"Yes, wonderful, wonderful memories of the students who've passed through this castle," Slughorn carried on, picking up his goblet and taking another generous swig of mead. The occupants of the single table placed in the centre of the great hall listened to the professor, who spoke to the room at large. Tom Riddle was amongst the only people paying their fullest attention to what was said, while Harry, who sat far away from the other Slytherin, was perhaps the single person most distant in measures of interest. "Christmas brings back the best memories of my old students. The finest always manage to send in generous gifts, or letters to refresh the blissful memories. How good it is to know how many students I've influenced and encouraged into the jobs they have today!"

Slughorn gave a gruff laugh. The Astronomy teacher, who was the next to speak, made no hesitation to have her voice heard in response to this. "Now, now, Horace, you can't go taking all the credit for the successful students who made it into your good books! Astronomy, for one, is a very important subject –"

"Oh, naturally, naturally!" Slughorn interrupted, attempting to take back some harsh meaning in his words. It seemed to work, for as Harry looked up, he found that none of the teachers took any offence from what was said. All of the professors, and even some students, were smiling, easily humoured by what Harry considered an unimportant and tedious conversation. "I meant only to comment that this is what draws so many to the lure of teaching!"

"I wouldn't say the pleasure of viewing one's accomplishments in the lives of this school's students is the only reason for taking on the job," Dumbledore stated calmly, having been conversing with the other teachers since the beginning of the meal. "I myself find that the thrill of passing on ancient skills is a bountiful reward in itself – even if the students taught do not become famous, or what we might consider otherwise 'successful'. To work here for the pure sake of preserving knowledge is very satisfying. Yet the full list of reasons to become a teacher at Hogwarts must, to make things rationally explained, vary with every new witch or wizard willing to take on the profession."

Slughorn smiled as he spoke next. "But of course, of course! I shall have to trust you again, Albus, with rationalizing my ramblings." He laughed, and took another merry drink. "With more reply to all that you said: I would have to claim the pleasure of influencing and helping the minds of so many young witches and wizards as one of my top reasons for keeping this old job then. One never can go wrong in their profession after helping to make an effect on younger generations."

There was a general murmur of approval at Slughorn's words, but Harry barely heard it. He was distracted with carefully lifting his eyes to look at Tom, who sat across from him and to the far right. Tom himself was busy with listening to Slughorn, so Harry's analyzing stare went unnoticed. He was wondering how often it was that Slughorn talked about what an influence he was, as a professor, to younger generations in the presence of Riddle, and he also wondered how early it was that Tom decided that this piece of knowledge was rather valuable to him.

The only thing that stopped Harry from worrying about the idea of Tom teaching one day was knowing that Dumbledore, who sat so calmly at this time, doubtlessly saw through the school's current best student, in much the same way that he saw through anyone else who hadn't known Occlumency before. As much as Harry despised the Transfiguration teacher, his will to tread upon and fight against Dark Wizards was a useful disposition for Harry's situation. It was a hypocritical gesture in means of how much ill Dumbledore himself has done to the world through manipulation, yet Harry wasn't complaining now.

When Harry dropped his eyes to his plate once again, he saw that his barely touched meal had been replaced with dessert. He was glad to know that this meant the feast was almost over, and he listened again to what was being said around the table.

Ten minutes later, Harry made his way out of the Great Hall amongst the first to depart from the still chatting teachers. He had no intention of returning to the Slytherin Common Room this early in the evening, so instead he made his way slowly past the heavily decorated Entrance Hall, and up the marble staircase he knew so well from his true years at Hogwarts. He headed down a random corridor and walked at a calm pace, in no hurry to be anywhere, for he had nowhere at all to be besides deeply lost in thought.

He could barely believe that the years spent with Ron and Hermione at Hogwarts had actually existed for him. It all seemed like some distant and extremely vivid dream, followed closely by nightmares fuelled by guilt and realisation. Yet that was his only past, the only array of memories to remind him who he truly was… He felt as though it all belonged to someone else, someone who had made better choices than him, and who had not ended up in the middle of a random period of time for no reason that could be clearly seen so soon. His mind drifted to think about all the golden days spent with his two best friends, reflecting upon the seemingly endless memories that seemed to cloud his yearning mind…

After some time, perhaps a few minutes or perhaps an hour later, Harry found himself wandering to a part of the school where a few empty classrooms and sitting rooms were positioned. After teetering on the edge of decision for a few moments, he decided to head into one of the sitting rooms, for though he had no books to read, he could at least stay somewhere quiet and comfortable while he wasted a few hours. He had been forced to leave all his stolen volumes in the Common Room due to the fact that taking books with himself into the Christmas Feast would have made his plead for solitude rather obvious. He wasn't sure if he was in the mood for reading anyway.

