"Had my dream again where I'm making love, and the Olympic judges are watching. I nailed the compulsories, so this is it, the finals. I got a 9.8 from the Canadians, a perfect 10 from the Americans, and my mother, disguised as an East German judge, game me a 5.6. Must have been the dismount."

- When Harry Met Sally

December, 1942

Harry wasn't sure why her life kept getting weirder. In fact, she couldn't really say it had, it was hard to top the whole fairy adventure after all. That said, something about the present moment felt…

Well, let's just say Harry hadn't seen this one coming.

After her miraculous repeat performance (which had been surprisingly easy a second time) they'd all just stared at her in shock. There'd been no clapping, no exclamations, just a dead awkward silence from Harry's paltry audience of Dippet, Dumbledore, Slughorn, and Riddle.

She'd even held out her hands afterwards, wiggled her fingers in the typical jazz hand pose, and said "Ta da!" to try and lighten the mood. That just seemed to have made it worse.

Finally, Slughorn had weakly asked, "Miss Evans, could you—Could you please do it again?"

So, Harry had ended up apparating on Hogwarts grounds a third, anticlimactic, time. Really, after doing it, she wondered what the big deal about any of it was. Sure, it hadn't been easy the first time, but the more she practiced the less she even noticed the wards. The apparating part felt harder than the wards part and even that was becoming surprisingly easy.

Harry was starting to suspect that all this magic that people said was impossible or difficult, like apparating in Hogwarts or casting a corporeal patronus, was just people convincing themselves it was hard.

After all, it wasn't like Harry was a genius or anything and she'd gotten the hang of it pretty quickly.

Regardless, after the third time, they'd all just sat there talking up there with one another while Harry had stood there. They seemed to have forgotten entirely about her and Tom for that matter as they muttered avidly amongst themselves.

As for Tom, well, he looked like he wasn't even on the planet anymore. Apparently, all Harry had to do to defeat him was shock him into submission. If only she'd known that a few years earlier.

Eventually Harry had just kind of left them to it and headed off to the library to start on that whole mind arts thing. Well, that and to look up what the hell had happened to her patronus. She'd really liked that spell, it was by far her best one and she'd worked really hard for it, and now like everything else in her life it was ruined by Tom Riddle and his stupid beautiful face.

She'd never be able to use it again in public!

It was as if…

As if everything was spiraling out of Harry's control without her notice. In small, little, ways that stemmed from some source she couldn't find. It felt like she was running out of time again even though she had all the time in the world.

Which made it just great that she found absolutely nothing in the library. Not that Harry was Hermione, or anything, but she'd learned her way around the shelves in the first half of 1942 out of necessity and she knew enough to know that whatever she was looking for wasn't here.

Nothing on the patronus, or at least, nothing obvious. That was probably hidden in some, dense, theoretical magic book written two centuries ago by some French bloke.

As for the mind arts, Harry had thought that would be more obvious, but the best she could find was some really weird book called, "The Unconscious Mind and its Magic". It sounded like a great title, but skimming a few chapters was really just about sex. It detailed how everybody secretly wanted sex all the time, how whenever they looked at a snake they thought of a penis, and how everybody wanted to bang their parents.

Somehow, none of that had come up in her occlumency lessons with Snape.

At least, she really hoped they hadn't somehow, subtly, come up in her occlumency lessons with Snape.

She was suddenly very glad she'd unintentionally cut those off early.

Which left her doomed enough to have to really accept help from Tom Riddle, the 1942 version. Well, she supposed she could just summon the patronus version and just talk to him in the Room of Requirement or something but…

But he was in her head, no matter how she looked at it that was true. She had to put some sort of wall between them or have a way to secretly find out just what he knew about her, how much he could find out in there, and how much she could actually trust something like him. Conversations weren't enough for that, she'd need occlumency if not legillimency.

Which meant, of course, that Harry was doomed.

And that brought her to this morning, where, instead of getting a chance to ask Tom to please live up to his promise and help a poor brother out, she'd been summoned by Dumbledore to his office as soon as she'd set foot in the Great Hall.

Which brought her to the weirdness of this morning.

She'd never been to his office before, at least, not the one in the past. It wasn't quite as cluttered as the version from 1996 but it was well on its way. Several of the mysterious ticking items on his desk were missing, as was Fawkes for that matter, and Harry didn't spot a pensive but there were still bits and bobs here and there designed to attract the wandering eye.

It was like… Like Albus Dumbledore hadn't quite grown into himself yet but was more than on his way.

