Summary: A thoroughly impossible freak accident transports our favorite attractive psychopath forward in time from 1942 to 1996. Harry Potter/Tom Riddle slash. Harry delves into Tom's nightmares.
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: Sheesh, about time this was uploaded, I've been trying to get it up for half a day but this site didn't want to cooperate. We're on the last three chapters (theoretically… certainly not if they get any longer than this). This chapter was pretty challenging, mostly because Tom's issues are emotionally exhausting to write about. I hope you enjoy the chapter (though 'enjoy' probably isn't the right word this time… you'll see what I mean) and don't forget to review. The title comes from a song by Sonata Arctica, if any of you happen by some wild chance to have heard of it.

Chapter Twenty-Five: Abandoned, Pleased, Brainwashed, Exploited

The days Tom had spent so far at Grimmauld Place were some of the best of his life. He and Harry would wake up together in the same bed at whatever time they pleased (which was sometimes around noon, since they tended to have very late nights) and then they would pick up where they had left off the night before, either groping each other to completion or sometimes using their mouths. Tom still wasn't very comfortable with either receiving or giving this pleasure, but it did feel wonderful once Harry learned to sheathe his teeth, and Tom stopped choking.

They weren't allowed to use magic at Grimmauld Place because of the Restrictions on Underage Wizardry, but they still had chores to do after showering (together) and shaving and dressing. It was a large place and Mrs. Weasley couldn't manage it alone, though the workload had lessened tremendously since that first year of combat with the house. Chores only took an hour or so out of their day and before long they were free to do as they pleased. They did homework (Tom helping Harry so they could get it over with as quickly as possible), or they talked and played games alone together or with Ron and Hermione. Sometimes Ginny, Bill, and the twins would join in.

This wasn't to say they spent all their time together; if Harry was busy discussing Quidditch strategy with Ron, or getting annihilated by Ron or Hermione in a game of wizard chess, or when Tom was simply tired of being around so many people (he wasn't as social as Harry by nature) he would instead find himself in the quiet company of Remus Lupin. Lupin – along with everyone else at Grimmauld Place – was all too aware of Tom's relationship with Harry, but he seemed to be the least bothered by it of them all.

Tom was actually very content to be with Lupin; when Tom wished to read quietly by himself, Lupin would leave him alone and sit reading near him, and didn't even comment on the subject matter of the books Tom read. When he sensed Tom wouldn't mind talking – and he seemed to have an innate way of knowing when this was – they would discuss all manner of things together. He wasn't nearly as comfortable talking with Lupin as he was with Harry, but Lupin never asked him more than he was willing to answer, as if he had an innate sense of that, too. Tom himself was burning with curiosity about what it was like being a werewolf, and if Lupin was at all perturbed by these personal questions, he didn't show it. He always answered frankly and honestly about his transformations and his persecution in the wizarding community. They could also talk about the Dark Arts together – Lupin knew a surprising amount about them for such a nice fellow – and that would lead to talking about Defense. Lupin had a lot of personal experience in the subject fighting Dark creatures and Dark wizards, and Tom enjoyed listening to his stories. He wasn't entirely sure what to make of Remus Lupin; he was sure Lupin was only spending time with him on Dumbledore's orders, but he did make it pleasant, so Tom couldn't quite dislike him.

He also never mentioned Tom's relationship with Harry except once, when he told Tom that he could talk to him if he had any questions. He said he had experience in homosexual relationships, so he could give him any general advice on subjects he wasn't comfortable about. Tom wasn't nearly friendly enough with Lupin to ask these questions, but Harry had told Tom that he'd asked Lupin for some advice on fellatio (not that Harry used that word for it, but Tom preferred thinking of it that way). Harry also said that Lupin was the one cleaning their sheets for them, since they couldn't do magic and the sheets would be threadbare if they washed them manually as often as was needed. Tom had thought Mrs. Weasley was the one doing that, but when he thought about it, it made more sense for it to be Lupin.

He had quickly become disenchanted with Mrs. Weasley. She asked all sorts of questions about where Tom was from, what his parents were like, and so on that even he had some trouble coming up with enough misinformation off the top of his head. Ron had explained, sounding very embarrassed, that his mum really liked Harry and was only trying to make sure Tom was alright for him, but Tom didn't much appreciate some woman he didn't know judging him like a vegetable she was feeling up to make sure it wasn't rotten. If Harry thought he was right for him, what business was it of hers? Tom asked Ron this very question, but Ron could only blush and shrug apologetically. Ron's father, Mr. Weasley, was very busy and rarely seen, but he was more like Lupin than like his raucous wife. Yet another example of how opposites attract.

The day before Christmas Tom woke up to an empty bed. Feeling distinctly disgruntled because he had become used to waking up with Harry and didn't like changes in his schedule – at least he tried to tell himself that was the reason – Tom had his usual morning shower alone (and it felt as though he had far too much room to himself). Upon arriving downstairs, he was informed by Hermione that Harry, Remus and a couple other members of the Order had left early that morning and that they were due back at any minute.

Three hours later they returned. Tom had spent the time being watched closely by Hermione and Ron, who seemed to have had the fear of God (or Harry) put into them about making sure not to let him out of their sight. He was beginning to feel very annoyed about having to argue with Ron about going on the loo on his own when the front door burst open, letting in happy chatter and loud footsteps. Tom heard at least two pairs of feet clomping up the stairs and back down again before Harry came in to the kitchen to greet him.

'Tom!' Harry smiled broadly. 'Sorry I've been out. I had something to take care of.'

'Like what?' Tom grumbled.

'You'll find out tomorrow,' Harry said cryptically.

