This story doesn't follow canon, so Harry didn't befriend Ron and Hermione, meaning the events of first-year and second-year (confronting Quirrell, killing the Basilisk) didn't happen. With that out of the way, I hope you enjoy the read! Reviews are the best motivation and constructive criticism is greatly appreciated :)


Chapter One: Encounter


There was something that Harry loved about libraries.

Perhaps it was because it was one of the few places where he wasn't gawked at like an animal at a zoo. Or perhaps it was because of the comforting silence, the thousands of books surrounding him, or the spectacular view of the mountains the windows had. Either way, Harry enjoyed spending his time there.

It was a little ironic, seeing how he was never interested in libraries or books before. But after being sorted into Slytherin; Harry's life had come to the point where books were his only friends. It was as if he was back in the Muggle world; alone and friendless and spending his time in abandoned areas to avoid Dudley and his friends who loved picking on him.

But it hurt more to know that Harry was surrounded by his own kind. He was attending a magical school with people who were just like him.

And yet, he was still the black sheep. People still preferred to avoid him.

Harry twirled his quill absent-mindedly, his shoulders slumped. He'd lied to himself over and over again, telling himself that he didn't care if he didn't have any friends; if people always stared and whispered whenever he walked by; if no one wanted to approach him. But deep down, he couldn't stop the twinge of hurt he felt every time he sat alone at the Slytherin table, or where he was always the only student in class without a partner.

So much for being the Boy Who Lived. What did a title like that matter now?

Back at the Hogwarts Express, Harry had thought he had found a friend in Ronald Weasley. But after Harry was sorted into Slytherin, Ron started avoiding him. Whenever Harry tried to talk to him, he would only make up a lame excuse to leave, or the conversation would be incredibly dry that Harry knew Ron wasn't putting any effort. It was obvious Ron had no interest in being friends. Instead, he was always hanging around with Dean Thomas, Seamus Finnigan, and Neville Longbottom. Harry's chest always tightened whenever he saw the four of them bursting into raucous laughter, shoving one another playfully, and joking around.

He wanted that so much.

And it wasn't like the Slytherins were fond of him, either. Malfoy, who was still sour towards Harry for rejecting him at the Hogwarts Express, never missed an opportunity to jeer at him. Crabbe and Goyle always cracked their knuckles threateningly whenever Harry was around. Pansy Parkinson, who drank up every word Malfoy said about him, had made some rather nasty rumours about him last year. Harry didn't remember what it was, but most of the Slytherins had avoided him ever since and shot him weird looks.

Harry sighed heavily, dropping his quill, and leaning back against his chair. His first year had been miserable. Magic wasn't as endearing anymore when he didn't have any friends or companions to share the experience with. It was even worse that he had to go back every summer to the Dursleys. When Dudley noticed that Harry hadn't received any letters or birthday gifts, he'd sneered, asking if he was also a loner in that freak school of his.

He hated that Dudley was actually right.

Merlin, it made him feel like rubbish.

His second year wasn't going too well, either. No one knew why, but some students had been petrified because of an unknown monster lurking through the halls at night. Harry had heard odd whispers, whispers that demanded to kill, to tear him apart. He thought he was going crazy, especially since he was the only one hearing them. But Harry suspected that the voice was responsible for the petrified students.

Not that there was anything he could do. He hardly knew more than Expelliarmus and he only wanted to stay away from any risks of being petrified.

Most worryingly of all was the disappearance of Ginny Weasley. Harry had always glimpsed her staring at him and whenever their eyes locked, she would blush furiously and skirt away. She seemed sweet and her apparent crush on him was kind of cute. To think that she had disappeared within the walls of the school without a trace sent a chill down his spine. He didn't think she was one of the petrified students since they were all currently in the Hospital Wing. Where could she possibly be? Had the monster taken her hostage? But where?

