Ignore any spelling/grammar/punctuation mistakes... they don't exist (I'm joking, of course. It's all very unedited). Anyway... major difference to the first chapter, there are a damn lot more words. Also, ignore any timeline problems. Math is definitely not my strong point – quite frankly, I'm crap at it.

So... enjoy.

Temptation

Harry could feel the change in atmosphere before he even opened his eyes. There was a lightness about the air that didn't seem to befall the England he was used too; there was the sound of laughter and enjoyment, not the cold and suspicious weariness that plagued the minds of both the young and old. He opened his eyes to find himself on the outskirts of the grounds of Hogwarts, the sun breaking though the few stray clouds hovering in the air. Ahead of him, a group of teenagers were walking along the path, lugging armfuls of books with them and behind them trailed a dark-haired boy, first year by appearance, who looked to be covered in dirt and mud. When the boy passed, Harry could hear the boy muttering curses under his breath.

When he was sure they had all disappeared from view, Harry stood from his perch on the ground and stretched, feeling a few of the after effects Dumbledore had warned him about; stiffness, vomiting, diarrhoea, the list went on, each effect worse than the last. He was extremely grateful when Dumbledore noted he would probably only experience one or two of the after effects.

The castle looked as it always had and Harry felt the same familiarity as he always had when in Hogwarts, the feeling that he was finally, after months of being away, home. He stretched again, muttered the spell Dumbledore had taught him so his face appeared younger, at a neutral age between fifteen and sixteen, checked his pockets for the letter and trunk and, finding them there, began his journey towards the main entrance of the castle. Some of the students his age cast him curious glances, obviously not recognising him, but no one gave him any trouble. Harry even bid some of the more favourable ghosts a pleasant 'good morning'.

The paintings, being harder to fool with his almost identical robes often questioned him on his trip, once or twice catching the attention of drifting students. In those times, Harry wished he had used his invisibility cloak when walking through Hogwarts, instead of wearing the standard black robes and hoping to fit in. To deal with those who did question him, he simply explained he was, for that time, a visitor to the school.

When the gargoyle that guarded the headmaster's office came into view, Harry pulled out the slip of paper tucked in with the envelope. There was a list of twelve years worth of passwords on that slip, and it was up to Harry to discover which would be the password. Thankfully, Headmaster Dippet wasn't fond of changing the password all the time, no matter how distrustful of others he seemed, so the list was relatively short in comparison to what the list would be for one of the dormitories. Harry was about to begin with the passwords of 1942, Voldemort's sixth year of schooling, when the gargoyle suddenly gave a jump to the side, the loud process of movement causing the sound to echo along the empty corridors. From the hole appearing, Harry could hear the raised voice of a man in the middle of a one sided, heated argument.

"You can't just leave him to roam around killing people!" One cried out. The other voice, considerably quieter, mumbled something Harry couldn't quite catch. Whatever the other did mumble seemed to set the first off again, for Harry heard a long string of courses following the reply.

"Um.." Harry muttered, needing to speak to the headmaster but not wanting to interrupt the serious discussion that was taking place in front of him.

When the two men appeared a moment later, Harry instantly recognised both of them. The first, the man that had been yelling, Harry recognised from his portrait in the headmaster's office as Dippet, the predecessor of Dumbledore.. The other was far more obvious, and auburn hair and bread, he recognised the quieter of the two as Dumbledore. Perfect.

"Then you're letting those people die!" Dippet yelled, his face red from yelling or red from anger, he could not tell. Dumbledore shook his head.

"Please, let us discuss this later out of the hearing range of such young ears," Dumbledore said in a quiet tone. The same tone he had always used; quiet, reserved, thoughtful... the tone that Harry thought made the professor sound even more mysterious and wise.

"Oh... yes. Young man, where are you supposed to be?" Dippet asked, the red flush disappearing from his face. Harry smiled.

"I'm supposed to finishing my fifth year in America," he started, using the fake American accent he had been practising for the past couple of weeks, "but my family moved here not long ago. Did you get our letter?" Dumbledore was right when he said Dippet did not like to be made a fool of. Harry had never sent a letter, and Dippet knew it too, but with Dumbledore there, Dippet would not bother commenting on the matter, no matter how much Dippet trusted Dumbledore.

"Oh... yes. Please, come this way Mr...?"

"Evans, Harry Evans," as not to complicate things, Harry had simply went with his mother's maiden name. There would be no hassle about remembering a new name that way, "I have a letter from my parents right here, if you need to take a look...?"

Dippet nodded, and Harry reached into his pocket to pull the envelope out. Discretely, he slipped the list of passwords back into his pocket. It would not look good to be caught with a list of all the passwords, both past, present and future. He then handed the envelope to Dippet, who opened it and hummed in response to the words.

"Very well, Mr Evans, if you would follow me I can sort you and send you on your way," he turned back to the stairs and walked briskly up them, not bothering to bid Harry nor Dumbledore a second glance. Harry waited a moment before trailing up after him. He cast one last look at the young Dumbledore, but the man was not looking at him. He was staring out into space with a thoughtful expression.

Harry had seen Dumbledore's memories of Dippet's office, but he could still not stop the feeling of wrongness seeing the lack of trinkets that would one day inhabit the room. Possessions were scarce in the room – a bookcase; a desk, and a few placed chairs that characteristic the room. Otherwise, the room was bare and bland. As Dippet took his seat, he sent a very distrusting stare at Harry.

