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Chapter Text

 ’He's more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.’

― Emily Brontë, Wuthering Heights

Part I   

It was so dark in Bellatrix’s vault that even with all three of their wands lit, Harry couldn’t make out anything in the distance. His eyes swept over many piles of gold and saucer-like objects but Hufflepuff’s cup wasn’t one of them. It was becoming harder and harder to avoid touching anything. Several times, he felt a sharp blister of pain as the objects underneath his feet multiplied.

He shone the wand further, and the light bounced off something that glittered. It stood out from the diamonds, the great pearl necklaces, like a brilliant beam of sunlight. Harry was moving forward without being aware of what he was doing, through the piles of expanding objects without even feeling them.

It was a pocket-watch.

Surprisingly heavy, the watch face seemed to shine, like a luminous clock.

‘Hermione,’ Harry said, turning it over so its light flickered off the gold underfoot. ‘What do you think of this?’

But it wasn’t Hermione who came up beside him. It was Ron.

‘That’s not the Horcrux,’ Ron said.

Harry barely heard him. The clock-face was too mesmerising to look away from. A tiny voice at the back of his head was saying this was wrong . . . They had to find the Horcrux right now . . .

The hands of the clock were spinning, so fast it was a blur.

‘Harry! Quickly!’ Hermione’s voice sounded like a distant echo. ‘Put it down, Harry. Put it down right now.’

She was beside him, and her voice had risen in high hysterics. Gold was multiplying around them, glowing red-hot. Griphook was a tiny shape in the distance.

Hermione lunged for the pocket-watch, intent to bat it from his hands. Ron reached at the same time and there was a great flash as all their hands touched.

Light – brilliant, dazzling white light – seemed to burst from it. There was a noise, high, like the sound of the train. It was a humming, building louder and louder.  Harry felt like he was spinning – falling – everything was a haze and the vault seemed to disappear. It was apparition and floo powder – the squeeze of movement, like he was going to be crushed. His lungs were bursting – he was squeezing Hermione’s hand so tight bones were bound to shatter –

White, blinding light, that was far from brilliant -

And then it cleared.

Harry landed on something hard. His hands hit the ground and immediately began to sting. His head was still spinning but the squeezing sensation disappeared. When he regained his balance, he was up on his feet, wand out.

This had to be an illusion.

Ron and Hermione were already standing up, their wands out also. ‘We’re back here?’ Ron said. ‘What the bloody hell?’

Harry’s heart was still pumping with adrenaline and the sheer fear of sneaking into Gringotts. It felt impossible. They were in Bellatrix’s vault. Not here.

Not with the grass and the trees – they had been underground, for God’s sake – and the great, dark Lake. That hut – Harry would recognise it anywhere.

‘How are we at Hogwarts?’ he said, squeezing Malfoy’s wand tighter. ‘Hermione – ‘

Hermione was very white. ‘Griphook,’ she said, in a moan. ‘Harry he’s still there!’

Harry felt a sick sensation in his stomach. He was still in the vault, amongst the piles of multiplying treasure. ‘He’ll get out,’ he said. Would he? ‘The minute we left.’

Hermione looked like she was ready to cry. Bellatrix’s robes had many holes in them, the ends completely cut off, so the tatty remains ended at her knees. She and Ron were both covered in red, blistering cuts and Harry supposed he had similar.

‘If You-Know-Who finds out we’re at Hogwarts,’ Ron said. ‘Then we’re done for. You can’t apparate out.’

They were meant to be in Gringotts but, right now, they were the most wanted people in the Wizarding World in a place Voldemort controlled.

‘The forest,’ Harry said firmly. ‘Let’s wait in the forest and figure something out.’ They backed into the dark trees, away from the Lake and the pathways. The silhouette of Hogwarts grew fainter.

 ‘It’s that stupid clock,’ Ron said. ‘Riddled with dark magic.’

‘Why did you pick it up anyway, Harry?’ There was an edge to Hermione’s voice – her fear coming out in annoyance. ‘We would still be there if you hadn’t.’

Harry swallowed. ‘It was like . . . I was under a spell. Like the Imperius. But I couldn’t fight it.’

He couldn’t describe the need to pick it up, how it would have killed him to fight it, how he wanted that stupid object more than anything else in the entire world.

His hand unfolded around the pocket-watch and Hermione gasped.

It was burnt.

The metal surrounding the face of it had melted out of the shape and the glass had shattered. Large cracks ran up it, the entire thing blackened, like it had gone through an explosion. Even as it sat in his hand, Harry felt like it was ready to crumble apart. The hands were no longer ticking, instead stuck in a fixed position of 8:32.

 And it had never felt more ordinary.

‘Just – put it in your pocket,’ Hermione said. ‘It must be a Portkey.’

‘A trap,’ Ron said.

A trap.

And Harry had brought them right into it.

They went further into the forest, until the trees overhead formed a thick canopy. The only sunlight that appeared was in slivers. Harry tripped over several tree roots before they eventually stopped. Only then did Hermione stop glancing back. She winced every time they stepped on the leaves underfoot and the harsh crunching sound they made.

Harry’s feet felt hot and blistered. He wished more than anything for the Dittany he knew was in Hermione’s bag. To feel it soothe his tender skin . . . perfectly cool.

For a minute, he panicked, checking inside his jacket. He breathed in relief. The cloak was still there. He had his wand, his cloak and his mokeskin pouch. They were ok. 

They reached a clearing. It was dark and eerily silent. There were no birds; no trees rustling. Everything was still, like the forest itself was holding its breath.

 ‘What are we going to do?’ Ron said. ‘We can’t go near the castle. Or Hogsmeade.’

‘What’s at the other side of the forest?’ Hermione said.

‘A herd of Acromantula,’ Ron muttered.

‘Spiders aren’t called a herd – ‘

Their whispering sounded like shouting; Harry was half expecting centaurs, or Death-Eaters, to come bursting into the clearing at any moment.

‘When it’s night-time,’ he said. ‘We sneak out of the grounds and Apparate away.’

He hoped Voldemort wouldn’t have people patrolling. Snape, of course, was headmaster—the thought filled Harry with such an intense, burning anger that he gripped Malfoy’s wand so hard green sparks spat out.

 ‘Harry,’ Hermione said.

At first, he thought she was disapproving on the sake of the wand. But she was staring off into the greenish gloom, fingers on her lips. And then Harry heard it.

Twigs snapping, leaves crunching. Trampling footsteps.

They stood there, no-one making a sound. Harry had never been more aware of his breathing, or his heart hammering. The noise got closer, something getting nearer.

And then through the trees was the silhouette of a person. His eyes must have been playing tricks on him, or the trees had shrunk, because the person seemed unnaturally large. And then they began to hum.

Softly, in a rumbling voice. Harry heard the words Hippogriffs and Nifflers. It almost sounded like a nursery rhyme. His fear melted away.

‘Hagrid,’ he said, and then louder, moving forward, striding across the clearing.

The humming stopped.

‘Is someone ‘ere?’

The voice was wrong. It was higher, younger, without the deepness or any of the warmth Harry had been accustomed to.

He stopped in his tracks and finally, the person came into the light. Tall, twice as tall as Harry. A mane of tumbling brown hair and dark eyes. But his face –

Harry couldn’t help it. He gasped.

It was Hagrid alright, if he had been shrunk down to a teenager. There wasn’t a hint of a beard on his smooth, pink cheeks. Not a wrinkle, not a line. To Harry, he looked like a gigantic baby.

‘What –’ he began to stammer.

‘Who are you?’ Hagrid took a few steps back. In his hand was a bucket of raw meat. ‘I don’t mean no trouble.’

He looked scared.

‘Hagrid, what happened? Why are you—’ Harry waved his hand.

But there was no recognition on Hagrid’s face. ‘I’ll need to report this to Dumbledore. This is Hogwarts property. No-one’s meant to be ‘ere.’

Dumbledore? But Dumbledore was dead.

A cold feeling spread through Harry’s stomach.

‘Would you mind telling us the year, please?’ Hermione’s voice was high and nervous. ‘We’re lost, you see.’

‘Lost? Here? It’s – er - 1944.’

1944.

Hagrid, if anything, looked even more troubled. Harry’s head spun, just as bad as it had in the vault.

1944.

That wasn’t possible.

‘Dumbledore,’ Ron said. ‘We need him. I mean, can you take us? Please?’

‘Professor Dippet’s the headmaster,’ Hagrid said.

He was shuffling uncomfortably on the spot, taking in their dishevelled appearances. ‘You’ll be needing him, I’d reckon.’

‘No, Dumbledore,’ Harry said. His chest constricted as he said the word. ‘There seems to have been a mistake.’

Hagrid took them back through the forest and onto the grounds. It seemed to take longer than it had the first time, or maybe that was just the dread. This could still be a trap. They were being lured into a false sense of security and then Voldemort would appear.

A trap, a trap, a trap.

None of them talked on the way there. Hermione was clutching her beaded bag, like it was the only thing she had.

1944. 

A part of Harry knew this wasn’t a trick. His hand went into his pocket, absent-mindedly tracing over the pocket-watch.

Why had he picked it up anyway? Why couldn’t he fight whatever curse came over him?

As they reached the edge of the forest, the spaces between the trees got wider and sunlight flooded in. Harry kept his eyes on the ground yet he still managed to trip. The roots were hidden under all the freshly-fallen leaves. Only . . . why were there fallen leaves?

It was May.

‘Are there students in the castle, Hagrid?’ Harry said, struggling to catch up with his long strides.

‘It’s September,’ Hagrid said, and laughed. ‘Course there is.’

They reached the edge of the forest. Hagrid turned around to look at them curiously. 'What are your names?’

‘Harry. Just Harry.’

‘Hermione.’

‘Ron.’

Hagrid raised his bushy eyebrows. ‘I’m Rubeus, myself. But it’s Hagrid. Always has been. Course, you knew that.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘How did you know that?’

‘That’s why we need Dumbledore.’

Even saying it, Harry couldn’t believe it. Here, Dumbledore was alive.

‘We’re – not supposed to be here.’

Awful things have happened to wizards who meddled with time.

Fourteen-year-old Hermione’s words came back to him. Eighteen-year-old her looked like she was thinking the exact same thing. They went up the stone steps and Hagrid pushed open the great oak doors.

Wouldn’t it be just great, Harry thought, if supper was over and the swarm of students saw them being marched in?

Hermione was still dressed as Bellatrix and that was certainly a sight. They looked like they had just been in a duel. Maybe it would scare Dumbledore so much he would immediately find a way to bring them back.

The doors opened and the corridor was empty. There were voices coming from the Great Hall but Hagrid led them up the stairs to the Headmaster’s Office.

‘We need Dumbledore,’ Harry said. He gave the stone gargoyle a mistrustful look. ‘Not . . .’ 

‘Dippet,’ Ron supplied.

Hagrid scratched his head. ‘How about Dumbledore and the headmaster? You still haven’t said what yer doing here.’

He grumbled a password that was too quiet to hear. They followed the spiral steps into the office.

It wasn’t the same as when Professor Dumbledore had owned it. Gone were all the trinkets, the spindly table. There was no Pensieve; no perch holding a Phoenix. Behind the desk was a small man smoking a pipe. His head was almost entirely bald, only a few wisps of hair remaining. He seemed to sink down in the seat, swallowed by it.

‘Headmaster,’ Hagrid said, and gave a sort of awkward half-bow. Harry thought he looked like a tree trying to snap itself in half. ‘Found these in the forest. Wanted to see you.’

He put the pipe down and looked at them through small eyes, sunken into his face. ‘You found them in the forest? How do you know they aren’t with Grindelwald? Merlin, was there a fight?’ 

 ‘Sorry, sir,’ Hermione jumped in. ‘We’re running from him. And we really need Professor Dumbledore.’

 ‘Professor Dumbledore?’

‘You see, we’re not supposed to be here. It was a portkey –’ 

‘Portkeys can’t access Hogwarts.’

‘This one did. We were in trouble and it brought us here –’ 

Harry wasn’t sure if Hermione was acting but her voice was climbing higher and higher, wobbling, like she was beginning to –

‘Rubeus,’ Dippet said. ‘Will you please bring Professor Dumbledore up here?’

Hagrid looked like there was nothing he wanted better than to flee the office. Harry couldn’t blame him.

 Would they tell Dumbledore the truth? They would have to, if they wanted to get back. He couldn’t help feeling frustrated. Dumbledore had sent them on the Horcrux hunt. He was the one who hadn’t told them anything. But that Dumbledore was dead .

The man who entered the office was fifty years younger. His long auburn hair was swept back with a green ribbon and his beard fell to his shoulders, not his waist. Harry felt like someone had punched him in the stomach.

It was Dumbledore. Alive in the office.

His mouth seemed to dry up, something inside him seemed to burst--a tumour, his insides filling up with poison. 'Sir,’ Harry managed to say. He closed his mouth again before he managed to say something like, ‘I missed you.’

‘I don’t know how we got here.’

Behind half-moon spectacles, those blue eyes surveyed them. 'You wanted to see me?' A frown. 'And how did you get here? The wards - '

'We didn't apparate,' Harry said. He looked at Hermione.

Could they tell him?

A voice whispered in his head. If you can't trust, what will you ever accomplish?

They would never leave here. They would have to do everything in secret. And Dumbledore - Harry didn't know if he could lie to him. He wanted answers, and the line between this Dumbledore and his Dumbledore ( dead ) was blurring.

He took one look at Dippet and said the most dangerous sentence he had in his entire life. 'We got here by a time-turner.'

So they told him. Dumbledore took them to his office, a small room with bookshelves in the walls. Fawkes was on his perch, only a small chick. Harry kept the story short, but occasionally Hermione and Ron would butt in.

'Horcruxes. You left us a task, you see. Find them all and destroy them.'

Dumbledore's face seemed to fall when Harry said that. The twinkle disappeared from his eyes and even though Harry had never seen him younger, he looked like he had aged a century.

'You had to,' Harry said quickly. 'This war - 'he shuddered even thinking of it. 'Voldemort - '

'He's killing everyone,' Ron said. 'And he can't die.'

'We have to go back, sir,' Hermione said. 'You must understand. If we stay here too long everything will change. We might erase our own existence. Or cause millions of deaths. So, if there's anything you can think of - anything at all - we'll do it.'

Even spend half a year trooping through forests, Harry thought. Eating scraps and living in a tent.

'Show me this device, please.'

Harry took the pocket-watch from his pocket. It looked just like a piece of rubbish, an old, broken, blacked clock that should be tossed in the bin. He didn’t know what he was expecting Dumbledore to do - maybe some strange chant, some explosion of light that would send them back.

Instead there was nothing.

Dumbledore turned it over in his hands several times and tried about a dozen spells. There wasn’t even a reaction. A ‘Scourgify’ didn’t remove any of the dirt, the ‘Reparo’ didn’t fix anything. Whatever Dumbledore’s spells were meant to do, did not work.

He handed the pocket-watch back and Harry reluctantly took it. He didn’t want the stupid thing. It was only a reminder of his own mistake.

‘Right now, I have no answer for you,’ Dumbledore said. ‘We have no means of sending people into the future now, like you do.’

‘That’s the thing,’ Hermione said. ‘We don’t either. The furthest a person can go back is five hours without any serious harm. Not fifty years.’

 ’And you found this Time-Turner in the Lestrange vault? After you . . . broke into Gringotts.’

‘We needed to find the Horcrux,’ Harry said. ‘Voldemort —’

‘He’s the most powerful Dark Lord of all time,’ Ron said. ‘And caused more destruction than Grindelwald ever did.’

Grindelwald .

Dumbledore’s face went through about a dozen expressions at once before settling into a grim resolve. ‘I won’t ask about Grindelwald,’ he said. ‘Awful things can happen if we let the future influence our choices. But I’m afraid you are stuck here until we find a solution.’

He smiled. ‘Of course, time could naturally revert itself and one moment you will find yourself here and the next, right back where you left off. It’s the most mysterious thing.’

‘You mean we could be here forever?’ Ron’s mouth was half-hanging open. ‘What about our families ?’

‘I will do my very best to help you, Mr—’

‘Weasley.’

‘We have a Weasley in sixth year. Septimus. He looks just like you.’

Ron’s eyes widened. ‘That’s my grandad.’

Dumbledore’s smile was warmer this time. ‘And I trust you won’t inform him of this fact?’

‘Of course not.’

‘Good, very good. I promise I will try and find a way to send you back to your time. But in the meantime, I think it would be best if you finished your schooling. This is your seventh year, correct?’

They nodded. Harry opened his mouth to protest - but what was the point?

Hermione got there before him. ‘How can we prevent something from changing?’ Her hands were wringing anxiously together. Harry knew she was restraining from tearing at her hair. ‘Our simple existence could send the whole future into disaster.’

‘What would you suggest then? The very fact you managed to travel this far indicates that was not a normal time-turner. Perhaps you were meant to be here.’

‘No,’ Harry said. ‘No way.’

The future was chaos. It was war and blood and green light that you could see when you closed your eyes. But it was the Weasleys. It was Ginny. What happened when they disappeared? Every moment they were here Voldemort was killing more people; hunting Harry down like a dog after a scent.  

‘That’s where we belong.’

Ron nodded grimly. The Weasleys were his family more than Harry’s. Hermione had her parents in Australia.

I have to get them back .

Dumbledore looked between the three of them and Harry wondered what he saw.

Was it soldiers? Clothes all but rags, faces hard and set, determined to go on?

Or children? In need of a good wash, still wild-eyed and awkward-limbed? Covered in painful red burns, with faces too young to have seen horrors, bones sticking out from every meal they had missed?

‘I thought that after Grindelwald, the Wizarding World wouldn’t see another Dark Lord for centuries.’ He sighed, his hand moving to his beard, which he stroked.

Harry wanted to ask. Rita Skeeter’s book was at the forefront of his mind. The picture in Godric’s Hollow. Had he suspected? Deep down somewhere, had he known?

He wanted to ask about the Deathly Hallows.

But here, in this time, Grindelwald has already caused so much death and pain. It was unpreventable. And for Dumbledore, the wound would be open, not scabbed over by time.

Grindelwald was the past or soon would be.

But what if -

Hermione talked about not changing the future. The butterfly effect. Mass destruction that wizards couldn’t even comprehend.

Perhaps you were meant to be here.

But Harry couldn’t let the same thing happen again.

‘If we could stop Voldemort now,’ Harry said. ‘Before he’s even born. There’s a muggle man, Tom Riddle. And Merope Gaunt feeds him a love potion and they have a son. If we could stop that happening, he wouldn’t even exist. ‘

The hand in the beard froze. And Harry knew something was wrong - knew he was forgetting something important. 

‘Tom Riddle, you say? I suppose I should have known.’

Harry nodded. Uncertainty filled his stomach. He didn’t like the look on Dumbledore’s face one bit.

‘Tom Riddle is our Head Boy.’

Harry didn’t know how he had forgotten. 1944. Of course.

After so many memories he had seen of Voldemort's childhood, how had he forgotten? If Voldemort was Head Boy that meant he had already made one Horcrux, the diary. Myrtle was already dead. Hagrid has been framed.

‘It wasn’t Hagrid,’ Harry blurted out. ‘That killed Myrtle. It was him.’

‘If you can prove that, Harry, is the question. I always knew Tom had something to do with those attacks and I’ve been watching him closely even since.’

Keeping an annoyingly close eye on me , the diary had said.

‘The other teachers are most enamoured. Tom Riddle is not someone you want as your enemy.’

‘You mean we’re meant to let the tosser just grow up and kill everyone?’ Ron said, forgetting for a moment who he was talking to.

‘Leave it to me. For now, you are ordinary students. I don’t see the need for false names as no-one will recognise you. Now let’s see . . .’ 

 ’Mr Potter, you and Miss Granger were brought in by Mr Weasley when you were very young. You were home-schooled in Ireland but a recent attack by Grindelwald killed your family and you were forced here, where he has not conquered. The severity and freshness of this accident should stop the students from pressing with questions. And it’s not as if transfer students are something foreign.’

‘So we just pretend . . . everything’s normal?’ Harry said.

‘Until we figure out a solution to this problem, I think that’s best. You will be sorted later this evening at supper-time. I will introduce you - and make sure the students don’t think anything is awry - and you will continue on as normal.’

‘While trying to find a way home,’ Ron said.

‘Quite. Now, we can work on this backstory more. It wouldn’t do to antagonise Tom Riddle. No matter what he is and becomes in your future, he is not your ordinary seventh-year student. When I say he excels at magic that would be putting it mildly. He mustn’t find out anything about the future or things will be devastating.’

He held Harry’s gaze.

‘He may be more of a monster than a student but I cannot help you if you’re in Azkaban. Do you understand?’

Harry understood. But perhaps not how Dumbledore intended. He had to find that diary and destroy it. His purpose here was exactly the same as the future. Isn’t that what Dumbledore wanted of him?

The Chosen One?

Wasn’t this what he had been raised for?

‘I understand.’

The longer they sat in that office the more Harry itched to move. He wasn’t used to sitting around anymore, being on the run he felt like he had a constant target on his back and that he had to check behind him every couple of minutes. For Death Eaters. Snatchers. 

While he sat, he kept his hand in his pocket, curled around the time-turner. He had hoped something would happen, that it would heat up or start to glow. But it didn’t. Hermione wanted to rehearse their story a dozen times and Harry and Ron exchanged looks. Ron inclined his head as if to say nutter .

‘What if something about the future accidentally slips out? Like - a Quidditch match score.’

Ron sat up. ‘1945 the Wasps win the World cup. If I had galleons to bet with. We’d be loaded!’

 ‘But what would be the point in the money?’ Harry said. ‘When we go back everything will be pointless.’

‘Exactly, Harry,’ said Hermione, glaring at Ron.

He muttered something under his breath about pretending to be a Seer. ‘Trelawney does it.’

Dumbledore cleared his throat and they turned around. ‘You’ll need to see our matron. Those are some nasty burns. And of course, the time-travel could have any effects on your bodies.’

Hermione agreed readily. She had a look on her face like she suspected they would all explode at any moment.

They followed Dumbledore through the castle and spent at least an hour in the Hospital Wing. Their cuts were healed, several scans were performed and Dumbledore transfigured their tatty clothes into simple black robes with the Hogwarts crest.

‘I believe it’s supper-time,’ he finally said. ‘And time to re-join your houses.’ His eyes twinkled. ‘As Head of Gryffindor I must say it would be a pleasure to have you three.’

They left the Infirmary and went down the flights of stone steps. The castle hadn’t changed much. There were some portraits missing and the stone interior looked fresher, like it had been given a proper scrub. Maybe it’s because Filch wasn’t about, Ron had said. And they had a better caretaker.

When they reached the Great Hall, Harry, Ron and Hermione shared a look.

‘Anyone feel like a first year?’ Hermione said.

Ron grinned weakly. ‘At least we don’t have to fight a mountain-troll. We’ve done this before’

The doors pulled open and they stepped inside. Immediately, there was a hush.

Harry should have been used to attention by now but instead, he couldn’t think of anything better than the ground opening up and swallowing him whole. It didn’t sound too bad. Quiet and safe, without hundreds of gawking eyes and whispering voices.  

‘I’m very pleased to introduce our new seventh-year students who have sought sanctuary here after the devastation Grindelwald has caused. I hope you will do your best to make them feel at home. We all deserve a little comfort in these dark times.’

The sorting began.

Hermione was first. Her legs wobbled as she sat down on the spindly chair, and for a horrible moment, it seemed like she would fall over. 

Minutes passed. What was keeping the bloody hat?

‘GRYFFINDOR!’

The Gryffindor table began to clap. When Hermione pulled the hat off her head, her face was full of relief.

‘Tried to put her in Ravenclaw, I bet,’ Ron said, but his face was pleased.

He was called next. It went far faster than Hermione’s sorting. The hat covered his head one second, and the next –

‘GRYFFINDOR!’

It was only Harry now. He glanced over at the Gryffindor Table. Ron gave him a thumbs up. He looked at all the unfamiliar faces, and then the ones he recognised at the staff table.

‘Harry Potter, please.’

He sat on the stool.

Gryffindor, he thought, as Dumbledore placed the sorting hat on his head. It didn’t cover his eyes like it had as a first year. He closed them just the same.

Another little time-traveller, the sorting hat said. But oh, you have ambition. Lots of it. A strong determination.

I need to be in Gryffindor with Ron and Hermione , Harry thought.

Gryffindor? But we’ve tried that already, haven’t we? You have bravery and Gryffindor would benefit you well. But if you really want to end things, then you need Salazar’s house. You need cunning.

I need my friends, Harry thought. Gryffindor.

If you truly want to achieve your plans, what you need is SLYTHERIN.

The last word had been spoken out loud.

Harry took the hat from his head and his eyes immediately went to Ron and Hermione. They were both bug-eyed. Ron had that same look on his face as when Harry had kissed Ginny in the Common Room. Like he didn’t know what to think.

The applause from the Slytherins was far more muted. Ron and Hermione had warm and welcoming Gryffindor and Harry had a bunch of mistrustful slimy snakes.

When he reached the table, he froze. Nothing could have prepared him. It was like a punch straight in the stomach.

Sitting there, posing as a schoolboy, was Voldemort himself. He was the first thing that caught Harry's eye. Between acne-marred teenagers, with messy hair and uniforms-- features too big or too small, ties out of place, rumpled jumpers---Voldemort was something unnatural.

He was Fleur at the Triwizard Tournament. And Harry stared, unable to look away, no matter how much he wanted to. His skin was pale, so much that it seemed luminescent. His black hair fell in a tidy curl over his forehead. The hollow beneath his cheekbones flickered in the candle-light. His dark eyes —

 Red, snake-like, inhuman

— followed Harry until he sat down in a space between some younger girls. He didn’t care if he was at the younger end of the table. All he needed was to get away from Voldemort. Far, far away.

Preferably the other side of the hall with the Gryffindors.  

‘Don’t look so shocked,’ a girl said. ‘We don’t bite, you know.’

Harry raised his eyebrows. He was sure they were on their best-behaviour, like Voldemort’s very own pets. Through the rest of the meal, he kept sneaking glances at Ron and Hermione. What would happen if he just got up and moved table? If only for a chat.

'So, why did you really come to Hogwarts?' a boy said. He was about Harry's age, with a very hooked nose.

'What do you mean why did I really come? '

'You get home-schooled for six years - you and those two Gryffindors - then your parents just decide to send you here? For safety?' Beneath the curiously, there was a glimmer of something cruel in the boy's eyes.

'You can dig them up and ask them if you like.'

His mouth fell open and someone beside him snickered.

'Very subtle, Edwin,' a voice said. 'You know just how to make people feel welcome.'

Harry would know that voice anywhere. It wasn’t the high, cold one he remembered, but it was Voldemort nevertheless; dark and smooth and poisonous.

Harry turned around and met Voldemort's eyes. It took his greatest effort to sit still. His hands were shaking and he gripped his cutlery so hard the metal began to bend. Right there, only half a dozen seats away, was the monster who had killed his parents.

'I'm sorry,' the boy muttered, looking down at the table.

Harry turned away and didn't speak to anyone for the rest of the meal.  He finished as fast as he could - the Hogwarts food was painfully good after months on the run - and glanced back over at Ron and Hermione.

He had stood up to go over to them - students were beginning to break away and mill out of the hall - when someone grabbed his wrist. Harry spun around, wrenching it back.

It was a girl. Her eyes widened at his force and she rubbed her hand. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said.

‘Reflexes.’

She looked vaguely familiar, though Harry didn’t know anyone with pale eyes and curly black hair. It was something in the indignant expression on her face; the way her lips curled up in a way that made her look superior. Harry knew someone else who had pulled that exact face without meaning to.

‘And you are?’ He said, just managing to keep his voice even.

‘Lucretia Black. And you’re lucky I do second chances.’

Black.

Sirius.

His head thrown back in laughter. The look of surprise as he went through the veil.

Bellatrix. Matted hair and maniac eyes. Laughter that seemed to rattle - like bones knocking together.

‘We’re going to the Slytherin Common Room,’ she said, watching Harry with a funny look on her face. He couldn’t tell what she was thinking. ‘You should come. Introductions are in order and Slughorn will want to talk to you.’

Harry had forgotten. He was meant to have never been to Hogwarts before. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘Of course.’

Lucretia’s suggestion hadn’t sounded like a suggestion at all – more a demand. And the eyes of the people at the table, like a pack of wolves staring at a deer, never left him.

Was he acting weird? Suspicious?

He looked back at Voldemort but he had turned away, in conversation with one of the others. Death Eaters.

Harry would pull it off as traumatised. Stupid, even. His guardians had been killed by Grindelwald and now Harry was just the idiot boy who didn’t speak. Then he would fix the Time-Turner

(kill Voldemort )

and go back to the present.

Moments later, Headmaster Dippet signalled the end of supper. ‘If everyone could go back to their Common Rooms, please. Finish off any homework you may have. And please do your best to show our new students around.’  

There was a screeching of chairs as everyone stood up.

‘You heard him,’ a boy said. He was pale in a way that made him look unwell. Blonde hair, almost the same colour as his skin, fell into his eyes. He spoke in an unmistakably lofty voice.

‘I’m Abraxas Malfoy, by the way. A seventh year as well. The Common Room’s this way.’

They went to the dungeons. Harry didn’t have to fake his wonder at the castle - even though it wasn’t the same, this was still Hogwarts. And god had he missed it.

They went down several corridors, which all looked identical. When they reached a wall, the Slytherins inched back. Voldemort made his way forward, and the crowd of people parted.

‘The password is serpent-tongue,’ he said, turning to tell Harry. ‘Very creative, you know.’

Harry didn’t answer. He turned away, missing Voldemort’s frown.

His strange attempt at sarcasm just reminded Harry of how unnatural this whole situation was - here he was, going to school with the man who’d killed his parents.

He followed the rest of the Slytherins into the Common Room. It was almost exactly as it had been in second year.  

Darker than the Gryffindor Common Room, the whole room was bathed in a green light coming from hanging circular lamps. The flame flickering in the fireplace was emerald, like someone was ready to use to floo. There were several circular windows that reminded Harry of portholes on a ship. Through them was the dark, murky water of the lake.

‘The boy’s dormitory's on the left of that staircase,’ Voldemort said.

Harry looked down at the carpet, which was patterned with snakes.

‘Seventh years are at the end of the corridor. There’s one dorm so you shouldn’t get lost.’  

Someone sniggered.

Harry didn’t trust himself to raise his eyes from the carpet so instead he focused on the ugly snakes and nodded. It was better the Slytherins think he was a weak, nervous fool than have Voldemort suspicious.

‘One dormitory?’ he said. ‘Won’t it be crowded?’

He was not sleeping in a room with Voldemort. He wouldn’t – he couldn’t.

Voldemort smiled but there was no warmth. ‘We’ll manage,’ he said. ‘And Harry?’

Harry looked up.

‘There’s traditions in this house. Rules you’ll come to discover.’

Like, muggles are dirt. And don’t get caught.

‘It will all make sense. After all, you were sorted here for a reason.’

He couldn’t take it anymore. Every word from Voldemort’s mouth had several layers. The others seemed to be holding their breath as he talked and it was taking everything in Harry to not start firing curses. ‘I’m going to the dorm,’ he said. ‘You know, get settled it.’

He went up the stairs two at a time, dozens of eyes on him. And within them, Harry felt Voldemort's searing through his back the whole way, even when he reached the dormitory and closed the door tight.

Down in the Common Room, the occupants watched Harry's quick departure. Sitting beside the fireplace, so close she seemed to become part of it, a girl narrowed her eyes. 'Paranoid sort, isn't he?' she said.

Tom Riddle moved to stand beside her, entirely blocking out the firelight. 'Quite. And perhaps for good reason.'

She grinned. Her teeth were straight and white but against the flickering light, she gave the impression of a shark. ‘He’s a Slytherin, though.’

Tom Riddle shrugged. ‘And his friends are Gryffindors. Did you see the way he was staring back at them?’

‘Like a lost puppy.’

‘He could be a threat. Or an ally. If you gain his trust, Belinda, and let him spill his little heart, we won’t have any problem.’

She frowned. It contrasted sharply with the smoothness of her face. ‘Of course, m’lord. Wouldn’t you be the best for that, though? Gaining his trust?’

The intensity of Tom’s dark eyes made Belinda shiver.

‘He doesn’t seem to like me. And don’t underestimate yourself. If he’s an imposter, he’ll slip up eventually.’ His hand reached over and touched hers, ever so slightly.

‘And if he’s just a pathetic little mudblood?’

‘Then he won’t be a problem.’

The dormitory was the same but different. Gone were Dean’s West Ham posters and Neville’s mimbulus mimbletonia. There weren’t any clothes thrown on the ground or trunks half open to trip over in the dark. But Harry did spy some socks peeking from under someone’s bed and Quidditch gear stacked in the corner. Six beds formed a semi-circle. Harry went through each of them but it was obvious which one was his. The bare one, with no belongings, no trunk, no alarm clock on the side table.

He read the names on each of the trunks. Harold Avery … Edwin Rosier … Alphard Black … (he was the boy with the socks) … Abraxas Malfoy …

Tom Riddle.

His bed was right beside Harry’s. Perfect.

Wouldn’t any of the Death Eaters want to swap? Get close and personal with their Lord?

He drew the curtains and sat down. At least it was beside the door. That way he could sneak out in the night and no-one would know.

He didn't know how long he stayed there but hours seemed to pass. In Harry's head he was thinking of plans. How to kill Voldemort. How to get home. When he heard the door open and people begin to shuffle around, he lay down in the unfamiliar sheets and willed sleep to come.

The darkness, along with the green velvet curtains, gave the impression of branches overhead. It reminded him of all those nights he fell asleep keeping watch outside the tent and woke up to the cold air and the stars.  

He was still wearing the robes Dumbledore had made and he reached into them, taking out the pocket-watch. It was an unusual shape: the jagged glass of the face dug into his skin. He clutched his wand in one hand, the time-turner in the other, and hoped that maybe, by some miracle, things would be back to normal in the morning.

Staring into the blackness, sleep finally came. Harry dreamed of nothing at all.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Harry spent the weekend with Ron and Hermione, trying to dodge the Slytherins without being obvious about it. What was it Hermione would say? He had to try and fit in.

But it was difficult. In Slytherin, there were already so many secrets. He would come close and hear whispers that stopped abruptly. Words like 'mudblood' and 'Death-Eater' and mouths that would freeze when they spotted him, eyes wide and watchful.

He avoided Voldemort most of all, who didn't seek Harry out again. His interest had slipped. If only Harry kept doing what he was doing. Staying average and harmless and unnoticed.

Monday came in a flash. Harry had spent most of his time holed up in the library with Ron and Hermione trying to research time-travel. He found very little on the subject, and felt more than uncomfortable around the librarian’s eyes. Now, he suddenly had classes and N.E.W.Ts, as Hermione liked to say.

'We have Defence together,' Ron said, comparing time-tables that Monday morning. 'And Potions. And Charms.'

But before they had all their classes together. Ron and Harry always had at least. Now —

There were spaces in Harry's new time-table which said: Transfiguration - Slytherin and Hufflepuff and Herbology - Slytherin-Ravenclaw.

The first class was Herbology. Harry followed the rest of the Slytherins to the Greenhouses, the bottom of his robes touching the muddy grass. It had rained all week and the grounds was marshy and wet. They were in Greenhouse Seven, which he had never entered before.

There was a flood of heat as they stepped inside. Harry took off his foggy glasses and wiped them on his robes. When he put them back on, everything came into focus.

Plants were growing from every inch of space. Plants that stretched the whole way to the ceiling, as thick as any tree. Vines that shuddered. Leaves opening and closing in breath. A long thorn stretched down near Harry's head, and he ducked as it attempted to wrap around his head. The whole place hummed.

‘How did you do Herbology being home-schooled?’ Abraxas Malfoy asked. He looked out of place between all the plants, expensive robes and strange, pale features, like a swan on a chicken farm.

‘Badly. It was a lot of harmless things mainly, and they were always native. And lots of theory.’ He grimaced.

Abraxas nodded. ‘It’s flesh-eating trees this year. We’ve already started trying to strip a few.’

He pointed towards five dark trees at the back of the greenhouse. There were deep gashes running up the barks and a sticky green substance oozing out. The branches thrashed around, like angry windmills. Harry was too busy staring at the trees to notice the professor come in. He had an aged, weather-beaten face and bright silver hair groomed back.

‘We’ll continue leeching the trees today,’ he said. ‘Professor Slughorn is asking for the juice as soon as possible.’

He stopped, noticing Harry. ‘You’re the new one, aren’t you? We’re doing flesh-eating trees until October. There’s some notes you’ll want to catch up on.’

He turned to the rest of the class. ‘And you’ll want to get a mask.’

They put on their masks and dragon-hide gloves. Professor Beery went over the wand-movement to cut into the trees - that was definitely for Harry’s benefit. You had to stand exactly two metres away and constantly watch the branches. Not one inch of flesh could be shown.

Harry was uncomfortably hot in his mask. He felt a bit like an astronaut. Abraxas Malfoy lingered by his side and Harry didn’t move away. He wasn’t exactly confident with the trees and copied Abraxas, who extracted the venom in a way that seemed effortless.

His hands blistered through the thin dragonhide gloves—he felt a new sympathy for Ron, who had always used second-hand ones. The words flesh-eating came to mind more than once.

The next class was Transfiguration. Harry spirit fell at the thought of it - the precision and accuracy of the wand-work; the theory which was confusing enough in sixth year. Seventh-year was going to be hell.

But then he remembered. He didn't have Professor McGonagall. He had Dumbledore. And all of a sudden, he was looking forward to it. 

The Transfiguration classroom was expanded to double the size of the other classrooms but the back half of the room was empty. No desks, no chairs, only empty space. At the front was Dumbledore’s desk - he was sitting behind a stack of essays - and a blackboard which took up the entire wall.

When Harry and the others came in - Hufflepuffs this time, none he recognised - Dumbledore smiled and stood up.

'Wonderful,' he said. 'We aren't going to need any books today. We're continuing with cross-species transfiguration and will perhaps attempt it non-verbally. I know, how horrible.’

He winked.

Cross-species Transfiguration.

Harry's wasn't the only face that fell. He knew if Hermione were here, she would perk right up. Ron would join in his misery. But they weren’t so instead he stood there alone.

'I always whisper it,' Abraxas Malfoy said, coming up beside him. Well, perhaps not alone.

'And he knows. He gives me this stare.' Abraxas jerked his head, and sure enough, Dumbledore was looking in their direction. ‘That one.’

Another boy came up beside them. He was small and skinny with dark skin and hair. There was nothing intimidating about him apart from his eyes. They were shifty, going from Harry to Abraxas and back again. He looked like he could be plotting murder at any moment.

Harry remembered him now. He was the boy who had asked if Harry was a halfblood.

‘Potter, right?’

Harry nodded, though he suspected it was rhetorical. Who didn’t know the new student’s name?

‘Dumbledore doesn’t like us Slytherins, does he, Abraxas?’

Abraxas shook his head. ‘What Avery means is don’t be practicing any . . . unsavoury . . . magic under his eyes.’

‘And don’t call anyone a mudblood. There’s loads of them in here.’ Avery looked over at the Hufflepuffs and mimed throwing up.

'Well, maybe Dumbledore's right,' Harry said coldly.

Both Abraxas and Avery turned to stare at him. Abraxas’ eyes were large and baffled.

'You're disgusting, Potter,' Avery said, taking a step away. He glanced at Abraxas. ‘Of course you wouldn't make a good new member.' 

'Harry has made it clear he doesn't want to join in house affairs,' Abraxas cut in. 'Haven't you, Harry?'

'He's a Slytherin now,' Avery said. 'What's he going to do - cover his ears?'

'Actually,' Harry said, ignoring the part of his brain saying shut up, shut up, idiot. 'A member of what exactly?'

Avery smiled, and it was more unnerving than when Voldemort had. He looked like a mixture of a man and a child; the sort of child who pulled the wings off flies for fun. There was something so unnerving about that expression, that for the first time, Harry thought, maybe he's mad.

'Just a little club. For Slytherins. It's like . . . a study group. If you want to be powerful.' He laughed. 'Really powerful and not dragged down by mudbloods and muggles. Only the very best join.'

'Sounds interesting. But what do you mean dragged down?'

'Do you really want to learn how to turn that desk into a pig? Or some stupid cleaning charm? Anything halfway important is banned. Dark magic. If you want power - real power - 'A greedy look came over his face. 'Then trust me you will have it.'

Harry's fingers itched on his wand. 'So, you would be like Grindelwald?’ He said slowly. ‘Who killed my whole family?'

'You wouldn't be scared of Grindelwald anymore. There would only be wizards - pure-blood wizards - ruling the world. You could be one of them.'

Harry’s voice began to tremble in the effort to suppress his anger. ‘No thanks. I’m not interested in Dark Lords and purebloods.’

He turned away from Avery and Abraxas and they didn’t follow. He was breathing heavily and saw Avery’s wild, half-mad face as he talked about ruling the world.

It’s just a little club.

To learn magic.

‘I will again warn you of the dangers of this magic.' Dumbledore’s voice drifted from across the room. ‘You don’t want to be stuck with claws or a tail.’ He waved his wand and mirrors appeared on the walls at the back of the room. A few students jumped when their reflections appeared.

‘Find a space. Try and change your nails into claws. Picture it in your mind down to every detail. See it as though you believe it’s there. Remember, the incantation is manuvem. If you get it good, you can move onto non-verbal.’

Fat chance of that. Harry remembered all the times in sixth year when he couldn’t get his eyebrows to turn back, or his eyes to change colour.  

‘See it,’ Dumbledore instructed.

A ghostly image of a clawed hand floated in the air. It looked like it belonged to a Hippogriff, with sharp, long talons

‘See every little detail. Want it.’

Harry did not want claws of any sort – unless, of course, he could scratch out Voldemort’s eyes.

‘Manuvem.’

The wand-movement looked like a loopy letter L. Immediately, Dumbledore’s fingers changed, replaced with dark and scaly skin and claws that glittered.

There was noise as the entire class began to call the incantation. Harry wasn’t seeing a lot of change and most of the Slytherins were standing there, watching the others. He had to resist finding Voldemort in the room but he couldn’t help it.

Dumbledore was going around each of the students, complimenting them, correcting hand positions and pronunciation. He reached Voldemort, who was standing both with the Hufflepuffs and the Slytherins.

He never liked me as much as the other teachers did.

Dumbledore didn't show any distrust, despite knowing the truth. 'Very nice,' he said, to what was a flawless representation of what he himself had done.

When Harry tried, he got nothing except a sharp stinging in his nails. He copied a few things Dumbledore corrected with Lucretia Black and managed to get his nails long and pointed and a horrible, yellow colour.

Then he heard something that took Transfiguration right from his mind. 'Very nice, Mr Moody,' Dumbledore said. 'Creative design as well.'

Harry turned around. Dumbledore was talking to a boy with blue eyes and short blonde hair.

Moody.

Could it be?

'Good one, Alastor,' another boy said. He had brown hair, freckles and large eyes. They were both wearing Hufflepuff robes.

Harry felt cold. It was Mad-Eye alright. Young and unscarred, looking as ordinary as anyone else.

Did he dream of being an Auror? Catching dark wizards? He would get his wish.

But now he laughed, leaning in to say something to his friend. One day, he would be paranoid. Twitchy and suspicious, set off at loud noises. He would drink from only a hip-flash and check everything he ate.

He would grow up known as ‘Mad-Eye’ Moody. Spend nearly a year locked in a trunk. A wooden leg and a magical eye.

Was it worth it?

Harry turned away from Moody and his friend, trying to block it from his mind. But for the rest of the class, he couldn’t think of anything else.

                                    

‘Mad-Eye a Hufflepuff,’ Ron said, later that day in potions. ‘And in the same year as bloody You-Know-Who.’ He glanced around the room but the Slytherins were nowhere in earshot. Slughorn had yet to come in and the class was full of chatter. ‘Do you think he knows?’

Harry thought of Moody’s carefree face and shook his head.  

‘Honestly, how would he?’ Hermione said. She tilted her head over at Voldemort, who was making Belinda Lestrange laugh. They had matching grins on their faces.

‘There’s no evidence. He has everyone in his pocket.’ She lowered her voice. ‘And can you please stop calling him Voldemort, Harry? You’re going to slip up and someone will hear.’

‘But he is Voldemort.’

‘And you’re not going to forget anytime soon. He’s dangerous, yes, but he’s Tom Riddle. What will happen if he overhears us?’

She had a point.

‘Ok. Tom Riddle.’

He had never liked that muggle name anyway.  

Harry carefully looked over at the Slytherins, none who were looking their way. His heart was beginning to thud. ‘What would happen if we killed him?’

Hermione’s face darkened and she opened her mouth to begin a you’re-the-most-stupid-boy-ever speech.

‘Or at least destroyed the diary. That way the chamber wouldn’t open in our time. Ginny – ‘

Her warm eyes when she winked at him; the dimples in her cheeks. Her loud infectious laughter filling the room.

‘–Wouldn’t be possessed for a year.’

‘If we kill him, we’d be saving thousands of lives,’ Ron said. ‘Tom would have a little fall over the Astronomy Tower, and half the Wizarding World would be saved. The Order, mum’s brothers, Harry’s parents, the muggles . . . ‘

‘And we could end up not even born!’ Hermione was ready to continue, her eyes blazing, when Slughorn walked in.

He smiled at them, but his eyes lingered on the Slytherins up the front.

'It's a practical lesson today,' he said. 'On everlasting elixirs. But first we need to discuss the Independent Project.’ Slughorn was pacing around the students, looking far more excited than any of them.

‘What independent project?’ Ron muttered.

‘The Ministry have updated the Potion’s NEWT. As well as a written exam and a practical, there’s a new project. We’re the first year trying it. Create and research a potion to showcase your ability. It can be anything fancy, or a modification of a recipe to show off your knowledge of reactants and creativity.’

‘Have a think about what you’d like to do. Come up with some ideas to discuss next class. Now . . . ‘He cleared his throat and the talking stopped. 'We're going to continue with Everlasting Elixirs. You’ll have made the Draught of Peace in fifth year – a very finicky little potion – and today, attempt to change some of the reactants to make it everlasting.’

‘We discussed this on Friday. Page forty-two of your textbooks will help.’

It was the same textbook Harry had owned in sixth year, but of course this one didn’t have any of Snape’s notes. There was a brown stain down the page with the recipe and someone had doodled dicks in the margins.

The potion was a disaster. He didn’t know if it was because he had spent so long on the run, not touching a cauldron. But it was a strange, brown colour, and bubbling furiously. Ron's potion was the green shown in the book but it was beginning to hiss, spits of liquid flying out.

'Fuck. Er . . . Hermione?'

Hermione's face was slick with sweat, her sleeves rolled up as she stirred. 'Add in nettles leaves. Or something. I don't know, Ron!'

'Ten minutes left,' Slughorn called. 'No homework for the best potion.'

Harry's potion was a murky brown. He stirred it absently, too busy watching Voldemort - no, Tom Riddle - to bother trying to salvage it. He was helping a girl with her potion, whispering something in her ear. Even from this distance, he saw her giggle, her cheeks turning pink as he leaned in.

'Ravenclaw,' Ron said, following his gaze. 'She was in Transfiguration this morning. Elena Fawley.'

'And?' said Hermione, not looking away from her potion.

'Her dad was the Minister for Magic. And during the first war, the Fawley's were neutral. Powerful family, but no help to the Order.’

Harry watched Tom Riddle with a horrid sort of fascination. The pearly smile, the whispers. He was certainly different to the Voldemort he had known.

'So, he got to her,’ he said. ‘Got to most of the wizarding families. And convinced them of his cause.'

Hermione looked torn, her fingers running through the ends of her hair. She had turned away from her potion, though it was almost identical to what it should be.

'I'm not saying you're right,' she finally said. 'Because messing with the laws of time is deadly. But us being here already goes against everything I’ve read. If we altered things a tiny bit . . . '

'We kill him,' Harry said.

'A tiny bit.’ She glared. ‘Nothing that extreme. I mean it, Harry. We can’t kill him. We can just . . . show people that he isn't all he appears.'

Harry went back to the Common Room that night feeling lighter than ever. Hermione may not agree with what he planned but she did want to expose Riddle. And having her and Ron on his side was better than anything. He entered the Common Room, greeted by the flood of green. 

‘Harry!’ Lucretia Black called. ‘Want to join?’

He hesitated. She was sitting with some of the other seventh years by the fire. Homework littered the tables. But then Harry spotted Tom Riddle amongst them and his stomach turned.

‘I can’t,’ he lied. ‘I’m gonna have a —er— bath.’

He spun around before she said anything else.

A bath.

Well done, Harry. You’re a liar in the making.

He reached the boys dormitory and pulled the door open. Empty.

Sighing in relief, he flopped down on his four-poster bed and closed his eyes. Then the door opened and he scrambled up.

It wasn’t Riddle. Abraxas’ uncertain face came into view.

‘I know we disagreed earlier,’ he said. ‘About a somewhat . . . controversial topic.’

‘That’s one way of putting it,’ Harry said.

‘So, I apologise. If I made you uncomfortable. I see no reason to fall out over some different views.’

Harry blinked. ‘Really?’

‘I don’t see any reason why not.’

Harry bit his lip. Abraxas would become a Death Eater, there was no doubt about it. He would one day father Lucius Malfoy. But he had also followed Harry up here. Had made an effort to be nice to him since he arrived.

And even if Hermione said to fit in, a part of Harry wanted to.

‘Why do you want to be friends anyway?’ Harry said. ‘It will only cause you hassle.’

Abraxas laughed. It was a very soft sound, unlike the loud laughter most of his friends had. ‘Those two Gryffindors. I’ve seen you with them. You’re so close. So loyal. You’d do anything for them, wouldn’t you?’

‘They’re my family,’ he agreed.

Abraxas smiled. ‘I’ve never had someone like that. And I know you’re new, Harry, but . . . I can tell you’re a good friend.’

Harry opened his mouth but no words came out.

I got them stuck back here, he thought. I’ve almost gotten them killed so many times.

‘And the other Slytherin boys,’ Abraxas continued. ‘We’re close. But it isn’t friendship.’

He stuck out his hand. Harry stared at it, his mind going back to the train in first year. Another Malfoy, displaying confidence that only a child who had gotten everything in life had. Second passed and Abraxas’ expression slipped.

Without another thought, Harry reached forward and shook his hand.

Chapter Text

He wanted to visit the chamber again. To feel power rushing through his fingers, like wind on an autumn day. To have the air strum, heavy. To breathe it in. To fill his lungs like oxygen; like poison. He wanted, he craved.

It was never enough.

There were books on Dark Magic in the Chamber. Books about the castle. Tom had read all of them in his fifth-year, memorised them, but even that wasn’t enough. He went down at least once a month to practice. None of the castle’s protective spells worked there and nothing stopped him doing any sort of magic he wished.

But this week, he didn't chance it. Something about the new students was off. They had survived Grindelwald. Tom knew horrors as well as anyone, but they were almost too distrusting.

Harry Potter's eyes were too suspicious - too intensely watchful - for him to brush off. And wherever Tom went, Potter disappeared. He would stay out of the Common Room all day; sit at the opposite side of the Hall at lunch. It was quite impossible for Tom to catch him again, after that day in the dormitory.

I don't care what goes on in the House.

I don't even know you.

Liar.

The only one in the House with any luck was Abraxas. Tom didn't know how that had happened, but the boy had a persistent quality that grew on people.

'He doesn't mention you,' Abraxas said. 'He made it clear he doesn't want to be involved in . . . our little group.'

'He's a blood-traitor,' Tom agreed. 'And his performance in class isn't anything extraordinary.'

'Exactly. So why are you worrying about him?'

'I'm not worrying,' Tom replied. 'He interests me.'

‘Oh?’

‘He’s a liar. He’s come to Hogwarts and never once has he gotten lost. He keeps to himself to the point of obsession. Do you notice that? His bias against Slytherin House despite everyone being polite?’

Abraxas frowned. ‘I think he’s a light wizard,’ he said. ‘And Avery and Rosier weren’t friendly. What I don’t know is how he was sorted here.’

Tom’s lips curled. ‘He mentioned something about a Quidditch ambition.’

‘Quidditch?’

Abraxas seemed to light up. ‘He never told me that. We could do with a few new players on the team.’

‘See if he’s any good. If this Quidditch hope has any truth in it.’ Tom stood up. ‘Abraxas?’

‘Yes?’

‘Good job. You’ve behaved far better than Avery and Rosier with their ignorance. You have been subtle and trustworthy, like a Slytherin should be.’

He missed the strange expression that crossed Abraxas’ face.

‘I’m impressed.’

It was half-past seven and everyone was at dinner. Harry stood in the dormitory, adrenaline coursing through every nerve in his body. At any moment, the doors could burst open. Locking charms didn’t work in the dorms, something he had found out years ago. He hovered there, uncertain, then walked briskly over to Riddle’s bed and pulled the curtains back.

Would he notice? It would be just like Riddle to have them pulled a certain way.

It felt wrong standing there, not as sinister as he imagined. This was where Voldemort slept.

Slept.

Even that was wrong; such a humane act, sleeping. The Voldemort of the future probably didn’t need to sleep. He probably used rituals and spells to prevent it; to become something that wasn’t human at all but simply existed.

Harry put his hand under the pillow, feeling around. The sheet was smooth and cold, but there was nothing there. He held his breath.

Was that the door? But the only sound was his heart, thumping in his ears.

He carefully felt the duvet but there was nothing there. He moved to the nightstand. No clock. A book – Charms of Defence and Deterrence – that looked battered. More books in the drawers and clothes folded neatly.

Harry closed them. He felt like a robber creeping around a house at night, trying not to leave evidence. Finally, the trunk . . .

He hesitated for a second – could he really?

He’ll know.

He won’t.

Finally, he bent to open it. It didn’t budge. It was an ordinary metal lock, not stiff or rusted. Harry immediately stepped away, thinking the trunk would explode like a bomb.

It didn't. Only stood there, looking as innocent and non-threatening as any other. The diary was in that trunk.

Harry blew out a defeated breath. This made things a lot harder.

What if Riddle didn't have the diary anymore? What if it was hidden in a vault somewhere? Given to one of the Death Eaters? But it was his Horcrux. Half his soul. He would keep it safe.

Harry pulled the curtains closed, took one last look at Riddle's bed, and made his way into the Common Room. His heart didn't stop beating for quite a while.

Lessons consumed most of the day and in some ways, Hogwarts was just the same as it had been before. In others, not so much.

The professors were different. The course-work significantly harder. Professor Dumbledore teaching Transfiguration was one of those things Harry came to love. It was becoming one of his favourite subjects and trying to impress Dumbledore - who explained things in the way that was clear and memorable - had made his marks shoot up.

On Wednesday afternoon, Slytherin had Defence Against the Dark Arts with Gryffindor.

Professor Merrythought had to be the oldest teacher Harry had ever seen.

Her hair was entirely white, and she wore strange, brown robes that looked like a muggle suit. When she came close to him, there was that overwhelming scent of musky perfume - it reminded Harry of Mrs. Figgs.

But immediately, he knew that she wasn't a professor you wanted to cross.         Like an animal, she had gotten irate and sharp in old age.

On the first day she taught them, she bombarded Harry, Ron and Hermione with questions.                                        

You’re up to scratch with the sixth-year material I take it?  

Capable of being in a NEWT level class?

Ever been in a duel before?

They answered until she was satisfied then sat down in the seats with the rest of the students.

‘Today, we’re dealing with giants.’

She glanced at Harry, Ron and Hermione.

‘Not physically of course. And why is that?’

‘They’re virtually spell-resistant,’ Hermione said. After a split-second she continued. ‘And from twenty to twenty-five feet tall. Giants also live in tribes and aren’t caught alone.’ 

Professor Merrythought hummed.

‘Exactly. But say you did encounter one, all alone in the mountains, not researching your surroundings. What would you do?’

There was silence. She rounded on him suddenly. ‘Mr Potter? Any ideas?’

Harry’s neck grew hot as everyone turned to look at him. ‘I suppose I’d try and reason with it. With a gift. They’re pretty intelligent.’

 ’Near human-intelligence,’ she agreed. ‘And when that didn’t work? No apparating away now. Pretend that didn’t occur to you.’

Harry frowned in thought. An image of Grawp came into his head, chained in the forest.

