Chapter Text
Harry's POV
He blocked another powerful strike from Nagare. It was almost enough to knock him off his feet. The Green King was out for his blood and unlike last time there was no time limit. Nagare drew his power from the Slates and with them being so close he had an unlimited supply.
Unlike the older teenager Harry was not unwounded. Blood was dripping down onto the floor from the wound on his side. It was far from his only wound either. There was more broken skin than unbroken on his body. His magic and aura were fighting just to keep him alive. It was a hopeless fight though. Without someone else's help he would die. If he were to die he was going to take this bastard with him.
Shiro had told him there was only one way to destroy the Slates. A Damocles Down incident right on top of the Slates. Like Shiro he could force his sword down. They were the only kings that could. To do so though would be signing one's own death warrant. Better him than the immortal king.
Focusing all his power onto his Sword of Damocles he forced the light to go out. This severed its connection to the Slates forcing a Damocles down.
Nagare realising what he was doing rushed to kill him. Before he got even close to the Black King the tip of his sword hit the center of the Slates.
A white light flashed causing the boy to bring his hands up to protect himself. A searing pain hit his left arm in between his elbow and wrist. It was excruciating for him and nearly made him pass out. It only seemed to increase as time went on until he mercifully embraced the encroaching darkness.
Tom's POV
Classes were as boring as ever. He was so far ahead of everyone that none of his classes presented a challenge. He only half listened to as the man lectured.
All his classmates were nervous about the war that was raging on. Both muggles and wizards alike were dying because of the war. He had it worse than all of them and didn't complain. It would have been unseemly after all. He had to appear strong or others would try to take advantage.
There was a sickening crash as a body out of nowhere landed on top of his table. Had he not shot he would have been hit by the blood that splattered everywhere.
had a moment of disorientation, confusion, everything in splinters before him.
Then there was chaos.
People screaming, being down right absurd and pitiful.
It was just a boy.
Admittedly, it was a very strange boy who fell out the ceiling, but they didn't need to squeal so irritably.
Black hair, straighter than his, but with the same shade, tanned skin, a small figure…glasses, and, what a curious scar? It was like a lightning bolt. He was mildly interested. It only took a moment for him to realize where the blood was coming from. There was an enormous wound in the boy's side. Only the rise and fall of the others chest told him that he was even alive. Not for much longer if he continued to bleed like this.
He called out drawing his wand and using prelimary diagnostic spells," Someone get the headmaster. Now!"
When the diagnostics came back they were not promising. Extreme exhaustion, blood loss, silver poisoning. That wasn't even counting all the different wounds and burns.
He was further surprised when the boy let out a moan and opened his eyes. The were the most brilliant shade of green he had ever seen. The same shade as the killing curse.
He used basic healing spells to try and slow the bleeding. For a moment he thought it would work. Then they all reopened again. Tom had to bite back a curse. Magic wasn't helping in this instance he would have to stop the blood flow the muggle way.
By the time the headmaster arrived he was soaked in the other boy's blood. Slughorn for his part was pouring potions down the boy's throat trying to stabilise him. Tom had to move aside when the mediwitch appeared. There was nothing more he could do there.
One thing was for sure. He wasn't bored any more.
Harry's POV
When he came to on instinct he kept his eyes shut. The scent in the air told him that he was an infirmary. It wasn't Scepter 4's infirmary otherwise he wouldn't be alone.
Harry opened his eyes to find that his nose was indeed right. No one was there. The sight though made his heart freeze. He was in Hogwarts infirmary. How in the hell did he end up at Hogwarts?
The last thing he remembered was his sword falling. There weren't any wizards that knew him in the fight. Before he could consider it further the door opened.
A auburn haired Dumbledore walked in. Harry's eyes narrowed. What the hell? The old wizard knew that he was needed in Japan. Why bring him out now?
His hand twitched towards his sword that was noticeably absent from his hip. The older wizard noticed the twitch as did the unfamiliar man behind him.
The unfamiliar man said softly as if to calm a wild animal," We took the weapons we found on your person when we healed you. I hope you can understand why in these trying times. Young man may I ask your name?"
While it was a question Harry knew he didn't have much of a choice. Something told him that neither man trusted him. To make matters worse he wasn't sure when he was. The fact that Dumbledore looked so young told him he travelled to the past. Destroying the Slates and the resulting blast must have done this.
He replied," Harrison Lykos Evans. Who are you? How did i get here? Where is my clan?"
Both men exchanged glances before the older man said," I am Armando Dippit. Headmaster of Hogwarts. This is Albus Dumbledore my deputy headmaster. What do you remember?"
