Disclamer: Neither Harry nor Tom belong to me…*sob*
A/N: Well, I just have to say, I was really surprised that this story got any reviews at all. I was expecting either none, or a few flames along the lines of "I hated your story you sadistic bitch, why the hell did Harry ever pity Voldemort, ect, ect…" But you guys liked it! Thank you!
In fact, I was planning to start another Tom story altogether, but I'll keep on with this one now. I hope you enjoy chap. Two….
*
Where am I? the boy thought to himself as he wandered the long, dark tunnel that stretched on endlessly in front of him, following the light up ahead. In fact, it wasn't like wandering- rather, he should say, it was floating. Floating upwards, through the tunnel.
The boy was sure that he hadn't been anywhere like this before, but somehow he knew what to do. He had to reach the light.
He stretched his hand out in front of him, and then he was touching two gigantic, golden gates, and the tunnel fell away behind him. So- what now?
"Harry," a soft, low voice called to him.
Harry? Is that my name? thought the boy, even as he turned to face the source of the voice. It was a woman, swathed all in a gold too bright to look at. She floated a little above the ground, and the snow- white wings of an angel stretched behind her. As he looked into her beautiful, green eyes, he suddenly realized that somehow he knew her; but- how?
"Do you recognize me, my son?" she asked him in the same low voice. It was sweet and smooth as honey.
"No," he answered her honestly.
The angel smiled and nodded. "Then, it is not your time, love. It saddens me to part from you yet again- but someday, we will spend an eternity together. I promise."
The angel took him into her arms. She smelled of spring, and lilies. Harry- for now he had accepted that as his name- reached up and wove his fingers through her long, red hair, clinging to her for dear life. He did not want to leave her comfort.
"Who are you?" he sighed.
"I am your mother. I am Lily," she answered, and drew away from him. He tried to grasp at her again, but it was like attempting to hold handfuls of light. Then he was falling, back down the tunnel.
"Wait!" he called out, reaching for her receding form.
"Goodbye, Harry, and good luck!" his mother answered, and he hit the bottom, and blacked out.
*
It smelled bad. That was the first thing that Harry noticed as he came back to himself. Not bad in the sense of garbage, but in the sense of death, and sickness. It smelled sterile.
His tongue felt like sandpaper in his mouth, and he was extremely weak. Desperately, he tried to remember why he had ended up like this.
He forced himself back into full consciousness, and dimly he heard someone holding a conversation in his room.
"You say you're his brother?" the voice- a man- demanded with authority. Ah, thought Harry, that sounds like a doctor. I must be in a hospital.
"Yes." The second voice answered. This one sounded rather young.
"He's had a bad concussion, and may be experiencing memory loss. He's also had severe blood loss, so we'll have to keep him here for a while. But other than that, it's nothing serious."
"Thank you, doctor."
There was the sound of a door being shut, and then everything was quiet again, except for a rhythmic 'beep' of a machine behind him. What should he do? Should he attempt a conversation with the owner of the second voice? He didn't even know who it was- what if-
"I know you're awake," said the same voice from before, the one who had been speaking with the doctor.
With a groan, Harry carefully opened his eyes. Then he stifled a cry- the boy was inches away from his face!
The boy laughed. He was rather good looking, reflected Harry, with dark hair that graced a pale complexion.
"Hallo. Sorry to scare you," he said. "You're looking better. You were nearly dead when I brought you here, you know, which of course is my own fault. But I made up for it- I saved your life, as well." He reached out to brush Harry's bangs from his forehead. "That scar is gone."
"What scar?" croaked Harry.
"What scar?" cried the other, as if shocked. Then he looked reflective. "Do you really have memory loss? Can't you remember me?"
"No," Harry answered, for the second time that day.
"Oh. Well then, my name's Tom. And yours is Harry."
"I know. My moth-" Harry stopped. Should he tell this person about his encounter?
"You're not so bad off, if you can remember your name then," Tom continued, choosing to ignore his last comment. He took the seat beside Harry's bed.
"Are you really my brother?"
Tom shook his head. "I just told the doctors that when I brought you in so they'd keep me informed. But we look enough alike that I could pull it off."
Harry remembered, dimly, what he looked like. Dark hair, green eyes, glasses- he also remembered that he had hated his reflection. Memories came flooding back- of his aunt and uncle, of Dudley, of the cabinet under the stairs. But, when he tried to go farther, his mind hit a brick wall. Maybe Tom could offer him some answers.
"Then- where do I know you from?"
Tom shifted in his chair, as if the question had made him uncomfortable. "We've been acquaintances for a long, long time. We went to the same school- Hogwarts."
