"But I'd like the pie heated, and I don't want the ice cream on top, I want it on the side, and I'd like strawberry instead of vanilla if you have it. If not, then no ice cream, just whipped cream, but only if it's real. If it's out of a can, then nothing."

"Not even the pie?"

"No, just the pie, but then not heated."

- When Harry Met Sally

January, 1943

Harry wasn't surprised to see the other, older, Tom in her dream.

It wasn't the familiarity of it, that it'd been almost a month now that she'd seen his face every night, or that he'd been lurking there out of sight but not out of mind even longer, but simply that something in her couldn't find the energy to be surprised by it this time.

She also felt like she knew what he was going to say before he even said it.

"Harry, the way back—we have no guarantee we'll make it back."

How had she guessed it?

The date with Alphard had gone on after Riddle left and it'd gone well enough. Too well and Harry had realized—that was a problem.

As she sat there with her butterbeer, kindly purchased by Alphard, a few devastating truths made themselves clear to her. She hadn't noticed, or she had, but it'd never seemed important because before it'd always been about her. It'd always been about returning to her world, to her future, to her friends, her family, and when the very possibility of that slipped further and further away…

She'd started wondering if she could make a life for herself here. It'd started seeming, if not possible, then something she could do. Oh, she had no idea how she'd manage it or what she'd end up doing, the future in 1942 was a bleak and terrifying one, but she'd started to tell herself that she could do it.

That certainly, more than anything else, she couldn't return home with a Tom Riddle in her brain. Even if, against all odds, she really did think she could trust him. So she couldn't go back and then she wouldn't go back.

The point was, every moment, every worry, it'd always been about herself.

She hadn't thought about anyone else.

If she stayed in this world then she wasn't just staying in this world—she'd affect everyone around her. Maybe she could change Riddle's life for the better, make him somehow not become Voldemort, but—she couldn't do much more for him than that. Maybe she'd even make it worse or at least harder.

She was poor. If he chased after her he'd be poor too. Hadn't Alphard said it? Riddle was throwing out so many opportunities just for her.

Harry hadn't thought about it that way.

Well, she had, and she'd thought Riddle was mental for it, but she hadn't realized that—maybe, without her, Tom would become Voldemort but maybe he also could have made something of himself. He could have buttered up Slughorn and gotten some swanky position in the ministry, or an apprenticeship, or something.

But it wasn't Riddle that concerned her, not really, he'd get by and if he didn't then he was the spawn of Satan anyway.

No, it was Alphard.

He'd been disowned for giving money to Sirius, but that had been years later, he'd been an adult then and self-sufficient. He'd never gotten married and had his brief love affair with Riddle, but he'd moved past that and had a life for himself. One where he presumably lived in comfort and relative happiness.

He'd just said he was willing to throw out everything for her.

His money, his friends, his family, everything he had and—

Because of her.

If she stayed here, no matter what she did, she'd ruin him.

And she'd been so caught up in herself, so blind and bullheaded, that it'd never even occurred to her that maybe there was more than one reason she didn't belong here. Maybe, it wasn't about Harry getting back so much as Harry getting gone before people could start making terrible mistakes.

"Harry," Tom said, moving closer to her and bending down so he was at eye level with her, not seeming to mind that only a few hours before there had been this awkward thing called 'Harry's attraction' floating between them, "It's not like that, that's—simply what life is, affecting those around us, making ripples—"

God, he really was attractive, stupidly so. And looking at him it seemed so long ago that she'd been panicking over feeling—something for him. Well, no, the panic was still there but it felt distant. As if, in the face of a greater trial, something in her recognized that there were far greater battles to face.

Tom Riddle and his stupid face and his stupid hints at a Tom Riddle who could have been would stay with her no matter what world she was in. She knew that much now, just as she somehow knew—if she did return home, when she returned home, he would not intentionally become her enemy.

At least, something in her had decided as much.

