Chapter 16:
Harry strode down the corridor, angrily, silently seething.

He'd just spent his evening, before dinner, in detention with Riddle - cleaning out all the bathrooms in the dungeon up to the third floor, manually and without magic. And now, now he had to meet up with the bastard again for damn tutorials that he didn't want or need.

Had he ever mentioned that he hated Tom Riddle? Honestly hated him? He was infuriating. He didn't even have the courtesy of being easily despicable, and Harry made an effort to ignore the contradictions in his last two sentences.

See, this was why Riddle was so annoying - he was even confusing when Harry was trying to hate him, simply because he didn't.

And he wanted to.

Tom Riddle wasn't easy to hate and that just made it ten times worse. He didn't like the Slytherin Heir, and the idea of them getting along or being anything less than enemies was laughable, but he didn't quite hate him either however hard he tried.
Unfortunately.

The other was...interesting, he'd give him that, and certainly completely different to what Harry had been expecting. He'd heard, even from the horse's mouth, that the other was charming and good at persuading at people, but, somehow, he'd still expected him to be more like Voldemort.

Harry could tell already that he most definitely wasn't a nice person, but he...he didn't know. Voldemort had always seemed somewhat blunt to him, insane, while Tom...Tom was dangerously sane. Unstable, most likely, but he wouldn't say the young Dark Lord was insane yet...just a complete genius with an obvious cruel streak and a razor sharp wit.

It was disconcerting.

Especially the blatant - well, it was practically an obsession, wasn't it? - which the other seemed to have regarding him.

Tom Riddle was quickly bored with his toys, but he broke them quickly too.

Harry shuddered, vowing there and then that would never happen to him. He turned a corner, hands stuffed in his pockets, only to walk straight into someone. Again.

At least it wasn't Riddle this ti-he froze on the spot. Charlus 'call me Leonard' Potter was standing in front of him, eyes narrowed.

The sixth year looked somewhat like him, with the same black messy hair and the same nose. The eyes were of course different, hazel and evenly spaced from each other. Smaller than his own, perhaps.
Their build was different, Harry was more slender - though not feminine, wiry. Leonard Potter had broad shoulders and looked every inch a Keeper or a Beater, as opposed to a seeker.

"Watch where you're going," his grandfather ordered, a bit coolly.

"I-sorry," Harry said automatically, suddenly flustered. He tried for a smile. "Leonard Potter, right?"

"What's it to you?" Leonard returned warily, before his head tilted. His eyes widened as he clicked his fingers in realisation, as if searching for a thought, the hostility fading from his stance. "You're the new kid who hospitalised Riddle."

"Uh, yeah, that's me?"

"God, it's a pleasure, I've wanted to do that since forever." Harry abruptly found the sixth years' hand in his, shaking firmly. He blinked.

"Oh thank god," he replied, feeling numb, a laugh startling past his lips. "Someone sane! I was starting to think everyone around here loved the bastard."

"Just most of them." Leonard seemed to relax slightly with this mutual enemy in common, eyeing him. "Though to date I think you're the only snake who doesn't."
Harry almost grimaced at the reminder of his sorting.

"It's a lonely life," he said, instead, lightly, with a shrug.

"I'm surprised you're still standing actually." Leonard was starting to look concerned now, and Harry wasn't sure if he was shocked at the compassion the Gryffindor was showing for a stranger and a Slytherin, touched, or both. "He's a nasty piece of work when he's crossed, Tom Riddle...though I daresay you know that by now." Leonard's head tilted the other way.

Harry shrugged again; not really comfortable talking about it. They studied each for a further moment, with some awkwardness.

"What did you do to piss him off anyway?"

"Why does everyone assume I've pissed him off?" Harry exclaimed, indignantly, before he could stop himself. "Seriously, people keep asking me this, like I'm the annoying one!"

Leonard stared at him, with an almost incredulous air, before chuckling.

