Disclaimer: No, I do not own Tom Riddle or Voldemort or Harry Potter. If I did, well... a little something like this would happen.

This story was inspired by my Voldemort stuffed toy!

A/N: My god. I haven't updated this in ages. I apologize dearly for the wait. To reward you all for your patience, this chapter is relatively long in comparison to the others Well I'm back, as you can see. I reeeaaalllyy need a beta to both help me proof read the chapters AND constantly nag me to update haha.

Katzlol: Hmm… how do I explain this… While Tom wished for an equal, Harry wished for a friend. The best way for the two to get what they want was if Tom could turn into a friend that the Dursley's couldn't take away somehow (you'll see what I mean soon). If Harry had a human friend, Dudley surely would do his best to keep him clear from Harry or the Dursleys would just not allow him over or something of the like. He's a teddy bear so Harry can vent out all his problems/fears/whatnot without Tom being all "Yeah, yeah, I don't care, Muggle" (he doesn't know Harry's a wizard just yet), or something of the like. That's why he isn't allowed to talk. And well… teddies can't talk. At this point, he's just finding out who his equal is.

I rated it M for swearing and all that jazz. At the moment, there's not that much contact between Harry and Tom, well, sexually that is but they will eventually. Yes male on male contact in later chapters so if you just stumbled upon this and are a homophobe or don't like this pairing, I'd appreciate if you just moved on peacefully. I think that's all so... GERONIMO!

"Normal speech"

'Thoughts'

"Parsletongue"

"Up!" A familiar, shrill voice startled Harry and Tom the next morning. For good measure, Petunia kicked at the door. "I said get up!"

Groggily, Harry stretched and rubbed at his eyes. He could still feel the soft, downy teddy bear resting on his arm and smiled softly. It seemed so surreal that a random teddy bear had appeared out of nowhere. It must have been magic! He didn't care what Uncle Vernon thought. It seemed like the only likely explanation as to how this all happened.

But the thought of his uncle made Harry frown. What if the Dursleys found his new teddy? Surely they would snatch it away. Perhaps they would give it to Dudley or accuse poor Harry that he had stolen his cousin's toy. The older boy had so many toys, he honestly wouldn't be able to tell if he had lost one or recognise it if it wasn't in the big pile where the rest were. In the end, Harry would just get blamed and get hit at some point. That wouldn't do.

Harry could remember a year ago when Dudley had been playing with his toys in the garden. Usually, the boy wasn't allowed to go anywhere near Petunia's plants. But of course, the spoiled child had found a way to do so while the woman was nowhere in sight. While Dudley had fun running around with his plastic planes and action figures, Harry had taken it upon himself to just go about with his usually gardening chores. At the corner of his eye, he would observe his chubby cousin and occasionally Dudley would smirk and tease Harry that he would never be able to have fun like him. Freaks weren't allowed to have fun. Somehow, one of Dudley's toys had rolled into Harry's working space unnoticed. Neither Dudley nor Harry knew that it had hidden itself in the bush.

Eventually, Dudley had lost interest in the expensive toys and rushed back into the house without picking up after himself. Apparently, he had migrated into his large room and started to entertain himself with the even more extravagant computer games and forgot all about what he had left behind in the garden.

When Harry had finished pulling out the weeds, he decided he might as well pick up the toys after his cousin. Petunia shrieked when she had come up to check on what Harry was doing. From what it looked like in her perspective, Harry had stolen Dudley's belongings and was playing in the front yard. It was even worse when she had discovered the misplaced action figure near her favourite lilies.

"Don't make me come in there, boy!" This time, the voice was father away but the malice in the tone was evident. "Make us breakfast!"

Sighing, Harry pulled the covers off of his small body and looked apologetically at the bear. "I'll be right back, Teddy. Aunt Petunia wants me to make breakfast for everyone." Just as he was going to put it down, he realized that he had to hide the bear. Gingerly lifting up a corner of his mattress, Harry pulled off two loose floor boards and carefully placed it in the hole.

