The Road Not Taken

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

-Robert Frost, "The Road Not Taken", Mountain Interval 1920-

Harry was back at Privet Drive feeling as though he had hit rock bottom. His birthday was the next day, and not even that fact cheered him up at all. Sirius was gone. Every time he wedged his way into his thoughts Harry compulsively grabbed his wand as if he could have another chance to save Sirius' life. He wasn't aware how hard he was gripping it, only of the rage and grief coursing through his body. All of a sudden, his wand vibrated for a split second and grew very hot, and he felt a searing pain in his scar.

He cast his wand to the floor and kneeled down, feeling as though he were going to faint and throw up from the pain. And then it was gone. The painful stabbing in the scar on his forehead was nothing new, and he had even found out a few weeks ago from the prophecy that there was indeed a connection between himself and Voldemort. But what happened with his wand?

He got off the floor and stood up rather stiffly. His window was open allowing the night's breeze to flow through his room. He was all too quickly aware of how quiet everything was. There was nothing, no insects humming, no baby birds screaming for food from the nest in the tree just outside his window, no sounds of passing cars. Suddenly the lights on the street started to go out, one by one. He remembered the Put-Outer and felt a shock of excitement. Were they coming to get him at last?

"Haaaaaarrrrryyyyyyyyyyyy..." called a chilling voice.

That was not the voice of anyone he knew. But it was frighteningly familiar. It almost sounded as though it were toying with him. He jumped to his window sill and searched frantically. It wasn't Voldemort, it just wasn't. He remembered Voldemort's high-pitched screaming too well to know this man was not him. He saw a man with what he guessed was black hair and swishing robes walking onto the Dursley's front lawn.

What in the hell was Tom Riddle doing outside his window at Privet Drive?! He remembered the sixteen year old Tom, and this man was identical to him in every way, only he seemed to have aged a few years into an unhealthy looking adulthood.

"I know what you're thinking Harry... You're wondering why I'm here. Don't worry, I'm still wondering myself..." he called up from the lawn very coolly.

His eyes quickly searched around for his wand, where had he thrown it?

"I'm not here to hurt you Harry... I was just fancying a little chat, man to man. You are sixteen tomorrow are you not? I'd say you've grown up fine..." Riddle hissed with an absolutely soul-penetrating smile on his face.

He felt fury and total confusion. What was he doing here?

"Not in the mood for talking? That's ok, all you have to do is listen..."

He looked around for someone, anyone. The only living creature around was Hedwig, and she was sleeping soundly in her cage. The Dursley's had gone to bed hours ago, and the same seemed true of all the neighbors. Not that the Dursleys would give one tinker's toot if he was murdered in cold blood. The only thing he could think that would bother them the most was if the surrounding neighbors heard his screams, but then again, any neighbor or passing policeman would be as defenseless as he felt at that very moment, so it made no difference.

"As I was saying, out existences are going nowhere Harry...We're going to be locked in a dead lock forever, do you understand that?..." he questioned in a saccharinely sweet voice.

Harry was beginning to feel sick. This man was responsible for so much pain, for all of his own pain.

"I take it to mean that you do, Harry. I know what you're thinking. It has something to do with your sweet mummy and daddy. You could have them back you know..."

His blood froze. Everything he had ever heard about the magical world had told him that it was impossible to bring the dead back to life. What was he talking about?

"Ahhh, I see I've captured your full attention at last. The problem with you Harry is that you are my equal. My only equal. I have heard of the prophecy too... You must understand that while I did transfer some of my powers to you the night that your most beloved parents died, I couldn't transfer anything that wasn't there to begin with. I could only intensify it. You surely must be aware that two equals cannot win a battle against one another. To do so would require one to be stronger, and neither of us is... I have experience that you could never dream of, and you have dumb luck, and both seem to counter nicely."

What was he talking about? Everything he was saying were things that Harry had considered himself. He had indeed wondered how one person was supposed to overcome another who was his equal when clearly there could never be a decisive victory.

"You must be wondering when I'm going to get to the point. I have a nasty tendency to go on about things, do forgive my ranting..." he said sarcastically, knowing how trivial a plea of forgiveness for something such as that was.

"Would you ever take back history Harry? If you could go back to the events of two months ago and retrieve your beloved godfather, would you?"

He must have sensed Harry's immediate interest in such a proposal from his eyes. They lit up and shone fiercely, craving to see his godfather again. Riddle raised his hand to interject something else before Harry's mind went on a goose chase trying to imagine a world with Sirius in it.

"Would you take back history so far as to even have your parents back?"

Harry's heart skipped a beat and he felt chills up and down his spine.

"Yes..." he croaked out, not fully aware that he seemed to have no control over his own answers because he wanted such a thing to happen with the entire core of his whole being.

"You do have a voice after all..." he said with enough sweetness to corrode holes through someone's heart.

"I did think so. Perhaps you would do well to sleep on it. I am sorry things didn't work out between us. You have been my pain and torment for so long Harry, as I'm sure I have been for you. I knew we could both be adults and let it go..." he said with a sort of feigned civility. "Oh, and I do believe you dropped this?" he said, holding up Harry's wand.

"It's a fine piece you know. My wand is so very like yours. You should be thankful for that, for it is the very reason I was able to make such a proposition to you tonight..."

In the blink of an eye and with a loud crack, he was gone, and Harry looked over to his bedside table and saw his wand on the floor. One by one the lights came on again.

He didn't go to bed until the sun was nearly up. His mind was teeming with more thought than he reasoned were humanly possible. He felt like Riddle had been torturing him in a sort of way, offering things he knew he could never have. Had Riddle even been real? He did think it very possible under the circumstances that he could be hallucinating. But he was so tired and he hadn't been sleeping well since Sirius' death, so eventually, sleep and dreams overcame him.

It was the most unusual night of dreaming he had ever had too. He dreamed away a whole lifetime of memories: he saw himself at birthday parties with his parents, his dad showing him how to ride a broomstick, trying on the Sorting Hat at Hogwarts, and having a life of obscurity that he never realized he had wanted so desperately.

"Happy birthday Harry!" came the shouting voice of a woman.

He woke with a start. That was not Aunt Petunia he was hearing...