Morgan stopped dead at a door he noticed on one wall of the corridor leading to the boys'
side of the Ravenclaw tower. Next to it was a much smaller door, less than half height.
"What is this?" he muttered.

An older boy coming up behind him laughed and said, "Take a look inside."

Morgan warily opened the normal door and stared. There were straw pads scattered
around, what looked like a hole in the corner, and a trough with water in it. "I don't
understand."

"Well you are only a first year," the older boy said. "We call it the kennel. There's also one
on the other side, for the Sponsored girls. Any Sponsor who feels like it can make their
Sponsored sleep in there. It's a way of saying the ones inside are free to be used that night
by anyone in the mood. The smaller door is how the Sponsored enter and leave."

"Ah, I see. Thank for you explaining," Morgan said slowly.

"Sure, kid. Who knows, it might even be you putting a Sponsored in there some nights, or
making use of the ones inside."

Ω

Morgan slowed as he heard sounds coming from the kennel, then stopped as one of the
older boys pushed their Sponsored down and gave them a swift kick toward the smaller
door. The Sponsored reluctantly pushed through it—it functioned as a flap—and
disappeared inside. The older boy continued on to his room.

Morgan's face scrunched up in dismay, but he just couldn't help opening the normal door
to see what was going on in there. He wished he hadn't. One Sponsored was being fucked
from both ends. One was being whipped and hit even harder if they refused to say they
loved it and wanted more. The one who had just entered had his clothing practically
ripped off him before a cock was shoved into his mouth.

He shut the door and walked away, trembling with the knowledge that it could have been
him. He absolutely did not want to know what went on in the girls' kennel.

Ω

The NEWT exams were over and the seventh years were having a party in the common
room. It was a disaster from Morgan's point of view and he vowed to stay in his room the
entire night. Most of them had skipped dinner, having gotten the house-elves to deliver
food. Some of the Sponsored were still eating off plates on the floor—without their hands,
naturally.

There were far too many naked bodies in the common room. There were far too many
Sponsored with cocks in available orifices, or being whipped, or paddled, or made to please
one of the seventh year pure-blood girls (not intercourse, never that, because their fathers
and future husbands would never stand for it).

The occasional greater half-blood had been invited to join from what he could see on his trip
toward the boys' corridor, those who were well enough connected.

Ω

He had the misfortune to be on his way to the library when he ran across a room not used
for class, but certainly used for other activities. The door was wide open, so it was not as
though he had to creep up to spy on what was happening.

Morgan could see what he thought was a sixth year Sponsored in there along with a
number of much younger ones. There were also a lot of Sponsors, though at least one had
to be the younger brother of a pure-blood boy given that Morgan knew the sixth year was
the Sponsored of Timitus Blakely, and he had already finished schooling, not having stayed
for a mastery, having gone straight into his father's business—or so gossip said.

The sixth year seemed to be deliriously happy to not only service two Sponsors at once,
but also to have his chest whipped by a third. The poor Sponsored's cock was rock hard
and kept jerking a little, like he wanted to shoot, but there was an odd ring at the base of it
that Morgan didn't understand. He was probably being used as an object lesson for the
younger Sponsored, who watched with frightened faces and teary eyes.

He looked away and resumed his journey to the library.

Ω

"Riddle," Morgan said as he stopped outside the kennel. "This door here, never open it,
never go inside. There is another set of doors on the girls' side and the same applies."

"Yes, Master Chiswell. I remember what you said earlier."

"Good. Let's get to breakfast, then."

Ω

"Is there anything you need help with this evening?" Morgan asked.

"No, I completed my assignments during free time, in the library. No one bothered me
in there."

He nodded, feeling relieved. "Are you in the mood to work on Japanese, then?"

Tom smiled. "Of course, Morgan. The sooner we're fluent the better."

"And the moment we have your NEWT results we can leave this godforsaken place."

"My History of Magic essay was awful."