"Now, Mr Evans, feel safe to assume I have never acquired any letter about your transferral," curt and to the point, Harry could easily see Dippet was weary of him. Harry needn't worry though, he planned to borrow an owl and send a fake letter as soon as he could.

"Mustn't have arrived yet, sir. It wasn't sent until earlier this morning," Dippet seemed to follow, for he elaborated no further.

"Right then. Well, I'm not sure if you've been informed yet, but there are four different houses in Hogwarts; Gryffindor, Slytherin, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. Personal attributes determine what house you will be placed in by the sorting hat. Now if you could just wait there a moment..." He pulled open one of the drawers in the desk and pulled out the crumpled, mangled form of the sorting hat.

"Now, put this on your head while it sorts you," Harry faked a quizzical look, but took the hat and placed it atop his head, noting how the hat didn't seem to budge as it had in his first year. The reaction was instantaneous.

"American, eh? I don't think so. Cunning, you are. Perhaps Slytherin...? No, I think not. There's a bravery that you have that doesn't suit Slytherin. Difficult, you are... very difficult."

"Gryffindor!" It cried. Harry was deeply grateful – he didn't care if Riddle was in Slytherin. He was trying to kill the young menace, not befriend him.

"Very well, wait a moment while I call your head of house. He'll be taking care of you while you're here. If you have any issues, conflicts or just wish to talk to someone, you see him. He'll be the one to show you to the Gryffindor dormitory. I trust you've chosen the subjects you wish to partake this year?" Harry nodded, he'd decided to simply continue all the subjects he had previous taken, seeing as though the subjects had not changed in all the years. With the exception of Muggle Studies, that is.

"Excellent!" It seemed that any previous suspensions that Dippet held had now disappeared. The balding wizard began to explain the rules that he would have to follow; the places that were out of bounds, the schedules for the day, breakfast, lunch and dinner times and the basic location of different things. By the time he was done, the head of Gryffindor house had arrived. A man by the name of Dennis Goodwin, Harry took an instant liking to his carefree yet professional nature. They bid the headmaster farewell, and Goodwin led Harry out of the headmaster's office, through the halls (while explaining different aspects of the school) and all the way to the Gryffindor dormitories.

"Now Harry, pay attention. This is the entrance to the Gryffindor dormitories behind the painting. The password is 'Animus' for now. Sometimes the password changes – but don't worry, you'll be told beforehand. Do your best to remember the password – the Fat Lady won't let you in without it,"

Goodwin winked. Harry nodded, but he was secretly studying the portrait of the Fat Lady, looking the same as she had in his time. He hadn't been gone for long, but he was still overjoyed to see a familiar face.

"Has your trunk been sent over yet?" Goodwin asked after a moment of silence.

"Got it with me here," Harry nodded, patting his pocket where the hand-sized trunk was concealed.

"I see... shrinking spell, good good. And enchanted clothing! I suppose we can see great things from you," he cried. Harry didn't see how it was so impressive – those were the kind of spells and charms taught in third and fourth year.

"Anyway, I'll show you to the dorm you'll be sharing with a few other boys. You're lucky, we have a spare bed this year," he smiled, said the password, and led Harry into the Gryffindor common room. Inside, there were only a few people sitting in the chairs and at the desks; most students were still in class.

"Potter!" Harry's heart stopped dead... he hadn't thought he'd run into anyone, "care to show Harry to his dorm? He'll be sharing with you," the man Harry assumed his grandfather to be. Dark, messy hair and a mischievous expression, it was easy to see that James had acquired his looks from his father. It made Harry quite conscious of his own face – he wouldn't be recognised, would he?

"Who is he?" His grandfather asked Goodwin. Goodwin smiled and grasped Harry's shoulder.

"This is Harry Evans; he's new. Harry, this is Charlus Potter. He's one of the prefects and in your year," Goodwin smiled again and let go of Harry's shoulder, "now, if you'll excuse me, I have some matters to attend to. If you need me, just call." He then left, bidding them a good day.

"Evans, aye? Excellent, come with me," he led Harry up the stairs he was so familiar with to the fifth year dormitories. Stopping at one of the doors, he pushed it open and strode in.

"You'll have to sleep there; every other bed is taken. Now, put down your stuff and come with me, it's almost lunch time." Harry did so, unshrinking his trunk and pushing it against the end of his bed. Charlus had left, promising to meet him in the common room whilst he got his bearings. Taking advantage alone, Harry pulled out the Marauder's map from his trunk, tapped his wand against it, and vowed he was up to no good. When the names appeared, Harry scoured the map for signs of the young Voldemort.

Riddle was making his way to the Entrance Hall from the dungeons; alone. More than a little miffed by Riddle's lonesomeness, Harry tapped the map for a second time, with a hurried 'mischievous managed' before stuffing the map in his pocket and running down to meet Charlus.

Charlus was waiting for him impatiently at the door that led out of the common room by the time Harry reached the bottom of the stairs. He chucked an annoyed look in Harry's direction before motioning towards the exist.

"No time like the present," he said cheerily. Harry could only agree so much more – what better time to start planning Riddle's death but now?

"Yeah, I'm starving," Harry said truthfully.