"You're not like any Slytherin I've ever met," he murmured. Harry snorted. That was because he wasn't really a Slytherin – the Sorting Hat was just playing some sort of cruel prank on him or something. "And, well, if it was the other way round nothing would be happening. He'd just ignore you."

"Oh I wish," Harry muttered darkly. Leonard shot him a curious look. He offered a strained smile in response. There was another awkward silence.

"Well, I'll let you get going, you seemed to be in a rush," the Potter dismissed, with a not quite warm smile, but not a cold one either. Neutrally friendly, or something.

"Yeah...sorry about that, I seem to have a bad habit of walking into people," Harry mumbled sheepishly, embarrassed.

"No worries," Leonard replied, seemingly with some amusement. There was yet another uncomfortable silence, neither of them quite knowing what to say.

"Well, bye," Harry said, with a smile. "It was nice meeting you."

"You too, Evans," Leonard stated, clapping his arm, moving past, before pausing, looking at him, then shaking his head and continuing onwards quickly.

Harry found his eyes following the other out of sight. That had been...surreal. He couldn't believe he'd just had a conversation with his grandfather - albeit a highly awkward, stilted and short conversation.

Then he remembered why he was hurrying again and swore loudly, casting a tempus charm. He was supposed to be meeting Riddle in about a minute. As in, he was going to be late. Shit.

Hating the fact he was doing so, he sprinted.

Albus Dumbledore had, somewhat reluctantly, spent several hours supervising Riddle and Evans in their detention.

The Headmaster had given him the task due to his 'obvious interest' in their affairs, and he suspected it was some form of subtle punishment.

He certainly had better things to be doing, with the blossoming war with Gellert to manage, and constant demands on his time in various fields of study and numerous projects - and this was not even taking into account seven years of marking to do and lesson plans.

And now, unfortunately, he was finding it difficult to even concentrate on that.

He'd never liked Tom Riddle, he could admit that to himself. He hadn't liked the boy since he'd heard about his affairs at that bleak orphanage all those years ago, when the child had merely been eleven and remote.

The manic glee and clear tendency towards Psychopathic behaviour alarmed and troubled him, and he'd hoped to quickly put a stop to it with his warnings and the indication that such character was not acceptable in Hogwarts or indeed the greater world.

It had only driven the boy to hiding and shadows, a taunting mask of perfection in which only he was able to see the danger and menace that lurked below the surface. None of the other teachers would believe a word against the poor, charismatic and handsome orphan, and he wasn't so foolish as to press the issue.

He'd just kept a close on eye on the situation.

He didn't get further involved though, he was too busy, and he didn't see what he could do to neutralise the potential threat outside of killing the boy anyway, and that would be too rash. The Matron had indicated he'd always been this way, so it was probably a matter of nature over nurture.

Even if it wasn't, Tom Riddle quite clearly did not desire friendship, assistance or companionship of any kind - otherwise he would have reached out to his fellow students. More so, assistance for a Slytherin from the Head of Gryffindor would only have sought to make it worse, and exacerbated the possibility of Tom's isolation.

It seemed, despite this, Riddle had still turned out...ominous.

That was more than evident in the behaviour and mannerisms of the mysterious Mr Evans. The time traveller was obviously wary of the Slytherin Prefect, indicating of a certain level of infamy in Riddle's future, only confirmed by the way Evans had almost killed Tom on Halloween.

Tom must have committed terrible acts for such an otherwise unassuming (outside of future knowledge) and largely harmless boy to attempt murder within the wards. They said it was a misunderstanding, but, like coincidences, he didn't believe such accidents happened around Tom Riddle.

He would have been more than happy to step aside and let Evans perform such as assassination if it didn't destroy the timeline. Unfortunately, it did, and so was not a viable option however better such a future could possibly be. Time itself was too complex for one man or even several to attempt to control and manipulate.

There was something there though - between Riddle and Evans.
It was something different, something new. Whatever else could be said about Tom, he normally kept a flawless record and persona in class and the public. With Evans, some of that unshakeable composition slipped, revealing more than cool exteriors.

There was almost a draw between them, a pull, like magnets.
It was disturbing.

