It has taken them long enough to figure out what to do with them -- him and Sirius are sent to Hogwarts, locked under the tight protection of one Albus Dumbledore. In Harry's world, he's a Professor. Now, he's taken the place of Dippet, the Headmaster.

Harry is still reeling from that fact -- and from his and Albus' last conversation -- when he and Sirius were shoved into Hogwarts. His counterpart was a student here.

His counterpart, yes. It seems that, since he's come through the Veil and into this world, nothing much has made sense. At the top of the list is the other Harry Potter. He is a boy as young as fifthteen and there are so many things Harry just does not understand about him.

Voldemort is a villain just recently, upon the attack at the Ministry -- something Harry still cannot believe his counterpart led -- recognized as alive. Everytime he hears about him, his heart aches dully. Is there any fate crueler? For him to leave a world with his lover and enter one now his enemy?

Albus is no longer a good friend. He's an old man with prying eyes and when he asks Harry what's got him so downtrodden, Harry does not confess, honestly, as he might have once done, 'I miss Voldemort.' He says, "I'm supposed to be teaching, not wandering about a near empty castle without my magic."

(A lie -- he hears about wands and though he thinks them absolutely ridiculous, he's also glad neither him nor Sirius confessed to not needing one.)

Albus obviously does not buy it -- a weird thing, too. That Albus could harbor so much suspicion.

Hogwarts, here, has already gone out for the summer. Albus stays in the castle and several members of the staff either stay here, too, or integrate in and out as they please. Sirius and him are not allowed exit.

It is odd, this world with a Minister. This world that is not controlled by the one percent. This world that fears his lover instead of admiring him.

At the very least, he supposes, he has Sirius.

...

Harry had fallen through the Veil and this first thought was Why are my allies fighting? Bellatrix Lestrange -- his kind coworker who made his cookies when his parents died to celebrate -- is shouting "I killed Sirius Black!" and Lucius Malfoy -- father of his close friend, Draco -- is in an intense battle with what he recognizes to be a handful of his students.

(These people look like his friends, sound like his friends... But are not. But are strangers.)

And so he does what he does best: hide his true nature and, of course, adapt. A fat girl with brown hair, flanked by a redhead, are both badly injured. She calls out, her face blanketed with relief, "Harry!" and Harry can tell instantly that -- here -- this is what you call a friend.

As Harry moves closer, grabbing Sirius by his sleeve and tugging him behind him, her face furrows up a bit. It is the first sign of suspicion and Harry is only surprised that it showed so early.

"What are you wearing? " Harry looks down at his outfit. He's wearing normal formal robes... but it is clear that she doesn't know that. And clear that whatever 'friend' she thinks she is addressing would have never worn them. "And when did you get so... bony?"

He wants to retort that it's the average, fashionable bodyweight, thank you very much, but the redhead grabs her and pulls her into a duck right as a spell crashes into where they once where. The girl -- Hermione, as it is soon revealed -- curses.

Ron grabs Harry arm and drags the two of them along hurriedly. "Berate him later, Mione! We're in the middle of battle--" His eyes catch on Harry's hair. He raises an eyebrow. "Although, there is a lot to berate. Hey, mate, did you get shorter--?"

(Harry is thinking, meanwhile, if throwing himself back through the Veil would be a good idea. But it is largely untested, and it'd be something better to experiment with on his own time.

He's already forming theories -- and, in a few days time, will have figured out the basic truth -- but is sure of one thing: Whoever these versions of the people he knows are, he doesn't like them.

He is sure Tom is worried by now. Harry's already missing him.)

"Harry," says Hermione, interrupting him. "Do you have the--"

She suddenly yelps, her hand flying out. A shield is summoned and a dark blue spell bounces off of it. She lowers the hand. "Keep running," she instructs them.

Harry jogs beside him, noting that she did not cast the spell empty-handedly. She's holding a... stick. A wooden stick.

"Is that a... wand?" He laughed, unable to help it. Sirius chuckles at his side.

The redhead -- later discovered to be a nobody Pureblood named Ron Wealsey -- furrows his eyebrows at him. "What?"

"Nothing," says Harry. Pretend, he reminds himself. You can only go home if you play pretend.

