Title

by WelpImFucked

Don’t read

If anyone sees this, you're not supposed to. I just want to spend a few hours with "teaching history (is old news)" by You_Light_The_Sky on AO3 being read to me by a robot voice on this site bc all the voice generators I find online are bullshit and are either not free, can't play while you're on other apps/sites, or they don't work with this amount of text. It's been pretty frustrating trying to find a usable one but my first one which was working fine suddenly had an update and was unable to play large amounts of text without stopping in the middle of it. The second one works fine but only when I'm on the site and not doing other things

This story will be taken down within a few hours of publication.

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Tom fixes his smile in place while Dumbledore asks his next question.

"Why did you apply for the DADA position, Tom?"

A trivial question, meant to dissect Tom's intentions, no doubt. But Tom is well practiced in pretending sentimentality. The old coot may suspect his lies, but he will never be able to prove it. Not without legilimency.

"Hogwarts," Tom says carefully, remembering Saint Wool's, "has always been like a home to me. I can think of no better place to return to for my career." All those young minds, full of potential. If he can just make them grow into the powerful soldiers he needs, then… "I wish to teach and provide a nurturing environment for my students just as my professors did before me."

He doesn't bother adding like you did to Dumbledore. They both know it would be a lie and Tom would sooner snap his own wand then kiss up to his old professor.

"Hmm…" Dumbledore stretches back in his chair, his gaze fixed on Tom, "…You are very young for this position… perhaps more experience…"

"Professor Chang has been on your staff for two years and she is but a year older than I am. I also spent a year in Romania, doing an independent study on the dark creatures within the region under Master Kettleburn's supervision. I included his recommendation in my portfolio."

"True enough, true enough," Dumbledore nods, popping yet another lemon candy into his mouth and sucking loudly.

Tom hates it.

Several moments pass, in which Tom thinks of seven different ways to curse Dumbledore, when finally, Dumbledore stands up and says, "Thank you for the interview, Tom. An owl will be sent for you if you've been hired."

Tom almost pulls out his wand right there (something about Dumbledore always makes his thoughts irrational) but he only bows politely and walks out the door without so much a goodbye.

This formality with owls is nothing but an distraction. Tom knows that he's the best candidate for this job, he even tracked down the other applicants to study their resumes and none were as impressive as his. If Professor Dippet were still headmaster, he would have hired Tom on the spot just as he hired Professor Merrythought but no, Dumbledore has to review Tom's credentials again…

Dumbledore is going to reject his application, Tom knows it. The urge to maim something returns. How dare the old coot, when Tom is better, smarter, than any other wizard in England, when Tom can make other wizards and witches better too, if only—

He nearly trips over a body crouching over by the gargoyle statue.

"Potter?"

Indeed, Harry Potter groggily blinks up at Tom from the floor with his raggedy hair and startling green eyes. Tom notes that Potter dresses the same as ever, in the most atrocious, neon sweaters with horrible caricatures of cute little animals on them. Today's animal sweater is a platypus covered in yellow bowties.

"Oh," Potter blinks, not bothering to get off from the floor, "S'that you, Riddle?"

"Get off from the floor, Potter."

"Ah. Right."

Potter stands up slowly and yawns, stretching out his hands. "Wow, s'weird seeing you here. Did Dumbledore also call you for an interview or something…?"

For a moment, Tom sees red. Of course, of course, Dumbledore would find an extra applicant, his star pupil to take the DADA position from Tom's hands. Of course, Dumbledore would schedule Potter's interview after Tom's just to rub it in Tom's face. Tom imagines it now—Potter securing the DADA position and it is unacceptable—

"Wow, chill there, Riddle, you look like you're having an aneurysm—"

Tom fights back a glare and marches past Potter. Tonight he'll prepare a curse on the DADA position until the job falls to the appropriate applicant. He wonders how long Potter will last as professor and what accident will befall Potter by the end of the school year. A troll attack? A memory charm?

"Hey Riddle, I'd watch out for llamas in your future!" Potter calls cheerfully.

Tom's hand twitches. "I see you haven't changed," he murmurs.

"Thanks!"

"It wasn't a compliment," Tom walks away.

Another silly prediction. Just like in school. Potter always made the strangest remarks, none of them true. Marshmallows will fall from the sky tomorrow. Your tongue will turn into a snake. Silly things that were probably pranks, considering Potter's family history.

Tonight, he'll cast the curse.

:

To Tom's disbelief, an owl waits for him in his study with a letter. Stamped on the envelope, besides the Hogwarts seal, is a llama sticker.

He gets the job.

:

On his first day of work, Tom walks into Dumbledore's office and sees Potter happily munching on brownies with the old coot. Tom nearly rubs his eyes for clarification but keeps his face blank and fixed in his practiced smile.

"My apologies, I didn't know you had company, Professor. Shall I come back later?"

"Nonsense," Dumbledore's eyes twinkle annoyingly, "Harry here is your new colleague."

…What.

Potter sits up, propping his legs on Dumbledore's desk. Today's sweater has a llama on it. A llama baking muffins. "Hey there, Riddle! Isn't this cool? I'm the new Divination professor!"

Notes:

EDITED CHAPTER: Nov 14, 2019

Chapter 2: Orientation

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

"…I wasn't informed of another opening at Hogwarts."

Tom recalculates in his head. Where did the lack of information come from? He'll have to update his informants, demand better quality of information in the future. What a waste of an opportunity. He could have placed one of his followers in the Divination position but now he has to deal with Potter and his mismatched socks on a daily basis—

"Professor Trelawney felt the spontaneous urge to explore her gifts in Greece with her wife. I hear they've started a lovely little business reading tarot cards to muggles. They've actually been quite successful and even designed their own cards! They were even kind enough to mail me a large stack to share with students!"

Dumbledore practically shoves the tiny card to Tom's face unnecessarily.

"…Llamas."

Sure enough, Trelawney and Hestia's Tarot Card service is accompanied by a little drawing of a llama gazing into a crystal ball. Never mind that Tom is sure crystal balls have nothing to do with tarot reading, but the llama alone is completely random, being a creature commonly seen in South America. And now Tom regrets stepping into Dumbledore's office because every trivial fact he knows about South American wildlife (magical and not) races through his mind.

Behind Dumbledore, Potter smirks and Tom narrows his eyes.

Potter wore that terrible llama sweater on purpose, Tom can feel it. If Tom were a gambler, he'd bet all his savings that Potter asked Dumbledore to put that llama sticker on his letter, and then, knowing that Tom would be hired, decided to wear that very same sweater just to spite him.

"I know how much you love them," Potter nods, as if reading his mind (impossible, of course, given Tom's perfect occlumency shields but something about Potter always makes Tom double check them.)

Tom scowls. "You're mistaken. If anything, you're the one with a llama obsession. I haven't been hit by a muggle car because a quote 'llama spit in my eye' end quote yet." (1)

"Ah, the good old days. That was one of my best death predictions. You never know, Riddle. I wouldn't plan any trips to the petting zoo, that's for sure. Or Australia. Or South America, either, now that I think about it."

Tom glares.

"It could be worse! I told Neville he'd get mobbed to death by vampire walnuts once. They bite," Potter nods with an air of false wisdom that only looks more ridiculous when his bulky glasses nearly slip off his nose (2).

There is no such thing as vampire walnuts, Tom almost says. But when he thinks about it, animating inanimate objects like walnuts would be a form of alchemy. Theoretically, by using another life form as a conduit, perhaps souls could be transferred (similar to horcrux creation but with the added element of animation and personality). Adding the element of a magical creature (actually vampires may be considered a subclass of undead wizard, or merely infected wizard like the werewolf) could increase the likelihood of success meaning—

Stop. Stop. The maddening thing about interacting with Potter (in any environment) is that sometimes Tom will stop to ponder the plausibility of Potter's remarks against his better judgement. Perhaps the saying about eccentricities and charm has some truth to it. In any case, the logical thing to do is ignore Potter for the rest of his career. Or get Potter fired. Tom wonders how suspicious the latter option would make Dumbledore.

"…I'm sure they do," Tom puts on his best smile, the one he uses to charm what he wants from strangers. Best to deal with Potter's oddities with as much false charm as possible.

"I knew it!" Potter claps his hands together, beaming as if Tom has proven Merlin's theory of vibrational magic theory when vampire walnuts are not even a real concept, did someone drop Potter on the head as a child, "Can always count on you to back me up, Riddle. Brownie?"

While Tom tries to think of a way to refuse because of strongly suspected poison (Potter must have baked those brownies. Evidence: Dumbledore always eats sour sweets, never pastries. Also, burn marks on Potter's hands are consistent with muggle ovens because Merlin knows Potter won't take advantage of his magical knowledge) Dumbledore cuts in, clapping a hand on his shoulder (urgh).

He twinkles, "I'm very pleased that you two get along so well. It's always touching to see deep friendships cultivate after graduation."

Tom stiffens. Friendship? He narrows his eyes. Now he can see Dumbledore's plans. Clearly, Trelawney's impromptu retirement is part of Dumbledore's plot to have an 'old friend' of Tom's spy on him during his time as a teacher to prevent rumours of bias (rumours that would have risen if Tom was denied the DADA position). Any wizard or witch could see that Harry Potter is the least qualified being to be a Divination teacher. Obviously, Dumbledore interpreted his few interactions with Potter as some sort of misconstrued friendship and, assuming that Tom would be more amiable to someone his age, asked Potter to come as a spy.

"Riddle's going to die a tragic death via car crash because of a llama, professor, I don't think we can be friends," Potter says casually and Tom amends his thought process.

No, Potter is too stupid to be a spy.

:

Dumbledore gives some speech about the honour of being a staff member for Hogwarts with random anecdotes of 'fiddle foddle' and 'splurt' for no good reason but intimidation tactics. Then he moves on to reviewing Tom and Potter's responsibilities towards the safety of the students and other emergency conducts. Eventually, Dumbledore leads them both out for a tour (but really to show them to their offices.)

Potter oohs and aahs at every painting despite having been to Hogwarts for seven years before. He tries to offer Tom another brownie but Tom waves it away. Some wizarding poisons leave no symptoms for days before taking effect. Luckily, Potter gets distracted, excitement springing to his features as he crows, "There's the staircase you pushed me down once!"

Tom almost whips his head towards Dumbledore, ready to obliviate if necessary (but would that work on a wizard that powerful, Tom doesn't have time to doubt, only prove that he's stronger than Dumbledore, finally and—) but Dumbledore only chuckles softly.

"While I would have appreciated knowing the truth when that incident took place, I'm certain Tom has changed since then… Though if he ever attempts such a thing again, at this age, the consequences would be severe," Dumbledore smiles brightly.

There is no one else in the world that Tom knows who can convey such disdain through a kindly smile. It's a skill that Tom covets, if only to exercise more power over others. Yet seeing Dumbledore master it though makes Tom want to walk around with an eternal frown on his face just to spite the bastard.

"Of course. I'm not a child anymore."

"Oh, Tom, all my former students are young to me."

In other words, Dumbledore thinks that Tom's magic is at the level of a child, that Tom is immature and—

"Brownie?"

"No, I do not want a brownie, Potter!"

"Eh," Potter shrugs, popping the disgusting pastry into his mouth, "you're so bitter, Riddle. If you ate more sugar, you'd mellow out more."

"That is not how biology works—"

Potter's eyes go wide. "You read muggle research?"

"All knowledge is valuable—"

"Amazing!"

…And Tom needs to change the subject. Now.

"Our offices, Professor?"

Dumbledore, the buffoon, only stares back and forth between Tom and Potter with a pleased twinkle. If Dumbledore were a firework, he'd be sparkling by now.

"Unfortunately, the Divination office is under renovations from the Firenze incident, and since you two are so well acquainted, I thought you might share an office until the contractors come in."

Tom wants to hex every living being in this school. This magic school. That should be able to repair itself because of magic. If there are actually contractors needed to repair the school, Tom will eat a pixie.

Never mind. Dumbledore clearly planned this. Harry Potter is definitely a spy.

"That's cool with me. I'll bake you some scones tomorrow, Riddle. There has to be some dessert you like!" Potter cheers, crumbs falling all over his robes and sweater.

Amended: Harry Potter is still too stupid to be a spy. No one can fake that kind of stupidity for nearly ten years.

Notes:

(1) Fun fact, my best friend in high school used to make ridiculous false death predictions just like this. She had a thing for llamas.

(2) And walnuts. Why vampire walnuts, specifically? I have no idea.

EDITED CHAPTER: Nov 14, 2019

Chapter 3: Lesson plans

Notes:

So the timeline for this odd little universe is basically 2016 because I'm too lazy to sort out my anachronisms and I really want Harry to reference all the internet slang to troll Tom. Thanks again for sticking with me and reviewing :)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

"…What is this?"

Potter blinks at Tom from an atrocious couch shaped like a yellow rat with a lightning shaped tail. The couch even has strange red cheeks and a smiling face. The Potter sweater of the day features a naked mole rat dancing on a beach ball, shouting 'revolution!'

"Did you mean my couch or the decorations?"

"…Both."

"Well, this," Potter beams as if he's mastered every spell in wizarding history, "is a made-up muggle thing called a Pikachu! It's so cool, it shoots out electricity when it gets angry. There's even video games and a cartoon—you should watch it sometime—and those are my origami creations! Origami is like the art of—"

"I know what origami is but why are your paper cranes flying around my head?"

About a dozen pastel cranes flap around Tom's hair. One even tries to nestle against his bangs before he stuns it with a wandless stupefy. Its paper corpse spirals to the ground before several other cranes rush to catch it.

"They like you!" Potter beams.

"…"

"…Aaand, I might have told them to guard you from future llama attacks. Wouldn't want my coworker to die on the job. Think of the paperwork all the authorities would have to do."

Tom's grip tightens on his wand. "For the last time, I am not going to be die because of a llama—" once he makes his second horcrux, he'll never die, "—that's just a lie you made up for some inane reason. For attention or because you're a compulsive liar."

For a moment, Potter's face twists into an expression that Tom still can't understand. It reminds him of a moment in first year, of lashing out and pushing Potter down the stairs and watching blood flow down Potter's face in a scar that has never faded…

But then the blue crane from before pokes Tom in the forehead and Potter laughs, the moment broken.

"I could make paper snakes instead, if you don't like the birds."

Tom scowls, "That's not the point. This office is to be shared between both of us. Your paper things are everywhere. Control them."

"Eh, but your side of the room is so plain. You barely have anything but books."

Not entirely true. Tom has a vast collection of magical artifacts locked within a magically expanded trunk. He's also well aware of the power a handsome appearance has on those he interacts with so he keeps his wardrobe up to date with what seems the most aesthetically pleasing.

But looking at Potter's side of the office, decorated in paper flowers and butterflies, animal shaped cushions and long curtains of annoying neon colours, Tom can see Potter's point. Potter's side of the office has a distinct personality with funny knick-knacks to put students at ease (not a bad strategy) while Tom's side of the office is sparse, clean and tense (fear can be an effective motivator.)

Once more, Tom frowns at the difference between him and Potter. Both half-bloods. Both orphans. And yet Potter's response to his position in society is to hoard useless items and play the fool while Tom strives for knowledge, power, and control of his own destiny.

"…I'll buy a painting. Now shut up and let me focus on finishing my lesson plans."

The idea has merit after all. Tom often forgets that normal people also hoard useless things to seem approachable (having never invited a person to his place of residence) and he will need students to trust him. He'll need a painting that an ordinary DADA professor would have…

"Urgh, lesson plans. I'm going to sleep." Potter curls up against his yellow-pikarat-couch.

"…You've finished yours?" How long has Potter been prepared for this job? The Potter-is-a-spy theory suddenly gains more merit.

"Oh, god, no. I'll just wing it on the first day. It's Divination, you know?"

Tom pauses in the middle of his writing.

"…Excuse me, but how did you get hired?"

"My devastating good looks."

"…"

"Just kidding! I told you before, Riddle, I can see the future! Snape's going to be very lucky in love this month, didn't you know?"

(Urgh.) Tom recoils at that image, "Please refrain from making love predictions about our coworkers in the future."

Why the general populace insists on obsessing over love and sexual acts eludes Tom.

Unexpectedly, Potter also grimaces. "Yeah… that might be for the best. It's a very tragic love. Lots of warts. And tongue."

"Potter!"

The sound of Potter's laughter, accompanied by the flapping of the paper cranes in the air, grates at Tom's nerves. If he doesn't end up obliviating everyone in Hogwarts to cover up Potter's murder in the next month, he will celebrate with a new book. For now, Tom should focus on the lesson plans and sending out letters to his followers…

:

The next morning Snape shows up at breakfast with a frog stuck to his face. Potter's knowing smile makes Tom question the universe.

Notes:

EDITED CHAPTER: Nov 14, 2019

Chapter 4: Sorting Feast

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

When Potter bursts through the doors of the Great Hall, five minutes before the First Years' arrival, Tom hisses, "Where have you been?!"

"Aw." Leaves fall off from Potter's hair. The ever present paper cranes follow him and circle around his head, poking the leaves off. The platypus sweater is also back. Tom hates that sweater. "Did you miss me?"

"No. You missed the staff meeting earlier. Dumbledore expressed his concerns."

More specifically, Dumbledore had questioned Tom about Potter's whereabouts with a stern expression. Probably thinking that Tom stabbed Potter and hidden his body in the Forbidden Forest (frankly insulting. Tom is clever enough to leave no traces of the body if that were the case.) The old coot is always suspiciously protective of his favourite former pupil, usually jumping to conclusions when Tom happens to interact with Potter.

"Oh, shoot. I forgot to tell him that I decided to ride the train here."

"…The train."

"Yup."

"…As in the Hogwarts Express."

"That's the one!"

The cranes flapping around Potter's head nod in agreement.

"…Why." Potter already lives at Hogwarts. Tom would know. He's been trapped with this imbecile in the same office for two weeks. Fortunately, Potter let Tom have the bedroom upstairs, deciding that a hammock in the office would be more 'comfy.'

"Well, it's a great way to get to know the students! Plus, I told them all that I was a seventh year and they believed me! So young. So innocent. At least the first years are. The older students, I had to bribe with chocolate to keep their mouths shut."

As if on cue, Tom hears the Weasley twins crow from the Gryffindor table, "Fancy seeing you there, Professor Harrykins!"

"That's Potter to you, cretchins!" If Potter starts scheming with his former schoolmates, Tom will report him to McGonagall and hopefully get Potter fired. "Anyways, did you like the macaroons I made this morning? That's where most of my chocolate went."

Potter, on his eternal quest to drive Tom to murder, has baked a different pastry every morning (likely manipulating his influence over the Hogwarts house elves) in attempt to 'sweeten Tom's attitude.' So far Tom has touched none of Potter's concoctions.

"…I don't like sweets."

"Sure, sure… I'll find something you like to eat, don't worry, Riddle."

Before Tom can reply, Potter takes the seat next to his (…as usual) just as the first years march into the hall.

Tom's first impression of this batch of first years is… mild disgust. They're… small. Very small. Some look around at the ceiling in awe while others shyly hold hands with their friends and twitch at every sound (much like Longbottom did during Tom's first sorting. Come to think of it, Potter was there too. Potter was different back then. Quieter.)

"I'm kind of envious of them, actually," Potter muses, "I'd love to see the Hogwarts again for the first time."

Tom… doesn't disagree. He may not feel things like sentimentality but Hogwarts has always felt stable. Constant. The thirst to learn, know more, at first sight of the castle, has never been the same.

When the first years reach the teacher's table, several of them stop and point at Potter in horror and surprise. Potter only wiggles his eyebrows and winks back at them. The weakest of the first years start to tremble while others pale or scowl.

Potter snickers. "I told the scared ones that the hat will put them into Slytherin."

