Disclaimer: JKR owns the Potterverse, not me.
AN: I've been working on this for ages, and then I just finished it in a rush today. Flames are accepted, but only if they have constructive criticism in. Enjoy!
Professor Dumbledore had just left , and Tom had some serious thinking to do. How had the old man known about all those stolen things in his wardrobe? In fact, why was he thinking about that? Shouldn't he be thinking about how the wardrobe in front of him had just burst into flames and wasn't singed?
Tom Marvalo Riddle sighed, and ran his thin, pale fingers down the wardrobes hard wood, his fingers catching on various splinters, but he hardly noticed, even when blood pricks ran down his arm all the way to his elbow. If there was a whole other world, the wizarding world, why hadn't they come and taken him away from St Mary's Orphanage long ago? In fact, Tom knew the answer to that. Nobody cared.
'Why don't they care?' he said in an angry whisper as he sat down on his bed hard and put his head in his hands. Usually, Tom Marvalo Riddle hated showing emotion, but right now was an exception. Being confused/angry/sad sucked.
Which was where the boy was standing.
The kid was eleven or twelve, about Tom's age and had shaggy black hair just past his ears. He had olive skin and black eyes that seemed as hard as coal.
He was wearing a black T-shirt with white letters on it spelling 'Camp Half Blood'. On top of that he had a black leather jacket and black cords that seemed to stick to his skinny body. One of his fingers sported a silver skull ring with what looked like rubies for eyes. But despite it all, he still gave off a slight happy-go-lucky kid vibe.
'How did you get in?' Tom sneered in the most intimidating voice he could manage, but he was actually quite scared. It was like the kid had appeared out of thin air. He hadn't been there a few seconds ago. Maybe he was another one of those wizards.
'I'm not actually here you know.' Tom raised an eyebrow. The kid was right in front of him. 'Well, in a way. I'll show up at important moments in your life, always there, trying to give you a bit of advice. It was my Dad's idea.' Tom barely concealed his shudder. Something about the way he said Dad made him have the feeling he didn't want to meet him.
Instead he kept up the cool facade as well as he could.
'Name.' he demanded.
'Full name.' a bit of contempt snaking its way back into his voice.
'Nico di Angelo, or if you were to say it in Italian, Nico Angel.' Nico laughed, a cold, dark sound that made Tom reconsider what kind of person Nico di Angelo was.
'You were saying? About them-' Tom was about to force himself to say the cursed word but he didn't have to as Nico cut in.
'caring? They do care Tom Marvalo Riddle, but they didn't know you were here. And even if they did, there's nobody to take you in. But they do care.' and just like that, Nico di Angelo disappeared into the shadows, leaving Tom wondering if he was going mad.
The next time Tom saw Nico di Angelo it was his fifth year at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry. He had written Nico off as his mind playing tricks on him after he had gone through many books looking for a kind of magic that would allow a twelve year old to sneak into a room through shadows and then sneak out the same way.
He was at one of Slughorn's many I have gifted student's parties, or Slug Clubs. They were becoming increasingly tedious and annoying, but to get the information he needed he had to keep up the goody two shoes image for the teachers so they didn't twig he was studying the Dark Arts late at night in the Slytherin Common Room.
'Tom, m'boy, how are you?' Slughorn had bustled up to him, huge idiotic smile and all. Tom forced himself to smile back and answered in he hoped what sounded like an interested tone 'I'm fine Professor, and you?' by the time he had shaken him off all he wanted to do was to go to the door and run. Self Control Tom, Self Control... He exhaled and opened his eyes to a truly horrific sight.
His Imaginary Twelve Year Old from Hell was back.
It took all Tom's will power not to scream out loud, and even then he knew his hands were shaking a fair bit. Nico hadn't changed a bit, down to the skull ring with ruby eyes on his left hand.
Tom turned round and started walking briskly towards the door, praying that nobody stopped him. But of course, God doesn't listen to sinners, and he was working his way up the list of the damned. Or, as they say, down the list. Way, way down.
'Stop, Tom. Horcruxes are not the answer.' di Angelo's voice made him want to collapse.
'I. Don't. Care.' said Tom, desperately hoping Nico would disappear. Please, please let him disappear.
'You should, it hurts. So. Much. People have died from the pain and the impure act they are committing. You should know that Riddle.'
But by the time Tom had found the nerve to turn and look at Nico's terrifying twelve year old face, the shadows had consumed him once again.
He next saw him as he ordered the Basilisk to kill all the Mudblood's in the school. Nico had said about blood on his hands, and he had laughed it off, saying his hands were so dirty already.
It had been many years since he had last seen Nico di Angelo.
Many, many years.
He had hundreds of Death Eaters, and an inner circle that would do his bidding at will.
He was at the height of his reign of terror, people dared not speak his name. It satisfied him greatly. He had a familiar in Nagini, and life was good. Spilled blood was good, especially mudblood.
But then he had heard the prophecy.
...Born as the seventh month dies... One born to those who have thrice defied him... The Dark Lord shall Mark him as his equal... He has power the Dark Lord Knows Not... Born as the seventh month dies...
There were two possible candidates, of the Chosen One.
Harry Potter and Neville Longbottom.
Both born on July 31st, both their parents had both got away from him three times, it was obvious that the prophecy meant one of them, one of them would be his doom.
So, it made sense to kill them while they were in their infancy.
To choose was easy.
Tom immediately felt drawn to kill Harry Potter, a half blood like himself. Also, his name was less ridiculous. He couldn't take the name Neville Longbottom seriously, but he was sure to become powerful if his parents were anything to go by.
So he sent Bella and Barty Crouch Jr to torture the Longbottoms, and he went to take care of the Potters himself.
It was a cold evening, All Hallows Eve, in fact.
Voldemort walked to the door of Godric's hollow and raised his wand. The door blasted off it's hinges and he stepped inside to hear James Potter's shout of: 'Lily! It's him! He's here! Take Harry and Run! I'll hold him off!'
He was unarmed, that much was obvious as he spread his arms wide, desperately trying to block entrance to the upper floor.
He was dead before he hit the floor.
He mounted the stairs walking at a leisurely pace, his serpentine red eyes darting back and forth taking in the interior.
And the twelve year old clad in black in front of the nursery door.
I don't have time for this.
"Have you ever heard of the Fields of Punishment?"
"No. I don't intend to either."
"You'll go there if you do this, definitely. Before you had a sliver of redemption, maybe to end up in Asdophel, if you gave the rest of your life to good."
"I'll take Punishment."
He made a motion to shove Nico aside but before he could do so, the boy turned into shadows.
Two minutes later, as his soul was escaping his body, he faintly heard a child laughing, the words "I told you so" whispering along with the breeze.
He had seen Nico more frequently over the past four years.
The first year, he had been silent, making cutting motions over his neck, smiling sadly, his eyes twinkling with laughter at his state, he assumed. Stuck on the back of Quirrell's head, getting the servant to drink unicorn blood so he was sustained, was not the best way of life.
But a terrible life was better than no life, as once that happened he was going to the Field's of Punishment.
He still hadn't looked them up.
Nico had made his cutting motions more frantic when he ordered Quirrell to kill the boy.
He had ignored him.
As he had been turning into vapour once more, he had seen Nico smiling sadly, a twinkle in his black eyes, reflecting Tom's shadowy face.
The second year, he had been hiding out, constantly having visits from the pre-teen, who was preaching him that he should try and put his soul, or what was left of it back together. Apparently that might get him a less severe punishment.
He ignored him.
In the third year, Nico had preached yet again, more hurriedly, telling him that the Dark could be used for good, but he only used it for bad.
Tom had said he knew that.
Nico said he would get a opportunity to do great evil soon, and not to take it.
He was already damned for eternity if he died, apparently.
So he was determined not to die.
Then, this fourth year came.
And Barty Crouch Jr returned to him, as did Wormtail.
And the Triwizard Tournament came into play.
And now, that boy was one of the people who helped him raise again.
And all through the cursed ceremony, Nico had been there, trying to block Wormtail's blade, and yet it went straight through him. It seemed Nico really wasn't there at all.
He had tried to knock to vial out of Wormtails hands, but his fingers turned to vapour.
And of course, all the way through the ritual he had been screaming: DON'T, YOU'LL REGRET IT, FOR THE LOVE OF-
Tom had just blocked him out, continuing like Nico Angel wasn't there, which he wasn't.
Not there at all.
Nico had taken to punching the gravestone tears of anger and frustration rolling down his youthful face, it was his muggle father's gravestone, and unnoticed by everyone else, his rotting bones were shaking, turning over in their grave.
He liked to think that his father was in some kind of pain in the afterlife.
The filthy muggle had better be in the Fields of Punishment.
Finally, when Harry Potter had run, he had Avada'd him from behind.
He wouldn't have made it.
Not alive, anyway.
But Nico, Nico di Angelo, Nico Angel, The Twelve Year Old from Hell, had pushed him, and another worldly wind had gusted through the trees, pushing Harry Potter faster, and he grabbed the Portkey, whisking back to Hogwarts.
Tom had screamed with rage, and sent red and sickly green coloured spells at his followers, only a few hitting the men with white masks covering their faces. But none hit Nico Angelo, who was already gone with the wind.
He hadn't seen Nico for three years, except for when he caught a reflection in a mirror of a boy wearing a skull ring with rubies for eyes, shaking his dark head sadly.
As soon as he turned, the boy was gone.
The Department of Mysteries had far too many mirrors.
Mirrors wherever he turned.
That was one of the multiple reasons he had chosen the forest in which to call Harry Potter, with all his surviving followers behind him.
Not even a puddle.
But... he forgot about the Potter boy's bad eyesight, and his need for glasses.
So when Potter came, instead of his haunting green eyes through thick lenses, he saw the face of Nico di Angelo, silently screaming at him, mouthing words that looked like: The Fields, Tom. The Fields of Punishment, Tom. You'll go to the Fields.
So he did the only thing he could.
He raised his wand, and spoke Avada Kedavra and watched as Harry Potter, fell. As did his glasses. And the image of Nico di Angelo.
And then Tom Riddle himself fell, immersed in a world of white.
It looked a little like Malfoy Manor, he decided.
But in white.
He had two suprises when he looked around. Well, three.
He was in his sixteen year old body once more.
He was naked.
And Nico di Angelo was in the centre of the room, sitting on the main table, swinging his legs back and forth childishly.
He immediately wished he was robed, as he couldn't face Nico when he... wasn't.
Immediately he was wearing his Slytherin robes from more than fifty years ago, complete with his Prefect badge that was pinned to his chest.
Nico chose that moment to look up, and smiled a wry smile.
"Where am I?" Nico merely smiled again, and turned his head towards one of the windows.
Tom was about to open his mouth and demand to know where he was when it dropped open of it's own accord. The windows were covered in images, of tortures and deaths and murders and a field surrounded in barbed wire that seemed to go on forever that was covered in screaming souls. Damned souls.
This was the first time Tom realised what something was before Nico explained it to him.
"Is that the-"
"Fields of Punishment? Yep."
"I'm going there, aren't I?"
"Without a doubt." A fresh scream ripped through the image.
He found himself turning to Nico, and expression of horror plastered on his face. "Please. I-I'll do anyth-"
"I can't save you Tom. You made it quite clear that you didn't want to be saved."
As the green light came closer and closer, Tom felt he should've known.
But who would listen to a twelve year old?
Not him, obviously.
I can't save you Tom. You made it quite clear you didn't want to be saved.