Summary: A thoroughly impossible freak accident transports our favorite attractive psychopath forward in time from 1942 to 1996. Harry Potter/Tom Riddle slash. Tom runs into some nasties.
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.
Author's Note: I got a really nasty spider bite the other day that made my hand blow up like a balloon, so I couldn't type :( It's better today, though, and the chapter is nice and long. Hope you enjoy the latest installment. Tom was going to find out about his true self in this chapter, but things came up and it didn't work out. Don't worry, he'll find out next chapter for sure. Oh, and some real, serious slash is upcoming in the next chapter, too, which I've also been putting off for several chapters. As a side note, the United Kingdom didn't adopt the metric system until 1965, which means Lord Voldemort probably thinks in feet… yeah, you know you care. Crazy 1940s. Note: For those of you who read this before I changed the summary... uh, sorry. Battle scene with Lestranges has also been slightly altered, and one extra review reply has been added.

Chapter Twenty-Three: Lestrange Twist of Fate

Tom came out at the grate near Gringotts, coughing and a little dirty. I hate traveling by Floo Powder… I should have risked Apparition. He'd never been able to practice Apparating before, though, because of the Restrictions on Underage Wizardry and the fact that it was impossible to Apparate within Hogwarts grounds; besides, he didn't much fancy being splinched.

The streets were more crowded than Tom had ever seen them, filled with Christmas shoppers. Tom walked past Gringotts to Beezlebub's Defense Dohickeys, sure that if any shop would stock a Foe Glass, it would be the one. As he approached, however, he saw over the shoulders of other shoppers that the sign read, not 'Beezlebub's Defense Dohickeys,' but 'Madame Volokh's Second-Hand Robes.' Beezlebub's, it seemed, had either moved or gone out of business.

Tom tugged on the sleeve of a wizard passing by to get his attention. The white-haired man turned to him. 'Excuse me,' Tom asked, smiling, 'but would you happen to know where there's a shop that sells defensive magical items here?'

The man turned a kindly smile on him. 'Sorry, lad, but the Dervish and Banges outlet by the apothecary is cleaned out. Those items are very popular this year,' he said sadly. Then he was gone, and Tom was left standing by the entrance to Madame Volokh's, wondering what he could do next.

He had to locate a shop that sold defensive artifacts – one that would not be sold out. In short, it must be a shop people did not normally frequent. It had to be close, and it had to be disreputable. Disreputable and close mean Knockturn Alley.

Even Tom would not walk blithely into Knockturn Alley without a second thought. It was a place where one could go permanently missing if one got unlucky. The best way to approach a journey into Knockturn was to look as menacing as possible, and he knew his youth did him no favors in that department.

He looped back around in the crowd with some difficulty, eventually reaching the front of Gringotts again. Then, throwing the hood of his cloak over his head and bumping anyone aside who stood in his way (to show he was not afraid of doing so), he swept confidently into the alley, his face hidden and his wand tucked away in his cloak within easy reach (he did not brandish it openly; that would make him appear too threatening, and he did not desire to provoke any big fish today).

Tom glanced out of his cloak several times to look at what the shops were selling; Knockturn hadn't changed much since his day, but there were still a couple missing shops, and an equal number of new ones. The street was not nearly as packed as Diagon had been, though there were enough people that he managed to avoid being cornered by a peddler. He didn't find anything likely to satisfy his needs, however, until he came to Borgin & Burkes.

Borgin & Burkes, unless it had changed since his time, was a shop devoted primarily to Dark objects, not defensive ones. However, a Dark wizard appreciated a Foe Glass just as much as an Auror would, so Tom supposed there was a chance he would find what he was looking for there. He looked through the glass, and saw no one inside. This place, Tom supposed, doesn't get much business in daylight.

A bell clanged as he stepped into the shop. He took a moment to look around, not terribly impressed with what he saw. The artifacts in the shop were, indeed, objects of the Darkest variety, but Tom thought that buying Dark artifacts was cheating in most cases; he preferred to construct his own. Only talentless wizards without the power or creativity to delve into the Dark Arts fully on their own would purchase them, in Tom's opinion.

Not long after he entered the shop, a slouched, greasy-looking man appeared at the counter; Tom did not see how he had gotten there. 'May I help you, good sir? I have many objects here that I am sure would be of interest to a man such as yourself.'

