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Chapter Text

 Prologue

Having your weapon turned against you, no, having your favourite weapon turned against you is not fun. Especially when it is being done by a child, a mere teenager of seventeen years of age. Then again Harry fucking Potter had managed to turn his favourite weapon against him all the way back when he was just a baby as well. In the grand scheme of things perhaps it was less humiliating being defeated by a teenager than a baby.

Of course he, the infamous Dark Lord Voldemort had been defeated by...both.

So, Voldemort, once known as Tom Marvolo Riddle died.

Still, he lived a good long life.

No, wait, he didn’t. By Wizarding terms he died very young. And he’d spent a good decade as a wraith.

All that hard work becoming immortal, and he still died young.

At the fucking hands of a fucking teenager.

Voldemort could only hope that afterlife didn’t exist. He was certain that he would probably be bound while all his former victims would point and laugh and inform him over and over again that he was killed by a seventeen year old.

It appeared his hope was for naught though, as a light appeared in the darkness where he had been held for so long. Lord Voldemort—no he was unworthy of that title now—Tom prepared himself for the torture that was sure to be forthcoming.

…

….

…..

Well, to be fair there was wailing. He couldn't see much though, it was all such a blurry mess. He felt jolts and warmth as if being draped in something and then passed around like a parcel.

“Congratulations Mr and Mrs Granger, it’s a boy!”

Oh, oh no. Surely he couldn’t be-

“Jean does this mean-”

“Daniel, we are not naming our son Florizel!”

No, Merlin, no!

“Nemo?”

“No.”

Surely he wasn’t-?

“Uther?”

“No.”

They couldn’t possibly be-?

“Lestat?”

“I like it,” the fleshy blurs moved closer to him and cooed. “Welcome to the world Lestat Quintilian Granger.”

The soul that had once been the Dark Lord Voldemort and was now muggleborn Lestat Granger screamed.

...

....

.....

“Good pair of lungs on the lad!”

Chapter Text

~`1`~

Tom didn't want to be there. He didn't want to relive his life as a mudblood, didn't want to be called something as ridiculous as Lestat, didn't want any of this. One of his victims, a particularly annoying muggle had once said with his last words, gurgled through the blood he was choking on, that Karma was going to come back to bite him in the arse.

Consider his arse bitten.

He had to get out of there.

And he would do it with that ever reliable companion of his.

Magic.

Tom sat there in the colourful bouncy chair while his 'parents' cooed at him, babbling nonsense and wiggled his fingers. To his chagrin it was more a uncoordinated grasping move that had his 'mother' melt and say things like, "Look at his little hand and his little fingers and his itty bitty toes!" but it worked. The stuffed caterpillar flew up from the shelf it was on and landed in his hand.

There was silence and Tom smiled. It would come soon, the screaming, the yelling, the blaming of one another for their child's freakishness.

"—What was that?" Came the hushed little tremulous question from his 'father' and the two stared at one another in shock.

"Telekinesis?"

"I can see that, but how?"

What? No, that wasn't what was supposed to happen! Where was the yelling, the screaming, the outrage? Where was the priest being called in for exorcism of the 'devil child'? And then came the part when the Dark Lord Voldemort realised that despite being a literal old soul, the body was very very young. So young, in fact, that he couldn't control the physical manifestation of his shock and dismay.

And began sobbing.

"Oh no, baby, we're so sorry, we didn't mean to ignore you!" His mother picked him up and rocked him back and forth and his sobs became louder. They both held him between one another murmuring a million adorations and the Dark Lord Voldemort was surprised to find that he...believed them.

Living through childhood was strange. Not only because he was Voldemort in mind, older even than his 'parents' and possibly even his 'grandparents', but also because...well the 20's and 30's in an orphanage made for a very different childhood than the 80's in a loving childhood.

The strangest of it all was the TV. Apparently there were TVs in every household now. There were even channels dedicated to children's shows. Luckily the Grangers didn't consider it educational enough, especially for their 'genius little darling'.

It had been exhilarating to be set apart from the rest for his intellect in his first childhood. To be noticed, have that praise heaped upon him was confirmation that he was meant for greater things.

It didn't have the same effect on him now. Especially because he got the feeling that the Grangers were just such a loving couple that they would call him a genius little darling even if he hadn't spelt out his name with the letter blocks at the tender age of 8 months.

Of course, they assumed that it was because Tom was the name of a character in one of the children's book they read him, so he remained named Lestat.

Tom Marvolo Riddle had been an attractive child for all his strangeness. He was polite and charming, glib but not noticeably so and always knew the right words to say to convince people of whatever he wanted them to believe. There were those who saw through the disguise, of course, but it usually happened due to a moment of indiscretion or excitement or of course if Tom didn't think them worthy of the show.

