Yo! This chapter comes to you before breakfast and in the middle of KH 2.5 Final Mix (I have weird priorities, I know), so if you happen to notice any glaring mistakes, feel free to point them out. Thank you to all readers so far!

The next morning, Harry found out why the Dursleys had actually left him alone yesterday. The new neighbour was coming over for dinner this evening and of course, he was the one who had to prepare the meal. He wouldn't have been able to do that if his uncle had taken his anger out on him or if he'd gotten hurt from doing his numerous chores or something.

Harry wasn't surprised by any of this, and nor was he particularly bothered by it. He didn't really mind cooking. He was more amused than anything else. Whoever their neighbour was, the Dursleys really seemed to want to impress him. All Harry knew was that it was some bloke named Tom, but no one had mentioned anything more about him, or at least not while he'd been around.

So Harry got to cooking, glad the Dursleys were keeping out of the kitchen. And while he cooked, he thought about the weird note he received yesterday. He sure as hell had a lot of questions about it, that was for sure.

Harry had no way of knowing who sent it. There was no signature or initialling of any kind, and the owl looked like any other normal brown owl. It wasn't anything official from Hogwarts, since it was missing the crest, and it couldn't be from any of his friends, because the handwriting didn't match any of theirs. Not to mention none of them had any reason to say something so vague.

That didn't necessarily mean it was from a stranger though. He'd thought yesterday that the handwriting was unfamiliar, but the longer he'd looked at it, the more he'd realized that that wasn't actually true. He did recognize it, but only very vaguely. Vague enough that he couldn't place who it belonged to.

But handwriting aside, what exactly did the note mean? 'Don't trust the old man'. Harry only knew one old man, and that was Dumbledore. But why would someone he likely knew be telling him not to trust him?

Was it someone from the Dark trying to trick or manipulate him? That was the most probable thing, all things considered. But other than a couple of exceptions, he didn't know anyone on the Dark side well enough to recognize their handwriting, vaguely or not.

He knew it wasn't Snape. After seeing numerous corrections on his homework for five years, Harry couldn't possibly forget what his handwriting looked like and it definitely wasn't this. In the same vein, it wasn't Voldemort either. Or, he didn't think it was. He remembered Tom Riddle's handwriting from that weird diary. It was a while ago, yeah, but it was hard to forget too, but for a different reason. Either way, this writing was too messy to match that neat, even script. Then again, it was possible his handwriting had just changed since then.

But there was something telling Harry that the note hadn't been sent by someone Dark. They were generally more...subtle than this. Did he know someone who wasn't Dark and apparently didn't trust Dumbledore?

Harry cooked away, a deep frown on his face. He really honestly couldn't think of a single person. But there had to be someone, just because the letter existed. And this person's motivations were probably an even bigger mystery he had no answers for. Then again, it was also possible that this was just some messed up prank.

Harry's frown deepened even further. There was no way this could be good.

It was ten to eight when Aunt Petunia rushed into the kitchen. She was dressed in her favourite evening dress, her hair combed neatly, make-up nicely applied, and with complementary jewellery to match. Harry didn't doubt Uncle Vernon was any different. The Dursleys knew how to put on an appearance, that was for sure.

"Is dinner finished yet?"

"The roast needs another fifteen minutes," said Harry, trying not to be too curt. If he played his cards right, maybe he'd even get to eat some of the food he'd spent all bloody day preparing.

"The rest?"

"Finished."

"Good. Our guest will be arriving in a few minutes. Clean yourself up before he gets here. We don't need you embarrassing us."

Taking the order for what it was, Harry hurried upstairs to take a quick shower and change his clothes. It wasn't like anything he had to wear here was fancy but he was hungry and willing to play nice tonight.

He was heading back down the stairs when the doorbell rang and Uncle Vernon hissed at him to open the door, greet their guest, and lead him to the sitting room. Rolling his eyes, Harry opened the door.

