Terrible, But Great

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at [Link]

Rating: Mature
Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Category: M/M
Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Relationship: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle
Characters: Harry Potter, Tom Riddle, Lestrange Family (Harry Potter), Black Family (Harry
Potter), Malfoy Family (Harry Potter), Rosier Family (Harry Potter), Prince
Family (Harry Potter), Avery Family (Harry Potter), Gellert Grindelwald, Nagini
(Harry Potter), Newt Scamander, Tina Goldstein, Death (Harry Potter), Galatea
Merrythought, Alphard Black, Quintus Prince, Fleamont Potter, Mulciber Family
(Harry Potter), Albus Dumbledore, Queenie Goldstein, Jacob Kowalski
Additional Tags: Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Do-Over, Fix-
It of Sorts, Master of Death Harry Potter, BAMF Harry Potter, 1940s, Misguided
Albus Dumbledore, Slytherin Harry Potter, Past Child Abuse, Harry Potter is a
Horcrux, Harry Potter is a Little Shit, Morally Grey Harry Potter, Bisexual Harry
Potter, Chaos Gremlin Harry Potter, Sassy Harry Potter, Harry Potter is So Done,
Manipulative Tom Riddle, Possessive Tom Riddle, Teenage Tom Riddle, Sane
Tom Riddle, Tom Riddle is Not Voldemort, Tom Riddle is Bad at Feelings, Tom
Riddle is CLUELESS at Feelings, Tom Riddle is His Own Warning, Death is a
little shit, Sassy Nagini (Harry Potter), Nagini is a Wine Aunt, Protective Newt
Scamander, Protective Tina Goldstein, Asexual Tom Riddle, autistic characters,
Monty is a Precious Bean, dumbasses to friends to lovers, Eventual Romance,
Eventual Sex, Eventual Happy Ending, Slow Burn, Drama, Angst, Soulmates,
Select Soulmates, Slytherin Politics, religious trauma, Language, THE SASS, DO
NOT PRINT AND HAND BIND TO SELL ON ETSY, Please don't do this; it's
illegal and I will take out your kneecaps, Slow ass slow burn and yes the chapter
count projection is legit; planned it all out to the end, Top/Bottom dynamics in
my ‘Tom and Harry are EQUALS’ house will be a burnt offering to the Olde
Gods, Not abandoned; just on a health break for my hysterectomy so I’ll be back
asap—LOVE YOU ALL
Language: English
Stats: Published: 2021-12-15 Updated: 2024-09-30 Words: 244,701 Chapters: 41/121
 Terrible, But Great
by Isalise

Summary

“Harry Potter.”

The cold burrowed into his flesh, the scent of cloying death and molding earth clogged his senses.

“The Boy Who Lived.”

A strange sense of loss and disappointment rose within him. That brilliant, yet cruel boy could’ve
been so much more if he’d not stepped down this bloodied path.

Terrible, but great. He pitied this creature.

“Come to die.”

Harry Potter faced the flash of green light with the bravery of a Gryffindor and the broken heart of a
Hufflepuff.

---

When Death gives Harry a third option, one that can save everyone he ever cared about, he takes it
unflinchingly. Even when that means doing the impossible: falling in love with the enemy, Tom
Riddle.

Notes

January 2024 Update

This information is for newcomers of this story, so you can understand a bit of what to expect.

Yes, the chapter count is correct, give or take a few chapters. I can say with the utmost certainty that
there will be Five Arcs for this story. I know the content of the very final chapter, even the final lines.
I know the timeframes of each arc. I estimate the entire story to be finished at around 700k to 750k
words.

During this Spring 2024 semester - and the entirety of 2024 - my goal is to write every day. Thus far,
I've been successful and have made lots of progress. I write wherever the inspiration hits, so that I can
avoid getting stuck. I plan to post a few chapters in May before the summer semester. I know some
people prefer to read complete stories, but I just wanted potential readers to understand the scope of
what I have planned and what I'm working very, very hard to complete.

This story is my soul. I'm glad to share with you all.

We're currently in: Arc Two

Arc One: "Dumbasses to Friends"

Chapters 1 to 22 | August 30th, 1942 to October 31st, 1942

Arc Two: "Falling for You"

Chapters 23 to 51 | November 1st, 1942 to February 28th, 1943

Arc Three: "The Weighing of the Souls"

Chapters 52 to 74? | March 1st, 1943 to May 4th, 1943

Arc Four: "Intimacy"

Chapters 75? to 97? | May 5th, 1943 to August 31st, 1943

Arc Five: "Versus the World"

Chapters 98? to 120? | September 1st, 1943 to August 31st, 1951

 One
Chapter Notes

Izhar, an absolutely stunning artist, has painted his rendition of Harry with Death in this chapter.
I fucking ADORE how he made Death so godlike in this. It's perfect. I'll put it at the end of the
chapter, so you can see it after you've read it. Go follow him on Tumblr! He also paints beautiful
scenes from ToAStranger's DMAY!

Izhar's Tumblr

See the end of the chapter for more notes

“Harry Potter.”

He flexed his hand, trembling, and unclenched his fist. The resurrection stone slipped through his
fingers and the hollow shades of those who had passed faded in a spray of mist. His parents. Remus.
Sirius. The cold burrowed into his flesh, the scent of cloying death and molding earth clogged his
senses.

“The Boy Who Lived.”

He let out a shaky breath. Green eyes locked with blood red. Unbidden, a memory lifted within his
mind, one five years old. A boy of sixteen, brown wavy hair, cold dark brown eyes, mocking him in a
dank chamber while a basilisk coiled behind him. A strange sense of loss and disappointment rose
within him. That brilliant, yet cruel boy could’ve been so much more if he’d not stepped down this
bloodied path. Splitting his soul had warped him, destroyed what sanity he’d had. He could’ve been
so much, done so much, but instead spiraled down a path that led to death. So much death.

Terrible, but great.

He pitied this creature.

“Come to die.”

Harry Potter faced the flash of green light with the bravery of a Gryffindor and the broken heart of a
Hufflepuff.

The white blinded him, even with his eyes closed. Harry brought his hands to his face and rubbed his
eyes, scrunching them tight. He was on his back, but he didn’t know how he got there. He’d just seen
the flash of green light and now he was on the ground. He didn’t remember falling or landing. Yet this
place… there was something different.

It didn’t smell of the earth. It wasn’t cold.

Harry opened his eyes and saw nothing but an endless plane of white. He slowly sat up, looking
around. Nothing. Endless nothing. Harry had always assumed or perhaps wished there would be
something waiting for him on the other side. His parents. His ancestors. Sirius. Someone. Anyone.
He’d hoped for an existence outside of pain and suffering.

But not nothing - there had to be more than this endless nothing.

A cry echoed through the white. Harry went alert, his head whipping in the direction of the sound. He
got to his feet, only to notice his unclothed state. A shiver of vulnerability went through him, but in
that moment, a shimmer of white robes appeared on his skin. Harry blinked, lifting a hand and
inspecting them. They hung on his frame with the brushing of silk.

Harry pulled the robes closed, as if to stave off the cold that didn’t exist in this plane. He strode
towards the sound until he saw it.

No, not it… Him.

Harry recognized the form and shape instantly, having seen it once dropped into a cauldron at the end
of his fourth year. From it had risen Lord Voldemort. The wrinkled, leather skinned creature that
looked like a twisted version of a child was crying, a cruel contrast of what he’d become.

His heart tore.

Harry dropped to his knees at his side. “Oh, Tom,” he murmured. He felt no fear towards him. No
revulsion. Only pity. His chest ached for what had become of this soul. “Look at what you’ve done to
yourself.” The crying stopped and the child looked up at Harry with pained, tear filled eyes. Red eyes.
“You can’t deny it. You mutilated your soul and you’re in agony now. You could’ve avoided this.”

Within those red eyes, there was a deep sorrow.

“For such an intelligent man, you’re pretty stupid.”

Poor, poor Tom Riddle.

Harry leaned closer, his hand gently touching the child’s cheek. The anger in those red eyes fled. They
widened in shock. Harry’s thumb brushed away a tear, his touch gentle. “I wish there was something I
could do to help you.”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible, my boy.”

Harry turned his head to see Albus Dumbledore standing near. It was the gaze of pity directed down
on him that set Harry’s teeth on edge. He kept his mouth shut, his jaw clenched. When he regained
control over himself, he kept his expression neutral.

“What do you mean?”

“There is no helping, Mr. Riddle, I’m afraid.”

“Who said?”

Dumbledore opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He appeared unsettled by the question.

“I asked you who said?” repeated Harry. “Who said Tom can’t be helped? He spent his entire life
trying to avoid death because he’s afraid. You’re telling me there’s nothing we can do? What am I
then, his executioner? I never wanted to be. Neither can live and all that rot—why can’t I save him?”

That look of pity intensified.

“Come, let us sit.”

“I’d rather stay here, thanks,” said Harry coldly.

“Harry… my boy, I’m sorry.”

“For what? For not telling me anything? For telling me at the last possible second that I would have to
die to end Voldemort? You couldn’t even tell that to my face? I had to find out through the memory of
a dying man?”

Dumbledore looked stricken.

“You know, if you hadn’t set Tom’s things on fire when he was a kid, maybe he wouldn’t have been
so completely fucked up. There’s so much that I just can’t…”

Harry sighed, putting a hand to his forehead. The disfigured child of Tom Riddle’s soul began to cry
again. Harry opened his eyes, lowering his hand, and tried to comfort him.

“Dumbledore, your kindness is the cruelest thing I’ve ever encountered.”

The old man let out a long saddened exhale of breath. “Harry… I have made a lot of mistakes in my
life. There were a lot of burdens I bore, some of which I passed onto you, and for that I am sorry. I
hope you can forgive me. But events happened because of destiny and fate. There was little I could’ve
done to alter the course. Tom Riddle was irredeemable as a child. I knew it from the moment I laid
eyes upon him.”

Harry gritted his teeth. He still wasn’t taking responsibility. He had placed the weight of the world on
a child’s shoulders. All because of some words, a prophecy. He couldn’t understand it. Dumbledore
had been a powerful wizard. He could’ve easily hunted Voldemort down, but he didn’t. If he’d seen
the devil, then why hadn’t he ended him in the beginning? If Tom Riddle was an evil little devil, then
why not cut him down before he stepped foot into Hogwarts?

Because he’s a coward.

A cowardly Gryffindor.

“I am proud of you, Harry, for doing the right thing, even though it was hard.”

The words twisted in his gut. He was supposed to be happy to see Dumbledore, but all he could feel
was the resentment in his heart. He’d been wronged in so many ways because of Dumbledore’s
mistakes - mistakes that could’ve been learned from. Walking to his death, had that truly been the
right thing? It had seemed rather easy, honestly. It was easy to leave the battle. He didn’t have to kill
Nagini now. He didn’t have to kill Voldemort. His duty was over. Dying, well, that had been easy.

So, why did Harry think it wasn’t over? The hardest part was yet to come.

The wrinkled creature let out a screech. Harry’s hand jerked back as if burned. The child flailed and
screamed in pain. His eyes glowed briefly, before it stopped suddenly. The body slumped, chest
heaving.
“Ah. It would appear Nagini is dead now. The final horcrux is gone.”

Even with his ties to immortality gone, Voldemort was still a powerful wizard and opponent. Who
was going to stand against him and take him down once and for all?

“Because the horcrux was killed and not you, you can go back,” said Dumbledore. “Go back, finish it,
and live your life.”

Another easy choice. It would be easy to go back, in Harry’s mind, because that was all he knew.
Again, he had that feeling rise within him that something was off, that something was missing. Going
back was easy. There had to be another option.

“Or you could go on. Your family anxiously awaits you.”

That wasn’t an option. Harry couldn’t leave the others behind.

Options, options… Would you like another one?

“What do you think I should do?” asked Harry softly.

“Me? Oh, I know meeting your family is enticing, but you haven’t lived a full life yet. Go back and
live. Finish the fight and save everyone.”

Not everyone, Master.

Harry blinked, realizing that his inner voice had seemed to take on a different tone, more raspy, more
hoarse. He glanced around, but there was no one else. Before he much time to consider it, something
else drew his attention.

A door slammed open, the sound echoing throughout the white landscape. The door seemed
unnatural, as if it didn’t belong within the white. Harry sucked in his breath. Robes snowy white,
flaming red hair, eyes as green as his—Lily Potter. She exhaled a deep, annoyed huff. She stood at the
newly formed doorway with fury burning in her eyes. Dumbledore seemed to shrink in on himself.
Her gaze was locked onto his, eyes narrowing, and she pointed at the old man.

“You,” hissed Lily.

“Lily, my girl—”

“Don’t you pull that bullshit on me, you fucking bastard!”

Harry’s mouth slowly opened. Out of all of his imaginations and dreams of Lily Potter, his mother,
this wasn’t one of those versions. Dear Merlin, she was an even scarier version of Molly Weasley.
Perhaps a thousand fold scarier.

“I know you’re angry with me, dear Lily, but—”

“Angry?” said Lily, repeating the word as if it were an expletive. “Sending my son to his death when I
gave up my life to save and protect him in the first place and you have the audacity to suggest that I’m
angry? Albus Dumbledore, I am pissed. You’re lucky we’re dead—you get away from him right now
and don’t you dare fill his head with any more of your lies!”

“Lily, darling, you’re frightening our son.”

His breath disappeared when the messy black hair, hazel eyes, and tanned skin of James Potter
appeared in the doorway. He grinned at Harry, giving him a wave. Harry’s hand lifted on its own
accord in a wave. Harry could only stare in shock.

“Harry!” Sirius bolted through the door and rushed towards him. Harry sucked in his breath and
jumped to his feet just in time to throw his arms around the man.

“Sirius,” breathed Harry. Tears formed in his eyes and he couldn’t stop them from sliding down his
cheeks. The pain and the guilt and loneliness he’d felt since his death came crashing on him. “Oh,
Sirius, I’m so sorry—it was all my fault. I’m sor—”

“No, you stop that,” said Sirius sternly with a gentle whap to the back of Harry’s head. “I’m not
gonna stand for that talk, understand? I died protecting you and if there ever was a way to go, that’s
the way I wanna go, all right, pup?”

Harry buried his face into the man’s neck, his wild mane of hair curtained around Harry. He tightened
his arms around Sirius and cried. He barely noticed the commotion, barely caught sight of Lily going
after Dumbledore like a ravenous wild dog on a piece of meat. Harry pulled out of the hug, rubbing
away his tears. He blinked, taking in the scene of Lily smacking at Dumbledore, who was hunched
over with his arms protecting his head, while James tried to placate his wife.

“Uh…”

“To say Lily is not happy with Albus would be the understatement of the century,” drawled a familiar
voice. “Though, I must admit, my feelings on the whole matter are rather on the same level as hers.”

Harry turned his head. Standing at the doorway were three more.

“Wotcher, Harry,” said Tonks, giving him a bright wave. “Thought I’d tag along for the fun.”

Remus stood at her side, looking far different than Harry had ever seen. He had no scars, no
premature aging of his face. He looked just as youthful as James did. Harry glanced at the figure at his
side. Within those coal black eyes, Severus’ expression was soft. He too looked younger. Harry
glanced back at Sirius and noticed that he was younger looking as well.

The ravages of the war have been taken away.

“It was the only way to rid Harry of the horcrux!” cried Dumbledore. “Please, Lily, please understand
—”

“Excuses!” snapped Lily. “Excuses to be lazy and do nothing, just like you and Grindelwald.
Throwing your responsibility on poor Newt Scamander, waiting over a decade to end it—and then
you did it again!”

James threw Severus a desperate look. “Snape!”

Severus rolled his eyes upward. “I’ll try to talk her down,” he muttered. “Don’t expect miracles.” As
he walked towards her, he gave Harry a tentative smile. “You did well, Potter.”

This really must be the afterlife if Snape was being cordial with him.

As Severus intervened with Lily - which wasn’t going all that well in Dumbledore’s favor - James
came over to Harry and drew him in for a hug.
“I’ve been wanting to do this for years,” said James, his voice a bit hoarse. “I am so proud of you,
son. You’ve been through hell and back and have done so well. I couldn’t ask for a better kid.”

Harry wrapped his arms around his father for the first time. All these damn tears, they wouldn’t end.
He sobbed into James’ neck, holding on tight.

“It wasn’t us,” said Remus, putting a hand onto Harry’s back. “We would never approve of you
walking to your death. We were forced to watch and we couldn’t say anything. I’m so sorry.”

Harry nodded, giving him a watery smile. He’d suspected, but he hadn’t let it cloud his decision to
face Voldemort and die.

“My baby!” cried Lily, leaving Dumbledore finally and rushing to Harry. James withdrew just in time
for Lily to throw her arms around Harry. It was a desperate embrace, soft, but tight as if she would
never let him go. “Oh, sweetie, my sweet foolish little boy. You should’ve known we wouldn’t
approve of you dying.” She sent a glare back at Dumbledore, who shrank away once more. But she
looked back at Harry, her hands clasped over his cheeks, thumbs tracing beneath his eyes, and looking
deeply into his gaze. “The stone trapped us and twisted what we were allowed to say. I wanted to
scream.”

“Harry, my boy, listen to me, the longer you stay here, the more people will die,” said Dumbledore,
his voice filled with pleading. Lily stiffened and the blaze of fury returned to her eyes. “You must go
back to fulfill the prophecy.”

“Fuck the prophecy,” snarled Lily, hugging Harry protectively again. Harry let out a soft chuckle.
“Someone get that man out of my sight before I do something serious. Albus, if you weren’t dead, I’d
kill you myself.”

“This is why I married your mum,” said James with a sly grin, patting Harry on the back.

“Still can’t imagine why she married you, Potter,” drawled Severus.

“It’s the hair and the amazing personality.”

Sirius rolled his eyes and with a grin, said, “Sure, Prongs.”

“Come on, Harry, sweetie,” said Lily, giving him another squeeze, before letting him go. “We have
plenty of time to catch up on things now, but we’re not allowed here. I had to bust open a door and I
don’t think he will be too pleased about it.”

Sirius shivered.

If you go with them, you can’t save him.

Harry didn’t move when Lily tried to guide him towards the door. She gave him a questioning look,
but Harry was too busy trying to understand where the voice was coming from - not his own mind or
his own voice, so where?

You want to save him, don’t you? You’ve always pitied him, wondered what it would’ve been like if
things were different. You could save him and them from their fates. What if there was a third option?

“A third option?” asked Harry out loud.

Yes.
A chill breathed into the white landscape. There was a collective of sharp intakes of breath. The
wrinkled child of Tom Riddle wailed with a screech of terror, but the sound was cut off like a spell.
The chill was like the cold of the dementors brought with their presence, but it didn’t drain the
happiness and hope from his soul. It inserted dread, as if he were looking at his own mortality, and
had to concede to it. A presence filled the space, one more powerful than all the magic in the world.

Harry turned and faced Death.

The figure was cloaked like a dementor, tattered and worn. His body was skeletal with the thinnest of
layers of flesh. His skin was more like tanned leather, reminding Harry vividly of Egyptian mummies.
This being was tall, towering over him, back unnaturally hunched, his face hovering low and close to
Harry. His eyes glowed with ethereal white.

“Harry Potter,” whispered Death. His mouth didn’t move with his words, but it lifted in a broad,
chilling smile. “My Master.”

There was another sharp intake of breath. “What?” Dumbledore said, shock breathing through his
tone.

Death’s head turned ever so slowly in the old man’s direction. “Decades you searched with your lover,
only for this boy to stumble upon them and claim their inheritance.” His smile turned predatory.
“Harry Potter was always meant to be the Master of Death. Even upon collecting all three, they would
never have answered you.” Death lifted a thin, long finger and pointed it at Dumbledore. “You’ve had
your time. You’ve given your options. Now it is time for mine.”

Dumbledore’s body burst into shimmering white particles, until they condensed into a glowing
sphere. Harry realized with a start that he’d seen something similar before, when the dementors had
almost sucked Sirius’ soul away in Harry’s third year. The soul orb floated to Death’s outstretched
hand. He gazed down at it with annoyed fondness.

“Shoo,” breathed Death. The soul of Albus Dumbledore scurried away, flying through the open door
into the beyond. Death’s head slowly turned back to Harry and the smile returned.

He should’ve been frightened. This being was ethereal, with power that flowed beyond
understanding. But Harry stood his ground and noted that he was unafraid, just as he’d been in the
forest.

“You are the Master of Death, Harry Potter. This means you are immortal, bound to the mortal realm
for eternity. Your spirit can never truly rest here. You can spend a reprieve, but it can never be home.”

Lily buried her face into her hands and let out a sob.

“How… How did that happen?” asked Harry.

“The Hallows deem you my master,” said Death, running bony fingers along the side of Harry’s face.
His touch was cold. “Long has the world waited for a soul like yours.”

A soul like mine?

“I can’t die, then?”

“No.”

Well, damn. He really was The Boy Who Lived.

“However, there is one way to find your rest,” said Death, his eyes glowing with a bit of glee within
them. “If you can do this, after setting the world right, then you can relinquish the title of Master of
Death and move on.”

“What do I have to do?”

“You must fix this abysmal timeline.”

“I’ll do it,” said Harry without hesitation.

“Oh… So quick to agree. I do wonder… Do you think you could do it?” whispered Death. He slowly
circled Harry. “Are you prepared for the answer? You agree without knowing the true nature of the
task before you.”

“If I can save everyone, then I’ll do it,” said Harry. He swallowed, his gaze dropping. “So many
people have died and I want to save them all. I’ll do anything.”

The macabre smile widened to an unnatural stretch. “You please me, Master.” He stopped, standing
behind Harry. His voice dropped low and a bony hand gestured slowly towards the mutilated form of
Tom Riddle. “You’ve seen what he can become. You’ve seen the darkness, the testament of true evil.
But can you unsee it? Can you look past it all? Open your heart and let him in?”

Harry’s eyes were drawn to the shriveled creature.

“Do you mean… like adopting him or raising him?” asked Harry softly. Yet somehow, he knew. That
wasn’t what Death was talking about.

And that terrified him.

There was a sinister laugh, breathy, coy. Harry could smell the decay. Long spindly bone fingers
wrapped over his shoulder, the thin body pressing against him in a half embrace. Death leaned over
his other shoulder, looking down at Tom Riddle.

“Tell me, Master,” breathed Death. “Could you ever love that? This wretched creature that tore his
soul into chunks and pieces like dried up jerky. He who spat upon his very own existence because of
childish fear. Could you ever love this soul that took so much away from you?”

Harry swallowed.

“That is what you must do, Harry Potter,” whispered Death in his ear. “If you want to change it all,
the timeline, the deaths, the destruction, then you must go back and complete the ultimate quest.”

Red eyes stared up at Harry, wide, comprehending.

“You must love Tom Riddle and he must love you,” whispered Death, though it came out more of a
hiss. “True love. The greatest power, the most powerful magic that ever was. Show him love, one that
could never be replaced. Be his everything. Be his friend. Be his family. Be his lover.”

His mouth was dry. His heart pounded, the blood roaring in his ears.

“If you can do that, well… Master, then the timeline will shift. These souls here will be reborn into a
world with no Dark Lord. The two of you must unite in one accord if you wish to save the world from
not only Lord Voldemort, but from itself. When the time comes to welcome you back in my embrace,
 then I will release you from your title and chains. Otherwise, you will be reborn in an endless cycle of
suffering and woe.”

His breath was shallow.

This was a lot to ask of him. Abandon the current time and go back where he knew little and was
completely out of his element. But… It would be a new beginning - one where the world wouldn’t
know who Harry Potter was. Could Harry do it? As he stared down at the wrinkled, broken body of
Tom Riddle, a part of his heart rejected it. Go back instead. Go back and kill him. He deserves to
suffer here, alone in the white, forever in agony. Or go on, even for a short time. Be happy with your
family. But don’t do this. You’ll be alone, no family, no friends - nothing.

Only him.

But if he could change things…

Damn my saving people thing.

Harry glanced over at his family. Lily clung to James, her eyes wide. But her expression softened, as
if she knew what he was thinking. “Whatever you choose,” she said, her voice tender. “Know that we
will always love you. You will always be our son, even across time itself. Even if we don’t remember
you, our souls will.”

“She’s right. We love you, pup. The choice is yours,” said Sirius, his eyes unwavering.

James nodded. “You don’t have to do this, though.” His voice was soft. “You can go back and fight or
come home with us now. You don’t have to sacrifice yourself again.”

Harry broke his gaze, turning and looking down at the child. There was fear, shock, agony in those
red eyes, but there was a touch of awe, a brush of hope in them. If anyone could save Tom Riddle, it
would be Harry Potter.

“This love…” asked Harry, his voice barely above a whisper. “Would it be real? Real love? It
wouldn’t just be another sacrifice, would it? I would have something. Some happiness?”

“If it isn’t love, you’ll know.”

Harry glanced over at his family. He gave them a gentle smile. There were tears in Lily’s eyes and
James appeared to be trying to stay stoic, but there was the unmistakable glistening in his gaze. Sirius
gave him a double thumbs up, a pained smile on his face, but no less loving. Remus and Tonks stood
next to each other, his arm around her shoulders, pride glimmering. Severus’ expression was more
subdued, but there was something in his eyes that offered strength.

With the foreknowledge of a Ravenclaw and the renewed cunning of a Slytherin, Harry stared into the
face of Death and said, “I’ll do it.”

Death grinned.

Chapter End Notes

Isn't this amazing? Thank you SO MUCH, Izhar!

I made a Spotify Playlist with the music I listen to while writing this for ya'll.
 Two
Chapter Notes

I think, I think—now I’m just spitballing here—but I think y’all liked that first chapter, because
holy shit the response. I want to cry. Thank you so much for reminding me of why I love writing.
I really appreciate it. <3

See the end of the chapter for more notes

He received a reprieve, even if it were brutally short.

Harry spent what little time he had to connect with his family while waiting for the end of the war -
since he wasn’t going back. Seats had materialized, warm and cozy, and Harry sat surrounded by the
people who had died to protect him, who had died to save their world from destruction. He could
never get enough hugs from them. He listened to the laughter, watched the light in their eyes. It
warmed his heart to see them all so vibrant.

There was a connection between Lily and Severus, a friendship beautifully deep. The animosity that
had existed between James and Severus was gone, as it was gone between Severus and Sirius. Harry
couldn’t help but have a moment imagining what his life would’ve been with his parents and all his
honorary uncles. Even a part of his heart wished that Peter were here. For all sins and debts to be
erased. Perhaps one day, he would be, after time healed the wounds of their hearts.

Seeing what should’ve been, what could’ve been was a precious gift Harry would always cherish. It
would’ve been made sweeter if only Hermione and Ron were here to witness it with him. He wished
it would last.

But it couldn’t.

When the last shard of Tom Riddle’s tattered soul arrived with the death of Voldemort - and at Neville
Longbottom’s hands no less - Harry had no more time to dally. With tears in his eyes, he hugged each
one of his family, including Severus Snape of all people, and watched them go back into the beyond
without him.

Lily was the last to leave. With tears in her eyes, she encased Harry’s cheeks with her soft hands.
“I’ve watched you struggle and fight for a place in the world,” she whispered. “I’ve watched my own
sister abuse you for years. I can’t undo the harm you’ve endured, but I want you to try your best to
remember that you are enough. You are a bright light, a good person no matter what you’re forced to
do in war. And don’t try to force yourself with this task. Let it happen naturally. Don’t overthink it.
And—” she added with a twinkle in her eyes. “—sometimes, you have to bonk some sense into a
dunderhead.”

“You have experience?” asked Harry, emotion in his voice.

“A lot.”

His laugh was a bit watery.

There was a pause, before she burst out quickly, “And for the love of Merlin, when the time comes,
wear a condom—”

Harry spluttered, reddening. “Mum!”

“I don’t want to hear it—you wear one, you avoid getting some kind of nasty disease from that boy
—”

“Mum!”

She smiled mischievously at him. “James and Sirius are going to be so jealous that I got in the teasing
side of the talk.” She winked at him. She brushed his cheeks with her thumbs, her features loosening
with longing sadness. She kissed him on the forehead. “We will meet again. That’s a promise.”

“Okay,” whispered Harry.

She gave him one last hug before pulling away. He watched her walk through the door. She turned
slightly, looking back at him with a bright, emotion filled expression. She smiled. And the door shut,
silent.

Perhaps next they met in time, their souls would resonate.

“Come,” said Death. Harry watched the door as it faded into the endless plane of white, but tore his
gaze away and came to stand near Death. Tom’s face was scrunched up in pain.

Death curled his hand, long fingers turning into claws. The wrinkled form of Tom Riddle screamed in
agony as, ever so slowly, his body broke into shimmering particles. They formed into a glowing orb
of a soul, but it looked much different than Dumbledore’s soul. The edges of the light appeared frayed
and worn. It twisted and jerked in the air as if in pain. Harry couldn’t stop himself from reaching out
and shielding the soul.

Warmth pulsed in the air around it.

Harry…

He sucked in his breath, eyes growing wide, as the soul calmed. There was a chuckle from Death,
before he snatched the soul out of the air. There was a screech that fizzled out. Harry held back a
gasp, feeling the fear and pain burn through his own soul.

“Ah, yes. Your souls are special, already connected as one,” said Death, his voice soft. “The essence
of what mortals would call soulmates are a rarity and they do occur occasionally throughout the
millennia. Though, they always tend to appear on opposing moral sides. Like Harry Potter and Tom
Riddle. Like Albus Dumbledore and Gellert Grindelwald. Soulmates are never a sure thing, but the
draw is powerful. If you can set aside differences, overcome your own personal obstacles, your union
will be powerful. The ability to change the world is endless. We’ve yet to see such a pair, however.
Until you, of course.”

There was a lot of pressure to romance a baby Dark Lord, huh. Fantastic.

“Good luck, Harry Potter,” said Death with a Cheshire grin. “You’ll need it.”

The light swallowed him whole, dragging him into the darkness.
Time travel was a bitch and Death was a little shit.

His head pounded viciously. Harry could hear the bastard laughing in his ears. The weight of being
alive slammed upon him. He was face down on the ground, the hard cold pavement digging into his
skin. He gasped, his chest heavy. Rain poured from above and drenched him in a matter of seconds.
Thunder crashed, illuminating the darkness in a brief flash, the sound piercing his ears. His nose
wrinkled against the medley of scents, rain, mud, and mildew. He shivered and tried to get his
bearings, pushing himself off the muddy cobblestone road.

He was in some kind of alleyway, though it looked a bit familiar. Hang on… He was in the alley way
that led to the Leaky Cauldron.

‘There is a bit of money for you in a pouch at your hip,’ said Death’s voice in his head. ‘It will last
you the next two years, possibly a third if you stretched it, but after that you’re on your own. Your
name is written in the book of Hogwarts as a transfer student under the name of Harrison Evans. We
shan’t be in contact unless there’s a timeline emergency or you do something extra foolish like die.
Probably should avoid that. You’ll bring unwanted attention to your immortality.’

Right, no dying. Check.

“Anything else you want to warn me about?” whispered Harry.

‘You have until the end of the school year to redirect Tom Riddle before he creates his first horcrux.
Once he starts that path, there’s no stopping him. His soul is intact, though a bit frayed, and he won’t
remember the events of the future. Also, you might want to take out Grindelwald.’

What the fuck?

“I’m sorry, what?” snapped Harry. Thankfully, there was no one in the alleyway to notice his outburst.
He dropped his voice and whispered furiously, “You want me to go after the other Dark Lord, is that
what you’re saying? One isn’t enough?”

‘The Elder Wand now ceases to work for him since you’re its true master. He will seek you out
anyway. Might as well save some extra lives and end the war early, no?’

This was ridiculous.

You’ve got to be kidding me.

Harry didn’t know much about Grindelwald, besides the few things he learned about Dumbledore -
most of which were written by Skeeter, so he couldn’t exactly count on its accuracy. He knew
Grindelwald was a brutal Dark Lord, powerful and terrible, and sane through it all - and the final duel
between Dumbledore and Grindelwald had been ‘legendary,’ according to his textbooks. Harry was a
damn good fighter, but that didn’t mean he had what it took for a ‘legendary’ duel. At least in his
mind.

‘By killing Grindelwald, you would end the muggle side of the war as well. If you can do it in the
summer of next year, you would end the war two years early. Tens of millions of souls would be
saved.’
Damn, when put like that… Harry sighed. There was no getting around it, was there? “I’ll do my
best.”

‘You will indeed, Master.’

That didn’t sound promising - more like misplaced confidence. Harry rubbed his temples with his
fingers, digging into the flesh and hoping his blossoming pain wouldn’t turn into a full blown
headache.

‘Oh, mustn’t forget, one last thing: you’re still a horcrux.’

“What?” hissed Harry. “I thought it was gone!”

‘Technically, it never left. It’s part of the reason you’re soulmates. Romantic, I know. The shard has
intertwined with your soul and it’d be quite the mess to split apart. I wouldn’t recommend it. It’ll only
cause your soul agonizing pain, possibly rip it apart, and you don’t want that, do you? Well, that’s all.
Good luck, Master.’

What a bastard.

The connection was gone and Harry knew he was officially alone in a strange time. He sighed and
stood up, curling his arms around his chest. With the rain and the night, it was cold and Harry
shivered beneath the tattered clothes he’d worn into the forest. The warm, soft white robes were gone.

He grabbed the pouch that was attached to his belt and dug inside to find that it was just like the one
Hermione had made, all with the same protective charms. Emotion clogged his throat when he saw
his most precious belongings were deep within the magical pouch. His holly wand, his photo album,
the map of Hogwarts, and his invisibility cloak. There was a large supply of galleons and a fresh
change of clothes, for which Harry was grateful. There was also a list of the required necessities for
the sixth year curriculum at Hogwarts. I’m repeating sixth year… I guess it could’t hurt. He noted the
lack of his firebolt, but he supposed that was for the best, even if it meant waiting decades for one to
reappear.

Upon entering the Leaky Cauldron, the warmth seeped into his flesh. He ruffled the water out of his
hair and rubbed some of the water off his glasses - well, as best as he could with soaked clothes. The
interior hadn’t changed that much from the 1940s to the 1990s, it appeared. There was still a layer of
dust that hadn’t been cleaned and Harry wondered if it would still be there fifty years into the future.

There weren’t any other patrons at the moment. The bar was silent; the only soul there was putting up
the chairs on the tables. It appeared that the years would not be kind to the barman, Tom. He was
young, handsome, a head full of hair that would one day be lost. Harry approached the barman,
wishing he didn’t look like the drowned rat he felt like.

“Uh, excuse me.”

“Dear Merlin, you all right?” asked the barman, turning around. “It’s late and you look like you’re
Hogwarts age, yeh?”

“Yeah, I am,” said Harry. “I’ve been traveling and lost track of time. Could you give me the date?”

“It’s August 30th,” said the barman. “One more day until the new school year, but you don’t look like
you’re prepared at all.”
Harry gave him a stiff smile. “I’m not. I’ll get my things tomorrow. Could I get a room for the next
two nights?”

The room was only a few knuts, which was far less than Harry had been expecting. Once in the room,
he stripped out of his wet clothes, hanging them by the roaring fire, and dressed in his clean set. With
a sigh, Harry flopped back onto the bed and stared up at the ceiling. For a moment, his mind was
blank. But, slowly, the reality of it all weighed down on him.

He was alone in the 1940s. No family. No friends. Just Harry. He didn’t even know the precise year.
Death had mentioned that defeating Grindelwald next summer would end the war two years early,
which would mean… it was 1942?

Sounded about right. He’d confirm it with a newspaper when he could.

He was never going to see his Ron and Hermione. The Ron and Hermione born in the future,
hopefully a better one, wouldn’t have the same experiences. They’d be different. There would be no
bonding over the troll or friendships forged in a single chess game. The years he’d spent with them,
the good times, the challenging times, the bad times - they were all gone. The loss burned in his heart
and Harry hid beneath his arm, squeezing his eyes shut. His chest heaved with a deep misty sigh.
Tears slipped down his temples.

He was more alone than he truly realized.

Harry had jumped into this without fully thinking it through. It’d been for the best, he mused, because
now there was no chance to back out of it. But he was going to miss them. He was going to miss
everything about his friends. The Weasley family. Ron. Hermione. Neville. And Luna, dear Merlin, he
was going to miss her. She was a breath of fresh air that had always cheered him up in the darkest of
times.

And Ginny…

No, he couldn’t think about her. He cared about her, loved her perhaps a bit more than he loved all his
friends, but he couldn’t think about what could’ve been with her. He needed to think about the future
and how to ensure its safety. And that meant…

Tom Riddle.

How to go about seducing a Slytherin?

Harry ran his hands over his face, letting out a soft, muffled scream of embarrassment, the absolute
insanity of his life crashing down on him with the weight of a thousand hippogriffs.

Ah, fuck.

Come next morning, Harry was out of his room and shopping in Diagon Alley.

There were a surprisingly large number of families and students here on the last day before the school
term. It was almost laughable, the amount. The alley was packed with the bustling life of witches and
wizards. Children ran underfoot, while students frantically bought their supplies with the zeal of a
seeker chasing a snitch. There were far more people here than Harry had ever seen before in the
future. The fashion of the wizarding world hadn’t changed all that much, though Harry could spot the
differences more in the muggleborn clothing.

A thought slowly occurred to him as he watched the families.

These people… They’d been killed, hadn’t they? In the first war. Families had been torn apart,
decimated, their numbers dwindling to such a small amount. The first war that Voldemort brought to
their world cut their numbers down by at least half, possibly to a third. Harry hadn’t really noticed it
before, but now that he thought about it, Hogwarts hadn’t had a lot of students in his time. Not this
much, at any rate.

This is what I’m trying to change. This is what I’m fighting for, isn’t it?

An image flashed in his mind, the boy in the Chamber of Secrets. Well, no. This wasn’t all he was
fighting for - he wanted to save Tom Riddle. It started and ended with Tom Riddle. He hadn’t ever
admitted this to anyone, but he’d always found that boy in the Chamber of Secrets rather alluring. He
was pretty attractive. Then again, so was Draco Malfoy.

Uh…

Not to say twelve year old Harry had found either of them attractive, but he could appreciate a pretty
face. He’d always felt guilty about it, like it was a dark secret that no one could ever know. His
friends never knew, though Hermione probably suspected that Harry’s obsession with Draco in sixth
year went just a bit further than, “He’s a baby death eater in training!”

Now his task was to…

Harry found his face growing heated and flushed at the thought. He ducked his head and walked into
the bookstore, the bell ringing gently above. He walked down one of the aisles of bookshelves,
looking at his list for reference. His mind wandered, however, and he was unable to focus on the
words of his list.

Damn.

He didn’t even know how he was going to begin this - whatever it was - with Tom. He didn’t know
that much about dating, let alone finding that one he wanted to spend his life with - though, that
choice was removed for him now anyway. Thanks, Death. His first experience with dating had been a
disaster. Sorry, Cho. And his second experience had ended because of a bloody war. All of his rather
lacking experiences had been with girls and none of them had gone beyond kissing or even a good
long snog. He had no idea if it were different with guys. Now he was supposed to, what, fall in love
with Tom bloody Riddle himself? It had to be mutual, too.

How?!

The only version of Tom he knew was the psychopathic murderous rampaging one and Harry really
really did not prefer that version. Hard pass. Tom Riddle was probably going to be an arrogant little
prick, ten times worse than Draco Malfoy. How the hell was he supposed to go about this? No
pressure, after all. Only got a year to romance a baby Dark Lord to save the entire wizarding world.
But no pressure! The whole thing was absurd. He was going to fail, wasn’t he? Harry groaned in
exasperation, causing a nearby parent with their child to give him a strange look, before hurrying
them away. He tried to remove all thoughts of his task out of his mind.
Just get to Hogwarts first. We can figure out the rest of this shit later.

He really should’ve thought this all through.

“Mum,” said an annoyed voice, sounding rather young. “I’m eleven. I can pick out my own books, all
right? Tell her, Charlus. I’m old enough, aren’t I?”

Harry glanced around the bookshelf and his heart stopped. He drew in a greedy breath and stared at
who could only be his distant relatives. A boy stood next to what appeared to be his older brother,
who wasn’t that much taller than Harry’s 5’4” height. It’s hereditary… Their parents stood near, their
father a couple of inches taller than his oldest. All three of the males had the famous wild dark Potter
hair and tanned skin. Their mother had pale skin with dark brown hair and was an inch or so taller
than her husband.

“Fleamont, it’s your first time and I think—”

“Don’t call me Fleamont in public, Mum!” cried the boy. “That’s so embarrassing!”

His older brother seemed to have fond exasperation and annoyance for the boy. He was wearing
everyday robes, but there was the unmistakable shine of the Head Boy badge pinned to his chest.
“Monty, come on, how about I go with you, yeah?”

“Okay,” said Fleamont, grabbing Charlus by the hand and rushing away from his parents. “It’s okay if
my brother helps, right?” he added in a low whisper.

Charlus laughed and nodded. “Yeah,” he said, ruffling the boy’s hair.

Harry’s heart pounded in his throat as they passed. He pushed himself into the shadows, hoping they
wouldn’t notice him. Fleamont stopped abruptly, his head whipping towards Harry, who held his
breath.

“You look like us,” said Fleamont matter of factly. “My chest hurts when I look at you.”

“Uh…”

“Monty,” hissed Charlus. He gave Harry an apologetic look. “Sorry, my brother. He’s a bit…
precocious.”

“I’m not precocious. That’s what you call little kids.”

“Then stop acting like one.”

“I’m not!”

Charlus threw Harry another look, before dragging Fleamont away, who dug in his heels, his hand
over his chest, glancing back at Harry with a strange look in his eyes. When he disappeared around
the corner, protesting loudly, Harry let out his breath. He peeked through the shelves, watching the
two brothers bicker.

His grandfather.

And his great uncle.

He’d never met them before, only seeing a glimpse of them in the Mirror of Erised. They’d been
older, of course. He never did find out what happened to them. They’d just been family that he would
never see because of the deaths of the first war. His mother had mentioned something about their
souls remembering, but Harry never met Fleamont.

He wanted to speak with them more, but… he knew he shouldn’t. He wasn’t sure how timeline things
would work. What if he accidentally made it so James Potter was never born? Would Harry still exist?

Ugh.

He was going to have a wicked headache at this rate.

It was odd to not be noticed by others. It was a relief in many aspects, because he could just get his
books without any troubles, like getting pulled into taking pictures for the Daily Prophet - or being
hunted down by Voldemort’s government. It was nice to be normal for once in his life.

We’ll see how long that lasts…

Harry was able to get his supplies without any incidents. With the money he had, he’d been able to get
a new trunk, new robes, a humble wardrobe, his school things, and plenty of books.

Despite his misgivings, Harry entered the Eeylops Owl Emporium in the hopes of buying an owl, just
for companionship. He was sure he was going to avoid the snowy owls, but of course he couldn’t. He
was drawn to a male, feathers nearly pure white, and who was a bit smaller than his fellow male
snowy owls. Hedwig had been beautiful with her black markings, but there was something about this
owl that was pulling at his heart.

Harry bought the snowy owl. He spent the rest of the day back in his room at the Leaky Cauldron,
working on a few assignments for the new year, as well as getting acquainted with his new owl. His
work wasn’t going to be all that wonderful, since he had no time, but at least he remembered some of
the material.

He only managed to get three of his assignments done before he passed out in bed, but at least he
showed the effort.

Getting from Diagon Alley to Kings Cross wasn’t too difficult, Harry found. It was about a fifteen
minute walk and with a trolley, Harry didn’t mind it. Kings Cross was lively with the bustle of parents
and children. The snowy owl, whom Harry had named Kasper, ruffled his feathers, staring with
baleful eyes at the sheer volume of the station. He turned bright amber eyes to him and seemed to
give Harry a look of, ‘Really? This is what I’m being subjected to?’

Harry chuckled to himself. He stopped for a moment, ignoring the crowds of people around him and
came close to the small travel cage. “Hey, you know your way to Hogwarts, then?”

Kasper fluffed up, his eyes unwavering.

“Shall I let you fly there?”

The owl let out a little bark, fluttering himself. He turned his head and cleaned one of his feathers as
Harry opened the cage. Kasper hopped out, pausing for a moment on Harry’s arm. With a powerful
push, he flew off Harry’s forearm and into the air with a screech. Harry smiled, a pang of sadness as
he remembered Hedwig.

Harry got his belongings into the storage carriage. The train had quite a few more carriages than in the
1990s. It was just another confirmation of the devastation of war. He counted at least ten more
carriages to the train, but the back of the train disappeared from his sight, so he wasn’t sure where the
end was.

He kept the pouch on his hip, charmed to never fall off or be removed by any other hand besides his
own. After a year of being on the run, he never wanted to be unprepared in case something like that
were to occur again. As he boarded the train, he smacked into another boy.

“Oh, shit, sorry about that,” said Harry, wincing in pain. He blinked. Oh, of course it was him.

Charlus Potter stood in front of him, rubbing at his chest and wincing. He gave Harry a lopsided
smile. “It’s fine—oh, you’re that boy from Flourish and Blotts. Sorry about my brother in advance.
He’ll probably corner you if he sees you again. Don’t feel bad about sending him on his way if he
bugs you too much.” He frowned. “Hang on, I don’t think I’ve seen you at school before. I feel like I
should’ve seen you.”

“I’m a transfer. I’m starting my sixth year.”

“Ah, well, that makes sense. Welcome to Hogwarts, then.” Charlus tapped his Head Boy badge. “If
you’re ever in need, feel free to come to me.”

“Thanks,” said Harry with a wave, as the boy wandered down the train corridor. He began opening
compartments, checking on the occupants.

Harry made his way down the long corridor, glancing through the glass windows for an empty
compartment. Some of them had the shades down, so he avoided those. Harry was walking for a few
minutes, when he was drawn to one of the compartments.

He could sense him before he opened the door. It slid open with a rattle. There was an echo in his
soul, his scar flaring warm for a brief moment. There were seven boys in the compartment. Four were
cramped together on the right side, one of the boys’ legs sprawled out over the other three laps, while
three boys sat on the left side. Four heads turned to look at him.

But Harry only had eyes for him.

Tom Riddle sat next to the window, a textbook in hand, his long legs crossed. His robes were pressed
pristinely, not a wrinkle in sight, lined with Slytherin green and the Slytherin crest. A prefect badge
was pinned against his breast. His brown hair was wavy, bangs brushing over his forehead, almost
naturally if it weren’t for how immaculate it was styled. A snake wound around the base of his ankle,
scales a patterned dark green. Nagini. Her head rested against his trainer and she watched Harry with
a deep intelligence.

Tom’s dark brown eyes flicked upward from his book; he locked gazes with Harry. A hint of
amusement entered those eyes, a brush of contempt against his lips. They parted slightly. When he
spoke, his voice was of dark velvet, laced with delicate poison.

“Are you lost?”

 And so it begins.

Chapter End Notes

Oh, look, it’s the meet cute.

 Three
Chapter Notes

UGH, I had to make OCs. U G H. With names I don't hate. xD It took time figuring out who is
going to show up occasionally. I was looking through the wiki and I can't with these names these
dumbass wizards are naming their kids. WTF. Cantankerus? REALLY???

Also, just wanted to say thank you so much for the response. I'm so glad you're enjoying the
story. I'm having fun. You're having fun. It's a good time. We all need a little more joy in our
lives, haha.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The boys chortled. Tom’s expression twisted into smug arrogance. His eyes slid away from Harry, a
clear dismissal. Harry pursed his lips, his chest rising in a deep, steadying breath. There was no
denying it: Tom Riddle was a good looking young man. His cavalier attitude towards Harry made him
burn with a twisting emotion that he wasn’t quite familiar with - it was unpleasant, even nauseating.

I’ll make you look at me. Just wait. You won’t be able to look away with that cocky indifference. That’s
a promise.

For a moment, he stood there, earning more stares from the four on the right side of the compartment.

“You’re a bit old to be a firstie,” said one of the boys. His black hair was short, his eyes hazel grey,
and his pale round face was twisted with a sneer.

“Probably another disgusting mudblood, by the looks of him.” The other boy with wild brown hair
with a glint in his dark eyes smirked. He was sitting against the window, his legs stretched over
multiple laps. He folded his arms, giving Harry a once over. “So common looking. Are you a mutant
house elf? Lost your master, have you?”

“Ew, a mudblood? Get out. Your very existence sickens me.”

Damn, these insults are so juvenile. Really, is that the best they can come up with? Merlin help the
little shits.

The other two boys - one with short black hair, dark eyes, and dark skin; the other with light brown
hair, grey eyes, and tanned skin - eyed Harry with mild annoyance.

On the other side of the compartment, Harry noted that the boy fast asleep against the shoulder of
another boy bore a resemblance to Sirius, while the boy he was leaning against appeared a bit like
Severus. The Snape look alike was quietly reading a book, unperturbed by his companion.

“Sorry for disturbing you,” said Harry, trying to remain as neutral as possible. “I was just looking for
a free compartment, but it looks like you’re all full up.”

“Obviously, so why are you still here? Shoo,” drawled the first boy, gesturing with his hand. He
narrowed his eyes. “Hang on, no house crest—who are you?”
“I’m a transfer student. I’ll be in sixth—”

“A transfer?” interrupted the second boy, who was reminding Harry a bit of the Lestrange brothers.
“They never have transfers. Why would they let someone in just like that? And a mudblood no less,
how revolting.”

“Place is going to the dogs, I swear.”

“Yeah, well—” began Harry, turning his eyes to Tom’s dipped head. “That’s what happens when your
parents are murdered—” Tom’s eyes flicked upward, meeting his gaze. A dark glimmer flashed
through those brown eyes, flecks of amber illuminating the light. “—by a Dark Lord.”

Amazing how the topic of murder caught his interest.

Tom lifted his head. “The Dark Lord killed your parents?” he asked, his voice soft, yet his eyes were
hard as diamonds.

“Yes.”

“My condolences.”

That unsettled Harry. “Thanks…”

“So, have you seen him?” asked Tom, closing his book slowly. “The Dark Lord, that is.”

“Yes, I have.”

A hush fell over the compartment. A light burned in Tom’s eyes, the glint sharp as a scythe. He
uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, setting his book aside, his long fingers resting on the cover.
Nagini curled around both of Tom’s legs, her scales catching the light as her muscles flexed. “What is
he like, the Dark Lord?” he asked quietly.

No tact whatsoever, the little bastard.

What should he say? What could both draw Tom’s interest, but also dissuade him from starting a path
to becoming a Dark Lord himself one day? A flash of green filled the light of his memories. Harry
swallowed. His eyes slipped closed and he drew in an unsteady breath. When he opened his eyes,
Tom was staring at him with the slightest upturn of his lips.

“He’s powerful,” whispered Harry. All contempt disappeared from the other boys. They leaned in
slightly, all curious, including the other boy reading a book. The sleeping boy slowly opened his grey
eyes, but didn’t move. “He uses magic like it’s an extension of himself, in ways you can hardly follow
or understand. He is power. You can see it and respect that, but… he wastes it - all of his potential just
thrown aside for brutality.”

“Some say he has good intentions for our world,” whispered the boy who looked like Snape. “If
things don’t change, we could be overrun by the muggles.”

“The road to hell is paved with good intentions,” said Harry. He paused and smirked, looking directly
at Tom. “Plus, he’s an absolute tosser, the little shit.”

The other boys stiffened, while Tom let out a breathy chuckle. There was a hint of approval in his
eyes. “I suppose a round of introductions are in order. I’m Tom Riddle.” He gestured to the form next
to him, who had gone back to sleeping again. “That’s Alphard Black. Beside him is Quintus Prince.”
The dark haired boy, whose hair was pulled back in a ponytail, nodded without looking at Harry.
“That’s Sebastian Lestrange.” He pointed to the boy who had his legs out on the others, who sneered
in response. “Marcus Mulciber.” The boy who first spoke didn’t acknowledge Harry at all. “Roland
Rosier.” The boy with light brown hair and tanned skin. “And that’s Simon Avery.” The boy with dark
hair and dark skin.

The original death eaters…

“Harry Evans.”

Lestrange snorted. “Evans? Oh, definitely a mudblood, then.”

How many times was that going to be thrown around? Their obsession with blood status was more
like a personality trait than a bullshit political belief. Was it so ingrained into their culture in this time,
too? Could they ever get away from this obsession with blood status? Harry didn’t bother to correct
him, though. Halfbloods were still half muggleborn.

Tom threw the boy a look. “No need for such language, Lestrange.” He gazed back at Harry with a
benign, but sharp smile. “Do you know much about Hogwarts and its houses? Do you have an idea
what house you’ll be in?”

Harry returned the smile. “Oh, after reading up on it, I think I’m definitely a Hufflepuff.”

Heh. It was amusing to watch Tom Riddle’s reaction to that. There was the barest of movements, a
wrinkle of the nose. It was faint. Harry would give him that: Tom was an excellent actor, someone
fully in control of his emotions. Whatever interest Tom Riddle had in him died with that. He shifted in
his seat, lifting his book and opening it. “Well, I suppose we’ll see each other upon occasion,” he said
lightly, a hint of boredom in his tone.

“Yeah,” said Harry, unable to hold back the knowing smirk on his face. “I’m sure we will.”

He slid the door closed and turned away. He walked most of the length of the train before he managed
to find an empty compartment. He slumped against the seat, before lying on his back. He covered his
eyes with an arm, listening to the beating of his heart pounding in his ears.

He was shaking.

Harry let out a low, long breath, trying to calm down. He hadn’t noticed it until it was over. The
adrenaline rush left him exhausted now. Merlin. It was going to be a long year. He was going to be
tense, waiting for someone to strike all year long. Could he even do this?

Harry drew in a deep breath.

Okay, calm down. This was easier than fighting Voldemort. He’d gone through one hellish of a year.
This was nothing compared to being on the run, searching for horcruxes, starving in the cold - this
was just dealing with little prats and one extra shitty bastard. He just had to be himself and it would
work out, right? After all, Voldemort had always been obsessed with him, as had Tom Riddle in the
Chamber of Secrets. Getting his attention shouldn’t be all that difficult, right? Besides… messing with
the smug Tom Riddle was going to be more fun than he first imagined. Harry let out a soft laugh. He
couldn’t wait to see Tom’s face when Harry was sorted into Slytherin.

The compartment door rattled open, causing Harry to flinch in response. He dropped his arm, looking
towards the door. Two boys, a few years younger than him, were peering inside.
“Oh, there is someone here. How unfortunate.”

He stared, his heart stopping. It was Sirius. But no… not quite. He was too young to be Sirius and the
more Harry stared at him, the more he could see the subtle differences. His eyes were too sharp. His
hair was a bit lighter brown. His nose was more upturned. But there was that all familiar light in the
boy’s eyes that reminded Harry too much of Bellatrix - a hint of sadistic cruelty.

Harry sat up, pushing back against the window. He folded his legs in front of himself.

“Are you going in?” asked a girl, popping her head in the door frame. Her long blonde hair curtained
her face, her brown eyes bright. She glanced back behind herself. “Hurry, because I don’t want to run
into Prewett.”

“It’s only him,” said the other boy. He had brown hair and vibrant blue eyes, his thin frame standing a
half a head over the other two. “He doesn’t have a crest. He’s probably an apprentice.”

“He’s not.” Harry jolted. The boy sounded like Sirius. “He’s about Alphard’s age.”

The girl pushed the two boys inside and shut the door behind herself. She closed the blinds with a
small huff. The boy who had to be Sirius’ father sat down next to Harry and lifted his chin, holding
out a hand.

“I’m Orion Black of the Most Noble Ancient House of Black. This is Cantankerus Nott—”

“Just Nott, please.” The boy rolled his eyes. “I don’t have a first name. It doesn’t exist.”

“And that’s Selena Selwyn,”

So, it was true. This was Sirius’ father. No wonder. They truly were so similar, it was uncanny. Then
again, Orion did marry a cousin, so it wasn’t a huge surprise the genetics hadn’t changed much.

He’d been staring a bit too much before he realized it. Harry shook Orion’s hand with a light smile.
“I’m Harry Evans.”

Orion withdrew his hand, his nose wrinkling. “On second thought, perhaps we should switch
compartments.”

“You’re a mudblood, then?” asked Nott, but his tone was far more neutral and matter of fact.

“No—sit down, Orion, I don’t want to catch Prewett’s attention,” said Selena, grabbing Orion by the
arm and shoving him back down. “He’s driving me mad and I would like one train ride where he’s not
bothering me. Who cares if he’s a muggleborn. Not like you’re going to catch some disease, you
twit.”

Even thirteen year olds were giving him lip about blood status. Harry tried to stay calm, tried to
remember they were just children. How nice it was for them to worry about unshed blood like it
mattered worth a damn. They were so blissfully sheltered if that was all on their minds.

It dawned on Harry that, technically, he was a year and a half older than all the sixth years. He had
‘died’ a few months before his eighteenth birthday, but time skipped beyond July. Harry wasn’t even
sure what his age was any more. Time was confusing. It was odd to feel so much older than these
kids. They were so small and so stupidly innocent, the little prats.
Yet, Harry was glad they weren’t fighting in a war. He was thankful they didn’t have to worry about a
Voldemort coming to destroy them.

“I’m a halfblood, actually,” said Harry. He turned to narrow his eyes at Orion. His wand was in his
hand, his grip light, but promising. “I don’t like that word, Black, so I don’t want to hear it again.”

“I’ll say whatever I like,” said Orion, the light in his eyes twisting into a manic glee. “What’re you
going to do about it?”

“You’re a Slytherin. I think I’ll hex your hair with red and gold and you won’t be able to get rid of it
for a week. Not even the teachers will be able to fix it. Got it?”

Orion grinned viciously. “Aren’t you pissy? You’re not even a student—”

“Yeah, I am.”

“You’re unsorted. You’re not a Slytherin and—”

“I’ll be a Slytherin and I’m telling you right now that I don’t need a little kid like you who hasn’t
faced a murderous Dark Lord to give me shit about blood status. I hear you say mudblood again and
you’ll go blind by the sight of your own hair.”

“Dark Lord?” said Selena, leaning forward. “The Dark Lord?”

“Ugh, stop fighting,” said Nott. “I’m tired and it’s too early for this.”

“Faced a Dark Lord?” breathed Orion, his eyes glinting. “Are you inferring that you’ve faced him?”

“Yup.”

“Maybe you’re more interesting than I thought,” said Orion, his smile dangerous.

Damn all these tiny Slytherins.

It was going to be a very long eight hour train ride to Hogwarts. Merlin save him.

Orion Black took an unhealthy interest in the topic of the Dark Lord after that and proceeded to
bombard Harry with endless questions. ‘What’s he like? What does his wand look like? Is he
powerful? What does his magic feel like? His voice. His clothes. Blah blah blah.’ The boy wouldn’t
shut up and nothing Harry could do would deflect him. Finally Harry thought, Fuck it, and began
outright describing the snake visage of Voldemort.

“He’s got scales on his face, snake like eyes, and no nose. It’s gone. Flat with slits. Dreadfully ugly.
He’s super pale, like he forgot what the sun is—pretty sure he’s part vampire—and long fingernails
that make you question… things. He never wears shoes—”

“You’re having me on now, you liar,” snapped Orion. Nott snorted at his side, covering it up with a
cough when Orion threw him a dirty look. He glared at Harry. “You haven’t faced him at all, have
you? You’re not going to be a Slytherin either. You’re just wasting my time.”

Harry flexed his right hand, the cursive scars going white. “I’m not lying.”

Orion scoffed and shifted in his seat. From that point, he ignored Harry altogether, turning his nose up
at him. Harry was relieved and amused. Maybe he should do this more often, embrace fucking with
these little shits. At least it would be funny as hell.

The three children clustered together, spending the time playing exploding snap, reading, fighting
over chocolate frog cards after the trolley passed by with some treats. Harry mostly ignored them in
return, taking the time to catch up on the last of his assignments. His class roster was a bit different
than what he’d taken in his sixth year, having two added classes: Divination and Care of Magical
Creatures.

Damn you, Death. I didn’t take these classes last time I was a sixth year.

He had finished his Charms, DADA, and Transfiguration essays yesterday. He really should work on
his other essays for Herbology, Potions, and Care of Magical Creatures, but after dealing with so
many kids, he felt like he was in a bit of a particular mood.

The topic of his Divination essay: predictions of the future.

Harry Potter version.

He set quill to parchment and went all out.

As the night neared with only a few hours to go, the other occupants had long fallen into naps. Harry
conjured a blanket for each of them once asleep, figuring it best to avoid letting one of them get sick.

When the door slid open suddenly, all three kids jumped awake with a start. Harry glanced up from
his essay writing. He was now on Potions. He had resigned himself to not finishing the last two in
time. Ah well. O for effort.

Standing at the door were two boys and Hagrid, who was over a foot taller than them. He was so
young, too. Dear Merlin. He stood behind his friends, wringing his hands, his eyes darting from side
to side nervously. The other two boys had familiar flaming red hair that reminded Harry so much of
the Weasleys.

“Selwyn, I’ve been looking all over for you!” said the boy with an overabundance of freckles. He was
a bit taller than the other red head. “My love—”

“Weasley, get Prewett out of my face before I hex his bollocks off,” snapped Selena, wand in hand.

“I tried to stop him,” said Weasley softly, towards Selena, before he shot a nasty glare towards Orion.
It was returned with a sneer. “There’s no stopping him.”

“Selwyn, I’ve written a poem in your honor,” said Prewett, pulling out a wadded piece of parchment.
He unwrinkled it and drew in a deep breath.

Harry threw a quick silencio at the boy. His mouth moved, but no sound came out. It took him a
moment to realize it and he glared around the room, trying to find the culprit.

“Some of us are trying to get some last minute studying in,” said Harry with a flourish of his wand.
“So, if you want to harass someone, do it at school. Though, I really advise otherwise. Pestering the
girl you like isn’t going to win you any points.”

“Who’re you?” demanded Weasley. “Fix his voice!”

“I don’t think I will. It’ll wear off by the time we get to Hogwarts. Close the door on your way out.”
The Prewett boy glared at him. He balled up the poem and threw it at Harry’s head, which bounced
off and landed on the floor. He was unperturbed and flicked a light stinging hex at Prewett. He let out
a soundless yelp, before he whirled away and marched off down the corridor with Weasley shouting,
“Wait!” and running after him.

“Sorry for bothering yeh,” murmured Hagrid, shutting the door. He slammed it a bit too hard and the
glass shattered. “Oh!” he cried, tears welling up in his eyes. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“Don’t worry about it,” said Harry, his tone gentle. “That’s what magic is for.” Hagrid gave him a
watery smile as Harry cast a reparo, the glass lifting in the air to reform the window, good as new. He
sighed, digging his fingers into his temples. That headache was starting to prick at the edges of his
head again. He looked up at the other kids and said sharply, “Will there be any more interruptions?”

There were three shakes of the head in perfect unison.

“Fantastic,” he deadpanned.

Damn, his little feud with Malfoy must’ve been so annoying to be around.

He couldn’t be done with the train ride fast enough. He missed Ron and Hermione. He missed
Neville. And Ginny. And Luna. He missed the people in his life who knew and understood what he’d
gone through already. There was an emotional barrier between him and these people. The anonymity
was nice and all, but they also didn’t know him, the boy who had lived through the flash of green light
- the boy with the scar, the boy who had survived an attack from the Dark Lord.

He never imagined he’d miss - well, sort of - the weight of that title.

He needed to get sorted and into bed because he was done with this day already. He needed some
sleep. As he deboarded the train, a screeching bark grabbed his attention. In a flutter of white, Kasper
landed on Harry’s shoulder. He fluffed up, his white breast puffed forward. His eyes gleamed proudly.

“Waited long, have you?” said Harry with a laugh at the owl’s smug expression. Kasper clacked his
beak and played with a strand of his hair, before he dug his claws into Harry’s shoulder in preparation
to fly. He launched into the air a moment later. Harry watched him fly off in the moonlight towards
the Owlery Tower.

“First years, this way,” called a gravely deep voice. Harry saw the mop of Potter hair that was
Fleamont Potter in the distance. Harry needed to be sorted, but he’d rather die a thousand deaths than
get into a tiny dingy with a bunch of eleven year olds.

He walked along the path that had once led to the carriages. He sucked in his breath, shocked to see
the carriages weren't being pulled by thestrals, but by hippogriffs.

He was overcome with the thought that hippogriffs pulling carriages was probably the stupidest
choice of steeds ever. Were they trying to get kids injured on the first day of school? A number of the
hippogriffs were kicking their hooves into the ground, clearly agitated by the throng of children. One
of them threw back their head and screeched, giving the closest group of children a baleful glare.
They skittered out of the hippogriff’s reach.

None of the children were showing the due respect a hippogriff expected and deserved. All right,
whose dumbass idea was it to have these proud creatures be lowered to the station of a mule?
He caught a glimpse of Hagrid’s group. The boy was enthralled with the creatures, gaining the respect
of his carriage’s hippogriff with a low bow. Harry smiled to himself, glad to see some things hadn’t
changed.

But another group of boys, clad in blue and green, was giving their hippogriff some problems. The
hippogriff was stunning, rich black coat all over with a streak of blue in its feathers. It seemed to be in
some pain, however, as the boys were teasing and taunting the beast. One of the boys had his wand
out, sending the familiar light of stinging hexes at it.

Oh, no you don’t.

Harry whipped out his wand, rage billowing, and shouted, “Expelliarmus!” The blazing scarlet light
caught three of the boys, blasting them off their feet. They landed in a heap together, cursing in
surprise. Three wands flew into the air and Harry caught them with a deft hand. The other two boys
stared at him in shock.

“What was that for?” demanded one of the boys, untangling himself from his robes.

“For abusing a living creature,” snapped Harry. He tossed their wands back at them. “Now walk to
school or else I’ll report you to your heads of houses. Detention and loss of points on the first day?
You’ll be pariahs in your own houses until Christmas holidays.”

The boys exchanged wary glances at each other, before they scrambled to their feet, gathered their
wands, and darted down the path. Harry let out an exasperated huff. He turned his attention to the
black hippogriff and approached him carefully. Harry bowed low.

The hippogriff bowed in return.

“Hi,” said Harry gently, coming to stroke his beak. “Are you all right? You don’t look so well.” The
beast shook his head, lifting his left hoof. Harry glanced at it, seeing that it appeared to have some
scratches and a decent sized lesion. “Oh, that doesn’t look comfortable. Would you like me to unhitch
you from the carriage so no one else bothers you?”

The hippogriff sorted, butting Harry with his head. With a smile, Harry patted him in return. With a
few waves of his wand, he managed to detach the hippogriff from the carriage. He gave the creature
another pat, before setting off on foot towards the castle. He wouldn’t make it before all the other
years, but he should still make it faster than the first years crossing on the lake - especially if someone
got up to mischief and fell in the lake.

Which was pretty much a yearly tradition, in his mind.

Harry was able to sneak off to the Great Hall where the first years were supposed to arrive for the
sorting. He got there just before they did, so he waited in a shadowed corner, hoping to avoid any
notice. The enormous double doors creaked open and the group of first years walked into the Great
Hall. He snorted to himself, seeing Fleamont bouncing excitedly. The boy’s hair was dripping water
everywhere and he was one hundred percent soaked to the bone.

There were so many children. When he’d been a first year, there had only been thirty to forty kids in
his year. Now, there were easily over a hundred kids. A quick look over had him losing count at a
hundred and twenty.

So many kids, what the hell. What happened to all these children?
Dumbledore stood at the top of the staircase, looking down at the group with a subtle smile on his
face. Harry couldn’t stop himself from staring at the man. He looked nothing like the old man he
would eventually age into. He was still rather young looking for being in his sixties, his hair a dark
auburn with some greying along the edges. When he spoke, there was no aged rasp to his voice.
Something twisted in Harry’s chest; he clutched the front of his robes.

A longing wariness warred within his heart.

“Welcome to Hogwarts,” said Dumbledore, gesturing with open arms. “Before you join the rest of
your classmates, you are to be sorted into your houses. These houses serve as your home, your
brothers and your sisters, for the next seven years. Don’t fret about your placement. Just be yourself
and you can’t go wrong.” He gave them a wink and motioned to himself. “Come along.”

The massive group of children followed Dumbledore as the doors to the Great Hall opened. Harry
held back, walking in after the last child. Harry sucked in his breath, his mouth dropping. It was huge.
The four house tables held three times the number of children. The hall had expanded in size to
accommodate the amount. In Harry’s time, it was far smaller. There were more teachers at the head of
the hall as well.

Holy shit.

He couldn’t stop feeling sickened by the stark differences between their times. In the span of five
decades, the wizarding world population had been sliced by two thirds.

The weight of his responsibility to this time bore heavily on his shoulders.

The group stopped at the end of the hall where the sorting hat sat on a stool. Harry stared at it,
realizing how much bigger he was in comparison to all the other first years. Damn. He was gonna
stick out. Actually, he already was, he mused, as he caught the eyes of a Gryffindor boy who stared at
him like he had a second head. Harry ignored him.

Names were called out and Harry lost track of how many there were. A stocky blond boy, Alex
Armstrong, was sorted into Gryffindor, while an unassuming John Baker was sorted into Ravenclaw.
Another blond boy with a soft, gentle expression, Joseph Collins, was sorted into Hufflepuff. A wiry
black haired boy with the exuberance of a chirping bird, Robin Dayson, was sorted into Gryffindor.

“Evans, Harrison.”

He wasn’t paying attention at first, watching the last child being sorted into Ravenclaw.

“Evans, Harrison.”

Harry started. “Oh, shit, that’s me.” His voice carried through the hall and he winced at the
disapproving looks he received from the teachers. A couple of the children giggled around him,
putting their hands to their faces, whispering furiously to each other. Harry pushed through the crowd
of children, standing a foot taller than most of them, which was saying a lot when he himself wasn’t
all that tall.

He stood in front of Dumbledore, who stared at him with wide eyes. “You’re Mr. Evans?” he asked in
disbelief.

“That’s me.”

“But you’re…”
“Not eleven? That’s what happens when you’re, uh—” Hang on, how old am I supposed to be
anyway, sixteen? Fuck it, sure. “—sixteen. You’re not eleven any more.”

Dumbledore blinked, but his eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “A transfer, then? We haven’t had one for
over a hundred years. Very well, then. Come sit and be sorted, Mr. Evans.”

Harry stepped forward and sat on the stool. The hat rested on his head. “Oho,” the sorting hat drawled
in his mind. “I do believe I’ve sorted you once before, Mr. Potter.”

“Yup. Been awhile? I guess?”

“How utterly fascinating. I’ve never had the opportunity to sort a time traveler. Or are you simply a
soul who has been reincarnated? Or have you been resurrected, since you’ve died once. I don’t think I
can unravel this puzzle in just a few seconds. How exciting.”

“I would have no idea, honestly, but that’ll give you something to think about when you’re not
coming up with next year’s song. Are you going to sort me?”

“Diving into your mind is the most fun I’ve had all year,” said the sorting hat with a huff. “There’s no
rush, I assure you. What are you, I do wonder… Oho, Master of Death, are you, hm?”

“Uh… can you just—”

“Quiet, I want to figure you out.”

“The sorting, please? People are staring.”

The hat let out a lamenting sigh. “You’ve gotten pushy in your later years, haven’t you? Very well, I
suppose you want a say in where you go. I certainly hope you were joking about Hufflepuff. The
badgers don’t take kindly to a snake in their midst and would surely eat you alive.”

“Oh, that. Yeah, that was a joke. So, Slytherin?”

“Slytherin?” The hat let out a barking laugh that echoed through the hall. “You think I’ll sort you into
Slytherin after all you’ve done? You’re Godric Gryffindor incarnate. He would adopt you if he
weren’t dead. You could call forth Godric’s sword right here and now, wield it with no resistance. You
walked to your death to save everyone’s lives. You are a brave, selfless Gryffindor through and
through. You chose Gryffindor and thus became one. Slytherin? What a joke.”

Oh, dear. Well, this wasn’t going according to plan. Panic began to rise within Harry. If he were sorted
into Gryffindor, he would never have any time to get near Tom. It would make it harder, if not
impossible, to get close to him. Tom Riddle just didn’t seem like the guy who hung out with
Gryffindors.

“You said that I would do great in Slytherin,” said Harry in a rush. “Didn’t that mean anything?”

“Of course. Your path as a Slytherin would’ve been much different than your path as a Gryffindor.
They each lead to different futures. Neither is better than the other, however.”

“So, let’s do Slytherin this time.”

“You chose Gryffindor. You are a Gryffindor.”

 “Ah, but isn’t this a good chance to sort me into the house you thought was best for me? You said it
yourself, I would do great in Slytherin. Come on, don’t you want to see me thrive in the house of your
preferred choice for me?”

There was silence. Harry could feel the many eyes watching him, waiting for this to be over. He
wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but it seemed longer than he realized. More time passed.
Harry counted to thirty in his head and the panic began rising yet again. Then, the hat let out a deep,
reverberating chuckle and ruffled up on his head.

“Mr. Potter, I do believe you would be best suited in SLYTHERIN!”

Harry breathed a relieved laugh.

Chapter End Notes

The first years being sorted there was just for shits and giggles. They're not going to show up
again. Probably. I was looking for names before Evans and saw Armstrong. It devolved from
there. I should add the tag: The Author is also a little shit

Armstrong from Full Metal Alchemist

John from Sherlock
Robin from Teen Titans
Joey from Teen Titans/DC comics.
 Four
Chapter Notes

Tom's POV is a delight because I get to use big ass words and no one can stop me.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

This was particularly dull this year.

That Evans boy really shouldn’t be a hat stall, yet here they were, waiting for the sorting of this
unusual transfer student. How asinine. Evans was too unassuming to be this complex. He was a
Hufflepuff. Said so himself. Why did the hat have to deliberate over it so much? Was it the age
difference? Eleven year olds weren’t all that deep, so perhaps the hat was having difficulty with
someone older, one nearing manhood. It always dealt with simple minds.

Tom didn’t really care all that much.

Not really. He wanted the sorting to be over, so he could finally dine on some proper food after having
nothing of the sort all summer long.

After Evans had said Hufflepuff, that was enough for Tom to lose all interest in the other boy. His
parents being killed by the Dark Lord was rather intriguing, but it didn’t go further than that. He was a
mudblood. His magic wasn’t of note, Tom was sure. His presence wasn’t all that noticeable. Evans
was a boring nobody with the forgettable personality of a Hufflepuff and Hufflepuffs made the worst
toys to break.

However…

The hat hadn’t sorted him yet. It was taking forever. With the passing seconds, it was nearing a full
minute now - until it’d been three minutes. Tom set his book aside and watched the sorting with more
focus, trying to decipher Evans’ facial expressions as he conversed with the hat. Tom had long learned
to observe others from a young age, to understand people when they did confusing things. Like
friendships or intimate relationships.

He didn’t see the appeal.

The hat laughed at one point, loud, barking; it echoed through the hall. Panic rippled through Evans’
expression. Tom’s curiosity grew and he found himself wondering what could’ve been the cause of
such an outburst by the hat. What could be so entertaining to the hat for it to laugh so loudly? Hm.

He watched Evans’ expressions. Panic. Amused. Coy. Nervous. Desperate. Bated breath. Then—

“SLYTHERIN!”

Oh.

A smirk.
Evans was smirking.

Why that little minx. He’d known. Amusement flooded through Tom as his mind raced through their
final moments on the train. Evans had lied. He’d known he was going to be in Slytherin and he had
lied, just to mess with Tom. How peculiar. How positively fascinating. Tom’s lips curled upwards, his
gaze scrutinizing Evans’ every movement for a hint. But why? Why the little lie? It was such a simple
thing - so ridiculous a thing to lie about.

If Evans had said Slytherin from the start, perhaps Tom would’ve been more interested in getting to
know the other boy. Would I have invited him to sit with us? He wasn’t fully sure.

At any rate, his interest in Evans had soared to new heights.

Evans got off the stool and walked towards the Slytherin table. Tom lifted a hand and motioned for
him to sit with his group. Evans’ face flashed with a touch of satisfaction. He sat down next to Tom,
smiling at him and giving him a little pompous wave.

Those eyes, though. They struck powerfully with the light of the death curse. Emerald death green.
They were rather fascinating and unusual.

Tom let out a soft, breathy laugh. “Imagine my surprise to see you in green, Evans,” he said, his voice
smooth as honey. “And here I was under the impression you were meant for the badgers.”

“It was a toss up,” said Evans with a grin, shrugging. “I was begging it for Hufflepuff, but it wouldn’t
listen. Thought it was funny.”

Were you really? Or was it the other way around?

“I find that hard to believe,” said Tom, keeping his tone light. “There’s something about you that…
would fit in with those darling little Hufflepuffs.”

Evans’ smirk grew wider. He leaned a bit closer to Tom, as if about to tell him a saucy secret, perhaps
closer than Tom would’ve liked, but he allowed it. For now. “Did you know badgers eat snakes?”
Evans whispered. He shook his head, pulling back. “No, thanks, I’d rather not have to deal with that.
Badgers can be a bit scary when you mess with them.”

Tom couldn’t stop the disbelieving look from crossing his face.

Evans snorted. “Have you met a Hufflepuff? They’re scary.”

“Can’t say that I have,” said Tom, his lip curling in disgust. A Hufflepuff, scary? How ridiculous.

“I knew a Hufflepuff once,” said Evans and a faraway look entered the light in his eyes. Knew a
Hufflepuff, hm? Where are you from if this is your first time at Hogwarts? “He was a seeker, wicked at
magic, who…” Pain entered his expression. “Well, he was murdered, too, like my parents,” he
whispered. “He shouldn’t have died. He was a nice guy, popular, and extremely handsome…”

Evans trailed off, squinting at nothing. For a moment, he appeared a bit consternated. He sucked in
his breath, his eyes widening.

“Oh… Oh, shit.”

Tom’s eyes widened before he quickly masked his expression. Evans had a mouth on him, didn’t he?
How uncouth. “What is it?” he asked, bemused. This boy was having a medley of emotions flooding
through his face and Tom couldn’t keep up with it. He had never seen a Slytherin be so open with
their emotions. He couldn’t help but be a bit fascinated by the strange boy. Evans was worried about
being eaten by badgers? Wait until he entered the viper’s den.

“Shit.”

“Evans, could you refrain from using such profanities at the dinner table, please? Whatever is the
matter with you?”

“It’s nothing,” said Evans, shaking his head in a way that suggested it was decidedly not nothing. He
exhaled exaggeratedly. “It’s fine. I just realized something and now I’m having an existential crisis.
It’s fine. Really, it’s fine. I’m fine.”

What in Salazar’s name?

The boy grabbed his head, his eyes wide again. “Oh, shit. Draco, too?” he muttered in a low voice,
probably to himself if Tom wasn’t paying attention so carefully. “Ahh, fuck.”

Who is Draco to you?

A little dip inside Evans’ odd, chaotic mind was tempting, Tom admitted to himself. Sorely tempting.
However, he wasn’t sure how self aware Evans was. If he noticed the intrusion, that could get Tom in
trouble and a perfect record was an absolute must. Dumbledore was always looking for an excuse to
accuse Tom of something. It didn’t matter what it was either. One indiscretion could prove fatal.

In all of his five years at Hogwarts, Tom hadn’t received a detention nor lost a single point. He wasn’t
about to let that happen now, no matter how curious he was. No, he wasn’t going to risk his
impeccable reputation on a fleeting interest.

However he went about finding his answers, it meant getting caught couldn’t have a place in the
equation.

“So, you enjoy leading others astray, hm?” asked Tom, keeping his tone innocuous.

“What?”

“Telling me you’re a Hufflepuff, when you’re truly a Slytherin. I wonder what else you’re lying
about.”

Evans slowly turned his gaze more directly onto Tom. There was a gleam in his eyes, a smirk lifting
the edges of his features. There was a challenge in those deathly green eyes. This stranger was
challenging him.

“I suppose you’ll figure it out, won’t you, Riddle?”

Tom’s eyes narrowed. Excuse me? He wasn’t sure what to make of that, but he never got the chance to
when Orion Black noticed Evans and spoke up.

“What’re you doing in Slytherin?” demanded Orion. He glared at Evans. He sneered, lifting his nose
as if he were smelling something awful. “You’re more suited to be a disgusting Hufflepuff than a
noble Slytherin.”

“I told you I’d be in Slytherin,” said Evans with a shrug. “Not my fault you’re a dumb little shit who
didn’t believe me.”
“You lied about the Dark Lord!” snapped Orion. “You said he didn’t have a nose.”

“He doesn’t.”

Tom had never seen the Black boy so flustered and angry before. Evans so easily riled Orion up when
the boy was usually far more stoic and quiet.

“Grindelwald has a nose!” hissed Orion, throwing a Daily Prophet issue at Evans and jerking a finger
towards the front page. The dual colored eyes of Gellert Grindelwald stared at Tom briefly, before
turning them onto Evans. A shiver slid down Tom’s spine in spite of himself.

Evans lifted the paper, looked at the cover with a bored expression, and tossed it back to Orion. “Oh,
so he does. My bad.”

“You don’t belong here,” said Orion, his eyes narrowed with malevolence. “Go crawl under what rock
you slithered out of—”

“What?” said Evans in a mocking tone, clutching his chest as if wounded. “I’m hurt. I guess getting
bitten by a giant ass basilisk isn’t good enough to get into Slytherin. How pitiful for me.”

What?

Sebastian barked out a laugh. “Bitten by a basilisk? That’s a good one.”

“You see? He’s a liar! He’s making up stories.”

Evans slid his right sleeve up to reveal a scar on his forearm. It appeared like a large puncture wound.
Tom caught a glimpse of darkened veins around the area. A curse scar? There appeared to be another
scar nearby that looked very much like a snake bite. A snake bite, of all things, hm? Evans flourished
with his other hand towards the wound, giving Orion a taunting look.

“This shit didn’t happen on its own,” said Evans.

“You’re full of shit!”

“Orion.”

The table went quiet. Orion glanced over at Alphard, his expression twisting, appearing chastised.
Alphard slowly opened his eyes, stretching out with his arms.

“You’re loud.”

Orion huffed, glaring at Evans, before turning back to his friends. Ah, blessed silence. Alphard
yawned. He leaned against Quintus, falling right back asleep once again. Even after five years, Tom
still didn’t know how he managed it.

“If you were bitten by a bloody basilisk, then how are you still alive?” asked Marcus, his eyes
narrowed. “You should be dead.”

“You’re not a walking corpse, are you?” asked Roland, resting his chin in his hand.

Tom refrained from rolling his eyes. He couldn’t believe they were still on this topic. Of course,
Evans was lying about it. Why were they humoring him? Though, it would be amusing to see Evans
scrambling to make up stories and try to keep them straight. The lies would unravel at some point.
“Perhaps, you’re an inferi,” said Roland, smirking.

Evans stiffened a fraction.

“Or just inferior,” said Sebastian with a snort. The four of Tom’s dorm mates laughed together, while
Quintus and Alphard remained silent.

Oh, what is this?

“Yes, Evans,” said Tom lightly. His lips curled. “How did you live from this basilisk bite? We’re all
ears.”

“Phoenix tears,” said Evans without missing a beat. “A phoenix cried on the wound in time, otherwise
I’d be dead.”

There were a number of scoffs. “That’s not possible,” Marcus said, rolling his eyes.

“If you’re gonna lie, come up with a better story,” said Simon, his voice hard.

But what of the inferi, hm?

Evans only smirked, shrugging elaborately. “Not my fault if you don’t believe me.” He slipped his
sleeve back down, turning his head towards the sorting hat and watching as another first year joined
the Hufflepuff table.

Tom frowned to himself. Evans was filled with odd dichotomies, highly unusual. Was it a lie or
wasn’t it? Where would Evans come across a basilisk anyway? And a phoenix?

It didn’t make sense, yet Evans didn’t appear to be lying. He didn’t have any of the tells that Tom
could usually read through. His Legilimency was getting better, but he couldn’t read surface thoughts
and feelings yet. And Evans had reacted to the inferi comment. He was filled with mysteries and
something odd was rising within Tom. It was an emotion Tom hadn’t felt in quite a few years.

Thrill.

A Potter was sorted into Gryffindor - shocker - and Evans clapped louder than any other Slytherin.
Before Evans had been sorted, Alphard and Orion’s younger brother, Cygnus, had been sorted into
Slytherin as well as Abraxas Malfoy’s cousin, Euphemia. They had to wait another fifteen minutes for
the sorting to end. Dippet said some short - thank Merlin - welcoming speech that Tom tuned out.

“Enjoy the feast!” said Dippet.

“Finally,” murmured Evans, turning. Food filled the table, overflowing with endless choices. He
started scooping food on his plate and Tom did the same, keeping an eye on Evans. He’s not taking
much. Is that all he’s eating? It was about half the amount than the rest of the others. Evans kept to his
meal, listening to the conversations that happened around him. Tom observed him out of the corner of
his eye while engaging in a light debate with Simon about Ancient Runes.

He’s thinner than the rest of us. More than normal.

Tom was tempted to believe him. About facing the Dark Lord. Evans was more tense than anyone
Tom had ever met before, like he was always on the alert for a strike or for an attack. At a meal. A
meal. Evans had seen some fighting, more than just a few fights.
Evans was a new interesting addition to the Slytherin house. Tom had something new to play with and
Evans would be a wonderful toy to break. While Tom’s plans included finding the Chamber of Secrets
and figuring out a solution for his mortality, adding a little mystery hunt with Evans would make for a
pleasant distraction and reprieve from his goals.

With the feast coming to a close, Dippet gave another speech. Tom rolled his eyes. Something about
working hard. Learn. All that rot. The old man gave the same speech, nearly word for word, every
single year. Tom had it memorized in his third year. Finally, they were dismissed for the evening and
slowly the students began to stand up, stretch, and make their way out of the Great Hall and to their
dorms.

“Evans,” said Tom, turning to him. “Since you’re new, stick with the first years. I’m leading them to
the Slytherin dorm room this year.”

“Great,” said Evans, his smile a bit stiff. “Thanks.”

Tom stood up, giving Quintus and Alphard a look. It was all he needed to get them to pull aside from
the Slytherin table and wait for him a distance from others. With a quick glance to make sure no one
was listening, Tom said quietly, “I want you two to keep an eye on Evans.”

“Okay,” said Quintus, nodding, while Alphard rested his chin on his shoulder, his arms snaking
around his waist.

Tom’s expression twisted. “Yes, make your little tryst known. Loudly. You’ll lose your heirship at this
point.”

“Doesn’t matter. I don’t care,” said Alphard with a shrug. “Father already favors Orion. It’s an
unspoken assumption in my home that he’ll be the one to take the lordship of my family when he
comes of age. Why should I bother when I have no intention of giving them a perfect pureblood
daughter-in-law? Orion can go make cute heirs with Walburga. I’ve made my peace with it.”

His arms tightened around Quintus.

“Are you saying Orion will be of more use to me than you?” said Tom softly, his tone piercing as a
dagger.

The muscles in Alphard’s face flinched. “If my only use to your future is my lordship, then I have
failed you greatly.”

Quintus was still and silent through the exchange, but his hand overlapped Alphard’s at that moment,
his gaze low. His dark eyes were filled with an emotion that Tom had no desire to understand. He
turned his attention to Alphard. He tolerated their little dalliance since it didn’t interfere with their
placement in his Knights.

“You’re the most observant of our group.”

Alphard nodded.

“Keep it up,” said Tom, letting approval sink into his voice. “I want to know more about Evans. He’s
not what he seems.”

His dismissal was clear, but he appeased them both and the two boys left together. Tom glanced
around the crowd, wishing to speak with Orion next. The numbers of his Knights were among
different years and while Orion wasn’t one of them, he still maintained some healthy respect towards
Tom, even if he still looked down on all those not a pureblood.

He caught sight of the boy near his friends.

“Orion, a moment,” said Tom, motioning to himself. A flash of fear crossed Orion’s face, but he
quickly hid it. He stepped towards Tom, his head lowered somewhat.

“What do you need, Riddle?” asked Orion softly.

“Tell me about Evans.”

Orion’s expression twisted into annoyance. “He’s a liar. He said he faced the Dark Lord, but then said
a bunch of stuff about him that was obviously made up.”

“What did he say?”

“What?”

“What did he say?” whispered Tom, his anger of having to repeat himself seeping into his tone.

Orion paled. He hurried onward. “Just… Weird things. Like the Dark Lord doesn’t have a nose. He’s
a vampire or something. I’m not making it up,” he added when Tom narrowed his eyes. “He said
things like he didn’t wear shoes. It didn’t make any sense.”

For a moment, Tom stood in silence, trying to make sense of it. “Did he mention his power or his
magic?” he asked finally.

“Not at all.”

“Thank you, Orion, that will be all.”

As Orion left, Tom turned away, striding towards the first years that had been grouped together by
Serinda Selwyn, the other sixth year prefect. He came to a halt when he heard the whispers of a
couple of second years. He turned towards them, trying to remember their names… Ah, yes, Davies
and Wright.

“I can’t believe he’s in our house.”

“He blew us off our feet. He’s a sixth year. We can’t cross him.”

“We barely made it back in time for the feast. And how did he get here faster than us? Didn’t he set
the hippogriff free?”

“Ruin our fun—”

“And what fun was that?” asked Tom in a dark voice, grabbing the two boys by the collars and
stopping them from walking away. He had a hunch. Evans again? The two boys went white when
they saw him.

“R-Riddle!” gasped Davies.

“Uh, what—”

“Answer my question.”
The two boys exchanged a look before they spilled their guts in rapid succession, crocodile tears
filling their eyes.

“We were just having some fun!”

“Honest fun, really!”

“We were messing with the hippogriff.”

“Very harmless, we swear—”

“New guy, that Evans boy, came out of nowhere and attacked us.”

“He was brutal and—”

“Enough!” snapped Tom; his jaw clenched. Dealing with second years was so annoyingly tedious.
They were so foolish. The two boys clung to each other, their eyes wide. “You were teasing a
hippogriff and Evans stopped you. Is that it?”

“Well…”

“Do not lie to me,” hissed Tom.

“Yes!” wailed Wright.

Fury burned in his chest. He had the sudden desire to set something aflame. How dare he. Evans had
interfered. He had interfered in matters that weren’t his concern. He wasn’t a prefect. He hadn’t even
been properly sorted and yet he was already asserting authority with his fellow students. This Evans
boy had a lot of nerve coming in here and disciplining his peers without proving his worth.

It was his job. Tom was the prefect. Tom had been the one to trudge through all the imbecilic bigotry
all these blasted purebloods were too obsessed with to get where he was now. Evans walked right in
like he owned the place.

How dare he.

“Detention,” snarled Tom. The boys seemed to forget themselves, about to protest when Tom
overrode them. “You let a stranger get the drop on you. You’re lucky that’s all I’m doing. You got
caught and by the new boy, no less. Get out of my sight before I make it a week.”

The boys scrambled away. Tom growled under his breath. He inhaled, forcing his expression to be
neutral. He was going to need a word with Evans next. He turned around, walking towards the first
years. He stood next to Miss Selwyn and gave the first years a genial smile.

“Welcome to Hogwarts. I’m your prefect, Tom Riddle. I’ll be showing you the way to the Slytherin
dorm rooms, so pay close attention.”

He made a head count, only realizing at the last minute that the newcomer, Harrison Evans himself,
wasn’t among the first years.

Wait a minute. Where is he? How is he getting to the dorms?

Slipping away in the crowd was too easy. Harry loved not being Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived. It
helped that there were so many students. Disappearing beneath the cloak and avoiding the crowds
with the map was child’s play. He just wanted to get to the Slytherin dorms as soon as possible and
since he knew where it was, there was no need to endure the embarrassment of being led around by
Riddle with the little firsties.

Setting up a reputation as a liar seemed to be a success. He didn’t have the energy to try to fake and
lie his way through this year. Umbridge had been a fool: Harry was a terrible liar. He couldn’t lie to
save his life. Besides, the truth was far more insane than any lie he could’ve come up with. If the
entire school thought him a liar, well that was on them.

This meant when he screwed up, which he would, they wouldn’t believe him or know what to believe
any more. That was fine with Harry. No one would believe him if he accidentally let something slip
about time travel shit or saying he died once or twice.

This was a smokescreen - the truth full center.

No one would suspect a thing.

Unless Tom Riddle was smarter, which was a high possibility. Good, thought Harry. Try and figure me
out, Riddle. Obsess about me. Lose sleep trying to figure out if I’m a little liar or not.

Harry grinned to himself. At least he wouldn’t be bored this year.

Getting to the dungeons was simple with the map. He made his way through the more obscure parts of
the castle, taking a somewhat longer route - though he was sure he’d get to the dorm before Riddle
and the first years. He was careful to avoid bumping into someone and alerting them to his presence.
Once he got closer to where the Slytherin entrance was, Harry pulled the cloak off and stored it back
into his pouch at his hip. He stepped out of the shadows and walked down the corridor. He stopped at
the wall, realizing at that moment that he forgot one very important thing.

Shit.

Well, shit.

Password. The damn password, of course. Harry slapped his forehead in pure frustration with himself.
Of all things, he’d forgotten about the password. Neville would be proud. How stupid. I’m such an
idiot.

“Evans.”

Harry jumped, whirling around. His wand was in his hand, pointing at the source of the voice.

“Wow,” drawled the voice. “Someone’s twitchy.” Quintus Prince was standing up and stepping out of
the shadows of the darkened corridor. He really did look a lot like Severus Snape, but with a more
refined nose and a softer jawline. “You’re alone. How’d you get here?”

“Oh, I wandered around.”

“Hm…” Prince stared at him, eyes slightly narrowed. He shrugged. “Password is Boomslang.”

“Thanks, you weren’t just sitting there for me, were you?” Prince only smiled. Harry snorted. “Well,
thanks, I wasn’t sure how I was going to get in.”
“So, you knew this was the entrance to the Slytherin dorms, hm? Without ever being a student here.
Interesting.”

Oh, shit.

What the hell, are all Slytherins this smart?

“Someone might’ve pointed me in the right direction.”

Prince smirked at him and Harry had to berate himself for shrinking back slightly, thinking Snape was
about to throw him into detention for a week. Get it together, he just looks a bit like a smarmy, fancier
version of Snape. He has that damn pureblood look.

“We should really thank that kind benefactor, shouldn’t we?”

Harry had another start ripple through him, his wand whipping towards the floor. He blinked. How the
hell… He was there the whole time?

Alphard Black stood up from where he was sitting on the floor. He brushed himself off, looking at
Harry with unwavering, but all too familiar grey eyes. Sirius… Sirius had mentioned once of an uncle
who had left him his money when he died. He had spoken fondly of Alphard, telling Harry he’d been
a good, decent man.

He’s obviously in Tom’s group, though. Maybe he leaves eventually?

“Where is this kind Slytherin who showed you the way to the dorms?” asked Black. There was
something both benign and predatory to his smile. It was a dangerous gaze. Harry drew in a deep
breath.

He’s a Slytherin, too.

They’re all Slytherins. Every single one of them. That means there’s always an angle I need to look
out for.

Damn, this is exhausting.

“Didn’t catch their name,” said Harry with a shrug. “Can’t help you with that.”

“Of course,” said Black lightly. He gestured towards the wall, stepping forward after Harry.
“Boomslang,” he said. The door to the Slytherin common room materialized and the three of them
stepped through the entrance.

The Slytherin common room was nearly the same as it had been in Harry’s second year, when he’d
infiltrated it with Ron. Except for the fact that it was three times larger. The colors were all a warm
green. There were a number of tables and chairs, with a couple of plush sofas and armchairs. The lake
glimmered with eerie tones, a fish swimming by the windows on occasion.

There were a lot of students in the room already, some sitting at tables, others on the sofas and
armchairs. A number of eyes turned onto Harry, their gazes all appraising him. Harry could feel their
intense energies as they stared him down, trying to get a gauge on him. A hidden shiver slid up his
back.

It was then Harry came to a disturbing revelation.

 This whole time Harry had assumed Tom was going to be the biggest snake in the den - and he was,
no doubt - but he hadn’t realized that the biggest snake was still in a den with other vipers. They were
all dangerous in some shape or form. He could already feel it from Quintus Prince and Alphard Black,
as the pair of them watched him, looking for any sign of weakness from him - a hint of whatever they
could use against him. They’d been fishing for information out of him. And there was no doubt in
Harry’s mind, they could see right through him.

If they could so quickly and so easily, then Tom Riddle could see all the better.

Well, I’m pretty much fucked straight to hell, aren’t I?

Damn it.

Welcome to the den of vipers, Harry Potter.

Chapter End Notes

When I first started writing Tom's little group, I just thought it was funny that a Sirius Black
look-a-like had fallen asleep on a Severus Snape look-a-like and he actually tolerated it. But that
was it. Nothing more.

HAH. I was writing four when I was like, Oh. Oh.

And now it's even more hilarious. A Sirius Black look-a-like dating a Severus Snape look-a-like.
Chef's kiss.
 Five
Chapter Notes

When you write the phrase “fornicating unicorns” and you just can’t any more. Literally, I can’t.
I’m dying inside, dying of hysteria.

Your context to this is below. Thank you.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

A stroke of luck? Or a stroke of Death? Who knew, but Harry’s bed was adjacent to Tom’s because of
course it was. It appeared that Riddle’s bed had once been on the end, but now that privilege fell to
Harry.

Fantastic.

He had given the two strange boys the slip. Everyone in Slytherin had watched him, like hawks, only
looking away when he was out of sight. It was weird. The entire Slytherin house was creepy, for
Merlin’s sake. As he wandered through the winding hallways of the dorm, he’d had to check two
other sixth year rooms before finding the one he was assigned to.

And of course it had been Tom Riddle’s dorm room.

He supposed that’d been the plan all along. It was just a bit daunting to see it all fall into place so
easily and so perfectly. Harry sat down on the edge of his bed, glancing around the room. It was much
larger than his old Gryffindor dorm, plus there were a total of eight beds instead of five. The circular
room was decorated with rich mahogany woods and green bed hangings. There was a clear view into
the lake. Harry smiled when a grindylow peeked through the window before hissing at him and
swimming away.

When he was younger, he always imagined the Slytherin dorms were actual dungeons, but he had to
admit there was something warm and cozy to the place. He would get used to living here in time.
Though that didn’t mean he could let his guard down. This wasn’t the Gryffindor tower where his
fellow dorm mates boldly made their dislike known to his face, like the growling little lions they
were. Here, Harry could feel the difference. He had to be careful, lest he stepped on the tail of a snake
that would strike without warning.

Harry stood up and pulled out some nightclothes from his trunk. He climbed onto his bed, shutting the
hangings closed for privacy. He warded his bed against anyone who would try to open them and he
also threw up a silencing charm, so he wouldn’t wake his dorm mates in case of a nightmare. He
dressed in his nightclothes, hanging his robes over the top of the bed hangings.

Harry burrowed under the covers, when voices filled the hallway and room. He curled onto his side,
eyes drooping, halfway listening to the other boys.

“Evans asleep already?”

Harry’s heart jumped in his throat. Tom. His voice was close and low, soft as if he hadn’t wished to
wake him. Harry turned in bed slightly, listening.

“He was the first up here,” whispered Prince.

“Guess he was tired,” said Lestrange.

No more was said about him. Harry closed his eyes, listening to the lulling murmur of voices. He was
asleep within moments.

Harry was the second one awake and out of the dorm that morning. The only other bed not occupied
was Tom’s. Harry did a double take when he noticed that two beds had been pushed together. He
blinked, hurrying out of the dorm before anyone woke up and noticed him staring.

Wow, okay, uncle of Sirius and uncle or relative of Snape sleeping in the same bed. As a couple. Well,
it’s official: this isn’t a new timeline; this is a brand new alternate universe.

Harry stumbled into the bathroom with clean robes in hand. Had these two been dating in the first
timeline? If so, what had happened to them? He was pretty sure Sirius would’ve mentioned that about
his Uncle Alphard. Harry wasn’t sure how either of them died, but in some ways he hoped it was
because of the next wizarding war and not because of illness or accident. They would live, then.
Harry barely knew them, but he really wanted to see Sirius’ face when he learned of this. He could
only imagine the wailing in despair and the cringing in disgust that would ensue.

He was dressed and ready to go as the others were rising from their beds. Harry grabbed his books for
the day, Transfiguration and Herbology, and strode out into the common room. He was out a moment
later, strolling through the castle and taking his time to get to breakfast. He wasn’t all that hungry, so
he had plenty of time.

The castle was so much bigger than it was in the future. The staircases went on endlessly and Harry
found himself pulling out the map on occasion, just to make sure he wasn’t getting lost. The map
seemed to accommodate the expansion, too. The sizing of the map and the name tags were much
smaller than before.

He made it to the Great Hall where only a third of the students were there. Tom Riddle was already at
the table, book open in one hand, fork hovering above his plate of scrambled eggs in his other hand.
He was alone.

Perfect.

“Morning, Riddle,” said Harry, sliding onto the bench next to him.

“Evans,” said Tom, not looking up from his book.

Harry poured himself a cup of coffee, sighing in relief as he took a sip. He had no intention of having
anything else this morning. Tom paused and looked up, frowning.

“Is that all you’re having?”

“Uh, yeah?”

Tom huffed. He set his fork down. “You need more than coffee to get through the morning, Evans.
You’re already far too waifish as it is.”
What? Harry’s mouth slowly opened. He stared at Tom. “You…” His mind caught up and he let a wry
grin slip into his expression. “What, concerned for me, are you, Riddle?”

“Obviously. I am your prefect and it’s my duty to make sure you’re well during the year.”

Harry blinked. He leaned forward, reaching over Tom’s plate for an apple. He took a bite, amused
when Tom rolled his eyes in annoyance.

“I suppose that’ll do…”

The other Slytherins from their dorm made their way to the table one by one. Avery, Rosier, and
Mulciber sat on Tom’s other side, while Lestrange, Black, and Prince sat across the table. Lestrange
poured himself some coffee, blinking blurry eyed. He dumped a few sausages onto his plate, before
passing it towards Prince.

Prince curled his lip, eyeing the platter of sausages with a hint of disgust. “Pass, not a fan of
sausages.”

Black swiveled his head towards Prince, a playful glint in his eyes. With delicate, deliberate
movements, he took a fork and plunged it into a sausage. “Not even mine?” he asked in a low voice,
proffering it to him.

Harry choked on his coffee.

Several of the nearby Slytherins groaned in annoyance. “Oh, for the love of Salazar,” Lestrange
muttered under his breath. “It’s too bloody early for this.”

Prince leaned forward, opened his mouth, and took a slow bite out of the sausage. Harry went bright
red as Prince chewed with a considering expression, his eyes solely on Black. He licked his lips.
“Fine,” Prince said, sounding put out. “I suppose yours I can tolerate.”

Black jerked back, hand over chest. “Tolerate?” he breathed, clearly offended. He huffed, whipping
his head away. “Fine, then. See if I give you any more of mine.”

“This table is covered in platters of sausages every morning,” said Tom derisively, rolling his eyes.
“Why would he need yours?”

Harry coughed and spluttered, wheezing as the coffee went down the wrong pipe.

“Yeah,” said Prince, biting his lower lip with a saucy grin. “I can get any sausage I want. Without
you.”

“Ah, but mine is superior.”

“Uh, Riddle, I don’t think—” gasped Harry. “I don’t think they’re—talking about sausages.”

Tom gave him a weird look. “What else would they be talking about?” He shook his head in utter
exasperation, snapping his book shut, and giving the flirting lovebirds a glare. “As if I can get any
studying done without you going on about your petty breakfast squabbles.”

Tom strode off. Harry was reeling, trying to make sense of everything. Black yawned and was already
snoozing against Prince’s shoulder, while Prince calmly ate his breakfast, sans sausages, as if nothing
had happened.
What?

Wait.

What the hell?

Am I missing something? Did Tom not understand what was going on? How?

A bit of concern flared inside Harry’s chest. Did Tom not understand all that had been flirting? How
could he not get any of that? It was so bloody blatant! Merlin, Harry hoped Tom wasn’t that dense
when it came to someone flirting with him. That would make this whole thing far more difficult.
Surely not. Tom was praised for being highly intelligent. He’d know. He’d have to know.

Harry finished his apple, downed the rest of his coffee, and got up from the table. He walked towards
his first class of the day, getting turned around on the way. He ducked behind an armored statue and
pulled out the map again, trying to find his class. A map should be mandatory. Finally, he could see
Albus Dumbledore’s name on the map within a large classroom. A lot of the students were already
there.

Ah, shit. I’m gonna be late.

Harry shoved the map back inside his pouch and broke into a run. He barely made it in time, pausing
at the entrance of the classroom to catch his breath. He blinked, amazed by the size of the room.
There were also far more students than he was used to. He didn’t make it in time to sit next to Tom,
unfortunately. The other Slytherin boys had already taken their seats next to him, so Harry ended up a
couple of seats away, sitting next to Rosier instead.

“Welcome to N.E.W.T. Transfiguration.”

Harry inhaled. He was overcome with the stark differences of the past and future again. It was a bit
strange to see Dumbledore this young, with only a bit of grey edging into his auburn hair. He was so
different from the old man Harry was used to - the eccentricities weren’t quite there yet. The
grandfather wisdom and omniscience wasn’t there either. He appeared normal here.

And far more fallible.

“This year, many of your classes will be focusing on training your ability in wordless magic.
Transfiguration will be no different.”

Dumbledore raised his wand, a dandelion lifting from his table. With a little flick, the dandelion
twisted and bloomed into an orchid. The girls ‘ooh’ at that, giggling and whispering among each
other.

Dumbledore smiled. “Effortless magic like this is in your futures, I’m sure. What is required for
wordless spell casting?”

A couple of Slytherins raised their hands. A Gryffindor raised her hand. Dumbledore pointed to her.
“Miss Stacy?”

“Um… silence?”

There were some snickers. Dumbledore chuckled. “Yes, a good, yet incomplete answer. Some days
you can’t always count on peace and quiet while spell casting. Five points to Gryffindor anyway.”
Another hand went up. “Yes, Mr. Bones?”
“You need to concentrate on your intent to be able to cast wordlessly.”

“Excellent, take another five points.”

Dumbledore flicked his wand, transfiguring a match into a needle. “We’re going back to the basics,”
he said with a wink. “Why would we do that?”

Rosier raised his hand.

“Yes?”

“We’re well practiced in basic spells, so theoretically we should have an easier time with wordless
basic spells.”

“Correct, three points to Slytherin.

Harry frowned.

“Now, who can tell me why we practice wordless spells in your sixth year, hm? Why not start earlier?
Third or fourth or even fifth year?” There was silence around the room. “Anyone?”

Tom lifted a hand. For a moment, Dumbledore didn’t call on him, still glancing around the room.
Dumbledore breathed out. “Go on, Mr. Riddle.”

“As students of magic, we need extensive practice with our control. Accidental magic at our age is
relatively unheard of and we’ve had five years to hone our abilities. Maturity matters and as young
adults we can concentrate for longer stretches of time than our younger peers.”

Dumbledore nodded once. “Precisely. Now, let me demonstrate this one more time before I let you
start.”

Hang on. He didn’t… He didn’t give Tom any points for that?

What the hell.

Something twisted inside Harry’s gut. He glanced over at Tom - watched the contracting of the
Adam’s apple, the slightest tensing of the jaw, the long drawing inhale of breath, the glimmer of light
echoing suppressed emotion - those brown eyes locked with Harry’s gaze, a flicker shimmered within
them, before they dropped away. Tom’s hands tensed briefly, before relaxing.

All of it happened in a few, fleeting seconds.

A strange thought crossed Harry’s mind. The more it passed through his heart, the more he realized it
must be true. It reflected part of Harry’s deepest feelings when he’d been in Potions’ class with Snape.

He still wants it. He still wants Dumbledore’s approval, deep down. Even when he knows he’ll never
get it, he still wants that out of reach approval.

He understood how Tom felt.

Damn. Dumbledore is like Snape.

Snape had had a reason for being a dick to Harry - a bullshit one, but he had one. No excusing the
bastard of a man, but Harry could have a little understanding for him and after seeing him with his
parents, there was some forgiveness in Harry’s heart for him. As a child, he had wanted Snape’s
approval, deep within his heart. Harry hadn’t understood why a complete stranger would have such
hatred for him, without even knowing him, and he had always kept that wish for approval hidden.

He’d been resigned to the hatred, just as he had been with the Dursleys.

But what was Dumbledore’s reason and excuse for clearly targeting Tom? For disliking him when
there was nothing to base it on? From Harry’s knowledge of the past, Tom hadn’t even done anything
yet. Yet, of course. But what did this enmity serve, though? Dumbledore was suspicious of Tom’s
potential, but what good did it to show his dismissal of him? That only created hostility. What if
Dumbledore had tried to mentor Tom, like he’d had with Harry? Would things have been different?

Tom didn’t need to be pushed away. He needed someone to care about him for him. Not for his
accomplishments or his lineage or his blood or his magic, but because Tom was a person who
deserved it.

Harry could still remember the memory of that eleven year old boy in a dark, dilapidated room in an
orphanage. He’d grown up without anyone to care for him. Everyone feared and hated him. What if
Dumbledore had conjured a toy, instead of setting his things on fire? What if kindness, when it’d been
so sorely lacking, had been shown to the orphan boy?

Would Tom Riddle still have become Lord Voldemort?

“Professor,” said Harry, calling out. “Didn’t Riddle give the correct answer?”

Dumbledore shifted his eyes onto Harry. “He did.”

“Then why are you blatantly favoring the Gryffindors over the Slytherins? You give them five points
per correct answer, while the Slytherins get three, while Riddle gets shafted with zero. Is this a custom
I’m unaware of here at Hogwarts?”

A chilly silence fell over the classroom. Harry met the man’s gaze, challenging him. Those sharp blue
eyes narrowed. When he felt a tiny pressure in his mind, panic flooded his system.

SHIT!

Think of something. Anything. What. Ah—Fuck.

‘Clear your fucking mind, Potter!’

Somehow that sounded a bit like Snape and Harry a bit hysterically wished he’d heard the man swear
like that. Clearing his mind so quickly was impossible. He had the crazy, desperate idea to imagine
something wild. He focused on unicorns. Hell, make them rainbow. In a field. Harry grinned
devilishly. Shagging.

He met Dumbledore’s gaze full on with the vivid picture of rainbow unicorns shagging in a field in
the forefront of his mind. Enjoy, arsehole.

Dumbledore blinked, averting his eyes.

Victory!

“Ten points from Slytherin for questioning my teaching methods, Mr. Evans,” said Dumbledore with
a faint tremor in his voice. He turned away. “You’re new here, so I shall be lenient. Avoid this in the
future.”

Wow, you utter arsehole. What a dick.

But he wasn’t Harry Potter for nothing.

“I wasn’t questioning your teaching methods, sir,” said Harry, his voice clear throughout the
classroom. “I was questioning your bullshit bias and unfair dealings with your students.”

There were multiple sharp intakes of breaths.

If I’m gonna go down, I’m gonna go down a Gryffindor.

Dumbledore’s head slowly swiveled towards Harry. “Detention, Mr. Evans.”

Of course. Harry met his gaze unwavering, making sure to keep those fornicating unicorns at the
ready. But he didn’t feel any pressure again. Dumbledore moved on with the lesson, as if nothing had
interrupted him. The Gryffindors threw Harry wary looks, while the Slytherins continued their neutral
appraisals of him.

Tom, however, was staring at him.

He didn’t look back, not at first. Tom didn’t stop and finally Harry couldn’t take it any more. He met
his gaze. Tom’s expression didn’t falter. Anyone else would’ve just assumed Tom was too busy
thinking to notice he was staring.

But Harry could decipher some of the emotion in his eyes.

Confusion.

A touch intrigued.

He gave Tom a half wave of the hand, giving him a smile. Tom blinked, unsettled, before dropping his
gaze. Briefly, his eyes flicked back to him, but Harry didn’t acknowledge him again.

Harry stayed quiet for the rest of class, as did Tom. When it was over, the students dismissed, Harry
was the last one to leave the room. Dumbledore didn’t acknowledge him. Harry couldn’t suppress the
colossal disappointment he felt in the man. It hurt in more ways than he realized possible.

He was tired of being angry, tired of being so full of pain and hurt. He’d forgiven Snape in the
afterlife, even had some forgiveness for Pettigrew. He hoped that when the timeline changed, his
parents’ generation would grow in a world without war. Severus and Lily’s friendship would never be
severed. Peter’s loyalty would never be tested.

Harry wouldn’t let it happen.

And yet…

He could still feel it in his heart, that bit of resentment towards Dumbledore. He’d been the adult
who’d had the most power over Harry’s life and yet he’d been so passive in his efforts to guide the
world towards the greater good, that he ultimately led it to its own demise. Where others had played
active roles in cruelty, Dumbledore had chosen to do nothing with his power and influence.

Passive with Grindelwald.

Passive with Riddle.

Passive with Harry.

He’d had the magical ability and political power to do more, be more for others, and yet he’d stayed
his hand. Why did the lack of good hurt far more than the overabundance of evil? Why did
Dumbledore’s lack of action hurt so much more than Voldemort’s Cruciatus?

As Harry looked back inside the transfiguration room, he stared at the turned form of Dumbledore. He
smiled a little to himself, thinking of how the fiery Lily had reacted to this man. But her motherly
righteous fury was not his own. In that white plane, he’d been irritated with him, hurt by the way
Dumbledore had led him to the path of death without having the courtesy of being honest with him.

He wasn’t going to let that happen any more.

“I forgive you,” whispered Harry.

Dumbledore turned around slowly. “Now, Mr. Evans, whatever do you think I need forgiveness for?
You’re the one who acted up in my class.”

Harry was rooted at the spot, not expecting the man to have heard him. What to say now? Harry drew
in a deep breath. He didn’t meet Dumbledore’s eyes, keeping his gaze at the man’s chin. He felt the
pressure again and he quickly threw up his buck wild image of rainbow unicorns rutting in a pasture.
Dumbledore’s eyes faintly narrowed. The pressure faded.

“Forgiveness is rarely for the other person,” said Harry.

Stop trying to read my mind, you bastard.

“I see,” said Dumbledore. He leaned against his desk, his posture open, yet his expression was chilled.
“Though, in your mind, I must’ve done something to warrant this need for forgiveness. Yet, we’ve
never met before the sorting, so I’m still at a loss as to what has brought this up.”

He isn’t going to let this go.

“My parents are dead,” said Harry softly. “Because of the Dark Lord.”

Dumbledore faltered. The blood drained from his cheeks. His head bowed somewhat, his hands
crossing over his chest. “I’m sorry for your loss,” Dumbledore said; his voice was hoarse. “And you
blame…” he trailed off. He swallowed, his chest shuddering. “Losing loved ones… is never easy.”

“When is my detention?” asked Harry, trying to keep his tone gentle.

“Tomorrow. At seven o’clock. My office,” whispered Dumbledore.

“Have a good afternoon, sir.”

Harry walked towards the end of the classroom. As he closed the door behind himself, he caught sight
of Dumbledore hunching over, hands curling around his head. The door clicked shut. Harry stood out
in the corridor, heart thumping in his ears, chest aching, eyes burning, desire crying with the urge to
tell the man, who’d been a mentor to him, everything.

But he resisted.
Harry turned away.

I have to go at this alone. If he knows the truth, Dumbledore might try to stop me and I can’t let that
happen. I’ve seen how bleak the future can be and I’ve got the chance to change it. So much is at
stake. Dumbledore had his chance. It’s my turn now.

I’m going to save Tom from himself.

Tom Riddle wasn’t a lost cause, despite what Dumbledore might think. He walked down the hallway,
his head bowed, his thoughts in a whirl. Something caught his eye and he glanced up. He sucked in
his breath. All seven of his dorm mates, including Tom, were waiting for him at the end of the
corridor, hanging out as a group. They couldn’t have been waiting for me, right? No way—

“Evans!” called Rosier, waving from a distance and motioning towards himself. “You survive
Dumbledore’s wrath?”

“When’s your detention?” asked Tom when Harry was closer, his voice low.

Harry opened his mouth, but nothing came out at first. The group of boys were staring at him
expectedly, with a sense of openness that hadn’t been there before. They weren’t quite Gryffindor
level of welcome, but their sharp edges had dulled somewhat.

Well, that’s interesting.

“Tomorrow.”

Rosier threw an arm around Harry’s shoulder. “You, my friend, have bullocks of steel,” he said with a
grin. His skin was a shade darker than Harry’s skin and it contrasted with his light brown hair. His
grey eyes twinkled with mischief. “I suppose you’re not the worst to have been transferred to
Hogwarts.”

“Thanks? I think?”

“Took a lot of guts standing up to Dumbles,” said Lestrange. He narrowed his dark eyes, sniffing.
“Stupid. Gryffindorish.” He paused a half a beat and a tiny hint of approval entered his gaze. “But you
got some brass in you, Evans. For a mudblood, of course. Consider me… impressed.”

Oh, how cute. ‘For a mudblood’ huh?

“Well,” drawled Harry. “When you’ve fought a mountain troll before and lived to tell the tale, then
calling someone out on their bullshit seems to pale in comparison, yeah?”

Silence.

Oh, did I fuck up this adorable camaraderie already?

The Slytherin boys burst into laughter. “Good one, Evans,” Mulciber said with a snort.

“Dumbledore, a troll,” said Avery, snickering. “That’s the best comparison I’ve heard in years.”

The feeling had shifted slightly. Instead of the open hostility, there was a tentative tolerance from the
group. He could work with that. Though, Harry was pretty sure he was going to screw it up
eventually.
 I always do, he thought a bit fondly to himself.

Harry hung back as they walked to their next class. As Tom and four of the boys continued onward,
Prince sidled up beside Harry with Black at Harry’s other side.

“So… I couldn’t help but notice you were staring at Tom,” said Prince, his tone light. His voice was
low.

“A lot,” added Black.

Harry came to a halt. They stopped in front of him, eyeing with quiet interest. Harry stared back with
a frown. Wait a minute… Sure, he’d looked at Tom a few times, but it couldn’t have been that much.
How could it be noticeable at all?

“I didn’t?” said Harry, confused.

The two boys shared a look. A rather heavy look. Harry frowned as their heads turned back to him.
Prince shifted a little closer, leaning in and dropping his voice. “I caught him staring at you, too,”
Prince whispered.

Hearing someone else notice that did something to Harry. His stomach flipped a bit, warmth and light
filling his chest. His breath stole away. He felt dizzy. He knew this already, had caught Tom in the act
of staring at him. So why, when someone else mentioned the fact, did Harry feel lightheaded?

“I waved at him,” said Harry, a little breathless, but grinning through it. “I caught him staring, too.”

Black and Prince exchanged that look again. A smirk slowly lifted the edge of Black’s lips, a bit
roguish, reminding Harry painfully of Sirius. It softened after a moment, a touch of sadness slipping
in between the cracks.

“It’ll be nice,” murmured Black.

It came out in a whisper. “What will be nice?”

“Seeing Tom have an interest in someone,” said Prince, gentle longing in his tone. “Hopefully, it’ll be
a long lasting, genuine one.” He pursed his lips in a quiet smile. He gave Harry a nod, before the two
of them turned, making their way through the corridor.

And Harry was left just a bit more breathless than before.

Chapter End Notes

All right, but I’m asexual and in my 30s and I’m still barely understanding about 50% of the
innuendo that I hear. (Much better than my 20s when I understood only 10%)

So, we can all give a round of applause to my beta, AJ. She helped me with the thirsty quotes
because my inexperienced asexual ass can’t. I was literally cringing (and laughing) through the
whole sausage scene and I needed lots of encouragement and treats to get through it. xD

And then she texted this to me and I fucking quote this gold:
“My beta is a bisexual in her ‘ho phase’ and is apparently thirsty AF and says—I don’t want to
repeat this. *screeching in the background* Okay… Ahem. ‘It’s horni boi hours.’”

So, there you go. It’s ‘horni boi hours?’ Can somebody translate this for me?

She thinks she’s a gremlin, but obviously she’s just a beautiful human being with a heart of gold.
 Six
Chapter Notes

So, got exposed to covid the day after I posted, so that was great. Love that. It's taken all this
time to recover from it and I didn't even have it as bad as my friend. I survived and was able to
keep it away from family members. That's all that matters at this point.

And the best news is I finally finished this damn chapter, haha.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Repeating sixth year was going to be a bigger drag than Harry first realized.

He was so bloody bored!

As he stood in Herbology, listening to the same rehash of the NEWT speech about exams and
buckling down and the hardest year yet and on and on and on, Harry nearly lost it. He was over this
and it was only the second class of the semester. A headache was on its way and he massaged his
temples to ease the pain.

Going back to school was going to be hard. He was having a difficult time caring about the social
dynamics of the school and the academic side, like the point system. He didn’t care about winning the
house cup and it wasn’t because he was a Slytherin this time around. At least in Herbology there
hadn’t been any favoritism shown.

Damn Dumbledore.

It was hard to care about something so inconsequential as a reward system that had no real world
significance. Fake gemstones in an hourglass were meaningless in a world at war. He just couldn’t
bring himself to care - not after being on the run for a year. Not when he’d been living in a tent,
wondering if tomorrow would finally bring his capture and death. He had traveled in the dead of
winter, lived through harsh conditions. He’d been able to handle the sparse amount of food better than
his friends, due to the ‘Dursley Treatment’ in his childhood. His life had been so different the past
year. How was he supposed to live a normal life now, going to classes, doing homework again, acting
like any of this stuff really mattered in the long run?

The more his thoughts dwelled on the past, the more his encounter with Dumbledore irritated him.
Interacting with the old man had sent Harry down a spiraling mood. He barely paid attention to the
Herbology lesson. It wasn’t like anything was new to him, at any rate. He was the first to leave when
the class was dismissed. He stormed out of the greenhouse, making his way towards the edges of the
forest where no one would find him.

Hidden in a nook of trees, Harry sat down on the ground, lying on his back. He covered his eyes with
his forearm, drawing in a deep breath. Memories burned in his mind, flashing with renewed, vivid
colors. Battle and blood, spells and carnage, venom and screams, death and more death - scenes
replayed in his mind with crystal clarity.

His heart twisted with loneliness.

Harry gasped, his heart pounding in his chest, his breathing labored. He rolled onto his side, arms
tight against his chest. His eyes burned. He didn’t know how long he was there on the ground, trying
to blink and breathe through this strange attack. Black dots sparkled like the night sky in his sight. His
head throbbed with pain.

When is this going to end?

Eventually, it slowly faded. When he regained some control over himself, Harry collapsed onto his
back, digging deep into his temples with his fingers to ease his awful headache. He steadied his
breathing. For a moment, he rubbed the palms of his hands against his damp eyes. His arms flopped to
his sides and he stared up at the sky above.

What am I doing any more?

Why am I even here? Why did Death think I was the best man for this?

Dammit.

Harry forced himself up to his feet. He brushed the dirt off his trousers and set off towards the castle
in the direction of the Owlery Tower. Once inside the castle, Harry didn’t pay much attention to his
surroundings in the corridors. There were a lot of students out and about after lunch, but he kept to
himself. It wasn’t until Harry was down a more secluded corridor that he noticed something off.

At the end of the corridor in the shadows, Harry made out four figures, all wearing green robes.
However, it appeared as if it were a three versus one scenario. Harry stepped towards the group,
feeling a bit apprehensive at the scene. When he got closer, he recognized the side profile of the
leader of the trio.

Lucius Malfoy? Wait, no…

The older boy had similar regal features that both Lucius and Draco Malfoy had, but there were
enough differences in his features for Harry to realize this was a relative or even a direct ancestor.
Draco’s grandfather, maybe? His white blond hair was pulled back in a half ponytail, the length above
his shoulders. The two other boys at his side reminded Harry of Crabbe and Goyle. They bore very
strong resemblances to Gregory Goyle and Vincent Crabbe.

Harry was suddenly trying to figure out how the same three families managed to have kids in the
same exact year.

Did they plan for it every generation? What the hell.

The Malfoy ancestor was saying something. When the other Slytherin shook his head, Malfoy
reached out and shoved the other boy. He slammed into the wall, toppling to the floor, his
schoolbooks scattering across the ground.

“I keep telling you, mudblood, every year, in fact. Why do I have to keep reminding you?”

“Who I date is my business.”

Malfoy narrowed his eyes. He snapped his fingers and the two boys converged on the fallen boy,
raising their fists.

“Hey!” snapped Harry, wand whipping out into his hand. Crabbe and Goyle paused their assault,
glancing over at him. “The hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Can I help you?” asked Malfoy cooly, calm as the eye of a storm. “You should know better than to
interfere with matters that don’t concern you. I am the Malfoy heir and—”

“Yeah, don’t give a fuck about who your father is,” interrupted Harry, rolling his eyes. Malfoy sucked
in his breath, his expression twisting with insulted rage. Must be a Malfoy thing. He gestured towards
the fallen Slytherin. “Knock it off. Why are you bullying a fellow Slytherin?”

Malfoy’s grey eyes flicked over Harry, taking him in from his trainers to his hair. His lip curled
upwards. “Oh, lovely. Another mudblood. A white knight one, too,” he said, narrowing his eyes.
“Aren’t you that new kid?” He gave out a contemptuous laugh. “You should show some respect for
your elders. I suggest you move on and look away. This is between us and not you.”

“I’ll show some respect when you stop acting like an arrogant arsehole.”

The other two boys stiffened at Malfoy’s side. Malfoy licked his lips, a low laughing huff exhaling
from his mouth. He took a slow step forward, glaring down at Harry from his full height, which had
to be around eight inches or so taller than Harry.

Damn bloody tall Slytherins.

“Are you challenging me?” asked Malfoy in a low voice.

Harry’s wand pushed against Malfoy’s ribcage. Grey eyes widened. Harry smiled. “I dunno, you tell
me.”

Malfoy leaned down and whispered in his ear, “You’ll regret this.”

“No, I don’t think I will.”

He received narrowed eyes at that, but Malfoy motioned to himself and his two friends followed after
him without a word. Harry turned to the form knelt on the ground. He bent down, gathering the
strewn books.

“You all right?”

The brown headed boy nodded. He was short and stringy, even a bit smaller than Harry. When the boy
looked up, curls framing his face, Harry sucked in his breath.

“Thanks,” said the boy, his tone bright. He held out a hand. “Name’s Edward Pettigrew, seventh year.”
Harry took him by the hand and shook it. Pettigrew smiled at him. “You did a foolish thing there. I
appreciate it, but Abraxas Malfoy has been bullying me since the day we began school. I only have
this year left. He could make things worse for you next year.”

“Even though he won’t be here?” asked Harry.

“Definitely,” said Pettigrew with a wry grin. “A Malfoy has connections. I think his cousin Euphemia
started this year. If she’s anything like him, she could cause you trouble, too.” He gathered his things,
patting Harry on the arm. He stood up. “Thank you, though. Got a bit of a Gryffindor in you. Better
hide that lion side - Slytherins don’t usually know how to appreciate chivalry.”

Pettigrew gave him another thankful nod, before turning away, leaving Harry reeling with even more
emotions.
He exhaled and turned into the other direction, making his way towards the owlery. While he hadn’t
been all that hungry, he’d lost the rest of his appetite now. As he climbed the tower, he listened to the
fluttering of wings, the hooting, and the screeching. He smiled when the full group of owls came into
view.

A barking call caught his attention and the small snowy owl flew downward, landing on his shoulder.

“Hey, Kasper,” whispered Harry, stroking the owl’s breast feathers. He’d been hesitant to get this little
owl, but now he was truly thankful to have him at his side. The owl began to preen his feathers,
occasionally grabbing a strand of Harry’s hair and cleaning it as if it were one of his own.

Harry sat down in one of the cleaner corners of the tower, leaning his head against the wall. He
sighed. He shut his eyes, trying to calm down. His entire body felt tense, like a strung string that could
snap at any moment. He was constantly ready to fight and jump into situations without thinking. He
probably shouldn’t have interfered with Pettigrew, but the thought of standing back made his stomach
twist with nausea.

Pettigrew of all people. I wonder if he’s Worm—Peter’s father.

Peter’s father. Damn, this was getting too insane for Harry now.

“I really rushed into this whole thing without thinking,” whispered Harry.

Kasper barked softly.

“What am I gonna do?” said Harry with a groan, hiding his face in his hands. He exhaled. He felt this
overwhelming pressure weighing down on him. How was he going to get through this year when the
first day was already too much for him?

“Fuck…”

Kasper cleaned a strand of his hair, nipping his ear gently. Harry leaned back against the wall,
listening to the melody of soft hoots the owls made in their sleep. The presence of the owls and
Kasper calmed some of the anxiety in his heart. Harry supposed he shouldn’t be surprised at how
quickly he’d bonded with this new owl. He hadn’t imagined a new companion after Hedwig, but
Kasper was quickly becoming a dear familiar.

Harry sat in the owlery for hours. Kasper never left his side, falling asleep on his shoulder, leaning
slightly against Harry’s head. It was when the owlery began to come to life with louder hoots and the
sky darkening outside that Harry realized how late it had gotten. With a final pet of his feathers,
Kasper leapt into the air, cuffing Harry lightly with his wings. He circled around Harry with a screech
before flying out into the evening to hunt.

With a groan, Harry stretched his stiff limbs and stood up, brushing himself off. He left the owlery,
climbing down the winding staircase. It was too late to get dinner, so he walked the path to the
kitchens in the hopes of a sandwich. After tickling the pear, Harry tentatively opened the door to the
kitchens, praying he wasn’t about to be accosted by a hoard of overenthusiastic house elves.

The answer to that prayer was no.

After explaining for the eleventh time that, ‘No, I don’t need a five course meal,’ the elves and Harry
came to a compromise of a large sandwich, an enormous portion of chips with ketchup, two sliced
apples, and a treacle tart the size of a full pie. He was lucky the elves didn’t weep when he couldn’t
finish even a third of it. Stuffed, Harry thanked the elves - much to their wailing bemusement - and
left the kitchens feeling more exhausted than before.

He felt a pang at the thought of Dobby.

Harry pulled the map out of his pouch, checking the route back to the Slytherin common room, before
pocketing it. Harry barely made it to the common room before the ten o’clock curfew. He refused to
make eye contact with the rest of his housemates and went straight to his dorm room. The other seven
boys were in their beds; they looked up as Harry entered the room.

“You missed dinner,” said Prince, setting his book down. He was sitting on the double bed with Black
asleep, curled at his side. “You all right?”

“Fine—I’m fine.” Harry waved him off, going straight to his bed.

“You don’t look fine,” said Rosier.

“Didn’t get lost, did you?” asked Mulciber with a laugh.

“Nope.”

“How do you find your way around?” asked Tom, his tone soft. “It’s a big castle. It’s easy to get lost.”

“I make do,” said Harry, pulling out his nightclothes. He was in no mood to chat tonight. There was a
rising tenseness in his chest, guilt mixed with pressure. I’m supposed to make friends with Tom,
supposed to… But he couldn’t—not now, not tonight. His eyes met Tom’s dark gaze briefly, before he
dropped his head and grabbed his bed curtains. He hid himself from sight.

“What’s got his knickers in a twist?” asked Lestrange.

“Who knows,” murmured Avery.

Harry threw up silencing charms and warded his bed. He slipped out of his robes and into his
nightclothes, before burrowing under the covers. He was out before he knew it.

Harry woke groggy and exhausted the next morning, Thursday, as if he hadn’t slept a wink last night.
Yet, with a quick tempus, he realized he had slept for over twelve hours.

Damn.

Harry threw open his bed curtains. Only Lestrange and Rosier were left in the room. They gave him a
nod, before leaving together for breakfast. Harry hurried and got dressed, following after them with
his bag over his shoulder.

The Great Hall was rather crowded, the noise level causing Harry to wince in pain. He sat down at the
Slytherin table, taking a seat next to Prince. The rest of his year mates were nearby, with Tom across
the table with his head in his potions’ textbook. Harry tucked into his breakfast, wanting nothing more
than to crawl back into bed and sleep another twelve hours. The food was heavy and he could barely
get through any of it. He put some fruit on his plate and tried that instead. He drank a sip of coffee
when a high voice broke through the surrounding murmur of voices.

“I better not get paired with a mudblood this year,” said a girl with long dark hair and a pug nose,
reminding Harry of Pansy Parkinson. She brushed her hair over her shoulder, giving a girl further
down the table a sneer. “It was a disaster last year and I refuse to let my grades suffer due to the
incompetence of a mudblood.”

Harry clenched his fists.

“Just threaten to report Slughorn this year, Prim,” said her friend, looking a lot like the Greengrass
sisters from Harry’s time. “You don’t have to take it this time.”