Lestat Quintillian Granger was a cold, unfeeling, smart child. He did not suffer fools gladly or at all and parents rarely set up a second playdate with him although that was mostly because he tended to show up their children quite badly. By the age of five he was acknowledged as an antisocial genius and homeschooling had been recommended by multiple child psychiatrists.

And the Grangers ignored that advice and put him in a school instead to learn how to socialise.

It did not go well.

"Let me get this straight," Daniel Granger said in a voice that surprised Tom. It was low and dangerous and entirely unexpected form the man who had once spent an entire afternoon dancing out nursery rhymes in a failed attempt to make his son laugh. "Lestat is a bad fit for the class because he corrected you fifteen times in one hour?"

The man sniffed, "We cannot have such petulanc-"

"You are apparently so unknowledgable that my five year old could correct you fifteen times in an hour, and somehow that means that my son isn't a good fit in your class." Daniel Granger continued in that discreetly belligerent way, "I do believe I'd like to speak to the principal."

The next week there was a new teacher in the class. She was brightly attired with big red curly hair that made him think of Lily Potter and came equipped with books better suited for his 'advanced' reading level and who taught them science the likes of which he hadn't seen before.

It took a few years but he finally admitted that perhaps muggles weren't the uncouth, savage things he thought they were. In those few years he eventually progressed to a higher level of learning and by the age of ten Lestat had provisional admission to many universities in Britain whose names Tom had only ever heard of spoken in wistful tones, even by the normal muggle folk who lived in the better parts of town. The Grangers were very excited about it, especially since it made for better environments in which their son's 'telekinesis' could be tested.

So Minerva knocking on the door on his eleventh birthday came as a considerable relief.

It comes as little surprise that Minerva is much better at the 'Welcome to the Wizarding World' spiel than Dumbledore. A little transfiguration of the desk into a lion, showing off her magical prowess and her subject as well and that was the magic bit done. No setting poor little orphans' only belongings on fire, no Legilimency. Just plain old facts and helpful advice. A muggleborn introductory pamphlet that was actually helpful.

He could guess whose handiwork this was. Dumbledore liked to posture a muggleborn sympathetic but he knew nothing about the muggle world. He was a pureblood through and through, no different from Lucius in many ways. No, this was Minerva's doing. His once classmate who had been raised in the muggle world. The deputy headmistress of a school whose headmaster held two other important positions, one in government the other in international politics, the true headmistress of the school in all but name.

He went over all the material she'd left him carefully, the only magical thing he'd have for the next few months until Minerva took them all to Diagon Alley with other muggleborns. It was just as well, he'd have time to plan how he'd get to know his 'peers' better, make the right sort of friends that he'd need to take over the Wizarding world properly this time.

Beginning, of course, with his once nemesis, Harry fucking Potter.

Chapter Text

 ~`2`~

Tom stood on Platform Nine and three quarters, his trunk and his owl beside him, his parents behind and the Hogwarts express in front. The students milling about all around, weaving in and out of the spaces between him and the train didn’t matter. Because for all that Tom had thought he was ready for this he hadn’t truly come to terms with the fact that...he was going back home.

“This is it, our little boy is all grown up.” His mother sniffed, folding her arms around him. It took a considerable amount of self control to keep himself from pulling away while whining ‘Muum!’.

In Tom’s defence, he hadn’t exactly been keeping up on his villainous cunning.

“Don’t forget to write to us every week!”

“Or more, or maybe see if they don’t have a landline somewhere.”

“And finish your homework on time.”

“Don’t forget to brush your teeth, you always forget to floss.”

“Be a good boy, alright Les?”

“And have some fun.”

Tom stared at the two who had made it so easy to live, so easy to almost forget he had once been a dark Lord who would have killed them on the spot,who had stood by and supported even though they knew that the world he was going into was one they couldn’t follow him in.

Was this what all the true Muggleborns went through? A foot in both world, tugged in multiple directions? Because Tom had spent decades in the wizarding world before but the last ten years had been in the Muggle world and it had become familiar to him now. Already there was a building trepidation at what he was losing, what he was giving up, the opportunities, the sheer bloody knowledge !

In a moment of weakness, of that bright warmth that he refused to acknowledge he threw his arms around the two for the briefest of seconds. Before they could react he quickly pushed his trunk onto the train and disappeared into the passages, on the hunt for Harry Potter.

Strange how in the midst of all the chaos that were his thoughts,his nemesis had become his anchor.

Voldemort had forgotten a lot in the course of his years as Lestat. But even before that, during his war, he had fraying at the edges for all that he was loathe to admit it.

But whether it was because the last time he had seen Harry Potter at the age of eleven was through the warped creature he was on Quirrell’s head, or his severely damaged soul, he had quite forgotten how utterly tiny the boy was.