Harry walked into the sitting room, and closed the door quietly behind him. It was only when he was about halfway across the room that he noticed how cold it was. He looked up, expected to see a window or two open, and instead saw that a glass door leading to an outside balcony had been left unclosed. He stopped walking, seeing now that a silhouette of a boy sitting upon a bench could be clearly seen through the panes of glass ahead of him.

The silhouette sat formally, and apparently not consciously so (for he rested without knowing that anyone was currently resting their eyes open him). He held a cigarette in his hand, its end luminous and its smoke painting twists and curls of shadow against the marginally lighter sky, as he faced entirely away from the door, his back to Harry and his eyes perhaps taking in the fine view of the grounds from where he sat. Harry didn't have to see the boy ahead of him properly to know that it was Riddle.

He hesitated; very keen upon the idea turning and walking away… yet he wasn't sure if that was the wise thing to do. He had a nagging suspicion that Tom might already have heard him, and thus knew exactly who had just walked in the room. Harry wondered why Tom wasn't conversing with Slughorn at this time, or else reading in the doubtlessly empty Common Room. Harry had been trying to avoid Tom for the whole day, wishing to be alone and away from questions in general… He had only gone to the feast because people would worry if he were that blatantly out of sight. Harry wondered why Tom wasn't doing something that didn't interfere with his will to be unseen.

Then a thought struck him. Perhaps Tom had been avoiding everyone as much as he, Harry, had been for the majority of the day. Harry wasn't sure how he felt about this theory… it would explain why Tom was here, at least… Now that Harry cared to take a second of reflection, Tom had good reason for wanting to be as alone as he was on this day. Tom had close to as much to reflect upon on this terrible holiday as Harry had… Excluding all the death, anyway.

Before Harry could remember deciding upon it, he found himself walking towards the balcony. He pulled the already ajar door open and stepped onto the securely placed stone that overlooked the grounds, walking calmly over to the bench where Riddle sat. Once he was seated, he could see Tom far more clearly than before, with his cigarette held lightly and his expression impassive as he surveyed Harry. They paused for a moment, Harry waiting for Tom to speak first.

"Good evening," he began.

"I think you mean 'Merry Christmas'," Harry corrected him.

Tom seemed to understand he was joking, for he laughed – humourlessly – and seemed to relax slightly. "I don't think I could endure another forced conversation based around this season of wishfully impractical 'happiness'. Slughorn was terrible enough as it is…"

Harry was glad to know that Tom hated the season as much as he now did. It made it slightly easier to talk to the older Slytherin when they shared a common hate. "Slughorn must be worse for you," Harry stated. "He generally ignores my existence, so I suppose I got off easily."

"Yes," Tom commented, "and I'm rather close to being envious of that fact." He took a drag from his cigarette, savouring the taste for a moment, before looking up again and noticing Harry watching him. "Would you like one?" he suddenly asked.

Harry was in no mood to refuse such a tempting offer. "Sure."

Tom handed him one, and Harry lit it in silence. It tasted wonderful at this moment…

"What are you doing up here alone?" Harry asked, guessing that Tom was waiting for him to speak.

"Mostly to get away from Slughorn. The Common Room for one is not safe from his determined search, and would be a poor place to hide. Thus I decided to go somewhere that would take a while to find," Tom said. "Yet this seems a failed plan, if you managed to find me."

"I wasn't looking for you," Harry assessed quickly, realising that randomly finding Tom here might look a little too convenient.

Tom surveyed Harry, and the latter waited to see what would happen, hoping that Tom wouldn't be too annoyed or disbelieving with the idea of such a coincidence. He seemed to either believe or not care about the quick explanation, however, for he looked away from Harry after some time, to view the still darkening sky. "Even so, I care very little about your company, as I've explained."

"Yeah…" Harry wasn't sure what he felt about Tom's reply, so he decided against elaborating upon the subject. He took another drag of his cigarette, causing a silence. "So what does he normally talk to you about? Slughorn, I mean."

Tom did not look back at Harry as he spoke. "Nothing and everything all at once, to be honest. Most of the time he manages to talk for hours by sharing stories of his ex–pupils and so on. Yet with Christmas, it becomes worse… Let us merely say he likes to take advantage of my free time. I believe he's under the illusion that his company is something of a relief to me."

