A Thread of Time

A Thread of Time

Chapter One

*

It was with a well-timed avada kedava and a heap of smoldering Horcrux remains that Harry Potter defeated one of the darkest magical lords of the century for the final time. It occurred on a Tuesday morning on the 19th of December, 1996, and brought the Death Eater invasion on Hogwarts to a halt.

A confused silence descended upon Hogwarts’ grounds. The eyes of cautious students and fearful death eaters fell upon the young man who abruptly fell to his knees, dropping his
wand and clutching his famous scar with a throaty scream.

Only a short pause prolonged the pained cries of surprised Death Eaters as their dreaded Dark marks finally began to burn away. Voldemort had taken the wards down moments before, now allowing the Aurors to apparate onto the school grounds, to the relief of the surviving students.

It was briefly noted that Harry Potter staggered up and into the Forbidden Forest, one hand remaining on his scar and his other grasping his wand, but sight of him was lost in the relieved bustling and shouting of the students.

In next to no time at all, the injured were rounded up and the Death Eaters were shifted off to Azkaban, once again.

It was hours later that Harry Potter’s comatose body was found on the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest. He did not wake up.


*


It was snowing. Feathery white flakes floated lightly past the window, and Harry soon lost count of them. In the far distance he observed the undefeatable North Tower, which remained imposing and upright through the onslaught of white.

It took a second for him to discern the warm substance beginning to drip its way uncaringly down his nose and into his tired eyes, burning them. With slight exhausted frustration he brought his hand to his face and took it away covered in warm blood from his scar.

Using the window ledge as support, Harry dragged himself up to lean against the wall, a tired sigh forcing its way past his lips. With more than a little effort he forced his numb limbs to move down the icy cold corridor.

The cold chilled one’s bones in this empty part of the castle, and the screaming silence made its corridors and abandoned classrooms no less portentous. Most of the students had left for the Christmas term, particularly now that parents were alarmed at the threat of a Death Eater invasion on the unguarded school.

With these gloomy thoughts Harry entered the nearest empty classroom and slumped inside against the door. To him it seemed that many things, such as the red fluid painlessly flowing from his tingling scar, obstinately refused to change. Unless, in his case, for the worse.

He conjured a mirror and stared glumly at his reflection.

His face was pale with the cold and made the deep ominous red of his scar even more noticeable. With the absence of his glasses, his vivid green eyes stared defiantly out, contrasting interestingly with the red.

It had been Hermione’s idea to try and enhance Harry’s vision with a new spell she had created. To put it bluntly, Harry could not have been more grateful; it had certainly helped in previous encounters with the remaining Death Eaters.

Lank, black as night locks fell into his face. Luckily his hair had grown somewhat; reaching his shoulders and taming, to an extent. It was with slight relief on Harry’s part that he had grown into his own look; no longer the young equivalent of James Potter. He took joy in mentally rubbing that fact into Professor Snape’s ugly face. Harry was sick of being compared to his father.

Although slouched against the foot of the door, Harry could see he had grown quite a bit during the summer. He was much taller now; he almost reached Professor Lupin’s height. One thing had stayed the same: he had kept the thin and exhausted look from staying at the Dursleys’ this year, rather than growing healthier as he usually did when returning to Hogwarts. Harry could not remember the last time he had felt relaxed and carefree. It was all Voldemort’s fault.

Voldemort. Lord bloody Voldemort, the second most powerful wizard alive, and Harry was expected to kill him. Harry, who was only in his sixth year at Hogwarts. Who knew when Voldemort would attack? He may not even attack at all. He might hibernate throughout the winter and ambush them when summer arrived.

Harry’s thoughts shifted onto Sirius. He had finally accepted his godfather’s death and moved into Grimmauld Place the day of his sixteenth birthday, to the dismay of both Dumbledore and the Weasleys. Harry had made it adamantly clear that he refused to return to the Dursleys ever again.

He hated the Dursleys. Almost as much as Voldemort. And both Voldemort and the Dursleys hated him. It was one of the few things that he could rely on to never change.
Harry cleaned up the blood with a conjured towel and the morose thought that Lord Voldemort would always be his hated enemy.


*


Blearily Harry woke up. He pushed himself up from the bitterly cold stone floor, thoughts confused as to why he was lying uncomfortably in the middle of a corridor in the first place. With a slight frown, he stood and stretched, trying to get some movement into his stiff limbs and finding that his robes were entirely damp with chilly blood.

He staggered to the nearest bathroom and began to clean himself up, still slightly bewildered. He was positive that his scar had not bled quite that profusely. At length he banished the robes; he needed to order news ones anyway. That left him in plain jeans and a dark shirt.

Soon he was looking marginally healthier, though still tired and pale. With a shrug, Harry decided to go and hunt down Ron and Hermione – then thought better of it. They had probably gone in search of an empty broom cupboard for themselves, and Harry was not really eager to know what they were up to.

Instead, he meandered away from the bathroom and descended several staircases. It was disturbingly quiet and there was not a soul to be seen. Not many students had stayed for the Christmas term, but the castle did not usually remain this silent, especially as it was nearing dinner.

Harry reached the grand staircase that led down to the Entrance Hall. There was still no sound; no professors, nothing. Usually around this time of year Hogwarts would be filled with Christmas cheer.

With a sigh, he sat on one of the bottom steps and stared glumly at Hogwarts’ huge wooden doors. He was definitely not going to venture out into the freezing cold. Where was everyone?

“Mice, mice, tasty mice, where are you, my lovelies? I am hungry, very hungry yes.”
Harry blinked and looked around. A snake? A second later he spotted it slithering just below the first step, making for the shadows near the staircase.

Feeling bored and lonely, Harry spoke up. “Hello, there.”

The snake stopped abruptly, then turned and rose slightly so that it could look at him. Its coloring was dark and had a long pattern of black markings on its scales. It was about two to two and a half feet long. Harry decided it was an adder.

“You can speak?” it demanded, its pointy head cocked to the side.

“Yep,” Harry went to kneel down beside it. “What is your name?”

“Name?”

“Err,” Harry scratched his head. Snakes were not familiar with names? He tried, “What shall I call you?”

“I am a Vipera. And I am hungry for tasty mice. Goodbye.”

“Wait!” Harry exclaimed before the snake could leave, and then realized how ridiculous he sounded, pleading with a small snake.

He bit his lip and mentally cursed himself for being such a loser. “Can we be friends?”
The snake looked at him and swayed a bit, as though considering the possibility of befriending a human.

“Only if you help me catch mice,” it declared eventually, its forked tongue flicking in and out as if licking its lips.

Harry blinked at the sheer Slytherin-ness of the creature. Well, it was not as if he had anything better to do than catch mice. Harry readily agreed and followed the snake down a corridor.

“I still don’t know what to call you,” he stated on the way. “I can’t just call you ‘Vipera’.”

“My nest calls me the young one,” the snake explained as it turned to go in a crack in the wall.

In the end Harry concluded that he would simply have to talk to the snake to get its attention, rather than give it a name. Before it could disappear into the crack, Harry told it to wait.

“Accio mouse,” he muttered, and as he had hoped, the nearest mouse zoomed towards him.
He leant down and gave it to the delighted snake.

“So your magic is useful for something after all!” It hissed excitably, before it slid into the crack with the blatant intention of devouring its meal.

Harry watched in bored amusement. It was then that he heard hurried footsteps.

Rising readily, Harry awaited the approach of the hurried footsteps. At seeing the person turn the corner, Harry went still with both terror and shock. What on earth?

Tom Riddle was dead. While Voldemort remained, Tom Riddle, his young equivalent, had been destroyed via the diary in the Chamber of Secrets a few years before. By Harry, no less. Therefore, Tom Riddle could no longer exist.

So why was he standing a few meters away in old-fashioned Slytherin robes, wand casually out, staring at Harry through dangerously narrowed eyes.

Harry already had his wand at the ready, warily awaiting the inevitable drawn-out speech.
Riddle took a step toward him. “Who are you?” he demanded, his dark eyes narrowing further. “Who were you talking to?”

Harry frowned momentarily, unsure of what was going on. He glanced down to the crack where the snake had taken its meal.

“A friend,” he answered carefully, returning his eyes to Riddle’s face. Where were all the students? Where were the professors, particularly Dumbledore? Something strange was definitely occurring.

There was a pause as Riddle appeared to consider something, still watching daringly.
Harry decided to play dumb. This couldn’t be the real Riddle, else he’d be trying to kill, threaten or hurt Harry. “I’m Harry Potter. Who are you?”

His rival arched an eyebrow in response. “I am sure that that is none of your concern. I have never seen you in the castle before. What House are you in?”

Harry stared. This could not be happening. The only possibility of his ever meeting an ignorant sixteen-year-old Tom Riddle would be….

Time travel.

But that notion was impossible. Harry hadn't acquired a time-turner in years. He even recalled destroying them all at the ministry last year when fighting the Death Eaters with Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Neville, and Luna. Even if there were any time-turners left, he certainly would not have chosen Tom Riddle's era as a holiday excursion. And that still didn't explain the chilling emptiness of the castle.

He realized with a jolt that Riddle was awaiting his answer. He cleared his throat, and paused. "I think there's been a… misunderstanding.” That's one way of putting it, he thought.

"Oh?" Even at sixteen, the Dark Lord had a demanding air, and Harry shifted uncomfortably, also trying to ignore the vague fact that Tom Riddle remained as handsomely dark as he had been in the Chamber of Secrets.


Harry then remembered Dumbledore explaining that many of the professors, including Headmaster Armando Dippet, had favored Tom as a student; he was intelligent, charming and talented. He was also slightly insane, terrifying and constantly bent on revenge. At least, that was Harry’s opinion.

Harry chose to avoid the questioning tone. Harry was beginning to find the situation awkward, although Riddle appeared content in simply staring and evaluating Harry, wand still directed at him just in case. “Have you seen Dumbledore recently? I’d like to speak with him.”

Tom appeared to frown slightly before his expression quickly resumed neutral indifference. “I believe he is running an errand for the Headmaster out of school,” he replied smoothly.

Harry gnawed at his lip, finally feeling the first strands of fear. This could not possibly be good. “Is the Headmaster here, then?”

“Of course. He is most likely in his office.”

Harry blinked. “Thanks,” he said hesitantly, before making to walk around Riddle.
“He will be on his way to the Great Hall for dinner soon. Why don’t you let me accompany you to his office after we have eaten?”

Harry came to a halt next to Tom, and watched him cautiously. They were close. Tom was an inch or two taller than him, and other than Tom’s hazel eyes and lack of scar, Harry knew they both looked very similar.

“Alright,” he agreed carefully. There were not really any other options but to go along with it. He could hardly go on a hunt for Dumbledore. Life outside the castle could be completely different from Harry’s time. For once, Harry acknowledged that leaving the castle would be too dangerous.

He was about to move forward again when he felt Tom’s hand on his arm. Harry met his vivid gaze.

“Aren’t you going to collect your… friend?” the Slytherin asked, slowly pocketing his wand.

Harry merely raised an eyebrow before moving to kneel beside the crack. “Finished yet?”

“Quite.” The snake’s head appeared suddenly out from the crack. Its gaze went from Harry to Tom as it seemed to lick its lips, before returning to Harry.

“Carry me, since you are my friend.”

Harry rolled his eyes but held his arm out for the snake nevertheless. It moved up his arm and wrapped around his shoulders. Harry made sure it was comfortable before turning to Tom.

Tom stood very still, his expression unreadable. His gaze settled on Harry’s snake.

“Impressive,” he murmured, before gesturing with his arm the way to the Great Hall.

“The castle is full of tasty mice,” the snake mused, head swaying on Harry’s shoulder.

“And friends?” Riddle asked as they began to move, making Harry feel extremely uncomfortable for a reason he couldn’t place. Maybe it was just disturbing that he and Voldemort shared a private language of their own, privy only to snakes.

“And friends,” the snake agreed, flicking its tongue in Harry’s ear.
Harry jumped slightly before scowling at it. “Don’t do that.”

The snake hissed delightedly as though laughing, and Harry picked up on the sudden amusement that shone briefly in Tom’s eyes.

“What did you say your name was?” Tom asked again.

Harry,” he answered, feeling a bit less uneasy. “Harry Potter.”

“I’m Tom Riddle. It’s… nice to meet you, Harry. Perhaps we could be friends?”

Harry almost faltered in his step. Tom Riddle did not have friends. Harry knew this to be a fact. Riddle had simply used his ‘friends’ when it suited him. And Tom had just offered his friendship…? But Harry could play at this game; hell, he could use it to his own advantage. Any information he found out now might be useful when he returned to his own time.


“Sure, Tom.”

The other boy looked vaguely pleased.

It was with a stream of worried thoughts that Harry walked side-by-side with Tom Riddle in the direction of the Great Hall.


*

Like it, hate it? Please review and let me know =)