He had entered the carriage and with an absent hello and a discreet notice-me-not charm on the door, had thrown his trunk into the carrier above head and then sat down with a book. It was open in front of him but his eyes were firmly assessing the Boy-Who-Lived instead. Harry Potter was looking out the window in awe. Tom could see his eyes flicking back and forth over every minutiae of the scenes they passed, his hand cradled by a hand that was connected to a far, far too skinny wrist.

Now, Voldemort remembered his first ‘death’ well enough and Lily and James Potter hadn’t been small or delicate by any means, even baby Harry hadn’t been tiny, looking more like a toddler than a one year old.

No, there was something more sinister at hand here. And for all that Tom knew he should be thinking of how exactly he could use this information, there was a voice in his head that sounded a lot like Jean Granger that was all but yelling ‘Feed the poor dear’.

When the sun was high enough in the sky that the Honeydukes Express should be making the rounds, Tom took the charm off the door. By now any gawkers desperate to find the Boy-Who-Lived would have found a place in other compartments instead and they were less likely to be disturbed.

“Anything off the trolley dears?” Said Martha, not that many knew her name. She’d been to Hogwarts with Tom the first time around however and he remembered her. Back then they had scoffed when she went off to Paris to become a patissiere and now she was very probably richer than the Malfoys on the back of the Sugar Quills and fudge flies and four times a year she ferried the Honeydukes express.

Finally, he put his book down and as Harry Potter rushed out and came back with what looked to be a bit of every single thing on the cart, Tom began to unpack the lunchbox his father had packed for him. There was a stack of sandwiches that Tom really wanted to shove down the boy’s throat if only he would just say something, anything, to him.

“Are they real frogs do you reckon?” Harry asked and Tom sighed in relief.

Finally.

Harry looked at the strange boy he was sharing the compartment with. And for all that he appeared to not notice it, he was a very strange boy.

For one, he hadn’t introduced himself or asked for Harry’s name. The last people to do that were the people in Diagon Alley who already knew his name because apparently he was the Boy-Who-Lived.

For another, it was three hours into their journey and the boy hadn't realised that the book he was reading was upside down. He’d even put it away to have his lunch and not noticed it at all.

But he hadn’t gawked at Harry nor looked at him like he was some sort of bug so Harry was willing to give the boy a chance. He didn’t seem too bad anyway.

“Some animation charms probably.” The boy said and Harry realised he was answering his question, “Frog brains are a potions ingredient, they wouldn’t waste it on chocolate.”

Harry picked up one of the squirming chocolate frogs and bit its head off before snorting in laughter.

Bit its head off. Ha!

“Do you want to try some?” He asked once he swallowed his mouthful of chocolate frog head.

“Only if you have one of my sandwiches.” The boy said quickly and Harry smiled wistfully, as they exchanged a chocolate frog for a sandwich wrapped in brown butcher’s paper with the words ‘Chicken’ written on it in terrible handwriting and a smiley face next to it. It. It must be nice to have someone who’d do that for you. Harry hadn’t even been allowed any breakfast, the Dursleys just wanted him to go.

“I’m Harry, Harry Potter.”

The boy smiled awkwardly before taking a deep breath, as if introducing himself was a chore.

“Lestat Granger, but call me Tom.”

Harry blinked. Yeah, he could see why he had delayed introducing himself for so long.

“...Alright then,”

He looked down to find the box of the Chocolate Frog had a card in it. “Balfour Blane,” He read out loud and heard a choking sound from Lest- Tom.

“Merlin’s saggy balls-” Tom said and Harry was surprised. Tom seemed the posh types, not at all the type to swear like that.

“What?”

“Balfour Blane’s card is supposed to be the third most rare in the Chocolate Frog card series. There’s only 2 Balfour cards printed every four years. And you got him for your very first card.” Tom looked at him with wide, dazed eyes that narrowed as they fell upon the pile of sweets Harry still had, “Let’s test this luck of yours, shall we?”

The next hour was spent playing a weird form of Russian Roulette with the Bertie Bott’s every Flavour beans. Tom’s face when the flecked yellow one he ate turned out to be Rotten egg while the flecked yellow one Harry ate turned out to be Buttered Popcorn was quite possibly the most hilarious thing he had ever seen.

“With luck like that it’s no wonder that you survived the Killing curse.” Tom said wryly and the laughter stopped in Harry’s throat.

Harry didn’t know how he should respond to that. On the one hand they were talking about the murder attempt that Harry had apparently survived not ten years ago, but on the other Tom was finally comfortable enough to joke with him. It was much better than having his hand shaken until it felt like it would fall off, anyway.

“The Killing curse? Is that what it was?” Harry wondered. He remembered a green light but didn’t know what it meant.

It was more than a bit terrifying. Not only was there a curse that existed solely to kill , but a man had tried to use it on him when he was just a baby.

“That’s what the books say. Doesn’t make sense though.” Tom shrugged.

“Yeah, why would anyone try to kill a baby?” Couldn’t Voldemort just have left him there instead?