Good, he's showing some respect. 'I was wondering if you might have a specific artifact I've been looking for – a Foe Glass,' Tom said in a deeper, slower voice than normal, trying to sound both dangerous and unconcerned. 'I am aware that such an object is not as – intriguing – as the general fare in this… establishment.' Here he sounded sneering, as though unimpressed by what he saw, which was not hard to pull off, since it was true; no decent Dark wizard would be, and that's exactly what he wanted the shop owner to think – to realize – that he was.

The man reacted exactly as Tom had hoped. His sleazy respect turned to oily cowardice as he walked over, half bowing, and led Tom to the back of his shop.

'Now this, my Lord,' he began – Tom thought the 'Lord' bit was laying it on too thick, not that he minded – 'is a Foe Glass.' He indicated an object which Tom thought was a watch at first – not a pocket watch from his time, but one with a wrist strap like the kind Harry wore – before the shopkeeper pulled on the knob on the side, which would usually set the time, and the clock face became a small mirror. Tom saw several shadows in the mirror, but no more than that. 'It is smaller than what one generally sees,' the man said proudly, 'so it can be taken anywhere.'

'Furthermore, if you turn this knob here,' – and here he turned the knob, making the mirror extend and the straps bend into a mirror large enough to place on a desk – 'you can place it somewhere in a room and glance at it whenever you like.'

'And if you find it necessary to disguise it, you can pull the knob out and back in twice,' – he demonstrated again – 'and, as you see, it transforms into a normal watch, and no one is any the wiser. It even tells the time correctly.'

'That will be satisfactory,' Tom said snobbishly. Awesome.

Tom had haggled for several minutes before reaching a price of 38 galleons, 3 sickles, and 2 knuts, which happened to be the entirety of the funds Tom had left from the 40 galleons Dumbledore had given him. He was glad he hadn't bought more candy at Honeydukes in October. He knew the watch was more expensive than a traditional Foe Glass would have been because of the extra features, and because the man – Mr. Borgin, he learned – was not a particularly honest businessman, though he was too scared by Tom's demeanor to be overtly dishonest.

With the watch concealed in a jewelry box and secured in a deep pocket inside his robe, he set off to depart Knockturn Alley. Tom sighed as he noticed the time; he still had the time to go to the bookshop and buy himself a few 'necessities,' but not the galleons. I may not get another chance to do any private shopping for a while, he considered with concern.

The answer presented itself upon his exit from Knockturn; he was, again, in front of the entrance to Gringotts. He needed money and, he had to admit, he was extremely curious. Certainly, he had been on the run for ages in this time, but goblins weren't concerned with niggling details like the respectability of their clients. He could have left himself a bit of money – and, if he was hiding from Dumbledore, You-Know-Who, the Ministry, and the vampires, his present self wouldn't notice a few galleons missing any time soon. Decided, he threw off his hood and walked into the bank.

I'll never find a decent gift, Harry sighed. He's just too hard to shop for. The only definite interest Tom had was the Dark Arts, and Harry had no intention of encouraging him in that. Besides, Professor Dumbledore wouldn't be too amused if I bought him Dark materials. It would defeat the purpose of keeping him out of the Restricted Section, wouldn't it? He had already found presents for Ron and Hermione, but he wanted desperately to find something Tom would really, truly like – and which the Headmaster wouldn't confiscate if he found it.

He was certain he had gone through every shop in Hogsmeade. There were candies, and jokes, and quills, and clothes, but Tom wouldn't want any of that. Harry was surprised to realize, when he considered the matter as he shopped, that Tom lived a Spartan lifestyle. He didn't desire luxury: he wanted power and respect. He wouldn't know what to do with a deluxe phoenix feather quill or dragonhide boots. He would want something useful, and Harry was drawing a blank.

He wandered into Gladrag's Wizardwear again, not thinking to find anything better the third time than he had the previous two, when he encountered Hermione looking through the cloaks section. He would have missed her if he hadn't seen her bushy hair sticking out of the display she was rummaging through. 'Hermione?'

Hermione started, as if burned, and turned around. 'Harry?'

'Where's Tom?' he asked, looking around the store. Maybe I could just ask him what he wants.

Hermione, however, bit her lip. 'He's not here, Harry. He's… he's with Ron!' she added quickly upon observing the horrified look on his face.

'You left him with Ron?' Harry gaped. Tom would have no trouble whatsoever ditching Ron.

Hermione sighed and shook her head. 'No, I was just making that up so you wouldn't be so upset. You see, Ron and I had some shopping to do, and Tom didn't seem to want to stay with us, and he said he knew his way around, so we didn't see the harm in letting him wander off.'

