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The First Horcrux	By : magentasouth Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Tom Views: 27246 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I neither own nor profit from any part of the Harry Potter universe.

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When awareness returned it was dark.

It was never dark in the diary. Even in an entirely enclosed and unlit room, somehow a mental outline of every object was nevertheless present in awareness.

But now it was dark. And...things felt different. Textures...

He could smell something.

He was in the infirmary.

It smelled of potions.

The sheets felt crisp and overstarched on the bed he was laying in.

He tried to sit up and look around.

His body felt very different. When he moved he could feel peculiar rubbing and stretching sensations of the cotton pyjamas he was apparently wearing and his own muscles shifting.

He moved experimentally a little more, stretching his arms out and then pulling them back, touching his face, his hair.

He felt...exactly as he always had... except the textures and sensations were so much more now.

Welcome back, Tom.

The unexpected voice from the side of the room startled him and he jumped nearly a foot in the air, his head spinning to peer in that direction.

There was a shadow in the dark but he couldn't make much out.

The voice... sounded... almost like Dumbledore... except it was rougher... softer. it sounded tired.

At that moment a lamp flickered into life beside his bed and illuminated the figure on the chair.

He felt his own jaw drop. He couldn't help it. Exactly how long had he been in the diary?!

The man who sat there was unmistakeably Dumbledore - except that it wasn't the Dumbledore he knew at all.

That man had had shoulder length auburn curls, vivid twinkling blue eyes and a jaunty little moustache and goatee. He'd worn a lot of tweed and houndstooth and had a jolly bright demeanour (that was nevertheless sharp as a sawtooth blade).

The man sitting on the chair now however looked older than Methuselah.

His white beard reached down past his waist and he had rheumy pale blue eyes, in which the twinkle was somehow less obnoxious than it had been.

He looked tired and worn down by time.

He was wearing an utterly appalling bright purple set of robes with orange embroidery around the hems and waist.

As if suddenly realising his rudeness tom reeled his jaw back in and tried to compose himself.

You have been gone for some time, Tom. As you see - time did not stop for the rest of us. The year is 1996.

He fought to keep his face under control as this little tidbit of trivia was laid upon him.

1996.

That would make him...66... if he were alive now.

That was entirely possible. 66 was no great age. He would surely still live...

He reaffirmed his resolution to amend that circumstance. It would be quite interesting to watch himself scream under his wand.

Oh.

His wand.

He didn't have one now. His other self would have it.

Dumbledore's eyes were slightly narrowed and seemed to be weighing him up. He felt some faint inexplicable impression of disapproval.

Apparently he'd screwed up already. A sharp stab of terror paralysed him.

If he upset Dumbledore - was it possible for him to be sent back into the diary? Could the man do that? Was the diary gone? He didn't know how he'd been reanimated. He needed to ensure he didn't anger Dumbledore.

Dumbledore seemed to sigh and his gaze softened slightly.

No, Tom. I can...quite understand... your ire toward your other self. I am certain that almost all wizards would feel the same way if they had experienced what you have.

Nevertheless... it is a counterproductive line of thought.

Do not worry yourself about the fate of the rest of your soul at present. It is more important that you try to focus on the here and now.

I expect that it will be somewhat difficult for you to adapt to the real world once again.

Tom blanched inwardly, unsure what to think. He both yearned to leap up and race out the door to ...adapt to the real world again... and also wished simply to continue to exist in peace and solitude, albeit with a different range of scenery. The smallest change was sufficient - more than that was overwhelming. Even the bare demands of this one sided conversation were taxing.

He wanted Dumbledore to leave so that he could get used to the sensation of his body and the textures of his surroundings. The sound of a voice was too much after decades of silence.

He didn't know how to begin to use his own voice. Hopefully no response would be required.

The old man, seeming to sigh again, spoke more softly.

I see that you are very tired and more than a little overcome. I shall leave you to sleep. I will return in the morning and we will talk about what is to happen to you now.

Tom offered a grateful expression although the idea of sleeping seemed utterly foreign. He didn't even remember how one was supposed to go about it.

Neither did he think he would manage to "talk" about anything whatsoever with Dumbledore when the man returned in the morning.

