Chapter 4. I'll Meet You in Time

"And just through here we have the Great Hall," Dumbledore was announcing, sweeping his arm dramatically out in front of him. Harry forced his eyes to widen as he stepped through the doors in an attempt to emulate the awestruck expression of someone seeing the majesty that was the aptly named Great Hall of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for the first time. And it truly was majestic.

No matter how much time he spent in the wizarding world, Harry didn't think he'd ever get over how wonderful magic truly was. His feigned awe faded to genuine admiration as he took in the massive room with fresh eyes. He had almost forgotten in his familiarity how spellbinding the thousands and thousands of candles floating midair looked as they flickered above the four House tables. His head tipped back to find the bewitched ceiling a deep, graphite gray as it reflected the cloudy night sky above it.

"It's truly magnificent, isn't it?" Dumbledore said softly.

Harry tore his eyes away from the ceiling. "Yeah," he breathed, "It really is."

"The Great Hall is where our meals are served," Dumbledore explained, gesturing to the tables. The professor had waited until dinner had finished before giving Harry a tour of Hogwarts so there were only a few straggling students left in the hall, most of whom were staring curiously at Harry and Dumbledore. They both ignored them. "The four tables correspond to the four Houses. They are Gryff—"

Harry stopped listening. He nodded and hummed at the right places as he tuned out Dumbledore's explanations of the Houses and the points system in favor of turning his conversation with Riddle over and over in his mind.

He hadn't caved to Tom's ultimatum. He hadn't!

Mostly.

"I'll consider it forgotten," Tom had said, "If you tell me how you got here."

"Look, I don't even know how I got here," Harry had replied, exasperated.

"Then let me help you figure it out!"

He shouldn'tve made that comment. Who was he, mocking Riddle for being an orphan? Malfoy? He never would've agreed if he hadn't felt so guilty.

"—But let's move on shall we?" Dumbledore's happy voice jolted Harry out of it.

"Er, yes. Yes."

At least he'd gotten Riddle to agree to leave him alone for now. He hadn't seen him once since they'd spoken by the lake.

"So where to next, Harry?" Dumbledore asked warmly.

"I'm not sure, sir."

"Hmm," Dumbledore hummed before his face lit up and he snapped his fingers, "Ah, I know. This way, Harry."

Harry had to hurry to follow as the professor turned sharply on his heel and walked off. "Sir?" he asked once he'd caught up, "Where are we going?"

"To an ever-evolving haven of wonder, knowledge, and growth," Dumbledore answered mysteriously with a crooked smile.

Harry blinked. Dumbledore had his full attention now; he began to walk a little faster. "Really? Where's that?"

"The library."

"Oh."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled with amusement at Harry's dejected tone. "Do you disagree, Harry?"

"Er, no, I guess," he said awkwardly, "I just haven't thought of a library like that before, I suppose." They both paused as they reached a stairwell, waiting for the staircase to stop moving before they climbed onwards.

The man looked thoughtfully over at Harry as they climbed, "Do you read much?"

"A bit," he said. After a pause, he added, somewhat stupidly, "You?"

Dumbledore let out a surprised bark of laughter, "You know, I can't remember the last time someone has asked me such a question," he remarked, amused. "Yes, I read, Harry. Quite voraciously. I'm rather well-known for it."

"Oh." Harry felt distinctly awkward now. And he wasn't quite sure what 'voraciously' meant. "Sorry."

The man rushed to reassure him as they turned once more onto a second familiar staircase, "No need to apologize at all, my boy. It's quite alright."

Harry nodded and continued to head up the steps, berating himself silently. In his embarrassment, he missed it as Dumbledore tried to stop Harry—who instinctively stepped over the vanishing step.

Fuck.

The two froze on the steps as Dumbledore looked at him in surprise. "How did you know that?"

Harry panicked. "I don't—I just—! Know what?"

"That step you just avoided is a trick step. It vanishes."

"Er, I don't... Luck?" he tried.

The man's expression grew shrewd, "Are you lucky often, Harry?"

Ha! Harry resisted the urge to snort. "I wouldn't say that, sir."

