Chapter 4: Distraction

The Muggle world. An abhorrent place to visit and even more irritating in light of the company he was forced to endure.

Goading Harry Potter had distracted Tom enough during breakfast to push away the rampant emotions he was dealing with. Still, watching the boy, no the man, barely three years younger than him, didn't take away from the ever present situation he was now trapped in.

2001.

A world that intended to forget his very existence.

Clenching his hands, he walked alongside Potter, crossing the street and ignoring the ongoing traffic.

The Muggle world of the 21st century couldn't even be compared to the 40's or anything Tom could've imagined.

Filth like that shouldn't have developed as far as they did, inventing new cars and building skyscrapers that dominated this place. Looking up, he inspected the gleaming lights, the billboards depicting advertisement after advertisement. Scantily clad women and men, bright colors drawing the eye; all of it created a different kind of progress. One he'd never expected.

It's as if everyone had decided after World War II, that consumerism would replace the need to conquer other nations. Evidently, it worked.

Muggles, dressed in suits and a variety of styles rushed past them, in a hurry to get to work or school. Tom couldn't decide whether to appreciate this new London, with its familiar sights surrounded by unfamiliar developments, or to loath it.

Potter, of course, didn't notice anything. Speaking of him, the tense line of his back was distracting, too.

From time to time, he would throw him one of his looks, the ones that told Tom he was still on the verge of doubting him.

Potter wouldn't attack him again, not without solving why Tom had appeared in this world in the first place. It suited him just fine. They were both on the same page for now.

Time travel was such a precarious issue, and many things could go wrong. Of course, Tom would adapt, trying to fit his plans neatly into this time without making any compromises. Potter could hold onto his delusions all he wanted and Tom would simply encourage him.

"You're planning something." Potter didn't falter in his steps, merely glancing at him.

The subtle challenge, posited in both the way he acted and talked, made this game between them much more enjoyable.

"Whatever makes you say that?" Tom asked, matching the boy's steps. "It's not like I have much information to go on."

They were approaching one of the Apparition spots, near Kensington Palace. The Muggle tourists swept past them like a herd that was automatically drawn to the sights.

"I don't trust you."

"You'd be a fool, if you did," Tom whispered, the corners of his mouth pulling upward.

Potter stopped before a wall, looking around to see if any Muggles noticed them.

"I suppose you could just tell everybody that the Dark Lord is back. I'm sure they would help you get rid of me a second time," the older wizard continued smoothly.

And they both knew announcing this would cause a mass panic. Potter truly had nothing to threaten him with.

The boy eyed him carefully then, disdain and frustration brightening those green eyes. "I'm still wondering whether or not to simply toss you into Azkaban and be done with it. You haven't even given me a reason why I should consider your wellbeing at all."

"Because I haven't done anything to you or your loved ones."

Yet.

It remained without saying and Potter's lips tightened.

"You're far from innocent, Riddle," the boy uttered, tapping the brick stone with his wand in an intricate pattern. "Shall I remind you of the crimes you already committed. The bloody Basilisk, Myrtle."

Tom closed his eyes briefly, reigning in his own anger. So Potter knew about that, too. It didn't exactly help, but navigating this minefield of a future with an enemy who knew more than even Dumbledore had known, upped the stakes.

Making sure his expression revealed nothing, he fully turned towards the other wizard, considering him. Potter's anger was palpable, a strong emotion that told Tom everything he needed to know about the boy's temper.

"You have studied my background. Congratulations, Potter," he said, unimpressed. The Anti-Apparition wards fell away and the wall shifted.

Potter sneered, motioning him forward. Green fire flickered around them instantly and Tom clasped his hands behind his back.

"You're still a killer. You're a Dark Lord. That makes you my business."

"On what authority?" the dark wizard asked, voice pleasant. Potter's arrogance was a sight to behold.

He'd have to reconsider, though. Potter wasn't as selfless and meek as the papers and books made him out to be.

Tom stepped into the fire, returning Potter's gaze. "You're not an Auror and as far as I know no law can persecute me for something I haven't even done in this world. But you're welcome to try."

With that, he disappeared, not even waiting for the hero of the wizarding world.