"Well c'mon. We're not going to get there just by thinking about it." He led Harry through the familiar path to the entrance hall, pointing out the different students and naming them. Harry took careful notice of how the amnesty between the Gryffindor and Slytherin house seemed much smaller in this time than Harry's own, though the rivalry was still pretty brutal. Harry supposed it was the competition with Slytherin became so bad mainly because of the First War.

When they entered the Entrance Hall, Harry kept his eyes peeled for the tall, pale and handsome form of Riddle. His eyes racked the Slytherin table for any of the older years baring resemblance to Riddle.

Riddle wasn't there.

Confused, Harry ran his eyes over the table again, this time including the younger years. He was about to give up when he spotted him. Riddle was sitting on his own at the beginning of the table. What shocked Harry the most wasn't the lack of cronies around Riddle, but Riddle himself. It seemed that the spell had malfunctioned.

Riddle was a first year; young and as innocent as he could possibly ever be. Something twisted in Harry's stomach. The thought at killing someone that age... even Riddle...

He dismissed the thought from his mind. If the worst came to it, Harry could wait it out for a few years, wait for Riddle to mature into the evil, murderous bastard he would surly become.

"Something wrong?" Charlus asked from beside him. Harry was dragged out of his thoughts, somewhat glad for the distraction. If he concentrated on it too hard, he might even begin to feel sorry for Riddle.

"No, I'm right," Harry smiled, taking one last glace at Riddle before taking a seat next to Charlus and a much smaller, tight lipped girl. He made note of the similar choices of lunch in this time to his own time, fifty years in the future. It seemed that things were almost identical – there were only a few items of food that Harry didn't recognise from his own time. He decided on a sandwich and, as he was taking his first bite, cast a curious look in Riddle's direction to take note of what the young Voldemort ate. To his amusement, he could see Riddle reading a large tome like Hermione would.

"Why do you keep staring at Riddle?" Charlus asked from his side, looking between Riddle and Harry. Harry panicked, what could he say? That he knew Riddle from somewhere? Or should he lie and say he was merely observing the other students? He decided on his former idea – Harry knew he wasn't a good liar, and by telling Charlus he knew Riddle from somewhere was the truth.

"I've seen him before," Harry stated, "I was just surprised to see him here." Not bad, Harry managed to tell the truth without elaborating on his keen interest in the boy. For all Charlus knew, Harry could have caught a glimpse of him as he walked through the streets of London after he had arrived from America. Apparently, as Charlus asked his next question, they had both gotten the same idea.

"Been around muggle London before you got here?" Harry nodded, not feeling an urge to elaborate. It didn't seem to matter to Charlus, because the other boy turned to great a group of girls taking a seat a little further down the table.

Harry went back to his breakfast, studying the hall for people who would be the grandparents of the people he knew. After meeting his grandfather so early, Harry doubted that it would be long until he met others.

It was then that Goodwin appeared, smiling and flashing a sheet of parchment in Harry's direction. He greeted Harry with a cheery good morning, before dropping the sheet next to Harry's plate.

"This would be your timetable," he said, before going giving Charlus a look, "would you be able to show Harry to his classes, I trust?"

Charlus nodded, "of course sir, nothing would give me greater pleasure."

–

The material taught in the lessons was very similar to what Harry himself had been learning in his fifth year. He was extremely grateful of that – Harry seemed to be amongst the very top of most of his classes. His DADA teacher took exceptional liking to him, after Harry was able to produce the new spell on the first time without too much difficulty.

Though when it came to History of Magic, Harry knew he would be in strife. No matter how much he read up on the subjects, there was the perpetual dullness that seemed to accompany history text that left Harry flipping through pages only moments after starting, not even taking in the information. He knew that, being in the past, dates would be crucial in case he accidental mentioned something that would not happen until the future. After thinking on that (and suffering through another of Binn's lessons), Harry decided he would, during lunch, start reading up on the history of that time, as to not confuse it from the history of his own time. It really wouldn't look good if Harry ever mentioned Dumbledore's famous battle with Grindwald before it had actually happened, would it?

As he made his way towards the library, not needing Charlus to show him, he contemplated on his plan. He knew he couldn't wait no longer than sixth year to kill Riddle, the same year he made the first horcrux, because Riddle would definitely keep the diary with him at all times, or at least in a secure place. Harry guessed between: on Riddle's person, in the Slytherin dormitory or in the Chamber of Secrets.

Also, the longer he let Riddle live, the stronger Riddle would become. Dumbledore had mentioned to Harry that by the end of first year, Riddle was competent in spells that even some adults would have trouble with.

Harry was so far lost in thoughts, he didn't realise as he walked into someone. The person fell to the ground, though Harry was merely knocked back a foot. He reached down to give a hand to the person, only to stare in shock.

Riddle was at his feet, on the ground.

Harry hadn't retracted the hand in time, because the next moment Harry felt cool fingertips touching him. He jumped like he had been shocked, ignoring the confused look from Riddle, but quickly pulled the first year to his feet. Riddle smiled pleasantly.

"Thanks," he said, still grinning.

"No problem," Harry said blandly, not smiling. Riddle's smile faded a little at the emotionless reply, Harry noted with amusement. Perhaps the young brat wasn't as charming as he seemed to think.

"I should have been paying more attention, but I'm afraid I was quite distracted," he said.