It was odd for Harry to secretly understand everything Tom said about having to endure the presence of Slughorn, as he sat with the other boy in this dim light. He had spent the majority of his sixth year at Hogwarts planning Quidditch practices and so on to clash with any Slug Club meetings, and he had gone home for Christmas instead of allowing himself to be in the presence of the Professor with such a perfect opportunity for talking… Harry wondered, for a vague moment, whether Riddle and himself were close in levels of importance to Slughorn's eyes, when measuring the height of the Professor's adoration for the two finely collected pieces to his collection…

"Doesn't he ever go away for Christmas?" Harry inquired.

"He used to, but as of late he hasn't seemed too fond of accepting any invitations to leave the school," Riddle responded, in what was close to a monotone. "But most of the other teachers have somewhere else to be, so I am ever so slightly less busy. I prefer near solitude."

"I don't blame you," Harry remarked. "It's easier to be away from other people. Especially when they can't think of any reasons for you to dislike the season…" He felt as though those words had somehow slipped out, but he didn't actually care enough to want to take them back. Tom turned to look at him now.

The two boys looked at each other for a moment, before Harry dropped his gaze, disliking the sight of young Voldemort as he thought of his friends. He occupied himself with his cigarette as Riddle contemplated something. "Jonathan… when was it, exactly, when the battle you fought finished? I ask only because I know it must have been quite recently. If you had learnt about the Dark Arts from only the age of fifteen onwards…"

Harry was a little irritated at these words, for he was not in the mood to speak of any form of his pasts, but he hid this emotion. He supposed that he didn't have much of a choice but to answer this, even when it forced him to think about the details of his pasts. If he wanted his tale to seem honest, he had to give some pacific and honest pieces of information. "It was recently… less than a year ago."

Riddle remained impassive. Harry wondered why he had asked this at all, and worried if maybe he was trying to work out the validity of the timing. From all the information Harry could gather, Grindelwald wasn't supposed to have been anywhere specific at this time. He was probably where he normally was, when not making public appearances, planning and so on. Yet perhaps Riddle had another piece of information to contradict this…

If Tom did have more information, however, he didn't voice it now. He continued to examine Harry as carefully as he always did, as though waiting for the moments when the other boy's attempts at an impassive countenance would fail. Harry was about to start a new conversation, to stop Tom from thinking over things too much, when Riddle spoke, his tone was careful.

"Are you sure there is not one person left from the fight, Harry?"

"I'm sure. I saw most of…" Harry stopped. A heavy silence fell, as he realised, now, that Tom had used his real name. He looked up at the other boy, fearful and confused. Riddle couldn't possibly know his name… they had never talked about it, Tom had never asked. Harry tried to remain impassive as his mind raced. The blood drained from his face, and he hoped that Tom wouldn't see that in this lighting. Where or when would Harry have ever said or written his own name?

Riddle read this silence, and perhaps Harry's expression, as an answer to something. "So your name is Harry?"

These words were like poison. Harry was frozen in shock as he continued to try and understand what had just happened. Riddle smiled faintly.

"That girl – the one you brought back with the ring – said your name. She was the first person I heard speak properly, so I thought perhaps she was addressing the other boy… You proved otherwise."

Relieved though Harry was that this was all that had happened, he became slightly annoyed at this. He struggled with words for a minute. "Even if that is my name–"

"Oh, I don't doubt it's your name now," Tom interrupted. "No one with a true identity would have been so shocked to hear someone call them another name… though I suppose that no one with a true identity would be addressed by their old friends with anything unusual in the first place." Riddle smiled again at his own words, and Harry could tell he was enjoying this.

"This isn't a game," Harry almost scowled in response, worrying a little bit about how else Riddle could gather information without him knowing.

"No, it's never a game…" Riddle mused, still smirking. Harry's worry seemed to satisfy Tom. "It's a quest."

Harry stared at Riddle in disbelief, his expression slightly fretful.

"I'm joking," Riddle stated, after a pause.

Harry dearly hoped he was. "You can't just use that name," Harry said, without the slightest idea how he was supposed to make Tom forget this and move on.

"I shan't use the name lightly," Tom assured him, "and no one else will discover it after me – not by my fault, anyway. If I could keep you from knowing I knew of the name for this long, I believe your secret is safe."

