Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
A/N: This chapter was beta read by Jazzelyn. Thank you, Jazz!
EDIT February 2014: This chapter has been edited for a better reading experience. No significant changes were made.
Chapter 2
The hotel Harry had been sent to certainly put The Leaky Cauldron to shame. It made him vaguely uncomfortable. Everything in his suite looked so expensive that if he broke something, Harry thought he would have to replace it with his life.
When Harry and his friends had broken into the Ministry, it had been the middle of the night, but it was early afternoon when he left the Department of Mysteries in 1942. Despite these added hours, sleep came fitfully to him after he settled in bed that evening. He lay beneath the luxurious covers, staring at the ceiling above him, or turned from side to back to front, kicking the sheets away from his heated skin, or sat up to fluff his pillow. His mind was moving miles a minute, but still it was having difficulties reconciling with his predicament – that the present was the past, the past the present. That he hadn't been born yet. Even his late parents hadn't been born yet. He worried for his friends, whom he had abandoned to the Death Eaters' mercy, though none of his friends existed yet. He hadn't abandoned them to the Death Eaters, but that was what he could not understand. The present was far in the future. The past was now.
He also had trouble grasping the permanence of the situation. No mode of transportation through time had been invented yet, none at all – not even a measly three-hour Time-Turner – and he was here to stay until something was custom made for his needs. That could be never in his life time. He would likely have to live day by day, year by year, until he reached June 5th, 1996 the old fashioned way. Fifty-four years.
He was still expecting someone to come up to him with a smile and a pat on the shoulder and hand to him a miracle time machine – right this way, Mr Potter. Whew, what a strange detour.
When morning arrived, Harry got up blearily, having barely slept at all. He still did not comprehend his situation, but he did possess the resignation needed for facing the day. Breakfast was waiting for him in the sitting room, served on china plates covered with gleaming steel domes, heating and preserving charms keeping it perfect for him whenever he chose to eat it. The restless night had left Harry famished, so he dug in with zeal. The bacon and grilled tomatoes were particularly tasty, but not as good as the food served at Hogwarts.
Harry really hoped that he would return to Hogwarts. If Supervisor Doalott couldn't convince the current Headmaster to take him in, Harry didn't know what he would do and where he would go. He was fairly confident that the man had enough interest vested in him not to leave him to starve on the streets, but to be honest, Harry's familiarity with the British wizarding world only encompassed Hogwarts and Diagon Alley, if one didn't count the Ministry and St. Mungo's Hospital. He had no idea where else they could toss him, and he fervently hoped that Plan B wasn't to keep him under lock and key in the Department of Mysteries.
The morning oozed by. With nothing else to do, Harry sat on a window seat looking out over a busy street in Muggle London and worried about his fate. For lunch he ordered room service, and then he waited some more.
Finally, he was startled by the tingling of a bell near the door leading out of the suite. He went to investigate and found a letter sitting on a small table next to the door. On the envelope was his name written in rustic gold ink, the loop of the 'y' greatly exaggerated and elaborate swirls added around for effect. Inside he found a short note requesting him to meet a guest in the lobby.
'This is it,' Harry thought. The Supervisor had said that the reply from the school would come today. Harry looked down at himself to make sure that he looked presentable. He was wearing blue robes he had got from a wizard who appeared to live in the Department of Mysteries. He had a whole wardrobe stashed in his cubicle, fitted inside a narrow cabinet that was much larger on the inside than it appeared on the outside, as well as a sleeping bag, a rack full of toiletries, and a portable stove. Pausing in front of a mirror, Harry raked his fingers through his hair, trying to bring some semblance of neatness to it. With his belongings safely in his pockets along with the room key, he left the suite.
Supervisor Doalott was standing next to the reception counter, making the witches working there fidget with his staring, when Harry stepped out of the lift and approached him. Harry was starting to wonder if the Unspeakables were weird on purpose to find some amusement in their lives. The Supervisor turned around as he heard his footsteps and held up an opened envelope.
"Hogwarts is very interested to have you," he told him as a greeting. "This Portkey will take you to a meeting with the Headmaster. He wants to talk with you about your studies."
"Ah," Harry floundered as he stopped to stand before the man, briefly thrown by the lack of mandatory pleasantries. "That's great! When's the meeting?"