That must have just been another excuse.

"But they're not very nice ripples, are they?" Harry asked, "Riddle, apparently, has my every thought in his head for the taking if he wants it. So, that's great. Not to mention that he's gone and—mucked up his entire life without a hint of regret. And you heard what Alphard said. He'd—He's willing to—I can't just stay and let him do it."

"You could say no," Tom pointed out, but Harry just laughed.

"I mean, yeah, I could," Harry said, "But that probably won't stop him, didn't stop the other you, now, did it?"

"Harry," Tom tried again, and he looked genuinely concerned, perhaps even a little afraid as he spoke to her, "You could have a good life here, you could have everything you've ever wanted."

He motioned around them, and as he did, the scenery changed. Gone was the Forbidden Forest and in its place the Gryffindor common room, a warm, welcoming place, "You're not the girl who lived, here, Harry. Everything you do, everything you've earned here, it's on your own merit and no one else's. People have already started to take notice of you, of your talent, and even without Riddle or Black's help you could go far."

He looked back at her, shaking his head, "Harry, if we go back, if we by some miracle do make it, then all of that goes away. Voldemort will be right back where we left him, the responsibility of dealing with him somehow falling on you and you alone. The ministry will be right back where you left it. Everything, Harry, will be exactly where we left it."

And before she could say anything he added, "And you are not responsible for anyone else. You aren't responsible for Tom Riddle, let him become Voldemort or not if he wants to, let him throw everything away if he wants to. You certainly aren't responsible for Black either, and don't go thinking he'd live a happier, more comfortable life, had you never existed. We are only responsible for ourselves, Harry, and you owe them nothing."

Harry just shook her head, "Maybe I don't but—If we can get back, my friends don't deserve to be condemned to Voldemort, and I don't—I won't screw everyone's lives over by hanging around here."

More than that, when Alphard had brought up marriage, it had felt like the walls were closing in. She'd felt it before, that feeling of growing too comfortable here, but she hadn't felt it quite like that moment. Harry had been thinking about next summer, or after graduation, and had thought that was plenty far ahead.

Alphard had been thinking about his entire life.

About dates for Valentine's Day, summer plans, and the rest of their lives.

And Harry—

Harry felt the future closing in on her.

Valentine's Day, that had felt ages in the future when Alphard said it, now it felt much too close. As if, if she was still here by then, it'd already be far too late. Valentine's, Easter break, even waiting for summer was too long.

She didn't have time to earn money for a portkey to France, didn't have time to spend the summer with Riddle in his orphanage, she had to go and she had to go now. Forget Hogwarts, forget this life she was playing at here, and just go as fast as she could before anything else could happen.

"Harry," Tom said, "That's all well and good, but you have no idea where Grindelwald is."

"He's in France, isn't he?" Harry asked, then, after a thought, added, "Shouldn't you know where he is?!"

"I was in school at the time, if you'll remember" he said dryly, "Grindelwald's exact movements were not my concern, nor should they be yours."

"I'll find him," Harry said, and she would. She didn't know how she'd pull it off, but she would, somehow. Just like she'd find out what this mysterious overpowered artifact might be, even though she didn't have a clue what it was either.

No impossible odds had ever stopped her before.

"Even so," Tom said, "He's at the height of his power, Harry. This is nothing like you've faced before. You have always met Voldemort at his weakest, lowest points, and he has never considered you a true threat. This will not be the same."

"Why should that matter?" Harry asked.

"Because this could go very poorly and you have no need to do this," he said, but he was no longer looking at her, instead staring hopelessly into the fireplace, as if he knew he had already lost, "Harry—I know things are, that you—you don't have to go back. Not for the people here, not for me, and not for the friends you've left behind."

Harry didn't care though, and she was sure he knew that if the look on his face was indication. Oh, he was trying to argue, but he'd known it was a lost fight before he'd even gone and opened his mouth.

