He found himself in a scene most familiar: he recalled waking here many times throughout his time at Hogwarts. Harry Potter shifted his body upward alongside the hospital bed where he saw Ron with his broken leg in the bed to his left, while Hermione was in the bed to his right. He relaxed and closed his eyes, knowing they were safe. His peace was short-lived, however, when he heard the sounds of a piano playing. It was some depressing tune, akin to something at a funeral march. Harry was sure Hermione would have recognized it in a heartbeat, but he, himself, had no clue what song it was. Harry opened his eyes and saw a dark haired man in what would appear his mid-thirties sitting at a piano that was obviously not there ten seconds ago.
"Umm, who are you?" Harry asked, not noticing his glasses were laying feet away.
The man at the piano stopped playing, but the music continued. He stood from the piano and walked over to where Hermione lay sleeping. His pale hand caressed her cheek ever so gently before he chuckled to himself.
"Harry, my boy, why haven't you made a move on dear Hermione here? I know you've particularly enjoyed her backside. It's a shame…you could do so much better if you just applied yourself!" The man laughed again before lifting the blankets covering Hermione's sleeping body, peeking underneath. "Not too bad, for a Mudblood of her age. She might polish your wand if you ask nicely."
Harry felt his face grow hot in embarrassment. How did this…stranger know his thoughts on Hermione's rear? The embarrassment turned to anger at the word 'Mudblood', accompanied by disgust that this man would be looking at such a young girl. Harry fought the feelings down, especially the one that came about with the innuendo at the end.
"Don't talk about Hermione that way! Now, who are you?" Harry growled.
"Don't you recognize me? It's your dear old friend Tommy! I'm hurt, Harry. After all we've been through, you can't recognize your oldest friend?"
Harry gagged. He thought last night was a dream, that he didn't speak to Voldemort. He was clearly wrong, but that didn't explain why this…normal looking man was in front of him, interacting with things. It didn't explain why Hermione hadn't stirred at the groping of this man before him, why Harry felt this connection to this stranger before him. This…man was not Voldemort. He couldn't be! He looked so…normal!
"Voldemort?! How are you here? Why haven't you killed me yet? What did you do to Hermione? Why are yo—stop feeling up my friend you pervert!" Harry shouted, aghast at the image of this monster blatantly feeling underneath Hermione's hospital gown.
Voldemort chuckled at the situation; it was the only thing one could do in his position, after all. He removed his hands from Hermione's developing figure and sat on the edge of Harry's bed, playfully grabbing one of Harry's feet.
"Harry! So many questions! You haven't even offered me a drink, where are your manners? I guess if I have to answer you – which I don't, by the way – they would go something like: 'Harry, I'm a part of you now. I'm not actually here, I'm in your head! Only you can see me and I'm not going away!'. I guess that answers all of your questions, doesn't it? I can't kill you because I am you. I didn't do anything to Hermione because I can't actually interact with Hermione. I'm just an apparition of sorts, think of me as an imaginary friend that just. won't. go. away."
At this, Harry actually did puke. He managed to get most of it into the bin at his side. Looking briefly at Hermione's sleeping body, he noticed that sheets did not look disturbed at all. It was as if he imagined it.
"So, you're not real?"
"By Riddle, you sure are thick! I AM real, you dolt. As real as you or Ronnie over there. I'm a part of you! You're real, aren't you? Don't you remember anything from last night? We already had this discussion!"
Harry lay there, contemplating the situation before him. Now that he thought about it, this conversation did seem familiar, barring the Hermione bit. He recalled using Voldemort's soul fragment to repair the holes in his own, torn by the Dementors. He recalled Voldemort briefly taking command of his body, but fighting him off by thinking about Hermione. Harry cared deeply for her; she was closer to him than Ron, though he'd never admit it to either of them. Apparently Voldemort isn't too big on the whole love thing, and love has many forms. Then Harry remembered the last thing he did before passing out.
"Sirius! Is he alright? Did he get away?" Harry asked, dreading the answer.
"Yeah, your dear doGfather got away just fine. I'm glad you listened to me about that Summoning charm. I'm willing to bet he isn't regretting buying you that Firebolt now. Just don't make it a habit of letting guys ride your broomstick, Harry. Your broomstick is for witches only and your hand when you're lonely!"
"I'm just going to ignore those last few statements. You're quite the perv, aren't you Tommy? What, didn't the witches throw themselves upon the great Tom Riddle while you were at school? You were a handsome bloke, from what I recall in your diary. Speaking of, Tommy-Boy, what kind of a wizard keeps a diary? Did you just not recall what a journal was?"
"Laugh it up, Harry. Go on, get it all out. I'm stuck with you for good, 'till Death do us part'. I can be your ally or I can be your enemy: it's up to you."
"And why would I ever let you be my ally? You killed my parents!"
"Look, Harry, if you're gonna drag that up every time we talk, it's gonna be a real buzzkill on this whole partnership we got goin' on here. Yes, I killed your parents. Would you feel better if I said I'm sorry? I'm not, but if it helps…why not? I'm sorry I killed Lily and James Potter, okay? You happy now? Not gonna throw a tantrum, are you? You didn't even know them! Yes, I recognize that argument holds no weight because I'm the reason why you don't know them, but still. What if they were worse than the Dursleys? From what I hear, your mom didn't even like dear daddy for the first six years they knew each other. Then, suddenly, out of the blue: mommy starts loving daddy, marries him, and conceives you all in the span of three years? That doesn't sound even a little suspicious to you? Smells like love potion to me."
"Stop! My mother was not under the effects of a love potion! You will never be my ally and I will do whatever it takes to get rid of you, once and for all!" Harry shouted.
"Have it your way, then. Guess I'll just have to make your life a living hell until you say otherwise. Best prepare yourself, Harry Potter. The game has just begun."
A/N: So, there's chapter two. No time turner, no Buckbeak drama. Sirius is alive and well, but Harry has a passenger along for the ride that is life. I know Voldemort that we know from Rowling wouldn't be acting this way, but let's remember that his soul fragment has been merged with a thirteen-year-old boy's entire soul. Harry's soul has a lot more influence over Voldemort's tiny fragment, and the immaturity seen is the result of Harry being a teenage boy. As for Voldemort's appearance (to Harry), he looks younger than 55 (that was the age Tom was when he tried killing wee baby Harry) because I'm assuming there were already rituals he had undergone as well as Harry's soul being much younger. I'm just playing around with this idea because the original idea I had did not involve any apparition of Tom Riddle Jr. in the outline (I have a general plot formed through Year 4). Please review, guys. Even the guests out there. From my perspective, it looks like four people were actually interested in it and the other views came from guests who read a couple of lines then said "this sucks" and closed out of the page. Even a simple "keep it up" will do wonders. Plus, the more interest this story has, the more motivation I have to continue it. This means more content for you to read.