Chapter o2
Tom Riddle was absolutely furious. He couldn't even begin to comprehend as to how he, the most brilliant student ever attending Hogwarts, it would so seem, had overlooked certain details of such a simple spell. Unbelievable! It had taken him five whole years to find out everything he could about his rightful heirloom, the notorious Chamber of Secrets, the creation of his great ancestor, Salazar Slytherin, only to find himself almost splinched in the process to tiny pieces in his attempt to go through the second set of wards, placed inside the Chamber, protecting the Library of said Slytherin, holding, as rumor had it, tomes of long gone knowledge on creation and application of the most deadly and powerful spells.
Well, good thing was—he actually hadn't splinched himself. As for bad—
What could be worse than this?!
Instead of simply and brutally breaching through the wards and into Slytherin' Study, Tom had Apparated to the outskirts of London.
In mere moments after his apparition, he heard an unmistakeably familiar crack of another person apparating somewhere nearby, too close for Tom to be comfortable, at that matter.
While Tom himself had been trying to understand how he could possibly Apparate out of Hogwarts, and then noting the seriously, erroneously off temperature around him—it shouldn't be so blazingly hot on Halloween, surely—stranger, who apparated about a minute ago nearby, came to him.
That was the tell-tale last straw—
Dumbledore. Annoying and always suspecting some thing or the other, his Transfiguration Professor, as usual, immediately assumed, that Tom had been up to no good, always stalking Tom from the shadows—
But there had been something really bizarre this time with the man's attire— and health, too. Or rather—age.
Dumbledore was old. Simply old. Long white beard and white hair under his utterly distasteful and disgusting (as well as absolutely normal for barmy teacher) pointy hat with some ridiculous patterns. His robes, too, were multicoloured and with even more idiotic patterns. Were it bunnies?! Tom didn't want to know.
What he did want to know, though, was—what happened to auburn-haired man in his thirties or forties, who now looked even more barmy as his childish robes clashed alarmingly with his seemingly rather old age. And what happened to Halloween' weather in London? When—?
It all became pretty clear to him at that moment. Here was the right, the most accurate question—"When".
He not simply Apparated out of the castle (from where even the most powerful wizards could not Apparate on the whim). He jumped through the time itself.
Dumbledore had, for a moment, seemed absolutely shocked, at the site of his most un-favorite student, but he regained his composure rather quickly and politely greeted the said student with simple "Tom" and inclination of his head.
Tom smirked smugly at him, raising a questioning brow in response.
"Professor. What happened to your handsome red beard? Got tired of it?"
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled angrily behind his half-moon spectacles, before he once again collected himself to answer.
"Age, as I presume, you know."
"Ah, but of course." Tom's smirk broadened becoming more of an evil grin with bared teeth. "It's just with these, oh, so merry clothes, I can not possibly guess, how old should you be now?" That was too blunt for usually sly and cunning Tom, he was fishing for hints on his whereabouts (or rather "whenabouts"), but desperate times called for desperate measures, as they said.
This was much, much more than he had ever aspired to achieve from this small escapade. He could not even begin to anticipate what could transpire from this unexpected gift from the fate itself, it seemed.
Alas, Tom had managed to forget Dumbledore's suspicion towards him and Professor's animosity. Barmy coot didn't get caught in his — rather childishly set, he ought to admit—trap. Instead, Professor menacingly pointed his wand and tried for intimidation (in these robes? Really?!), ordering him to come along, so that the Professor could help Mr. Riddle to return to his home-time, or some such nonsense. As if!
Tom, of course, tried to slither away, to leave, while Dumbledore's back was turned on him. He hadn't anticipated that while he had only several minutes, Professor lived through several decades (judging by his looks) and, thus, accumulated both experience and knowledge of more spells and curses, as well as more power.
Tom was definitely at disadvantage here.
Although, if he was in Dumbledore's shoes, he'd definitely stunned himself, chained and only then transported to where old man wanted to bring him.
"On the second thought—" Dumbledore abruptly stopped in his tracks, turning and casting, almost in one breath, Full-Body Bind and Mobilicorpus at Tom, who hasn't expected such surprising speed from the seemingly old man.
That had only angered Tom more, but he could not do anything in his state, at least, not now. Silently fuming and sending death glares to his offender, while contemplating this ridiculous situation and planning not just escape, but revenge, too, for this humiliation, Tom was transported around London, to some strange, dark and old looking house, somewhere in the city.