"When I get back, I'll give you a name!" He promised his new friend. Before he grabbed his glasses and scampered out of his little cupboard from underneath the stairs, the small boy leant down and kissed the nose of the red-eyed bear and replaced the floorboards as well as the mattress.

"Coming Aunt Petunia!"

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Tom was livid.

Waking up early in the morning was one thing but being commanded to do so was another. Who the hell did this woman think she was? What was she doing in the Slytherin boy's dormitory? Huffing, Tom thought that he had opened his eyes. Frowning, or so it felt like he did, Tom did not see the ceiling of his four poster nor did he feel the familiar cool air from being in the dungeons. Instead, it seemed like he was underneath a room underneath a staircase and the air was quite humid. Someone shifting their weight made him recall the series of events that had transpired the night before.

If he could talk, he would have groaned rather loudly.

Beside him, the small boy too had just woken up but Tom remained tucked in between the child's arms to his dismay. He would have found the boy's change of expressions amusing had he not been a teddy bear and kept there against his own will. The boy was thinking about something. Perhaps about the crazy woman that had assaulted the door to the small room.

"Don't make me come in there, boy. Make us breakfast!"

The command confused Tom and it wasn't often that he was. He had half expected the green eyed kid to make some sort of complaint like most children would do if they were forced to tend to their chores. But instead, there was a small glint of fear in the boy's eyes. What was even more puzzling was that the child looked like he could be three years old that with the tiny, lanky limbs. But then again, he could easily look younger than he actually was. Though, it wasn't possible for him to be more than five years old. Even the most stupid of people wouldn't have a five year old cook breakfast or any meal for that matter. Not only would it be unsafe for the child, the boy could potentially burn the house down. Unless the boy had been taught to cook beforehand and supervised until he was adequate. Tom's eyes were averted to the bruises that peppered his petit frame. Abuse, most likely.

How the seventeen year old Slytherin felt about that, he wasn't sure. He had never met a child who had it as bad as him much less one that was being physically abused and treated like a house elf. Tom pondered on a lot of things like ruling the world, how disgusting muggles were, and what it would feel like to torture stupid people for being so ignorant. You know, normal things. However, Tom had never thought about kids that were beaten or anything of the like. He was too focused on the vermin of the world instead of the victims of injustice.

He didn't think about people that were like him.

When the Slytherin had been younger, he used to think to himself how unfair the world was. He didn't have parents. Other kids at the orphanage avoided him because he was strange. As much as the boy hated to admit it, sometimes, he wanted them to invite him into their stupid, pointless games. At the time, he wanted to belong.

But of course, he grew up. Humans just naturally didn't like things that were out of normalcy. When he had been admitted into Hogwarts, he thought that things would be different. He believed that he would be able to find someone that was like him. Of course, it was several times better than that orphanage. At least he could delve into magic or explore the castle. But the children there still seemed to fear him. This time, it was a different sort of fear. At first, they would go on about how ridiculous it was that a half blood got put into Slytherin. It wasn't until a very dangerous outburst did they learn to respect then eventually be scared of him. Over the years, he acquired followers of sorts to help him rise to power.

It still didn't fill in the hole inside of him. He still wanted a genuine friend.

When he pictured him having a friend, Tom certainly did not think of a small boy around the age of five with vibrant green eyes, messy black hair, and round glasses. He had thought more along the lines of… honestly, he didn't picture what his ideal friend would be. Instead, he had just imagined the sort of conversations he would have with the other and how much they would have in common. He didn't care what the other would look like. Tom wanted an equal not a lover. So far the only thing that he had in common with the young child was a rather rough childhood. But because he appeared to be a muggle, that surpassed such an important common factor. All muggles were beneath him. Though, Tom did feel a strange and foreign feeling towards the boy. He didn't have the urge to be his friend. Goodness, no. He felt… certain protectiveness toward him. If Tom would have been able to, he still wouldn't whisk the child aware from his abusive masters. He would walk away from this situation but would most likely continue to think about the other boy. Maybe he would even feel guilty about doing so. Who knows? It wasn't like he could do that anyway. Tom would cross that bridge if he needed to.

