Post by Arctura on Aug 7, 2014 14:19:42 GMT
You always get those stories where Harry travels to Tom Riddle's era in an effort to either kill him or change him. After his mission is complete, he stays or goes back to his time. But what if, just once, someone followed a time traveler back?
However, this story is not a time travel story in the sense that I detail Harry's journey. This picks up after Harry returns, and I allude to the events that happened. It's set in OotP.
It's mostly humorous and lighthearted; I just wanted to have some fun with it. I might make it longer and and give it an actual plot...idk yet.
However, this story is not a time travel story in the sense that I detail Harry's journey. This picks up after Harry returns, and I allude to the events that happened. It's set in OotP.
It's mostly humorous and lighthearted; I just wanted to have some fun with it. I might make it longer and and give it an actual plot...idk yet.
Fate's Favorite
Harry stared down at the Gryffindor table, ignoring the looks that the Staff and other students were sending him. It was the opening feast and he looked different - he knew it. He looked different, and he acted different. How could he not?
It had been a bizarre summer, even by his rather messed up standards. Time Travel. He'd just spent a year in 1943 - Tom Riddle's fifth year at Hogwarts. The year before everything changed, with the Chamber of Secrets and the rise of the Dark Lord…not that Tom hadn't been Dark Lordish. He was, most definitely at times.
He wasn't Voldemort, though. Harry could see that now. He smiled slightly wistfully to himself. It was inconceivable that he could spend a year as Harrison Evans, the other half of the Slytherin Duo, and not change. It wasn't the kind of change that could be explained though. Ron and Hermione could sense that he was different, but he didn't even know where to begin in explaining why. They would freak out, completely.
The running theory, from what he had gathered, was that Cedric's death had traumatised him big time. A slight shiver ran up his spine. That hadn't been particularly easy, he admitted, but he wasn't broken by it. He wasn't.
"Harry?" Hermione asked tentatively.
"Hmm?" he looked up, forcing himself out of his thoughts.
"Are you alright?"
"Fine," he smiled briefly. "I'm fine." He pushed another forkful of spaghetti into his mouth.
"You seem…different," she offered.
"Do I?" he replied blandly. "Good different or bad different?" he said with a wink. She looked surprised for a moment. Confidence, another change, he knew. It was just that Tom had always demanded confidence, or at least a mask of it. It was part of being a Slytherin; you had to be the picture of confidence or the vultures would swoop in and tear you apart.
Why was he even thinking about Tom? It was over. This was his time now. He would go crazy if he kept thinking about back there.
"Just different," she hedged. He shrugged.
"People can change," he said softly. He had, and he'd hoped Tom wouldn't. He'd hoped so much…yet Voldemort still seemed to be here and Salazar, didn't that feel like a shard of ice through the stomach? Unless Tom's universe had turned into an alternate one, if such a thing even existed.
There would be another him, possibly, living with his parents. Tom would probably be the Minister of Magic by the time he was thirty. Harry's lips curved slightly. Zevi Prince would of course be a potions master who travelled the world showing off his crazy skills. He let the thoughts trail off. He couldn't dwell on that. He just couldn't. Now he just wished his heart would obey the logical aspects of his mind.
"I suppose so," Hermione agreed, studying him.
Before it would have made him shift and want to tell her everything, but after being under Tom's intense psyche, anyone else's scrutiny - even Dumbledore’s and Snape’s - seemed rather pale in comparison. There he went again, thinking about the past. It was just hard to adjust. He'd almost walked to the Slytherin table when they entered the Great Hall, and Malfoy's (as in Draco's) little witticisms only served to amuse him. He'd almost called him Abraxas, because damn, they looked similar.
He ate another mouthful pasta. The Sorting had finished, with several new additions to every House. He twisted his hands in his lap for want of something to do. It felt weird sitting here, surreal. It really shouldn't have, but it did. He almost wished he was back in 1943, which was ridiculous, because he spend a large fraction of his time there trying to find a way back. Who knew that all he needed to do was get hit by a killing curse. It was just that he'd finally accepted his place there, and he was abruptly slammed back into his time.
Fate hated him.
They finished eating, as Harry tried to participate in the conversation around him to the best of his ability. Dumbledore rose to speak, and then a white glow grew in the center of the room.
Everyone stared at it, vacillating between terror and curiosity. For Harry, it was pure anxiety. The light seemed so familiar to him. The voices coming out of it were growing louder, like a train rushing down a tunnel.
"Are you sure it worked?", said a voice that sounded like Alphard.
"Are you saying that Tom would have got it wrong?" That was Lestrange - as sycophantic as ever. He got the oddest urge to burst into hysterical laughter as five figures formed in the middle of the hall: Alphard Black, Cygnus Lestrange, Abraxas Malfoy, Zevi Prince, and Tom Riddle.
"What is the meaning of this?" Dumbledore demanded.
He saw Tom give the old man a glance over, his lip curling slightly at the multi-colored robes with bumblebees on them, then scan his eyes across the room before focusing on the headmaster once more.
"I'm looking for someone," Tom said. "Harrison Evans." There was a whisper of murmuring across the room. Harry bit his lip. The Slytherin Heir always did have a flair for dramatics. "You might know him as Harry Potter?"
