author: Lokakuu
website: http://www30.brinkster.com/lokakuu
pairing: Tom Riddle/Harry
rating: PG-13
summary: What if you found yourself living in your worst nightmare?
disclaimer: Everything is the property of J.K. Rowling. I'm only borrowing her characters. No harm intended.
notes: Thanks to Tracey Lordie for beta.





Sweet Animosity


Chapter 1: This isn't happening



1927


Tom Riddle took a nervous drag from his cigarette with slightly shaking hands.

"Look, miss," he began, his voice whiny and high. "Am I not making myself clear enough? I do not want the baby."

"But, sir --"

"I do not want it." Mr Riddle took another drag, keeping the smoke in his lungs as long as he could and closed his eyes. He's throat felt raw from too much smoking. Disgusted, he put his cigarette in the ashtray.

"He is you son, sir. Don't you at least want to see him?"

"Why would I want to see him?"

"Sir, his mother died at childbirth. He's your son, for the love of god. Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

"I'm sorry, miss," Riddle said, looking away. "But I do think that you are only wasting my valuable time. I'm afraid I'll have to leave." He stood up and bowed his head a bit to the young woman. As he walked out of the room his cigarette was left smouldering in the ashtray, its fire slowly dying.

The following day a baby called Tom Riddle was sent off to the orphanage.

* * *

Harry felt sick. He was unable to move, unable to do anything. There was only one thought in his mind: It wasn't supposed to happen this soon.

Ginny's screams had died away, and now she was sitting on her bed, rocking back and forth. Ron was staring at a boy with jet-black hair, who was standing next to Ginny's bed, laughing. Harry had never seen him look so bewildered. Hermione was saying, "What is going on?" She had repeated the words so many times that the question had lost its meaning. Harry's hands gripped the doorframe. His throat felt like sandpaper. No matter how hard he tried, no words came out. It couldn't real, could it? They were safe. Dumbledore was Weasleys' Secret Keeper.

The boy was still laughing his unnaturally high laugh, and the shabby porcelain-dolls sitting on Ginny's bed and desk seemed to be laughing with him.

Hermione went to Ginny, arms snaking around smaller girl's frail shoulders and a hand running soothingly through her hair.

"Ginny," she said. "Ginny. What is going on?"

"I woke up and he was there. He was there," Ginny buried her face in Hermione's neck, and her hands were clutching the other girl hard.

"Yes, but who is he? Ginny. Do you know him?"

Ginny didn't answer. A scared little girl, too afraid to recognise her own nightmares.

"Tom Riddle."

The words were out of Harry's mouth before he even realized that he was going to speak. Saying it made it more real, and cold fear drowned him. His heart was beating too fast, frozen blood running through his veins. Ron hands went to take out his wand from his non-existing pocket, but they only met air. Hermione tensed, holding shivering Ginny tighter to herself. Their screams of terror died on their lips.

Turning around, Tom Riddle looked straight at Harry. He was exactly like Harry remembered him, not a day older than sixteen, wearing a Slytherin uniform. A boy who had escaped from the pages of his own diary. A smile crept over Riddle's lips as his eyes swept over the smaller boy.

"What is going on?" Ron asked, his voice small and trembling, hands twisting the material of his pyjamas.

"I'd like to know that too," Riddle said, still slightly amused. "I found myself sitting here on that girl's bed, and then she wakes up and starts making that god-awful noise. Before that? Nothing." He sounded relaxed and not the least bit worried.

"What do you mean 'nothing'?" Ron asked. He seemed utterly lost, eyes wandering around the room, looking for an escape, only speaking because he wanted to buy more time for them.

"I don't know. I can't remember."

"You can't remember?" Harry echoed. He pressed his nails into the skin of his palms, wishing that he would wake up.

"I can remember a few things. Like my name. And magic. I remember magic. But nothing else."

"I've read about amnesia," Hermione began, ever-helpful, her voice high and panicky. "When a person is..." Ron looked at her, and she trailed off quickly. Silence that followed was suffocating them. Harry could hear his lungs expanding with oxygen as he breathed in and out. Tom Riddle was still smiling.

"It's middle of the night," Harry said, faked calmness in his voice. "We should all get some sleep. We... We'll talk about in the morning." He looked at Ron and Hermione, pleading silently. He had to get out of there. How long had they been in Ginny's room? It felt like forever. Hermione seemed to understand.

"Yes," she said shakily. "You're right, Harry. And we'll have to find a room for him. He'll have to stay here, won't he?"

"Percy's room?" Ron suggested, playing along.

"Percy's room will do fine," Harry nodded. He felt cold and detached as though it had only been a dream. It couldn't be really happening. It wasn't really happening. Next to him, Ron drew in a deep breath.

"Well then. Shall we?"

Riddle followed Hermione and Ron out of the room, smile quivering on his lips like all of it had been a joke. Harry turned back to Ginny and tried to smile reassuringly.

"We'll be back in a minute," he said to her, and Ginny nodded. Harry had never seen her look so pale.

The stairs went up and up and they were never-ending. Tom glanced back at Harry, his eyes sweeping over him, that odd smile still on his face. Harry shuddered. From faraway he heard Ron say that they were there. A key was turned in a lock, and a door was pushed open. The air in Percy's room was stale. The window hadn't been opened since Percy had left, and that had been weeks ago.

Tom sat down on Percy's bed and looked at them, his expression betraying nothing of his thoughts. A muggle clock was ticking on the wall.

"Will you be needing anything?" Hermione finally said, braking the uncomfortable silence between them. Tom shook his head.

"No. Not really. Thank you."

"Right then. I guess we'll leave you to yourself. Call if you want something."

Backing out of the room as quick as they could, trying not to let the panic take them over. Ron closed the door behind them and locked it silently.

"What was that for?" Harry whispered. "He can easily open it. Alohamora, remember?"

"He can't," whispered Hermione back and took the key from Ron, pocketing it. "He doesn't have his wand. Didn't you notice? I'll go and open his door in the morning before he wakes up."

They made their way back to Ginny in silence. She was still on her bed, curled up and looking as frightened as the rest of them. Hermione sat down next to her, and Ginny held her hand tightly, her small fingers leaving marks on Hermione's skin.

"What happened?" asked Ron hoarsely.

"I don't know," Ginny said. "When I woke up he was there. Just looking at me. He was surprised, I think. And I screamed. He started to laugh." Harry shivered and wrapped his arms around himself.

"What should we do?" he asked.

"Owl Dumbledore," Hermione answered immediately. "That's Tom Riddle sleeping upstairs. He's dangerous."

"We can't," said Ron. "You know we can't. We'll get in trouble for sure. The Ministry will find out. They'll expel us. Even Dumbledore doesn't have power over them. You don't want that, do you?" Harry closed his eyes. Ron was right.

All of the wizards were walking down the streets, not looking at each other, terrified about the news of Voldemort's return. Disappearances were reported almost every day in the Daily Prophet, and the Ministry was being suspicious. Rumours were flying around wildly, wizards and witches whispering into each other's ears. Half of them were sure that Harry Potter had killed that charming Diggory boy because he so desperately wanted to win the Triwizard Tournament. The other half thought that he had joined Voldemort. How else could he have managed to escape?

No, they couldn't tell Dumbledore.

"We can't do that, then," Harry said. "Maybe we should send an owl to your parents. Or--" he trailed off, glancing at Ginny before continuing. "Or to Snuffles."

"They are on the missions Dumbledore sent them to. We can't bother them. They told us not to bother them," Hermione said quietly.

"Maybe we could handle this," Harry said, feeling nauseated. "He said he doesn't remember, didn't he? He doesn't even have a wand. He can't hurt us."

"We can't trust him," Ron said. "He could be lying."

"Don't be stupid, Ron," Hermione said. "If he was here to do us harm, he would have done it already. He can't be real, can he? You Know Who is at least seventy. I'm sure we can get rid of him real fast. There are ways."

"And if there aren't?" Ginny asked.

"Then we send an owl to your parents."

Harry spent the rest of the night lying awake and staring at the ceiling. He listened to every single creek coming from upstairs. Ron didn't sleep either. Harry was able hear his irregular breathing.

