A picture I drew for the 1 year anniversary of the fic. Thank you everyone!

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Teaching History (is Old News)

19 - Just...

Immediately, Tom sends words to all his contacts that they'll be having a meeting tonight, at the old Riddle Mansion. He'll floo out immediately, once he has Potter in tow. He needs to start courting Potter to his side, and what better way than a display of Tom's power and reach?

Lounging on his lap, Nagini sighs. [This is a terrible way to court a mate, Master. Green Eyes cares little about the puny creatures you subjugate. He already knows you are powerful. He does not care. You should pay more attention to his likes. I would get him some mice.]

[You are the only one who wants mice.]

[Only to eat. Perhaps Potter would like to replace that feather trash-bag of a familiar with a nice juicy mouse.]

Tom narrows his eyes. [You would want to eat either way. And to have Potter to yourself.]

[I know what I want and I go for it. Unlike some humans I know.]

Before Tom can try to shove some sense into Nagini's head, he hears someone calling from the floo.

"Hello? Harry? Is Riddle around? Hagrid and I have to talk to him… Hello?"

Tom steps downstairs, with Nagini trailing behind him. "Ah. Weasley." Indeed, Charlie Weasley's head seems to be sticking out of the floo. While Tom may not like muggles, he can appreciate some of their more practical inventions such as phones. He doesn't understand why the wizarding world insists on installing such a nosy floo network for communication. "If you're looking for my roommate, he's likely doing yoga with the Third-Years… or singing lullabies to the giant squid."

"Sorry, did you say the giant squid?"

"I don't pretend to understand his life choices."

Charlie Weasley shakes his head in disbelief. "That's Harry alright. An odd duck as usual." Says the man who works with Dragons for a living, Tom thinks. "As much as I'd like to catch up with him, I was actually trying to reach you."

"Ah," Tom recalls the unfortunate project Potions Master Kwan forced him into. "I see. Did you and Hagrid wish to organize a research meeting?"

"Yeah! That's be great! Is next Saturday okay?"

"…That would be fine, as long as the meeting doesn't go too long." Tom hopes to convince Potter into doing weekly practice duels on Saturdays. For their club meetings, of course. Nothing more.

"Great! Hagrid will owl you some of the samples and findings we've gathered over the past few years. Just be warned, Hagrid has some sort of wailing skelehawk that he uses to deliver letters. I'd throw up wards against petrification. Cast one on Harry too, yeah?"

Before Tom can hiss about the idiocy of owning such dangerous pets, Charlie Weasley's head vanishes from the fire.

[Urgh, skelehawks. They're too crunchy to eat. All those bones that refuse to digest properly! Maybe we can throw the owl at it.]

[If it's anything like Hagrid's darling acromantula, I will blast it to dust.]

:

"Are you alright, Harry? You look pale…" Chang remarks at dinner. She even decided to sit next to him, instead of by Hooch, just to rub his back.

"He's fine, Chang," Tom waves her off. "He's merely fatigued from the gathering last night. He didn't sleep well."

"You certainly look… better than usual, considering how handsome you usually look," Chang frowns at Tom.

"Careful there, Chang," Hooch winks from across the table, "or Riddle will think you're considering leaving Diggory to chase after him!"

"No way," both Potter and Chang say in horror.

Tom resists the urge to scowl as he always does when people suggest he start looking for a romantic partner. "As… charming… as Chang is, she isn't my type." That excuse usually works.

"Really?" Chang leans in, interested rather than repelled. "Then what is your type, Riddle? Inquiring minds want to know."

"Cho," Potter tries to nudge her, "you can't just ask that!"

"Oh hush, Harry. Every person in Hogwarts wants to know. Except you apparently."

Tom narrows his eyes. "This is all very unprofessional."

"There!" Potter beams. "See? Riddle doesn't feel things like that. He's not interested."

Tom frowns. The hole left by the thing he felt he lost, after that conversation with Potter yesterday, twists from the absence…

"Fine. I respect that. But what about you, Harry? I've yet to see you go on a date with any of the lovely people I try to set you up with."

Potter twitches. "They're not my type."

"So mysterious!" Chang flicks his nose. "Then who is?" Tom listens as well. The information could prove useful in keeping Potter around for his cause.

"…Someone who doesn't think I'm crazy," Potter whispers, studying his oversaturated sugar-induced teacup a bit too intently. "Someone kind."

Everyone at the staff table stops talking, just to gawk at Potter in expressions ranging from horror to deep pity. Even Snape looks disturbed.

"Harry, let me hug you!" Chang cries while Flitwick, Hooch, and Dumbledore start throwing out suggestions for blind dates.

"I know a lovely witch from India," Flitwick twittering so excitedly, he nearly falls off his stool. "She's a Charms Master just like your mother was—"

"What about a girl who likes quidditch? I got some contacts from the Harpies!" Hooch shoves Flitwick back.

