A/N:

title taken from the song 'salt and the sea' by the lumineers.

for my more regular readers, i am really sorry for starting another wip, oops. this one shouldn't be that long, i don't think. once i finally finish 'til death do us part', this will probably be finished faster because it's less draining to write, but i guess don't expect updates right away :sweats nervously:

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In the Daylight Again

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The green-eyed, dark-haired boy who had shown up at Wool's Orphanage is named Harry Potter.

Potter had shown up with articles and books and many, many other things, all of which he had deposited quietly upon Tom's desk. He'd not said much, only asked Tom to read through the materials he'd brought with him.

And so Tom had done so, though his suspicion had only grown with each passing moment. The last time another wizard had been to Wool's, it had been Albus Dumbledore, who Tom did not like one bit.

But the things Harry Potter had brought with him were by far more shocking than learning he was a wizard, because Harry Potter was from the year 1995, which was over fifty years in the future.

"Is this convincing enough?"

Tom looks up from the copy of the Daily Prophet he has in his hands. While a great many things can be accomplished with magic, the sheer amount of content Tom now has strewn across his desk is hard to deny. Fake articles, perhaps. But there are entire books on subjects that Tom has never heard of, let alone imagined. There are wizarding photographs of things and places and people that he has never seen. There are books upon books on the subject of the war—the war Tom is living in: World War II.

"Let's say it is," Tom says, looking back over at Potter. "Why are you here?"

Potter shifts his weight to his other foot, his eyes darting over to the window. "I'm part of a group that's called the Order of the Phoenix. I've been sent back in time to bring you to the future."

Tom folds the Prophet up neatly, tossing it back onto the desk. "And why would that be?" he asks. Though he keeps his gaze fixed on the desk, he watches for Potter's reaction out of the corner of his eye.

"Well," Potter says awkwardly. "I'm here to save you. In my world—I mean, in the future—Tom Riddle died in the war, in one of the London bombings."

Tom feels his insides contract, constrict, shrivel right up into nearly nothing. He tells himself that there is no possible way for Potter to know his worst fears, for Potter to know that death is what he abhors and wishes to escape above all else.

"I die," he repeats, just to be sure.

Potter winces, then nods.

"And you've come to save me?" Tom asks, derisive. "Because I find it hard to believe your Order of the Phoenix would send a mere student back in time fifty years to save just anyone."

"You're not just a student," Potter says in a rush, taking a step forward. "You're—you know, you're the best student at Hogwarts, and everyone likes you. They expect great things from you."

Potter seems to mean what he says, as far as Tom can tell. He pivots to face Potter completely, allowing hesitation to flicker across his face. "Time isn't supposed to be meddled with," Tom says. He doesn't trust Potter enough just yet.

"It's different," Potter says. Then he stops, pausing, his hand moving to push his glasses up his nose. "We have a way to keep you in the future, but only if you agree to come with me."

Now this sounds more like the kind of trick Tom has been expecting. "What kind of way would that be?"

Potter takes a deep breath, his eyes at last looking directly back at Tom. "We have to use someone as an anchor, to keep you firmly tethered to the time period," Potter says. He sounds like he's reciting a geometry lesson. "So that anchor would be me. And we can't let you interact with too many people in the future, or something could go wrong."

"So you want to keep me prisoner," Tom says. "Because that's what I'm hearing."

Potter's face falls. His shoulders twitch as they slump. "It's not like that," Potter says quietly. "I really do want to help you, Tom."

Tom walks right up to him so that there's only a few inches left between them, so that Potter has to look at him. They are nearly the same height. Tom can see the flecks of hazel in Potter's green eyes. There's a dark, angry scar peeking out from underneath Potter's unkempt hair.

"I don't need help," Tom says. "Not from you, not from anyone."

Potter's expression turns conflicted. "Don't think of it that way, then. Think of it as… think of it as you helping me, if that makes it sound better. Just come with me, Tom." His eyes are so sincere, so wide and innocent. Tom can't help but think they're beguiling, in a way. Like Potter's gaze is a specific siren call just for him.

