Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or Game of Thrones

Warning!: Living!Horcrux!Tom!, Smart!Harry!, Obviously AU!

Pairings: undecided at this time

NON-Pairings (under no circumstance will these characters be a couple): Tom x Harry (sorry, Tom isn't the type to marry for love)

Chapter 1: What Once Was

His head ached something fierce and his vision swam of black and white blurs. This was it, this was to be the death of Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived to Not Even Reach Thirteen. To say he had lived a good life would have been a lie. In fact, if he was able he would hex the Dursleys all the way across Hadrian's Wall and back before he ever willingly stepped foot into that house again. But the Weasleys were good to him, Merlin he hoped Ginny made it. She may have been a bit creepy but maybe that's just what eleven-year-old girls were like. She deserved to live a happy life surrounded by her family.

Family. Would there even be anyone to mourn him? Ron and Hermione barely knew him, but they had risked their lives together and that created a special bond of sorts, like brothers (and sister) in arms. Hagrid would miss him, he was sure of it. The Dursleys would probably celebrate, after all, he would no longer be the stain upon their house.

The darkness was overcoming him now, for some reason he thought he should feel cold, but he was pleasantly warm. As if he had been laid in a bath of perfectly warm water. He heard someone speak, but it was muffled as if there was cotton in his ears. He could feel the venom working its way through his veins, he could feel the dead limbs it left behind. It looked like he didn't have it in him after all. No matter what happened in first year, Harry was no killer. As it was, Harry accepted the Basilisk venom slowly burning through his veins, a numbness quickly following in its wake.

Then there was fire. It wasn't an unpleasant feeling, as the time Petunia pressed his hand onto the stovetop when he was four had taught him otherwise, but a slow burning that chased away the cold that followed the venom. He could feel his limbs moving again, his eyes burned, and his heart hammered away in his chest. This isn't what dying was meant to feel like. He knew what dying was meant to feel like, or at least he wanted to liken it to all those times when Vernon had beaten him so black and blue that Petunia wasn't sure he'd live through the night. Even the fire from his bruised ribs healing unnaturally fast was nothing like this fire. This fire was comforting and soothing all at once.

Harry felt himself float pleasantly in the misty haze of warmth, drifting in and out of the deep blackness until something poked his cheek. Suddenly all sensations came back to him at once, causing him to gasp harshly as too much oxygen rushed back into his lungs. Cold, it was so cold. Yet it was warm as well. White everywhere, and a dark outline across from him. He blinked slowly and soon enough the vision of Tom Riddle just as he was when all this started stared back at him.

The older boy/ Memory or whatever glared once he realized the younger child was watching him, then he scoffed and pointedly stared at the cave wall. How odd, when had they gotten into a cave? Was this another part of the Chamber of Secrets? Why wasn't Tom trying to kill him? His head was spinning with all the questions and he let out a small huff at the pain. His uncle had taught him well not to make unnecessary sounds.

At his huff Tom's head whipped back around, bewilder, but Harry could care less. The twelve-year-old tried to push himself into a sitting position against the wall, but his body was too stiff and it ached something fierce to move at that time. He knew Tom was studying him for some reason, and he resolved to show no further weakness to his strangely acting enemy. Once he finally got himself into a semi-decent position Harry pushed the throbbing sensation in his body to the back of his mind and forced himself to further study his surroundings.

The cave they were in appeared fairly shallow just over three meters (or ten feet) deep. Harry and Tom were so close to the cave's inner wall that Harry could shift his weight and lean on two walls. Surprisingly the cave was very dry, not even the scent of mineral filled drain water filled the air. It tasted stale on Harry's tongue actually, only the freezing temperatures keeping the boy from gagging. As he and Tom sat on opposite sides of the cave, Harry noticed if they really wanted to they could each stretch out their legs and touch the other just barely. It was a narrow and shallow cave which gave Harry misty breath each time he exhaled. He could see a moving wall of white at one end. It looked like snow, and Harry felt his nose scrunch up at this revelation that wherever they were there was a blizzard going on. But who was he to say what was and wasn't possible, after all, not even a few seconds ago he had awoken from surviving the most deadly venom in the world after having been bitten by a freaking Basilisk and having defeated said animal with a decorative blade in a secret chamber beneath a school of magic. Screw logic, he would just blame it all on magic and move on.

A warm trill of amusement from Harry's left (and how did he know it was amusement?) brought the scrawny twelve-year-old's attention to the large red bird by his side. The flaming poultry was none other than Fawkes the Phoenix, but what in the name of Merlin's balls was he doing here? Harry opened his mouth to ask such a question and found his throat much too dry to utter a single syllable, any attempts he made felt as if he had swallowed sandpaper. Fawkes trilled in further amusement before squawking at Tom with a show of his wings. The teen-ghost glared at the bird harshly before summoning a goblet of water (with Harry's wand he duly noted) and handed it to the young lad in question.

Harry greedily drank and muttered a thank you as best he could. Fawkes hobbled closer to the mismatched pair and began preening the younger boy's hair, making it lay flat as best as he could. Every bone is Harry's body ached something fierce, and his muscles throbbed painfully. It was not something he was unable to deal with, having handled worse in the care of his 'oh so loving' relatives. Still, he didn't think hunkering down in a shallow cave in the middle of a blizzard was going to help his fever either.

Tom's eyes narrowed minutely at the young boy sitting across from him. In his memory form, and not yet fully fleshed out, Tom was cold and felt his body twinge from magical exhaustion. He knew the boy to be in worse shape, yet Potter hadn't so much as flinched. The second year hadn't bothered to show a single sign of discomfort other than his need for water initially. A clenching of his jaw was the forever fifteen-year-old's only sign of frustration. How was it this waif of a boy could handle pain and discomfort better than he who had survived the Second World War?