"Hogwarts?"
"It's the 'School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.' We're both wizards, you and I. And rather good ones, at that- but in different areas, shall we say." Tom shifted in his chair again.
"Oh. Really? I'm a wizard?" Harry pictured himself dancing round a fire with a staff in his hand, and then as one of the old, gray-haired Merlins in the books he had read.
"Yes, you're really a wizard. While we're on the topic- here, take this." Tom pressed a wad of Hundred- pound notes into his hand.
Harry's eyes widened at the amount of money. "No, I can't-"
"Yes, take it," insisted Tom.
"Really, I don't want it-"
"It'll cover the hospital expenses, and then you can find an apartment somewhere, and live off of it, until they find you. It's better than living with those muggles." Tom's eyes darkened, and then he flushed and hung his head as if embarrassed. He shouldn't be- Harry didn't know what he was talking about
"Muggles?" Harry asked hesitantly.
Tom sat silent for a while longer, as if he had not heard Harry's question. Then, suddenly he looked up and waved his hand dismissively. "Non- magic folk. But Harry, I have a favor to ask of you in return. I know I have no right to be asking you favors, at all, but-"
"What?" said Harry firmly, sitting up and putting on his glasses. It was the least he could do to grant Tom a favor for all the money he had given him.
"I want you to erase my memory. All of it. I don't think I can stand living with it a minute longer. I mean, I'll teach you the spell, and everything, and all you'll have to do is cast it. Which shouldn't be a problem for you."
Tom grasped his hand and looked earnestly into his eyes. If Harry erased his memory, then he wouldn't have anyone left who knew him. He'd be alone, with no one to help him recover his memory. But Tom seemed to want it so badly, for some reason…
"Alright. How do I do it?"
Tom taught him the 'memory charm,' and then before he cast it Tom looked seriously down at him. "You look out for yourself, okay, Harry? There are still some of my followers out there, and they'll be wanting revenge. Avoid anyone suspicious- looking."
His followers? Thought Harry suspiciously. Who was he?
"Go on, cast it, before the doctors come back-" said Tom.
Harry murmured the appropriate words, waved the wand Tom had given to him, and a few moments later Tom was staring blankly at him.
"Your name is Tom Riddle," said Harry, repeating what Tom had told him to say. "You work as a traveling salesman. You are looking for a new job and an apartment."
Then Tom blinked, and asked "What am I doing here?"
"Leaving," said Harry, pointing at the door. Tom nodded and sauntered out, leaving Harry alone.
His followers want revenge on me? pondered Harry. And what did he mean it was his fault that I'm here?
Harry shuddered and pulled the flimsy blankets closer about himself. He had a nasty feeling that he'd find out, soon.
*
"And our top story for tonight…the boy hero Harry Potter still has not been found…"
The radio fizzed and rattled under Ron's fist. "Oh, shut up," he hissed at it. "No one ever like Harry while he was alive, and now it's a national tragedy when he's dead?"
"Ron," said Hermione gently, "people are stupid. You can't let it get to you- and besides, maybe Harry's not dead. We don't know for certain…."
The two of them were sitting in the den of the Burrow, settled in front of the fire. Everyone else had long since gone to bed, but they both found that ever since Harry disappeared, sleep was hard to come by.
"You're right," sighed Ron, staring disconsolately down at his lap. "Tomorrow, we'll visit Mungo's and…Hermione?" he gasped, staring at his friend.
"I miss him, so much…" choked Hermione, her resolve finally faltering. Crystalline tears were tracing their way down her cheeks.
"Hey," said Ron, awkwardly taking her into his arms, "don't cry, Hermione…you were always the strong one…"
"Yes, well…it's easy to be strong, when your loved ones aren't in danger…" Then she dissolved into sobs, clinging desperately to her friend.
"We'll find him. We have to."
An insistent tapping came from across the room. Ron disentangled himself from Hermione and rose, glancing at the window. It was an owl, perched on the ledge outside.
To his surprise, it wasn't a familiar bird- in fact, it looked like the ones the Death Eaters used, all black.
He opened the window cautiously, and the owl flew into the room with a burst of hot air. It deposited a slip of paper into Ron's hand, and then turned and flew out the window again.
"What does it say?" asked Hermione, eyes gone wide.
In scrawling handwriting the message read: Your friend has failed. The heir is alive.
*
A/N: I switched from first-person to third, I know. I hope it didn't throw any of you off; it was just a better option when changing this into a full- length fic, so that I can accurately display all of the character's nuances. TBC….