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Chapter Text

Harry Potter: The Boy Who Lived, Hero Of Wizardkind

Or at least, that was how the wizard world saw him.

Oh if only they could see him now, sitting in a dimly lit storage room of the Black Manor full of undusted relics and antiques, he doubted they would still hold him in such reverence.

He sighed, leaning into the dragonpelt armchair he sat in, letting his unruly hair fall into his face and closing his eyes.
The rough scales pressing into his skin spoke for its authenticity, the rage of a colossus promising revenge still lingering.

It, like many of the things here were from another time, one long gone, faded and reduced to romanticized and shallow tales.

The air was full of drifting dust and the hum of ancient magics, permeating the very walls and structure of Black Manor.
It had seemed like a fitting residence for one of the most renounced families at one point, but now lost to time, with nothing but an aging house elf and an orphan to witness it.

Things had gone… downhill for Harry after the defeat of Voldemort and the end of the war.

His relationship with Ginny had fallen apart, the splinters still stinging even now, 3 months later after their fallout

“You think you love me, but you don’t really” she had whispered, voice raw and more to herself than Harry, as she had closed her eyes

(Whether to prevent more tears from falling or the fact she couldn’t bear to look at him.)

(Maybe it had been both)

The truth hurt, and they were so tired

(Too tired to pretend anymore)

She was right of course.
Ginny had always had a knack for knowing those things

(Even when he hadn’t known himself)

Once legendary but now cast away and forgotten, Harry felt like he could easily fit with the rest of the manor.

After the defeat of Voldemort, many of his followers scattered, either surrendered or fleeing, most never to be seen again. Relative peace fell over the Wizarding World for the first time in a long time.

(Yet Harry felt further from peace than he ever had)

One or two Death Eater fanatics still occasionally popped up, spitting blood superiority and causing minor havoc, though they were mostly taken care of by the Ministry.

The Order Of The Phoenix was largely disbanded, a few still claiming the name, who went around assisting the Ministry. But with Voldemort and the Death Eaters no longer around and Dumbledore’s death, there was no longer a uniting force.

Without it, internal problems threatened to break the once prominent order into pieces. Personal feuds and frequent arguments filled the halls that had once discussed plans that led the the fall of the Death Eaters.

(Voldemort would’ve laughed if he could’ve seen it)

Meanwhile, once the media had finally gotten over putting him on a pedestal and harassing him for quotes and autographs, he was able to fall majorly into obscurity.
The fame had been choking him, threatening to overwhelm him at every turn. A newspaper drawing some ridiculous conclusion about his doings and whereabouts sometimes came up, but he was typically unbothered as of recently.

Hermione and Ron had gotten together, building their lives with the ruins of the war, getting jobs and settling down. They still checked in on him at times, but their friendship had shifted irrevocably. While the two drew closer, Harry fell back. Again, he was alone.

This time, instead of a tiny suffocating cupboard under the stairs with a small frightened boy inside, it was it was a massive manor and a lonely boy, with no one to keep him company but the portraits and Kreacher.
And somehow, that was almost worse.

(Instead of unknown, he was unwanted.)

The door creaked open, and Harry’s eyes snapped open, immediately turning himself to the source of the sound and clutching his wand toward the door, prepared for battle. Even after the war, he was still on edge, ready for anything to happen at any moment.

(For everyone else, they had stopped fighting at the end of the war, but not him)

(Never in his life)

It was just Kreacher, holding a place full of food. He tried to relax, dropping his arm and clearing his throat, averting his eyes.
He could see the house elf’s eyes held something along the lines of pity, something Harry had started to tire of.

It was the majority of the looks he received from people when they thought he wasn’t looking.

Strangers, teachers, even his own friends

(Poor boy, abandoned and abused)

He knew it too well.

Neither said a word, Kreacher silently handing over the plate and walking out, door creaking gently as he exited.

Harry and the house elf had a rather good relationship, as they both had nothing but the house and each other to look after.
Following his Godfather’s death, Kreacher has softened toward him somewhat.

He looked at the plate of food in his hand.
The porcelain was cold in his hand, raising goosebumps on his arms despite the sweater he wore.

A red apple, like the ones he used to cut for Dudley sat beside a piece of toast with melted butter on top.
It was not hot, but rather slighter warmer than lukewarm.

They did not eat lavishly nor meager, but more recently the days seemed to run together for him, and it was harder to determine what day or even hour it was.

This was a subtle reminder from the house elf.
Seems like they were running low on food again.

That meant he had to go outside and buy more. And that meant dealing with people again, falsely smiling and politely exchanging expected conversation.
He internally groaned at the idea, closing his eyes and sinking further into the chair.

He had let his hair grow over his scar, as it did nothing but draw unwanted attention and conversation.

He didn’t know exactly how long it had grown, nor really how he looked in general, and he didn’t want to know.

(To see how the world’s savior had fallen)

Harry had always tended to avoid mirrors, not liking what he saw in the reflection.

(So exposed with nowhere to hide)

He had stopped looking at all a while ago.

Finally mustering up the energy, he quickly ate what was on the plate, taking it into the kitchen and washing it, before going to his room to get dressed.

Well, it wasn’t really his, and he didn’t know who’s room it technically was. He had assumed it was one of the many guest rooms in the Manor.

The walls were a light fern green and largely bare, with one painting of a forest landscape, with deer grazing and birds fluttering in the trees.
There was also a window with the curtains shut, one bed with a bedside table and lamp, as well as a dresser with a clothing rack.

He had never bothered to explore everything, using it only as he needed, sleeping in the bed, and putting a few of his clothes on the clothing rack, besides the jackets and coats hanging there already.

It was cold outside, though the sun was shining in a false invitation of warmth.
He flipped through his few jackets, none of them sufficiently warm, increasingly regretting not buying warmer clothing.
He supposed he would have to do that later, if he could remember.

Looking over at the other coats in the dresser, his eyes landed on a deep maroon one, which looked fit for colder weather.
Picking it off the rack, he inspected it, and to his surprise, it was roughly his size.

Putting it on, he immediately felt warmer, and went to grab his wand and wallet.

Putting them in his right coat pocket he went to the kitchen table, and saw that Kreacher had apparently already made a list. It was written in scratchy letters and what seemed to be an old book page, ripped from one of many in the library.
He skimmed it, writing a few other things not mentioned and then went out the door.

He unintentionally shivered at the temperature change, despite the coat he had put on. It wasn’t snowing, but the trees had shed their leaves and the ground was littered with the resulting leaf piles.

After getting everything he needed, it was almost dark by the time he arrived back at the manor. He sat everything down on the kitchen table, trusting that Kreacher would take care of it.

Feeling exhausted and just wanting to go to sleep, he went straight to his room, not even bothering to take off his coat. He flopped backwards onto the bed, sighing. He supposed he should at least take out his wallet and wand before passing out, and reached into his pocket.

What he felt there was definitely not a wand or a wallet.

