"The vision of time is broad, but when you pass through it, time becomes a narrow door."

Dune, Frank Herbert

"A transfer student?"

Tom asked himself as his head turned in the great hall to find the unfamiliar boy. Slughorn had only just told him in the prefect's meeting, that there was to be a fifth year transfer, a boy who'd previously been homeschooled but was now attending Hogwarts to take his OWL and NEWT courses.

Tom had never heard of anyone transferring in before, he'd assumed it wasn't possible, but apparently it was just uncommon. Not that he cared either way, after all, what was one more student in the hallways; he was just another face to smile at and nothing more.

No, he was even less than that, with a last name like Evans. A half-blood at best probably even a mudblood like Tom was, given the way the pureblood heirs were treating him. Most of them had the great English family trees memorized by the time they were seven, and disinherited blood traitors were kept track of as well, it was unlikely that anyone with an unfamiliar last name could simply pop out of the woodworks.

His eyes moved over the blonde Abraxas, the Black siblings, all the familiar faces until at the very end of the table they found a new one.

The boy was thin, smaller than most of his peers, with dark hair and absurdly thick glasses. He was sitting on the far end of the table, away from the other students, and was watching the sorting ceremony with a strange expression on his face; partly indifference, resignation, nostalgia… a strange variety of emotions considering it was his first time seeing the ceremony.

He seemed aloof, his posture stiff and his face pointed away from all of them. It was clear that he didn't want to talk with any other Slytherin in spite of being friendless and new; which was all well and good since none of them seemed to have any inclination to speak to him.

(Tom had been lucky, in his first year, in knowing that he didn't need or even like other people because the house of Slytherin had never extended him any kindness. Everything he had, everything he was, he'd earned and forced them to come to terms with. And for some of them it had taken some time and quite a bit of violence to come to terms with the mudblood genius Riddle.)

Unfortunately, as a prefect, Tom was the exception to this rule. Slughorn had made that all too clear, and even if he hadn't, Tom's reputation demanded he make some overtures towards the new and lost boy.

Tom made his way down to the end of the table and sat across from the boy waiting in silence for the ceremony to finish so he could hurry up and get this over with.

Tom hadn't noticed at a distance but the boy's eyes were very green, the kind Tom wouldn't have believed were possible in eyes, they weren't a muddied hazel but instead the color of grass with the sun shining through. They would have been very striking if they weren't hidden behind those hideous glasses.

He glanced at Tom, almost alarmed, and his expression became closed off and it became almost impossible to tell what he was thinking. He looked away, almost too quickly, and Tom could no longer read any thought behind his face.

Finally the last student was sorted, Dippet had made his speech, and the meal began, "Harry Evans, yes?"

Tom asked and the transfer student stiffened looking over towards him slowly, his eyes wide and sharp, his hand subtly reaching for a knife. For a moment it almost didn't register, the action was so absurd, so surreal but then it sunk in. Tom's eyes flickered to the silver, back up again, and he found himself struggling to keep the pleasant smile on his face.

A transfer student, he should have figured only a lunatic would postpone their admittance to Hogwarts for five years.

He could report him to Slughorn, it would have to only be a misgiving though as he didn't really have any evidence, it wasn't as if Evans had done anything yet. As it was Tom was sorely tempted to ask the transfer student if he thought reaching for a knife just as the prefect was introducing himself was very subtle.

It was also a very muggle action, a knife, and not a wand. Probably because the knife was closer, the wand no doubt in his robes somewhere, but still he really was a mudblood if that had been his instinctual choice of weapon.

Tom held out his hand, the boy's right was clutching the knife, if he wanted to be polite he'd have to give up the idea of stabbing Tom in a very public setting. Not that Tom thought he would, children weren't that ruthless, most people weren't that ruthless. Oh they talked big, about slaughtering the mudbloods or cutting Tom down to size, but when push came to shove they always faltered. Whatever this was, whatever was wrong with Evans, he wouldn't be able to go through with it.

With reluctance the boy let go and gripped Tom's hand and again something caught Tom's eye, there were words written on his skin.