Harry doubted very highly that a link to his true identity in the hands of young Voldemort meant he was 'safe'. His mind continued scanning through conversations he had had with the older Slytherin, making him feel paranoid as he searched for times when he could have let information equally as important slip. Even if he understood how Tom had learnt about his name, he had to be sure…

"Don't you trust me?" Tom asked, noting Harry's worry.

Harry lifted his eyes to look up at the Heir of Slytherin, and felt as though he had slipped into a comical version of a nightmare. The chances of him trusting Tom were very, very slim. They were pure enemies, and Harry wouldn't let himself forget that. Riddle seemed to take as much from Harry's expression, for the slight smirk upon his lips fell away. Harry realised he had cast the other boy a rather scathing glare. Another silence fell.

"I don't trust anyone," Harry said, in an attempt to dismiss his reaction. He remembered that he wasn't supposed to hate Tom…

"Yes," Tom said, his voice delicate. "I should have guessed as much…"

Harry felt as though this wasn't just a meaningless response as he heard Tom speak, which this made him slightly confused. He only hoped that his reaction to Tom's question hadn't disrupted his fictional past…

As neither of them spoke, Harry felt as though Tom was thinking over his stories again. The peculiar thing was that he didn't think of this in a paranoid light… He wondered for a second if he was getting any better at Legilimency as the two boys looked at each other. Another minute passed in silence.

"I don't suppose it really matters," Harry said, unsure why he chose his words as such as he tore his gaze away from Tom. He tried to think of a new conversation to begin, but he could think of nothing.

"No, I don't suppose it does. Trust is a dangerous thing…" Riddle seemed to be reflecting upon a thought or memory as Harry watched him stare blankly at the view ahead of them. Just as soon as Harry contemplated what his thoughts might be, though, Tom looked down, and put out what remained of his cigarette. Harry brought his own cigarette to his mouth, having nothing yet to say.

When he looked up at Tom again, he found the other boy searching for something in his eyes. Harry waited for Tom to speak, and finally he did.

"You're a complex person," Tom stated.

"What makes you say that?" Harry asked.

"Many things," Tom responded, his voice still delicate. "To begin, you read people well from all that I've seen, and your past – though seemingly unbelievable – appears to have much honesty embedded into it's telling… I am, in truth, quite surprised to find that I believe you. With your personality and mental state seeming more than fitting for such a tale, I cannot claim that very much of what you say is lies – and the lies that can be seen only appear to cover a truth that cannot be told lightly… I suppose, in short, I am intrigued."

Harry's heart sank slightly at these words, even if he was glad to hear that Tom openly believed his tale – or at least most of it. It annoyed him that Tom was so interested in his story. He wished that Tom would disregard him, and forget what he knew about this almost made-up past. In full honesty, Harry wasn't sure how long he could last telling lies after lies if Tom wouldn't stop being so interested…

"You can trust me, you know," Tom said softly, his voice only slightly audible over the whisper of the wind.

Harry didn't really see how this was related to anything… In fact, these words confused him quite a bit. This seemed a blatant attempt to suggest that he confide in Tom. He tried to think about how Tom might see his situation, and how he might rationalize the idea that Harry still disliked him. "Why should I trust you?" Harry asked, careful not to ask Tom exactly why he was saying this at all, in case the answer was obvious.

"Well… I already know about your past, and since I am willing to accept your wishes to never tell another person what I know, I don't see why you remain reluctant to tell me more, to trust me."

Harry felt himself become irked by these words. Why should this make him trust Riddle? Even if he didn't hate the other boy as much as he did, Tom didn't deserve more answers than he could work out. Harry tried to get rid of his anger as he thought of a reply, but traces of his true emotion couldn't seem to leave his voice, which was cold. "I don't trust anyone because it's a mislead idea. I'm not going to make that same mistake again."

"I'm not a part of this war against Grindelwald," Tom reminded him. To Harry's great surprise, there was a sound of actual emotion in Riddle's words, yet Harry couldn't quite make out what it was. "I don't care to give others information and I don't care to do anything against you with what I might learn."

Harry paused. He tried harder to think about what this whole story might look like from Tom's view, but it was difficult. Harry took Tom actually being the cause of all his terror out of notice, and thought about Grindelwald replacing him. He thought about the way in which Tom discovered his cover story, and the information Harry had given since that time. Tom would doubtlessly be assuming that the war had caused Harry to insolate himself… but then, why would Tom care at all? If this was all for the purpose of figuring Harry out, as his Death Eater, Tom was being rather persistent with it. Even from guessing Tom's point of view, Harry couldn't work out what was going on in the other boy's head.

