Chapter o1
Ex parvis saepe magnarum rerum momenta pendent
(The course of great events often depends on the smallest of things)
Titus Livius
Harry Potter couldn't believe it. After everything that happened about a month ago—the disaster at the Department of Mysteries, Sirius going through that Veil after being hit by Bellatrix' curse, all his friends (and Dumbledore!) seemingly turning on him, refusing to even send a small note, if not their usual foliant-ish letters —
And now this.
Harry was going to spend the rest of his summer (and his bloody birthday, on that matter!) in the place, which was debatedly almost as bad as the Dursley's. Grimmauld Place.
What was even more disastrous—he was bunking with the enemy. No, not just some enemy, not Malfoy, or any of the other Slitherins, not even some nameless lesser Death Eater-turned-spy, but The Ultimate Enemy of one Harry Potter. Namely, Tom Riddle.
The only small consolation for Harry in this matter was that this Riddle was yet to become a psychopathic mass-murderer with a face of a snake and without an ounce of humanity left, as this Riddle was still a teenager of sixteen.
As it was still too early in the morning (four, for Merlin's sake! Shouldn't be the Headmaster sleeping at this time, at least, due to his age?!) Harry was yet to comprehend the sheer possibility of such a long (or should it be "old"?) time travel. All Harry needed to know at this ungodly hour, by the words of Dumbledore, was that such living arrangements were only temporary, for the time being, while the Headmaster, together with several of the more trustworthy and "brainy" members of the Order of the Phoenix, is going through the books to restore the normal order of things. Preferably, with Riddle gone—to his own time, or maybe as in "gone for good"— as him staying could and would mess with the law of the Universe, or some such rubbish. Four a.m. was still to early to even hold your eyes open, needless to say, that brain functioning and grasping the complexity of time-travel disorders was out of the question.
Harry tried to suppress a yawn, only to be encouraged by the Headmaster's own, politely covered by wrinkled hand. Old man put his glasses off and rubbed the bridge of his nose tiredly.
"Harry, my boy, I sincerely apologize for dragging you out of bed at this hour, but we still—ahh", another huge yawn. "We still have things to discuss, and of utmost importance, at that, so, please, bear with me for some more here."
Harry sleepily nodded, not trusting himself to answer verbally without yawning. While he himself was somewhat used to the nights without much sleep due to almost constant nightmares, Harry sympathized with the old Professor's tiredness enough to not encourage yet another yawn (and possible dislocation of old man's jaw in the process).
"As you, my boy, should well know by now, the Tom Riddle, whom we have here, Tom Riddle of sixteen, is not a mere teenager, even at this age. He is already unstable in his mind and heart, already inclined towards cruelty and evil behavior. I shall refrain from labeling him as psychopath for now, but remember, this is Tom Riddle we're talking about. It could be that he already possesses the—shall we say—qualities, which made Voldemort, as we know him in our own timeline.
"Therefore, for the purposes of, at least, restraining him from wandering off in that direction once again, and in hopes of—shall we say—encouraging his brighter side and—how to put it—curing his heart, we need to perform the special spell—"
"Now, Professor? Couldn't it wait till the morning at least? I mean, um, normal morning. Like, at ten o'clock or something like it?" Harry bewildered.
"Alas, these measures are required for your safety immediately. And I mean not only your safety, Harry, but Tom' safety, as well. Unfortunately, such huge magical burst as occurred this night during Tom Riddle's arrival could not go unnoticed by all parties concerned—meaning the Order, the Ministry, and, to our dismay, Voldemort cohorts. You should understand how dire the situation would become, shall Voldemort get his hands on a person such as his younger self. We will have two Voldemorts to deal with, and one of them will be more sane—and, dare I say, more dangerous—to deal, while the other will have all means and ends to support the former, as well as the desire to destroy the peace of the Wizarding World and half, if not the most, of it's population. In such a scenario not only Magical people, but Muggles as well will suffer greatly, as Tom of young has no love for those, who nearly destroyed the place he was raised at, as well as half of the world, during World War, nor he considers that said place his home, and, I am afraid, he never had."
Harry was biting his tongue for the comment, which set Dumbledore off so much, and was grimly scowling and nodding in understanding and agreement by the end of Headmaster's tirade. He has already been up, so what did additional five-ten minutes matter?
