AN: i know it's almost taken a year, but I am now officially resuming Shadows from the Past! Yay! Hope it was worth the wait! No flames please, (hopefully no need for flames either) and make sure you enjoy! please reiew.

Massacre in Newmarket… Ministry Death Unavoidable… Aurors Loosing Track… Dark Mark Loose in Skies of London… Tom stared at the last headline; a picture of an orphanage decorated most of the page, the black and white photo did little to dim the hovering symbol of a skull and snake high in the sky, throwing the deep contours of the building into bright contrast as a soft wind blew the curtains through the open windows. The caption below read; Death Eaters showed no mercy to the orphanage where all caretakers and four of the children were tortured and murdered yesterday night.

Tom stared at the date; fifteen years after his graduation from Hogwarts… he would be thirty-two.

Silently he pushed the book away. His hands were shaking.

He had thought it would help explain things, or at the very least ease his mind if he knew what he was being accused of, but these countless hours in the library were proving the opposite.

He couldn't sleep, he had trouble eating, and the constant shadow of Harry Potter really wasn't helping. His nerves were fraying.

Everytime some one entered a room he couldn't stop shaking, and everytime he was alone he wished desperately that they would come back.

Especially when it was Harry.

He wanted to ask him about the diary, he couldn't find any references to it in any of the books, and so far Harry was the only one to have spoken to him in such a straight forward way. He had called him Voldemort to his face, and although Tom wanted to argue that, at least it was what he honestly thought.

Remus, Severus, and even Dumbledore… he was almost afraid to face them because they never really spoke to his face, they were too cautious around him.

He pulled the little book out of his pocket and for what seemed like the hundredth time flipped through the burnt and stained pages noting which ones were burnt the farthest and wich ones had the darkest stains. And there on the corner he could still make out the words in his own crisp writing; Tom. M. Riddle.

With a sigh, Tom pushed himself up and pocketed the book in his breast pocket, the one closest to his heart; it was all he had left from his years at Hogwarts now. He wondered vaguely where Harry would be.

Dumbledore had said that there was someone else coming in today that they needed to speak to, but he needed to see Harry before they arrived. He didn't want accounts through old newspapers and surprisingly vague books; he wanted to know what had really happened, no one else seemed very willing to tell him.

He trudged out into the corridors, ignoring the way the portraits began to immediately whisper as he passed and came to a stop at the staircase. He assumed that Harry would be in his common room, meaning a trip down to the dungeons, but he didn't know the current Slytherin password.

With a sigh he turned to the portait of a large man in a top hat lining the wall.

"Do you know if Harry Potter is in the dungeons?" he asked.

The man frowned.

"Well, don't know why he'd be there, I expect he's up in Gryffindor Tower."

Tom stared.

"He's a Gryffindor?" he asked.

The man huffed up importantly.

"There's nothing wrong with Gryffindor. Why I was a Gryffindor in my day. Fine house Gryffindor is, fine house…"

Filled with doubt, Tom climbed the stone steps up to Gryffindor tower drawing to a stop as he reached the portrait of the fat lady.

"Uh, can I come in?" he asked.

"Not without the password," she said yawning.

He had expected as much.

"Well, could you just let him know that I'm here?"

She sighed.

"Very well." With a grumble, she side stepped right out of the portrait.

His heart sped up slightly as he waited. He hadn't quite figured out how to ask everything, he wasn't even sure which details to ask about, which ones were the most important.

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair trying to compose himself. It felt like he hadn't spoken to anyone in years, when in reality only yesterday had been full with questions and meetings, and reading in the library while Harry absently walked the halls…. This very morning Dumbledore had been in to see him and explained a little about what was going to happen to him, even Madam Pomfrey the school matron had arrived and couldn't seem to help but fuss over him since he was still staying in the hospital wing, and the portraits… he was by no means alone here. But for some reason being here at Harry Potter's door was making him feel incredibly unprepared for a simple conversation.

With a soft creek the portrait swung open from the inside revealing an uneasy Harry still in his Pajamas and looking comfortably at home.

Tom tried not to stutter. He took a breath. "Can we talk?"

Not saying anything Harry moved aside for Tom to enter, revealing the brightly lit room and array of comfy looking furniture. A game of wizard chess was set up next to the fire where it seemed Harry had been sitting at a solitary game despite the fact that it was august and the fire wasn't lit.

"I thought I would have another chance to speak to you before I left," he said watching Tom.

Tom looked at him sharply.

"You're leaving?"

"Today, after Ginny and her parents arrive… they're the ones Dumbledore wants you to see," he said at Tom's blank look. "Didn't Dumbledore tell you?"

"He didn't give any names."

"Oh," he said leading him to the opposite seat from him at the fire.

"So you know her?" Tom asked hesitantly.

"Yeah, she's my best friends little sister."

"Oh." For some reason he hadn't expected that answer. He hadn't considered a Harry Potter with friends, and family and a whole world that Tom was usually lacking. If possible he suddenly felt even more alienated from the boy sitting across from him. "Do you know why they're coming?" he asked.

"…To get ready. We're some of the only people who recognise you for whom you are, could you imagine if we just saw you someplace after all that's happened…? I'm surprised Dumbledore didn't explain any of this to you."

"Well no one's done much explaining, just a lot of asking." He sighed. "I don't really know what's happened." Tom hesitated then pulled the burnt book from his cloak. "I was hoping you could explain a little."

Harry leaned back in his chair watching him oddly. For a moment Tom was afraid he was going to reach out and touch him again as though sure he was one of the Hogwarts ghosts in disguise. "You really don't remember?" he finally asked.

Tom shook his head.

"The memory of yourself preserved in that book took control of Ginny Weasley in her first year; it used her to almost bring you back to life." Harry's voice came out cold and unforgiving. "You almost killed her," he said.

Tom was shaking again.

"I didn't do it," he said. "It wasn't me."

The merciless look from the day before had returned to harry's face. "Yes it was," he said. "It was your spell, and your self preserved in that diary for fifty years, it was your fault."

Tom shook his head. He found himself on his feet.

"I didn't know it could take control, I didn't know that was possible."

Harry was suddenly facing him angrily. "It doesn't matter, you tried to kill her, you used her to lure me in, and you almost fed me to the basilisk!"

"It wasn't me! I'm not a memory, I'm real!"

He siezed Harry by the arm and not sure what he was doing pressed Harry's clamped hand painfully against his chest breathing hard until he was agonizingly aware of his own heart beat thundering against Harry's fingers. "There," he said as Harry stared at him, his eyes wide. He had to make him understand. "I was reading through books and old newspapers and documents and everywhere I looked I saw 'Harry Potter the boy who lived', even the recent ones just brought up what happened when you were a baby like you're just a symbol." Harry glared, his cheeks flushing. "At least your name is a symbol that doesn't land you in Hogwarts in the middle of the night with a vial of Veritaserum." Harry looked away, squeezing his eyes shut. "I haven't done anything," he said. "That diary," he whispered, "I mostly just… I just wanted someone to talk to—even if it was only me."

Harry squeezed his hand out of Tom's grip and stepped back. He wouldn't look at him.

The air in the Gryffindor common room was suddenly suffocating. Tom turned on his heel and fled out the portrait hole. His heart was pounding harder than he ever remembered it doing before, he wondered if Harry could still hear it echoing down the corridor, and willed his eyes to stop stinging.

Now all he had to look forward to was a girl named Ginny Weasley.