He sat up and pulled the object to inspect it. What met his eyes looked similar to a pocket watch, though slightly larger and tarnished. It took him a second, but then his brain made the connection- it was a Time Turner, like the one Hermione had used.

Suddenly feeling rejuvenated, he quickly took out his wallet and wand- which were in his right pocket, he sat the wallet down, trembling with shock and excitement. Taking his wand, he pointed it at the Turner, whispering “Scourgify” and watched the tarnish vanish instantly.

He still couldn’t believe what he was holding in his hand, gently shining as he turned it over, the chain clinking with the movement.

The one Hermione had used was gold, though for some reason this one was silver, and seemed significantly more intricate.
In the center it had an hourglass, but it was smaller, and below it were numbers- no, dates.
It had a date already set, January 9, 1943

Harry wondered what the significance of this date was, and he could feel his melancholy mood disappear as his mind wrapped around everything.

His Gryffiondor rashness kicked in, he wanted to go there, to see it, to know why.

Just as he was going to spin the Turner, he froze.
Voldemort would be there.

Though he wouldn’t be Voldemort yet.
Dumbledore had always spoke with a certain sadness about Voldemort’s past.

Was it regret?

But he could change it

So there was no war

So there would be no boy in a cupboard

So his parents wouldn’t die

So Cedric, Padfoot, Fred

Sirius

wouldn’t die

So he wouldn’t feel like this

Useless

And

Forgotten

With his heart racing, he grabbed his wand and his wallet, most of his clothes he had brought here, and a few other necessities, and put them in the suitcase he had brought them in, closing it.
He didn’t even know if he could take them where he was going, but it was worth a shot.

He wrote a small note for Kreacher, telling him to make use of anything else he had left behind, as well as the food he had bought. He also thanked him for taking care of him and keeping him company.

He inhaled, taking a step back, clutching the Time Turner in his hand and staring at it for a moment.

He didn’t know what he was getting himself into, where he was going or even if he would return. He didn’t even have a semblance of a plan. (If only Hermione knew, he would never hear the end of it)
All he knew is that it was better than whatever this was.

He paused a second more, then spun the Time Turner, activating it, and thus Harry Potter disappeared from this time and into another.

Chapter Text

Right after the shock wore off and the fact he was actually in another time had sunken in, the first thing Harry noticed was how noisy and bright it was.
And cold.

It was very, very cold.

He couldn’t stop himself from shivering involuntarily, his teeth clacking together. Shaking, he clutched himself with his arms, in some useless attempt to coax heat into his body. His ears felt as if they would fall off. He should’ve packed a hat. One of many oversights his previous self had overlooked, and that he was sure he would run into again. Curse his rashness, he was suffering for it right now.

Looking up, he could infer that he was in some sort of forest, judging by the countless trees spanning in all directions, the birds chattering and darting in between the bare limbs above.
It was gently snowing, though sunlight shone through the spaces, covering the ground in patched patterns of golden across snow.

He thought he could see a rabbit beneath a tree about 50 yards away, but he couldn’t be sure because if the distance.

It also was refreshing to smell something other than dust and the mustiness of an old house, the smells of the forest filling his nose as he took a deep breath.
A cloud materialized in front of his mouth as he exhaled, fading moments after.

He had missed feeling alive, not realizing how shut off from everything he really had been. Such simply things and yet he felt as if he was seeing them for the first time.

His borrowed maroon coat still hung on his body, with his wallet, the time turner, and his wand in the pockets, the latter of which he pulled out and cast a warming charm on himself.
He didn’t want to freeze here not even a day after which he arrived.

His suitcase lay a few feet away, luckily not open or broken, though it was wet with melted snow and bits of permafrost.

Picking it up, he brushed it, frowning when it simply smeared the snow and dirt across the side. Whispering a scourgify, his mind went to what he was supposed to do now.
He had no idea where he was, or if he was near any civilization or people.

He had managed long enough on his own, but part of him craved human interaction, to rely on others as they once had him.

What better time to start than now, in another time. Here he was not The Boy Who Lived. To others he was simply another wayward traveler who wished to find his place in the world. As normal as he could ever be.

Looking around, he sighed, deciding that he had to start somewhere. He started walking West, at least what he assumed to be West, not really knowing what to expect to find.

His boots were trudging through the layer of snow on the ground, leaving an indented trail behind him as he went. His glasses were covered with drops of melted snowflakes, speckling his vision. The suitcase in his right hand slightly moved with each step he took.

He didn’t know how long he walked, only knowing it was getting darker and darker.
His feet were starting to hurt, and he felt tired.

Eventually, he came upon a town, the trees giving into rows of cottages scattered around a snowy clearing of hills. Several chimneys were lit, smoke trailing out and high into the sky. Livestock dawdled behind fences, and there was an easy ambiance in the air.

He felt himself give a breath of relief at the sight.

Near the assumed center of the town was a large building, with windows filled with yellow light, with the shadows of people moving throughout inside. It wasn’t in the best condition, with partially crumbling stones visible in the sides. A sign hung from a pole jutting out of the side. Pictured was a owl holding a branch of some kind of tree in its beak, with a chain attached to one of its claws. Below were the words ‘The Aviary’
He can hear the low and friendly chatter of people.

Hesitant, he takes the the doorknob and turning it, wincing at the squeak it makes.
Slowly, he steps in, looking around at the scene.

There’s a lot of people, almost enough for it to be suffocating. There’s a stage to the right, a cluster of girls dancing as the pianist plays them a song, their purple dresses flowing in time with their movements. Some people are sitting at tables chatting with each other, drinking and eating and halfway watching the show on the stage. Others are discussing matters, some serious, others not. There are a few people at the barstools to the left, where a decent display of drinks is attended by a jovial bartender. He’s grinning and laughing at something the man he’s pouring a drink for says.
A few more linger at the sides throughout the room, leaning against the wall. They’re lost in their thoughts or watching the hum of activity around them.
But none of them pay much attention to him, simply glancing at the new arrival then going back to what they were previously doing. They don’t care who he is, and it’s a breath of fresh air.

He can’t remember the last time he saw this many people. It’s been even longer since the anxiety and dread hadn’t accompanied it.

After his trek from the woods, he wants to sit down, have a drink. He has his wallet, though he doesn’t know how much good the money will do him here. Who wants money from a half a decade into the future? Maybe he could put an illusion spell over it and pull one over on them.

Taking out a bill, he stops.

It doesn’t look like the ones he’s used to.
There’s a lady on it, and not the queen he knows should be on the note.

(Though he was a wizard, he mostly kept muggle money. It helped calm his nerves, not having somebody yell or whisper about the boy who lived being in the store he was shopping at. That got old real quickly.)

He thumbs through more of the money in his wallet. All different. He can hardly believe it. Did the turner change more than just the time he was in? Or maybe he was just so exhausted he was imagining things.

