Beneath the Mask

Chapter 1

Shapeshifter

Time was bored once more. She was a beautiful woman, tall with dark skin and a business dress that sparkled and shimmered like the cosmos. On her ears, she wore small pocket watches for earrings, and she kept her teal hair in a tight bun. Time was a fickle woman, being shrewd to some and kind to others, however, her greatest vice was boredom. Being the embodiment of Time, and having nothing but that, Time frequently becomes bored, and when she does, she tended to entertain herself by playing with humans.

Last time, she decided to take one person with an unbelievable fate and put him back fifty years. Another, she messed with Time-Turners so that they did not work precisely, having it so they went back either a second too late or too soon. However, now, she had a new thought, a new experiment she wanted to see.

In her office, there were crystals, dozens of crystals floating in the air. She chuckled to herself as she pulled two down, seeing the ever-expanding webs of timelines within them, all made by human choices. "I wonder," she mused, "what will happen if I take this person and place him into a completely different timeline?" She looked into the first crystal and smiled as she saw a handsome teenage boy with dark eyes and perfect black hair. She looked at the second crystal and smirked as she saw a boy with emerald eyes hidden behind glasses, walking around in robes of black and red. She must admit that these two are some of her favorite subjects to play with.

She left the two crystals hanging in the air and returned to her desk where she pulled out a silver instrument that looked like a long thin tube with sharp ends. On each end, she attached the tubes and continued to watch the crystals. The second crystal changed, going from her favorite subject to an empty corridor in England's Wizarding School. The date on there was November 1st, 1994 at precisely Five-thirty in the afternoon, twenty-three seconds past the minute. Time had to be precise down to the second, it was one way, in her defense, on how she can prove her superiority to Time-Turners. She froze that moment in the second crystal and then turned her attention to the first.

Inside, the handsome teen, looking no more than fourteen, was walking around his own version of Hogwarts, dressed in Slytherin robes. Time started to get excited at everything she was about to witness! The drama, the action—the angst! The woman could not wait. "I would say I'm sorry but playing with you two is just so much fun," Time smiled. She snapped her fingers, and the transfer began.

Tom Riddle did not know why, but as he turned a corner in Hogwarts, the castle itself seemed to change. He was currently on his way to talk with Professor Slughorn about an incident that happened between him and a Ravenclaw boy he did not remember the name of, however as he walked the usual route to Professor Slughorn's office, which he has memorized in the first year and has taken multiple times, a strong sense of vertigo hit the teen and he had to stop and catch himself against the nearest wall. He closed his eyes and groaned as the sensation passed through his body before leaving just as suddenly as it came and leaving with it a headache and a sense of confusion. For the first time in his Hogwarts career, the young Slytherin heir looked around completely lost.

The corridor looked the same as it always did, the portraits were the same, as were the suits of armor. Perhaps the caretaker has been slacking off on his duties because everything looked a little dirtier than usual, a little more worn. Yes, that must be it, Tom decided. His lost sensation was because of the caretaker's lack of dedication to his job. With this peace of mind, the fourteen-year-old, almost fifteen, made sure that his books were in proper order and continued down his way.

He saw students as he walked and that too made him pause for a moment. Riddle was never a friendly individual, he will admit that he freely and gladly uses people, and in order to do that, he needed a good memory of what people looked at. However, as he looked around, none of the students he saw looked familiar in the slightest. This worried Tom greatly. Where did they all come from? How are there so many students that I have not met? He thought to himself. Maybe the vertigo has affected his memory and given him a temporary lapse in judgment. Yes, that must be it. After all, he only associated himself with Slytherins on a regular basis. Of course, he would not perfectly remember the faces of the other Houses. Relieving himself once more, Tom continued on his way to Professor Slughorn's office.

He continued to see students he did not recognize, and as much as it worried the young Riddle, Tom pushed it to the side. Perhaps a nap after this would be needed. He finally made it to Professor Slughorn's office and knocked on a door, barely hearing the "enter." He opened the door and stopped in his tracks just inside the office.

The office looked different, totally different. Slughorn's usual flair of design and dramatics was gone, replaced by a sort of coldness. There were no pictures on the walls, but potion ingredients carefully preserved in glass cabinets, and the desk was dark wood with a few cauldrons in the back slowly simmering away. Behind the desk was a man with black hair and a hooked nose. He looked up at Tom as though he belonged there. "Yes?" the man drawled, his voice bored and uncaring.

