Chapter One:

Harry couldn't believe it. He honestly couldn't believe it.

Exactly how bad was his luck? He wasn't stupid, he'd realised something was wrong the second he saw Tom Riddle, and only had that confirmed when Armando Dipper and a ginger Dumbledore had interrogated him over where he had come from, who he was, and whether or not he was a spy for the Dark Lord Grindewald.

Seeing Dumbledore's familiar blue eyes, he almost succumbed to the urge to tell him everything.

Then the resentment rose. Sure, this Dumbledore hadn't left him without a scrap of news all summer, but he would! In the end, he'd told them he was a time traveller (with some careful confirmation under this truth potion, called Verita-something, Veritaserum?) and then refused to reveal any more.

Dippet, though disappointed, had agreed with his future successor on the importance of not meddling with time, and so, hadn't pressed.

He was now Harrison Evans, previously home schooled student - claims about being from another wizarding school would fall through too quickly, he had no contacts and knew nothing about them - and had been orphaned by the war, to be sent to Hogwarts.

There were enough massacres around, apparently, that it wasn't an absurd thing to believe. The fact he landed in the middle of Potions Class out of thin air was explained by a portkey gone awry.

That led him to his current predicament: Sorting.

"-Salazar would burn me if I let you escape his house for a second time," the Hat protested, giving something that on a more alive object he would have called a shudder. It felt weird on his head.

"Salazar's long dead!" he snapped mentally. "Come on, you put me in Gryffindor before! Please, just put me there again."

"Slytherin would suit you well," it insisted.

"Tom Riddle is in Slytherin! I swear, I'll have his head off by the end of the month if I have to deal with him. He's an evil-"

"-Well, maybe you're here to change that," the hat muttered.

"What?" he demanded, incredulously. "Look, please just-"

"SLYTHERIN!"

The hat was swept off his head by an amiable Dippet before he could comment any further. His heart sank.

No. No. No. This was just getting worse! He was a snake! A filthy, rotten Slytherin - he couldn't believe it. Sure, the hat hadn't wanted him to be in Slytherin the first time round, but surely it had seen how perfect he was for Gryffindor? Did it not care for his opinion at all? He felt sick.

This was a nightmare.

He'd been in the Hospital Wing for a few days, while they interrogated him and fixed up his new identity, all under the lie that landing in a potion had caused some medical complications.

"Well, that's settled then," the Headmaster said cheerily. Too cheerily. "I shall have someone send for Tom…" Dippet turned to him, smiling kindly. "Tom Riddle," he said, in explanation. "He's a prefect, bright boy, and a Slytherin like yourself."

Like himself…ha! He'd never be like Tom Riddle, and he'd never be a true Slytherin either. Never.

"He'll be your guide for the first two weeks or so, help you learn your way around."

Harry gaped, almost spluttering.

"I-what?" This wasn't even funny anymore."That's okay!" he nearly yelped. "I know my way around here already-"

"Who knows how much could have changed?" Dippet dismissed, seemingly bored of him now, and his words. "Yes, just wait here lad, Mr Riddle will be here in a moment. He'll help you out."

He almost looked at Dumbledore for help, but the old…er, the man had already discarded him as a problem solved. Typical. No, he was not bitter.

Panic tore through him, rage and hatred. He was in no way ready to come face to face with the young Dark Lord. His fists clenched at the thought.

All too soon, a figure entered the hospital wing.

Harry found himself studying the other openly, despite himself. He looked almost exactly like he had in the chamber; tall, handsome and dark haired. Except, now, he seemed even more intense in real life. His posture practically radiated power and superiority.

Harry hated him on sight.

"You must be our transfer student," Riddle greeted, with a charming smile, holding out a hand. "Tom Riddle."

"Harrison Evans," he replied, as neutrally as he could. They shook. He refused to think of the irony of 'shaking hands with devil.' Then they left the wing.

Harry could feel his muscles knotting with tenseness, as if the whole world was swinging. This was so bizarre.

"Look," he began, a few corridors away, trying for a friendly shrug. "You don't really have to give me a tour, I'll find my own way round soon enough - the first years do, right?"

He expected Riddle to jump on the chance. He was proved wrong.

