Take Me As I Am

V

The clacking of dress shoes makes Harry's eyes snap open. He wasn't asleep — he was simply thinking.

The last words he heard before he died... before Draco killed him.

Draco had called him Harry.

Not Potter. Just Harry.

Harry remembers how distraught Draco had looked, the tears running down his cheeks as Harry slumped to the ground. Draco's ruffled curls had been raked through with anxiety. Harry smiles faintly at the thought of prissy Draco Malfoy's perfect hair getting messed up.

Someone clears their throat abruptly and Harry glances up at them, scowling.

The face that stares back makes Harry's heart pound in fear.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Merlin's fucking bollocks.

Lord Voldemort.

Or rather, a younger, much more 16-year-old looking Voldemort.

He's wearing his Slytherin tie with his white collared shirt, the sleeves rolled up. He's carrying his robes in one arm, and his dark hair has been perfectly placed to sweep off to the side in immaculate waves. His eyes are a piercing hazel, peering curiously at Harry with intense interest.

"Hello," he says, gaze calculating. "Who are you?"

Harry sighs. Straight to the point.

"Who are you?" Harry bites back. Of course, he already knows the answer, but this is Voldemort he's dealing with. He can never be too careful.

"I'm Tom. A student here," he frowns. "I heard you appeared at the front gates."

"Yes," Harry grits his teeth together. Then he glances at the hallway beyond the wing's doors. "Has the Sorting happened yet?"

"How do you know of the Sorting?" Tom tilts his head in interest.

Harry freezes. "Dumbledore must have mentioned it," he says slowly. "There are four... groups? Houses?"

"Houses," Riddle confirms, still suspicious. "And to answer your question, no, the Sorting begins in fifteen minutes. Why do you ask?"

"I believe they've enrolled me here as a student," Harry hums. "Sixth year."

"You're a wizard?" Riddle squints. Harry nods. "Where did you attend school before this?"

Harry rubs his forehead. "Why do you care? You don't even know my name."

Riddle smirks. "Oh? Homeschooled, then. Wonder how that works. Parents too paranoid about dark wizards and warlocks to give a shit about your education?"

"They're dead," Harry snarls. "Now shut the fuck up."

Riddle seems amused and steps closer to Harry's bed. "I didn't catch your name."

"Hadrian," Harry hisses. "Don't wear it out." He sneaks his wand out from under the covers and jabs it into Tom's chest.

Riddle jerks back and grins. "Feisty. Alright, Hadrian. I'll see you at the Sorting. Let's hope for Slytherin, yeah?"

Harry glares back. Slytherin? Please. After all that he's been through, Harry can't be farther from Slytherin.

Riddle disappears down the hall, just as Dumbledore enters with a fresh pair of robes.

"Get dressed, if you're up for it," Dumbledore nods. "The Sorting starts soon."

Harry takes the clothes, mumbles a quick thank you, and waits for the healer to put the dividers up.

- - -

Harry awkwardly shuffles in behind the giant crowd of first years and fidgets with his dark robes that seem to be clinging to his damp skin.

He hasn't felt like this since his own Sorting, almost seven years ago. The kids are excited, bouncing on their feet. Harry's simply full of dread. He fingers his wand anxiously, when he's met with a booming voice in his head.

'What the actual hell were you thinking?!' Death yells. Harry does his best not to react, internally jumping. 'You were supposed to befriend Tom Riddle! Not piss him off!'

Harry sighs. 'Trust me, I know what I'm doing. I know him. I won't earn his respect by sucking up, I need him to see me as an equal. We'll get there. Don't worry.'

'Alright,' Death says warningly, 'but if this doesn't work, I'm sending you back.'

Harry frowns. 'What do you mean, sending me back?!'

Death sounds annoyed. 'To when you first got here, you idiot. When else?'

Harry's mouth curls into a smirk. 'I won't screw up. Okay?'

'Fine,' Death responds. 'I'm gonna go now. You're up next.'

The voice in Harry's head silences as he hears his name being called to get Sorted. He shuffles up the stairs on a slight limp, ignoring the chorus of whispers that sounded when he approached the stool.

Slowly, he sits down, and the ratty old hat is plopped upon his head.

'Ah, what have we here?' the hat hums. 'Hadrian Peverell? No, that's not right. Harry... Harry Potter. Yes. A time traveler? Fascinating.'

"Stop digging," Harry hisses under his breath, barely audible.

"I couldn't if I tried, Potter. Now, what are you doing here...'

Harry feels the wards in his mind fall as he shifts uncomfortably on the stool. All eyes are on him as the Great Hall becomes eerily quiet.

'Tried to get rid of your Horcrux yourself?' the hat tuts. 'Even if you'd died by the injuries Voldemort inflicted, you should remember that Horcruxes are only destroyed by the killing curse, basilisk venom, and cursed fire.'

"Thanks for the heads up," Harry mutters.

'No matter, I must not dawdle. People are staring.'

"No shit," Harry rolls his eyes.

"SLYTHERIN!" the hat barks abruptly.

Harry scowls. What the fuck?!

His mouth still agape, Harry staggers towards the Slytherin table and sits on the edge of the bench.

His brain feels numb. Slytherin? He's as Gryffindor as Gryffindor gets! Hell, he's more of a Hufflepuff than a snake.

As if on cue, brown eyes meet Harry's and he blinks back to the present.

Tom Riddle grins, nodding at Harry, amused.

Harry's jaw clenches.

What has he gotten himself into?