Ron had been more bad-tempered than ever, with the anxiety of losing his sister. Fred and George had lost their optimism and mischief; both of the twins were ashen-faced and downcast. Percy had black circles beneath his eyes and his hair was always unkempt as if he hadn't gotten a good night's sleep in ages. Harry pitied all of them. He didn't know what it was like, to have a sibling who went missing.

He shook his head, clearing his thoughts. He looked down at this Transfiguration essay, wincing when he saw that he had only written a couple of sentences. It was due tomorrow.

Sighing, he picked up his quill and got to writing.

. . .

Tom Riddle slowly got to his feet and gazed down at the body of Ginny Weasley.

Her skin was deathly pale, her eyes no more than slits. Her breathing was slow and shallow. Each breath seemed to be a massive effort as Ginny's body would twitch feebly every few seconds. She looked up at him, her brown eyes clouded with fear.

"Tom," Ginny whimpered. "Please."

He looked down at her silently.

"I don't want to die," Ginny sobbed. Tears streamed down her face as she looked at him, her frail body trembling violently. "I want to go home."

"I'm afraid that's not possible," Tom said smoothly. "The weaker you become, the stronger I get. Once you die, I'll have escaped the diary fully and I'll no longer be a memory," he said, a thrill of savage triumph flooding through him. "I'll be alive and whole once more."

"Mum," Ginny sobbed, hugging herself tightly. She didn't seem to be listening. "Mum!"

"No one's coming for you," he said. "It's just you and me here."

Ginny continued sobbing, her entire body shaking. With most of her strength gone, she couldn't even muster sitting up and could only lay on the floor, trembling and crying. Tom's lips curled at her weakness. No matter how annoying she had been, she did prove to be useful. Because of her, Tom had learned enough about Harry Potter.

Potter. The name prompted his lip to curl with disdain. Until now, he still couldn't believe he was vanquished by a child. He supposed it didn't exactly matter. Now that he had his body back, he could easily crush the boy like an ant. Potter wasn't a threat; Dumbledore was. With his teenage appearance, Tom certainly couldn't stroll nonchalantly through Hogwarts and risk being seen by Dumbledore, who would surely remember him. It agonized his pride, but Tom knew he wasn't yet capable of taking down that Muggle-loving fool in a duel.

Not yet, at the very least.

"Tom, I'm scared," Ginny cried, pulling him from his thoughts. "I don't want to die."

His gaze snapped towards her. In just a few minutes, she would soon be dead and he would escape the diary completely with his new form. Tom wouldn't have been able to escape if it weren't for Ginny.

And Lord Voldemort always rewarded those who deserved it. Even if they were annoying eleven-year-olds.

He kneeled down next to her, holding her hand, and ignoring how icy it was.

"Don't be afraid," he murmured. "I'm still here with you. Thanks to you, I've now acquired a real body and I'll change the Wizarding world into what it needs to be. You're a hero, Ginny Weasley. You've done such a great job so far and I'll forever be grateful to your help," he lied, inwardly amused at her frightened expression and not harbouring a shred of remorse.

"I want my mom," Ginny whispered, tears gathering in her eyes once more.

"You'll see her soon enough," he promised.

"When?"

Tom smiled coldly. "On the other side, of course."

He continued holding Ginny's hand, watching as her breathing became shallower. Her eyes dulled and her features became even paler. Her fiery-red hair resembled a pool of blood around her, her skin growing icier by the second. Tom waited patiently and soon enough, Ginny shuddered once before she became very still, the light fading from her eyes.

Her energy had been sucked away entirely.

Tom closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. He could already feel it; the overwhelming power surging through every crevice of his body. His magic throbbed around him, crackling like lightning. Tom stood to his feet, a satisfied smile pulling at his lips.

He was no longer a memory. He was living and breathing and alive.

Tom flexed and unflexed his fingers, admiring the feeling of having a strong, human body once more. He twirled his wand in his fingers, relishing in his victory. After so long, he had finally acquired a body. He no longer needed the Philosopher's Stone, Quirrel, or anything. He was powerful and invisible. He was Lord Voldemort.

