Chapter Text
Harry opened his eyes. It was cold. It was always cold in the first moments of when he woke up as the time iteration restarted. The first few moments were always the same. He was paralyzed, frozen and vulnerable. He could only stare up at the musty ceiling of his own grave as he remained motionless, able to only blink. The blood rushed through his veins, awakening his compressed nerves. The numbness slowly wore off, tingling warmth spreading over his extremities.
There were tears in his eyes. He had just been killed. Again. He had killed Harry again. This time Harry felt the taste of death in his mouth, on the tip of his tongue—creeping along like a vile, bitter poison. The eerie silence was gleaming on the surface of old mirrors; almost as if alive, it was seeping and permeating into his thawing body, awakening a visceral nightmare. It was dread that he was feeling, an instinctual rejection of regaining life after dying.
The war ended with everyone's death; everyone Harry considered dear had died. The monster died but took everything Harry had with him; his parents, his friends and the family he had made. And then Harry's life was torn apart as he was ripped from his time and thrown back to August 8th of 1946. A time when Riddle had recently started working at Borgin and Burkes and was trying to get his hands on the Cup and the Locket. Harry had lived this day many times. This was the day when his time loop started, and he was killed within two or three months.
The longest he had lasted was perhaps six months, and the shortest was when he decided to tell Tom Riddle what would happen if he continued the path he had chosen. The monster slaughtered the Potters and then came and killed Harry, thinking he would avoid his fate, but the time loop simply restarted with Harry's death. Each time he died, he woke up back in the room underneath Hogwarts in his initial body. Harry would have been 19 if he weren't constantly restarting his life in the wretched past.
He slowly sat up, not daring to make abrupt movements. He rubbed his hands, trying to massage away the stinging sensation that came with numbness fading away. He stretched his limbs, kneaded the back of his neck, trying to untangle his knotted muscles.
He had tried to befriend young Voldemort. He had become one of his servants. He had tried to threaten him. He had tried to kill him. He was honest with him and told him the truth about the future, but no matter what Harry did, Tom Riddle murdered him. Harry had been poisoned, he had been stabbed, bitten by a snake and even received the killing curse.
All of his attempts to stop the monster failed.
Harry wiped the tears off his face and slowly stood up, holding onto the wall for support as his weak and feeble legs gave out. Tom Riddle's dark eyes and handsome face were etched in his mind, with every memory of every loop haunting him like a whispering cruel spirit. He had tried everything and had failed. There was only one thing left to do—seduce Tom Riddle and change the fate of wizarding Britain.
"I can do this," he murmured quietly. "I can do this..."
He had thought of this; he had planned this as he lay motionless for hours, waiting for his death.
His hands shook as he realised that there was no turning back from this. He needed to do this. The plan was conceived in the latest loop when he realised that he had no other choice. Tom Riddle was incapable of love, but he could be swayed, and he could hold others in high regard. Depending on how important he considered them, he could be influenced and manipulated.
Harry knew a lot about being manipulated. He had been a puppet in other people's hands his whole life. He had felt it on his own skin and bones what manipulation was, and he was planning to use every tool at his disposal to seduce the man who had become his nightmare and make him forfeit. Harry was determined; he had lived through pain, loss and chaos, and there was nothing in this world that could make him waver.
His life held no meaning to him anymore. He was broken. Tom Riddle had broken him, and Harry intended to use the pieces left behind to carve a spot in the man's mind for himself. Riddle would be enchanted, ensnared; he would lust after him, and Harry would occupy his thoughts. Harry would be what Riddle would dream of; he would chase after Harry like a madly possessed lover and burn the world at Harry's request. And Harry planned to request Riddle to nurture the world, to water it like a withering garden and make it bloom with life. Because even broken, Harry loved the world and the beings living in it.
"It should be here," Harry muttered, frantically searching through the drawers.
This room that Harry had woken up in each time was underneath the school and had a Portkey that led directly to Knockturn Alley. He doubted anyone knew about it, as there was no way inside after using the Portkey and transporting to Knockturn Alley; it was a one-way trip. The only way to get back inside the room was to die again. Harry wasn't planning to die again.
He foraged through the drawers of the chest until he found a green vial. Harry gripped it tight in his palm and gulped. What he was about to do was insane. There was a chance that his theory was wrong, and he would die a horrible, painful death. The time would reset and he would wake up again here, paralyzed.
He took a deep breath and opened the vial full of basilisk poison. He had phoenix tears in his system, he hoped they would protect him.
There were rules to seduction. Harry was going to use them until Tom Riddle thought of nothing else but him.
The first rule was to get his target's attention.