"Interesting," Dumbledore mused. "Say, have you taken Divination before?"

Harry's eyebrows furrowed. Divination? Did he think he was some sort of seer?

"Not really," he answered slowly. Soggy teacups, stubborn crystal balls, and Trelawney spewing nonsense about Harry dying were decidedly not Divination in his book. "We went over some topics, I guess."

"Interesting," he repeated, eyes unfocused. When Harry looked down at the vanishing step, the man shook his head as if trying to clear his mind. "No matter," he said, "Let's continue on, shall we?"

"Yessir."

Harry made sure to trail a step behind Dumbledore as they continued up the steps, pointedly gazing around curiously at the various portraits, coats of armor, and ghosts as they headed toward the library. After a moment, the professor seemed to remember that he was giving a tour and began to point out which staircases lead to where on certain days and which doors were real or simply walls just pretending. When Dumbledore began to name the portraits of more famous witches and wizards, Harry found himself actually nodding along with interest as he recalled a few of the names from various Chocolate Frog cards. At one point, Harry even found himself jolting in surprise as Dumbledore actually pointed out one of the lesser-known secret passageways to him, winking cheekily.

At last, they arrived in front of the library doors.

"Here we are, Harry," Dumbledore said, "A magical sanctuary of wonder and knowledge: the Hogwarts Library."

Harry stepped through the doors, following the professor as he began to point out the various sections of the library, listing off the diverse branches of magic covered within the seven hundred and fifty thousand odd books housed on the shelves. Advanced runes, alchemy, arithmancy, magical binding and bonding: The library had it all, Dumbledore explained. "We even have a particularly rich Divination section," the professor said meaningfully.

Harry, however, barely listened, for he had come to the alarming realization that he was fucking stupid. How could he have forgotten the library? All the time he could've been spending here, searching for any scrap of information on time magic... He fought the urge to face-palm.

As he allowed himself to be paraded around, Harry began to plot. He would need to come back here. As soon as possible.

Harry needn't have worried about plotting. Despite his odd status as "Mysterious Orphan Boy" and despite the fact he technically wasn't a Hogwarts student, it turned out that all he had to do to access the library was ask. In fact, Madam Flemings actively encouraged him to go to the library, citing the expansion of knowledge as a healing balm for difficult times. Harry was pretty certain though, that she just wanted him out from under her feet.

Not that it mattered what she wanted; he needed to go to the library. It helped to stave off his growing anxiety, pouring over book after book for information on time magic, and it gave him something to do besides dwelling on his dreams.

The first paralyzing dream had not been the last. Every night he'd had them, and every night he'd watched as Hermione and Ron startled violently before screaming for Madam Pomfrey. The more he had these dreams, the more he had a sickening feeling that they were tied to some form of reality. In last night's dream, he had listened as Madam Pomfrey cast diagnostic spell after diagnostic spell, none of which he'd had any knowledge of until he'd looked them up today. They were spells that monitored brain waves and searched for spikes in his magical signature. It did not bode well.

Nor did his search for time magic. Though he knew he had only been searching for less than a week, the lack of information was not promising and more than mildly infuriating. The frustration gave him a wicked sense of déjà vu as he remembered his first year and the hours he had spent searching for Nicolas Flamel; it also had him yearning for his best friends.

As he pushed the thought of Ron and Hermione away, Harry sat back in his chair with a sigh. The table in front of him was covered in books, all of them useless. And today was the last day before Hogwarts closed for the summer; this time tomorrow, he wouldn't even be able to look for answers. Despair held his throat in a vice.

What was he going to do?

His face fell into his hands.

"You okay there, Evans?"

Harry jerked up and swore. "How the fuck do you keep sneaking up on me?" he cried, twisting around to find Riddle standing there.

He shrugged. "Maybe if you paid better attention to your surroundings—"

"Oh sod off, Riddle," Harry rolled his eyes, turning his back on the boy, "I'm too tired to deal with you today."

Tom must've flicked his wand because the chair opposite Harry floated away from the table. The Slytherin quickly slipped into the seat. "It's a good thing I don't particularly care what you think, then, isn't it?"

As Harry scowled, Riddle began to thumb through some of the books sprawled out on the table. "What have you got here?" he asked. "Ah. 'Theoretical Sorcery: Breaking the Bounds of Magical Theory, Volume II. Really?" Riddle looked Harry up and down skeptically before picking up another book that had been flipped open to a page on sand dunes, "'Advanced Geomagicks: A Comprehensive Review of Metallic and Stone Particulates?'" He looked questioningly at Harry who just shrugged. As his eyes landed on a thin book with a bright pink cover, his confused face grew disgusted. He picked the book up gingerly with two fingers as if afraid to touch it. "'I'll Meet You in Time' by Betty Skeeter?" he read incredulously, "Evans this is a romance novel, what the fuck?"

Harry flushed. All he'd seen was "Time" when he grabbed it.

Tom looked pained as he dropped the romance novel onto the table. "What the hell are you looking for, Evans?" He gestured at the books, "Do you even know what these are saying?"

...No. Stubborn, Harry kept his mouth shut.

Riddle just stared. He seemed to be counting to ten. After a moment, he shook his head as if shooing a fly and squared his shoulders. "Anyhow," he sniffed, "Today is the last day before the holiday starts."

"I know."

"Wonderful. Were you even planning on finding me before we left?"

Harry frowned. "Why would I do that?" he asked, genuinely confused.

"Oh, I don't know," Tom said, voice dripping with sarcasm, "Maybe because you promised you would allow me to help you figure out your abnormal, golden magic and its mysterious ward-defying properties?"

Ah. That. "Yeah, well..." Harry said helpfully.

Riddle's fingers twitched. So did Harry's lips. Before he could do anything though, Tom's wand was a blur. Harry threw his own wand out instinctively, but no spell came. Instead, two small books flew out of Riddle's backpack.

The smug look on Tom's face at his defensiveness made Harry glower. They both lowered their wands.

"We will keep in touch over the summer using these," Riddle pronounced authoritatively as he slid the books forward for Harry to see. "They are cleverly spelled to mirror each other. What I write in my journal shall appear in yours, and conversely, what you write shall appear in mine."

Harry was reminded horribly of the diary he'd stabbed a mere year ago. It took a huge amount of effort, but he managed to keep his face blank as he took the journal Tom extended out to him.

"Where'd you get them?" he asked instead of doing anything foolish, like chucking the stupid book at the Slytherin's head.

Pride had Tom tilting his head up as he relaxed back into his seat, looking effortlessly regal. "I made them," the boy preened.

Oh. That was... impressive. "Okay."

Irritation flashed across his features before Riddle allowed a charming smile to grace his face, "Well, go on then. Write something."

Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Fine. Do you have a quill and ink?"

The boy quickly fished some out of his bag. "Go on," he urged.

"Alright, alright." Harry flipped the book open, dipped the quill in ink, and scrawled out, "You happy now?" The black ink shone brightly on the page for a moment before it vanished, almost as if it'd been sucked into the paper. Familiarity had the hairs on the back of his neck standing up.

"Ah-ha!" Riddle cried triumphantly, looking at his own journal, "I knew it would work! Here, give me my quill."

Numbly, Harry allowed the boy to grab it from his hand. He watched as he scribbled something before ink oozed out of the page he'd written on. "Very."

"Well, there we go," he said loudly, "It works. You can go now."

"So soon?" Riddle grinned, "But Harry, I just got here!"

"And now you can leave."

Tom frowned, "What is your problem, Evans?"

"Can't you see I'm busy?" He gestured to the books covering the table.

"Ah yes, your romance novel," the boy jibed, "Wouldn't want to keep you from that. Or are you busy researching sand? Riveting stuff sand is."

Harry's jaw clenched. "Hilarious."

Tom simply smirked as he pushed his hair back from his face. As a single stubborn curl fell on his forehead, Harry felt a strange swooping feeling in his stomach as if he'd missed a step walking down the stairs. It only added to his annoyance.

"Look, Riddle," Harry said irritably, "I already told you I'm exhausted, okay, so do me a favor and sod off."