"Perhaps you should," the coldness in his voice came natural, which didn't surprise Harry. Riddle, however, seemed surprised at his tone.

"Riddle!" Someone shouted, coming out from one of the many doors to the classrooms. Riddle's face was set in a momentarily look of annoyance, before he managed to mark it with a look of pleasantness.

"Yes?" He said, his voice light and friendly. Harry watched the boy, perhaps a year or so older than Riddle, stride along towards them, a prefect badge on his Slytherin robes.

"What are you doing wondering around, you little mudblood?" Shock filled Harry again for the second time. Why had... From the memories Harry had seen or Riddle, Riddle appeared to be a well-liked and popular individual, with followers from all years, above or below.

"I was merely on my way to lunch but I bumped into Mr...?"

"Evans," Harry said, hesitating. It had almost happened, Harry had almost refereed to himself as Potter.

"And I care because...?" The boy left the question open for Riddle. Riddle's face flashed, once again, in annoyance.

"Because you seemed inclined to ask why I was wondering around," Riddle said, his tone light but the anger in his eyes astounding. Perhaps, if it had been any other person, Harry would have stuck up for them. But Riddle was not that person. Harry knew that if he didn't kill Riddle, Riddle would go on to become the man that killed so many in cold blood. Without regret, without remorse.

So instead of doing the right thing, the thing that his moral obligations cried for him to do, Harry pushed past Riddle, ignoring the boy;s cry of anger, and continued on his way to the library. Behind him, he heard another, though muffled, cry.

In the library, Harry took a seat in the back of the library, out of view, and head the restricted section, where the light was dim and murky. He pulled out the books from under his arms, both on history, and flipped open to a random page. Goblin wars. He rubbed his eyes and began to read the small, neat print.

A moment later, Harry head the sounds of a chair scraping as it usually would when a person pulled it out, and the familiar clunk books fall onto the table with a heavy thud. Harry lifted his eyes to glare at the boy, but the glare was lost as he watched Riddle flipping open a page in one of the larger books.

"Is there something you want?" Harry asked, annoyed at the mere sight of Voldemort's past self.

"No," he stated plainly, not even bothering to look up.

"Then why are you sitting here?" Harry felt his annoyance growing.

"I always sit here. If you don't like it, then perhaps you should look into finding another seat," his tone was in-furiously light, yet weighed down Harry like a tonne of bricks. The seat where Riddle had set himself was the very same seat that Harry would come to use in the future, in the times where he wanted nothing more than to be alone.

"I would, but seniors get priority for where they choose to sit," Harry huffed, not caring about how little sense his sentence made.

Riddle didn't reply, he simply went back to reading his book, occasionally scribbling notes on a parchment. Harry, not wanting to lose the unspoken competition they had, went back to his own reading. The silence was the most uncomfortable one he cared to remember.

–

The next week passed the same; no matter where Harry sat in the library, Riddle would always sit across from him. They would never talk, but by the end of that week, Harry found himself used to Riddle's presence, as much as he hated to admit it.

He began to note what books Riddle picked up, to make sure it wasn't something to give Riddle any nasty ideas, but from what Harry could see, Riddle kept to legit books focused on whatever he happened to be studying at the time; so it came to great shock when Riddle appeared that day with a muggle book under his arm. Riddle sneered when he caught Harry's gobsmacked stare directed at his book, though preceded to pull out the chair in front of Harry.

"Something bother you about my book?" Riddle said irritably. His face was set in a deep scowl.

"That's..." Harry led off, still staring and ignoring the boy's annoyance.

"A muggle book; I'm aware of that," he finished. Only when Harry saw the cover did he understand Riddle's interest. It was a foreign book, in a language Harry did not recognise, but what he did know was the theme of the book; torture. He knew of the book when cleaning Dudley's old room. Having found an actual book, Harry was flipping through the book when he caught sight of some very detailed, graphic pictures of torture devices, usually with victims.

Riddle flipped open the book to a marked page and began to read, seemingly having understood the language of the book.

"Why are you reading a book on muggle torture?" Harry asked, before he could stop himself. Riddle looked up, surprised.

"I have nothing else to read that isn't restricted, or focusing on plants, divination or muggles themselves," he said, still surprised. Harry could tell if the surprise was from Harry's knowledge of the theme, or the fact that someone had asked for his opinion.

"And you speak... that language," he asked, feeling curious.

"No, I'm just looking at the words and hoping they'll make sense," Harry laughed, before he could help himself. Riddle cracked a small smile, his eyes briefly lighting.

"Silly question," he murmured, head bent in mock embarrassment.

"Quite," Riddle agreed. It was only then when his situation sunk in; he was having a civil conversation with Riddle. The boy who became the man who killed his parents.

As Riddle smiled again, Harry found himself not minding as much as he thought he would.

He was about to ask Riddle what the language the book was written in, but at that time Charlus choose to interrupt.

"Harry," he called softly, peaking every so often over his shoulder "I need to ask you something. Probably not in here – I'm not supposed to be in the library for another week after what happened," Harry chuckled, remembering the previous day his study session with Charlus and a few other Gryffindor boys. Harry was quietly reading when Charlus charmed some poor girl's skirt to fall down. The girl, furious, charged Charlus and knocked him into one of the shelves. The shelve fell, and Charlus was banned from the library for the rest of the term (which happened to be a week).

