Chapter 32:

"Good Heavens! Where on earth have you two been?"

Harry should have known that he and Tom would not just be able to come back in and head to the common room - no, that was just too much to ask. Tom's eyes were dark as he surveyed the faculty in front of them."Well?" McGonagall demanded. Her eyes were lit with worry. He wasn't angry at her, not really.

"Really Minerva, what do you expect of Mr Potter? When has he ever cared about anyone outside of himself -" Snape sneered.

"-Severus! Enough," his (Head of house?) snapped. Was McGonagall still his head of house, when he slept in Slytherin? Yeah. She was. After all, the alternative would have been the greasy bat and that was not an option he was willing to go with. "Mr Potter, Mr Riddle?" She was eyeing them both with a slight suspicion.

They were silent.

"Boys? Why weren't you at the feast?" Dumbledore's horribly concerned tone of voice made his fists clench. His faux care.

"Surprisingly enough," Harry replied sharply "I didn't actually feel like sitting around drinking pumpkin juice on the anniversary of my parent's murder. Shocking, I know, but…" he trailed off coldly.

If he didn't know Tom extremely well, or have a certain connection with him, he would have caught the slight flash of something that caught the other's lips for a moment. It wasn't quite a smirk but…there was a hint of amused smugness there among other emotions. It was gone in under a second, leaving only the normal polite unreadable mask

McGonagall looked horrified, her face growing a snow white. Snape looked shocked, his black eyes swirling with uncertainty. Harry looked away, feeling uncomfortable.

"You went to Godric's Hollow?" Dumbledore asked shrewdly. "With him?"

"Is there a problem with the fact that he went with me?" Tom replied coolly. Harry could sense the nigh unnoticeable annoyance beneath his words.

"You're Voldemort, are you not?" Dumbledore said cruelly. Harry's magic started crackling.

"He's a bloody teenager you old goat!" he snarled. Tom's eyes shot to his face. He could feel the weight of the scrutiny almost like a physical pressure, probing right at his soul.

"That doesn't make him innocent," the headmaster said quietly. He looked sad, pitying, and Salazar that really rubbed him up the wrong way.

"It does mean that he is not responsible for all the shit that's happened in the last 50 years since it hasn't even happened to him yet," he snapped.

"You're defending him," McGonagall said incredulously. He stared at her, flatly.

"Yes. I am." The fact that he was defending Tom, on Halloween, lay heavily in the air between them.

Finally, they managed to depart.

Tom was surprisingly quiet in the common room, almost subdued. The remembrall was clutched, a smoking red, in his hands.

"What do you think it means?" he asked, taking his eyes away from the fire for a moment. Tom glanced up at him, then down at the orb again.

"Have you figured why you have a remembrall yet?" he asked in return. "Who gave it to you?"

"No," Harry shook his head. "Have you got any ideas?" Tom studied the ball, twirling it idly between his long, slender fingers.

"Remembralls have two purposes," he started, sounding like he was slipping into lecture mode. "The most common, and the most well known, is that the smoke will turn red when you have forgotten something."

"And the other?" he asked. Tom looked up at him again, his eyes sharp. There was an odd expression lurking there, shadowed and hidden behind the all knowing gaze.

"They say that Remembralls can hold memories…secrets that people have forgotten."

"Like if they'd been obliviated?"

"Yes," Tom said.

"So you think it holds Voldemort's forgotten memories?" he questioned. A shiver of unease ran down his spine. Something hit him suddenly, and he realised what was making him uneasy. "Wait, I have one - and it's always red…" he trailed off for a moment. Tom's head tilted slightly. "Does that mean I've been obliviated?"

"You are very eager to think the best of me, Harry," Tom said quietly.

"…is this about what I said earlier?" he asked. "To Dumbledore? Cause your topic changes are giving me whip lash." Tom smirked, slightly, before it faded to seriousness.

"You honestly don't think of me as Voldemort?"

He felt uncomfortable now, having this conversation, on Halloween.

"No. You're Tom Riddle - anyway, what's that -"

"You're an idiot," Tom said softly. He ground his teeth.

"Thanks. We can't all be geniuses." He stood up, irritable now. Tom stood up too.

"As…flattering as your optimism in me is," he began "You're walking a path dangerously close to denial."

"What's that supposed to mean?" he demanded.

"Tom Marvelo Riddle. I am Lord Voldemort."

Harry folded his arms.

"Yeah, I already know all about that anagram," he said tightly. He faked a yawn. "And I think I'm going to catch some zeds -" a vice closed around his arm.

"Harry," he said, sounding slightly amused.

"What?" he tensed, trying to pull the appendage away. Tom's gaze was intent.

"Don't," he said finally. "Don't think so highly of me - at least not in terms of goodness because I am not that person. I don't care about people. The sooner you realise that, the less likely you are to get your hopes crushed." The grip released him.

"So basically I should give up on the idea that you're anything but an evil, psychotic git?" Harry asked flatly. "How did we even get onto this topic?"

"No, I'm telling you not to expect a miracle."

"Yeah, well I'm not."

"Okay then."

"Yeah, it is," he retorted. "And presides, it's not like miracles don't happen."

"Oh?" Tom arched his brows. "When has a miracle ever happened?"

"Well…" he shrugged.

"It's Halloween and no ones tried to kill me. I'd say that was pretty miraculous." He turned and left before Tom could reply.

A/N: Well, here you go. Hope you liked it. =) Thank you so much for all the reviews and stuff!