"Oh?" Morgan glanced over as he gathered up their supplies for language learning.

"Yes," Tom said, scowling. "It was all about the Sponsorship system and why it was so
wonderful."

Morgan sighed and set some books on the table. "I remember that one. My essay was a
pack of lies from start to finish. It's nothing more than slavery and brainwashing. I'm
ashamed to be a British wizard."

Tom's expression softened. "We'll be gone soon enough. Are you sure these lessons aren't
cutting too much into your OWL studies, though? I know you need them to get the right
NEWT classes."

"It'll be fine. If necessary we cheat a little on the other side and become fully fluent there.
Practice like this means we don't forget things. An hour, and then if you like you can quiz
me on my studies."

Tom smiled again and nodded. "All right. Let's begin, then."

Ω

Morgan looked at the post with a slight sense of trepidation, but at look at Tom's face had
him open it. Inside were his exam scores. Each one was an O. He smiled in relief and
handed it over to his Sponsored, whose eyes flicked over the writing and then smiled as
well.

"Excellent job, Morgan!" Tom said, handing the parchment back.

"Now it's time for a bit of a break, then NEWT preparation."

"I don't want you driving yourself into the ground, Morgan."

"I'll do what it takes, Tom. I'll slow down once we're out of here, I promise. We can do
stupid things like visit muggle and magical attractions, and learn more about a different
culture. It's not like we learned anything useful at the orphanage."

"A culture that's not insane, hopefully."

"I'm sure they'll have their own quirks, but… It'll already be a bit strange considering that
Japan is one of the Axis alliance powers. Most of Europe is a mess right now, Asia isn't
much better. I don't like the idea of heading west, though. MACUSA has some very firm
ideas about muggle-magical relations."

"But we can keep it as a fallback plan," Tom said. "If things haven't calmed down by the
time we're ready to go, then we head west. Maybe Canada? They speak English there. I
know you didn't want an English-speaking country because it's too obvious, but… We don't
really have time to learn a third language while still learning the second."

Morgan leaned his head back and rubbed his face. "Axis declared war on this country
before we even finished the school year. We need to stay away from any cities, the coast,
which shouldn't be an issue given where we're normally allowed to be. I'm just glad
nothing happened while we were in London on our way home. I'm not looking forward to
having to go back through there."

"At least the Daily Prophet is reporting on it."

"I would prefer muggle newspapers for that, but we have no way to get them unless we
walk into the village, and you know Uncle Fleamont would not approve. At least most of
the time we should be safe. They've no reason to attack here, or at the school. We're
nowhere important."

Ω

"Good lord, the Americans have entered the war for real," he said, having managed to
make good enough friends with one of the Hogwarts house-elves to persuade it to fetch in
muggle newspapers every so often. He squashed down any feelings of guilt at the theft it
must take. Or maybe it was getting them from the Muggle Studies classroom. Who knew?

Tom rolled his eyes. "That's lovely. Canada is looking better all the time."

"I already thought Hitler and Mussolini were psychotic, but now Japan has done something
brilliantly stupid." He set the paper down and ran a hand over his face. "They bombed Pearl
Harbor and killed thousands of American soldiers in little over an hour."

Tom's face paled. "So many?"

"I think, yes, we need to focus on Canada instead. At least at first. There's no telling how
things are going to go, or how long this war will last. I would like to continue learning
Japanese, though."

"That's fine," Tom said softly. "How about you quiz me so we can take our minds off this."

"Sure, Tom. What shall we start with?"

Ω

When the post arrived it contained results for the both of them. Separate letters, of course.
He handed Tom his OWL results and opened his own, though he already knew he had
passed the Warding exam. This should just be the certification; it was. He looked up to see
Tom's version of a beaming smile, which was more like a quirk at the side of his mouth.

"Good, then?"

Tom nodded and handed them over. Straight O's across the board. "Excellent, Tom.
You're going to set the world on fire someday."

