Summary: A thoroughly impossible freak accident transports our favorite attractive psychopath forward in time from 1942 to 1996. Harry Potter/Tom Riddle slash. Tom and Harry explore their relationship further, and Tom escapes Hogwarts.
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. Now rated M. If you think I have inserted any content that you would consider to be above an M rating, please tell me in a review and I will remove it. Frankly, I consider the ratings guidelines to be extremely vague and unhelpful. I've tried to keep to 'strong but non-explicit adult themes,' but I'm not a mind reader.
Author's Note: I know that you've all been waiting for Tom to find out The Truth, and you won't have to wait much longer :)

Chapter Twenty-Two: Thoughts Uncontrolled

The Quidditch match against Slytherin in mid-November was highly satisfying, but Harry was relieved that it was over. Gryffindor had won by two hundred ten points, with Harry catching the Snitch after about a half-hour of play. Neither Keeper had performed very well; Ron had kept looking into the stands avidly throughout the game, letting the Quaffle through twice without any resistance. He had become more agitated as the game progressed. The Slytherin keeper, Nott, had been similarly distracted, which was why Gryffindor had been sixty points up when the Snitch was caught.

Tom had scored two goals, and had kept playing even after getting his wrist broken by a Bludger. Harry had yelled at Andrew Kirke and Jack Sloper, the Gryffindor Beaters, for a full three minutes when he found out after the game before Ron stopped him, saying Harry sounded like one of his mum's Howlers. Madam Pomfrey had healed Tom in moments, of course, and the entire team was impressed with Tom for managing to play almost normally when he must have been in a lot of pain; the Beaters were sitting warily on the other side of the common room together, however, trying to avoid Harry, who still glared at them occasionally.

Ron walked over to Harry as the team celebrated afterward, looking morose. Tom was sitting on a couch next to Harry, as close as they dared in public, each with Butterbeer in one hand and food in the other. 'What's wrong, Ron?' Harry asked. 'Don't beat yourself up about letting those goals through. We won, anyway.'

Ron shook his head. 'I just had to screw up today, didn't I? It's not like I was expecting to be scouted, anyway, but –'

'Huh?' Harry said through a mouthful of pastry.

Ron looked at Harry incredulously. 'You mean you didn't know? Harry, the scouts were out there today! You know, for professional Quidditch! They were looking for new talent! Not that you have to worry about showing off for them,' he added bitterly.

Harry gulped down his mouthful and replied, 'Don't be like that. It's not my fault the scout saw you miss two saves.'

He sighed and collapsed into a chair. 'I know.'

'Is that why you were so nervous?' Harry asked.

'Yeah.'

There was a pause as all three took a swig of Butterbeer at once. 'They're going to be interested in you, Harry,' Ron said, sounding not at all bitter this time, but matter-of fact. 'You're an excellent Seeker, probably the best Hogwarts has ever had. You're even better than Charlie, and the scouts approached him halfway through his seventh year, but he turned them down.'

'Harry?' Tom snorted. 'Play professional Quidditch? Doesn't he have better things to do with his time?'

'What's that supposed to mean?' Harry and Ron both asked at once.

'I thought you wanted to be an Auror,' Tom pointed out. 'That's what you told me, anyway, but if you were lying –'

'No, no!' Harry cried. 'I wasn't lying, but I'm not exactly decided on it.' Harry couldn't bear to put much energy into thinking about whether he wanted to be an Auror or play Quidditch. The Prophecy hung over his head like an executioner's axe, and he still hadn't told anyone about it, not even Tom – especially not Tom. 'I wouldn't mind hearing what a Quidditch scout had to say, that's all.'

'It pays better,' Ron offered, 'and it's not as though you need more trouble.'

When he saw Tom's closed expression, Harry really wished Ron hadn't mentioned trouble. Tom was a bit touchy about how much 'trouble' (also known as 'fun' or 'hands-on experience' in Tom's vocabulary) Harry had experienced over the years without making any effort to get into it. As much as Tom looked tense and expectant when Harry told him about being cornered by You-Know-Who and thirty Death Eaters in his fourth year and being face-to-face with a Dementor in his third, they were still only stories to him, not reality. Tom thought it would be grand to be in Harry's position, 'poking your head out of Hogwarts at least once a year for a good spot of trouble and then going back to studying without even getting detention,' as Tom had called it. Tom could understand a lot of aspects of Harry's life, but the fact that Harry didn't enjoy dueling Death Eaters and Dementors wasn't one of them.

