Chapter 12:

He stared at Evans, his thoughts racing.

"What did you just say?" he hated how his voice came out a whisper, how his surprise slipped visibly to his face before he could catch it and contain it.

"Because you grew up to murder my parents," Harry repeated, eyes blazing like emerald poison. Tom's mouth suddenly felt dry. Was this a joke? Was the Veriteserum malfunctioning?

"What are your parents names?" he demanded.

"Lily and James P-" the boy was choking, trying to keep in, thrashing as he tried to get away, somehow avoid answering. He tightened his grip. "Potter."

Potter? How was that possible! The potion definitely had to be malfunctioning…but how could he check? His eyes narrowed.

And yet, yet…hadn't he deduced that the boy's entire identity was fabricated? His grip tightened. Zevi's potions were normally flawless. And…he didn't know. He didn't know, and he despised it.

This was supposed to answer his questions, not give him more!

"What is your real name, given to you by your birth parents?" he asked.

Harry thrashed beneath his grip, obviously fighting the serum again…Harry couldn't have known the serum wouldn't work….yet, he still had struggled against it…he did have something to hide…but this?

"Harry James Potter," the boy spat. His brow furrowed, thinking fast.

There were no Harry James Potter that he knew of, and no James or Lily Potters either. He could feel a niggling realisation growing in his gut, a shift in his brain, but he couldn't…no…it was too farfetched, even for his enigma.

And yet, and yet…

"When were you born?" he questioned softly.

Harry's eyes were wide with horror, fear, hatred, as he twisted frantically this way and that. It was an impressive display of willpower, as the potion should have had him completely paralysed by now.

The boy shook his head, mutely, nearly pleading. It was absolutely delicious. Tom decided there and then that he loved the way that green gaze was utterly fixed on him, absorbed, unable to look away, filled with so many emotions that he wanted to pluck them out like forbidden fruits for his taking.

Harry made a choked noise, and he repeated the question, dangerously, his heart pounding.

"When. Were. You. Born?"

"July 31st-19-1980."

He leaned back, surveying the other impassively for a moment, his mind whirring on overdrive.

The future.

He was a time traveller.

Harrison Evans was a time traveller.

A great sense of power swept over him; he had knowledge of the future in his hands…and he figured he could ask whatever he wanted…Harry wouldn't be here if it wasn't meant to happen, would he? It was like a gift from Fate, all prettily wrapped on this defiant, intriguing boy.

"I murdered your parents…" he murmured. "What else do you know about my future? -tell me!"

Harry glared, panicked, trying so hard not to answer. Wasn't this going to mess up the future? Stepping on butterflies - was he going to die? He doubted Riddle would care if he did!. Tom merely smirked at him in response, the arrogant bastard. Maybe he could somehow evade the question, answer with something unimportant…

"What are the five things you think I'd find most interesting about my future?" the Slytherin Heir added, as if reading his thoughts.

Harry's jaw clenched, and he strained furiously against the hands holding him in place, wishing that infernal drug wasn't making him so weak. It was wearing off, slightly, he could feel it, but not enough. Not enough. His mouth was opening, he couldn't stop it-

"You're a mass murdering dark lord…" he struggled to control what he was saying, somehow spin this nightmare more in his favour. "You go by many a pseudonym…Lord Voldemort is one of them-" just two more, two more and Tom might assume he was otherwise clueless…"you were defeated by a toddler….but returned in my fourth year."

There, he almost breathed a sigh of relief. All things he'd probably find interesting, but they didn't implicate him. Tom's eyes had grown wide, and he looked almost young, vulnerable even, before that icy gaze hardened once more, even colder for the slip.

"A toddler?" he repeated dangerously. "What toddler? What was its name?"

Shit. There was nothing for it, there was nothing he could do to avoid answering, and so, he curled his lips into a cocky smirk, gathering what strength and magic he had, not that it wasn't already simmering, reaching critical.

"Harry Potter."

Riddle stared at him for a moment, his fingers sure to leave bruises.

"Harry…" he began, slowly, before his steely eyes narrowed, and the next second a wand was digging into his throat. Yes. Tom had just put two and two together.

He broadened his smirk to a grin, baring his teeth like an animal and not caring one bit.

"Shall we pick off where we left off?"

And his magic exploded.

They were tumbling across the floor, punching and kicking and fighting and it felt so good to be able to finally release his frustrations and just smack the smirk off the other's face like Harry had wanted to since he got there.

He yanked Tom forwards by the shirt collars, trying to reach his wand, trying to keep the Slytherin Heir too close for magic until that was accomplished. He didn't want Riddle using his creepy dark arts on him when he was magically incapable of defending himself.

The explosion of his magic had torn through the effects of the drug, as if someone had injected adrenalin into his muscles, and he'd surged forwards, just as his magic sent Tom flying across the dorm room to crumple on the floor by the wall.