Nevertheless, it seemed sufficient since Dumbledore pulled himself with creaking effort to his feet and, with a final gentle smile toward him, turned and left the infirmary.

Tom didn't bother to get up and check... he found he could feel the wards flick up from across the room. Apparently Dumbledore was not taking any chances.

He sat for a long time, looking around the room that was...unfamiliar... and yet familiar. The bare bones of the room were similar to the infirmary in the diary... but everything was slightly different; the colours, the objects; it was all...real...

He cautiously pulled the blankets off and slipped his feet out of bed, pulling himself up to stand.

The floor was cold under his bare feet.

He had a strange feeling and couldn't place what exactly it was.

He walked up and down absently, curling his toes and wondering when it finally occurred to him.

He was thirsty.

Well... Easily solved. He went to the bathroom of the infirmary and filled a glass from the tap.

The water was like a small slice of heaven. He drank and drank and drank. The sensation of it in his mouth... of it running down his throat so cool and smooth and refreshing. He drank until his stomach ached.

Then a new sensation demanded his attention. He found himself overjoyed to recognize it!

As it turned out, urinating was almost more satisfying than drinking had been.

He went back to the tap and drank another five glasses of water in the gleeful anticipation of being able to do it again very soon.

When he came out of the bathroom smiling, he was thinking of all the other things he couldn't wait to do again.

He pulled up short, his eyes widening when he saw the boy sitting in the chair by his bed.

Dumbledore had said that he would leave him to sleep. Had he sent this boy? Why? The boy was a few years older than him - Tom put him in perhaps sixth or seventh year. He had a shock of messy black hair and wore circular black framed glasses. His face was quite thin and angular although he had a decent physique.

None of those things were in any way salient however.

What was of relevance was that he was looking at Tom with an expression of loathing and he was pointing a wand.

"Riddle." The boy acknowledged as if they were somehow old acquaintances.

He wondered at the familiarity of it. The boy must somehow know (and despise) his other self in this time.

He didn't move in the face of this new unexpected threat.

Dumbledore wouldn't have allowed someone who despised him this much to come in here when he was weak and unarmed, surely.

If that was so then this boy had somehow gotten in here past the quite complicated wards that Dumbledore had set up.

He sent a tentative feeler of awareness toward the door. The wards were in place. No running away then.

He tried to find his voice to speak... but it had been so very long since he'd spoken... he opened his mouth and the breath died on his lips over and over again. He didn't know what to say anyway. Possibly something along the lines of 'who are you. I'd appreciate it if you did not kill me just yet. Does Dumbledore know you're here? What do you want from me?' Something along those lines. But he couldn't get anything out at all.

"Can you speak?!" the boy asked with some kind of strangely amused fascination.

He opened his mouth again and tried, forming the word yes... but it was silent...no more than a shaped breath.

The black haired boy snorted and pointed his wand at the lamp, brightening it.

"Come here" he demanded softly.

Tom hesitated but, really - non compliance in this situation seemed like a bad idea.

He padded over to the other side of the bed nervously.

When he was there he noticed something further about the boy who seemed to be debating hexing him. He had brilliant bottle green... no...They were brighter... he had Avada green eyes.

He'd never seen eyes as vibrant...or in fact as deep and troubled... as these.

They were mesmerising. He found himself staring.

The boy immediately averted his gaze as if stung. "Don't look me in the eye Riddle. If you try to poke around in my mind, I'll see to it that you stay in here a lot longer while they regrow every bone in your nasty little body."

Tom's interest was piqued by the cold vicious tone of the other. The boy sounded like he was quite prepared to follow through on the threat. Perhaps this boy might be useful?

Poke around in his mind, he'd said. His other self in this time must be a legilimens. The only person he knew who could poke around in one's mind was Dumbledore.

He examined the boy surreptitiously, avoiding direct eye contact. This boy didn't just dislike him... he hated him... he wanted to kill him. It was written in every angle of his body as he sat there.

The wand didn't waver for a second.

After a minute or so Tom lowered his eyes and carefully climbed back into bed.

It wasn't as if he could run from whoever this was.