“It’s so annoying that Slughorn tolerates mudbloods—”

“Do you people ever shut up about blood purity?” snapped Harry, slamming his fork down. He caught
the attention of the entire Slytherin table. His fellow year mates glanced between Harry, Parkinson,
and Tom, who slowly looked up from his book, his eyes hard. The younger years were peeking at the
end of the table, trying to get a look at what was going on.

“Excuse me?” hissed Parkinson.

“Hell, no. You’re not excused. I have had it up to here—” Harry motioned over his head. “—with this
blood purity bullshit. You’re all a hive mind about this—it’s ridiculous and downright annoying. Is
this all that’s on your puny little minds? Can you all not already? There’s a fucking war out there,
people are dying, and all you can whinge about is unshed blood. Grow the fuck up, princess.”

Parkinson sucked in her breath, going bright red. Her friends opened their mouths in silent outrage.
Harry shoved his plate forward and bolted to his feet, the control on his magic sizzling beneath his
skin. He whirled away, shaking from the fury that burned in his chest.

A war. There’s a fucking war and they can’t even care about people’s lives. And because of all this, it
becomes yet another war in the future.

All about invisible blood… There’s nothing tangible about it. This whole thing about blood being
more powerful, it’s all in their heads - just look at Voldemort and Dumbledore and even Grindelwald.

They’re all halfbloods.

Blood purity is utter bollocks.

Harry paused in a secluded hallway, letting out a groan of frustration. He was making a jackass of
himself, but he couldn’t help it any more. His patience for this shit was on a short tether. He leaned
against the wall, hiding his face in his hands. What am I going to do? I wish Hermione was here.
She’d give me some advice or something.

How the hell am I supposed to do this alone?

I never did anything without them and their help and their encouragement.

Harry sighed. He was fucking this all up and it wasn’t even the end of the week yet. Day four in the
alien timeline and he was exhausted, burdened, and done with these braindead prats.

Save the wizarding world?

How, exactly, when I’m barely keeping it together myself?

Well, Evans certainly has a short fuse.

He was getting more vocal about his stance on blood purity, which was dangerous. It would upset
most of the house of Slytherin and that wasn’t a good thing in Tom’s book.

He watched Evans’ receding frame leave the Great Hall and without an escort. Somehow Evans was
getting around the castle without getting lost. There was something strange to Evans and the more
Tom listened and paid attention, the more the peculiarities sprung up.

“Riddle.”

Tom’s head tipped to the side, acknowledging Abraxas Malfoy. Aaron Goyle and Neil Crabbe sat at
his sides, eating their meal.

“I had a run in with Evans yesterday.”

Tom drew in a deep breath through his nose. “Already?” he asked lightly. “It’s barely the start of the
second day of school.”

“He defended Pettigrew.”

Muggleborn seventh year… Evans defended a fellow Slytherin, hm?

“He didn’t back down, then?” asked Tom.

“A mudblood defending a mudblood, Riddle. He’s a wild one. What are you going to do about it?”
demanded Abraxas.

A sharp smile lifted Tom’s features. “Mind your tone,” he said softly. Crabbe and Goyle had visceral
reactions, shivering, at his voice, while Abraxas paled slightly. “And I have suspicions about Evans. I
don’t think he’s a mudblood.”

Muggleborns tend to be sensitive to being called mudblood, but Evans doesn’t react to it. However, he
defends others. He can’t be a pureblood, so that leaves halfblood.

“He’s still a mudblood lover,” said Abraxas, his expression darkening. “We can’t have someone like
that in Slytherin.”

The obsession with blood purity was a touchy topic in the Slytherin house. Tom made sure to act like
it was his priority in his aspirations of a better future, to soothe all the pureblooded feathers of the
members of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. In reality, Tom didn’t really care about blood purity so much as
magical might.

Power, no matter where it came from, was the pinnacle.

Tom didn’t know his own parentage, but he knew he couldn’t be a pureblood - not with a last name
like ‘Riddle.’ But he was far more powerful than most, if not all, of the purebloods in attendance at
Hogwarts. There was more to magical abilities than blood purity. The Slytherin house conveniently
forgave Tom his lack of pureblood status since he was a parselmouth.

It hadn’t taken much to assert dominance over the Slytherin house when forced to face a powerful
parselmouth.

But maintaining power was also about dancing the political waltz. It was easier to stick with the
current beliefs of blood purity than alienate the majority of his house. When he was out of school, had
traveled the world, and gained more power and knowledge, they would understand.
He would make them understand.

“I’ll speak with him when I get the chance.” When Abraxas opened his mouth, Tom threw him a
withering look. Abraxas swallowed, pale as his platinum blond hair. “Patience,” Ton chided. “Evans
has been through some kind of trauma with his parents being killed by the Dark Lord. I will advise
him. You’re not to go after him unless I tell you otherwise. Am I understood?”

Abraxas nodded.

“Excellent,” said Tom cheerfully. He stood up, stepping away from the table. He paused. His tone
dropped to a dangerous level. “And next time, Abraxas, torment your fellow Slytherin in the cover of
your own dorms. You’re lucky it was Evans who caught you. Really, you’re too old to be getting
caught like that.”

Abraxas flushed.

Dealing with these seventh years was always a full time job, especially when they were like Abraxas
Malfoy. Tom didn’t dislike the older boy, though. He had his influence and political reach, plus he
was stupidly wealthy. But it was upon occasion that Abraxas overstepped his bounds, forgetting his
place in the hierarchy that had been established since Tom had been a third year.

Tom Riddle was unequivocally at the top.

He strode to the Potions classroom, wishing to be early. As Tom entered the room, he saw Evans
already there, pulling his book out of his shoulder bag and setting it on a table in the back. Tom
walked towards him, placing his bag on the seat next to him. Evans gave him a nod, opening his book
to page ten, glancing through it.

They stood in silence. There were a number of cauldrons, steam filling the air and making it heavy
with a medley of scents. Students slowly trickled into the classroom. Alphard and Quintus took their
places at Tom’s other side. Five minutes before the class was to begin, Slughorn came out of his
office.

“Good morning, Mr. Riddle,” said Slughorn in a jovial tone. “Ready to start a new year, yeah?”

“Yes, sir,” said Tom with a nod, keeping his expression warm and open.

Slughorn laughed. “Good, good! We have some wonderful potions to learn about this year. Should see
excellent things from you.” The man turned to the rest of the class and extended his arms. “Welcome
to your sixth year of Potions. This year, we’re going to learn some exciting, yet dangerous potions.
You have to keep a sharp head about you or accidents will happen. But before we begin, let’s have a
bit of fun exploring some of the potions you’ll all be able to make after you pass your NEWTS.”

He stepped forward, excitement in his strides. He gestured to a cauldron, taking the top off.

“Who can tell me what this is?”

Slughorn proceeded to show them a number of high level potions, which included Veritaserum,
Polyjuice, and Felix Felicis.

“Now this…” said Slughorn, carefully lifting the lid to another cauldron. “This is Amortentia.”

Evans stiffened.
“Mr. Evans,” said Slughorn, catching his movement. “Welcome to Hogwarts, by the way. Now, you
wouldn’t happen to know what this is?”

Evans nodded. “It’s the most powerful love potion.”

“Correct! Take five points to Slytherin. Anything else?”

Evans’ expression darkened with hidden sorrow. His bright green eyes glanced over at Tom briefly.
“It doesn’t create love, not true love,” he said softly. “Usually, everyone will smell three things that
attracts them. I’ve seen someone under the influence of a more mild love potion and it’s not a pretty
sight.”

“Rightly so!” said Slughorn, smiling. “Looks like we have another smart student in Slytherin.”

Evans’ smile was a bit stilted.

“Now before we begin, make sure you have all your supplies…”

At Slughorn’s direction, the class bustled into action. A few of the students paused at the cauldron of
Amortentia, sighing over it like the dogs in heat they were. Tom rolled his eyes. He resisted the urge
to find out what it would smell like for him. However, when no one was around it, his curiosity got
the better of him. Tom shifted closer to the cauldron of Amortentia. The mist wafted in the air and as
the rest of the students were moving away, Tom stood there, waiting for something to happen.

But there wasn’t a scent.

His jaw clenched. He glanced to the side, feeling oddly self conscious and took a step closer.

Still nothing.

Nothing.

Tom was standing right in front of the cauldron, leaning over it, his feelings in a whirl of hidden
confusion and frustration. He still couldn’t smell anything from this blasted potion and he had no idea
what it meant. It obviously meant something, when everyone else was making a big deal about it. Yet,
it had no scent for him. He was supposed to be smelling three things.

He wished his gut feeling wasn’t shame.

He knew everyone else in the class was smelling something—it was written all over their faces. He
was the only one. It didn’t take a genius to understand the meaning behind Alphard and Quintus
smiling at each other with those sappy expressions. Though the potion itself created fake affection,
people were still attracted to the individualized scents.

So, why can’t I smell anything?

He glanced over at Evans, who was placing his tools at his place on their table. The mist wavered in
the air as Tom turned away from the cauldron. He stilled when he noticed the ever so faint scent of
peppery wood. Ebony? It disappeared as quickly as it appeared. His hand clenched at his side in spite
of himself.

He glanced back at the potion, but the fleeting scent didn’t return.
It doesn’t matter. It’s not like you’re ever planning on attaching yourself to anyone. You are better
than this—better than everyone else. There is no equal to you.

This isn’t a weakness.

It’s a strength the rest of these fools don’t have.

Tom moved away. He shoved all thoughts of Amortentia out of his mind. He organized his section of
the table, everything set in the right spot for a perfect work flow.

“Today, I’m going to have you brew a Draught of Living Death,” said Slughorn, excited. “The
instructions are on page ten of your books. I know it’s a very complicated potion to make in your first
day of class, but do your best. An hour is more than enough time. The best attempt wins a vial of
Felix Felicis.”

There were murmurs of excitement at that. Tom sat up a little straighter. Now that was interesting.
Winning some Felix Felicis would be an excellent tool to have. Perhaps under its influence, Tom
would find the Chamber of Secrets and discover the truth of his heritage. His heart fluttered at the
thought. There had to be answers there in that chamber. There could be a library of ancient tomes or
other magical artifacts. Liquid Luck would be an invaluable item to obtain.

This might be just the boon I need this year to finally find the Chamber.

“Now, I’ve yet to teach a student who has made a perfect Draught of Living Death, but I have all the
confidence that one of you will this year. ”

Slughorn gave Tom a wink.

“Begin!”

Tom opened his book to page ten, reading through the complex instructions. It was definitely a potion
he’d never attempted before, but he had confidence he could follow the directions. He began
preparing the ingredients, working through the potion steps. He was focused through it all, not paying
attention to the other three boys at his table.

Halfway through the potion making process, Alphard set his cauldron on fire. Quintus sighed, putting
out the fire.

“Dear Merlin, everything all right over here?” asked Slughorn, coming to check on things.

“Yes, sir,” said Quintus, rolling his eyes. “I’m surprised he made it this far, honestly.”

“Oh my…” said Slughorn, catching sight of Alphard’s potion. “I’m afraid it’s quite ruined now.”

“Ah, well,” said Alphard, sighing. He sat down next to Quintus and, as usual, was snoozing in
minutes with his arms folded across his chest.

The distraction didn’t affect Tom’s process, thankfully, but he did catch a look over at Evans’ work.
He was working silently, moving with the grace of someone who knew what he was doing.

Wait a minute…

Evans’ potions book was closed. It was closed. He wasn’t following the instructions—he was going
off on his own memory?
What?!

Tom broke his attention away, returning to his potion, confusion bleeding through him. He couldn’t
think about Evans now. He had to focus. He redoubled his efforts back onto his work. There were
times the instructions seemed a bit counterintuitive and occasionally Tom took the risk to do
something a bit different - like crushing the Sopophorous beans instead of cutting them.

However, by the end of the class, he knew there was something off with his potion. He wasn’t sure
where he went wrong with it, though. He sighed. Well, it was a first attempt. Perhaps they’d be given
another chance to try again. He’d like to perfect the process.

At least his potion wasn’t noxious like Roland and Marcus’s attempts, while Sebastian and Simon’s
potions blew up in the third quarter of the lesson. At the end of class, Slughorn inspected everyone’s
potions, but all of the others failed terribly.

Slughorn came to their table last. His forlorn expression brightened when he tested Tom and Quintus’
potions.

“Oho, Mr. Riddle and Mr. Prince’s potions are quite close, very close, though Riddle’s is a smidge
better I’m afraid.” Slughorn moved to Evans’ potion. He paused, looking into the cauldron. Without a
word, he dropped a leaf into the cauldron. For a moment, he stared, shock in his eyes. “Well, now…”
Slughorn beamed. “This is quite the occasion. Mr. Evans, let me congratulate you on being the first
student in my class to make a perfect Draught of Living Death. You have earned this well,” he said,
pride and awe in his tone. He handed Evans the vial of Felix Felicis and patted him warmly on the
arm. “Excellent work, Mr. Evans. This is going to be a wonderful year. I expect great things from
you!”

Evans smiled in return.

“Class dismissed!”

How did Evans make a perfect Draught of Living Death without looking at the instructions?

Who are you?

In the flurry of the class, Tom watched Evans gather his things. Alphard stared at his ruined cauldron
with a mixture of resignation and contemplation.

“I think I’ll order a new one,” said Alphard. His tone became a bit dramatic. “The effort to clean this
is too great—”

“You will do no such thing,” said Quintus firmly. “You’ll not waste a good cauldron while I’m
around.”

“Dammit.”

Sebastian sidled up to Evans, nudging him. “Congrats. But you best hide that liquid luck or someone
might filch it from you,” he said with a wicked grin.

“What, you’re going to steal it?”

Sebastian shrugged, while Roland and Marcus laughed.

“Go ahead and try,” said Evans with a smirk, pocketing the vial in his robes. He threw his bag over
his shoulder and walked out of the classroom. Tom hurried after him, calling to him in the corridor.

“Evans, a word.”

The other boy slumped, sighing deeply. He didn’t look back. “What do you want, Riddle?”

How rude. Tom was a bit affronted at Evans’ terrible, impolite manners. “I merely wished to
congratulate you on your success in class. Also, I was quite impressed that you didn’t need to open
the book to make a perfect Draught of Living Death.”

“Thanks.” It was stiff. “I’ve made it before. Is that all?”

Absolutely not.

“Just a bit of friendly advice as well, Evans,” said Tom lightly, yet there was a touch of darkness
within his tone. A warning. He took a step forward. “Avoid alienating your fellow Slytherins. You’ve
certainly shown house spirit by defending me - unnecessary, but appreciated - and you’re an
intelligent, bright student.” He paused for a moment, growing more irritated that Evans wasn’t
looking at him. His tone turned harsher. “But don’t be a mudblood defender. That’s not a good look
on you.”

Evans slowly turned his head, his body following afterwards. Unbidden, a chill brought goosebumps
to Tom’s arms. A delightful shiver shot through his spine and he had to hold back the urge to smile
with excitement.

What is this?

“Riddle, a bit of advice,” echoed Evans, drawing closer with the allure of a predator. His eyes were
vibrant, a light of fury burning within them. A thrill rushed through Tom. He fingered his wand in his
pocket, half tempted to draw it and see Evans’ reaction. “Stop assuming that I give a shit about what
the Slytherin house thinks.”

“Don’t you?” whispered Tom.

“No, I don’t. I don’t care about your stupid blood politics. It’s rubbish.”

“Blood is everything.”

“Blood purity is the dumbest bullshit I’ve ever heard,” hissed Evans. “I’m sick of it—”

“It’s about power, Evans, and—”

“—and those too weak to seek it?”

Tom sucked in his breath. “Yes, then you understand—”

“No, all I see are those too weak to use their power in the right way, like bettering this world instead
of fucking it up.” Evans’ expression crinkled; he rubbed his face with his hands in exasperation. “And
I’m sick and tired of being the one to clean it all up—” He broke off, shaking his head. “You know
what, I’m not in the mood. I can’t right now.”

Evans whirled away, marching off down the corridor towards the DADA classroom. Tom didn’t stop
him.
He was a bit breathless.

Tom wasn’t sure why.

Evans was such a strange, fascinating creature. He was a wild colt, free spirited yet clumsy. But there
was power there. Tom could feel it in the air, crackling and all encompassing. Just who was this
stranger who had come to this school in the middle of his education? Where had he been all this time?

Tom wanted to know more.

But there was no doubt: this Evans boy was going to be Tom’s constant source of a blistering
headache. Defiant. Combative. What in Salazar’s name was he doing in Slytherin? He didn’t have any
self preservation to speak of and he didn’t have a subtle bone in his entire body.

All in all, Evans was the worst Slytherin ever to be sorted into the esteemed house.

He’s more Gryffindor than Hufflepuff.

Tom strode towards the classroom, hoping to engage Evans in some more advice veiled with threats.
He quickened his steps, expecting to catch up to Evans eventually. But at the entrance of the DADA
classroom, Tom still hadn’t encountered Evans. The corridor was empty. Tom glanced around, turning
in a full circle.

How…

Where did he go?

Tom walked into the classroom, his eyes glancing around, searching for the untidy mop of black hair,
but he couldn’t find him. Tom sat down in a seat, waiting. The rest of the students arrived before class
began. But Evans wasn’t among them.

He’s not coming… He’s actually skiving off a class.

Professor Merrythought strode in the classroom, her gait long with each step. Her short hair was a
bright, wild, almost unnatural red color. She wasn’t a young woman, but there was still fire and power
in her movements. Tom had a healthy amount of respect for this woman. She glanced over the room,
her eyes narrowing.

“Riddle, where’s Evans?” demanded Merrythought.

“I’m not sure,” said Tom, trying to keep his frustration in check. “I believe he disappeared on me.”

“Hmph.”

Well, Evans was in a world of hurt, if the glare in Merrythought’s eyes was to go on. Tom inhaled; he
clenched his fists. Evans was going to need an attitude change as soon as possible. Fighting with
Abraxas. Skipping classes. Anti blood purity. Obnoxious attitude.

I need to nip this behavior before it gets out of hand or else the rest of my house is going to think I
can’t handle one wayward little Slytherin.

Tom could hardly concentrate during class, though he had little trouble with the lesson, which was
practicing nonverbal spells. The annoying new Slytherin was driving him mad with his constant
presence in Tom’s thoughts. It was positively aggravating.
 Once class was over, Tom had one more class to attend after lunch, Ancient Runes. Evans wasn’t in
the Great Hall for lunch, however. Where is that boy disappearing to? How is he not getting lost?
Why is he delinquent on his schooling so early in the semester? Is he not eating anything when he’s
already impossibly thin?

Tom gritted his teeth, fuming, and the others eyed him warily. They didn’t bother to ask what was
wrong - intelligent of them - Tom was frightfully close to cursing someone. After lunch, in his
Ancient Runes class, Tom’s thoughts were clouded once more and he could hardly get through the
hour.

This is ridiculous. What is wrong with me?

Evans wasn’t in the common room in the afternoon.

Evans wasn’t at dinner either.

Tom had a glorious vision of strangling Evans. How wonderful it would be. There was a threshold
before he’d pass out and die, but he’d turn a beautiful color before Tom would release him and let him
breathe again. Can’t have him dying, after all.

Well, can’t strangle him either.

It would look bad on his school record.

Evans entered their dorm room at five after ten. Tom stood up from his bed, his frustration climaxing,
about to dismiss the other boys for a few minutes so he could have a word with Evans alone about his
appalling behavior, when Roland piped up and asked, “How was your detention, Evans? What did
Dumbledore make you do?”

That’s right… He had a detention. Maybe that was why he was so late.

Evans paused for a moment, his eyes growing wide. He groaned. He ran a hand through his wild
black hair.

“…Ah, fuck, I knew I forgot something.”

And then Evans was in bed, hangings shut before Tom could speak with him.

He’s a bloody menace!

Chapter End Notes

Ah, poor Tom. How do you solve a problem like Harry. xD

Also, I forgot to mention my reasoning for naming his new owl Kasper. One of Hedwig’s real
life owl actors in the movies was named Kasper and I thought it was cute. And that’s it. Haha.
That's the amount of effort I went into naming the dear. rotfl

Bless my beta for she keeps me sane. I struggled to finish this chapter. It just kept getting bigger.
She's really my cheerleader!
 Seven
Chapter Notes

All right PSA: I fucked up the dates. Ya’ll, I tried. I really did. But I got confused. I thought that
Tom discovered horcuxes in his sixth year. LOL NO. Apparently not. He’d already made TWO
by the time of that infamous memory with Slughorn. HE WAS FUCKING SIXTEEN WHEN HE
OPENED THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS. A FIFTH YEAR. WTF, TOM?!

I’m not fixing this error, however. I want Tom to be 16, turning 17 in this fic to be closer to
Harry’s mental age. So, TBG Tom's birth date is officially December 31st, 1925, a year older
than canon Voldemort. I just wanted ya’ll to be aware, hahah.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

“Evans! Get your arse over here. I want a word or three with you.”

Harry blinked, halting at the entrance of the Great Hall on Friday morning. He glanced over at a tall
woman, who reminded him strongly of McGonagall, if it weren’t for the short bright almost
unnaturally red hair. She wore black robes with red trim. This woman was giving off, “I don’t fuck
around.” vibes, which was far different than most of the teachers Harry had encountered so far. If she
weren’t glaring at him with the threat of true pain in her grey eyes, he would’ve adored this woman.

“Uh, yes… Professor, uh?”

The woman crossed her arms. “If you had bothered to show up for my class, you might’ve learned
who the hell I am.”

Uh, oh…

“I’m so sorry, Professor, uh…”

“Merrythought,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “I am Professor Galatea Merrythought, your Defense
Against the Dark Arts teacher.”

“I’m sorry, Professor. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Mm. Pleasure,” said Merrythought, deadpanned. “Mr. Evans. Let me make one thing very clear to
you. Unless you’re incapacitated, unconscious, or on your very death bed, you get your arse in my
class and you never miss or else I will string you up and you’ll be the brunt of target practice for an
entire lesson. We could always do with a refresher on stinging hexes. Am I understood?”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Harry quickly, swallowing at the thought. “Absolutely. Transparently clear.”

“Good,” said Merrythought with a sharp nod. “I’ll see you in my next class, then. Do not disappoint
me.” With a huff, she strode into the Great Hall towards the teachers’ table. Harry drew in a deep
breath.

What a terrifying woman!

Harry knew exactly where McGonagall had learned all of her scary teacher techniques. Merrythought
was a force to be reckoned with - he was a bit anxious to see what her class would be like now. There
was no doubt in Harry’s mind that Merrythought would make do on her threat and the last thing Harry
needed was Tom to have legal means of cursing him.

Note to self: never skip Defense.

There was a soft chuckle from behind Harry. “Don’t mind my wife too much, dear. Her bark is far less
frightening than her bite.”

Harry turned to see another teacher he hadn’t met before. She was a small woman, only a couple of
inches taller than Harry. She was wearing sun yellow robes with dark blue trim. Her vibes were the
complete opposite to Merrythought and Harry was instantly sure this woman had once been in
Hufflepuff. She had to be. Her brown hair was shoulder length and her brown eyes were soft, though
with a hint of mischief.

“Uh, well, I think she did threaten to bite,” said Harry with an awkward chuckle. “In the form of a full
class of stinging hexes.”

“Mm, yes,” said the woman, her smile fond and impish. There was a lilt to her voice. “She’ll do that.
I’d avoid giving her a reason to in the future, Mr. Evans.”

“Yes, of course. Professor… uh…?”

“I’m Professor Ophelia Fortinbras, your Charms teacher.” She gave him a light smile. “I certainly
hope to see you in my class after breakfast. Wouldn’t want you to miss it.”

“Yes, ma’am—I mean, no ma’am, wouldn’t miss it for anything,” said Harry in a rush. Damn, these
women are hardcore. “I won’t skip any more classes.”

“Don’t make impractical promises,” said Fortinbras, but the smile turned less threatening. “Until
later.” She gave him a nod and entered the Great Hall, walking towards the teachers’ table. She sat
down next to Merrythought and whispered in her ear for a moment. Merrythought locked gazes with
him. Harry could see her narrowing her eyes at him.

The fuck—

All right, who needed breakfast? Harry didn’t. Nope. Not at all. Sustenance was for the weak.

Harry whirled around, about to flee the Great Hall and go straight to the Charms classroom to avoid
future problems, when his heart sank at yet another voice calling out to him.

“Mr. Evans, might I have a word with you?”

Ah, shit.

Harry winced, turning around to face Dumbledore. Gotta be kidding me. How to get out of this one?
“Hello, Professor.”

“Good morning, Mr. Evans,” said Dumbledore, his tone rather genial. His eyes crinkled with a smile.
“It is quite a beautiful morning today, wouldn’t you think so?”

“Yes, sir,” said Harry tentatively.

“It was also a lovely evening last night,” said Dumbledore, glancing outside, his gaze wistful. “But
I’m afraid we didn’t get a chance to chat about it since—” His head dipped slightly with a look that
Harry worried was piercing directly into his soul with those sharp blue eyes. “—you missed your
detention.”

There was an uncomfortable moment of silence between them.

Ah, fuck it.

“I’m so sorry, Professor, I honestly forgot!” cried Harry, throwing extra emotion into his voice. He
cast his eyes downwards, sighing with his entire body, sagging visibly. “It’s been really hard, you
know… after my parents…”

Dumbledore flinched.

Harry glanced up, giving the man some powerful puppy eyes, trying to look like a sad little orphan as
much as he genuinely could. He rubbed the edge of his eye, blinking away newly formed tears. “I was
in the owlery most of yesterday,” he said softly. He sniffled. “I completely forgot about it. I’m so
sorry, sir.”

Dumbledore opened his mouth. He closed it.

“Am I in more trouble?” asked Harry as pathetically as he could.

“No,” said Dumbledore, his voice low and soft. “Let’s reschedule your detention for tomorrow at one
o’clock.”

Harry brightened. “Yes, sir, thank you so much.”

“Just… try to remember this time, all right, Mr. Evans?” said Dumbledore, sounding a bit
exasperated. There was an uncomfortable pause. “If you need to talk… Your teachers—that is, well
—” He coughed and his expression softened. “Know that my door is always open to you.”

Harry drew in a deep breath. “Of course, Professor. Thanks,” he said, guarded. Dumbledore walked
into the Great Hall, while Harry slipped away, breathing a sigh of relief.

Harry Potter: one.

Albus Dumbledore: zero.

Not bad for a Gryffindor in green.

Harry ate a quick breakfast in the kitchens, narrowly avoiding getting plumped up to death by the
house elves. One elderly female elf, Minsby, had taken it upon herself to fatten Harry up.

“You’s too thin, Master Evans,” said Minsby, shaking her head sagely, her long ears flopping about.
“We’s not liking children looking so thins these days. You’s be eating more or else Minsby be hand
feeding you. You’s not looking so well, Master Evans. Tis not right,” she added with another shake of
the head. “Tis not right at all.”

He barely managed to escape in time to get to his first class of the day. The house elves had insisted
on filling his robe pockets with apples. Harry sat down in the back of the class, sighing in his seat.

House elves or the Great Hall?

I need a third option now, dammit.

“Welcome to sixth year Charms class,” said Fortinbras in a warm voice. “It’s going to be a fun, yet
difficult year for you all, but I have no doubt that you’ll flourish and succeed.” She pointed to the
chalkboard. “This is our syllabus for the year. One of the hardest charms we’ll be learning later is the
Patronus Charm…”

Harry glanced over at Tom, his thoughts wandering.

I wonder if Tom will be able to cast a patronus… He’s powerful enough.

His patronus is probably a snake, because of course it would be.

But it took true, genuine emotion to conjure a patronus. A happy memory was too simple, too
incomplete for a corporeal patronus. It wasn’t just the happy memory that Tom would need, he’d need
the happiness and joy to fill his soul. Love was an excellent source to fuel the patronus.

Pity entered Harry’s breast.

It was… difficult imagining a Tom who could love, especially love him. What would it look like?
How would Tom treat him? Harry wasn’t completely stupid: he knew there would be some
problematic shit in their future. This was a baby Voldemort, after all. Harry hoped to Merlin he
wouldn’t have to help bury bodies. Hopefully, Tom would value his advice against such things…

Somehow, Harry doubted it.

He barely knew Tom beyond a handful of memories and the twisted being from the diary in the
Chamber. He’d seen enough to understand what a post horcrux Tom was like and the difference was
vast.

Tom, as he was now, was still very much human.

He was revered by the entire Slytherin house, respected by other students from the other houses, and
was always surrounded by his dorm mates. Were they friends? Harry wouldn’t say Tom was friends
with them per se, but it was obvious that they accepted Tom as their friend. They cared for Tom, no
doubt. However, the dynamic between them was different than Harry, Ron, and Hermione.

They didn’t act as if they were family.

Tom was dangerous, of course, and had the potential for a great deal of harm, but Harry wasn’t
without fault. He himself had used unforgivables in the heat of war - had done so unflinchingly. And
he’d do it again in a heartbeat.

To protect those he loved, Harry would do anything.

Could Tom become someone like that for me?

A tiny seed sprouted with that hope.

Class passed rather quickly for Harry. It was the usual sixth year introduction on what to expect
during the year to help them be prepared for their NEWTs next year. Once class ended, Harry left the
classroom before the crowd of students. He stood aside in the hallway and pulled out his class
schedule. He froze when he saw the class listed after Charms.
Divination.

Ah, fuck, no.

Well, impractical promises aside, there was nothing in this world that could convince Harry to step
foot in a Divination classroom. Not going to happen. No way in hell. He doubted Trelawney was a
teacher in this time, but he wasn’t about to take any chances.

Prophecies and the like could fuck off.

Harry shoved his class schedule into his pouch, pulling the map out, and threw his shoulder bag over
his back. He slipped away from the crowd, dipping into a secret passageway. He activated the map.
He needed a place where he wouldn’t have to worry about someone coming after him.

To the grounds, then.

He opened the map fully, scanning the grounds for an empty place. The greenhouses were full with
overlapping names. There was a strange name, Gamekeeper Ogg, in Hagrid’s old hut. Or I guess it’s
not Hagrid’s hut or never was. Ugh. Time travel. But it was the lone name in the hippogriff stables
that caught his eye.

Newton Scamander.

Harry frowned, staring at the name. Wait a minute, Scamander… isn’t that…? He sucked in his breath
when it dawned on him.

It was the author of ‘Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them.’ The man’s book was a textbook for
Care of Magical Creatures even at this time - it had been on the list for Harry’s current year.

Why is he here?

Harry didn’t know much about the man, beyond that trashy novel Rita Skeeter had published after
Dumbledore’s death. He’d also heard Hermione mentioning that Scamander had been involved in the
first capture of Grindelwald in the 1920s. There’d been rumors about him having a hand in
Grindelwald’s defeat, but the legends always told of how Dumbledore was the one who had fought
him.

Took his long ass time about it, though. What the hell was he doing for nearly twenty years? Having a
picnic?

Maybe this Mr. Scamander had some helpful information about Grindelwald. Harry hesitated, looking
at the name on the map. He had the urge to go meet the man, but caution was holding him back.
Though Scamander hadn’t been a member of The Order of the Phoenix, he had refused an interview
with Skeeter. He had seemed loyal to Dumbledore.

I can’t risk tipping off Dumbledore if this guy is loyal to him.

But…

Harry had to take the chance. It wasn’t every day that Newt Scamander himself would be here at
Hogwarts. There wasn’t anyone else around at the stables either. It was the perfect opportunity to go
speak with him and he couldn’t ask for better.

But if he goes to Dumbledore…

Harry huffed. Decision made, he put the map away. There hadn’t been anyone else on the grounds and
Harry knew his way to the stables now. Harry drew in a deep breath as he walked outside, enjoying
the crisp fresh air and the bright sunshine.

As he walked across the sloping grounds, Harry noticed the Whomping Willow was missing in the
distance. His heart twinged at the thought of Remus. Memories of his third year entered his mind, as
well as the adventurous, yet dangerous deeds that Harry’s father and his friends had gotten up to.

If Harry succeeded in changing Tom’s future, then he was going to try to better other lives, too.
Remus, Sirius, even Severus - he was going to do everything in his power to make sure their lives
were better this time around.

That meant cracking down on bullying here at Hogwarts.

But how to do that? It was so rampant, Harry wasn’t sure where to begin. Not to mention, the
generation before Harry’s parents’ generation weren’t out of school, let alone even married. Harry
would be an adult, gone from Hogwarts years before that generation.

Unless…

Harry halted, his eyes growing wide. It was a brilliant idea, but how was he going to compete with
Dumbledore? No one was going to hire some smart mouth kid over Albus Dumbledore, the conqueror
of Grindelwald—

No, but he isn’t going to defeat Grindelwald this time, is he?

I am.

And that was the key.

It was an overwhelming thought, yes, but there was something about winning one over Dumbledore
that brought a little spring to Harry’s step. Of course, there was the first obstacle of Tom and, well…

Harry knew he was doing a bang up job of it.

Hah, no.

He knew he couldn’t force it, though - and it wasn’t like he didn’t have time. It was day five coming
back in time.

‘Don’t try to force yourself with this task. Let it happen naturally. Don’t overthink it.’

Lily’s voice echoed in his mind and a bit of peace entered Harry’s heart at that. It was going to be
okay. It’ll happen. I just have to be myself.

My cranky, sassy self. Perfect.

Bolstered by those thoughts, Harry reached the stables after a few minute stroll across the grounds.
The stables were a large wooden building, enough to house quite a number of hippogriffs. The front
of the stables had a large pasture where a couple of them were sunbathing. There were a couple of
fledgling colts bounding clumsily after each other, cawing in their play. Harry walked to the entrance
of the stables, peeking through the open doors. Harry entered the building slowly, catching the eye of
a hippogriff in its pen. He froze. It gave him a long look, before going back to eating. Harry sighed in
relief.
“I know, I know, just a bit more, Nightwing,” spoke a soft, gentle voice, though it was a bit muffled. It
came from the end of the stables. “There’s a good boy. Almost done now.”

There was something ever so kind about the voice. Harry instantly felt at ease. It was just the type of
voice to use to keep an animal calm. As he approached the back of the stables, he recognized the
black stallion he’d saved from those bullying kids. At the stallion’s side, a middle aged man with light
brown hair, a bit of greying at the sides, sat on a three legged stool, his wand tucked neatly in his
mouth.

Mad Eye Moody’s voice echoed in Harry’s head: ‘Don’t put your wand there, boy!’

The hippogriff’s left hoof was propped up in the man’s lap as he tended to it with a white colored
salve. The stallion’s dark brown eyes made contact with Harry, who stilled; he bowed low, trying not
to blink. The stallion immediately bowed his head in return.

The man jolted at the movement, glancing up to see Harry. “Oh,” he said, startled, taking his wand out
of his mouth and tucking it away. “Oh, stay back now, you shouldn’t be in here—Nightwing will get a
bit testy if he’s around children again.”

“It’s okay, I understand,” said Harry with a light chuckle. “I would get testy, too, if I were him.”

The man eyed him for a moment. “Would you? And why is that?”

“He was getting bullied by some kids, the little prats. I just hope he doesn’t hate all of them after
that.”

Nightwing huffed, shaking his feathered mane. Harry laughed, approaching the stallion and petting
his feathers before the man could protest further. Nightwing nudged him until Harry pulled out an
apple from his pocket and gave it to him. Okay, maybe the house elves were onto something. The man
blinked in surprise as Nightwing crunched on the apple.

“He likes you.”

“Yeah,” said Harry with a smile. “We’re friends, aren’t we, boy? Sorry I don’t have something better
to eat, like some meat.” Nightwing rubbed against Harry, causing him to laugh some more. “You’re a
good boy,” he cooed, delighted. He stroked his feathers, remembering Buckbeak. His gaze softened.

The man took him in for a long moment. “I’d heard of a boy who defended Nightwing and calmed
him down.” The man’s hazel eyes rested on the Slytherin house crest. “Are you him, then?”

“That’s me. Harry Evans, at your service.”

“Newt Scamander.”

“D’you mean the Newt Scamander, the author of my textbook?” asked Harry, glancing over at him.
Newt shifted, appearing a bit uncomfortable. With his head ducked slightly, a smile tugged at the edge
of his mouth; he nodded. “Cool,” Harry said and Newt let out a laugh. “Nice to meet you.”

“Thank you for protecting Nightwing. Not many would.”

“I’ve got a soft spot for hippogriffs.”

“Shouldn’t you be in class?” asked Newt, eyebrows furrowing.

Harry shrugged. “Free period. So, what’s wrong with Nightwing?”

“Ah, he’s got a bad case of greasy hoof, also known as mud fever or dew poisoning,” said Newt,
pointing to the long and rather deep scratch on the hoof, his attention solely on the stallion now. “It’s a
skin lesion caused by bacteria, possibly contracted due to the wet season we’ve had.”

“Is he going to be okay?”

“Oh, certainly,” said Newt, his smile soft as he stroked Nightwing’s breast. “It’s not the worst case.
He’ll pull through just fine.” His smile turned a bit mischievous. “Though it’s a bit of a blow to his
pride—” Nightwing shook his head, huffing more irritably now. Newt breathed out a quiet laugh. “I
know,” he said, patting him. “I know, pulling carriages for loud, rude little children isn’t suitable work
for a noble, proud creature such as yourself, but we thank you for it. There’s little patience to be had
when you’re sick. I understand.”

Newt stroked the stallion for another moment, before going back to his ministrations. With a flick of
his wand, white bandages wrapped around the hoof, twisting into a decorative bow. Newt smiled at it,
setting the hoof down on the ground. He stood up, patting Nightwing on the back.

“There. That should do it.”

“A handsome bow for a handsome boy,” said Harry.

Nightwing puffed up, preening under the attention.

“You have a way with him,” said Newt, gesturing with his chin. “Experienced with hippogriffs, are
you?”

“Just a bit,” said Harry with a shrug. He stroked Nightwing’s beak, slow and gentle. “When I was
thirteen, I saw them for the first time in a class. This one kid, right big arsehole that one, marched up
to Buckbeak and insulted him right to his face. Buckbeak didn’t take it well and scratched him for it.
The kid was such a baby about it. Whinged for months and milked it for all it was worth.”

“Only a scratch? He was lucky it wasn’t worse than that,” said Newt, shaking his head. His expression
darkened with sadness. “I’ve seen hippogriffs put down for less,” he said bitterly.

“Wasn’t for lack of trying,” said Harry. He grinned, winking at Newt. “I may or may not have
illegally helped Buckbeak escape his execution, but you didn’t hear it from me, though.”

Newt laughed, his eyes bright and merry. He peered at Harry through his fringe, leaning a bit closer
and said, “I, too, may or may not have illegally rescued a creature or two in my day.” He glanced over
at Nightwing, a faraway look in his eyes. “A creature should never suffer, no matter how different
they are.” He looked back at Harry. “Remember, rules are important, but they’re not always there for
everyone’s benefit. Sometimes…” His voice dropped a tone. “Sometimes, rules must be broken for
the sake of the one.”

Something swelled in Harry’s chest. He stared at the man, taking in a deep breath. He’d never heard
an adult talk like that. Sirius had always been a rulebreaker, but it was for the thrill and fun of it. And
while Dumbledore wasn’t exactly a stickler for rules, something about the way Newt said it seemed
all the more powerful. It felt almost opposite to how Dumbledore had dealt with things.

‘For the sake of the one.’

Not the greater good. Not actions and choices made in shades of grey. Were the decisions made in the
name of the ‘Greater Good’ truly ever for the benefit of others? Or were they made under the guise
for personal gain?

Maybe… Maybe he’s safe. He’s… different than Dumbledore. He seems to run by a better moral
compass than Dumbledore, if he’s thinking of the impact of one, instead of many as a whole.

How much would Harry’s life have been different if Dumbledore had been more concerned for Harry
himself, instead of the greater good?

Can I trust him?

“It’s… It’s nice to hear an adult say that,” whispered Harry. It’s now or never. He hesitated, but shifted
the conversation. “This whole thing with Grindelwald makes me question adults and their choices.”

Newt’s expression twisted with pain. Haltingly, he put a hand on Harry’s shoulder, though he seemed
uncomfortable. He squeezed lightly.

“I know.”

Well, let’s see what he says to this.

“They say Dumbledore is the only one powerful enough to face him,” said Harry, looking up at the
man. Newt didn’t make direct eye contact. “So… why hasn’t he? Wasn’t Grindelwald first captured
over a decade ago?”

Newt’s body sank in a deep sigh. His hand withdrew from Harry, running over his face for a moment.
His expression turned guarded, but there was a darkened light in his eyes. “I really couldn’t say,” he
said softly, glancing downwards. “You’d have to ask him yourself why… why he hasn’t.”

“But… Well, I thought—I mean, I’d heard you were there at Grindelwald’s first capture.” Newt
sucked in his breath, startled; he looked at Harry, his eyes wide now. The man swallowed. “I’m sorry,
I just… I thought maybe you’d know more.”

“Where did you hear that?” asked Newt.

“Just… rumors, sir.” A hint of suspicion entered the man’s expression, so Harry added, “And you
know, when there’s a secret, naturally everyone at Hogwarts will know about it.”

This softened Newt. He let out a soft exasperated chuckle, his eyes shutting closed briefly. He nodded.
“Yeah,” he whispered.

Harry bit his lip. He was pushing it, he could tell, but he wanted some more information on
Dumbledore and where Newt stood with the old man. There was a part of Harry’s heart that wanted to
have someone else in his corner and he had a touch of hope Newt Scamander could be such a person.

His warmth was different than the wise grandfatherly aura of Dumbledore. There was something
more gentle and open to Newt, despite the obvious discomfort he had when speaking to Harry about
anything that wasn’t about the hippogriff. He didn’t want to scare off the man, but if he defended
Dumbledore, it didn’t matter anyway.

“I know this is a hard question, but… If Grindelwald is so awful for our world, then why hasn’t
anyone stopped him? Why hasn’t Dumbledore gone after him yet? People are dying.”
Newt let out a heavy sigh, averting his gaze. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, shifting his stance,
looking everywhere but at Harry. His jaw clenched briefly. “You’re correct,” he said softly. “I was
there, but only by circumstance of chance—and you’re right, he’s done terrible things to innocent
people, but—” He sighed again, his head ducking slightly. “I-I don’t have the answers you’re looking
for—you should go back to the castle, go to your next class. I—if you’ll excuse me…”

Newt turned away, wand flicking, his supplies flying into his hands.

“The Dark Lord killed my parents.”

Newt froze. His head slowly looked back at Harry.

“That’s why…” Harry glanced at the ground. Inaction had been the key to Voldemort’s rise.
Dumbledore hadn’t tried to stop him, both before the first war and after the second war. Hagrid
himself had said Dumbledore suspected Voldemort wasn’t gone after trying to kill Harry as a baby. So
why? Why hadn’t Dumbledore tried to find him? “It’s hard to see inaction when he’s got the ability to
stop him.”

Newt met his gaze, pained pity swirling in those hazel eyes. But it was more than the usual pity Harry
had received from others when mentioning his parents - there was a connection, an understanding.
Empathy. Newt, too, had lost those dear to his heart.

“Harry…” Newt reached out, putting a firm hand onto Harry’s shoulder again, this time with
assurance. With his head tucked, he leaned intimately close to Harry, warmth and kindness in his
expression. And oddly, it reminded Harry of Sirius. “I’m so sorry for your loss. I can’t make your pain
go away with any words or magic, though I wish I could.” He appeared to struggle with his next
words. “I-I don’t know—” He inhaled. “—I don’t know why Professor Dumbledore has been holding
back—there must be a reason, must be.”

It sounded more like he were trying to convince himself as well as Harry.

“I don’t have the answers you need, but I know Dumbledore’s door is always open. He’ll listen, he
always does.” A wry, somewhat pained smile lifted the edge of Newt’s lips. “I can’t promise he’ll
give you a satisfactory answer… but it might be worth a try at least.”

If that wasn’t a fact…

Harry nodded, a lump in his throat. But he knew better. Dumbledore’s door was open, just not to him.
Not Harry Evans the Slytherin. He’d had too much experience of Dumbledore not listening to him
when he was the Golden Boy and was in the old man’s favor. There had always been reassuring
words, side stepping Harry’s concerns with gilded reasons, but he never truly heard Harry.

After all, he had sent Harry back to an abusive home, over and over again, year after year, excuses
upon excuses as to why.

He didn’t trust Albus Dumbledore.

It hurt to come to that realization. He hadn’t entertained it before, but he knew it to be true. He
couldn’t trust Dumbledore to put Harry’s needs into consideration. Not really, not truly. There had
always been an illusion of helping him, of being concerned for his welfare. But he hadn’t championed
for him, not like Sirius had.

Dumbledore wasn’t a mentor.

Harry knew the old man wasn’t malicious in this, but for all his praises and accolades, Albus
Dumbledore was not all seeing nor all knowing. He sprouted the ‘Greater Good’ rhetoric and all that
lovely shit, but Dumbledore was incapable of seeing the bigger picture. His ‘Greater Good’ was and
always had been a farce.

Emotion clogged Harry’s throat. A feeling of loss burned inside his chest, one he wasn’t prepared for;
his eyes glistened. He nodded and mumbled, “Thanks, sir. I don’t think Dumbledore will have an
answer for a Slytherin like me.” He gestured to the crest on his breast.

There was a sharp intake of breath.

Newt gave his shoulder a squeeze. Harry looked up into Newt’s warm expression, boundless
sympathy in his eyes, though it was tainted with a bit of hidden sorrow. “Harry… uh, well—if you, uh
—if you’re ever down, I want you to know you can send me an owl.” Harry’s eyes widened and
Newt’s expression softened further. His words became more assured. “Even if you just need to talk,
I’m free. Anything you need, don’t be shy to ask for help.”

Yet again. This man was so different. They were strangers, yet Newt offered a listening ear without
being a teacher here at Hogwarts. Without it being expected or required. He gave the offer with true
genuine sincerity.

“Thank you,” said Harry quietly. “I really appreciate that.”

“I…” Newt made a sound in the back of his throat. “Perhaps I’ll speak with Professor Dumbledore
myself. He might give me an answer—no, I’ll make sure he gives me a proper answer this time. He’s
certainly due for it.” The man nodded, more to himself. “Yes, I’ll do that. I’ll write to you about how
it went, for your peace of mind. Whether or not it’s good enough, well… I’ll do my best.”

“Thanks,” whispered Harry. His heart filled with a new kind of emotion. His feelings were
dangerously verging how he felt towards Sirius and Remus, but he pushed them down. No matter how
much he wanted to confide in an adult again, he couldn’t.

I can’t—I really can’t risk it.

“You’re a good lad,” said Newt warmly. His hand withdrew.

Harry laughed. “Thanks for the chat, Mr. Scamander.”

“Newt, call me Newt.”

“All right then. Thanks again, I appreciate—”

“Evans!”

Harry glanced back to see Tom marching through the stables. He stopped a good enough distance
from Nightwing, barely giving the stallion a look. His furious gaze was solely for Harry. His hair was
a bit skewed and he appeared somewhat ruffled, as if he’d ran part of the way.

Harry bit back a smirk. “Can I help you, Riddle?”

“You skipped Divination,” said Tom, his voice low and dangerous.

“Oh… heh.” Harry winced at the scrutinizing look Newt was giving him. “Uh, oops?”
“Oops?” hissed Tom. “That’s all you have to say? This is the second class you’ve skived off, plus you
forgot about Dumbledore’s detention—you’re making the Slytherin house look like a joke!”

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist,” said Harry. He almost laughed when Tom looked like he would
love nothing more than to curse Harry right then and there. “Dumbledore rescheduled my detention
for tomorrow. He was very understanding. And it’s just the first week of class—dear Merlin, Riddle,
you’re so uptight.”

Tom inhaled. “Detention.”

Harry acted nonchalant about it, shrugging, hoping to irritate Tom. It worked: Tom turned a shade of
puce, his chest heaving deeply.

“Thanks again, I best get to my next class before Riddle here busts a blood vein.”

“I’d rather you thank me by attending your classes and staying out of trouble, Mr. Evans,” said Newt,
crossing his arms. His look was firm, but his tone was lighthearted.

“Nah, I doubt I can do that, sir,” said Harry with an impish grin. “Trouble always finds me.”

Newt appeared to make an effort to look stern, but his lips gave away his amusement. He ducked his
head and turned away, but Harry caught a glimpse of a smile.

“Bye!” said Harry with a wave. He strode past Tom, giving him a double eyebrow lift and a smirk. He
relished in the glare he received in return.

Winding Tom Riddle up was far too much fun.

When Tom entered the classroom to Divination that morning, the last thing he’d been expecting was
to be sent back out to collect a wayward Evans.

But here he was.

Professor Cassandra Trelawney was an old woman whose age was unknown, though the way she
talked about Headmaster Dippet, Tom had to wonder if she were older than the centuries old Dippet.
The room smelled faintly of incense with the windows cracked open to not overwhelm the room.
Trelawney sat on a plush armchair wearing burgundy velvet robes, appearing smaller than she was in
the oversized seat. She lifted a hand and motioned towards herself.

“Ah, Tom, dear, I’d like a word with you.”

Students were piling into the room, taking their seats. Tom set his bag on one of the tables and came
to stand in front of her. “How may I be of assistance, Professor?”

With slow, shaky movements, Trelawney took him by the hand, encasing it with both of her wrinkled
hands. She patted him warmly and he fought the urge to pull away.

“Yes, I need you to fetch your Harry, if you wouldn’t mind?”

“Excuse me?” said Tom, baffled.

Harry? Who’s Harry?

Wait… MY Harry???

“Mr. Evans is on the grounds this morning,” said Trelawney, her brown eyes twinkling. Harrison
Evans—She’s calling him Harry? Is that what he goes by? Harrison is rather American… “I believe
he’s making his way to the stables now as we speak. You can see him now if you look out the
window.”

Tom strode to the window with the speed of a serpent’s strike.

He inhaled deeply. Sure enough, there was a lone figure in the distance with wild black hair strolling
across the grounds. The figure paused abruptly for a moment, before continuing onward.

Rage poured into Tom’s chest.

Tom had always prided himself on remaining well spoken, acting with refined propriety before all
others, but Evans was enough to make even the purest of saints swear like a sailor.

That motherfucking…

“As you can see, your Harry dear has no intention of joining us for class today. Would you mind so
terribly going to him and seeing if he’s all right? Why not escort him to his next class, Care of
Magical Creatures, I do believe. There’s no need to come back to class. You won’t make it back in
time, but it’s just the first class. No need to stress about it.”

“It would be my pleasure,” said Tom, his fury burning hotter. A number of the Slytherins stiffened,
alarmed, but Trelawney didn’t notice the shift in Tom’s energy.

She smiled at him. “I knew you would. Off you go now.”

Tom grabbed his bag and marched out of the classroom. His strides were long and powerful as he
walked through the castle.

He had counseled Abraxas to have patience, but sending him and the other seventh year Knights after
Mr. ‘Harry’ Evans was beginning to look like a fantastic idea. He’d never met a more infuriating boy
such as Evans. Tom had to figure out his pressure points and fast. Nothing besides blood purity
seemed to get under his skin.

Tom needed leverage.

It was a beautiful day outside, but Tom didn’t notice it as he broke into a run. His legs pumped
beneath him and he didn’t bother to care about his appearance.

When he reached the pasture outside the stables, Tom doubled over for a moment, catching his breath.
He ran a hand through his hair, adjusting the stray bangs that had fallen over his eyes.

He strode towards the stables, pausing at the entrance. At the end, he could see Evans speaking with
an unfamiliar man.

“Evans!”

The following exchange with him forced Tom to give him a detention. He was so close to hexing him
and might’ve indulged in one or two if they’d been alone. Hexing Evans until he was screaming in
agony would’ve been a better lesson, but a detention with Slughorn would have to do.
And the most infuriating thing: Evans didn’t even care! He simply shrugged and strode on by.

This aggravating, son of a—

“Evans. Evans.” Tom marched after him, but the other boy didn’t pause. He strode towards the castle,
not looking back at him. Tom had the overwhelming desire to hex him yet again. “Evans!”

“What?” snapped Evans, whirling around. “What do you want, Riddle, seriously?”

Tom paused, trying to calm down. “It looks poorly on you if you continue to skip classes.”

“Do I look like I care?”

Tom gritted his teeth. “Why come to school at all, then?” he hissed. “If you plan on skiving off so
much?”

“Hell if I know.”

“I don’t understand why you would skip Divination and Defense Against the Dark Arts. They’re vital
—”

“The fuck?” Evans barked out a laugh. “Divination? I don’t need that shit.”

“Of course you do,” said Tom, genuinely taken aback. He let out a derisive laugh. “You can’t dismiss
the future. Divination is such a flighty, even obscure branch of magic. There are endless possibilities
in the future and to know one’s future—you’re given the chance to alter it or secure it. ”

Evans scoffed. “Please, Divination is a crock.”

“And how would you know?” snarled Tom. “You didn’t bother to show up.”

“The future isn’t such a mystery as you’d think.”

“What, a seer, are you?”

Evans grinned. “Maybe.”

“Oh? Then, do be a dear and prove it.”

The grin turned deadly. Evans looked Tom right in the eyes, took a step forward, and placed a hand
onto Tom’s shoulder. Tom jolted slightly at the touch. Evans leaned in closer, looking up at him
through his black fringe with a soft, mischievous expression. This close, Tom could see how vibrant
those green eyes truly were.

Killing curse green.

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you, Tom Riddle, are not going to age well. Not at all.”

“Pardon?” breathed Tom.

“You’re gonna be bald by your thirties. Quite atrocious, honestly. You’re gonna lose all of those good
looks your daddy blessed you with.”

What in Salazar…
 “Not attractive in the slightest,” continued Evans, the mischief dancing merrily in his eyes. “You
might also want to start a skincare routine, too, while you’re at it.”

Tom officially wanted to murder this boy.

Chapter End Notes

In one fic, I read of a Merrythought who had a wife and I can’t unsee it. I LOVE the idea of her
being a BAMF lesbian in the 1900s. Fortinbras is from the wiki and is a name from Hamlet, so
that’s how I gave her Ophelia for a first name.

ALSO. Anytime you see Newt in this fic, you can be assured that AJ had thoughts and ideas for
him because she got the hots for him. She helped writes parts of the stable scene in a rough first
draft.

Check my Tumblr for updates, snippets, and shenanigans. Spotify for the story’s playlist.
 Eight
Chapter Notes

NOTE: Originally, I made Henry Potter, Harry's great grandfather, of Indian heritage since that's
a head canon I've seen around for Harry and I love it. But Potter is a European last name, so I'm
retroactively changing this to be Harry's great grandmother. (I'll be editing this into chapter two
soon. I haven't yet.) I realize Fleamont is named Fleamont for his mother's maiden name, but I'm
switching that to Henry's mother's maiden name.

TLDR: Fuck canon.

Also, just a random thanks to SkylerSkyhigh for saying bullshittery in their comment, because I
didn’t know that word existed.

But now I do. -grins-

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Operation ‘Piss Off Tom Riddle’ had commenced. Harry wanted his attention on him and nothing else
- like on murder and mayhem, for example. So what better way to get his attention than to act like an
emotionally repressed seven year old and pester the living shit out of him.

The hilarious part?

It was working.

Harry let out an exhaling laugh at Tom’s expression. There were two red splotches on his cheeks, his
eyes wide with fury. His fists shook. Tom’s chest heaved in a deep breath; it slowly lowered with a
long exhale.

Well, it was decided. Harry needed to order some skin and hair products for Tom’s Christmas present.
Because why the hell not?

“You certainly have a way with words, Evans,” whispered Tom.

“Why, thank you, Riddle!” said Harry with a wry grin, bowing with a flourish. Tom’s nostrils flared.
“I am delighted you appreciate the fine arts of my bullshittery.”

Harry ducked. A streak of heat rushed overhead. He rolled to the side, dodging another spell - the
white light of a stinging hex. Wait, just a stinging hex? However, if the singed patch of grass was
anything to go by, that would’ve hurt like a bitch. Harry whipped out his wand, but too slow—the
third stinging hex struck his shoulder and blasted him off his feet. “Fucking hell!” he cursed, landing
hard onto his back. He groaned. His shoulder burned something fierce now.

Before Harry could retaliate, Tom had already tucked his wand away and held out a hand. Harry
blinked, staring at it.
“Do you plan on lying on the grass all day?” asked Tom with a raised eyebrow. His expression was
impassive, yet there was a hint of satisfaction in his eyes.

Harry grabbed the proffered hand and allowed himself to be pulled up. His hand... it’s soft. Harry
stumbled backwards. He hid his hands behind his back, vividly aware of the wild thumping in his
chest. He barely noticed the pain in his shoulder over the roar of his heart and the fleeting sensation of
Tom’s hand in his.

Bloody hell, get a grip on yourself.

“You have a wicked stinging hex.”

“I haven’t the foggiest idea as to what you’re talking about,” said Tom in a haughty tone, brushing
invisible dust from his robes. “But you’re lucky that’s all it was. Slytherins are adept in darker curses
should you ever cross one.”

I’ll say.

“Worse will happen to you if you continue this outrageous path of self destruction.” Tom’s gaze was
hard. “I’m warning you, Evans. Stop this absurdity.”

“Awe, but where’s the fun in that?”

Tom sighed in exasperation. “Evans, at least go to your classes, for Salazar’s sake.”

“I don’t want to go to Divination.”

“Then why ever did you select it?”

“It was picked without my consent.”

Tom frowned. “You didn’t choose your own classes?” he asked, baffled.

“My enrollment at Hogwarts was kind of a last minute thing,” said Harry with a shrug. “My classes
were chosen for me, but I’d rather not deal with Divination.”

Even if I did have fun with the assignment…

“I suppose you could drop it,” said Tom with a thoughtful expression. “You’d have to go to Professor
Trelawney, though.”

Harry froze. He stared at Tom in utter horror. “Sorry, what?”

“What about what I said was confusing?”

“Who is the teacher?”

“Professor Trelawney. What’s wrong?”

Harry let out a long sigh and shook his head. “My life. That’s what’s wrong. Everything about my
fucking life.”

Tom tried to get more out of him at that point, but Harry refused. Everything he ever knew was a lie.
It had to be. He knew Dumbledore had met Trelawney in the Hog’s Head months before Harry was
born. That was when the damned prophecy had been made. But Sybill Trelawney couldn’t have been
that old. At any rate, he wanted nothing to do with the woman who had screwed with his life so much.

The last thing Harry Potter needed was another damn prophecy.

Tom backed off eventually and they fell into an easy silence as they walked together across the
grounds towards the border of the Forbidden Forest where Care of Magical Creatures would be held.
Harry appreciated the silence. He’d been sure Tom would pester him the entire way, but he
surprisingly didn’t.

Care of Magical Creatures was taught by Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank, though she appeared much,
much younger than in Harry’s time when she had substituted for Hagrid. The class would cover more
exotic creatures and even hippogriffs were on the list this year. They spent most of the class
documenting all of the creatures they were required to read up on.

When the class was dismissed, Harry quickly put his book away, wanting to bolt as quickly as
possible. Tom had a look in his eyes that told Harry he was about to be cornered. He slipped away
into the shadows of the trees, pulling out his cloak and disappearing beneath it just in time. Tom had
rounded the area, looking around with confusion. He lifted his wand. Harry covered his mouth with a
hand and held his breath.

“Revelio,” whispered Tom. The glittering spell surrounded the tip of his wand, but revealed nothing.
Tom frowned. He took one final glance around the forest, before walking away.

Harry didn’t move for a couple of minutes.

When he was sure Tom was gone, he left the forest, but kept the cloak on. He had no desire to
encounter anyone. He had a workload to deal with and he wanted to do it alone. Thankfully, he kept
his books in his pouch, leaving only the ones he needed for the day in his schoolbag. He walked
across the grounds towards what was quickly becoming his favorite place to be.

The owlery.

After casting a few scourgify charms, Harry sat in his corner of the owlery with Kasper sleeping on
his shoulder while Harry worked on his assignments.

Every class he had attended had assigned foot long essays on their understanding of the course and
what they looked forward to learning the most. It was grunt work, but it wasn’t that difficult. There
was still a lot of writing to do over the weekend and Harry preferred to get what he could done now.
Ron had always wanted to procrastinate until the last minute, while Hermione had always wanted to
go above and beyond what the assignment asked.

With both of them no longer at his side, Harry was beginning to understand what he wanted. They’d
both had their good and bad qualities and he loved them dearly, but to avoid fighting, Harry went
along with Ron most of the time, relying on Hermione to bail them out at times.

But his OWLs made Harry realize that he wasn’t that bad at his schoolwork. Some classes were
awful, like History of Magic. Umbridge had been the worst teacher he’d ever had.

But with the right learning environment, Harry thrived.

The teachers could either make or break the class for him.
Harry took his time with the assignments, even rewriting them properly on a cleaner piece of
parchment once he was done brainstorming. He ended up knocking out three of his essays before
dinner. He reread them, admiring his work. Sure, they weren’t the best written essays, but he did
pretty good, if he did say so himself.

Not bad.

Now. Eager house elves or cranky Slytherins?

Dinner in the Great Hall it was.

After packing his things and watching Kasper fly off into the night to hunt, Harry left the owlery. The
Great Hall was crowded with loads of students; their voices were a cacophony that crashed in his ears.
Harry stood at the entrance, a bit overwhelmed. He was about to turn away, go straight to the kitchens
instead, when an arm wrapped around his neck.

“Evans, you finally decided to show up for dinner,” said Rosier, his grey eyes twinkling. Harry turned
to see all seven of his dormmates gathered around him. Tom watched him with a studying gaze. Fan-
bloody-tastic. Rosier threw out a hand towards Mulciber, his fingers gesturing towards himself. “Pay
up, I told you Evans would show up for dinner tonight. Where’s my galleon?”

“You bet on me?”

“What else are they going to do?” said Avery with a roll of his eyes. Mulciber wrinkled his nose, dug
into his pocket, and slapped a coin into Rosier’s hand. Rosier grinned in triumph. He withdrew from
Harry, giving the galleon an exaggerated kiss.

“Prat,” snarled Mulciber with a glare towards Harry.

He lifted his hands into the air in his defense. “Hey,” Harry protested, indignant. “I just showed up to
eat dinner. Not my fault you’re betting against common sense.”

Lestrange snorted. “He’s got you there.”

“But you’ve skipped so many meals, so we weren’t sure,” said Quintus softly. Alphard clung to his
arm like a spider monkey, yawning widely. Quintus gave Harry a once over with his dark eyes. “Not
that you should. You’re rail thin.”

“I’m fine.”

What the hell. Are these Slytherins secretly mother hens in disguise?

“You don’t even look seven stone, mate,” said Rosier, frowning at him. “I bet Avery here could throw
you farther than the quaffle. What d’you think?”

Without preamble, Avery stepped forward, who was easily a number of inches over six feet tall,
placed his hands underneath Harry’s underarms, and lifted him into the air.

Harry squawked.

“The fuck! Put me down!” He couldn’t help but kick his feet.

Avery set him down. The other boys snickered as Harry jerked away, glaring. Even Tom had an
amused twitch of a smile. Avery glanced over at Rosier. “I’d say you're a few pounds under six stone,
give or take.” How the hell… He looked at Harry. “You could be a seeker with that build, but you
should gain some weight for your health and some muscle before you try out. You’re underweight.”

Harry clamped his mouth shut, memories of winter nights in a tent with little rations rushing to the
forefront of his mind.

“Simon is the Quidditch Captain,” said Rosier.

“I play Keeper,” said Avery.

“I’ve… I, uh…”

Harry trailed off, debating what he should say. He wasn’t sure if he actually wanted to try out for the
Quidditch team, especially without his old firebolt. He missed flying and loved the thrill of Quidditch,
but it required a lot of time and dedication. He had enough to deal with as it was. While Avery didn’t
seem high-strung like Oliver Wood or Angelina Johnson, Harry wasn’t sure if he could handle the
stress of it on top of everything else.

Like saving the world from two Dark Lords and multiple wars.

Nothing big, after all.

“I’ve played before,” said Harry, his tone guarded. “I’m a Seeker.”

Avery nodded. “Thought so. Seemed like the type. Travis Carrow graduated last year, so we could use
a Seeker.”

Hope flooded Harry’s chest. Dammit. “Well… maybe I’ll give it a try.”

“Do that,” said Avery, a touch of a wry smile lifting his mouth. “Tryouts are next week. I expect to see
you there.”

Rosier and Avery walked together towards the Slytherin table, with Lestrange talking with Mulciber
about their latest charms homework.

“Do try to eat something more than apples,” said Quintus with a wry smile, walking by with Alphard
still hanging onto him. Alphard winked at him.

And then Harry was left alone with Tom.

“Where did you disappear to?” asked Tom.

“What’re you talking about?”

“After class. You disappeared after Care of Magical Creatures. Where do you go all day? And how in
Salazar’s name do you not get lost?”

Harry couldn’t resist. “Magic.” He grinned at the annoyance in Tom’s expression. Harry bounced his
eyebrows mischievously, before he strode into the Great Hall.

Heh.
Harry was pouring himself a cup of coffee the following day, Saturday morning, when the post
arrived in a flurry of feathers, screeches, and hoots. Kasper landed elegantly amongst the chaos on
Harry’s shoulder, barking softly in his ear.

“Got some post for me?” Kasper fluffed up and held out a leg. Harry pulled two letters off his leg and
stroked his feathers. “Thanks, boy,” he whispered fondly. Harry looked to the table and leaned down.
“Hey, um, could I get a bit of rare meat for my owl, please?”

“Why the hell are you talking to your plate?” demanded Mulciber.

Lestrange barked out a laugh. “Evans, you cracked finally?”

Raw meat magically appeared on Harry’s plate. He grinned. “Thanks a bunch.” Harry gave the slab of
meat to Kasper, who gave a slight muffled thankful bark, and flew into the air with his meal.

Mulciber and Lestrange stared, gobsmacked.

“You were saying?” asked Harry smugly.

“How’d you…”

“Magic.”

Tom snorted, before quickly covering his face with his charms book. Harry stared, taken aback at the
realization that he’d actually gotten Tom to laugh. He shook himself and opened the first letter. His
lifted mood vanished when he recognized Dumbledore’s handwriting.

Don’t forget: my office at one o’clock.

Harry crinkled up the letter, annoyed. He opened the other one, which was from Slughorn, and let out
a low groan.

Mr. Riddle has informed me that he’s assigned you detention for skipping Divination. Mr. Evans, I
strongly disapprove of skipping classes. Please refrain from doing this in the future. Your detention
will be in my office at seven pm.

Harry wadded up the letter. He had a half notion of throwing it at Tom’s head. He almost gave into the
urge. Almost. He was about to tuck into his breakfast when a voice halted him.

“Hi,” said a young voice. Harry glanced back to see Fleamont Potter looking at him with a steady
gaze. “You’re the boy from the bookshop who looks like us. But Charlus pulled me away before I
could talk to you. How come you look like us?”

Harry blinked like a stag in wand light. “Uh…”

“Are you related to Mom? Are you a long lost son of an uncle?”

“We’re human,” said Harry, letting out an uneasy laugh. “You have a face… I have a face. We just
share a passing resemblance.”

“Oh, it’s definitely more than that,” said Monty, shaking his head with confidence. Harry could feel
the eyes of the Slytherins on them. “You’ve got the Potter genes, I’d bet ten whole galleons on it and
that’s a lot of gold for an eleven year old like me. You’ve got the same hair and the same nose and the
same skin color, even down to the right saturation and shade.”

The fuck? How—what—how is he—

“So, the only explanation is you’re related to us and I want to know exactly how. Are you my cousin?
Or my uncle? No, that’d be weird. Can’t be that… How are we related?”

Nope. I’m your grandson, but you’re a bit young to be married with kids at eleven, Gramps.

“No idea.”

“Why?”

“Why is a Gryffindor at the Slytherin table?” demanded Lestrange.

“Beat it, kid,” said Mulciber. “You’re bothering us.”

Monty looked over at him. “But I wasn’t talking to you. I was talking to Evans here, so how could I
be bothering you?”

Mulciber gritted his teeth.

Monty looked back at Harry. “Are you the secret son of Uncle Andal? Or Uncle Edward? Is that why
we haven’t met before?” Monty’s eyes grew adorably wide on his young, round face. “What if Mom
had an affair with another man? No, that wouldn’t make sense. She’s only a Potter by marriage. Dad
would have to have the affair. You’d be my half brother, then. Oh. That’s probably going to cause my
parents some problems.”

The Slytherin table broke into furious whispers amongst themselves.

Shit!

Shit shit shit, this kid needs to shut up real quick!

Mulciber growled. “Kid, if you don’t get lost, I’m going to curse you.”

“I’m right behind you,” said Lestrange darkly.

“You can’t in front of the teachers,” said Monty in a matter of fact tone. “You’ll get in trouble.”

Mulciber brushed a finger along his wand, eyeing Monty with a dangerous glint in his eyes. “I’m
close to taking my chances.”

Monty turned his face back onto Harry, a clear dismissal. He stepped forward, standing right in front
of Harry. “Uh… What’re you—” Monty put his small hands onto Harry’s cheeks, squishing them.
Harry stiffened, sucking in his breath. He jerked back, but the little boy held fast. Monty’s dark eyes
studied him intently.

What a… precocious child. This is my Grandfather. How…

How the hell did he survive his childhood?

“You don’t have our eyes, though,” said Monty, sounding a bit disappointed. He perked up. “They’re
very pretty, though, your green eyes. I really like them.”
A sudden sense of overwhelming loss assaulted Harry’s senses. He had the urge to hug the boy, but he
longed for Monty to be an adult, to be the grandfather he should’ve been to Harry.

“Monty!” cried Charlus the moment he entered the Great Hall. He rushed over to the Slytherin table.
He grabbed the boy by the wrist, pulling him away. Harry sat there, stunned, uncomfortable, and heart
twisting with mournful longing. “Monty, you can’t do things like this. You can’t accost others.”

“But I wasn’t. I was talking to our cousin Evans.”

“Cous—He’s not our cousin!” snapped Charlus. He huffed and threw Harry an apologetic smile. “I’m
so sorry, Evans, my little brother is… Well, he hasn’t got a filter when it comes to people. Don’t mind
him.”

“I’m right here.”

“He’s fine,” said Harry with a fond smile. “He’s just friendly.”

“See, I’m not bothering Evans.”

I wouldn’t say that, per se…

Charlus sighed. “All right, all right, let him eat his breakfast in peace. Come on.” He pulled Monty
away from the Slytherin table.

Monty turned back and gave Harry a bright smile, waving enthusiastically. “Bye bye, cousin,” he
chirped.

Harry was torn between fondness and dread.

“That’s one odd kid,” said Mulciber, his lip curling in disgust. He eyed Harry narrowly. “So, are you
really related to him?”

“I’m a mudblood, remember?” snapped Harry. “How could I be related to the Potters if I’m
muggleborn?”

“Bastard born,” said Lestrange with a shrug.

“My parents were married, thanks.”

“And how would you know?” asked Mulciber with a sneer. “They’re dead.”

Harry slowly turned his head towards Mulciber. Magic shifted in the air, crackling silently, and the
other Slytherins took notice, eyeing the two of them warily. Mulciber’s smile turned nasty.

“Oh, is the mudblood going to cry?”

“Fuck off,” said Harry cooly.

Mulciber yelped. He bolted to his feet and grabbed at his backside in quite the undignified fashion.
“Something bit me,” he gasped. “Something bit me!”

Without a word, Harry grabbed a couple of apples and tucked them into his robes pockets, before
getting up from the table. He strode only a few steps, when a hand brushed against his arm, stopping
him. Harry sucked in his breath. Tom Riddle looked up at him with a strange light in his eyes.
“Are you all right?” asked Tom.

His tone was everything but compassionate.

“Fine,” said Harry, frowning. He tried to leave, but a hand reached out, slender fingers curling around
his wrist. Harry’s breath hitched; his heart thrummed. He tried to jerk away, but Tom’s grip was
immoveable. “Do you mind?” he demanded. “Why are you touching me?”

Those fingers loosened their hold. Tom withdrew, his hand closing, a sharp smile lifting his features.
The hairs stood on Harry’s neck; he felt like a mouse caught in the sights of a dangerous predator.

“No reason,” purred Tom, a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes.

Harry fled, perturbed by the encounter.

Against his better judgment, Harry camped out in the kitchens. He was getting tired of apples at any
rate and the house elves were more than happy to house Harry for a few hours, so long as he ate
whatever they shoved at him. There was no escaping it either, since the old house elf, Minsby, eyed
him the entire time. She wouldn’t give him a moment of peace if he stopped eating.

“You’s need to be eating more, Master Evans.”

“Just call me Harry, please, and I’m trying, but this is a lot of food—”

“Not for a growing boy, tis not. Now you’s eat.”

Once the elves got Harry to cooperate with their insistence on feeding him astronomical amounts of
food yet again, they were pretty good at leaving him alone to do some more of his assignments. It was
only when the elves tried to get him to eat lunch that Harry became aware of the time.

He left the kitchens, pockets loaded with apples and even some homemade caramels wrapped in wax
paper. He didn’t know exactly where Dumbledore’s office was, but Harry walked towards the office
McGonagall had once used in Harry’s time. When he reached the office, he knocked on the door.

“Sir, I’m here for my detention,” said Harry. A bout of anxiety rushed through his stomach and he felt
flighty, ready to bolt at any moment. He tried to shove the feeling down. He twisted his hands
together, waiting, until a voice called through the door.

“Yes, yes, come inside.”

Harry strode into the office and his heart broke.

The office was almost exactly the same as what it would be in the Headmaster’s office. Barely
anything would change when - or if - Dumbledore became the Headmaster. There were magical
trinkets on shelves, wall to wall books, and other strange artifacts. It was quintessentially Dumbledore
and something inside Harry’s soul wanted to scream and cry and rage, yet also reconnect with the
man who he’d once considered a mentor.

No.

I can’t.

Don’t you dare. If I confide in him, it could ruin everything. He might actually hurt Tom and I can’t let
that happen. He’d never listen to me if I confirmed any of his suspicions of Tom.
“What am I going to be doing today, Professor?” asked Harry, looking around. He didn’t see the man
anywhere in the room.

“I have an errand that I need to run and I could use your help,” said Dumbledore; he popped up from
beneath his desk, a warm smile on his face. Harry blinked in surprise. “Shall we?” he said lightly,
gesturing towards the door.

Panic rushed into Harry’s chest. It was too reminiscent of previous events. Memories filled his mind,
a terrible cave, a trashed living room - but they wouldn’t happen now. Harry would never be bait for
Slughorn. Harry would never go to a cave filled with inferi, only to find a fake horcrux.

He wouldn’t be used by this man. No more.

But this still made him uncomfortable.

“Where are we going?” asked Harry, trying to sound nonchalant. His heart pounded in his ears and his
stomach twisted with the flurry of anxiety. “Not Diagon Alley, right?”

“No, no, not that far. We’re going into Hogsmeade.”

Okay. That’s fine. The tension unclenched in his stomach. “Isn’t this supposed to be a punishment?”
Harry asked, raising an eyebrow.

Dumbledore chuckled. “I don’t believe in detentions that force a student to scrub cauldrons,” he said
as he grabbed a small money purse. “Or Merlin forbid, detentions that use corporal punishment. Such
things only teaches the student to fear authority, not learn from their mistakes.”

Okay…

Wait a minute, the hell is corporal punishment?

“Come along now.”

Dumbledore swept out of the room. Harry rushed after him, trying to keep up. The man didn’t look
back, which Harry thought odd. It was a lot of confidence in him to assume he wouldn’t run off. Of
course, it would only make things worse and Harry would probably have to redo the detention plus a
couple more. Instead, Harry did his best to keep up with him, impressed by his long strides.

As they crossed the ward border of Hogwarts, Dumbledore slowed his pace on the road towards
Hogsmeade. Harry caught up enough to be able to match his strides, walking alongside the man.

It was such an odd feeling being around Dumbledore again. He was Dumbledore, yet he wasn’t the
Dumbledore Harry had known. He could see hints of what the man would become, but then he’d be
reminded that this person was, essentially, a stranger.

“Sir, where are we going?” asked Harry as they approached the little wizarding village.

“Ah, I find myself in need of some books,” said Dumbledore. He winked at him.

“Books…” Harry raised an eyebrow. “You need my help to get books?”

“Oh, absolutely. Your help is vital.”

Uh huh…
Well, it would appear some things never changed, no matter the time. Albus Dumbledore was still
barmy as ever.

Much of Hogsmeade was familiar to Harry. Many of the shops hadn’t changed - except for one,
however. Harry noticed the absence of Zonko's Joke Shop and felt a pang of disappointment.

Well, no wonder all the Slytherins have a stick up their arse. They have no healthy outlet like going to
a joke shop for laughs.

They strolled through the little village until Dumbledore stopped at the entrance of Tomes and Scrolls,
a quaint little bookshop in the middle of the village. Dumbledore gazed up at the name of the store for
a moment, pensive.

“Do you enjoy reading, Mr. Evans?”

“Uh… Occasionally,” said Harry. Reading hadn’t been something he had gravitated towards when he
was younger. The Dursleys never liked it when he got better grades than Dudley, so at some point in
his childhood, Harry had stopped trying. Things had been easier that way. “Mostly school books. I
haven’t really found something to read for fun.”

“What a shame,” said Dumbledore, frowning. His blue eyes were soft as they gazed at him. “There’s
much to learn from books. You might consider giving them a try in the future. There are so many
different viewpoints of the world if one would simply expand their horizons, but alas many do not
look outside their circles of friends and peers.”

Preaching to the choir, sir.

They walked into the shop, a bell jingling at their entrance. Harry looked around as he followed
Dumbledore into the aisles of bookshelves. He stood back and watched while the man began looking
through the books. He pulled one out, flipping through it briefly, and handed it to Harry.

“Would you mind holding this for me?”

“Uh, sure…”

And that was only the beginning. Harry soon found himself burdened with an armful of heavy books.
This guy is worse than Hermione, damn. Harry had to make a quick trip to the front register, setting
the growing stack on the counter, before going back to Dumbledore’s side. The man handed him four
more heavy tomes.

Dumbledore clapped once, smiling. “I believe that’s all I need,” he said brightly. “Let’s check out.”

With a heave, Harry set the second stack of books next to the larger one. He stood a few steps back,
waiting as Dumbledore paid for his books. The cashier gushed a few minutes over Dumbledore,
making the whole process much longer than it needed to be. Harry sighed, wishing he were gutting
flobberworms for five hours.

“A pleasure, Mr. Dumbledore. Would you like me to shrink your purchases for you, sir?”

“Oh, that won’t be necessary,” said Dumbledore, winking at the woman. She blushed. Dumbledore
gestured towards Harry, who blinked. “I have this strapping young man to carry them for me.”

Oh. Oh…
Oh, so that’s how this is gonna be.

He’d been demoted to a glorified handbasket. Fantastic.

“Why?” asked Harry.

“Why not? Why do we do anything, hm?”

Harry closed his eyes, exhausted by the man’s philosophical bullshit already. “How is this supposed to
help me learn from my mistakes?” he said, wishing this man would just be direct with his meanings
for once in his bloody life. “You’re just pimping me out for free labor, which if I can remind you is
ridiculous since we’re wizards.”

For a moment, Dumbledore seemed confused, but then he patted Harry on the upper arm. “It builds
character. Come along, Mr. Evans.”

It… builds… character.

Albus Dumbledore, you should be carrying your own fucking books.

Harry sighed. He stared at the two book stacks, trying to decide how the hell this was going to work.
The cashier gave him a sympathetic smile. Harry made the towers even and gathered them to his
chest. He lifted with a grunt.

Holy shit, they’re heavy!

He stumbled out of the bookshop. It took all of his focus to not drop them. They only walked a few
paces before his arms were getting tired and achy. This was definitely a new type of detention. They
passed the pet shop when Dumbledore paused mid stride. Harry wanted to curse.

“Mr. Evans, I couldn’t help but notice that you have quite a sense of justice.”

Oh, so we’re going to stand around and have a conversation while I hold five stones worth of books.
Great.

“Yes, sir.”

Dumbledore gave him a look. “That’s usually a Gryffindor trait.”

Fuck.

“The hat couldn’t decide between Hufflepuff and Slytherin, sir. I doubt Gryffindor was an option.”

“All houses are an option,” said Dumbledore stiffly, though to Harry it sounded a bit forced. The old
man’s stance softened. “Though, I must admit I am biased towards Gryffindor, being one myself. You
speaking out in my class - though quite inappropriate - did open my eyes a bit. I can see you’re more
than your house colors.”

No shit. Thanks for stating the obvious.

The books were getting heavier.

“I think it’s because you’re older, less impressionable. If you’d been sorted younger, perhaps your
house would’ve shaped you more.”
I don’t like this. Where is this going?

Dumbledore glanced at him. “I’d… well, I’d like to mentor you, if you’d be all right with that,” he
said with a hint of that grandfatherly persona twinkling in his eyes. “I’d like to foster some of your
more Gryffindor qualities before… Well, I see a lot of good in you, Mr. Evans, and I’d like to help
you.”

Harry’s chest twisted with heartache.

Gryffindors were just as prejudiced towards Slytherins as the Slytherins were to everyone else. It was
an endless cycle; both sides were poisoned by their thinking.

The old man was sincere, that much was true. A part of Harry wanted to agree to this. He wanted to
believe in Dumbledore. He was a good man, misguided as he was. He meant well enough, always did.
Maybe things could be different… Maybe Harry could convince him of the truth. Maybe he could
inspire him to go after Grindelwald. Then, Harry wouldn’t have to deal with that and he’d be free to
save Tom.

His memories flooded his mind. He could remember all those evenings in Dumbledore’s office during
sixth year.

And his heart yearned for his old mentor.

“Harrison—”

“Oh, just Harry, sir.”

Dumbledore’s smile was soft, until it tightened. He placed a hand onto his shoulder. It added more
weight and Harry had to shift to not drop the books. “Harry, listen to me, Slytherin is a dangerous
place. I hope you’ll consider my offer. Slytherin House is filled with old prejudices that sully their
world view. I see a bright future before you, but I fear their influence over you. One day, you’ll be
made to submit and… Well, I’ve seen it happen before.”

Harry drew in a deep breath.

Really? Really, Professor?

“And you must stay away from Tom Riddle,” said Dumbledore, his voice dropping low, his tone more
intense. “He’s the most dangerous of them all. I see things in him that… I should’ve seen in Gellert.”

Harry’s jaw clenched.

This son of a bitch.

He exhaled. “Tom is just a boy, sir,” Harry said, his tone sharp. His magic grew taut within him,
threatening to snap outwards. Dumbledore drew back. “Have you ever thought about mentoring him,
instead of condemning him?”

“Harry—”

“He’s been here for five years and never once have you thought to extend your illustrious help?”
snarled Harry. Magic lashed out. He had let go of the books without realizing it. They floated in the
air around him, slowly beginning to spin. Dumbledore watched, wide eyed in shock. “He’s a fucking
orphan!” he shouted. “In muggle London! Stop acting like Slytherins are evil. They’re children.
Fucking children! They don’t know any better because they’ve been raised by shitty parents. It’s your
job as their professor to teach them other points of view. But instead of loving them and caring about
them and trying to help them open their eyes to the world, you just prove everything they’ve ever
been taught! It’s them versus the world. This is bullshit!”

Harry heaved, breathing hard. The books landed on the ground with multiple thuds. There were a
couple of other shoppers in the village, watching them with fierce whispers amongst themselves. He
glared at Dumbledore, ignoring everyone else. For a moment, they stood there, staring at one another
in silence.

“Albus? Harry? What… It’s too early for a Hogsmeade weekend.”

Harry sucked in his breath, the fury in his chest fading away like the tide drawing out to sea. He
turned to see Newt Scamander himself with a pretty woman with short brown hair on his arm. She
gave Harry a warm smile. He suddenly felt shy and awkward around them both.

“Ah, Newt, my boy,” said Dumbledore, acting as if nothing had happened. He waved his hand and the
books flew into the air, stacking neatly and floating at his side. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“We’re on some errands,” said Newt, giving them both a strange look. “Again, Albus, why are you
here with a student?”

“Ah, I needed a bit of help carrying these heavy books, but I think that’s all sorted now.” With another
wave of the hand, all of the books except for one shrunk, flying into Dumbledore’s hand. He pocketed
them. He plucked the last book out of the air and offered it to Harry. “Mr. Evans, I thought you’d
appreciate this. It’s a book about the four houses. I hope you give it a read and consider what you can
learn from it. With this, your detention is now over. I suggest you make your way back, but I wouldn't
fault you if you took a moment to try a butterbeer.”

Harry accepted the book and tucked it underneath his left arm, still trying to collect his thoughts after
his outburst.

“Evans?” said the woman with an American accent, glancing between Newt and Harry. “Are you
Harry?” When he nodded, her smile brightened. “How lovely. Newt has told me all about you. I’m
Tina Scamander.” She held out a hand and Harry took it, shaking it. Harry blushed at her attention.

“Nice to meet you, ma’am,” said Harry, shifting his feet, uncomfortable at the thought of Newt talking
about him. But it was also flattering. “I hope he didn’t say anything bad,” he joked.

“Newt would never,” said Tina, winking at him.

“I told her how you have a way with hippogriffs,” said Newt with a smile and a hint of pride.
“Pleasure to see you again, Harry. I hope you’re well…” He lifted a sardonic eyebrow, giving him a
pointed look.

Harry nodded. “I’m fine,” he whispered. He let out a low breath, his unease slipping away. His smile
turned genuine. He wanted to stay and speak with them, but at the look Dumbledore was giving him,
he knew he better leave. “Sorry, I can’t stay. I better go back to school. Nice to meet you, Mrs.
Scamander.”

“Tina, please. Until next time, then.”

Harry waved, which Newt returned warmly. Harry slipped out of sight. He quickly put the book into
his pouch without so much as a glance and pulled out the cloak, throwing it over his shoulders. He
turned back and approached the adults, who had moved to a more secluded area of the street. He
stood a few feet away, making sure to stay out of Dumbledore’s eyesight since he wasn’t sure if he
could see through cloaks.

Even the cloak of Death.

“You always did have unusual detentions,” muttered Newt. He shook his head. “Making him carry
that many books—really, Albus?”

“Headmaster Dippet has his preferred methods, while I have mine,” said Dumbledore. “If it were up
to me, I’d remove all detentions that include the cane, but alas, I’m not the Headmaster.”

Oh, fuck, I forgot they did that shit in the past. Is that what he meant earlier?

I need to be more careful.

“I offered to mentor him, but I fear I offended him,” said Dumbledore, sounding disappointed. “He’s
young, but wise that boy.”

“You offended him? Really? Couldn’t tell,” drawled Tina. “We certainly couldn’t hear him yelling at
you from a mile away.”

Newt winced. “He’s a good kid,” he said quickly with a placating gesture. “He’s obviously been
through some trauma and he may just be acting out, but I’m sure he’s just trying to cope with the loss
of his family. As best he can…”

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. “He confided in you about his family? When did you get the chance
to speak with him? I assume it was while you were tending to our poor wounded hippogriff?”

“Yes, we ran into each other briefly,” said Newt. A soft, yet saddened smile filled his features. The
light in his eyes was hard. “What we discussed will remain between us, unless he chooses to share it
with you himself.”

Harry inhaled softly, surprised. He hadn’t expected any adult to keep information about him from
Dumbledore. He’d been The Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One, so The Order always knew everything
about him when it came to his scar or the war. He’d always been pressured to tell Dumbledore
whenever something was wrong, like his scar, his nightmares, or the detentions with Umbridge.

The adults in his life always took it upon themselves to report things to Dumbledore, whether Harry
wanted them to or not.

Harry learned to keep those things to himself.

“Albus, I've lived with a Legilimens. You know that won’t work on me,” said Newt casually, but with
an undertone of seriousness.

“Sorry, old habit, my boy,” said Dumbledore. “I meant no harm by it.”

“Actually, I’m glad we ran into you. There’s something I wanted to discuss.”

“Of course, anything at all. You have my attention.”

“It’s about the…” Newt’s voice dropped so low Harry couldn’t hear him.

Dumbledore stiffened. His face went pale. “Don’t say such things in the open, Newt,” he said sharply.
“We can’t discuss that so freely, you know.”

“I meant no harm by it,” said Newt, repeating Dumbledore’s words back to him. “Shall we move this
discussion elsewhere?”

Dumbledore sighed. “What about it?”

“Didn’t you break it? What’s going on?”

“Well, yes.” Dumbledore shifted. “It is broken, almost five years now, but—”

“Five years?!” yelped Newt. “What the devil have you been doing all this time? The war is getting
worse!”

People glanced around, looking around for the source of the newest outburst. Tina placed a hand over
Newt’s forearm. Newt instantly calmed down and he let out an embarrassed cough. He drew in a deep
breath, his tone dropping.

“Albus, what are you doing?” said Newt, leaning closer. “Five years, really? Why haven’t you gone
after him?” He exhaled a soft, disbelieving laugh. “Are you waiting for him to invite you to tea?”

Albus Dumbledore is a passive little bitch, that’s why.

If he hadn’t mentioned Tom, Harry might’ve fallen for the grandfather act once more. He’d been
close, ever so close, to giving into that overwhelming desire to have some help, to not be alone in all
this. Thank Merlin for Dumbledore’s prejudices. They saved Harry from his own stupidity.

“Breaking it doesn’t magically enable me to stop Grindelwald,” said Dumbledore softly.

Newt rubbed a hand over his face. “Entire families have been killed by Grindelwald. Albus, I’m not
saying you're responsible for those deaths, but what could you possibly be doing to stall you these
past five years? Grindelwald could’ve been stopped.”

“Newt, stopping Grindelwald was never going to be easy. I regret the deaths of so many innocents,
but I’m not omniscient nor all powerful.”

“Albus—”

“I’m afraid that my time is up now,” said Dumbledore with a benign smile. He took Tina by the hand.
“It was a pleasure seeing you again, Tina. We should get together again soon.”

“Perhaps we will,” said Tina, her smile a bit sharp. “We could continue this conversation when we
have your undivided attention.”

“Uh, of course…”

The wild Dumbledore fled.

Silence reigned between the Scamanders as they looked after the man. They shared a pair of frowns
with one another. Harry stood there, waiting, his chest rising and falling with a steady rhythm that he
was vividly aware of.
 “Sometimes,” murmured Tina, leaning closer to Newt. “Sometimes that man makes me want to hex
something.”

“Tina!” whispered Newt, aghast. “Don’t say that… That’s not very nice.”

“I’m simply stating a fact. He makes me… uncomfortable, in a way.” She shook her head, her nose
crinkling. “I know he’s a good man, but I’m not sure why you British wizards revere him so much.
There’s something manipulative about him.”

Newt sighed. “I know… When I went to Paris, I went there to find you, but I ended up getting pulled
into what he wanted me to do. I tried to say no, but… you know how that went. It’s strange, though—
he couldn’t have had any control over what happened, but it still feels…” Newt trailed off, shaking his
head.

The two of them walked away from the bookshop, down deeper into the village. And Harry stood
there in the middle of Hogsmeade, hidden beneath the cloak, reeling with confusion as he tried to
make sense of what he’d overheard.

Chapter End Notes

Dumbledore should start a new class: the art of bullshitting your way through life 101

Just another FYI, this story takes place 15 years after the two Fantastic Beasts movies. (Uh huh,
that's the timeline JK went with, so who am I to say otherwise? -sarcasm-) Newt is 45 years old
while Tina is 41 years old.

Check my Tumblr for updates, snippets, and shenanigans.

 Nine
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

Five years.

Harry went through the details in his head quickly, trying to hold onto random information that was
fading from his memory like sand slipping through his fingers. Something had been broken - what, he
had no idea. A curse? A vow? Whatever it was, it sounded as if it’d been stopping Dumbledore from
going after Grindelwald. And yet, it was gone now—had been for five years. What did that mean?

He knew of the stories, the trashy ones that Rita had sprouted on about Dumbledore and Grindelwald
in their youth. Death had mentioned something about them being soulmates, but Harry hadn’t really
given it much thought. Tom Riddle and Harry Potter were soulmates, but the events and choices of
their lives kept them apart.

What if that hadn’t been the case for Dumbledore?

This whole time Harry had been going on the assumption that Dumbledore was avoiding the fight
with Grindelwald as he would with Voldemort. For reasons, whatever they were - ones that made no
sense.

But now one possibility rang clear in Harry’s mind.

What if…

What if Albus Dumbledore is in love with Gellert Grindelwald?

It made sense why he would wait for so long to confront him. Dumbledore was a Gryffindor, but
Harry had occasionally seen some cowardice in the man.

‘We must all face the choice between what is right and what is easy.’

Wise words.

But it appeared Dumbledore took a few easy routes during his life.

A wall lifted up within Harry’s heart. Beneath the cloak, he pinched the bridge of his nose. He’d been
too close to revealing things to Dumbledore. How thick can I get? The man was dangerous. Harry
was going to have to keep his distance away from him no matter what happened in his class or
anywhere else. Harry could not afford to make a mistake with this.

He had pity for the man.

But it ended there.

I can’t let myself be manipulated like this again. I have to be a Slytherin when I’m around him. I’m
not going to act like a pureblood snob, but I can’t be the sympathetic orphan to him any more.

I’ve got to shake him off.

Harry sighed.

And the weight of the world never felt heavier than in that moment.

Later that evening, Harry knocked on Slughorn’s office door for his second detention of the day. The
door opened and Slughorn beamed at him.

“Mr. Evans, come in, come in,” said Slughorn, gesturing towards himself as he walked back inside his
office. He sat down behind the desk and waved towards the seat across his. “Sit down. I think we
should have a chat.”

A chat…

These damn men and their fucking chats.

Harry sat down in the chair. “Sir,” he said, hoping to get ahead of whatever lecture Slughorn was
going to inflict upon him. “Could we skip the lecture? I’ll just gut flobberworms for a couple of
hours, please?”

Slugborn let out a belly laugh. “Oh, don’t be so worried, Mr. Evans. I don’t think that’ll be necessary.
I just wanted to take this chance to get to know you better, make sure you’re settling into the Slytherin
house all right. I know Mr. Riddle was rather… enthusiastic in assigning you a detention, but he
doesn’t get to choose what happens here.”

Harry grimaced. This was almost worse than the lecture.

There was something warm in Slughorn’s eyes, but then they softened more. “I’m sure you
understand that it is rather unusual for a child to come to this school when they’re entering their sixth
year. You’re obviously not uneducated and your potions work is outstanding.” Slughorn’s chest
expanded in a deep breath; he gave Harry a firm look. “The circumstances that brought you here
couldn’t have been good. It’s my duty as your Head of House to make sure you’re doing well, both
physically and mentally.”

Harry blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Mr. Evans, I understand that it might be difficult to talk about your traumas, but it would be good to
get them off your chest.”

Get my… traumas off my chest?

What the fuck.

Slughorn was smiling at him in a kind, inviting way, but Harry could see the cracks in the man’s
facade. There was some sincerity there, of course, but there was also a hidden agenda beneath the
mask, a purpose, a reason for the kindness.

He’s a Slytherin. There’s always an angle.

“You’re a bright student, Mr. Evans, and while you’re not a pureblood, I have no doubt you could
achieve great things. You could have a promising future as a Potions Master if you wanted.”
And there it was.

Connections.

That’s right, the Slug Club.

He’d forgotten about that. He’d been Harry Potter, a connection, in his original time. He hadn’t liked
the club then and he knew he wasn’t going to like it now. Dear Merlin, he forgot about this bullshit.
He had the overwhelming desire to rub his eyes in utter exhaustion.

All right.

Bare minimum. Saying as little as possible about his family and past - beyond the shittakes to confuse
the hell out of the Slytherins - that was his best strategy to avoid crossing his wires later.

“My parents died, so here I am,” said Harry, his tone soft. “I was… privately taught and I got good at
some things.”

Slughorn nodded, his expression turning sympathetic. “That must’ve been hard to lose them at your
age.”

“Yup,” said Harry, popping at the end. He didn’t bother to correct the man. “So… Is that everything?”

“On occasion, I have little dinners with some… select students. I’d like to see you attend one of them.
You can never start too young to make connections in the world, I always say.”

“Sounds… wonderful, Professor,” said Harry with a tight smile. “I’d love to attend.”

“Wonderful!” Slughorn clapped his hands in delight. “Do you have any idea on what you’d like to do
in the future?”

Harry sat still, his heart pounding in his ears. Shit. That was right. He needed to have career options.
He had no idea about his OWLs either. Did they exist here in this time? Was he going to have to take
his tests all over again?

I better not. I don’t want to go through that shit again. I wonder if there’s a way to find out if my test
scores are here…

I hope you did whatever you had to for that, Death.

But what to say, to answer? He wasn’t going to say Headmaster of Hogwarts. He didn’t want anyone
to know that ambition just yet. He wanted to keep that close to his heart for as long as possible.

Ambition.

That wasn’t something he ever imagined he’d have, but Harry truly wanted to become the Headmaster
of Hogwarts in the future. Sooner than later. He couldn’t remember when Dumbledore took the
position, but Harry needed to be the one who succeeded Dippet.

“I’d like to be a teacher,” said Harry, scrunching his shoulders and trying to act shy. “Not sure what
I’d teach, though…”

“That’s a mighty fine career goal,” said Slughorn. He winked at Harry. “I hope you’re not coming for
my position.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it, sir,” said Harry, smiling. “I might be—” I can’t believe I’m saying this. Hope
Snape doesn’t pop up from the afterlife to get me. “—good at potions, but I don’t want to become a
Potions Master. Perhaps a Defense Against the Dark Arts assistant in the future. I like defense.”

“Oho, don’t let Galatea hear you coming for her job.”

Harry let out a chuckle. “I said assistant, sir.”

“I’m merely jesting,” said Slughorn with another belly laugh. “You’ve got some time; no need to
stress about it.” He smiled at Harry and gestured towards the door. “Well, my boy, I won’t keep you
any longer, but if you’re ever in need of a chat, my door is always open to you.”

You did most of the talking.

“Thank you, sir, I appreciate that,” said Harry, standing up.

He left the office and walked down the corridor that led to the Slytherin common room entrance. He
let his feet carry him, his thoughts whirling with everything that had happened today. He hadn’t gone
very far when he heard a commotion down a separate corridor. He broke into a run, darting towards
the direction of the derisive laughter. He skidded to a halt to find a group of first years from different
houses. There were two Slytherin girls, two Ravenclaw boys, and one familiar lone Gryffindor boy.

Monty.

He was in the process of getting to his feet. He wiped blood from his mouth with the back of his hand.
His jaw was clenched, his chin lifted. One of the Ravenclaw boys grabbed Monty by the front of his
robes.

“Hey!” shouted Harry. He jerked the boy away from Monty, glaring down at him. “The fuck do you
think you’re doing?”

The boy’s eyes widened, almost comically. The girls clutched at each other.

“What-what—”

“That’s my fucking question!” snapped Harry, shaking the boy slightly. The boy squeaked in surprise.
“It looks like you’re bullying a fellow classmate. Is that what you’re doing?”

The boy shook his head so quickly it looked like it was going to fly straight off his neck. “No-no-no
—”

“Good, sure wouldn’t want you to get in trouble for hurting another classmate, right?”

The boys shook their heads.

“Then get out of here!”

The boys scampered off. The two Slytherin girls stood wide eyed, staring at Harry. He narrowed his
eyes at them. “You two just stood there and did nothing to help a fellow student. Anything to say for
yourselves?”

“Why should we help him?” said the brown haired girl. She lifted her nose into the air. “He’s stupid
and weird and not like the rest of our year. Besides, why help a Gryffindor?”
Harry growled underneath his breath. What eleven year old thinks they’re not to help a Gryffindor?
It’s their fucking parents’ fault. He turned his gaze back to Monty. “Hey, you all right?” he asked
softly.

“No,” said Monty, shaking his head. His lip quivered, but he showed no other emotion. “I’ve got some
kids picking on me from multiple houses and it’s really disrupting my ability to cope with being in a
new place away from my parents.”

Harry blinked. But he smiled fondly. “Hey,” he whispered, putting a hand onto the boy’s arm. “It’s
gonna be okay. I know it’s hard being in a new place, but you’ll get used to the castle. Soon, it’ll
become a home away from home.”

Monty ducked his head and nodded. “That’s what Charlus said.”

“And he’s right. You should listen to your brother.”

“But you said it better.”

Harry smiled. He sensed movement behind himself. He didn’t look back, but said in a sharp voice, “I
didn’t say you two could leave.”

The girls froze.

He turned back, eyes narrowed. “You should help others in need, no matter their house colors. One
day, when you’re older and graduated, you’re not going to know who was in which house. It’s not
going to matter then, so it shouldn’t matter now.”

“Well, I don’t have to listen to you, mudblood,” said the brown haired girl. She took a step back,
before darting away as fast as she could. The other girl sucked in her breath, glancing back briefly,
before her grey eyes locked back at Harry. There was a hint of fear in her expression. She had familiar
near white blonde hair that gave her the distinct look of a Malfoy, but Harry wasn’t sure how she was
related to Abraxas.

“Uh…”

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose, exhausted once again. “I dunno, how about you introduce
yourselves and be fucking nice for once? For the love of Merlin. You’re first years, right? You’ve got
seven years together. Probably in a lot of classes with each other, too. How about you be friends?”

Because the teachers are masochists, I swear to Merlin.

“You have a filthy mouth,” said the little girl.

“Yeah, well, you would too if you’d been through shit.”

Monty took a step forward. “I’m Fleamont Potter, but I much rather be called Monty. And you are?”

“Euphemia Malfoy,” she said in a haughty tone. “Only special people may call me Effie.”

Harry squinted. That name sounded familiar… A name he’d seen in his family history… His eyes
darted between Monty to Euphemia a few times, realization dawning. My grandmother… Fleamont
Potter and Euphemia Potter…

Damn, I’m related to the Malfoys.

“Pleasure to meet you, Miss Malfoy,” said Monty, putting a hand over his chest and bowing to her.

I’m witnessing history and I’m not sure how I feel about this.

“Not a pleasure for me,” said Euphemia, lifting her chin into the air. “Slytherins do not consort with
Gryffindors and Malfoys do not consort with Potters.”

“Why?”

Euphemia flustered hotly. “Because you’re a bunch of blood traitors. That’s why. I heard my mother
talking about it with my father.”

“What’s a blood traitor?” asked Monty. “How do you betray blood? It doesn’t have feelings.”

“A blood traitor is someone who breeds with muggles and mudbloods.”

“Oh. Well, that’s ridiculous. That doesn’t make a lick of sense,” said Monty, growing a bit indignant.
“Your logic is faulty. All that nonsense about blood is just that, nonsense. My dad says so.”

“Your blood is filthy!” snapped Euphemia. “I heard your mother is a muggleborn. You’re nasty
because of your mudblood heritage.”

Okay, I need to leave before I intervene and do something I regret.

“Well—” Monty huffed. “Well, you must have Fae blood in your veins since you’re so pretty.”

Euphemia sucked in her breath. “What?” she gasped. Her tone became confused. “What?”

“I said that you must have Fae blood because you’re so pretty.”

Euphemia’s cheeks went bright red. She was at a loss for words, her lips trembling, soundless mutters
exhaling with every breath. “You—what? Uh—I—d’you really mean that?”

“I said what I said because it’s true,” said Monty. He punctuated his words with a sharp nod.

Euphemia went an even brighter red. She ducked her head, covering the bottom half of her face with
her school bag. She glanced at Harry, as if expecting an explanation about this. A strange thought
occurred to Harry. The look she gave him… It almost appeared ass if she expected him to disagree
with Monty.

“I mean, he’s not wrong,” said Harry with a shrug.

Euphemia’s eyes grew wide. She strode past the two of them, clutching her bag tightly. When she
threw a look at Monty, she squeaked and darted off down the corridor.

Monty looked at Harry in confusion. “Did I say something wrong?”

Harry let out a long breath. “No,” he whispered. “But, uh… Just keep being yourself, Monty. Don’t
change.”

“Well, I don’t intend to, but I am eleven. I’m bound to change some as I grow older.”

Mother of Merlin, Harry wished he’d known this man as an adult.

Harry walked the boy back the familiar trek towards the Gryffindor tower. The boy chattered about
potions constantly, would not shut up about them, and Harry indulged the boy by throwing out
comments randomly, only to be shown up spectacularly by an eleven year old.

“That’s not how a Befuddlement Draught works,” said Monty in an exasperated tone. “Please try to
keep up. Aren’t you a sixth year? That’s a fifth year potion.”

“Uh… Right, must’ve slipped my mind—oh, look, I think you’re common room is here.”

The Fat Lady sat in her portrait. A wave of nostalgia rushed through Harry.

“Oh, you’re right. How’d you know? You’re a Slytherin.”

Harry shrugged. He waved and said, “See you later, Monty.”

“Bye bye, cousin!” said Monty cheerfully, waving back.

Harry knew then and there: it didn’t matter if they were related or not, he’d protect that adorable boy
until the day he died.

His walk all the way back to the the Slytherin common room was uneventful, blessedly. Harry stepped
through the Slytherin entrance. While he missed the warm colors of the Gryffindor tower, there was
something calming about the green colors of the Slytherin common room.

Most of his dormmates were gathered on a pair of sofas by the fire. Tom wasn’t around; neither was
Mulciber or Avery. Harry was tempted just to go to bed early, but with a suppressed sigh, he strode
towards the group and sat down next to Rosier on the sofa.

If he was going to be a Slytherin, then he needed to make some friends.

“Evans, how were your detentions today?” asked Quintus, looking up from his parchment. Alphard
was sitting on the floor at his feet, tucked against Quintus’ knees, hunched over his books with his
quill, ink bottle, and parchment scattered around him. He chewed on his lower lip.

“A pain in the arse,” said Harry. He grabbed an apple from the bowl of fruit that sat on the little table
next to the sofa and took a bite out of it. “Both were shit.”

Alphard snorted. “Don’t get detentions, then.”

“Perfect,” said Harry. “Brilliant. Would never have thought of that on my own.”

Rosier laughed, while Lestrange’s mouth quirked into a lopsided smile. From another part of the
room, cruel laughter broke through the calm quiet. Harry glanced over to see Abraxas and his buddies
messing with Pettigrew. He gritted his teeth and had to resist the urge to interfere again. He wasn’t
sure how the rest of the Slytherins would react to him getting involved.

Abraxas was sitting on the arm of the sofa, looming over Pettigrew, who looked exhausted and
annoyed.

Ah, fuck it.

But before Harry could get up and intervene, little Euphemia had marched up to Abraxas, stopping
right behind him, and shoved him off the arm of the sofa for all she was worth. Abraxas squawked,
dropping to the floor.
Oh, shit—she’s a spitfire!

Harry murmured to the bowl of fruit, asking for some popcorn. A bowl of popcorn appeared on the
table and Harry grabbed it, digging into it with glee.

“You nasty little cockroach!” shouted Euphemia, drawing the attention of the entire room. “I am TOO
pretty. You’ve been lying to me for years and I won’t have it any more.”

“What’s happening?” asked Rosier with wide eyes, craning his neck to get a better look.

“A show,” said Harry, grinning.

“Wait, where the hell did you get the popcorn?!”

“Effie, what the devil—”

“No!” snapped Euphemia. “You don’t get to call me that. Don’t you dare speak to me ever again.
You’re a foul, vile cousin and I want nothing to do with you.”

Abraxas got to his feet and towered over her, glaring down at her. “Euphemia Malfoy, this is
unbefitting behavior for a Malfoy. You’re causing a scene here. If you don’t settle down, I shall write
to your mother about your deplorable behav—”

“Fine! See if I care! Not like she didn’t agree with you. Well, two boys - complete strangers - said I
was pretty. You can just go jump in the lake.”

“Boys? Boys?” said Abraxas, flabbergasted, his voice growing higher an octave. His eyes narrowed.
“What boys? Who is talking to you like that?”

“Mr. Potter, that’s who.”

“That brat?” Abraxas laughed. “From what I’ve been hearing, he’s dimwitted. Don’t be ridiculous,
Effie. What he says doesn’t matter.”

Euphemia’s face reddened with increased fury. “Shut your face! Mr. Potter is very intelligent. He’s the
best in our potions class, Professor Slughorn said so. And Mr. Evans agreed with him, so there.”

Abraxas’ head whipped in Harry’s direction. Harry popped some popcorn into his mouth and gave
him a wave, grinning in satisfaction. Abraxas gritted his teeth.

“Effie, listen—”

“No, I’m very pretty, so stop lying to me,” snapped Euphemia. “A boy called me pretty, so you can
just go… go… just go…” She struggled for the right word for a moment, before her face lit up, and
she proudly continued at the top of her lungs, “You can go suck a penis!”

Harry choked on his popcorn. He crowed with laughter. The rest of the Slytherins started to snicker as
Euphemia Malfoy marched off, chin in the air, leaving Abraxas red with embarrassed fury.

I love this girl. My grandmother. She’s a riot.

“You—” Abraxas rounded on Harry, wand in hand. “You did this! You put weird things into her
head.”
Harry put his hands up in a placating gesture. “Sorry, can’t claim responsibility here. I just agreed
with Monty. And I dunno what you’re smoking, Malfoy,” he said with a mischievous grin. “Your
cousin is a gem among rubies.”

Confusion flashed through Abraxas’ expression. “What’d you say to me?” he growled. He advanced
on him, a dark glint in his eyes. Harry raised an eyebrow, his wand quickly moving into his hand.

“Oh? Wanna have a go?” Harry’s smile turned dark. “I’ll take you out, Malfoy.”

“What, on a date?” asked Alphard. The rest of the Slytherins broke into laughter, cutting the tension
immediately, and Harry threw him a jovial middle finger. Alphard barked out a laugh, sounding so
much like Sirius. It cut like a knife in Harry’s chest. Damn, okay, calm down.

“Abraxas!” screamed a new voice. An older girl, about fourth or fifth year, came marching down the
staircase. She had the same white blonde hair, signature Malfoy, pulled back into a long braid. She
whipped out her wand and pointed it at Abraxas, who cursed, ducking just in time to avoid a spell.
“Oh, no. Take it like a man,” she snarled, stalking after him. “Get over here and take this like a man.”

“Who’s that?” asked Harry in a low voice to Rosier.

“Belladonna,” whispered Rosier, grabbing some of his popcorn. He grinned. “I’d say it’s where little
Effie gets her fire. They’re sisters.”

She’s… my great aunt, then?

Mixed feelings welled up inside Harry’s chest as he watched the girl shout at Abraxas. There was so
much extended family around him and he’d never known how much family he had in Slytherin house.
He’d gone his entire life without knowing or realizing they even existed. He didn’t care that he was
related to the prick, Abraxas Malfoy. These people should’ve been in his life.

“If you ever bully my sister again,” snapped Belladonna, her wand pressing at Abraxas’ throat. “The
Malfoy heirship will have to go to a different family line because you will never be able to procreate
when I’m through with you, got it?!”

“Bella, dear—”

“I won’t just hex your bollocks off, I’ll go for your willy, too. You leave Effie alone or else!”
Belladonna stormed off, huffing loudly. “Ugh, I can’t believe I’m related to you, you prick!” Her
ranting voice disappeared as she stomped up the stairs.

“If there’s any wisdom I can… impart to you, it’s this,” said Rosier, grabbing another handful of
popcorn. He gave Harry a wry smirk. “Don’t mess with Slytherin women. Outside these dorms,
they’re perfect demure little angels. They’d never act like this in front of others. But within these
walls, they’re feisty, they’re queens, and they’re downright scary.”

“But you like them scary,” said Lestrange, rolling his eyes.

Rosier grinned. “That I do. What’s life without some risk?”

Abraxas was bright red, thoroughly humiliated by his own cousins. A number of Slytherins were still
snickering under their breaths. With a low growl, Abraxas shoved his wand into his robes pocket and
marched out of the common room, just as Tom was stepping through the entrance. He strode by
without another word.
Tom frowned, glancing back briefly. “What’s got Abraxas in a tizzy?” he asked in a mild tone,
eyebrow raised.

Harry laughed.

Slytherin house had more drama than Gryffindor. Damn, he’d been missing out, hadn’t he? All those
years, he could’ve had a front row seat to Slytherin shenanigans.

What a shame.

It was Sunday.

Finally.

The first Sunday of each month during the school year every Slytherin knew of its significance, even
those who didn’t attend the meetings. There was an unspoken rule that all Slytherins who were not in
attendance were to be in their dormitories at nine o’clock, not a minute later.

Or else face Tom Riddle’s displeasure.

These meetings were his oyster pearl; his Knights were stunning jewels Tom hoped would shine
bright in their crumbling world. Summer had been hell once again and sitting in the common room,
surrounded by his Knights, his supporters, his true allies, this thought had been what carried Tom
through the difficult days.

There was another jewel he wished to add to his collection.

Harry Evans.

But he needed more time to tame him, to cultivate the loyalty he expected from his Knights. Evans
was a rarity. He wouldn’t be easy, but perhaps it would be possible. Especially now, since he’d found
it.

Evans’ pressure point.

Tom could hardly contain his pleasure over the discovery. He’d rarely seen others avoid casual touch.
Most would unconsciously lean into a hand on the shoulder, while others barely noticed it at all. But
Evans… Evans wasn’t comfortable with any type of touch. He shied away from it, even from an
eleven year old little boy. He had been visibly uncomfortable when the Potter brat had grabbed his
face.

And he had stumbled away from Tom when pulled to his feet and he’d jerked away from Tom when
he’d casually brushed a hand against his arm.

How positively delightful.

It was effortless to trigger this in Evans, took no strategy or cunning - it was almost disappointing.
Evans made the hunt too easy. But that didn’t mean Tom wasn’t going to use this to his advantage.

The fiery wild Evans’ submission would be beautiful. Tom would savor it when the time came.

This Sunday evening, Tom carefully warded the common room, making sure any intruder would get a
painful reminder to not disobey him. He sat down in his usual armchair and crossed his legs, resting
his elbows on the lush arms. The carvings of snakes that decorated parts of the wall moved with his
breath, coming alive with his soft command. When the Slytherin common room itself obeyed him,
Tom was convinced of his heritage: heir to Slytherin. His wand was loose in his grip. He waited.

Alphard and Quintus were the first to enter, fifteen minutes early. Quintus sat at Tom’s right, with
Alphard sitting down at his side.

These two Tom considered his closest and most trusted of allies.

Roland was a light hearted boy, preferring jokes and pranks. He’d been easy to sway to Tom’s vision
of the future, especially once Simon joined their group. Simon was more reserved, but athletic. He’d
joined the Quidditch team in his second year.

Marcus and Sebastian had been tough nuts to crack, both requiring intimidation to subdue them.
Between Tom’s parselmouth ability, his magical prowess, and his impeccable grades, Marcus and
Sebastian had been convinced of the value of submitting to Tom’s leadership.

Tom trusted the four boys to stay at his side the most out of the rest of the Knights. They were part of
the inner circle, his elites.

But Quintus and Alphard had been loyal to Tom since the beginning. They had befriended him, had
been kind to him, even when everyone else scorned him for being a muggleborn. Their loyalty went
beyond what Tom even understood, but he was assured in them. They were his second in commands.

And he valued them.

“I love starting a new year,” said Alphard, sinking against Quintus’ side and snuggling against him.
“Fresh meat.”

“I hope you have names to put forth,” said Tom with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh, I’ve got one.”

“I’ve got a few,” said Quintus, putting an arm around Alphard. “We need some more girls.”

“Mmm,” murmured Tom in agreement. “Alphard… So far, what do you make of Evans?”

For a moment, Alphard didn’t say anything, pensive. He rubbed his mouth, brows furrowed. “Well,”
he began finally. “I’d say he makes for an interesting Slytherin. He shakes things up.”

“That’s putting it lightly,” muttered Quintus.

“Where to begin… He has problems with food,” said Alphard, turning serious. “Not sure why, though
I can only assume either he’s not interested or isn’t used to having it. Loud crowds bother him.” He
paused for a moment, before continuing. “Problems with control. We see this in impulsive behavior,
like calling out Dumbledore in class and snapping at others over blood purity. Got bit of a temper.
And did you see his accidental magic yesterday morning? I’d bet ten galleons whatever bit Marcus’
arse was Evans’ accidental magic.”

“You think that was him?” asked Tom, leaning forward with interest.

“I’d bet on it,” said Alphard. “And win.”

Tom leaned back in his chair, his thoughts on Evans. Fascinating. He’d noticed some of those things
as well, but he hadn’t realized that Evans didn’t have control over his magic.

“Accidental magic… Doesn’t that go away before puberty?” asked Tom.

“Not always,” whispered Quintus. “I think… Well, there are some signs that Evans has dealt with
some trauma. He’s mentioned the death of his parents. That’s obviously traumatic, but I think there’s
more he hasn’t shared with us. If the food thing is anything to go by…”

And the way he cringes away from casual touch.

What if someone laid hands on him?

Fury burned inside Tom at that thought. Evans was aggravating, yes, exasperating, yes, infuriating,
absolutely - but if someone had struck him, or worse, Tom found himself with the overwhelming
desire to kill that person, whomever they were. A bit odd, considering he’d never had the urge to kill
someone on the behalf of another.

Perhaps as a gift. I wonder if that would ensure his loyalty.

He’d have to think about it.

“Keep watching him,” said Tom softly. “If you learn anything new or make any connections, tell me
immediately.”

“Of course, my lord.”

“Now… on a different topic,” said Tom in a low voice. “You’ve made your relationship known this
year.” The two of them stiffened, both growing tense. Their hands intertwined with one another,
knuckles white. Tom rolled his eyes. “Calm down, you’ll get no censoring from me, but there are
some concerns.” They visibly relaxed. “Alphard, you’ve said the Black heirship is going to Orion, but
you—” Tom gave Quintus a pointed look. “—you are the sole male heir to the Prince line. I doubt
your parents would give the heirship to your sister, Eileen.”

Quintus’ jaw clenched and he shook his head. “No,” he said in a low voice. “Especially since she was
sorted into Ravenclaw.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled slowly. “The letter I got was
the most scathing vitriol I’ve ever had the displeasure of reading. I burned her letter, but not before
she got the chance to read some of the rubbish our father wrote. Bastard.”

Alphard stroked Quintus’ forearm in a slow, soothing gesture.

“If my parents catch wind of me dating anyone who isn’t a fertile pureblooded witch… It won’t be
good.”

“I’m content with being the other woman,” whispered Alphard.

Quintus sucked in his breath. “That’s shit,” he hissed. “I want more than that.”

The two of them fell into silence. Tom had nothing to offer. Family politics were far different than
Slytherin House politics. While he didn’t care one way or another, Quintus and Alphard did and a part
of Tom wished for their success. He didn’t understand their need and desire to entangle themselves
with each other, but if they were happy, if their relationship didn’t interfere with their goals, then all
the better.
 Tom glanced at them. Their expressions were a bit sullen and subdued now. Tom refrained from
sighing. Reassurance was in order, he supposed.

“Whatever you decide, I will not stand in your way,” said Tom in a low, soothing tone. “You are my
elite among elite. If it were me…” He trailed off; he gave them a sly smile. “I’d take the heirship and
marry my lover.”

Quintus let out a soft laugh. “Yes, you would, my lord.”

“So, do it. We’re here to make ripples in a stagnant pond.”

Alphard threw Quintus a wry smile, lifting their intertwined hands to his mouth and pressing a light
kiss against the back of Quintus’ hand. And then, they shifted in their shared armchair, backs straight,
chins lifted with the air of Tom’s second in commands. Together, the three of them waited.

The moment the minute turned to nine o’clock, the ward border shimmered.

The rest of Tom’s inner group arrived first: Simon, Marcus, Sebastian, and Roland. There was only
one other sixth year boy, Wesley Flint. He was in the second dorm room of sixth years. The seventh
year boys entered next, which were Abraxas Malfoy, Aaron Goyle, and Neil Crabbe. William Avery
and Maximilian Mulciber, also seventh years, were older brothers to Simon and Marcus. Cassia
Carrow, Primrose Parkinson, and Gwendolyn Greengrass were all sixth year girls, while there was
only one seventh year girl, Aurora Avery, who was a cousin to Simon.

Seventeen in total.

The Knights of Walpurgis.

His Knights were all here once again.

Tom had started the Knights of Walpurgis in his third year with only the inner circle. It wasn’t until
their fifth year that Tom expanded the group, looking for others to join him. Two of his Knights had
graduated last year, but the majority were here.

Nagini was the final one missing, but she was busy on a mission of her own.

“Welcome,” whispered Tom. “My beloved Knights, how I’ve missed this.”

Chapter End Notes

I'm having too much fun.
 Ten
Chapter Notes

I'M HERE. -wheezes-

Okay, so timeline wise in canon, Tom Riddle would’ve been at Hogwarts during the time of the
Blitz, the German bombing of London during WWII. In this fic, I’m just shifting it so Tom was
there in London during the bombing.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

“My lord.”

The murmur echoed through the group, each one giving Tom a reverent nod before taking their seat.
Outside this meeting, he was Tom Riddle, fellow classmate. Within this meeting, he was the leader of
a revolution, a catalyst for change. Grindelwald threw the Wizarding World in a state of fear and
disarray. Tom hoped to be a beacon of reason and transformation. One day, they’d look to him for
their answers, for their wisdom.

Not Albus Dumbledore.

“It has been a number of months since last we’ve seen each other,” said Tom, his voice low, yet it
flooded the corners of the common room, covering them all with the warmth of flames within a
hearth. “I have counted the days.”

Tom smiled, soft and sensual.

“And we’re finally reunited. My true family.”

He gained a few contented smiles at this. Family was such a fragmented word to Tom. He didn’t have
any connection to a family of his own, so blood held little weight to him. And yet… Tom had that
overwhelming desire to find his roots, to find his family and his ancestors, and to know for certain
where he’d come from.

However, it didn’t have the effect of an enticing song of a siren on him, as it did for others. He was
aware of the need for connection, for a place to belong. Calling his Knights ‘his true family’ bolstered
their egos and their sense of belonging with him.

That was key.

“Come,” murmured Tom, leaning forward and reaching out with his hand, palm facing upward. With
his wand in his left hand, he began the spell, silver runes pouring out of the tip. They coiled around
his arm in a stream. “Let’s begin.”

As a group, everyone huddled close, touching the tips of their wands to his outstretched hand. Magic
bloomed from their collective wands and a smoky snake burst to life in Tom’s hand. His smile was
hidden as the snake slithered upwards into the air, coiling around the vestige of a small flickering fire.

For a brief moment, Tom let the ritual magic fill the room. Every decorative snake within the common
room shifted, life and magic within them. It flooded the room with its intoxicating power.

This is what I want to protect.

Then, Tom snapped his hand shut and the image disappeared, the magic vanishing altogether.
Everyone’s breaths had been caught up. A number of them let out audible exhales.

The ritual was a simple one. While it began their meetings with a boost of magic, it also warned Tom
if someone wasn’t quite aligned with him. Nothing like Veritaserum of course, but enough to alert him
to any emotional dissonance.

Abraxas was furious about something.

Unsurprising.

Most of the emotions Tom felt were the buzzing hum of excitement of being back at school and being
part of the meeting once again. Quintus and Alphard always had some kind of syrupy affection in
their emotions. The swirl of emotions that overlapped Tom’s senses were fascinating, if not a bit
overwhelming. He couldn’t understand how they all lived with themselves, feeling so much all the
time. It was enough to give anyone a headache.

“Be seated,” said Tom, settling back. He gave them a moment to sit down and catch their breaths.
“Since it’s the start of a new year, let’s begin with recruitments. Do we have any names to put forth?”

“Belladonna Malfoy seems like the perfect fit, my lord,” said Alphard with a wry smile. “I suggest
adding her to our ranks.”

“No, not her,” snapped Abraxas, crossing his arms over his chest and narrowing his eyes. “She
wouldn’t understand any of this and if she doesn’t like it or is against it, she’ll tattle to all the
teachers.”

“You’re just scared of her.”

“I’ll hex your bullocks off, Black!”

“Don’t, please. I like them,” said Quintus mildly.

Abraxas sneered. “Yes, we already know you’re a pair of fairy boys—”

With a flick, Tom sent a stinging hex and it struck Abraxas in the side. He sucked in his breath, eyes
wide as he glanced at Tom.

“If I have no issue with them, then neither do you,” said Tom with a mild warning tone. Salazar, it
was barely the start of their meeting. “Mind yourself, Abraxas. Let’s continue.”

“All right, I have another,” said Alphard. He smirked. “Harrison Evans.”

Tom blinked in a slow motion. Should’ve known.

“Oh, hell no!” snapped Abraxas, bolting out of his seat. He rounded on Tom, who lifted an eyebrow.
“Riddle—”

He moved with the striking speed of a cobra: the stinging hex slammed into his leg and Abraxas let
out a cry of pain, dropping to a knee. Tom stared down at him, his gaze cold.

“Excuse me?”

Abraxas gritted his teeth, looking up. “My lord.”

“Better. Continue.”

“In just a few days, Evans has shown that he doesn’t care for the sanctity of tradition. Something must
be done about Evans—you have to do something.” Tom narrowed his eyes. The defiance in Abraxas’
tone grated on his nerves with every word he spoke. “He’s out of control and he’s putting strange
ideas into Euphemia’s head.”

“I was under the assumption he agreed to the statement of her beauty.”

“And that’s a problem.”

Malfoys. Why was this a topic of debate in his meeting? Pathetic. They had names to put forth,
connections to make, missions to assign - petty topics of whether or not a prepubescent eleven year
old girl was pretty was a colossal waste of his valuable time.

“If you don’t do something about him, then I will.”

“Is that a threat, Abraxas?” asked Tom in a low voice. A hush fell over the group. Tom traced a finger
along the wood of his wand in an idle motion. “Tell me, what will you do if I deny you your
demand?”

“My lord, why are you soft with this mudblood?” snarled Abraxas. “I don’t understand why you
aren’t harsh with him. You’ve put others in their places much sooner. Why not Evans? Surely…
you’re not going soft?”

The tension in the room was palpable.

“Crucio,” whispered Tom.

Abraxas’ screams filled the room. Tom lifted the curse after two seconds. Abraxas lay on the floor,
panting, tears already streaming down his cheeks. He struggled to get to his knees, keeping his head
bowed. Tom uncrossed his legs and leaned forward. He reached out with his right hand, his wand
languidly held in his left hand. Tom brushed his fingers beneath Abraxas’ chin, lifting it upwards.

“Abraxas,” purred Tom. “I think you’ve deluded yourself. You mistake my leniency and mercy for
softness. I am a merciful Lord, my Knights.”

Tom withdrew, returning to his previous posture.

“Do not forget your place again, Abraxas,” said Tom coldly. “I grow tired of your whinging about the
minutia. We have other things to achieve and such talk will only hold us back. I expect better from
you. I shan’t be merciful a second time.”

“Yes, my lord, forgive me,” whispered Abraxas, his voice shaky. He got to his feet and sat down,
subdued.

Tom looked around the room, a challenge in his gaze. “Anyone else have anything to complain about
over my treatment of Evans? No?”

Their silence was his answer.

“On the topic of Evans… It’s true, I admit I am interested in adding him to our group. He’s willing to
stand up for Slytherins. He’s different and I value that quality. However, we’d have to see how he
fairs in his studies.” Tom paused, letting his words sink in for a moment. He dropped his tone, filling
it with a menacing warning. “But understand… Evans is mine. He’s a wild creature and wild creatures
were made to be tamed. Only I, and I alone, will do this, unless I ask for your assistance. Anyone
going after him without my consent will be met with swift punishment. Am I understood?”

There were murmurs of agreement.

“Good. Any other names?”

Out of the names given, Tom was only interested in Lilith Rowle and Magnolia Bulstrode, both fifth
year girls. They were both from strong families. There were a few fifth year boys that could be good
to add, but Tom wasn’t ready to invite them.

“Do whatever it takes to enter Slughorn’s favor,” said Tom. “I want every one of you to be invited to
attend his parties. If one of you isn’t, another is to invite you as their plus one. I don’t care how you
do it, you get into those parties. I want you all to begin establishing connections and contacts with the
adult world. Those of you planning on ministry jobs, do whatever it takes to gain favor.”

Tom drew in a deep breath.

“We don’t know how much longer the war will be, but I suspect it will continue longer than we
expect. We need our Knights in the government.”

“Perhaps Grindelwald has the right idea,” said Primrose. “Getting rid of the muggles is the way to do
this.”

Tom wasn’t a fool. If they got rid of all of the muggles, the wizarding world and magic itself would
one day die out. Purebloods were so focused on the small issues and this clouded their ability for
reasoning. It took two hands to count the number of squibs that had been born to the pureblood
families and those were only the siblings or cousins to his inner circle. The Lestrange and Black
family were particularly nasty when it came to ‘dealing with’ squib children.
Tragic accidents.

Other families, their squib children simply disappeared, thrown into the muggle world.

Purebloods were more inbred than they realized. It took more births to get magical children. Quintus
had confided in Tom one year about a younger brother he had no idea if he were alive or dead because
he’d been tossed into the muggle world for being a squib. If no muggleborns were added to the pool
of blood, squib children would become more common.

Tom had other plans for muggleborns. Grindelwald wanted to subjugate the muggles, while Tom
wanted complete separation from them. Magic was the most important factor. Preserving magic at all
costs was Tom’s ultimate goal.

He’d seen enough to know the wizarding world was stagnant, set in their ways, and afraid of change.
But he had to be careful around them, say the right things, and make them happy while still furthering
his true goals.

He couldn’t be a Grindelwald sympathizer and he couldn’t completely denounce him either. Slytherin
politics was such an annoying tightrope to perform on.

“Getting rid of such a mass amount of people is a waste of time and resources,” said Tom, keeping his
tone light. “Grindelwald will fail because he’s so obsessed with the muggles and can’t think outside of
them.” He shook his head. “No, I’d rather our cause not be noticed just yet. First, we get into the
government and make smaller changes. That’s where we will gain power.”

Primrose nodded, agreeing with him.

The clock turned eleven o’clock, its gentle chimes ringing through the room. Tom uncrossed his legs
and with a powerful wave of his wand, he brought the wards of the room down.

“Meeting adjourned.”

It was strange to Harry how quickly he was getting used to the Slytherins. With his second week
already half gone - it was Wednesday morning - it was becoming easier to slide back into school
mode. The Slytherins weren’t the worst lot, all things considered. Sure, many of them were a bit
heavy handed with their prejudice, but they weren’t the evil little demons Harry had once thought
they were when he’d been eleven.

They were just kids with some family shit to unpack.

Okay, a lot of family shit.

He hadn’t ever known just how much pressure the purebloods had from their families, but it was there
and tangible. It was like he could cut the tension with a butter knife. No wonder they all acted like
they had a stick up their arse.

There was definitely a hierarchy to the Slytherin house with Tom and his dorm mates at the top. Harry
was quickly beginning to pick out others who were at the top as well - or at least were in Tom’s favor.

He could also pick out who were muggleborn in Slytherin.

The muggleborns were either treated like pariahs or were targets for bullying. Most of the time both.
Harry was so damn tired of it all.
He sat at the Slytherin table with his dorm mates, putting some eggs on his plate, for once wanting
something more than just fruit for breakfast. Everyone looked a bit hungover this morning, coffee
being the first thing in most of the fifth years to seventh years’ hands. It was only midweek, too, but
the pressure was already getting to everyone.

Well, what better way to shake things up than to be a delightful little shit in the morning.

“Look, I don’t get the weird vibes Slytherin and Gryffindor houses have going on, like you’ve been
slighted or something. It’s your destiny to get along. You really need to lighten up,” said Harry, rather
loudly so a lot of the table could hear him. A number of heads turned towards him. “See, it’s my head
canon that Slytherin and Gryffindor were actually lovers—”

Rosier spat out his pumpkin juice.

Avery threw him a blank look.

Black blinked, staring at him as if he’d grown antlers.

Prince slowly looked up from his book.

“Your what?” demanded Lestrange.

“What the hell?” said Mulciber.

Tom frowned.

“It makes sense, all right?” said Harry, having a very difficult time keeping a straight face through
this. This was beautiful. Where was Colin Creevey when he needed him? This needed to be
immortalized in perfect moving picture. “The whole shit about Gryffindor and Slytherin being
enemies and fighting honestly just sounds like a rocky relationship between lovers who became petty
and bitter over the years. But of course they couldn’t work out their differences and Slytherin had to
run away like a little bitch.”

The Slytherin table erupted.

“Shut your face! Quit making up lies like that!” snarled Lestrange. Rosier was laughing his head off,
clapping slowly. “Roland, stuff it!”