It only took him a brief moment to discern that he was in the past. Likely during Grindlewald's assault. It was give him a perfect excuse for his wounds.
So he made up a sob story about his family being attacked in a remote town. How he had just been wishing to escape and ended up at Hogwarts. Based on the men's faces they bought it. He likely wasn't the first to lose his family to the Dark Lord. Sadly he wouldn't be the last. Though his rescue was a little more extraordinary than most.
There were enough massacres around, apparently, that it wasn't an absurd thing to believe. The fact he landed in the middle of Potions Class out of thin air was explained by a portkey gone awry.
That led him to his current predicament: Sorting.
"-Salazar would burn me if I let you escape his house for a second time," the Hat protested, giving something that on a more alive object he would have called a shudder. It felt weird on his head.
"Salazar's long dead!" he snapped mentally. "Come on, you put me in Gryffindor before! Please, just put me there again."
"Slytherin would suit you well," it insisted.
"Tom Riddle is in Slytherin! I swear, I'll have his head off by the end of the month if I have to deal with him. He's an evil-"
"-Well, maybe you're here to change that," the hat muttered.
"What?" he demanded, incredulously. "Look, please just-"
"SLYTHERIN!"
He cursed mentally at being put in Slytherin. He would rather be anywhere but the house of snakes. Especially still partially injured.
The mediwizard had been able to heal most of his injuries but the wound to his side would take time. He would be on healing potions for at least a week. His aura levels were almost as bad. Since waking they had flatlined like he overdosed on suppressants.
To make matters worse the burning sensation he felt before he passed out hadn't faded. It kept him grounded reminding him that this wasn't some kind of dream.
Dippet said calmly when a knock came at the door," Enter Tom."
A familiar black haired boy walked in and Harry's heart all but stopped. It was the same Tom Riddle he fought in his second year. It took all of his self control not to blast the boy with a powerful curse.
This was not the Riddle that he knew and tried to kill him three times. Here he was just a boy but still a threat.
Tom said calmly," You sent for me Headmaster."
"I did, Tom. This is Harrison Evans he has just been sorted into Slytherin."
Tom considered him considered him carefully. Harry was propped up on pillows and felt more vulnerable than he had in years. If the other boy decided to attack him he wasn't in much of a position to defend himself.
Tom held out his hand and said with false cheerfulness," Tom Riddle a fifth year perfect."
After a brief hesitation he took it and said," Harrison Evans."
He had to bite his lip to keep from saying his titles. It was more of an instinct now than ever. As a king's clansman he was supposed to announce it. Doing such a thing here could be dangerous.
His connection to the Slates was muted in a way he never felt before. This made him believe that Weissman had not uncovered it or activated it yet.
The mediwizard said coming over," Mr. Evans you may leave as long you adhere to the potion's regimen. I do want to see you here next Saturday to check up on that wound."
Taking a deep breath he replied calmly," Of course."
With that he was dismissed into Riddle's care to give him a tour. His weapons had been stowed away into a trunk and he wouldn't be allowed to actively carry them on school grounds. Not that it would stop him from concealing his knives and lighter on his person. They could easily be hidden through blue aura. He would have to wait for his aura to recover first.
Once they were alone in a hallway Riddle asked," What brings you to Hogwarts so late, Harrison?"
"War. I lost everything."
That was probably the most true thing he had said since arriving. In the King's war he had lost everything. Tatara, Izumo, Reisi (probably), Mikoto.
" Look," he began, a few corridors away, trying for a friendly shrug. "You don't really have to give me a tour, I'll find my own way round soon enough - the first years do, right?"
He expected Riddle to jump on the chance. He was proved wrong.
"It's no problem, Harrison," the other shot him a smile, teasing and somehow dangerous though he couldn't think why. "Gives me time to interrogate our new snake."
He didn't answer. The pain in his side from his wound was flaring up again. While he didn't give an outward sign of his pain it was immense. He couldn't take another pain potion for several hours either.
Instead of mentioning his pain he said," I'm no one interesting. Just another who is searching for their path."
Riddle said silkly," Only those who are interesting say that. Those who have something to hide for instance."
Son of a bitch! The last thing he needed was Riddle snooping. He neither wanted to explain his sword or knives. He certainly didn't want to explain the three tattoos that officially didn't exist yet.
The thought of his clansman marks brought a reminder of the pain. It was on his left arm roughly where his clansman mark was on his adjoining arm.
He decided that instead of backing down to challenge the other," Don't try me Riddle. You won't like how it ends."
With that he left the ebony haired boy to contemplate his challenge. Never noticing the interested glint.