A/N: Okay so, I omitted Cedric's death because it impacted Harry a great deal emotionally but beyond that it didn't add much to the plot. I re-read GoF and Voldemort says 'Kill the spare' and Peter is the one to do it and Voldie's wand makes a reappearance when he takes them out of his robe pockets so it doesn't seem like Peter was using his wand to kill Cedric. So now I'm confused at the fact that Cedric emerged from Voldemort's wand during the Priori Incantem. I don't know if it has been resolved by Rowling in some interview or by fans or something but yeah, confusing.

So, as per this story, Cedric didn't die, he was knocked out by Peter and unconscious throughout the proceedings, and so he can't add anything to Harry's testimony beyond that the Cup was a portkey that took them to some graveyard.

3

Harry's plans to try to lay low and find out what Voldemort was up to by keeping an eye on muggle news, were severely hampered by one Mervin Quinlan.

Anytime he laid down to try to listen in on the news, Mervin turned up, waving at him cheerfully. If he went down to the park for some peace and quiet, to be able to think for a bit, Mervin turned up. When he tried to avoid the man by staying indoors all day, he turned up to ask Petunia something, ending with asking about that nephew of hers.

It was terrible. Like the Creevey brothers had followed him home.

Which was one of the many reasons why Harry was pretty fucking sure, Mervin was a wizard. He just had to be, after all, besides the whole Boy-Who-Lived thing, there was nothing special about Harry to earn this stalkerish attention. And as his patience with the man grew shorter and shorter, Harry was certain that one of these days he was just going to burst out and ask the man upfront.

It was getting bloody ridiculous!

The boy was odd, that was just something accepted, not questionable. Not a single one in the neighbourhood didn't believe it.

But the thing was, it should have been questioned. Harry Potter wasn't odd at all, even given his tendency to lie underneath windows. But the whole neighbourhood as a whole knew there was 'something wrong with that boy'.

And Tom knew well what it was like for people to think like that. After all, he'd had quite a reputation himself, back in the days when the orphanage was his home. But Harry Potter wasn't considered the same type of wrong that Tom had been. Tom had been thought odd too, but the kind that was feared, the kind that got people calling for priests to conduct exorcisms, that had people calling up asylums.

Harry Potter was the dullest 'odd' person Tom had ever known. He wasn't even odd the way wizards tended to be when trying to fit into the muggle world, no, he was just...quiet, unassuming. It was only when Petunia wasn't around that Tom got somewhat of glimpse into the boy's mind and it was mundane beyond a bit of suspicion of 'Mervin' and the worry of what Voldemort was up to.

He worried about his homework, thought about his godfather, thought about Voldemort and counted the steps he took. He disliked the Dursleys but not enough to cause them harm, daydreamed of flying and catching snitches and planned the best way to avoid some people he called the Creeveys. He raged at the unfairness of it all even as none of it showed on his face and went on with his life, quietly.

Just what was Harry Potter hiding? He already practised Occlumency when near Petunia, what else was he up to? Was he putting up a front to distract Tom?

Did he know that Tom was there, waiting, watching?

The one thing everyone knew about him was that Harry had no patience. Hermione would testify, as would Ron, that Harry was unable to wait. Waiting frustrated him. Waiting made him angry.

The other thing that really ticked him off was people keeping him in the dark. It was relatively new for Harry, it had started once he had gotten his Hogwarts letter and realised all the things people were keeping from him. It had only gotten worse in third year when people kept hiding the fact that Sirius was his godfather, when Remus never got around to telling him that he knew his father until a Dementor tried suck his soul out during a Quidditch match.

And there Harry was now, in Privet Drive with people blatantly keeping secrets from him, waiting for Mervin Quinlan to slip up so he could just tell the wanker to drop the muggle act already.

It was pissing him off.

A cracking sound, like that of a car backfiring sounded and from where Harry was weeding the garden he saw Mervin's eyes narrow and turn to the sound. It sounded very close by and sounded...

Not unlike the sound of someone disapparating, the way they had done last year at the Quidditch match. A few screams here and there and Harry would have felt like he'd travelled back in time, hearing those pops as the Dark Mark went up and the Death Eaters vanished.

And Harry lost it.

"A friend of yours disapparating?" Harry couldn't help but sneer and inwardly cackled at the look of shock and apprehension on Mervin's face. Now he'd have to admit to being a wizard.

He did but in a way that ended up drying up Harry's laughter.

"No, my friends don't know I'm here, I reckon it's one of your minders actually."

"My minders?"

Mervin scoffed, still not looking away from the spot where the sound had occurred, "Not very good minders though, too obvious. Especially this one, seems to shirk his duty often." Finally Mervin turned to him, "I suppose this one thinks you can handle yourself."

Alarm bells started ringing in Harry's head and he thought back to the last few weeks, putting together a million clues that he had noticed but never credited to anything until he started looking for it. Now he could see that the feeling of being watched wasn't just Mervin's doing, now he knew that he wasn't just conjuring things when he thought he heard Moody's gruff voice, wasn't just imagining things when he saw things break or move out of place without any reason.

There were people watching him.