He walked behind Tom and kneaded his shoulders firmly. If Harry did this specifically to get back in Tom's good graces, Tom was irritated with himself to admit it was working. Harry had found that Tom had a weakness for backrubs and Harry always used it against him when Tom was being grumpy. He knocked Harry's hands away, still not very comfortable with flaunting their relationship publicly. Ron and Hermione were sitting across from Tom, looking discomfited by Harry's affection for him, but Harry didn't acknowledge them except with a quick 'Hello,' before nudging Tom up insistently by the arm and hauling him back to their room. He soon found out why.

Harry and Tom both woke up early the next morning. It was Christmas, and Harry was eager to give Tom the present he had bought him yesterday. Several other members of the Order had been doing some last minute Christmas shopping as well, as it turned out, so they hadn't minded escorting Harry around Diagon Alley to look for a present for Tom. It had taken much longer than Harry had expected to find the perfect gift and even Lupin was getting fed up with him by the time he finally found something special enough to give Tom on their first Christmas together. It had cost a bomb, but Harry could afford it easily. Then he had worn everyone's patience to the breaking point when he insisted on finding the perfect wrapping paper, so he had given up on that (Tom wouldn't even glance at the wrapping, anyway) and they all had gone to the Leaky Cauldron for a round of drinks, which improved everyone's mood and healed their frazzled nerves.

Harry and Tom both had sizeable piles of presents on either side of the bed, and Tom seemed so surprised to have anything that it took Harry several minutes to prod him into opening something. They took turns opening presents, each watching the other and going slowly to savor the moment.

Tom got to Harry's present about halfway through. 'Who's this one from?' he asked, in the same amazed way in which he had asked about all the presents he'd opened so far.

'Me,' Harry smiled, shuffling closer so he could see Tom's face really clearly as he opened it. Tom tore off the wrapping and slowly picked up the lid of the box. Then he reached into the tissue.

Harry tried to focus on the flabbergasted, shining, smiling look on Tom's face so he could remember it whenever he wanted. 'I don't believe it,' Tom gaped, blinking. 'You… you got me a Pensieve?'

'I told you, you think too much,' Harry smiled. 'I was hoping this might help you sort out all those thoughts whizzing around in your overlarge brain.'

'These… these are really expensive,' Tom said. 'I can't accept it.' He turned to Harry and pushed the Pensieve toward him.

Harry pushed it back and glared. 'Don't be an arse. I know how much it cost – I'm the one who bought it. It's for you because I…' His throat choked on the words. 'Just keep it. I want you to have it.'

'Thank you,' he whispered. 'It really is too generous, though.'

'No, it's not,' Harry said. 'It's my turn.' He grabbed up a small box on the top of the pile.

'That's from me,' Tom said, looking up from his new Pensieve, but still turning it around in his hands reverently.

Harry opened it, and Tom went into a flurry of explanation about how it worked before Harry had even picked up the watch inside. 'Cool,' Harry said at the end of Tom's spiel. 'Sounds like it'll come in handy, that's for sure. I'll have to check my watch more than usual!' he laughed. 'But where did you get the money for it?'

'Dumbledore gave me a bit of cash, but I'm paying him back for it next time I talk to him. I want the gift to be from me, not him,' Tom muttered.

'Where did you get the money to pay Dumbledore back for it, then?' Harry asked, putting the watch on and turning his wrist around to examine it. Tom didn't answer, but Harry didn't think to prod him; he was too intrigued by his gift. Even if it weren't a hidden Foe Glass it would still be a very nice watch. Harry felt awkward wearing it in his casual clothes, like he wasn't good enough for it. I bet even Malfoy would be impressed.

They finished unwrapping their presents, which included traditional Weasley jumpers for both of them. Harry's was the usual green that brought out his eyes, while Tom's was a luminous silver-gray. 'Look at us, both in Slytherin colors!' Tom grinned. 'I didn't think she liked me,' he added.

Harry thought she must like him, as the material she had knit his jumper from seemed expensive. 'If Mrs. Weasley didn't like you she'd have swatted us apart with her broomstick by now,' he said, only half joking.

The rest of Christmas Day was a friendly group affair; everyone was truly cheerful, and it was hard for Harry not to be himself, despite his bittersweet memories of the previous Christmas. Everyone seemed to sense his occasional grim moods throughout the day and early evening, even Tom, who would give him a soft peck on the cheek or merely hold his hand firmly in a highly uncharacteristic public show of affection. Just knowing Tom cared enough to 'embarrass him with such putrid nonsense,' as he had put it when Harry first kissed him lightly on the jaw at the table during dinner on their second evening at Grimmauld place, lifted Harry's spirits. At the end of the day as he lay in bed he was not thinking mournfully of Sirius as he would have expected to be in September; Tom was spooned around behind him, in a reverse of their usual sleeping position, and he was only thinking, with sleepy sentimentality, how wonderful life was.

Dumbledore called the day after Christmas. He was very cheerful, but Harry could tell by the looks he was giving him as he drank his tea that he hadn't come over for a friendly chat. Sure enough, once Dumbledore finished his tea he asked to speak with Harry privately. Harry agreed – as if he had a choice – and found himself being led to the same room in which he had spoken with Lupin the day of his arrival. He took a seat in the same chair, and Dumbledore took Lupin's.

'Harry, I have heard from Remus that you are supposedly engaged in an illicit relationship with Tom,' he said, not a trace of humor in his eyes as he conjured up another cup of tea.

'It's not illicit,' Harry said. 'I've been open and honest about it. There's no point in not doing so after that Witch Weekly article. I'm not ashamed of him.' He was glaring at the Headmaster confrontationally, daring him to argue.

'Even knowing what he is,' Dumbledore said softly, ignoring Harry's glare, 'even realizing that he has killed, and would have no trouble doing so again, you accept him?'