Tom scoffs. As if those frightened children have the qualities to succeed in Slytherin. "Unnecessary, seeing as your predictions are always wrong."

"No, no, watch!"

McGonagall starts to call out names. "Abbot, Hannah."

"She's a Ravenclaw," Potter whispers.

"Hufflepuff," the hat shouts.

Tom sighs.

"Creevy, Colin."

"Oh, that's the Slytherin!"

"Gryffindor!" the hat shouts.

"Potter, will you stop—"

"Dao, Soo-Lin."

"She's a Gryffindor."

"Slytherin!" the hat shouts.

"None of your predictions come true!"

But Potter continues to whisper out predictions until Tom spots a pattern. For every student that Potter claims as Slytherin, the hat sorts them into Gryffindor and vice versa. The same holds true for the Ravenclaws Potter predicts, they get sorted into Hufflepuff, and vice versa again.

Tom narrows his eyes. Either Potter is an expert at reading people or he might be hiding true see—

"Oh and that's a Hufflepuff!" Potter nods at Blaise Zambini.

The hat calls out, "Slytherin."

—or not. Tom scowls at himself for being caught up in yet another paranoid thought loop over Potter of all people. He's known Potter since first year. If Potter hasn't shown any potential by now then he must be the idiot he seems. Occam's razor. Tom should stop looking for conspiracies. No one in Hogwarts is on his level of intellect except perhaps Dumbledore.

Even so… Something about Potter…

"Welcome, welcome, to another year at Hogwarts!" Dumbledore gives his speech with the usual, trivial pleasantries. "As you may have noticed, we have two new additions to our staff. You may recognize them as former upper-year students but rest assured, I'm confident Professor Riddle and Professor Potter will provide you with the best education in Defense Against the Dark Arts and Divination, respectively."

The great hall explodes into applause. The Weasley twins, accompanied by the latest Weasley (a girl, for once) wolf whistle and cheer out Potter's name. The Slytherins clink their cups in respect towards Tom while some of the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs look at him with mixtures of calculation and awe.

"Speech! Speech!"

Dumbledore twinkles at them both, "I wouldn't want to upset an eager audience. Boys? Would you like to say a few words?"

"Of course," Tom says smoothly. This could be a great opportunity to appeal to the students, sow some seeds of trust.

He and Potter walk towards the podium.

"Greetings. As many of you may know, I am Tom Marvolo Riddle and I will be teaching DADA this year. With the growing tension from various factions around the world, a thorough background in defensive spells and their theoretical components is essential. I will teach you how to conquer all aspects of yourself and unlock your deepest potential in magic. If you stay steadfast, you should have no problems passing my course. Thank you."

Tom bows his head, pleased with the loud applause he receives. His former reputation among the students as head boy and a whispered leader-to-be should give him more authority than the other teachers. His speech was also vague enough to entice curious individuals that might look for—

"Wow, that was a fancy speech. Mine's not going to be nearly as important. Or cool," Potter says, prompting scattered chuckles among the students. "Honestly, I teach Divination. It's kind of useful. Kind of not. But free pastries in my classes on Mondays," several cheers break out, "and, oh! I'll be sharing my office with Professor Riddle here until repairs on the Divination office are done, so don't be afraid to drop in any time before six o'clock! I promise I won't bite!"

Tom fights back a scowl.

"Aaand before I forget… I must warn you. I see a forecast of flamingoes on the horizon."

At this point, most of the younger students blink in confusion.

Potter nods seriously. "They attack at night, you see. They crave young flesh."

"Um…" a young first year pipes up, with a trembling hand, "Professor, flamingos are herbivores…"

Actually, Tom thinks, flamingos are omnivores. Their diet consists of fish, bugs and—damn it, Potter!

"Not this kind," Potter continues, "they've been experimented on and will come to Hogwarts later to gather up strength from their prey, before rising up against the ones who wronged them. I would sleep with a jar of pickled eggplants until October; that should protect you, ah, and—"

"Forgive me," Tom cuts in, pulling Potter away from the podium, "Professor Potter is feeling ill. He's delusional—"

"—Remember my office hours are open until 6'o clock in the evening! Professor Riddle will be happy to supply any defenseless students with their own pickled eggplants!"

"Shut up, Potter," he hisses, dragging Potter to their seats, since a wandless silencing spell would be stepping out of decorum and Dumbledore is watching.

"What? I'm getting you more fans!"

"Shut up and eat a treacle tart."

That does the trick. At least the ridiculous image of Potter shoving treacle tarts in his mouth is enough to convince the students that their Divination professor is an idiot. Dumbledore unhelpfully shrugs while Snape glowers at them both because Snape is an irrational bastard.

"Oh my god, my favourite!" Potter moans indignantly.

Tom knows. Potter used to hoard those things in his book-bag before Transfiguration class.

"Someday, I'll steal Dippy's recipe for these!"

"Please don't." Knowing Potter, he'll try to force-feed them to Tom just because they're Potter's favourite food.

"Fine. More for me. See if I be generous again. You'll have to find eggplants to give to the students on your own."

"There are no eggplants, Potter."

The students sitting near him and Potter giggle. Tom glares at them too. Rather than cower in fear, they giggle louder.

When Tom takes over Wizarding Britain, he will ban eggplants and treacle tarts. And giggling.

Potter only smiles at him in that annoying way, as if he sees Tom's every thought.

:

"So do you want to know the address of a good eggplant supplier because you'll need it when the flamingoes come—"

"Go to sleep, Potter."

"But really, you'll need—"

Tom shoots a silencio downstairs.

Ah, sweet silence.

Notes:

AN: So like, some characters will be Harry and Tom's students instead of fellow adults. Because why not. Yolo. Thanks for all the wonderful feedback :)

EDITED CHAPTER - Nov 15, 2019

Chapter 5: Familiars

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Instead of a peaceful morning, Tom wakes to an owl attempting to peck him to death.

Immediately, Tom tries a wordless stupefy but the owl spins out of the way and flies into Potter's arms.

"Hedwig!" Potter beams, dressed in obnoxiously yellow polka dot pyjamas, "You're back!"

The demon owl that Tom recalls from First Year, trailing behind Potter as obsessively as his growing army of paper cranes, coos in response.

"If you could train your owl not to attack me on sight, I might consider not transfiguring it into a bookmark. Also, when did you cancel out my silencing spell?" Tom's wandless charms usually last over twenty four hours before fading away. He's never met anyone who cancelled it out before.

"Oh, you missed last night. Hit the couch instead of me. So I just pretended to sleep!"

There has never been anyone that Tom has wanted to strangle more. He isn't surprised that Potter dodged his spell. Potter was like this when they were younger too, always able to dodge Malfoy's attacks in the corridor. Reflexes from being an exceptional Quidditch player, no doubt, even if he did quit the team later. But he is irritated that Potter stayed quiet about it until now.

"You could have said something," Tom regrets saying immediately. If anything, he should be impressed that Potter has some sliver of self-preservation.

"I know how much you like your beauty rest."

Never mind. No self-preservation at all.

Potter's owl hoots irritably, raising up a package tied to her leg.

"Good girl, Hedwig! You brought my supplies!"

Knowing Potter, these supplies could range from anything as random as another shipment of pom-poms or another lumpy sweater. However, when Potter simply unwraps textbooks on meditation and reading dreams, Tom finds himself oddly disappointed. Then irritated. He's been cohabiting with Potter for too long if he's come to accept Potter's oddities as normal.

"Oh, awesome," Potter de-shrinks another package, "the pickled eggplants are in! Here you go, Riddle!"

He levitates over a dozen jars of pickled vegetables over Tom's pillow.

"Out," he snaps, vanishing the jars to Potter's couch downstairs. "Just—get. Out!"

"Does that mean I didn't buy enough?"

"We have classes to teach today, get out!"

:

When Tom comes downstairs to their office, Potter's hammock is already put away and Potter busies himself with cleaning his owl's feathers.

"Don't forget your bag. It's on the desk," Potter calls out.

"I won't," Tom snaps. Unlike some people, Tom doesn't forget things. "I hope you won't be letting that owl stay in here. There's an owlery for a reason."

If Tom has to deal with feathers, dead mice, and bird waste on top of Potter's origami and insulting sweaters, he will kill that owl. He remembers how often that owl would swoop in on him and peck his bag during Charms back in Third Year (Flitwick was too fond of owls to ban the thing from the classroom, unlike the other professors.) Potter has never been able to control that thing. If anything, Potter listens to the owl's orders instead of the other way around.

"She'll be visiting from time to time, but don't worry, she won't sleep here. She's sweet on this Hogwarts barn owl, aren't you, girl?"

…Too much information.

"By the way, Riddle, I haven't seen your snake around lately. Do you still have her?"

"Of course I do. Nagini is merely wandering around the school." Specifically, Nagini will be his eyes, gathering information. There's no harm in telling Potter. Most familiars are given free reign around Hogwarts provided they don't interrupt classes or attack students. Hence why Potter's owl was allowed to follow him around during their school days. An uncommon (and annoying) choice for a familiar.

"Ooooo, I should bake her some snacks."

"Don't. I would rather avoid poison."

"I would never try to poison such a gorgeous creature! I love snakes! Nagini has the most polished green scales—"

Merlin, Tom forgot how fond Nagini and Potter are of each other. Nagini hasn't stopped by his office since orientation. Back in school, Nagini would always whine that Tom should dote on her as Potter does, feed her more, pet her more, pay attention more. He refuses to go through that again.

[I would stay away from Nagini from now on] Tom hisses in Parseltongue. A useful trick for controlling his followers and getting strangers to back away. Even the bravest of witches and wizards look at him warily after hearing him speak.

"Oh!" Potter's face lights up, "Are you asking her to come by and say hello?"

Tom stiffens.

"It's so cool how you can talk to your snakes, Riddle. I wish I could talk to Hedwig. Actually maybe not. She's probably lecture me for all the shit I pull, but still, talking to snakes—"

Tom turns away. "I'm going to breakfast."

"Oh, wait for me! Bye Hedwig!"

Tom doesn't wait. But he doesn't speed up as he usually does either.

He forgot that Potter liked his Parseltongue. He forgot a lot of things about Potter in the last two years.

It won't do to be this careless.

Notes:

EDITED CHAPTER - Nov 15, 2019

Chapter 6: First Day

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

"I do hope that it won't be a mistake," Dumbledore says just as Tom and Potter step into the Great Hall, "hiring someone so young as our DADA professor."

Silently, Tom clenches his fists.

Dumbledore's passive aggressive comments never fail to irk him. The fact that Dumbledore could fire Tom at any moment… makes Tom feel weak. Someday, Tom will be the one with power over everyone. Someday, no one will control his actions and Tom will—

Potter elbows Tom in the stomach.

Just as Tom snarls back, Potter grins blindingly at Dumbledore. "Yeah, you'll probably regret hiring me, Albus," he says, making Dumbledore's eyes go wide, "but Riddle's going to be an amazing professor. Just watch."

Is this what the saying 'swallowed a lemon' feels like? Tom hates it.

Dumbledore's eyes dim. "Harry," he says in that ridiculously gentle way every time Potter is involved, "you mustn't—"

"Oh look," Potter says brightly, "I think I see Cho. She owes me a match. See you, Riddle, Albus. Don't worry, there won't be any flamingoes today!"

He prances off towards Chang and McGonagall with that infuriating smile and Tom stares at the space where Potter stood in annoyance.

"Well," Dumbledore gives a false smile to Tom, "if Harry insists there's nothing to worry about then I'm sure your first day will go splendidly, Tom."

The urge to punch Dumbledore, rather than curse him, is all too real. Tom only just manages to force out a nod instead of a sneer before storming off to the breakfast table.

Potter's words felt like a prediction. A mocking one. Tom knows how Potter's predictions turn out. Lies, all of them. Probably a prank thought up with Dumbledore while both of them had tea in Hogsmeade. And yet the look in Potter's eyes, like the way Potter looked at him once, so many Christmases ago…

No. That's in the past. Potter is merely egging Tom with an underhanded insult. Everything Potter says is nonsense or a lie. By complimenting Tom, Potter's insinuating that Tom will fail.

Tom will show Dumbledore and Potter just how superior of a teacher he can be.

:

[I do not want to be stuck in a room full of human babes if I am not allowed to eat one] Nagini complains.

[I do not wish to be in the same school as Albus Dumbledore either but we both won't get what we want] Tom scowls, [I need you to make a memorable impression on these students. My reputation will depend on it.]

He needs to stand out among the staff, as a teacher and a wizard. Prove that, despite his age, he belongs here. Most of his followers are his former classmates and their pureblood parents. He had to word his agenda carefully back in fifth year, appealing to their prejudices by speaking of 'cleansing' the Wizarding World of impure blood, but really, Tom had needed to secure their loyalty. If he has to adopt their tedious and petty rhetoric over blood politics, then he will use it. Otherwise, he could care less about blood. Power is what truly shapes society, not blood. Muggles just happen to be the powerless.

But students are different. Young. Impressionable. His words will no longer be limited to Slytherins and elite purebloods. He will have to be careful, appeal to their desires in order to lead them to his side. But subtly. His teachings on the Dark Arts can wait until he's gained some trust. But first, he needs to show these students that he is unique, different, special. He needs to break apart their own prejudices about magic.

[The twinkly one said something, didn't he?] Nagini hisses.

[He said nothing] Tom snaps.

[Of course, he did! You have wrinkles in your forehead skin. It's disgusting. Why humans did not evolve to wear scales instead of skin eludes me… You only ever wrinkle like that when you talk to the twinkly one. Or my Green-Eyes.]

[Stop calling Potter that.]

[But it's true. He has the most lovely green eyes, like a true snake. Why did you not convince him to stay in the House of Snakes like you? He's wasted as a Lion. Then he could have fed me more sugar mice and—]

Tom ignores her. As grating as Nagini can be, she's very perceptive. Tom can still hear Dumbledore's words from this morning now.

[This is merely an introductory lesson with the first years. After the first twenty minutes, you may wander off and visit Potter if you wish.]

[You mean, spy on him?]

[Yes. Exactly.]

[Hmmm, more snacks! Very well. I don't see why you don't court him the serpent way or the human way but more affection for me, yesss.]

Tom doesn't even bother responding to that comment anymore. Many complexities of human nature are often lost in translation to Nagini.

[I could always court him in your place, if you like? Do you think Green Eyes would prefer an offering of mice or birds?]

[Birds] Tom says, picturing the horror on Potter's face if he ever saw a dead feathered corpse. Potter has always obsessed over birds like his demon owl and this flamingo nonsense. If Tom didn't know any better, he would accuse Potter of being part bird. Though Tom does recall an incident with a hippogriff in Third Year… however he'd never classify a hippogriff into the bird family, it's a magical creature that shares a lot of structural qualities with the avian family, particularly in the skeletal system and dietary—

Tom scowls. He blames his in-depth knowledge of magical and muggle creatures on Potions class and Potter. Idiot Potter who probably plans on sabotaging Tom's lessons on purpose…

Speaking of that…

For the fifth time, Tom checks his cages for any spells that might teleport flamingoes or throw eggplants at his students. He inspects his bag for anything that Potter might have contaminated with his presence.

Nothing. Of course there's nothing. But the look on Potter's face when he told Dumbledore that Tom would be amazing… the lie… Tom dumps out all of his quills and paperwork on the desk again, checks, and checks, and—

[I smell the human babes approaching!]

He vanishes the contents of his bag to his office. The lesson plan is memorized and he can always summon more quills if he needs them. For now, Tom has to make a good impression. Tom has to teach.

The children come bustling into his classroom, twittering and twitching about nonsense. Some of them look up at Tom in admiration, apprehension or reluctant awe.

As Tom surveys the mix of green and red ties, he plasters on his most charming smile.

"Welcome, first-years, to Defense Against the Dark Arts. I won't go over introductions. You know who I am from the welcome feast and I will know who you are by the end of the week. Now, who can tell me the purpose of this class?"

A few hands go up. Tom nods to the closest one, a girl he recalls as Ginerva Weasley.

"To protect ourselves?"

"From what?"

Ginerva Weasley frowns. "Well. From dark creatures, I suppose… And magical attacks."

"But what can be defined as dark?"

"…Dangerous things. Things that want to hurt you."

Tom's smile widens. "A good answer but not entirely correct, Ms. Weasley. Certainly, we should protect ourselves for anything that would inflict harm… but in the magical world, often, discerning what will be dangerous to us can be difficult. Can you think of why?"

Zabini, the not-Hufflepuff, raises his hand. "Some dark beings use glamours to appear non-threatening. You might be lured away by a friendly conversation only to be stabbed in the back."

"Precisely," Tom answers, noting the way Ginerva Weasley frowns at Zabini. "Nothing in life is entirely good or evil. There is only power and intent. Sometimes the most dangerous attacks come from an unassuming guise…"

Tom snaps his fingers, watching every child's face melt in awe at his wandless magic when several cages appear. The children stare in confusion at the animals present in each cage, a snake in one cage and a rabbit in the other. Next to his lovely snake, the rabbit seems tiny, fragile and insignificant.

[I don't like metal bars. They taste boring. And I can't swallow them] Nagini complains. [Are we done yet? Can I visit Green Eyes? There are so many human babes here, surely you can spare one for me?]

Ignoring her, Tom continues, "Which of these creatures would you call dark and which one would you trust?"

Some scattered laughter and wide-eyed looks echo around the room. He hears someone mutter anxiously, 'is this a test'? and resists the urge to smirk.

"Oh, I'd trust the rabbit any day! Aw, he looks so precious," another Gryffindor, Lavender Brown, coos. "Do you take him out for walks, Professor?"

Ginerva Weasley looks at Brown with mild disgust but other Gryffindors nod in agreement. Tom even sees some Slytherins looking at the rabbit fondly while other Slytherins and a few Gryffindors pay more attention to Nagini, eyeing her carefully. A good start, but not quite there yet.

Zabini looks conflicted. "I suppose I would trust the rabbit… As far as I know, that snake is a magical breed of python… Highly poisonous, unlike the non-magical breed…"

"Five points to Slytherin for the very educated guess." Tom nods, he's not surprised that Zabini can recognize Nagini's species, not if the rumours about Zabini's mother are true. "Why don't we test your hypothesis?"

The students blink owlishly back at him. Honestly.

"I'm going to connect the two cages together and then I will walk into the joined cage by myself"—many students start twittering in panic—"and we will see which creature attacks first."

"Professor, don't do it! What if your face gets hurt?!"

"Oh for Merlin's sake, Lavender, he's a DADA Professor, he knows what he's doing!" Ginerva Weasley hisses back.

Tom only smiles and walks into the now-joined cages.

At first nothing happens. Good. The hush before the first act is always key in gaining an audience's attention. Tom waits, with his back to the class, listening to their breathing, listening to the rabbit shuffle to his right and Nagini slithering on his left.

The rabbit leaps for his throat, its body shifting into an eerie wisp like the moon, eyes piercing red.

Tom flicks a stupefy at it just in time and the rabbit shrieks in pain, revealing its long shark-like teeth. Several students gasp in surprise. The rabbit thrashes forward, trying to bite at Tom but he only gestures towards Nagini and she slowly slithers towards the rabbit, swallowing it whole.

"Good girl," he whispers in English, patting her head.

[Can I go now? That dream-rodent is giving me indigestion and I want Green-Eyes to pet the pain away.]

Normally he would roll his eyes, but Tom only nods and vanishes her into the corridor near Potter's classroom. Then he looks back at his class, smirking at the various shades of green he sees on their faces.

"That," he gestures at the spot where the rabbit used to be, "was a creature known as the lapin revê, or the 'dream rabbit.' It feeds from the jugular, on human blood if possible, or on your thoughts. It's a highly dangerous creature that you will only find in the subzero temperatures in the Arctic or Antarctica. Most who encounter it don't live to tell the tale, hence the limited information we have on it in textbooks. It might as well be an urban legend, but of course, I decided to study it for my BOILS and was lucky enough to find a few specimens to show you today.