The Atrium welcomed Harry the same way it always did. With pointed fingers and whispering. The people who recognized him stopped what they were doing; gaping or considering whether to approach him directly or not.

He'd have to make himself as unapproachable as possible today. With a young Voldemort at his side, anything could happen, and there were still enough people alive who would recognize Tom Riddle on the spot.

Before arriving, Riddle had possessed enough foresight to pull up the hood of his cloak. And that in itself surprised Harry far more than Riddle's mild, taunting words had done earlier.

Tom had complied with everything, hadn't attacked him again, and hadn't done anything that would compromise or hinder Harry.

He'd accepted the Caiatus Ward easily, and while Harry knew he couldn't control the man forever, Tom made it easier for him to do so.

Harry would always need to remind himself that this Tom Riddle was first and foremost an actor, a charmer.

Someone who played with people, someone who made them dance to his tune until the music encased them completely like a spell that wouldn't wear off.

If Harry lowered his guard for even one second, Tom would manipulate him as easily as he'd done with everyone else. And Harry knew how simple it would be, after having fallen for Voldemort's ploys over and over again.

Making sure that no one was following them, Harry caught Tom's careful observation of the masses, the way dark eyes swept past everyone, no doubt cataloguing threats and just taking it all in.

They hurried past the statues and made their way over to one of the lifts, quickly stepping inside.

The lift closed behind them and as soon as they began moving down, Harry let out an inaudible sigh of relief.

First part done.

"So that's what it's like. Being the Boy Who Lived," Riddle mused, startling Harry. The man was standing closer to him than necessary.

Relaxing his shoulders, Harry faced the front.

"Want to switch places? I'm sure someone like you would enjoy the fame and all that."

He couldn't see Riddle's expression, but something told Harry that the man was enjoying himself.

"Someone like me?" Riddle's voice drifted impossibly close. The man chuckled, probably having sensed Harry's discomfort. "Certainly. But while it gives you immense power over the masses-"

Harry stiffened at that.

"- that kind of fame restricts your movements, your privacy," Riddle said, amused. "It becomes more difficult to hide in the shadows."

"And obviously you wouldn't want that," Harry mocked, trying to shake away his unease. "Funny how Voldemort always relished in his fame. And unlike you, he didn't have much to hide anymore."

"Welcome to the Department of Mysteries," a cheerful voice announced, and the lift stopped.

Pushing away, Harry was about to step outside, but a hand on his shoulder made him stop.

"You're wrong about that Harry," Riddle hissed, his hand tightening briefly.

He sounded exactly like Voldemort, the way Harry's name fell from the man's lips in a smooth tone. Arrogant, conceited.

Intimate.

Merlin, the power Tom held over him with just a few syllables didn't make it easier to hold onto his control.

"I know myself well enough and while my counterpart might have enjoyed openly acting against his enemies, against you, what he enjoyed even more was the ability to make you wait for it," Riddle breathed in his ear, before stepping away.

Their shoulder brushed and Harry watched him go, not daring to breathe. Just feeling the words unravel in his mind.

How was he supposed to work with this man? How was he supposed to get rid of him?

It was true. Riddle was making him wait, pushing Harry into a position where he could only react to what was thrown his way.

And that's why he could only march on. It's the kind of thing he was built for, after all; stumbling across dangerous situations and letting his instincts carry him further.

Tom was starting to adapt, though, burying his initial confusion and anger and focusing instead on Harry in order to rattle him, a punishment for what happened. He was playing with him already, initiating a game Harry wasn't prepared for.

To what end, Harry couldn't tell. But he would react when the time came. And he would win.

Pushing up his glasses, he started to move.

The Department of Mysteries hadn't changed and the memories that came with it felt just as sluggish and inaccessible as they always had in the years after the war. But the cold, the unnatural cold down here made him grit his teeth.

Harry walked behind Riddle, not taking his eyes away from the wizard who seemed to know his way around this place.

Luckily for him, they didn't have to endure the silence between them further. One of the Unspeakables standing near the familiar entrance to the department noticed their approach.

"Mr. Potter," the figure called, pulling down the hood of his robe and revealing a sharp-featured face, prominent wrinkles lining the man's forehead. "Didn't expect to see you down here any time soon."

Grimacing, Harry allowed himself to walk past Riddle, offering his hand in greeting.