“You’re going to give us a bad name,” hissed Mulciber. “There’s no way in hell that Slytherin was-
was—”

“Was gay?” said Harry with a gesture of the hand.

More confusion. All of the boys glanced between each other.

“Gay? You mean happy—No!” snapped Mulciber. His voice dropped like a stone. “I meant a poof.
Slytherin couldn’t be a… a homosexual.”

That’s what I said, you bloody moron.

Black and Prince sat up slightly, folding their arms in perfect unison, giving him the darkest look they
could muster.

“No offense, I’m just saying it’s not possible,” said Mulciber quickly.
“Evans, I love you,” said Rosier, wiping a tear from his eyes. “Marry me.”

“I’ll pass, thanks.”

“Well, Salazar Slytherin had to have some relations with a woman,” said Avery. He glanced at Tom,
before he cleared his throat. If Harry hadn’t already known Tom’s ability, it would’ve gone over his
head. “Parseltongue still lives on, so… Logically speaking…”

“Still doesn’t mean he wasn’t having a nice shag on the side with Gryffindor,” said Harry with a
shrug. Lestrange let out a strangled sound. “Those two screamed lovers. I swear to Merlin.”

“That can’t be true!”

“You can’t say things like that.”

“If that spreads to Gryffindor, they’re going to be pissed.”

Harry snickered into his breakfast, enjoying the arguing that ensued between many of the Slytherins.
It rippled up and down the table, spreading like wildfire. It was loud enough that the nearby
Ravenclaws were noticing something was up, before listening in.

The rumor was going to be the talk of the school by first period.

And my job is complete here.

The morning post brought a flurry of owls with letters and packages for the students. Harry glanced
up, wondering if Kasper would pay him a visit, when an unfamiliar owl landed in front of him. It was
a brown colored great horned owl with a perpetual angry expression because of its thick, eyebrow like
feathers. It seemed to glower even more at Harry, looking like it wanted nothing more than to rip his
intestines out and gorge itself on them.

“Uh…”

The owl let out a warning screech.

Harry drew back slightly. “Hi,” he said, hoping it’d let him know what it wanted. He glanced to its
claws and noticed a letter attached. “Have you got a letter for me?”

The owl let out a soft huff of a hoot.

“May I have it, then?”

The owl eyed him with bright yellow orange eyes. Finally, it slowly held out its leg, staring at him
with those unsettling, unwavering eyes. Harry slowly reached for the letter and was overwhelmingly
thankful that the owl didn’t bite a finger off. He removed the letter from its leg.

“Thank you,” said Harry with a tentative smile. The owl didn’t move. Maybe he was supposed to send
a response back with the owl? He looked at the front of the letter to see his name in the center written
in unfamiliar neat handwriting. In the top corner, Newt Scamander. Harry grinned and opened the
letter to read.

Dear Harry,
Seeing you again the other day was quite a nice surprise, especially so soon after meeting you. I’m
glad we had that chance. Tina was delighted to meet you and she’d tell you that you’ve been on my
mind a lot since we first met. I hope you’re doing well and working on your studies. You’re not
skipping any more classes, are you? I know there’s a lot to adjust to, but do try to attend all of your
classes, please?

I spoke to Professor Dumbledore after you left, but I didn’t tell him about your personal life. I
promised that it would stay between us and I intend to keep that promise. However, despite my dogged
determination, I’m afraid I didn’t get a satisfactory answer out of him.

I’m sorry, Harry. I know it’s frustrating (trust me, I know ) and you deserve better. You really do. I’m
truly sorry that I’m unable to deliver on my promise. Perhaps in the future. Though, I have a feeling I
may never get a straight answer out of the man. Few do, I’m afraid.

Tina wanted me to say on her behalf that if she ever gets the opportunity to corner him, she’ll drag
some answers out of him for you. I’d trust that, if I were you. She is an auror, so if anyone could do it,
my Tina can. Her interrogation skills are legendary, but you didn’t hear that from me.

I know there’s little comfort for you, especially after what’s been in the Daily Prophet this morning.
But Hogwarts is safe. You are safe. Hogwarts is a veritable fortress and would never face battle. Not
ever. You are safe. I need you to believe that. There are countless witches and wizards doing
everything they can to stop Grindelwald. His forces will not get anywhere near Hogwarts. I swear this
to you.

Everyone at the Ministry is working round the clock to stop him. I can personally vouch for the Head
of the Auror Department. He’s working night and day, using all his resources, to stop him.

Don’t lose heart, Harry. No one man is meant to nor can be the one to single handedly save the whole
world. That just doesn’t happen. And no one really expects that, either. It will take countless people
and their combined efforts to end Grindelwald’s reign of terror.

I know this doesn’t excuse Professor Dumbledore, but I can assure you that he’s trying to help in his
own way, even if we can’t see it.

My offer still stands, you know. Tina would be thrilled to get some letters from you. Please don’t feel
shy or feel like you’re bothering us. Owl us whenever you like for whatever reason, even if it’s just for
a listening ear. I hope to see you again.

And do try to stay out of trouble, hm?

Sincerely,

Newt Scamander

and Tina Scamander

PS: Be a dear and please be patient and kind with Archimedes. He’s a rescue and is a bit on the
temperamental side.

No kidding…
“Thank you for the letter, Archimedes,” said Harry, looking up from the letter at the angry looking
owl. It fluffed up, as if grudgingly accepting his thanks. “Did you want me to send back a reply? And
would you like some raw meat—”

But the owl leapt into the air, flying out of the Great Hall.

Well… what an odd owl.

The letter, though, was illuminating, to say the least. Harry knew that Newt wouldn’t reveal much, but
his stance on Dumbledore appeared to be rather neutral. That was comforting. He could even sense
Newt’s exasperation of Dumbledore in the letter and was trying not to reveal that too much to Harry.

After listening to Newt and Dumbledore in Hogsmeade, Harry was more than sure that Newt was
disillusioned with Dumbledore - and that was good enough in Harry’s book.

Newt could be trusted.

Harry couldn’t help but laugh at a few points, though. Hogwarts never face battle? Oh, what a sweet
summer child. If only he knew… And no one expecting a chosen one to save their world? Dear
Merlin. That had been laughable.

Harry was touched about the offer to owl them. He might have to try that soon when he got a moment.
He’d been so busy this week, he hadn’t thought about that. There was something warm and safe about
Newt, and it’d be nice to have someone to send letters to, even if he didn’t really know the man all
that well.

Harry put down his letter, only to notice the mood at the breakfast table had grown worse, dropping
like a stone. Clusters had formed at every house table, furious whispers echoing with a touch of fear.
He glanced around to see the Daily Prophet in a number of students’ hands. Prince was reading a copy
with a pinched expression.

“What’s wrong?” asked Harry.

Prince showed him the title of the article on the front page. Harry caught sight of it and his gut
twisted, his breath catching.

BREAKING NEWS: GRINDELWALD INVADES BRITAIN

What the hell.

Dread filled the pit of Harry’s stomach. He was pretty sure that never happened in his original
timeline. Grindelwald never reached Britain. What was this supposed to mean for this timeline? It
wasn’t like Harry was a history buff or anything, but he knew changes like this would cause a ripple
effect.

This is huge.

Shit.

What am I supposed to do? Am I supposed to go after him? Stay here? But…

What had changed? What had caused this massive shift in Grindelwald’s movements? Harry had
barely been here for over a week. It couldn’t be his fault… could it?
This must be the reason why Newt had mentioned something, why he had been trying to reassure
Harry. Well, that was sweet, if not naive.

This isn’t good. I wasn’t prepared for this. What the hell am I supposed to do?

Harry looked up in time to see Tom snatching one of the Daily Prophets out of Lestrange’s hands and
reading the headline with feverish eyes. There was a faint tremor in his hands, the paper fluttering
slightly.

Tom handed the paper back to Lestrange. “Thank you,” he said.

The tremor had gotten worse.

Tom stood up abruptly. Just as he strode by Harry, he snapped to a halt. He glared down at Harry.
“What?” he demanded.

Huh?

Harry let go of Tom’s arm as if burned, not even realizing he had reached out to him. Tom’s eyes
narrowed. “Are you all right?” Harry asked softly.

Tom’s jaw clenched. He gave him a curt nod, before he walked away with long strides and left the
Great Hall. Harry watched him go, concern filling his breast.

Wool's Orphanage was in London. More than likely, the orphanage would’ve experienced the effects
of the Blitz, perhaps even had a bomb shelter built on the property. What if… What if Tom had been
there during the bombing?

Gentle pity rose within Harry. He could only imagine the terror that must have gone through Tom
during those intense times. Not even a wizard could completely protect themselves from bombs - and
Muggle inventions would only get more complex and far more powerful in the future.

No wonder Tom sought immortality.

A lone raven fluttered towards the Slytherin table and landed in front of Harry. It let out a loud caw,
shaking its head. It hopped towards him and held out its leg, a black letter attached there.

Harry took the letter and said, “Thank you.”

With another caw, the raven flew out of the Great Hall. Harry looked at it, flipping it over, but there
was no name or address on it, except for a white wax seal with no symbol imprinted on it. Harry tried
to break it, but it wouldn’t budge.

Who sent this?

As Harry traced his thumb over the wax, the symbol of the Deathly Hallows shimmered briefly. Harry
inhaled sharply and stood up, ignoring the curious looks he received from the others. He left the Great
Hall and dipped into an empty corridor. Once alone, he tried to open the seal.

It opened.

Black smoke poured out of the letter, thick white words writing on the parchment paper.
He’s on the move. He seeks the Master of the Death Stick. The cloak will hide you should you ever
encounter him. When in need, write my symbol and call my name. I’ll come, Master.

And then the letter disintegrated into black fluttering dust, rising upward until it vanished altogether.

Harry stared at his empty hands, trying to control the fear that was rising up inside of him. If Death
felt it so important to send him a letter to warn him about Grindelwald’s movements, what on earth
did that mean?

This is worse than I thought. Encounter him? I’m at school! Is he going to pop out from behind a suit
of armor? Merlin, I’m fucked.

He was torn between staying at school and just running off to confront Grindelwald right now.
Consequences be damned. Harry paced in the hall. He was more than torn—shit—he was actually
thinking about it. He could already hear Hermione’s voice in his head, scolding him for even letting
that thought cross his mind. “Don’t you dare, Harry Potter!” Harry paused, running a hand through
his hair, tugging strands of it at the scalp.

It would eliminate a big problem.

What the hell am I even thinking? It’s not like I’m Grindelwald’s horcrux. I don’t have a backup plan.
I don’t have Ron and Hermione.

Harry buried his face into his hands. He couldn’t face another Dark Lord all alone. It’d be stupid and
impulsive. Gone were the days of running head first into danger with his friends, surviving by the skin
of their teeth. He really needed to start thinking like a Slytherin more.

An agitated exhale heaved from his body.

He couldn’t go off on his own. He needed to save Tom Riddle from himself. He had a true chance of
making a difference here. If he got himself killed, then what good was that? Going after Grindelwald,
in this case, was saving the many. Staying here, whether Tom realized it or not, was saving the one.

And Tom had looked shaken by the news. He was alone somewhere, processing difficult feelings on
his own without anyone for support.

I can’t leave him alone.

With a sigh, Harry pulled out the map from his pouch, looking for Tom. He found him close by in an
empty classroom. He put the map away and strode towards the direction of Tom. The corridors were
full of students, so he went unnoticed as he reached the classroom within a few minutes. He waited
for a lull in the crowds before opening the classroom door, wincing at the noise it made. So much for
being quiet. He peeked inside. It was on the larger side with numerous students desks and chairs
facing a professor’s desk. Tom stood at the front with his back towards Harry, hunched over the
professor’s desk with his hands on its surface.

His shoulders shook.

Tom’s head lifted at the sound of the door and the trembling ceased immediately. Tom turned slowly,
leaning against the desk in a casual, nonchalant motion. If Harry hadn’t noticed that something had
been off, it would’ve seemed so natural. Tom’s eyes narrowed when he caught sight of Harry.
“Evans,” he said, his tone slightly clipped. “Fancy seeing you here in a random classroom.”
Harry shrugged, pausing in the middle of the room.

“How’d you find me?” asked Tom, folding his arms. “You’re new here, aren’t you? Now… how
would you know where to find me, hm?”

“Lucky guess.”

Tom snorted. He didn’t look convinced. He pushed himself off the desk and took long, but languid
strides down the classroom towards Harry. His hands idly brushed the surfaces of a few desks, until
he stopped a foot away from Harry. He studied him.

“Why are you here?” asked Tom, his tone a light accusation.

Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair, his gaze dropping. After a beat, he looked Tom in the
eyes. “You seemed… a bit… distressed,” he said softly.

Tom’s eyebrow twitched upward and he barked out a laugh. One step closer and he was standing in
Harry’s space, a mere few inches away. Harry’s breath caught in his throat. Tom looked down at him,
his dark eyes glinting with suppressed emotion.

“Do I look distressed to you?” whispered Tom, a smirk tugging at the edge of his lips.

“Yes.”

An Adam’s apple bobbed. A jaw clenched.

“That news would shake anyone,” said Harry softly, keeping his voice even and unthreatening.
Knowing Slytherins, Tom could easily take anything he said as some bullshit powerplay and that
wasn’t what he wanted to do here. He wanted to know the truth. He wanted to be a safe place for
Tom. “Have you been affected by Grindelwald’s war, too?”

Tom tilted his head to the side, as if half considering. “Muggle technology is dangerous,” he said
quietly. “And if Grindelwald has invaded Britain, it means the muggle war will get worse.”

Harry nodded slowly. “And that means…”

“There might be another Blitz,” whispered Tom. There was a faint shake in his voice.

And if that wasn’t a sobering thought…

And here Harry was yet again, feeling torn about being here at school. The guilt for staying here was
overpowering. The pressure was on and Harry was wasting time with school every day and with petty
bullshit the Slytherins thought were important. Why was he even here at school if he was supposed to
stop Grindelwald on top of everything.

Stop Grindelwald? Stop Voldemort from ever rising? Fucking hell, this is a lot.

Harry slammed his thoughts silent.

Stop it. Focus on him. Not Grindelwald. Not Voldemort.

Tom.
“It’s okay, you know,” whispered Harry. “It’s war. Terrible things happen in war and it’s okay to be
affected by the thought of those things, like torture and… death.”

Tom flinched ever so slightly.

But Harry noticed.

“What do you know of Grindelwald?” asked Tom. Harry blinked, confused by the shift in the topic.
“What do you think of his design for the wizarding world?”

“It’s shit,” said Harry flatly. “Killing people never solved anything.”

Tom rolled his eyes. “No, I’m asking about his politics.”

“What does politics have anything to do with murder?” said Harry, incredulous. He shook his head.
“Murder is politics—please.”

“That’s how he’s going about changing the world, but that’s not his politics,” said Tom, folding his
arms. “Grindelwald wants to expose the wizarding world to the muggles and rule over them. He feels
we’ve been hidden for too long and we deserve to live our lives out in the open without fear. He wants
total muggle subjugation. What do you think of that?”

What do I think of that? Why is he asking about this?

“I suppose I can see his point,” said Harry slowly, choosing his words carefully. “But murder—”

“—is wrong, yes, so you’ve stated,” said Tom with a roll of his eyes and with an annoyed huff.
“Focus on the politics—Salazar, you have the attention span and focus of a Gryffindor.”

Wow, rude much?

“If no murder was involved,” said Tom, watching him intently. “What do you think of it?”

He didn’t answer at first. Tom was waiting patiently and didn’t appear frustrated by Harry pausing to
think. The air felt heavy around Harry, as if his answer would either make or break the cordial,
tentative connection they had. He wasn’t sure what Tom wanted to hear, but he wasn’t about to lay
down on something serious like this.

Harry wasn’t sure what Voldemort’s original plans for the world had been, but Harry had to make it
clear that messing with muggles on a massive scale was stupid in the long run.

“Muggle subjugation?” said Harry in a dubious voice. He scoffed. “You think they’ll be all right with
that? They have thoughts and feelings and dreams of their own and you think they’ll take this—” He
lifted his hands for air quotes. “—subjugation lying down?” Harry laughed, shaking his head. “It
would be a war of the millennium. A minority like us, even with magic, won’t win against so many
muggles. It’ll be a bloodbath. Wizards are powerful, but muggles have numbers and technology.”

A light filled Tom’s dark eyes. “Then…” he said, drawing out the word. His body pulled towards
Harry, the space between them narrowing to only an inch. “If you had all power to change things,
what would you do?”

The air was too hot.

Harry inhaled, trying to clear his mind. All power to change things? It wasn’t like Harry was informed
enough to really know what he’d do. Living a life without fear would be nice, but he’d lived with the
Dursleys long enough to know that muggles would be the ones living in fear if they were aware of a
powerful race who lived among them.

The world would never know true peace.

“If the world finds out about magic and a race who can use it…” Harry shook his head. “It wouldn’t
end well for us. We have to stay hidden, I think. But I don’t think muggles and muggleborns are less
than us. My friend was a powerful witch, the smartest one around, and she was a muggleborn.
Purebloods are full of shit. Magic is magic. Why does it matter where it comes from? I don’t think it
should.”

Tom smiled.

It was genuine, how it brushed against his lips, how it crinkled the edges of his eyes. Harry’s feelings
somehow had been the right answer.

And Harry couldn’t stop staring at how human the smile made Tom look.

“Evans,” said Tom, his voice ever so soft, barely above a whisper. There was a deepness to his tone.
Harry’s stomach fluttered. “I think you’d make a good fit in a little group of mine.”

Harry’s eyes widened.

A group… Holy shit, does he mean the baby Death Eaters?!

“We’re a small, private group, rather exclusive. We meet once a month, the first Sunday evening.
We’ve devoted our lives to protecting magic and keeping ourselves separate from the muggle world.
You can see how you’d really be a great fit to join us. We call ourselves… The Knights of Walpurgis.
”

Tom really needs to get a naming book or something. He’s so fucking edgy.

“We want to better our world,” whispered Tom and true excitement echoed within his tone. “You
align with our goals perfectly.”

The air had changed around them and Harry had the distinct impression that he was peeking into the
window of Tom’s soul, of one of his true desires. The sorrow filled Harry a moment later, knowing
what he’d become and how he’d fail.

Well, it was an opportunity he couldn’t miss.

“Sounds like a club.”

“It’s not a club,” said Tom, frowning.

“Do any of the teachers know about your little club?”

“It’s not a club, Evans!”

“Okay, Riddle, I’ll join your… ‘not a club’ club. Sounds fun.”

Tom gritted his teeth, while Harry merely returned his irritation with a beaming grin.
Chapter End Notes

Big thanks to AJ for writing a rough first draft of Newt's letter.

Now... Some of my readers seem to have forgotten… who Tom Riddle is and who he’d
eventually become. I see you in the comments and in the bookmarks… I fear you’ve been led
astray, my dears.

AJ couldn’t have put it better when she first read the chapter:

Readers: Oh, I like how humane Tom is

Isalise: LMAO watch this
 Eleven
Chapter Notes

Just wanted to thank you all for your comments and kudos. You definitely make writing this that
much more fun.

While I love the traditional simple lightning bolt because you can have fun with rune meanings,
etc, I decided I wanted to go with what lightning truly looks like when we see it flashing across
the sky for Harry's lightning bolt scar here.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Harry was not prepared for how strong his little rumor would take root within the entire school.

But oh, Merlin, did it ever.

Wildfire didn’t touch on how fast it had spread and morphed with a life of all its own. The rumor had
evolved into a spectacular beast, now with speculations on Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff possibly being
in a secret tryst as well, though knowing those ladies, Harry was pretty sure they wouldn’t have cared
to be secret about it at all.

But Harry’s personal favorite was the rumor that all four of the founders had been in a polyamorous
relationship with each other.

The Slytherins were quietly seething over Harry starting all this, while the Gryffindors were losing
their shit at every turn. The Ravenclaws were constantly in hot debate over the validity of the rumors,
while the Hufflepuffs were in a perpetual state of bemusement.

It was great.

If only Harry knew how to write in parseltongue, he could’ve upped the rumors to a whole new
playing level. It wasn’t like he knew what he was doing when it came to speaking parseltongue, but
writing in the language? He was going to have to experiment with that.

But the thought of Tom ‘accidentally’ finding a journal of Slytherin that detailed his, ahem, exploits
with his Gryffindor boyfriend was enough to send Harry into a burst of giggles every now and again.
Students passing by would throw him weirded out looks before moving on.

Ah, well. He couldn’t have it all, now could he?

Class with Dumbledore was a tense affair for Harry. Thankfully, the man didn’t try to engage with
him in class nor did he try to speak with him afterwards. Harry gritted his teeth all through the class,
forcing himself not to speak out yet again. Dumbledore showed the same favoritism from his last
class. Didn’t even try to be a little better.

Bastard.
The day melded into the next with potions being the first class of the day. The only reason Harry
didn’t have the intense desire to blow up the entire classroom with a screwed up potion was because
Snape wasn’t teaching the class. Thank Merlin for small mercies.

Harry was dreading the next class.

DADA.

He’d already decided that he was going to take it easy with his experience in fighting. Hold back as
best as he could. Better to be underestimated, after all. All of the Slytherins thought him weak
because of his blood status and Harry wasn’t in the mood for the fallout that would happen when they
realized he was good.

He had a half notion to skip again, but thought better of it. Harry knew better than to poke the bear
that was Merrythought.

Though, to be fair, if he had his way, he wouldn’t attend any class.

He showed up early for her class, leaving Potions as soon as possible. The DADA classroom was set
up much differently than other classrooms. It was also the largest classroom Harry had seen in
Hogwarts so far. Half of the room had the usual desks and chairs for students to sit and set their books
down. The other half of the room had training dummies and a wide open space, perfect for dueling.

As the room filled with students sitting at their desks, Merrythought walked out of her office. Her
eyes scanned the room, pausing on Harry.

“So nice of you to join us, Mr. Evans,” said Merrythought, loud enough for all to hear. Harry winced.
“Let’s do hope you’ll continue to do so, hm?”

“Of course, ma’am,” said Harry.

Shit, this woman is still fucking scary.

“Today, we’re going to practice dueling today,” said Merrythought in a voice that carried across the
room. “Pair up.” Her grin was devilish and a number of students shivered. “Let’s see how well you all
fair. Simple spells only. Take this time to practice nonverbal if you can. Disarming spells and stinging
hexes only. Nothing more. If I even see a hint of anything that can injure your opponent, you can kiss
all your freedom goodbye until the end of the year.”

Chairs scraped against the floor as the students stood and began to pair up. Harry had barely turned
around to look for a partner of his own, when Tom approached him.

“Want to be dueling partners?” asked Tom in a charming voice.

Of course, you want to pair up. Of course.

Should’ve seen that coming.

“All right with me, Riddle,” said Harry with a shrug, nonchalant. A vein in Tom’s neck twitched.
Hah, victory for me.

“Face your opponents now,” said Merrythought in a loud voice. “In a real fight, nobody is going to
give you a chance to bow, but—” She rolled her eyes. “Niceties have to be observed in school, I
suppose.”
Tom’s smile was sharp, his eyes burning with rippling excitement. He lifted his wand, left handed, in
front of his face and bowed, his eyes never wavering from him. Harry returned the bow, his body
tensing.

Never thought I’d see you bow that low to me.

“Duel!”

Tom’s reflexes were fast. That much hadn’t changed. Harry barely managed to duck to the left,
narrowly avoiding a burning stinging hex from hitting him in the shoulder. Harry sent off an
expelliarmus, but Tom easily avoided it.

They circled each other, eyes never wavering. Harry’s mind raced. He sure as hell didn’t want Tom
knowing what he could do. Tom flicked his wand and Harry ducked out of the way of another
stinging hex. He avoided two more stinging hexes. He threw one back and Tom easily side stepped it,
sending yet another after him.

He hasn’t used a disarming spell. He’s trying to figure out what I can do.

Well, time to disappoint him.

Harry twisted, allowing one of the hexes to strike him in the shoulder. He cursed underneath his
breath. Fuck, that hurt.

“Expelliarmus!”

Tom dodged it, as expected. The duel didn’t last much longer. Harry balanced his movements between
dodging and fending Tom off with a handful of stinging hexes, until he decided it was time to end
this. Finally, when Harry caught the wand movement and light of the expelliarmus spell, he moved
and took it directly in the chest. The force of it blew him off his feet and he landed hard on his back,
the breath escaping his lungs. He wheezed, moaning. Tom strode over to him, looking down at him
with a smirk.

“Not bad, Evans,” said Tom, still with that damnable expression on his face. He held out a hand. “You
definitely can improve… well, a lot there, but you have potential.”

You bastard, I’ve kicked your arse more times than I can count.

And I did it as a damn baby, too.

The things he did for this man…

Harry just smiled and took his hand, letting Tom pull him to his feet. “Thanks,” he said, drawing a
step back. He wanted nothing more than to hand Tom his arse on a silver platter right then and there,
appearances be damned.

“Elegant as always, Riddle,” said Merrythought. For a moment, she stared at Harry, her eyes
narrowing ever so slightly. “Evans, stay after class. I’ll have a word with you.”

Well, shit.

That didn’t bode well, not at all.

Harry had a couple of other dueling partners, one of which he thought was a Weasley or a Prewett. He
maintained the same air of mediocrity as best as he could, though one of his partners made it near
impossible to lose to them, they were so bad.

Trying to be bad at this is exhausting, damn.

When the class ended, the students slowly milled out of the classroom, while Merrythought
disappeared into her office. Alone, Harry gathered his things, hoping this wouldn’t be long. The door
shut, the final student gone. Silence lifted in the large classroom. Harry glanced around, but
Merrythought was no where to be seen.

His stomach squirmed; an uneasy feeling filled Harry, the hairs on his neck rising.

A second later, he threw up a silent protego. A spell shattered against his shield. Numerous spells flew
his way, powerful, dangerous ones. Harry ducked out of the way; the desk exploded at his side.

Shit!

Harry rolled in time as another blasting curse obliterated a second desk. He gritted his teeth, unsure
who was attacking him, but he wasn’t about to let this go.

He bolted up and let loose a flurry of spells in the direction of the last blasting curse. He darted away;
he sent a blasting curse of his own. Merrythought’s desk exploded. Papers burned as they fluttered
wildly.

“Come out and face me,” demanded Harry. “Who’s attacking me?”

But no answer came.

“Fuck!” cried Harry, rolling out of the way as another spell zoomed past his head. Another desk
exploded. Harry curled his arms over his head, splinters flying in the air around him.

Okay, okay, calm down. Let’s go.

Harry stood, wand raised. Another spell shot towards him. He threw up a protego; the spell slammed
uselessly against it. He whipped an expelliarmus in the direction of the spell, but it struck nothing.

“Expelliarmus!”

What?

“Protego Maxima!” shouted Harry. His wand moved slightly in his hand, but he held onto it through
sheer willpower. He stared at his attacker, utterly flabbergasted.

Merrythought appeared in a shimmer, standing in the center of the room, a triumphant smile on her
face. She clapped her hands slowly. “Impressive, Mr. Evans. A far better performance.”

“Professor?”

“You’re a fighter, kid. So why the hell are you holding back in my class?”

Harry inhaled, his mind racing. Shit. Shit. Shit. I didn’t think anyone would notice. He tried to smile,
but Merrythought folded her arms, eyeing him with a lifted brow. She gestured to him, wordlessly
saying, ‘Go on.’
Damn.

“It’s better to be underestimated,” said Harry.

She gave him an appraising look, before she nodded. “I’ll give you that. Very well. I’ll make you a
deal. Every time you underperform in my class on purpose, I expect double the length of your essay.
If I assign two feet, you give me four feet. Lessons you perform at your skill level, you can skip the
assignment altogether.”

Her smile was predatory. It was not a comforting look on this woman.

Harry was rooted to the spot. He swallowed. “I’ll take the double essays, Professor,” he said in a low
voice.

Merrythought smirked. “You won’t forever.”

Lovely. That didn’t sound reassuring.

Harry ran a hand through his hair, his scalp hot with perspiration from the surge of adrenaline. He
didn’t know how to end this and escape, but he was blessedly given an out when Merrythought began
to repair the desks and chairs that had been destroyed in their short fight.

“Good luck, Evans, you’ll need it.”

Harry fled.

He made it down the corridor and round a corner, when he saw his dormmates standing in a group,
waiting for him. Rosier grinned at him and waved him down. As Harry approached the group, Rosier
threw his arm around his shoulders.

“She didn’t murder you, did she?”

Harry chuckled nervously. “No, of course not.”

“She’s frightful,” said Rosier, shaking his head. “Glad you’re still in one piece. What did she want?”

“To scold me for missing her last class.”

“Ah.”

“You like skipping classes?” asked Mulciber, sneering. “That’s not a good look, Evans.”

“It’s our duty as Slytherins to have exemplary grades,” said Lestrange.

“Missing a few classes isn’t the end of the world,” said Prince lightly. A sly grin lifted his features.
“As I recall, I remember during one class period you and Marcus disappeared. Came back after dinner
drunk and disheveled. I never did get a good answer out of you two. Care to explain?”

Black snorted. The blood drained from Mulciber’s face, while Lestrange’s expression went utterly
blank.

“Can’t remember,” said Lestrange flatly. “Too drunk.”

Prince licked his lips and threw Black a knowing look. The two of them merely smirked at Mulciber
and Lestrange.
“Well, I have no secrets,” said Rosier. “I’ll take any pair of legs and any pair of knockers I can get.”

Harry wheezed.

Tom rolled his eyes in the most exasperated, exaggerated way.

“That’s because you don’t get them very often,” said Avery.

Rosier let out an offended squawk. “Excuse me, and how would you know?”

“We know,” said Black and Prince in unison.

Rosier put on a wounded look.

The squabble that broke out among the boys was mostly lighthearted from there. As Harry strode with
the group, he glanced over at Tom, noticing the faint little smile that barely lifted the edge of his lips.
There was something soft in those dark eyes.

It was bittersweet.

Because Tom had once lost this, these friends, in favor of something that would ultimately lead to his
demise. But hopefully Harry could ensure he wouldn’t this time.

As Harry laid in bed that night, curled on his side, sleep wouldn’t come to him, his thoughts focused
on Tom and where to go from here. Most of the other boys had long been asleep, though he’d heard
something from Rosier until Avery apparently threw a pillow at him and Lestrange told him, “Go to
sleep or I’m going to hang you upside down from the Gryffindor Tower!”

Harry wasn’t sure what to think about being invited to Tom’s little baby Death Eater meetings so
soon. It was a step in the right direction, of course. But where the hell did Tom get the idea that Harry
would be a good fit? He’d been below average in DADA, been a smartarse as much as he possibly
could, and threw the entire Slytherin house into disarray with his chaos.

And yet Tom thought him a good fit?

Really?

That wasn’t what Harry knew of Voldemort. Somehow, Tom had seen something in Harry that he
wanted to cultivate. What did he see? It just didn’t make a lick of sense. Harry rubbed his eyes, letting
out a low sigh. He wasn’t trying to catch Tom’s eye and somehow he was without much effort on his
part. It made him nervous, uneasy. Something was off. Harry bit his lip, his mind racing with
thoughts, trying to figure out what the angle was.

A voice echoed in his mind, clear and melodic: the voice of Lily, his mother.

‘Remember that you are enough.’

‘You are a bright light, a good person…’

‘Don’t try to force yourself… Let it happen naturally.’

Harry rolled onto his back, looking up into the darkness. He put a hand over his chest and drew in a
deep breath.
‘Don’t overthink it.’

He closed his eyes. His body slowly relaxed. Okay, Mum. Okay. I’ll keep being me. I won’t worry
about it. Easier said than done, but the tension in his heart had faded some, with hope blossoming in
its place.

A soft slithering sound drew his attention from his thoughts. Harry tensed, his fingers wrapping
around the hilt of his wand. He sat up slightly, waiting.

“Nagini, you’ve returned,” said Tom in a low hiss.

“So I have.”

Harry froze, heart pounding out of his chest. He held his breath as the fear threatened to overtake him.
Images flashed in his mind. An outstretched mouth. Fangs bared. A lunging snake intent on devouring
them. An old wound, old scars pulsed with ghost pain on his right forearm.

Harry blinked, ridding himself of the memories.

There was a put out sigh. “You’re in a mood, then?”

“You would be too if you were asked to slither around these dirty halls filled with noisy brats who
thumped around with the elegance of clodhopping giants.”

“Did you find it?”

“I’m hungry.”

“Nagini.”

“I’m going to rest and then I’m going on a hunt.”

“Nagini—”

“Nestling, if I had found your little chamber, don’t you think I’d say so immediately?” snapped Nagini.
“This castle is massive. I’m doing the best I can here, all right?”

“And I appreciate your efforts—”

“Yes, yes, you’re just saying that so I’ll go back out there.” There was a hissing noise, a mixture of
amusement and irritation. “I haven’t given up, don’t you worry. I’ll find your little chamber.”

“It’s not a ‘little’ chamber. It’s Slytherin’s Chamber of Secrets. It’s my heritage—your heritage, too,
and—”

“Sure, sure. I know. Mhm. Mhm. Hey, someone here smells a bit like you. Found a mate, have you?”

“I believe you’re confusing me with Alphard and Quintus,” said Tom, annoyance bleeding into his
tone. “You know I have no need nor desire for such attachments.”

“If you say so. Now let me under the covers. I’m cold!”

“Nagini—” There was an annoyed huff. “Very well.”

The room fell silent. Harry settled back against his pillow, thoughts whirling once more. I knew he
had to be looking for it, but I didn’t think Nagini was the one who’d found it. This was also the first
time he’d heard Nagini speak. She didn’t seem like the perfect obedient little servant that Harry had
always assumed she was. Had things changed when Tom became Voldemort? Or had she remained
silent around Harry? At any rate, Nagini was another glimpse into Tom and how he dealt with his
allies.

And there was one thing Harry was certain of.

This Nagini and Harry were going to get along perfectly.

With coffee in his veins and an apple in his stomach, Harry started another school day, Friday, with
reluctance. Charms class was uneventful, if not a bit dull. As he made his way towards the Divination
classroom, Harry pinched the bridge of his nose, exhausted already.

Yet another class he was dreading.

Harry stepped inside the classroom. It looked familiar to him, which made him even more wary.
While the air was scented with incense, there was a window open, keeping the air fresh rather than
suffocating. Thank Merlin. Being in this room had always made Harry rather ill. He looked around
and noticed with a grimace that he was the first one here.

Wonderful.

“Right on time, Harry Potter. I’ve been wanting to speak with you.”

Harry’s blood went ice cold. He turned to see a very old woman standing next to a plush armchair.
Her robes were of thick velvet, nearly drowning her tiny, hunched frame. Her face was layered with
wrinkles, but her eyes were sharp and piercing.

“I’m sorry?” Harry barely managed out.

“I know who you are, dearie,” said Trelawney. With a shaky hand, she gestured to the nearest table.
“Sit. I wish to talk with you before the others arrive.”

“Class starts in five minutes,” said Harry with a nervous laugh.

“No, it starts in twenty-five minutes, dearie. I might’ve warned my last class to arrive twenty minutes
late.” She smiled knowingly at him. “And no student is going to argue about starting class later.”

This woman…

She was the real deal. Harry swallowed and sat down on a cushion, his body tense. Trelawney
shuffled to her armchair and sank into it with a deep sigh.

“How do you know my name?” asked Harry in a low voice.

“How do I know much of anything? I See.”

“You’re nothing like your granddaughter.”

“Sybill is my great great granddaughter, actually,” said Trelawney in a cheerful tone. “But no, I
wouldn’t be, now would I? Her Sight will be a bit different than mine. Hers is wild in nature and not
under her control. It’s much too bad I shan’t be around to help train her, but alas, my time is limited.”

Harry looked at her, horror in his expression. Trelawney only gave him a pitying look.

“Dearie, when you’ve lived as long as I have, it’s not such a terrible thing.”

Harry could only nod.

“I See a lot of things,” said Trelawney in a low voice. “A lot of possibilities, other worlds perhaps.
I’ve Seen a Harry Potter who never became The Boy Who Lived, that lot fell to another tender soul,
and excelled as a leader of light for his world, becoming headmaster of Hogwarts much like our
Dumbledore would in this world in one timeline.”

A world without being The Boy Who Lived? That sounded like a dream, a wonderful life to live
where he never had to worry about Voldemort trying to kill him.

But he’d never wish that weight on someone else’s shoulders.

“Who was The Boy Who Lived in that world?”

But Trelawney only smiled and said, “There are many timelines. They split apart into infinite paths.”

“Why are you telling me this?” asked Harry. “What does that mean?”

“Whatever you wish it to mean.”

Harry frowned. “I’m confused.”

“Good. You should be. Time is an element and magic that shouldn’t be taken lightly.”

“Is there a purpose to this… little chat? Or are you just trying to confuse me?”

Trelawney was silent as she stared at him. Her gentle grandmother demeanor faded in an instant. Her
back straightened. Her entire form seemed to shift with power and even the wrinkles on her face
seemed to lessen. Her voice became sharp and low, and it reverberated within Harry’s very lungs.

“Beware the weighing of the souls.”

His breath quickened. “What? What is that?”

“Don’t die and you won’t find out.”

“I wasn’t planning on dying?”

Trelawney chuckled. “Most don’t.”

His heart raced. This whole conversation was unsettling. The thought of having to stay here for an
entire class period made Harry want to scream. Divination had ruined his life so many times. If it was
going to do it again…

“Remember, Harry,” said Trelawney, her voice far more powerful than was normal for a centuries old
woman. “A day of reckoning must come. If you’ve not accomplished what you’ve come to do by the
weighing of the souls, you will lose everything.”
Her piercing eyes seemed to glow a bright vibrant blue color. It struck Harry to his core, as if those
eyes could see deep within his very soul. He held his breath, terror gripping him with an iron fist. It
threatened to squeeze the life out of him.

“You mustn’t die before that time. Under no circumstances can you die. Or all will be lost and your
efforts here a waste.”

A chill began at his neck, sliding down his back all the way to the base of his spine. Goosebumps rose
on his arms. “What is lost?” Harry whispered. Mouth dry, he licked his lips. “What would be lost?”

She gave him a sad smile. “You know who would be lost, dear.”

He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe. Harry bolted to his feet, his lungs expanding, but no air
reaching them. Her words hadn’t been spoken as a name, as Harry had always heard the phrase said
before, but it was uncanny and eerily close. The double meaning had been more than clear. He
whirled away from the woman and marched to the ladder that would lead out of this accursed
classroom.

“Harry, dear.”

He froze, heart racing, blood roaring in his ears. He slowly turned his head to look back at her.

“I’ll let the Headmaster know that you no longer wish to attend Divination,” said Trelawney, smiling
through those mounds of wrinkles. She looked the part of the ancient woman once more. “You
needn’t come back, dearie.”

Harry gave her a curt nod and left.

His mind spun; his destination was anywhere but here.

A body tore around the corridor and nearly slammed into Tom as he was on his way to Divination.
His hands shot out, grabbing shoulders that were a number of inches shorter than Tom before the
figure could lose their balance.

“Dammit, Riddle.”

Ah, this grating, melodic voice. Harry Evans.

“All right there, Evans?” asked Tom, raising his eyebrow at him. “Perhaps if you didn’t fly around the
corridors like a bat out of hell, we wouldn’t meet in such a lurid fashion.”

Evans pulled back, glowering at him, and Tom allowed him to slip out of his reach. Evans let out an
aggravated breath through his mouth, running a hand through his wild hair. Tom caught a glimpse of
the strange scar spidering across part of his forehead, reminiscent of the wild nature of a bolt of
lightning that crackled across the sky. It disappeared beneath his bangs. There was something in
Evans’ eyes, the way they darted back and forth, and the tension in his shoulders that piqued Tom’s
curiosity.

“Did you just come from Trelawney’s classroom?” asked Tom. “Did you speak with her?”

“No.”

Tom’s lips twisted. “You’re lying. What did she tell you?”
“Nothing,” snapped Evans.

Oh, it wasn’t nothing, now was it?

“Did she give you a prophecy?” asked Tom lightly. Evans threw him a horrified look. “It’s been
known to happen,” he added, finding that he had the desire to reassure Evans. “I do believe four years
ago a girl received a prophecy about becoming a teacher, but I doubt it’ll come to pass. Miss
McGonagall is too Quidditch obsessed to teach at Hogwarts.”

Evans inhaled sharply, face writhing with new emotions so fast that Tom couldn’t decipher them all.

“Great,” said Evans flatly. His chest heaved. “Just great.”

Whatever Trelawney had said to Evans had certainly shaken him. It must’ve been bleak if it was
bothering him this much. Tom wanted to drag answers out of Evans, but instead the words that came
from his mouth weren’t demands, but further reassurances.

“Divination is fascinating, but it’s not always a sure thing,” said Tom, his voice low, smooth, and what
he hoped was soothing. “One mustn’t put too much stock into it. I’ve found that a healthy amount of
respect and skepticism is required for the art. Whatever she said, I wouldn’t worry about it too much.
Prophecies are only what you make of them.”

They were supposed to be helpful, his words. But they didn’t seem to have the effect that Tom had
hoped for them.

Evans stared at him. Those emerald eyes cleaved Tom with two emotions, one rather affectionate,
while the other burned with loathing. Evans’ lips thinned. Hurt caved through. He strode past him
without a word, and Tom didn’t seem to have the breath to stop him. Evans paused briefly at the end
of the corridor. He glanced back. Evans spoke one more sentence before disappearing round the
corner.

“You’re such a fucking hypocrite, Riddle.”

It was said almost fondly.

And Tom didn’t understand why.

Evans pervaded his thoughts during his classes again. Those eyes haunted his mind. Evans was more
a riddle than he was, a mystery to unravel and figure out. Tom wanted to know what was in his mind,
what were those thoughts that seemed to torment him - yet oddly enough, Tom didn’t want to extract
it by force.

He wanted it to come willingly.

Evans was missing from Care Of Magical Creatures as well. Tom sighed. Grubbly-Plank didn’t notice
and Tom wrote plenty of notes in his absence. He hoped to give them to at dinnertime in the hopes of
starting another conversation with the boy.

But Evans was missing at dinner.

Tom sat in the Slytherin common room in an armchair, pretending to read his potions assignment, but
his mind was elsewhere, on a pair of pained green eyes. How their light was haunted by some distant
agony, one that Tom couldn’t reach.
What did Trelawney say to Evans?

There’d be no getting an answer out of the old woman and no answer from Evans.

Whatever she said, prophecy or not, it wounded Evans deeply.

“You haven’t turned the page in ten minutes. Something tells me there’s something on your mind.”

Tom looked up to see Quintus looking down at him with a questioning gaze. “Where’s your other
half?” he asked, closing his book.

Quintus shrugged. “He’s with Orion right now. He’ll be around later. So. Knut for your thoughts?”

“Do thoughts have a monetary value?” asked Tom, bemused.

“Perhaps.”

“It’s Evans.”

Quintus quirked a brow, the edge of his lips sly with a smile. “Oh?”

“Missed classes again. Not sure what he’s thinking.”

“Have you tried asking him?”

“And when would I have found the time?” drawled Tom. “He missed dinner. Again. He’s yet to
appear.”

“Well—” But he stopped when William Avery approached them with a dark expression. He knelt
beside Tom’s armchair, drawing close to Tom’s ear.

“We have a problem,” whispered William. “There was a fight in one of the seventh year dorms.
Pettigrew punched Abraxas,” whispered William. “Sinistra is defending him.”

“What?” hissed Tom. Must I deal with all of these children? “Bring them here.”

William nodded once, getting to his feet. Tom stood up, chest rising in a deep, furious intake of
breath.

“Should I stay?” asked Quintus in a low voice.

“No,” said Tom sharply. “Go to the dorm.” He glanced around the common room, where every
Slytherin stared at him with wide wary eyes. “All of you,” he snapped out. “To your dorms. Go.”

No one disobeyed him. The Slytherin common room was soon empty with just Tom waiting. After a
moment, William had Pettigrew by the underarm, dragging him along, with Aaron and Neil pulling
Aeolus Sinistra, seventh year boy, behind them. Pettigrew and Sinistra were friends since both were
muggleborn. Abraxas trailed behind last, nursing a bloodied nose with a handkerchief.

“What happened?” asked Tom, his tone cutting like a blade. Pettigrew flinched, dropping his eyes,
while Sinistra glared at him.

“Malfoy is a prick,” snapped Sinistra. “He’s always bothering Pettigrew and I and all the other
muggleborns here in Slytherin and you always let him. So this time, we decided we weren’t taking it
no more.”
“Who threw the punch?”

“I did,” said Sinistra proudly.

But Tom knew instantly he was lying. He turned to Pettigrew, who slowly met his eyes.

“Me,” whispered Pettigrew.

“I see.” Tom lifted his wand. A healthy amount of fear entered Sinistra’s eyes. Pettigrew’s jaw
clenched.

However, before he could say anything more, the common room door opened and Evans stepped
through. He paused, noticing the tension in the room. He walked towards them, pausing near
Pettigrew. “What’s going on?” he asked, guarded.

“Nothing,” said Tom with a forced smile. “Nothing you need to concern yourself with. Go up to our
dorm.”

Evans bristled. “You can’t tell me what to do like I’m one of your little minions, Riddle.” Tom’s nose
flared. “Just because you invited me to your little club, that doesn’t give you the right to boss me
around.”

The irritation pricked his skin at the sound of ‘club’ once more.

“Club?” said Abraxas, his voice cracking. He turned a bit green. “Club? What’s he on about? Invite?”

This was not how he wanted his Knights to find out.

“Later,” hissed Tom to him. He turned his attention back onto Evans. “I expect everyone to listen to
what I say, no matter their status.”

Evans barked out a laugh. “And that makes it so much better, huh?”

He could feel their eyes on them, watching, evaluating, weighing every word against Tom. Evans’
continued defiance was a nail in a coffin. There would be unrest among his house and among his
knights if Evans was allowed to keep defying him like this so much. Tom had nothing to fear when he
came to his power, but he had worked hard to get to this point.

And one newcomer wasn’t going to ruin it for him.

“Evans, go to our dorm,” said Tom softly.

“And leave you to torture someone? Hell no.”

Tom’s lips curled; he rolled his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. There’s no torture here. But Pettigrew and
Sinistra know better than to fight and hit one of their own. They’ll learn to avoid this in the future.”

The color slipped from Pettigrew’s cheeks, but he held up his chin, eyes burning. Sinistra appeared
faint.

“And what about Malfoy?” demanded Evans, gesturing to Abraxas. “I’ve stopped him in the middle
of bullying Pettigrew before. I’m pretty sure this was justified.”

“There is a hierarchy—”
 “That’s bullshit.”

“Sometimes the lesson of learning one’s place is unpleasant,” said Tom firmly, but his lips thinned
with rising frustration. He’d known Evans would be difficult to tame, but this was moronic. Someone
with a smart head on their shoulders would’ve felt the tension and backed down. He added with a
warning tone, “And now you must understand your place—”

“No, you know what? Fuck you, Riddle,” snarled Evans.

The air grew frigid. Abraxas went pale as snow, the blood on his face growing stark, while Aaron and
Neil glanced between Evans and Tom, their eyes wide. Even Pettigrew looked wary. Tom drew in a
deep breath.

“Leave us,” said Tom, his tone glacial. When Evans made to move, Tom’s hard expression narrowed.
“Not you, Evans.”

No one argued. His knights obeyed as they always did, while Pettigrew and Sinistra sagged with relief
to escape. As Abraxas strode past, Tom’s hand shot out, grabbing him by the wrist. Abraxas flinched.
“And you—” he whispered in a low hiss. “—will put these unproductive ways to bed. Understood? Or
else.”

He released Abraxas and didn’t wait for a reply.

The common room was empty except for Tom and Evans. Tom activated the magic of the room and
wooden snakes coiled around Evans’ ankles. Patterned scales were on their backs; one snake lifted a
head, a forked tongue slithering out. Evans glanced down, his eyes widening, before they snapped
back up to glare at Tom.

Evan’s tensed, hand slipping into his robes pocket. How adorable. He thought his wand was of any
use. After what Tom had seen in DADA, Evans was slightly above average, but had the potential to
be more than that. As he was now, they were no match. Tom drew close, stopping only a few inches
away from him.

“I’m disappointed,” said Tom softly, looking down at him. “I really had hoped it wouldn’t come to
this, but you’ve forced my hand.”

Tom pressed the tip of his wand against Evan’s jugular.

“It’s time we had a little… discussion… about your behavior.”

Chapter End Notes

I'm sorry, not sorry. xD

 Twelve
Chapter Notes

When I posted Chapter 11, I’d just come off a very difficult weekend that was emotionally and
spiritually draining. That’s why I didn’t answer most comments within 12hrs or so. Responding
to your comments is part of my fun and joy.

So, when I say thank you so much for your comments, I can’t begin to emphasize how special
they were to me. You all brought me the smiles I desperately needed. I truly love you all! I
worked hard to bring you the next chapter as soon as possible. Have fun~!

Cackles

See the end of the chapter for more notes

This bastard.

Don’t flip out. Don’t flip out. Don’t curse him to hell and back.

Harry inhaled.

I REALLY WANT TO CURSE HIM.

His jaw was locked, clenched so tightly his teeth hurt. His hand shook in his pocket, fingers tense
around his wand. How was Harry supposed to get anywhere with this man when he wanted to strangle
him with his own bare hands? The arrogance. The superiority. The audacity! How dare he act like he
was in charge of Harry now.

Fall in love?

How about a… hell no.

Harry kicked the snakes that were at his feet. The two of them went flying, hissing wildly, twisting
madly midair, when the magic released them and they shattered into a spray of mist. Harry met Tom’s
eyes with a dark sneer. He took a step forward, Tom’s wand digging into his neck. It was harsh against
his flesh, threatening to choke him, but he didn’t care. He lifted his chin. He was ready. If Tom
attacked, then he was going down. Going down hard. He stared up at Tom, whose eyes widened
slightly.

“Go on then, gonna curse me?” demanded Harry, a challenging, mocking lilt in his voice. “Didn’t like
me interfering with you torturing someone? You think I’ll stand by and watch? Oh, get used to this,
Riddle. I’ll stop you every time.”

I’ve stopped you before and I’ll do it again.

You pale in comparison.

And yet that wasn’t quite true; deep down, Harry knew Tom had a different kind of power than
Voldemort. Tom seemed to instill true loyalty among his peers. How and why, Harry wasn’t sure, but
it was a far cry from how Voldemort controlled his followers. There were only two types who had
followed Voldemort: the insane who thrived on evil and the terrified who feared for their lives.

Of course, there was one more, an anomaly: the spy.

Tom raised an eyebrow. “You keep insisting that I was going to torture them,” he said, his voice
smooth with a hint of amusement. “I’m not sure where you got such a silly idea from—have you
spoken to some Gryffindors? They do have some…” There was a breathy laugh. “…wild tales.”

Harry narrowed his eyes. “So you weren’t going to crucio them?”

Tom’s expression went blank. “And if I was?”

Harry’s rage peaked. He slid away from the wand at his throat and shoved Tom with both hands to his
chest. Tom stumbled, steadying himself quickly, his nostrils flaring. “That’s fucking torture!” he
shouted. “D’you not understand that?”

Tom’s eyes glittered with simmering anger. And yet, he lowered his wand, its aim closer to Harry’s
chest. The patience of this guy… “I beg to differ,” he said softly. “Two seconds under the spell gives
no lasting damage. The message is swift.” A shadow cast over his expression, his mouth twisting. “If
I were to report them to a professor for fighting, however, they’d most assuredly have received the
cane and that leaves marks for days. Using the Cruciatus Curse is merciful.”

“The hell it is—you can’t justify using the Cruciatus Curse!” snapped Harry.

“So you rather they get caned and then barely sit for days where the entire school can see their
humiliation?” Tom sneered. “Duly noted.”

“No—neither are right! They should just get detention like normal.”

Tom sniffed. “You haven’t been here long to understand how this school runs here. Or how life is in
general, it seems. You’re naive.” Tom leveled his wand to Harry’s forehead. Harry stiffened. A dark
smile spread across Tom’s features. “Now, this is long overdue. Your disobedience is not appreciated
—”

“Fuck you, you arsehole.”

Tom’s lips thinned, fury flashing in his eyes.

“Very well. You lack understanding. Time to rectify that.”

“Mm… I’ll pass, thanks.”

There was a touch of amusement. “Oh, Harry, darling,” Tom purred. “That wasn’t a suggestion.” His
mouth opened slightly, a tongue curling behind his teeth. Harry stiffened at the silky hissing words
that poured through his voice. “With the voice of Salazar, come to me, little ones.”

The walls began to move.

What had once been only two snakes before were now countless numbers. Snakes slipped through the
cracks of the walls, tens of them, hundreds of them, thousands of them. Some were made of wood, of
the drapes, of inorganic materials. They slithered on the ground, twisting around each other in
massive heaps of snake bodies. They made their way towards Harry, surrounding him on all sides.
Harry tried to take a step back, but a furious hissing stopped him.

Ah, shit. Really? Why does it have to be an army of snakes?

“It’s time you learned an important, vital lesson,” whispered Tom. He gestured towards the snakes, his
eyes pinned on Harry, and the snakes rustled together in response. “You’ve been quite unruly.” His
smile was condescending. “Haven’t you been, Harry? Besmirching the fine name of Salazar
Slytherin. Making this house look like a joke among the entire school. Amusing as it is, you’ve
crossed the line,” he breathed, emphasizing his words with a slight hiss. “There are boundaries here in
Slytherin and yet you keep dancing right over them. No respect whatsoever for our traditions. I’ve
cautioned you, warned you, and yet you’ve ignored me - even provoked me. Let’s make one thing
clear: when I ask you to do something, you do it.”

He made a gesture with his hand. The snakes hissed loudly, moving more quickly now. Tom’s
expression grew light.

“Or… You can learn why I am at the top of Slytherin, why all of Slytherin answers to me.” His lips
curled. “Bind him.”

The snakes lunged at Harry, curling around his legs and squeezing, their muscles flexing with power.
He stood rock still as they crawled all over him, slithering up his legs and around his torso. A snake
wrapped around his neck, tightening without quite choking him. Harry locked gazes with Tom, staring
deep into those dark eyes, refusing to back down. Harry didn’t waver.

This was child’s play to him.

“You do have guts, I’ll give you that. Bravery beyond Slytherin itself,” murmured Tom. “Gryffindor
like, even.”

He stepped forward. His snakes parted for him, slithering around his footsteps without touching him.
In his absence, they gathered back together, roiling and coiling around themselves eagerly. Tom lifted
his right hand, a finger ghosting the line of Harry’s jaw; Tom gripped it in a powerful vice, pinching
his cheeks. A wand pressed beneath his chin.

“I am merciful, Harry,” whispered Tom, so close to Harry he could feel the warm caress of his breath.
“I acknowledge that you’re different. You’re something this house hasn’t seen before and I like that.
Others would be whimpering, crying, begging for my mercy, but you—you stand here without
flinching. Unafraid. So, I’ll give it to you, my mercy, freely.” The smile was sinister. “Simply admit
your failings and cease all this… childish defiance.”

Tom took a breath.

“Or… you’ll get a taste of my, so called, torture.”

The wand dug into his flesh. The snake around Harry’s neck lifted its head, gazing at him with bright
eyes. Its tongue flickered out. The arrogance was so thick, Harry could barely breathe through it. His
lips curled with loathing. Harry glared.

“Is this supposed to intimidate me?” hissed Harry. “Is this really the best you can do, Riddle?”

Tom froze.
Eyes wide, his grip went slack and he retracted from Harry as if burned. Tiny hissing voices
overlapped each other, surprise and excitement echoing within their tones. All of the snakes that hung
on Harry dropped to the ground, curling and twisting at his feet.

“Another speaker.”

“A second heir.”

“Two speakers at the same time.”

“We are blessed.”

“So blessed.”

Hang on.

Wait just a fucking minute…

“Uh… shit.” Harry groaned, running his hands over his face. “Shit. Fuck. Stop it. Shit, stop it. Turn
off, will you already?!”

“You’re a parselmouth?” whispered Tom.

Shit! I can’t just stop talking. Damn snakes. How do I do this again?

“Uh… Yes? Shit, make it stop!”

“You keep speaking in parseltongue and you don’t know how to stop?” asked Tom, incredulous. He
was breathless. He shook his head, becoming exasperated. His eyes rolled up into the back of his head
briefly. “Salazar, Harry, how thick are you? How could you not know?!”

“Hey! Get rid of your dumb noodle buddies and then maybe I can go back to speaking English
again.”

“You can’t control it?”

“I’m fucking trying to here!”

That time sounded more English, thank Merlin.

“A parselmouth…” murmured Tom, more to himself it seemed. He stared at Harry as if he’d never
seen him before. “You?” he said, with a mixture of surprise, awe, and a hint of disgust. “A
parselmouth?”

“Surprise?”

Tom narrowed his eyes. “You’ve known all along.” Magic expanded from Tom, flooding the room. It
rushed over Harry, hot as the scorching wind of a desert. The snakes scattered, shattering into
sparkling mist. Tom bared his teeth and lunged forward, grabbing Harry by the throat and slamming
him against the wall. Harry gasped, stars lighting up in his vision. “How are you a parselmouth?”
Tom hissed. “You’re nothing more than a muggleborn—where could you have gotten such a
bloodline?”

Harry wheezed. “Aren’t you muggleborn, too, you basta—”

“I’m a halfblood,” snapped Tom. He shoved Harry away, letting him go. Harry doubled over and
gasped for breath; he whipped up, glaring at him. Tom glared back. “I am descended from Salazar
Slytherin himself, the greatest of the four founders—”

Harry snorted. “Of course you’d say that. Please, if you were descended from Hufflepuff, you’d say
she’s the greatest of the four.”

“I must be a halfblood.”

There was something in his tone that Harry found himself unable to not pity. There was the tiniest hint
of vulnerability, of uncertainty. Tom didn’t know for sure of his heritage, not yet anyway. He had no
idea of his lineage. He could still be a muggleborn and be descended of Salazar Slytherin. His
insecurities echoed within his voice against his will.

And Harry had no desire to soften his blows.

“You don’t actually know, do you?” said Harry. “You don’t know. Do you?”

Tom inhaled sharply, fury widening his eyes.

“Well, I know my lineage, unlike you,” said Harry, his words acerbic and razor edged like a dagger.
“I’m a halfblood. Pureblood father, muggleborn mother.”

Tom’s breath came out in a harsh exhale. “I know mine,” he snarled. “Only those of Slytherin descent
are parselmouths. I am his heir.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” said Harry, rolling his eyes. “Whatever you say. Maybe if you say it often enough,
it’ll make it true.”

Tom’s lips twisted, the anger now mixed with the barest hint of injury. “And you…” His chest heaved
in annoyance. “You’re a parselmouth, too, so you must be descended from Slytherin as well. We must
be related.”

“Oh, please, the entire wizarding world is related in some shape or form. No, we’re not related.”
Harry shrugged. “Distantly, I guess.”

“How do you know?” said Tom; his wand instantly trained to Harry’s forehead. “How would you
know anything about my family line?”

Oh, shit. Shouldn’t have said that.

Gotta backtrack somehow. Distract.

“You just said—” Harry let out an exasperated sigh, shaking his head. “You’re so uptight. Don’t get
your knickers in a twist.”

“How would you know?” whispered Tom, his tone low and dangerous, like a thread threatening to
snap at any moment. “How would you know?”

Dear Merlin, this man was like a dog on a bone.

Harry’s voice was soft. “My grandparents and my parents didn’t have siblings or other children. I
know.”
Tom’s eyes narrowed briefly.

“So, look, I know this was a lesson in Slytherin shenanigans—I mean, hierarchy or whatever the hell
this is—politics?” Harry rolled his eyes. “Merlin help us. Anyway, I suppose I fail…”

He took a step closer, staring up into Tom’s face, standing only a few inches away from each other.
He had a clear view of every contour of Tom’s face, of how the light shadowed his features. He never
realized just how rich a brown his eyes were. Harry’s stomach did something funny on him, his breath
hitching briefly, before he smiled innocently.

“Because I really don’t give a shit about your little Slytherin power plays.”

Tom’s jaw clenched; his Adam’s apple bobbed.

“But,” said Harry grandly, withdrawing from him and extending his arms out. “I’m willing to
compromise.”

“I don’t compromise,” hissed Tom.

“Oh, you do now. Or I’ll just show off my parseltongue skills to the entire school.” Harry smirked.
“How would the Slytherin house feel if there were two of us? Would it confuse them? Who is truly
the heir?”

“I am.”

“Ah, but are you really sure?”

“I can control my ability,” said Tom with a sneer. “Can you?”

Harry shrugged elaborately. “So I’m inexperienced. It’s not like I’ve had the chance to learn about my
illustrious heritage. I barely knew I could speak to snakes until I was ten and it was only when I was
twelve that I understood what it meant. Can hardly fault me for not knowing.” Harry put on a sad little
pout, exaggerating it up to mess with Tom. “The poor newcomer with little education about Hogwarts
and Salazar Slytherin. I’m going to need all the help I can get.”

Silence reigned.

“Would they turn on you?” whispered Harry. “To help the less threatening heir?”

Tom stared at him. The only indication of his boiling rage were the white knuckles that clutched his
wand.

“Power in numbers. If they turned on you… how much of a chance would you have… an entire house
against one?”

His words hung in the balance between them, weighted, dark, and cruel. Tom’s throat contracted, his
breathing shallow. Harry struck into every crevice of his doubts. Harry didn’t think Tom realized how
much it showed all over his face, no matter how impassive he tried to remain.

“You’re more of a Slytherin than I first assumed,” said Tom softly. “You would’ve destroyed
Hufflepuff.”

“Highly doubt that.”

“You knew.” Tom gave him an appraising look, eyes narrowed. “You’ve known all along that you
belong in this house. Interesting.” His lips thinned, his expression growing pensive; his fingers
brushed against the grain of his wand. After a moment, he said, “Blackmailing me won’t get you very
far.”

“This isn’t blackmail. This is me telling you to cut this shit out. I’m not going to bend to your
commands. Got it?”

Tom let out a soft chuckle; it sent a chill down Harry’s back. He leveled his wand to Harry’s forehead
once more, swift and absolute. There was no light in his eyes, steady and dark as they burrowed into
Harry’s soul.

They were a promise, a vow.

“I don’t enjoy being blackmailed, Harry, darling,” whispered Tom. “You’re impressive, I’ll give you
that much. But… I don’t appreciate being cornered. I have no choice but to make an example of you.”

The flash of red light and softest whisper of, “Crucio,” was Harry’s only warning of the spell. He
dropped out of its path just in time, the fiery heat rushing overhead, toasting his skin somewhat. Harry
rolled to the side, ducking behind one of the common room sofas, narrowly missing another flash of
red light.

“Harry… Come now, Harry, it’ll be over in a handful of seconds,” said Tom, his voice soft, entreating,
like a parent chiding their wayward child. “It’ll be over before you know it. I just need you to scream
for me.”

This fucking bastard!

This was too much to ask of Harry. What the hell had he been thinking in the first place? Maybe
dying did something to the brain because he had to have been out of his fucking mind to agree to this.
He should’ve just gone on with his family to the afterlife or gone back to end the bastard himself.

Go back in time to give this arsehole a second chance?

How stupid.

“Harry, darling, come on now,” purred Tom. “Come out and face me. It’ll be quick. After all, I am
quite merciful.”

A calm settled over Harry. He was done. Done. Harry slowly stood up from behind a sofa, turning to
face him. His wand lifted, ready. His magic crackled and rippled through him, fierce and raring to go.
Tom smiled at him, soft, gentle, confident, condescending. His lips upturned.

“If you force my hand,” whispered Tom. “I’ll make it more painful.”

“Riddle. I’ve said it once, but I’ll say it again since you seem to be slow of hearing - or maybe just
slow of wit.” Anger flashed through Tom. Harry sneered. “Fuck you.”

Tom opened his mouth, the Cruciatus Curse clearly on his lips. Harry was ready for it, to go all out
and ruin this man’s life and show him once and for all why Harry Potter was Tom Riddle’s equal
through and through - when the common room door opened.

It was like a bucket of ice had been thrown over them.

Instantly, Tom’s wand dropped to his side, disappearing. His demeanor shifted back into the perfect,
obedient schoolboy, a warm, welcoming smile lifting his features. Slughorn walked inside and Harry
barely had the chance to shove his wand back into his robes, heart thumping wildly against his chest.

“Good evening, boys,” said Slughorn cheerfully. He glanced around, frowning. “Oh, empty tonight,
then? I’m surprised. It’s a bit early for the older students to be in bed. I was hoping to visit tonight.”

“My apologies, Professor,” said Tom, smooth as ever. His tone was silk, thick and saccharine. “Many
of the students were looking more tired than normal, so I sent them up to bed early this evening.
Harry and I were just going to tuck in for bed, weren’t we, Harry?”

His chest expanded. Harry wasn’t sure if he wanted to answer. It was a beat before his stiff face
loosened and he put on the same fake smile that Tom was such an expert in.

“Yup, long day,” said Harry flatly. “Long week. Long life, actually. Gotta get to bed—super tired and
all.”

His smile was still stiff and he caught an eye roll from Tom. But Slughorn never noticed. Slughorn
chortled. “Well, Tom, that’s why you’re one of the best prefects that I’ve had. You always make sure
this house is in working order, far better than I ever could. I suppose I’ll check in another time, then.
Have a good night, boys.”

It was tense as they watched Slughorn leave the common room. It hung around them, thick and
choking. When the common room was empty again, just Harry and Tom standing opposite of each
other, they didn’t say anything for a number of minutes. Neither moved. Harry was ready for the fight
to restart, but it never did.

“We should go to bed,” said Tom.

I’m sorry, “What?”

“Unless you’d like to find out the outcome of a clash between us? I assure you it’ll end with your
screams.”

Harry gritted his teeth. So presumptuous. But… He was being given an out. It was painful. It was so
fucking painful to shove his pride down, chain it down and force it into a cage while it fought and
raged and clawed against him to burst free. It wanted blood. It wanted Tom Riddle writhing on the
ground. It cried and screamed for that fight, for the war, for the clash of magical power that would
ensue between them if Harry went all out.

But he shoved his pride into its cage and locked it tight.

“I’d rather go to bed,” said Harry, unable to keep the odd emotion out of his voice. He licked his lips.
He inhaled greedily. He let out a breath, but he was still overwhelmed. “Yeah. Go to bed…”

Tom turned and strode towards the stairs to the dorms. He paused at the landing, throwing Harry an
expectant look. Every breath Harry took wasn’t enough. There was no leaving this. He couldn’t
escape to the owlery as he always did, hidden in the corner with only Kasper for company. With
another lacking breath, he followed Tom, taking the stairs with wooden feet. The tension in his body
was frayed, ready to snap. He couldn’t calm the whirling emotions. He couldn’t calm the battle torn
man who’d been ready to end it all.

But Tom wasn’t Voldemort.

No matter how much Harry hated Voldemort, no matter the hints that Tom gave of whom he could
become, he was not currently that murdering monster. He was just a boy with dark inclinations with
also a hint of light within his soul. Dim as it was, Harry could see it in Tom.

That made the whole thing even more frustrating.

At the top of the stairs, Tom asked, “All right there, Harry?”

Harry blinked, staring at him. “I don’t remember giving you permission to call me Harry, Riddle.”

Tom’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I don’t remember asking for it.”

This bastard.

Well, two can play at that game.

Harry took a step closer, stopping an inch away from him, looking up at him with a sly smile. “Then, I
won’t either, Tom.”

Tom licked his lips.

Harry strode passed him, walking to their dorm and opening the door. He paused as all eyes fell upon
him. The air in the room was brittle, tense.

“Evans,” said Prince. That same feeling could be heard in his tone. “You’re back.”

Tom put a hand onto Harry’s upper back, warm and weighted. Harry was suddenly and vividly aware
of his touch and how it felt against him. Gently, he was pushed inside the room and he allowed it.
Tom shut the door behind himself, before facing everyone. The hand moved upwards, brushing his
shoulder, until it rested at the nook of Harry’s neck, fingers splayed over him. His grip tightened,
lightly digging into his flesh.

“Harry here is now part of our inner circle,” said Tom, his tone light. The group exchanged looks.
“He’s earned it.”

Harry blinked, not fully comprehending what that meant. His mind was a bit too focused on the hand
at his neck. But by the looks that were exchanged by the others, it meant something significant.

“Not among us, though,” muttered Lestrange.

“Yes, I’m aware of that,” said Tom; his hand dropped, slowly, brushing ever so lightly against the
middle of Harry’s back. He felt its absence more than he realized possible. Tom’s jaw tensed briefly.
“However, I would appreciate all endeavors on your part to understand why. Harry is officially one of
us and I’ll hear no arguments about it.”

What the hell is happening?

Prince clapped Harry on the arm, grinning. “Good enough for me. Call me Quintus.”

“Alphard.” Black gave a little wave from his spot on their double bed.

“I’m still looking forward to seeing you at tryouts tomorrow,” said Avery with a smile. “I’m Simon.”

Hang on, wait, tomorrow?!

 “You can call me Roland!” chirped Rosier.

They glanced over at Mulciber, who rolled his eyes in disgust. “Fine,” he said grudgingly. “I give you
permission to call me by my first name. It’s Marcus.”

“And I’m Sebastian,” said Lestrange, his nose upturned.

Slytherins were odd ducks. No doubt about that. The tension instantly faded and the conversation
turned light, normal topics expected of schoolboys, homework, girls, etc - though Alphard was quick
to snuff out all enthusiasm to talk about sex, while Quintus smiled through it.

All the while, Tom would occasionally glance over at Harry. He could feel those eyes on him,
piercing his soul and trying to extract answers out of him. And once, Harry met his eyes.

His heart thrummed.

His stomach fluttered, a heat clawing upwards to his heart, where it warmed with every beat.

Harry dropped his gaze. “Well, good night,” he said, feeling a little breathless. There were short
murmurs in response. As he crawled into bed, shutting his bed curtains, he caught Tom’s eyes once
more.

He fled from those dark, penetrating eyes.

Harry threw up silencing charms and wards to protect himself. Harry flopped back onto his pillow,
covering his face with his hands. He groaned softly. He put a hand over his heart, feeling it beat
wildly beneath his fingers.

Shit.

He wasn’t expecting to actually have some attraction to Tom. Shit. Being attracted to guys was
actually a thing for him, then. Great. He was attracted to guys and girls. And, of course, to Tom
fucking Riddle, too. Why hadn’t anyone ever mentioned that was possible to him? Shit.

Well…

It made things easier in some ways.

In other ways, not so much.

Chapter End Notes

All right, I know this wasn’t the ‘twink fight’ you’re all salivating for and my apologizes for,
ahem, blue balling ya’ll out of the fight of your dreams, but

Tom called him Harry.

Tom called him darling.

…

LMFAO 60k+ words in and we finally got these dumbasses on a first name basis. Good thing I
finally added the tag ‘slow burn’ huh?

Don’t y’all worry, a taste (yes, just a taste) of that wonderful fight you’re all dying for is gonna
happen soon (I tentatively say within 2 to 5 chapters) and when it does, it’ll be wonderful~

But seriously, you’re all in for a delicious slow burn.

I’m still cackling.

 Thirteen
Chapter Notes

*shakes the dust off self*

*splutters*

Oof, wow, okay. Damn. This is officially the longest chapter yet.

So. Remember when I mentioned that something happened last time. *inhales* My dear lovelies,
shit hit the fan. It’s a long, raw story, so I’ll put at the end.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Everything had shifted now that Harry was part of their little group. Or club. Or whatever the hell
they were up to - Harry didn’t know and, honestly, he really didn’t care. He’d only said yes because
he knew it was the smartest move. The Slytherin move. They were just a bunch of kids playing adults
in Harry’s opinion. He knew it would eventually change, but that was when Tom became Voldemort
and that wouldn’t happen for decades - or in this case, never, if Harry was successful in stopping him.

These children, they had no idea what it was like out in the real world.

Harry pitied them, but also had no patience for them. Luckily, he wouldn’t have to deal with this club
meeting for a number of weeks.

When was it again? First Sunday of every month?

Ugh, I feel like I’ve signed up to something boring and stupid.

That wasn’t for another two weeks, though, so he had time. He didn’t think it would be as ‘exciting’
as Voldemort’s Death Eater meetings. At least, he hoped it wasn’t…

He and Tom were going to have a big problem if that were the case.

It was Saturday morning and Harry was at the Slytherin table with a knot in his stomach about
tryouts. It wasn’t that he was nervous about flying. He was nervous about the brooms. It was fifty
years in the past and he knew Firebolts didn’t exist. Plus, it wasn’t like Hogwarts was going to be up
to date on the latest brooms.

So, they’re going to be slow.

Fantastic.

“Good morning, Harry,” said Quintus pleasantly, taking a seat beside him as Alphard sat on his other
side. Alphard yawned, snaking his arm through Quintus’ and leaning against him. He gave Harry a
sleepy nod.

“Morning,” said Harry, guarded.

The boys exchanged a look. Their expressions were downright lecherous. Oh, no, this can’t be good.
“So… about last night…” Alphard began, a sly smile spreading across his features. “You and Tom
were alone for a bit.”

Yeah, and almost murdering each other, the little bastard.

“Anything… interesting happen?”

Harry squinted at him. “Besides nearly getting cursed?”

Quintus shrugged. “Sure.”

“Nothing happened.”

Alphard and Quintus glanced at each other, before looking at Harry. They grinned. “Are you sure?”
they asked in perfect unison. Harry was officially getting Weasley twins flashbacks.

“Yes?”

“You know, I didn’t think Tom had it in him,” said Quintus lightly. “Who knew Tom would have an…
awakening this year.”

“And that you’d be the cause of it.”

The hell are you talking about?

“We’d been waiting for it.”

“Our Tom is a bit of a late bloomer,” added Quintus with a sage nod.

“You do know I have no idea,” began Harry, frowning, “what the bloody hell you’re going on about,
right?”

“Oh…” Alphard grinned. “But you will.”

Alphard and Quintus had to be the twins incarnate. Or was it the twins were them incarnate? At any
rate, the pair of them were a right terror. Harry was forced to sit in confusion as the two of them fell
silent. Soon, the Great Hall began to fill up, albeit more slowly since it was a Saturday. Marcus and
Sebastian ambled into the Great Hall within ten minutes, while Roland and Simon soon followed.

“Harry!” cried Roland brightly, sliding up to him and throwing his arms around his shoulder. Harry
stiffened at the touch and tried to discreetly squirm away from Roland’s arm. Roland caught the hint.
Simon sat next to him, while Sebastian and Marcus took their seats on the other side of the table.
Roland grinned, eyebrows bouncing. “You ready for tryouts, yeah?”

“We expect good things from you,” said Simon.

“Uh…”

Great, no pressure.

“Hey,” said Alphard, leaning forward in front of Quintus and nodding to Roland and Simon.

“Yeah?”
“Budge over.”

“Why?” asked Roland, as Simon moved over without question.

Alphard’s eyes flared slightly; his tone was firm. “Just do it.” With a shrug and a disgruntled sigh,
Roland slid over a space. Alphard smiled. “Thank you.” Roland grunted.

The space remained empty at Harry’s other side.

Weird…

Harry tucked into his breakfast, idly listening to the other boys. He was beginning to learn the
individual quirks of each of them. Sebastian, Harry was quickly learning, was probably the biggest
arsehole of the bunch, with Marcus at a close second. Sebastian reminded Harry a lot of Draco, who
did nothing but complain or bully others whenever Harry interacted with him. But it seemed that
Sebastian was close to Marcus. Perhaps they gravitated to each other because they both were
arseholes? He only had so much to go off on…

“You sure you shouldn’t get it looked at?” whispered Sebastian, gesturing to Marcus’ arm, which was
covered beneath his robes.

“I’m fine. It’ll be gone in a week.”

“But it’s bruising.”

“I said I’m fine.”

“You can’t hide it forever.”

“I do every year.”

Harry frowned to himself. Mm…

Roland was the loudest of the group, ever the social butterfly and constantly cracking some kind of
joke. He bounced off Simon the most, who was quiet and often to the point with his replies. Those
two talked about Quidditch about seventy-five percent of the time.

I think Ron would’ve liked those two.

Harry was reminded, once again, that these were just boys, still children, even if they were nearing
adulthood soon. He’d been so used to villainizing Slytherins ever since he had arrived at Hogwarts
and he hated that he was still being surprised to learn that they were no different than the rest of the
students. It made him slightly uncomfortable in his own skin.

I wish I hadn’t scorned an entire house based on what others told me.

“Tom’s late,” said Quintus softly.

Alphard nodded, lips thinned. “I’d noticed.”

“He’s fine. He’s Tom.”

“Hm.”
Alphard glanced towards the staff table, where Albus Dumbledore was taking his seat near
Merrythought, who was giving him a shrewd look. He appeared to say something further and her lips
thinned in response. She straightened in her seat, giving him a sharp look, before turning away to
Fortinbras, who put a hand to her mouth, shoulders shaking with a laugh.

“What d’you reckon?” asked Alphard.

“You’re going to have to elaborate, love,” said Quintus mildly. He didn’t look up from his breakfast.

“Dumbledore.”

“What of him?”

“What d’you reckon? Do you think our dear Professor Dumbledore would be a man who enjoyed a
good mount? He looks like he needs it, too… I don’t think Merrythought likes him that much.”

Quintus smiled wildly, eyes twinkling. “Are you asking what I think you’re asking, love?”

“Of course, I am.”

“Why are you talking about horses so early in the morning?” demanded Sebastian. “You two are so
weird.”

Alphard grinned. “We’re not talking about horses. We’re talking about sex, my dear Sebastian, not
that you would be particularly well versed in that regard. What I want to know is what Dumbledore
would be so inclined towards. Is he a rider… or a mount?”

Harry choked on his bacon. The other boys groaned. Even Roland rolled his eyes, while Simon
sighed. “We’re eating here,” Marcus said, glaring at them. “I don’t want those images in my mind
while trying to have some breakfast. Ugh.”

“It’s Saturday and I have every right to contemplate the sexual exploits of our professors,” said
Alphard with a smirk. He glanced back at Quintus. “You don’t think he’d be a rider, do you? Doesn’t
seem like him. Or perhaps he’d prefer… a bit of variety?

Harry inhaled, nostrils flaring, trying not to lose his mind since he’d read Rita Skeeter’s scathing
biography of Dumbledore out of morbid curiosity and if it had even a grain of truth, he had his own
thoughts on the matter and he needed to stop thinking about it right now.

Not to mention all of the terms Dean and Seamus used and talked about - in fucking detail, pun
intended, unfortunately - in the boy’s dormitory. Alphard was far more dignified in his questioning of
whether Dumbledore was a top, bottom, or a switch.

Probably bottom—Fucking hell, I did not need this shit before Quidditch tryouts!

There was a pause as Alphard and Quintus stared at one another before Quintus chimed,
“Dumbledore has the impeccable air of a humble rider.”

“Yes, exactly what I thought.”

“Oh, for the love of Merlin!”

Harry wheezed.
“What has everyone red in the face now?” asked Tom, taking a seat next to Harry at the breakfast
table. Sebastian raised his eyes briefly at Harry.

“They’re at it again,” said Marcus, motioning towards Alphard and Quintus.

Quintus put on a benign smile. “Don’t mind us, Tom. We were just wondering if Dumbledore…
mounts.”

“And we decided that he definitely doesn’t,” said Alphard, his smirk mischievous.

“This is the topic at breakfast?” asked Tom, bemused. “I haven’t missed much, then. You’re debating
if Professor Dumbledore, a wizard who can apparate or fly a broomstick, rides horses?”

Harry spat out his pumpkin juice, spraying Sebastian and Marcus, choking and wheezing as the drink
went down into his lungs. There were annoyed complaints from the boys, while Tom looked mildly
concerned for Harry - the concern was most decidedly surface level.

“What did I say that was so startling?”

Harry couldn’t speak. He crossed the line of losing his mind. It was gone. Fornicating rainbow
unicorns were no longer the image in his mind now. Most unpleasantly and unfortunately, a new
terrible image had taken its place.

Harry shook his head, while Quintus patted him on the back. He coughed, just shaking his head and
glaring at Alphard and Quintus for good measure. They only smiled innocently through it all.

Once the coughing fit settled, Harry refused to look Tom in the face—refused to look anyone in the
face. But as he kept to himself, listening to the conversation that took place among the rest of the
Slytherins, a thought dawned in Harry’s mind.

Wait… How did Tom not understand what they meant? Those two are always talking about sex. How
did that go over Tom’s head?

Even though Harry wasn’t exactly experienced with relationships, he understood plenty of innuendo.
That was just the nature of living in a dorm of teenaged boys where hormones were raging madly. But
he’d never seen Tom Riddle be clueless about a subject. Yet, when it came to every innuendo that
Alphard and Quintus threw at him, it always seemed to go over Tom’s head.

What does that mean…?

Dammit, Death, is this going to be harder than I first thought?

What’s that term again? Hermione would know—she was always well informed.

Fuck, what was it—OH!

And then he remembered—talking to Hermione once about sexuality when they’d been alone in the
tent. She’d made a passing comment about Draco, but at the time Harry had brushed her off. The
conversation had evolved past that, though.

Asexual. That was the term. No sexual attraction. Sometimes, asexuals had no interest in sex at all,
while others would still engage in sex without feeling sexual attraction to their partner. Many asexuals
were interested in romantic relationships, but others could also be aromantic with no interest for an
emotional or intimate relationship with someone else.
‘It’s all a spectrum, though,’ Hermione had said. ‘Some asexuals can experience attraction, but on
such a small scale that they still identify as asexuals.’ She had given him a smile, putting a hand over
his. ‘Asexual, gay, straight - whatever you are or want to identify as, I support you.’

His heart hurt at the memory. Those days where it’d been just Harry and Hermione had been the
hardest of them all. He missed her and he missed Ron.

Harry inhaled, shaking himself, and darted a glance at Tom.

Shit. That sounds a lot like Tom Riddle. I don’t remember anything in those old memories with Tom
that had him showing any interest in someone. Shit! Why didn’t I think about this possibility sooner?

Don’t fucking tell me he’s asexual!?

Death, you son of a bitch!

Harry fumed all through the rest of breakfast.

The broom situation was far worse. These kids were riding the very first of the Comet line, the Comet
140, and the second of the Cleansweeps, the Cleansweep two. Trying to figure out how to fly these
old rickety sweeps was going to be a nightmare. They should’ve been left in the broom cupboard
where they belonged.

Harry sighed. It was going to take him a little bit to get used to them. That was definitely going to
affect his flying. He was so used to the ease that was his old Firebolt. Its loss was hurting more than
ever now.

There were a number of other Slytherins on the field, including Orion. Nott patted him on the back,
before walking to the stand with Selena at his side. Simon was wearing the captain’s badge, standing
straight as he looked over the group. He towered over most of the players. He crossed his arms,
frowning.

“Mm.”

“What’s he doing here?” demanded Orion, glaring at Harry. His upper lip curled. “Only skilled
players are allowed to try out. What makes you think a little mudblood like you is skilled at flying, let
alone at Quidditch?”

Geez.

“Good luck,” said Alphard, slapping Harry on the back. “I mean that. Orion is pretty damn good. But
he’s also a prat.”

“I heard that!”

“I wasn’t whispering, now was I?”

“Leave him be,” said Quintus softly, putting a hand onto Alphard’s arm. He turned his attention onto
Orion. “Talking is meaningless. Just fly and win your place as a seeker. Prove it on the field.”

Orion sniffed, turning away.

“I will give you ten galleons if you beat my brother,” said Alphard.

“Is that a promise?”

“Absolutely.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” said Harry, throwing out a hand. Alphard gave him a firm handshake before
turning with a wave. The pair of them walked to the stands.

Simon blew his whistle. “Listen up,” he said, his voice carrying across the field. “You’ll each take
turns going for the snitch. You’ll be measured on your speed of catching the snitch, but also on your
skill as a flier. Everyone in the air.”

The whistle rang once more and the group was airborne.

“Youngest first,” called Simon, taking his place at the goal post. Roland grinned, tossing the quaffle to
another chaser, whom Harry didn’t recognize. There was a pair of beaters that appeared to be fourth
years. From the ground, the snitch was released, darting wildly in the air before disappearing.

The whistle blew again and a tiny second year started looking.

Bloody hell, these brooms were terrible. How were they supposed to fly properly with these, let alone
play on them? The steering was all wrong and the delay to obey Harry’s nudging was about five
seconds. The broom had the sensitivity of a brick.

With a growl of annoyance, Harry dove, weaving through the air, trying to get used to the delay. He
kept trying to figure the damn broom out, while also paying attention to the whistle blows and
avoiding the random bludger who darted his way. It was almost like the broom was fighting him on
everything.

“All right there, Harry?” asked Roland, flying up to him and stopping nearby. His broom slowed, but
continued another foot even though the pull on the handle had been earlier.

Damn.

“I’m fine. Just used to better brooms.”

Roland laughed. “You sure that’s the problem?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” groused Harry, eyes narrowing.

The whistle blew again. “Harry, you’re up.”

Well, then. Time to show them where he soared.

As he searched for the snitch, he was slowly getting used to the broom’s quirks. He was going to need
more practice to really be able to excel on it, though. A glimmer caught his sight to the right and he
dove immediately. He cursed at the delay.

It was a false alarm and Harry stopped his dive in time to avoid crashing into the stands. Some of the
Slytherins shrieked. Harry waved at them, grinning. His eyes widened when he saw Tom watching,
book in lap, sitting a distance away from the others. Their gaze connected.
Harry tore away, redoubling his efforts. The snitch was kind to him, showing up barely five minutes
later, near the bottom of the stands.

He dove.

The broom wasn’t as fast as a Nimbus 2000, but it was still fast. The snitch hovered near the ground
and as he approached, Harry hoped it wouldn’t move - but of course it did.

It shot up, towards him.

As the ground rushed to him and the sounds of the other students turned from cries of joy to gasps of
fear to screams, Harry tugged on the old broom. It tried to obey his command, but that damn fucking
delay—It wouldn’t pull up in time.

Well, shit, Harry thought, barely having a moment to whisper a spell before he crashed into the
ground, blacking out immediately.

But not before he heard a chilling chuckle.

‘Oh, Master… such a foolish child. It’s a little early for you to die again, isn’t it?’

The fastest Alphard had ever witnessed Tom going was a brisk walk and when that happened, it was
best to flee - though he’d never seen anyone get very far. Tom Riddle never sprinted. He never ran for
anyone nor for any reason. Ever.

Until today.

Alphard had, with horror, watched Harry smash into the earth, broom snapping in half beneath him,
body thrown like a rag doll and tumbling a number of meters away, before coming to an abrupt halt.
Unmoving. The sound he’d made when he hit the ground had been spine chilling. A crash like that…
fatal. Few ever survived a crash like that and no one came out of a crash unscathed. He’d seen a few
national Quidditch matches in his life before. It was common for players to go home with major
injuries and one match Alphard attended, at six years old, had ended in the death of one of the
seekers.

Death, especially in Quidditch, was something Alphard was used to, but this was school with
children. Students weren’t supposed to die in Quidditch tryouts. He’d seen Harry’s recklessness, but
he hadn’t dreamed the boy was this suicidal. This reeked of Gryffindor antics.

It was supposed to be disturbing, but he could only watch the chaos unfold, numb to it all. The only
clue to his inner turmoil was the trembling hand that clutched Quintus’.

But as he was processing it all, he saw something new.

Tom ran.

He was sprinting across the field from his lone spot in the stands, shouting orders to the rest of the
Quidditch players. He’d jumped into action. Tom nearly threw himself into a kneel beside Harry, his
wand alight with numerous spells as he waved them over Harry’s crumpled body.
And then the unthinkable happened.

Harry bolted upright.

“He’s alive,” whispered Alphard.

“Thank Merlin,” breathed Quintus.

That was not normal at all, though. Harry had hurtled to the earth at such an insane speed. He
shouldn’t be stirring, let alone conscious. Yet, there he was - he was sitting up. What the hell? Tom
was grabbing his wrist and trying to heal him.

Alphard smiled, tight and trembling, at Quintus, pressing a light kiss to the hollow of his ear to
whisper, “I do believe our Tom has a bit of a crush.”

“Is that so?”

“Isn’t it pretty clear?”

“Tom is too wrapped up in his own ideals to figure it out.”

“Gonna be an interesting year, isn’t it?”

Quintus turned his head, kissing him once, before standing up. The light in his eyes told of his unease.
“Indeed. I’ve been waiting for this day. I just didn’t think it’d be here so soon.”

“Yeah… and I’m just glad it isn’t a girl. Can you imagine our Tom? With a girl?”

Quintus laughed and Alphard was glad to have drawn that out of him.

Fear was a strange, choking emotion.

It gripped the heart, terrorized the mind, and mauled its victim at the jugular with the full intention of
bringing them down to their knees.

Tom wasn’t a fan of the feeling.

He hadn’t known fear all that often, except when he went back to that awful orphanage, and yet here
it was, inside Tom’s chest, furious, raging fear for the stupid idiotic boy that was Harry Evans. If
Harry wasn’t dead, Tom was going to kill him himself. He hadn’t pegged him for the showing off
type. What had prompted such foolhardy, rash actions in Quidditch tryouts, of all things?

Stupid, stupid, brash Gryffindor behavior!

When Harry crashed, Tom had moved without realizing it, book forgotten. It wasn’t until he was
halfway to Harry that he realized he’d been running as fast as he could.

“Someone get the nurse!” bellowed Tom, dropping to his knees at Harry’s side. He caught a glimpse
of Roland speeding off on his broom towards the hospital wing. Tom didn’t touch Harry at first,
looking over the damage. The broom was totaled and splinters were scattered everywhere. Harry was
on his back, eyes closed as if sleeping. There were a few sections of the broom handle that had been
embedded within Harry’s flesh. Blood, so much blood, decorated the grass and Harry’s uniform. His
chest didn’t rise and fall with breath.

A landing like that… He must be dead.

Somehow, that thought clenched something in his chest.

The air shifted.

Shadows moved unnaturally beneath Harry’s lifeless form, slowly expanding outwards. The air in
Tom’s lungs suddenly felt as if it were suffocating him; it grew thicker, darker. As Tom opened his
mouth, no breath entering, his wand lifted on its own accord, drawn like prey to the Siren’s call, and
pointed towards Harry’s forehead.

The splayed wild lightning was slowly changing, becoming dark veins among the rapidly paling tan
skin. They rippled beneath the surface, like a beast waking from its slumber.

The shadows grew; the air thickened; unnatural, but unseen magic weaved tendrils around Tom’s
throat. It threatened to choke him.

“Enervate!” gasped Tom.

With a terrible crack, Harry bolted upright.

Shit! Why’d I do that?!

Tom blinked. Stars popped in his eyes and his head pounded with a familiar feeling of oxygen loss.
He was still as stone, trying to collect himself. For a moment, Harry swayed, face scrunching up, as if
he were going to be sick. Suddenly, he pitched forward, choking into his cupped hands. There was a
popping sound and, with a sheepish grin on his face, he looked up.

In his hand, fluttering with broken wings, was the snitch.

What in the hellish name…

“Well, that hurt like shit,” said Harry cheerfully.

Harry grimaced, groaning in pain, clapping a hand over his face and swearing a string of colorful
profanities. Nothing was out of place now. There was nothing wrong with the air around them. Tom
could breathe perfectly. The only thing out of place was Harry Evans.

Because he shouldn’t be breathing.

What… What just happened?

At closer inspection, Tom could see nothing but the injuries made from the broomstick being
shattered and embedded into the skin. Harry continued to move as if there were no other injuries, no
breaks, no decimated bones, not even a cracked rib. Nothing. Tom watched him, shock vibrating
through his core. Harry pulled his wand out from a pouch at his side and made a small motion with it,
slowly drawing out one splinter at a time, wincing as he did so.

How did he survive that?

Tom’s hand snapped out, grabbing him by the chin. Harry gasped, trying to pull away from him. “The
fuck—let go—”

“Hold still,” hissed Tom in parseltongue, harsh, piercing.

Harry stared at him, eyes narrowed, a touch of pink darkening his cheeks, but he allowed Tom to
move his head from side to side. Tom inspected him, gentle, yet firm. The lightning bolt scar was
back to its original state, scarred white against the tan skin, vivid in its contrast.

Tom released his chin, but took him by the wrist next, placing his wand over the forearm. Once again,
Harry tried to pull away, but Tom tightened his grip, his fierce glare stopping him short.

Harry huffed. “What’re you doing now?”

“Removing the splinters,” said Tom shortly. His voice was rougher than usual. His eyes narrowed.
“Unless you’d prefer them in your flesh?”

Harry gave him a weird look. “I can do it on my own.”

“I insist.”

He let Tom do it - not that Tom would’ve given him a choice either way. He was methodical with the
splinters, refusing to let a single one remain. The wounds were sealed soon afterwards. Tom paused a
beat at the end, staring at the immense and unnatural amount of blood staining Harry’s clothes.

He vanished the blood.

Harry stood up without trouble, brushing dirt off his trousers. In the distance, the nurse was sprinting
across the field with Roland, who was rushing after her with his broom in hand. The color had long
drained from Roland’s face and he appeared shaken.

“I heard a student crashed, quite violently,” said the nurse, gasping for breath. “How is he doing?”

“Forgive me,” said Tom, dropping into a smooth tone. “It was a false alarm. Harry here crashed and
broke his broom, but he’s relatively unscathed. Nothing a handful of healing charms couldn’t fix.”

He met Roland’s eyes; he met the eyes of all the other Slytherins who were on the field. No one said a
thing otherwise.

“Well,” said the nurse, exhaling with a huff, her body relaxing with relief. “Let me examine you.”

Harry drew away. “I’m fine, really I am.”

“I need to check you for a concussion, dear.”

“But I’m—”

“Harry.” It was sharp, like a whip. A couple of the other Slytherins flinched, but Harry’s eyes, that
vibrant green color, snapped onto Tom. They narrowed. “Let her inspect you.”

There was a challenge in those eyes. Tom had the urge to scold him in parseltongue, but he wasn’t
ready to reveal a second parselmouth in this school yet. Though… This was now something to
consider - the pros and cons to a language where only Harry could hear him.
But he held back and hoped Harry had a reasonable head about him right now.

He did.

Harry was stiff as the nurse approached him, touching him and running diagnostic charms. After a
moment, the nurse shook her head. “You’re perfectly fine, my dear,” she said brightly. “Whatever Mr.
Riddle did, you were in good hands. You’re cleared to play some more. Just try to be more careful.”

“I will, thank you,” said Harry with a smile, pulling away from her.

Play some more?

Tom snorted. Not likely.

As the nurse left, Harry grinned and clapped his hands together, whirling around to the other players.
He lifted the broken snitch into the air. “So, I caught the snitch, but can I get a new broom and have
another go?” His smile widened. “I’m sure there’s more to this than just catching one snitch, yeah?”

Silence.

Everyone looked over at Tom, who narrowed his eyes. “Excuse me?”

“New broom.” Harry gestured to the shattered remains of the other broom. “Pretty sure this one isn’t
going to fly again. Unless you can repair a broom…”

“Don’t be stupid,” said Tom, before he could stop himself. Simon opened his mouth, but clicked it
shut. Tom ignored the other Slytherins. “What makes you think you’re getting back on another
broom? Absolutely not.”

A strange light entered Harry’s eyes. They shifted and made contact with Tom’s gaze, the emerald
glow growing dangerous. He took a step forward, chest rising with impossible breath, standing a foot
away from Tom. His chin lifted. “What makes you think you’re going to stop me?” Harry asked,
raising an eyebrow, voice low.

“You just crashed and nearly killed yourself,” hissed Tom. Nearly, no. You should be dead. Why aren’t
you dead? “Are you insane?”

“No, I just miscalculated because these school brooms suck. It won’t happen again.” Harry brushed
his trousers off. His gaze went hard. “And you’re not stopping me.”

Tom inhaled.

Eyes were on them, breaths held with bated anticipation. He could stop Harry. It wouldn’t be hard. A
stunner and a look towards his Slytherins would stop this madness. But if he interfered like that,
Harry would not be happy with him. Driving a wedge between them now wouldn’t be wise, not when
he was just beginning to learn more about Harry.

“Very well,” said Tom, acquiescing.

“Thanks, because I really needed your blessing, Tom,” said Harry, sneering.

On second thought…
Before Tom could change his mind, Harry tossed him the broken snitch, and he caught it reflexively.
Harry waved at him, smirking. With gritted teeth, Tom watched him stride away to get another broom.
He kept his wand at the ready. Cushioning charms were going to be a must with this chaotic boy.

Why am I letting him do this again?

But… he pocketed the snitch.

“He’s all right?”

Tom turned to see Alphard and Quintus walking up to him. Both of them had expressions of surprise.

“Apparently.”

“But… how?” asked Quintus.

Yes, that’s the question, isn’t it?

“You didn’t see anything, did you?” asked Tom with a light raised eyebrow, trying to keep his tone
benign. His heart thumped against his chest. He could still remember, still feel the magic that had tried
to go for his throat. What was that?

“What do you mean?” said Quintus. “Aside from the crash?”

“Just… did you see or feel any… odd magic?”

Alphard frowned. “No, did you?”

“No.” Tom smiled grimly. “Must’ve been my imagination in the heat of the moment.”

Right?

The Quidditch field was in chaos now, thanks to Harry’s little… accident. Listen, he didn’t mean to
crash and he had tried to soften the blow with a cushioning charm. Everyone was making a big deal
out of it. What was a little crash, after all? It was like they’d never played Quidditch before.

Harry rubbed his chest, wincing at a pulse of sharp pain in his heart. It disappeared quickly.

The rest of the Slytherins were back in the stands, a little quieter now, though there were a number of
hunched clusters of students, whispering to each other.

“He crashed!” shouted Orion, waving a hand wildly in Harry’s direction. “He shouldn’t be allowed to
try again.”

Simon’s lips thinned. “Orion, enough. Tom has allowed it.” He folded his arms and eyed Harry.
“Besides, if this were a real game, he’d have won it. Crashing doesn’t disqualify him from the game.
It’s just dangerous.”

“One more try,” said Harry with a placating gesture. “I won’t crash this time.”
Roland glanced over at Simon, still pale. For a moment, Simon didn’t say anything. Tom was standing
at the edge of the field, arms crossed in front of his chest with wand in hand, lips pressed together,
with Alphard and Quintus at his side. Simon’s eyes narrowed.

“Crash and you’re disqualified.”

“Seriously, Harry,” said Roland, shaking his head, his grey eyes alight with worry. “Don’t do that
again. I dunno if I could handle it—gave me a right start, you did.”

“It’s not against the rules,” said Simon. “But I can’t have you on the team if you’re going to risk your
neck like that.”

“Got it.”

With a new broom in hand and Tom’s furious eyes trained on his back, Harry was in the air again. He
inhaled, wrapping his fingers around the handle of the broom, willing it to listen to him. The
sensitivity was slightly better on this broom. Harry savored the flight again, realizing it’d been nearly
a year since last he’d flown like this.

A bludger shot after him; Harry barrel rolled out of the way, turning into a dive once more. Come on.
Listen to me. You can do it! The broom responded, slowly getting better, and Harry flew towards the
ground - where the trio of boys were watching intently.

Harry only had eyes for Tom.

He smirked.

“Hello, Tom!” shouted Harry, zooming past his stiff form in a rush of wind. He left behind echoes of
Alphard’s barking laughter. With a laugh of his own, he was in the air again, returning to his search.
This broom seemed to like him, thankfully. His search didn’t take long this time. There was a glimmer
of gold dancing by one of the goal posts.

He shot after it.

The longer he flew, the more the broom and Harry worked together in harmony. Merlin, he’d missed
flying like this. He was laughing, his voice disappearing into the wind. It’d been so long since he’d
felt this euphoria that was flying. The snitch zipped in the air and the chase was on. Time didn’t exist.
Nothing existed. Only wind and flight. The snitch zipped in a new direction, doubling back, and
Harry snapped out, grabbing it tightly in his hand. The force of it threw him into an aerial barrel roll
and it took him a moment to calm the broom down.

Cheers brought him back down from the high of flying. He smiled, waving with the snitch in his
hand.

“You’re fast,” said Simon, flying up to him. He studied him for a moment. “And you fly without
worrying about crashing, too.”

“That’s not a good quality,” whispered Roland, smiling lopsidedly.

“Not the worst thing I’ve done.” Harry shrugged. “I’ve hardly played a game of Quidditch without
getting myself maimed or killed.”

“All right,” said Simon, hesitant. He sighed, shaking his head. “Let’s try again. But this time, all of
you against each other. Do stay on your broom, Harry.”
Simon released the snitch five more times in the next hour. Harry caught them all. At the end of
practice, Harry landed with the rest of the others, flushed with sweat, but delighted to have had some
time in the air again.

He’d missed this.

With another whistle, Simon gathered everyone together. He looked at Harry. “You’re our new
seeker,” he said. A touch of approval was in his features.

Orion folded his arms, scowling.

Harry beamed. He glanced back at the trio of boys. Tom was staring at him with calculating, yet
narrowed eyes. Harry held out a hand towards them. “Alphard, I do believe you owe me ten
galleons.”

“Worth it,” said Alphard with a grin.

The days started to settle into a routine. Classes were no different than they were before, so Harry,
blessedly, knew most of the material. The only real pain in his arse were the long essays that
Merrythought kept assigning him every week. She’d give him a look at the beginning of DADA and
Harry would resolutely ignore her.

Batty woman.

Quidditch practice now took up his Saturday mornings. Simon booked the pitch from the unholy hour
of five to eight o’clock. Harry was an early bird by nature, but five in the morning was pushing it for
Quidditch. The obsession with the sport didn’t fade with the generations it seemed.

Harry was slowly finding friends among his dorm mates. It was hard not to, he had to admit, not with
Alphard reminding Harry of Sirius in so many ways. Quintus was also easy to get along with, nothing
like the caustic person that was Severus Snape. Quidditch practice quickly bonded Harry with Roland
and Simon, since they were instant fans of his skills on the field. Sebastian and Marcus were still
prickly as a cactus, but they were warming up to Harry’s presence in the group.

Tom… on the other hand…

Trying to understand what Tom was thinking was like trying to calm the raging sea on a stormy night.
At times, Harry caught Tom staring at him, studying him with furrowed brows, as if he were a puzzle
to be unraveled.

When he’d crashed… the way Tom had looked at him, had healed him, had touched him…

Harry grew warm.

What the hell.

That wasn’t the same Tom who had tried to curse him with the cruciatus curse to prove a point. It was
such a dichotomy. Two different sides. Harry found himself wondering if there were other sides of
Tom to discover, ones he’d never seen before.

He could still remember the ghost of Tom’s touch, his wand and magic removing the splinters from
Harry’s skin. He hadn’t known that Tom could be gentle like that…
Ah, fuck.

The days slipped into weeks until there was only a week before Tom’s little club meeting. Harry had
taken to studying a few hours nearly every day in the owlery, enjoying the solace that Kasper and the
rest of the owls provided. But there was a lack of books and research material in the owlery,
unfortunately, and Harry had a number of essays to work on.

To the library.

The librarian was an old woman whose head was buried in a large book. She barely gave him a glance
before going right back to her reading. Harry slowly walked through the library, looking around,
noticing one very different thing than when last he’d been here.

It was double in size.

Hermione would be salivating if she could see it. The library itself was expanded to a second level,
where more very tall shelves of endless books were lined against the wall. Clusters of armchairs were
everywhere, along with the usual rows of tables and chairs for studying.

A chill slid down Harry’s spine.

What had happened to the library in the past fifty years?

“Cousin Harry!”

Harry jumped; his head whipped around to see Monty waving him down in a secluded section of the
library. To Harry’s surprise, Euphemia Malfoy was sitting next to him, studying one of her textbooks
with her bottom lip curled beneath her teeth as she wrote on a piece of parchment.

“Cousin Harry, come over here!” There was a pause and Euphemia elbowed him slightly. “Oh—
please!” he added.

As Harry approached them, Monty lit up. His smile appeared to nearly break his face. “Hi, Monty,”
Harry said, unable to keep the fondness out of his tone. “How’re you doing?”

“Hiya, Harry,” chirped Monty. “I’m very glad to see you.”

“I’m glad to see you, too. Hi, Effie.”

“Only my friends may call me that, just so you know,” said Euphemia with her signature Malfoy sniff.
She eyed him for a moment, before she nodded with airy approval. “So, you may call me Effie.”

“I’m honored,” said Harry, lips pinched together to avoid smiling. He had no way of knowing if he
had by chance helped his grandparents become friends sooner than in the other timeline, but at least
he hadn’t ruined anything for them.

“And don’t tell that troll!” snapped Euphemia.

“Which one?”

Euphemia giggled. “You know which one I meant—Abraxas!”

“I had to double check,” said Harry with a light laugh. “There are plenty of trolls in the Slytherin
house and one can’t be too careful. So don’t you worry, I wouldn’t dare tell Abraxas a thing.”
There were more giggles. “Good,” Euphemia said with a nod. “Otherwise, he’d get all weird and
huffy and he’d bother me.” She bit her lip again. “Well, he’d do more than bother me—he’d tattle to
Mother and ruin everything. I should be allowed to make friends with whomever I wish. He’d try to
stop me and I won’t have it. If he does anything, I’ll… I’ll… I’ll hex his head up a werewolf’s arse!”
she declared.

“Are there spells for that?” asked Monty with interest. Euphemia shrugged. Both eleven year olds
looked up at Harry expectantly.

“Uh…” Harry blinked. “Not that I’m aware of…”

Monty patted Euphemia on the forearm. “We’ll have to invent one so he’ll stop bothering you,” he
said sagely.

“Not that this isn’t great and all, but…” Harry chuckled. “Why are you two hanging out anyway? I
thought you didn’t like Gryffindors?”

Euphemia blushed and ducked her head.

“Well, after I told Effie she’s very pretty, she decided we could be friends,” said Monty in his usual
matter of fact tone. “But I didn’t tell her she’s pretty so we could be friends,” he added quickly, as a
dusting of pink flushed through Euphemia’s cheeks. “I only told her she’s pretty because she is. But I
am very glad we’re friends now.”

Harry had a very difficult time keeping a straight face through Monty’s adorable ‘tirade’ about
Euphemia’s prettiness. There was something so charming and refreshing about his unabashed honesty.

“You’re exaggerating,” whispered Euphemia. “But I appreciate it.” She tucked some of her near white
blonde hair, which was more frizzy and curly than normal, behind her ear. “I didn’t ask my sister’s
help today with my hair and it’s gone all bad on me. You don’t have to keep saying I’m pretty…”

“Why not?” asked Monty, befuddled. “And there’s nothing wrong with your hair today. It’s pretty.”

“But it can’t be!” cried Euphemia, horrified at him. “It’s not straightened or anything.”

“So? Doesn’t mean it isn’t pretty any more.

Euphemia sighed. “Would you say that all the time, no matter what?”

“Of course, because it’s always pretty.”

“That’s because it’s always done nicely!”

“Effie, you would be perfect however you made your hair,” said Monty, shaking his head. “I don’t
understand why one way or another would change that.” Euphemia went bright red, but Monty didn’t
notice. “If it’d make you feel better, I’ll make you something that can help your hair. Yeah?”

“Would you?” whispered Euphemia.

Monty nodded. “You tell me what you want and I’ll invent it. Potions can fix just about anything you
want and if there isn’t one, you just make it up.” He glanced over at Harry expectedly. “You’ll help
me, won’t you?”

“I’ll try, of course.”

Well, perhaps the essays could wait a day. Harry rested an elbow on the table, covering his chin and
mouth with a hand, hiding his fond smile there.

Monty was quick to learn that Harry was no real help at all.

Tom sat in the common room in the evening with all of his dorm mates, minus one, with a book in
hand. But the page hadn’t been turned for ten minutes now. His thoughts were on the complexity of a
certain new Slytherin.

Harry… was something.

Wild, reckless, spirited, took to the air like a phoenix. At first, Harry had flown quite clunky. Tom had
caught glimpses of the skill, but something seemed to bother Harry in the air.

And then he crashed.

But didn’t die.

Tom still wasn’t sure what to make of what had happened - wasn’t sure what to make of his reaction
to it all either. When had fear for a life been something he felt? He barely knew the boy. There was so
much to unpack in that moment, but no matter how many times he went over the memory in his head,
he came no closer to an answer.

But…

Harry Evans was fascinating.

Parselmouth. Stunning flier. Spitfire. Unfortunately, he was average in his spell work, but he could be
trained. Harry was smart, that much Tom had seen. He never saw him struggle over homework, unlike
some of the others in their year. Perhaps Harry’s strength was in the theory of spells, rather than the
application?

A geode.

That was what Harry was. A geode, a hidden gem of raw worth. It was there, but unpolished. Harry
would be magnificent with a bit of polishing, those rough edges chipped away, revealing a shiny gem
within.

An emerald, perhaps…?

The entrance to the common room opened, breaking Tom of his thoughts, and Harry stepped inside.
Tom motioned to him, gesturing towards the sofa he was sitting on. A few of the other boys had their
heads down in their books, with Roland muttering under his breath about the unfairness that was his
History of Magic essay.

“So, where were you?” asked Tom. He tried to keep his tone light, but a little bit of his intensity
slipped through.

“Library.” Harry frowned. “Why?”

 “Oh, nothing,” said Tom dismissively. He could feel the eyes of Alphard and Quintus on them.
“Curiosity, you could say. I wouldn’t hear the end of it if you crashed on a broom again.”

Harry eyed him for a moment. “Well, you don’t have to keep tabs on me. I was going to study in the
library, but lost track of time when Monty started talking to me. I kept him company for awhile.”

Tom stiffened. “Monty?”

“Yeah, that Gryffindor kid who won’t shut up. He’s cute, but harmless.” A fond smile rose on Harry’s
face. “I think we’re friends now. He’s a nice kid.”

A strange sensation writhed inside Tom’s stomach. It was sickening, nearly making him ill. He’d felt
this way about something else before, during a time he’d rather forget. It’d been years and years ago;
he’d been forced to watch other children being taken in by loving parents. Hopes were dashed every
time when many couples briefly considered him, only to change their minds at the last minute.

But that time no longer existed to Tom - and it no longer mattered.

Tom gritted his teeth, but smiled. “How… sweet,” he purred, deadly.

The monster coiling in the pit of his stomach was green.

Chapter End Notes

*claps hands together*

All right.

*inhales*

So. Gonna be a long one. Buckle up, darlings, this is gonna be one of those author’s notes. xD

Let me tell you what has happened to me. I guess I get to have an entire identity crisis in my 30s.
Guess what, this bitch is pretty gay AF. April 7th was when I found out. I’d already known I
wasn’t into men for a few months, but I just assumed I was asexual and aromantic.

Hah. Nope. Nope, guess I’m hella gay. It was just super super repressed. I have very few
childhood clues, in fact, it was so repressed.

On top of that, I also had a faith… I’ll call it a faith evolution. When you’re part of a religion
since birth, it’s your entire identity. I guess I’ve been part of a multigenerational cult my whole
life and had no idea. I GUESS? Figured this out end of April, but the journey down the rabbit
hole started in February.

(I wish I was joking about this, but I’m dead serious. Watch ‘Under the Banner of Heaven.’ and
‘Keep Sweet’ and ‘Mormon No More’ if you want to understand more. Listen, I’m fine, safe, but
good fucking grief. I have a lot of shit to unpack, I guess.)

I realized my life was not going to be the cute idyllic heterosexual Mormon marriage where I had
to be the perfect little wife and make babies for now and all eternity - like I’d been taught I HAD
to be since I was like EIGHT years old. I’m only realizing how much this was drilled into my
mind. I felt this was my only purpose in this life and the next. It was my only value. So, I had no
ambition in anything whatsoever. College? No, that’s laughable. Marriage and kids are the
priority. You don’t realize how indoctrinated you are until you open your eyes.

Writing has been the only thing I’ve carried since childhood. That was the one thing I poured my
whole heart and soul into, my stories.

I can’t tell you… the pure relief of realizing I don’t have to force myself to be with a man, but
also I don’t have to be alone either. Once I realized I was gay and would never settle, I enrolled
into summer college overnight. I kid you not; I enrolled three days after I found out. Gonna be a
fucking accountant because I know that’s at least stable. It was an idea halfheartedly suggested to
me when I was younger, but only because I could do it ‘at home as a mother.’ Yeah. Not joking.
Now my reasoning is my own: accountants can make a lot of money. More money per hour =
less time working required to survive.

I’m 34, yet I feel like I’m so wholly unprepared for the world due to my upbringing. I feel like
I’m a child sometimes. My religion was a false fairy tale and, honestly, it was quite devastating
to come to this truth. Not everyone turns out like I did in Mormonism, of course. My experiences
in life are quite skewed, but I’m doing the best I can to step up and change my life. But I can’t
leave this cult yet. I’m not in physical danger, but I can’t say anything to my family about my
shifting beliefs and my sexual origination. The emotional pressure is beyond what I can describe.
The gaslighting. I can’t live authentically until I can support myself.

Some days, I’m okay. Some days, my heart is broken. Some days, I’m stronger than ever. But
some day, my soul withers. and cries in agony. Sundays are h a r d.

Before all this blew up, I created this account as a sanctuary. I was slowly trying to write gay
characters for myself, push past the guilt that was indoctrinated in me, but they were original
stories. I could share them with few people. I wrote the first chapter of this story on a manic
whim and couldn’t stop myself from posting it. I didn’t realize how important this little precious
space would be to me.

This became my place to be safe. I could fully be myself, whoever she was, in my author’s notes
and on my tumblr. I desperately needed a place where I could exist outside of the ‘gay is bad’
shit. You guys really are my safe place and I thank you all for that. You are precious, priceless to
me. I can’t emphasis it enough. You bring me so many smiles and laughs and sometimes evil, but
harmless cackles. This story is home.

Thanks for hearing my crazy story today, haha. I love you, my dear readers. Thank you for,
unwittingly, being part of my crazy journey.
 Fourteen
Chapter Notes

I can’t begin to tell you all how beautiful and wonderful you all are. I will, in most likely, never
meet any of you face to face, and yet I have felt your souls connect with mine. I have felt it
through your kindness, your stories, and your hearts. Thank you so much for your support.

One thing I want to make clear… From day one, I did have the tag “Eventual sex” for this story.
It does happen. (emphasis on the eventual) I’ve labeled this as a mature story, but for those three
(potentially four, but no more than that) scenes they will be explicit. I'll give chapter content
warnings when the time comes, but that's not until Arc Four. For my ace readers, yes, Tom is
asexual, even if he will still experience sexual attraction to a single person. (Harry, obviously)
I've used my own experiences to show this evolution, sexual fluidity, awakening, and growth.

I didn’t know it was possible for asexuals to experience sexual attraction, but apparently it is.
Echo Gillette on Youtube did a video about being attracted to their current partner, but they still
identify as ace because it’s so rare for them. This has been my intention for Tom from the
beginning. I’ve put a lot of my own personal experience into it, so there’s that, too. Hope that
clears some things.

And have fun, this is a very delightfully fun chapter, cackles.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The dawn of Sunday was going to prove Harry’s best and worst day.

Perhaps this wasn’t the smartest plan of his, Harry could admit to that. But, dammit, he had worked
hard on this and he was proud of the results. Pranks weren’t his forte, even considering his heritage,
but Harry was sure Sirius would be tickled pink about this one.

And Harry had a good reason, too.

All of the excuses.

Surely exposing Tom to some, ahem, stimulating material would give him a clue as to whether or not
Tom could be seduced or wooed or romanced or whatever the hell Harry was supposed to do. It was
the perfect way to see how Tom would react without being direct. Merlin forbid Harry be direct
about… seducing or wooing or romancing or whatever the hell this was supposed to be.

‘Harry…’ The voice sounded a bit too much like the chiding voice of Hermione again. ‘Harry, it’s
called dating.’

He could almost see her pinching the bridge of her nose in pure exhaustion.

Yeah, sure, whatever. It’s not like you’re here to help me figure this out, Hermione. Not like you have
to actually like the bastard you’re attracted to—fuck—oh, shit, no, bad, very bad—stop thinking about
that—ah, shit!
Dear Merlin, he was talking to the voice in his head now. He had officially lost his mind, hadn’t he?
Was he going to turn out like Trelawney?

His inner eye was gonna go blind.

Harry had decided there was no better way to see how Tom would react than to write a spicy
Gryffindor and Slytherin love letter - plus, it might even spark interhouse unity. Two birds, one stone.
He was brilliant. No autographs at this time, thank you.

He’d done a pretty damn good job for a first attempt. He’d never written anything like this before and
in such an old style on top of it, too. A couple of hours spent in the library and he’d figured out how
they’d write in those days. His little piece started tame at first, but then it devolved rather
spectacularly in as much debauchery his virgin arse could muster. He couldn’t believe he was doing
this, but this was going to be the prank that would put the Marauders and the Weasley twins to shame.

They better be smiling down on him.

At breakfast, while Harry was calmly seated at the Slytherin table, the owl post brought an extra
surprise with them. Owls dropped in front of every student, a folded piece of parchment in their
beaks. Harry took his copy from Kasper, who had a twinkle of his own in his bright eyes. Curious
hands accepted their mail one by one. There was a half a beat of silence.

And then the Great Hall erupted.

It was an uproar of sound. Everyone had their hands on a sheet of the writing. Harry had enchanted it
so that anyone thirteen and below couldn’t read it. He figured the fourth years were old enough and
had heard of enough about things… that it’d be fine. Merlin knows he had during his fourth year.
Cedric, Fleur, and Krum had been on everyone’s minds that year, in more ways than one, and Harry
had heard one too many colorful things about all three of them.

Sometimes about all three of them at the same time…

It was quite the awakening year.

The students were devouring the content immediately. The professors were no exception. Slughorn
started reading his copy, eyes widening in shock, before his expression morphed into a contemplative
one. He tucked the paper into his robes and went back to eating his breakfast as if nothing had
happened. Merrythought was unabashedly reading it, making occasional nods of approval, while
Fortinbras giggled like a schoolgirl over her shoulder. Dippet made an aghast sound, nearly falling out
of his chair in horror, while Dumbledore was frozen in pure shock. Beery, the Herbology professor, a
stout and short man, was rather stoic through his reading, while the young Grubbly-Plank squeaked,
losing her copy in her embarrassment.

Trelawney cackled so loudly that it carried across the entire Great Hall. “Well, go on, read it,” she
said, settling back in her chair and giving the professor at her side a sharp nod. “Loud enough so I can
hear you, dear.”

“It’s-it’s-it’s—it’s not appropriate!” spluttered the young, female professor, Muggle Studies; she went
bright red.

Trelawney didn’t appear pleased by the denial. “More's the pity.”

Marcus slammed his parchment sheet down. “This is rubbish!” he snapped. “What is this tosh?”
“Why can’t I see anything?” demanded Orion. A number of the other younger years agreed, turning
over their copies as well. Orion and Nott were trying to compare their copies, but it was blank for
them. “Selena, anything for you?”

“No.” She shrugged, confused.

“Yaxley,” said Orion, calling to the nearest fourth year boy. He looked up and Harry recognized him
as one of the Slytherin beaters. “Pay you five galleons if you tell us what’s on it.”

Yaxley glanced over Alphard, who shook his head sharply.

“Sorry, you’re on your own,” said Yaxley, in a thick Irish drawl. “I ain’t crossing your brother. ‘Sides
this here—” He shook his head. “—not good for your young eyes.” He curled in on himself, eyes
growing wider as he continued reading.

“You’re only five months older than me!”

“It’s like this was written by a keening thirteen year old girl in need,” said Sebastian, snorting, but his
cheeks were slowly getting pinker by the moment. He didn’t stop reading either.

Wow, rude.

Tom stared at the paper, hands trembling, lips a white line. His jaw clenched tightly.

Harry sighed to himself. That’s not a good sign.

“This isn’t half bad,” murmured Quintus, impressed, a glint in his eyes. “I value the effort put into
this. Not overtly poetic, but I do say it has a certain… charm.”

“Shall I be Godric?” asked Alphard with a purr.

Quintus shifted in his seat, his smile growing ever wider. His tongue traced against his own lips,
before he slowly stepped out of the bench, away from the table. He ran the tips of his fingers against
Alphard’s shoulder, his gesture filled with mischief and invitation. Alphard raised an eyebrow, turning
around, resting his back against the table, and stared at him with a bemused expression.

“What’re you doing?”

Quintus extended a hand, a beckoning, entreating gesture, while he held a sheet of the ‘poetry’ in his
other hand. His mischievous features lit up.

“Oh, Salazar!” His voice carried, dramatic. He threw his arms out wide. For a moment, Alphard’s
eyebrows bolted upwards into his fringe, before he smiled, fond and delighted. On Quintus cried,
“Would that I, Godric, might touch but a strand of thy hair without fear for scorn! Trysts in the night
quench no thirst of mine, quell no belly of hunger.”

The Great Hall went silent. Quintus held everyone’s attention - including the professors. Harry
imploded, screaming internally in his head at top volume as Quintus recited his own written words. It
was one thing to share this with everyone—it was a whole other cauldron of flobberworms to recite
the damn thing out loud.

Fucking hell!
He wanted to die. Crawl into a hole and die. Shit. Would anyone notice if he melted into a puddle and
hid beneath the table? Probably. Probably would. Shit, he wasn’t stopping either. Quintus wasn’t
stopping! Maybe writing this little Godric and Salazar piece wasn’t his best idea? Maybe?

Harry darted a glance over at Tom; he had grown white.

But no one noticed Harry’s dilemma nor Tom’s fury. The sole focus was on Quintus and his
performance. Alphard’s eyes gleamed. Quintus drew close, hovering a hand over his cheek. His voice
rang ever loud and clear.

“Oh, that I would brush a hand against thine forevermore.” Quintus glanced at the paper, set it down
onto the table, and clasped Alphard’s cheeks with both hands now. Alphard sat still, arms crossed in
front of his chest, with his lips quirked upwards. “Your touch ignites the blaze of the morning sun
within my soul. My aches burn anew when I catch but a glimpse of you.”

At some point, Dumbledore had scrambled to his feet, and was now striding towards them, lips so
thin with displeasure, it reminded Harry of McGonagall.

Quintus moved, placing his hands onto Alphard’s shoulders, almost on his lap now. Quintus’ voice
dropped slightly, but was still clear.

“How I crave your touch - oh, that you would press lips against mine, drag teeth against mine throat,
mark me as thine.”

Quintus drew back, grabbing the sheet again, holding out his hand once more, his smile wide and
alight with sensual mischief. “Oh…” he purred, canting his hips in a slow, tantalizing swirl. “Oh,
would that you drop all barriers, part thy curtains for me, and welcome me into thine chambers. Oh,
how you’d scream—”

“Mr. Prince.”

Quintus turned around, fluidly dropping onto Alphard’s lap, legs crossing elegantly. He smiled up at
Dumbledore with perfect innocence. Alphard snaked an arm around his waist, resting his chin against
his shoulder.

“Yes, Professor? How might I help you?”

Dumbledore drew in a breath. “Mr. Prince,” he said, though he sounded a bit breathless himself.
“Please refrain from reciting explicit material in the Great Hall.”

“Oh?” said Quintus lightly, tilting his head to the side. “Whatever do you mean? I don’t quite
understand what… explicit material you’re talking about. I was merely reciting an epic love letter
from one Godric Gryffindor to Salazar Slytherin himself.” He laughed, hand over his chest,
breathless, all acting and everyone knew it. “Now isn’t that a grand tale - Gryffindor and Slytherin. I
think it’s quite romantic. Who doesn’t adore star crossed lovers?”

“I’m sure you know this is just a prank,” said Dumbledore, shaking his head. “There’s no evidence
this was written by Gryffindor - and it’s quite an explicit prank at that.”

“Oh? Was it? I’m afraid I’m far too innocent to understand your meaning. I didn’t finish it, after all.”
His smile was a deadly mix of innocence and seduction. “But I suppose you did. Would you explain
it, in detail, for my young, growing mind? Please, Professor?”
Dumbledore turned a shade darker. He inhaled. “Fifteen points from Slytherin, Mr. Prince. Do try to
have some decorum.”

“Mmm.” Quintus merely smiled. “Of course, Professor. I always do.”

There was stillness in the air as Dumbledore strode away. A second later, the Great Hall burst into
furious, hushed whispers.

“Well,” said Quintus brightly. “That was fun.” He glanced over his shoulder, shifting in Alphard’s lap;
his tongue swiped over his mouth, his lower lip tucking beneath his teeth briefly. “Oh, love, having a
problem?”

“Nothing you couldn’t solve,” whispered Alphard, his voice low.

Quintus laughed in pure delight.

“Merlin’s balls,” said Roland. He rubbed his bright red face, eyes peeking through spread fingers,
before he nodded his head, as if he were considering something. “That was quite…”

“Yeah,” murmured Simon.

Tom stood up and strode out of the Great Hall, his dark eyes glinting with fury, lips pressed together.
His strides were long and determined. Harry bolted to his feet, running after him. He’d been expecting
a reaction, possibly a negative one, but this boiling rage that rippled beneath the surface was not it. It
confused Harry.

“Tom!” cried Harry, catching up to him. His voice caused Tom to halt in the corridor. For a moment,
Tom didn’t turn around. When he did, his expression was tight, yet impassive. “Are you all right?” he
asked guardedly, tentatively taking a step closer to him, as if Tom were a rabid animal about to attack.

“Nine o’clock.”

“Sorry?”

Tom let out a huff. “Tonight. The meeting is tonight. Nine o’clock in the common room. You’re not to
be late.”

“Right… Great.” There was a pause. “Are you all right?”

“Fine. Why?”

“It’s just… Well, you seem a bit angry.” Tom made a visible effort to draw in a steadying breath.
“Did… you have an issue with…” Harry gestured towards the Great Hall, having no good words to
put to the prank. “You know—”

“It’s atrocious!” snapped Tom, exploding suddenly. Harry blinked, shocked. “Salacious drivel meant
to spend a phallus,” Tom raged on, “when such wasteful time and energy could be put to something
else—something productive. It’s no wonder this school is overflowing with enfeebled minds!” His
exhale was ragged, his shoulders trembling, his eyes lit with mixed emotions. “It’s an insult,” he said,
his tone dropping like a stone. It was calmer now, yet harsh and sharp as a whip. “It’s obviously fake
—there’s no way Slytherin would debase himself with Gryffindor. And the pestilence who wrote that
will regret it.”

Okay, so never tell Tom that I’m the ‘pestilence’ who wrote that ‘salacious drivel.’ Got it.
Harry stared at Tom, watching the boy tremble with the suppressed fury, chest heaving as if he’d been
running for hours. Then, the oddest, most startling realization came to his mind. Harry had just
assumed—after all, most boys did according to Ron—Tom never—what in Merlin’s fucking name?

Before he could stop himself, before he had a thought for a second about what he was about to ask,
Harry blurted out, “So, you don’t ever… you know…”

“Ever what?” hissed Tom.

Harry went red. “Uh…” The hell am I saying here? Burying my own arse, bloody hell. “You know.”
He gestured helplessly. Tom stared; no answer. Fuck, he’s gonna make me say it. His gesturing
became more wild and nervous. “Have a bit of a… bit of a…” His voice dropped to a whisper, face so
hot it felt like he’d stuck it into the fireplace. “… bit of a wank…?”

Tom went pale, eyes wide with that all boiling fury.

“Not that you have to—” rambled Harry in a rush and, oh, why the hell was he still talking about this!
“Just sounded like—like you didn’t and—shit!”

He’d never seen anyone whip out their wand as fast Tom did; a vicious stinging hex slammed into his
chest. The blow was so powerful, it knocked Harry off his feet, the wind expelling from his lungs. He
skidded across the floor, wincing as the hard stone dug into his back.

“Fuck. Ow.”

“I am above such things—such human fallacies,” hissed Tom, advancing on him, wand shaking
violently in his hands. “I am no less powerful than anyone else. Understood?”

Damn, that stinging hex killed. Geez, Tom was powerful.

Harry licked his lips, dazed and a bit confused. “What does that have anything to do with a wank?”
He groaned, putting a hand over his chest, rubbing at the abused flesh. “Fuck, that hurt.” When Tom
stared at him, some of his anger easing from his shoulders, Harry said, “Again, what does being more
or less powerful have to do with a wank? What the fuck, Tom?”

“Most assume…” Tom’s chest heaved. His wand lowered. “Most have assumed in the past that… that
if one didn’t engage in such things, then you’re inferior and worthy of scorn. I was correcting you of
that notion.”

Wow.

A brush of pity rose within Harry’s heart. He’d been mocked for that, hadn’t he? How stupid and
cruel. This did confirm a few things about Tom, but Harry wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do
now. His purpose in coming to the past wasn’t just to save Tom, but for of them to be more than
friends. They were to love each other and Harry had been led to believe it was supposed to be a
romantic love.

Death had been rather clear about it.

‘True love. The greatest power, the most powerful magic that ever was. Show him love, one that could
never be replaced. Be his everything. Be his friend. Be his family. Be his lover.’

Lover had… well, it brought certain images to mind.

Dammit.

So, if Tom didn’t… did that mean…

He wasn’t thinking straight. “Well, it works, right?”

Uh, oh. He pissed Tom off again. Harry swore loudly, trying to roll out of the way as another stinging
hex blasted at him. It struck him in the upper back, right in the middle of his roll. Swearing up a storm
beneath his breath, he pushed himself up on his elbows, watching Tom whirl away.

“Yes, it works, you imbecile!” snapped Tom. He strode down the corridor and turned the corner. His
voice carried clear. “Nine o’clock and don’t be late!”

Left alone, Harry exhaled, head knocking against stone. He sighed again as he stared up at the ceiling,
dragging his hands over his face and moaning deep through his lungs. This was going to be harder
than he realized. Was he actually supposed to… to… oh, fucking hell, am I supposed to seduce Tom?
What the actual hell, Death? Hang on, that’s not right! I’m not gonna do that shit. I didn’t ask for that
—I just assumed—!

And it was almost as if he could hear Death, cackling with that raspy voice in his ears.

Think this is funny, do you? You absolute wanker. Fuck you, Death.

The common room was empty, save one, at eight thirty that night, as Harry stepped through the
entrance. He’d spent most of the day in the owlery, slowly dying and unraveling inside. Not a minute
hadn’t been spent mentally castrating himself for his mouth. Damn his mouth. Damn his Gryffindor
impulsivity. Damn it all straight to hell and back. What was he thinking - asking Tom if he had
erectile dysfunction. Geez. What the fuck!

He was going to hell.

Simple as that.

Tom was sitting in a plush armchair, long slender legs crossed, as he thumbed through a book. Never
without a book, huh? Harry felt a brief emotion that seemed to borderline fondness at the scene. Until
he saw her. He stiffened, watching the coiling thick muscles of a long snake.

Nagini.

He must’ve made a sound, because Tom glanced up. His smile was delicate and the book snapped
shut in his hand.

“Harry, right on time,” said Tom softly. He gestured to the seat beside him, the movement elegant.
“Come, I want you to sit beside me tonight.”

His breath hitched. A different Tom. Harry had seen hints of this Tom, the one who commanded the
entire Slytherin house with a single word. He’d seen this Tom a handful of weeks ago, alone in the
common room together, dodging cruciatus curses. Was this the truest side to Tom?

His thoughts went to earlier. He remembered the trembling, the vulnerability over sexuality, the
lashing out before someone else could hurt him over said vulnerability.
All facets. All moving parts.

All puzzle pieces to the painting of Tom Riddle.

“Come,” said Tom, his voice smooth, beckoning.

The armchair was certainly wide enough for the both of them, but they’d be nearly touching. Harry
stared, not sure if he were ready for that, not after the shit he pulled earlier. Tentatively, Harry stepped
forward, coming around the back of the armchair. He sat down on the edge of the seat at Tom’s side.
His smile at Tom was tense.

Tom raised an eyebrow. “You don’t look comfortable, Harry, darling.”

No shit.

Harry scooted back slightly. He could feel the warmth of Tom’s body at his side. Tom gave him a
smile. He gestured to Nagini, who was starting to coil around Harry’s ankles now. Harry swallowed.

“This is Nagini, my familiar,” said Tom softly.

Oh, good. It seemed that Tom decided to act as if nothing had happened earlier. Small mercies.