She frowned to herself at that thought, because while the room looked similar, and even the man and his eye watering clothing was similar, it wasn't the same. The atmosphere was nothing warm or genial, instead it was quiet, nerve wracking, and tense.

It hadn't been like this before.

Albus Dumbledore, ever since her first year, had always felt like the grandfather she'd never had. He connected her to the memory of her parents, passed on their gifts to her and advised her on how to let them go in the Mirror of Erised, he was there after Quirrell, the Chamber of Secrets, and had helped her save Sirius with Hermione's then secret time turner.

He'd always been there, unless he couldn't help it, and was a pillar of support, advice, and one of the few people in Harry's life that she could absolutely trust. He'd done so much for her.

Only recently, in the past year or so when Voldemort really returned, had things between them started changing.

That whole summer, after Cedric had died, he'd made her think that all her friends had abandoned and forgotten her. Not a single letter from Ron or Hermione, not even a phone call from Hermione, or a message from Sirius. Harry had spent the summer wallowing in the desperate guilt of Cedric's death and terror of Voldemort's return and if it wasn't for Umbridge's bloody dementors she wouldn't have heard anything at all.

And not one of them had stood up to him, not one of them had said, "Hey, maybe we should check on Harry, send someone competent to make sure her bloody cousin doesn't get eaten by dementors". Instead each and every one of them had listened, had contented themselves with bloody Potter Watch, and—

And at the trial he'd barely looked at her. Harry had faced expulsion, Dumbledore presiding as Supreme Mugwump, and he'd looked at her like she was less than dirt. She'd felt… So ashamed, even though she'd done everything she could, even though she'd known saving Dudley was the right thing to do she felt ashamed as she stood there and wondered in terror if her wand was going to be snapped right then and there.

Later, he'd told her, that Harry had been in a very bad position. Fudge wanted to discredit her badly, was willing to risk the expulsion of the girl-who-lived to get what he wanted, and Dumbledore could not be seen as doing her any favors or looking in any way sympathetic. It'd just have made everything that much worse for Harry.

She got that, she did, and it'd all worked out. She returned to the Burrow, still bound for Hogwarts after all, had a sigh of relief and a small "get out of jail free" celebration with the Weasleys. Still, that night, she'd stayed up the whole time sobbing under a quietus, not even sure why she was crying except that she couldn't seem to do anything else.

Then at Hogwarts, there'd been Umbridge, and she knew Dumbledore couldn't do anything about her. She knew that. More, she knew it was her own damn fault with her stupid clubs and their stupid names that he'd gotten arrested but—

He never told her anything. He didn't listen, and she knew he was busy, she knew she hadn't really talked to him all that much in past years no matter what it felt like, but it felt like he was always out of reach when she needed him there.

It felt like expectations just kept piling higher and higher on her shoulders and he was never there.

And here in the past, even without the girl-who-lived, without Voldemort, without the secrets, the lies, the pretenses, and the higher-level strategies Harry didn't understand it felt like all of that was magnified.

There was an insurmountable wall between Harry Lily Potter and Albus Dumbledore.

"Miss Evans," he finally said with a small, barely perceptible, sigh.

Harry started, "Yes?"

Yes, god that was awkward. There it was, he even sighed again, and now he was staring at her. Dumbledore… Harry had always thought he found her funny, maybe in that stupid but charming way. She'd never felt…

Well, it wasn't until she came here that she felt like dirt in front of him.

Finally, he noted, "Are you aware of your standing in my course?"

Well, that wasn't what Harry had expected. She blinked, blinked again, "Um, I think?"

Then she had a sudden, horrifying, thought, "Wait a minute, I'm not failing Transfiguration, am I?!"

Potions she could accept, she'd had the world's most vindictive professor for ages and she'd never been exactly good at it. History of Magic, same thing, it was so boring she'd slept through nearly every class since she was eleven. Only Hermione had ever actually bothered to study it. Plus, in 1996 when Binns was dead, it never really mattered as Binns was too dead to correctly grade the exam so if Harry just wrote "goblins" enough times she usually walked out with at least an E.

Transfiguration though, sure Harry had never exactly been Hermione, but dammit she wasn't bad at it either. Aside from Defense, and maybe Charms, it was her strongest class in the Hogwarts core curriculum. If she was failing Transfiguration, the second time through, well Harry might just have to crawl into a hole, die, and just let Voldemort take over Britain already.

"No, no, nothing that drastic," Dumbledore said, and… he smiled, he actually smiled and laughed. Harry didn't know if she'd ever seen him smile or laugh around her in this time period before.

He laced his fingers together and gave her a more serious look, "Frankly, Miss Evans, you're average."