"It's good to see you again, Unspeakable Wigram."

The Unspeakable threw a disinterested glance in Riddle's direction, making Harry smirk. Unspeakables were the best people for a job like this, discrete and unfazed, never asking unnecessary questions.

It also helped that Harry had saved Wigram's daughter during the war. A lot of people owed him and now wasn't the time to feel reluctant about using them in return. He had a young Dark Lord to deal with.

Harry refrained from any introductions and Tom merely observed them in silence, not at all insulted.

"I've made copies of the manuscripts and books you asked for," Wigram began, fingers twitching nervously, as he reached for his wand. "But you need to be careful when you take them with you. Minister Shacklebolt will have my head if he realizes I gave them to you."

With a flick, books and parchment appeared in his hands and Riddle's expression turned interested. Of course, a bookworm like him would instantly feel the need to read them all. Harry snapped his gaze back to Wigram.

"The Minister didn't authorize it?" Harry asked carefully, surprised. "I thought you would ask him."

Wigram bit his lips. "We can't, Mr. Potter. Usually we're not allowed to pass on information from the department to any civilian asking. And you are-"

"A civilian," Riddle ended, leaning forward. His amusement barely contained.

"I see." Harry stared at the books.

And that was the downside to it all, Harry thought. Refusing to be the public face of the ministry, either as an Auror or politician, made it harder to gain access to valuable information. He could rely on others to help him for now. But in the future, when his actions and name faded from the wizarding world's mind, Harry would have more trouble protecting himself and more importantly, his friends. Hermione, Ron. Hell, even Teddy, who'd be vulnerable.

It disturbed him.

"Well, thanks anyway," Harry said, frowning at his own thoughts. He needed to focus on the Riddle issue for now. "Is that all you have on time turners and other items?"

The letter he'd sent Wigram earlier hadn't contained any information on the necklace, but the Unspeakable would be smart enough to parse Harry's question.

"It will be enough for now," Riddle interrupted, motioning for Harry to take them.

Right.

Taking out his infinite handbag, Harry quickly took the offered material, glancing at some of the titles before putting it all away. He'd rather not have Riddle snooping around before Harry could assess them.

He still didn't trust the dark wizard, certain that there were a few pieces of information about the necklace the man hadn't yet shared with Harry.

And that's where the next step came in.

"Before we leave, I just wanted to ask you something." Unbuttoning his collar, Harry's fingers pulled out the necklace, making sure that the orb was still safely entrapped by his magic.

He could literally feel Riddle's irritation seeping through, directed at him. The blood ward that linked them together hummed for a moment.

Wigram stared at the necklace, confused. "Is that why you were asking for objects that functioned like time turners?"

"I just need to know if you've seen that necklace before," Harry replied, holding it up for inspection.

The Unspeakable moved forward, reaching for it, but Harry's hand curled around the chain, keeping it away from the man.

"I hope you understand that I can't just hand it over."

Beside him, Riddle let out a small sound, but otherwise remained still.

Wigram's disappointment was evident. "I do, but if you want me to study it closely, the department would gladly help out. "

"So you don't know what this is?" Harry asked.

"Not exactly, my boy. I can only guess." The man shook his head, the corners of his mouth turning downward. "But there's one thing you should know about jewelry like that one." Wigram's hands curled into fists. "Unlike time turners, these objects would need an anchor."

Seeing Harry's bemused expression, the man continued slowly. "If it acts like a time turner, without sand and without the enchantments we place upon it, from what I see, that thing is anchored to something."

Harry didn't see Riddle's face, but the sudden stiffening of his shoulders made him frown. Riddle must have figured something out.

"Like a link?" Harry mused, straightening his collar again. "Why?"

"Because there's a word engraved onto the surface. The soul." The Unspeakable looked around the corridor, before fixing him with a hard stare. "Soul magic, I reckon."

Sighing, Wigram leaned forward again. "Those are tricky things. There are rumors and legends surrounding these kind of objects, nothing concrete of course. But those books I gave you might help," the old man whispered, suddenly pulling a purple envelope out of his pocket.

Harry, sensing that it was time to leave, made sure that his handbag was safely stored away, especially from Riddle, before turning toward Wigram.

