Chapter 1: It is sown a natural body; it is raised a spiritual body.

Chapter Text

Tom woke to see Death staring back at him.

Cold breath blasted his skin with the stench of summer rubbish. Tom's stomach twisted in on itself and his heart raced. He couldn't tell if the rattling breath was his own or if it was coming from the maw under that gaping black hood.

He heard his own teeth chattering.

Somebodywhimpered nearby. Tom wanted to tell the creature that he did not want to die, obviously someone else was there who would be weak, easy prey.

Lord Voldemort did not beg for anything, and he would not negotiate with Death. Tom straightened his spine against the icy ground, wishing he could remember the moments leading up to this mess. His numb fingers groped for his wand in the damp grass.

Then Death retreated from him, releasing its hold on his lungs. Tom looked up at the full moon nestled between scattered stars and swore to magic herself that, should he survive this, please and thank you, he would spare the next blood traitor he met.

Despite having studied healing magic, he could think of no spell to make his stomach stop churning. His thoughts felt unnaturally sluggish, and he'd rather have his own faculties back instead of having to think at pace with the rest of humanity.

The pressure crushing Tom's chest lessened. The clouds above shifted, painting the night silver. He propped himself up and looked for Death.

A herd of Dementors stared back at him from the depths of their hooded rags. They were floating through the thick fog, stark black against the solid white reflected by the ice creaking underneath them. Though he was freezing cold and wet-robed, Tom was on solid ground at least.

It was impossible to tell how many Dementors there were, only that their presence was making his thoughtsooze. The air stabbed at his lungs, cold and sharp and insufficient. Before, Lord Voldemort had intended to make a pact with the beasts, but now he wanted nothing more than to raze them and all of Azkaban to the ground. Tom could hear his blood raging through his veins. He pushed himself to his knees and spat out a Lumos, though it was Fiendfyre he wished he were casting instead.

A soft glow greeted him, like a firefly in the grass. Tom reached out and crushed his hand around the wand, scowling when the magic shimmering within the wood wasn't his familiar yew-and-phoenix.

Still, it would have to do. Tom raised it against the pressing darkness, brightening the spell. "Begone," he said. He listened to his pulse pounding in his head; weak, human, spitefully mortal. Nearby, something howled.

Tom glanced at the full moon—surely that hadn't been as close as it'd sounded?

Rightfully intimidated by Tom's anger, the Dementors were drifting away, mist closing around them as if they'd never been there at all.

He could feel the pressure of the creatures lessen as they flew across the lake, accompanied by the creak and crackle of the ice melting in their wake.

Turning to the side, Tom tried to spit out the taste of rot and Dementor.

He almost choked. Lying right next to him was a corpse. Tom couldn't recall having murdered this one, but he knew the memory should be returning to him shortly.

He couldn't recall exactly how he'd come to be lying on the grass surrounded by Dementors, either. Which was much more problematic than the corpse, because Halloween had been a new moon, and sans Dementors it was entirely too warm for November. Something clenched in Tom's chest, a writhing certainty that things had gone terribly wrong. He needed to get to the heart of this before someone might suspect Lord Voldemort's weakness.

Tom knelt beside the corpse, searching for clues. Silver eyes stared blankly past him, as if looking for the constellations behind clouds and fog.

The man had clearly been a Black, though Tom couldn't place him. A bastard, perhaps? The corpse's robes spoke clearly of his disgrace. Tom shoved the cold, stiff body onto its side and helped himself to the trinkets in the man's pockets, then took the man's wand for good measure. Besides that, he was dead andthere was no useful information to be gained.

The howl sounded again. Tom climbed to his feet, wand raised.Homenum revelio.

Two figures were approaching. Tom turned towards them, satisfied to recognise that his magic marked one of them. Likely his Death Eater was coming to report the day's events. Spelling the dirt off his robes, he stepped beyond the reach of the lake water threatening to lap at his feet.

Tom had gotten out of worse situations than a spotty memory and a missing wand. Lord Voldemort would come out of this stronger, mightier, even greater than before.

"Harry!" Albus Dumbledore's voice called out from the fog.

Tom flinched. Caught wrong-wanded and barely recovered from the Dementors' presence, he knew he was in no state to face that man. This was awretchednight to be testing the efficacy of his Horcruxes, yet Tom saw no way to avoid a duel for his life. He raised his borrowed wand, magic building in his fingertips.

There was an outcropping of rocks nearby, but Lord Voldemort did not hide. Perhaps Harry was there, quivering in fear of the Dark Lord.

Tom hoped not. The revealing spell had shown only two living humans besides himself. The Black corpse, bastard or not, couldn't have been named something so mundane. If Dumbledore thought Tom had killed Harry, he'd be much more aggressive in his casting.