‘Their eyes are weak,’ he said. ‘So I’d use the Conjunctivitis Curse. And when it’s blind, I’d transfigured the ground under it. Into ice. So it would be blind and slipping and I’d stun it. Or chain it up. Or—’

He stopped. ‘Run away.’

Professor Merrythought smiled. ‘That’s the wisest solution, isn’t it? Of course, giants are fast, so yours would have to be suitably slowed. The Conjunctivitis curse is completely correct. Where did you learn that?’

‘I read it in a book about dragons,’ he lied. ‘And thought the same would apply.’

‘Good, good. Five points to Slytherin.’

For the first half of the class they took down notes. Harry’s mind was beginning to wander and Ron had started to yawn every couple of minutes. The rest of the class seemed to be sharing their boredom.

‘We’re going to practice some magic now,’ Professor Merrythought said.

Harry perked up.

‘Wands out, chairs pushed in. Help me move them to the back please.’

They floated the chairs and tables to the back of the room and Professor Merrythought left the classroom. When she came back, a dozen dummies hovered behind her. The dummies looked like a mixture of shop mannequins and toy dolls. They were sewed messily, thread stretching like gashes up their fabric faces.

‘Try and hit the dummy with as many spells as you can. Get it down to the ground. Prevent it from attacking you.’

She levitated a dummy towards each of them. 'Now, on three. Two . . . '

The dummies sprang to life. Harry heard someone let out a yell and then the air was lit up with spells.

The dummy in front of him leapt forward, into a sprint. He had a second to see its strange, fabric arms before he sent it blasting back in the air, and hitting one of the walls.

He looked around the room. One girl's dummy was dodging every spell sent at it, getting closer and closer to her. Another was crawling on the ground, inching near one of the tables. Spells were flying through the air, a firework display of bright lights, as the dummies darted out of the way with unnatural speed.

Harry turned back around.

His dummy had lifted a chair and sent it rocketing through the air.

He shielded at the last second. There was a brilliant flash of light as the chair hit against the shield and went flying back. His mind had deserted him. He wasn’t in class anymore, he was in Malfoy Manor. The dummy was a Death-Eater, it was Snape, Bellatrix Lestrange. Voldemort . . .

Harry said the first spell that came to his mind and the dummy exploded, fluff showering the air.

‘You’re very fast,’ a voice remarked.

He jumped. Professor Merrythought had come up beside him. ‘Not your typical student has those reflexes. They’ll come in useful.’

She didn’t mention anything about the intensity of which he had destroyed the dummy. Or the fact they were meant to be hexing them, using spells like The Body-Bind.

‘They have,’ Harry agreed. ‘I just wish they didn’t need to.’

She shook her head. ‘You’re safe in Britain, you know. I don’t know how much help that will do, but it’s the truth. No Dark Lord reigns forever. Remember that.’

She moved to other students, leaving Harry in thought. He was so distracted he didn’t notice a pair of eyes, dark and curious, watching him the entire time.

Later that day, Harry, Ron and Hermione were sitting around a table in the library. It was quiet. A few younger students were playing chess, but their whispers were only a background noise. The librarian was not the sharp-eyed, strict Madam Pince, but a much more relaxed woman who smiled when they came in.

‘I was researching,’ Hermione said. ‘But there’s not much on time-travel. I did the same back in Third Year and the books are no different. What you used isn’t a time-turner in the typical sense, Harry. You didn’t have to spin it for one thing.’

‘I just touched it,’ Harry said. ‘We all did. It was like I was under a spell. And we ended up here.’

She chewed her lip. 

‘Do you not think it’s weird that an object in Bellatrix’s vault brings us back here of all places?’ Ron said suddenly. ‘To bloody You-Know-Who?’ 

 ’Exactly.’ Hermione said. ‘It’s like it was set for this specific time. We didn’t make it take us here. That’s not a coincidence.’ 

‘Like a portkey,’ said Ron. ‘That goes into the past.’

Harry thought about it. ’What if it was like a last resort? For You-Know-Who? If he was about to be killed or something. Or losing. He could take the time-turner, go back and do it all again.’

‘And he gave it to Bellatrix to keep safe,’ said Ron. ‘Same as the Horcrux.’

What if it was a Horcrux, Harry thought uneasily. What if Dumbledore was wrong about the amount Voldemort had made?

‘If it’s a Horcrux we can’t destroy it,’ he said. ‘We’ll be stuck here forever.’  

He didn’t mention the other Horcrux, the diary, he had searched for. 

‘Professor Dumbledore wants to meet with us and talk on Friday,’ Hermione said. ‘Maybe he has some theories. Anyway, we know it’s not a normal time-turner. And it was in Bellatrix’s vault which probably means it’s Dark Magic. It brought us here.’ 

‘That’s what I don’t get,’ Ron said. ‘Riddle’s just a seventh year. Do you not think if You-Know-Who wanted a last resort to save himself, we would be sent back to the middle of the first war? When he was at his most powerful? He’s still in school .’

They thought about that but Harry couldn't think of any answer. Why were they here? The more he thought, the stranger the situation seemed.

He was on his way back from the library when he collided with a girl.

Harry hadn’t realised he wasn’t paying attention; in fact, she seemed to come out of nowhere. One moment he was walking down the corridor, the next smashing headfirst into something small and blonde.

’Shit, sorry,’ he said, helping her pick up her fallen books.  

When she straightened up, he recognised her immediately. Pale, white hair, a translucent face. Blue eyes stripped of almost all colour; delicate features, like a baby bird or a china doll. She was Belinda Lestrange.

The time-turner was at the very front of his mind and it was the Lestrange vault he had found it in.

‘You’re good at getting around the castle but it’s a miracle that’s only happened now.’ She smiled. ‘Walk back with me?’

‘Sure,’ Harry agreed, deciding to ignore the paranoid part of his brain for once.

She was about half the height of him but strangely intimidating.  

‘How’re you finding Hogwarts? It must be hard being in a separate house to your two -’

‘Friends.’

‘But we’re still here for you. Slytherin’s a family.’

They reached the dungeons. The temperatures dropped; the lights dimmed. Torchlight was flickering off Belinda’s shiny hair, making it dazzle.

‘I get you, Harry. You think you’re alone but . . . we’re all a bit damaged here. And some of the house may be exactly what you think, but not all of us are. So, if you want to talk, I’d like that.’

She was very close. Her lashes were almost white, like long cobwebs. There was a faint smell of cinnamon and her pale cheeks and lips were pink.

’Of course,’ Harry said. ‘Anytime you want.’

They went through the Portrait Hole and the soft expression on Belinda’s face didn’t change. He couldn’t tell if she had believed him or not but he was saved a moment later by Abraxas.

‘Harry, there you are!’

He frowned when he saw Belinda beside him but it was gone in a second.

‘Alphard and I were talking about the Quidditch Team.’ 

Harry perked up immediately, making his way over to them.

Alphard Black was almost painful to look at. Harry had been avoiding the boy for the past week, unsure of what he would do if they talked. He didn’t know if he could resist blurting out something stupid, when he looked that much like Sirius.

Dark hair, the same grey eyes. Almost a mirror image of the Sirius Harry had seen from Snape’s memory.

Only Sirius’ eyes had been alight, bright and wild and a bit cruel. He had held himself in a way that seemed effortless, lounging on the spot.

Alphard’s eyes were dim and guarded. He sat with none of Sirius’ old ease. ‘What position do you play?’ he said. ‘We’re open for Beaters.’

His eyes flickered over Harry. ‘Or maybe not.’

‘I could be a Beater,’ Harry protested.

Abraxas was trying not to smile. ‘Of course you could,’ he agreed. ‘But you should see the Ravenclaw Beaters. They’re like mountain-trolls.’  

Harry shrugged. ‘Yeah, I think I’ve had enough to do with mountain trolls for the rest of my life.’

He paused.

Could he really do this?

One week and you’ve already deserted Gryffindor?

‘I played Seeker. Before.’

‘Let’s go back to the mountain-troll bit,’ Alphard said, leaning forward in his seat. ‘You’ve seen a real one?’

 ‘It wasn’t anything great. It was stupid and very slow.’

‘We can do Seeker,’ Abraxas said immediately.

Alphard raised his eyebrows. ‘We have a seeker.’

‘And now we have a better one.’

Harry laughed. ’You haven’t even seen me fly.’

Abraxas smiled. ‘I don’t need to. You won’t let me down. We already had try-outs but Alphard’s captain, so . . .’

‘Our seeker’s a fourth year,’ Alphard said. ‘She’s good.’

‘I don’t want to take anyone’s place,’ Harry said.

He hesitated, beginning to have second thoughts.

What would Ron think? What was he even doing?

They were meant to be finding a way back. He was going to kill Voldemort.

Not playing Quidditch for Slytherin like some sort of traitor.   

‘Oh, please, Harry,’ Abraxas said. ‘At least try-out.’

‘Maybe.’

He couldn’t exactly tell them he was planning on getting to the future as soon as possible.

‘Well, your trial’s on Saturday, Potter,’ Alphard said. ‘You have until then.’

When Harry met Ron and Hermione in Defence on Wednesday morning, they were both flushed. Harry’s immediate thought was, oh great . He was preparing to suffer through two hours of awkwardness with a foreboding sense of doom.

‘Anything wrong?’ He said casually, and Ron’s face went a deep red. The colour seemed to bloom in his cheeks, and spread outwards.

‘Nothing. Just some bloke in Gryffindor is a bloody wanker.’

‘Oh?’

‘Joseph’s perfectly nice,’ Hermione said. ‘Ignore Ron, he doesn’t like people who actually have manners .’

 ‘Joseph?’ Ron’s voice rose. ‘And no, I don’t like bloody Corner. You know, like Michael Corner?’

Harry thought of Ginny and his stomach twisted.

‘He was a prat. Didn’t you say you liked all the Gryffindors, though?’

‘He’s a complete tosser. Always asking Hermione these questions. Where are you from? Whereabouts in Ireland? Did you like it there? Doesn’t the prat realise our families are meant to be dead? And then, you don’t have an Irish accent. Like he’s trying to catch her out!’

‘It’s not that at all,’ Hermione said heatedly. ‘He was just being polite. Is no-one allowed to have an interest in me? Is that it?’

‘I’m just saying, all those questions . . .’

Harry zoned them out. He wished Professor Merrythought would come into the room and force them to be quiet.

He loved those two but why did they have to be so stupid? Finally, the fighting died down and when Harry turned back Hermione was as pink as Ron.

‘We saw Moaning Myrtle,’ Ron said, after a beat of silence. He rubbed the back of his neck.

‘And Merlin, it’s bad, Harry. She’s worse than Peeves. There’s this fifth-year girl, Olive Hornby, you know, the one who bullied her? And Myrtle just follows her around the castle, all damn day. Crying and shouting and throwing the world's worst tantrum.’

He shuddered. ‘I’m telling you, if that nutter was following me, I’d really be getting home-schooled.’

A horrible thought occurred to Harry. ‘She told me once – she said she haunted Hornby to the day she died.’

‘Yeh, the teachers are trying to sort it. I reckon they should get the Ministry involved. Send Myrtle up to ghostly heaven.’

‘Is that possible?’

‘Well, it’s not common. Ghosts are just imprints, they can’t cause any harm. Because ghosts fear death, they don’t move on… They’re just sort of here. But sometimes you can extract them. I don’t know what it involves but mum says - says it’s pretty messed up.’

‘That’s why a lot of the ghosts reside here in the castle,’ Hermione said. ‘Hogwarts is the most haunted place in Europe. They know it’s safe.’

Thought of Moaning Myrtle disappeared when Professor Merrythought walked in the room. ‘Essays on my desk please. Avery, what in god’s name is that? Some rag you use to blow your nose?’

Harry hid his grin when he saw the dirty roll of parchment Avery was folding. Beside Avery was Alphard, who looked on the verge of rolling his eyes.

Harry turned to Ron. ‘I was thinking of joining the Quidditch Team. I know it’s Slytherin but it’s the game I miss, not the whole competitive part. And Alphard asked me –’

He trailed off.

‘I didn’t know we could play Quidditch!’

A few people turned around and Professor Merrythought shushed them.

‘Think I could get my old Keeper spot back? I know you were the captain last time, Harry, so that’s probably why –’

‘Ron, you were not on the team because I was captain. It’s because you’re good.’

‘Oh, really, Ron,’ Hermione scoffed. ‘I don’t know much about the sport but even I can see talent.’

He smiled sheepishly.

 ‘So, you really don’t mind?’ Harry said.

‘No,’ Ron said and grinned. ‘I may have to make a few Malfoy jokes – the green uniform might confuse me a bit and mix you two up. ‘

‘He’s blond.’

‘But I suppose, you’re not a Slytherin in our time. And I really missed Quidditch.’

‘Boys,’ Hermione said, but her voice was fond. ‘Does that mean I can ask Dumbledore for extra lessons? Stop laughing, Ron, I find human transfiguration very interesting!’

‘You do that, Hermione,’ Ron said. He touched her hand. ‘And I bet you’re raging they haven’t made you Head Girl.’

‘I am not.’

‘Are too. You’re just mental, aren’t you, Hermione?’

She rolled her eyes. ‘Nina’s Head Girl.’

She nodded her head towards a small, dark-skinned girl who spotted them and waved. She was wearing a bright pink necklace and bright pink shoes peeked from the bottom of her robes.

‘And she’s very helpful.’

‘You would do just as good,’ Ron said, his humour vanishing. ‘There’s no-one better. Honest.’

 ‘Maybe,’ Harry said. ‘When we get back. If I kill Voldemort and you two get through everything ok, you could redo seventh year. And you will definitely be Head-Girl.’

Hermione smiled but she looked sad.

‘We’ll be ok, Harry. And not just me and Ron. You. We’re going to get back and it’s going to be ok. You’ll be ok.’

Unspoken, it hung between them. Settled in the air like thick fog. What exactly would the future be if Voldemort never took over?

Tom was bored.

The thrill from finding out about his parents and discovering he was the heir had died when his father met a sticky death. The Chamber and releasing the Basilisk was now only a wistful memory.

The rush of creating a Horcrux had faded. He remembered getting consumed in it for weeks on end, barely thinking, barely breathing.

He had started the Death Eaters, his dream since first year. He had the respect he has always craved. The power. It was wonderful.

But now, Tom had done everything he could do while still at school. He was restless. Every moment that passed felt like a waste of precious time.

He spent the week trying to manipulate the air into becoming a force that blew trees and sent people crashing backwards. Icy-cold gusts and storms; twisting tornadoes sweeping up everything in sight. It was beyond NEWT level and required more raw power than anything he had attempted before.

But he was Lord Voldemort.

And if he was going to rule the world, he was going to be the best.

Days passed wrapped up in Head Boy duties, practicing magic and teaching the Death Eaters.

He smiled that perfect smile, endlessly patient, kind and considerate.  

But Tom wanted to tear things down, to release his feelings in an explosion. To curse a mudblood so that they burst apart, organs splattering the walls like sticky red paint.

He wanted to see the shock. The fear. He wanted something.

Except no-one suspected Tom of anything except the perfect, talented Head Boy. Even the Death Eaters—his poor little Death Eaters—didn’t know what he was truly like. No-one saw anything amiss.

(Professor Dumbledore had disliked Tom from the moment he saw him in Wool’s Orphanage at just eleven years old)

No-one saw behind his act.

Except Harry Potter and his two friends.

Harry Potter.

The boy avoided him at every given moment, suspicious, wary, a restless animal ready to bolt. Nothing about him added up. His poor attempts in classes, his sudden skills in Defence. His downright secrecy.

Many times, Tom tried to catch him—waited for him to slip up, to blurt something out. He had sent the Death Eaters to be as friendly as possible, but even Belinda had no luck.

‘He’s so stiff it’s like he’s under an unbreakable vow,’ she said. ‘But I think—I don’t think there’s anything suspicious about him, m’lord.’

His lips curled, pleased, as she said it. As it rolled so effortlessly from her mouth.

My lord, my lord, my lord.

‘Don’t worry about him,’ Tom said. ‘Harry Potter is like a sheep in a wolf’s clothing. He’s not meant to be here. He’ll slip up.’

But Tom—Tom couldn’t take his own advice.

Was he a spy? For Grindelwald? What did he know?

He was close to Dumbledore, which was unheard of for a Slytherin. And since Harry Potter had come to Hogwarts, Dumbledore had started to watch Tom constantly.

He could feel those blue eyes on his back—constantly shadowing him, following him. It itched, like a tracking spell he couldn’t break.

That day in potions, while copying down the recipe on the board, Tom was imagining ripping them out.

Not with magic. A part of his mind that he didn’t like to acknowledge wanted to do it the muggle way. To dig his fingers into Dumbledore’s blue eyes, nails stabbing, popping. Bursting through them like jelly, the satisfying squelch as he tore them out, blood and grime under his fingers as he twisted and screamed.

How do you like me now, Professor?

Isn’t this what you always suspected?

He finished taking down the notes and let his mind wander. Potter’s potion had turned out a mess. Runny instead of thick and spilling from the sides of his cauldron. In this class, in particular, he was pitiful.

When the bell rang, Tom packed his bag slowly. Avery was already lingering behind to wait for him, along with Rosier.

‘Tom, would you stay behind a minute please? You too, Mr Potter.’

Tom looked up. Harry had gotten halfway to the door and froze. Professor Slughorn was smiling, eyes shining as he looked at Tom; expectant.

Harry’s two friends looked anxious. 

‘Go on,’ Harry said. ‘I’ll be there in a minute.’

They left, along with Rosier and Avery. Tom straightened up, moving towards Slughorn.

‘Mr. Potter,’ Professor Slughorn said. ‘Are you settling into Slytherin alright?’

He watched Harry Potter’s throat bob as he swallowed. ‘Yeah, it’s good, thanks.’

‘Good, good. As Head of Slytherin, it’s my job to look after all my students. I’ve been hearing great things from Professor Dumbledore and Professor Merrythought. They’re very impressed, indeed. However, Harry - ’

Here he frowned, his fat forehead seeming to fold over. ‘You’re lacking a bit in potions. And as one of my Slytherins, it’s my job to get you up to scratch. We’re aiming for O’s. Aren’t we, Tom?’

Tom smiled but didn’t say anything.

‘So I was thinking. Tom here is Head Boy and he’s a dab hand at potions. You could get some tutoring in, he’s very helpful. You wouldn’t mind that, would you, Tom?’

‘Of course not. It would really be my pleasure.’

Harry looked like someone had just killed his pet. ‘It’s ok,’ he said hastily. ‘I’ll just practice. Hermione - or Abraxas - will help out. I don’t mean to bother - ’

‘Nonsense. There’s no-one better than Tom.’

He turned to him. ‘Unless you already have too many Head duties? . . . I suppose I could always free my schedule. ‘

‘Of course not, sir. Harry’s a fellow Slytherin. I always have time.’

Professor Slughorn positively beamed.

‘What about this Wednesday at lunch time? This room’s free and my private lab as well, if you prefer. You can go over that potion you - er - attempted. Does that suit you both?’

Tom nodded immediately but Harry was frowning, looking on the verge of refusal.

Professor Slughorn was still smiling but his face brooked no arguments.

‘Yes, sir,’ Harry said finally.

If Professor Slughorn noticed his lack of enthusiasm, he didn’t say anything. ‘Wonderful.’

Tom hid his smile. Wonderful indeed.

Oh Harry, no more hiding now.

‘You don’t mind do you, Harry?’ Tom said, wide-eyed and earnest.

Harry’s green eyes looked up in shock. But it was enough. The minute those eyes caught his, Tom was in.

His mind was fire. It was brilliant-hot and scorching. Angry flames rising, licking around him, like an inferno. Clouds of smoke, choking out anything else. Red. Everything was red.

There was hatred so overwhelming Tom staggered, retreating immediately.

Harry hadn’t noticed, moving towards the door without sparing Tom another glance.

But he knew what he saw.

Harry Potter did not just dislike him. He hated him.

A grin began to creep onto Tom’s face as he watched him leave the room. How utterly fascinating.

Chapter Text

One night the nightmares came back. Gone was the blackness, which he so comfortingly fell into. Peaceful and empty, his mind blissfully blank. What he got instead was ugly.

Harry used to dream of Sirius and his final laugh as he fell. He used to dream of the graveyard – Cedric’s body, still, limbs locked in place. Voldemort as he rose from the cauldron, gleaming white like a carved bone. Green light an inch from his face, both searing hot and ice cold, brushing past, never to know what it felt like.

These nightmares were different. They were something conjured from his imagination not experience. Nightmares of dark, shadowy figures that never got too close. They lurked, just in the corner of his eye. They waited. Like Dementors in the distance; shapes that disappeared when you blinked. He imagined being in a small room with nothing but fear – fear so overwhelming it woke him up, cold, shaking and covered in gooseflesh.

One of these mornings, Harry woke to brightness. He could still hear odd laughter in his head but the sound was beginning to fade, along with the remnants of the dreams. He rubbed his head, purely out of habit, but there was no headache.

 Light was flooding in from a crack in his curtains, so much that he wondered how he had managed to stay asleep at all. He got up, quietly crossing the dorm. Rosier was talking in his sleep, but Harry couldn’t make out the words. When he finished in the bathroom, he checked the time. 5:30.

But he couldn’t sleep anymore and with one forlorn look at his bed, he left the dorm. Down the steps, to the Common Room . . .

And to Abraxas.

They both blinked, staring at each other.

'What are you doing up so early?' Abraxas said.

'Me?’ Harry raised his eyebrows. ‘What about you?’

Abraxas hesitated. He couldn't have looked more suspicious if he tried. Hovering on the spot, beginning to fidget, shuffling his feet.

'I was working,' Abraxas finally said.

'Doing what?'

'Well - '

 He paused and Harry's eyebrows climbed higher. 'Don't worry about it. I'll leave you anyway.'

'No!'

Harry turned back. Abraxas had one moment where he seemed to struggle with a decision. 'I could explain or I could just show you?'

Harry nodded and they left the Common Room. The dungeons were quiet and Abraxas led him down a corridor he had never been before.

Harry tried to memorize where they were going. Surely this wasn't a trap? All the stone looked the same. All the sharp corners. Like the maze during the Triwizard Tournament.

‘Where are we going?'

Abraxas - as absurd as it seemed - was his friend. He wouldn’t lead him into a trap, would he? Abraxas didn’t answer. His walking came to a halt. 'Here.'

They were at the end of the corridor with doors on both sides. Abraxas pulled open the one on the left and went inside. The room was more brightly lit than any in the dungeons. There was no torchlight but instead the light seemed to come from within. Circular windows lined the room, and out them -

‘Is that merpeople?’ Harry breathed.

There were ghostly shapes in the water, moving around. He made out dark, murky bodies, barely visible. Then the merpeople retreated and Harry tore his eyes away.

‘Yes,’ Abraxas said. ‘We’re right in the middle of the lake.’

Harry didn’t answer. So distracted by the windows, he hadn’t noticed the rest of the room. Or the large canvas taking up half the wall.

On it was what looked like the Forbidden Forest. Dark trees that were swaying. Rustling. Sunlight on the brown earth - golden beams made from tiny brushstrokes. Only half of the painting was moving: the foreground had the stillness of muggle art.

Harry turned to Abraxas, his eyes wide. ‘Did you do that?’

‘Yes.’ He sounded half proud, half sheepish. ’It’s not complete. I have to charm it more and then paint another layer. And getting the grass to move naturally is hard – it keeps repeating a pattern which looks fake.’

‘Fake?’ Harry’s voice rose in wonder. ‘Look at the detail. They don’t even teach art at Hogwarts.’

‘I know. But that’s what I want to do. Father wants me to get a job in the Ministry but – ‘

His face contorted. ‘I’d like to make a career from this. Portraits. The moving ones. Merlin - to paint one of those.’

Harry knew next to nothing about art but Abraxas’ eyes lit up and his voice hushed, filled with something like yearning.

‘You don’t have to work in the Ministry. No-one can force you.’

‘You would think that, wouldn’t you?’ His lips twisted into a bitter smile. ‘But maybe a part of me does want to. I’m a Malfoy. Do you know what painters get paid? Sickles. Knuts and sickles. Some even go to the muggleworld for money. Begging around London like squibs.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with the muggle world.’

But could he imagine it? Harry didn’t know what he would do if he was suddenly sent to London, wand taken from him, told to be normal .

‘I’d rather guard Azkaban than leave the Wizarding World, Harry. I’m a Malfoy. I have to do something.’

Harry saw Draco then, in the upwards tilt of his nose. The voice — pompous, self-assured . . . Desperate?

‘I knew a boy once,’ Harry said. ‘Who always did what his father wanted. He thought it was his duty. His role.’

Sectumsempra. A bathroom. Blood everywhere. White face, white hair. Hands trembling, blood pouring.

‘He’s like a shell of a person now. Weak and scared and miserable. And he’s so far caught up that he can’t leave.’

Abraxas was frowning.

‘Did he please his father then?’

‘No. It was never enough. He couldn’t be pleased. He just ended up ruining himself.’

Abraxas’ sneer when he spoke of muggles, his loyalty to Riddle. It was the future, the Ministry, but Harry would do anything to prevent it.

Voldemort . . . Death Eater . . . Lucius . . . Draco . . .

He stopped himself.

‘I don’t think a Ministry job would ruin me,’ Abraxas said. He sounded thoughtful. ‘But there really isn’t a reason to get one immediately after Hogwarts. It could wait.’

‘You could try painting. In the Wizarding World not the muggle. And then have the Ministry to fall back on.’

‘I suppose,’ Abraxas said. ‘But it’s a big risk. What if they were ashamed of me?’

‘Then they’re not worth it. At least – at least think about.’

They went up to breakfast. The only person awake was Rosier and he raised his eyebrows when he saw Abraxas as if to say - really? You're still hanging around with him?

'Don't worry about it,' Abraxas said. 'You have Quidditch later. Don't want to be distracted.'

Harry had a piece of bacon halfway to his mouth. 'I have what now?'

'Your Quidditch try-out. Don't tell me you've forgotten.'

'Of course not.’

Was it Saturday already?

'Alright, maybe. And I don't have any gear. Or even a broom.'

'You can use mine. Just don't break it.'

Harry couldn't imagine Draco Malfoy ever offering to let him borrow his broomstick. Maybe it was time to stop comparing the two.

'I would never,' Harry said. 'What do you take me for? A first year?'

'Well, you have only joined the school.' He grinned.

They were finishing up as Belinda and Lucretia entered the hall. Belinda's blonde hair was tied back in its plait, but Lucretia had hers rolled up in a bun, half-falling in her face.

'Great,’ she said, stifling a yawn. ‘Pass the coffee would you, Harry?'

Harry shoved it up the table.

'My father heard Grindelwald's been spotted in France,' she continued. 'Nowhere near Beauxbatons but still near enough to be worrying.'

Belinda rolled her eyes. 'What do you have to be worried about? You're a pureblood. You're not fighting him.'

‘True,' Lucretia said. She glanced at Harry. 'But it’s still worrying.'

Harry tried to look sad, or scared, or something. It seemed to work because when Abraxas opened his mouth, Belinda shushed him and her expression was kinder than it had been before.

‘This isn’t the sort of thing to discuss at breakfast,’ she said. 'I heard you're trying out for the Quidditch team.'

'Yeah,' Harry agreed, only half-surprised. Because of course half the house knew. ‘Trying out being the key words.'

Abraxas laughed.

'You're so negative,' Lucretia said, her lips pursed. She looked a bit like Mrs. Weasley, or even Ginny, when she was annoyed.

Harry's insides lurched at the thought of Ginny. The scrambled eggs and bacon in his stomach were sloshing around. For a second, he had almost forgotten how wrong this whole situation was.

‘I'm afraid it comes with the name,' Harry said. 'Harry Potter, the poor negative orphan.'

The Boy Who Lived.

 Belinda raised her eyebrows. 'Interesting. And not to join in on this negativity but you know it's raining, don't you?'

Harry tilted his head and looked out one of the windows.

'It'll be fine,' Abraxas said firmly. 'Won't it, Harry?'

Harry finished chewing. ‘I've seen worse,' he agreed.

By the time Alphard Black came down to breakfast, Lucretia was making fun of how much Harry ate.

'You should see my friend, Ron,' he protested, unable to hide his grin. 'And then you wouldn't talk.'

Belinda smiled, looking towards Lucretia with a sly expression. 'You should introduce her. Lucretia might like him.'

Lucretia glared so fiercely that anyone would have shrank back.

But Belinda didn’t.

A look passed between them, a strained moment of communication with no words.

‘I’m only teasing. You’re so - defensive.’

Harry didn’t have any time to wonder what was going on. Alphard Black sat down. He was dressed in full Quidditch gear, forest-green with a captain’s badge pinned to his chest.

'You ready?’ He reached for the toast in the centre of the table.

'Yeah,' Harry said. 'But I don't have any gear.'

'There's spare. In need of a good Scourgify though.'

Harry winced at the thought of the smelly spare Quidditch uniforms. 'Great. I could always fly in my robes?'

'Funny.'

They finished eating and went outside.

Belinda was wrong about the weather. The rain had stopped and the sky was the grey of early morning, pale light just behind the clouds. They crossed the Quidditch pitch, the grass wet and glimmering with dew.

Harry had never been in the Slytherin changing rooms before and was disappointed. It looked identical to the Gryffindor ones apart from the towels, which were green.

'Don't break my broom,' Abraxas said, handing it over.

It wasn't a Firebolt. In fact, it was about the same as the brooms they had used in first year, minus the bent bristles.

'I won't,' Harry said. 'Promise.'

The try-out was rather like first year with Oliver Wood. Only Harry didn't need the rules of Quidditch explained and Abraxas and Alphard didn't go easy on him.

They were both riding brooms, carrying Beater's bats and hurling Bludgers from every direction. Harry had never had to swerve so much in his life. The broom was slow and it took a lot more force than the firebolt, which he could manoeuvre with just a finger.

It started to rain. Harry caught all the transfigured snitches that darted around the pitch and eventually spotted the real one near one of the goalposts. When they finished, he was flushed, skin wet with both rain and sweat, and feeling more alive than he had in weeks.

‘You have the position,’ was all Alphard Black said.

Abraxas was beaming and when Harry gave him back his broom, he pretended to inspect it, checking for damage.

They showered under tepid water. Harry was aware more than ever of the scars he had gathered. The one from the Basilisk fang on his arm and the other, like a puncture-hole from Nagini.

The faded mark on his hand – I must not tell lies – and the white, oval-shaped one from the locket.

That would be hard to explain.

But Alphard and Abraxas didn’t say anything and they headed up the paths to Hogwarts once again. Ron and Hermione were coming out of the Hall.

‘Harry,’ Hermione said, her eyes lighting up. ‘What time did you get up?’

‘Two in the morning?’ Ron suggested.

‘About six,’ Harry said. ‘I couldn’t sleep. Dreams.’

They stopped abruptly.

‘Dreams?’ Ron repeated. ‘ Those sorts of dreams?’

‘That’s not possible,’ Hermione said. ‘Voldemort hasn’t tried to kill you here. He doesn’t even exist.’

‘Not those sorts of dreams,’ Harry said quickly. ‘I don’t think so. My scar doesn’t hurt.  But – ‘

He absently-mindedly rubbed his head.

‘Nightmares.’

‘I get them too,’ Hermione said, her voice small. ‘About Malfoy Manor.’

Ron grabbed her hand, squeezing it like he was afraid it would disappear. ‘Same. Those brain things in the ministry.’ He shuddered. ‘Malfoy Manor too. The Snatchers. Bloody all this Horcrux hunting.’

‘When we get back,’ Harry said, ignoring the grim look on Hermione’s face. ‘We have to get into Gringotts again. For the cup.’

‘If we go back to that exact moment in time,’ she said, ‘we’ll be already there. And I have the sword.’

‘Griphook - ‘Harry started.  

‘We’ll deal with it when it comes. And didn’t you say he can have the sword when all the Horcruxes are destroyed?’

It seemed like years ago, centuries.

‘Yeah. I did say that.’  

Harry didn’t like the look on her face: the resigned look. She was trying to hold her tongue for his benefit. What were they both thinking? They might end up stuck here?

They had met Dumbledore yesterday but he had found nothing that could help them.

‘I want to see my family again,’ Ron said, as though he read Harry’s mind. ‘We’re getting back.’

‘Dumbledore will do something.’ Harry felt uncertain. ‘Or we’ll - we’ll bloody break into the Lestrange vault and find the same pocket-watch. Maybe that’ll take us back.’

‘Or kill us,’ Ron said.

‘You don’t even know it’s there,’ Hermione said. ‘I think we need to repair it. I’m still reading and it’s unusual. But - it took us to this exact spot. It was meant to come here. And if we get it fixed - ‘

‘We’ll be back in the vault,’ Ron said. 

‘Exactly.’

Harry was thinking, his mind going to Riddle who seemed to watch him. With his trunk that Harry couldn’t get into. ‘You need to take the fake-locket.'

Ron and Hermione stopped talking.

‘In fact, my mokeskin pouch. Only I can open it but Riddle could destroy it. If he finds the wand pieces, the snitch, the locket or the map . . .’ 

Riddle with a map of everyone in Hogwarts.

‘ It’s too risky in the dorm. If something happens . . .’ 

He won’t find out. He won’t. He can’t.

‘I’ll take it,’ Ron said. ‘Hermione already has everything in her bag. We’ll put it there.’

Harry breathed out. ‘Ok. It’s safer in the Gryffindor dorm. Maybe I’m being paranoid but keeping it near Riddle -’ 

Ron shuddered.

‘I wouldn’t be able to sleep,’ he agreed.

The only possession Harry kept was the Invisibility Cloak. He wanted to give his friends that too but Hermione refused.

‘You’re at the most risk out of all of us,’ Ron said. ‘You’ll need it.’

He still didn’t like it but giving Ron the fake locket took a weight from his chest he didn’t know he had.

It was only later Hermione asked about the time-turner. 

‘It’s in my pocket.’ He took it out and showed her. ‘Just in case it does something.’

‘That’s risky,’ she said. ‘What if it explodes? Or kills you?’

They were both thinking of the locket, poisoned with dark magic. But the time-turner wasn’t like that.

‘I’ll hide it in my trunk then,’ he said, not sure if it was the truth or not. Because despite everything she said, he didn’t want to. Harry didn’t know why, but the thought of parting with the time-turner couldn’t feel more wrong.

Like all things dreaded, Wednesday crept up on him far too soon. Hours passed in minutes, many of them in trepidation. Seemingly overnight, the week was gone. On Wednesday, there would be no more avoiding Riddle. Harry would be stuck with him for one entire lunchtime. Alone.

‘Pretend you don’t have a problem with him,’ was Hermione’s advice.

Harry snorted. Riddle was suspicious as it was, a random mood-swing would only make it worse.

‘No, listen to me, Harry, do not annoy him. Stop acting like he’s your worst enemy. You’re meant to be a Slytherin now, aren’t you?’

Harry and Ron both turned to stare at her.

‘Then be a Slytherin. Pretend it’s Slughorn tutoring you. Or just the Head Boy who you think is completely harmless.’

‘Who didn’t kill his whole family, or Myrtle, and doesn’t call himself The Dark Lord,’ Ron said. ‘Should be easy, right?’

Hermione’s eyes narrowed. ‘Do you realise what will happen when Harry starts treating him like a killer? Or firing off spells when he comes near him?’

‘I’m not that stupid,’ Harry said.

They both ignored him.

‘It’s going to be for about an hour,’ Hermione continued. ‘Try and act innocent, please. You already think he’s suspicious of you. Now you have a chance to get rid of that.’

‘Just act like an idiot,’ Ron said. ‘And burn yourself trying to light the cauldron. Then you can run away.’

Harry laughed despite himself. ‘I don’t have a problem with Tom Riddle,’ he said, trying out the words.

They sounded wrong.

‘And he has no reason to suspect anything. I’m a transfer student failing potions who knows nothing about what’s happening in Slytherin.’

‘You haven’t even heard the word Death Eater before,’ Hermione said.

Harry feigned a look of bafflement. ‘Death Eater? What’s that?’

The bell began to ring.

‘Good luck,’ Ron said, clapping him on the back.

‘You’ll be fine,’ said Hermione. ‘Pretend he’s just a student.’

‘You sure I can’t skip?’ Harry’s voice was becoming a bit desperate. ‘Say I got the days wrong?’

She hesitated but luck was not on their side.

‘Harry,’ a voice said.

They turned around. Slughorn was coming down the corridor and straight towards them. ‘Excellent timing, my boy. Now follow me.’

They went down to the dungeons, Professor Slughorn babbling the whole way. Harry only half-listened. Dread had settled in his stomach and he was too busy trying to keep his breathing steady. He made a few noises of agreement that Professor Slughorn seemed happy with.

They reached the potions classroom, turned and went into an empty identical room.

‘There used to be two potion teachers,’ Professor Slughorn said. ‘But now there’s just me so the spare classroom isn’t needed. Only for NEWT students and supervised study.’

‘Are you staying to supervise, professor?’

Slughorn chortled. 'I don't think that's necessary. You aren't brewing the Draught of Living Death, are you? And Tom is capable.' He nodded to himself. 'More than capable.'

The door opened and there Riddle was, his smile as shiny as his shoes. His hair fell neatly over his head and his eyes were bright and shiny.

'Perfect timing. Do come in.'

Slughorn launched into an explanation about preparing what they did the other day in class. Harry remembered his strange, runny orange concoction with a half-smile.

 'Ingredients are in there.’ He waved his hand towards a room out the back.

'And if you do need assistance, remember to leave the room before anything explodes.'

He laughed nervously. 'You got everything, boys?'

They both nodded.

'Great, great.'

And then he was gone, leaving Harry and Riddle in silence. Harry could feel Riddle watching. His eyes seemed to sear right through him. He knew without turning around that he was smirking.

‘I'll get the ingredients,' Harry said, setting off as fast as he could.

He tried to remember Ron and Hermione’s words.

Act natural. He's just a student.

Just a student. Just a student.

'Need any help?'

Riddle's face appeared around the door of the room and Harry nearly dropped the fairywings on the floor.

'Yeah,' he said, taking a deep breath. 'Grab the cauldron.'

Riddle didn't and instead levitated it in the air so it floated alongside him. Prat.

'I heard you joined the Quidditch Team. Pursuing your ambitions early?' 

What ambitions?

'Oh, yeah. You know, better to be prepared.'

Riddle looked amused, a cat-like smirk crossing his face.

'Of course,' he agreed.

They started chopping the ingredients. Riddle told Harry things, his voice taking on a profession quality.

'And then you stir it three times to bind the slug venom,' or 'Knotweed has neutralising properties to counteract the nightshade.'

 Harry would have rather thrown everything in the cauldron and called it a day. He would even drink the potion if it meant leaving.

‘You're close to Dumbledore,' Riddle said.

Harry, who was stirring the potion, almost dropped his wand into it. 'He's nice. Helped us to get settled in.'

'In Slytherin?'

'In Hogwarts.'

Riddles hummed. ‘Dumbledore doesn’t show much help to Slytherins, I’m afraid. He’s under an impression we’re evil.’

His smile was odd, bitter and amused and sinister all at once. ‘Unless you’re the exception.’

‘He took me to Diagon Alley,’ Harry said. ‘That’s nice of him. Who do you think I should go to then? Slughorn?’

 Riddle was close, so close his voice seemed to go right through Harry, rattle into his very bones.

‘Slughorn won’t tell you one end of your wand from the other. But if you want help in other ways, perhaps meet Quidditch players or captains, then he has exactly what you need. Never underestimate someone with that much influence.’

‘I don’t want to cheat and meet some captain. I want to prove I’m good enough myself.’

‘How noble of you. Is that why you’re here then? To prove yourself?’

‘I’m here,’ Harry said irritably. ‘Because my family were killed by Grindelwald and this is the safest place in Europe. It doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together.’

There was a beat of silence.

And then Riddle laughed.

It wasn’t the high, cold laugh of Voldemort, or even the charming one he did around their classmates. It was still cold, cutting even, but very much real - alive and amused. A human’s laugh instead of a monster’s.

 ’Of course not. You’re very distant, Harry. All those emotional scars?’

‘Something like that.’

‘We could keep you safe, you know.’ His voice was soft, low, far too close.

 Harry took an immediate step back and Riddle’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

‘You would never have to fear Grindelwald again.’

 ’I heard about your little club, ’ Harry said. ‘But I’ve had enough of the Dark Arts. I just want to finish school.’

 ’I wouldn’t call it a club. More a . . . Revolution.’

Harry snorted. ‘Lovely. I’m not interested.’

He went back to stirring the potion when Riddle grabbed his wrist. Harry leapt back, almost toppling the cauldron. Riddle smiled at his reaction, watching him with those unnerving eyes.

‘You’re not paying attention. This is magic you’re creating - art - not a muggle stew. You have no precision.’

Harry tried to wrench his arm away but Riddle’s grip was solid. In fact, the more Harry squirmed the more pleased he looked. Finally, he stopped and let Riddle stir the stupid potion.

I hope he dies.  

Riddle let go. Tingles went up Harry’s arm, making him shiver. He wanted to claw at it; maybe scrub it under scalding water for an hour or a month. But he couldn’t let it show.

‘Just - er - monkshood now.’

He went to throw it all in but Riddle snatched it up.

Harry frowned.

‘A bit at a time. Patience.’

‘Well, hurry up. I’m hungry.’

‘That desperate to leave?’ He teased.

Harry kept his voice light, despite this being the oddest situation he had ever been in. ‘No-one wants to make potions during lunch. So excuse me if I’m not ecstatic at the thought.’

Riddle began putting the monkshood in, ever so slowly.

'What about Defence? Are you interested in that?'

'I suppose. More than this anyway.'

This was the last step. Thank God.   

'You must have had lots of practice.'

'Yeah - I mean - wait, what? Not any more than anyone else.'

'Didn't Professor Merrythought say you had remarkably fast reflexes?'

Harry smiled. ‘You know me. Quidditch.' He dumped the rest of the monkshood in and a muscle clenched in Riddle's jaw, like it annoyed him, the deliberate disobedience of the recipe.

 How did Riddle even know what Professor Merrythought said?

Harry frowned. 'What do you want? Are you just going to annoy me and make cryptic remarks from time to time? Because frankly, I don't care.'

‘I want to know why you avoid me.'

Harry's eyebrows raised and his heart skyrocketed. 'Avoid you? That's a bit arrogant, isn't it?'

'We all have our suspicions,' he said easily. 'But I know you don't like me, Harry. Look at you, itching to get away. I want to know the truth.'

There was silence.

'You're mental,' Harry said. 'I don't know if you’re just used to everyone fawning over great Tom Riddle but I don't have a problem with you. Is that so hard to believe?'

 'You're lying,' Riddle said. His eyes were shining, glinting. He enjoyed this. 'What exactly have I done to you?'

'Be annoying?'

'I will find out, you know.’ He laughed. ‘We have many more Wednesdays.'

‘You’re insane,’ Harry muttered.

When he left the room, he was shaking. From anger, from worry, from the urge to scream. Riddle was goading him, teasing him, like a cat with a mouse. Just waiting for him to slip up.

The thought that he would slip up - slip up not just for himself but for Ron and Hermione - was terrifying. Worse than anything else.

Riddle’s laughter still rang in his ears the whole way back from the dungeons. He wouldn’t prove it. He wouldn’t find out.

Certainty overtook Harry; determination. He wouldn’t find out because Harry wouldn’t let him.

He was going to get Dumbledore. And he was going to try Occlumency again.

Chapter Text

When Harry told Ron and Hermione about the tutoring with Riddle, they were both worried. Hermione, unusually pale, told Harry to try and not annoy him anymore. Harry stifled a snort. She didn’t think Occlumency was wise - what if Dumbledore saw his own death while going through Harry’s mind? - and believed that seeing that much of the future would change something.

But things had already changed and Ron agreed. ‘You can’t avoid his eyes forever, hoping he isn’t reading your mind.’

We have many more Wednesdays.

It echoed in his head, as clear as it had been in the moment. Riddle wouldn’t let him rest – Harry was his new, shiny puzzle. Eventually, Hermione had agreed.

Things went from nice to prickly in Slytherin House. Harry didn't know when it changed, but seemingly overnight, the atmosphere was frosty. The welcome he had gotten before had vanished. Lucretia no longer smiled and waved at him, Belinda no longer offered her friendship. Avery and Rosier, who disliked him but kept it to themselves, now provoked him.

And when Harry saw Riddle seated on one of the chairs in front of the fire, the green flames flickering against his face, he knew. He had done this.

What was it? A threat? A way to show the power he had?

Harry stared at that enigmatic smile and couldn't find the answer.

 Abraxas looked like he was being torn in two at every passing moment.

'I can't - 'he began. 'Harry, if you don't want to be part of anything in the house, I don't know what's going to happen.'

'We can't be friends, you mean?' Harry said.

He glanced over at Alphard Black, who was hunched over a Quidditch magazine. Sirius' favourite uncle, blasted from the tree for leaving him gold.

'What about Alphard? He doesn't look too involved.'

'That's different. Alphard's a pur - 'he stopped.

'A pureblood?'

'A Black. I don't think you have any idea of what that name means. As long as he isn't out killing Slytherins, he can do what he wants. And Tom has Alphard's approval. They get along.'

Approval.

Not friendship, or whatever other relationships the Slytherins thought they had with Riddle.

'Then he has my approval too,' Harry lied. 'I've said a million times, I don't have a problem with him.'

 Abraxas didn't answer. He saw staring at something behind Harry and his white face went almost translucent.

'Let's walk to Herbology then, Harry,' a voice said. 'I'm very glad to have your approval.'

Harry spun around. ‘Alright,’ he agreed.

He was annoyed at Abraxas, so much that he would rather suffer Riddle alone than have the other boy there. They walked out of the Common Room and up the stone steps.

‘You’ll have to excuse their behaviour,’ Riddle said, when he saw Harry wasn’t going to speak. ‘They get a little protective.’

 ‘I didn’t do anything to you. So why do you need a bunch of guard-dogs?’

‘Guard-dogs,’ he repeated. ‘It is a bit like that, isn’t it?’

He shrugged. ‘They can’t be helped, I’m afraid.’

Yes, they can.

‘I don’t care if you make the whole house hate me. I’m not playing your stupid games.’

‘I wouldn’t call it a game.’

Harry’s head leapt to his scar as tingles shot through it. It wasn’t the pain of when Voldemort was extremely angry but a curious, throbbing that prickled. He put his hand down. How could the scar hurt him here?

He looked at Riddle, feeling more uneasy by the minute.

‘Headache,’ he said.

‘That’s a curious scar.’ Riddle slowed his walk and Harry had no choice but to do the same. 'How did you get it?'

'Dark magic. Some wizard tried to murder me.'

'Yet you survived.'

He reached his hand up as though he was going to touch it. Harry jerked back. The scar was already prickling, he didn't want Riddle's hands all over it.

'Don't touch it!'

He stopped, his eyes widening. That hand that had reached for Harry's head had slowly retreated back. But not before he saw it. The ring - black and bulky, entirely out of place - on one of Riddle's slim fingers.

'Maybe that isn't wise. Dark magic and all.'

Harry wrenched his eyes away from the ring.

Horcrux. Another horcrux.

'Maybe,’ he said. ‘Let's get to class.'

Harry set off down the hall. Riddle had killed the last of his family. And he wore that Gaunt ring - that piece of his soul - like a badge of honour. There was no way Harry could take it without Riddle finding out.

He contained his breathing and at last, got his head cleared.

 'Great, we're on time,' Harry said, when they reached the greenhouse. 'No need to wait around.'

Riddle's brows furrowed and Harry smiled innocently.

He forced himself not to look at the ring, to hide his revulsion. He pushed open the door.

Harry's scar didn't disturb him for the rest of the day but he couldn't get rid of the uneasy feeling it had brought. How on earth was it bothering him here?

Because as much as he hated Tom Riddle, he wasn't Voldemort who had tried to kill Harry as a baby. They didn't have a connection.

He thought of Riddle's sly smile and that mocking laughter. It just wasn't possible.

He didn't mention it to Ron and Hermione who had enough to deal. It must have just been a freak reaction. A simple headache. Nothing else. He tried to push it from his mind as the rest of the day passed.

After lessons, he had Quidditch practice. Abraxas was by his side, looking regretful. But it still stung.

There was a tension between the team, and maybe it was because he was a new player, but the Beaters seemed to aim solely at him. And there were no girls.

Harry wondered what Ginny would think of that and got that horrible ache in his stomach that happened when he thought of her. Ginny - brilliant, bold Ginny - was at Hogwarts right now. A different Hogwarts, controlled by Snape.

Or was she?

His head hurt too much when he thought of the time-travel and all the possibilities it arose.

Ginny, he told himself, right now wasn't even born. But he would get back. They would get back.

The team showered and trudged back up to the castle in the drizzle without a word. In times like this, Harry wondered why he had even wanted to play Quidditch again in the first place.

He finished the rest of his homework (the workload was so intense it took several hours), spent the evening with Ron and Hermione, and when curfew was called, went to bed. He had forgotten about his scar at that point and the event from earlier. All he was thinking about was Ginny, the Weasleys . . . home . . .

Before he drifted off an image of Voldemort - no longer dark and handsome but chalk-faced and grotesque - flashed in his mind.

The room was large but there were no windows. Beds formed a line against one of the walls. Identical, small beds, their once white-sheets now a moth-eaten grey. The children greatly outnumbered the bedding. About twenty boys and girls were sitting in the room, cramped and squashed, some on the floor.

He was one of them.

Dozens of children, some crying and wailing but most just staring, blank-eyed. Dozens of children and none of them pleasant.

Bitterness consumed him, washed out every other thought. How long he had been here . . . how much he hated it . . .

The cries were becoming overwhelming, like the sound of a record scratching or someone grinding their teeth. Over and over . . .

He stared at the wall for there was no window. How much he hated these bratty, stupid children. How he was stuck here. Sleeping on the cold, hard floor, with its damp spots and mould. Eating tinned slop. 

A door creaked and they all turned around. The cries quietened, ever so slightly. The door was opening slowly, making a long, groaning sound with every inch.

A silhouette filled the doorway, dark in the dim-light. They were coming into the room, seeming to fill it up . . . Like a great, black, shadow; a ghostly being. Something horrible and incomprehensible. He felt it right down to his bones.

Closer, getting bigger . . .

Harry jerked awake.

His heart was beating so hard it would surely jump from his chest. The dream was clearer than any he had experienced here. All the vague impressions, faces and feelings that ruined his sleep had merged into one picture.

It seemed real . . .

Harry didn't spring from the bed as much as he wanted to. His scar was not hurting, but there was no mistaking whose dreams they were.

Sleeping just in the bed beside him. Metres away.

Riddle. 

He didn't manage to sleep after that and when the first hints of light began to peak through the curtains, Harry was up, wide-awake, not at all tired, and full of an odd clarity that came with many hours lying in the dark.

The first thing he did was tell Ron and Hermione.

They couldn't go to Dumbledore until classes were over, and Harry was so distracted he barely noticed Riddle's eyes on him or even Abraxas’ chatter.

When lessons ended, they were up the marble stairs - there was a moment when Harry almost went to the Headmaster's office, forgetting Dippet was in charge - and Hermione had to remind him that wasn’t the way.

Dumbledore looked up from a book when they burst into the room. He pushed his half-moon glasses up his nose.

'What can I do for you? There's not much progress with your time-turner, I’m afraid. It would be more help if I could have it and examine it thoroughly.'

Hermione’s eyes were on him.

Harry took it out of his pocket and reluctantly gave it over. 'That's not what we're here for,' he said. 'I was wondering if you would teach me Occlumency. Riddle knows Legilimency and if he finds anything out from reading my mind, we're all in trouble.'

'Do you think Occlumency would be necessary?'

'Yes.’

Dumbledore didn't know Voldemort - couldn't grasp the sheer horror he brought. Even his very name made hearts stop.

‘You told me you had these lessons before,’ Dumbledore said. ‘With another Professor, and that they weren't a success.'

'That's Snape,' Harry said. 'He's a lying, backstabbing bast - '

Hermione coughed loudly.

'Also - '

He hesitated.  The link between him and Voldemort had never been fully explained. He wasn't even sure Dumbledore – his Dumbledore - understood it. If he had, he would never find out.

'When Voldemort tried to kill me, the curse rebounded. I got this scar and I've been able to feel his emotions, even have visions and speak Parseltongue. It linked us.'

Dumbledore was frowning but didn't interrupt. Harry went on. 'I've always had it. My scar hurts when Voldemort's angry or happy or feeling any strong emotion. He used it once to trick me into getting to the Ministry and get a prophecy. Planted a false memory . . . '

Harry broke off. He couldn't talk about Sirius.

'But my scar hurt yesterday, just for a second, while talking to Riddle. And I've been having these dreams.'

He went on to explain them.

‘I don’t see how it’s possible,’ said Hermione. ‘Harry has the connection to Voldemort through almost being killed as a baby. Not Riddle.’

‘The You-Know-Who that we know doesn’t even exist,’ Ron agreed.

Dumbledore was silent in thought. ‘It has to be something deeper. Something inside you - both of you - joining you together. Unless perhaps, it’s because you see Mr. Riddle as the Dark Lord, Harry, and that you believe it so much your subconscious has been tricked.’

‘Definitely not,’ said Harry. ‘Maybe before, when we first got here. But now - I know they’re different.’

‘I’ll have to look into this. You share wand cores, correct?’  

‘Brother wands,’ Harry agreed. ‘But that’s because of the Killing Curse rebounding too.’

Or was it? He suddenly felt lost.

‘I just don’t understand -’ 

‘Nor do I,’ Dumbledore agreed. ‘And I think it would be best if Mr. Riddle didn’t become knowledgeable with this either. I agree to your Occlumency lessons.’

‘Great,’ Harry said, sagging in relief. ‘When will we start?’

‘How about now?’ Dumbledore closed the book on his desk. 'There is no time like the present.' 

Harry glanced at Ron and Hermione.

‘We’ll just catch you later,’ Ron said, edging out of the office. He gave him the thumbs up. ‘Good luck.’

Dumbledore stood up when they were gone, clearing objects from his desk.

‘Wait!’ Harry said. ‘There’s some things you shouldn’t see. Even knowing the future . . . ‘

No-one should see their own death, Hermione had said.

‘I could put it in the Pensieve. If you have a Pensieve, that is. I just . . . Don’t think -’ 

Dumbledore’s face softened. ‘Perhaps that would be for the best, Harry. Any thought of myself - or even perhaps Grindelwald - you may want to get rid of.’

‘How do I do it?’ Harry said.

Dumbledore went to one of his cupboards and retrieved the Pensieve.

Unlike all the other times he has seen it, there was no misty white light. It looked like a bowl full of a dark, shining liquid that seemed to go on forever, never reaching a bottom.

Harry imagined if he put his hand through, there would be nothing there at all.

‘Think of a memory you want to extract. As vividly as you can. Or alternatively, gather all the information you want gone. Line it up. Make sure it’s clear.’

Everything to do with the Deathly Hallows and Grindelwald. The night Dumbledore fell from the Astronomy Tower. Snape’s face as he shouted the Killing Curse. The charred, blackened hand.

Harry briefly thought of Sirius, but something possessive burned inside him. The memories - no matter how dreadful - were his and he couldn’t bear to part with them.

‘Excellent. Bring your wand to your head and feel yourself pull the memory out. Close your eyes.’

Harry did, taking a deep breath. ‘You’ll feel the memory trying to pull away - don’t resist - let it.’

It was an unnatural sensation, like fingers probing in his brain. He felt the memory slipping away . . . Dumbledore’s glazed eyes were becoming fainter . . . Snape was a dark, black shadow on the Tower that he could no longer see clearly. . .

He opened his eyes. From his wand was a long trail of silvery-light. He was staring at it one moment and the next it was breaking and falling into the Pensieve in a swirl.

‘Again, Harry.’

Another strand, dropping into the basin, which was now glowing, pearly, and resembling clouds. Harry stared down at it and saw a flash of the Dark Mark in the mist.

He quickly looked up.

‘How do you feel?’ Dumbledore said.

‘My mind feels clear.’

Was this what Snape meant when he said clear your mind?

‘My thoughts - I’m not focusing on them. Or my emotions.’

‘What about the memories?’

Harry thought of that night on the Astronomy Tower.

‘I still know what happened. Faintly. I know they’re in the Pensieve. But if I think really hard, I can’t remember. I can’t reach them.’

