To Kill You With A Kiss

~Chapter 2~

Author's Note: Thank you for all the encouraging reviews and comments! Love to hear from you!

...

"Serpentigena!" Tom Riddle spoke softly to the serpent on the door. "Make sure you remember this password, Elias," he added as the door to the Slytherin common room swung open before them.

Harry nodded silently. Serpentigena? Serpent-born? That should be easy enough to remember, my Dark Lord.

The Slytherin common room of this time was not all that different from the way Harry recalled it from his brief visit during his second year at Hogwarts. The cavernous room had the same air of refined decadence he remembered. The dark green couches were plush and opulent, and the baroque chairs were adorned with twisting serpentine carvings and rich moss-colored velvets. There were too many skulls about for Harry's liking: real skulls displayed on shelves and low tables, and silver ones woven into the tapestries, caressed by embroidered serpents. Ornate silver lamps with malachite shades cast the room in a soft green light. Glass bottles filled with liquid of an unnatural emerald hue glittered among the ancient volumes that filled the book shelves. Absinthe? No, more likely to be some vile poison... In a corner of the common room, two young wizards were playing a silent game of knucklebones with what looked horribly like real bones.

A hush fell over the room as Harry entered with Tom Riddle. Tom Riddle may be only a year older than some of these students, but he is already more than a professor in their eyes. How they look at him, these future death eaters, as if they already glimpse the Dark Lord he will become...

"This," said Tom Riddle, his voice clear in the sudden silence, "is the new seventh year student you were told about, Elias Black. I am pleased to inform you that he was sorted into Slytherin House, and I ask you to do your utmost to make him feel welcome. Mr. Black is new to Hogwarts, but not, it seems, to the study of the Dark Arts."

All at once, Harry found himself surrounded by dark-robed students who shook his hand and welcomed him. He could not keep track of all the names and faces, but some were familiar to him: Abraxas Malfoy, flaxen-haired and grey-eyed like Draco. The square-jawed and muscular Tiberius McLaggen. The haughty raven-haired Druella Rosier, so like her yet unborn daughter Bellatrix that Harry flinched.

A girl with brilliant sapphire eyes introduced herself as Araminta Meliflua. Harry thought for a moment that she looked rather sweet for a Slytherin; then he recalled with a shock why her name was so familiar to him: Sirius had once mentioned her campaign to make Muggle hunting legal.

There were several Blacks among the Slytherins. The quiet Alphard Black was in Harry's year, while Alphard's brother Cygnus and their cousin Orion were a year younger. Alphard Black. You must be Sirius' favorite uncle... Years from now, your name will be blasted off the family tree. How odd to think that some of the students I am meeting are already dead. They are only alive inside this memory. Harry took an immediate liking to Orion, Sirius' father, whose wild black curls and mischievous eyes were reminiscent of his unborn son. Cygnus, one of the knuckle-bone players, was the most handsome of the three Blacks, but there was something hard in his eyes that Harry did not care for. I can see your future daughters Bellatrix and Narcissa in your beautiful and cruel features, but how on earth will you and Druella produce the sweet Andromeda?

A pale girl was sitting by herself in the corner. She did not get up to greet him as the others did, but her dark, inscrutable eyes lingered on Harry's face. She seemed strangely familiar, but it took a moment before Harry realized who she was: Eileen Prince. Snape's future mother. Years from now, she will give birth to a murderer...

"Another Black?" Cygnus' dark eyes swept over Harry. "How exactly are you related to the rest of us, Elias? And why aren't you named after a constellation, like the other Blacks?"

I don't know the answers to your questions any more than you do, long-dead Cygnus Black. I don't know who named me. I don't even know whose memory this is, or how I came to be in it.

Harry merely shrugged. "My parents are long gone," he said finally. "Never had the chance to ask them about my name. But it is not true that all Blacks are named after constellations. Phineas Nigellus Black, for one, was not."

