and knelt in front of the reptile.
"Greetings, speaker," said the snake. Harriet couldn't say she was an expert at pointing out the differences in each reptilian voice, but she thought that he sounded much older than his size suggested he was.
"Hello," she answered. "How did you know I was a speaker?"
"I was sent here by someone who knows you can speak."
Her heart fluttered in her chest.
"Ah, so it is as my kin suggested. You are his nestmate," the snake said as he tasted the air with his little forked tongue.
"Huh? Nestmate?"
"Yes. Your chosen partner for reproduction."
Harriet felt her face grow hot in record time, as her mind conjured images of green-eyed, curly-haired babies. Then she thought about what a lousy father Tom would be, trying to teach his children useless things like how to conquer the world and how to extract information from spies, and couldn't help the laugh that burst from her mouth.
"Yes. Nestmate, all right," she said, ignoring the confused hisses of the snake. "Why were you sent here?"
"I was told to rely you a message. It says, 'I have a birthday surprise for you. Are you still waiting for me?'"
Harriet smiled softly. "Were you told to expect an answer?"
The snake hissed an affirmative.
"Tell him, 'Always'."
Harriet didn't know when he would come, or how he would get past the wards in the Dursley home, but she was absolutely certain that she'd see him on her birthday. As the days passed, each more slowly than the previous, she began to grow increasingly more restless. It was a testament to her state of mind that she was taken by surprise by an owl tapping on her window on the night of the 30th. Like an automata she let the exhausted animal in. A brief glance at the clock told her it was already midnight… with a startled gasp she realized she'd completely forgotten of the nightly ritual her friends indulged in during the eve of her birthday. She smiled brightly, and after giving some water to the poor Errol, she took the package the Weasleys (and probably Hermione) had sent her.
"Happy birthday Harriet! I wish we could've given you this in person, but you know how it is. Dumbledore's orders and all that. He's been really weird lately; mum says he's lost his favorite pair of socks. I don't know. Either way, I hope those muggles aren't giving you much trouble! Fred and George told me that one word from you, and they'll use them to try on the stuff they've been experimenting with for their prank shop. I hope we can see you soon. Cheers! Your friend, Ron."
Harriet smiled at the messy handwriting of her friend, warmed by his words. Still, something he'd written had gotten her attention. He's been really weird lately. Harriet didn't understand why Dumbledore hadn't sent for her yet. She'd thought that after what happened the previous summer they'd be eager to let her stay at Grimmauld Place. But then again, she wasn't complaining. She wanted to see Voldemort, and she was very much aware that she couldn't just sneak out her godfather's house in the middle of the night.
She opened the second letter, and immediately recognized Hermione's neat handwriting.
"Dear Harriet, I hope you're doing well. As you might've already guessed, I'm staying with the Weasleys right now. I arrived last week. Everything's much quieter than I expected, considering the circumstances. Still, it makes me nervous. I hope you can come here soon; I can't wait to see you. Happy birthday, girlfriend. With love, Hermione."
Trust Hermione to know what I'm wondering at the moment, Harriet thought with a grin. Her friend had been cryptic, but she knew what she'd meant. The Order was laying low, and apparently nothing of importance had happened. She'd been following the news, searching for clues as to what was in Voldemort's mind, but there hadn't been any suspicious activities since the school year had ended. Snape's words came back to mind; the key to success. She wondered not for the first time what it meant... for the wizarding world, for her, for Voldemort himself.
As she sat in her bed with Hermione's letter in her hands, she felt another tapping against her window. This time it was Hedwig, her snowy white companion. Harriet let her in, taking some more of the food she'd stolen from the Dursleys to feed them both.
"You went yourself to get this, didn't you, girl?" she asked the owl as she petted her. The smart animal hooted quietly, and Harriet took that as a 'yes'. "Thank you Hedwig. You're the best."
She took the package from her owl, and examined her. The messy wrapping revealed who was the sender; Hagrid. Harriet opened the package, and found a letter attached to a sculptured figurine. From the texture and the rough modeling, she would guess it was something Hagrid had sculpted out of the bone of some animal.
