Chapter 1. The Tales of Voldemort

The boy—he could not have been more than five or six summers old—was shockingly fast. His black hair was a blur as his nimble little feet avoided the tangled roots of the forest floor with ease. Watching from where he lingered behind the constraining wards, Tom Riddle found himself reluctantly impressed. The boy was as stealthy as he was swift; he could have been a dryad for how little he broke the quiet of the woods.

A quiet that was broken mere moments later by a shrill shout.

"Get back here!"

Tom watched as the black-haired boy cursed, skidded to a stop, and whipped around to hide behind a tree. Despite the childish quality of the cry, the boy's expression was far too panicked for Tom to think this a simple game of chase. Who, or what, was he hiding from?

Disappointment had Tom sighing as another equally young boy thundered into view, his crushing footsteps sending the wildlife scattering. As the new boy shouted, "I see you, Harry, you've nowhere to go!" Tom turned to leave only to be pulled back by the boy's—Harry's—defiant snarl.

"Don't think I won't stop running just 'cause we're near the wards," he spat. "Unlike you, I'm not afraid of Voldemort!"

The nameless boy blanched. "What?" he gaped, "You're having me on."

"Oh, am I?" Harry had stepped out from behind the tree to face the other. His little fists were clenched. "Watch me."

"Wait—No!"

Harry turned and plunged into the trees, ignoring the panicked shouts of the other child as he unknowingly ran straight toward Tom. Intrigued, he merely stood there, allowing the small thing to crash into his legs and fall, landing sprawled on the forest floor. As Harry laid there groaning, Tom watched the other boy flee until he could see him no more. Only then did he turn back to the boy at his feet.

"Hello there," Tom said. "It appears you have... run into me."

The boy's bright green eyes blinked owlishly up at him with confusion before his face twisted with alarm and he blurted out, "I'm sorry mister!"

Despite himself, Tom smiled. "It's quite alright. You couldn't see me after all."

"Why?" Harry asked, almost automatically.

A curious one, Tom thought. "Why, the wards of course."

"Wait, but then—" The boy immediately scrambled away from him, coming to his feet several paces away seemingly on accident. "Are you—? You're not—?"

Voldemort reveled in the fear in Harry's eyes before Tom spoke, "No, I am not Lord Voldemort."

All the tension in the boy's body melted away, "Good," he sighed.

"I thought you weren't afraid of Lord Voldemort," Tom asked slyly and Harry scowled.

"I'm not!" he snapped, "Voldemort's just a bedtime story."

"Is he?" Tom said lightly, "Pray tell, what kind of 'bedtime story' may that be?"

Harry kicked at a rock mulishly, "One to scare little kids. But I'm not little. I'm not scared."

A smirk tugged at Tom's lips, "Of course not. You're a brave one, aren't you?"

Tom watched the boy's cheeks flush, pleased. "A bit," he said, embarrassedly.

"Just a bit?" he teased. When Harry didn't answer, Tom made a show of embarrassment himself. "Oh dear, I've completely forgotten to tell you my name. Where are my manners?" He stretched a hand out to the boy. "My name is Tom Marvolo Riddle. What is yours?"

Harry eyed him suspiciously but still stepped forward and took his proffered hand. "My name's Harry," he said, "Harry Potter."

A single name. A single name and Tom Riddle's world—Voldemort's world—shifted.

And if the five-year-old was able to perceive and understand the odd, fleeting expression on the handsome man's face to be one of recognition, that was dismissed and forgotten as confusing things often were.

Harry examined the air in front of him through narrowed eyes. It looked no different than regular air. "Hmm..." he hummed seriously, hoping it would help.

Though two summers had passed, Harry still thought of the mysterious man he'd met in the woods that day. Talking to Tom Riddle had been exciting, nothing like talking to his aunt or uncle or other adults (even if he too had warned him about Voldemort). Instead, he had asked Harry questions about himself, had shown concern for him, had called him brave.

So naturally, he'd gone back several times after their initial meeting (though he was never quite willing to recklessly dash through the wards as he'd done that day). But Tom Riddle was never there. Harry was starting to think he'd imagined him—he hoped he'd imagined him. It was either that or Voldemort had killed him.

Though lately, he was wondering if it had to do with the very thing he'd been avoiding—the wards.

"Hmmmm..." he hummed again, rubbing his chin this time. He was pretty sure this was where the wards started but maybe he was wrong. He backed away so he could see the stones again. Placed there as a warning by the villagers, the white rocks were the only visual indication that the wards even existed. Harry had spent more than a few afternoons following the stones so he knew they formed a massive circle. A quick look proved he was right. The wards should be right there.

