Dissindere Temporalis

So here we are!

Chapter 5.

I strongly considered moving to Ron or Draco's perspective for this chapter, as they haven't had one yet, but in the end it could only have been Harry's.

Enjoy!

Chapter 5: Vicem Alterum

Balance is sometimes a hard thing to understand, especially if you find yourself in its hands, as its tools.

Those that Destiny touches rarely look peaceful.

They are driven. Burdened by their obligation, leashed by their purpose.

But also unleashed to explore the true potential of magic, and power.

- Anonymous, The Philosophy of the Guild of Shadows

He'd known.

As soon as he stepped in the doorway he'd known. His skin prickled like a thousand pins and needles and warmth flooded his body like adrenaline, as soon as his gaze met the boy sitting in the train carriage.

Dark eyes, almost black, but with a hint of blue. Almost indigo.

Fathomless.

Familiar.

Tom Riddle.

The boy was young, he'd seen him before in the Pensieve of Dumbledore's memories but there was a slight change. The air seemed less heavy, the sense of foreboding and ominous evil less. And suddenly Harry realised that, despite Dumbledore telling him his memories were clear and honest, no memory could ever be truly honest.

They would always be coloured by the mind they'd come from.

Which meant…Dumbledore had always doubted Riddle, or that time and feelings had warped the memory.

Had he ever had a chance?

Well, that was why they were here, right?

Riddle was staring back at him just as intently, and his gaze was even more compelling in person.

"Nice to meet you,"

Someone moved between them and Harry almost felt the loss of connection like a knife severing a limb. He startled, shocked, and realised that Ron had moved forward to shake Tom's hand, a true Gryffindor ballsing though the situation. And that Draco was practically plastered against his back, vibrating with anxiety.

Silently he blessed Ron, gone were the days of his wincing and flinching at the mention of Voldemort.

The end of the war and the years that had followed, the peacetime war that had followed had changed that.

He looked over at Hermione, and saw that she'd gone pale, but she'd also drawn herself up a little more erect, and her gaze was flicking between him and the shaking blond behind him.

Harry twisted, getting a glance at Malfoy's pale, hell paler than normal, face, and the haunted look around his eyes. It was one thing to talk about it, another to meet the enemy you'd once known.

"Malfoy?" He breathed and the blond's grey eyes lifted to his.

"I-I can't…" he whispered back, before suddenly he was gone, fleeing somewhere, anywhere.

Harry turned back around just in time for Ron to move aside, and for Riddle to stand, extending his hand towards him, "And you?"

The voice. It was familiar too, he'd heard it first, deeper, from a boy in a diary. And again in the memories. He'd forgotten how silky it was.

He steeled his Gryffindor nerves and took his hand.

"Harry Potter."

It was like electricity. Fizzing up their arms until suddenly the lights in the carriage went black. Shocked exclamations went up and down the train, shouts and screams and laughs, and Harry realised, dazedly, that they'd blacked out the entire thing.

Tom's gaze stayed locked on his.

"Potter." he murmured, and for a second Harry heard every time Voldemort had hissed, breathed, howled his name. And then it was just Tom, just the boy before him, "Interesting. I was planning on coming to find you at some point, how fortuitous that you came to me."

For a second he could almost hear Ron and Hermione's horrified thoughts, Did he somehow know ?

"Why?" he blurted out, and his voice sounded rough next to the silken touch of Riddle's, "Have we met?"

"No," Riddle's lips curved into a wicked smile, "No, but I bought a wand just the other day, and Mr. Ollivander told me an interesting tale of two phoenix feathers."

For a moment Harry almost said. 'I know'.

But somewhere the distant remnants of this Auror training caught his tongue and screeched at him in a voice very similar to an enraged Hermione.

'How would you know, Harry? Honestly! He's just bought it and he bought it after you. Ollivander wouldn't have told you the story because there wasn't a point then!'

It wasn't the first time his Auror trained instincts had sounded like Hermione in his head.

He kind of liked that they did. Felt familiar. Or maybe it was like what Charlie had said, he relied on, and trusted, Hermione more than anyone else, perhaps even himself…

So he arched an eyebrow at Riddle, "Phoenix feathers? Like my wand?"