"Sure," Harry said, getting up. He didn't look at Riddle as he left, but he could feel the angry look directed at Charlus.

"I need your help," Charlus said, as soon as they were out of the library. His grandfather was leading him outside, Harry knew, in the direction of the Quidditch pitch.

"With what?" Harry asked curiously, while thinking of his favourite sport, which he hadn't taken up in case his name came up in the records.

"Our seeker had an injury, and we can't find anyone else willing to play. Can you? If your any good, I mean. Next match is against Slytherin." Harry thought it risky; he knew the match was on the coming Saturday, only three days from now. Charlus must have been desperate, because Harry knew he had never mentioned Quidditch before.

"Yeah, but one game only," Harry said, nodding. Charlus' face lit up, and he practically dragged Harry the rest of the way.

–

Harry sighed, watching closely for a sign of the golden ball, seeing flashes of green and red out of the corner of his eye. He was on his broom, suspended high above the ground and spectators, across from him was the Slytherin seeker, a sixth year he wasn't familiar with. The Slytherin was switching between glaring at Harry, watching for bludger's and the snitch.

The crowd below was roaring in approval, and Harry could tell from the chanting that Slytherin was in the lead. For the moment. Harry planned to change that as soon as the little golden ball caught his eye – which it would, he knew.

It was then a flash from below caught his attention. Harry was careful not to alert his Slytherin rival of his discovery – instead, he he angled his broom down and leisurely dropped slowly. The Slytherin seeker watched him for a brief moment before going back to his search – it was all Harry needed. In that moment, Harry sped off after the snitch.

The snitch led him down towards the stands and slipped into one of the stands from a gap between the wood. Harry swerved just in time to avoid a collision, which couldn't be said for the Slytherin seeker, who slammed straight into the stand. He went down, crying out in shock. The crowd gasped in horror, but one of the teachers managed to elevate him before he hit the ground. Harry stared for another moment before seeing the snitch again, heading in the direction of the goals. Again, he was off after it.

A bludger appeared, zooming straight in front of Harry as he reached out to catch the snitch. Instinctively, Harry snatched his hand back, turning his head in time to see the bludger smash into one of the Gryffindor chasers, who cursed loudly but managed to stay on his broom.

His attention was back again on the snitch, heading towards a Slytherin stand. Harry trailed after it, eyes narrowed in concentration. He only just managed to stop before slamming into the stand. When he looked up, handsome dark eyes were staring back.

Everything stopped.

"You might want to go after that!" Riddle yelled from the stand, watching Harry in amusement. Harry snapped out of his shock and, seeing the snitch only metres away, reached out his hand and accelerated towards it. He slid forward on his broom a fraction more, eyes locked with the jittery snitch. In another moment -

His hand enclosed around it. The crowd roared with cheers. Harry sat back, sighing, as his team hurried over, clapping each other on the back. They hovered down together, excited yells the only sound in Harry's ears.

"Harry! I didn't know you could play like that!" Charlus called excitedly.

"Neither did I," Harry replied modestly, not wanting to brag. Truthfully, that was one of the easier matches against Slytherin in his opinion. There were no bludger's purposely knocked his way with the intention on harming him.

Celebrations lasted most of the night, that night, with Harry the centre of attention. Harry almost let himself go, forgetting where he was, of what his mission... it was just like being back in the future, where he belonged, with his friends. He didn't retire to sleep for hours, until some time early the next morning, as one of the last to go to sleep. When he woke in the morning, he felt light headed and dizzy. There was a slow throb in his head to match, though he woke in a better mood than he had in a lifetime, with his mission on his mind. All he would have to do to end the war – to fix all the damage Voldemort had ever done – was kill some kid. Compared to killing the older version of Voldemort, this would be a piece of cake.

He left the common room with Charlus, who was nesting a small hangover due to the drinks of firewhisky from the night before. Harry had made sure to avoid all the alcohol – in case he let anything slip about where he was really from.

Entering the Great Hall, Harry immediately picked out the black hair of Riddle at the Slytherin table. The boy, feeling eyes watching him, turned to look in Harry's direction. Seeing Harry watching, he sent a small, hesitant smile. Harry stared back in wonder.

"I didn't know you two were friendly with each other," Charlus said from beside him, a dangerous tone to his voice. Harry laughed.

"Oh trust me, we're not. Not even close," Harry said after his laughter subsided. Charlus simply stared at him, an unbelieving look in his eyes.

"If you say so..." he said, taking a seat next to the same tight lipped girl as before. He casually put his arm over her shoulders, only to be shoved off the seat by the annoying girl. Charlus sat up with a hurt expression.

"But Minerva! I thought you liked me..." he said, feigning heartbreak. Harry's chuckling stopped dead in its tracks. Minerva...?

Oh.

Harry stared in shock at the young girl, trying to see the similarity between her and her future self, and wondering just who else he would run into.

–

When Harry made his way to the library that day, he was shocked to see Riddle waiting outside, reading a book balanced on his stomach. Riddle must have sensed him coming, because as Harry arrived, Riddle marked his page and shut the book softly.

"Mr Evans," he said formally; uncomfortably. Harry glanced coolly at his young enemy, waiting for the boy to continue.

"That was an excellent catch yesterday," he said charismatically, back to his charming self. If he had been anyone else, Harry would have been flattered, though the words sounded wrong coming from Riddle's lips; from his young appearance.