He pulls out a few of the smaller bills holding them in his hand as he sits down on one of the barstools. He might as well find out. As the bartender finishes talking with another man and walks over to him, he looks him over and smirks.

Is he really that obvious? He should’ve known.He has his wand in his hand inside his pocket, ready for a quick obliviate and escape when-

“If you want to pass as old enough to drink, you should at least drink an age potion first.”

Several things go through Harry’s head at once. Old enough?? He knew that he didn’t really look old per say, but he didn’t look like a kid anymore. There were a few grey hairs speckling his hair and unshaven stubble before he trimmed them off when he looked in the mirror the last time, with occasional wrinkle lines to pair. So why??
He also somehow knew that he was a wizard. How?? Could they track his spells here even though he wasn’t a minor?
Was this bartender with anyone? Did they know he was a time traveler? Could he escape or was this a trap?

The man spoke again, snapping Harry from the train wreak going on inside his head.

“Don’t worry, I won’t take you to the ministry or report you to the authorities. Twas’ simply some advice.”

“Thank you..?”

He could slap himself. It came out more as a question than anything. How was he going to do this? The first person he had talked to, and he was this was where he was.

“Why?”

The bartender chuckled, apparently amused at Harry’s question. Or maybe it was Harry that amused him.

“This isn’t my first time dealing with runaway minors. And I don’t know the circumstances from which you ran, but I’m not about to send you back to them tonight.”

Again with the age comment. Did he really look that young? He loosened the grip on his wand, just slightly, and waited for the man to say anything more.

The man turns around and starts cleaning shot glasses. After a few seconds, he speaks again, glancing at him over his shoulder.

“If you want, you can stay the night here. I have a spare bedroom you can use. However, if you choose to stay, then I want to talk to you about where you’ll go tomorrow.”

It’s not as if Harry has a better plan, and he’s confident he can defeat one man, or escape him if it comes to it. He isn’t a very muscular man, more on the scrawny side with a short beard and dirty blonde hair that comes around his ears and the back of his neck. His eyes are knowing but not prying.

“Alright…”

“Ok, good, good”

He starts to make a move to go tend to another person at the bar, but Harry grabs his hand and looks him in the eyes, asking him a question.

“But really, why are you being so nice?”

He needs to know, it doesn’t make any sense. Everyone has a goal, something they hope to gain by doing something. What does he want?

The man’s, amber eyes turn empathetic and his eyebrows come together as he looks back at Harry.

“Let’s just say I’ve had… experience with such things”

Then he turns away, pulling hand from Harry’s grasp gently, turning his eyes away from his and quickly walking to the customer to tend to them, signaling the definite end of the conversation.

So Harry sits there, watching the man bartend, and as the night goes on, people begin to shuffle out, the room becoming quieter and more empty. It continues until there is just three left. One customer and the two of them. The man helps the slightly drunk man into the arms of his friend outside, then shuts the door and locks it.

He turns, leaning up against the door with his back and closing his eyes. He stays like that for about a minute, collecting himself. Then he opens his eyes and looks at Harry again.

“I don’t believe I told you my name. It’s Faolán, nice to meet you”

He gives a joking bow, and looks back at him, seemingly expecting a response.

“You don’t have to tell me your name. You just met me, of course you don’t trust me. I sure wouldn’t. But here, I’ll show you to your room for the night and I’ll cook some dinner. I’m sure you’re exhausted. We’ll talk in the morning.”

“Thank you.”

Again the man’s eyes turn empathetic, and he nods

“Of course.”

The man, or Faolán as he was told, is true to his word, showing him a bare bedroom with a bed and a lamp. It’s clean and obviously well kept, but it doesn’t look lived in.

He sets his suitcase down, still keeping his hand on his wand- just in case. It wouldn’t be the first time he was invited in just to be attacked. But it never comes. When he checks the food for poison, pointing at it with his wand and a silent command, the plate of mashed potatoes and roast is confirmed to be simply that.

He takes one hesitant bite nevertheless, and ge can’t help himself when he almost devours the entire plate. The man is definitely a cook, he can taste the flavor in each bite.

“It’s delicious”

“Thank you, I’m been perfecting this particular recipe for a while. I’m glad you like it.”

When they finish their food, they clean their plates, then say their goodbyes and polite goodnights. That’s all they say to each other, parting ways with each going to a bedroom.

Harry’s in his spare bedroom, about to go to sleep after casting several protective charms and an alarm charm. Just in case someone or something tries to harm him, as he had done for years with Voldemort and his followers in pursuit.
He passes the closest, pausing when he sees a mirror that holds his reflection.

He stands in front of it, looking at the reflection and he can barely hold his startled gasp. The man was right. He looks exactly like his 16 year old self, the same unmistakably untamable hair and his face plastered with the shock of his realization.

“Oh shit.”

Chapter Text

The time turner must’ve changed him.
There was no other explanation for the reflection greeting him from the mirror.

It was like the first time he had looked in a mirror. Disbelief and denial ran through his veins. He shouldn’t have just assumed the time turner would just have changed the money. Of course if it had changed that, then it had probably changed other things as well.

He flopped back on his bed and closed his eyes. He didn’t know how long he laid there, just trying to wrap his brain around it.

His trance was snapped by a voice calling for him.

“Hey kid! Breakfast is ready!”

He went to his suitcase and quickly pulled on a long sleeved shirt and jeans, then ran downstairs to the kitchen.

“Easy now! Don’t wanna break a limb before we even get you sorted out!”

The man from last night, Faolán, was next to the stove, preparing two plates for the each of them. He was slicing an apple and placing the pieces next to steaming scrambled eggs and sausage already on the plates.

It looked and smelled so appetizing, he was afraid he might be drooling at the sight and the smells invading his senses.

He heard a soft chuckle as the plates were sat down on the table, one at each chair. The table had already been set, and as he sat down, he marveled at the simplicity of the table.

A light green striped tablecloth sat atop the table, with a salt and pepper shaker in the center. In between them was a small vase with what looked similar to a violet, with delicate leaves and dark purple flowers. He swore that it looked familiar, with the name on the tip of his tongue.

“Its aconite. Also known as wolvesbane.”

“Oh, so that’s it…”

He could almost see Snape’s sneer at his failure yet again to identify the plant.

With a half-hearted “Thank you”, he began to eat as well, savoring the taste, which was as delicious as it had smelled.

They ate in silence for several minutes, enjoying the easy silence, as the sun began to pour in through the window. It lit up everything it’s rays touched, a golden light brightening the entire room.

When both of them had eaten everything on their plates, Harry got up to go and wash his. But before he could do so, Faolán put out his hand and took it, not even giving Harry any time to protest.

He grabs the silverware as well, scrubbing the dishes, rinsing them and then handing them back to Harry with a dry towel. As Harry dries them, he sets them back in the table, not knowing where else to put them.

