Author's note: So, this started somewhere and ended... somewhere. Far be it from me to judge if it's the same somewhere. -sigh- That will have to be left up to you. This is an odd one-shot, written a couple days ago when I was feeling odd and couldn't bring myself to keep working on Keepers of Wisdom. So you got this instead. -shrugs- Hope you like it anyway
Disclaimer: I should think that the sheer amount of torturing that I do to these poor people shows that I do not and never have owned them.
--Caroline

Encounter

Harry Potter, ex-savior of the Wizarding world, sat on a swing much too small for him in an empty muggle playground, waiting to meet his murderer.

His feet dragged against the gravel as he swung idly back and forth, not making any real effort to gain height. He could feel the chain digging into his palms, but he made no effort to loosen his grip. The famed green eyes stared almost blankly before him, not seeing any of the familiar shapes before him. In truth, he did not need to see. He had grown up here, had run from his cousin and had scared innocent children with his mere presence. But today, he thought about none of that. He barely remembered that he had once had a cousin, or even that he had once lived not three minutes away. His muggle life was more like a dream than a memory.

The friction between trainers and gravel at last pulled the swing to a halt, and he sat, listlessly, twisting a little in his seat as though he were a small child, unable to sit still. His eyes still stared directly before him, unfocused and unseeing. Harry Potter waited.

At last, a distant clock struck two, and Harry blinked, coming back to himself. He turned his head, peering through the darkness with more purpose now. His lips curved into a slight smile – a rare sight these days.

"It's time," he murmured.

From behind the to his left, a figure stepped forward. Through the darkness, all Harry could see was that he was male and relatively tall, but he did not need more. This man, the one who had both created and destroyed Harry, was more familiar to the savior even than himself.

"And so another year has passed, and you've come again," the other said. He did not come closer, and Harry made no effort to leave his seat on the swing. "When will you admit that it doesn't change anything?"

Harry shrugged. "When I lose my mind completely. It's good to see you, Tom."

Tom Riddle laughed. "Is it?" he asked.

Harry nodded. "Yes," he said firmly. "Yes it is. Admit ir or don't, but you're glad that I came."

Tom laughed again. "Oh, I admit it," he said. "No one else comes to visit me these days. I never was very popular at school."

"You have to admit, that was your own fault," Harry pointed out. "You were the one who ensured that no one liked you."

"I wasn't complaining," Tom said, hands dangling loosely by his sides as he leaned casually against a large tree.

"You never do," Harry agreed. They lapsed into silence, broken only by the soft crackle of leaves rustled by wind. Harry started swinging again, feet still dragging against the gravel. His legs were too long for the swing, but it did not seem to bother him. Time passed, but neither seemed to care.

At last, Tom laughed bitterly. "What a pair we are, aren't we Potter? Two enemies, meeting because there's no one else to see. Pathetic, really."

Harry laughed back. "I prefer to think of it as comforting," he said. "There was a time when talking to you wouldn't ever have occurred to me."

"You talked to me all the time," Tom countered. "You just didn't realize it."

"I suppose," Harry admitted. A few moments later, he added, "I suppose you're doing well?"

Tom shrugged. "As well as can be expected. Did you think they would welcome me with open arms?"

"More you than me," Harry pointed out. "I'm not exactly their favorite person."

Tom's laugh was more hiss than actual merriment. "You're a martyr, Potter. Didn't you know?"

"I'm the traitor who spared his enemy," Harry retorted. "The martyr is the one they wish had lived. The one being controlled who threw it off in the end. I can read the papers just as well as you can."

Tom acknowledged this with a nod of his head. "If you like. But you forgot the important thing: you didn't survive it."

Harry shrugged. "Neither did you," he reminded Tom. "At least, not in the way they think."

Again, that hiss of laughter. "You've gotten philosophical in your old age. Hermione would be proud."

"How is she?" Harry wanted to know, not acknowledging the underhanded compliment.

"Surviving," Tom said with a shrug. "She misses you."

"And I miss her."

"You could always go see her," Tom pointed out. "Neither of us is bound to this place, you know."

Harry shrugged. "I suppose," he said. "You know I won't, though. She doesn't need to see me. It's best that she remembers me like I was."

"Just like Gryffindor, aren't you?"

"Well, I am one. Makes sense that I think like him."

"Even after all this, you don't want to admit that you're as Slytherin as I am?"

Harry laughed. "Not at all," he said firmly.

"You're living in denial, Potter."

"Always," Harry agreed. He looked at his watch.

Tom too glanced at his, and pushed himself up from the tree. "I should be going."

Harry nodded. "So should I." Neither made any effort to leave.

After another silence, Tom sighed. "I knew I shouldn't have come," he muttered, more to himself than to Harry. "Talking with you always gives me too much to think about."

"Thinking is a good thing," Harry said. "It keeps the intellect young."

"My, just listen to you. A proper scholar, you are."

"I live to serve."

Tom laughed. "So you do," he agreed. He glanced towards the sky.

"We have two hours until sunrise," Harry told him. "We should go before then."

"So we should," Tom agreed. Still neither moved.

"You'll come again next year?" Harry asked at last.

Tom inclined his head. "I will, though I don't know why."

"I'll see you then," Harry said. He allowed his feet to drag him to a stop, then unclenched his hands from the swing, standing. He shook the gravel from his trainers, then started to walk away. A few steps away, he looked back, a half smile back on his lips. "Next time you see Ginny, tell her that she should stop blaming herself." He walked away, leaving Tom to snort after him.

Tom did not move for a long time, looking off in the direction Harry Potter had gone. Slowly, the sky lightened and he looked down at his hands, noting that they were once more becoming transparent. As the sun rose properly, Tom slowly faded away, until there was nothing left but the faint whisper of the leaves in the wind.

A block away, Harry Potter paused, looking around. Then, he closed his eyes, allowing the sun to render him invisible until next year.