"Thanks," Harry said curtly. He nodded to Riddle and started to step around him, towards the entrance to the library -

"Can you explain something to me? Please?" Riddle asked suddenly. When Harry looked at him, he took on an embarrassed look and bent his head, so that he wasn't looking at Harry.

"Er... if you have time, that is," he said. Harry raised an eyebrow at the boy's behaviour.

"What do you want to know?" Harry asked. He knew he should have ignored the request – Riddle was simply playing with him; Harry doubted he could teach Riddle anything, unless it was about the future... even then, Riddle seemed to know more than he let on. He wondered if the boy had picked up on his secret.

"Nothing difficult. I was just wondering how you... er... manage to fly... like that," Riddle said, still looking embarrassed. He wondered how far Riddle was willing to take his lie; to the point that he would actually trick Harry into something, perhaps?

"Practice, I'm sure you can do it too," Riddle looked conflicted.

"I.." he cleared his throat, thinking over his wording for a moment. In that moment, the embarrassment on his face was hidden by a mask of indifference. "I can't fly."

Harry felt his mouth drop open in shock, staring at the young boy in front of him. A memory – Voldemort flying, his body like smoke...

"... just a little, I'm sure I'll be able to work it out," he said softly, still staring at Harry.

"What?" Harry asked, his voice higher from the shock than he would have liked.

"I asked if you could teach me to fly. If you don't have anything else to do, of course," he said, face flushed. Harry swallowed.

"Isn't there someone you can ask in your own house? Or a teacher?"

"The other students don't like me very much. I'd ask a teacher, but..." he trailed off, still staring at Harry with impossible eyes.

"Why don't they like you?" He asked, intrigued. Dumbledore's memory from the pensieve of Riddle sitting with his friends made it's way into Harry's mind... Slughorn commenting on Riddle's personality.

"Because I'm an orphan; they think I'm a mudblood," Riddle said, scowling. Harry nodded, inwardly frowning at the use of that word, and feeling a small bout of pity for the boy. Harry knew how hard it was to be an orphan who nobody liked – he lived through years of the abuse that accompanied that very situation.

"Oh. Well... okay, I guess. When?" Harry asked, before he could think. He watched as Riddle seemingly let out a relieved sigh.

"Today?" He asked, after a moment's thought.

"How about now?" Harry asked, nodding. A part of him, smaller than he liked, wanted to turn Riddle down – to tell him to leave. To hurt Riddle. But a larger, more dominant part of him was actually feeling the beginning of pity for Riddle. After all, as much as Harry hated to admit it, they were both orphans.

As they walked to the Quidditch pitch, Harry couldn't help but glance at the smaller boy, whose eyes were trained ahead of them. He could immediately notice Slughorn seemed uncomfortable with Harry's looks – Riddle and himself were both too skinny, with dark hair and pale skin. Riddle's was much paler though, making the tired lines under his eyes stand out even more.

They passed a few groups of teenagers on their way, most of whom were leisurely strolling along the corridors to their destinations. The teenagers didn't stop to look at them as they passed; they didn't realise who Harry and Riddle were to each other. They didn't understand the hatred Harry felt, simply being in the boy's presence, nor did they feel his conflicting pity for Riddle. And if they did notice something was amiss, they didn't comment. They simply didn't care.

"Well... here we are," Riddle said, nervously surveying the length of the pitch. Harry nodded in agreement.

"Do you know where they keep the school brooms?" Harry asked, playing the part of the new student well. Riddle nodded once, and made his way back towards the school, where a door was clearly visible. Harry knew they kept the school equipment there.

As it turned out, Riddle could fly. He was average at best, though Harry noticed he was quick to anger whenever Riddle got a manoeuvre wrong. Harry also noted how, unlike everything else, Riddle had no natural affinity for flying.

They continued to meet every few days, whenever they were both free. Harry could see Riddle was improving, but he would still never be as good as Harry was. He still couldn't figure out why he continued to help his young nemesis – something about Riddle made Harry stop and think before he ended the lessons. He hated it, every second he helped Riddle created a sense in Harry that he was betraying his friends and family.

"Something wrong?" Riddle asked, noticing his distraction. Harry scowled.

"I'm right," Harry said. Riddle looked hesitantly at him, before smiling lightly and turning away.

"So what was that manoeuvre called again?" He asked. Harry smiled briefly back and launched himself in an explanation of the move. Riddle followed along closely, nodding at choice points and asking questions in others.

They stayed until the skies darkened and eerie sounds form the forest became the only sounds to be heard.

–

The next day, Riddle did not appear in the library, nor did he appear at the Quidditch pitch. Harry wasn't too bothered by this – the guilt from helping Riddle did not fail to make itself known. Every moment he spent alone; in the library, eating, or studying, he felt an incredible guilt. Simply the thought of a familiar face, whether it be his friends, or Riddle even, he felt a pang in his chest and discomfort in his mind.

"So, Harry... last day of term. You going home for the holidays?" Charlus asked, sitting himself on Harry's left. On his right, to Harry's amusement, sat Septimus Weasley, who was in the year above.

"No, I'm staying," he replied, shoving a piece of bacon into his mouth.

"Oh..." he paused, staring at Harry, "why?"