Riddle almost rolled his eyes at him, Harry saw the abortive movement start and was floored.

He'd almost made Riddle roll his eyes at him.

"Yes Potter, exactly like your wand." there was a note of censure in his voice now, like Harry had been found far less than Riddle had hoped for, "Our wands have a pair of feathers from the same Phoenix apparently."

"Is that rare?" Harry cocked his head, "must be I suppose if Ollivander went out of his way to tell you about it."

"Indeed." Riddle eyed him again but anything he might have said was waylaid by the door sliding open again with a firm thump.

All of them turned to look at the pair of older students in the doorway.

"You lot look like firsties." The tall boy before them remarked dryly, "Power's gone out, just wanted to make sure you all were doing okay."

A ball of soft pale blue light flickered into being, floating up past Harry's head to rest on the ceiling, and he twisted to look at Hermione, still sitting in her seat, wand in her hand.

"We're fine," Ron folded his arms slightly, giving the older children a disgruntled look. Harry knew what he was thinking, he really couldn't remember being this much smaller than the older kids the first time around.

"That's a nifty bit of magic," the blond girl in the door peered at the blue light ball and then back at Hermione, "Firsties don't usually know how to do magic like that."

"I-" Hermione floundered and Harry quickly stepped in.

"She's a book nerd. Always has been."

Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw that Riddle had turned his attention to Hermione. There was a look on his face, hungry, interested, even perhaps jealous, and he knew that Riddle was now very interested in Hermione and her knowledge.

"Maybe you'll be a Ravenclaw then." The blond girl grinned, tapping her blue eagle badge with pride, "We like smart ones."

The boy with her rolled his eyes, before turning back to them.

"Hopefully the power will come back soon, don't panic yeah?"

He nodded at them and then the door slid shut again. As soon as it did, Riddle leaned in eagerly, gaze fixed on Hermione, "You already know some spells?"

Hermione's eyes widened slightly, but then, hesitantly, she nodded.

"I was told they'd know, if we cast magic outside of school," There was a note to his voice at that, annoyance maybe, or jealousy. Either way Harry stepped in.

"They do." He said quietly, and Tom's dark gaze snapped to him again, "They call it the Trace. But it's linked both to your address and to your wand and…" he squirmed a little as though embarrassed, "Where we were staying had ways of…going around that."

Tom's gaze was intent, curious, "Interesting. So there are ways around things."

Oh bollocks…he didn't need to be giving Riddle ideas…

"Not easily," Ron shrugged, nonchalantly, "Either way, Hermione here knows more spells than the rest of us combined."

Hermione pinked with pleasure and embarrassment and squirmed as Riddle's gaze turned approving, "I believe in being prepared. And besides, books and cleverness aren't everything, Ron."

"No," Riddle agreed, and there was a gleam in his eyes that made Harry both interested and nervous, "Knowledge is nothing, if it's not used."

Harry and Ron exchanged an uncomfortable look.

He was right.

But they'd also seen what he did with his knowledge. Everything was such a fine line, and the line was in different places for each person.

For a moment he wondered why they were even trying this…

And then he remembered the slow rot after the war. The ancient families, ingrained into Wizarding culture, embittered and believing they were being targeted, shutting their doors and condemning everyone with progressive views. The new generation, furious at the old for their mistakes and the war they'd had to fight because of them, refusing to consider the more conservative point of view.

And then both sides getting gradually more and more sullied by the extreme views on either side. The conservatives choosing to defend the Pureblood rhetoric because not doing so meant weakening their position on other points. Both sides defending different but indefensible points because to do otherwise would mean giving the other side a victory. Liberals condemning everyone unilaterally in a loud, mob, ironically witch-burning mentality of everyone needing to pay.

It was a mess.

A divided, angry, hostile, mess.

And one that had gotten to the point of being unsolvable. Another war was inevitable. But in that war there would be no victors, merely loss.

If Harry was going to fight another War, he wanted it to be one that might end in peace.