"Oh," Harry said slowly, and then flushing, "Well, you know, I didn't really expect—"

He held up a hand to stop her, "Wait for me to finish first, please."

After he was assured that she wasn't going to blather on about how Harry knew she was stupid, or if not stupid, then not exactly brilliant and more than a little lazy, he continued.

"You're above average in terms of practical results, but your essays have been poor since the start of the year. More, even in the practical realm you are outshined by a number of your peers."

Well, that wasn't exactly news. Harry didn't want to ask it, but she was starting to wonder why Professor Dumbledore had brought her up here. Well, no, she'd been wondering that since the beginning but now this seemed really pointless.

Harry wasn't sure she'd had a meeting with any professor regarding her grades or performance in any given timeframe. Even Slughorn, who'd been prompted by Tom at her abysmal Potions and History of Magic performance, had never met with her to talk about it, he'd just gossiped with Riddle.

They probably all assumed that Harry wasn't that much of an idiot and clearly knew where she stood in regard to her peers. If Harry wanted to raise her grades, then she could damn well figure out how to do it herself.

She wondered if she was supposed to thank Dumbledore for this truly earth-shattering news.

He didn't wait for her though, or clarify anything, instead he asked, "Miss Evans, why did you come to Hogwarts?"

"What?" Harry asked.

What was that supposed to mean? She wasn't even sure she understood the question. Dumbledore didn't even blink though, remained perfectly calm and steady.

"What did you hope to gain by attending a magical academy?" he expanded, "Unless I'm mistaken, you've been home schooled most of your life, why bother to come to Hogwarts for your last two years?"

Oh, shit, the home school thing.

It wasn't that Harry had forgotten all about her fake, patchy, past but she didn't put too much thought into it. Honestly, no one really asked about it after Dippet and Dumbledore had done their initial interview, and Riddle was the only one who displayed any interest in where she came from.

Harry struggled not to squirm or else sweat in her seat.

She really should have put some more thought into all of this.

"Well, to take my OWLs and NEWTs, of course," Harry said with a strained smile.

"You must realize both examinations can be taken directly at the Ministry," Dumbledore responded without missing a beat.

Goddammit.

"Really?" Harry asked weakly, she… She didn't think she'd known that. Sure, she guess it made some kind of sense, but she'd never had to think about it before.

She really should have put more thought into all of this.

Dumbledore's pensive frown grew deeper.

"Well, I guess I just always wanted to know what it was like," Harry said with a small laugh, "I'd always heard about it, always imagined how nice it would be attend with other people my age, and find a place—Well, I just always thought about it, and I'd finally gotten a chance to come so I took it."

She wasn't sure if he bought that or not. It was the closest to the truth though, that was what it had felt like at eleven. Sure, Harry had gone for the magic, but she'd gone for more than just the magic and the grandeur of it all. She'd gone for the people, the world that embraced her with open arms, and she'd stayed for the friends she'd made there.

"And what are your plans for after Hogwarts?"

Huh?

Plans, Harry had no plans.

Well, she'd had one grand plan. That was to return back to 1996 as soon as possible, but, thanks to the Tom in her brain that was on the rocks until further notice if not indefinitely. So, she guessed that made her plans figuring out what to do about him, which was what her second round of learning occlumency was supposed to be about.

If she hadn't figured any of that out by the time she graduated Hogwarts…

Well, then whatever she ended up doing should probably revolve around taking care of all of that. Except, what kind of job even was that? A curse breaker, psychotherapist, maybe some sort of exorcist?

Did wizards even have exorcists?

Harry then realized she'd just been sitting here for a full minute not answering.

Flushing, Harry blurted, "An auror! I'd like to become an auror!"

It was pretty in line with what she'd been doing for the past six years after all. If surviving Voldemort annually was any indication, then Harry should be pretty damn good at it.

Plus, thanks to the Order, she knew a few aurors now and it seemed like a good, rewarding job. Harry was always down to fight the forces of evil, more so if she got paid while doing it.

Dumbledore said nothing, gave no kind of reaction away at all, no indication if he thought this was either a great idea or the worst thing he'd ever heard in his life.

Harry laughed nervously, rubbing the back of her head, "Um, well, or maybe teaching Defense?"

She'd been pretty good at that too, what with her scores in Defense and the DA, or at least Hermione had insisted Harry was bloody good at it.

Dumbledore continued to say nothing.

Harry, trying to smile, asked weakly, "Don't I have a little more time? Shouldn't I get my OWL scores first?"

No one back in the 1990's had ever stopped to talk about Harry's future. Well, probably because like Harry they secretly wondered if she'd ever make it to the next year. No point planning that far ahead if Voldemort was just going to topple the government and gut you like a fish the next year out.