Tom blinked, "I'm sorry but where is Professor Slughorn?" he asked. "Was his office moved recently?"

The man just stared at Tom, his upper lip scowling slightly. "I do not have time to play with your jokes," he said coldly. "You've come to my office, what is it that you need?"

"Your office?" Tom asked, frowning at the man. "I'm sorry, has Hogwarts hired a new professor at the point of the year?"

The man raised an eyebrow and stood up. "I am quickly growing tired of your games," he said. "I suggest you leave now Mr..." he stopped and stared at Tom for a long moment, a frown forming on his face. "Who are you?" he asked.

"I beg your pardon?" Tom said.

"You are not any student I know," the man muttered. "And yet, you look as though you do not belong to either Durmstrang or Beauxbatons." Tom frowned, he heard of those. They were different schools.

"Sir why would students from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons be at Hogwarts?" he asked.

The man now fully glared at him. "Are you done being an insufferable imbecile, boy?" he demanded. "The Ministry, in their infinite wisdom, deemed it appropriate to reopen the Triwizard Tournament."

Tom stared at the man, confused. However, he did not show it. Tom's face stayed perfectly neutral as he nodded along, his mind moving quickly to process this new information. He had not heard anything about the Ministry even planning about the Tri-Wizard Tournament. No, they were too busy dealing with Grindelwald. He examined the man before him carefully as he tried to deduce how to respond. The man just continued to scowl at him, clearly at the end of his patience. However, Tom still needed answers. "Sir why would the Ministry do that, especially with the threat that Grindelwald and his men still pose?" he asked carefully.

The man just continued to glare at him, crossing his arms rather intimidating. He stared at Tom before the door closing. "Since you refuse to speak to me clearly, it appears that I will need to inform the headmaster to get your identity. Sit."

Tom stood as he watched the man carefully. The headmaster? Did he mean Headmaster Dippet? A small relief passed through Tom as he thought about finally seeing someone he will recognize. The man moved to the fireplace in the office and took a small tin that had floo powder. The fireplace roared with green flame and the man stuck his head into it. Tom waited the few moments it took for the man to talk with the headmaster. He withdrew his head and the green fire still burned before a second later, a man walked through.

It wasn't Headmaster Dippet.

No, this man had long silver hair and beard as well as curious eyes that shone behind half-moon spectacles. He was wearing a purple robe with shimmering stars. He and Tom stared at each other. The man stared at Tom as though he was a ghost from a long-forgotten past while Tom stared with curiosity before a sick realization: The man was Albus Dumbledore. His Transfiguration teacher. But how? Where is Headmaster Dippet? Why did Dumbledore look so much older? In his confusion, Tom took an unconscious step forward and Dumbledore's shock turned into immediate suspicion as his wand was suddenly pointed at Tom. The teen stopped and glanced between the both of them, refusing to show any fear.

Instead, he took a breath to control his emotions and asked, "Where is Headmaster Dippet, Professor Dumbledore?"

"This has been a rather poor plan, Tom," Dumbledore said. "However I would like to know how you glamoured yourself to look like your old self."

"Sir? I am sorry but I do not understand," Tom insisted. "I came here to speak with Professor Slughorn about an assignment only to find this man in his office, and the office looking completely different."

"Sir," Snape said, "who is this child?"

Dumbledore looked between the two of them, his wand still aimed at Tom. He looked conflicted for only a second before saying, "This, Severus, is Tom Marvolo Riddle… he is Lord Voldemort."

Tom raised an eyebrow. He only just begun thinking of using that name after finding the Chamber of Secrets just yesterday. How would Dumbledore and this man know, judging from the horrified faces on both of them? "Sirs," he insisted. "Professor Dumbledore, I do not understand, please. Where is Professor Slughorn? Or Headmaster Dippet?"

"Tom, I am going to ask you questions. You will answer them truthfully," Dumbledore said carefully. Tom stared at him for a moment and nodded. This might be the only possible way to get the two men to believe him, as well as figure out what exactly is going on. Dumbledore continued to examine Tom, and the teenager could see that the man was thinking deeply. "What was the true reason you came back to Hogwarts when you applied to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts?"