It was frustrating. Harry knew what happened that night, but when he tried to remember the details he couldn’t. There was a block in his mind, they were just out of reach. Shapes and impressions.

‘Good. You will, of course, be taking them back when this lesson is over.’

He must have noticed the look on Harry’s face.

‘Memories are both a blessing and a curse. For when we think on them, they let us feel. Sometimes that is pain and it’s the hardest of all. But memories without any feelings is the real curse, even if it doesn’t seem so now.’

‘Like Riddle.’

‘Perhaps. Mr. Riddle has gone to despicable means to shut himself off from humanity. Means he may never be able to come back from. Could spiral into.’

 Harry frowned. Riddle would spiral into it, already had.

It almost sounded like . . .

‘You think he can change?’

Dumbledore smiled, but it couldn’t have looked sadder. ‘Maybe. Maybe not. Some things, like horcruxes, you don’t come back from.’

Harry was silent.

‘Very well.’ Dumbledore cleared his throat. ‘Shall we begin?  Relax your mind. I find it best to think of a nice place. Somewhere comforting. Peaceful. I like to think I’m in a meadow. In the springtime. Surrounded by unicorns.’

 Harry smiled.

He closed his eyes and imagined the Burrow. The table was bustling, Ron and Hermione were on either side of him, pink-cheeked from the warmth. Across the table was Ginny and when she caught his eye she winked, her smile slow and sly. Beside her was Fred and George, their heads together as they planned something. Mr and Mrs Weasley were both smiling.

And at the very end of the table were Sirius and Remus, looking younger than ever in that moment, years stripped from old faces as they laughed.

A fire was crackling in the corner, Crookshanks was rubbing against Harry’s leg.

‘I’m going to invade your mind. Try and be aware of my presence, Harry, and not only hear the spell. Keep your mind clear.’

 He heard it softly, and out of habit, braced himself.

‘Legilimens.’

It was not Snape’s brutal invasion. It felt almost like nothing, except the Burrow was becoming distorted . . . Ginny across from him was fading away . . .

'Your mind’s very calm. Good. Be aware of something different. Feel it. I’m going to try and find your memories. Repel me in a way that seems natural to you.’

And then he felt fingers – delicate fingers - picking in his head. He saw Ron and Hermione from earlier that day – tried to push it away but it had already disappeared, turning into Abraxas, staring at him from beside Rosier. Morphing into Riddle, the Gaunt ring bold and ugly on his finger.

Push him out. Push him out.

They were in Bellatrix’s vault, and it was so dark he could barely see. The pocket-watch was shining, beckoning . . . The image lurched.

Now, Harry saw the dark dungeon of Malfoy Manor, Pettigrew’s face as his hand turned on him, wrapping around his own neck.

Screaming from just above their heads, loud and high and painful.

Hermione.

The image disappeared along with everything else. He was slumped over, catching his breath. It was like he had been punched over and over again by Dudley and his gang.

‘I can’t do it,’ he said, finally straightening up. ‘I just can’t stop getting affected.’

Dumbledore was watching him carefully.

‘I think that went satisfactory for a first lesson. Not everyone can do Occlumency, it’s a very rare skill. You wear your emotions on your sleeve. You feel strongly, more so than others. That is not a bad thing.’

Snape didn’t agree.  

'Your memories. They are more intense than other peoples. Horrors, things that leave lasting impressions. Those memories are easy to get tied up in and let your emotions take control.’

‘You treasure your best memories. They’re sacred. That’s why you find Occlumency hard, Harry. You feel.’

‘Dementors like me anyway,’ Harry muttered. ‘You know, I’m a magnet for misery. Maybe it's like that.’  

Dumbledore’s face was younger, less lined. But it was the same voice - the same man. And it brought waves of longing to Harry, along with a bittersweet sadness.

‘That last memory, in the dungeon, was recent.’

‘Yeah.’ Harry swallowed. ’ Just before we got here.’

‘And forgive me for prying, but you have a lot of guilt associated with it. Sometimes for Occlumency, you need to address your thoughts before you can conceal them.’

‘I got us captured. By saying Voldemort's name. There was a taboo on it and I just - I just forgot. Wouldn’t listen. Someone - a friend - died. It was my fault.’

‘What happened to your friend?’

‘He saved us. Apparated us away. But he got stabbed, just as we apparated.’

‘Harry.’

Dumbledore’s voice was soft.

‘I can’t say I know entirely what you have been through, or even a small fraction of it. But you are a subject of circumstance. You are the Boy-Who-Lived, the man whose job it is to be in control and to lead. And with leading comes responsibility, and with responsibility, guilt. You can never save everyone, Harry, no matter how desperately you want to.’’

‘I just think that, no matter what I do, people would be better off if I wasn’t there at all. In the long run.’

‘Would Mr Weasley and Miss Granger agree? I find that when you can’t listen to yourself, listen to your friends. They are almost always right.’

Harry thought of them and smiled. He was more than grateful that he had them here - didn’t know how he would manage to stay sane otherwise.  

‘We can try Occlumency again on Friday evening, if that suits you. There are books in the Restricted Section which are useful to read. You may have done that before.’

‘Yeah,’ Harry said. ‘My professor thought I was a lost cause.’

‘He said that?’

‘He turned out to be a Death Eater. For Snape, that was basically praise.’

Dumbledore made Harry take his memories back and the minute that silvery strand touched his head, he was seeing them again in perfect clearness, a cinema in front of his eyes.

‘My door is always open,’ Dumbledore said, as Harry made to leave. ‘Even at whatever odd hour the notion occurs to you.’

‘Thanks,’ Harry said. He pushed the door until it clicked shut and made his way down the hall.

There was a snake in the Slytherin Common Room. It had a long, brown body with a hooded head and scales that glittered in the greenish light.

Harry was not impressed.

It was wrapped around Riddle’s arm, like a small version of Nagini. He knew it was dangerous - some sort of cobra. It slithered over his arm, tongue flickering. Avery had jerked backwards in his seat, watching Riddle with horror and fascination and a disturbing amount of awe.

The other Slytherins all looked impressed at the display of Parseltongue, fully reminded Riddle was the heir of Slytherin. With the looks on their faces, it was no surprise they did anything he asked.

But Harry didn’t hear the hisses the others heard. Instead he heard Riddle talking, about the Chamber and the Basilisk, to the stupid snake. It sounded a lot less impressive.

He was blocking it out and barely noticed at all until the hissing became louder. Loud and right beside him.

Harry looked up. ‘Is that supposed to scare me?’ He eyed the cobra.

‘Of course not,’ Riddle said. ‘I simply thought you looked lonely over here.’

‘You did, did you?’ Harry raised his eyebrows. ‘What can I say? I’m a very private person.’

'Or you’re deliberately antagonising me.'

Harry scoffed. 'This is what I don't get. Why do you think everything has to be about you?'

‘Because, Harry - 'he lowered his voice. It was almost a purr. 'In this house, everything is about me.'

The snake was watching Harry with beady black eyes.

 'What do you want then?' he finally said.  'An oath that I am now a Dark Wizard, sworn to kill muggles?'

'Sounds nice,' Riddle agreed.

Harry did a double-take. But he was joking, as strange as it seemed.

'I would like to take a walk.'

'Great,' Harry said. 'You have legs. Go walk.'

Riddle’s eyes narrowed.

'If you would be so kind, dear, would you join me?'

No.

'Why not.'

He stood up and Riddle looked pleased. Like he had won. Harry kept his emotions in check but inside he was seething. Bottling all his annoyance up for later. No matter what Dumbledore said, Harry couldn’t go near him without feeling angry.

Riddle put the snake down and it slunk away. They went out the entrance. Though he wasn’t much taller than Harry, Riddle had long strides, crossing the corridor in a couple of steps and started down another one.

'I don’t like to have enemies,’ Riddle said, after a moment of walking.

Harry frowned. 'Everyone has enemies.'

Especially you.

'You'll find I can be very . . . agreeable.'

'Bullshit, Riddle.'

Riddle stopped walking and turned to face him. 'Do you usually call people by their last names?'

Harry smirked. 'Yes, actually. There's Dumbledore and Slughorn. And then, of course, Hagrid.'

‘Hagrid? That third-year half-breed?’

‘Of course you would call someone a half-breed. What happened to being friends with everyone?’

‘That’s the thing, Harry. Sometimes my patience runs out. Half-giant, would you prefer that? How about expelled for killing a student. Have I redeemed him yet for you?’

Harry clenched his fists.

'I don't have enemies,’ Riddle continued. ‘Because disagreeing with me is not very enjoyable. You would have to be a fool. And lying to me - well, I do pity you.’

'Oh, yeah?’

It was the jab at Hagrid. The smug, arrogant look on Riddle’s face, so used to getting his way. The snake wrapped around him earlier, to show off.

So insufferable - so vile - Harry wanted to punch him in the face.

‘You don’t scare me.’

‘Then you’re an idiot. Do you like the Slytherins ignoring you? It could be worse, I suppose. You still sleep in the dorm. And Abraxas is still conflicted. Poor Abraxas. Should I make up his mind for him?’

Harry ignored the question. ‘You have them all wrapped around your finger,’ he said. ‘Fed them shit about muggleborns being bad. About being able to give them power. With your little club. What did you say it was - a revolution?’  

He snorted. ‘You think because you speak Parseltongue everyone should worship you. Well, you’re wrong, Riddle. And I’ll prove it.’

Riddle’s face darkened. ‘What are you going to do? Taunt me with your Quidditch ambitions? You are nothing compared to me.’

A second later, his wand was in his hand, a flash of pale wood twirling between his fingers. ‘And I will find out why you’re lying. Legilimens.’

It was like someone had stabbed him in the head with a butcher’s knife. No delicacy, no finesse. Just memories being ripped apart, flashing past like bright spots . . .

Dumbledore’s office from earlier. The Pensieve swirling between them. Ginny in her bridesmaid dress. Laughter clear and loud and harsh. Dazzling green light. His mother screaming.

And Harry knew nothing except that Riddle was in his head and it was wrong. So wrong, everything he had feared. He couldn’t see this, he wasn’t allowed to read his mind -

The next moment, Harry was holding his wand - when had that happened? - and the images had disappeared, replaced by Riddle’s face.

‘Did you just hex me?’ he said, slowly and disbelievingly.

‘You tried to read my mind!’

‘I did read your mind. And I’m surprised. I didn’t know you hated me that much. ’

Harry didn’t have time to think anything but oh shit.

Riddle didn’t make a sound but he was waving his wand and there was no time to think. Harry jumped out of the way as red light streaked at him. His wand tugged in his fingers as the spell grazed past.

'Stupefy,’ he said.

Riddle stepped to the left, batting it away. His eyes looked red in the flickering light.

'Expelliarmus,’ Harry said. ‘Bombarda.'

Riddle blocked them both, sent them batting to the ground like flies. He waved his wand and purple light zigzagged through the air, sizzling hot, burning. Harry raised a shield and it bounced off. The shield buckled, beginning to collapse.

More spells - all bright, sizzling light at rapid speed. Riddle’s wandwork was getting faster the more Harry dodged.

Something hit the ground in front of him and exploded. There was a cloud of black dust and he couldn’t see anything. Didn’t know anything except that it hurt. Through the light - the pain - he managed to shout, 'Expelliarmus.'

Riddle's wand gave a little jerk in his hand but did not sail to him.

Harry’s head was too heavy, he was dizzy on his feet and the shield had collapsed.

Incendio.

His last, desperate wishes worked.

The bottom of Riddle's robes caught on fire. Flames came licking up from the ground around his feet and he leapt into the air, momentarily distracted. Harry took that split-second as his chance.

‘Flipendo.’

There was a bang like a gunshot. Through the dust and smoke, Riddle flew backwards, struck for the very first time, and hit against the wall with a thump. Without giving him any time to recover, Harry went forward, his wand still raised.

‘Expelliarmus.’

Weakly, Riddle batted it away. His wand was loose in his fingers, all his effort into standing upright.

Harry reaches forward to pluck it from his fingers and Riddle snarled, reaching at Harry’s robes, clawing at him like a rabid dog. He didn’t utter a spell, but every nerve in Harry’s body erupted in pain.

 He was on fire. On fire from the inside out.

His mouth opened in a noise of strangled surprise, but instead of backing away, he grabbed Riddle’s robes and slammed him back into the wall. His head made a noise - a heavy wet thump - and the pain stopped.

'Don’t mess with me, Riddle,’ he muttered.

Riddle’s lips curled upwards, but no noise came from his mouth. He looked on the verge of a concussion, only staying up through sheer will. Or maybe it was Harry’s hands pinning him to the wall.

He hadn’t noticed until that moment, but he was grasping Riddle’s shoulders tightly, restraining him against the wall. Up close, his eyes really were red. It was not a trick of the light.

Red, red, red, red.

‘Your stupid games are over,’ he said. ‘Stop annoying me. Stop trying to find out my secrets. I am not one of your little Slytherins.’

His head was pounding with blood, adrenaline, anger.

’Trust me, you’ll regret it.’

The moment he stepped back, Riddle slumped to the ground. He didn’t say anything. Only watched.

There was a spot of blood on the wall, almost black in the light, from where his head had hit it.

Harry felt sick. He backed out of the corridor before someone saw.

What had he done? What was wrong with him?

Riddle saw him as a threat now and there was nothing he could do.

Enemy. He had officially made himself Riddle’s enemy.

The adrenaline rush has died away and with it his anger. He would never catch Riddle off guard again. In fact, he would probably be attacked by the whole of Slytherin House or the Basilisk.

Myrtle. Oh god, he would be the next Moaning Myrtle.

And Riddle knew – knew that Harry hated him. Even worse, he saw Harry as a threat, not a weak, Quidditch-loving student any more.

Harry wandered down corridor after corridor, grateful it was empty. Deeper into the dungeons and away from Riddle and the entrance to the Common Room. How could he go back now? Sleep in the dorm?

He reached a bathroom, pulled the door open and took one look in the mirror. His cheek was slashed open - when had that happened? - and his face was smeared in that dark dust Riddle had conjured. Carefully, he brushed it away.

As he gripped the sink, he came to the realisation that he had to go back. If he didn’t, he would seem scared. Weak.

And whatever Riddle was going to do . . .

It would only be worse.

Tom got to his feet with a wince. The corridor was empty, silent except for the noise of footsteps walking away. He tentatively touched the back of his head and his fingers came back red.

Flipendo. A second-year spell.  

Clenching his teeth, he healed it and began to pace.

Harry Potter had caught him off guard. He hadn’t expected the speed he moved at, or how fast his instincts were, despite what he saw in Defence Class. Harry fought like he had been doing it his entire life, muscle memory guiding his hands and feet. He fought like it was life or death.

And Tom hadn’t expected it. Hadn’t seen anyone truly like it.

Power was enough when it came to the Slytherins.

But this -

He beat him.

For a second, Tom considered following him, stalking down that corridor and ripping him in half.

  But he couldn’t. If he was going to ruin Harry’s life, he had to be subtle about it. Strike when it was least expected. And Tom was good at surprise.

He still hadn’t found out Harry’s secret. What he saw in his mind were flashes. Dumbledore . . . A Pensieve . . .

He had lessons with him? Whatever for?

Tom smoothed down his hair and walked back to the Common Room. His pride stung. Rage, like poison, ran through him. He was in charge; he was going to be the Dark Lord.

And Harry Potter - secretive, stubborn Harry Potter who had beaten him - was not going to stop that.         

Tom didn’t say anything to the Slytherins, though they were so pathetic they would dance around the Great Hall if he wanted.

He could make Harry’s life miserable. Make him a pariah. An outcast. He could shun him from the entire house, make his life so miserable he would have to sleep outside the Gryffindor Portrait Hole every night. Tom wanted him to beg.

But he didn’t do any of this. Because he was going to find out what Harry Potter was hiding. Even if it meant hurting his only two friends.

Plans were going through his head, so many ways to make him miserable. He could tamper with the next Quidditch Match, have his broom break in the sky. Have him die.

An accident down the stairs. A trip to the Forbidden Forest in the middle of the night. A potion gone wrong, erasing all of his memories.

But when he went to bed that night - millions of thoughts racing in his head - something changed his mind entirely. That night he dreamed.

He was in a cupboard.

There was a spider in the corner and a dim bulb dangling near his head. His legs were cramped and his bladder felt like it was going to burst. His hands – small and thin - rapped on the cupboard door.

‘Please, Aunt Petunia, I need the toilet.’

How long had he been here? Hours? Days?

The door opened and a thin, horse-faced woman was looming over him. 'Come straight back, boy. I’ll be waiting.’

He darted under her arm and ran across a hall. The carpet under his feet was a paisley-pink and the walls were the greenish-brown of cat vomit. He reached a door - pulled it open -

There was a boy standing there, blond, pink-faced and severely overweight. He had at least six chins that wobbled when he spoke.

‘What are you doing, freak?’

Then the boy began to grow.

The fat disappeared as he shot upwards; straw-blonde hair turned limp and black, hanging like greasy tendrils down a sallow face. Rancid breath, a voice that hissed. Long, black robes pooling over the ground.

‘What did I tell you?’ The man said. ‘Control yourself. Do you need another lesson?’

A wand was in his hands. Green light - the Killing Curse - was coming straight for his face.

The last thing Tom heard was a voice. It sounded like a woman screaming.

He woke up.

The screaming had stopped, the green light gone. He sat up, climbed from the bed and went out of the Common Room. The corridors were dark, suits of armour casting long shadows. He went up the staircases, his wand lighting the way.

Tom was not a stranger to nightmares. To fears of his own death. Him standing there, immobile, helpless to prevent it. He had been called many things in his life: a devil, an angel, a witch’s child. But a freak wasn’t one of them.

Into a bathroom, shining his wand around the sinks. His mind was perfectly clear.

‘Open.’

That dream had not been his. Somehow, impossibly, he knew who it belonged to. He had heard that screaming before. For a split-second, while doing Legilimency.

But it was enough. He was certain.

The dream had not been Tom’s. It had been Harry’s.

Chapter Text

Part II

Harry was leaving the Slytherin Common Room before anyone had a chance to talk to him. To confront him. Whatever Riddle had told the others—whatever had gone on—he didn’t want to find out.

His eyes were heavy with all the sleep he had missed. So long he had lay there, his wand in his hand, listening in the dark. Hours and hours stretching on, both centuries and minutes, until his brain slowed down and sleep came, unwelcome.

He went up the stairs and saw Ron’s ginger head outside the Great Hall, Hermione beside him.

‘You’re not going to believe it,’ Harry said, coming up behind them at once. ‘But I fucked up.’

Ron spun around and let out a snort of laughter. Hermione blinked like an owl.

‘Trust me I can believe it,’ Ron muttered, beginning to grin.

It vanished when Harry explained what had happened the previous night.

‘There’s nothing we can do now,’ Hermione said, sounding downcast. ‘Whatever Riddle’s going to do, it will happen anyway.’

‘I don’t suppose you could convince him it was all a misunderstanding?’ Ron said, looking as doubtful at his own suggestion as Harry did.

‘I haven’t seen him yet. I left as fast as I could.’

Harry didn’t want to see Riddle and face the horrors he would surely cause.

‘Whatever he does, it’s not going to be good.’ Ron shivered. ‘We should tell Dumbledore.’

‘He can’t do anything,’ Hermione said. ‘There is absolutely no proof Riddle is - the way he is. All the professors love him. And no professor is going to take a student’s side during a fight.’

Her words snuffed out the last of his hope. ‘Let’s plan my funeral then,’ Harry said, ‘Maybe I’ll take Riddle down with me and you two can get back to the future. That might be fun.’

‘Don’t be stupid.’

Hermione pursed her lips. ’Lie to him. Say whatever you have to. Don’t goad him. And for god’s sake, Harry, stop losing your temper!’ 

‘He was reading my mind!’

‘You should have at least pretended you’re weak at magic. Riddle will see that as a challenge. Do you think anyone has ever beaten him before?’

‘Maybe he needs a challenge,’ Ron muttered.

Hermione gave him a nasty look. ‘I can’t believe you two.’ She was speaking through clenched teeth. ‘It’s not a competition, it’s about getting back to the future. And not letting Tom Riddle know all our secrets.’

‘What happened to exposing him?’ Harry said.

‘That was before all of this! I think we have enough problems without making it worse.’ Her nostrils flared.

‘Good point,’ Ron said.

A group of students walked past, eyeing them curiously. Harry waited until they went into the Hall. ‘What do you think I should do then?’

‘‘Tell Riddle to piss off or you’ll make him,’ Ron said.

‘Say it was a misunderstanding,’ was Hermione’s answer.

Harry shook his head. ‘A misunderstanding? We haven’t had a little squabble over homework. He knows I hate him.’

‘Well, good luck,’ said Ron. ‘You could always hex him so bad he’s in the hospital-wing for a month. Or fake dragon-pox. That way you’ll be in confinement. Strictly no visitors.’

Harry thought about it for a moment.

‘Hermione’s right,’ he said, glancing at her. ‘Well, sort of. I can’t hide. Or do . . . that , Ron. It will make things worse. I just need to act like an idiot with anger problems.’

‘Wait, what?’

'I’m kidding.’

Harry smirked. ‘I was thinking about earlier. When you said to lie. If I make up something to completely put him off the scent - ‘

‘Risky with the mind-reading and all,’ said Ron.

‘– then he’ll never figure out the real reason I hate him. He’s just a student. He may have a cult and Horcruxes but we’ve dealt with adult Voldemort and survived.’

Hermione looked impressed.

‘But today you’re going to think up this plan. We all are. So that means for now, ignore and don’t annoy.’

‘Ignore and don’t annoy,’ Harry repeated, like a five-year-old learning the alphabet. He grinned at them. ‘How hard can it be?’

Ignore and don’t annoy lasted a grant total of five hours.  Harry tried, he could say that with certainty. Classes were spent away from all the Slytherins. He didn’t dare look near Riddle in case he caught his eye. As the day went on, he began to feel restless, jumpy.Nothing had changed.

Instead of releasing hell on earth, Riddle had done the opposite. Belinda smiled at Harry in Transfiguration, as though nothing had happened. Abraxas cornered him the moment first class ended, shuffling his feet awkwardly.

‘I know I said you not being part of anything in Slytherin made things awkward.’ He was wringing his hands. ‘And it’s true. But I don’t want to not be friends.’

You can’t have everything, a little voice in Harry’s head said. He ignored it.

‘I thought you didn’t care about my - beliefs? Wasn’t that your first words?’

‘I don’t, personally. But it makes things complicated. Riddle -’ he stopped, and it evoked the feet shuffling and fidgeting.

‘What about Riddle?’

‘Nothing,’ Abraxas said. ‘It doesn’t matter anymore.’

Harry said nothing. Abraxas didn’t seem to know about Harry’s fight with Riddle last night – but what did Harry know?

Anything could be going on in the house, anything at all. And Harry didn’t know because he wasn’t part of it.

Whatever was going on in Slytherin, he was going to find out. All the Death Eater meetings and secret conversations. The plans. He was going to find out how Riddle managed to make everyone so eager to please him. It was time to put the Invisibility Cloak to good use.

When classes ended, Harry quickly went out the door, intent to meet Hermione and Ron and decide what to do. The cloak was risky but it rarely failed. And who would suspect it? Harry needed to find out what Riddle was going to do and what the others knew.

Only the minute he got into the corridor, mind swimming with ideas, someone stepped into his path. Like a cloud falling over the sun, his very presence was sinister. The Head Boy badge was gleaming.

‘Harry,’ Riddle said. There was no smile this time. His face was about as hard and cold as Harry had ever seen it.

‘Follow me.’

He took off down the corridor without looking back.

Harry hesitated a moment. But despite his instincts, despite the voice in his head that sounded a lot like Hermione, Harry did follow, not sure if he was being led to his death but willing to find out.

He shoved his hands in his pockets, felt the reassuring wood of his wand.

He’s seventeen. He’s not Voldemort. You have faced worse.

The thoughts brought little comfort. Riddle walked until they reached the end of the corridor. Students were milling in the opposite direction, towards Common Rooms, outside, and the Great Hall.

Leaving them nice and alone.

‘You don’t suppose we could call this a big misunderstanding?’ Harry said.

Riddle’s face didn’t change in the slightest, staying flat and hard and expressionless. The voices of the students died away. There was a silence that seemed to stretch on forever.

‘I was going to rip your mind apart,’ Riddle finally said.

‘But you had a sudden change of heart?’

‘I could make every single person in this school hate you. I could find the information I wanted and leave you worse than any Dementor would.’

Harry couldn’t help himself. ‘You could do worse than suck out my soul?’

Riddle’s lips curled upwards, the first hint of anger breaking through his façade.

‘I could ruin you. Along with your two Gryffindors. It would be exceedingly enjoyable.’

‘Then why aren’t you?’ Harry said. ‘Or is this just the little speech beforehand?’

Riddle’s eyes flashed. For a second, Harry thought he was going to curse him and braced himself, fingers seconds away from bringing out his wand.

‘Unfortunately not.' Riddle’s voice was soft, despite everything. Low and soft and steady. ‘What I really want to know is how you got into my head.’

Whatever Harry had imagined Riddle would say, it wasn’t that.

‘In your head? Are you forgetting the part where you tried to read my mind?’

Riddle laughed – low and cold and mocking. 'Don’t play stupid.’

There was a flash of light and Harry was crashing against the wall, black spots blurring his vision. He didn’t have time to grab his wand – hadn’t even seen Riddle move.

And he couldn’t breathe.

His hands went to his neck but there was nothing there. For a minute he spluttered, choking, clawing at his throat and trying to undo the spell. Instead of words were gasps and garbles. His head was filling with pressure, a dim buzz was getting louder and louder – his mind was ready to burst -

Then it stopped.

Harry gasped in lungfuls of air. ‘What the - fuck? I don’t know what you’re talking about!’

Riddle, his face marred with anger, had never looked more like Voldemort. ‘I could force you to answer me. Would you prefer that? It would save us both all this time and effort.’

Harry met his gaze, stared straight up into his face. 'I don’t have a clue what you’re on about.’ His voice was raspy, raw, not at all like he had imagined it. ‘So, if you would like to explain instead of going all psychotic.’

Riddle titled his head. ‘Very well. How did I receive a dream of yours last night despite having the strongest Occlumency in the school?’

‘A dream?’

Harry’s voice rose in shock, his heart beginning to thud. ‘What sort of dream?’

‘It wasn’t pleasant. I believe you would call it anightmare.’

Harry scoffed. ‘How do you know it’s mine and not just your crazy imagination?’

‘I have my reasons.’

Riddle’s eyebrows furrowed. He was staring at Harry with such an intensity he squirmed. ‘If you’re lying to me -’ 

‘I’m not! Why would I send you my dream? Is that even possible?’

‘It’s even less possible if you were unaware of it. Though I suppose, it isn’t the sort of thing you would show someone.’

‘What do you mean?’

Riddle smirked, and Harry didn’t like the look in his eyes one bit. ‘Do you often dream about being locked in a cupboard?’

Harry’s heart stopped. Whatever expression was on his face just made Riddle’s smirk grow - grow and grow into something cruel.

‘Or is this a recent development? A symbol of your imprisonment here? Are you scared?’

‘Of what? Cobwebs and window cleaner?’

Riddle’s lips twitched for a second before his face was impassive once again.

‘Why did I receive this?’

‘I don’t know.’

Riddle was fiddling with his wand, twirling it through his fingers in a mocking display of power.

‘Are you lying? You have quite the habit.’

‘No.’

‘Then how -’ he was almost hissing- ‘did I get it?’

Riddle was a trembling ball of rage, his face dark with anger, eyes flashing, lips curled up in a snarl.

'I don't know!’ Harry exclaimed. ‘I know you think I'm lying but I’m not! I don't know why you're having my - my bloody nightmares!'

His heart was plummeting so hard and fast Riddle must have been able to hear it. The force of the words echoed off the stone walls and down the corridor.

'If I do believe you,' Riddle said carefully. 'That still doesn't explain what it means. And you are hiding something.'

'It's got nothing to do with - '

'Stop lying to me.'

A second later, Harry buckled over in pain. It felt like something was tearing his insides apart, digging through him. And yet Riddle hadn't used his wand.

‘We’ve already established you’re hiding something. Not to mention your little bouts of - hatred.’

'Fine! I don't know why you had my dream - I don't - but I have a theory. If you would stop attacking me - '

'You don't think it's fair? A little bit of retaliation?'

'No. I think you're ridiculous. You tried to read my mind! What was I going to do - turn your hair pink?'

Riddle folded his arms. 'You haven't explained your theory.'

Harry hesitated.

Please make this not ruin everything.

'It's the wands. Or that's the best guess I have. When I went to Ollivanders, he said they have the same core. Mine and yours.'

'Which is?'

'Phoenix feathers. You know that. From Dumbledore's phoenix. They're twin wands.'

'Twin wands?’ His voice raised doubtfully. ‘Which let me see your dream?'

'I don't know! Sharing a core is rare and I don’t study wandlore. It was just an idea.'

Riddle seemed to think about this. Harry held his breath.

He didn't know. That was the truth. It didn't make sense as to why Riddle would have his dreams. The connection with Voldemort shouldn't be there. He had never tried to kill Harry as a baby.

‘Prove it.’

‘I’m sorry - what?’

‘Prove they’re twin wands.’

‘Ok.’

Harry blinked in surprise. ‘Er - give me your wand.’

Riddle just raised his eyebrows.

‘Maybe not. Obviously. Try and curse me.’

‘Why?’

‘You need a reason?’ He rolled his eyes. ‘They won’t let us hurt each other. Just do it.’

There was no hesitation. A flash of blue light was coming straight at him and Harry fired back Expelliarmus . The two streams of light hit together but instead of passing through, they formed a thick, golden chain.

Priori Incantatem.

The last time this had happened was in the graveyard and a ghost of Cedric and his parents had come from the wand. This time there was nothing.

Only a long line of light stretching between both of them, too bright to look at. Harry held the connection for one second, two, five, before letting it go.

‘We can’t harm each other. Much.’

‘Twin wand cores,’ Riddle breathed. ‘Are extremely rare.’

His eyes were very bright, this time with wonder.

‘But I still don’t see how wands -’ 

‘You said they’re rare,’ Harry interrupted. ‘So, you don’t know. No-one does. There isn’t any research on it.’

‘You’re saying that because of having the same wand-cores, we share some kind of connection?’

Harry tried to hide his revulsion. Riddle looked both horrified and fascinated, his face coming alive, looking a way Harry didn’t want to think too closely on.

‘I don’t know. You could ask a professor.’

‘No.’

He knew Riddle would say no. Knew it would help prove he was being honest.

‘I am not going to a professor about my wand and your dreams.’

‘They might recommend St. Mungo’s,’ Harry agreed.

That could save us all a lot of trouble.

‘It’s much too interesting. The same wand cores. A connection. But you’re still hiding something. Why exactly do you hate me?’

He waited, but Harry only shook his head. ‘You’re arrogant and annoying. And I told you to stop messing with me.’

He stepped out of the way, putting distance between them. It was like being around a wild dog . . . just one wrong move . . .

‘Could you make those lies sound any faker?’

Harry pretended to consider it. ‘Maybe. I’ll think about it on the way to the Great Hall.’

He began to walk down the corridor. Far, far away.

‘You’re a fool if you think this is over,’ Riddle called.

‘What about you just leave me alone?’

‘Now? I don’t think I could if I wanted to.’

Harry’s heart-rate didn’t settle the entire day. He knew it wasn’t over. In fact, maybe he had just made things worse.

Riddle was going to research wands now, come up with a dozen theories and wrong conclusions. Only would they be wrong?

The most unsettling thing about the situation was that Harry didn’t know himself. Riddle was right. The situation was far from over.

‘He’s having my dreams,’ he told Ron and Hermione. ‘And I don’t know how to stop it. I don’t even know how this is possible.’

He lowered his voice. ‘Voldemort couldn’t see through my eyes. It’s like the connection we have - it’s stronger here.’

Stronger and far more dangerous.

‘Riddle’s not going to give up,’ Hermione said. She played with the hem of her jumper then looked up, serious. ‘Harry, this could be bad.’

‘You’re in a right mess if you ask me,’ Ron said.

‘Oh, thanks for that.’ Harry gave him a dirty look. ‘Very helpful.’

‘You know me. Ron Mr Helpful Weasley.’

‘Is that what the Prefect Badge said?’

‘It’s going to be a right mess,’ Ron continued. ‘But he won’t give up now. Especially that he knows about the wands.

Harry chewed his lip. ‘You’re right. But wands are safer than whatever else he could discover. And the dream? He’s not going to give up.’

That evening, Harry slipped the Invisibility Cloak from the bottom of his trunk and pulled it over his head. The dorms were empty and he practiced walking back and forth in front of the mirror without making a sound.

The cloak was perfect, the charms placed on it having not faded in the slightest, despite its travel through time.

A Deathly Hallow.

Only that did not matter anymore. It was just Harry and his trusty cloak, his most prized possession. It wouldn’t let him down.

He made his way to the Common Room, not meeting anyone on the stairs. It was packed, students of all ages crammed together. He felt odd standing there. Exposed.

Though it wasn’t true, he imagined if a student squinted, they would see his outline and discover him. Imagined, by a stroke of bad luck, Riddle would sense him.

Quietly, Harry walked over to where the Seventh Years sat, mindful of the material rustling against the ground.

Riddle was sitting in the throne-like chair beside the fire. The rest of the Slytherins surrounded him. Harry stood there, careful not to make any noise, more aware of his breathing than ever. But no-one glanced around, no-one’s conversation stilled. Gradually he began to relax; to listen.

Only they weren’t talking about anything important.

Lucretia Black was complaining about her Ancient Runes homework and Abraxas was agreeing with a dramatic sigh. Alphard Black was reading a Quidditch magazine and ignoring everybody. Belinda had her eyes closed, her head tilted towards the fire, like a content house-cat.

And Riddle . . .

Riddle was only sitting there, looking off into the distance, his eyes faraway.

What was he thinking? About the wands? The dreams? The secrets?

Harry continued to stand there. Something had to happen, didn't it? Maybe they were just waiting . . . He turned back to Riddle, who was still staring vacantly. He had that snake slithering over his chair, its beady head in the air.

Hopefully it couldn't sense him. Though if it did – and told Riddle – Harry would hear as well.

The conversation died away and moved onto another topic: Grindelwald.

'I personally think he's going to reach Britain,' Rosier said. 'When he builds up a bigger following. They say he's scared of Dumbledore.'

He laughed.

'Grindelwald doesn't care for Britain,' Belinda said, scoffing. 'It's too muggle-loving. Full of squibs and weak magic.'

She turned to Riddle.

'But I suppose that could change.'

He smiled at her, looking confident. Lounging in his throne like a god.

Harry fidgeted on the spot, his legs beginning to get stiff. Did they know he was there? Was that it? Eventually, some of the younger students cleared out of the Common Room, leaving only the older ones, who came to stand around the fire.

Harry held his breath as a boy walked past him, so close he nearly brushed against his arm. Close – so close – a fraction away –

The boy moved on and he breathed out.

And then finally- finally - Riddle stood up. 'My friends,' he said, looking at each of them. 'Things are quiet now, not a whisper of change in the air. But it will come. This country - this weak, muggle country - will become a kingdom.'

He looked very tall standing there and very handsome. Self-assured, like the Minister of Magic giving a speech.

'A kingdom of powerful wizards, powerful blood. Over muggles we will rule. Free to practice any magic we like. Ancient magic, Dark magic. Magic you can only dream of. And all of you will help see it happen.'

Faces were staring at him - some eager, some wistful, some almost hungry. Like them, Harry couldn't look away.

'Any job you can dream of, you shall have. Any place you wish to go will be possible. Any vengeance you wish to achieve. Power. We will have ultimate power.'

'What about the Ministry?' Lucretia said.

Riddle smiled.

'Spencer-Moon, the Minister, will be resigning soon. And whoever takes his place . . . could make all the difference.'

'We'll be able to kill mudbloods?' Rosier said. His voice had a heavy, longing quality and Harry's face scrunched up in distaste.

'With Purebloods in control, there will be no more mudbloods. Dirty blood will be gone. You can hunt as many as you like.'

How do they want this?

'And Alphard,' Riddle said. 'With your family's allegiance, you are assured absolute power. Anything you want.'

Alphard's face was impassive.

'Even -’ Riddle said. ‘An entirely new start. The ties you hold with your family could disappear. I can ensure you safety, a life to dictate for yourself. You would no longer be tied down under your parents’ rule.’

Alphard was nodding, slowly, and Harry thought about Sirius. What would he say if someone offered him a way to get away from his family and have a life for himself? Power? A new name to make his own?

'Safety. Opportunity. A chance to finally prove yourself against anyone who did you wrong.'

'What about Dumbledore?' Abraxas said. 'He would never allow us to harm a precious mudblood.'

Harry felt sick at hearing that. Wanted to grab Abraxas, shake him, tell him he was right there and this was wrong.

But he didn't think he could change his mind, which was what he wanted most of all.

'Dumbledore is powerful. Influential. But he is only one man. And one man against a thousand doesn't stand a chance. Dumbledore will bow down when we are finished. Beg for his life.'

Yeah right.

'The power we shall have . . . '

We. 

But there was no we. There was only Voldemort.

'After Hogwarts, we will build ourselves up. Slowly, gradually. Professor Slughorn . . . is particularly useful.'

'You could be Minister,' Avery said, sounding eager. 'Old Sluggy would do anything you asked.'

There were murmurs of agreement.

'I will not rule from an office,' Riddle said. 'But you could, Harold, if that is your wish.'

Lies, Harry thought. He was only telling them what they wanted to hear.

He doesn't care about you, any of you.

He had forgotten about the pain in his legs and the itch to walk around. Riddle spoke with an assurance, a certainty that wasn't to be questioned.

'But now at Hogwarts,' he continued. 'There is nothing to do but learn. Train. The time will come.'

‘What about Potter?’ Rosier asked, almost spitting out the words. ‘The muggle-lover. He needs to be watched.’

Everyone seemed to lean forward. Harry saw Abraxas frown, and felt a surge of gratefulness.

‘Harry Potter is not your concern. Show him the same respect you would any other. Slytherin is united, are we not? Even to a traitor.’ 

‘He could cause trouble for you,’ Avery said hesitantly. He looked scared to get Riddle’s disapproval. ‘With Dumbledore.’

‘They’re close, aren’t they?’ Riddle mused. ‘That could change. Whatever happens, Harry is mine to deal with.’

Harry couldn’t suppress a shiver at the way Riddle said his name. Couldn’t he just call him Potter? Harry didn’t go around saying Tom.

Mine to deal with.

Harry had only made things worse. Riddle wasn’t going to leave him alone. He was going to do the opposite.

He didn’t tell the Death Eaters about the fight.

‘This just makes things more interesting.’

When Riddle finished talking, disappointment filled Harry. He had found out nothing of any importance.

Riddle had the whole house wrapped around his finger, just like he claimed. Had gotten all the Slytherins – the scared, the power-hungry, the lonely – and promised them a start. Made them believe it.

The interesting stuff over, Harry moved away, holding his breath as he went through the crowd, hoping no-one would unexpectedly move. The cloak would occasionally flap around his ankles, exposing small slivers of his shoes.

Nearly there, nearly there.

He reached the bottom of the stairs when the floor creaked.

Harry froze in place. No-one had noticed except Belinda, who was staring right where Harry stood with a frown.

One second passed then two. He didn’t dare move. Then Belinda shook herself and turned around.

Harry let out his breath and waited until she started talking to Lucretia before moving again.

Close, too close.

Slowly, ever so carefully, he went up the stairs.

Harry was confronted by Riddle almost the minute he woke. Still groggy, he had stepped into the bathroom, expecting the usual emptiness there was at this time in the morning. Instead was Riddle, perfectly pristine, not a hair out of place.

Harry was a stark contrast, his hair messier than ever, wearing a rumpled t-shirt that had belonged to Bill Weasley at one point.

His sleepiness vanished the minute he saw Riddle and he touched his glasses to make sure this was real.

What the hell.

‘Er . . .’ Harry said, sighing. ‘Sleep well?’

‘No. And do you know why?’

‘An uncomfortable mattress?’

‘I was reading. About wand connections.’

Of course he was.

‘Did you know magic performed together by twin wands will be ten times more powerful?’

‘Can’t say I did.’

‘But this dream business. It doesn’t seem normal. It doesn’t tie up with anything I’ve read.’

Harry shrugged. ‘Your guess is as good as mine. I’ve already told you, I don’t know.’

Riddle’s eyes narrowed. Harry knew meeting him here was not a coincidence at all.

To delay the inevitable, he began to brush his teeth - the muggle way, hoping it would distract him. It didn’t.

‘I don’t like it.’

Harry spat out a mouthful of toothpaste. ‘Well, it isn’t all sunshine for me either. You think I want you having my dreams?’

‘I don’t think this is good for either of us considering we don’t know what’s causing it. Or how it will manifest.’

‘Oh,’ Harry said. ‘You don’t want it to go both ways.’

Riddle didn’t want his evil plans revealed to Harry in a dream. Of course.

Harry turned off the tap. ‘Well, it hasn’t yet. I’ve slept like a baby. No weird dreams.’

Except orphanages, of course.

‘That doesn’t matter,’ Riddle said. Do you want some sort of connection to me? That we don’t know about? ‘

‘No. You know I don’t, Riddle, so what’s this about?’

‘I want to know what you’re hiding.’

Harry opened his mouth but didn’t get a chance to speak. Shit, shit, oh shit.

‘Because this is a hindrance. And you have been lying since you got here. I saw your mind, Harry. So angry. You don’t just dislike me, you hate me. And hatred like that doesn’t come for no reason.’

Harry’s wand was on his bedside table and he had never felt more lost. He cursed himself for being so stupid. How could he defend himself now? With his toothbrush?

‘What do you know?’ Riddle said, taking a step forward, getting all into his space.

He wasn’t going to drop this. He was going to persist and persist and then rip it from Harry’s mind when he least expected it. Harry’s mouth seemed to have dried up - he tried to speak but his tongue was too heavy; dry like sandpaper, like the desert.

Riddle’s wand wasn’t in his hands but it didn’t make any difference. He didn’t need it to read Harry’s mind, could make him hurt either way.

‘You know why I hate you, Riddle? You really want to know? You pretend you’re so perfect but you’re not. You’re just a liar.’

‘And what leads you to this conclusion?’

‘Hagrid.’ Harry said the name with as much venom as he could muster. He had practiced this with Ron and Hermione.

‘You got him expelled. You framed him just so you could get a trophy. So you could become - become the great hero.’

Riddle’s face went from puzzled to shocked to enraged.

‘Hagrid killed a student with a pet Acromantula. You are sorely misinformed.’

‘No, I’m not. When we got here, we met Hagrid. Who said that he was expelled? I asked around. I saw your stupid trophy when we got a tour of the school. Special Services to the School. He didn’t kill that girl. You got him expelled without any proof.’

‘Is a giant spider not enough proof? What would be more suitable - a dragon?’

‘Spiders don’t petrify. You think that just because he’s half-giant, or not as smart as you -’ 

‘Exactly.’ His smile was cold. ‘That is what I think. It doesn’t matter if Hagrid killed Myrtle. They were going to close the school. The Acromantula was convenient. He was convenient. The dangerous half-giant. The idiot. You think anyone will bother to check if it’s true? When it’s so nice and easy?’

He looked confident again, assured.

‘I don’t care that you know I framed him. Take your concerns to Headmaster Dippet if you want. Nothing will come out of it. Because Hagrid is a monster just as much as the one that was petrifying people. No-one will let him go back to school or drag up that case again. So, Harry - how’s that for fair? ’

Harry wanted to punch Riddle in his stupid face. See that perfect nose crack, blood spew from it.

‘Better to be a half-giant than a bigoted, narrow-minded blood-fanatic.’

Riddle laughed and the sound made Harry flinch.

‘Keep dreaming,’ he said. ‘If you think anyone cares about a half-breed or a dead mudblood then you’re delusional.’

‘At least I’m not evil. ’

He gave Riddle one final look – didn’t have to fake the anger at all.

Riddle believed it because it was the truth.

Just not all of the truth.

Harry had no plans to let Riddle know the other reasons he hated him – the long list including the horcruxes and the killing of his muggle family. But by telling him this, he had given Riddle a plausible reason. Gave him the truth, if only part of it. Had seen his expression relax, saw the plan work.

And Harry?

Harry just needed to not slip up again.

Chapter Text

Hearing Riddle talk about Hagrid made Harry actually want to do something. The whole situation was unfair. It wasn’t right. Riddle’s words were echoing, over and over, in his head.

Hagrid is just as much of a monster as the one that was petrifying people.

Monster.

Half-breed.

In that moment, Harry’s hatred had been all real. Acromantulas couldn’t petrify people. There wasn’t even any proof. But no-one cared because Myrtle was only a muggleborn and Hagrid was the half-giant to dump the blame on. It was convenient.

Maybe this was how Hermione felt about house-elves. Harry could see it now - feel the sheer unfairness of it burning through him. The only way to get Hagrid his education back was to expose Riddle. But exposing Riddle was too dangerous.

Harry clenched his teeth. He hated Riddle in that moment – hated being here and able to do nothing. He couldn’t take Riddle’s Horcruxes, couldn’t do anything.

Dumbledore knew what Riddle would become. Why wasn’t he doing anything? Why wasn’t anyone?

Was it the potential the future would be destroyed when they got back? Was it the morality of the situation – instead of a monster, did Dumbledore see a student? Did he not realise?

Did no-one really want to dig up what happened with Hagrid? Was Riddle right, they didn’t care?

He picked at the food on his plate. The only good thing was that he had successfully thwarted Riddle’s suspicions. He was in the clear. Maybe Riddle would leave him alone now . . .

He pushed the eggs around with his fork and didn’t notice Abraxas speaking.

‘Er - Harry?’

Then someone nudged him – hard - and his head shot up.

Belinda shrugged innocently. ‘You were miles away.’  

‘I was saying the first Quidditch match is next week,’ Abraxas repeated. ‘Against Ravenclaw.’

Harry shook away thoughts of Riddle, who was sitting further down the table. He deliberately avoided looking in that direction. ‘Are they the team with the mountain-troll Beaters?’

Abraxas laughed. ‘We’re not joking - you’ll believe it when you see it.’

Harry’s thoughts wandered, against his will.

Riddle and he were connected. It didn’t make sense. Voldemort was as well as dead here. And yet, Harry was having his dreams. . . Riddle was having his.

They had to break whatever was causing it and soon. The alternative didn’t bear thinking of.

There was a crash from down the table. Someone had dropped the pot of porridge. With a smash it fell and spilled everywhere. The students in the vicinity recoiled, lifting their plates out of the way.

As Harry’s eyes followed the commotion, against his will, they went straight to Riddle. Despite being a distance away, a jolt, like electricity, went through him.

Riddle was staring right at him, like he had waited for this very moment.

A second passed. Another.

Then Riddle’s mouth curled upwards, stretching into a pleased smile. Those dark eyes – sinister and dangerous and knowing - seemed to go straight through him.

With effort, Harry tore his gaze away.

As the week dragged on, the weather became bleaker.

One morning Harry woke to the grounds covered in a thin sheet of ice. It became unpleasant to go outdoors and wade through the muddy grass, where the rain always seemed to wait for them.

The Greenhouses were the warmest escape – Harry was increasingly grateful during Herbology to escape the cold. The Slytherin dormitories were draughty and even though there was a fireplace, it didn’t do very much.

He thought wistfully of the cosy Gryffindor Common, a contrast from the cold dungeons, with the open space and drafts . He spent most of his time practicing Occlumency with Dumbledore. He had almost memorised the books in the library, and though it was better than lessons with Snape, Harry couldn’t keep Dumbledore out of his mind for long.

Some people just aren’t suited to it.

If Riddle had another of Harry’s dreams, he didn’t mention it. He was avoiding him the best he could.

Harry didn’t dream of the orphanage that week, or if he did, he never remembered it when he woke up. What he did see was Ginny, with her long, shiny hair, fire in the light.

One night, he had a particularly vivid encounter with Malfoy Manor. But when he woke up, his hair sticking to his slick forehead, Riddle’s curtains were drawn, only soft breathing coming from behind them.

He would think he had him entirely fooled - that they could forget about the strange connection - but there was simply no way. Because Riddle would watch Harry, almost constantly. He would look up and meet those dark eyes, no longer suspicious but curious. Almost amused. A cat playing with a mouse. A wolf with its eyes on a sheep. Waiting . . .

Harry couldn’t accidentally reveal anything. He knew it – knew Riddle was preparing, anticipating a slip up. Planning.

Thursday morning meant Potions. When the Slytherins entered the Hall, it was to a flurry of owls. The sound of wings beating frantically, blurs of brown and white streaking through the air. The majority of his classmates received newspapers, some attached to letters from home.

Harry leaned over to read Belinda’s copy of the Prophet and his appetite disappeared at once.

Is Grindelwald Getting Closer?

He scanned the article. A family killed in France, all beheaded. Another attack in Ireland.

How long until he reaches Britain? And are we ready?

It was too much like Voldemort for Harry to think logically. He knew Grindelwald didn’t take over Britain – knew he would only be a problem for a short amount of time. But all he saw were the words - murder, muggle, close to Britain - and it all came back.

His eyes shot to the Head Table.

Professor Dumbledore was not talking to anyone. His head was down, almost touching the paper, and his glasses were slipping down his nose.

Grindelwald had been his friend. Harry wanted to ask about that - wanted to know more than anything.

The picture in Bathilda Bagshot’s house. Rita Skeeter’s book.

What had changed? Could Dumbledore prevent deaths by defeating Grindelwald earlier? Was he only delaying it?

Ron was in agreement on their way to Potions.

'He could stop a load of muggles being killed,’ he said. ‘But think of it this way. If I went all nutter and started killing people, would you be able to lock me up so soon?'

Harry shrugged. 'Depends how much of a prat you were being.'

Ron punched him on the arm.

The good mood vanished when he saw Hermione talking to Joseph Corner. He was a tall, lanky guy with neat brown hair and a dimpled smile. And he was carrying her books.

Ron made a spluttering noise. Privately, Harry thought he sounded much like Percy when he caught students playing chess too loudly or – heaven forbid – laughing aloud. He snickered.

'Why don't you carry her books then?' Harry said, hiding his amusement.

'Hermione's an independent woman! She doesn’t need me taking her books - besides, what if I dropped one of them? They’re her babies.’

‘Imagine the horror,’ Harry said, ‘if you dropped a book.’

But Hermione didn’t look like she minded at all. When she came over to them, she was beaming. ‘We were talking about the principle of vanishing objects. It’s so fascinating.’

Ron scowled.

‘You know, Ron likes vanishing things,’ Harry said, nudging him in the side.

Hermione’s eyebrows flew upwards. ‘You do?’

She sounded very sceptic.

‘Totally,’ Ron said. ‘Very – fascinating. One time, mum got so mad at Bill’s long hair she vanished it. That was cool. Only her spell was a little too strong. She was angry, see. And Bill wouldn’t grow it back for a whole week.’ He snorted. ‘Served her right, I suppose.’

Harry joined in his laughter, imagining a bald Bill. Hermione’s lips were tugging upwards despite her best efforts.

‘Well,’ she said, sitting down beside him. ‘You’ll have to tell Fleur that story. I’m sure she would like it.’

‘Yeah, I will. Next time we see them.’

His smile fell abruptly.

There was no news about the time-turner. No idea how to get them back.

‘Don’t worry,’ Hermione said. Her smile had become strained. ‘We just need to give it time.’

Time. Almost ironic, really. How much longer would it take?

Harry had brought them here – that little detail was nagging at the corner of his mind. It was his fault.

Professor Slughorn entered the classroom, and gave the Slytherins up the front a wave.

‘Did you ever go back to Riddle’s tutoring?’ Hermione whispered, looking slightly put-out that she wasn’t part of Slughorn’s favourites.

Harry snorted. ‘No way. And if Sluggy asks, I’ll say I go all the time. What’s Riddle going to do - tell on me?

‘Detention from the Head Boy,’ Ron said. ‘Merlin, Harry, what would you do? ’

They both mimed expressions of complete horror and Hermione rolled her eyes. ‘Oh, very funny,’ she said. ‘You’ll know when you fail your NEWTS.’

Ron made a loud, scandalised gasp and Harry snickered.

‘No offence,’ he said. ‘But I don’t think NEWTS are the priority right now.’

The chatter died as Slughorn began to speak. They were meant to have decided on what they were doing for their project – Harry and Ron shared a look.

‘What about we do a nice cure for boils?’ Ron suggested. ‘You can’t beat first year potions.’

‘You can’t do it together, ’ Hermione said. ‘Unless you suddenly lose an arm each.’

She shook her head. ‘Anyway, I’m thinking of making Polyjuice Potion again. But I want to modify the recipe – you know, for a bit of a challenge.’

‘Hermione? Modifying a recipe?’ Harry gave her a disbelieving look. ‘After all your anger at the Prince’s book last year?’

‘Don’t be clever. Snape gave me the idea - his modifications were just ingenious, weren’t they, Harry?’

Harry bristled at the thought of Snape.

‘Just brilliant. I particularly loved the part where hekilled Dumbledore.’

She elbowed him, hissing to be quiet. ‘Are you mad? You can’t just say that!’

Slughorn cleared his throat before Harry could respond.

‘Attention, please! I want a work plan, a recipe and an essay based on your chosen project by the end of the month. It should be to a very high standard, not something you do a few days beforehand. That’s the Thursday before the first Hogsmeade trip. If you want to go – I suggest you have it all completed.’

The threat loomed in the air.

‘Hogsmeade,’ Harry said, turning back to Ron and Hermione. ‘We can get books. On time-travel. Maybe there’s something that’s not in the library. Something that will help us.’

Hermione’s face brightened but Ron’s fell. ‘You’re both forgetting something,’ he said, leaning forward.

‘What?’ said Hermione.

‘We don’t have any money.’

Despite the weather, the Slytherin Quidditch Team trained harder than ever. When Alphard Black was in a bad mood, practice would be downright brutal. Bludgers, along with many other transfigured objects, would chase all of them for the entire hour. There were three balls assigned to each player – and that meant no staying still in the air or stopping unless you wanted a Bludger to the face.

It was wonderful.

In the air, all Harry’s thoughts melted away. His head was clearer than ever. Wonderfully light. If it was always like that, he would have no bother with Occlumency. While flying - he was free.

That evening it was hail-stoning. When they finished up practice - the sky had darkened and it was getting hard to see - Harry’s hair was plastered to his forehead and his skin was red. They stood in the showers and he closed his eyes against the warm water, letting it soothe his raw skin.

Instead of making the journey up to the school, he lingered behind to talk to Alphard, taking great care in tying his shoes.

He had to be careful. Despite looking like Sirius and sounding like Sirius, Alphard was not him. Though friendly enough, he was shy and suspicious. He gave everyone the look, like he was expecting something to jump up from under the floorboards, yelling, ‘Surprise! You've been tricked!’

This could easily go wrong.

'We need to win this match,' Abraxas was saying. In front of a mirror, he was smoothing down his hair. Harry was reminded of Draco Malfoy and his gel, hair so slick it looked permanently wet. 'I'm serious. My father - '

A pinched expression crossed his face and he didn’t continue.

'I'll try and get the snitch as soon as I see it,’ Harry promised. 'What about your father?'

Abraxas turned away from the mirror, adjusted his tie. 'He wants me to win, that's all.'

Harry gave him a sympathetic look and then glanced at Alphard. He was inspecting the bristles on his broomstick.

'That must be hard. Having so much pressure. Because you’re a pureblood.’

'It's not bad,' Abraxas said immediately. 'Is it, Alphard?'

‘No.’ Alphard’s voice was flat. ‘We’re lucky.’

‘Yeah, Noble and Most Ancient House of Black and all,’ Harry said. ‘That’s like - royalty.’

‘Royalty?’

‘Muggle thing. Nevermind.’

‘Well, the family’s very wealthy,’ Alphard said. ‘And we have a lot of say in the Ministry and how things are run. That’s good.’

‘Yeah,’ Harry said. ‘I was thinking of objects though. You must have loads of cool magical things. The Potters - well, they didn’t exactly leave me anything.’

He kept his tone casual. This was not an interrogation . . . just some general conversation. Even if his heart was pounding.

‘There’s a lot of heirlooms. All have the crest of course. So no-one can claim them.’ He looked at Harry as though Harry wanted to steal his old crockery. ‘Most of them are too dangerous to touch. Unless you want your hands removed.’