"Good evening, Harry."

Harry stared. There was a man standing on the other side of the door. Late twenties or early thirties, tall, lean, black haired, grey eyed, and a pleasantly amused smile on his face. Technically speaking, Harry had never seen this man before. Or rather, had never seen this...version of him before. He felt a lurch in his gut, like he'd missed a step going down the stairs, but still all he could do was stare.

"What-what are you doing here?" questioned Harry hoarsely, still not entirely sure if what he was seeing was actually real. There was no way it could be, even though he didn't have any alternative explanations either.

"I'm here to have dinner, of course. I was promised a nice roast."

Harry's eyes widened. "Oh shit, the roast! Look just- Fuck it, I don't even care anymore. Just get in and go to the sitting room before the roast burns and I get beaten." Without waiting for an answer, Harry turned on his heel and started for the sitting room, hearing quiet footsteps following behind him after a beat of silence.

Harry didn't bother waiting for the introductions or greetings, nearly running to the kitchen as soon as they'd made it to the sitting room. He could hear Aunt Petunia all but gushing as she introduced Uncle Vernon and Dudley, and he wasn't sure how to react when he heard their...guest introduce himself in return as Tom Riddle.

Yeah, calling himself Voldemort would probably be pretty weird right now, huh?

Tom wasn't sure whether he was amused by Potter's reaction upon seeing him at the door or not. He was amused that he'd just invited him in though. That was a surefire way to ensure none of the spells on the property would activate or react to his presence. Good.

But he also had to admit he was a little unnerved by Potter mentioning he'd be beaten so casually. He wasn't surprised or anything-this really only confirmed his suspicions on that front, but it was unnerving nevertheless.

Dinner itself was actually a rather boring affair, even with Potter there. The Dursleys prattled on and on about the most inane things Tom couldn't bring himself to care about in the slightest, and Potter didn't say a word, eating his meal (which was a noticeably smaller portion) in silence. Dudley Dursley looked between him and Potter a little suspiciously, but said nothing either, his parents doing all of the talking. Did the boy suspect something? Curious.

Tom went along with it, keeping a pleasant and interested smile on his face the entire time. He was good at this, he knew. That was why so many looked up to him the way they did. Because so few of them ever realized it was an act.

But while he listened to the drivel, Tom cautiously allowed his magic to spread around the house, searching. If his magic was visible, it would look like dark tendrils streaking out of him and slithering across the floor like dozens of snakes.

In the seat beside him, Potter stiffened. Tom saw his head turn slightly towards him, but he didn't say anything. Could he feel the magic? It was a little surprising if he could. Tom wasn't releasing much of it. Most wouldn't even notice its presence.

"What're you doing?" Potter hissed at him when his uncle laughed uproariously.

"Confirming a hunch," was all Tom said in reply. "Relax. I won't kill anyone." And out of the corner of his eye, he saw Potter's brow furrow.

Dinner came to an end and Potter was instructed to clear the table and bring out dessert. He did so, moving swiftly, the motions clearly well practised. Potter didn't join them for dessert, and since he could hear water running, Tom figured he was cleaning the dishes. Well, that was fine. It wasn't like Potter was helping much in terms of conversation anyway. Besides, he was almost done here. The tendrils of magic were returning to him, bringing him some interesting answers.

Potter wasn't there when Tom left the house, the Dursleys the ones to see him off, smiling and waving at him as he walked out. Glad they weren't trying to make more small talk, Tom walked off as quickly as he could while still being polite, and it was only once he was back inside Number Two that he allowed himself to relax.

Well, that wasn't as bad as he'd been expecting.

Undoing the buttons on his cuffs, Tom rolled up his sleeves and lowered into the closest armchair, his long fingers coming up to his chin as he focused on the things his exploring magic had revealed to him.

He was right. There really were some very strange spells placed around Number Four Privet Drive.

That's it for now. Looking forward to reviews! Laterz!