"Shortly. You can leave the key with these ladies here. You won't be coming back," The Supervisor added.
Harry hurried to dig through his pocket and pulled out the fancily carved brass key. After handing it over and thanking for the excellent service, he turned back to Supervisor Doalott to find him staring at him.
The older wizard's smile widened and he acquired a possessive glint in his eye as the time traveller's gaze met his. He gave the envelope to him. "It will activate at fourteen-o-two. I will keep informing you of the progress we make on the research. Keep in touch."
"Um. Okay." There was silence during which Supervisor Doalott kept staring and smiling and Harry tried to think of something more to say. "Thank you," he finally settled on, "for your help."
"My pleasure." The Supervisor gave him a short bow and put on this pointed hat. "I must leave now." He Disapparated with a loud crack.
Harry blinked at the spot where the man had stood and then shook himself. He glanced at his watch and saw that he had a little less than ten minutes until the Portkey would activate, so he went to sit on a velvet-covered sofa next to an exotic palm tree.
He stared at the envelope in his hands. Now that his most immediate fears had been relieved, new worries raised their voices. This Hogwarts wasn't the same as the one he had known during the past five years of his life. Ron and Hermione wouldn't be there, nor would any of his other friends. The teachers would be different too – the whole castle would be full of strangers. Harry would have to start all over with making friends, which was something he had never been very good at, thanks to his cousin scaring away all the potential candidates when he was little.
Besides, fifty-four years was a long time, and it was likely that the curriculum had changed somewhat between now and Harry's time. He might have a different base of knowledge than the rest of the students and he might not be able to keep up with the others.
Discipline was probably stricter, too. Harry didn't know how much truth there was to Filch's stories about dangling students from the ceiling by their ankles, but he had seen those chains in the caretaker's office.
Nervous, he kept glancing at his watch. With the way these thoughts made his insides gnaw on themselves, this felt like the longest ten minutes he had been forced to endure in a while. What would the Headmaster be like? What sort of questions would he have to answer? He tried to compose something to say in advance, but his mind was too distracted.
Finally, the time approached 14:02, so Harry stood up in preparation for the journey. One of the receptionists looked up at him and smiled, giving him a small wave of goodbye. Harry would have waved back, but apparently his watch was a little slow, because he felt the familiar pull of the Portkey almost a full minute too early.
He appeared in the Entrance Hall of Hogwarts, and fell over gracelessly like he usually did when travelling by Portkey. He bit his lip to stop himself from making any undignified sounds of pain that would embarrass him even further and pushed himself up to his hands and knees. That was when he noticed the hand sticking into his face. He startled and stared at it for a second before following the arm with his gaze, noting the wide burgundy sleeve, up to the owner of the hand.
He was about to gasp in recognition as saw the smiling face, twinkling sky-blue eyes, and auburn beard, but then something strange happened. His face muscles settled into a calm, polite expression without consulting with his brain first. This shocked him and caused him to panic internally, afraid that someone had possessed him and was taking over his body.
Professor Dumbledore, for that was who the man was, kept smiling. "Welcome to Hogwarts, Mr Potter," he said. "Let me help you stand up."
Harry stayed still for a second, scared that he might not be able to move if he couldn't even control his own countenance, but when he reached up to take the proffered hand, he wasn't hindered at all. The Professor pulled him up and kept hold of his hand in a firm handshake.
"I am Professor Albus Dumbledore, Deputy Headmaster," he said.
"Harry Potter, sir. Nice to meet you," Harry replied, his voice betraying none of his inner turmoil. He didn't understand what was happening to him.
"Headmaster Dippet is expecting us in his office. If you would follow me, I will take you there."
They started up the grand staircase, Harry following a couple of steps behind Dumbledore even though he already knew the way to the Headmaster's office very well.
"I understand you had a mishap with time?" Dumbledore said, making small talk.
"Yes." Harry was going to elaborate but found that his vocal cords refused to operate. Realisation began to dawn on him.
"Hmm. You have my condolences. It is very intriguing, though. We at Hogwarts don't usually take in new students after the term has already started, but yours is a unique case. There was no question about making an exception."
"I'm thankful for that, sir."
