The Dark Tide's Pull

*Author's Note: Hi, guys! This story starts off during the 6th book before Dumbledore's death, and then becomes AU from there. This story will contain slash, and the predominant pairing will end up being Tom Marvolo Riddle/Harry Potter, so if that's not your cup of tea then I recommend you turn elsewhere. I hope you guys enjoy!*

"Time weighs down on you like an old, ambiguous dream. You keep on moving, trying to sleep through it. But even if you go to the ends of the earth, you won't be able to escape it. Still, you have to go there- to the edge of the world. There's something you can't do unless you get there."
― Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore

Feet land on a solid, stone floor. Harry wobbles for a moment, arms thrusting out like birds' wings to his sides to steady himself. His body poises on the balls of his feet for a moment, then he's stable once more. Fingers immediately fly to the cord around Harry's neck, checking that the small hourglass hanging there hasn't vanished or been damaged by the landing. That time-turner is Harry's only way home from this place.
Harry glances around, taking stock of his surroundings. It feels odd to be in a castle so like his own Hogwarts, but not. This Hogwarts belongs to another time, exists only in others' memories. Yet here he is. It shouldn't be possible, but it is. Harry quickly conceals the time-turner beneath his shirt. Can't have people seeing it and guessing that he does not belong. He knows that he should be hurrying along to Professor Dippet's office before anyone sees him, but he takes a moment to gather his thoughts and collect himself. The memory of Dumbledore's office just a few weeks ago fills his head: a memory of an event far off in the future, yet in his past. No point in ruminating on that idea, though. The quandaries are too much for any one person to handle, especially when one has other more pressing matters to attend to.

"You have to go back to this moment, Harry: this exact instant. This conversation with Professor Slughorn was the turning point for Voldemort. This was when the decision was made. He'd obviously been turning over the idea of making more than one Horcrux, but he needed that confirmation. After all, it was something no one had attempted before. No one had dared to try and split their soul more than once, let alone seven times. At this point he'd almost definitely already made his first Horcrux: the diary, but you have handled that Horcrux before and you can again. What I'm not so sure we can face is the prospect of finding and destroying seven Horcruxes. Not with what little time we have left."

Dumbledore stared at Harry with such intensity in his eyes, such conviction, and Harry knew that no matter what anyone else said, he couldn't do anything but trust him completely. Even if he was being sent back over fifty years in time. That didn't mean he didn't have questions, though.

"But Hermione told me that you can't go so far back in time because you could change things too much," protested Harry. "An event like Voldemort growing up surely has had too much of an impact on the world for us to safely change it, right?"

A tiny smile quirks up the corners of Dumbledore's thin lips.

"Aah, but, my dear boy, time isn't that malleable. Once time has passed, it is lost to us, never to be regained. Time can always be counted on to do one thing, Harry: to move forward. The past is gone; we now only have the present and the promise of the future ahead of us. This is where magic cogs up the works, though. With magic, wizards and witches have found a way to interfere with time's straightforward progress. However, even with this magic, we can only alter the events of history so much. History does not want to rewrite itself. The past is meant to be unchangeable, gone forever. So, in order to compensate for magical changes, time takes the easiest, and indeed most practical, way out: it adjusts the present in whichever way will provide the fewest accompanying changes to the past."

"I don't understand," interjects Harry.

"In other words, Harry, if you were to go back in time to 1944 and kill Tom and destroy his diary, then time would take the least complicated way out of the quandary that change to the past would create: it would simply remove Voldemort from the present. I believe that he would just vanish all of a sudden, in the middle of whatever it was he was doing. No additional changes to the past. A Tom Riddle would still grow up, amass an army, and kill hundreds of people, then vanish. What I'm trying to say here, what's key to this entire argument is this fact: the past cannot be changed, Harry. Only the present can be altered. Do you understand?"

"I think so, sir."

"Excellent."

Harry takes a deep breath, and squares his shoulders. He can do this. He hurries off down the corridor, trying to ignore the thin feeling in his stomach caused by this Hogwarts that is not his own. He knows his way around, but the usual feeling of familiarity the castle brings isn't there. It's unsettling, but he has other things to worry about. As Harry comes to a halt in front of the Gargoyles guarding the entrance to the headmaster's office, he realizes that one of those things he needs to worry about is the fact that he has no idea what the password is.

One of the gargoyles gives Harry a judgmental up and down.

"Password?" it asks gruffly. Normally, Harry would just start listing off all of the different sweets he knows, but this office doesn't belong to Dumbledore anymore. It's unlikely that Professor Dippet shares Dumbledore's excessive sweet tooth.

"Ummm.." Harry stutters, running a hand awkwardly through his unruly mop of hair. "I don't think I was told the password, but I was told to go straight to the headmaster's office once I got here. Couldn't you tell him that I'm down here, and that I want to see him?"

The gargoyle's skeptical gaze grows even sourer, if that's possible.

"Um, please," Harry adds. The gargoyle's glare doesn't soften.