Voldemort may have brought the issues to the surface, but the issues had been there all along, slowly rotting them from the inside out.

That realisation had hurt him.

It was why he'd come to Hermione.

And why all of this had begun.

"Have you read your textbooks?" Hermione suddenly asked and he glanced at her in surprise, startled out of his thoughts to find her sitting, looking attentively at Riddle.

Riddle smiled, and it was an actual smile. Pleasant even.

"I have. What did you think about Gubbins' theory on spellcasting technique?"

Hermione huffed, and they were off. The discussion was both lively and fierce, with both of them debating most of the assigned reading list.

Ron watched them both with a distinct air of dismay.

"She's going to be unbearable now, you know that right?"

Harry grinned and clapped Ron on the shoulder, before taking a seat as far away from the bickering duo as he could, "Think about it this way Ron, now she won't expect us to know all this."

Ron immediately brightened, "Fair point. Alright then… Wizard's Chess?" and he waved a red velvet bag full of wiggling, hostile chess pieces at him,

Fondly remembering his first, first ride to Hogwarts, Harry agreed and settled into losing to Ron, something that was both familiar, and a little bitter sweet.

It had been too long since their biggest concern was Hogwarts classes and Wizarding Chess.

He was determined to enjoy it.

When they arrived at the train station Harry was relieved to see the Thestrals pulling the carriages.

Slowly he moved forward. He remembered being alarmed by their appearance, but now, thanks in large part to Luna, and the value of time and perspective, all he could see was their beauty. Delicate, fragile, almost ethereal in their skeletal frame. Bat like wings elegantly folded. A hide so black you could see shades of midnight blue and purple, rippling in its depths.

As he approached, the Thestral turned its head towards him and slowly lowered it in a small bow.

"What are these?"

Riddle's voice was reverent beside him and Harry turned to look at him with surprise. Riddle was gazing at the Thestrals with unabashed curiosity and fascination, and Harry's mouth parted in surprise.

"You can see them?"

Riddle frowned at him slightly, obviously confused, "Yes? Why?"

"Stop lollygagging you two." The blonde Ravenclaw prefect from earlier bustled along and hurried them off to the side, "Firsties are supposed to catch the boat, honestly."

They followed the other First Years, glancing at each other as they went, before they were bundled into a boat where they sat with Hermione, Ron and a very, very quiet Malfoy.

"Those were Thestrals," he murmured to Riddle, who looked at him intently, "You can only see them if… well if you've seen someone die."

"Ah," Riddle nodded slowly, "I see."

He didn't explain for a long moment, obviously debating something before looking up at Harry again, "You can see them too."

"Yes."

"Why?"

Harry looked down, remembering seeing Sirius fall through the Doorway of Death.

"The uncle I stayed with before… he died."

The ache was dull. So much had been lost since then, and that other world felt so far away. But Sirius, his loss, had been Harry's last chance for a Family. As such that pain remained, dulled, but still present.

Riddle watched him intently, those unfathomable dark indigo eyes locked on Harry's face, "Another child… where I was staying. He caught pneumonia."

Shocked, Harry realised he had a gut feeling that this was actually true.

Riddle had voluntarily shared something, even if he'd neatly sidestepped the Orphanage.

The two of them looked at each other for a long moment, before suddenly the boat rounded the edge of the lake and Hogwarts was before them, lit up in all its splendour.

He heard Riddle's breath catch beside him, and his own heart ached at the sight. The School, whole and hale and beautiful in the night. No longer scarred, no longer ravaged.

Never again, he vowed to himself, glancing over at Riddle's expression of unmistakable awe and delight.

Never again.

They were greeted by the sight of Dumbledore at the top of the stairs, eyeing them all over a pair of glasses, hair auburn and gleaming with youth.

Somehow it was a shock to see him, despite having known he would.

Again he was surprised, as the Dumbledore in the flesh here in the 1930's was again, different, to the Dumbledore he'd seen in the memory. The auburn hair was right but it was shorter, more stylish, and his outfit, while flamboyantly coloured and in plush velvet, was also rather more elegantly cut then his 'old sage robes' as Hermione had once drunkenly put it.