There was no denying it: Nagini was a beautiful snake. She was much smaller than Harry had last
seen her in his timeline, curling around Voldemort’s feet, nearly twenty feet long and thicker than a
plate in diameter. This Nagini was about ten feet long and her head was about half the size it would
one day become. Her scales glittered, almost unnaturally, with a green and grey green pattern. Her
eyes were yellow, bright with intelligence, and stared at Harry intently.

“Tom, if you don’t want me to fuck up and speak parseltongue in front of everyone, you might want to
have her leave.”

Harry winced when he realized that, dammit, he’d already slipped into parseltongue without trying to
- he really needed to learn how to control this.

This was already proving to be a trying night. Great.

Nagini lit up. “Another speaker! Well, color me surprised.”

Harry stiffened even more.

Her?

How’d he know Nagini was a female?

Harry was tense around Nagini, but it was different than Tom had seen others act around her, in a way
he couldn’t pinpoint. It wasn’t that Harry didn’t seem to like her, but there was this odd wariness over
her, as if he were waiting for her to strike him down at any moment.

“She won’t bite, you know.”

“I know.” Harry continued to eye her.

Tom sighed.
“Aren’t you an interesting one,” said Nagini, her body uncoiling and rising to face Harry. “What’s your
name? Are you friends with my nestling?”

“Nestling?” said Harry, with a hint of glee. Tom’s glare couldn’t shred the joy.

“We grew up together.”

“Hm, yes, say things behind my back, why don’t you,” said Nagini, her head whipping a look over at
Tom. “Not like I’d be offended.”

Tom’s second sigh was more exasperated. “I merely said we grew up together. Must you be in a mood
yet again, Nagini?”

“Yes, I must. I’m cold. I’m tired of you know what.” Tom’s eyes widened in warning, but in Nagini
fashion, she ignored him. “I don’t want to be here for these adorable nestling ruminations. And I’m
hungry. So, whom may I eat?”

“No one!” protested Harry.

Nagini swiveled her head towards him. “That was a joke, nestling.”

Harry sat back in his seat with relief. He frowned. “Why are you calling me nestling now?”

“You’re all nestlings. So young and stupid. Mere hatchings barely out of your eggshells.”

“She’s older by about five to ten years,” said Tom, shaking his head and pinching the bridge of his
nose. “She’s always like this, acting… a bit superior. She’s quite cantankerous sometimes.”

“You’re saying something rude about me, aren’t you?”

“Yes, he is.”

“Don’t get her riled up,” snapped Tom. “She’ll be impossible.”

“I don’t know why you have a problem with her, Tom. I think she’s fantastic.”

Nagini’s tail pointed at Harry. “I like this one. He’s smart. He also smells like you and I full heartedly
approve of whatever may come.”

Harry wheezed.

“Nagini…” said Tom, a dangerous lilt in his tone. “Of course you smell my scent on him. We live in
the same dormitory.”

Nagini gave him a look, before there was a series of light hissing noises, her head tilted to the side as
it bounced somewhat. Laughing. Daring to laugh. Tom felt heat rising in his chest.

“Right. If you say so.”

He couldn’t even scold her in private now.

“So, you say you can’t control your parseltongue, hm?” asked Nagini, drawing closer to Harry. To his
credit, Harry didn’t flinch or draw away. She ducked her head beneath his hand, nuzzling him. A
smile broke out on his face and he started rubbing Nagini beneath the chin. “Oh, yes, right there.
Mmm…”
“Yeah, when I see a snake, I just start talking. I can’t even tell the difference.”

“My Tom can teach you.”

Harry blinked, while Tom stilled. “What?”

“Doesn’t that sound like an excellent idea? I think so. I’m excellent at coming up with brilliant ideas.
The problem is no one likes to listen to them.” Nagini gave Tom a look. “This one here doesn’t like to
listen. Ever. There’s never enough meat in my belly to deal with it.”

“Nagini,” hissed Tom, now a warning.

She only hissed her laughs in response, unintimidated.

But she did have a point. Teaching Harry how to control Parseltongue wasn’t the worst idea. If Harry
could control it, then Tom wouldn’t have to worry about it slipping out accidentally.

His hand clenched into a fist.

Tom had been his own teacher. By necessity. Muggles never were a fan of things or people that were
different. He’d learned how to control his ability very quickly. Very quickly. He could still hear their
voices in his head. To this day, he knew verses upon verses of scripture, repeated over him, trying to
banish the devil out of him.

Hadn’t worked, now had it?

“It’s a possibility,” said Tom carefully. He didn’t hate the idea. Not to mention, it’d give him an
excuse to spend more time with Harry and discover more about him. “I wouldn’t object to giving you
a few lessons.”

“I guess…”

Still in parseltongue. Of course. Lessons were going to be a necessity then.

“Nagini, do you mind terribly leaving Harry’s eyesight. Let’s see if that works.”

“Fine, I suppose I can…” said Nagini. She slithered away, curling beneath the sofa and disappearing.
“You better give me something tasty for this. You know how I feel about a crowd of nestlings. Loud.
Annoying.”

Tom didn’t reply to her, turning to look at Harry. “Now, how’s that?”

“Fine? I think? I hope…”

Tom chuckled. “Yes, you’re speaking English again.”

There was a sigh of relief.

Sitting this close to him, Tom couldn’t help but see the… imperfections in Harry’s face. By the look
of them, it was doubtless that Harry had seen a lot of violence in his life. There were a multitude of
scars on his face and Tom couldn’t help but stare at every one of them, wondering what their stories
were and how they came to make their mark on Harry.
The biggest, and probably most impressive, was a strange lightning bolt scar that covered nearly half
of Harry’s forehead on the right-hand side. Tom had seen glimpses of it multiple times so far, but as
Harry raked a hand through his fringe with relief, Tom caught sight of it in its fullest. It certainly
matched Harry’s wild nature, the lightning appearing as if it crackled in a storm across the night sky.
There were multiple arms of the lighting and the scar cut through his eyebrow, too, the hair no longer
growing where the lightning struck.

But that wasn’t the only scar on his face.

There were a number of general small nicks in his tan skin. They were ever so faint, barely noticeable
if Tom weren’t studying him. But the most distinct were a couple of white lined scars on his cheek,
one at his chin, some scratches at the bridge of his nose, and a cut beneath his lower lip. The one on
his lip appeared to be the most recent.

Tom shifted in his seat; his knees pressed against Harry’s thigh. Harry sucked in his breath, eyes wide,
as Tom idly reached towards his face. He drew away from him, yet Tom’s thumb dragged against
Harry’s lower lip and over the scar. Those lips parted slightly in surprise.

“Where did you get this?” asked Tom softly, too curious.

Harry stared at him, frozen. Tom raised an eyebrow. Harry’s cheeks darkened, as did his eyes; his
Adam’s apple contracted. Tom brushed his thumb over the scar once more, then dropped his hand;
Harry’s chest expanded with breath finally.

“A fight,” whispered Harry, breathless. “Against the Dark Lord.”

That’s right… He’s mentioned that before.

“You fought against him, then?”

“Just in passing, to escape,” whispered Harry, dropping his gaze. His breath was short, as if he
couldn’t get air.

“Your parents?” asked Tom with a tilt of his head. “Is that why you arrived late?”

Harry nodded.

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

“It’s fine,” choked Harry.

The clock struck nine o’clock.

The spell broke. “Ah, it’s time. Before they arrive, I know how… explosive you can be,” Tom said,
raising an eyebrow. Harry threw an innocent gesture. “So, I’ll warn you. There is a little ceremony
required to join. All new members do it.”

“What do I have to do?” asked Harry, eyes narrowing suspiciously.

“You’ll have to wait to find out.”

Those eyes narrowed further.

Tom didn’t explain. Alphard and Quintus were the first to enter, smiling with odd lights in their eyes
when they caught sight of the two of them. They took their seats closest to Tom - well, single seat,
that is. Quintus took to sitting on Alphard’s lap, his smile innocent as ever. The others of his inner
circle, the rest of the boys in their dorm room, took their seats nearby.

One by one, the rest of Tom’s Knights entered the common room, while four of them brought their
new recruits. Tonight, there was a total of five new recruits, including Harry. Each recruit sat next to
the Knight who invited them. Each appeared a bit nervous.

“Welcome, my beloved Knights,” purred Tom, a swell of delight in his breast.

“My lord.”

Harry stiffened at his side; his hands curled into fists. Tom put a hand on Harry’s knee, giving him a
look. His lip curled with amusement when Harry shied away from his touch. Tom let him. Those
green eyes stared at him, a strange glimmer of light in them; it whirled with warring emotions.

What are you thinking? What’s wrong?

But Tom tore his gaze away, putting on an entreating smile to his Knights. However, before he could
say anything, Harry piped up with a lengthy, “So…” His tone was bright, yet there was that same
thick emotion that had appeared in his eyes. Tom didn’t understand its meaning. “What do we do
here? Gobstones? Reading erotica?” Alphard snorted, while Tom gritted his teeth, trying to forget the
awful exchange he’d had with Harry that morning. “I know!” he cried, rather dramatically. He paused,
grinning. “Knitting.”

On second thought, perhaps Tom had been hasty in his invite.

His inner circle broke into varied sounds of amusement, with Alphard and Roland being the loudest of
them. “See,” Alphard said, nodding to Harry. “I knew he’d be good for us.”

“I too want to know about these meetings,” said Belladonna Malfoy, her tone prim and proper. She
eyed Tom speculatively. Abraxas sat nearby her, arms crossed, displeased by her presence. “Though
I’m sure Evans’ suggestions are in jest… correct?”

“Ah, yes. He jests,” said Tom, his smile tightening. “Belladonna Malfoy, welcome.” She gave him a
polite nod. “Welcome, Lilith Rowle.” He nodded at the redheaded young woman with shoulder length
hair. “Magnolia Bulstrode.” The girl smiled tensely, her eyes dark, with her long black hair coming
down her shoulders in waves. “Rowan Yaxley.” The boy grinned, bouncing in his seat slightly. He
was a year older than his brother, Cormac, who was a fourth year beater.

Tom’s head dipped to the side; he smiled.

“And…” It came out in another purr. “Welcome, Harry Evans.”

Harry lifted a nervous hand, waved, before dropping it, ever tense in his seat.

“The five of you have been invited to our group because we’ve seen your value,” whispered Tom. He
received blushes from Rowle and Bulstrode. “We have a desire, a righteous one, to change our world.
My hopes are that we will one day achieve great things.” His voice was painfully soft, barely above a
whisper, and everyone leaned in closer just to hear him. “However, I won’t tell you any details. Not
yet. I can’t, I’m afraid, not before a simple oath of loyalty.”
Harry was ramrod still. Stiff. Like an unbending tree. His breath was coming in short pulses in his
chest. His knuckles were white; his jaw was set tight. Tom could admit that a lot of this was a bit
much for a little school group who hoped for greatness, but he couldn’t risk anyone turning on him.
He couldn’t let it happen again.

“You want a magical vow from us?” said Belladonna, anger bursting through her tone. She glanced at
Abraxas, staring at him. “You’ve done this already?”

“It’s nothing like an unbreakable vow,” said Tom, putting up a hand to reassure her. “It’s but a simple
oath. If you break it, you won’t be able to tell anyone what we spoke about here. It’s not a memory
charm, per se, but… more like a confounding charm.”

Belladonna didn’t appear pleased by this.

“And if you don’t want to take the oath, then there’s the stairs,” said Tom, gesturing towards it. “I’ll
not keep you here. But know that if you leave, you’ll not come back.”

Belladonna Malfoy nodded. She glanced over at Abraxas, before standing up. Gwendolyn grabbed
her by the wrist, looking up at her.

“Don’t be foolish, Bella.”

“It’s my fifth year, Gwen,” said Belladonna with a shake of the head. She looked back at Tom. Her
demeanor embodied the perfect little Malfoy heiress. “I’m sure this is a useful group, Mr. Riddle, but
I have OWLs this year and I simply will not have the time to devote to extracurricular activities.
Thank you for the invite, but I must decline.”

“Of course.”

She gave him a polite nod, before turning away. With her back turned, Tom lifted his wand and
pointed it at her head.

“Obliviate.”

Removing the memories about the invitation was simple and clean. He only took two memories away,
the one where Gwendolyn invited her and the one here right now. Belladonna swayed on her feet.

“Best to get to bed, Miss Malfoy,” said Tom.

She glanced around the room, her eyes unseeing, before she gave an absent nod and walked back to
her dorms.

“—the hell was that?” demanded Harry.

“I can’t have her knowing more about these,” said Tom, leaning back in his seat. Harry shifted,
glaring at him. “The Slytherin house is aware we have meetings, but they don’t know why or what
they’re really about. I also don’t want anyone knowing that we actively recruit. While many of the
students suspect who attend, they don’t know all of them. I have secrets that I must protect.”

Harry’s lips thinned. The scar there was white against his skin.

“Do any of you reject my invitation?” asked Tom, glancing at the remaining members. There were
shakes of the head. “Excellent. I’ll take your oaths of silence, then. On your knees.”
At first, the new recruits glanced between each other, obviously questioning if they wanted to do this,
but with silent encouragement from the others, they slowly slipped from their seats and knelt on the
floor. Tom had his wand lifted, the magic curling around the tip, when he glanced at Harry.

Harry stared at him.

“Harry?”

The light in those green eyes was ethereal. “I’m not getting on my knees, Tom.”

“Pardon?” Tom exhaled a soft laugh. “Of course, you are. You must.”

“No,” whispered Harry, his tone hard.

“I told you there would be a ceremony. It’s a magical ritual,” said Tom, frowning, confused by what
brought this stubbornness on. “Just get on your knees. It’ll be over quickly.”

“I said no. I refuse.”

It was like speaking to the wall. There was no moving Harry nor convincing him, that much Tom
could feel emanating from Harry’s entire body. But it didn’t make sense. Why was he fighting so
much? It was simple. Get on your knees. Everyone else had done it without argument, so why
couldn’t Harry do it, too? Why was he rejecting this? What was the problem?

“It’s part of the spell, the initiation,” said Tom, trying to remain calm. “It’s part of the very magic.”

“Do I look like I give a shit?” snapped Harry. “I’m not getting on my knees!”

Tom pinched the bridge of his nose, irritation rising quickly. “Harry—”

“No.”

“On your knees,” hissed Tom.

“Hell, no!”

“Harry—”

Harry bolted to his feet with an aggravated huff. “Fuck this. Listen, Tom, I did not join this little—”
He gestured wildly around the room. Some members looked affronted, while Alphard and Quintus
had mildly amused expressions on their faces. “—club of yours—” and here Tom’s jaw clenched, “—
just to be your little bitch.”

The air went frosty.

All amusement about the club comment disappeared.

Harry’s smirk was tense, filled with an unquenchable flame.

“Well,” said Harry, tone flinty. “This has been fun, but if you’re going to be insulting by demanding
that I get on my fucking knees, like a bitch, and kneel at your feet—well, you can just shove that shit
right back up your arse. Fuck you.”

Before Tom could collect himself, could even react, Harry was out of the common room within
seconds, the entrance slamming shut with an echoing bang.
Tom was shaking.

Silence.

Ice. Cold. Silence.

“I’ve changed my mind, Abraxas,” whispered Tom.

It rippled beneath his skin. The magic boiled. From the inside out, it writhed with his mounting rage.
His magic coiled in the air around him, spreading out and flooding over everyone. Blood drained
from every face within the room. The common room responded, the wooden snakes on the walls
coming to life. They dropped to the floor, rolling around each other in a flurry.

No one was allowed to disrespect him in such a fashion.

Not even Harry Evans.

“He’s yours to educate,” said Tom quietly, slowly rising to his feet. His hands trembled; he clenched
them into fists. A lamp exploded, glass shattering. Everyone flinched. “Nothing scarring or
mutilating, but… it’s to be painful. When I intervene, you’re to defer to me immediately.”

With a wandless wave of the hand, Tom repaired the lamp.

“Yes, my lord,” said Abraxas, a gleeful smile spreading through his face. “I am yours in whatever you
wish. What do you want me to do to him?”

“Teach him an… unforgettable lesson.”

Harry, darling, you’re going to learn this lesson - one way or another. You should have taken that
Crucio from me when you had the chance. It would have been a kind mercy.

A far kinder mercy.

He’d slept in the Room of Requirement that night.

The nerve. The audacity.

Harry knew he’d pissed off Tom, but he couldn’t help it. He had no right to be angry. Harry had tried
to make his point, but he hadn’t taken the hint. Not his problem. He didn’t care if he insulted Tom in
front of his little minions - should’ve thought of that before he asked Harry to get on his fucking
knees. Kneel? No. No. Hell, no. Did Tom really think he was going to kneel at his feet like some
dog?

Voldemort’s Death Eaters had kneeled, had whimpered, had groveled at his bare feet - they’d been
less than men, mere animals before their monstrous king. Kneeling before Tom was asking too much
and Harry wasn’t going to do that. Not ever. Tom wasn’t supposed to be like Voldemort. He was
supposed to be different.

But he’d seen it.

It’d been painful to sit there beside Tom, being reminded of future Death Eater meetings. Tom held
the same power over his minions. It’d hurt. It had hurt so much to see Voldemort in Tom. Voldemort
wasn’t supposed to be here. Only Tom.
 Tom.

Harry pressed the palms of his hands into his eyes.

Those eyes burned.

His blood was boiling; his heart was broken. He didn’t go to breakfast. He made his way through the
corridors, intent on spending the morning in the owlery. His stomach hurt with emotions and hunger,
but he ignored it. He was in no mood to eat anything. He needed to be alone.

That little bastard!

He considered playing hooky for the rest of the day, but skipping Charms and Transfiguration
probably wasn’t a smart idea, considering the teachers. He was tempted, though…

As Harry turned the corner down a long corridor, he stopped abruptly. Leaning against the wall, wand
tapping against the palm of his hand, was Abraxas Malfoy. At his sides were Aaron Goyle and Neil
Crabbe, as well as two other seventh years that Harry recognized from the Knight’s meeting. William
Avery and Maximillian Mulciber.

Harry inhaled.

This wasn’t a friendly visit, was it?

“Evans,” said Abraxas, sneering. Five wands pointed at Harry. The five boys, all of them standing
from four to seven inches taller than him, advanced on Harry. “We’ve got some things to discuss and
I’m going to need…” There was a laugh. “A bit of your time.”

They corralled Harry against the wall, like wolves around their prey.

“I don’t have time,” said Harry shortly. “Shall I reschedule?”

“Oh, I’m afraid this is a mandatory discussion,” purred Abraxas. “I’ve been waiting for this day, I
assure you. Class starts now. Welcome to your first lesson in pain.”

How… dramatic. Abraxas was such a Malfoy.

Five against one? Those weren’t good odds.

For them.

Chapter End Notes

Cackles, now it begins: we’ve begun the ‘twink fight’ arc. Seventeen will be the climax, while
Nineteen will be the resolution. It’s finally here. Let’s fucking GO.
 Fifteen
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

This was necessary.

Tom leaned against the wall, right at the edge of the corner in the corridor, listening. Waiting. He
hadn’t made himself known to his Knights, however. His wand was clutched in his left hand, his more
dominant hand, held over his heart as he waited for Abraxas to do what he needed to do. He was
there, just in case it got out of hand. Abraxas had been known to break his victims.

And Harry wasn’t to be broken.

He was to be tamed.

It wasn’t that he wanted this for Harry. Tom had hoped he would see things differently, see things his
way - but time and time again, Harry proved to be so willful and belligerent. Constantly. Endlessly.
And with such exhausting consistency, as well. Tom had plans for this boy, but he needed Harry to
cooperate.

He would learn.

Harry needed to understand that such defiance wasn’t a comfortable way to live his life, not within the
Slytherin house, not as one of Tom’s own. It would be a painful lesson, an unpleasant one, but it
would be an eye opening experience. Harry would be punished and Abraxas would get over his
frustrations about him. It was perfect.

Tom would be there to gather him close, to wipe away his tears, to show him mercy. He would be his
savior and Harry’s defiance would melt to yielding submission.

Carrot and stick.

He utilized both flawlessly.

“Please, you’re not a professor, so stop acting like a hotshot,” said Harry with a derisive snort, his
voice carrying through the hallway. “I’m not in the mood, Malfoy. Get out of my way.”

“I’m afraid not. We have a message to deliver,” said Abraxas, a smirk in his tone. “You’ve had far too
much freedom for a mudblood around here—”

“Oh, for the love of—I’m a halfblood, you blood obsessed arse—”

“—and,” continued Abraxas with an annoyed hiss. “It’s time you learned your place. We won’t have
you insult our lord in such a manner.”

“I’m not gonna get on my fucking knees for him!” snapped Harry hotly. “I’ve made that very clear.
It’s not my problem that the lot of you are so stupid that you can’t understand English—for fuck’s
sake, get out of my way. I’m tired of your shit.”

Harry had such an elegant way with words. So coarse. So uncouth. Tom pursed his lips. Yet another
thing he’d have to work on with Harry. Later, though.
“Our lord sent us to teach you a lesson and you’re not going anywhere until class is over.”

There was a long pause.

“Wait.” A pause. “Tom sent you?”

He had to strain his ears to hear Harry, hear the quiet, hollow surprise, the wounded echo with his
voice. Betrayal. Tom’s chest expanded, a suck of air slipping in between his parted lips. Something
hurt - what or why, he didn’t understand - and Tom grabbed at his robes, knuckles whitening as his
fingers twisted through the fabric.

What was this pain?

“Of course he sent us,” said Abraxas, mocking. “We’re here on his orders. Did you think otherwise?”
He laughed harshly. “Our lord is furious with you, so be a good little boy and take your medicine.”

“Tom sent you?”

“I just said that, Evans—you sure you’re not the one who can’t understand English?”

There was a pause.

“I see.”

It was even quieter. Such disappointment.

That same pain laced through Tom once more.

“Fuck off, Malfoy,” said Harry, his tone hard. “You’re a disgusting disgrace to the Malfoy family
name—” He scoffed. “On your knees for someone else? Pathetic.”

Oh, my darling Harry, that wasn’t smart.

“Crucio!”

Oh, dear. There would be screams now, though they’d be delicious lovely little screams. What a pity.
The lesson would be a harsher one, a crueler one. He briefly wondered how Harry would scream. Was
it high in pitch or low from the gut? Would he cry? How long would he last?

Wait…

There were no screams.

Did it miss? For Salazar’s sake, did you miss, Abraxas? Or was it not powerful enough? Tom huffed.
The incompetence - he was surrounded by constant, endless incompetence, dear Morgana. It didn’t
surprise him, though; few had the prowess for darker spells. He rolled his eyes. Did he have to do
everything—Abraxas let out a squawk of surprise, his friends echoing the same, and then chaos
erupted. Spell lights burst into life, illuminating the dim corridor with multi-colored flashes - red,
blue, yellow, green - voices clashing with incantations and crude cursing.

Tom rounded the corner, wand lifted, to see a sight of exquisite beauty that he had not been expecting.

Harry was fighting.

Virulent.
Elegant like a panther in the night.

He stood his ground against the five seventh years, wand whipping spell after spell, deflecting one
spell after another. There was no end to them. There was no flinching or cowering away. Spells
smashed against a bright and powerful protego shield. The magic - Harry’s magic - rushed down the
corridor, the flame lit torches flickering out, its intense energy flooding over Tom and filling him with
such heat, such potency, and with such breathless awe at its sheer weight over him.

The rush of it!

It was power, true power, beyond anything Tom had ever felt before from another student. This—
creature, what on earth—

Curses were flying; two of them cut through Harry’s trousers, blood pooling from a wound. He didn’t
even flinch. He didn’t even notice. The five seventh years tried to crowd around Harry, but they
couldn’t. One versus five - Harry was advancing on them, forcing the group to fall back.

Who is this man?

And the way Harry moved.

He hadn’t danced like this in their DADA classes. He had fumbled, dodged clumsily, threw a handful
of spells, before landing on his back. He had been sheepish with every fight, shrugging it off without
even a shred of frustration at his lack of talent. Every class, never changing. Every class… had been
the exact same. Every time.

He was throwing every fight?

Every single one of them?

But this—this was a thing of beauty, the way Harry weaved through spells, hunched slightly, bent at
the knees, few spells making their mark on him. Tom had never seen anyone duel like this—fight like
this. And his expression… Salazar, it was a sight. Harry’s jaw was set in a grim clench, his eyes bright
with the light of his spells, a bead of sweat trickling down his temple. His spells were wordless for the
most part, but he wielded his wand like a blade. It snapped and sliced, multiple colors bursting from
the tip of his wand.

Harry Evans was far more than Tom had dreamed he could be.

A geode?

How laughable. This creature was the polished gem of a diamond.

But then a spell slipped through his defenses. “Imperio!” Abraxas roared. The sickly light slammed
into Harry’s chest. He stopped, head bowed, chest heaving. Tom let out a breath, lightheaded, head
pounding. He inhaled greedily. And that was that. Well, that had been illuminating. He had so many
questions, so many thoughts, so many things to find out. He wouldn’t—couldn’t let Abraxas punish
Harry now. No, Harry was too—

Harry’s head lifted; his eyes glittered.

“Is that really the best you can do?”

Tom reeled. What the hell!?

This threw the tide to Harry’s favor. The seventh years drew back, visibly shaken. Harry took
advantage of this and struck without mercy; a flurry of stunners snapped out, each nailing their victim
in the chest. The five boys had little composure to dodge and they each fell to the ground with a harsh
landing.

He can throw the Imperius curse?!

A spell whizzed past Tom’s cheek. Hot. Burning. It drew blood. Tom lifted his thumb, brushing the
blood away, inaudible chuckles expanding his lungs. He glanced up and met those eyes - those eyes
that raged with a fiery light that echoed the eerie glow of the killing curse.

Gems of death.

“What the hell, really?” snarled Harry, glaring at him, striding towards Tom. He motioned backwards
at the downed forms of the Knights. “You sicced your fucking seventh years on me? You won’t even
face me yourself? You’re a coward, Tom.”

He was breathless. Confused. Shaking. With pure excitement. Dizzy. Wanted to know more. See more.
Who are you? What are you? “There is always a hierarchy in Slytherin,” Tom said in a low voice,
heart racing, blood roaring in his ears. He ignored the coward comment—he could barely think. This
never happened to him. He always had his mind about him, through every problem and through every
circumstance. “You’ve ignored it too long. You can’t upset the balance. Plus, you made me look like a
fool among my Knights. I can’t let you go unpunished for that. I needed you to understand that—
understand that you must respect it.”

“I am not one of your Slytherins!” shouted Harry, cheeks dark. “I’m not one of them!”

“But you are,” said Tom quietly, puzzled, still unable to control the trembling that shook his body,
mind, and soul. Why the rejection— “The day you were sorted and—”

“I will never just be one of your little Slytherins, Knights, minions or whatever the hell you call your
friends!” shouted Harry, hand slicing through the air. “I am more than that!”

“More?” echoed Tom with a breathy laugh. What? What more could there be? Ally? Friend?
Whatever did Harry mean by that? “I…” He frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“Fuck you!”

Harry whipped out a stunner, just as Tom cracked a powerful shield with a jerk of his wand.

And the duel began.

It was completely different now. Class had been a terrible, pathetic echo of Harry’s abilities, his range
of pure power. Tom could see it in every flexing muscle, every step, and in every spell. Harry was a
fighter, quick, battle worn - he’d seen things. What, Tom would give everything to know, to learn, to
uncover every crevice of this boy’s soul - he wanted to know it all.

No one had ever been able to keep up with Tom. He’d always prided himself on his prowess as a
dueler, as a wizard.

But Harry was not only keeping up, he was outdoing Tom.

And Tom couldn’t have that.

His movements put pressure on Harry, slowly closing the distance between them. Tom effectively
blocked his attacks and the sweat was now dripping down Harry’s temples, his breathing a bit more
labored. But his form was on point, never wavering even when his body slowly grew weaker.

When they were but a few feet away, Tom lashed out with a powerful final curse.

“Crucio!”

It struck home. With a pained cry, Harry toppled backwards, landing hard on his back. He didn’t
scream. Tom lifted the spell quickly, holding it barely for a second. He stood over him, wand pointed
at Harry’s chest; he waited a moment, catching his breath.

Harry glared up at him, eyes ever alight with flames.

“Is that the best you can do?” said Harry with a sneer. “I’ve had far worse than that.”

What? Wait… someone has used the cruciatus curse on him before?

Tom pointed his wand at Harry’s forehead. “I believe this duel is over,” he said; his voice came out in
a rasp. “I’ve won.”

Harry laughed.

He laughed.

“Won?” said Harry; his next sound was a bark of dark amusement. “What makes you think you’ve
won?”

“You’re a downed opponent, Harry, darling,” said Tom, his purr rough. His lips curled. “And you’re
on your back, while I stand over you.”

Harry smirked. “Are you sure?”

And he lashed out.

A foot kicked Tom in the shin. Hard. Pain exploded through his very bone. The crack echoed down
the corridor. Tom buckled and went down to the stone floor with a hoarse, “Bloody hell!” He landed
onto his side, elbow smashing into the stone. He rolled onto his back, trying to sit up, gritting his teeth
through the agonizing pain - something he hadn’t experienced in years. “Resorting to muggle tactics,
how boorish—”

A fist punched Tom in the face and he slammed back down to the ground with a grunting cry.

For a moment, Tom didn’t move, sharp pain still ravaging his shin. Blood pooled into his mouth; his
lip was split. Tom wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, shifting to look up at Harry, who was
trembling as he glared down at Tom with cold eyes.

“You learn some things, you know,” said Harry in a soft, yet harsh whisper. “When fighting against
the Dark Lord.”

“You’ve faced him often, then?” whispered Tom.

Harry didn’t answer.

“How fitting,” said Tom, pushing himself up into a sitting position. “The halfblood using muggle
tactics to overcome the wizard.”

“Oh, shut up about blood,” snapped Harry. “Don’t bring that shit into this. It’s not like you’re a
pureblood either. You sicced those seventh years on me because you’re angry over the fact that I don’t
play by your rules. But you’ve known this. I’ve told you since the beginning that I don’t give a shit
about your stupid Slytherin politics and hierarchy - and yet over and over again you keep trying to
shove it down my throat.”

Harry took a step closer, standing over him like a predator.

Tom’s breath caught in his throat. He resisted the urge to crawl backwards.

“So, here’s your warning, cut this shit out. I’m not going to kneel. I’m not going to bend. And I am
not gonna break. If the Dark Lord couldn’t break me, you sure as hell can’t. If you want something
from me, you come to me as an equal.”

Break him?

An equal?

He had so many questions. Harry wasn’t going to answer anything directly, especially now, about his
past. Tom would have to slowly extract those things. When he got overly angry or emotional,
however, it would appear the control over his tongue loosened.

Interesting.

Instead, Tom gritted his teeth. “Why hide your abilities?”

“You underestimated me,” said Harry; he smirked. “And that’s what I wanted. Being underestimated
is a shield of protection. You’ve got to use everything you’ve got in fights or else you die.”

Die…

So, he’s been in life or death situations.

Tom frowned. Was he telling the truth about the Basilisk? But…

Harry turned away. He took a few steps, before glancing back. His lips quirked slightly. “Oh, and, not
sure if you noticed, but… I guess you’re the one on the ground now. Does this mean you’ll be
kneeling at my feet, then?”

He disappeared around the corner.

Tom didn’t understand why his face was so overheated all the way to the tips of his ears. There were
so many things brewing inside his chest that he had no way of comprehending it all. He clenched his
jaw. Tom stumbled to his feet, putting all his weight against the wall, silently hissing and wincing in
pain. He threw a glare at the unconscious group, before he looked back down the corridor where
Harry had left.

An equal… hm?

Well, Harry was the first that Tom had ever considered such a possibility.
He had struggled to get back to the Slytherin common room. He hadn’t bothered lifting the stunners
on Abraxas and the others. He refused to look weak around them. Besides, they deserved it, so
incompetent that Harry beat them, even though they outnumbered him - never mind the fact that they
were older. When Tom arrived inside the common room, he sent Simon to rouse them if they weren’t
awake by now. Roland, Marcus, and Sebastian didn’t notice anything as he walked by. With gritted
teeth, Tom made his way up the dorm stairs, managing to appear in ‘fine’ condition, before he
collapsed onto his back in bed, legs dangling off the edge. He stared up at the ceiling, mind in a whirl.

But, of course, Alphard and Quintus always knew when something was off. Within minutes, they
were at his side, clucking over him like the hens that they were. Tom sat on the edge of his bed, a
conjured ice pack on his shin, while Alphard was at his side, checking the rest of his injuries. Quintus
knelt beside the bed, checking on Tom’s shin and ankle.

It didn’t take them long to drag some of the story out of Tom.

“Well, you really…” began Alphard, wiping the blood from Tom’s lips. “Epically, monumentally,
astronomically - and I mean this with the utmost respect - fucked up.”

Tom narrowed his eyes.

“Respectfully,” said Alphard, giving him a look that suggested otherwise. He shook his head. “Come
on, Tom, what were you expecting to happen, honestly? You throw that twat Malfoy at him and you
thought you’d get on his good side?” He rolled his eyes. “Honey, not vinegar.”

“This is not how you make friends, Tom,” said Quintus, his tone light, but with a hint of
condescension. Damn these two. Alphard handed him the used, bloodied rag and Quintus gave him a
fresh one, wet with cold water. Alphard applied it to the split lip. Tom gave a sharp intake of breath at
the pain, but bore it without any other revelation of hurt.

“I wasn’t trying to make friends,” hissed Tom.

“Harry takes a delicate touch,” said Quintus softly. “He’s been here for a month and we can tell you
don’t… dislike him. You’ve welcomed him among us rather quickly, in fact. Quite… unusual.”

“It took us eight months of consistent hard work to crack open your shell in our first year,” said
Alphard with a huff. “Little Harry Evans gets it in a month without even trying?” He huffed again,
more exaggerated now. “I’m jealous.”

“We know you have a thing for him—”

“Excuse me, a thing?”

Quintus put up his hands in surrender. “Not what I meant,” he said delicately. Tom glared at him, but
he was undeterred. “But we’ve noticed you’re drawn to him.”

“He’s… interesting,” said Tom, lips thinned in annoyance. So many mysteries to unravel. “He’s
different.”

And powerful.

Exquisitely so.

“Quite.” Quintus smiled. “Exactly, he’s different, interesting, a new shiny person to discover - we get
it. And he’s not your… usual Slytherin. He’s more of a wild thing.”
“A wildcat who bared his teeth,” said Alphard, grinning, “and bit you.”

“Oddly… Harry has the least self-preservation I’ve ever seen in a Slytherin.” Quintus gave him a
pointed look. “He must have other Slytherin qualities, then, to make up for that.”

Alphard stroked his chin briefly. “He’s hiding them, if so.”

That’s right… Harry had hidden his dueling skills and had done it so well that even Tom hadn’t seen
it. Pride hadn’t mattered to Harry; he lost to the weakest of their classmates. That’s certainly a
Slytherin thing to do. What else is he hiding?

“At any rate, do try to avoid this, yeah?” said Quintus, his tone ever light, even entreating now. “You
wouldn’t want things to get worse between you, would you?” When he got no answer, Quintus
smiled, benignly, and slapped Bruisewort Balm onto his skin right where Harry had kicked Tom in the
shin. Tom would never admit that he had yelped. Never. He shot Quintus a glare while he rubbed the
salve into the bruise, much more gently now, his expression innocent as ever. “Oh, dear. Too rough?
Pardon me.” Tom glowered. Quintus’ expression softened and he sighed. “Really, Tom, you should
make an effort to patch things up with Harry. If you don’t want to drive a wedge between you two,
then you cannot let this fester.”

Tom didn’t answer yet again, frustrated, angry, and furious with himself for brooding over this. He
gave the two of them a sharp nod. He wasn’t sure what he’d say when he faced Harry again, but he’d
never been unable to soothe ruffled feathers before. A few gentle words, flash a smile or two, and
Harry wouldn’t stay angry at him for long. That always seemed to work for Tom.

He’d get over it.

They always did.

But Harry never showed up for the rest of his Monday classes.

None of the professors seemed to know where he’d gone either. Any time a professor asked his
whereabouts, Tom lied for him. “He’s a bit under the weather,” he would say, smiling ever smoothly.
“He’s resting in our dorm room.”

And the teachers wouldn’t argue about it.

But the day continued and Harry didn’t show up for dinner, nor did he come back to the dorm room
that night. Tom waited, watching, unable to sleep. It was only a number of hours after midnight that
sleep claimed him.

And Harry wasn’t there when he woke.

“Where the hell is Harry Evans?” demanded Tom, the following morning, as he walked down the
staircase into the Slytherin common room. Fury flared through his chest. The heads of his Slytherins
whipped to look up at him. They all glanced between one another, before looking back at him,
shaking their heads.

“He’ll turn up,” said Roland. He gestured with a wave. “He has to, it’s not like he left the castle. He
probably slept in the owlery or something.”

“He’s always got owl feathers in his hair,” said Sebastian with a sniff. “Smells like a barn.”

Tom inhaled, trying to calm down. “Go to breakfast,” he said shortly. “I’ll check the owlery.”
He left the common room without looking back. Students cleared the way for his long, purposeful
strides as he made his way to the owlery, up the long winding stairs. He stepped inside, listening to
the hoots, screeches, and occasional barks of the owls. He looked around, but the owlery was empty
of people. Near a corner, on a low hanging branch, sat a snowy white owl. Tom took a few steps
towards it.

“You’re Harry’s owl, aren’t you?”

If a bird could glare, Tom was sure it was doing just so with its baleful yellow eyes.

“You wouldn’t happen to know where your owner is, would you?”

The owl screeched, flapping its long wings, almost as if it wanted to whack him over the head. Tom
wasn’t a fan of birds, much preferring a companion like Nagini - even if she did have a sharp, unruly
tongue. Harry’s owl seemed to be as ornery as its owner. Lovely.

“Would you take him a message, then? He’s missing.”

The snowy owl burst into the air in a powerful flutter of wings. It soared high, landing on one of the
highest perches in the owlery. It screeched down at him, twisting its head and clicking its beak
aggressively.

Tom sighed.

Harry wasn’t at breakfast.

He missed Potions.

He wasn’t at lunch either.

This feeling in his chest… He was concerned now. It wasn’t like the feeling he’d had when Tom had
watched Harry crash into the ground on that damn broomstick - but it was just as unpleasant. It was
the beginning of DADA class and Harry was nowhere to be seen. What was going on with him?
Where did he go? Where was he hiding? Why was he hiding? Why couldn’t he face Tom head on, like
he always had before? This was so unlike Harry. This didn’t make sense—Harry didn’t make a lick of
sense.

Tom was brooding too much and he hated it.

Merrythought narrowed her eyes, just as the classroom doors closed. Displeasure and disappointment
flushed through her features. Lips straight, she turned towards the rest of the class.

The doors open.

Harry stepped into the room, bedraggled, robes wrinkled, with bags beneath his eyes. His clothes
were the same as they’d been on Monday, his trousers still ripped and bloodstained. He… He did not
look all that well. Tom was sure the boy hadn’t eaten anything. Dammit, Harry. As Harry met his
gaze, those eyes were tired, but the light there spoke of his strength.

And his fury.

Harry…
“Ah, Mr. Evans,” said Merrythought, a smile curling at her mouth. “I wasn’t sure if you’d come to my
class. I’ve heard you’ve been under the weather.”

Harry barely acknowledged this. He took a step forward, wand gripped in his hand, and faced Tom.
He pointed his wand straight at him, a challenge in his eyes.

“Oho…” purred Merrythought and there was a hint of pure glee in her tone. She pressed her hands
together. “Oh, is it time? Tired of those essays, are we? Are we ready now, Mr. Evans?”

Harry gave her a short nod.

Her smile was that of a Cheshire cat. “Excellent.”

She turned around, wand snapping from her sleeve into her hand. She swirled it in the air and, as she
activated the magic, the room began to shift and change at her command. The desks and chairs pushed
to the edges of the room, transforming and melding into the wall. With another flick of her wand, a
section of the room at the back lifted, creating a ledge with a handrail and stairs at either side of it.

“Everyone out of the way!” cried Merrythought, delight and utter excitement in her voice. “Up, up,
up!” she added swiftly, taking the stairs two by two. She whirled around, a hand pressed at the rail,
her eyes alight with that all disturbing glee. The students, though confused, followed after her, taking
their spots behind the guardrail. Alphard and Quintus stood side by side, arms folded, gazes intense.
The others of their dorm had no idea about Harry. Roland and Simon were talking to each other, while
Marcus and Sebastian appeared bored.

“Professor?” asked one of the Gryffindors, a Weasley, if Tom wasn’t mistaken. “What’s going on?
Riddle is going to wipe the floor with Evans. He hasn’t a chance.”

“Don’t be too sure of that, Mr. Weasley. Appearances are always deceiving.”

With another sharp flick of her wand, the room shifted once again. The once wooden classroom
became rocky with stone terrain, boulders of massive size sprouting up around Tom and Harry. Mist
flooded through the room and Tom had to refrain from rolling his eyes. Merrythought could be so
dramatic.

Harry was immoveable. He stood before Tom, waiting.

“Students, watch carefully,” said Merrythought, her voice dropping somewhat. “You’re about to
witness a fight between two different class of fighters. One, a well trained student, a prodigy one
could say, perfect in his technique, execution, and form. The other, a survivalist. This one has seen
things - things you sweet little dunderheads should hope you never see.” She grinned, alight with dark
delight. “This isn’t a duel, children. This is a battle.”

“Evans? Really?” cried one of the Gryffindor girls. “He lost to me and I’m the worst in the class.”

“Just shut up and watch,” snapped Merrythought, but without much heat. “Learn from this. You
should hope you never have to see a fight like this, let alone experience it first hand.” She gestured
towards Harry and Tom. “Anything goes—just don’t kill each other. Loser is the first to lose
consciousness.”

There was a chorus of squawks from the students, “What?!”

Merrythought sighed. “Fine,” she lamented. “Whoever concedes.” Her smile turned dark. “Though I
suspect neither of them will.”
Harry shed his outer robes, tossing them aside. He pulled at his tie, loosening it and pulling it off,
letting it drop to the ground. He rolled his sleeves past his elbows, revealing tanned skin. White scars
reflected against the light. Tom let out a low laugh.

“I know your secrets, Harry, darling,” said Tom, sliding a leg back and lifting his wand, assuming the
proper form for beginning a duel. “You’re not going to surprise me today.”

Harry settled into an odd stance, knees bent, with his wand at the ready. “You sure about that, Tom?”

Tom gritted his teeth. “Quite.”

The second Merrythought shouted, “DUEL!” Harry whipped out a wordless bombarda, exploding the
rock face next to Tom, sending debris and bits of stone into the air. Tom cursed under his breath,
ducking out of the way, as he was pelted with pebbles. Dust choked the breath out of his lungs. The
debris clouded the air, coating the mist.

Harry had disappeared.

A thrill ghosted up Tom’s spine. He heard it first before he saw the flash of red light. He ducked,
dropping to a crouch; a second blast of red light exploded the ground right in front of him. Tom fell
back just in time to narrowly avoid it, a shocked sound escaping his mouth. He rolled out of the way,
scrambling to his feet to hide behind a boulder.

“Still think you know anything about me?” asked Harry, his voice echoing throughout the entire
room. It didn’t reveal his location. A spell—

Tom blew out sharp, breathy exhales, the thrill now coursing through his veins. He smiled. Well,
maybe Harry was an equal, after all. He had found one. An equal. Someone to match him. The soft,
shocked laugh that broke through his composure shook him to his core.

Excitement filled his veins, liquid adrenaline fueling his body with strength.

Tom ripped his tie off, tearing off his outer robes as well as the coat jacket. He didn’t care where it
fell. He shoved his sleeves as high as they’d go up his arms.

An equal.

“Finally taking me seriously now?”

“Yes,” whispered Tom.

He exploded forth. His wand whipped out like a lash, multiple spells jetting from it, the range of
colors creating a rainbow within the classroom. Tom forgot everything and everyone. It was just him
and Harry, who met his curses and hexes with equal force and equal power. Sparks shattered all
around them. No spell yielded to the other. No curse slipped either’s defenses.

Tom had never used so much of his actual body in a duel like this. Harry was constantly on the move,
his legwork an elegant and lithe dance among the spell lights. Tom was forced to match him,
advancing on him as best as he could. But whatever distance he managed to close between them,
Harry would surprise him with a different, wild tactic, the distance widening once more.

And Harry was lethal.

This Harry. Strange, wild, no tact, more chaotic than the weather in London - Harry Evans, average
student, terrible Slytherin. He was lethal. He used spells that Tom had never seen before and he
couldn’t help but wonder in delight about what they would do if they struck their target.

He wasn’t going to find out, though.

Not if he could help it.

Tom slapped a hand onto one of the nearest boulders, willing the magic to obey him, his mind flooded
with transfiguration theory. The boulder shifted, answering his command, and the stone crackled,
transforming into a long snake.

It charged after Harry.

Harry gritted his teeth, his wand snapping out with another spell. It glanced off the stone snake’s back.

“Shit,” growled Harry.

He ran and the snake launched after him. It caged him against a boulder, coiling in front of him,
waiting for Tom’s final command. Tom strode closer, wand raised.

“Yield,” said Tom.

Harry laughed.

The snake lunged. Harry ducked and rolled forward, the stone snake crashing right into the boulder
where Harry’s head had just been. On his back, Harry threw another bombarda at the boulder and the
stone shattered around them both.

But this time, Tom was ready for it.

He straddled Harry, knees clenched at his chest, and his wand digging into Harry’s throat, while his
right hand trapped Harry’s left wrist. Tom gritted his teeth; the holly wand pressed at his sternum.
Hard. A promise.

Indomitable dark brown eyes bored into ethereal green.

They both heaved for breath; debris clattered to the floor, dust slowly falling.

“Do you yield?” asked Tom. He pushed his wand in a little more. Harry narrowed his eyes, cheeks
dark. Tom hunched closer to him, their noses barely an inch away. “Do you yield?” His demand was a
harsh whisper, almost the hiss of parseltongue.

“Never.”

Tom stared down at him, feeling the rise and fall of Harry’s chest beneath him. He looked into those
eyes, trying to understand this stubbornness and why it existed.

But there were no answers.

Only more questions.

However, he did glean one thing: Harry would lie there for a thousand years before he would yield,
before he would give in to his opponent.
 Fascinating.

“I yield,” said Tom and in a fluid movement, he extracted himself away from Harry and held out a
hand towards him. For a moment, Harry didn’t move, until, slowly, he accepted Tom’s proffered hand
and allowed himself to be pulled up. Harry let go immediately, drawing away from him, gaze low.

“You duel as well as ever,” said Tom, trying to be pleasant.

Harry grunted.

How to break through this barrier…

“So, about those parseltongue lessons,” said Tom, his tone light, though his voice was only for Harry
to hear. The rest of their classmates were talking wildly among themselves, all of them having lost
their minds by the duel - fully out of earshot. Their dorm mates were flabbergasted. “I was thinking
we could start Saturday evening, hm? I’m sure we could find a classroom and—”

“I’m good, thanks.”

Tom bit the back of his lip briefly to stay calm. “It’s a talent that would go wasted if you—”

“Why the hell are you acting like everything is fine?” demanded Harry, his head snapping up. His
gaze was hard. “I’m still pissed about yesterday.”

Oh, that was right. Quintus had said to patch things up.

“Let’s call a truce, hm?” said Tom, his smile smooth and delicate. When he didn’t answer, he
continued, “You can’t stay mad at me forever, Harry, darling. Not for long.”

Harry looked at him. His smile didn’t reach his eyes. His exhale was tired and hurt. “Fuck you,
Riddle.” And he whirled around, striding away.

“So, is that a no to the parseltongue lessons, then?” called Tom mildly.

Harry turned around, walking backwards, throwing up both of his hands into the air, proudly
displaying two v-signs. He snapped his hands towards Tom for emphasis, before turning back around
and walking away out of the classroom. The doors slammed shut ominously.

And the frustrated confusion roiled within.

Chapter End Notes

I’m behind on replying to comments, but damn my head is spinning. I swear I’ll be slowly
working my through past comments. Replying to all of you is part of the fun.

Ahhh… the slow descent to the twink fight. So close. We’re getting there.

Gotta love that this still isn’t the actual twink fight, lmao
 Sixteen
Chapter Notes

This bitch is ALIVE, my darlings.

The semester is OVER and I am RARING to go. I got four week before the start of the spring
semester, so I hope to get SOME writing done..

Sixteen decided it wanted to be more. It expanded more than I thought it would all on its own. I
hadn’t realized had hard this was all on Harry and new scenes were required to cover it. I felt like
I was trying to summarize too much and I hate that. Harry wasn’t having Tom’s shit, haha. Twink
Fight got pushed ahead a chapter. This just means more tension for y’all to endure.

cackles

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Bastard.

Fucking arsehole.

Fuck you, Tom, you son of a bitch. Fuck you - everything about you. Go to hell and burn for eternity
there.

Harry fumed. The owls above made little noises of annoyance as he paced the floor of the owlery, his
steps cracking leftover bones. Not even Kasper could calm him down. He was so furious with Tom.
How could he act like nothing was wrong? How clueless could someone be? He thought Tom was
more intelligent than this.

He paused, hands on his hips, chest heaving again and again. He put a hand over his heart. It hurt.
Everything hurt. He understood his feelings better now and it just made everything that much worse.
He hadn’t been in this much pain and turmoil since Sirius’ death. Why did it have to be Tom Riddle
who was doing this to him?

It was just a fight.

Just a little fight.

Simple.

That was all.

Right?

He shouldn’t be making a big deal of this. Right? But no. Harry had to have some boundaries with
this bastard. He didn’t come back here to be one of Tom’s baby Death Eaters.

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose. He rubbed his eyes; they were damp.
He hated feeling this way.

He’d slept in the Room of Requirement last night - well, for the past couple of nights. It hadn’t been
better, but at least he’d been alone. The bedroom had reminded him too much of his own dormitory in
the Gryffindor tower. Harry knew he couldn’t always hide. He couldn’t avoid all of the other boys
forever and he couldn’t avoid Tom forever, either.

But, tonight after the fight in class, that didn’t stop him from hiding until one o’clock in the morning,
well after curfew, to go back to the dormitory in the hopes that everyone would be asleep.

He was wrong.

The second Harry walked into the dorm room after one o’clock in the morning, he was accosted by all
six boys.

Dammit.

“About time!” said Sebastian, exploding first from his spot on his bed. “I got questions. What the
bloody hell was that?”

“And you expected us to be asleep after that show?” said Alphard with a smirk. He shook his head.
“Absolutely not.”

Harry ignored them, walking to his bed and sitting down. He was starting to reconsider coming back
to the dorms. He was about to pull his curtains shut, hell bent on ignoring them all, when Simon - of
all the boys - whipped out his wand and pointed it at Harry.

“Don’t. We need to talk.”

Harry crossed his arms in front of his chest. “About what?” He refused to look at Tom, who was
staring at him with those dark eyes.

“Oh, I dunno,” said Roland with an over exaggerated shrug. “Maybe about how damn good you are at
dueling?”

“Good? Good? Since when are you excellent at dueling?” demanded Marcus. “You’ve been an
embarrassment since the beginning of class.”

Harry shrugged, half baiting them, half not caring.

“But not in other areas…” said Quintus idly. “From my understanding, you’ve excelled in everything
else.”

“Excelled is a strong word,” said Harry. “I’m competent.”

“And that’s an understatement,” said Alphard, giving him a look. “Slughorn had nothing but praises
for your skills in potions. Same with your charms work. Dumbledore has made no comments against
you and that says a lot.”

“And yet…” murmured Tom, his voice slow and smooth as silk. Harry glanced over at him, but kept
his gaze at the left of his chest. He wouldn’t meet his eyes. “You underperformed on purpose in
Defense. Why?”

“I told you why.”

“You gave a little bit of an explanation,” said Tom, the darkness flaring in his eyes. “But not enough. I
want more.”

He’s missing the point.

He was ignoring the real problem, the real issue. Harry sat there, staring at him, and the hurt just
ached all the more. Tom didn’t see where he’d gone wrong. No, he was frustrated with Harry, for
hiding his abilities in dueling. If Tom couldn’t see where he’d gone wrong here, how could they be
anything more than just ‘friendly’ rivals?

Pain raced through Harry’s heart.

He stood up. His wand was in his hand. The other boys took a step back, eyes flitting over to Tom,
silently seeking his command. Worry bloomed across Quintus and Alphard’s faces. Roland threw up
his hands in surrender, while Marcus and Sebastian tensed. Simon gripped his wand harder.

Harry glared at Tom, who returned his gaze with glacial eyes.

“Want more, do you?” He let out a harsh laugh. “You underestimated me,” Harry whispered, his
magic flaring out through the room. A warning. The other boys gasped in unison, breaths catching in
their throats. Harry took a step closer, wand slowly rising. “And the funny thing is, you still do. Fine
by me. Go ahead. Not my fault you’re slow at comprehending the simplest of concepts.” He stopped a
foot away from Tom and his wand lifted, pointing a mere inch away from Tom’s chin. “I told you
once before, but I’ll say it again since you conveniently keep ignoring it.”

The magic went heavy in the air. The gasps from the other boys turned more desperate. Tom gave
little indication that it had now become a struggle to breathe; he continued to stare down at Harry with
emotion whirling in his eyes, the expression filled with so much curious hunger and overwhelming
desire to know and understand Harry more.

Fuck this guy.

“I will not kneel at your feet, Tom Riddle,” said Harry, his voice carrying through the room. “I will
not bend. I will not break. If you think you can bully me, send your pathetic goons at me, and ignore
what I’m saying, you have another thing coming. I told you: if you want something from me, you
treat me like an equal.”

What would that be like? Would there ever be a time where they weren’t at each other’s throats,
wanting nothing more than to tear each other apart? An equal? Was it possible? Being close to the
other boys, even the annoying ones, seemed more in reach than having any sort of connection to Tom.

Harry couldn’t breathe either.

He gestured to the other boys. “You don’t treat them like equals. I’m not blind. I see it,” Harry said
sharply, his voice a little hoarse. The other boys stiffened further, while Quintus glanced away, a flash
of hurt slipping through the mask. Alphard’s fists clenched. “They’re your friends, but this whole
Slytherin dynamic is utter bullocks. I don’t know why they let you do that to them. But it’s time you
learn that I’m not like them. I’ve been through shit—a lot of it. I know how to survive. You thought
you could overpower me, force me to bend, and you got a rude awakening.”

Tom was shaking; his lips were white, chest rising and falling in quick succession.
“You know what you remind me of?” whispered Harry. The tip of his holly wand touched the hollow
of Tom’s chin. “You remind me of a child pitching a fit after being told no.”

Fury rushed into Tom’s eyes. A chill entered the air, along with Harry’s magic. The walls shifted in an
all too familiar way. The wooden decorative snakes were answering Tom’s coiling magic, slowly
twisting on the walls. Tom’s jaw clenched, his fists shaking at his sides.

Harry exhaled another laugh, more derisive now. “See? You’re still pitching a fit.” Tom gritted his
teeth, while Harry leaned forward, wand dropping to his side; he hovered over Tom’s shoulder. Harry
smirked and said, loud enough for the other boy to hear, “Besides, didn’t I get you on your knees?”

He pulled away, but not before he felt heat rush from Tom’s body. The magic of the room stopped
cold, the snakes freezing in place. Harry turned away, walking back to his bed. He sat down and
folded his arms, his magic slowly dissipating. The rest of the other boys took sharp gasps. Roland
doubled over, heaving gulping breaths. Tom’s chest rose and fell with one deep breath.

“What the hell was that?” murmured Sebastian.

“I’m done,” said Harry, shaking his head and finally dropping his gaze. “You act like everything is
fine after you tried to have me tortured by Malfoy and his buddies. Well—” Harry lifted a hand and
flipped Tom off. “—fuck you, Tom, because you’re a right bastard.”

And with that, Harry rolled onto his bed and swiftly shut his curtains. He threw up warding spells
immediately. He sat there on his knees, chest rising with a rush of adrenaline. He listened, waited,
wand still gripped in his hand as he tensed for a fight.

But a fight didn’t come.

“His magic is something else, isn’t it?” said Simon.

“I don’t think Harry is pleased with you,” whispered Quintus.

“No shit,” muttered Roland.

“Go to bed,” snapped Tom.

There were a couple of rustles, as a few of the boys instantly obeyed. But Harry could tell that not all
of them did.

“How are you going to fix this?” said Alphard, his voice low. “Harry is hurt and—”

“There is nothing to fix,” hissed Tom. “And I suggest you be silent or risk my displeasure.”

The silence was harsh.

“Or what?” said Quintus quietly. There was hurt in his tone, but there was also a hint of a challenge.
“Would you turn on us? Punish us like the lowly servants we are, my lord?”

Harry swallowed, knuckles going white against his wand. If Tom did anything to hurt the other
boys… There was going to be another fight and Harry would take Tom out with everything he had.
He wasn’t going to let Tom torture Quintus or any of the others. No. He wasn’t going to stand for that
kind of bullshit.

Is this how you treat your friends?

“Go to bed,” said Tom; it was a command, a warning, but now without a threat. The tension eased and
there were the unmistakable sounds of the other boys going to their beds, some shutting the curtains.

Harry sat back on his heels, letting out a low, quiet sigh of relief. He lifted a silencing charm around
his bed and flopped back against his pillow. He ran his hands over his face.

Dammit, Tom.

And there went the anonymity.

It’d been nice while it lasted. This was nothing new to Harry, but he had to admit it had been
refreshing to not be noticed in the corridors, to not be stared at with a medley of emotions. At least he
wasn’t the Boy-Who-Lived. No, instead he was the boy who was suddenly and magically good at
dueling.

The rumors were wild.

That rumor mill was running on overtime in Hogwarts and as usual, Harry Potter - or in this case,
Harry Evans - was at the center of it all.

Harry sighed to himself, pinching the bridge of his nose as he sat at the table the next morning. He
refused to look at any of his dorm mates. Especially Tom. He couldn’t bear to look at him. Not
without hexing him to hell and back. Not without pain in his chest. Not without wanting to run away
again. Running. Hiding. That was all Harry seemed to be able to do lately.

When did I become… this?

The rest of the group tried to talk to him, but there seemed to be a quiet consensus among them to not
push Harry too hard. Occasionally, he saw Alphard or Quintus reel one of the other boys back in if
they got too intense. That didn’t stop Roland that much, though. He tried to engage Harry with some
Quidditch talk and even Simon talked more than he usually did, both trying to have casual
conversations with Harry.

He ignored them.

Harry could even appreciate the effort that Sebastian and Marcus went to with their demands to talk to
him. They avoided talking about the duel itself, but multiple times they tried to draw answers from
Harry about the spells he used in the fight.

They, too, went ignored.

Quintus and Alphard were blessedly quiet, but Harry could feel their occasional gazes on him,
studying him and trying to figure him out.

All of these boys, their efforts weren’t disliked. Harry understood what they were doing. However.
What Harry really wanted to do at this very moment was punch Tom’s lights out.

Why?

Because his fucking hand was on Harry’s forearm.

“About those parseltongue lessons…” whispered Tom.

Harry didn’t answer.

That hand slipped to his wrist, long slender fingers curling around it. Harry gritted his teeth and
clenched his fist as Tom swirled a finger against his skin. The hell are you trying to do here? Harry
lowered his arm beneath the table, Tom’s hand never leaving his wrist. He put his hand on Tom’s
thigh, resting it there lightly. Those dark eyes widened in surprise.

Harry pinched his thigh.

Hard.

Tom sucked in his breath, his hand withdrawing, and Harry took that opportunity to stand up from the
table, leaving his breakfast behind. As he walked away, he heard Quintus hiss under his breath, “For
Salazar’s sake, Tom, he needs to eat. Have you seen him? Stop aggravating him and give him some
space.”

Harry left the Great Hall without looking back. He sought a dark corridor, before pulling out the cloak
and throwing it over himself. Under its safety, Harry sighed. He stepped quietly through the hallway,
seeking a more secluded area with plenty of darkness to shield him. Far away from the Great Hall, in
a corridor less traveled, Harry leaned against a wall, sighing once more and letting out all of his pent
up emotion with it.

He dropped his face into his hands. He slid downwards, the cloak still covering him, and sat down
with his knees tucked against his chest.

Harry wasn’t sure what to do with his current feelings or even what to make of them. They were a
storm, a whirl of emotion. When one cracked across his mind like a bolt of thunder, the flash so quick
that he couldn’t quite grasp its meaning, another took its place. Each emotion blurred into the next.
Anger? Bitterness? Hurt? Disappointment? Resignation?

They barely scratched the surface.

The emotion that surprised Harry the most was the disappointment. This was Tom Riddle. What had
Harry been expecting, truly? Kneeling? Check. Send his cronies after him? Check. Of course, this was
going to happen. This was Tom. Harry should’ve known this—should have expected it. Voldemort did
it all the time. This was the essence of Tom.

So, why did it hurt so damn much?

Fear? Yes. Despair? Yes. Hopelessness? Too much.

Harry swallowed. He quickly rubbed the dampness beneath his eyes, sniffling once. A weight was
heavy against his shoulders, bearing down on him; it was crushing.

Even if he hadn’t actively thought about it, he’d known this wasn’t going to be an easy task. So much
depended on this. So many lives, the future overall, and Tom himself, even if he didn’t know it yet -
they all depended on Harry.

Why was this harder and more painful than fighting a murderous dark lord? Why did this hurt far
worse than a minute beneath the cruciatus curse? Why was trying to be friends, trying to care about
Tom - why was this so much harder?! Why did it hurt so fucking much?!

It didn’t make sense.

None of this did. What was he doing? How was he supposed to get through this barrier between
them? Harry wasn’t about to bend over and take shit - and Tom was denser than a doorknob. How the
hell was this supposed to work?

I wish… someone I knew was here. I wish I had some help. A friend, some support - anything. Dad…
Mum, what am I supposed to do? Be myself? I don’t know if that’s enough any more. Remus…
Sirius… Hermione, what would you do? Would you do what he said, just to get closer? Ron, what
would you do?

Would you just… Harry gritted his teeth. I know you wouldn’t tell me to, but I know you’d think it.

But I refuse to kill him, not Tom. I can’t…

Not him.

Harry didn’t bother trying to stop the tears now. Silently, in a darkened, quiet corridor, hidden beneath
the safety of the cloak of death, Harry cried. His shoulders shook as he suppressed his voice. Alone.
All alone. He didn’t have anyone who understood what was going on. Perhaps he could go to Quintus
and Alphard for some advice… but they were loyal to Tom.

I don’t have anyone I can trust.

The disappointment was mixed with some feelings of betrayal. He wasn’t sure why, though. It wasn’t
like he was friends with Tom. They’d barely reached a place of tolerating each other. He didn’t know
what Tom was thinking most of the time or what he wanted from Harry.

In reality, Harry was closer to Roland and Simon through their Quidditch practices. Having anything
like he’d had with Ron and Hermione with Tom, just that level of friendship and closeness, it seemed
too impossible.

There were no adults to turn to, no friends he could confide in. The closest who knew the truth of his
previous life was probably Trelawney, but there was no way in hell he was going to her. The last thing
he needed was another prophecy on his hands. Besides… simply knowing about his past didn’t make
her someone he felt safe or comfortable with in discussing his feelings.

Even Newt Scamander and by extension Tina, as kind and as open as they were, they couldn’t know
the full extent of his problem. He couldn’t just go around telling people he was from the future. He’d
get snatched up by Unspeakables.

It was exhausting, being all alone in his feelings. He wished he knew how to process them better. It
felt as if they would drown him.

No one said it’d be this hard…

More tears slipped down his cheeks.

It took a little while for Harry to compose himself. The tears were hot on his cheeks. He wiped them
away, drawing in deep breaths. He had to move forward and keep trying, but he needed a break. He
wished he could be alone for a few days, avoid classes altogether, but he knew that would make
things worse for himself in the long run.

He sighed. But Wednesdays meant Transfiguration and Herbology classes. Harry ran his hands over
this face. He didn’t want to deal with anyone, but he especially didn’t want to deal with Dumbledore.
He wasn’t sure if he could protect himself from an intrusion either, if Dumbledore became curious.
Ah, fuck it.

Harry conjured some parchment, quill, and ink. He wrote two notes saying he was still ill and sent
them off to Dumbledore and Beery. He could’ve used Kasper, but for once he was too exhausted for
the trek to the owlery tower. He’d have to make it up to the little owl, though he was pretty sure
Kasper would rather do anything other than deliver letters.

He slowly got to his feet, still hidden beneath the invisibility cloak. He pulled out the map, checking it
for a moment. The library was empty for the most part, since most of the students were in class now.
He decided to go there and perhaps work on some assignments.

Harry made his way to the library, but he stayed beneath the cloak, wanting to avoid attention. His
stomach grumbled and he sighed to himself. He should go to the kitchens. But maybe he could call an
elf for a little snack, instead. The house elves were a bit too attentive over him, so they probably
would do it.

As Harry walked inside the library, the librarian blissfully unaware that he entered, he slipped off to a
hidden corner and pulled the cloak off, putting it back inside the pouch at his hip.

“Uh… Minsby?”

With a soft crack, the old house elf looked up at him. She folded her arms, giving him a look. Uh, oh,
was this a good idea?

“Master Evans be not feeding himself very well. Minsby isn’t happy with Master Evans. Not happy at
all.”

Yeah, getting scolded by a very old house elf seemed par for the course now.

“It’s been a rough few days,” whispered Harry.

“Master Evans needs food!” snapped Minsby, stamping her foot, which caused her ears to flop around
on her head. “I should report you to Master Headmaster and he’d set you straight. Detention or points
or smacking - whichever gets Master Evans to eat food, Minsby is all for.”

Dear Merlin, this was one frightening little house elf.

“Lady Minsby,” said Harry gallantly, and the elf squeaked, grabbing her ears as her eyes went wide
with a flood of tears. “If you bring me some food, I’ll eat it.”

“Would you really?” asked Minsby, eyes narrowing.

“Within reason.”

“Your reason be terrible!”

“Please?”

Minsby eyed him for a moment, before she snapped her fingers. A plate of beans on toast, some fruit,
and a glass of pumpkin juice appeared on the table.

Harry smiled at her. “Thank you.”

“If there be anything leftover, you’s be in trouble with me, understood, Master Evans?” said Minsby,
wagging her long finger at him. “You’s wouldn’t like it if you maddened a house elf. We be knowing
lots of tricks. We be here in this castle many, many years. Children be thinking they’s know better, but
house elves be having ways of making naughty children obey. You’s been warned now.”

And with a final waggle of her finger, she disappeared with another soft crack.

Harry didn’t dare leave so much as a crumb on his plate.

When he was done, it disappeared on its own and in its place was a small chocolate frog. Harry
smiled, knowing he had Minsby’s approval. He munched on the chocolate frog as he began one of his
essays for his classes. Might as well, after all. He’d barely gotten through two paragraphs when a
voice broke through his concentration.

“Hiya, cousin!”

Harry glanced up to see Monty beaming at him. The boy instantly frowned. “Have you been crying?”
Monty asked, worry in his tone, his eyes wide. “Are you all right?”

A rush of panic flooded through Harry.

“No.”

“No, you’re not all right or, no, you haven’t been crying?” said Monty, his expression ever serious.
“You’ve gotta be more clear, you know.”

Merlin, this child.

“No, I haven’t been crying and, yes, I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’d know, wouldn’t I?” asked Harry, hoping this would deflect him.

Monty considered this, before he nodded. “I suppose that makes sense, yeah.” Harry let out a sigh of
secret relief as Monty plopped onto the seat next to him. For a moment, Monty just stared at Harry,
little legs swinging back and forth since he was too short for the chair.

“Did you really fight a duel with Riddle?”

“Uh… yeah.”

“And you won?”

Harry shifted. “Yes.”

“Well,” said Monty with a sage nod. “I suppose statistically you had to be good at something and we
already knew you weren’t good at potions.”

Ah, sweet Monty. Never change.

“Thanks…” Harry frowned. “I think.”

“Would you teach me?” asked Monty, his eyes bright with awe and excitement. He clapped his hands
together in a prayer. “Please, please?”
“Teach you?” asked Harry, caught off guard. “Teach you what?”

“I’m, well, I’m not doing great in DADA,” said Monty, his cheeks darkening. He scratched his nose,
gaze ducking beneath his fringe. “It’s just Professor Merrythought kind of scares me. I’m not sure if
she’s being nice or if she wants to kill me.”

“Probably both,” said Harry, snorting.

“What?” asked Monty with a hint of fear.

“I’m kidding. She’s a good teacher. She is a little scary, but she’s dam—darn good at what she does.”

“You were about to say a bad word, weren’t you?”

Harry flushed. “Uh. Sorry, I know you’re just a kid.”

“Oh, I can hear them,” said Monty in a serious tone. “I just can’t say them.”

Harry put a hand on top of Monty’s mop of black curls, ruffling his hair. Monty let out a giggle,
pretending to pull away, but not quite. He smiled.

“So, will you teach me?” asked Monty, looking up at him with puppy dog eyes. “Please?”

Harry looked at those eyes, something tugging at his heart. He had loved teaching those DA sessions
in his fifth year. A part of him had been disappointed that DA had been no longer needed in their sixth
year - not to mention, he hadn’t been in a good frame of mind to teach after Sirius’ death.

It wasn’t like things were all that better now, though.

But Harry couldn’t say no to Monty, not when those eyes were gazing up at him with hope. If it was
just Monty… Then, it wouldn’t be so bad. A few lessons and that would probably satisfy the kid.

“All right,” said Harry with a sigh. I’ll give you some pointers.”

“Yay!” Monty leapt to his feet. “Yes, thank you, thank you—”

“It’s just you, though, all right” said Harry quickly. “Just you. No one else, got it?”

Monty nodded vigorously, black hair bouncing wildly. “Got it!”

Oh, Monty was such a cute little liar.

He shouldn’t have agreed to this. How did he let this happen? This was ridiculous. He should back out
now, let it be a lesson to Monty.

Because it was not just Monty. It was not just Monty and Effie either. Somehow, before Harry had
even picked a damn night for a lesson, the news that Harry Evans, the winner of an epic duel against
Tom Riddle, was going to teach a bunch of first years had spread like wildfire.

How the hell do I get myself into these situations? Dammit. I should’ve told him no. How’d I fall to
puppy eyes, of all things?

That was how Harry found himself outside on the grounds on Saturday evening after dinner with a
bunch of first years staring up at him expectedly with wide, anxious eyes. The evening air was
pleasant, not too cold, a gentle fall breeze blowing through the trees. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky.
It was perfect weather and the location he’d picked was secluded for the most part. He hadn’t wanted
to give away the location of the Room of Requirement, not yet anyway.

He was surprised it was just first years, too. Somehow, they’d kept it amongst themselves. He nearly
expected the entire school, by how much the rumors had spread. He had to hand it to these kids. They
could keep a secret amongst their age. That was impressive.

Yet, there were a lot of them. Too many. Harry didn’t bother to count. He was afraid to count them.
He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to decide what he wanted to do. The DA had been much
smaller, plus there had been multiple age groups, most of them older. They had the ability to govern
themselves without much guidance.

What the hell was he supposed to do with a bunch of kids? They were eleven years old! Children.
Munchkins! How did the teachers handle this?

Well, guess I better start before they go feral on me.

Harry tapped his wand to his throat. “All right!” he called, his voice booming out to the group. Most
of the kids jumped, eyes nearly popping out of their skulls. “Hey, Monty, didn’t I say just you?”

“Yes, I know!” cried Monty, bouncing on his heels. “But I didn’t listen.”

“No shit,” said Harry dryly.

And all the kids giggled.

Oops.

Perfect. Off to a great start. Wonderful. Just wonderful.

He paused for a moment, watching those young expectant faces of the eleven year olds. While there
were a lot of Gryffindors, he could see there weren’t as many as there were from other houses. They
watched him with a sense of wonder and hope.

They hopefully will never see a world with war.

If I could get my shit together with Tom, that is.

He sighed. Well, there was no avoiding this. He sure as hell wasn’t going to pretend that a war was
never possible in this world. These children were innocent and pure, protected from the knowledge of
death and war. He’d like to keep it that way, but he also wanted them to be able to protect themselves.

A part of Harry knew that he was getting into something he probably shouldn’t start, but who the hell
cared tonight? It was a great distraction from his own problems. What better way to ignore his lack of
progress than to teach a bunch of kids some defense spells? He took his outer robes off and tossed
them onto the ground.

“All right, you wanna learn some spells?” Harry grinned, his wand glowing with a ready light. He
was rewarded with countless nods of small heads. “Well, let me show you.”

And so he did.

And he taught them on Monday night as well.

He didn’t know how it happened, but the eleven year olds somehow became a soothing balm to the
pain he’d felt after Tom sent the seventh years after him. The first years were pretty cute and talkative
if he let them get started. They weren’t as bad as he thought they’d be, but they were far from good,
too. It wasn’t easy trying to wrangle fifty-plus kids - and that wasn’t even half of the first years in the
school, but they listened to him. For whatever reason. Harry had no idea where his clout had come
from with them, but he wasn’t going to argue it.

The week passed and Harry didn’t care that he had taught the first years three nights already. They
were eager little kids and he was more than willing to throw himself to the task.

No, he wasn’t trying to forget his other task.

No, he wasn’t trying to ignore Tom.

No.

No, he wasn’t. There was plenty of time and he just needed a break. Even if it was the last week of
October now. It didn’t matter. It was fine. This was all fine. All fine. Harry devoted his mind to
thinking of what to teach the first years, barely caring about his classes. The first light snowfall wasn’t
a warning of what was to come, not at all. There was time, plenty of time. Plenty.

Harry couldn’t face him.

It was constantly in the back of his mind. But he couldn’t do it. Get closer to Tom? How? Talk to
him? How? Be nice and ignore shit? How? How the hell was he supposed to do that?

HOW!?

So, Harry ignored him with spectacular perfection. Tom, to his credit, wasn’t going down without a
fight of his own. Harry had narrowly avoided him multiple times outside of classes. If Harry hadn’t
had his cloak and the map, Tom would’ve found and caught him early on. Harry avoided the Great
Hall again, taking his chances with the over-excitable house elves instead of dealing with any of the
boys. He avoided the common room.

But, every night, Tom waited up for him.

And, every night, it was the same, until tonight. As he always did, Harry came to the dorms at around
two o’clock in the morning. Harry opened the door as quietly as he could. As usual, Tom was sitting
on his bed, arms folded, as he watched the dorm door. Harry didn’t look at him as he entered.

“It’s late,” said Tom, nostrils flaring with annoyance.

“So it is.”

“I could give you detention.”

Harry tilted his head, finally looking over at Tom and narrowing his eyes. “You could… but you
won’t.”

Tom’s lips pursed together. “There are rumors of you spending time with first years, especially that…
Potter boy,” he said, nearly spitting out the ‘Potter’ name with the same amount of hatred that Draco
Malfoy had always said it.

Harry didn’t realize how soul crushing that sound was until he heard it from Tom.
Those dark eyes glared at him. “Is this true?”

For a moment, Harry couldn’t say anything. He just looked at this young man, stared at those eyes
and wished Tom could understand how he felt. He should say something, really and truly explain that
what Tom pulled was not okay, but…

He couldn’t.

The exhaustion that Harry felt wasn’t just bone deep - it was soul deep. It penetrated and seeped
through every section of his mind, heart, and soul. How am I supposed to break through this?

The weight of what was required of Harry was too much.

“Good night, Tom.”

“Harry—”

He crawled into bed, the hanging curtains shutting closed with wandless magic. Harry threw up
warding and silencing spells around his bed. He rested his head against the pillow, sighing deeply. He
could feel Tom’s anger through the protection of his curtains; the curling rage of his magic swirled
within the room.

Maybe… Maybe Death was wrong… Maybe I was wrong.

Maybe I can’t do this.

It hurt.

Harry rolled over, curling his knees to his chest. Tears burned and he pressed the heels of his hands
into his eyes. Pain clenched his chest. The first years didn’t know what was going to happen. They
had no idea what the future would hold if Harry failed. How many would die? Which one of those
sweet wide eyed children would die in the first wizarding war? Which ones would survive, only to die
in the second war?

And what of their unborn children and grandchildren?

How many of them would die?

All simply because Harry couldn’t get over his stupid arse. All because Harry couldn’t just be friends
with Tom, get over himself, get over the attack on his person - get over the fucking kneeling like a
bloody dog.

Of course. How simple and easy to love someone like that. Ever so easy. Death had promised him
something more, hadn’t he? Maybe Harry was kidding himself. Maybe he’d been expecting too much.
Or maybe… Maybe this was one more sacrifice on the endless list of sacrifices he’d had to make his
whole life.

After all, Death hadn’t actually assured him that they’d have something, that Harry could have
someone to love. Maybe… Maybe this was the true life sacrifice. Bend to Tom Riddle’s will, offer
himself to Lord Voldemort - offer his mind, heart, body, and soul. Was this the true fulfillment of the
prophecy?

‘Neither can live while the other survives.’

 Harry fell asleep with tears burning his cheeks.

It was a restless night.

Chapter End Notes

Harry chose angst. I dunno what to tell ya, lol

Spotify Playlist
 Seventeen
Chapter Notes

I had dreams. I had aspirations for this winter break. I wanted to get some shit done. Instead, I
got naps and no shit. Ah, well. I tried. I wish you all a Blessed Yule, Merry Christmas, and a
Happy Holidays!

And so...

Is this classified as angst now? Or is this sexual tension? Hmm, I wonder...

See the end of the chapter for more notes

He dreamed for the first time in a long while.

The night had been restless; too many times Harry had woken and fallen back asleep, barely
conscious, yet aware that was sleeping and dreaming. His chest ached with all the whirling emotions
he’d been feeling all of the time. Not even in the unconscious void was he free from them. A voice
echoed in his dreams through the fog, as if trying to reach him. But the fog was too thick, the
emotions too heavy. Whoever was trying to speak to him, their voice was taken into the wind.

Harry woke with his scar tingling.

The circles beneath his eyes were so dark, they were like bruises. As Harry slowly made his way to
the kitchen, avoiding the other students, he absently rubbed his scar. The exhaustion had gotten worse
overnight. He hadn’t bothered with his cloak today. He wasn’t going to hide - it took too much energy.
He always had to be more aware of others in the corridors, so he wouldn’t cause a stir by bumping
into one of them while invisible.

His mind was empty for once. His steps through the corridors were wooden beneath himself. For a
moment, Harry paused, putting a hand against the wall and resting there. He rubbed his eyes with his
other hand. If he didn’t have to worry about school, maybe he could process things better. Right now,
the weight on his shoulders was too much to bear. He could… But, no…

But what if…

What if I left Hogwarts?

He could get a job at one of the shops in Hogsmeade, no doubt. It was close that he could see Tom
often enough, especially since there were plenty of passages in and out of Hogwarts. But…

But it wasn’t like they were close now. If Harry left, wouldn’t that just be giving up? Tom wouldn’t
care about him. Harry would be an afterthought, that weird Slytherin transfer that drove him crazy.

Tom wouldn’t remember me.

And I wouldn’t be able to stop him if he opened the Chamber of Secrets. If I left… I wouldn’t be near
him.
The oddest thing about that thought was… Why did that feel more painful?

An angry voice grabbed his attention; he flinched. “You! Evans! I got a bone to pick with you.”

He froze, slowly turning around to see Merrythought striding towards him with an expression that
would put the fear of god in even Voldemort himself. Fortinbras was trailing behind her, smiling
softly, with a hint of amusement in her eyes.

“Yes, Professor? May I help you?” asked Harry, trying to act innocent.

Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit—

“What the hell are you teaching my first years?” snapped Merrythought. “They’re no longer pissing
themselves in front of me.”

“Galatea,” murmured Fortinbras. “Gentle…”

“This is gentle,” said Merrythought with a huff.

“Uh…” A bead of sweat trickled down Harry’s temple. “I just… the thing is…” Harry gulped as
Merrythought narrowed her eyes even more at him. Harry’s confusion came out in a rush. “So, Monty
begged me for pointers because he’s terrified of you - which I mean—” Harry gestured wildly,
frantically at the woman with both hands, barely noticing the chuckle from Fortinbras. “—I get it -
you’re scary as hell - and so I promised I’d help him, but then he couldn’t keep his mouth shut and
now I’m teaching an army of kids and I dunno how the fuck that happened, but that’s the honest truth,
I swear—”

“All right, shut up, I get it,” said Merrythought, grimacing, putting up a hand.

Harry wheezed for breath.

“Awe, that’s kind of cute, isn’t it?” said Fortinbras, smiling. “It’s precious and sweet of you, Mr.
Evans.”

“Sweet? I was hoping for another month of pissing firsties,” said Merrythought, her expression dark.
“They usually get it by November, unless they’re a really stupid lot. Those batches of kids don’t get it
until after Christmas.” She turned and muttered in Fortinbras’ ear, “Remember that one group?”

Fortinbras nodded, putting a hand over her mouth. “Of course.”

“Dumbest lot of dunderheads I’ve ever—”

“Galatea,” said Fortinbras, her tone lyrical, yet with a hint of warning. It was enough.

“You’re teaching them too much,” snapped Merrythought, whirling her attention back onto Harry and
pointing a finger at him. He flinched back, eyes growing wide. “Don’t think I haven’t heard. It’s been
a week now and you taught them four times already—don’t you give me that look, I’m not stupid,
boy!” Harry shrank in on himself, unable to keep the guilt off his face. “Shocking as it may be, those
first years have other subjects to study, plus they’re literal babies who need their sleep and downtime.
Do you have any idea how much of a nightmare it is to teach sleep deprived eleven year olds?”

There was a pause. She glared at him. Harry quickly shook his head. “Uh, no—no, ma’am.”
“Well, you will.” Merrythought let out a huff. “If you keep stealing their sleep like this—and another
thing,” she added hotly. “You look like hell, boy! You’re going to burn yourself out at this rate. Take a
nap, for the love of Artemis.”

“It wasn’t hard…” said Harry softly, feeling oddly chastised. “They’re really easy to teach… it’s been
nice, fun even—”

“Don’t start things at a pace you can’t keep,” said Merrythought, her tone ever harsh. Fortinbras put a
hand on her forearm and Merrythought let out another huff, long and rough. Her tone became much
softer now, until it peaked with her frustration yet again. “If you must continue this extra curricular,
then only once a week. Saturday nights, only - or your studies will suffer—and for the love of
Merlin’s saggy tits, eat a damn meal or I’m going to make you eat crisps through your nose.”

Did he still have his eyebrows? Her burning rage was enough to roast them right off his face.

“Yes, ma’am,” said Harry quickly. “Whatever you say.”

“You better.”

He couldn’t catch a break between Minsby, Merrythought, and the Slytherins. Dear Merlin, who next?

Merrythought turned away, taking long strides back down the corridor where she came. Fortinbras
lagged briefly, giving Harry an encouraging smile.

“It’s kind of you to teach the first years,” said Fortinbras; she gave him a light pat on the shoulder.
“Just take care of yourself, hm? You look a bit peaky. You can’t teach firsties or do much of anything
else if a stiff breeze could bowl you over. Yeah?”

She waved goodbye and followed after her wife, matching her long strides with ease. As Harry
watched them, trying to calm down the terror he’d felt for a minute there, he heard Fortinbras say
something, yet he couldn’t make it out.

“Ophelia!” said Merrythought hotly, clearly aghast. “I do not like that brat!”

Fortinbras giggled. “Whatever you say, my love.”

Damn, those women are scary.

Harry exhaled a sigh of relief. He had barely stepped around the corner when a hand gripped his
wrist, stopping him in his tracks. For fuck’s sake. Maybe not hiding beneath the cloak was a bad idea
after all. There was only one person in the castle who would grab him like this. Harry inhaled audibly
and slowly turned to glare at Tom.

“What?” demanded Harry. “The hell you grabbing me for? Get off me.”

Tom’s lips pursed together into a thin line. “You’ve still been skipping classes again, neglecting your
place in the Slytherin house. I am tired of your—”

“Hang on, let me find a fuck to give,” drawled Harry with animated exaggeration, enjoying the look
of irritation that flashed through Tom’s face. He pretended to glance around, making a go for his
pouch, when he paused with fake dawning revelation. “Oh, wait… I never had one.”

“You’re impossible,” snapped Tom. “And you’re still spending all of your time with a bunch of first
year children. This must stop. You can’t miss classes and—”
“I said stop touching me!” snapped Harry, trying to jerk out his grasp.

Tom’s face twisted, eyes widening with anger, jaw clenching in a grimace. He shoved Harry against
the wall and caged him there, one hand still gripping Harry’s left wrist as he pinned it against the wall
while the other dug into his right shoulder. Harry pressed his free hand against the stone, his fingers
tense. They scraped against the wall; he resisted the urge to claw Tom’s face instead. Tom was a
number of inches taller than him and he used his height to his advantage, bearing over Harry with his
intense presence.

Caged like a wild animal.

Harry’s hand trembled against the urge to punch Tom in the face. His chest heaved deeply; it brushed
against Tom. Harry glared at him, heart twisting and beating wildly with far too many emotions. He
found himself wishing the chasm between them could be closed, completed, on multiple levels, but
the hurt and the pain were too great.

Terrible, but great.

Once again, Harry pitied this boy - but mostly, he pitied himself.

“You’re acting like a child,” hissed Tom. It was too hot. “You are wasting your time and energy with
those children and I don’t know why you insist on doing this, avoiding me, but—”

“Fuck you—it’s not a waste of time,” snarled Harry; his body pressed against the wall even more, as
if it wanted nothing more than to become one with the stone. The blood roared in his ears. He needed
space and he needed it now. “That’s your opinion. I actually like the first years. They’re cute and
they’re actually nice to me - unlike you.”

“Is that what it takes to earn your attention?” said Tom, his eyes narrowing as he drew closer. Too
close, dammit! “Niceties? How pathetic, how insignificant and how inefficacious—”

Wait, what?

Earn my attention…?

“I don’t need shit,” snapped Harry. “But, I dunno, have you at least tried to not be a fucking dick?
Merlin, Tom, but you are dense—”

The snarl that reverberated through Tom’s throat sounded almost feral. Harry tensed, hand going to
his wand; he gripped it tightly, waiting for retaliation.

“I have been exceedingly patient with you,” hissed Tom, but now in parseltongue. “I do not
understand why you insist on being so ridiculous and stubborn. What is this madness?”

Oh…

He really doesn’t understand… does he?

“Do you not understand hurt feelings?” asked Harry softly. “I’ve been clear—I’ve told you multiple
times, but you still don’t get it? I’m… hurt by what you did—what you tried to do—”

“You’re unhurt,” said Tom, though there was a hint of bemusement in his tone. His grip on Harry
softened. “You’re fine. Uninjured. I still don’t understand why you’re making this such a big issue.”
He doesn’t have any idea…

Tom, even now as a teenager before ruining his soul with horcrux magic, had no understanding, no
concept of what emotional pain and hurt were. It was an earth shattering realization for Harry. How
could Tom not understand something so basic? Had he never experienced it before?

Or… perhaps he has - he’s had to - but no one really taught him how to understand his own feelings.

It wasn’t like Harry had known anything when he’d been a neglected kid with the Dursleys. It had
taken Hermione - and with just a little bit of help from Ron - to teach him how to recognize the
meaning of what he felt. Even Luna had helped him process some of the grief of losing Sirius.

They had been vital in Harry’s growth as a person.

But Tom… Did no one help you?

Harry had no idea how to get this through Tom’s thick skull. Somehow, without forethought, Harry’s
fingers wrapped around the back of Tom’s hand, the one that pinned him at the shoulder. There was a
beat, a hot exhale of breath, the widening of eyes, and the furrowing of brows. Harry drew the hand to
his heart and pressed it against his chest. His heart thumped wildly, beating stronger than before.
“Here,” he whispered. Slender fingers flexed beneath Harry’s hold; Tom inhaled once. “It hurts here.
Just because you can’t see the wound, doesn’t mean you didn’t inflict one.”

The silence felt longer than it truly was; an extended moment where Harry stared at Tom, willing,
wishing, praying that he would understand. Harry had nothing left, no energy left to explain any
further.

Please… Please understand me.

But he didn’t.

And Harry’s scar tingled.

“You were hit in the chest with a spell?” demanded Tom in parseltongue. “When? Is this what has
been affecting you?”

Tired loss echoed through Harry’s chest.

Are you… really this dense?

Dear Merlin, and I thought I was bad. If Ron had a teaspoon of emotional sense, then Tom doesn’t
have a single grain’s worth. What the hell? How am I supposed to work with this? I can’t train Tom in
feelings—I barely can figure this shit out on my own!

Harry’s body sagged with his exasperated sigh. “Tom,” he said, tired and done now. He pocketed his
wand and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to rub the ache from his eyes. “You’re a smart guy.
Figure it out.”

He tugged on the hand that held him by the wrist. Tom released him, taking a step back, and watching
him with a furrowed brow. Harry didn’t look at him as he slipped away.

A sharp pain raced through his scar. Harry frowned, rubbing the multiple ridges on his forehead above
his eye. He hissed; it was stinging more now.
Now what? Why is this happening? Am I feeling Tom’s emotions now? Merlin, I hope not. I don’t need
more shit to deal with.

He should do better. He knew that. He should do more. He knew that, too. Yet, somehow, Harry
wasn’t sure if he could even a single thing more. There was something inside of him that craved an
endless amount of sleep, but instead he plowed forward with a crazed drive to do everything, anything
that wasn’t to do with Tom.

Harry sighed.

I’m really failing at this, aren’t I?

It wasn’t getting better.

Everything was off. Everything was getting worse. Without fully realizing it, Harry was spiraling.
He’d forgotten the days. Classes blended together. The month of October was coming to an end. The
more time that passed away from that fateful meeting with Tom’s club and the attack soon after, the
more Harry felt a growing isolation from everyone else.

He missed having true friends.

While he’d been a loner as a child with the Dursleys, Ron and Hermione had opened his world to
having a support system, something that he needed more than he’d ever realized. Experiencing the
bonds of friendship or the comfort of a godfather, but then losing them suddenly, it illuminated the
void left behind. Things were worsening for Harry and it was becoming glaringly stark to him.

He couldn’t seek Kasper’s company forever. While Merrythought had limited his only solace, Harry
knew she was right. He wouldn’t have been able to keep the pace up he’d been setting with the first
years. He’d never really felt the overwhelming urge to just sit and cry, but everything was hitting him
so hard now.

Maybe things would be better if his fucking scar wasn’t acting up suddenly.

He couldn’t understand why it was even doing this now. Before, it’d always happen when Voldemort
was near - like in his first year around Quirrell or when he’d been having a hard time during his fifth
year. Damn, I was angry all the time, then. But it couldn’t be either of those things or it would have
started happening sooner.

What the hell is going on?

He was making his way to the Slytherin common room in the evening during dinner in the hopes of
avoiding the rush back to their dorms, when he stopped at the sound of multiple voices outside the
entrance to the common room. Harry hid within a crevice of the walls, putting his finger to his lips
when the occupants of a nearby painting looked at him with interest.

“I told you—we told you that you fucked up. Haven’t you noticed he’s getting worse?”

“He’s not eating anything. Simon said he figures that Harry maybe has lost a half a stone, possibly
more, when he really shouldn’t be losing any more weight. I’m worried—”

“If he’d stop being stubborn, this wouldn’t be a problem.”

Harry peeked around the corner, seeing three boys standing there. Alphard had his arms crossed in
front of his chest, brows furrowed, while Quintus stood at his side; he threw his hands into the air.

“You’re supposed to watch out for Slytherins,” snapped Quintus, arms dropping to his sides. “All of
them, even when they’re stubborn.”

“I’ve tried,” said Tom in a low hiss. “But he refuses to speak with me properly and when I finally
spoke to him today, he said his chest hurt. He said there was an unseen wound there. How am I
supposed to help him with that?”

Wow…

There was a long pause as Alphard and Quintus stared at him, mouths slowly dropped in unison.

“Oh, Tom—he meant feelings…” said Quintus, shock and exasperation in his tone.

“Dear mother of Merlin, he actually spelled it out for you,” said Alphard in awe.

“What?”

“He actually said it,” whispered Quintus, glancing at Alphard for a moment. “He actually said it.”

“All right, well, saying you hurt his feelings sounds a bit weird,” said Alphard. He shook his head.
“I’m sure he meant more than that. He’s pissed and hurt because of Abraxas, you sending him to,
uh… ‘punish’ him.”

“But he wasn’t actually hurt in the end—”

Quintus and Alphard let out a unified cry of pained frustration.

“For the love of Merlin’s tight balls, Tom—”

“Emotional pain! Emotional hurt!”

“Emotions?” said Tom, nose wrinkling. “How droll.”

“Shockingly, some of us lowly beings experience them on a daily basis,” said Quintus dryly. He
sighed. “Tom, I really think you need to apologize. That might ease some of the pain.”

Tom’s expression went cold. “I did nothing wrong.”

“That is wholly untrue.”

Something shifted within the group. Tom straightened, his gaze growing dark. Alphard unfolded his
arms, his hands clenching into fists. Quintus shrank slightly, drawing only an inch away, but Harry
could see how the power dynamic had changed around them.

Stop this, Tom.

“You are overstepping yourselves,” whispered Tom dangerously. “I’m warning you.”

“We’re speaking as your friends!” snapped Alphard. “Your friends! Remember us? Remember the
ones who tried to befriend you the first year, but you ignored us constantly despite our best efforts.
You arsehole—we’ve been with you since the beginning. We’re not acting like your subordinates
right now.”
Quintus put a hand to his arm.

“You are and were always my subordinates!” shouted Tom, magic flooding the air.

Alphard and Quintus hissed air through their teeth.

“How dare you,” hissed Tom. “Know your place.”

Silence.

“Of course, my lord,” whispered Quintus. There was a pause. His back straightened, but his head
dipped low. “After all, that’s all we’re good for, all we ever were. I suppose I should’ve realized we
were never more than that to you, were we?”

“Quin,” whispered Alphard.

“Fine,” said Quintus, his tone clipped. “Fine. Fine.”

“Quintus—”

“I’ll be sure to remember my place. Have a good evening, Riddle.”

Quintus turned, took two long strides, before he broke into a run. He darted by Harry; his eyes were
watery. Alphard was right behind him, calling his name, but not before he threw a, “You’re a bastard,
Riddle.”

Harry stayed hidden; only Tom remained. For a moment, he watched Tom standing there, fists
clenched at his sides. Then, suddenly, Tom whirled around towards the wall and slammed his fist right
into the stone. There was a sharp cracking sound. Harry winced.

“Dammit!”

The curse was in parseltongue. Harry gasped in surprise and he threw his hands over his mouth. But
Tom didn’t seem to notice. He stood there at the wall, fist still braced against the stone. He dropped
his fist and Harry caught a glimpse of bloodied knuckles. Tom looked down at the back of his hand,
shaking. With his other hand, he waved his wand over the wound without a word.

It healed completely, blood and torn flesh disappearing.

Tom drew in a deep breath, his face set with a fierce expression, and walked in the same direction as
Quintus and Alphard. He walked past Harry, who held his breath, hoping the pounding of his heart
and the roaring in his ear couldn’t be heard.

But Tom strode by without a word, without a hint of knowledge that he’d seen Harry. He disappeared
around the corridor.

Harry could feel his heart pound in his chest, hear it in his ears.

Oh, Tom… Why can’t you understand? Why aren’t you learning?

They’re your friends and you threw that in their faces. What did you expect was going to happen?

It didn’t make sense.

But a new shift had occurred in their dorm. It was tense, too tense. Quintus had now joined Harry in
the ‘ignoring Tom’ group. Alphard appeared torn between Tom and Quintus, but he still stuck by
Quintus’ side, who was obviously deeply offended and was not about to bend either.

The other four boys remained quiet and stayed out of it, but every now and again they’d exchange a
few looks before moving on.

But the energy had changed. Tension coiled around their group, like a cobra poised to strike. On top
of their group going to hell, Harry was suddenly becoming aware of the date.

Halloween was on Saturday, mere days away.

Shit always goes down on Halloween. Something is gonna happen again. I just know it.

Shit. Shit. No, ugh.

Is it too much to ask for a peaceful Halloween?

Probably.

Harry sat at the breakfast table in the morning, for once, finally tired of dealing with the elves directly
again. Their enthusiasm had to be taken in doses. For the past couple of weeks, Harry noticed that his
pumpkin juice had begun to taste differently. He was pretty sure the old house elf was slipping him
some kind of health potion. He appreciated it, though. This morning, somehow, they knew he was at
the table this morning instead of coming to them, because Harry could, sure enough, taste something
different about his pumpkin juice.

“Thank you,” whispered Harry.

A treacle tart appeared on his plate. Harry let out a quiet laugh and didn’t argue. Who was he to say
no to his favorite anyway? As he tucked into it, other students straggled into the Great Hall. Six of the
boys in their dorm were walking inside together and they paused as one when they caught sight of
Harry, surprise widening their eyes. Tom wasn’t with them.

Roland recovered first and casually sat across him, smiling, though still a bit hesitant. “Morning,
Harry,” he said. “Good to see you.”

Harry nodded, giving him a cordial smile. The other boys sat around him, leaving a space on his right
open. They started chatting amongst themselves, but it was light. Harry could feel the space at his
side, empty and waiting for Tom. He sighed. He should bail on this before Tom arrived and forced his
presence on him. He really should…

He was about to leave, because fuck Tom, when Headmaster Dippet stood up and slowly made his
way to the front of the staff table. He held up his hands and a hush fell over the hall. Harry sighed,
sitting back down. A second later, Tom took a seat beside him. Of course.

I should’ve left when I had the chance, dammit.

Harry ignored him.

“Students,” began Headmaster Dippet. “Those of you who take Care of Magical Creatures will notice
that Professor Grubbly-Plank is absent from her place at the staff table. I’m afraid to report that until
further notice, her classes have been canceled. A tragedy in her family has called Professor Grubbly-
Plank home and she’ll be taking some time off.”
Whispers broke out among the students.

“I promise you we’ll find a replacement for you all, as well as a replacement for the Hufflepuff Head
of House. Hufflepuffs, for now, go to your Prefects and other professors when you need help. It won’t
be long, I’m sure. Well, that’s all, children. Carry on about your day.”

As Dippet sat down, the Great Hall broke into chattering.

Tom turned to Harry, mouth opening, but a cheerful voice spoke at their side. Harry caught a glimpse
of irritation flashing through Tom’s face before he glanced towards the boy.

“Hiya, Harry!” chirped Monty. “What d’you think about Professor Grubbly-Plank? I don’t have Care
of Magical Creatures yet, but I know you do, so this affects you. Are you all right? You’re not gonna
get behind on your studies, right? Who do you think is gonna be your new teacher?”

“Monty!” cried Charlus, getting up from the Gryffindor table and coming to Monty’s side. He put his
hands on his shoulders, readying to pull him away, but Monty resisted. “Come on, you can’t bother
the other students—I’m so sorry.”

Some of the Slytherins sniffed in annoyance.

“Hey, I’m not bothering the other students. I’m talking to my friend Harry.” Monty suddenly got shy,
glancing over at Harry, his chin tucking against his chest as he looked up at him. “We are friends…
right?”

“Absolutely,” said Harry without hesitation.

“If you’re sure…” began Charlus. “My brother can be a little much, I know, but—”

“Monty is my friend,” said Harry. “And he’s fine as he is.”

Monty beamed. “Yay!” he said brightly. “I’ve got another friend. Thanks, Harry. I’ll see you later.
Good luck with the Professor change.”

And with that, Monty scampered off, with Charlus walking after him with a shake of the head. Harry
couldn’t hold back the fond smile as he watched the boy run off. He wished more could see how
precious and genuine he was. If the other kids his age gave him a chance, Monty would have more
friends - there was no doubt in Harry’s mind.

A hand touched his wrist. He’s always doing this. He didn’t have to look to know it was Tom’s hand.
Harry slowly turned his gaze towards him.

“What, Tom?” asked Harry. His voice was soft, tired.

Tom leaned in close; Harry held his breath, his heart thumping wildly against his chest. A whisper
brushed against his ear, low, soft, and hot.

“That annoying child gets your praise, but I get your ire… Am I not good enough for you?”

Harry didn’t move at first. Tom drew back slightly - close enough for Harry to see the details of
Tom’s skin. He stared at him, studied those dark eyes, and his heart ached. He grabbed Tom by his tie
and jerked him forward. Those eyes widened and there was an audible hitch of breath; Harry
whispered in his ear.
“No, Tom, you are not - not today, at least.”

Harry withdrew. He stood up and left the Great Hall; he didn’t look back. Tom didn’t try to stop him.

As you are now, no. You can do better than this. I’ve seen some hints, here and there, the person you
could be - who you could become. Tom, you have more potential than you realize. You’re wasting your
time trying to dominate your friends.

Servants aren’t loyal.

True friends walk into war at your side. T rue friends camp inside a tent within the dead of winter,
nearly starving to death. True friends would die with you.

He was tired of all this. What was he even doing any more? He paused in a corridor, not far from the
Great Hall, and pinched the bridge of his nose. Tom wasn’t figuring out the problem, that much was
becoming glaringly apparent. At this rate…

I’m going to have to explain feelings to Tom Riddle.

Explain feelings. Explain fucking feelings.

Dear Merlin, Hermione, was this how you felt with us? We couldn’t have been this dense, right?
Surely not.

Somehow, Harry was pretty sure they’d been pretty damn dense. Maybe not ‘Tom Riddle’ levels of
brick wall density. Harry groaned to himself. He was out of his depth here. If he was going to have to
explain ‘feelings,’ how was he going to even approach Tom with this? How does one explain
something so abstract to someone who hasn’t shown even a sign of understanding? Should he?
Should he wait it out? Would they run out of time?

Or…

Was this all just a fruitless endeavor?

Fucking hell. He needed his mind to stop with the endless, swirling thoughts. For the love of Merlin,
stop!

“Harry.”

“Damn you all to hell,” muttered Harry. Can’t you all catch a hint? Out of all the boys, he wasn’t
expecting Marcus to be the one to chase him down. He turned to face him. “What?”

“Just a warning,” said Marcus, glancing around them briefly. His gaze returned to Harry. “You should
stop all this. Tom isn’t someone you should cross. Bad things will happen if you continue to ignore
him.”

Harry folded his arms and leaned against the wall. “Do I look like I care about what that arsehole
wants? I’m not okay with what happened. He doesn’t get it and I’m not bending until he does.”

Marcus let out an exasperated sigh, running a hand through his black hair. “You don’t get it,” he
hissed. “You’re playing with fire.”

“I always play with fire and I’m used to burns.”

“You’re so—you don’t understand.”

“I understand perfectly,” said Harry sharply. “He’s acting like a child. I get it.”

Marcus shook his head. “Tom will do something stupid. I’m warning you.”

Harry shifted his stance, unease rising within his stomach. That much he knew of Tom. It was an
unsettling thought.

“Just… for the sake of the peace,” said Marcus and there was a hint of a plea in his tone. “Stop this.
Move on from what Malfoy did - he won’t do something like that again. And… Kneel for him in the
next meeting—”

No.

Harry bristled. “I will never kneel for that bastard and nothing you say will ever convince me to bend
on that.”

“But—”

“No way in hell.”

Harry whirled away, fuming.

Fuck Tom.

And all the while, Harry grimaced, rubbing his forehead as his scar constantly tingled with stinging
pain.

And then the dreaded day arrived.

Halloween.

Just the thought of it made Harry twitchy. Tense. Ready. Wait?! What was that? Oh. Just a bird. Okay,
we’re good, fine, great - yup, yup. What was going to happen? Something always did, after all. His
only peaceful Halloween had been his first one, as a baby, before Voldemort blasted his parents on
his second Halloween. Ah. To hide and avoid shit, keep the status quo, or watch for anything that
could go down? Options, options…

Harry gritted his teeth.

No way in hell he wasn’t going to hide on a day where anything and everything could go wrong. He
wasn’t a Gryffindor for nothing, after all. No hiding today. None. He should patrol the corridors.

Right.

And that was how he found himself making his way to the owlery, instead of going to the Great Hall
for breakfast. It was fine. This wasn’t hiding. He was just double checking on Kasper. Nothing more,
nothing less. Thoughts, would you shut the hell up?! He didn’t need any more thoughts yelling at him.
Merlin, Harry was becoming annoyed with himself by this point.

Did that stop his stupid-arse actions?

Nope.

The owlery was quiet like it usually was in the morning, only the gentle murmurs of hoots and chirps.
Harry looked around in the tall rafters, searching for the white feathers of Kasper, when he heard a
little sniffle from a corner in the room. Harry frowned, turning towards the sound. Curled up into a
ball with their head ducked was a small Gryffindor. Kasper was sitting on their shoulder, feathers
puffed up. Those yellow eyes looked at Harry and Kasper let out a soft little bark.

Harry’s heart broke when the head popped up and he was looking into Monty’s tear filled eyes. A
bruise was forming around one of his eyes and there was dried blood beneath his nose.

“Oh, Monty,” breathed Harry, dropping to his side and putting a hand beneath his chin. He gently
turned the boy’s head from side to side, inspecting the damage. “Who did this to you?”

Monty shook his head. “No one.”

“That’s not true,” said Harry, brows furrowing. “You’re usually very honest.” And usually ‘in your
face’ about it, too. What’s going on? “Who did this to you? You obviously didn’t do this to yourself.”

“No…” whispered Monty. “Of course not.”

Harry sighed. He knew better to push for answers from a kid. He understood how it was like. “Well,
let’s get you to the hospital wing.” He made to help Monty up to his feet, when the boy jerked away,
almost violently, shaking his head so much it jostled Kasper, who screeched in anger and annoyance.

“No!” cried Monty; his body hunched in on itself even more, his arms tightening around his knees.
Kasper glared up at Harry as if to scold him for his stupidity. Harry threw the owl a look back, but he
knelt down closer to Monty, putting his hands over his upper arms.

“Hey, hey,” murmured Harry. “It’s okay.”

“I don’t wanna go.”

“Okay, you don’t have to go.”

“I don’t?”

“No. But you can’t stay here all day. You’ll miss the feast if you do. Plus, we need to treat your
injuries, all right?”

Monty swiped the back of his hand beneath his nose, smearing blood and snot along the back of it. “I
suppose we could go to the tower—I mean Gryffindor Tower. Charlus keeps bruise balm sometimes.”
Monty’s bottom lip wobbled. “But I don’t want him to know what happened.”

“He’s your brother. He’ll understand.”

“No, he won’t. He just asks loads of questions, so he can decide that it’s all my fault and I shouldn’t
be me. It’s always my fault. He blames me for things others do to me. I don’t understand!”

Tears streamed down his face and Monty hid it in his arms. For a moment, Harry stayed there in
silence, listening to him cry and feeling somewhat lost. He remembered Cho crying and how helpless
he’d felt around her. In part, he was struggling with his own issues of that terrible night. Cho had been
trying to cope in her own way, too, yet it’d come across as rude and selfish at the time to Harry. Good
intentions, bad actions.
Hmm…

“I don’t think that’s what Charlus is really saying,” said Harry softly.

“But that’s what he says,” protested Monty.

“I know,” whispered Harry. “I know. But what he’s really saying is that he doesn’t know how to
protect you. Because he feels helpless, he thinks that if you act like everyone else, it’ll fix everything
and it’ll be easier on you.”

“Why doesn’t he just say that?”

Harry sighed. “Sometimes people say things, but mean other things.”

“But how am I supposed to understand that?” asked Monty, glancing up at Harry with confusion and
despair in his eyes. “If people don’t say things like they mean, how am I supposed to figure anyone
out? If people are saying things they don’t mean, then what are they saying? The opposite? Or just a
little bit different? Is there an answer key to this? Or is this a different language that no one taught
me? I just want to understand.”

The boy cried more, ducking his head and collapsing against Harry’s chest. Harry wrapped his arms
around him without hesitation. His mouth opened, breath drawing audibly, when it caught in his
lungs. As he held Monty close, newfound realization dawned in his mind.

Monty needed someone to be direct with him, so he could better understand them. The way he
interacted with the world was how he wanted - no, needed - to be interacted with in return.

Was Tom no different?

I’ve been doing this all the wrong way, haven’t I? I have to be direct and clear with Tom. Perhaps,
there’s a better chance that he’ll learn.

A bit of hope rose inside Harry’s heart. Maybe… Maybe this wasn’t all hopeless.

“What am I gonna tell Charlus?” cried Monty.

Harry patted him on the back. “What do you want to tell him?”

“Nothing…”

“Then, tell him nothing.”

Monty sniffled and pulled out of Harry’s arms, looking up at him with shock in his eyes. “I can do
that?” he whispered in awe.

“Yeah,” said Harry with a soft laugh. “If you don’t want to explain yourself, then you don’t have to
and you can tell him that.”

“Okay.”

“And, Monty, you don’t have to be like everyone else,” said Harry, his tone turning serious. “You just
need to find those who understand your differences and appreciate them. Like Effie. She’s your
friend, isn’t she?”
“Yeah…”

“And I’m your friend, too, right?”

“Yeah,” said Monty, perking up slightly. He smiled.

“And you’ll find more friends, all right? Trust me.”

After all, those who fought trolls together stuck together. Ah, that’s right. Harry had to hold back the
grimace as, once again, he was reminded that it was Halloween. “How about I walk you back to the
tower and explain a little bit to Charlus, yeah?” he asked. “Will that help?”

Monty relaxed, sighing in relief. “Thanks, Harry,” he said softly. “I’d like that.”

Harry got to his feet and helped him up. Kasper barked softly, nibbling Monty’s ear affectionately
before taking flight. He swooped around Harry’s head once , cuffing him with the edge of a wing,
before settling on a high perch, screeching once. He got a number of complaining hoots from the
other owls.

Harry and Monty walked out of the owlery together and began their way down. At the bottom, it was
a few corridors to the ten flights of moving staircases to the Gryffindor Tower. Harry knew the way
with perfect memory.

“You skip meals a lot,” said Monty; his voice was softer than normal. “Are you okay?”

For a moment, Harry didn’t respond. He let out a low sigh. “I will be.”

“Okay. Are you gonna come to the feast tonight?”

“Of course,” said Harry, ruffling his hair.

“Good. Mama says I shouldn’t eat many sweets, but I think she’d tell you to eat a lot of sweets.”

Harry laughed. “Tonight, I’ll do just that.”

So long as Halloween doesn’t bring me any shit.

Harry smiled as Monty slowly began to talk about potions. It took a few questions by Harry to get the
boy going, but once he did, it was endless. Harry listened fondly, glad that he was thinking about
something else other than who had hurt him.

They began their way up the many flights of stairs to the Gryffindor Tower. At the second flight, the
staircase shifted, a loud creaking echoing through the tall ceiling area. Harry grabbed Monty by the
back of his robes just in time to keep him from slipping.

“Watch it,” said Harry, pulling him back.

“Whoa—thanks, Harry!” said Monty, peering down the opening. “Magic is so cool.”

“Wait,” said Harry, quickly grabbing him once more while they were on the third staircase, narrowing
avoiding the trick stair. “Watch for that one. Trick stair.”

“Oh…”
Monty grew silent as they walked up more flights. However, by the fifth flight, Monty halted
suddenly. “Hey…” he began, eyeing Harry. “I haven’t told you where the Gryffindor Tower is, but
you’re going in the right direction. Plus, you know how to be careful about the stairs and you even
knew about the trick stair. How’d you know?”

Oh.

Dammit.

“Yes, Harry, how did you know?” said an all too familiar, smooth voice. He’s like a cockroach! Harry
turned to see Tom standing at the bottom of their current flight of stairs, staring up at him with
suspicion in his eyes. “I’m curious about this, too.”

“Following me, are you?” said Harry, narrowing his eyes.

“Oh, I know you. You’re Tom Riddle,” chirped Monty, smiling. “The boy Harry beat in a duel. I’m
glad Harry did because that means he’s got a subject he’s extra good at.”

Tom gritted his teeth and pointedly ignored Monty. “I was merely curious,” he said lightly, even
Harry could feel the tension in his words. He took a single step closer to them. “Especially why you’d
be with a little first year Gryffindor. Scorning your own house and dorm mates for this… child.”

“Monty is my friend.”

“Mmm, yes,” murmured Tom. His gaze rested onto Monty; it was cold. Monty took a step back,
bumping against the banister, all cheer slipping from his expression.

Harry flipped Tom off. “Fuck you. Leave him alone.”

“I’m on my last thread of patience,” whispered Tom.

“You know,” said Harry, his tone sharp as a whip. “It says a lot about you when I find the company of
a kid more enjoyable than yours.”

Tom’s eyes widened, chest expanding in a deep inhale, his nostrils flaring with a furious intensity.

“Monty!” cried a new voice. “There you are!”

Harry glanced towards the sound. Two flights up, Charlus and a crowd of other Gryffindors stood by
the familiar painting of the Fat Lady. There was a familiar rumbled within the staircases. With a jerk,
the staircase Tom, Harry, and Monty were standing on moved.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

As Harry turned to dismiss Tom, flip him off, or just get rid of the bastard, something hot rushed by
Harry. The hair on his neck stood up. When Harry looked down the stairs, Tom was gone. Pain
sparked through Harry’s scar, as if the lightning itself had become charged with electricity. He hissed,
putting a hand to his forehead, turning back to Monty.

But the boy was gone.

Time slowed for Harry.

 He caught a glimpse of small trainers - Monty’s - over the edge—the edge of the stairwell. Screams.
So many screams blending together in his ears. Monty’s first, then others at the top of the stairs. He
saw Charlus’ horrified expression as he began racing down the stairs two at a time, wand out, panic in
his eyes.

Harry was moving, body on its own now. His stomach slammed against the banister railing, the
staircase halted its movement; Monty was falling several flights. When he landed on the brick below,
he’d die instantly.

Harry didn’t think.

He lifted himself over the edge and dove after him.

“MONTY!”

Chapter End Notes

*sips tea*

Honestly, not sure what you expected by now. Shit had to go down in the worst possible way.
I’ve known this would happen for ages now. It’s fine. This is fine.

Also, AJ sends her delightful regards in the following way:

AJ: "Merry Christmas!" shoves Monty off the steps

Aheh.

Let the Twink Fight…

BEGIN
 Eighteen
Chapter Notes

*wheezes*

I finished in time. This was a beast to finish.

I can’t scarcely believe it’s been a year since I started this story. I wrote the first chapter in a
sudden burst of inspiration. And then I was creating an AO3 account. And then I was posting the
first chapter. All impulsively.

Best thing I ever did.

I remember telling AJ and she was like, YOU DID WHAT? WHERE? We’d been writing Shall I
Stay together for a few months by the point. She lost her mind with the first chapter of Terrible,
But Great, just like the first readers did. She’s been a dear friend for years and a help with this
story. You can thank her for the rough first draft of Charlus’ reaction here, too.

Thank you all for being my safe place. I have over 200 comments in my inbox that I haven’t
responded to. I will now.

I know it’s been a wild ride for all of you. You’re raw with intense emotions from the last
chapter. You’ve screamed in fear and rage. You’ve been worried sick. It’s okay. I know, my
children, I know. Will you get relief now?

Hm.

The fight you’ve fondly called the Twink Fight, the one you’ve been waiting for many moons.

8,747 words of a fight.

Well, it’s finally here. The catalyst. The valley. If you want a full experience, here’s the Twink
Fight Playlist I used while writing this chapter.

Well, let’s go.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Magic flared out.

It answered his call. His wand wasn’t even in his hand, but that didn’t stop him from trying. The
adrenaline surged through Harry; he threw his hand out in front of himself and shouted, “Accio!”

The window of time was short, a handful of seconds before they hit the ground. Monty was screaming
up ahead, falling head first. Did the spell work? It had to work. Harry didn’t hesitate. Once more.

The magic roared in his ears; it burned his blood.

“ACCIO!”
Monty jerked in the air and slammed into Harry’s outstretched arms. The boy clung to him, still
screaming. Harry covered Monty’s head and shouted the featherlight charm. No time to cast anything
else. He braced himself for impact—however, a familiar magic washed over them, instantly slowing
their descent.

A second later, they hit the floor.

They bounced once, lightly; Harry landed on the brick floor onto his back, arms still wrapped around
Monty’s head. His chest heaved once; he stared up towards the ceiling, heart thundering in his chest
and in his ears. He swallowed once; his ears popped. Sound rushed into his senses - screams from
other students, cries and tears of shock, voices melding and blending as one.

Monty’s head popped up, lifting off Harry’s chest. He looked at him with wide eyes. “Whoa, that was
scary,” he gasped with reverence and wonder.

“Are you all right?” asked Harry, chest rising in a deep breath.

Monty nodded. “Yup, you caught me and saved me.”

“I did. Are you sure you’re all right?”

Those wild Potter curls were more windswept than usual. They bounced with Monty’s eager nod.
“I’m fine! Let’s go again! Can we, can we?”

Harry let out a full body sigh of relief. His head fell back onto the brick with a thud. A handful of
quick breaths filled his lungs, the fear and horror still present in his chest. He was okay. He was okay.
Monty was fine, alive, perfectly well - no worse for wear. Better, even. Wanted to fall down again.
Great. Perfect.

Perfect.

“Join the Quidditch team next year instead, yeah?” said Harry softly.

“Oh! I never thought of that. That’s a great idea. But still, can we go just once more? Please, Harry?”
Monty rolled off him, crouched at his side. He looked down at him. “Hey, are you all right?”

No.

I am not all right.

That. Utter. BASTARD..

Harry didn’t answer him and sat up. He put a hand onto Monty’s head, gently ruffling his hair. The
boy giggled.

What the hell is wrong with you, Tom?

The commotion of students drew Harry’s attention away from Monty. Up a number of flights of stairs,
Charlus was racing down them far ahead of the crowds of other students, taking the steps two by two.
He slipped once, grabbing the banister with a cry, just in time to catch himself from tumbling. It
didn’t slow him down. Other Gryffindors piled after him, a never ending stream of red and black
robes.

All passing a solitary boy in green and black.

Their gazes locked, dark brown versus evergreen.

His brows were furrowed, lips thinned to a tight line as Tom watched from above. His shoulders were
drawn tight with tension. After a pause, Tom slipped his wand into his sleeve, whirled away from the
side of the stairs, his robes billowing behind him, and disappeared into the crowd.

Rage.

Unadulterated rage poured through Harry’s entire being.

The creak of the staircases moving echoed against the walls; the pathway to the bottom was blocked
once more. Charlus jumped over the banister to the bottom; he landed with a grunt, bolted to his feet,
and raced to Monty’s side. Other prefects were holding back the crowd of students that were now
trying to see what was going on. One prefect shouted for someone to find a teacher.

“Merlin, Monty, are you all right?” gasped Charlus, dropping to his knees, winded, sweating. “Are
you hurt? Anything broken? I watched you fall and I-I—” His voice cracked, choked with emotion.
He jerked Monty into a rough hug.

Monty squirmed, trying to pull away, but Charlus’ grip tightened; he buried his face into the boy’s
neck. Monty stilled. “Charlus?” he whispered. “Why are you shaking?”

“Thank Merlin, you’re all right,” said Charlus, his voice soft with anguished relief. A moment later,
he pulled back; there were tears streaming down his cheeks, but he didn’t appear to notice. His focus
was solely on Monty. He put his hands on Monty’s shoulders to look him over for injuries. He gasped
when he finally got a good look at the boy’s face, placing a hand to his cheek. “Oh, no, you’re hurt!
Did you hit your head, what—”

“Charlus, no—” Monty tried to escape the hand on his face. “I’m fine. You’re embarrassing me! And
Harry caught and saved me. This—” Monty gestured to the black eye, mouth open for a brief moment,
before he paused. His lower lip wobbled and he took a quick breath. “This, uh… this happened before
I fell.”

“Wait, what?!”

Harry slowly got to his feet. His ears rang. His magic bristled beneath his skin, like an electrical
current. His eyes were on the spot Tom had last been.

“I don’t wanna talk about it and I don’t have to if I don’t want to,” said Monty, lifting his nose in the
air. He looked at Harry. “Can we go again? Can we, please? Just once? Please?”

Charlus sat back on his heels, letting out a sigh of exasperation. “Monty,” he breathed. “This wasn’t a
game. You fell off the stairs—I told you to be careful! How many times have I told you to watch your
step? You could have been seriously hurt—died, you almost died for Godric’s sake.”

“But I didn’t,” said Monty, brows wrinkling in confusion. “I’m fine. Harry was wicked cool and saved
me. So, with Harry around, there’s nothing to worry about.” He glanced up. “Right, Harry?”

Harry tore his gaze away from the staircases. They’d begun moving again. “Right,” he said, not fully
aware of what he was agreeing to.

Charlus groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers. “Fleamont Potter, you’re going to
be the death of me…”
“Hey!”

Charlus pulled him into another hug. Monty wrinkled his nose, shoulders scrunched up to his ears,
and waited for a few seconds before he began wiggling out of the hug. Charlus didn’t let him go. He
looked up at Harry with gratitude and tears in his eyes. “Thank you,” he said softly, thick with
emotion. “Thank you. If anything had happened… I don’t… I don’t know what I’d do.”

“It’s nothing—”

“It’s not nothing,” said Charlus. His grip on little Monty was still unyielding and the poor boy
continued to try to squirm out of the hug. “You’re a Slytherin. I would expect some wild rescue from
a Gryffindor, but you sacrificing your own safety, well… It means a lot.”

Harry didn’t say anything. His mind was distant. The magic made his skin sensitive, his robes chafing
him as if hot coals were being dragged over his flesh. He was frozen in place, feet stuck to the floor.
His mind was on an infinite loop, seeing Tom turning away again and again. Those dark eyes were
branded in his memory.

“I know Monty calls you cousin,” whispered Charlus. “I can see the resemblance… but I don’t know
if you’re really related to us and, well, I don’t care.” He shook his head and determination entered his
eyes. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re family now. So, thank you, cousin. You’re one of us.”

Oh… family.

In the back of Harry’s mind, he was touched. His heart soared. This was his family - the family he’d
always dreamed of having, so close within reach. The grandfather he’d never met. The great uncle
he’d never met. He should stop, be with them, get to know them both even more. They’d never be
grandfather and grandson, but they could still be a family.

But he couldn’t enjoy this moment. There was only one name that echoed in his mind, a name
whirling furiously in the cloud of billowing emotion.

Tom.

His heart felt broken, torn, split in half; it seemed to bleed within his chest. A memory pinged in the
back of his mind and the voice of Death, sinister, coy, so filled with decay, rang with perfect clarity
within Harry’s ears.

‘Could you ever love that? This wretched creature… Could you ever love this soul that took so much
away from you?’

Love?

‘You must love Tom Riddle and he must love you.’

Where was love when there was only rage?

‘Be his everything. Be his friend. Be his family. Be his lover.’

His fists were shaking; he grabbed the sides of his trousers. What the hell. What the hell. How? What?
How?! This was so hard. Dealing with Tom was difficult on astronomical proportions. This was…
This was…

This quest… it might be impossible…

His scar burned.

“Now what’s this about your face?” said Charlus, grabbing Monty by the chin and inspecting his face.
Harry looked down at them, mind a storm of terrible thoughts. “What happened? When did this
happen? Who did this to you? Did you provoke them?”

Monty curled in on himself, dropping his gaze.

“Enough.”

Charlus looked up at Harry, confusion in his expression. “What’s wrong? Someone has been hurting
him and I can’t—”

“He’ll tell you when he’s ready,” said Harry sharply. His breathing was unsteady. The magic grew
heavy in the air around them, spreading outwards. His skin stung, as if his entire body had pins and
needles. “It’s not his fault; he’s not responsible for arseholes.”

“But I wasn’t…”

Harry turned his gaze onto Monty. “If this happens again, you come to me,” he said, his tone dark.
The magic grew thicker, coiling around Harry, unseen as an invisible mist. Charlus shifted with
unease, his grip on Monty tightening. “They won’t do anything again once I’m through with them.”

“Oh. Uh, that’s probably not a good idea… As much as I like the sound of that, as Head Boy, I’m
supposed to advise that we get a professor’s help in cases of bullying—”

Harry turned away.

“Thanks, Harry!” chirped Monty.

He didn’t look back. His magic was so raw within his body, to his very nerves, that Harry could sense
him, Tom - he was watching them, waiting in the shadows. Why, though? Harry strode into a dark
corridor, ignoring Charlus’ call of, “Hang on, wait, are you all right?”

Tom was moving. Harry pulled his wand out and silently cast lumos. This section of Hogwarts wasn’t
quite within the dungeons, but it was difficult to access due to the staircases constantly moving. There
were a handful of classrooms beneath the Gryffindor Tower, but they were unused in Harry’s time. It
appeared that nothing had changed.

Harry lifted his wand, light flooding the old, dusty corridor. There was a flutter of black and green
robes; they disappeared around the corner.

“Hold it right there, Tom.”

Leather boots clicked, not stopping at his call. Harry quickened his steps, keeping his wand high to
light the way. He turned the corner to see Tom walking down another dark corridor with unlit torches,
his boots clicking with a quick, sharp rhythm. There were no paintings on the walls and the statues
were covered in age old dust and cobwebs.

“Tom.”

He kept walking.

“Tom Riddle, stop.”

Not even a hitch in his steps.

“Tom Marvolo Riddle, you stop walking away from me!” shouted Harry. “Right now!”

The figure halted abruptly. Slowly, he turned, dark eyes reflecting the light of Harry’s wand. They
were wide with shock.

“Excuse me?” breathed Tom. “What did you just call me?”

Harry broke into a run, fury pounding through every one of his strides. “I’ve got a bone to pick with
you!”

Tom’s eyes hardened, narrowing. “And I you, it would seem.” He moved, smoothly, like a serpent,
and disappeared into the nearest classroom.

“Get back here!” snapped Harry. “Don’t you fucking run away from me, you coward!”

He burst into the dimly lit classroom. He let out a low grunt as he smashed into a desk; he braced
himself with his free hand, his fingers smearing through a thick layer of dust. He looked around the
room, taking everything in, adrenaline heightening his senses. Light flickered to life and flooded the
classroom, one row at a time. The ceiling was vaulted with chained wooden chandeliers, the torches
protected in glass. The torches were lit with new flames, burning away the cobwebs.

The classroom was old, as if it hadn’t been used in decades. It appeared to be a mix between a Potions
and a Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. At the front of the classroom was a chalkboard with
faded writing, ‘Welcome to the art of Alchemy.’ Dust coated everything, the desks and chairs, the
floor, the shelves; cobwebs adorned every corner. There were enormous bookcases, all the way to the
ceiling, holding countless old, torn up books. There were more bookshelves with thousands of the jars
with a variety of contents and potion vials, all coated in layers of dust and cobwebs. Three large
windows were mostly hidden with faded, limp drapes that had fraying rope hanging off them.

In the center of the ceiling was the largest chandelier of all and within its center was a skeleton of a
small dragon, suspended on chains. Torchlight flickered, its bones glowing with firelight.

Harry whirled around just as the door slammed shut. Tom stood in front of it with a grim expression,
his wand in his left hand, the tip glowing amber red.

“Coward?” whispered Tom. “You’re the one who always runs away.”

Their gazes locked.

Tom’s wand slowly traced over the edges of the doorway, magic swelling the air with the familiar
pulse of locking and warding spells.

“I know what you did.”

Tom tilted his head. “Did?”

“Yes, did. Don’t act like you don’t know.”

“I don’t understand you,” murmured Tom. “You’re such a confusing creature.”

“You’ve got a lot of explaining to do,” hissed Harry.

“I do?” said Tom, his tone uncharacteristically soft. “I, who doesn’t know the odd little secrets that
you do. I, who has lived within these walls for five years, yet I seem to have less knowledge of the
castle than you.” His voice dropped even lower, softer. “I, who have never told anyone my middle
name, yet you know it - you know my name. You always do seem to know something you shouldn’t,
something that isn’t possible.”

“That’s what you’re focusing on here?” snapped Harry. He had no patience for Tom’s obliviousness
today. Not after this. “I’m not playing games—”

“How?” said Tom; his voice was dangerous. “How do you know?”

Harry took two strides towards him, driven on the instinct to maim him, to punch him, to drive his fist
through cartilage. His wand slipped back into his pocket. Tom’s wand pointed at him. Instead of
throwing a punch, Harry grabbed him by the lapels of his suit robes and shoved him against the door.
Their chests pressed against each other. A wand dug into Harry’s neck, painfully so, but he didn’t care
- barely even noticed it. Tom glared down at him, chin lifted slightly, his lips curling with growing ire.

“Focus on the real problem here, you arsehole!” shouted Harry. “You almost killed Monty!”

“That’s a wild accusation, Harry, darling,” said Tom in a low, angry purr. The wand pressed deeper
into Harry’s flesh. The tip burned. “How dare you—”

“I felt it,” hissed Harry. “Your magic. How could you do that?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” whispered Tom; dark, dangerous, like a predator ready to
pounce. “Now unhand me. My patience with you is—”

“Your patience?” Harry scoffed. “Do you have any idea what you nearly did?”

“You’re going to have to be a little more specific.”

Harry’s chest heaved against Tom, deep, aggravated. “Stop acting so innocent! Monty—”

“You’re under the delusion that I am responsible for the boy’s poor footing?” asked Tom, cocking his
head to the side. His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “The stairs were moving. Many a child has slipped
before. No harm done.”

“Fuck you, no—you pushed Monty.”

“Any proof?” whispered Tom.

“No, but I know you.”

Tom laughed in mocking disbelief. “Know me?” It came out breathy, with the weight of a feather. “In
two months? Not possible.” His eyes narrowed, lips curling. “And yet… somehow, you know
personal details about me, like my name.”

Tom tried to push him away, but Harry grabbed his upper arms, his grip tight as a vice. His glare grew
stronger. Tom gritted his teeth; they struggled against each other, trying to overpower the other. Tom
shoved harder and Harry lost his balance, toppling backwards to the floor—but he dragged Tom down
with him. They landed, hard. Harry groaned, the back of his head stinging.

Tom took the opportunity. He was on Harry in an instant, straddling his hips and caging one of
Harry’s arms with a knee. One hand gripped Harry by the wrist, locking his arm above his head, while
the other hand pressed a yew wand into the center of his throat. Tom loomed over him. Harry
squirmed beneath him, rage pouring through his veins like fresh burning lava.

“Who are you?” whispered Tom. “I’ve never thought about someone this much before. You’re
constantly on my mind and I can’t be rid of you. Have you cursed me?”

What…?

“That’s the only explanation,” said Tom, frustration and anger seeping into his tone. “You’ve put a
hex or a curse on me. Release me from it now.”

“I haven’t put a spell on you, you idiot,” said Harry shortly. He squirmed again, trying to find a way
to break free. “Stop trying to change the subject. You pushed Monty and for what reason?” Harry let
out a low huff. “I don’t get you, Tom. That was a stupid move on your part and you don’t make stupid
moves.”

Tom tilted his head, his gaze studying him intently. Harry tried to jerk out of his hold, but Tom’s grip
tightened around his wrist with bruising strength. He leaned closer, hair falling over his forehead, a
few inches from Harry’s face now.

“Perhaps…” said Tom slowly, as if coming to the realization himself. “I didn’t enjoy watching you
get close to him. Why, I don’t know—”

How is he this stupid?!

Harry barked out a laugh. “I know why,” he snapped. “You’re jealous.” He couldn’t help but laugh
more. “Of course. Of course, you were jealous - of a fucking eleven year old kid. A child.”

Tom’s chest heaved. Harry sneered.

“You’re pathetic, Tom.”

Magic burst from Harry, rushing over Tom in enormous waves. The force of the magic nearly tore
Tom off, the power like a gust of wind, but he gritted his teeth, holding tightly onto him. However, it
was just what Harry needed to break free. He twisted beneath him, throwing Tom off his hips. The
hand on his wrist loosened and Harry shoved Tom away, scrambling to his feet and glaring down at
him.

“You stay away from Monty. Understand?” snapped Harry. The hurt tore at his heart; his eyes burned.
“You just stay the hell away from my family!”

Tom’s eyes widened. There was a long pause. “Your family?” he breathed. “I wasn’t under the
impression that you were a Potter.”

It was only then that Harry realized what he’d said. Ah, shit. Harry inhaled. Shit.

“Oh, this is rich,” said Tom, gracefully getting to his feet. “So, it’s true. An illegitimate Potter. I’m not
sure why I’m surprised. I should’ve known. Rumors are always based on a grain of truth. How
delightful. It makes sense now.”

“Shut up, you bastard. This is serious—”

“Bastard? My parents were married,” said Tom with a sniff. He sneered. “Unlike yours, apparently.”
This—impossible—arsehole—!