'You didn't see the harm?' Harry yelled, shocking several of the customers nearby. 'I need to leave,' he said curtly, 'I need to find him.'

'Harry,' she began.

'Don't talk to me, Hermione,' he cut in, turning away angrily. He knew it wasn't fair to be angry with her – Hermione didn't know how dangerous Tom could be – but he was too scared to be reasonable. Tom could be anywhere; Harry had been walking around Hogsmeade for ages and he hadn't seen him. What if someone had abducted him?

Harry raced around the main street of Hogsmeade looking for Tom. He didn't find him in the Three Broomsticks, or Dervish and Banges, or Madame Puddifoot's (not that he had expected to find him there, but it was worth a try) or any other shop. Eventually, the only place Harry hadn't looked yet was the Hog's Head, so he went down the small side street leading there.

He wasn't halfway to the Hog's Head when a strong, gnarled hand grabbed him by the shoulder.

'I don't have my vault key,' Tom stated plainly.

'Blood sample,' the goblin said gruffly. 'Hold out your hand.' Tom did so, and the goblin took hold of it. With its other hand, it took what appeared to be a very sharp quill out of its pocket and poked it into Tom's finger. He watched as the slim white shaft of the quill filled with red blood.

'Vault number?' it asked as it tucked the quill back into its pocket.

'Six hundred sixteen,' Tom stated.

The goblin started, jumping a half-foot into the air. It looked at Tom in an entirely different way; its eyes bulged and its nose quivered. 'You sure, boy?' it whispered deeply.

'Yes,' he replied shortly. A nervous goblin, questioning a customer?

'This blood of yours… it will open the vault?' it asked, peering into Tom's eyes with nervousness and curiosity.

'It ought to, as it's my vault,' he growled.

The goblin was cowed by this response. 'Very well… Hookjaw!'

Another goblin ambled over. The goblin who was serving Tom began whispering to it insistently in its own language; before long, Hookjaw was looking up at Tom with both shock and fear. Hookjaw hissed some response, and the other goblin left, handing Hookjaw the blood-filled quill.

'This way, sir,' Hookjaw said, leading him down the hall. He opened a door at the end of the hallway.

'This isn't the way,' Tom said in surprise. He had always entered a door about halfway down the hall before, not one at the very end.

'It is, sir,' the goblin replied, its voice grating. It held the door open and the two of them climbed into a cart.

They were off, plummeting deep into the earth, swerving frantically left and right. Tom knew this wasn't where his vault had been before. When the cart leveled out, they began flying down a long underground tunnel, about a hundred feet wide – none of the tunnels Tom had ever been through in Gringotts were so wide. He soon saw why it was so; pacing across the tunnel, blowing a short stream of fire at them through its nose as they approached, was a dragon.

'Uh, excuse me, but I'm not sure that we've gone the right way,' Tom said tentatively. He had heard rumors of dragons in Gringotts, but he had never seen one before.

'It's the right way, sir,' the goblin replied, as their cart came to a halt ten feet away from the dragon. The goblin had its right hand in the air, and seemed to be giving signals to the dragon. It looked at first as if it wasn't going to obey them; finally, however, the dragon let out a fireless howl and stomped away.

'Here,' the goblin said, hopping out of the cart and walking toward a vault on the other side of the room. Even from so far off, Tom could see the giant doors of the vault, and a massive number '616' inscribed on a gold plaque above it.

Tom caught up with the goblin as they reached the door. It didn't appear to have a keyhole. The goblin stroked the wall of the vault with one long finger and then handed Tom the quill. 'Write your name,' it said, its voice sounding shaky, as if it wanted to leave as soon as possible.

Tom took the quill and, standing in front of the vault door, wrote 'Tom Marvolo Riddle' in spidery handwriting. The blood was absorbed into the door in a way that reminded Tom very much of ink being drawn into his diary. The door did not budge; in fact, there seemed to be something menacing about it now, as though it was angry with him. The name became visible again on the door, as if the door had spat it out, and the blood trickled unnaturally quickly onto the floor.

The goblin looked truly panicked now. 'Try again, try again, or we will leave!' it cried.

Tom frowned at the door. If it was his vault, why wouldn't it open? What if six hundred sixteen wasn't his vault number anymore? Would the dragon come back if he got it wrong again? Think, Tom, think.

