On the morning of September the second Tom used a clever spell to hide dark circles under his eyes. Then, having schooled his expression into that of an earnest, dedicated student, with his head held high, he headed to the Great Hall for breakfast.
Slughorn was already, Tom noticed to his moderate displeasure, waiting with a neat stack of new schedules for his students and unfortunately – to Tom's great displeasure – so was Dumbledore. The sight of his Transfiguration professor was highly undesirable under normal circumstances, but that morning, when Tom's polite smile was already so very strained, and the old fool actually had the gall to look at him with what appeared to be a worry -
Tom greeted him with a perfectly civilised good morning and a raised eyebrow, quite mockingly so, just to let the man know the sentiment was not appreciated.
But then, there was Slughorn. Tom found the Potion Master mildly annoying at best, but that particular morning the jovial, old man was nothing short of insufferable. Tom pretended to be interested in his incessant chatter, all the while grinding his teeth and shooting nervous glances towards the entrance.
He got his schedule eventually and he starred at it blankly for some time, once he had got to his seat, trying to quell his irrational fears and get his emotions back under control. It was ridiculous, he knew – there was no way an Auror squad was going to storm the castle and attempt to arrest him, for Merlin's sake, just because that boy did truly exist, it didn't mean he was be in the know regarding Tom's involvement with the attacks on mudbloods from two years before!
And yet, here he was, mournfully stirring his porridge, wishing his hands would stop shaking.
He tried to reason with himself. There was no way that dream – as always, he felt a phantom pain in his chest at the recollection of it – could have somehow, impossibly so been a glimpse of a real life event. No, not when Tom had seen to it. That dream... The boy in the Chamber, Tom's diary stabbed with a Basilisk fang – was but a fantasy of his restless mind.
The boy knew nothing, so there was nothing he could accuse Tom of.
Unfortunately, reason meant very little to Tom that morning, as he eventually gave in to his paranoia and discretely curled his fingers around his wand; he was not going to be taken by surprise and he had already decided he would blast his way out, if needed, appearances be damned.
He absolutely loathed being reduced to such pitiful stance, he thought as he marched out of the Great Hall some time later, leaving his porridge untouched. But if there was one thing that could get everything back on track, he thought, it was finding out what on earth had happened the day before.
And find out he would, and so help him, he was not above using questionable and downright illegal ways to do just that.
. . .
A week has passed and two things became evident.
For one – if no Auror squad tried to storm the castle insofar, they weren't going to do so at all. Satisfied with said conclusion, Tom forced himself to relax.
The second realisation, however, made Tom feel far less pleased.
What little free time Tom had left between classes and his Head Boy duties that passed week, he sorely dedicated to his obsessive research. He painstakingly turned page after page in the same dusty, old volumes the Restricted Section had to offer. He read from cover to cover, for the umpteenth time, the Grimoires he borrowed from his gullible pureblooded house mates and conveniently forgot to return – because there still could be something he had missed.
All that effort, however, was yet again proven a terrible waste of time. But while still at Hogwarts, there was little more he could do. Between Dumbledore's watchful gaze and being forced to sit through the classes he long since learned on his own, his hands were tied – and it frustrated him to no end. Had he been the Ministry's employee, he would be able to use connections, threats, or became Unspeakable himself, Merlin knew with his marks even Department of Mysteries would welcome him with open arms among its midst – to worm his way down to the ninth level and finally get to the bottom of this.
He remembered some of his friends had family members in high places in the Ministry and well, that was something Tom could work with, especially since said friends, deeply...troubled with his continuous foul mood, were very eager to get into his good graces. But all that eagerness was for naught as well, as it turned out soon after. The Unspeakables kept the whole Accident so frustratingly hush-hush, the majority of Ministry's employees weren't even aware someone was brought to the ninth level that evening. The press was also left in the dark; with exception of one short article, published on the page eleven, no less, not a single word has been written on the matter.
...Merlin, but Tom had to understand what had happened that evening! It was far worse than his fruitless research of Horcruxes had been; that seemed like a childish whim to him, now. But this – the weeping child, the bloodied young man, dreams that maybe weren't dreams at all... This Tom needed to understand, because otherwise, nothing would ever make any sense again.
Ironically, it was Slughorn who finally shed some light on the issue – just as it had been with the Horcruxes. Tom could tell the plump old man was dying to share everything he knew about the Accident with his favourite pupils, so during the first Slug Club party of the season, once Tom deemed his Potion Master has had just enough punch, he was almost obliged to ask the man the right question.
All Slughorn knew, though, was not that much after all, so the major breakthrough only came few days later – over two weeks after the Accident, to be exact, when the Head of the Houses shared with their pupils some rather important news.
They were both silent for some time.