Merlin, what was she doing here again?

Finally, Dumbledore let her off the hook and started talking again, "Although Professor Merrythought plans to retire soon, it is unlikely you will obtain the Defense position."

He looked at her… It wasn't quite pity, Harry thought, but something similar.

"Despite your clear abilities and talent, you lack experience. The Defense position has traditionally gone to a weathered duelist or else an auror, never a student right out of Hogwarts, no matter how talented."

"Oh," Harry said dumbly, but he wasn't finished.

"As for an auror position," Dumbledore continued, "You will require a minimum of five NEWTs with no grade under Exceeds Expectations, including Defense, Charms, Potions, Transfiguration, and an elective of your choice. Generally, Defense is expected to be Outstanding."

"Oh," Harry repeated, a little louder, as she realized exactly what he wasn't saying aloud.

Oh, oh shit. Defense she had in the bag, she probably was okay in Charms and Transfiguration too, but Potions. That Potions score, that was, well, it was…

If Harry wasn't already sitting down, she'd probably ask to sit down right about now.

"More, because you are a woman, I am afraid you will have to prove yourself twice as competent as any man who applies."

If one could describe the noise that passed through Harry's lips right then, it was probably a gurgle of despair.

Dumbledore flicked his wand and a paper landed on his desk, another flick and it spawned another paper of the same size, one going to Harry and one to Dumbledore. Glancing down it looked like her current schedule with all her different courses listed.

"Right now, you more than meet the mark in Defense, but you're scraping by in Transfiguration, utterly floundering in History and Potions, and you seem to have taken it upon yourself to take the easiest possible electives you could find."

Well, he wasn't pulling any punches today, was he? And Herbology wasn't easy, those plants were goddamn vicious! Sure, it wasn't exactly advanced algebra, but there was skill involved, or else Neville wouldn't be so bloody good at it.

And she'd learned a lot in Care of Magical Creatures—

Strike that, she'd learned nothing in Care of Magical Creatures, but Harry couldn't just let Hagrid down like that after he'd put so much effort into finally becoming a professor. And there was some value in learning how to run away from the fiery death scorpions that Hagrid had bred for the Triwizard Tournament.

Care of Magical Creatures had had loads of real-life applications from defeating trolls to slaying basilisks.

And Divination was—

Alright, that was because Harry was stupid, lazy, and it's sounded so easy she couldn't resist. But at least Trelawney had sort of warned her about Sirius, even if she'd made it sound like she was predicting Harry's inevitable death.

Before Harry could actually say any of that though Dumbledore was already talking again, giving her a remarkably frank look, "Right now, you're too unmotivated to possibly be accepted into the auror corps."

She had no idea what to say to that.

She felt like her brain had left the castle in shock about five minutes back.

Finally, she asked, "Why am I here?"

By the look on his face he'd been waiting for her to ask that for some time, "I expect your head of house, Professor Slughorn, will have a chat with you shortly. I'll be frank, he'll likely push you to make the most of your time here now that he's smelled blood in the water, but it seems that I too have overlooked you."

"Huh?" Harry asked yet again.

"I'm afraid your mysterious appearance, and then your sorting into Slytherin, put me on guard. You see, Harry, these are troubled times and the hat doesn't lie."

"Oh, you thought—" Harry cut herself off, he thought she was a Death Eater, or something like it. From what Harry knew, not that she'd been paying too much attention, but there was a current dark lord on the continent.

He thought Harry was a spy for whoever that was, Girdle Waltz or something.

Harry laughed then, again, she had to stop doing that, "Well, what made you change your mind?"

He finally smiled again, a small, slight, thing, "I've simply gotten to know you and have seen for myself there's not a dishonest bone in your body."

"Oh," well, Harry guessed that was nice of him.

"I've decided that if you want to, if you truly wish to become an auror, I'll offer extra lessons in Transfiguration and aid you in any other subject in preparation for your auror application and exams."

Harry sat in a daze, not sure what to say for a moment. She should be over the moon right now. She'd always wanted more time from Dumbledore, more preparation on how to face Voldemort or even how to approach school. She'd hoped, when he first had mentioned occlumency, that she'd be learning from him instead of Snape.

This was everything she ever thought she'd wanted.

But…

That wasn't what came out of her mouth, "Oh, you're probably way too busy to do that for just one student. Especially if Riddle, Tom Riddle I mean, was too busy to tutor me. I can just ask Alphard for help when he gets back to school."