"I'll be right back, Teddy. Aunt Petunia wants me to make breakfast for everyone."

Since he wasn't able to, Tom didn't bother with responding. He would be the only one to hear it anyway.

When Tom saw that the boy was prying two floorboards off, his mind was able to deduct what was about to transpire. It made sense; it wasn't like the boy would have his masters come find Tom and take the bear away from him.

That still didn't mean that he wanted to be shoved into the disgustingly dusty floor. Angrily, Tom willed with all his might for the boy to hear him. 'You are not putting me in there!' He tried with all his might to wiggle and get himself to move but of course, he couldn't. Instead, he felt himself being lowered down into the hole. If Tom could, he would have grimaced like a child who had just been scolded.

"When I get back, I'll give you a name!"

'I already have a name!' the bear wanted to scream. His inward grimace deepened even more when he felt the boy's soft lips kiss his nose. With that, he was left alone in the darkness with absolutely no way of getting out. Perhaps it was better. Maybe the people who kept the boy would tear him up to shreds if he was discovered. Even if Tom wasn't planning on dying at all, he certainly didn't want to go out being torn while he was a sodding teddy bear.

"Coming, Aunt Petunia!"

The grimace was replaced with a light frown. He was being abused by his own relatives? As little as Tom knew about familial matters, he was certain that normal families didn't hurt each other. It was common for a parent to give a light smack for discipline but that was a completely different matter than abuse. The bruises that were scattered around the boy's body were proof that someone was certainly hurting him on purpose.

Again, Tom wasn't sure if he cared about the matter or not. It wasn't as if the boy could do anything. He had more pressing matters at hand. For example, he had to find a way to turn back into a human. Seeing as the boy was gone and Tom was hidden away, surely he was going to be in his little hole for quite a while. That meant that he had a bundle of time that had been given to think about how on earth he was supposed to turn back. He wasn't sure that was even possible since he wasn't able to contact anyone.

What if this was some stupid ploy that Dumbledore had done?

It wouldn't be strange, come to think of it. The Transfiguration professor had been suspicious of him for quite some time. The man was right to think of Tom in such a way but that didn't stop the boy from detesting the old coot. It was even to the extent of fearing him. Tom had been careful with the Basilisk. After going through such great lengths to cover himself up, he was sure that the only people that would be able to know about what he had done were his Knights of Walpurgis. Much to his dismay, Dumbledore somehow had caught on to his schemes. Luckily, Tom had covered up his tracks so well; the old man had no proof and therefore could not convict the prefect.

When Tom had killed his father that summer, he had never felt so powerful. Yes, he had felt the same way when he had managed to control the basilisk and create his first horcrux but it was even better when creating his second. It was a wonderful feeling. While normal people liked to rely on others to make sure that they weren't hurt, Tom had to be independent. He had to lean on himself and by insuring his immortality, no one could touch him. Or so he thought.

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Long, dull hours had passed and the boy still had not returned to small little room. Even if Tom was not able to see if the boy had come back, he still would have been able to hear him. Tom had assumed that since he was forced to cook for whoever resided in the house, he was most likely off to do even more chores. Tom was only glad that he had to do no such things.

Occasionally, strange sounds would interrupt Tom's train of thoughts. He would hear heavy footsteps trump down the stairs and voices outside the door. From what he had gathered, there were three people that lived with the green eyed boy. There was a stern, gruff voice of a man, the shrill and annoy voice of the woman, and a high and whiny voice of another boy. At first, Tom thought that the two adults kept both boys as slaves of some sort. But soon after hearing the other boy's voice for the first time, the thought was quickly demolished.