I must not tell lies.

He was very tempted to let their hands linger together as he shook, to read those words again, to ask why it looked like they had been carved into his hand and how magic hadn't managed to take them out again.

He looked back up to the transfer student's expression and from the thin grimace on Evans' face, that knowing glint in his eyes, he knew exactly what Tom had just seen.

"Tom Riddle, Slytherin prefect." Tom said introducing himself with a cheery grin, fighting down the irrational anger growing inside him.

Well it wasn't really irrational, the transfer student's first reaction on being introduced to the bloody prefect was to reach for a knife, that was pretty damn offensive now that he thought about it. Of course, Tom could handle Evans, but none the less just what did he think he was doing?

The knife, the words, there was something very wrong with Harry Evans.

"I heard, professor Slughorn told me when I was sorted." His voice was, well, it wasn't a particularly bad voice but the way he spoke it was like he was reading off of a script. There was no enthusiasm, no feeling, behind the words more like they were something he felt he had to say.

Like they were both just going through the motions for the benefit of the other actor.

There was a very deep irony in there, somewhere, if Tom had the time or inclination to look for it. He didn't though, instead he felt his own smile straining further, Tom was giving a pretty good show of interest, Evans could at least afford him the same respect.

Hell, he could at least pretend he didn't have an interest in stabbing someone he'd just met. What sort of a reaction was that? Reaching for a knife, was it Tom, or was it anyone who might grab his attention?

He was thinking far too much about this already.

"Did he? Well our head of house does like to talk. I'll be the one giving you a tour of the castle and if you need anything, anything at all, know that you can always come to…"

The boy cut him off, "I'll be fine."

Tom blinked at him, his own smile dropping, Evans had cut him off. As if he'd known, no he'd known from the beginning, that Tom didn't care in the slightest if Evans got lost or had issues with homework and friends. That Tom was acting, that Tom Riddle, the façade he'd presented and perfected for years had nothing real in him.

He was staring into Tom's eyes again and this expression he could place, because he'd seen a watered down version of it before, contempt. Complete and utter contempt for everything he was, everything he represented, and everything he could hope to attain in life.

"I see." Tom said shortly, it came out colder than he'd like but Evans didn't even seem to notice the difference.

"Well, then, remember that if you ever do need help you can always find me." Tom repeated, dully, as it was clear that if Evans ever did need help he would never come to him.

Standing from his seat, about to make his way back to his peers, to be ignored and overlooked for his lack of wealth and pedigree he looked at his new classmate one final time.

No, this was not the son of a lord, he was different than Abraxas Malfoy or any other pureblood heir. There was something wrong with Harry Evans and at a glance Tom could not put his finger on it; dangerous his mind wanted to tell him.

A fifteen year old boy, dangerous, what an idiotic notion. Unhinged, yes, but dangerous, certainly not.

With that he walked away, his trek followed by those silent green eyes, and he decided to put it out of his head the last thing he needed was to focus on something as inconsequential and unimportant as Harry Evans.

Despite almost going out of his way to ignore the new student, a habit he shared with his housemates, somehow he couldn't help but notice Evans' peculiar habits in spite of himself.

It wasn't as if Evans bothered being subtle, it really was amazing that he was in Slytherin at all, because he seemed to entirely disdain every single ideal Slytherin held as a house. Every speech they received on purity, on ambition, on cunning, Tom would look over to find Evans' eyes had hardened and his face contorting itself in an effort not to sneer.

He made no effort to make friends in his own house and instead reached out in an almost random manner to various students. Tom had caught him trying to study with the Gryffindor prefect Minerva McGonagall, trying to get her perspective on quidditch, and she was responsive to a point. She was wary, and why shouldn't she be, when a Slytherin out of nowhere was trying desperately to be her friend.

Tom had also caught him talking to the Gryffindor half-giant Hagrid, the one who raised dangerous creatures on school grounds. One of those days one of his pets was going to get someone killed or at the very least injured. And from the rate of things it looked like Evans was going to be the first victim; it wasn't a grand loss either way. Tom didn't know whether Evans was uninformed or stupid but either way every so often you could look out the window and catch him hanging around the half-giant and his latest find.

Both Gryffindors, certainly, but why these Gryffindors and not others and why Gryffindors at all? Was there something inherently wrong with Slytheirn?

These were questions Tom found himself asking whenever his thoughts managed to stray in Evans' direction; which was too often for his comfort given that the transfer student was completely irrelevant to anything of value.

There were some oddities that refused to be ignored though.

He was an insomniac, Tom had caught him more than once awake in the common room in the dead of night staring into the fire looking like someone had just died. He was always easily startled during these times, Tom had learned fairly early to make his presence well known before he entered, otherwise he'd find himself under Evans' wand and panicked gaze.

Evans was fast with his wand, very good at dueling, and if Tom was willing to swallow his pride he might even admit that Evans could give him a good run for his money in Defense. It wasn't that he had a large repertoire of spells, on the contrary the spells he used were rather ordinary and well known, but he was fast. His wand was moving and the words were out of his mouth before his opponent even had time to think.

He could often be found in the library, with books Tom had never bothered to look at, very advanced theory in obscure and almost muggle topics. Topics like time, space, energy, nothing illegal or even eye catching and yet whenever he caught Tom looking over his shoulder he'd immediately shut the book and attempt to hide the evidence. As if he had just revealed some terrible secret.

And whenever he and Tom crossed paths, whenever they were forced by circumstance to look at each other, there was always that unexplained contempt and disregard burning in Evans' eyes. And each time it was no less disconcerting, as if he had been laid bare before the transfer student, no older than him, and each time he was lacking something essential.

It was the look Tom gave to the world around him, to those that could never reach him, who would be forever beneath him. Only, Evans' look was reserved for him alone, and it seemed too solid and definite to be purely based on emotion.

Evans never said anything of interest in these moments, never offered any explanation, made no move towards any real conversation speaking as little as possible. Yes, no, hello Riddle how are you faring today, small chat at its most monosyllabic.

Which was fine, insulting and demeaning yes, but fine; Tom didn't have time to waste on trifles like Evans either. Some part of it was refreshing, if he thought about it, that he didn't have to bother to pretend to care about Evans.

Evans didn't believe it, so when they were alone why bother with the show?

It was strangely liberating.

And perhaps if he'd had the time he would have focused more on Evans. The transfer student did have his mysteries after all, but it was not an unimportant year, and as the year progressed he found himself in a position far too favorable to concern himself with a mudblood like Evans.

Because it was in his fifth year, in the beginning of that year, that he discovered what Dumbledore had never bothered telling him. A secret that could change everything, could free him from the shackles of mudbloodism.

Tom discovered from a rather mundane text that parseltongue was more than a parlor trick, that it was an inherited magic, directly from Slytherin himself.

Author's Note: So, you might be asking, why are you starting another time travel fic when you have three other main fics going one of which features time travel? (Or you might not be asking that depending on if you're familiar with other fics I write in which case feel free to ignore this blurb). Well, the truth is, I've come to realize that "October" isn't really about time travel. It has time travel in it, but it sort of flits around the issue.

Reading through the Harry Potter fandom I kept seeing the same plot elements over and over again. By travelling back to the 40s Harry somehow causes Voldemort inadvertently or else becomes Voldemort's secret lover and then is transported to the future to deal with the consequences or Voldemort would have a gang of miniature student death eaters already at his disposal who would have secret cult meetings in the basement and practice the dark arts. Which, this all isn't bad, it's just never something I would envision in writing a time travel fic. I realized I wanted to find a fic where Voldemort was a far off vision and Tom Riddle was more of a social outcast who was tolerated at best, where Harry's interventions cause things to fall apart in ways that he'd never expect, and that once things go to hell they really go to hell. And as usual I got impatient looking for this fic and decided to write a shortish version of it myself.

I actually wrote down an outline for this one, so I actually have a chapter estimate, this is a good sign.

Thank you for reading and if you are so inclined reviews are always greatly appreciated.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.