'I do, sir,' Harry growled. 'To be frank, I find having you lecture me about giving someone a second chance to be highly hypocritical.' He knew he was being rude, and he knew that Dumbledore could turn him into a teaspoon to stir his tea with if he so chose, but it was worth all that to defend Tom. 'He hasn't done anything murderous since he got here except scare off a few Death Eaters. You'll have to pardon me for not being too alarmed by that,' he finished sarcastically.

'I didn't say I disapproved, Harry,' Dumbledore said softly, some slight humor shining through his spectacles now. 'In fact, I'm happy for you both.'

Harry couldn't have felt more set down if Dumbledore had turned him into a teaspoon, and his indignation ebbed away. 'But… but you said –'

'I just wanted to be absolutely sure you know what you're getting into,' he explained, 'for both your sakes. I believe you know better than anyone what Tom is capable of and if you see him as someone worthy of defending and loving then I could not be more pleased that you have both found someone to be with. Even if most people would disapprove… well, my brother Aberforth didn't let that bother him when he and his dear Bessie got together. 'Aberforth,' they said to him, 'it's just not right to do that sort of thing with a goat.' But Aberforth didn't take any of it to heart, oh, no, he kept right on… well…' Dumbledore collected himself.

'That's not to say I approve of certain other activities you two have engaged in,' he continued, 'but I think you could have nothing but a positive impact on him, Harry.'

'Thank-thank you,' Harry said, his face going beet-red.

'And he has also found out about his true identity?'

'Yes. Hermione let it slip,' Harry replied.

'And he didn't try to kill you?' Dumbledore was smiling widely now.

'Er… we talked,' Harry said lamely.

'Excellent!' The Headmaster clapped his hands together. 'It is best for there to be no secrets between two partners in a serious relationship. It is a serious relationship, I hope? Neither Tom nor you strike me as the sorts of persons to give themselves away easily to another.'

'It is serious, sir,' Harry muttered. This had to be the strangest conversation he and Dumbledore had ever engaged in.

'Good. Well, off you go, then. Tell Tom to come in here to speak with me, won't you?'

'Yes sir.' Harry left gratefully, though he wasn't looking forward to finding Tom.

'Headmaster,' Tom greeted Dumbledore curtly as he walked in, settling himself into the warm chair that Harry had recently vacated.

'Tom,' Dumbledore smiled. 'I've already spoken about the particulars of what I came here for with Harry, so there's no need to subject you more than just one question: how do you feel?'

'I'm fine,' Tom replied.

'I don't mean physically, Tom,' he said gravely. 'I've known Harry for many years, you know. I've watched him more closely than he realizes, even before he came to Hogwarts.'

'How nice for him,' Tom sneered.

'Suffice to say,' Dumbledore continued, ignoring Tom's comment, 'I feel that I know him rather well, better than I've known most students who have passed in and out of Hogwarts, including you. I can tell that Harry is in love with you.' Tom looked up, his eyes flashing. 'I'm not going to be so presumptuous as to demand that you tell me you love him in return –'

'That sounds like it's exactly what you're doing,' Tom smirked. He looked into Dumbledore's eyes, daring them to see through him, but that piercing look never came.

'Don't tempt me,' the Headmaster said. 'As long as you can assure me that you –'

'Harry and I are fine, sir,' Tom interrupted coldly. 'Is that all? If it is, then I was hoping I could repay you the money you gave me at the beginning of the year and just leave –'

'I told you not to worry about that money,' he scolded. He stood up and quelled Tom's protesting with a wave of his hand. 'I had best get back to Hogwarts. Take care of yourself… and Harry.' He Apparated away without another word.

Tom shook his head. At least he didn't ask me how I was intending to pay him back. Then I would have had to explain about Gringotts.

In that instant, Dumbledore popped back into the room. 'Tom,' he said slowly, a suspicious tone in his voice, 'how were you going to pay me back?'

Harry was livid when he heard about the information Dumbledore had wrung out of Tom. He entered the room after Dumbledore had left, and Tom told him about what had been said. Dumbledore, needless to say, had been just as unimpressed as Harry was. 'I can't believe you did something so stupid!' Harry raged at him. How could he have just waltzed into Gringotts and declared who he was?

'I needed more money,' he shrugged. 'Sorry.'

'Sorry? You may have alerted Voldemort to your presence!'

'I didn't know that at the time!' Tom argued. 'Besides, I'm sure he's got more than enough clues to figure me out by now.'

Harry's eyes widened in fear. 'What… what do you –'

'The Witch Weekly article!' Tom growled. 'My picture was on the front cover, if you'll recall. Surely the face will be familiar to him?'

'But… but Voldemort won't read Witch Weekly,' Harry said, not sounding too sure of his own words.

'I think I'd read just about anything I could get my hands on about the fellow who was destined to kill me,' Tom retorted.

'He doesn't know the whole Prophecy,' Harry replied weakly.

'He knew enough to try to kill you when you were a baby,' Tom reminded him. Harry sighed and placed his head in his hands; Tom was only telling him details he already knew, but he didn't like the idea of Voldemort knowing about Tom at all. He could understand how Fudge had felt, not wanting to believe that Voldemort had returned; Harry didn't want to accept the idea that his worst enemy would have already put capturing Tom on his to-do list. But I need to accept it so I can protect him, Harry reminded himself, squaring his shoulders.

'Er, Harry?' Tom prompted.

'Yeah?' Harry sighed. 'I'm sorry about blowing up at you,'

'That doesn't matter,' Tom shrugged. 'I… it's about my nightmares.'

Harry perked up at once. 'What about them?'