"Harriet, happy birthday!" the letter read, "I made this from the bone of a poor thestral who got sick with the blue pox. Poor thing, we had to put him out before he started chewing his own flesh off. To be honest I didn't know what to get you, but I was talking with the centaurs one day and I let slip that your birthday was coming, and they gave me the idea. Thestral bone is said to protect those who have seen death, and since you can see them I thought… well, you get it. The girl I sculpted is you! It looks a bit rough, but I think it captures who you are. Hope you're doing well! Hagrid."
Harriet looked back at the figurine, marveling at the texture. It felt a lot like a chicken bone, flexible and smooth; yet it had a certain resiliency that would've made her think she was holding stone, not bone. It only looks like me because of the hair, she thought with amusement as she examined the small thing. She put it in one of the huge pockets of the old jean she was wearing. As it was originally fitted for Dudley, there was enough space to store the curious sculpture.
As she went to open Hermione's and Ron's gifts, a brown own entered her room. That must be Sirius' she thought, and took the package off the owl's feet. The unnamed creature didn't stay around, unlike Enrol, who seemed to have dozen off in Hedwig's cage, much to the snowy owl's annoyance. Harriet opened Sirius' letter, and read the last missive she'd received.
"Happy birthday little prongslet! Although you're not so little anymore. I wish I could be spending your birthday there with you, taking you out to the funny muggle bars your father and I used to go to for his birthday. They had a small stage and a funny little thing that you were supposed to put in front of your mouth, and that amplified your voice like a sonorus. I would embarrass your dad by singing the most corny love songs I could find on the catalogue. Dumbledore says that you can come here in a few weeks, so even though I'm not yet supposed to go out we can sneak out at night and go there. It'll be fun. Until then, I hope you enjoy my present. Let me know if that muggle aunt of yours gives you any trouble, ok? Love, Padfoot."
Although yes, Harriet wanted to see Voldemort, and yes, she was very much aware that any prolonged stay in Grimmauld Place meant not being able to see him, she felt like hopping on the next Night Bus to see her godfather. She barely saw him in the year, and she missed him terribly. She sighed, and resigned herself to open the gift he'd sent and wait until she could see him again.
Sirius had sent her a couple of Nimbus gloves that she'd seen professional Seekers use – they had modified sticking charms that'd prevent her from accidentally falling off her broom, but wouldn't provide an unfair advantage when catching the snitch. She also opened her friends' gifts as well; a book on advanced defensive magic from Hermione, and an enchanted jewelry set from Ron ("they have concealment charms in them. I thought it might help you hide your scar when you don't want to be recognized"). She put them in her nightstand; although in the past her relatives had taken to confiscating anything that had to do with magic, after having learned that her godfather was the dangerous mass murderer Sirius Black they'd mostly left her things alone.
Harriet was fidgeting with her hair, resting against the kitchen counter as she munched on a snack she'd stolen from the pantry when her aunt came in. She looked confused and slightly flustered two expressions that did not become her horse-like features. "Girl, there's a gentleman in the door asking for you," she said. Harriet's eyes widened and she hurriedly left the snack on the counter, butterflies raging inside of her stomach.
Her aunt completely forgotten, she closed the space between the kitchen and the front door so quickly that she could almost swear she'd apparated. After taking a moment to calm herself, she opened the door.
"I…" she said, losing her breath at the sight of a fully human Tom Riddle, smiling at her. She didn't know what she'd expected when Voldemort had announced he'd show up at her house in her birthday – she'd entertained the idea of her relatives' horrified stares as they gazed upon his snake-like visage and demonic red eyes. She'd also thought he might use the polyjuice potion to go undetected, in case any Order members were watching.
But there he was, looking like a slightly older version of the Tom she'd left behind fifty years before. The same cold onyx eyes, the wicked curve to his thin-lipped smile, the dark curls that looked so inviting to the touch… She felt the strange longing to leap into his arms and to take his mouth in hers until the night fell. It was with a great deal of restraint that she managed to stay where she was.
"What the hell happened to you?" she said when she realized she'd (very visibly) been staring, unconsciously slipping into parseltongue.
"Ah, that's an interesting story, one that I'd like to talk about somewhere…more dignified than the porch of a muggle."
Harriet blushed, suddenly aware that this was the Dark Lord she was speaking to, and he was standing in the porch of one very muggle Petunia Dursley in the very muggle suburb of Little Whinging. The security implications of that sentence alone could've made her head spin, but she figured that his amicable disposition was guaranty enough of his goodwill. She figured that he wouldn't include torture and murder as part of any birthday present he might've thought to give her. Or would he?