Harry's mind was racing. When he had agreed to take the Oath of Unspeakability he had expected something like this to happen – that he wouldn't be able to talk about the future at all. However, he had not expected the effect to be so thorough. It appeared that showing recognition of people he knew was considered a breach of the Oath, because it would reveal that those people would still be around in fifty-four years' time. He was starting to understand why the Unspeakables behaved so oddly. The Oath seemed to take a worrying amount of control over one's life.
They reached the large stone gargoyle guarding the Headmaster's Office and Professor Dumbledore stopped them there. "Octahedron," he said, and the sentinel hopped aside, revealing the moving staircase behind it.
They travelled the stairs in silence, and when they reached the top, Dumbledore rapped on the gleaming oak door Harry was all too familiar with. A voice called for them to enter and Dumbledore pushed the door open.
The office was more crowded than Harry had expected. In addition to Headmaster Dippet, who sat behind the enormous desk, there were three other people in the room. A middle aged wizard with greying brown hair stood next to a bookcase on the left, while an older witch with a long white plait sat in a chair facing the Headmaster's desk. Dominating the room was the rather overweight figure of a short, moustachioed man with thick, straw coloured hair that gleamed in the lamp light. He stood in the middle of the room, one hand tucked into the tiny pocket of his waistcoat and the other holding a cut crystal glass of brandy.
"Ah, our newest addition," the Headmaster said as he stood up behind his desk. "Welcome, my boy, we are glad to have you here." He offered his bony hand to Harry, who shook it. "Armando Dippet is my name, I am the Headmaster."
Harry introduced himself as well, examining wizard. Of course, he recognised Dippet from his portrait in Headmaster Dumbledore's office, but there was something about him that gave Harry a sense of déjà vu. Maybe it was the way the man spoke, or perhaps the way he held himself that tickled at his memory. However, before he was able to draw a connection, his attention was diverted elsewhere.
"Let me introduce to you Professor Merrythought, Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts and Head of Ravenclaw House." Dippet said, indicating the woman with the plait. Professor Merrythought nodded at him with a congenial smile, and Harry shook her hand. "Professor Beery is the Head of Hufflepuff and teaches Herbology." The middle aged wizard stepped forward. He had strong grip.
"You have, of course, already met Professor Dumbledore, Professor of Transfiguration and Head of Gryffindor," Dippet continued, and Harry and Dumbledore nodded at each other. "And finally, this is Professor Slughorn – our resident Potions Master and Head of Slytherin House."
The rotund wizard beamed, pulling his right hand out of his pocket, and shook Harry's with excitement. "How extraordinary!" he exclaimed. "To have crossed through time! You must be a young wizard of exceptional calibre. What a joyous affair to make your acquaintance, Harry Potter… Of the old and esteemed pure-blood line of Potters? A future scion?"
"Um. Yes, those Potters." He was going to point out that his mother had been Muggle-born, but the Oath disagreed with him.
"You do have the Potter look about you," Professor Slughorn said, almost preening. "Can't mistake that hair!"
Headmaster Dippet cleared his throat to interrupt. "Why don't you take a seat, Mr Potter, so we can discuss the arrangements of your stay here?"
After Harry had settled down and chairs had been conjured for those who had been left without one, Dippet picked up a thin stack of papers and tapped it against his blotter before setting it down and glancing over the topmost sheet.
"Now, Mr Doalott wrote in his letter that you have attended – or, sorry, will attend – Hogwarts in the future, is that correct?"
"Yes sir. I was just finishing my fifth year."
"So you've taken your O.W.L.s?"
"I just finished them, so I don't know the results I… would have got." Harry suddenly realised that he might never find out how he did in the exams.
"Hmm," Dippet frowned. "How do you think you did yourself? Feeling confident?"
"Oh. Um, I think I passed most of them," Harry said, wiping his palms on his robes nervously. He felt awkward talking about his failures in a room full of professors, but he thought he ought to be honest, at least. "I think I failed History of Magic, though. My… performance was disrupted and I had to leave the exam. Also, I didn't do very well at Divination, and Astronomy might be a bit of a close case. But," he hurried to add, "I think I did fine with everything else. Especially Defence Against the Dark Arts, it's my strongest subject."
"Hmm," Dippet hummed again, picking up a quill and twirling it absently. He didn't look very convinced. "What other electives did you take, in addition to Divination?" he asked.
"Care of Magical Creature, sir. I'm pretty sure I passed."