And then the answer came to him. Of course it wouldn't be under Tom Marvolo Riddle anymore. Smirking, Tom held up the quill and scrawled 'Lord Voldemort' onto the door. The goblin behind him was shaking so hard that its knees were clapping together as it watched.

The door absorbed the blood again, but this time it did not reappear. He felt as if the door was peering into him, questioning him, but then, seemingly reluctantly, the doors opened inwards, revealing so fierce a glare within that Tom had to shut his eyes against it. After a few moments he walked in, blinking furiously in pain and shock.

The vault he had just entered was a stone chamber, about twenty feet high and twice as long. In it were stacked, wall to wall and floor to ceiling, tower after tower of gold galleons, gleaming so brightly in the room, lit by about two dozen brilliantly burning torches, that Tom's eyes burned at the sight. He had never seen so much gold – he had never seen a tenth so much gold – in his life. He hadn't dreamed that there could be so much gold in the world.

He stood in awe of it for a few moments before collecting himself. How could he have gotten hold of so much? Vampire hunting must be a very lucrative profession, he grinned.

Now, how was he going to take, say, 100 galleons without the entire mass falling on him?

'Just say how much you want,' the goblin behind him quivered, as if reading his mind.

'About 100 galleons should do,' he said. Just like that, one of the towers of gold began to move, and a hundred gold coins flew from the top, into Tom's money bag. 'Nice service,' he grinned. He could have sworn that the gold towers winked at him in reply.

He walked out of the bank feeling very satisfied. He had enough to easily pay Dumbledore back for his robes, books and pocket money – he hated being indebted to anyone, least of all Dumbledore – and buy some extra books for himself, besides. Happy with his monetary situation, he strolled in the direction of Flourish & Blotts.

'I shouldn't have been able to sneak up on you like that, boy!' Moody scolded.

'Sorry,' Harry said, embarrassed. 'I'm a little distracted.'

'I can see that,' Moody growled, not sounding at all appeased by Harry's answer. 'What are you thinking, heading off on your own to the Hog's Head? Rough crowd in there, Potter. Not your type.'

'I'm looking for Tom! He's gone! I left him with Ron and Hermione –'

'So I saw,' replied Moody dryly.

Harry started. 'You… you've been following me?'

'Of course! You didn't think Dumbledore would have you wandering around Hogsmeade without protection? And we've got an Auror on your friend,' Moody spat, 'so don't you mind about him.'

'You know about –?'

'Dumbledore told me,' Moody said gruffly. 'Didn't want many people to know, but since I was to be watching him today –'

'But you're not watching him! You're watching me!' Harry protested.

'I sent for backup when you two split. Tonks has been watching him. She was the only one available on such short notice – has the day off work today.' Moody didn't sound too happy.

'So Tonks is watching Tom, and you're watching me?'

Moody nodded. 'Come on, I'll escort you back to a safer area.'

Just as they were turning into the main street, a woman ran down toward them, gasping for breath. It was Tonks, and Tom was not with her. 'Moody,' she gasped, clutching her side. 'Moody, I lost him!'

Tom walked happily away from Flourish & Blotts with many new books weighing down his backpack. He had been in such a good mood, in fact, that he had even bought books for Harry's irritating little friends – after all, he still had appearances to keep up. For Hermione, 'The History and Habits of the House Elf,' a book he knew wasn't in the Hogwarts library because she had already told him everything she knew about house elves and where she had learned it (certainly without his encouragement). For Ron, though he wasn't entirely sure the dunce could even read, he purchased 'The Chudley Cannons Compendium, 1895-1995.' Let it not be said that Tom Riddle – or Tom Maxwell – does not know his enemies. He even got a Herbology book for Neville; he knew no one else would bother getting him anything – he was the very definition of 'odd one out' – and remembering him at Christmas would gain Tom some further loyalty which he could use to his advantage in the future.

He had also bought several books for himself. Thanks to his new ability to fool the Age Check Charm, he managed to slip into the Restricted Section of the bookstore, from which he purchased 'One Hundred and One Spells They Don't Want You to Know,' 'Mistakes a Dark Wizard Shouldn't Make,' 'Ten Most Dangerous Dark Wizards in History,' and 'Extremely Advanced Curses: Learn to Create Your Own off the Top of Your Head.'

Tom checked the time; there was no way that Harry would not have noticed him missing by now. He had stayed far too long in the bookstore. Sighing, and already mentally running through possible excuses, he hardly noticed the shrieking coming from behind him until several people ran into him.

