Harry gave him a blinding smile, "Hi!" He grinned at the other, who was visibly taken aback by his enthusiasm.

"Hi… what are you doing behind a tapestry?" Riddle asked slowly, looking at him as if he were a particularly difficult puzzle. Harry couldn't help but feel just a bit proud at leaving the other so wrong-footed. He thought about the question for a moment, wondering how best to answer. His grin slipped, "I – uh - thought you were a teacher, didn't really fancy detention this early on in the year."

"Hmm," the other looked like he didn't believe him, still studying him with those penetrating eyes that made Harry feel transparent, as if Riddle could see right through his bravado.

"Anyway I better get back to the tower before I run into an actual teacher, it's getting late." Harry said hurriedly spinning around. He got two steps before the body-bind curse hit him and he fell flat on his face. He felt hot pain explode in his nose as it hit the concrete, unable to move his arms to break his fall. Judging by the flow of blood creeping up around the edges of his view it was almost certainly broken.

Tom sighed behind him and when he spoke his voice was colder than the flagstones Harry now lay on. "You've been ignoring me, Harry. I do not tolerate people ignoring me."

Harry felt ice plummeting down to his stomach as the other stepped slowly towards him. He almost felt the air move as a wand was pointed at his back. He couldn't help it as his muscles tense, anticipating pain and bracing for the impact.

"Stupefy!" Everything went dark.

"Ennervate." Harry was quick to wake up. Surprised to find himself able to move again he jumped up, looking at his surroundings. He was in a large room that he didn't recognise. One wall was lined with an ornate floor-to-ceiling bookshelf filled to bursting with books. The far wall held alcoves in which stood what looked strangely like shop dummies. The centre of the room appeared to be empty, creating a large clear space. The only furniture not pushed back to the walls was a ring of comfortable sofas and a few low tables arranged around a large fireplace situated in the middle of the wall closest to Harry. Sat in one of the seats was Riddle, observing him as if he were some sort of interesting bug. Harry tried to push back the images of Dudley frying ants with a magnifying glass with that exact same expression on his fat face.

"You stunned me!" Harry accused him, trying to subtly search the room for a method of escape. The smooth walls had no windows, and as far as Harry could see, no door. This was bad.

"Yes," the young Dark Lord replied with a vaguely amused smile, "I wouldn't have had to if you didn't keep avoiding me – sit."

Harry cautiously approached the sofa he had indicated. Every part of him was screaming for him to run.

"Really Harry, if I wanted to harm you do you really think I would extend this hospitality? Sit." The instruction was stronger this time, more insistent. Harry complied. Putting his hand in his pocket he was reassured to find his wand still there, perhaps Riddle really didn't mean to hurt him? Then again maybe he was just confident he could beat Harry just as easily with his wand as without. If so he was probably right. A shiver ran down his back.

Riddle sat in his customary relaxed and elegant pose, "I must admit I was quite surprised to find myself ignored. I thought we made an agreement back in your godfather's house, I thought we were research partners." He practically purred, smile that of a big cat stalking its prey.

Harry laughed. "Well you didn't exactly seem to need my input once you had the information you wanted from me."

"Are you that eager for my attention, Harry?" The words were playful but there was a hard undertone seeping through, reinforced by the ice shards in his eyes. Harry knew that he was seeing the real Tom Riddle, the boy that had grown to kill indiscriminately. He silently wished he could run; Gryffindor bravery be damned. Maybe the bookcase hid the exit? He was fast and agile as a result of running from Dudley's gang for so many years, but Riddle was taller and if he was wrong about the door things could get very dangerous.

"You wish," Harry scoffed, maybe it was safer not to run or fight. Maybe a more Slytherin approach was needed. As much as Harry hated to associate himself with the snakes, there was a reason the hat had considered placing him with them in his first year. Indeed, it would make it easier to complete Dumbledore's task if Riddle and he were to be in regular contact. "Anyway, if you actually are interested in working with me then there are probably more important things we could be discussing."

Riddle sensed his unease, smirking, "Does the idea make you uncomfortable?" His voice was mocking, practically dripping with sweetness.

"No," Harry snapped back too fast. He took a deep breath, "Can you really blame me? You have a history of trying to murder me!"

The other laughed, "Relax, 'saviour', where's all that bravery the books talk about?" Harry bristled, but Riddle continued before he could send a retort, "You are actually correct though, there are definitely more interesting things for us to discuss."

He turned to pull a bag of what appeared to be books from the side of his chair, leaning to pull three heavy looking tomes from the top. He strode across to Harry, dumping them in his arms rather unceremoniously. "Here, I need you to study these. I have several more to study myself." He indicated the bag behind him, "Look for anything that might suggest a reason my previous self might have targeted your family, I think a week should be sufficient for a thorough study. Meet me back here after curfew seven days from now." He paused, giving Harry the bug stare again although his tone was casual. "See that's all I wanted. Do you think next time you can forego the avoiding me so I don't have to kidnap you again?"