“Well, at least my mother didn’t rape my father!” shouted Harry.

The blood drained from Tom’s face, his color pale as a ghost. His hand trembled; his knuckles grew
white at the hilt of his wand. It lifted, pointing straight at Harry’s heart. Mouth slowly opening, his
eyes wide, frozen, Tom stood there a moment, visibly trembling.

And then…

A curse shot from Tom’s wand.

Bricks exploded, right where Harry had once stood.

“Fuck.”

Tom was shaking. His hand ached from the intense grip on his wand hilt. He watched Harry get back
to his feet, brushing pieces of brick out of his hair, his mind a hurricane of thought and emotion. The
storm there was too powerful.

This boy—no, man - this man was dangerous.

Rage beyond anything Tom had ever felt before was flooding through every vein in his body. He was
trembling with fury, but a calm settled over his wand hand, magic bursting from the end like a whip.
Harry ducked behind a desk. Tom sent another blast; Harry’s wand snapped into his hand and, with a
flick of the wrist, a protego shield bloomed to life. The blasting curse slammed against the shield. It
didn’t even put a crack into it.

Harry kicked the desk, his wand snapping forward with the spell light of a bombarda. The desk
exploded, shards of wood flying towards Tom. With a quick flick, the splinters halted, and with a
second flick, they shot back towards Harry. The cloud of splintered wood instantly turned to sawdust,
coating much of Harry’s robes.

Harry glared at him.

A shiver shot up Tom’s spine.

A panther? A diamond? Not even close. Something had been unleashed - a raging beast, a roaring
dragon. Harry’s magic was intoxicating. A light…

And Tom had become a moth to the flame.

“You can’t hurt others because you’re jealous of them!” shouted Harry.

Jealous?

How absurd. Harry was making this a bigger deal than it actually was - the Potter boy would’ve been
fine. Children fell all the time going to the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw Towers, didn’t they?

“He would’ve been fine,” hissed Tom.

“How can you be this thick?!”

Spells lit up the room, missing their targets, smashing into desks and chairs. A stray blasting curse
exploded a nearby hourglass, sending glass shards and sand into the air to coat the floor. Harry used
his surroundings against Tom, hiding beneath desks, only to pop out to throw a curse at Tom with near
perfect precision. With a roar, Tom sent a blasting curse at the desk; it exploded. Harry threw himself
into a roll, ducking behind another desk.

This is all your fault!

For the first time, Tom had been out of control, impulsive, no foresight in his mind. But this chaotic
force, this magnetic draw that was Harry Evans - he was destroying the foundation of everything Tom
had built these past years.

Tom was losing himself.

He gripped his wand tighter. The desks and chairs were scattered across the classroom, torn and
blown apart from their spells. Harry coughed from the dust that was thick in the air.

He had to break free, wrest himself away from the allure that was Harry Evans. Tom was out for
blood now. He wanted to see this boy bleed. He wanted to see this boy cry, scream. He wanted to see
him writhe at his feet, beg for mercy until his throat became hoarse with overuse. He wanted to see
tears streaming down his cheek, blood decorating his lips.

At the end, would Tom give him mercy?

He didn’t know, but he wanted to find out.

“I am finished with your nonsense,” hissed Tom. I will make you submit. “You’ve made a mockery of
the house of Slytherin for months, scorning your own, making company outside of the house. No
respect for anyone. No respect for tradition of this school—”

“Oh, fuck you and your traditions!” snapped Harry. “I’m sick of them!”

“I will make you learn why I am the one who rules Slytherin.”

Harry rolled his eyes, wand flexing in his hand. “You can’t pitch a damn fit when someone doesn’t do
what you want,” he said, sounding thoroughly exasperated. “You can’t shove a kid off the stairs
because you’re mad or jealous! Why can’t you see that?”

Tom inhaled, the fury burning inside. “I will make you kneel,” he spat furiously, “and you will
acknowledge me.”

Harry tilted his head to the side; the color of his eyes seemed ethereal. “You haven’t yet - tried
multiple times, but failed. What makes this time any different?”

“I’ve been lenient with you—that’s all!”

“Have you? Or are you just not powerful enough?”

The spell burst from the tip of Tom’s wand like a whip. Harry deflected it with a quick protego. The
dark gold light of the hex exploded into countless shards of glittering dust, beautiful, enthralling
magic. That spell would’ve ruptured Harry’s stomach if it struck. His eyes seemed to glow through
the light, emerald green a beacon within gold.

Why can’t I look away? Why can’t I ignore you?

“If you hadn’t done this to me,” whispered Tom, “this spell or curse, I wouldn’t make such rash
choices.”

I never did before, not before you arrived.

“Oh, for the love of Merlin—Take responsibility for your own stupidity, dumbass!” shouted Harry.
“You can’t do stupid shit like this any more. You can’t just hurt people when things don’t go your
way. That’s what children do. I know you—you’re smarter than this.”

“You know me?” breathed Tom. He exhaled with a hiss. “You know nothing!” he shouted, wand
whipping around him in an arcing motion.

The shattered pieces of the nearby desks began to collect into two long shapes, twisting and coiling
with jagged edges. At the end, the head of a viper melded together, coming to life, hissing and spitting
splinters of wood. Two wooden vipers charged after Harry, who cursed and darted into a run, sending
a stream of blasting spells after them. The vipers were fast, dodging the spell fire.

Fire coursed through his veins. Tom exhaled slowly, focused on the magic. The fire of the torches in
one of the small chandeliers flickered above them, the flames curling together, swirling around in the
air into a sphere of fire. It plummeted to the ground in front of Tom.

“But you will know one thing by the end of this,” said Tom calmly, his voice low and dark. The
flames condensed, coiling and roiling over each other with the familiar movement of a large snake
knot. The group split into ten small snakes, all made of burning, flickering flames. “You will know
why you should never have crossed me.”

The fire snakes charged.

“Shit.”

Harry was explosive, impulsive, and quick on his feet. But Tom had yet to see him think very many
steps ahead of himself. He could run all he wanted to, but he would grow tired soon enough.

Behold, Harry Evans, the reason why I am the heir of Slytherin.

And not you.

A fire snake lunged; Harry dove behind a desk, which caught fire immediately. More snakes lunged
for him; the desk exploded in a massive bombarda. Splintered wood sprayed out, scattering wide,
striking the wall. Tom arched his wand again, gathering the spell to transfigure the wood into more
vipers.

I don’t need a family name. I don’t need a family. I don’t need friends.

And I don’t need you.

A low boom echoed where Harry was hidden, shaking the floor beneath Tom’s feet. A gust of wind
blew through the room, blasting over Tom, the windows rattling, the drapes billowing wildly. A crack
of thunder, louder now, shook the room with more force. The air swirled above, clouds forming in the
air, first white until darkening to storm grey. Tom sucked in his breath. Harry stood, wand gripped
tightly in his hand, just as a fiery snake lunged for him.

The wizarding world will know me.

I will craft a new name, a better name.

Rain poured down from the cloud above Harry. The rain expanded outward; the fire snakes shrieked
in pain, writhing as they sizzled out. A number of the torches in the chandeliers were doused with the
rain, dimming the light of the classroom.

Their gazes locked.

A wooden viper lunged at Harry from behind.

The world will know…

I am Lord Voldemort!

It happened simultaneously; the scar on Harry’s forehead illuminated, like a striking blaze across the
night sky. Alive. A lightning strike exploded behind Harry, obliterating the wooden viper.

His breath was stolen. The wind disappeared from Tom’s lungs.

“Is that all, then?” whispered Harry, the glow of his scar slowly fading back to normal. The second
wooden viper leapt in the air, coming towards his right. There was a clap of thunder, just as a bolt of
lightning cracked downwards and eviscerated the viper into dust.

That scar glowed beneath Harry’s skin, alive with a powerful force.

“Are you done?” asked Harry, soft, disgusted, and filled with disappointment. He shook his head,
running a hand through his soaked hair. Water mixed with blood slipped down his temple. “You’re so
blind. I don’t even know what to do any more…” It came out more of a whisper to himself. “What
would it take to knock some sense into that fucked up head of yours?”

The rain stopped. The scar returned to normal. Harry quickly shed his outer robes; they dropped to the
floor with a wet thud. With a swirl of his wand, Harry dried himself off. He glanced around briefly
and smirked when he saw the shelves; he turned back to look at Tom.

“Well, then. My turn to teach you a lesson.” Harry whipped his wand upwards; a bunch of jars floated
a number of inches off the shelves. “This is for trying to hurt Monty!”

He flicked his wand towards Tom; jars shot after him. Tom muttered a curse to himself, ducking as
one narrowly missed smashing into his head. He threw up a protego; the jars shattered against the
shield, their contents coating the floor. They struck his shield with such immense force, cracks in the
magic began forming. A couple of more and the magic would end.

Tom broke into a run, just as his shield shattered. He threw up another one and the force of the jars
pushed his shield backwards a pace; he smashed against a desk. Tom gritted his teeth.

“Come on, Tom, is that all you’ve got? A few snakes and that’s it?”

Tom dropped his shield, whipping out a number of cutting curses in quick succession. Harry darted to
the side; one sliced through his trousers at his thigh. Jars zoomed towards Tom again. He dodged;
pointed his wand at one and it exploded, a mixture of glass and its contents spraying his robes.

A pair of eyeballs landed at his feet, swiveling to look up at him.

The rank smell assaulted his senses, almost to the point of gagging. Tom shed his outer robes, flicking
the viscous liquid from off his hands. He let out a disgusted huff, drying himself off. Harry smirked at
him.

“Had enough?”

“Never,” whispered Tom.

Harry smiled, dark and stormy. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

Potion vials flew off the shelves, skyrocketing towards Tom. He blocked them with a shield; they
shattered against it, the contents spraying broken desks and chairs. One of the desk combusted into a
blast of rainbow glitter, while the remains of another desk and chair turned a blinding neon pink. A
chair sprang to life, bouncing around like a newborn pup, and darted for Tom.

He blasted it apart with a bombarda.

The barrage of potion vials didn’t stop. Harry seemed to have an endless supply of ammo to throw at
him. One combination of potions melted the debris of broken wood with the speed and potency of
acid. Another combination of potions caused a pair of chairs to start giggling. The air was thick with
potion fumes, making Tom’s eyes water and his lungs seize up. Desperately, Tom summoned the
drapes, ripping them from their rods. With a circular motion, he caught a bunch of potion vials at
once, the drapes rolling them up into a bundle.

There was a crack. A potion shattered, setting off a domino effect. There was a spark and the drapes
caught on fire. Fumes of multiple colors seeped from the fiery bundle of drapes, potion liquid
dripping to the floor. Tom released the levitation spell on it.

It didn’t drop.

The air grew heavy, dense, almost to the point where Tom couldn’t breathe. Harry stopped throwing
potions at him, eyes widening; he doubled over, gasping and wheezing for breath. Tom couldn’t stop
from hunching over as well, putting a hand to his head. His lungs squeezed. The pressure built to an
unbearable point; it felt as if his ears were going to pop.

The classroom itself seemed to warp towards the bundle of drapes. The chains that held the
chandeliers creaked. A metal object flew past Tom. The drapes dropped to the floor, leaving behind a
sphere of potion fumes that swirled towards opposite poles, the colors slowly intermixing into a deep,
dark grey. The air rippled around it. Every metal object chained to the wall groaned, drawn to its
magnetic force. It expanded quickly, eating every loose metal object within the room. The pressure
built with it.

Alarm rang in the back of Tom’s mind. He threw up a shield, but the air warped around it, crushing it.
It snapped a moment later. Sound and vision grew distorted in Tom’s head. He couldn’t think. It felt
as if the very room was going to be torn apart, drawn into this odd sphere.

There was a tug at Tom’s belt buckle, his feet sliding against the floor towards the sphere. A couple of
yards away, Harry flailed, cursing wildly, grabbing at a nearby suit of armor. His hand landed on the
armored forearm. It broke away, spinning into the air. The magnetic field consumed it, shredding it
apart. Harry lost his balance and fell backwards, sliding against the floor towards the sphere.

The chain links of the chandeliers were weakening; one of the smaller ones snapped and fell into the
swirling sphere. Wood and metal cracked, reverberating deep sound throughout the room. There was
an echo and everything went still, sound itself void and hollow.

The sphere instantly condensed.

The pressure exploded.

Boom. A cacophony of sound fused in a clash of chaos; the vibration was low with a deep rumble.
The windows shattered, glass shards spraying outside. Distant screams could be heard. Pockets of
wood caught ablaze with flames. Tom was thrown towards the front of the classroom; he crashed into
the teacher’s desk, smashing it in half. Pain burst through his back. Tom couldn’t stop the cry of pain
that escaped his lips. He coughed, panting and gasping for needed air; his lungs were on fire. Stars
popped in his sight; a headache bloomed behind his eyes. There was a yell from Harry and a crash
nearby.

Tom groaned, rolling to the side and crawling out of the rubble of wood. Glass cut into Tom’s knees.
His head pounded. Sharp pain raced up and down his spine. He didn’t move for a moment, staying on
the floor on all fours, trying to catch his breath.

This was insanity.

Tom didn’t care.

While the pain in his back was lessening, the pain in his right arm only intensified with the passing of
time. Miraculously, his wand was still in his hand, safe. He held it tightly, as if it were anchoring him,
and brushed his fingers over the spot that burned the most. It was slick with blood; the sleeve of his
shirt had been ripped.

Wood groaned; there was a snapping crack and Tom looked up, eyes growing wide. Harry let out a
yelp, narrowly ducking out of the way, while Tom had to throw himself into a roll. An enormous
bookcase broke from the wall and came crashing down, books flying out during the fall. It landed on
the destroyed teacher’s desk with a loud slam of shattering wood. Books scattered across the floor
around them. Some landed in nearby patches of fire, burning quickly away.

Harry was only a foot away from Tom. They shared a look, chests heaving in deep breaths. Blood
dripped over Harry’s forehead, sliding down the bridge of his nose. His dress shirt was splattered with
blood, splintered wood imbedded near his collarbone. Tom’s hand tightened on the hilt of his wand.
He pointed it at Harry’s forehead; the holly wand pointed at Tom’s chest. They didn’t move; their
gazes were unwavering. Outside, illegible voices were shouting and screaming.

Harry slowly lowered his wand, chest rising and falling once. Tom didn’t lower his wand, but he did
allow his eyes to wander. The classroom was a disaster. A crazed laugh threatened to bubble out from
his throat. Madness. This was the pinnacle of asininity. Books, valuable precious books of priceless
knowledge were scattered everywhere on the floor. Some were soaked with liquid from the contents
of the various broken jars and potion vials. Others were curling away with flames.

And then a title caught Tom’s eye. Out of all books to be within this room, a book he’d been searching
for in the restricted section for years - it was right there, dropped at his side like a gift from the gods.
His mouth fell open in pure shock.

‘Secrets of the Darkest Art.’

He reached for it.

“Incendio!”

The flames burst from Harry’s wand, consuming the book in a stream. Tom hissed, hand jerking back
on reflex; the tips of his fingers were burned. The book caught fire with ease, the pages curling with
blackened flames. Tom glared up at Harry, fury pouring through his veins with renewed, venomous
strength. Harry caught his gaze, those green eyes wide with hidden terror.

A chill slid down Tom’s back.

Does he know… about them, too?

He couldn’t. He couldn’t. There was no way he knew the true significance of the book - that would be
far too outlandish. Harry burned it just to spite him. His wand trembled in his grip; Tom pointed it at
Harry, who jerked back, jaw clenched in a grim expression.

We might end up… killing each other.

Somehow, that didn’t scare Tom. Death, the most terrifying thing of all, wasn’t as frightening as it
should be if it were by the hand of this powerful man.

But only if I drag you to Hell with me.

A curse burst from Tom’s wand; it slammed against Harry’s quick reflexes, a strong shield. A crack
spidered through it. The force of the blast sent the pair of them skidding away from each other. Tom
tore to his feet, multicolored spell lights brightening the room. Harry was on his feet just as fast,
returning fire, red and gold spells blasting from Harry’s wand.

There were no more thoughts. Just the magic. Just the rage. The mind was only a fog; nothing but
instinct fueled Tom’s body. Harry reacted the same, weaving through the spells elegantly with the
speed and skill he held on the Quidditch field. Magic responded to them on a deep, visceral level,
answering their desires and emotions instantly. Words weren’t needed. The spells were dark and
powerful. The fight between them was feral, brutal.

It was a bloody fight to the death.

But the magic could only last for so long. Magic of this magnitude drained even the most powerful of
wizards and witches. It wasn’t to last forever.

Yet, they didn’t stop.

Tom wasn’t aware of what he was casting any more. Blasting curses, cutting curses, so many curses
and hexes thrown at each other. Wood disintegrated into dust; books burned; glass coated the floor,
crunching beneath their boots. Vicious and cruel. Deadly and powerful. Harry was no exception. Tom
moved through the carnage of the classroom, avoiding the destroyed desks and the fires that burned
among the piles of wood. Another bookcase tore from the wall and landed with a floor shaking crash.

They didn’t even notice.

Harry shot another spell; it blasted against a shield. A bombarda shattered it immediately. Tom
slammed against the wall, gasping in pain. He dropped to his hands and knees, glass cutting into his
flesh. He picked up his wand, the hilt now coated with his blood.

“Are you ready to admit you were wrong?” demanded Harry, winded, standing over him. Tom looked
up to see the wand pointing at his face. “Admit you tried to hurt Monty, that you were wrong, and you
won’t do something like that again.

At Tom’s feet lay discarded rope that once tied the drapes. Tom’s knuckles went white. His gaze
hardened. Harry’s expression crumpled briefly; a light glowed at the end of the holly wand. Tom
ducked; the bricks exploded over his head.

The rope sprang to life and darted out, snake-like. A section shot upwards, wrapping around Harry’s
left wrist. He cursed, distracted; another section of rope wrapped around his right wrist. Tom threw
more intent behind his magic and the rope grew stronger. Harry cried out and his wand slipped from
his right hand, clattering to the floor. The rope curled around Harry, his legs, his arms, his waist - he
fell backwards with another furious curse.

“Shit!”

The rope tightened around his arms and waist, sliding upwards around his neck. He glared up at Tom,
mouth opening slightly in a gasp for breath. A single desire and those ropes could end Harry Evans
right there. It could choke the life out of him with disgusting ease.

You’re a liability and a danger to my future.

“I will subjugate you, one way or another.”

And once I do… I’ll go back to who I was before you arrived, purified of your influence over me.

Harry thrashed on the floor, glaring up at Tom. His wand rolled, stopping at his right hip. “If you
think for one second this changes anything... fuck you—” The ropes squeezed, cutting his words off.
Harry broke into choking, wheezing coughs.

He wasn’t going to yield. Bound and tied at the feet of his enemy, Harry Evans wasn’t going to yield
to him. What gave him that power? His magic and abilities were good, but this strength - whatever it
was - seemed far more powerful than all the magic in the world.

Why was it that Tom was the one who felt powerless and helpless when he was the one looking down
on Harry?

“Why don’t you understand?” hissed Tom.

The ropes eased their hold.

“Oh, Tom…” It was said with such soft pity. There was a cough. “It’s you who doesn’t understand.”

Tom pointed his wand at Harry’s forehead. His mouth opened, a spell on his lips. There was a burst of
magic from Harry, the ropes disintegrating. His hand scrambled at his hip, grabbing onto the hilt of
his wand. Their wands aligned perfectly together, pointing at one another. At the same time, their
voices echoed throughout the wrecked classroom.

“Crucio!”

“Expelliarmus!”

Dark, blood red lightning of the cruciatus spell slammed against the bright red lightning of the
expelliarmus spell. A wave of magic exploded outwards, forcing distance between them. Harry
jumped to his feet, trying to break away from the combined spells. The yew wand vibrated in Tom’s
hand, threatening to be pulled from his grasp. Tom gritted his teeth, clapping his right hand over his
left to secure his grip on the hilt.

A mournful song echoed faintly in the air.

Something in Tom’s chest chimed with the gentle tinkle of sound. His eyes burned with an odd
feeling, unknown emotion emanating from his yew wand. Gold light formed at the center of their
clashing spellfire. Streams of golden light shot out, arching over them, caging them in bars of
glimmering light. The cage of golden magic expanded, reaching the ceiling. It smashed into the
chandeliers above, setting the torches alight once more. It crackled over the hanging dragon skeleton,
orange gold sparkles dancing along its bones. Like a fuse lighting dynamite, they rushed over the
skeleton towards the skull, until the light burned bright.

There was a terrible sound, a buzzing, electrifying noise that made Tom cringe with pain. The magic
glowed at the skull, settling inside the eye sockets. A low, deep vibration echoed through the room;
the walls of the castle of Hogwarts trembled.

The skeleton came to life with a bellowing roar.

Chains rattled, metal cracking, as the skeleton roared in fury, trying to break free of its bonds. It
thrashed against the large chandelier it was intertwined with, glass shattering into thousands of shards.
They rained down on Tom and Harry, clattering to the floor.

Another mournful cry echoed through the room, louder than before. The sound of it tore something
inside of Tom’s heart. Sweat trickled down his temples from the heat of the spells. His magic drained
faster as the spells stayed interconnected.

In the center of the spell light, the sparks shattered, bursting into the air. There was a screech, loud
and powerful, and the sparks formed into the shape of a large bird, wings flaring out. Light sprayed
around them with the flap of powerful, fiery wings. Tom jerked back, recognizing it. A phoenix. Over
the sizzling crackles of the spells, Tom heard Harry speak in a soft voice.

“Fawkes?”

The phoenix echoed a terrible, heart wrenching cry.

‘Why do you fight?’ it seemed to say.

The phoenix crowed once more. The spells instantly died between them. The phoenix flew high into
the air, its wings creating a gust of wind; it blasted over them. It screeched, almost like a bellow of
anger and disappointment at their actions. Tom’s wand burned in his hands and he felt the same
emotions, not his own - angry, furious, disappointed with him. He hissed through his teeth, trying to
hold onto his wand through the burn. It grew too much and the wand slipped from his fingers,
clattering to the floor. There was another clatter; Harry’s wand had dropped as well.

The phoenix’s voice echoed through the room, now sounding satisfied. It flared out, disappearing.
The magic died around them, leaving only the animated skeleton above. It continued to thrash wildly,
pulling at its chains.

Tom dropped to his knees, exhausted. Harry was in no better condition; he was still standing, but he
was swaying, staring down at Tom with mixed emotions whirling in his eyes. Tears streamed down
his cheeks.
Why… are you crying?

The anger and pain was too much for Tom to comprehend any more. He didn’t even know why he’d
been so furious with Harry. Why were they fighting again? Harry took a step towards him. And
another. Tom looked up as he stood over him. Harry wiped his brow with the back of his hand, glaring
at him through angry tears. There were more now. Harry’s bottom lip trembled. He drew back.

And smashed a fist into Tom’s cheek.

Tom went down; he cried out in pain as glass dug into his back. His head slammed against the floor.
Glass crunched beneath his body, sliding effortlessly into every part of his exposed flesh. Harry was
over him, on him, straddling him at the chest, and lifting another fist for another punch. His glasses
were coated in dust, the glass cracked. Tom jerked beneath his weight, scrambling for purchase. He
grabbed Harry’s arms. A punch slammed into his cheek; pain exploded in Tom’s face; his eyes
watered, tears mixing with blood. He was briefly blinded by pain.

Stop.

Just stop already.

The pain in his fragile, mortal body was nothing compared to the pain that echoed through every fiber
of his being. The song of the phoenix seemed to sing through his veins. Agony shook his soul.
Everything was wrong, terribly wrong, and he didn’t know why nor had the words to explain it.

This must be what being under the cruciatus curse felt like.

Another punch slammed into Tom. With a roar, anger rising with renewed strength above all the other
unknown emotions, Tom shoved Harry from off his chest. Harry landed next to him with a grunt of
pain. Tom straddled him next, fist drawn back for a punch. His lungs seized and Tom broke into a
series of hacking coughs, wheezing for breath. He doubled over, forehead pressed against the
bloodied chest beneath him.

Make it stop.

Tom rolled off Harry and onto his knees, glass shredding the last of his trousers. It dug into his hands.
He was covered in blood. He couldn’t stop coughing and wheezing; he squeezed his eyes shut. He felt
Harry move at his side; glass crunched and there was a sharp gasp of pain.

He was to his breaking point. When had anyone ever pushed him to this point?

His nerves were on fire. His body was in such pain. His eyes burned. Emotion. Emotion. What was all
this? He wanted to tear his hair out, wanting to tear his own heart out - make it stop.

Stop, please.

A hand touched his back, lightly rubbing it. Tom couldn’t comprehend its meaning. When his body
calmed, he looked up. Harry was knelt at his side, glasses pulled off his face. Those eyes were starker
than ever in their color. Harry dragged himself to his feet, groaning softly. He looked down at Tom for
a moment, before he bent over and put a hand beneath his arm. With Harry’s help, Tom slowly got to
his feet, swaying briefly. He wanted to lie back down.

“Why?” asked Tom, his voice hoarse.

“Why, what?” said Harry with a labored exhale.

Tom stared at the boy, exhausted, agony still burning through his entire being. He didn’t understand;
the magic of that phoenix had done something to him. What, he couldn’t put words to it. It felt like a
crack, a fissure had been split open within his heart. The dragon roared above them, chains rattling.
The bricks cracked at the root of the chains, stone dropping to the floor and smashing into pieces.

“Why don’t I hate you?” breathed Tom.

Those vibrant green eyes widened.

Above the pain that pulsed in his chest, above the throbbing pain of the flesh, an odd, unfamiliar
feeling rose within Tom’s body and soul. There was a loud crack; a torch landed on the floor beside
them, glass shattering out. They didn’t notice.

Why do I regret everything?

All of this… what led to this… Why?

He stared at Harry, unsure of what to make of the twisting, writhing feeling in the pit of his stomach.
He wanted to throw up.

What is this feeling?

A brick landed nearby, shattering into chunks. A frustrated roar echoed above them.

He wanted all of this to go away. He didn’t know how to fix any of this. It was probably too late now.
His anger at the beginning of the fight seemed so trivial, so stupid to Tom now. He didn’t want this.

What do I want…?

I want him to not be angry with me. I want… I want him to laugh again.

I care… about what he thinks—

A terrible, ominous crack shook the room. Tons of bricks slammed down around them seconds later.
Tom glanced up, just in time to see the dragon spread its skeletal wings with a triumphant roar of
delight above them; magic rippled out from it and its chains broke into hundreds of links of metal.
The wings tore through its prison, the large chandelier, ripping through the chains that held it to the
ceiling. The skeleton took flight.

A beat.

Barely a second.

The chandelier fell, shards of glass raining down like droplets of death.

The adrenaline within Tom seemed to slow down time. He caught Harry’s gaze. Tom moved. Hands
outstretched, they slammed into Harry’s chest. He was falling backwards. Those eyes widened with
shock and fear, tears glistening in them. The scar glowed.

Harry landed on the glass covered floor, a number of feet away. His head whipped up, mouth open in
horror; his hand reached for Tom.

Oh… I might actuall—

Chapter End Notes

Happy Birthday, Tom.

 Nineteen
Chapter Notes

College is quickly approaching, nooooo. Not sure if this will be the last chapter before the
semester begins. I dunno how it’s gonna go. We shall see!

Anyhow… Y’all still alive? Survived? Great~

Grab onto something sturdy, my dears. Haven’t lost a buttocks yet, have we? Excellent. Hang on
now.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

‘Why do you fight?’

The requiem song of Fawkes still echoed pleas within Harry’s mind; that mournful call of scolding
vibrated through every particle of his body and soul. It tore his heart apart, mercilessly broke it into
thousands of pieces. Fawkes’ disappointment had been more painful than all the glass shards
embedded in his skin.

‘I expect better of you.’

Oh, these tears burned with the everlasting flames of a phoenix.

The chandelier crashed. Harry screamed. The crash of wood, metal, and glass shook the room, debris
exploding all around from the impact. Dust and smoke rushed over Harry. He coughed, trying to get
to his feet again. He lost his footing, falling onto his back with a hard thud. Glass crunched. Harry
cried out. He gritted his teeth.

Tears streamed down his cheeks, unrelenting.

Harry forced himself back up, determined. “Lumos!”

But no light came. No magic answered him. The tears were hot against his skin, painful and tender, as
if they were claws gouging out tracks within his flesh. They refused to stop.

“Tom!” shouted Harry. “Tom!”

He pushed through the enormous chandelier rubble, trying to find a sign of either Tom or their wands.
He was so exhausted now. Everything hurt - ached to his very bones. Every part of his body hurt and
ached and throbbed and stung with terrible pain - even his scar burned. He wanted to shrivel up into a
ball of shame. He choked out a sob; this wasn’t how he wanted it to go. What the hell was wrong with
them? So stupid. Crazy. Madness. Harry was; Tom was - everything, all of it, every last breath of it, so
stupid of them.

Tom was an idiot for being jealous.

Harry was an idiot for running away.

What if he’s…

No. He couldn’t think like that.

“Tom, where are you? Tom.”

But there was no answer.

Fire crackled all around Harry, slowly spreading. The skeletal dragon took a perch on top of a smaller
chandelier that still hung from the ceiling, its weight causing it to swing dangerously. It started
nibbling on its bony wings, as if it were cleaning feathers. Its glowing eyes watched him. Harry tore
into the fallen chandelier, lifting sections of broken wood and tossing them aside. He struggled with
the weight, his muscles straining and screaming at him to lie down and never get up. Wand. Magic.
Have to save him. He needed to find their wands, too. He lifted a piece of the chandelier, uncovering
white painted with red.

“Tom!”

Harry dropped to his knees. Tom was unmoving beneath a beam. Harry let out a soft scream of
pained, exhausted rage.

“Don’t you fucking die on me, you bastard,” said Harry; it came out more of a choked sob than an
insult. “Not after all this. You can’t—you can’t.”

His fingers were bloodied, splintered wood digging into his skin. Harry didn’t care. With a final
heave, Harry managed to get the last of the wood from off Tom. He grabbed him by the ankles and
dragged him a few paces away from the rubble, his tears never ending. But the last of his strength
gave out and Harry collapsed to the floor. He doubled over Tom’s chest, gasping for breath. When he
could, Harry held still, listening and waiting.

Tom was still breathing, though only just - his breaths were shallow and raspy.

“Please,” gasped Harry. His head whipped around, desperate. “Our wands—where’s a wand?
Lumos!”

Nothing.

“Please!” cried Harry, gasping and sobbing through awful, ugly tears. He tried to wipe his face with
his sleeve, but he only smeared the blood. He could barely think through the haze of pain and sorrow
and regret - he wanted to scream. So, he did. He let out another scream, one of pain, rage, and lament.
“Please! Let me use magic once more!”

The magic steadily refused his call.

Remorse filled his soul. His scar burned. He should’ve confronted Tom sooner. He shouldn’t have run
away so much. What kind of Gryffindor had he become, running away so much? He should’ve faced
it all head on. He’d faced Voldemort so many times. He’d walked to his very death. Why had he been
hiding from Tom Riddle?

Was it all over now?

Had he failed the task that Death had given him?

Harry bowed his head. “I’m so sorry. Please. I don’t want him to die. I don’t.”
A little spark flared to life in his chest. Harry whipped his head up and whispered, “Lumos.” A nearby
wand lit up, while another one lit up a number of paces away. Harry grabbed the closest one. For a
second, he felt the familiar burn of disappointment from Fawkes, but the wand itself felt different in
his hand.

It’s Tom’s wand…

“Please work for me,” whispered Harry. He held the wand to his chest, over his heart. “Fawkes, listen
to me, please, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen. I didn’t—I swear. So, please… please
work for me.” He let out a shuddering sob, wiping his eyes as best as he could. The dust only made
his eyes burn more. He pointed the wand at Tom’s chest. “Episkey.”

In the back of Harry’s mind, far behind the storm of pain and emotions, a raspy voice echoed from the
void.

‘Oh, Master…’

‘Why do you not call for me? Am I not your bridge between worlds?’

Tom’s chest cracked.

There was a bubbling, choking sound. Tom jerked awake, his eyes popping open in agony. He choked
again, blood painting his lips. Harry quickly rolled him onto his side where Tom coughed up more
blood. A moment later, he was taking gasping, wheezing breaths, sounding like death itself. Blood in
the lungs. Can’t be good. Would episkey work for something like broken ribs and punctured lungs?
He didn’t know. Harry didn’t know any real healing spells, just some basic first aid after his travels
with Ron and Hermione. Come on, I have to try. He’d destroyed an entire classroom with magic. He
could do some simple healing, right?

Tom coughed up more blood.

Simple. Right.

“Come on, Tom, it’s going to be okay,” murmured Harry, shaking. He kept a hand braced against
Tom’s side to secure him there. He pointed the yew wand at Tom’s chest, focusing on his magic. He
wanted Tom to heal. Heal. Please, heal. For a moment, the yew wand seemed a bit stubborn. The
magic that the yew wand drew from Harry felt much different than what magic felt like with the holly
wand. While the magic felt like a polar opposite, there was something familiar to it. He’d been so
lonely and homesick the past two months and, for the first time, he felt at home.

Tom… is my home?

The tip of the yew wand glowed a soft, pastel green. A second later, blood sprayed the floor as Tom
coughed again. Those frightening, rattling sounds in his lungs settled down into more of a common
cough than a watery grave. His breathing grew calmer. Tom flopped backwards onto his back. His
eyes were glassy as he met Harry’s gaze, a grimace furrowing his bloodied brow.

Thank you, thank you.

“What… happened?”

“It fell on you,” whispered Harry. “And I thought you—”

He broke off, unable to say it out loud.

“Ah.” Recognition bloomed in Tom’s eyes. “Ah, yes…” He let out a few more coughs. “I remember
now… I… I should be dead now, shouldn’t I?”

“N-no, but if you stayed there… Would’ve been bad…”

“You saved me, then,” said Tom softly. “Why?”

Harry blinked. “Wait, you’re the one who pushed me out of the way. Of course, I was going to save
you.”

“Is that the only reason?”

Harry sucked in his breath, drawing back as if burned.

“No.”

It was soft, sibilant of parseltongue.

“I would’ve let my enemy die,” whispered Tom.

“You’re not my enemy,” breathed Harry. “You never were.”

It was tenuous, this understanding between them. A thread so fragile, so easily broken with the right
pressure had forged a connection between them.

A red thread of fate.

Harry wanted to hide, but there was nowhere to go. He couldn’t escape those dark eyes as they stared
at him, their glassiness fading. He couldn’t even hide his face; his hands were in terrible pain from
landing on shards of glass, not to mention the splinters. He refused to look at them. Everything was a
mess. A right mess. His eyes were burning with renewed strength.

“You’re crying.”

“Oh.” Harry tried to rub the tears away with a sleeve. It was a fruitless endeavor. “I… It’s just…” His
chest shuddered. He didn’t have the words. He didn’t even think Tom would understand him. Fawkes
had torn his heart apart with such raw brutality that the rest of his emotions were frayed beyond
stability. “It’s nothing, really…”

Tom’s head tilted slightly; his brows furrowed. He stared at Harry with innocent bemusement. His
hand lifted and the tips of his fingers brushed against Harry’s cheek. His touch smeared through
blood, tears, and dust, forging something beneath Harry’s skin with a scalding power. “That’s right,”
he whispered. “You were crying before… I’d wondered why…”

Tom tried to push himself up. He paused, grimacing. Harry didn’t ask; he helped Tom to a sitting
position. Tom looked around the classroom, taking it all in for a few moments. The classroom doors
shook once; there was a mingle of loud voices outside. The dragon growled with annoyance.

“What a mess.”

That startled a laugh out of Harry. “Yeah, we did some… good work in here.”

Tom snorted. “Good, hm?”

Harry had so much to say and no words to say them. How could he make Tom understand? He
couldn’t hide any more. He couldn’t run away. He couldn’t avoid Tom any longer. Never again.

The classroom door shook violently, as if something was trying to break them down.

“Ah, I believe this is yours?” said Tom, picking up the discarded holly wand. Just as his fingertips
touched the hilt, he sucked in his breath, eyes widening. He looked over at him. “It feels… familiar.”

“Uh, yeah,” said Harry, scratching his nose. He handed Tom his wand. “Yours, too.”

“Thank you,” said Tom softly. They exchanged wands, their fingers brushing against each other
briefly. Tom sighed in relief and looked down at his wand with a touch of longing in his eyes. “You
were holding it… You healed me with my wand? You could use it?”

“Oh, uh, yeah—”

The door to the classroom finally burst open. The sound startled the dragon into roaring again. It
bellowed furiously at the newcomers, swooping back into the air. A cacophony of voices spilled into
the room as Merrythought and Fortinbras stumbled inside. Fortinbras gasped, covering her mouth
with her hands. Merrythought looked around the entire classroom, horror in her eyes. She opened her
mouth, clicked it shut, before opening it once more. Her chest heaved.

“What in Merlin’s balls is going on here?” shouted Merrythought.

Fortinbras squeaked, while Merrythought let out a string of profanities as the dragon dove for them,
narrowly missing them as they ducked out of the way.

Harry must’ve been influencing Tom Riddle for ill if the first word to slip through his composure was
anything to go by.

“Shit.”

It was over.

Tom glanced around the classroom, a touch of ashamed horror rising in his chest. It was in tatters, the
entire room. Even with magic, it would take a massive amount of work to clean it up. It wouldn’t
repair the damage to the books and ingredients, however. Those were lost to the fight and the fires.
What if the school required recompense for the losses? He’d never be able to pay it off and he would
be damned before he went to any of his Knights for something so crass as money.

Especially not for something so ridiculous as duel damage.

It’s over. This is the end, isn’t it?

There would be no recovering from this. One foolish action and one colossal fight effectively
destroyed all of his plans. He’d been so fastidious, down to even the minutest detail.

All was lost.

His chest ached and not just from being nearly crushed to death by a damn chandelier. It was growing
tighter. Something happened to his lungs, hadn’t it? It was getting hard to breathe, too. Was he
shaking now? His head hurt, like it was being squeezed from the inside. Sound warbled. A gasp
hitched in his throat. Why aren’t I breathing? I need to breathe.
Not breathing - that was what happened to people who died.

Whatever had power over Tom now, it held him in a crushing vice. Whatever this was, it raced
through his veins with poisonous potency. His mind was a cage and emotion his captor; panic and
fear, they held him fast with an all powerful grip, in such a way that Tom had never before
experienced in his entire life. Visceral. Primal. A beast cleaved to his lungs with foreboding strength.

“Tom?”

Oh. It was Harry.

Can’t… breathe.

“Oh, no—okay, Tom, listen to me.” His voice dropped to a whisper, yet it cut through Tom with
clarity, rising above the scolding teachers and the raging dragon. It was a light in the darkness, the
calming beacon from a lighthouse - Tom clung to it, to Harry’s voice. “It’s okay, just focus on
breathing. Focus on your breath. Inhale deeply, exhale. Come on, Tom, breathe.”

A voice ranted nearby, another consoling; a dragon bellowed.

But Tom focused on Harry, inhaling in tandem with him, before exhaling slowly. Harry sat at his side,
looking at him intently, showing him how to breathe again. Anchored, Tom kept breathing as if he
were a newborn foal taking its first steps. The beast that had held onto his lungs calmed. Breath filled
his chest and sound returned to his ears.

“Evans, are you listening to me!?”

“He was having a panic attack,” snapped Harry. “I’m sorry, I was a little busy trying to make sure he
was okay!”

“Excuse me?”

“Galatea, please.”

There was a bellowing roar from the dragon as it flew around the room, its wings clattering with the
sounds of bone against bone.

“How did you animate a skeleton?” demanded Merrythought. “What the hell were you doing in
here?”

“Dueling,” said Tom quickly. Harry looked at him and Tom hoped he had the good sense to lie with
him. “Just a friendly duel.”

Though, the way Merrythought narrowed her eyes at him made it clear she didn’t believe him.

“Yeah, and we got a little carried away. We’re sorry—”

Merrythought squatted down in front of them, eyes still narrowed. She roughly grabbed them both by
the chin, turning their heads from side to side. Her sharp gaze studied Tom longer. “You were dueling
outside of my classroom?” she whispered furiously. Her fingers dug into Tom’s cheeks; he winced
and Harry hissed softly. “And then you have the audacity to lie about it to my face? You have steel
balls, boys. Do not lie to me. You were fighting with each other, weren’t you? I’ve heard the rumors.”

“We weren’t—”
Harry’s protests were cut off when Merrythought squeezed their faces again. “I suggest you rethink
your lie,” she snapped. Harry fell silent and didn’t say anything more.

Being powerless was something Tom swore he’d never become. Though a student, he’d maintained
his power here at Hogwarts, avoiding trouble, and building a reputation in Slytherin. But he’d always
known that Merrythought was never to be crossed, just like Dumbledore.

A friendly duel gone wrong could be forgiven. A duel to the death, however, would not be. That
perfect record he had worked tirelessly to maintain was now shattered. He’d never even lost a point
for his house, let alone gotten a detention. If Dumbledore caught even a light breeze of this…

He’d advocate for Tom’s expulsion.

They were going to expel him for this. Expel. Banish him from his true home. They were going to
send him back to that accursed orphanage. They would snap his wand. There would be no going back
from this.

They would take magic away from him.

Merrythought huffed, releasing their faces. “This is the most asinine display I’ve ever had the
displeasure of witnessing in my many decades as a teacher here. The windows are busted, glass
everywhere outside—and do you have any idea what you’ve destroyed in here? This was a valuable
classroom.” Merrythought exhaled another aggravated huff. “Even if it was obsolete…”

“Scolding them will have to wait,” said Fortinbras softly, coming to stand at her side. She put a hand
on Merrythought’s shoulder and gestured to Harry and Tom. “They don’t look well.”

“No, they don’t. Fine pair, they are.” Merrythought lifted to her feet, putting a hand beneath Tom’s
underarm. “Right, then. Get up. We’re going to the infirmary.”

“Professor Merrythought,” said a tentative voice at the door. There was a crowd of students trying to
get a look at the classroom, while a number of prefects from different houses tried to push them along.

“What?”

“Professor Dumbledore said to send them to the Headmaster’s office first. Professor Slughorn will
arrive there shortly.”

“They need the infirmary,” snapped Merrythought, glaring at the boy.

The Gryffindor prefect squeaked. “I’m just repeating what Professor Dumbledore said, ma’am.”

“Fine. Fine.” It came out clipped with annoyance. “Fine. Let’s go, then.”

“What about the room, Galatea?”

“Ward it shut.” Merrythought grabbed both of the boys by the underarms and began to march them
out of the classroom, careful to avoid all fallen debris that blocked their path. “And don’t let that
damn dragon out. The room will be cleaned later.” She lightly shook both Harry and Tom, giving
them both another scathing look. “You stupid, foolish boys,” she whispered harshly.

Tom’s face burned.

Merrythought never loosened her grip on the pair of them. Tom had never been so humiliated in his
entire life. Students paused in the hallways, looking at them, and bursting into furious whispers. The
rumors would be spread through the entire castle before the Halloween Feast in the evening. There
would be no escape.

Tom ducked his head as low as he could, not looking ahead, trying to hide his face. His heart thumped
in his chest when a flash of panic rushed through him once more. What if someone saw his prefect
badge?

Oh, god.

His fears only lasted a moment when he remembered he’d taken his outer robes off during the fight. It
wasn’t much to console his mind, but the fear of someone recognizing him as a prefect abated
slightly.

He could do nothing but be marched through the corridors. He kept his head ducked and turned. His
gaze blurred. The panic that had gripped him so tightly was rising to the surface once more. He barely
noticed Merrythought pausing a moment; he didn’t catch the password; and he didn’t notice the
gargoyle rising into the staircase.

As they approached the door of the Headmaster’s office, Tom barely caught the words spoken by
Dippet, “Look, I don’t like you. I really don’t like you at all and you know why. You’re only here on
Albus’ recommendation. But…” There was a deep annoyed exhale of breath. “You’re my last resort. I
need you to cover her classes until she’s able to come back. The second she’s back, you’re out of here.
Is this acceptable?”

“Perfectly,” said an unfamiliar voice, his tone slightly clipped.

“Wonderful. Thank you, Armando. That settles it, then.”

Tom stopped walking abruptly.

No…

“Be it on your head if something goes wrong, Albus.”

Oh, no…

Dumbledore was in the office.

Merrythought released her hold on him, while a different hand touched Tom on the shoulder. He was
faintly aware of Harry quietly calling him by name.

Dumbledore was here.

It’s all…

Over.

Merrythought burst into the room with the elegance of a raging hippogriff, with Harry and Tom
trailing after her. “You wanted them in the Headmaster’s office, right, Albus?” she snapped, without
even pausing for politeness. Her eyes were like bonfires, her jaw clenched and her brows furrowed so
tightly together, they nearly touched. Her smile was deadlier than a viper’s bite. “Well, here they are.
Sorry, they might get some blood on your floor, but you’re okay with that, right?”
Dumbledore met Tom’s eyes. The look in those blue eyes was the final nail in the coffin for Tom.
Victory.

You bastard.

“Good lord!” gasped a voice. A moment later, a man with greying, light brown hair bolted to their
sides. Something about him was familiar… Tom sucked in his breath, not prepared for the way this
stranger began to touch his chin to examine his wounds. The man clicked his tongue, before moving
onto Harry. He paused, eyes widening with horror. “Harry Evans, is that you?”

Harry let out a sheepish laugh. “Uh, maybe?”

“Why aren’t these two in the hospital wing? How are you two even standing?”

“Because Albus demanded that I bring them here first,” said Merrythought with a smile that promised
pain and agony. At that, the man who’d been fussing over them turned to deliver a sharp glare of his
own towards Dumbledore. “Who am I to argue with the illustrious Albus Dumbledore, hm?”

“Galatea, my dear, I didn’t know they were this injured or else—”

“I am not your dear!”

Dumbledore’s mouth clicked shut. Between Merrythought and this other man, if looks could kill,
Dumbledore would be dead.

The man pulled out his wand and lightly waved it over Tom’s head. A scroll materialized in the air,
unfurling, and words began to fill the parchment with black ink. “What happened?” he asked. He did
the same for Harry, before tucking his wand in between his teeth and took both scrolls into his hands.
His eyes widened. He gave them both a hard look.

Merrythought huffed. For a moment, she looked between Dumbledore and Tom. She appeared to be
debating something with herself, before she said, “It would appear that it might’ve started out as a
friendly duel.”

The man holding the scrolls lifted an eyebrow. “Friendly?”

“Turned not so friendly, all right?”

“Dueling outside of class is a suspendable offense,” said Dumbledore sternly. “But I’ve never seen
two boys look so battle worn as you do. Trying to kill each other? That’s worthy of expulsion, perhaps
even Azkaban since you’re both nearly of age.”

“Albus!” cried Merrythought and the man in unison.

“You suggest expelling them, do you?” said Dippet, running a hand over his long beard, expression
calculating. “Mm.”

Suspension. Expulsion. Azkaban.

He would have to leave Hogwarts. He’d have to go back to London. He’d have to go back to that
horrible place. Use of magic would be banned, forbidden. His power would be stripped from him.
He’d have to have an explanation for the matron. The children would be insufferable. It’d be summer
vacation all over again, but a thousandfold worse. And when he became of age, he’d be thrust into the
world during the dead of winter and be forced to live as a lowly muggle.
Azkaban? Nothing was worse than that horrid orphanage.

Tom was shaking, but he didn’t realize it.

“You boys have anything to say for yourselves?”

Never to you. Never, ever to you.

“Expulsion? Really?” said Fortinbras with worry in her tone. “That’s a bit extreme.”

“I agree, Albus.” The man rolled up the parchment scrolls and turned to him, his brows furrowed. His
voice was cool with an undertone of betrayal. “You’d really ask for their expulsion?”

“Well—”

“Don’t you dare—don’t even think about it,” snapped Merrythought. “Suspend them? Hell, no. Even
with magic, that classroom is going to be impossible to clean up and I much rather these two idiots—”
She gestured at Tom and Harry, a gleam in her eyes. “—clean up their mess. Suspension is letting
them off easy. I want them to suffer.”

“Suffering is still a bit extreme, Galatea, love—”

“I want them to suffer!”

“Ah, yes, well… Thank you for the suggestion, but perhaps you two ladies have done your part, hm?”
said Dippet, smiling with a touch of condescension. “We’ll take it from here—”

Merrythought hissed.

Fortinbras’s expression was glacial.

The man let out a gasp, eyes widening at Dippet.

“Fucking Gryffindors!” exploded Merrythought. “I’m sick of this bias of yours, Albus—no, don’t
give me that shocked, innocent look. You’ve had it out for Riddle since he walked through those
doors looking like a drowned rat. Merlin knows why, because I sure don’t.”

Tom flushed a deep heat in his cheeks. He felt Harry’s curious eyes on him. He refused to meet his
gaze.

“I beg your pardon—I’m a Slytherin—”

“You’re a Gryffindor, too, my dear girl—”

“Fucking men, then! Don’t test me,” hissed Merrythought. She whirled away, marching towards the
door. “Ophelia, let’s leave these men to their business, shall we?”

“Of course,” whispered Fortinbras. As Merrythought nearly kicked open the door as she seethed out
of the office, Fortinbras glanced at the unfamiliar man and gave him a friendly smile. “Don’t mind
Galatea. She doesn’t mean you, of course. Pleasure to see you again, Newt Scamander, though I wish
it were under better circumstances.”

“No, I quite agree with her, actually.” The man pursed his lips as he crossed his arms over his chest;
his expression softened. “It would appear we’re now colleagues.”
“We must catch up over afternoon tea sometime, then, you and your wife, yes?”

“I look forward to it.”

Fortinbras smiled at him with a warm nod. “Excellent.” She looked at Dumbledore with a soft, sad
glimmer in her eyes. “I must say, Albus… I am a bit disappointed in you,” she said, her tone
somewhat gentle, but it held the chastising bite of a mother. “I sincerely hope you reconsider your
stance on expelling the boys. I would hope that you see them as they are. Children.” She glanced over
at Tom and Harry with a pointed look. “Foolish children, ones that have made mistakes, but children
nonetheless.”

“Foolish children grow into foolish adults,” said Dumbledore softly. “And those adults can do terrible
things if they’re not stopped when they’re young.”

Oh, that burned in his gut, like molten lava. Tom glared at the man with all of the enmity that he held
for him. How dare Dumbledore.

Fortinbras slowly turned her head back to look at him. Her lips thinned with displeasure. “Perhaps,”
she began, her tone now sharp and cutting as a steel blade, “you seek signs of ill will in hearts where
there is none to be found.” There was a pregnant pause. “Perhaps, you do this because once before…
you missed signs in another.”

There was a harsh intake of breath.

“Foolish children to foolish adults - it would seem you speak from experience, hm?” Fortinbras gave
him a curt smile. “Well, then. Galatea and I shan’t be attending the… Halloween Feast this evening.
It’s been much too exciting of a day. I wish you a Good Samhain.”

Fortinbras elegantly turned away and walked out of the office. She almost bumped into Slughorn, but
she gracefully nodded to him and disappeared.

“Dear me, dear me, what’s this? What’s going on?” asked Slughorn with his usual blustering air.
“You’d not believe what the students are saying. Something about about a magical accident? A
dragon attacked the castle? Two students killing each other—oh! Tom, Harry, great Merlin, you both
look terrible. Have you been hurt?”

“They have and I think they need medical attention,” said Scamander, his expression growing more
pinched with a mixture of annoyance and concern. “Immediately.”

“There’s still the discussion of what we’re to do with them,” said Dumbledore. “It would be best to
take care of that now, especially with such a violent fight—”

“It’s my fault,” said Harry abruptly. Tom’s head snapped over to him; those powerful emerald eyes
met his and their light turned dark with regret. The gaze was powerful amongst the cuts and scratches
on his skin, and the dried blood mixed with sweat splattered on his face, and the visible tracks where
his tears had forged their pain. It struck a cord within Tom. Harry looked back at Dumbledore. “It’s all
my fault. Please. I said something I shouldn’t have. It was awful and hurtful and it set the whole fight
off. Punish me, not Tom, please.”

What?

Scamander raised an eyebrow.

“It takes two to fight, Mr. Evans,” said Dumbledore in firm disapproval. “Armando, I really do think a
suspension, perhaps even expulsion, is in order—”

“Nonsense,” said Dippet. “Mr. Riddle has an impeccable record. He’s never shown any inclination
towards violence with his fellow classmates. I don’t even recall him ever getting a detention. No, this
would be his first offense. Same for Mr. Evans. A fight between boys is common. Nothing that, oh…
say, two weeks of detention and a good, smart caning won’t fix.”

The blood drained from Tom’s face.

“But Headmaster—”

“And one hundred points each from Slytherin,” said Dippet, continuing on swiftly. Slughorn let out a
whimper at this. “Really, Albus, you’re always the one begging for mercy on behalf of the students.
I’m surprised at you.”

Tom couldn’t breathe. Something about the air was thick all around him. Memories of his childhood
flashed in his mind - a woman grabbing him by the arm and a belt snapping across his backside. The
children always scattered. Run. Don’t get caught. Tom tried to take a breath, but only stars blinked
wildly in his sight.

A hand brushed against the back of his, tentative at first, until it completely encased it. Tom jerked,
but the hold didn’t let go. His head snapped up; he met Harry’s gaze, concern and understanding
found there. He seemed to ask if Tom were all right. Harry lightly squeezed his hand. Tom swallowed.
He dropped his head, pulling his hand away.

He could still feel the ghost of Harry’s touch.

“A previous impeccable record doesn’t mean they’re innocent,” protested Dumbledore. “For things to
get this bad between them, they’re obviously troubled. They need a mentor, someone to give them the
personal attention they need - especially since neither of them have proper parents to guide them.
Now, I’d be more than willing to mentor Evans—”

Dippet waved Dumbledore off. “No, that’s out of the question for you, Albus. You have too much on
your plate as it is. However, I agree with you. These boys could use a mentor…” Dippet gave
Scamander a hard look. “And I think there’s no better candidate than someone who can teach them
the consequences of what happens when you make trouble”

Scamander’s smile was stiff as wood.

“Isn’t that right, Newt?” said Dippet, resting his elbows on his desk and pressing the tips of his fingers
together. “You’re the perfect example and mentor to teach these boys what happens to students who
cause such trouble for others. I’m putting them under your responsibility. While Mr. Riddle has been a
model student for the past five years, I know little about Mr. Evans and so far I’m not impressed with
him. He’s not a troublemaker, but he’s missed quite a number of classes. I expect you to make sure
they behave perfectly for the rest of the year or I’ll hold you personally responsible for their actions.”

“Hey, that’s not fair to Newt!” snapped Harry.

“Harry, come now, be polite to the Headmaster,” said Slughorn. He let out a little nervous laugh and
put a hand to Harry’s shoulder, but Harry shrugged him off, lightly bumping Tom in the process.
Scamander’s expression was blank as he blinked a number of times. He opened his mouth to answer,
before closing it. He took a deep breath and his face softened. He lifted his chin. “Of course,
Headmaster,” he said. “I would be glad to mentor the boys.”

“Tom, what do you have to say for yourself?” asked Dumbledore in a stern tone. “You’ve been quiet
during all of this. Do you think your punishment is just?”

“Yes,” said Tom with a rasp. He winced at the hoarseness in his throat; his mouth was dry. He drew in
a deep breath, desperately trying to pull himself together. Put on the perfect student mask. Put it on. “I
am merely so appalled by my own behavior and actions that I could scarcely bring myself to speak.
The punishment is-is—” His breath hitched. “—quite lenient. You have my gratitude.”

Dumbledore didn’t look pleased.

“It’s settled, then. Best to get the punishment out of the way, hm?” Dippet pulled out his wand and
pointed it towards a cabinet where a handful of canes hung in a glass case. Tom’s next breath was
deep and shaky. The glass case opened and one of the canes flew out, flying into the air.

Scamander blinked.

Tom’s heart pounded in his ears, like a roaring beat of a drum. He could already anticipate the bite of
its sting, how the crack of its sound would proceed the rush of said pain.

He’d much rather endure a few seconds of the cruciatus curse.

“That will not be necessary,” said Scamander, his tone sharp. “You will not cane them.”

What?

Dippet raised an eyebrow. “Pardon? That’s not up to you, Scamander. Their punishment has already
been decided. You have no authority here to dictate whether a caning is or isn’t necessary.”

“Did you not just assign me as their mentor?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“Then, I’m in exactly the position of authority to override said decision,” said Scamander, head still
lifted. “They’re in no condition for a caning. Have either of you noticed the amount of glass in their
skin? There’s more blood than skin on them. They look like they’ve been wrestling a nundu cub into a
bath.”

“True, but you overstep—”

“As their mentor, if I’m to guide them to better behavior, then you will need to relinquish full power
over them to me. If you refuse, well, then, I must wonder if you’re trying to set them up for failure in
the future.” Dumbledore gaped. Dippet’s eyes widened, mouth dropping. Scamander put up his hands
in a placating manner, head dipping slightly. “But surely not—after all, a good headmaster would
want the best for their students and would never do such a thing.”

The silence was so thick, it could be sliced with a butter knife.

Just… who is this man?

Newt Scamander? He’d barely heard of the man outside their Care of Magical Creatures textbook.
This man didn’t know them at all and yet he was advocating for them so fiercely. How odd… A
pleasant change from the disapproving air that Dumbledore always had for Tom.

Nothing more, though.

No adult was worthy of his trust.

“My, my…” murmured Dippet, giving him a calculating look. “You’ve certainly changed since last I
saw you.”

“I am no longer a schoolboy, Headmaster,” said Scamander. “And I haven’t been for quite some time
now. I would prefer not to be treated as such.”

“Of course. Well, you’ve championed for them quite enough. Very well. I shall defer to you when it
comes to Mr. Riddle and Mr. Evans.” Dippet looked over at Slughorn. “Horace, I’ll expect the same
from you, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course, Headmaster…”

“I’ll let you handle their punishment, Newt,” said Dippet, waving his wand lightly. The cane floated
within reach to Scamander, hovering there innocently. “Take that with you. After they’ve had their
injuries healed, you may return the cane later once you’re done with them.”

More humiliation. Tom couldn’t stand it. His power would be in shambles once the Slytherin house
caught wind that he’d been caned. They would know. Tom Riddle, heir of Slytherin, master of the
Slytherin house, caned like a mere miscreant. But he could brave the strikes - he’d done it before at
the orphanage; he could do it here.

He was trembling again.

“You misunderstand me,” said Scamander with an unflinching tone, eyes narrowed. His hand snapped
up, his magic throwing the cane back into its case, the door swinging shut with a loud snap. “That
will not be necessary. I refuse to use any object with the purpose of inflicting pain and fear on a
student.”

Dippet glowered at him. “But—”

“I’ve made my stance clear on this—this is ridiculous.” The last of his words came out more of a
mutter to himself as he shook his head. “And besides, based on personal experience, I can tell you
right now that corporal punishment will not do a damn thing to improve their behavior and you know
it.”

Harry let out a belabored exhale of relief. Tom remained impassive, but he was equally relieved by
this stranger’s insistence over them. He looked at Scamander, studying him, looking at the way the
man held himself in a room of powerful wizards. Scamander wasn’t intimidated by them, not even by
Albus Dumbledore himself.

You are something different, Scamander.

I wonder what.

Scamander took a steadying breath, putting a hand to his forehead. “If that is all, then I’ll be escorting
my new charges to the hospital wing, where they should have been in the first place.”
 And with that, Newt Scamander put a surprisingly gentle hand onto Harry and Tom’s shoulders - far
opposite of what his tone had been towards the other men - and guided them out of the Headmaster’s
office.

The door shut with resounding finality.

Chapter End Notes

*wheezes* Listen, a jar wasn’t nearly hard enough for Tom. I had to drop a whole ass chandelier
on his head. I’m just as frustrated and annoyed with these two dumbasses as you are.

*glares at them*

*Tom ducks behind Harry*

Also, DAMN. Merrythought and Fortinbras really showed up in this chapter. They were alive. In
my mind, they were like, “We are here and we have things so SAY. Stand aside, Author.” And
Fortinbras, THIS GODDESS OF A WOMAN, she really landed a blow to Dumbledore.
What a woman.

And NEWT. FINALLY. Months ago, after reading my outline, AJ wrote a rough first draft of
how Newt would interact with Dippet and Dumbledore and it laid a foundation that I could build
from, since so much has changed since then. Newt coming in for the rescue, hahaha. Finally.
 Twenty
Chapter Notes

I have the summer off.

Finally.

Let’s see how much writing I can get done this summer because I am thirsty and ravenous. I've
been deprived of my creative love for too long. College semester was a bitch.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Caning.

Headmaster Dippet had been hell bent on caning them.

He’d taken out an actual cane with the full intent of beating the shit out of them. Harry was still
reeling at that. What the fuck. Yes, let’s beat the students covered in blood and glass. Brilliant. That
certainly wouldn’t cause us more permanent damage. Not at all.

Was he blind or just a bastard?

The hat would’ve tossed Harry’s arse back to Gryffindor if those damn professors had tried to cane
Tom - being lightheaded with blood loss and magical exhaustion wouldn’t have stopped Harry Potter
from throwing down with Albus Dumbledore himself. Fifth year would’ve had nothing on what Harry
would’ve done to the Headmaster’s office. Gonna try to throw them in Azkaban? Not without a
legitimate reason, they weren’t.
Thank Merlin for Newt’s appearance.

Harry kept forgetting that caning was a thing in this age. It wasn’t until he watched the creaky old
Headmaster Dippet summon a cane of multiple canes from a special case that Harry realized that they
were dead serious about it. Fucking hell, Harry was pretty sure a few of them were decorated!

If it hadn’t been for Newt, Harry would’ve done something impulsive and violent. He couldn’t believe
how callous Headmaster Dippet had been. He didn’t care if the man was over six hundred years old -
dear Merlin, that was old - that gave the man no excuse for being a shitty Headmaster. If Harry hadn’t
already wanted to become the Headmaster himself, it would’ve solidified his resolve. Hogwarts was
an absolute disaster of a school. The Wizarding World really was going to the dogs. No wonder this
world would give rise to not just one, but two dark lords within the same century. This couldn’t be
allowed to continue.

However, the whole interaction did give him some insight into Tom.

Tom…

He’d gone pale at the suggestion of a caning - translucent as a ghost. Harry had watched him tremble
where he stood. Tom Riddle, who had an entire chandelier crash on his head, was afraid of a caning.
He had trembled at the suggestion. Harry never thought he’d see such a vulnerable moment from Tom
Riddle.

But why?

Harry did recall Tom saying that a few seconds underneath the cruciatus curse was better, even kinder,
than being caned and suffering for days afterwards. Humiliation, he’d said. Tom had thought he’d
been showing kindness by not reporting fights within Slytherin to their teachers and taking their
discipline into his own hands.

But that didn’t explain the fear nor the blood draining from his face.

The orphanage…

Being sent to the orphanage was something Uncle Vernon had threatened Harry with many times. It
wasn’t until Harry had seen a film on the telly about orphans that he’d taken the threat seriously. He’d
been terrified by the thought of having to live in such a cruel place - since surely it had to be worse
than the Dursleys.

Harry knew better now. Both were shit.

It was the first time Harry really saw Tom. Perhaps, it was the exhaustion. Perhaps, it was the twisted
connection they’d shared after nearly killing each other. Whatever it was, Tom had become readable
to Harry. He could see beyond the visage of the villain, Tom Riddle.

Tom was just a boy.

Harry felt a bit ridiculous with himself. Without realizing it, he’d seen Tom Riddle as a quest to save
the world, not as a person struggling with basic needs and feelings. He was a boy like all the others,
one who once made choices to cope with his place in the world. Unfortunately, those choices weren’t
good, leading to the rise of Lord Voldemort and to his own destruction.

A single grain of sand could tip the scale.

Harry wanted to be more than a grain of sand.

Could he push through all the barriers, through all the bullshit, through the Slytherin dance, and find
Tom? He’d got a glimpse of him, a flicker of vulnerability. Friend… Tom really needed a friend, one
that he couldn’t push away. No matter what. Could he be that? He had to be that—he wanted to be
that. But… it was exhausting trying to be the savior all the time. Harry was always the hero of
someone else’s story.

He was so tired. His heart was too broken. Fawkes was displeased with him. But he couldn’t give up;
Harry knew this. Yet, he was torn between grasping the frayed threads of his hope and letting go.

Even though Harry walked beside Tom, the divide between them felt like it was pushing them further
apart. Was his scar hurting because of Tom’s emotions? Was he angry? Hurt? Merlin, Harry needed
answers and direction from someone who understood the insanity that was his life.

But there wasn’t anyone, now was there?

A low sigh from Newt broke Harry out of his thoughts. He hadn’t noticed that they’d walked for a
few minutes in silence. Newt stopped in a corridor, glancing around. It was empty of students. “Are
you both all right?” he asked as he turned back to them, concern in his expression. “Really and truly?
How much pain are you both in? I’ve never seen so much blood on a child before—”

“I’m not a child,” hissed Tom.

Harry’s eyebrows bolted into his fringe. Tom, losing his composure with teachers? That was new.

Tom shifted with unease, but he didn’t back down. He stared at the man with hard, unflinching eyes
and Newt met his gaze with a similar intensity. Blood coated Tom’s lips and nose; his left eye was
beginning to swell, the flesh beneath it starting to turn color.

“How old are you?” asked Newt softly.

Tom bristled. “I’m nearly of age.”

Newt turned his head slightly, warm hazel eyes meeting Harry. “And you?”

Uh…

Damn. How old was he anyway? He hadn’t really thought about it. When Harry had entered the
forest, intending to die, it’d been three months before his birthday. However, when Harry arrived in
this time, two days before the start of the school year, four months had effectively been skipped. Was
he eighteen or seventeen?

Well, better just stick to my usual birthday.

“I’m seventeen,” said Harry. The look Tom gave him was priceless. Harry lifted his eyebrows in a
light smirk. “I turn eighteen in July.”

Eat it up - I’m older than you.

“Sixteen and seventeen, then,” said Newt, saying each number slowly, as if he were weighing them.
He nodded once. “Right. Children. So, you’re both children.”

Tom let out a hiss while Harry shrugged in agreement.

There was another sigh. “You’re both injured and probably experiencing blood loss. I’ll ignore your
disrespect for now, but do remember that I’m on your side,” Newt said, his tone gentle, but firm.
“Come on now. Best get you both to the hospital wing before you keel over.”

Tom didn’t move.

What little color Tom had in his face drained further. His eyes glanced up and down the corridor; his
chest rose in a quick breath.

“Uh… Could we go somewhere more private?” asked Harry. Tom blinked and, for a brief moment,
their eyes met. “I’d rather no one see us,” he said, gesturing to Tom and himself. “We’re Slytherins,
you see, and…”

“But you need the full medical care of the hospital wing—”

“Please, Newt?” whispered Harry. “Please?”

Newt softened. He rubbed his face with a hand. “You’ll cooperate?”

“Cross my heart, sir.”

Newt let out a chuckle at that; he looked expectantly at Tom. After a moment, Harry nudged him with
an elbow, received a glare for it, before Tom nodded sharply.

“Well, my new office is closer…” Newt eyed them, his lips thinned as if he were trying not to smile.
Harry put on an exaggerated innocent expression with full puppy eyes. Newt sighed again. “Very
well, against my better judgment.”

“If you’re any good at healing people as you are hippogriffs, I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

“Come on, then,” said Newt, his smile growing fonder now. “My office is this way. We’ll get you
fixed up in there.”

“Thank you, thank you—”

“Don’t thank me yet. I intend to get a better explanation of what on earth happened with you two.”

They walked in silence now, reaching the office rather quickly. Tom ducked his head to avoid the
stares of those they passed in the corridors, as if he were trying to hide from them. The intense
whispering was a sure sign that the rumors of their fight had spread all through Hogwarts by now.

The epic fight between Tom Riddle and Harry Evans was going to be the talk of the school for the
next month, at least.

It took about ten minutes before they arrived at Grubbly-Plank’s old office. Newt opened it and
stepped inside. The room was a decent size, with a large desk and a high back chair positioned in
front of the door. Two other chairs, smaller in size, were set to the righthand side. To the left, the room
opened out to a cozy sitting room. A sofa and an armchair sat near a crackling fireplace. There was a
closed door that led to the personal quarters.

“Take a seat on the sofa there. You’re both swaying on your feet.”

Harry fidgeted. “I probably shouldn’t…”

“What?” asked Newt; his tone sounded a bit strangled.

“I fell on some glass. I… dunno if I should…”

“Right.” Newt pressed his lips together. “All right. Not a worry; I’ll get you patched up. First, remove
the glass and clean the wound, then… Oh—” Newt reached towards his side for something that
wasn’t there. He paused, his brows furrowing. “Oh, bother… Right. I didn’t bring it with me,” he
muttered under his breath. He sighed, looking at them both. “I suppose I’ll have to make a trip to the
hospital wing. Are you sure you two don’t want to come to the hospital wing with me? They have
nice, soft, wonderful beds.”

Harry snorted, rolling his eyes. “They’re not comfortable.”

Tom raised an eyebrow.

“Very well. I’ll be right back. Don’t move. Just… rest and try not to fight with each other any more. I
won’t be long.”

He left the room, leaving Harry and Tom standing side by side. Tom glanced away from him; he
brushed at his robes. He hissed softly, stopping, and a number of shards of glass fell to the floor. He
didn’t move.

The silence was more painful than the glass in his knees.

Harry sighed. “We need to talk,” he whispered.

“About?”

He didn’t look at him. Harry ran a hand through his hair, wincing as he felt scabs of congealed blood
break from his scalp. “Please, Tom,” he said, exhaustion in his tone. “I don’t have the energy for
games.”

Tom still didn’t face him; he crossed his arms. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Isn’t there?”

Tom’s arms tightened around his chest.

“We can’t do this again,” said Harry softly. “We can’t get to this point again.”

“We’d have avoided this if you’d been respectful and just kneeled like you were supposed to in your
initiation to the Knights.”

Harry inhaled, trying to remain calm. “I already told you: I will not kneel.”

“You were insulting,” said Tom, his voice a wounded whisper. “And you snubbed my authority. The
balance of power in Slytherin is fragile—you have no idea. Any sign of weakness and they’re on you
like sharks at the first sign of blood in the water. And you threatened that balance of power.”

Harry sighed, ragged and hoarse. “First of all, no. I wasn’t trying to be insulting. Second of all, you
treated me like shit and I wasn’t gonna have it. Respect goes both ways, you know.”

His scar burned hotter.

“You should’ve gone along with it and taken your concerns to me afterwards.”

“I’m not some servant!”

“It’s not like that—You shouldn’t have fought me on it in front of the others.”

“And you shouldn’t have pushed Monty in retaliation!” snapped Harry.

Tom inhaled sharply, chest rising in a deep protest when he stopped, breaking Harry’s gaze. “That,”
he said with a low hiss. “That…” But he trailed off, his arms flexing in their grip. His jaw clenched.

They stood there, backs slightly turned to each other, both with their arms crossed in front of their
chests. Tight. Closed off. The silence burned. Harry glanced over his shoulder at Tom, staring at that
impenetrable form. It was like a wall, a barrier, a fortress he couldn’t breach.

After all of this… and I still can’t get through to him? Is this all fruitless? Have I sacrificed everything
and everyone in vain? Have I failed? Can I not save Tom Riddle from himself?

His heart shattered.

The scar burned fiery hot, a blaze flickering to life. Harry cried out, clutching his scar as the old
wound tore open. Blood pooled down his forehead.

‘You are the most ridiculous, aggravating…’

“Harry?” said Tom, turning around.

‘Such an emotional child…’

A voice echoed in his head, one all too familiar.

‘You always have been…’

Harry was falling; Tom rushed to him, grabbing him before he met the floor. His name was a murmur
on Tom’s lips, sound muffled in his ears; white fog overtook his vision. The glimmer of fear in Tom’s
eyes was the last thing Harry saw.

The agony in his heart was dampened; the pain was only a dull throb. Harry opened his eyes; he
slowly sat up, glancing around. A sea of white surrounded him. Am I dead again? The stress had
killed him. Poetic. A terrible stillness hung in the air around him.

“Finally,” muttered a voice. Harry whirled around towards the sound, his mouth dropping at the sight.
A man in black suit robes - a man whom Harry could never forget - stood next to a plain, circular
table and two wooden chairs. “About time I got your attention.”

It was Tom, yet not… Tom.

This was a man in his late fifties. He was greying, yet still held his good looks. Tom Riddle would age
rather well. Except… This man had red piercing eyes. His skin was gaunt, stretched tight over his
skull. His skin was pale, nearly bloodless, and his veins were black beneath it. Dark magic had
weaved through not only his soul, but his very flesh.

Voldemort stood in the mist.

“You—” gasped Harry. “Why are you here?”

“Sit down.”

“I thought—how—what the fuck—shit—I can’t—”

“Harry, calm down and sit,” snapped Voldemort, exasperated. “I give you my word. I will not harm
you.”

Harry felt a little hysterical, hearing Voldemort use his first name so calmly. He wanted to laugh and
scream, preferably at the same time. “Why should I believe you!”

Voldemort pinched the bridge of his nose. “Use that brain of yours - where do you think you are? I
look nothing like my risen self from your fourth year, yet I’m nothing like the innocent school boy
you know now. How could an encounter between us occur?”

“Innocent, my arse—”

“Harry.”

He huffed and took a moment to calm down. Harry glanced around, but the fog clouded anything
beyond a few meters away. He’d been in Newt’s office a moment ago with Tom; he couldn’t have left
Hogwarts. Which meant…

“This is in my mind?”

“Ten points to Gryffindor,” drawled Voldemort.

Harry narrowed his eyes. “You’re not a professor and last I checked, I’m in Slytherin.”

“Just sit down,” said Voldemort, gesturing to the table. He shook his head. “Salazar, you’re terrible.”

Harry sat, but grudgingly. “What’re you doing in my mind?” he demanded. “You’re not supposed to
exist any more. How’d you get here?”

“I never left.”

Horror flooded through Harry. “You’re the…” His appearance made sense now. “You’re my scar—the
horcrux.”

“Yes.”

“I thought it was dormant. I thought—”

“Thoughts, assumptions, beliefs - none of these are the measuring stick for truth.” Voldemort waved a
hand, long fingers curling over the surface of the table. A tea set with cups materialized. “Tea?”

Harry nodded, numb. The hysteria threatened to bubble up inside of him once again. Voldemort was
offering him tea. Harry watched, snared in a trance as Voldemort poured the tea with an elegance that
only he could have. He handed a cup to Harry and set the kettle aside. He inhaled slowly, seeming to
savor the aroma. Voldemort took a slow sip. Harry did the same, just to do something, to keep himself
from losing his composure.

Oh.
The tea was sweet.

“I’ve always been awake and sentient inside your mind, but without power,” said Voldemort softly,
gazing into his cup. “I’ve been merely a silent observer of your life. Such is the life of a weakened
horcrux, especially one that wasn’t created with intention.”

Dear Merlin, this wasn’t getting better.

“How—”

“This situation is unique,” said Voldemort, shifting in his seat. Discomfort twisted his features.
“Normally, I have no power to communicate with you in anyway, including your dreams, but
somehow your distress brought me forward and gave me power - or permission. I’m unsure. You
needed assistance…”

“And my mind thought you were the best candidate?” asked Harry incredulously. His hands clenched
around the cup. “Brilliant! So fucking brilliant.”

“It’s not—” Voldemort let out an exasperated sigh. “It’s because your distress was connected to Tom
Riddle. Do you have any idea how erratic it’s been in your mind lately? All over Tom Riddle?”

Harry flushed furiously.

“That explains nothing!” snapped Harry, slamming his cup down; the table rattled. “I’ve been—” He
used air quotes aggressively. “—distressed about him—about you—before!”

“I said the situation was unique due t-to your-your—” Voldemort struggled, actually struggled, for
words. “—your quest with Tom Riddle.” Embarrassment was clearly on his face now, adding blatant
color to his pale skin. “Your mind called out to me and somehow I was allowed to communicate with
you. So, I came.”

Harry leaned back in his chair, staring at the man as he tried to understand. “My quest? I don’t—
Oh…” Blood roared in his ears; heat flooded into his cheeks. Harry dropped his face in his hands.
“This isn’t happening.”

“I’m here to give you insight into Riddle’s thinking - my thinking.” There was a pause. “Nothing
more,” Voldemort added sharply.

“This can’t be happening.”

“Your last thoughts before passing out were a plea for help, direction, and understanding about all of
this. There is no one else who could help you in this. Who else understands your past better than I?
You don’t have to explain what’s going on. I already know. I’ve witnessed it all. The history, the
magnitude of your sacrifice - I understand the stakes and what you’ve given up.”

“You don’t know shit!” shouted Harry, his head whipping up to glare at the man. “How dare you!
What do you know about me, huh? You can’t know anything about me. You can’t.”

Voldemort didn’t rise to anger. Silence lifted between them for a moment. When Voldemort next
spoke, it was a soft whisper.

“I live in your mind, Harry. I know your intimate feelings for the people you… the people you love.
I’ve watched you since our union that fateful night. I know your trials and struggles. I see why you
were the prophesied child. How you have withstood the conflict in your life sets you apart from
others, including myself.”

No.

No, he didn’t want to hear such nice things from this man - not from him, not the one who had been
the catalyst for what had set Harry ‘apart from others.’ He didn’t want to hear this from the man who
had murdered his parents.

“You are… without doubt… the most powerful person to ever walk the earth. The title of the ‘greatest
wizard of our time’ belongs to you, not Albus Dumbledore.”

Harry couldn’t look at him. It had been said with such reverence - said by Voldemort himself. Why
did he, of all people, have to say that with such sincerity?

“You were raised by terrible people—”

“And whose fault was that?” hissed Harry.

Voldemort continued without acknowledging him. “—yet, you chose to react with compassion. I, too,
was raised by terrible people, yet I chose to react with vengeance. That, Harry, is the difference
between you and I.”

Harry’s throat clogged with emotion.

“You are the stronger man,” said Voldemort, his tone gentle. “There is only power and those too weak
to seek it. However… I understand better what power - true power - is in its entirety.”

Harry slowly lifted his head and met those blood red eyes.

“I was weak.”

Harry clenched his fists together, hiding them beneath the table at his lap. He looked down, unable to
look at those remorseful eyes; he took a deep breath.

“He doesn’t understand.”

“What?” whispered Harry.

“Riddle. Your Tom,” said Voldemort with such alien softness. Harry swallowed. “He doesn’t
understand what patience is, true patience. He doesn’t understand the concept of forgiveness nor its
necessity in human relationships. He only knows vengeance and restitution. No one taught him what
it means to forgive nor what it means to seek it out. He knows emotions, but he doesn’t understand
what they truly mean.”

“Not at all?”

Voldemort shook his head. “I only understand these things by watching you. You’ve taught me that
forgiveness is more than a triviality, more than meaningless words. However, it took me years to learn
this as a silent observer. That boy will never understand, not unless someone teaches him.”

Harry sighed.
“Think about it. While you are a naturally kind child, you still had friends and mentors who guided
you. You craved affection and found it, which gave you something to protect. Riddle only has himself
and refuses to look at others as potential friends over allies. He trusts no one but himself because that
is all he has ever known. You must teach him. Because who else will?”

“But how?” whispered Harry. “I try, but it’s like talking to a brick wall.”

“I know,” said Voldemort with a hint of regret. “Just be direct and clear in your language with him.
Tell him exactly what he needs to know - again and again until he understands your directness. Don’t
give up on him. You are succeeding more than you realize. He is too used to Slytherin subtlety and
power plays, where words hold double meanings. Interpret them wrong and respect is lost, never to be
regained. He’s always looking for the angle hidden in between the lines. Make it clear there is no
ulterior motive in your words.”

Oh…

Like Monty.

I have to be more like Monty.

The worry and the pain and the distress that had so consumed Harry faded away. Clarity filled his
mind and understanding. The fog that had been so dense and oppressive lifted around them, a blue sky
materializing above.

“Yes.” A light smile graced Voldemort’s lips. He took a sip of tea. “Riddle might be a prodigy in his
intellectual studies, but he’ll need multiple lessons in emotional, social, and—” Voldemort’s voice
dropped to a low whisper. “—romantic relationships.”

Harry met his gaze once more; his cheeks warmed.

“Be patient with me,” murmured Voldemort.

As his form faded away to mist, his smile was gentle, even wistful.

‘And, Harry? Thank you.’

He’d just collapsed for no reason.

None whatsoever.

Tom had caught him on the way down, wincing in pain as his own strength failed to hold the both of
them up. His knees landed hard on the stone floor. He swallowed back the cry of pain as the glass dug
further into his flesh. The scar on Harry’s forehead changed color again, the skin tearing apart at the
center of the scar. Tom watched it, fascinated. He pushed Harry’s fringe up to get a better look, noting
other small scars - cuts from old wounds - that were so faded, he’d never noticed them before. Tom
watched as shadow and light rippled beneath the surface of the scarred flesh.

What is this?

Harry’s eyes flittered wildly beneath his closed lids, as if he were dreaming. The scar on his forehead
was alive, pulsing with a life and magic of its own. It had done this before, during their fight, but also
when Harry crashed on his broom.
Whatever had occurred after Harry had crashed, it’d been malevolent in nature, different than what
was happening now. Magic had spread out, seeking to destroy everything in its path.

Tom tried to wake him, but nothing worked. No spell, no calling his name - nothing. Instead, Tom
held Harry in his arms, watching, waiting, trying to ignore the worry that churned in his gut.

Tom’s brows furrowed as he studied the magic. A curse scar? It had to be—of course, it was a curse
scar. Harry had been cursed by something at some point in his life, probably when facing the Dark
Lord. Supposedly.

A cursed scar could do anything and be anything. It could activate at any point in someone’s life,
depending on the parameters that triggered the curse. The effects and possibilities of such dark magic
were vast and endless. Tom had studied enough dark magic to know that it could range from
removing simple things, like taste or sense of smell to infertility to a slow death sentence. The allure
to dark magic was the fact that possibilities had no limit. Tom had studied many aspects and paths of
dark magic, being the model student that he was.

But he’d never seen anything like this.

Harry stirred, his eyes slowly opening. Relief poured through Tom.

“Thank Salazar, you’re awake,” whispered Tom. It was there again; fear. Harry kept scaring him in
ways that he hadn’t realized possible. “Not even enervate was waking you. Are you all right?”

“I think so…” murmured Harry, putting a hand to his forehead. Blood smeared against his skin. He
slowly sat up. “I guess I passed out?”

“Your scar…”

Harry stiffened.

“How’d you get it?” asked Tom.

“I was attacked.”

“It’s dark magic,” said Tom, brushing a hand over the scar again, his fingers tracing the lightning from
the eyebrow to the forehead. Harry’s eyes grew wide. His fringe was soft against Tom’s fingers. “Are
you sure it isn’t killing you?”

“What?” Harry laughed. “No, it’s not killing me.”

“But—”

“It’s fine, Tom. Seriously. I’m fine. It’s not hurting me—”

“You don’t understand the danger!” snapped Tom. “It’s dark magic and it could be doing anything to
you. It could be—”

It could be fatal.

Tom gripped him by the wrist, tight and immoveable. Fatal. What if— Tom froze. Harry’s face
wrinkled, lips twisting, as his shoulders bunched up towards his ears. There was a swirling mixture of
fear and defiance in those green eyes.
Secrets. This boy had so many secrets.

The Tom of an hour or two ago would’ve torn it out of him. He’d have wanted answers—demanded
them. Dark magic was his expertise. It wasn’t for the faint of heart. It wasn’t light and beauty. Dark
magic was the cruelty of the mind, the shadows of the soul, and the underbelly of humanity.

It had no mercy.

Letting Dark magic lay dormant was asking for future trouble, leaving one’s life in the hands of Fate.
It could one day, without warning, kill Harry.

And Tom found that he did not want Harry to die.

He let go of Harry’s wrist, drawing his hand back. Harry slowly uncurled, the light in his gaze now
curious. Tom glanced away.

“If you say it’s safe…” whispered Tom, despite his misgivings. “Very well, then.”

“I dunno about safe,” muttered Harry. There was a gentle chuckle. “But it’s not hurting me. I swear.
Just… trust me on this one, all right?”

Tom made a low hum in his throat. A silence fell between them.

“I’m still mad at you about Monty—furious, even.”

“Are you?”

The silence beat on.

“No,” whispered Harry. “I’m just very tired.”

Tom nodded. The air between them seemed unbearably close for him, even though it was no closer
than the two of them sitting side by side at the breakfast table. He felt the urge to do something. Be
active. Kneeling in silence was growing more uncomfortable by the second and Tom wasn’t sure why.
With his free hand, he touched Harry by the chin, lightly turning his face towards him. Harry stared,
eyes wide as saucers.

The magic answered him. With a whispered spell, the dried blood vanished from Harry’s face. He
could see the damage clearly. There were a number of cuts on his face, including some glass wedged
against his temple. Fresh blood quickly pooled from the cuts, a stream of blood slipping down Harry’s
forehead, over the bridge of his nose, and down the inner section of his cheek.

“Damn,” said Tom eloquently. “I shouldn’t have… I made it worse.” He clicked his tongue, trying to
think through his own haze of pain. He pointed his wand to one of the deep cuts on Harry’s chin and
whispered, “Episkey.” The wound resealed itself and, once more, Tom vanished the blood.

“You’re worse off than me, you don’t—”

But Harry stopped as Tom didn’t acknowledge his protests. He was too focused on trying to help
Harry, do something for him. He had the urge to fix something, to fix this.

Apologize to him.
He’d much rather spend meticulous hours healing Harry than make a fool of himself. Apologies were
a display of weakness. Weaknesses were exploitable and Tom would be damned if he allowed that.
Harry would understand, right? Right?

But he knew better. He knew Harry better. Quintus had told him, warned him, to apologize for hurting
Harry. Not apologizing was what had led them to this point - this point of blood, of violence, of near
death. How foolish. Harry was special and Tom had risked it all in a fit of… Well, quite frankly, the
truest of truths, Tom Riddle had been jealous of that eleven year old boy. Harry had instantly
become… something with that child. There’d been a familiarity between them, one that Tom knew
existed among his dorm mates.

It didn’t exist for Tom, though. His shoulders ached.

“I’m sorry,” Harry blurted out suddenly.

Tom blinked. “What?”

“I said something I shouldn’t have to you,” said Harry, enunciating each word carefully. Why, Tom
wasn’t sure. He wasn’t slow. “I hurt you, didn’t I?”

Tom swallowed. He remained silent.

“What I said about your parents, I’m so sorry,” said Harry. His shuddering exhale came out with a
stream of words spoken as quickly as he could, all in a single breath. “I was angry with you, and we
were fighting, and you just weren’t getting why I’ve been so angry and frustrated with you, and so I
wanted to hurt you in return for hurting Monty. But—” He gulped for a breath. “But… I’m sorry. My
motives don’t justify my actions nor my words. So…” Harry nodded, pinching his lips together and
shifting awkwardly. “I’m sorry. Do you, uh… do you forgive me?”

Forgive?

He’s apologizing…

To me?

But that didn’t feel quite right. Tom didn’t say anything. Words failed him. He should’ve been the one
to say it first, not Harry. The more time he spent with this boy, the more confused he got. Harry was
constantly surprising him, constantly throwing everything he ever knew off kilter. If it were anyone
else, Tom would hate it - despise that person and do whatever it took to tear them down, make them
grovel at his feet.

And yet…

If it were Harry, the surprise and mystery didn’t seem as awful.

“I…” Tom’s thoughts whirled “I—Yes—I… Yes, I forgive you.”

Was this what Harry had wanted from me? Gilded, meaningless words that anyone with a half a mind
can sprout? They’re worthless.

Weren’t they?

But Harry had said them with sincerity and there was something comforting about the directness of
his words. There was little to perceive and analyze within them. They were honest to a point.
Refreshing, coming from a Slytherin.

“Thank you,” said Harry. He inhaled. “And, Tom, I forgive you.”

Tom hadn’t realized how tense he’d been until he sagged slightly. The tension in his shoulders
loosened. Oh… He let out a ragged breath; words were unlocked. “I… see. Thank you. I’ve been
meaning to…” There was a pause. “I apologize for overstepping with you.”

He looked away.

“And with the Potter boy,” whispered Tom. “That was a mistake. One I have no intention of making
again.”

He found truth there.

“Okay.”

Why was he overcome with the urge to grab Harry’s hand?

“I’m… sorry,” said Tom softly, his hands clenched at his thighs.

“Okay,” whispered Harry. “Okay. I forgive you.”

“I’m sorry,” breathed Tom, a lightness lifting his heart at those words. Weakness? It was like a burden
had been removed from his shoulders now. Two words and they didn’t seem as meaningless as he’d
once thought them to be. Two words and they weren’t gilded with artifice. Tom looked into those
green eyes. “I mean it.”

And he did.

Harry smiled, brightening like a ray of sunshine. Tom never realized how much those simple words
were worth - how valuable they were.

“This means the slate is clean,” said Harry. “This calls for a truce, I think.”

“Agreed,” said Tom with an amicable nod. Harry responded in kind; but then he leaned forward.
Warmth ghosted against Tom’s skin; goosebumps rose on his arms.

“But don’t ever do this again,” whispered Harry in his ear, his tone firm. “Don’t try to hurt Monty.
Don’t test me. Don’t push me. I’m my own man. If you cross those lines again, I won’t be so
forgiving.”

He pulled away.

“Understood,” whispered Tom.

Harry held out a hand. “Friends, then?”

Tom hesitated briefly; he took the proffered hand and they squeezed together. Warm. “Allies.”

A flash of annoyance crossed Harry’s face. “No. Friends.”

“That’s what I meant—”

“Friends are not allies, you prat. Friends are more than allies.”
 More?

Harry mentioned that before. He said he was more… Did that mean… He’d already considered us
‘friends’ by then?

“Okay,” said Tom. Their hands tightened briefly. “Okay, friends.”

Friends…

And Harry beamed.

The door burst open. “Sorry for the delay—” Scamander stopped, his gaze dropped to the floor where
Harry and Tom sat. “What’re you doing on the floor? Did something happen? Are you all right?”

Tom remembered, rather belatedly, that he was still holding onto Harry’s hand.

They bolted apart simultaneously.

“He collapsed,” said Tom, a strange sound to his voice. “He’s lucid, so…”

“Oh, dear—” Scamander dropped to his knees with ease, putting a hand to Harry’s chin. “Better check
your head, too.”

Tom was in a daze as Scamander checked on Harry’s vitals. The rising emotion within him was
something Tom rarely felt. Thrill. It was a little shiver, one that tingled up and down his spine.
Friends. They were friends now, Harry and Tom. Not allies. Not classmates. Not dorm mates. Not one
of his Knights or his elite.

Harry was his friend.

You’re a strange little creature, Harry Evans.

A thrilling one.

Chapter End Notes

*inhales*
Thank you, that is all. Carry on.

*mutters to self* About goddamn time, you absolute clueless, impossible, difficult dumbasses.
Don’t you boys know how long I’ve labored to get you here? Just to get you to fucking
FRIENDS STATUS!

*more unholy, but delighted screeching in the background*

 Twenty-One
Chapter Notes

I started this story long before Fantastic Beasts 3 came out. Movie 3 plot shit doesn’t happen in
this timeline. (yes, yes, bold of me to say PLOT, I know) I’ve established that the blood pact
thingy wasn’t broken until much later and not in the lame ass, anticlimactic way it did in the
movie. There’s no damn ‘chosen one’ pony, either. No matter how cute it is. PONIES DONT
PICK LEADERS IN THIS STORY. Fucking HELL, JKR. A chosen one PONY? REALLY?

Queenie never took off with Grindelwald. Leta doesn’t die. Nagini was never human. She was
always with Tom. And Credence? You’ll find out.

Also, a thanks to AJ, who wrote a rough first draft ages ago for parts of the conversation between
Newt and Albus.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

If his first day at Hogwarts as a new professor and Head of House was an omen of things to come,
then Newt Scamander wasn’t emotionally prepared for this job. He’d forgotten how awful Hogwarts
could be sometimes. His time here as a student hadn’t been pleasant due to his awkward nature, plus
being a magical creature advocate had always caused him problems - not that he’d ever stop, of
course.

Wonderful to see Dippet was still about as pleasant as a troll.

When Newt hadn’t received a reply from Harry, he’d assumed that the boy was busy with school.
Harry couldn’t have been much older than sixteen - or at least that was what he had assumed - and
Newt understood how boys were at that age. Easily distracted.

He hadn’t imagined Harry would be in this kind of trouble.

It had looked as if those boys had splattered each other with buckets of blood. Though the black fabric
of their trousers had hidden it, Newt could smell it on them from paces away. The little rips and tears
in their trousers and dress shirts had given him glimpses of even more blood. The fight had been a
violent one, to a frightening degree. He just hoped they wouldn’t go at each other in his absence.

The diagnostic scrolls revealed a lot about the fight.

And about their past experiences.

But Newt would make sure this information wouldn’t go to any of the other teachers, Albus included.
He couldn’t, not after how Albus treated the boys. It put a bitter taste in his mouth. Thankfully, it’d
been too chaotic in that office for any of them to ask to see the scrolls.

Newt sighed to himself. He was always taking wild, broken creatures beneath his wing. He just didn’t
think he’d ever take in a pair of human boys. They really needed the hospital wing, but he had enough
healing knowledge and abilities to get them patched up. There were potions and salves to prevent
scarring. He had to take care of the visible wounds first.
The invisible ones would take longer to heal.

A voice calling his name cut through his thoughts. He stopped, looking up in surprise. He kept his
face neutral when he saw the one man he was slowly losing respect for - Albus Dumbledore.

“Albus,” said Newt with a nod. This isn’t going to be a quick encounter, is it? Never is. “I… Hello, uh
—”

“Ah, Newt,” said Albus brightly, stopping in front of him and blocking his path. “Just the man I was
hoping to catch on the way to the hospital wing.” He paused for a moment, frowning when he only
found Newt. “Where are the boys?”

“My office. What is it?” said Newt, trying to mask how thoroughly exhausted he was now - and he
hadn’t even healed the boys yet. “And I really don’t have much time for a chat…”

“I understand. I won’t be more than a moment.” Albus gave Newt his warm smile, one that had
consistently enticed and bent him to his will too many times before. Newt braced himself. “I find
myself just a bit concerned over Mr. Evans and Mr. Riddle. Do you have plans for their detention
yet?”

Newt blew out his held breath. “Albus, that is not on my mind right now,” he said. “They need
healing first—”

“I know you won’t cane them and I’m certainly not suggesting you do so, either. You know I’ve never
liked Armando’s approach with students on that matter and I barely convinced him to stop using those
awful whips in the last decade—”

Albus, for the love of Gaia herself, get to the point.

“—but I digress… If you don’t mind, I have some suggestions for you since I’ve had more experience
with those boys. They’ve been rather defiant with me—”

“That’s what everyone said about me,” snapped Newt, before he could stop himself. Defiant. Weird.
Freak. Mooncalf. His mouth slammed shut. His lips thinned at the silencing charm that Albus threw
around them. “I understand you mean well,” he said evenly. “You were the one to advocate for me… I
will forever be grateful for that.”

But you’ve changed. How can you be so dismissive of them?

It was clear to Newt that those boys needed some loving care from an adult. In the few exchanges
with Harry, his pain and struggles had caused Newt’s soul to ache. The diagnostic scrolls had revealed
what they had endured in their childhood.

Life hadn’t been kind to them.

“Of course, Newt. I always knew your heart was in the right place.”

Oh…

With crystal, cruel clarity, Newt saw Albus Dumbledore - and how did it hurt. He’d looked up to this
man for years, decades - even when he knew Albus was, in some ways, gently manipulating Newt to
do what he wanted. It had been done with a genuine need for help and Newt never wanted to deny
someone.
Albus was infallible in his kindness, a beacon of justice and light.

At least, to the rest of the Wizarding World.

In his call for help, Newt had been there for him. While he was first and foremost a Magizoologist, he
was also a wizard. Getting involved in the fight against Grindelwald was always a matter of when, not
if.

But that was in the past.

Newt saw through the light and into the shadows. It hurt knowing what Albus was, loving the man as
he did; he saw someone who felt they needed to use manipulation to gain what they needed and
wanted, never imagining they could be wrong. But Albus was blind. Was he always this blind to
Slytherins or had it grown over time? When had this bias towards Slytherins began? Dippet was a
Slytherin and Albus got along with him just fine.

Why are you targeting these boys? It doesn’t make a lick of sense to me.

They were just… boys - boys who had been afraid at the prospect of being expelled. Riddle’s reaction
had been more visceral than Harry’s reaction, as if the world was coming to its end. Harry had been
nervous, regretful over it all, but his entire focus had been on comforting Riddle. He hadn’t seemed
worried. He’d even stepped in and tried to take all of the blame for their fight with no fear in his eyes,
only fierce loyalty - it had broken Newt’s heart with tender familiarity.

And, Merlin, the reaction to Dippet’s suggestion of caning… Riddle had gone white. Caning the boys
and in their current condition - the nerve! How barbaric!

Tina was going to get an earful tonight over a late nightcap.

“Thank you,” said Newt softly. “You always defended me. No matter how many detentions I got or
how often I was caned—” He broke off, heart in his throat, unable to rid himself of the image of
Riddle’s trembling form, his pale and bloodied face, and the glossy fear in those dark eyes. “Not even
when I was expelled, you always saw my true nature.” Newt let out a breathy chuckle. “Even now,
somehow you believe I’m the best person to be a teacher here. Headmaster Dippet doesn’t believe I
can and I’m right there with him.”

Albus smiled fondly at him. “Newt, you have always been able to do and see things that… Well, that I
haven’t been able, not quite with the same sincerity as you do.”

“You flatter me,” said Newt, pursing his lips together briefly. “But even so, I don’t understand why
you can’t see the good inside those two boys. You could see past all of my wild imperfections, yet you
can’t with them? Why? They’re just children.”

Albus flinched. “That’s not true,” he protested. “I do see their potential, particularly Mr. Evans’
potential for great good—”

“That’s wonderful. Was that all, Albus?” asked Newt, completely at the end of his rope. Albus wasn’t
listening. The man had a vendetta against Riddle; Newt could tell and he was done with it - wasn’t
having it any more. One hundred percent done. “I have two boys to patch up—they’re covered in
blood and glass, if you hadn’t noticed. I haven’t a clue how they went from friendly bickering to
trying to bloody kill each other in the span of two months.”

“And that’s why I’m—”

Newt’s face darkened into a disapproving glare at Albus. “You’re a little late to be interfering with
them now. It should not have escalated to this point and I’ll be damned if I let it go any further.”

Albus crumpled.

Newt was going strong now. “Meanwhile, you’re trying to butt into this now, when you clearly don’t
like Riddle. Expulsion? From you?” he demanded with betrayal bleeding through his tone. “You, of
all people? And you have the lack of heart to suggest Azkaban? I can’t—really, Albus? How could
you?”

Albus looked every much the part of a child being scolded by their parent. “Newt… I wasn’t—”

“On top of it all - somehow, yet again - I’ve allowed you to convince me to do something that I’m not
qualified for, working for a man who never wanted me to set foot within this castle again and—I’m
tired.”

Albus remained blessedly quiet at that. Newt put a hand to his forehead, taking a moment for himself.
He looked up with firmness.

“I will be going into my office,” said Newt calmly, his tone giving no room for argument. “I will heal
them. I will reprimand them for their foolishness. I will feed them—lord knows they need it - and
then, I shall send them to their dorms where they are grounded for the rest of the day until I have the
mind to deal with them tomorrow.”

Newt drew in a deep breath and Albus was smart enough to not interrupt. Newt’s tone spiked.

“And then, I shall be going home, to my wife, for the rest of the night, where I will sleep in my own
bed to prepare for a new job that has become even more stressful than I’d bargained for—and, no, I
won’t be at the Halloween Feast.”

Newt let out a low, heavy breath, ducking his head and covering his face with a tired hand. He’d
gotten more heated than he’d meant to and he hated that. But, Merlin, this man was frustrating!

“I’m… truly sorry…” whispered Albus. His voice was soft and genuine. “I never meant to put you
under so much pressure.”

He put a hand onto Newt’s shoulder and Newt glanced through his fringe. Albus gazed at him with
deep regret, sorrowed sincerity in his eyes. There was some comfort in seeing that, reminding Newt
that this man truly wanted goodness.

Humans were flawed creatures. Albus Dumbledore was no different. He had love in his heart, despite
the blinded bias. Newt hoped that he would see things differently and, in the very least, try to see the
good in Harry and Riddle. Albus had been a father figure to Newt when he was young. He had
wisdom to offer the boys, no doubt there.

“I am sorry for putting so much stress on you. I know you don’t believe you’re the right man for the
job, but… isn’t it that very humility that makes you exactly the right man?”

Newt breathed out a chuckle. “Flattery again, Albus.”

“Is it flattery if I mean it?”

“Thank you,” whispered Newt. “Forgive my sharpness. It’s been a… very long day.”
“Get some rest,” said Albus, his smile small. “I’m sorry for pulling you away. I’ll leave you to it
and… I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Newt nodded. “Tomorrow, then.”

“Goodnight.” Albus turned away and began to walk down the corridor. Newt was still trying to gather
himself, remember what he was supposed to be doing, when Albus’ voice drew his attention once
more. “And Newt?” As Newt turned to look at him, Albus’ smile twisted in pain. “Forgive me…”

He didn’t give Newt the time to answer, walking away and disappearing down a corridor.

Newt stood there, trying to process it all. His chest heaved once. Right. Supplies—I need supplies.
Calm. Need to be calm. Children were no different than creatures: they could tell if someone was
upset, but they couldn’t differentiate general frustration about something else from disappointment in
the child and their actions. Being agitated wasn’t going to do those boys a bit of good.

Whatever was going on with Albus would have to wait. Healing those wild pups was his priority -
they really did feel like a pair of cruppies.

And at any rate, worrying just means you suffer twice.

A wry smile formed on his lips.

Perhaps, one day, I’ll take my own advice.

It was a quick walk to the hospital wing and back. The mediwitch, a young woman Newt faintly
remembered being in Ravenclaw, was more than happy to give him some basic supplies, like burn
heal, bruise balm, blood replenishers, and scar prevention potions. He’d even managed to convince
her to give him two painkiller potions.

“But give them very little, understand?” said Healer Magnolia in warning. “It’s potent and I don’t
need two young addicted wizards on my hands.”

“I will only give them some if it’s absolutely necessary,” said Newt reassuringly. “I swear it.”

“Good.”

He’d been gone for only fifteen to twenty minutes, but he still walked quickly through the castle,
anxious to get back to them.

He burst through the office door. “Sorry for the delay—” He stopped, his gaze drawn to the scene on
the floor where Harry and Riddle sat. Panic surged inside Newt. “What’re you doing on the floor? Did
something happen? Are you all right?”

His eyes locked onto their hands, which were clasped together. Well, that’s odd. The boys bolted apart,
as if they’d been burned. Harry turned his head away, cheeks flushing dark, while Riddle opened his
mouth, an odd light in his eyes.

“He collapsed,” said Riddle, breathless concern to his voice. “He’s lucid, so…”

“Oh, dear—” Newt dropped to his knees, putting a hand to Harry’s chin, checking his pupils first.
“Better check your head, too.” He barely got the chance to confirm that Harry’s pupil dilation was
normal before the boy was tugging away from him.
“Harry, please hold still, I need to—”

“I’m fine—check on Tom first,” said Harry, trying to pull away. “Please, I’m fine. I think he had
some broken ribs or punctured lungs or something—”

“What?” breathed Newt in horror, glancing over at Riddle. That hadn’t been on the diagnostic scroll.
It had listed blunt force trauma, but broken ribs puncturing his lungs hadn’t been on the list of current
issues. Newt ran a hand through his fringe, tugging on it. Right. Heal first. Chastise later. “I think we
can safely rule that out,” he said, shaking his head. “If that were the case, Mr. Riddle would be
wheezing and coughing up blood.”

“He was coughing up blood, a lot of it, before I healed him.”

“He was—wait, before you what?”

Newt wasn’t going to make it home tonight. Not if the coronary he was about to have had anything to
say about that. His head was starting to hurt.

“That’s highly advanced healing spell work,” said Newt in awe. “Who trained you in such healing?”

And why would you need it?

Harry shook his head. “No one, I just…” Harry met Riddle’s eyes before he dipped his chin. He
shrugged. His voice wavered somewhat as he continued, “I just didn’t want him to—I just wanted—
He was coughing up so much blood, I didn’t want him to-to die.”

A mixture of feelings raced through Newt. They whirled inside his chest, squeezing his heart. He put
a hand onto Harry’s knee, patting it lightly.

“You saved his life, then,” whispered Newt. “All right, I will heal him first if you let me double check
to see if you have a concussion. Can you do that for me?”

Harry nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Newt winced. “Just Newt outside of class, if you don’t mind. Same to you, Mr. Riddle,” he said,
taking Harry’s chin once more. He lifted his wand, newly lit with a lumos, and watched for Harry’s
pupils to change. Relieved, Newt didn’t see any sign of a concussion.

“Only if you call him Tom.”

Riddle rolled his eyes. “Harry.”

“Only if Mr. Riddle is comfortable with that,” said Newt, giving Harry a look. It slipped off his back
like water off a kelpie’s back. Cheeky boy. Newt looked at Riddle. “Although, if I’m assigned as a
mentor to you both, I think a degree of familiarity is in order.”

There was a pause; then, a whisper. “You can call me Tom, sir.”

“Call me Newt, then.” He lifted the light once more. “Harry, can you follow the movement of my
wand with your eyes? Don’t move your head—that’s it.”

Harry obeyed him without argument. His eye movement was good, too. Definitely no concussion,
then. His little fainting spell might’ve been from an adrenaline crash or perhaps even blood loss. Newt
couldn’t help but notice that Harry was also underweight.
Another thing to note.

Tom wasn’t exactly filled out either. He wasn’t underweight, but he did seem a bit too slender, even
willowy for his build and height. Newt noted some long term signs of malnutrition. If that was taken
care of, Tom probably could grow a few more inches - could even be taller than Newt.

“Right, then. You next, Tom.” Newt turned to the boy, hand taking him lightly by the chin. He noticed
the slight jerk backwards that Tom tried to smother; he held still, like a statue, as Newt checked his
eyes. All clear here as well. “Thank you. Right then, up you get, take a seat. We’ll have you patched
up in no time.”

Newt rolled back off his knees, fluidly getting to his feet. He felt them crack—Mercy Lewis, I’m
getting old. As the boys got off the floor, he gave them a look.

“And once we’re done, we can have a chat. Hm?”

Harry let out a nervous, sheepish laugh. Tom gave him a sharp nod of acknowledgement. Such
opposites, these two.

Newt glanced around the office. There was enough room for two twin beds and a screen for privacy…
probably. I can make it work. Newt flicked his wand, the magic swirling at his command.

“Step back a bit,” said Newt.

Two twin beds popped into existence in the room, sheets spreading over the mattresses. Two pillows
flopped at the head of the beds. There was barely enough room to walk around them, but it would do.
A fabric curtain unfurled at the ceiling until it reached the floor; it fluttered in between the beds,
offering some privacy.

“Wow,” murmured Harry, eyes bright. “I love magic.”

Newt smiled, pleased. “All right, up you get. I’ll keep this private between you.”

“Thank you,” said Tom, his tone curt.

Harry hopped up onto his bed, legs swinging with nervous energy. Tom sat on the edge of his bed,
hands clasped tightly in his lap.

Right, then… “Who first?”

“Harry—”

“Tom—”

The boys’ voices echoed at the same time. Newt lifted an eyebrow. “Hey now, I’m not that scary,” he
said lightly.

“Heal Harry first. He’s more injured than I am.”

“A chandelier didn’t fall on my head. Heal Tom. Don’t listen to him.”

A chandelier?

Good lord.
“Tom it is,” said Newt, striding to the boy’s side. He lifted a silencing charm around them. Tom
scowled and opened his mouth to protest, but Newt overrode him with a gentle, “Let me, please.”
Tom’s mouth clicked shut. The tension in his shoulders visibly lessened. He dropped his gaze, chest
rising in a deep breath. He remained quiet. “Do you need a painkiller?”

Tom shook his head.

He was so different than Harry. Tom reminded Newt of an abused hippogriff - proud, silent,
grudgingly accepting of aid when needed. Newt let out a low sigh.

I know how Harry lost his parents, but what about Tom? What happened to his parents?

Newt conjured some plain robes for Tom to wear after his healing. He took a deep breath, surveying
the damage to the boy’s trousers and robes. He lifted his wand slightly. “May I?” he asked gently.

Tom slowly gave his consent.

Newt vanished his trousers and dress shirt, leaving him only in his underpants. Tom refused to make
eye contact now, pale cheeks growing pink. His jaw clenched; his hands tightened in their grip,
knuckles white.

Bloody hell.

Bruises, cuts, splinters, glass, burns, blood - so much blood. Thoughts failed him. He started at the
boy’s knees; congealed blood coated his skin, glass glinting through torn flesh. Newt went to work,
dropping to his own knees. A wordless cushioning charm saved them from the hard stone floor.
Tension coiled around Tom, but after a few minutes, his muscles relaxed and his breathing grew even.
Occasionally, he flinched with a near inaudible hiss of pain as Newt removed a particular difficult
piece of glass. Once the last of the glass was removed, he stitched the flesh back together with magic
and vanished the blood.

That was just the boy’s knees.

“Lie on your stomach, please,” whispered Newt.

Tom obeyed.

Thank Merlin he didn’t find any wounds on the boy’s backside. Newt didn’t think that would’ve gone
well… There wasn’t a lot of glass embedded in his lower back; however, he had a lot in his upper
shoulders and the back of his head. Newt continued his ministrations, removing all foreign objects,
healing the cuts, and vanishing the blood. It was tedious, slow work, but Tom didn’t make a single
complaint.

Were they rolling around on shattered glass?

It was hard not to notice the old belt marks on the boy’s lower back. Some marks were about a decade
old, other marks younger than that. Just from analyzing the scars, it seemed that the beatings stopped
at around age nine or so. There was also a faded burn scar that was in the center of Tom’s back that
spread out into smaller scars. It had the pattern of scalding water being poured onto his back.

Newt’s heart broke.

He cast another diagnostic charm, parchment materializing as it recorded data on Tom’s internal state.
His lips pursed together. He missed a lot since it’d been so chaotic in the Headmaster’s office. Tom’s
lungs had been punctured recently and his internal organs had been crushed. Something had fallen on
him. Harry said a chandelier. Tom shouldn’t have been able to walk to the office. By all counts…

He should be dead.

But all that damage had been healed.

That’s some powerful magic for a sixth year…

“You may sit up.”

He waited as Tom did so, who still didn’t look up at him. His cheeks were flushed with
embarrassment. Newt took a seat next to him, ignoring how Tom stiffened. He lightly put a hand to
the boy’s chin, encouraging him to tilt his head up. Tom gave in. Dark brown eyes met Newt’s gaze,
hard, but glassy with pain.

“Almost done,” whispered Newt.

Tom nodded.

“You’re probably suffering from some long term malnourishment,” said Newt softly, working on the
cuts on Tom’s face. “A daily nutrient potion or a diet with more fruit and veg - specifically more veg -
will help you heal.”

He could feel it: the magic that rolled off Tom. It was intense, dark, and powerful. Touched a pressure
point, I see.

“Calm down,” murmured Newt. The boy’s chest heaved deeply. “That’s it.”

“I’m fine, professor,” said Tom in a sharp whisper.

“Yes, you are.”

He had questions for this boy, but it would’ve been like poking a sleeping Hungarian Horntail. It was
going to take consistency to earn the trust of this one.

“Just add more fruit and veg to what you’re already eating and you’ll be fine.” Newt patted him on
the shoulder. He stood up and pulled out some potion vials from his robes. “I’ll need you to drink
these, two blood replenishers and a scar prevention,” he said, handing the three vials over to Tom.
Without argument or grimace, Tom popped open the cork and downed each one. Impressive. He
handed the vials back to Newt. “Right. And these are for you to apply onto yourself, burn heal for the
burns on your arms and bruise balm. I thought you’d rather apply them yourself.”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Work on that while I take care of Harry. When you’re done, you can get dressed.”

Tom’s wooden, “Yes, sir,” made Newt wince, but he didn’t correct him. He left him there and walked
around the sheet to Harry’s bed. Newt reversed the silencing spell.

Harry’s head popped up immediately. “Is Tom okay?” he asked.

“Yes, he’s mostly healed now. He’s taking care of the bruises and burns on his own now.”
Harry sagged in relief. “Good.”

For a pair of boys who had dueled violently, they sure were concerned about each other. I suppose
that’s a good thing. Newt took a step closer to Harry, looking him over for a moment. Merlin, this boy
had a lot more damage on his body. How have you been standing? How had Newt not noticed Harry’s
hands until now? His fingers had splinters embedded in the flesh. The amount of pain those alone
were causing…

“Do you need a painkiller?” asked Newt.

Harry blinked. “No, I’m okay.”

“Are you sure?”

There was a tilt of messy black hair. “Yes?”

High pain tolerance. Right. Right. Newt inhaled, his stomach twisted in his knots. I could use a
stomach soother at this rate. An unnaturally high pain tolerance. Okay. That’s concerning.

“I need to vanish your clothes. May I?”

“Oh, yeah, you can. But you’re not gonna, uh…”

“You’ll have your modesty.”

“Oh, good.”

Newt vanished his clothes. Harry let out a little squeak of surprise when he realized he was left in his
underpants. It would’ve been funny… But Newt closed his eyes, pained. It wasn’t that he could see
the boy’s ribs, but if he lost another pound or two, they’d be visible. He didn’t look emaciated, at least
- but Newt knew these signs. He’d seen it before in creatures. Starving ones.

“You’re underweight,” said Newt softly. “You need to gain maybe about a stone. I know that might
seem like a lot, but it’ll put you in a safer range.”

“Yeah, I know,” said Harry, running a hand through his fringe. “There’s just been… a lot to deal with
lately.”

“Are you… Are you trying to be this underweight?”

“What? No, I just haven’t had much of an appetite. It’s hard to eat sometimes.”

Newt nodded, relieved. “Some nutrient potions will be in order.”

“I’m already taking one every day. I have an old elf who loves to fuss over me.”

“Let me guess… Minsby?”

Harry blinked. “How’d you know?”

“She fussed over me, too,” said Newt with a soft smile. “I’ll have to pay her a visit and thank her.”

If Minsby had been giving Harry nutrient potions for a few months, then that meant Harry arrived at
Hogwarts underweight. Now that he looked at the boy, had he lost weight since they’d last met?
They aren’t watching these boys…

Nothing had changed in the past three decades.

It was a wound, one that throbbed deep within his soul. This wasn’t the place where he wanted to be,
but maybe he needed to be here. He had to keep an eye out for these boys, but also an entire
Hufflepuff house. The weight of the responsibility was heavy on his shoulders. He’d have to be away
from home for days on end, only seeing Tina over the weekend…

He shoved his thoughts and feelings aside.

Newt began his healing of Harry. There was a lot more glass to remove and wounds to heal. Harry
was stoic through it all, never once giving an indication of being in pain. It was another long, tedious
process.

Harry had a lot of old scars - far more than normal. Newt could recognize a number of the sources to
a few of them, too. The most alarming one of all was the basilisk fang puncture. It had to be—there
was no other explanation for it, but how in all that was magical in the world could that have
happened? There was only one cure to basilisk venom: phoenix tears. With such a rare, expensive
ingredient and the one minute it took for the venom to kill a victim, obtaining and administering the
antidote in such a narrow window of time was next to impossible.

If Harry had been poisoned, he shouldn’t be here. He’d be dead.

There was also a snake bite. Easy to catch. Where was he encountering these creatures? There was an
oval burn scar that was at the center of his collarbone. The lightning bolt scar was the most curious of
them all. There was something alive about it, quite similar to the bolt pattern of real lightning in a
thunderstorm. The strike coated much of his left forehead and cut a line through his eyebrow where
hair didn’t grow. It stopped right above his eye.

But then…

Newt’s grip on Harry’s left wrist shook. There was a seven centimeter long slash in the boy’s forearm.
The wound had been deep, made with a thick, jagged knife. It was only a few years old, but judging
how the scar had healed, it hadn’t been taken care of very well after the fact.

Oh, no. Please, no. I don’t know… if I can do this.

If this was what he thought it was, then Newt was not qualified - no matter how much he wanted to
help and be there for Harry. Self harm? A possible attempt to take his own life? Both of those options
took a highly trained healer. Newt knew how to care for creatures, knew how understand them, but
not people - and certainly not broken, traumatized children. How could he even begin to help this
child when Newt himself had faced war and death and personal tragedy and didn’t know how—His
breath caught, stolen; his heart raced; stars twinkled—

“A dark wizard did that to me,” whispered Harry.

Pop. Newt could hear the breath fill his lungs; the rush of panic and adrenaline made his muscles
ache, as if he’d ran a marathon. He swallowed, mentally shaking himself. He was still trembling, but
he steadied himself by meeting the boy’s eyes. Harry looked up at him with a sad smile.

“He stole my blood.”

I need to get a grip on myself.

“A dark ritual, then?” murmured Newt, cringing at the lack of strength in his tone. Need to be strong
for the boy. “Wait, wait—someone has your blood?” he said with an alarmed gasp. How did it get
worse? “Do they still have it? Dear Merlin, that’s very dangerous—so many terrible, dark things can
be done with human blood and—”

“He’s dead,” whispered Harry. “It’s okay. He doesn’t have my blood any more. The ritual, it, uh… It
backfired.”

“Oh.” Newt’s breathing settled down; the overwhelming emotions faded, but the ache in his muscles
remained. “Okay, thank the gods. All right, then… Let me continue…”

A dark wizard getting his hands on a child’s blood for some unknown dark ritual was an improvement
over what Newt had thought been the wound, but just barely. The weight of his responsibility was
heavy on his shoulders - and it wasn’t getting lighter.

The scar on the back of Harry’s right hand was even more disturbing.

‘I must not tell lies.’

Newt brushed his thumb over the scar tissue. It was faded with time, but easy to see. It had been
inflicted by some kind of magical quill, but Newt wasn’t aware of a dark object like that. Was this
Harry’s handwriting? If not, who would dare carve such a thing into a child? Another thing to note.
Wonderful.

His eyes met Harry’s briefly; the boy’s lips thinned. “Potions won’t fix that,” Harry whispered.

Newt’s hand flexed. He nodded slowly. “I know.”

He was dying to ask about it, but the look in Harry’s eyes told him that today wasn’t the day. Newt
would have to wait, perhaps when more trust had been built between them.

“Lie on your stomach, please.”

“Uh… right.” Harry’s face flushed with a darker color. “I definitely sat in some glass…”

“I’ll be as quick as possible,” said Newt.

A few minutes later, Newt was done with the glass, wounds, and blood on the boy. He couldn’t help
but notice the abundance of scars on his back - all from a belt. There was something more wild and
cruel to these marks, compared to Tom’s scars. He kept the healing quick as possible, to avoid
embarrassing the boy for long, but also to give his own heart a rest. He couldn’t take much more of
this, seeing so much harm caused on a child. Once done, Harry sat up, a little more pep in his
movements now. He smiled up at Newt.

“Thanks.”

Newt nodded and conjured another set of plain robes. He pulled out two vials and handed it all to
Harry. “Of course. Here are some robes to wear on your way back to your dorm. Next, I need you to
drink these, please. They’re a blood replenisher and scar prevention.”

Harry took the two potions, his nose wrinkling at them. He uncorked the scar prevention potion,
stiffing once, before he drank it down. “Ugh,” he groaned. “I hate potions.” He quickly downed the
blood replenisher with an even more exaggerated grimace. “Ugh, gross. That’s disgusting. Why can’t
they come up with tastier potions?”
Somehow, it comforted Newt that the boy wasn’t stoic through the taste, too.

“Potions are finicky like that, I’m afraid.”

Harry huffed.

“I also have a burn heal and a bruise balm for you to apply in private.” Newt handed him two small
containers. “Please don’t forget to apply them. You’re going to have a lot of bruising soon, I’m sure.”

“Thanks, Newt,” said Harry, taking them. “I’m grateful. Thanks for letting us be here instead of the
hospital wing.”

Newt patted him on the shoulder. “I understand. Up you get.”

Harry hopped off the bed and got dressed. Newt checked on Tom, who was already dressed and
standing up. Newt vanished the temporary beds and the room was bare once again. He wrinkled his
nose at the room. He was going to have to spruce up the place. It was so empty. He could add some
shelves by his desk, possibly add some room expansion spells, maybe some plants, lots of them -
Pickett would like that…

Wait. Focus.

“Now then…” Newt steeled himself. He gestured to the sofa. “Sit down. It’s time we had a little talk.”

The two boys sat on the sofa, side by side, rather close together - to Newt’s confusion. Tom didn’t
meet his eyes, while Harry waited patiently, albeit with a sheepish , expectant expression on his face.

Oh. Right.

He had to scold them.

Damn.

Newt rubbed his eyes for a moment, buying some time. He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to go
about this. Newt wasn’t used to this. One didn’t correct creatures - although, Teddy the niffler was the
exception to that. Little bugger. Curb their tendencies into something else, yes. Distract them, yes. But
children required correction. Newt and Tina weren’t parents - not for the lack of trying, though.

I can do this.

Newt took a deep breath and straightened his posture.

“I don’t know what led you two to the fight, but letting disagreements fester to the point of exploding
in a fit of rage is not proper behavior.” Newt paused. He didn’t get a reaction out of either of them. He
put his hands onto his hips. “You’re worse than a pair of kneazles and crups. You’re nearly of age,
boys. You should know better than this. Working through your differences before it escalates is the
sign of an adult, but all I see are two little boys fighting like primary children.”

Ah. That got a reaction. Tom’s cheeks flushed with a heated pink, his jaw clenching in frustration.
Harry ducked his head, shame in his expression.

Newt’s tone softened. “I’m not suggesting you have to like each other or get along all of the time,” he
said. “But you both have the ability to control yourselves and behave like proper young gentlemen.”
“We’re sorry,” whispered Harry.

Tom nodded stiffly. “We’ve seen the error of our ways and have set aside our differences.”

Harry threw him a wounded look and elbowed him in the ribs. Tom let out an annoyed hiss, pulling
away with a sharp glare. Harry grinned. “I think you mean we’re friends now. Right?”

Tom blinked, mouth opening. There was a short pause. “Yes… Yes, we are.”

They weren’t friends before? Nearly killing each other and now they’re friends? Why am I not
surprised? Such boys…

“I’m glad you’ve worked it all out now. Do try to avoid this in the future, please?”

The boys both nodded.

“Good. Now, as for your punishments…” And now the pair looked exactly their age, all ashamed and
apprehensive. How adorable. “You’re grounded.”

Harry blinked.

“What?” demanded Tom.

“For now,” said Newt, trying to remain firm about this. “It’s been a long day anyway and you both
need a lot of rest. I know it’s a disappointment to miss the Halloween Feast, but I’m sure you know
this is a mild punishment compared to what was being discussed…” Harry nodded, while the only
sign that Tom gave in response was the whitening of his knuckles. “I’ll escort you to the Slytherin
common room and to your dorm room. You may not leave it until I fetch you tomorrow morning for a
detention. I expect you to obey this without supervision or else I’ll be very disappointed in you both.”

“Yes, of course. We’ll obey,” said Harry in sincerity. “Right, Tom?”

The boy sighed. “Of course,” Tom said, his tone indicating that he wasn’t pleased about this. “It’s the
least we deserve,” he added.

That was… forced. It’s like he’s trying to manage me. It’d be insulting if it weren’t so cute. Standard
Slytherin tactic.

“All right, then. The house elves will deliver your supper tonight and your breakfast in the morning. I
know you’ve said you’ve made up, but I suggest you take the time to really make sure everything is
out and in the past with you two.”

Harry and Tom exchanged a look, but neither of them said anything.

It was too easy. Newt was missing something here. Did these two really just try to kill each other?
The energy between them was too calm. He studied them for a long moment, silent. Harry shifted
under his gaze, fidgety and nervous. Tom was ramrod still, unwavering.

Well… I might not ever get the answers I want about their fight. But as long as it doesn’t happen
again, I won’t pry.

“I’ll escort you back to your common room, then,” said Newt, motioning to the door with his head.
“Off we go now.”
 That nightcap with Tina was going to be an extra large one.

Chapter End Notes

I’ve read a lot of Severitus fics back in the day. I may or may not have written one, like a decade
ago.

Damn, so much has changed in a decade. I'm never going back.

Newt was like coming home. He's older, wiser, a lot more sure of himself in a lot of ways than he
was in the movies. That kind, firm mentor was like wrapping myself in a warm, soft blanket. I
love it so much.

Edit on August 26th, 2023: I had forgotten something, so I added a section of Newt noticing the
ritual scar that Wormtail gave Harry in the graveyard for Voldemort's rise. I did move the
location of the scar to the left forearm, even though in canon it's on the right forearm. Just a lot
of scarring overlap in one area and I wanted it to be noticeable.
 Twenty-Two
Chapter Notes

Finally. For some reason, I struggled with this chapter. There are a number of threads that I'm
laying down here, but many of them won't be noticed until later. Anyhoo, hope ya'll enjoy the
chapter. Thank you all for your enthusiasm. It really does bring me so much joy to read all of
your comments.

My tumblr for HP, Legend of Zelda, and writing shenanigans.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Humiliation after humiliation.

His reputation was in shambles now. The tightrope of the political and power dynamics had been
unbalanced by this single act; every member of the Slytherin house - and many Ravenclaws - would
scramble to fill the void. Tom wasn’t delusional: his placement would be challenged repeatedly
during the next month. He’d been revered because of his proficiency and power. If opinion shifted,
Tom could lose it all.

Would the loyalty of his Knights be tested?

Even Harry would be a target, especially if the rumors of their duel favored him. Ravenclaws,
Hufflepuffs, and potentially a few Gryffindors might approach him. Purebloods knew how to garner
favors in these times and if Harry was viewed as a potential power to get behind, they’d do so in a
heartbeat.

Everything Tom had fought for over the course of five years had been destroyed in a matter of hours.

But as he walked beside Harry and Scamander, his steps somewhat slow, listening to the murmur of
their voices as they chatted, he didn’t feel as hopeless as he should have.

‘Friends are not allies, you prat.’

Harry’s voice played in a loop in his mind and, every time, it sent that thrill up his spine. He’d
spurned Alphard and Quintus’ declarations of friendship. Why didn’t he do the same to Harry? Those
two had been loyal at Tom’s side for years and… Tom clenched his fists, unnoticed by Harry and
Scamander.

I insulted their loyalty. I spat on it.

What have I been doing? How have I forgotten my goals for the future? I have plans and designs for
my Knights. I know better than to alienate them.

Tom’s head lifted, his eyes drawn to the back of Harry, whose head was turned to Scamander. There
was a contented smile on his lips, a brightness to those green eyes.

‘Friends are more than allies.’

Harry’s smile bloomed in his memory.

If a friend was more than an ally, did that mean he’d gained something more than Harry’s loyalty?

“Tom, what’s your favorite subject?” asked Scamander.

Tom looked up, realizing he’d been hanging back. He straightened and said, “Ancient Runes.”

“That’s a difficult subject,” said Scamander, impressed. “Were you drawn to learning a different
language or to the ritual side of the magic?”

“Ritual side, Professor,” said Tom.

Scamander winced. “Newt, please.”

Tom hummed under his breath. An awkward air lifted between the three of them and Harry quickly
interjected with his favorite subject, Defense. The conversation turned to that and Tom couldn’t help
but tune them out, sinking back deep once more into his thoughts.

No matter how many times Scamander corrected him, Tom would never address the man with such
familiarity. It was a ridiculous request. It was best to maintain a proper distance between student and
teacher, even if the man was labeled as his mentor - Scamander would never be his mentor in the true
meaning of the word.

Never.

Slughorn had tried to worm his way into Tom’s good graces, as he did with many other intelligent or
powerful students. Tom tolerated all attempts on a surface level. Slughorn was never to be trusted.

His thoughts whirled in his mind, giving him no peace as they walked towards the dungeons and the
entrance to the Slytherin common room. After ten minutes, they turned a corner and the entrance was
visible. Unfortunately, they weren’t alone now.

Dammit.

Quintus was pacing in front of the stone entrance, while Alphard tried to stop him. “I’m sure it’s all an
exaggeration. They can’t have—”

“Stop trying to console me—the bloody dragon—”

“Quintus, we’ll find out soon. You just have to be patient.”

“Fuck my patience!”

A step echoed through the corridor. Quintus’ head whipped up at the sound and his eyes widened
when he caught sight of them. He broke into a run. Alphard let out a sigh of relief and followed after
him. Quintus reached Tom and Harry a moment later, throwing an arm each around their necks and
jerking them into a tight hug. Harry and Tom’s shoulders knocked against each other; Tom sucked in
his breath.

“Geez, Quintus, you’re going to break my neck,” said Harry, but he let out a soft laugh. He patted him
on the back. “We’re alive.”

“The rumors!” breathed Quintus. “Salazar, the rumors.”

Tom stiffened. “Rumors are always exaggerated.”

Quintus pulled back, dark brows furrowed tightly together. “I’ve seen it!” he snapped. Alphard put a
hand onto his shoulder, but he didn’t notice. Neither of them seemed to notice Scamander either.
“The dragon—how in Salazar’s name did you two animate that? No one can reverse it and no one can
get it to listen to them. I think it’s perched on the roof of the Gryffindor Tower right now.”

“Oops?” said Harry sheepishly.

Quintus huffed. “That’s all you have to say?”

“I say scaring Gryffindors isn’t the worst thing they could’ve done,” said Alphard with a grin, but it
didn’t reach his eyes. “The rumors about what happened are a little more wild and… concerning.”

Quintus’ eyes briefly met Tom’s gaze; his lips thinned and he hunched over slightly, crossing his arms
in front of his chest. “Glad to see you’re fine…”

Tom opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He just nodded.

Quintus’ lips thinned further. “Nothing to say?”

“No.”

“Right,” breathed Quintus. His chest heaved; his expression darkened. He whirled around and
marched away.

Alphard started with a confused jolt, gesturing back at him. “Hang on—Quin, where are you going? I
thought—”

“I am going to the feast!”

“But it’s too early—”

“Alphard!”

Alphard sighed; he pinched the bridge of his nose. His smile at Tom was soft and sad. “Glad you’re
okay. Quintus was beside himself with worry. Just… give him some time.” And with that, he went
after Quintus.

The silence stabbed at Tom’s chest.

“Your friends?” asked Scamander.

Tom refused to meet his eyes.

“Yeah, said Harry. “We’ve just had some… disagreements.”

“Ah,” said Scamander with an understanding nod. Tom burned with hatred for it. “They seem like
good friends. Better to talk it out now than later or it’ll just get worse.”

Harry nodded, a pensive expression on his face.

“Come on, then,” said Scamander, patting them both lightly on the back and pushing them towards
the entrance. “Almost home for you two.” Harry opened his mouth to say the password, but
Scamander beat him to it with, “Open, please.”
And it did.

The man smiled beneath his fringe, eyes bright, at both of their surprised expressions. “Professors
have access to all common rooms, even without a password.” He winked at them.

It only took a single step into the Slytherin common room to set Tom on high alert, the magic
crawling over his skin like maggots. Eyes were on them; the air was tense. A silence fell over the
room. His magic, though drained, responded. It activated the room, the wooden snakes coming to life.

A warning.

“How fascinating,” murmured Scamander, drawn to the nearest carving on the wall. “I’ve never seen
them do that before.”

“You’ve been here before?” asked Harry.

“Oh, yes. I was friends with Leta Lestrange before… well, we drifted apart. She snuck me inside here
often.”

Such idle, asinine chitchat when there was a bigger problem on their hands.

A couple of the seventh year Slytherins were grouped together, talking in low tones. Tom’s eyes
narrowed. Sinistra and Pettigrew were among them, as well as other muggleborns and a couple of
halfbloods. But the leads of the group, Tom could instantly identify: Archibald Nott and Jed Yaxley.
They stopped and their collective gaze fell upon Tom. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.
Archibald smirked.

Multiple things happened simultaneously.

Three curses flew towards them in an outright challenge for power. Nagini appeared from the banister
above, launching herself in front of Tom and Harry. She rose high, her fangs barred and leaking
venom, and hissed, “Hatchings or not, touch him and I’ll tear you to shreds!” Harry’s magic flared to
life at Tom’s side, exploding at the feet of the group of Slytherins in a burst of light and pop of sound
in harmless warning. The group flinched. And, lastly, Scamander threw up a protego, blocking a stray
spell that had slipped through.