He had been whining about how stupid his toys were and how he had grown out of them. Judging by how he was addressing the matter, it was obvious that the child was spoiled rotten. It made Tom wonder why his smaller companion was being mistreated. Perhaps it was because he was the nephew. The more annoying boy was obviously the son since he addressed the two adults as "Mummy" and "Dad" while Harry had called the woman "Aunt Petunia".

It didn't take much of their talking for Tom to block out their voices. He didn't want to listen in on their petty conversations no matter how bored he was. Instead, he pictured how they would look as if that was any more productive.

Judging by how heavily the stairs would creak every time the man would walk up them it was only obvious that the male was rather large. Must have been ugly too. The man would have disgusting wrinkles and fat rolls that were even on his face. He would have eaten so much junk that the beast would even be balding.

Whenever the woman passed by, he could hear the floor squeak slightly but it wasn't like her husband. In fact, he could hardly hear her pass by at all. He wouldn't know she would unless she was speaking. So 'Petunia' must have been those dreadfully skin types. Surely she would be the one making all the appearances to the public. She would be ugly too. Her nose would be too big on her face and the bones under her eyebrows would protrude out of her skull making her look like some cavewoman.

Their son was rather easy to picture. He would simply be a smaller version of his father combined with his mother's horrid bone structure.

Tom wasn't exactly sure why he was making all these people particularly grotesque. It was amusing, that was for sure. But it certainly wasn't because he wanted to make them ugly just because they were mistreating that boy!

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Sometime after inwardly sniggering at how he had imagined the people to look, Tom had fallen asleep. There wasn't much else he could do anyway. After an hour of attempting movement, he had just gotten too tired.

Slowly, Tom had woken up expecting to feel the dirty, cold wood of the hole in the floor to surround him as it did when he initially fell asleep. Instead, he felt a familiar duvet covering his legs, a flat pillow under his head, and the bed creaking under his weight.

'What?' he thought to himself. He almost voiced his thoughts aloud but decided against it. He didn't want to raise question in his dorm mates should they wake up.

Had the whole ordeal been a dream? It would have explained much it had been. However, even for a dream, that one was rather peculiar. Most of the visions he had at night were flash backs of his earlier years at the orphanage. They also were not as vivid as that one. To Tom, it seemed like one of those dreams that psychologists would dissect. Around the orphanage, he had listened to girls go on about foolish books that claimed to decipher one's inner person with a dream. It was a strange way to try to get to know oneself. Tom knew his dreams and he wasn't able to settle himself by acknowledge what had happened as such. Yes, the boy was rather glad that he was able to move himself again but he couldn't help but still suspect Dumbledore was behind all this. Dream or not, perhaps the old man had slipped him a potion in order to make him feel some form of compassion for another human.

Checking the time, Tom realized how ungodly of an hour it was. It was five in the morning. While Tom was never much of a morning person, he wondered how on earth he was conscious at all at that moment. No matter, it was the perfect time.

Getting up, he was again grateful that he had a room himself. Either way, he wouldn't have cared if the other boys would have woken up. Tom gathered his belongings without so much an attempt at being quiet. Even if there was a possibility of the boys in the other room hearing him, he didn't bother with doing his best to let them sleep. There were more important things to worry about.

After showering quickly and getting dressed, Tom made his way to the Transfiguration Professor's headquarters by the time it was six o'clock. Whether or not the man was still asleep, Tom deemed it as unimportant. Slipping an unwanted potion into someone's drink was illegal not to mention annoying. Though, Tom wouldn't be able to testify being innocent in committing such a crime.

It didn't take long for Tom to navigate himself to the flamboyant wizard's chambers. The area was Tom's prefect nightly routes which the boy didn't think was a coincidence.