Harry thought of the things in Grimmauld Place and couldn’t help agree.

‘At least they do something,’ Abraxas said. ‘The Malfoy family heirlooms – they’re just ornaments basically. Or the ones I’ve seen.’

Harry wondered what Draco Malfoy would think if he heard that and wished he could somehow rub it in his face.

It took him a second to catch onto what Alphard had said. All have the crest, of course.

It was true. The silver goblets Mundungus had stolen. All the objects in Sirius’ Drawing Room. The cutlery, the tables.

Harry could have sworn. He couldn’t entirely rule out the possibility, but the locket was probably not a Black family heirloom. How it had ended up in Bellatrix’s vault was not through her family. It wasn’t that easy.

It had to belong to the Lestranges.

Or someone else entirely.

Things never went smoothly for Harry. When the week finished without further incident, he knew it was too good to be true. After a week of dreamless sleep, a week of keeping away from Riddle, it all came back.

Seemingly the minute his eyes shut, he was back having Riddle’s dream.

This time he was in the Chamber. There was a pool of water around his feet and the bottom of his robes were floating in it. His shoes were soaked through. But he ignored this. On he went through it, wading in the swampy water, until he reached a clearing.

Ah. Just where he had thought.

There was a dog sitting there, perched on the sloped part of the ground to avoid the flooding. Of course the creature had wandered. It thought it could escape – didn’t realise it was trapped under the school.

He went over, leaned down beside it. The dog wagged its tail hesitantly.

It looked like the Grim. Big and black and wild. Like Sirius. But this dog’s fur was clean, and it was wearing a leather collar. He couldn’t make out the words, the engravings on the name-tag were faint.

No matter.

He raised his wand, pointing it directly between the dog’s eyes. The tail dropped. It sensed it, even before him and scampered backwards.

Harry tried to fight but he was helpless to stop. His wand was moving - his lips opening –

No, no, don’t.

Those words, words he would never say–

No, please, no.

Green light and the dog fell dead.

It looked so much like Sirius that he jumped up, his heart pounding.

He could still feel his hand raise, even as he tried to push it down. Not shaky but steady, assured, no matter how much he resisted. He had been overcome with a need, a need like never before. He needed to kill that dog just as much as he did to breathe. He wanted it - longed for it.

If that was what it meant to use the Killing Curse . . .

Harry shivered. Wide awake, bile was beginning to rise in his throat.

What sort of person could do that . . .

And then his curtains were ripped open.

Harry grabbed his wand, a shield forming in seconds. It was Riddle, standing there, staring in. There was a strange smile playing on his lips. He looked triumphant.

‘What the hell?’ Harry said, half-asleep and beginning to splutter. ‘Go away!’

‘No. I don’t think I will.’

Harry lowered the shield and cast Lumos. Riddle looked even more smug in the light. Harry gave him a dirty look.

‘You can’t possibly be wearing robes at this time.’

He blinked. ‘Excuse me?’

‘Er - forget it.’

Harry’s heart had calmed down slightly. Riddle’s arrival had replaced all his shock with disgust.

‘You can’t just do that. Come here. Piss off and let me go to sleep.’

‘We both know you weren’t asleep,’ Riddle said. ‘You were invading my thoughts. Unless you’re going to deny that too?’

‘No.’

Harry got out of bed. He didn’t like the way Riddle was peering in, like he had just caught him in a trap and wanted to see how it would play out. Harry was fed up. With all the games, the tricks, the way Riddle thought he was some sort of interesting dancing mouse.

‘Well?’ Riddle said.

Harry ignored him for a moment, knowing he would hate it. ‘You were killing a dog,’ he said slowly. ‘What the fuck? ’

‘Oh, that.’

And then he seemed to relax. Smirked. ‘What can I say, it was an experiment.’

‘You used the Killing Curse. In school. Where were you anyway?’

‘The Chamber of Secrets. It's practically untraceable.’

Harry hadn’t expected him to tell the truth. But then, Riddle never imagined anyone else would find the Chamber or be able to enter it.

‘Is this a normal thing for you - killing animals?’

‘I prefer to think of it as practicing magic. Would students suit you better?’

Harry stared at him. ‘You’re really twisted.’

‘So you have said.’ He looked as though he had been given a great compliment. ‘If I wish to learn magic, I shall. Are you going to tell Dumbledore - say you say Tom cast a bad spell in a dream?’

‘A bad spell is a Petrificus Totalus. That’s murder.’

‘It was a dog, Harry. A stupid, old animal and it’s in the past. The real concerning matter is - why did you dream it?’

‘I don’t know!’ Harry snapped. ‘We’re connected or something – through the wands. I thought you were researching it.’

Riddle scowled. ‘My research has come to a dead end. Magic like this isn’t documented. Isn’t recorded. It doesn’t exist. Seers sometimes share dreams. Spells and potions can cause mind-links until they wear off. But wand-cores -’ 

He laughed. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

‘Maybe we’ve been cursed,’ Harry said. ‘Feels like it. Does anyone not like you?’

‘Well, there’s you. Which you like to make very clear. But as I informed you before, I don’t have enemies.’

‘And I said bullshit. Think harder. I don’t want your weird psychotic dreams or you having mine.’

He could still feel the Killing Curse – feel it not just in his wand but inside him, rotting away.

‘Afraid I’ll see your little ginger girlfriend?’

Harry’s heart stopped. ‘What?’

Riddle hummed. ‘Whatever happened there, I wonder? I sense so many feelings left behind. Was she killed by Grindelwald? Or just your common break-up? I suppose I’ll have to sleep on it. ’

‘Whatever,’ Harry said, snorting.

Sleep on it.

Riddle’s lips twitched. ‘I bet no-one knows how messed up you really are,’ Harry said. ‘Learning the Killing Curse. To cast that -’

‘It takes the worst kind of person, doesn’t it? That’s what they say. But I think it’s simpler than that. Much simpler. You don’t have to be any sort of person – you just have to want it. So much it’s a need.’

‘I really don’t care.’

‘Have you ever felt that, Harry? Needed something so badly you couldn’t think of anything else?’

‘I’ve needed you to shut up a few times.’

‘It’s wonderful. The rush. The sheer power. You can’t even comprehend it.’ He stopped.

‘Or can you?’

‘Afraid not,’ Harry said. ‘I don’t usually have unhealthy addictions. And I think we should tell a teacher about these dreams. Like you said, it’s not normal.’

‘Professor Dumbledore, right?’ His face had darkened at the words, unhealthy addictions. 'And what’s he going to do? Have a solution? Fix all your problems by waving his wand? Tell me, does he make everything you want come true?’

‘You just don’t want me to tell him about you practicing Unforgivables.’

Riddle raised his eyebrows. ‘The entire Slytherin House knows that. It’s not a big secret. Because here, I am in charge. The House follows me. And you will embrace it sooner or later. Everyone does.’

Harry wouldn’t. Ever. Because he knew what Riddle was – knew better than any of them.

‘You know, you don’t scare me.’

‘Maybe,’ Riddle said. His voice was barely above a whisper but it made him shiver all the same. ‘But I should.’

Chapter Text

Harry couldn’t forget his encounter with Riddle. His curtains being ripped open, his heart leaping in his throat. The vividness of casting the Killing Curse and the cold, horrible feeling it brought. The link between them was very much real. It wasn’t something he could ignore and put to the back of his mind. If Riddle dreamt about Ginny, anything was fair game.

The Weasleys. Cedric. Horcruxes. Voldemort.

Occlumency wasn’t working. Wasn’t Riddle’s meant to be perfect? And yet Harry had experienced his dream like he was in it.

You have to need it.

He wouldn’t leave his mind. His face was there constantly; eyes bright - black and bottomless - lips curled into a smirk. His voice, low and sinister; those words, over and over. Ringing in his ears, in his thoughts, in his very being. Riddle was a constant presence in his life and Harry couldn’t escape it anymore. No matter how hard he tried.

At breakfast the next morning, he barely noticed the atmosphere around him. All the early mornings and the nights lying awake had left him in a zombie-like state. He nodded his head absently as Abraxas babbled, catching the words ‘quidditch,’ ‘father’ and ‘Grindelwald’ several times.

At the other side of the table, Belinda was in discussion with Walburga Black, a large girl with sharp features. She had a wide mouth, disproportionately so, and a long, narrow nose. Her eyes were colourless, small and watchful, and though a sixth-year, she looked older than any of them. Harry didn’t like the way her gaze would shift, going from the conversation to the people nearby, her attention never solely on one thing.

Then there was Lucretia, talking to Adriana Bulstrode and Geneva Yaxley. The two girls were quiet—Harry only ever saw them in class—and practically inseparable. And right across from Harry, beside Abraxas, was Riddle.

He was talking to a younger student, a small boy who looked ready to wet himself, but Harry caught his eyes flitter over more than once.

‘Did you do Beery’s essay?’ Abraxas was saying. ‘I could only find four uses of Niffler’s Fancy.’

 ‘Wand-polish,’ Riddle said. Harry snapped around at his voice, instantly alert. ‘And in the past, cosmetic potions.’

‘Brilliant, thanks.’ Abraxas scrambled to find his school-bag, his elbows bumping off the table and his head disappearing from sight.

Harry hadn’t found five uses either—honestly, who had? —but he wasn’t about to start copying Riddle. He took a sip of his pumpkin juice, and felt Abraxas’ bag hit against his leg as he retrieved it.

Riddle had finished with the younger students. He turned to look at him, giving Harry his undivided attention. He could have sworn he looked pleased.

‘What?’ He said irritably.

‘Nothing.’ Riddle’s grin grew wider, covering his whole face. It wasn’t pleasant. Harry imagined it was the sort of smile he would make right after killing all his muggle family. ‘What are you expecting?’

‘To be questioned, maybe cursed. You making some cryptic remark anyway.’

Abraxas, pulling out his quills and ink, looked up in surprise.

‘Of course you were, Harry,’ Riddle said. ‘You always suspect the worst.’

He looked too smug. Harry tried to ignore the uneasy feeling he had. It was just Riddle being Riddle: sly, mysterious and wanting the upper hand. He was always making weird remarks around Harry; seemed to enjoy frustrating him.  

Why was it any different this time?

Breakfast ended and they made their way to Transfiguration. Harry was thinking about talking to Dumbledore after class when Riddle came up beside him, his long strides making it effortless.

Somehow, they were alone. When had that happened? Harry could have sworn Abraxas was there a minute ago.

But now Abraxas was talking to Belinda, both their heads bent together in a strange merge of blonde. The others were far away.

‘What do you think of Professor Dumbledore?' Riddle asked.

'I like him,' Harry said immediately. 'He's always been there for me.'

Abraxas froze in horror but Riddle just hummed.

'Of course he has. What about me then, Harry? How far does your dislike go?'

'I hate you.'

Riddle looked positively delighted. 'Hatred. I do love strong emotions. And now—this connection between us. The dreams. What exactly is causing that?'

Harry's mouth opened before his brain had time to think. ‘I don't know,' he said. 'I thought I did, but I don't.'

Riddle's brows knitted together. 'You really don't know,' he said, more to himself than to Harry. 'That won't do. If you don't know the cause, then how can I get rid of it?’'

Harry's eyes widened and it came to him then, suddenly, in perfect clarity. 'You poisoned me!'

The pumpkin juice. The all-knowing smile. His heart began to race.

'I warned you not to underestimate me. Veritaserum. Tasteless, so they say. Would you agree?'

'Yes. I mean - shut up! You can't just—it's forbidden in school. I'll tell.'

‘You'll tell?' Riddle repeated, sounding unimpressed and not at all worried. ‘This isn't the playground. Do you think anyone will believe you?'

'No. Maybe. My friends might. Professor Dumbledore would.' The answers came out on their own, before he could stop them.

'I think he should prove it. Now Weasley and Granger. What do they think of me?'

'They don't trust you. I think you scare them a bit.'

'Why?'

Harry clamped down on his lips so hard he tasted blood.

Fight it. It's like the Imperius. Fight it.

'They know what you've done. To Hagrid. I told them.'

It was the truth. That was a certainty. But his mouth was moving, more words were trying to come out. Harry angrily bit down on his lips once more.   

'That's very convenient of you. And our little connection - you think it's the wands?’

'I don't know.'

Riddle watched him squirm for several seconds. 'Were your parents really killed by Grindelwald?' he said.

Harry resisted answering as long as he could. It was increasingly difficult. 'They were killed by a Dark Wizard. Not Grindelwald.'

You. They were killed by a version of you.

'Poor little orphan.’ Riddle’s voice was heavy with fake-sympathy. 'Don't you want revenge?'

'Yes.'

'How badly? Enough to kill?'

'Yes - no - I don't know.' He put his hands over his mouth and turned away. He was not giving into this. He would sooner cut out his own tongue.

As Harry moved away, Riddle's face darkened and he followed. 'How do you break the connection?' he said.

'I don't know!'

His blood was pounding in his ears and he could feel his teeth beginning to split his lips. He swore. If only he would somehow be unable to speak. Then an idea came to him - a wonderful, stupid idea.

'Silencio.’ He pointed his wand at his face just as Riddle neared. There was a flash of light, momentarily blinding him. But when he opened his mouth, moved his lips—blissful silence.

He looked back at Riddle. He didn’t look annoyed, more amused—arrogant—and it made Harry clench his teeth.

He skipped Transfiguration entirely, hurrying away before Riddle decided to cast the counter-curse or follow after him. He fled corridor after corridor, only one thing on his mind.

How long would it be until the potion wore off?

Four hours. That was how long. Harry contemplated going to the Hospital Wing several times, but the chances of getting an antidote were unlikely. Veritaserum was rare. Riddle - the bastard - had probably brewed it himself. Or got it from one of his friends.

Harry sat down in one of the empty classrooms. Everything was quiet and still. He was so deep in the castle it was unlikely anyone would stumble past.

How had he been so stupid? Let his guard down? He knew what Snape would say. His voice, slick like oil and full of disgust, was crystal clear.

'Foolish, Potter. Pathetic. The Dark Lord sees everything. Whatever you think you can do, he has already anticipated. No matter how hard you plan, he is a dozen steps ahead.'

Riddle, with his soft voice. Silent and poisonous, smooth and deadly.

'I'm not scared of you.'

'You should be.'

Harry didn't think he had let anything slip. If the questions had gone on any longer, it would have been a disaster. But Riddle had wanted to know about the connection and the dreams, and there, Harry was just as uninformed as he was. For once it had proved useful.

The hours he sat there, his mind went over everything. The dreams. Ridiculous. Harry couldn't be sharing dreams with that psychopath. It wasn't possible. It wasn't fair.

Words rattling in his skull. How badly? Enough to kill?

The Silencio had worn off hours ago, and the potion had little power left. Anger had faded into a still, calculating calm.

Harry tried different sentences over and over again, letting them become more and more absurd as the Veritaserum weakened.

'I could kill him,' Harry said, testing out the words. They were heavy on his tongue. Wrong.  'If it meant saving everyone.'

He wasn't sure if it was the truth or a lie.

‘You ditched classes! We were so worried!’

‘Hermione skipped Charms to look for you. You should have seen it!’

‘You should have gone straight to Professor Dumbledore - your memory is evidence enough!’

‘It’s illegal, she’s right.’  

Harry ignored Ron and Hermione. His head was beginning to hurt—a throbbing pain coming from everywhere at once. Their voices were too loud, too grating. Like an old tape recorder, spewing out the same words.

‘I was stupid,’ he said. ‘I should have known he would do something like that.’

‘Veritaserum is strictly restricted,’ Hermione replied. ‘You couldn't possibly have suspected - ‘

‘I should have.’

 Harry turned away from her before he said something nasty. They were trying to help. He knew that. But his head was pounding, and words, biting words, were on the tip of his tongue.

‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘But I’m going for a walk.’ He left, missing their expressions.

Harry ended up back in the Slytherin Common Room. It was quiet and almost empty. The weather was mild for autumn and the students had welcomed the outdoors with open arms. The lack of chatter couldn’t be more pleasant and the green—it was a very soothing colour, wasn’t it?

 When Riddle walked in, Harry stood up from his chair and marched right over to him.

‘Harry,’ he said pleasantly. ‘Feeling better, I hope? The professors were very worried.’

‘I bet,’ Harry said. ‘You told them the truth then?’

‘You ate something that disagreed with you. A stomach bug.’

‘Yeah right.’ Harry thought his anger was gone but right here - with Riddle - it all came back. ‘I already told you I didn’t know about the stupid dreams. Are you so paranoid you had to prove it?’

‘You lie. I don’t trust liars.’

Harry laughed—it was a loud, maniac sound and Riddle’s eyes widened. ‘I was telling the truth.’

Riddle nodded, slowly. ‘Come on, now. Let’s switch positions. You’re me. And someone hates you. They've been secretive since day one. Hiding things endlessly. Then you start sharing dreams. Wouldn’t you want to have proof?’

Harry hesitated. ‘I am nothing like you.’

‘You wouldn’t do the same? If our roles were reversed? If you could get truth potion oh so easily?’

‘Yes,’ Harry snapped. ‘I’d force it down your bloody throat if I had to. But that’s where the similarities end. You’re so smug. You framed Hagrid and you don’t even care. You think everyone should worship you and that you have everything figured out. But you don’t know what’s going on either. So really, Riddle—is it all a big lie?’

Riddle froze and with him, Harry’s heart stopped. He could almost feel the air strum. Feel Riddle’s mind shifting, thinking; a calculator in action.

‘Maybe we’re not so different at all,’ Riddle murmured. ‘Unique from the rest. You, stubborn and temperamental. Quick-witted and sharp. We’re two orphans. Connected by wand-cores and by dreams. By something unknown.’  

Harry opened his mouth. Nothing came out. It was too much like the Chamber of Secrets in second year. The same speech. But Harry wasn’t thinking of the Basilisk and the diary. Nothing except Riddle’s words.  

‘Can you feel it? The connection?’

Harry swallowed. ‘No.’

‘Are you lying?’

‘I’m not the one who lies. You fool everyone with your nice guy act. And that’s what it is—an act.’  

Harry wasn’t sure Riddle was even listening. He was just staring at him, a strange look on his face. Like he was fascinated.

‘You still aren’t afraid,’ he said. ‘Only a fool would speak to me that way.’

‘Then call me a fool. You’re no Grindelwald. You’re just a psychopath with some power. You have them all tricked. And I’m the only one who can see it.’

‘I do have them tricked. Maybe you as well. But Harry, this act - do you really want to see what’s beneath?’

An empty void. Black and infinite. Rippling sheets of velvet, dark, so dark everything disappeared. He could see it now, imagine it in his head and when he looked into Riddle’s shiny, endless eyes. Something just below the surface, waiting to emerge.

Did Harry even know? How could he be so sure what lurked in that mind?

Time stretched between them and Riddle waited, watching him. The question hung in the air, lingering far too long.

Harry shook himself. ‘Whatever,’ he said and walked away.             

He thought Riddle would have been angrier. Someone could see into his dreams—into some of the most private parts of his mind. This was Tom Riddle for god’s sake. But if he was angry, it was carefully hidden. Hidden with all his other emotions.

Harry desperately wondered if they existed at all. He could be angry, he knew. Angry and amused and cruel. Was he scared? Of their connection? Of what Harry might see? Or did he simply not care?

The next morning, Riddle—looking wide-awake and put-together—greeted him outside the Common Room. ‘I didn’t sleep,’ he said. ‘And I know you didn’t either. I heard you get up.’

‘Stalker,’ Harry muttered.

‘Pardon?’

‘Walker. I was going for an—er—walk.’

Riddle’s eyebrows raised. ‘I’m sure you’re much inclined to thunder and lightning.’

‘Love it,’ Harry agreed. ‘It’s so—loud.’

Riddle laughed, his face changing for an instant. Then it was gone and he said, with the same calmness he did everything else, ‘I dreamed of a man falling behind a curtain.’

Harry stopped walking and gaped. ‘That’s my - ‘He almost couldn’t say it. ‘My godfather.’

‘Your life seemed to be one big tragedy,’ Riddle said, shaking his head. ‘Really, how are you coping?’

Harry ignored the question. ‘Well, all you dream about is a bloody Basilisk and the Chamber.’

‘The Basilisk? You saw her?’

‘Yeah.’ He shuddered. ‘With big, yellow eyes. You’re not meant to look in their eyes.’

‘The perks of being the heir of Slytherin,’ Riddle said. ‘I control her.’

‘Right,’ Harry said wearily. ‘That wouldn’t have anything to do with Hagrid being expelled, would it?’

Riddle only smiled. ‘I apologise for the Truth Potion,’ he said. ‘It made you angry and distrustful.’

‘You’re not sorry, though?’ Harry said. He was curious despite himself. Fascinated by the many layers of Riddle.

‘No. Remorse—it’s pointless, isn’t it?’

‘It makes you human.’

‘Oh, Harry.’ He laughed. ‘There are more important things.’

Harry wondered when Riddle was going to curse him again. Try and weasel out more information. But he did not. They went down to breakfast and he acted almost pleasant. Outside the Hall, he stopped walking so suddenly Harry bumped into him.

‘Your wand. May I see it?’

Harry laughed incredulously. ‘Of course. How about you keep it?’

‘Take it out.’ Riddle seemed to fight his own smirk. ‘The connection - let’s test it.’

Hesitantly, he did so. Riddle took out his wand as well, whispered a spell and a thin trail of gold joined the wands together. Harry’s hand shook as the gold seemed to creep up his arm. It felt warm. Nice.

Riddle was staring at the golden chain. He reached out one hand—the Gaunt ring gleamed in his finger—and touched it.

A jolt like electricity went through Harry. The line broke and the wands forcefully tore apart. The warmth went so suddenly he felt strange. Empty and cold.

‘That was interesting,’ Riddle said. ‘Did you feel that?’ He continued before Harry answered. ‘Nevermind. I think your wand dislikes me.’

‘Like wand, like owner.’ Reluctantly he laughed. ‘Isn’t that what they say?’

‘No-one says that.’

‘They should.’

‘To break the connection,’ Riddle mused. ‘What if you snapped your wand?’

Harry froze, his smile slipping away. ‘Let’s go back a bit— snap my wand?’

‘If we’re saying the wands are causing it—which is unlikely—that would break the link.’

‘Snap your own,’ Harry said coldly. ‘You’re not touching mine.’ He stuffed it back in his pocket and glared at Riddle who didn’t back down.

‘It was just a thought, Harry. No need to be so defensive.’

‘Don’t think it then. I swear, if you even go near my wand— ‘

‘I won’t.’

‘—you’ll regret it. I mean it.’

Riddle raised his eyebrows. ‘Ok,’ he agreed. ‘I won’t. Now—breakfast?’

With one final glare, Harry followed Riddle into the Hall.

It wasn’t right. It wasn’t normal. Riddle shouldn’t talk to him, shouldn’t spend so much of his time pestering him. He was like a clam - an annoying, persistent clam stuck to a rock. How was Harry meant to think of what to do? Keep a clear head? Maybe that’s what Riddle wanted: Harry distracted.

They had double Defence that morning. He rubbed his eyes and stifled a yawn. The rest of the table were in high spirits about the upcoming Quidditch Match. The only people not engaging in the conversation were Belinda, who was reading a letter on her lap, Harry and Riddle.

Harry looked over at the Gryffindors - Hermione and Ron were talking to Ron’s granddad, Septimus. Their faces were bright and happy. Hermione was waving her hands as she explained something and Ron was having a coughing fit from laughing. Something inside him relaxed.

'Defence, Harry,’ Abraxas said, nudging him. ‘C’mon.’

 Harry took one look back at his friends and followed. The desks and chairs were cleared out of the room. Professor Merrythought stood on a raised platform. ‘We’re going to be practicing duelling today,’ she said, gesturing them all in. Her voice echoed in the emptiness.

Harry perked up at the thought of a practical lesson. They had been studying troll settlement patterns for the last week.

‘Will you be my partner?’ Abraxas said, already taking his wand out. Harry nodded. He was curious about wherever his friend was as good at duelling as he was with every other aspect of magic.

‘Actually -’ 

And there was another voice, dark and smooth, and managing to distract Harry entirely. Bringing everything—the room and the students, the buzzing chatter, his racing heart—to only him.  ‘Would you duel with me, Harry?’

Riddle’s eyebrows were raised in a challenge. Harry thought about saying no, thought about laughing and shaking his head. What was he—mad?

Maybe. Because Riddle wasn’t Voldemort but he was just as bad. Different but dangerous. Unpredictable.  

‘Ok.’ 

Abraxas’ excitement had melted into surprise. He glanced at Harry and then Riddle. ‘That’s fine. Just don’t kill each other.’ He gave Harry a suspicious look and then moved to find another partner. 

Harry waited until he was out of earshot. ‘Whatever you’re planning,’ he said, 'Merrythought’s going to be watching.’

‘Why am I always planning something?’ Riddle said. But his eyes were gleaming, too much for there to be no ulterior motive. ‘I’ll tell you exactly my plan if you like.’

Harry shrugged.  ‘Go on.’

‘You’re correct in the fact I can’t cast Dark Magic. Much.’

Harry rolled his eyes. ‘No, please do. You’ll be easier to deal with expelled.’

‘Now, where would be the fun in that? I want to test a theory. It’s said that brother wands can’t harm each other. What about seeing how that goes with a nice, friendly duel?’

‘I didn’t think you did nice or friendly,’ Harry said. Then he grinned, because that was not Riddle’s plan at all. One of them, perhaps, but not the main one. ‘Or maybe you just want to see if you can beat me.’

He was pushing a line and they both knew it. Just how far until Riddle snapped?

‘We’ll see.’ He couldn’t quite school his annoyance. Harry saw it in the little line between his eyebrows, the muscle standing visible in his jaw. The prickle in his voice. He stared, unable to look away. Riddle with his mask slipping. His act disappearing just like he had threatened.

Harry raised his eyebrows—this time he was challenging him. And he was an idiot, Hermione would say. A great big foolish idiot.

He was thinking of Veritaserum and the Chamber, which he saw every night in his dreams. Always there, no matter how much he tried to avoid it. Riddle saying he would snap his wand, with his face the picture of innocence.

‘Ok, everyone, friendly spells,’ Professor Merrythought said.

Harry stared meaningfully. ‘Hear that?’

‘Perfectly.’

Her voice was right beside them but Harry didn’t look around. ‘Obviously this is a duel. You can’t simply stick to first-year spells. But if I see anything that could cause physical harm, trust me, the consequences will be severe.’

Harry knew they would, they all did.

Did Riddle? What did he care about consequences, releasing a Basilisk in a school? Harry didn’t know him half as well as he had thought. He was different to everything he had anticipated.

They got into position. 

‘Alright, Harry,’ Riddle said. Despite the challenge, he looked almost excited. Bright and eager, his pretty face all curled up in anticipation.

‘I would say good luck,’ Harry said. ‘But that would be a lie.’

Riddle grinned, all his white teeth exposed. ‘Now let’s bow.’

Harry didn’t want to. It brought him back to the graveyard and to Voldemort surrounded by Death Eaters, Cedric dead only a few feet away. To every spell being life or death, every second potentially his last.

But they were in a classroom. And right then, Riddle didn’t remind him of Voldemort at all.

‘Nice and friendly,’ Professor Merrythought said again. ‘No one is going to miss their classes by going to the Hospital Wing.’

Her voice faded away and Harry gripped his wand. Now he only wanted to beat him. More than he did anything else. They bowed, Riddle low and slow, almost mockingly; Harry short and abrupt.

And then Riddle fired the first spell and they were off.

Harry certainly wouldn’t win any duelling competitions. He had no finesse and flashy wand-movements, but bursts of raw power and lightning-fast reflexes. Like everything else he did, it was instincts, everything or nothing. He fought to survive.

But Riddle—

He was all graceful movement and hands; a performance, a beautiful act on a stage. Perfectly trained, like a master at his craft. Harry had talent. Riddle had skill.

He had never appreciated it before, not with Voldemort. But Riddle—seventeen and psychotic—was as good as any Order member. Not one of his spells were spoken aloud, and yet were still so fast, so perfectly aimed . . .

Harry fired an Expelliarmus, then another. Riddle could have been doing anything—his spells flashed in a light-show, too fast to decipher.

Harry was pouring out all his anger and frustration. Veritaserum-Hagrid-Voldemort-Riddle - what was the difference really? He couldn’t even think, couldn’t see. Everything was light, bright and dizzying.

It was Riddle, it was Voldemort, it was someone whose dreams he shared, whose smile was dangerously charming. Mocking laughter, high and cold, and dark rick laughter, merging together like haunting music—

The light hit.

Harry’s vision exploded, his thoughts wrenched away. For a moment, it felt like the Killing Curse. But when he looked again, really looked, his eyebrows were growing horrifyingly long, out from his face, around his eyes, blinding him. Harmless.

He cast a Protego and reversed the spell. Riddle was grinning.

‘Bombarda,’ Harry fired.

He side-stepped it. Cast something else.

Harry ducked but it was too late. His mouth was glued shut. He thought for a split-second but Riddle fired again—once, twice, three times.

It should have been the end. Harry was rubbish at non-verbal spells but one always worked. One he had practiced until he could do it in his sleep. Expelliarmus.

The two beams of light struck. Electricity cracked through the air, and a thick chain, solid and shimmering, joined their wands together. It seemed to join Harry and Riddle together.

Because he could feel it suddenly — alarmed surprise that wasn’t his own. His thoughts . . . Faster than his own mind worked.

Magnificent. But what’s causing it? Is it safe to break? Like nothing I’ve ever read before . . .

His cheek stinging from a hex Harry had hit Riddle with. Curiosity and surprise; a mixture of wonder, awe, want—

Harry Potter, what are you?  

And his mind was flooding, the light was too bright to look at. He was Harry and he was Riddle and he was feeling everything at once.

He tugged his wand and tried to break the link. For a moment it resisted, and heat seared up his arm, burning him. Then there was a bang. The chain broke and golden sparks flew in every direction.

Everything stopped. Everyone gaped. Harry started at Riddle and Riddle was staring back, his cheeks flushed, his eyes very wide. His mouth was half-open, but he didn’t seem to notice. Didn’t care.  

Everything came back slowly.

‘What on earth was that?’ Professor Merrythought said.

Harry tore his eyes away from Riddle. He felt dazed. ‘An Illusion Charm. I overpowered it, sorry.’

She frowned, slightly. ‘It’s made a right mess of my room.’

Harry looked around. The sparks had gone straight through the wood like bullet holes. The floor gleamed, sticky with trails of glitter. Sparkling like ground up diamonds.

'You two can clean that up,' Professor Merrythought tutted. 'A duel shouldn't destroy a classroom, however impressive it may be.'

'Right.’ Harry glanced down at the floor again. ‘Evanesco. Scourgify.'

Nothing happened.

'It could be a good old-fashioned soap and water job,’ she said. ‘And you'll have to repair my floor.'

'Of course we will,' Riddle said. The look of wonder had disappeared from his face. He was back to his composed self. 'We got ahead of ourselves.'

She softened slightly, like all the professors did at his earnest voice. Then she turned back to the class. 'Great work today, everyone. You can head out to lunch early.'

There were a few grinning faces, everyone trooping out the doors. Harry and Riddle stayed behind. Harry kept his eyes firmly on the floor.

‘Tidy that up then you can head on,’ Professor Merrythought said. ‘And boys — that was some of the fastest spellwork I’ve ever seen. Well done.’

Harry wondered had she seen their wands connect. How long had it held for? Seconds? Minutes? As the classroom door closed, his eyes shot back to Riddle. He had nothing to say. He opened his mouth—his tongue seemed to have dried up.

‘Fascinating,’ Riddle said. ‘I had your thoughts. Your feelings.’

 Harry couldn’t answer.

'Everything.’

He looked at Riddle, with the cut down his cheek. His wild eyes, downright dangerous. The way he stared at him, as though he cared for nothing else.

‘I did as well,’ Harry said. His voice didn’t sound right. ‘How’s that even possible . . . ‘

 But it was and it had happened and it was almost worse than Voldemort had ever been.

‘What if it gets worse?’ Harry blurted out. ‘What if it doesn’t stop? Can’t stop?’

Riddle didn’t answer for a second. Harry wondered on this for a second and knew it immediately. ‘One of us will die,’ he said. ‘To end it.’

Riddle blinked. ‘Precisely. But that risk— ‘he shook his head. ‘We’re connected, Harry. Hurting you could have consequences for me.’

Harry disagreed but he kept his mouth shut. It was better than Riddle coming up with something else and deciding to dig around in his mind for answers.

‘I know you hate me,’ Riddle continued. He waved his wand and the stains rose from the floor, hovering in the air, a shimmering golden curtain. ‘Justified, perhaps. And I still think you’re too secretive. But getting rid of this should be our main priority. I’ll let you keep your little secrets.’

He flicked his wand and it vanished. ‘So what about putting it in the past for now. A truce.’

Harry froze. Riddle was the devil. Wasn’t he? How could Harry even believe this? Believe anything he said?

‘Let’s work together and try to get rid of our connection. It’s an inconvenience. Before it—as you bluntly put it—gets worse.’

‘I don’t trust you,’ Harry said. ‘At all.’ 

Riddle’s face didn’t change. ‘I know you don’t. It doesn’t matter.’ 

They had to get rid of this link. Whatever it was, Harry couldn’t be connected with him anymore. With a monster. It was too much. All the dreams, all the hiding.  He felt like he was losing his mind. He could never fully relax around Riddle and he knew it.

But —

He was there, he was always there. Every minute of every day, Harry was trying to fight it. Resist and resist but it was always Riddle, if not physically then in his mind, in his thoughts— 

‘Ok,’ Harry said, a strange feeling in his stomach. He was sinking and floating at once. He shut everything out. ‘A truce. No more sneaking around and trying to kill each other.’

He met his eye. Breathed. ‘Let’s work together.’

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

The minute the bell rang and potion class ended, Harry made for the door. He got into the corridor, leaving an amused Riddle behind, but ended up behind half a dozen Gryffindors, including Ron and Hermione. He could have groaned. Just the two people he was avoiding.

‘What are you doing?’ Hermione said, when they were out of earshot from their classmates. ‘You can’t befriend him.’

‘That’s baby You-Know-Who,’ Ron said.

‘There’s nothing baby about Riddle,’ Harry said, but that only made Ron frown and Hermione’s face to harden. He continued quickly. ‘We’re only being civil.’

‘As long as civil doesn’t make you delusional. He isn’t a misunderstood little boy, Harry. He’s a monster.’

‘I know he is,’ Harry said. The crowd had parted and he walked forward but Ron and Hermione only followed.

‘Don’t get wrapped up in all the Slytherin stuff,’ Ron said. ‘It’s nonsense. Let’s focus on getting back to our time.’

‘The connection with Riddle will go when we go,’ Hermione said.

Along with him.

Harry took off his glasses and rubbed them on his robes. ‘And then I’ll just have one with Voldemort to worry about.’

Ron flinched at the name. Hermione’s face clouded over.

The thought of the future made something inside him constrict. It was painful to think about; all his nerves bundled together in a tight ball. The world they were going back to was unbearable. It was living in the tent and eating scraps. Constantly waiting for an attack. Waiting for news that someone in the Order was gone, or a loved one was dead. That they were too late and Voldemort had became angry. Had found out their plans.

And they were willingly—actively—trying to get back there. Back to where everything would be Harry’s responsibility.

‘We’ll have our families,’ Ron said, picking up on Harry’s thoughts. ‘Don’t say you don’t have one. You’re part of mine. And you, Hermione.’

Harry’s throat seemed to close. He didn’t know what to say—a mixture of it’s not the same and thank you.

He simply nodded. ‘I’ll see you later. I need to meet Dumbledore—Occlumency.’

As he made his way to his office, he tried to get their worried faces from his mind.

Don’t befriend Riddle.

He wasn’t. He wouldn’t. Did they have no trust in him?

He reached Dumbledore’s office and pulled the door open. Fawkes’ plumage had faded to a dull brown colour. He was drooped over on his perch and barely stirred when Harry entered. Dumbledore, in similar fashion, had his eyes closed.

Harry hovered awkwardly on the threshold. ‘Sir?’

The eyes flickered open.

‘Is this a bad time?’

‘Not at all,’ Dumbledore said. ‘I insisted on now, didn’t I? I was meditating. You may have heard of it, I picked it up from muggles. Incredibly relaxing, Harry. Would you care to join?’

Harry had a disturbing image of them both sitting there, eyes closed and cross-legged, listening to Fawkes’ dying screeches. ‘I’m fine.’

Dumbledore’s face didn’t change but his eyes betrayed his amusement. ‘Very well. Occlumency. Have you had any progress with clearing your mind?’

'Not really,' Harry said. 'I try before I sleep, but it makes no difference. I always end up dreaming. Or in Riddle’s dreams. And his Occlumency is great so I don’t understand.’ He rubbed his head. ‘I want it to stop.’

‘This connection with Mr. Riddle goes back to when Voldemort tried to kill you as an infant?’

‘You said so. In the future.’

But you also kept many secrets, sir.

‘But that makes no sense,’ Harry added. ‘Because it wasn’t Riddle. And it can’t be the wands. Not causing this. I always thought my scar—but that makes no sense anymore. It hurts all the time.’

To his horror, his voice cracked at the end. It was too much. Pain bursting behind his eyes out of nowhere. Causing his mood to change, him to lash out.

It should be gone here.

‘Somehow I don’t think Occlumency's going to fix it.'

Dumbledore nodded, stroking his long, auburn beard.  'How does your scar feel now?'

'It's fine.' Harry touched his forehead to prove it. 'Normal.'

‘Would you like to discontinue these lessons?’

‘No,’ Harry said immediately. ‘I need them in case Riddle tries Legilimency.’

He hesitated. ‘What if he dreams something and finds out about the future? Everyone keeps saying to not get him suspicious. But I can’t stop that if it happens. Because of this stupid connection. They think I can just ignore it and hope it goes away.’

He cleared his throat, glancing quickly at Dumbledore. ‘Will we start Occlumency, sir?’

Dumbledore shook his head. ‘Harry, sit down. Occlumency can be saved for later.’

Harry sunk into the soft cushions of the chair and bit back his protests. He didn’t want to do Occlumency and rip up all those memories. Not now.

'Would you like some tea? Maybe something stronger?'

Harry shook his head.

'What about something sweet? I’m partial to the trifle we serve on Sunday. The house-elves could bring it up.’

‘I’m really fine,’ Harry said. ‘Are you sure you don’t want to do Occlumency?’

‘No,’ Dumbledore said. And he sighed, soft and terrible. 'I want to talk, Harry. About people and the choices they have to make.'

Harry wanted the tea now. Anything to appear occupied.

‘You feel an immense pressure to always do the right thing for your friends. But in a situation like this, confusion is expected. The link you have with Voldemort is stronger here.’

‘Stronger than ever,’ Harry said.

‘Naturally, Mr Weasley and Miss Granger will be weary. You have entered a new time and place. Everything is foreign. They are never met Tom Riddle before.’

Harry shook his head. ‘I don’t think they would have wanted to.’

The thought of them interacting was both amusing and disturbing.

‘And you understand that instinctively,’ Dumbledore said. ‘Not because of Voldemort, but because what you know of Tom. Mr Weasley and Miss Granger only hear your stories. They see Tom, who is Head-Boy and well respected, and then Voldemort and the stories from his past. Fear of the unknown is the most dangerous. We worry about things we don't understand.'

‘But they think I can shut it all off. Ignore Riddle even though he’s in my head. ’ Harry thought about how mad he sounded and hastily continued. ‘What if he kills someone? Or what if we go back to the future and everything has changed? Everyone’s dead because one day I told Abraxas he should consider painting. Or because someone overheard a conversation?’

The prophecy could change. Voldemort might never be defeated. None of them born.

'If you ruin everything,' Dumbledore said, his eyes eerily intense. 'Then that's what happens.'

Harry blinked. ‘Excuse me, sir, but what?’

'Things happen that we can’t control. Life is not a bulleted list to follow. Things will happen and you will regret them, Harry. The future will change in ways that are wonderful and terrible. But you are not fate. It is not on your shoulders.’

'It’s been—all my life—it's been my job. It's what I do.'

You left me this job, he thought. The future you.

But he held his tongue. Because Dumbledore looked sad, pensive and far away, and Harry didn’t want to hurt him, not when he had only got him back.

'I made all the wrong choices when I was younger,’ he said. 'I think you suspected. Perhaps this is public knowledge in the future. But I shall tell you. The situation with Gellert reminds me of where you are now. Although you are a much stronger man than I was.’  

Harry's mouth was dry. Gellert. Gellert Grindelwald.

'We were boys. Boys with too much power and a desire to show it off. We wanted to rule the world. I had the hunger Mr. Riddle has – the burning desire to show I was the best. To not only dazzle the world but control it. And like him, I thought I was unstoppable. What was the world against us? Against ambition? Against love?”

His voice was still steady, though it had taken on a soft quality. ‘That's where my similarities with Mr. Riddle ended. We had the ambition—the hopes—but I was blinded by Gellert and our plans. Did I know it was wrong? Maybe deep in my heart, but I chose to be blind.

'As a young man, I ruined everything. Look at him now and the havoc he causes. The deaths, the bodies counts, the families torn apart. And me?'

He laid his palms flat. 'A transfiguration teacher hoping his problems will disappear.’

‘You’re not just a Transfiguration teacher,’ Harry said. ‘In the future, you’re on a chocolate frog card. You’re one of the greatest wizards in the world. And Grindelwald being a Dark Lord isn’t your fault. Even if you helped him or encouraged him. He chose to do it.’

'Then why, Harry, does it feel as if everything comes back to a man whose job is to pick up the pieces he let shatter years ago?'

'You couldn't have stopped him,' Harry said.

But you do, he thought. You do and I don’t know how you do it.

‘I had choices, as you do, Harry. So many choices stretching in a dozen directions. I chose the wrong ones. You think I please everyone and always make the better decision, but I’m afraid sometimes I please no-one but myself.’

‘You didn’t cause him to start a war.’

‘Then Riddle? Destined to become a monster and to ruin lives. Is that entirely in your hands? If things escalate in ways we can’t fix, how does it stem from you?’

‘Because I got us here.’ Out loud, the words carried an invisible weight. A truth.

‘Is it my job to stop Gellert, the way I should have in the past? Do I feel every death he causes?’

‘No,’ Harry said immediately. But Dumbledore’s face—older than ever, more anguished than any face should be—said yes.

‘So Riddle isn’t just my problem,’ Harry said, his voice desperate. ‘And Grindelwald isn’t yours. I don’t care what you did, everything that has happened since isn’t your fault.’

There was silence.

And then Dumbledore smiled. As though this whole thing had been to prove something to Harry. But Dumbledore couldn’t disguise the tiredness in his voice, the weariness, no matter what lesson he taught.

‘Mr Weasley and Miss Granger look to you for guidance. And the future you come from does likewise. But the future is a mysterious thing, ever-changing and inescapable. You have to allow the possibility things will happen you cannot control. You are not me when I was a young man, but someone with a rational head and a desire to do the right thing. Let it go, Harry. You don’t have a war to fight here.’  

‘Ok,’ he said, his tongue heavy. ‘Ok, I’ll try.’

Could he allow the possibility that this whole thing wasn’t his fault? If Riddle ruined their plans it wasn’t because of only him?

You don’t have a war to fight here.

He glanced at Dumbledore. Fawkes made a weak, crooning noise. ‘Sir, I’m sorry.’

Dumbledore frowned. ‘Whatever for?’

‘Grindelwald. I know it’s not my business, but it must have been hard. Be hard. If someone I loved turned out the way he did--‘

Ron. Hermione. Ginny.

‘—I don’t know if I’d manage half as well as you do.’

He hesitated, feeling it wasn’t his place to go on. But Dumbledore didn’t seem to mind. He was silent for a moment and then he smiled. Beneath his spectacles, his eyes were strangely bright.  

‘Thank you.’

Harry hadn’t thought about the Slug Club since earlier in potions. Hadn’t wanted to think about it, if he was honest.

He was imagining a couple dozen students around a long table and Slughorn’s funny chortle that made his neck fat shake. Awkward laughter and painful silences. He thought at least—at least —Abraxas would be there, even if it was full of snooty purebloods vying for the limelight.

But when Professor Slughorn came to their Common Room that evening, he took Harry and the others aside and said this was no ordinary meeting. No, it was a party.

‘To celebrate our win against Ravenclaw. A little treat coming up to Halloween.’ He looked meaningfully at Harry. ‘What do you say?’

I’d prefer to go swallow poison.

‘Great.’

‘My office at seven then, everyone. And you may see a few famous faces. Be ready.’

The Slytherins perked right up.

Harry suppressed a sigh. The last party he had been to was with Luna. The highlight had been Malfoy crashing it and Harry following him under his invisibility cloak. He somehow didn’t think this one would be the same.

'Well, you look glum,' Abraxas said, when Slughorn left to track some younger students. 'Don't fancy meeting Slughorn's celebrities?'

'No, I do,' Harry lied. ‘Celebrities are great.’

Except they're all probably dead in my time.

'You don't look it,' Abraxas said, and shook his head in amusement. 'But you can leave after an hour. Sluggy won't mind.'

'Yes, Harry,' Riddle said, coming up beside them. 'I thought you would love to meet rich, influential Quidditch captains. Isn’t that your ambition?’

Harry rolled his eyes. 'It's you who likes the rich and influential.’ Riddle smirked like he agreed.

'There's always food and firewhiskey,' Abraxas said, looking a bit desperate. 'What about that?'

'Sounds about the best part,' Harry said, ignoring Riddle’s scoff.

‘Anyway -’ Riddle said, his face the opposite of innocent. ‘Harry here has to go. He can’t anger Professor Slughorn. What if he suggested more remedial potion classes?’

‘Stop mentioning that,’ Harry muttered, thinking of that awful day. ‘I’m definitely going now.’

Riddle was grinning and Harry tried hard to keep his face looking annoyed. 

Abraxas glanced between them and his brow furrowed. ‘Great?’

‘Anything to get out of those lessons,’ Harry said without heat.

Riddle was about to retort but looking over Harry’s shoulder, he fell silent.  ‘Will you go with me then, Harry?’

Harry turned around. It was Belinda. She ducked her head when she caught his eye so her hair fell in a curtain over her face.

‘What?’ he said and Riddle stilled.

‘To Slughorn’s party.’ She raised her eyebrows. The little smile playing on her lips slid away. ‘Unless you don’t want to?’

Harry blinked rather stupidly at her. ‘I—I have a girlfriend.’

They all turned to look at him.

‘What?’ Abraxas said. ‘Since when? Is it Granger?’

‘No,’ Harry said, and laughed at the thought. ‘She’s practically my sister.’ Then his grin faded. ‘Actually—we sort of broke up. And I won’t see her now. While at Hogwarts so —’ 

Ever. Would he ever see Ginny again?

Maybe she would be happier without him.

Abraxas nodded sympathetically. ‘Hard luck. Of course things would be difficult because of Grindelwald.’ He winced when mentioning it, glancing at Belinda and Riddle.

'Yeah, well I wanted her to be safe. Harry wasn’t sure he had ever said that aloud before.

Belinda cleared her throat. ‘This is a very touching moment but I think you have the wrong idea. I’m actually with someone.’

‘Who?’ Harry said.

Belinda’s smile seemed to tighten. ‘It hardly matters. He’s older. Doesn’t go to Hogwarts anymore.’

She cleared her throat and looked at him expectantly. 'Anyway, Slughorn's party?'

Harry felt an enormous relief that her intentions were not, in fact, to date him. ‘Okay,’ he said and her smile was back.

He could feel Abraxas and Riddle watching them and it made him want to squirm.

It was only when Friday stretched around that Harry realised he had no dress robes. They were in the dorm. Rosier was applying something from a tub into his hair and Alphard was reading a Quidditch magazine while performing a charm on his shoes. When Harry asked about it, he gave him an affronted look and said the floor was full of spills. 'And you always want to make a good impression.’

Abraxas was rummaging in his trunk. 'Borrow mine,' he said. 'I have maybe—ten pairs?'

Alphard let out a laugh. 'Ten pairs? Try twenty.'

Abraxas flushed. 'We have a lot of events,” he sniffed. ‘Balls and gatherings. You should know.'

'I don't need new robes for each of them,' Alphard replied. 'Us Blacks—we're the simple sort.'

They both laughed. Harry would have joined in, but he had no way to explain how he knew the madness of the Black family, with their stuffed house-elf heads and deadly artefacts.

‘We're probably the same size,’ Abraxas said to Harry. ‘But you can adjust them anyway. Here.'

He threw a pair of robes at him, not glancing up. 'You want a grey trim or a green?'

'As long as it doesn't have the Malfoy crest, I don't mind.'

'Green then. A bit of Slytherin pride.' Another pair of black robes flew at him, identical in Harry’s opinion, apart from the green around the hems.

‘Great, thanks.’

When he saw Alphard and Abraxas’ robes, it was difficult to stifle his laughter. They were probably the pinnacle of pureblood fashion, but to Harry they looked like what Ron had worn to the Yule Bale: trimmed with lace on the collars and cuffs and buttoned halfway up the neck.Harry had a memory of him and Ron frantically casting the severing charm.

‘You ready to go?’ Abraxas said, eyes going to Harry’s hair. He tried to flatten it as they left the dorms.

In the Common Room, the girls were waiting. Belinda looked very pretty in golden dress robes. Harry knew nothing about clothes but the material was light and floaty, the ends sparkling as though woven with magic. With her pale hair and features, swathed in shimmering gold, she looked ethereal.

‘Hello, Harry.’

Belinda was intimidating, more so than the other Slytherins. He didn’t know what it was but as she stood there, perfectly serene, he had to resist the urge to flee. Instead he gave her his arm.  

‘You clean up well.’

He laughed nervously. ‘So do you,’ he said. ‘Not that you don’t always look nice. I mean, you do, of course. Er—’

He winced, but the babbling made her eyes soften and she didn’t seem half as intimidating.

‘Come on then.’ She tugged his arm. ‘Let’s be normal teenagers for a night.’

They made their way to Slughorn’s office. Her pace did not match her height for Belinda walked extremely fast and Harry nearly tripled over her robes several times. When they reached the doors, they both hesitated.

‘You don’t want to go in either?’ Harry said.

Belinda laughed softly. ‘It’s not that. I’m preparing.’ And her face shifted, a smile coming to her lips, and she tossed her hair backwards and pushed open the doors.

The flood of sounds greeted them. There were a hundred voices talking at once in what looked nothing like an office anymore. Expanded considerably, from the ceiling were drapes of green. The lights were dimmed and instead of candles there was a colourful plant in the centre of the room, emitting a kaleidoscope of flashing colours. Two large tables contained food and where there should be a desk was a massive foundation, trickling with some sort of drink.

The room was packed with people, mostly Slytherins. Harry spotted a few Ravenclaws, along with Alastor Moody and his friend, Diggory.

‘There you are,’ Slughorn said, coming through the crowd. ‘The man of the night. And lovely Belinda, of course—how are you, my dear?’

Her fingers tightened on Harry’s arm. Her fingernails were red and sharp enough to make him wince. ‘I’m wonderful. And yourself, professor?’

He gave a deep laugh. ‘I’ll be better when I get a drink in me.’ Then he winked and hurried off.

Harry watched him go over to the fountain in the middle of the room and strike up a conversation with an elderly man wearing a purple feathered hat. Belinda released his arm, and her sugary smile slipped. 'Let's go find the others.'

'Are you ok?' Harry said, hurrying after her.

‘I’m fine, Harry. Slughorn’s just annoying.’

But when they reached Abraxas and Lucretia, who were both near the food table and launched into conversation, she fiddled with the hem of her golden robes.

'We can leave if you want,' Harry said, his voice low. ‘I don’t want to be here either.”

If anything it only made her smile strain. ‘You’re sweet, Harry. I’m just thinking. Sometimes I wish I wasn't a Slytherin at all.'

Her voice was strange: bitter and wistful and perhaps even vulnerable.

Harry looked at Abraxas who was taking food from one of the tables while nodding his head attentively to an old witch half his height. Lucretia was now with Rosier, both of them talking to a wizard, smiles similar to Belinda’s false one.

'I know what you mean,' he agreed. Unlike her, he had once not been a Slytherin. 'But all the houses have their faults. Are you sure you don't want to go?'

She shook her head, expression clearing. ‘Let’s get a drink. I could certainly do with one. Could you?’

'Definitely.'

Following her to the drink fountain, Harry  recognised the reddish-brown liquid immediately. It was firewhiskey. He glanced around to see if there were any professors in the vicinity.

‘You know, it’s charmed against anyone under seventeen,’ Belinda said, watching him. ‘You can relax.’

The firewhiskey burned his throat on the way down, making his whole body warm. The discomfort about being here dimmed somewhat, along with all his thoughts.

‘Perks of the Slug Club,’ Belinda said, taking a cup also. ‘Slughorn has expensive tastes.’

They settled into silence. Belinda seemed content to just stay there, away from most of the people, and watch them.

After a few moments he turned to her. ‘So why are you here then? You don’t have to be.’

She shrugged and pointed a finger towards a woman in a long green robe. ‘You see her?’

‘Yeah?’

‘Edith Parkinson. She’s in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. I want to talk to her.’

‘Do you want to work there?’ Harry said.

She gave him a funny look, like the question surprised her. ‘If I could. To start with of course.’

She sat her drink on one of the tables. ‘And him over there?’ This time she pointed a finger at one of the students, a boy wearing frayed dress robes and a pointed black hat. ‘That’s Julian Flint. He’s here because his daddy’s in charge of Azkaban.’

‘Azkaban?’ Harry repeated.

‘Old Arnoldo Flint. Haven’t you heard of him?’ She seemed to find it funny. ‘They practically invite the Dementors around for Sunday dinner.’

Harry took another mouthful of firewhiskey. Belinda was still watching the boy.

‘He looks normal, doesn’t he? But do you know they lowered the Azkaban sentence? And made sure even the low security cells are under constant watch.’

Harry looked away from the boy, afraid to be caught staring. ‘I suppose I’d invite him to my party too then.’

‘Exactly. And there’s Conor Macmillan. Do you want and talk to him?’

She noticed his blank look. ‘You know, on the English Quidditch team.’

‘Oh,’ Harry said, feigning surprise. ‘I knew he looked familiar. But I’ve had enough celebrities for a while.’

Belinda shook her head and took another drink of her firewhiskey. ‘You are odd, Harry. It’s not a bad thing.’

She pointed again. There was a gleam in her eyes. ‘You see that witch Abraxas is talking to?’

Harry squinted. They were on the other side of the room but Abraxas stood out with his white-blonde hair. The woman was tall and dressed in purple. She had a long, sharp nose.

‘What about her?’ Harry said.

Belinda lowered her voice conspiringly. ‘His mother wants him to marry her.’

Harry turned to stare at her. Abraxas was inching away from the woman, putting more distance between them every second. She was old enough to be his mother and looked it too, in her small glasses and old-fashioned robes.

‘That’s pureblood culture for you,’ Belinda said. ‘But the Malfoys aren’t too strict. And Abraxas is a boy, of course. He won’t be forced.’

 Her gloom seemed to have disappeared. Now she pointed out different people to Harry, telling him stories so absurd he thought they were fake.

The firewhiskey blocked out the noise and left him feeling warm. The party wasn’t terrible, especially when Belinda told him a story about the previous Slug Club meeting, which involved the breaking of Slughorn’s priceless lamp.

Harry was laughing and Belinda had that little smile on her face. It didn’t even ruin his mood when he heard Riddle’s smooth voice, effortlessly inserting himself into the conversation.

‘Is this the little recluse corner?’

Belinda stood up straighter, her hands reaching to smooth her hair.

‘Yes,’ Harry said bluntly. ‘So go and bother someone else.’

Belinda looked at him in horror. ‘You’re always welcome,’ she said firmly. ‘Are you at least having fun?’

‘I suppose it isn’t awful.’

He was wearing black robes with many silver buttons and his hair was combed to one side, so it fell in soft curls. Harry was reminded of the movie stars in the black and white films Aunt Petunia watched.

‘I was talking to the Minister’s secretary. A delightful man.’

Harry scoffed and Riddle’s grin grew.  

‘You disagree?’

‘I’m just questioning your idea of fun.’

‘Well, Harry,’ Riddle murmured.  ‘Sometimes a little charm pays off.’

Harry swallowed. ‘Great for you then. Go and have more fun.’