She shook her head, and stood to one side of the door. "One month with the Dursleys made me forget my manners. Sorry for that. Uh, come in please?"
"Don't worry about that," Voldemort said with amusement, as he entered the small hall. Harriet closed the door after him. "You already had dreadful manners."
"I'll have you know tha-" Harriet began saying, but she was cut off by a hand on her waist and the feeling of a warm body against hers. She relaxed into the embrace, letting out a small sigh of contentment. As her body leaned against his, he lowered his head to her shoulder and buried his nose on her neck.
"You smell like cheap cuisine," he said. Harriet giggled.
"Don't tell the Dursleys. They want everyone to think they use imported spice."
They stood for a moment in silence. Harriet had never felt so at peace, so comfortable in her own skin. The thought – the one thought that'd given her hope after years of hostility in the very same house they were now standing in. It'd come to her only once, as she gazed upon the magnificence of the lights of the Hogwarts castle at night, shimmering on the surface of the Black Lake. I'm home.
And now she'd found another home, in Tom Riddle's, Voldemort's arms. As the world seemed to fade away into the background with its politics, its history and tragedies and all the things that'd make her heart ache when she went back, she felt like she was flying. She turned around, breaking the embrace, and that action alone made her very soul cry in despair because where are you going, this is where you belong-
And the cry was lost again in the air as she crashed her lips on Voldemort's, each grabbing at the other… thirsty man and woman in the desert, reaching out because to each other they were made of water. He'd waited for her and she'd come; she'd reached out for him and he'd come. A breathless gasp came from Harriet's mouth as they parted; although she wanted to drown herself in him the look in his eyes –the unguarded look in his eyes- seemed to fill her with a certainty she didn't have before.
"Happy birthday, Harriet" he murmured, forehead resting against forehead as he kept a tight hold on her. He could kill me now, Harriet thought, he could kill me now and I wouldn't mind. Because he just… He'd just made her Queen. And just like that, she could kill him now; they could both die but it wouldn't matter to either of them because they'd found something that went beyond life and death, time or fate and it made them…
The key to success.
Snape's words brought her out of her contented reverie… and she fixed her green-eyed stare on his. "Let's talk about politics."
His mouth quirked upwards; a small gesture, but a gesture nonetheless. "I was hoping to take you out to a fancy restaurant first then seduce you with my monologues on the current state of wizarding politics. But I'd forgotten how impatient you are."
Harriet smiled sheepishly at that. "Oh – I didn't know…" she blushed, suddenly conscious of his fanciful attire against her shabby hand-me downs. He noticed her train of thoughts and looked her up and down, a small sneer gracing his features. "Those are your cousin clothes – his old clothes," he said, stating the facts like he did every time he was deducing something. "Your aunt has never bought you any clothes, nor has she given you her own."
Harriet shrugged. "To be fair, after being told I had a small fortune of my own I never got any clothes for myself either… I just," she looked to the side. "It's just easier this way."
She felt Voldemort's hand under her chin, and her face was moved violently upwards until her eyes were focused on the older man's. She weakly protested against the manhandling, but the look in his eyes frightened her. As she wondered if he was using Legilimancy he broke off the eye contact, and regarded her with an angered expression.
"You're a witch of great skill, yet you've let these muggles get away with everything they've done to you over the years," he said, looking at the cupboard next to them. He read my mind, Harriet thought, as she became aware that the man's anger was directed towards her family. He was looking at the cupboard that'd been her bedroom for ten years.
"A cupboard, Harriet? The whole Wizarding World was ready to give you a nursery made of pure gold and these muggles" he spit the world like it was poison, "gave you a cupboard under the stairs."
"Yeah, well, it's not like I don't understand that was a shitty thing to do but… they're still family."
"You don't understand the full implications of this," his voice came out as a whisper. His tone was cold and dark, full of menacing promises. He was advancing on her, and she felt like bolting out and hiding inside the same cupboard they were now discussing.
"You've known for years that it was Dumbledore who placed you here. Surely you're not naïve enough to think that he wouldn't check on the Savior of the Wizarding World from time to time."
"What do you mean?" asked Harriet, confusion beginning to replace fear. Voldemort laid a hand on her cheek, conscious that his outburst had scared her.