"And if I don't?" Tom demands. "Will you try to force me?" He's not allowed to do magic outside of Hogwarts, but he'll do it if it means breaking this Potter boy in half for lying to him. Because Tom refuses to believe that he could die, just like that, in the obscurity of a dirty Muggle war. All of his careful plans, all of the scraping he'd had to do to claw his way up the Slytherin ranks. All of it for naught.

No. Tom refuses to believe he's going to die. Not here at Wool's, not before he's made something of himself. He's a wizard, he's researched the ways to avoid death and he will accomplish at least one of them.

"I wouldn't want to force you," Potter says. "But if the alternative means leaving you here to die, then I will."

Tom draws his wand. Potter eyes the motion but makes no move towards his own wand, and Tom wonders if he's that overconfident, or if he's simply a fool.

"Tom," says Potter. He pulls out a strange device that's been looped around his neck. Tom recognizes a variant on the Time-Turner, which is a Ministry-restricted item. "I promise that if you come with me, nothing bad will happen to you."

"But if I stay here, I'll die."

Potter nods his head jerkily.

Tom wants to sit down to process this, but he doesn't want to show weakness in front of this stranger. He taps his wand impatiently against his thigh, thinking. The suddenness of the entire situation, coupled with all the stress and the fear, is clouding his judgement. Tom feels his control slipping away and he hates it. He hates it, and he hates the patient, understanding look on Potter's face.

A while passes in silence. Then, Potter speaks again.

"What else could I do to convince you?"

Easy. "Let me use Legilimency on you."

Potter shakes his head. "I can't do that, Tom. If you get inside my head and learn too much about the future, you might decide to stay here to change it, and that can't happen."

"Veritaserum, then. Just enough to loosen the tongue."

"Do you have any?" Potter asks. "Because I don't, and I'm pretty sure neither of us can afford to brew or buy it." Potter checks the Muggle watch strapped to his wrist. "We have less than thirty minutes before I have to go back."

Tom has to work at keeping his expression in check. "Do the people you normally try to save just go with you without asking any kinds of questions first?"

A shadow falls over Potter's face. The first sign of something deeper behind the friendly demeanour. "Yeah," Potter says. "Something like that."

In the end, Tom goes with him. Tom is only thirteen, assured of his own importance and afraid that death will come knocking. Though Potter looks to be a year or so older than him, Tom is sure if it comes down to a fight, he will have the advantage. Potter is too soft to know how to duel, how to properly utilize or defend against dark magic.

Tom packs his trunk with the few things he owns. Potter, thankfully, doesn't watch the process—he turns his attention to the books and articles left on the desk, picking them up and feeding them into a small pouch.

Once they are finished, Potter pulls out a cloak and throws it around them both. Potter tells him that it's an Invisibility Cloak. They will use it so Muggles won't see them reappear. They go outside and walk to a busy intersection, where they stand just off to the side, next to an alleyway.

Potter loops his Time-Turner around their necks and sends the hourglass within spinning forwards in time. Standing as close together as they are, Tom can feel warmth radiating off of Potter's body. It feels strangely familiar for a brief second, but then they are whirling through the decades and Tom has to glance around, shifting his focus outwards so that he can take it all in.

But Tom doesn't have long to stare. After they stop spinning, Potter is removing the Time-Turner from their necks and pulling another object out of his pocket. It's a cloth handkerchief. Potter grabs Tom's hand and stuffs one end of the cloth into it.

"Hold on to it," says Potter. "We'll be taking this Portkey to a safehouse." Then Potter checks his watch, frowning.

Tom looks down at the handkerchief, which is plain white and has honey bees embroidered on it. Then he feels a rough yank at his navel as the Portkey activates.

They reappear outside a quaint cottage in the middle of a wide, grassy field. It's a fairly large cottage, truth be told. Definitely larger than an average house. Two floors and nice white picket fence. Tom drops his half of the Portkey and steps forward without thinking.