Snapped out of his thoughts, he was about to hex the lot that had run into him when his attention was drawn by screams even louder than before coming from behind him, and more people pushing through a now panicked crowd.

He stopped and tried to see above the heads of the crowd pushing past him for some indication of the cause, but he couldn't see far enough. Then a man supporting an apparently injured woman and carrying a sobbing child in one arm began bowling into the crowd in Tom's general direction. This disturbed the already frightened throng more than before, and they began moving faster and more purposefully away from whatever was causing the screaming, making it hard for Tom to stay stationary among them.

Tom quickly determined that there were only two ways he was going to figure out what was causing the trouble: move against the crowd right into it (not smart, in Tom's opinion) or ask the man with the woman and child. He managed, with a great deal of pushing that earned him not a few bruises, to reach them.

'What's going on?' he demanded.

The man, panting heavily, looked sharply at Tom. His black eyes roamed from Tom's face down to the Gryffindor badge on his robes, which drew the man's attention immediately back to Tom's face. 'Hogwarts? Can you help us?' he asked quickly, glancing quickly behind at the crowds who were threatening to trample them both.

:Viktor: the woman said shakily in Russian. Tom had taught himself French, German, Russian and Spanish over the course of his long, often boring years at Hogwarts.

:You are Russian: Tom asked. Both the man and woman looked sharply up; the child continued to cry.

:Here: the man, Viktor, thrust the child into Tom's chest, knocking the wind out of him. :Take him to Hogwarts, please! He does not speak English:

:What:

It was too late. The man was moving along with the woman faster than he had before with the child weighing him down. Tom looked down at the screaming boy in his arms. It looked no older than four.

:Mamma! Mamma: It cried up at him.

:Don't look at me: He snapped. :I'm not taking you anywhere: As he was trying to shake the brat off him (it had turned around and grabbed hold, and wouldn't let go), Tom heard a voice cry out 'Crucio!'

Tom was on the ground in an instant, screaming. The child was pried off him, but he hardly noticed; the pain was too great. It was intense, burning agony. It seemed to be going on and on for an eternity.

And then (how long it was, Tom couldn't say) it was over. Even before the pain had cleared enough for him to stop choking on it, he was inconceivably, incomparably enraged. No one hexes me! The crowd around him had thinned; most were far away from the scene now. Those who were not – and there were about a dozen of them – were lying motionless on the ground, perhaps dead, perhaps not. Tom could see, through his hate and pain-filled eyes, three cloaked figures with their backs turned to him. Still twitching from Cruciatus, he stood up and pointed his wand at the figure in the middle, the one holding the child, which was now screaming louder than ever.

'CRUCIO!' Tom yelled at the top of his lungs.

'How could you lose him?' Moody hissed angrily.

'I didn't mean to!' she replied. 'I lost him in the crowd outside Dervish and Banges! I looked for him everywhere but I couldn't find him!'

'Why didn't you have a Tracking Spell on him?'

'I tried!' she cried. 'It didn't stick!'

'He must have been using an Obscuring Charm! Why didn't you hit him with the counter-charm?' Moody demanded as the three of them walked in the direction of Dervish and Banges, where Tom had last been spotted.

'No sixth year would know how to cast an Obscuring Charm, that's from Auror training!' she countered. 'I must have been casting the Tracking Spell incorrectly! You know how I've had trouble with them before.'

'You know how to cast a Tracking Spell, Tonks. I took three weeks to pound it into your skull,' Moody growled. 'And they call it retirement! Hah!' Moody and Harry both knew that Tom could definitely cast an Obscuring Charm if he wanted to. The paranoid git probably casts one regularly, Harry thought grimly.

They reached Dervish and Banges. 'Right, now, which way did he go from here?' Moody demanded.

'He went –'

'HELP! HELP!' someone cried. All three heads turned toward the Hogsmeade Floo Network, where a woman had come out screaming and shaking. Several other people ran out shouting, 'Death Eaters! Death Eaters in Diagon Alley!' and Harry, Moody and Tonks, along with everyone else in the street, headed quickly in the direction of the shouts.

'Stay here, Potter!' Moody growled as they reached the outer fringes of the gathering crowd. He was going to protest, but Tonks grabbed his arm and shook her head, and Moody hobbled through, cutting a swathe through the gathered throng.