Two figures were stepping into view, mist clinging to their forms like a perverse embrace. If Tom were to cast Avada Kedavra now, he wouldn't know which one to hit, and if he waited another moment he'd entirely lose the element of surprise.

Reaching through his bond to the Death Eater for an instant, Tom poured pain and terror into it. If only his man would collapse, distracting Dumbledore, Tom would gain an extra second.

Neither fell. Albus Dumbledore and Severus Snape came out of the fog like figures from a bad dream.

To Tom's mortification the spell he cast wand was a simpleExpelliarmus, as if he were a schoolchild. Dumbledore's mouth fell open as his wand sailed into Tom's open hand. An impressive catch.

"Potter!" Severus' shout had Tom looking around in alarm. Potter? Hadn't he gone to kill the Potters last night? But there was nobody sneaking up behind Tom, nothing more dangerous than the small waves that had ruined his boots.

Meanwhile the greatest threat, Dumbledore himself, was standing right in front of him. Tom would make Snape pay, once he found his way out of this situation. Regardless of Tom's fondness for the young man, his potion-maker would be just as capable if he were missing a few digits.

Albus Dumbledore pried his wand back from Tom's fingers. "Harry, my boy," he said, looking directly at Tom. Surely the Headmaster hadn't always been so tall? "For a moment, I thought—"

The man didn't finish his sentence, realising the futility of his own cognitive weakness.

Harry Potter? Tom looked down at his robes.Hogwartsrobes with a Gryffindor crest sewn on.

Of course. There had obviously been an incident involving polyjuice. Tom nodded firmly, considering the implications; he had significantly less than an hour to leave the Headmaster's company. "Yes, sir." The feigned deference felt like venom corroding his tongue. "Perhaps we should go, there are Dementors nearby."

Severus was muttering something unintelligible over the dead Black, before he levitated the man and nodded back the way he and Dumbledore had come. "Lupin will still be nearby."

Albus Dumbledore forced Tom to walk beside him, making it impossible for him to cast anything else at the man. The moon lit their way to theglitteringcastle, and even in his hurry the sight of her made Tom's heart clench. Albus shone beside him like a silver beacon while Black trailed after them in parody of a kite.

Tom was reminded of the orphans heisting cloth scraps during their field trips to the beach, colourful specks tethered against the grey sky.

xoxox

Poppy Pomfrey huddled Tom into one of the infirmary beds alongside a ginger grimacing in his sleep and a buck-toothed girl who really needed to be cursed silent before Tom 'accidentally' lost control of his wand.

Albus Dumbledore stood before them, a curious gleam in his eye as he listened to the girl wax on about the innocence of Sirius Black. Tom barely heard her, he had no interest in schoolyard spats. Something niggled in his mind aboutSirius, surely the corpse by the lake had been much older than twenty, but Tom had bigger worries. The Black's innocence in whatever he'd been accused of didn't matter now that he was dead.

While murmuring perfunctory agreements, Tom let his mind comb through the possibilities of how he'd landed in some Potter child on Hogwarts' grounds. The thought was glorious even though the tactical advantages he'd intended were entirely unclear. If this was an assassination attempt, it should have been much better planned, but being thrustin medias reswas exhilarating.

"Perhaps more than one life can be saved tonight." Dumbledore said suddenly. "Five turns should do it, Miss Granger." Then he stepped up to Tom and patted him on the shoulder, throwing in an honest-to-Merlin wink.

Tom stared, certain that the man was mad. Even Tom's wildest dreams couldn't have conjured a situation like this. He nodded, Dumbledore had to believe Tom would play his part, or rather Harry Potter's part. It couldn't be long before his skin began bubbling back into his own familiar form.

He'dattemptthis plot another time having made better preparations, but for now Harry Potter was welcome to have his inane schoolboy life back.

The wand, though, Tom decided he'd be keeping; it was delightfully eager with a fiery spirit. Now if only he could recall why the name 'Harry Potter' sounded so familiar. There shouldn't be a Potter at Hogwarts this year, he was certain. The family was known for its poor fertility, a stark contrast to the Weasleys.

When Dumbledore finally departed Tom could feel his skin crawling with urgency; the seconds before the potion wore off had already been stretched thin. He reached for his jacket, quite ready to make his excuses—when Granger pounced, wrapping the chain of a time-turner around their necks.

A time-turner on a child; Tom had murdered for less. "Where did you get that?" he demanded, even as the world was whirling around them.

"Your cloak, Harry," Hermione whispered when they arrived in the infirmary, rays of sunlight slanting through the windows.

Tom felt like his navel had been turned inside out. The world had gone mad, surely children didn't deserve rare magical artefacts.

"Let me see." He reached for the gold around her neck.

