Chapter Text
Harry faced Voldemort with a strange emotion coursing through him - grief. He wasn't scared, angry, or anything anyone in his shoes might feel when facing the person who ruined his life and so many others'. He felt incomplete, and a chill settled into his bones. His body twitched, as if he wanted to get closer; burrow and bind himself to the tall, pale figure standing in front of him.
Just a short while ago, they were tethered together, a short portion of Voldemort's - no, Tom Riddle's life, but almost all of Harry’s. Now Harry was completely and truly alone.
Truthfully, Harry had always been a lonely child, whether by intentional design by his cousin Dudley or jealousy from classmates and even friends. Harry recently realized that he was never truly alone, until now. Tom was always there, in his myriad of forms. Sure, his intentions toward Harry were not the best, but he was there. For someone who was abandoned over and over and over again, Tom Riddle was always a constant in his life. And now they were to meet, for a final time.
Harry’s mind was racing with thoughts that, if spoken out loud, would have been met with incredulousness by all that gathered.
‘What are you thinking?’
Badump
‘What are you feeling?”
Badump
‘Could things have turned out differently?’
Badump
‘Did you… Do you feel it too?’
Predatory red eyes narrowed as they took in Harry’s searching gaze. A beat later, a cold voice rang out, “Avada Kedavra!”
Harry reacted instinctively, “Expelliarmus!”
The two spells met in the middle. A beat later, the spell Voldemort cast bounded backward.
Voldemort’s red eyes never left Harry's green ones. A flicker of an unidentifiable emotion appeared in Voldemort’s eyes. It was but a few seconds, but it felt like an eternity as Harry watched the glittering red eyes dim, losing their luster.
Harry was suddenly surrounded by people touching him, calling out his name like a chant, a prayer.
“Harry, you did it!”
“Voldemort is dead!”
“It’s finally over!”
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Harry had a habit, a tell. He would always bite his bottom lip raw when deep in thought. Lately thats all Harry has been doing. ‘His lip will start bleeding if he keeps this up.’ Hermione thought to herself.
“Penny for your thoughts, Harry?”
Harry looked up from his drink at Hermione and Ron; the low thrum of voices surrounded the trio as they sat in a cozy corner of the Three Broomsticks. Harry took a deep breath, took a swing of Firewhiskey before looking back at his friends with a serious expression. His voice, clear, steady, and earnest: “Help me save him.”
Hermione and Ron glanced at one another, confused, “Save who, Mate?” Ron asked curiously.
“Tom, Tom Riddle.”
Hermionie was the first to recover, ‘What are you talking about, Harry?”
Dumbledore’s words rang in Harry's mind, “Do not pity the dead, Harry. Pity the living, and, above all, those who live without love.”
Harry repeated the words Dumbledore spoke to him once, “Indifference and neglect often do much more damage than outright dislike… the opposite of love is not hate, but apathy.” Harry took a moment to gather his thoughts before continuing in a matter-of-fact tone, “Tom and I, we were both orphans raised by Muggles who despised anything unnatural, and in conclusion, hated us. Dumbledore always said Love was powerful, and that is what saved me from the killing curse. My mother’s love for me. What if there is a chance that Tom could be changed by love? I could go back and meet Tom before its to late. If he had someone to take care of him properly and love him, he could have been so different, been more.”
Hermione bit her lip and looked thoughtful. “I suppose it’s a good theory; it has its merits, but there’s no way you could even try. Time turners don’t go back that far.”
Harry suddenly grasped Hermione's hands within his and looked at her with earnest eyes, “Hermione, you’re the brightest witch I know. If anyone could find a way to go back in time that far back, it's you. Will you help me?”
Hermione looked conflicted, “Harry, I’m trying to understand, really I am, but how do you know if you'll even be able to properly love him?”
Harry's face flickered with uncertainty before he steeled himself with resolve, “I don’t know either myself, but I have to try.” Harry replied in a calm voice. Harry knew deep in his soul what he want, need to do. But he couldnt help the feeling of insecurity rolling over him. What did he know about raising a child? Of showing love?
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Tom looked at the bloody rabbit in his hands. Satisfaction grew in him as he thought about Billy Stubbs' reaction. Billy had the misfortune of attempting to bully Tom many years ago, and he's been paying the price ever since. Tom held onto a grudge forever; he never forgot nor forgave.
Tom carelessly threw the bloodied rabbit onto Stubbs' bed before strolling to the washroom. At first glance, the other children didn't notice the blood on his hands. Too focused on his charming good looks. Tom was tall for his age, with thick, rich brown wavy hair, parted to the side, befitting the fashion of the time, dark blue eyes on creamy porcelain skin, and high cheekbones with the roundness of an adolescent. Tom looked like an angel as he flashed a small, disarming smile to those he passed. Just as he enjoyed tormenting and inflicting pain and fear on others, it also amused him to see what he could get away with. Tom was quite literally walking around red-handed, but no one confronted him about it, either too afraid or too enamoured.