"I did meet a very nice vampire who seemed interested in speaking with you yesterday night but was too shy to. I could give you his floo address," Dumbledore nods. "He was a big fan of golf."

"Guys, guys stop, I'm not interested! And seriously, Albus? Dating a vampire? No! I swear, the next date I try to go on, that man will suffer a horrible and violent encounter with confetti and sprinkles! And it won't be my fault either."

The rest of dinner tastes sour as Tom listens to Chang hugging Potter and claiming him as 'too precious for this world.' Every bite seems to feed the hole twisting inside him.

:

"Potter," Tom intercepts him after dinner. "I thought we could go to the pub together and discuss the Dueling Club."

"Didn't we just do that yester—"

"I'll pay for the next six months of yarn you need to buy."

"Deal."

Note to self, Tom thinks, Harry Potter truly is easily swayed by promises of free yarn or sweets.

"So where are we heading? Hogsmeade? Diagon Alley? Starbucks?"

"Starbucks isn't a pub."

"How would you know? I bet you've never set foot in one!"

Tom scowls.

"Gasp! You really haven't! That's a travesty! You have to try a matcha latte with lots of honey! Or a molten chocolate mocha!"

"Those sound like sugary death traps."

"But they're good sugary death traps! Though expensive."

Tom leads them to the staff room's chimney, big enough to fit at least five people at once. At Potter's pale look, Tom pulls him along by the arm. "I'll announce our destination, Potter. We wouldn't want to end up in the middle of the Sahara desert because you mispronounced something," he says, remembering how unfortunate Potter tends to be with floo.

"Ah. Well… Thank you." The quiet statement, such a stark contrast to Potter's usual silly banter, makes Tom's grip tighter.

"Riddle manor," he says, floo powder up in the air, hovering over Potter's surprised face.

For a seer, Potter has terrible self-preservation instincts.

:

Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley exchange shocked glances in the hallway.

"Did Professor Riddle just… ask Professor Potter out on a date…?"

:

"…Tell me that you didn't take me to your dead father's house, a house that you probably murdered him in, judging from so so many different and bombarding visions I had during Seventh Year—and long after that— because you just had to visit him."

Tom doesn't understand why Potter seems so upset. The manor is secluded and large enough for all his followers to gather for a private meeting. He even hired a house elf to keep everything in working order. "You already knew this though."

"That's not the point! For all I know, I could have been assuming an alternate you did something that 'this' you hasn't! I'm a seer, not a powerful and terrifying, omnipotent, all-knowing glow cloud!"

So Potter has trouble distinguishing what visions are his reality or not… Tom wonders if any mind healing arts might be able to curb that side effect. He'll have to pull in some favors to get the books he wants on the subject.

"Surely you must have known that I was going to take you to this meeting."

Potter glares and points at himself. "Seer. Not. All-knowing. I thought you were actually going to take me out for a… Oh never mind! I'm leaving. Where's the floo powder?"

"Wait!" Tom grabs his hand and finds himself struck by that direct gaze. It occurs to him that Potter may not be able to control what happens in this reality, but he's witnessed countless possibilities in others. What is the scope of visions he's seen? Perhaps Potter has seen this meeting already, in another universe's dream. Perhaps Potter knows exactly what Tom will say next. Was he expecting another outcome? Another Tom Riddle's choice? Does he find the one standing in front of him lacking? The excitement Tom felt about Potter's abilities dies down… Is Tom Riddle so predictable, that Potter will dismiss him without a chance to convince Potter of his own unique worth?

No. Tom refuses.

"Stay. Please. Just… observe and see what the meeting is like in… 'this' reality. Perhaps I will surprise you."

"No way."

"I will… wear one of your sweaters at the dueling club meeting on Tuesday."

Potter blinks up at him, half-startled and exhausted. Tom wants to vanish away those baggy circles.

"…You. In a sweater."

Tom doesn't frown. "…Yes."

"…I make no promises to not to interrupt or cause general chaos at this… little death eating club. But I'll stay. For now."

"That's all I ask." Tom lets go of Potter's hand.

:

Unfortunately, the meeting does not go well.

"My Lord," Crouch bows to him as soon as Tom and Potter enter the sitting room.

Tom can feel Potter's unimpressed stare. "Crouch," he nods, "may I introduce my colleague, Harry Potter?"

"Ah yes," Crouch barely blinks. "You mentioned him quite often when we were in school."

Tom fights the urge to scowl. He did no such thing.

Potter, however, gains a spring to his step. "Oh really? I didn't hear him speak of you at all. I wish he had. Uncle Reg has a lot of things to say about you, Mr. Crouch. You're, uh, really thorough in your work, aren't you?"

