Summary: A thoroughly impossible freak accident transports our favorite attractive psychopath forward in time from 1942 to 1996. Harry Potter/Tom Riddle slash. Quidditch tryouts!
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, Tom Riddle, or any other people, places or objects that may appear in this humble work of fiction.
Warnings: Possible spoilers up to the fifth book. M/M, obviously. Rating is down as T for now but may, possibly, increase to M as things progress.
Author's Note: Back from Niagara and ready to continue the story!

Chapter Fourteen: Slightly Lukewarm Comfort

Harry and Ron got up to leave the table; Katie Bell and Ginny walked toward them as they did so in response to Ron's previous loud declaration.

'It's time,' Katie said, with nervousness making her voice shake. 'I hope we have better tryouts than last time. Most of the candidates last year were pretty awful – er, no offense, Ron,' she added, her face going red.

Ron shrugged. 'Right, let's go. You coming, Tom?' he asked, his eyes hopeful.

'No,' Tom replied. 'Thanks anyway, but I'm not much of a Quidditch fan.'

'What do you mean?' Ginny said through gritted teeth, glaring at him. 'You have to come, doesn't he, Harry?'

'Yes, he does. Come on, Tom,' Harry said, crossing his arms and waiting.

'Why does he have to go?' asked Hermione. 'If you're worrying about him getting lost, I'll keep an eye on him until after the tryouts, if you like.'

No way, thought Harry, definitely not after what he pulled in Potions. 'Hermione, Dumbledore wants me to watch him, okay?' he said desperately, begging the powers that be that she would ask no more questions.

'I don't see why,' Tom said, finally looking up from his plate. 'I'll be fine with Hermione, thanks, Harry.'

'Tom,' Harry cried softly, despairingly. 'Please?'

'Come on,' said Ron cajolingly. 'It should be fun to laugh at the ones who nearly fall off their broomsticks. And you'll have plenty of time tonight for homework; the tryouts will only be an hour or so.'

'I'd really like you to watch,' Harry added calmly, now that Ron's input had given him a chance to collect himself. 'If you want to do homework, you could read in the stands. It's not even dark yet.'

'Actually, that sounds like a rather appealing idea,' said Hermione. 'I wouldn't mind getting some fresh air after being down in the dungeons so long. I'll watch, too.'

'Then I'll go,' Tom said decisively, his eyes locking on Harry's. Harry could distinctly feel that Tom was thinking something like you owe me one, Potter, but he was too thankful that he didn't have to do any more arm-twisting to care about what Tom thought Harry owed him.

'Great, let's go!' Ron grinned, rubbing his hands together.

Tom was highly irritated by this turn of events. He hated being outside; his pale skin tended to sunburn easily – though he did put a Sunblock Charm on himself, so this wasn't really an issue. What he truly hated was that his eyes were inevitably drawn to the skies –to the Gryffindors soaring high in the air, passing the Quaffle to Katie Bell and Andrew Kirke, a Beater on the team who Harry had introduced to Tom on the pitch before the tryouts began. Tom watched the contestants' mostly inept attempts to pass and their wholly inept attempts to score on Ron Weasley. The only one who scored was that annoying Ginny Weasley, but from what Hermione told him – she wasn't working, either – Quidditch was something of a family talent.

Tom attempted to continue his work whenever one student was coming down and another was going up, but to no avail. As much as he hated Quidditch – and he did hate it; it was an utterly stupid and pointless activity that he had no patience with – he always had found himself attending Quidditch games at school against his own better judgment. He was entranced by watching the players zoom around like speedy little mosquitoes. He didn't particularly care who scored what – though he did, of course, cheer whenever Slytherin scored, if he happened to notice – and he only ever knew that a game had ended when people around him shouted or booed at the top of their lungs.

'Euan Abercrombie!' Ron called out as he soared low across the pitch. A boy who looked to be a second-year climbed eagerly up onto his broom.

The person Tom liked to watch most was Harry. His only job in this practice session seemed to be to fly around the contender's legs and pretend to nearly fly straight into them, to make sure they didn't get distracted – or worse – by the Seeker as he flew after the Golden Snitch. One girl had shrieked and let go of her broom. She had nearly fallen off, but managed to latch her ankles onto it just in time, so she fell upside down and her robes went over her head. Tom and Hermione had both chuckled at that. Otherwise, Harry seemed content to fly high and do daring tricks, which mesmerized Tom for the most part, though he snapped out of it every few minutes and, disgusted with himself, went back to his reading; he had yet to turn the page.

Euan Abercrombie was the last; when he was done, the team soared back to the ground, and Tom couldn't help but be a little disappointed that it was over. He saw the team ushering the hopefuls out of the stadium. Hermione stood up and walked down the stands towards the team; Tom followed suit.

When the two reached the players, Ron spoke immediately. 'They were horrific, weren't they?' he cried wretchedly, sitting on the steps to the bleachers with his head in his hands. Hermione nodded, her eyes wide, biting her lip. The rest of the team appeared downcast.

'We have to choose two of them,' Katie Bell sighed. 'Ginny Weasley, obviously,' she said, her eyes on Ron, 'but she was the only decent one. I absolutely cannot work with Elladora Nutcombe. She's not such a bad flyer, but every mistake she made she blamed on me not watching her movements properly so I could be in the right place to catch! She's not a team player at all!'

'Alright, alright,' said Ron, waving his hands. 'No Elladora Nutcombe, then. Pity, because she was second best to Ginny. Heck, she was the only one aside from Ginny who could fly straight.' He looked at Katie hopefully, but she frowned and shook her head, unwilling to back down.

Ron sighed. 'None of the rest was any good at all. We're going to need another good Chaser if we're to beat Slytherin handily.' He glanced at Hermione. 'You wouldn't be considering trying out, would you? You couldn't do worse.'

'You must be mad! With all the classes I'm taking, practice Quidditch three times a week!' Hermione shrieked, as if the very thought was enough to make her have a breakdown.

'What about you, Tom?' Ron asked, a predatory gleam in his eye. 'You could at least try! You have to be better than the jokers who just tried out!'

'He seems friendly enough,' Katie considered, nodding. 'He'd be a decent team player, I think.'

Like hell I would, Tom thought indignantly. He opened his mouth to refuse, but Harry got there before him.

'Ginny doesn't like him, though!' Harry said, his eyes wide in panic. 'And-and he hasn't played Quidditch before at all!'

'What do you mean, Ginny doesn't like him? How could she not like him if she's only known him since Monday? And you hadn't played Quidditch before you got on the team, either,' Ron pointed out.

'I can't see what I've done to offend Ginny Weasley!' Tom said, momentarily more annoyed by the idea of her disliking him for no apparent reason – well, aside from a murder he had probably committed before her mother was born – than by getting roped into trying out for Quidditch.

This was all the opening Ron required. 'Exactly, you're a nice enough bloke, now, you can use Sloper's broom, here –' Ron grabbed Jack Sloper's broom out of his hands abruptly and thrust it to Tom, 'and go through a few passes to Katie and Andrew, go on, then.'

And, before Tom could catch up with what was happening, Ron, Katie, and the two Beaters had crowded round him and were pushing him towards the pitch. He could vaguely hear Hermione's cries of 'But he's got as many classes as I do! He doesn't have time for Quidditch!' as he was marched off, but no one else seemed to hear her.

'I don't know if this is a good idea,' Harry said, grabbing Ron by the shoulder.

'Don't worry, Harry!' Ron called back to Harry loudly, not taking his eyes away from Tom, who was now being prodded and encouraged by the other three leading him all at once, so Tom couldn't really hear what they were telling him.

Tom reached the pitch and was released. 'I'm honestly not very –'

'Oh, go on then!' Ron grinned. 'Get up!'

Tom mounted the broomstick. He had never been very good at that part, and he saw Ron cringe as he got on clumsily. Some of his enthusiasm faded. 'Okay, then, up!' Ron cried, motioning to the air with his hands.

Tom didn't know how it happened, but he couldn't remember kicking off at all. It seemed to him like the broom was obeying Ron's command rather than his, because Tom knew that the last thing he wanted to do at that moment was go into the air. He clutched at the broomstick hard as it climbed higher and higher, and then, when he wished more than anything else in the world that it would stop, its upward climb ceased, and it evened out high in the air. He was still going very fast, though, and heading towards the stands.

I'm going to die…

'Look at him go!' said Ron, his eyebrows raised as he watched Tom come close to missing the bleachers. 'He's pretty good at turning, isn't he?'

Harry felt ill. He kicked off from the ground and flew high and fast, catching up with Tom quickly and flying steadily about twenty feet to his right as Tom circled the pitch. Harry absently noticed Katie, Andrew and Ron flying up, but he kept his focus on Tom, who didn't look too well.

'Oi, Tom!' Ron called as Tom passed him. 'Come over here.'

Tom came over, all right; the broom swerved and came right back at high speed, directly towards Harry. The team looked on in alarm as Tom headed on a collision course; then, at the last second, like a bizarre sort of horizontal Wronski Feint, he came to a halt, nearly flying off his broom at the abruptness of his stop.

'Well, good, you can stop,' said Ron. 'All right, let's try some passing.'

Harry wondered for a moment if Ron had lost his mind; couldn't he see how white Tom's face was, how tightly he was clutching the handle of the broom, and how violently his shoulders were shaking? But none of the others seemed to notice, either, and Katie threw the Quaffle to him. To Harry's surprise, Tom reached out to catch it unthinkingly, still staring straight forward in shock. Then, a second or two later, it seemed to have reached Tom's mind that he'd caught it, and he turned his head to stare at it as though it were a crystal ball showing someone's horrendous fate.

'Well, come on, pass it back!'

I'mgoingtodieI'mgoingtodieI'mgoingtodie…

Tom didn't do half badly; he was able to complete a few simple passes and, while he couldn't get the Quaffle past Ron, he hadn't thrown it right at the Keeper, unlike some of the hopefuls. When they got back to the ground, though, Harry could see he needed a little help getting off his broom, and he was barely able to stand on his own once Harry had helped him dismount. Once on his feet, barely, Tom started staring right through Harry's eyes as though Harry was wearing his Invisibility Cloak. He seemed to Harry to be in a state of shock and Harry, despite himself, felt rather sorry for him for more than a brief moment.

'Congratulations, you're on the team!' Ron cried, slapping Tom on the back. Harry immediately caught Tom around the shoulders to prevent him falling over. 'First practice is Saturday morning! You'll have to order a broom, too, but you can use the school ones until you get your own.'

Tom then looked at Ron, staring through him the same way he had stared through Harry, though Tom's mouth had started to open and close, too. Ron, looking discomfited, mumbled something about posting the results, and walked off to the changing rooms. The rest of the team, giving Tom encouraging smiles, walked back as well. Tom turned again to stare at Harry, though his gaze was gradually losing its blankness and his eyes were managing to move instead of keeping straight forward.

'Oh, this is silly!' Hermione hissed. 'Tom doesn't have time for Quidditch!'

Harry looked from Hermione to Tom and back again twice before biting his lip, sighing, and saying, 'Look, Tom, I'll help, it's-it's not so bad, flying, once you get used to it, and you were decent, mostly.'

Tom just nodded; he'd stopped opening his mouth, and now it looked as though he'd developed lockjaw. Tom was going to be okay, Harry reminded himself, even though he looked as though he'd just been hit by a Confundus Charm.

Somehow, Harry thought grimly, I don't think this is what Dumbledore had in mind.

'Your friend is nutters,' Tom said once Hermione had gone back up to the bleachers to grab her books and his mouth was working properly again. Tom didn't know how he'd done it; he hadn't flown much at all before except very low to the ground to get to and from the Forbidden Forest on the beat-up old school brooms. Each time during the tryout when he had thought he was going to die any second, the broom had done exactly what was necessary to avoid disaster, as if answering Tom's mental pleas to not end up as a red stain on the highest bleachers.

'Yeah,' Harry sighed. He slung his broom over his shoulder. 'Look, just don't muck up on purpose, okay? Don't throw the matches.'

Tom looked at him as though he'd just said the most absurd thing in the world. 'Why would I make mistakes on purpose when I'm sixty feet in the air and clinging to nothing but a stick of wood?' he growled. 'You're as nutters as he is! I'm not suicidal and I don't want to be on your ruddy Quidditch team!'

Harry glared up at Tom. 'Fine, go tell Ron that, then. Go tell the Gryffindors that you're too frightened to play Quidditch for your house. That will go over really well with your fan club, that will.'

Tom had come to the same conclusion even before he had objected to being on the team, but it had still felt nice to voice his annoyance. It was all Harry's fault for insisting that he come down to the pitch with him, after all. Tom rubbed at his temples and closed his eyes hopelessly. 'I can't believe I'm going to risk my life for Gryffindor honor,' he grumbled.

Hermione came back down, and Tom plastered on his usual smile, though it was harder to put on than usual.

'Don't worry,' Harry said, rolling his eyes. Lowering his voice, he hissed, 'much as I would like to let you fall off your broomstick, I promised the Headmaster I'd look after you.'

That, thought Tom, is cold comfort, indeed.

Nevertheless, much of his remaining unease left him. He knew how hilariously stoic Gryffindors could be and that they could usually be trusted – the fools – not to go back on their word, at least not the stupid ones like Potter; Dumbledore was another matter entirely. Besides, he knew how well the Quidditch stars were regarded in his own time; if this was at all the same, he'd be popular and powerful again in no time. Once he gained their complete trust and admiration, it would be an easy matter to slip away from Harry whenever necessary; with a few well-placed words, they'd probably help Tom escape him. In the end, this situation could easily turn to Tom's advantage. However, there was still a missing piece to this puzzle:

Where am I going to get a broom?

TheSecretCharacter: As Dumbledore explained, Tom can't go back to his own time. He's stuck where he is.

Unfortunately Freckled: Yes, there will be slash before Tom discovers his true identity.

ddtrunks77: Dumbledore has kept Tom's true identity secret from most of the staff… and don't forget that Snape is hardly the best at keeping important secrets (case in point: Lupin).