Came with the territory of living in her mind, after all.

As if on cue, Harry found herself waking up.

It was the middle of the night, her dormmates still asleep and likely to remain so for a few hours yet. The window to the bottom of the lake showed nothing but pitch-black water, nothing visible in the murky midnight haze.

She stared at it for a long while.

Yesterday, she would have curled right back in on herself and gone to sleep. As it was, she felt—tired and sluggish. Her bed was warm, getting up would mean having to change, having to brave the cold dungeon air.

She could still sleep for a few more hours. She could wait until breakfast, have a decent meal, more than she'd ever be able to afford outside these castle walls.

Just like she could stay for a few more months, wait out winter at the very least and disappear in the summer when the weather was nice. A few more years, wait until she was graduated and no one would ever think of her again. Then a few more decades until she lost the nerve to leave altogether.

She flipped out of bed and let her feet touch the cold, stone, ground. Before she could think she started pulling on her clothes, began packing Riddle's artfully made wardrobe, and tried to think of anything she might need.

Except the more delays meant more time to think meant the greater the likelihood she'd chicken out again.

Hogwarts. Had she really ever thought she'd find an answer in Hogwarts or had it just been convenient? Had she been willing to settle for familiarity from the very beginning, telling herself that Hogwarts' library would have something or there'd be some secret room that would give her the answer?

So much effort getting here and what had she thought she'd find here? What had she needed here so badly?

She'd find food on the continent, whatever she was forgetting, she'd find on the continent. If she stopped now, then she'd never be able to convince herself to do this again. She'd never see Ron or Hermione or Sirius or anyone ever again and whatever happened to this world—she'd have to live with it.

Moving as stealthily as she could, Harry made her way out the door, and began to sneak across the common room.

"And where the hell do you think you're going?"

Only to stop dead in her tracks.

There, sitting by the fireplace reading a book that looked entirely too thick, was none other than 1942's answer to Tom Riddle.

Harry looked at him, blinking, but he didn't disappear. It was well past midnight and he—was just sitting here. Well, not quite, he was sitting there looking very tired and very pissed.

"Why are you here?" Harry asked.

"Funny that," he said, "I couldn't help but feel slightly concerned after our date ended. I had the nagging suspicion I'd catch you doing something very stupid."

Unspoken was that he was, indeed, catching her doing something very stupid.

"Well, I'm not," Harry said slowly, "So you can go back to bed. We're all good here."

"I see you've packed a bag," he said, eyes landing on her bag.

Harry decided it was best not to answer that.

"I see you're also sneaking out in the dead of night," he added, almost conversationally, almost pleasant enough to hide the edge in his tone.

"Felt like a good idea at the time," Harry quipped back, before adding, "Nothing to do with you, don't worry about it."

"I see," he said, smiling pleasantly, "That's nice to hear. Because you see, Harry, I was beginning to worry you intended to drop out of school and sneak off into the night without a word to anyone."

"Yeah," Harry said slowly, "I would never do something like that."

"No, you wouldn't," Tom agreed.

Neither moved.

"Well," Harry said slowly, turning around to head back into her dorm room (why she hadn't just apparated out from there was beyond her, probably because it was three am and she was exhausted), "I guess I'll just go right back to sleep—"

"I think we should chat."

And just like that, Harry found herself pulled backwards by invisible strings until she was standing right in front of Tom Riddle's chair. He was still smiling pleasantly.

"At three?" Harry asked, "Riddle, mate, we have class tomorrow—"

"Doesn't seem to bother you any, does it?" he asked in turn.

And here she actually did laugh, "Yeah, but that's because I'm me. Please, Riddle, we both know I'm doomed to fail History of Magic, but you have a perfect O record. No one will care if I sleep through class, but you—"

"Can it, Harry," Riddle said, closing his book with a dramatic thud, "Where are you going? Friends again?"

"No," Harry said swiftly, which was actually true, she was never going to visit the fair folk again if she could help it.

