Note:

This was meant to be a fic about Harry and Riddle teaming up to fight a greater evil — a Lovecraftian eldritch threat. They were to send themselves back in time, but it doesn't go quite well for Harry. Some humor, some horror. I don't plan on ever continuing this, really, but I didn't want it to go to waste. This was the summary for it:

The Veil which kept the Eldritch Truth away from seeing eyes is ripped away, and horrified by what becomes of the world, Harry travel back in time to stop it. Harry's not sure what's worse, however — the eldritch horrors, teaming up with Tom Riddle, or being reborn in his mother's body.

An Abnormal Amalgamation

Chapter One

Out of the Coffin, into the Dirt

The remnants of Halloween. They were gone now, which was unusual because the town of Godric's Hollow often left the decorations up for two weeks after the holiday. Unusual, but not entirely unexpected due to recent events. Events of which took place on the day of Halloween itself.

Many of the residents thought it in bad taste to leave any sign of Halloween having happened the week before. Or perhaps they wished to move on with their normal lives, to simply forget the horror that had happened in their own town, in a peculiar cottage, where strange people had lived.

Pleasant, oh yes, but strange people nonetheless.

There were odd happenings around the Potter residence. Some claimed they had seen strange lights coming from where they were sure the Potters lived, or had lived — not that anyone was really sure. Their minds became fuzzy when they thought too hard of such matters, and none found this fact unsettling in the slightest. It was perfectly natural, after all, for a whole town to forget where a house stood.

But that was before, and now was today, a cold November night with a sky that flaunted more stars than light pollution ought to have allowed. Today, or rather tonight, the people remained in their homes, most afraid of that which had struck the Potters, for maybe it would come for them next, kill them in such bizarre manners as it had the young couple and their baby son.

In an almost ironic manner, the most superstitious of the lot, the priest, was out and about, walking through the church graveyard as though there was nothing that could frighten him. Or perhaps he knew more than he let on, of the secrets that were bestowed upon old Godric's Hollow so long ago.

He was startled, nonetheless, when he reached the Potter graves.

The dirt that had buried the Potter girl was disturbed. It moved, the small pebbles shifting and the clumps of dirt making room for something. The priest watched with bated breath, unsure of what was to happen, if such a thing as necromancy was even possible with those he had once before called demons and devils.

Perhaps it was time to call them such things again.

A hand shot out from the dirt, and the priest shrieked with fear. He pedaled backward, until his back hit a tall gravestone. Then there were two hands, red hair covered in dirt, a gasping head, torso, and then everything else.

The woman lay on the ground, her eyes closed and her fingers clutching the dirt. Moments passed in silence, until the priest shattered it with a whisper of foolish words.

"Are you the devil?"

The words felt childish coming out of his mouth, but he knew nothing else to say. A dirty hand brushed the hair back from the woman's eyes, green and intense.

"The devil?" she whispered, and she looked momentarily shocked at her own words. "No, I'm no devil, father."

"A deal then?" The priest wanted to slap himself. "A deal with the — with the devil? You're the Potter girl, yes? Strange rumors went around about you and your — "

The woman snorted. "A deal with the devil? I wish. Life might've been fairer then."

The priest clutched his crucifix more tightly, his heart pounding, his ears roaring. "B-But you mean..."

"What could be so terrible that one would wish for a deal with the devil?" she said with genuine curiosity as to what the priest meant. He nodded. "Do you really wish to know?"

The priest gulped. This was unlike anything he had ever encountered before. And her tone, it was grim, foreboding, and telling him to be cautious. He nodded again anyway.

"No, father, you don't." Her vivid green eyes, which would be beautiful on a warm summer day, looked cold and full of untold horrors; terrible tales that came with a befriending of insomnia and nightmares. "I will spare you this one time. Ask once more and I will show you."

"Why wait?"

The voice, bored and unimpressed, had come from the entrance to the graveyard. The priest turned to look, and saw a horrid sight. The man was pale, very pale, but that was the least of his worries. Even through the dark he could see those red eyes glowing.

He passed out.

Tom Riddle raised an eyebrow at the sight. "How pathetic."

The woman sighed. "He literally just asked me if I was the devil," she said, waving her hand airily at the priest, "and then you show up."

"And you, Harry, just crawled out of a grave that's not your own," said Riddle. "I don't think I can take the credit alone for frightening the poor man."

"Speaking of that," the woman said, moving and pointing toward him, "explain this!" She waved her hand frantically over her own body. "Did we jump dimensions? Am I the bloody Girl Who Lived now?"

"You are not the Girl Who Lived," said Riddle, sounding highly amused now. "You're simply Lily Potter."

"No."

"Yes."

"No." She gave a disbelieving, almost-manic laugh. "No."

Riddle looked at her. "Those creatures really did a number on you, didn't they?"

"What?"

"You were always annoying," he said, "but it was a different kind of annoying. Don't look at me like that. You used to be a brooding little cunt, but now you're simply insane."

"Rich."