"How did you get here, anyway?! You look about bloody twelve! There's no way in hell you could have made a horcrux at your age."

Tom jumped again at the casual reference to something that, as far as he was aware, 99.99% of all wizards and witches would never have heard of in their lives.

And he wasn't twelve...

and it was just insulting to state that he'd never have been able to make one. They weren't even that difficult to make. Getting the information had been a lot harder than carrying out the spell.

He allowed his eyes to flick up to the other boy's face for a second, staying around the area of his rather thin lips and then sliding back down to the white cottony surface of the bed covers.

"Oh for fuck's sake" the boy huffed and summoned something from the other side of the room wordlessly. The next moment parchment and quill were shoved under Tom's nose.

"If you can't speak - write. I want to know how you got here."

There was a moment of hesitation.

"How old are you? Do you even know who I am?"

Tom glanced up again. Why the hell would he know who this boy was?! He pulled the parchment and quill closer and wrote, hesitantly.

Does professor Dumbledore know you're here? He told me I wasn't allowed to talk to anyone without his express permission.

A stinging hex swiped across his cheek. He flinched. Pain... again... It was so strange how even pain was bliss now. Any sensation was better than that bland continual emptiness.

He let his eyes drift up to the other boy's lips again and offered a small smile. This seemed to disturb the boy intensely. He flicked off a much harder hex. It sliced into his jaw and he knew it was a cutting hex of some description because red drizzled out and dripped onto the sheets.

Tom looked at the blood fascinated. A while since he'd seen any of the brilliant red liquid.

"Answer the questions, Riddle!" the boy hissed, preparing to hex him again.

"Harry!" a female voice hissed in a chastising half whisper.

Tom looked up, his eyes roving around the room frantically. Someone else was here. He'd missed them completely. Were they disillusioned? He hadn't felt someone else here... Salazar! Was he losing the ability to sense magic now too?!

"Stop it!" the unseen female voice berated. "Look, you just heard him. Professor Dumbledore told him not to talk to anyone. Don't force him to disobey already! We can just come back tomorrow after we've spoken to Professor Dumbledore"

He tried to locate the source of the voice making a mental note that the boy who had hexed him was called Harry. He'd have to repay the hexes to "Harry" one day.

"You have to be joking!" the boy growled back. "He's a nasty little lying snake! Dumbledore didn't tell him anything of the sort - you heard him while he was here.

Even if he had - Tom Riddle never did anything because Dumbledore told him to. It's just an excuse to avoid answering questions. This isn't something I'm willing to 'wait and see' on, this is bloody Tom Riddle here. In the flesh.

I recognise him. It's HIM.

Even if he does look like a firstie.

I want to know how the bloody hell he got here. There's no way I'm closing my eyes and sleeping, knowing he's in the castle. You have no idea what we're dealing with here."

Ok... the boy wasn't going to go away. Tom could see that now. And he had no way of calling for Dumbledore. He couldn't even speak to summon a house elf, not that he imagined they would respond to him. Dumbledore would have made sure they couldn't. The man didn't trust him as far as he could throw him.

'Fine' he wrote on the parchment.

'I was 14 when I was put into a diary horcrux. Dumbledore brought me back. What else do you want to know?!'

The boy looked appalled.

"Another diary?! You've got to be kidding! You made a horcrux at...at fourteen?!!..What the fuck is wrong with you, you twisted little bastard?!"

Tom blinked slowly. Another. Therefore he had gone ahead and made the other one he had talked about making...despite his own warnings. And somehow this boy was aware of that.

It must have been activated in the meantime somehow.

Maybe he was wrong... maybe his primary self wasn't alive now then. His eyes slid back to the older boy.

'Obviously... I don't know anything about another diary. The one I was in was the first horcrux I made.

It was an...experiment... it didn't work as I had thought it would.

I tried to tell my other self not to make another one... tried to tell him to get me out.

As you see - I ignored my own warnings and pleas.

Anything else you might have against me would be after my time.'

The green eyed boy raised his wand again and Tom recognized the look in his eyes immediately. That determined resolution. There was murder in those dazzling green orbs.