Tom had been left in this humiliating state—in Full-Body Bind—in one of the rooms of that house for another couple of hours, which, of course, hasn't helped his mood. Tom couldn't hear anything and, no matter how much he tried, he hadn't been able to break free of the spell.
So when, at last, Tom had heard steps outside the locked door, he was absolutely raging mad with fury and hatred—both towards this situation (and Dumbledore, at that matter), and towards himself for such stupidity and incompetence.
The door to the room opened to reveal not only Dumbledore, but another person as well.
It was a boy with dark messy hair, round glasses, in strange and very oversized clothes—and with his wand drawn. The boy was squinting his eyes of Avada green colour towards Tom and pointing the wand at him for good measure.
Tom tried to move away from this wand (and this menacing and angry look, too), but the spell, which was binding him, could not allow for it. He cringed uncomfortably inwardly, silently sending death glares to Dumbledore and this stranger. He was seeing this boy for the first time, for Salazar's sake! And already the boy hated and tried to threaten him! What had Tom done to him?!
"This is him?" The boy asked, staring down at Tom, who was lying at the floor.
"Yes, this is Tom Riddle." Dumbledore confirmed grimly. He once again pointed the wand a Tom, but didn't released him from the spell. "Move closer to him, Harry, please. He's restrained with the spell, so there's no need to be alarmed." Professor added reassuringly, indicating the place at the floor near Tom. "Sit there, my boy."
This Harry hesitantly stepped closer to Tom, scowling at him, and sat, cringing with seeming discomfort at such close proximity.
"Take him by the hand." Suggested Dumbledore, with the flick of the wand releasing Tom from binding spell.
The boy—Harry—wincing openly with disgust and with angry sparks in his eyes took Tom's hand in his own.
Before Tom could protest or ask what's going on, Dumbledore made wide gesture with his wand and muttered some spell under his breath. His wand gave a shower of multicolored sparks, which gathered into the greenish ribbon of light, going right to the entwined hands of Tom and Harry, wrapped around them, and dissolved there, leaving ghostly mark, looking like a band of transparent silk, around their wrists. In the first moment, it looked like the spell had been finished, the mark was slowly dissipating, as if dissolving into the skin on their wrists.
Harry let out a breath he was holding and tried to release Tom's hand at the same moment as Tom was also trying to free his limb from the other's firm grip. At that second the mark on their wrists once again became visible, instantly turning red in color and becoming less transparent.
Harry winced and gave a low hiss of pain. Tom merely flinched, grinding his teeth at unpleasant sensation of burning, which was emitting from the mark. The offending thing flashed bright red one more time before turning back to half-transparent greenish and dissolving into the skin of their hands again.
Dumbledore scowled in contemplation and obvious bewilderment at the mark's behavior. It was clear, that Professor hadn't expected the mark to act in such way. Nevertheless, Dumbledore sighed in obvious relief and made the gesture of dismissal, not even bothering to help with the burn on their hands.
"Tom, this is Harry, a friend of mine and son of the friend who will be helping me with the time spell. Harry will keep you company till the moment we find a way for you to return home."
"And what, pray tell, was this nasty little spell, that you've put on me?" Tom drawled with suspicion and barely contended fury in his voice. "Is it legal to subject a mere student to such a horrendous spell?"
"This is just a measure of precaution for your safety, as it will allow to expand the wards guarding Harry, him being dear to me as my own grandson, to you, also. I must advise you not to leave this house in view of said protection wards, and remain within ten feet from Harry at all times." Dumbledore explained tightly.
"What?!" Tom almost cursed, hearing that last bit.
"It is the safety measure, think nothing of it. All other discussions will be held at a later, more appropriate time, as, I presume, we should all be tired at five in the morning. I am afraid, you will need to take the second bed in the room Harry stays at, as there are no suitable bedrooms within ten feet of Harry's. The rest will be arranged in the later morning, when we've been rested.
"Harry, show Tom to the bedroom, please.
"Goodnight to you, gentlemen."
And with that Dumbledore was gone.
Tom was left with his jaw hanging, as, he anticipated, Harry would be, too. Strangely, it seemed, that the boy had already known about their living arrangements, and of the spell, too, at that matter.
"Well?—" Harry gestured towards the door, scowling. "Get going, Tom. It's bloody five in the morning, I want some sleep, already." Harry grumbled, scrubbing at his eyes with his right hand.
"How about you release my hand firstly, Harry?" drawled Tom, raising their still entwined hands for demonstration.
Harry abruptly dropped Tom's hand, as if scalded.
"Move it." Harry grumbled, pointing to the corridor behind opened door.
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