"Okay, Professor, that's alright. I—um—I will perform the spell, if you'd like so—"
"Oh, no, no, ma'boy, it's not you who will be casting a spell, you're still underage, for one, and also, it's too complex and needs too much power—"
Harry was positively shocked out of his sleepiness—was the Headmaster rambling?! Stuttering, like he was teenager himself?!
"Erm— Headmaster, that's okay! I wasn't— It's alright! I mean, I couldn't have possibly known that this spell is so complex and power-consuming. As to underage, I thought here, at this place, there is enough protection, so the Ministry won't notice me doing any magic—"
"Oh, Harry, unfortunately there is new regulation around for underage magic. I was trying to prevent it from becoming law, in the first place, but, alas, I was—ah, how they say—outnumbered at the final voting. From the beginning of next month, namely in a week, the magic, performed by the persons of under eighteen years old, will be monitored by the special device, which detects the magical signature of said person. To put it simply, now you need to be older, than by the previous law, and now it is harder to cover unauthorized magic, as the device recognizes the spell-caster and records the information: when, where and which spells were used, in case that such person is underage and not in a school for wizarding education. As for the magical signature, the device is linked to the Register of Hogwarts, where all magical children are recorded, and this device gets the information on signature from the Register. Most inconvenient, I must say."
Harry was absolutely terrified of this news.
"So, Professor, say, if one goes to holidays, for Christmas, for example, or summer, and there is Death Eater attack at the time, what happens? Will they bring a child to court for defending themselves?! Back in fourth year, I was out of school, at that awful graveyard—"
"No, no, my dear boy, no law punishes for that which was committed before this law existed in the first place! You shall not be put to trial for that—"
"Headmaster, I am not that stupid!" Harry snapped. "It is just an example. If at that time this law had existed already, could this all result in a trial for me? I mean, not just me, for anyone in my place, any other boy, or girl, not The Boy Who Lived? Like Cedric, for example?" Harry winced at the memory, but he needed to ask and get the answer anyway.
Dumbledore sighed.
"I am not sure. It could depend on the circumstances. Even in Muggle courts the more complex and hard to judge are the cases where self-defense is involved. It is hard to assess where said self-defense ends and offense begins.
"In the example, which you give, the problem is that there is no clear and concrete evidence of circumstances. Provided that there is evidence or witnesses to the events, one can be excused and found not guilty, instead it being a self-defense. Otherwise they strip you of your magic, break your wand and send you out to Muggles for the rest of your life, if the evidence is not solid and the witnesses are absent or non-existent."
At the end of Dumbledore's speech Harry was white as sheet, shaken and wide-eyed. In his, albeit hypothetical, but, oh, so real example, there were witnesses—Death Eaters, Voldemort himself—but who will believe a criminal, or a Dark Lord, at that matter, standing as a witness in court? Well, maybe he, being who he is—the Golden Boy and the Savior of the Light—could get away with performing underage magic while dealing with the Dark Lord with no evidence and witnesses for or against the plea of self-defense, but that was only him, Harry Potter. Any normal teenager, not Boy Wonder, just your usual neighbor wizard kid could be found guilty and stripped of his magic just for defending himself. Absolute bloody rubbish, that was! Is the bloody Ministry trying to kill or get rid of their own children?! Harry shook his head, returning his mind to the matter at hand. Right. Riddle. Riddle and safety spell.
"Headmaster, aren't you tired? Let's finish this safety thing, or whatever this is, and go to beds, okay?" Harry yawned, just for good measure.
Dumbledore nodded in agreement.
"Of course, Harry, dear, let us! But first you need to—let say—greet our guest and introduce yourself to him. I hope you understand that he does not know any Harry Potter yet, and shall not need to know of your future history with him—or rather Voldemort—at this time."
"What do you mean, Professor? Should I invent some pseudonym, or what?" Harry asked surprised.
"No, no, that could be— ah— counterproductive, I daresay. You need him to trust you, to some extent at least, to believe you. I suggest you simply introduce yourself, but refrain to even hint on the matter of Voldemort and your confrontation with him. Let's say, you are a teenage relative of one of those helping me with time-travel problem, brought here to keep an eye on you and, simultaneously, provide company and advice on modern times for Tom. And that's all. No war is going on, no Voldemort, no other issues, related to these. Just your usual teenager on summer holidays."