Crouch's smile thins. "Perhaps he was speaking of my father. I'm afraid that I'm not familiar with Lord Black. We don't run in the same circles at the ministry."

The intricacies of the Crouch family are always interesting for Tom to manipulate. While Bartimus Crouch Junior is a rather private individual, Tom easily found out his secrets using legilimency. He wonders how much Potter knows about this version of Crouch Junior…

"Ah." Potter blinks. "Daddy issues even here, huh? I feel you Barty. I feel you. Biscuit?"

Unsurprisingly, Potter digs out a container of freshly baked biscuits from his little bag. Every biscuit seems to be in the shape of a smiling snake with a white chocolate top hat.

Tom fights back the urge to twitch at Potter's informalities and the cartoonish sweets.

Crouch, however, only pauses and glances at Tom before nodding. "I would love to try one of your infamous creations, thank you." Carefully, he takes the biscuit and tries a bite. Unexpectedly, his eyes widen. "This is… quite good. Far superior to my house elf's cooking…"

"Aw, shucks. Great to know that someone in this death club has a sweet tooth. Maybe there's still some hope for you yet!"

Tom does not glare. He remains absolutely composed.

"So what do you usually do at these meetings? Practice maniacal laughter? Compare notes on who can make the best team logo? Sew matching uniforms? Try and come up with a motto?"

Crouch's eyes light up with a disturbing light. "Actually, I've compiled a list of different Latin phrases that may be persuasive in convincing young people to join our cause! What do you think of pariter ad inimicos nostros?"

Potter nearly chokes on his biscuit. "Our enemies to dust?"

"Yes! A powerful statement, don't you agree?"

Potter only gapes, startled laughter hanging in the air.

"Excellent!" Crouch takes another biscuit, "I will put you down for another vote then…"

"What? No, I'm not—"

"Let me introduce you to my other followers," Tom quickly guides Potter over to Dolohov instead.

"What are you doing near our Lord, little blood traitor scum?"

Unfortunately, Bellatrix storms in the way.

"Ah." Potter blinks before his smile eerily widens like a muggle clown's. His arms open wide as he practically prances over to her. "Dear Auntie Bellatrix!"

Bellatrix ducks the incoming hug, hissing, "Don't you touch me!"

"Ah. Right. You don't like hugs yet. Or you won't ever? Wait, which one was it?"

"The first one," Tom hisses quickly. While his followers aren't likely to connect Potter's eccentric behavior to that of a seer's, Tom would rather keep that secret between himself and Potter.

"Right!" Potter nods. "No hugging! Hugs are bad, they'll get me stabbed!"

Before Tom can pull Potter away, a huge, gaudy bouquet of eerie smiling sunflowers materializes in Potter's hands. Each sunflower's smile looks sewn on sloppily, accompanied with giant googly eyes that look in all directions.

Bellatrix blanches away when Potter bows towards her. "For you, as an apology for my rudeness! Flowers that will pretend to be friendly for you! Since you seem like the stabbing kind of aunt instead of the friendly kind."

With a splutter, Bellatrix yanks the bouquet away. "I am not. Your. Aunt!"

"Then stop calling Uncle Reg and Sirius blood traitors. Auntie."

"Listen, you brat—"

"Harry is here as my guest. I'm showing him around so please give him a good impression of our cause, Bellatrix," Tom interjects, putting his arm back on Potter's shoulder.

Bellatrix's smile thins. She moves closer to Tom. "But my Lord, the way he was raised—"

"Oi, I was raised fabulously, with a healthy love for animals and sweets! You were raised—"

"Dolohov, may you entertain Potter for a moment? I need to speak with Bellatrix in private…"

Dolohov looks ready to jump out of window rather than interfere with the conflict, but relaxes somewhat when Potter offers him some biscuits. Tom would be convinced that Potter casts some sort of alluring charm on those things if he hadn't tried them himself. The populace seems genuinely fond of overly-saturated pastries of sugar. He will never understand it.

"I won't accept his presence here, I won't," Bellatrix hisses. "There's one reason I've never met him before and that's because dear little Reggy doesn't want me corrupting his little godson. That—"

"I am certain, that under certain circumstances and time, Potter can be persuaded towards our way of thinking."

Bellatrix frowns in thought, for once. Good.

"Think of Regulus Black's face when he sees how much influence you have over his godson then."

Bellatrix's smile, in that moment, feels like the one she wears when she tortures people.

:

"Dear, darling little Harry," Bellatrix wraps her arms around him, tucking his head under her chin.

"Um?!" Potter drops his biscuits.

"Come, come, you must sit by me during the meeting. We have so much to catch up on. I have nineteen birthdays to buy presents for! Would you like your very own guillotine?"

"I… no? Just no? Did you just braid those sunflowers in your hair?!"