‘No, I don’t think I will.’ Riddle took a step forward, looked at the cup in Harry’s hand and then back to his face. ‘Why would I, when here is so much better?’

Harry huffed, finishing off the firewhiskey. But Riddle didn’t move, only stood there, a smirk on his face.

‘Maybe Slughorn will be too intoxicated to teach tomorrow. Wouldn’t that be pleasant?’

They both turned to look at Slughorn, who was now stumbling slightly and laughing so loud it made Harry wince.

‘Does he do that a lot?’ Harry said.

‘Only if the occasion calls,’ Riddle said. ‘Which is to say two or three times a month.’

Harry suppressed his laughter but Riddle caught it anyway.

‘Do you know how easy it is to stir up a secret, Harry?’ Even in the midst of a party, his voice was perfectly audible. Clear and intense, like the spark in his eye.

‘You would know, wouldn’t you?’

‘When people are like this’—Riddle scanned the room—'They’re just waiting to cause a scene. It’s easy.’

‘I don’t care about how you manipulate our poor classmates,’ Harry said. ‘Or how much practice you have.’

‘Don’t you?’

He couldn’t disagree. He did find it interesting, in a strange way. Like the way people did with serial killer documentaries.

‘For example, when Rosier has a few drinks he starts dancing.’ Riddle wrinkled his nose in distaste.

It was not what he had expected. ‘Can you kick him out of the dorm if that happens?’ Harry said.

Riddle tilted his head. ‘I could. But he’ll pass out in the Common Room anyway. Along with our other . . . friends.’

‘You’re horrible.’ Harry was unable to hide his grin at the way he said friends. ‘I see why you’re so keen to corrupt this bunch now, Riddle. They’re charming.’

Riddle laughed. ‘It’s Tom.’

Harry blinked—looked at his bright, earnest face and the way his white teeth glinted in the lights—and shook his head. ‘No way.’

Because if it was Tom, that meant he wasn’t Voldemort. It meant something had changed. Something he couldn’t go back on. When it was Riddle, things were safe. Normal. But Tom was strange and foreign and much too familiar. And Harry couldn't afford to forget who he truly was.  

‘Why not? It’s just a name.’

‘Why do you care then?’ Harry said. ‘If it’s just a name.’

Riddle’s smile turned from amused to dangerous. His voice was still light but there was an edge to it now, as though Harry had annoyed him.

‘I don’t,’ he said. ‘If calling me by my surname lets you keep up your grand delusions, then happily do so. But Riddle or Tom—you know it doesn’t matter.’

But it did, at least to Harry, and Riddle looked like he wanted to hear it. Harry’s throat was dry and the noise was all a murmur in the background. The air was full of the unspoken, the silence palpable.  

Someone cleared their throat and they both turned around. Belinda.

Harry had forgotten about her. She was holding two cups in her hands and passed one to Harry. “The firewhiskey’s nearly gone,’ she said. ‘I thought you might want more.’

He took it, blinking. ‘Thanks.’

“Do you want any, Tom?”

Riddle looked at her, shook his head, and looked back at Harry. ‘I’m fine. What more could I need?’

‘I can think of a few things,’ Harry muttered. The tension seemed to thaw. ‘You sure you don’t have any more ministers to charm?’

Riddle nodded approvingly. ‘Oh, good idea.’  

As he walked past, his shoulder brushed Harry’s. Harry could feel him smirking, all smugness and amusement and satisfaction rolled in one.

When he was gone, Belinda frowned. ‘You two are getting on better,’ she said. ‘But you shouldn’t be so rude. It’s only a matter of time before he gets annoyed.’

Harry drank the firewhiskey she had handed him. ‘Let’s hope so,’ he said, which only made her shake her head. But she didn’t argue. In fact, she seemed distracted.

‘Oh, there’s Slughorn,’ Harry said. He was coming right towards them. ‘Wanna hide?’

She didn’t.

Instead they ended up talking to several of the guests. Harry didn’t find it in him to protest. His whole body felt warm and fuzzy and it was difficult to concentrate.

Time moved too quickly. The Head of some Department merged into a Potion Master and a Daily Prophet writer. The noise seemed to crawl into his brain. His eyes were beginning to droop close, fighting against the flashing lights.

He sat his drink on one of the empty tables and Belinda snatched it up. ‘Shit,’ she said. ‘You’re drunk.’

How was he drunk?

Harry couldn’t find the words to disagree. Everything was too heavy—his limbs, his head, his tongue.

‘I’ll get you to your dorm.’

He let Belinda tug him out of Slughorn’s office and down the corridors. They went past two giggling girls going into a broom-closet and the Ravenclaw prefect, who gave them a dirty look. Harry almost tripped on his feet. The ground was right in front of his eyes.

‘I’m sorry, Harry, come on.’

Belinda. She was right there beside him.

Harry opened his mouth—a sudden thought had occurred to him. ‘Sorry for ruining your night.’ The words were thick, jumbling together.

‘Don’t say that,’ she said sharply. The intensity of her voice sent a stab of pain through his head.

They reached the Common Room and she helped him through the Portrait Hole. Everything was blurring together. He just wanted to sleep: sleep and sleep, maybe for a few centuries. Was it too much to ask?

It took supreme effort not to fall over. They were at boys dormitory and she pulled the door open. Harry was ready to surrender into the blur of colours. He couldn’t fight to keep his eyes open any more, it was making him dizzy.

‘Look, get to bed, ok?’ Belinda seemed to shove him into his four-poster. ‘You’ll be better in the morning.’

But that couldn’t be right.

‘What’s—wrong with—me—?’

The words took too much effort. His mind was too boggled, too confused to make sense of it.

‘You’re drunk,’ she said shortly. ‘You had too much firewhiskey.’

He had never felt like this before. ‘Ok, Bel—Belinda. Thanks.’

Her face had blurred in with all the other colours but for a moment, he swore she looked almost sad. She stood there, beside his trunk, until he couldn’t keep his eyes open anymore. ‘Goodnight, Harry.’  

He wanted to ask. Wanted to wonder. But the urge got too strong, the voice screaming in his head died away, and in an instant, a single blink, his eyelids gave up. Everything disappeared.

Chapter Text

Harry woke up feeling fuzzy. His head was too heavy to lift, his eyes were stiff, and his mouth tasted oddly sweet. The light was too bright, the bed too warm.

With a groan, he sat up. Everything tilted before shifting into place. Steadying himself, he got up.

The dormitory had that eerie silence that meant it was exceptionally early or late. There was a very faint snoring from Abraxas’ bed which meant the former and all the curtains were pulled shut.

Harry wracked his brain. What had happened? His mind was too muddled to focus clearly on the previous night. He remembered Slughorn's party and  remembered Riddle smirking.

Call me Tom.

He remembered drinking firewhiskey, and Belinda, and then leaving.

And then —then—

She had taken him to the boys dorm. He closed his eyes. Oh god. He had been drunk.

Hadn’t he?

When he thought hard on the second part of the night, it all jumbled together.

'Remembering?' someone said.

Harry half-opened his eyes and saw Alphard. He was wearing a Quidditch jersey but unlike Harry, looked wide-awake.

'Unfortunately.'

'Well, you got lucky.’ He snickered. ‘Some of us didn't make the bed.'

He pointed his foot towards a lumpy outline beside one of the four-posters.

Harry moved forward to see and laughed. It was Rosier, passed out on the floor. Drool was coming from his open mouth.

'Not pretty, is it?' Alphard said.

Harry felt a twisted pleasure. After every snide remark Rosier had made, he deserved this.

‘Practically Sleeping Beauty,’ Harry agreed and Alphard stared at him blankly.

He sighed. 'I'm going to the bathroom.'

He was going to scrub the taste of firewhiskey from his mouth. Permanently. Harry shuddered at the thought of it. He didn't want to go near the drink again. Even think of it.

How had he gotten so drunk? He wasn’t sure.

But then he had never been drunk. Maybe it was all normal.

When he was finished in the bathroom—the mirror had given him a disapproving look and told him to smile—he went to the Common Room.

There was someone lying stretched out on the sofa, dead to the world. She was snoring very loudly, mouth hanging open, and still wearing dress robes.

Harry looked around for Belinda—he needed to apologise for ruining her night and get her to tell him what he missed. But she wasn’t there. No one was, except a few of the younger students and Riddle.

Of course.

'Harry,' Riddle said, gesturing vaguely at the space beside him. Harry wearily came over.

'Rough night?' Riddle glanced him up and down and Harry bristled, fighting the urge to flatten his hair.

‘Some of us don’t wake up wearing ironed robes,’ he said. ‘And no, it was boring.’

‘Boring,’ Riddle said. ‘Oh, Harry. Where’s Belinda?’

Harry frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

Riddle’s brow furrowed. ‘You left with her,’ he said, very slowly and very pointedly. Harry stared at him blankly and Riddle’s eyes flickered towards the boys’ stairs.

‘What? No!’ He gawked at him. ‘Isn't she engaged?'

Riddle just raised his eyebrows.

Harry sat down. He thought he would topple over if he didn’t. Standing up was much like spinning in a circle. ‘Actually, she just took me to my dorm,’ he said.

‘Why?’

Harry absently rubbed his head. ‘I was—you know—’

‘Drunk,’ he supplied.

‘Yeh. I think so.’

Riddle cocked his head to the side, staring at him as though he was a strange puzzle. ‘You think so?’ he repeated.

‘Well, I haven’t—you know, before—’

Riddle laughed and Harry scowled.

‘Why are you so happy anyway?’

Riddle's grin broadened. ‘Because unlike some people, I can remember my nights. And I take those parties for what they are—opportunities.’

'That's not what they are,’ Harry said. ‘They'reparties. The key’s in the name. I thought you would at least get that.’

‘It must have slipped my mind,’ Riddle agreed. ‘I was too busy talking to the Minister’s assistant. Let’s just say he loved me.’

Harry scoffed. ‘I can’t imagine why.’

'Well, unlike you, most would disagree.' His voice was perfectly smug. 'I'm quite the charmer.'

'Yeh, to a bunch of idiots.’ Harry shook his head. ‘So you talked to some assistant. No, you're right. That does sound wonderful. Can I come next time?'

Riddle chose to ignore the sarcasm. 'Maybe if you can handle the firewhiskey,' he said. 'And Belinda finds another date.'

'I wasn't her date.'

Was that what people would think?

'Of course not, Harry. I’m sure she had entirely different reasons.'

The sentence made Harry feel uneasy but Riddle didn’t notice. He wasn’t aware his joke had piqued Harry’s feeling of apprehension. 

‘Has anyone ever told you that you’re annoying?’ Harry said, shaking it off.

Riddle seemed to think for a moment. ‘No.’

‘Well, you are. They’re too scared. You’re very annoying.’

‘And yet you’re still here.’ 

Harry blinked. ‘What?’

‘If I’m so annoying then leave.’

‘You called me over!’ The protest sounded weak even to him.

‘And do you always do what you’re told? What a good boy you are.’

It wasn’t like that at all. Harry tried to avoid Riddle. The problem was, he was everywhere.

‘So am I annoying, Harry, or are you secretly entertained?’

‘I might add arrogant to the list as well,’ Harry said, choosing to ignore it. 

But Riddle’s face was triumphant. Smug. 

‘Why do you always look like you’re plotting murder?’ Harry wondered aloud.

Riddle leaned back in his chair. ‘I’m not now.’ As if that appeased Harry in the slightest. ‘You’re still on about that then?’

‘It’s a little hard not to be. You literally have a gang.’

And if Harry didn’t remind himself, he was afraid he would forget.

Riddle looked affronted. ‘It’s not a gang.’

‘A cult then. Servants. Is that better?’

‘Slightly.’

‘And you were talking to the Minister’s assistant.’ Harry narrowed his eyes. ‘To influence him? Overthrow the ministry?’

‘Now, why would I overthrow the ministry? You don’t think I’d ever like to join?’

Harry answered immediately. ‘No.’

‘Well, you are right. Because I’m going to rule the world.’

He sat back and Harry looked at him, radiating conviction, and felt cold. ‘That's why we can never get along. Because you—you're—’

On the path to Voldemort and proud of it.

Riddle's eyebrows furrowed at Harry’s sudden venom. 'Evil, aren't I? To poor Hagrid and all the mudbloods? Don't you already know that? Are you forgetting?’

'I'm not,’ he snapped. ‘I'm just saying —you want to rule the world. Become some sort of Dark Lord.'

And you will. You will.

He stopped. There was no point. Because there was no guilt in Riddle's eyes—no realisation dawning, no sudden regret.

'Does it hurts your little conscience to associate with me?’ Riddle said. ‘Don't we have a truce?'

Harry took a breath. They did. A horrible, horrible truce that was messing with his mind in so many ways.

'Yeah, until we break our connection. But then that's it.'

Then Harry would be back in the future.  

They looked at each other, Riddle’s face unnaturally serious. He was always smirking or grinning, or smug with the thought that he had the upper hand. But now it was only watchful. More intense than any gaze Harry had ever felt.  

The girl lying on the sofa let out a loud snore and Harry jumped.

‘Good talk.’ Riddle stood up. “You might want to take your morals to someone who cares. Because they’re just words, Harry. Childish beliefs you still follow.’ He didn’t look a bit sorry.

Harry watched him walk away.

Wanker.

Then—no—

Evil.

Riddle didn’t understand. He wouldn’t. Couldn't. He was doing something to Harry’s head, twisting it up with all his sly remarks and jokes. Doing what he did to everyone.

The connection was too much to handle. He was going to snap—and the dangerous thing was, he didn’t know what the results would be. 

Riddle reached the Portrait Hole and the wall slid open automatically. It made a loud noise as it closed, blocking out his footsteps.

The minute he left, Harry clutched his forehead. It was curious. His scar, which had been fine up until then, was beginning to hurt.

It wasn't until much later that he saw Belinda.

It wasn’t like he had been consciously waiting, but the minute she came down the staircase he stood up and almost knocked over a footstool.

Her eyes widened as he came forward. ‘How are you feeling?’

Harry flushed. ‘Better. I wanted to apologise. For being so—drunk.’

She shook her head. ‘At least you're not an annoying drunk. Or a crier. Or one of those awful boasters.’

Her nose scrunched up. ‘Remember much?’ 

Harry chewed his lip. ‘Most of it. Except the end.’

She nodded, taking a breath. ‘That’s expected. Well, I still had a nice night.’

‘You did?’

From what he remembered she didn’t seem to enjoy it all that much.

‘I talked to the Ministry woman I wanted to. It was very much a success.’

‘Slytherins,’ Harry said, shaking his head.

Her smile grew a tiny bit strained. ‘Says the one himself. Well, Harry, I must be off. Walburga is in the most awful mood.’

Then she left.

He stared after her, mouth open to utter more words. But what would he even say?

Why couldn’t he go to a party and get drunk like a normal teenager without feeling worried?

Nothing had changed. He didn’t feel any different than yesterday. Everything was the same. The answer seemed to boil down, not to the events, but to Harry.

Was he going crazy?

A tiny, nagging voice in his head said yes.

The hours trickled by. Slughorn made an appearance in the Common Room, smiling and not looking like he had drank himself into a stupor at all. And, oddest of all, he congratulated them on a good party. Harry thought of Professor McGonagall and how she would react to a bunch of hungover students. It wouldn’t be pleasant.

Slughorn was so relaxed and lenient about everything, it was no wonder the Slytherins ran rampant, releasing basilisks and having secret meetings.

Abraxas gave Harry some concoction to cure a hangover — it tasted like a mixture of out-of-date eggs and the snot flavoured Bertie Botts bean. It done very little for Harry's head, though with the pain being scar-related, he hadn’t suspected it would.

‘I never want to drink again,’ Abraxas complained, also drinking his ‘cure.’     ‘It’s not worth it.’

Harry wholeheartedly agreed. So this was what a hangover felt like. He let it ease away some of his doubts.

Only briefly did he see Ron and Hermione. The pair were arguing so much Harry didn’t dare say anything that could cause a fight. It was like prodding two angry dragons. And when his friends decided to snipe at each other, Harry thought it was best to stay away.

At least the Slytherins were quiet. Whatever muggle-killing fantasies they had stayed firmly in their heads.

That night, sleep came fitfully. He tossed and turned and when he would drift off, it was to faint shapes in the corner of his vision. They seemed to laugh, over and over, until he woke up, tired and restless, and unable to focus. But sleep crept in, as it always did. Everything went black, his mind finally shutting off. 

And then there was a sound. High and shrill, so alarming it made him leap up. Only he wasn't in his four-poster anymore.

Someone was grabbing his hand and dragging him through the dark. The ground was cold beneath his feet and he stood on something that felt like a nail.

A breeze crept up the sleeves of his shirt as the large shape tugged him into the night. They went tripping down steps, guessing where they were, and through a door. He could feel the muggles bodies inches from his. Dozens and dozens, cramming together. 

He wrenched away from the dirty hands. How dare they touch him?

The door opened and he could see stars now, pinpricks of white. The air-raid siren was loud— so impossibly loud he could focus on nothing else.

The ground was a dark blur. The Muggles were shapes mixing in with the noise, echos in comparison to it.

'Down, everyone get down. C'mon, the tube's just a bit further — '

That noise ringing into the night.

He was going to die. An awful muggle death in this awful muggle city. With all the people he hated, reduced to nothing but an orphan.

He had his wand but what good was a wand against bombs? How would a shield charm hold up to hundreds of them, all going off at once. Enough to create a ripple that tore miles upon miles, made the entire ground explode.

Down on the dirty cement —cold, cold, cold—

A tube station; someone counting them all like it had been done a hundred times. Maybe it had, but he had been at Hogwarts.

—stay there, you're safe now—

But someone was crying and he wasn’t safe, he wasn’t. Never while he was here.

He was going to die in London, crouched on the ground like a beggar; a muggle. This time there really would be a bomb. There would be no orphanage to go back to, no children to fill it with.

Die, die, die —

The only thing to do was to stay alive, no matter what it took.

Otherwise . . .

He jumped out of bed.

Immediately, Harry lit his wand. He couldn't bear the darkness anymore, even if it wasn't real.

It had sure felt real.

His knees stung from scuffing the ground. His feet hurt. He was cold and trembling violently. And the fear . . .

It was a physical thing. Something that made his chest hurt and his ribs tighten. His throat burn. His insides hammer and hammer and scream in protest.

He wrenched open the four-poster curtains, the light of his wand gleaming off the wood. His heart was still racing.

And then another set of curtains opened and before he had time to think, Harry was shining his wand straight in Riddle's face.

They stared at each other.

'You—you—did I wake you?' Harry said finally.

He moved his wand so it shone on the floor instead, and just made out the movement of him shaking his head.

'Then why—'

'You dreamed that too?' Riddle interrupted. His voice was devoid of any emotion.

Harry thought of all the things he could say but in the end it didn't really matter. 'Yes.'

For one horrible moment, Riddle didn't say anything at all. 'Very well. Ridiculous, wasn’t it?’ His voice didn’t change.

Harry wished more than anything to see his face. ‘Yeh. So stupid. I mean, muggles and London. With their war.’

There was a noise from one of the other beds — a loud snore. It made Riddle stiffen and Harry—whose heart hadn’t calmed down—jump. 

‘I’m leaving,’ Riddle said, walking past Harry and towards the door, ‘and if you breathe a word of this to anyone —’

‘No. I won’t. But —’ He stopped. ‘I’m not going to sleep anymore. Not after that. I’m coming.’

He didn’t want to lie alone in the dark with that noise going through his ears and the fear overtaking his mind.

For a second it was like Riddle would refuse. But he just walked on, out the door, without a word.

Bewildered, Harry followed.

The Common Room was cast in a dark blue gloom. The straight-back chairs looked eerie, the porthole windows like the eyes of a monster.

‘We can’t share dreams,’ Riddle said. ‘That shouldn’t be possible.’ He reached one of the chairs, stopped and turned back around. Started to pace.

‘I know,’ Harry said, ‘we’ll get rid of it.’

Riddle’s eyes flashed dangerously. ‘And what plan do you have to do that?’

‘None so far.’

Harry briefly considered going back to bed and pretending this had never happened. But the thought of it was unpleasant.

Riddle was walking around the Common Room. ‘What you saw,’ he began, ‘means nothing. Dreams are exaggerated, they’re figments of the subconscious. They morph into things that aren’t real. Do you understand?’  

Harry forgot how to speak. Riddle looked unlike anything he had seen before.

No longer so put together and immaculate, his hair was raked upwards from where he had ran his fingers. His feet were bare and he was dressed in nightclothes. And on his face—behind all the anger—was something vulnerable.

‘No.’ The words came out before he even registered them. ‘Because I know what you’re doing. You’re acting like it isn’t a big deal. Like it never affected you.’

Riddle made a disparaging noise. “And how would you know that?”

I can see it.

Because Riddle’s eyes were wild and his hands were shifting restlessly. Because he looked young and not as unbreakable as he always had before. Harry felt like he shouldn’t be seeing this, that this Riddle was carefully hidden away and not for anyone else. But he couldn’t look away.

‘Because I do it too.’

Riddle stopped walking abruptly.

‘You must have seen some of my dreams. The cupboard.’ It almost made him laugh. ‘It wasn’t the most healthy childhood, you know.’

‘Was that before the Weasleys adopted you?’

Harry really didn’t like the thought of lying. Not when it was like this.

‘Yeah,’ he said, something lodging in his throat. ‘So I get it. I do.’

Riddle’s face was soft in the light. But when he spoke, his lips curled upwards. ‘I did see your pathetic childhood. Excuse me if I want to keep mine private.’ His nostrils flared. ‘Muggles. How disgusting.’

‘I won’t tell anyone,” Harry said. “Not that they would believe it.’

‘It’s not your business. You shouldn’t see—’

‘Well, too bad,’ Harry said, ‘because I just did.’

‘People don’t share dreams.’

“It wasn’t a laugh for me either,’ Harry said. ‘You think I want you seeing the cupboard and my girlfriend and my—my godfather?’ His voice shook. ‘I don’t. But we don’t have a solution yet.’

Riddle rubbed his eyes. He seemed to catch himself for the first time and glanced down at his nightclothes and then back at Harry, eyes lingering on his face for too long.  

‘I tried Dreamless Sleep Potion. The very first time I had your dream.’

‘And?’ Harry leaned forward.

‘It didn’t work.’

Riddle absently smoothed down his hair. ‘Tomorrow, you’re going to pretend this never happened.’ Though his voice brooked no arguments, he looked at Harry, waiting.

He slowly nodded. ‘Don’t we anyway? And —’

He stopped. Maybe it was the tiredness and the empty Common Room. Maybe it was the feeling of his heart ready to jump out of his chest or the echo in his ears. Or maybe it was the expression on Riddle’s face.

‘You don’t ever have to go back to London,’ Harry said. ’You’re a seventh-year now.’

Riddle gave him a curious look. ‘I haven’t gone back. Not since fifth-year. Why would I?’

Harry shrugged. ‘Well, you had no choice when you were younger, did you?’

‘What you saw, Harry, was a false alarm. A routine. One of many.’ His voice was bitter.

‘Still. There was a war going on, and bombs, and —’ 

‘We’re not talking about this.’

Harry let the words die on his lips.

And you were a kid.

They sat there and neither of them spoke. Harry found it didn’t matter. His chest seemed to tighten and loosen over and over again. His breathing began to regulate. And Riddle just sat there, lost in thought.

Everything was different in the light. It made him look human; unfamiliar and entirely different.

Slowly, the room brightened. Dawn crept in.   

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

With the first Hogsmeade trip of the year drawing near, Harry wasn’t the only person in a good mood. The eager attitudes were contagious, and it led to a great deal of chatter and laughter, so much that the professors struggled to keep the classes quiet.

‘It’s Seventh-Year,’ Professor Beery barked. ‘NEWTS will be there before you know it.’ He sent them fertilising every plant in the greenhouse with dragon-dung, which was harder than it looked, especially when the plants protested by trying to bite.

But on Friday in Charms, Professor Flitwick let them cast whatever they wanted. He was also in a good mood about Hogsmeade and rewarded points for nice spellwork. Harry and Ron raced bits of paper around the room, and Harry transfigured his textbook into hoops so they could act out a Quidditch Match. This, Professor Flitwick thought, was greatly creative and he gave them ten points each. Things had thawed out between Ron and Hermione and instead of disapproving about the wasted paper, she smiled. 

Harry didn’t miss the looks shared between them. Ron turned pink at Hermione’s approval and she coiled a strand of hair around her finger. Their hands were so close they were touching.

So when Hermione looked at him and cleared her throat for the sixth time, he knew what was coming, 

'Ron and I - ' she glanced at him. 'We're going to try dating.' As she said this, she twisted the piece of her she was fiddling with, and it resembled a large knot. 

Harry met her eye. 'Finally.'

She relaxed a bit. 'Are you sure? Because we don't want things to change. I don't want it to affect our friendship. Mine and Ron's, and with you. That's the least - '

'Hermione,' he said firmly and she shut up at once. 'I'm happy for you. And we’ll manage. Don’t we always?’

She blinked. 'I suppose we do. And you're right, of course. I'm sure you anticipated this —'

Harry gave her a look.

'Alright, it was obvious.'

They all laughed.

'We aren't going to leave you out, Harry,’ Hermione said, finally meeting his eye.  'So don't push us away, ok?’

‘I wouldn’t do that,’ he said.

Ron made a disbelieving noise and still Hermione looked at him, her voice stubborn now. ‘Harry, we love you.’

He didn’t know what to say. It was like something had lodged in his throat and made it impossible to speak. She loved him.

He only looked at her, and the conviction in her eyes, and felt overwhelmed. ‘I —’ he began, and his throat closed once more. ‘I know that. I feel the same.’

It wasn’t the same but he thought she understood. And Ron, who looked up from the desktop, said, ‘I suppose you’re an alright bloke. Have to like you after seven years, don’t we?’

‘Shut up, Ron,’ Hermione said, but it relieved Harry’s awkwardness and he laughed.

‘Spare my innocent eyes at least,’ he joked, which made Ron scoff something about innocent.

He looked at Hermione, who was still uncertain. 'I want you to be happy. You know that.'

'I do, I do — ' her voice caught. 'It's just here, with no Voldemort, everything is so normal. And it's nice. It makes you wonder what things could have been if none of this happened.’

‘No Dark Lord reigns forever,' Harry said, thinking of something Professor Merrythought had told him. 'It will end. It has to, doesn’t it?’

He wanted more than anything, for them to have a normal life. Because unlike him, they didn’t have to do any of this.

‘It will,’ Ron said. ‘We’ll go back, get those horcruxes and get rid of the nutter.’

Harry nodded carefully.

But what about Riddle, he wondered. How would the future change when Harry went back and he suddenly remembered? What about all the Slytherins?

Hermione seemed to spot something on his face. ‘Let’s not discuss this now,’ she said. ‘Look, one of your Quidditch players has fallen.’

They glanced over. The enchantment had worn off and the paper fluttered feebly around, gaining no height.

‘That’s Harry,’ Ron said, pointing to the piece of paper—the Seeker—lying limp on the ground. ‘Must be a bad omen.’

‘Don’t be morbid,’ Hermione said.

But Harry laughed. ‘Anything to get the snitch, isn’t that what Oliver used to say?’

‘He made you play with a rogue bludger,’ Hermione pointed out.

‘Yeah.’ Harry smiled wistfully. ‘Yeah, he did.’

As much as he loved his two friends, Harry couldn’t think of anything worse than going with them to Hogsmeade while they danced around their new relationship.

He thought cleaning floors for Filch would be better. Or dusting all the blinds in Privet Drive and spending the day in Mrs. Figg’s stuffy, cabbage-smelling kitchen looking at polaroids of long-dead fluffy and kitty.

Because he loved them, really, but when they shared those private smiles, or Ron brushed an eyelash from Hermione’s cheek and she touched his shoulder, he felt out of place.

Separate. No longer a trio but a couple and Harry. It was stupid, he himself had said it. Things would change and they would deal with them as always. But now, just for now, he wanted to let them figure it out together.

‘Go and have a date,’ he said. ‘Alone.’

‘Well, what will you do?’ Ron said. ‘Wander around on your own?’

‘I’ll be fine. Abraxas —’

Ron pulled a face like he was constipated.

‘Isn’t that bad. Go and have fun. Go to Madam Puddifoot’s or something.’

‘No thanks.’ Hermione scrunched up her nose. `I know you’re joking but it’s open here. Founded in 1927.’

He didn’t ask why on earth she knew.

‘A classic then. You’ll have confetti in your tea and those fat dwarf babies floating around your head.’

‘Cherubs.’

‘Exactly. And we can meet up for a butterbeer.’

‘It’s firewhiskey now,’ Ron said, ‘we’re of age.’

Harry shuddered. ‘I’ve gone off it. Badly.’

He could still taste it, sickly and sweet, if he thought hard enough. His whole head buzzing. And that paranoid feeling reared in his stomach, screaming wrong, wrong wrong.

Hermione’s smile began to slip and he quickly hurried on, ‘we’ll meet up. Don’t worry.’

‘Well, if you’re sure —’

He nodded. ‘I am. It’ll be fine.’

Harry didn't mind going to Hogsmeade with Abraxas. Not when his friend seemed so excited, his hands flailing as he prattled on. Not even when he started talking about Tom, and oh, how they would show Harry The Three Broomsticks, wouldn’t that be fun?

Riddle wasn’t bad to talk to, really. They had settled into an easy routine of avoiding anything that would stir a fight. It wouldn’t work forever. But right then it worked so well.

Riddle was interesting, and full of knowledge the same way Hermione was. He had unusual facts about almost everything and spoke in a way that didn’t make it seem boring or overbearing. Harry saw why the Slytherins came to him. And some of the things he said were surprisingly funny, sharp and witty and laced with a slight bit of scorn. It was harmless, wasn’t it? Getting along.

'We're going to buy new Quidditch gear, yeah?' Abraxas said, his voice high in excitement.

'You are,' Harry replied.

They were in the Common Room, along with the other Seventh Years, and Harry was being sucked into a conversation about Quidditch.

Abraxas blinked at him and Riddle lifted his head from where he was reading a book the size of Hogwarts: A History. 'Haven't you had the luxury of Abraxas' father's vault yet?’ he said.

'That's weird, so no.'

‘Oh, come on, Harry,’ Abraxas said. ‘If there's one thing the Malfoys can do, it’s provide money for Quidditch. Especially for someone on the team.’

Harry had a vision of second-year when Lucius Malfoy bought the entire team Nimbus 2001’s and shuddered. ‘Definitely not.’

Harry’s mind wandered as Abraxas spoke and he noticed the far-away look on Belinda’s face. She was nodding her head as he babbled, her eyes distant.

Abraxas also noticed and shut up at once. ‘Belinda? Are you ok?’

He touched her arm and she jumped, ripping his fingers off. ‘Merlin, what, Abraxas?’

‘Nothing. I was only wondering are you ok.’

He gave her a look, private and meaningful and revealing absolutely nothing to Harry.

‘Everything’s fine,’ she said. ‘It’s not that.’

Harry watched, bewildered. He had never seen Abraxas so upset or at a loss for words. 

‘I was thinking,’ she said shortly. Then she blinked and those pale eyes were staring right at Harry. ‘Are you excited for Hogsmeade?’

‘What?’ Caught off-guard, he stared at her.

‘You haven’t been before, have you?’

‘No.’

‘We’ll show you around, don’t worry. Though if you settle in like you did here it wont be a problem.’

Harry didn’t know what to say. She put him at a loss for words and he wasn’t sure why. ‘Yeh, it should be fun.’

He winced. Fun.

‘For some, maybe. ‘Her voice was so quiet only he and Abraxas heard. Abraxas reached for her again and she stood up, leaving his arm frozen in mid-air.

‘I’m going to arrange my outfit,’ she said, voice sweet and artificial. There was a mocking edge to it, like she had a private joke none of them knew. ‘Who thinks red?’

But she didn’t wait for an answer. She went up the staircase and disappeared.

Harry had a lesson with Dumbledore that evening and he reluctantly decided to go. He found it hard to meet his eye these days and wanted to dump his memories of Riddle into the swirling depths of the Pensieve. He knew if Dumbledore found out Harry’s Occlumency had improved the same time his relationship with Riddle had, he would be concerned. It concerned Harry.

 As he went up the staircases, he put it to the back of his mind. If the Dumbledore of the future hadn’t understood Harry and Voldemort’s connection (or hadn’t bothered to explain it), why would it be different here?

He reached the Third Floor and a group of younger Gryffindors stopped their talking and giggled. He didn’t know what they could be saying: he wasn’t the Boy-Who-Lived or the talk of the Daily Prophet anymore. He continued down the hall and stilled.

That’s when he spotted them. Or more specifically, him.Because Harry didn’t notice the ghost, not at first. He only saw Riddle, standing in front of the stained-glass window. It took a second to notice he was talking to a ghost.

Harry knew not to make his presence known. Some instinct kept him rooted in place. Riddle hadn’t spotted him. He was giving the ghost his full attention. His head shook, she was saying something and he leaned forward to listen . . .

Harry held his breath as he moved closer. Neither looked up and when he made out what they were saying he ducked behind a suit of armour. His invisibility cloak would come in handy now. He had seen it that morning, right at the top of his trunk.

With the suit of armour, his view of Riddle was obscured. But the ghost—a young woman with long hair—was in plain view. Harry recognised her up close. He had passed her many times in the corridors. She had a haughty look about her that was now absent.

He racked his brain. She floated around with Nearly Headless Nick. And he saw her during feasts sometimes. A house ghost, wasn’t she?

The Grey Lady.

‘You aren’t the first student to ask me this, Tom, and you won’t be the last.’

Harry craned his ears.

‘But, Helena—’ 

His stomach turned.

‘I understand where you’re coming from. We all do things we regret. My own mother —’ Riddle’s voice shook and he cleared his throat — ‘abandoned me when I was a baby.’

‘You?’ The ghost—Helena—raised her eyebrows.

‘I was angry. I hope you can understand. I’ve never told anyone this either.’ His voice lowered. ‘Sometimes our mothers let us down, don’t they?’

‘Yes. I suppose they do.’

She must have seen something on Riddle’s face for she continued, ‘It’s not a nice story. Are you sure you want to hear?’

‘I want you to trust me.’

Harry imagined the earnest expression on his face and he didn’t know if he wanted to laugh or throw up.

‘And if you do tell, it will stay just between us. I’ll understand.’

‘Well, I suppose I —’ she took a deep breath. ‘It wasn’t easy being the daughter of Rowena Ravenclaw.’

Harry listened from where he stood. As Helena began her story she couldn’t seem to stop. It spilled out in a rush. Every time she caught her breath and began to look uncertain, Riddle said something reassuring.

‘It’s not your fault.’ His voice was soft. ‘Sometimes I feel I need to prove myself as well.’

‘You’re Head Boy. The best in Hogwarts, they say. Why?’

His voice lowered like he was revealing a secret only for her. ‘I’m a half-blood.’

Harry couldn’t have moved if he wanted to. He knew Riddle was manipulative, could charm anyone he wanted. But he had never seen it in action before.

Helena’s story began to piece together.

. . . stole her mother’s diadem . . . the Lost Diadem of Ravenclaw . . . put it in a hollow tree in Albania . . .

`It's not your fault,’ Riddle said soothingly. ‘I promise.’

Something inside Harry twisted. It wasn’t just the fact Riddle’s nature was crystal clear. He had always known that, deep down. It was the Horcrux. The final one.

Months he had spent searching, months wondering what it was.

Ravenclaw’s Diadem.

Riddle was planning another horcrux already, was going to steal it from Albania. Planning another murder . . . 

He was going to split his soul again. Kill someone.

Harry moved from behind the suit of armour. He couldn’t take his eyes off them and didn’t care if Riddle saw; wanted him to.

 There was a clunk as he knocked against another suit of armour. It gave a loud, indignant shout—watch it, boy! —and the talking stopped at once.

‘What are you doing?’ the Ghost of Ravenclaw demanded.

Riddle didn’t look concerned. There was a lazy grin on his face which only grew.

He had got what he wanted, hadn’t he? Another horcrux . . . already . . .

A part of Harry’s brain said this was good news —he knew what they were looking for now—but it was so small it was overpowered. He knew Riddle was planning this but hadn’t expected it so soon. It was like a slap in the face.

‘Harry,’ Riddle said. ‘What brings you here?’

Harry ignored him, looking only at Helena Ravenclaw. He wanted to tell her, with his eyes, what she had done. What the simple story meant. What Riddle was going to do to her mother’s lost diadem and the awful mistake she had made.

 But none of this got through. She stared at him, haughty look back, and as flustered as a ghost could be. ‘I’ll see you around, Tom,’ she said. ‘Won’t I?’

‘Of course. I’d love to hear more from you.’

As she floated away, Harry tried to control his breathing. It was a mistake confronting Riddle, this entire thing was a mistake.

Horcrux, murder, horcrux.

Murder. 

‘What’s wrong with you?’ Riddle said, his satisfied expression disappearing.

`Why were you talking to that ghost?’ Harry said, managing to keep his voice level.

‘Her mother’s Rowena Ravenclaw. The stories she has about the castle are fascinating.’

 Liar. Liar. Liar.

‘Harry . . . ’

He recoiled. 

‘She was telling me about the Lost Diadem of Ravenclaw. Have you heard of it?’

‘I don’t care about the stupid diadem story,’ Harry said, ‘And neither do you. You’re manipulating her.’

His eyebrows rose. His voice wasn’t nice anymore. ‘And how’s that?’

‘Pretending you care. You want the Diadem for yourself.’

Riddle’s face stiffened. ‘And so what if I do, Harry? I thought you knew I was evil and despicable and — what’s that word you’re fond of? Twisted.’

 Harry stared at him. He was right of course. ‘Yeah, I did.’

You killed your whole family. Myrtle.

‘I thought we could ignore it. But we’re too different. You’re—everything I dislike. No offence. And I don’t want —’

 He stopped before he said something he shouldn’t. He was already treading a line. ‘I can’t pretend I’m ok with it. Not anymore. So stop trying to be my friend. Stop whatever game you’re playing. Just accept that I don’t like you.’

Riddle’s face darkened and an image of Voldemort flashed through Harry’s mind. He took a step back. The similarity was uncanny.

A reminder of what this was, why it was stupid, a bad idea, and he couldn’t forget—

Horcrux. Murder. Voldemort.

He left before either of them said anything else.

When Tom was a young boy, he realised feelings were pointless. Even his favourite feelings—amusement, satisfaction, pride—only distracted him. Took his mind away from the important things: his goals.

In the orphanage, the other children would snivel. Snivel and cry until their throats were raw and their noses blocked and their spirits crushed.

Whatever was the point? No matter how he felt, Tom ignored it. He would sit there, while they played some insolent muggle game, and daydream.

When little Molly Elliot tripped on the ground and scratched her knees, she burst into tears. The others crowded around, murmuring sympathy. 'I'm sorry. That must have hurt.'

He wondered were they lying. There was no way they cared. Had any sort of sadness towards her.

It only made them weak.

'Don't you feel bad, Tom?’ Fat, ugly Mrs. Cole asked. ‘In any way?'

An orphan's broken arm flashed through his mind and the sound it made when it popped from its socket. An experiment, it was, and instead of sad he felt proud and strong and the very opposite of bad.

'No.’

This was another thing that made him different. Above them. So when they would snivel and cry and let their hopes die, he would think about leaving this place. He was going to rule the world. And no-one would look down on him again.

Harry Potter left in a daze. His feet were tripping and he wasn't looking where he was going. He didn't turn around as Tom glared at him, the wheels turning in his mind.

There was no reason why Tom talking to a ghost would make him angry. No way he cared for the Diadem of Ravenclaw or if Tom coaxed The Grey Lady into telling him a story.

What had made him so mad?

Harry had those stupid ideas of right and wrong. Manipulation was bad. Murder was bad. It made Tom laugh. What did he think he was — some storybook prince who would save the world?

Things weren't that simple.

As Tom went back to the Common Room, his mind raced. Who did he think he was? No-one spoke to him in that way.

Tom could admit Harry was fascinating. His sheer anger would come in bursts. His eyes would blaze and his voice would fill with venom. He was above the other Slytherins — something more than a cowardly sheep.

And Tom liked to make him tick. Liked to hear his responses. Wanted to make Harry like him. Enjoyed the inner conflict it caused.

He liked how Harry wasn’t afraid. Liked how he didn’t always have to be on best behaviour — be Lord Voldemort or Head Boy Riddle.

It took away Tom’s boredom and restlessness.Satisfied an itch. Harry was new and different and exciting.

But as Harry walked off, he knew it didn’t matter how fun it was.

You’re everything I dislike.

He couldn’t focus on his plans of becoming Lord Voldemort when Harry was around. He barely spent time with his Death-Eaters. Everything was just Harry.Harry and that link between them. The dreams and the twin-wands and the invisible ties he could nearly feel.

Harry was much too distracting. Secretive. He knew something and was practically in Dumbledore’s pocket.

Stop trying to be my friend.

Because, after all, Harry was a threat. And if he wanted the fun to be over, wanted to end their truce, shouldn’t Tom give him exactly what he wished for? 

The dream-sharing was the worst of it. Tom didn’t mind having Harry’s dreams — he had found out an awful lot about him. There were all those gingers that looked like his friend, Ron Weasley. Hadn’t he grown up with them?

 And then visions from a younger boy of a cupboard. The hunger was so bad in those, the space so small, that he wondered how Harry was still insufferably good.

 It was when Harry saw parts of Tom he hated. Things no-one should see, from when he was a scared, pathetic child. Weak. Parts of himself he had gotten rid of.

And Harry — suspicious, noble, friends with Dumbledore Harry—was able to see into Tom’s mind. Into his dreams.

He needed to get rid of this link once and for all.

When he reached the Common Room, Harry was nowhere in sight. He went over to Rosier who sat alone, hunched over a Daily Prophet article. ‘Stop slouching,’ he said. ‘What are you, a muggle?’

Rosier straightened so fast it was a wonder his back didn’t break. ‘Sorry, m’lord.’ He looked at Tom, awestruck and afraid.

Tom smiled at him, which made Rosier sit even straighter.

‘Thank you, Edwin. I need to borrow your wand.’

He faltered. 'My wand?'

It was the ultimate test of trust. A wand was a wizard's most intimate possession.

'Yes. Your wand. Unless you refuse? I can find someone else.'

'No—no—I'll do it.'

He took his wand from his robes and rubbed it against the fabric. Tom watched in amusement as sparks shot out the end.

'I knew I could trust you,' he murmured. The words tasted like oil in his mouth.

His wand was cold. Elm wood and phoenix feathers. It’s inclination to the Dark Arts suited Tom, even if it wasn't a perfect match. Rosier didn't ask why and Tom didn't tell him. He inspected it from all angles and found it satisfactory.

Harry didn’t come to the Common Room after dinner with the others. It gave Tom time to plan. He was probably with Dumbledore, or with the two Gryffindors, telling them everything he knew.

The Portrait Hole opened the minute curfew begun. He looked up but it wasn’t Harry. Belinda came it, her head down, and she froze when she spotted him.

 ‘My lord,’ she began slowly.

 Tom hide his frown. It wasn’t spoken with the usual respect. Then again, there was something odd about Belinda recently. Distant. Quiet. Ever since he had told her to watch Harry Potter she had been acting differently.

‘You haven’t seen Harry, have you, Belinda?’

She gave him a strange look. ‘No, my lord. Not since earlier.’

He was still out then. Excellent.

‘And your father –’

She stilled.

‘Still pressing for the wedding?’

He gave her his best sympathetic look but if anything, she looked troubled.

‘It’s final now.’ Her voice was devoid of any emotion. ‘There’s nothing you can do.’

Like you promised.

But she wasn’t looking at him anymore. She had always been one of his most loyal. Full of ambition, burning with it. Ideas and dreams and wishes. Which he had promised her. 

But he couldn’t deal with her strange behaviour now. Whatever she was keeping, whatever she was hiding, he would get it out of her. With her family’s influence it was essential she stayed loyal.

‘Goodnight, Belinda.’

She hurried off, twisting the ring on her finger.

He stood up. The Common Room was still. The snake on the mantelpiece raised its beady eyes to watch. He took Rosier’s wand from his pocket and left.

Tom ran into Harry on the Ground Floor. He had charmed the paintings to stay asleep and had his wand ready to obliviate anyone he passed. But everything was silent and he met no-one.

Harry was coming down the marble staircase and into the entrance hall.

Sneaking back to the Common Room, Tom thought, and that intense anger filled him once again.

‘Are you usually this lost when I’m not around?’

Harry jumped a foot in the air. His wand was out in a second and he took a step backwards. ‘What do you want, Riddle?’

‘I’ve thought about it,’ he said. ‘For a long time. And this connection is a problem.’

Before Harry answered, he cast a spell and sent him tripping to the floor. A second later, his wand sailed to Tom.

‘What the fuck —’

‘Language,’ Tom said absently.

Harry seemed to physically shake with rage. He was on his feet at once. ‘Is this because I said our friendship is off? Really?’

‘It’s because this connection is dangerous. I do not want my mind tied to someone else’s.’

Harry laughed disbelievingly. ‘You’re scared,’ he said.

Tom’s fingers twitched at his wand.

‘You don’t like me having your dreams. Well, too bad because it’s not going away anytime soon. You’ll just have to deal with it.’

‘You’re forgetting one obvious solution,’ Tom said.

Harry stiffened, his eyes widening in realisation. But he still didn’t look scared. He stood there, his eyes blazing, without a wand. ‘Go on then,’ he said. ‘Give it your best.’

‘It’s a shame to do this, Harry. I quite like you.’

‘Bullshit.’

‘No, really. You’re the most interesting thing around here for quite some time.’

‘Interesting. Because I don’t listen to the shit you spew? All this because of a crazy connection —’

He laughed again, loud and harsh and a bit mad. Tom waited until the echoes died away.

‘Your closeness with Dumbledore is unfortunate. How long until I'm called into his office for a chat?’

He pointed his wand at Harry’s head. ‘You oppose everything I do with your morals. The desire to be good. It was never going to work.’

Harry licked his lips. ‘You’re scared I’ll tell Dumbledore. I thought no one would believe me?’

‘But you know. You know too much.’

He entered his mind easily. Without a wand, it was more pitiful. Tom sank into it, letting every feeling wash over him. He dived through the memories, saw the day through Harry’s eyes. How he had waited behind the stature, heard them talking. 

But when he went to press, the memory turned hot. Everything burnt, heat searing through him, driving him out.

‘I said to stop reading my mind.’

Tom’s breathing was heavy. Being in Harry’s mind made him dizzy; drunk and dazed.

He reached into his pocket and took out Rosier’s wand. When Harry saw it, his mouth fell open.

‘You know, it’s a shame to have to do this,’ Tom said.

‘Oh, yeh? Well, my friends —’

‘—Will have a lot of fun searching for proof. And even if they get it, it’s worth it.’

He was a Seventh-Year now and he had achieved everything he wanted at Hogwarts. Letting Harry stay, letting him access Tom’s mind, was worse than being expelled.

He waved the wand through the air and blue light spilled out of it. When it faded, a snake sat between them, larger than any muggle one. Its eyes locked on Harry.

‘When we’re done, I’ll dump you in the forest,’ Tom said, waiting for him to show some fear.

Beg. Beg for me, Harry. Plead for your life.

‘You were the foolish student who wandered in. Defenceless. Who knows, by the time the creatures are done feeding, there might not be much left to find.’

Harry met his eye. Looked at the snake and back at Tom. Still, he didn’t speak.

‘Kill him,’ Tom hissed.

The snake reared up. With no wand, the only thing Harry could do was back away. It advanced on him, gliding across the floor, and Harry backed away, not taking his eyes from it.

It made no difference. The snake rose into the air and lunged. Harry was sent toppling to the floor as it advanced on him, quick as a flash, massive body able to crush. It raised its head, fangs visible for a fraction of a second —

—and Tom watched carefully, felt nothing, nothing, nothing —

—It was going to bite him, it was venomous, oh god, oh fuck, he needed to —

The snake’s fangs were a millimetre from Harry’s neck and Tom was waiting for the moment he would crumble; beg for mercy. The wand was still in his hand and he didn’t know what to do with it. Didn’t know why he still had it raised.

 ‘Stop,’ Harry yelled. The snake froze. Tom froze.

Disbelief made him laugh. It was impossible. There was no way —

‘You spoke Parseltongue,’ Tom said. He sounded much calmer than he felt.

Harry shoved the snake off him with a massive heave and rose to his feet. His breathing was heavy. ‘You were going to kill me — ‘

‘There is no were.’

‘You were going to have me eaten by a fucking snake!’

What did he want - remorse?

‘How cruel of me,’ Tom murmured. He grabbed Harry’s chin, forcing him to look at him. ‘How did you speak Parseltongue?’

Harry shoved his hands off, his eyes—green, bright green—blazing. ‘It’s part of our connection, Riddle. Haven’t you figured it out?’

‘You can’t give someone a hereditary skill. I am a descendant of Salazar Slytherin and you are —’

‘A half-blood, like you?’ He didn’t seem to care Tom had his wand. That Tom had the power here, not him. ‘I know all about your mother. Your muggle father. They left you in an orphanage. Poor little Tom. You’re not better than anyone else because you have some old Slytherin blood—’

‘I am —’

‘Lord Voldemort? That’s what you want to be called, isn’t it? Oh, Riddle.’

The way he said it was wrong. No-one should say Voldemort that way. Not the way they would say Tom Riddle, a dirty, muggle name.

He waved his wand and Harry stopped talking and started screaming. It was lucky he had put silencing charms up; the whole castle would be awake otherwise.

‘Kill him, now,’ he said to the snake.

Harry stopped his screaming and gasped out: ‘No, stop it. I’m a speaker.’

 Tom shot another wave of pain at him, causing his face to contort, knees to buckle, whole body to twitch and tremble. But he didn’t cry out again. And strangely, it didn’t give Tom the satisfaction he thought it would.

‘Parseltongue,’ he murmured to himself, not taking his eyes from Harry. ‘How long have you been able to speak it?’

He released the curse and Harry gasped. He stared at Tom, eyes full of revulsion, and took a step forward. His bottom lip had split from where he had clamped down on it and was stained red. Tom wondered what it would be like to touch it, feel the burst lip under his finger, trace it with his finger. His mouth.

He had done that. His own artwork.

‘I’ve been able to speak Parseltongue all my life,’ Harry said, unaware of Tom’s gaze. ‘You wanker.’

And then his fist came forward, straight into Tom’s face. There was a crunch of his nose and his feet buckled underneath him. He grabbed Harry’s robes to steady himself and Harry shoved, toppling them over. They both fell backwards, hitting the ground. At some point, Harry had wrenched his wand from Tom’s fingers.

He had fallen on top of him. Painfully. Tom felt all his long, awkward limbs and the warmth of his body. His ragged breath. Their faces were almost touching. Harry’s glasses were broken and his eyes were comically wide.

 ‘Would you mind,’ Tom said, gritting his teeth as blood flowed from his nose. ‘Getting off me?’

The weight disappeared at once and Harry stumbled back.

‘You fight like a muggle,’ Tom said. When he stood his head spun. 

‘There’s nothing wrong with muggles. And I got my wand back, didn’t I?’ 

‘Oh? Ready to show off some third-year spells?’

‘I don’t know,’ Harry said, ‘ever heard of —sectumsempra!’

Tom deflected the light back at him and it seared a hole through the floor. He fired twice, nonverbally, and Harry dived out of the way. The curses found their next target: the snake. It went up in a flash of red light.

Harry knew Parseltongue.

Parseltongue.

The same as Tom.

He slowly lowered his wand, leaving only a shield. Harry was casting so intensely it buckled. Tom could feel his anger, almost feel his thoughts.

How, how, how —

How were they connected? How did he get rid of it?

He wanted it gone.

And then Harry stopped trying to break through Tom’s shield and grabbed his head. 

The pain — the pulsing searing pain. The shield fell away. Tom gasped under the weight of it. The anger was consuming him — his own anger, not Harry’s. And Harry made a little whimpering noise, grabbing his head like he wanted to tear it off.

Tom stopped fighting it and the pain faded instantly.

Harry took his hands away from his forehead. His curls were standing up and the scar — jagged and spidery, like a bolt of lightning —was starkly visible.

‘We’re connected through that,’ Tom said, unable to keep the dazed note from his voice. He wanted to touch, to feel — ‘Your scar.’

Harry knew Parseltongue. When Tom got angry, Harry’s head exploded in pain. They were connected through the scar.

‘I’ve had it forever,' Harry said.

‘But you haven’t known me forever.’

All thoughts of killing him disappeared there and then. The scar joined them. Made him Tom’s. What sort of magic was behind it?

‘Want to try and kill me again?’ Harry said. ‘See how it works out?’

Harry didn’t realise at all.

‘Too risky,’ Tom said. ‘This link is deeper than I suspected.’

‘Well fuck that. Because I don’t care about your connection bullshit anymore, Riddle. Do your worst.’

He stalked off.

Tom let him go. Foolish? Perhaps. But could he kill him even if he tried?

He thought of Harry’s breath on his face and the anger burning in his eyes. When he looked at Tom and only Tom.

Why kill him when he could simply have him?

Chapter Text

When Harry left Riddle, his whole body was surging with adrenaline. His feet were unsteady, his arms trembled, his knuckles throbbed. None of it felt real.

He had just tried to kill him.

Even the words were difficult to understand. They swam around his head, over and over, mixing with the anger, the disbelief, the image of Riddle’s dazed face.

Riddle had just tried to kill him.

Harry glanced at his knuckles, swollen and bruised, and felt a stab of pleasure. It served him right. He hoped his nose was broken, hoped when it healed it was out of shape, crooked, a permanent reminder for all to see.

He should have killed Riddle before all this happened, the day they travelled back in time. Before the stupid truce, the stupid mind games. Before Ron and Hermione could convince him to do nothing, before Riddle convinced him to be friendly.

How hadn’t he expected this? It was Tom Riddle.

And he had forgotten. He had let himself forget. Never dreamed Riddle would try and kill him or go to such lengths to remove the connection he seemed so fascinated by.

Still seemed fascinated by.

Harry thought of the strange look on his face when he had stopped casting. He looked almost hungry. Like Harry was some new, shiny object he had discovered with unknown magical properties.

I quite like you.

Would he dig? Try and find out more and more?

You’re the most interesting thing that’s happened around here for quite some time.

He was a monster. Any slivers of humanity he had didn’t matter. So what if he could be angry or scared? Amused or interested?

So what if he only ever thought of himself?

Harry’s mind steadied. His thoughts slowed down. He had forgotten; he had been blinded. But he knew what Riddle was like now. Remembered exactly why he should stay far away.

The disregard in his eyes and the cold, confident cadence of his voice. The way he watched. Like Harry was an exotic animal at a zoo. There to gawk at; find out about until his interest slipped away.

Harry shook his head. The portraits were frozen in place and watched him beneath glassy eyes. He could almost feel them protesting, urging him to undo the charm.

Riddle knew about the Parseltongue. It was only another thing for him to become suspicious over, another thing Harry had to avoid. Another, and another, and the list was building up and up ---

What was the point?

Red eyes. His head exploding in pain.

If Harry got his diary, got his ring . . .

He could kill him.

It was a dangerous thought. A dangerous thought that nagged at his mind and didn’t want to leave. He couldn’t. Not be a murderer. But what was the alternative?

His mouth tasted like bitterness. A voice that sounded like Hermione rattled in his head. Idiot, it said. Idiot, idiot, idiot.

He blocked it out. Blocked it all out. All he saw was Riddle’s eyes, black in the light, and the blood from his nose.

He had just tried to kill him.

And that strange look on his face . . .

It didn’t matter.

The thought of telling Ron and Hermione made his stomach turn. Because if that got out, it would open the entire can of worms. They would ask questions. Insist. And the whole thing—everything he hadn’t mentioned, denied to himself and them—would come too.

Friendly. That’s what they had been.

Harry had liked Riddle. He had thought, for a childish while, that things weren’t too bad. Bearable. Enjoyable, even. Slytherin wasn’t the worst, and somehow, Riddle had made it better.

And he didn’t want to be reprimanded just then. Not when he knew himself. Knew it all, far more than they could, full of fresh anger and bruised knuckles, knew and yet still wanted –

It would never have worked out. It was better to ignore him now, ignore him until all this was over, and they were back in the future.

Because thinking about it made his head hurt. Hurt, like something was banging inside his skull, bringing fresh waves of anger. Hurt like when Voldemort was in one of his worse moods and his vision turned white and Death-Eaters began screaming.

No, he wouldn’t tell Ron and Hermione any of this yet. It was better to let them go to Hogsmeade, be happy, and not dragged into Harry’s problems. They seemed happy here, happier than ever before. They deserved a day to themselves.

Harry didn’t have the heart to tell Abraxas he didn’t want to go to Hogsmeade. Not when he was so excited to show him around.

‘Dumbledore took me before,’ Harry had pointed out but Abraxas rolled his eyes and said apparition points weren’t the same thing.

And if he told Ron and Hermione he was no longer going they would think it was because of them. Cancel the date. And he would have to explain. Explain it all.

‘Just no meeting up with Riddle,’ Harry said, ‘and I’ll go.’

Abraxas' eager expression slipped. ‘Why? Did you have a fight? You didn’t say something, did you?’

‘What, like, you’re a murderous psychopath and I don’t know how anyone likes you –’ 

Abraxas’ face was stricken and Harry sighed. ‘No. Nothing like that.’

‘Then what?’

It was so absurd he laughed. ‘Trust me, you wouldn’t believe it if you heard.’

He gathered his wand and while at his bed, lifted his invisibility cloak and stowed it in his cloak. After last night, he wasn’t taking chances.

Abraxas was dressed for the weather in a coat that buttoned all the way up to his chin. Harry had to stifle his laughter, reminded of muggle royalty the Dursleys were so fond of.

‘The first place you need to see is Honeydukes,’ Abraxas began, as they left the common room. ‘The chocolate is good, though it doesn’t compare to the stuff grandfather brings from Germany.’

Harry made a noncommittal noise. He really was a pompous prat.

‘And then, of course, the history of the village. It was founded around the same time Hogwarts was built.’

The caretaker didn’t check for permission forms—it was one of the advantages of being a seventh-year—and they set off down the winding, leaf-strewn path, Abraxas lecturing Harry on wizarding history. The sunlight was weak and the breeze harsh: meeting Ron and Hermione at The Three Broomsticks was becoming more tantalizing.

‘Wizards were being persecuted by muggles. They lived alongside each other before, and it was becoming dangerous. Hogsmeade was one of the many wizarding villages founded during this time. For sanctuary, and of course, to allow bloodlines to flourish.’

He caught the look on Harry’s face and cleared his throat. ‘Anyway, we’re nearly there.’

Harry wanted to tell him about muggles. They may have been dirty and uneducated and dangerous back then but they weren’t now. But he knew he wouldn’t listen. A muggle, to Abraxas, was the same as an alien.

They reached the village a few moments later. Hogsmeade, as always, was interesting, but Harry had to fake a lot of his wonder. There was only so many times he could make surprised noises at various shops, or look suitably awed by the thatched houses and cobbled streets. He couldn’t stop looking around for Riddle, dreading the thought of running into him. The pain in his scar was building up, like a crescendo.

‘Ok, so you don’t like post offices,’ Abraxas said, trailing off from one of his many speeches. ‘Of course you don’t. No-one does.’

‘No,’ Harry said quickly. ‘I love them. All the – parchment. And owls.’

‘Were you listening to anything I said?’

‘Not right now,’ Harry admitted. ‘My head hurts.’

‘Again? There’s an apothecary around the corner. Let’s go and buy some –’ 

‘I’m really fine.’ He wondered what Abraxas would say if he told him Riddle caused his scar to hurt. ‘It’s just a headache.’

But Abraxas still looked concerned, enough to drag Harry somewhere and have a healer cast spells. To distract him, Harry said the first thing that came to mind. ‘Why do you like Riddle?’

Abraxas froze for a second. ‘Why do I like him?’ he repeated. ‘For the same reasons you do. Or did. Or – whatever. He’s very smart. And powerful. He runs Slytherin, he’s the heir. And he’s always been there for me. With my – stuff.’

‘Yeah, he knows everyone’s stuff,’ Harry said.

‘And he’s in charge. Why wouldn’t he?’

Of the Death Eaters.

Charming. Influential. Caring.

‘Come on,’ Harry said, catching the weary look on his friend’s face, ‘show me this Quidditch shop you keep talking about.’

It was better than Harry thought it would be. Abraxas’ excitement was contagious and he got the owner to bring out yet to be released equipment which had never happened to Ron or Harry before. The shop was packed with students, and quaffles and snitches buzzed overhead. But at the same time, it was like being in an antique shop.

‘Just let me buy you a pair of gloves,’ Abraxas was saying. ‘You’re a seeker. What if the snitch slips away?’

‘Snitches don’t do that.’

Or even worse, Abraxas tried to buy him a broomstick. ‘You can’t use Orion’s forever.’

 ‘There are school ones,’ Harry said.

‘And we both know you may as well fly around on an enchanted branch.’ Suddenly he stopped, staring out the window.

Harry followed his gaze. ‘What?’

‘It’s Belinda.’

Harry couldn’t find her at first, not in the swarm of people. He saw her when the crowd moved, her head down, walking behind a large man.

‘Is that her – husband to be?’ 

‘Yes,’ Abraxas whispered.

He had to be at least forty. No, fifty. Tall and broad with long, straggly hair and a gaunt, waxy face. He looked like an Azkaban prisoner.

‘He’ so old,’ Harry said.

‘Creepy-looking,’ Abraxas agreed.

They couldn’t see Belinda’s face—it was obscured by her hair—but she looked very small in comparison to him. Like a child walking behind her father.

‘Let’s go rescue her,’ Abraxas said.

Harry barely had time to put down the practice snitch he was playing with before they were out of the shop.

‘How?’ he said, but Abraxas was already striding forward. Harry spotted Riddle—tall, purposeful, causing heads to turn—exiting a bookstore. He froze when he saw Harry, who immediately looked away.

‘Follow them,’ Abraxas said. ‘Say we need her for something. Get her away from him.’

Harry pushed Riddle out of his mind. His stomach rolled. His whole body felt hot with hatred. ‘Right. Belinda.’

Abraxas had doubled his pace, and Harry followed after him. They reached a quieter part of the town, near a long alleyway. There were no students around, only two elderly witches that didn’t spare them a glance.

‘Look—they’re going in there.’

The man pulled open the door of a dark, dingy pub and Belinda followed behind him.

‘You really think we should follow?’ Harry said hesitantly. Everything about the situation made him uneasy.

‘Yes, come on.’ He pulled open the door and they stepped inside.

The first thing Harry noticed was the hush. Unlike a typical pub, there was no music playing. No laughter. About a dozen people sat around dark wooden tables. A piano sat near the empty bar, its keys coated in a thick layer of dust.

‘Oh, he hates me,’ Abraxas breathed, suddenly looking nervous. It was dark enough inside that they went unnoticed. ‘I don’t know about this anymore.’

Harry didn’t have to ask who he was. ‘You know him?’

‘Yes, Arnoldo Flint.’

The name seemed familiar. Strangely so. Where had he heard it before?

‘He runs Azkaban,’ Harry said. ‘She told me that.’ That night at the Slug Club. He could remember the first half of it clearly. Only Belinda never said he was her betrothed.

‘You –um—’ Abraxas wiped his hands on his trousers. ‘Would you do the speaking?’

Harry looked towards the table. A part of him wanted to say no. He wasn’t friends with Belinda, not at all. She was so strange; managed to make him feel uneasy and he didn’t know why. But then, could he really leave her?

To Harry, she looked very bored and not at all scared. Her face had that blank look, her eyes that flat, distant way they got. And the man stretched out his long, dirty hand, as if he was going to grab hers –

‘Ok. Fine.’

As they reached the table, both occupants looked up. Belinda’s face took on a pleased expression but Arnoldo’s curled upwards.

‘Abraxas. Again, we meet. This is becoming an . . . occurrence.’ He had several teeth missing and the ones Harry could see were yellow.

Abraxas let out a nervous titter and took a step back. ‘Yes, well – ‘

He looked meaningfully at Harry.

‘I need to buy Lucretia a present,’ Harry said, looking at Belinda and unable to believe the rubbish that was coming from his mouth. ‘And you’re the only one who knows what she likes.’

‘We don’t know girl shops,’ Abraxas chimed in. ‘It’s Harry’s first time in Hogsmeade.’

‘And I don’t want her to see. I distracted her but it’s only a matter of time until she comes looking.’ He broke off. Looked at the man seated beside Belinda, his hand holding not her hand but her arm. ‘I want it to be a surprise but she’s hard to choose for. I have no clue –’ 

‘Hurry back,’ Arnoldo said.

Harry blinked. He really hadn’t thought that would work.

‘We will,’ Abraxas said immediately, ‘thank you so much.’

‘Not you.’

Belinda rose from her chair at the same time Abraxas made a surprised noise. ‘W –what?’

‘You and me need a chat, Abraxas. Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing. All these distractions. My patience is starting to wear away.’ As Belinda stood, he reached a hand towards her robes, trailing it over them.

‘He needs to come,’ Harry said, looking Arnoldo straight in the eye.

‘No, no, it’s fine.’ Abraxas sat down in Belinda’s empty chair and began to fidget. He didn’t seem surprised by Arnoldo’s display and Harry wondered just how close he and Belinda were. ‘Choose well, will you, Harry?’ 

It sounded like a plea.

Then she hooked her arm into Harry’s and tugged them out of the pub. It was only when they were in the bright outside light that he saw the smirk on her mouth.

‘Disgusting bastard, isn’t he?’

‘What?’ 

‘Vile. Truly. Can I not say that word?’ Her grip on his arm tightened. Her other hand seemed to tug his coat. ‘A little pureblood girl like me shouldn’t be so vulgar.’ 

The mocking edge was back in her voice. She slid one of her hands inside his coat and Harry tried to shove her off without hurting her but couldn’t. Her hand was still tight on his arm.

‘Belinda,’ he said, ‘you can let go now.’

‘I was hoping you would stage some heroics, Harry. I knew when you were with Abraxas it was bound to happen. Save me from my big, bad date. I just didn’t think getting you alone would be so easy.’

This was wrong. He knew in a second that something wasn’t right about her; that his instincts had always been correct. The moment he went to shove her away from him, her fingers dug into his arm. At the same time, the hand in his coat found his wand and retracted it.

‘Give me my wand,’ he said, and got a hold of her wrist. ‘Belinda, what the hell –’ 

He lunged for it but she held it out of reach, letting go of his arm suddenly, and shoving him so he staggered back. ‘Let’s go down here and have a chat,’ she said, pointing to the alleyway beside the pub. It was very narrow and ended in blackness.

‘Let me think about it – no way.’ He moved for her again but she kept a distance between them, her own wand in her hand. He was painfully aware that this was a street. Empty now, but for how long? And what would people think?

‘Fine then. You have two choices. We go down here and you do what I say, or I go back into that pub and tell everyone you’re a time-traveller. Wouldn’t that be fun?’

For a second, everything seemed to freeze. She knew. Belinda knew. And she no longer looked timid or helpless. No longer kind or helpful.

‘How did you –’ 

‘Find out?’

They went down the alleyway.

‘It’s because I’m a girl, isn’t it? You didn’t think I could do it.’

‘No,’ Harry said, his mind spinning. Never had he imagined this would happen. Someone would find out.

‘You were scared it would be Riddle. Is he really all you think about?’

‘How do you know about Riddle? What do you want?’

She hesitated. For the first time, her face was unsure. It cleared a moment later. ‘I want your invisibility cloak. No. I need it.’

His cloak? How did she know about that?

‘I don’t have it on me,’ he lied.

Her pale eyes looked unnerving in the dark. Harry was more aware than ever of the strange, intimidated feeling he got around her. Like she knew so much more than everyone else.

How was he going to get out of this? He didn’t want to hurt her –not until it was a last resort. Buy time then.

‘I know you have it on you. I checked your dorm before you left. Didn’t you see it, just waiting at the top of your trunk?’

It had been at the top of his trunk. At the top of his trunk and he hadn’t used it in so long. ‘Why didn’t you just take it then?’ he said.  

‘Because I thought you would notice. It’s not safe in the castle. I thought you would tell someone and it would be linked back to me. Tell Dumbledore. Your pesky friends.’

‘But here's perfectly normal then?’

‘They won’t know it’s me. Because you’re not going to tell them.’

And Harry decided not to disagree, to let her talk. Let her talk and he could think —

‘How do you know about the time-travel?’

She laughed. Loud and genuine, and not the titter she always did. ‘You’ve been so obvious. You were too busy thinking of your future and your plans. Or Riddle. All it took was someone to look. He told to watch you. The very first night you arrived. And watch you I did.’

‘You saw my cloak that day in the Common Room,’ Harry said. The day he had listened into Riddle’s death-eater meeting, desperate for answers.  His foot had creaked on the wood, and for just a second, she had turned around. Saw a glimpse of his shoes.

‘You’re an orphan. Apparently. You use school funds. So how on earth did you get something as rare as an invisibility cloak?’

He would wait until she was distracted. Could he grab his wand before she cast a spell?

‘I followed you. I listened. You talked about killing some Dark Lord. Are you an Auror?’ He saw the interest in her eyes.

‘Sorry to disappoint,’ he said. ‘But I really am Harry Potter. It’s not a lie.’

‘How disappointing,’ she said, eagerness seeming to dim. ‘I listened. I heard you talk to your friends. Granger’s loud, isn’t she? In the library, outside. Not even using silencing charms. And you know things about the castle. You fit in too easily. Your prejudice against Slytherin. And of course, Riddle.’

‘You can’t tell anyone,’ Harry said. ‘And not him. You don’t know what would happen. I’ll buy you a bloody invisibility cloak.’

She raised her eyebrows. ‘With what money? The cloak isn’t for me, Harry. Deathly Hallow or not, I don’t need it.’

He recoiled. ‘Deathly – what?’

‘Don’t play stupid. You shouldn’t be so careless with your stuff. I couldn’t steal it while in the castle. Not with everyone around. Dumbledore around. Your friends. It would be linked back to me. But now, I think, would you even have noticed?’

‘Of course I would have noticed,’ he said. ‘If it’s not for you, who’s it for then?’

She glanced down the empty alleyway and the endless stretch of dark. ‘What do you know about the Lestranges? Anything?’

He didn’t answer. 

‘We have always been followers of Grindelwald. Some of the best. My father’s practically his closest confidant. And everyone knows Grindelwald’s getting closer to Britain.’

‘Searching for the Hallows,’ Harry said. ‘Well, too bad. It’s mine.’

‘I had to make sure it was what I thought it was. That you weren’t lying to your friends.’

Her wand was pointed at his face and the only thing going through his mind was the utter madness of the whole thing.

‘The Slug Club,’ he said immediately, unable to keep the revulsion from his voice. ‘What did you do to me?’ He knew he hadn’t gotten drunk; knew something had been wrong.

‘Nothing dangerous.’ Her face was fierce. ‘You think I wanted to? We were having a nice night. I just had to make sure you had it.’ She licked her lips. ‘Did no-one tell you to watch your drink?’

And then she laughed. ‘Only girls get told that, right? Poor little girls being slipped love-potions. You never had to deal with that. I didn’t hurt you. I only checked where you kept the cloak. So give it to me, Harry, and all this can be forgotten.’

‘I guess you should have stolen it then,’ he said. ‘Because I’m not giving my cloak to Grindelwald. I don’t know why you even want him to have it –’ 

‘Be stubborn then.’ She whispered a spell and it was wrenched from Harry’s pocket, flew towards her —

And stopped, hovering in mid-air, and shot back towards him. They both lunged at the same time.

‘You don’t know how dangerous giving this to Grindelwald is,’ Harry said.

‘Do you know what happens if I don’t?’

While she grabbed at the cloak, Harry tried to prise his wand from her hand.

‘I promised him. And he promised me. Think of what he would do for me. Anything.’ She flickered her wand and his hand grabbing the wand was wrenched away.

‘I know – you don’t want to marry him,’ Harry said. ‘Is that what Grindelwald promised you? Protection?’ And in a crazy way, he could see it. Grindelwald in her family house, around a table. Hearing his plans. Belinda talking to Grindelwald in private. Promising him the cloak he sought, in return for freedom.

‘I’d be important,’ she said. Muttering another spell, a sharp stab of pain went up Harry’s hand. His grip immediately slacked and she took the moment to grab the cloak. ‘Finally, I’d have some control. I wouldn’t be staying home and feeding kids.’ Her nose curled up. ‘I don’t fucking want kids. Or become anyone’s wife. You asked me, at Slughorn’s party, if I wanted to work in the ministry. As if that could happen.’

‘There are other ways to get away from your family. You don’t need Grindelwald. I don’t know if anyone told you, but you can’t trust Dark Lords.’ And he took her moment of hesitation, to knock his wand from her hand. ‘Dumbledore defeats Grindelwald next year. Your plan? It’s all for nothing.’

Her face went through several emotions at once: disbelief, shock, hurt. Then it hardened. ‘I need Grindelwald, Harry. I need your stupid cloak. It isn’t like you do anything with it.’

‘You’re being ridiculous. What about going to someone else –’ 

‘Riddle promised me power, And what did he do? Nothing.  I can’t just run away. They’ll make my sister marry him. Punish her.’

Her wand was very, very close to his head. Her face had darkened. ‘I thought we could cooperate. But instead you’re going to have to forget.’

Time. He needed to buy time.

‘What about Abraxas?’ he said. ‘Is he involved in this?’

‘Abraxas does not have the nerve,’ she said. Her voice rose. ‘He’s all talk and no action. He’s scared of Arnoldo, did you see that? Terrified.’

He saw her lips move as she cast a spell—saw her eyes widen—and a light began to shine from the tip of her wand. He tried to move back but there was nowhere to go. The brick was against his back, his wand was metres away . . .

And then she flew backwards in the air. As she hit the opposite wall, he let out a gasp of air. There was a horrible noise as she crumpled to the floor and lay there, unmoving. He stared.  

And then he spun around. What he thought had been accidental magic, was not at all. Riddle stood in the alleyway, his shadow a long, dark silhouette. ‘She’s been acting oddly all week,’ he said.

‘So you followed her?’

Riddle didn’t answer for a second. ‘No,’ he finally said. ‘I felt it. That you were in trouble.’

Harry could do nothing more than stare. He was too horrified to even think, to let the logical part of his brain act. ‘What did you hear? What she said?’

‘This cloak,’ Riddle reached down and tugged it out of her hand, ‘is what Grindelwald wants. An invisibility cloak.’ He inspected it for a moment then tossed it to Harry. ‘She’s very power-hungry. And miserable.’

His lips curled upwards. ‘What does Grindelwald want with an invisibility cloak?’

Harry didn’t answer. His feeling of horror was starting to grow. ‘Is she dead?’ he said, and unable to wait for an answer rushed forward, ignoring his wand lying on the ground.

Please don’t let her be dead.

The red blood around her head contrasted starkly with her white hair. And there was so much of it. He grabbed one of her wrists and pressed his fingers to it.

‘No.’ The relief was staggering. ‘She’s alive.’ He grabbed his wand from where it lay beside her. Gaped down at her, his heart thudding.  

‘Oh,’ Riddle said and shrugged. ‘Perhaps it would be better if she was?’

Harry barely glanced at him. ‘Don’t,’ he said. ‘No way.’

‘I did this for you.’

He couldn’t wrap his head around that. Not with Riddle standing there, gazing down at Belinda with disinterest. Calm. Unbothered.

‘She’s not Myrtle,’ Harry said. ‘She’s a pureblood. It wouldn’t just be covered up.’

‘She’s disloyal and she’s dangerous.' Riddle knelt beside her. Smoothed her hair from her forehead. ‘She can’t remember this.’

He aimed his wand between her eyebrows.

‘Obliviate.’

Belinda didn’t stir and after a moment, Riddle stood up. Harry dropped her hand—he hadn’t realised he was still feeling her pulse—and did the same. His own had faint traces of blood.

He looked at Riddle. Didn’t know what to say.

Something made a noise down the alley and they both spun around.

‘An animal,’ Riddle said. ‘It’s nothing.’

 Harry’s mind raced. Abraxas was only next door. There were hundreds of students in the village today. Arnoldo. And Harry was the person who had left with her. Left, and she was lying there, she was – she was –

‘Do you know how to revive her and heal her head injury?’ Riddle said. His voice was still mild.

‘I only know basic healing charms,’ Harry said. ‘What about you?’

‘Me too,’ Riddle said. ‘And trying anything could leave her with brain damage. Healing is a very delicate art.’ He sounded as though he was talking about the weather.

Harry was unable to look away from her. Her vacant face seemed to mock him; innocent, soft, everything she didn’t want to be. 

He looked back at Riddle. Riddle, who didn't know how to heal her.

When he spoke, his voice seemed very loud. It echoed in the emptiness, down the alleyway and seemingly to the other side.

‘What do we do?’

Chapter Text

Part III

They couldn’t have stayed there more than ten minutes but to Harry, it felt like forever. Every second he was expecting someone to come down the alleyway; every second he was expecting Belinda’s breathing to die away, or her mouth to open as she asked what her name was.

He stared at her without seeing. Her words still rattled through his head; warped now, so they sounded like pleas.

He looked at Riddle. Could he call him Riddle anymore? After everything that had happened, every ridiculous thing, did a name make a difference?

‘We —we’re going to be expelled,’ Harry said. ‘She’s —’

He didn’t know what she was. A pureblood. A liar.

She knew everything. And now she was obliviated, now her head was pouring blood, and she was lying at a painful angle, her pale ring-clad hand stretched out.

‘What did you wipe from her memory?’

‘Everything that happened since she met with Arnoldo. The idea she had to steal the cloak. The meetings with Grindelwald in her house.’ He shrugged. ‘We leave her here. She won’t remember.’

‘She left with me,’ Harry said, ‘Abraxas knows. Her boyfriend –’

‘Then I’ll obliviate them too.’

Harry stared at him. ‘You can’t obliviate Abraxas. What do you think will happen when the professors find out?’

‘They won’t find out.’ His voice was very low. ‘No-one will.’

‘How? You don’t think she promised Grindelwald? He’s not going to forget as well. And her parents will want to know why their daughter was obliviated – ‘

‘I doubt it,’ Tom said.  ‘They aren’t the caring sort.’

‘They are if they think it’s an attack on the Lestrange family.’

‘Calm down,’ Tom said, and something about his careless way was contagious. ‘She won’t remember anything. And if you burst into that restaurant and say you were both attacked and you couldn’t help her, no-one will be wiser.’

‘Ok,’ Harry said slowly. ‘What happens when this is investigated?’

Tom shook his head. ‘She’s not dead, Harry. Only attacked.’

He remembered Katie last year, and how long she had to spend in St. Mungo’s. That was never traced back to Malfoy.

But this seemed different. Maybe it was all the blood. The fact she knew—had known—everything. This time Harry was the perpetrator and Tom—

‘What do you mean you felt I was in danger?’

‘I just knew. A feeling.’ But for a second, Tom looked troubled. Then it disappeared.

‘Go now,’ he said. ‘You saw a masked figure and tried to hold him off. You don’t know who it was, student or otherwise.’

And then, unnecessarily, he gave Harry a slight push. The contact with Tom’s hands—alive, real—snapped Harry to the present. ‘And what’ll you do? Run away?’

Tom didn’t answer and Harry found he didn’t care. Standing here was wasting time. Belinda’s breathing could shallow, could die away . . .  

He hurried back to the pub, not meeting anyone there. He saw Abraxas who looked up in relief. A second later his eyes widened.

Harry ran over, and Abraxas and Arnoldo stood.

‘Belinda,’ Harry gasped out. ‘We were attacked.’

‘You were —’ Abraxas’ mouth opened and closed but no words came out. ‘Where is she?’

Arnoldo grabbed Harry by his robes, almost lifting him off the ground. ‘What did you do, boy?’

‘I didn’t do anything,’ he snapped, shoving him off. ‘Come on. Please.’

It was easy to keep the panic in his voice. Especially when Abraxas turned to him, horrified and betrayed, knocking into a chair as he made for the door.

Harry led them down the alleyway, his heart still plummeting. ‘. . . And I couldn’t see the person’s face, they had a mask —’

‘A mask?’ Arnoldo repeated sharply.

‘Yes, we thought it was a joke at first. Then she got hit with something and I tried to stop it. And there was all this light –’

They reached where Belinda lay. Abraxas rushed over and knelt beside her. He began to mumble something under his breath, and at first Harry thought he was talking to himself, but the blood around her head siphoned away.

Arnoldo stopped dead in his tracks. ‘It feels —’ he waved his hand. ‘Dark.’

He took out his wand and began casting. Light filled the area around them, faint, misty shapes appearing through it. They moved around where she lay, all different but the same. They all had the same feeling: it was like being close to a Dementor.

‘A fight went on here,’ Arnoldo muttered. ‘So you’re telling the truth. Many spells. The stunner –you tried that?’

Harry didn’t say anything and Arnoldo continued without paying attention. He continued muttering to himself and after a moment, stiffened. ‘Something dark.’

‘That wasn’t us,’ Harry said, ‘it wasn’t –’

It hadn’t even happened. There hadn’t been a fight. Why did Arnoldo’s spells detect one?

Tom.

Harry hadn’t hesitated when he left him alone, though he could have used the entire situation to frame Harry. What he had done made less sense. Made it seem like a fight had actually happened – a fight from a third person, who wasn’t Harry or Belinda.

‘She needs to go to the hospital wing,’ Abraxas said, voice cracking. ‘Now.’

He lifted her and staggered. Just as Harry thought he would topple, he steadied. ‘Whoever did this might still be there. They might attack someone else. We need a professor.’

They left the alleyway and into the busy part of Hogsmeade, packed with students and shoppers. Harry tried to help Abraxas carry Belinda, but he shrugged him off. When people spotted them, they stopped dead. A hush—a hush worse than if someone had cast a silencing charm—filled the street.

Then came the whispers. The people coming forward for a better look. The crowd parted for Professor Flitwick, who levitated Belinda from Abraxas’ arms and onto a stretcher-like object hovering beside him.

Abraxas was frantically babbling out the story. ‘Attacked . . . Harry . . . doesn’t know who . . .’

‘You were attacked?’ Flitwick said, turning to Harry. ‘You and Belinda?’

He didn’t trust his voice and nodded.

Where was Tom?

He had left. Left Harry alone to deal with all this and to save himself. Was he already back with the other Slytherins? Already hiding his wand in case someone checked it?

‘Everyone, back to the castle,’ Flitwick said. He tapped his throat and his voice boomed through the whole village. ‘Professors and prefects, please gather the students and make your way immediately back to the castle. That means everyone stick together.’

The silence broke and people were talking loud now, loud and panicked, and all moving at once. Harry slipped through the crowd, unnoticed, as Abraxas and Flitwick levitated Belinda past. He didn’t see Arnoldo anywhere. Did he go to the castle or somewhere else?

Harry walked on. He was going to have to answer questions. He might even have to see her parents. Dumbledore was going to talk to him. He would fix things, wouldn’t he?

He couldn’t see Ron and Hermione. What would they think when they heard Flitwick’s announcement? He shoved through the throng of students, scanning for them.

As he moved someone grabbed his arm, tugging him down the side of a shop building. Harry resisted for a second, his wand already out, before he noticed the hand and the black and gold ring.

‘You’re still here,’ Harry said, when they were both out of sight.

‘Still here?’ Tom said, and Harry could just make out his frown in the dark passage.

‘I thought you ran off,’ Harry said. ‘You know —’

Fled. Left. Saved yourself.

‘You look too suspicious,’ Tom said. ‘Get rid of the guilty look. No-one is going to find out.’

‘What did you do to the magic? Around the —‘ Crime scene. ‘Alleyway.’

‘I tampered with it. Even if it’s inspected, no-one will question your story now.’

‘If they don’t check your wand,’ Harry muttered.

Tom gave him a sharp, mistrustful look. His hand—which still held Harry’s arm—tightened.

‘I’m not going to tell on you,’ Harry said. ‘God -’

He had saved him. Somehow. Maybe caused more hassle with his quick violence and memory charms, but still. Harry might have been obliviated if it wasn’t for him.

‘Only talk about it when you’re asked a direct question,’ Tom said. ‘And start looking less worried and more upset.’

Harry scowled.

‘I need to assist the younger students back to the castle. It would look less suspicious if you went now as well. Don’t give them a reason to think you’re hiding something.’

His voice lowered. Harry was aware of the way he was still grasping his arm tightly but didn’t bother prise it off. ‘And remember. You have done nothing wrong.’

He released his arm and stepped back.

‘Right,’ Harry said, ‘I’ll just act like you then. An unfeeling prat.’

But Tom had already slipped back into the street and gotten lost in the crowd.

Harry stood where he was for a moment.

You have done nothing wrong.

Of course he would think that. If Harry murdered Slughorn, Tom would think he had done nothing wrong.

He waited another moment, squared his shoulders, and prepared for the journey back to the castle and whatever would come next.

His stomach was twisting with guilt but he gradually became numb to it. He could do nothing but continue, go on, don’t think, don’t react –  

He slipped into a crowd of students and followed the professors back to the school. He couldn’t see Abraxas anymore and quickened his pace. After what seemed like forever, the shops thinned out and the silhouette of the castle became clear. Students around him, who had been silent for the journey, started to talk.

‘Right, everyone, follow me into the Great Hall and we’ll call a roll.’ 

They went past the greenhouses, across the sodden lawns, through the oak front doors – 

‘Mr Potter?’ It was Flitwick, moving through the crowd. ‘There you are! Are you hurt? Follow me to the hospital wing. Then the headmaster wishes to speak with you.’

The noise stilled as people wondered what was going on.

‘Did you not see him with the other boy? Malfoy?’

‘Maybe he was there when it happened.’

Flitwick grabbed his elbow and shot the crowd a sharp glance. ‘Come on, Mr Potter.’

Harry’s heart pounded furiously as they went up the marble staircase. The Headmaster. Dippet, not Dumbledore.

‘Don’t worry about it,’ Flitwick said, ‘Miss Lestrange is in the best of care right now. Did you get hit with anything?’

‘I don’t think so,’ Harry said. ‘She’ll be ok, then?’

'She hasn't woken but things are looking well and she should be able to talk to us in a few hours. Now, what exactly happened?' 

'We were leaving a pub,’ Harry said. ‘Me and her. I don’t know what it was called –Abraxas can probably tell you.’

‘First time in Hogsmeade?’ Flitwick said, sounding sympathetic. ‘I promise you, it’s usually a fun experience.’

They reached the Hospital Wing and Harry was saved from telling the rest of the story when the doors burst open and Abraxas came out.

‘Harry! There you are! What –what –’ He caught sight of Flitwick. ‘What happened?’

‘Mr Potter needs to be checked for curses immediately,’ Professor Flitwick said, and went through the doors, Harry and Abraxas on his heels. ‘It appears Miss Lestrange will make a full recovery.’

He was steered over to the nearest bed and the matron, who came out from behind one of the curtained-off beds, bustled over.

Unlike Madame Pomfrey, she asked a lot of questions. ‘Are you in pain? Anywhere? Describe the colour of the light as best you can.

‘I think I dodged everything,’ he said, ‘and it was over very fast – I don’t know–’

He was prodded with magic for several long minutes. ‘You appear fine Mr. Potter,’ the matron finally said, ‘thank merlin for that.’

Abraxas used this moment to ask a dozen questions. ‘What was she hit with? Was the village searched? When will she wake up?’

‘Miss Lestrange was subjected to what appears to be a very strong Knockback Jink and a memory charm. The effects of that—and whether St. Mungo’s is needed—will be revealed when she wakes.’

Harry’s stomach gave a sickening swoop. It will be fine, he told himself firmly, it will all be fine.

The Hospital Wing doors opened and in came half a dozen professors: Professor Slughorn taking the front, then Professor Beery, Professor Merrythought, Headmaster Dippet, and Dumbledore.

Harry went to get up from the bed but the matron prevented it. ‘Can’t you see I’m not finished?’ she snapped. ‘Stay there.’

He waited, while she prepared a potion which had the colour and consistency of curdled eggs.

‘Are all the students safely back?’ Professor Merrythought said.

Dumbledore and Slughorn both nodded. ‘I left the Slytherins with Mr Riddle,’ Slughorn said, and Harry’s stomach gave another lurch. ‘All of them very unsettled, of course. One of their own . . . '   

‘I did the same with Miss Shafiq,’ Dumbledore said. ‘Our Head Students should be sufficient until we have all this cleared up.’

He turned to Harry. ‘Now, my boy, would you like to tell us what happened?’ He looked at Harry carefully, but Harry didn’t dare let anything slip on his face, not with the others around.

‘Quite right, Albus,’ Dippet said, ‘I personally wouldn’t like the Ministry involved again, not with all the hassle with Myrtle.’

Harry’s eyebrows rose and Professor Merrythought tutted.

‘Let the boy talk. There is no need for the Ministry to be involved unless Miss Lestrange’s parents demand it.’

Harry cleared his throat. ‘I was in Hogsmeade with Abraxas. Then we saw Belinda, she was with her fiancé –Arnoldo something.’

‘Flint,’ Abraxas supplied.

‘And we decided to . . . meet up with them. You know, have a chat.’

‘Continue,’ Professor Dippet said. Harry swallowed as all the professors stared at him intensely.

‘Anyway, we followed them to a different part of Hogsmeade. Quieter.’

‘It was The Sphinx,’ Abraxas said quietly. ‘The pub they were in.’

Flitwick frowned. ‘That’s not a nice place for students.’

Harry shrugged. ‘It’s where they went,’ he said. ‘We sat down at their table –’

The Hospital Wing doors opened again and Tom walked in.

Harry froze and the matron turned to him with a concerned look on her face. ‘You sure you’re alright, dear?’

He nodded, unable to tear his eyes away.

‘It’s been quite an ordeal,’ Professor Flitwick said. ‘You must be in shock.’

Harry didn’t say anything and only looked at Tom, who was coming over to Professor Slughorn.

‘The seventh-years are very worried,’ he said, ‘and were all planning on coming to the Hospital Wing. I told them, of course, it wouldn’t be appropriate. But they insisted I find out what happened, and where Harry Potter and Abraxas Malfoy are.’

‘Good boy, Tom,’ Slughorn said, distracted. ‘And the younger students?’

‘I eased their concerns. I believe a few games of gobstones and chess have already started.’

‘Good . . . good . . .’

Harry thought it was downright bold of him to come here, instead of staying away and avoiding suspicion. Or maybe he didn’t trust Harry to not tell on him. Whatever it was, Tom looked perfectly at ease, as though he should be there, the diligent Head Boy. No-one seemed to bat an eye, except Professor Dumbledore, who frowned.

‘I will be with them shortly with the news,’ Slughorn murmured. ‘But it doesn’t look like anything will be found. The attacker vanished without a trace.’

‘Will she be alright, professor?’ Tom said, managing to sound very concerned, and effortlessly inserting himself into the conversation.

 Slughorn lowered his voice. ‘She was hit with a memory charm which combined with a head injury –’ he shook his head. ‘We’ll see when she wakes up.’

What did he mean, combined with a head injury? Did that make it worse? Had Tom known?

Definitely. 

‘Right Mr Potter, finish the story,’ Professor Dippet said, his squeaking voice holding little authority.

Harry continued. ‘Belinda and I left the pub. Abraxas stayed with Arnoldo –’

‘You were with Arnoldo Flint the whole time?’ Tom said.

Everyone turned to look at him.

‘Yes,’ Abraxas said glumly. ‘He was there the whole time.’

‘You’re not surely suggesting –’ Professor Beery began.

‘Of course not,’ Tom said smoothly. ‘I was only wondering.’

Some of the professors shared looks, and Harry knew he hadn’t been wondering at all. He wanted them to be questioning; give them a lead to follow, an idea.

‘Does Miss Lestrange have anyone who would want to hurt her?’ Professor Flitwick said, looking at Abraxas, who squirmed. 

‘No,’ he said. ‘Only her father and he wasn’t there.’ 

The professors all shared another look.

‘And you, Harry? Forgive me, boy, I know this is a sensitive topic. But you were targeted by Grindelwald in the past. You don’t think that again —’

Harry has forgotten about the excuse he had given for coming to Hogwarts. He avoided Dumbledore’s eye. ‘I don’t know. I couldn’t make out the person.’ 

He could feel Dumbledore look at him and glanced at the Hospital Wing sheets.

‘Belinda’s father is close to Grindelwald,’ Slughorn was muttering. ‘There would be no reason he would target a student. Unless her father displeased Grindelwald somehow . . .’

‘Ridiculous,’ Professor Merrythought said. ‘If Grindelwald wanted to prove something, she wouldn’t be alive!’

They began to argue. The matron finally let Harry leave the bed and all the professors cast him sympathetic looks when they finished their whispering. 

Harry couldn't say anything about it not being Grindelwald, as much as he wanted to. It seemed too close to the truth. Belinda had wanted the cloak for Grindelwald . . . the last thing he needed was another Dark Lord trying to kill him.  

'Make sure to stay calm, boys,' Professor Merrythought said. 'We will get to the root of this matter.' 

Let’s hope not, Harry thought.

‘Someone will fix her memory, won’t they?’ Abraxas asked.

‘Let’s wait until Miss Lestrange is awake,’ Slughorn said, ‘mind magic is a fickle business . . . usually best not tampered with unless it’s vital.’

Harry and Tom looked at each other. Tom gave a tiny shake of his head. And then, in the middle of all the discussion, someone groaned.

They all froze. It was coming from the bed across from Harry’s, hidden by a white curtain.

The matron rushed forward at once. ‘Everyone out, now! Now, boys, I mean it. My patient needs no distraction.’

Harry, Tom, and Abraxas were ushered out of the Hospital Wing and the door slammed shut behind them.

Harry’s mouth was dry. She was awake already.

‘How did you let this happen?’ Abraxas demanded. ‘How, Harry?’

Harry stared at him. ‘What?’

‘You were meant to watch her, not just stand there and –’

‘I didn’t just stand there!’

‘You’re great at Defence! There’s no way you could have done nothing –’

‘It happened in a few seconds. Trust me, I tried the best I could.’

‘I did trust you,’ Abraxas said, ‘and look what happened.’

Harry reeled back. ‘She’s fine,’ he snapped. ‘Woken up already.’

Tom cleared his throat. ‘Let’s wait and see, shall we, Abraxas?’ 

Abraxas looked like he wanted to argue and thought better of it. As the silence ticked on, Tom raised an eyebrow. 

‘Yes. We’ll see.’ He turned to squint at the hospital wing doors, as though he could see through them. 

‘There’s no point staying here,’ Tom said, ‘we may not have news for a while.’

‘I’m staying,’ Abraxas said, without turning around.

‘Very well. Harry?’ 

Harry tore his eyes away from the doors. ‘Yeh. Yeh, I’m coming.’ 

They walked until they were out of earshot. ‘What’s his problem?’ Harry muttered. 

‘Oh, Belinda and Abraxas grew up together. He’s always been protective. And he better not cause trouble.’ Tom’s nostrils flared and for the first time, Harry saw a flicker of fear on his face. 

It made him anxious. It would have been better if they went with the truth. Belinda attacked him, there was a fight . . . 

‘What if they fix her memory,’ Harry said, ‘get a healer in to see to her.’

‘Minds are only worked on if the patient is missing large sections of their life. A few moments—as far as the professors are aware—won’t be sufficient.’

‘But –’ Harry began.

‘And even if Belinda’s parents insist on taking her to St. Mungo’s, it will be at least a day until she is moved. That’s more than enough time.’

‘For what?’

‘To convince her. With the right persuasion, Belinda will refuse.’

‘The right threat,’ Harry said. 

He couldn’t let anyone poke in Belinda’s head. Not with the things she knew. The time-travel. The Deathly Hallows.

‘We need to get Dumbledore,’ Harry said.

'Dumbledore?' Tom repeated, his voice low and dangerous. ‘Why?' 

'Because he can cover for us! Trust me, he knows –’ he stopped himself. 'He knows about Grindelwald. And I trust him.' 

'Charming. You trust him. I don't. Dumbledore doesn't like Slytherins. No matter how close you are to him, telling him isn’t wise.’

'And would you prefer to have Belinda's mind read? He at least has authority. What the hell are you going to do?’

'I'll deal with her.' 

'How?' Harry said. 'By threatening her? Obliviating her a few more times? Saying you’ll make her life miserable if she lets anyone near her with a wand?’

‘You think spilling your guilty guts to the Head of Gryffindor will solve everything?’ Tom said. ‘You may have a blind faith in him, but I don't. Dumbledore would love nothing more than to pin something on me. How do I know it isn't your intention as well?' 

Harry began to argue but Tom continued. 'I'm not going to risk getting expelled in some scheme you and Dumbledore cook up.' 

'I wouldn't do that,' Harry said immediately. 'We're both involved in this.’

'Spare me the morals. You want to tell Dumbledore than Belinda was trying to steal your invisibility cloak? That she cornered you down an alley to deliver it to Grindelwald?’

'Yes,' Harry said. 

'And what if he decides he wants it? What will you do then?'

'Dumbledore wouldn't steal my cloak,' Harry said. 

They glared at each other. Tom's eyes were very dark and full of anger. ‘What is it about the cloak, anyway? That makes Grindelwald want it?’

‘Don’t know,’ Harry said, and Tom laughed, loud and harsh.

‘Liar,’ he said. ‘You should have no problem with this story then, Harry. You’ve had plenty of practice making things up.’

It hit Harry viciously, like Tom had intended. He stared at him for a moment, sheer dislike making his head spin, and Tom stared back, haughty face full of conviction –

‘Fine. Let’s go back to the Hospital Wing. You know, before someone tries Legilimency, or her parents get called.’

Tom clenched his jaw. ‘I did it for you, remember. If you even think of twisting the story for your own gain –’

‘Unlike you, I’m a decent person,’ Harry said. ‘And what will do you exactly – try and kill me again?’

‘That was a misunderstanding.’

Harry counted to ten slowly in his head. ‘That’s one way to see it,’ he said, and set off down the hall, back towards the Hospital Wing. He felt Tom’s eyes on him the whole time but he didn’t talk, and Harry was thankful. The desire to punch him in the face was overwhelming.

Abraxas was still outside the Hospital Wing doors when they arrived and had started to pace. ‘The curtain’s closed. I can’t see what’s going on.’

‘Yeh, that’s the whole point of a curtain,’ Harry said. ‘People can’t typically see through.’

Abraxas shot him an annoyed look and Tom smirked.

‘I can’t hear anything either,’ Abraxas said, ‘and all the professors are still in there – ’

Right,’ Harry said. Enough was enough 

He pushed the hospital wing doors open, ignoring Tom and Abraxas’ incredulous faces, and stepped inside. 

The sheet around Belinda’s bed opened, and the matron poked her head around. Harry saw Belinda clearly, propped by several pillows.

‘What is the meaning of this? Didn’t I say out!’ She grabbed the curtain again, and as she was about to close it, Belinda said, ‘wait.’

The matron turned to her. ‘What?’

‘I want to see him.’

‘Mr. Potter?’

She nodded. She looked, Harry noticed, even paler than usual. But there was no sign of injury anymore, her white-blonde hair devoid of its bloody tinge.

The matron hesitated a moment longer and Dumbledore put a hand on her shoulder. ‘I’d also like to have a chat with Harry after this. If you’re up for it, that is?’

Harry nodded. He could feel Tom’s eyes boring into his head.

So paranoid, he thought.

‘Very well. You two — out!’ 

Abraxas began to protest loudly but Tom just smiled at her and left. Harry didn’t miss the way his eyes lingered on Belinda and how she shrank back a little into her pillows. 

‘Now, boy,’ the matron said, when Abraxas slammed the door behind him. ‘We were just talking to Belinda. She can’t remember anything about the incident so your memory is vital.’ 

‘Oh,’ Harry said, and looking at Belinda, who had a blank sort of look on her face. ‘That’s all she’s forgotten then?’

The professors shared a look. ‘It appears so. However, she refuses to let anyone look through her head –’

‘You aren’t qualified,’ Belinda said, ‘and I don’t want anyone poking around in my mind.’  

‘Of course, of course, dear,’ the matron said, and Belinda clenched her teeth.

‘I’ll say it again.’ She was looking only at Harry. ‘We were leaving The Sphinx. I think I saw someone from the corner of my eye. And the next thing, I woke up here.’

Harry hadn’t realised he was holding his breath. ‘That’s pretty much it,’ he said, ‘I didn’t get a good look at them either.’

‘Well, can you describe them? In any way?’

Harry pretended to think about it. ‘No,’ he said finally. ‘They might have been wearing a mask. And dark clothing.’ 

‘Why did you say you left with Mr Potter again?’ 

Belinda cocked her head, frowning. ‘He wanted my help buying something. But I really think Abraxas wanted a chat with Arnoldo.’ 

Harry exhaled. She had forgotten.

‘Very well, then. You only seem to have forgotten a few moments. However, if you don’t want us to look through your mind, we’ll have to go over some more questions.’  

The matron asked her several things: her middle name, which was Aurelia. The age of her sister, ten. The last lesson she remembered going to. On and on . . . 

‘Harry,’ Dumbledore said quietly. ‘Would you join me on a walk? Perhaps it will help clear your head?’

‘Yeh,’ Harry said immediately. ‘Definitely.’ 

The corridor outside the Hospital Wing was empty. Harry sighed in relief. 

'The story you told in the hospital wing,' Dumbledore said, as they went down the empty staircases. 'Is that what happened?' 

'Doesn’t it sound like the truth, sir?' 

'The truth, Harry, is rarely that simple. And I've come to realise that with you, things aren't always as they seem.' 

Harry hesitated. 'She knows everything. Grindelwald is Hallow Hunting.' 

He caught the look on Dumbledore's face and didn't want to continue. ‘Her father is a follower.’

‘Yes. One of Grindelwald’s most loyal in Britain.’

'She found out about my cloak. Saw it. I was being reckless. Wasn't thinking. And she listened – followed me, I suppose. Found out about the time-travel, about the deathly hallows. She must have heard Grindelwald mention them . . .’

It felt wonderful to get it off his chest.

‘. . . and Riddle came along. He said he sensed it. And then he blasted her backwards, or something. And obliviated her.’

Dumbledore sighed. 'Tom Riddle,' he repeated. 'When isn't he involved?' 

'It wasn't like that,' Harry said. 'It was more of an impulse thing. In fact, if he wasn't there –’ He realised he was defending him when Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. 

'It comes back to Grindelwald,’ Dumbledore murmured. ‘And how can you be sure of what Tom Riddle heard?’

‘I can’t,’ Harry said, ‘but she didn’t mention time-travel towards the end. So if he heard something, out of context –’

‘You hold onto the possibility he wouldn’t piece it together.’ Dumbledore shook his head. ‘Very well, Harry, I see this matter comes down to Grindelwald.’

‘He’ll blame me when he hears she’s obliviated,’ Harry said. ‘Go after the cloak himself –’

‘Do not concern yourself with Gellert Grindelwald,’ Dumbledore said, his voice suddenly stern. ‘You’re at Hogwarts. While here, no harm can come to you.’

Harry thought of all the harm that had come to him at Hogwarts, but this Dumbledore wouldn’t know.

‘Go back to your Common Room. Let the professors sort this one out. Heaven knows it’s time.’

Harry did so, reluctantly. He let his feet guide him to the dungeons and into the Common Room. He didn’t run into anyone on his way there, not even a ghost.

Outside the Common Room entrance, he braced himself, muttered the password and let the wall slide open. The room had never been more packed. All the chairs were full, and a couple dozen younger students were sitting on the floor.

Everyone looked up when Harry came in and immediately started talking.

'Where is she?’

‘What happened?’

‘Did you really get attacked by Grindelwald himself?' 

'No,' Harry said, scoffing at how ridiculous that was. 

'I heard muggles got into Hogsmeade and done it,' Rosier was saying.

Harry stared at him, unable to comprehend the stupidity. 'Yeh, because muggles can use wands,' he said, 'and go around firing curses.' 

'Then what did happen, Potter?' There was an eager glint in his eye. 'You going to tell us?' 

‘I dunno,’ Harry said, ‘we were walking, someone came out of nowhere. I didn’t see their face.’

‘Well, what colour were their robes? Did they sound German?’

‘They didn’t speak.’ He ignored the rest of the questions, wishing he had never entered the Common Room.

Abraxas shoved his way through the crowd. ‘What did Belinda say when you spoke to her?’ His voice waved and he didn’t meet Harry’s eye.

‘She said she feels fine. She can’t remember anything since we left the pub.’

‘Well, that’s Hogsmeade visits gone,’ Rosier said, ‘thanks a lot, Potter.’

Harry bit back a retort. Rosier had a sneer on his face and Harry knew he was waiting to cause a fight.

Lucretia asked the same question Flitwick had: weren’t you attacked by Grindelwald? Isn’t that why you came to Hogwarts in the first place?

And no matter how many times Harry said it was just an attack he got caught in, that he wasn’t a target, people weren’t convinced. He could see the mistrustful expressions he knew the Gryffindors wouldn’t have. The fear on some of the younger students faces. The unspoken questions hanging in the air.

He left the Common Room and went to the boys’ dorm. The invisibility cloak was stowed in his robes, and he took it out, running his hands over the material. What if Belinda had told someone? Or what if Grindelwald gave another student the task of retrieving it?

It was his father’s cloak. The only piece of James Potter Harry had. He couldn’t think of anywhere safe to put it and eventually stowed it back in his robes, its weight a reassuring presence.

A few moments later, the doors open and Harry turned wearily around.

‘They’ll settle down, you know,’ Tom said.

‘Can’t you do anything?’

‘As long as they don’t jump to any dangerous conclusions, it’s best to let them think they have their own opinions.’ He smiled thinly. ‘What does Belinda remember?’

‘Leaving with me. And she thinks it’s because Abraxas wanted a chat with her fiancé, which is basically what happened. She doesn’t remember anything past that.’

‘What were the professors saying?’

‘They wanted to look through her mind but Belinda protested. Said she didn’t want anyone looking through her head.’

Tom looked satisfied. ‘That’s convenient. Her family are very dark. She would have a lot of incriminating evidence which could lead to the wrong sort of questions and possibly an investigation.’

‘Of course she would,’ Harry muttered.

‘And what I really want to know’—he lowered his voice— ‘is what happened on that walk with Dumbledore?’

Harry’s mouth was dry. ‘You’re not going to like it.’ 

‘Is that so?’ 

‘I told him. Everything. Just like you said not to.’ 

Tom’s eyes flashed red. ‘You did the opposite of what I said? Do you think this is some kind of game? Don’t you realise what your naivety—what your trust in that stupid old man—could do?’ 

‘I’m not naive.’ He wasn’t, not anymore. ‘And I don’t do what you say.’

Tom looked so angry Harry wouldn’t be surprised if he cursed him there and then. ‘You think because you trust him, Dumbledore will guard all your secrets? That you can go and blab without permission –’

‘I don’t need permission! You’re only scared you’ll get in trouble. What am I, seven? If I wanted you expelled, there are a lot of better reasons.’

His voice shook in anger. ‘Dumbledore doesn’t like you, but he isn’t going to personally get you expelled. He won’t be a problem. In fact—‘ he pointed a finger at the dormitory door. ‘They’ll be a bigger problem.’

‘The Slytherins?’ Tom shook his head. ‘They aren’t going to find out the truth. You know that, don’t you? Not even poor Abraxas. Not even if you feel bad.’

‘Yes.’ 

‘Good.’ He looked at Harry for a moment and appeared to be satisfied. ‘Because it’s our secret now.’

And Harry looked down at his duvet, felt the invisibility cloak in his pocket, and let the word secretrattle through his head. Secrets, so many secrets, they seemed to multiply every day. So many things at stake. He felt it whisper in his mind, another one to add to his substantial collection. He looked at Tom and he almost laughed.

Their secret indeed. 

Chapter Text

Belinda stayed in the hospital wing overnight and breakfast the next morning was a tense affair. When the owls came in, Harry abandoned his cereal to read the Daily Prophet. But after scanning it from start to finish, he found no mention of the Hogsmeade incident.

That didn’t stop the theories, however. 

‘Remember last week’s paper?’ Avery said. ‘Grindelwald in Britain?’ 

‘Are you stupid?’ someone else scoffed. ‘Her father’s practically his right-hand man.’ 

‘I’m saying maybe he displeased him.’

‘You think Grindelwald’s attacking purebloods now?’ 

‘Someone is.’ 

The smell of food was making Harry feel sick. They were wrong. He desperately wanted to refute their theories but instead, he could only sit there. Wait until the interest died away.

After breakfast, he met Ron and Hermione outside the Hall. This was the part he had been dreading. They both looked tired – Hermione’s hair was so wild it was as though she hadn’t brushed it in days, and under Ron’s eyes were dark purple circles. Harry imagined them lying awake, worrying, listening to the countless stories of the event.  

‘What happened?’ Hermione immediately asked. ‘Everyone’s saying Lestrange was attacked in Hogsmeade and you were with her. And we didn’t see you at all yesterday! We went to the hospital wing and they said you had left.’

‘Let’s go outside.’ Harry cast a furtive glance around. ‘We talk too openly.’ 

They went down the stone steps and into the courtyard. Like the Entrance Hall, it was empty. The wind whipped around their cloaks, strong enough to snatch away any remnants of conversation. Harry still cast muffliato.

‘Is that necessary?’ Hermione said, pulling her robes tight against her in the cold. 

‘Trust me,’ Harry said, ‘It would have solved a lot of problems.’ 

He lowered his voice and told them what had happened in Hogsmeade. Throughout the story, Ron was silent, his eyes steadily getting wider. Hermione interrupted several times.

‘What do you mean she drugged you?’ she said, high and shrill.

‘It was some sort of sleeping potion. I thought I was just being paranoid.’

‘And she did all that to see your cloak? Why not take it there and then?’ 

‘She knew I’d notice. And it would get linked back to her. She was careful.’

He continued, and Hermione crossed her arms. Her face went from furious to indignant to horrified.

‘You think she would have – killed you?’ Ron whispered.

Harry remembered the look on her face –hard and desperate and scared—and shook his head. ‘Obliviated, probably. She just wanted to prove herself. If she got Grindelwald what he was looking for, she would have his protection.’

‘Who bloody cares?’ Ron said, ‘she could have got it from Dumbledore!’

‘She wouldn’t. Slytherins – they hate Dumbledore.’

Harry had forgotten about the cold now. Ron and Hermione were both giving him their full attention, matching expressions on their faces.

Harry hesitantly went on. He knew they wouldn’t like this bit.

‘Riddle?’ Ron said, his eyebrows raised, ‘Riddle obliviated Lestrange?’

‘Yeah,’ Harry said, ‘and then we pretended she was attacked.’ 

Hermione gave him a sharp look. ‘It’s very convenient Riddle happened to be in the right place at the right time. How can you be sure he obliviated her? Or be sure of anything he might have heard?’

‘He didn’t hear about the time-travel,’ Harry said, ‘and no, Hermione. I can’t be sure.’

She watched him carefully. ‘Why did he bother? Get involved, obliviate her? I’m glad, of course, but I don’t understand why.’

‘Well, if anything happened to me, we know he’d be the prime suspect,’ Harry said. She didn’t look convinced. ‘He’s interested in me or something. Probably thinks I’d be a great addition to his Death Eater collection.’

Neither of them smiled.

‘He wants you on his side,’ Hermione said. ‘He wants you to forget what he’s like.’ 

Harry made a disbelieving noise. ‘I think all the murder attempts ruined that plan.’ 

Her face froze and it took Harry’s brain a second to catch up.

‘What murder attempts,’ Ron said slowly.

Harry’s heart quickened. ‘I was exaggerating. It was only once.’

He had no choice but to tell them. The whole day came out in a rush – I saw Riddle with the Grey Lady; they were talking about Ravenclaw’s Diadem.

This distracted both Ron and Hermione for several minutes, as they digested the thought that they now knew the final horcrux.

But as he continued, downplaying the event as much as he could – it was just a little snake, no really, you know it couldn’t have hurt me – there was a tense silence. The courtroom was deathly still: even the trees had stopped swaying.

‘I knew there was a reason you stopped speaking about Riddle,’ Hermione said. Her voice was low. ‘But I didn’t know it was this.’ 

‘Tell Dumbledore,’ Ron said. ‘Get him expelled.’ 

‘And what good will that do? He’ll still be dangerous, only this time he’ll have a reason to get revenge.’

‘Why did you hide this? That’s attempted murder.’ 

‘I know,’ Harry said, ‘I did it because I knew you would react like this.’

They gawked at him. 

‘For good reason,’ Hermione said, her voice high. ‘Someone has to be logical.’

‘You always want to run to the professors. It doesn’t work.’ 

Didn’t they know? Didn’t they know just how good Tom Riddle could lie? He had gotten away with murderbefore.

‘Well, you want to deal with everything yourself,’ Ron said. ‘Why do you do that? Riddle tried to kill you. Lestrange tried to kill you –’

‘—and honestly, it would be better if you stopped associating with Riddle altogether!’ Hermione finished. 

Harry resisted the urge to snap at her. ‘I told you, it’s not that simple. We’re in the same house. The same dorm. We share the same classes. And oh yes, we share the same dreams too!’

‘Don’t get defensive,’ Ron said, ‘we know that. Can’t you ignore it?’ 

‘Yeh, I’m sure that would work. Hey, Riddle, I know you’re wondering why you have a direct link into my mind but don’t worry about it. It’s nothing. He already thinks it’s this – this weird thing. If I avoid him, he’ll be suspicious. All the Slytherins will be. They already don’t like the fact I’m not a Death Eater –’

‘And what does Riddle think about that?’ Hermione interrupted.

‘He hasn’t mentioned it, actually.’

She stared at him, as though she was searching his face for something. Then her expression turned accusing.

‘You’re starting to like him. He’s manipulating you and you’re allowing it to happen.’ 

‘Yeh, Hermione, I like the bloke who’s tried to kill me. We’re best friends, didn’t you know?’ The words tasted wrong and came out harsher than he intended. Sharp. 

She faltered. ‘He tried to kill you and you’re going to do nothing? You’re going to let him orchestrate this plan, you’re going to be an accomplice to this – this mess?’

‘It’s my mess,’ Harry said, ‘if I don’t, and anyone pokes through Belinda’s head, everyone knows we’re time-travellers. Would you like to see that, right on the cover of the Daily Prophet?’

‘Of course not!’ she said, ‘there are other ways – sensible, logical ways –’

‘I told Dumbledore,’ Harry said. ‘That’s sensible.’

The wind started blowing again, and it seemed to snatch away Hermione’s words. She hesitated, wringing her hands together, glancing at him and away.

‘Maybe we should focus on getting home,’ Ron said.

Harry turned to him. ‘How? There are no time-turners to the future. We’ve been here a month and found nothing!’

‘What about my family?’ His voice rose. ‘What the hell about them, Harry? It’s just goodbye?’ 

‘I’m being realistic.’

‘You want to be realistic?’ Hermione took a step forward so she was staring directly up at him. ‘You’re going to slip up. You act too reckless. Like an idiot! Why did you go down that alley with Lestrange anyway? You know she’s a Death Eater. And so is Abraxas Malfoy. And Tom Riddle! A murderer and a muggle hater. You think because of some dangerous scar link you should be friends. Because you’re Harry Potter, you’re indestructible. It’s going to get worse. And it will be your own fault.’ Her breathing was heavy but her voice didn’t shake. They stared at each other.

‘Always my fault, isn’t it, Hermione?’ His restraint was gone now, and there was nothing but anger left. Why did she assume she knew what he thought? Why did she have to always be right? ‘Because I can’t get all my answers from a school book? Because I actually speak to the people in my house? Imagine that. Do you think one look at Riddle is going to have me carving a Dark Mark into my arm?’ 

‘You’re a prick,’ Ron said. ‘And your whole house areDeath Eaters.’

‘And I’m not! What do you want me to do – kill them? Or are they my responsibility?’

‘You know we don’t think that,’ Ron said, ‘I don’t care if you’re a Slytherin. But you won’t talk to us anymore, Harry, and that’s weird. Then you come out with this,and all that stuff with Riddle – Hermione’s right.’  

Harry’s ears were buzzing. ‘Hermione’s right? You have to say that, don’t you, Ron? Do you ever think I don’t talk to you because I know exactly how you’ll react?’

He said nothing.

The silence between them was suffocating. It caught in Harry’s throat and made his chest constrict. He couldn’t look away from them, no matter how much it hurt. Everything felt hot and red and unfair.

‘You know we support your decisions, Harry,’ Hermione said. Her voice was finally beginning to shake. ‘Though I will never agree to your stupid ideas about Riddle.’ 

‘Fine,’ Harry snapped. ‘That’s your opinion. But call me an idiot again, Hermione. You know you want to.’ 

She didn’t. Her lips wobbled and she burst into tears. Ron put an arm around her shoulder and gave Harry a dirty look. 

‘It’s your own problem now,’ he said.

And Hermione’s face hardened. Despise the fresh tears on her cheeks, her eyes were sharp and unmistakably decided. They left. 

The courtyard was silent but Harry’s ears still rang. He wondered what was wrong with him and couldn’t summon the urge to follow them and apologise. 

Ron just went along with what Hermione said, he thought savagely. And they could snog, and have fun, but if Harry wanted to not deal with something for one moment, even breathed near a Slytherin, it was the end of the world. 

He knew better than any of them what Tom Riddle was like. He was the one there, stuck right in the snake pit with him. They had never spoken to him before.

They didn’t have to deal with any of this and yet it was all his fault?

A bird burst from the trees in a flurry of feathers and screeches. Its call rang out against the empty sky. Harry watched it and the heavy, hot ball in his stomach constricted. 

He couldn't stop thinking about them all day.

Harry never fell out with both Ron and Hermione at once and it was a strange, lonely feeling. He didn't have Ginny here. Ginny, he realised guiltily, who he hadn't thought about in ages. There was no Neville or Luna. No Quidditch Team. No Weasleys . . .

He could still see Ron and Hermione's faces. Hermione, with her forehead creased. Ron's jaw set. He could imagine their voices as though they were right there beside him. 

The only time Harry stopped thinking about Ron and Hermione was when he went back to the common room and saw Belinda. A small crowd had gathered around her, including most of the seventh-years. They were talking loudly, excitedly.

'Oh, there you are,' Lucretia said. 'We were wondering.' 

Harry moved closer, his curiosity getting the better of him.

'So you don't think it was Grindelwald?' Rosier was asking Belinda eagerly. 

'I don't remember any of it,' she said.

'Yeah, but your father—what's he doing with Grindelwald?' 

She stopped. A frown came over her face. 'I don't know,' she said, slowly and deliberately. 'He doesn't tell me.' 

Rosier sat back, disappointed. 'Don't you want revenge? To find out who did it?' 

Belinda turned to stare into the flames of the fire. Rosier watched her for a moment, taken-aback at being ignored.

'Are you getting these stupid questions too, Harry?' She hadn't looked up.

He blinked. ‘Yeah,’ he said. He wanted to be angry but it had all drained out of him. ‘I told them we didn’t see anything. Maybe it was just –a freak attack or something.’

‘On a Lestrange?' Rosier said. 'You don't have any enemies, do you?' 

'Do you ever shut up?' Belinda said. 

He glared at her. 'Maybe if you would actually be entertaining –’  

'She's right, piss off, Rosier,' Harry said. 

What if he triggered something in Belinda’s memory? It was possible to break memory charms, after all. Harry could say the wrong thing and then –

'Still noble, I see.' 

'What?' 

Belinda looked up from the fire. Her face, illuminated by the green flames, had never looked more ill. 'You’re too good for this house, Harry.’ 

‘Er –’

He thought of Ron and Hermione, with their accusing eyes. ‘I must be here for a reason.’ 

She had said that before. His stomach lurched.

He needed to know exactly what she remembered, but there was no way he could ask without arousing suspicion. 

What if it came back? What if it all slowly came back? What if she decided to tell Tom everything?

What if her parents said something? Sparked a memory, a thought, an idea . . .

He ended up in Dumbledore’s office.

‘I don’t even know how memory charms work! What if it breaks? Wears off? Or, her parents owl her and mention Grindelwald and it all clicks? What ifGrindelwald contacts her?’ 

‘It is time I deal with Gellert Grindelwald,’ Dumbledore said. ‘We’ve been avoiding each other for far too long.’

In response, Fawkes made a low, crooning noise on his perch. His head was tucked under his wing.

‘Already? It’s only –’  

Dumbledore held up a hand. ‘Perhaps this is changing the future. Or maybe this will be an ill-fated attempt on my part. Only you cannot tell me, Harry, and I cannot allow this to go on. Grindelwald’s plans have endangered two of my students now, which should never have happened.’ 

‘It’s not like you knew.’

‘Yet now I do.’ His gaze was piercing, and Harry sat up straighter in his chair. ‘Whatever the cost may be, I cannot, with good conscious, allow Grindelwald to harm another Hogwarts student.’

The words were firm and there was not a hint of doubt on Dumbledore’s face. Harry thought he looked more like the old man from his own time than the young one he had first met on arrival.

‘The Hallows,’ Harry said quietly. He had avoided mentioning them, though it nagged at his mind. The desire was now too much. He didn’t want to know, he needed. ‘Forgive me, sir. You and Grindelwald – you both wanted them.’

‘Foolish, wasn’t it?’ Dumbledore smiled, sad and bitter. ‘An idea destined to end in destruction. It was the beginning of a dream which led us down a dark path.’

He folded his hands on the desk and Harry stared at them, surprised by the lack of wrinkles, lack of wear. They were both pale. One wasn’t charred, burnt and black. It wasn’t dead. Dead and decaying; spreading like a parasite, rotting from the inside out.

He looked away.

‘I am ashamed to admit our ideas. I found Grindelwald enthralling. So easily he captured my attention, and in those two summer months, I found not just a friend but an equal. It took my boyish youth and my thirst for a challenge and transformed my world view. We had dreams and the foolishness to believe they would be achieved. And the strongest one—the one we always agreed on—was the Deathly Hallows.

‘Three objects which caused lifetimes of violence. The stone intrigued me the most. It fed something inside me I desperately tried to ignore. And those three objects – I believed they were the answer to everything. Grindelwald is still searching for the cloak you brought back through time.’

‘That’s what I don’t get,’ Harry said slowly. ‘I brought it with me. Which means there should be another invisibility cloak lying around. That one of my ancestors have. Another Deathly Hallow.’ He hesitated. ‘And I’m pretty sure you gave me the Resurrection Stone.’ 

Surprise filled Dumbledore’s eyes. ‘I had –’ he said quietly. ‘No matter. Continue.’ 

‘I think it’s in my snitch. Well, Hermione thought it was nonsense. But there’s something in it – something important.’ It made sense to him in a way he couldn’t explain. ‘Yet the Resurrection Stone is in Riddle’s Peverell Ring. And he doesn’t even realise.’ 

And Harry would never, ever tell him. 

‘How does that make sense? Two sets of cloaks and rings?’  

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair and didn’t speak for a moment. Briefly, Harry wondered if telling him about the Hallows was a bad idea - after all, he had wanted them himself not long ago. 

‘The thing about power, Harry, is magic always finds a balance. The reason time-travel is so unheard of, so confusing, so unexplored, is because things usually sort themselves out before any changes are made. Many time-travellers die violent and unexplained deaths simply by causing such powerful magic to take place.

Objects of that much power –that is to say, if the legends are to be believed—would not exist twice in the same lifetime. My best guess is that when you went back in time—bringing, if you’re correct, two Hallows with you—one version of the Hallows would be rendered useless.’

Harry gaped at him. ‘They stopped working? Just like that?’ 

‘There can never be two Masters of Death or two Elder Wands. Your cloak is still faithful to you, yes?’ 

Harry nodded. 

‘The enchantments haven’t started to fade? It isn’t showing its age?’ 

‘It’s perfect. The same as ever.’ 

‘It retains its powers.’ There was a satisfied look in his eyes. ‘And is, therefore, a Deathly Hallow.’ 

‘So if Grindelwald got it – got the other cloak, from whoever has it now—it would just be a cloak?’ 

‘While you are here, yes.’

Harry perked up. ‘Have you had any success with the time-turner?’ He couldn’t hide the hopeful edge in his voice.

Dumbledore stood up from the desk and Harry scrambled around to watch. But he only went to his spindly table and lifted the pocket-watch. When he turned back, his face was very serious.

‘I have performed every spell I can think of, Harry. I have talked to my dear friend Nicholas Flamel, who knows more about obscure magic than anyone.’ He uncurled his hand and there it sat: hands frozen in place, face shattered. ‘But it is no longer magical. Whatever burst of magic took you here has been used up.’

‘No longer magical?’ Harry repeated. ‘It’s just an old clock? It can’t be –’

He refused to believe it. He took it from Dumbledore’s hand and into his own.  

‘It has to - it has to do something. Maybe it needs –’

An idea came over him, a glorious, heart-stopping idea. He was sure it would work. It filled him with such a wild rush of hope that he stopped breathing. Raising the pocket-watch to his eye, he looked at the grimy, shattered face and imagined a snake. 

‘Fix. Work. Reparo. Open.’

It sat there, unmoving. 

Harry couldn’t look at Dumbledore. His head was spinning. He knew it wasn’t his fault, knew it was his own, all his own —

‘Do not give up hope.’ 

A laugh bubbled in his throat. ‘No, of course not. I’m rejoicing. It’s not like the stupid piece of rubbish does nothing.’ 

He clenched his fist and the glass pierced his skin. He didn’t care. 

Why keep the stupid thing around anyway? Maybe it would be better to blast it to pieces. The stupid thing which did nothing.

Even as he thought it, as he felt the rush of anger and disappointment, he held onto it. Something – the very same desire he had in the vault—made Harry stop.

'Guess I’ll keep it,’ he said. ‘Until we figure something out.’ 

‘I’m so very sorry.’ Dumbledore’s eyes were misty beneath his half-moon glasses and Harry felt another stab of anger.

He was Dumbledore. How could Dumbledore not know what to do?

‘It’s not your fault,’ Harry said.

It’s mine.

It was all Harry’s fault. He felt it like a physical weight; felt like if he wasn’t holding onto Dumbledore’s desk he would have stumbled. How was he going to tell Ron and Hermione this?

But the thought of them was too much.

Your fault, Harry. All down to you. 

As he left the office, he was more aware than ever of the invisibility cloak in his pocket. He hadn’t parted with it since Hogsmeade; feared Tom would get curious and take it himself.

He thought of the snitch he had given to Hermione for safe-keeping. I open at the close . . . 

Belinda’s sly smile and Riddle’s bright, intense eyes flashed in his mind, morphing into Ron and Hermione’s angry faces. And he could almost hear clock hands spinning, faster and faster. Hear the cold, high laughter of Voldemort rattling in his ears. It followed him through the castle.  

Harry wanted the snitch more than ever but knew it meant going through Hermione. And hadn’t he given it to her because it wasn’t safe in his dorm?

That was only truer now. 

The common room was no longer crowded. Belinda had disappeared and with her the seventh years. A few of the younger students looked up as he entered, but apart from whispering, they didn’t speak.

However, when he reached the dormitory, he found he wasn’t alone at all. 

‘Harry,’ Tom said, wandering over from the window. ‘There you are.’ 

‘Piss off.’

His surprised expression gave Harry a sharp stab of pleasure.

‘You’re touchy,’ he remarked. ‘A fight with the two Gryffindors?’

Harry managed not to react. ‘None of your business.’ 

‘So you told them?’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Really, Harry? That’s three people now.’ 

‘Three people I trust. Have you ever trusted anyone? Maybe you should tell people things and you won’t be such a creepy murderer.’ 

Tom watched him for a moment and Harry wanted him to tick, wanted his jaw to clench, him to lash out. He needed Tom to react, to fire the first spell —

‘Doubt it,’ he said easily. 

Harry let out a surprised breath of laughter. ‘Right, well, this has been a great conversation, but it would be nice if you left.’ 

‘If I left? Do you want to mope alone? Maybe write a few letters and inform the whole wizarding world?’

He bristled and Harry wanted, recklessly, to see just how far he could push Tom. 

‘It’s been a busy day. I want to sleep.’ 

‘You’re such a liar,’ Tom said. ‘It’s not even seven o’clock.’ 

‘Yeah, you’re right. I don’t want to see you anymore.’ 

Tom stepped forward until they were unbearably close. Harry thought he was trying to prove he would have to see him and didn’t know if he wanted to laugh or not. His mouth was dry. 

‘Is this because of your friends? Have they been telling you how awful I am again?’ 

‘It’s not them. Are you so self-absorbed? You know, Tom, you can’t just lie and scheme and try to kill me,and expect me to forgive you.’ 

Tom stopped abruptly and a strange expression came over his face. Harry paused, thinking perhaps the words had registered.

But when he spoke, he sounded wondering. ‘You called me Tom.’ 

Harry blinked. ‘Yeah. It’s your name, isn’t it?’

‘It’s always Riddle. You’re so fond of surnames, Harry. So, I ask, why the change?’ 

‘It’s not a big deal. Just - there’s no point calling you Riddle anymore. It’s kind of stupid.’ 

‘So, you’ve accepted the inevitable then?’ 

Harry narrowed his eyes.  ‘What’s the inevitable?’

‘Don’t worry about it.’ Tom still had that distracted look on his face but there was a certain gleam in his eye now. ‘Say it again.’ 

‘What? No!’

‘Harry –’

‘Tom,’ he said, in the same patronising tone. 

And Tom smirked, like the complete annoying prat he was. 

‘I don’t know anyone else who gets a kick out of their own name,’ Harry muttered.

‘Well, I prefer another name.’ 

‘What - Thomas?’ 

Tom scowled. ‘Don’t be disgusting.’ 

Harry couldn’t help laughing. He forgot how fun it was to annoy him, especially when Tom wanted Harry to call him Lord Voldemort. 

‘Did you talk to Belinda?’ he asked.

Tom blinked at him. ‘Do we really have to talk about her?’ 

‘Yeah. Or if you prefer, there’s the murder attempt.’ 

He smiled thinly. ‘At least you’ve recovered.’ 

Harry glared at him –reminded, once again, of who Tom Riddle was.

‘I’m not going to try and kill you again,’ he finally said. 

Harry raised his eyebrows. ‘Until you change your mind and decide I’m a threat. Too bad. I’ll always be a threat.’

‘Reassuring.’

‘I’m not joking.’

‘Neither am I. What do you want, Harry, a promise? Would either of us believe it?’

‘I’m saying, you can fuck off. Why would I want to deal with that? With you? When you want to kill me one moment and then –’

 ‘I like you.’ He said it, as though it was the simplest thing ever. ‘Why would I kill someone I like?’ 

Harry bristled. ‘When it fades, which it will –’

‘Be quiet.’ 

He was so surprised he did.

‘I’m not going to try and kill you again, Harry. I don’t have any reason to.’ He paused. ‘That I know of.’

‘Yeah, like you could even if you wanted to.’

He raised his eyebrows but otherwise ignored it. ‘I never knew you spoke Parseltongue. How is that possible? How is it that you somehow have my gift?’

Harry didn’t say anything. He imagined Tom thought of him like an exotic animal he had discovered and was excited to see what it could do. But there were a lot of things he didn’t know. Could never know. 

‘And do you seriously think I would risk suspicion by attacking you after what happened Belinda?’

That was a good point.

‘You better not expect me to forget about it,’ Harry said, ‘the whole killing thing.’

Tom made an agreeing noise. He looked distracted.

Harry narrowed his eyes. ‘About Belinda. Whatever you’re thinking isn’t going to happen.’  

‘I found out about your cloak.’

Harry stopped breathing. ‘You – found out what?’

‘Are we still doing this?’ Tom said, ‘playing stupid? I know it’s a deathly hallow. From the fairy tale.’

Harry opened his mouth but nothing came out.

‘A fairy tale,’ he finally managed, voice trembling. This was bad.

‘That Grindelwald took too literally.’

‘Does it do anything? How can a cloak hide you from death?’ He sounded a bit like Hermione.

‘I don’t know,’ Harry said, ‘it only acts like a cloak. No special features. I didn’t even know it was – that until recently.’

Tom cocked his head. ‘Grindelwald clearly believes the tale. He wants the set. The Resurrection Stone, The Invisibility Cloak and the Elder Wand.’

Harry said nothing. His heart was beating so frantically he could hear it. 

‘The Stone,’ Tom continued, and pulled a face. ‘Probably conjures ghosts or some other form of wraith.’

Harry knew he had no interest in bringing back the dead.

‘And the cloak—hides from death. Why hide when you can conquer?’

Harry didn’t defend it or question Tom’s ideas. He felt like they were on the edge of a clifftop and a few words away from toppling over.

‘But the Elder Wand.’ A hungry look came over his face. ‘Is actually useful. An unbeatable wand. Can you imagine it?’

‘No,’ Harry said bluntly. ‘No wand is unbeatable.’

 ‘But if it was. If it was the most powerful wand in the world, surely the advantages, the benefits –’

‘I think,’ Harry said, ‘it would be more trouble than it’s worth. Think about it. It has a bloody history. If you owned that wand you would constantly be watching your back. People would be trying to kill you. Steal it while you’re sleeping. Obliviate you, crucio you –’

‘Now this is why I like you, Harry,’ Tom said and smirked, ‘we think so alike.’

‘It’s a hassle. The wand would have you constantly on guard. If the stories are true, it never has one master for long.’

‘You’re forgetting,’ Tom said, ‘who I am. You think someone is going to dare take my wand? Lord Voldemort’s? The most powerful wizard alive?’

‘Even if I go along with that ridiculous sentence, you’re not right now. You’re Tom Riddle. Someone could beat you in a duel.’

Tom’s jaw tightened. ‘The wand is unbeatable.’

‘It’s a fairy tale!’

‘A fairy tale Grindelwald believes. He wants the Hallows.’ He stopped and a truly horrible look came over his face. Realisation. ‘Grindelwald could already have it.’

Harry laughed nervously. He couldn’t help it: everything was one idea away from destroying the future. 

‘You’re going to duel him, are you? You, a Seventh Year?’ 

‘Of course not,’ Tom said. ‘I have patience. I’ll wait.’ 

‘If it’s as unbeatable as you think, you’ll be waiting until his death.’ 

But Harry knew Dumbledore won the wand from Grindelwald. And Tom wouldn’t dare duel Dumbledore. Wasn’t he the only one he feared? Maybe it was safe. 

‘What’s wrong with your wand?’ Harry said, ‘wouldn’t you miss it?’

‘I would. It’s never failed me.’ He took it out, twirling it through his fingers absently. ‘I don’t know why it concerns you. You don’t want the Elder Wand.’

Harry made a noise of agreement. He felt cold inside.

I could make Voldemort an even deadlier enemy, he thought. What if his mother’s sacrifice wouldn’t work against the Elder Wand? What if this destroyed the entire future?

But another voice argued back: It’s safe. Dumbledore would rather snap the wand than let Voldemort get his hands on it. Wouldn’t he?

Your wand’s already interesting,’ Harry said. ‘It’s the brother of mine. Didn’t you say they’re powerful together?’

When Tom spoke, it was in his lecturing voice. ‘Brother wands are very rare. There are few accounts of them working together, as the bearers don’t often meet. However, it’s said when they do cast together, the power increases tenfold.’

Harry tightened his hand around the pocket-watch in his pocket and its presence calmed him slightly. ‘Forget about the Elder Wand for now, and we can test it.’

He looked up sharply. ‘Really?’

‘Yeh.’ Harry knew it was a bad idea but it was the only thing he could think of. If he could distract Tom from the Elder Wand long enough for Dumbledore to win it, then maybe there was hope. And if that meant turning his attention to Harry – well it was a small price to pay.

‘I don’t think it will work, though. My wand doesn’t exactly like you.’

'You and your wand aren’t separate. The wand is influenced by you, not the other way around.’

‘Yeah, well I don’t like you,’ Harry snapped.

Tom ignored him. ‘Your wand is the brother of mine. You speak Parseltongue through your connection to me.’

Harry stared but Tom was pacing slowly, talking to himself.

‘Maybe I’m a descendant of Slytherin.’

He ignored this too. ‘And your scar . . . ’

‘It’s always been there.’ 

‘How did you get it? Didn’t you say a Dark Wizard cursed you? Can you remember his name?’ He looked eager.

‘I can’t even remember his face,’ Harry lied. ‘It was just a cutting curse or something.’ 

‘He must have cursed you. But with what?’ 

Harry shrugged. ‘I don’t remember anything. I was a kid.’

And he knew Tom’s question—knew it by his eyes, and the way they lingered—before it even came. 

‘Can I see it?’ 

‘My scar?’ 

He smirked. ‘No, Harry, your –’

‘Yeah, yeah, whatever.’ He pulled his fringe out of the way before Tom could finish his sentence, his face heating up. It didn’t help that Tom forgot what personal space was as he leaned forward. Harry held his breath.

‘Can I –’ Tom began, and then decided anyway by lifting his hand. 

Harry flinched backwards and Tom paused. 

‘Habit,’ he said, and shivered at the thought of Voldemort in the graveyard.

He braced himself, not knowing why he was allowing this, telling himself it was only to ease Tom’s curiosity. And before he had a chance to change his mind and refuse, Tom went ahead and touched his scar.

‘Oh,’ Harry said. It didn’t hurt at all. It felt nice. Pleasant. Warmth going right through him. He involuntarily leaned forward.

Tom traced the scar with his finger. ‘How strange,’ he murmured. ‘I can feel the connection. It feels alive.’

Harry jerked backwards and the pleasant feeling disappeared. He felt like he had been doused in cold water now, the words triggering something which made him uneasy.

‘That’s ridiculous.’

‘Oh? That’s where you draw the line? You clearly felt it as well.’

Harry said nothing and flattened his fringe. Tom watched him.

‘It’s my head you’re poking. Obviously I did.’

Obviously,’ Tom agreed. ‘You realise that’s the root of everything? The cause.’

Harry swallowed and squashed his panic deep down. Otherwise, it would overwhelm him. He exhaled slowly. Tom didn’t know about Voldemort. He didn’t know about the future.

‘So,’ Harry said and licked his lips. Tom had that look on his face: intrigued and excited and hungry. ‘Is your curiosity satisfied now?’ 

And Tom laughed.

Chapter Text

Harry hadn’t realised how much time he spent with Ron and Hermione until they were gone. It wasn’t the same as it had been before, of course. There were still the separate classes, the different common rooms. Still the divide between Gryffindor and Slytherin. But now there was a hole — a gaping, empty hole — in his day and he didn’t know what to do.

Harry couldn’t turn to Dumbledore even if he wanted to. After their conversation, he had vanished. He was absent at meals, in the halls, and Professor Flitwick had taken over their transfiguration classes. Ever since Dumbledore had given back the time-turner, Harry hadn’t caught a glimpse of him.

He wasn’t the only one wondering: it had become a popular topic in the common room, especially as the week went on.

But his stomach rolled unpleasantly: Grindelwald was constantly nagging at the back of his mind, along with Dumbledore’s sentiment that he wasn’t Harry’s problem.

It wasn’t until Saturday evening that Dumbledore came back. Harry entered the Hall along with the other Slytherins, did his regular scan of the Head Table, and froze. Because he was there, all right. Dressed in plain grey robes, talking quietly with Professor Flitwick.

Harry immediately went to his office.

It was quite late. Fawkes, whose feathers were dull and missing in clumps, crooned when Harry came in. Dumbledore looked up. His face was heavily lined and he didn’t seem very surprised.

‘Sir,’ Harry began, ‘You don’t have to face Grindelwald. Not yet. Or if Belinda’s parents are pestering you –’

Dumbledore held up a hand. ‘I wasn’t contacted about that attack, Harry. Contrary to popular belief, I am not liked by everyone.’ He smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes.

‘So it’s him. You’re looking for him.’

Fawkes made another noise and Harry turned around. His head was tucked near his wing, but Harry made out one beady eye, watching him closely.

‘Have I ever told you about my sister?’ 

Harry turned away from Fawkes instantly. ‘Ariana?’ He winced. ‘No. But – er – in my time, you had a biography written. It was rubbish.’ 

‘A biography?’ He looked interested. ‘And what was it called?’ 

‘We don’t want to change the future,’ Harry said hastily.

Dumbledore smiled. ‘That bad, then? Very well, spare an old man’s pride. Ariana. Closer, I’m afraid, to my brother than myself. He works in Hogsmeade.’

Harry tried to school his expression.

‘They were always close. Ariana’s magic was repressed. It manifested in violent outbursts whenever she got slightly emotional. For months at a time, she would have no magic at all, and that, perhaps, was worse. She had a difficult childhood and never attended Hogwarts.’ 

Harry thought of Rita Skeeter’s writing and nodded. 

‘Ariana required almost constant attention and I – freshly out of Hogwarts – left most of it to Aberforth. It was during a fight we had about that very matter, Gellert, Aberforth and myself, that she intervened. My sister was killed.’

He looked away, out the window. Harry felt out of place; an intruder.

‘That was the end of anything I may have had with Gellert. I like to think that it was the beginning of a different path to becoming a better man. I had been fuelled by my own selfishness and forgot what was most important: my family.’

Harry thought of Ron and Hermione and said nothing.

Dumbledore gave a great sigh. ‘You are a far better man than me, Harry, because unlike you I live in the past. My memories – my mistakes – haunt me every day.’

‘You don’t have to defeat him yet,’ Harry said. He wasn’t meant to take on Grindelwald yet. None of this was supposed to happen now.

‘Your confidence in my abilities is inspiring. But I will never claim to be a better duellist than Gellert. We have always been equally matched.’

Harry’s mouth opened. It had never occurred to him Dumbledore may not win.

‘You’re saying –’

‘I’m saying it is necessary to take precautions. Only a fool dives into a fight without considering every outcome. And whatever that outcome may be – it is by no means, your fault.' 

‘You’re going to win,’ Harry said stubbornly. ‘You should wait. Prepare.’

I can’t watch him die again.

‘Prepare?’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘I could prepare for the next decade, as could Gellert. What would change, apart from countless deaths?’

Harry said nothing. The air between them said enough. His chest felt heavy. Dumbledore, despite what he said, was challenging Grindelwald for Harry.

‘I’m proud of you, Harry,’ Dumbledore said. ‘And honoured to have known you in this short time, although it feels much longer.’ 

‘I’ve known you longer,’ Harry said. ‘Even if you don’t know it yet.’ 

Dumbledore looked at him, and for a moment, he seemed sad. ‘I do believe you will find a way back home, if that’s what you wish. It may not be as soon as you think, or as easy, but your feat of landing here proves that it’s possible.’ 

Harry was too overwhelmed to say anything. He didn’t want to blurt out anything embarrassing, tried to remember there was a difference in the Dumbledore he knew and the one he did now.

Even if he had come to like them equally. 

He didn’t have long to think about Dumbledore. As he walked to the dungeons, he was confronted by Tom, who wiped all thoughts from his head.

‘Why are they still obsessed with this?’ Tom said, stalking over. His eyes seemed to flicker against the candlelight, and Harry, for a moment, blinked at him.

‘Who’s obsessed with what?’

‘The Slytherins.’ He waved a hand, as though dismissing them. ‘All they care about is someone attacking a pureblood. As though that would be the sole reason for concern. It’s pathetic.’

‘They’re bigoted,’ Harry said, ‘and think they’re better than everyone else because of their blood. Like you.’ 

He scoffed. ‘I’m a descendant of Slytherin. It’s not as though their stupid surnames account for anything.’

‘Yeah, Riddle, whatever you say.’

Tom’s face darkened and Harry continued quickly. ‘They’re just titles. They don’t have any more magic or talent or –’ he stopped. ‘You know this, don’t you?’ 

‘Obviously,’ Tom said, ‘but buying into the blood-purity ideology is perhaps the easiest way of gaining power. While the Slytherins may be bigots, they are very adamant ones. Don’t underestimate influence.’

Harry was torn between disgust and disbelief. ‘So you don’t think purebloods are better?’

Of course, Tom didn’t think anyone was better than him.

‘What about muggleborns then?’

Tom’s nose wrinkled. ‘Muggleborns are usually ignorant and uneducated about wizarding culture. And muggles – muggles are a disgusting, weak species.’

Harry let out a shaky laugh. ‘Yeah. That sounds like you now. So you’ll just – say whatever if it benefits you?’

He gave Harry an incredulous look. ‘Yes.’

‘You just agree with all that pureblood crap? To build a following?’

‘Purebloods are the most influential people in the Wizarding World. In terms of politics and status, they are vastly superior. My Death Eaters will therefore by the best. Agreeing with the sentiment – using it to sway them to my side – is the most beneficial way to gain power.’ 

‘Pick the best people you can find and rule them,’ Harry said, shaking his head. ‘Makes sense.’

‘I am the heir of Slytherin. Therefore, I outrank them.’

‘How impressive,’ Harry said flatly.

Tom frowned, his smugness disappearing. ‘It impresses everyone else. Unlike you, the Slytherins have respect – have loyalty and pride – for their house.’

‘So you speak Parseltongue. I do as well. Excuse me for not jumping in excitement.’

And then an idea occurred to him and he knew, by the way Tom’s expression stilled, that he was thinking it as well.

‘I wonder what the Slytherins would think if they knew that. Maybe I could convince them I’m the true heir and we would all go and fight dark magic.’

‘I would kill you,’ Tom said, and sounded so serious that Harry stopped. ‘If you ever tried to slander my image.’

‘You would try, you mean,’ Harry said, and knowing they were going to fight, went on. ‘But I won’t. I don’t like the Slytherins. You can have your little Death-Eaters all to yourself.’

Tom barely reacted. Harry considered that a good sign.

‘You know, Harry,’ he finally said, tilting his head sideways. ‘Parseltongue is classed as a dark trait. You can’t exactly fight dark magic while using it.’

‘Parseltongue doesn’t count. It’s a language. Anyway, it’s the intention, not the spell.’

Tom stopped. ‘Is that so?’ There was a slight smile playing on his lips. ‘What about the Killing Curse then? What about a nice, quick, painless death? How can you condone that?’

‘Because the Killing Curse is different,’ Harry said, more heated this time. ‘It’s dark for a reason. You have to want the person dead to cast it. It requires a motive.’

‘All you really need is to not care about them at all.’

‘It’s an unforgivable. They’re not classed as that for no reason. They require something. Like the Cruciatus. Hatred. You have to want it.’

 Tom glanced at him. ‘Speaking from first-hand experience?’

Harry was caught off-guard for a split second and Tom’s eyes widened.

‘You are,’ he breathed, looking like someone had just told him a delicious secret.

‘I never said I was some perfect, moral person.’ Harry thought of all the curses, all the bitterness, twisted inside him. He wondered, sometimes, what he could do if he was really pushed. ‘But I’ll never become you.’

‘A Dark Lord?’

‘You’re seventeen.’

‘For now. But I will be one day.’ He said it so confidently, in such a knowing way, that Harry faltered.

One day.

‘I’ll have to oppose you then,’ Harry said, keeping his voice even.

‘Or you could join me.’ 

Harry stared at him. There wasn’t a flicker of humour in those dark eyes. ‘No. You know that would never happen.’

Tom shrugged. ‘We’ll see when we get there.’

But Harry knew they would never get there, not him and Tom.

‘Do you not want power?’ he continued, ‘at all? Do you want to be ordinary your whole life?’

Harry’s lips twisted against his will. ‘It sounds nice,’ he replied. ‘And there are other ways of having power without the mass killing. You could become Minister.’

Tom laughed. ‘How fun that would be,’ he said, ‘sitting in an office and giving statements.’

‘You’ll never be satisfied. Even if you did get what you wanted and ruled the world.’

Tom smirked. ‘And how would you know that?’ His smile grew slowly. ‘I could be satisfied. For now.’ And he reached out and touched Harry’s shoulder.

Harry was too surprised to move backwards.

‘You’re not finding out my secrets. And I’m not turning dark.’ His voice sounded slightly unsteady, slightly surprised.

Tom stared at him, in that sharp, secretive way, and Harry’s stomach rolled, though he wasn’t quite sure why.

‘That wasn’t my intention at all.’

‘I think you need another hobby,’ Harry said, later that day. They were on the way back from the Great Hall and Harry had spent dinner trying to avoid Abraxas, Belinda, Ron, and Hermione. It was becoming ridiculous, and the strained silence had him eating as fast as he could. ‘World domination is well and good but maybe something healthier.’ 

‘Revenge is healthy,’ Tom said, entirely unfazed.

‘On who? The muggles? That’s the same thing.’

He stopped walking and turned to face Harry. ‘What do you propose then?’

Harry hadn’t actually thought of it. ‘Chess?’ he said weakly and Tom scoffed. 

‘Chess is a boring game I have no interest in.’ 

‘Fine, a pet.’ 

Tom gave him a wry grin. ‘I don’t know about a pet. The last one killed Myrtle.’ 

Harry let out an unexpected laugh. ‘A harmless pet. Like an owl.’

He gave Harry a dirty look. ‘I have no interest in owls. And I have plenty of hobbies.’

‘Stalking, manipulating, and trying to learn more dark magic don’t count.’

‘And why not? Are you suggesting I play Quidditch? Would that cure my evil ways?’

He grinned. Harry didn’t.

‘No,’ he said, ‘I don’t think there is a cure for you.’

‘What a shame. Really, Harry, you’re so good it’s giving me a headache.’

A headache. 

‘What,’ Tom said, catching something in Harry’s expression and narrowing his eyes, ‘are you thinking now?’ 

‘Nothing.’ Harry absently touched his scar. ‘My head . . .’

It hadn’t hurt in quite some time. And a second later, he had a more horrifying realisation. It didn’t hurt around Tom.

‘Can I test spells on it?’ Tom said, ‘your scar?’

Harry laughed darkly. ‘You wish.’ 

But it made sense, didn’t it? When Tom was in a good mood, Harry felt it too. When Voldemort had been angry – experienced any strong emotion – it hurt his scar. But then, Voldemort hated Harry and Tom didn’t. 

‘You’re only realising how deep this connection goes,’ Tom said, sounding eager again. ‘You feel it.’ 

‘Give up,’ Harry said.

‘It’s true though, isn’t it, Harry? Your headaches are caused by it.’

Harry flattened his hair down. ‘You should be freaked out. This isn’t some experiment of yours. You can’t just go from trying to kill me to – this.’

Tom ignored him. ‘I haven’t had a dream all week. Have you?’ 

‘No, but that’s not the point –’

‘I think that when we stop resisting it and stop fighting, it becomes manageable.’

Harry bit back his immediate response which was I want it gone. ‘You don’t know that,’ he said. ‘And last time we did, you tried to kill me.’ 

He didn’t defend it, and for that Harry was grateful.

‘Then let’s test it,’ he said simply. ‘Without the murder attempt.’

Harry had no answer to that. It seemed, despite what he did, everything dragged them together anyway.

‘Not fighting isn’t going to work for long,’ he pointed out, ‘and it still seems ridiculous.’

‘We share dreams and wand cores and you can speak Parseltongue. But this is where you draw the line?’

Which was, Harry conceded, a fair point.

Things were tense between Harry and Abraxas, and when Harry brought it up, he only seemed to make it worse.

‘Belinda’s forgotten about five minutes of her life,’ he said. ‘So what? It’s not my fault. I tried my best to help her.’ He scowled at the memory.

‘I don’t care about the attack. I want to know what you’re hiding.’ Abraxas began to stalk around the dorm, like a restless animal. ‘Both of you. You’re hiding something. And you don’t get it. I told her she would be safe. On her – her date! And when my back was turned, you come rushing in – and there’s blood everywhere – and no-one will tell me –’

From his near incoherent ramblings, Harry gathered that Abraxas had probably never seen someone unconscious before.

‘I thought she was dead.’

‘Yeh, but she’s not.’

 ‘She could have been! And I know it wasn’t Grindelwald! I don’t know why you’re covering for him – ‘

‘Covering for who?’ Harry said, startled. ‘Her fiancé? He was with you the entire time.’

‘Her father.’ Abraxas’ voice was quiet and serious, and such a contrast to his rambling before that Harry’s anger faded.

‘That’s not what happened,’ he said. ‘I didn’t even see –’

‘You’re hiding something!’ Abraxas burst out. ‘And I deserve to know.’

They stared at each other. Abraxas seemed surprised by his own force.

‘Belinda’s fine,’ Harry said, ‘and if you have a problem with her family, go and bother them.’

Abraxas opened and closed his mouth. He hesitated for a moment, on the verge of speaking, and then left the dorm. The door’s slam echoed after him. 

Harry sighed. The room suddenly seemed very empty.

You’re both hiding something.

There was no way he could know. Harry thought of Tom and felt a flicker of unease.   

Everything was quieter with Dumbledore gone. The world was a little stiller, a little more tense. The Slytherins all gave each other wary looks and Harry – knowing he was going to face Grindelwald – was constantly on guard. Aware.  The air was heavy with the things unsaid, and the looks that went around the common room were cautious and guarded.

Harry looked at Abraxas and then away again.

‘He thinks I’m hiding something from him,’ Harry said quietly. He stared into the emerald flames, watching them flicker and dance and writhe, and Tom said nothing for a moment.

‘He’s going to keep persisting,’ Harry continued. ‘And trying to find out what happened.’

‘Abraxas will stop pushing if he knows what’s good for him. It will not be pleasant if he starts asking more questions.’ Tom said it warningly, his voice low and disparaging.

‘Can’t you give them a speech or something? That would keep your Death Eaters in line.’

‘Abraxas will agree with what I tell him to, but he won’t be content until you and he resolve this.’

‘How? I can’t exactly tell him the truth.’

‘You will never tell him the truth,’ Tom said. ‘Getting tangled up with the Lestranges and Malfoys is something to avoid. Their families have been crossed for decades, in matters deeper than blood. And if Abraxas found out, despite how much you believe he’s your friend –’

‘I know, I know.’ Harry looked at him. ‘You’re even more paranoid than me.’

But he wouldn’t tell Abraxas, not now and not ever. It was a secret he kept close to him – and the whole truth something he would take to his death. No-one was going to find out.

He looked around the Common Room. Everything seemed tense; still.

Tom’s jaw was clenched. Harry watched the muscle popping in it, and the way he stiffly sat.

‘I still think you should give them a speech.’

Tom looked startled, brows knitting together. ‘I should do what?’

‘A speech,’ Harry said. ‘To the Death Eaters. Ease all their concerns and whatever.’ His lips twitched at the indignant look on Tom’s face.

‘I don’t give speeches.’

Harry laughed and Tom’s eyes narrowed.

‘Do you spy on my meetings?’ he said, words soft and laced with venom.

‘You really can’t talk about spying,’ Harry said and laughed again.

Tom looked a mixture of bewildered and cross. ‘So you do,’ he said flatly. ‘If you’re so eager to join the Death Eaters you only had to ask.’

‘I don’t want to join the Death Eaters,’ Harry wrinkled his nose at the very thought. ‘And I don’t spy either.’

‘Is that so?’ He raised his eyebrows.

‘I know you give speeches. It seems exactly like your sort of thing. So do it. Make all this – ‘he waved his hand – ‘unease go away.’

‘I will talk to the Death Eaters,’ Tom said finally.

‘Make sure to practice,’ Harry muttered.

He looked at him sharply. ‘What was that?’

‘Practice. The . . . conversation.’

‘I don’t need to practice.’ He scoffed. Maybe it was the fire, but Harry thought there was a flush on his cheekbones.

He couldn’t fight his grin anymore and let it stretch lazily over his face. ‘Whatever you say, Tom.’

He wondered was he treading a line, an invisible one, and didn’t care. ‘Are you sure you don’t want to be Minister? With all your talent for improvisation?’

He thought Tom was going to curse him for a moment. He seemed to consider it, his face going dark and defensive. Harry waited. And then – in that nice, pleasant tone of his – he said, ‘Harry?’

‘What?’

‘Shut up.’

The Common Room was deathly silent the next morning. When Harry came down from the dormitory, he felt his neck prickle. A dozen younger students sat near the windows. They stared at him for a long, strained moment and then looked away.

Harry’s unease grew as he left the dungeons. He could hear his footsteps the whole way up the stairs, and only on the ground floor was the stillness broken.

The portraits were chattering loudly. Voices were coming from the Hall, blending together. Harry asked one of the portraits what was going on – a blonde witch stirring a copper cauldron half her height – and she smiled at him.  ‘You’ll see soon enough, dear. Oh, I do hope it’s true.’

Unable to wait any longer, Harry pulled open the doors.

The Gryffindor table was abuzz with a hundred voices; the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw ones just as loud. But Slytherin seemed to be brimming with tension.

Harry hesitated before going over. Something about it seemed unnatural, a feeling he couldn’t quite get rid of.

As he crossed the Hall, one of the Slytherin's raised their voice, sharp and shrill, and then fell silent.

‘The papers should be coming in a moment,’ Abraxas said, sitting up sharply. The silence was eerie, broken only by plates and cutlery crashing together.

Harry looked at the sky above. It was misty and grey and revealing absolutely nothing.

‘Did you get the evening addition of the Prophet, Harry?’ Lucretia said. ‘It was only released last night.’

He shook his head and at the same moment, the owls flew in. Everyone stopped. The beating of wings was the only noise to fill the Hall, and the wait was unbearable. Papers fell through the air, students standing up to catch them.

Lucretia was tapping her foot. Abraxas’s hawk owl was the first one to reach their table. Behind it came a dozen tawnies.

He leaned forward to see Lucretia’s paper but at the same moment, Belinda gasped and dropped her fork. Harry stared at her wide, scared eyes, and could still hear the clatter in his mind.

‘Here,’ Lucretia said.

Harry was glad he hadn’t eaten. His stomach dropped.

Dark Lord Gellert Grindelwald Defeated by Albus Dumbledore.

The rustling of papers died away. The sudden burst of noise ceased to exist.

Harry couldn’t tear his eyes away from the headline or the picture underneath. The two figures were barely more than pinpricks. He was unable to tell them apart. Something exploded in the foreground of the photo, over and over again.

Harry finally tore his eyes away, ignoring everything: someone scoffing, someone whooping. Tom’s mild voice . . .

He looked towards the Head Table, scanning it almost desperately. But Dumbledore was gone.

Chapter Text

Harry heard very little except Grindelwald all day. It was the talk of the entire Common Room and several heated discussions had sparked. Lucretia, in particular, was adamant his defeat was a good thing. 

‘He wanted to expose magic to muggles! It was never about purebloods!’ 

About purebloods or not, it didn’t seem to matter. Harry had never seen the Slytherins like this before, divided amongst themselves.

Even in lessons, the professors were discussing it. Harry asked Flitwick about Dumbledore – he was once again covering their Transfiguration class – and he told Harry that Dumbledore was busy dealing with journalists. 

‘As if he wasn’t famous enough.’ And he chuckled, patting Harry on the arm. 

Harry also ran into Ron and Hermione before lessons began. The corridor was full of students lingering outside classrooms, not bothering to go inside. 

‘The time-line’s changed!’ Hermione burst out. ‘This wasn’t supposed to happen yet!’ 

‘Everything about us being here changes things, Hermione.’ 

‘But now we have definite proof.’ She looked frazzled and she was carrying a stack of toast in her hands like she hadn’t bothered with breakfast and came straight here. 

‘There’s nothing we can do,’ Harry said. ‘Grindelwald being defeated early—it’s a good thing.’ 

‘Yeah, unless Dumbledore loses the plot or something,’ Ron said. ‘Then how would we get back?’ 

There was a painful silence. Hermione was watching him with narrowed eyes and Ron’s attempt at lightness had done nothing to ease the atmosphere between them. 

‘He gave me back the time-turner,’ Harry said, ‘and told me it’s not magical anymore. It all ran out when we got here.’ 

‘Not magical anymore?’ Hermione gaped. 

‘Yeah,’ Harry said and found he was unable to look at her. ‘He can’t fix it.’ 

‘Well, we’ll keep looking. Maybe it needs something to trigger it. A rune, a spell . . . ‘her eyes lit up. ‘Parseltongue.’ 

‘I tried it.’ 

Harry watched the hope dim from her eyes and his stomach twisted. 

‘He just – gave it back to you?’ Ron said. ‘He’s given up?’ 

Harry shook his head. ‘I don’t know. Maybe.’

He met Ron’s eye, who glanced away. The seconds ticked on. 

‘You’re still talking to Riddle then?’ Ron said. 

Hermione looked up sharply. 

Harry thought of all the answers he could give, all the ways he could try and explain. 

‘Yeah.’ 

Hermione folded her arms. Almost subconsciously, she and Ron moved closer together. 

‘Well, you know what we think of that,’ Hermione said and blinked rapidly. Her voice, however, didn’t waver. ‘And you brought it on yourself.’ 

‘Thanks.’ 

‘Oh, come on! You know he’s baby You-Know-Who,’ Ron said. 

‘This isn’t a game, Harry,’ Hermione added. ‘It’s serious. You need to realise what’s at stake.’ 

And they began to walk away. 

Harry wanted to call after them, explain, transfer house, anything. But he stood there, unable to move. 

‘And you never apologised!’ Hermione called back. 

One of the portraits tittered and Harry told it to piss off. Soon, the whole corridor was scolding him and when he finally tore his attention away, Ron and Hermione were gone. 

Harry couldn’t help think about Dumbledore. Where was he now? The ministry? It didn’t help that everywhere he went someone was talking about Grindelwald. Didn’t help when he caught a flash of red hair or brown curls. When he saw yet another Daily Prophet article in the Common Room, its flashing headline mocking him. 

In fact, it seemed the only person not interested in talking about Dumbledore was Tom. 

‘The Elder Wand,’ he said to Harry, crossing into his path and gesturing him down the charms corridor.  

‘Rude much?’ 

‘Harry.’ He had that gleam in his eye. ‘The Elder Wand.’ 

‘What about it?’ 

‘If Grindelwald had it – ‘ 

‘Which you think –’

‘Then Dumbledore does now. He won it from Grindelwald. The unbeatable wand.’ 

‘I told you it’s not unbeatable. It’s a children’s story.’ 

‘—unless Dumbledore cheated. Or stole the wand – ’

‘I doubt it.’ Harry desperately wondered how he could salvage this. ‘Just admit the Elder Wand is only a story.’ 

‘Yes,’ Tom said. ‘But I still want it.’ 

The corridor was empty and they no longer had to whisper. ‘What’s your plan now? Steal it from Dumbledore?’ 

Tom looked affronted. ‘Of course not. At least not yet.’ 

He grinned and Harry shook his head. 

‘No, Harry,’ he continued, ‘the plan now is to see how many things you’re hiding.’ 

‘Good luck with that,’ Harry said, ‘because I’m not hiding anything.’ 

‘We’ll see,’ Tom said. 

It sounded like a challenge. 

The funny thing was, despite everything, Harry felt better than he had in a long time. His scar no longer hurt. His mind was calm. And he knew it wasn’t healthy, not to depend on someone. Knew it sent off a dozen alarm bells. But the more time Harry spent with Tom, the more right everything seemed. 

Tom, he knew, agreed with the sentiment, though they never said it aloud. Why else would he spend so much time with Harry? Surely, surely, his fascination had died when Harry stopped fighting back? 

But it didn’t. Tom still sought out his company and Harry still didn’t resist it. 

Tom was a distraction to everything going on. And he desperately needed one.

Harry didn’t have to think about his friends, or about Dumbledore. About the future and how the time-line ahead was now a tangle of events instead of a straight path. 

He tried not to look at Ron and Hermione in their shared classes but was unable to help himself. It was a habit: the three of them, always. It had been for so long. And when they would turn away or give him a look, it felt just as horrible as it had the first time.

Tom, of course, noticed this. He leaned into Harry’s space one day in Charms, drawing Harry’s eyes away from Ron’s ginger head, and gave him a rather knowing look. 

‘Fell out, then? I did wonder why you looked like a dog torn between two masters.’ 

Harry turned around sharply and almost whacked into Tom’s face. ‘Have you ever heard of personal space?’ he said, scooting his chair away as his heart raced. 

‘I can’t help it,’ Tom said and grinned. ‘It’s all so sad.’ 

Harry gave him a dirty look. He could tolerate Tom scoffing at his spell-work or disagreeing with his opinions. But Ron and Hermione – 

‘Don’t mention them. They’re off-limits.’ 

Tom raised his eyebrows and Harry waited, anticipating his words before they came. 

I don’t have limits. 

But Tom shrugged. ‘You’re not the only one with friend trouble. The Slytherins – ‘a funny smile crossed his lips and maybe it was at the word friend— ‘are restless.’ 

‘I don’t see why you bother with them. You’re the heir, they follow you anyway. And even if they don’t, you’re going to gather Death Eaters after school.’ 

What did the seventh years, barely more than a handful, matter? 

‘More Death Eaters, Harry. The Slytherins are merely building blocks to something greater. Many of them will get jobs in the ministry. Their beliefs will pass down to their children. I, of course, will have power over all of them, ingrained from the very beginning.’ 

It was such a Voldemort thing to say that Harry was silent for a moment. 

‘What?’ Tom said, putting down his wand and letting the protean charm they were practising cancel. ‘You don’t believe me?’ 

‘No, I do,’ Harry said, ‘that’s the problem.’ 

He looked at Abraxas across the classroom and the way he was instructing Lucretia’s wand-movement. Harry tried to imagine him as a Death Eater.

‘So, it’s your morals then? Is that why you don’t want greatness? It’s bad? You don’t have one ounce of ambition – ‘ 

‘I’m in the house of the ambitious,’ Harry said. 

‘Oh, yes.’ Tom’s mouth curled up. ‘You’re going to be a professional Quidditch player.’ 

‘Why’s that funny? It’s more realistic than Dark Lord.’ 

‘What’s funny is your lack of enthusiasm for the sport you plan to dedicate your life to.’ 

‘I’m on the team.’ 

‘And yet when Abraxas starts talking about it you barely join in.’ 

‘I like Quidditch,’ Harry insisted. So maybe antique brooms and ancient teams weren’t his favourite thing. ‘What are you doing, spying?’

Tom just looked at him. 

‘Stupid question,’ Harry muttered. ‘And anyway, I don’t know about professional Quidditch anymore. I was thinking Auror.’ 

Harry anticipated Tom’s reaction but it never came. ‘Funny,’ he said flatly. 

‘It’s the truth.’ 

‘You want to be an Auror?’ 

‘Yeah,’ Harry said, ‘all these dark wizards around me – it’s kickstarted a new ambition.’ 

He didn’t know why he liked annoying Tom so much: maybe it was the sheer thrill of it, which got his heart racing; maybe it was to see his reaction - an eyeroll, a hidden grin, a burst of sudden, unannounced anger. 

Tom, almost thoughtful, shook his head. ‘You’re not doing well enough in potions to become an Auror.’ 

‘I’m also not joking.’

Harry didn’t want to look at him; couldn’t. He glanced down at the tabletop and the little shaft of sunlight lighting a strip of wood. Auror. 

Was it even possible? 

He didn’t know what he wanted anymore. He hadn’t thought that far ahead. Had never allowed himself to think of a Voldemort-free future for longer than a few wistful moments. 

‘I guess we’re destined to cross paths again then,’ Tom said. 

Harry didn’t answer. 

He dreamed of the Weasleys that night. 

He was in the Burrow and the kitchen was packed, a dozen ginger heads shining copper and orange in the sunlight. Mr Weasley had parts of a car engine spread across the patchwork tablecloth and Fred and George were making vegetables race through the air and howling with laughter. Percy was hunched over a piece of paper, his horn-rimmed glasses almost touching it. Penelope Clearwater, Harry knew the letter said. 

The light from the window was blinding. Brighter and brighter it got, until he shielded his eyes and turned away. 

When he looked again, Ginny was there and the kitchen dissolved. Her hair hung around her like a fiery halo and she had that fierce look on her face. 

‘You didn’t forget me, did you, Harry?’ She took a step towards him and Harry was overwhelmed by the scent of flowers. 

They weren’t in the Burrow anymore, weren’t in anything but a tangling white mist. He felt dizzy. 

‘Did you meet any veela on your travels?’ 

Harry tried to say no but his mouth wouldn’t move. The ground under his feet disappeared and he was drifting, in a place with no time or space. There wasn’t anything except Ginny. Except mist swirling around them, engulfing them, and Ginny taking a step closer. 

‘You remember this, don’t you?’ 

She leaned forward, tiptoed, and kissed him.

Harry had something to tell her; he knew it desperately. It was something important, perhaps the most important thing in his life. 

But he couldn’t move. 

There was a noise like a train, high and screeching and coming through the mist.

Ginny was beginning to fade in his arms and the bright light was coming back. 

Bright, blinding, overwhelming . . . 

You didn’t forget about me, did you?

Everything was gone apart from those words. They rattled in his head, and Harry tried to grab Ginny’s arm even as she flickered out of focus. 