Harry needed to capture Tom's attention like a well-placed trap or a skilled agile predator that only hunts mythical beasts of unseemly power. Voldemort valued strength and power, and Harry could get his attention by demonstrating his duelling skills but that was a naive idea. While Tom valued power, he loved it for himself and would not tolerate for anyone else to be more powerful than him. He needed to be in control, and Harry intended for Tom to think he was in control. And besides, it would take time and effort to show his duelling skills. Harry would need to get his attention differently, in a more simple manner. Seduction of a man like him would need to be subtle, soft and innocuous.
Tom Riddle was not supposed to know he was being seduced. He was a master manipulator and had very good knowledge of others and was very perceptive. Harry could only win him with subtlety. If Tom suspected he was getting tricked, Harry would die.
Harry looked at the ceiling, opened his eyes wide, bit his lips and poured the poison into his green eyes.
He screamed. The poison burnt his eyes and blinded him instantly. Harry fell to his knees and lay on the cold ground, wailing in agony and waiting.
He needed patience for this, he needed to learn the art of waiting until his prey came to him and his patience started on day one as he lay on the ground, his face twisted in pain, muscles contorted and blind. Tom loved rare things, he loved rare magical items and treasures and to enjoy the interest and attention of a man like him, Harry would need to be that rare treasure. He needed to titillate Tom's curiosity with a single gaze.
The first thing people noticed about other people was how they looked. Harry intended to make himself the person to whom everyone's eyes went. And most importantly, he wanted Tom's eyes fixed on himself.
He waited for minutes but it felt like hours as phoenix tears healed him, and Harry's vision slowly returned. There was a mirror behind him. Harry crawled towards it and with a wildly beating heart, lifted his head to stare at himself. His eyes were... he had to blink several times to be able to look away. His eyes were green, so brightly green that they looked like actual gemstones. It was bizarre and not a poetic declaration. Harry had an idea this would happen, but basilisk poison almost made his eyes look glassy and they were hypnotising that even he was affected by his own gaze.
He wanted to pique Tom Riddle's interest with a single instance of their eyes meeting.
Harry wrapped a piece of black gauze made from the finest threads around his eyes and used the Portkey to land in Knockturn Alley. People around gave him only a cursory glance perhaps thinking something was wrong with his eyes, but everyone minded their business. Harry walked down the street until he reached the White Wyvern pub. He opened the door and walked in, ignoring the glares and the chatter of other people and sat in front of Corvin Wyvern.
"What can I get for you?" the man asked, staring at Harry with suspicion.
"I have heard you own flats near 13B," Harry said smoothly. "I wanted to rent a flat of my own."
"You are new, I don't even know you," the man said gruffly. "Are you one of those, Mudbloods?"
"How about you show the flats?" Harry said firmly, showing the man a bag full of galleons. "I could take my money elsewhere."
"Don't be prissy," the man waved his hands, eyes glinting in greed at the sight of money. "You know how it is. I will show you the available rooms. Ralph, watch the pub, I have a customer who needs a flat tour."
Harry snorted. The man walked out with Harry, staring at Harry with a calculating gaze as if trying to assess something. Harry knew Corvin well enough. He also knew that Tom Riddle often planned to kill the man but other things interfered with his plans.
"What's wrong with your eyes?" he asked. "Why are they wrapped up?"
"Would you like to know?" Harry smiled despite himself. He hadn't tested the effects of his basilisk poison-immersed eyes on others. When they were out in the street ready to apparate, Harry pulled the cloth, revealing his eyes to the man.
He stumbled backwards and fell down.
"What the bloody fuck are you?" he screamed horrified and then remained on the ground almost paralyzed. "Did a medusa give birth to you?"
Harry was pleased with the result. He wrapped the cloth back over his eyes and sighed.
"You are asking too many questions, Corvin," he told the man. "Just show me the bloody flat."
The man flailed but got up and nodded. It was clear whatever he reasoned Harry was must have been quite dark as the man seemed very nervous and anxious. Harry considered this a win. He took Harry to the building and opened the corner door to the apartments on the second floor. Harry knew where Tom lived.
"I need a flat on the third floor," he said. "I need the flat 35 right next to 33."
"That one has a tenant," the man said, blinking confused.
"Kick him out," Harry told him nonchalantly. He pulled out his wand, and Corvin tried to reach out for his, but Harry was quick. "Imperio!"
The spell took effect immediately.
"Kick the person living in the 35th unit right now. I am moving there," he told the man. "You have 10 minutes."
Corvin nodded and left.
The second rule of seduction was to always keep an eye on his target.
Harry needed to be close to Riddle to observe him, study him, and he needed to do it in a manner that Riddle wouldn't even notice. Living next door was simply a coincidence. Harry didn't have to wait for Corvin too long, the man came back and smiled at Harry.
"This way," he said.
Harry followed him upstairs and got the flat keys. He handed the man the money and sent him his way. The place was empty. Harry knew that the flat was empty, and Corvin was lying to him earlier or he simply had a shite memory. He had been in Riddle's place in the previous loops, and he knew no one lived next to him. Taking a small twig out of his pocket, he started muttering spells and incantations.
Riddle was smart and intelligent, but for some reason, he believed in prophesies and fate. Harry needed to weaponise that against the man. He would exploit Riddle's delusions and ensnare him in his trap. Riddle believed in divination and fate despite the practices being shoddy at best. Harry would pose as someone who was fated to be Riddle's destiny. Riddle was a narcissistic asshole who would believe this nonsense without a thought or question. Harry knew he would need to sow the seeds of this idea in the man's mind. Tom Riddle needed to come to this conclusion himself.
Being a scheming manipulator himself, he would never trust anyone easily. So Harry would plant the clues and let Riddle water them.
He placed the twig of mistletoe against the wall and continued muttering spells until the wall shared with Riddle swallowed the branch up. Soon it would start growing and spreading until it ate the wall and connected their flats. Mistletoe wasn't just a tree to snog under during the Yule. It grew where it sensed romantic comparability. Riddle respected and revered magic, and he wouldn't ignore a mistletoe destroying a whole wall to connect him with Harry.
A self-centered narcissist like him would assume that was magic's way of saying he and Harry are meant to be. It would take a while for the branch to grow and eat up the wall, but Harry could wait. He wanted Tom Riddle to assume they were destined. The man's blind trust in prophesies destroyed both of them, so Harry would use that obsession to fix everything.
Harry took off his clothes. His body looked exactly as it did at the moment he had died in 1998 when he time travelled to the past. He had scratches and wounds all over himself. He healed himself with spells and potions. He needed to look clean and good.
The third rule of seduction was to visually appeal to his target.
He knew about Riddle enough to know that he valued a neat and clean appearance. Anything that reminded him of his dingy orphanage days put him off. Harry filled the tub and lay in the hot water. The 1940s weren't a clean time. The war had barely ended and wizards were never particularly known for their proper hygiene but Riddle was different. He seemed to have resented anything and everything that reminded him of his childhood in the orphanage.
Harry scrubbed himself clean in the tab and washed his hair. Pulling Hermione's bag, the only thing left from his past, he quickly accioed salves and potions and applied them to his face and body. He remained in the bathtub for several minutes until the potions healed his skin, the salves cleaned his pores and left behind silky smooth soft skin. He would appear completely out of place in 1946 even for a person with magical powers. He got up and wrapped himself in an old towel.
It was almost time. Harry would meet Tom Riddle today.
He knew every single detail of this day. Casting drying charms, he put on his best robes, combed his hair and smoothed it with a special liquid and then set out to make one of the most important pieces of seducing Tom Riddle without saying a word. Harry foraged through the bag until he found old chocolate wrappings. He had seen in Dumbledore's memories how much child Tom Riddle coveted these chocolates. The only thing he had probably loved sincerely in this world. A sad smile curled the corners of Harry's lips as he pictured child Voldemort, stealing and eating chocolate bars.
Harry brought the wrapper close to his face and smelled the lingering scent of chocolate. It was sweet and warm. Harry quickly turned up the fireplace, placed the small cauldron he had in the bag over the fire and set on to make the only kind of perfume that would grab Tom Riddle's attention, smells that he loved as a child and those of things that might have held positive memories for him. Harry wanted to invoke these types of feelings in the man in the first moments of their first meeting.
Once Harry was done, the liquid smelled of sweet chocolates, fresh spring flowers and pages of parchment and magic. A scent was a powerful tool to seduce someone wordlessly. Harry sprinkled the liquid on a handkerchief and rubbed it against his wrists and neck. Harry inhaled his own smell, and it seemed to seamlessly merge with the parfum he had made, creating a soft, fresh intoxicating scent that made even him salivate.
Harry grabbed a couple of items he would need and placed them in his pocket. Then he pulled out the Harpe he had found in his grave room. It was made of strange bone-like material and could slice through anything Harry had come to learn. Harry wrapped it in a green velvet fabric and placed it in his pocket as well.
Harry wrapped the black gauze around his eyes and walked out of his new flat. Borgin and Burkes was just in the corner.
"This time it will be different, Tom," Harry murmured. "You will do my bidding. I will weave a net around you and trap you, and you will be happy living in that trap. If I have to force myself to feel genuine feelings for you to make you believe this game of lies, I will do it too."
He looked at his watch. It was time. Soon Philias Podmore would die, and Harry needed to be there to predict his death. Podmore had kidnapped numerous Muggle children and was testing the effects of the luck potion on them that he was trying to brew unsuccessfully. He would have an accident today that would end his miserable life. Podmore would walk out of the Borgin and Burkes and would die by exploding into pieces because Jerry Gareth would apparate right into the exact spot Philias's body would occupy.
Harry slowly approached and opened the door to Borgin and Burkes. He walked inside as his heart beat frantically. His plan was insane.
He saw Tom Riddle speaking with an old woman; there was a charming smile on his face and his demeanor was so friendly. Riddle lifted his head and spotted Harry, his gaze lingered on Harry only for a short second before returning to his customer. Harry didn't turn his head to look at him. He moved inside the shop quietly, eyes trained on the ground as if he were avoiding to accidentally making any contact with others, even though there was a black gauze wrapped around his eyes.
"Thank you, Tom," the woman patted Riddle on the arm, dragging her wrinkled, old thick fingers over his forearm.
"I hope to see you soon, Mrs Smith," he told her, smiling at her.
Harry glanced at his watch and walked up to Tom as Hepzibah Smith left the shop. Harry approached quietly and stood in front of Tom. The smile didn't falter from Riddle's face, but a hint of curiosity lit up his features along with mild annoyance that perhaps was there because he couldn't see Harry's eyes. Eyes expressed a lot of things and told a story about a person, and it didn't seem Riddle appreciated being cut off from an essential source of information.
"Welcome to Borgin and Burkes," he told Harry with a charming smile. "Are you seeking anything?"
Riddle inclined his head as if to try to see underneath the mask.
Harry took the Harpe out of his pocket and placed it on the counter.
"I was thinking of having this appraised," he said softly. "It is a family heirloom."
Riddle leaned over the counter, hands intent on unwrapping the velvet fabric to see what was inside, but Philias Podmore brushed by Harry at that exact moment, shoving him forward and almost causing him to fall onto Riddle. Riddle reached out and held Harry by his shoulders to steady him. The gauze wrapped around his eyes fell down. Harry lifted his head, and their eyes met. Riddle stared at him, mesmerised, as his nostrils flared, sensing the smell that Harry was carrying.
Harry quickly moved back and averted his eyes as if startled.
"Watch it," Podmore spat, annoyed and pushed Harry further into Riddle's arms. Harry moved back in shock, turned and stared at Podmore.
He knew Riddle was watching him. He needed to be convincing. As soon as his eyes connected with Podmore's, the man froze completely captivated by Harry's icy stare, but then Harry looked away and the momentary trance the man found himself in broke, making Podmore rush to the door.
"No, no no," Harry whispered low enough that only Riddle who was watching closely could hear. "You can't leave. You will..."
Podmore left, and Harry rushed after him, taking a few steps before he froze in place. The door closed and a few second later there was a loud explosion-like sound and clamour of screams. Harry fell back, looking completely shaken.
"Not again," he muttered.
Riddle walked up to the door, opened it and stared at the sight of an apparition accident outside as the pieces of Podmore's body lay on the pavement right in front of the shop. Riddle stared at the commotion in fascination and turned to Harry.
"You knew," he said in almost reverence. "You knew this would happen to him... your eyes..."
Harry lifted his head and stared at Riddle. Their eyes met. Harry's eyes were transfixed at Riddle as if he couldn't move his gaze.
"I don't understand," he muttered. "Why can't I...?"
He didn't finish his sentence. Tom Riddle needed to draw conclusions himself. Harry only was there to plant the seeds of intrigue. Riddle was staring at him in awe. Harry had caught his attention. The man reached to hold Harry's hand.
"What did you see?" he asked. "You are a seer, aren't you? What did you see in my future."
"There was..." Harry stammered, he brought his palm to his mouth as if to gasp into it, but dropped a piece of greywood dry root into his mouth. "I... didn't see anything almost as if... I was looking into my own future."
Harry muttered the words almost to himself as if forgetting Riddle's existence. He wanted Riddle to think he was shocked. He wanted Riddle to get his implication that Harry can't see his own future thus if he can't see pieces of Riddle's then Harry is there in Riddle's life to block those portions of future from his vision. Riddle had always been obsessed with destiny and fate, and he would cling to his words and chase after Harry like a honeybee that had found the most delectable flower nectar.
"This could only be if I was..." Harry lifted his head and stared at Riddle again, entrapping him in his gaze. "It can't be..."
He stared at Riddle, shook his head in denial as the greywood started taking effect. The veins on his arms blackened and Harry pulled back. He ran out of the shop, leaving behind the Harpe he had brought for Tom.
"It is a small gift for you, Tom," Harry muttered to himself as he rushed to his new apartment through the commotion in the street as people gathered to see the remains of Podmore's body. "It's an early wedding gift."
He looked back and saw Riddle's intense stare at him watching him disappear in the crowd.