He was about to react to the threat when suddenly there was a flurry of movement directly in front of him and a form seemed to unfold itself out of the air. It pressed back against him and he got a face full of bushy curly hair.

"NO!! HARRY!! STOP!!!" the girl's voice cried.

There was a crash from the other side of the room suddenly.

He was trying to lean away to see what was going on... but part of him didn't really want to..

This was the first human contact he'd had in ...well... he hadn't really had very much before the diary either. People didn't tend to dare to try to touch him.

He was a bit stunned, to tell the truth.

And whoever the girl was, her hair smelled of peaches.

He let himself take a single deep breath of it and then pulled away, leaning back and sliding out of the bed quickly, taking cover.

"MIONE!! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!! I ALMOST BLOODY-.."

"NO HARRY - WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?! WHAT WERE YOU GOING TO DO TO HIM?! FROM THE LOOKS OF THE TABLE YOU WERE TRYING TO KILL HIM!!

Damn it!! He's FOURTEEN! He hasn't done anything yet. He hasn't even been provocative since you started talking to him even when you bloody hexed him for nothing. What the hell is wrong with you?!"

Tom peered over the edge of the bed from his vantage point pressed against the bedside table.

He could see the back of the girl who had leapt in front of him. She cut a slender figure... probably in her sixth or seventh year like the boy...harry. Her hair was a mass of brown curls reaching halfway down her back.

She glanced over her shoulder at him, displaying an unusual face. She was quite pretty, he thought. If unconventionally so. She had large amber brown eyes that were unusually alert and intelligent and a cute nose that turned up just slightly at the end.

She saw him hiding on the floor and her features twisted in an expression he recognised only too well.

Sympathy. Pity.

He despised that expression... but... he had to admit... it was often very useful.

He did his best to look shell-shocked and frightened.

"Oh damn it." She cursed softly and looked back at the other boy. He caught her glare at 'Harry' before she got up and came around the bed, approaching him slowly and carefully.

"Look... Tom...I...I won't hurt you. - Ok? And I won't let harry hurt you either. You can calm down now. You're safe. I'm...so sorry... that this is your first experience of others after...a long time alone.

His eyes flicked to hers briefly. He wasn't certain but he thought there was a very slight twist of calculation in her soothing brown eyes.

He thought about this. Even if this were all a ploy, it would be wise of him to play along.

He offered her an uncertain smile with a component of hope to it. She seemed pleased.

"I'll...help you back into bed. Harry - lower your wand NOW or I swear I'm going to sheath it somewhere nature didn't intend.

Tom smirked faintly, glancing over at 'Harry' who had blushed slightly and looked peeved.

He allowed the girl to gently take his arm and help him up, although his natural instinct screamed to pull away and inform her not to take liberties with his person.

That was not a useful instinct right now. This girl was the 'good auror' of the two. He should show her that he welcomed her attentions.

So he let her help him back into bed.

She actually tucked him in!

It was an entirely new and surreal experience for him.

He took the time to examine her more closely as she leaned over him, tucking in the covers on the far side. She was indeed quite pretty.

He wondered whether she could be persuaded to be more friendly with him. He'd never experienced sex and over the long long years (they'd felt so much longer than only sixty six) it was one of the things he'd berated himself for the most. How could he risk his existence so lightly without even experiencing the most basic fundamentals of life?

He leaned in toward her subtly and sniffed lightly again. She smelled amazing. Peaches... oh. Peaches peaches...he'd wanted a peach so badly.

The girl, the boy had called her...Mione (?), stiffened and looked at him in surprise, catching him in the act. Her eyes seemed to goggle for a moment and then flicked away in the direction of the boy 'Harry' as if worried that he might have seen.

He apparently hadn't.

Tom offered her a tiny secretive smile, knowing that she wouldn't say a word, for fear of what the other boy might do if he knew.

He leaned back into the pillows and watched her withdraw with that thoughtful, slightly confused look on her face. He looked back over at the other boy, momentarily ignoring the previous command to avoid making eye contact and taking the opportunity to look into the striking eyes that were narrowed at him suspiciously.

It was a pity that this boy hated him so much. He was... perhaps even more attractive than the girl and...well... Tom's own natural preferences tended to lean slightly more in favour of the masculine than the feminine.

