A.N.~ Thank you AshesGleamandGlow for being my 100th reviewer. Four for you Glen Coco, you go Glen Coco!

Chapter 13

A smirk curled its way across his face as he finally dipped the quill in ink and put nib to paper.

Hello, Sexy. Come here often?

The words stayed on the page longer than Harry expected before they faded away. The wizardling eagerly waited for the response of his Soulmate.

And waited.

and…waited.

With a silent huff of frustration the young Savior put quill to paper once more.

What's the matter? Gryffindor got your tongue?

These words were faster to fade, but still no response appeared. The Boy-Who-Lived stretched out his magic to brush against the diary's and got a sense of perturbed wariness. Maybe he had come on too strong?

Finally a distinctive script appeared.

Hello.

My name is Tom.

Might I ask who you are?

Harry once more felt the tendrils of compulsion, a feather-light touch which the wizardling wouldn't have noticed if he hadn't been devoting his entire attention to the diary. This time he pointedly batted the tender-hooks of his soulmate's magic away.

Rude.

No need for compulsions, Tom. I am happy to answer your questions.

Tom's magic shrunk away, but the feeling of wariness increased. The young Savior could practically feel the gears of that cunning mind turning.

My apologies.

The words faded, and Harry was left staring at a blank page. He got a sense of expectation from the horcrux and merely got comfortable. A minute passed, then two. Finally, with barely controlled irritation, Tom wrote:

Who are you?

And really, for all that Tom Riddle was his Soulmate, the Boy-Who-Lived just couldn't pass up an opportunity like that. So he responded:

I am the one who killed you.

The words disappeared quickly, and with his magic still brushing against the diary's the young Savior knew exactly when his words had sunk in. Shock. Fear…Fury.

Suddenly the magic in the diary surged. Tender-hooks became chains, and Harry's mind was ensnared too fast for him to react. The feeling of being pulled forwards was the same as he remembered from his second year, long ago.

The landing wasn't as nice.

The wizardling lay groaning on worn stone—stone the likes of which he'd once walked over a thousand times. Harry was back at Hogwarts, or, at least, the sepia-like memory of it. The young Savior didn't have much time for nostalgia as he found himself lifted up and pinned against a wall.

"So you're the one who claims to have killed me," the familiar voice of Tom Riddle drawled—cold and furious.

The journey into the diary had been disorienting so it took Harry a few moments to come to some key realizations. The first being that he didn't feel like he was in the body of a nine year old. The wizard was sure that if he could look in a mirror he'd see himself as he was when he died: frozen at 17. It made sense. Mentally he was no mere child.

The Man-Who-Conquered set aside his long standing identity crisis for the second key realization: Tom Riddle at sixteen was bloody hot.

The sixteen year old version of Tom Riddle was suave silk over edged marble. His dark hair was coifed in a 40s style—parted harshly on the right side with a slight wave in texture. His facial features were aristocratic and timeless. The Slytherin was extremely handsome.

And he looked homicidal.

Harry winced as the magic holding him up pressed him more roughly into the wall. The Savior had never been one to take abuse lying down. Not even the Dursleys or Snape or Armageddon had been able to kill his sass.

"Seeing as you were trying to murder me I'd call us even," he said grunting in frustration. "Except that you gave it a lot more shots than I did. I'd quit the murdering business if I were you. You really suck at it."

He grew tired of his tenure as a wall tapestry and reached out with his own magic to free himself. Unfortunately, he didn't account for the two feet between him and the floor and promptly crumpled into an inglorious heap.

By the time he righted himself, Tom's fury had chilled into cool cunning. Soot black eyes assessed him. Harry was irritated to find that even physically a year older than the Slytherin he had to crane his neck to meet the gaze of his Soulmate.

"And what brings my supposed vanquisher here," the other teen asked.

"All those years trapped in your diary must have really affected your memory," Harry quipped. "You brought me here, or don't you remember, Tom?"

Those eyes flashed red before returning to lifeless black. The Man-Who-Conquered felt a sharp stab of legilimency impact his occlumency shields. His scar stung as the horcrux within him reacted to the attack but he managed to keep the young Dark Lord out.

Harry was stationed somewhere in the ancient foothills of China. It was his first time out of England but the war meant he could hardly enjoy it. He and his men were tasked with guarding an ancient wizarding monastery.

The posting was supposed to be a relaxing one. The temple they were protecting didn't rely on wards so much as the fact that it was almost impossible to find due to the surrounding terrain. There were no nearby settlements—magical or mundane.

The Savior was sitting on a low wall. The temple was arrayed behind him and to the left was a waterfall. The water vapor barely obscured the jungle vista. His men were up at the top of the fall daring each other to jump. Harry didn't have to worry about their safety too much. There were no sharp rocks at the bottom and the water was deep enough to catch them.

They'd invited him to join them, but the Man-Who-Conquered wasn't in the mood. He'd received a message the other day from Neville. His friend had been injured fighting Mundanes and was on forced leave for two weeks.

"Your thoughts are loud, young one," came a gentle voice from behind him.

Harry turned to see one of the temple residents an elderly man dressed in homespun robes. The Savior was once again thankful for the translation talisman the mages at the temple had given them upon arrival so they could communicate. Although, he still found it weird that none of the monks had names—apparently they renounced them.