The Headmaster pondered this some more before sighing and rubbing his forehead. "Look, Mr Potter. I'm sure you did well in your examinations and received passing grades. However, I'm afraid I can't just take your word for it. The O.W.L.s are very important – and you need to have them on paper. Without documented proof that you have passed the Ordinary Wizarding Level, you won't be able to find work within the magical community once you've left Hogwarts."
"Sir?" Harry asked, getting a bad feeling about this.
"What I mean – and I'm sorry to tell you this – is that you will have to take your O.W.L.s again. Unfortunately, the exams are only held once a year, at the end of the spring term. We could always make special arrangements for you, but considering the fact that you've received your education so far in a completely different decade, we don't know how far it could take you now."
"What would you suggest, then, sir?" Harry asked, dreading the answer.
"I would suggest that you repeat your fifth year," Dippet said, looking at him through serious eyes. "That way, we can ensure that any possible gaps in your knowledge are filled by the time of the exams."
A pregnant silence followed this. Harry felt disappointment and despair settle over him. All the studying, all the hard work he had done over the past year – for nothing. All of it, down the drain. He would have to do it all over again.
"Oh," he managed to say finally. "I see."
"Look at the bright side," Professor Dumbledore chimed in from his right. "You can take this chance to revise and do even better than you did last time. And consider this: you won't have to work as hard as you did before, because most of the material will already be familiar to you."
"I… I suppose you're right. Sir." It didn't do much to alleviate his chagrin. "I understand. I guess I'll just have to do it."
"That's the spirit," Dippet said, smiling encouragingly. "So, we'll enrol you among the fifth year students. What house were you – um, will you be – sorted into?"
"I'm in Gryffindor."
"Good. Why don't you try on the Sorting Hat, so we can confirm this?" He turned around in his chair and reached behind him, taking the ratty old Hat down from its shelf.
Harry took the Hat gingerly and placed it on his head. This time it didn't fall down to cover his eyes, although it was still a bit roomy for him. He closed his eyes and waited for it to speak.
The Sorting Hat remained silent for several seconds, rummaging through his mind. Finally, quiet words were whispered into his ear.
"My, my, haven't you been the model Gryffindor," the Hat sniggered.
'What's that supposed to mean?' Harry thought back at it, a little miffed.
"No need to get defensive. I see that this isn't the first, or even the second time I have or will sit on this head. And I have to say, Potter, that my opinion of you won't change no matter how many times you put me on. Ah, you know exactly what I mean."
Oh, Harry did. And this time, the Hat could actually make his opinion official. 'Do I have to beg again?'
"Hmm. You could," the Sorting Hat muttered, "but all jesting aside – looking at these interesting memories of yours, I wouldn't recommend it. Your presence in Slytherin would be beneficial to all around, and I don't only mean your own healthy ambitions."
Harry frowned. 'What do you mean?'
"I see you don't understand yet. I don't think I should say. But consider this. Slytherin is by nature a very close knit house. If you make real friends there, they will likely last you a lifetime. Everybody needs friends, and Potter, I'm not talking about you."
Harry wondered about these words, trying to make light of them. The Sorting Hat took advantage of his distraction and called out, "Slytherin!" so that the room's other occupants could hear.
Harry's eyes flew open in shock as the Hat was yanked from his head. Professor Slughorn, the Head of Slytherin, whooped and held it up like a prize. "Oho!" he boomed, cheeks rosy. "A convert! Welcome to Slytherin, m'boy! What a fine addition you are, you will make my house proud!"
The other Heads of House smiled a little stiffly, trying to hide their disappointment. Slughorn's enthusiasm didn't seem to be helping.
'I have been tricked,' the newly initiated Slytherin thought with horror. The Sorting Hat had deliberately confused him with moving talk about friendship and lifelong bonds and used his distraction to put him in the house he detested the most. It had always wanted to put him in Slytherin, and now it had taken its revenge. Bitterly Harry wondered what the universe had against him. All of this could not be simple coincidence.
Dippet smiled affably as he took the Sorting Hat back from Slughorn, not noticing the new student's tribulation. "It's funny how that happens," he said. "Who knows, if we sorted all our students twice, we might be surprised by the results."
Harry stared down at his hands, trying not to show how devastated he was as the Headmaster hummed and arranged the Hat back on its perch.