"The lapin revê is just one example of a seemingly harmless looking creature with arguably dark origins. From our perspective, such a creature must be dark because it kills humans but from its perspective, we are prey. Can you imagine what would happen if we could tame these creatures? Study them further? What we could learn?

"Your first instinct might be to recoil and claim that its impossible. But you saw my familiar, Nagini, the lovely snake in the cage earlier. As Mr. Zabini said, she's a highly poisonous breed of python. If she had been bred in the wild, certainly she wouldn't hesitate to attack me but I have raised her from egg until maturity and she obeys me.

"The key to Defense Against the Dark Arts is to remember that anything could be considered dangerous, depending on the circumstances, and know spells to defend against anything. But also know when you can manipulate dangerous elements to your advantage." Tom pauses, taking in the awed silence. "Any questions?"

Every hand shoots into the air.

Tom hides a smile. One step at a time.

:

By lunch, every First and Fourth Year in Gryffindor and Slytherin is gossiping about Tom's classes. As it should be. If this pattern keeps up, Tom will gain every student's trust by December and then he can start slowly introducing dark magic into the curriculum. Nothing blatant or obvious. But small hints. Change takes time and Tom will have all the time in the world once he's made enough horcruxes.

"You're… smiling."

Immediately, Tom scowls. He'd forgotten that somehow he and Potter have been delegated spots next to each other at the teacher's table. "No, I'm not."

"But you were. Earlier, I mean. And it was a real smile. Not one of your fake ones," Potter adds quietly.

Momentarily thrown by this odd moment of insight, Tom refocuses his attention on the annoying paper birds flying around Potter's head. Today, he spots some folded paper flamingoes among them.

"None of my smiles are fake, thank you," Tom lies sweetly, "but if they had become genuine, perhaps it's because I didn't walk into my classroom to find my materials transfigured into flamingoes by a certain meddler."

"What?!" Potter puts a hand over his hideous sweater, "Why, I would never. What makes you think I would even—"

"So the frog on Snape's face a few weeks ago wasn't your doing? Or the mass hysteria you've caused among the first years yesterday?"

Potter stares at him, the green in his eyes oddly bright. "I know you don't think much of me, Riddle, but I am a professional. I would never interfere in a fellow teacher's classroom. That's just not cool. Though if there were hints of you emotionally or physically abusing your students, that would be a different story, and I'm sure you'd never do that."

This idiot dares to…?

"Are you insinuating something about my classroom practices? Do you forget that I am a professional as well?"

"No, of course not," Potter replies brightly. "Just making sure you understand my position, you see."

Tom narrows his eyes, bottles up all the insults he could shout and smiles instead. "Of course."

They both know this smile is fake.

:

Tom stalks down the corridor, resisting the urge to blow apart the nearby statues and suits of armor. Harry Potter is mocking him. Him and Albus Dumbledore. They want him gone.

From that false prophecy that 'Tom will be an amazing teacher' (because everything Potter predicts is false and Potter is clearly playing a mind game and implying that Tom will fail because Potter is here to ruin him) to the insinuation that Tom would torture his students to do his bidding. Insulting. Tom is clever enough to manipulate these young minds to his side without the use of force. He's not an idiot. He sat through Snape's classes once before after all.

"I'm going to kill him," Tom mutters, thinking of Potter's corpse nailed to a wall, ignoring the lurch in his stomach. "One day, I'm going to kill him."

"I should hope not," a voice says behind him, "because then I would lose someone like a son to me and you would not be able to step out of Hogwarts' doors."

Tom stiffens. Damn it, of all the people to hear him plotting murder…!

Albus Dumbledore only hums at him.

"I wasn't going to hire you, Tom," Dumbledore interrupts.

Tom almost snarls but keeps his emotions chained down with his default smile. "Oh? What changed your mind?"

"Harry did."

Tom… doesn't say anything in response.

Dumbledore twinkles brighter than a police siren, "He has an alarming amount of faith in you, despite your… homicidal… sense of humour. I do pray it's not undeserved."

He walks away without waiting for Tom's reply.

:

Tom ends up blasting the nearest suit of armor into a wall anyways. He feels no closer to solving the puzzle of Harry Potter.

Notes:

EDITED CHAPTER - Nov 15, 2019

Chapter 7: School Days: First Sight

Notes:

More of a serious flashback chapter than a funny one, I hope you enjoy it :)

Flashback chapters will be titled as "School Days" first

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

"Come along then," the man who calls himself Albus Dumbledore holds out his hand and Tom wishes he could hex him. But no, Tom is an eleven-year old orphan who apparently isn't allowed to shop in Diagon Alley unsupervised, so as much as he detests it, he takes the old man's hand.

Together they walk out of the Knight Bus (horrid mode of transportation, Tom swore that Dumbledore was hiding a laugh when Tom's body almost rammed into a mattress) and onto a street marked as Private Drive. Tom stares at the rows of cloned, boring, white houses.

"This isn't Diagon Alley," Tom accuses. "Sir," he adds quickly, remembering the façade he needs to play now.

"Excellent observational skills, Tom," Dumbledore pats his head, making Tom grimace and squirm don't touch me, don't touch me.

Dumbledore only hums a little, adjusting the crooked and outrageously sparkly hat on his head before tugging Tom along.

"We're here to pick up one of your future schoolmates. While he does have guardians that could escort him, if they chose, they're rather…" Dumbledore grimaces for the first time that Tom has known him. "Well, it's best not said. In any case, I do hope you two will become good friends. It's more enjoyable to shop together."

Tom almost scoffs at Dumbledore's attempts to make him socialize, as if Tom needs fixing. He doesn't need 'friends'—a fake concept designed to use others, make them feel less insignificant in the world. No, he doesn't need them at all. But he would hardly turn down the chance to meet another magical child before Hogwarts begins.

Will this boy be like him? Will this boy be able to talk to snakes too? To make others do his bidding? How advanced are other magical children compared to Tom and how long will it take for Tom to prove that he's better than them too? How long will it take for Tom to stand out?

"Ah, here we are," Dumbledore stops before a house with the number 4 nailed against the door. The lawn and flowers are too healthy, too well-cut. Chances are high that this other magical boy will be spoiled, loud and demanding.

But the skinny little boy sitting with his knees against his chest, on the front steps, shatters that thought.

"…Harry?" Dumbledore says.

The boy, Harry (honestly, who names their child Harry, it's almost as plain as Tom), almost trips as he stands up. Though if Tom had clothes as baggy and worn as Harry's, he might trip too. Harry looks as if the slightest touch might break him. Everything seems to dwarf Harry, even Tom.

When Tom looks from Harry to the pristine Number 4 Privet Drive, he has a hard time believing that Harry comes from the same house. Are Harry's guardians as stingy as the orphanage? Tom wonders if Harry is the type to start crying over every grievance against him, like Amy.

"Where are your aunt and uncle?" Dumbledore asks, and for once something dangerous lurks in his twinkly eyes.

"Um. Inside, sir. They, uh, have to get ready for a work party…" Harry's eyes dart back and forth between the door and Dumbledore, likely hopeful that they will leave without confronting his guardians.

Dumbledore's mouth forms a thin line. "I will have to have a word with them…"

"No, please, Professor, they're, um, really busy. And I'd hate to keep you."

Dumbledore's face softens. "It's really no trouble, Harry, but if you insist, I will escort you and Tom to Diagon Alley right away. The conversation with your guardians can wait later."

"Oh. Great." Harry tenses, looking anxiously at the door again.

"This is Tom Riddle, by the way. He'll be accompanying us as well. He's also beginning Hogwarts this year… I hope you two will find something in common."

Harry's face becomes hopeful but shy. "Um. Hello! I'm Harry!"

He stretches out his hand.

Tom only frowns. "And your last name?"

"Well, uh…. You can just call me 'Harry', I don't mind—"

"I do. I'm not calling you Harry and you're certainly not going to call me Tom."

"Oh." Harry's face falls. "It's Potter."

Hm. Not much better than Harry.

"Don't mind Tom," Dumbledore cuts in, when Tom doesn't take Potter's hand. "He doesn't seem very fond of commonly known names. There are thousands of Toms in Great Britain alone, you know."

This meddling old fool! Tom hopes that Dumbledore trips and gets hit by a bus. Preferably the Knight Buss, just for retribution.

But Dumbledore only winks, prompting a startled giggle from Potter… which is probably better than fat ugly Amy-like tears so Tom tolerates it.

"May I take your hand, good sir Potter?" Dumbledore dips down in a ridiculous bow, as if to a great Lord, prompting more giggles. Urgh.

"Ah, um, yes, thank you, Professor," Potter hesitates at first but slowly takes Dumbledore's hand, paling a bit. Probably because of how cold that man's hands are.

"Alright. Hold on tight, you two. I don't see any muggles around, so I will be doing something called apparition! It's rather like teleportation—have you ever watched the quaint show about Stars and a man named Scotty?" Potter only looks bewildered while Tom scowls. "No? Well then, you're in for a surprise!"

Before Tom can question Dumbledore further, everything seems to crinkle up and flush away, all the colours and scenery and Tom feels like he's being squeezed, thrown violently through a tiny crack within space and time, all surfaces pressing against him, pushing him forward and forward until—

Crack!

Tom wobbles down and nearly crashes against brown floorboards. Wait. What happened to the irritatingly perfect lawn and porch?

He looks up at the hand holding him up. Dumbledore stands serenely, helping Potter up. Potter, unlike Tom, seems to have fallen out of Dumbledore's grip and bruised his elbows. Potter's ugly glasses stand crooked against his nose and Potter seems more like a lost woodland fairy trapped in rags than a boy.

"Here we are, the Leaky Cauldron. When you venture out into Diagon Alley in the future, at the appropriate age and with appropriate guardians, of course, you will have to enter through the Leaky Cauldron."

"Amazing!" Potter jumps up. It's as if a switch has flicked on, transforming him from a quiet, easily forgettable thing to the embodiment of delight. Tom isn't sure which is more annoying. "We, we really teleported! I mean, uh, apparated! Can every wizard do this, Professor? Will Tom, I mean Riddle, and I get to do that too?! Or is it just for special wizards?!"

Dumbledore chuckles. "The legal age to get an apparition license is seventeen in Magical Britain. But in other countries, such as Thailand or Singapore, magical children as young as thirteen learn to apparate as well. Most wizards and witches can apparate if they have a good instructor. But even if they never learn, there's no shame in that. There are other methods of travel after all like flying. Apparition is just more convenient."

"Flying?!" Potter looks like he's going to faint from excitement. Tom half hopes that he does, if only to shut him up. "Like on brooms? Or… or motorcycles?" Potter stops, as if he's said too much, and his shoulders slump back down. "Um, not that motorcycles can fly, sir."

"I don't see why not," Dumbledore says gently. "But you would have to get permission from the Ministry of Magic before casting any spells on muggle objects. Any other questions?"

"Oh. Um," Potter fiddles with his hands. "I… maybe later…"

"Of course! But if you are curious about anything during our trip, please feel free to ask! That includes you as well, Tom."

Tom only smiles tightly.

Dumbledore leads them through the dirty looking pub, greeting different oddly dressed people (Tom doesn't see the practical appeal of robes. Are they not difficult to maneuver in when you have to run away from enemies? Then again, if all wizards can apparate like Dumbledore, perhaps physical prowess is not important in this culture.) Potter keeps staring with wide eyes at every floating lantern, every tea cup that floats towards the sink. Simple parlor tricks, really, nothing to marvel over.

But then Dumbledore brings them to a brick wall. Just… a brick wall.

"Are you ready, boys?" Dumbledore grins, letting go of Tom's hand (finally).

Potter and Tom blink at him as Dumbledore taps the bricks with his wand in a pattern. Incredibly, the bricks shuffle apart, one by one, as if a hand is pulling them away in midair, and there, beyond the once-wall, is Diagon Alley.

There are no words. Tom sees colours everywhere. Wizards and witches walking around with different coloured robes, having packages floating behind them. Some stores advertise sweets that Tom has never seen before, seven feet high. Some shopkeepers shout bargains into the street, 'Gold cauldrons for 20 galleons, one-time deal!' and there are creatures peeking through windows, things Tom has never seen before.

He wants to know it all.

Beside him, Potter's jaw is wide open, and for once, Tom doesn't feel annoyed by the plebeian gesture.

:

Dumbledore takes them to the bank first, gathering gold from the goblins for Tom and Potter. The bank is an impressive site, with architecture that reminds Tom of the Roman Era. He wonders if wizards had any influence on that culture.

Potter whispers something to Dumbledore in the meantime and Dumbledore beams, before turning back to discussion to the goblins. Strange, how wizards and witches would leave their gold with goblins. What do goblins gain in return for such business? Tom hopes he'll have enough money left to buy a secondhand book on the subject.

Dumbledore leaves Tom and Potter in the lobby, under a goblin named Griphook's supervision, to get their gold. The orphanage trust fund must be a guarded secret for Hogwarts staff eyes only.

"Um," Potter speaks up, "are all wizarding banks run by goblins, Mr. Griphook?"

Tom stiffens. Of course! He should have tried asking the source first! He's so used to finding knowledge on his own, since he's surrounded by idiots all day. He listens in carefully to the conversation.

Griphook smirks. "Obviously. There are no better hands for gold."

"Wow! You guys must be really good at guarding people's stuff! I've never been to a bank before, but I really like this one," Potter rambles, before stopping himself and looking back down at his feet.

Griphook blinks at him, before bowing down. "I'm honoured that Gringrotts had made such a memorable impression on you, young wizard."

Potter smiles shyly and Tom finds himself annoyed again.

"How long have goblins been charged with guarding wizarding gold?" he asks semi-politely.

"Well," Griphook explains, "you runts should understand the atrocities committed during the goblin wars, but you didn't hear it from me… Wizards don't ever teach the real stuff, so I'll tell you what I know and you can come back to hear more if you're smart…"

They spend the rest of their wait-time, listening to Griphook's account of the goblin wars and this time, when Potter smiles shyly at Tom, he doesn't feel annoyance.

:

Dumbledore comes back with two heavy bags of gold. Tom takes his quickly and feels surprised by the large amount. Surely the Hogwarts orphanage fund doesn't have this much on hand for forgettable children with no families…

"We have a generous sponsor this year," Dumbledore grins at Tom's unspoken question, "he would not take 'no' for an answer."

Potter waves happily to Griphook before running towards them and together they walk to the wand shop. This time, Dumbledore doesn't take their hands, but Potter holds onto the edge of Dumbledore's cloak anyways like a frightened bird.

Once, Potter even trips, colliding into Tom and Tom almost snaps at him except Potter turns so pale, Tom wonders if his skin could fall off like browned and aged paper.

"S-s-sorry," Potter jumps away, leeching onto Dumbledore's hand. "I didn't mean… I mean… you just… s-snakes…"

…What.

"O-oh no, n-never mind, I just, um, you should watch out for birds! Yeah! I'lljustshutupnow…"

Tom narrows his eyes as Potter convinces Dumbledore to keep moving. Odd. How very odd.

:

Ollivander makes Tom reconsider his notions of 'odd.' If wizards act anything like Ollivander or Dumbledore, then Potter is boring in comparison.

The wandmaker keeps muttering about Tom being a tricky customer, about the ounces of sunshine and rain in him (Tom highly doubts that's a legitimate way of measuring magic and if it is, how is Ollivander capable of measuring it? Does he use a special vision of some kind?) Apparently Tom is more lightning bottled up with rain and minimal doses of sunshine, whatever that means. Also, Ollivander won't stop grabbing Tom's arm and yanking it forward to do measurements. It's insufferable.

The pile of boxes keeps growing larger and by the fortieth wand, Tom starts to grit his teeth. Why aren't any of the wands choosing him? Don't they know how adept he is at magic already? Is he better than these wands, is that it?

Dumbledore, ignorant old fool, is just reading a magazine about knitting and whistling 'London bridge is falling down,' damn him.

"Don't worry," Potter says so quietly that Tom wonders if he's hearing things, "you'll get a wand."

I don't need your pity, Tom almost snaps, but he remembers the role he's supposed to play in front of Dumbledore so he just gives a jerky nod instead.

Ollivander starts rocking back and forth on his heels in excitement. "Oh, I haven't had such a difficult customer in ages! Hmmm, I wonder," Ollivander looks from Dumbledore to Tom to Potter, "sometimes fate has a way of giving the answer right in front of us… let's see… where's that new phoenix feather wand…?"

Dumbledore looks up from his magazine just as Ollivander shoves the wand in Tom's hands and for the first time, Tom feels something missing click in place around him, all over the air. The connection he had earlier with magic feels stronger now, as if he's been living his life hearing muffled noises only for clear words to be discernible for the first time in his life.

"Excellent! Should have known any feather from Fawkes would go to a tricky customer. I expect you'll do great things with that Yew wand, I've never had a combination like that before, Mr. Riddle!"

Tom nods, mind racing from the magic in the air. He clutches his wand possessively.

"Now, for you, Mr…?"

"Um, just Harry, please."

Ollivander glances at Potter's face. "…Yes, I suppose it would be painful to be reminded of your father… Oh, don't be surprised, you look just like him, except the eyes. You have your mother's eyes. Let's find you a wand, shall we?"

Tom tunes out while Potter goes through the same process, though he notices that Potter's pile of boxes grows to be just as tall as Tom's was. Eventually, Ollivander smacks himself in the head and cries, "Wait! Fate has the answer right in front of me! You, Mr. Harry-thunder-and-sunshine, have the brother wand to Mr. Riddle's!"

Dumbledore and Tom go still just as Potter takes the holly-and-phoenix-feather wand.

"Oh, wonderful, just wonderful! Fate has plans for you three. Did you know that Dumbledore's familiar is a phoenix? The very same phoenix who donated the feathers that you two share! Very rare. He refused to give more than two. I can't wait to see what magic you two will do with your wands. Good day, good day!"

:

The rest of the day passes with Tom staring contemplatively at Potter. Brother wands. Tom has no idea what that means but he's going to find out as soon as he has access to a library. But for now, he'll have to play it safe and be (god forbid) nice to the other boy.

Easier said than done. Potter sticks close to Dumbledore's side and Tom can't help but think that Dumbledore's playing favourites with the way he keeps indulging Potter's questions. But around Tom, Potter is quiet, shy. Odd.

Tom is pleasantly surprised when he's able to afford all his materials without going second-hand, with plenty of money to spare. He'll save it for next year's shopping trip. There's no telling how much the fund will have next year but at least he'll be able to afford decent robes and blend in more easily at Hogwarts.

"I'll be waiting here," Dumbledore waves them off into Madam Malkin's direction. He pulls out a long yellow and purple scarf and starts crocheting.

"Well then, shall we go?" Tom smiles falsely at Potter.

Potter hesitates but follows after.

Madam Malkin is less irritating than Ollivander but talks to them as if they are babes. Tom wants to scowl, we're eleven not two, but he continues to use his 'sweet' smile and hopes that the measuring will end soon. Why Madam Malkin can't shut up and do her job quietly escapes Tom. She could take a leaf out of Potter's book and just stand there silently.

There's another boy standing next to them both, looking bored and snide with his polished blond hair. The boy stands as if the world should concede to him and Tom already wants to throw him off his pedestal.

"Hogwarts too?" the boy demands rather than asks when Madam Malkin goes off to get the robes.

"Of course. And you?"

"Obviously. Hogwarts is the best school in magical Britain. My father wanted me to go to Durmstrang but mother insisted that I go to Hogwarts. It's only appropriate. My family's been in Slytherin for generations. What house do you think you'll be in?"

"…Only the best," Tom says carefully.

Potter, of course, says nothing.

"As long as it's the right house. Do you even know what the right house is?" the boy narrows his eyes, looking at them both with growing disgust. "…I've never seen you two around before… What did you say your names were?"

"We didn't." Tom grits his teeth.

"Well, my name's Draco. Draco Malfoy," the boy preens, clearly expecting some sort of recognition. A test then. One that Tom has no interest in playing.

But before Tom can answer, Potter says, "Oh."

Malfoy scowls. "What's wrong?"

"Well, I was expecting someone… taller… as the Malfoy son."

Malfoy's ears turn pink. "I'll have you know that I'm the tallest eleven-year old that's ever been in the Malfoy family—"

"Fascinating," Potter says in the same deadpan voice, "your family must really care about their height. Maybe a height complex…?"

"You—"

"Your robes are ready!" Madam Malkin walks in. "Oh. Are you boys alright?"

Malfoy opens his mouth, closes it, then opens it again before grabbing his robes and storming off.

"What a rude little boy," Madam Malkin clucks. "Took your robes too! Hang on, I'll fetch you some new ones… when I see Lucius Malfoy I'll bill him triple the price…!"

"…How do you know his family?" Tom demands. Are Potter's Aunt and Uncle considered proper witches and wizards too? Is Number 4 Private Drive clever camouflage for a wizarding dwelling?

"Oh. Uh. I have no idea who the Malfoys are. I just… improvised," Potter stares down at his shoes again.

"…Improvised."

"Well, I mean, he seemed very full of himself, like we were supposed to know who he was, and I figured with all the wizard gold and goblins and banks, there's probably a weird royalty thing going on with magical people, right? So Malfoy was just showing off and I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything."

"No… no, it was… clever."

Tom watches Potter smile and he thinks maybe they have something in common after all.

They're both excellent liars when they want to be.

:

When it's time to leave, Dumbledore offers a hand to both of them for apparition, Potter takes Dumbledore's hand first and then offers his own hand to Tom.

"Since you don't like Dumbledore," Potter whispers.

Tom doesn't like touching anyone, but if Potter was observant enough to notice, maybe Tom should start observing him in return.

After all, they have brother wands, don't they?

Notes:

EDITED CHAPTER - Nov 15, 2019

Chapter 8: Animagus

Notes:

These chapters keep getting longer... and more plotty. What happened? This was supposed to be a crack series... I blame Tom...

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

[So?] Tom demands when Nagini comes slithering back into the classroom. [What did you find out about Potter? What are his plans?]

[Pet me] Nagini demands first.

Tom only glares at her, and then, only because demanding the respect he rightfully deserves would take too long, obliges.

[He's getting the human babes to construct a giant nest made of pastries. Um. A castle, I believe.]

Tom stops petting her. Nagini bristles.

[A… castle… made of… pastries.]

[Hmmm, yes… he compared it to a gingerbread house…? Why would humans make pastries out of ginger? How disgusting—hey, where are you going?! Come back and give me pets!]

Nagini slithers after him and for once, Tom doesn't care to disillusion her. Let the students see Nagini's great form, a taste of Tom's power. They will need to be acclimatized to her presence sooner or later just as the First Years have.

More importantly, Tom rushes up the stairs to the old North Tower, he needs to confirm Nagini's outrageous claim straight away. Potter can't be this stupid, surely—

He rams into a brown wall and splutters backwards, crumbs flying from his robes. Immediately, Tom blanches, wishing he could wipe the taste of sugar and cinnamon off his tongue.

"Oh, look class, it's Professor Riddle! He must have heard about our awesome project. Come in, Tom, come in, you must try out the pink frosting on the doors, it's fantastic!"

The giant biscuit-made-thing is not fantastic at all. Indeed, the structure seems made of pastry. This… gingerbread. Each wall stretches up to the ceiling, nearly touching the stone arches with its over-saturated rose frosting roof tiles. Every manner of muggle sweet from jelly beans to smarties seems to be plastered against the cookie walls like brick. There are even Every Flavour Beans and Chocolate Frogs hopping inside the gingerbread castle, through the peppermint laced windows.

Tom wants to vomit at the sight of it.

[So many human babes… they smell delicious… Oh, a rat!] Nagini slithers past the trails of whipped cream to swallow a rat dangling from Potter's hands.

Urgh. All those germs.

Potter's jumper seems to mock him too. Today's jumper has a snake eating waffles on it. A snake with a bowtie. Tom wants to find whoever knits these atrocious things for Potter and get rid of their fingers.

"I refuse."

"Gasp, my heart," Potter flails dramatically. "Class, whatever shall I do?! Your DADA professor has just rejected me because our castle got crumbs in his perfect, perfect hair!"

Potter's Fourth Year students only snigger, likely taking advantage of such a negligent teacher so they can slack off and think of asinine things all period.

"That's enough, Potter. This thing is not an appropriate use of class time—"

"Of course, it's appropriate! Do you know how many students actually know how to bake?! Zero! It's an atrocity!"

"—you should take your class back—"

"Everyone should know how to make a cheesecake!"

"Um, Professor, I thought we were making a gingerbread house…"

"There are cakes made of cheese?!"

"—because this is Divination, not Muggle Culinary Arts—"

"Whoa, watch out!" one of the students shouts as one of the walls flails over.

Before Tom can react, he's hit by walls of gingerbread, frosting and chocolate.

:

"You need to fire him," Tom hisses when Dumbledore comes. Knowing the old twit, Dumbledore has probably decided to preserve his memory of Tom covered in globs of chocolate sauce and frosting in a pensieve for blackmail.

"I don't see why," Dumbledore vanishes the mess with a flick of his wand. Tom hates how Potter makes Tom lose all reason. "The baking did no physical harm and the students enjoy the activity."

"Baking isn't Divination! What do sweets have to do with telling the future?!"

"You'd be surprised. Perhaps you should try more sweets, Tom. I can see you're rather upset from the mess but Harry meant no harm…"

"He's not teaching!"

Dumbledore only sighs. "Now Tom, it's not very professional to lash out about your colleagues like this. If you have an issue with Harry, please discuss it with him first before bringing it up with me."

Tom wishes his glare could smite someone on the spot. He refuses to discuss anything with Potter and he'll prove it.

:

That night, Potter tries to apologize for the 'gingerbread incident' by offering Tom another jar of eggplants.

Tom shuts the door in his face.

:

He spends the next few days pretending Potter doesn't exist, throwing out all of Potter's offerings of sweets, throwing up silencing charms so he doesn't have to deal with Potter's annoying existence. But the most annoying thing about Harry Potter is how he intervenes in Tom's classes without being truly there.

No, Tom hasn't had any disruptions in classes due to Potter (the Weasley Twins are a separate factor entirely) but his students talk excitedly about Potter's predictions. Silly little horoscopes that are vague enough to be true for anyone: you feel alone sometimes in the world (who doesn't?), you felt tired this week (again, who hasn't?!), you'll eat something delicious on Friday (the house elves always make extra effort in meals on Fridays.) Sometimes the students will speak of Potter's pastries and how these pastries melt on the tongue or Potter's newest antics like making everyone spin in circles and recite a fairy tale to the class.

Just what is this idiot teaching them?! How is Potter still a nuisance after all the effort Tom has put into ignoring him?!

It's only been four days since the school year started and Tom has seen Sixth Years walk into his DADA class wearing glittery, feather boa-scarves and gold mascara. Fifth Years keep pausing in the hallway to bow to Professor McGonagall and call her 'supreme jedi master' because apparently she controls the fate of the galaxy (it doesn't help that McGonagall only smirks and tells them to go to class.) Fourth Years stand up to do jumping jacks every hour, on the hour, while Third Years insist they have to balance plates on their head to get an O in Potter's class and how does that make sense.

Thank Merlin, Divination is an elective and that Potter can't corrupt First or Second Years. But with Potter's rising popularity, it's likely that enrollment for Divination next year will skyrocket.

Tom cannot let that happen.

He listens in on a conversation between Snape and Dumbledore, waiting for the topic of Potter to come up.

"…fire that brat this instant! If I see another wad of glitter leak into my potions lab again—!"

"Ah, but Severus, correct me if I'm wrong but the first procedure of Potions is to cast a cleaning charm on all students before class until they can cast it themselves, is it not?"

Snape growls, looking very sour indeed.

"I'm sorry, Headmaster, Snape, I couldn't help but overhear and add my own concerns… I'm unsure if Potter is actually adhering to the Divination curriculum and I worry that students in his class aren't learning what they need to…"

"Tom, Severus," Dumbledore shakes his head, "while Harry's teaching methods may seem eccentric, I'm confident that there is a purpose to his pedagogical approach. It's only been one week, much too early to judge the results of his teachings. Give it time. If you still feel worried, I invite you to sit in on one of Harry's classes. I'm sure he wouldn't mind. Lemon drop?"

Snape looks as if he wants to take a lemon drop and spit it back in Dumbledore's face but only refrains out of respect.

Tom, only barely holding in his restraint, says bluntly, "I don't like sweets."

:

Fine. If Dumbledore won't act then Tom will. He'll find concrete evidence that Potter's an incompetent teacher and get rid of him for good.

[Nagini] he hisses during his free period, [show me how you enter into Potter's classroom undetected.]

Her body jerks in surprise. [Master, are you planning on accompanying me today?]

[Yes] Tom hisses as he lets the change come over him. Being an Animagus is like constructing a skin of magical intent around his body, shaping it smaller, smaller, more reptile and scales instead of human skin and limbs. He feels the magic wrap around him, shifting him into a more compact shape, trying to lure his mind into matching that shape too but no, Tom keeps his mind human.

When he opens his eyes, he's eye level with Nagini and they both admire his new serpentine form.

Nagini curls up around him in excitement. [You will love it, Master, Green-Eyes gives out the tastiest rodents for us to eat.]

Hating how his snake body coils in agreement, Tom hisses, [I am going to observe and gather evidence of his improper teaching so I can chase him away from Hogwarts, not to be a glutton.]

[Your human life must be very sad and disappointing if you don't indulge in food. I do not see why gaining weight must always be a negative trait for you humans.]

Tom only rolls his eyes and slithers after her.

She leads them through the pipes and Tom glowers in disgust. They move through the school undetected until Nagini eagerly nudges Tom forwards to a covered hole in the wall and Tom hears Potter lecturing. Carefully, Tom peeks out and has a good view of rows of students with their backs turned to him and Potter standing near the front.

The students are all standing one on leg, arms stretched up above their heads, and muttering, 'I'm a tree' repeatedly under their breaths.

This. Waste. Of. Space. Has Students. Pretending. To be. Trees. Trees!!

[Don't go biting him, Master! That may be mating protocol for humans but not for snakes.]

[For the last time, I do not want to mate with Potter, that is ridiculous—]

"Professor!" A muggleborn he remembers as Hermione Granger raises her hand. To Tom's disgust, she has palm leaves tied to her wrists, much like the other students. "Excuse me! Professor!"

"Hm?" Potter looks up from his rainbow-stitched hammock and book. The ever-present paper cranes nest in his hair and seem to be snoring against his fluffy stingray sweater. "Oh, yes, Ms. Granger, what do you need?"

"When are we going to learn anything about real Divination?"

Some groans echo in the class from Third Years who clearly don't want to learn. But other Gryffindors like Parvarti and Brown's older sister nod in agreement, likely filled with sentimental stereotypes of the mysterious wizarding fortune teller. Tom, on the other hand, is just glad that a student has finally asked the important questions.

"But you are learning real Divination!" Potter grins. From above, his annoying owl familiar Hedwig hoots.

"Then why don't any of our lessons match the content in Unfogging the Future? I looked it up in the library the other day and real seers are more focused on looking at tea leaves or interpreting dreams. All we've done lately is balance plates on our heads and then imitate trees!"

"Smart," Potter nods in agreement. "Five points to Gryffindor for taking initiative to research more about your subject." Granger blushes but looks pleased. "Buuuut, I have to happily disagree. There is no real form of Divination."

The classroom explores into shouts of outrage, confusion and cheer. Tom, on the other hand, wonders if this will be enough to get Potter fired for good.

Quickly, Potter summons a whistle and blows it. The shrill note makes Nagini and Tom cringe and hiss indignantly but does the job of silencing the class instantly.

"Alright, alright, I see you're all excited, but let me explain… Divination…"

A rare somber look crosses Potter's face and for some reason, Tom remembers a younger Potter, standing out in the middle of a storm, utterly blank.

"It's a tricky subject. Some people have the true sight. They're the true seers. They can't control what they see or when, but it's usually about the future. Or potential futures. They're rare. But most magical people… Well, they don't have a shred of True Sight in them. True seers are born, not made. And yet most people will try anything—tea leaves, crystal balls, pendulums—for even a glimpse of the future. So why teach Divination?"

The class stares back in silence.

Potter only grins, the face of the idiot returning so quickly that Tom finds himself reaching out for the somber Potter instead. "Don't be shy, there are no wrong answers."

A twitchy Hufflepuff, Hakar Ababi, shakily raises his hand while Granger puzzles over the question.

"Yes, Mr. Ababi?" Potter says kindly.

"Um," Ababi flails with his palm leave hands, "so we just… know it?"

"Good start. I can see why you'd think that!" Potter nods, standing up to walk around the room. His paper cranes doze off in the middle of the air, nearly crashing into Hedwig who hoots irritably. "The British Wizarding School System has been designed to value shoving as much knowledge into our brains as possible without really telling us the real-world application or relating it to Wizarding, heck, even muggle history. We've stopped asking why we learn things, we just recite and memorize. Let's try to think of why. Let's try to think deeply about Divination."

"Oh!" Another Hufflepuff, Lifen Wang, nearly falls out of her tree pose, "Maybe to find ways people take advantage of Divination? And try to stop it?"

"Excellent! Five points to Hufflepuff for you, Ms. Wang, and another five for you, Mr. Ababi, for earlier. Do you know how many magical people get swindled for their gold by fake seers? It's important to learn the common forms of Divination so we can recognize what 'true' Divination might look like, so we can be critical thinkers. How else can we think about Divination? Keep your tree poses up, breathe and think like a tree!"

Tentatively, Ronald Weasley raises his hand. "Er… My dad works at the Ministry and he sees a lot of coworkers obsessed with their horoscopes or going to Fortuna's to try and learn their fortune. Some blokes go bankrupt 'cause they have to 'change their future' or something like that."

Potter's grin grows wider. "There you go! A real-world example! Five points to Gryffindor! Yes, there are a lot of fate-turning pubs like Fortuna's where magical people go to find their future and then try to change it. Those facilities work a lot like muggle casinos, presenting fortunes like games that can be easily changed with a bit of money. Learning about Divination helps us think about how harmful it can be to be obsessed with the future. Critical thinking. How does what we're doing in class right now help with learning divination?"

The students look at each other in confusion but with an encouraging nod from Potter, they start discussing possible answers.

"Maybe this is training to make us true seers!" Thomas claims.

"Don't be silly, Dean, Professor Potter said that seers can't be made," Granger cuts in.

"Well maybe we're learning balance or something. Like, in our minds," Thomas says, "so we can think more critically, yeah?"

"Great thought process there, Mr. Thomas. Yes, exercises like envisioning yourself as a tree or balancing a plate on your head, focus your thoughts on one task… They clear your mind so you can't be easily swayed and you know yourself better. In fact, these exercises are a good way of strengthening your mind if you ever want to learn mind arts like Occulmency. Five points to Gryffindor."

"Oh! Like muggle meditation!" Granger brightens. "You're teaching us to manage ourselves better mentally and emotionally! To handle stress!"

"Urgh, what's the use of that?" Zacharias Smith sneers. "Meditation is boring! Pointless! Ow!" Smith shakes his palm leaf hands at a flock of unhappy pink cranes.

Potter just stands there and shakes his head. "Don't judge the method before seeing the results, good sir. My cranes can be kind of cranky if you're rude in my class, remember? Besides, do you know how many magical people crumple under the pressure of the worsening economy and responsibilities of adulthood? So far, about one fifth! And those are only the brave few who have spoken up! Who knows how many keep silent about it?"

Even Smith has to blink, taking in this new information. From what Tom knows about the Smith family, some of the older generation have a history of breaking down in public and then isolating themselves away from the Wizarding community for decades after.

"We go to school to learn spells, magic, theory," Potter walks through the rows of palm-tree-students with every pair of eyes fixed on him, "to improve our magical knowledge. But what about our mental knowledge? Emotional? Who teaches us how to live?"

No one, Tom thinks bitterly. We are thrust into a world unwillingly and never told the rules. We survive. We rule. We conquer. Or we die. That's it.

"We do," Potter answers, practically bouncing in each step. "We teach ourselves and we teach each other by our lives. But it sure would be useful if we had a class on how to live. How to manage the tough times."

"What, so baking is supposed to help us?" Smith sneers again with his nasally voice. Tom has an urge to bite him.

"Well, why not? It might not be for you. But I'm told it's very therapeutic for those who love cooking. And maybe it's not your thing, fine, but now you can bake something! Go impress your friends, woo some future lovers."

"But what about telling the future? Making prophecies and all that rubbish? We still have to do that for our OWLs!"

Ronald Weasley looks ready to punch Smith in the face for his outbursts and even Tom feels impatient, wanting to hear more of Potter's justifications, but Potter only smiles. "No worries. We'll learn about Crystal balls and dream interpretations eventually… just not in the conventional way you might be thinking. Besides," Potter suddenly looks directly at the hole where Nagini and Tom are hiding, "like I said, we shouldn't obsess too much about the future… Prophecies can be self-fulfilling things. Sometimes, it's best not to know."

Tom doesn't shrink back. He's a snake now, an ordinary snake coming to visit for snacks like Nagini. Potter couldn't possibly know—

"But…! But that defeats the entire purpose of studying Divination for the OWL! Why shouldn't we know?!"

Potter only smiles. "Alright then, if you'd like to know your future, Zacharias Edmund Smith of Hufflepuff House, I will tell you that one of your greatest fears will fall unexpectedly into your lap at an inconvenient moment and you will not react well."

Smith pales but shakes his head. "Those bloodthirsty flamingoes haven't shown up yet, why should I be afraid of this prediction?"

Potter looks confused for a moment before he laughs. "Oh. Right. The flamingoes. Well," he sits back in his hammock again, "give it time."

Before anyone can respond, the bell rings, signaling the end of class. Everyone scurries to put their books away, still looking at Potter with half-confusion, half-awe or, (like Smith) half-distaste.

[Finally, class is done! Time to get my snack] Nagini pushes Tom out of the crack in the wall so they can slither down a wooden column.

[I'm not going. I need to teach next period—]

[But my snacks!]

"Whoa, Ron, watch where you're going," Thomas shouts just as the fifth Weasley child trips into him, knocking the curtains over.

[Master, watch out!]

The curtains smack Tom and Nagini off the column and they go flying through the air. Tom hisses the various ways he wants to maim the Weasley and Thomas just as he and Nagini land on something soft.

A whimper echoes above them. Tom and Nagini blink up, staring into the nasally Zacharias Smith's eyes.

[Noisy human babe. If only my Master would let me eat you] Nagini sighs forlornly.

Smith's eyes bulge as he turns an ugly shade of purple and throws Nagini and Tom away in mid-air.

"SSSSNAKE! GETitOFFmE, getitOFFmEEeeee!" He runs away screaming, knocking many of his classmates over.

[Stupid, stupid, stupid—] Tom hisses just as he sees the ground.

"I got you!" Warm hands catch him and Nagini mere seconds away from severe injury and Tom instinctively huddles closer to the heat source. "Thank Merlin you're both okay! Oh, do you have a new friend, Nagini?"

[Green Eyes!] Nagini eagerly wraps herself around Harry's shoulders, looking more like she'll squeeze him to death rather than hug him. [I never want to see that noisy babe again. We should go far away so you can keep feeding and petting me forever.]

"What a handsome snake," Potter peers down at Tom while Tom does his best to act like a snake instead of a wizard. Hiss hiss. "Hang on, I have a few mice for you too… But really, try not to visit me through the walls. You could fall again! And Hedwig might decide you make a tasty snack."

On cue, the demon owl flaps her wings hungrily.

Nagini and Tom hiss back at her.

"But what a strange coincidence," Potter says serenely. "Who knew Smith was so afraid of snakes? You'd think they were his greatest fear or something."

Tom stiffens. Narrows his eyes. Reviews the class in his head.

[Yes] he hisses. [One might believe that you had True Sight for a moment…]

Potter, of course, shows no signs of understanding. Only sends both snakes off with their bellies full of mice and warm, ridiculously rainbow-coloured snake-sweaters ("Sneaters!" Potter exclaimed eagerly) and Tom's mind racing with possibilities.

He needs to remember every prediction Potter ever made. Immediately.

Notes:

A guide to age in this AU:

Third Year students: Ron, Hermione, Seamus, Dean, Pavarti, Hakar Ababi, Lifen Wang, Maeve Brown

First Year Students: Blaise, Ginny, Hannah, Colin, Lavender, Soo Lin Dao

Adults: Minerva, Draco, Cho, Cedric, Charlie and Bill Weasley, Rubeus, Myrtle, Neville, Luna

AN: I had to make up reasons why learning Divination is somewhat valid in the wizarding world...

EDITED CHAPTER - Nov 15, 2019

Chapter 9: Advice

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Every memory of Potter that Tom tries to put into the pensieve comes out blurry and faded, as if Potter was never there at all.

His most recent memories, of course, appear as clear as a new Muggle motion picture… But the ones from his school days... Tom can barely remember them at all let alone force them into a pensieve. Frustrating, how even magic has its limits. Memories are best taken fresh, as soon as possible, before they're stored into a pensieve. Otherwise, those memories can be faded and corrupted by time. Some memories, such as traumas or significant moments, will remain clear no matter what.

Tom wants to yell at his past self for not creating a pensieve back then. He would try to extract memories from Nagini but animal memories are another category entirely, and he only acquired Nagini during Sixth Year...

[Fine, if I cannot recall every prediction Potter has made, then I will nudge him to tell new ones and analyze what happens next .]

Nagini hisses in alarm. Silently, she looks at the long roll of parchment that lists every 'prophecy' that Potter has ever foretold, ridiculous or not, from the beginning of the summer, and then at the floating pages of possible interpretations for llamas and flamingos. Tom has already taken the etymology of each word and broken down their meanings from past language trees and cultural connotations of each animal in different countries.

For instance, llamas and llama parts were placed in burial sites by the Moche people. Even in the later Inca empire, llamas were considered creatures of burden… especially for the dead. Llamas carried everything—cargo, people, the dead. If these creatures are related to Tom's death, perhaps they're a metaphor for Tom's aspiration to avoid death?

And flamingos! In Egyptian culture, maybe wizards considered these birds to be a representation of the sun god Ra. These animals were always cared for and preserved. Even in Peru, these birds were sacred animals—also preserved and found in many works of art. Some of the myths that Tom has found describe the flamingo as a savior animal because of the way it can bend its neck. He even notes the stories about men who could turn into flamingos and had extraordinary abilities… these are likely references to ancient animagi… Perhaps the flamingo prediction refers to animagi who have been experimented on or it's a warning of what happens if people turn again their savior…? But Tom can't think of anyone he would consider a savior in current Wizarding culture…

Nagini frowns.

She looks contemplative for once. But after a while, she only sighs and curls up around Potter's atrocious Pikachu-shaped beanie coach. [ If you only asked him, you could save all this trouble. Humans always make things more complicated than they really are. ]

Just for that, Nagini won't be getting any sugar mice for dessert.

:

"I made lemon cranberry scones today! Would you like some?" Potter presses the tray in Tom's direction first, as always.

"…Thank you," Tom says stiffly, taking one.

All of their coworkers suddenly stop and stare at Tom as if he's just announced the end of the world will begin with an invasion of piñatas.

But Tom keep smiling as if nothing strange has happened at all. Potter, irritatingly enough, doesn't seem to register the silence. Instead, his face lights up and his eyes sparkle in such an alarming way (like lightning , and Tom nearly glances at the scar again) that Tom wonders if Dumbledore's twinkly eyes are a learned trait rather than hereditary.

"Well…?!" Potter leans in. "Go on, try it!"

Tom's smile turns brittle. "…Of course."

He eyes the pastry carefully. It's pale. Flakey. Probably loaded with more sugar than necessary, he wouldn't be surprised if Potter added two more cups of sugar, just to be contrary. But slowly, he takes a polite bite out of it.

Immediately, he wants to vomit.

Sweet. Too sweet. No, Potter didn't put too much sugar; logically, Tom knows this is a normal ratio of sugar for a scone but it's despicable. The overwhelming amount of sugar, no matter what quantity, makes Tom sick to the stomach.

"It's delicious," Tom says with the perfect amount of cordiality.

Potter's face goes utterly blank. "… You don't like it."

Tom's heart hammers. Show me you're a seer, his mind roars. "Don't be silly. Of course, I do."

But Potter doesn't seem to be looking at him anymore. Instead, his gaze seems transfixed somewhere else as if there are whole other worlds contained in the reflection of his spoon. Tom never particularly cared to notice before but Potter's gaze often seems focused elsewhere, even when he talks to people like Dumbledore or Chang. As if the present doesn't truly matter.

"In fact," Tom grits his teeth, "scones might quickly become my favourite food."

"Hm?" Potter blinks up at him. "Oh! Um. That's… great, Riddle. But you don't have to force yourself." His grin suddenly returns like a blaring siren that won't shut up even after shutting the door. "I'll make you something you absolutely want to eat, I promise!"

Potter rushes out before Tom can decipher if his last statement is a prophecy or not.

:

"Ah, Potter, I was wondering if I could talk to you about lesson plans," Tom musters up his most charming smile in the corridor.

Unexpectedly, Potter doesn't even react. Instead he seems to weave through the crowd of students while balancing an outrageously tall pile of cookbooks in his hands. Tom even spots some encyclopedias on dragons and South American birds. Again, his gaze seems far off…

Infuriating.

:

"Potter, if I could just have a moment—"

"…have to figure out a good ratio of red to gold…" Potter mutters, ducking into a bathroom stall.

The bell rings. Class again. Tom is ready to blast that bell charm into nothingness.

:

"Potter, I wanted to talk…!"

Once more, Potter nearly walks into a wall before changing directions and dragging his sled of art supplies around the corner.

"Damn Potter," Tom mutters.

"You really must be patient with him, Tom, he often has his head in the clouds," Dumbledore says from behind.

How Dumbledore seems to appear when Tom least needs it still alludes him.

"He's quite difficult to get a hold of when he's working on his projects."

"Nonsense," Tom scowls, no longer bothering to hold his façade. "Potter always finds time to—" annoy , "—converse with me when we're together for meals or in the office."

"Ah, but I imagine this is the first time you've sought him out instead of the other way around."

Tom doesn't respond.

"Amazing how we can get so caught up in our own lives that we forget that others have their own stories to live as well. I would use this opportunity to learn more about Harry as an equal, Professor Riddle. You'd be surprised how many layers human beings have once you get to know them."

"I know Potter," he snaps, "I know that he's infuriating to the brim, that he sleeps with a stuffed dog, that he tries to have tea parties with his blasted owl every Sunday, that he never wears matching socks. I know almost every one of his annoying sweaters, including the one with dancing zombie flamingos, and I'm convinced he probably buys a new sweater every week just to annoy me. I know him."

Dumbledore suddenly looks pleased. And a bit worried.

"I am not obsessed with Potter," Tom hisses.

"I never said that," Dumbledore says lightly.

"I merely know him better than you do. I would know if he had layers."

"Alright."

"And I'm not seeking him out."

"Sure."

"In fact, I'm going back to my class and I'm going to plan the next unit on curses for the Fourth Years."

"Toodle loo then."

Tom clenches and unclenches his fists. He thinks of the mask he puts on for his followers, the one that made him Head Boy. Dispel all emotions. Be distant but proud.

"Good day," he says pleasantly and almost believes it.

This obsession with Potter has to stop. If Potter won't show any signs of being a seer willingly than Tom will have one of his followers monitor him instead. Tom has greater things to worry about like recruiting more followers and spreading his influence. He hasn't taught a session on the dark arts to his followers in months… Perhaps another meeting in Hogsmeade this weekend will be necessary…

Quite suddenly, he finds himself bumping into Potter, making Potter's collection of red and gold yarn fly all over the corridor.

"Oh Merlin! So sorry, Tom! I wasn't paying attention, here, let me get that," Potter tries to brush the threads of yarn from Tom's hair, not even aware of how he himself looks like a ridiculous spaghetti monster.

"Stop that," Tom snaps, wandlessly vanishing the yarn away to their office. Let Potter deal with the mess later. "You're a wizard, aren't you? Use your magic!"

"Someone woke up in a mood…"

"You're insufferable," Tom says because how dare Potter assume that Tom is as human, as emotionally ruled, as the rest of humanity. How dare Potter assume that Tom woke up this way , when everything is Potter's fault in the first place! "I'm leaving," he walks away. He doesn't need Potter or his seer powers. His plans will move smoothly without the power of prophecy…

But…

"Are you going to Hogsmeade this weekend?"

Tom stills. "What did you say?"

Potter shrugs. For the first time, Tom notices the smudge of make-up on Potter's face, hiding dark bags under his eyes.

"Hogsmeade. You're going right?" and Tom's mind roars, yes, see? He knows your plans to meet with your followers, he knows, he knows—

"...Yes."

"I… I wouldn't if I were you."

Tom can feel his blood roaring in his ears. "...Why not?"

"Well," Potter shifts on his feet, "you might have a deadly encounter with llamas after all."

Tom sees red (perhaps from the leftover scarlet yarn on his hair) and he hisses, "No one cares about your inane, false lies, Potter, so spare me your little stories! I am not, and I never will be, in danger because of an overgrown llama."

The scar on Potter's head has never looked so damning before. "Tom—"

"Don't talk to me. You are a spoiled brat , who has wasted his potential on stupidity and I am done with you."

That night, Tom transfigures the DADA classroom into a makeshift bedroom and moves his things.

For days, he and Potter don't speak.

Notes:

EDITED CHAPTER - Nov 15, 2019

Chapter 10: School Days: Mirrored Selves

Notes:

Another flashback chapter and then back to the funny mess that is my story

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Platform nine and three-quarters feels just as crowded as King's cross. The most striking difference between the two train stations is the great red train sitting a few meters in front of him. Families bustle back and forth in tearful (and pathetic) displays of emotion. Wizards and witches seem to prefer bright coloured robes. Owls also seem quite popular, a logical trend when one considers the usefulness of owls.

Tom pushes his trolley past them all.

:

He takes the compartment furthest in the back of the train to avoid the riff-raff. He isn't here to socialize but to study wizarding culture until he understands how to use it for his own. Tom's practically a foreigner, knowing nothing about the intricacies of this society's politics. He'll wait and observe the power structure first before he can take advantage of it. How powerful are his classmates? Will Tom be average among them? No, impossible, he—

"O-oh! T—I mean, Riddle! It's good to see you," Potter pokes his head through the door. Like the last time they met, Potter's clothes dwarf him and look as plain as dirt on the street.

"Are you wearing that to the Sorting?"

Potter ducks his head down, fiddling with his frayed sleeves. "Well. No. I was hoping to change into my robes on the train. Um. Is it okay if I sit with you? Everywhere else is full and well, you can say no if you want, I just thought—"

"Fine." It will be an opportunity to study the person who holds his brother wand. Tom takes Potter's trunk.

"Really?" Potter brightens. "Awesome! I mean, great!"

Tom frowns. How can anyone smile so wide like that?

"Just don't make unnecessary noise. We don't need to attract that noisy Malfoy back."

Potter snorts. and for a moment, Tom pictures the other orphans at Saint Wools and how they used to laugh at him until he made them stop. But Potter looks at Tom with such warmth that Tom almost forgets what it felt like.

"We can always chase him out again."

Before Tom really realizes it, he smirks back.

:

True to his word, Potter stays quiet after he sees Tom pull out his copy of Hogwarts a History to read. Potter even digs out his own potions textbook and begins to read from the middle of the text. Unlike the orphans back at Saint Wools, Potter keeps this withdrawn behavior up for at least an hour before Tom decides to start gathering information.

"What do you think of our curriculum so far?"

Potter lights up. "Charms looks amazing! So does transfiguration, but we just transform—wait, I mean transfigure—small things first, I guess. That makes sense, since we're just starting out, but imagine being able to conjure up clothes out of forks or food out of toothpicks!"

"Transfiguration does look useful, but I agree. It appears the curriculum will start off too simple. What about potions?"

Potter's book nearly falls from his hands. "I'm… not sure yet."

Interesting. "Why not?"

"Well," Potter looks down at his shoes, "I have a bad feeling about it. Like, no matter how much I try to read ahead," Potter's fingers tighten on the page, "I won't be able to do well in that class."

Tom can't tell if this is a humble mask Potter wants to construct or a genuine fear. He presses for further information. "Surely you have your family to owl for advice?"

Potter grimaces, wrapping the book close to his chest. "My parents died when I was four and my aunt and uncle don't really like magic. They're, well, muggle, you know."

"Oh," Tom tries to sound sympathetic, unused to the tone. He's never tried to be nice before. At the orphanage, the other children avoid and fear him. With Dumbledore, Tom only has to feign good manners. But Potter could be more.

Both liars. Both orphans. Both alone. They even look somewhat similar, if Potter didn't have green eyes or wear glasses they could be twins almost. His mirror image.

Something in him hungers at the thought.

"You're like me," he says, thinking of someone who might understand the truth of the world.

Potter stares back in wonder.

:

The door to their compartment slides open before Potter can reply and in darts another boy, sweating nervously, practically sobbing his eyes out.

"H-h-have y-you s-s-seen a t-t-toad?!" the boy flails his arms about, "P-p-please! H-h-his n-name is T-trevor and h-he's this s-small and h-h-he was a gift f-from my u-uncle, oh p-please h-help!"

"There's no toad here," Tom says, hoping the nuisance will leave soon so he can go back to the previous conversation.

Unfortunately, the boy starts to bawl, turning into a larger teary mess. "T-this i-is the l-l-last c-compartment! I-if he's n-not h-here then, t-then…!"

Urgh. Tom wonders if he should push the boy out or use his magic but he still needs to tread carefully about who he keeps company with. He's still not sure what mask to play at the school. The fearful tyrant act works well at the orphanage so he can be alone but in an entirely new environment, Tom will have to adjust…

Potter suddenly stands up. "Please don't cry! I'm sure you just missed him by the front of the train. I can help you look again, if you want?"

The boy and Tom pause. In an instant, the boy starts bawling again.

Potter looks at Tom in bewilderment. This is your problem, Tom glares back.

"Uh… please stop…! Oh, I knew I shouldn't have said anything… Hey, um, it's going to be okay?"

"Y-you," sob, "a-are so nice! I just, n-no o-one e-else wanted to help and, and—"

"Sorry," Potter looks at Tom. "This will only take a few moments. His toad should be nearby… Do you want to come help us look?"

Why, Tom wants to demand but… he can see Potter's point. He and Potter are still at a disadvantage. They don't know who they need to win over to gain influence in their school yet. This trainwreck of a boy might be someone important and Tom could always have the boy repay him with a favour…

"Fine."

This time, when the boy sobs again, Tom glares him into silence.

:

"So, uh, I'm Harry. This is Riddle. what's your name?"

"Neville." The boy blows his nose, "Neville Longbottom."

An unfortunate surname for an unfortunate being. The surnames 'Potter' and 'Riddle' seem extravagant in comparison.

:

They search through the rest of the train, narrowly avoiding a confrontation with Malfoy and his tagalongs. Tom gains a few more tidbits about his acquaintance, and more importantly, about the owner of his brother wand.

First, the wizarding world appears to have a systemic government and culture based on blood status. Strange notion but Tom doesn't pretend to understand why humans care about such things. Second, purebloods seem to benefit from the most wealth. Third, Potter seems quite close-lipped about his family.

How curious.

:

"He's gone! Forever! Gran's gonna kill me! I'll be cast into the street!" Longbottom moans when they arrive at their stop.

At this point, all Potter can do is tentatively pat Longbottom's shoulder. "Maybe we can look just one more time—"

"And miss the sorting?" Tom yanks Potter away. "The toad's gone for good. Just buy a new one." Longbottom definitely has the money for it.

"Oh merlin, the sorting," Longbottom covers his face. "I'll probably end up in Hufflepuff. Just dump me out the window and leave me to rot."

"Hey, don't say that! You'll find your toad, I know it! Let's get some fresh air," Potter tugs Longbottom out, ignoring Tom's clenched grip. "Why don't you tell us about this Hufflepuff thing. What exactly is it? Do we have to study it too?"

"What?" Longbottom blinks. "No, it's a house!"

"The house representing the hardworking and loyal, to be exact," Tom adds, remembering the passage dedicated to houses in his extra reading. "Hogwarts students are sorted into four different dormitories, or 'houses' based on character traits. Hufflepuff for loyalty, Gryffindor for bravery, Ravenclaw for intelligence, and Slytherin for ambition."

"But… doesn't everyone have those traits…? People change so much too…" Potter frowns at the wall, "what if they're not ambitious all the time? Not brave?"

"The magic they use to sort students is likely very sophisticated. Perhaps a branch of Divination is involved. I have to do more research on the subject." Tom could only buy three extra books with his funding after all.

Longbottom only droops lower. "I'm doomed."

"Hufflepuff doesn't seem bad. Loyalty is a pretty good trait to have…"

"Easier for people to use you," Tom points out.

Potter frowns. "Still… having a place to belong…"

"I would rather make that place."

Potter pauses, his gaze suddenly very direct with Tom's. Someday, Tom wants to write notes on how to read the emotions in Potter's eyes. Other human beings are easy. Predictable. Potter feels like a language Tom knew once in a dream, but woke up forgetting.

"You'd probably do well in any house, Riddle. I hope… well—"

"Toad! Anyone lose a toad?" an older student with an alarmingly bright smile calls out.

"Trevor!" Longbottom looks ready to kiss the older student. "Thank you so much!"

"No problem! Just keep a closer eye on him next time. He was sitting in the conductor's seat near the front… Anyways, are you First Years? I can lead you to the lake, that's where all the First Years go after the train ride. It's tradition."

The student, Cedric Diggory, leads them to the lake as planned and sends them off with a smile. "Hope to see you in Hufflepuff," he calls out, ruffling Potter's hair.

"Not likely," Tom murmurs. Brave, intelligent, and ambitious certainly apply to Tom but loyalty and that sickening sweetness that Diggory exudes do not.

:

Tom scowls for the rest of the boat ride across the lake, hating the cold, hating the wet. Billy Stubbs's snide jeers echo in his ears and Tom pushes them away. Beside him, Potter looks absolutely miserable, shivering and curling in on himself, looking smaller than ever.

"We're almost there," Tom finds himself saying.

Potter nods weakly but otherwise doesn't respond. Longbottom glances at them both in confusion while their fourth passenger, a girl named Myrtle, won't stop babbling about meeting all the ghosts at the school. If she says another word, Tom might push her off the boat.

Without warning, Potter's shoulder brushes against Tom's and he hears, "Look."

Hogwarts looms in the distance, lit up against the night sky. Tom can practically feel the air thrumming in excitement, the closer they sail towards the castle. It looks like an illustration from one of Amy's fairy tales but dressed in power and energy Tom would never have imagined.

This will be his place. He'll make it so.

:

Hogwarts was made for him. Every room thrums with different spells. The great hall opens up to the night sky, spelled with complicated charmwork that Tom can't wait to dissect and try to recreate for himself in his room back the orphanage. He'll figure out a way to bypass the underage restriction eventually. While the candles don't provide effective lighting to the hall, Tom appreciates the aesthetic. This hall is meant to impress, to intimidate students with magic. Someday, Tom will do that too.

Beside him, Potter hasn't said a word. Myrtle won't stop pointing up at the ghosts and wondering if they'll give her an autograph. She clings onto Longbottom, unaware of how faint the boy looks with each step into the hall.

The ceremony apparently involves putting on a hat. Tom frowns at the idea of some strange thing digging in his mind. It must be safe if they do this with every student, but still, his thoughts are his own.

"Hufflepuff!" the hat calls after five minutes of sitting on Longbottom's head. The boy bursts into tears and has to be escorted down the steps. Tom wants to roll his eyes. Longbottom's reputation won't recover from that shameless display.

Myrtle Mason gets sorted into Ravenclaw and she nearly tackles the female ghost sitting at that table. Finally, though, Potter gets called. The hall becomes oddly subdued.

"…See you, Tom," he says quietly, like it's goodbye.

Tom frowns. "It's Riddle. Be sure to save me a seat when you're sorted."

Potter gives a shaky nod and walks quietly up the steps, his feet echoing throughout the hall. For the first time, Tom wonders if the surname 'Potter' carries more significance to the wizarding world than he thought. He sees one of the teachers, the one with greasy hair, glower furiously at little Potter while the others look sad or nostalgic. As if they're watching another man.

Tom will have to ask Potter about it later.

Potter's sorting takes the longest out of all the first years. Thirteen minutes.

Finally, the hat says a barely audible, "…Gryffindor…" and the hall claps politely.

Hm. The house of the brave. Not bad. Hogwarts A History had plenty of examples of fine witches and wizards who came from that house. Red isn't Tom's colour and he knows it will clash with Potter's eyes but he'll get used to it. Tom, however, will pull off the colour well.

"Riddle, Tom," the headmaster, Dippet, calls.

He walks up the steps, facing the rows of students below, and nods down at Potter. The hat falls over Tom's eyes like the coming of night.

[Well, well, well] the hat says, delighted, [this will be an easy sorting. Thank merlin, I don't do well with the complicated cases.]

[Get on with it] Tom's rude thoughts flow out unchecked.

[Touchy child, aren't you? Extremely clever. You'll do great things, your ambition will change the world. Better be in…]

"SLYTHERIN!" the hat roars and Tom feels something in him fall.

The windows in the great hall crack.

Notes:

EDITED CHAPTER - Nov 15, 2019

Chapter 11: Named

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

"Um, Professor Riddle? I have a question about—"

"Check over your syllabus, the answers are there. If that doesn't answer your question, then reread the textbook. We're moving on," Tom vanishes the boggart away. "Next week, we'll be working with banshees. Do the readings beforehand. Class dismissed."

"But—" the Ravenclaw Third-Year, Thanh Tran, says.

"Ms. Tran, reread the textbook, I won't be available for office hours this weekend. You're a Ravenclaw, ask some of the older students in your house. Good day."

Tran rushes out in near-tears.

"Well that wasn't very nice."

"Potter, I can run my own classroom, you—" Tom turns around. "Oh. Chang. Did you need something?"

Cho Chang, the Flying instructor, raises her hands in defense. "Sorry for not being Harry, I guess?"

Tom turns back to his desk and begins rearranging his books into his bag.

"Uh… are you alright?" Chang asks.

"Did you need something?"

"Well, Cedric's coming to Hogsmeade for drinks. Harry and I are going to meet him at the Hog's Head. We were wondering if you want to join us, since we all went to school around the same time and all."

"…Potter put you up to this, didn't he?"

"Yeah, pretty much," Chang admits. She and Diggory never socialized with Tom back then, too occupied with each other and apparently adopting Potter. They were (and still are) disgusting with their PDA.

"Then no."

Chang sighs. "I tried. And for the record, this strange fight going on between you and Potter is driving the school into chaos. Go talk to him or I'll lock you both in a closet, don't think I won't just because you're Mr. Perfect."

"We're not fighting. I merely found another office, that's all."

Chang grimaces. "Look, it's none of my business, but this is Harry. He's your friend. He says some strange things sometimes but his heart's in the right place. If he upset you in any way then—"

"You're wrong," Tom steps out of the classroom. "He's not my friend."

Potter isn't anything.

:

For the past few days, Tom has seen students either glaring at him or nodding in solidarity. Many students, like the Weasleys, seem to be on 'Team Potter', insisting that Tom has wronged Potter somehow. Other students, like Greengrass and (to Tom's annoyance) Smith, say that Potter must have gone too far with his rambunctious behavior.

Apparently Tom has been 'snippy' and 'controlling' in his teaching lately while Potter keeps playing sad music like, 'All by Myself' and 'Rainy Blues' in every class.

"He cried onto his knitting! Tears of blood!" some students insist.

"Professor Riddle looks ready to stab the next person who says Potter's name."

"Well it's Potter's fault, he shouldn't be teaching!'

"Riddle wouldn't know a good teacher from a bad one, he's all about the textbook and perfectionism!"

That fight ended with several heads of neon purple hair and one student transfigured into a rubber duck. Madame Pomphrey scowls whenever she sees one of those 'Team Potter' versus 'Team Riddle' badges. Tom even sees 'Team Tomarry' buttons from a rare group of students and contemplates confiscating them for incorrect spelling. Are they signs meant to express allegiance to both parties…?

In any case, Tom refuses to talk to Potter, even if the student body seems oddly invested in their working relationship.

:

A few members of his group are already present when Tom walks into The Three Broomsticks. "Dolohov," he nods, "Avery. Carrow. Lestrange."

"Please, my lord, call me Bella," Lestrange flutters her eyes.

Tom forces a polite smile. "Of course, Bella."

The look of adoration he receives is a small price to pay for her loyalty. But he avoids her touch. "Have we ordered drinks?"

"A few butterbeers, some vodka," Dolohov grins. "Haven't ordered anything for you yet, m'Lord."

"Perhaps later," Tom dislikes the way alcohol affects his cognitive functions. "Tell me how things are with recruitment."

Dolohov shrugs, downing his vodka in one gulp. "Werewolves are weary of your terms but willing to work with us if you show them that you have power to back up your claims."

"Reasonable," Tom nods. "Tell them that I will give them a sign by December. For now, we'll give them supplies to help with their living conditions. What of the giants?"

"Barbarians. All of them," Carrow shivers. "Don't make me talk to them again, my Lord. They nearly took my arm! My arm!"

Tom sighs. "Did you approach them with the exact instructions that I asked you to do?"

"Um. Well."

"…I'll ask Crouch to take over your assignment," out of all his followers, Crouch is the most devout, the most competent. Shame he couldn't come to this meeting because of Ministry duties.

"Please don't demote me!"

Carrow's skill set will be useful when Tom needs an inside eye at the Ministry and considering his sister's power, Tom shouldn't be too harsh on Carrow… yet.

"One more chance, Carrow, otherwise I will find another to do your job. Don't forget what I did to Nott."

Carrow pales, "Of course, my Lord, you're so merciful…"

Obviously Tom is superior to them all but he wishes they would stop using the same vocabulary when they address him. Hearing the words 'merciful,' and 'yes my lord,' 'you're so amazing and powerful, my lord,' has become tiresome. Dull.

"Stop bowing your head. You're being too conspicuous."

"Yes, Carrow, stop burdening our lord," Bellatrix sneers.

"Avery?" Tom interrupts, ready to hear what's next on his agenda.

"I talked to Lord Malfoy. Lucius, of course, is eager to join our cause. His sons Abraxus and Draco though…"

"Noted. I will draft another letter for them."

"Lady Zambini doesn't want to hear anything from you. She said she's not interested in men who haven't gained true power yet."

"That blind—"

"Enough Bellatrix," Tom snaps. "It's understandable. I still need to spread my influence where I can… Recruitment in Hogwarts hasn't started yet. Dumbledore is still wary of me."

"Those children would have to be idiots not to follow you," Bellatrix croons.

"In any case, I called you all here to give you new assignments. We need to spread our group's message where we can before we begin our movement. Dolohov, you—"

"Whoa there!" Something crashes into Tom, tipping the table over with a splatter.

"My drink…!" Dolohov mourns, having ordered another round.

"What's the meaning of this! Apologize to my L—to Riddle, right now!" Bellatrix pulls out her wand.

"Put that away, we can talk through this," a woman with red hair, Molly Weasley scowls.

"Has anyone seen a lost flying car?!" her husband wanders in, nearly walking into a pole. "Oh hello! Uh, tough day?"

"None of your business, Weasel! Now, you, half-breed, apologize or speak to my stunner!"

"Calm your hair down!" the interloper holds up his large hands. "I meant no harm, uh, Riddle?!" The giant, no, half-giant, blinks in alarm. "Oh Merlin! I'm very very sorry, Riddle. I was in a rush to get a drink and some food for me animals, I've got a big shipment of creatures to bring in for Kettleburn's class and—"

"Hagrid," Tom stands up calmly. "I see you kept that animal hoarding hobby of yours. What is it? More acromantulas?"

Immediately, Hagrid's face turns boiling red. "Now listen here, Riddle, Aragog meant no harm and you know it! He wouldn't hurt nobody, he just wanted to live but you—"

"Wild creatures like that don't have feelings. They feed. They breathe. They die. Simple as that. If Aragog had ended up attacking your friend…"

"H-he wouldn't have h-hurt Harry…"

Seeing Hagrid tremble, Tom scoffs. If it were up to him, people like Hagrid wouldn't be allowed to have wands let alone be in a magical school.

"Um. I'm awfully confused. What do giant magical spiders have to do with my car?"

"Oh, Arthur, they're not talking about your blasted car! Hagrid here knocked over their table and—"

"Acromantula?!" another patron, the excitable minister of dark artifacts, squeaks. "Where?! When?! How?!"

"What is going on in my bar?! Who kicked over my table?!" Rosmerta walks in from the kitchen.

"Let me stun him, my Lord," Bellatrix murmurs, "it will be quick and we can leave."

"Bellatrix," Tom's going to get a migraine, "I told you 'no'."

"Can I get another drink?" Dolohov mutters to Carrow.

"Maybe we should go…"

"Oh no, you don't," Rosmerta storms over, "Who's going to pay for my damages?!"

"Merlin, just use a reparo charm, there, all better—"

"That's not the issue here, Avery!" Rosmerta pushes past Tom.

"That's it!" Bellatrix shrieks, and before Tom can stop her, she tugs Rosmerta by the wrist and fires a stunner.

"I'm out," Dolohov snatches the nearest pint and apparates away. Coward.

"I knew we shouldn't have brought her," Carrow moans as Rosmerta and Bellatrix start firing spells back and forth, smashing tables and mugs alike.

"Good Merlin, duck, Arthur, duck!" Molly Weasley pulls her husband down.

"Me animals!" Hagrid cries, running out the door to the outrageously large caravan parked outside.

"Leave, now," Tom hisses to Avery and Carrow, "We'll regroup later."

The two apparate straight away, leaving Tom to duck and crawl out of the pub to the street. If Hogwarts wasn't apparition-proof, Tom would vanish too. He scowls at the waste of time. He'll have to contact Crouch and demand he make Hagrid disappear into Azkaban where he belongs…

"Now, calm down, Lulu, girl, don't make any sudden movements," he hears when he gets outside. "What?! No, don't bite, stop, stop!"

Headlights flash up above them and to Tom's horror, a giant blue Angela Ford car swoops down, honking as loudly as a gaggle of geese and crashes into Hagrid's caravan of animals.

Damn Arthur Weasley, Tom thinks as he summons up shields to protect him from the stampede of frantic nifflers and fire camels. The car roars loudly in a combination of honks and growls. Trust that idiotic Arthur Weasley to create an artificially intelligent car and set it loose on the masses.

"Don't touch my Lulu!" Hagrid jumps on the front of the car, only to be thrown through the windows of Zonkos Joke Shop.

Tom narrows his eyes, a blasting hex on the tip of his tongue when suddenly—

A llama, an actual llama, with a sparkly orange bowtie reading Lulu, jumps from the broken caravan and jumps over Tom's shield charm, landing on his head.

Tom topples over, feels his bones crack, feels the damned llama trotting away as his wands lands away in the dirt.

No, Tom thinks, no, no, no, no. This can't be happening. This can't be.

But it is. The Ford Angela lets out a loud engine roar, turning up its speed, rushing towards him.

What did Potter say before?

(Riddle's going to die a tragic death via car crash because of a llama, professor, I don't think we can be friends.)

The headlights fill all of Tom's vision until he sees nothing but a stabbing, all encompassing light. He thinks of the world he will never rule. He thinks of the books he'll never read, all the knowledge he'll never know.

Lord Voldemort dead before he can even be born.

"No!" Tom yells, clawing at the ground, trying to force his body to move, damn it, he's not ordinary, he's not human, he can't die, he has a horcrux, but, but, but—

"Bombarda!" Tom hears someone roar and suddenly, Tom's pushed to the side, a warmth curled all over him and Tom sees brilliant, lightning-green eyes.

"Are you alright?!"

Tom's jaw drops. "Potter—"

"Are you alright?!" those hands cling tighter, those tears fall faster.

Tears have always made humans weak, that's what Tom thought. But here, crying furiously for him, Potter looks absolutely ethereal.

"…You're a seer," Tom says instead.

Potter goes very still.

"This whole time, you were a seer."

Notes:

EDITED CHAPTER - Nov 15, 2019

Chapter 12: Tension

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Potter drops his hands immediately and stands up. "Nope. You didn't see anything. There was no future seeing here. Nope. Okay, you're alive, the rampaging car is blown up, and I'm going to go back to my office to knit cute little hats for my students, bye."

Tom grabs Potter's sleeve and fixes him in place.

"Will you really leave a helpless victim here with broken bones?"

Potter looks away. "You're hardly helpless."

Tom wants those eyes back on him. "Your prediction says otherwise."

"Oh for—" Potter scowls, an alien expression on his usual face, "nowhere did I say that you would be helpless! Now let me go, I've got tests to grade."

"You don't assign tests."

"How would you know? You moved out!"

"I listen to student chatter. Quite useful."

"You must be fine. How you're still so eloquent with all that pain, I have no idea."

"Liar, you knew this would happen."

Potter turns back to the distance. "Oh look! It's a healer! Well, I'll leave you in better hands than mine now—"

He tugs his sleeve away.

The loss of contact makes Tom think of a smaller Potter flinching away from everything after the Incident, walking away from Tom. No. His younger self was blind to Potter's potential use. Never again. Tom grabs Potter, mutters the first wandless spell he can think of and—

Potter yelps.

"Seriously, Riddle?! You put a sticking charm between our hands?!" Potter waves their intertwined hands in the air, "Are you five?!"

Considering Potter regularly watches children's cartoons, eats sugary cereal, and is currently wearing a sweater of a bear named Pooh, Tom would argue that Potter is the five year old.

"You're not leaving until I get confirmation—"

"I'm not a seer—"

"A truthful one—"

"Just the truth that you want—"

"And you give me a prophecy."

Potter gapes at him.

"Oh my god. Tom. Riddle. Whatever name you prefer. I can't just tell prophecies. It doesn't work like that!"

"So you admit you're a seer."

"I. What. You. Urgh!" Potter's hair flies in disarray. It's oddly refreshing to see him this frustrated. "No, I don't! This is just an oddly specific coincidence."

Tom narrows his eyes. "I don't believe in coincidence."

Potter opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again. Closes it. Then takes a deep breath.

"Undo the sticking charm."

"No."

"Riddle, I swear—"

"Undo it yourself then."

"We both know that your magic's more powerful," but the words feel empty, now, to Tom.

"Do we?"

Slowly, Potter looks at their stuck hands in contemplation.

"...No. I suppose we don't," he admits and Tom wants to bask in triumph. This is the Potter he wants to see, this is the Potter who will give him an answer, finally—

"Is that my car?!" Arthur Weasley shouts, running frantically to the metal heap burning happily in the middle of the road. "Bessie! Who did this to you?!"

Crowds of students and visitors begin to gather around the wreckage. A few begin gesturing wildly to the nifflers chasing witches out of a clothing store and to the crazed llama terrorizing Zonko's. Hagrid, unfortunately, has not been trampled yet and seems to be trying to tame the beast again. But other residents and students begin to point at Tom and Potter, gasping in panic at their positions.

"Professor! What happened?! Should I call a healer?!" Granger asks.

Aurors begin appearing before Potter or Tom can reply. The aurors immediately begin rounding up the animals and interviewing witnesses. They drag Bellatrix and Madame Rosmerta out of the pub, growling about pressing charges for public disturbance.

"Iknownothing," Potter says quickly, upon spotting the head auror at the scene, Regulus Black. "Well then, Ms. Granger, I should get going…"

Regulus Black moves through the crowd, likely watching for suspicious behavior, when his eyes meet Tom's with disinterest. Slowly, Regulus Black turns his head and realizes just who Tom is holding on to.

His face twists. "Riddle, what are you doing to my godson."

Godson. Tom files that information away in his head. Strange for Regulus Black to adopt that title when it belongs to Sirius Black…

"OkayloveyoubyeRegulus," Potter waves both hands, apparating away.

"Wait!" Tom grasps at the air, alone with a silently fuming Regulus Black and confused Granger.

Only later, after being interrogated by Black ("Put your filthy purist hands on my godson again and they will never find your body." A weak threat, as if Tom would be interested in such things) and patched up by Madame Pomphrey, Tom starts to laugh.

Potter broke out of that sticking charm completely wandless.

:

"Tom!" Potter practically squeaks when Tom walks into his office. "Um, what are you doing here?"

Walking past him to the atrocious pikachu beanie-chair, Tom deshrinks the suitcase from his pocket and begins emptying it. "I'm moving back in. My name is still engraved on the door outside after all."

Indeed, true. Dumbledore found an obnoxiously sparkly plaque reading Professors Potter & Riddle with little heart engravings surrounding it. (Unbeknownst to Tom, this is how the Tomarry trend emerged.)

Potter's jaw drops. His paper cranes tweet worriedly into his ear. "But… you hate sharing your space."

"I won't be. I'll take the bedroom back upstairs, unless you foresee a problem with this future arrangement."

Potter and all his little cranes back away. "Did you just… try to pun?"

Tom pauses. "You make ridiculously silly prophecies every day and clever word play bother you?"

"So cringeworthy," Potter wobbles on his feet, deciding to be unnecessarily dramatic, "I can't even… I need to sit down…"

"Surely you foresaw this."

Potter groans, deciding to sit right on the middle of the floor. "I'm too tired for this. Just… do me a favour and read a Divination textbook, Tom. Please. For both my sanity and yours."

"Divination is useless if I have a real seer as my roommate."

"Nooooooooooo…" Potter buries his face against the carpet. "Just no, Riddle, no…!"

This is the moment Nagini slithers in, and hisses, [What did you do to my Green Eyes?! He looks broken!]

Tom smirks. [I'm getting confirmation.]

If Nagini were a cat, she'd bristle. [This is not asking. I told you to ask him.]

As usual, Tom ignores her.

[Fine! Don't answer me! I refuse to help when Green Eyes rejects you! I'll run away and live in his suitcase!]

Angrily, Nagini curls up next to Potter and tries to comfort him with promises of revenge that Potter would never understand.

:

At breakfast, each table becomes a sea of Team Tomarry badges. Even Dumbledore has one, pinned to his beard.

"We've resolved our differences," Tom grits out, if only to get rid of the terribly spelled names.

"That's a lie," Potter deadpans, robotically eating his cocoa puffs.

"Yes, I know," Dumbledore hums, even after Potter shoots him a betrayed look. "Hence the badge."

Tom frowns. Is the term 'Tomarry;' a play on both his and Potter's names? A desire to see them in an amicable working relationship again?

Chang snorts behind him. "You don't want to know, Riddle."

Tom feels a stab of annoyance that he shapes into a pleasant smile. "Is this matter worth investigating, Potter?"

"I will say nothing, and keep enjoying my cereal. Mmm. Sugar," Potter stuffs his face.

Fine. Tom will get Potter to say another prophecy. It only takes time.

:

"Ah, I see that the United States of America has officially sworn in a buffoon for their president, I wonder what will happen to the economy and population—"

Potter blanches. "Urgh. Don't talk to me about that man. He's terrible. He's going to do terrible things and we can't even stop him because we're British and the muggle British government is just as terrible."

"Is that a prophecy?"

Potter throws his pillow at him.

"It's called political opinion! O-pin-ion!"

Doesn't stop Tom from writing it down.

:

"One day Snape's going to self-combust because of all the bitter hatred inside him," Potter jokes to Chang when they walk down the corridor.

"Will that be from magical causes or random accident?"

"Wha—Tom, stop writing that down, it was a joke, not everything I say is the future!"

:

By Monday, Potter has stress-baked so much that their shared office might flood from the stacks of biscuits and macaroons.

"You need to stop," Potter points his iced whisk at Tom when he vanishes them all.

"Your pastries will be safe in the kitchens—"

"No, not the vanishing. You do that please. I meant, this whole… 'are you a seer' thing! I'm not a seer. You can't prove it."

Tom narrows his eyes.

Watch me, he thinks.

:

When his Gryffindor and Hufflepuff Fifth Years walk into his Wednesday DADA classroom, some of them have to walk out and recheck the plaque on the door.

"Er… this is DADA, right?" one student asks tentatively.

"Indeed, Ms. Johnson. Take your seat."

"No offense, Professor, but why are there murky glass jars on all of our desks?" Katie Bell asks.

"Pickled eggplants," Tom replies. "Just in case Professor Potter's prophecy from earlier comes true. I would shrink and carry them with you at all times."

The class goes silent.

"No—"

"Way—" the Weasley twins chorus.

"I can't—"

"—Believe—"

"—this is happening!"

Angelina Johnson, grinning from ear to ear, leans back in her chair and says, "See? It's canon, bitches."

:

"Riddle!" Potter yanks him into an empty classroom. "Why are you giving everyone pickled eggplants?!"

"Well," Tom feigns innocence, "you did make that prophecy about flesh eating flamingos, I thought—"

"No, damn it, I just made that up to mess with you!"

"So you create false prophecies to hide your true seer capabilities—"

Potter flinches. "Riddle stop. I'm not a seer. I made it up."

Tom doesn't understand. "That doesn't make sense. The llama—"

"Was an accident!"

"But it came true! It means something, all of it; you have to be a seer, that's the only logical explanation—"

"Why does everything have to make sense?! Follow some greater meaning?! Sometimes," Potter steps forward, eyes wild and direct and burning, "things happen! They just do, even if we can't understand them… and all we can do is get up and decide what to do next."

Tom shakes his head. "No." He can't believe that. He's meant to be the greatest wizard who ever lived. He can feel it. But if he could find out who his enemies are before they appear, he could rise up so easily, so quickly…

Death wouldn't be a problem.

"You control your own destiny, Tom," Potter's voice brings him back down to reality. "Stop looking for futures that don't exist yet."

Not when Tom knows there are ways to destroy horcruxes, not when there are still things Tom can't control like sortings and stubborn, stubborn chance. The dark lord Voldemort killed because of a random llama escape. That's what his legacy would have become if Potter had not interfered.

Tom clenches his fists.

"Not everything can be controlled."

"Not everything is meant to be," Potter counters. "You didn't die, after all."

Tom feels his throat go dry. "Are you admitting to it then? That it was a real prophecy?"

Seconds pass. Quietly, Potter deflates, looking worn as ragged cloth trampled in mud. He refuses to look at Tom.

"…It's like I said to you before, prophecies can be self-fulfilling things. Sometimes, it's best not to know."

Notes:

EDITED CHAPTER - Nov 15, 2019

Chapter 13: School Days: Pushed

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Dumbledore takes the hat off Tom's head just as students start to cry out in shock.

"Not to worry everyone," Dumbledore says calmly, "Just a minor influx of magic that happens once every hundred years. One reparo spell," he waves his wand, enveloping all the glass shards back together, whole, "and we'll be right as rain."

"Influx of magic?!" Longbottom looks ready to drop dead at any moment. Around him several other First Years begin to shout too.

So much for calming the masses. Tom glares at the smirking hat, at Dumbledore, at everyone gossiping down below in futile panic. They all point at Tom and whisper about unnatural magic (like the orphanage), they all stare at him in awe or fear.

"Rookwood, Adams," Dumbledore tries to move on with the sorting, despite the growing whispers. No one will shut up. Whispers climbing on top of whispers and not a soul with the thought to think and stay silent, not a soul but Potter.

Potter is like an unnoticeable breed of plant, being strangled by the louder weeds surrounding him. Tom can barely see Potter's face, only the top of his head hidden behind taller shoulders of older students.

Tom stares at him regardless, his mirror, trying to will Potter to stare back. But Potter doesn't. Tom resists the urge to lash out with magic. Aren't mirror images supposed to be one and the same? Shouldn't they stare back at their originals? They have to. It's the law of reflection, one that Potter is continuously ignoring. Look at me, Tom thinks, show me that you're special too.

And yet, Potter refuses. No, Potter doesn't even acknowledge Tom's existence. His little head is bowed down, transfixed on the cutlery, as if it holds greater magic than Tom could ever possess.

Dumbledore gently taps Tom's shoulder and that's when Tom moves off the stool.

Fine. Tom grits his teeth and smooths out his expression. He descends down the steps, head held high, gaze fixed above them all. He's better than this. All of it.

:

Very quickly, Tom establishes himself as the top student of all four houses. He smiles at the right people, charms all his professors (Dumbledore doesn't count), and has his housemates listening to his every beck and call. Even if the rest of the student populace glances at him in worry or fear from the sorting incident, Tom quickly charms them over with his act. It's an interesting role to play, very different from the quiet menacing dictator he plays at the orphanage, but even with all the attention he receives from the student body, his mirror refuses to look back.

Harry Potter, despite core similarities, seems to be his opposite. His grades are average. Tom heard that Potter made a cauldron explode in potions (though he suspects Longbottom to be the culprit there.) His spells are erratic, either too powerful or too weak. He doesn't seem particularly skilled in any subject and he's too quiet, only hanging around Longbottom when they share classes or listening to the older students in Gryffindor.

He doesn't actively seek Tom out, he doesn't sing Tom's praises like everyone else. He shows the same level of courtesy to Tom as he does to everyone else. As if Tom is just as average as the rest of the student body here.

At that thought, the quill in Tom's hand snaps and burns up into tiny pieces of ash.

Potter's the one who's average, the one who fails to live up to his full potential as Tom's mirror image, not Tom. And for that, Tom will not forgive him. Tom will not disgrace himself to be the one who seeks Potter out first.

:

For a long time, they barely acknowledge each other, pretending to be strangers, becoming strangers. Tom almost forgets that he felt something like a connection to this quiet Gryffindor boy.

Almost.

:

But on Halloween, Tom runs into Potter by the top of the staircase. If he were superstitious, he would call Potter his ghost instead of his mirror image, but Tom has only ever believed in himself as a greater power.

"Hello Tom," Potter whispers, ruining Tom's plan to ignore his existence as Potter has ignored his.

Tom only nods. For some reason, he doesn't move downstairs. He finds himself lingering by Potter. Waiting. His gaze lingers on Potter's face, on the baggy eyes and thinner form.

"You should be at the feast," Tom says without thinking.

"So should you."

Tom doesn't reply to that. They stand in silence for a minute longer, staring at each other as if they could be mirror images, only opposite. Tom's tie is green while Potter's is red. Potter wears glasses, Tom does not. Potter looks ready to fall over while Tom has gained a healthier weight over the past two months.

"…I am not fond of this holiday." Too noisy. Too sweet. Tom would rather read up on Samhain rituals and wizarding culture instead of this bastardization of the day of souls.

Potter's lips twitch up. "Another thing we have in common."

Tom only shrugs. Another reason to curse that hat for putting Potter in another house. Another reason to detest Potter for not seeking Tom out.

"My parents died today, when I was four," Potter whispers, staring straight ahead at the suits of armor lining the walls.

The sudden topic makes Tom go still. Is Potter opening up to him? Seeking comfort? For some reason, Tom feels triumphant, as if he's somehow won a complex game against his mirror.

"I watched them die," Potter continues, his gaze transfixed on another time, elsewhere, "I shouldn't remember… but I do. Sometimes, I hear my mother screaming at him to let me go…"

Tom grabs that information hungrily. "Who…?"

Potter's gaze flickers to Tom and back to the armor. "I don't know sometimes, even though I saw it all."

Well, Tom thinks, Potter was only four.

"Have you asked anyone? Surely there was an investigation…"

But Potter doesn't reply.

This situation requires delicacy, a comforting tone. Tom should play the kind friend, the pillar of comfort, but all he wants to do is hiss look at me, to drag Potter back to the present.

"It won't matter. The details won't make sense to me. I'll get them confused with the others. Halloween almost makes me so confused…" Potter frowns, rubbing at his forehead. "You… Are you really here, right now, Tom? Are you real?"

Tom frowns, wondering if Potter is ill. Perhaps he should coax the boy into the hospital wing… possibly Potter ate something contaminated early this morning.

"I am just as real as you are. If you want, you can take my hand." Tom will lead him to Madam Pomphrey.

"Oh… but you're here with me…" Potter mumbles as Tom tugs him towards the first step on the staircase, "when you should hate me… You must be so upset that I'm avoiding you. But it's hard to look at you. You remind me of my parents…"

Tom stops. "How do I remind you of your parents?" Are he and Harry actually related? Was Tom abandoned while the Potter's extended family only kept Harry? Kept the more human mirror?

"You're still Tom Riddle, no matter what time you're in, aren't you?" Potter looks at the paintings above them, his gaze blank and elsewhere. Tom wants to shake him.

He almost does when—

"Do you steal trophies from the other children, Tom?"

How does Potter know that? Tom tries to move Potter's head towards him, but that gaze keeps looking elsewhere…

"Do you hang rabbits from rafters?"

What? That's ridiculous! Tom would never be that obvious with his revenge on Billy. "Potter—"

"Do you think of killing them in their sleep?"

"Stop it—"

"When you walk these halls, do you have dreams of everyone submitting to you and fearing your name?"

"I said stop it!"

Tom pushes him. Then regrets it as he watches his mirror image fall backwards with a twisted smile on his face, watches his mirror twist his body forwards, as if to embrace the fall.

"STOP IT!"

Tom's magic tries to catch him, tries to stall the damage, but Potter's forehead still manages to hit the edge of the railing in a startling crack, and then there's blood, blood, blood, bleeding over blank green eyes…

"Potter!" Tom goes to him, tries to stop the bleeding, only to get red stains over his robes. "Harry!" He can't think, can't help but think of seeing Potter fall with a smile as if Tom had punched his own mirror and laughed over the cracked shards.

He needs to think, needs to find—

Tom gathers Potter up in his arms, rushes to the hospital wing, ignores Madam Pomphrey's bewildered gasp.

"Help him," Tom orders, in a tone he will one day use on his future followers. "Get rid of the blood."

But Tom, a voice like Potter's seems to echo in his head, red is your colour.

Notes:

EDITED CHAPTER - Nov 15, 2019

Chapter 14: As a Teacher

Notes:

EDIT: Thank you to ChevreJaune for pointing a plot hole. I just fixed it :D

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Tom stares at Potter for several moments, trying to process the implications of what he heard. The last time Tom heard Potter mention that prophecies can be self-fulfilling, he had been posing as a snake…

"You know that I am an animagus."

"It was pretty obvious. You have the same eyes as a snake. Besides, you didn't try to bite me," Potter shrugs. "Most snakes would be pretty hostile to be caught by a human. Except Nagini, she's a cutie."

Tom isn't sure if he wants to throttle Potter first or tie him down to demand more answers. No witch or wizard could just guess someone is an animagus because they have the same eyes. It's preposterous! Potter is a seer, end of story.

"You made me wear a sneater."

Potter's face brightens. "Rainbow spots suit you!"

"You cradled me in your arms and then cooed about how adorable I would look in a purple top hat."

"But you're so good looking as a snake!"

Instead of cursing Potter as he so dearly wishes, Tom points at him and hisses, "I know what you're trying to do! You're attempting to distract me with this pretense of idiocy so I won't question you about your Sight, but I know you, damn what Dumbledore says, I know you better than I know myself. I will make you tell me the truth, Potter, if it's the last thing I do!"

Then, not because Tom is petty, but to weaken Potter's resolve, he conjures up some pickled eggplants and levitates them into Potter's face.

:

Unfortunately, when Tom wakes up to discover his bed has turned into a literal giant marshmallow that has stickily melted into his skin and pyjamas, the eggplant attack became (what Potter interprets as) an invitation to a prank war.

Tom narrows his eyes. While normally he wouldn't partake in such activities (he has a reputation to maintain), he needs to make Potter crack.

But first, he burns the monstrous marshmallow bed and cleans up his appearance. Let the trash burn where it belongs.

:

At lunch, Potter bursts through the doors, wearing a white-button down shirt and tie (to the horror of many students, who have started panicking about the apocalypse.)

"Tom!" Potter yells, waving several cut-up sweaters in the air. They look like ruined flags advertising yet another muggle zombie apocalypse movie. "Did you do this?!"

"Oh my," Tom practices his best sincere expression. "Are those claw marks? Are you certain that your familiar didn't decide to ruin your… unique… wardrobe?" He stares at how well-fitted the button-down shirt is. "You should dress this way more often. You actually look presentable."

"That's not the point! This is my life's work! Do you know how many hours I spend knitting these?!" Ah, so Potter is the one Tom has to murder for creating these colourful monstrosities. If only Tom knew a way to murder someone twice and bring them back to life again. He doesn't want to imagine someone like Potter with a horcrux. "I was going to sell them on Etsy—"

"No one would buy them," Tom mutters.

"I would!" Flitwick says unhelpfully.

"—and now I have to start all over again! Hours of work! I can't even use reparo on them because of this damn anti-reparo ward on them, which I know you did, only you're smart enough to cast wards this strong! What is wrong with you?!"

"I had no part in this."

Potter narrows his eyes. "You want a prophecy, Tom? I'll give prophecies."

He stomps away, a trail of burned yarn following him. Tom allows himself to smile. Neither of them notice the Weasley twins giving each other mischievous grins as an idea occurs to them… After all, if their beloved (and not so beloved) professors are involved in prank wars, why can't they…?

:

When Tom goes to his afternoon class, he notices a terribly drawn poster on his door. Professor Riddle's future, is written at the bottom of the poster, while the center features a horrific looking snake-like man with blood red eyes and death-white skin. Tom scoffs at Potter's trivial creativity and tears the poster down.

Only to find another poster underneath, this time of a llama dancing on a marshmallow.

Tom narrows his eyes and burns that poster.

Another poster (this one of the snake-man fighting an army of flamingoes) appears instead.

His students, all waiting behind him to get into the classroom, start to murmur to each other in worry.

"Um, Professor?" the student Tom recalls being named Thanh Tran says, "Why do you keep burning that dueling club poster? Does it have the wrong date on it?"

Tom screams internally in rage. "Yes," Tom grits his teeth, leaving the snakeman-and-flamingoes poster in place, "I will have to discuss this… dueling club with Professor Potter later at the staff meeting tonight. Come in, we'll be learning about cutting hexes today."

Tran nods nervously, ducking close to her friends, but Tom ignores her.

How dare Potter make a fool of him, charming that poster so only Tom can see the insulting results!

:

"Potter," Tom seethes, dumping the latest poster in front of him. "What is this."

"Hm?" Potter looks up from his knitting frenzy, bags under his eyes. Tom wonders if he even bothered teaching his class today or made them pretend to be trees again as an excuse to keep knitting. The reborn llama sweater judgingly stares at Tom. "Oh. That. It's your future."

Tom twitches. "Didn't you mention that the flamingos were a false prophecy?"

Potter gasps scandalously. "Did I say that? I meant that they're real. Because that's what you want, right? Real prophecies so you can be paranoid for the rest of your life and keep looking over your shoulder for anything pink until you accidentally curse a poor civilian who just wanted to wear pink because it's their favourite colour."

Tom narrows his eyes. "That was oddly specific."

Potter smiles angelically. "You go bald too."

"I do not—!"

"What a lovely impressionist painting!" Flitwick nods when he sees the atrocious snakeman-and-flamingoes poster.

Tom crumples it up and throws it into Potter's bag, much to Flitwick's dismay.

"Shall we begin our staff meeting?" Dumbledore twinkles at the head of the table, likely fully aware of what he's interrupting.

Tom frowns, taking his seat next to Potter and kicking away the stray pieces of yarn on his portion of the table, while Flitwick sits next to him. The rest of the staff settle in and look expectantly at Dumbledore for the meeting's agenda.

"As usual," Dumbledore claps his hands together, "we'll use the first half hour to address any concerns you have about our students. Are there any students you've noticed struggling, that may need extra assistance?"

Surprisingly, Potter raises his hand. "One of the transfer students, Thanh Tran, seems to be having trouble adjusting to the culture here. She speaks very fluent English, but I think she has trouble with reading the advanced material and she's too shy to ask for help. Do you think we could assign her a tutor to help her with her English?"

Tom stares at Potter in bewilderment. It never occurred to Tom that Tran might have difficulties with the written material, she seemed well-adjusted in public… Perhaps this is another sign of Potter's Sight?

"Yes," McGonagall nods, "I noticed this as well. I was just about to bring it up."

Sprout, Flitwick, and Chang nod in agreement.

Tom fights back a frown. How could he not notice what his colleagues have? He's supposed to be the Dark Lord, to be a better teacher than those muggles ones that scorned him for his 'smart mouth.' If a traitor ever sneaks into his ranks, how will he spot the damn mole if he's blind without legilimency?

He feels Potter nudge him. "Don't feel bad," he whispers, as one of his paper cranes settles on Tom's shoulder, "you were preoccupied at the time, and you haven't seen the Third Year Ravenclaws that often yet."

Tom looks away but he doesn't brush off the little crane. Preoccupied he may have been, with the meeting at Hogsmeade, but he will not make the same mistake twice. He will be more aware of his student's struggles.

"If Ms. Tran passed her English proficiency test when her family immigrated here then I see no reason why we should give her special treatment. She performs as average as the rest of her house in potions, I have not seen a difference in her skill compared to the rest of the uneducated juveniles," Snape sneers.

For a moment, Tom doesn't see Snape. He sees every muggle teacher he ever had at that blasted orphanage, sees how they accused him of cheating because he knew all the answers he could possibly read from their tiny library. He sees every time he was limited by money and status, unable to grow from the muggle education system, unable to thrive.

Education should cultivate, should coax each student to their greatest potential and towards the best possible path. Snape isn't a cultivator. No, Tom remembers how Snape stamped away any of Potter and Longbottom's potential for potions. Snape is a weed.