“So, I suppose we should discuss where you’ll be going from here. First and foremost, I think you should consider giving Hogwarts a chance. Unless you’ve been living under a rock, even with the war going on, I’m sure you know of it.”

Harry’s heart jumped into his throat at the mention of Hogwarts, memories of it’s destroyed ruins flashing through his mind. All of the time and energy he had spent there. All the good and bad and everything between.

“So I’ll take that as a yes. There’s also the less appealing option of taking you to the ministry. But that’ll be a pain in the ass for everyone involved. And paperwork. A lot of paperwork.”

“It’s as simple as that? If I say yes then I’ll just magically be able to go to Hogwarts?”

He was obviously skeptical, as it seemed like a long shot to be here in the middle of nowhere and then suddenly offered a spot in Hogwarts. It was almost too good of an opportunity. He would be right at soon to be Voldemort’s metaphorical doorstep.

“Well… not usually. But let’s just say I have… some connections that allow such things to be overlooked. I’ll be going that way as well, so it’ll just be a simple matter.”

It was a flimsy answer at best. But he wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth. This was probably as good of an opportunity he was going to get, unless he wanted to try and break into Hogwarts or wait until Voldemort was out of school. Neither seemed very appealing. And he definitely didn’t want to deal with the ministry. That would raise too many uncomfortable questions he did not want to answer.

So hesitantly, he accepted the offer, hoping he wasn’t making a big mistake.

“Alright.”

“That’s the answer I was hoping for! Go get your things, and I’ll get mine, then we can leave shortly. We’ll arrive just in time after the holidays.”

He grinned, eyes sparkling, and Harry couldn’t help but draw comparison to the Remus he knew in his time. They looked somewhat similar, but this man was friendly, radiating joy and optimism. Whereas Remus was full of melancholy, sadness, and guilt. He wondered if Remus was once like him.

He complied, going upstairs and gathering his things in his suitcase, making the bed he had previously haphazardly left.

A voice came from downstairs with a reminder

“Don’t forget to put on a coat! It’s cold and the wind will be harsh while we’re flying.”

He grabbed his maroon coat, fingers tracing the time turner that had brought him here. Then he went downstairs and outside to see Faolán putting a suitcase into a box attached to a broom. It looked less advanced than the ones in his time, and he wondered about the performance.

It would be nice to fly again. He couldn’t remember the last time he had done so, letting all his worries fly away with the wind running through the bristles of the broom.

Handing over his suitcase, they climbed on the broom, and he felt a slight jolt as Faolán pushed off the ground and they flew into the sky.

The wind whipped his hair into his face and in front of his glasses, and he could barely hear anything at all. It was just as he remembered it, as the land below became smaller and smaller and the clouds embraced them.

Harry had never been good with time, and he couldn’t determine how long they had been flying when he saw the silhouette of the grand castle he knew so well.

“Here it is! The best wizarding school in Europe! Gorgeous isn’t she?”

Harry couldn’t help but agree with him.

They drew closer and closer to the grounds, at last landing in the field in front of the owlery. He was struck by a sudden longing for Hedwig. His loyal and beautiful companion who had stayed with him and protected him until the very end.

They walked to the castle, carrying their suitcases, until they were inside the castle, in front of the DADA classroom.

As they walked in, Faolán spoke again.

“This is our first stop. I’ve got to drop off some things here, then we can go up to Headmaster Dippet’s office and get you sorted out as a student. Tell me have you ever seen a talking hat?”

Of course he remembered the sorting hat, and he remembered it’s song, as well as the shock he had felt when it first spoke to him. It wasn’t everyday you had a hat set atop your head and then it spoke inside your head.

It was probably in his best interest to play ignorance, after all this was supposed to be his first time at Hogwarts. Suspicion and attention were the last things he needed at the moment.

“No, but is that something I should expect here?”

“Oh, you’ve no idea. Talking hats are the just the beginning here.”

They went up through the castle, which was surprisingly bare. Though a few students walked the halls, it was mostly teachers and staff, giving them knowing glances. Some were nicer looks than others.

They were on the moving staircase when a portly woman with a messy halfbun and plants peaking from her dirt stained apron holding numerous gardening tools approached them.

“Professor Anthes! Brought another one this year hmm?”

“Yes, and not a moment too soon! It was the day before I was due back here. How are you faring Professor Hazel?”

“Quite well I would say! The mandrakes were being rowdy enough, but they’re back asleep for now. Well I’ll let you two continue, I’m sure I’ll be seeing you both around.”

The two professors said their goodbyes and when they finally reached the statues, Faolán, or rather Proffesor Anthes spoke the password and they entered the Headmaster’s office. It explained why he could have so easily offered to take Harry to Hogwarts, as being a teacher definitely counted as having connections.

A different old man was sitting at the desk in the office, one he was used to seeing Dumbledore seated at. While the two men chatted and caught up with each other, Harry turned his attention to the room they were in. There were other subtle changes to the office that didn’t line up with the future headmaster’s. Most notably was the absence of Fawkes and his perch.

“Now Professor Dippet, I suppose we should turn to the matter at hand. This young man should answer some questions, then we can continue on with the sorting yes?”

The old man nodded, turning his attention to Harry. He clasped his hands together as he asked Harry.

“So young man, we shall start with the basics. What is your name?”

Harry decided to not make something completely up. After all, the best lie was one of partial truth. He was never one to overcomplicate things anyway. Also, that way he wouldn’t have to worry about slipping up (at least in that regard.)

“Harry, Sir. Harry Penn.”

“Alright Mr.Penn, and how did you find yourself at Proffesor Anthes’s doorstep?”

He knew that in this time, there was a war going on, with the first Dark Lord, Grindelwald, terrorizing the wizarding world. He also knew that few would question the tragic story of an orphan affected by a war(which he knew from experience).

He told a tale, inspired by his own life in a future time, one of dead parents, of constant fleeing and fear. Silence was the response, though he was used to it.
(Many people had asked for the background story of their savior, and so he told them the glossed over tragedy of the Boy Who Lived. Awkward silence and polite apologies were the typical response.)

“I’m sorry to hear that, Mr.Penn, my condolences. I believe it’s probably best to now decide which house you shall be in, since you’ll be staying here. Would you care to sit?”

He waved his wand, a stool sliding in front of him from the side of the room. As soon as he sat down, Faolán sat the sorting hat on his head.

As soon as it touched his head, he heard that familiar voice of the hat.

‘Well, well, this looks like it isn’t your first time here is it? You look to be in the wrong time Harry Potter.
Such a Slytherin thing to do, plotting such things, and you’re definitely determined.’

‘Not again,’ Harry internally groaned. The last thing he needed was to present himself to Voldemort as an offering. Going into Slytherin would be doing just that.

The hat chuckled at his dismay, speaking in his mind again

‘You also have noble intentions, to save those you love, and this was quite a brash and brave decision to come here. Unprepared as well. Definitely not Ravenclaw.

You may change, but for now it’s…’

“Gryffindor!”

Chapter Text

The dark comforted Tom.
It always had, even when it had scared all the other children at the orphanage. (When he had scared them)
It kept them away, sheltered him, offered him refuge.

They had always been insignificant, though his younger self had unfortunately been blind to that truth.
When he had come to Hogwarts and seen the wizarding world with all it’s possibilities, he had realized.

They would always be forever like that, useless and unknowing. Unlike him. He was destined for greatness, more than cowering from the bombs above, pleading to any power above to spare him from the death that seemed inevitable. (Besides, he would find a way to conquer death eventually. He was already so close.)

Just one more year, then he was free of that life. He would leave and never look back.

He scanned the Great Hall, looking over the tables of students, where overlapping excited chatter could be heard. Various discussions and inquiries about what they had done over their holiday break. (Tom had stayed in his room obsessing over his heritage and the Chamber. He had no reason to mingle with the others in the orphanage, let alone celebrate a pointless holiday with them.)

He was drawn from his thoughts by Abraxus not so subtly clearing his throat to catch his attention. He turned to look at the Malfroy boy standing behind him.”

“Speak then Abraxus.”

His platinum blonde hair shone in the above candlelight as he spoke, his voice even and calm, but with an undertone of hesitancy. He also avoided eye contact, as most who knew their place: underneath him. Even his most prominent and closest followers would never be close to being his equal. Like a rabbit in the face of a hungry wolf, or rather a snake, trying not to be eaten.

Growing up, he was sure the boy had been taught the art of masking his emotions and intentions, though it was clear he still had much to learn. He himself had mastered early on in life how to read people, to see past their facades, to manipulate them into showing him their true colors and bend them to his own whims.

“My Lord, the report has been gathered.”

“And what of it?”

He relished the way his followers addressed him, be it with reverence, respect or fear, or a mixture of all three. The very same ones who had once looked down upon him, scorned and disregarded him, now waiting for his orders at any moment with their heads down.

“Grindelwald’s attacks have continued, destroying four more towns and drawing the aurors further South of the country. The Notts have officially declared their allegiance to the Dark Lord in response.
Two more Slytherins and a Ravenclaw were recruited to our cause. And to no one’s surprise, Professor Anthes has brought yet another orphan to the school.”

His thinly veiled sneer is obvious at his mention of the boy. It was no secret that the purebloods looked down upon halfbloods and muggleborns. That was one of the first things he had experienced when sorted into Slytherin, the house notorious for their distain of all things weak and muggle.

“Very well. You are dismissed.”

With a slight bow, he takes his leave. His high quality Slytherin robes flow behind him, radiating an air of elegance.

Nothing of the report was cause of any concern. Grindelwald was far enough away to not shut down the school or threaten him, but close enough to provide an ample distraction. And he had expected the Notts to turn to Gringelwald eventually.

As for Professor Anthes’s new charity case, he dismissed it. Just like all of the previous, they were likely similar to the kids at his orphanage, pitiful little things, typically with no social skills and somehow less actual skill.

Though he enjoys Proffesor Anthes’s class, he thinks the man to be too nice, too soft. (Much better than having to sit through Dumbledores class, his barely concealed anger at the man arising)

His eye twitched at the thought of Dumbledore. He shifted his thoughts away before his anger could return in full force at the man. It wouldn’t do to have his followers and housemates cowering right now in the Great Hall(not yet, there was time for that later)

He tells his followers to keep an eye on their new student, just in case they are. something worth investigating. (He’s answered with a whispered ‘of course my lord’) He’ll check back on them in person at another point, but for now he needs to find the chamber. It will solidify his claim of Slytherin heritage (to those last few naysayers, and to scare those on the fence into submission)

It will also further his pursuit of being the next dark lord. His desire for power was unquenchable, and he was drawing closer and closer. Most of Slytherin already saw him as their leader. Any that dared challenge him were quickly taken care of (and never had anything to say again)

The typical way of challenging others and solving disagreements in Slytherin was dueling(or blackmail, which was another thing in on itself. For Slytherins, it was east as east as breathing to blackmail others)

He goes through his classes not paying attention to what the teachers are teaching, focusing his efforts on reading a book that mentions the Chamber(of secrets) that he ‘borrowed’ from the library. Of course he answers questions if need be, earning several points in Slughorn’s class for flawless and outstanding performance and results as usual. It’s all tediously irrelevant, until he gets to his last class of the day:DADA

In Proffesor Anthes’s class, he pays slightly more attention, as he tends to teach actually useful things(unlike some other teachers)
He can feel that someone is staring at him, and he knows because people have always stared at him, though the reasons have changed)

He tries, and ultimately fails to look away before Tom notices, suddenly very interested in the book they’re reviewing, pointedly avoiding Tom’s eyes. (Something about patronuses, the one charm he cannot seem to master) He studies the boy, who he does not recognize.

This must be Proffesor Anthes’s new student he brought in. He fits his first impression of him as a war torn charity case, but yet… he doesn’t. He’s wearing (obnoxiously) red Gryffiondor robes a few sizes too large, swallowing up his body and seemingly out of place. He’s scrawny, with black hair that looks like it’s never met a hairbrush in its entire existence. His glasses hide a pair of green eyes fixated on the book in front on him, determined, and full of something more he can’t identify. He’s also short. Nothing about him screams extraordinary.

He’s drawn from his inspection of the boy by the Proffesor’s voice, which also grabs the boy’s attention as well.

“Mr.Penn, would you care to tell us the uses of a patronus?”

Both excitement and disappointment rise in him, trying to fill his veins, though he pushes the excitement down before it can rear its head fully.

A muggleborn, most likely, no one worth pursuing unless he somehow showed great talent or a unique benefit.

‘Mr. Penn’ answers the question correctly, and Tom turns his attention back to his book, no longer interested in the boy. After all, he had no reason to.

Class ends soon enough, and he goes back to his dorm, only to go out later that night to look for the Chamber, not sparing another though to the boy. He’s so close, but tonight ends up being another dead end. For now.

Chapter Text

Harry fell back onto his bed, laying on his back and closing his eyes. It was still fairly early, but he had decided to turn in before everyone else. Socializing could be done later. He was in the Gryffindor boys dorm, with three other beds to his side. He hadn’t met them yet, but he was sure he would at some point. Dippit had told him the bed had previously gone to a boy whose family had fled Europe, so it was now vacant.

He closed his eyes, though he knew he wouldn’t be sleeping anytime soon. Adrenaline was still thrumming under his skin, and he could hear the faint chatter from the common room down the hall.

Coming back to Hogwarts was everything and nothing Harry expected at the same time.
The atmosphere was still that of the excitement and anticipation of students, with an underlying uncertainty and anxiety of the war in the background, mostly from the adults. Though it was less present than it was in his time, especially in the later years before Hogwarts’s destruction.

There were also subtle changes that he could easily overlook, like the lack of certain spells, differences in dialect, and just the overall shift in culture.

(Apparently women were not as appreciated as they were in his time. He was sure if they were to meet Hermione that would definitely change their minds. Or she would change them whether they liked it or not. He tried to ignore the resulting pang of hurt stabbing in his chest from the thought)

There was one thing that he could not however ignore, and that was the presence of one Tom Marvalo Riddle.

It seemed no matter what time they were in, they couldn’t avoid the other. Or maybe Harry was just an idiot. They were both viable options.

The first time he had seen him they had been in DADA, with Proffesor Anthes,
(Which made perfect sense in hindsight, he was obviously experienced dealing with kids, how could he not have noticed-)

It wasn’t entirely his fault, he looked exactly as if he was going to give Harry another monologue in the Chamber of Secrets before siccing a massive basilisk on him.
Unfortunately it wasn’t until Riddle’s attention snapped to him that he realized he was staring like a lovesick teenager at their crush. (How embarrassing)

He had shoved his face in the book they were taking about, and Professor Anthes (It felt weird to call him that) had asked him a question about patronuses, a topic he was thankfully familiar with. It hadn’t done much to effectively cover his obvious staring, but it had prevented Riddle from having easy access to his mind. (Not that it would stop him if he really wanted. He just hoped his defenses were up to par to withstand such an attack.)

He was becoming more and more thankful of the Sorting Hat’s mercy to not put him in Slytherin.

Gryffindor on the other hand, was a trove of nostalgia, the easygoing and welcoming atmosphere something out of his memories. His fellow students were friendly, and he could easily say that if this kept up he would have quite a few friends.

House rivalries hadn’t really changed, though they were not as severe and were more of a rivalry for the sake of keeping images. At least that was the case with Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. It was not uncommon to have friends from other houses, but Slytherin was a house that preferred to keep to its own affairs.

From what he could tell, the Chamber had not been opened yet, to his immense relief.
He should probably just seal the thing and be done with it. Though he didn’t know if he still had Parseltongue still. It hadn’t really been on his list of priorities, having actually had made a point to avoid snakes if at all possible. Considering how they typically wanted to kill him an their association with the previos dark lord, he figured it was pretty understandable.

There was still a dark lord here, who seemed to hold the typical pure blood and anti muggle views. Grindelwald, was out terrorizing the world, as Dumbledore hadn’t yet had his infamous duel with the wizard. And Dumbledore was also his teacher. He wasn’t old and grey or dying. He still had that gleam in his eyes, but he didn’t carry the same weariness that he had seemed to permanently carry with him.

He was also very, very fond of homework.

(Almost too fond. Was he trying to kill them?)

It wasn’t exactly the same, but he found himself enjoying it nevertheless. He still missed Ron and Hermione, but they were already happy.

(Though he did wonder if they would notice if he was gone. Would they care? He didn’t really know how it worked back in his time after he left. Or if he would even be able to go back)

And here, he wasn’t the Boy Who Lived. He was simply Harry. Harry Penn, an orphan, one of many from the tragedies of war. No one of significance, whose choices didn’t affect the world. It was a strange comfort to have.

It was the first time in a long time he fell asleep without the numbness and dread he had long grown accustomed to.

Even longer since he hadn’t the company of loneliness.

And it was the first time that fate had allowed him true rest, if only for a moment.

Later, he would figure out how to stop Riddle, one way or another. But that was for tomorrow.

For now, he just lay there with his eyes closed, aimlessly fiddling with the time turner now around his neck. The chain quietly clinked as he did.
Such a small device with such large actions and even larger consequences, though they were not to be known yet.

Chapter Text

Harry would say that he was pretty unbiased when it came to the different houses, (though Hermione would probably beg to differ) but the Slytherins were really starting to get on his nerves.

He knew that at times he could seem a little (okay sometimes really) oblivious to the world around him, but did they actually think he was that blind?

For the past week and a half, he had had tailing shadows in the form of several obnoxiously dramatic black and green robes(that were probably velvet or some other ridiculously expensive material that would be ruined from an accidental butterbeer spill)

He had been able to catch a glance at a few of them before they turned away inconspicuously, acting as if they were deep in conversation or with some other task.

(One of which he swore looked like Malfoy incarnated)

(Or… preceded??)

And maybe he wouldn’t have noticed, if not for the fact that he had been watched his entire life. From the (mostly) less malicious press to Voldemort and his straight up vindictiveness; It was at one point a matter of life or death, the ability to discern people with potentially hostile or deadly intent. To let down one’s guard could mean forfeiting one’s life in the process.

After all, it wasn’t as if all of Voldemort’s followers went around with their dark mark plastered on their clothing and went out of their way to appear especially villainous.
(Only some, and that usually came with a particular brand of crazy)

(Such as Bellatrix, and he had to suppress a shudder of anger and guilt at that thought)

Stabbing his fork into a piece of innocent potato, he resists the urge to turn around and glare a hole into the Slytherin currently watching him.

(It’s 8:30 in the morning. He’s eating for merlin’s sake, can’t he get any peace?)

“If it makes you feel any better Harry, Riddle’s lackeys pester every new student that comes around here. It’s almost like a kind of twisted Slytherin welcoming tradition. They’ll lay off after a few weeks, just like they always do.”

Ettie, one of Harry’s earliest friends he made in this time, has been trying in vain to lighten his sour mood while they’ve been sitting in the Great Hall.

She’s a lively and confrontational Hufflepuff, and he often wonders what the Sorting Hat was thinking with that decision. Freckled, brunette, and constantly grinning, she’s like a distant cousin of the Weasleys with all the fire and none of the red hair. It’s a wonder she hasn’t been in detention more times than she had been. More often than not, it was for defending or fighting on someone else’s behalf. She’s also very, very (very) friendly. Probably a third of the students were friends with her, and she’d even managed to befriend a few Slytherins as well. (And that was no small feat, especially considering the vast majority were under a certain someone’s thumb)

She’d already offered to threaten (beat) them into leaving him alone, to which Harry had wholeheartedly been against. Her hazel eyes had shown her clear disappointment in his decision. As much as he appreciated the sentiment, that was one of the last things he needed, to draw more attention to himself. Most likely, given his luck, Riddle,(and didn’t it feel weird calling him that) would send more of his followers to hound him.

He halfheartedly muttered something about not being able to function this early in the morning.

(Though that wasn’t exactly right. He usually got up around 4 am at the Dursley’s to start cooking and doing the chores. He’s never been able to fully shake the habit, even if he tried to go back to sleep, he couldn’t anyway. So he just gets up and starts the day before the sun.)

Camden, another of Harry’s recent friends, scoffs. His dirty blonde hair flips as his head shifts with the expression. Icy blue eyes glitter with humor as one of his eye brows raise and his mouth quirks with a smirk.