But the spell Tom had tried to cast failed.

Tom lifted an eyebrow at the group, his gaze dark and his lips thinned. His stance held an air of cool
calm, contrasting the rapid pounding in his chest and the anxiety that raced through his veins. He
gripped his wand tightly, refusing to tremble. Nagini coiled to his side, lifting her head to his hand. He
stroked her head as she rubbed against him, his eyes never leaving Archibald Nott. That smug smirk
never left his lips.

It’s fine; I’m fine.

I’m just magically drained and exhausted. The duel took a lot of magic, plus wounds and injuries,
meaning my magic is drained. I need time to recover. That’s all.

With some rest, my magic will be back to normal.

“Really now,” said Scamander with a affronted huff. “Causing trouble the moment we step inside. I
haven’t made a mistake and walked into Gryffindor Tower, have I?”
The magic in the air calmed. Nearly every Slytherin in the common room made a sound of protest or
insult. Harry let out a low laugh. The tension broke and Tom’s grip on his wand lessened.

“My hand slipped, forgive me,” said Archibald softly, approaching them with slow steps. His eyes
were a clear, innocent blue; a facade. Nagini bristled beneath Tom’s touch, but he soothed her. “My
mistake. You’re not someone we know, sir. Who are you?”

“I’m Professor Newt Scamander, the Care of Magical Creatures and Hufflepuff Head of House
replacement.”

A few of the Slytherins in Archibald’s group shifted with unease.

“I see,” said Archibald, his eyes trained on Tom. His tone was slick with oil. “Pleasure to meet you,
Professor. I’m Archibald Nott, heir to the Nott family.”

“Mr. Nott, does your hand ‘slip’ often?”

Archibald stilled. “Pardon?”

“Your wand and magic,” said Scamander with a light smile. “Seems to be a problem for you, yes? I’ll
have to let Horace, your Head of House, know that you’re having a little trouble with your magic.
After all, it’s much too dangerous for someone of your age to not have control.”

Archibald’s cheeks went pink. Harry snorted.

“I wasn’t born yesterday,” said Scamander softly, but with unbending firmness. Tom found himself
impressed in spite of himself. “Starting fights in front of a professor isn’t all that wise. I know you
Slytherins have a way of things, but—” He smiled with a touch of mischief. “—leave the
impulsiveness to your fellow Gryffindors, all right?”

Archibald nodded, jaw clenched. “Of course. It shan’t happen again.”

“Excellent. If you would excuse us.”

Scamander patted the boys on the shoulders. It was a benign action, but Tom sensed his direction and
strode forward, his chin held straight. His eyes met Archibald.

The challenge wasn’t over.

The seventh year was one who Tom had never trusted enough to invite into his Knights. Slytherins
valued power, creating alliances with those who would benefit them the most. Many maintained
loyalty once an alliance was forged, which is why Tom trusted that his Knights would never turn on
him. Archibald, however, would stab anyone in the back if it meant an increase of power and status.

Fine, then. I’ll crush any rebellion. You’ll learn soon enough that my power isn’t a show. So soon to
forget, I see.

No matter.

I’ve crushed you all before. And I’ll do it again.

The tension never left his shoulders as Tom led the way to their dorm room. Nagini followed them.
When they entered the room, the door closing behind them, Tom let out a low sigh. Nagini slithered to
his bed, curling up. She watched him with unwavering eyes.
“Dear Paracelus, I forgot how intense Slytherins were,” muttered Scamander. “I always disliked the
power dynamics. Never made sense to me.”

Tom pursed his lips together.

“Your familiar… she’s beautiful. She’s a mix between magical and nonmagical, isn’t she?”

“I’m not sure,” said Tom. Nagini remained still; she was eerily silent.

I’m going to get an earful when we’re alone.

“I suspect she must have,” said Scamander, studying Nagini with a hint of excitement and awe. “Since
she appears to be venomous, but she looks like an anaconda python. She’ll probably grow bigger and
live longer than an average python.”

Harry fidgeted with the hem of his robes. Scamander looked between them before he sighed. “Please
take this time to really work out your differences.”

“We have,” said Tom.

Harry nodded.

Scamander raised an eyebrow. With a light touch, he took them both by the chin and lifted their heads.
Tom couldn’t hold back the intake of breath.

“Boys,” whispered Scamander. His tone was gentle. “You nearly killed each other. You fought and
dueled with the intent to harm one another. And you think everything is fine between you two?”
Scamander paused, taking a long moment to look them in the eye. Tom remained still, unable to look
away. Scamander’s tone softened further. “Please listen: take the time and figure out what brought
you both to this extreme. This isn’t something you can ignore. Ill feelings can fester like a wound and
become infected. Don’t let the animosity between you get worse.”

“Yes, sir,” whispered Harry.

Scamander winced. “Please don’t call me sir.” He pulled away, giving them both a pat on the
shoulder. “I’ll have the elves send you dinner. If you have a special pudding you love, I suppose the
elves could sneak you some without me knowing.” He winked at them. “But please stay here for the
evening.”

Tom rubbed his chin, unsettled by the ghost of the man’s touch.

The door burst open and Roland gasped out, “You’re back—you won’t believe the rumors—oh.” He
stopped when he saw Scamander, eyes widening.

“Good evening,” said Scamander. “I’m the replacement for Professor Grubbly-Plank, Newt
Scamander.”

“Oh, nice—wait, Newt Scamander? The Newt Scamander, author of Fantastic Beasts and Where to
Find Them? That Newt Scamander?”

Scamander shifted. “Uh… yes?”

“I’m in your class.” Roland looked up at the ceiling, pressing his hands together in a prayer. “Thank
Salazar, I’m in your class!”
“Oh, well, good, Mr… uh…”

“Roland Rosier, sir.” He threw out a hand and vigorously shook Scamander’s hand. “It’s an honor to
meet you, sir, really—”

“Uh, yes, well, Mr. Rosier, let’s leave the boys alone for a few hours. Let me walk you out.”

“Oh, but—”

“Come,” said Scamander firmly. “They need some rest.”

Roland hesitated for a moment, glancing at Tom and Harry briefly, but he relented with a nod. “Yes,
sir.”

Scamander appeared pained. Once at the door, he glanced back at them. “Have a good evening and
please consider what I said. See you tomorrow.” And with that, he left with Roland, the door closing
behind them; their voices echoed and faded away.

The moment they were gone, Nagini rose up and leveled a hard stare at Tom. “What in Loki’s name is
going on?”

Tom put a hand to his face, resisting the urge to rub his eyes. “Nothing you need to worry over.”

“Tom Riddle, my nestling,” snapped Nagini. “The entire castle shook—explosions, I thought the castle
was going to fall down on my head—”

“It was… just a duel, a miscalculation—”

“Don’t give me that tripe!” hissed Nagini furiously. “I felt your magic throughout the castle—yours
too,” she added, looking at Harry, who flinched in alarm. “I thought I was gonna die.”

Tom rolled his eyes. “Nagini, now you’re simply being dramatic. It wasn’t that bad.”

“What. Happened?” said Nagini in a demand that gave no room for avoidance. Tom closed his eyes
for a moment, the weight of the afternoon’s events bearing down on his shoulders. It was too early to
sleep, but that was all he wanted to do for a week. “Tom!”

“We dueled, Harry and I.”

“A duel… You dueled.” Her head swiveled from side to side, looking at both of them for a long
moment. “You two dueled so hard and so brutal enough that you nearly took down a thousand year
old castle. Am I getting this correctly?”

Harry chuckled; he rubbed the back of his neck with a hand. “Well… when you put it that way…”

“It’s not a big deal,” said Tom sharply. He glared at Harry, willing him to shut up. It wouldn’t work.
“Everything is fine now.”

“We did nearly kill each other, though.”

“You did WHAT?”

Tom’s glare at Harry intensified, but it was met with a shrug. “It’s not—”
Nagini rose and faced Tom with her imposing presence, fangs now bared.“You two nearly kill each
other while I’m out trying to—”

“Nagini!” snapped Tom. “Enough.”

Harry shifted nervously, glancing between the two of them. Nagini hissed in warning; Tom’s chest
heaved once. The rawness of emotions burned in his chest. The duel—no, the fight was still fresh in
his mind. He couldn’t process the conflicting feelings that had assaulted his senses in the short few
hours, all of them revolving around Harry.

First Alphard and Quintus. Now Nagini.

He was angering all the wrong people.

“I’ve done nothing but your wishes, Tom,” said Nagini, her tone dropping like a stone. “And this is
how you repay me? With hatchling stupidity?”

Any answer he gave would be the wrong one.

“It was just a disagreement—”

“I quit.”

“Quit?” echoed Tom, a hollow lurch in his stomach. “What do you mean?”

“I’m going into the forest for a hunt,” said Nagini, sliding off the bed and slithering towards a small
grate opening in the wall.

Permanently? A strange, new fear clutched at his chest. Was he breathing? Don’t le—

“When will you be back?” asked Harry.

“When I want!”

“Okay, but… don’t leave for too long,” said Harry with a gentle smile. “You protected us, you know.
We would’ve been in trouble if you hadn’t defended us. Plus, you’re Tom’s familiar and I know from
experience that being apart for a long time isn’t good.”

It’s not going to work. Platitudes won’t soothe her.

Nagini paused, looking back at them. “Well… I suppose I won’t be gone too long, then. I’ll go for
another hunt and… Perhaps, I haven’t quit after all.” The breath restored inside Tom’s lungs; he was
lightheaded. “Do try not to destroy the castle in my absence, please.”

“We’ll be good.”

Nagini pointed her tail at Harry. “I knew I liked this one for a reason.”

Tom snorted lightly. His eyes met hers; their gazes were heavy. Something softened in Nagini, the
light in her yellow eyes no longer bright with her fury. Her head bobbed once before she slithered
away into the grate, leaving Tom alone with Harry. The silence rose between them and stayed. Tom
found himself wishing they weren’t alone.

Silence.
It was unbearable.

It was weighted between them, like a chain around his neck.

‘Ill feelings can fester like a wound and become infected. Don’t let the animosity between you get
worse.’

Tom swallowed. They both kept saying everything was ‘fine,’ but had they really worked everything
out yet? Was a declaration of friendship enough to appease Harry? On top of the duel, there was still
the matter of his knights. Tom wanted Harry there. Tom had no doubt Harry had value to offer to their
future.

With the imbalance of power, however, the confidence of his knights was in jeopardy. He needed
something that could recover some of his reputation. Impulsiveness was not in Tom’s nature and his
knights would need a reason as to why Tom would do something so outlandish.

But…

If his Slytherins knew that Harry could speak parseltongue… They’d understand. The draw, the
power, the raw magic - Harry was worth the foolishness. Yes, Tom had acted rashly, but there was a
motive behind it all.

They’ll never see past this mistake.

Tom shoved that thought down. He opened his mouth, but found the words failing him. He tried to
gather his thoughts, to articulate what he wanted properly. But as Harry kicked off his trainers and
flopped into bed with an exhausted sigh, Tom spoke without a forethought.

“Harry.”

“Hm?”

“I still want you to be part of my knights.”

Harry rolled over, sitting up; his legs dangled over the edge of his bed. “I’m not gonna kneel.”

“I know,” said Tom, his tone soft. Harry relaxed and relief fueled Tom further. “I will never ask that of
you again.”

Harry tilted his head; he nodded slowly. “Okay, then. But why would you want me in the group? If I
don’t kneel, doesn’t that ruin some Slytherin power bullshit or something?”

Tom pursed his lips. “Will you attend tomorrow?”

“How are you going to explain me not following your little rules, hm?” asked Harry, crossing his
arms in front of his chest. “You’ve been hellbent on making me do what you want. I don’t trust you
enough yet to not just go back to your old ways - and I don’t think either of us can afford another
fight.”

“No…” whispered Tom. “No, that’s not my intent.”

“Good,” said Harry; he shifted with an awkward air, wrapping an arm around his waist. “Good, so,
uh… what’s your plan, then?”
“A compromise. Tomorrow, answer me in parseltongue.”

Comprehension bloomed across Harry’s face. He narrowed his eyes, but let out a low chuckle. “Huh,
I shouldn’t have been surprised,” he muttered, shaking his head. “It’ll show everyone that I’m an
equal as a parseltongue. I was a threat to your power before, but now I’m the key to protecting it.”

“You’re becoming more of a Slytherin every day.”

“But…” Harry stood in a little flourish, mischief alight in his eyes and lips. “Why would I do that?”

Tom blinked. “Why, Harry, darling, didn’t you threaten to tell everyone about it?” he drawled. “Now
you don’t want them to know?”

“Ah, but now it’s not a threat, is it? Now it’s in your best interest. You need me to agree to this.”
Harry grinned and gestured with a hand. “So, again, I ask why would I do that?”

Tom drew closer. The smile hitched on Harry’s face. “You wouldn’t do it for me?”

“I think I need something in return, don’t I?” said Harry, taking a step to the side to avoid getting
boxed against his bed. “Instead,” he continued, turning around and folding his arms once more in
front of his chest. “I have a request for you in return.”

“Oh? And what is it?”

“I’ll speak parseltongue in front of your knights - hell, in front of the whole school, if you want - but
in return I want you to apologize to Alphard and Quintus for the way you treated them.”

“Done. I’ll do it—”

“In the meeting tomorrow,” said Harry, his tone serious. “In front of your knights.”

Tom froze.

“Those are my terms.”

His throat went dry. He licked his lips, his lungs expanding for a fortifying breath. Tom swallowed.
He dropped his gaze and sat down on the end of his bed. “Apologizing in front of others… That is a
sign of weakness,” he said in a low voice. “That isn’t in my best interest, especially now.”

“It’s not a sign of weakness, Tom.”

“It is—”

“It’s a sign of strength to admit you’ve done something wrong. Come on, I’m not weak, right? You’re
not weak. That’s ridiculous. By apologizing to them, they’ll trust you even more. If you never admit
that sometimes you get shit wrong, then what’re they supposed to do? How can they trust you when it
really counts?”

“It’ll create further distrust in my abilities—”

“That’s not true at all,” said Harry, throwing his hands into the air in exasperation. “And, besides,
what do you want? Loyalty? Or just minions?”

Loyalty?
“How dare you,” whispered Tom. “My knights are loyal.”

“Are you sure?”

Something pricked against Tom’s chest and his gaze fell to the floor. The spell he wove at the start of
every meeting informed him of the emotional state of each person. It gave insight into whether or not
they were lying as well. It was a powerful magical ritual, one that always impressed his knights. It
only worked on a willing person - one who kneeled. The feeling that everyone had in his meetings,
was this not loyalty?

“Tom.”

He looked up. His eyes widened. Harry stood in front of him, staring down at him with a powerful
gaze.

“If you have to think about it, that’s not loyalty.”

“You don’t know them,” whispered Tom. “You’ve only been here for two months. How could you
know anything about their loyalty?”

Pity. Those piercing eyes filled with pity. Tom’s lip curled, anger and fury rising in his chest, burning
anew.

“Oh, Tom, you—”

Something snapped inside. Tom’s hand whipped out, grabbing Harry by the wrist, and jerked him
forward. A soft gasp echoed in his ears.

The bed bounced.

Tom loomed over Harry, hands slammed beside his ears. Dark hair splayed against a moss green
comforter. Glasses lay near Harry’s shoulder, leaving his eyes bare and vivid. They widened; lips
parted and cheeks flushed darker.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

An Adam’s apple beneath tanned skin bobbed.

“Like what?” whispered Harry.

“With pity.”

But the pity returned to the light in those eyes. Harry made no movement to fight him or to escape.
“When I was eleven,” he whispered, “a troll got into our school. We were supposed to go to our
dormitories, but there was a girl all alone, crying in the loo.” Harry broke his gaze, a deep sadness
filling his expression. Tom had the urge to fix it, but had no idea why. “My friend and I went to save
her. The troll found her and if we hadn’t gone after her, she’d have died. My friend and I knocked the
troll out.”

“You knocked out a troll at eleven years old?”

Harry grinned. “Well… I jumped on its back and shoved my wand up its nose as a distraction, while
my friend levitated its club over its head to knock it out. It was pretty exciting for us kids back then.”
“Why are you telling me this?”

Harry put a tentative hand against Tom’s chest. He pushed lightly. For a moment, Tom remained
immoveable, still hovering over him. The touch wasn’t demanding, but a request. Tom drew back and
sat on his heels. Harry slowly sat up.

“Well,” began Harry, putting his hands into his lap. “The girl lied to the teachers, taking the blame and
protecting us. It was silly. We wouldn’t have gotten in trouble for saving her, but we didn’t know that.
We were just kids. Lying to a teacher, when she’d never do that, felt braver than facing that troll. After
that, the three of us were inseparable.”

“You’re saying you became friends after a test of loyalty.”

“Yeah,” whispered Harry. “And they were always at my side through it all… until the very end.”

“The end?”

“They… They’re dead. We fought together, but…”

“My condolences,” murmured Tom.

Harry nodded, but didn’t acknowledge it. “I’m telling you this because you can’t create loyalty in a
meeting where you kneel. That’s not what builds genuine loyalty. True friends will do anything for
you because they love and care for you.”

Tom’s fists clenched at ‘love.’ How ludicrous.

“If you want to instill loyalty in your knights, then you need to show humility and strength by
admitting you’re wrong. If you don’t, then you’re distancing yourself from them and that doesn’t
create loyalty.”

“You think that something so simple and weak as apologizing will close this… distance and create
loyalty?”

“It did with us.”

Tom’s mind went blank. His stomach churned in a strange feeling. Ah. Harry’s words echoed in his
mind. That’s right. I apologized to Harry. Distance closed. Loyalty happened after that - was Harry
saying…

“Will apologizing to Alphard and Quintus close this… distance between us more?” asked Tom.
“Between you and I?”

Harry blinked. “Yeah,” he said, a touch breathless.

“Very well. I’ll apologize to them at the beginning of tomorrow’s meeting - if you come and speak
parseltongue.”

Harry smiled. “Deal.”

A moment passed with a heartbeat. Tom lifted an eyebrow. “Do you plan on sleeping here?”

Harry leapt off the bed as if burned. “Nope.” Harry flopped onto his bed, burying his face into his
pillow. His ears were dark.
Mmm…

A companionable silence fell in the room now. Tom pulled out a book on defense to read, but his
mind was too much in a whirlwind to focus on words. He shut it in tired annoyance. At around six
o’clock, dinner appeared at the foot of their beds on the lid of their trunks.

“Harry, time to eat.”

Tom grabbed his plate, a modest meal of meat, potatoes, and veg. When Harry didn’t answer, Tom set
his plate aside and stood up to check on him. Harry had turned on his side and was fast asleep -
without closing his bed curtains and warding them like he did every night.

Vulnerable.

How foolish of him to fall asleep so easily without safeguarding himself. This was the Slytherin
house; mischief happened all the time. Tom had learned to ward his bed and the dormitory door
within the first week at Hogwarts. Tom almost left Harry to learn a lesson. Almost. Tom took out his
wand. It’d been a long, exhausting day and, besides, he’d call on a favor from Harry later. This wasn’t
benevolence.

Pulling on his magic through his wand felt like molasses. He poured his intent behind the spells and
the wand’s reluctance faded. The curtains shut around Harry’s bed and the wards went up. Satisfied,
he turned around.

Alphard stood at the entrance of the room, watching him with a neutral expression.

Damn.

“Good evening,” said Tom, his tone cordial. “Was the feast pleasant?”

Alphard’s eyes flicked from Harry’s bed to Tom. “It was fine,” he said. His brow furrowed. “It’s still
going on; I left early.”

Tom nodded, idly running his fingers against the wood grain of his wand. It burned against his touch,
the reluctance now turning into outright rebellion. Alphard stepped into the room and closed the door,
warding it with a locking spell. For a long moment, he didn’t look at Tom.

“Speak freely,” whispered Tom. “I know you want to.”

Alphard smirked, but it was tense. “On threat of you cursing me? Dare I risk it?”

“You’re free to speak without fear.”

“Great—” Alphard put his hands onto his hips, his expression darkening. His tone was low, an
obvious effort to not wake Harry “—because what the hell were you thinking?”

Tom didn’t answer.

“What is wrong with you?” demanded Alphard in a furious whisper, stepping closer. “This isn’t like
you at all. Everyone was freaking out about what was happening. Just what the hell were you doing?”

“Dueling.”

“Tom!”
A sigh exhaled from Tom’s chest. He walked to his bed and sat down; he patted the comforter beside
himself. “Sit. I’ll explain a few things.”

Alphard hesitated, eyebrow raised, but sat down.

“We’ve set aside our differences—”

“For fuck’s sake!”

“We dueled,” said Tom, amending himself. “We destroyed a classroom. We’ve come to an
understanding and it won’t happen again.”

Alphard groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “I’m not a professor,” he whispered, hiding behind his
hands. “Please don’t treat me like one. Come on.”

“And… we probably dueled with the intent to kill.”

Alphard let out a strangled sound.

“I might’ve sustained fatal injuries.”

His head whipped up; Alphard stared at him in horrified alarm.

“Harry healed them,” whispered Tom. There was a pause. “He’s extremely powerful.”

‘The scar on Harry’s forehead illuminated, like a striking blaze across the night sky. Alive. A lightning
strike exploded behind Harry, obliterating the wooden viper.’

“An equal,” murmured Tom.

“You risked nearly everything to duel to the death with Harry… You know how ridiculous that is—”

“You both were right,” whispered Tom. Alphard’s eyebrows bolted into his dark fringe. “An apology,
a sincere one, was all that Harry wanted.”

There was a pause.

“And… you and Quintus shall have yours as well.”

“Tom—”

“Tomorrow,” said Tom, overriding him. He put a hand to his head; it had begun to mercilessly pound
with a deep ache behind his eyes. “I… I think I need some sleep first to gather my thoughts.”

Alphard stared at him as if he’d never seen him before. “Okay,” he said softly. “Okay.” He stood up,
shaken a bit. “I’ll… I’ll inform the others that you and Harry are exhausted and shouldn’t be
disturbed.” He gave Tom a polite nod and walked to the door.

“Thank you, Alphard,” whispered Tom.

The door shut closed as Tom pulled the curtains around his bed. Tom would never admit that he
floundered with his wand and magic for five minutes before giving up on his usual warding spells.
Instead, he collapsed into bed, the exhaustion overtaking him and any concern for Slytherin mischief.

The Slytherins were the least of his concern.

 His dreams burned.

A mournful cry echoed.

The flames flared to life all around him. Tom frantically looked for his wand, but it was gone.
Vulnerable and lost, the heat of the flames threatened to consume him. There was nowhere to hide,
nowhere to go - he would die here.

In a swirl of heat and power, the flames condensed and burst into the form of a phoenix. It cried;
Tom’s chest ached.

‘Lifting a wand against its brother…’

Burning, fire, hot, heat - he was going to melt beneath the fury of this creature.

‘I am displeased.’

He couldn’t breathe.

‘I expect better of you.’

Tom bolted up, doubling over in bed, his chest a rage of terrible pain. The occasional sounds of soft
snoring punctuated the silence. He wrapped his arms around his chest and curled into a ball, gritting
his teeth. The blood roared in his ears.

What the bloody hell was that?

Chapter End Notes

End of Arc One

 Twenty-Three
Chapter Notes

WELCOME to the start of Arc Two, the Angsty Hallmark Channel middle of the story with a
hell of a lot of traumatic shit on the side. It will cover the months of November to February.

Arc Two is planned out. I simply have to write it. Just send me health and writing energy, lmao. I
know what happens in Arc Three; I just don’t know when and where my major events occur in
the timeline.

So, what can you expect in the next 20+ chapters/130k+ words, my dears? WELL, let’s see
now… in no certain order because that would be too easy~

Emotional GROWTH, is that owl feathers, what is sleep - Tom doesn’t know, is it getting colder,
the darkest of dark magic comes at a cost, osculating, “It’s been a few years, mausi,” Dragon
Shenanigans TM, uh maybe don’t open that please I beg you, CAN YOU FEEEEEEL THE
LOVE TONIGHT, ‘You are the Master of Death, not the Master of Life,’ did I mention
Grindelwald cause I know you forgot him already, felix felis crack, wood problems, and a
spectacular Christmas special - now with high fashion frilly dress robes and everything - that
would put the Hallmark Channel to shame.

Buckle up, buttercups.

Terrible, But Great Arc Two Playlist

See the end of the chapter for more notes

‘You are forgiven.’

The mind was disjointed. The din of flames burned across the landscape; they were soothing. They
flickered merrily as Fawkes soared out of them. Wings fluttering with embers, the phoenix landed on
a pillar that materialized beneath him the moment his claws unclenched for a landing. He tilted his
head; a song echoed with a healing calm.

‘As the healing of fated ones begins, so does this world.’

A red thread of ethereal color lay upon the ground, one of fate; it was frayed beyond recognition, its
color dim with dying life, and charred to its snapping point. As the song grew louder with unnatural
softness, a golden light glowed at the edges of the cord; minute red threads filled in the gaps, braiding
together ever so slowly.

‘But beware…’

Fawkes’ voice pulsed deep within Harry’s heart.

‘For this healing must always prelude the Weighing of the Souls.’

His eyes opened.

‘Or fated ones are lost once more to the whims of Fate.’

The echo of the dream still burned in his mind, the flickering flames crackling in his ears. Sleep
fogged his thoughts and the dream began to fade into the waking unknown. Harry turned his head,
seeking his wand. When his fingers curled around the hilt, the holly wand warmed with a surge of
contentment.

Yet, there was a sense of ill ease, one that he couldn’t shake - like he was missing something
important. Harry sighed to himself, rubbing his eyes open. His bed curtains came into view. What a
weird dream… Did I dream of Fawkes? Harry’s brow pinched together as he tried to remember, but it
slipped through the cracks of his mind, like the grains of sand falling in an hourglass. He clung to the
comforting warmth and peace he’d felt in the dream - at least it hadn’t been a nightmare.

Hang on… He dropped his hand. Wait, my bed is warded… I don’t remember—

Harry bolted up. His bed was curtained off and he reached out a hand, his fingertips brushing against
the fabric; it pulsed with magic. He blinked as a strange feeling rose inside his chest. His fingers
curled against the palm of his hand, the tingle of magic gentle against his skin.

Tom had warded his curtains for him. The last thing Harry remembered was retreating to his bed and
collapsing there, flushing with embarrassment. He’d been planning on closing the curtains and
warding them, like he did every night, but… he must’ve fallen asleep.

Tom had done it for him.

Why, though?

The scuffles of the other boys pulled his attention away from his thoughts, but he didn’t move. It was
easier to feign sleep than face them. Harry wasn’t ready for the bombardment of questions that were
sure to follow. The entire school was going to be a pain in the arse for the next few weeks. Harry
groaned softly, dropping his face into his hands. The first years were going to be a nightmare about it,
too. At least he had a week to come up with an explanation before then.

As much as he loved Monty, he wasn’t going to let anyone know that he’d been pushed. Tom was
already in too much trouble as it is - if Dumbledore found out that Tom had also tried to harm a
younger student, there was no saving Tom from getting expelled.

No one saw Tom actually push Monty with his magic. They all assumed the boy had tripped on the
stairs and Harry was going to leave it at that.

Sorry, Monty. I’m confident something like this won’t happen again, though.

Harry crossed his legs and listened for the other boys to leave for breakfast. He heard Alphard
whispering; Harry caught a few snippets of his words, but the gist was there.

“Let them sleep. Leave them alone.”

As silence fell over the dorm room, Harry waited another ten minutes, just to be safe, before opening
his curtains. The other beds were open and empty of the other boys, except for Tom’s bed. His
curtains were still closed.

Harry grabbed a change of clothes out of his trunk and went to shower. Harry would bet five galleons
that their first detention would involve cleaning some of the classroom, which meant he’d probably
have to shower again, but vanishing the blood off his skin never felt the same as washing it off.

The warm water eased the ache in his muscles and Harry wanted nothing more than to spend an hour
beneath it, but he didn’t allow himself the luxury. Fifteen minutes and Harry was washed, dried, and
dressed. Harry walked into the dorm room, ruffling his hair with a towel, and stopped. Tom was
awake, hunched over with his head bowed as he sat on the edge of his bed.

“Morning,” said Harry.

Tom made a low, acknowledging sound.

Harry frowned, looking him over once. Come to think of it, was Tom a morning person? He was often
late to breakfast. Harry had assumed he got up early to study or something.

“You all right?”

“Fine,” said Tom frostily, head whipping up. He leveled a quick glare to Harry as he stood, grabbed a
bundle from his bed, and left the room.

“Not a morning person, got it,” muttered Harry. Was he waiting for me to leave the shower? There
were plenty of stalls in the bathroom. Although… Harry understood the desire to shower alone. He
had far too many undeniable marks on his body that would gather stares and raise questions. Harry
always avoided that.

At around eight o’clock, one tray with breakfast materialized at the foot of each of their beds. As a
note appeared with a little pop in the air, unfurling slightly, Tom was done with his shower, his hair
damp. Harry reached for the note, but Tom snatched it out of the air with another glare. He read the
note out loud, his scowl growing more furious with each word.
 Dear Harry and Tom,

Good morning! I hope you both had some rest. Be sure to eat your breakfast. You need your
strength for your morning detention after all. Please don’t leave the dorms and go on your own.
I’ll be there to pick you up for your detention at nine.

See you both soon. Do try to stay out of trouble, will you?

Sincerely,

Newt

Tom crinkled the note in his hand, tossing it aside. “We’re not children,” he hissed. “I can hear his
condescending tone through the ink.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard Newt be condescending,” said Harry, frowning. He picked up the note
and unwrinkled it. He fought the urge to roll his eyes; he failed. Merlin, you’re dramatic. “Besides,
sixteen is still technically a kid, right?”

Tom’s glare miraculously didn’t burn a hole through Harry’s skull. “Absolutely not.”

Harry shrugged. After the fiasco that had been his fifth year, he’d grown used to adults treating him
like he was only a dumb little kid. Nothing new there. Harry had developed enough Slytherin qualities
to take advantage of it. Better for adults to be taken off guard with surprise than overbearing with
their control.

Tom had taken to pacing the length of their dorm room now.

“If he thinks he can imprison us in our own room…”

His eyes were going to get stuck in the back of his head if Harry couldn’t get control over his eye
rolling. “Tom, sit down, just eat your breakfast.” Harry flopped onto his bed and pulled his tray onto
his lap. “Stop trying to start a fight about this. Not like we’ll be stuck in here forever.”

“It’s the principle!”

Harry sighed. “What’s the problem with eating in here anyway?”

“My reputation, that’s what!” snapped Tom, seething. “You saw how they took the rumors already last
night—had the audacity to attack us in front of an adult. Do you have any idea how the rest of the
school is going to take this? Riddle, the exemplary, perfect flawless student, getting into enough
trouble to be grounded for it? I’ll be a laughing stalk.”

Exemplary, huh? Perfect and flawless?

“I’m pretty sure the ‘nearly killing each other’ and the ‘animated skeleton dragon’ is at the top of the
rumor mill chain.”

Tom laughed derisively. “You’d think that, but no. Oh, no, that’s not the salacious part, the delicious
juicy morsel of gossip that will fuel their tongues for months to come. That’s not the fall from power.
Getting detention on a flawless record is far more newsworthy than almost killing someone.”
“Or being killed.” Tom narrowed his eyes while Harry grinned, taking a bite of his toast. “Hilarious of
you to think you were gonna kill me. I gave you a wicked black eye.”

Tom sniffed. “We are evenly matched.”

“Sure, Tom.”

“I overpowered you,” hissed Tom. “I stopped the fight.”

“Are you sure ‘bout that? Pretty sure you were dying.”

“You’re impossible.”

“I know.”

Tom growled underneath his breath, whirling away and running a hand through his hair. He blew out
a breath, chest heaving. His shoulders were tense.

Harry hesitated. “Is… something wrong?”

“Nothing.”

Tom didn’t elaborate. He huffed and sat in bed, beginning to eat his breakfast with his brows furrowed
in what Harry could only describe as a frustrated pout. Harry hid a smile. Tom might say he wasn’t a
child and yet here he was, acting like one nonetheless. His heart softened with a touch of fondness.

Tom brooded in silence as they ate and Harry didn’t try to break it. He wasn’t sure what put Tom in a
poor mood this morning, but he wasn’t about to mess with it. He didn’t think they’d start fighting or
dueling again, but… Anything was possible when Tom was in such a pissy mood.

There was a lull after their dishes vanished. Tom had immediately pulled out a book and had begun
reading it after breakfast, but Harry was pretty sure he hadn’t heard the turn of a page for ten minutes
now. Harry pulled out some parchment, an ink vial, a quill, and his charms book, starting on his latest
essay that was due next week.

At exactly nine o’clock, there was a knock at the door. “May I come in?”

Tom let out a huff, snapping his book closed; his jaw was tight.

“Of course, come in,” said Harry.

The door opened and Newt walked inside with a smile on his face. His robes were much more casual
than they’d been the day before, reminiscent of what Harry had seen him wear upon first meeting.
“Good morning, boys,” he said brightly and a light clap of his hands.

“Morning, Newt!”

“Did you have a good night?”

Harry nodded, while Tom didn’t look at the man.

Newt put a hand to his mouth, hiding his amusement. “Your enthusiasm to start the day is duly felt.
Your first detention is to begin cleaning the mess you created.” Called that, thought Harry,
unsurprised. “Galatea has demanded that she supervise your classroom cleaning detentions and she
didn’t really give me an option to say no either,” he added sheepishly with a rub of his nose. “I
suggest you try not to make her more angry. I’m afraid she’s going to start spitting fire.”

“That… doesn’t sound good for us,” said Harry.

Newt let out a delighted laugh. “Good luck.” His eyes danced with mischief beneath his fringe.
“Come on now. Your detention will be for three hours. Once you’re done, please come to my office
immediately. We’ll discuss what the rest of your detentions will look like there. Ready, then?”

Tom got up from his bed, blatantly avoiding the man’s eyes. He walked past Newt without a word.
Newt raised a questioning eyebrow at Harry, who shrugged.

“He’s in a bit of a mood this morning,” whispered Harry.

Newt pursed his lips, his gaze distant. He seemed to shake himself after a moment. His smile at Harry
was a bit forced as he gestured in front of himself. “Come along. Perhaps another night of rest will
help.”

Harry refrained from mentioning that one could merely blink and it’d set Tom off into a poor mood.

Like the day before, as the three of them walked together, Tom wouldn’t engage with the conversation
- no matter how many times Newt attempted to ask him questions. However, this morning, Tom was
silent, not even bothering with one word answers. Harry did his best to draw Newt’s attention away
from Tom, but it was clear the man was concerned.

The whole thing was odd, so unlike Tom. He never acted like this with any other teacher, not even
Dumbledore. Tom always put energy into the well behaved, perfect student veneer. So, why was Tom
acting like this around Newt, of all people, who was probably the kindest and softest of all the adults
in the castle?

Harry didn’t find an answer.

When they reached the double doors of the classroom, they stopped. “Well,” Newt began, awkward,
as he turned to face them. “This is where I drop you both off. Remember, I’ll see you two in three
hours. My office.”

“We’ll be there,” said Harry.

Newt glanced at the doors, hesitant, before he nodded, more to himself. “Good luck, boys.” Newt
gave Harry and Tom a pat on their upper arms. Tom flinched at the touch and the light in Newt’s eyes
darkened with sorrow. “See you later,” he whispered softly and began to stride down the corridor, his
steps echoing.

Harry sighed and pushed the doors open. Walking into the classroom, Harry winced at the sight of it.
Their fight had been worse than he realized. Debris was scattered everywhere. Each step they took,
glass crunched beneath their boots. Books were scattered, some wet, some charred, some growing
strange plants and mushrooms. A couple of the chairs were still giggling, but the pitch had lowered,
like the sound of a dying recording. Beside the door, there was a pile of buckets, dragon hide gloves,
rags, and cleaning brooms.

Merrythought stood in the center of the mess. She turned and put her hands onto her hips. “Welcome
to hell - yours, specifically,” she said with a grim smile. She gestured around the destroyed classroom.
“Do you see this? You two dunderheads, with nary a bloody brain cell to rub together between the
pair of ya, did this—and do you know what this is?”

There was a harsh pause. She glared expectantly. Harry quickly shook his head. “No, ma’am.”

“This—” hissed Merrythought as she continued. “—is a magical danger zone and you both will be
cleaning this mess up until there is not even a trace of your disastrous touch in here.”

Harry gulped.

“Am I understood?” snapped Merrythought.

There was a duet of, “Yes, ma’am.”

“There’s hope for you yet. Get started.” Tom made to pull out his wand, but stopped when
Merrythought put up a hand with a sharp laugh. “Oh, you’re cute, Riddle. No magic. Wear the dragon
gloves. Now get started!”

With a sigh, Harry rolled up his sleeves and grabbed the dragon hide gloves. He handed a pair to Tom
and slid them on, getting to work on picking up the books that were scattered all across the floor. For
a moment, Tom looked around the room, with an odd expression on his face. He stood there, eyes
taking in the destruction of the classroom - almost as if… he were paralyzed by the task.

Hope he doesn’t snap my head off…

“Hey.”

Tom blinked; he met Harry’s eyes. He swallowed, an air of confidence flowing over him. “Yes?”

“Help me with the books?”

“Of course,” said Tom with a nod. He put the gloves on and followed after Harry.

The pile of undamaged books grew slowly with their work. As the time ticked by, an odd dynamic
rose between the two of them, one that Harry would’ve never imagined possible with this boy: Tom
let Harry direct him.

Harry was no stranger to chores. He had learned early on that Aunt Petunia liked a proactive worker.
If she gave him dishes and dinner as his chores, she also expected him to clean the kitchen, too.
Finding work to do came easy. The classroom was a disaster; thus, there was plenty that needed to be
done.

When one mini chore was finished, Tom would stand there - dare Harry say it - almost floundering as
he looked around the area with an overwhelmed light in his eyes. The moment Harry asked, “Hey, can
you help with—” Tom would nod and follow his lead.

He’s like… oh, Merlin, he’s like a lost puppy.

For the next three hours, Harry and Tom worked by the fallen bookshelves under Merrythought’s
careful eye and occasional barking direction. They gathered what books that were left, though at least
half of them had been ruined or destroyed from their fight. They were able to clear a space of debris
and broken wood for a new bookshelf.
Tom brushed the charred dust off the cover of one book, only for it to disintegrate in his hand. “What
a waste,” he muttered. “Valuable knowledge lost because…” He trailed off, gaze dropping to the
floor.

Harry didn’t comment. He remembered one book that he’d purposely set on fire. Helpless terror had
filled his chest when he’d caught sight of the familiar title. While he didn’t think Tom had gotten the
information on horcruxes from this old classroom, Harry wasn’t about to take any chances of
accidentally giving him the key to them sooner than normal.

Sorry, Tom. But that knowledge was too dangerous in your hands.

When Merrythought called them to stop, Harry and Tom were sweating, coated in charcoal dust, and
exhausted. There was still a massive amount left to clean in the room. It would take at least five more,
possibly up to eight more, detentions to finish cleaning the classroom.

“You look like you’re suffering,” said Merrythought. Harry wiped his brow. She grinned. “Fabulous.
If it were up to me, you’d suffer more. Never in my time here at Hogwarts have I seen such
destruction done by any student - not even a potions accident, which you managed to do as well.” She
huffed and shook her head in annoyance, but the creases of her eyes softened. There was a pause
before she thrust her hands forward. “Here. Take these. Eat them and get out of here. Stop doing
stupid shit.”

Harry accepted it, looking down at his hand.

It was a chocolate frog.

Merrythought had already turned away from them. Harry unwrapped the box from around the frog,
managing to catch it mid leap, and took a bite. Tom pocketed his frog. They dropped their gloves in a
bucket and left the room, beginning the walk towards Newt’s office in silence.

“You all right?” asked Harry.

Tom wiped his brow with the back of his sleeve. He nodded. “Yes.”

A strange feeling swelled in Harry’s stomach. As they walked side by side, Harry sneaking glances at
him, Tom appeared like a normal boy for the first time. Coated in sweat and charcoal, the Slytherin
front was gone. Voldemort had always seemed inhuman, a monstrous creature beyond mortal
comprehension. He’d never seen Voldemort do anything remotely normal. Yet, whenever Harry
caught a glimpse of this human behind the perfect facade, he found himself drawn to Tom.

What are you really like, Tom?

“Where’d you learn to clean so well?” asked Tom.

“Oh, I…” Harry shifted, caught off guard. He didn’t want to go into the Dursleys right now. “Just had
a lot of practice…”

“Mm,” murmured Tom, but he didn’t press for more.

They walked a few steps in silence, nearing Newt’s office.

“It was a lot of forced practice,” whispered Harry.

Tom frowned, stopping. His brows were furrowed as he met Harry’s eyes. “Forced?”
“I’m a quick study.”

Tom’s frown deepened further. “What—”

The door opened to the office swung open and Newt’s head popped out, his wand tucked behind his
ear. He smiled. “I thought I’d heard your voices,” he said brightly. Amusement danced in his eyes as
he looked them over. “Oh, my, rough time, then?”

“I think Professor Merrythought is more bark than bite,” said Harry.

Newt laughed. “Don’t let her know that or she’ll try to prove you wrong.” He gestured them inside.
“Let’s chat a bit before you go back to your dorm. How’s a nice cuppa sound? I’ll pour us one while
we discuss a few things.”

Harry and Tom stepped inside after Newt. The door shut behind them. They sat down in two chairs
that were set in front of the desk. The surface of the desk was a mess; sheets of parchment were
scattered at the center where a wet quill had been tossed on top, staining the parchments with plots of
ink. A tea tray lay half askew, rather precariously, over the edge of the desk, half eaten biscuits and
crumbs coating a saucer. A bowtruckle nibbled on one of the crumbs.

“Oh, bother,” murmured Newt when he saw the mess, as if he hadn’t noticed it until now.

He grabbed his wand and gave it a little swirl. The quill lifted and set itself in the ink vial, while the
ink disappeared from the parchment. The pages collected themselves together in one nice bundle,
while the tray slid back onto the desk, most of the crumbs disappearing and steam whistling out of the
kettle. It lifted into the air, pouring three fresh cups of tea. A couple of biscuits rolled in the air to rest
onto two saucers. One cup of tea and a saucer of two biscuits rested in front of Harry and Tom for
each of them. Newt gestured to them, pausing for the bowtruckle to crawl up his robes and hide in his
front pocket.

“Tuck in,” said Newt, sitting down in his chair and resting his elbows on his desk. He let out a sigh of
contentment as he took a sip of tea. “Oh, dear—touch hot there, don’t burn your tongues.”

Harry started on one of his biscuits while Tom wrapped his hands around his cup, drawing it to his
chest.

“Thank you,” said Tom softly.

“Of course, but I’m sure you’ll want some lunch. You could eat here, but I figure you might want to
return to your dorm to clean up and rest.”

“Yeah, I could use another shower,” said Harry, wrinkling his nose.

Newt chuckled. “Were you able to talk over supper last night?”

“A bit, sir,” said Tom.

“And?”

“We’ve set aside our differences.”

There was a pause. Harry shoved the rest of his biscuit in his mouth to avoid saying anything further.
“I hope so,” said Newt, his tone soft. He drew himself up, as if to steel his resolve. The gentle exterior
turned firm. “Because you’re going to be spending a lot more time with each other in detention. For
the next month, you’re going to have a three hour detention on each Saturday and Sunday. Now, I
know you have Quidditch and most professors wouldn’t make adjustments, I’ll make sure your
detention doesn’t overlap with your games. You’ll have to figure out your practices, though.”

“Thank you, I do appreciate that,” said Harry with a smile.

Newt nodded. “Finally, I want a two foot essay cowritten about how you’ll never again let a
disagreement escalate to violence. You’ll need to work together to write it. If I suspect one of you
bore the weight of it, you’ll have to start over.”

Tom gritted his teeth.

“You’re still grounded tonight, but after that, you’re free.”

Harry nodded, while Tom scowled. For a long moment, Newt glanced between them. “Are you both
all right?” Newt asked. Harry blinked. The man pursed his lips as he eyed them both. “It’s not a hard
question,” he said softly. “I’m asking if you’re in pain or if you’re distressed. Oh—what about the
bruises? Did you apply the balms I gave you?”

Harry flushed and ducked his head slightly.

“We haven’t had the chance to do that, sir,” said Tom evenly. “Our magic was drained from the duel.
We both fell asleep early last night.”

Newt lifted an eyebrow, staring at Tom. “Well, don’t forget this time when you get back,” he said with
a firm look, but his tone was gentle. “Please, or else I’ll have to apply them myself and we all know
that’s not what either of you want.”

“We’ll remember,” said Harry.

Newt smiled. “Well, I know you’re tired. Off you go, then. Do try to spend the day resting. You’ve
both been through a lot.”

It was a nice thought, but there would be little rest with Harry attending the little Knight’s meeting
tonight. It would be the true test to see if Tom had learned anything.

You had better, Tom, or else it’s going to be a long night.

“And eat your meals properly or an old house elf will have my head!”

In the late evening, well after the dinner dishes had cleared the tables in the Great Hall at Hogwarts,
Newt stepped through the floo to his home in the countryside with a sigh of relief, wishing he’d be
able to do this every night during the week. Magic tingled in the air. Newt glanced around, looking for
Tina, when one of his young nifflers squealed in protest from the other room. Her chitters were
distinct in their complaint.

“Peony?”

The little niffler grew louder, zooming through the air past him into the bedroom, scrambling to keep
her grip on one of Tina’s jeweled necklaces. Really, now. You know better… Perplexed, Newt followed
after her and stepped into the room. The bedroom was in chaotic shambles, clothes discarded on the
floor. Peony landed on the bed with a squealing bounce, her claws tangled in the chains of the
necklace. Dougal the demiguise sat on the bed and held up one of Tina’s blouses. Teddy, his fur
greying with age, shook his head slowly and Dougal tossed it aside. Milly the Kneasle, barely a few
months old, played in the discarded pile of clothes.

“Tina, what’re you doing?”

Newt had to duck out of the way as a number of articles of clothing came flying out of their closet and
into an open travel bag. Tina didn’t look at him, waving her wand lightly as she directed everything in
the air.

“Tina—”

“Newt Scamander,” said Tina in a no nonsense tone. She met his eyes. “If you think you get to go off
to a beautiful castle with a waterfront view without me—”

“It’s not a vacation—”

“—then, you’re sorely mistaken,” said Tina, not even pausing for a second. “I’m coming with you
whether you like it or not. You’re not leaving me here all alone every week for months. No. I’m
coming with you and that’s that.”

“But—”

She shook her head, just as toiletries started flying out of their bathroom. “I’ve rarely seen you this
stressed before. It’s too much on you to come back home every night to be with me and I’m certainly
not waiting around for you to visit on the weekend. You are my husband and I’m coming with you.”

“But, Tina… Hogwarts doesn’t allow spouses and families, unless they’re teaching—”

Tina gave him a fierce, raised eyebrow and a look that promised trouble to anyone who crossed her.
“Back in America, our professors brought their whole families to school. We’d often see their kids
playing together—granted, they often bothered and distracted the students all the time…”

“I don’t make the rules—”

“Oh, my love, since when have you ever been one for sticking to them?”

Newt flushed hot.

“And don’t we have a lunch date with your new colleagues, too?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“And they invited me, didn’t they?”

“Of course, but—”

Newt’s words were cut off when Tina took a step closer and put her hands on his face, gently
squishing his cheeks. All protests died inside Newt’s chest as she gazed deeply into his eyes. “Newt,”
she whispered. “I’m coming with you. Please. I’m going to be here all alone and I don’t think I could
handle that. I’m not going to work now and—”
“You know I support you, if you wanted to be an auror here,” said Newt softly, putting his hands over
her wrists. “You should. You love being an auror…”

Tina slowly nodded. “I know, but I made my choice to retire. I don’t think me being an auror is best
for us right now.”

“I just want you to be happy,” whispered Newt.

Tina leaned in, pressing her forehead against his. “I am, so long as I’m with you,” she said softly.
“Besides, there’s a war going on and Grindelwald is in the country now. Being an auror is dangerous
and I’m not going to take any risks with my health right now.”

Newt pursed his lips together, nodding. He’d never admit that he was concerned for her safety and
health while she was on the job, especially so soon after… He didn’t say anything more and kissed
her. She sighed against him and wrapped her arms around his waist, burying her head against his
neck.

“Newt, please let me have this,” whispered Tina. “Don’t fight me on this. Please.”

“It’s not like I want to be away from you all week, every week…” murmured Newt. “I don’t want you
to stay here in this empty house alone either… If you don’t want to be alone, you know you could
stay with Queenie and Jacob. They’d welcome you and the kids adore you.”

Tina pulled back slightly, arms still wrapped around him. “I love my sister and I love the children,
but…” She dropped her gaze. There was a brokenness to her tone, one that Newt all too well the
cause for it. “She’s pregnant again and it’s just a painful reminder of all the times we’ve tried and lost
—and I don’t want to hurt her feelings with my thoughts. I am happy for her, but it’s just too raw this
soon. I need some time.”

Newt drew her close again, his embrace tight around her waist. They stood there, holding each other.
Tina trembled in his arms.

“It’ll happen,” whispered Newt. “It will.”

Tina made a soft sound, acknowledging him.

Potions and treatments, again and again, but nothing helped - nothing worked. ‘You’re young and
healthy,’ so often they were told. ‘It’ll happen, just keep trying,’ they were told flippantly. But after
ten years, Newt was convinced that the healers didn’t know what they were talking about any more.

“What if we never have a child?” whispered Tina. “I’m getting older…”

“If forty-one is getting older, then forty-five must be getting ancient.”

Tina laughed, watery and broken.

“It’ll happen when it happens,” said Newt gently. “If it doesn’t, we have each other.”

“But family—”

“We are family, you and I.”

“I see how you look at the boys,” whispered Tina. “Especially Ezra and how he’s your little shadow
every time we visit.”
“And I see how you look at Katrina,” murmured Newt. “But…” Newt slipped back, placing his hands
against Tina’s cheeks; his thumbs wiped away her tears. “I’m content with you.” Tina smiled at him,
more tears slipping down her cheeks. Newt pressed a kiss to her forehead. He caressed her cheeks
with his thumbs again. “Do you need help packing?”

“You’re not going to try to convince me to stay home?”

“I know better than to try and stop you,” said Newt with a wry smile. “Who am I to stand in your
way?”

Tina kissed him with a laugh, before turning back to the mess of the bedroom. She put her hands onto
her hips. “Well, I better finish if we’re to leave tomorrow.”

“I’ll reenforce the wards and secure everything for our absence.”

“Thank you, Newt,” whispered Tina.

He leaned close and pressed another kiss to her cheek. “Of course, love. Dougal, you’re in charge.”

The demiguise cooed, while little Peony chittered furiously as she tried to pry the necklace from
Teddy’s paws. Newt bent down and pulled out a travel bag of his own from underneath the bed.

“Oh, how did today go with those boys, Harry and Tom?” asked Tina.

Newt sighed. He sat back on his heels, shaking his head. “I don’t know what to think of them,” he
said softly. “They’re orphans, all alone - they’re skittish, even though they hide it. Harry… He’s seen
dark things for sure, but he’s got the heart to defend against it. Tom, on the other hand…” Newt
trailed off. He could still see the exhaustion in the boy in his mind. He hadn’t slept the night, it
appeared. “I’m worried about him; his heart is closed shut - it’s like a wall of stone.”

“Oh, poor thing… He must’ve had a difficult childhood,” whispered Tina. “Queenie and I at least had
each other after our parents died. But if he was all alone, he probably had to protect himself and his
heart. ”

“I suspect the same. He’s not used to trusting people, especially adults. It’ll take awhile, but I’ll get
through that shell of his.”

“Not alone, you won’t.”

Newt blinked. “You want to help?”

“Of course,” said Tina. “I know being a teacher and a head of house means you’re responsible for all
the children in your class and in your house. But isn’t it unusual to be assigned to specific children as
a mentor?”

“This is the first I’ve ever seen it. Dippet was just trying to spite Dumbledore and I - you know he
doesn’t think highly of me.” Newt shook his head again. “I don’t mind looking out for them, but
they’re certainly a pair of wild ones.”

“Then, we’ll help them together.”

Newt smiled. Peace and relief flowed through his heart. He’d been ignoring the dread of going to
Hogwarts without Tina as much as possible. She never let him see it, but he knew she was hurting and
still recovering from her recent miscarriage. It’d been barely a month now. The child had been too
young for them to determine the sex, but it was still yet another heartbreak.

He would worry less with Tina at his side.

“What are you going to do with your case?”

“Well, I’ve got to bring the case,” said Newt, a touch defensively.

“Yeah?”

“We can’t leave them here to fend for themselves, after all. They need looking after.”

Tina pressed her lips together, one Newt recognized as her trying not to laugh. “So, you’re going to
bring a bunch of illegal creatures into Hogwarts where you could get arrested?”

Newt paused, head dipped as a sheepish smile lifted his lips. “Sounds about right, doesn’t it?”

“You just want to show off to those boys.”

Newt grinned; he winked at her and Tina laughed in delight.

It didn’t take long to finish packing and to secure the house. The rest of the little nifflers were
gathered in their nest in the case. Newt let Dougal inspect the house once more, looking for any stray
creatures, before he entered the case last. Newt followed after him to help some of the more flighty
creatures prepare for travel.

Newt paused, looking at the vastness of the case. He’d added more rooms over the years to
accommodate his growing number of creatures, whether from their own coupling or his gathering
them under his wing. He had recently expanded some of the desert plain biomes to make room for the
budding salamander population. The mooncalves popped by, chirping happily as he patted a few on
the head, making his way to a section in the back that he’d built sixteen years ago. He stopped at what
appeared to be the entrance to a little cottage. Two flower pots with an array of wildflowers sat at the
door. He stepped through, a cheerful bell jingling, and entered the small room.

It was decorated as a bedroom for a child. Two small beds sat at either side of the room. There was a
shelf with children’s books. Little clay wizarding dolls sat on the shelf, alive with movement as they
played with clay toy animals. They hushed as they saw Newt.

The two beds were empty, save for the encased dark swirling shadows that hovered over the
comforters.

These were the tattered remains of Credence and Sadia.

“Hello, Credence and Sadia,” murmured Newt. The obscurials moved with a cold, never ending
dance. “Would you like to come with me to Hogwarts?”

The darkness didn’t answer.

“Oh, it’s beautiful. I think you’ll like it there. Credence, you’d have gone to Hogwarts, if you’d lived
in Britain. Sadia, you would’ve gone to Uagadou. But… Well, you both get to go to Hogwarts now.”

There was no indication that his words were heard. They never were. They never would be either. But
Newt never stopped talking to Credence or the Sudanese girl, whom Newt had named Sadia. He
 hadn’t been able to save her or learn of her name, but he couldn’t bear leaving her nameless. After all
these years, he still didn’t know if a hint of their soul was left behind or it was just a cloud of the dark
magic - an echo or an imprint of what they’d once been.

He still spoke to them as if they were there, though.

“There are two boys I think you would’ve liked. Would you like me to tell you about them?”

The clouds of darkness swirled in silence.

“I knew you’d say that.”

And so as Newt sat down in a chair, some of his creatures peering through the open door of the room,
he told Credence and Sadia a story about the two lost boys who lived at Hogwarts.

Chapter End Notes

A few updates. First, I’ve been preparing files for personal non commercial printing of Arc One,
which I will make publicly available should any of you want to print out your own copy through
Lulu. I won’t release it until I give it one more proofread, which entails me listening to 130k
words. (PLUS, I'm finding some small inconsistencies and need to add a few more details, like
mentioning Harry's glasses more often and the heights of all the Slytherin gang because Harry is
the SHORTEST of them all.)

I've figured out the cover design for all five arcs, but I'm not an experienced nor skilled cover
design artist. So, not sure how I'm going to get my vision into print, but we'll see.

“s”

Also, heads up, there’s a line in chapter 8 where Newt says, “I live with a Legilimens.” This line
has been changed to “I’ve lived with a Legilimens.” Originally, the two families of Newt/Tina
and Queenie/Jacob were going to all be living together, but I’ve since changed this detail.

Finally, I was pretty sick for a few weeks there, with my own physical health issues and mental
health/depression, and then food poisoning kicked my ass. I’ve officially fallen behind in
replying to comments, which I hate. I have seen some worried about the story being abandoned.
Chapters might be delayed/take time to finish, but this story is my soul and there are so many
amazing already partially written scenes that I want to share with you guys. It’s not abandoned.
While I’m neutrally resigned to the presence of AI, I would appreciate it if you did NOT put my
fic into an AI and generate an ending to see what it can create in my absence.

I guarantee you an AI could never effectively strum your heart strings with the joys and horrors I
have in store for Arc Two and Three.

After all… I did get a short rage driven burst of writing after watching the emotionally
compromising end to Good Omens Season 2. (if you know, you know.) Were lives lost? Who
knows. But that doesn’t happen until Arc Three, so… Doesn’t help anyone here…

Yes. You should take that ominously.

 Twenty-Four
Chapter Notes

*shaking my head*

None of you seem to know the word osculating and I’m so deeply disappointed by that. Your
lives are simply not the same without the knowledge of its meaning. I pray your souls will take
flight when you learn the true meaning of osculating.

Also, the theme song for the Knights is officially 'No Roots' by Alice Merton because it's the
perfect shenanigans song to me for some reason.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Tom scowled.

There was no way around it tonight. There would be no looking regal for his Knights, no center
armchair for them to gather around as one, no grand display of magic within the House of Slytherin -
nothing. No matter how or where he sat on his bed, it was far too informal. Tom couldn’t bear the
mundanity of it. For the fifteenth time this evening, he shifted on the bed and uncrossed his legs in a
huff.

And to add insult to injury, staying in bed only illuminated just how tired Tom was - sleep so
invitingly beseeched him to lie down and slip into the void.

“This is ridiculous,” muttered Tom. He picked up a textbook, only to toss it aside onto his pillow. “I
should accept my shame and cancel it.”

“What’s wrong?” asked Harry from his own bed; he rolled onto his side and propped his head up with
a hand. “I thought you were having the meeting in here.”

Tom pursed his lips together. “You don’t understand the subtleties.”

“So, tell me,” said Harry with a shrug.

“There are nuances—”

“Oh, come off it, Tom. You already know I don’t pay attention to your Slytherin power plays—”

“You’re a Slytherin yourself.”

“—yeah, yeah, I know. Just explain it to me anyway.”

Tom ran a hand through his hair, catching himself midway. Again, too casual. He dropped his hand
into his lap. “Putting it into words cheapens it,” he said carefully. “Even making it appear petty or
foolish to an outsider, but it’s an important aspect to pureblood circles. The outward appearance is a
vital presentation. If you lose that, your magical ability, no matter how powerful, will not save you
face among them.”
“Well, that’s dumb.”

Annoyance pricked at Tom’s patience. He inclined his head. “Be that as it may,” he said, managing to
keep the bite out of his tone. “A leader should never lounge in bed while being surrounded by future
politicians who hold the key to radical change in the future for our world and government. It’s
degrading.”

“Oh…” Harry sat up and crossed his legs. “So, the seating is a problem?”

“Not just that,” said Tom, rolling his eyes at the simplicity. “The room is small, too casual, too—too
—”

Intimate.

Tom swallowed; he licked his lips. A distance was to be maintained between himself and his Knights
during these meetings - or else they ran the risk of becoming exactly what Harry teased about: a club
meeting. But his Knights were always meant for more, meant for greatness, and keeping everything
formal now laid the proper foundation for the future.

That was how it’d always been done.

Harry pulled out his wand and jumped out of bed. “I’m decent at transfiguration,” he said, lifting his
wand. He grinned at Tom brightly with an air of mischief. “Let’s see what I can do.”

The rush of Harry’s magic was a whispered caress. He pointed his wand at a decorative end table and
a vase expanded into a plush arm chair, though it was a touch lopsided. The end table expanded and
transformed into a loveseat. Harry levitated the furniture towards the center of the circular room,
arranging them around the central heating stove that served as a fireplace.

The magic was powerful, but the technique was lacking. Harry made up for it in the raw power. With
some focused training, he’d be unstoppable. It was clear that Harry’s schooling had been lacking in
many areas, yet he’d still managed to flourish in his own way.

Why has he faced the Dark Lord before?

Did that have any influence over his training?

It took a few minutes, but Harry managed to transfigure two more sofas, three seaters, and placed
them in a circle in the center of the room. His arm dropped to his side and he wiped his brow with the
back of his other hand.

“How’s that?”

Tom inhaled; he felt a bit lightheaded. “Can you transfigure that single to a double?” he whispered.

“Uh, sure.”

It took him a moment, but with another swirl of his wand, Harry had transfigured the first armchair
into a loveseat.

“Perfect,” murmured Tom. Harry nodded with a pleased smile. Silence lifted between them. For a
moment, Tom couldn’t get the words out; there wasn’t enough breath in his lungs, but he finally
managed. “You’re to sit there this evening,” he said, sliding back into his formal tone. At my side.
Harry nodded. “Okay.”

There was an innocence to Harry, one that Tom could never understand. There was no suspicion in
Harry’s eyes; he didn’t suspect a thing, didn’t ask why Tom didn’t transfigure the sofas himself. He
had gladly done the magic at his request.

Tom’s grip tightened around the hilt of his own wand; the wood stung his skin. He wasn’t drained or
exhausted from the fight any more. Tom could set the wand aside and do wandless magic - but for
whatever reason, his wand denied him. He felt its displeasure with him, something he’d never seen it
do before. It had always worked for him.

Wands were known to be finicky, though.

Tom was facing a major problem now. With his wand giving him trouble, there was no way he’d be
able to start his meeting with the usual ritual nor potentially calm any problems if they happened to
arise. It wasn’t that Tom couldn’t use some wandless magic, but there was no way he could defend
against another with a wand.

He hadn’t experienced this kind of helplessness in a decade.

Tom rubbed the corners of his eyes; they ached with exhaustion. “Do you really think it’ll work?” he
whispered. Harry glanced at him with a questioning look. “An apology… Will it work?”

Do you really believe it won’t lower my influence?

“Oh.” Harry’s smile was soft. “Yeah, it’ll work. Trust me.”

‘Trust me.’

Easier said than done.

Harry plopped down on the loveseat with an elaborate shrug. “Besides, if anyone thinks less of you
for acknowledging that you made a mistake rather than ignoring it, then they’re not worth your time.”

Tom slowly nodded. It was a different way to look at people. Power and influence had been the
markers of someone’s value to Tom. But the way Harry framed it…

He knew what he had to do.

A few minutes before nine, Tom stood from his bed. His limbs were heavy, but he hid his exhaustion
and took his seat on a sofa. Harry blinked at him, eyes bright with an odd emotion that Tom couldn’t
identify. The sofa was a bit smaller than Tom had realized; he could feel Harry’s presence and heat as
his left side - nearly feel their thighs and arms touching.

With wandless magic, the House of Slytherin answered his call. A small snake detached from a
wooden paneling on the wall and slithered to him. Tom leaned down and it coiled around his wrist. It
curled up in his lap without a word.

The warmth at his side was pleasant.

At the strike of nine o’clock, his Knights entered the dorm. Alphard sat in the other loveseat, while
Quintus sat down on his lap without meeting Tom’s gaze. Alphard threw Tom a shrug as he wrapped
his arms around Quintus’ waist. Roland sat in the empty spot next to Alphard with Simon sitting on
the arm of the sofa. Sebastian and Marcus sat on the sofa to Tom’s left. Silence reigned as the rest of
his Knights entered, including the new recruits. It was tight even with Harry’s transfiguration work;
some of the boys took seats on the floor. The girls sat on the other sofa, rather squished together, but
they weren’t showing any signs of discomfort.

The air felt different than when they’d gathered in the common room.

It’d have to do.

“Welcome, my Knights,” said Tom softly.

A murmur. “My lord.”

Tom caught the appraising looks that many of his Knights gave Harry, where he sat at Tom’s side. But
he didn’t acknowledge it. “Tonight, we begin without the ritual and…” he said, his tone low. Tom
steadied himself with a deep breath. “You have all permission to speak freely without fear of being
punished for disrespect.”

The newcomers shifted, while Alphard frowned.

“I will be transparent with you all,” whispered Tom. “You know me well enough to understand that
recent events are an anomaly within my usual actions and character.” Even without the ritual, Tom
could sense their emotions. A couple more shifted where they sat, the restless ill ease spreading
among them. “It takes something—” or someone. “—truly remarkable to distract me so much. I
couldn’t see it and I grew volatile.”

Quintus looked away.

Tom turned slightly towards the two boys at his right. “Some of you tried to make me see reason,” he
said, still in that soft whisper. “Yet I wasn’t receptive to the wise council.”

A beat, a pause.

Courage isn’t only a Gryffindor trait.

“And…” Tom inhaled once more for strength. “As your leader, I have failed you.”

There was a chorus of sharp intakes of breath.

“I’ve wounded some feelings with my callous words,” said Tom, his voice dropping low. “I wish to
rectify that this evening.” Quintus ducked his chin, hands clasped tight in his lap, but he slowly lifted
his head. “I snapped at you both, when you only had my best interest in mind. My words were cruel
and though at the time I believed them, I do not believe them now.”

Quintus’ chest rose in a deep breath; he swallowed, lips wobbling. Alphard’s expression was stoic,
but emotion glimmered in his eyes.

“There is little one can do to reclaim words.” Tom set the little snake aside and uncrossed his legs,
standing up. His gaze swept over the group before it rested last on Quintus and Alphard. “However, I
want everyone here to know that I’m sincere and that even I, your lord, am not infallible.”

Tom fluidly dropped to a knee at the feet of Quintus and Alphard. Harry sucked in an audible breath;
there were a couple of other gasps. Quintus put his hand over his mouth, eyes wide with shock.
“My lord, what are you doing?” said Alphard harshly. “You don’t kneel—” Quintus made to get up,
just as Alphard shifted beneath him to do the same, but they both froze at Tom’s lifted hand.

“Do not move,” said Tom, firm and resolute. “I wish to express my deepest apologies.”

“Tom—”

Quintus’ voice choked off and he covered his eyes with his hand, hunching over slightly as his
shoulders shuddered. Alphard drew him flush against his chest, his grip around his waist tightening;
his features crinkled with emotion.

“Quintus, Alphard,” said Tom softly. “You are my elites within my Knights and… above all, my
friends.” Quintus’ breath hitched. “I am deeply sorry, for my words and for lashing out at you both. I
was in the wrong.”

Quintus trembled. He remained hidden behind his hand; there was a watery sniffle. “You could’ve
apologized in private,” he whispered and there was no mistaking his tears now. “Yet you chose to do
it here in front of all of us. Why?”

“As the ones who have been at my side the longest,” began Tom, his tone reverent. When the words
fell from his lips, Tom realized that he meant every one of them without a shred of guile. “You
deserve this respect.”

Quintus’ laugh was a half sob.

“Am I forgiven?”

Alphard sucked in his breath, struggling, and a tear slipped down his cheek. He threw out his left hand
and grabbed Tom by the arm, forcing him back to his feet. “For fuck’s sake, Tom, get off your knee,”
he said, his tone thick. “That was never in question.”

“Of course, we forgive you,” whispered Quintus, looking up from behind his hand. Tears glistened
and slipped down his cheeks. He leapt off Alphard’s lap and threw his arms around Tom, who started
with wide eyes. “You didn’t have to risk—you haven’t even started the ritual to—Oh, Tom, you’re so-
so—”

Tom relaxed in his arms, patting him lightly on the back. As Quintus drew away, Alphard was already
on his feet and pulling Tom into his second hug for the night. It was brief, a powerful squeeze and pat,
before he released Tom.

“We are honored by the gesture, my lord,” whispered Alphard.

Alphard sat down in his seat with Quintus back on his lap; he buried his face against Alphard’s chest.
Shaken by the odd affection, it took Tom a moment before he sat down. He avoided looking at anyone
as he put the little snake back into his lap.

Ever so lightly, almost unnoticeable, the back of Harry’s knuckles brushed against Tom’s leg. But
when he looked, the hand was gone.

A snort drew Tom’s attention and he finally looked up. Abraxas crossed his arms and shook his head.
“It’s been an eye opening year with Evans’ arrival,” he said with an appraising eyebrow. “I’ve learned
some things about you, my lord.”

“Abraxas,” hissed Alphard. “I suggest you tread carefully.”

Tom lifted a hand; his stomach clenched. “The permission to speak freely hasn’t ended. Speak your
piece, Abraxas.”

Though Alphard and Quintus will stay loyal… I’ve probably lost years of work with that apology.
Which families will turn away from me tonight?

Abraxas coughed into his hand and cleared his throat. “Well…” He darted a glance at Harry, quickly
turning away. His arms tightened at his chest. Aaron Goyle and Neil Crabbe, who sat on either side of
him, covered their mouths, eyes bright with amusement. “I…” Another clear of the throat; a huff.
“Well, I can see why our lord has been, uh… distracted by him.” His face twisted, nose wrinkling and
lips curling. “I got my arse so royally handed to me—and it was five against one. I shan’t live this
down.”

Abraxas shot glares at his companions, Neil and Aaron, who quickly put on a pair of innocent faces.
Gwendolyn snorted, while Primrose hid a smile beneath her hand.

“Anyway, you’re the real deal, Evans,” said Abraxas, shaking his head. “I know I didn’t miss that day
—my imperious curse should have taken you down, but you not only resisted it, you threw it off
immediately. That takes a powerful, unbending will. I understand you better now.”

“Hang on, what? Did you just say throw off the imperious curse?” demanded Primrose. “Is that even
possible?”

William Avery made a sound in his throat. “It is. I saw it firsthand. You should’ve seen him! Evans
took out Abraxas, Aaron, Neil, Maxxie, and myself in that duel. I’ve never been so gloriously
humiliated in my life before.”

“What? Really?”

“You lot didn’t see him in class against our lord,” said Cassia Carrow; her gentle voice was clear
above the others. “I’d have never believed it myself if I hadn’t seen it, too. Evans was worse than
Weasley in every defense class.”

Multiple faces now turned to look at Harry. He smiled tentatively and curled against the back of the
sofa; his hand brushed against Tom again. “I, uh…” Harry scratched the back of his neck. “I learned it
was better to be underestimated in a fight. Better if your enemy doesn’t think you’re strong.”

“But we’re not the enemy?” said Lilith Rowle, bemused. “This is a school and we’re your classmates
—well, I’m not, they are,” she added, gesturing to the sixth years. “But that’s a bit paranoid of you,
thinking of other teenagers as the enemy, right?”

Harry shifted, expression guarded. “Right. Force of habit, sorry.”

What?

Tom didn’t miss the look Alphard and Quintus shared.

“However, while I understand Evans better now,” said Abraxas, his pale eyes sharp. “That doesn’t
mean I’m impressed with our lord’s actions.”

A stillness fell over the group.

“Come off it, now,” muttered Aaron.

“You can’t be serious…” Neil trailed off when Abraxas sent him a hard look.

Abraxas squared his shoulders, his jaw set. “The Malfoy family can’t be associated with impulsive,
reckless actions that become school wide news overnight.”

Ah. So, that was that, then.

He was wrong—Harry was wrong. What loyalty, how—

“However,” continued Abraxas, cutting through Tom’s spiraling thoughts. “My father always told me
that a real man owns up to his mistakes. We all know that Nott is vying for the position at the head of
the Slytherin house, but I won’t support him. He doesn’t want change, only power.” Abraxas met
Tom’s eyes, unwavering and firm. “Tom, my lord, you still have the Malfoy house at your side.”

Tom’s chest expanded in a well needed breath. He watched, numb with shock, as his Knights
responded in one accord with a nod, each dropping their house name and their allegiance.

“The Greengrass house stands with you,” said Gwendolyn softly. A little wry smile lifted her delicate
features. “I must admit, it was a pleasant surprise, even a relief to hear about your little… error in
judgment.” All four of the sixth year girls shared a knowing look. “Even our lord is just another one
of the boys, reckless and daring, rushing into things without thinking it through.”

“Boys. No brains to speak of, whatsoever,” said Aurora Avery with an airy laugh.

Alphard quickly covered his snort, while Quintus didn’t hold back the delighted laugh. Harry
snickered.

“I beg your pardon?” breathed Tom. It didn’t take much for the whole group to descend into
suppressed laughters and giggles, leaving Tom in appalled silence at the audacity. “Did you just infer
that I was acting childish?”

Gwendolyn raised her hands in a placating shrug. “Oh, never, my lord,” she said teasingly. “I’d say
you were acting just like a boy.”

How dare she—

“Oi, oi, I take offense at that.”

“We’re not that bad—”

“Hey, hey, don’t go off. Instead, will someone fill me in on the fight in our sixth year class?” asked
Wesley Flint, breaking through the protests. “Of course I had to be sick during the best duel of the
year—come on now, someone tell me.”

“Oh, it was brilliant,” said Roland excitedly, leaning forward in his seat, eyes bright. “It happened so
fast, too. Harry is wicked light on his feet.”

“He did a cool trick with his voice, too, didn’t he?” said Simon.

“Oh, yeah!”

“Tom tried to take him out with some stone snakes,” said Sebastian. “Tom’s always got some
impressive transfiguration work.”
“I thought they were going to crush Harry,” said Marcus.

“He dodged them, though. Evans is quick on his feet.”

“Did he weave back and forth in between the spells?” asked Abraxas, leaning forward into the group
now. A number of the boys huddled close, bouncing in their seats with barely restrained excitement.
“I’ve never seen such footwork. It was bloody insane watching him dance around our spells like they
were nothing.”

“He did!”

“Didn’t even flinch when I managed to nick him in the ankle,” said Maximilian. “Or was that your
spell, Will? Salazar, I barely remember it—such a blur. We should get a pensive and watch it over
again. I’d like to study Evans’ dueling tactics.”

Harry groaned, hiding his face behind his hands.

Tom sat there, listening to the excited mulling of voices as they related the duels they had witnessed
between Harry and Tom. The hallway duel with the seventh years versus the sixth year class duel - it
was surreal hearing the way they compared the moves, the spells, the magic with awe and excitement.
There was a camaraderie between his Knights, one that Tom had never seen in any of their meetings.

It wasn’t unpleasant.

But he didn’t understand it.

Harry had been right. He’d been right. Tom hadn’t lost anything by acknowledging his mistake—if
anything, it had assured their loyalty. The playful friendship that Tom had watched between Roland
and Simon, had seen develop into something deeper between Alphard and Quintus - this… special
essence and connection between people had blended into his Knights. He’d feared this intimacy, yet it
had strengthened his Knights as one.

It doesn’t make sense.

Why?

Tom had believed it necessary to have a reason for his actions, to show his Knights that Harry was
worth this brief derailment - even to the point of risking everything. Slytherin house politics was
always about giving proof of one’s abilities and powers. That much in Tom’s life hadn’t changed
when he’d been sorted.

Echoes of the past slipped through the shields of his composure.

‘Have to earn your keep if you wanna eat.’

He’d tried and failed as a child.

‘You just a worthless orphan, ain’t ya? Got nothin’ of good to give to no one.’

The value of the Heir of Slytherin was unparalleled, owed nothing to a soul.

A memory dragged Tom back to its hellish void. He could feel the bruising grip on a spindly arm,
could smell the booze on the man’s breath and the musky mildew on thick old pages, could hear the
shrill voice crying in terror about demon possession and about ‘freakish’ going’s on - all vivid and
visceral as on the day it happened.

Blood splattered his face; the garden snake shrieked in her death.

‘You see this here, boy?’ the old priest had said in a gravelly, rough voice; he shook the dirty, wrinkled
scriptures beneath his nose. ‘Those who don’t turn from their wicked ways ‘shall be punished with
everlasting destruction…’

Shirt torn, thrown to the ground and held down, a pitcher of boiling water hovered above him.

‘Embrace this pain, boy. It’s got nothin’ on the torment of hell. If you don’t repent, no holy water will
save you from the wrath of your maker.’

Screams garnered no pity.

Hell burned in that holy water; no good ever came from those words.

A loud laugh broke Tom’s thoughts. He inhaled deeply and his lungs stuttered in desperation. Stars
popped. He blinked them away. As awareness flooded back through his mind, the chaos of voices
grated on his frayed nerves. The stark images of the past faded into the back of his mind, locked
inside their cage where they belonged, but the echoing throb of pain still ached through his body.

Dammit. Damn it to hell and back.

No one noticed—or Tom hoped no one had noticed his moment of spacing out. Harry was still hiding
behind his hands, while the group was still going over the duels spell by spell. Tom glanced down at
his lap, eyes unseeing. While he was more proficient at Legilimency than Occlumency, he still had
some basic shields in his mind, especially for more… difficult memories. Why were these old
memories surfacing through his shields and haunting him now?

He’d moved beyond them. He’d overpowered those memories, had destroyed them from his soul -
they had no right to taunt him here and now.

Stop it.

How pathetic… letting old memories shake you.

They are beneath you.

The wooden snake unfurled in his lap, gazing up at Tom. It tilted its head at him with a questioning
air, rising higher. Harry glanced over at it. Tom idly stroked a finger over its head, the grain of the
wood smooth beneath his skin. He didn’t have to prove anything to keep the loyalty of his Knights,
which meant he didn’t have to reveal Harry as a parselmouth. He could keep that secret to himself.
But… Though he liked the uniqueness of the gift, he rather liked the idea of speaking to Harry in
parseltongue whenever and wherever he wished.

Was Tom willing to give up the appearance of having a unique gift when there was no pressing need
for it?

“Oi, Evans, what spells were you using, anyhow? I didn’t recognize a few of them.”

“Oh, uh, they were just basic defense spells—nothing fancy,” said Harry, shrugging. “I dunno what to
tell… you… ah, shit. I’m speaking in parseltongue again, aren’t I?”
Tom let out a winded laugh. The tension in his chest unraveled and his breathing eased into a gentle,
steady rhythm. Tom lifted his head to see his Knights frozen in shock, faces grown pale. There would
be no hiding it now.

But he didn’t mind.

Only Harry.

“Well, fuck. Was this the right time to reveal this? Shit, I can’t turn it off. Did I fuck up the grand
reveal?”

Tom pursed his lips together, surprised by the second soft laugh that slipped through. He lifted the
wooden snake as it curled around his wrist; it peeped in delight at Harry, its high voice praising the
arrival of a second speaker. “Ah, yes. That’s the other thing I hadn’t mentioned,” he murmured. He
smirked at the shock in all of their faces. “Harry is also a parselmouth.”

“Is it off yet? Fuck!”

“He has no training, however. Simply seeing the image of a snake triggers the language.” Tom
lowered the snake, putting a hand over it and hiding it from Harry’s sight. The snake hissed in protest.
“Try again, Harry.”

“Stop, fuck—oh. Oh, thank Merlin,” said Harry, sagging in his seat. He shook his head with a light
laugh and a grin. “I was trying to say that I just used basic defense spells, nothing fancy, I swear.”

Silence.

Harry shifted at Tom’s side, uneasy. The group stared, eyes wide, mouths slowly dropping.

More silence.

“Sorry, but—” said Alphard, tearing through the lull, “—what the bloody hell?”

That shattered the stillness and a deluge of voices flooded over each other, melding together in a
chaotic cacophony.

“A parselmouth, really?” said Abraxas, mouth agape. “That can’t be possible.”

“Two at the same time?”

“Is this a joke? You having us on?”

“You heard him—Evans was speaking it!”

“Fuckin’ hell. I can’t keep up with this.”

“Blimey, that’s rare, innit?”

“A mudblood—sorry, right, a muggleborn parselmouth? What’re the odds of that?”

“He’s a halfblood, you prat.”

“You two aren’t related, are you?”

“Nah, they look nothing alike.”

“Evans, you think you’re descended from an Indian prince or something? They got parselmouths
there, don’t they?”

“Aren’t parselmouths from ancient Greece?”

“Circe’s tits, you lot are so uneducated,” said Primrose with a sniff. “That was just the Slytherin line.
Parselmouths do exist in other countries, too, I’ll have you know. Do none of you Quidditch for
brains lot open a history book? Merlin help us.”

A loud huff cut through the noise. Quintus abruptly twisted in Alphard’s lap with a furious glare and
pursed lips to a fine line. He pulled back a clenched fist and smashed it into Tom’s upper arm. Hard.

Tom yelped.

Harry barked out a startled laugh.

“What the—” Quintus’ voice cracked. All the others went silent. Quintus puffed up, nostrils flaring,
and drew back for another punch. “What the fuck, Tom!”

And much to Tom’s utter shock and horror, Quintus managed to land another punch to his upper arm.

The rest of the Knights dropped their heads, hands to their mouths, unable to muffle their growing
laughter. Roland wheezed into hysterics, until he slid to the floor in a dead lump. Simon tried to
maintain a firm exterior, but his shoulders trembled with the effort. Sebastian and Marcus turned
towards each other in a faux hug, silently shaking together.

Indignity exploded inside Tom’s chest.

“This is the reason? For your reckless stupidity?” cried Quintus, lifting a hand to smack at him again.
Tom jerked back against his will to avoid the blow, pressing against a firm chest at his side. He could
feel the rumble of Harry’s amusement. “And you didn’t tell us—Salazar, everything makes so much
more sense now. I can’t believe you—all this nonsense simply ‘cause you were jealous!”

Embarrassment and shame were not emotions that Tom was well acquainted with - especially when
their combined strength threatened to consume him whole.

“Of all the asinine—”

They’d always bubbled into white hot fury, erupting into a harsh cruciatus curse to punish the source
who dared to inflict those feelings upon his person. Months ago, no one would’ve dared speak to him
like that. Months ago, no one would’ve dared strike him like this.

And yet… no anger boiled inside Tom’s chest.

Was it Harry’s calming presence at his side or was it the coziness of their dorm room? Perhaps it was
this strange familiarity that had blossomed among his Knights for the first time. Sacrificing the
formality of their meetings didn’t seem as such a high price as it had before.

Was this the type of loyalty Harry meant?

Tom was calm - content even - as Quintus ranted indignantly at him, all while ignoring Alphard’s
efforts to soothe him. There was no fury nor rage, nor desire to exert his will over Quintus - force him
to conform to ‘proper’ loyal follower behavior.
This was Quintus, the boy who’d sat across from him during the first feast and had waved at Tom
with a welcoming smile. While the other classmates were brutal in their teasing and mockery, Quintus
had dried him off with a warming spell. Alphard had winked and had said, “Just say someone pushed
you into the lake. Did you make friends with the Giant Squid?” And after that, they’d stuck to Tom
like sticker burrs. It’d taken Tom a year to get used to them.

A follower would never punch their leader.

But a friend would.

The laughter never ceased. Even the girls lost their prim and proper behavior, giggling loudly. Even
the little wooden snake shrieked in high hisses with its demands.

His ears burned.

Tom moved to sit up, but Quintus snapped forward with another threatening raised hand. Alphard
grabbed it midair and threw his arms around Quintus to contain him. At the same time, a strong arm
wrapped around Tom’s torso, pulling him out of range to press against a firm chest.

“Quintus,” said Harry; his voice was soft, rich with amusement and close by. “As hilarious as this is, I
think you can stop bullying Tom now.”

“I’m not—”

“He’s not bullying me!” said Tom, aghast at the thought.

“Everyone just relax, all right?” said Harry. His breath, warm and weighted, tickled Tom’s ear. “Are
you sure this isn’t a club? Or is this supposed to be some secret meeting about your plans for
government espionage or world domination?”

Did someone put another log on the fire?

“If I can move past Tom’s bullshit, so can you.”

Tom elbowed Harry’s stomach and was rewarded with a pained grunt, the arm loosening around his
waist. Tom sat up and pulled away. He adjusted his shirt robes with a sharp exhale, his neck hot -
more than normal; must be the fire - and threw Harry a glare for good measure. Harry returned it with
a toothy grin.

“Enough of this nonsense,” said Tom, straightening in his seat and glowering at anyone who didn’t
settle down in two seconds. No, he did not sound huffy at all. His tone was dignified and proud—he’d
die on that hill. “Yes, Harry is a parselmouth. Moving on now before it gets too late. How are things
progressing with everyone?”

The snickers calmed down after another minute. Tom allowed it. He waited, looking expectantly
around the group.

“I’ll start with some bad news that we all knew would come,” said Alphard, shrugging. “The heirship
to the house of Black has been officially been given to Orion. He’s been betrothed to Walburga and
it’ll be announced over the summer.”

Alphard didn’t meet his eyes. His jaw clenched. His arms tightened around Quintus’ waist and he
leaned forward, resting his chin on Quintus’ shoulder, who put a hand over his forearm.
He’d given up the heirship for Quintus.

“We’ve known this would happen,” murmured Alphard. “But I know without the heirship, I hold no
voting powers within the Wizengamot now. I still have an inheritance, though.”

Tom was tired after a bad night and a long day - that was the only reason why he felt no irritation or
annoyance at this news. He’d known it would happen. Perhaps, once, he’d thought it foolishness to
give up wealth, power, and a seat in the Wizengamot for another person.

However… Tom was beginning to notice that he, too, was doing things he’d never consider before -
all for another person. All because of Harry.

The value of one… might be invaluable above anything else.

“It is of no matter to me,” said Tom softly. “I knew this would happen and it changes nothing.”

Alphard exhaled shakily.

“Do you think your brother would one day join us?”

“He could be convinced,” said Alphard; he swallowed and met Tom’s gaze. “But my brother has a
low opinion of me. With my presence here, he’ll be reluctant to join.”

The insinuation hung in the air.

“Unacceptable. I’ll have you both.” Tom didn’t miss the quick smile that flickered through both
Alphard and Quintus’ expressions. He turned his attention to Maximilian and Marcus. “And what of
you two? Have you gotten the results of your tests yet?”

Maximilian nodded slowly. He leaned forward in his seat, clasping his hands together. Marcus’ face
twisted; he ducked his head. Sebastian grimaced as he crossed his arms at Marcus’ side. “Yes…”
Maximilian said; his tone was even, detached. “I am infertile, while Marcus is not. As such, the
Mulciber heirship officially goes to Marcus.”

“I’ve been betrothed to a Ravenclaw,” whispered Marcus. “I received word of it a few days ago. Some
second cousin that I’ve never met. She’s only a third year.”

“I’m not surprised,” said Maximilian, shaking his head. “I had a feeling it would be this way and,
while our family isn’t listed among the highest of purebloods, the way our family has tried to obtain
status has put us at a disadvantage. We’re lucky Marcus has been betrothed to a second cousin and not
a first.”

Sebastian snorted. “Ah, yes,” he drawled in disgust. “That shit is our beautiful legacy, the Lestranges.
I too have received word that I’m betrothed to a first cousin.” He sneered. “To a teeny little first year,
a child.”

Marcus pursed his lips, his clenched fists growing white. He trembled slightly.

“Hang on, what the fuck?” said Harry, frowning. The group looked at him. “Is this real? You’re
supposed to marry your relatives?”

“That is how families keep the bloodlines pure,” said Abraxas. He sniffed. “Though some families do
take it to an extreme.”
Harry’s face crinkled with condescending disgust and irritation. “Well, no wonder you lot suffer from
infertility or insanity. You’re marrying your relatives. Do you have any idea what that’s been doing to
you? Haven’t you heard of birth defects?”

“That happens to muggle families,” said Primrose with a roll of her eyes. “Not to magical folk.”

Harry snorted. “Please, that’s bullshit and you lot know it.”

“It’s not—”

“How often do pureblood families have squib children?” demanded Harry.

The entire group stilled.

“Thought so,” said Harry. He leaned forward, his eyes hard. “Blood is blood, easy to spill, and it’s
always red when you bleed. You’re all purebloods, right?” Everyone nodded. Harry gestured between
himself and Tom. “And yet… You look to a halfblood with respect.”

Tom stiffened.

It was an unwritten rule: no one spoke of it.

“And did you not just spend the last ten minutes gushing about how I handed your arses to you on a
silver platter?” asked Harry with a wry smirk. Quintus quickly put a hand over his mouth, barely
managing to cover up the snort. “Whatever blood you got, it doesn’t give you more magical power.
One thing is clear to me: keeping the blood so called pure—” Harry threw up his hands with air
quotes. “—is ruining your families’ powers. Don’t some of you have special bloodlines that have
disappeared through the years?”

There was an uneasy air among them.

“The Black family,” said Harry, looking at Alphard. “Doesn’t your family have metamorphmagi
abilities? When’s the last time you saw that show up in your family?”

Alphard blinked.

“Tom and I are halfbloods and parselmouths. By diversifying blood, the magic becomes stronger.
Look at Dumbledore. Halfblood. Grindelwald. Halfblood. But you’re all deluded that your blood
purity equals power, when the evidence of your own families shows that this is just not true at all.”

The silence rang clear. Tom held back the smile that tempted his lips. Harry had a point. Tom had seen
the delusion of blood purity, but had catered to it. If, however, they could break away from its
chains…

What kind of powerful magical world could they create?

Maximilian folded his arms, leaning back as he eyed Harry. “If you’d said this to me before I’d gotten
my test results, I’d have said you’re mad.” He frowned before slowly nodding. “But now I think what
you say has some merit.”

“You can’t be serious,” said Abraxas, scoffing. “This soppy rhetoric is just the kind of rubbish that
Dumbledore would sprout.”
“I can see it, though,” said William. He gestured towards Harry, looking over at Abraxas. “When have
you ever seen anyone throw off the Imperius Curse? He didn’t even flinch.”

“He stood there for dramatics,” said Aaron. “Evans, he knew he could throw it off. He wasn’t afraid
of it.”

“Our family has struggled for generations to have multiple children,” said Maximilian. He swallowed.
“And you’re right, Evans, we’ve had squibs. We had an uncle… Well, let’s just say he didn’t get to
live to adulthood. Maybe… maybe Evans has a point that we ought to consider.”

A couple of voices rose in protest.

Gwendolyn lifted her hands. “All right, wait a moment. Let’s say he is right,” she said softly. “The
prejudices of blood purity runs deep in our culture. There are no wizards without concerns about one’s
parentage because muggleborns have always posed a threat to our safety and secrecy. They are
outsiders.”

“They’re not outsiders,” snapped Harry.

“But they are,” whispered Aurora. “Not in a bad way, though. They just don’t know the customs of
our world. They bring their own culture with them, but have no respect for ours—which is also theirs,
really. But they don’t act like it is.”

“Also, they’re torn between their birth parents, who will never understand magic, and the world they
belong to,” said Primrose. “They have extended families in the muggle world who can never know
who and what they are. They’re straddled between both worlds, but sometimes they never really
connect to either one.”

“The concept of blood purity is a far more complex issue than most realize,” said Gwendolyn. “If you
study our history enough, you can see the source of the prejudice towards blood perfectly. It’s fear.”
She shook her head, the light in her eyes dimming. “And that’s not something we can easily do away
within a single generation. These ideas and fears have been embedded into our culture for centuries.”

“For good reason, too,” murmured Lilith. “The fear isn’t unfounded.”

“None of this changes the fact that most of us have to obey the pureblood ways to gain our house
heirships,” said Cassia. “We could be disowned if we don’t marry a proper pureblood and one
approved by the Patriarch Head of our families.”

A somber silence fell over the group. Harry opened his mouth, but he closed it after a moment. He
settled back in his seat, brows furrowed, deep in thought.

“Not all of us can afford to throw away an heirship for a lover,” whispered Marcus. “You’re rather
lucky, Alphard.”

And the silence lingered.

Well… Now that was enlightening.

Tom didn’t even need the ritual spell; the emotions in the room were so powerful and so raw, he could
feel them chafe his chest. He could feel the burden they all carried. It was odd. He’d had never seen
power as a burden nor as something where personal sacrifice was required.

A new desire rose inside of Tom.

 “Go about your heirships as you normally would,” said Tom. He lifted his chin; he met the gazes of
each of his Knights, holding one for a moment, before meeting the next. “However, it does not mean
you’ll have to bend to their ways forever - nor will I force you.” Eyes widened at that. Tom continued
on, “For now, we’re still in school and underage. We’re under their thumbs. There isn’t much we can
do, but to cater and pander to the ways of the adults.”

Like a siren’s song, it called him; Tom turned his head and met those green eyes, his words for him.

“But we’re already well aware that the previous generations haven’t done a good job to preserve our
futures,” whispered Tom. “What is one more mistake and misunderstanding on their parts? It’s one of
many now. If their old ways of preserving magic is a poison which weakens and kills us as a people,
then, in my eyes, the answer is simple.”

A glimmer of emotion flickered through Harry.

“We eradicate the poison.”

And it was the awe, the wonderment, and the respect in Harry’s expression that solidified Tom’s
resolve.

Chapter End Notes

This chapter was mean to me. xD I dunno why, but it took me a week to edit it and I added like
2400 words in the edit. Good grief. It's the dramatic Knights. I blame them.
 Twenty-Five
Chapter Notes

HELLO

BLESSED YULE, MERRY CHRISTMAS, HAPPY HOLIDAYS

I passed my math class. I got an A-

I don’t have to take another math class.

So, just to ease some worries. I’ve gotten some comments worried about abandoning this story.

I will not abandon this story.

Terrible, But Great is my heart and soul, even when I can’t write or edit. This story is a vital part
of my healing journey and that includes you, my readers. Thank you for being part of it with me.
Just as Tom and Harry must heal, change, and evolve, so must I.

I have a lot of unpublished, incomplete chapters all throughout Arc Two and Arc Three. There’s
even 10k words written in Arc Four. I’m not going anywhere, but it still takes a lot of physical
and mental energy to write.

I haven’t been able to update the past four months due to school, major health issues, depression,
and anxiety. However, I’m doing okay through all of that. When I don’t write, I miss it. There’s
an intense longing in my soul to write.

I never forget.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Well… thought Harry, while lying in bed during the early hours of Monday morning, It’s time I got my
shit together.
He hadn’t slept well. There’d been too much to think about after last night.

Harry had witnessed one too many Death Eater gatherings, most of them secondhand through
Voldemort’s eyes. He’d seen their cruelty, their evil. But the undercurrent of their fear, their utter
terror had always been overwhelmingly palpable, enough to taste on his tongue within his very
dreams. Voldemort had been their ruler, their master; there was no question of how low his followers
were required to grovel at Lord Voldemort’s feet.

One didn’t look their master in the eyes, let alone dare touch him - only a kiss at the feet of his robes,
like the dogs they were.

‘We eradicate the poison.’

How different it was here and now.

Even within two short months.

There was a future here. Tom had looked him dead in the eyes and had made him a promise. It’d felt
like one. Thus, the meeting last night illuminated one vital, innate value that Harry lacked: planning
for a future with his own presence in mind.

He’d never been one for thinking too far into the future. He had always relied on Ron and Hermione
to come up with the plans. He’d been the soldier, the hero who defended and protected them. Ron was
the chess master of strategy. Hermione was the encyclopedia of knowledge.

And Harry had been the blade and shield.

He might not be like Dumbledore, who passively sat back and waited to see what happened next, but
that didn’t mean Harry had been prepared for much of the insane events in his life.

Why spend energy making goals for a future he might never see, after all?

His childhood had been divided between living as a child, yet dealing with heavy adult problems.
He’d been treated as nothing more than a child, too young for this world - and yet all too often Harry
been put into situations where he had to make life and death choices, for himself and for others, or
else die.

In their efforts to protect him, the adults in his life had only made the burden heavier.

Voldemort had been on his heels since the day he’d walked into the Wizarding World. Every year,
there’d been a target on his back with no adult to counsel, to comfort, to defend, and to protect him.
The adults had always been all talk and no walk. His summers were hell; the Dursleys never gave him
peace. His life had been spent walking on eggshells to appease someone else or to protect himself.
School had felt meaningless and unimportant. His love for Defense Against the Dark Arts had been
the perfect storm of excelling at it and necessity.

Teenage romance had been a laugh; there’d been no time to learn and develop those kinds of
relationships. He’d been damn lucky to have Ron and Hermione as friends in his school years. From
day one of his magical journey, he’d been crafted into a weapon, the prophesied child of evil’s bane.
Running and running, fighting and fighting, day after day, year after year - until that dark night where
he walked with resignation to his death.

When had there been any time to simply breathe?

And he never stopped. Harry had hit the ground running in this time, too, and had fallen back into the
only habit he knew: hiding and fighting.

He had to change - not just for his own future, but… perhaps for a future where he wasn’t alone. It
didn’t always register in his mind, what he was really doing here. As usual, Harry was just winging it,
flying by the seat of his trousers and hoping for the best.

But he was here for Tom.

‘Why don’t I hate you?’

Harry brushed a hand beneath his chin. In Newt’s office, while covered in dried blood and glass, Tom
had touched his chin with a tenderness Harry hadn’t imagined possible. He’d lifted his wand and tried
to heal him. Once mortal enemies, now friends - in that moment, Harry realized just how much had
changed in two months.

He could put down the blade.

‘Don’t try to force yourself…’ His mother had said. ‘Let it happen naturally. Don’t overthink it.’

I know what Tom wants, but what do I want?

What do I want to do and be in my life?

He’d told McGonagall that it would be ‘cool to be an auror’ in his fifth year, but… more because he
knew it was expected of him. James and Sirius had been aurors - and Harry Potter was expected to
stop Dark Wizards.

But Harry Evans, on the other hand, had none of these social expectations.

So, what do I want?

And how was he supposed to go about achieving that?

As Harry sat up in bed, a firm resolve settled in his heart. He’d spent most of his life surviving that he
had no idea what living was truly like. The only reason why he wasn’t failing his classes now was
because he’d already gone through them before. Come his NEWT year, he’d be unprepared if he kept
skipping classes like this.

Tom values power and knowledge. I guess I better start really studying.

Harry had never had much ambition and drive, but perhaps he could muster some up. Winging it like
a brash Gryffindor wasn’t the best option. After all, if he were truly serious about becoming the
Headmaster of Hogwarts - which he was - then he was going to have to start acting like it.

Harry would have to prove himself a better candidate to be the Headmaster than Albus Dumbledore.

He was the last to leave their dorm room. He entered the Great Hall with his bag over his shoulder,
heavy with his Charms and Transfiguration textbooks. He’d also packed his books for Potions and
Defense Against the Dark Arts; he intended to go to the library after classes.

He plopped into his seat, catching the weight of his bag with a grunt. He set it at his side and began
grabbing multiple foods from the breakfast dishes, piling his plate so high, Ron would be proud. Two
slices of beans on toast, two large scoops of fruit, and a couple links of sausage were all on his plate
when he paused, sensing intense gazes locked onto him. He looked up.

All six of his Slytherins stared at him - all wide eyed.

Harry raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“That’s a fuck ton of food—ow!—” Alphard rubbed his arm - where Quintus had sharply elbowed
him - with a pout on his lips. “What, I’m just saying…”

“Don’t mind him,” said Quintus with a light smile. He leaned forward a bit, glancing at Harry’s plate.
“It’s just… Well, it is a bit unusual for you—but not a bad thing, of course,” he added quickly when
Harry’s face crinkled with confusion. “You just… Well…”

“You’ve hardly eaten shit the last few weeks,” said Alphard. “And—ow! Quintus, come off it now—
I’m not going to mince my words for him. Harry, you lost weight in the last month, for Salazar’s sake,
and you hadn’t had any to lose in the first place.”

“Can’t play Quidditch if you’re underweight and sickly,” said Simon. He nodded his approval.
“Eating a hearty breakfast is good.”

Harry blinked, glancing between all the boys.

“It was getting a bit concerning,” said Marcus, his tone careful.

“Concerning?” echoed Sebastian. He snorted. “D’you know how many times I had to sit through this
lot—” He gestured between Roland and Simon. “—whinge about your health and Quidditch. Bloody
nightmare, it was.”

“Uh…” Harry flushed. “Was I not…” He trailed off at the incredulous stares. His face grew even
hotter.

Dammit. Right. They were right. Taking care of himself had been hard when everything else had been
so overwhelming. Even eating had become a burden for Harry. He’d wanted to, but… Harry sighed
and rubbed his face.

“You weren’t,” said Quintus in a soft voice. “You were going downhill at an alarming rate.”

“But don’t stop on our account, though,” said Roland, grinning. “If you put on some weight, Simon
will stop telling me how worried—oi!”

Roland ducked, narrowly avoiding a stinging hex that Simon had sent his way. He popped back up,
glaring at Simon, who was eating as if nothing had happened.

“I wasn’t the only one,” said Simon mildly.

Harry smiled at them, bittersweet nostalgia warming his breast. “Thanks… I appreciate it.”

There were a couple of shrugs, while Alphard lightly slapped Harry on the back. The chatter at the
Slytherin table calmed and the others didn’t give Harry any more grief about his food, even when he
didn’t manage to eat everything on his plate.

Fondness for this group of boys swelled within Harry’s heart.

Hermione would’ve liked them. Even Ron would’ve eventually warmed up to them.

He could imagine them so vividly: Hermione talking Quintus’ ears off about potions, with Alphard
interjecting here and there; Ron arguing with Roland and Simon about the best Quidditch plays and
teams. Hermione would’ve fought on Sebastian and Marcus’ behalf, hating that they’d be forced to
marry for blood, instead of love, with Ron nodding in agreement, freckles visible on his paled face.

Harry knew what Hermione would say, what she’d tell him he had to do now. He could hear her
voice, clear in his mind.

‘You can’t let them go through with that. It’s barbaric, Harry. You have to help them.’

Harry ducked his head, trying to ignore the longing that burned in his eyes.

Don’t worry. I will.

A shuffling sound pulled Harry’s attention from his thoughts. Dippet slowly stood up, swaying
shakily, at the teacher’s table, his trembling hands lifting into the air. “Quiet down a moment,” he
said, his voice deep and raspy. “Students, I wish to introduce your new Care of Magical Creatures
professor. He will also be your new Hufflepuff Head of House.” He gestured towards the end of the
table, which was hidden by a rather large table decoration, a basket filled with green branches and
pinecones. A number of the students craned their necks in that direction. Whispers broke out. Dippet
turned and frowned. “Scamander,” he snapped.

A chair scraped shrilly against the stone, echoing through the Great Hall. Newt’s head appeared from
behind the decoration as he stood up, an awkward, flushed expression on his face. His head dipped
down slightly and his smile was tense as he gave a light wave.

“Newt Scamander has taken Professor Grubbly-Plank’s positions and is accompanied by his wife,
Tina Scamander. Though she’s not a professor, you’re to show her the same respect.”

Another chair scraped, more quietly, and Tina stood by Newt’s side. Her smile was gentle and she
caught Harry’s gaze. She winked at him.

“That’s all,” said Dippet.

While Newt and Tina sat back down, the entire hall erupted into loud voices as the students huddled
into groups.

“Blimey, he really is our new Care Of professor,” said Roland. He grinned. “Think he’ll show us
some rare creatures? He saved the graphorns from extinction.”

Harry only listened as the conversation turned to what creatures they’d see in class. Breakfast soon
waned to an end, students and teachers mostly gone, including the rest of the Slytherin. Harry sat
alone at the Slytherin table, looking over his charms homework before class and working through his
second cup of coffee when Tom slowly walked into the Great Hall.

Harry glanced up and stared. Tom looked like a bedraggled alleycat with his head ducked down,
books in his arms against his chest. He sat down next to Harry, flopping his books aside on the bench.
Harry raised an eyebrow. Tom poured himself a cup of Earl Grey and stirred two spoonfuls of honey
into it. He downed it in one shot. He poured himself another and added four spoonfuls of honey this
time.

“Rough night?”
Tom grunted.

“You want some coffee?” asked Harry with a raised eyebrow.

Tom shook his head. “Too bitter,” he muttered. He nursed his second cup of tea, eyes glazed over.
Harry watched him, frowning. He doesn’t look good. Is he sick?

Wait. Can Tom Riddle even get a cold? No way.

Harry leaned down towards the table and whispered, “Hey, can I get something gentle on the stomach
for a sick friend?” After a brief pause, there was a little pop and a bowl of porridge appeared in front
of Tom, as well as a little pitcher of milk. “Thanks, Minsby,” he added with a smile.

Tom blinked.

“Try that, yeah?” asked Harry, pushing the honey and milk closer to Tom. When Tom looked up at
him with narrowed eyes, Harry grinned. “Come on, now, you’ve all been on my arse about eating. I
can’t return the favor?”

Tom’s lips twisted in an annoyed grimace, but he set his tea down. He added a splash of milk to his
porridge and far too much honey to it - in Harry’s opinion and he was the one obsessed with treacle
tart - before tucking into it without a word.

Harry finished his coffee in silence while Tom ate. He continued to look over his charms textbook,
but his mind wandered. That same sense of ill ease was settling in his chest again, the same he’d
woken with the day before. When Tom acted so ‘un-Tom like,’ it gave Harry pause for worry.

I hope our fight didn’t permanently harm him in anyway… But Newt would’ve caught something,
right?

“Are you all right?” asked Harry softly.

“Fine.”

It was clipped, a warning to ask no more.

“Are you sure? Did you apply the bruise—”

Tom dropped his spoon; it clinked against his bowl. He glared at Harry. “I said that I’m fine,” he
snapped; his voice carried across the empty Great Hall. Harry swallowed, focusing on Tom’s
complexion. It seemed off—pale, perhaps?—but before Harry could figure it out further, Tom stood
up abruptly and grabbed his books. “We’ll be late for Charms.”

He stomped off.

Harry bolted to his feet, nearly tripping over the bench as he grabbed his bag, grunting with the
weight, and sprinted after Tom.

“Tom!”

But he didn’t stop, marching off in determination. Harry managed to catch up with him after a minute
and walked at Tom’s side.

The silence roared in Harry’s ears.

They were one minute early for Charms. Tom took a seat in the back, near a group of Ravenclaw
girls, who immediately started whispering and giggling as they stole glances at him. Harry sat next to
him, crossed his arms in front of his chest, and stared at them with a raised eyebrow.

The girls quieted.

Harry huffed to himself.

Class was peaceful, but uneventful; Harry read ahead in his textbook, since he knew the spell already.
However, the longer the class went, the more Harry became distracted - because ‘perfect student’ Tom
was silent and inattentive the entire time, his eyes glossed over and distant. He wasn’t engaged with
the lesson at all.

He always answers questions. He’s always the first to get the spell right - sometimes even on his first
casting of it, but he hasn’t even tried today.

The hell is going on?

Thankfully, if she noticed, Fortinbras didn’t comment or call him out. Tom was out of the classroom
just as the bell rang. As other students gathered their things, she made eye contact with Harry and
motioned to herself. Once the classroom was cleared, Harry walked to her desk.

“Professor? You wanted to speak with me?”

“Yes, dear,” said Fortinbras, her smile softening her features. “I just… wanted to check on you, but it
seems Mr. Riddle has run off before I could ask him to stay. Are you well?”

Harry nodded and grinned. “Professor Merrythought didn’t murder us yesterday in detention, if that’s
what you’re worried about. Besides, we should be the ones cleaning up our mess. We deserve it, so I
understand. We’re fine.”

Fortinbras clapped her hands in delight, laughing lightly. “I know my wife can be a touch frightening,
but she means well. I’m glad it went okay.”

“Nothing we couldn’t handle.”

“And you’re both recovering?” asked Fortinbras; she glanced at the classroom. “I didn’t get a good
look at Mr. Riddle, but—” She looked back at Harry, her light brows furrowing. “You worried me a
month ago and that hasn’t changed. Are you eating?”

Harry ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah,” he said softly. “Things were a bit rough there, but I swear
I’m taking better care of myself. Plus,” he added with a bright smile. “I swear I’ll also do better in
your class. That’s a promise, Professor.”

“I look forward to it,” said Fortinbras, smiling again. “Well, best you get going to your next class.”

Harry waved as he left the classroom.

His mood slipped, though. The next class was Transfiguration - with Dumbledore. Ugh.

After his experiences with Dumbledore, he was still hurt by how the man dealt with everything.
Perhaps if Dumbledore had been more open and honest, he wouldn’t feel this way. Perhaps if he’d
listened to Harry more, things could’ve gone better. Harry didn’t blame Dumbledore for everything,
but he also didn’t excuse his actions - or inactions.
He’d always felt Dumbledore had the best intentions - he was simply misguided, perhaps even
arrogant. However, after seeing Dumbledore ask for their expulsion, when he’d always defended
Sirius and James, and later Harry, the confidence and trust shattered once more.

Why can’t you see him, Dumbledore?

He’s just a kid…

They’re all kids - stupid arse kids who don’t understand what they’re doing yet.

Harry hadn’t understood the complexities of the world and he’d been thrown head first into the day
he’d entered the Wizarding World. But he’d had his friends to help him and a handful of mentors.

What did Tom Riddle have?

Contempt and suspicion from the very first day.

Would Harry be the same person he was today if he’d been introduced to the Wizarding World with
suspicion? Second year had given him a taste of that. If Harry hadn’t been told anything about the
houses, if he’d been treated poorly by yet another adult, if he’d been hated by his peers for being The-
Boy-Who-Lived, would Harry still have been sorted into Gryffindor?

How would’ve his life been like if he’d been a Slytherin since day one?

Scorned and friendless, alone in a world where he should’ve been accepted, not even magic could’ve
eased the loneliness and pain. First the Dursleys, then the entire magical world, Harry could easily see
himself becoming a loner in the library, hiding halls of those shelves, and hoping for a little solace.
Though Harry didn’t believe that he would’ve gone a dark path, he wasn’t delusional enough to think
that it wasn’t possible.

Harry had cast dark curses - unforgivables, too - and he’d do it again, without hesitation, to protect
those he loved.

Consequences be damned.

And that was the difference between Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore - one of them was willing to
do difficult things in the name of true good, of true altruism.

Tense from his whirling thoughts, Harry entered the Transfiguration classroom. He found Tom sitting
in the back again and Harry took a seat beside him without a word. Tom sat there, hunched over his
book, but he didn’t turn the page. As Dumbledore began the class and his lecture, he still didn’t move.
Harry tuned the man out; he’d already learned this ages ago. He studied ahead again.

Harry rubbed his eyes, wishing the day was over already. He lifted his head. Dumbledore leaned
against his large desk, arms crossed in front of his suit robes. He idly looked around the classroom
before his eyes settled onto the pair of them in the back. They rested upon Tom last.

Ah, shit.

“Mr. Riddle,” said Dumbledore with a carrying voice. Tom’s head popped up, expression alarmed, the
blood draining from his pale face. Dumbledore gestured lightly. “Would you care to demonstrate for
us?”
Tom swallowed visibly. He glanced at the object for transfiguration. Trembling, he pulled out his
wand with his left hand, finger stroking the hilt with a nervous twitch. Dumbledore raised an eyebrow.

“Any day now, Mr. Riddle.”

Tom slowly stood up and pointed his wand towards the object. He moved the wand in the perfect
formation for the spell, lips unmoving.

Nothing happened.

Hidden at his right side, Tom’s hand clenched. But Harry saw it - saw how it trembled with whitening
knuckles.

“Try again.”

A touch of color flushed into Tom’s cheeks, stark against the pale skin. His jaw was tight. He made
the same wand movement, which should’ve been perfect, but yet again the object remained
unchanging.

“Forgive me, Professor,” said Tom, a tremor in his tone. “I fear that I might be not be as prepared as
I’d like for this lesson.”

Dumbledore tilted his head to the side. There was a pause. “Understandable, considering what you
were up to this weekend. Sit down.”

Tom sat down with a thud.

With a light flick of his wand, Dumbledore soundlessly murmured the incantation. The object
transfigured. “There you have it,” he said with a warm smile. “I expect you all to master it wordless
this week. I’d also like six inches on the history of its use by Wednesday. Well, get to practicing.”

The class shuffled, voice blending together.

“And, Mr. Riddle,” said Dumbledore in a low voice. “Five points from Slytherin for your lack of
preparation in my class.”

Tom went white. “Yes, sir. It won’t happen again.”

Harry clenched his hands together; he glared at the back of Dumbledore’s head.

What the fuck, Dumbledore? I know we were stupid, but you have no sympathy or compassion to show
him at all?

Harry had the overwhelming desire to throw a stinging hex.

Fuck you.

Harry hunkered down in the library, hidden in one of the far corners. He sat at a small table with a pile
of books. He grimaced. The work load just got heavier and Harry already wanted to throw in the
towel - say fuck it and be over with it - but he gritted his teeth through the work.

He’d made Ron proud with his meals; he’d make Hermione proud with his schoolwork dedication.
Harry sighed and pulled his glasses off, rubbing his face with a hand. He went back to work. He’d
been at it for about thirty minutes when he was interrupted by a young voice.

“So, everyone is saying that you and Tom Riddle killed each other and your ghosts have detention for
the next ten years. Is that true?”

Harry looked up with a laugh. Monty grinned at him. “Do I look dead to you, Monty?”

“No?”

“Then, everyone is full of shit.”

Monty giggled. He nodded, his dark curls bouncing. “Uh huh, I agree, but I’m not allowed to say so
or Charlus will get mad at me.”

Harry snorted. He patted the seat beside himself and, with a brightening smile, Monty sat down and
Harry ruffled his hair. “How’re you doing?” he asked as the boy giggled.

“I’m fine,” said Monty. His expression turned a bit serious. He bit his lower lip and ducked his head.
He fidgeted with the hem of his shirt robes. “But I need to talk to you.”

“Of course,” said Harry. He turned in his seat to face him. “What’s on your mind?”

Monty took a deep breath. “Well… everyone in Gryffindor thinks I was just extra clumsy… and that’s
the reason why I fell.”

Harry stiffened.

The boy swung his legs back and forth, his fingers twisting his robes. Monty ducked his head a little
further, hunching over in his seat. “But then… you went and had a really, really big fight with Tom
Riddle,” he whispered, still not meeting Harry’s eyes. “He was following us and you always seem to
be, uh… sort of sad angry with him.”

Harry couldn’t breathe.

“He was pretty close by when I fell…” Monty lifted his head, his eyes filling with a few tears. “You
were extra angry,” he whispered. “I could tell. Everyone says you’re the troublemaker, since Riddle
would never do something like this, but…” Monty shook his head. “Well, I don’t think you’re the
type of person just to pick fights because you don’t like someone.”

Oh, Monty…

“Riddle… he pushed me, didn’t he?” asked Monty, glancing up at Harry. He sniffled, rubbing at his
eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make him hate me—”

“No!” snapped Harry. He pulled the boy into a firm hug. Monty went still in his arms; then, there was
another sniffle and hesitant, thin arms wrapped tight around his waist. Monty started to sob. Harry put
a hand through the boy’s hair, drawing him close. “No, Monty,” he whispered. “It was not your fault.
Tom is just an impulsive bastard sometimes.”

Monty hiccuped in between his sobs. “Are you sure?”

“You’re just a little kid,” said Harry, his heart wringing into two pieces. “It’s not your fault when older
people do stupid shit. You did nothing wrong.”
Harry held him; a few minutes went by and Monty’s sobs slowed to sniffles. Sensing when he calmed
down, Harry drew back and conjured some tissues. He handed them to Monty.

“Dry your face and blow your nose.”

Monty did so. He wrinkled his nose at the dirty tissue. “Ew.”

Harry snorted and vanished the rubbish. “Are you all right now?” he asked. “Do you believe me?”

“Yeah,” said Monty, nodding. “Sometimes it’s hard to believe, but I know what you’re saying is the
truth.”

“Good,” murmured Harry. He sighed. “What would you like me to do?” he asked softly. “Do you
want to report Tom for what he did?”

Monty frowned. His head tilted to the side as he looked up at Harry. “I heard you both were pretty
beat up after the fight. Is that true?”

“Yeah. That’s putting it mildly.”

“And did you really animate a whole dragon?” asked Monty, excitement bubbling through his tone.

Harry winced. “Well, just the skeleton…”

“Did you win?” asked Monty, serious now.

“Uh…”

Monty stared at him, eyes bright, as serious as an eleven year old could. “Did you win?” he asked, as
if the answer to this question was a matter of life and death.

“I punched him in the face,” said Harry. He scratched his cheek. “Does that count?”

Monty considered it for a minute. He nodded once. “Okay, I’ll forgive him, then. I don’t want to get
anyone in trouble and you got him good for me. That’s enough for me.”

“Are you sure?” asked Harry with a raised eyebrow.

“Well, maybe he ought to apologize ‘cause that’s only right, yeah? I always gotta apologize when I’m
in the wrong. He should, too - especially cause he’s older.”

Harry smiled fondly and ruffled his hair again, delighting in the giggles he got for it. “Thank you,
Monty,” he whispered. “You’re a smart kid and very kind. And thank you for keeping quiet about this.
Tom would get into massive trouble for it, possibly expelled or get sent to Azkaban and… well…”

“I know,” chirped Monty. “He’s your friend and you like him.”

Harry’s face went hot. “Friend. Yup. Like him as a friend—I sometimes have to knock some sense
into his head - cause he’s dumb.”

Monty grinned.

“And if anyone tries to bully you again, you know I’ll get them for you, right?”
“Uh huh,” said Monty with a big nod. “I know. But I think I’ll be okay. A lot of my classmates know
I’m friends with you and they know how powerful you are. They won’t cross you, especially cause
you’ve been nice to all the first years and have been teaching us wicked spells. You’ll keep doing that,
right?”

“Yeah, maybe on a Saturday again, when I don’t have detention any more. All right?”

“Yay!” Monty jumped out his seat and waved. “Bye, bye, Harry!”

He scampered off with a skip in his step.

And Harry watched him go with a fond smile.

The potion puffed upwards in a thick cloud, a sickly yellow green coloring. Tom coughed and waved
the smoke away; his eyes burned painfully, both from the fumes and from yet another the sleepless
night. Tom couldn’t stop himself from digging the palms of his hand against them, trying to ease
some of the ache.

Focus.

He sighed, one of hundreds today. He stared at the bubbling cauldron. He could salvage this; it was
fine. He just needed to add… Tom squeezed his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose, his chest
heaving in another breath as if that could fortify him with strength.

What was it again?

“Mr. Riddle…”

Tom swallowed and dropped his hand from his face. Slughorn looked into Tom’s cauldron and his
face fell. Tom clenched his fists at his sides.

“Oh, how disappointing,” murmured Slughorn. “This isn’t your best work, far from it.” He looked up,
gave Tom a warm smile, and a pat on the back. He gave a jovial laugh. “No matter, no matter. Off
days happen to the best of us, yes, yes?”

An Adam’s apple bobbed. Tom’s voice was a murmur. “Of course, Professor.”

“If you can write a short essay on where you went wrong, I’ll still give you full marks. Your work is
always impeccable.”

“Thank you.”

Tom stood by his cauldron, staring at it with blank eyes.

He couldn’t remember where he went wrong.

After staring at it for a moment more, Tom tore himself away. He shoved his things into his bag,
threw it over his shoulder, and was the first to leave the classroom. He trembled, the shame cruel with
its scorching heat.

Detention.

Points taken.
And now failing at perfection.

Tom tore into the closest boy’s bathroom, the door slamming open violently, and threw himself inside
a stall. He shut the door; the metal frames around him shook. Tom heaved for breath; it was difficult,
more than usual. His lungs couldn’t expand; his breath caught in his throat. He pressed his forehead
against the cool metal door and closed his eyes. He steadied his breaths.

In.

Out.

Tom swallowed; his throat was dry.

He couldn’t stay here, not when there was another class in a few minutes - couldn’t miss a class. But
his wand wasn’t working any more. The yew wand refused his call every time in class now. With
Defense Against the Dark Arts next, there was no way Tom could enter that room and act like nothing
was wrong. Everyone would notice his wand and magic not working.

What if it never works again?

Tom muffled a scream that tore through his throat; he slammed his fist against the door. Pain exploded
through his knuckles. Tom looked at his hand and unclenched his trembling fingers.

He stormed out of the bathroom without healing his bruised hand.

When he entered the Defense classroom, nearly late, he met Harry’s gaze upon accident. Tom glanced
away; his bruised hand slipped behind his back.

“Good afternoon, class,” said Merrythought. Her expression was downright feral today. “Wands out.
Books away. We’re practicing dueling.”

Students shuffled around Tom in a flurry of action. It took a minute for his mind to catch up; he set his
bag aside and pulled out his traitorous wand. When he looked up, he couldn’t hold back the startle
that shook him at Harry’s sudden appearance at his side.

“What?” demanded Tom.

Harry stared at him. “Nothing,” he said softly. “Dueling partners, then?”

Better him than anyone else. Tom nodded, but jolted once more at the sound of a nearby barking
laugh.

“So adorable, you two,” said Merrythought. She folded her arms and narrowed her eyes. “Evans.
Riddle. Put those glorified twigs away, you dunderheads. There will be no dueling for you two.”

Harry shrank back with a sheepish laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh… essays, then?”

“No.” Merrythought shook her head. “You get laps around the entire perimeter of the room, since the
pair of you have copious amounts of energy to waste dueling outside of my classroom.”

“How many?” asked Tom, unable to keep the tired resignation out of his tone.

Merrythought laughed. “How many?” she echoed, the light in her eyes flickering wildly. “You
misunderstand. You start now and you don’t stop until class is over.”
 That was two hours.

Damn.

“I suggest you get good at dodging stray spells. Now run.”

He didn’t have the energy for this.

But, with Harry at his side, Tom ran as if he did.

Chapter End Notes

AJ: I feel really bad for Tom. Poor lost baby, he isn’t used to feeling so unwell or doing poorly in
class. I can’t imagine the self-loathing. Please someone say something sincere and nice to him
and give him a hug and a cookie

Me: … I mean, someday eventually

 Twenty-Six
Chapter Notes

Well, I tried to get this done in time for Tom’s birthday, but ah well. Close enough.

One year ago, I dropped a fucking chandelier on Tom’s head on his birthday.

Aren’t ya’ll glad I didn’t do that this year? XD

No promises for next year, though.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Red glowed bright.

Newt stared at those eyes. They stared back. The dragon shook itself, bones rattling. It flared its wings
out and puffed out its chest, watching Newt with growing intensity. It bobbed its head slightly,
swaying side to side in a challenging display - a common defensive move when cornered. Sunlight
shone through the empty treetops; the ground was coated in a bed of fallen autumn leaves.

The little dragon was a beautiful wonder.

“You are an oddity,” said Newt with pure fond affection swelling in his heart. He ducked his head,
hunching over to make himself appear smaller. The dragon huffed; it puffed up even more, trying to
make itself bigger. When Newt didn’t move, it swayed its head again, this time in confusion. “Ah,” he
murmured. “You’re a bit younger than an adolescent, aren’t you? Do you remember your life before
now?”

The dragon tilted its head.

“You’re a curious thing, aren’t you?”

The dragon chirped and its wings lowered slightly. Newt took a step forward, putting out a hand. The
dragon rattled in irritation and puffed up again in warning.

“Come on now, I’m not going to hurt you,” said Newt softly. He took another step closer and another
one; his hand touched the bone of the dragon’s nose. It huffed, but after a moment it pushed against
his hand. “There’s a good boy… or girl? I’d have to inspect you more closely to figure that out.”

Merlin, the enchantment on the dragon was exceedingly complex. Its eyes watched him with an
intelligence of a living creature, yet it had no beating heart or a brain. It wasn’t anything like
something as dark as an inferius either. The longer Newt looked at the creature, the more it became
clear that it was here to stay. It could take years in the Department of Mysteries to detangle the magic
that had been interwoven into it.

If, that is, they got their hands on the little creature.

Newt wasn’t about to let that happen.

Not just for the dragon’s sake either; the Department of Mysteries was notorious for their extensive
dedication to testing out their theories and as Tom and Harry had been the ones to enchant the dragon,
they’d be in potential danger. It was highly probable that even if the sources of the magic were to die -
Harry and Tom - that the enchantment on the dragon would still linger.

Obviously, that was not an option, but it was a fascinating observation about how powerful Tom and
Harry were.

It only took a few moments of inspecting the bones for Newt to realize that someone had bastardized
the skeleton for display. The body was a mixture of an Antipodean Opaleye and a Hungarian Horntail.
Most of the bones in the front legs and hind legs were from a Peruvian Vipertooth, making it more
difficult for the dragon to walk, since Vipertooths were the smallest of the dragon species. The skull
came from a Norwegian Ridgeback - and Newt was pretty sure it was an adolescent male, judging by
the horns. Lastly, the wings were massive, from an adult female Ukrainian Ironbelly. The size
difference made it difficult for the dragon to balance properly.

“Poor dear,” murmured Newt, stroking the nose of the dragon. “You’re alive, but not quite and this
insulting blend of dragon breeds isn’t going to make your existence easy.”

The dragon chirped softly.

“Well, you’ll need a name until we can help you, but… I suppose you’re not really mine to name.”

The bones rattled as the dragon shifted its weight, tilting its head once more. Those eyes glowed
brightly. A name popped into Newt’s head and he smiled.

“Hubert,” said Newt. “You look like a Hubert to me.”

The dragon bounced excitedly, chirping more incessantly. He nuzzled his boney nose into Newt’s side
and purred.

“Well, looks like you’ve got yourself a name,” said Newt, chuckling. “Now, Hubert, would you stay
here in the forest for me, please? I have to teach a class soon and I need you to stay out of sight. Will
you do that?”

Hubert bobbed his head up and down.

“Good dragon.”

Newt patted him once more on the muzzle and, with a wave, began walking back towards the edge of
forest to get back to his class. A pixie fluttered by, burrowing inside a tree trunk. It chittered furiously
and Newt had to resist the urge to peek inside its home.

No, you have to teach a class. What will your students think of you if you’re late?

It took a herculean effort to tear himself away. He quickened his strides and, after a few minutes, he
crossed the border of the Forbidden Forest. He stopped short. Discomfort settled into his stomach.

He’d been expecting some Ravenclaws, perhaps a few Hufflepuffs, one or two Gryffindors, and at
max one Slytherin - all to ask for an autograph for their textbook.

Newt was not expecting the large group of enamored students of all ages and all houses to be waiting.
All for him. When they caught sight of him, they rushed at him in a deluge, all vying for his attention.
“Professor Scamander!”

“Sir!”

“Can you—”

“Would you—”

“Did you really—”

Newt flicked out his wand and threw a silencing charm over the group in a single, gentle wave. After
a moment, once the students realized they couldn’t be heard, they calmed down, some folding their
arms in suppressed annoyance.

“My office hours are from three o’clock to five o’clock in the afternoon, Monday through Fridays,”
said Newt, looking out over the students with as firm of an expression he could muster. “If you wish
to speak to me, it’d be best for all of us if you’d visit me during those hours. It’s really time for you all
to get going to your classes—ah, ah, no—” he added when the group sank in a silent, disappointed
groan. He put up his hands. “I know you’re all excited, but I have a class to teach. I’ll be here at
Hogwarts for awhile, so there’s plenty of time for each of you to visit me - but during office hours, if
you please. Off you go now.”

He lifted the silencing charm off the group. The crowd of students - Merlin, so many of them - sighed
collectively and started to trudge off, muttering to each other in low voices.

All except one.

For being at least thirty centimeters taller than Newt, the boy sure was a quiet, shy thing. He had
stood back in the crowd, towering over the other students, and didn’t push or shove his way through,
like he most certainly could have done. He shuffled his feet and waited patiently. Giant blood?

“Hello,” said Newt, when the boy didn’t leave. “And what’s your name?”

“Oh, I’m Rubeus Hagrid, but just Hagrid is fine. I don’t mind.”

Ah. He’s much younger than I thought. Voice hasn’t come in yet.

“Do you have a book you’d like me to sign?” asked Newt, making an exception for the lad. He
couldn’t help himself. “Or did you just want to talk?”

Hagrid shook his head. “I, uh, that is—” He blushed and ducked his head. His accent was thick,
dropping letters in his speech. “I just really—”

“Hiya, Hagrid!” chirped a voice brightly.

Hagrid jumped with a yelp and whirled around to reveal Harry, who had been completely dwarfed by
Hagrid’s size.

“Uh… Do I know yeh?” asked Hagrid, looking positively terrified of Harry.

“Oh.” Harry blinked. “Right, we met on the train, remember?”

“Oh, yeah… You were nice to me,” muttered Hagrid. Oh, dear. My heart, thought Newt. I knew it—I
knew there was a reason I felt a kinship with this boy. His face softened to a smile. “I ‘member now.
But I… uh…”

“Name’s Harry.”

“Oh, right! How could I forget? Why did I forget that…”

“Probably because we never really exchanged names,” said Harry with a sheepish smile. “But you
stick out and I learned your name.” Harry bent to the side and threw a grin over to Newt, waving.
“Good morning, Professor Scamander.”

Good grief, Newt was never going to get used to that.

“Hello, Harry.”

The boy’s complexion looked better this week. He’d been eating a decent breakfast and dinner,
though both Newt and Tina had noticed him missing lunch every day.

Newt folded his arms. “Where have you been during lunch?”

Harry froze.

Boys…

“I would like to hope you haven’t been skipping lunch.”

“No, no,” said Harry, throwing up his hands. He grinned. “I swear I’m eating enough. I promise.”

“All right, then,” said Newt. That was one less worry, at least. He turned to Hagrid. “I’m afraid I only
have a few minutes, but did you want to talk about something?”

“Well…” Hagrid shuffled his feet again. “I just…”

Harry patted Hagrid on the arm. “You love creatures, yeah?” he asked gently. “That’s why you’re
here?”

Hagrid flushed deeply, but nodded. “I love them. Beautiful things. And creatures are often
misunderstood, yeh see.”

‘Like me’ hung in the air.

Harry really had the heart of a Hufflepuff.

“My love of creatures began when I was younger than you,” said Newt with a smile. “Would you like
to see some of my creature friends later?”

“Oh, I’d love that!” cried Hagrid, perking up. “I love little ones and big ones. I specially love dragons
and spiders.”

Newt chuckled.

But Harry stilled; his eyes slowly widened in horror. Then, very loudly, and with no reservation of
proper decorum, he said, “Fuck!”

Newt gasped. “Harry, language!”

But Harry wasn’t listening. He grabbed Hagrid by the wrists. Hagrid blinked down at him, eyes wide.
“Hagrid, what’s your spider’s name?”

What?

“His name is Aragog,” said Hagrid with a wistful, fond smile. “He’s growing so fast now. I got him
when he was just a baby.”

“And how big is he?” asked Harry, intense.

Newt raised an eyebrow at that. What an odd question. Most spiders didn’t grow that big, except for
the tarantula family. But it wasn’t anything to be concerned over…

Hagrid paused. Guilt bloomed through his expression. “Shouldn’t have said anything,” he muttered,
shaking his head. “Shouldn’t—”

“Hagrid,” said Harry with that same insistence in his tone. “How big?”

Hagrid dropped his gaze. “N-not very big…”

“Is he bigger than a dog?”

And now alarm bells were ringing loudly in Newt’s head.

“Uh… maybe…?”

“Merlin’s beard,” said Newt with a gasp. “Surely you don’t have an acromantula for a pet, do you?”

Harry crossed his arms, while Hagrid shrank in on himself. Newt approached the boy and placed his
hands at the middle of his upper arms.

“You can’t keep a five x class beast for a pet,” said Newt, truly serious. Good lord, how did this child
get his hands on an acromantula, of all creatures? “You are a child and acromantulas are very
dangerous.”

“But-but—” Hagrid met his gaze, big tears welling up in his eyes. “He wouldn’t hurt a fly. He
wouldn’t hurt nobody.”

“Pretty sure he eats flies,” muttered Harry.

“More than that,” said Newt, a warning in his tone. “Acromantulas require quite a bit of meat while
growing up and there’s an entire castle filled with an acromantula’s food source: students.”

“No!” cried Hagrid. “He knows better—he promised he wouldn’t!” Tears streamed down Hagrid’s
eyes. He sniffled loudly, wiping his face on his sleeve. “Please don’t take him away!”

Oh, this poor boy.

He knew how this felt.

“I know you care for him,” said Newt, softening his tone. “But he needs a proper place to grow.
You’re a student and you don’t have the time to give him the care that he truly needs, now can you?”

“I suppose not… I know he’s not happy being cooped up all the time.”
“No one would like that.”

“But—but—what if—what if I got him a friend?” asked Hagrid, desperate. “Been thinking of getting
him a lady friend—he’s been asking for one—”

“No!” shouted Harry, at the same time of Newt’s, “Absolutely not!”

Hagrid deflated.

“No, bad idea,” said Harry frantically, shaking his head. “Very bad idea. Lady friend means babies.
Lots and lots of babies. No, no, no.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, no lady friend for Aragog,” said Newt, trying not to chuckle at the confused look on Hagrid’s
face. “Hagrid, can you bring Aragog to me after classes today? Please?” he asked.