If he had it his way, Tom would have stormed in without knocking. He'd begin to accuse and would demand to know what the old fool had done to him. Not only would there be a possibility of Dumbledore –Merlin forbid– being indecent if Tom were to stride in but it would be a shamefully Gryffindor thing to do. So instead, Tom patiently knocked on the door but firmly enough to signify his urgency.

As if he was expecting someone, the professor opened the door a mere second after Tom had ceased to knock and let the boy in without question. Tom almost sneered. The way he saw it, Dumbledore was making no attempt to hide what he had done.

"Tea, my boy?" Was the first thing Tom was asked as soon as he had entered the chambers. Much like the way Dumbledore dressed, the area was eccentric and expressed the man very much so. The furniture was old fashioned but were jewel coloured. Tom couldn't help but suspect that the carpets that were lying on the stone floor were magical and could fly –despite magic carpets being illegal. Strange trinkets decorated the room. They looked expensive enough to be significant but not quaint enough to hold no meaning.

"No thank you, sir." Tom watched cautiously as the man decided to pour himself a cup with several spoons of sugar. A second after, Dumbledore gestured at a chair in front of the one he was on for the boy to sit down. Tom did.

"What brings you here at this time, Mr. Riddle?" He took a small sip from the cup, "I'd imagine that this must be urgent?"

"I," Tom paused and made sure to word things carefully, "I came to enquire about certain potions that would cause people to have certain dreams?"

Dumbledore's expression was difficult to read. To the untrained mind, he looked as if he was merely helping a student out with a mere potions question. However, Tom knew better. Even if Dumbledore had nothing to do with the matter, he would still be suspicious as to why Tom would ask such a thing.

"Ah, yes. There are such potions, my boy." The future headmaster nodded with his usual twinkling eyes and Tom almost sneered at the vagueness but expected no less. "There are many variations to something of the sort. Some can cause nightmares to those whom one dislikes. Some can dreams pleasant. Others can be manipulated at direction."

It was if the two were studying each other for sport. It was rather comedic how the two would stare in silence for brief moments. The moments were never too long, however.

"You see, sir," Tom kept his gaze steady. "I have a slight suspicion that one of the students in the other houses has been feeding one of my roommates this certain potion. He's getting rather loud at nights lately and I begin to worry."

"I see." Dumbledore nodded once more. "As much as I am grateful that you feel that you are able to approach me about such matters, why, Mr. Riddle, did you not go to Professor Slughorn? This query is in his field and he is your house's head, after all."

"Because, sir," Tom started to frown, "I have another question with regards to transfiguration. I assumed that you would know answers to both questions so I wouldn't have to bother with going back and forth."

"Ah, yes. Understandable. "What is your second enquiry?"

"I assume it is possible to transfigure someone into an inanimate object but it would take a lot of magic to do so as well as transporting someone to another place, yes?" Tom didn't mention that the 'inanimate object' in question was a teddy bear.

"Yes, of course."

"But would transfiguring someone into said object –without a possible chance of changing back since they remain inanimate– and transporting them into a dangerous place?"

"Yes, of course, Mr. Riddle. I was under the impression that you could answer such questions on your own." Tom could tell that Dumbledore was simply taunting him.

"Because, sir," Tom's tolerance was wearing thing, "I would like to know what the point of all said variables would be if someone were to move the transfigured object into a Muggle residence of peculiar attributes."

Tom was just waiting for Dumbledore to just avoid the question and ask him what sort of attributes he was speaking of. But to his surprise, Dumbledore gave a more useful, albeit vague, answer.

"While one needs companion ship, the other craves understanding. One must analyse their own desires, Tom. Should those desires coincide with needs, our other desires must be let go."

Tom processed the words and almost let his sarcasm obvious, "I shall take that into consideration as I am sure it is relevant."

"Indeed." The glint in the man's eyes remained there. "Is that all, Mr. Riddle?"

"Quite." Relieved that the discussion was nearing its end, he got up, muttered thanks to the professor and showed his way out.

