Title: streets of shuddering clouds
Warnings: time-travel, mindfuck, non-con, vague usage of foreshadowing
Summary: AU, Tom Riddle's name is unheard of in the wizarding world, where an unknown force wreaks havoc on many. Harry is haunted by dreams of a strange, young man and only too late does he question the significance of the name Tom Riddle.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Poetry featured by Tennyson, Ginsberg, and Poe.
Author's notes: I wasn't sure what way to go with your gift, but after several attempts, decided on this. I hope you like it! ♥
06191845 for all the haft twinkled with diamond sparks
Twirling girls with large gowns appear as spinning lanterns under the crisp moonlight. Pink, cherry red, navy, jade, and many more colors spinning in the black and yellow-spotted background from the balcony, where Tom sits with a wine glass and smirk. He counts the girls. One, two, three, four--sixteen in total. Two batches of eight. Four groups of four. Eight of two. Tom likes even numbers and symmetry and delights when they're lined up evenly, sixteen women and sixteen men, matching dresses and vests.
Tom takes a sip of his wine and leaves the balcony, going inside the old house he's staying in (for the moment). He doesn't stay in one place long and really, he doesn't care to. So much to see, so much to do. Always something interesting to look at and learn.
Always more people to manipulate.
He goes to sleep with a gold chain around his neck and when he wakes up, he spins it, so much like the girls with their twirling dresses, and he ends up somewhere new, a different time altogether.
09051996 I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness
Harry wakes up with a splitting headache.
"Ron," he says. "What classes do we have today?"
"I think Herbology and Potions," answers an unfamiliar voice. "But I could be wrong."
Harry sits up and stares at the stranger sitting on the edge of his bed. "Sorry, but.. who the hell are you?"
"Oh, pardon," says the boy who looks close to Harry's age, just slightly taller. "The name's Tom."
Tom extends a hand to Harry and tiredly, Harry accepts it. They shake and Harry blinks a couple times at the new boy then stands up and starts getting dressed.
"Um, Tom?" Harry asks. "Exactly who are you? A new student?" Harry asks questions belatedly and has many. Why are you in my room? Who let you in? Dumbledore knows you're here, right? Why does your name sound so familiar?
"Ah," says Tom. "I'm here from the past. And the future. Look around you right now, Harry. Does anything seem different?"
Harry blinks at Tom.
I'm here from the past. And the future.
Harry runs it over in his head and figures, I'm still sleeping. Or still tired. Where's Ron? I should introduce this guy to Hermione. "Um," Harry says.
Tom laughs, rich and deep.
"You don't know who I am, I'm assuming?"
"Not really," Harry says. "Should I?"
Tom laughs again and walks closer to Harry, who's retrieving a pair of clean socks from his trunk. "Not really, I suppose."
"Well, okay then."
It feels odd, Harry thinks. He's being so nonchalant when a perfect stranger woke him up in the middle of the dormitory. He looks around. No one else is around. The room seems smaller, and brighter than usual.
"Look, Tom," Harry says and stops, when he sees he's not dressed and still in bed, a book thrown on the end of his bed.
Harry shakes his head and eventually falls back asleep.
09061996 streets of shuddering cloud and lightning in the mind
Harry wakes up and it's raining outside. Loud booms signal lightning and for a brief moment Harry considers the possibility of Herbology being cancelled, until he recalls that this is Hogwarts -- and obviously magic could put a stop on the rain for their lessons.
He stretches and looks around his four-poster. A book is sitting on the edge of his bed.
"Ron," Harry calls out, opening the drapery. "Ron, is this your book?"
"Whazit," Ron replies sleepily.
Harry picks up the book, flips through it: it's blank. He turns it to the front page and sees a name, Tom Riddle.
"Never mind," Harry says suddenly and gets up, quickly dresses and shoves the book in his trunk. He doesn't know why the name sends chills down his spine, but he decides not to tell anyone.
09181996 a chaos of deep passion, from his birth
Harry tosses and turns in his sleep, his mind filled with chaotic dreams and vague symbolism.
"Hello, Harry," says someone to his right. Harry sits straight up and recognizes the handsome figure propped next to him.
"Yes! I'm glad you remembered me, Harry," Tom says and smiles. His eyes glint in the darkness and Harry moves away.
"What are you doing here?"
Tom laughs. "Well, you have me tucked under your bed! Though I think the trunk was a better place for me, I can't blame you for moving it closer. I would've done the same, Harry."
"Oh," says Harry. "The diary..."
"I'm glad you've figured it out, Harry."
"But I don't understand. Aren't I sleeping? But it seems so different from a dream." Harry lies back down and rests a hand on his forehead. It's throbbing and he squeezes his eyes shut.
"This is different from a dream, Harry," says Tom. "But I can understand why you'd want to be dreaming."
Harry looks up at Tom and suddenly understands why he'd rather be dreaming, too.
"Don't be afraid, Harry," Tom says and moves closer. His eyes are glinting red and it does nothing to accentuate his handsome features.
Why would I be afraid? Harry wants to ask, or rather, his foolish, Gryffindor side does. The part of him that almost got him sorted into Slytherin stays quiet and nods.
"Good boy," Tom says and whispers a spell before gently sliding his lips across Harry's, slipping his tongue across Harry's bottom lip and licking across, tasting and sliding it inside Harry's mouth.
Harry wants to protest, to cry out Stop! and kick and scream, but he can't move. Part of him insists this is all a foul dream; another part doesn't know what to think, but hopes this isn't his reality, that he'll soon be back to sleeping in his four-poster so he can wake up tomorrow and go to Transfiguration.
He ignores the tongue busy across his neck and the hand slipping into his trousers, stroking his hardening cock.
He ignores the sharp jolt of pain when Tom bites his chest and shoves a dry finger inside of him, twisting until there are two, then three, and something entirely larger.
Harry ignores everything until it all becomes too much, until he hears himself screaming and a rich, deep laughter accompanied by loud thrusts and moans.
12311996 to drop your head so bitterly into your hands, seeing how I dare
Several months pass and Harry dreams, doesn't dream, and is awake.
In September he met a boy, a strange boy that he didn't really know if he liked or not, but again, he wasn't even sure if he did meet Tom, or if his mind can't handle all the stress from the war, like Ron and Hermione says he can't.
Every night, Harry writes his problems into a diary he found and every night he tries not to scream when Tom visits, though now he doesn't even stop to think, just feel.
Several months pass and Tom leaves, twirling a gold chain around his neck and several months pass again and Harry doesn't even remember who Tom Riddle is, not until years later when Professor Snape shows him old records and honours from the school--all that coincide with the rising Lord Voldemort.
Harry sleeps and every night, he writes his problems into a diary with a scratched out name on the first page.
Several months pass and Harry is still waiting.