He was smiling down at the mass of young children climbing the stairs towards him, that familiar benevolent smile, but his blue eyes were sharp as he ran them over the crowd. Harry was careful not to catch his eye, and he saw, nearby, that Malfoy was practically hiding behind Ron, who was murmuring with Hermione.

Beside him Riddle was eyeing Dumbledore with both curiosity and disdain, which was when Harry remembered that in this world…the two had never met.

Tom wasn't trying to win this man's approval.

And Dumbledore wasn't suspicious. Yet.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," he greeted them all, "In a few minutes, all of you will pass through those doors into the Great Hall, where you will be Sorted into your Houses. Hogwarts has four houses, Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin."

Harry frowned slightly, had he heard Dumbledore's voice turn a little ominous when he said Slytherin? He'd certainly started out with gusto, proclaiming Gryffindor to them all.

"During your time here at Hogwarts your House will be like your family. Your hard-work, talents and skills will earn you Points, and your misbehaviour will lose them. Make sure that you are all a credit to your House." he eyed them all seriously, and the nervous first years shuffled, "When I return we will enter."

He disappeared into the Great Hall, the loud sound of chatter surging and then dropping again when the doors closed behind him.

Everyone eyed each other nervously, and Tom leaned in to whisper, "Any idea what this Sorting might be?"

Harry had forgotten the secrecy about the Ceremony, so he shook his head as the other children began to murmur among each other.

"No, even Hermione doesn't know."

"Mmm." Riddle frowned, "It's not in Hogwarts: a History."

Harry coughed, hiding his laugh behind a splutter, and then laughed again as Riddle gave him the most offended look he'd ever seen.

"Sorry, sorry!" he wheezed, "It's just… You and Hermione…and that book."

Riddle's stormy expression eased again, and a small smile touched his lips, "Preparation is key, Potter."

He grinned at Tom, unable to help himself, and the other boy turned his nose up haughtily.

Slytherins, so high strung, Harry thought fondly.

Dumbledore returned shortly afterwards, the doors swinging open to admit them.

The first years gazed and gawped at the floating candles and the incredible ceiling.

"It's enchanted to look like the sky outside." Riddle informed Harry, who bit his lip as hard as he could to stop himself wheezing again.

Ron, behind them, whimpered, but when Riddle looked over his shoulder, alarmed, the redhead was looking down, Hermione punching his shoulder, "It's in Hogwarts: A History!"

They reached the front of the dais, and then Dumbledore slowly and solemnly placed the hat on the stool.

"What." Riddle drawled, lowly, unimpressed.

Then the hat opened its mouth, and began to sing.

It has been many centuries

Since first this place was built.

Built by friends, not enemies

So no more blood was spilt.

Four great leaders of renown

Joined as one to teach.

They sought no staff, nor a crown

The young they sought to reach

The warriors and strong

Bold Gryffindor saw the brave

He swore that it was far too wrong

To see them in an early grave.

The sages with their wisdom

Clever Ravenclaw did cherish

From all across the Kingdom

So that they would not perish.

Without drive and goals we are nothing

The sharp Slytherin did avow

Courage and wits lack cunning

Its loss I cannot allow.

And those who give others their care?

I cannot judge who is worthy,

We all have something great to share.

Said Hufflepuff most firmly.

So to teach the magical young

Four Houses they did make

A well of learning sprung.

The tide of blood they did break.

So hear me now, this lesson is the first.

United you are strongest to your core.

Together we can beat the worst

Just like the Hogwarts four.

The applause was enthusiastic, but Harry glanced at Hermione out of the corner of his eye. She was frowning, and looking around she wasn't the only one. Dumbledore looked concerned, and a number of the older students looked bemused too.

He remembered the warning songs of the Hat back in their original timeline, asking for unity, it seemed that it sensed the unrest here too. Clearly it hadn't sung a more warning song the last year.

"A hat is going to tell us where we belong?" Riddle murmured in his ear, and Harry looked back at the other boy who was frowning, "What if it gets it wrong? It's a hat ."

