Take Me As I Am

VII

Harry walks into Potions feeling quite tense. His body still shakes with every step, and he can't hide the slight limp in his leg. So far, Abraxas and Orion have been pretty nice to him, and he can't imagine that Draco's grandfather and Sirius' father dated at one point.

Tom, on the other hand, has been nothing but nosy. Poking around his trunk when Harry's not looking (there's nothing there), prodding with questions about Harry's life, and not once caring about personal space.

Then, his mouth falls open at the sight of his Professor.

It's Slughorn.

A fifty-years younger version of Slughorn.

Harry can't help but wonder if Tom has already killed his uncle and created his first horcrux, prompting the conversation with Slughorn, the memory Dumbledore had so desperately sought after.

Not wanting to look too awkward, Harry takes a seat towards the back of the class and nods politely when Orion sits next to him.

"Hello, Hadrian," Orion greets. "Are you feeling better? You were looking quite unwell back at breakfast."

"I'm fine," Harry forces a smile. "I'm still recovering, but I'll be okay."

Orion doesn't look convinced, but thankfully drops the subject to talk to Abraxas, who has just entered the classroom.

Then Harry's gut fills with dread, and he turns around to see Tom-fucking-Riddle sliding into the seat on Harry's left.

"Hadrian," Tom acknowledges, taking out his book back and rummaging for his potions textbook.

"Riddle," Harry mutters.

Tom sets his bag down and turns to Harry. "Well, now we have the opportunity to talk."

Harry grits his teeth. "Why?"

Tom's eyes narrow but he keeps them trained on Harry. "Because I know you have more secrets. And I don't trust people with more secrets than me."

"I don't either," Harry replies icily.

— — —

Slughorn eventually tells them to brew the Draught of Living Death. While Harry doesn't have Snape's book, Harry thankfully remembers the necessary modifications to the recipe.

Crush, don't cut.

Thirteen beans. Not ten.

After an hour or so has passed in silence, Slughorn comes around to inspect everyone's potions.

He clears his throat. "I have seen many Draughts, none of them perfect, but most pass-worthy. It shouldn't be difficult to get at least a Meets on this potion. No hard feelings if your Draught isn't as perfect as you'd like." He looks up at the last line, staring at Harry.

Harry internally sighs. He wonders if every teacher is going to underestimate him just because he's supposedly homeschooled.

As Slughorn peers into Tom's cauldron, the leaf disintegrating slowly, he nods in approval. "Very good, Riddle. Not quite perfect, but the best I've seen in a while."

Then Slughorn stops at Harry's cauldron. "Now, Hadrian, this potion is quite advanced, so I wouldn't expect you to—" Slughorn stops in his tracks as the leaf he's dropped into the cauldron crumbles to smoldering ash upon first contact with the potion. "Merlin's beard, it's..."

"Oh, it can't be that bad," Tom snorts, locking eyes with Harry.

"Quite the contrary, Mr. Riddle," Slughorn seems amused, turning to the young boy who was slowly turning paler. "It's perfect."

Harry pretends to look confused and smiles. "Oh, thanks, Professor."

"Mr. Peverell, if you keep this up, I believe you have the potential to become a Potions Master," Slughorn pats Harry on the back. As he moves onto Orion, Tom shoots Harry a nasty glare.

"How did you do that?" Tom snaps.

"Do what?" Harry blinks innocently.

Riddle's eyes blaze with anger. "Brew a perfect Draught of Living Death. No one has been able to. Not even..." Tom looks speechless as Harry stares back blankly.

"I followed the recipe," Harry states slowly.

"Bollocks," Tom hisses. As Slughorn finishes grading the potions, the bell marking the end of the period rings. Harry gathers up his books and heads to the door, where Tom blocks his path.

"Let me out, Riddle," Harry sighs.

Tom still looks like a wounded child. "We will be talking about this later," Tom warns. Harry pushes his way out the door, leaving Tom rageful behind him.

Harry smirks to himself.

He's having way too much fun pissing Tom Riddle off.

— — —

Harry heads back to his dorm for his free period. Thankfully, Tom is nowhere to be found. He tries to ignore Abraxas and Orion snogging in the corner and pulls out his wand to speak to Death.

'You're not making this easy for yourself, Potter,' Death sighs. 'Not to mention you're already drawing attention to yourself with your potion skills.'

Harry scowls. 'I'm not going to kiss Riddle's boots. If we're to be friends, or at least not as hostile, he'll have to earn my respect. And he's doing a shoddy job so far.'

'Fair enough, Potter. On to more serious matters. It seems I have... miscalculated.' Death's voice sounds hesitant.

'What do you mean?' Harry frowns.

'I sent you to the wrong year,' Death admits. 'But it's too late to change that, because if I sent you further back, Tom would no doubt recognize you in this timeline.'

Harry's head is spinning. 'What? What do you mean, the wrong year?'

'I sent you to 1943. I just now realized that the Chamber of Secrets incident happened in 1942.'

Oh, fuck.

'So you mean, he's already made a Horcrux?' Harry asks in dread.

'Two,' Death corrects.

Harry's eyes bulge. 'Two? The diary, and the second one?'

'Unfortunately, no more than two weeks before term began, Tom murdered his uncle, Morfin Gaunt, and turned the Gaunt ring into a Horcrux.'

'Are you fucking kidding me?' Harry groans. 'How am I supposed to stop him from becoming an evil murderous overlord when he's already killed two people? This is how it started!'

'Sorry?' Death tries weakly.

Harry sighs. 'Okay, so I have to destroy two Horcruxes. That shouldn't be difficult. I know what they are, and how to destroy them..' He stops. 'Am I still a Horcrux?'

'Technically,' Death muses. 'But destroying the Horcrux part of your soul in this time period would have no effect on the future. You're already dead.'

'Great,' Harry mutters. 'Just gotta find a diary and a ring and get a basilisk fang and stab them! No big deal.'

'New plan,' Death says. 'Don't try to befriend him. He's already killed, and he's probably plotting the creation of his next few Horcruxes. Just... don't get discovered as a time traveler. The consequences would be...'

'Bad,' Harry fills in. 'Got that.' Harry lets go of his wand and stares at the carpet.

This definitely changes things.