"Surviving the Killing Curse gave you a great deal of political power. Great wizards would bow at your feet for being the solution to a problem they couldn't solve. But instead of finding the right family for you, they chose to send you to live with magic-hating muggles. They knew what they were capable of… and now you're choosing to wear rags because you think it'll help you fade into the background instead of confronting your abuse. They wanted to raise you with fear so your power wouldn't be a problem for them."
Harriet's eyes were wide as saucers – did he really imply that Dumbledore had sent her to live with the Dursleys because he felt she was a threat to his power? Did she dare to entertain the notion? It makes sense, she thought, but Dumbledore has always been nice to me… Wouldn't he go out of his way to make my life difficult like Snape does, if he was afraid of any political power I might have?
"Dumbledore's a great actor, Harriet," Voldemort sighed. "So great in fact, that he's managed to fool even himself."
Don't make the same mistake I made.
"While I was in the past, he…" Harriet murmured, resting her head on the man's chest. "He told me that you reminded him of a boy he once knew," she felt him stiffen. "He said he didn't want to see me make the same mistakes he made."
Voldemort hummed, pensively. "Do you have any dresses, at least?"
Harriet looked at the man in confusion, resting her hands on his chest to put some distance between them. "What?"
"We're going to a fancy restaurant," Voldemort said with a small smirk. "I will not take you looking like this."
"We were speaking about Dumbledore, you topic-changing sneaky old man."
"And before that we were talking about your horrendous wardrobe," Harriet felt like smacking him. "Do you have any dresses, or shall I conjure one for you?"
"I have the one I bought for the Yule ball in my fourth year," she replied with a glare. "Give me half an hour to make myself presentable, and please, please don't injure my relatives."
"Deal," she didn't think his smile was at all reassuring, but she figured that the Dursleys could do with some humbling, courtesy of Tom Riddle's wit.
"I have to admit that even without your magic you're still a very scary man," Harriet said as they dusted their robes. Voldemort had apparated her to what seemed to be a very exclusive part of Diagon Alley. There weren't many people around, and those who walked past them had an air of aloofness that Harriet had come to associate to people like the Malfoys. Lavish dresses and gold-trimmed robes sparkled in the night, and although she'd never understood nor cared about showing off she felt like a pauper. Her self-consciousness made her blush in spite of herself; she hoped that the dark would hide her expression.
"I've learnt very dark magic under very dark tutors, Harriet," Voldemort said after a while. "The only thing that I had at the time to keep them from harming me was my wit. Scaring some muggles is nothing compared to scaring necromancers."
Harriet remembered hearing about necromancers from her History of Magic class… more specifically, from Hermione babbling about Binn's lesson of the day during lunch. She'd be damned the day she could stay awake for more than fifteen minutes in that classroom.
"Necromancers are the ones who work with dead bodies and all that, right?" she asked, remembering the drawings Hermione had shown Ron and her of the work of a necromancer. "Inferis… they make inferis, right?"
"Yes, among other things," Voldemort replied.
"That's… disgusting," Harriet said pensively. "And you learnt how to do all that?" The man beside her nodded, and realization dawned on her that they'd been enemies. Had it not been for her little time travelling trip, he'd have kept on trying to murder her. A man who could make an army out of the bodies of his enemies, who could wield magic the name of which most wizards couldn't hope to even pronounce. And the prophecy had said she'd been born with a power he did not know… what could he have yet to learn, when he seems to know it all?
"You know so much… why did you come after me, then? I was just a baby."
"I…" the Dark Lord stopped for a minute to look at her. Harriet turned back, her hand still in his, to return the gaze. "I made the mistake of trusting too much in magic that I didn't entirely understand. I didn't realize it then, but I was left in a very delicate mental state."
"You were going crazy."
"You could say that. I realized the full extent of its consequences a few months after I regained my body. I began to look for a cure I never found," at this Harriet squeezed his hand softly, looking at him worriedly. "Then you came back, and something… changed. I was able to restore my mind to its previous state. I owe you my sanity."
Harried gasped, her green eyes wide and full of something she still wouldn't care to call hope. "And you… you tried to kill me because…?" Her mind raced. If that dark magic he used screwed with his mind enough to make him think that coming after a baby was a good idea… then that wasn't really Tom. It was a distorted, insane Tom, but not the one she'd often caught laughing with real mirth, the one that made her wonder what had happened that he'd turned so evil…
"No, Harriet, don't go there. I'm still very much the same man who killed your family and tried to kill you," his voice was sharp and cold. Harriet stiffened. "I recognize the stupidity of some of my past actions, but that's that. The only difference between then and now is that I now know not to act on my anger and greed. Over confidence in my abilities almost caused my downfall. Don't mistake that for remorse. I feel none."