"Not literally, I hope."

"Always such as wiseass," he replied fondly. "Seriously, excellent job. And because I
already knew you'd do well…" He set both sheets of parchment down and headed for his
bookshelf. He had owl-ordered ingredients for a gift for his Sponsored and hidden it inside
a false book. He returned and placed the book down, then opened it. "I got what I would
need for an animagus potion for you."

Tom's eyes went wide. "But it's illegal for a Sponsored to become an animagus."

"Do you honestly think I care about that? Or that I'm worried you would tell and get us
both in trouble? This can only help you. It's highly uncomfortable to deal with the
mandrake leaf—trust me on that—but this could be an excellent tool in your arsenal."

Tom's eyes narrowed. "Trust you on that? How did you get that past me? What is your
form?"

Morgan smirked and transformed. Into a western green mamba.

Tom stared down at him in wonder, then laughed softly as Morgan re-assumed his
human form. "I wonder if that's why you're a parselmouth."

He shrugged. "It's possible. I like that snakes can be very sneaky, though with my
colouration I'm better off in greenery. Highly venomous, though."

"What do I need to do?"

"First, keep a mandrake leaf in your mouth for a full month."

Tom grimaced.

Ω

They were in British Columbia when the war officially ended with Japan's surrender,
though they only did that after the US dropped atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki.
Their post wards were holding up nicely; everyone probably thought they were dead,
which was just dandy in his opinion.

On receipt of Tom's NEWT scores and his Defense Mastery certification he had gone with
Tom to Diagon Alley, to quietly empty his vault into his secret stash, bought some
essentials, then portkeyed them out of the country.

"Maybe we can still go there," he said. "Next year. Preferably more northerly. I can't
imagine either of us would want to be anywhere near where those bombs were dropped.
I assume it will be nasty. Well, and all the destruction."

Tom hummed, having a fine time eating a ridiculously sugary concoction. Where all that
sugar had come from Morgan simply didn't know, and he wasn't going to ask.

"Hopefully the maps I obtained will still be useful. It would be a real shame to have spent
all that time on the language and not get to see the country."

Tom hummed again, then said, "You planning to go for another mastery?"

"I was considering doing Potions. What about you?"

"Warding. You've made me realize just how important it is. The war didn't exactly hurt,
either, though I rather doubt wards would stop one of those bombs that got dropped."

"Hm, no, I don't suppose they would. But a ward might be able to filter out any
contaminants. The papers have been going on about nuclear fallout, whatever that is. All
sorts of nastiness for the people too far away to be vaporized, but too close to not get hit
with the aftereffects."

"Perhaps I could focus on that as a project," Tom said thoughtfully.

Morgan hummed.

Ω

"How you managed to get a Potions Mastery in such a short time," Tom said, shaking his
head.

They were on Ōshima Island, which was south and a bit west of Tokyo. There was a
thriving community of magicals in the forest on the northern end of the island, which
itself had been heavily warded to keep the muggles from even thinking of extending
their roads into it, or building there. The density of the forest also helped to disguise
them, in addition to the wards, from anyone seeing the modest surface buildings
scattered all over the place.

"Well, once we started talking about the contamination from those bombs, I set my mind
toward thinking of a potion that could flush it from the system while you looked into
warding against it. The effects of radiation are quite nasty. The Japanese certainly didn't
seem to mind when I came up with something that helped, even if it wasn't a total cure."

Japanese food was both interesting and sometimes frightening (why were they so happy
to eat raw fish he would never understand), but it was fun trying new things. The
magicals had it better than the muggles in terms of food variety, but when a person could
multiply consumables with a simple spell and feed many with barely any effort…

And then of course a swirling vortex of light opened up behind him, just as he was about to
get up in order to hunt down something to eat, and sucked him into it.

Tom jumped up so fast he bashed a knee into the underside of the table and yelled his
name rather than giving in to a shout of pain. Unfortunately, the injury made it
impossible for him to do more than struggle toward him as he vanished.