He would of course sample both sexes at the earliest opportunity, simply for the intrinsic value of the experience.

Looking about for the parchment, the girl seemed to recognise what he wanted and bent to retrieve the parchment and quill from the floor, passing it to him wordlessly. He pulled it close and wrote with more care than before

'He's Harry and you are ...Mione?'

The girl glanced at his writing and looked at him with an unreadable expression

"Hermione..." she said quietly. "I'm Hermione. You should probably sleep now. Come on Harry. We should go."

He was musing on how unusual her name was when she mentioned leaving. Turning quickly back to the parchment he scrawled hurriedly

'I'm not sure I can sleep. I...don't know how anymore. I haven't slept in...a long time. Please stay!'

'Hermione' looked unsure, her forehead furrowing as she looked over at 'Harry' who seemed annoyed, although Tom couldn't tell whether he was annoyed at her suggestion they leave or his request that she stay.

"Harry... We're not supposed to be here at all. You said you just wanted to see. We've seen. Come on. We have to go now!"

Disappointed, he looked away. The girl 'Hermione' didn't want to stay here with him. He'd unsettled her already.

He sighed and turned his head away, looking over toward the tall thin windows at the end of the infirmary. Some kind of blocking charm had been applied to them. Otherwise he should be able to see the night sky and stars now. He'd spent enough nights in the infirmary in his first year to know that.

"You go, Mione." Harry said with a slightly threatening undertone.

"It seems that...Tom... doesn't want to be alone. I'll keep him company."

Tom rolled his eyes and turned in the bed away from Harry, curling up and closing his eyes.

"Harry... please?"

The tone in her voice alerted Tom to something else about this pair. No matter how stern and demanding the girl might have sounded before - in whatever way these two were connected - the boy 'Harry' was definitely in charge. The note of pleading was one which he'd heard Abraxas use on him before when he'd insisted upon some slightly risky course of action that the blonde was uncomfortable with.

He wondered whether Harry and Hermione were dating.

He didn't really have any way of knowing. It had been so long since he'qd heard people speaking; seen couples and friends interact. He supposed it was possible.

He lay still and tried to slow his breathing.

After a long time he finally heard the boy mutter. "Yeah... ok... fine. We'll go."

He listened to the sounds of them moving for a moment, and then there was silence..When he looked up, the room seemed to be empty. The doors hadn t opened and he really wondered how the hell they'd done that.

He lay for a very long time thinking.

Sixty six years... He was sixty six years old.

In some ways he felt much older.

Yet... his own face in the bathroom belied that. For fifty years or so he'd looked at a child's face in the mirror and a child was what everyone else would see when they looked upon him.

Except perhaps Dumbledore. He mustn't underestimate that old goat.

And the boy with the Avada eyes... Harry. Harry didn't think of him as a harmless child either.

He wondered what his other self (selves?) might be doing.

Dumbledore's reaction had strongly suggested that he was out there somewhere and apparently constituted a serious problem for the old wizard - hence why he had stipulated that Tom would be resurrected only if he accepted being a dog on a short leash and answering any questions Dumbledore might have.

He assumed he was soon enough to be used to try to anticipate his other self's actions. Or something along those lines. He wasn't certain whether he really cared too greatly either way.

It was...himself obviously... and thus it had probably only acted as he himself would also have acted in its place - but that did not excuse the last fifty miserable years.

Well... perhaps it did... but he was angry and wished to punish the one responsible for his torment... Which was himself obviously...

He sighed.

Perhaps it would simply be best to try to find out what had happened in the interim.

Perhaps there was a valid reason for leaving him in his prison.

He would inform himself as much as he was able as to the events of the last fifty years and then he would make his choice where he stood regarding his other self.

At present it would probably be counterproductive, as Dumbledore had said, to think about it overtly. He likely could not escape Hogwarts, had no idea where his other self might be and no wand.

Moreover to think about this matter too much would only lead to an increase in the restrictions placed upon him.

He hadn't needed to occlude in too long and Dumbledore seemed to be far better at legilimency than ever before. Better to put his other self out of his mind altogether for the moment.
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The First Horcrux