Tom Riddle never connected with anyone, not really, and so it was absolutely terrifying that he was doing so now with a time traveler who seemed to have some form of past history with the prefect. It didn't bode well for the future.

It was probably just a passing fancy on Riddle's behalf, but that would only lead to Evans getting hurt and broken. The world didn't need more hurt, broken people, and he was sure the poor child had done nothing to deserve it.

It didn't seem like Riddle was getting bored though, and maybe that worried him more.
Though they'd hardly spoken to each other under his watch, it was more than evident that they were fully aware of each the whole time, and there was a clash of intenseness present even when they were supposedly not interacting.

Oh, they were studiously looking away from each other, paying no attention, but the awareness was there in the way they were starting to automatically shift around each other's proximity, like two planets circling in and out of each other's gravity, balanced on the knife-edge before crashing.

An opposing force to Tom Riddle was an excellent thing, but, only if it remained that - opposing.
He didn't know. He just didn't know.

He just didn't like it.

"You're late."
Harry skidded into the room, slamming the door shut behind him, scowling.

"A wizard is never late," Harry replied, before he could help himself. Tom stared at him.

"You're late," he repeated, tightly.

"Your clock's wrong," Harry returned, flashing a dazzling smile, dropping down onto a seat, arms folded. "Are you going to start or waste time bickering with me?"

Tom's eyes narrowed, but after a moment he merely smiled back.

"Glad to see you're so eager, darling," he drawled. "How about we start on Defence Against the Dark Arts? It seems to be your, ah, forte after all."

Crap. Duelling - at least that was what he assumed the other had planned. Fabulous. He'd 'duelled' Voldemort before, but he wasn't sure trading one spell, dodging and running really classified as duelling the Dark Lord, and he'd seen Tom's spellwork in class.

This was going to be...painful.

There was no way he would be able to keep up, everyone talked about how brilliant Riddle was, how powerful and talented. He was, well, sure, he was best at Defence in his own time - the best in their class - but considering the largely incompetent nature of most of the teacher's he'd had that wasn't as reassuring as it initially seemed.

Oh well. He wasn't going to back down, was he? So he figured he'd just give it his best shot.

"And yours, I believe, though I suspect more on the other end of the spectrum," he murmured, eyeing the other. Tom's eyes gleamed.

"You only suspect? My, I'm disappointed, sweetheart. Clearly I failed somewhere in life."

Harry resisted the urge to twitch at the continued use of couple-ish nicknames, but merely grinned at Riddle, brazenly.

"Oh you failed a lot, rumour has it that's mostly my doing, but I'm sure you'll forgive me for not apologising for the inconvenience."

The next second a barrage of curses were flying in his direction, and his eyes widened as he automatically dodged, heart pounding, immediately fighting back.

He could instantly tell that duelling Tom was different to duelling training dummies on his own in the room of requirement. There was no exaggeration, the other was an outstanding duellist.

His previous memories of fighting the prefect were hazed, leading to their coma, and once again he found himself with the intent awareness that a single miscalculation or misstep on his behalf would lead to defeat.

They darted around each other, testing boundaries this time, searching out flaws and cracks in armour. He thought he was doing...okay. He wasn't disarmed within the first minute, at least, which he'd kind of been worried about.

Then Tom switched to Parseltongue.

He brought up a shield, hastily, as normal, only this time the spell just went past it and broke his ribs with a sickening crack. The next second his wand was out of his hands, in Riddle's, and before he could process he was humiliatingly sprawled across the floor.

The Slytherin Heir smiled all too pleasantly, circling him like a vulture around prey.
He shifted to get up, only for a polished shoe to dig into chest, causing his rib to shift backwards, almost scraping against his lung.

Feeling utterly sick, he stopped the attempt, lying down, glaring up at the other. Tom stared down at him, appraisingly.

"What do you know of parselmagic, Harry?" Riddle questioned, mildly.

"Parselmagic?" he repeated, blankly. He'd never heard of the damned thing. Tom's smile broadened.