"Now," Dippet said looking through the letter in front of him again. "It says here that you have taken a magical oath to stop you from speaking about the future and disrupting the timeline. That's good. I will make sure to mention that when I announce your presence at dinner, so that your peers will know that asking questions about the future will be useless. Maybe that way you won't be harassed so much by your curious comrades." Realising something, he looked up at Harry. "You don't mind me telling the students that you are from the future, do you? I only think that it would be easier to be open about everything – secrets have the troublesome tendency of coming out at some point."
"Oh no, be my guest," Harry said distractedly, contemplating the horror of his sorting.
"Excellent. Dinner will be," he checked the clock on the wall, "in a couple of hours. Be there. You don't have to stand in front of the entire hall if you don't want to, but you should at least make an appearance. I will draw you your timetable for tomorrow, but we'll see if you'll be able to attend all of your morning classes – we'll have to get your supplies somehow. I think we can order most of them in from Aberdeen but I'll have to ask around if we can get a tailor to make a home visit for your uniforms. If not, we'll just pop you over to Gladrags in Hogsmeade, it won't take long. How does that sound?"
"That sounds good, but," Harry frowned, worried, "how will I pay for all of it? I don't think I'll be able to access my vault, since the other Potters must be using it and I'm not supposed to exist yet."
"Oh, don't worry about the money – Mr Doalott says that the Ministry is willing to cover all your schooling expenses. There's a cheque, right here." Dippet pulled out an important looking piece of parchment and gave it to Harry for inspection.
The parchment was large and square, with swirly gilded framing printed on the edges. It stated in elaborate font that with this cheque, all acquirements made would be paid for from the Department of Mysteries' research fund. There was a purple wax seal with a silk ribbon pinned underneath it in one corner and a long strip of runic code along the bottom.
Harry handed the cheque back to the Headmaster, assuming that he wouldn't be allowed to keep it and abuse it.
"Well, I think that covers all for now," Headmaster Dippet said with finality. "Welcome to Hogwarts, 1942, Mr Potter. Horace, if you would take your new student and show him the way to the Slytherin dungeons?"
Professor Slughorn sprang up from his seat, clapping his hands delightedly. "Certainly, certainly! Come along, Harry. There is someone I want you to meet." He led Harry out of the office.
'Well,' Harry thought as they rode the winding stairs down to the second floor, 'at least this bloke is a vast improvement to Snape.' Professor Slughorn seemed like a nice enough wizard – cheerful and friendly. Even if Harry wouldn't feel at home in Slytherin or get on with his new house mates, at least he wouldn't be terrorised in Potions class.
"As you know, the dungeons are quite the tricky maze, a tricky maze indeed," Slughorn chattered. "I'm sure you'll need some help finding your way around there at first, so I'll introduce you to one of our prefects." He smiled like a fat cat with a vat full of cream. "He's one of my most prized students, a very charming young man. He's in fifth year with you – I'm sure you two will get along splendidly."
He directed them up a staircase and led them down the corridors, stopping finally outside the Charms classroom.
"The last classes of they day are about to end in fifteen minutes or so. I cancelled my own for you," he added with a wink at Harry. He then knocked on the classroom door and promptly entered. "Daisy, you wouldn't mind if I stole Tom from you a little early, would you? Wonderful!" Harry heard him say, but the door blocked his view.
There was the sound of a chair's legs against the floor and a male voice made his excuses to the teacher called Daisy. A moment later, the prized prefect stepped out into the hallway, and Harry almost had a heart attack
Before him stood none other than Tom Marvolo Riddle – alive, solid and healthy, completely identical to the homicidal memory Harry had met in the Chamber of Secrets, from the criss-cross of his shoelaces to the last, well groomed black hair on his head. Harry's first reaction was shock, and then panic – 'it's Voldemort, kill it! Run!'
However, the phenomenon familiar from Harry's first meeting with Dumbledore occurred again. Not even the tiniest muscle on his face twitched to betray his raging instincts, and Harry felt his eyes glass over into a placid gaze as he stared at the Dark-Lord-To-Be.
"Harry, this is Tom Riddle," Professor Slughorn said, completely unaware of Harry's mental breakdown. "Tom, this is your new classmate Harry Potter, freshly sorted into Slytherin." He held a pause and spread one arm towards the green eyed boy like an auction host presenting the long lost Picasso. "He is from the future."