To his pleasure, everything had fallen perfectly into place. Though he took on the form of his teenage self, Tom had his current memories. He knew of his defeat of the Potter boy, knew of his humiliating failure, knew of how he was reduced to nothing more than a feeble, wraith-like creature. He had entrusted his diary to Lucius Malfoy and somehow it had fallen into the hands of Ginny Weasley. Not that he minded. Ginny was the reason why he was back.

And good thing she was dead. The girl had been notoriously annoying; like a fly buzzing around his ear. He had only tolerated it because of her ravings about Harry Potter.

Tom frowned slightly, twirling his wand in his hands. What would be the best course of action at the moment? He couldn't remain in Hogwarts with Dumbledore here. His Death Eaters, at least the members of his Inner Circle, were locked up in Azkaban. Yaxley, Nott, and the Malfoys were the only ones free. Tom's jaw tightened when he remembered that not a single one of his followers had attempted to search for him after his defeat.

He vaguely wondered how they would react if a sixteen-year-old boy claimed he was the Dark Lord.

But no matter, he could easily prove his identity to them. What troubled him was their lack of loyalty. Out of all his Death Eaters, Bartemius Crouch Jr., Antonin Dolohov, Bellatrix, and the Lestrange brothers were the most loyal. Tom knew those five would rather be boiled alive than betray him. But the rest were all disloyal, spineless cowards.

Even then, Tom could almost understand why. After he had split his soul seven times and earned his wraith-like appearance; he had admittedly lost much of his sanity, his patience, his charisma. He had been quick to punish and torture his followers over the smallest of mistakes, including his most loyal supporters. He bit the inside of his cheek, contemplating. Fear didn't always guarantee genuine loyalty. Now that he had tasted defeat, he knew he absolutely refused to experience the humiliation of losing ever again.

And if that meant being more forgiving and tolerant of his followers, then so be it.

Tom ran a hand through his hair, tugging gently at the thick, black curls. He ran a hand over his face, over his sharp jawline. It was still incredibly odd to be back in his teenage body. But Tom wasn't displeased in the slightest. He remembered his time back in Hogwarts; how laughably easy it was to sway others, mainly the girls. He could certainly use that to his advantage now. No one aside from Dumbledore and Slughorn knew what he looked like back in his youth.

The thought of being able to walk in broad daylight without being stopped sent a thrill of delight through him.

He couldn't recall a time when everything had gone so smoothly for him.

Which meant there was no rush. There was no need to flee Hogwarts so quickly or begin his search for the remainder of his Horcruxes and his Death Eaters.

Right now, there was the Potter boy to think of.

He was here in this school.

According to Ginny, the boy had been sorted into Slytherin. Tom recalled her writing about her disappointment, about how she wished he were in Gryffindor, about how badly she felt for him since he always seemed so lonely. Tom inwardly scoffed. He almost forgot how foolish children could be.

He could easily cast an Invisibility Spell, locate the boy, kill him swiftly, and get out of here. But Tom was a little curious about how Potter managed to land himself in Slytherin. Perhaps studying him from afar could prove to be useful. He could always kill him later.

Casting the spell on himself, Tom swiftly left the chamber.

. . .

In the end, Tom spent a week observing the boy in secret.

For the time being, he remained in the Chamber of Secrets to avoid being caught by Dumbledore. He only left to observe the boy or get food from the Kitchens. The whole time, Tom kept his Invisibility Spell in check.

He didn't know what he was expecting to see but Potter still surprised him.

Ginny hadn't exaggerated when she had said he seemed gloomy. A blind person could see it.

Tom leaned against the wall, invisible to everyone around him, as he gazed at the boy. They were in the Great Hall and Tom felt a surge of irritation at the noise. He forgot how children and teenagers loved to speak louder than necessary and be boisterous for absolutely no reason. Even so, his gaze never strayed from the boy.

