"What boy- oh. The one lying dead on the ground over there? I don't know. His magic smells like yours, though. Anyways, are you sure you're okay?"
Merlin is obviously still a little panicky, but Harry isn't listening. Instead, he's going over to kneel by the boy's side.
The boy does indeed look like Harry- an older version (around fifteen or sixteen). His dark brown hair is cut shorter than Harry's, and he's wearing an old-fashioned looking Hogwarts uniform.
Most pressing, however, is the fact that he isn't breathing.
Harry doesn't know what to do- should he heal him? Should he even try? Should he call for Madam Pomfrey? Pick out a nice plot in the forest and dig a shallow grave?
The boy's lips are going blue, and Harry panics and does the only thing he can think of to do: he slaps him.
"Wake up!" Harry half-shouts in his ear.
The boy's eyes burst open and he shoots up into a sitting position, taking in big gulps of air. Harry jerks backwards, giving the boy some space.
Harry had thought he'd imagined things until he got another look at the boy's eyes, but no: instead of a typical eye color, the boy's irises are a crimson red.
Harry stands up slowly, wondering if he should go for his wand. Merlin isn't helping, either: she's just hissing a repeated warning. Before Harry can fully decide on a course of action, the boy turns to him.
"Did you…" the boy gasps, then coughs. "Did you slap me?"
Harry looks at him disbelievingly. "Should I… not have?"
Harry and the boy stare at each other for a moment. The boy, seemingly having noticed that Harry and himself share a face, flashes through a myriad of expressions- confusion, rage, and despair, to name a few. Harry has no idea what the boy could possibly be thinking. Hell, Harry doesn't know what he's thinking.
"Er," Harry says finally. "Uh. Who are you?"
"Who- who am I? Who are you?"
"Harry. Uh, Harry Potter," Harry says.
The boy closes his eyes briefly and takes a big breath in.
"Right. Okay. Give me a second," he says.
Then he promptly lies back down, flat on his back with his hands covering his face. He's muttering quietly, but Harry can't catch any of it.
Harry stands for a moment, reeling at how surreal his day has become. Who knew a diary would cause so much havoc?
Wait. The diary.
"Hang on," Harry says. "Are you… you're not Tom Riddle, are you?" As he says it, he knows down to his bones that he is right.
Tom further confirms it with a muffled "yes," and Harry goes to sit heavily down on his bed.
"I am so, so confused," Harry says.
At least Merlin has quieted down. She's now watching the two with a cocked head, tongue flicking out every so often
Tom very unhelpfully explains nothing, just continues to mutter to himself. Harry is starting to wonder if he should get Madam Pomfrey after all.
Then, Tom rolls over and props himself up, going to stand up. He's shaky, but he manages to get up and walk over to Neville's bed, sitting down as heavily as Harry had sat on his own bed.
Tom's not-so-subtly using the bed frame to help himself remain upright. In a way, Tom reminds him of Theo: he carries himself as though showing the slightest sign of vulnerability would be the end of the world.
"Well," Tom says after a moment. He flashes Harry a tired but friendly grin. "Hello. My name is Tom. Nice to meet you. Who are your parents?"
Harry blinks, then bursts into laughter.
Tom looks a bit taken aback. "I'm… missing something," he decides.
"Sorry, sorry," Harry says as he calms down. "It's just… I'm not used to wixen not knowing everything about me. This is a nice change of pace."
Tom opens his mouth, then closes it again. He looks confused and frustrated, and Harry softens.
"My parents were Lily Potter and James Potter. My mom used to be an Evans, though."
Tom's mouth twitches, and he nods. "Well. I'm certainly not related to the Potters, so it must be the Evans side."
"What do you mean?" Harry asks.
"I don't know if you noticed," Tom says, raising an eyebrow, "but we look the same."
"I did catch that, yes," Harry says, laughing again- although it sounds a bit high-pitched to his ears. He's beginning to think he's a tad hysterical. "Are you saying you're related to the Evans family?"
Tom shrugs. "I don't actually know. My mother died shortly after she had me, and I was raised in an orphanage. The Potters are a well-known family line, though, and wouldn't have abandoned a part of their family to a muggle orphanage. It makes more sense for me to be related to you through your, I'm assuming, muggle or muggle-born mother."
"So, what? You're some kind of- some distant relative of mine, and the family resemblance just… decided to pop up again with me? Is that how genetics work?"
Harry is trying not to get his hopes up just yet- but having a blood relative, one that isn't Petunia or Dudley? That would be just… incredible.
"I just don't know what else it could be," Tom sighs. "That said, I'm… well, it is 1993 now, right? I'm a little out of touch. A lot can happen in fifty years."
Harry closes his eyes. "Are you saying- please don't tell me you've been stuck inside that diary for fifty years."
Tom gives him a sheepish smile. "What can I say? Cursed books can be a real kick in the- er, how old are you?"
"Twelve," Harry says. "But don't censor yourself on my account. If I'd been trapped in a book for fifty years I'd be swearing like a goddamn sailor."
"Kick in the ass, then," Tom finishes.
"Sounds like it," Harry agrees. He can hardly imagine it: fifty years of isolation. How is Tom still sane?
The two sit in silence for a moment as Harry tries and fails again to come to terms with the situation he's found himself in. Merlin is still coiled around him protectively, not looking away from Tom. Tom is staring at the ground, brow furrowed and obviously thinking hard.
"I have absolutely no idea what to do now," Harry admits. "Are you… uh, are you okay?"
Tom huffs out a laugh. "I expect the shock will set in soon. We're at Hogwarts, yes? Uh, Gryffindor tower, if I'm not mistaken?" Harry nods. "That's what I thought. Who's the headmaster? Not Dippet still, surely," he says.
Harry winces, and Tom raises an eyebrow. "It's Dumbledore," Harry says. "Er, I don't know if you know him?"
"Oh yes," Tom says bitterly. "I know him. You're not a fan, I take it?"
Harry shrugs, then shakes his head. "He's a very powerful wizard, who's done a lot of great things but… well. He hasn't always made the best choices in regards to, uh, me. I guess."
Harry isn't sure how much he wants to admit to Tom, but something about the boy is incredibly disarming.
"Maybe we hold off on going to him, then?" Tom suggests.
"That's pretty much my usual strategy," Harry agrees easily. "What do we do instead? I could contact my, uh, guardian? Or my friends?"
Tom cocks his head. "I wouldn't want to be an imposition…" he trails off.
Harry shakes his head. "Remus would be thrilled to meet someone related to my mum, even if you never met her. Plus, he's really, really rich. You wouldn't be imposing at all."
Tom puffs out his cheeks in a way Harry has done countless times himself, then exhales.
"Let's wait. Maybe until right before the next break," he concedes. "What would that be, Easter?" Harry nods, although he has no idea how Tom would know that.
"Alright. Until then, I think I know where I might be able to, uh, hide out. Maybe read up on the last fifty years. By the sound of it, I've missed a lot."
Harry grimaces, dreading Tom's reaction to the whole 'Boy-Who-Lived' thing. "Yeah, you could say that."
Tom sighs, then stands up. He's still a little shaky. "Let's go, then."
Harry jumps up. "Merlin, do you want to stay or come with us?"
"I'm coming with," Merlin hisses. She seems suspicious of Tom, which Harry thinks is fair enough.
Harry isn't too worried himself- Tom seems alright, and if it comes down to it, Harry is pretty sure he could take the older boy in a fight.
Harry looks back at Tom, who is watching the exchange with a bemused expression.
"Oh!" Harry says, "I'm a parselmouth. I'm sorry if that makes you uncomfortable. But, uh, I'm not stopping."
Tom smiles warmly, then shakes his head. "After spending fifty years in a diary I think I have more important things to worry about than some kid talking with snakes."
Tom genuinely seems unfazed, which Harry appreciates.
Suddenly, Tom pauses, then cocks his head. "Do you still have that diary?"
"Uh," Harry says, turning to Merlin. "Do we?"
Merlin nods her head towards Harry's bed, and Harry goes over to grab it.
"Here it is," Harry says, waving it in the air. Tom holds his hand out for it, but Harry hesitates. "You said it was cursed?"
Tom nods firmly. "Can I please have it? I'd rather not subject a twelve-year old to it any longer than I already have."
"I've probably dealt with worse," Harry says, a tad indignantly. Tom looks dubious. "Any reason we need to hold on to it?"
Tom cocks his head, thinking. "It's a pretty unique magical object," he muses. "But it is also extremely dangerous."
"What's it do? Other than trap people, I mean."
Tom winces. "Remember how Slytherin's monster has been terrorizing the school this year?"
Harry nearly drops the journal. "That was this?"
Tom nods grimly. "It's what happened last time too. As near as I can tell, it's a cursed object that manipulates people into letting it possess them, draining them of their power until eventually they take the place of the poor sap that had the journal before them.
"At that point, it changes itself to look like it belongs to the trapped individual. All the while, the possessed person is going into trances and unleashing some kind of monster on the school."
Harry stares. "Holy shit," is all he can think to say.
He feels sick. It's taking a lot of his control to not burn the journal to nothingness right there and then.
Tom has an equally queasy expression. "Yeah. It's a damn good thing you managed to get away when you did- it was starting the process over with you and I would've been helpless to stop it. I have legitimately no idea as to how you managed to pull yourself, much less me from it; but you have my thanks. I'd all but given up."
"My snake ate the Philosopher's Stone at the end of last year, and I think she bit the journal and threw some of that power at it," Harry says off-handedly.
Merlin is radiating smugness from around his shoulders.
"Ah," Tom says after a moment. "Ah. I see. Yes. That would probably, uh, do it."
Harry looks at Tom. He's holding it together surprisingly well, but Harry thinks a breakdown is imminent. "How about I destroy this, then we can get you settled into your hiding place?"
Tom smiles sadly. "I've tried to destroy it, believe me. I don't think it'll be all that easy. Best to just hide it away somewhere, I think."
Harry raises an eyebrow, looking at the little black journal. His magic is flailing wildly in his chest. "Let me try," he says.
Tom narrows his eyes. "Okay," he says slowly, then shrugs. "Worth a shot, I suppose."
Harry sighs in relief and flicks a tendril of his magic at the book. He urges his magic to float the journal as it ignites with a white flame that manifests very clearly as a little white snake, not unlike Merlin. Harry tries his best not to think of Quirrell as he watches it wrap its fiery coils around the book and squeeze until the book has disintegrated.
Harry looks at Tom smugly, who is staring ashen-faced at the dust that is drifting slowly to the ground.
"Tom?" Harry asks, abruptly worried.
What if the journal had been irrevocably tied to Tom's life-force? Maybe they hadn't thought this all the way through.
Tom swallows, and then shakes his head.
"Right then. Of course. I suppose that makes sense. Well," Tom says. "Good. One less thing to, uh, worry about. Okay. Let's go now. I think I need to eat. Or sleep. Or lay down, or something."
"Okay, Tom," Harry says softly, pulling his cloak out of his satchel. Looks like the older boy is okay: it's just the reality of the situation finally hitting him.
"Let's go- here, we'll use my invisibility cloak so we don't need to worry about being seen."
Tom closes his eyes and nods weakly, and Harry swings the cloak over the two of them.