Despite his looks, he was not related to the Malfoys, although he constantly joked about how they estranged him since he was a Ravenclaw and not a Slytherin (According to him it was ‘such the price of breaking such a beloved tradition’)

He’s also very fond of talking with his hands, as he is doing right now as he’s speaking, enunciating each statement with a motion.

“I mean, can you really blame them? I know I wouldn’t want to disappoint Riddle. I shudder to think of those who made the unfortunate decision to go against them. May they rest in peace, wherever they are.”

(And even if the statement was made in bitter humor, he had no clue how much truth it held, at least in his time)

“Eh, everyone knows that he’s just a control freak and tryhard who has too much power in his grubby, freakishly long hands..”

“Piper!”

Camden chides, fake gasping dramatically, hands going up to cover his mouth.

Ettie is cackling, and he himself almost chokes on the bite he was chewing. If there was attention on him before, he’s sure whoever’s watching him is definitely paying closer attention to them all now. If Riddle caught word, they might all have a spot in Riddle’s underground gallows.
(Metaphorical of course, though he wouldn’t be surprised if such a thing existed, nor if he actually used them. At least, not if he retained the same sense for dramatics that was characteristic of his future self.)

“You know it’s true!”

Piper protests, and it’s so surreal to see someone mocking Tom Riddle, Voldemort, the same person who murdered thousands and tried to do the same to him, but there’s also something indescribably hilarious to it as well.

If Harry thought Ettie was somewhat of a troublemaker, Piper was a straight up delinquent. It was uncanny how well he was able to get away with things, and though it seemed that everyone knew it was him, there was never any evidence to prove it.

Whenever there were frogs everywhere in the classroom or a teachers hair suddenly turns blue, it’s an open secret who is to blame.

All of 5’2 and with unruly sandy brown hair, he’s definitely the spiritual ancestor of his father, Harry thinks, as Piper grins into a Bagel slathered with cream cheese.
Older students say that he was originally Gryffindor, but nobody is sure what house Piper is, as he regularly switches from all four house robes. Whether he stole them or it is just an illusion is anybody’s guess. Today’s is Slytherin, which is pretty fitting considering the topic.

(Badmouthing Tom Riddle dressed as a Slytherin no less, the irony is not missed)

Eventually, the conversation leads into different, lighter topics such as quidditch and favorite foods, joking about how Piper’s is no secret considered how he’s shoved five bagels in his mouth during breakfast.
‘They’re really good and you pheasants wouldn’t understand!’

After breakfast, the group parts ways, with Ettie and Piper going to Herbology, while Harry and Camden going to Charms. All the while, the eyes following Harry never leave him, like a constant presence.

Unlike in his time, he’s able to actually enjoy the classes he takes, and with friends that actually like him, not just the boy who lived.

And with the exception of DADA and Transfiguration, he was able to enjoy them free of Tom Riddle.

Over the past week, he had no major contact or communication with Riddle. (Not since that embarrassment during his first day.)
After all, they had no reason to. To Riddle, he was just another unworthy, weak mudblood who came to Hogwarts and happened to breathe the same air as him. To Harry he was a murderer and a thief of his and others’ future.

Part of him was relieved, as every time he saw the man, it triggered his fight or flight response, and he gripped his wand a little (a lot) tighter. Mentally, he brought up his mental defenses: but not so much as to seem abnormal, just enough to be able to explain away.

But… another, was not. Whether it was morbid curiousity or the fact he really did have a death wish as Hermione insisted, he wanted to see. To confirm that this was the man that had caused so much pain in the future, who had denied and provided him so much.

He didn’t know how time travel worked. That much was certain. That was Hermione’s thing. Was this the same man? Was he a different one? Was the future secured or was it flexible?
He had all the questions and yet none of the answers.
(Maybe that was his inevitable mental breakdown talking)

But what he did have was the knowledge of what happened in his time, and he could at least try and fix it. And that was what he was going to try and do.

Even when he wasn’t here, Riddle was still hindering him. He couldn’t do anything with eyes watching his every move. Ettie said they eventually would leave him be. But he had waited long enough. He had to act now before it was too late. Yet he had to do so without catching their (and his) attention.

He raises his hand and requests to go to the bathroom. The teacher is a nice lady, Professor Sulew, who is friendly and helpful. She of course, allows him to go (He first has to see if it’s still true)

The eyes follow him, but it would be too obvious to leave immediately after him. He has a few minutes. He runs to the bathroom locking the door, panting, and flicks his wand, casting a muffling charm and then silently incanting a spell.

A snake appears, reddish brown like the leaves of fallen trees, looks around, and then it hisses

€Why am I here?€

And he understands

His breath catches, and it takes a moment for it to sink in. He clears his throat, them opens his mouth, voice shaky, and responds

€I apologize, I wanted to see if I could communicate with you€

The snake, who obviously wasn’t expecting an answer, throws it head back and gives what Harry assumes is a hissed laugh before saying

€Hah! A speaker asking a snake if they can speak! For as rare as they are, I thought they would be smarter than that.€

And without further word, the snake slithers into his hand. If a snake could stand tall and proud, then it was doing just that

€Caoba, speaker, and you would do well to remember it. I intend to stay with you, this is far more interesting and important than harassing bush mice. Though you better feed me, or I’ll bite you in your sleep.€

Harry can’t help but chuckle as he listens to the snake, who is obviously proud of securing free food,warmth and entertainment in the name of being a speaker’s companion.

€Charmed Caoba, I’m Harry€

Caoba doesn’t say anything more, just gives an approving hiss and slithers up his arm until he is comfortably hidden underneath the robes setting on Harry’s neck, before assumedly going to sleep.

He goes back to the classroom, not wanting to draw suspension, and he can feel the eyes on the back of his head again.

But this time it doesn’t feel as intimidating, not when he has another pair, even if they are currently asleep.

He can’t help but feel a small smile spread across his lips.

Chapter Text

After summoning Caoba, honestly not much had changed, which Harry was quite relieved about. That wasn’t to say it was exactly easy to explain why he suddenly had the mascot of his supposed rivals peaking out of his robe to his friends.

“So you’re saying you just found it outside the castle? And it came up to you… and then you picked it up.. and brought it into the castle?! As much as I like you Harry, you really don’t think about half the things you do before you do them.”

Ettie is pinching the bridge of her nose, probably resisting the urge to lecture him further, though it looks more and more likely by the minute. He doesn’t answer as he sheepishly looks down and sips his pumpkin juice. She does have a point though.

And just for a moment Harry feels like he’s back in his time, with Hermione chewing out him and Ron for some stupid decision they made. Said moment is broken when Caoba hisses in displeasure, his head barely visible from the opening in his robe. He can feel the angry flicking of his tongue against his neck.

€I am not an it you overgrown monkey!€

Even though it hasn’t even 24 hours, he’s seriously rethinking his decision to impulsively summon a snake just to confirm a theory.

“A snake isn’t a very Gryffindor pet to have Harry. You probably shouldn’t be openly walking around with one, people will get the wrong idea, especially with a certain someone’s affinity for them…”

Camden is motioning with one hand as he talks, stabbing a piece of melon with a fork in the other.

“Are you sure you’re even a Gryffindor?
Did you bribe the Sorting Hat?”

Piper grins, and Harry and the rest of them can’t help chuckle but at the absurdity of that question. He fakes a sigh, then holds up both of his hands in surrender.

“You got me there Piper, but it’s all part of my plan to get in Riddle’s good graces. He’ll never see it coming!”

Camden snickers and Ettie almost chokes on her mouthful of pastry. Piper barks out a laugh, loud enough that several people glance (or glare) their way.

“But in all honestly, this could be just an elaborate plan by Riddle, I wouldn’t put it past him. You should be more careful Harry.”

Ettie is giving him that knowing look again, filled with worry and concern. He almost hates it more than one of pity. In an instant, the conversation turns serious again. Camden pipes up as he dishes another serving of melon slices and a pastry onto his plate.

“She does have a point. He’s been agitated lately about something, more so than usual. He almost strangled a boy in Potions because he put in the wrong amount of newt’s eye in their cauldron.”

Harry knows that they’re right, he just can’t believe how thoughtless he’s being. And even though he hasn’t known them them that long, he still feels guilty for lying to them. But how could he tell them the truth? Would they treat him like the other students did? He wants to think they wouldn’t, but he can’t risk it. He can still be genuine though.

“You guys are right, it was a stupid thing to do. The last thing I want to do is catch Riddle’s attention or fall to one of his schemes. I don’t think this snake is connected to Riddle, but I’ll be on high alert just in case. The second I see anything suspicious, I’ll chuck it into the Forbidden Forest.”

Caoba gives a low, grumbling hiss before retreating back into his robe for a nap
€That was unnecessary…€

That seems to satisfy them, and they all resume their comfortable atmosphere from before. Ettie pauses before speaking again.

“And will you actually start thinking before you do things?”

“I promise I’ll try to.”

“You better.”

She gives him a small smile, and they finish what they have left to eat before leaving to their corresponding classes.

When he gets to Transfiguration, he definitely sees what Camden was talking about with Riddle. This is not the calm, cold, calculated version he saw in the Chamber. This is a pissed off, confrontational viper who just happens to look like Riddle.

His robe has a few wrinkles (still looks a lot better than Harrys) which for Riddle is the equivalent of signaling he’s going through a crisis. His eyes are cutting as usual, but the slight eye bags make them stand out more. There’s also a slight frown on his normally neutral face.
It’s like an injured predator, even more dangerous when threatened. If this keeps up, someone might (literally) die.

He looks away to focus again on his book, though he’s not the only one who has noticed. He knows that Riddle knows this as well, and it feels like everyone has a flamethrower on thin ice. (Muggles did create some interesting things, he had to admit.)

When Dumbledore walks in, everyone settles down in their seats and quiets. Harry glances to Riddle and finds him poorly hiding his glare at the man. He’s probably thinking of all the ways he could kill him. He forgot how much he despised Dumbledore.

Riddle never answered in Transfiguration unless he absolutely had to when he was called on. It was a complete opposite to every other class ( from what he heard)
where he was in knowledgeable in every subject, sometimes seemingly even more so then the teacher. And he wasn’t afraid to let everyone know about that either.
Every class that he was in, Slytherin won at least one point in every week, if not every day.

Surprisingly, Ravenclaws had a slight lead so far, though it was rapidly closing, with Slytherin then Gryffindor, and finally Hufflepuff.

Besides Riddle being pouty, class went on as usual, the topic of the week being human transfiguration. Dumbledore said they wouldn’t be doing any this week, as it was introduction and theory, but it interesting nevertheless. He himself had a slight knack for it, and he found himself wondering if Riddle could do any. From what he knew, he was good at basically everything expect for patronuses, but he hadn’t had a chance to see him try.

Class ended, with 35 pages of textbook reading and 2 projects as homework, and everyone heaving a collective groan.

His other classes went by in a blur, and several times he found his eyes drifting to Riddle. As he was walking away from class, he soon found himself wandering through the abandoned hallways. He needed to just think. When he was at the Black Manor, he would often pace the halls while he was thinking. He he found himself wanting to see what Riddle would do after classes. Probably go lead his little death eaters (or whatever they were called) But he remembered about what Ettie said about his actions. He had to think about how to approach this entire Tom Riddle thing. Unfortunately he couldn’t just hold him at wand point and question him. And he didn’t know how good this version was at dueling. Even though he was considered one of the best duelers back in his time, that might not mean anything in this one. Not for the first time, he found himself questioning why he even came here in the first place.

Maybe he needed to have an approach with more finesse, like infiltrating his ranks. But then what? Would he kill him? Could he sabotage him? Turn him over to the ministry? We’re they even reliable? They could very well be just as corrupt as they were in his time.

There was another possible option. He could try and change him. But that sounded ridiculous didn’t it? Wasn’t Voldemort part of Tom Riddle’s very being? Wouldn’t Voldemort destroy Tom Riddle?

This would be a time where it would help to have someone to talk to and plan with. But speaking of….

Caoba gave a hissy yawn as he woke up, slithering out his robe and on top of Harry’s head.

€I can hear you thinking, Speaker. It’s so loud I think the snakes could hear it on the other side of the castle.€

€Sorry Caoba, I’m just thinking about what to do about this particular human.€

€Well it’s just a human right? Why are you thinking so hard about them? Are they important to you?€

€I guess in a way… From where I come from, they attacked me and a lot of other people a lot, and I came here to try and prevent that. But now that I’m here I don’t know what to do. I’m afraid of doing the wrong thing and messing things up.€

€Sounds like an culo. Well, from where I come from, you would just chase him off, and if he came back, then kill him. But humans always have to overcomplicate things. Maybe you should just try talking to him?€

€If only it were that easy… he probably wouldn’t even give me the time of day, and even if he did, he’d probably try and manipulate me into doing his bidding for him. I’ve seen him do it a thousand times.€

€Probably just go with the kill option then.€

€I only want to do that if I have to. It just doesn’t seem right, even after all he’s done.€

Caoba was about to say something when Harry heard three voices. He immediately turned into one of the abandoned classrooms and cast a disillusionment charm on himself. It was times like these when he wishes he still had the cloak of invisibility, but this would have to do.

“Riddle won’t see it coming, and by the time he does it’ll be too late.”

“Shhh, you don’t know if anyone’s listening!”

“Please, Riddle is too busy looking for that stupid Chamber of his to pay attention to anything else. Have you seen him lately? It’s a wonder that we ever thought he could be the next Dark Lord.”

“At least now we follow a real dark lord!”

“Shh!”

“Oh get that stick out of your ass Murton! Your paranoia will be your downfall. Now where could that secret room be…?”

Why did Harry feel like he was getting ready to get involved in something he shouldn’t?