As much as he wanted to go now and find the creature, he didn’t want to start a panic about it nor
alert Headmaster Dippet to its presence in the castle. An acromantula was far more dangerous than a
jarvey and Newt was under no illusion that Hagrid wouldn’t be expelled for having the creature as a
pet.

And he would not let history so unjustly repeat itself.

“But…”

“I promise he’ll be much happier,” said Newt. “He’ll have more space and more freedom with plenty
of proper food under my care - and you can visit him whenever you like.”

“You swear it?”

“Yes, of course. You have my word.”

Hagrid sighed. “Well, I’suppose… all right…. I sure am gonna miss him, though.”

“We’ll find you a proper, safe familiar who will keep you company, all right?”

“Okay,” said Hagrid, sniffling.

Harry sagged in relief.

“I’ll see you after classes,” said Newt. “I’m counting on you.” Hagrid nodded and walked off with a
dejected sigh. As he walked off, Newt nudged Harry. “Quick thinking there,” he said quietly. “How’d
you figure it out?”

Harry smiled with a touch of guilt on his face. That’s a bit odd, thought Newt. He shrugged. “Just a
hunch.” Newt raised an eyebrow. Harry let out a sheepish laugh. “A very strong hunch…”

“Keep listening to that intuition. It’ll get you far.”

Harry snorted. “Yeah, far into trouble.”

Oh, dear. That wasn’t comforting.

And considering the boy’s track record… Thankfully, Newt didn’t have time to ruminate over that, as
a trail of students were walking towards them, all sixth years from Slytherin and Gryffindor.

Straggling in the back, Tom slowly made his way down the grounds, looking as if he were dragging
the weight of ten dragons behind himself.

“Is Tom… catching something?” whispered Newt.

Harry shook his head. “I don’t think so, but something’s up.”

Hm… Newt wanted to check over him, perhaps send him to the hospital wing. The boy would
probably put up a fight, though. The boy was prickly around adults and after witnessing the debacle in
Dippet’s office, Newt could see why. Newt could always ease his way into the hearts of the fiercest
and wildest of creatures, but with Tom… Newt wasn’t sure he’d succeed.

“I’ll watch over him,” whispered Harry.

He gave Newt a little smile, before turning away to join the group of students. Tom pressed his palms
into his eyes and, as he lowered them, there was an imperceptible jolt in his stance when he caught
sight of Harry standing beside him. He ducked his head, cheeks flushing a light dusting of pink.

Hm… sleep deprivation? That would lower his ability to notice his surroundings…

Before Newt could welcome the class, a loud bellow shook the trees in the nearby Forbidden Frost. A
second later, the skeleton dragon burst from the canopy and dove towards them.

“Oh, bother,” said Newt.

The mix of Slytherins and Gryffindors screeched in a chorus of fright. They scattered just as the
skeleton landed in the middle of them, curling its boney wings against itself. It chirped in pure delight
and rambled in a clatter, directly towards Harry and Tom.

Harry grunted.

Tom cursed.

A second later, they were side by side, flat on their backs, with a heavy skeleton perched on their
chests. Hubert cooed in delight, his bones clattering.

“Is it purring?” asked one of the Gryffindor students.

The bones vibrated with pleasure.

“Why does it like me?” asked Harry, grunting as he tried to push it off himself. “Come off it now. Get
off.”

The dragon wiggled, settling further on top of the boys like a broody hen over her clutch of eggs.

“Get off or I’ll hex you,” snapped Tom.

The dragon chirped.

“I don’t think it’s listening. Are you listening?” asked Harry. “Can you please—ouch!—I think a bone
is pressing on an organ, fuck.”
The dragon shifted slightly and Harry gasped in relief.

“Well, it would seem my first lesson is going to be about dragons,” said Newt, amused. There would
be no moving Hubert from his perch. Might as well take advantage of the opportunity, then. “Let’s
start with this big boy here. Do any of you see issues with this dragon?” For a moment, the class
looked at each other in silence. “Anything? Nothing?”

Rosier, a Slytherin that Newt remembered seeing in Harry and Tom’s dorm, hesitantly raised his hand.

“Yes?”

“Isn’t the skeleton made of multiple species of dragons?”

“Yes!” said Newt excitedly, pride filling his heart. “Well done. Five points to Slytherin. And can you
identify a species?”

“Uh… I think the head is from a Norwegian Ridgeback.”

“Correct! Another five points.”

Hubert chirped again. Tom’s head fell back against the grass and he let out a low groan. Harry
laughed.

Overall, Newt’s first class with Harry and Tom went rather well, even if the poor boys had to spend
the entire class on their backs with a heavy dragon purring on their chests. As most of the students
dispersed to their next class, Newt chuckled down at the boys.

“Now can we get this bloody beast off us?” demanded Tom.

“Gotta admit, he’s getting pretty heavy.”

“He’s been heavy since the second he landed on us!”

Two Slytherin boys snickered together, the Rosier boy and a boy Newt recognized to be of the
Ancient House of Black. “I can’t wait to tell Quin about this,” Black said.

“I’m telling the others, too—this is hilarious.”

“Do you wish for—” Tom cut himself off, clenching his teeth. He glared up at the boys, who only
covered their mouths to stifle their laughter. Tom huffed.

“He needs a name,” said Rosier.

“He does, doesn’t he?” said Black with a cheshire grin.

“Skeldon.”

“Spot?”

Tom pressed his lips together. Hubert purred louder, while Harry started snickering.

“Skelly for Skeldon’s nickname,” chimed in Harry. Tom elbowed him in the side. “Ow—oh, lighten
up, Tom.”

“What about Boneford?” asked Rosier, completely ignoring Tom.

Black clapped his hands together. “Beauregard Boneregard!”

Harry wheezed for breath.

“If you two don’t leave right now, I’m giving you detention for a week!” snapped Tom, a hiss and a
snarl mixed within his words.

Rosier and Black chortled into loud displays, but they slowly made their way towards the castle, their
laughter slowly fading into the distance.

Newt patted the shoulder wing. “Come on, Hubert. The boys need to get up now.”

The dragon huffed, shuffling his wings and swinging his head a bit from side to side.

“Hubert.”

Those red eyes blinked at him.

“Please,” said Newt.

With another huff, Hubert slid off the boys, his bones rattling in displeasure. He pushed his muzzle
against Harry, who giggled. Tom sat up, chest heaving.

“Sorry, I… I kind of named him already,” said Newt, his smile a touch shy; he tucked his chin to his
chest, looking down at the boys. “Sorry, I realize I might’ve overstepped, since technically the two of
you did animate him, but he really did seem like a Hubert.”

The dragon purred cheerfully.

“Hubert is a great name,” said Harry, patting the dragon. “It fits him.”

“Much better than Boneregard,” muttered Tom, scrambling to his feet. He brushed grass and dirt from
his trousers, breathing deeply.

“Hey, that’s a fabulous name,” protested Harry. “It’s official. Hubert Boneregard. He’s got a full name
now.”

Tom rubbed his eyes in unmistakable exasperation.

Patrolling the halls just before curfew gave Tom a few hours of mind numbing peace. His mind had
remained blank for a few hours, but as his patrol neared its end, his mind wandered. Another prefect
was due to take his place. Who, he couldn’t remember, though.

Tom sighed.

He half wanted to take another shift, but the exhaustion weighed his limbs down. Even if he stayed
awake, the thought of his warm bed and soft covers was too enticing. It called to him sweetly, a gently
luring siren call, tempting him into the depths.

But…

‘A mournful, vengeful cry - burning, fire, hot, heat - he would melt, be consumed—’
Tom sucked in his breath, bile rising in his throat. Alone in the corridor, he turned towards the wall,
resting his forehead against the cool stone with his weary, aching eyes closed. His clenched fists
trembled at his sides; his chest heaved.

His nights were filled with those flames.

Endless, they tormented him.

He had no relief. One nightmare and Tom would’ve chalked it up to his mind betraying him.
Nightmares filling his unconscious mind every single moment—that was something entirely different:
it was an attack.

Pepper up potions were only taking him so far in the day. He’d been consuming more caffeine than he
usually did, yet it barely did anything for him - except make him jittery in his tiredness. An hour or
two of restless, broken sleep, every single night was slowly destroying him.

How far would he unravel?

I’m going to have to resort to some dreamless sleep.

Tom forced himself away from the wall, running a hand over his face and rubbing at the ache in his
eyes. What time is it?

A step in the hall tore Tom’s attention to the left. A shadow moved in the flickering torchlight. Tom
gripped his wand and sneered at the figure. “Making a challenge in the dead of night, alone in a dark
corridor…” He shook his head. “Pathetic. I thought better of you.”

The figure stepped into the light. Archibald chuckled. “This is more of a personal visit, Riddle.”

“Oh? How lucky I am. But you are out rather late. You won’t make it back to the common room
before curfew. Should I give you detention now?”

“I’m not a child,” hissed Archibald.”

“And I am still at the head of Slytherin,” whispered Tom, his tone dangerous. “I know what you’re
doing and you risk much by displeasing me.”

“I’m here to offer you a graceful downfall.”

“Graceful?” Tom laughed incredulously, dark and mocking. “How benevolent of you.”

“You should step down, Riddle,” said Archibald, drawing closer, the firelight of the torches
illuminating his face. “The rest of the house is disillusioned with you after this latest stunt with that
mudblood Evans.” Tom gritted his teeth. “You’ve broken the confidence and trust of the house of
Slytherin. It would be honorable to step down.”

“Honorable? There’s no honor in losing power.”

“Set me as head. You’d be leaving it in capable hands. Perhaps you can regain the trust of the house
by your seventh year.”

Tom’s lips curled. “You’re bold, dear Archie. I never knew you had it in you.” He took a step closer to
him. “Say I agree. What will happen to your little brother?”
Archibald stiffened.

“Dear Cantankerus will be all alone for his fourth year. This is, after all, your final year.”

“Are you threatening him, Riddle?”

Tom gave a languid shrug. “Never. But… it would be most unfortunate if some tragic accident befell
him in your absence.”

A wand lifted, pointed at Tom’s throat. Tom laughed, cold and harsh. Archibald’s wand, gripped
tightly, trembled in his hand.

“I’ll kill you, Riddle,” hissed Archibald.

“Will you?” purred Tom. “What’s more important to you, Archie? Your brother or your status? You
can’t have both.”

He heard the whisper of a cutting curse. Tom pulled on his magic from within, not channeling it
through his wand, a wordless protego in his mind. The cutting curse burst through the weak protego,
the magic shattering apart. Dark royal blue light ripped through Tom’s shoulder and he staggered
backward, slamming against the wall. He threw a hand over the wound, blood seeping through is
fingers.

A triumphant gleam entered Archibald’s eyes.

Now would be a really good time for you to obey me! thought Tom, gripping his wand and trying to
cast another protego.

No protego appeared in front of him.

“How could you have earned the place at the head of Slytherin,” said Archibald, features wrinkling in
contempt. It burned Tom with furious shame, a reminder of the past, of the looks from purebloods that
they threw at him during his first years at Hogwarts. “You can’t even block a simple curse.”

“I am the heir of Slytherin,” hissed Tom in parseltongue. “And a mongrel like yourself will never steal
what I have rightfully earned!”

Archibald paled, but it was brief. His expression handed. He lifted his wand, lips parting for a spell.
“Fuck you, Riddle, and your little parlor tricks.”

The yew wand scorned his call.

Tom braced himself. But Archibald never got the chance; a beat after, just as the tip of Archibald’s
wand glowed with another dark royal blue light, another light flared from behind Archibald and
slammed into his back. He cried out, dropping to his knees with a gasp, revealing Abraxas with his
wand in hand. He lowered it and rushed to Tom’s side.

“My lord, are you all right?” asked Abraxas in a low voice. He glanced over Tom; his brows pinched.
“Did you let him hit you?”

“Yes,” said Tom automatically.

No. No, he hadn’t.

“Malfoy, the fuck did you run off to—” Harry appeared around the corner and stopped short. His eyes
swept over the group, before resting on Tom. The color drained from his face. “Shit, Tom—” Harry
bolted to his side, dropping to his knees. His hands gripped onto Tom’s shoulders; somehow, it
strengthened Tom. The pain was slowly increasing, growing more bitingly sharp as the seconds
dragged by. “What happened? What the fuck did he do to you?”

“Cursing him when he’s alone, Nott?” said Abraxas with a sneer. “What a disgusting lack of decorum
for a pureblood. I’ll have you suspended for this.”

“No,” said Tom.

Abraxas glanced at him, eyes wide.

“Fuck, fuck, you’re bleeding a lot,” whispered Harry, his grip slipping over the blood. “I think you
need—”

“Heal it.”

“Me?” said Harry. He stilled. His thumb brushed the fabric aside, revealing the torn flesh. “Uh, are
you sure you don’t want to go—”

“Just do it,” said Tom; sweat trickled down his temples.

Harry ran a hand through his fringe and pulled out his wand, grimacing at the blood that coated his
hand. He waved it, the blood vanishing. His wand hovered over the wound. Tom gritted his teeth,
holding back a gasp from the sudden spike in the pain level. A dark curse, he recognized it, the royal
blue—goddamnnit, the pain was getting much worse—

Archibald glared at him. “Pathetic, Riddle,” he said with a snarl. “Need a wet nurse to tend to your
scraped knees?

“Nobody asked you shit,” snapped Harry. He threw a stinging hex at him; Archibald fell back with a
yelp.

“Nott, there are witnesses here to your unsightly attack on me,” said Tom; his voice wavered as he
struggled to breathe through his nose. Archibald narrowed his eyes. “I’m offering you a mercy for not
reporting your actions to a professor. I suggest you go back to the common room without a fight. It is
three against one now.”

For a long moment, Archibald didn’t move. Then, with a snarling huff, he stood up and whirled away,
marching down the corridor and disappearing around a corner.

“You don’t want to report him?” whispered Abraxas.

“No.”

Harry hummed. It was a haze, yet magic washed over Tom in a healing wave. The wound slowly
knitted together; the pain spiked again and, for a brief moment, Tom’s vision blacked out. Breath
caught in his lungs. The wound sealed closed and the flesh repaired itself, his muscles and flesh
pulsing with phantom pain. The fabric of his robes weaved back together. Tom’s fringe was plastered
to his forehead from the sweat. He sucked in his breath when his vision returned, stars popping; bright
green eyes blinked up at him. Harry had ducked his head to stare up at him.

“I’m fine,” whispered Tom - though… he wasn’t sure why he’d felt the need to reassure Harry.
“Can you stand?” asked Harry, brow furrowed.

Tom nodded. He pushed upwards, in the effort to get to his feet, but his head went woozy and he
swayed. Stars twinkled again in his gaze and the room spun. Harry swore. His arm wrapped around
Tom’s waist, holding him up. Abraxas held Tom’s elbow at his other side.

Damn it all to hell.

“I’m fine.”

“The hell you are,” muttered Harry. “It wasn’t that deep of a cut, but you’re sweating a lot.”

“I said that I’m fine—”

“Respectfully, my lord, I must agree with Evans here.”

Was it normal for friends to turn into clucking hens?

“What kind of curse was that?” asked Harry.

“A dark cutting curse,” said Abraxas, his expression grim. “Its specialty is to intensify the pain the
longer the wound exists or remains unhealed. It’s a cruel way to incapacitate a victim.”

“He used it on purpose,” whispered Harry.

“Of course, he did,” snapped Tom. “And he’s not finished. He’s going to challenge me the moment
we enter the common room - in front of the entire Slytherin house. This isn’t over.”

I can still use wandless spells…

But it wouldn’t be enough in a proper duel.

“Challenge you?” asked Harry. “Huh?”

“For his position at the head of Slytherin,” said Abraxas.

Harry let out a low scoff, intertwining an arm with Tom’s arm and bearing more of Tom’s weight
against him. “You Slytherins and your fucking politics.” He rolled his eyes. “Merlin forbid you act
like normal kids instead of playing stupid adults.”

“We’re Slytherins,” said Abraxas, aghast.

A huffing laugh escaped Tom before he could hold it back. “I assure you,” he said, trying to hide it.
“We’re not ‘playing adults.’ It will be like this in the ministry once we’ve graduated. This is practice
for a larger playing field.”

“Great. Can’t wait. Are you sure you can walk?”

Tom ignored him and took a step forward.

It took a few minutes before Tom became steady on his feet. Even after Tom pushed both of them
away, Harry still hovered at his side. Tom wiped his brow and held himself up. He could not enter the
common room looking like he’d lost a fight.
When they were at the entrance to the common room, Tom leaned towards Harry. He whispered in his
ear, “Can you freshen up my clothes?”

Harry blinked, cheeks darkening. He nodded. With a wave, Tom’s clothes were cleaned of the blood
and the lingering sweat disappeared from his skin. Tom gave him a light lift of his lips and stepped
through the entrance with his chin held high.

The common room was filled with students. Archibald stood in the middle, a gathering of his
supporters at his side. He turned and sneered at them. He’d been waiting.

“Oh, how the mighty have fallen,” said Archibald loudly. Heads turned towards him, necks craning to
see what was going on. Many went back to their school work, uninterested. He smirked at Tom.
“Riddle, you can’t really expect the rest of us to respect your position here, not when you’ve gotten so
many detentions, lost us points, and have let your grades fall.”

Rage flooded through his gut.

“Back for more?” said Tom, his voice cutting clear through the murmur of voices. Abraxas and Harry
still stood at Tom’s side. The Slytherins quieted. “I made myself clear, did I not?”

Archibald scoffed. “You threatened me. Is that the kind of power you hold over us? Little threats?
You have no family to back it up.”

Tom gritted his teeth.

“The rest of us, we’re well aware of your little club meetings,” said Archibald, sneering more. He
snorted. “Knights? How juvenile. And what a disgusting little group, too.” He gestured to Alphard
and Quintus, who were sitting side by side on one of the sofas. “One gives up his heirship for a lover.
Your closest companions are just a bunch of nancy fairies who’ve given into their debased ways for
sexual gratification—”

“Say that to my face!” snapped Alphard, jumping to his feet. Quintus grabbed his arm, trying to hold
him back. “You say that to my face, you bastard!”

“I believe I just did, Black,” said Archibald, lips twisted. He gestured to Tom, glancing at the other
Slytherins. “Is this the kind of person we want at the head of the glorious House of Slytherin? One
who rubs shoulders with unnatural whores?”

Alphard snarled out an animalistic cry, wand snapping into his hand.

“Alphard, no, don’t!” cried Quintus, arms thrown around Alphard’s waist and pulling him back. “He’s
not worth it—”

There was a scoff. “You need your fairy boy to hold you down?” Archibald’s expression devolved
into something truly cruel. “How often do you take his—”

“Enough!” roared Harry.

Magic rushed through the air, bursting through the common room. The torches flickered; books
fluttered through the pages; drapes rippled violently. Tom’s breath caught. Gasps and cries of shock
echoed in response.

“Shut up,” snarled Harry. He pulled away from Tom and took a step forward. “What the fuck is your
problem, anyway? Who they date is none of your fucking business.”
“Is it when they flaunt their affliction in front of me,” said Archibald with a haughty sniff. “I lose my
appetite every morning.”

“That sounds like that’s your problem, not theirs.”

Archibald snorted. “You’re just as bent as the rest of them. Whose bitch are you, hm?”

Harry whipped out his wand; a second later, Archibald had been knocked off his feet with a yelp.
Harry stalked forward, knuckles whitening beneath his grip. He looked down at Archibald.

“Fuck you.”

And it happened again.

That magic—Harry’s magic—intoxicating and powerful, flooded through the room in a rush.
Archibald’s eyes widened. The other Slytherins in the room sucked in their breaths. Tom inhaled,
slow and deep, finding the feel of it calming; it settled in the air and over his skin with a caress of a
feather.

“I’m nobody’s bitch, you arsehole,” snarled Harry. “I think I’ve proven that much so far.”

Archibald sneered as he got to his feet. “You’ve been the most troublesome of all,” he hissed. “Riddle
can’t even get you under control. If I were at the head, you’d have been crushed into submission—”

Just as Harry laughed derisively at that, Euphemia jumped from her seat at the table she’d been sitting
at with her sister, Belladonna, and shouted, “Hey, you leave Harry alone!” She darted forward with a
war cry, her hair flying out behind her.

“Effie, no—” cried Belladonna.

The little girl stomped on Archibald’s foot. Hard. He let out a low curse. She was about to run away
after her sudden attack, but he lashed out and grabbed Euphemia by her long blonde hair.

Euphemia shrieked.

Multiple things happened at once. Tom whispered in parseltongue, calling on the magic of the
Slytherin house. Wooden snakes came to life, twisting and curling over each other as they fell from
the walls. Students scattered. Abraxas and Belladonna leapt forward, wands pointed at Archibald’s
face. And Harry—he’d disappeared from Tom’s side.

“Release her,” demanded Abraxas.

“Let my sister go!” shouted Belladonna, her wand trembling.

Euphemia broke into wet sobs, her voice spiking in volume at every jostle. Archibald jerked her
closer and she shrieked again. But then he froze; Harry had moved, close and deadly, in the chaos, his
wand pressing deep into Archibald’s chin.

“Let Effie go,” whispered Harry. His wand lifted Archibald’s chin. “And maybe, just maybe, I won’t
curse your bullocks off.”

“You wouldn’t dare—” Archibald’s voice choked off; Harry advanced on him, wand digging deeper
into his Adam’s apple.
“You’ll find that I’m the most dangerous Slytherin in this room,” whispered Harry. A shiver slid down
Tom’s spine; he licked his lips. “Because I don’t give a fuck about your little pureblood etiquette—
which means I’m willing to do what the rest of you aren’t.”

Archibald paled.

“Now let her go.”

No one moved. Archibald’s eyes darted from the two Malfoys to Harry. Euphemia sobbed, big tears
streaming down her flushed cheeks.

Tom stalked forward. “Release Miss Malfoy,” he whispered. “Now, Mr. Nott.”

For another long, torturous moment, Archibald didn’t move. His eyes burned with the light of a
cornered wild animal. Then, with a snarl, he shoved the girl away. Belladonna made to catch her in a
hug, but Euphemia threw herself at Harry, sobbing into his neck. Harry stepped back and wrapped his
arms around her, glaring at Archibald.

Abraxas met Tom’s eyes, rage roiling. “My lord.”

It was a question; a request.

Tom met Harry’s gaze. Revenge burned in those green eyes. It was enough.

“Three seconds,” murmured Tom.

“Crucio.”

Archibald screamed.

Harry’s arms tightened around Euphemia, protectively, but he stood there, watching. Unflinching. His
lips pressed together in a thin line.

Abraxas lifted the curse. Archibald panted on the floor, having collapsed beneath the curse. Wooden
snakes slithered closer. His fury unabated, Abraxas drew back, giving space for Tom to look down at
Archibald.

“That was for harming the girl,” whispered Tom. “Know your place.”

“You—” Archibald wheezed for breath. “—hypocrite.”

Tom tilted his head to the side. “Perhaps. But threats are just that: threats. Unfulfilled. Your pathetic
behavior, grabbing a little girl by the hair, is reminiscent of a muggle bar room brawl. Are you sure
you’re a pureblood?”

“You’re weak, Riddle,” hissed Archibald. “Relying on others to do your dirty work.”

“I’ve learned that having loyal friends, not mere allies, are far more fulfilling.” Tom put a hand onto
Harry’s shoulder. “What you call weakness, I’ve discovered is my strength.”

Archibald whimpered as four wooden snakes slithered over his legs, drawing upwards over his thighs.
His face paled as one nuzzled dangerously close to the center of his trousers. The snake opened its
maw, fangs revealed.
“No, no, wait, don’t.”

“Oh?” purred Tom, tilting his head to the side with a dark, innocent smile. “Don’t what?”

The snake hissed, tongue flicking out.

“Don’t let it bite me!”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“I’m the heir—I’m the heir to the House of Nott—you can’t—!” cried Archibald; he squeezed his eyes
shut, trembling in fear. Another wooden snake slithered close, maw opening with long fangs
terrifyingly close to what this pureblood considered his greatest asset.

“I’d like to reveal that you’re a parselmouth right now. Do you agree?” said Tom, looking at Harry.
The snakes hissed in delight. Archibald shuddered.

Harry smirked. “I agree. Let’s scare the shit out of this bastard.”

Archibald went ghostly white.

“A flawless leader is idealistic foolishness,” whispered Tom. He knelt down in front of Archibald,
hand outstretched. A snake heeded his invitation and crawled up his arm. “That is why… where I
lack, I have others to fill in the gaps.”

“He’s a—”

“Oh, yes,” said Tom lightly. He stood up, the snake nuzzling his cheek affectionately. He smiled, dark.
“Harry is a parselmouth like me. You’d do well to remember that.”

Archibald closed his eyes. Satisfaction tasted delicious.

“Come, my children, enough.” At his beckoning, the snakes drew away. Archibald let out a gasp of
relief. He quickly curled his knees to his chest, guarding himself. Tom gazed out at the room. “My
station at the head of Slytherin has been challenged and resolved. Archibald Nott has lost his… little
challenge. Are there any others who wish to challenge me for my position?”

No one moved.

“I declare Harry Evans as my second.”

A ripple of shock went through Alphard and Quintus. The other students of the Slytherin house
shifted, a few stealing glances at other.

“Cross him and you cross me.”

Silence.

“Am I understood?” demanded Tom sharply.

“Yes, sir,” the chorus of voices rang out.

“To bed with you,” said Tom.

 There was no hesitation. The Slytherin house packed up their things and started up the stairs. Quintus
led Alphard away, who was still shaking from suppressed rage. Archibald got to his feet.

“Detention, Archibald,” said Tom. “For disrupting the peace.”

Archibald didn’t meet his eyes; he nodded and fled. Tom’s chest exhaled in a long, low breath, the
tension easing from his muscles. Belladonna and Abraxas approached Harry and Euphemia.

“Effie, love, are you okay?” asked Belladonna.

Euphemia turned her head and nodded against Harry. “Uh huh,” she said with a soft whimper. She
slowly pulled away from Harry, sniffling. “Sorry for crying all over you, Harry.”

“Hey, you were very brave,” said Harry. He ran a hand through her hair, gently fixing a few of the
tangles and brushing it out of her face. “Next time, curse him in the arse.”

Euphemia giggled, while Belladonna let out a reproachful, exasperated, “Evans! Don’t encourage
her.” She shook her head. “She is a Malfoy and should—” she added, pointedly giving Euphemia a
hard look. “—know better than to get into brawls.”

“Hey, she’s small - better to throw a curse than stomp on a foot.”

Belladonna rolled her eyes. “Come on, Effie.”

“Thank you, Harry,” said Euphemia, waving at him as Belladonna led her away towards the
staircases.

“Thank you, Evans,” said Abraxas, his back straight and his tone formal. “The Malfoy house is
indebted to you.”

“No,” said Harry firmly. “I’d have cursed him to hell and back if you hadn’t. No one harms her.”

Abraxas’s expression softened. “Nonetheless, I thank you.” He nodded once to Tom and left without
another word.

Once alone, Harry turned to Tom, looking him over. “Are you all right?” he asked.

Tom nodded. “Just tired.”

Very tired.

“So, what’s a second?”

Tom sighed, regretting it already.

Chapter End Notes

Defanging Tom is fun, ngl. He still wants to bite, but he can’t. Hehe.
 Twenty-Seven
Chapter Notes

This chapter is dedicated to Kiwi Cult because she had been waiting SO VERY long for this
chapter. For nearly two years now, haha. She made an amazing post on tumblr detailing Harry's
scars. Her passion about them long inspired this chapter.

It's finally here, Kiwi.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

“All right, boys, take a break,” said Scamander, clapping his hands together.

Tom sat back on his heels. He shut his eyes, letting out a low, exhausted sigh. After two hours of
clearing out the classroom, they weren’t close to being finished. Dust mixed with sweat had devolved
into grime on his person, with his hair plastered to his forehead and his sleeves rolled up to his
elbows.

Tom craved a shower and a night of sleep, but that wasn’t happening, especially not after Harry
pestered him for what had felt like hours - read: ten minutes - about what being a second meant in
Slytherin. Impulsive decision on his part, but there was no backing out of it now.

“No, Harry, that doesn’t mean you’re allowed to change the decor to red and gold.”

That had been the least chaotic suggestion Harry had.

Declaring Harry as his second in command hadn’t really given him a power increase, not with the
way Harry effortlessly enjoyed upsetting the balance of the house without a care. Tom was more than
well aware that Harry was going to do whatever he wanted to do - and there’d be no stopping him.

He’d proven to have the magical prowess to back it up.

However, with Harry at his side as second and as a parselmouth, the other Slytherins would no longer
view Harry as just another unwelcome ‘mudblood’ in the house. Harry Evans, parselmouth, favored
of Tom Riddle, heir of the house of Slytherin, had his place here.

It would also eliminate problems like Archibald Nott.

“We really haven’t made much of a dent in this,” said Harry, glancing around the classroom with a
frown. He was in no better condition; smudges of dust covered his face and his clothes were coated in
a layer of dirt. “Dammit,” he muttered under his breath.

“Harry, language.”

“Sorry, Professor!”

Scamander sighed, pinching his nose.

Tom got to his feet, his body aching bone deep. He stifled his grimace. ignoring the ache in his
muscles. He tried to brush some of the dirt and dust from his robes, but it was a lost cause. Tom
swiped the back of his forearm over his brows and caught Harry’s eye.

Harry quickly glanced away.

Scamander chuckled. “You boys look about as clean as a dugbog after dinner.” He pulled out a pocket
watch and checked the time. “Oh, dear. You both better go now if you want to have enough time to
get cleaned up before the game.”

“Thank you, thank you,” said Harry, making a prayer sign. He gestured to himself. “I’d have been
miserable if I had to play in this condition.”

“Will you be cheering Harry on, then?” asked Scamander. Tom froze, looking up at him. “It’s
Slytherin against Gryffindor, isn’t it?”

Harry nodded.

No. Tom hadn’t been planning on attending the game - he never went to any of the Quidditch games.
He’d only gone to the tryouts this because he’d been interested in learning more about Harry.
However… Tom met Harry’s gaze, brief, before his head tilted in acknowledgment.

“I normally have no interest in Quidditch,” said Tom, his voice even. “But I… I suppose attending the
game this afternoon wouldn’t be a problem.”

Scamander smiled, giving him a light pat on the shoulder. Tom fought the urge to shrug the man off.
“Wonderful. Tina and I will sit with you, then.” Tom forced a stiff smile on his face, regretting this
already. “Quidditch games are always a bit exciting - might be a nice change of pace for you. I hear
you’re a diligent student, but it’s good to have other interests outside of schoolwork and classes, all
right?”

Tom nodded, brow furrowing at the hand on his shoulder.

“Off you go, then. Good luck in the game, Harry!”

Harry waved. “See ya, Newt!” He bolted to the classroom doors, jumping around the broken debris
that still cluttered the floor. He waited at the door for Tom, bouncing on his heels. With another sigh,
Tom walked after him, avoiding the rubbish on the floor.

“You don’t have to wait for me,” said Tom quietly, as they stepped into the large corridor. “Or walk
back to the dorm with me.”

Harry tilted his head. “I know, but—”

“Go. Simon will be waiting.”

“But I have to shower—”

“You’ll miss what, I have no doubt, will be an outstanding pep talk by Simon.” Tom jerked his head
in the opposite direction. “Go.”

“He always just says to play well and fly well.”

Tom nodded. He’d figured that.

“The Quidditch changing room has showers.”

“Oh, all right.” Harry deflated. After a long pause, he met Tom’s gaze again. A touch of hope lifted
his tone. “Are you really coming to the match?”

Tom pursed his lips. “Yes, I’ll be there. Do try not to crash so spectacularly like you did in tryouts.”

“Nah, that was a fluke,” said Harry, breaking into a blinding grin. “See you there!”

And he darted off, leaving Tom alone.

Tom inhaled.

Well.

If I must… It wasn’t like Tom had anything better to do. It wouldn’t be the end of the world to go to a
Quidditch game for once, especially since he didn’t have the mental energy to study or to make any
progress towards the growing pile of homework that was due.

Tom began the long walk towards the Slytherin common room to shower before the game.

A deafening surge of excited cheers and screams filled the Quidditch stands when Gryffindor made
the first goal. Tom winced at the sound, reminded why he never attended these games. The crowd
cheered at every goal, while the commentator screamed out the plays one at a time. He could barely
hear himself think over the sheer volume of it all. By the fourth goal for Gryffindor and the sixth goal
for Slytherin, a headache bloomed in Tom’s temples.

Going to the Quidditch games was always a source of boredom and irritation for Tom. Too much
noise. While he saw the appeal of flying, strapping oneself to a pathetic piece of wood - at best - and
narrowly avoiding death laden projectiles in the air was an asinine activity to Tom. He enjoyed the
thrill of danger, saw its appeal, but only when he could rely on his own power. He wasn’t interested in
putting his life in danger and into the flimsy hands of other volatile, unpredictable players while on a
broomstick.

So, why—why, when Harry was such a powerful, intelligent person, did he love to push the
boundaries of basic flying safety?

Scamander and Wife were about to lose their hearts, watching Harry’s antics in the air. Mrs.
Scamander had thrown her hand over her mouth at Harry’s latest aerial barrel role. He’d gotten better
than that catastrophic crash a few weeks ago, but his dives were enough to send a person’s heart
straight up into their throat.

Not that Tom had experience with that.

His chest wasn’t breathless with fear nor was there was a lump of worry in his throat.

Not at all.

Tom could still vividly remember Harry’s crash, the sound his body had made upon impact. It echoed
in his mind; the Quidditch game commentator couldn’t drown it out. All that blood. No rise and fall of
Harry’s chest. The more he went over the memory, the more Tom was certain Harry had been dead.
The shadows had wanted him, had sought out his neck to squeeze.

The crowd screamed, tearing Tom away from his thoughts. Harry had gone into a dive - a terrible,
cruel heart stopping dive. The Gryffindor seeker noticed it a moment later and shot after Harry, who
narrowly avoided a bludger that one of the Gryffindor beaters smashed his way. Tom’s grip on his
wand shook his entire arm. Harry weaved through the air, as if he were possessed by a snitch himself,
pulling out of the dive at the very last minute and flying through the air with the grace of a swan and
the power of a lion. The Gryffindor seeker squawked and nearly crashed into the stands. It took the
poor seeker a few minutes to get control of his broom.

But Harry was back high above in the skies, unscathed, looking for the snitch.

The crowd settled down and Tom sagged into his seat.

“What kind of feint was that?” said Quintus with a gasp.

“That’s got to be the most dangerous, insane feint I’ve ever seen,” said Alphard.

“Does he always fly like that?” asked Scamander, leaning towards Tom, his face pale and ghostly
white. “Like… Like that?”

Unfortunately, yes.

“He crashed at his first tryouts,” said Alphard with a barking laugh. “He’s sure got the heart of a
Quidditch player.”

“Oh, dear,” said Mrs. Scamander softly. “I think we might need some calming draughts.”

“I need ten,” muttered Scamander.

Even though Harry was reckless in the air, he flew with the ease of one born on seraphim wings in the
heavenly skies. This was one of Harry’s true skills, one that seemed to sing with every movement. He
had perfect control over the broom, so unlike the first day at tryouts.

There was a beauty to his flight.

Where had Tom’s breath gone?

Then, Harry dove.

It was different this time; he’d seen the snitch. The Gryffindor seeker was too far away, far across the
other side of the field. With a collective roar, the Gryffindor beaters sent both bludgers Harry’s way.
One zoomed after him, another quick to follow. Tom’s heart leapt in his throat once more; he couldn’t
breathe. He trembled.

Harry barrel rolled in the air, spinning a dizzying amount of times; the bludger soared over his head.
Arm outstretched, Harry snatched the glittering gold snitch from the air, just as the second bludger
rushed for him.

Harry dive bombed out the way, headfirst towards the ground.

If the fall doesn’t kill him, I will.

The screams of terror and the cheers of celebration were deafening. Harry jerked the handle of his
broomstick, hard, breaking out of the dive just in time. The end of his broom brushed against the
grassy field, twigs and branches tearing off.

And the crowd sighed with delighted cheers.

Slytherin had won the match two hundred and fifty to one hundred.

Tom tucked his wand away and put his hands to his temple, kneading them with a pinched grimace.
The headache had gotten worse.

“Well,” said Mrs. Scamander; she blew out a harsh breath. “I think Harry has the making of an
international Quidditch player.”

“Tina, I think I, uh…”

“Yes,” said Mrs. Scamander, nodding with an amused smile. “Let’s go get ourselves some calming
draughts.”

As the two of them stood up and began to leave with the rest of the Slytherins, Tom looked over at
Alphard and Quintus, who were still seated. They looked up at him with flushed excitement.

“Damn, that was wicked,” said Alphard.

“My heart is racing,” said Quintus, putting a hand over his chest. “That was madness.”

Wait. When had Tom stood up?

“The party is going to be wild.”

Quintus laughed. “Can’t wait.”

The stands slowly emptied. The others walked back towards the castle, their chatter excited as they
went over the game play by play. Tom hung back, waiting for the crowd to thin. Alone, he stepped
down the bleachers and walked out of the stands. He made his way towards the Slytherin Quidditch
locker rooms.

Tom couldn’t clear his mind of a Harry in flight.

If Harry was a panther when he dueled, then he was a hummingbird when he flew. His control over
the broom far exceeded the capacity of the broom itself. It’d become quite clear to Tom that Harry
had been fighting with the broom to do what he wanted. Imagine in a few years, when there were
better, more advanced brooms… What kind of flyer would Harry be if he had a broom made for him?

The elegance of his flight… it’d been breathtaking.

Perhaps… Tom would attend Harry’s games in the future. Perhaps. If he had nothing better to do that
day, which he usually did… So much to do, after all.

A moot idea, really.

When he arrived at the Quidditch locker room, all but one of the Slytherin Quidditch team members
were outside, gathered together with their broomsticks over their shoulders and their uniforms in bags
at their sides. Simon and Roland waved at Tom as he approached.
“Did you see Harry?” exclaimed Roland in excitement. “Merlin, he’s a god on a broom.”

“He’s going to kill himself with those stunts,” muttered Tom.

“Oh, one day, no doubt—but what a way to die!”

“Better that he live to play another game,” said Simon.

“Oh, right.” Roland rolled his eyes. “I suppose that makes sense.”

Simon snorted.

“Where’s Harry?” asked Tom.

“He’s been in the showers for awhile,” said Roland, glancing back at the Quidditch locker room.
“Should I pop in and—”

“I’ll go,” said Tom; he had no interest in reliving the game a second time nor any interest in the very
loud after party that would consume the Slytherin house for the rest of the day. He waved to the group
dismissively. “Go off and celebrate - I know you want to.”

“Without Harry, though?”

“We’ll be there.” He turned towards the Quidditch locker room, shaking his head. Quidditch players.
If they put half as much effort into their studies, they’d all be top of their classes.

Tom walked inside the locker room, glancing around with mild interest. He’d never been inside
before. He could hear the running water of a shower in the back. Tom strode past lockers, turning the
corner into the bathroom where there were multiple stalls for privacy. Tom crossed his arms and
leaned against the tile wall near the entrance of the showers.

“Are you quite done?”

There was a squawk of surprise. The water shut off and Harry swore loudly. “—the fuck, Tom? What
the hell are you doing in here?”

“The others are waiting for you.”

“Okay, then why are you here?”

“Because they’re waiting—”

“Well, they don’t have to!”

Tom’s head shook, a sigh lifting his chest in annoyance. “Well, I didn’t tell them to,” he snapped
lightly. He gritted his teeth. He squeezed his eyes shut, the headache pounding the last of his restraint
away. Damn. Why did the days feel so long? He needed another pepper up potion already. After
watching Harry fly, his patience and nerves were frayed thin. “Are you done?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m done. You can leave now.”

“And wait for god knows how long for you?” muttered Tom. He rubbed his eyes, irritation pricking at
his being for the slip of control in his language. But… since it was just Harry, he couldn’t bring
himself to care. “I think not. I’ll wait.”
Harry stomped out from the shower stall, a Slytherin green towel cinched low around his waist, and
glared at him. The air punched out of Tom’s lungs.

“I don’t need you to babysit me.”

Tom pushed off the wall. He stared. All breath was lost.

He’d seen a few here and there, had noticed the scars on his face, but Tom had never seen Harry bare
chested before. He had never changed in front of the others, had always showered at different times,
and was always dressed when coming back to the dorm room. Tom had seen the others naked more
times than he could count - and more times than he’d preferred.

But Harry…

He was covered in scars, far, far more scars than acceptable.

And he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

It wasn’t that Tom could see his ribs, but the boy who stood in front of him was rather underweight.
How have I not noticed how thin he’d gotten? A week of eating more food had helped, but there was
still a long road ahead of Harry. He’d been notorious for not showing up for meals, occasionally
walking around with an apple in hand, but the weight loss from the past two months was clear now.

It’d gotten worse.

Tom’s eyes were drawn to the burn mark in the middle of Harry’s collarbone. There were so many
other miscellaneous scars, nicks here and there, on his arms, on his legs, and on his chest. Something
had sliced open Harry’s left forearm by seven centimeters with a thick, jagged knife. Self inflicted or
an attack? The puncture wound on his right forearm was thick, a number of centimeters wide. A
basilisk—surely he hadn’t been telling the truth about that? A large snake - one far larger than Nagini
- had bitten him at the wrist.

At the center of his breastbone, a scar that was so faint, barely noticeable, was similar to the one on
his forehead - the crackle of lightning splayed across a stormy night sky.

But Tom lost the final thread of his composure when he saw the all too familiar scars - long marks
that cruelly licked the edges of Harry’s torso; the scars didn’t start in the front at his chest. No. They
were similar marks that Tom bore, though he didn’t have buckle marks like Harry did. They were the
unmistakable tell of skin and flesh being broken and torn during a beating with a belt. Someone had
beaten Harry, buckle side, multiple times.

The scars of a harsh life were branded into Harry’s very skin.

Rage boiled inside Tom. He strode towards Harry.

“Uh, Tom? What’re you—oh, fuck—”

Tom grabbed him by the upper arm and forcibly whirled Harry around. He couldn’t hear Harry’s
protests or the endless string of profanity. No. He could only see the belt scars of many whippings. So
many. The scars disappeared beneath the towel, hidden from view, but there was no doubt they
continued downward. Some of the scars were faded with age, but a couple of them were far too recent
for Tom’s taste.
“What the actual fuck, Tom?!” snapped Harry, trying to wrench away. But Tom tightened his hold,
relentless and furious. He jerked Harry closer, who let out a strange, high pitched sound.

“Where did you get these?” demanded Tom.

Harry struggled, surprisingly powerful muscles flexing beneath Tom’s hand; he twisted and pulled
against the hand holding his upper arm, almost managing to get away. Tom shook him lightly,
wresting some of the control out of Harry’s fight; his free hand snapped out and gripped Harry by the
face. His fingers pinched Harry’s cheeks.

“Who did this to you?” hissed Tom. “Tell me the name—their location.”

“Tom, stop!”

Those green eyes glimmered.

“Were these made by your parents?”

“N-no! Of course not—Tom, fuck—calm down—”

“Then, tell me who they are!” shouted Tom.

He would kill them.

Harry became frantic, squirming and jerking, but Tom wouldn’t let go. It was a violent dance, their
struggle against each other, until Harry slammed into the tile wall and let out a cry of pain. His head
whipped up with the beginnings of furious tears in his eyes and he glared at Tom fiercely. “They’re
dead!” he cried. Tom stilled. The fight died between them and Harry sagged against the wall.
“They’re already dead. They’re…” He squeezed his eyes shut.

Tom’s chest heaved and the hand pinching Harry’s cheeks loosened. His hands slowly dropped to his
sides as the clouds of fury parted in his mind. Tom shook on the inside. He wanted to curse something
into the oblivion, but there was nothing to curse here.

Tom met Harry’s eyes. His tears hadn’t fallen, but they still glistened, making the color glitter with the
light. It reminded Tom of one beauty, the surface of the Great Black Lake as the full moon rose high
above it, its waters rippling with the shimmer of moonlight. Harry shivered, drawing his hands over
his arms. Droplets of water slipped down Harry’s neck over another scar - claw marks? - down his
collarbone; they drew his gaze towards the burn scar there.

Tom swallowed. “Pity,” he whispered. “I would’ve liked to have killed them myself.”

Harry blew out a breath. “What the fuck, Tom?” he murmured. Harry rubbed his face with his hand,
pinching the bridge of his nose. “You can’t just threaten violence on others,” he said, exasperated.

Oh, to be certain, he could - especially on bastards who beat kids.

Tom took a step back. The urge to destroy something burned throughout his entire being. Harry
wrapped his arms around his chest, hunching over slightly. Tom looked around the bathroom and
caught sight of another towel hanging in a stall. Tom strode to it and grabbed it. Harry blinked; with a
flutter of fabric, Tom wrapped the towel around his shoulders.

The silence was unbearable.

“Who beat you?” asked Tom flatly.

Harry’s expression twisted; he looked down at the floor. His fists grabbed the corners of the towel at
his shoulders. The knuckles on his hands whitened. “I’m fine. Listen, you don’t have to—”

Tom reached out and took him by the chin, this time gently drawing Harry’s head up to look at him.
Those green eyes glistened with emotion. “Tell me,” he said softly.

There was a beat and a shuddering breath. “It’s a long story,” Harry whispered.

“You were beaten recently.”

“Not really…” said Harry in a low voice. “They stopped when… Well, summer I turned fifteen was
the last time.”

So.

Recent.

Tom could still remember how it had felt, even after so many years. He knew the sting of a belt. But
the last time he’d let anyone harm him in that way was the day after he’d turned nine. On that day, the
day Billy’s rabbit died, the matron never touched him again. She never looked at him again, either.

Some days, however, young Tom had wished to be hated rather than be ignored.

He couldn’t say the same for Harry, though.

“And this?” asked Tom, brushing two fingers over the claw marks that started beneath Harry’s ear and
trailed down his shoulder. They hadn’t faded much, making notches in the smoothness of Harry’s
skin. “What made these?”

“Oh.” Harry let out a laugh, yet breathless, his expression lifting. “A dragon made those.”

Had Tom been dunked beneath water?

“Pardon?”

Harry let out another laugh, his smile widening. “Yeah, another long story.” He glanced down at
himself and sighed. “I suppose they all have stories… every last one of them. Some of them, well…
I’d rather not go into them.”

Like a canvas, he’d been written upon, the scars etched in his skin.

Yet without permission.

Tom understood.

“It was muggles, wasn’t it?” said Tom, lip curling in disgust. It had to be them - it was always them,
after all. They were afraid of what they had no way of understanding, so instead of seeking
knowledge, they lashed out. He hated them for it.

“Well…” Harry ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, but he was just a bastard.”

“But still a muggle. Did he know what you are?”

Harry glanced away. He nodded ever so slightly. “Yeah,” he whispered.

Rage boiled over.

“Perhaps Grindelwald’s politics are too kind,” muttered Tom. “Perhaps outright annihilation would be
best.”

“The fuck?!” squawked Harry in horror. “Hell no—”

“Why give them a chance to harm magical children?” snapped Tom. He gestured wildly at Harry.
“Look at how they’ve harmed you! Would they not be better off dead?”

“First of all, he didn’t do all of them—and, second of all, one person doing something bad doesn’t
give you the right to wipe them all out.”

“Fine then,” said Tom, tone clipped. “We’ll remove all muggleborn children from their parents from
birth. That would protect them.”

It would’ve protected me.

And you.

“Tom, we can’t do that—”

“And why not?! Why can’t we do that?”

“Because it’s wrong—it’s immoral—”

“Oh, fuck morals!” snarled Tom, all of his control finally vanishing. Harry sucked in his breath, eyes
widening in shock. “It’s wrong, is it?” He growled, his snarls growing louder and stronger. “Then,
why isn’t it wrong to leave children with people who obviously hate and despise them? To leave them
with people who have no concept or understanding about what they’re going through?” Tom scoffed,
venomous. “Oh, it’s wrong to take children away from their ‘dear, loving’ parents, but not wrong to
leave them with horrible, terrible abusive ones? Is that what you’re saying?”

“No,” whispered Harry. “Of course not.”

“You wouldn’t understand,” said Tom, meeting his tone; his nose wrinkled in wounded contempt.
“You have no idea what it’s like to grow up without anything to your name. No parents. No prospects.
Nothing. You have no idea. You had parents. You grew up with them, so you have no concept of what
it meant to be an orphan in your childhood.”

“You’re wrong,” whispered Harry. “I never said when my parents were killed.”

Tom froze. “What?”

“They were killed when I was a baby.”

Silence reigned between them. Tom frowned. Wait a minute. Something wasn’t adding up. That
doesn’t make sense—not at all. Harry had said the Dark Lord had killed his parents when they’d first
met on the train.

‘‘Yeah, well—’ the stranger drawled. Tom didn’t look up, uninterested. The others would chase him
out eventually. ‘That’s what happens when your parents are murdered—’ Oh, but that caught Tom’s
interest. What? Murdered? Tom’s eyes flicked upward, meeting the gaze of a pair of hard, glimmering
emerald green eyes. Who is this boy? ‘—by a Dark Lord.’’

And Harry had transferred to Hogwarts because of it - at least, that was what Harry had led him to
believe.

Had led him to believe...

How Slytherin of Harry on their first meeting.

Harry lied, then. Is he lying now? Which parts of his story are true and which ones aren’t?

“Why did you come to Hogwarts?” asked Tom in a low voice.

“I…” Harry closed his mouth, eyes slowly widening. “I, uh…”

“You said,” whispered Tom, taking a step closer to Harry. “You transferred to Hogwarts because your
parents were murdered by the Dark Lord… but that’s not true, is it?”

Harry swallowed. He looked away. “Tom, I—”

“If the Dark Lord really did kill your parents when you were a baby—”

“He did!”

“—then why didn’t you get your letter at eleven?” whispered Tom, his voice somehow carrying over
Harry’s protest. “Why did you come to Hogwarts so late?”

“I was homeschooled—”

“A lie. Don’t.”

Harry let out a ragged, harsh sound. He pursed his lips, forehead crinkling, and, for a moment, he
didn’t say anything. But then, he slowly lifted his head and met Tom’s gaze. “You’re right… But I
can’t tell you why I transferred to Hogwarts,” he whispered; there was a tenderness to his honesty.
“So, please… don’t ask me why…”

It was the raw, pleading look in those eyes - the very eyes that were still glassy with unshed tears -
that set Tom off kilter, extinguishing the rising anger that had been bubbling up at the thought of
Harry lying to him.

‘Can’t.’

Or is it won’t? Will you ever tell me the truth? Why hide this?

He blamed it on his disobedient wand; he blamed it on his nightmare filled, sleepless nights.

Those were the reasons why Tom didn’t push it.

“Who raised you?” asked Tom.

Relief bloomed in Harry’s face. “I lived with with…” His expression fell. “My relatives, my aunt,
uncle, and cousin. My aunt was my mum’s sister, but she wasn’t a muggleborn like my mum. They
were muggles who hated and feared magic. They knew what I was, too, ever since I was a baby, but
they never told me anything. I had no idea why I was hated. I went without food in a home where they
overate all the time. I was… smacked for things I didn’t understand.” Harry went quiet for a moment,
before his tone turned serious. “I understand exactly what it’s like to grow up without anyone,” he
whispered. “We’re more alike than you realize.”

They stood in gentle silence.

“Those marks… were made by your own family?” whispered Tom. “Then, why? You, of all people,
should be angry with muggles. You should want to separate yourself from their world.”

You should understand.

Harry rubbed his face, letting out an aggravated sound. “I don’t have the answers,” he said, his voice
rough. “I know shit, all right? I got nothing. All I know is that just like there are good wizards and bad
wizards, there are good muggles and bad muggles. I don’t think it’s fair to hate an entire race of
people for some bad eggs or else I’d have a vendetta against all wizards, too. I’ve had muggleborn
friends who had supportive families, but…” He trailed off. “What if there are others who never make
it? What if…”

Harry didn’t meet his eyes. He let out a low sigh.

“What if… you’re right?” murmured Harry.

“Of course, I’m right.”

Harry chuckled, soft and wounded. “I… don’t know what to do. I don’t think it’s right to remove kids
from their families, but… I do understand. I understand.”

Tom had many plans, but without a foot within the ministry, they were useless and meaningless. They
were too young - there were years and years of work ahead of them. No matter the path they took, it
seemed too distant for the children born now.

“Tom?”

“Mm?”

“Would you really take children away from their parents?” asked Harry.

Tom shifted, displaced; the wrong thing said and he would be pushing Harry away. And, yet, right
now, he didn’t want to lie to appease Harry’s feelings.

“I would.”

Harry’s expression hardened.

No…

Tom didn’t like that. “However…” he murmured. “If you wished for a different way, I’d find it.”

Harry blinked. “Oh.”

“There are ways around it,” said Tom, shrugging with an air of nonchalantness. “We could draft up a
new department in the ministry, one that monitors muggleborns from the day they’re born. The
protection of a child with magic would be the priority. Understand, I do not care about what a muggle
wants. If a child of magic is threatened, I would do everything to enable their protection.”
And then Harry’s expression softened to a smile. He nodded slowly. “Okay, I can agree to that. I
know… Well, I know that my childhood was shit, but I had a muggleborn friend who had wonderful
parents who loved and supported her. I wouldn’t want her to be denied that.”

“How do you know?”

“What?”

Tom crossed his arms and pinned Harry with an impenetrable look. “How do you know?” he asked
seriously. “How do you know everything was all sunshine in her family? Did she ever mention
anything about them?”

Harry opened his mouth; he shut it. “Uh… They’re dentists.”

Tom frowned. “And is that all you know of them?”

“I… uh, met them briefly?”

“Did you ever stop to think about how her muggle parents felt about a world of magic they had no
idea existed?” asked Tom, lips twisting in annoyance. “Do you really think she could’ve ever had long
lasting relationships with her parents once she fully integrated into the magical world?”

“Of course, she could—”

“Aren’t you the one who’s supposed to understand human relationships?” snapped Tom. “What kind
of relationship could she have with people who could never see and understand every facet of her
life? She’d have to hide things, both the good and the bad. They would never see her for who she
truly is.” Tom’s tone dropped, low and soft. “They’d never know her.”

Harry stared at him, realization and horror in his expression. “Fucking hell,” he muttered, hiding his
face into his hands. “Why are you making sense? You’re not supposed to make sense!”

“Pardon me for being the voice of reason.”

“For fuck’s sake, no. This is bullshit.”

“But it’s the truth,” whispered Tom.

Harry groaned.

“You can see why, perhaps, a complete severance at birth is best for both parties,” murmured Tom. “A
muggle should never raise a wizard or a witch and the child could be given a home where it could be
raised into a proper functioning adult in the wizarding world.”

“But they should still have the chance—”

“To harm their own child when the they display magic?” Tom scoffed. “Pardon me if I strongly
disagree with that.”

Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair. He tugged on it, his eyes staring at the floor, unseeing.
“Fuck,” he whispered. “Fuck.”

Tom never wanted to return to the muggle world, but he’d been forced to do so every summer for
years. This had been his last summer there, since he would become of age at the end of December.
 He’d sooner camp out in the Forbidden Forest before returning to the orphanage in London.

How many times had he begged his professors at the age of twelve, pleading with them to not send
him back?

Too many.

Tom glanced at Harry, his gaze catching some of the belt marks that curled around his bare waist. His
lips thinned. “You shouldn’t have these scars,” he murmured. “You shouldn’t have been beaten for
existing as you are.”

Harry swallowed. He rubbed at his eyes and gave Tom a lopsided smile. “Damn, trying to build up
my self esteem, are you? Didn’t know you had it in you.”

“I’m simply speaking truth.”

“Then, the same goes for you,” said Harry.

Tom stilled.

“You were raised in an orphanage, right?” said Harry softly. “I’m sure that sucked.”

“It did.”

“Well, then. You didn’t deserve any of it.”

That’s a given.

But he valued Harry’s words nonetheless. “They’re waiting for us,” Tom said, his voice soft. “You
should get dressed and enjoy your Quidditch party.”

“Oh, right.” There was a pause. “You’re not going to avoid the party, are you? You’ll be there?”

Again.

Again, Harry was asking him to be somewhere he’d normally not be part of - and twice in the same
day.

Ah, but a bed called to him; it begged Tom to lie down and shut his eyes, pleading with him to hope
that tonight would be different than the rest of this godforsaken week, that no nightmare would
brutally rip him from his sleep where his skin and sheets were soaked in his sweat.

Exhausted. Tired. A prayer for a moment of peaceful oblivion.

But…

“Yes,” said Tom. “I’ll be there.”

Chapter End Notes

Knowing my track record, this will likely be my last update for a few months since my next
semester of 16 weeks begins on Jan 8th. I’m taking three classes. However, my plan is to
continue to write daily, so hopefully there will be an influx of chapters around May or so. One
can only hope.

See you in the future, my darling readers. You are truly beloved to me.
 Twenty-Eight
Chapter Notes

Hi

Great news, it’s not May.

The bad news?

Lordie

I’ll explain in the ending AN notes.

Someone joined the discord this year and she’s been a GODSEND at finding all of the incorrect
shit/inconsistencies that have arisen over time. She’s been archiving so much information about
TBG and I am so fucking honored by her work. I have a number of things that I’ll have to edit
due to her findings in the first arc, but I still haven’t gotten to all of them yet. They’re not huge
issues, so they won’t affect your reading. At least, I don’t think so.

However, this does include heights, which IS an issue in many places that I have to fix. The
height difference between Harry and Tom is more significant than what the prose leads the reader
to believe. While this was always the case, I simply forgot to think about it… In my defense, I
have aphantasia. I can’t see shit in my mind, so I don’t always remember the details I need to
remember, haha.

Dede, your enthusiasm and help has been so lovely and such a big help, thank you so very much.

And here’s a height chart of our Slytherin crew:

 Height Link

(Yes, I suppose the cat is out of the bag about Marcus. Definitely more of an Arc Five plotline,
though)

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Harry quickly found that Slytherin parties included a shit ton of firewhiskey. He also caught glimpses
of other questionable substances in little vials, which he opted to stay far, far away from since he had
no idea what they might contain.

It made for a vastly different party than the Gryffindor ones.

Dear Merlin, nobody told me Slytherins were also secretly stoners. Hermione would be appalled and
Ron… fuck, he’d be interested.

Harry laughed to himself at that thought.

Tom had lasted all but fifteen minutes before he’d disappeared. Harry had caught sight of him, just in
time to see him slip through the crowd and ascend the stairs to the dorms.

He didn’t look well.

Harry slipped away soon after, too. It was fun, sure, but concern for Tom pulled his attention away too
much to really be present with the others. At the top of the stairs, Harry glanced down at the group,
which were sprawled out among the sofas. Quintus was in a heated debate with Sebastian about the
process of a potion.
“You can’t put arsenic in any potion,” snapped Quintus.

“And why not? Plenty of potions have countering ingredients.”

“Because arsenic will literally kill you!”

And, all the while, Alphard was dead asleep, hand still clutching his half full glass of firewhiskey
while he drooled on Quintus’ shoulder. Marcus and Simon were playing Wizard’s Chess, while
Roland sipped on a firewhiskey as he watched.

The Quidditch team was the loudest of the Slytherins, playing multiple games of Exploding Snap,
while other Slytherins were drinking and chatting in quiet voices. Since no one noticed his absence,
Harry continued down the corridor to the peace of their dormitory. The room was quiet, empty, when
Harry walked into the room. He shut the door softly behind himself. His eyes were drawn to the bed
next to his: Tom’s curtains were shut, the only hint that Harry wasn’t alone in the room.

Harry walked to his bed and sat down, facing those closed curtains, his thoughts slowly resting on
their conversation from earlier.

It’d been quite a shock to see Tom so violently respond to the scars on Harry’s body. He had no doubt
that Tom would’ve killed the Dursleys if he’d been given the chance and, fuck, that was both
flattering and terrifying.

Unfortunately, Tom was too damn smart and Harry would never truly be able to deceive the man.

He’d quickly seen through old lies.

Harry hadn’t been able to think of a good excuse to explain his way out of it. While Harry and Tom
were magically at equal strength, if Tom brought a fight to the mind, Harry would lose miserably. He
would have no defense against an attack to the mind.

So, he’d gambled on their friendship. He’d gambled with the hope that Tom would respect his wish
and back off.

And Tom had.

That alone told Harry things had changed for the better. The Tom Riddle at the beginning of the
school year would never have backed off at the first scent of blood in the water.

Harry sighed, flopping back onto his bed. He stared up at the ceiling before he curled up onto his side.
One thing he hadn’t been expecting: Tom making sense. He’d made too much sense. How were they
supposed to protect future magical children? What if difficult choices had to be made?

He was too quickly learning that the world wasn’t as black and white as he’d thought and the choices
that had to be made were just as grey and confusing as the issues.

Hermione might’ve had good parents, but Harry sure as hell hadn’t had good guardians. Did the value
that good parents provide outweigh the harm that bad parents had over their magical children?

There was no easy answer.

There were no easy solutions.

For the first time, Harry felt a grudging amount of sympathy for Dumbledore’s inaction. It was
paralyzing to face difficult choices. Would removing muggleborn children from their muggle parents
be better for them as a whole? That seemed like a… very harsh solution.

Harry didn’t have the answer. He didn’t know what he’d do. Would Hermione be the same person if
she grew up in the Wizarding World? Would she hate him for taking her from her parents?

Fuck. How… How can we protect them all? There has to be a better solution than just taking them
away at first sign of magic.

Before he could fall into his thoughts further, Harry sat up and shut his curtains, throwing up
protective wards. He changed out of his school clothes, tossing them into his school trunk, and
changed into his pajamas. It was still a number of hours before curfew, but Harry burrowed under the
covers and sighed in relief. It’d been a long day and they had another three hour detention cleaning
the classroom in the morning.

Thus, it wasn’t much of a surprise when Harry slipped off to sleep when his thoughts had finally
calmed down.

Solving the world’s problems would have to come later.

The following Sunday morning, Harry and Tom managed to clean and repair the last of the book
shelves. However, Harry dreaded the next section they had to tackle: the aftermath of the potions
exploding and mixing together, creating a powerful gluelike substance that had fused to much of the
debris in the classroom.

It was going to be a nightmare.

Tom disappeared after their detention, so Harry spent the rest of the afternoon alone working on his
assignments in the library. When his stomach grumbled for dinner, Harry packed up his things and
made his way to the Great Hall. The clamor of the students chatting, silverware clinking, filled his
ears as he walked into the hall and towards the Slytherin table. Harry heard a handful of lines;
excitement over the Quidditch game still echoed throughout their conversations.

“Evening,” said Quintus with a smile. Alphard sat with his back against Quintus, arms folded, and
eyes closed. “Haven’t seen you all day,” he said lightly. His smile turned a touch tense. “Nor Tom, for
that matter.”

“I was in the library today,” said Harry. Anxiety rose inside his heart; his eyes glanced towards the
Great Hall entrance, but it was only a couple of Ravenclaws who walked inside. “I haven’t seen Tom
since our detention.”

Quintus pursed his lips together. Alphard slowly opened his eyes, the light in his expression
shadowed. He twisted in his seat and sat properly at the table.

Harry grabbed a slice of steak and kidney pie, and a side of green beans, tucking into his dinner, while
glancing at the entrance to the Great Hall every so often.

Tom didn’t show up.

Is he… isolating himself?

Tom had already been a bit of a loner, but it seemed more than before. Harry could feel how unusual
this was for Tom from the other Slytherins. Where was Tom hiding all this time? Granted, he could
pull out the map and find out… But not when Harry wasn’t alone.

Is he still sick?

Parkinson sat on the bench a few table settings away and sighed loudly. “Have any of you seen my
foundation?” she asked to the other girls nearby. “I can’t seem to find it anywhere.”

“Did you leave your bag in the loo?” asked Greengrass.

“My sister sometimes takes my makeup,” said a sixth year prefect - Serinda Selwyn? Her appearance
was similar to Selena, the third year who hung out with Orion and Nott. “Have you checked with your
cousin?”

“Yes, but she denied taking it.” Parkinson sighed, slumping forward in her seat. “The first Hogsmeade
trip isn’t until a week from Saturday. I can’t go ten days without my makeup.”

“I’ll lend you some of mine,” said another girl in a soft, demure voice. Harry glanced over at her, eyes
widening. She bore a strong resemblance to Alphard. She looks familiar… where have I seen her
before? The young woman smiled with a beautiful, kind elegance. “I don’t have much use of it. It’s no
bother to me.”

Parkinson pressed her hands together in a prayer. “Thanks, Dorea. You’re a lifesaver.”

Dorea… Dorea Black?

Wait, is that my great aunt?

“Of course, Primrose,” said Dorea gently; she had an air of true nobility that Harry hadn’t seen from
other purebloods, reminding him a bit of Narcissa Malfoy. “You know I’m always prepared for these
kinds of things. A lady should never be without the ability to present her best.”

Harry was halfway through his meal when Tom shuffled inside the Great Hall, disheveled and
hunched over with his bag slung over his shoulder. He sat down at the end of the table, a couple of
plate settings away from Harry. If Harry hadn’t seen Tom avoid alcohol, he’d have assumed Tom had
a massive hangover.

Tom grabbed a serving utensil. The slice of steak and kidney pie flopped onto his plate haphazardly;
he scooped some mashed potatoes, plopping them on top. He scooped some peas, also plopping those
right on top of the mashed potatoes. Harry frowned at the food tower. His food never touches. That’s
not like him at all… Tom tucked into his dinner, slowly taking a bite into the mess and staring at the
tablecloth with a dazed expression.

Roland stood up and plopped into the seat next to Tom. “You all right?” he asked, just as Tom jolted
to life. “Haven’t seen you all day.”

Tom’s eyes narrowed; he leveled a glare at Roland. “Not in the mood.”

“What in Salazar’s name is wrong with your dinner?” asked Quintus, sliding over on the bench to
stare at the odd pile of food. “Tom, what—”

Tom pinched the bridge of his nose. “Quintus.”

“You do look a bit pale,” said Roland, leaning closer. Tom pulled away, brows furrowed in irritation,
his lips so thin they were barely a line on his face. “Are you sick?”

“You’re not normally this late to dinner either,” said Alphard, piping in with a languid wave of his
hand. “What—”

Tom slammed his utensils down; the table shook. “Would the lot of ya lot bugger off and leave me the
hell alone?” he snapped, his voice piercing, gathering the attention of other nearby Slytherins. Harry
blinked. Was that a bit of the cockney accent? Hang on— “D’you have to hover over me while I eat?
Bugger off!”

The three boys stared at Tom, jaws dropping in unison.

Roland had no self preservation. “Blimey, are you sure you’re all—”

Tom let out a frustrated sound and bolted to his feet, shoving his plate away. “I’m fine—everything is
fine!” He tore away from the bench, grabbing his bag, and stomped out of the Great Hall.

“Huh,” said Roland. “Wonder what’s got his knickers in a twist?”

Quintus sighed deeply, while Alphard pinched the bridge of his nose.

Harry quickly detangled himself from the table and ran after Tom, bursting into the large hallway
outside the Great Hall. He caught sight of Tom disappearing around the corner and broke into a run,
turning the corner after him a moment later.

“Tom!”

He stuttered to a halt in the corridor, shoulder bunching up by his ears. Tom let out an aggravated
sound before whipping around to face Harry. “What?” he demanded.

Harry’s chest heaved in a deep breath. He looked up at Tom, taking in the odd tension in his body
language. He crept forward, as if approaching a wild animal. “You’re acting a bit… strangely, you
know. I’m just concerned—”

“Does no one understand the Queen’s English today?” snapped Tom, nostrils flaring wide. “I’m fine! I
don’t need to be asked this again.”

“But you’re not acting fine—”

The glare in Tom’s eyes burst to heated heights. Lips curled, teeth bared, Tom exhaled in a ragged,
audible breath and then, much to Harry’s absolute shock, flipped him off with a sharp gesture, before
whirling away and marching off.

Harry stood in the corridor. Frozen. He blinked. “What the fuck?” he muttered. “What the fuck?”

What the hell was going on with Tom Riddle?

“He’s so aggravating!”

Harry stomped back and forth in the dream world on Tuesday night, wearing out a patch of grass at
his feet. The endless blue sky stretched far beyond above what the eye could perceive, white clouds in
funny animal shapes drifting by. Voldemort sat at the circular table, long slender legs crossed, sipping
his tea with a raised eyebrow. His appearance was still gaunt, his pale skin paper thin and his muscles
weak. His gaze, though, was powerful; red eyes followed Harry as he paced.

“I thought things were going good,” said Harry, chest heaving in another deep huff. With a surge of
frustration, he threw his arms into the air and let out a wordless bellow.

Voldemort winced. “Must you mimic a banshee?”

Harry dropped his arms to his side. He ran a hand through, throwing the man an apologetic look.
Screaming at the sky had helped with his pent up energy. “Sorry, but he’s been a prat for over a week
now. Everything will seem fine at first and then in the next breath, he’s snapping my head off. What
the hell is wrong with him?”

“Harry, sit down. Have some tea.”

“I don’t have time for tea!” snapped Harry.

Voldemort rolled his eyes. “You’re dreaming, silly boy, and will be asleep for at least three more
hours. Come. Sit. Drink. Calm down.”

Harry huffed, throwing himself into a chair. He crossed his arms over his chest, glowering for a long
minute at the innocuous cup of tea that rested on a dainty saucer.

Voldemort took another peaceful sip.

Pain twisted inside Harry’s heart. The tension deflated. He hunched over, pushing his tea cup forward
and resting his arms onto the table. He hid his face in the crook of his arms. “What am I doing
wrong?” he whispered. He squeezed his eyes shut. It has to be me, right? I’m doing something wrong
with Tom.

There was a snort. “I am not the man to ask that.”

Harry sighed; he rubbed his forehead against his arm before he lifted his head enough to rest his chin
there. He stared up at Voldemort, drained and defeated. For a long moment, he met the man’s eyes.

There was a light click of the tongue.

Voldemort set his tea onto the table. “You must slow down and observe,” he said softly, leaning
forward. “Look at him. Tom is a Slytherin. It’s not in his nature to tell you anything directly. You must
watch and observe if you’re to gather what is going on with him.”

“But you’re being direct with me.”

“Yes, well,” said Voldemort with a drawl. “I’ve lived sixteen years in the head of an impulsive
Gryffindor. I’ve had time to… shall we say, ‘mellow out.’”

“But I have been watching him and he’s definitely not okay.”

“Yes,” said Voldemort with a nod. “But why do you think that is so?”

“How the fuck am I supposed to know?” snapped Harry, throwing his hands into the air. “He’s not
telling me shit.”
“Hence why I’m telling you to use your brain, foolish boy,” said Voldemort, his tone almost…
parental. Harry wrinkled his nose, while Voldemort sighed. “Slytherins find out a lot about others by
simply observing them. Your fellow dorm mates know you more than you realize. Every little thing
you do is a window into your soul, from what you eat in the morning down to how you walk.”

“That’s fucking creepy.”

“It’s a matter of self preservation for many Slytherins,” said Voldemort. “Any shift in your routine and
body language can be a sign of trouble. Be mindful of this. You’re being watched.”

“Well, fuck.” Harry rolled his eyes. “Your Slytherin knickers are always in such a twist, it’s no
wonder you lot are so uptight and weird.”

“Harry.”

“How do any of you relax?” demanded Harry. “It’s like you’re all categorizing every little detail of
people. That sounds exhausting.”

“It is,” said Voldemort with a pensive tilt of the head. He met his eyes. “There is not a moment where
you may lower your guard. Now imagine living that way for years.”

Harry sat back in his seat, staring at his tea with unseeing eyes.

“Look at him. Observe his behavior and think on it objectively. It’s time to be a Slytherin.”

“But… I’m not a Slytherin,” said Harry softly. “Not really. I’m mostly mucking it all up.”

“You’re not.”

Harry snorted. “You don’t know that. I can’t even figure out what’s wrong—”

“Don’t give up on him, Harry.”

The tone in which had carried those words cut through every single one of Harry’s insecurities. He
lifted his gaze, meeting Voldemort’s eyes. There was a beat of silence. “I won’t.” Not now, not ever. “I
will never give up on him.”

‘Your souls are special, already connected as one.’

Death had said that before Harry had come back to this time.

‘The essence of what mortals would call soulmates are a rarity… Like Harry Potter and Tom Riddle…
Soulmates are never a sure thing, but the draw is powerful.’

Or is it just you, Tom Riddle… who I’ve never really been able to turn my back on?

You didn’t let me.

“I know,” whispered Voldemort. His eyes dimmed; he shifted in his seat and gestured to the cup in
front of Harry. “Drink your tea.”

Harry drank his tea.

And so, in the morning, after his pleasant dream had passed in amicable companionship with
Voldemort, Harry Potter watched Tom Riddle.
But whatever was going on with Tom, it was getting worse.

That godforsaken, flaming chicken cutlet was going to be the death of him.

Getting out of bed felt like walking through thick mud. Exhaustion permeated through his flesh, deep
into his muscles, down to his very bones. He’d never experienced exhaustion at this depth before.
Tom rubbed his eyes, willing them to open through the burn and weight of his eyelids. He hated not
getting up before the others. He valued his privacy. These nightmares were going to be the end of
him.

Stupid, useless mortal frame.

What day is it?

Something, something… Transfiguration? No, wait. Ancient Runes was before Transfiguration…
unless it was Monday, which meant Charms was before Transfiguration.

Tom vigorously rubbed his forehead, trying to think.

It wasn’t Monday. That much he was sure of, since detention on Sunday felt like a distant memory.
He’d attended Potions and DADA yesterday - and failed spectacularly at them, too - which meant
today was Wednesday.

Salazar, how was he supposed to function in his classes today if he could barely remember the day of
the week?

When the dormitory went silent, signifying the others had left, Tom got out of bed. It took five tries
with his wayward wand before he gave up on it and attempted, quite begrudgingly, to wandlessly cast
the refreshing charms on himself. On his second try, his robes freshened up with a light pine scent.
The wrinkles smoothed out and his hair styled primly with nary a curl out of place.

Charms would have to do, instead of the old fashion way. He refused to look out of sorts more than he
already was.

He walked out of the Slytherin common room and to the Great Hall in a blurry haze. His steps were
wooden; his bag felt heavier than normal on his back. He sat at the table, mind empty and blank. God,
he was tired. Tom reached for a pot and filled his mug to the top. He drank half of it before he realized
what it was and grimaced at the bitter taste. Blegh. Coffee. Damn. He hated coffee. Tea—where was
the tea?

He took another big gulp of coffee, regretting every second of it. He couldn’t hold back the soft groan
of disgust. A pinch of pain flushed through his head from the bitterness of the coffee. He set his mug
aside, grabbing a drink of water to clear some of the taste.

“Good morning, said Harry softly. Tom blinked. When did he sit beside me? Concern laced through
those green eyes. “Are you all right, Tom?”

“I’m fine,” said Tom, clipped. He cleared the hoarseness from his throat and lifted his glass of water
in a grimace. “Just drinking some coffee.”

Now leave me alone.

With slow, careful movements, Harry set a different pot next to his plate. He gently pushed the jar of
honey closer.

“Here,” whispered Harry.

Tom stared at the pot of tea. His chest twisted; it ached in a strange way. The discomfort slipped to his
gut and Tom swallowed through the sudden dryness in his throat. He didn’t meet Harry’s eyes as Tom
reached for an empty mug and poured himself a cup of tea. He mixed two spoonfuls of honey into it.
As he brought the mug to his lips, Tom drew in a deep breath, the scent of the sweet chai relaxing the
tension in his body.

Tom swallowed back the lump in his throat. “Thank you.”

Harry smiled softly, nodded, and went back to his breakfast.

Dammit. Why did Tom feel so uncomfortable? He didn’t know what to think any more, what to feel
any more. The urge to escape his very self shook his limbs, but Tom couldn’t hide from himself. He
wanted to hide, bury his head in the sand, and flee from this strange sensation inside his chest.

Tom stood up. He jerked out from the bench and slammed into another body. Cereal and milk flew
into Tom’s face, dousing him from head to foot in the wet food.

Oh god.

“Riddle—Merlin’s tits, I’m so sorry—I didn’t mean to—”

It was a third year girl.

Tom stood there, trembling with humiliation. There’d been a day where he could’ve dried himself off,
vanished the food, and smiled through the irritation. It was a mistake, an honest one, and it’d only
take a touch of a charming smile to melt all those around him.

But he had none of that today.

His wand shunned him; his exhaustion kept his ease with magic at bay.

“Selena, what is wrong with you?” demanded Orion, rushing to her side. Nott pursed his lips together
at Orion’s side, a glimmer of worry echoing in his gaze. “Riddle, we’re so sorry—” Orion nudged her
and glared at her. “Come on, don’t just stand there like a lump. Apologize.”

“I didn’t mean to,” snapped Selena. “And I did apologize. Merlin, Black, you’re on my last nerve,
too.”

“It’s no harm done,” said Harry, quickly getting to his feet. With a wave of his wand, a surge of his
magic flooded over Tom. He vanished the remnants of milk and cereal from off Tom and the floor.
Tom was blissfully dry once more. “See? Magic takes care of most accidents, yeah?”

Orion narrowed his eyes at Harry. “Morning, Evans,” he said coolly.

“Uh…”

“You’re decent.”

“I’m sorry?”
He grabbed Selena and Nott by their wrists and marched off. Selena threw back another, “I’m really
sorry, Riddle!” before she left with the other two boys. She pulled her hand away and smacked the
back of Orion’s head, which started another influx of arguing from the two of them.

Tom bent over and grabbed his bag; he was trembling.

“Tom, uh—you haven’t finished—”

“Not hungry,” muttered Tom.

He strode out of the Great Hall. Footsteps followed him.

“Tom, wait—”

How many times is he going to keep following me!

Tom whirled around in the corridor, just as Harry stopped in front of him with a gasp, head tilted back
as he looked up at Tom. “What?” Tom demanded. “Why must you always follow me when I leave the
Great Hall? Has it not occurred to you that I wish to leave alone?”

“I just—you didn’t finish—”

“Are you now my mother?” snapped Tom.

Harry flinched, taken aback. “What? No—”

“I don’t need you hovering over me like a clucking hen.”

“Pretty sure you did the same to me not two weeks ago.”

Tom snarled, unable to say anything in retort to that. Dammit. He wasn’t wrong, but the fury that
clawed its way through Tom’s chest threatened all his sense of reason. Tom sucked in a deep breath,
trying to force the emotion back down. As the rage receded, renewed exhaustion flooded through his
veins, nearly taking him out. He closed his eyes in a longer blink, managing to stay awake; when he
opened them, his heart stuttered. Harry had taken a step closer to him when his guard had been
lowered. Harry frowned up at him and glanced at something on Tom’s shoulder.

“Uh, I think I missed something—”

Tom’s eyes ached; he could barely keep them open. Harry stepped closer and Tom fought the urge to
snarl at him. He stiffened as Harry stood close—too close—and lifted his hand towards him. A light
touched brushed against Tom’s shoulder. He flinched and Harry stilled, meeting his eyes.

Tom hated the way those eyes looked at him.

“Are you quite done?” snapped Tom.

A light glimmered in Harry’s eyes. He nodded, lips pressing together. “It was just some cereal I
missed,” he whispered. His brows furrowed as Harry studied him with a pensive expression.

Tom took an unsteady step back—but he froze as if he’d been petrified when Harry moved again; his
hand lifted to his face, fingers lightly touching his cheek. A thumb brushed beneath his eye; it
triggered a strange, sagging sensation of relief from deep within. He fought the feeling with the rage
of a caged lion.
Tom jerked away, stumbling backwards. His bag slammed against the corridor wall, unbalancing him
further. His shoulder smashed painfully against the brick and a hiss slipped through his clenched
teeth. He didn’t say anything. The words were locked in his throat. Harry slowly glanced at his hand.
The difference in their complexion was stark against his thumb; flaxen peach smeared its stain upon
copper tan.

Harry lifted his piercing gaze.

Tom fled.

His heart rabbited in his chest. Tom rushed away from Harry through the corridors, ignoring the
protests when he slammed into the shoulders of others. Face down, burning like the summer sun at
noon, he didn’t stop.

He saw.

He knows.

Had to find the loo—had to fix it—had to hide the evidence. It’d been foolish, weak—to wear makeup
to hide his failing complexion, but he’d had no choice. The dark circles had become too visible -
someone would’ve noticed something. But now—now Harry had seen it. He’d seen the weakness.

Dammit!

He didn’t slow down as he rounded a corner and slammed head first into a body. There was a light
lilted gasp, gentle hands steadying Tom at his upper arms.

“Tom?” said a kind voice, a woman’s voice. “Oh, Tom, dear, is something wrong? Are you all right? ”

He lifted his head and looked down at Mrs. Scamander’s face. She stood a number of inches shorter
than him. There was a softness to her smile, but her brows were creased as her eyes flicked back and
forth in examination.

“Pardon me, Mrs. Scamander, I’m late for my next class.”

Tom attempted to sidestep her, but Mrs. Scamander’s grip on his arms tightened, holding him in place.
Her hold wasn’t unkind, but it was clear he wasn’t dismissed. Tom swallowed, resisting the urge to rip
out of her grasp. His heart raced faster; trapped, he couldn’t escape.

“Tom, dear, you look unwell,” said Mrs. Scamander quietly. She tilted her head to the side. “Have you
come down with something?”

“I’m fine, just late—late for class,” said Tom, breathless.

Mrs. Scamander lifted an eyebrow. “I know it’s easier to ignore your own health,” she said, so gently,
it grated on Tom’s nerves. “But are you really sure you’re all right?”

“I’m fine!” said Tom sharply, his fine tuned control loosening its grip over his words and emotions.
“Why does everyone insist on asking me this ridiculous question over and over again? I am perfectly
capable of caring for myself.”

“I’m sure it’s not a slight on you. Perhaps, we’re all simply concerned for your wellbeing?”
“Well, stop it!” snapped Tom, his tone and volume peaking. It echoed through the corridor. “I am fine!
I don’t need their concern and I certainly don’t need to be spoken to like I’m a babbling infant.”

Silence reigned.

Tom sucked in his breath, horrified.

“I-I apologize for my rudeness, Mrs. Scamander,” said Tom, breathless, ducking his head in penance.
His heart sank. “Salazar, I don’t know what came over me. My deepest apologies, ma’am.”

The hands on his arms squeezed lightly. Mrs. Scamander looked up at him with deep contemplation.
Salazar, he was in trouble now. He was losing control and hated it. Why couldn’t he keep it together?
He was going to lose points, get more detention—

“Tom.”

He froze. Like a spell of its own, his eyes met hers. Mrs. Scamander gave him a gentle smile and she
lifted a hand to his face. Her touch was light beneath Tom’s chin as she guided him to turn his head to
the side.

“I thought as much,” murmured Mrs. Scamander. Without even a quiver of her lips nor a wand in her
hand, she conjured a white cloth and pressed it against Tom’s cheek. He flinched slightly at the wet
coolness against his skin.

“What’re you—”

“Tom, you’re a child.”

He bristled. “Ma’am, I’m not—”

“You misunderstand,” said Mrs. Scamander softly, yet her voice was firm and gave him no room for
argument. “It’s not an insult. It’s what you are and that means you’re to be protected and cared for; it
doesn’t mean you’re childish, though.”

A traitorous lump grew in Tom’s throat. He stayed silent as Mrs. Scamander wiped his face with
tenderness in every brush against his skin. He caught glimpses of the cloth, stained with color. His
cheeks burned with shame.

She knows now, too.

“You did well with hiding the signs,” said Mrs. Scamander. Her touch was so very gentle. Could a
heart break at such softness? “But a woman knows.”

She winked at him.

When she was done with her ministrations, the cloth vanished. Tom had no moment to recover; she
clasped his face with her warm hands, encasing his cheeks, and rubbed her thumbs beneath his eyes.
His breath hitched.

“You need some sleep,” murmured Mrs. Scamander. There was another brush of her thumbs. “These
circles… They’re so dark and you look exhausted. Have you been having troubles at night?”

“I’m fine,” whispered Tom. A lie. It came out more of a croak. He didn’t clear his throat.
Mrs. Scamander raised an eyebrow and tilted her head slightly. “Are you?”

Unable to bear it a moment more, Tom broke away from her unwavering gaze, dropping his chin to
stare at the stone floor. Her hands slipped away from his face. Their absence unsettled Tom far more
than their presence.

“I used to be an auror. Observing people was my job. I’m very good at noticing details that others
miss. I hear Slytherins are a bit similar like that.”

Tom didn’t answer; his heart thudded in his chest.

“I’ve heard your work has been unusually poor in your classes. I’ve seen you snap at your friends and
classmates. I’ve observed your lack of appetite. You appear exhausted all the time and, here you are,
covering up the dark circles with makeup. Tom, please answer me: does this sound ‘fine’ to you?”

“No, ma’am.”

“You know,” said Mrs. Scamander, her tone growing lighter. A hand touched Tom’s chin and coaxed
his gaze to meet hers once more. “You know what often does me a world of good when I’m not at my
best and feel like I’m at my wits end?”

Tom shook his head, numb.

She smiled at him. “A nap.”

“A what?”

“Naps are the most wonderful thing ever—makes everything better, I promise,” said Mrs. Scamander,
the hand on his chin squeezing softly. “A nap does the trick for me every time. It’s such a nice little
boost to the brain.”

“A nap,” said Tom in a dull tone. “You’re suggesting I take a nap like I’m a child?”

“Well, I’m an adult and I love naps. They’re not just for children. Every living thing needs rest, after
all - no matter how young or old. You’re no different. Don’t you think you’d benefit from a nap, since
you haven’t been sleeping well?”

“But I have Ancient Runes,” protested Tom, hating this helpless feeling that was rising in his chest. It
threatened to choke the life from his lungs. “I can’t miss—I never miss class.”

“How about this? Let’s ask Newt to send a note on your behalf, all right?” asked Mrs. Scamander.
There was something gentle to her voice, but it was also firm and unwavering. Tom’s heart sank
further. This wasn’t a request. “You can be excused from class when you’re unwell.”

Desperation prickled inside Tom. “I can’t just go back to the dorms and sleep in the middle of the day
—not in Slytherin. It’s not proper.” He had to inhale a breath, growing lightheaded. “I’ll be fine. I’ll
sleep tonight.”

This woman had no idea the tenuous power Tom had over the Slytherins right now. If anyone caught
him napping in the middle of the day? Dear Salazar, there would be even more problems. But he also
knew that things couldn’t continue as they were.

“Hm, what about taking a nap in Newt’s office? Even just an hour would help, I’m sure.”
There was no escaping this, was there?

Tom stared at her. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Yes, ma’am.”

Mrs. Scamander hooked an arm through the crook of his elbow and began to walk down the corridor,
inevitably pulling Tom along with her slow strides. “Forgive me, but I find that term a bit too impolite
for my tastes,” she said lightly.

“What?” asked Tom, alarmed.

“Ma’am this, Mrs. Scamander that—” She sighed elaborately, shaking her head, her short bob
bouncing. “—makes me feel so old.”

Oh. Oh…

Her eyes twinkled up at him. “You wouldn’t mind humoring me and calling me Tina, would you?”

“That’s not proper—”

“I’m well aware of the propriety between students and their professors, but I’m not a professor, now
am I? And I much rather not be reminded of my age. Besides, I know you and Harry are being
mentored by Newt, which lends some allowance to familiarity. I’d like to be part of that, if you
wouldn’t mind.” Mrs. Scamander patted his arm lightly, her smile bright, yet sly. “Please, Tom?
Please call me Tina.”

This woman…

She was different than the earnest, sincere Hufflepuff that was her husband, Newt Scamander. Yes,
she still had the same air of kindness, but there was something sly and clever within her words and
expressions.

Are you a Slytherin?

Tom couldn’t deny her. “I’ll try… Tina.”

Her bright, overwhelming smile oddly made Tom feel as if he’d been a worm caught on a hook.
“Thank you,” Tina said, patting his forearm once more. She gently tugged no him and Tom allowed
himself to be directed towards Scamander’s office. “Have you been staying up at night, reading or
studying?”

“No, m—Tina,” whispered Tom.

Tina nodded thoughtfully. “Nightmares, then?”

His heart jolted; Tom glanced down at her. Her smile softened to a somber expression. She nodded,
her hold on him squeezing with reassurance.

“I spoke with Healer Magnolia,” said Tina quietly. “She said you’ve asked for a few pepper up
potions and a dreamless sleep potion.”

Dear lord.

“Salazar, you are thorough,” said Tom, breathing out a low chuckle.
How long had she been watching him? He’d always kept his guard up, always made sure that every
grain of information seen was under his absolute control. Yet, somehow, this woman within a week
and a half had gathered more information on him than Dumbledore had in the five years Tom had
attended Hogwarts.

A flash of fear shot up Tom’s spine. He quickly suppressed it.

This woman is dangerous.

Tina let out a laugh. “You learn to be thorough when you’re an auror. Although, I must admit, Newt
has always been a lot better at noticing the details than even I.” She giggled, covering her mouth with
her free hand. “But that’s with his creatures and not with people.”

Tom hummed. There was a pause.

“Nightmares every night, then?”

“I just need a night with uninterrupted sleep.”

Tina made a soft noise underneath her breath, but she didn’t say anything more. Tom kept the
peaceful silence between them as they walked to Scamander’s office. When they reached it, Tina
unhooked her arm and opened the door. She invited Tom inside with a gesture and the door closed
shut behind Tom with a sound of finality. His stomach churned.

Newt Scamander sat at his desk, papers sprawled out, with a quill and red ink vial nearby. A
bowtruckle and a niffler were running around on his desk, chittering loudly, scattering the papers
about further as they played with each other. When the creatures stopped suddenly, Scamander
glanced up, blinking in surprise.

“Tina, Tom, what…”

Scamander trailed off. His eyes flicked between the two of them; he frowned as his gaze rested on
Tom. He stood up, chair scraping against the floor, and walked around his desk. Tom fought the urge
to back away when Scamander approached him, his hand slowly reaching out and brushing against
the bottom of Tom’s chin. He gently turned Tom’s head from side to side; concern bloomed in those
hazel eyes.

“Do you need the hospital wing?” asked Scamander. “You’re looking quite peaky.”

“Newt, dear, could you write a note for Tom and send it to Professor Shacklebolt, letting him know of
Tom’s absence in Ancient Runes today?”

“Of course,” said Scamander, straightening and looking over at Tina. “Right away. What shall I say?”

Tina put her hands onto Tom’s shoulders, gently pushing him towards the other room. “Just that he’s
under the weather. Best to keep it vague, dear.”

Scamander nodded, brows knitting together as he gave Tom another look over; the obvious worry in
his gaze never faded. Scamander walked around his desk with powerful strides and sat down. He
pulled out parchment, quill, and ink.

“I’ll write a note for his other classes as well.”

Heat flushed through Tom’s cheeks. This was ridiculous. He didn’t need to be here. Their interference
was misplaced—and Tom didn’t have any need for it. He’d gone his entire life without the care of an
adult; he didn’t need it now.

But Tom couldn’t fight the woman as she led him to the sofa and gestured for him to sit down. He
stood there, staring. Tina pressed a hand to his upper back, light and weighted, before her touch
disappeared and she turned away.

“I’ll brew you a cup of tea to settle your nerves before your nap. Chamomile with some honey?”

“Yes, please,” whispered Tom. “Thank you… Tina.”

Tina lit up with the brightest smile of delight and disappeared through a door that led to the private
quarters of the office. Tom sat down on the sofa; his chest sagged in a long breath. He set his bag at
his left, resting the weight of it at his feet. He leaned back, tightly folding his arms in front of his
chest and crossing his legs. The room was pleasantly warm and he found his gaze lowering to the
floor. His breathing slowed; the light seemed to grow dim. A few minutes later, he jolted when the
door swung open and Tina strode out with a tray.

“Here you are,” said Tina, handing Tom a cup of tea. He accepted it. “Warm chamomile tea with
honey.”

“Thank you.”

She gave a nod and a smile before walking to the other room with the tray. Their voices mingled in a
low murmur from the other room. Tom took a sip of his tea; the warmth filled every corner of his
body. He let out a low sigh of relief, taking another sip. An old niffler, dark fur greying at the edges,
slowly walked from the other room towards the sofa. Tom watched the creature, but his eyes, ever so
heavy, slipped closed.

“No, no, come on now,” said Scamander, his tone soft, yet firm, still from the other room. “Don’t give
me any trouble now - oh, thank you, love—” Glass crashed onto stone, the sound sudden and loud.
Tom’s eyes popped open; he fumbled with the tea cup in his hands and sucked in a breath of surprise
at the sight of the old niffler, who had curled up in his lap. When had it… Scamander let out a loud
click of his tongue. “—no! Peony! Oh, bother - all right, at this rate, if you can’t behave, you’re going
back into the case.”

Chirping echoed from the other room.

“They’re just excited, dear. Hogwarts is quite the exciting place to be when you’re such a small
creature.”

“I know, but—”

The chirping grew more insistent.

Scamander gasped lightly, offended. “Oh, come now, Peony; that’s not very polite. Apologize to
Pickett.”

Tina chuckled.

Their voices lowered, soft whispers now, with only the occasional chitters mixing with them. Tom
exhaled a deep breath, their voices fading out of focus. It was too warm, too comfortable. He really
needed to get up, finish his tea… Tom startled awake in his seat, his tea sloshing in his cup.
Thankfully, none of it had spilled on him. Tom brushed a hand over his face, rubbing the bridge of his
nose and forehead. He drank the rest of his tea, oddly cool now. Hadn’t Tina just given him this? He
set the cup on the end table beside the arm of the sofa.

Tom sighed, rubbing his hand over his face again.

I need to go. Convince her to let me go to the dorms. Maybe I could start… His chest rose in a deep
breath. Maybe start on the homework… Another deep breath. Missed a class… which one…

When had the light dimmed? It couldn’t be late yet. Something weighted draped over his front, but his
subconscious barely acknowledged it. It wasn’t a threat and it warmed him down to his bones.
Something soft tickled his ear with a gentle purr.

But Tom really needed to go to class. Wasn’t he missing something? Or already missed it? What time
was it? What day was it?

What’s that?

The sofa dipped at Tom’s right, this new warmth far more inviting than the weight on his chest. A
peppery scent, one comforting and oddly familiar, surrounded him. Drawn to it, Tom slipped closer,
seeking its comfort. His head rested on something.

Supported by a firm shoulder, Tom’s mind finally settled into blissful, dreamless oblivion for a time.

When Alphard casually mentioned Tom’s absence in their Ancient Runes class, Harry’s concern shot
through the roof. Harry hadn’t bothered to leave his bag behind in his room nor did he look back at
Alphard’s cry of, “Harry, where’re you going?”

Harry marched through the corridor, finding a quiet and empty space away from other wandering
students, and slung his bag off his shoulder to rest on the floor. He pulled out the map from the pouch
at his hip and activated it.

“Where are you?” muttered Harry, searching through the map. His heart thudded in his chest, his
mouth growing dry with anxiety.

Don’t tell me he’s opened it… No, it’s too soon.

I’m not too late, am I?

Please—

There. The curling tag of Tom Marvolo Riddle was stationary in Newt’s office. Porpentina
Scamander’s tag was moving around within the quarters adjacent to the office, while Newton
Scamander’s tag was near the door of the office, moving around slightly, until it moved back to sit at
the desk.

Relief rushed through Harry.

He leaned against the wall for a moment, hand over his racing heart. Tom wasn’t on the second floor.
He wasn’t anywhere near the Chamber of Secrets. Of course not. Harry let out another breath of
relief. He tapped the map, wiping it clear, and carefully folded it back inside his pouch. With a heave,
he lifted his bag and threw it over his shoulder.
Newt’s office was close to the kitchens and to the entrance of the Hufflepuff common room, so Harry
made a brief stop to the kitchens.

“Master Evans, sir,” cried Minsby the second Harry walked inside. She threw herself at his legs,
hugging him tightly. “You’s made Minsby so proud! You’s such a good boy, Master Evans, eating
more of Minsby’s food.”

Harry let out a surprised, but fond laugh. “Thank you for being patient with me,” he said softly.

Minsby pulled away, wiping a tear from her large, round eyes. “You’s a good boy. Very good boy.”
She sniffled, rubbing the tears away again, before she put her hands onto her thin hips. “You’s here for
a reason, yes? What does Master Evans need from Minsby?”

“Can I get some porridge with honey and milk to go? The way… uh… The way Tom Riddle likes it?”

Minsby nodded, her ears flopping. “Tis another one, we’s got. He be not eating now. He be going
hungry and Minsby don’t like that. Minsby be getting you some to take to Master Riddle. You’s must
make him eats it, yes?”

“I will,” said Harry, smiling. “Thank you.”

“Mm, Minsby’s job is to be feeding students and students’ job is to be eating. Minsby be sad when
they don’t be eating.”

“He’ll eat this, I’m sure.”

“He also not be sleeping. Minsby be noticing this.”

Harry slowly nodded. He’d barely figured it out and it’d taken smudging makeup off Tom’s face - of
all things - to figure it out.

I’m such an idiot.

It all made sense now. This entire time, Tom had been sleep deprived. No wonder he’d been
struggling and acting so unlike himself. Harry knew how he felt when he hadn’t slept well for a day or
two. But the signs were suggesting that Tom hadn’t been sleeping well for over a week now.

Voldemort was right. If I had paid attention, I might’ve caught this sooner.

Minsby sent him off with a bowl of steaming porridge that she’d enchanted to stay warm and to not
spill. She also filled his pockets with apples and a wrapped sandwich.

“You’s be sure to eat that later, yes?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The little old house elf blushed.

Harry left the kitchens and arrived at Newt’s office soon after. He lightly knocked on the door and
waited. An image flickered on the door, a scroll of parchment with the words, “Come in, but be quiet,
please.” Harry carefully turned the knob and entered. Newt glanced up from his desk and smiled at
Harry. He put a finger to his lips and gestured towards the other room. Harry glanced in the direction.
 There, on the sofa, was Tom. His arms were crossed over his chest, his head bowed, and a blanket
draped over his front. A niffler slept in his lap, while a small kneazle kitten had curled up beneath
Tom’s left ear.

And he was very much asleep.

Newt cast a silencing charm. “You’re welcome to stay,” he said softly. “But best if you keep quiet,
hm?”

“Of course,” whispered Harry. “I’ll just read.”

Harry walked to the sofa and put the bowl of porridge on the end table. He carefully took a seat at
Tom’s side, pulled out a book from his bag, and began to read. It was only a few minutes before a
weight pressed against his shoulder and a low, deep sigh breathed warmth against his neck. He stole a
glance, gazing over at Tom’s dark wavy hair. His arms were loosening, his chest rising and falling in
slow movement. Harry held still; his breath caught in his chest. Then, he exhaled; the feeling rising
within his heart tasted sweet. He went back to his book, the weight of Tom at his side keeping him
warm.

Harry smiled fondly.

Chapter End Notes

Harry:
Voldemort:

All right, so life update. Lots of health shit is going on. I’ve suddenly become the AO3 Author
Stereotype and I wish to file complaint about that. Consent is important! xD

But to be clear and just so y’all aren’t worried: I’m doing fine. I’m okay. I’m NOT in immediate
danger. I just have to do some annoying shit to prevent worse shit from happening and my health
is top priority. Sadly, I did have to drop two of my three classes due to the stress, which I was
super disappointed about.

So, I had a procedure, a hysteroscopy, on Feb 7th. This is where they take samples from inside
the uterus for a biopsy. A week later, I learn that my uterus is in a late state of endometrial
hyperplasia (thick lining), meaning I have precancerous cells, potentially even cancerous cells
growing in my uterus (though cancerous cells didn’t show up on the biopsy). I have two options:
hormone therapy or a hysterectomy. Hormone therapy means the highest dosage of progesterone
birth control to reverse the high estrogen in my body that is causing this abnormal cell growth. A
hysterectomy removes the uterus and, therefore, the problem altogether.

The good news: according to the scans, they’re pretty confident that if I do happen to have
cancerous cells that they haven’t spread outside of my uterus. Remove the uterus, you remove
any and all potential of cells mutating further. I scheduled my hysterectomy for May 1st,
however…

The semi good/bad news: on March 4th, at around 11pm, I started having a gallbladder attack
that would last two days before I hauled my ass to the ER. A day later, I had emergency
gallbladder surgery. I’ve already long known that my gallbladder was fucked over, so in many
ways this is good news. I was concerned about gallbladder complications during the
hysterectomy. I’m ten days post op. I’m doing great and I’m recovering quickly.

However, I need to postpone my hysterectomy a few more months so back to back surgeries
don’t overtask my body. The next good news is that I’ve been prescribed the hormone therapy on
steroids, so in the very least it’ll halt further growth of abnormal cells, if not begin to reverse it.
Even if it does reverse it, I’ll still be getting a hysterectomy.
I’ll probably reschedule the hysterectomy for August or September, which gives me more time to
recover and get stronger.

So, yeah. I’ve been out of it for a month, but overall still doing well. If you’ve been stalking my
tumblr, you’ll know that I’ve still been writing every day, though I missed three days due to the
gallbladder surgery. March took the biggest blow of not writing as much as I’d like, but I’m
hoping that I’ll be able to swing back in these last weeks. I’ll still meet my monthly minimum
goal no matter what!

I’m still writing and finishing chapters through all of this nonsense. There’s over 297,000 words
in my document. Arc Two is really coming together. Out of the remaining 23 chapters in Arc
Two, 8 of them are complete and in their pre-edit stage. Editing them before posting is vital for
my writing process, though. For example, this chapter entered pre-edit stage at 4,850 words. I
posted it at 8,055 words. (Yeah, this was another unruly chapter, haha)

Thank you all for your never ending support and for your patience. I’m alive and kicking.

Don’t despair, my readers. Your patience will pay off; I promise. <3
 Twenty-Nine
Chapter Notes

I just wanted to say a quick thank you to you all for your well wishes! I really do appreciate it.
’m happy to report that recovery from the gallbladder eviction is going great and your girl is
healing, which means I'll hopefully be able to get back to writing more every day. Listen, for me,
all right? I feel better when I write more. xD

And now…

Yall, I’ve been waiting so long for this chapter. I’ve known about the first half of this chapter for
an over a year now. I HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS FLUFF. *wiggles excitedly*

And not only that, you’re getting some answers to the wand rejection and to the nightmares.

You’re not ready for this beautiful emotional milestone. You’re not ready for this, all right?

But Tom is ready, so let’s GOOOO.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

In his dreams, Harry ran.

A memory…

The snow crunched beneath his worn boots, Snatchers rushing after him through the empty, dead
forest. Spells missed him; shouts called after him with whoops of glee, his fabled name on their
tainted lips. Harry Potter. They called after him, asking of Hermione, of the ‘mudblood’ who was
with him.

Their taunts rotted into hellish depravity.

Righteous fury burst to life within his veins. Harry slammed to a stop, whirling around, his wand now
wielded in his hand. It became a lethal weapon; his wand whipped out spell after spell, fierce and
brutal as they met their final marks. The enemy was no match. All three Snatchers fell at his feet;
crimson stained the purest of white.

One of the Snatchers moaned; his companions were unmoving.

Harry turned his back on them, the crack of apparition a herald of an icy, unforgiving requiem.

He returned to their tent, unharmed and with desperately needed supplies in hand, but Harry held his
silence when greeted by his unsullied, untarnished friends. His smile didn’t reach his eyes. His soul
wept.

Cold, so very cold.

Harry accepted the locket’s charge, relieving its burden from Ron’s shoulders; the familiar dark magic
was sickening and choking as it curled around him in a faux loving embrace. But this time, instead of
rage and fury… there was glee.

‘There is blood upon your hands, little hero. How far you have fallen.’

With cruel cackles a faint echo in his memories, Harry bolted awake.

He doubled over in bed, clutching the fabric over his racing heart. Harry hunched further, curling up
in a small, tight ball, with his legs drawn close to his center. Sweat dampened his forehead and his
breaths were shallow. Harry squeezed his eyes shut, but he was unable to clean the blood left in the
snow nor erase the guilt that had torn apart his heart.

Harry put a hand over his eyes.

He’d never told Ron and Hermione about that day. He had always told them everything, but for the
first time in their lifespan of their friendship, Harry couldn’t tell them. Their emotions were already
frayed from the locket’s influence. He didn’t want a fight over the morality of… killing three enemies
who would’ve taken them to Voldemort without remorse. He didn’t want Ron and Hermione to look
at him differently either.

The destined hero had always been prophesied to have the blood of the Dark Lord on his hands.

A burden Harry bore alone.

He couldn’t shake the memories. The cold of that bitter winter still gnawed at his flesh. The dream
permeated his senses; the tent surrounded him, as did Ron and Hermione. Harry fell backwards in his
bed, eyes squeezing closed; tears slipped down his temples. Tomorrow, would there be enough food
for the three of them?
I’ll sneak extra food in Ron and Hermione’s portions… Ron is losing too much weight and Hermione
is getting weaker. They’re not used—

A sound in the night tore Harry out of his mind, putting him on high alert. He grabbed his wand, tense
and waiting, and bolted up in bed. Sounded like… mumbling? Not Hermione; voice is too deep… Ron,
then. Nightmares again; better wake him up. Harry pushed the unfamiliar warm, lush covers and
pulled back the curtains of his bed. When did we get curtains? He glanced around in the moonlit
darkness. Wait a minute…

Not in a tent. Not on the run. Hogwarts. He was at Hogwarts.

In 1942.

Oh… I’m alone…

Harry rubbed his eyes. Right. Those were just memories. He’d been living in this time for two and a
half months and the harshness of that winter had been months before the battle at Hogwarts.

Just a dream.

Just old memories.

But there it was again: those familiar sounds of a low, masculine voice softly crying out, the light
scuffling of movement, and the harsh exhales of erratic breathing—someone here in the Slytherin
dormitory was having a nightmare. Harry looked around. He’d shaken his Gryffindor dorm mates
awake before, knowing it was kinder to wake them than let them suffer. Ron rarely had nightmares,
except when they’d been on the run, but Harry had woken Neville up a couple of times throughout
their years.

Tonight, the moonlight shone through the rippled window glass of the lake depths, illuminating the
darkened shades of green of their Slytherin dormitory. The source of those heart wrenching sounds
came from one bed, the one nearest to Harry’s bed.

Tom…

Harry stood up with his wand in hand, double checking for wards or traps that might’ve been set by
Tom, but there were none. Frowning at that, Harry pulled back the curtains, stepped towards to the
bed, and closed the curtains behind himself. Harry turned back in the darkness, drawn towards Tom’s
agitated mumbling in his sleep. Harry cast a silencing charm around them, just in case, and eased
himself onto the edge of the bed with his torso twisted towards Tom’s head. Somehow, sitting on the
bed didn’t wake Tom up.

That’s not normal. He better not curse me for this…

Harry lit his wand with a gentle lumos, dimming its intensity, and lowered it towards Tom’s face. It
revealed a sheen of sweat on Tom’s brow, which was crinkled in pain; pale lips were parted in quiet
agony. Seeing the distress on Tom’s sleeping face shattered Harry’s heart into endless pieces.
Tentatively and ever so lightly, he placed his left hand on Tom’s shoulder and shook it.

Just as Harry touched him, Tom’s eyes burst wide open; he gasped a stuttering breath, as if drowning
for air. He moved. Fast, so fast—Harry couldn’t retaliate: Tom shot out with lightning precision, wand
magically in hand, its heated tip digging painfully into the bottom of Harry’s chin and forcing Harry’s
head to tilt backwards. Harry froze. Those dark eyes stared at him, dull, yet wild in their light.
“It’s just me,” whispered Harry. His hand was still on Tom’s shoulder, so he chanced a gentle squeeze
of reassurance. Tom twitched, eyes barely darting towards the touch, before they snapped back onto
Harry, hard and unwavering. “You were having a nightmare.”

Silence.

Tom stared at him. With his torso halfway twisted off the bed, he caught his breath as if he’d been
sprinting, his chest heaving up and down a few times. He visibly swallowed, his Adam’s apple
bobbing once. His last large exhale was slow and long. “Oh…” he whispered. The tension slowly
drained from his body, his shoulders dropping slightly, and the pressure beneath Harry’s chin
lessened. “I… my apologies if I disturbed your sleep.”

The wand lowered and Harry let out a breath. “No, it’s okay,” he said softly. “It’s okay.”

Tom dragged a hand through his hair, grimacing. Tom set his wand beside his pillow and made an
attempt to wandlessly vanish the sweat from his body. It didn’t work. He gritted his teeth; he closed
his eyes, taking a deep breath. On his second try, Tom succeeded, drying the sweat from his skin, hair,
and pajamas.

What… what the hell… hang on, has he been struggling with his magic all this time, too?

Fuck.

Did lack of sleep make using magic more difficult? Harry knew Tom had been struggling with his
classes a bit, but… had he really spent the last two weeks not in full control of his magic? How the
hell had he managed to hide it for so long?

‘My lord, are you all right? Did you let him hit you?’

‘Yes.’

But that’d been a lie, hadn’t it?

With rising horror, Harry realized Tom had not taken that cutting curse from Archibald Nott for
Slytherin political bullshit clout. No. He hadn’t been able to defend himself. If Harry had declined
Abraxas’ request to search for Tom, who had expressed concern about his whereabouts that night,
Tom might’ve been hurt far worse. So much worse. Archibald Nott had been downright lethal.

Fucking hell, I’m pants at noticing shit. I should’ve…

I’ve got to do better. I’ve got to start keeping an eye on Tom and the other Slytherins, like Voldemort
said.

Tom met his eyes briefly, before he collapsed backwards onto his pillow and covered his eyes with his
right forearm. He exhaled again, low, deep, and exhausted to the deepest of soul depths. Harry
marveled at this display from Tom, shocked that he’d been allowed to witness it.

“I didn’t want you to suffer through your nightmare, so I woke you,” said Harry in a low voice. Tom
didn’t move; he didn’t acknowledge him. After a beat of silence, Harry shifted to leave to give Tom
some peace. “Sorry, I’ll go—”

A hand shot out, clutching Harry by the wrist.

“Stay.”
Harry forgot how to breathe.

“Don’t go,” whispered Tom, his voice painfully soft, a breath on the wind.

“Okay,” said Harry, still breathless. “Okay.”

For a moment, Tom didn’t move, didn’t say anything - then, slowly, without adjusting the arm
covering his eyes, he budged over. His hand retracted from its grip on Harry’s wrist and lifted the
edge of the comforter and sheets to reveal just enough room for Harry to slide beneath them at his
side. Tom remained silent, still hiding his eyes, his head now somewhat turned away. His cheeks were
dusted with the shade of shame.

An invitation… A plea…

Harry only hesitated a beat. He crawled beneath the covers and curled onto his right side, tucking his
right arm beneath his head for support. He placed his wand on the covers between them, where it
continued to glow with a pleasant light. He faced Tom, watching the slow rise and fall of his breaths
for a minute, before he glanced up at Tom’s turned head. Harry’s gaze trailed a path along Tom’s
exposed collarbone, up the slope of his neck, and along the edge of his jawline.

His heart fluttered.

This intimate, safe space held Tom’s scent, a mixture of paper, ink, and lightly scented soap of citrus
pine. Harry became hyper aware of their closeness. This sacred trust given to Harry felt fragile; so
delicate, so precious, he wanted to protect this—protect Tom. For someone who had lived his entire
life with the world view that people were either allies or enemies, for Tom to accept this—to allow
Harry here…

This was special.

And he didn’t want to break this trust.

“Would you… want to talk about it?” asked Harry softly. “It’s okay if you don’t, but… I’m here. I’ll
listen.”

There was a beat of silence; there was a sharp rise of the chest.

“The phoenix torments me,” whispered Tom.

“What?”

“And I don’t know why.”

Phoenix… does he mean Fawkes?

“The phoenix… d’you mean the one we saw when we, uh…” Harry trailed off, briefly unsure what to
call their fight. “The one that showed up at the end of our duel?”

“Mm, that’s the one.”

“What’s he doing?”

“Whatever it damn well pleases, that’s what.” Tom let out a defeated, exhausted scoff. His eyes
remained hidden by his arm. “Nightmares…” he whispered, as if revealing a dark secret. “Every
night… since we dueled. I can’t be rid of the beast. Sleep is the only oblivion I seek, yet the bloody
chicken won’t leave me alone in peace to sleep.”

Fawkes, the hell? Why are you attacking Tom like this?

“What does it want from me? It must want something from me or why else would it plague me like
this?”

Tom let out another ragged breath, stirring restlessly beneath the covers. A moment passed in silence.
Harry didn’t know how to fill it and, instead, watched the rise and fall of Tom’s chest, which was
halfway covered with the green comforter.

“But there’s something else—something else is wrong…” whispered Tom; there was another pained
exhale and a swallow through a dry throat. He twisted his head further away from Harry; his chest
rose in a hitching stutter and the shame darkened his cheeks. “My wand, it’s not… It hasn’t obeyed
me since our duel. It refuses me.”

“What?” breathed Harry. “It’s not lack of sleep?”

Tom shook his head with a miserable air. “No, my wand outright scorns my call to it. It fights me
whenever I try to draw my magic through it.”

“But hang on, but you healed me,” said Harry, his protest weak. “You’ve done magic on me with your
wand…”

“You seem to be the exception,” whispered Tom. “As always.”

Heat warmed Harry’s cheeks; his eyes widened. Wait a minute… my magic ignored me after our fight,
too.

When the chandelier had fallen, there’d be a terrible moment where Harry had feared the worst. He’d
called on his magic, but it had denied him. He’d thrown himself into digging Tom out from the
rubble, crying for his magic to answer his pleas, but again it had refused him. And when he’d found
Tom’s wand, he’d begged for forgiveness from Fawkes. His remorse for their vicious duel had
overwhelmed his heart and he’d wanted nothing more than to set things right again.

And then Fawkes had forgiven him.

His magic listened and healed Tom.

What if…

It can’t be that simple… can it?

“I… I don’t want another wand,” whispered Tom, his voice so low that Harry almost missed it due to
his distracted thoughts. “I want mine.”

“Yeah,” breathed Harry; he shook himself. “I’m attached to my wand, too. It’s holly with a phoenix
feather.”

Tom let out a soft, amused sound. “How similar. Mine is yew and phoenix feather. So, that’s why you
could use my wand and why yours felt familiar to me.”

“D’you… D’you remember anything after the chandelier at all?”

“No,” said Tom softly.

“Well, I was terrified you’d been…”

Tom shifted in the bed; Harry held his breath, frozen. Tom’s head rolled towards Harry, an arm still
covering his eyes, yet Harry felt the full weight of his attention.

“I regretted it all,” said Harry in a rushed hush. “I regretted the fight so much—we nearly killed each
other because we’re so fucking stupid and I was terrified you were dead after that. But my magic
wouldn’t listen to me; I couldn’t use it and all I could do was beg for forgiveness after what we’d
done because I didn’t want it to end like that—I didn’t want you to die. But my magic wouldn’t let me
heal you. It was like… I wasn’t worthy to use magic any more.”

Tom was still and silent, listening with hidden intentness.

“Then, I found your wand and when I held it in my hands, I could feel Fawkes—the phoenix—I could
feel his disappointment, but I still begged him; I still said how sorry I was. I apologized while begging
to be allowed to save you.”

Tom’s breath hitched.

“And it worked,” whispered Harry. “I could heal you after I apologized.”

“That’s it?” asked Tom; there was an oddness to his tone. “That’s it?”

“Uh—”

Tom twisted beneath the covers onto his side, arm dropping and revealing his eyes. He was face to
face with Harry, their faces mere inches away from one another. Harry’s heart thudded in his chest;
thump, thump, thump. The blood roared in his ears.

“You apologized to your wand?” asked Tom incredulously.

The soft, gentle glow of the holly wand illuminated Tom’s face, the intense questioning in his eyes,
and the dark circles that were beneath them. Harry’s lungs wouldn’t expand. Something had caught
him in a vice, refusing him desperately needed breath, and Harry had no words to describe it.

“Harry?”

Breath was restored.

“Right, uh, yeah,” whispered Harry. He dropped his eyes. Why hadn’t he noticed Tom’s dark circles
before? He should’ve been able to have noticed that Tom had begun putting on makeup. He should’ve
seen it sooner. “When I apologized, my magic worked for me again.”

“That’s all it wants?” said Tom, baffled. “An apology?”

Harry met his gaze. “A lot can be solved by a sincere apology,” he whispered, a little fond smile
tugging at the side of his lips. “Remember?”

Those dark eyes widened before Tom squeezed them shut; the covers rippled and his arms lifted to
rub against his eyes. His arms brushed against Harry; his elbows lightly pressed against Harry’s upper
chest for a brief moment. Tom let out a soft sigh of annoyance behind his hands, before dropping
them and tucking them back beneath the covers. He curled his arms at his chest in a half hug.
“An apology, then.”

Harry nodded. He didn’t trust his voice.

“To my wand.”

“Yes,” said Harry with a low rasp.

In the glow of the dim wand light, a glimmer flickered through Tom’s eyes. Unsettled and unnerved,
heart thrumming in his ears, Harry could still feel the ghost of Tom’s accidental touch against his
chest. It was warm here, so very warm, beneath these covers at Tom’s side where they were mere
inches apart. Such a small distance. Harry couldn’t look away, memorizing every single detail of
Tom’s features.

Tom really was unfairly handsome. But… it was the vulnerable, entrusting softness in his gaze that
made him beautiful.

“Will it leave me alone?” asked Tom in a low voice, a touch of desperate hope in his tone. He met
Harry’s eyes and, again, Harry was gifted with precious vulnerability. “Will it be enough?”

Harry fought the urge to grab Tom’s hand, to reassure him, but it felt oddly wrong—forbidden.
Anything could break this fragile atmosphere around them. “I think so,” he said softly.“But it doesn’t
hurt to try.”

Tom snorted. “Just my pride.”

“No one is going to know you said sorry to your wand,” said Harry, shrugging a shoulder. “So, why
will it hurt your pride, then?”

“You’ll know.”

“Come off it, you have your Slytherin ways,” said Harry with a quiet laugh, trying to lighten the
mood. “I’m sure you’ll figure out a way to convince me that you didn’t secretly apologize to your
wand. Your wand realized he’s ruining Perfect Tom Riddle’s academic record and had a change of
heart. I’m—”

Harry’s breath was stolen again. The bed shook; the covers moved. Tom had shifted, grabbing his
wand, his arms touching Harry’s chest once more. Tom lifted his wand between them, his hands
tightly wound around the white hilt; the pressure of his arms weighted against Harry.

Lightheaded, Harry stared at the wand. Blinking through the crash and fall of his emotions, Harry
noticed the difference. While the wand was still white, it lacked the curved bone hilt that had been a
key feature of Voldemort’s yew wand. It was simple and plain, yet elegant now.

Elegant… Just like him.

Tom met his eyes, waited a beat of reassurance, and drew in a deep, fortifying breath. “I hereby
officially apologize to you, my wand and to the phoenix of whose feather lives in its core,” he said in
a dignified, even voice. “My actions were inexcusable. Harry and I will not draw our wands against
each other with the intent to cause true harm. I swear it.”

Nothing happened.
“No…” whispered Tom. His expression crinkled. “It didn’t work.” Despair rippled through him and
he hunched in on himself, clutching the wand closer to his breast. “Please,” he pleaded. “I’m sorry.
Forgive me, please. I’m so sorry—”

Tom sucked in his breath, eyes widening. The tip of the yew wand glowed briefly and, in unison, the
holly wand brightened for a few seconds before returning to its previous intensity. Tom looked over
his wand, meeting Harry’s gaze.

“It… responded,” whispered Tom with awe, pure joy and delight slowly filling his eyes; their
luminance spread outwards. A smile, one with unrestrained childlike innocence, lifted Tom’s features.
It was a beauty to behold. “It warmed in my hands, just like… the first time.”

Fondness swelled within Harry. He smiled. “I guess I was right. Fawkes just wanted an apology from
you, too.”

Tom licked his lips. “You keep calling the phoenix Fawkes? You know the phoenix?”

“Uh…” Harry let out a nervous laugh. Dammit, I slipped up again. Well… I guess I could act like I
learned it recently. “When I got my wand, I was told that my core came from a phoenix named
Fawkes. Who else could the phoenix be but Fawkes, right? It’s got to be him since it’s his feather.”

Tom’s full attention was on Harry. His hands and arms still cradled his wand close, and his body
slowly slumped, relaxing further into the pillow. His features softened; he blinked more often.

“Also… When I got my wand, I was told that Fawkes only gave one other feather. He didn’t say who,
but he did say my wand had a brother at Hogwarts. I think it’s yours.”

“Brother wands?” whispered Tom. “Never heard of that before.”

“Yeah, I… I dunno much more about that.”

“Research,” whispered Tom, blinking slowly. “We’ll research it in the library. It must mean
something.”

Harry laughed. “What do you mean we?”

Tom reached out and grabbed him by the wrist. Harry’s gasp was soft and light. “We. I mean we,” he
said with such firm resolve that Harry couldn’t deny him.

“All right,” whispered Harry. His cheeks were warm. “We’ll research it, together.”

Tom nodded, mollified. He withdrew and he let out a sigh, the tenseness in his body sliding away. He
pushed his wand beneath the pillow, his hand opening and relaxing at the sheets. It grazed Harry’s
chin. Tom’s eyes slipped closed and his breathing deepened.

“Why?” breathed Tom.

“Why, what?”

“Haven’t slept in weeks,” whispered Tom. “I hid it from you. I…” There was a deep inhale; there was
a long pause. Harry wondered if he’d slipped off to sleep, but the next whisper soon murmured from
his lips, “Couldn’t fall asleep for hours… Didn’t want to… When I did, the phoenix… Fawkes? He’d
haunt me… with nightmares. Restless sleep… been so, so tired… But why now…”
“Oh, Tom, you could’ve said something sooner. Newt would’ve—”

“No.” Tom’s eyes popped open. He shook his head. “No.”

“But why? He’d help you.”

But Tom just shook his head; his eyes shut once more.

“Tom.”

There was silence between them again. Harry wanted to huff. He knew he wasn’t all that better at
taking care of himself or trusting in adults, but he wasn’t this bad, was he? Newt would’ve helped
Tom. Surely, he knew that, right?

“You can trust Newt and Tina,” whispered Harry. “You can. They’re good people.”

“Mm.”

“You can…”

The tension softened in Tom’s brow; his features were devoid of stress.

“Tom.”

“…trust you,” breathed Tom at an almost inaudible volume; his chest rose deeply. “Only you…”

Harry’s face grew hot. Another beat of silence.

“...why?”

“Why what?” whispered Harry, breath forever stolen.

“I think…” Another deep inhale, the span of silence lengthening in between. “…mm, but why…”

The seconds passed, the gentle lulling quiet broken only by Tom’s breaths. Harry lay frozen at his
side, watching the exact moment sleep overtook Tom. His features were shadowed, but they were
peaceful - far beyond anything Harry had ever seen on Tom’s face. Gone was the tension in his brow;
they didn’t knit together into a creased mask of annoyance. No mask of harsh resolve guarded his
thoughts, intentions, or heart. No. His features were soft, gentle. Open and free. He looked so young.

Had Tom always had such long eyelashes?

When he’d shifted his arm, he didn’t know, but Harry found his own hand had lifted from beneath the
covers and had been drawn towards Tom’s face. He froze; his hand hovered near Tom’s temple. Harry
hesitated and the urge to flee threatened to drag his hand away.

But his desire won out.

Harry’s fingers slipped through locks of Tom’s hair, carding slowly through strands smooth as silk. It
was soft. His thumb brushed against Tom’s forehead. A sigh escaped from Tom’s lips, one of
contentment.

“Good night, Tom,” whispered Harry. Sweet dreams.

When he pulled away, Tom didn’t stir. When Harry slowly, painstakingly slipped out from beneath the
covers, Tom didn’t stir. When he stood, when he closed the curtains shut, Tom didn’t stir. Harry threw
up protective wards on his curtains, ensuring he wouldn’t be disturbed or accidentally woken by the
other boys in the morning.

Harry went back to his bed and sat down. He ran a hand over his face and let out a low, shuddering
exhale. He crawled into his bed. Once curtained and warded safely in his own bed, he stared up at the
dark ceiling with his hands behind his head.

Harry wanted to go back and stay there by Tom’s side. He wanted to watch him a little longer, bask in
those peaceful features for a little while longer. Tom had been so… vulnerable when he was half
asleep and unimaginably more so when asleep. It’d been such a rare moment that Harry found himself
wishing it had lasted a little longer. What was Tom going to say tomorrow? Would he remember what
he said to Harry in the morning?

He’s going to either ignore it altogether or be weird about it. Great.

Harry didn’t blame him.

He knew Tom had never been like that with anyone before.

Just me…

Harry rolled onto his side, knees curling to his chest. His face burned. He liked the thought of being
Tom’s safe place. He really liked it. But an odd sense of melancholy struck within Harry’s breast and
gentle longing tugged at his heart. Guilt flooded his gut. He’d missed all the signs. The past few
weeks made sense now. He was supposed to be close to Tom, but he’d missed everything that Tom
had been going through.

He’d tried to bear it alone.

And Harry couldn’t let that happen again. Tom had hidden his sleepless nights. He’d tried to hide the
problems with his wand. He’d endured it all by himself, putting on a front and trying to figure it out
on his own, yet all the while he’d been unraveling both mentally and physically.

They were similar in that way - bearing the burden of the world on their shoulders.

Asking for help wasn’t something Harry did well either. His friends always had to bully their way into
coming along with him into dangerous situations until he grudgingly agreed. However, Tom fought
back too much, pushing others away again and again. Eventually, it’d drive a person to give up.

‘Don’t give up on him.’

But not Harry.

Never.

I’ll never give up on him. I swear it.

As sleep slipped through his defenses, Harry’s mind clung to that thought.

His dream was different this night.

The edges of the mind rippled wildly with multicolored specks, broken and torn as if reality itself was
foreign. No matter where Tom turned, the distortion followed. The sky above flickered with endless
crimson red. Flames roared all around him, yet, this time, they didn’t burn nor threatened to consume
him. As far as the eye could see, there was nothing but red sky and endless flames. What had once
been an enemy, now felt like an ally. Tom stood in the midst of the flames, his wand held safely in his
hand; it didn’t scorn him. There was nowhere to hide, yet he no longer had to run.

A hand touched his head, warm and gentle.

And Tom leaned into it.

A mother’s touch. His first thought went to her, what could’ve been with her, if she hadn’t died in
childbirth and left him alone in that awful muggle orphanage - but Tom shoved it away. Even in
dream, fragile hopes were forbidden.

“You are forgiven.”

The voice echoed, ethereal and discordant, from behind, flickering between a masculine and feminine
tone. The weight of touch disappeared from his head and when Tom turned around, a phoenix was
perched on a lone pillar, flames dancing at the base. It bent its head, feathers ruffled, with its eyes
locked onto Tom. It spread its wings and launched into the air in a flare of sparkling embers.

Fawkes?

The distortion sharpened; the air crackled like the static of the old radio he’d heard play in the
orphanage. The bird flew forward, directly towards Tom, and the distortion grew near blindingly
erratic. Mere feet away in front of Tom, the phoenix’s wings burst out wide in a snapping halt in the
air, and hovered unnaturally there before him.

Warmth beyond the heat of burning flames breathed into the crimson landscape. The warmth was like
the comfort of human touch, yet it didn’t satiate. It inserted inadequate wholeness, a humbling
reminder that he was a mere imitator. A presence filled this space, one more powerful than all the
magic in the world.

And then, the phoenix descended and morphed into human form.

Small bare feet touched the ashen ground, yet the blackened dust didn’t cling to them. Tips of long
white hair fluttered with fiery red flames, yet they never burned away. The being stood three whole
heads shorter than Tom, barely meeting his midriff, and their features were soft and delicate, yet
ageless and without gender. Their eyes, soulful and deep, never stayed the same, endlessly blending
into a myriad of new colors.

An unusual garment hung over their slender shoulders, like a toga, and halfway across their flat chest,
covering their waist. It shimmered with a life of its own, like the stars in the night sky, and grey
threads were woven together with a glitter of rainbow iridescence. Within those threads was a
glowing brilliance from deep within, golden and white, making the limitless colors of the rainbow
have otherworldly beauty. Woven through the garment were a handful of bright red threads, all of
which glowed brighter than all the other grey threads.

Except for one.

At the center, the garment was torn, frayed to the near point of unraveling. A single red thread, which
had lost so much of its life and luster, had been torn into eight pieces. It glowed weakly, golden light
making its slow attempt at repair.

“Child,” said the entity, soft with nurturing, deep with power. They stepped forward. “Your apology
has been heard and accepted. You’ve pleased me.”

They lifted their hands towards Tom’s face. Unbidden, Tom bent over to meet them. They put their
hands onto Tom’s cheeks, drawing him down even lower. Their foreheads touched.

An overwhelming sense of smallness came over Tom.

“Learn from the child of Death. For only then shall you receive your healing light.”

The air shifted. The hands on his face tightened their grip on his flesh. Breath stolen, held captive by
this being, Tom couldn’t move. The entity morphed out of their petite size, growing in height, until
they loomed tall over Tom. He was forced to look up in those glowing eyes; he trembled. Their voice
dropped deep into the void, hauntingly dark in warning.

“However, your failure and resistance—”

Tom’s breath hitched.

“—will not be tolerated.”

The flames roared back to life around him. They grew hot. They grew biting. Like all the nightmares
before, they threatened to consume Tom in their entirety.

“What I have Created, I will not put asunder.”

Weakness assaulted Tom. With a sudden lack of strength in his legs, he collapsed to his knees. Knelt
at their feet in humble submission, he looked up. A pulse reverberated through Tom, white hot agony
beyond anything he’d ever felt before ripped through every part of his being.

Broken, torn, incomplete - his soul ached.

The pain of another joined his own. They were screaming. They—no, not they—him—

Harry!

Tom doubled over; he choked out a cry.

Broken, torn, incomplete - his soul wept.

“Though you’ve grown some thus far,” said the entity; their voice soothed with feminine gentleness.
The sharpness of their features softened with beauty, yet piteous contempt marred their expression. “I
fear you will not be ready when the toll comes due.”

A nightmare - this was a nightmare—I’m dreaming. It’s just another nightmare.

“Your aptitude to descend into the dark abyss has endangered our work long enough.”

Echoes pulsed through him again in their brokenness: the sob of an orphan boy; the pain of an
abandoned son; the arrogance of a disgraced heir; the revenge of a scorned student; the avarice of a
prideful man; the burden of a loyal familiar; the derelict of a soulmate.

Broken, torn, incomplete - his soul felt fragmented.

He screamed.

“You are forgiven.”

And screamed again.

“However, my patience is at its end.”

And screamed—

“I suggest you don’t squander your second chance, little creation.”

—until his screams turned hoarse and his throat burned.

They held up the garment, running a hand over the fabric at the tear. “I will not tolerate the
unraveling. Put aside your stubbornness and learn from the example of your fated one.” They
morphed again, contracting until they stood at their original height. They bent over and encased
Tom’s tearstained cheeks with small hands, gently coaxing his gaze upwards. Tom looked into the
face of being whose power he could never attain. All pain instantly vanished. The entity wiped away
the tears with their thumbs. “Despair not. I have faith in you, my creation.”

‘As the healing of fated ones begins, so does this world.’

The flames burned hotter, raged around him, but they fell back, no longer threatening him with utter
destruction. The being stepped back and gave Tom a smile of maternal fondness. In a blaze of flames,
the entity morphed again, condensing back into the form of a phoenix. With a hopeful song, the
phoenix flew overhead.

‘But beware…’

The voice pulsed deep within Tom’s chest.

‘For this healing must always prelude the Weighing of the Souls.’

His eyes opened to the darkness of his Slytherin dormitory.

‘Or fated ones are lost once more to the whims of Fate.’

The voice echoed in the recesses of his mind, even though Tom was awake and aware of his
surroundings. His heart stuttered in his chest and sweat trickled down his face. A dream—I’d dreamt
something weird.

Before it could slip away from him, Tom closed his eyes and dipped through his Occlumency shields
into the back of his mind. He caught the fading memory, trying to hold onto it. However, it was made
out of grains of sand, disappearing through the crevasses of his mind, surging with a ripple and
scattering beyond reach. As Tom delved inside what was left of the memory, it flickered, distorted,
broken - so abnormal to other dreams.