Ron, however, knows it's not nothing. "Did you lose your wand?"

"I'm sorry, Harry, we can get a new one later -- really, sorry -- and it's that..." Hermione turns on her heel until she's facing him completely. She grabs both of his hand in her own. "You still have the prophecy, right?"

Harry blinks at her. "Prophecy?" he repeats nervously.

"Unbelievable!" shouts Ron, sovereign them with a shield. "Pestering me about losing when you've failed the main fucking objective!"

Hermione is studying his face. Harry tries to tug his hands free, to no avail. "Um?" he asks. "Erm, uh--" He wishes he knew her name.

"It's Hermione," says Hermione. Harry stares at her with wide eyes. "It's Hermione -- but you knew that. Right?"

"Uh, guys," shouts Ron. "Now's no time--"

"No," says Hermione, carefully. "Answer the question, Harry." She glances over at Sirius and her gaze hardens. "Answer it," she repeats.

"Of course I knew your name," Harry says smoothly. "You're my friend."

"Just your friend?"

Fuck. "Girlfriend?" he tries.

She releases one of his hands and raises her hand, slowly, to brush the hair away from his forehead.

Whatever she is looking for there, she doesn't see.

Quickly -- too quickly to prevent -- she casts a binding charm at him, then Sirius (just for good measure, Harry supplies.) Harry struggles with his binds on the floor, watching her grab Ron's arm to flee.

"What are you doing?" shouts Ron, gesturing to Harry and Sirius. "Harry is--"

"I don't know who that is," says Hermione, tugging him along. "But he's not Harry."

(His game of pretend is short lived.)

Just as Harry comes close to freeing himself -- and rethinking the option to jump through the Veil without preparation -- Albus Dumbledore comes into the room, knee deep in a very intense duel with...

Harry swallows. With the second most attractive man Harry's ever seen.

He has no nose and an almost snake like appearance. Skin so pale it is close to corpse like. Black robes that fit his lithe body snugly.

And his magic. His magic is what has Harry's mouth watering most.

Albus Dumbledore, even in this odd mirror world he's been flung into, is effortlessly powerful. And yet here this man is, not only holding his own defensively but being obtusely offensive. Spells twirl around the two, a man of dodging and shields and yelling and power, pure power.

Harry had never seen a more alluring sight. Even when he and Sirius are captured by a scar faced lunatic -- who turns out later to be some 'Alastor Moody' -- and even after the man has long since fled the sight, he still thinks of him.

He is turned in to Aurors as soon as they arrive at the scene -- something that happens far too late to make any difference, classic Ministry -- and is kept in a purgatory of legal disputes. Shoved into interview after interview, separated, for the most part, from his godfather, and learning more about what it is that exactly happened to him -- his mind is still revolving around the villain that led the attack.

Harry gets the nerve to ask -- in a way that makes him more curious than smitten; in a way that gives away none of the Darkness hidden just below his surface -- his name. He is given it easily enough.

Voldemort.

His name is Voldemort, and Harry thinks that he -- and his name -- both feel familiar... and don't feel right.

No.

His name is Tom.

...

After some time, he and his godfather are released from prison and immediately sent to what, in Harry's opinion, is much worse.

Albus Dumbledore, king of the castle. Wearing the face of Harry's friend and being nothing like him. There is not a genuine bone in this man's body and Harry's sure if he bled, he'd bleed blue.

They are given mostly free reign of the castle. Report to all meals, no curfew, don't go past the Forbidden Forest, they don't get wands, Albus has the full ability to turn them back into Ministry custody if he deems them too much to deal with.

When they were released the Minister -- looking sweaty and unkempt; the very picture of a man wya in over his head -- has apologized profusely for the suspicion. "You're no Dark wizards, I'm sure, and I don't think either of you have anything to do with Harry's disappearance."

Harry thinks, personally, they are still suspicious of them. (Why else lock them in the castle, supposedly without their magic?) It's just that, with the disappearance of one Boy Who Lived (ridiculous title, he thinks) and subsequent re appearance of Voldemort, they've already got their hands full. And, even so, he thinks they aren't suspicious enough.