"Hmmmmm..." Harry walked back up to the invisible wards. Perhaps, if he just reached out his hand he could feel— "OH!" Harry yelped and snatched his hand back. It had disappeared!

He examined his hand with shock, though once the excitement of it calmed down he felt a little silly. The wards had hidden Tom that day. It wasn't too much of a stretch to say it would hide him too.

Maybe the wards had been hiding Tom this whole time!

A reckless daring overcame him and every warning he'd ever heard—even Tom's—disappeared as he dashed forward, crossing the invisible line he'd drawn in his mind. He half-expected to once again crash against Tom's legs, but instead, he stumbled over an unseen root.

"Didn't I tell you not to cross the wards?"

Harry gasped and whirled to the side. "Tom!" he exclaimed happily. "You're alive!"

The handsome man's eyebrow quirked, "Why on earth would I not be?"

"Voldemort of course!" Harry cried, abruptly upset. Now that he could actually see him and talk to him, Harry suddenly felt the urge to cry. It was as if the powerful rush of relief he had felt had washed away everything, leaving him vulnerable and shaky. "I thought he killed you." To his mortification, Harry felt his bottom lip begin to quiver.

"He wouldn't do that," Tom said reassuringly. "I'm his groundskeeper. He needs me."

The lump in his throat stole his voice as Harry nodded, blinking too quickly.

"If he killed me, who else would water the plants?" Tom asked, making Harry's lips twitch, "Or watch out for meddling trespassers?" he added, staring at him pointedly.

Harry fully smiled at that, but asked, "If you saw me, then, why didn't you come out?"

"I was curious as to what you would do," the man said simply, "You looked quite serious, Harry. There was a lot of humming."

Harry's eyes darted away as his cheeks began to warm. "Did you see me the other times too?" he asked. "I came back as much as I could."

When he looked back, Tom appeared apologetic, "I did not," he said, "though I wish I had. As much as I joke, I do not often find myself near the borders of the wards."

That made sense; Harry nodded. He felt a little better. "I'm glad you're not dead."

"Me too, surprisingly enough," the man joked before he said seriously, "I'm touched by your concern but you needn't worry about me, Harry. Lord Voldemort will not harm me."

"Are you sure? Everyone says he's a violent monster. A snake-man who swallows men whole." Harry shivered.

"What happened to Lord Voldemort being a bedtime story?" Tom teased only to put his hands up placatingly when Harry frowned and folded his arms across his chest. "Yes, Harry. I'm quite sure."

If his presence alone wasn't enough proof, the surety Harry saw in Tom's grey eyes certainly was. Harry found himself relaxing. "Good."

Upon seeing him calm, the man appraised him thoughtfully. "You, on the other hand... I cannot ensure your safety. If Lord Voldemort knew you were here..."

Harry's eyes widened. "Does he?"

"Not now. But he will, soon. He always knows."

"I should go then, shouldn't I?" he said sadly.

Tom nodded somberly as he ran his fingers through his dark wavy hair. "It would be best, yes."

Harry frowned before he stated, "I'll see you again." His tone left no room for debate.

Tom shook his head fondly. "I suppose you're just stubborn enough that you will."

It was getting harder and harder to find the time to visit Tom. The more weird, freakish things that happened around him, the more work Uncle Vernon gave him and the sharper his Aunt Petunia's watchful eye grew. Several times, Harry found himself tempted to simply run away to Tom in the night, the only time he was free, but there were wolves and bears to consider. And Voldemort. Always Voldemort.

And then, when he did manage to slip away and meet Tom, the man often seemed distracted.

But Harry was eleven years of age now and armed with knowledge. When he spoke today... Tom wouldn't be distracted.

"I'm leaving," Harry said.

"Leaving?" Tom repeated, aghast. Harry had never seen his face so emotive. Good. "Whyever must you leave?"

Harry's short-lived triumphed died in the face of revealing his greatest secret and instinctively, his eyes darted about, ensuring they were alone. He felt foolish as he recalled the wards a heartbeat later and coughed to cover it. This only seemed to intrigue Tom more.

"What is it?" he urged.

Harry drew himself up, prepared for the worst, and stated, "I have magic, Tom."

The man stilled and Harry braced himself—only to hear a shocking, "I know."

"What?" he squawked.

"I can feel it," Tom said with an odd smile, and oh, oh... "I have since the first day I met you."

"You have it too," Harry breathed.

The handsome man nodded. "I do. But tell me. This does not explain why you must leave."

"There is a school. Hogwarts."

Tom sighed and something like longing flickered in his grey eyes. "I know Hogwarts... or, I suppose, I knew Hogwarts."

The darkness in his eyes pained Harry. "I will still come back for summer—I'll visit you then!" he promised. "I swear it, Tom."

"Good," Tom said, and some of that darkness faded, "I'll be waiting."

Despite the boy's promise to return, Tom was kept waiting until Harry's thirteenth year.

"Did you know?" Harry asked coldly as he slipped through the wards, and the first thing Tom thought was He's taller.

"Did I know what?" Tom asked though he knew he knew. There was a heaviness on the teen's shoulders that reminded Tom of death.

"About my parents," Harry stated. "About their role in Voldemort's capture."

Air hissed through Tom's teeth. "That is a dangerous question, Harry."

"So you did!" the teen exploded, "You knew this whole time and said nothing!"

Voldemort admired the anguish on Harry's face.

"Do you know what I knew?" Harry cried and Tom wished he would stop, "I knew my parents as a pair of knaves foolish enough to rob a sickhouse. I thought my parents died from consumption when they died as heroes!"

"You would be wise to stop, Harry," Tom warned, voice icy cold, and Harry froze in place. "Perhaps consider why I did not reveal such vital information to you. Perhaps consider whose wards we are within, Potter."

Harry recoiled as if struck. "'Whose wards?'" he repeated. "'Whose wards?!' MY PARENT'S WARDS! These are the wards my parents sacrificed their lives for!"

"To trap him," Tom growled, and Harry needed to leave. Now. "Go. He'll be able to sense your magic. It's all but flaring off of you right now."

The teen's green eyes practically glowed with anger, "This isn't over," he hissed.

"No," Tom agreed, "It isn't."

The teen—and his magic—were far calmer when he returned just shy of a month later.

"I understand why you didn't tell me," he said stiffly.

They were forgoing pleasantries again, then. "You do?" Tom asked, hands folded behind his back.

"I think you were wrong for it," Harry added coolly, "but I understand your intent."

"Is all forgiven then?" Tom asked, allowing the corner of his lip to twitch upward with calculated precision. Satisfaction settled on his shoulders like a snake when Harry subconsciously mirrored it and softened all the more. All he had to do now was say— "Please, Harry."

His resistance was crushed under the weight of foolhardy sentiment, and Voldemort all but purred.

"Fine, fine. Yes, Tom. Merlin."

"Don't swear," Tom replied reflexively, and Harry smirked. Rolling his eyes, Tom gestured at him, "Now come. Tell me about Hogwarts."

He did.

And if hearing tales of his old school, his old home, did not bring Tom as much joy as hearing that Harry missed him, he ignored it.

It took until Harry was seventeen years of age for him to learn the right question to ask.

"What hold do you have over Voldemort?"

Tom blinked over at him in surprise.

"Don't look at me like that," Harry said shortly, "you must have some hold over him, Tom."

"Must I?"

Harry eyed him irritably but continued. "I asked you once if you were sure Voldemort wouldn't harm you. You said yes."

Tom nodded in agreement. "I did."

"How are you sure?" the young man probed, "And don't give me that 'groundskeeper' tosh. I'm not seven anymore."

Tom sighed a long-suffering sigh. "Oh, Harry... You've finally asked the right question. And the only one for which I cannot give you an answer." He eyed the orange sky. "You must leave, Lord Voldemort enjoys prowling at night."

The glare Harry shot him could've melted stone, but he relented when Tom tucked a stray lock of hair behind his ear. "You'll tell me one day," he ground out.

"I'm sure I will. Enjoy your apprenticeship, Harry. You'll be missed."

Though he looked back, the young man did not reply as he left.

The white rocks seemed to glow in the light of the half-moon as Harry strolled through the forest of his childhood. After four long years, he was home and there was only one person he wanted to see.

Eager, he stepped through the wards as he'd done so many times before.

"Tom? You there?"

The forest clearing was empty of all but the wind and— "Harry Potter."

Harry froze. That wasn't Tom's voice.

"How fitting."

Someone stepped into the light of the moon and that... That wasn't Tom's body. It was too... serpentine.

"I was going to kill you, but instead..."

The tales were true. Voldemort's eyes really did glow red.

"Instead I think I'll keep you."