“No, not that. I mean, if no one else was there and you were the on,y person to survive, how do they even know it was the Killing curse? Or any curse really. How do they know he tried to kill you? You can’t possibly remember, you were just a baby after all. So who’s been going around telling people that anyway?”

Huh. Harry had been trying not to think about his parents’ murder too much but Tom was right. Who did go around telling people that Harry was the Boy-Who-Lived?

The seed of suspicion had been planted. This was very important to Tom. There was no way in hell that he was getting into Gryffindor which meant that Harry would have to be the one to join him in Ravenclaw. A Harry who was thinking about conspiracies was far more likely to get into Ravenclaw than the lucky, foolhardy boy who had taken Tom on in a Bertie Bott’s Russian Roulette.

(And won but Tom wasn’t going to fixate on that. Not at all. Nope)

It was also important because Tom wanted to find out exactly what and how Dumbledore knew some of the details that had been printed in the books. Mostly because a lot of them were actually true. What was Dumbledore hiding?

But he couldn’t ask the man himself, of course. Only Harry could do that without rousing suspicion and so it was up to Tom to guide him that way. A loud clattering sound outside broke them out of their thoughts. A prefect stuck their head in to tell them that the Hogwarts express would be reaching in just under and hour and to change into their robes. Luckily it was a Slytherin prefect so Harry didn’t warrant a gushing outburst of awe and wonder, only a cold stare.

The rest of the journey is spent in a growing anticipation. Harry can barely sit still and Tom can’t blame him.

It’s not even the first time he’s going to Hogwarts but he feels it, feels the excitement. They are going to be in the boats going across the lake soon and part of Tom wishes he could obliviate himself just so that he could have that moment again when he saw Hogwarts castle in all its magical glory for the very first time. Wants to truly relive that moment when the darkness that is the view of an almost unending stretch of water, is broken by the lights.

And when finally they get into the boats, Harry and he sharing with some Irish boy and a dark skinned boy, both chattering on about football, when they do see the spires of the Astronomy tower appear on the horizon, it almost feels real . It feels like the very first time for all that it isn’t. And while the other boys keep talking throughout, he sees in Harry Potter’s wide eyed expression and awed gasp,the very same sentiment that Tom had felt over fifty years ago and was feeling again right now.

Finally, he was home .

Chapter Text

~`3`~

Sometimes...well alright, a lot of times, Tom forgot he wasn’t actually Tom Riddle anymore.

Well, that wasn’t quite right either. Because he had made absolutely certain that he could never forget that he was Tom Riddle, initially because identity crisis/being a mudblood, but later on so he wouldn’t forget how badly his life could turn out. It served as a reminder to him not to go that far into insanity and megalomania anymore, to live his new life to the fullest.

But see, being so adamant on remembering that he was Tom Riddle meant that sometimes his plans came out to shit.

Example: He had planned to watch Potter being sorted and then follow him into his house. Perfectly sensible.

Unfortunately he forgot that he was Lestat G ranger not really Tom Riddle. Which meant that McGonagall read out his name long before she did Potter’s.

He had tried to sway Harry into choosing Ravenclaw instead but he didn’t know for certain if it would work. After all, the boy was unpredictable. The few moments he had spent inside his mind the last time around had made that very clear.

(Fifteen year olds, no matter how hard their life is, usually had plenty of wank material cluttering up their mind, subconsciously at least, if not consciously. Harry Potter for some reason kept on looping his experience in the Chamber of Secrets, with a focus on Tom’s younger diary self twirling his wand.

It was strange.)

Tom knew how messed up the whole system within Hogwarts was. Once he had lauded the separation between houses, it had made recruitment so much easier. It was like employing Colonial Britain’s Divide and Conquer motto only he didn’t have to do any dividing.

But it meant that if he was in a different house to Potter, they’d probably never become friends.

So, as the Malfoy brat (Draca? Drogo?) jeered at him whispering ‘Nervous, little mudblood?’ under his breath Tom took a shaky breath and walked up to the hat. He settled down on the bench and prepared to talk to the Sorting hat for the second time in all his lives.

‘What do we have here? Smarts and cunning, remorse, but no less ambition. Oh Tom, you have been busy haven’t you?’ The Sorting Hat whispered and Tom practically shouted ‘RAVENCLAW’ in his mind.

T-That had to be it, right? Dumbledore went on and on about choices, there must be a choice here too. So, here Tom was, choosing Ravenclaw.

“SLYTHERIN!” The Sorting Hat yelled and as a state of unrest began outside of his mind as Draco Malfoy loudly proclaimed ‘It must be a mistake, he’s a bloody Mud-Muggleborn!’ and the tables began whispering, Slytherin table indulging in particularly hostile whispers, there was only word reverberating in his mind, an endless looping, echoing a single syllable word.

‘FUUUCK!’