"My parents are busy with work, and still haven't unpacked most of our things. I told them it would just be easier if I stayed at Hogwarts and let them get sorted out," he said, having practised his lie. He knew that someone would become curious as to why he choose to stay at Hogwarts instead of returning to family.

"Too bad. Anyway, see her? The one with the dark hair?" He pointed to a gaggle of Slytherin girls, sitting at one of the tables and leaning over one another to pay attention to a petite girl in the middle.

"Which one?" Harry asked, looking over the various girls. He didn't recognise any of the girls.

"The blonde in the centre?" He pointed again. Harry noticed the blonde girl was in the centre of the group, her long blonde hair in curls. The other girls stared with envy.

"What about her?" He asked.

"She will be mine by the end of the day," he chuckled, still watching the girl. The girl looked up and, seeing them staring, scowled heavily.

"I don't think that hand gesture was any kind of sign of affection," Charlus laughed.

"Don't worry about, no girl can resist my charm," Harry watched in amusement as Charlus strode over to the girls, who stared in disgust at his approaching form.

He turned back to his breakfast, chuckling lightly as he heard the loud voices of the Slytherin girls yelling, and the meek voice of Charlus begging. Beside him, Septimus was laughing openly, enjoying the sight of Charlus' plight.

It was the last day of term, and Harry was not excited at the prospect knowing that only few people would separate himself from Riddle without the welcome lessons. Now, talking with Riddle would be virtually unavoidable, unless Harry choose to stay in the Gryffindor common room for the entire holidays, which he didn't fancy. The thought almost made him regret his choice not to find accommodation outside of Hogwarts.

Though, on the positive side, it would give him ample time to watch Riddle, and notice his routines; commit them to memory. If Harry wanted to get away with murder, he would have to plan wisely. As a matter of fact... getting close to Riddle would lower the suspicions when he did kill the boy, even though he hated the idea of someone else getting blamed for his crime... if that became the case, Harry promised himself he would own up. This was between Riddle and himself, not anyone.

Just then, a loud chime signalled the beginning of class. Harry blinked in shock, staring around the scarcely empty hall. He'd been so lost in his thoughts, he didn't notice the gradual decline in population around him. Almost everyone had disappeared off to their first classes. Shoving the rest of his breakfast into his mouth, Harry grabbed his bag and pelted out of the Great Hall, grateful his first class was DADA, the closest to his current location.

–

During his last class, Harry noticed something highly peculiar about Horace Slughorn, who continued to send him curious, if slightly, miffed looks. He tried his best to ignore them, but couldn't help shake the uncomfortable feeling spreading throughout his stomach. His distraction because of Slughorn's stares were obvious, because Harry had already managed to ruin his potion.

Turning his attention back to the the task at hand, Harry squinted to the board, trying to make out the scrawl of Slughorn. The small tilted writing was hardly legible from his position – near the back – and he couldn't recall making that certain potion before. In fact, he didn't recall even hearing about it. Giving up on his attempt at reading the small writing, he grasped one of the plant ingredients (what it was, he wasn't quite sure of) and tossed it in, hoping to score some blind luck.

The potion exploded. Screams of shock and shrieks of laughter cried out – though Harry was more focused on the ringing in his head; the warm sensation sliding down his face and into his collar. His vision was going blurry, then focusing, all over; again and again. He clenched them shut.

"Harry?" He heard, distantly, over the ringing in his ears. Harry groaned in pain, splitting his eyes open again. The blurred figures were coming back into detail now. People were standing around him, watching, waiting patiently for his response.

"I don't think that was the right plant," Harry said, unable to resist. There were laughs of amusement and relief around him. Harry himself let out a sigh when his vision became clear again. He could see Slughorn kneeling down in front of him, waving his wand.

"M'alright," he murmured, suddenly feeling the pang in his head. Slughorn pocketed his wand, and helped Harry to his feet.

"Just to be on the safe side, I'll get someone to take you to the infirmary. Charlus?" He asked, turning to Harry's friend.

"Sure," he said, looking worried. Slughorn, having a sudden thought, zipped across to one of the cabinets, and pulled out a vial.

"And can you make sure Tom Riddle gets this? Unfortunately, I have nothing for Harry at the moment, but I do have this for Tom. Poor boy..." he murmured, shaking his head. Harry's mind, both from pain and curiosity, was reeling. What had happened to Riddle to land him in the infirmary?

Harry and Charlus left, the former leaning gently on the latter, in a comfortable silence. Charlus was examining his head, he could tell, while he helped his future grandson along the corridors and up the stairs. They met no people – it still being during the school day – and were not given any trouble, nor awkward questions to answer. They came across a few of the lesser known ghosts, who raised an eye, yet inquired no further. To them, it didn't matter.

When they finally reached the infirmary, Harry could hear voices from inside. Charlus held the door open for him and he limped inside, waiting for Madam Pomfrey to rush over, scowling and muttering about his constant visits.

What he didn't expect to see was Riddle standing in front of one of the beds, hands gripping the sides hard enough to break, while Pomfrey yelled for him to get back in bed.

"Tom! Your legs won't be able to support your weight. You'll fall and hurt yourself again!" She cried, trying to push the thin boy back to the bed. Riddle wasn't having any, though, because his gaze was stubborn and furious. Charlus, seeing Riddle battling the matron so heatedly, muttered a curse.

"You right for a moment, Harry?" He asked, staring in concern. Harry nodded, curious to see what Charlus would do.