"Perhaps it would be prudent to focus more on travelling instead of the transfiguration, Mr. Riddle. It seems like the more vital part of the process." Dumbledore said with finality before closing the door before Tom could respond.

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After having hot oil spring from the frying pan onto his skin, Harry got a nasty blister on his arm. Dudley had jeered at Harry's yelping then said that the freak deserved it when his mother asked what was so funny. His uncle smirked at Harry while Petunia told him to continue cooking. The best he could do to take care of the nearly acquired blister was wipe the hot oil off. It had stung a lot but his relatives had not given him a chance to mend it. From the look of his aunt, Harry believed that she was battling internally with herself after seeing the boy. However, when she caught his glance, she sneered and told him that they couldn't wait all day.

Briefly, Harry was allowed a break after he had cleaned the dishes after the Dursleys had eaten while he only had a few scraps. Initially, he had wanted to go visit his friend in the cupboard but he knew that a little fun would have to wait. He really needed to run his blister with cold water or better yet, put ice on it. He would have done that before he had eaten but he knew that he would only be allowed food while the family ate. He was never allowed to eat on his own.

After five minutes of cooling down underneath the tap, Petunia ordered him to go straight to the gardens. She never gave him gloves to protect his small hands nor did he have shoes that were good quality. That made his job outside considerably harder as well as uncomfortable. Thankfully, it wasn't terribly hot that day so Harry didn't have to deal with sweating too much.

A new batch of blisters peppering his hands and feet later, the sun was already starting to set. Petunia made sure to that Harry had gotten rid of every single weed and add in more seeds. Finally finished, he tiredly entered the house for dinner. He was glad that he was not allowed to cook supper. Harry never understood why he had to cook at all. He wasn't amazing. Actually, he wasn't even good at cooking. But Harry didn't realize that it was because he was only five years old. To him, he just wasn't good at something. Aunt Petunia was a much better cook. He had remembered when she had taught him the ropes of the stove the year prior. She had made very delicious soup for everyone while Harry had only managed to make wonky salads. That was when he was ordered to cook breakfast. That way, he only had to handle simple flap jacks and sausages instead of pork chops or anything of the like.

Petunia had made chicken that night and as usual, Harry got the smallest bits while Vernon and Dudley would gobble down their food like the pigs they were. Even if he had a large portion of the chicken, he would have likely lost his appetite from the sight that was in front of him.

Dudley's chubby cheeks were plastered with orange sauce. The napkin that was tied around his neck served no purpose since he didn't bother wiping his mouth off on it. When the boy did, he would use his poor sweater's sleeves. Why Petunia bothered with good quality clothes on her son was a mystery to Harry.

Vernon who wasn't unlike his son's build, had too drumsticks clasped into each hand. His eyes squinted every time he bit into his food and would chew loudly and with his mouth wide open. The entire time, Harry kept his head down so he wouldn't have to see the disgusting site in front of him.

Petunia, on the other hand, only had a handful of food more than Harry. She was watching her figure, she would always say. A respectable man should be a respectable size. But a proper lady must watch what she consumes. Instead of the monstrous bites that her son and husband took into their pieces of chicken, the woman would take small nibbles and kept her back straight. A woman must always eat like she had a secret; Harry had caught her saying once. She ate the slowest out of the whole group. Harry ate quickly only out of fear that if he did something wrong, he would have taken in most of his food in case they would threaten to take away the rest from him. It happened quite often really.

The first time it happened, Harry was only three years old and he had spilled a bit of milk while he was drinking it. Petunia screeched because they had just gotten that tablecloth a week ago. Looking back, it was a ridiculous reason to be punished for. Weren't tablecloths meant to protect the wood of the table? So wouldn't that mean that they would have to get dirty anyway? But of course, Harry had no say in the matter and Vernon jerked Harry's plate from underneath him and gave Harry's food to Dudley. Harry frowned and nearly cried because he had hardly eaten anything.