Harriet felt heart clenching. Of course she couldn't disassociate him from her would-be murderer. That's naïve, she thought to herself. It couldn't be that simple. It shouldn't be. Walking beside her was a man, not a cardboard figure she could paint the color she wanted the moment she felt like it. It was all his complexity that made her feel like there could be no other man in the world for her; the rare genuine smile and the devious machinations, all packaged into one single miracle. If she was going to kiss him, if she was going to take his hand in hers and hope that one day she could give the world to him, she had to accept that this wasn't Tom and the other man was Voldemort. This was Tom Riddle, aka Voldemort, aka the man who destroyed her family and her life and then gave her a whole new world.
"I think… I think I understand," Harriet said, biting her lip. "I forget that you're not the same Tom I left back then… I mean, you're him in all the ways that matter, but life has changed you. It's taken away your… innocence I guess," she smiled sheepishly at his raised eyebrow. "Yeah, you were innocent! It's not a bad thing. I feel a bit bad, you know… even though you look like you're thirty or something you're so much older than me. I feel stupid and annoying, compared to you."
"Well compared to me, everyone is stupid and annoying," he said with a chuckle. "But I tolerate you."
"Is that like, your idea of romanticism?"
"I was hoping that you'd think it was this," Voldemort said as they came to a stop in front of the most elegant restaurant that Harriet had ever seen. It walls stood impressively against the small boutiques in both sides; coal black shimmering purple against the aged wood and marble of the expensive clothing stores. On the wall, what looked to be at first like fireflies dancing near the intertwining leaves of an exotic climber, in close inspection revealed itself to be nothing more than an elaborate cage of finely spun gold threads. Harriet was delighted at the small balls of lights that danced inside the cage, changing color and shape as people walked by.
From the windows, she could see the busy waiters hurriedly carrying trays between the tables. The place seemed to be bursting with people. Harriet didn't want to linger on their appearance, as she felt she was not clothed for the occasion.
"It is a bit cliché for you," she said. "But since you didn't bring me flowers I will have to forgive you."
"I will consider myself a lucky man, then" the Dark Lord said as they entered the restaurant. Harriet noticed that, as was the fashion for most of the wizarding buildings she'd been in, the room was much bigger than it looked from the outside. She thought she heard a muffled gasp somewhere near her, but she didn't catch anyone staring. Not that I'm complaining but nobody's recognized me, she thought, as a waiter led them to a table.
"Trust Tom Riddle to reserve the table placed exactly in the middle of the room," she whispered to the Dark Lord, who didn't suppress the small smirk that came to his face.
"Of course. To Caesar what belongs to Caesar."
They both sat facing each other. "Should we talk about Dumbledore before or after eating?"
"After ordering, if you will," came the reply.
"Grindelwald," said Voldemort as he cut into the steak he'd ordered. "The name you're looking for is Grindelwald. That's the boy that I reminded him of."
"That explains a lot of things."
"More than you'd think," a small smirk and Harriet felt like maybe they'd talked about too many things in one night. "Dumbledore fell in love with him."
Definitely too many revelations for one night. "D-did he?" she spluttered, thankful that she'd managed to swallow before opening her mouth to speak.
"Yes. But the feeling wasn't mutual. I do not know the details, but Grindelwald eventually betrayed him, and Dumbledore lost contact with him. Then, after he became a menace, he defeated him in the duel that made him famous."
"Oh," Harriet said. "That's sad… how was he able to do it?"
"How was he able to raise his wand against his former boyfriend?" The Girl-Who-Lived nodded. "Self deception, maybe. Dumbledore claims that love is the greatest magic, but he didn't defeat a Dark Lord with love."
Don't make the same mistakes I made.
Harriet smiled. She wondered if Dumbledore thought about his words as often as she did, if he knew their real meaning. "I told him part of what happened in the past. He didn't want to believe it."
"In fact," Harriet thought out loud, "Back in 1948, sometimes we'd talk, and he would never fail to warn me against you. I think that in some way, he never was against you. He was against the ghost of his old love."