Potter sat on the far left corner of the Slytherin table, a book open next to his untouched plate of eggs and bacon. Just like for the past week in which Tom had watched him, the boy was completely alone. Even when Tom followed him to his classes and peered inside, Potter always sat alone at the back and never spoke to anyone. After classes, most students went to play Quidditch, hang out with their friends, or pull pranks. Potter simply went to the library to read or study.

But he wasn't even a remarkable student. He never participated in class and while invisible, Tom had silently approached him in the library and peered at his graded essays from various classes.

D in Potions.

P in Transfiguration.

P in Charms.

A in Herbology.

Tom's brows rose. He peered down at the unaware child; watching how Potter stared down at his essays with a defeated air around him. Tom's lips curled in disgust. He stepped back a bit, working to keep the rage checked inside.

He had been defeated by this? A pathetic, unremarkable boy with unkempt hair, wrinkled robes, and horrible grades? Was this child good at anything? He didn't even know how to socialize; Tom had witnessed him stammering awkwardly when a classmate had asked if he had a spare quill.

At first, Tom didn't even know what he was doing. He was the Dark Lord and yet here he was, spying on a twelve-year-old boy. But seeing how this twelve-year-old had been the one to vanquish him, Tom deemed it excusable to want to know what he was like.

And he was beyond pathetic.

Shaking his head with disgust, Tom left the library to head back to his chamber.

. . .

It was on the second week that he decided he would approach Potter.

Tom found him sitting outside on a cloudy Saturday morning. It was incredibly early and no students were outside at this time. The air was frigid and Tom had to suppress a shudder as a crisp breeze swept by. He was wearing his Slytherin robes, so he was underdressed for this sort of weather.

Removing his Invisibility Charm, Tom approached the boy. Not surprisingly, his nose was stuck in a book and he didn't seem to hear Tom approaching him.

"You're up early," Tom remarked as he took a seat on the bench next to him.

Potter startled visibly, his grip slipping on his book and causing it to fall. With a twitch of his wrist, Tom levitated the book back in Potter's hands. He smiled charmingly when Potter blinked several times, turning to look at him with bewilderment and confusion.

"Thanks," he said and Tom then realized just how much of a startling shade of green his eyes were. They were exactly like his mother's. He remembered with cold amusement the look of horror and anguish in her eyes before he disposed of her.

"You're Harry Potter, aren't you?" he asked.

Potter nodded wordlessly, looking nervous.

"How come you're up so early on a Saturday, Harry?"

Potter shrugged, looking away. "I always wake up early. I like it when barely anyone's around. It makes me feel calm."

Tom hummed softly in response, staring at a leaf fluttering by in the breeze. Though he still deemed the boy to be pathetic and nothing short of an embarrassment, he had decided to play it nice. It was clear that all Potter wanted was a friend or at least a companion. Tom had always been a master of acting and deception and he was starting to realize that perhaps he didn't need to kill the boy. Perhaps keeping Potter unaware that he was Lord Voldemort and slowly getting him to trust him and open up to Tom could come to his advantage.

"I've never seen you around before," Potter said, gazing at him curiously. "What's your name?"

"Tom," he said. "Tom Riddle."

"You're in Slytherin, too?" Potter asked, glancing at his Slytherin tie.

He nodded.

"But I've never seen you in the common room," Potter said, his brows furrowing. "Or at the Slytherin table."

"I suppose we're a bit similar, then," Tom said smoothly. "I don't like being around crowded places, either."

Potter's eyes narrowed slightly. "You don't eat at the Slytherin table?"

"I eat in the Kitchen," Tom said, approving of how sharp the boy was. "The house-elves provide much more interesting company than a lot of the students here, I must say."

"You can say that again," Potter muttered, bitterness lacing his tone.

Tom arched a brow. "Is there something on your mind?"

"Er… no, not really," he said but after he met Tom's gaze, he let out a heavy sigh. "I don't know, I guess? I mean, would something be wrong if you're the first person who approached me in almost two years? Most people ignore me and when they talk to me, it's either to ask favours or to just be annoying."