"It's spelled to me, I can't take it off." She batted his hands aside and ignored the fire in Tom's eyes. "Look, I'll show you later Harry, but we don't have time now."

Upon the girl's insistent whispering he began patting his pockets, startling when he found a sheet of sheer spun magic. It puddled through his fingers like woven water. Granger wrapped them in its shimmer of invisibility and fabulous workmanship.

Tom decided the cloak and the wand would have to suffice as trophies for now. He'd get that time-turner the next time he polyjuiced as Harry Potter.

Granger had been leading the way towards the Great Hall, set on some mission. "Professor Dumbledore said two innocent lives, he must have meant Buckbeak too, comeonHarry!"

The speed at which she spoke reminded him of Bellatrix, though of course Bella would never dare pull him behind the groundkeeper's hut. Of course, Tom was only following her because it was the direction he'd intended to go already.

She slowed when they moved into the Forbidden Forest, its shade thick with insects and heat. Granger settled on a treestump, ignoring the threat of moss staining her robes. Inexplicably, she seemed entirely content to wait.

Tom cast aTempus. How long had it been since the Dementors? But there was no chance he'd be waiting with Granger anyway. "It would be prudent to split up. Divide and conquer." Tom flashed her a smile, the kind that used to make women do whatever he wished. It translated just as well to Harry Potter's face.

"Alright," Granger said. "But we can't be seen. Professor McGonagall said that'd drive me mad."

Even her own teachers had deigned the girl infirm, weak. Tom nodded, eager to get away. "I could go eavesdrop in the Shrieking Shack."

"How will we save Sirius, Harry? Professor Dumbledore said two innocent lives."

She was delusional. Sirius Black was likely on auror duty in Knockturn, under Moody's watchful eye. But even if some convoluted chain of occurrences would lead to the Black blood traitor dying in several hours, that was hardly Tom's priority. "The Headmaster's plan will reveal itself later, I am certain." Of course, that implied the old man had cogitated a workable plan at all.

Tom nodded at her and walked deeper into the forest, hurrying towards the edge of the school wards. It was high time he returned to his usual perspective; this schoolchild he was wearing was terribly short-sighted, not to mention short. Little Barty would be waiting in Lord Voldemort's Manor like a golden retriever. He'd be able to remind Tom where the missing time had gone, just like he always did.

When the next tree tried to trip him as he passed, Tom slashed through its roots with a snarl. He ignored the way the forest was murmuring its discontent. If the plants didn't want him to blast his way through the underbrush they should bloody well get out of the way.

"Halt."

Whirling, Tom drew his wand on the centaur. If the beast were to fire that arrow into him, she'd be long dead by the time he finished bandaging his wound.

"You do not belong here."

"I'm simply passing through."

Her hoof pawed at the ground. She glanced at the red sunlight setting through the leaves. "Two comets collide tonight. You are out of time, young one."

"As I said, I was just leaving. If you don't mind." Tom made sure she understood from his voice that he did not care about her minding, regardless of her status as Fate's chosen Watcher. He didn't turn away though, not while that arrow was aimed at his throat.

The centaur hummed, unaccustomed to human thought. "You do not belong here, and yet here you are. A moon circling a planet, breaking into orbit around a star. Leave now in peace, human. We will be following your journey in the night sky."

"Right." Tom stepped onward, certain that the edge of the wards was just beyond the next copse of trees.

"That way is not yours, interloper. You have an appointment with the Sisters Three tonight."

Fate, Destiny, Prophecy, the women who wove the tapestries of life—he'd never heard a centaur speak so clearly. Like a light switch, Tom's emotions flipped to a burning fire, there was a shiver running up his spine. He stepped back the way he'd come, wishing he'd summoned a broom earlier to spare him the trek ahead. "Thank you. Good evening, centaur." It wouldn't do to leave Fate waiting.

He did not lower his wand and she did not lower her bow all the way to the edge of the forest. Tom stepped from the trees feeling wrong and right warring in his chest. Lady Magic, it seemed, hadn't decided just yet.

"Farewell. Do not enter our woods again."

Tom nodded at her and forced himself to turn away.

The walk, her words, it had set his thoughts rushing from river to waterfall, and down a very, very long drop.

Another Tempus showed that over an hour had passed in the forest, which made at least two hours since he'd woken up at Hogwarts. Tom knew neither polyjuice nor spell could cause this long-lasting an effect.

He knew of no Potter currently at Hogwarts, and Sirius Black was supposed to be a young man rising through the Ministry ranks.

Two comets collide tonight. You are out of time, young one.

In search of answers, Tom disillusioned himself and walked towards the Shrieking Shack.

AN: more of this WiP on ao3, I'll cross post as I have time. Thank you for reading!