A/N: I don't really like this chapter, to be honest. It's got a lot of book events mentioned in it and I like to keep this fic a little separate from canon usually, although technically it's running on the same timeline. It's complicated.

Also – big apology to LSSU for updating while she's having computer trouble! Sorry, kiddo!

I know – I'll dedicate this chapter to her. We even now?

Enjoy!

Harry was absolutely bouncing with joy. Neither Evan nor Tom could properly contain him, and had thus given up on any lessons for the day. He was coming along quite nicely, now – able to do basic spells wandlessly with Parselmagic and progressing only a little behind the first years in his attempt to master their spells without using the language of snakes. Evan seemed quite delighted by Harry's talent with dark magic and how clear it was that it came easier to him than what the Hogwarts students called 'light' magic and what Evan and Tom tended to refer to as 'mundane' magic.

But today, Harry didn't care if what Hogwarts was teaching was mundane. Today, he was grateful for Hogwarts and excited that even half of him could be attending such a glorious school.

Today, was his first real game of Quidditch. It was a match against Slytherin, and while it was slightly deterring that everyone else in his head was rooting for the other team, Harry didn't let it bring him down. He had fully mastered seeing through the other Harry's eyes now – he could feel what he felt, the sensation of his robes brushing against his skin, of water dripping down his face. It was only in the past forty-eight hours that he'd gotten a mastery of the skill and so today for the first time, he was going to experience flight! He didn't even care who won! He was going to soar through the sky on a broomstick!

Just before the game began, Harry sat in front of the television, closed his eyes, and let himself slip through the thick foggy veil that separated him from himself. When he opened his eyes again, he was kicking off from the ground and flying through the air. He shouted, delighted, feeling the wind blowing through his hair and his robes billowing behind him as he zipped around. Oh! This was joyful.

Shortly into the game, however, he did see how this particular sport was a bit problematic. Especially against a team as cunning as today's opposing force. The Slytherins were ruthless to say the least. He was bumped and badgered and more than once almost knocked out of the sky to his death, all for the sake of a little golden flying ball.

Still, competitive by nature, he soldiered on, and caught sight of the fluttering thing. He zoomed after it, increasing speed and propelling forward. His decisions were not entirely his own, he knew, but clearly his thoughts and desired motions were synonymous with those of the other Harry during this game, because he felt as if he was really playing himself. He'd almost reached the snitch when the Slytherin seeker slammed into him. Unlike the previous offenses against him, this one was penalized. Still, it was far from the end and the match had just begun. When the real trouble began, it wasn't from any physical assault that he could see.

This time the attack did knock him off of his broom, though he managed to keep an arm on somehow and hang there. Something was making the device go haywire, and although he knew it was nonsensical, Harry thought that the magical battering felt the tiniest, tiniest bit like Tom. He couldn't quite put a finger on it, but it didn't stop him from screaming out into his mind.

"TOM STOP IT I'M DYING!" He shouted, but the words did not reach the other Harry's lips – for they were not his. Instead, they echoed around Harry's own head, and in a moment he could hear Tom's calm reply.

"I'm not doing it, boy. Now let me concentrate on not getting you pelted off your damn broom."

Oh. So that's how he was managing to keep hold even though it felt impossible. Tom was helping him. That must also be how he was feeling the elder boy's magic. It must have been.

When the broom stopped acting up, he didn't give himself any time to wonder what had saved him, he saw the snitch and pelted towards it, crash landing into the ground and feeling immediately as if he had to heave up something very large from the back of his throat. He coughed several times, and gagged – and there it was, the golden snitch. He'd almost swallowed it.

Gryffindor won the match and Harry retreated back into his mind, just as happy as he'd been before, paying no attention to Evan's sulking about Slytherin's loss or Tom's brooding over whoever had tried to kill him. Well, if Harry was to be honest, he was struck with the distinct impression that Tom was not quite upset at Harry's almost-death, more-so the who of it. He didn't think for one single moment that Tom really didn't know who had cursed his broom. Although, he wasn't as quick as his other self to immediately pin the blame on Snape.

He greatly enjoyed Quidditch, and even more enjoyed that on days when he played, Tom and Evan didn't bother with trying to teach him anything. During one game, when he caught the snitch within the first five minutes of play, Evan was forced to be happy for him instead of the opposing team, despite his hatred for Gryffindors.

As fall bled into winter and winter to spring, the other Harry became more and more obsessed with all of this business with the three-headed dog and Nicholas Flamel's stone. Harry couldn't be bothered to care about all that, and felt more and more estranged from the other part of his mind, though all the while, closer to Ron and Hermione. It was a ridiculous thought, since they didn't even know him – or the real him, anyway – but he truly considered them to be his best friends. He enjoyed spending time with them through the other Harry's eyes, even if they were only studying or bickering or sleuthing about trying to solve mysteries that were truly none of their business.

He even adored Hagrid, despite his sub-par intelligence and un-groomed stature. Which is why he was quite excited when given the opportunity to provide a better life for the dragon Norbert, even though he wasn't enjoying the detention thus far.