Harry frowned. His new friend was sitting at the Slytherin table, looking dazed and broken. It didn’t help that the people sitting on the table had moved away from him with jeers when he sat down, as if he was a bug or some diseased person. It didn’t help that they looked at him the way the Dursleys looked at Harry.

Harry didn’t know much about the houses. Hagrid had said that no one who went bad that didn’t come from Slytherin. But...that didn’t mean they weren’t good when they went into Slytherin right? Only when they came out of it.

So, maybe the house changed people.

Harry liked Tom. He didn’t want him to change.

That Malfoy boy whom he’d seen picking fights with the red headed boy outside the school was up next. He’d been the one to yell that Tom was a Muggleborn, and it was only after that that the Slytherin table had looked so disgusted.

“SLYTHERIN” the hat said the second that it fell over Malfoy’s head and when that tosser walked up to the Slytherin table, it was to dignified applause and pats on the back.

Yes, Harry was not happy with any of this. For a moment he wondered why the teachers weren’t doing anything about this, surely they must have noticed what was going at the Slytherin table? But that thought crumbled and he all but laughed at his own naiveté.

How many times had he watched the same thing happen to him? How many times had Dudley gotten away with murder while Harry was punished in his stead? The grownups never did anything then and they weren’t doing anything now.

And with that, his illusions of Hogwarts shattered. He had thought it would be better, a new start for him. If something as unbelievable as magic was real in this world then perhaps the just as unlikely concept of ‘fairness’ would be real too.

Clearly, it wasn’t.

“Potter, Harry,” Said the teacher who had introduced herself as McGonagall and as whispers started up, awed and amazed, Harry walked up to the stool and sat down on it, ignoring them all. As the brim of the hat fell down over his eyes, the last thing he saw was Tom at the Slytherin table, giving him a wan little smile.

“Hmm,” said a small voice in his ear. “Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind either. There’s talent, my goodness, yes — and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that’s interesting… So where shall I put you?”

Harry gripped the edges of the stool and thought, ‘Slytherin, Slytherin, Slytherin’

“Slytherin, eh?” said the small voice. “Are you sure? You could be a hero, you know, it’s all here in your head, and while Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness, no doubt about that — Gryffindor could be your home .”

And again, Harry thought fervently, ‘Slytherin, Slytherin, Slytherin.’

“Well, if you’re sure, better be SLYTHERIN!”

There was no thunderous applause, or any sound really. Only silence and then whispers. McGonagall was gaping, they all were really. And Harry took the hat off, put it down on the stool and walked up to the Slytherin table where a ton of free space was waiting for him right next to Tom.

“You’re in Slytherin b-but, you’re the Boy-Who-Lived!” Tom stuttered in his shock and Harry grinned.

“Couldn’t let you have all the fun.”

Chapter Text

~`4`~

Harry Potter's 'Saving people thing' was well known throughout the Wizarding world in his life before. It was a fact: the sky is blue, the grass is green, the death eaters are idiots and Harry Potter has a hero complex.

A well known fact. Tom had, in the life before, attempted to use this against him but as the boy had been on the run he hadn't been privy to the traps set for him. Dumbledore's will reading had spooked them something fierce and Greyback's attack had only made it worse so they hadn't gotten around to learning all the ways that the Resistance was keeping people up to date.

He still remembered very well, feeling the surprise through their connection when Harry learnt of all the people who had rallied against his regime. Then again, the surprise was merited when all through the fifth year the Wizarding world had blamed Harry and then through the sixth expected him to save them. Seeing some form of competence in people who were more akin to sheep was always a bit of a shocker.

But yes, Tom was aware of Harry's saving people thing, he had just never expected to be one of the people Harry tried to save.

Even now as they were being led to the Slytherin dorms he could feel Harry doing his best to spread out and be as hulking as possible behind him, as if to shield him from all the glares. Tom sighed and slowed his steps down just enough so that he and Harry were walking next to one another.

"You're the bigger target." Tom said and Harry snorted next to him.

"I know how to deal with being targeted, do you?"

And Tom remembered those few flashes of running from a group of muggles when rummaging around Harry's head. Tom's own life in the orphanage had been far from ideal but he had terrified them before long and they kept a distance at least. It had also helped that Tom was convinced of his own superiority and that he was special.

"Move, mudblood!" Said Lucius' pitiful spawn and Tom narrowed his eyes at the boy. The dunces Crabbe and Goyle stood behind him and cracked their knuckles ominously. Tom drew himself to his fullest height but before he could say a word, Malfoy brightened considerably as hands clamped down on Tom and Harry's shoulder. They turned to see their house head looming over them.

Severus Snape's mouth twisted as he glared down at the two but he looked up to Lucius' spawn soon enough. "Draco, I did not realise you were so hard of hearing." He said silkily and Malfoy's beaming face fell.

"Sev, I-"

"Let me make myself perfectly clear," Severus all but growled, "I don't ever want to hear that word being said in my presence."