'It's just that now you've given me a Pensieve,' he said slowly, as if dreading what he was going to say next, 'I don't really have any reason to wait until we get to Hogwarts to show them to you. I was planning to borrow Dumbledore's, but now that I've got my own…'

Harry grinned ear to ear. 'Great! When can we get started?'

'This isn't exactly a pleasure for me, you know!' Tom said indignantly.

He felt ashamed. 'I'm sorry, Tom,' he said solemnly. 'I know it's not. Are you… are you sure you can do this?'

Tom looked away, but he nodded. 'I… I'll be fine.'

'I didn't know you could show dreams in a Pensieve,' Harry said.

'You can,' Tom responded, 'but you'll need to draw them out of me while I'm having a nightmare.'

'I have to wait until you have a nightmare?' Harry asked. His fingers dug into the arms of the chair; he didn't want to let Tom have a nightmare. 'You're still sure?' he pressed.

'You want to know,' Tom sighed. 'And maybe you're right. Maybe it will help. It's a well-documented successful method in dream therapy, though you're not exactly a trained professional. I'll probably settle back to sleep once you draw the nightmare out,' he added.

'Boys?'

They both turned to the door, which was opening to reveal Mrs. Weasley. 'Boys, dinner is ready.'

She left. 'Tonight,' Tom whispered to him. Harry gulped and nodded.

Harry couldn't help wondering as Tom set up the Pensieve and rambled off instructions that night if they might be making a mistake. Could Harry really help Tom banish the nightmares that had plagued him since before he came to Hogwarts? Maybe Tom should be seeing a professional, Harry thought worriedly. He hardly knew anything about Pensieves; what if he hurt Tom somehow? What if he didn't draw out his thoughts properly and ended up spewing his whole brain out?

'That can't happen,' Tom snorted derisively. Harry blinked; he hadn't realized he'd been thinking aloud. 'Harry?'

Harry stopped his nervous pacing and faced Tom, who looked just as nerve-wracked as Harry felt. 'I… I wouldn't show this to anyone but you,' he said softly.

Harry walked over and hugged him tightly, his eyes squinted shut. 'Don't worry,' he whispered. 'I'll take care of you.' And he would, somehow. Then he let go and Tom, flushed, finished his preparations, while Harry continued pacing their room.

'There,' Tom said, 'the Pensieve is ready to receive memories, and I've shown you what to do. Are you ready?'

'Ready if you are,' Harry replied, fidgeting nervously. 'So now you just have to go to sleep…?'

'Yes,' Tom said. Then, grinning, he added, 'and that's going to be hard to do with you pacing a rut in the floorboards.'

'Sorry,' Harry said, abashed.

'You'll have to sit somewhere quietly while I nod off. I've already,' – Tom yawned – 'taken a sleeping potion from Mrs. Weasley to make it easier. She seemed overly glad to give it to me, I might add,' he smirked. Right, Harry thought wryly, she'd hand over anything to be sure that we're not engaging in funny business. Tom placed the Pensieve on the nightstand by the bed and crawled in. Harry turned away, knowing that Tom would have more trouble sleeping if he was being stared at. He grabbed one of Tom's books – one he'd bought from Diagon Alley, so complex that Harry couldn't possibly hope to understand it – and sat back down on the floor, cross-legged, waiting for Tom to sleep.

Harry woke up to loud moans. He blinked; had he fallen asleep on the floor? The book was in his lap; he had slept right where he sat. Tom was asleep also, and he wasn't sleeping well. This is what we wanted, though, isn't it? Then why do I feel so guilty?

Harry walked quickly over to the Pensieve by wandlight. Then, holding his wand to Tom's temple, he drew the thoughts from his head and dropped the silvery string into the Pensieve.

Harry waited, but Tom still tossed and turned. The nightmares were supposed to stop when he drew them out, weren't they? What if I've done it wrong? Slightly panicked, Harry held Tom still and placed his wand to his temple again, drawing out another string and placing that into the Pensieve, as well. He stood waiting for any indication that the nightmares were ebbing away, but they continued just as violently as before. One more time, he thought resolutely, holding Tom's head still with his free hand while he pulled one final strand out of Tom's mind.

It seemed to have done the trick. Tom's breathing steadied almost immediately, and his struggles with the sheets ceased. Feeling very tired himself, Harry scooted into bed and curled up around him.

'Harry?' Tom mumbled, still half-asleep.

'S'okay, Tom,' Harry murmured in his ear, his arms around Tom's chest. 'Sleep.'

Tom went back to sleep immediately. Harry, on the other hand, though he was desperately tired, lay awake in bed with his face nuzzled into Tom's soft hair for nearly an hour before he, too, drifted into darkness.

Harry woke up abruptly and found himself in the middle of humping Tom's arse as he slept. One arm was still wrapped around Tom's chest, but his other hand had strayed down to the front of Tom's shorts and was squeezing. Tom's hand, Harry realized, was holding it there.

'Please, Harry,' Tom gasped. 'Don't stop.' His hand grabbed Harry's tightly and forced it down his boxers, not that Harry needed much persuading. He gripped Tom in his hand and continued moving, and before long he came in his shorts. He gripped Tom hard as he did so and Tom arched into him, a muted sob escaping his lips as he came.

Harry remained in that position, catching his breath, his sticky hand still around Tom's warm flesh. He found he didn't want to let go. Then he remembered the dreams that were sitting in Tom's Pensieve, and reluctantly withdrew his hand.

'Are you ready?' Harry asked him softly, running his clean hand through Tom's hair.

Tom turned around to face him, smirking. 'I might want to shower first, personally. I don't particularly want other varieties of pearly strands in my brand new Pensieve.'

Harry blushed – though he was already so red in the face that it wasn't obvious – and smiled embarrassedly. 'Yes, that probably would be best.'