She hastily gathered her things, hands shaking even as she talked, "Oh, wow, it's getting kind of late, you probably have things to do. Thank you again, for everything I mean, and showing interest. I'll try harder next semester, I swear."

And before he could say anything else she was already out the door.

She wondered…

She wondered when she stopped being able to believe what Dumbledore said.

Of all the places to find Harry Evans, it was in a library.

Tom didn't know why he was surprised; he'd found her in the library often enough. If he had to give Harry a favorite haunt, this would be it, and yet it never seemed to suit her.

She always felt so very out of place here, no matter her diligence, like sitting there with her nose in a book was to fight against her own nature. Like she was here not so much out of any true enjoyment of learning but out of sheer stubbornness.

Yet, here she was, burying herself in yet another obscure and ultimately useless book. Though the topic had changed, instead of the nature of time, Harry appeared to have switched interest to the mind arts.

She was so intent on it that she didn't even seem to notice him hovering over her shoulder. Those strange, arresting, eyes were glaring down at the text, lost to the printed world and for once focused on something else.

In quiet moments like this, when she was so very still, she looked as dangerous as she undoubtedly was; something old and ancient trapped in the skin of a mere girl.

He wondered if this meant she felt more comfortable around him. She had so rarely let him see this side of her, not when he wasn't on the receiving end of those eyes instead. More, he didn't think, in the beginning, she'd ever let herself be surprised by his presence.

It was a nice thought at least.

"You know, anything that you can pull down from the shelf is utter tripe." Tom said casually right next to her ear, "Hogwarts always keeps the good stuff in the restricted section."

She flailed and let out a shriek of alarm and terror, arms casting about wildly and book slamming onto the table. She finally turned in her seat, looked at him with wide eyes and flushed cheeks, and screamed, "Don't do that!"

"Do what?" he asked, the picture of innocence even as he silently cast a silencing charm for the librarian's pleasure. Tom always made a point of staying on her good side.

"You know what!" Harry accused, eyes burning, but Tom just smiled to himself as he slid into the seat across from her.

"Besides," Tom said once he was seated, smirking at her, "I thought you'd decided to ask me for help."

"What?" Harry asked, flushing a little harder and then glanced down at the book and slammed it shut, "Oh, right, I did do that, didn't I?"

She looked as if she wanted to take it back right then and there, but, apparently Harry was aware that this wasn't something she could do by herself. Even if she'd had a knack for it or self-study she still wouldn't have the resources she needed, all of those were in the restricted section, and Tom was the only one who would help her get access.

Harry didn't say that though, instead she let out a defeated sigh, "Yeah, I guess we're doing that."

"Oh, don't look like that, it will be fun."

"Yeah, sure," Harry said with all the enthusiasm of Professor Binns. Then she looked up at him in suspicion, "You do realize you're not looking in my head, right? You're just telling me how to learn this stuff. You aren't teaching me."

"I had a feeling," Tom said, his pleasant smile not slipping in the slightest.

She didn't look mollified but at least she wasn't running away.

Despite himself, he found himself looking for something of his own features in hers. When she'd been away, it'd been all too easy to imagine in horror and piece them together. Up front, they shared things in common, but it wasn't as much as he'd feared.

Her hair was much curlier than his despite being much longer, they had similar skin tone, but her bone structure, her eyes, nearly every part of her looked different than him.

He didn't know if he was just trying to reassure himself, after all, siblings didn't always look alike but it at least dulled the panic. Though, at the same time, it made him restless. He wanted to ask, he needed to ask, he'd tried to ask and—

"What is it?" Harry asked blandly.

He sighed, "Harry, I—"

No, he didn't want to do this here.

There weren't that many students here over the holidays, and even less who would willingly loiter in the library without classes to spur them on, but there was still too much of a chance of prying eyes. A silencing charm wasn't enough, and even if no one had a reason to eavesdrop, he'd already given too much of Harry Evans away to others for free.

"Do you want to go somewhere quieter?" he asked instead.

Harry looked at him blankly, "Is it not quiet here?"

Lord, sometimes she was dense.

"Well," Tom drawled as he looked around, "It's not exactly private, and we're going to be delving into a delicate subject matter that is not necessarily… approved self-study."

That was part of it, as was the real questions he wanted to ask her where there was no easy avenue of escape, but…

Mostly, he wanted to keep her private.

Slughorn had met with him the day before, dragged Tom to his office and demanded Tom tell him everything he knew about Harry Evans. Mainly, when precisely Tom had put together what a find she was.

"It must have been rather early," Slughorn had chortled to himself, "Earlier than my party, certainly. But my boy, why didn't you simply tell me?"