A quiet murmur ran through the room. Cygnus nodded briefly, and the shadow of a smile danced across his face for a moment. "True, Elias," he said quietly. "Phineas Nigellus Black was a great wizard indeed, a true Black, and a man of many secrets. Perhaps your deceased father was one of them. We have been told not to ask too many questions. Very well, I will not ask. It's enough for me that you are a Black, and a Slytherin."

"Of course you are a Slytherin." It was Abraxas Malfoy who spoke. The resemblance to his unborn grandson Draco was striking, but Abraxas wore his white-gold hair longer, like a halo of light around his face, and his features were softer than Draco's. "Your eyes are as green as those of the serpent on the door."

Tom Riddle laughed. "Well spotted, Mr. Malfoy. I had wondered why he seemed so curiously familiar to me..."

Harry glanced up at the young man by his side. The future Dark Lord's face was pale in the flickering green light. How beautiful he is, just like the viridian poison in those bottles on the shelf.

But Tom Riddle's laughter felt like a stab to Harry's heart. A sudden white flame of hatred surged through his body. I have my mother's eyes, Tom Riddle, and if I seem familiar to you, it is because you will one day look into her eyes as you murder her. I wonder if memories can die? If they can, I will make sure you won't live to set eyes upon her in the future... Harry turned away from Riddle, but every nerve in his body was aware of his presence. Harry sensed, with an odd sense of satisfaction, the sudden shock that ran through Riddle's mind. He can feel it now. He can sense how I feel about him at this moment. But he is confused; he does not understand why I hate him so much.

"Let me show you the dormitory, Elias." Harry was too preoccupied with the future Voldemort to object to being touched by a Malfoy. Abraxas had grasped his arm and began to steer him through a black marble arch to the dormitory. Harry glanced back over his shoulder. Several students smiled at him, and Araminta gave him a cheerful little wave. But Tom Riddle stood frozen by the door, his face white as snow. His silvery glance met Harry's for an instant, and an image of Tom Riddle as a small boy in a dreary orphanage flashed into Harry's mind uninvited. Lonely. He feels lonely.

"Good night, Elias." Tom Riddle's voice was odd and distant.

"Good night, Professor Riddle." Harry's own voice sounded strange too, as if it belonged to someone else.

The Slytherin boys' dormitory was much as Harry had imagined it: Enormous black four poster beds with silver sheets were lined up in neat rows, and the wallpaper was dark green with silver serpents. Too many serpents.

There were no windows, no sunlight, just flickering green lamps and ornate silver mirrors along the wall. Harry caught a glimpse of his own pale face in one of the silver ovals. It was a relief to see his familiar scar; for a moment he had half expected to see the face of the unknown Elias.

A large trunk was waiting for him by his bed. Where had it come from? Were the things in it his, or did they belong to Elias Black, whoever he may be? The son of Phineas Nigellus Black's secret love child, by the sounds of it... I wonder who my mysterious "guardian" is, who wrote to the headmaster on my behalf? Did he send my trunk here, too? Is this his memory? Was he the one who bewitched this recollection to become so strangely real?

To his relief, Harry found a decent-looking broomstick under the robes in his trunk. A vintage Silver Arrow? Apparently, his nameless guardian had a fine taste in broomsticks.

"You play Quidditch?" Abraxas Malfoy's grey eyes lit up. "Are you any good?"

Harry smiled. "Not bad. But I expect all the spots on the Slytherin team are taken."

"They were. But then that idiot MacFarlan went and got himself expelled."

"Expelled?" Not Hamish MacFarlan, the future captain of the Montrose Magpies? "Er.. What for?"

Abraxas flung himself down on his bed with a deep sigh. "Oh, just a silly prank. He petrified Professor Kettleburn, just for a lark, so we would miss one of those tedious Care of Magical Creatures classes. MacFarlan's idea was to leave him petrified in the forest just until class was over and then come back and revive him. How was he supposed to know that Kettleburn had just brought out a dragon to show us?"

"A dragon?" This definitely didn't sound good. "What happened?"

"Oh, the dragon got loose and found Professor Kettleburn lying around in the forest and chomped his arm off. Rough on old Kettleburn, of course, but it was an accident. The headmaster threw a fit, though, and expelled the best seeker we've had in years."

"Oh... Seeker, did you say?" Harry's heart fluttered a little.

"Seriously?" Abraxas raised his golden head hopefully. "You play seeker? I'm the captain of the accursed Slytherin team, but I haven't been able to find a decent seeker to replace MacFarlan for the life of me. I had almost resigned myself to Alphard, but he's really bad. Sometimes I think he actually wants Gryffindor to win. Cygnus and Orion are good, of course, but I need them as beaters. I even toyed with the idea of trying Araminta. She's not very experienced, but at least she doesn't fall off her broom like Alphard. And she might be able to distract Lupin with those eyes of hers."

"Lupin?" Harry felt something warm inside at the sound of the familiar name. Remus' father, perhaps?

"John Lupin. The Gryffindor seeker. He's really good, damn him! But he's got a weak spot for Araminta's sapphire eyes, anyone can see that. It's not like he can ask her out, of course; he knows the Slytherins would kill him if he tried. So he just lurks around in the shadows, glancing at her in secret, like he wants to eat her up..." Abraxas grimaced. "Lupin and the Belle of Slytherin... What an appalling thought."

Harry couldn't help but agree. Remus is a half-blood, isn't he? Whoever Remus' mother was, she was definitely not Araminta. He tried to recall who Draco's grandmother was, but he couldn't remember. Could she have been Araminta? "Are you... er... interested in Araminta yourself?" he asked delicately.

"What?" Abraxas Malfoy looked slightly taken aback for a moment. Then he grinned. "Oh, no. I'm... I'm not much of a ladies' man. Completely immune to the magic of Araminta's admittedly lovely eyes. Sapphire is not really my color anyway. Emerald is the Slytherin color, you know..." His voice trailed off, and he got abruptly up from his bed. There was a slight flush on his cheeks now. "Let's play some Quidditch in the morning, so I can see if you are any good."

Harry agreed willingly. All in all, he reflected as he finished unpacking his trunk, Abraxas Malfoy is an improvement over his unborn descendants. Too bad that he will be the one to die of dragon pox... If only it had been Draco. Or Lucius...

...

Harry managed to sneak out to the grounds for a few minutes by himself before dinner. Dusk was beginning to fall over the familiar landscape, and the shadows had deepened to a dark blue. He inhaled the crisp autumn air and tried to rid his mind of the mesmerizing green-hued atmosphere of the Slytherin dungeon.

Harry Potter, now sorted into Slytherin. Harry Potter, the Dark Lord's new student... Whose memory is this? And how can someone remember these strange things that never were? I seem to be able to move about in this memory at will; I can speak to others and influence them. Am I changing the past by doing so? Am I changing someone's memory of what happened?

Perhaps I am trapped inside the memories of a madman? Perhaps this is the twisted recollection of someone who spent his days on the closed ward at St. Mungo's, unable to tell reality from his own bizarre delusions?

When will this memory come to an end? Will I ever find my way out, or am I trapped in this time forever? Am I here for a reason?

The image of Tom Riddle's pale face rose in his recollection. Voldemort. Perhaps I am here to kill Voldemort. Perhaps someone has devised a way for me to go back in time and stop him before it is too late...

He searched in his pocket. His fingers closed around his own familiar holly wand from the future. Will a magic wand from the real world be able to affect this memory?

He pulled out the wand and flicked it hopefully: "Expecto patronum!"

A brilliant silver form sprang from his wand, and Harry watched in relief as the shimmering stag ran over the darkening Hogwarts grounds. If my wand can do that inside this memory, I should be able to do other magic as well.

His glance fell on a small spider on the grass. It sat there, immovable, barely visible in the gathering twilight. Harry pointed his wand at it.