Ω

Mr Chiswell,

I have finished reviewing the memories you provided. Some were indeed quite disturbing,
as you warned. The rest were illuminating. If you are available perhaps you would return
to the same place tomorrow morning at 10 o'clock. Nagini would again guide you in.

If this is not possible, reply with a suitable day.

Regards,
Tom Riddle

'Still a chilly signature,' he thought, 'but perhaps it's just something he never thought particularly mattered.'

He arrived the next morning after a late breakfast (a much nicer one than he could have purchased at the Leaky Cauldron) and was again guided into the manor house by Nagini after an exchange of greetings.

"Mr Chiswell," Riddle greeted, then waved a hand at the seat opposite. The pensieve and crate were on the table, waiting for him.

As he sat he returned the greeting with a simple, "Mr Riddle."

"I find myself in an awkward position," Riddle said. There was long silence, during which Morgan simply waited. "I do not expect you to like what I have to say." There was another pause. "This is not my natural appearance, but that should be no surprise to you. I was impressed with your relationship—friendship—with the Tom Riddle of your world. You are aware of the most recent war?"

Morgan nodded. "Yes, from my research into the differences between the worlds. I found it curious that there was precious little to explain or even hint at what the actual battleground was. How can any thinking being choose a side if they do not understand what is at stake? Something as specious as supporting rights of pure-blood rights or muggle-borns… It says little. Neutrality makes more sense when there is nothing to support.

"Coming from my personal experience, I would lean toward muggle-born rights, but then there is again nothing to say exactly what is being fought for. After all, it was to provide support for muggle-borns and muggle-raised that saw my world's magical Britain descend into barbarity. The same is true of pure-blood rights. What rights? What is being threatened? Nothing I read actually addressed the heart of the matter.

"And the so-called Light side was losing terribly, and was saved by a Deus Ex Machina?" He snorted softly. "I am aware that Albus Dumbledore was a leader for the Light, but was clearly incapable of being a leader, regardless of his alleged victory over Grindelwald. Even during my short visit to the school Dumbledore came across as manipulative.

"He intended to Sort me into a House—most likely hoping for Gryffindor—and expect me, who has no records of ever attending school anywhere, to suddenly learn three plus years of education in a few short weeks, all in time to compete? His shifty expression said it all. The man is either a complete idiot or has bought into his own image. Or he's secretly not so Light after all and the image is carefully cultivated to deflect suspicion."

His brow went up at the minute change in expression on Riddle's face.

"I was Sorted into Slytherin my first year."

"Oh dear," he murmured.

"Yes. It was not until it came out that I am a parselmouth that I received anything approaching respect. In some ways it was not much better than the orphanage, and I did not have a Morgan Chiswell to stand with me in either. You're right that Dumbledore is manipulative. He started that the day he came to bring me my letter."

"I always found it interesting that Dumbledore defended the offenders," he said. "It was always the ones who defended themselves who were seen as wrong. Somehow the offenders walked away with a slap on the wrist. I don't know what is wrong with that man's brain."

"Did you know he was Grindelwald's lover back when they were young?" Riddle said.

Morgan's eyes widened. "Truly?"

"They planned and plotted together, how to take over the world, For the Greater Good. It was only when an argument broke out, triggered by Dumbledore's brother due to perceived neglect of their sister on Dumbledore's part, that things changed, as the sister was caught up in it and killed. They claim no one knows who cast the spell that did it."

Morgan frowned. "Because pensieves are impossible to find or something? Any idiot can check a memory and find the truth."

Riddle nodded. "The sister was killed, Grindelwald fled the country, and Dumbledore remained, eventually becoming part of the staff at Hogwarts. The sister was a tragic tale. She was spotted by some muggle boys performing accidental magic. They swarmed her, questioned her, attacked her. It traumatized her so badly she lost any semblance of control over her magic and had to be carefully attended.