"Alright, thank you, sir. I'll let you know if I find something." He wouldn't, but Harry smiled anyway.

Tom inclined his head politely, every bit the gentleman. It seemed to work on the Unspeakable. His tense expression fell away.

"Certainly, Mr. Potter. Oh and before I forget. You should both hurry up." Pointing at the envelope, Wigram held it up and Harry recognized the memo from the Auror department.

"What is it?" he asked.

The Unspeakable shrugged, but his unease returned. "Some sort of raid going on outside, near the visitor's entrance. The Auror department is scrambling for help. I don't know."

"Raid?"

"The alarm was set off before we even arrived," Tom informed. "Let's go." Long fingers curled around Harry's elbow, pulling him in the direction of the lift.

The Unspeakable waved his hands, before disappearing back to the department and Harry was now forced to quicken his footsteps.

"That was incredibly foolish of you," Tom voiced as soon as the lift closed behind them. "You should've never shown him that necklace."

"Thanks for your opinion. I'll keep it in mind the next time another Dark Lord decides to travel through time," Harry shot back, not the least bit interested in that argument.

He couldn't exactly trust Wigram, but he'd pick the old Unspeakable over Riddle's words anytime.

Tom frowned, crossing his arms. "He will investigate it by himself. And withhold more information, in case you ask again."

The lift began to move faster. Riddle's stare never left him.

"You mean the way you do." Harry replied, looking at the wizard, meeting those dark eyes. "I know you've figured something out about the whole soul magic link. The way you reacted...it was obvious."

The man's gaze trailed upward and Harry turned his gaze back to the front, suddenly feeling unsettled. Riddle was looking at his scar.

"And anyway, you're keeping things from me. For example, you didn't tell me where you got it from."

"I will tell you," Tom suddenly said, to Harry's surprise.

The man's smile widened and straightened, as the lift came to a halt. "There's no reason for me not to. But in exchange I'd like to know something."

Of course. Slytherins. Harry wanted to curse.

"Assuming the necklace needs an anchor to make a person travel through time, I only need to know what anchored it," Riddle continued swiftly, watching as the lift's door began to open.

Harry almost gasped, and his heart thudded against his chest.

Now he knew where Riddle was going with this and why he had turned suspicious as soon as the Unspeakable talked about Soul magic.

Oh hell.

Harry immediately began to move, wanting to escape this conversation. Riddle was entirely too smart.

"You're a hypocrite," Tom said, his expression cool. "Accusing me of withholding information when you didn't even bother to tell the full story of my defeat to the wizarding world."

His dark eyes surveyed the scene.

Immediately, Harry followed the direction of his gaze, noting the chaos outside, as Aurors and visitors and other ministry workers pushed past each other, going in different directions. Memos flew over their heads in droves.

"Soul magic," Riddle continued, bored. "Such a complicated branch, especially if one combines it with research regarding time."

Automatically, Harry put more distance between them, refusing to fall for the bait.

Riddle didn't give up. The bastard.

Instead, he moved closer again and now Harry wasn't sure how long he would be able to hold his tongue.

"There's a reason why I arrived at that graveyard and why I arrived precisely at the same time you were there."

Harry felt his own temper rise. Bloody hell.

"Want to tell me more about it? Or why you are my anchor in the first place?"

Wrapping his hand around Riddle's arm, Harry swiftly pushed him past the crowd, keeping them both near the walls.

Horcruxes.

The only link strong enough that would enable one soul to come in contact with another, disregarding space.

Disregarding the barriers of the mind. Harry swallowed, hard, remembering Voldemort's and his own connection.

Disregarding time.

And Riddle was close enough to figuring it out.

Harry never wanted to tell him about his own status as a former Horcrux. Merlin knows, what Riddle would do with that information. But now the man was scratching at the surface of Harry's knowledge, seeking answers. And it would be hard to keep it a secret.

Riddle's previous threats rang true, and the fact that his own substandard Occlumency shields wouldn't hold against a full assault, didn't make this situation pleasant.

He was cornered. Or would be, once they left the ministry.

Riddle was about to say something else, but suddenly another person stepped into their path and Harry thanked every deity in existence for this Blessing.