You didn’t forget about me, did you?

He squeezed his eyes shut.

When he opened them the voice was gone. 

He was standing in a cloud of nothingness. The mist had cleared and around him was light, vast and never-ending. 

Ginny was gone. 

Harry sat up and reached for his glasses. Light was flooding through the gap of his four-poster and everything glowed green. He squinted as the world sharpened. The echo of the noise from his dream was fading, and with it came awareness. 

And what a weird dream it was.

But it was his. For the first time, in so long, a dream that came solely from his own mind. Harry felt a wave of relief that made him almost giddy. Hopeful. 

He pulled his curtains back and hoped Tom hadn’t shared the dream. 

His bed was empty: curtains tied, neatly made. Harry stared for a moment – in amazement, in gratitude, in disbelief -- and a laugh bubbled in his throat. Rosier’s snores quietened. 

Maybe you’re going mad, Harry thought. 

And then – 

Ginny. 

Harry stopped laughing. The giddy, weightless feeling was replaced by something stifling. 

Would he see her again? He hadn’t thought of her in weeks. 

A few months ago, he used to watch her dot on the marauder’s map. Trace it with his finger; a reassuring presence. A comfort. Like a beacon of hope Ginny was. Something good in his life. Something to believe in. 

His first girlfriend, a part of his mind said. Did you really think it would last? 

Harry wrenched all the thoughts from his head. He made his way to the bathroom, avoiding Alphard’s Quidditch socks and the part of the wood which squeaked. 

Not being with Ginny was for the best. 

And his traitorous mind said: she’s not even born. It’s not like she misses you. 

When lessons ended he had Quidditch practice. None of the Slytherins were in a good mood. Abraxas was acting oddly formal, and the others were in the midst of an argument about Grindelwald. 

It was raining steadily and the evening sky was black. Harry’s glasses had fogged over but he couldn’t fix them. His hands were frozen against his broom, which was bucking in the wind. His wand was buried somewhere in his robes, with no chance of retrieving it. 

Practice wasn’t over until he caught the snitch and Harry wasn’t the only one getting annoyed. Why had Alphard let it out on a night like this anyway? 

The sky only got darker, the rain heavier, and the stupid little golden ball was nowhere in sight. 

Harry couldn’t hear anything against the wind, including the bludgers zooming past. One hit his shoulder so hard his eyes watered, but he still couldn’t make out Alphard’s whistle – or was it his ringing ears?

When practice finally ended, they trudged back to the castle. The showers hadn’t made much difference: Harry felt cold and numb and battered. No-one was in the mood to talk and he wondered was it an acceptable time to go to bed.  

The common room – though by no means the warmest part of the castle – had never looked more inviting. 

Harry made immediately for the seats beside the fireplace, a habit ingrained into him from his days as a Gryffindor. He was too tired to care that Tom was there; too tired to even grumble at him. He leaned into the fire, putting his hands close to the green flames. 

‘Hello to you too,’ Tom said. 

Harry barely glanced up. Alphard had been heading in the same direction as him and stopped when he saw Tom. He moved to sit with Belinda and Walburga, giving them a curious look. 

Harry shuffled closer to the fire, and as a result, to Tom. 

‘Were warming charms not part of your home-schooling?’ Tom looked the very opposite of Harry: warm, dry and put-together. 

‘You know me,’ Harry said, ‘it was all Quidditch and Defence.’ 

‘A bit of parseltongue here and there.’ 

He nearly burnt his hand in the flames. ‘I didn’t learn Parseltongue. And I don’t like snakes much.’ He glanced at the one carved onto the mantelpiece. ‘No offence.’ 

Tom laughed quietly. Harry didn’t think he would have heard it if they weren’t so close. 

‘You don’t find having an entire species under your control useful?’

‘Not for any decent purposes,’ Harry said. 

Tom’s eyes were bright in the firelight, fevered almost, and he had that look on his face – amused, and interested, and just a bit sharp. 

Harry’s cheeks flooded with heat and he glanced away. It wasn’t right, he thought. No-one should look like that.

‘You have always been able to speak it then?’ 

‘Yes.’ Harry hoped it was the answer he had given before. His head was muggy. ‘You?’ 

Tom scoffed. ‘I’m a descendant of Salazar Slytherin.’

‘And you love to remind everyone. Maybe I am too. Why won’t you consider that?’ 

He looked so unimpressed that Harry snickered. 

‘Are you deliberately being elusive?’ Tom said. 

‘It’s part of the charm.’ 

Tom grinned and it was suddenly too much. Too bright, too dazzling, too real. 

Harry felt defensive. ‘You’re the one who is always scheming and planning,’ he said, tracing the leather chair under his fingers. 

‘But I don’t hide the truth.’ 

You would if I mentioned your horcruxes. 

‘Neither do I.’ His mouth was dry. He went on quickly. ‘What about the Chamber of Secrets?’ 

‘What about it?’ 

‘Well,’ Harry said, and looked at the people nearby – Third Years playing chess. ‘You got Hagrid expelled for opening it. When it was you.’ 

‘You’re still going on about Hagrid?’ A sneer crossed his face and Harry’s heart started beating wildly; dangerously. 

‘If you’re so honest,’ he said, ‘then what really happened?’ 

He leaned forward, and Tom watched him, carefully. 

Harry felt like he was holding his breath even though he had no reason to. Even though he was the one asking the question – challenging Tom – it didn’t feel like it. 

‘Nothing you couldn’t glean from others. The Slytherins all know the truth. And even if you went to your beloved Dumbledore, the school-board are not going to reinvestigate a mudblood’s death.’ 

‘Go on then. If you’re so confident.’ 

Tom looked at him, scanned his face and found something. Harry didn’t know what it was. But, with the gleam more prominent in his eye, Tom began. 

Fifth-year he found the Chamber. The Basilisk. 

She was sleeping, you see, though rose when I commanded her. There I had my fun . . . she obeyed everything I said . . . 

Harry was drawn in, despite himself. Every second he was waiting for something he knew to be a lie. A slip-up. But Tom seemed to enjoy telling the story, wherever by the desire to boast or his own arrogance. His voice became alive as he talked, his face lit up, not only by the green flames. 

And Harry couldn’t look away. 

He realised a moment had passed when Tom fell silent. 

‘Why did you open it then?’ Harry cleared his throat. ‘Did you not think you would get caught?’ 

Privately, he thought it was a rather reckless, crazy thing to do. 

Tom blinked. ‘It was a boring year.’ 

A boring year. 

‘A girl died,’ Harry said, ‘because you had a boring year.’ 

It was, he supposed, everything he had expected and also everything he hadn’t. He hadn’t anticipated Tom to be so bold. 

‘I never meant for her to die. Though you can hardly call Myrtle Warren a loss.’ 

Harry – with extreme effort – managed to shove all his disgust somewhere deep down. 

‘Have you met Myrtle, Harry? She’s just as much of a delight dead as she was alive.’

‘'I know she’s a bit – mad,’ Harry said. ‘But she’s dead. And you killed her.’ 

‘I’m very sorry.’ Tom shook his head. A smile curved around his lips. ‘She guards the Chamber ever so conveniently, however. Like my very own guard dog.’ 

‘Oh, does she? And where would that be?’ 

Genuine surprise flashed in Tom’s eyes and was gone in a second. ‘Girls bathroom. The second floor.’ 

Harry felt too hot. The words registered somewhere in the back of his mind, surprise at the forefront. Tom’s face was bright and eager – excited, almost, as he talked about the chamber – and as handsome as ever. 

He wanted to get away from the fire and the tight, painful feeling it brought to his chest. 

‘Maybe I’ll put my parseltongue abilities to good use and open it.’ 

Tom seemed interested, though Harry didn’t know how the thought could be appealing. ‘I’ll show you it,’ he said. 

Harry’s mouth opened. He blinked at him, but there was nothing sinister in his ever-so -nice face; nothing except excitement and that strange, greedy look. 

Harry’s mind was muddled; hazy. He saw a furrow form between Tom’s eyebrows. Stared at it. 

‘The Basilisk’s asleep, you know. And she only answers the heir –’

‘Great,’ Harry said, shaking his head. ‘I don’t care.’ 

Ginny. 

She came to him suddenly, a whisper in his mind. How many times had they sat beside a fire so like this one? 

Ginny and the Chamber. 

Ginny and Tom. 

Harry felt sick. He stood abruptly and almost toppled. The Common Room was much emptier than before. His whole body prickled; hot like he had a fever. 

‘I’m going to bed,’ he said, ignoring Tom’s incredulous look. ‘Quidditch was – tiring.’ 

‘That’s the lie you’re going to use? Really, Harry?’ 

‘Yes. Er – goodnight.’ 

There was no way of seeing the storm from the dungeons, or feel the rain, but Harry could imagine it all the same. The same way he could imagine Tom’s expression as if it seared into his mind. 

. . . Ginny. 

But Ginny brought the sick, clammy feeling back. Harry tried to block them both out. He didn’t want to contemplate why she would come to him now.

He passed Abraxas’ closed curtains, ignored the sudden drop in temperature in the dorm, dodged the creaking floorboard, and climbed into bed. 

Sleep came fitfully. 

The dorm was cast in a pale light when Harry woke. He knew it was early, but somehow, he wasn’t tired.

He tiptoed out of the room. All the curtains were pulled shut. Alphard’s quidditch gear was tossed in a crumpled heap near his bed and Rosier was snoring in a raspy, irregular way.

The common room was bright, even without the low-hanging lamps. A few first-years glanced up at his entrance and after a nudge from a friend, one of them waved and turned a startling red. Harry gave them a grin as he turned away and spotted Belinda, sitting alone and gazing out at the Lake. It faltered just a bit. 

He considered walking straight through and ignoring her. It was what every nerve in his body urged him to do. 

He squared his shoulders and walked over. At the very least, talking to her would get rid of the nervous, guilty feeling he had. The feeling something was wrong. 

‘So,’ he said, sitting down in one of the chairs and finding he didn’t know how to finish the sentence. She was twisting the ring on her finger – large, glittering and quite ugly – as though it was stuck.  

‘How’re you?’ 

She looked up. Stopped twisting. 

There was a copy of the daily prophet on the table beside them – the addition which announced Grindelwald’s defeat. 

Harry thought of the way her fork had dropped that day in the Hall. The surprise flashing through her eyes. 

And he looked at her now: guarded and watchful. Careful. 

. . . she refused to have her mind read . . . accepted the story Harry and Tom gave her . . . never asked any questions or prodded . . . 

‘I’m fine,’ she said. ‘Yourself?’ 

Harry nodded. Absently. ‘Remember much?’  

Was it his imagination or did her eyes widen? 

‘I’m afraid not. Though I have been asked about a thousand times.’

Harry knew the feeling perfectly. ‘Grindelwald,’ he said and her hands went still. ‘What do you think about his defeat?’ 

Everyone knew Belinda’s family were his loyalist supporters. There was no reason Harry shouldn’t too. 

‘It’s not a good thing for us. Though I doubt father will be in any trouble. It’s not like they can shut down the shop.’ 

‘The shop?’ 

‘The apothecary. In Knockturn Alley.’ 

They were both testing each other now, tense and bated. 

She owns a potions store. 

‘Have you been talking to Abraxas?’ Harry said suddenly. 

Belinda shrugged. ‘I’m sorry he’s angry at you. He blames himself.’ 

‘He blames me.’ 

‘He feels helpless. Didn’t you hear? He thinks we’re hiding something.’ 

Harry didn’t join in with her laughter. Abraxas’ words came back to him. 

You’re both hiding something. 

He hadn’t meant Tom at all. 

It was just another piece of evidence, another clue, for his list. 

‘He needs to loosen up,’ Harry said. 

Belinda looked at him. Unaware of the slow, steady certainty building in his mind. 

‘We grew up together,’ she said, ‘neither of our parents were nice but they were close. As a result, we were too. Abraxas thought he could protect me.’ She laughed. ‘The only way to do that would be killing them.’ 

‘And would you? Kill them?’ 

‘No!’ Her lips parted. Her voice turned cold. ‘Just because –’

‘Because what?’ 

‘Because they’re not nice people. I wouldn’t kill someone for no reason.’ 

Harry thought he wasn’t cut out for this Slytherin way: vagueness and half-answers. Gleaning slithers of truth from the unspoken and forming a picture. 

He looked at her – jaw tense, eyes careful – and said, ‘what if you had a really good reason? If you wanted something. Badly. Would you kill them?’ 

Her face, for a split second, was an open book. It would have been comical if Harry didn’t feel so afraid. 

‘If I wanted – what?’ 

Harry raised his eyebrows. She kept her puzzled expression. 

‘I know you remember,’ he said. 

‘Remember what? If you’re on about that day, there’s no need to worry –’

No need to worry.

She would not say that unless . . . unless she was afraid of his reaction.

‘What would you do, Belinda?’ 

‘I would – ah – not do anything.’ She shrank backwards in her chair and gazed at the newspaper between them. ‘Grindelwald’s in prison. He won’t be a help to anyone now.’ 

Harry let out a slow breath.

Could he trust her? Trust she wouldn’t do anything?

Or would he always have to be watchful? Spend sleepless nights wondering about his possessions and the information she possessed?

‘If someone did remember, they wouldn’t do anything.’ Her mouth twisted into a bitter smile. ‘Do you want me to swear an unbreakable vow?’ 

‘No,’ Harry said immediately. ‘I want to know why the memory charm didn’t work.’

‘You see this ring?’ And she held out her hand, showing what he often stared at. ‘It’s an heirloom. About the only thing I own that’s actually useful. Countless protection charms. The spell bounced right off.’ 

Harry swallowed.

‘It can only be taken off willingly. The ring. If that’s your plan –’

‘It’s not.’ He paused. ‘Does that mean your mind’s safe? From Legilimency?’ 

‘To an extent. It’s not perfect, of course.’ 

And Harry knew there were other ways of getting information. And the information she had – the things she knew . . . 

‘Would you make a vow,’ he said slowly, ‘not an unbreakable one. But –’

‘Something to make sure my tongue doesn’t slip?’ 

The worse thing was that she didn’t look surprised. She seemed resigned. 

They sat there for a moment. 

‘What will you do then?’ Harry said. ‘If Grindelwald can’t help you.’ 

‘Nothing. I’ll marry Arnoldo.’ 

‘So, you won’t – won’t turn to –’

Tom. 

She seemed to read his mind. ‘What influence does Tom Riddle have over my family? Nothing.’ 

It was too dangerous. Grindelwald was out of the picture. What if she turned her hopes back to the next, budding dark lord? Bought back into his promises of power and protection?

The thought of Tom finding out anything made Harry numb. 

‘Right,’ he said. ‘I don’t want to do this.’ 

Nothing in her face revealed surprise. He knew, with certainty, not many things would stir a reaction from Belinda anymore. 

Help her, Harry. Isn’t that what you do best? Trust her.

But he had too much trust; he was already walking an invisible line with Tom. Adding to it wasn’t only dangerous, it was suicide. 

Harry met her eyes and ignored the guilty feeling in his stomach. 

‘About that vow . . .’ 

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

The next couple of days, things were normal. Tom was back to his ordinary behaviour and Harry wasn’t sure if he was relieved or disappointed. He felt strange. He was fighting with his mind more than ever. Even the urge to stay away from Ginny was nothing like this. It was physical. Insistent. And unlike Ginny, Tom didn’t mean the disapproval of six Weasley brothers. That, now, seemed laughable by comparison.

He didn’t dare let it linger in his mind for long. The second quidditch match of the year was coming up: Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff. While not playing, the team trained as hard as ever. Harry didn’t mind – it provided a welcome distraction from everything going on. The nights grew darker, practice interrupted by wind and hail. Professor Kettleburn, the Care of Magical Creatures professor, was growing pumpkins for Halloween.

With Halloween looming came a startling revelation: Harry had almost been here two months. Two months and so many things were different. Grindelwald was defeated. The wizarding war hadn’t begun. And Dumbledore . . . Dumbledore was alive. 

Harry focused on the school-work, practiced quidditch, revelled in the ordinariness of it, the sheer routine. It was easy to slip into work and Hogwarts’ life. Comforting in a way.

When Dumbledore came back to the castle the next week, everyone treated him like a celebrity. Even the Slytherins couldn't resist gawking and whispering. Students craned their necks; stood on tiptoes. Harry heard a few of the younger ones talking about autographs.

‘Do you think he’s going to say something?’ Lucretia asked Harry. It was the first morning they had spotted him at the head table and the hall was abuzz with noise.

‘I doubt it,’ Harry said, snagging the teapot from beside Abraxas and ignoring how everyone turned to listen. ‘He’s already given his statements to the paper. And it doesn’t have anything to do with Hogwarts.’

Much to their disappointment, he was right. Dumbledore did not mention defeating Grindelwald in transfiguration or go into great lengths about the duel. They continued their lesson on conjuring from the air, creating as many mice as they could by the end of the class.

Nobody was focusing. Some of the Hufflepuffs had set their wands down, chatting. The Slytherins were constantly glancing around, expecting Dumbledore to materialise behind them.

It took one of the Hufflepuff girls to ask the question. ‘Sir?’ she said, in a timid, eager voice. ‘How did you defeat Grindelwald?’

The hush died down. Everyone looked around in interest.

If Dumbledore was affected by the question, he didn’t show it. ‘By a bout of good fortune. One I’m sure you’ve heard all about in the prophet.’

She settled back, disappointed, and the talk started again. Harry couldn’t help it now. He was curious too.

He scanned Dumbledore’s face for some sign of discomfort but found nothing. He didn’t look anything like before: tired and withdrawn, in those plain grey robes. Now Dumbledore’s smile was easy, and his eyes sparkled in that familiar, assured way. He looked back to normal.

He had defeated the Dark Lord. Did the impossible. And yet Harry couldn't do anything about Tom. He told himself it was a problem of the future, a problem of his time, not this one. Put it off, and off, and really, who was he fooling? 

Dumbledore had put his success down to fortune. Luck. Dumbledore didn’t know how to send them back. Had all the answers except this time. How was he supposed to defeat Voldemort when it was all so vague? Harry had trusted blindly. Relied on hope that Dumbledore knew something. But what if Dumbledore had left it to hope and luck and didn't have the answers at all? 

The bell eventually rang and the class trickled out. For a moment, Harry lingered behind, slowly packing his bag. He looked at Dumbledore and shouldered it, moving into the crowded corridor.

These things he could forget about if he tried hard enough. The problems of the future, the spikes of fear it brought. The bone-deep uncertainty. The nights disturbed by phantom laughter and Ginny’s accusing eyes.

Some of it, though, was inevitable. Especially as Harry tried to act casual around Tom. They were partners in Herbology, now that Harry and Abraxas weren’t talking. Most of the time he didn’t mind. Tom breezed through the class, as he did with everything, and tending the man-eating trees wasn’t as hard as it sounded. They worked easily together; the greenhouses far more relaxed than the dungeons.

‘You know, Harry,’ Tom said. He didn’t bother lowering his voice, not with the shrieks and swears and laughter all around.

‘What?’ Harry tore his eyes away from the swaying branches. They were blanketing the trees, as the weather dropped, but keeping them still for more than a moment proved impossible.

‘You said that if I didn’t pursue the Elder Wand you would test our wand connection.’

‘Our – you’re still on about that?’ He stepped away from the tree, knowing he wouldn't be able to concentrate and would likely lose a finger. 'You're not going to go after the wand,' he said, 'because Dumbledore has it. We both know you can't defeat Dumbledore.' 

Tom didn't react. He bound several of the tree branches with a delicate wave and turned around. 'I could steal it. Vanish. I already have everything I need here. Dumbledore would never find me.' 

'You wouldn't. You're not powerful enough.' 

Tom's magic seemed to spark the air. Harry wanted to take a step back but didn't. 

'It would be madness,’ he said.

Tom laughed, cold and humourless and promising deadly things. ‘Shall I test it then? When the old fool’s asleep? Or maybe one day in class I’ll get dear Abraxas to provide a distraction. You can even help.’

Harry scoffed. He didn’t want to challenge Tom, he wanted to obliviate every thought of the Elder Wand from his mind. ‘You’re too arrogant,’ he said.

‘And you promised. Or was that another lie? Shall I add it to the list? Saintly Potter, not who he appears?’

‘I told you, not everything is a lie. Normal people – we don’t do that.’

‘You’re not normal.’ 

He had that gleam in his eye and Harry sighed. It was only some spells. He only had to prove it wasn’t anything spectacular and hope Tom was satisfied. 

'Fine. Saintly Potter will do it.' 

'I can practically see the halo.’ Tom smiled, pleased and genuine, and Harry turned back to the tree, insides constricting. 

They managed to finish before anyone else and Professor Beery told them to head back to the castle. 

‘We don’t mind helping out,’ Tom said, in his charming professor voice. 

‘Yeah, and I’m the liar,’ Harry muttered. 

They headed back to the castle. Tom’s Head Boy badge gleamed in the sunlight, his head raised. 

‘I don’t see why you bother,’ Harry said, ‘pretend you care about the students and the professors. Why try when you’re changing your name to Voldemort? No-one will remember Tom Riddle anyway.’ 

‘You have a problem with Lord Voldemort?’ 

Harry shrugged. ‘I’ll never call you it anyway.’ 

‘People will remember Tom Riddle as a polite, talented student.’ Tom said his own name with contempt. `No one will connect him to Lord Voldemort.’ 

‘You say it like they’re two separate people. It’s a name. It doesn’t mean anything.’ 

‘It’s a disgusting muggle name.’ 

‘And your little cult doesn’t care. Riddle could strike the same amount of fear Voldemort does.’ He shook his head. ‘Never mind. Call yourself ‘great evil one’ for all I care.’ 

‘That doesn’t exactly have the same ring to it, Harry.’ 

‘Really? I think it’s quite catchy.’ 

They pushed open the front doors and went inside. Tom paused, expression flickering in excitement. ‘Defence classroom,’ he said, ‘seven o’clock. Professor Merrythought will allow us to use it.’

Harry’s stomach tightened. ‘Alright,’ he said, trying to keep his voice casual. ‘But prepare to be disappointed.’ 

Tom asked Professor Merrythought to keep the classroom open and she did so without question. At seven o’clock they left the Common Room, passed Peeves who was dropping water balloons on fourth-years, and reached the third-floor. Tom pulled the classroom door open and the candles flickered to life.

It was silent, apart from a door at the front which rattled. Both their eyes went to it. That was where Professor Merrythought kept the practice dummies.

‘Hasn’t the charm worn off by now?’ Harry said, as the door gave another rattle.

Tom shrugged, immediately stepping forward. Harry saw the moment an idea came into his head, as his eyes lingered on the locked door.

‘What about the wands then?’ Harry said. ‘Wanna duel?’

The look Tom gave made Harry’s skin prickle. ‘Well,’ he began, turning away from the door. ‘Wandlore is not the most popular topic in the library. I only found two books that gave enough detail, both in the restricted section. There are four main recorded accounts of brother wands acting together. The first one was between the warlocks Mathias Burke and Roland Macmillan in battle. They experienced that same ‘chain’ of magic and were unable to harm each other.’

Tom smirked. ‘However, they weren’t the most civilised pair. You see, Burke got so agitated he snapped his wand in half and tried to beat Macmillan with it like a sword.’

‘How muggle of him,’ Harry said. ‘What about the others?’

‘1856, a pair of conjoined twins had wands made from the same wood, ash, and with the same core — a diricawl feather. Sadly, the boys were little more than squibs and apart from one feat of apparition, performed no recorded magic.’ 

Tom listed off the facts carelessly, counting on his fingers. ‘Chadwick and Webster Boot, raised by Isolt Sayre the founder of Ilvermorny, both had serpent horn cores. Many times, the power of their spells increased by casting together.’ 

‘I bet they didn’t obsess over it though,’ Harry muttered. 

Tom ignored him. ‘Finally, a couple. Muggleborns, both of them. Very eccentric, both self-proclaimed seers. They used to swap wands and all that rubbish. However, like the Boot brothers, their power increased tenfold when casting together.’ 

Harry raised his eyebrows. ‘You really think our wands will work together? When all you want to cast are unforgivables?’ 

‘I think we’re very compatible, Harry.’ 

Tom smirked at the look on his face. Harry felt his cheeks flood with heat and scowled. 

‘Whatever you say. Let’s blast these dummies and see if there’s any unique powerful magic.’ 

Tom ignored his mocking words. With a wave of his wand, the door creaked open. Harry braced himself, wand ready. 

He saw a sliver of light. A hand appearing in the gap, prising it further. And a dummy was running out, stumbling, half its face missing, a mixture of leather and fluff and clumsy stitching. Behind it came two more. 

And then Tom waved his wand and the door slammed shut. 

‘Aren’t they great?’ he said.

The first dummy reached them and Harry blasted it backwards. It hit the wall, lay motionless for five seconds, and began to stir. 

Tom had watched him cast the spell carefully. ‘The next one,’ he said, as it began to move through the desks, shoving them out of the way. ‘Do that again only at the same time as me. Right—’

The dummy climbed over the final desk. It was moving in a stiff, jerky manner as though the enchantments were wearing off. 

Harry saw Tom raise his wand and immediately cast the same spell. Two beams of blue light met the dummy at once. It flew through the air and hit the wall behind. Harry winced at how loud the noise was, hoping no-one was passing through the halls. 

Tom looked disappointed. ‘That was average at best.’ 

‘Maybe your sources are exaggerated,’ Harry said and sent the final dummy hurling through the air. 

But Tom didn’t say anything, still had that disappointed look on his face. 

‘Oh, well,’ Harry said, ‘I guess we’re not compatible, after all. What a shame.’ 

‘Or maybe,’ Tom said, ‘the spell needs a genuine threat. A moment of danger.’ 

Harry scoffed. Tom looked at him and grinned. 

He waved his wand. The door creaked open and the remaining dummies ran out. Harry forgot about Tom’s pleased expression, the tightening in his chest. He focused on the dummies coming near, with their jerky limbs and waving arms. 

One lifted a table and threw it through the air. Tom sent it spinning back, straight into the group, scattering them like bowling pins. Harry, who was watching how graceful his spell-work was with a mixture of admiration and envy, didn’t notice one sneak up until it grabbed the back of his robes.

‘Stupefy!’ 

There were three more reaching towards him. Harry took a step backwards. 

‘Stupefy!’ Two of them scattered. The final one grabbed his robes again, making a swinging movement —

‘Sectumsempra!’ 

Before his eyes, it slashed into ribbons. He stared for a second, seeing the mutilated face, the exploded stitching. A head hanging by a piece of fluff. He imagined blood and guts instead. 

‘That’s not a cutting curse,’ Tom said, looking interested. ‘It feels dark.’ 

‘You can’t actually feel it,’ Harry said and a chair came careening through the air. 

They both reacted at once, casting shields. 

The chair hit against it and exploded. Splinters showered through the air, pieces flying in every direction. Harry froze where he was, transfixed by the shield which materialised before them. It was a thick, shimmering wall of gold, seemingly solid. 

He could feel it, even though he had laughed at Tom’s declaration moments ago. Feel the magic as though it was flowing through him, light and sparkling and strong —

‘You just cast protego?’ Tom murmured.

‘Yeah.’

There was no shield like it: it seemed more like a wall. The dummies on the other side were hazy; another chair collided with the shield and disappeared. 

Tom’s eyebrows furrowed. ‘Hold it,’ he said, ‘while I cast something.’ 

‘While you —’

Tom was firing a flurry of curses before he could ask, all in the span of a few seconds —acid green and sizzling yellow; black and midnight blue. They hit the shield in quick succession.

The force of the spells went through Harry’s wand arm, but the shield never wavered. Like the chair, the spells didn’t bounce backwards or fizzle away. They disappeared. 

Harry grit his teeth, as Tom cast a dozen more spells. All, he knew, dark. Causing the air to vibrate, the force of it going straight through his arm. It was only after several moments — the dummies on the other side were clawing and kicking and throwing furniture —it began to strain. 

Tom cast something that made a hissing noise, creating a deep crack in the wall of gold. Harry lowered his wand, instinctively covering his eyes. The shield exploded in a shower of white light. 

When he opened them, Tom was standing where the shield had been, one hand in the air, wild and dazed and dishevelled. When Harry tore his eyes away, he saw the dummies were on the ground in pieces. 

‘I wanted to cast an unforgivable,’ Tom said, ‘but you can’t, of course, only in the chamber.’

Harry stared. The classroom was a wreck. Smashed desks, legs flung around. Chairs collapsed. Splinters and wood littering the floor. Sawdust floating through the air. 

‘I cast a silencing spell,’ Tom said, seeming to know Harry’s train of thought. 

‘Great. That will solve everything.’ He laughed, unable to help himself, staring at the wreckage. ‘This doesn’t mean anything, you know.’ 

Adrenaline was still surging through his body. Harry was dazed, and excited, and oddly happy. 

‘Of course it does. That wasn’t a normal shield. Didn’t you see how strong it was?One of those spells would have shattered an ordinary shield.’ 

‘Maybe I’m really good at shields,’ Harry said. 

‘Maybe.’ Tom turned around. His eyes were bright, hair hanging in his face. 

Harry swallowed, glancing down. 

And then Tom said, ‘if the power of a shield is heightened, it should be the same for a curse. I wonder how much —’

‘I’m not making your unforgivables stronger,’ Harry snapped. ‘That’s what you want, isn’t it? A super-powered killing curse?’ 

‘Surely you want to see what will happen.’

Harry laughed. ‘I was right. You’re delusional.’ 

‘You won’t cast a dark spell on a dummy. Are you afraid?’ 

Harry started to splutter but Tom continued. ‘Afraid you’ll like it too much? Be unable to control yourself?’ 

‘I can control myself.’

Tom actually laughed. ‘Can you? We can cast — what was it? Sectumsempra?’ 

‘No. What’s the point anyway? We have the same wand cores. They work together. Why does it matter? We’re not going to use this and fight together.’ 

‘I wouldn’t be so sure.’ Tom must have seen something on Harry’s face. ‘I know you’re against the idea of being a Death-Eater. You mention it often enough. Afraid you’ll forget yourself?’ 

‘I’m not just against it,’ Harry said, ‘I’m opposing it. You know that, right? When you go around killing people and calling yourself Voldemort?’ 

Tom didn’t look bothered and Harry’s stomach gave another twist. He didn’t care. 

‘Then consider it a Hogwarts thing,’ Tom said. ‘An experiment until I figure out why. After, we’ll go our separate ways.’ His lips quirked. ‘And I’ll have the Elder Wand.’ 

Harry rolled his eyes. ‘There’s more chance of me sprouting wings than you getting the wand from Dumbledore. He would rather snap it than let that happen.’

‘No, he wouldn’t,’ Tom said. ‘I’d say he’s as taken with it as Grindelwald was. Snapping something that valuable?’ 

Harry thought he kept his face still. But Tom was so near, it was unfair. He was watching Harry, picking up the slightest reaction. 

His eyes widened. ‘Dumbledore is taken with it. The same as Grindelwald. My, my, is our beloved professor not who he appears?’ 

‘You don’t know what you’re talking about.’ 

‘Don’t I?’ Tom smiled, like all the pieces were clicking together. ‘Perhaps you’ll enlighten me.’ 

Harry felt on the verge of panic. Everything inside him was contracting, everything dazed and disoriented, and flickering by so fast —

‘Perhaps you should stop making random guesses.’ 

'Harry.’ Tom said his name, in a drawn-out, familiar way. ‘Protect your precious professor. He is not my concern. In fact I don’t care about Albus Dumbledore at all.’ 

‘Only me, then?’ Harry said, ‘Harry Potter, your mystery of the month?’ 

‘You don’t have a clue, do you? When I think I have you figured out, it gets more interesting.’ 

‘I’m quite a boring bloke, really.’ 

Tom grinned. Harry couldn’t help but notice how much better he looked up close. When that gaze was focused on Harry. 

‘There’s not much to figure out,’ he muttered. 

'I disagree.' 

How did he always end up in these situations? Was it his fault? Harry knew he shouldn’t like it. He really, really shouldn’t. 

And a part of him hated Tom, hated him so much his entire body felt hot and dizzy. Hated his stupid ego, and twisted ideas of fun —

'You're so conflicted,' Tom breathed.  

Tell him to piss off. Do it. Move away. 

'It's wonderful to watch. Tell me, Harry, how much strain does this have on your pure little heart?' 

'Piss off.’

'Conflicted,' Tom said again, as if this was the most fascinating thing ever. 

‘I’m not.’ 

‘I wonder what your friends think. Is that why you fell out? Was it over me?' 

He was so self-centred, Harry thought, watching his mouth move. His lovely lips part. So arrogant. 

'You would love that, wouldn't you,' Harry said, ‘if everything was about you.’ 

‘It basically is. Does it scare them? The two of us in Slytherin? Are they afraid you’ll be corrupted? You’ll forget about being good, now you’re a Slytherin?’

Harry exhaled sharply. He should punch him. Tom was definitely close enough to punch. His fist colliding with his face; the noise it would make. And the feeling, searing through his knuckles. 

‘Do they not trust you, Harry?’

'I said they were off limits.’ Harry clenched his jaw, heart thudding. 

‘And I don’t have limits.’ Tom’s smile was sharp. ‘You do though. They shouldn't worry at all because you’d never go against your beliefs. You wouldn't dare.’ 

It was a game. It was a trick. But Tom was getting him riled up — he couldn't think with the blood rushing in his ears. How Harry hated him right now, and everything he said. Knowingly. 

'Poor Granger and Weasley don't know half the things you get up to. What would they think?' 

'Stop talking about them.' 

'Would they hate you? Or would they just be disappointed?' His face was perfectly wicked.

Harry didn't give him the satisfaction of an answer. Let Tom talk — let him talk, and talk, and Harry could block it out. Could grab his wand, step back. 

'Or does it come down to you?’ Tom breathed. ‘You never would, Harry, because you're afraid. You're afraid of yourself. You can’t even look at me. Are you so easily influenced? So controlled by your friends?’

Harry's heart was pounding. He had to shut him up. It wasn’t true, none of it. And Tom needed to shut up. 

‘Afraid of —’

Harry grabbed the front of his robes and pulled him forward. Their faces knocked together painfully. There was a nose, and glasses, and Tom made a surprised noise, his sentence cutting off. 

Harry kissed him, fog overtaking his brain. His fingers fisted in Tom’s robes. He ignored the warmth of his lips, how they adjusted into place, how it was needy and frantic and right. Tom seemed to smile against his mouth. 

‘You’re such a piece of shit —’ Harry gasped. 

They were kissing again. Tom’s hands curling around his jaw. Harry tugged his robes harder, lips moving against Tom’s, intent on bruising. He felt fingers at his hair. The sting of pain. He bit down on Tom’s lip and tasted something metallic. Tom yanked his hair. Hard.

Harry groaned against his mouth, felt Tom’s hips pressed against his own, their bodies flush together. His head was swimming. There was Tom and only Tom, who was insufferable and horrible and —

He pulled away, both of them breathing harshly. He looked down at his hands, clenched in Tom's robes, and let go. Stepped back.

‘That . . .’

Harry fell silent and looked at him. Tom’s hair was a bit rumpled, eyes dark. His gaze flickered to his lips —redder than usual and curled in satisfaction. He took another step. 

'Fuck. I don't —’

It was the proximity. The spells. The adrenaline. Tom getting him riled up, taunting him —

'Shit.' 

Harry ran a hand through his hair, determined not to think about how much he wanted it. 

And what the hell? Tom wasn't a girl. He wasn’t Ginny. He wasn’t even nice. 

‘Will you fuck off now, then? You got what you wanted.’

Tom raised his eyebrows. He wasn’t Ginny, not at all. 

Harry’s breathing quickened. It came to him then. Startling and more vivid than anything before. He wasn't Ginny. Wasn’t Tom. 

Voldemort. 

Gone were the handsome features, the carefully crafted face. He was a monster. Chalk skin and scarlet eyes. Instead of a straight nose, there was none at all. A stretched waxy face, gleaming like bone. And a high, rattling voice which made the back of his neck prickle. 

Harry couldn’t breathe. He backed away, tripping, bile rising in his throat. 

Voldemort. That’s who it was. 

Voldemort rising from the cauldron. 

Voldemort, around a long table, with figures in masks and dark robes.

Voldemort whispering in his mind.

. . . Harry. 

It was gone as quickly as it had come. Tom was watching him, head tilted, calculating. 

Harry breathed out raggedly. He left the classroom, closed the door, and realised, dimly, that his hands were shaking.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Harry didn’t know what he had expected but his relationship with Tom didn’t change drastically. It was just as well too, because he would easily call it quits the moment things became too real. Harry told himself, to make it seem okay, that if - when - they went back to their own time, it would be a distant memory. A dirty, horrible secret for only him. Everything would be different then. There would be no Belinda, no Abraxas, no Tom…

Dumbledore would be dead, and Harry would be back in Bellatrix's vault, searching through mounds of gold. 

He told himself that being close to Tom was a good thing. That he could find out something vital for defeating Voldemort.

He ignored the part that simply wanted it. The part that craved his companionship, relished being the one Tom gave his undivided attention to. That even liked their disagreements. But he knew he could give it up if necessary. And that, more than anything, was what kept Harry comforted.

‘You’re so good, it makes me sick.’

They were in the winding corridor leading to the Common Room. Harry, cold and windswept from outdoors, and Tom, cheeks pink, beginning to smirk.

‘Because I don’t think you should have a trophy for murdering a student?’

‘It’s for finding the heir of Slytherin.’

‘With what? A mirror?’

Hagrid’s hut was visible on the long walk back from Herbology, and seeing it, Harry had started a discussion: they had been arguing all the way from the entrance hall.

‘It’s not my fault he was keeping a pet Acromantula. Doesn’t that warrant an expulsion?’

‘Not for murdering a student.’

Tom waved his hand. ‘Small details.’

The corridor was empty. Harry’s blood felt hot. Tom’s face was inches from his and he was smiling in that insufferable way.

‘I am going to talk to Dumbledore about it.’

‘Try it and see. Dumbledore can do nothing.’

They had stopped. Harry could see the slight ring of red in Tom’s eyes, the way his pupils dilated. ‘I really hate you,’ he said.

‘Me too.’

Tom was watching him, and a hand went to his tie, playing there, lazily.

‘Don’t you need to go and see your stupid Death Eaters?’ Harry said.

So close it was enough to make him dizzy. Tom’s breath was warm against his own, and his mouth parted –

‘They can wait.’

His lips were pressing against Harry’s. Harry’s fingers gripped robes, hair, hard enough to feel real.  Searing and hot and mean and everything momentarily forgotten. It hadn’t changed drastically. It wasn’t a big deal. Attraction.

Nothing.

Tom was a horrible person but that was what made it alright. That was what Harry told himself throughout the day. That was what went through his head when he avoided Ron and Hermione, when he felt Dumbledore glance at him from the Head Table, or his friends from across the hall. And with that thought in mind, it was easy to trick himself as well. Shut it all out, wasn't that what everyone used to say? Clear your mind, Harry. 

Well, Harry was getting good at clearing his mind. He imagined Snape and what he would think if he could see him now. The thought brought unexpected laughter as he imagined the all-too-familiar sneer. 

'What's so amusing?' Tom said.

Harry glanced back down at the potion they were meant to make, and the lacewing flies he was cutting. Purple fumes wafted through the dungeon, making it hard to see. 

'Nothing,' Harry said, 'the flies are done.' 

Tom gave them a dirty look. The rare times that Slughorn made them share a cauldron always ended in arguing. Tom hated working with someone, especially Harry, whose mediocre potion-skills left things slightly off.

Today was no different.

‘Get over it! It’s only class. We’re not in some brewing competition, it’s fine.’

‘Fine? Do those glasses work at all? A blind person could tell it’s clearly ruined.’

‘Then fix it, potions genius. Aren’t you meant to be –’

‘Boys,’ Slughorn interrupted. ‘Not fighting here, I hope?’

‘No, sir,’ they said, and Harry gritted his teeth.

'Well, a healthy discussion always has some disagreement. And something's going well.’ He looked into the cauldron approvingly. 

Tom’s face darkened. Slughorn didn’t notice.

'Anyway, the Slug Club are having a little meeting on Friday. You'll both be there, I hope?' 

'Of course, professor,' Tom said.

'I have Quidditch practice.’

Slughorn's face fell. 'Well, I say Slytherin will definitely have the cup this year for sure! God knows Alphard will see to it with all that practice . . .'

'I'm sure he would take the evening off,' Tom said, still looking at Slughorn. 'He wouldn't miss the Slug Club.' 

'Indeed, indeed. Very well, boys, I'll see you both there.'

When he was out of earshot, Harry gave Tom a disgusted look. ‘He doesn’t think our potion's a heap of shit. What was it he said – something’s going right?’

‘That’s only because he likes me. It’s an embarrassment.’

‘It’s decent. And what do you mean Alphard wouldn’t miss the Slug Club? Anyone with half a brain would.' 

‘Actually, Harry, most people like the opportunities it presents. Only you think you’re above it.’

‘I don’t think I’m above it. It’s just shit. I'd rather have detention than sit with the Tom Riddle fan club in that stupid office.' 

'The Tom Riddle fan club? They're called the Death-Eaters.' 

Harry scoffed. 'Same thing.' 

To Harry's great surprise, the next week in Charms they began Patronuses. Professor Flitwick was droning on about 'a finicky, complicated spell that would not be suited to everyone.' 

Harry had zoned out. He was thinking about Ron and Hermione, who were giving him the cold shoulder. Harry couldn't blame them, and head still ringing with past insults, he sat beside Abraxas.

'Does this mean we’re friends again?' Abraxas said, sounding quite excited. 'Because I already talked to Belinda, and well – she said no-one likes nosy, interfering gits.' 

Harry snickered. He didn't think Abraxas would like knowing he sat there by accident and instead shrugged. 'Alright. As long as you're not a nosy interfering git we shouldn't have a problem.' 

‘Great! You know how bad the other Slytherin boys are. Well, Alphard’s alright. And there’s Tom but he’s not exactly a friend, is he? I’m not going to start talking about Quidditch with him.’

‘Only serious Death-Eater matters,’ Harry said, rolling his eyes.

He turned back to Professor Flitwick.

'The Patronus Charm is not simply suited to happy people. What it is suited to is hope. You need a memory so strong—a memory so powerful—you can hold it long enough to conjure a corporeal guardian. The Patronus requires a mindset, which many people will not be able to enter, especially under great stress. However, we will be working on this over the next few weeks.' 

A little while later, they started practising. Harry glanced over at Ron and Hermione, found them with their heads together, whispering. Some of the Slytherins gave up on the spell after ten minutes, Tom included.

Professor Flitwick walked around the class, watching how they fared. Finding out they could cast it, he made Harry, Ron and Hermione demonstrate. Harry ignored the wary looks the Slytherins gave him.

Abraxas had managed a misty, white light by the end of class and was very excited. 'Did you see? I was thinking about Quidditch, of course, and I know I saw something. It was – it was a unicorn, wasn't it?' 

‘Weirdest looking unicorn I’ve ever seen,’ Harry said, unable to suppress laughter. ‘Good job, though. Most people got nothing.’

'I know! Why do you know the spell anyway? Or was it because –’he winced. 'Never mind.' 

Harry knew he was thinking about his supposed 'past' which involved dead parents, Weasleys, and Gellert Grindelwald. 

'Yes, Harry,' Tom said, coming up beside them, 'that was interesting.' 

'You think everything's interesting. But you're right. I use it to ward off dark magic. You know, dementors, lethifolds, Death-Eaters.' 

'Funny,' Tom said, 'and here I thought you were embracing Slytherin.' 

'The only thing I’ll embrace is –’ he caught sight of Ron and Hermione and the words died. 

'Ginny Weasley?' 

Harry met Ron's eye before a couple of students walked past, blocking his view. 

'What are you two on about?' Abraxas said, sounding bewildered. 

'Nothing,' Harry said, as he saw Tom open his mouth. 'Do you ever give it a rest about her?' 

'She was your old girlfriend, wasn't she?' Abraxas said, suddenly nodding his head. 'The one you had to leave.' 

'We broke up.' 

'And what was the reason again?' Tom said. 

'What are you – jealous?' 

He didn't want to think about Ginny. Ginny was gone.

'Curious,' Tom said. 

Abraxas looked between them. 'What . . . ‘he shook his head. 'You know what, never mind.' 

'You don't know what you're on about,' Harry said, 'and don't mention her. Or Ron or Hermione.' 

'Why? Does it make you feel bad?' 

'Don't.' 

'It's a secret, isn't it? A shameful little –’

'Let's go and play quidditch, Abraxas,' Harry said loudly. 

Tom laughed. 'You're so easy to irritate.'

'It's your personality, it brings it out in me.' 

'Quidditch,' Abraxas said, eyes darting about. 'Yeah, let's do that.' 

Harry paused a moment. Tom waited. 

'It's not a game you know,' he said. 'They really are off-limits.' 

Tom smiled. The corridor around them began to empty. 'See you later, Harry,' he said. 

Harry bit back an answer. With Abraxas following behind, he went into the air, not thinking of Ginny, Tom, or the sharp stab of guilt they evoked.

Harry snogged Tom when no-one was around and spent the days practising quidditch and doing homework, which was starting to become overwhelming. He barely saw Ron and Hermione anymore, and when he did, he felt so bad he immediately had to make up some sort of excuse. Dumbledore’s eyes often sought him from the Head Table, but Harry avoided that as well.

It was with Tom that Harry spent most of his time. And if it wasn't Tom, it was Belinda and Abraxas, neither Ron and Hermione would approve of. His whole world was so full of Slytherins that it seemed to be green. 

The time-turner was buried at the very bottom of his trunk, and he kept his invisibility cloak on him at all times, only putting it down for quidditch. Sometimes, it felt like a reminder. Sometimes, when he was well and truly alone, he would tell himself things like, you'll steal his horcruxes, or, it's better to give in to Tom instead of having him as an enemy. 

On Halloween morning, he woke early and made his way down to the Common Room, where several dozen live bats fluttered.  

‘Hello,’ Abraxas said. He was the only person there, seated at a table beside one of the round windows. 

‘Hey,’ Harry said, coming over and gazing at the bats. ‘What are you doing?’ 

‘Drawing. I think the snake’s a bit funny looking though.’ 

Harry glanced down and his stomach dropped. 

Abraxas had drawn a skull with a snake protruding from the mouth. It was in charcoal and the whole thing was slightly smudged. Hazy, as though it gleamed through the clouds, hung in the sky, behind a fine mist –

‘You designed this?’

‘Yes, what do you think?’ 

‘Tom told you to do this?’ Harry said, still staring at it. 

‘Well, no,’ Abraxas said, starting to sound uncertain. ‘It’s for the Death-Eaters. We were looking for a symbol –’

Harry didn’t catch the rest of the words. ‘I just can’t change it, can I?’ he murmured.

‘What?’ 

‘Nothing.’ He stared down at it, and the urge to rip the drawing into a hundred pieces came over him. 

‘What’s wrong with you? Do you not like it? I knew it looked stupid.’  

‘I’m sure he’ll love it,’ Harry said quietly. ‘It doesn’t matter what I think.’ 

Doesn’t matter what Harry thought. Doesn’t matter what Harry did. 

‘I care what you think –’ Abraxas began. 

Harry moved, the image of the Dark Mark still in his head. ‘You really care what I think? Then I think you should stay far away from Tom Riddle while you still have the chance.’ 

Hypocrite. 

He could almost hear the thought going around Abraxas’ head. Hear the questions spinning. Or maybe those questions were aloud, but Harry walked away, and they sounded like white noise. 

It didn’t matter what he did. Harry’s future wasn’t hopeful like Abraxas’. It was war and violence and death. 

It was Tom and it was Voldemort and it always had been. But it didn’t matter about Harry.

With the Dark Mark still fresh before his eyes, he left the Common Room.

It seemed overnight the atmosphere had changed in Slytherin. There was a chill in the air and it wasn’t caused by the poor weather. The Common Room was full of whispers, quiet enough that Harry never heard what they were saying. He caught snatches: ‘. . . Grindelwald defeated . . . and look what happened the Lestranges . . . doesn’t exactly seem good for purebloods now, does it . . . ‘ 

Belinda’s father, who owned a potions store in Knockturn Alley, was being questioned. The store shut down, the house was searched and a small announcement in the prophet read: Lestrange family under investigation for aiding Dark Wizard Grindelwald in his terrible onslaught on Europe.

‘They’ll find a way out of it,’ Belinda said. ‘They always do. Or they’ll vanish and take my sister with them.’

When Harry asked what was going to happen to her, she shrugged. ‘They say it’s my fault for drawing attention to the family after Hogsmeade. I’m to marry Arnoldo in the spring if I ever want to see my sister again.’ 

‘It’s hardly your fault Grindelwald went and got locked up in Azkaban,’ Abraxas said, ‘you didn’t force them to keep the house full of dark magic.’ 

Belinda said nothing and Harry supposed that, like him, she was thinking of how she had been the cause of Grindelwald’s defeat and more involved than Abraxas knew. 

Harry didn’t care for the whispers in the Common Room. He had never been involved in house matters and wasn’t planning to be now. Tom, however, did. 

'Don't you see?' he said. 'They're having second thoughts. They're having – thoughts.' 

That made Harry laugh and Tom glared. 

'Sorry,' he said, 'but I still don't see why it matters. You’re not going to be Voldemort for years. And then things will change. So, a few opinions now – does it really matter?' 

The thought of Voldemort quickly erased Harry's good humour. 

Tom didn't notice. 'They see that because Belinda's family were close to Grindelwald they're being questioned. They have the potential to lose everything.’

Harry chewed his lip and watched him. 'If they're loyal,' he said, 'if they're truly loyal, they won't care.' 

Tom looked at him for a long moment, with a slight frown on his face. 

'Loyalty doesn't mean mind-control,' Harry said, 'or keeping them quiet and giving them no thoughts of their own. They should – ‘he paused. 'They should like you, want to serve you so much, the consequences don't matter.' 

Tom continued to stare at him and Harry felt strangely exposed.  'That's what true loyalty is.' 

He waited a moment, saw Tom mull it around in his head, his brow furrowed.

'Any loyalty,' Tom said, 'can be broken by fear. The right threat or promise. Everything we do, it comes back to ourselves. They serve Lord Voldemort in the hope of the future they will have. Whether that be a world run by purebloods, power beyond their dreams, or a healthy spot of muggle killing.' 

Harry didn't smile. 

'A job, a dream, a reward. That's what they're fuelled by. Protection and safety. It has to be worth it.' 

Harry paused for a moment, leaning back in his chair to watch him. 'So all of them, you think they would leave for a more desirable option?' 

'You don't? It's human nature, Harry.' 

But it wasn't. At least not to him. 

‘You don't trust anyone. What about Rosier then? What does he want?' 

'Rosier's bloodthirsty,' Tom said, 'he wants to be able to kill muggles without consequences.' 

None of them – he truly trusted none of them. 

'You're wrong about human nature,' Harry said. 

Tom raised his eyebrows and leaned forward. 'Enlighten me then.' 

'You don't believe in true loyalty. You think everyone can be turned, one way or another. You wouldn't ever trust them, even if they proved themselves. You'd keep them at a distance. But that's not true. People can be truly loyal, and not just for their own gain.’

He stopped abruptly and looked at Tom's face. 'You could have followers that would take a killing curse for you, and not because they fear the consequences. Who wouldn't ever betray your trust.' 

Tom didn't say anything for a very long moment. Harry felt like he was holding his breath but he wasn't sure why.

'That's ridiculous,' Tom finally said. 'And naive.' 

'It's what it's like to have a friend.' 

'I don't have friends,' Tom said, 'I have no use for them.' 

'Well, maybe if you had some, you would find a use.’

'I don't want them,' he said, 'and your grand declarations about love are ridiculous. You sound like Dumbledore.' 

'I do not,' Harry said. 'You could have people that loyal, Tom. It exists.'  

'Well, I do not care for it. Love and friendship are ideas of the foolish. Of the common. And I am above them.' His fingers were moving across the tabletop, restlessly.

Harry felt like he had said enough. Felt like they were only a few sentences away from an explosion. 'I hope you manage to be satisfied then,' he said finally. 'When your plans come through.' 

Tom glanced up from the tabletop. 'I will,' he said. 

Harry looked out the window. It was raining again, waterdrops sliding slowly down the pane. He watched one make its way down and disappear as it reached the bottom. And he wanted . . . He didn’t know what he wanted.

Harry looked back at Tom. His fingers were still twitching. 

They didn't talk about it again, and when Tom met him that evening, he flopped into his seat by the fire and said, 'they understand.' 

'Understand what?' Harry said. 

'They understand the consequences that serving Grindelwald had. But they also understand another thing. Unlike Grindelwald, Lord Voldemort will succeed.' 

'That's a bold statement,' Harry said, 'no-one rules forever.' 

'That's what you believe,' Tom said, 'but with the right power –’

'You can bully everyone into submission. Right. There will always be resistance.' 

'People like you then?' Tom said, 'like Dumbledore? You don't think when I control the wizarding world, I will be able to handle a few rebels?' 

'I'm sure you'll give it your best shot,' Harry said. 'Anyway, let's not talk about your ambitions. All that arrogance makes my head hurt.' 

'And your hopeful morals turn my stomach,' Tom said, 'it almost makes me want to change my ways and live a nice, boring life.' 

'I never said boring,' Harry said. 

Tom scoffed. 'It's inevitable. The curse of the common.' 

Harry stared into the green flames and wondered what it was like to be consumed by the desire to rule like Tom was. The desire to be the best. The only one. The unquenchable desire that couldn’t be satisfied.

'I need to do rounds,' Tom said, standing up. 'You know, check broom closets, scare a few fifth-years and make sure everyone behaves.' 

He smirked. Harry rolled his eyes. 

'Do you want to come?' 

'That doesn't sound very . . . allowed.' 

'I'm Head Boy.' He shrugged in that unbothered way of his. 'It hardly matters.' 

They walked through the darkened halls. The first floor was empty, apart from portraits, snoozing in their frames, and Peeves, who disappeared at the sight of them. On the second floor, there were two Ravenclaws out of bed: Tom deducted points while adopting an air of false sympathy. Harry was beginning to believe he was a sadist. They also ran into Lucretia. She was in an empty classroom, along with a tall, freckled boy who for one astonished moment Harry believed to be Ron. It was Ignatius Prewett: pureblood, Gryffindor and a blood-traitor.

‘Wasn’t that delightful?’ Tom said. He hadn’t deducted any points from Slytherin, but ten from Gryffindor. ‘Lucretia thinks I don’t know of her nightly exploits. Oh dear.’

‘You’re cruel,’ Harry said, ‘and anyway, he’s a pureblood. Why does it matter?’

‘She’s a Black. In their eyes, that means royalty.’

They got back to the Common Room half an hour later. The snake statues over the mantelpiece shone their eerie eyes in the dark, and the green fires had died out. Harry wasn't tired. He felt wide awake, as though he had been running or playing Quidditch.

'Are you going to say anything to Lucretia?' he asked, as they climbed the stairs to the boys' dorm and went inside. 

Rosier was snoring loudly and Tom cast a disgusted look in the direction of his four-poster. 

'She'll come and find me,' Tom said, 'tomorrow. The fear will eat away at her.' He waved his wand and Rosier's snores disappeared. 

'You love making people give in,' Harry said, 'they always have to bow, don’t they? You love making it difficult.’ 

‘It’s fun,’ he said, ‘the fear. The temptation. The struggle.’ And then, while still locking eyes with Harry, he began to unbutton the top of his robes. 

‘What are you doing?’ Harry said. 

'Going to bed.’ Shoes kicked off. Fingers working at a tie. ‘What does it look like?’ 

Harry’s mouth felt dry. ‘Er –’ he began, and swallowed as more and more pale skin was exposed. ‘Right.’ 

‘Why, Harry? You don’t want anything, do you?’ 

Harry tore his eyes away from his hands, making neat work of his robes, and up to his face, and the smirk at his mouth. 

‘No,’ he said, ‘I’m going to bed.’ 

‘Goodnight then,’ Tom said easily.

It’s fun. The temptation. The struggle.

But as Harry made his way to his own four-poster, looking at the cold sheets with no traces of tiredness, he almost gave in. He was hard and Tom was right there. Tom was right there and it blocked out every rational thought. Who cared if it was all some elaborate mind game as long as he got off?

Frustrated, he stared at the ceiling. It was so stupid. 

‘You sure you’re okay over there, Harry?’