Bellatrix hums. "They're charming." She jabs the stem of another flower behind Potter's ear, painfully. "There! We match! Now tell Auntie all your little secrets!"

Potter turns around, glaring at Tom. "I blame you."

"Fair enough," Tom agrees. Now he won't have to worry about Potter apparating away or Bellatrix clinging to Tom's arm.

"I swear if you don't start this meeting soon, I will start transfiguring people into ducks. Purple ducks. Cursed to glow in the moonlight and never belong among other ducks. Every time they try to quack, they will sound like pigs instead. It is a curse worse than death."

Tom stares at Potter's solemn face, at the ridiculous googly-eyed sunflower in his hair, and back at Bellatrix humming on Potter's arm.

He can see the family resemblance now.

:

"We've made great progress so far in our efforts. Carrow has formed a positive rapport with the giants, while Avery and Dolohov have established more ties with future contacts as well. Crouch informs me that there are many in the ministry who are willing to sponsor and support our cause."

Those gathered at the table nod in complete rapture. Tom feels like a court king at a table, ordering his future army. That image distracts him from how annoying it is to have his followers simpering at his every word.

"Uh, question? What exactly is your cause?"

Tom twitches at Potter raising his hand, as if he's an excitable First Year. "You should already be aware of it, Harry."

"No, Tom, I'm really not," comes the too cheerful reply, "I think you're forgetting our earlier conversations about my memory problems."

"I merely assumed that this would be the one constant in all those memory problems."

"Not really, you'd be surprised at how out of character you can be in those problems."

The death eaters, unhelpfully, look back and forth at the exchange, as if watching a very interesting Quidditch match.

"Our cause is to spread the Dark Arts throughout the world and put our Lord on the throne as leader of this magical revolution!" Crouch bursts out. "I thought you knew when you voted for our statement!"

"So Dark Arts. Hooray," Potter says monotonously. "Is that all?"

"Of course not!" Bellatrix pats his head aggressively.

Tom stands up to silence her, "Bella—"

"—We'll be eradicating all those filthy mudbloods from the world too. Magic will be great again!"

The room falls into an icy silence.

"I see." Potter's smile looks cracked, as rigid as the sewn lips on sunflowers. "Excuse me. I think my owl just texted me."

Avery frowns, whispering to Dolohov, "Can owls text?"

Dolohov stares back blankly. "What's a text? Like a book?"

"Harry—"

"Oh, and before I forget," Potter whips out his wand, the incantation rushing out silently in the air.

A room full of purple ducks, instead of death eaters, oink and flap at Tom in helpless flocks.

"Potter!" Tom gives chase.

But Potter doesn't slow down. He's inches from the fireplace, when Tom jumps in front of him.

"Get out of my way."

"No," Tom growls, "you promised you would stay."

"I didn't say for how long, now get out of my way!"

"Transfigure my Death Eaters back!"

"No. You're the genius. You do it!"

"You and I both know that you just performed completely original yet highly advanced level transfiguration, wandless, on humans, and it worked. You're the inventor of the spell, you have to reverse it."

"How about no. They make cute pets now. They can't swim though, so keep them away from water."

"Potter—"

"So it's Potter again, is it? When you just called me Harry a few moments ago? Do you even remember the last time you called me Harry? Do you even remember how close we used to be in school?"

"We were never close. You're mixing up timelines, getting it confused with your memory problems—"

"Then what do you even want me here for, if not my 'helpful' input and my crap 'seer' abilities?! You know I will never be in favour of executing muggles, you know it, and yet you made me come here anyways. I thought you were different."

Tom steps closer, glaring down at Potter's nose, "I am different from the rest of the Tom Riddles you've seen—"

Potter's nose is inches from his. "Are you really? Then tell me, Riddle, why did you bring me here?"

"Your abilities—"

"—Are shit—"

"Your magic—"

"—Is a threat to you."

"You're not!"

"How do you know that—"

"Because I want you to be my equal!" Tom roars.

The silence that follows feels impossible. Tom stares at Harry—no, Potter—in horror. But the longer the words linger in the air, the more Tom realizes that they are true. From the first day they met till now, Tom has always waited for any evidence, anything, that proves Potter is the same as him. His equal. Just as powerful, just as special. It can't be anyone else. Potter is the one with the brother wand, the one who looks like him, the one who's…

"…I can't be that for you," Potter says quietly.

Tom blinks at him, startled. "What."

"I'm not like that… that perfect version of an 'equal' that you have in your head. I'm not like that. I'm just…" he looks so small, so meek, "just Harry."

Anger roars in Tom's ears. "You're not just—"

"Then what am I to you? Right now?"

Tom doesn't have the words.

"There." Potter's smile falls away. "See? You don't really know me. You're too busy looking for yourself."

Harry sidesteps away and vanishes into the floo.

EDITED CHAPTER - Nov 15, 2019