Every murmur dropped instantly and eyes latched onto his figure. He figured he might as well stand up and make it official.
"So you are still alive, then? And I was getting so hopeful."
Harry felt a grin slip onto his face. "Nope," he replied thoughtfully. "You're still not funny. I'd give up on your dream of becoming a comedian. What are you guys doing here?"
"Looking for you," Abraxas offered. "Tom missed seeing your pretty little face around and decided he had to go hunt you down. Blatant favoritism, that's all I'm saying…"
Harry arched a brow at the explanation. Tom rolled his eyes at him in response, and Harry's grin widened.
"Aw, I always knew you'd miss me!" he quipped.
"It got boring," Tom said. "No one to hospitalize."
"That was once!"
The Headmaster decided that was enough interaction and interjected forcefully, his voice echoing in the hall. "What’s going on here?"
To his embarrassment, Harry realized they were still standing in the middle of the Great Hall.
"Harrison Evans is Harry Potter," Abraxas stated. "And we decided to take a leaf out of boy wonder's book and go on a futuristic, or in his case-"
"-Don't say pasteristic," Zevi muttered. "It's not a word!"
"-Pasteristic," Abraxas continued smugly, "holiday. Is that the Sorting Hat? Excellent, I presume you can get us some room in the Slytherin dorms?"
Dumbledore frowned deeply, a lack of twinkle in his eyes. Harry took the time to look back at the Gryffindor table.
Ron looked gobsmacked, an odd shade of puce. Hermione was stunned. His eyes were drawn to Ginny, who's own were fixed on Tom in absolute horror. Harry felt a pang of sympathy at her ashen face. Crap. He hadn't thought of that.
"I'm not sure that would be possible," the headmaster said tightly. Tom smiled, charmingly, chillingly.
"Shall we go and seek accommodation elsewhere then?" he questioned politely. "Perhaps with my future self?" Dumbledore blanched at the implications and Harry frowned a little.
"How long have you been here, Tom?" he asked. Tom merely pulled an innocent look at him, before his expression changed and he strode over. Harry jolted as he was yanked into the aisle by his Gryffindor tie. Tom pushed him towards the Sorting Hat.
"Re-sort him," he ordered. The Hat blinked at them both, if a hat could blink. Although, Harry supposed that most hats didn't burst into song and read minds, either.
"Gryffindor," Tom said. "You have got to be kidding me. You really were the little light side lamb."
"I've already sorted him twice," the hat whined. "I'm not doing it again. He makes my head hurt."
Harry glared at the rest of his Slytherins and they instantly wiped away their expressions of sympathy and agreement.
"Then just say Slytherin," Tom said flatly. "And you won't have to go anywhere near his twisted mind."
"Twisted mind?" he repeated delicately. "Coming from you?"
"Gryffindor," Tom replied, as if that was a point to make. "I suppose it's the hero complex-"
"-I don't have a hero complex!" Harry insisted.
"No," Lestrange said snidely. "You really do. It's pathetic."
"What?" Harry tilted his head, smiling. "Like you?"
"I'm not pathetic!" Cygnus hissed. Harry merely smirked, watching as the other grew increasingly agitated in his insistence. Apparently, calling someone pathetic was what passed as a wounding insult in the ‘40’s.
That was how the accommodation got sorted.
Finally, maybe some half an hour and a couple of failed attempts to get the student populace to leave for their dorms, things got sorted.
The 1943 crew were given beds in the Slytherin dorms and schedules. Tom argued that they needed six beds, but Harry point blank refused to get resorted. At last though, everything official was pushed out of the way. The student body, previously restrained by the staff and curiosity to see how things would resolve, exploded in questions and chatter.
Hermione had assured him that they would be talking in the common room - but for now she had first years to help in her role of Prefect. So did Ron. The other Weasley's had a distraught little sister to console. Harry felt slightly guilty for not going with them, seeing as it was his fault.
"Are you really the Harrison's Evans?" A Slytherin, whom he vaguely remembered to be called Theodore Nott, questioned in awe.
"Hi," Harry said awkwardly. The present time Slytherins were mostly staring at them all, forming opinions and schemes as they tried to mesh this new information into a plan of action.
"But, that means you're Tom Riddle," Nott murmured, his gleaming eyes giving away his careful posture.
"Are you perhaps related to Pollux Nott?" Tom inquired with mild interest.
"He's my grandfather," Nott said proudly. He nodded.
Rather stupidly in Harry’s opinion, Pansy Parkinson exclaimed, "Potter can't possibly be the same person as Harrison Evans! Evans is like…" She trailed off, a touch of colour appearing on her cheeks.
"I assure you, he is," Tom said coolly. "Parkinson, is it?" Pansy looked down, subdued. Harry sighed. Tom had never much liked Cassius, her grandfather.
"Can you leave off building your little empire for one night? Geez. You have a serious superiority complex," Harry said.
"It's not a superiority complex if he actually is better," Cygnus snapped defensively. "At least, he is to you. Tom, I implore you to let me teach Evans the meaning of respect!"