He seemed to take Harry's silence as consent as, throwing a blinding smile over his shoulder, the other turned to swing his bag over his shoulder and headed for the blank stretch of wall opposite the bookcases. Just before he reached the wall Riddle waved his wand and a large door seemed to melt its way out of the masonry in front of him. A second later the young dark lord was gone and Harry was left alone with his thoughts and the books he had been given.

Still slightly in shock after being stunned and effectively kidnapped by someone that had professed the desire to kill him numerous times, Harry slumped over the sofa in no hurry to move. Idly, he turned three heavy tomes around, studying the titles. His heart dropped to the bottom of his stomach. All three books appeared to be on Dark Magic;

Darke Secrets

Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts

Magical Manipulations

These were the kind of books that lived in the restricted section, the ones that would bite your appendages off if you tried to open them without the proper countercurses. The kind of books that only teachers were allowed to take out, though Harry couldn't imagine why any of them (except perhaps Snape) would want to.

He couldn't read these books: dark magic was forbidden, it was evil. How could the boy-who-lived lower himself to studying the magic that had made him an orphan in the first place, no matter how curious he might be?

Harry hid the books at the bottom of the bag, loathe to touch them for any longer, as if they might taint him with their malice. Riddle must be laughing; he must have done this deliberately knowing full well how Harry would react.

He pulled himself to his feet and across the large room to the door (that had thankfully not disappeared again after the young dark lord had exited). He found himself, to his immense surprise, on the seventh floor corridor. He recognised it by the portrait opposite, a particularly garish piece depicting some idiot wizard that had thought it might be a good idea to teach trolls ballet. He had never noticed this room before.

He turned around only to see the door fade behind him, and the wall become smooth once more. Harry pulled his wand out, waving it in the same general motion as Riddle had when he had exited the strange room, but the wall just stared impassively back at him, immovable as he had always believed it to be. Confused, Harry returned to the common room, so lost in thought that he did not even stop to listen to the Fat Lady berate him for being out so late and cutting her off mid-sentence when he gave her the password.

Ron and Hermione were still sat at the same table when he entered, but he ignored them waving him over. He was uncomfortably aware of the books at the bottom of his bag – there was no way he could let his two best friends see them. What would they say if they thought he was studying the Dark Arts? Instead he hurried up to the (luckily empty) dormitory and frantically pulled everything out of his trunk, stashing the books underneath quickly as if they might bite him. He would have to find some way to get rid of them, maybe he could just give them back to Riddle, embarrassing as it would be to see the other smirk. Rubbing his eyes, Harry allowed himself to flop onto his four poster bed. Ron and Hermione would be waiting for news of his meeting with Dumbledore, but maybe it could wait until the morning… He really was quite tired.

Harry opened his eyes to the Slytherin common room. He recognised it from his infiltration with Ron in second year. He was sat on one of the leather sofas next to the fire, poised as if relaxed, although he could feel the tension thrumming throughout his taut muscles. The rest of the common room was deserted, the silence deafening. He was waiting. His head shot up as the entrance opened, admitting Dennis Chapman, a sixth year.

"Ah, Chapman, I trust it is done?" Harry drawled, inwardly freezing as he heard the voice coming out of his mouth. It was Riddle's. This could not be happening.

"It is." The burly young man grinned at him. He felt a flash of anger shoot through his body, the boy was insolent.

"It is, what?" Harry could hear the malice dripping from his tongue and preyed the other Slytherin would pick up on it as well.

Apparently he did, "I…It is, my Lord. Sorry, my Lord." Tom scoffed. Apparently even the idiot Slytherins of this day and age had a decent sense of self preservation.

"Better," He smiled and flicked his wand towards the present day boy who gasped with sudden pain as a crack sounded echoing in the corners of the room. "Do not forget it again." Tom ordered.

"Yes.. my Lord," Chapman gasped through gritted teeth, holding his arm at an odd angle.

Harry woke up in a cold sweat.

He lay staring up at the ceiling of his bed as his breathing gradually calmed down. Of course he still had the link, the world must really hate him. It surprised him that he was still getting the visions of Voldemort, he didn't know why, after all Riddle was still the same person albeit younger. He felt the bizarre urge to run down to the dungeons to help the Slytherin sixth year (Chapman wasn't it?), but knew it was useless. He hadn't seen Voldemort use a single verbal spell. The other was so much more advanced than him, even at this age, it was almost laughable. If Voldemort managed to find a way to regain his memories Harry would have to fight him head on. If things remained as they were he would be slaughtered without question. He would have to train, and train hard. He fell into a troubled sleep wondering exactly what it was Dennis Chapman had done for Tom Riddle.