Forgiving the Unforgivable

Harry had expected to wake to unbearable pain and a bleeding scar, but he didn't.

July 31st, 1990...he was 10 years old. Every year, when his birthday came and went, he expected to feel something, some sort of change; after all, birthdays were supposed to be special, right? But he felt nothing. Every year, it was the same; July 31st came and went, the seventh month dying silently in its sleep.

But this year was different. This year, he was Harry James Potter, a 10 year old wizard and the son of Lily and James Potter, a witch and wizard who died bravely protecting him.

This year, he knew the truth - that he was living on stolen time. This year, he knew that his mother and father had not left him to die a meaningless death; they were tragically murdered...at the hands of his friend. His best friend. While Lily and James Potter lay silent and still and a cold grave, Harry Potter spent the years they never had the chance to, feeding and caring for a body he shared with the man who had stolen everything from them.

He looked down at the little white candle he held in his hand, as he sat sullenly at the edge of his bed.

"Incendio."

This year, he was an orphan without a family...the only family he thought he had had taken his true family from him...remorselessly, without mercy.

He was alone.

"Happy Birthday, Harry."

________________________________________

"Get up."

Tom stared dispassionately at the prone forms lying at his feet. Frowning, he poked little Amy Benson's face with his shoe.

"Amy~" he sang sweetly, hoping to coax her to her feet, "Time to wake up."

But there was no response.

He looked at the other body, kicking it a few times with a mild frown on his face. "Dennis, get her up."

The boy didn't move.

They weren't listening to him. Why weren't they listening to him? Why? Why?

Fury exploded within him, and he felt his face contort into a horrible scowl. "Get UP!"

Still, no response.

Tom sighed. "Oh dear. I broke them, didn't I?"

He shook his head sadly. "Now how am I going to explain this to Mrs. Cole?"

________________________________________

"Tom – Tom! Please stop, please! Jack's had enough! He's sorry, he really is!"

The boy stopped writhing on the ground.

"Fine. It was getting boring anyway."

________________________________________

"A girl died, Riddle."

"Yes, it's a shame I had to cut things short. But I'm sure there will be opportunities to repeat the experiment at some point in the future."

"She's dead, Riddle."

"Yes, Avery, you already brought up that particular point."

________________________________________

"I killed my father."

"...What...?"

"Oh, close your mouth, Black. It's undignified."

"Sorry, I just...I thought you said you killed your father."

"I did, and his filthy muggle parents too. It wasn't as...cathartic as I hoped it would be, but the fact that it's over and done with does provide something of a sense of relief."

"Riddle," Black hissed, "Don't make jokes like that. It's not funny."

Tom narrowed his eyes. "Do you think I'm lying to you, Black?" he said slowly, dangerously.

The boy beside him paled rapidly. "You...you don't mean...Riddle! You could get in a lot of trouble for something like that."

Tom waved him off. "I framed my uncle. I'm not worried."

"And you..."

"And I what?"

"You don't feel...conflicted about it? At all?"

Tom frowned. "Why would I?"

________________________________________

"I love you." She looked up at him with expectant eyes, glimmering with hope.

"And what do you want me to do about that?"

"Say you love me too!"

He sighed. "I'm not really in the mood to lie right now. Can you just go away? I'd like to get back to my Potions essay."

________________________________________

"I thought you were my friend."

There was hope in his eyes, a wretched sort of hope that made him want to laugh and furiously rip the other's face off at the same time.

"Friend? I suppose. But that does not mean I cannot kill you."

________________________________________

His bedroom was dark, painted with the vaguest hint of a sunrise, and Harry was still as he sat cross-legged on his bed, mind whirling at an incredible speed. He felt sick, dizzy. He was about to do the right thing...he thought. But it felt...so wrong. Everything felt wrong.

He traced the scar on his forehead slowly, carefully.

This was the right thing to do.

And he had to do it.

He closed his eyes, steeling himself. He knew what he had to do.

"I forgive you."

It was early, before 7 am, and the day was August 8th, 1990. Harry woke before the sun that morning, his mind busy and sharp. He hadn't moved since waking up, but as soon as he made his decision, he wasted no time in pulling out the mirror from below his pillows and proclaiming his forgiveness to his shell-shocked reflection.

"...what?"

"I forgive you, Tom."

Harry doubted Tom Riddle had ever looked less sure of himself. Indeed, the look on his counterpart's face was that of utter shock, seasoned with...incredulity? Horror? "I killed your parents. I turned my wand on you when you were just an infant."

That he did.

"You have suffered, Harry Potter, more than any child should suffer, and this suffering is of my own making. Every tear you have shed, every bruise, cut, abuse...all this -"

"Tom." Harry sighed softly, allowing himself a few moments and one deep breath before he willed a small, sad smile to grace his lips. "I know that. And I know that it was wrong, terribly wrong...but you didn't. You didn't understand. And you'll never understand." He looked at Tom with tears in his eyes, his face pained with acceptance and pity. "You'll never know love, or friendship...and I feel sorry for you."

"You -"

"I forgive you."

Tom's red eyes drilled into him, expressionless.

"You're a fool Harry Potter."

"I know."

.....

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