Chapter 2. Eyes That Burned Gold
The short auburn hair of Albus Dumbledore left Harry with no room for doubt. He had time-traveled.
Gone was Dumbledore's long, snowy white beard, his wrinkles, and his grandfatherly smile. Instead, a coppery Van Dyke beard was paired with clear, smooth skin, and a concerned, yet shrewd frown. Though it would not have looked odd on anyone else, Harry found the lack of spangles on Dumbledore's midnight blue robes distinctly conflicting with the flamboyant old man he was used to. As Dumbledore studied him, Harry noticed that even his eyes were different, the electric blue more serious and solemn than Harry was used to. To say it was jarring was an understatement.
With difficulty, Harry dragged his attention away from Dumbledore.
"—completely understand, sir, of course," Riddle was saying to the taller man Harry didn't know, his expression serious. "Would it be an issue if I were to return at a later point though, sir? Having found him, I would feel responsible if anything were to happen."
"If it is alright with Mr. Evans, I would see no issue with that," the unknown man said kindly.
"Would that be alright, Harry?" Riddle asked, turning towards him, "If I came back later?"
Though his tone betrayed nothing, Harry couldn't miss the heat behind Tom's eyes that promised retribution if he refused.
Harry wasn't afraid of Tom Riddle. "I'd rather be alone right now, thanks."
Tom's jaw clenched minutely before he smiled. "Of course," he said, his voice convincingly sympathetic, "You've been through a lot. I won't bother you."
Harry smiled blandly at him before Tom turned, nodded at the professors, and left, leaving him alone with the three adults. The sight of them gathered around his hospital bed was intimidating. Anxiety began to buzz in his stomach.
The taller man waited until Riddle slipped through the hospital doors to speak. "How are you feeling, Mr. Evans?"
"I'm alright," Harry said awkwardly, the sheets shifting some as he straightened up a little in the bed. "Sore mostly."
The man nodded, "I'm glad to hear that you're okay. Now, I was told you only recently regained consciousness. Tell me, do you know where you are?"
"Er, Hogwarts?" he answered, "At least that's what Professor Slughorn said," he added quickly, glancing at the potions master who smiled encouragingly. If he'd really time-traveled, these people would have no reason to think he had any knowledge of what Hogwarts looked like.
"That is correct. I am Professor Dippet, Headmaster here at Hogwarts, and this is Professor Dumbledore, the Deputy Headmaster." Dippet gestured over to Dumbledore who gave Harry a warm smile. "We were wondering if you would be willing to answer some of our questions."
Harry swallowed. "Yeah, sure," he said. What other choice did he have? He braced himself.
"When I asked you if I could contact anyone for you, you said there was no one." Professor Slughorn stated quietly, "Why did you say that?" His tone was coaxing.
In response, Harry tensed. Tom's unsolicited advice whispered in his ear. You should say Grindelwald killed your parents.
Logically, Harry knew there was no reason not to. The lie made sense, and it would draw attention away from his mysterious arrival, perhaps even granting Harry refuge at Hogwarts in the process. But his heart lurched at the thought. To follow the advice of Tom Riddle? To dishonor his parent's sacrifice with a lie devised by their murderer? The very idea of it turned his stomach.
But what else could he say? He was stranded and alone, some 50-odd years in the past. He had no money and no friends. In the time it took for glass to shatter, he had left everything behind. Everything except his wand and his wits.
He looked into Dumbledore's eyes and said the only thing he could.
"The Dark Lord killed my parents."
Silence fell. Harry's eyes dropped to his hands clasped together in his lap. When no one spoke he continued. "And Hogwarts... I knew Hogwarts was safe."
"...I'm sorry." Dumbledore's words were haunted and whispered. Harry glanced up to see their somber faces and his heart clenched. He had purposefully misled them. Misled Dumbledore.
He felt sick to his stomach.
"Do you know why Grindelwald targeted them?" Professor Dippet asked softly.
"My parents were muggle-borns," he answered simply. "And they... My parents defied him."
The headmaster nodded solemnly.
Slughorn placed a hand on the bedframe and said, "I'm sorry for your loss."
Harry gave him a wan smile.
After a long pause, Professor Dippet cleared his throat, "I don't mean to be insensitive, but I must ask. Do you know how you got here, Mr. Evans? How you came to arrive at Hogwarts? It's a matter of security."
Harry hesitated. "...Not really," he said slowly, vividly recalling the blinding golden light followed by the tug in his gut. "It's a bit of a blur. I don't... No."
Dumbledore and Dippet glanced at each other. Slughorn frowned.
"I'm sorry," Harry said.
"That's quite alright, my boy," Dumbledore assured. He placed his hand on the sheets near Harry's feet. "Quite alright."