"Well, I'll be right back," he murmured darkly, heading towards Riddle and Pomfrey. They didn't cast him a glance as he approached, but Riddle cried out in shock when he was suddenly pushed back onto the bed. Harry laughed quietly when Riddle tried to get up again.

"Charlus! What are you doing here," the matron grunted, pulling out her wand. At the sight of her actions, Riddle went still.

"Harry was hurt in potions by an exploding potion," he said, smirking at Riddle's whitening expression.

"Oh, right. Tom, please stay there while I deal with Harry," she said, her tone annoyed. She turned to Harry, who was leaning uncomfortably on the wall to support some of his weight. Taking notice of his condition, she pointed to the bed closet to his current position, opposite of Riddle's bed.

"Take a seat dear while I take a look at you..." she pulled out her wand again and ran it over Harry's head. From over her shoulder, Harry watched as Charlus handed the vial to Riddle, who was still staring in his direction. Riddle's handsome eyes were curious and wide, the picture of an innocence he didn't quite fit.

"Hm... nothing too serious, but you'll need to stay here for the night," she muttered, waving her wand again. Harry felt the blood disappearing off his hair, skin and clothing. Then, she murmured another spell, and Harry felt the wound uncomfortably moving around on his head.

"What is that?" He gasped out.

"That's the skin healing. Don't worry, it'll be finished in another moment..." Harry shivered, not from the cold, but from the numb sensation now setting in.

"Now hold on one more moment... you have a concussion. I'll just get you a potion for that," she said, hurrying into a side room and returning a moment later with a purple-filled vial. She shoved it into Harry's hands and rushed back to Riddle, who was trying to push himself off the bed. She swatted him on the head, and exclaimed loudly as she spotted the vial Charlus had come with.

Harry, cringing, downed the purple liquid as Riddle drank his own.

"Mr Potter!" Harry jumped, feeling his heart rate shoot off and panic to well in his stomach, "do not touch those!" Pomfrey called. Harry let out a breath of relief, realising that Pomfrey must have been talking to his grandfather, and had not found out his own identity.

"I'm not touching it! Look! See? Not touching it!" Charlus cried, sticking his hands all over the vials in the shelves. Pomfrey shrieked in anger.

"Out! Go on, shoo!" She yelled. Charlus laughed and winked at Harry.

"Sorry mate, I guess I'll see you later,"

"Bye," Harry waved, as Charlus was chased out the door by an angry matron.

"Now, boys, I don't care about what rivalry goes on between your houses – you will both behave tonight. If you need anything, just call. Goodnight," Pomfrey said. Harry and Riddle both bid her a goodnight, and turned to face each other.

"Why are you here?" Harry asked, breaking the momentarily silence.

"A body-binding curse that went wrong," Riddle replied, smiling lightly, "what about you?"

"Potions accident."

Riddle did not reply, though continued to analyse Harry with a scrutinising gaze. Harry shifted under his gaze, trying to ignore the boy's unblinking stare.

"Will you be returning to your family for the holidays?" Riddle asked after another awkward moment.

"No. You?" Harry asked, more out of a misplaced politeness that Riddle didn't quite deserve. Somehow, no matter how hard hard Harry tried to imagine Voldemort's scaly face, he couldn't quite show Riddle any rudeness.

"No, I don't have a home to go," Riddle murmured quietly.

Harry nodded in understanding, knowing how it felt not to be wanted, "I forgot... sorry,"

Riddle nodded, and shifted on his bed so he was facing the side. Harry watched as Riddle's small form caved in on itself, so the boy was curled up in a small boy.

"When do you escape from Pomfrey?" Harry asked, remembering all the times he'd left the infirmary before he was allowed, and all the times his friends had broken in just to see him. He smiled warmly at the thought.

"Tomorrow, same as you," he replied, a smirk on his face, "will you... be returning to the library?"

"Perhaps... yourself?" If someone had told Harry that he would be making small talk with a young Tom Riddle, he would have laughed himself silly at how ridiculous it sounded. Now, finding himself in precisely that situation, he found the conversation... nice.

"Most likely, I have nothing better to do," Riddle smiled. Harry smiled back, sadly, thinking how much of a shame it would be to have to have to kill such a child. Riddle was, as Slughorn had said, brilliant.

"Do you want to play a game of Quidditch then?" Riddle looked thoughtful for a moment, considering.

"With just us?" He said eventually. Harry cursed, ignoring Riddle's raised eyebrow.

"Oh yeah. Well, I'll show you some more techniques?"

Riddle nodded, "that would be nice."

–

That next day, after he had been discharged from the infirmary, Tom was waiting at the Quidditch pitch, waiting for the small form of Harry to appear from one of the buildings. The lights were slowly fading from the sky, and the air was rapidly cooling. Tom shivered as a gust of wind managed to chill him from through his clothes. He couldn't account for how long he had been waiting, but he could tell it was hours, though he wasn't about to give up. Harry would be there, sooner of later.

So he waited.

And waited.

Harry never showed.

How many of you were expecting that, eh? Anyway, there will be no set word limit on the chapters. I've planned it all out, and I will write exactly what is in my plan, no more, no less. I can already tell that some chapters will be longer than others (but I'm only planning on having 6 chapters, including the prologue and the epilogue).

Next chapter – Surrender: Part 1.