He was walking through the forest with Neville, Draco, and Hagrid, tracking an injured unicorn. Tom had said that the experience of this detention might be educational, so he should at least watch it on the television even if he didn't choose to fully indulge. So Harry watched, even though he didn't really care about unicorns one way or another. They were beautiful, he supposed. However, he found it a bit absurd to think of an entire species as a symbol of innocence and purity. What made them any more pure than a dolphin or a gorilla? They were animals, one way or another. He didn't believe all of Hagrid's tripe about how drinking the blood would give you a half-life and all that rot.

But then he saw. It was a cloaked figure, bent over the unicorn's body, slurping away. It was the most prominent moment that Harry had so thoroughly experienced something differently from his other self. He shut his eyes and was immediately staring at the hooded thing himself, needing to see it more clearly. He could feel the other Harry's pain, the way his scar burned and hissed with agony, but he himself was… strangely adoring of the feeling. The power of this mysterious shape bent over the white beast was radiating in waves, rippling over his skin and tingling his nerves. Even as he felt the body he was possessing try to back up and flee, every molecule of his body wanted to get closer. He felt familiar with this person – if it was a person. As if they'd been with him forever and yet he was meeting them for the very first time after being apart for much too long.

All too soon he was "rescued" by what he knew to be a centaur. He'd never seen one before outside of books that Tom showed him. Suddenly needing to see Tom, he retreated back into his own portion of his mind. Evan was flushed, and taking deep breaths, and Tom was smirking at the death eater coyly when Harry arrived back in his own headspace. He flung himself into the red eyed man's arms, squeezing tightly until the bubble in his chest that had formed when he first came upon the fallen unicorn and it's predator was relieved.

He could still hear the television, assaulting his ears with too-loud facts that ate away at his mind as soon as he learned them.

"That was the Dark Lord?" He asked, murmuring into Tom's neck and slightly shifting his head against the man's shoulder. "Don't lie to me Tom, please, please just tell me the truth," He begged.

"It was Voldemort, yes." Tom admitted, looking like it didn't pain him at all to admit such a thing, "How do you find him?" He asked, eyes gleaming with excitement that Harry didn't understand.

"Oh, Tom…" He grinned, "His power is exquisite. Like nothing I have ever felt!"

The Gaunt boy laughed at that, petting Harry's hair, "You have not felt much yet, sweet child." He reminded him, "That was not even a quarter of Lord Voldemort's true strength."

It passed briefly through Harry's mind that Tom was the only person affiliated with the dark side of the war that he'd ever heard saying Voldemort's name. No one – No one else, was ever caught calling him by his name. Ever. Harry just pinned it onto his mental list of reasons that Tom Gaunt was most certainly not who he claimed to be. Harry wondered if he was the Dark Lord's consort. Maybe that's why Evan worshipped and feared him so.

Whatever mystery was surrounding the man, Harry knew he couldn't solve it that night. Still, he was much too restless to just go to sleep, and much too comfortable curled up with Tom to move. He knew that Tom wasn't actually a kind person, and that the kindness and sensitivity that he displayed so willingly for Harry was truly some sort of manipulation, but much as he tried not to get attached to the false persona that the man presented to him, he couldn't help but want to believe it.

"Tom, make Evan tell me a story about my future," Harry requested, snuggling closer and adoring the laugh in Tom's chest as he felt it against his face.

"You heard the boy, Rosier."

Evan groaned, pushing some hair out of his face. "What do you want to know, specifically?"

"What happens to Tom? You never talk about him." Harry demanded daringly, knowing that Evan and Tom were both deliberately tight-lipped on the subject, but wanting to see how much he could get away with.

Evan smiled somewhat cruelly, "After his second revival the Dark Lord rips him out of your head and splits him into pieces so small that you are never able to speak to him again," Evan answered, honestly.

Harry's eyes widened and he shook his head, tears building at the bottoms of his eyes.

"Don't tell me anything else," He whispered. "I didn't want to know that, I don't think." He put his hands over his ears and began rocking slowly, and Evan raised an eyebrow, not knowing that the child was even that attached to their mutual mentor.

Without even thinking about it one way or another, Evan retrieved his wand and Obliviated the boy then put him to sleep.

Tom gazed at him for a moment, and then lifted Harry off of his lap, setting him down on the pull-out bed.

"Was that true?" He asked, quietly, having not been told of this memory beforehand.

"Yes. I dreamt it just this morning," Rosier responded, and Tom suddenly realized that their relationship was changing. Rosier had just been given proof that there was a piece of Voldemort wandering around out there that wasn't him. Naturally, Evan's allegiance was with the Dark Lord they'd just seen not the one in Harry's head. He didn't like this new development, but chose not to comment on it.

"The boy. You've grown to care for him." Tom stated.

"Yes, immensely so. As if he is one of my own blood," Evan admitted smirking slightly to himself, "Though of course, he probably is, at least on his father's side."

"Not to mention the complete lack of allegiance that you display to some that are your kin," Tom pointed out, thinking of the blood-traitors in the Black line.

"You will tell Harry nothing of the future from this point onward," He announced suddenly, "Do you understand?"

He could visibly see the struggle on Evan's face, deciding whether or not he still had to take orders when the 'real' Voldemort was roaming about so close to them. Clearly, he made what Tom considered to be the right decision.

"Yes, My Lord. Of course."

A/N: Sorry that this chapter is so short and book-ish, but certain events had to happen.

Thank you to all those who have reviewed so far and a big thanks to those that will review this chappy!

Love you all for reading!

-Beloved