But he'd smiled. Said, "Thank you for your generosity. We hope you find a way soon enough. I'm already missing home," and Sirius had agreed -- because that's the thing about being a Dark wizard in a world ruled by Light ones; you don't fucking talk about it.

Hogwarts is... interesting. It certainly is something to get used to. During breakfast, he sits with the Hufflepuff Head of House and is amazed by both her side and her portions. "Aren't you ashamed?' he'd asked, with no real malice. With mere curiosity -- but she had left the table crying.

Sirius had a talk with him later. "I think that's just how people are here," says Sirius, shrugging. "No need to be bitchy about it."

"But, Sirius, they're--"

"Huge," Sirius finishes. Harry nods. Sirius sighs. "And it's rude to point that out. We're in their home -- so let's treat them with all the hospitality we do to any host."

"You sound like you're getting used to it here." It is an accusation.

Sirius grins wickedly. "So what if I am? I've never seen the school this empty -- I'm enjoying exploring it. Feeling like a mischievous little kid again. And, hey." He nudges Harry's shoulders. "Doesn't this bring you back to your school days, without all the teaching shit?"

Sirius pats him on the back. "Learn to live a little. I know you miss home, but there's aspects of this place, too, that you can come to enjoy. Even if just for the short time we're here."

(With Voldemort, Harry thinks he might be able to do this.)

It becomes quickly apparent what "aspects" Sirius is referring to when Severus Snape visits the castle. He speaks in worried tones to Albus Dumbledore, but Sirius pays him no mind.

"Hey, Sev," greets Sirius cheerfully.

Severus stops talking. He glances at Albus, then Sirius, then back to Albus.

"We can talk after," says Albus, somewhat mirthful. "But it seems like you have a visitor."

Albus wanders off and Severus stands still, staring at him. "Black," he says, tensely. "What brings you here?"

"You, of course," says Sirius.

"Me," repeats Severus slowly.

"I gotta say, it's not the look I'm used to." He looks Severus up and down, then licks his lips. "But I'm not complaining."

Severus looks like he's going to have a stroke. "What," he says blankly.

"Listen, man, I've not a lot of money at the moment -- don't got access to my vault and all, hence the leather jacket." He waves his hand flippantly before getting a look on his face. "Although," he notes, "we'd both look good in some leather,if you catch my drift."

Sirius winks and Severus seems to forgo years of Occulemny training. "What the fuck."

"And," continues Sirius, oblivious to Severus' distress, "Dumbledore's kinda got us down on lock and key, but I'm sure if I play good for a while, he'd at least allow us to Hogsmeade down the road." Sirius takes Severus' hand, kisses the top of it and asks, gleefully, "So? What do you say?"

"About," says Severus, faintly, "what?"

"A date, of course."

"A date," he repeats.

Sirius nods his head, rubbing his thumb along Severus' hand.

"With you," says Severus.

"Yup."

"Are you serious?"

"Well, that is my name."

Severus turns toward Harry, who is hovering near the back, watching his godfather have game, and asks, "Is he serious?"

Harry ignores the urge to respond 'well, that is his name.' "Of course," says Harry. "Why wouldn't it be?"

Severus looks at him like he's crazy. "I'm," he says, simply, "going to leave now."

Sirius frowns, watching him leave. "Wonder what that's all about," he wonders, sadly.

Harry will wonder so too. He will dream of a Sirius Black who is in love with Remus Lupin, and then he will stop wondering and start knowing.

Severus denied him because the Sirius Black he knew was not someone he would accept. It is one of many things changed about this place, their counterparts.

Sirius is mostly content. He knows Harry is researching vigorously -- knows as well that there are at least a dozen well trained Unspeakables trying to get their Harry back -- and, like he often does, rides the waves. He tries out eating like these people and, to his surprise, quite likes it.

"I'm finally warm," says Sirius, laughing. "Who knew eating so much makes you feel good ?"

He keeps trying with Severus; learns about his counterpart's relationship with Remus Lupin and starts trying there, too; wears his poor man's leather jackets with pride.

Harry has taken to no such comfort. This world is not his own and he is in no position to get used to it (he ignores Voldemort, the exception.)

He takes to profiling. He thinks that understanding his counterpart better will help him understand this world more -- and that will help him understand how to leave it -- but, really, it is to save face for his curiosity.

Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived. Matter of national security.

Who is he, really?

He's buff. (Trelawney shrieks, calling him a 'skeletal edition of Harry Potter.') He's stupid. (He mentions he is a Professor and Professor McGongall raises an eyebrow, noting that her Harry Potter would never.) He's angry. (He hears about the raid on Umbridge and decides that no calm person could lead it.)

And he is... selectively kind. (The Hufflepuff Head of House, who he learned to be Professor Flint, says that Harry would have never said something so rude to someone. Some Professors murmur in agreement... and some, interestingly, do not.)

The more he hears about him, the more he hates him. (It is only partially due to the boy's rivalry with Voldemort.)

He is a child who thinks himself an adult. He is hypocritical at the best of times and overactive at the worst.

And Harry thinks that if he ever gets the opportunity, he'll kill him.

...

Harry absorbs new information like a sponge. He hears about the Ministry. Reads, in the newspaper (borrowed from Albus every morning, as some strange act of kindness or manipulation or mix of the two), their hilarious attempts at downplaying the damage. He learns, of course, about the other Harry Potter's part in the incident -- though Harry would best describe it as a 'fiasco.'

And he hears about his lover. This version of his lover, a monster of a man going by his father's name (?). A war lord. Harry sees a photo of him in the newspaper and recognizes him immediately as the oddly attractive man from the Ministry.

He reads about his resuscitation, about the fact that the Ministry continually denied it until it couldn't anymore (classic Ministry), and -- fascinatingly enough -- Voldemort's reign.

He is more outright violent than Tom ever dared. Harry excuses it, though, thinking that, without a proper ruling, there's only so many ways to achieve it.

Still. He recalls the monster at the Ministry and thinks that he will think himself intelligent. Think every move he makes planned, purposeful. In reality... in reality, he is far past insanity. His assumption that he's not will be his very downfall.

But... with Harry by his side, who's to say that won't change. Tom has called him grounding at the best of times. Harry does not agree with Voldemort's outright -- scandalous, really -- methods. But he does agree with his ideologies.

With Harry by his side, Voldemort will be unstoppable. He's sure of it.

He holds onto the hope, of course, that he will make his way back to Tom. But if there is any way to do that, would it not be at the side of a powerful, gorgeous -- if insane -- version of the man he knows so well? And, besides. Having someone like Tom at his side in the meantime...

It's ideal. It is damn near the best idea he's had in a while.

Harry scribbles down a letter to the Dark Lord and, once he thinks it too late for the halls not to be clear, practically skips down the corridor to the owlery.

He stops in his tracks when he sees Albus Dumbledore leaning against the wall. The natural light from the window hits his skin.

Menacing. Harry would say he looks passively menacing.

"Harry," he greets. He stands up straight and walks forward a few feet, staring at Harry's all but paralyzed body. "Pleasure seeing you here. Pleasure... and coincidence, wouldn't you say?"

Harry wouldn't. The halls were supposed to be clear.

Why weren't they?

Harry clears his throat. "Indeed," he says, tone even. Albus shouldn't know what he's doing here -- there's just no way -- so as long as Albus doesn't get a hold of his letter and as long as Harry doesn't give anything up, everything should be fine.

"You've been spending a lot of time in the library lately," notes Albus.

"Lot to learn here," says Harry dryly.

"Indeed," Albus echos. "But this -- this corridor, the direction it leads -- is not in the direction of the library. Is it?"

Why must you keep me from the man I love? You know, don't you? What I'm doing here. "It's in the direction of the owlery," says Harry blankly.

"It is curious, then," says Albus, stepping closer, "that you're going to send a letter in a world in which the only person you really know is right here in Hogwarts."

"There's people my counterpart is supposed to know," says Harry, nonchalantly. "I would like to know them, too."

"But I do not think you like your counterpart."

"No?"

"No," says Albus, softly. "And I am wondering another thing, harry, if you do not mind answering...

"Did you have a Voldemort in your reality?"

Harry tries not to stiffen. "No," he says, somewhat truthfully. "I," he settles on, "had a Tom Riddle."

"And so you are trying to contact his likeness," says Albus, like he already knew. "Is that it?"

"My Tom shares no similarities to Voldemort."

"But you are trying to contact him, yes?"

"No," insists Harry. "I'm not."

"I got to say," notes Albus, ignoring his protests, "I did not expect Harry Potter's counterpart to be so interested in a Dark Lord -- nor for him to be friends with one in his own reality."

"My Tom was no Dark Lord, Al -- Dumbledore. " Another strange thing about this world. He and Albus are not friends. Albus calls him Harry, but he takes it as more mocking than anything.

"Is that so?" says Albus lightly, tilting his head. The light coming from the window catches on his glasses. "And, yet, you seem to have no problem with Voldemort being one. You seem, in fact, rather keen on contacting him."

Harry is hyper aware of the letter in his pocket. "I don't know what you're talking about," he says, pointedly.

Albus holds out his hand, one arm tucked behind his back. When Harry shows no signs of budging, he sighs. "Hand over the letter," says Albus. "Or I will take it from you -- and then you will be returned to the Ministry. Azkaban is a horrible place. You've been doing a lot of research, I'm sure you've heard of it."

Harry begrudgingly digs the letter out of his pocket and holds it out to him.

Albus opens it. He reads it, carelessly, acting like it is not the huge breach of privacy it so obviously is. "Asking for Voldemort to take you and your godfather into his home," says Albus, eyebrows raised high. "It sure is bold. And yet, I think -- no, I am sure -- you are a Slytherin."

Harry says nothing.

"And," continues Albus, "the way you speak of Voldemort... beautiful. It is an odd word for him. It's like you already know him -- and well. Are you wishing to join his army? Is that what this is?"

"I'm no warrior." Harry holds up his hands, as if to show that fact off. "No wand, remember? Voldemort would have no use for a pseudo Squib in his ranks."

Albus...

He can see through it.

Why can he see through it?

"I am not so sure of that, Harry," he says, something grave in his voice. He clears his throat. "I am sure of your intentions with this... But it will be of no problem either way -- assuming, of course, that you go on your way... return to your bedroom, and, please, keep your nose out of the owlery."

Harry sticks up his nose, clenching his jaw. He says nothing.

The next night, he will wander back into the owlery after hours and find it void of owls. Feathers lay on the ground -- as does a singular note. Harry bends on wary knees and picks it up carefully.

Harry, it reads. The owls have been relocated alongside our renewed Caretaker of Magical Creatures, Rubeus Hagrid, for the duration of the summer.

Please do refrain from further attempts to contact Voldemort.

Cheers,

A.P.W.B.D.

"Prick," Harry mutters. It's a setback, for sure.

Albus is... intuitive. That much is clear. He is intuitive, curious, and powerful -- the problem is he's also kind. He gives far too much leeway and that is why he thought his meager attempts at dissuasion have failed him.

Harry raises his hand in the air, letting his magic gather and says, thinking of Tom assigning him as his personal assistant, " Expecto Patronum. "

He repeats the message from the letter and watches as his ghostly alligator clobbers out of Hogwarts.

Getting rid of the owls was a drastic measure, he'll admit, and doubtlessly impressive, but Harry sticks more on that name. 'Hagrid.' Yes. The groundskeeper. Harry's heard of him, through the chatter of the other staff.

Upon Dolores Umbridge -- horrible teacher here, for reasons that Harry can all but relate to -- being captured by a large group of vigilante students, she was taken into custody by Aurors. She's currently being investigated for child abuse. (Not that, from what Harry's heard, she doesn't deserve it. If she's a monster, then Harry knows exactly what he is. Both of their hearts beat steady in their chest, but the mere fact that you're alive is minuscule when you start making that other people's problem.)

Albus was reinstated as Headmaster, the charges against him dropped. He had undone the multitude of rules she'd implemented -- including giving Hagrid his job back.

It is strange, though. That a man who has just gotten his home returned to him refuses to reside in it. The only difference about it is Harry's presence there.

And that might be just the thing. Hagrid being close to Harry and then this weirdo wearing his face shows up -- Harry can imagine anyone being upset.

Harry suspects his heart was broken so hard, he can't stand to look at him without it cracking further.

Harry wonders, morbidly and uncaringly, who else is being affected like that.

...

Harry gets the answer to that question the very next day.

Albus Dumbeldore tells him over breakfast that he has a visitor today.

"Really?" Harry asks. He does not let him get his hopes up that it's Voldemort. But it is a near thing. "Who?"

"You'll see," says Albus, vaguely. "I do hope you remember your manners."

"Aristocratic as I am," says Harry, "how could I ever forget?"

Albus smiles and Harry pulls himself out of the familiarity. This Albus Dumbledore is not his friend. He cannot pretend he is.

Hours later, nearing lunch, he is flying in the Quidditch field when he sees Alastor Moody -- the maniac who captured him -- walk through the Hogwarts gates.

He is not alone.

At his side is the girl from the Ministry. At his side is Hermione Granger.

Harry lands on the ground and watches her slow approach curiously.

I don't know who that is.

But that's not Harry.

It is a complete rejection. Harry wonders what business she has with him regardless. Harry cannot imagine it being easy, your best friend disappearing on you and being replaced.

But he also does not care for this girl and whatever pain she feels is secondary to the pain Harry does -- selfishness is next to godliness. It's one of Tom's mottos. It's one he lives by.

Moody hangs around the bottom of the stands while Hermione walks right up to him. She is, upon a second inspection, not fat. Here, she would be considered normal. What a strange thing. She has two large front teeth and brown, bushy hair that halos her.

She casts her eyes on the ground, arms wrapped around her. She has dark eyebags and a twitchy demeanor.

"Hello," Harry greets, tilting his head at her. "You're Hermione Granger -- I had you as a student in my world. Though, in my defense, you looked rather different there."

"As a student," she repeats. "You were a teacher, then?"

"I was. Here, though, I suppose, we were classmates."

" We weren't," she corrects. "Me and my Harry were."

"Yes," allows Harry. "That's right. I am sorry for your loss."

"He's not dead," snaps Hermione. "There's no 'loss.'"

"Of course," says Harry smoothly. "What brings you here, if you don't mind me asking?"

She shifts uncertainly on her feet. "I've been doing some thinking," she says at last.

"Have you? About what?"

"The Veil," she says. "And Harry... You and Harry fell through it at the same time, right? And that's how you ended up here."

"Correct," says Harry, curious as to what she's getting at. He remembers his dreams portraying her as his counterpart's best friend, yes -- but also 'the Brain.' Harry wonders if she will live up to the title. "That's the difficult part, getting us both thrown through the Veil at the same time again. I've heard there are many people hard at work on fixing that, though; trying out some form of multiverse communication."

"I have faith that will work itself out," states Hermione. "I also don't think that will be the problem."

"No?" says Harry.

"The Veil is under tight surveillance right now," says Hermione. "Only Unspeakables and Ministry officials -- and that's fine, right now, since nothing is definitive."

"But?" Harry prompts.

"But," says Hermione. "If there is a confirmed way to get Harry back... People are picking sides right now. They know that Voldemort is back and... and they're afraid. And so they have to decide what to do with that fear. Be brave, in spite of it."

"Or be compliant," Harry says quietly. "And join Voldemort."

Hermione nods. "The Ministry is not immune to this phenomenon. When they are forced to pick sides... If the past year has taught me anything, it's that they'll choose the wrong one. I don't think Harry Potter is someone Voldemort wants back -- and I think the Ministry will enforce that."

"Interesting," says Harry. Clever. "What are you proposing instead?"

"We have raided the Ministry once." Hermione shrugs. "Contact me... and I think we can gather the people to do it again."

It is an interesting proposal. She sure as hell sounds like she knows what she's talking about. Interesting... but ultimately useless. "I'd love to," Harry says, somewhat honestly. "But, unfortunately, Albus Dumbledore has removed all owls from the premise."

"I'd assumed that."

"You did?"

"And so I prepared for it." She glances over her shoulder, where Moody stands, and, subtly, takes something out of her pocket. She holds it out to him. "It's a Muggle flip phone," she explains. "It's cheap, though, so be careful. But you'll be able to communicate with me -- my number is already set as a contact -- if... If things go as I think they will."

Harry takes it gingerly. He flips it open and raises an eyebrow as the screen glows. Muggles, he thinks. What odd creatures.

"He was right about you," says Harry absently, looking at the screen. "You are smart."

"Glad you think so."

"He's... doing a lot to get back to you."

Hermione looks at him curiously. "It's weird that you know that. But thank you." Hermione sticks her hands back in her pockets, looking like she is so much older than fifteen. "He's my best friend," she states. "And I would do anything to have him back."

Harry thinks of Voldemort and says, "I'll hold you to that."

...

Harry will think about the moment a lot in the coming days. While picking at his meals, while talking with Sirius, while skirting around and deliberately navigating conversations with Albus and other staff. It is a train of thought that he will try to run from and it doesn't work because the thought runs faster.

Albus had commented, casually, that the other Harry was into Quidditch. Harry now, taking a note from his counterpart, spends a good chunk of time with Sirius in the sky. He finds it is not a skill he excels at, but he takes his time trying. He steadily approves.

But his meager accomplishments -- his calculated plans in the making -- are not enough to ward off doubt.

He thinks about Tom a lot. Thanks about getting back to him. And this leads to the next obvious train of thought -- the dreams he's been getting. He lies in bed at night and when he closes his eyes, he sees a boy too young to be acting like a man. He's powerful and stupid and, most suprisingly, making his own plans, too.

He dreams of his counterpart, Harry Potter, and finds him to be awfully lonely.

And then he starts dreaming of Tom, too -- Tom and his counterpart and Tom's blatant and disgusting (to his counterpart and to Harry, too) infatuation and Harry... He is struck by the awful and consuming feeling of betrayal.

He's the kind of boy to stick Riddle at the end of his name to feel just a little more human, and it appears Tom never needed the same reminder or did not want it from Harry.

Harry's gathered a collective profile of him and there is not one thing -- not a single god damn thing -- about the teen that Tom finds -- or should find -- attractive. Is it his age? His build? His likeness to the Harry he knows?

Harry would change himself for Tom. Every aspect, every gram of fat, every personality flaw -- he'd fix it for Tom. He is giving the world to get back to him right now.

Harry had just...

He'd assumed Tom would do the same for him. But Tom had moved past getting his own Tom back so quickly, Harry understands he is more than expendable -- he's already disposed.

These are mean thoughts. There are thoughts he tries to avoid. Because he will get back to his own world -- he wants his status back; his money; his society -- and it would be nice to, when he does, be able to come back to Tom, too.

And this is the course of thought that brings him, inevitably, every time, to the darkest parts of his wonderings: What if Tom does not want him back? Accepting his counterpart because that's all there is at the moment is one thing -- a thing that Harry has attempted a few times over -- but preferring that Harry over him is another.

What if Tom wants him never to cross the Veil?

And... hauntingly, he thinks back to the day it happened. The day he crossed the Veil.

Tom had taken him and Sirius out for a routine check up on his favorite Unspeakable project. They're there with a handful of Aurors, acting as guards, and a few Unspeakables. Harry and Sirius are instructed to inspect the Veil and Tom speaks with his Unspeakables in hushed tones.

Tom asks them to cast a spell -- presumably to check the status of some of the out workings of the Veil -- and...

And it misses. And Sirius and Harry come flying through the other side of the Veil.

It is a completely innocuous situation.

It should be. Harry should think it one.

And yet his mind swarms constantly with questions. Why did Tom not punish the person who pushed him through the Veil? Why is he not wringing answers out of Harry and Sirius' counterparts? Why, why, why?

Did Tom order that spell to be cast, knowing, to the extent that he could, what would happen?

(Back thoughts. Avoid, distract, deflect -- there's no reason to ponder on things like this.)

And though he does not think Tom intentionally tried to kill him -- he'd seen the direct aftermath scene again from his dreams and Tom's reactions are not one of someone who just tried to kill his lover -- ... Harry just cannot help but wonder.