Malfoy blanched and swallowed hard, "Yes professor."

"Is that understood?" Severus repeated, this time looking to Crabbe and Goyle who took longer but did ultimately agree. "Good."

Severus walked off, his robes swishing dramatically behind him and next to him, Harry whistled. "That man is my new role model."

And suddenly Tom felt his soul convulse.

Slytherin hadn't changed much in the times since Tom was last a student in its halls. The prefect addressed them, a Gemma Farley who was a damned sight kinder than Charis Black had been, going so far as to tell them that a fair few of Slytherin students had muggle parents. Then she made way for the head of house who addressed them all with a speech filled with hidden agendas and directives. Admittedly, Snape wasn't nearly as subtle as Slughorn but Tom looked around, saw his fellow students and understood that Snape was working with a batch of students far more stupid than Slughorn was. He couldn't afford to be subtle.

Then he left.

There was the usual posturing, something the Malfoy spawn indulged in and tried to drag Harry into,"So, you're Potter, are you?" The boy said, blatantly snubbing Tom. Another life and Tom would have been incensed at this, his resolve to become great only strengthened by it.

This time around he was a lot more well adjusted. Partly because he knew very well how wrong he had gone in his quest but mostly because universities all over Britain had sent agents begging him, the infamous child genius, to join their faculties, and he didn't really need the ego boost or the validation of an eleven year old.

"Gee, what gave it away?" Harry asked completely deadpan but while Tom and a few others smothered laughter, Drake simply puffed up, the sarcasm going over his head.

"My father told me all about you, of course."

"And here I thought it was because our names were called out in a giant hall and the fact that when they said my name everyone went all quiet while I walked to a stool on a platform to put on a hat while in full public view. Or maybe the scar."

As someone in a nearby corner let out a high pitched noise, unable to control it anymore, following it up with a muttered 'Ruddy idiot' in an Irish accent, Drew finally realised he was being made fun of and the smirk dropped off his face.

"Think you're funny do you?" He sneered at Harry who smiled coolly.

"Not as funny as you," Drago seemed stalled, like he couldn't decide to preen or not. "You're a living breathing joke, how could I ever be as funny as you?"

This was not the same Harry Potter Tom had gone toe to toe with in his previous life. There was no explosion of anger, no wand whipped out, ready to hex his opponent.

Malfoy's spawn turned red and began ranting and raving about his father and what he would do once he found out. Harry took great joy in this, goading the boy to greater heights and after the ten minute mark Tom got tired of it all.

He needed to get some quiet, think about the fact that despite everything he had ended up in Slytherin again, that Harry Potter had gotten himself sorted into Slytherin for his sake and had declared Severus as his role model. That wasn't even accounting for the fact that he still had to write a letter to his Mum and Dad, telling them what was going on and figure out if 'Voldemort' still existed in this second life.

It sounded terribly exhausting. If he didn't love magic so much Tom would be writing out an acceptance letter to Oxford.

"Can we just be shown to our dorms?" He asked the male prefect sitting next to Gemma who was watching the Malfoy child and Harry fight with more than a little interest. "If we just sit around here waiting for Drogo to get a hint we'll die of old age."

The prefect snorted, "You mean Draco."

"That's what I said."

While the boy he was taking to was in no hurry to dissolve the fight, Gemma Farley clearly was. She clapped her hands together only once but with such a heavy, loud noise, all of Dirk's loud ranting came to a stop, as did Harry's smirking.

"That's enough of your nonsense. Prefect Higgs will escort the boys to their rooms while the girls will follow me. There will be two students to a room, you may change your roommate if you wish to do so later, provided you can justify it to Professor Snape. Once you lot are in your fifth year you will get a room of your own. Higgs," She called out, glaring at the boy Tom was talking to. Higgs stood up straight, his posture so stiff, the guards from Buckingham palace would have been jealous. "Take them to their rooms."

Higgs rounded them up and took them up to the passage outside the first year rooms.

When it was Tom's first time at Hogwarts he had been left to share a room with Clarence Pettigrew, a useless excuse of a wizard, th rest pairing up according to the alliances the pureblood families had with one another, Black with Malfoy, Avery with Lestrange and so on. It had lasted until the second week by which everyone wanted to share Tom's room.

He didn't see that happening this time around, the idea of impressing them enough to be stuck with Crabbe's spawn or Derek sent a shudder down his spine. No, he was more than happy to be 'stuck' with Harry.

Harry whose first actions upon entering their room was to go through his trunk and start pulling books out.

"What are you doing?" Tom couldn't help but ask and Harry shot him a brilliant grin.

"Getting a headstart on Potions, I really want to impress Professor Snape."

In another part of the castle, surrounded by his colleagues at their first staff meeting of the year, Severus Snape took a vial of Pepper-up potion from his robe pocket and downed it in one quick gulp. The sudden sneezing fit he had been thrown into had surprised him.