A minute later, he had come back out to them. 'Tonks, you go up to the castle and inform Dumbledore that Death Eaters have attacked Diagon Alley. The Ministry is sending Aurors there. I'm staying here with Potter.'

'Now wait just a minute!' Harry blustered. 'What about Tom?'

'One thing at a time,' Moody growled. 'I need to stay here to help any injured people coming through this grate. Tom,' he spat when mentioning him again, 'will have to wait.'

Female shrieks filled the air, and the other Death Eaters turned around in surprise. Before they could gather their wits, Tom shouted, 'Accio child!' and the boy flew toward him as if he were a magnet for annoying, crying children. He didn't care about the brat, but anything that these bastards wanted was what Tom intended to take.

The men on either side of the screeching woman yelled 'Avada Kedavra!' Tom ducked the first and rolled away from the second with the wailing brat in one arm, his other hand still focusing his wand on the woman, who continued screaming. He knew he couldn't dodge another blow; holding the boy with over a half dozen books crammed into his backpack made his movements too ungainly, and he wouldn't have time to kill them both before one of them shot at him again. Thus, he pointed his wand at the ground.

Tom's eyes flickered red. 'Difflare!'

The street erupted as if explosives had just been set off under it. The two standing men were knocked off their feet; the woman was dazed by the combination of Cruciatus and the ground exploding underneath her. Tom flew to his feet and ran in the opposite direction as fast as he could, wondering if the brat ever stopped screaming to breathe.

Harry and Moody were in the thick of things in Hogsmeade; there were many more people coming through the grate. Most of them were physically fine, but very frightened. A few others were injured, but not badly; Moody's rough knowledge of healing had been enough to fix most of them, though two were being sent on to St. Mungo's for extra minor treatment.

Harry was watching for people coming through and saw, to his amazement, Viktor Krum.

'Krum!' he cried.

Krum looked dazed; he was definitely injured, as was the woman he was carrying in his arms. 'Harry?' he said, bewildered. 'Vot is all this?' He looked around at the entranced crowd, who were tittering even more loudly at Krum's presence.

Moody strode up to Krum, his wooden leg clunking on the ground, and guided him over to where the other injured were being looked after. Harry followed and sat down next to him as Moody took the woman and looked at her leg, shaking his head.

'What happened to you?' Harry asked.

'I vos taking this voman and her child –'

'Where's the child?' Moody interrupted harshly.

'I don't know,' Krum said, his head in his hands. 'I handed him off to someone in Diagon Alley. I could not carry them both.' Then, as if remembering, he said slowly, 'He vos a Hogwarts student. I saw his badge. He could speak Russian.'

'A Hogwarts student?' Harry said. 'Did he… did he have dark hair, green eyes, like me? Did he have a Gryffindor crest?' he asked, pointing to his own.

'Yes… yes,' Krum mumbled.

Harry bit his lip and closed his eyes. The rest of the world muted. Tom had left Hogwarts. Tom had escaped. Harry had thought… he shook his head and took an unsteady breath. 'Manipulative bastard,' he murmured softly. And now, Tom was in danger, and Harry didn't know if he was more angry at Tom for leaving or afraid for his safety. Stupid, Harry scolded himself. It was all just an act. He was playing me for a fool all along, and I'm still worried about him!

'Harry,' Krum said tentatively, 'are you all right?'

'I'm fine,' Harry lied. 'I'm just fine.'

Tom continued running along the street until he encountered a line of Aurors moving steadily toward him. They approached him with their wands raised.

'You!' one Auror shouted. 'What are you doing here? Where are the Death Eaters?'

'I was just shopping!' Tom said defensively. 'I didn't do anything, it was those people down the street!' He pointed to where he had encountered the three cloaked figures.

Another Auror stepped up. 'You're shaking,' he said kindly. Tom could barely hear him over the child's wails. 'Are you all right?'

:Quiet: Tom said to the child. To his surprise, it shut up.

The second Auror came closer and asked, more insistently, 'Are you all right?'

'I'm fine,' Tom said. 'I'm just shaken up.' The child, he realized, was concealing his Hogwarts crest from view. 'Could I get to a fireplace, please? I'd like to take the child home.'

'Are the Death Eaters still down there?' the first Auror hissed.

'I don't know!' Tom said angrily. The child was starting to whimper again. 'Please, I'd really like to just leave.'