Tom blinked. "Sir? I never even thought about teaching," he said honestly. "I never left Hogwarts to come back, I am too young. I am only fourteen."

Dumbledore did not reply, instead, he asked, "How are you still alive, Tom? How many Horcruxes have you made?"

What is a Horcrux? Tom wondered. "Sir? I do not know what that is," he answered. Dumbledore frowned at that. Was that the wrong answer?

The silence lasted for a moment before Dumbledore asked, "What year is it currently, Tom?"

"Sir? Are you okay?" Tom asked. "It is currently October 24th, Nineteen-Thirty-Two."

"No, it is not, Tom," Dumbledore said simply. "It is November 1st, Nineteen-Ninety-Four."

"No, you're wrong, sir," Tom insisted. "It is Nineteen-Thirty-Two. It is impossible, Professor, for it to be anything but that."

"However, that is where we find ourselves, Tom, an impossibility," Dumbledore said. He finally put away his wand and gave the young teen a smile. "It seems that you have been given a second chance," he said. "Or perhaps Hogwarts has been given a second chance."

"I don't understand," Tom said. "What do you mean by a second chance?"

"I am talking about your redemption, Tom," Dumbledore said. "You are at a point in your life where you are still innocent. An innocence that Lord Voldemort has long since discarded."

"Who is Lord Voldemort?" Tom asked.

"He is you," Dumbledore said simply. "Or rather, a version of you. He is a killer, a man who has fallen into the Dark Arts and went farther than any Dark Wizard before him. At the height of his power, he was the most powerful dark wizard." Tom frowned at this but stayed quiet. "He has disappeared; however I believe that he is still out there, planning, gaining power even as we speak."

"If he is the most powerful dark wizard, then how is it that he disappeared?" Tom asked. "Did you have a hand in that, Professor Dumbledore?"

"No, I did not," Dumbledore said. "He was defeated, quite miraculously, by something that he could never understand. Love. A mother's love and sacrifice for her child protected him from Voldemort. When he tried to kill the child, the curse rebounded and stole Voldemort of his body, and left the child safe, left with nothing but a scar on his forehead."

"And this child? Where is he now?" Tom asked.

Dumbledore watched him carefully. "He is a student here, in fourth year surprisingly, the same as you from my memory. And, he has a penchant for finding trouble." He chuckled amused while the man sneered.

"Potter would rather get attention with any trouble making he can think of," he sneered.

Tom glanced at him and decided to ask more about this Potter later. Instead, he looked at the two men, "Now what?" he asked.

"Yes, that would be a good question to ask now," Dumbledore nodded. "What shall we do now? It seems that you are here, if not for good, and I truly believe that you are given this gift for a second chance." He looked at Tom's robes then at the man. "So, I do not see a reason why you should not continue your education here. There will be a transition period, however, I am positive that you will be able to stay afloat with your new professors' teaching habits."

"Of course, sir," Tom said politely, glancing between the two. "Am I correct to assume this man is one of my new professors?"

"Yes, Tom, this is Severus Snape. He is our Potions Master, as well as the head of your House."

This is the Head of Slytherin? Tom thought, looking at the man. He was honest, he was not rather impressed. He did not let it show, however, the young teen just smiled politely at Professor Snape. "I will do my best to not disappoint you," he said.

Snape just scowled at him before returning to his desk. Dumbledore looked between the two before stepping towards Tom. "I shall walk you to your common room, then," he said. Tom nodded and walked out with Professor Dumbledore.

"You have joined us at an interesting time, Mr. Riddle," Dumbledore said. "The Triwizard Tournament has just begun. Of course, this year is a little unusual. We have four champions, instead of three."

"Am I correct to assume that this fourth champion would be Harry Potter?" Tom asked. Dumbledore frowned at that.

"You always were very astute to your surroundings," he muttered. "Yes, Harry Potter is in the tournament."

"Even though he is only fourteen? How could that have happened?" Tom asked.

"I do not know," Dumbledore admitted. Tom watched him for a few moments before shaking his head. "However, you must know something," Dumbledore continued. "In Slytherin, there will be students whom you might recognize, if not by face than by name. There will be a culture shock, being with your previous friends' children and grandchildren, however, this is your new life now. I want you to prepare for it."

"Thank you, Professor," Tom said. He stopped as they reached the marble staircase. "I think I will be alright by myself, sir. I do not want to take you away from your work involving this tournament."

Dumbledore watched him carefully. "Are you sure?" he asked.

"Yes, Professor," Tom said politely.

"Very well," Dumbledore said. "Then, I shall keep an eye on you until you have adjusted yourself to your life here in Hogwarts." Tom just nodded and watched the old man leave. His polite smile fell, and he turned to descend the marble staircase. Finally, I thought the old man would never leave, he thought to himself. He looked around the castle as he walked, it all looked the same however it felt different somehow. There was a different energy going around the castle that felt odd to the tall fourth-year. There is time enough for me to dissect them, however before that I must get my foothold into Slytherin once more.

He made the familiar way down towards the dungeon and into the dead-end where the entrance of the Slytherin common room waited. He did not bother to ask for a password, he did not need one. Salazar Slytherin made it that his heir never needed to bother with such a trifle. Instead, he faced the wall and hissed out in parseltongue, "Open."

The wall opened at his command and Tom stepped through to see his old home. It was a little strange for Tom to look around and see no familiar faces, however, he was not a boy to be easily disheartened. No, he was stubborn, and as such he walked into the room with the confidence of Salazar Slytherin's heir and sat down at his preferred armchair by the fireplace. A shadow loomed over him and he looked up to see an older Slytherin male glare at him. "That's my spot," he said.

"Is it now? How curious," Tom smirked. "It seemed just so right for me to sit in it, and I rather would considering how suddenly brisk the castle is. This is the perfect distance from the fire to warm my body without becoming overheated."

"How are you even in here? Who are you?" the boy demanded. "How did a mudblood get into Slytherin?"

"I am no mudblood," Tom said. The longer he stared at the boy, the easier it was for him to recognize the family resemblance. He smirked, "If you are so curious to know, Flint, I am a halfblood, and you shall show me with proper respect."

"Why would I do that?" Flint laughed.

Tom's eyes seemed to darken. He did not move, but rather just relaxed in his seat as he pulled out his wand, his eyes turned from Flint to the fire. With a wave, he summoned a non-venomous snake. "Bite him," he commanded, and the snake complied, launching at Flint, and sinking its fangs into his leg. The older teen screamed in pain and Tom chuckled. Poor Dumbledore, I am far from innocent, he thought. He looked at Flint as he tried to dislodge the snake who held on with full force. Tom dismissed it with his wand. "My name is Tom Marvolo Riddle," he said idly. "It would be in your best interest to not anger me."

Harry Potter lived with many masks. Harry Potter the Boy-Who-Lived. Harry Potter the Hero. Harry Potter the Gryffindor. Harry Potter the Leader. Harry Potter the straight boy. Harry Potter the hurt. Harry Potter the liar. Harry Potter the abused. Harry Potter the lonely. Harry Potter the Fourth Champion. It was strange to the fourth-year just how many identities, how many personas he had. He remembered when he met Hagrid, he told the half-giant that he was Harry, just Harry. However now, as he felt a horrible pressure on him, he did not know who just Harry is.

He felt tired, mentally, and physically exhausted. Last night his name was drawn out of the Goblet of Fire. He was thrust once again into a deadly trial for the fourth time in a row since coming to Hogwarts, and he was alone. Ron was jealous of him, thinking he must have cheated. Hermione was utterly disappointed in him for being reckless, and the rest of the house was a mixture of celebration that they did not need to support Cedric Diggory and bewilderment that Harry once again be at the center of everything exciting in Hogwarts. Harry did not know how to react to all of this. Last night, Gryffindor celebrated, and they did not even notice that he slipped away for a walk. Hufflepuff hated him. That much was obvious. Another Gryffindor to steal the spotlight. Another chance for Harry to prove how amazing he is. The fourth-year hated it. He looked out of the window in the corridor he was walking aimlessly in. He could see the black lake perfectly and sitting on its shore was Durmstrang's ship where he figured all of the Durmstrang students were, including their champion Viktor Krum. How am I supposed to act around them? He wondered. Shocked? Scared? Confident? What mask would be the safest to hide in?

It was a funny thing to Harry, his masks. He did not start to make them consciously. They came to him naturally, or unnaturally. He learned from the Dursleys how he must act in order to survive. Be quiet. Do the work. Don't ask questions. He learned to be quiet, to watch people, and learn how to act in order to please them. He didn't mean to, but he found that if he acted a certain way Aunt Petunia would spit at him less, Uncle Vernon would hit him lighter… and it just continued on in Hogwarts. People had so many expectations of Harry, so many preconceptions and thoughts of how he is supposed to act and in the end, Harry found himself bowing to them. He gathered his masks one by one to feel safe and now, he's scared to take them off. He's scared of looking into the mirror without them.

I'm a shapeshifter. A common thought that went through his mind frequently. His stomach started to knot. He groaned as his body reacted to his thoughts and severe loneliness. At this moment, only one name drove through his mind. Draco.

He pushed himself from the window and began the search for his secret friend. It did not take surprisingly long, only twenty minutes, but soon he found Draco Malfoy walking the halls, seemingly on the way to the library. "All alone, Potter?" he smirked.

"Paint," was all Harry said and Draco's smirk went away. A concerned look replaced it and he immediately took Harry's hand. They went through secret passageways and staircases, running through the castle as they avoided everyone until they reached a corridor on the seventh floor. They walked the corridor three times until they found a simple door.

They entered a simple room with two blank easels with comfortable chairs in front of them, and small tables with paints of every imaginable shade of color. On the walls were paintings of various skill levels. On the right side were different subjects from portraits, sceneries, and even landscape with grand castles or manors appearing in them, while others have people, always males, embracing each other. On the left side, however, were paintings of a single thing: a mask. Over and over again, paintings of masks filled the left side of the room. They were of different designs and colors, sometimes full and sometimes half. There were no expressions behind the eyeholes, only a dark blank void, and there was never a person wearing the mask either. At the end of the room was another door that Draco never went through but knew that Harry entered numerous times.

Draco worried for his friend as they sat down. The blank canvases shimmered, changing to show two projects that were half completed. Harry's was of a half-mask that looked like something a person would wear at a masquerade. The outline was gold with half of the interior looking to be started painted red. There were also two sketches of lions in the mask that, for two years of practicing, looks fairly professional. Draco's painting, however, was of two people smiling as they cast what looked to be a powerful spell at an unexpected dummy which looked surprisingly a lot like Dumbledore.

They both picked up their brushes and started to work. "What caused this?" Draco asked, glancing at Harry.

"I don't know, just too much," Harry muttered. "I don't know how to react. Should I be shocked? Scared? Should I be confident when I see the other champions? Or show them my fear? How I hate this so much… do they expect me to hate this? I just don't know."

Draco frowned, "How do you feel?" he asked. "Beneath it all."

"I… I feel," Harry paused. How does Draco expect me to feel? He couldn't help but wonder, even though he hated it. In here, when he's painting, he always felt that he can be his true self. However, when he tried to verbalize it, he found that he couldn't. He did not want to reach for his mask, he really didn't, but he could feel it slipping on as he looked at his friend. "Scared," he said, which he felt was the mask closest to how he felt he was supposed to feel. "I don't want to do any of this but, I know they will force me to." He turned to his painting and started to work on the lion. He and Draco worked on their paintings for some time, both quiet as they focused on their work. Two hours passed by quickly and Harry placed his brush down. "I'm a shapeshifter," he said softly to himself. "What else should I be?"

He took out his wand and with a wave, the painting floated off its easel and joined the others on the wall, underneath a plaque appearing. Harry aimed his wand and named the mask and painting Hero. Draco finished with his and did the same, adding the painting to his side and named it Friends' Practice.

Draco looked at Harry and watched him for a moment as the young teen stared at the many masks. "Would you still like a break?" he asked.

Harry turned, frowning. "What do you mean?" he asked.

Draco checked the time and nodded to himself. "It is only Five-fifty," he said. "Why don't you come relax with me in the Slytherin Common Room?" he asked. "I think it might do you good, not so many masks for you to wear there."

Harry stared at Draco for a moment and smiled, nodding. "I would like that," he said in a small voice. He reached out and took Draco's hand, allowing his friend to lead him out of their special room and down towards the dungeons where the Slytherin Common Room waited for them both.

A/N: If it isn't obvious, some themes are inspired by a song. And Time is the same Time from Mors et Tempus. That said, that said this work, like most of my works, stands on its own and if you have not read Mors et Tempus, do not worry. We can just stay here and enjoy some good old modern Tommary. Please leave a review and I'll see you all next time!