Tom had smiled at the man, softly but sadly, as if he wished that he could have, "Naturally, I didn't think you would believe me, or anyone else for that matter. She is… She tries remarkably hard to be utterly unremarkable."

"And she's skittish," Tom added, lying through his teeth, "She doesn't feel comfortable with her peers, believes she doesn't fit in. Even for me, it took a remarkably long time to build her trust and—Well, my frustration at the party simply got the best of me."

In the present moment, Harry sighed as she stood and gathered her things, likely well aware of exactly where Tom wanted them to go. When one wanted uninterrupted privacy as the heir of Slytherin, then only the chamber of secrets would do.

As they walked out of the library, Tom at his usual pace and Harry shuffling in frustration and despair, he asked, "What did Dumbledore want with you anyway?"

After having the day before consumed by Slughorn's interrogation on the history of Harry Evans (and she was damn lucky she had Tom to cover for her because her backstory was a real shoddy piece of work) he'd been hoping to have more time with her this morning. Unfortunately, Dumbledore had beaten him to the punch and whisked her away before she even had a chance to sit down for breakfast.

"To talk and stuff," Harry said dully.

"I gathered that much," Tom asked and then, after a second's thought, asked, "Did he fail you in Transfiguration?"

Harry wasn't bad at Transfiguration, practically she was one of the better students in the OWL curriculum, but he could see Dumbledore being a petty enough bastard to fail her just because of the color of her tie and his personal dislike of her.

He'd never done it to Tom, but Tom could tell, the man was practically itching to give Tom a less than perfect score.

"No!" Harry responded harshly, as if this was never even a possibility, "No, he's—I don't know, he's decided I'm cool now."

Tom just about had a heart attack.

That was not what he'd been expecting to hear.

His head whipped towards her and before he could stop himself he blurted, "How the hell did you manage that?!"

Harry just shrugged, "I don't know."

"Do you know how many years I've tried to win that bastard over?!" Tom asked.

Tom had given up in his third year. He remembered the exact moment, the exact second, that he'd given up on Albus Dumbledore. It was the same second he'd given up on Armando Dippet and the wizarding world at large.

"I'm afraid it's simply not possible," Dippet had said, with that apologetic smile.

It had been 1941, the Nazis had been bombing London since that spring, London's children had been evacuated to the countryside and the orphanage along with them, and despite Tom's begging they had sent him back on the Hogwarts Express with everyone else and no place to go.

He'd realized then that his death meant nothing to Dippet or Dumbledore.

That winning over Dumbledore was a pointless exercise that he could never win. The best he could do was rub his success in Dumbledore's face as he destroyed everything that man had ever believed in.

Before then though, oh for three years, he had tried his hardest to win over that man as he had everyone else. He'd pleasantly smiled and eagerly volunteered his time and energy to wipe out the shadow of their disastrous first meeting.

But Dumbledore had already made up his mind before that. No, Dumbledore had known what he was looking at as soon as he'd finished talking to that gin-soaked whore of a matron, Mrs. Cole. Even if Tom had been a good sort, even if he didn't long for destruction and domination, even if he'd been a saint, Tom imagined that Dumbledore would loathe his existence.

And yet here was Harry Evans, winning him over just like that, just like she effortlessly and inexplicably succeeded with everything else.

He could slap her right now, he really could.

Unless, he thought suddenly, she hadn't actually won him over.

"What exactly did you talk about?" Tom asked, "And don't say 'stuff', again, Harry."

Harry sighed loudly, "I guess we talked about my career path."

"Your career path?" Tom asked with raised eyebrows.

"Yeah, he offered personal tutoring sessions to help too, but I just said I'd ask Alphard," she looked awkward while saying this, as if she wanted it to be casual, to be no big deal, but couldn't really believe it herself.

"You're not too bad in Transfiguration," Tom pointed out and Harry, again, shrugged.

"Apparently, I'm not good enough to become an auror."

She wanted to be an auror? He hadn't known that. That was… Well, it was interesting, given his own ambitions.

He supposed he shouldn't be surprised. Of course Harry wanted to run off and be an ally of justice or some such nonsense, probably the only female auror on the force in the past five years. Still, that was rather inconvenient for him and his future as Voldemort.

If they ended up living together or even just seeing each other frequently it'd be a little hard to pretend he was a budding dark lord and he didn't imagine he could woo her over to the dark side if she was neck deep in law enforcement.

He wondered if he could get her to change her mind somehow…

Then he wondered when exactly he'd started factoring Harry Evans so permanently into his own future.

Still, that was beside the point for now. Harry wouldn't appreciate him lecturing her on her career choices, at least, not yet.