Tom looked faintly amused. Harry laughed with a slight edge of cruelty that he was sure he’d picked up from the Slytherin heir.
Harry felt a grin slip onto his face. "Nope," he replied thoughtfully. "You're still not funny. I'd give up on your dream of becoming a comedian. What are you guys doing here?"
"Looking for you," Abraxas offered. "Tom missed seeing your pretty little face around and decided he had to go hunt you down. Blatant favoritism, that's all I'm saying…"
Harry arched a brow at the explanation. Tom rolled his eyes at him in response, and Harry's grin widened.
"Aw, I always knew you'd miss me!" he quipped.
"It got boring," Tom said. "No one to hospitalize."
"That was once!"
The Headmaster decided that was enough interaction and interjected forcefully, his voice echoing in the hall. "What’s going on here?"
To his embarrassment, Harry realized they were still standing in the middle of the Great Hall.
"Harrison Evans is Harry Potter," Abraxas stated. "And we decided to take a leaf out of boy wonder's book and go on a futuristic, or in his case-"
"-Don't say pasteristic," Zevi muttered. "It's not a word!"
"-Pasteristic," Abraxas continued smugly, "holiday. Is that the Sorting Hat? Excellent, I presume you can get us some room in the Slytherin dorms?"
Dumbledore frowned deeply, a lack of twinkle in his eyes. Harry took the time to look back at the Gryffindor table.
Ron looked gobsmacked, an odd shade of puce. Hermione was stunned. His eyes were drawn to Ginny, who's own were fixed on Tom in absolute horror. Harry felt a pang of sympathy at her ashen face. Crap. He hadn't thought of that.
"I'm not sure that would be possible," the headmaster said tightly. Tom smiled, charmingly, chillingly.
"Shall we go and seek accommodation elsewhere then?" he questioned politely. "Perhaps with my future self?" Dumbledore blanched at the implications and Harry frowned a little.
"How long have you been here, Tom?" he asked. Tom merely pulled an innocent look at him, before his expression changed and he strode over. Harry jolted as he was yanked into the aisle by his Gryffindor tie. Tom pushed him towards the Sorting Hat.
"Re-sort him," he ordered. The Hat blinked at them both, if a hat could blink. Although, Harry supposed that most hats didn't burst into song and read minds, either.
"Gryffindor," Tom said. "You have got to be kidding me. You really were the little light side lamb."
"I've already sorted him twice," the hat whined. "I'm not doing it again. He makes my head hurt."
Harry glared at the rest of his Slytherins and they instantly wiped away their expressions of sympathy and agreement.
"Then just say Slytherin," Tom said flatly. "And you won't have to go anywhere near his twisted mind."
"Twisted mind?" he repeated delicately. "Coming from you?"
"Gryffindor," Tom replied, as if that was a point to make. "I suppose it's the hero complex-"
"-I don't have a hero complex!" Harry insisted.
"No," Lestrange said snidely. "You really do. It's pathetic."
"What?" Harry tilted his head, smiling. "Like you?"
"I'm not pathetic!" Cygnus hissed. Harry merely smirked, watching as the other grew increasingly agitated in his insistence. Apparently, calling someone pathetic was what passed as a wounding insult in the ‘40’s.
That was how the accommodation got sorted.
Finally, maybe some half an hour and a couple of failed attempts to get the student populace to leave for their dorms, things got sorted.
The 1943 crew were given beds in the Slytherin dorms and schedules. Tom argued that they needed six beds, but Harry point blank refused to get resorted. At last though, everything official was pushed out of the way. The student body, previously restrained by the staff and curiosity to see how things would resolve, exploded in questions and chatter.
Hermione had assured him that they would be talking in the common room - but for now she had first years to help in her role of Prefect. So did Ron. The other Weasley's had a distraught little sister to console. Harry felt slightly guilty for not going with them, seeing as it was his fault.
"Are you really the Harrison's Evans?" A Slytherin, whom he vaguely remembered to be called Theodore Nott, questioned in awe.
"Hi," Harry said awkwardly. The present time Slytherins were mostly staring at them all, forming opinions and schemes as they tried to mesh this new information into a plan of action.
"But, that means you're Tom Riddle," Nott murmured, his gleaming eyes giving away his careful posture.
"Are you perhaps related to Pollux Nott?" Tom inquired with mild interest.
"He's my grandfather," Nott said proudly. He nodded.
Rather stupidly in Harry’s opinion, Pansy Parkinson exclaimed, "Potter can't possibly be the same person as Harrison Evans! Evans is like…" She trailed off, a touch of colour appearing on her cheeks.
"I assure you, he is," Tom said coolly. "Parkinson, is it?" Pansy looked down, subdued. Harry sighed. Tom had never much liked Cassius, her grandfather.
"Can you leave off building your little empire for one night? Geez. You have a serious superiority complex," Harry said.
"It's not a superiority complex if he actually is better," Cygnus snapped defensively. "At least, he is to you. Tom, I implore you to let me teach Evans the meaning of respect!"
Tom looked faintly amused. Harry laughed with a slight edge of cruelty that he was sure he’d picked up from the Slytherin heir.