"Annoying how, exactly?"

"Like, Draco Malfoy, for example," Potter said, waving a hand vaguely. "He always makes fun of me for my poor grades, the fact that my parents are dead, that I… don't really have anyone to hang out with," he said, his cheeks pinking as he said it. "I don't know. I guess that's what's wrong; that I'm not enjoying my time here like I thought I would."

Tom made his expression soften. "You have my deepest condolences, Harry. Losing both your parents at such a young age must have been devastating." Never mind that I was the one who killed them. Your idiot father even tried to take me on without a wand.

Potter nodded, sighing softly. "I've never met them, but I've heard so much about them. I always wish they were still here."

"Of course," Tom murmured. "And I can't imagine why others wouldn't want to approach you. You've been a delightful company so far."

Potter's cheeks reddened and he shifted, clearly not used to being complimented. "T-thanks, Tom."

"If you don't mind my asking," Tom said gently. "Who looks after you? Now that your parents are gone?"

"My aunt and uncle," Potter said, grimacing visibly. There was a hint of resentment in his voice as he spoke. "I absolutely hate living there. My cousin, his name's Dudley, is a spoiled pig and he always gives me a hard time. My aunt and uncle hate me and always label me a freak and a waste of space and that I'm ungrateful and a good-for-nothing brat."

Tom's eyes narrowed. "Freak?"

Potter glanced at him quickly, eyes widening slightly. "Oh, uh, yeah. They're… they're Muggles."

Ah, that was right. The boy's mother had been a Mudblood, so Dumbledore must have sent him to live with his relatives. Judging by Potter's slightly alarmed look; he suspected he feared that Tom would suddenly grow hostile to find out that his Slytherin housemate lived with Muggles.

"I don't tolerate Muggles," he said bluntly, meeting Potter's gaze. "At all. The way they're treating you is valid proof of how vulgar the lot of them are."

Potter shifted uncomfortably. "Not all–"

"Have you got no wizarding relatives?" Tom asked, though he already knew the answer. "No one in the wizarding world who could take you in?"

Potter shook his head.

"How did you even land yourself with those Muggles?"

"I'm actually not sure," Potter said slowly. "I'm not allowed to ask questions."

Tom's brows raised. "Excuse me?"

"At my house," Potter explained. "My aunt and uncle tell me that I'm not allowed to ask questions. I only speak when spoken to. Back during the summer break; we had visitors coming over and I was told to go to my bedroom, make no noise and pretend that I don't exist."

Tom stared at him quietly for a few moments. He didn't like the Potter boy, nor did he feel a shred of remorse or sympathy. He never felt sympathetic towards anyone. But it unsettled him to realize that he could relate to what Potter was telling him. Not knowing you're a wizard for the first eleven years of your life and being surrounded by Muggles who treated you worse than an animal was something he had experienced himself. Oh, Tom knew what that was like, all right. Even after so many decades, he had never forgotten his life back at the orphanage.

And yet, Potter didn't seem to hold any grudges or resentment towards Muggles. He was fine and accepting of them despite their treatment of him, despite their inferiority. Tom didn't understand the boy. And he hated not understanding things.

"That's quite awful of them," he said quietly.

"Yeah," Potter sighed. "But I'm used to it."

"You shouldn't have to get used to such treatment. Especially when you're better than them."

"There's nothing I can do," Potter said. "I mean, I have no choice but to go back there each summer."

Tom smiled humorlessly. "I believe it's safe to assume that it was Dumbledore who left you with them."

Potter blinked, visibly taken aback. He opened his mouth as if to deny the claim before he frowned, looking uncertain.

"Well, it makes sense why he did," he said quietly. "They're my only living relatives."

"Most wizarding families would have loved to take you in."

Potter shrugged. "There's no helping it now," he said. "It's fine"

"What do you think of Muggles, Harry?"

"Um… they're okay, I guess," Potter said, looking uneasy. "Like, do you mean my family? Or Muggles in general?"

"In general," Tom said, looking him in the eye. "You've spent eleven years living amongst them. How would you describe them, the way they function as a society, the way they treat one another, the way their world works differently from ours?"

"They don't have magic, but they do get by with technology and their own inventions," he said. "And… well, I guess one thing I really liked about the wizarding world isn't because it had magic, but because wizards were… more accepting, I guess?"

"Elaborate," Tom said.

"Like," Potter said, wringing his hands together. "I'm not saying our society doesn't have its flaws. We have our own prejudices, but the prejudice here is limited to blood purity and whether you're human or a half-breed. But in the Muggle world, it's everything. People get discriminated against for their skin colour, their sexuality, their gender, which God they believe in, all that stuff. It's impossible to satisfy the Muggle society," he said, brows furrowing. "Like back when I attended Muggle school, I got bullied for being a freak, but I saw other kids get bullied for their ethnicity or religious beliefs. It's… stupid."

"It is," Tom agreed, a satisfied smile pulling at his lips. "Then you understand Muggles for what they truly are?"

Potter glanced at him. "Not all of them are bad. I was just talking about their society in general. Like, as a whole. I don't hate Muggles individually. They're human just like us."

It took a lot for Tom to keep his expression neutral and not sneer at those words. "You said it yourself; that our society is more accepting."

"More than Muggles? For sure, but we still discriminate against Muggle-borns."

"Most Muggle-borns refuse to fully assimilate within our society," Tom said, resisting the urge to use Mudblood instead. While watching Potter in secret, he had witnessed the Mudblood, Hermione Granger, criticizing wizarding ways to anyone who would listen and claimed that a lot of the greatest wizards haven't got an ounce of logic. It had been a while since he'd wanted to cruciate someone so badly. Perhaps he should lure her into the chamber and make her end up like Ginny. "Many of them criticize our ways and our traditions. Before, Christmas was known as Yule, but the Muggle-borns changed it to Christmas just to feel more at home and included. Imagine how frustrating it is to have outsiders invade your home and make changes and criticize the way your society has functioned for centuries. It's the same thing as a wizard entering the Muggle world and trying to make changes they deem fit when they don't belong there in the first place. Imagine how frustrated the Muggles would get."

Potter was staring at him, looking alarmed. "But… not all of them–"

"Not all of them, but enough of them, Harry," Tom said quietly, never breaking eye contact. "Just remember that."

They sat in silence for a while; Tom gazing ahead at the Forbidden Forest and Potter looking down at his shoes, seemingly deep in thought. He glanced towards Tom, his lips pursed.

"Do you hate Muggles and Muggle-borns?" he asked hesitantly.

"I don't tolerate them," Tom said flatly. "Not one bit."

"You said your surname was Riddle," he said. "It doesn't sound like a wizarding name."

"That's because it's not," Tom said coldly. "I'm half-blood."

Potter nodded slowly, his gaze bright with curiosity, but he had the sense not to press matters. Instead, he asked, "Can I come with you to the Kitchen tomorrow? Being at the Slytherin table is annoying and I never met the house-elves before."

"Of course," Tom said. "As a matter of fact, are you up for meeting here again?"

"Really?" Potter said, sitting up straighter. "You mean it?"

Tom chuckled softly. "Why wouldn't I? The others may not like you, but to me, you've been the most interesting person I've spoken to so far."

"Thanks," Potter said, grinning. "That means a lot."

"It's settled, then? You agree to meet up here more often?"

Potter nodded quickly.

"It's been a pleasure getting to know you, Harry," Tom said, smiling as he got to his feet. "I look forward to seeing you again."

"Me too, Tom."

After Tom bid his farewell and headed back to the school, he allowed himself the tiniest of smirks.

This was all going so smoothly.

All that was left to do was get the foolish boy to trust him so that Tom could use him in his pursuit of power. And once he had accomplished that, he would dispose of Potter.

And he would reign victorious as he should.