Everything the Head Unspeakable disclosed to Harry so far - ...it was a lot to take in. He didn't like the sound of most of it, but he had yet to wrap his head about the whole concept, and maybe, just maybe -
Accepting his fate and bravely going to meet it would have been the wiser thing to do.
No, he couldn't afford getting emotional over it right now. If the passed year, constantly on the run from Voldemort, taught him anything, it was the need of cool detachment. First, establish the crucial matters concerning the situation at hand. Time for emotional turmoil would always come later.
He cleared his throat to caught the Unspeakable's attention. "So, what are you going to with me?" he asked. "I mean, since I cannot change the future and you don't know how to send be back to 1998... You're not going to keep me here, are you?" he said, struck with a sudden apprehension.
Merlin knew Harry had enough of the ninth level to last him for a lifetime.
Selwyn shook his head. "No."
Harry breathed a sigh of relief.
"Our priority is to keep the knowledge of future events secure, especially from the Dark Lord Grindewald. His sympathisers won't be able to leak information from our department. The data is strictly classified and excluding me, only two Unspeakables who interrogated you share your knowledge about the future. And the three of us are master Occlumenses."
"Uh, all right?" it didn't really answer Harry's question, but he appreciated being informed of this nevertheless.
"What's left, is the matter of your security Mr. Potter, and as much as I would like to deny it – there far too many wizards working here, who sympathise with Grindewald's cause."
"Well, then...? Where are you going to move me?"
Although Selwyn kept his expression carefully blank, Harry got an impression the man was suddenly very uncomfortable. Harry narrowed his eyes.
"There are only two completely secure places in the magical Great Britain," Selwyn stated and sipped his potion.
Harry starred at him expectantly, willing him to continue.
"What do you think they are, Mr. Potter?" the Unspeakable inquired, now looking quite sour.
"It's not a roundabout way of saying you're sending me off to Hogwarts, is it?"
Selwyn stayed suspiciously silent.
"Because, you know... The teenage Dark Lord is there," Harry reminded him, carefully pronouncing each word, as if he was talking to a particularly slow child. Or to his cousin, Dudley.
"I realise it's not a perfect solution -"
"Not a perfect -?" Harry gapped, incredulous. "Oh, I beg to differ! It's the worse solution there is!" well, so much for not loosing his temper. "I can't believe you! For the last half an hour you've been hammering no changes into my skull and then you're just sending me off to Tom bloody Riddle's playground!"
Selwyn discretely checked his notes. "Right, you said it's Tom Riddle that's going to be the Dark Lord..." he starred at the page for a moment, thoughtful, disregard of fuming Harry. "Such a bright student. What a terrible waste."
"Bright student indeed, but that's not an issue here!" he snarled.
Only when Selwyn jumped in his seat, startled, Harry realised he unconsciously lapsed into Parseltounge.
"...you might want to refrain from that in Hogwarts," the man remarked, quickly composing himself.
"You can't be serious," Harry crossed his arms over his chest.
"The other completely secure place is Azkaban," Selwyn offered, offhandedly.
...Oh.
"Actually, in the great scheme of things putting you there would be less risky than sending you to Hogwarts. But then, Law Enforcement would get involved and too many wizards with...questionable loyalties would get access to this case. Headmaster Dippet, however, understands our need of secrecy and is willing to cooperate.
"Believe me, Mr. Potter, I know it's not a perfect solution. We're choosing between two evils. Things are at risk either way, either with you being tempted to change the course of evens, or with Dark Lord Grindewald finding out about the future – and his own downfall."
"And, in the end, you choose – what? You decided I'm the lesser evil?" he asked, feeling oddly upset. "You know what?"
The Unspeakable raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
There were many things Harry was tempted to say; but then, Selwyn would retort, Harry would get even more upset, and everything would still come down to him being shipped to Hogwarts.
"Oh, screw it. All right, I'll go there."
Fifty four years into future, Lord Voldemort was waiting in Forbidden Forest for his prophesied enemy – and suddenly, remembered something strange.
Sometime during his first rise to power he has taken up a habit of using Pensieve. There were so many things on his mind at that time, so many thoughts crowded in his head, he otherwise wouldn't be able to focus on any task. Only at night, when sleep continued to allude him, he picked up those thoughts and memories, and spent hours watching his past.
He couldn't pinpoint when exactly, but he noticed them eventually – and realised that indeed, whenever something significant happened on his way to greatness, they were always there. Impassively watching from the sidelines. And he, Lord Voldemort, has always seen them from the corner of his eye.
Two men, always the same. Unspeakables, judging by the colour of their robes.
(To ensure everything would happen the way it should, a thought flickered in his mind.)
...Now that he thought about it – wasn't those two Unspeakables and their enigmatic presence the reason he decided to recruit Rookwood into his ranks? But somehow, Voldemort forgot to ask him about them and that was very unlike him.
Voldemort frowned.
Something strange was at work in here.