Instead, with one eyebrow raised, he asked, "Do you really believe all of that?"

"What," Harry asked, "You think my grades are good enough to become an auror?"

"No," Tom said, though honestly, if she just tried a little harder or let some of that raw magical power show in her classes she'd be a shoe in, "I meant with Dumbledore. Do you really believe he likes you now?"

"Well—" Harry started but Tom cut her off.

"He hasn't changed his mind at all, in fact, he just might think worse," Tom said, shoving his hands into his pockets as he walked, "Honestly, he probably believes you're Grindelwald's agent."

"Huh?" Harry asked, "You mean the dark lord?"

Who else would Tom mean?

"The tutoring sessions, the abrupt change of heart, all of this coincidentally timed with the sudden reveal of your power. He wants to keep a close eye on you, and he wants time to figure out what you're really doing here."

Harry flailed in embarrassment, shock, and sheer disbelief, "What?! You must be—"

Tom couldn't help his grin, "Think about it, Harry. Your startlingly average grades, your bizarre and almost masculine personality, your obscure and nonsensical vocabulary, your lackluster cookie cutter origins, your mysterious appearance at the start of the year, the color of your tie despite any lack of visible Slytherin traits, all of that combined with your overwhelming magical ability that has you compared to Merlin practically makes you an international man of mystery."

Harry's mouth was hanging open, she looked as if she dearly wanted to refute him, but simply couldn't find the words.

"It's just too bad that no one seems to realize that it's your great ambition to have absolutely no ambition," Tom finished with a sigh, as if Harry truly was a hopeless cause.

He laughed at her expression, something torn between rage and comical horror, "Just remember, you're the one who didn't keep it just between the two of us. If you hadn't apparated into Hogwarts like some misplaced goddess, none of this would have happened."

They finally reached the first floor of the castle. Harry seemed to give up screaming at him to instead look out the window and onto the grounds. Not that you could see much of them tonight, everything was pitch black, as if instead of staring out windows they were staring into the bottom of a well.

Tom had always hated the cold and the dark that came with winter.

"Wow, it's so dark outside," Harry remarked, "Oh, today's the solstice, isn't it? I almost forgot about that."

"Truly, the best day of the year," Tom said drily, though he supposed there were worse days.

It was dark and cold but at least nobody went out of their way to pretend it was anything but that. Christmas and New Years on the other hand, oh, those were always supposed to be filled with joy and good cheer when all Tom wanted to do was pretend the season was over already.

Still, he found himself looking out with her, trying to make out the distant tree line of the Forbidden Forest. Not that he could, given how dark and overcast it was tonight.

Really, they were wasting time standing here and—

He blinked, he thought he saw something, but the moment he closed his eyes it was gone. Still, as he kept staring, it came back. There, just at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, was a small, bright, light.

"You know, they say the barriers between worlds are thinnest on the winter and summer solstice," Harry said.

"Is that right," he said, but he wasn't paying attention, mumbling out words just to give her a response.

He couldn't stop staring at it. It consumed his vision, the world outside the window growing brighter and brighter with the force of that one solitary light. Every though that had been in him was slipping through his fingers until nothing remained.

He found himself stepping forward, utterly entranced.

"Riddle?"

He touched the glass of the window, it rippled beneath his fingertips, and as if it was only water he stepped through to the other side.

"Tom!"

He floated until he touched the ground, and despite his slow and leisurely pace, it felt like the distance between him and the light was disappearing faster than it should have. Except, he never reached it, as he kept walking it led him further and further away, as if it never intended to be caught.

"Expecto Patronum!"

Tom was squeezed once again from the depths of Harry's mind and soul, through the wood and phoenix feather of her wand, and out the other side, cursing the whole way.

"Harry, please!" he said as he caught his breath, the hand of his uninjured shoulder on the stag to help push himself upright, "Lay off that spell, at least until I recover."

If she kept doing that, she was just going to keep tearing the wound open, and god only knew what would happen to him—to them—then.

He gingerly touched it with one hand, hissing in pain. Why was it that everything still hurt even when he didn't have a body? Did the soul just lovingly translate the missing physical sensations for him?

He stared then as he drew his hand back it was… There was a bright, glowing, liquid on his fingers, blood. More, staring down at his hands, his clothing, he looked too solid. As the Patronus he had been more whispy, stray bands of light held together in the translucent form of a man.

He wasn't entirely opaque, he looked as if there was a fluorescent bulb under his skin, but there was a solid shape to him that there hadn't been before.

At least, not in the mortal realm.

"The solstice," he said to himself quietly, looking out what was left of the window to his left, "The lines between reality and imagination are reaching their thinnest point."