Riddle appeared entirely unimpressed for a second and then looked at the Professor with a baffled smile. "Excuse me, Professor?" he asked, as though thinking he had heard wrong.
"He's from the future," Slughorn repeated, preening. "From the year 1996, to be precise."
"How is that possible, sir?" Riddle asked. "Time travel has fascinated researchers for centuries, but it hasn't been made possible yet."
"Yes, it's amazing, isn't it? How did it happen again, Harry?" Slughorn nodded encouragingly at his newest student, visibly enjoying the show he was directing.
"Uh. I had an accident in the Department of Mysteries, at the Ministry of Magic. I might not be able to go back."
"What were you doing in the Department of Mysteries?" Riddle wanted to know.
"I can't say."
"Harry had to swear an oath," Professor Slughorn hurried to explain. "A magically binding oath which prevents him from speaking of the future."
"Ah, to protect the timeline," Riddle said. Then he smiled charmingly at Harry, apparently deciding to go along with the story, and offered his hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Harry. Please, call me Tom."
Harry got the distinct impression that Riddle didn't believe a word of what he and Slughorn were saying. He narrowed his eyes a little but took the hand and shook it. "Nice to meet you, too, Tom."
Slughorn set his hands on both their shoulders like a proud father blessing his daughter's arranged engagement. "I can already see the wonderful friendship ahead of you!" Then he clapped their shoulders so firmly that both boys' knees buckled slightly, and changed the subject. "Now, Tom. Harry went to Hogwarts before, in the future you see, but he was sorted into a different house. He'll need you to show him around the Slytherin territory. Can you do that for me?"
"Of course, Professor. I'd be glad to."
"Excellent! I'll leave you boys to it then, if you don't mind. Lots of work to do, homework to grade, I'm sure you understand." Then he left, in the opposite direction of the dungeons, humming a cheerful tune and with a victorious bounce in his step.
Harry was now left alone with Tom Riddle. He was actually quite grateful for the Oath of Unspeakability, because as sure as his name was Harry James Potter he would have given everything away the second he had seen the other boy if it weren't for enchantment.
"Shall we go, then?" Riddle asked after a short silence, extending an arm the way Harry had come from. There was a slightly mocking air to the gesture that Harry couldn't miss.
"Sure."
They set off down the hall towards the nearest staircase leading down. As they walked Harry took the opportunity to internally give himself a sound lashing. He could not believe that he had actually forgotten that Tom Riddle had been at Hogwarts in the early 1940s. The Chamber of Secrets had been first opened fifty years before. It had even said in the Prefect and Head Boy records he and his best friends had examined that Riddle had attended Hogwarts right at this time. For goodness sake, Harry had seen both Dippet and Dumbledore inside the cursed diary, exactly as they were now, and he hadn't made the connection when he was talking to them! Stupidity of this scale was unforgivable, simply unforgivable!
"So, what house were you in before now?" Riddle asked politely.
"Gryffindor."
"That's quite a dramatic change, then."
"Yeah," Harry muttered unhappily. "At least Professor Slughorn seems alright."
"So he won't be at Hogwarts anymore in the 1990s?"
Harry rolled his eyes to himself. Why have this conversation at all? Maybe Riddle was trying to see how far Harry would take his lie. "I'll let you figure that out."
Riddle chuckled. "Well, I'm sure you will find out that Slytherin isn't so bad after all. A word of advice though – you may not want to be too vocal about your Gryffindor background. It might undermine the others' opinion of you."
"Yeah, I was thinking that might be best."
When they reached the dungeons, Riddle took the lead, pointing out landmarks that would help him remember the way to the common room. Harry was glad for the tips and tried hard to memorise them. The Slytherin common room was hidden behind many obscure twists and turns, something he and Ron had been chagrined to learn during that ill-advised Polyjuice adventure in second year.
They arrived at a stretch of blank stone wall, and Harry remembered that this was how the dormitories were concealed.
"The password is sovereignty," Riddle said and a portion of the wall moved aside, "but it's due to be changed soon."
Harry wondered if the Slytherins always had such self-important passwords.
"The classes are finishing right about now, so the common room will be filling up soon," the other boy remarked as they entered. "You'll get to meet most of the others. I'll introduce you to my friends."
