"All I'm saying is that somewhere out there is the man you are supposed to marry. And if you don't get him first, somebody else will, and you'll have to spend the rest of your life knowing that somebody else is married to your husband."

- When Harry Met Sally

January, 1943

In the end, Harry did not get Tom either a Christmas gift or a birthday present.

First, both he and Alphard had barely given Harry any time to realize that she needed to get them gifts. True, maybe that was on Harry to figure out, but in her defense, she thought she'd be fifty years out of reach by the time Christmas rolled around. More, for all that Alphard and Tom seemed to have entered her small world, she hadn't actually realized they'd get her anything. By the time they'd handed her gifts Harry was already late for failing to respond in kind.

Second, as had been kindly pointed out repeatedly by multiple Tom Riddles, Harry had no money. She had, in fact, less than no money and didn't have a knut to spare for a few sweets at Hogsmeade let alone any kind of gift for anyone.

Third, even if she went and made a fancy gift like Tom Riddle, she had absolutely no idea what to make either of them. Every time she tried to think of something, she felt like she hit a brick wall.

She did end up eyeing the sword and bow that she'd gained out of her fairy adventures speculatively. It wasn't, after all, like Harry was ever planning on using either again. More, they'd been clearly built for someone much taller than her, so would probably suit Riddle better. He'd certainly appreciate them too; it'd be a Christmas and birthday present to blow his mind. At the same time though…

She didn't think they had any innate power, couldn't think why the fair folk would have given her weapons like that, but she also couldn't help but remember Tom Riddle would never just be a nerdy schoolboy. She couldn't just hand something like that over.

So, in the end, after a few days of panic, Harry decided not to get anyone anything. The Tom Riddle in her head was right, no one expected anything from her but to show up, sit down, shut up, and be heartbreakingly poor.

As it was, Tom didn't even bring up the fact that New Years Eve was his birthday. Look at him and you would have thought it was any ordinary day, interrupted only by the fact that Slughorn insisted that Harry and Tom (the only Slytherins staying over the break) toast the new year with him.

And if he wasn't going to bring it up then Harry didn't see a reason she had to go bringing it up either.

Even if she did feel kind of bad that he dumped all these fancy clothes on her, on his own birthday no less, and she got him absolutely nothing.

Which led to good old January 2nd, a Sunday, and the last day before the start of the second term.

Normally, Harry and Ron would wait somewhere out of the way for Hermione to come and find them. This was either in the common room playing wizard's chess (Ron playing, really, Harry was at too lowly a skill level to ever really play the game, she just remembered the horsey moved in an 'L'), out on the grounds having a last minute snowball fight, or just avoiding the mass rush as everyone and their brother returned from the holidays.

Although the spectacle of having Harry Potter for a classmate had died over the years (it was a bit hard to be in constant awe of Harry Lily Potter when she was making a constant ass of herself) it had always been best to avoid crowds when she could. Especially since while having the girl-who-lived in the same school might have been old news there was usually some madness involving Harry Potter going on that everybody had something to say about.

Tom Riddle, apparently, did not live by Harry's philosophy and insisted they sit right there in the great hall for afternoon tea and scones while the rest of the school flooded in to see them.

Even though Harry wasn't the girl-who-lived here, had no reason to have a constant spotlight over her head, she couldn't help but feel twitchy just sitting here listening to the roar of voice of students joyfully returned from unpacking their suitcases.

"Stop twitching," Tom chastised, "You're going to make me nervous."

Harry glared at him. Tom was sipping tea with a calm air about him, the kind of heir the Tom Riddle in her head always had about him, only Harry knew this Tom was putting it on all for show versus having somehow earned it for himself.

"What are we even doing here?" Harry asked, "Can't we go somewhere else?"

"Since when are you afraid of attention?" Riddle asked with a raised eyebrow, "And if you must know, I have to be here, as Slytherin prefect it's my job to be out here in case anyone comes looking for me."

"None of the other prefects are out here," Harry shot back. He just gave her an impressively dull look, as if to ask whether she was trying to be hopelessly stupid.

"That's because all the other prefects, as well as the head boy and girl, went home," Tom said, "Trust me, they'll all be down here as soon as they're unpacked."

Harry frowned, pulled at the neck of her new sweater, which was really more comfortable than she'd expected it to be. She almost hadn't wanted to wear any of the fancy clothes Riddle had made for her, stuffed into her trunk they'd looked almost too immaculate, way past her pay grade as it were. It made them seem… inauthentic.

But it seemed ungrateful to just stuff them in there and never look at them again. More, and she hated to admit it, but they really were much more comfortable and warmer than anything she'd bought for herself in this era.

"Then why am I here?" Harry finally asked, "I don't have to be here."

"You're here to keep me company," he said, as if that was the most natural thing in the world, "And of course to mourn with me our last day before the term begins."

He lifted his cup of tea, as if to toast the coming end of all they held dear, "Soon it'll be nothing but quidditch, OWLs, Slughorn's parties, and dormitory politics. God help us all."

He threw back the tea as if it were a shot, ignoring Slughorn's questioning and disapproving glance from the staff table. Tom might have been back in Slughorn's good graces, sort of, but Harry had the feeling that Slughorn still didn't approve of the liberated Tom Riddle who didn't give a damn about social niceties.

Harry took a sip of her own tea awkwardly and let her gaze wander to anywhere but Tom Riddle. Maybe she'd been spending too much time with too many Tom Riddles, maybe it was the fact that Voldemort seemed like a problem that grew more distant with every passing day, but she was starting to remember that Tom Riddle was devastatingly attractive.

Especially, for whatever reason, when he didn't bother to be charming and smarmy.

It made it really hard to look directly at him.

Clearing her throat, Harry asked, "Don't you like all that stuff though? Not the quidditch, I mean, but the OWLs, the parties, and all that fancy pureblood politics? No offense, but I thought that's what you lived for."

"It's what I used to live for," Tom Riddle said, running a hand through his hair, "Now it all just feels like it's too soon. I was only just getting used to the sweet taste of freedom. Now I'll have to deal with Malfoy again."

Harry, sadly, knew exactly what he was feeling.

Forcing herself to do it before she could hesitate, Harry gave him a consolatory pat on the back, "Well, if it makes you feel better, you could always turn him into a ferret."

Tom just looked at her for a moment, "Why the hell would I turn him into a ferret?"

Harry paused, opened her mouth and closed it, and finally blurt out, "Because it would be funny."

Right, well, that just killed conversation.

It had sounded funnier in her head. Though, maybe that was just because she'd lived through the joy of Draco Malfoy transfigured into a ferret and bounced down the hall. She had to hand it to Barty Crouch Jr., that still was a great memory.

They fell into an awkward silence.

So far, no one had approached them. Looking around Harry could see a few familiar Slytherin faces clustered at the other end of their table, but so far, they kept to themselves. If any of them did happen to look in their direction it was with a sneer.

Right, they hadn't forgotten that Harry Evans was a sad muggle born or that Tom Riddle was a gleeful traitor to their people who had dared to insult them at a dinner party. However, looking back at Riddle's face, that part he was just fine with.

Harry was never going to get used to that.

Harry let her thoughts drift to the coming term.

Once again, just as at the start of this year, Harry was struck by the thought that Riddle was right. The coming term wouldn't feature any strange mystery, any encounter with Voldemort, instead she'd just spend it like any student would. She'd desperately study to get the grades she needed to in case she really was stuck here, somehow would get roped into Slughorn's awful parties, and play quidditch for somebody.

This was what normal people felt like.

It was a very different Hogwarts experience, Harry would give them that.

Of course, there was still occlumency. She didn't know if she'd improved any since Snape, or if she'd learned anything new, but she had to give the Tom Riddle in her head credit in that his lessons were not a constant source of dread. They usually spent more time talking than on the actual occlumency but he was eerily easy to talk to.

Not even in the way that the diary had been, when Harry now knew the bastard was trying his hardest to be charming, but just easy to talk to.

She almost looked forward to each night where she could vent about the other Tom Riddle to another Tom Riddle. He, at least, always had something insightful to say about what could possibly be going through Tom Riddle's brain this time.

Harry hated to say it, but she was starting to get used to the guy being there.

Then there was what he'd mentioned on Christmas. He hadn't brought it up since, had almost seemed to make a point not to, but he'd left open that small window of opportunity Harry had almost been willing to finally set aside. Something powerful enough to get Harry all the way back to an increasingly distant timeline.

"Hey," Harry said, grabbing Riddle's attention, "Do you know anything about that European dark lord people sometimes bring up? Girdle… Grundle…"

"Grindelwald?" Tom finished for her with a very judgmental look.

"Yeah, him," Harry said.

"Harry, have you been living under a rock?" Tom asked, "Or are you seriously from another planet and this is your best effort at fitting in with the locals?"

"Hey!" Harry spat back, "It's not my fault I haven't been keeping up with the news."

Or, rather, it wasn't her fault that Binns barely made it to the nineteenth century and the end of the goblin wars. If he'd ever brought up this evil German dark lord then it must have been when Harry was napping because she didn't recall it. More, it wasn't like anyone talked about anything that far back, if anyone brought up a dark lord it was always Voldemort.