He shrugged, what could he say? The Hat was a powerful magical object, with deeper magic than anyone knew about. He'd never really known it to be wrong… except for maybe Pettigrew.

The first of them to get called was Hermione.

She walked forward, back erect and head held proudly before she sat on the stool. Dumbledore placed the hat on her head with a genial smile, and it slid down to cover her eyes.

Nothing happened.

After 3 minutes the hall became restless.

After 5, the murmurings gained volume and Harry shared a concerned look with Ron.

"What's going on?" he mouthed, and Ron shrugged helplessly, while Malfoy looked even more pale than usual.

Finally the hat's mouth opened and the hall hushed.

"SLYTHERIN!"

Harry felt like he'd been punched, and behind him, he heard both Ron and Malfoy make a pair of identical choking sounds.

He'd always kind of thought they'd end up where they'd been before.

They were Gryffindors, they'd proven it again and again.

But it seemed that time had changed them.

The Hat was lifted from Hermione's head and she sent them a weak smile before walking over to the green table cheering for her, head still held high.

Harry glanced at Riddle, and saw that he was watching her go like a hawk.

Names passed in a blur before finally, "Malfoy, Abraxas." was instantly sorted into Slytherin. Harry heard Draco's whimper.

And then.

"Malfoy, Draco."

Abraxas Malfoy's head whipped around in shock, to stare as Draco slowly walked out of the crowd. Their ally looked tense, but he was using all that training he'd had to hide his uneasiness. And Harry was shocked to realise he could see it, that he knew Draco well enough to see it.

The hat touched his head, and Harry half expected history to repeat itself, for the hat to bellow Slytherin. But it didn't.

Again, long minutes passed, until finally.

"RAVENCLAW!"

"What the-" Ron hissed, as the blue table erupted into cheers.

Harry too was shocked. Malfoy had always been the personification of Slytherin. Slimy git. Pretentious prat.

But now… Ravenclaw?

Finally, "Potter, Harry." came around.

It was strange. He remembered the whispers and gawking the first time around.

But this time…nothing. He wasn't famous anymore, wasn't the boy-who-lived. He was just another normal boy.

It hadn't really hit him until that moment, and the relief was so intense it made him stumble on his way up the stairs. Again he steeled his Gryffindor courage..

It carried him up to the stool and the hat slid over his head.

"Mr Potter." The Hat murmured inside his mind, "Well then, here you are. You four are most fascinating, I so rarely get to Sort people a second time. And you are a true Gryffindor, aren't you Mr Potter. Brave to your core. But does that make this the right place for you."

Somewhere in the depths of his mind, a tiny voice whispered.

No.

"No?" The Hat sounded amused, "I see that with time and maturity you've come to see what I did the first time around. You would have done well in both Gryffindor and Slytherin. The first time you needed family. This time, you need the push."

Something like hunger stirred in his mind and the Hat laughed.

"Oh this will be interesting. I cannot wait. You are a true Gryffindor, Mr Potter. But you are also a true…"

"SLYTHERIN!" It shouted to the hall at large.

A feeling, he realised with shock, that was relief, filled him. And he hurried down the stairs to the green table to join Hermione, who hugged him tightly.

"Harry."

He could hear the worry in her voice, but he shook his head at her. Later. They'd talk about the Sorting ramifications later. Right now… he was interested in two more Sortings.

Riddle was shortly after, an instant choice by the Hat, reminiscent of the first time it had Sorted Malfoy, but both Hermione and Harry were staring, waiting for Ron.

Again the hat lingered on him.

Long minutes.

Until finally.

"GRYFFINDOR!" it bellowed, and Ron's face emerged from the oversized hat. His expression was a mix of heartbreak and relief, and he shot them an apologetic look as he headed to the red table.

Hermione's fingers were like a vice around his, and when he glanced over at the Ravenclaw table he saw Malfoy looked just as uncertain.

They hadn't talked about it. But it was clear that all of them had expected a different outcome.

Except Harry. If he really looked deep. He'd held his Gryffindor loyalties close, but a part of him had always wondered.

He could do well in Slytherin.

"Let the Feast commence!" the old headmaster at the dais clapped, and the school year began.