At seeing the boy's reaction, Vernon smirked and thought it to be a very good spontaneous punishment so he continued snatching Harry's food. He would get punished anything. Once he got caught staring at the way Vernon would take down his food. The man didn't like the way he was being looked at so he took the rest. Once, Dudley kicked Harry for no reason. Petunia heard the thump underneath the table and raised her eyebrow at Harry. They always assumed that it was him causing the problem. Or course, his cousin blamed it on him and to Dudley's delight, the chubby boy got the rest of Harry's meal.

That night, Harry was lucky enough to actually eat his entire meal. However, he felt sick from shoving the food into his mouth so fast. At least he wasn't hungry anymore. The small boy made his way to his cupboard underneath the stairs but was careful not to rush himself otherwise he'd hurl. It took a lot of his self-control to not run along.

He was, after all excited to finally see his new friend. During all his chores, he had decided upon a name. It took much thought; the name had to be perfect. At first, he had considered calling the bear the generic "Teddy" but decided against it. He wouldn't want his friend to have such a common name. Eventually, Harry concluded with Blinker. He remembered when he first looked at the bear and its red eyes were very unique. He would have been scared if the rest of the plush bear wasn't so cute.

Crawling through the tiny door, Harry whispered, "Hey guess what? I've come up for a name for you!"

For some reason, he waited for a response and actually got worried but not because he didn't get one. Something felt wrong. With haste, Harry shut the door behind him and pulled his mattress off the floorboards that were hiding Blinker.

"Blinker?" his face faltered at the sight of an empty hole. The teddy bear wasn't there. A wave of feelings hit him. Inwardly, he cursed at himself for being such a baby. It was just a toy after all. Even if it was his first toy, it shouldn't matter that much to him anyway. Though, it did feel special because a star had given it to him.

Maybe the star was only to grant him a temporary wish. Perhaps Harry was only allowed to sleep with his teddy for one night and that was all? Harry lay in bed with the single light bulb off leaving him in the darkness with his thoughts. His heart sunk at the next possibility. What if the star meant to give Harry a friend but took away Blinker because Harry didn't treat the bear right? He did, after all shove the poor thing into a dark, dirty hole.

Laying there for almost an hour, Harry thought of even more scenarios and mentally beat himself up for losing his only friend. A special friend, no less. When he fell asleep, he felt even lonelier than he had ever felt before.

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It had been an excruciatingly long day for Tom. Not only did he have to juggle his homework and his followers, he had spent all of his free time researching in the library. He hadn't found much. Most of the things that Tom came across, he knew already. For once, he followed Dumbledore's advice and researched several ways to transport someone. Tom could have been transfigured then got side-along apparated but he hadn't been able to see anyone. When he had reached what seemed to be the desired destination, he was only with that Muggle boy. Perhaps he touched a portkey that was jinxed to transfigure him while he travelled. That made the most sense. However, Tom didn't come up with these ideas from books. When he couldn't find anything new in the books, he resulted in staring blankly at a book and pretended to read so people wouldn't stare and begin to think of possible situation. After much frustration, he decided to go to sleep. The library was going to close in ten minutes anyway.

"While one needs companion ship, the other craves understanding. One must analyse their own desires, Tom. Should those desires coincide with needs, our other desires must be let go." The old coot had said. What was that supposed to mean? The boy still didn't even know if the whole scenario was a dream or something else. The only thing that Tom was sure of was that without a doubt, Dumbledore had done something to him. The old man must be trying to teach him a life lesson of sorts. The thing was, Tom didn't want to learn a bloody life lesson especially not from Dumbledore.

Tom replayed the memory in his head while he lay in bed but the word that stuck out the most to him was 'desire'. Perhaps it really did have something to with that potion with Slughorn. But he failed to believe that something as simple as a wishing potion could transfigure a teenage boy and teleport him somewhere. Tom frowned in thought. Before he fell asleep, he promised to go search in the library once more the next morning.