They both got out of bed and Harry poked his head out of the door. 'Coast's clear,' he murmured when he saw no one in the hallway. They scuttled across the hallway to the bathroom, Tom bringing clean robes and underpants for them both (Harry always forgot to). Tom settled the clothes by the bathroom sink while Harry turned on the shower (Tom always liked it a little cold in the mornings, but Harry liked it warm, so he settled for the middle as usual). He took off his sticky underpants and stepped in, soon followed by Tom.

Their morning's activities, while pleasant, weren't as active as usual, and Harry didn't feel quite satisfied. He indicated this to Tom by grabbing the bar of soap first (he usually let Tom soap up before him) and, getting a nice lather, rubbed Tom's shoulders. Tom hissed in appreciation – Harry sometimes thought he could hear words in Parseltongue if he listened closely enough – and stared at Harry through half-lidded eyes. Harry soaped his hands up more and rubbed each arm in turn, then ran his hands down Tom's soft, smooth back. After his back, Harry made his way up again – up his sides, into his armpits, then down his chest, stopping to scrub both nipples thoroughly with his thumbs. He didn't need to look down to see that Tom's desire was building; his eyes were closed, his head thrown back, and he issued low, throaty growls as Harry rubbed him. Leaving his nipples, Harry's hands caressed his chest, went down to his stomach, and looped around to his hips, holding them tightly for a moment out of habit before going down further. Harry's hands grabbed Tom's buttocks, kneading them and making Tom gasp. His hands moving more clinically, he made sure to soap up every inch of them, his fingers rubbing between the cheeks firmly. After pausing for more soap yet again, Harry crouched in the shower to get the backs of Tom's legs; the water that had been hitting Harry in the back the whole time hit Tom's chest abruptly, making him gasp in surprise. Harry finished washing Tom's legs, his fingers ghosting over his inner thighs and making him keen with need, before soaping up his feet. He made Tom raise one foot at a time and, kneeling in the shower now, rubbed each of the soles with the pads of his fingers. He held each to the spray in turn before setting it down so Tom wouldn't slip on soapy feet. Then, still kneeling, Harry soaped his hands up once more and massaged Tom's balls, making him groan and look down.

'Keep looking at me, Tom,' he said. He moved his hands over Tom firmly and rubbed in just the way he knew Tom liked; he was finished soon after, and Harry washed off the result. He was still staring at Harry as he leaned against the shower wall, the water gradually washing all the remaining soap from his figure as Harry quickly cleaned himself off with far less care than he had given to Tom. He was grabbing for the shampoo when Tom's hand reached out to grab his wrist. Giving Harry a look full of meaning, he sunk to his knees.

It could not be put off any longer – not that Harry wanted it to be, but he doubted the task ahead would be nearly as pleasurable as the shower had been. The sat down on the bed on their knees facing each other, the Pensieve between them. 'We could go down to eat first if you want, Tom,' Harry said.

'No, I'd rather get it done with,' Tom replied. 'Are you ready?'

'Whenever you are,' Harry said.

Tom prodded the contents of the bowl with his wand and they began to swirl. Harry couldn't see much from his angle and was leaning in to take a better look when Tom said, 'Stick your face in the bowl, then.'

Harry leaned in, closed his eyes, and took a great gulp of air before plunging his face into the Pensieve.

Reality twisted around him in a familiar way – he had already visited other people's memories in a Pensieve several times, and it seemed that dreams were not any different – and then found himself standing in the middle of a large, sparse room with dingy windows. It was raining outside, and there were many children crowding at the few toys there were, jockeying for a turn with them.

'Where –'

'The orphanage,' Tom said gruffly. Harry jumped and turned to look at Tom beside him.

Harry looked around. It wasn't a very pleasant scene, but it didn't seem like much of a nightmare, either. 'This is your nightmare?' he asked tentatively.

'You didn't draw out my nightmares, exactly,' Tom said dryly. 'You only drew out the memories from which they are comprised. I only have vague ideas of what the nightmares are when I wake up; otherwise, I'd have just drawn out the memories instead of going to all the trouble of having you take them while the nightmares occurred.'

Harry could barely hear Tom over the loudness of the children in the room and he didn't understand entirely, but he took it to mean that this wasn't the part that made Tom scream at night. Then, suddenly, the noise quieted to whispers as several adults entered the room. A few of them looked as though they worked there, for they were glaring at the children to make them settle down. Two of the adults – a man and a woman – were dressed more colorfully than the others, and were looking down at the children with sadness instead of anger, the man holding his wife closely.

The man was an overweight, mustached, bearded fellow whose appearance reminded Harry of a slightly taller, slightly thinner version of his Uncle Vernon. The woman he was holding was also of a stocky build, and had flaming red hair and tears rimming her eyes; she looked a great deal like Mrs. Weasley.

The woman collected herself and pulled away from her husband, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. Her footsteps echoed loudly in the whisper-filled room, the whispers stilling wherever her gaze fell. Harry looked over to Tom and saw that his eyes, like the eyes of all of the children, were on her.

'Line up, children!' called a voice from the entrance; it was coming from a gruff-looking, unpleasant-sounding man who had been one of those glaring at the children before. Immediately, the children scattered from the toys and lined up by the back wall. Harry counted around forty of them, all lined up according to height and standing ramrod straight.

The woman walked down the line, smiling broadly at the younger children, who all stood even taller, nearly on tiptoe, trying to catch her eye. At last, a couple of children from the end, she stopped dead, staring.

Harry walked around to try to get a closer look; he could hear Tom following. The boy she was looking at was very young, no more than four or five. He had dark black hair and bright green eyes that were straining up to the woman's face.

'You?' Harry whispered.

'Yes,' Tom said softly.

'You have his eyes,' the woman said, quiet as a whisper as she stared down at Tom. Her own eyes were filling with tears again, but she was smiling. 'Come here.'

'Disassemble!' said the gruff man. All the other children went back quickly to their toys, but the atmosphere was much more subdued than before. Tom had walked up until he was standing toe to toe with the woman; she took his hand, so small, in hers, and led him away.

The scene changed abruptly, making Harry's head spin a moment. They were outside, and the sky was bright and clear. The woman was sitting on a park bench, and Tom was on her lap, and she had gathered him close to her in her arms. His head was leaning against her chest, and as Harry moved forward he saw a smile that he'd never seen on the face of the Tom from his time; it was a smile of delirious, innocent bliss.

'You're so very much like him,' she smiled, and she would have looked nearly as happy as Tom was if it weren't for the tears welling up in her eyes. 'The only difference is your hair. He had red hair, like me,' she whispered, running one hand through his hair as she spoke.

Tom seemed to be barely hearing her; his face was filled with adoration, his eyes seeing nothing but her. 'You're such a beautiful child,' she murmured. Then she pressed him so hard against her chest that Harry would have thought it might hurt, but Tom didn't seem even briefly phased by it.

'Her name was Elizabeth,' Tom – the older Tom – said from Harry's side. 'She had lost her son in an accident.'

Harry turned back to the younger Tom, who was looking up into the woman's face. 'Am I going to go home with you?' the little voice asked. Harry heard Tom's breath hitch beside him.

For the first time the woman – Elizabeth – turned away from Tom; she looked at the man who had gone into the orphanage with her, presumably her husband, who was staring at a small, dreary pond far off. She bit her lip. 'We'll see. Not today,' she replied. She let go of him, putting him down on the bench beside her and pressing her skirt flat with her hands, her chest rising and falling irregularly.

The scene changed again. Harry could tell by the dank condition of the walls that they were back in the orphanage. The woman was sitting on a rickety-looking wooden chair, her husband on another chair beside her, staring at young Tom, who was once again curled up in the woman's arms. 'Do you swim, boy?' he asked abruptly.

'No, sir,' Tom said, in barely more than a whisper. The woman leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of Tom's head. 'But I could learn if you wanted me to.'

'I was scared of him,' Tom whispered to Harry's right. 'I knew if he liked me I'd get to go home with them.'

The scene altered several times more; each time involved Tom being cuddled and adored by the woman and soaking up every bit of it like a flower being rained on after a long drought, and the man staring at him glumly, uneasily.

'I didn't like the man after a while,' Tom put in. 'I wanted him to fly… fly away, and leave me with Elizabeth.'

They were back in the park again. Birds were chirping all around them. 'Elizabeth, it's time to go,' the man said, striding over.

'Do we have to?' she asked pleadingly, looking down at the boy in her lap with all the affection and tears she had on the very first day.

'That's enough!' the man said loudly. Young Tom cringed and bit his lip. Harry could see something in his eyes; it reminded Harry of the few times he had seen Dumbledore angry. Tom scooted off the woman's lap, as if used to this now, and stared at the man.

And then something very strange happened. The man, while walking toward them, put his foot down and it did not touch the ground. He took another step, as if not having noticed, and it stopped above the ground as well, further up. It was as though he was climbing invisible stairs. This time the man did take heed, and he looked down, peering around his feet. There was nothing under them.

Then he started floating, rising up into the air like a helium balloon. His eyes bulged and his Adam's apple bobbed in his throat. 'Elizabeth!' he yelled. Other people in the park turned around to look, and a pair of small girls shrieked.

'Richard!' the woman cried, standing up and running over to him. She was too late; he was rising faster now, and as she reached out her arm and jumped for him, the tips of her fingers barely skimmed the heel of his left shoe. There were nearly two dozen people running over, many shouting, and one woman fainted with fright. Harry looked over to Tom, who was sitting on the bench, staring at his feet.

The scene changed one more time. They were still in the park, but it was nightfall. The man was dropping to the ground, and Harry could see people in robes waving wands around, Obliviating the witnesses.

'That was the first time I saw wizards,' Tom mumbled. One of the wizards walked over to Tom and flicked his wand. 'They put a Memory Charm on me,' Tom realized. 'That's why I don't remember the flying.'

'It was that boy!' the man, Richard, was yelling. 'I know it was him, I know it! It had to be! He was staring at me with those funny eyes of his!'

'Richard, don't be silly, it couldn't have –' A wizard came up and Obliviated her.

'What on earth –' Then the man.

The two Obliviators who had handled the man and woman turned their heads to Tom, who had a glassy look in his eyes, but was staring back at them. 'Think it was him?' one whispered to the other.

'Don't be stupid. He's too young for this kind of wild magic,' the other replied. 'It was probably just some young prankster – probably just turned seventeen and thought he'd have some fun with the Muggles.' They Apparated away, and little Tom blinked.

'She didn't come back,' Tom whispered. 'She never came back. I didn't remember this, but I remember her. I waited for weeks, and she never came back. I cried and cried.' His voice sounded far away. 'None of them ever came back. After her, I never expected them to. She was the hardest.'

'It wasn't fair of her,' Harry said softly. 'If she wasn't going to take you, she shouldn't have gotten your hopes up like that.'

'None of them ever bothered about our feelings,' Tom whispered bitterly, shaking his head. 'At least it stopped when I got older. No one ever wanted the older ones.'

Harry waited, expecting that they'd leave the Pensieve, but the world flashed around them again, revealing something entirely different.

They were in a dark alley. Harry could see the brightness of daylight at the end of it over the hood and through the windows of a shiny, cream-colored parked car, but the alley itself swallowed all light. It was dirty, hot, and strewn with litter and angry voices.

'Aw, come on, weirdo! Do something funny! I wanna see!' said one boy up ahead near the end of the alley.

'Yeah, me too!' another boy jeered. Harry and Tom walked toward the voices.

There were four boys in the alley; three of them looked to be between twelve and fourteen. They were crowded around another boy, trapped in a dead end by a wire fence, who looked around nine. This, Harry realized, was Tom.

'I don't remember this, either,' the older Tom said.

'Master Randolf says he does funny things when he's scared,' the third and largest boy said slowly. 'So let's make him scared.'

'Leave me alone,' Tom said, his fingers grabbing at the wire behind him. The boys ignored him. The largest one advanced first and punched him in the stomach, making Tom double over and choke as the wind was knocked out of him. The second largest kicked him in the side, and he coughed out a strangled cry as the third stomped down on his back, knocking him flat to the ground.

'Stop it!' Harry cried.

'They can't hear you,' Tom reminded him coolly. 'I remember those boys, but I don't remember them ever giving me trouble like this. Besides, they all died in a –'

Harry heard the cream car behind him rev and turned around. The noise got louder, and there was a sudden screech of rubber as the car took off. Only it didn't go straight into the street; it reversed, and Harry heard several loud horns pounded in indignation as other cars were blocked off.

'That sound…' Tom said softly. 'That sound, and screams… my dreams…'

The car had turned around ninety degrees, and was now pointing into the alleyway. With as much fervor as it had used in reversing, it accelerated forward.

'I… I don't remember…'

Harry blinked, and as he did so the scene altered. They were standing right next to the memory version of Tom. There were three corpses on the ground – the three boys. The car was smoking; it was going to catch fire. 'Tom?' Harry whispered urgently. Young Tom was standing, stock still, his wide, unblinking eyes focused on the car, which looked as if it might explode at any moment. There was blood spattering his face and clothes.

'A hand…' Tom muttered hazily.

With a loud pop, a wizard Apparated at Tom's other side and grabbed his shoulder. With another pop, they were both gone.

Now they were in a clearing – where, Harry didn't know. The memory version of Tom was still standing wide-eyed in shock as he had at the scene of the accident. An auburn-haired wizard was kneeling in front of him, wiping at his face with a handkerchief.

'You can't Apparate with someone else, can you?' Harry asked.

'It's very advanced, most wizards couldn't,' Tom replied absently, stepping forward. Harry followed. They soon got close enough to see the wizard's face. It was, unmistakably, a younger Albus Dumbledore.

'I don't understand,' the older Tom said, looking as lost as his young counterpart.

'All will be well, little one,' Dumbledore was saying. Young Tom wasn't looking at him; he kept staring straight ahead, even as Dumbledore wiped the last trace of blood, a few millimeters away from his eye. Then he took out his wand, and the grime and blood on Tom's clothes was waved away.

'Little one?' Dumbledore whispered. He grabbed Tom's chin and bent it until Tom was staring him in the face. Tom blinked, as if only just seeing him. 'You're all right, little one. You're safe. It wasn't your fault. You won't even remember it soon.' Then, humorlessly, he added, 'The Ministry wouldn't believe that it was you, in any case. Wizards can be as deft at ignoring magic as Muggles when they want to be. You're lucky I was so near,' he said sadly. Tom stared at him blankly. 'Poor little one. Obliviate!'

The same glassy look dropped over Tom's eyes, and Dumbledore grabbed him by the shoulder again and Apparated away.

Surely it's over now, Harry thought, feeling extremely shaken. There can't possibly be any more. Tom had been abandoned by a woman he was coming to love as a mother, affection swooping in and out of his life so destructively that he had learned to distrust and even hate it; then Tom had accidentally caused and borne witness to the violent deaths of three boys, only to be rescued from a similar fate by Albus Dumbledore. Shock, pain, loneliness, fear… what more could there be?

They were in a cellar. It was darker here even than in the alley, for there was no light at the end as there had been before, just darkness all around except for a woman in the center, her wand held up like a torch for light in one hand, and her other arm wrapped around a small bundle.

Harry got closer, and at first, when he saw the dark red hair and the flash of green in her eyes by wandlight, he thought he was looking at his own mother. But it couldn't be her; she would have no place in Tom's memories. He soon saw that her face was paler and less full, her eyes sharper and her hair straighter than Harry's mother's had been. She was wobbling from side to side, unsteady, and looked as if she were ill.

'What's this?' Harry asked him.

Tom had his arms wrapped around himself and was shaking his head quickly. 'I don't like this,' he said sharply. 'Why isn't it over yet?'

'Shh, baby,' the woman whispered, adjusting her bundle awkwardly while still trying to keep her wand up for light. 'Hush, little Tom.'

'You?' Harry gaped. It didn't make sense; they were going forward in time before. Why were they going back now?

Someone banged hard on the cellar door. The baby started crying. 'Shh, shh,' the woman said weakly, looking fearfully up at the door above. The door burst open and several men ran down the steps, the first two pointing flashlights at the woman and the other following closely on their heels.

'What do you want?' she cried, gripping the baby in both arms protectively, the light from her wand going out. 'I told you I would leave and you'd never see me again! Let us be, please!' The baby she was clutching howled. Harry realized how small it was – it was no more than a newborn.

The two men with flashlights, who were large and bulky, only sneered at her. The man in back walked forward furiously, and as he came into the light, Harry realized that this could be no one other than Tom Riddle, Sr. He looked much like his son, though he didn't have Tom's green eyes. 'You may leave, scum, but I will not allow a heathen child with my blood to be raised to worship the likes of Satan!'

'I do not worship Satan!' the woman hissed, her eyes pleading with him. 'I am witch, but it's not like that, it's –'

'Enough!' he bellowed. 'Leave the brat and you may live. Otherwise…' his voice trailed off, and one of the beefy men drew out an old handgun from his coat and cocked it.

'You would kill your own child?' she whispered, holding Tom close. He had gone silent again as if he, too, were feeling the tension of the moment. 'Please, Tom, stop! I won't let you take the baby! This is insane! You can't possibly be ser –'

Then, before she could possibly have drawn her wand to defend herself, a gunshot rang out. The baby squalled again immediately as his mother sank to her knees and then fell on the floor in a bleeding heap.

'No!' Tom cried, his voice hoarse. 'No, this isn't how it happened! This is a lie! This isn't how she died! This is all wrong!'

The elder Tom Riddle grabbed the sleeve of the large man who had shot her. 'Shoot the child, then take their bodies and have them incinerated,' he said loudly over the baby's wails. 'I'll say they both died in childbirth; the brat was only born a few hours ago and no one else will have seen it. No one else need ever know it ever drew breath,' Riddle spat. With that, he walked back up the stairs, leaving the thugs to clean up.

The man who had shot Tom's mother walked over and aimed the gun point-blank at the crying baby. But he can't die!

A shot rang out, but the baby continued to cry. The man who had shot at him, however, fell backward. Harry saw a bleeding wound in the middle of his forehead.

The other man opened and closed his mouth, his tongue wagging but no sound escaping his lips. 'Jimmy?' he said in terror, walking forward. He made a gurgling sound when he saw the state of his companion. He looked over to the baby with wide, horrified eyes, then back down at the dead man, and ran up the stairs and out of the cellar.

'This is insane,' Tom was muttering madly. 'This is impossible.'

But Harry realized what had transpired; it was much like what had happened to him, only instead of a curse rebounding, it was a bullet. Voldemort's mother died to save him? It made sense, in an insane way; Voldemort had directed the killing curse at Harry when he was a baby, but it had bounced back, yet Voldemort hadn't died the way the Muggle man had. Voldemort had said some of his old experiments worked – that because of them he had managed to escape death that night – but what if it was simpler? What if it was the same old magic that had protected Harry?

Harry heard anxious footsteps above, woman's heels. Someone would find Tom; she would save him from the fate his father had planned for him. He could not touch Tom then, not if people knew he was alive. Perhaps she would be paid off to not mention his mother. It didn't matter, really, did it? It ended up the same: Tom in an orphanage, parentless, not knowing that his mother died to save him out of love, the very thing Voldemort would grow to despise above all. Harry was savagely glad that Tom Riddle had been killed; did Voldemort know, even now, just how much his father had deserved it?

They were abruptly drawn out of the Pensieve. It was over. 'Tom?' Harry whispered.

Tom was kneeling right where he had been when they had started, but was looking down at his lap, shaking with sobs. Harry placed the Pensieve aside and went to him, wrapping his arms around him. 'Tom, I'm so sorry,' Harry said, tears in his eyes as well.

He didn't respond; he just turned his head into Harry shoulder and continued to cry. Harry bit down on his own lip and held him, rocking gently, his vision watery.

Someone burst through the door. 'That's enough! You two get out here right –'

It was Mrs. Weasley, and she stopped mid-sentence when she saw the scene she had barged in on. 'I'll… I'll come back later,' she whispered, closing the door behind her. Harry didn't spare her another thought.

They stayed there, Tom in Harry's arms, for a least an hour. Tom stopped crying within a few minutes, but he still remained leaning into Harry for much longer, sniffling occasionally. Neither said another word. There were some things that there weren't words for in any language, and this was one of them.

Mrs. Weasley didn't come back; no one opened the door for the rest of the day. They eventually shifted positions, Harry lying on his back on the bed and Tom's face buried in his chest. One of Harry's hands was in Tom's hair, and the other on his back, rubbing in soothing circles. Harry wondered, as the sun fell in the sky, whether Tom had fallen asleep – he was so still, but Harry didn't stop holding him.

Harry's brain had been deadened for some time after seeing the memories in the Pensieve, but it started up again quickly as he felt steady breaths escape Tom's lips. No wonder Tom had nightmares; being abandoned time after time, witnessing grisly murder, and losing his mother violently at the hands of his father, all memories locked up so tightly in his subconscious, all bottling up, each emphasizing the other, the pressure built up until they could escape when he slept. Harry's mind was racing with it, but he was so tired… he was hungry, but tired… he shut his eyes…

'The preparations are being made, I take it?'

'Yes, master,' came a quivering voice.

'How long?' the hissing man demanded.

'Some… some time, my lord, but we all work tirelessly to ensure –'

'Have you found out where he came from yet? The boy?'

'N-no, master. Your spy at the Prophet has interrogated the reporter woman; all she knows is that he is from another time, and that he shares some secret with Dumbledore, as you already know. He has not found out anything else yet.'

'And he is involved with Harry Potter,' the man said dryly. 'Useless,' he hissed. 'You're all useless. I want all our efforts focused, is that clear, Wormtail?'

'Y-yes, master…'

DarkMarkLV: Tom isn't very good at expressing his emotions, which I'm sure you've noticed :) More progress on that next chapter!

akuma-river: Seeing as there's only two chapters left (theoretically), it has to be soon, doesn't it? I suppose he's already had his 'WTF' moment off-camera, so to speak, but he's definitely still got questions.

Enola: Funny you would mention the spooning scene because that's the one that keeps coming to my mind, too. I'm not much of an artist, myself, but the mental picture is very sweet.

Monique: Hell, for all we know he did get it from vampires. He has to be rich, doesn't he? Running a militaristic rebellion costs galleons, you know. A penniless nobody doesn't bring the wizarding world to its knees and drowning prospective Death Eaters in booze at recruitment rallies is expensive ;)