Tom tsked, "So rude today, Harry. That attitude will get you nowhere in life you know." Despite his mocking, he stood, placing his spelled journal into his bag. "But alas. I will go." He swung his bag over his shoulder before moving to stick his hand out to Harry. "I look forward to writing you."

When Harry reluctantly took his hand, several things happened at once.

Nothing could have prepared Harry for this as his vision abruptly cleaved down the middle and the world shifted beneath his feet. The library disappeared and blood rushed in his ringing ears as the stunned vision of Tom Riddle wavered in his mind before suddenly splintering into three golden, translucent, overlapping images.

Appalled, Harry instinctively struggled to focus on one but as he did, the other two began to morph and change, aging and shrinking simultaneously. With enormous effort, he willed the overlapping Riddles to split apart into three: one young, one present, one old. Strangely, thousands and thousands of golden threads of light tied the young and the old to the present Riddle in the middle.

When Harry curiously reached out in his mind to one of the threads connecting the younger Riddle to the present one, it disintegrated into sand, and a whirl of color and shadow burst in his mind.

And then, as suddenly as it had split, the world came back together. Harry was standing there gasping as he gripped the hand of a perfectly normal, non-golden, awestruck Tom Riddle.

"You can't fly?" Harry blurted incredulously as he ripped his hand out of Tom's, "God, you were worse than Hermione!"

It was so strange. The memory of Tom sticking his hand out over his broom, confidently saying "Up!", and getting whacked in the face was now as clear as one of his own.

Riddle was staring hungrily at Harry; it was as if he hadn't spoken. "What happened, what did you see?" he cried. His brown eyes were wide. "Tell me everything, Harry," he demanded. "Leave nothing out."

"What I saw," Harry said, too amused to be irritated by his demands, "Was a broomstick breaking your nose. God," he laughed, "You must be an awful flier."

Tom made no comment. "Is that all?" he asked feverishly instead, "Did you see anything else?"

Harry paused. "Yes?" he said eventually, "But I'm not sure how to describe it..."

"Try your best."

He hesitated before—"Wait a second, how did you even know something had happened?" he asked, confused. "Did I, like, shock you or something? How long was I out?"

"Well for one, your eyes burned gold again," Tom said impatiently, "and you went all rigid. I wouldn't say you were 'out' though. It only took a second or two before you spoke."

"About you breaking your nose," Harry elaborated helpfully, "Because you can't fly."

"I could also," Riddle said loudly, "feel your magic surging through me." Harry wondered if he was deaf. "But then again, I've always been particularly sensitive to magic. Let's not stray off-topic, though. Tell me what you saw."

The vision of three golden Riddles swam in his mind's eye. "Well, I kinda saw three of you?" Harry began only to cut off as Tom's head whipped to the side. He followed the line of his eyes to see Dumbledore striding over to the two of them.

Riddle swore violently under his breath. "We will continue this conversation later," he declared. "Look at me." Harry did. "Write to me, okay?"

Harry had the impression that this was as close as Tom Riddle got to begging. Before he could answer, Dumbledore reached their table.

"Ah Harry," the professor said warmly to him before turning with raised eyebrows to Riddle, "And Tom, what a surprise!"

"I just wanted to say goodbye to Harry before the semester ended," the boy said sweetly.

"How thoughtful of you," Dumbledore smiled. "You must be packed then?"

"Mostly," he replied with a polite, slightly strained smile.

"Well, in that case, you best be headed back to your dorm then," the professor advised, "The Hogwarts Express leaves soon. I would hate for you to miss it, my boy."

"Yessir," Riddle said stiffly, "I'll head there now." He shifted his bag higher onto his shoulder before turning to Harry. "It was wonderful talking to you, Harry. I hope you have a lovely holiday."

"Er, thanks," he said awkwardly. "You too," he added as an afterthought.

"Until next time," Tom said, eyes flicking to the other spelled journal still on the table.

"Yes," he reluctantly said in answer to the unspoken question, "Until then."

At that, the Slytherin gave a curt nod, turned on his heel, and left, leaving Harry and Dumbledore alone.