Voldemort snorted. "In spite of the Gryffindor sentiment, or maybe because of it, I think there's some truth in that. Even then, I wouldn't put it past him to use said sentiment to manipulate you. He's an obstinate man, if I ever saw one. He believes there's only one Greater Good and he's convinced that anything is worth sacrificing if it'll make the world closer to its achievement."
"The road to hell is paved with good intentions, isn't it?" said Harriet as she took a sip from her cup. "Speaking of which, your idea of a greater good isn't that much better. Killing off all muggleborns and muggles? Seriously?"
Voldemort looked pensive at that. "Yes, an oversight on my part. In reality, I never did quite promise that. I simply used my secessionist ideas to recruit pureblood support, and they simply assumed that I was fully backing their agenda. I admit that in the years before my downfall, and thanks to my degrading state of mind, I actually began to believe in it."
"Then what was your intention when you tried taking over the wizarding world?"
"Mostly to isolate ourselves from the muggles and to preserve the wizarding traditions," Voldemort smirked. "Of course that I also wanted the power that came with being in charge of the nation."
The younger girl giggled. "Of course you did," she said, as she fiddled with her napkin. "But why an armed revolution? You could've become Minister."
That earned one of the most patronizing stares Harriet had ever received in her life. She huffed. "Politics are never that simple. The minister is just a puppet. A figure head. A coup d'etat is a far more effective way to seize power than lobbying for the rich. Especially for the most powerful Dark Lord in centuries."
It was Harriet's turn to raise an eyebrow. "Say it once more, I don't think your ego has had enough stroking." At that, Voldemort's eyes flashed and a small smirk blossomed on his lips. "I can think of other things that require stroking."
Harriet turned red, and evaluated the possibility of hiding under the table… until her traitorous teenage mind provided her with far more creative alternatives than just hiding under it. "No! No dirty talking while in public," she managed to say.
"I am a legilimens, dear, I can do far worse than simply talk."
Skin met skin and Harriet thought she would never tire of the constant cat-and-mouse game they played. They'd somehow managed to look presentable enough when they left the restaurant – but then it was the asphyxiating sensation of side-along Apparition and it was his mouth on hers, breath still smelling of expensive wine and meat and spices. He could fool them all with his cold demeanor and his elegant gestures but with her he undressed and he was raw, pure beast and she wanted to tame him for herself – here, there, mark him everywhere… they'd know he was hers.
And Tom, Tom-Voldemort loved the small body of the hungry sixteen-year-old who actually turned seventeen, because it was power, vitality, emotion – all that was beyond his greed and madness. She took what he gave and even dared to take what he didn't, and he loved every single part of it. She could fool them all with her innocence and her warmth, but with him she undressed and she was raw, the lust for life incarnated and he wanted to tame her for himself – here, there, mark her everywhere… they'd know she was his.
"Ah…" she gasped, a small sound the broke the monotony of the hungry growls and the rustling clothes. He took the moan for himself and entered her brutally, knowing she was ready because she'd always be ready for him. She didn't make a sound, but she opened her eyes and he knew what he was seeing – more, harder, faster, do it please, please, please…
And with dark satisfaction he complied, because when her mother had begged him to spare her little baby he'd ignored her but now that the very same green eyes were asking for salvation again he felt it was time to fulfill his duty. "Ah…" she heard him sigh as he reached completion; with one last angry bite she followed him to the abyss, and they both fell…
Harriet nursed the cup filled with hot chocolate in her hands as she stared outside the large window in Tom's bedroom. He was lying on his back beside her; he had lazily arranged the covers to protect his modesty after she'd informed him she'd not call the house elf for refreshments until he was presentable. He'd done as she'd asked, and once they found themselves alone again he banished the shirt she was wearing, leaving her completely exposed. She'd decided not to give him the satisfaction of blushing, and sat on the covers sipping the chocolate. Completely naked.
"You never told me how you managed to get your old looks back," Harriet said, pensively. "Or why you did it. You know, the flat nose look was kind of sexy."
Voldemort chuckled. "A change of tactic. To rule by means of fear meant embodying fear itself, so I took full advantage of the humanoid form the resurrection ritual gave me. But like I said before, that was a very moronic idea. When it comes to de-facto governments, subtlety is the best ally. So I can inspire fear with my powers, but I can also command respect and admiration by presenting myself with a more… humane façade. "
"Merlin's balls, your deviousness seriously creeps me out," Harriet smiled cheekily at her partner's scowl. He hated it when she'd be crass, as he called it. "You know, this was the best birthday gift I've ever had. Even though we ended up in Malfoy's house. Or manor."