"I apologize, sir," the Man-Who-Conquered responded, once more turning back to face the jungle. He felt more than saw the monk join him. "I'm afraid I've never been good at silencing my thoughts."

He had a momentary flashback to Snape yelling at him to clear his mind and discipline his thoughts. Those occlumency lessons had been horrible, and the price of his failure for being unable to master that branch of the mind arts still haunted him.

"Nonsense," said the elderly mage. "You simply have never had someone show you how. Come."

The older man gestured for Harry to follow him and they both left the jungle view for the depths of the temple. Once inside the ancient stone walls the magic of the place became clear. According to the monks, the monastery was on an intersection of Ley Lines, though not as big as the one Hogwarts had once rested on; however, this temple had been here long before the founding of the school.

The monk led him deeper into the monastery. They passed other mages who all bowed respectfully to the elder man. Bluebell Flames lit their way floating freely on invisible currents. Eventually, the two came to a stop outside a plain wooden door.

Inside was a garden filled with magic. It was all centered around a natural spring. Every leaf and stem, even the grass, was a thriving verdant. The flowers were larger than normal and the air smelt fresh even as they were deep inside the temple.

The elderly man settled on a clear patch of grass and knelt. Rheumy eyes looked back at Harry who had hesitated at the door. The Man-Who-Conquered found himself blushing and moved to quickly settle next to the other man mirroring the monk's posture.

"Now close your eyes," the monk said eyes already shut.

The Savior was quick to follow.

"Listen to your thoughts," the sage continued. "Let them come and go…"

The elder continued to speak, voice blending in with the sounds of the spring next to them though Harry had no trouble listening. He thought about how weird this encounter was. He thought about Neville and how he was glad the other was okay. He thought about the war and how he wished it would just end.

The Savior almost missed his days of fighting against Voldemort. Back when he had a clear enemy who he could stop to end the conflict. He thought about Riddle and his horcruxes. He thought about his scar and what it had once contained.

He thought about dying and coming back. The first time.

And the second time. When he realized the Deathly Hallows would not let him go.

Harry thought about his children and how he missed them still. How he'd give anything to have them back in his arms. To have them safe. He thought of his mother and his father. Sirius and Remus.

He went through a mental list of all those who had died and who he mourned. His thoughts came and went. The Savior didn't linger over his grief and didn't hold onto the memories of his loved ones. He let them flow through him like water over a stone.

Eventually his mind went quiet. Harry felt disembodied, as if he was floating around in a golden place of nothing.

A gentle hand on his shoulder jerked him back to awareness. The elderly man gave him a soft smile.

"That is enough for today," the monk said, easing to his feet. "It is almost time for dinner, and your men will wonder where you have gone."

The Man-Who-Conquered silently followed after the elder thoughts still muted. Both parted ways at the communal dinning hall. The sage rejoined his brethren and Harry turned to sit with his men. He soon found himself joining in on their bawdy jokes. For the first time in months he was feeling relaxed.

Everyday after that he would join the elderly monk in that room for meditation. After a couple of weeks the sage started guiding him though building basic defenses for his mind. He was quick to learn because he had actually done something similar when he was a child locked away in his cupboard.

"Again, rude," he said with forced ease. His occlumency shields were probably strong enough now to fight off Dumbledore if the old geezer gave it a real try, but Harry's connection via the horcrux meant he would always be susceptible to Tom. The plus side was that the connection worked both ways.

"As I said before, Tom," the Savior continued, "I am happy to answer your questions, there's no need for more… drastic measures."

He couldn't help but smirk at the other's irritated expression. Apparently Riddle developed a little tick in his left eyebrow when he was vexed.

"You could probably ask more relevant questions if you're dissatisfied with the state of my answers."

The prickling in his scar told Harry that he'd really annoyed the teen but the other kept their expression schooled. Still, the Slytherin spat out his next question almost biting off each word.

"How did you come to be in possession of my diary?"

"I got it from a particularly helpful blonde," the Man-Who-Conquered responded.

This answer was clearly unsatisfactory to the fledgling Dark Lord, the little tick becoming more pronounced.

"Why?"

Harry could take that question in many ways. Why did he have the diary? Why did said blonde hand it over? The Savior decided he was going to be particularly petty.

"Why did he give it to me? Well, because I asked for it." The Savior gave a billion-watt smile.

Tom growled, actually growled in frustration, eyes once more flashing red.

"Do not play with me!" The other demanded. The Slytherin prowled forward, crowding Harry into a wall and looming over him threateningly. "Why do you have my diary? For what purpose!?"

The Man-Who-Conquered was having a difficult time focusing as the taller teen invaded his space. It was hard for him to remember that this was just a younger version of his soulmate. The Tom Riddle of the diary was sixteen. Still a minor…already a murderer.

"You're my soulmate," he finally responded, green eyes staring into the shocked, coal-black eyes of the other. Riddle stumbled back in surprise.

"I got your diary because you're my soulmate and I've been trying to piece you together."

A.N.~ So, I spent some time freaking out about if Tom was in character enough or not. Then I just said screw it, he's a teenager who has been trapped in a diary for 50 years. It will be okay if his evil, overlord persona is a bit rusty.

Thank you, everyone who has favorited or followed my story—especially those who have left Reviews.

For those who still have finals: I am so, so sorry (Hope this brings cheer).

For those like me who are done: Happy Holidays!