"Somebody must be remembering your." McGonagall teased and Snape glared at her as she smiled, amused.

Chapter Text

~`5`~

Tom wondered many a time how different his Harry was from the one he had fought in his last iteration of life. It was their very first day and there were whispers following them around the entire time, from the moment they entered the Great Hall. They ranged from ‘He’s not as tall as I expected’ all the way to ‘Traitor bastard’.

Harry responded to none of them. He acted like he didn’t hear a word of what the lot said and showed no reaction, a true Slytherin and Tom couldn’t imagine the Gryffindor he had fought so many times his past life to be so blase to the attention he was earning.

When he asked Harry if he was okay, the boy simply shrugged, “It’s not that bad. If the adults get in on it it’ll be more difficult.”

And Tom thought back to the thin wrist and frowned, but there was nothing he could do. He would have liked to tell his parents who might have some friends in high places to look into it but between the Obliviator’s squad, not to mention Severus being in Dumbledore’s pocket, the man well known for his prowess with mind based spells, he was sure it wouldn’t go anywhere. Not yet, not until he managed to get wards and protections for his parents.

For now, he would make sure to lay the groundwork to invite Harry over for Christmas. A few letters mentioning his new friend should do the trick.

For now they simply went about their day, dealing with the bouts of intense whispering and pointing in the hallways to waving their wands and casting spells in classes. Tom obviously shone in class, earning the ire of Drogo on more than one occasion as he managed the spell before him. Accusations of him stealing their magic flew around in quiet whispers but Tom had dealt with that an age ago and knew the right words to say to make the child all but cry.

Not that he had to, of course. The minute Harry said something all of Drake's attention went to him instead. Tom was a ‘swot’, while ‘Potter’ was Dirk’s true enemy.

Pity then, that Harry didn’t think so.

“Your obsession with me is grating, Malfoy. Are you so desperate for my attention? Following me around like a pathetic little puppy.” Harry drawled and tutted. “You should work on managing to do your spells instead. What would your father say if he saw your abysmal performance?!”

Slytherin Potter was a wee bit of a shithead. It was a lot of fun.

“He reminds me of my cousin,” Harry confided in him in the sanctity of their dorm.

“The muggle? Daley something?”

“Dudley. Dinky Duddums and Draco have a lot in common, only Dudders didn’t quite understand when I insulted him.” Harry looked lost for a while, staring at the walls unseeing, “Sometimes I’m glad they don’t love me. If it meant turning out like him…” He shuddered and turned to Tom with a big, fake grin that turned into something soft and real, as his gaze flitted over their room, with its organised chaos of parchments and quills and the pictures of his parents that Tom had put up, the pictures of his Mum and Dad Harry had carefully torn out of a book about Dark Lords and put up next to them. “I like where my life is going.” He said and Tom felt a ball of warmth begin to exist inside of him.

The day was friday and it was important in more ways than one. Harry had gotten a  note asking him to meet Hagrid for tea and accepted but more importantly, it was their first Potions lesson and Harry was beyond excited.

Tom was getting tired of it, he could tell but until he outright told him to shut up about it, Harry would continue floating on cloud nine. Eventually he would, his friend was  a rather blunt sort but he hadn’t yet so Harry wouldn’t stop. He’d been looking forward to this since Professor Snape had disciplined Malfoy all those days ago and the more he looked into potions, looked into Professor Snape, the more fascinated he became. While Tom had spent most of his time divided up between different subjects while they were in the library, Harry had focused all his attention upon Potions. He had read through several beginner’s guides, ingredient lists, anything he could lay his hand on. Once the texts he found started seeming a bit dry, he found potion’s journals in which Professor Snape had published articles and Harry fell in love with potions.

The way Professor Snape wrote about them made them seem like the most beautiful thing in the world. The patience required for potions, the precision, the artistry of it all, moved him. Harry begged and pleaded Tom to teach him how to duplicate things so that he could carry a  copy of that article with him. It was inspiring.

Needless to say, Harry had a lot of high expectations of his first Potions class.

It was a bright and sunny day, Harry had even managed to get down a good bit of their breakfast usually too rich for him, their class was in the dungeons so that meant they could get there far ahead of time given the lack of shifting staircases. All in all, it looked to be a good day.

And then Malfoy opened his mouth.

Harry didn’t care much about Malfoy. It was fun to rile him up, fun to place bets with Tom about how many times the boy would mention his father but honestly, he never felt insulted by the boy. He might as well have been in another house for all that Harry really cared.

But then he dropped a shocking piece of information.

“Of course, Sev has been teaching me since I was little, he is my godfather after all.” Malfoy bragged and Harry was shaken.

How could someone as asinine as Malfoy be gifted as talented and amazing a godfather as Professor Snape?! It just didn’t make sense!

But Harry would prove he was better than Malfoy. He would excel at potions like none before (barring Professor Snape of course) and earn Professor Snape’s praise instead of buying it the way Malfoy did.