"Fascinating skill for those who have the talent, can't be blocked by normal spells..." the other trailed off, eyes still glittering with a strange mischief. "Just a pity you seem to lack it." The foot was abruptly gone from his ribs, and the other was sitting elegantly next to him. "You're duelling skills need work; there's potential there, but you're woefully underdeveloped in your repertoire."

Harry blinked at the seeming change of topic, but didn't trust it, moving to sit up again. Riddle's fingers skated warningly across his ribs, but this time he sat up anyway. If Riddle was going to kill him, he would kill him, and Harry certainly wasn't going to lie down pathetically for him to do it.

He didn't quite know what to say in response, but it didn't seem to matter because Tom was continuing either way with only the smallest of pauses, studying him with an almost open curiosity.

"I would have thought you'd have more training," Tom murmured, "seeing as you seem to have something of a recurring history with my elder self."

Harry honestly didn't know what to say to that either, though his brow furrowed marginally at the comment.

"Training?"

Tom shot him a look.

"Yes, training," he said, rolling his eyes. "Some form of protection, defence - anything. You're clearly largely self taught, which I wager is what you've been disappearing off to do...did your precious light side not give you any assistance on the matter?"

Harry's mouth suddenly felt dry, and there was an awkward tension in his shoulders and stomach. Tom's head tilted.

"My, my," the young Dark Lord purred. "They didn't. Oh, you poor little sacrificial lamb, this is just...quaint. How are you still alive? Aside from what appears to be an ability to rebound killing curses, of course."

"Luck," Harry stated flatly, really not fancying this discussion. Riddle's lips twisted, and their gazes locked.

"Luck runs out," Tom said, very softly, his fingers digging in painfully again for a moment.
Harry just shrugged in response. He knew, merlin, he knew that.

"Clearly, otherwise I doubt I'd be here stuck with you," he replied, snidely. Tom laughed, quietly, not without menace.

"What if I said I could teach you how to duel properly?"

"And why would you do that?" Harry demanded, suspiciously.

"My unshakeable honour and sense of fair play," Riddle deadpanned.

"You don't seem the type to treat your own followers fairly, let alone your enemies. So I'll repeat, why would you do that?" his tone was fierce, but Riddle merely smirked at him once again.

"Are you my enemy then, Harry?" he questioned, with a bizarre mixture of amusement and gravity. "My very own future arch-nemesis?" Harry gritted his teeth, looking away, and Tom laughed again. Harry scowled, not seeing what was so damn entertaining.

His ribs hurt, and Tom's fingers were still resting and skating across the injured area - idle for now, put fully able to cause pain at any given second, as shown by the way they would occasionally dip, dangerously close to making him puncture a lung.

"Are you going to return my wand or not?" he snapped.

"Why, are you feeling threatened?" Tom replied. The touch, paradoxically, became teasingly feather-light.

"Bit hard to get tutored on defence against the dark arts when I don't have a wand."

Riddle stared at him.

"Does this mean you're accepting my offer?" he asked.

Harry thought about it.
Cons - Tom learnt about his capabilities and he was forced to spend time with the other...although, technically, he was being forced to do that anyway. He was also opening himself up to getting the crap beaten out of him like today, and giving the other to opportunity to study him more.

Pros - he learnt more about Tom and Tom's capabilities, "know thy enemy" as the Slytherin himself had stated what seemed so long ago and he learnt how to defend himself better (what could a second opinion hurt?) It wasn't like he couldn't back off at any time he wanted, or that there was an obligation between them, was it?

"Considering there are no other catches, and if there are, I'm not agreeing to them - why not?"
Ultimately, it was worse to not use the opportunities and resources granted to him, when they could help himself survive at some point.

"Excellent. What do you feel about dark magic, golden boy?"

A/N: Mercy, it's something! :) *comes out waving white flags.*

Thanks for all the reviews, you are awesome! :D Figured I had to do something admist English and Philosophy revision!

Still not slash as far as I'm concerned...if FF isn't, PP certainly isn't :P