"Is it really fair to treat all of our students 'the same' when they may come from different backgrounds, and thus, have different disadvantages?" Tom says all too calmly before Potter or McGonagall have a chance to argue. "As educators, should we not make sure that our classes have the same basic background knowledge so they can truly benefit from our lessons? Wouldn't that be truly making every student 'equal'?

"I, for one, would rather teach a class that is willing to learn because they know the basics, rather than wasting my time teaching something they cannot understand because they haven't been given the chance to yet. We will never truly know our students' full potential if we limit them from the beginning, don't you agree, Severus?"

He holds Snape's gaze and smirks when Snape's face twists in loathing.

Dumbledore's claps interrupt the argument. "Well said, Tom, well said. I have to say, I wasn't expecting such a passionate rebuttal, but I agree. We will find a tutor from Ravenclaw for Ms. Tran and assign them to her right away. Filius, will you give me a list of suitable candidates?"

"Oh, yes, Albus! Right away!" Flitwick starts scribbling into a notebook.

Snape doesn't stop glaring but Tom doesn't give him the satisfaction of continuing their staring-match. He leans back in his seat instead and glances over at Potter's work. Only to catch Potter's wide eyes.

"What is it," Tom hisses.

"Nothing, nothing," Potter starts to smile. "I'm just impressed, that's all. That was really cool of you."

Resentment begins to pool in Tom's stomach. "Contrary to whatever you believe of me," he hisses, "I do care for my students' growth."

"I know," Potter says warmly, "you've always been a good teacher. I've always believed in that."

Tom… doesn't know what to say to that face. His followers have looked at him with awe and fear, the respect given to their superiors. Classmates have always looked at him in admiration. But Potter's eyes, right now, they're… they're fond. He doesn't look like an idiot, for once, he looks more like a teacher and a…

At that moment, Tom remembers why he's avoided Potter for so long. He turns attention back to the meeting, feeling like someone who has looked too closely at the sun.

:

"…Oh! One last item before we retire… remember that we have a social happening tomorrow in the Great Hall at seven in the evening. It's our annual Founders Celebration."

Several of the teachers (specifically Madam Hooch and Chang) groan.

"Do we have to go, Albus? I can't stand another year of standing around entertaining politicians and pretending that I agree with their opinions. Let's do a—what do muggles do to raise funds in America? Oh yes—a bake sale instead!" Hooch insists.

"Unfortunately, our school's budget greatly depends on the generosity of our sponsors… even the less agreeable ones. I trust you all have research to impress them. And you never know, this year's celebration may be more entertaining than the last!"

"I hope there's vodka," Hooch tugs Chang towards the doors. "Lots of vodka."

"There, there," Chang pats her back.

Tom, unlike the others, is looking forward to this opportunity to make connections. Besides, he has a year's worth of research on magical creatures and artifacts from his time abroad to talk about. He's also interested to know what his fellow colleague's areas of research will be. Speaking of colleagues…

"Are you going to set up a booth for palm reading then?" he asks Potter.

"Nah. I might hand out muffins. They'll turn different colours based on people's emotions. Mood muffins."

"That is the worst idea I have ever heard," Tom grimaces, wondering who in their right minds would each a substance that could change from green to purple. Then again, the wizarding world is unfortunately filled with wastes of innovation. How Potter can throw away his potential on such things baffles Tom… "About that poster—"

"Getting along well, I see!" Dumbledore pops up in between them. Urgh.

"No," Potter frowns at his yarn.

"Yes," Tom kicks away the bag with the crumpled poster. Merlin knows what Dumbledore would see instead of the snakeman-and-flamingoes image.

"Excellent news," Dumbledore beams, ignoring Potter's reply for once. "Then your plans to run the dueling club together will still proceed?"

"What." Potter's knitting needles clatter to the floor, nearly hitting several panicked paper cranes.

"The dueling club! I was informed by many excited students that you two would be running it together next week!"

"Oh really…" Potter glares at Tom.

"Well, you did advertise the date on that lovely poster you created," Tom keeps his face blank.

"Wonderful! I look forward to the first meeting! I'll be there to cheer you two on!" Dumbledore skips away.

"Aren't you pleased we'll be spending more time together, partner, because of your brilliant idea."

Potter throws the poster back at Tom's face.

:

When they return to their office together, Tom spots Tran walking by herself in the corridor. "Ms. Tran," Tom calls out, seeing her jump in surprise.

She looks at him fearfully.

"I must apologize for the abrupt way I treated you last week. I hope you can forgive me. If you still require help on the material in class, my office is typically open after dinner for two hours. If those times don't fit into your schedule, we can arrange another appointment."

Tran's eyes widen before she starts bowing her head frantically. "Oh you don't have to make a fuss about me, Professor, I'll reread the textbook—"

"I insist," Tom says firmly.

Slowly, Tran nods. "Um. Alright. Can I come in the day after tomorrow?"

"Just let me know the hour."

After that conversation, Tom turns around to see Potter looking at him fondly again. He starts to wonder if all the times he obsessed over Potter being Dumbledore's spy, Potter had been looking at him like… like that.

"I was merely correcting my mistake."

"It was sweet," Potter nods happily.

"I am not sweet."

Potter laughs, and his laughter gives Tom the same symptoms as that strange fond smile. "You are! When you want to be. I like you best when you're being a teacher. You're not so insufferable then."

Tom scowls, trying to chase away the strange feeling in his stomach. "You'd be less insufferable if you acted and dressed as professionally as you did at the meeting!"

Potter just looks at him in surprise again, that shade of green as piercing as death. "Yeah," he admits, to Tom's disbelief, "maybe I would be… but then the world would get too loud."

He enters their office without giving Tom a chance to say a word.

Notes:

EDITED CHAPTER - Nov 15, 2019

Chapter 15: A Duel

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

"We should create a lesson plan for our first Dueling Club meeting," Tom dumps a roll of parchment on Potter's hammock, making Potter fall on the floor. After Potter's cryptic statements yesterday evening, Tom wants to limit the time spent with him this weekend. He'll return to convincing Potter to reveal his secrets on Monday.

"Oh my god, a little warning, please?!" Potter scowls up at him with lopsided glasses and tousled hair. Even the paper cranes seem agitated, as they circle around Potter's head in worry and some of them cheep at Tom in annoyance.

"The meeting is this Tuesday evening. We need to prepare."

"Why not wing it?"

Tom quickly throws a quill at him.

"Ouch! Okay, okay, I'll get to work. Just a moment," Potter scowls, as Hedwig flies over and picks the quill from his tangled curls. The paper cranes fly up to sit on the quill, as if to prevent Tom from taking it. "What do we need to discuss? Or write down?"

"Have you never made a lesson plan before?"

"Well… not really."

Tom stares, thinking of the countless hours he has put into planning and revising his own lessons so that they're perfect and suitable for each class's learning level. He had to create unique variations of lessons for different classes with different dynamics. If he didn't, the classroom would be chaos. And yet here is Potter, laziness embodied, saying he's never worked on lesson plans before. Tom wants to drop a building on him.

Potter shrugs. "I just pick three big ideas I want my classes to really know by the end of the year, and I let my lessons revolve around gradually understanding those big ideas. Sure, they learn specific skills like meditation or palm reading, but in the end I want them to get more out of Divination than just 'Hey I know how to flub my way through a fake horoscope.' So lessons are really fluid and spontaneous. Kind of like life, I guess. I just adjust them as I need to when I teach."

"But what about assessment? Creating specific activities to help them focus in class?"

"Well, assessments and activities can change depending on my class's mood, right? Sometimes they're feeling too overworked from other essays so I get them to meditate or play monopoly. Other times, when they're feeling more energetic, I try to throw in some of the deeper stuff. Like how would you convince a skeptic that your divination is legitimate while getting what you want."

He almost dumps his parchment on Potter this time but he stops, remembering how Potter smiled at him yesterday. For a moment, Tom considers the possibility that Potter is a fraud after all, using these very tricks on Tom. But Tom has spent the few months believing Potter to be Dumbledore's spy when Potter can be annoyingly… genuine. Potter may be unconventional as a teacher, but he gets the job done. Tom may not agree with Potter's methods but they have a certain… charm to them.

"Earth to Tom," Potter starts waving his hand in front of his face. How can a person be so pale? It's unhealthy, and are those bags under Potter's eyes again…?

"What is it," he steps back.

"Are you alright? Not feeling peakish, are you? Or maybe tiring in our prank war?" Potter grins. Then pauses. "This isn't a prank, is it?"

"No," Tom snaps to all four questions.

"Oh, then you must be feeling a bit intimidated by my teaching style. Don't worry about it! You're still a great teacher, you're much more organized than I am. Sometimes I can't remember what grades I'm supposed to give out, but you've got them categorized and filed and everything!" Potter nods vigorously. Normally he would look like an oversized turtle in his oversized sweaters, but dressed in that shirt and slacks, he actually seems intelligent.

And yet Tom can't help but remember all the times Potter chased after missing papers stolen from his familiar Hedwig, as a way to get more owl treats. It wouldn't be the first time Potter had to chase his familiar through the corridors to rescue a letter from his godfather or study notes.

His lips curl up. "Then I suppose I will take care of organizing club member names and sign-up sheets. You can…" Tom thinks back to the Divination lesson he observed long ago. His memories of Potter's magical abilities back when they were in school are as hazy as anything else Potter-related before Fifth Year. "How proficient are you at dueling currently?"

Potter's grin grows into a smirk. "Want a demonstration?"

"As in a practice duel?"

"Yup! We can use the room of requirement!"

A practice duel would be an excellent way to gauge Potter's skills and to coax Potter into revealing any other hidden talents he may have. "Very well, we can start now."

[Wait, wait!] Nagini slithers down the stairs, [I want to come too! I can be referee!]

Hedwig hoots in annoyance.

[Oh shut up, stupid pigeon. I can count much better than you can.]

That would be debatable. Nagini may be an intelligent magical breed of python but she still cannot master numbers larger than ten.

Hedwig scoffs, ruffling her feathers as if to shoo Nagini away.

[One day I will eat you and claim my rightful place by Green Eyes' side, and then you will never insult me again, you feathered fiend. I am sure that your flesh is delicious indeed!] Nagini opens her mouth in a frightening gaze.

"Nagini!" Harry skips over, hugging her tightly, ignoring how Hedwig and the cranes try to pull him away by the hair. "Did you want to come watch? You can keep score along with Hedwig, right?"

"I doubt your familiar will be much use in refereeing our match," Tom cuts in, wanting to avoid another cooing session between Potter and their familiars. The owl and Nagini can be insufferable under Potter's attention.

"Nonsense! Hedwig's a smart girl, aren't you?"

The owl puffs up her chest and agrees with a loud hoot.

"Then it's settled. We should get going before the Weasley twins decide to boobytrap our door with rose petals and cupids."

"Fine…." Tom stops. "Did you say rose petals?!"

:

The twins do, in fact, try to spell the door to start singing an annoying tune of Can You Feel The Love Tonight which Tom ends as soon as he steps out of his office. He makes sure to burn the roses and banish the cupids to a crisp and assigns the twins detention. Why the twins would pick such an ugly theme escapes Tom, but he'll interrogate them next week on Friday…

(Unfortunately, Tom does not account for the conspiratorial grins the twins give each other behind his back, no, the prank has barely begun…)

"Can you stop humming that infernal song?" Tom grits his teeth, when he and Potter arrive at the Room of Requirement.

"But it's a masterpiece!" Potter nods with Hedwig nestled on his head. "You should really listen to some Disney, Tom, I think a lot of the villain solos would suit you. Those Poor Unfortunate Souls," he croons.

"Enough," he detests music. Could never understand it though Potter seems to have a knack for it, his voice isn't atrocious. Potter did join Flitwick's small choir back in Sixth Year. "We're here to duel, remember?"

"Got it, scoreboard please?" Potter asks the ceiling. Instantly, the room of requirement creates a low enough chalkboard that an owl and a snake can write on. With a grin, Potter places some chalk in Hedwig's claws and another piece in Nagini's mouth. "Don't eat it, okay?"

[Don't worry, my Green Eyes, this writing stick tastes disgusting anyways.]

Hedwig huffs.

[I just know, alright?! I did not accidentally eat an entire box of these dusty things last month!]

That incident is the only reason Tom has banned chalk from their office. Nagini glares at him, as if daring him to admit that.

"So glad you two are working together to help us," Potter pets both their heads, making both familiars glare at the other. "Alright! Time to show you my skills!"

Potter walks to the other side of the dueling arena, wand ready.

[Begin!] Nagini hisses, at the same time that Hedwig makes a stern hoot. Potter takes the owl's hoot as a sign to start as he bows. Tom follows with his own bow and then they move.

Potter whips across the room like a hawk swooping in for its prey, the transformation so startling that Tom has no time to think. Potter aims for the offensive, firing consecutive disarming charms at Tom from different angles. Tom barely has time to form a shield around himself when Potter vaults overhead, as if he's been a trained acrobat all his life, and manages to hit a red spark on Tom's back as soon as he lands.

[One point for Green Eyes!] Nagini nearly swallows the chalk, as she scrapes the first point on the board. Hedwig hoots in approval.

Tom lashes out with a silent leg-locking curse, following with more bombardment hexes when Potter dodges each one as nimbly as ever.

"You're fast," Tom mutters, casting a few cutting hexes to see if Potter can dodge them while distracted by conversation.

Unfazed, though a little winded, Potter shrugs as he spins and ducks past each hex. "I'm out of practice."

Tom jumps away from a shower of explosive bird-shaped tongues of fire, smirking when he sees how similar they are to the paper cranes. He throws up a great wave of agumenti which he transfigures into a light acid but Potter creates a whirlwind, blowing it back in Tom's direction.

He vanishes the acid, deciding to transfigure a few stone giants to keep Potter busy. Then he rushes past the stone giants and begins shooting showers of red sparks, determined to hit Potter at least once.

Potter ducks and slides past the stone giants by dashing in between their legs and blasting them back at Tom. But this time, Tom decides to defend with a rather offensive wall of fire, driving the wall forwards towards Potter's back.

"Nope," Potter flips backwards, transfiguring the floor into damp sand and raising the sand up to smother the flames. "Not looking to be scorched today. Get enough of that when I bake."

"Use a healing charm. The ones for burns are quite simple," Tom throws a whip of lightning towards him.

Potter responds by changing the sand into a wall of rubber. "Not so great at healing spells. Can't be as flawless as you, Riddle."

"And yet your spells so far have been highly creative," Tom cuts through the rubber.

"I did pay some attention to DADA and Transfigurations," Potter uses a few more stunners.

"Yet your OWLs and NEWTs were average, if I remember correctly…" Cutting hex. Bombarda. Shield charm.

"I've always performed best in practice rather than theory." Dodge, duck, roll.

"You always were rather flexible," Tom throws another shower of red sparks before Potter can recover from dodging.

Hedwig gives an angry flap.

[One point for my master! I bet they'll tie.]

Hedwig bats her wings aggressively.

[What do you mean my master can't aim for shit, you stupid bird-brain?!]

"Oi, pay attention, Riddle!" Potter hits Tom with an agumenti charm instead of a red spark.

Making a note to ban dessert from Nagini for a week, Tom responds with the most powerful (non-dark) spells he can think of.

Potter's grin is elated and excited all at once, the kind of excitement that transforms Potter into a whole other person. Someone present, instead of adrift in a gaze lost far away. Tom finds himself reaching for it, sending spark after spark…

:

The scoreboard reads 3 to 3, and still, Tom and Potter are easily matched. They both collapse against the floor at the same time, ignoring the startled hisses and hoots of their familiars.

"…If you… tag me with a spark… at this very moment… Potter… I will kill you," Tom huffs between breaths, trying to recall the last time he felt this tired from a duel.

"…As if… I would… cheat like that… I respect… you too much… to be satisfied… with a cheap win…" Potter half-laughs, half-gasps.

Tom wishes Potter would stop being so brutally honest.

"…A tie then," he changes the topic.

Potter's laugh is answer enough.

[Are you both dead? Can we stop keeping score? I feel ready to eat this pigeon.]

Hedwig attempts to claw Nagini's eyes out.

[Do you want to die, bird?!]

"…Should we stop them?" Potter mumbles, looking content to lay on the floor forever.

"…No… Let the best familiar win…" Tom could care less about their petty arguments.

"But they're both awesome!"

Tom rolls his eyes, turning his head to look at Potter's flushed face. "Your love for animals will never make sense to me."

"Says the person who buys Nagini's favourite snacks every week," Potter's eyes brighten at the thought.

"If I didn't, she would nag me until death. You're lucky you don't understand her, you wouldn't find her nearly as charming then."

Potter's smile, if possible, widens. "Everyone has their charms. Even you."

Tom swallows away the hot feeling in his chest. "Why don't you use wandless spells more often?" Why do you play the idiot.

The silence (save for Nagini and Hedwig's scuffle) feels as suffocating as drowning in the ocean. Tom almost stands up, ready to walk away from impatience, when Potter speaks.

"…I actually came to Hogwarts to apply for the DADA position, you know."

Tom's breath catches in his throat. "Then why did you—"

"Recommend you instead? Well…" Potter's smile feels brittle, "…I wouldn't be good at it. Not like you."

Pause.

"You must be joking. Your skills are comparable to that of an auror's, you can perform wandless spells, your intuition and creativity are beyond the average wizard's!" And you can keep up with me.

"Oh," Potter's cheeks turn pink. "Thank you. But… just because I'm good at DADA, doesn't mean I can teach it. The more advanced stuff in Sixth and Seventh Year is pretty, like you said, intuitive to me… but I don't know how to explain it and make it simpler to understand for other sixteen year olds and seventeen year olds. It just comes to me naturally. I'm not always good at words, not for spellcasting theory. Not for the real stuff. But Divination? Emotions? I'm better at that."

Tom stares at Potter, at the gap between them. They're lying so close together that their fingers could touch, and yet Tom has never felt the staggering distance from Potter before. He's heard other classmates confess their own failings but never cared for them. And yet, with Potter, Tom can't help but feel indignant, angry, and—

"So that's why you applied for Divination professor? You weren't asked to by Dumbledore? You gave up and settled?"

"Well I wanted to spend time with you, Mr. Berk!" Potter turns away. "Excuse me for thinking we could be friends again or something. You make it bloody hard to deal with you."

This sensation, like having a dozen cheering charms shoved into his throat, along with the urge to vomit, keeps intruding inside Tom.

"…Friends?"

"Yeah! You know? Like we used to be, back before Fifth Year."

That never happened. Potter had been annoying, always following Tom around and bombarding him with that irritating familiar. They've never been friends.

"I don't remember anything like that."

Potters face falls. "Oh. Sorry… maybe… Maybe I'm remembering it wrong… I thought I had it right this time…" His gaze becomes distant again.

Making a note to get one of his followers to steal Potter's medical records, Tom snaps, "I'll show you how I teach them. The Sixth and Seventh Years. Sit in on my classes. It should fit into your timetable, or we'll ask Dumbledore for a timeturner request form."

Potter's eyes return to him. "Wait… what?"

"I won't say it twice. And this doesn't make us friends. I will uncover your secrets eventually. I just don't like seeing wasted potential."

If Potter blinks any faster, he'll lose an eye. "…Then what does that make us?"

"Amicable roommates."

His fingers brush against Potter's, as he sits up.

"…Alright then," Potter stares up at him, not quite grinning and not quite frowning either. "I'm sure you'll do your best."

Tom glares down at him. "What does that mean."

"Well, I'm always amicable to you. So good luck. I'm starting to think you're just naturally bitter, with an occasional sweetness. Like dark chocolate."

"You—"

The insult dies just as Nagini and Hedwig crash down between them, in a chalk cloud of bloody scales and feathers.

"Oh my god, Hedwig stop pecking at Nagini's eyes and Nagini stop strangling her!" Potter dives in.

Tom lets himself smile then.