"Mate, what are you doing here?" Ron asked, touching Harry's shoulder. He was dressed in his standard trainee robes, but he must have been here to guard the entrances, since other trainees were also walking the perimeter of the Atrium.

Harry breathed out, keeping Riddle in his line of vision, noticing his displeasure.

"Needed to straighten out a few things. It's nothing serious," Harry lied, looking around, as more and more visitors disappeared, taking the fireplaces.

Ron glanced briefly between them, at the silent Riddle, not sure what to say. "Well you should better get back home. This place is a mess right now."

And Harry remembered. His friend didn't recognize Voldemort's young form.

In fact, out of all his school friends, only Ginny might be able to. Harry pivoted around, noticing the worried faces around them.

"What's going on?"

Riddle also observed the crowd, his stare impassive.

"A few people outside fighting the Aurors," Ron replied. "We've had issues with them for months, small battles here and there. They've always been fighting near the Muggle-repelling charms, ministry entrances, Diagon Alley, that kind of thing."

The redhead looked over Harry's shoulder, nodding at another trainee. "But we don't even know why."

"Death Eaters?" Harry asked, watching as Riddle's head turned, gaze snapping back to him.

"No, some unknown rogues probably. No one knows. We don't even know if it's political or not. Robards said they never demanded anything," Ron murmured, tugging at his collar.

He looked worried and Harry briefly considered pulling out his own wand, just to be prepared in case they attacked inside the building.

"Kingsley didn't say anything, though," Harry replied. "And the Prophet didn't report on it."

Kingsley should have told him that. He should have told Harry if groups of unknown people were walking around, causing chaos. And then Harry chastised himself, since it was his own fault. Not knowing all that.

He hadn't bothered much with the outside world, before Riddle appeared. Thinking about that made him cringe.

He should care.

Ron gave him a look. "He didn't want to worry you, I guess. And the papers would just cause panic, turning it into a big deal. I wasn't allowed to tell." He clapped his back. "Sorry mate."

"It's fine," Harry said, distracted. "Just be careful, alright? And tell Hermione I'll see her next week."

If he managed to sort out his problem. A problem that was now waiting impatiently for him. Riddle's stare urged him to move. They needed to leave soon.

With every second passing, the ward tying Riddle to him unravelled more and more, and Tom's magic tugged at Harry's insistently, attempting to break it. Somehow, Harry doubted he would even have days left.

Riddle's power could reduce it to hours. And then the world would have another Dark Lord gallivanting around the streets. And even if they solved their problem, making it possible for Riddle to return to the 50's, what would happen then?

The man hadn't wanted to. Could Harry force him?

"Mr. Potter. Mr. Weasley, I hope you aren't disclosing confidential information," a voice interrupted, startling the group, with the exception of Tom.

"Secretary Larke. No, I- I didn't," Ron stuttered, bowing his head. "I just wanted to warn Harry."

Recognizing the witch, one of Baine's assistants, Harry nodded in greeting, and she returned it swiftly, her eyes sharply taking in the scene.

"Good, then I suggest you return to your post," she ordered and Ron, having no choice, left after giving both Harry and Riddle another pointed stare.

Perhaps Ron did recognize Riddle somehow? Harry couldn't remember ever telling his friends more about Riddle's appearance. He'd probably just called him handsome, never mind that the word didn't do the man standing in front of him justice.

Looking at him, and seeing Tom Riddle staring back like that, in the flesh, dark locks framing his face, Harry felt that odd tension between them rising. Could tell that Tom felt it, too. Whatever it was.

"Mr. Potter. It would be best if you left as well," the witch said, lips pursed. "We don't know how long this is going to take and you are a high profile target for anyone."

"That he is," Tom interrupted and Harry was too startled to even react when Riddle's hand smoothly moved over his own, fingers entwining.

What the hell?

Larke frowned at them, and then Harry noticed it. The woman's eyes briefly widened as she took in Riddle's form. Others might have said she was startled by his handsome face or something like that.

Harry doubted it, but the reaction was so swift, so abrupt, he might have imagined it all. Soon, her gaze turned cool again.

Riddle didn't even blink.

He simply nodded at her and then pulled Harry away, directing their steps towards one of the fireplaces. Harry felt the witch's eyes following them.

Unease turned into downright fear. But Harry couldn't really explain it.