Potter is still behind him. "This is where you'll be staying," he says.

They pass through the gate. Tom eyes the flower beds in the front yard. Tulips and carnations, all lovingly cultivated. Bright splotches of colour spread out underneath the windows.

"Who lives here?" Tom asks.

"No one, really." Potter seems embarrassed. He rubs at the back of his neck. "It's an empty property that belonged to my family."

That's right. The Potters are an old, Pureblood family. They come from money. Tom holds back his sneer. "It will do, I suppose."

Potter walks him to the door. "You can take any room you like," Potter says. "Some people will be along in a few minutes to do up the wards."

Tom pauses, his hand on the doorknob. "Wards?" he asks.

"We have to keep you here," Potter says. Then, upon seeing Tom's expression, he adds hastily, "Just for now. Until things get stable, alright? And I'll be here the entire time too, and I also won't be able to leave."

Tom knows he doesn't have much choice for now. He has to play along until he understands the situation better, and then he can begin to plot his escape.

"Can I do magic here?" Tom asks. He grasps the doorknob, which is unlocked, and pushes his way inside.

The inside of the cottage is plain, but clean. There are no personal touches here; no photographs or art installments. Even the furniture looks bland. A rectangular coffee table, a large brown couch, an empty, four-tier bookshelf.

Tom tugs his trunk through the entrance and into the hallway.

"You can once the wards are up," Potter says. "Otherwise the Trace will find us."

"Wonderful," says Tom, and he means it.

Tom goes upstairs, picks a room, and unpacks his things. The room is nice and clean; the bed is made and everything is spotless. Once his trunk has been emptied, Tom sheds his jacket and pulls on a set of robes. Then he wanders into the adjoining bathroom. The bathroom is also spacious and tidy.

Tom drags his fingertips along the pale green tiles, his nails catching on the grout. The mirror opens up to reveal a shelf containing a selection of toiletries. Toothbrush, toothpaste, floss. Even a razor and a container of shaving foam. Tom shuts the cabinet and goes to examine the towels. They're fluffy and soft to the touch.

Feeling more unnerved by the minute, Tom grasps his wand firmly in hand as he walks back out of his new room and down the stairs. He can hear voices as he approaches the main hall.

Stopping just a pace or so away from the doorway to the living room, Tom attempts to listen in on the conversation.

"You're doing Wizarding Britain a great service, Harry," says the voice of an older man. The tone is deep and full of respect. "The world will be a better place."

Potter doesn't respond right away; there is a pause that stretches on for long, undeterminable moments. Then Potter does speak, his words slow and measured: "I'm just doing my best. What anyone else would do, if they were me."

"You will be safe here," the man continues. "We will make sure of that. And I have this for you as well. For when you both finally emerge."

Tom resists the urge to peek around the corner to see what it is. He doesn't want to risk being spotted.

"Thanks, Kingsley."

"Take care of yourself, Harry Potter," Kingsley says. There's an odd inflection lurking around the fringes of his words. "And I will see you soon."

"See you soon," Potter echoes.

It is then that Tom realizes he's standing too close to the door. He heads back towards the stairs and whirls around just in time to see a tall man with dark skin and striking navy robes exit into the entrance hall.

The man, Kingsley, stops when he spots Tom. His face is neutral, but there's a look in his eyes that Tom can't quite place.

"Enjoy your stay," says Kingsley. And then he smiles at Tom, the twist of his lips sardonic.

Tom feels his unease begin to churn deep in his gut. His wand begins to rise, unbidden.

"Tom!"

Hearing his name startles him. Tom looks over to where Potter is now standing just outside the living room.

"Yes?" Tom asks, wary.

"Did you pick a room?" Harry asks.

Tom nods, watching as Kingsley glances over at Potter one final time. Then Kingsley leaves, the door shutting behind him, and then Tom is alone with Potter once again.

