He couldn't help it. Harry wrote in the diary every night, telling Tom about his day, and dreamt every night about the other dark-haired teen. He dreamt about talking to Tom, about lying in the older boy's lap as Tom ran his fingers through Harry's hair and inquisitively over his trademark scar, commenting about Hermione's strange schedule, or the feud between Scabbers and Crookshanks. He dreamt of stealing kisses, and curling up close to Tom, feelings of safety and contentedness battling with feelings of guilt and self-doubt as he reminded himself that the boy whose lips he found so irresistible, and whose arms he longed to have wrapped around him was the murderer of his parents.

Tom, patient as ever, stayed by Harry's side when it became too much, and the younger boy broke down into tears, hating himself for what he took to be a betrayal to everyone he knew. Silent, knowing that his words could only hurt Harry more in a time like this, Tom simply held him close, comforting the pain that his very existence had caused.

Harry stopped noticing Hermione and Ron's exchanged looks of worry as they noticed the stress eating away at him and carving dark circles under his eyes. He'd gotten to the point where he didn't even care when they whispered in hushed, urgent tones, wondering what was wrong with him ("Is it the Grimm, you think?" "Oh, come on, he knows there's no solidity to her predictions! More of a drama-queen than a diviner, if you ask me... Not that the art itself is at all reliable, either.").

The concern of his two friends dwindled over time, however. They chalked it up to the everyday stress of being Harry Potter, with all of the crazy predictions of death, dementors lurking everywhere... and then the Tri-Wizard tournament and all of the darkness that followed it.

"I wish there was a way that everything could be changed..." Harry lamented, curled up close to Tom in the dreamworld commonroom.

"I know," Tom said softly, eyes downcast as he held Harry close. He admired Harry curiously; Harry wasn't nearly as young as he had been when he'd first picked up the Diary on that fateful day.

"In the future - in my time, you're evil and inhuman... terrifying and revolting."

Tom made a bit of a face, but still Harry continued.

"I wish you could have just stayed... well, you. I wish you lived in my time. Not him."

Tom seemed to consider this statement, fingers playing through Harry's dark, unruly hair as he thought. "If there was a way to do that... if it were possible, would you do it?"

Harry cast a dark look at him, suddenly alert. "You had better not be messing with me, Tom. Is there a way?" His stomach gave a small twist of guilt; this was more than just fraternizing and talking. Could he really let everyone down - no, betray everyone? - and help the Dark Lord? Looking at Tom, though, the teen hardly looked like the Dark Lord. He looked more like a boy with too many dark things haunting his mind, and not enough people to trust to save him from them.

Tom returned Harry's gaze evenly, searching his eyes, frowning faintly at the guilt that he could see eating away inside of them. "There is. It won't be easy, though. I wouldn't blame you if you'd prefer to keep this dream, and only that."

Harry couldn't keep the revulsion out of his words as he asked, "Let me guess, I have to kill someone? No - several people? What, is it a spell that requires the last breath of sixty wizards and thirty muggles?" Glaring at Tom, his expression virtually dared the teen to prove him right, and show him that he'd been wrong all these years to open his heart to Tom.

Tom stared at Harry, aghast. "And you think I'm twisted?" He shook his head slowly, not sure whether to laugh or express horror at Harry's perception of what was needed. "No, no. You don't need to kill or hurt anyone, Harry. I wouldn't ask that of you. I'm afraid that it might be dangerous to you, though. It will be a tedious, and possibly risky. That's why I warned you that it wouldn't be easy."

Looking somewhat surprised, Harry looked up at him, a bit suspiciously at first, as if not sure he could believe that helping Tom didn't involve mutilating innocents. That small spark of hope and trust that had grown inside of him without his knowledge slowly emerged in his expression. "What, then...? How...?"

Tom spoke softly. "You would have to gather the broken pieces of me, my horcruxes... if you were to face the version of me that you know now, with all of those pieces together, he would be absorbed into them. And I could come out, instead." He reached out to Harry, fingers brushing over the other boy's cheek as he leaned in, stealing a sweet kiss. "It's dangerous, though, Harry. I think it'd be better if you didn't. You'll always have me in your dreams..."

Harry shook his head, pulling back slightly and fixing Tom with a determined, emerald gaze. Only blushing a little, he slid his hand into Tom's, their fingers intertwining as he told the older teen: "I'll do it."