Harry sighed softly and leaned more heavily against the wall, allowing it to take all his weight. Whatever was going on he was sure he'd be fine so long as he had Fawkes. He knew the bird was smarter than it appeared, and that Tom couldn't dare risk the magical creature's ire, not when he could very well be their only way of getting back.

"Where are we?" Harry's voice was hardly a raspy whisper but getting better at least. Olive green eyes, set in an angular face, glared sharply at the smaller male, hidden only by midnight black curls.

"How would I know? It's your bloody fault we're here. You shouldn't have interfered, but of course, the self-important Potter must save the day." Harry grimaced at Tom's tone and stuck his tongue out oh so maturely.

"You sound like Snape. I bet the two of you would be the best of friends. Both of you are too stupid to realize of course I'd try to help my best mate's little sister. If you'd chosen someone like Lockhart I would've left you to it." Harry haughtily crossed his arms over his chest and raised his nose in the air in a perfect likeness to Malfoy (on purpose of course, because he knew how annoying it was to be on the other end of such a look).

"You, the Great Harry Potter, would have allowed me to kill someone?" The future Dark Lord nearly snarled, baring his teeth in a very uncouth manner. Harry fidgeted nervously beneath the slowly darkening gaze, his insides shuttering in fear for his life. Even with Fawkes to protect him, Tom still had his wand.

"Well, if it was someone like Lockhart... yeah. All he's ever done is steal other people's life's work and claim it was his. He even planned to let you kill Ginny! An innocent first year! If he's not a bad guy than I don't know who is!" Harry shrugged as if to say it was none of his business, or perhaps that he just didn't care. As far as he was concerned the world was better off with one less Lockhart running around.

Harry knew very well of the injustice of the world, no matter what anyone else said. When the younger wizard glanced up again it was to spot Tom staring at him with his jaw unhinged in an almost comical manner. He knew he wasn't what the older boy was expecting, but Harry also knew that Tom got almost all of his information from fan-girl Ginny Weasley. What an unreliable source of intel. Tom probably tried to separate Ginny's bias from reality, but once Tom learned of Voldemort's demise at the Potter's hand Harry had no doubt that intel became bias in a different way.

The younger boy sighed as he felt himself slipping off into the bliss-filled warmth again. He wondered briefly where the warmth came from, but considering the bird beside him was the living symbol of fire and rebirth he figured that a silly question to ponder. He couldn't begin to imagine how they managed to appear in this little cave in the middle of a blizzard, but he supposed magic was to blame for that too. Perhaps he should've been more concerned, for he would never see Hogwarts again, but he couldn't find it within himself to care. Tom seemed to sense how little concern he felt, somehow.

"Shouldn't you be raving? Hollering? Demanding I find you a way to return? First, you admit you'd allow me to kill a man so long as it's one you don't like, and now you show no concern for your own safety. You're the strangest Gryffindor I've ever met." With that last bit, the almost fully restored spirit of a fifteen-year-old crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes at the twelve-year-old across from him. Harry gave a tired smile and a huff that might be mistaken for a laugh if one was feeling generous, which Tom certainly was not.

"It's not that I'm not concerned for my safety, but more like Fawkes won't allow you to harm me. And honestly, what do I have to return to? A school that'll turn on me at a whisper? Two friends, maybe three on a good day? Far as I'm concerned anything beats going back to the Dursleys." A sharp stab of insecurity infiltrated Harry's chest, even though he knew his words to be true. As if to confirm what he said, Fawkes gave a loud trill and began nuzzling the young boy's hair.

"Your relatives? The Wizarding world is under the impression you're being pampered by the lowly Muggles every waking moment." It was clear to the younger boy that Tom would have sneered if he thought the look could be dignified. As it was the near-immortal boy's jaw clenched and his olive green eyes were shadowed by his hair.

"Far from it!" Harry gave a weak laugh that sapped the energy right out of him. "I'm forced to live with Magic–hating Muggles, and no matter how much I begged Dumbledore just keeps sending me back. I even offered to pay him with the Potter accounts! He wouldn't hear it." Harry neglected to mention just how much he had offered and the absolutely less than fair response he was given in return.

Tom sat stone still across from the small boy, and with the seed already planted, it was all too easy to see how the small boy was too small. He was more the size of an eight-year-old than a twelve-year-old, and there was no baby fat on his cheeks. Harry's face was drawn, and in their sparse light looked gaunt even and that was after two terms at Hogwarts. Even during the war Tom always had something to eat, sure it wasn't ever enough to fill him up but he never went completely without. The thought that this small boy had suffered more than he had was unthinkable, yet he couldn't ignore the evidence before him.

"I-I'm sorry-" Tom nearly cut himself off once he realized the words were coming from his own throat. Harry scoffed and glared across the short way.

"I don't need your pity."

"No," Tom urged, somewhat angered at Harry's easy dismissal of his difficult apology. "I'm sorry I took away your family. I don't know why I did, and I won't pretend that I do. But I'm sorry that my actions caused you to suffer." Even worse than he himself did. "This is what I was fighting against! I want all magical children, Muggleborns included, to be raised in an all-magical home. Muggles are idiotic hateful creatures. The true scum of the earth." That last bit was muttered nearly under his breath and startled a laugh from the drowsy twelve-year-old.

"I'm sorry you failed to kill me. Everyone wants to give me the credit, but my mum was the brightest witch of her generation. The Great Dark Lord Voldemort was murdered by a mudblood in retribution for the attempted murder of her son. I bet my mum had some fail-safe or something set up in the nursery as a last resort." It was Tom who released an unexpected sigh before Harry finally drifted off into the blackness again, a small smile adorning his lips. Perhaps Tom wasn't such a bad guy after all.