"I'm afraid I can't disturb the headmaster at the moment," the gargoyle drawls, clearly taking a pompous pleasure in this rejection, "not for a boy who doesn't even know the password at any rate."

"Oh, come on!" snaps Harry, beginning to lose his temper. "He's expecting me! I'm supposed to see him!" That part at least is true. Dumbledore went back before Harry to have a discussion with his past self, and he told Harry that his younger self would have a word with the headmaster. The story is to be that Harry is an exchange student, who was previously home-schooled, but who now wants to join his peers for his final year of education. The gargoyle, however, does not look convinced.

"Need some help?" asks a voice from behind him. Harry jumps and whirls around; he hadn't heard anyone coming, too distracted by his argument with a grumpy hunk of stone. Surprise flickers across Harry's face for a moment before he forces himself to conceal his shock and smile. He must smile. He cannot give himself away. Not to this boy.

"Yes, please, thank you," Harry forces out, trying his best to sound relieved. "I have an appointment with Professor Dippet, but it seems I've forgotten the password."

The boy smiles, a charming smile that lights up his pale face, but doesn't quite reach his eyes. He really is quite handsome, with high cheekbones and chiseled features. He has dark, almond shaped eyes: so dark brown they're almost black. Dark curls cut short neatly frame his face, contrasting with his pallid complexion pleasingly. It's easy to see how this boy could charm an elderly woman into giving him the only possession of real value she owned.

"Yes, of course," says Tom Marvolo Riddle, turning to face the gargoyle. "Gooseberry," he says sharply and the gargoyle grudging hops aside, giving Harry one last glare. The floor creaks and groans, the pained sounds of stone grinding against stone, and a stair case rises from the ground before them.

"After you," Tom says politely to Harry, gesturing with one hand for Harry to go in front of him up the winding staircase.

"Thanks," replies Harry, forcing himself to smile once more. "My name's Harry by the way. Harry Potter." There's no point in lying about his name. This Voldemort has no idea who Harry Potter is or why he should be wary of him.

"Nice to meet you, Harry," says Tom, extending a pale hand out to Harry in greeting. "I'm head boy here. Tom Riddle." Harry only hesitates for a second, then he reaches out and clasps Tom's pallid fingers in his own. For an instant, Harry's scar stings, a momentary flash of hot white pain searing through the rent flesh. Then Harry lets go of Tom's hand and hastily steps back.

"The pleasure is mine," his mouth forces out. Internally Harry curses; he had hoped that the connection between Voldemort and himself would have vanished this far in the past, banking on the fact that at this point in time that connection hadn't been forged yet. It seems time doesn't feel like playing it that way, though. Even at age seventeen Tom Riddle's soul still recognizes its counterpart in Harry. It's possible that Tom hadn't felt anything, though. After all, back in Harry's time it had taken Voldemort years to recognize the bond they shared. Harry allows himself to study Tom's handsome features for a moment, just a moment, before turning and heading away up the stairs. Tom's expression is schooled into one of polite interest, each feature held perfectly in check. Only Tom's dark eyes give anything away, boring into Harry's face as though he's trying to see through the other boy's flesh. Harry forces himself to walk slowly up the stairs, avoiding the instincts thrumming through his every vein telling him to run as fast as he can.

Tom felt it. He must've. It's the only possible reason for the sudden sharpening of the other boy's attention, and Harry does not want Tom's attention. Not yet.

At the top of the stairs, Harry knocks politely on headmaster Dippet's door. Tom remains near the top of the stairs, standing with his hands folded innocently behind his back and keeping a polite distance.

"Come in!" calls a slightly high-pitched, squeaky voice. Gingerly, Harry opens the door and steps in. Immediately, all of the slight differences between this office and Dumbledore's wash over him, the main difference being the little man sitting behind the headmaster's desk. Professor Dippet smiles hugely upon seeing Harry, his face creasing into a sea of wrinkles at the gesture.

"Aah!" he exclaims cheerfully, leaping up from his chair and hurrying around to shake Harry's hand. "You must be Mr. Potter. Professor Dumbledore told me you'd be coming, of course. I was so sorry to hear that your Godfather passed away. It's shocking how suddenly someone we love can be taken out of our lives." Real sympathy fills Professor Dippet's warm brown eyes at these words, and Harry finds himself immediately liking the older man. Dippet may have fallen for Voldemort's charming guise, but he's obviously a very caring individual. Just a little too ready to see the good in everyone, perhaps.

"Thank you very much, sir," Harry states courteously. "It has been hard." Professor Dippet's thick, white eyebrows crease together in worry at these words, and he pats Harry's hand once comfortingly. The story Harry and Dumbledore had decided on was that Harry had been homeschooled by his Godfather until he passed away quite suddenly, explaining Harry's last minute application to Hogwarts. This story would also keep the lying to a minimum. After all, lies are so much more convincing when there's some truth to them. Keeping Harry as an orphan from a young age and including Sirius' death would help Harry describe his past more convincingly.