"They just finished setting up the wards," Potter says. "We've got some radius around the property to walk, if that's something you'd like to do. There's also a garden out back."

"Sure," says Tom. It will be good to see what kind of magic he's up against. None of his belongings upstairs are really that valuable, and Potter had said the new wards would allow them to do magic undetected. All Tom really needs with him is his wand. If necessary, he can simply knock Potter out and leave the premises.

They leave the property and walk back out through the white wooden gate. Tom eyes the gate with annoyance. It makes him feel as though he's a sheep trapped in a pasture.

Tom casts the Tempus Charm, just to make sure of the time and day. The year shimmers for a brief second before it vanishes. It is just past four in the afternoon on October 31st, 1995.

"There's a path this way," Potter says, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "It leads into a clearing in the forest. Or we could just walk out into the field. Sometimes there are birds or rabbits there."

Both locations sound ominous. "You pick," Tom says, fingering his wand in his pocket.

They walk out towards the field. "I really like how there's so much sky here," Potter tells him. "It reminds me of Hogwarts. When I used to—when I lived in Surrey, with my relatives, it was never like this. Here it's just the fresh air and the open skies."

Tom chances a look upwards. The skies here are very blue. A few clouds are drifting lazily over their heads. It's all peaceful and calming. Tom inhales experimentally. The air is clean.

"Nice, right?" Potter asks, smiling. His smile is a gentle tilt of his lips that somehow brightens his entire face.

Tom shrugs. "It's alright."

Potter walks them a bit further. They eventually reach a patch of partly-flattened grass. Tom looks out at the horizon, wondering where the wards end. Looking over his shoulder, Tom can still see the house very clearly. They haven't walked that far off just yet.

"I like to sit here sometimes," Potter says. "It's a great place to think."

They stand for a while, not talking. Potter seems to be enjoying the scenery.

"Where do the wards end?" Tom asks, impatient.

Potter's eyes move away from their spot on the floor. As his gaze meets Tom's, Tom can't help but feel scrutinized.

"It's this way," Potter says, then resumes walking. Tom follows him.

Grass and more grass. The fields seem to stretch on forever, Tom thinks to himself.

He and Potter walk in silence until they reach the bottom of a sloping hill. Tom can see the faint shimmer of magic in the air a few paces away from them. He can even feel the presence of the wards if he concentrates hard enough.

"Here," says Potter, holding up a hand, as if he thinks he can sense the magical vibration with his fingertips.

Tom steps closer. He doesn't recognize the wards, though he admittedly hasn't seen enough of them to be able to know all types of wards on sight. "What kind of wards are they?" he asks.

"I don't know, exactly." Potter's mouth flattens a bit. "I mean, I got how it works explained to me, but I really don't know how the actual wards were made or anything. Sorry."

"Explain, then."

"Well," Harry says. "The wards are supposed to keep us in a sort of… separate bubble? From the rest of the world. I'm the anchor holding all this in place. Without me, you would just snap back to the past. But the reason why we can't leave yet is because the world outside is still the world that it was before you got brought here." Potter frowns, pausing. "Does that make sense?"

"Sure," Tom says. Since Potter seems agreeable to answering his questions, Tom can always ask some more later on. "What else?"

"As time passes outside, the timeline will slowly start to overwrite itself in your absence. We're basically stuck here until all of the changes run their course. At that point the wards will break down on their own, and that's when we'll be able to leave."

"And how long will that take?" Tom asks, his eyes narrowing.

Potter sucks his lower lip into his mouth. "No one's really sure how long it will take. It could be a few hours, or days, or more."

Something inside of Tom snaps. It's a switch somewhere in his mind that releases a flood of vitriol and aggression.

"You're not sure?" Tom seethes, drawing his wand. "You expect me to just stay locked up on this little farm until the wards just fail on their own? What kind of idiot do you take me for, Potter?"

Potter looks alarmed. He takes a half-step back as Tom stalks up to him. Tom jams the end of his wand up against the bottom of Potter's chin.