"Professor, wouldn't it, too, be counterproductive, as you've said, to advice Tom on modern times? If he is going back eventually?"
"Well, it could be, on one hand, and we will need to take measures, like Obliviate him before departure, for instance, or use some more complex measures, to remove the knowledge of the future from his mind. But on the other hand, it could do him good—to remember at least some things from this trip of his, if we—or, more accurately, you—succeed in swaying him on his path to become the Dark Lord, in saving him from such fate."
Harry winced at the thought of saving Voldemort, but despite his hate for the said man—man, and not the teen he once was—he could see reason behind Dumbledore's words. If Riddle is yet to become Dark Lord, if it is not too late, he, Harry, should do everything in his power to change that. Of course, no one knew, it could be already pointless, too late for saving, too late for curing, as Dumbledore put it. But he will try nevertheless.
Harry nodded solemnly, scowling, his composure rigid, shoulders squared and body tense in anticipation of what he was going to do—provide company to future murderer of his own parents, be friendly with him, maybe even laugh together and play pranks with him or on him, for indefinite amount of time, as nor Harry, nor even Dumbledore himself had knowledge of how to return Riddle back in his time yet, and no one knew how long it will take them to get such knowledge.
"Let's do it, Professor!"
"Ah, Harry! One more thing! I didn't explain yet, what that safety spell will do."
Harry arched a brow with suspicion. He didn't like how Dumbledore waltzed around this issue—first rambling and stuttering, then distracting him with important information, which, nevertheless, could wait till more adequate morning hours, and now positively manipulating him towards empathy and compassion for his arch-enemy around Harry's tendency to save just about everyone he lay his eyes upon. If the rambling could be written off as a simple tiredness of the Headmaster, and, maybe, even distraction was not deliberate, the manipulation of Harry's heart, his feelings on the matter at hand—that was definitely suspicious, to say the least.
"What is it, Professor? What it does?"
"This spell will bind Tom to you."
"Wh-what do you mean?" Harry stuttered. "Bind? Is it not enough, that I am bound to his older version already?! It—It's— I can't— I will not—"
"Harry, Harry, calm down, please! It has absolutely no similarities to the link—bond—you have with Voldemort. Quite the opposite. I didn't say that you will be bound to him. On the contrary, it is Tom, who will be bound to you."
"I see no difference!" Harry argued. "How is it opposite, if in both cases we are bound together?"
"Harry, this spell shall not tie your minds or your souls, Merlin forbid! It shall be mere physical proximity, and on his side mostly. Meaning, Tom shall at all times be not more then ten feet apart from you. And that's it. I don't think it will be too difficult to just be in one room, or even on one floor with him. That is all. It will ensure his constant presence under same protection—be it wards on the building you preside, or a person guarding you (both of you!) inside or outside such building—and as well it will serve as an anchor for additional protective wards for you both, which we will compose and perform later today, or maybe even tomorrow."
"Okay," Harry sighed, "What shall I do? Just go meet-and-greet him and stand there, while you do the spell? And then I can go to sleep, right?"
"Exactly, my boy! Just meet him, allow me to cast a spell and you get your rest!"
Dumbledore's behavior was still somewhat suspicious. He agreed on Harry's understanding of the spell too bloody fast, clapped his hands even, merrily, and his eyes, albeit tired, still have the famous twinkle in them, which didn't look very promising and reassuring for Harry. But what more could there be? And he was too bloody tired, too freaking stressed by the whole situation with sudden appearance of Riddle and by the nightmares he had for the whole past week, including this exact night, just before the Headmaster's arrival at Dursley's doorstep in the middle of the night.
In all honesty, at that moment he had been even grateful for harsh wake-up from angry Uncle Vernon, growling about "freaks" and early morning, and really glad to see the Headmaster, equally grumpy, it seemed, from lack of sleep and from some troubling issue at hand, which brought the Headmaster to Harry.
Nevertheless, Harry couldn't bring himself to care anymore—screw any suspicions, to hell with Dumbledore's twinkling eyes, he was really and truly tired. He can deal with all this later in the morning, or even after lunch (which he planned to pass in favor of sleep).
"Right. Let's get going, then, Professor! Where is he?"
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