The outline of the window remained, but the glass had disappeared, not shattered, but instead dripping down as a thin curtain of water, like an intricately designed fountain. Outside, at the very edge of the Forbidden Forest, fairy lights floated by taunting them.

"What the hell just happened?!"

He looked back down at her.

She looked furious, but not simply that, she looked afraid. Of course she did, her world had stabilized and then this had happened, the stones ripped out from under her feet in only a second.

Tom looked back out towards the window, tracing the steps of the younger, alternate, Tom Riddle. He was already out of sight, had disappeared into the forest even before Harry had cast the patronus.

"Hogwarts is built on very old and sacred ground that did not always belong to men," Tom said slowly, "The Forbidden Forest is dangerous for more than just territorial centaurs and Hagrid's abandoned beasts, it contains old magic."

"What does that mean?"

She already knew, and yet, she couldn't admit it to herself consciously. It wasn't that she was a coward, never that, but there were things your inner self acknowledged that your outer self simply could not face.

Just as Harry knew there was no 1996 for her Harry knew exactly what had just happened and why it had happened.

She just needed Tom to say it.

"Our friends the fair folk have decided to pay us a visit and have just taken Tom Marvolo Riddle as a hostage," Tom summarized, "They expect you to come for him."

They must have seen his face, somehow found his counterpart in the mortal realm. They knew Harry harbored his soul alongside hers, they knew that he and Harry were tied together by more than just the threads of fate.

He knew, he knew what she was going to do next. Her face was crumpling, but soon it would resolve itself, the grief and the guilt would be locked away and she would move into what she was most comfortable with: action.

"It's not your fault," he said quickly, "Harry, this is not your fault."

She didn't say anything, didn't note that she was the one to visit in the first place, that he had warned her it was a bad idea, that she hadn't taken care of them before she'd escaped.

But she hadn't known this would happen, except, to Harry that didn't matter.

Instead, her eyes burning, she asked, "What will happen to him?"

"You don't want to know," Tom said quietly.

"What will happen to him?" Harry hissed out, repeating herself.

Tom opened his mouth, closed it, and said, "You don't have to save him."

He placed his hands on her shoulders, "Forget the future for a moment, Harry, forget what must or must not happen to Tom Riddle. You barely escaped last time, and this time, they have something to lure you directly to them."

His hands tightened, squeezing her shoulders desperately, "If he stays there, Harry, no matter what becomes of him then he will never become Voldemort. You want to get rid of Voldemort, prevent his existence, then this might be the easiest answer you will ever find. Tom Riddle will simply disappear from this world, as if he was a dream."

Tom laughed then, unable to help the thought of how ironic it all was, this strange predicament that had stolen upon them, "And he'll get what he wants, in a sense, ages will pass him by and he will barely notice. He could exist for an eternity in their grasp."

Harry only looked at him, and asked a third time, "What will happen to him?"

Of course, of course she would insist on knowing, because she already knew too.

"Tom Riddle will cease to exist," he said, "He'll be lost to the revelry, undoubtedly become their wine-soaked slave, and will forget himself entirely."

Harry looked down at his hands, her face one of horror, and she asked, "And you're—You're okay with that?"

For a long moment Tom said nothing, there was nothing he could say, nothing he would say to damn himself further than he already had. He had come to hate many things in this strange life of his, but perhaps more than anything else, he had come to hate himself.

"There are many, Harry, who insist he never should have been born in the first place."

She took a step back, wrenched herself out of his hands, and just stared at him.

Then, "No, no, screw that and screw them! I don't—I—I'm not doing that!"

Funny, she didn't say that it was because it was her fault, because he wasn't Voldemort yet, because the timeline demanded his safe return, because any number of reasons she could guilt herself into becoming his rescuer.

No, it was a simple that she would not, could not, abandon him like that.

No matter what sacrifices it would require from her.

But then, she would be something lesser if she felt any differently.

He smiled, "No, I suppose you won't."

He looked out towards the forest, the lights beckoning them, "Well, shall we?"

She nodded and without a word stepped through the same window the young Tom Riddle had. As for Tom himself, he trailed behind, riding the stag in her wake. He didn't wish her luck nor give her advice, she didn't need any, because if she truly wanted it, he knew she would be victorious.

It was why the fair folk wanted her, after all.

Because she had the door.

Author's Note: This holiday season, The Carnivorous Muffin gifts you... a cliff hanger! Oh, Harry, you never do get a break do you? But hey, your life was almost back to normal.

Thank you to readers and reviewers, reviews are much appreciated.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter