Author's Notes: This will have spoilers for Half-Blood Prince. Since I've read it and discovered I can actually base the ficlet DURING Half-Blood Prince, I'm going to do that. So just so that you know, it's still AU, but will have a lot of canon mentions. Anyone who doesn't like spoilers, please, please don't read this until you've read book 6. I hate it when people spoil for me, and I would feel horribly guilty doing that to you. :)

To the people who took the time to review, I'm extremely grateful. I'm not used to getting very many reviews on here, so I hope that I can do your comments justice. I'd write individual replies but I always get annoyed when people put those in fics when I read them.. but I've read all your reviews, and I'm very glad you all seem to enjoy it. And thanks to the people who alerted/fav'd the story. :)

And I'd also like to apologize to those of you who were expecting something exciting the first chapter. It's short, I know, I just wanted to explain why the diary remained in Harry's possession. Otherwise it seems very far ooc for Harry. I promise my other chapters will have interaction with other characters and some fun stuff.

For reference, Harry is underlined, Tom is italics. Just so people know who is saying what.

Disclaimer: Blahblah, Tom's not mine, neither is Harry, nor are any of the other canon mentions. Much as I want to kidnap Tom and make him into my boyslave I shall refrain. No money being made.. yadda.. please don't sue me.

Warnings: Swearing... very evil Tom... freaked out!Harry... spoilers... slash later on... weirdness... and sugar quills. Yes, sugar quills. Even though they don't appear in this chapter.

Home

Strange Phenomena

The diary had lain unopened in his trunk from the day he'd discovered the writing until he got back to Hogwarts. Even though he'd spent the summer away from the Dursley's for the most part, Harry found he could not bring himself to look into the trunk because of it. The Burrow would make a bad place to open it - and even further, he felt an immense amount of guilt for having brought that damned book to begin with. Surely that... thing... if seen, would bring back memories that Ginny would not want to relive.

But once at Hogwarts, he'd had to open the trunk to get to his school things... and the diary remained, undamaged. However, when he, with a curious flick of his fingers, opened the black leather up... the pages were empty. The ominous note that had left him feeling shaken, disturbed, and disgusted, was gone. The book looked exactly like what it was supposed to be - a little black diary. Blank, of course, but still an average, little black diary.

What possessed him to pick up his quill, he couldn't say. Just that later that evening, he sat with the curtains drawn around his bed, quill in hand, diary opened, staring at the blank pages. The urge to write something in it was almost over-whelming, especially after that ominous note... and before he could convince himself that it was a bad idea, his quill had touched down on the page.

Tom Riddle?

Harry stared at the page as the ink sank in, so familiar. He'd seen this before, a couple times, in his second year. The way the diary worked had always astounded him, and though he was far from a magical expert, he couldn't help but want to pick it apart and find out its intricate details. He wished it had some way of being pulled apart, so that he could read the original entries word for word. As far as he knew, though, there was no such answer.

What he expected was a reaction quickly, like the ominous note in response to him holding the diary. Who knew how long Tom had left that there for him to see? Or should he call him Voldemort? For this boy hardly deserved a name so common, so average, as Tom.

What he got was a complete and total lack of reaction at all. It was as though he was being ignored - quite spectacularly, in fact. It was as though no one was there, nothing existed. Harry found himself annoyed.

You left me a note, and now you don't respond?

Again, Harry expected to receive no response. Annoyance filled him, though he couldn't quite explain why. However, right as he went to close the book, a few scattered words appeared on the page, as if lazily written, and he could tell despite their definitions, he had not quite gotten the annoyed reaction he expected.

You ignored me for an entire summer. Why should I respond immediately to you? was the written reply, but it looked, to Harry, like he was being laughed at, instead of being chastised. Somehow, that didn't surprise him too much. He had a feeling Tom would find him amusing rather than irksome. His older self did.

There he went again. Tom. Even though he knew this was the boy who would grow up to be Lord Voldemort, it seemed almost a crime to call this incomplete boy of his own age anything but 'Tom' or 'Riddle'. Lord Voldemort's name was something he attributed to scarlet eyes and a cold, high pitched, unnatural voice that would not suit the handsome young man who had come out of the diary.