'He doesn't know anything,' the second Auror said reproachfully to the first. 'Let's get you on your way,' he said softly to Tom, allowing him to pass through the line. As he walked off, Tom could faintly hear the second Auror say to the first, 'Honestly, holding up a young man with a petrified child, Williamson… '

Hmm, Tom thought, looks like the brat was useful, after all. As though sensing his thoughts, the boy started to cry again, but Tom whispered to him in Russian until he stopped, and then continued on his way.

Harry, despite himself, despite cursing his own stupidity at believing for a moment that Tom wouldn't take off at the first opportunity, despite assuring himself over and over that Tom had never cared two straws about him, was standing at the very front of the crowd waiting at the Hogsmeade Floo Network. People were wandering out of their homes in a daze, claiming to have gotten home to their own fireplaces from Diagon Alley, and they were being questioned for any useful information they might have along with those arriving from the public grates. Tom, however, was nowhere to be seen. And why would he come back? Harry asked himself bitterly. He got away, didn't he? Ron and Hermione had arrived a short while before, and both were sitting with Krum while Harry stared intently at the door in front of him.

A moment later, Tom stepped out of the Floo building, looking haggard and carrying a child. He saw Harry and, smiling – Is it a real smile? Harry asked himself – strode over to him.

'Harry,' Tom said quickly. 'I need to find this boy's mother. He was foisted on me in Diagon Alley, and –'

'Matvey!' cried the woman who Krum had brought with him, sitting up while Moody was treating her leg. 'Matvey, Matvey!' The child was struggling out of Tom's arms, so he set him down and let him run off to his mother without a second glance.

'Well, that takes care of that,' he said carelessly.

'What were you doing in Diagon Alley?' Harry asked. Now that Tom was back, Harry found that anger was his predominant emotion.

'What does it matter?' Tom sighed. 'I came back, didn't I? You didn't think I intended to leave, surely? Where would I go?'

Harry blinked. He hadn't considered that bit. Tom didn't have anywhere to go but Hogwarts. 'I didn't know what to think,' he admitted. 'I thought you had left, but… I was waiting for you to come back.'

'And here I am,' he grinned, waving his arms ridiculously.

'That doesn't answer my question,' Harry said stubbornly.

Tom's nostrils flared in annoyance. 'You'll find out at Christmas, now stop being an arse and let's get back to the castle.'

He began to walk away, but stumbled on his own feet, and Harry caught him. 'Tom?' Harry cried frantically. 'Are you all right?'

'I… I don't know,' he said. He was leaning heavily on Harry, and seemed unable to get to his feet again.

'Come sit down over here,' Harry said insistently, dragging Tom slowly over to Moody.

'No…' he shook his head. 'No, I want to get back to Hogwarts.'

Ron and Hermione had reached them now, and Ron was helping Harry to hold Tom up. His feet were now dragging on the ground. Moody, who was done with the woman's leg for the moment, approached them.

He lifted Tom's eyelids up high with his thumbs, looking into his eyes intently, before pronouncing gruffly, 'Cruciatus. He must have been under it for a few minutes. I can't imagine how he managed to stand up afterwards, let alone get back here on his own two feet.' Moody sounded grudgingly impressed.

'No wonder they had their backs turned,' Tom murmured.

'What do you mean, 'no wonder they had their backs turned'?' Harry demanded.

But Tom was unconscious.

When Tom woke, he recognized the crisp, chemical smell of the Hospital Wing. It was dark; he realized he must have been out for several hours. He tried to remember the exact moment he had passed out, but all he could recall was setting the child down, and Harry's face…

'Hello, Tom,' said an annoyingly cheerful voice, loud in the nighttime stillness. Tom looked around the other way and started; Albus Dumbledore had been sitting right beside his bed, and he hadn't even noticed. 'How are you feeling?'

'I'm fine,' Tom croaked. Dumbledore handed him a glass of water on the nightstand; Tom sat up, took it and drank greedily.

'You look very tired,' Dumbledore commented, more subdued than before.

Tom blinked sleepily. He felt very tired. 'Where's Harry?'

'Harry is fine. The child is fine. He and his mother have been taken to a safe location. You see, they are the family of a man who left You-Know-Who's service some time ago, and they were to come meet with me today, so that I could be of assistance to them. Unfortunately, Mrs. Karkaroff, her young son, and their escort were intercepted.'

Tom really didn't care. Someone pounded on the door. Dumbledore smiled at Tom, shook his head, and waved his wand at the door, unlocking it. Harry looked surprised to see Dumbledore and frowned at the Headmaster as he walked calmly over to Tom's bedside.