Then he was on the other, punching him across the face as hard as he could, revelling in the blood pouring out of his noise. Tom had promptly started fighting back, fluidly.

He'd expected the other to be really bad at physical combat, due to his hatred of all things muggle, but he wasn't. Eerily, he fought just like Harry did - always moving, attacks rolling in quick succession, using every part of his body possible to try and win.

Harry had thought he'd be more like a snake, with quick sharp strikes before he withdrew, like in his political games, but it wasn't. He hissed in pain as his ankle shattered, Tom momentarily managing to assert dominance - it was swinging, wildly, between them - snarling at him.

"The curse scar, how did that happen? You said I gave it to you."

And Harry, still under truth serum, couldn't help but reply, even as he threw the other off him again, rolling, trying to pin him down to continue punching.

He wasn't thinking anymore; a red haze of anger, frustration and blind hatred for who this boy would be had descended across all rationality.

"Rebounded curse," he spat, only just having the presence of mind to try and keep his answers minimal.

Riddle's head cracked against the floor, violet eyes narrowed with rage and icy determination and so many things that he couldn't stand to look at them too long, as if they would literally burn him with their intensity.

"Which curse?" Tom spun them round again, smashing an elbow into his ribs, and his forearm into Harry's throat.

They were both breathing heavily, gasping for air, unable to stop. The room was slowly getting destroyed around them, and though they weren't actually casting spells, Harry could taste the magic on the air. He no longer knew which of theirs it was, and he no longer cared.

All that mattered was winning.

"Avada Kedavra," he growled, trying to convey with his glare how much he wanted to be holding his wand while he said those words to Riddle.

Tom's eyes widened, with shock, and Harry used it to his advantage, slamming forwards, scrabbling to reach his wand once more.

The fight continued.

The party froze, coming to an abrupt halt as the door to the fifth year dorms splintered open, two figures falling out of it, paying absolutely no heed to their surroundings.

Abraxas almost choked.

Evans.

Tom.

There was blood pouring down his lord's face, his clothing tattered and shredded, his eyes alight with a dangerous fire, his posture screaming menace and threat, right arm hanging at an odd, grotesque angle, hair matted with blood and dishevelled.

Evans was in no better shape, hunched over slightly as if to protect broken ribs, the fingers on his left arm shattered, his weight almost entirely on one foot, lip bleeding.

The silence could have been too quiet for the dead, it was almost as if no one was even breathing.

The two circled each other - and there was nothing docile of weak about Evans now, it was like everything had been batted away and all that remained was a jaded warrior.

There was a moment of calm as they scrambled to their feet, trading daggers in their glares, like they were standing on the brink of something.

It was like there was lightning in the air, sparking off them, and the magic…Salazar, the magic. Dark and Light and Grey and powerful and consuming, clashing and entwining and tugging and searching.

His breath hitched. Three of the first years fainted, eyes rolling back in their heads. Neither Prefect nor new student even glanced over, seeming not to notice.

Abraxas wondered if they should be helping, shock splintering through the muffled mist of his intoxication like a sharp shard of glass. His lord gave no indication of wanting existence, indeed, by the way his eyes were drinking in every part of Evans, riveted, he rather suspected Tom didn't.

He wondered for a moment if Tom had found someone to play against not with, before dismissing it as absurd. This was Tom.

The next second, the two were at each other's throats more, trading spells and curses and raw power just as much as they traded fists, weaving in and out of each other's zones.

It was like nothing he'd ever seen before. Everyone was quickly making their way to the edges of the room, clearing the space, not daring to speak or protest or caution in anyway.

Tom and Harry dove around each other, a deadly dance - and if one missed even a single step, he knew the game would be over.

They weren't speaking, not one word was passing between them, and Zevi seemed to be in something of horrified disbelief sprinkled with admiration.

Lestrange was passed out in the corner, missing everything. Alphard looked very much, if he didn't fear so much for his own life, that he would like to start a betting pool on the outcome.

It was all so fast, the actual movements seemed a blur, and by the time it was the end, he wasn't entirely sure what actually happened.

Alphard swore, whistling lowly.

Tom lunged for his forehead, aiming for the curse scar, and Harry angled his wand into the others chest, even as pain exploded in his mind, as if his brain or soul wanted to tear itself apart, and he was dropping to his knees.

Riddle was smirking, so smugly ensured of his victory, and Harry's wand was aiming at his chest, even as the blackness began to taint his mind.

"Confringo!"

Blasting curse. Point blank into Riddle's chest.

He had a moment to grin at the pained surprise in Tom's gaze, the screams, and which of them was even screaming…

And then the blackness was devouring him whole.
He was falling.

A/N: Well, I hope it was worth the wait :) Thank you for the reviews. I sincerely hope you enjoyed this chapter.

If you want to find me on Pottermore: NoxDust14444 (I'm a Slytherin, suprised?)