Harry swallowed heavily, guilt coating his throat. He forced the words out. "So can... Can I stay here?" he asked, looking at Professor Dippet, "At Hogwarts? I have nowhere else to go."
When the Headmaster hesitated, Dumbledore frowned and turned to him. "Surely exceptions can be made, Armando."
"Albus..." the man warned.
The two men stared each other down. Slughorn and Harry glanced at each other awkwardly. Entire conversations seemed to pass between the headmaster and Dumbledore before Dippet finally looked away with a curt jerk of the head. Harry held his breath.
"We will have to discuss it," Dippet said tentatively, "But for now, I see no reason why you shouldn't be able to stay."
Harry let out a relieved sigh.
"That being said," the Headmaster added hastily, "We will need to discuss long-term placement. We are rapidly nearing the end of our term. It is... unusual for Hogwarts to house students during the summer holiday."
"I don't know where else I'd go," Harry said quietly.
"I know," Dumbledore said, "And that is why we will be discussing this." With that Dumbledore turned to Headmaster Dippet. "Shall we?"
The headmaster sighed and nodded before turning to Harry. "We will leave you to rest now, Mr. Evans. I do hope you feel better."
Harry's reply was as mechanical as the rest of the thank-yous and goodbyes he gave to the three professors. He barely noticed as they filed out of the hospital wing, leaving him alone to stew in his guilt.
He sat there staring at his hands for a long time.
Tom Riddle seethed in the darkness.
I'd rather be alone right now, thanks.
Evans had all but snapped the mocking words; they refused to leave his mind. How dare he? Who was Evans to dismiss him, only to turn around and reap the benefits of Tom's cunning? He had heard the whole exchange, the tearful words, as he hid in the hallway cloaked in disillusionment charms of his own design.
Harry Evans had lied so beautifully.
The Dark Lord killed my parents, he'd all but sobbed. Tom would've almost believed the pitiful confession had he not been the one to instruct Evans to give it.
Dumbledore had certainly believed it, Tom thought bitterly, recalling the way the man had compelled Headmaster Dippet to make an exception. Exceptions that could not, apparently, be extended to him. Two summers in a row Dumbledore had denied him, forcing Tom to go back to that godforsaken sham of an orphanage. Perhaps now, if Evans was allowed to stay, he would have the leverage he needed to persuade him otherwise.
That was a thought for another time.
Harry Evans's breathing had finally begun to slow. Finally. Tom's lips twitched and his eyes glinted maliciously as he crept forward, allowing the charms wrapped around him to dissipate. Anticipation bubbled in his stomach as he imagined the fear and shock in those green eyes.
Eyes that snapped open the instant Tom's hand touched the frame of the hospital bed. Eyes that burned gold.
Tom snatched his hand back as if scorched, throwing his wand out in front of him. His heart pounded in his chest as the golden light intensified, rapidly illuminating the room and casting looming shadows onto the walls. Magic crackled in the air around the boy and the light grew more and more radiant until it was blinding. Squinting, Tom brought his arm up to shield his eyes. The sheer power of Harry's magic was stifling, heavy and metallic on his tongue. A shiver of excitement and fear ran down Tom's spine.
As suddenly as it had come, the golden light vanished, plunging the room into darkness. Tom stood there frozen, mouth gaping. What had just happened? Nothing he had ever seen or read came close to what he had just witnessed. He couldn't understand it.
"Lumos." The soft, white light on the tip of Evans's wand illuminated the room this time as the boy sat up, blinking sleepily as he slipped on his glasses. When he saw Tom he yelped. "Riddle?!" Harry exclaimed incredulously, "What the fuck are you doing here?"
Tom ignored him; he needed answers. "Who are you," he demanded forcefully. "Who are you really, 'Harry Evans'?"
The boy stayed stubbornly silent; his face was stony. When he continued to remain quiet, Tom barely held back a snarl, fingers twitching as he imagined them wrapped around that skinny throat. Only the vivid memory of Harry's raw power held him back as he sucked in a breath. "I just. Want to understand," he ground out, jaw clenched.
"Yeah, good luck with that," the boy quipped derisively. "Do let me know if you figure it out." Before Tom could retort, he crossed his arms, sending shadows flying as the illuminated wand gripped in his hand moved. "Now if you don't mind, Riddle, I'm trying to sleep."
Tom's nostrils flared at the dismissal. "You find that easy to do when your eyes light up the room then, do you?" he snapped.
Evans faltered. "...What?"
"It doesn't disturb your sleep? Your eyes glowing gold?"
The boy looked deeply disturbed. "What are you talking about?"
"Just now," Tom explained, "Your eyes were golden, illuminating the room." Why was he so confused? Surely he had known he was doing that.
Harry shook his head. "No. No, you're lying."
"Why would I lie about that?" Tom asked, exasperated.
"My eyes were glowing?"
"That's what I said." So he hadn't known. Interesting. Tom wondered what else he didn't know. "Earlier when you appeared... Your eyes were glowing gold then, too."
Harry continued to shake his head, staring sightlessly ahead.
"What happened, Harry?" Tom cajoled. "A ritual gone wrong? A spell? What made you spawn here at Hogwarts?"
The questions startled the boy out of his stupor. His face grew hard. "I'm not telling you shit, Riddle. Just go away."
Tom had enough information. For now. "I'll go," he agreed, putting his hands up placatingly, "But, a warning, Harry. I always get what I want."
Harry's scowl deepened. "Get. Out. Now."
Tom's lips twitched. "Until next time, Harry."
He wrapped himself in darkness with a wave of his wand and a few whispered words and left.
It took a while for Harry to feel calm enough to whisper "Nox", place his wand and glasses onto the side table next to him, and settle back under his sheets. His confrontation with Riddle had shaken him. Deeply.
His eyes had glowed. Apparently. A part of him didn't want to believe it, wanted to dismiss Tom Riddle's words as the falsities of a pathological, Slytherin, liar. But a larger part of him—his gut—knew it was true. He remembered the gritty burn of gold sand in his eyes too well to dismiss Tom's words. He just didn't understand why his eyes would glow as he drifted off to sleep.
It didn't matter. Harry's breath came out in a huff as he rolled over onto his side.
He should've cursed Riddle. Sneaking up on him in the dark. Who does that? What a creep. He wondered how long Tom had waited there in the dark, watching as Harry tossed and turned. He tried not to think about the fact that Riddle could be there even now. After the little creep had disappeared right in front of his eyes, Harry had seen the hospital doors open and swing shut, but who knows if had really left.
He shoved the thought from his mind, deciding instead to focus on the bigger problem. He had time-traveled. To the past to be specific. But how far? Riddle didn't look much older than him, he reckoned. And the term was about to end here, too. If he had to guess, Tom was also in his third year. How many years ago is that? Harry frowned as he turned onto his back. The image of an older, handsome Tom Riddle arose in his mind. How old had Tom been when he opened the Chamber? Fifteen? Sixteen? Last year that'd been 50 years ago. So this year it'd be 51 years... But it wasn't 'this year' anymore, was it? His head hurt. He sighed, chest aching. I miss Hermione.
Hermione would know how many years he traveled. Hermione, who had been so worried to hand over the Time-Turner to Ron... He wondered how they had reacted to the hourglass shattering. He'd been too busy screaming to notice.
I bet Malfoy laughed, Harry thought, turning onto his side. Git. Bet Ron punched him.
Moonlight streamed through the window. An owl hooted somewhere out in the night.
Bet Ron punched him good...
Harry dreamed he was back by the lake. Hermione was scolding him for not doing his Charms homework. Harry protested; it was the end of term. There was no Charms homework. Only Snape had been horrid enough to assign anything and he'd already finished his essay. Look! he said, See? Hermione frowned at him. That's not nearly enough Harry. Ron nodded. She's right, mate. You better hurry, it's due next period. And Harry was protesting, turning his essay around to find the parchment blank, and this was ridiculous because they didn't even have class, it was a Saturday, and he didn't have enough time...
The dream changed...
He was paralyzed. It was day now in the hospital wing as he stared up at the ceiling. He struggled to turn his head, to move his fingers, to do anything. Beside him, someone gasped and yelled for Madam Pomfrey. His eyes, the person exclaimed, Tell her they're open!
And then Hermione was hovering over him. Harry, she was crying, Harry we're here! Ron's red hair appeared a second later. Harry, he pleaded, Harry, please say something! Harry tried to open his mouth but he couldn't... Harry. Harry!
He couldn't even blink.
Do you think he can hear us? Hermione was asking Ron, tears pouring down her face. I don't know... Ron's voice was grave. I'm going to kill Malfoy. Surprisingly, Hermione nodded.
Move! Out of the way! Madam Pomfrey's head swirled above his. He fought to move, to yell at her to get away... He wanted to see his friends. Ron... Hermione...
The woman's mouth was moving but he couldn't hear anything. His ears were ringing and sand was falling and golden light was blinding...
Harry opened his eyes. Every inch of his body itched, his eyes worst of all. His bed sheets were tangled around him like a straightjacket; he pushed them away frantically as he blinked rapidly. Mind still reeling, he scrubbed at his itchy eyes, pulling his fingers away to find gritty, golden sand on them.
And tears.
His cheeks were wet with them.