'Hello, Harry,' Tom said.

'You all right?' Harry asked in a monotone, sounding unconcerned, as if this was a formality. He's mad at me, Tom thought.

'Fine,' Tom said shortly, turning away from both of them and closing his eyes.

'I should punish you for breaking school rules, Tom,' Dumbledore continued. Tom did not turn around. 'However, given the fact that you saved the life of a dear child and managed to chase off three Death Eaters –'

Tom did turn around at this. 'How do you know,' – he stopped himself. 'Should I even bother asking?' he said in annoyance.

'No,' Dumbledore replied cheerfully. 'I am also aware that you blew a rather large and expensive hole in Diagon Alley, but that is one of many things that I am content to keep between us – that, and the Cruciatus Curse you cast on Bellatrix Lestrange.'

'Even though it's Dark magic, Headmaster?' Tom smirked, belying his innocent tone. Bellatrix Lestrange? That was the nutty one who killed Harry's godfather. I shouldn't even have to pretend to regret it, then, he said to himself. He looked at Harry, but his expression was cold.

'Even so,' Dumbledore replied seriously. 'I cannot make your choices for you, Tom. I have tried to give you as good a start into this world as I can. How you choose to use your powers is, ultimately, in your own hands.'

'So even if I use Dark power to save a small child, it's still not all right by you, the great Albus Dumbledore?' Tom said coldly, accusingly.

'We both know you have the power to avoid sinking to such methods,' Dumbledore replied, a sad look in his eyes. 'But do not think I am disappointed in you for what you did today, Tom,' he added, placing a hand on Tom's shoulder. Tom glared at it, and it dropped away. 'Regardless of your methods, you saved that boy today, and I don't think you – well,' he finished lamely, 'I'm glad of that much, at least. It's a start.' Dumbledore seemed to be talking more to himself, now, than to Tom. He gave Tom's shoulder one last pat, and led Harry from the room.

Tom was sleeping dreamlessly in his bed the night after the Hogsmeade trip, having been released by Madame Pomfrey around dinnertime, when Harry shook him furiously. Tom blinked softly and flexed his eyebrows. 'Harry?' he asked sleepily.

'You could have died,' Harry said, his voice shaking. 'I thought you wanted to be immortal.'

'I'm still alive, aren't I?' Tom grumbled. 'Goodnight.'

'No,' Harry growled, climbing into bed. 'I won't leave. I'm sorry for acting like an arse last night, okay? Dumbledore was there – what was I supposed to do?' Part of Harry – the logical, reasonable part he hadn't been listening to recently – was telling him how absurd it was for him to be apologizing when it was Tom who had run off to Diagon Alley for Christmas shopping, if he was to be believed. The rest of Harry – his pounding, still panicked heart, most importantly – didn't care to take this into account. 'Are you okay now?' he asked.

'I was, until you woke me up,' Tom mumbled. 'Stay.'

'Huh?'

'Stay,' Tom mumbled again. 'Here.'

Harry's first thought was that Tom must not have recovered from the Cruciatus Curse completely yet, and that he should be taken to Madame Pomfrey. But Tom grabbed his arm and dragged him down to the bed, so Harry lay there, above the covers.

Tom was falling back asleep, his hand still resting lightly on Harry's arm. Harry struggled to get under the covers without disturbing him, but was only partially successful; Tom didn't move, but he withdrew his hand. Harry grabbed it back insistently, placing it around himself. He dragged himself closer to Tom until they were lying chest to chest and wrapped his arms around him. Tom's other arm wrapped around Harry, and they lay still together, hugging.

'Harry,' Tom sighed, not even opening his eyes.

Harry lay there for a few moments, his eyes closed, appreciating the warmth and completeness wrapping itself around his chest. 'Love you, Tom,' he whispered, drifting off to sleep.

Neither of them remembered what had been said in the morning.

akuma-river: Even if he was chalking it up to weird psychological problems on Harry's part before, you can bet he's going to be going 'WTF?' after this chapter, along with a few other characters. Voldemort doesn't see into Harry's waking thoughts, though, just occasional small dream glimpses.

DarkMarklv: Next chapter, I promise. Cross my heart.

Monique: Nightmares shall be getting almost an entire chapter devoted to them very soon.

Tffne: No rape.

Slayerg2000: No Sirius, he's dead, and I respect his death too much for the $20 it earned me from my friend to take it back.