"Then what do you care about?" Harry asked. "If you don't want to tell anyone, and don't want to hurt me with what you know, why else does it matter? You've already figured out my past… Why would me trusting you change anything?"

Riddle hesitated, staring at Harry. This question had apparently never crossed his mind before, and for the first time Harry could remember, Riddle didn't have an answer at hand. All seemed suddenly quiet as the pause lingered on, and Harry was close to amusing that Tom would reply nothing at all. Yet Tom did speak, finally, his tone no longer exasperated with explaining why Harry should trust him. He was quieter again. "It's merely that there are many unanswered questions that surround you…"

Harry took in these words, dropping his gaze from the other boy only when he found that the answer disappointed him. He occupied himself with putting out his cigarette as he thought in confusion. It wasn't as though anything else could have been expected from Tom's answer… In fact, not knowing what he had expected confused Harry more. He put the thought out of his head after seeing he couldn't find a valid answer as to why he was disappointed, and he looked up again. Tom was searching for something in his expression once more.

But as Harry gazed back this time, he felt as though Tom might have found what he was looking for. Riddle was scanning him with much determination, as though what he was waiting for had just appeared and disappeared again. Harry looked back into Tom's dark grey eyes, wondering what was going on in his mind as a silence fell.

"I feel… as though much good can come from this trust," Tom elaborated slowly, his voice quieter than ever. "I've never trusted anyone in my life, yet I feel as though there's… something different here."

Harry contemplated these words, finding that he wasn't against what Tom said. He gazed at the handsome boy, unsure why his mind was suddenly going blank. He didn't appear to realise what he was getting himself into with even thinking about agreeing with Tom's words…

"Will you trust me?" Tom asked, his eyes displaying an emotion that Harry felt mirrored his own.

"I don't know…" he replied, in full honesty.

Tom thought this over. "Will you try?" His voice was little over a whisper.

For an unknown reason, Harry wasn't surprised when he felt Tom's hand suddenly enclose around his own, their eyes never looking away. What was more, Harry had no intention of pulling away this time. He stared into Tom's eyes, feeling his hand echo Tom's simple touch. "I'll try…"

Tom examined Harry for a long moment after this, apparently wanting to be absolutely sure that they had the same intentions before he did anything more. He watched Harry's expression, and then, slowly at first, moved closer to him from where they sat. Harry was disoriented as he watched the other boy close the distance between them. He felt sick with anticipation and excitement even before Tom's lips were less than an inch away from his own, his breath heavy with evident yet controlled desire. Harry's head was spinning, as Tom's lips pressed against his own.

Harry couldn't move with the wave of emotion that came over him. He could feel his breath begin to quicken as Tom moved his lips, kissing him softly once, and again, and again, until he replied. When Harry did respond, Tom responded more, pushing his lips against Harry's with progressively more force, until he was confident enough to lick Harry's lips. Harry could barely comprehend what was happening as his body's needs strongly overpowered that of his fuzzy mind. He could feel Tom's every touch echo against him as if he were hallow… He opened his mouth, allowing Tom's tongue to slide inside.

Tom's breath was rough against Harry's now, as he lost more composure. He kissed Harry deeply, allowing the other boy to see to see just how much he wanted this. Yet it wasn't long before both boys could take no more, thus had to pull away. Tom lingered inches away from Harry, yearning, as Harry yearned, to continue, but knowing that their lungs needed more air, and their control couldn't last much longer.

After what felt like forever to Harry, Tom pulled away enough to look into his eyes. Harry looked back up at him, his thoughts coming together more easily now that his desire to kiss the boy in front of him had been fulfilled. He wanted to kiss Tom again, to become lost in his existence, yet the thoughts that flooded back to him didn't seem to allow him to. Harry, so recently burning with emotion, now felt the freezing temperature of the falling snow around him. Tom's usually pale pace was now flushed with colour, as he looked down at Harry, waiting to see what might happen next. He looked concerned, guessing Harry's new evaluation of the situation.

Harry stared back, wondering what on earth had just come over him. He had kissed Riddle. Tom Riddle. All the terrible things he knew Tom truly was suddenly washed over him, memories of his murdered friends and family, memories of the fear he had lived in for years because of this boy. It all came flooding back to him to suddenly; he was almost completely frozen in shock. Tom had ruined his entire life, had ruined the lives of hundreds – no, thousands – of others. Harry could barely believe that even past all of this, the presence of the boy next to him wasn't as easily hated as it once was…