Sometimes, the way people talked, it was as if nothing terrible had ever happened until Voldemort showed up. Harry had had no idea there'd been a dark lord before him.

"Keeping up with the news," Tom scoffed, "Harry, there's a bloody war on out there."

"I know that, just—Oh, just shut up and tell me something," Harry said, slamming her hand down on the table in frustration. Tom didn't even blink, just sipped his tea, and stared down at her in judgement.

"Like what?" Tom asked.

"I don't know, anything," Harry responded in exasperation.

Sometimes talking to him felt like pulling out her own teeth. She should have just sucked it up and asked the other Tom Riddle.

"Alright," he said as he sipped his tea, "Don't go around asking about Grindelwald."

"That's not—"

"I'm serious, Harry," Tom said, and he did look serious for the first time that morning, his eyes almost burning into hers, "You keep spitting that name out and you're liable to get more than one detention. Dark lords are a very sensitive subject, especially when the only thing separating them from us is the English Channel and a few wards. School policy has been that no one, not purebloods egging him on or muggle borns quaking in terror, talk about him."

He kept looking at her, as if waiting to see if she would really drop the subject or not, and finally after a second or two he let her look away from him.

Alright, no talking about Grindelwald then.

Funny, she should have guessed when no one was bringing him up. It wasn't quite what the ministry had pulled in her fifth year but it wasn't entirely different either. At least this time, though, nobody was pretending the man didn't exist.

Before she could say anything else Riddle shot her a warning glare, "And nothing about the mind arts either, they're also a very touchy subject."

"Alright, fine," Harry said holding her hands up in surrender, "Merlin, a lot of things are touchy subjects, aren't they?"

"You're not going to hear any arguments from me," Tom responded with a small, amused, smile.

The great hall was louder now, everyone had finally arrived from the station and most had unpacked. Afternoon tea was almost over and in a few hours it'd be dinner, a chance to catch up with friends and housemates, before the next term started in the morning.

"You know, I hope you're ready for the mob," Tom commented. He was looking out at all the students with her, taking in each of their faces, probably knowing all of their names for that matter.

"The mob?"

He just smiled, didn't even look at her, "You're about to be surrounded by anyone and everyone. I hope there'll still be a place for me in all of that."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

He sighed, finally looked back at her, and drily said, "Again, I must ask, if you've been living under a rock."

"No," Harry said, "I seriously have no idea what you're on about."

He sighed, rubbed at his temples, and spelled it out for her like it pained him to need to do so, "First, there's quidditch of course, which is sure to spiral into half a year's worth of drama if not more for reasons I cannot begin to fathom. Then there's the fact that you apparated through the Hogwarts wards, someone's bound to be interested in that. You're about to get a lot of attention from a lot of different people."

"I'm pretty sure that's not true," Harry said, and before he could argue added, "And since when have I ever made a place for you in my life. You just show up whenever you want to and make me hang out with you."

"I suppose that's true," he mused, as if he hadn't connived, schemed, and used bloody Slughorn to get his way.

He still looked miserable about it though.

It must have been her saving people thing, an unwilling fondness that had bloomed despite herself, that had her sighing and saying, "Look, I promise, that we'll still spend time together and be friends or something."

She didn't know whether it was a victory or a loss that he gave her a small, soft, smile in response.

As Tom suspected, Harry's attention was immediately grabbed as soon as Alphard Black showed his face.

He was one of the last to enter the great hall, but then again, he usually was after the holidays. Black was the sort of type to linger behind and help show returning first years where to catch the carriages back to the castle, help search the train for any lost items or students, and take his time returning to the wonderful world of Hogwarts.

Between all of that, unpacking, and catching up with his house mates it was a wonder he'd even shown up here at all.

Tom supposed it was nice to know that not even the lure of Harry Evans could entice him back sooner.

Tom hid his scowl between his cup of tea as Harry practically jumped into his arms with the brightest grin in the world, "Alphard!"

Alphard flailed, clearly having no idea where he was supposed to put his hands or what one was supposed to do when mobbed by a teenage girl. He supposed the Black family etiquette didn't account for that.

Tom didn't even have to glance at Black's cousins to know they were sneering in distaste. Tom wondered just what they'd said to him about Miss Harry Evans over the holidays. Whatever it was, apparently it hadn't been nearly enough to dissuade him.

More's the pity.

"Thank you so much for the present!" Harry babbled before Alphard had a chance to get a word in, "I swear, I would have gotten you something, but I kind of have no money and I had no idea you were getting me anything and—"

"It's alright," Alphard said with a nauseatingly gentle smile, "Harry, honestly, it was probably better you didn't. I… My family would likely have thrown it out anyway."

Thrown it out? They would have lit it on fire, laughed in Alphard's face, and demand he return to school and put the mudblood in her place or else risk his minimal inheritance. Alphard wasn't getting the properties, seat in the Wizengamot, or any large sum of the money but he was still a Black after all.

"And I'm sorry for not responding to your letter," he said once he finally had her at arm's distance, "I just… Well… I wasn't quite sure what to say."

Tom bet he'd reread the thing three times then wondered if Harry hadn't just apparated just outside the gates or if she'd been drunk when she wrote it.

It seemed like he found the guts what he needed to ask in person though, "Did you really apparate through the wards?"

Harry, still having absolutely no idea what this meant, just nodded, "Yeah, they even made me do it a couple of more times in the quidditch pitch just to make sure."

For a moment, Alphard didn't seem to know how to process this, his face was startlingly blank, and he stood stock still in front of her. Unfortunately, rather than stay like that for a few minutes and give Tom and Harry an excuse to leave, he shook himself out of it and started asking all the questions Harry had never bothered to answer.

"But, how did you even do that?" Alphard asked, "Did you ever even learn to apparate without tearing through wards?"

Harry went on to give the same responses she gave Tom, at least that much didn't change depending who asked.

No, she had no idea how she did it except that she really wanted to apparate right then straight into Hogwarts.

She had no idea that the Hogwarts wards were supposed to be that impenetrable, well, strike that she did somehow, but clearly they weren't that impenetrable since she'd gotten through.

Yes, someone should probably be worried about that.

Sure, she could show Alphard her cool new party trick whenever he wanted. Hey, maybe this meant she'd never have to take the moving stairs again. No? That was a bad idea? Alright, she'd walk to class like everybody else.

Tom tuned most of it out. He hadn't been in a good mood to begin with, even Harry dense as she was had noticed that, but whatever good mood he'd had was dissipating by the minute. This, he realized, was the life for the next two and a half years. Somehow, over break, he'd forgotten that.

"Hey, Alfie!" a voice shouted from across the hall.

And there was Ravenclaw's overeager quidditch captain, Leonidas Davis. God, clearly, had no mercy for Tom Riddle today.

Davis, grinning ear to ear, paid no mind to the sneering Slytherins watching him or the unspoken rule that one did not step foot near other house's tables. Especially, if they were moving straight towards Slytherin's resident muggle born students.

"Alfie, great, you found her," Davis said, clapping Alphard eagerly on the back, "I was hoping you'd get to her before the locusts set in."

"Evans," the boy said as he held out a hand to her, "Hope you remember me from last term, I'm the—"

"Davis, Ravenclaw quidditch captain," Harry finished for him with that too-wide grin, "Of course I remember."

Of course she remembered, Tom thought to himself. It wasn't as if Ravenclaw had stolen her away to their table for meals, taken her to an after party celebrating their one and only victory, and all but worshipped her until the term had finally ended.

It wasn't as if it hadn't taken Davis an entire bloody semester to even realize Harry Evans existed or anything.

"And Riddle, of course," Davis nodded in acknowledgement to Riddle who pointedly did not nod back, "I saw you here with Alfie and just wanted to check if you're still playing with the crows this semester."

Harry rubbed the back of her head sheepishly, "Sure, I'd love to if you'd have me. Except, well, Slughorn's been talking to me and he seems pretty bent on me playing for Slytherin—"

"Of course he is," Davis scoffed, "Never mind him though, I can talk to Slughorn and Parkinson."

"Well, if you say so—"

"Good," Davis said, slapping Harry on the back just like Alphard, as if she were one of his good male chums, "Practices are every weeknight at seven on the pitch."

You'd think that would have been the end of it. Davis had said his quidditch piece, gotten the agreement he wanted out of Harry Evans, and that should have been the end of it. He'd wander back to his table, maybe laugh at Slytherin's captain Parkinson for losing such a talent, and he'd make his overdue exit.

But no, instead he sat down, like Tom had gone and invited him to do so, and was off, "The team has been talking it over during the holidays, Peterson has an extra broom we can loan to you. It's not much, not the latest model or anything, but it's a sight better than what the school can loan you—"

And it just kept going.

Tom had no idea there was so much to say about quidditch. Apparently, though, there was. There were brooms to discuss, different flying techniques, something called the Wronskei Feint that Harry was supposedly superb at, and on and on.

Tom glanced to Alphard, knowing he had to be equally bored, but no he was watching Harry Evans and fully engaged in a pointless conversation about different models of flying broomsticks.

Finally, Tom couldn't take it anymore.

He stood, stepped out of his seat, and turned to make his way out of the hall. Forget sitting in this place just to appease Slughorn, he'd been here long enough, if anyone needed him then they could find him at dinner.

Not that he expected them to given the way the last semester had ended. Even now, all his old friends were pointedly looking away from him, as if to remind him that at the end of things he was no better than Harry Evans. He was the uppity dirt beneath their shoes.

Harry couldn't even be bothered to shout at his back and ask him where he was going. The most he got out of her now was a confused glance, a shrug, and then her attention turned back to everyone else.

She'd said it herself, hadn't she? That it was up to Tom to make a place for himself in her life.

Funny, he used to love Hogwarts. He eagerly waited to return there, to his true home, every summer. Now he felt like he couldn't wait for it to be over and done with so he could enter the real world. A place where it would just be him, Harry, and the ability to do and be whatever the hell he wanted.

Until then, until May of 1945, he'd have to maintain his perfect grade in courses that bored him to tears, finagle his way into Harry Evans' life whether she liked it or not, and just endure everything. The only upside was that at least he'd thrown away his façade. Even if he only had to charm Slughorn and his professors, it was a good sight better than having to charm the likes of Abraxas Malfoy.

At least it'd be quiet in the library.

"Tom, my dear boy," a familiar, terrible voice, said in his ear as a hand clapped down on his shoulder, "I was just looking for you."

Goddammit.

Tom slowly turned to find both Slughorn and none other than a miserable looking Parkinson.

Slughorn beamed at Tom, as if Tom and Parkinson were still great friends, "I was hoping we could have a chance to talk in my office before dinner."

And by hoping he meant, of course, that they would talk in his office before dinner. Tom had no pressing engagements, nothing to do, and Slughorn knew it. So did Parkinson, for that matter, as by his miserable expression he knew he couldn't wriggle out of this either.

"Of course, sir," Tom said with a charming smile, "What can I help with?"

There was only one thing involving Slughorn and the quidditch captain, right before the start of the next term, that Tom cold possibly be expected to help with.

"Splendid," Slughorn said, "We'll wait until we get out of the hall. It's a little too loud here for my tastes."

The walk from the great hall to Slughorn's office was spent in a cold and stony silence. Well, it would have been, if not for Slughorn blathering on about how much he was looking forward to the start of the next term, asking how prepared Parkinson and Riddle felt for their NEWTs and OWLs respectively, and asking after their holidays.

Parkinson clearly wanted to pretend that Riddle didn't exist. Clearly, he was still smarting over the Slug Club incident, which was funny because Riddle and Parkinson had never been that close. It might have once been alright for Malfoy and some of the Blacks to get along with Riddle the mudblood, but being two years older Parkinson had never forgiven Tom for being sorted into his house.

Now he got to lord it over the embarrassed fifth years that he'd always remembered Tom Riddle was trash.

When they finally were seated in Slughorn's office the man started in, "I thought, given that quidditch practice starts again this Monday, that today was a good day to talk about Miss Harry Evans."

How had Tom known?

Parkinson also looked unsurprised but made a point to glower down at the floor. Tom was sure that Slughorn had made a point to talk to Parkinson last term as well.

"Tom, since you're a close friend of the girl's, I was hoping you might convince her to play for the team. And, of course, help me convince our captain that she should have a spot on our team."

Good luck with that, maybe last term he could have gotten away with it (though convincing Slytherin to place a mudblood woman on the team would be a feat even for him) but there wasn't a chance in hell now.

Whatever sway Tom might have held over these people was gone.

Not that he'd ever had any sway over Parkinson's decisions or the quidditch team. Tom supported the team, feigned enough interest so as not to cause a spectacle and hold basic conversations about matches here and there, but everyone knew he wasn't an expert and wasn't about to go around making unfounded suggestions.

There were reasons, aside from Tom's lingering fear of heights and breaking his neck, that he'd never bothered to try out for the sport.

"Sir," Parkinson cut in before Tom could open his mouth, "She missed try outs and all our positions are filled including reserves. We can't just add her into the roster halfway through the year. It's not fair to the other players who have attended every single practice since September."

That was a very fair point and probably the one Tom would have made had he been in Parkinson's position. Actually, it'd probably be the one he made now; it was too bad that they hadn't recruited Harry in the beginning but there was nothing they should do about it now.

Parkinson was right, giving Harry a spot now reeked of favoritism and was unfair to those who had been playing all year.

And if Harry started playing quidditch that meant making quidditch friends, quidditch practices, quidditch matches, and being that much more unavailable than she already was with Alphard Black's bloody tutoring sessions.

Except, Ravenclaw was already gunning for Harry anyway, and Tom was contrary enough to want to give Parkinson a hard time, "If we don't pick her up then Ravenclaw surely will, both their prefect and captain have already spoken with her today. Forgive me if I don't understand the mechanics of the game, but so far as I understand it, letting Harry Evans play for Ravenclaw would be all but handing the quidditch cup over to them for the next three years."

Parkinson grit his teeth, his eyes flashed as he looked at Tom with warning, and he practically spat out, "No one's that talented. Certainly not a homeschooled muggle born girl who has never held a real broom in her life."

"For any other position, I would agree," Tom said carefully, "But seeker is different. If the Ravenclaw team can consistently score the minimum required points each game, then that's all she needs. And yes, from what we've all seen, she is that talented. Or are you going to argue that she didn't, in fact, blow us completely out of the water last game."

Tom nodded to Slughorn, "If we don't reel her back in now then Ravenclaw will put her on the roster. If they get her on the roster and clear it with you, sir, and the referee then they will do their damndest to make her feel the warm welcome that Slytherin has—well—let's just say that come next year she absolutely will blow off Slytherin tryouts to play for the Ravenclaw team."

"Is she even allowed to do that?" Parkinson asked desperately.

Slughorn hesitated for a moment, "Well, in my tenure, this has never been an issue. Those interested in quidditch have always been content and certainly encouraged to play for their own house. However, looking at the rules over the break…"

"You must be joking," Parkinson said.

By the look on his face, Slughorn wished he was, "She would not be able to play for any other team this year, would in essence be assigned to the Ravenclaw team, but in the past players have been transferred from one house's team to another in the case of medical emergency when the original house's roster was already full. You and I would have to give our agreement, of course. However, the medical emergency is not a strict requirement…"

Parkinson looked like Slughorn had just stabbed him in the stomach. Tom was sure he'd put Harry Evans' domination of the Slytherin team out of his mind, had perhaps even thought it was a frightful dream, and now his own head of house was betraying them all.

It was a beautiful sight.

Still, perhaps they'd gone far enough for today.

Tom leaned forward, smiling charmingly at Slughorn, "That said, sir, placing Evans on the team now will absolutely devastate house solidarity. Parkinson's right, our players have worked hard for their position and have had an excellent season thus far. Better to sacrifice a few seasons than our pride as a house. Is Slytherin the kind of house that would sacrifice our honor, our standards, and let a muggle born girl who has never touched a broom and never should have been sorted into Slytherin in the first place carry us to victory?"

Parkinson broke.

He stood, his chair scraping back against the stone tiles, and stomped out of the room with a look of absolute fury on his face.

He and Slughorn could try to deny the girl a chance to play for Ravenclaw, but it'd look petty and weak, it'd be admitting they were scared of Harry Evans. No, Slughorn would rather have Evans play for Ravenclaw than admit to everyone that he'd sabotage a clearly gifted student's chance to shine.

And if Parkinson wouldn't take the girl, wouldn't insult his own team like that, then that would be what he had to do.

Once the door slammed behind Parkinson Tom grinned at Slughorn, "I think that went remarkably well, sir."

Once again, while they were making some progress, it was that of a snail trudging up a hill in the midst of a blizzard.

They were once again in the Gryffindor common room. It wasn't as blank as Tom would have preferred, but it was comfortable, and the closest place Harry had to home. Its familiarity dimmed the bright eye-catching colors and helped Harry concentrate on shutting everything out.

If, of course, she'd bother to concentrate enough to shut everything out.

Harry was stretched out on the sofa, lying on her back staring at the ceiling, kicking her legs back and forth and clearly giving up on meditation for the next hour. And that was usually how it went, about a half hour of work if Tom was lucky, and then a break.

They'd been through this song and dance enough times that she didn't even pretend to be chagrinned as she asked, "If you didn't become Voldemort what do you think you would have done with your life? I mean, what would you have liked to do instead?"

Tom sighed and leaned back in his own chair. No point in getting upset about it. Just as Rome had not been built in a night so too would Harry not learn occlumency in a night.

"Are you asking if I had a backup plan?" Tom asked wryly.

"No, just—" Harry paused and tried to find her words, legs kicking faster in agitation, "If you could have been anything else in the world what would you have wanted to do?"

He knew what she as getting at. She was thinking about the younger Tom Riddle again. Daydreaming about how she might turn him off the path to Voldemort and point him towards something else he might want instead.

He considered that for a moment, "Slughorn always said I could be the youngest Minister of Magic. Left unsaid was that I would be the first muggle born Minister of Magic."

"But you're not really muggle born," Harry pointed out, lifting her head up to stare at him owlishly.

"No, but he didn't know that then. Nobody knew that except Dumbledore," Tom dismissed, "Even I didn't put two and two together until my fifth year."

"Really though, I always intended to become Voldemort," he continued, "It was the only thing I really wanted to do for my life. The only thing I saw for myself in the distant future… Well, I suppose there was the Defense position."

"The Defense position?" Harry asked, rolling onto her stomach to get a better look at him.

He nodded, thinking back to all those years ago, "When Merrythought retired, shortly after my graduation, I applied to become Hogwarts' Defense Against the Dark Arts professor."

He smiled, he'd been so young then, so earnest and proud, graduated from Hogwarts but still arrested in his development. In some ways, Tom wondered if the horcruxes had prevented him from ever truly growing up.

"To tell the truth I was unqualified for the position," Tom said, "I had no formal dueling experience, I'd never been on the circuit. I had never been an auror either. The only thing I had behind me were record breaking exam scores, my experience in dueling club, and the fact that I'd come from Hogwarts."

He glanced down at his hands, lacing them together, and wondered if when he closed his eyes he'd be able to see Dippet's face looking across from him in that interview, "However, there were shockingly few applicants. Of those who had applied, I was certain I was the best suited for the job."

"I hate to break it to you," Harry said slowly, as if she really didn't want to point it out to him, "But I've had you for a professor, Quirrell I mean, and you sucked."

He laughed, "Well, I'd say that was more Quirrell than me. I think Voldemort spent most of his time preserving his energy and left the classes to Quirrell. He was in no position to care about how well he taught."

"It doesn't really matter though," he continued, "Dumbledore flat out rejected my application and made it quite clear that I would never be accepted into the position no matter what experience I had."

"Dumbledore did?" Harry asked, looking surprised. He wasn't sure why she was, she knew Dumbledore hated him just as much as anyone else. More, that whole affair was the most Dumbledore thing Tom had ever heard of.

Of course he'd whispered poison in Dippet's ear that Tom was too young and untried for the position. He hadn't been wrong either, it was all true, what had really stung was Dumbledore assuring Tom that when he became headmaster Tom needn't bother to reapplying.

Well, that and Tom would freely admit his ego had been out of control then and he really had thought he deserved the position.

"Well, he couldn't have a dark lord teaching his students," Tom said, "Not that I was one yet, mind you, Voldemort was still decades away at that point but he felt good about himself for doing it."

Not that Tom was still bitter or anything.

"Yeah, I guess that makes sense," Harry said slowly, "He does seem to see straight through you…"

Tom just smiled, bitterly, and kept his thoughts to himself. The other Tom Riddle had told her already that he didn't think Dumbledore ever saw him at all. For all that Tom had lived up to Dumbledore's low expectations, Tom didn't disagree with that sentiment.

Most likely, for a second there, she'd almost forgotten that the Tom Riddle in her head had once been a part of Voldemort.

"He probably did you a favor," Harry said firmly, "You would've only held it for a year anyway and it probably would have ended with you lit on fire."

"Perhaps," Tom said with a shrug, "But the position wasn't cursed back then, Merrythought held the post for decades."

"Yeah, but it probably would have been cursed by the time you showed up," Harry noted.

"Doubtful," Tom responded, "Especially considering I was the one who cursed it."

"So, it was you!" Harry spat, falling off the couch and onto the floor in a surprised heap, "They always said you were the one who did it!"

"If it makes you feel better, I had no idea I'd cursed the damn thing until years later," Tom said, "I just thought I was creatively venting. If I'd known I could go and curse something like that I'd probably have cursed Dumbledore directly."

"That doesn't make me feel better!" Harry spat back, getting to her feet and walking over to him, "And what do you mean you didn't know?"

"I mean," Tom said with a grin he couldn't contain, "That I read it out of some ancient book of Gaelic curses in the back of Borgin and Burke's and added some creative improvising. I didn't actually think I'd gone and cursed anything."

After all, something like "—And wretched calamity shall swiftly befall any fool who so dares to touch the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts in the sacred hall of Hog and Warts!" hadn't sounded in any way legitimate even at the time.

It had sure felt good though.

"The hell is Borgin and Burke's?" Harry asked.

"Where I actually ended up working after I graduated," Tom said, "It's an old antique shop on the wrong side of the tracks in Knockturn Alley. They specialize in high end goods you need to sell off fast. Something like a glorified pawn shop."

You could almost see Harry's eyes bugging out of her head, "Voldemort worked in a pawn shop?"

"Antique shop," Tom corrected, apparently still having some pride left, "And yes, I was a store clerk and salesman. Though on my pay stub they always referred to me as a humble shop boy. Regardless, I helped sell and purchase goods and organized the store in return for a small wage and commission. I actually was rather good at it and made a fair bit of money."

"Well sure," Harry said dully, "If I had your face, I could sell anything I wanted to anybody."

"It certainly didn't hurt," Tom said with a smile, thinking of poor, old, Hepzibah Smith. His last client.

"You didn't stay a clerk, did you?" Harry asked.

"Not very long, no," Tom replied, "Just a few years. Customer service… chafed at my spirit."

She opened her mouth, undoubtedly to ask more, to drill down to Tom Riddle's entire sad life story. Tom decided enough was enough, "Harry, do you want to learn occlumency or not?"

Harry groaned and sat back down on the floor, raking a hand through her dark hair, "I really don't know. I'm starting to think I'm not cut out for it."

"You're better than Snape gave you credit for," Tom responded, "But you're also not really trying. If it was easy everyone would be doing it."

Not that Snape had been trying to teach her occlumency. Oh sure, she could have picked up some if she'd had any natural talent for it. No, he'd been there to report back to both of his masters.

She didn't say anything to that. Instead gave him a flat, searching, look. Despite her youth there was always something just a little unnerving about meeting those green eyes head on. It was a beautiful color, he thought, but not a natural one.

Finally, she said, "You do know why I wanted to learn, don't you?"

He paused, trying to think of what to say, and finally noted, "I don't always know everything you know, Harry. There are things that you sometimes can and do keep from me."

Harry didn't look like she believed it, that was fair, she probably thought it was to his advantage if he made her believe she could get away with some secrets. He had, after all, reminded her that he still was a Tom Riddle.

It seemed Harry was in a mood to cut straight to the heart of things, "If I learn occlumency will it actually help keep you out of my head?"

The common room became just a little colder as the fire blew out.

"No," Tom said, "To my knowledge, nothing like this has ever happened before. Perhaps, if you'd been a master occlumens when it happened. However, I am… rooted very deep inside your mind. I don't know what would happen if you learned occlumency, but I doubt it would protect your innermost secrets from me, simply from others."

Harry trudged back to the couch, sat on it directly across from him, and said with a small bitter smile, "So we're really stuck together then?"

"I'm afraid so."

A pause where she stared down at her hands, searching for an answer, and he felt the need to add, "I still think you should. There others who can and will get into your head and if you want the current Tom Riddle off your back—"

She groaned, "Right, I almost forgot about that."

Tom felt his eyebrows raised, "Do you not want him to go away anymore then?"

"No, I mean, yes! Yes, I still want him to go away. I just—I forgot for two seconds that he, you know, said what he said."

"Oh, I'm quite sure that he'll do everything in his power to make sure you never forget it."

Ah, to be young.

"Do you really need my help for that?" Harry asked in flushing despair, "I mean, if we're waiting on me to learn occlumency we're going to be sitting here a while. Can't we just break into his head without it, I always was randomly wandering around in Voldemort's brain, and I didn't even want to be there."

That wasn't exactly a traditional way to go about it. Then again, with Tom being inside of her for so long, they already shared a deep unnatural connection with the original Voldemort. He supposed that would carry over even to a younger, alternate, Tom Riddle.

"I suppose," Tom said slowly, "Though I'd really rather—"

"Yeah, well, I'd rather not be the girl-who-lived," Harry retorted, "But we can't always get what we want."

"I'm not sure I'd equate that with the current situation," Tom said, "And I'd really rather—"

"We can do it now," Harry said with a bright look on her face, clearly not listening to him, "Get it out of the way. I have enough quidditch stuff to deal with already, I don't need Riddle's feelings on top of that."

"I really don't—"

"How do we get over there anyway, is there a sort of—" Harry turned around and blinked, "Hey, was that scary looking bridge always over there?"

"No," Tom said softly, filled with a sudden sinking feeling of dread.

Where the door to the common room had once been there was now, as Harry put it, a scary looking bridge. It was a thin, stone, arch that connected the edge of the common room to a destination out of sight. Beneath it was a black, infinite, crevasse that represented the distance between Harry and Tom Riddle's minds.

Tom had a very bad feeling about this.

Harry though was already standing, getting that determined air about her she always did, "That must be it. Come on, you said you had a plan, right?"

"Unfortunately, yes," he said as he stood, and he did, he'd just rather he didn't have to go through with it right now.

Why couldn't quidditch have been even slightly more distracting?

It was too late now though, there was never any talking Harry out of anything, the only thing he could do now was move forward and pray that he and Harry didn't give Tom Riddle brain damage.

Author's Note: Tom shouldn't have reminded Harry that the other Tom likes her. Bad move, Tom. Meanwhile, I just wrote nearly 7k about people arguing about quidditch.

Thanks to readers and reviewers. Reviews are much appreciated.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter