Chapter I

Nozomi

"What do you mean, professor?!"

"Calm down, Tom, I only wanted to say..."

"Everyone can go, so why not me?!"

"I thought..."

"It's the first time in five years professor Dippet allowed us to visit Hogsmeade, so why can't I go?!"

"Enough! Professor, you should take your leave now." Miss Pollingtonious, a nurse of impressive hight – powered up even more by her white cap - turned vigorously to Horace Slughorn and emphatically showed him the door.

"But Hattie..." The young teacher tried to somehow appease his colleague, rising his hands in a defensive gesture. Unsuccessfully. In his efforts he resembled a small helpless spider, trying to resist the current of a river rousing him.

"I thought I expressed myself clearly enough?" The nurse asked in a menacing tone, her finger still pointing at the massive infirmary door. "No visits. We may be on the edge of an epidemy. And no getting out of bed, Mr. Riddle," she added, seeing that her only patient tried to get up. "Cat pox is no joke. And I ask you kindly not to whine, you're not dying yet," Miss Pollingtonious said with displeasure, before the door closed behind her and Horace Slughorn with a bang.

Tom Riddle looked up at the ceiling. What did he do to deserve this? Dippet was so sceptical about allowing his student to go out to Hogsmeade because of war and now, when the headmaster finally agreed – probably after Dumbledore persuaded him – to let them visit the magical village , he had to be grounded. Tom never had a chance to see Zonko's Joke Shop or The Three Broomsticks Inn. Not that he considered them to be particularly interesting, but Hogsmeade was the only village in Britain inhabited only by wizards, wasn't it? There was nothing weird about wanting to see it.

However, instead of walking along the snow-covered road, he was lying idly in the hospital wing overpowered by disease. Cat pox! Who could possibly come up with something so dumb? He's never heard about anything like that! And if it was Black's cat that infected him, he would deal with him soon enough. Could he die of it ? Well, dying wasn't on top of his bucket list, not really, but it was kind of worrisome to wonder if wizards could die of something so trivial?

The perfectly white ceiling didn't know the answer. Or maybe it knew it, but wasn't - as ceilings all over the world – especially fond of sharing its knowledge? Did students at Hogwarts die because of epidemies in the past? It seemed to Tom nothing about such matters was mentioned inHogwarts The History . He knew that strange and incurable diseases appeared among wizards from to time, but nothing like that happened in the last century or so.

Tom sighed. He was so terribly bored and his dear classmates didn't think about bringing him something to read. He would do anything for his Transfiguration textbook, although he knew it almost by heart already. He was so desperate he could even try to read one of those idiotic mystery novels Abraxas Malfoy loved so much.

Outside the window the snow was falling harder with every passing minute. White snowflakes seemed to be heavy and sticky, as if they wanted to coat the whole school and cover it in a hermetic shell to separate it from the outside world. Sometimes Tom felt just the same lying in the darkness of the Slytherin dormitory, when everyone else was asleep, and he couldn't find peace. He would get up in the middle of the night and look into the muddy water of the sleeping lake with the impression that - although the windows were protected with magic - it's trying to break the thick glass and leave him breathless. Other Slytherins loved their underwater bedroom, but he couldn't get rid of the unsettling feeling of imprisonment in asilvery cage , where the only way out was right into the uninviting depths of grim water. Perhaps it bothered him so much because of all the sins he had committed? Perhaps he would never again have the chance to experience restful sleep, more suitable for the innocent, not the insidious. Foolishly looking for falsehood and deceit in people around, he was full of them himself...

Tom heard a sudden crash. For a second he thought - quite illogically - that the water finally began to smash windows that were surrounding him and in a moment he will feel the sticky weight in his lungs, but he remembered in time that he was still in his bed in the hospital wing, not the Slytherin dormitory. He wasn't entirly wrong, however, as the source of the unexpected sound wa coming from somewhere near the window - when the crash was heard again, he realized that it was an owl fiercly bowing on the glass, trying to catch his attention.

Ignoring Miss Pollingtonious' prohibition Tom jumped out of his bed and in few quick steps he was at the windowsill. A cold breeze brought a some snow into the infimary and Tom recognized the barn owl - it belonged to Orion Black, whose younger cousin owned the dark cat that was spreading the plague.

Tom was surprised. Hasn't he seen Orion just a few hours ago? The Slytherins came to say goodbye before they left for Hogsmeade, promising not to have too much fun without him and Orion decided to send him a package right after they've parter?

The owl flew away through the open window only a moment after he untied the package - a small, crudely parchment-wrapped box. The few words written by Black in hurry explained a little: For Alphard's use.

If the package was ment for Alphard Black, why did he receive it? Was the owl wrong for some reason? He's never heard such a thing...

Tom looked at the box again suspiciously. If he opened it, would it look weird? He could always say he didn't notice Orion's note and thought it was for him, couldn't he? Well, he had his wand at the nightstand, he could simply pack the gift again and then return it to one of the Blacks, blaming their owl...

He shouldn't be considering opening other people's deliveries of course, but he was so bored... Besides, what bad could happen? N othing more dangerous than the cat pox probably?

No longer debating the eventual consequences, Tom lifted the lid of the old box. In the middle, on a suede piece bearing clear signs of use, laid a gold pendant with an hourglass. What could it be? Some kind of jewelery? Or maybe a magical toy from Zonko's Shop? Hogwarts' students loved all these artificial wands and self -writing quills, so the golden chain could have some entrainment use too.

Tom wasn't sure why he put it around his neck. After all the parcel wasn't addressed to him, and if the hourglass was indeed another magical prank, something might happen to him. He remembered the Justy-Scarves all too well, they were very popular during his fourth year - seemingly no different from usual shawls, they began to tighten around its owner's neck, when they were trying to cheat. Of course they were meant to be nothing more than a harmless toy, but when during a game of dice one Gryffindor almost suffocated because her scarve wanted to prove so badly that she wasn't playing fair, the headmaster added them to the ever increasing list of forbidden objects . Would Black buy something equally dangerous for his cousing? Tom wasn't sure.

He looked at the hourglass again - a decorative inscription read: I mark the hours, every one, nor have I yet outrun the sun. My use and value, unto you, are gauged by what you have to do, but he had no idea what that might mean. Maybe Alphard's gift was some kind of a strange watch? It didn't look scary, it seemed fascinating.

Mechanically, almost unconsciously he turned the hourglass several times. How long will it take until someone visits the hospital wing? He could write a whole essay for the next history of magic class, if he only had some parchment and a quill...

"Who you are?" A surprised voice brought Tom suddenly back to Earth.

He looked around confused. It seemed to him that he was all alone in the hospital wing.

But when he turned away from the window, Tom saw that on the bed in which he was lying just ten minutes earlier, an unfamiliar boy was he wasn't unfamiliar ? It seemed to Tom that somehow he knew the eyes hidden behind the round glasses and the unusual scar on the boy's forehead only deepened that impression. But before he could ask any questions, the boy jumped up waving his wand in a defensive gesture.

"What are you doing here?!," he shouted and Tom heard a mixture of shock and fear in his voice, although he couldn't understand why. He had no idea why anyone, much less this known-unknown student would aim his wand at him. "Don't move!," the boy said when he tried to take a step in his direction, trying to understand what was going on.

Suddenly, he felt it . A strange pressure somewhere inside his head, as if he was in a soundproof room. He wasn't alone in it - the thin boy was there too and he could bet on a Galleon he didn't have, he heard his thoughts . Of course Tom has heard about Legilimency , even tried it on some Slytherins, but so far he managed anything only with the younger ones and usually he had to look them in the eye , which wasn't too discreet. Besides he's heard only snatches of sentences, some meaningless words separated from each other, he saw images appearing out of nowhere and they were often completely incomprehensible. This time it was different - he heard exactly what the boy thought, he saw images the other onemust have seen with his own eyes, things no one should know; even their feelings seemed similar and shared.

A shiver run down his spine. Why was this boy looking at him with such hatred? Although he seemed familiar, they've never met, Tom Riddle was sure of it. It was a bit like the dreams that haunted him during the short hours of rest before dawn – unreal yet close, on the border between what is real and what is only imagination. What did he do to deserve such a greeting? He didn't claim he was walking innocence, quite the contrary – he was aware of each and every of his sins, because they were all committed with premeditation. His father, grandparents, the weeping girl in the bathroom, the children from the orphanage... They feared him so much that even after so many years they were avoiding him every summer... Did he regret it? No. And it seemed to him that he could never regret. There was no room for regret in his nature, and thus no chance for redemption. Maybe the Ravenclaw girl died unnecessarily, they've almost closed the school because of his games with Slytherin's basilisk... Besides, was it really so necessary to get rid of Muggle- born students? He was the heir of Slytherin, so in theory he should want to do it, but the longer he thought about it, the more doubts he had... Was blood purity his true goal? After all he didn't know he was a wizard himself for so many years... He felt satisfaction when everyone trembled with fear of the mysterious heir. He saw it in their eyes, when they were sneaking down the corridors in groups and the hope with which they turned to him for help nonetheless, having no idea about the truth. All these terrible things that still haunted him, they were only his property. Images from the past he couldn't change and a future which seemed devoided of hope, despite all his efforts... Tom couldn't let anyone see it. That is why he mastered Occlumency in the first place and so far he was sure he was pretty good at it.

"Do we know each other?" Tom asked finally, almost unconsciously raising his hands in a defensive gesture, noticing with anger that he had left his own wand on the nightstand. Why was it no longer there? "I'm not used to people threatening me for no reason."

"For no reason?" The boy snorted in response, as if Tom said something very amusing. After a moment his gaze lost some of its previous hostility, although he was still looking like a wild animal ready for a surprise attack. "You really don't know who I am, do you?"

"Why should I know? The Slytherin answered with another question, still understanding very little from the whole scene. "Aiming at random people seems much more incomprehensible for me, Mr. Widely Known."

Was it an illusion or did the boy almost laugh? He held back as if laughing was something improper, but why? Tom saw many eccentrics in his life so far, but the boy really belonged in the forefront.

In the end he lowered his wand. He was still standing rather far away, but made some kind of a clumsy inviting gesture, pointing at one of the chairs.

"Do we know each other?" Tom asked again, sitting beside the boy's bed. He still couldn't see his own abandoned wand anywhere.

The boy hesitated for a moment, then said evasively:

"What do you think?"

Was it a game of sorts? If so, Tom didn't know its rules.

"I am both sure that I know you and that we've never met," he replied as inaccurately as his interlocutor.

"You're right, I guess..." The boy seemed to be lost in thoughts suddenly, talking more to himself than anyone else. "Well, theoretically we've met before, but I guess you cannot remember it... You're from another time, right?"

"From another time...?" Tom asked in disbelief. What did he mean? After all, he didn't even go outside the hospital wing. How exactly would he travel through time?

A sudden thought striked him... What was written on Alphard's gif? … nor have I yet outrun the sun . Did the golden trinket moved him in time to another Hogwarts? How was it even possible? He had read about time turners, but apparently they were so rare and dangerous that the Ministry ofMagic took over the majority of private collections... Did one of the spare time turnes came into his hands with the afternoon mail in some unbelievable twist of fate?

"What year is it?" Tom asked nervously, trying to control his own shaking hands. Was it possible that the traveled to the past? Maybe he could somehow change fate, even if only a little? Maybe he could save his mother? Or himself? It seemed his head was spinning and his legs were shaking, he couldn't believe it was really happening.

"1997," the boy answered, surprised with the unannounced guest's nervous reaction.

It was... the future? Tom felt he was helplessly falling back on the chair he uncounciously jumped up from seconds ago. Was he really stupid enough to believe fate would be on his side for once? Life proved him often enough that he was cursed. He knew it from the moment he heard the care takers' whispers in the orphanage, telling the tragic story of Merope and her death in the shabby house in London. He had no idea about the existence of magic for years and still he subconsciously felt that curses existed, powerful and impossible to take off, destroying slowly from the inside like a parasite.

Why couldn't he get his second chance? Yes, he knew there were no second chances. Perhaps poets and priests believed in those, but for people like him they didn't exist.

Murderer. Traitor. That's what he was. He had no chance for redemption, either in this or in any other time.

"Are you... crying?" The boy, whom he had already forgotten about, the strangely familiar witness of his weakness, was staring at him in disbelief. In his eyes... Was it a hint of... hope?

"I don't know what you mean," Tom replied dryly, trying to sound convincing. He put on his most official Head Boy face trying to find the most natural way to wipe his face. He couldn't afford ridiculating himself with feelings no one understood.

"No, wait," the boy reached out and held the sleeve of his pajamas; for a brief moment their eyes met. Tom could swear that he saw some kind of augury, one a little crazy, fragile and impossible, but still beautiful and strong. "There's hope, Tom. Believe me. Believe me, another future may come."

"How do you know... my name," he wanted to ask, but the second half of his question drowned in a void and another voice was heard, one coming from a distance:

"Who are you talking to, Tom?"

"Mr. Riddle, please go back to bed!"

He looked around in surprise. We was standing at the window again, a snowstorm was gathering strength outside; the lake seemed as distant as the scene he took part in mere moments ago. What happened?

He let Miss Pollingtonious lead him back to bed without much resistance, took a cup full of a steaming potion smelling of roses and pepper into his hands and almost choked on the first sip. One of the Slytherins hit him a little too hard between his shoulders and everyone, including himself, started laughing carelessly - and a little silly. For the first time in my life, he felt good. Simply good. These people... Were they really his friends? Was he looking for traitors and mockers in vain?

Tom looked up and saw Alphard Black in front of him, a little absent as usually. Behind him stood his younger brother Cygnus – they were sleeping in the same dormitory for six years, but did he really know him? On the other side of the bed Abraxas Malfoy was still trying to overcome his laughter, leaning on the arm of another Black, Orion; the two were practically inseparable and if something was happening at Hogwarts, they were always in the centre of events. Even the gruff Nott came to the hospital wing and was now laughing together with the rest of Slytherins. Lastrange was holding something looking suspicisly like a pack of sweets from Honeydukes in his arms.

What were they all doing at his bedside? Didn't they know his friendship was never real?

He took another sip of the potion, this time more carefully. The warmth started to slowly take over his body, heading from his heart to his frozen fingers.

Who are you? , a ghostly voice asked again, this time more quietly and from afar. Who was he? What was limiting him? His childhood, the orphanage, the letter from Hogwarts, Slytherin? Did he ever have a choice? Did he use it properly?

Tom felt something cold on his neck.

The golden chain hidden under his shirt like a silent promise.