He didn't seem to like that answer or to believe it. Which, well, from his perspective she guessed it did look a little suspect. He also didn't look like he was about to leave any time soon either.

Screw it, she'd just have to go for it here.

Harry had never been to France, she'd never even been to the cliffs of Dover or Britain's southern coast, and she really did have no idea where this Grindelwald bloke was. Or what he even looked like. Or how to pronounce his name.

But she also had been told she couldn't apparate into Hogwarts and she'd proven that wrong easily enough.

Harry tried to focus on… the idea of this Grindelwald fellow. The vague, blob-like, ominous presence he made on the continent. Something strong enough that it could pull her through time and space from Point A to Point B…

"How convenient," a voice interrupted her thoughts, "That you two would meet up all alone in the middle of the night without even waiting for us."

That was not Riddle.

Harry opened her eyes and turned to find herself facing Orion Black as well as Malfoy, one of the other Blacks, Crabbe and Goyle Sr., and a few of the blokes whose names Harry could never remember.

Oh, right, these fellows.

"Oh, for god's sake," Riddle hissed at the interlopers, "You couldn't even wait twenty-four hours?!"

"We've waited long enough," Orion sneered back, "Years to deal with you, Riddle, and certainly too long to deal with Evans if she's getting this uppity."

Merlin's pants, was this—was this actually happening? Harry had always thought her verbal spats with Malfoy were overdramatic and ridiculous. But being cornered in her own common room for daring to go on a date with Alphard Black? By multiple teenage goons? Was this actually real life.

… Right, Riddle could deal with this nonsense.

Harry could take advantage of his distraction and get herself the hell out of here.

Right, back to thinking of Grindelwald and—

That was about when the first hex flew. A particularly nasty one at that, judging by the color. It missed Harry's face by inches as it smashed into a hastily erected shield cast by Riddle.

Were these guys actually serious? If Slughorn caught them, he'd have all their heads, Snape certainly would have—well, maybe not, since they were all Slytherins. If he caught Harry and Malfoy duking out though back in her old world then Harry would have been in for a world of detention.

"Riddle," Harry snapped, "Aren't you going to deal with this?"

Tom spared her a very dry, withering, look, "I am dealing with this. What are you doing?"

Leaving.

"Uh, important things—" Harry said, then added as another spell hit against the shield, "I don't see how this is my problem."

"They're here for you, Harry!" Tom shouted, "They're here because you had the nerve to ask Alphard Black on a date!"

"That's great," Harry said, "But can't you just take them all down in like two seconds?"

Voldemort from Harry's world certainly could. Of course, he hadn't been a teenager and it hadn't been three am when she confronted him. Still, though, you'd think Tom could have ground the floor with these guys the way he'd taken down Orion Black earlier.

"Oh, if you're so good at it why don't you—"

Harry didn't let him finish, instead she—

Maybe it was because it was so late, maybe it was because she was so tired both emotionally and physically, and maybe some part of her was just done but—She didn't use a spell, no stunner or hex exited her mouth, and she wasn't even sure she flicked her wand.

Just, one moment, spells were flying at them like mad and then the next every single one of their attackers was on the ground.

Huh.

Well.

That was convenient.

Tom was gaping at her, looking impressed and… perhaps even a little scared. In an oddly breathy tone he asked, "Harry, what was that?"

Harry decided not to answer that.

Instead, looking at her wrist that did not, in fact, have a wristwatch, she said, "Oh, look at the time, got to run."

And with that, she apparated out of the castle, praying that she was headed to France if not Grindelwald.

In the blink of an eye, just like that, she was gone.

For a moment, Tom just stared, half wondering if he'd dreamt the whole thing. It'd been so fast, both her arrival, then the ambush, and then—

It'd been some gut instinct that told him to wait for her. Some alarm ringing in the back of his head that had only grown louder and louder as the afternoon passed. That niggling suspicion, worry, that Harry intended to disappear had only solidified with every step he took from Hogsmeade to Hogwarts.