"Ava..." His hand began to tremble. Oh, come on! I can do this! It's only a spider. It's barely sentient. If I can't kill a spider, how will I ever destroy Voldemort?

He took a deep breath and tried again: "Avada kedavra..." The words sounded strange in his mouth.

The spider remained motionless for a moment, then scuttled off into the bushes at a vigorous speed.

"It would be easier just to step on it, you know," said a voice behind him.

Harry spun around and found himself face to face with a smiling Albus Dumbledore. Dumbledore was a great deal younger now than Harry was used to seeing him. His hair and beard were still auburn rather than white, but his blue eyes twinkled merrily behind the half-moon spectacles as they had always done.

"It's good to see you, Professor!" Harry smiled at the man whose funeral he had attended a few short days ago.

"It's good to see you too, Elias," said the future headmaster pleasantly. "I hope you are settling in well here at Hogwarts. Er... I take it you don't care for spiders?"

"I'm not Elias," said Harry without thinking. "I'm Harry. Harry Potter."

Dumbledore blinked. "I see. Harry Potter? The headmaster said that your name is Elias. How very odd." He shook his head slowly. "You know, there is something strangely familiar about you."

Harry looked into the kind, familiar face, and the words came tumbling out: "Of course there is, headmaster. We know each other well, you and I, in the future. You will become headmaster of Hogwarts, and I will be your student, years from now. My parents will be killed by Tom Riddle, who will become a terrifying dark wizard and call himself Voldemort. He was the one who gave me this scar, when his killing curse failed to destroy me. He and his followers will instigate a reign of terror, and many lives will be lost. You yourself will be murdered by Severus Snape, Eileen Prince's son, after Abraxas Malfoy's grandson fails to do it. But there is a prophecy about Tom Riddle and me that says that one of us will kill the other in the end. I must stop him, but I don't know how. He will commit several murders, and after each, he will create a horcrux where he will conceal a part of his splintered soul. He can only be killed once all the horcruxes are destroyed, but I don't know where they are. I went to your office after your death, and I found a memory of the past, a memory of this time, and now I seem to be trapped inside it. I don't understand how I came to be here, but I thought that perhaps you had something to do with it."

Albus Dumbledore stood completely still for what appeared to be an eternity. Then he said softly: "What an extraordinary story, Harry. It would be quite convenient for me at this moment to assume that you are insane, but you said some things that ring true. I fear for Tom Riddle. I think... Yes, I think he has the capacity to become what you say he will be." He closed his eyes. "Tell me something, Harry, something small and insignificant that you have come to learn about me in the future, something that can help me decide whether this can be true."

Harry thought for a moment. "You like raspberry jam, and you believe that love is the strongest magic of all. You believe that it is our choices that make us what we are, and you like Muggle knitting patterns. You will turn down the position of Minister of Magic and teach at Hogwarts till you die. You told me that the magical Mirror of Erised, which shows our heart's deepest desire, showed you a pair of warm socks, but you lied. And you once said that music is a magic beyond anything we do at Hogwarts."

Dumbledore laughed. "Yes, that does sound like me, my boy. You leave me no choice but to believe your strange tale, Harry. I wonder about the name "Elias"... As a boy, I immersed myself in the fantastic tales of Elias Lönnrot. Now, that was magic! I promised myself that if I ever had a son, I would name him "Elias"..."

"But you never did have a son..." said Harry softly.

"No, I never did. I'm not... a marrying man, you see. But perhaps I was somehow the one who named you, my young friend from the future... I have no recollection of doing so, though."

"Perhaps your future self manipulated this memory of the past somehow?"

"Perhaps... That sounds like something I would do, doesn't it?" Dumbledore stood silent for a moment. "It's getting late, Harry. It's time to go to dinner. We have a great deal, I think, to discover, you and I. I probably shouldn't ask you too much about the future... Just tell me one thing: Will Puddlemere United ever beat the Chudley Cannons?"

Harry had to laugh. "Often and thoroughly."

Dumbledore beamed. "Ah, then I believe there is still hope for the future of the world."