Harry wasn't looking forward to that, but nodded anyway. He looked around the common room with interest. It was much like he remembered it being during his own brief visit there before. The ceiling hung low, green shaded lamps dangling from it and illuminating the room. At the back, a fire was burning merrily in the grate. Tall-backed armchairs and leather couches were arranged in groups, and there were a few lower year students doing homework at tables scattered around the room.
The windows looked out into the bottom of the lake. Harry paused to stare at the passing fish, feeling slightly awed despite himself.
The overall atmosphere of the common room was very gloomy compared to the bright, warm colours and squishy couches of Gryffindor Tower. The fish were a nice touch, but Harry already missed sunshine and the view of the mountains. He hoped he would grow used to living here.
"The boys' dormitories are down this corridor," Riddle said, leading him through an archway on the right hand side of the common room. "You're a fifth year, aren't you – the same as me?"
"Yes."
"Then it's the third door on the right, here. Oh, they've already set up a bed for you."
There were six four-poster beds in the large square room, not unlike the ones in Harry's old dormitory, but with dark green silk hangings instead of the red velvet. His bed was the only one with no trunk sitting at the foot of it, at the back of the room. There was a large cabinet for his clothes standing next to it.
"When will you be getting your school things?" Riddle inquired.
"Tomorrow, supposedly," Harry said, opening the door of his cabinet and inspecting the empty insides. "Professor Dippet said they're mail ordering them. Right now I don't own anything but my wand and the few Galleons I had on me at the Ministry."
Riddle sat down on what Harry guessed was his own bed, adjacent to Harry's. "Correct me if my assumption is wrong, but are you not one of the Potters of old money?"
"Well, yes," Harry shrugged, closing the drawer he had peeked in and turning around to face the boy, "but technically I haven't been born yet, so I can't exactly make any demands on my relatives' fortune."
Tom leaned back on his hands and smirked, lifting one mocking eyebrow. "But I'm sure if you made your presence known to them and gave them the right hints they wouldn't mind paying for your living. A pure-blood should always be entitled to his own."
Harry shrugged stiffly in response.
Just then, the dormitory door opened and in came two boys, chatting about the day's lessons and digging out their texts books to put them away in their trunks. They stopped short to stare when they spotted the stranger in blue robes, and the furniture that hadn't been there before. Riddle stood up to meet them.
"Avery, Rosier – this is Harry Potter," he said. "He has just arrived a bit late – or early, as we might have it." He allowed the boys to cast him quizzical looks before continuing. "According to Slughorn, he has come from the future. The 1990s, to be exact."
"What?" one of the boys, with sandy coloured hair, asked in a tone that questioned his sanity, letting his book bag fall to the floor with and irritable thump.
"Exactly what I said. Professor Slughorn has told me that Potter here has journeyed through time to come to us, and why shouldn't we believe Professor Slughorn?"
Harry had been teased and ostracised and pushed around enough in his life to know when someone was trying to put him down. However, the time was long past when had let himself be dominated by school yard bullies. Besides, both Avery and Rosier were the names of Death Eaters, and no Death Eater would get the better of Harry if he could help it, much less Voldemort himself.
"You can believe whatever you will," he said, "I don't really care. I might not be able to speak about anything that will happen, but I will tell you this. I'm not afraid of you." He fixed Riddle with a baleful look. "And I'm not afraid of a name."
Time seemed to freeze for a moment, and then Riddle's face shifted, acquiring a guarded look, realisation dawning in his eyes as though he were seeing Harry properly for the first time. Harry remembered – in the Chamber of Secrets the boy before him had told him that he had already been using the name Lord Voldemort in school, with his closest friends only, and that it had been his intention to make it so that people would fear to speak it.
"I see," Riddle said finally.
Harry could almost see the re-evaluation and speedy calculations whirl behind his eyes as he worked to fit this new variable into his plans. Then the look disappeared to be replaced with a smile, but one that was unlike the artificial polite smiles he had given him earlier.
"And you don't have to be afraid of us, or of any name." He spread his hands to the sides in a compelling, open gesture. "I'm sorry, Harry. I think we got off on the wrong foot. But you must understand my earlier scepticism – I was told that you had done something that is considered impossible without being offered any proof. I hope you can forgive me."
He offered his hand to be shaken for the second time.