And he was pretty certain they were Dumbledore's people.

He sucked in one long breath and let it out slowly. Closed his eyes and thought of the calm of flying, thought of threes and fives and neat equations, thought of the pitter patter of rain drops on windows.

It did not work. And he thought of setting things on fire and breaking someone's nose under his fist instead.

"And what about you, Mervin? If that's even your name. What are you doing hanging about? Looking for a story to sell the newspapers? Or maybe doing some research of your own?" When the man blanched Harry knew he'd hit the nail on the head. The man was clearly a journalist looking for a story. "Well, what do you want to know then? About how the Boy-Who-Lived is considered a criminal in his home town? Want to get in on the Prophet's action do you?"

Tom was perplexed and more than a little aghast. This was what Harry Potter was suspecting him of?! Of being a reporter of some kind?!

He was insulted beyond belief by this. Even at his worst, his most insane when he had been little more than a Crucio-ing, Avada Kedavra-ing megalomaniac, he hadn't been so horrid as to be a reporter, let alone a reporter of Daily Prophet calibre. And to be accused of such a thing by a boy whose only experience with reporters was Rita Skeeter, it boiled Tom's blood. Only Dumbledore could rile him up more than this.

But...but it was interesting to know. He had feared Harry Potter had seen through his guise but the boy hadn't. He had assigned him a nefarious purpose, yes, but not 'Dark' ones. Not the type that Slytherins were supposed to have.

Then again, why would he? What self-respecting Pureblood would go the muggle way, after all? And that was all that Slytherin was known for, self-respecting purebloods. Oh, they didn't respect anyone else, yes, but an arrogant entitlement, superiority and self-ascribed authority was sure to be had in Slytherin. And pretending to be muggle wasn't part of it.

"Listen, I don't what you think I am but...I'm new here. I've been away from Wizarding Britain for a while. I saw you and I hoped there were other wizards here who weren't as barmy as the lot in Leaky Cauldron or down in Devon might be. That's all there's to it." Tom said. It was a novel thing to him, saying the truth. Since he'd seen the way Dumbledore reacted to him telling the truth about being a parselmouth all those years ago he hadn't had the motivation to do so again. Especially when in Slytherin house, saying the truth and confessing to be a halfblood or possibly a mudblood would have been suicide.

But Tom told Harry the truth now. Yes, there were other ulterior motives but the bulk of it was true. He was trying to stay away from the barmy lot he was stuck with.

Petunia wasn't around to aid Harry Potter's Occlumency and Harry was staring straight at him so Tom took a peek into the boy's mind. And he found that against the odds, Harry believed him.

The rush of joy at that thought was probably what caused the next events.

After all, Dementors feed on joy. And they swooped down upon them, probably sensing the same.

Tom panicked for a bit. He didn't know if he could use the patronus spell, after all, he was still a broken soul. Still not whole, still marked by the Dark Magic he practiced.

But he steeled himself, and in the next second summoned a happy memory and all but shouted, 'Expecto patronum,' less from the expectation of saving himself and more from the curiosity of wanting to know what would happen. Would it work? Would it not?

When the silvery shroud emerged from his wand and took the form of a snake he was surprised beyond belief. Not only because it had somehow worked but also because of the memory his mind had chosen as a happy one.

It wasn't his moment of magic, wasn't when he found the fire that Dumbledore had inflicted had left his cupboard unharmed. It wasn't that ecstasy that followed casting the Crucio nor the moment the Slytherin house had accepted him as the King of their court.

It was of the moment when after days of hearing nothing from Ginny, back to the silence that haunted his diary soul piece, when the fear of being alone again like he had been for fifty something years, he saw the words 'My name is Harry Potter' written in his diary.

The surge of relief and happiness, of the idea of his plans coming finally to fruition. It powered his patronus with such force and intensity that the Dementors were driven back, screaming and screeching.

He was broken out of his awed stupor by the murmur of numbers and he turned to find Harry Potter staring at the space the Dementors had been, counting to five over and over again.

"Harry," Tom said, softly so as not to startle him but the boy looked at him, seeming lost and bereft, "Harry, I think someone at the Ministry is trying to kill you."

The boy's lips twitched up in a baring of teeth, a hissing sound escaping him in a mockery of laughter.

"Tell them to get in line after Voldemort and his cronies." He said with a scoff, the derision in his voice clear. The Dementors hadn't scared him, rattled him a bit but Harry freaking Potter remained unfazed.

Tom twitched, almost wanting to tell the boy exactly who it was he was talking to he he would know that it was Voldemort who had saved him.

But that would be tipping his hand far too early. So he snorted instead, "I think they're jumping the queue."

"How un-British of them." Harry said before turning to him with a bright and fake grin, "If you will excuse me, I have a few letters to write."

Tom didn't want it to end, this conversation they were having, the very first one where Harry had said something that wasn't small talk and he called out to his back, causing the boy to turn in question, "If you need the letters to be howlers...I can help with that."

And the boy smiled, a crooked thing that was the very first unguarded expression Tom had seen on that face, "I'll think about it."

Then it was Tom's turn to return to his home and do a little jig.

His evil plan was finally working!