Unsure of how to respond to that, Harry held his quill over the page. However, before he could write anything, more words floated up to the top, this time in a less than pleased sort of mood.

You ignored me an entire summer, when you could've been asking me all these questions about Lord Voldemort. Now you expect me to answer you when you write to me. You kept my diary, yet you ignored me. Quite rude, if you ask me. Inconsiderate.

Coming from you, that's rich. And you wouldn't tell me even if I asked you.

Perhaps not. Maybe I would've. Once again, you lost the chance to know for sure - I certainly won't now. Go to sleep, Potter.

A snarl passed over Harry's face, but it quickly faded and he flicked the book closed. Annoying as it was, he could tell that he would get nothing out of Tom until after he'd slept. If he got anything at all.

He knew he should take the diary to Dumbledore that instant. The Headmaster would want to know about it... but he simply couldn't. Curiosity and something akin to horror prevented him, for what would Dumbledore say if he knew Harry had kept such a dangerous thing the entire summer? For all he knew, it could lead Voldemort to him.

Defeated, Harry threw the diary into his trunk and rolled back over, pressing his face into his pillow. The idea of obeying Riddle was annoying, but at the same time, he couldn't help but confess to the fact that the other had the right idea about things. Staying up would not solve anything.

When he fell asleep, Harry couldn't say. It was strange, to say the least. In the past, when he dreamed, it was vivid. He felt like he was there. But as he stood gazing up at rafters he'd never seen before, Harry knew he was dreaming: This could not be real.

Silver-white mist surrounded him, shrouding everything but the floor and the rafters from view. Up on the rafters, Harry thought he could see someone - a boy, more like a child - with dark hair and eyes. The look on the child's face was a determined sort of snarl, as if he were in an awful mood for some reason.

Harry raised an eyebrow, watching the boy crawl across the rafters, when his eyes fell on something strange and furry in his hands. The animal or toy, whatever it was, was undoubtedly the reason for the nasty expression. After all, who would want their movement so encumbered? Green eyes narrowed slightly, identifying the creature as a living rabbit, which just confused him even more. He was having dreams about strange children and rabbits.

"What makes you so sure it's a dream?"

The voice sent tiny shivers down Harry's spine and he whirled around, but there was no one there behind him. He flicked his eyes over the surrounding area once more... before finally giving up and turning his attention to the boy on the rafters - just in time to see the rabbit dangle lifelessly with a rope wound around its neck. The sound of its bones breaking echoes through the air, and Harry expected to see a look of remorse, shock, surprise, something on the boy's face.

What he saw was nothing - a perfect, impassive mask. The child shook his head and hopped down off the rafters, falling unnaturally to the floor, as though guided by wings or air. The fall should've hurt his legs, he should've broken them, but he didn't - instead, he landed with a grace that any king would envy, and spun on his heel, heading right out of sight, into the mist.

The mist faded, and Harry stared at the bunny as it drifted into darkness.

"That was a dream," he replied to the voice, so eerie, that had asked him a question he knew the answer to before speaking. It wasn't a dream, because he'd never have dreams about something so... so...

"Sick," offered the same voice as before. "Careful, Potter. What you just witnessed was not a dream. It was a memory. And I would hate for you to suffer the same fate as the rabbit... so put that thought about sending me to Dumbledore right out of your mind, hmm?"

Again, Harry spun around - but this time he was not greeted by empty air. Standing behind him was the same boy from the Chamber of Secrets, tall and raven-haired, dark-eyed with pale skin that seemed to only enhance a natural, predatory air. And yet, he did not resemble the monster Harry had seen rise from the cauldron two years previous, even remotely. That boy, though he knew him to be the same, seemed far more human - and in turn, far less frightening. Still, the fate of the rabbit was not one he was looking forward to... and the fact that Tom Riddle had managed to suck him into a memory so quickly was not a comforting one.

Begrudgingly, he complied... and then opened his eyes.