"It was bad enough that she accidentally killed her own mother. Her father had gone after those boys and landed himself in Azkaban. It fell to Albus to care for his sister, and he had only just sat his NEWT exams."

"I can see where that could go badly," he commented.

"A young man with his whole life ahead of him, now chained down to the care of his unstable sister… I imagine he resented it. If one takes into account what Grindelwald went on to do, one can extrapolate that that he and Dumbledore's idea of pillow talk was to debate the best ways to go about world domination. But without concerted effort and digging, we may never know. It does seem to be true, based on available evidence, that once Dumbledore makes up his mind about something, he sticks to it."

"So how did he react to you?"

"I made the mistake of telling him I could talk to snakes, for one thing."

Morgan winced. "And he presumably let that colour everything. Subsequently being Sorted into Slytherin would not have helped matters."

"Not in the least, and Transfiguration was a core class. He was always suspicious of me."

"I will assume for the moment that this world's magical Britain is as insular as mine was, and therefore parselmouths around the world—because it is ludicrous to assume but a single family line held that talent—who did good works were blithely ignored."

Riddle nodded. "That sets the scene. Between his suspicion and the troubles I suffered inside Slytherin, even after it getting out that I was a parselmouth, things did not go particularly well. It may even have hurt that I was an excellent student."

Morgan, for his part, was rapidly slotting various facts together in the background. Riddle became Voldemort through whatever series of events, and was presumably responsible for starting the war, culminating with the killing the parents of one Harry James Potter. His long experience with his own Tom Riddle lent weight to the idea that there was far more to the story than superficialities, that and Riddle's own somewhat diffident manner.

The man had not, with the knowledge that Morgan was considered Harry Potter in this world, immediately gone on the offensive against him at their first meeting. Or he had, but the constitution of that offensive was yet to be understood. A genuine lead-in to a plea for help? Or the use of a prior relationship to fool him into something? Deciding that he was feeling daring he said, "And somewhere in between having been brought into magical Britain and now you somehow became a dark lord."

Riddle's eyes narrowed for just a trice. "Yes."

"All right. I am led to believe that Dumbledore had something to do with that, his inflexibility of thinking, and his past relationship with one who became a dark lord. Just because the two parted ways does not mean Dumbledore would have entirely abandoned his presumed desire for world domination. You may not be the Tom I knew, but I can hope you are at least somewhat like him. I remain curious."

Riddle nodded after a long pause. "I am uncertain to this day exactly what happened. I learned that the House Founder, Salazar Slytherin was a parselmouth, one of the most famous. I learned, based on my research into wizarding families, that it was possible I was related to the Gaunt line, which itself was connected to the Slytherin line."

"Hence the parselmouth ability," he said. "Do you not have the form of a snake, then? Or did you never attempt it?"

"I did not attempt it. It would not have occurred to me at that point it could be an explanation. I was also not knowledgeable enough at that time to have a hint of an idea that the goblins might be able to provide assistance in determining my ancestry. What I do know, and which I passed off as the general atmosphere inside Slytherin and what they were demonstrably capable of, was that I gained a strong interest in the Dark Arts."

"May we fast forward a bit for the moment?" he asked. "You at some point began to adopt the persona of a dark lord—I don't know what name you may have used, as all the papers and books ever have to say is that silly 'You-Know-Who' sort of thing, and were led by whatever means to attack the Potter family, which signaled your downfall, with only the boy surviving. That anyone knew of, that is, or assumed."

"A prophecy," Riddle said. "A follower overheard part of one and brought that to me. It pointed at two families, Potter and Longbottom. And because a follower just so happened to be their Secret Keeper, I went after them first."

"Prophecy? I am already getting ideas about that, but please continue."

"I have yet to determine if my follower's presence there was serendipity or misfortune. What was reported to me was the following: The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches, born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies."