"It's no problem, Harrison," the other shot him a smile, teasing and somehow dangerous though he couldn't think why. "Gives me time to interrogate our new snake."

He forced an easy laugh, with a hint of self-deprecation.

"I'm nobody interesting. It would be a waste of your time."

"Funny," Riddle murmured silkily. "Only the interesting ones say that."

Harry silently fumed, keeping his expression fixed. Bastard.

"Oh?" he questioned tightly.

"Those who have nothing to hide, like to pretend that they do," Riddle replied carelessly. "Those that have secrets," violet eyes pierced like daggers into the side of his face. "Hide."

"And you think I have something to hide?" Harry returned, trying to act nonchalant, as if this was somewhat amusing, turning away. Riddle laughed, a melodious laugh that sounded too perfect to be real.

It probably wasn't; everything about this teenager was lie crafted to catch his prey.

"I don't know," Riddle replied. "But I love a good mystery - this is the grand Staircase. It'll go to everywhere in the castle that you need to go outside of the dungeons. So, how is it that you came to be at Hogwarts?"

Harry tried to make it convincing, lowering his head, with the added advantage that it hid his expression better.

"My…the war…" those violet eyes burned into his skin. "Well, it's gone. My home is gone…I…I'd rather not talk about it, if you don't mind?"

"Of course not," the Slytherin Heir said smoothly, reaching out, squeezing his shoulder.

Harry flinched before he could stop himself, at the unexpectednss of it, reality sinking in, earning a slight head tilt. Posture: compassionate. Eyes: hard as diamonds.

The hand dropped, trailing down his arm, almost as if reluctant, but those eyes, those eyes, filled with challenge. He felt utterly unnerved, but could hardly call the other up on it, because the other wasn't technically doing anything wrong.

Maybe another person would fall easily to the charisma, the pretended sympathy, but he knew the truth. Tom Riddle was pure evil.

The damned tour continued.

Tom had always found giving tours to be boring and pointless, but this time, it wasn't the castle he was truly inspecting.

The boy was…he wasn't quite sure what to make of him.

On one hand, he seemed utterly average, mediocre, not particularly intelligent, with a witty streak, but on the whole…nothing special.

On the other…the boy had known him, and though his verbal sparring was clumsy, there was potential there. Then there was the posture. Harrison seemed to practically lean away from him, muscles taut, posture in a constant fight and flight motion. From him.

Intriguing. Enigmatic. Defiant.

And the way he'd flinched upon touch, where most people sickeningly sunk towards any physical comfort…abuse? He had no interest in this kind of human contact, he found it distasteful, but that flinching was delightful.

He needed to learn more.

Of course, it would probably come to nothing, but it would be fun to crush such a clearly independent (he'd rather rely on himself than take a tour) spirit into something compliant and docile.

The wild ones were always the most delicious to tame.

Finally, they ended up at the Slytherin Common Room, and that, he noted, was the first time that the other showed any hesitation in his movements around Hogwarts. Strange.

His followers looked up immediately upon his arrival, trying to read his mood…before their eyes slid to Evans, next to him.

He glanced at the boy, observing the rigid set to his features, the poorly concealed fire in his gaze. Interesting.

"Everyone," he announced. "This is Harrison Evans."

"Harrison-" he glanced at the other, noting how he almost didn't seem…familiar with the name. "Harry," he tried, and that killing curse gaze shot to him with something like shock and alarm. Jackpot. "This is Cygnus Lestrange."

He watched as the two sized each other up, and then Lestrange was gripping the boy's fingers so hard in dominance display that he was marginally surprised Harry didn't show any indication of pain.

He seemed so bad at hiding his emotions (unless the emotions he revealed were fake? But no, he'd know, he mastered masks for a living) but he seemed good at hiding pain. Fascinating.

Yet, the boy's grip was limp, submissive, docile. Like two people in one body.

"Abraxas Malfoy," he indicated to the blonde, but kept his attention on the new boy. A flash of…not quite recognition, gone in under a second.

"Pleasure."

"It's all mine," Evans replied curtly.

"Zevi Prince."

Surprise. Disconcertion.

"Nice to meet you, Harrison, was it?"

The boy smiled back, a bit restrainedly. He could feel them all assessing each other.