"Oh, so you figured it out."
"Kind of hard not to when you see peacocks in the garden. Only Malfoy is pompous enough to do that."
Although the Girl-Who-Lived and her nemesis Lord Voldemort had eloped on the eve of the first of August, and many years before that as well, the end of the world didn't really come until a week after. No cursed horsemen nor any angels or demons in sight; just Harriet Potter, her two best friends, her godfather and a very amused Remus Lupin standing in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place after the girl had greeted everyone in the house.
"Harriet," the voice came as a horrified whisper, and the girl in question turned back to stare at his godfather in alarm. "Harriet… is, is that a hickey?"
Harriet blinked once, twice and then answered, "yeah."
"B-but… h-how is t-that…? You're sixteen!" came the horrified cry as her godfather hugged her.
"Sirius, you did much worse things at fourteen," the voice of reason in the room, also known as Remus Lupin, did nothing to pacify the distraught godfather.
"Woah, mate, you never told us!" said Ron. "Is it someone we know?"
"Doubtful," reasoned Hermione. "She's been with her muggle relatives these weeks. He's probably a muggle boy."
Harriet smiled sheepishly. "Uhm, could we go somewhere private…? It's a bit more serious than what you think…"
"Could I have a moment of your time, Harriet?"
She'd been waiting for him, and they both knew it. "Sure, professor. Do you want anything to drink or eat?"
"No, I've just had some pastries on my way here. Thank you."
She'd expected the false formality. Even if it wasn't really her style, she'd cultured a certain appreciation for it because of Tom. He also loved the same theatrics. She sat in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place, once again to reveal what nobody could have ever expected. A moment of silence fell upon them, and she knew it'd make him all the more conscious of the ground he'd lost.
"I hadn't foreseen this," he said in a serious tone she'd never heard him use before. She felt like, in a way, he was finally speaking to her like an adult and not like a parent might speak with an unruly child. "I'd thought you might go with him. I was hoping you'd remember what he did, to you and to the wizarding world, and that you'd come back. And you did, but for entirely different reasons."
"We need you, Harriet. The prophecy might be void but there's much more to this war than fate and magic words. We need you to do the right thing."
"You once told me not to make the same mistakes you made," Harriet said, looking down at her hands. "You say love is everything but so far you've fought with your mind, not with your heart. I chose to go on a different path."
"Harriet, I understand that you might think that you love him," Dumbledore said in a grave voice. "But the greatest men have fallen for the same weakness; we all see what we want to see."
Harriet stood, incensed at the man's words. "Exactly! And you don't want to see it for what it is! That I am not you and Tom is not Grindelwald!"
She saw a brief flash of pain in the aged blue eyes and immediately regretted her outburst. "I'm… I'm sorry. But this is the way it's going to be for me," she raised her green eyes and surveyed the stony face of her headmaster. "As you know, Sirius, Remus, Hermione and Ron have chosen to follow me. I hope you realize that while it's entirely possible that one witch can be fooled, it's more difficult to also fool her entire family."
Dumbledore pursued his lips. "I understand. I may not agree with your decision, but I will not contest it. Should you ever find yourself questioning your loyalties, you'll know where to find me."
Harriet smiled. "Thank you, professor."
In the heat of the battle many had found themselves too busy to look to the sky. The starry night exploded above them in furious red swirls; galaxies and constellations twisting and turning around each other. The lights from above seemed to call the lights from below, as the flashes of the spells ignited and died near the ground. Like a crude black smudge above the heavenly background stood the astronomy tower.
Inside could be heard the final staccato of a 50-year-long symphony, arranged so only those who'd started it could appreciate its final cries. Dumbledore nursed his blackened right hand, and looked up to his murderer. He was surprised to find that in his moment of victory, he wasn't fixated on his triumph, on Dumbledore's final submission. Instead, his gaze was on Harriet Potter, who was holding off the aurors who were trying to rescue him.
In that moment, Dumbledore knew that he'd truly lost. As Voldemort fixed his gaze back on him, he asked "after all this time?"
"Always."