Severus Snape paused on the staircase down to the dungeons as a tickling sensation started in his nose. He took a handkerchief out of his pocket just in time and put a teeny drop of pepper-up potion on his tongue, Madame Pomfrey having informed him not to take more than that to curb the sudden sneezing fits he’d been having since the sorting.

And to top it all off, he’d be teaching the Potter brat with Lily’s eyes today.

Typical. He had the worst of luck.

Chapter Text

When Professor Snape entered the room, he did so with flair, his cape billowing behind him like wings and Harry was awed.

“Good afternoon Professor!” He said, remembering it from back in school. Greeting the teacher was something they had learnt to do early on and now that there was a professor Harry wanted so badly to learn from, he wanted to make sure to make a good impression. He was alone when he said it but as Tom picked up the slack repeating the greeting as well, the class joined in a chorus and Harry beamed up at Professor Snape who looked at him blankly.   

“Good afternoon.” Professor Snape returned the greeting before turning to the register in front of him and taking roll call. This time the names were called out in alphabetical order according to their first name and even though Harry was annoyed to hear Draco’s name said in a slightly kinder voice he moved on from it quickly enough. For a split second he thought Professor Snape had paused for a bit before calling out his name but that was a thought thrown away quickly enough. The very, very long pause before Professor Snape called out “Lestat Granger,” proved that well enough.

Harry was glad to see Professor Snape didn’t react to his name. All week long in the other classes the professors had made a fuss about him, Professor Flitwick even falling off his footstool when he reached Harry name, but not Professor Snape.

He was so cool.

“You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion making,” he said in a voice so soft, it was amazing how it resonated throughout the room. Perhaps it was the acoustics of the room, or perhaps it was just plain magic, but whatever it was, Harry thought he could listen to Professor Snape talk forever. “As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don’t expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses… I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death — if you aren’t as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach.”

And Harry would try his absolute best to not be a dunderhead.

Severus was thrown off. He’d been thrown off since the very start of the year, the sneezing fits not letting up, not for all the Pepper-up he was downing, and throughout it all his peers kept making light of it, saying someone was remembering him.

Ghastly, the whole lot of them.

And now, Potter was the one throwing him off.

He’d known the boy would be trouble, him and the Granger child had formed a coalition that put to mind the way Sirius Black had attached himself to James Potter all those years ago but in such a different way. The Granger child was smart, beyond anything they had seen in years. Severus had expected it to cause friction with his house when the boy’s intellect showed them up but so far the boy was quiet and unassuming, not shying away when asked questions but not putting his hand up to answer either.

Geniuses were often badly socialised but that wasn’t exactly the case for Granger. He managed to be aloof without being cold and Slytherin appreciated him for it.

But Potter…

Potter was always going to be a wild card, but Severus hadn’t quite expected him to be such a wild card. He had already heard about how Potter had been in the other classes from his fellow teachers, eager to learn, but not to participate and yet his behaviour in Potions class was…

It was unlike anything Severus had ever seen from a student. He raised his hand to answer all the questions but didn’t sulk when not called upon. He actually used the measuring scales to weigh out the exact amounts of ingredients, not going by the teaspoons and tablespoons the rest did, he cut the slugs with a precision that should have been difficult, if not impossible for an eleven year old, when Severus had passed him by during his inspections he had heard the boy mutter to himself about catalysing reactions, had even marked the quadrants into the rim of his cauldron to get the most precise clockwise turns.

It was the kind of preparation Severus had done before entering Potions class, tutored by his mother in these ways.

Severus had expected to see James Potter in Harry. Had hoped, but even still expected to see Lily in him.

But now, as he watched the diligent way Harry kept a watch on his cauldron, the next ingredient at the ready to be thrown in, the boy reminded him more of himself.

“Careful Malfoy, those horned slugs aren’t going to stew themselves you know.” The boy drawled as the final stir of his own potion was done and his wand waved over the cauldron leading to the perfect shade of pink smoke to rose from the surface. There was smug grin on his face as the potion was put into the vial while Draco glared at him and Snape’s heart lurched as Potter turned to shoot him the sweetest smile in the world.

As a choked sound left him, Severus downed a swig of the Pepper-up once again.

Because that saccharine pining smile was exactly what he would shoot Lily, and if it was aimed at him…

Another time and Severus would be cackling away with glee at the thought of James Potter turning in his grave. Now, he suddenly wished he was in his own grave, far away from this.

Of all the students to ever develop affection for him, it just had to be Harry freaking Potter.

Tom was happy. He was happy with what he was doing, where his life was going, with the friends he was making, with everything.

He was so happy, he forgot about everything else.

So when in his first class of DADA he found himself face to face with a Quirrell who stared at Harry with a hunger, he cursed himself.

How could he have forgotten about his other self?!