"And Alphard Black."

Something else entirely. He didn't recognise the emotion well, this, at least, was hidden. He'd fish for opinions later.

They made small talk for a while, and he could almost visibly feel the other bubbling.

Harrison sat perched on a chair, all the other Slytherins circling him like vultures, making their opinions.

New kid wasn't making a very good impression. He didn't know if it was on purpose or not. He hated not knowing.

Evan's eyes flicked around the room, pausing on him, as if not certain what he was there, frosted and angry. They locked gazes.

Do you want to play, new boy?

Harry lay awake that night, mind in a whir and panic.

It was sinking in, horribly. He couldn't believe this, it was awful. It took everything he had not to murder the people in the room, most specifically, Tom freaking Riddle.

He dared not fall asleep, not trusting anyone in this room enough, but hoping so much that if he shut his eyes he would wake up back in his own time. In the alley with the Dementors, even, anywhere but here.

He would keep a low profile when he was here, research a way to get back home and fight the war…if he had his way, no one would even remember him.

He stared up at the stone ceiling, the dark emerald hangings lurking around him. He wanted Gryffindor. He wanted to be in Gryffindor with the nice, brave, people who weren't going to grow up to be mass murderers. He shuddered.

The scariest thing had been the attention the other had paid him, the intense scrutiny that saw far too much for his liking.

He needed to find a way to get rid of it, avert himself to something boring and dull and background. Riddle had mentioned that only those with nothing to hide flaunted themselves, so, maybe…if he acting like he wanted to impress Riddle, he would leave him alone, bored?

Yet, he wasn't sure if he could stomach that. Acting sycophantic. He had to try though, didn't he? Maybe he could compromise…he didn't know. He didn't know.

His eyes drooped. He tried to keep them open.

He dared not sleep…he dared not…

Sleep.

He woke up screaming.

Tom's eyes snapped open, screams filling the room, his hand instantly fell upon his wand.

"Salazar's-" Alphard began, cursing, his hair a mess, rubbing his eyes entirely.

"What is it?" Abraxas sniped, absolutely irritated to lose his beauty sleep. His head turned slowly to Evan's bed. Nightmares. Harrison had nightmares. Curioser and curioser.

"Can't we just gag him to shut him up!" Cygnus hissed, glaring in the same direction as he was.

He smirked slightly at the suggestion, wondering how this Evans would react to waking up gagged and restrained on his bed.

Panic, most likely. So predictable. Dull.

He rolled his eyes, cutting his hand across for a sign of silence. They were giving him a headache. Idiots.

He strode over to Harrison's bed, drawing his wand, flicking it sharply. Ice cold water burst out the tip, waking the other up instantly, and, in the same second, the other had a wand in his hand, sitting up, ready to fight.

He lunged on instinct, trapping the other's wrists down on the mattress as the weapon began to direct on him, mouth opening for a spell.

Hazy vision, not in the real world yet.

"Get off me you-"

Clarity. Lucidity. Tiredness. Haunted.

Wrists turned slack, though the rest of the tension didn't leave.

Green stared straight into him, unyielding, vulnerable.

"Tom."

Tom, not Riddle.

A second later, the boy flinched back, a façade

(?) hardening over his form like dried paint as he looked around the room, embarrassment clouding his features, anywhere but at him. Dismissal. He'd never been dismissed before, no one dared, even when he was the mudblood of Slytherin.

Now, he was the Slytherin Lord, and people certainly didn't.

This stranger did it carelessly.

"Erm, sorry," Harry rubbed his head sheepishly. "I-god this is embarrassing, um. I'll put up silencing charms next time, I-"

They all stared back at the two of them; Cygnus' eyes narrowed to slits, Abraxas intent and shrewd, Zevi's head tilted back to survey them both with what looked dangerously like curiosity. Alphard looked disgruntled, half asleep.

In the end, everyone abruptly turned away, muttering darkly, complaining about whether this was what was to come. Harry backed away from him, still not looking, shivering from the cold water.

"Excuse me," he muttered, disappearing for the bathroom.

Tom walked back to his own bed, ignoring Lestrange's puzzled, jealous eyes.,

He glanced at the door.

This could be fun.