By the time he'd turned in for the night, the idea that Harry might disappear that summer because Harry disappearing that very night.

And he'd been right.

As surreal as it all was—he was surrounded by his downed classmates, dealt with by little more than a flick of a wrist and an annoyed glance, all that was missing was Harry Evans herself.

Harry, who had the ability no one else had, to disappear at will from the schoolgrounds and appear anywhere in the world she liked.

And that was it, wasn't it?

She could be anywhere in the world right now.

And for all Tom thought he knew about her, for all he'd thought he'd put together, he had no idea where that might be. He had no idea where she was from, if she was even British at all for all that she seemed it. He had no idea where she'd gone this winter, if she was related to him, if she was related to anybody.

He had no idea if she felt anything for him at all.

She'd been intending on leaving without a word, that much was clear, and the only thing that abated the pain a little was that she'd clearly intended to do the same to Alphard Black. Had, in fact, at least Tom—

But it didn't help him to no where she was going either.

And—

And what did it matter?

He had school in a few hours, class that Harry no longer seemed to want to concern herself with. He was prefect, he had responsibilities. This was his place, Hogwarts was where he belonged until May, at which point he would return to Wool's. The idea of ever willingly leaving Hogwarts behind—it was terrifying.

The world was so wide beyond Hogwarts' borders, and without NEWTs or OWLs to his name, it felt even wider. Like it might very well swallow him whole.

But if he didn't leave, if he didn't try to find some trail to follow, then something told him he would never see Harry Evans again.

He'd be what he'd been before he met her. He'd graduate with honors, perhaps find himself a job in the ministry, perhaps chase after that vague ideal that was Voldemort, and he would never truly step outside the walls he'd built around himself. The rules and expectations of society, even when he told himself he flaunted them—they'd be everything to him. They would be his shackles in a way they never were hers.

Tom left the bodies on the floor, didn't even look at them, whether they came to in the morning was no longer his problem. He, after all, wouldn't be there to answer to Slughorn. He wouldn't be there at breakfast either, or at his first class, or any class after.

He might never return to Hogwarts again.

And that was—

It was almost too easy, to leave the only place in the world he'd ever truly considered home. Hadn't he once begged Dippet to let him stay over the summer? It seemed a life time ago now as he methodically transfigured and packed a rucksack. Clothes, books, everything he could think of went inside.

Where he was going, he had no idea, except that Harry was sure to be headed into the worst situation in the world. That meant the dark lord on the continent, France, and—Tom didn't know what, he only knew that he was running out of time and thanks to her overpowered horseshit he was behind at the gate.

But he would find her, no matter how far she went, no matter just how far she thought she could run, and when he did—

Whether he'd kill her, embrace her, or settle for punching her in the face was beyond him at the moment.

But God, he was going to do something, and it was going to be spectacular.

"Teenagers," Harry's subconscious said to Tom before they even landed, contemptuous, eleven-years-old, and very self-deprecating as she judged her conscious self's hormone fueled insanity.

He, of course, couldn't help but agree.

"Teenagers," he concurred with a sigh.

Oh, this was going to be awful.

She'd win, of course, no matter what he'd told her earlier. She'd win, no matter what it took, no matter what great power she had to unleash to do so. Now, she might take half of France with her, but he doubted she was thinking that far ahead. Regardless, she'd win, she'd claim Grindelwald's prize for herself, and she might catapult them through time and space to—Somewhere.

Perhaps her own 1996, perhaps another 1996, or perhaps a pit full of swamp monsters.

No way to tell really.

No, the only thing left for it was to hold tight with both hands, grumble to himself, and support her in this just as he did everything else.

Author's Note: Congratulations, Harry, you lasted almost a month.

Thanks to readers and reviewers, reviews are much appreciated.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter