A real problem, not one of those silly ones like trying to come up with an excuse for forgetting your ex-girlfriend/best friend's little sister's birthday or which plan to go through with when you come face to face with the very man who killed your mentor or forgetting where you placed the last horcrux you recently found.
No. His currently problem wasn't anything near as terrible as those. Nothing could describe how horrid, how unbelievably unlucky his current situation was.
For Harry Potter had just dueled with Bellatrix Lestrange when their wands connected for a short moment before rebounding, throwing Harry back into a wall. Now, the bad part isn't the fact that he was dueling Bellatrix, no it was that fact that something happened to him when the spell backfired. Because suddenly, everything was quiet. Very very quiet, inappropriately quiet... and clean.
The scorch marks from the battle before were gone, the portraits in the torrider were occupied and Bellatrix Lestrange, the rest of the Death Eaters, nor the Order were anywhere in sight.
Harry, severely injured, made his way to the room of requirement (blood trailing behind him). Now this is where his problem propped up. This is where his luck had run out.
Why? Because he ran into non other than the one, the only, Tom Marvolo Riddle.
He literally ran into the Dark Lord, right into his chest. But Voldemort didn't look like he did the last time he met him. No, because Voldemort looked young and as handsome as he did when he was in his 7th year, if not a little younger.
Harry's eyes grew comically big. He stared into the dark eyes of his arch-nemesis. He staggered back.
"Wha-"
"You ought to get to the Hospital Wing, did you get attacked by one of Professor Kettleburn's manticores?" Riddle asked, tilting his head in amusement while examining Harry's form.
Harry stared wide-eyed at him. Did Voldemort not recognize him, did he some how mess up what ever potion that gave him back his former body and lose his memory with it?
Riddle's eyes narrowed. "You're not wearing a Hogwarts uniform, are you even a student here?"
Harry continued to stare, dumbly.
Riddle let out an exasperated sigh, "Obviously not or else you wouldn't be staring at me so much." He raised his wand at Harry. "Perhaps I should get the headmaster?"
This snapped Harry out of his stupor, he pushed passed the much younger looking dark lord and ran (in massive amounts of pain) to the Room of Requirement.
"I need someplace safe from Voldemort, I need some place to heal." He chanted under his breath as he sprinted down the hall. He burst through the door, turning around attempting to push the it closed. Harry stumbled back, landing on a hospital bed that appeared behind him.
Riddle entered the room, a smug and amused look on his face.
"You really thought you could get away? You're on the 7th floor, what are you going to do, jump out a window?"
Riddle glanced around, a confused expression fluttering across his face before disappear just as fast as it had appeared. He picked up a bottle of a healing potion from a shelf on the wall, examining it. "Interesting room you have here."
"Er..." Harry didn't know what to say, Voldemort was acting very... odd.
Riddle raised an eyebrow at him, collecting several potion vials before turning to Harry, slamming into what felt and looked like a glass wall. He scowled at the clear wall before fixing a glare at Harry.
"Do you want to die or do you want me to help you?" He spat.
"Yeah right you'll just march right up and kill me."
"Oh please, would you really think I'd do that with a school full of teachers."
Harry raised an eyebrow, nodding. "Yes, actually I do."
Riddle let out a growl, his face fixed in a glare. "If I did, do you really think that a simple barrier would stop the killing curse?"
The bastard had a point. Harry let out a sigh, the translucent wall between them disappearing. "Fine."
Harry took the potion vials that Riddle gave him in order, downing them with a grimace on his face.
"Take off you robes and that hideous turtleneck." Riddle said as he took a healing salve off a shelf.
"Wh-what?"
Riddle looked back, his styled sable hair falling in front of his dark eyes. "I said take off your robes."
"Take off my robes, but why?" He asked nervously. He didn't want Voldemort to see all the scars that they had inflicted, his muggle relatives, the Death Eaters and Snake Face himself. Because he was pretty sure, no definitely sure that Voldemort would point, laugh, and then pat himself on his back for doing a job well done. And Harry didn't think he could handle that much humiliation right now.
Tom smirked, "So I can have my wicked way with you." His face fell when he noticed that the other boy seemed to have taken him seriously at that. He rolled his eyes.
"That was a joke, what do you think?" Tom held up a jar of healing salve, "I'd like to apply this to your remaining wounds, so that we can get to... the questions quicker."
Questioning, right, of course there was a catch to this whole Voldemort helping out poor wittle Harry Potter. He wanted to know about the Order, and how many/ which horcruxes he and his friends have acquired and destroyed.
Harry tore the jar from Tom's hold, limping towards the back of the room, where a privacy curtain appeared. Harry was about to move behind it to apply the healing salve when he heard the door knob rattle behind him. Both teens whipped around, to find a much younger (to Harry at least) Professor Dumbledore entering the room.
Ok so, basically this is my first hp fan fiction and the er... 8th story I've ever written? Actually this is my first fan fiction ever. Yeah I just picked up writing this school year. So bear with me, I'm learning how to do this narrative thing, and any pointers would be cool.
So should I continue? This was actually a spur of the moment story, so suggestions would be cool, and I'd like to keep it a Harry/ Tom story, there aren't enough of those out there. :(