* * *

Harry and Ron didn't say a word to each other the next morning. They dressed up quietly and went downstairs. Hermione had buried herself under a mountain of books, quickly skipping through them, her fingers gripping the pages too hard. Her hair was even more bushy than usual, and she had bitten her lips until they bled. Ginny was stirring her tea, the spoon going around the cup in useless circles over and over again.

"Morning," Ron said. His voice sounded awkward and too loud. Harry fidgeted nervously, trying to find something to occupy himself with. He picked up a grey feather from the kitchen table and started twirling it between his fingers. On the floor there were many more of them.

"Errol is loosing his feathers," he said.

Ron looked at the owl sitting on the windowsill. It resembled a corpse of an owl a lot more than it looked like a living one.

"He hasn't woken up yet, has he?" Harry asked. "Tom Riddle, I mean." The words got stuck on his tongue, and his voice sounded as though he was choking.

Hermione shook her head without looking up from her books. Harry made toast for Ron and himself, and they swallowed the food down like it had been poison.

"What are you making?" Ron asked, indicating towards a cauldron beside the table. Hermione looked up, frowning, and Ginny took a small sip of her cold tea.

"Nothing. I made Sleeping Draft last night. I have to practise potions this summer. I want to get a better grade next year," she explained. Hermione looked at her with flinty eyes.

"You made a potion, and you didn't mention about it to us last night?"

"It wasn't important. The potion was fine. It was exactly like it was supposed to be."

"You should have told us."

"I told you now, didn't I?"

* * *

1931


"Mum!" cried the little boy, tears pouring down his pale cheeks. "I want my mum!"

"Shush, darling. Your mum can't come."

Tom sobbed. The soft arms around him were suffocating him, and the woman's skin smelled like withered leaves.

"Why? Why can't she come?"

"She's dead, precious. But you needn't to worry. We'll take a good care of you, Tom. Don't cry."

"Dead," Tom repeated. His insides hurt, and he wanted to scream until everything would go black.

"I'm afraid so, love."

Tom's little hands tightened into fists and he bit his lip. The tears stopped leaking. He never mentioned his mother in the orphanage again.

* * *

Tom Riddle opened his eyes. He rubbed his forehead and tried to remember every single detail of his dream. In his mind he heard a child crying.

* * *

The kitchen door was pushed open and Tom entered.

"Good morning," Hermione said, trying to nervously smooth her hair down. "Did you sleep well?" A plastic smile was firmly plastered on her lips.

"Very well, thank you," Tom said.

"Do you remember anything now? Anything at all?" She was clutching her book in her lap hard, her knuckles going white. Tom smiled strangely and glanced at Harry.

"No," he said. "Nothing."

"Oh," Hermione said, trying not to sound pleased. "I'm sorry."

"I'm sure I'll remember. Soon."

"Do you want breakfast?" Harry interrupted. "I can make you some."

"Yes. Please." Tom sat down next to Hermione and looked over her shoulder to see what she was reading. Hermione shuddered.

"What would you like? A toast? Tea?" Harry asked. The fear from last night was gone, and it was replaced with burning hatred.

"That'd will do fine." Soft voice. Sweet smile. Murdering bastard. Harry clutched his hands into tight fists. He wanted to scream. He wanted to see Tom Riddle bleed to death.

An eagle owl flew in through the open window and landed on Ron's shoulder. Ron took a letter from it and petted its head.

"It's from mum and dad."

"What do they say?" asked Ginny.

"Nothing much. You can read it yourself," Ron said, glancing at Tom.

"Where are you parents?" Tom asked nonchalantly. Harry cut bread, and Hermione focused on her books. Ron looked around helplessly.

"They are on a holiday," he finally said.

"Really," Tom said, eyes wandering back to Harry. Hermione looked up at him.

"We'll look for cures for your loss of memory, but we can't promise anything. We'd take you to a doctor, but the wizarding world is a bit of a mess right now. You can stay here for the time being," she said.

"That's alright. I'm fine here."

Tea spilled over the edges of the mug and burned Harry's fingers. As Tom took it, their hands brushed against each other. Lingering, ice-cold touch. Harry stepped back as quickly as he could, and Tom smiled.

"Thank you," he said.

Ginny watched them with narrowed eyes.



to be continued