Tom's face brightened quickly, though, as it always did, and the tense moment was soon forgotten as the boys relived some of their favorite bits of the game, like when Malfoy flew right into a Bludger, which hit him in the stomach and knocked the wind out of him, and nearly made him fall off his broom.

What a wonderful night, Harry thought dreamily, pulling his own bruised lips from Tom's to catch his breath. Tom was being unusually calm and occasionally eager this evening, reciprocating Harry's efforts equally and even holding him closer for a few brief, heated moments.

Tom was breathing heavily, and there was a dark, wanting look in his eyes that Harry hadn't ever seen before on anyone, and it made his underwear – he wasn't wearing anything else – become tighter. Still staring breathlessly into those eyes, he unthinkingly reached his hand down to himself.

Tom's expression changed lightning fast to panicky and pale. He darted out his hand and pulled Harry's wrist up. Blinking, Harry realized what he had been doing.

'What are you playing at?' Tom hissed, sounding both angry and fearful. 'Do you want to go blind?'

There had been times – many times – when Harry had held back his laughter at Tom's 1940s naiveté, but this was far past anything Harry could have hoped to keep to himself. He began to laugh, trying so hard to keep quiet that it was hurting his chest. He fell back onto the bed, curled up and stifled his laughter with a pillow.

When he had regained enough control to stop about a minute or so later and looked up, Harry knew he was one wrong word or a giggle away from being transfigured into Yorkshire pudding, so furious was the snarling face looking back at him. 'Tom, you-you can't… it's not…'

Harry felt the corners of his lips curling dangerously again, and only pure fear of what Tom might do – what Harry was shocked Tom hadn't done already – if he put one more toe out of line kept him from cracking. 'Touching yourself… down there… won't make you go blind.'

'Of course it will,' Tom scoffed. 'That's why people get married.' He said this as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, as if people got married so they wouldn't go blind.

Please, Merlin, I don't want to be Yorkshire pudding, Harry begged himself, trying once more to keep from laughing in Tom's face. 'That's not true, Tom,' Harry said evenly. 'It won't make you go blind. If it did, every boy above third year at Hogwarts would need a walking stick.'

This time Harry did laugh, but only a little, and Tom seemed too intent on absorbing his meaning to notice. 'You… you all do that? A lot?'

Harry stopped laughing, or even smiling. He hadn't thought, even when he was laughing, that Tom could seriously think he'd lose his eyesight if he… oh no. 'Yes, we do. It's perfectly natural. It's normal, Tom. Everyone does it.'

'Oh,' Tom replied softly. 'Is there some new spell someone came up with –'

'No,' Harry cut in firmly. 'That's just a lot of bollocks. It always was. You have…?' Harry whispered hopefully.

'Of course I have,' Tom snapped. 'Everybody has tried it once, I'm not that daft. I thought it must cause degeneration over time, so I've always tried not to do it too often.'

Harry felt enormously relieved. Then he smirked, looking at Tom in what he hoped was a sexy way. 'I find the thought of you touching yourself arousing,' he said in a low voice.

'Bully for you,' Tom grumbled, crawling under the covers. 'Goodnight.'

'Fine, fine, I'm leaving.'

'Tom?' Harry whispered. It was late November, and they were lying in bed together, as they often did lately after kissing. Harry was rubbing Tom's shoulders and back from behind; he considered this to be his greatest accomplishment of the year. The fact that Tom would turn his back on him was impressive in and of itself, and the touching was a very satisfying added bonus. Tom was breathing softly, nervous but relaxing gradually.

'Yes?'

Harry forced himself to continue; he knew that he was probably jeopardizing the back rub by bringing this up again, but this question was more important. 'What are your nightmares about?'

He felt Tom freeze under his hands and pulled them away. 'Why do you have to keep asking me that?' His voice was that mixture of annoyance and desperation – mostly desperation – that Harry knew so well from discussing this topic before.

'It's important to me to know, that's all.'

'Why?'

Harry tried a different answer to this question each time. Each one of them – I want to help you, I don't like seeing you frightened, I care about you, and Just tell me already, you prat – were an expression of some facet of his feelings, but none of them had convinced Tom to tell him yet. He couldn't come up with anything new that night, so he went with the one that had gotten him the best results so far. 'Just tell me already, you prat.'