"Taken at face value and without discernment, ignoring the myriad nuances capable of being distinguished for terms such as 'vanquished' and 'seventh month', that seems rather straightforward in meaning. I know from the announcements made at the time that both families had a child born in July of 1980. I presume this prophecy was given prior to those births."

"It was. Both couples were part of an organization of Dumbledore's, a vigilante group called the Order of the Phoenix."

"How pretentious," he muttered.

The corner of Riddle's mouth quirked in a smile for a moment. "One of their number came to my side, probably because he was a bit spineless, despite being a Gryffindor, and also quite jealous. All that remained from that confrontation was my disembodied self, my wand, which the follower scurried away with, and my robes."

"Which begs the question of how you sit before me, seemingly normal."

"Indeed. And I will get to that."

Morgan held up a finger and ran a whole lot of scenarios in his head, using everything he had ever read and retained. His world had been a lot less fussy over the idea of what was forbidden magics. "Ah, a Horcrux."

Riddle's mouth quirked again. "Yes. And knowing what I know now, I either completely lost my head at one point from the sheer weight of persecution, or I was nudged into it. I will save you the trouble of figuring out why you ended up in this world. Harry Potter was entered into the tournament by a follower of mine."

"Because Harry Potter would be required to properly … re-embody you?"

Riddle nodded. "Which, now, presents something of a quandary."

"Because as far as I'm concerned, you have done nothing to me. I could be only the expression of this world's Harry Potter, rather than him directly. Had my heritage test in my world shown the duality of two distinct identities, I would have expected more of a reaction from my escort, the goblin, and Uncle Fleamont. I lean toward thinking that the Harry Potter of this world died, and I was pulled here to be that counterpart or expression."

"Precisely. I am not at odds with you. I am not even technically at odds with Harry Potter. The ritual I intended to use would call for the blood of my enemy, and who better to pick than the one who had a hand, however tenuously, in my earlier defeat." Riddle held up a hand to forestall comment yet. "Even that is specious, due to the actions of the boy's mother that night. However, I am now faced with you, someone who held a close friendship with a different me, and is inclined to the courtesy of listening and coming to reasoned conclusions rather than jumping into assumptions based on precious little evidence."

"Then I imagine you will not be too upset when I put in a very lackluster effort in this damnable tournament."

"Hardly. It was something of a desperate act to begin with. I scarce believed it would work at all, but I did wonder if the Potter boy was alive and simply being secured somewhere by Dumbledore, being trained."

"Which would be plausible if Dumbledore was convinced you would return," he said. "Do you even particularly like this house?"

Riddle blinked at the abrupt change of topic. "No, I do not. It is the former home of my muggle father and his family. It has changed hands a number of times since their deaths, but none have ever come to inhabit it."

Morgan shook his head. "Not much of an investment, then."

"Why do you ask?"

"Because I recently purchased a home. It's just me and a house-elf I purchased. I do not doubt your wards, but you cannot be especially comfortable in this mouldering old wreck. Honestly, why purchase a property if you can't be bothered to do anything with it?" he said, rolling his eyes. "In addition, if a ritual is required to re-embody you, is it logical to do so in the former home of a relative? If Dumbledore indeed suspects you will return…"

"I can follow that line of thought," Riddle said with a nod. "And as suspicious as he was of me I would not put it past him to have acquired my blood and made sure I was unaware of it, all for the purpose of establishing my lineage. I cannot afford to assume he has not. By that reasoning, I should not do such a ritual here."

"If you are willing, you can relocate to my house. I have not spent much time there, though I have gone over the wards and added my own. I have primarily stayed at the flat I purchased on Tangent Alley, though that could easily change. As the goblin I deal with pointed out, the flat makes for an easy place to apparate to and from with regard to Diagon Alley, without people necessarily being aware of my comings and goings."

"I do have a house-elf. Though I was disembodied, the elf could sense I was still around in some form and has stood by me."

"Excellent."