"I don't think you're an idiot," Potter says. "But I don't think you'd want to go back, either."

"You're a liar," Tom says. "You lied to me." The tip of his wand is pressed against Potter's throat. He could kill Potter, if he wanted. Nearly any spell would do the job at this range.

"Tom Riddle doesn't exist here. I can promise you that."

Tom stares into Potter's brilliant green eyes. He can see the skies above them reflected in Potter's glasses, can feel the beginnings of an Occlumency shield blocking his attempt at Legilimency. Potter is unyielding, unafraid. He holds Tom's gaze as though he's faced death a thousand times before.

"You've trapped me here," Tom says. "I ought to kill you for that alone."

"If you kill me, you go back to 1940." Potter places his hand on Tom's wand arm. His voice is calm. "We're trapped here together, Tom. It's just you and me."

A spell blasts its way out of Tom's wand and into Potter's throat. Potter goes flying backwards and lands in a heap on the grass a few feet away. Tom strides towards him, flinging spell after spell in Potter's direction. Potter squirms, dodging frantically, rolling from side to side as he scuttles back.

"Wait—" Potter protests, voice weakened from the impact of Tom's spell.

"Shut up," Tom advises, tossing another bolt of light from his wand. This time his spell finds its mark, leaving Potter silent.

Potter scrambles to his feet, fumbling for his wand. He's a fool, Tom thinks. A fool to think that Tom's fear of dying would protect him from harm.

"I don't have to kill you to hurt you," Tom says.

Potter raises his wand into the starting position for Expelliarmus. Tom can see the completed movements in his mind's eye. Tom decides he'll stun Potter and then drag the body back to the house. Once Potter is secure, then he can think further on what to do.

Tom fires off his spell a moment before Potter does. The white light slams into Potter's red Disarming Charm with a loud, cracking sound. Their spells flare brightly for a moment, momentarily blinding them both. Tom grits his teeth and shields his eyes with his free arm.

And then Tom's wand starts to glow, a cacophony of colours flashing in and out of existence. It takes a moment for Tom to realize exactly what they are. The colours bursting from his wand are echoes of the spells he had cast at Potter. The spells emerge one after the other, ending with the Knockback Jinx. And then bright ropes of golden light begin to wrap around him and Potter, caging them in.

Shaken by the sight, Tom yanks his wand away. This breaks the stream of magic that is binding him to Potter, and the golden cage fades away.

Angry, Tom aims his wand at Potter once more, dispelling the Silencing Charm. "What was that?" he demands, wand still pointed at Potter.

Potter's eyes are wide. "It's called Priori Incantatem," Potter says, after a second has passed.

Tom only knows Prior Incantato, which sounds similar but is nowhere near as powerful. He doesn't like that Potter knows more than he does. What else does Potter know? Is he more powerful than Tom had originally anticipated?

"It spits out echoes of the last few spells you cast," Potter adds on.

"I saw that," Tom snaps.

Potter still has a loose grip on his wand, but he makes no move to raise it. "Are… are we done here? Or did you want to try and curse me some more?"

At this point, Tom has very few options. If Potter is bluffing, then Tom ought to just kill him and leave this place. If Potter is telling the truth, then the situation gets more complicated.

Tom can bide his time and study the wards, hoping that there is a way to break free of them. This is a dangerous option. Time is not so easily meddled with; Tom has read the stories of those who have tried to bend time to their whims.

He can also remain here with Potter until the wards fall on their own. He'd probably end up killing Potter out of sheer frustration. Not to mention he no longer trusts his wand to work properly against Potter. He might not be able to properly defend himself if it comes to another duel.

"Truce?" Tom asks, lowering his wand.

Potter eyes him with skepticism. "Alright."

They stow their wands away. Tom looks back over at the wards. While this situation may be preferable to death, it is not ideal by any means. Tom will have to find a way out of here, lest he find himself trapped with Potter for the rest of his days.

A/N:

reviews are appreciated! :)