Harry Potter and the Time Fluke

Room 28 & Dinner

Mrs. Cole leads Harry up the wooden staircase towards his room. "Wool's has 4 stories plus an attic and a basement. The first, I have already shown you. The other three are only bedrooms. You are not allowed in anybody's room besides your own without permission from the person who resides in that room. If you are found in someone else's room without their knowledge, you will be punished. You will be living on the third floor, room 28. Children aren't allowed in the attic, without permission and supervision, or the basement. Anyone found in either of those places will be punished."

They reached the third floor, and Mrs. Cole turned to her right again and walked down a long hallway. Each door they passed had a little brass number on it. "Here we are, room 28. Should be easy enough for you to remember since it's all the way at the end," she states.

Harry's room was on the left side of the hallway Since his room was a corner-room, he had two curtain-less windows, one on his right, as he entered, and one straight in front of him.

"This is your room. Someone will take you out tomorrow to buy some new clothes. Do not expect them to be expensive, and do not expect a lot," Mrs. Cole tartly explains. "Laundry is twice a week, on Sunday and Wednesday. The laundry room is located in the basement and there's a chute down by the kitchens where you'll drop off your dirty clothing."

Harry just states at her, nodding his head.

"Be sure to have your room number and your name labeled somewhere on your clothes so we know who they belong to and where to return them," she adds. Dinner is in an hour. Good day, Mr. Evans." With that, she turned on her heel and left the room, closing the door behind her.

Harry looked around his room. The bed was in the back left corner, and there was a small dresser next to the door on his left as well. A smaller nightstand stood beside the bed and an old fashioned alarm clock with bells on the top, spotted with rust, rested upon it. The floors, of course, were wooden but unpolished The white walls that surrounded him were better than the grey that coated the rest of the orphanage, but Harry couldn't help wishing that they were blue, green, or even orange. Or any other color really, just something to give the place a bit more spice and distract him from the horror of his day.

The bed held one pillow, and the sheets were–Harry gave a humorless laugh. Grey. To Harry, the orphanage felt like a prison with all of its rules, regulations, and lack of happy colors. He almost felt bad for the younger Tom Riddle, now that he was experiencing the same thing.

Shrugging off his rucksack which, thankfully, had managed to travel back in time with him, Harry quickly stuffed it in the dusty dresser and closed the drawer before Mrs. Cole remembered some other rule or regulation she'd forgotten to tell him. And he didn't want to be punished.

He knew he'd have to find a better hiding spot for it later, but for now, the one he chose would have to suffice. He didn't want any nosey children coming in and getting into all his wizard things after all. It was only his "Potter-luck", probably, that had allowed him to keep his wand along with the other things he held dear (such as his invisibility cloak and the Marauders Map) when he traveled through time. He would have to be careful, though, when he started Hogwarts and keep his schoolbooks out of sight from anyone else since a fair number of them contained material that had yet to be brought into the wizarding world. Or I could just become the inventor of Wolfsbane. The corner of Harry's mouth turned up at the notion of Remus having a more pleasant time at Hogwarts.

When I start at Hogwarts...
Harry's smile quickly vanished as the thought about attending Hogwarts for a second go-around slipped into his mind and began to depress him. He had made it seem as though he would still be in the past seven years from now when his four-year-old body matured into that of an eleven-year-old version; able to take part in a repeat of his first year at Hogwarts. He originally hadn't planned on even staying in the past long enough for him to reach the age when he'd receive a letter. He still wasn't planning on it but, nonetheless, the treacherous thought had wormed its way into his brain and mingled into his thoughts like it belonged.

Come tomorrow, he'd be gone. He didn't need permission to leave on a weekend and the gate wouldn't be locked. He'd find the Ministry, granted it would be harder from this far away, and from there, contact Dumbledore. His plan was foolproof and there would be no one to stop him. He'd just avoid all law enforcers and he'd be in the clear, so to speak.
Someway, somehow, he would get back home before he turned eleven...again.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

When the clock struck 7 Harry briskly wandered out of his room and down the stairs to the mess hall. He followed the slow pace of the people in front of him, feeling the inquisitive eyes of many on his back and picked up a plastic tray, mimicking the girl in front of him. The food plopped onto his tray wasn't much and the lunch staff kept looking at him with poorly concealed pity in their eyes.

When a moderate mound of disgust was on his tray, he went to a table in the far back of the room and sat facing the wall, hoping that no one would try and talk to him. He was aware of the covert glances sent his way and heard the curious whispers that seemed to bounce off the walls. If he had been facing the other children, however, then he would have seen a familiar, but very unwelcome face.

Chocolate brown eyes caught sight of an unknown person sitting at the table that had been off-limits to all other orphans, and widened for a moment in bewilderment before narrowing. The little boy must be new. There was no other reason for him to be sitting at Tom's table.

No one else ever did, not that he cared. He needed neither friends nor the company of the puerilely ignorant urchins who resided at Wool's. Well, I'll soon take care of that problem. Tom wandered over to the non-existent line to receive what little food the orphanage supplied them with, making his way over to the intruder when he was finished.

Harry wiggled around in his infuriatingly rigid chair, not really paying attention to anything anymore, nibbling on his provided, soggy, noodles, when a tray was set down across him. Thinking he had been giving off a very good Don't-talk-to-me vibe, he blinked at it, disoriented, and stared up to see whom the owner of such an obtrusion would be, getting the shock of his life in the process.

Literally.

How is it that he always seems to find me?

I mean, seriously, did he put some sort of untraceable tracking spell on me when I wasn't paying attention?

He had known, of course, that this was the orphanage where Voldemort had grown up, but Harry had not expected to see him so soon; or so small. Truthfully, he hadn't been planning of crossing paths with the young Dark Lord at all, if he could help it, while he was in the past.

However, the young psychopath paid him no mind, sitting down as if Harry wasn't there and starting in on his meal. He hadn't introduced himself, hadn't asked for Harry's name, and was beginning to create a rather edgy silence with his unwillingness to talk or interact with the younger boy.

He didn't need Voldemort making nice with him, he didn't want the young Dark lord snubbing him either; there was no reason for it. They hadn't, in this time period, said anything to each other yet, so the only conclusive reason Harry could come up with for Voldemort's hostility towards him was that, even as a child, Voldemort was a prick.

He'd sworn to himself when the young Dark Lord claimed a seat that he wouldn't talk to him, but that didn't mean Voldemort could ignore him too! It wasn't fair. Fate must really have it in for him...

And then Harry was hit with an epiphany for the second time that day.
What if fate had sent him back in time to befriend Voldemort? What if the real purpose behind his botched spell was to befriend this lonely little boy and lead him down a different path of flowers and candy instead of bloodlust and hurt? But could he do it? Could Harry really become friends with the murderer of so many, including his parents?