"Well, I do think you'll find plenty of people to help support you through this tough time during your stay here. Hogwarts is a very welcoming community, Mr. Potter, and I'm sure your transition into living here will go smoothly. Now then," continues Professor Dippet, releasing Harry's hand and walking over to a cabinet on the far side of the room, "the only thing left then is to get you sorted into your house. The first years already went through their sorting yesterday, so unfortunately we're going to just have to sort you privately right here. Has someone already explained how the housing system works here?"

"Yes, sir," says Harry with a nod. "Professor Dumbledore talked me through it when I met with him earlier."

"Excellent!" calls Professor Dippet, his whole upper body now swallowed up by the cabinet in his search. "Now where is the darn thing…? Ah-ha! There you are!" Professor Dippet finally emerges from the cabinet, waving the sorting hat victoriously.

"This, Mr. Potter, is the sorting hat. All we have to do is place this on your head, and it will tell us which house will suit you best." Harry nods, trying his best to look like this is all new information to him. Professor Dippet waves Harry towards him, and the brunette swiftly complies. One foot treds in front of the other and then Harry is standing a mere foot away from the little, white-haired man. Professor Dippet reaches up, having to stand slightly on tip-toe, and places the sorting-hat reverentially on top of Harry's head. Harry remembers briefly when he was so young that this hat fell down over his eyes, but now it just rests innocently on top of his messy, black hair. For an instant, there's nothing but apprehensive silence, then the hat speaks for Harry's ears alone.

Harry James Potter. We meet again.

Shock shakes Harry slightly, but he forces his face to remain blank. Can't have Professor Dippet seeing the effects of this conversation on his face.

You remember me? he thinks. But how can that be? In this time you haven't sorted me yet. In this time I haven't even been born.

Mr. Potter, my magic is linked with Hogwarts. I am as ancient as this school, built by its founders just as it was. My connection with this school is not bounded by anything as flimsy as time. It doesn't matter when you attend. You are a student here, so you are bound to Hogwarts just as I am. I'd know you whenever you put me on your head, be it fifty years ago or fifty years in the future.

I see, thinks Harry. Well, I've come back to this time for a purpose.

Yes, Mr. Potter, I can see that. It's all here in your head, after all. And I can also see that you want me to place you in a different house this time around, not because you don't like the house you chose last time, but because your goal is in Slytherin.

Please! thinks Harry emphatically. It would all be over if the sorting hat didn't put him in Slytherin. There's no way that he'd be able to get close enough to Voldemort to figure out where he hid his diary if the hat doesn't. And Harry must find that diary. He must.

The hat doesn't bother replying to Harry, instead calling out for everyone to hear: "Slytherin!" Harry holds back a sigh of relief as Professor Dippet pulls the tattered hat from his head. Slytherin. He has a chance.

"Well, this actually works out nicely, Mr. Potter," declares Professor Dippet as he puts the sorting hat back into its resting place in the cupboard. "I called the head boy here to escort you to whatever your new house may be, and he is actually a Slytherin as well! I'm sure Tom will get you settled in nicely!"

At this, Professor Dippet waves his wand, causing the door to his office to spring open.

"Do come in, Tom!" he calls merrily. Tom steps forward into the doorway, his hands still politely folded behind his back. He nods politely to Professor Dippet, looking for all the world like a model student and not at all like the next dark lord.

"Harry Potter, this is Tom Riddle. Tom, this is Harry." Tom smiles politely at Harry at Professor Dippet's words, but Harry can see Tom's jaw tighten slightly. Clearly Voldemort doesn't like being called Tom. Too ordinary for a man who desires with all his heart to be extraordinary, but kissing up to the old man holds precedence. Tom is not yet powerful enough to make enemies, especially not enemies who hold positions of power like Professor Dippet. No, even though fear is a weapon in Voldemort's arsenal, charm is the predominant one for the time being.

"Harry here has just been sorted into Slytherin house. I do hope that you will help make him feel quite at home there, Tom," continues Professor Dippet, oblivious to Tom's irritation. Not his fault really, though. Only someone who's been forewarned of Voldemort's hatred of his muggle-father's name would be able to see it.

"Of course, Professor," replies Tom, smiling warmly at the elderly man. Then he turns his dark gaze on Harry, brown, emotionless eyes boring into Harry's bright green ones. Harry can feel his heart beating faster in his chest, ramming almost painfully against his rib cage. He hopes Voldemort can't hear it.

"Welcome to Slytherin, Mr. Potter."

*Author's Note: Well, what do you guys think? I already have the next several chapters planned out and have started writing chapter two, so I should update this story quickly. However, if you guys have any requests for this story, I may be able to include them depending on how they fit in with what I already have planned. Chapter two will start to get the competitive chemistry going between Harry and Tom more, so you guys have that to look forward to. ;) Thank you for reading, and please comment with any feedback you may have. :)*