Harry didn't know if he'd ever understand why this answer made Tom merely huff, while the others made him spit and sneer and growl to varying degrees. No, that's not true, he sighed to himself; he did know why Tom minded this answer the least. The others annoy him because he finds them condescending; he's more comfortable with insults than condescension. Harry knew he should find having this much insight into a lunatic's mind frightening, but he was merely resigned to it.

'I don't feel comfortable talking about it,' Tom replied plainly, and it was true; the thought of them while awake made his gut wrench. He never thought about them at all during his waking hours unless Harry prodded him with questions. And things have been going so well tonight, too.

'I know that,' Harry replied stubbornly. 'But maybe you would feel better after talking about them. I always used to feel better when I talked about my dreams about You-Know-Who. It's therapeutic.'

That's a good line. I'll have to remember that one.

'Thanks, but I think I'll pass.' It's not at all the same, Tom thought. 'It's getting late. You should get to bed.' With that, Tom fled to the edge of his bed, curled up and stayed still.
Damn. 'I'm not going to stop bothering you about this,' Harry warned him as he left.
The beginnings of December were very cold, and Harry was not looking forward to Care of Magical Creatures outside that day. Hopefully my night won't be as cold, he thought precociously. Harry had found that his nights were becoming the center of his days; he wasn't getting nearly as much regular sleep as he had before his conversations with Tom had started, and there were nights when he just stilled Tom's nightmares and then went back to bed without them speaking because he was too tired, but he was getting used to the lack of sleep and, if worse came to worse, the occasional detentions for sleeping in class were well worth the nightly rewards. He did make sure not to fall asleep in any one class regularly, however; he didn't want the teachers thinking anything was wrong. He was still astounded that Dumbledore hadn't found out somehow, and he wasn't going to push his luck.

He was wolfing down his third egg when the post owls arrived, very late by their usual standards because of the adverse wind. To Harry's amazement, one of them swooped over to him, holding a letter out on its leg. Intensely curious, he untied it and opened it immediately.

Harry,

The boys, Ginny, Arthur and I intend to spend Christmas together this year (not at the Burrow). We would all love it if you could join us; you are family to us, and it would not be a family Christmas without you. Ron will send back an owl with your answer – don't send one yourself!

Love,

Molly Weasley

Harry frowned. If they weren't going to the Burrow, they must be spending Christmas at 12 Grimmauld Place. Harry wasn't too keen on that, but spending Christmas with the Weasleys did sound awfully tempting, and he had to admit that he was touched he was considered another member of the family.

'I already sent back that you're going,' Ron said, taking a seat next to Harry. Tom, for once, wasn't there; he had already left for Arithmancy with Hermione, and Harry had long ago decided it was pointless to escort him to class as long as Hermione was with him. Dumbledore hadn't scolded him for it yet, so Harry figured it was all right by him.

But he couldn't go away for Christmas; who would watch Tom? 'I can't go,' Harry replied frankly.

Ron looked flabbergasted. 'Why not? It's not because of the location?'

'No, I just can't leave Tom alone for Christmas.'

He frowned. 'Isn't Tom going home for Christmas? His parents seem pretty attached to him, considering all the mail he gets.'

'No,' Harry shook his head, 'his parents are in Australia right now.' That was quick thinking worthy of Tom, he thought wryly.

'Oh… couldn't he just come with us, then?'

Harry nearly spat out his juice. 'Tom? Come to you-know-where?'

'Why not? Mum wouldn't mind. In fact,' Ron wriggled his eyebrows and whispered, 'if I told her more about Tom, she would probably insist that he come so she could make sure he's good enough for you.'

The thought of Mrs. Weasley and Tom in the same room together was strange enough to Harry without the added innuendo. 'Dumbledore won't want him to come. It's supposed to be a secret place, remember?'

'Why would Dumbledore care? Tom's trustworthy. Hermione and I will vouch for him.'

If only you knew what you were vouching for. 'I'm telling you, Dumbledore won't like it,' Harry insisted. 'We've only known him for a few months, Ron.' That thought was completely foreign to Harry's mind, even though he knew it was true; the past few months had felt, to Harry, like years.

'I see no problem,' said a cheerful voice from behind. He turned around and found himself face to face with Albus Dumbledore. 'I'm sure the time away from Hogwarts would do Mr. Maxwell good.'

Now it was Harry's turn to be flabbergasted. 'What?' he gaped. 'Why?' Ron gave Harry a curious look, so he elaborated on his discomfort. 'It's not that I don't trust Tom,' he said quietly, 'but isn't it safer – for him, I mean – if he doesn't go?'

'Do not concern yourself,' Dumbledore smiled. 'Mr. Maxwell is safe at Hogwarts, and he will be safe where you are going. I see no apparent danger.'

Then Dumbledore looked sharply into Harry's eyes, and Harry looked back. He heard Dumbledore say, inside his head, I believe a Christmas with the Weasleys would do you good, Harry, but I can't spare the resources here at Hogwarts to watch Tom properly while you're away. I have apprised Remus of the situation, and he will be at Grimmauld Place for the entirety of Christmas break to keep an eye on Tom while you take a well-deserved break. You will both be safe there. Enjoy yourself.

After that one long look was over Dumbledore gave Harry and Ron both a pat on the shoulder and walked back to the high table. 'See, Harry?' Ron grinned. 'No problem.'

'We're going where?' Tom asked at lunch.

'We can't say in public,' Hermione whispered – she was invited, as well. 'They'll probably give you a piece of paper with the name on it when you get there, like they did for us. Dumbledore has to write it, he's the Secret Keeper.'

That made sense; what didn't make sense is why he was going.

'Because Dumbledore wants me to spend Christmas with the Weasleys and he can't spend two weeks following you around,' Harry explained in bed that night.

How wonderful, Tom thought sarcastically, I get to tag along to watch a very Gryffindor Christmas.

Harry seemed to pick up on Tom's thoughts, as he often did lately. 'Don't look so put out; it won't be so bad. I'll be there, and you won't have any trouble charming Mr. and Mrs. Weasley.'

How comforting. 'But you said that werewolf fellow is supposed to baby-sit me,' Tom said dubiously. Maybe there's a full moon, though – maybe I'll get to watch a werewolf transformation, he thought eagerly.

'Yes, well, that might be a problem,' Harry admitted, 'but you know I won't abandon you and sod off like Dumbledore expects. It will work out, I promise. Trust me.'

Tom snorted.

'Fine, don't trust me. You're coming anyway, and that's that.'

The weekend before their planned trip to… somewhere… was to be a Hogsmeade weekend. Everyone around Tom was talking about what they were going to do during Christmas break – 'sleep for a week' was a popular option – or they were dreading end-of-term tests, or, in flightier moments, gleefully discussing what they intended to buy in Hogsmeade for Christmas presents. The latter, 'flighty' subject was of concern to Tom more than any of the others. For the first time in his life, he was in possession of pocket money and someone to buy a gift for, and the stress of it made him wish to be rid of one or both. The problem was simple: Harry had everything. Well, not everything; he didn't have any decent books on the Dark Arts, that was sure, but that would be more a gift for Tom himself than for Harry, and was unlikely to be well received.

Tom analyzed the issue clinically: Harry only had two serious interests, those being Quidditch and Defense Against the Dark Arts. Tom would throw himself into boiling oil before purchasing anything as worthless as Quidditch supplies, and Harry already had an excellent broom and a servicing kit, anyway, so that left Defense.

There was another problem: getting away from Harry to purchase the gift. It was one thing for Harry to let Tom walk to Arithmancy and Ancient Runes with Hermione, but quite another to let him roam Hogsmeade unattended. He didn't know how he would get around that problem, and was still working on various ways to distract or keep Harry occupied when the answer presented itself in a neatly wrapped package the night before Hogsmeade.

'Tom,' Harry began, taking a deep breath. I can't believe I'm actually suggesting this. 'What do you say we, uh, take a break from each other for a while in Hogsmeade? You could walk around with Ginny –'

'No way,' Tom said flatly. 'I can't stand her.'

'The feeling is mutual,' Harry smirked, hiding his disappointment. Then how am I going to buy your Christmas present, idiot? There was nothing for it; he would have preferred to leave Tom with someone who knew to watch him carefully, but if that failed… 'Why don't you walk around a little with Ron and Hermione then, and we'll meet in the Three Broomsticks later on in the day?' Merlin knows I'll need the time; I still don't know what I'm buying. No matter how hard Harry concentrated, he couldn't think of anything Tom would want that wouldn't be illegal, dangerous, or both. He couldn't explain to himself why he wanted to get Tom a good present, except that he suspected Tom might never have received even a tissue for Christmas before (the Dursleys gave Harry that much, at least) and he wanted his first present to be… nice.

'If you want,' Tom replied, trying with all his might to sound indifferent. Perfect.
Tom couldn't believe Harry had thought Ron and Hermione would make satisfactory guardians; he could tell, within five minutes of observation at breakfast, that their dilemma was (disturbingly) similar to his own, and separating them would take no great effort. When Harry left, making Ron and Hermione promise to both watch him closely, to 'not to let him leave your sight,' the couple stood awkwardly at the beginning of the main street, each trying, he knew, to think of a way to pawn Tom off on the other.

'Listen,' Tom said, trying to sound as desperate as he knew they felt, 'I know Harry told you not to leave me alone, but I have something I need to take care of. See, Harry thinks I'll get lost because it's only my second time in Hogsmeade –'

He didn't even need to finish his sentence. 'Of course,' Hermione smiled, looking immensely relieved. 'We understand, don't we, Ron?'

'Definitely,' Ron nodded, with all too much sympathy in his voice.

'Thanks,' Tom breathed, 'you two are real friends.' Yeah, right. 'I'll meet you in the Three Broomsticks later. I'm sure Harry won't really mind as long as I come back in one piece.'

'Right, sure,' Ron nodded, looking off in the distance toward Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop.

'Good luck,' Hermione added, glancing sideways down the lane to Gladrag's Wizardwear.

And just like that, Tom was free.

A few minutes later, Tom was feeling much less jubilant. He made a beeline for the only shop in Hogsmeade that would carry Defensive instruments, Dervish and Banges, but when he entered the store, the walls and cabinets that were usually stocked with defensive magical devices were bare.

'Sorry,' said the man behind the counter, a reedy, tall fellow, 'but we're out of all defensive equipment. I can get you a deal on Quidditch figurines, though.'

At the look of disbelief on Tom's face, he added in a meaningful whisper, 'What with You-Know-Who and all, it's been good business.'

Tom's stomach sunk. What would he do now? None of the other shops in Hogsmeade carried anything more significant than a Sneakoscope, and Harry already had one of those. Besides, that wasn't… good enough. 'Is there anywhere I could go to find… '

It was only then that Tom realized what it was he wanted to get Harry. He had read about them ages ago, and they sounded dead useful; Harry had even described how the fake Mad-Eye Moody who had taught him in his fourth year had used one to spot enemies coming.

'Is there anywhere I could get a foe glass, or something along those lines?'

'A foe glass?' the man behind the counter said, taken aback. 'That's a bit extreme. We wouldn't carry one of those in the best of times. Makes a fellow a bit paranoid, if y'ask me.'

But I'm not, am I? 'Please, sir, do you have any idea…? It's very important.'

'Not in Hogsmeade,' the man shook his head. 'In Diagon Alley, maybe.'

'I see… well, thanks anyway.'

'Merry Christmas!' the man called after him as he left.

Five minutes later, Tom was standing in front of the Hogsmeade Floo Network.

It was very busy inside; a half-dozen fires were burning brightly, three flooing people out and three flooing them in. Tom went to stand in line behind one of the fires marked 'Out,' and waited for his turn.

Can I get away with this? Tom considered. He hadn't been gone very long; Harry wouldn't be expecting him in the Three Broomsticks for at least another hour, and if he were just a bit late, he should be able to explain it away. Diagon Alley held more than one allure; after all, if he had some extra time after purchasing Harry's present, what reason was there to not look around for some other items Tom wanted to get his hands on? Why, none at all, Tom thought with a smirk.

After an agonizingly hot wait, he found himself held up by the Ministry witch manning the fireplace. 'Just a moment, lad… have to check you're of age…' she said sternly.

The problem was that Tom was not of age, but before he could desperately explain that he had just been told his mother collapsed in Diagon Alley, and he had to go to her (it was an emergency, surely she could make an exception), the witch said, 'Aetatis!' and a green light shone like an aura around him.

Green? It shouldn't be green, he thought distractedly. But it was, and as the spell effect faded the Ministry witch was ushering him to the fireplace, spilling a small bit of Floo Powder into his hand.

Not one to question such a satisfying result, Tom threw the Floo Powder from his sweaty hand into the fire, stepped in and cried 'Diagon Alley!'

CelticCross83: Tom was not abused, but there is a reason he does not like to be touched, and it has to do with his dreams. Aside from that, though, it's just temperament; Tom was more adversely affected by the lack of affection than Harry.

Yana5: I don't really go in for the dominant/submissive thing; at this stage, Tom just happens to be shyer than Harry, so Harry has to take the initiative to move things forward, but that's not to say Tom will be entirely submissive. I believe in equal individuals and equal relationships, especially between two such strong personalities.