What is this?

It was blurry, confusing. There was a strange, unsettling presence, as if it didn’t belong here. He could
tell someone else was there, speaking to him, but their form remained distorted and blurry. A child?
He couldn’t hear them nor could he remember what they’d said.
“You are forgiven.”

The phoenix, Fawkes?

“Learn from the child of Death… Put aside your stubbornness.”

Fear pulsed through Tom. He wasn’t supposed to be here. The longer Tom tried to focus on the dream,
the more pain it inflicted upon his mind. A headache throbbed in his temples and, with a sigh, Tom
released the memory and allowed it to slip away. He’d have to look again at the dream later.

However, as Tom opened his eyes, knowledge of the dream itself faded out of reach altogether.

He frowned and slowly sat up in bed. He glanced over towards his left, noticing the empty space
there. His gut twisted as he remembered last night. Tom doubled over, hands slapping over his face,
eyes staring wide through the cracks of his fingers. Harry. He’d been here last night. Tom had
outright begged him to stay in a pathetic act of weak desperation. He’d invited Harry into his bed.

His breath caught.

Oh, god, how I can ever show my face again?

And yet…

Harry had been gentle and tender at his side. He’d listened without judgment. He didn’t laugh nor
mock him. Inviting Harry where no one else ever been had felt natural. It’d been as if Harry belonged
there at his side. Slow and bright as the rising sun, Tom realized that he’d have no other friend as
close as Harry - as close as he’d allow Harry to be. No one else would have that privilege. He’d called
Harry his second, but Tom never imagined he’d lower ageless, guarded walls in his presence.

Harry was his sanctum.

His mortified panic subsided. A trusted friend, even advisor - that was Harry. This feeling, it was odd
and he’d never felt it before. What is this? Tom’s hands lowered to his sides; his left hand brushed the
hilt of wood. He turned in bed and lifted his wand.

It felt normal again.

Thoughts of last night disappeared. Tom drew in a deep breath, fingers wrapping lightly around the
hilt of his wand, and lifted it to cast a spell.

“Lumos,” whispered Tom.

His wand warmed in his grip, magic flowing through him without resistance, and light glowed
brilliantly from the tip. The relief was palpable, intoxicating. It flooded through his veins. Surrounded
by protective curtains, which tingled with Harry’s magic, a peace settled over him.

He’d never experienced such relief before.

It was sweet.

That other feeling rose within him yet again and Tom wasn’t sure what to make of it. It warred
pleasantly in his chest, a dichotomy between two opposing feelings. Broken and torn apart, vulnerable
and easy to crush, yet in contrast secure and protected, safe and whole. What an odd combination.
He’d spiraled these past two weeks, nearly losing himself. Sleep had always been a minor nuisance, a
required waste of time - but the relief he felt in this moment after a proper night’s sleep, nightmare
free, was one of the most satisfying feelings he’d experienced in a long time.

His mind was clearer. He felt stronger, calmer, and more focused. The control that had slipped
through his fingers had returned. Tom sighed with contentment. The wand didn’t scorn him nor turned
its back on him. He hadn’t lost favor with his wand.

Hidden behind the safety of his curtains, Tom pressed the wand against his chest. It warmed his
breast.

He hadn’t lost his magic.

Magic was still his.

It was early morning, Tom noticed, when he peeked from behind his closed bed curtains. The other
boys were fast asleep, except for Harry, where a light glowed from within the curtains.

Tom conjured a soft, round rock and sent it away, hitting the curtains and rippling them.

Harry peeked out from his bed curtains. “Tom?” he whispered.

“Morning.”

He didn’t know what else to say. The words clogged his throat. Tom looked at him, trying to say
something—anything. Even a ‘thank you’ would’ve been better than this dismal silence. Harry tilted
his head, brows furrowing in confusion. The light disappeared as Harry set something aside. He got
out of bed and stood up, quietly walking to Tom’s bed. Tom looked up at him, while Harry shifted
with nervous energy.

“Are you all right?” asked Harry.

“Yes,” said Tom, his tone soft, the lock on his voice breaking. “I… I slept through the night. No
nightmare.” There was a pause; he inhaled deeply. “Thank you.”

Harry muttered, “I should’ve seen it sooner.”

“What?”

Harry just shook his head, guilt in his eyes. A rustle of sound from another bed broke the sleepy
silence of the dormitory. Harry jolted, head whipping towards the source as he took a step back. But
before he could get too far, an urge coursed through Tom; he grabbed Harry by the wrist. There was a
sharp intake of breath. Tom jerked him towards himself, pulling Harry onto the bed where it bounced
at his weight. Harry yelped. With his wand in his left hand, casting spells came easily to him again.
Tom threw a spell towards Harry’s bed, shutting his curtains. His own bed curtain sealed shut. Finally,
Tom lifted a silencing charm and turned towards Harry.

Harry lay halfway onto the bed, sprawled at an angle, and stared at him with wide eyes.

“Should’ve seen what?” whispered Tom.

He didn’t comment on his actions. He didn’t want the others to see or to know. Tom wanted to be
alone with Harry, without any judging eyes on them.
For a moment, Harry didn’t move. But then, he sighed and sat up, drawing his legs beneath himself.
He ran a hand through his fringe. “I knew something was off with you,” he said, not meeting his eyes.
“But I wasn’t sure what it was.”

He’d noticed?

“I…” Tom let out an exhale. “I didn’t want anyone to know.”

“I know, but of course something was wrong. We’re not blind. You were struggling in classes; you
weren’t acting like yourself; you were doing the weirdest shit; you seemed more…” Harry eyed him
briefly before he said, with a tough smile, “Well, you were a bit cranky at times.”

“I wasn’t cranky.”

Harry snorted. “You were exhausted. Of course, you were bloody cranky and snapping at everyone.
But who wouldn’t be? The only adults to notice, though, were Newt and Tina.” Harry’s expression
darkened. “Some things never change…” He seemed to shake himself and he gave Tom a gentle
smile. “I’m just glad your wand is working again and you’re going to be all right now.”

Warmth flooded through every nook and cranny of Tom’s body. A debt—Tom owed a debt to him for
his help. Harry had helped him, without being asked or requiring something in return - yet Tom
needed to balance this. Harry had been too kind, too attentive, too selfless, so unlike what a Slytherin
should be.

It was… a bit touching.

“The offer still stands, you know,” said Tom, his tone light. Harry tilted his head in confusion. “Would
you like to learn how to control your parseltongue ability? When I offered before, I know things
were… strained between us. But… I still wouldn’t mind teaching you.”

Harry blinked. “Yeah,” he whispered softly. “I’d like that.”

A silence fell between them. Tom could hear movement from outside, someone shuffling to the loo.
They wouldn’t suspect that Harry and Tom were together behind the same bed curtains. Harry
fidgeted, hands wringing in his lap, his gaze forcibly turned away as the tips of his ears darkened.

“The nightmares will end now, I think,” whispered Tom. He frowned slightly, remembering that he’d
dreamed again last night. Didn’t I try to view it? Why’d I forget that I’d had another dream? But
whatever the dream had been, he couldn’t remember what it’d been about. “I tried to revisit my dream
from last night through Occlumency, a branch of the mind arts, but I wasn’t able to get a good grip on
it.”

“Hang on, what?” said Harry, mouth opening in shock. “You can revisit dreams with Occlumency?”
Harry grimaced. “Dammit, I’m pants at Occlumency.”

“You know of Occlumency? You’ve attempted to learn it?”

Harry rubbed the back of his neck. “Eh, well, barely. I had a shitty teacher. It was a bit of an
emergency, so I suppose he picked a more aggressive way to teach me, but I was utter pants at it.
He’d attack my mind over and over again, telling me—”

“Attack?” breathed Tom in utter horror. He twisted on the bed, closing the last of the distance between
their knees. “What do you mean, attacked? Why was he entering your mind in the first place?”
 “Uh…” Harry stared at him, eyes wide and bright. “So I could learn to defend myself…?”

Tom put a hand to his face, sighing deeply. “That’s one way to learn the art of Occlumency, but it’s
not going to give you a foundation to lay defenses down within your mind. You need peace, quiet, and
meditation to build your long term protections. Then, someone may test your foundation and shields.”

Harry’s mouth slowly opened. It took him a moment to speak. “Damn, of course, you’d be an
amazing teacher.”

Heat swirled inside Tom’s stomach and burned like coal in the fireplace.

“Dumbledore tried to invade my mind when I defended you in class.”

“He did what?” demanded Tom.

Harry shrugged. “I panicked and thought up…” His cheeks darkened. “Well, I threw up an image of
rainbow unicorns…” He coughed, expression twisting with embarrassment. “Uh, who were, uh…
shagging in a field.”

Tom opened his mouth. It clicked shut. He opened it again. “Well…” he said, his tone oddly hollow.
“That’s something we’ll want to avoid if I’m to teach you. We’ll work on building your initial
foundational shields first.”

“You just don’t wanna see how brilliant the image of rainbow unicorns shagging in a field is, do
you?” said Harry with a grin.

“Correct,” said Tom flatly.

Harry snorted, until he dissolved into uncontrollable giggles.

“This is serious.”

For some reason, that sent Harry further into more laughter. He rolled backwards, curling onto his
side, and laughed until tears formed at the edges of his eyes. It was far too contagious. Tom couldn’t
hold back the growing smile nor his own beginning chuckles and before he knew it, he was laughing
freely right along Harry within this hidden safe space.

Chapter End Notes

Everyone always complains to me. “Isa, how can you torture poor baby Tom? Isa, be nicer to
him. He’s had a chandelier crash on his head. Isa, give him a break.”

*gestures above to the chapter*

This is why. I gotta drag the little brat down to total sleep deprivation just so he'll lower his
fucking guard around Harry.

I have to tear down every single emotional and mental wall he’s built around himself, brick by
brick. This is a painstaking process, I tell you.

And we’re not done. We’ve only just begun.

Oh, and did I forget to mention there’d be a massive lore drop in this chapter, too?

Whoops, my bad.
 Thirty
Chapter Notes

Lmao, dear god, shit hit the fan again. Fucking hell. If you’ve been on my Tumblr, then you
probably know some bits and pieces of the story, but I’ll leave the full wild tale for the ending
AN notes yet again for your entertainment. At this point, I feel like I owe yall popcorn or
something. xD

The good news is the Isa of today has evolved into an extremely resilient powerhouse. I remain
wholly unbothered. Here, have a chapter.

I really love this chapter, btw. I think it’s a very illuminating glimpse into Dumbledore’s
character. I love what Tom goes through, too.

Also, Monty is here. So, what’s not to love~?

Hehe!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Dear Tom,

I’ve noticed you’ve been less exhausted and I’ve heard there’s been an improvement in your
classes. Are you feeling better, then? I hope so. I had a wonderful idea the other day and I was
hoping you’d humor me with my request. I’d love to have you and Harry over for Sunday dinner
with Newt and I at around seven. Would you come, please? Oh, I know you’re already trying to
say no, but I’d really love it if you’d come.

Thank you for agreeing! Let Harry know for me, please? See you on Sunday!

Love, Tina

Bloody meddling woman.

Tom folded the letter and shoved it into the pocket of his robes. He glanced around the library,
wondering if she were around to send it, but Tina wasn’t to be found. He let out a low huff and
hunched over the table where he sat. There were only a handful of students wandering nearby. Tom
had been working in the library for a couple of hours already, a stack of books of various subjects
sitting on his left. It was an hour before dinner.

The note confirmed Tom’s [Link] must have spoken to the professors on his behalf. He’d
thought it strange that they’d all given him so much grace to make up all of the work he’d missed or
failed altogether during the last two weeks. Even Dumbledore had allowed him to make up the work.
Tom had been given a week to catch up on everything, but by Thursday evening, third week of
November, after only four days of focused study and work, Tom had caught up with all but one of his
missed assignments. It wouldn’t be long before he finished the final essay tonight.
Tom hadn’t realized how much he’d taken such a simple thing as sleep for granted. It was a relief to
wake up without pure exhaustion weighing him down. He hadn’t realized just how much his faculties
had decreased either. Tom had been working at an extreme low for two weeks, something he’d never
before experienced. All because he hadn’t been able to sleep.

It was a touch sobering and more than a bit alarming.

I have no control over my body when it decides to fail for me. If something as simple as a lack of sleep
can deeply affect my abilities, how easily can other things affect me without my consent?

“You pushed me,” said a young voice.

Tom jolted and froze, his quill going still, his whirling thoughts falling silent. He slowly looked up
into the cherub face of the Potter boy. The boy was smaller than Tom had remembered, short and
wiry, with wild untamed black hair. He had rich dark tan skin that was a slight shade darker than
Harry’s skin tone. As Tom studied the boy, he could see a few too many similarities between Harry
and the Potter boy to be considered mere coincidence.

Could the rumors hold some merit?

“Hi,” said Potter solemnly.

Tom set his quill down. “Hello.”

“I’m Monty. You don’t like me, do you?”

“And…” Tom tilted his head, eyebrow lifting. “What makes you think that?”

“Cause you pushed me and Harry punched you in the face for it.”

The air disappeared from Tom’s lungs. He hadn’t misheard, then. He eyed the boy, noting how
unusually direct he was. Even a rumor like that would be devastating to his reputation. If the rumor
got back to Dumbledore, he’d be like a shark with blood in the water. The man wouldn’t rest until he
found the truth and there’d be no escaping expulsion by that point.

But why come to Tom like this? Wasn’t the boy a Gryffindor? “Did Harry speak with you?” he asked,
brow furrowed in suspicion

“Uh huh,” said Monty, his expression bright, yet serious. “He said that it’s not my fault you’re an
impulsive bastard sometimes.”

Tom winced. Well, that certainly confirmed it. “What do you want?”

“An apology.”

Tom blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“That’s all I want.”

“You could have me expelled. You could blackmail me. But all you want is an apology?”

“Huh, yeah, I suppose I could do those things,” said Potter, lips pouting in thoughtful expression. He
shook his head, curls bouncing. “But Harry punched you for me, so I suppose we’re even. And I
really don’t wanna get you expelled or anything like that cause Harry likes you and you’re friends,
and I can tell you like Harry, too, so you’d know he’d be very sad if something bad happened to you
and he’s been sad long enough. I just want you to never do it again—unless you warn me and I’m
ready, cause it was kind of fun and exciting, but don’t tell Charlus that. He really didn’t like it.”

Tom slumped in his seat, utterly flummoxed by the boy’s longwinded announcement.

He tired to remember all of it. Like him? Like Harry? Friends? Salazar, this couldn’t just be a
sentimental Gryffindor thing. Harry had wanted the same thing. All past sins had been erased with a
simple apology. It was baffling. Ridiculous. An apology being good enough, how foolish… But that
was all Harry had wanted and that was all Fawkes had wanted. And now this boy stared at him.
Expectantly. Tom swallowed. He cast a silencing charm around the two of them.

“You have deduced correctly,” said Tom in a low voice. The light in Monty’s eyes dimmed and his
gaze dropped slightly, lips twisting downward. “I… did not like you. I was envious. Harry rebuffed all
my efforts to be… friends with me.” Tom winced, knowing full well he hadn’t been trying to be
friends with Harry at the time, but the boy didn’t need to know the complexities of what had been
going on. Monty slowly lifted his chin, meeting his gaze once more. “I used a spell to push you over
the edge without a single forethought of your safety. My actions were impulsive, petty, and childish.
They put you in fatal danger and I apologize for harming you, Mr. Potter. It will not happen again.”

Silence.

Those eyes watched Tom. Their shape held a hint of Harry in them, the way they crinkled at the edges
in contemplation. Monty tilted his head as he studied Tom in silence. Those brows were similar to
Harry’s as well, as they furrowed at the center of his forehead. In a strange frozen moment in time,
Tom had the overwhelming impression of witnessing a shadow of Harry as a child, the only
differences being those brilliant green eyes and those unfortunate black round spectacles. Harry…

There’s no doubting their relation now. Harry must be a Potter—the resemblance is too uncanny. He’s
denied it, but…

‘You stay away from Monty. Understand? You just stay the hell away from my family!’

Tom pursed his lips together at the memory. A number of emotions had flashed through Harry’s
expression after he’d shouted that, making it clear to Tom he hadn’t meant to let it slip. If Harry truly
was related to the Potters, his actions made more sense to Tom now.

That’s why he’s been so overly protective of this boy. He’s made obvious efforts to befriend him, yet he
hasn’t made an attempt to claim the family name.

Why not?

The Potter family were rather wealthy, well known purebloods with power in the Wizengamot. It’d be
in Harry’s best interest to claim the family, if he were a bastard child. So, why remain without a claim
to the name?

Harry has more secrets than he’s let on.

“Okay,” chirped Potter. “I forgive you.”

Tom exhaled, thoughts broken again.

“But remember, Harry is my friend, too, so you’ve gotta learn to share him. Harry can have lots of
friends, you know. He’s very nice.” Potter eyed Tom for a moment more, before he nodded in an
exaggerated motion. “And I’ve decided we can be friends, too. Call me Monty, please. I don’t like it
when people call me Fleamont or Potter. And may I call you Tom?”

“What?” said Tom, alarmed. “What?”

The boy pouted with terrible, mournful puppy dog eyes; he blinked at Tom, bright and big. Tom
shifted in his seat, thrown further off guard. The shape and light of his eyes reminded Tom of Harry
yet again and he blanched at the comparison, already falling prey to the lure of their compulsion on
his resolve.

“Please? Please can we be friends? Pretty please?”

Damned if he agreed, damned if he didn’t agree. Tom sighed. Very well.

“Mr. Riddle.”

Tom flinched, the sound of that voice cutting through the fog in his mind. The magic of his silencing
charm had been stripped away without his notice. A chill coated his cheeks and he mentally cursed
himself for his lack of control. He plastered on a charming smile, catching Monty’s confused
expression, and looked up at the man who hated him the most.

Dumbledore nodded at Monty, pocketing his wand. “Mr. Potter.”

“Lo, Professor,” said Monty, pout gone, but still a watchful light in his gaze.

“Is there a problem?” asked Dumbledore in a mild tone.

Ice slipped in between Tom’s ribs, piercing his flesh.

Monty tilted his head. “No, sir.”

Oh, but Tom knew better. He could see through that innocent facade. The man could’ve been a
Slytherin for how much he was cataloguing every little detail, from Tom’s appearance, to the content
of the selected books, and to the supplies of ink, quill, and parchment scattered on the surface of the
table. Tom masked the raw, whirling feelings in his chest with a well practiced blank, emotionless
expression. He willed himself to hide.

“Nothing at all, sir,” said Tom lightly. “Young Mr. Potter was regaling me about his friendship with
Miss Malfoy.”

Monty glanced at Tom, brows furrowing.

Those blue eyes were piercing, filled with suspicion. “Was he now?” Dumbledore said; though his
tone was still without direct accusation, Tom could hear the hint of it. “Then, may I ask, why a
silencing charm was necessary for such a benign conversation?”

Tom wet his lips. His throat was dry. “I thought it wise to avoid disturbing others in the library.”

“I am awfully loud,” said Monty with a sage nod.

“Ah. A noble intent. However, it is not an appropriate use of magic in the library,” said Dumbledore,
his gaze firm as it bore down on Tom. “Ten points from Slytherin. I think it’d be wise to take your
studies to your common room, Mr. Riddle.”
“Yes, sir,” whispered Tom.

A knot built and twisted in his gut. Tom closed his textbook, lips pressing so tightly together they
rolled between his teeth. He drew blood and tasted metallic. He’d always felt indignant, suppressed
fury towards Dumbledore. He bore the disdain with elegance, chin held high, and avoided getting
caught in situations where Dumbledore could pounce upon and find fault with Tom.

However, as Tom shoved his half written essay into his bag with his quills and capped ink bottle, he
wasn’t prepared for just how much this injustice stung. Salazar, the past two weeks of no sleep had
really weakened him. This would never have bothered Tom before, not like this. He would’ve been
furious and vengeful. But now? He was right back in Wool’s Orphanage, a weak little child among
those who despised him. He’d had power to move things, make animals do his bidding, could make
bad things happen to those who annoyed him; he could make them hurt.

But… he could never make them like him.

Sure, Dumbledore had good reason for his suspicions—Tom wasn’t going to deny that. But the one
time Tom wasn’t doing anything worthy of suspicion, Dumbledore had to twist a knife into an
unhealed wound. Tom had just been minding his own damn business, trying to catch up on all the
homework he’d missed. Dumbledore knew this. Yet, still, here he was… with those eyes accusatory.

It stung.

Weakness, such pathetic weakness for letting this old man get under his skin.

Goddammit.

“Hey,” said Monty, frowning up at Dumbledore. “Hey, that’s not right. Why’d you take points from
him? He’s not doing anything wrong. He didn’t deserve to be punished. And why’s he gotta leave?
He’s just doing homework, isn’t he?”

Tom shoved his books in his bag, feeling those eyes burrowing into the back of his bowed head. He
gritted his teeth. He avoided looking up at Dumbledore as he stacked three books together. He had
eleven books out, but he’d only be able to check six of them out at once. His jaw ached.

Dumbledore shifted. “Mr. Potter, I think you better run along, too.”

“No,” said Monty shortly. Tom blinked, shock rippling through him. “I don’t want to go. We were
talking before you rudely interrupted us when Tom wasn’t doing anything wrong. I wanna stay with
my friend.”

“I hardly think it’s appropriate for first years and sixth years—”

The blood roared in Tom’s ears.

“Hey! My best friend is a sixth year!” snapped Monty.

“Monty,” said Tom quietly, shaking his head. His hands trembled and he clenched his fists to regain
control. Salazar, the boy was going to get himself into trouble at this rate. “You shouldn’t speak—”

“No!” cried Monty, looking at Tom with those big, mournful eyes. They cut through Tom in their
sincerity; they were so earnest, without so much as a shred of guile, as they pleaded with Tom for
understanding. “He’s picking on you for no reason and I don’t understand why. I know what picking
on someone looks like. Everyone in Gryffindor does it to me.” He whipped a glare towards
Dumbledore. “Why’re you picking on him? You’re a teacher! That’s not right!”

“Mr. Potter, you misunderstand. I’m not picking on—”

Do you really believe that?

“Yes, you are!” snapped Monty, pointing at him. His voice grew louder and louder. “Is this cause he’s
a Slytherin?” he demanded. He took a step closer to Dumbledore, like a cat stalking a mouse. The
man shifted, visibly uncomfortable. Tom sat there as this little Gryffindor took on Albus Dumbledore
himself on his behalf, too shellshocked to even enjoy it. “Is that it? Everyone in Gryffindor makes fun
of me because I have friends in Slytherin.”

“Mr. Potter—”

“How could you be so awful and mean for no reason! You’re supposed to be nice to your students!”
shouted Monty, stomping his foot. “You’re just a bully of an old man and I hate you!”

His childish, high pitched voice echoed through the library. A chilling silence followed that
pronouncement. Students looked up from their seats in the library, craning their necks to see what the
commotion was about. A couple of heads peeked from around the corners of nearby shelves.

“Mr. Potter,” said Dumbledore firmly, though visibly shaken. “Five points from Gryffindor for yelling
at a professor.”

Monty remained silent.

And then he burst into tears.

Tom bolted to his feet. His bag slipped off the table and toppled to the floor, books and other
belongings spilling out. He trembled; confusion and hesitation warred inside his chest. Monty threw
his hands over his face and wept pitifully, mouth open wide with his loud sobbing. Dumbledore’s
mouth dropped, shock rippling through him, and a rush of guilt and shame flushed through his face.

“W-why? You were awful f-first. I don’t unders-stand what we did wrong.” The boy hiccuped through
his hysterics. In all his years at Hogwarts filled with emotional teenagers, Tom hadn’t seen a
breakdown of this height. “I just wanted to-to be friends w-with—”

Monty broke off and the pitch of his sobs surged as he started wailing at top volume. Tom winced at
the piercing sound, resisting the urge to cover his ears. The boy dug the palms of his hands into his
eyes, mouth still open wide with those terrible sobs. Monty hiccuped. He whirled to the side and
slammed into Tom’s chest, wrapping thin arms tightly around his lower waist. Tom flinched, startled
by the sudden creature on his person, the force of the boy’s impact pushing him back a step.

There, face buried against Tom’s suit robes and his arms tight as a vice around his waist, Monty
sobbed pitifully, his voice muffled and broken. He trembled like a stray leaf in a wind storm, shaking
through every choking cry.

Tom floundered with indecision, until he finally opted to put his hands onto the boy’s shoulders.
Monty’s breath hitched in the middle of his crying and Tom took that as a good sign. He squeezed the
boy’s shoulders. His chest vibrated with the unnerving sobs. He could feel the heat of the boy’s face
and gasping breaths against his lower chest bone. And, all the while, an odd dawning thought rose
inside Tom’s mind.
He’s small. He’s so easily broken by Dumbledore. The Gryffindors might bully him, but the Slytherins
would have eaten him alive. He is too open and honest.

What a fragile little creature.

He’ll never survive.

His hands flexed on Monty’s shoulders, unaware that he drew them closer to his person. Tom
swallowed, wholly unsure what to make of this odd storm of unknown feelings. He kept the boy
shielded, slowly turning his head towards Dumbledore, until he met those eyes with a quiet strength
he’d never had before when facing this man.

“Professor Dumbledore, what is the purpose of a library?” whispered Tom.

The silence was punctuated by the uncontrollable cries of a child.

Dumbledore adjusted the tie at his neck. “To gain knowledge, to gain experience,” he said softly. “To
expand one’s understanding, all from within the pages of books.”

Tom inclined his head in a agreement. He lifted a hand and focused his magic. It answered him and he
wandlessly summoned the two finished transfiguration essays. He held out his arm towards
Dumbledore, while keeping his other hand on the boy’s shoulder. Tom smiled, thin and empty. “My
missed essays from the previous two weeks.”

Dumbledore accepted the essays. Briefly, he glanced over them, flipping through the two pages,
before giving Tom a nod.

“I’ll go over them more in depth, but they appear to be worthy of full marks. As always, your work is
impeccable.”

What a fallow compliment.

“You disapprove of Mr. Potter and I having any interaction,” said Tom in a low voice. He didn’t give
Dumbledore a chance to protest. “However, he is well known to us Slytherins as he’s made friends
among us.” The boy’s sobs began to slowly soften. “Mr. Evans and young Miss Malfoy, notably. And
myself, as of recently.”

Monty sucked in his breath.

Tom had noticed. He’d simply not thought deeper on it, since it wasn’t a problem within his house.
He’d seen how the Gryffindor house treated the boy. Monty was often bullied by his peers or outright
ignored altogether.

“From my observations… many of his house have ostracized him.”

Monty sniffled and burrowed into Tom, rubbing his face against Tom’s chest.

“But you wouldn’t know that,” whispered Tom in a low, dark, and accusatory tone and, for the first
time, he met those sharp blue eyes without masking his lips in fake charm. “Would you?”

Just as you don’t know me. You never did.

Dumbledore flinched, stricken. His eyes briefly glimmered with emotion.

Oh. He’d done that. Tom should’ve been filled with vindictive pleasure, smug that he’d finally taken
the man down a peg. But no. Instead, Tom stood there, frozen, his emotions flayed raw. Why? This
damned vulnerability—what purpose did it serve but to unarm Tom, to steal his ability to protect
himself against people like Dumbledore? Why must he feel like this? He’d been sleeping well every
night. Everything was fine. He’d recovered. Tom was back to normal.

Wasn’t he?

“Adhering to my prefect duties, I would normally take him to his Head of House for comfort, but…”
Tom trailed off, hoping he’d masked the tremor in his voice. “Perhaps, that wouldn’t be wise.”

“No…” whispered Dumbledore. “Perhaps not.”

Dumbledore turned away, his countenance aging with guilt riddled pain. He turned, about to walk
away, but he stopped. With his back to them, his shoulders bunched together tightly before they
sagged with his audible sigh.

“Mr. Potter… my apologies.”

Monty didn’t move. His arms tightened around Tom’s waist, worming his body against him even
more. Tom wished he wouldn’t, but he didn’t stop the boy.

“Five points to Gryffindor for valiantly defending a fellow student.”

Monty stiffened. Tom refused to look over at Dumbledore, the bitter taste of resentment rising in his
throat. He wouldn’t push the boy away, not yet, not until Dumbledore was well out of sight. He heard
the flutter of robes as Dumbledore began to walk away.

There was a pause.

“Mr. Riddle.”

Tom swallowed. Why couldn’t he just leave him alone? Why couldn’t Dumbledore just leave well
enough alone? Haven’t you done enough here? Haven’t you sufficiently taken what you wanted here?
Are you pleased with yourself? Just go. But the man didn’t say anything more and it became clear that
Dumbledore was waiting for Tom to look at him. It took Tom longer than he wanted it to, but he
slowly turned his head. Yet again, he met those eyes.

“Yes… Professor?” said Tom, his tone light, yet guarded.

“Ten points to Slytherin for selflessly comforting a fellow student.”

The air vanished from Tom’s lungs.

In a flutter of robes, Dumbledore disappeared around the corner of a bookshelf.

Lightheaded, breathless, Tom blinked through the haze of shock that assaulted him. Students stared at
them, but they went ignored. His body felt winded, as if Tom had been through an hour long duel.
Stunned, he stood there beside the table with the boy still clinging to him like a spider monkey, his
mind falling into a storm of his thoughts.

That was the first time Dumbledore had ever given Tom points outside of class. Not only that, he’d
returned the points he’d taken earlier. That was… an apology of sorts, an acknowledgment of his
error. It tasted bitter.
His thoughts were terrible things.

Tom would never forget the first time he met the man. The memory still ached with a sharp sting,
even all these years later, those youthful, childish feelings a mixture of bitter hope. When Dumbledore
had entered the disgusting, dingy little bedroom, where Tom sat on a musty bed of tattered blankets,
all while clothed in an expensive, colorful suit, Tom had expected the worst had finally come. Mrs.
Cole had reached her limit, tired of dealing with him anymore, and had sent for a doctor to take him
away to an asylum.

She couldn’t beat him anymore, so this was her one last chance at getting him under control.

He’d been filled with suspicion and suppressed terror, until he’d heard the word, “Magic.” In one
word, all the horrible thoughts had vanished. A surge of excitement had overwhelmed him—a
connection, a light in a place where no happiness had been. There were others like him. He wasn’t
alone.

But then, he’d said too much, revealed too much.

His wardrobe caught fire.

Everything he’d owned. Gone. He already owned so pathetically little, but it was all gone. He
wouldn’t even have clothes for winter now. Mrs. Cole would have no pity on him.

Overcome with shock and rage over the loss, he’d faced Dumbledore as his enemy and identified
where the man’s power came from: his wand.

But the man toyed with him.

Like a cat with its prey, he’d mocked him by turning his paltry belongings into mice. The man
wielded his magic effortlessly, showing Tom just how powerless he really was. Though frightened
and unnerved, there’d been a touch of begrudging respect.

Tom felt no relief when he found nothing had been burned away.

‘Is there anything in there that doesn’t belong to you?’

Tom’s fingers had trembled on the box of the little trinkets he’d found in the streets or in the
dumpsters or had stolen from the other children. A lie wouldn’t work with this man.

He’d admitted as such.

Tom squeezed his eyes shut, his awareness returning to the library, where an eleven year old boy still
clutched at him without his permission. Tom’s child self had valued such useless things. A thimble?
He’d never taken to sewing. A yo-yo? He’d grown too bored. A mouth organ? The sounds it made
were too high pitched, like nails dragging over his mind. He’d had no use for any of them.

Yet, even now, he still had that box hidden in the bottom of his trunk.

What is the matter with you? Wallowing in the past like this—get a grip!

Remembering is a waste of time.

“Monty.”
“Mm?”

“He’s gone. You no longer have to hide.”

Monty shook his head and tightened his hold.

Tom sighed. “Come on now,” he said, awkwardly patting him on the back and really needing this boy
to get off him. “It’s… safe.”

The boy didn’t move. Tom surveyed the area, relieved there were no other students watching them.
His exhaustion kept the snapping of his patience at bay.

“Why is he like that?” whispered Monty.

“Some people… harbor prejudices.”

Monty sniffled. “Do you?”

Tom lifted a hand to his face, hiding his expression briefly as he ran his fingers through his fringe. He
pursed his lips.

Perhaps.

“Come, dry your tears. Remove yourself from my person, if you please.”

Monty squeezed one last time, before he stepped away. Tom pulled out his wand and conjured a
handkerchief with an embroidery of a little lion in its corner.

“Clean yourself.”

Monty wiped his cheeks and blew his nose. He wrinkled his face at the dirty handkerchief. “It’s icky
now, sorry.”

“Nothing a little magic can’t fix,” said Tom, casting a cleaning charm on the handkerchief. Monty
looked at it before handing it back to him, but Tom pushed it gently back. “It’s yours now.”

“Really?” asked Monty, bright eyed. “It won’t vanish or anything?”

“No.”

Monty beamed at him. “Thank you!”

Damn. Fine. Fine. Tom could relent to this child. Perhaps the little brat wasn’t so bad, after all. He
was… tolerable—for a child and for a Gryffindor. Barely tolerable.

“Thanks for letting me hug you,” said Monty, ducking his head and going shy. “Sorry about getting
tears and snot on your robes.”

On second thought…

“It was not a bother,” said Tom.

“Oh, I’m sure it was, but you’re polite to lie about it.”
Tom almost lost control and snorted in unbelievable surprise. He’s pretty sharp, then. The boy stared
at the little marking on the handkerchief, smiling at it. The tension unfurled from Tom’s chest. He
took a deep breath.

“I’m sorry, Monty.”

The boy looked and tilted his head. “Huh? For what?”

Tom frowned. “For before…” The boy blinked, still visibly confused. How was Tom’s meaning not
clear? “For how I treated you, I am sorry.”

“Oh,” said Monty. “Oh, I forgot about that, since you already apologized. It’s okay. I already forgave
you. We’re friends now, right?”

With great pain, Tom put on his usual charming smile. “But of course, Monty. You may call me Tom
as well.”

Monty wiggled in the purest of delights. He collided against Tom’s person once more, squeezing
another hug out of him, nearly to the point of lung crushing strength before he bolted away.

“Bye bye, Tom!”

And the boy scampered off, leaving Tom thoroughly perplexed and unsettled by what had occurred.
He glanced at his things, which were still strewn across the floor. With a sigh in his throat, Tom
crouched and collected everything. He shoved the last book inside his bag, straightening, when
movement made him tense up.

Tom caught the eye of a certain Slytherin seventh year. Ice slid down Tom’s spine; he met those eyes.
Archibald met his gaze, closing the book in his hand, and sliding it onto the shelf in between the other
books. With languid strides, he approached Tom with his hands behind his back. Tom held the strap of
his bag with one hand, while the other, hidden in his pocket, gripped the hilt of his wand. Archibald
paused at his side, not looking at him. He leaned towards Tom’s ear.

“What a disgusting saccharine display you’ve participated in tonight,” whispered Archibald. “You’re
slipping, Riddle. You’ve grown too soft. And you know what I think?” As Archibald finally looked at
him, uncomfortably close, Tom turned his head and met his gaze with a glare. Archibald smirked. “I
think you know this.”

Archibald strode off before he could retort. Tom whirled around, glaring at his retreating figure. He
swallowed and the tension sagged away. He sighed in exhaustion and annoyance, running a hand
through his hair and tugging on strands of it; he relished in the little pricks of pain.

Tom didn’t believe he was ‘slipping,’ not even after two weeks of nightmares and no sleep.
However… Growing soft? That had some merit—not a ton, of course. Tom Riddle wasn’t going soft,
not really. But then again… Harry and Monty… Tom groaned softly to himself. Dammit.

Whether or not growing a little softer was a bad thing, Tom hadn’t decided yet.

“Hold still.”

“I am—”

“You’re fidgeting.”
“I’m not—”

“Harry, I can feel your leg bouncing. You’re shaking the whole bed and me—hold still—I said hold
still!”

Harry let out a grumbling huff, trying, yet failing—but he couldn’t stop moving; the need to wriggle
around, like a trapped worm on a hook, was overpoweringly strong. He couldn’t stop feeling self
conscious and nervous at their close proximity where they sat crosslegged face to face, alone and
hidden behind the curtains of Tom’s bed, with their knees a hair away from touching.

It was too warm—too hot—

Tom blew out an annoyed sound. A hand landed on Harry’s knee; he jolted. “Calm down,” he
murmured. Harry’s brain zeroed in on the warmth and weight on his knee; he grew lightheaded. “I’m
not going to invade your mind, if that’s what you’re so anxious about. I told you already. We’re just
practicing meditation, the art of calming your mind and learning to focus on your breath. I will not
test your shields until I’m confident you’re ready to defend yourself.”

No breath to breathe; no thoughts to think; only a touch to feel.

His hand—fuck, his hand is on my knee! Fuck, fuck—

“Harry, calm down.”

“I-I’m trying…”

Fuck. His hand is—and why’s he such a damn good teacher? Huh?! What the hell is this? Unfair
bullshit is what—oh, fuck, move your hand, now please, before I lose my fucking mind—

“Oh, for—Harry, breathe before you asphyxiate yourself. Breathe. Now.”

Harry inhaled greedily, ragged and hoarse.

“Out.”

Harry obeyed.

“In.”

Air filled his lungs. The hand disappeared. The intense panic slid away and the racing heartbeat
slowed. In the next exhale, Harry could think again. He listened to Tom’s audible breaths, each one
slow and deep. Harry matched them. After a few minutes, the twisting knot of anxiety unfurled in his
chest and his slow breaths grew deeper.

“That’s it,” whispered Tom.

Peaceful. This was peaceful. The heat that had threatened to burn him up was gone. Harry continued
to focus on his breaths, though his mind wandered off before long. As his thoughts flared to life again,
so did his fidgeting. However, it only took a word from Tom before Harry refocused back onto his
breathing. This happened a few times, yet Harry was oddly unaware of the passing of time.

“Open your eyes.”

Harry looked into Tom’s face, unmarred by tension.

“This is what it means to understand your own mind,” whispered Tom. “It’s focusing on something,
like your breathing. If your mind wanders, come back to your breaths. This is the foundation of
Occlumency. When this becomes second nature to you, your mind will have the strength to defend
against intrusion.”

“That’s it?” asked Harry.

“There are some visualization techniques you can do to build and fortify your mind, but that comes
later.”

Snape, you’re such a bastard. Why didn’t you teach this to me?

“Practice this once a day.”

“So, you do this every day, then?” asked Harry.

Tom inclined his head. “Not as often as I did when I started learning the mind arts.”

A gentle silence fell between them, but Harry didn’t feel the urge to fill it. He felt calm and peaceful
in a way he’d never experienced before. It was such an odd state of being. The calmness didn’t erase
the anxiety he’d felt over sitting so close to Tom; instead, the serenity tempered it and held it under
control.

Damn, if I’d known how to do this during fifth year, I’d have gotten into far less trouble.

“This is all I have to do?” asked Harry, still not quite believing it. “Meditate like this and I’ll have
Occlumency shields?”

“Lying around and breathing isn’t all that hard once you get used to it.”

Harry jolted as the large form of Nagini slithered through the curtains and onto the bed. She curled
her body together and lifted to Harry’s eye level, tilting her head to the side.

“Hi, Nagini,” said Harry.

“Hatchling.” Nagini turned her head towards Tom, waiting.

“Afternoon, Nagini,” said Tom softly.

“It certainly is. Hatchlings, haven’t killed each other yet, have you?”

Harry laughed and shook his head. “We haven’t.”

“Good, you two are the dumbest pair of hatchlings I’ve ever seen. About time you’re getting along.”

Harry glanced up; his eyes met Tom’s and they held the gaze. It was brief. Tom looked away,
shoulders stiff, nodding once and shifting his legs on the bed. His knee lightly bumped against Harry’s
shin, but didn’t pull away.

Harry internally screamed.

“We get on fine,” muttered Tom.

“Mm, surely, surely.”

Nagini slithered closer to Tom. She wrapped her long body around him, weaving behind him and
around his thighs, until she lay curled in his lap. Tom stared down at her before the tension in his body
relaxed and he pressed a hand over the top of her scales.

“Am I forgiven, then?” whispered Tom.

“So long as you scratch my scales and oil them down, then yes. I forgive you.”

A gentle, fond smile lifted the edges of Tom’s lips. “Whatever you desire.”

“And you, Hatchling,” said Nagini, her eyes on Harry now. There was an air of contentment
surrounding the two of them, as Tom stroked her scales. Harry’s heart swelled with warmth at the
fond gaze Tom held for his familiar. “Have you agreed to learn how to better speak my language,
Hatchling?”

“I’ve agreed to lessons, yeah,” said Harry. “It’d be nice to learn how to control it.”

“We’ll practice parseltongue tomorrow while everyone has gone to Hogsmeade.”

Harry sank in disappointment. “What?” he said, looking directly at Tom and not noticing his switch to
English. “But I’ve been looking forward to the Hogsmeade trip. Aren’t you going? Don’t you have a
plan for it?”

Tom raised an eyebrow. “Plan?”

“Yeah, do you want to get some sweets or check out the bookstore?”

“I’m not going.”

“What?”

“I don’t need anything,” said Tom, shaking his head. “Why would I go?”

Harry was at a loss now. He wasn’t sure why he felt so disappointed about the fact of missing a
Hogsmeade trip. It wasn’t like he really needed to go either. But… I’d like to go with Tom. “I dunno,”
he said, scrambling for a reason. “Uh, for a change of scenery?”

Tom folded his arms. “Harry, have you seen the grounds?” he asked with a sardonic lilt. “There’s
plenty of scenery to take in. If you’re in dire need of the outdoors, we can always take the lessons to
the grounds.”

“Not quite what I meant and you know it.”

“You know it’s rude to exclude the other party in the room from your conversation. Are you two
fighting again?”

Huh? Wait, I wasn’t speaking in parseltongue?

Tom rolled his eyes. “This is ridiculous. You are not convincing me.”

“Yes, yes, forget I exist again, why don’t you?”

“Nagini, he’s being difficult.”

“Me?” protested Harry, shifting back to parseltongue when his gaze rested on Nagini. “I just would
like to go to Hogsmeade.” With you. “And the others are going, too. Come with us. It’ll be fun.”

“A Hogsmeade trip is a waste of time if you’re not buying anything in particular,” said Tom, shaking
his head. “I’m not interested.”

Nagini’s eyes were sharp as she eyed them both. She uncurled from Tom’s lap, slithering away
silently, until she disappeared from the curtains. Neither Harry nor Tom noted her absence.

“But aren’t there other interesting places to visit? We could get a butterbeer.”

“It’s frivolous spending.”

Oh.

Harry blinked. Oh. That was right. While Harry knew what it’d been like to live without money of his
own as a child, that had changed when he’d gotten his Hogwarts letter and discovered the wealth his
parents had left him. He hadn’t exactly been ‘frivolous’ with his money, but he hadn’t paid attention
to it either, not like Ron had often worried about money.

Even now, with his funds somewhat limited, he hadn’t really thought about it too much or what he’d
have to do in the future to earn a living. But Tom, on the other hand, was on an assistance fund here at
Hogwarts. The only reason he could attend the school at all was because of that fund. Though Tom
had always appeared immaculate in his appearance, Harry couldn’t help but wonder now if his
belongings were secondhand.

“Right,” whispered Harry. “I forgot.”

Tom frowned. “Forgot what.”

“Well… you haven’t got any family, so I forgot that also probably means you haven’t got money
either.”

A mixture of embarrassment and anger flushed through Tom’s cheeks. His chest puffed up; the light
in his eyes grew flinty.

“I’m not making fun of you,” said Harry quickly, before Tom could ream him out. “I understand. I’m
on limited funds, too. When I was young, I had nothing of my own. I get it. I just forget sometimes,
you know?”

Tom slowly deflated. He tilted his head to the side in mild acknowledgment. “I attempt to be frugal,”
he said softly. “When I first received funds for my school supplies, I was… perhaps a bit too eager
and squandered quite a bit of the money. I regretted my choices by the end of the year. Since then,
I’ve been more cautious.”

“It’s hard to know what to do with money when you’re eleven and you’ve never had any.”

Tom pursed his lips together. “A Hogsmeade trip merely invites temptation,” he said, his tone firm. “It
would be unwise.”

“I suppose so…”

Tom gave him a pointed look. “Your time would be better spent learning how to control your
parseltongue gift, a rare and unique ability I might add, rather than spending needlessly on things that
 have no value on a trip to Hogsmeade.”

“I know, but… come with me anyway and have a butterbeer? On me?” asked Harry. “Come on, it’s
the first trip of the year.”

“What’s so important in Hogsmeade?” asked Tom, brow furrowing in bemusement. He shook his
head. “No, I’m teaching you parseltongue tomorrow.”

“You can teach me afterwards, can’t you? Come on—come with me?” asked Harry. He clapped his
hands into a prayer and smiled up at Tom with bright, pleading eyes. “Please? Please come with
me?”

A vein twitched at Tom’s temple. A quiet beat pulsed between them. He inhaled. “Fine,” he said with
an exasperated huff. “Fine, fine. I can already tell you’ll never let me hear the end of it and… I
suppose there is one thing I might need that could warrant a trip.”

Harry beamed. “Yes!” he cried in delight.

“And you’re paying for my butterbeer?”

“Yup!” chirped Harry. He swayed back and forth, wiggling and fidgeting with a flood of unrestrained
joy.

“What has gotten into you?” asked Tom with a half confused snort. Not even his hand dropping onto
Harry’s knee in the effort to stop him from wiggling could steal Harry’s excitement. Tom pulled away
when Harry stopped moving around like a child hopped up on four servings of pudding. Tom’s eyes
softened. “I’ve never seen you like this. I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed tomorrow as Hogsmeade
doesn’t have much to offer.”

“I know. Just… got a bit happy about it,” said Harry sheepishly, his legs twitching with the need
again. “Nice to get away, yeah? It’ll be fun together.”

“Hm.”

Harry just grinned, unable to hold himself back anymore. It was a real chore to keep still, though. He
wasn’t sure why he was so excited about this, but it didn’t matter. Who cares. We’re going to
Hogsmeade tomorrow and we’re going to get a butterbeer. It’d been over a year since he’d had one,
too. Harry basked in this overflowing feeling that made him smile widely, to the point of making his
cheeks ache.

For a brief moment, Tom met his eyes, but he quickly turned his head away; his Adam’s apple bobbed
once and a touch of pink dusted his cheeks.

And all the while, Harry smiled with contented happiness.

Chapter End Notes

All right, babes, grab some popcorn or a cup of tea. Onto the bullshit~!
SO, on March 29th, I put my fics on public lockdown because a Mormon family member found
my Isalise identity. I told them this is my private space online, that I didn’t want them to read my
stories, and to please respect this boundary.

They did not respect my wishes.

They went behind my back and found out about my status as a nonbeliever in our Mormon
religion, though I still attend church with my father.

I was bombarded with accusations, false assumptions of my character, where I had to navigate
endless circles they tried to entrap me in. After a number of massive texts, I could suddenly see
their manipulation and the gaslighting. I remained calm and neutral. I know this family member
is hurt and feels betrayed by my silence, but I didn’t want to shatter anyone’s faith, break their
hearts, or be seen differently because I don’t believe. My silence was an act of protection, not an
act of betrayal.

I shared something vulnerable and sacred to my soul, three old pages from my journal. I received
a short and cold response. In total, I have written over 8,000 words of firm, clear, and direct
communication. In return, I got more wild accusations, bids to their naive innocence in all this,
clear and absolute threats to sever our friendship, and more disgusting vitriol.

In the final exchange, as I was writing a long message, this family member said something that
awakened my protective Mamaisa Hufflepuff Badger.

They attempted to manipulate me yet again, using my LGBTQ+ munchkins against me and
asking me if I ever thought about how much shame and embarrassment the kids who look up to
me must feel because I ‘mock god.’

I will fight for the munchkins in my server. I accept them and love them no matter what
background they come from or what they do or what they believe. I don't have to meet them;
they are loved as they are. No matter what. No exceptions. I support spirituality and the seeking
of something beyond yourself; it is the oppression of religious organizations that I will call out.
My family member used my dead mother against me, multiple times. Fine. Whatever. But using
my kids? Unacceptable.

My family member did not accept me when I came out to them as gay, twisting it and making it
all about how this affects them and their feelings about me.

I said in my final rebuttal: “I am to them what you should’ve been to me.”

I accept this new unplanned chapter in my life. I am well and I am safe. If this had happened last
year, it would’ve broken me. Today, it hasn’t even left a crack. I release control and let the
current carry me to where I am meant to be. I will not label it as a negative event; I will not give
it that power. I have done my utmost to maintain my integrity in all of my responses without
attacking where I know it would hurt. If I receive a sincere apology, I will wholeheartedly accept
it.

It is not what happens that matters. It is how you react to it.

I tell you all this not because I’m venting my sordid life story to you all. I share my story to
inspire others because it is through witnessing the stories of others that we see we’re not alone. It
was hearing the stories of others that saved me. Our souls can still touch without ever meeting
each other. It is so often that when people no longer believe in a religion, they’re viewed through
a lens of negativity. “You lack light in your eyes. Your choices are heartbreaking and will only
bring you divine punishment. Wickedness never was happiness. You have no morals.”

Those are lies; don’t believe them.

Even in the difficulties of life, when you’re bombarded with problems and issues and hardships,
I send you my hope and my strength to not only endure, but grow stronger and rise above it all.

You are not alone.

I hope this chapter brought you a little moment of joy in your life. I hope my writing inspires you
to create. Please create! I write for myself and I post for you. I love and adore you all so very
much. Know that this author sends you her unconditional love. You have been an essential part
of making this space a sanctuary for me. Thank you for coming back every time I update. Thank
you for being invested in this version of Tom and Harry. Thank you for your comments, your
screams of excitement, your tears, your hearts, everything about you, thank you.

All stories are back on public view. I will no longer hide. I have no doubt that this family
member is still skulking about on AO3 and on Tumblr, so why not make it a little easier on them,
hm?

Hi.
 Thirty-One
Chapter Notes

Thank you all so very much for your kind words of love and encouragement. It's been deeply
appreciated and greatly needed. Thank you.

Man, I hate when chapters are unfinished well beyond the 4k mark. It’s a double edge sword. It
always means a longer chapter, which yay for you. But also not great because it always takes me
longer to finish and edit or, in this case, I get very very stuck. It was so bad, I finally decided to
cut the Hogsmeade trip between chapters. It's good because I decided I couldn't skip certain
scenes anymore. In doing so, it gave me the ability to push through and finally get this chapter to
a completed status for you all. <3

Happy Pride, yall~!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

“So, were you ever planning on telling me we’d been invited to Sunday dinner with the Scamanders?”
asked Harry. Freshly showered with his hair still damp, he folded his arms and leaned against the tile
wall of their dorm bathroom. Tom stood in front of him at the sink. Harry lifted a sardonic eyebrow.
“Or were you going to ignore it altogether?”

Tom rolled his eyes, shutting the sink tap off and drying his hands with a green hand towel. “I was
going to tell you.”

“But you didn’t and you’re lucky I didn’t make you look like a berk to Newt this morning when he
gushed about it. He would’ve been so disappointed.”

“It merely slipped my mind,” said Tom in a huffy tone as he unrolled his sleeves and buttoned the
cuffs at his wrist. “I was only informed of the invite Thursday evening.”

“And yet you had all day yesterday—”

Tom sighed. “It really did slip my mind,” he said softly, gaze dropping with a hint of disquiet. “After I
received the note, something else… came up. My mind has been occupied elsewhere since then.”

“All right,” said Harry, shifting his stance. Though he was curious, he didn’t push for more
information.

I hope nothing bad happened… would he tell me if something had?

Tom lifted an eyebrow, eyes flicking over Harry’s frame. “And are you really going to wear… that?”

Harry blinked. He glanced down at himself. He’d foregone the usual school robes and had put on
some more comfortable clothes. His dark blue jeans, light blue t-shirt, and dark brown jacket were the
second set of clothes found within his pouch. It’d been quite awhile since Harry had worn anything
other than his school uniform and it was a welcomed change. If he never had to wear another tie for as
long as he lived, it’d be too soon.
“Uh…”

“This is all… muggle made, isn’t it?” asked Tom, eyes narrowing in confusion. He stopped adjusting
the dress shirt buttons at his collarbone and paused with another studying look. “I don’t recognize this
style, though. It’s rather foreign.”

Oh.

Well, fuck.

Right, the clothes Harry currently wore were all made in the 1990s. Nice work. Doing a bang up job
here. Realizing how stupid of a mistake he’d just made, Harry froze, his mind whirling in the mad
dash for a plausible explanation.

Though, it’s not the first slip up I’ve made and I sure as hell know it won’t be the last.

Fucking hell.

“Yeah, uh, it’s not a style of British muggles. My relatives, they’re, uh, into exotic fashion,” said
Harry, shrugging it off. Fuck—exotic fashion? What am I even saying? I wouldn’t even believe my
own bullshit. He shifted tactics and attempted to lean into bashful insecurity, glancing up at Tom with
furrowed brows and wide, worried eyes. “It doesn’t look weird, does it?”

Tom inhaled. He turned his head to the side; his chest rose. “It’s tolerable,” he said. There was a
pause. “You’ll want to wear a sweater and scarf with that as it’s chilly today.”

“Uh… You think so?”

Tom nodded.

With a shrug, Harry didn’t argue it. He made a mental note to get a proper set or two of muggle
clothes from this era. They both left the bathroom together in silence, walking the short distance in the
corridor to their dorm room. Tom went to his trunk and opened it, pulling out a sweater vest and a tie.
It took Harry a long moment to rummage around in his trunk before he managed to find his sweater
and scarf.

“How can you find anything like that?” asked Tom, eyebrow lifted in distaste as he wrapped his tie
around his open collar. With quick, experienced hands, he tied it, adjusting it at his throat. “Do you
always keep everything in your trunk in such a state without care?”

Harry slammed his trunk shut, cheeks flushing with heat, and shrugged off his jacket to shove his
sweater over his head. He slipped his jacket back on and plopped onto the edge of his bed, hands
twisting into his Slytherin scarf. He glared at Tom, who folded his collar down over his tie. Once
finished, Tom slipped the sweater vest over his dress shirt.

Normally, Harry didn’t really give a shit about his appearance. He rarely bothered with his school tie,
preferring the feel of an open collar around his neck instead, and he often went with an untucked dress
shirt beneath his sweater vest. He never bothered with his hair, which always insisted on proudly
displaying its flyaways and cowlicks no matter what he tried to do to it. When Harry had gotten
dressed this morning, he’d chosen comfort over his school robes. He hadn’t cared if he looked like a
disheveled vagrant that had dragged himself out of a rubbish bin.

However…
Tom stood in contrasted perfection. There wasn’t a curl out of place on his head and not even a
wayward strand dared be out of place. His tie was just right, slightly off center in a classy style. His
dress shirt was crisp and wrinkle free, while his sweater vest remained relatively smoothed out over
his torso.

As Harry sat there, an odd twisted feeling rolled around in his gut.

“What?” asked Tom, brow raised. “What is it?”

Harry shook his head, glancing away. “Nothing.”

“Please tell me you’ve come to your senses and have decided against going to Hogsmeade in favor of
more productive—”

The door to their dorm room swung open.

“Did my ears deceive me or did I hear you say Hogsmeade?” asked Alphard with a grin. Quintus and
Simon stood in the corridor behind him. Simon slipped into the room, while Quintus took a step
closer. Alphard glanced between Tom and Harry. “Hang on, is that right? You’re actually going to
Hogsmeade? You, Tom?”

Tom turned away, ignoring him, and closed his trunk, while Alphard and Quintus exchanged confused
glances. Simon threw a scarf around his neck and shrugged at them, before he stepped through the
doorway and walked down the corridor.

“You need something, then? Is that it?”

“Only a minor item.”

“What? Quin, I must be dreaming. Is this real?” cried Alphard. Quintus smiled, patting him on the
arm. “You’re really coming along?”

Tom rolled his eyes. “Is this so surprising?”

“Just a bit odd,” said Quintus lightly.

“Yeah,” said Alphard, folding his arms and pouting with an exaggerated frown. “You’ve never gone
with us, not even for a butterbeer among friends, after all these years and yet here you are, going for a
minor item. What a lie—you’re going for fun.”

“As I said, I need—”

“What?” asked Harry, frowning. Tom broke off, lips pursing; their gazes met. Tom shifted with the air
of a cornered animal. “You’ve never gotten a butterbeer with them? Ever?” Tom’s jaw clenched; the
prominent knob in his throat contracted; he shook his head in a single sharp motion. “Huh… Uh, well,
it won’t be weird or anything, all right? It’s just a drink with friends and it’ll be fun—you’ll see.
Besides, you can’t back out now, yeah? You agreed to it.”

Tom stiffened. Cheshire grins in slow motion spread across Alphard and Quintus’s faces. “Oh?” they
said in perfect unison. “Did he now?”

“As I said—”

Alphard’s tone lilted in a light jest. “How unusual.”

“Tis mighty strange, indeed,” said Quintus with a sage nod.

Tom gritted his teeth. “Must you two make everything a grand performance for your entertainment?”

“He says yes to Harry, but not to us,” said Alphard, dramatically clutching at his chest. “How easily
we’re cast aside.”

“I shan’t recover from this sorrowful day,” cried Quintus, throwing his head back and leaning his
weight against Alphard. “My heart is wounded, never to be whole again.”

Tom inhaled, his temples pulsing as if about to burst a blood vessel. He strode towards the doorway
where the pair of them blocked the path. He shoved through, while they devolved into chortles. Harry
bolted to his feet and rushed after Tom.

“I’m sure you’re mistaken,” muttered Harry.

“Of course,” purred Quintus.

Harry’s fingers flexed against his scarf. He ran after Tom down the corridor, catching up to him just as
Tom began to descend the staircase. Harry’s stomach twisted in relentless knots; it swooped up and
down, fluttering all around and threatening to make him queasy.

“Are you still going?” asked Harry.

Tom halted in the middle of the stairs. “Yes,” he said in a low voice. He threw him a hard look.
“Hurry up or those two clowns will latch onto us like bloodsucking leeches—”

“You’re not going anywhere without us!” cried Alphard.

“We’re finally going to have a proper Hogsmeade outing!”

Tom groaned, briefly hiding his face in his hands. Alphard and Quintus appeared at the top of the
staircase, before they bounded down the stairs, beaming widely like a pair of children. Tom reached
the bottom of the stairs and whirled around, glaring at them, hands twitching at his sides as if he were
about to start throwing curses. Simon stood nearby and watched with a thoughtful light in his dark
eyes.

Meanwhile, the churning inside Harry’s stomach worsened.

It couldn’t be that big of a deal, could it? Of course, Tom had gone on Hogsmeade trips before
without always needing a reason to go, right? No one was that strict… right? Because, after all, that
logic would lead one to believe Tom had only agreed to go because Harry had been the one to ask.
But that was ridiculous. Laughable. Surely not. Tom wouldn’t do that for him. Harry would have to be
out of his mind to even give that idea a second thought.

But…

Ah, fuck.

With his head turned, Tom crossed his arms in front of his chest. Annoyance and feigned disinterest
filled the air around him. Alphard and Quintus were talking, but Harry couldn’t hear them.

His heart warmed; Harry broke into such a wide smile, his cheeks ached.
Voices drew their attention to the top of the stairs as Roland, Sebastian, and Marcus appeared at the
top, descending as Roland chatted in his boisterous voice to the other two. When they reached the
bottom, Roland stopped when he caught sight of Tom. Marcus blinked in surprise, while Sebastian
eyed Tom with a furrowed brow.

“Oh.” Marcus tilted his head slightly. “Tom, are you coming with us?”

Sebastian snorted. “That’s weird.”

“What-what, really?” chirped Roland. “You’re coming? That’s a first—”

“The next individual,” snapped Tom, his voice sharply carrying through the Slytherin common room,
“to comment on my so called unusual visit to Hogsmeade today will find themselves painfully
cursed.” There was an ominous pause. “Indefinitely.”

Roland threw up his hands in defense. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You were thinking it—”

“Can we go, then?” said Harry, cutting over Tom loudly and nudging him in the side with an elbow.
He smiled at the others and wrapped his scarf around his neck. He could feel Tom’s stare on him
while the other boys shifted nervously.

Quintus coughed. “Excellent idea.”

It was a lucky day for Harry because Tom didn’t hit him with a stinging hex for having the audacity to
elbow him in the side.

Yet, anyway…

The air was crisp, yet not frigid; a gentle breeze brushed through the trees, leaves occasionally falling
from their branches. Covered in a bed of mud and leaves, the ground squelched beneath their boots,
still wet from the rain of yesterday. A spattering of clouds dotted the blue sky above and dark clouds
loomed in the distance, moving the storm onwards.

It’d been years since Harry had visited Hogsmeade for fun. Similar to Diagon Alley, not much had
appeared to have changed between the two eras. However, one notable difference was the zero
requirement of a permission slip. Thank Merlin for that. The little village sat nestled in the crook of
the hills; the rooftops of homes, shops, and other buildings rose into view at the horizon.

Harry adjusted the scarf around his neck, thankful he’d listened to Tom’s advice. The path to
Hogsmeade was filled with students of all ages and houses. A few groups were on their way back to
Hogwarts, though the majority were on their way to Hogsmeade. The Slytherins boys were chatting
amongst each other, while Harry quietly enjoyed the collective sound of their voices.

Nostalgia ached within Harry’s chest.

As the leaves slipped from their branches, fluttering lightly in the cool breeze of November, Harry
met Tom’s gaze and, for a moment, it felt as if the world around them went out of focus. The murmur
of the other boys muffled in Harry’s ears; the world became a blur of colors.

Locked, caged—captivated, Harry couldn’t look away.

The edge of Tom’s lips lifted; his eyebrow quirked upwards in a mild question. Harry did the only
mature thing he could think of: he crossed his eyes and stuck out his tongue.

Harry was gifted with a flash of shock. Tom let out a laugh; he slammed a hand over his mouth, eyes
widening in surprised mirth as his shoulders shook. Harry grinned.

I caught him off guard. I actually got him to laugh—

“Tom?” asked Quintus, glancing back at them. “Something wrong?”

Tom shook his head. “Fine,” he choked out, mouth still hidden.

The other boys looked at him curiously. Tom kept his face hidden and when he finally met Harry’s
eyes, Harry gave him another grin.

Heh, not everyday I manage to—

—Harry’s breath disappeared.

In return, the barest of genuine smiles lightened Tom’s fine features; its rare appearance churned
something warm inside Harry’s entire body.

Harry quickly dropped his gaze, heat filling his cheeks and protecting him from the chill. He pushed
the green and silver scarf to his mouth. His heart raced in his chest, thumping with the roar of his
blood through every corner of his body.

He stole a glance once more.

The wind gusted lightly; the dark brown curls on Tom’s head fluttered in the breeze. Tom brushed his
fringe out of his eyes as he looked around at the scenery with a contented expression.

Harry’s stomach swooped. His face burned with renewed strength, as if his cheeks had caught on fire.
He buried his face further inside the scarf; the heat within was an inferno.

Calm down. Calm down.

Merlin, he’d never felt like this before. Not like this. The stirring in his chest, this warmth that filled
every corner of his body, it weaved through every particle of his entire soul. Fucking hell. What is
this? I feel like I’m gonna combust. He’d felt the chill moments ago, but now he had the
overwhelming urge to pull off his scarf and strip out of his sweater.

Hang on.

Hang on just a minute…

From the beginning, Harry had known he was attracted to Tom, but it hadn’t bothered him too much.
It’d been there under the surface, simmering with a gentle, mild flame. It’d been weak, manageable
even. But this? This boiling heat in his chest and face threatened to consume him, to turn his body
into ash—it was too intense. What in Merlin’s name was this… It reminded Harry of his fifth and
sixth year… Oh. Oh, no.

Shit.

Harry had a bit of a crush on Tom, now didn’t he?

Oh, hell, no. No, no—and, no!

NO!

All the other Slytherins were blissfully unaware of one Harry Potter’s internal screams and screeches
of denial.

For fuck’s sake, get it together! The bastard’s barely been pleasant for a day—a single fucking day!
How am I falling for him so soon? Fuck. Shit. No. I’m not a swooning maiden—dammit, no, don’t
even think about it!

His mind streamed an endless conga line of expletives.

Harry wanted nothing more than for the earth to swallow him whole at that very moment. How utterly
mortifying. He’d sunk to a new low now, bottom of the ocean low to its soul crushing depths. They’d
barely tried to kill each other three weeks ago. Tom had been weird, snappy, and distant for two of
those weeks because of nightmares and little sleep. As for this week, it wasn’t like Harry was around
Tom as much as he’d been around Ron and Hermione.

Hell, Harry was pretty damn sure, if given the choice, Tom would still kill him for immortality.

Merlin, I’m fucked.

It might’ve been a bit insane to be having a crush on a guy who’d murder a friend for immortality.

Just a bit.

Fuck. Harry wanted to scream, but he forced the urge down. A crush didn’t mean much at any rate.
This was fine. He put on a smile, trying to listen to one of the other conversations, trying to distract
himself—but he couldn’t. He tumbled back down, falling deep into his thoughts, barely watching
where his steps were taking him.

All he could think about was Tom.

Loathe Harry was to admit it, there was a sweet deliciousness to this warmth. Yet, it didn’t last long; a
hint of bitterness overtook the taste. As Harry stole yet another glance at Tom, as he listened to the
other voices of the boys droning on in a comforting lull, a sense of mournful loss dampened the
intensity of his feelings.

Memories with Ron and Hermione flooded his mind, filling him with longing sorrow and wounded
loss.

Harry looked at the other boys. Sebastian and Roland were in a heated debate about the usefulness of
flying on brooms versus apparition, while Simon and Marcus were discussing what potions
ingredients they needed to stock up on. Alphard and Quintus were talking about what books they were
looking for, while Tom walked alongside them in silence, his eyes idly wandering around the rolling
hills of the landscape.

They were all so different and Harry was glad to call them his friends.

Despite the hardships Harry knew about their family dynamics, there was still an innocence to all of
the Slytherin boys. Their worries, for the most part, were simple and solvable, exactly the kind of
problems they should be concerned about. None of them had the threat of death over their heads.
They had their trials, yes. But after fighting for his life countless times in seven short years and all as
a child, Harry thought the ways of the purebloods were insignificant. Though he’d grown closer to the
Slytherin boys, Harry believed their friendships could never be as strong as what he’d had with Ron
and Hermione or even the friendships he’d eventually had with Ginny, Luna, and Neville.

The inseparable friendship of a ragtag trio of Gryffindor kids had been forged in the flames of trials
and adventures.

These boys would never fight a troll at age eleven nor solve the mystery of the Chamber of Secrets at
twelve. They wouldn’t help their underage and unqualified friend win the Triwizard Tournament at
age fourteen. They wouldn’t start an illegal defense club nor risk their lives to save their friend’s
godfather at age fifteen. They wouldn’t defend Hogwarts from a Death Eater attack nor bury the only
man they believed could protect them from the Dark Lord’s assault at age sixteen.

They wouldn’t go on the run together in the dead of winter, wouldn’t go hungry, wouldn’t be tortured,
wouldn’t be imprisoned, wouldn’t be betrayed, and wouldn’t break into the world’s most dangerous
bank. They wouldn’t feel lost and scared in an unforgiving world, terrified at every sound heard in the
woods.

They wouldn’t know war.

They wouldn’t know the sting of death as it surrounded them.

And Harry would never wish such things on these boys. Once he knew Tom wouldn’t make a
horcrux, stopping Grindelwald would be next. How, he had no idea, but he’d protect these boys. He
still felt the absence of his friends all too often, but Harry had long accepted the loss of those bonds.

If Harry and Tom ever were able to reach what Death had said, would the connection between them
be as strong as it’d been between Harry, Ron, and Hermione? Was it even possible? Three weeks ago,
Harry would’ve scoffed. Even if they ever—Harry tried not to blush at the thought—became romantic
and intimate, he still couldn’t see himself trusting Tom with his whole heart.

And yet…

The quiet moments gave Harry a bit of hope as he caught a glimpse of someone he could actually like
and Harry hadn’t counted on that. The less they argued, the more Harry could see Tom. In the soft
moments where Tom lowered his immaculate guard, Harry was given precious insight into who the
other boy truly was and not the mask he displayed.

And now, Harry realized, he craved to see more of him.

“Besides a butterbeer, anything else you planned to do in Hogsmeade?”

Tom’s voice cut through the depths of Harry’s thoughts. He blinked and looked up to see Tom at his
side, meeting his strides. He gave him a raised eyebrow; a ripple of shock sent unease through Harry’s
body. When had Tom gotten so close…

Tom tilted his head in question.

“Oh, uh.” Harry swallowed. “I hadn’t really… thought of it.”

“You all but beg for my presence in Hogsmeade and you don’t have a plan?”

The heat flared up in his cheeks. “Hey,” Harry said hotly. “You were just gonna sit in the common
room all by yourself.”
“I wouldn’t have been by myself,” said Tom with a pointed look, a hint of amusement at the side of
his mouth. “I would’ve had a fellow parselmouth with me who desperately needs some proper
training on controlling his parseltongue gift.”

“Oh, but isn’t this better than staying in a stuffy common room and hissing all day?”

“It’s not stuffy—”

“The hell it isn’t—we’re under the lake, for fuck’s sake.”

“Ridiculous. Lessons held beneath the lake will not stifle your ability to learn.”

“Of course it will.” Harry shrugged elaborately. “How can we hiss if we can’t breathe?”

Tom’s lips twitched. “And what if I preferred the ‘stuffy’ quiet over your obnoxious voice?”

“Sounds pretty boring to me, Riddle.”

“Sounds like heavenly peace to me, Evans.”

The silence roared softly.

In the oddest slap back to reality, Harry stopped walking. The shops of Hogsmeade were close by
now. He glanced at the other boys and they all stared at the two of them with a collective raised
eyebrow. But the way Alphard and Quintus was staring at them—fuck, they know.

“You two good there?” asked Roland, leaning back with his hands behind his head. “Not gonna curse
each other, right?”

“Rest assured,” said Tom, brushing at something invisible on his sleeve. “We’re not at each other’s
throats.”

“Mmm, pity,” murmured Quintus.

Harry drowned in his internal heat.

Alphard smiled, all bright, like the cat who had caught the canary. “That’s not fighting. That’s
banter.”

Sorry, Sirius, I might have to kill your uncle.

Tom frowned. “Pardon?”

“What’re you on about, Alphard?” snapped Sebastian. “Circe’s tits, you’re so weird—both of you.
Not all of us are bent like the pair of you. They’re just bickering with each other. That’s not banter.”

What the fuck?

“And you would know, hm? Wouldn’t you?” said Quintus lightly. He smiled with a dichotomy of
gentle darkness. “Since that’s exactly what you want to have with Marcus, yes?”

Marcus and Sebastian flinched. They went three shades darker, blush dusting their cheeks. Sebastian
snarled like a wild animal and flipped Quintus off. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his robes
and marched on ahead of the group into the village.
Simon sighed and threw Quintus a disapproving look. “Poorly said, don’t you think?” he whispered.
He quickened his strides and it didn’t take long for Simon to reach Sebastian. The two of them walked
in silence side by side until they went out of sight.

“Fuck you, Quintus,” muttered Marcus. “That was low.”

Quintus pursed his lips together; the light in his eyes dimmed.

Marcus tightened his arms around his chest and ducked his head, roughly rubbing at his eyes with his
sleeve. He pulled away from the group and strode off towards one of the shops. Roland shook his
head with a sigh and caught up to Marcus’ side, saying something inaudible before throwing an arm
around Marcus’ shoulders briefly. A piercing, furious shout from Marcus had Roland sheepishly
jerking his arm away in surrender, but the two of them stuck together before disappearing into a shop.

A beat passed.

“What was that?” asked Harry. “What… have I missed?”

“That was just two friends,” said Quintus in a low voice, gaze soft and mournful. “Friends who’d like
to be more, but refuse to even try.”

“You’re reading too much into them and have caused them unnecessary grief,” said Tom, folding his
arms with a furrowed expression. “Don’t provoke them in the future like that, Quintus. Leave them
be.”

Quintus slowly turned his head towards Tom, the light in his eyes predatory. “Just because you can’t
see what’s right in front of you doesn’t mean the rest of us can’t.”

Harry sucked in his breath.

Alphard sighed, slapping a hand over his forehead.

Tom narrowed his eyes. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

“It means—”

Alphard curled an arm around Quintus’ shoulders and clamped a hand over his mouth, cutting him off
before he could say anything more. He pulled Quintus against his side, looking down at him with a
firm eye.

“All right, my wild alleycat, that’s enough of that now,” said Alphard in a stern tone. Quintus
squirmed in his hold, his protests muffled. Alphard dragged him away from Tom and Harry. “You’ve
caused enough trouble for one day.”

“Al—I wasn’t done—”

“Oh, yes, you are.”

“No, I’m sick and tired of—”

“I know you are, but I say you’re done.”

“Alphard, no—”
“You’re so feisty today, Quin,” said Alphard, grinning at Quintus with a wink that reminded Harry too
much of a mischievous Sirius. Just as they disappeared into an alleyway between two shops, he said
slyly, “Should I… take care of that?”

Quintus huffed, cheeks blooming red. “You’re impossible.”

The laughter faded.

Harry rubbed his face, trying to rid himself of the heat and failing at it. He understood too much and
not enough from that exchange. Tom stared at the alleyway with a pinched expression.

“If they get caught for indecent exposure, I’ll kill them,” muttered Tom.

Harry choked. He slapped a hand over his mouth and doubled over, hysterical laughter bursting out
and shaking his entire body.

“That’s not something to laugh about.”

Harry shook his head.

“There are plenty of broom cupboards, unsuitable as they are, at Hogwarts for those types of…
activities.”

“How d’you know that?” cried Harry through his laughter, his voice a squeak.

Tom sniffed, lips curling in disgust. “I have caught far too many pairs out after curfew.”

Harry wheezed.

“It’s not funny.”

“No, it’s hilarious.”

Tom huffed. “Thank Salazar for Occlumency or else those memories would haunt me.”

Harry couldn’t hold back the barking laughter at that.

It took Harry a good minute to calm down, while Tom rolled his eyes upward with the obvious need
for strength. Harry wiped a tear from his eye, catching his breath. He smiled up at Tom, but stilled.
Something caught Tom’s attention and a shadow fell over his expression. Harry turned in the direction
and his stomach twisted.

Archibald stood outside one of the shops with three other Slytherin seventh years. Harry recognized
Yaxley, but he didn’t know who the other two boys were. The four of them stood clustered together,
whispering in low voices while glancing around.

Harry crossed his arms. “I thought Slytherins were supposed to be subtle.”

“Not all possess the quality. You’re certainly the quintessential example of lacking subtlety.”

“No shit,” said Harry, chuckling. “Well, they’re obviously up to something.”

Tom pursed his lips together. “Indeed.”

Archibald noticed them. Harry kept his face neutral, but his arms flexed at his chest. The other three
turned as one to look at Harry and Tom; a shiver slid down Harry’s spine. Archibald’s lips twisted in a
sneer; he gestured to his companions and the group began to stride towards them. Harry slipped his
hand inside his jeans’ pocket and gripped the hilt of his wand.

“I know Nott and Yaxley, but who are the other two?” asked Harry quietly.

“Roman Dolohov and Oliver Rookwood.”

“They’re not among your Knights.”

“No. I never extended an invitation,” whispered Tom. “I don’t trust the sons or daughters of
Unspeakables.”

“Will they attack us out in the open here?”

Tom’s smile was wicked and his voice a whisper of parseltongue. “I hope to see them try.”

“Riddle,” said Archibald in a loud, bright tone, as he stopped a couple feet in front of them. Tom
inclined his head in greeting. Yaxley yawned, rolling his eyes, while the looks Dolohov and
Rookwood gave Harry made his skin crawl. “Unusual to see you here in Hogsmeade.”

“I had an errand to attend to,” said Tom.

Archibald snorted. “An errand. You sound like a little housewife. That’d suit you well, Riddle. Maybe
I was wrong about you and Evans. You’re the—”

Harry’s wand snapped out and jutted upwards into Archibald’s chin. The other Slytherins armed
themselves, as did Tom. Three wands pointed at Harry, while Tom’s wand pointed at Archibald.

Harry leaned closer. “Shut the fuck up,” he whispered. “Shut your fucking mouth and get the hell out
of my face before I rearrange yours so spectacularly that it’ll look like you were on the bad end of an
exploding potions assignment.”

Archibald glared down at Harry, nostrils flaring. Harry dug the tip of his wand deeper into his chin,
forcing his head back slightly. Archibald let out a breathy laugh.

“Pathetic, Riddle. Can’t control your second at all.”

“Well,” drawled Tom. “That would be because he hasn’t done anything I don’t approve of at the
moment.”

A flash of fury rushed through Archibald’s face. He took a step back, drawing away from Harry’s
wand, and Harry let him. He didn’t lower it, however. Archibald adjusted his collar with his lips
thinned and his jaw clenched. He held out a hand and the other three Slytherins lowered their wands.

Archibald shook his head and strode towards Tom. He paused at his side and whispered something
inaudible into his ear. Tom didn’t move, made no flinch nor a shift in expression. Archibald slapped a
hand onto Tom’s shoulder, jostling Tom slightly, before he motioned to his companions and started on
the way back home towards Hogwarts. The other boys shoved passed Harry, arms knocking against
Harry’s shoulders and setting him off balance. He gritted his teeth and let it go. He drew towards
Tom’s side, waiting for the group to get out of ear shot.

“What was that all about?” asked Harry.

 “Nothing,” said Tom shortly. His eyes narrowed. “Just a lowly pest buzzing about.”

Chapter End Notes

Tom: is finally not a bastard for a single day and smiles once.
Harry’s Heart: "Oh, I think we like this one, yeah—"
Harry’s Brain: "ARE YOU FUCKING MAD??? KNOCK THAT SHIT OFF. NOOOOOO."

“His mind streamed an endless conga line of expletives.” Okay, listen, I know this is a such a
crack line, but I couldn't NOT keep it. It’s too fucking hilarious not to keep it! xD

Harry: firmly believes he'll never have the same friendships like he'd had with Ron and Hermione
Isa: sips in author plans

Yall, there’s something about the beginning of this chapter that gets me right in a primal part of
my brain. I’m a bit feral about this and it’s not even soft. I think it’s the domestic nature of the
two of them getting ready and getting dressed. I dunno, this does something to my heart and
FUCK we’re not ANYWHERE NEAR beyond the friends milestone.

ASLKJDGA

I KNOW THE TIMELINE IS ON TRACK AND DOING ITS JOB, but uuuuugggggh. Tom,
Harry, you two are such SLOW DUMBASSES. You’re killing me, boys—killing me.

more unholy author screeching

 Thirty-Two
Chapter Notes

Still alive! I barely survived the summer semester in one piece, ngl. Dear lord, the stress was
wild, but made it through and I am so fucking delighted that I don’t have to do college this next

❤️🧡💛💚💙💜
semester. I’ve been writing a ton this month. I’m on fire. if you’ve noticed just how much I’ve
updated all of my works. I had the goal to update everything in August.

Let’s see~

Shall I Stay (Fluffy Harry/Newt | cowriter AJ) - once

Badger Prey (Saucy Tom/Newt | cowriter AJ) - once

Moon Rite (Arranged Marriage trope Harry/Voldemort) - twice

Elysium’s Sanctuary (Dadmort saving Harry with a side of Voldemort/Newt) - Brand new and
updated six times!

Plus the latest chapter here.

Eleven chapters. Damn... Still not the end of the month yet~

This chapter was completed a number of weeks ago, but I was so overwhelmed by it. I dunno
why, but editing just seemed so daunting. I feel like it’s not perfect, but ah well. Hi, here you go.

Ugh, I’ve missed my sons so much. MY SONS.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

‘Your hubris will be your downfall, Riddle.’

Tom glared at the retreating group, Archibald’s threat ringing in his mind. Those other Slytherins had
dangerous connections in the Ministry, especially Rookwood.

Archibald’s baiting me and itching for a fight.

Harry put his hands onto his hips. “You’d think he’d have learned his lesson when a snake nearly bit
off his bollocks.”

“Yes. One would think that, wouldn’t they? But it would appear that he hasn’t and is challenging me
once again. Quite foolish.”

“Is all this normal?”

“Pardon?” said Tom, looking back at him.

Harry gestured. “Are you normally challenged by other Slytherins so much like this?”
“Ah, that.” Tom shook his head. “I was challenged only once after my rise at the start of fifth year and
I ended all issues anyone had with my place at the head of Slytherin.”

“And before? Who was at the head before you?

“Lestrange. I first challenged him when he was a fifth year in my second year and failed, I regret to
admit, rather spectacularly.”

“Hang on a minute,” said Harry, incredulous. “You challenged a fifth year when you were a second
year?”

Tom inclined his head.

“Bloody hell, Tom, but you do have a pair on you, don’t you?”

Tom snorted. “I assure you, it was most foolish on my part. I was unprepared for the power of a fifth
year, but I was more unprepared to challenge someone who could be at the head as a fifth year.
Lestrange was a different breed altogether. He’s a cousin to Sebastian and of a different branch of the
Lestrange family.”

“Wait, wait,” said Harry, throwing up a hand. His eyes twinkled with mischief. “You’re telling me that
Tom Riddle failed at something?”

Tom’s lips twitched. “Contrary to your belief, I’m not perfect at everything I set out to do on my first
try.”

Harry’s face bloomed with amused shock. “Did you just admit to not being perfect? Mr. Perfect at
everything admitting he’s human?”

“Don’t be crude.”

Harry barked out a laugh.

“My perfection is a veneer for my enemies.”

A shadow fell over Harry’s expression. For a long moment, he didn’t look at him. “And are we?” he
asked softly. “Enemies?”

It felt as if the rug had been pulled out from under him. Tom paused. “What kind of question is that?
Of course we’re not enemies.”

Right?

Why on earth would Harry ask that? Enemies? Weren’t they friends? Hadn’t he extended his
friendship weeks ago? Did something change? Did he not believe them to be friends anymore?

Something twisted sharply in Tom’s chest.

“Unless you no longer wish—”

“No, no! I just… Sorry, dumb question.” Harry looked away and rubbed his neck. “We’re friends,
yeah?”
Discomfort itched at the back of Tom’s neck. He refrained from adjusting his collar. “Of course,” he
said. A strange feeling wrapped around Tom’s throat, threatening to choke him. He didn’t understand
its meaning. “Archibald Nott has repeatedly shown himself to be my enemy. You… You have never
been my enemy.”

I, on the other hand… I was antagonistic towards you. If anything, I was your enemy.

The tension in Harry’s shoulders slumped downwards. He let out a relieved huff of air and a small
smile lifted his lips. “Good,” he whispered. “Good.”

An odd silence rose between the two of them.

Tom cleared his throat. “Well, it’s only the two of us for now, until we partake in that butterbeer you
wanted so much. Did you have a shop in mind?”

“Honeydukes?”

Tom nodded. He’d been planning a trip there. It was his biggest excuse of going to Hogsmeade with
Harry. The only problem was he didn’t know what to get and asking Harry for advice would be his
last resort. He wasn’t sure what would be appropriate for a first year.

Honeydukes wasn’t far. The two of them entered the small establishment, the bell tinkling at the door.
A young man greeted them from the counter. A number of other students were already in the shop,
perusing the many aisles of sweets. Tom stepped down the aisle of hard sweets.

“Tom…” began Harry, trailing after him. “You don’t think Sebastian and Marcus left for Hogwarts,
do you?”

“No, why?”

“Well, you know how they stormed off…”

“They’ll get over it.” When Harry didn’t look convinced, Tom sighed. “A little comment by Quintus
won’t unsettle them for long. They’ve handled far worse than a pushy comment.”

“But—”

“Quintus is always doing this,” said Tom. He kept his voice low, watching out for any eavesdropping
students. “He’s been pushing them for two years now. It’s nothing new.”

“What?” said Harry. “He’s done this before?”

Tom nodded. “He’s under the impression that everyone wants what he has with Alphard.”

“Wait, so there is something between them—”

Tom covered Harry’s mouth with a hand, taking a quick glance around the shop. Few of the patrons
even noticed them, but one pair of Ravenclaw girls glanced over at them briefly.

Harry was warm beneath his hand.

“Keep your voice down,” whispered Tom in parseltongue. “Don’t air out their business for others to
hear. It could endanger them.”
Harry just nodded. His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat.

Tom dropped his hand; it felt too hot. “Alphard and Quintus have been secretly together since second
year,” he whispered. “It’s only this year they’ve stopped hiding their relationship. They’re serious
about one another. However, there are other types of relationships that arise within the Slytherin house
that don’t end so happily. Thus, they settle with what they can get.”

“But…” Harry frowned, brows furrowed pensively. “Hang on, are you talking about a friends with
benefits kind of thing?”

“Of a sort,” said Tom, inclining his head. “I’ve known that Sebastian and Marcus on occasion
have…” He trailed off, unable to say exactly what those two had been up to, even if it hadn’t been
often. It only took catching them after a tryst, with their rumpled clothes and disheveled hair, to make
the connection. “Well, so long as it didn’t interfere with their work, I don’t care what they do in their
free time.”

“Huh.”

“Quintus is a romantic. But not everyone can turn their back on their heirship for a lover nor do they
always want to do so.”

“That’s…” Harry’s face fell. “That’s so sad.”

Tom shrugged. “It is the way of the purebloods.”

“Can’t we change that, though?” asked Harry. “We can’t let this go on forever.”

Tom held back the smile that threatened his lips. Ever the idealist, you are. But they couldn’t change
it all overnight, as much as Tom wanted to for his Knights. They were still at school and they were all
at the mercy of their families. They were at the mercy of the adult world. Tom had no outside power
nor the funds to overthrow centuries of pureblood traditions.

He also didn’t want to force the issue if he didn’t have to yet. Alphard and Quintus had already made
their choice, though Quintus hadn’t informed his family. Lord knew what would happen if the Prince
family found out about Quintus choosing a male partner over a female one. It was a risk—a
dangerous one. If Sebastian and Marcus didn’t want to risk the ire of their parents, then Tom wasn’t
going to force it on them.

“Perhaps eventually,” said Tom in a low voice.

Harry sighed.

It wasn’t until Harry showed up that Tom had begun to truly look at the state of things around him.
He’d been so used to blending in that he hadn’t seen all of the underlining problems—or, perhaps, he
hadn’t had a reason to care.

“Any flavors you like?” asked Harry, gesturing towards the rack of hard candies and breaking Tom
out of his thoughts.

“A few,” said Tom.

“What, no lemon drops?” asked Harry, grinning.

Tom threw him a look. “Dumbledore ruined their appeal.”

Harry laughed.

Tom leaned down and picked up the smallest bag of sweets. He lifted the bag, showing it to Harry. “I
am a bit partial to butterscotch.” He returned the bag to its place and walked out of the aisle with
Harry following after him with a frown.

“You’re not getting some?”

“I didn’t need anything,” said Tom, turning down the chocolate aisle. “Why waste the money?”

Harry’s frown deepened. He glanced back briefly at the candy aisle. Tom paused in front of the many
chocolate frog varieties, becoming a touch overwhelmed by the amount of choices available. His eyes
flickered back and forth, taking in the options.

“Tom?”

Last retort it was.

He pulled out his wand and lifted a silencing charm around them. He turned around, crossed his arms,
and faced Harry. His arms tightened at his chest.

“I have… a question,” whispered Tom.

Harry tilted his head and waited. Tom shifted, an odd emotion filling his chest, twisting and churning.
He unfolded his arms, but the feeling didn’t go away. A moment later, he crossed his arms over his
chest again. He didn’t meet Harry’s eyes, yet heat entered his cheeks. Tom huffed and his arms
dropped to his sides.

Stupid. Shouldn’t ask—

“Never mind,” muttered Tom.

He strode by Harry, head ducked. Harry reached out and grabbed him by the wrist. Tom halted,
tugging on Harry’s hold, but he wouldn’t let him go.

“Hey, it’s okay,” said Harry softly. “Take your time. I’ll wait for your question.”

Tom looked at Harry’s hand on his wrist. Deep tan contrasted with pearl white and Tom noted how
Harry’s fingers wrapped perfectly around his wrist. Mouth drying, Tom gently tugged away and
breathed in soft relief when Harry let him go.

Tom nodded. “Right,” he whispered. “Well, uh, what sweets do you think Mont—Potter—that Potter
boy—uh…” Harry’s mouth slowly dropped, pure shock rushing through his entire being. Tom shifted
and pushed through in a rush, “What sweets do you think he’d like?”

Harry blinked.

The heat flooded his cheeks even more, pouring upwards to his ears. “Never mind,” Tom bit out
through gritted teeth. “I shouldn’t—”

“You almost called him Monty,” said Harry, smiling widely.

“I did not,” hissed Tom.

“Have you spoken to him? Did you apologize?”

Tom threw a hand over his face. “Yes. Give me an idea of what to give him. Now.”

“You’re really getting him something?”

“I will curse you into the oblivion,” snapped Tom, glaring at him, “if you don’t cease this questioning
at once.”

“Hey, just trying to figure out your original question,” said Harry; his face still spread wide with that
grin that could’ve put the sun to shame. “So, you worked everything out together, then?”

Tom huffed. His anger softened. “We’ve solved our differences.”

“You mean you got over your jealousy.”

Harry yelped at the stinging hex Tom threw at him, but he laughed it off and took it in stride. “I’m
pretty sure the kid would love a chocolate frog,” he said brightly. “I’ll get him one, too, yeah?”

Tom nodded, the tension easing from his features.

The two of them picked out a chocolate frog each and made their purchases. The bell tinkled gently as
they left.

“You think the others are the Three Broomsticks already?” asked Harry.

“Not Quintus and Alphard,” said Tom with a snort. “Those two are probably still raiding the
bookshop.”

“Still wanna go?”

Tom tilted his head and gave him a smile. “I suppose so. You’ll harass me otherwise.”

Harry laughed. The sound of his laughter softened something inside of Tom. As they made their way
to the Three Broomsticks, their conversation wasn’t much, but pleasant.

Tom wondered when he’d become tolerant to such idle chatter.

The pub was a cacophony of sound, packed with students who were crowded together at every table.
Tom winced. The noise level was so intensely loud and he had to resist covering his ears; he regretted
this already.

Harry patted Tom on the arm, pointing to a corner table in the back. Sebastian and Simon were sitting
at the table. Harry grabbed him by the wrist, pulling him along, and Tom allowed himself to be
dragged through the crowd. His ears rang from the sheer volume of noise the students caused from
being in such a small enclosed space.

Once seated, Tom lifted a silencing charm and the noise ceased around them. Tom let out a sigh of
relief. Sebastian nursed a butterbeer with a grimace. He grunted with a nod at them, while Simon gave
them a wave.

“Is Marcus okay?” asked Harry. “Have you seen him?

Sebastian shrugged. “No, I haven’t seen him.”

“Roland will bring him along when he’s cooled off a bit,” said Simon. “They’ll be here.”

“I suppose,” whispered Harry.

The silence lifted between them. Tom was wedged against the wall, next to Harry. A chair moved
nearby and someone bumped into him; Tom gritted his teeth and shifted closer to Harry.

“You all right?” whispered Harry.

“Fine.”

It was too crowded. Too much. Not even the Great Hall was ever this bad. At least in the Great Hall,
Tom could keep enough space around himself. Here, in this tiny pub, packed to the brim with tables,
chairs, and people, it overwhelmed his senses. Tom clasped his hands together in his lap, hidden. He
dug his nails into the palm of his hands.

Maybe this was a bad idea. He shouldn’t have agreed to it. The silencing charm took care of the noise,
but it didn’t help with that suffocating feeling in his chest. He longed for the stillness and the
calmness of the Slytherin common room.

However, Tom didn’t regret coming with Harry.

Marcus and Roland were the next to arrive. Marcus gave Tom an acknowledging nod and sat next to
Sebastian at the table, while Roland took a seat next to Simon. Marcus appeared subdued; he kept
checking his pocket every few moments. Roman began to engage Simon about all of the Quidditch
supplies he found at the store.

Lastly, Alphard and Quintus arrived. As they approach the table, Alphard placed his hand on Quintus’
back and pushed him forward. Quintus’ features were pinched with guilt and embarrassment. He
ducked his head slightly, but he met Sebastian and Marcus’ eyes.

“I wanted to apologize,” said Quintus. “I said some unnecessary things and brought you both pain.
I’m sorry.”

Sebastian shrugged and looked away. Marcus gave Quintus a tiny smile and nodded before he looked
away as well.

Alphard slapped Quintus on the back and smiled at all of them, pulling out a chair for Quintus. He sat
down in the chair next to him. “Now this is nice,” he said cheerfully. “We’re all together—our entire
group.

Tom rolled his eyes, once again regretting his decision. And yet… Harry’s grin was well worth it.
They ordered a round of butterbeers and the others began chatting amongst themselves.

Tom zoned them out. His thoughts trailed off into thinking how he’d go about teaching Harry how to
speak parseltongue. Harry spoke it only when faced with a snake, a real one or a symbol of one. The
issue was breaking him of that habit, but the language came naturally to Tom and he never once had
any trouble with it. How is he supposed to teach something he had never before experienced?

Instead of being in this godforsaken sardine can, we could be back in the Slytherin common room
where I could be teaching him parseltongue.

Tom took a sip of his butterbeer. His thoughts strayed further away, back to Archibald. That twat was
up to something and it was escalating at an alarming pace. What a bother. He had better things to do
than deal with an idiot who couldn’t take a loss with his dignity intact.

“Tom.”

He blinked at the sound of his name and glanced over at Harry, who was staring at him intently.

“Hm?”

Harry’s brow furrowed. “Uh, nothing—never mind.”

“I say we raise a toast to Sebastian!” crowed Roland, lifting his pint. “First among us to come of age!”

Sebastian rolled his eyes. “Come off it. Don’t make a big deal of it.”

“What? It’s not every day you turn seventeen.” Roland grinned, eyebrows bouncing. “I’m next in just
a few weeks.”

Marcus pulled a small box with a ribbon out of his pocket and slid it in front of Sebastian. “Happy
birthday,” he said softly.

“It was yesterday.”

“I know that—Seb, just open the damn thing.”

Sebastian huffed. The rest of their table went silent as they watched him. Marcus hid his face behind a
sip of his butterbeer. Sebastian pulled the ribbon and lifted the lid of the box. He paused for a
moment, staring. His eyes flicked up, taking in the group as a whole.

He is… uncomfortable.

But why?

“What’d you get?” asked Roland.

“Cufflinks,” said Sebastian in a low voice. There was an unusual softness in his expression, one that
Tom had never before seen on the boy’s face. He shut the lid on the box and pocketed it. “For dress
robes.”

Tom looked between Sebastian and Marcus, his brow furrowing.

Sebastian’s lips thinned in a faint smile. “Thank you, Marcus,” he whispered.

A heavy silence fell over the table. Marcus nodded, color filling his cheeks. He took a sip of his
butterbeer and remained quiet. After a moment, Roland coughed and diverted the conversation
towards the latest Quidditch match. Most of the others added their thoughts and predictions of the
game between Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, while Sebastian and Marcus remained silent, occasionally
glancing at each other.

Well. Interesting.

Perhaps Quintus was right. Tom hadn’t seen it. Not all of it.

Alphard and Quintus’ relationship had been easy to spot before it had even began. They’d clicked
instantly and were rarely without the other since year one. But Sebastian and Marcus had always been
more of a tumultuous friendship, where they bickered with each other. They both were prickly little
sorts. The two of them wanting to be together beyond just a physical relationship… Tom would never
have seen it before.

The way of the purebloods wasn’t fair. The traditions of the Lestrange family and the Mulciber family
were actively causing Sebastian and Marcus harm.

For the first time, Tom felt irritation towards pureblood traditions.

Harry kept making him see things differently than he’d had before. Tom didn’t know how he did it
either. Maybe it was his incessant questions that pushed Tom out of his comfort zone. Maybe it was
the way Harry always challenged the old ways of doing things. Whatever power Harry held, Tom
realized one thing this afternoon.

He sipped on his butterbeer.

Coming to Hogsmeade with Harry wasn’t the worst way to spend his Saturday.

Why in god’s name did I agree to this?

As the hour of Sunday dinner with the Scamanders approached, Tom could only feel like a cornered
animal. This was a mistake. A terrible, horrible mistake. Tom shouldn’t have agreed to this. Harry’s
curious gaze on him was an itch to the back of his head. The common room had a few other students,
though they were otherwise occupied. Tom twitched; he rubbed the palms of his hands on his trousers.

“Nervous?”

Tom slipped an annoyed expression on his face, before he gave Harry a raised eyebrow. “No.”

“You sure?”

Tom sighed. Why’d he always have to push for more? Harry was never satisfied with the first or even
the second answer, as if he knew Tom obscured the truth in his replies.

They were getting too familiar with him—the lot of them, Harry included.

Tom wasn’t blind; he could see through the polite smiles and the open expressions of Scamander and
Tina. Scamander was really getting into the role of mentor and Tina was right there at his side. Tom
did not need a pair of Hufflepuff incarnates hovering over him and getting involved with his life.

A bit late for that, though.

If he tried to skive off, would Tina hunt him down? Tom’s eyes slid to the side, dropping to the floor
and gliding over Harry’s form. The urge to bolt twitched through Tom’s muscles.

How utterly childish. I will not bolt like an unbroken horse.

Besides, short legs or not, Tom had this ominous feeling Harry could outrun him.

Tom pursed his lips together.

“Come on, Tom. I know something’s up.”

No, I’m fine.

“You like you’ve eaten something sour. What’s wrong?”

His chest rose. Biting words, a hissing snap—both were on the tip of his tongue, but they all died
when Tom met Harry’s gaze. The tension in his body eased. He swallowed. Tom licked his lips.

“I…”

Dammit.

“I am… uncomfortable,” said Tom in a low voice. Harry blinked; his head tilted to the side.
Goddammit, stop looking like Monty! “The Scamanders are… persistent in their mentoring and I
am…”

Unused to such things.

Harry’s mouth formed an ‘o’ and his features softened with weary understanding. He slowly nodded.
“Yeah,” he whispered. “I’m not used to it either, but…” He smiled up at him and the pressure eased
from Tom’s chest even more. “I think they’re sincere. They’re not manipulating you or me for
anything, you know that, right? They’re genuinely good people.”

“Of course,” said Tom, inclining his head.

And that’s what disturbs me.

Such people were too good to be true. No matter how good someone appeared to be, Tom had always
been faced with the cold truth: not all was what it seemed.

Even Harry, as bright and as good as he was, had shadows that rippled around him. Tom could see
them, though they were hidden most of the time. Harry still had secrets he held onto; his
straightforward sincerity couldn’t hide them all. Being able to see Harry’s shadows allowed Tom to be
at ease with him.

But Professor Scamander set Tom on edge, even more than Dumbledore did. It didn’t make sense.
However… Perhaps, I’m merely waiting for the moment Scamander proves to be just like
Dumbledore.

Though, for some reason, Tom didn’t think Tina would be like that.

“You’re overthinking this,” said Harry, cutting through his thoughts. “It’s just a dinner with Newt and
Tina. It’s not a Slytherin power meeting.”

“I know that—”

“And they’re nothing like Dumbledore,” said Harry, his tone sharp. Tom lost his breath. How’d he
know— “They’re not. Dumbledore is a special kind of manipulative arsehole, all right? Newt is too
much of a Hufflepuff and Tina is too kind.”

Tina is more than kind.

“I suppose so,” whispered Tom.

“It’ll be all right. Come on.”

I am being ridiculous. What the hell is wrong with me?

Tom followed after Harry out of the common room without a word. They walked in silence through
the corridors towards Scamander’s office. When they reached it, Harry knocked on the door. A
moment later, the door flung open.

“Tom, Harry!” cried Tina, lighting up at the sight of them. Tom stiffened when she clasped them both
by the upper arms and drew them inside. “Come, come, so glad you’re here.”

Tina interlocked her arm through Tom’s elbow, while wrapping an arm around Harry’s shoulders. She
led them through the office and into the living quarters. The Hufflepuff Head of House living quarters
was far more spacious than the office. The space held a larger sitting room with a crackling fireplace.
A couple of bookshelves were cluttered with an assortment of books, vials, ingredients, knickknacks,
and other supplies. The space opened to a kitchen and a dining table.

“Make yourselves at home, but watch your steps.” Tina winked. “They have free range in here.”

“Who—”

Harry squawked mid question. Something leapt onto his head. Harry fumbled forward by the weight
and Tom threw out a hand to steady him. Harry looked up at him; Tom pulled his lips inside his
mouth, trying his damndest to not laugh.

An unfortunate looking kitten meowed from Harry’s head.

“That’s Hoppy,” said Tina from the kitchen. “She’s friendly, but will jump and crawl all over you like
you’re a tree.”

Harry plucked the kitten from his head and held her midair in front of himself. Legs dangling, the
kitten mewled a protest.

“Cute,” drawled Tom in a low voice. Something swiped at Tom’s trousers at his ankle. He glanced
down to see a second kitten, who glared up at him with baleful eyes. Tom lifted a brow. “Don’t
scratch me.”

Little beast.

“Oh, that’s Mauler. He’s protective of his sisters.”

“I’m not the one holding your sister hostage, little beast,” said Tom to the kitten.

Mauler hissed at him. Sharp claws took another swipe at him, but the fabric kept him safe. Not to be
deterred, Mauler the kitten lunged for his ankle again, latching his tiny teeth through his trousers and
into his flesh. Tom muttered a curse, stumbling back; he lost his balance and landed onto the sofa. He
grabbed at the feral kitten, prying him off his ankle. Mauler put up a fight worthy of a lion. The
mangy creature struggled in his grip, tossing his head back and trying to bite Tom’s hand.

“Calm down, you wild beast,” snapped Tom.

Harry plopped onto the sofa beside him. He placed the first kitten aside and took the growling, hissing
kitten from Tom’s grip.

The beast stilled instantly.

Tom scoffed. “Of course, he’d like you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

The kitten continued to glare at Tom, as if he’d like nothing more than to destroy him. Tom narrowed
his eyes back at him. Something soft leapt into Tom’s lap. Tom sighed. Yet another kitten, a third,
who curled up in the crook of his thighs and purred softly.

Tina peeked into the room. She smiled at them. “And that’s Milly. She’s the most gentle of the three.”

“These are kneazles?” asked Tom.

“Mhm. Smart little creatures who live much longer than the average house cat.”

“Tina, can I help you with dinner?” asked Harry, setting Mauler down in his seat and walking into the
kitchen. “I’d like to help.”

“Oh, don’t you worry. You sit down and play with the kittens.”

“You said make ourselves at home, yeah?” said Harry, coming to her side at the counter. “Can’t I help,
please?”

Tina relaxed with a fond sigh. “If you insist,” she said. “If you could finish chopping the tomatoes and
carrots for the salad, that’ll be a big help.”

“Sure thing.”

As Harry began chopping the veg, Tom followed him and sat at the small table. A moment later, one
of the kittens, Milly, jumped onto his lap and curled up at his thighs. He put a hand to her back and
idly stroked her soft fur.

“How was your visit to the village?” asked Tina. “Did you two do anything fun?”

“We got some sweets for Monty,” said Harry.

Tom’s cheeks warmed.

“Oh, that’s nice of you.”

“Hello, boys!” said Scamander brightly, coming into the kitchen.

Tom gave him a bored glance, but couldn’t stop himself from looking the man over a second time.
Newt Scamander was covered in blood and in what Tom deduced could only be bits of bloodied flesh.
In his arms, he held a bundled towel.

“What the hell?” said Harry.

Scamander winked at the two of them and gave Tina a quick kiss on the cheek, leaning his body away
from her. Tina let out an exasperated sigh, one that told of a long history in dealing with Scamander’s
exploits.

“Mercy Lewis, Newt!” cried Tina. “You’re covered in blood and god knows what—wait, is that what
I think it is?”

Scamander gave her a sheepish smile. “Undoubtedly. I caught the baby, placenta and all. Not a worry,
I know. I’ll get cleaned up for supper.”
Oh, so that was what the strange bloody bits of flesh were. Lovely.

“Donella is resting and I wanted the boys to see the baby demiguise.” Scamander strode over to Tom
with a wide grin and unceremoniously, yet gently plopped the bundle into his arms. “Hold onto him
for me, yeah?”

“What?” breathed Tom, frozen.

But Scamander was already out of the kitchen and striding down the hallway. Tom looked down at the
bundle, a morbid curiosity taking him over.

Well, damn.

Loathed he was to admit it, but he was staring down at the cutest face he’d ever had the misfortune to
look upon. It looked a bit like a baby sloth. Its fur was a pattern of black and white with a little bit of
white fuzz around its cheeks. Its amber brown eyes were ridiculously big for its small head, making it
look even cuter than what should’ve been legal. It yawned widely and nestled in the towel, eyes
drifting closed.

Disgusting.

He’d kill for it.

Goddammit.

Harry leaned over Tom’s shoulder, looking down into the bundle. “Demiguise? Oh, Merlin, it’s so
cute.”

Tom snorted.

“What’s a demiguise?”

“A demiguise is a creature who can turn invisible,” said Scamander, bounding back into the kitchen.
Merlin, this man had too much energy. He dried his hands on a towel, now clean of all remnants of
blood. He threw the towel on its hook and whirled around, leaning against the counter. “They’re really
beautiful creatures, but they’re often hunted for their coats to make invisibility cloaks since they
degrade over time.”

Tom had never seen the man appear so open and excitable before.

Harry stiffened. “Are all cloaks made from demiguise fur?” he asked in a low voice.

“Every one I’ve seen, yes.”

Harry relaxed. “If an invisibility cloak doesn’t degrade, then it’s not from a demiguise, then, right?”

“Well, I suppose not,” said Scamander, rubbing a hand beneath his chin with a contemplative look.
“But I’ve never seen such a cloak before. It’d be exceedingly rare and one of a kind if so.”

An invisibility cloak? Would Harry be in possession of such a rare item?

“They’re also clairvoyant,” said Scamander, continuing on with a playful grin. “Such remarkable
creatures, but they’re critically endangered. They don’t breed very often. We were lucky to find
Dougal a companion. This little guy is their first.”
 “And, hopefully, you won’t have to catch the next one and be covered in lord knows what again,” said
Tina, giving Scamander a look. The man chuckled. “All right, Newt, Harry, go sit down. We’re nearly
ready for dinner now.”

Scamander gave Tina another peck on the cheek before he took a seat at the table. He gestured
towards the baby demiguise in Tom’s lap. “Would you like to do the honors, Tom?” he asked in a low
voice.

Tom glanced up, panic rushing through his chest. He’s not suggesting grace, is he? “The honors?” he
asked in a hoarse voice.

“Would you like to name him?”

His mind went blank.

Name him?

Tom looked down at the creature; his small nose twitched in his sleep, his short black and white
whiskers fluttering with his breaths. Harry jolted in surprise at his side, pulling Tom’s attention away
from the baby. Something warm and soft gently touched his forearm.

“Ah, Dougal, Tom was just holding your new son.”

An adult demiguise stood beside Tom’s chair, peering into the towel with a kind light in his eyes. The
creature looked up at him. Tom swallowed and slowly moved the bundle closer to him. Dougal held
out his arms and gathered the towel to his chest. He patted Tom on the thigh, as if in thanks, before
turning away.

“Doyle,” whispered Tom.

Scamander smiled. “I couldn’t have picked a better name myself.”

Tom’s stomach flipped oddly at the look of approval that Scamander gave him. He swallowed and
dropped his gaze. Approval for anything outside of academics was not something Tom had ever been
given before. As the four of them were gathered at the table around a meal, it felt quite sickeningly
domestic—almost as if they were masquerading as a family.

And Tom didn’t like it.

Chapter End Notes

No. Instant dinner magic doesn’t exist here. That’s one of my least favorite aspects of the first
Fantastic Beasts movie. Jacob wanted to open a bakery and yet magic can do what he can
instantly—no, fuck that. As much as I want to instantly magic food before me because it’s a pain
in the ass to deal with it because ND brain goes BRRR, please god no.
 Thirty-Three
Chapter Notes

I have an official hysterectomy date, so...

WELCOME TO A WEEK OF TERRIBLE, BUT GREAT!

Hehe, let's go~

See the end of the chapter for more notes

With November drawing to a close, much of the castle had begun to get into the Christmas spirit. It’d
already begun to snow, little flurries leaving a light, white dusting on the ground. An enormous
Christmas tree now sat in the Great Hall with Fortinbras hanging baubles and other decorations on its
branches. The ghosts of the castle were breaking into singing carols every five minutes and the chatter
of the students was constantly on the upcoming Christmas break and the yearly Yule Ball.

Neither of which Tom had much interest in.

It appeared that Sunday dinners with the Scamanders were to be a permanent addition to Tom’s life
now. There’d be no getting out of them now. He’d tried to decline the second invite, but Tina
wrangled him into coming again earlier this evening.

Ugh.

Tolerable at best.

Though, Tom had been secretly pleased to see the young demiguise, Doyle, again. Still disgustingly
cute as ever, the little beast.

But the worst part was Scamander’s obvious attempts to get on Tom’s good side. He refused to call
the man by his first name, no matter how many times he’d been reminded otherwise—which was far
too many times.

He just couldn’t do it.

Tom pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing low and deep; the book in his hands was long forgotten.
Harry sat next to him on the sofa in the peaceful Slytherin common room, his back leaning against
Tom’s side. Harry was half asleep, his transfiguration text open in his lap, head nodding slightly as he
dozed. His presence and weight were oddly comforting, even through the whirl of Tom’s thoughts.

The Scamander Sunday dinners could be a problem on the first of each month. He didn’t want to
change the time of the Knights meeting, but it appeared nothing could be done. Next week, maybe
they wouldn’t have to sit around afterwards for too long.

If Tina let them escape, that is.

“Tom.”
He glanced up. Harry jolted awake, blinking. Tom straightened in his seat at the expression on
Simon’s face. Roland stood next to Simon with a similar, unusual serious expression. “What is it?” he
asked, setting his book aside.

Simon twisted his hands together. For a moment, he held his silence, visibly struggling to speak.
Roland put a hand on his arm, patting him once, and smiled up at him.

“Take your time,” whispered Roland.

Simon nodded jerkily. With a steadying breath, he said, “I’ve received a letter from my father with
some… rather concerning news.”

“Your father?” asked Tom. “He’s the warden at Azkaban, is he not? What’s happened?”

“Azkaban?” said Harry, visibly alarmed. He twisted around on the sofa. “Has there been a breakout?”

“No,” said Simon. He inhaled, twisted his hands, and swallowed. “I know it’s only a week before an
official meeting, but… I ask if you’d call an informal emergency meeting with the Knights.”

“It can’t wait a week?”

“No.”

“That serious?” said Tom, frowning.

Simon nodded. He began to pace, still twisting his hands in front of himself. His brow was pinched,
his lips thinned.

“Need a calming draught?” asked Roland.

Simon shook his head. “I’m fine.”

“Just imagine they’re all Quidditch players and you’re prepping them for a game against Gryffindor.”

Simon snorted. He calmed slightly and slowed his pacing. “It’s serious enough that everyone should
be informed immediately.”

“Very well, then,” said Tom. “I’ll call them.”

He stood up and walked to one of the snake carvings on the wall. Tom pressed a hand to it, activating
it and calling on the ritual magic he used at the beginning of every meeting. With a gentle tug, the
wooden snakes came to life and dropped off the wall. They scattered, slithering out to find his
Knights. Tom turned to Harry where he sat on the sofa.

“Let’s get the room ready.”

Harry frowned, confused, but he jumped to his feet and followed after Tom’s long strides up the stairs.

“You’re going to have the meeting in our dorm room?”

“Yes, I think our last meeting did well in there.” At the top of the stairs, Tom looked down at Harry
and raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you think?”

Harry smiled. “Yeah,” he said with a nod. “I think so.”

He didn’t have to depend on Harry alone this time. It was a combined effort, what with Tom’s wand
obeying him again and his magic working to its fullest capacity. They arranged the room exactly the
same as last time, keeping it small. When they were done, Harry put his hands onto his hips and
grinned up at Tom.

“Cozy.”

Tom found he didn’t hate it as much this time.

Within fifteen minutes, his Knights began to trickle into the room and assembled themselves in the
various loveseats and sofas. Harry sat at Tom’s side and Tom’s mind honed on the warmth that
bloomed from their touching thighs and at the weight of his presence at his side—Tom lifted his head
and forced his mind to the task at hand.

“What’s going on?” asked Abraxas.

“A concern has been brought to my attention,” said Tom. “It’s an informal meeting, my Knights, but it
could not wait.” Tom gestured to Simon. “You have the room,” he said lightly, crossing his legs and
sitting back in his seat.

The warmth at his thighs grew hot; he ignored it.

Simon stood up and shifted on his feet. He glanced over at Roland, who gave him a double thumbs
up. “I, uh…” He inhaled. He scratched his cheek, growing more visibly uncomfortable by the second.
“Sorry,” he muttered. “A bit different here than a Quidditch match prep talk.” He twisted his hands for
a moment, before he tried again. “I got a letter from my father.”

“Ah, so that’s what this is about,” said William, leaning back in his seat. “I got one, too.”

Simon nodded. “Our father is the warden of Azkaban. He’s sent us a… a warning of sorts.”

The group shifted with unease.

“He says a couple of dementors have gone missing,” said Simon.

“What?” snapped Harry, straightening in his seat.

“It started at the beginning of the school year. They’ve gone restless. He hadn’t thought anything of it,
until he noticed a few started to go missing.”

“How d’you lose dementors?” said Wesley Flint incredulously. “Can’t be that hard to keep an eye on
them. They’re cloaked, scary creatures.”

“Have they gone rogue?” asked Primrose.

“Dad thinks so,” said William. “It’s unusual behavior at least. Since little is known about them, we
don’t know if they’re dying, leaving or wandering off, or going off for breeding or something like
that.”

The girls all shuddered.

“Ew,” said Cassia Carrow, her lips twisting in disgust.

“Those things… procreate?” said Gwendolyn.

“That’s the nastiest thing I’ve ever heard,” said Lilith Rowle.

Sebastian leaned forward in his seat. “You don’t think it’s Grindelwald, do you?” he asked with a
frown. “Could a dark lord control them?”

“He didn’t say,” said Simon. “He did say that occasionally one or two of them will float out to sea
before coming back, but…” Simon met Tom’s gaze, a dark look entering his eyes. “About six to seven
of them have gone missing. They can’t find them and they have no idea what happened to them.”

“Fuck,” said Harry, growing pale. He rubbed his face with his hands. “Fuck.”

“Well, that can’t be good, yeah?” said Roland, glancing around the group.

Alphard shook his head. “The dementors aren’t supposed to leave Azkaban. They’re under ministry
control or at least that’s what the public assumes.” He sighed. “However, the agreement between the
ministry and the dementors is a delicate, fragile one. The dementors could turn on us at any time
when they’ve found a better source of food.”

“Why is your father informing you of this?” asked Tom. “This shouldn’t affect us, should it?”

“The issue is their numbers are dropping faster than he realized,” said Simon. “He said even more
might disappear or go missing. He’s advised us to practice the patronus charm as much as possible.”

“The patronus charm?” said Quintus. “But that’s not to be taught until the end of our sixth year. That’s
advanced magic. He can’t think they’ll come here, do you?”

William shrugged. “There are plenty of towns and cities between Hogwarts and Azkaban, so he
doubted it, but he still wanted us to practice. They’re going to alert the public soon and the staff of
Hogwarts. Problem is I can barely conjure even a bit of some proper mist as a seventh year and most
of you lot haven’t covered it yet.”

“He also said we should be on alert and always keep some chocolate on hand.”

Sebastian shook his head. “Chocolate, that I can do, but learning the patronus charm is out of the
question.”

“Why?” asked Harry. “I’ve seen you duel in class. You’re strong enough.”

A number of Slytherins snorted.

“Strength is not the issue,” said Tom softly.

“Harry, it’s a light spell,” drawled Sebastian. “I was casting dark magic when I was five years old.”

“What does that have anything to do with it?”

“It doesn’t like dark magic,” said Marcus. “And I’d prefer to not die a horrible death by maggots.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “I’ve done a dark spell or two and I can cast it.”

“Come off it,” said Sebastian. He shook his head, while the others shifted with interest. “We all know
you’re powerful, Harry, but the patronus charm is a different brand of magic. Most sixth years never
master it and like Will said, he can’t do much of anything even in his seventh year. Hell, a lot of
adults can’t cast it.”
Harry lifted a defiant eyebrow and pulled out his wand. A little chill of thrill ghosted up Tom’s spine.
Harry… you can’t be telling us that you can cast the patronus charm… can you?

He was powerful, yes. Tom had witnessed that power firsthand. He’d seen Harry’s mastery of
wandless magic, of wordless magic. It came to him with ease. But a light spell of this caliber? That
was something else entirely.

But Harry regularly proved himself to be extraordinary.

“Expecto Patronum,” whispered Harry.

Light pulsed.

White light glowed, power filling the room. Soft gasps rippled through the group. The blinding,
glorious light flooded the dimly lit dorm room, chasing away the shadows in the corners. A misty stag
stood tall in front of Tom. The stag dipped his head closer to him and Tom reached out, but the stag
vanished.

It left Tom bereft.

“You can cast a fully corporeal patronus…” whispered Tom. “Not just mist…”

Harry rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, since I was thirteen.”

Breathless, Tom met his eyes. “Impressive,” he whispered. As always.

“Thirteen?” barked Abraxas. “You mastered it at age thirteen? You really are a mad one, aren’t you?”

“Well, it’s easier than you think it is,” said Harry, his cheeks growing dark. “Especially once you
understand it. I can teach you—all of you.”

He’d been teaching Harry Occlumency and Parseltongue, but the idea of Harry teaching Tom a new
spell sent another little shiver of thrill up his spine.

“Not risking it,” said Sebastian.

Marcus shook his head. “Me either.”

“You’re not going to get eaten by maggots, you idiots,” said Abraxas with a snort. “That’s just a
rumor.”

“You don’t know that!”

“Well, count me in,” said Alphard. “If you’re teaching it, Harry, I want to learn it.”

“Me, too,” whispered Quintus.

Simon nodded while Roland grinned. A number of other Knights nodded, though some a little more
reluctantly than the rest.

“Can you really?” asked Tom softly. “Can you teach us how to cast it? Even when it’s such an
advanced spell?”

“Of course,” said Harry. “I’ve taught loads of kids and my friends before—they all managed to cast
fully corporeal patronuses and they were of all ages, too. You all can do it, I’m sure of it.”
“We’re all learning it, then. All of us.”

“No. I don’t want to—”

“It’s not up for debate,” said Tom, giving Sebastian a stern look. Sebastian grimaced, eyes darkening
into a glare. “All my knights must be prepared. We’re learning this.”

“My lord, it’s undeniable light magic,” hissed Sebastian. “We are all proficient in dark magic—it’s
part of the Slytherin legacy and my own family’s legacy. I can’t do both. I can’t risk it—you know
this.”

“Wait, aren’t most of the spells taught at Hogwarts light?” asked Harry.

“Not quite,” said Tom. “About seventy percent of magic is neutral, neither light or dark. It’s often
called grey magic. Light and neutral magic is approved here at Hogwarts, while dark magic is illegal.
However, the difference between light and dark magic is minor.”

“It’s unfair prejudice against the old ways,” said Gwendolyn. “Most dark spells aren’t any worse than
neutral or light spells.”

Tom nodded. “You can easily kill someone with a light spell,” he said. “Dark magic requires your
own essence or the essence of others as fuel for the spell, while light magic uses the natural world’s
essence around you. Neutral magic takes nothing to power, just your intent and your words.”

“But… a patronus charm is powered by your own emotion,” said Harry.

“Powered, yes, but it’s not feeding on your emotions and stealing them. It uses something else and
gifts it to you.”

Harry frowned.

“Dark magic takes, while light magic gives. You can still have a light spell slice through flesh without
it taking something from you or from a victim of your choice.”

“Takers of magic are looked down upon,” said Sebastian. “I’ve used such spells before…” He
inhaled. “I would risk a lot trying to cast this spell.”

Harry pursed his lips together. “Is the cruciatus curse dark?” he asked in a soft voice.

Tom met his eyes. “No.”

Harry swallowed; he wet his lips. “Imperious curse?”

“No,” said Tom, curious now.

Harry blew out a breath. “How do you know if a spell is dark?”

“You’d know. It either takes from you or steals from someone else and you’d feel it. Its affects will
show up in your veins. Casting dark magic isn’t something you can do on a whim or by mistake.”

“Right, okay,” whispered Harry, his shoulders relaxing. “Well… I still think it’d be useful for some of
you to learn. I won’t push any of you to learn it if you don’t want to, though.” Tom opened his mouth
to protest, but Harry lifted a hand and shook his head. “Come on, Tom, I’d rather not risk it if anyone
feels uncomfortable.”
Tom narrowed his eyes. “I think we all should try to learn,” he said, dropping into parseltongue.

“Perhaps, but if the rumor about maggots coming out of your wand to eat you is real, I’d rather not
see Sebastian eaten.”

Tom snorted. “I suppose you’re right.”

“And you’d miss him, too. Admit it.”

Tom let out a cough and didn’t answer him. “Very well, Sebastian. You are to watch only, then. If any
of you wish to back out of being taught the patronus charm, then you’re to watch. In case of an
emergency, you’ll at least have the last minute chance to try.”

Harry smiled at Tom.

And Tom tried not straighten in his seat with some strange sense of misplaced
pride.

When will this be over? Mercy Lewis, it’s only been ten minutes and I’m already done with this.

Tina had sat through her fair share of meetings in her days as an auror, but this one, by far, was the
most boring she’d had the misfortune to sit through yet.

Newt squirmed at her side, clearly just as bored and uncomfortable as Tina was, and she repressed a
smile. He was always like this—always had to be on the move, doing something, preferably inside his
case with his creatures. He wasn’t made for a desk job or meetings like this.

Tina sat with him, just to keep him company—not like she had other places to be either at the
moment. The decision to come to Hogwarts with Newt had been the best choice for her, but she did
miss the sanctuary of their own home away from so many people. But, if she’d stay there, Tina
would’ve gone insane with loneliness and sorrow, while Newt would’ve been alone too much.

Boredom in a meeting was a small price to pay.

“Well, I haven’t had any troubles with my students,” said Herbert Beery, the Herbology professor, a
stout, short man with chiseled features and a balding hairline. “Though, I’ve had a few second years
get sent to the infirmary because they didn’t put their earmuffs on properly. No harm done, since the
mandrakes were in their infancy.”

Wouldn’t a silencing charm be more useful than the earmuffs?

“Where’s Cuthbert?” asked Dippet, frowning. “Is he missing again?”

“He keeps falling asleep in random places,” said Ellis Moore softly, the Muggle Studies professor, a
young, tall woman with gentle features and long brown hair styled in a bun. “I’m a bit concerned for
his health…”

“Nonsense, Cuthbert is young and strong,” said Dippet, shaking his head.

All Tina knew about the History of Magic teacher was that he was nearing around a hundred and fifty
and his memory left much to be desired. A single conversation with him impressed upon Tina that he
was in no condition to be a teacher at Hogwarts and needed an hourly caretaker.
Tina pressed her lips together. Everyone here is either ancient and at death’s door old or out of touch
very rude old.

“Scamander,” snapped Dippet sharply. Newt jolted and leaned forward over the table, looking down
at the Headmaster. “What’s the update on your charges, Evans and Riddle? Any trouble?”

“None, Headmaster,” said Newt. He cleared his throat and put on a forced smile. “They’re both doing
very well now. Only one more detention will be needed and the classroom will be back to a pristine
state. They’ve worked quite hard cleaning the classroom and without any complaints.”

“Mm, I heard that Riddle’s grades plummeted for a time.”

“He was unwell. Once his illness passed, he made up for all his missed and late assignments rather
quickly.”

Dippet nodded, frowning slightly. “I hope this isn’t becoming a habit for the boy. I always favored
him—he is worthy of my house.”

Dumbledore sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I have found no fault with Mr. Riddle’s makeup work,” said Demetrius Shacklebolt, the Ancient
Runes professor, a tall, broad man with a dark complexion and a shaved head. “I gave him full credit.
He managed to do perfect work in a matter of days.”

“We all have our down days,” said Ophelia Fortinbras, the Charms professor, a short, petite woman
with shoulder length brown hair and brown eyes. Tina rather like the woman and her wife. Their
occasional afternoon teas were always a delight. “Expecting the students to be at their best at all times
is unrealistic and will set them up for failure in the future.”

“Children shouldn’t be pushed beyond their abilities,” said Cassandra Trelawney, the Divination
professor, an ancient woman with many wrinkles, but with amber eyes that were bright with youth.
She smirked, giving Dippet a side eye. “Otherwise, they turn into pompous arseholes.”

Dippet spluttered.

Oh, Tina liked this woman.

“Cassandra!”

Trelawney cackled like a hag.

I think I’ll have to invite her to tea some afternoon, too.

“I’m a little concerned about what I’ve been hearing from the Ministry,” said Horace Slughorn, the
Potions professor, a short, portly man with sandy hair and a pale complexion. “A few dementors have
gone missing.”

“What?” breathed Newt.

“Missing?” asked Dumbledore, frowning.

“I’ve heard the same from a friend in the Ministry,” said Galatea Merrythought with a sharp nod, the
DADA professor, a tall, slender woman with bright red short hair and grey eyes. “It’s why I have a
request. While I don’t think it’s cause for alarm just yet, I do think the students are unprepared to face
such a dark creature. I want a mandatory class for all ages to practice the patronus charm, not just my
six and seventh years. Ophelia and I will teach it.”

“An extra class?” asked Dippet. “And when do you suggest this class take place?”

“On a Saturday or Sunday.”

Trelawney leaned back in her chair, wrinkled hands clasping together in her lap. Her eyes gazed over
at Dippet, but she didn’t say anything.

“Do you think it necessary?”

“The thought of dementors on the loose makes my neck itch,” said Galatea. “Most of my seventh
years can barely manage to summon some mist, but it’s better than nothing. We need all ages to be
able to produce that much. You never know which student might click with it and be able to produce
something better than just mist.”

“On the off chance a handful of students can learn to summon a fully corporeal patronus, I’d say it’s
worth the extra class and effort,” said Ophelia.

“Well, I agree with the idea of a class, though… I worry for the students,” said Dumbledore in a low
voice. “They’re curious creatures and they’ll want to know why they’re all required to learn the
patronus charm outside of the usual curriculum. They’ll ask questions—I don’t want them to be
scared, but…”

“It’s better to be prepared, I think,” said Tina. “They’re strong and I think they’ll be less frightened if
they can do it. It will give them confidence.”

“Exactly my thoughts,” said Ophelia, smiling at Tina.

Dippet huffed. “Why are you here again, Mrs. Scamander? You aren’t a teacher.”

Tina met Newt’s eyes. He dropped his chin, his shoulders lifting slightly. His eyes rolled a bit, telling
her that this was common for the Headmaster of Hogwarts.

She didn’t like the old geezer.

Tina slowly turned her head towards Dippet. She put on a smile. “Headmaster Dippet, I’m just an
outsider here, quietly listening. But it sounds like you want my opinion on these matters.”

Dippet gruffed out a sound. “That’s not what I—”

“I know you’ve lived for hundreds of years, Headmaster, and I’m sure you’ve seen a lot in those many
days, but you’ve certainly must’ve seen how much things change in time.”

Newt snorted, blushed, and quickly covered his mouth with a hand. He met Tina’s gaze briefly, his
eyes bright with amusement and the edges of his lips twitching upwards.

“Please also remember that I’m a retired auror with honors,” said Tina in a light tone. Her smile didn’t
reach her eyes. “I’m not trying to interfere, but I do expect some semblance of respect.”

By the way Newt couldn’t keep his eyes off Tina, she knew exactly how much he was going to show
his love and devotion to her when they were alone.
She winked at him.

Dippet sat back in his chair, clearly embarrassed. He coughed and didn’t say anything more.

I question the validity of a however hundreds of years old man in an office of power…

“I’m confident that from Gryffindor, Charlus Potter and Minerva McGonagall could do it,” said
Galatea, even though they’ve struggled with it. “Ravenclaw, Filius Flitwick has the makings of a
charms champion; Hufflepuff, Pomona Sprout, quiet but powerful. Slytherin, I’m certain with a bit of
practice, Harry Evans could pull off a fully corporeal patronus, as well as Tom Riddle—”

“While I agree with all your other assumptions, I don’t think Mr. Riddle could do it,” said
Dumbledore.

Galatea frowned, confused. “Why not? He’s top of his class in every subject.”

“Certain wizards can’t produce a patronus or the spell will kill them—”

“Oh, for the love of the unholy tits of Merlin!” snapped Galatea. “The brat isn’t even of age—children
aren’t dark wizards and not only that, even if some of the students have used dark magic, that tosh
about maggots is a legend. Albus, you’re not convincing me that you haven’t gone senile at a young
age!”

“I didn’t say he was—”

“Don’t give me that crock—you’re alluding to it!”

A dark wizard? Tom? The boy who put makeup on his face to hide the dark circles under his eyes
because he was embarrassed? That boy? The boy who looked so preciously awkward while holding
onto newborn Doyle? That boy?

Please.

That boy didn’t need to be accused of anything. He needed some love and care. He needed validation
and praise—honest and sincere praise, not just little pats on the head for being a good student. He still
called Newt ‘Scamander’ and Tina hoped he’d open up more through their weekly Sunday dinners.
That boy needed someone to give a damn about him and so did Harry.

It’s not that difficult to see.

Tina pressed her lips together. The more she was around Albus Dumbledore, the more her opinion of
the man dropped. She could never understand why Newt had such respect for the man. Dumbledore
was blissfully oblivious at best and purposely manipulative at worst. Sure, the man had his heart in
the right place, but that only went so far when one’s head was so far up his—

“I’m simply saying—”

“—and I’m saying where to shove—”

“Galatea…”

“He’s very good at potions,” said Slughorn, piping into the argument like it was a common occurrence
and Tina suspected it were. “Impeccable work, that lad.”
Dumbledore opened his mouth, but Newt said softly, “Could we… uh… go back to the problem at
hand?”

An uncomfortable silence lifted in the room.

“I think it’s wise to equip the children with tools that can protect them in the future,” said Tina softly.
“It’d only take one child to protect others of their classmates. The unknown will always be more
frightening than the known. I realize I’m not a professor, but teaching the students a spell to protect
themselves against a dark creature doesn’t sound like a waste of time to me.”

The tension in Dippet’s body lessened. He nodded slowly. “Thank you for your wisdom, Mrs.
Scamander.” She inclined her head with a smile. “Very well. I approve of the class, but only two
teachers for the whole student body seems a bit much. Professor Scamander, Mrs. Scamander, I’d like
you both to teach as well.”

Newt closed his eyes briefly. “Of course.”

“I’d be glad to,” said Tina. It was something to do, after all.

“Excellent. Perhaps on Saturday evenings after dinner, twice a month?”

“Acceptable,” said Galatea with a sharp nod and a sniff.

“Aww…” said Effie, pouting at the parchment that was pinned within the Slytherin common. “But
that’s when Harry used to teach us…”

“Harry teaches you what?” asked Harry.

He chuckled when Effie and her two friends jumped. She brightened at the sight of him, but scowled
when she gestured to the parchment.

“They’re making everyone go to a new class, but I was hoping after your detentions were over, you’d
come back to teach us. D’you know what the, uh…” Effie looked at the parchment and squinted. “…
the patronus charm is?”

“It’s a charm that summons a guardian to protect you.”

Effie smiled widely, excitedly. “Really? And we get to learn it?”

“It would seem so,” said Harry, frowning as he quickly read through the notice. Mmm… Taught by
Professors Merrythought, Fortinbras, Scamander, and Mrs. Scamander. This didn’t bode well in
Harry’s mind. Even in his third year, when the dementors were posted all around the parameter of
Hogwarts, there hadn’t been a mandated class to learn the charm. “December fifth—hang on, that’s
tonight. The first class is after dinner…”

“Is it easy to learn?” asked Effie.

“I’m afraid not. It’s a highly advanced spell,” said Harry. He smiled at her. “But don’t worry. Even if
you get it to work just a little bit, you’re doing good enough.”

“Why do we have to learn something that summons a guardian, though?” asked the brown haired girl,
Eliza Burke. Harry remembered her running off the first time he met Effie.
The other girl, Lora, auburn haired, was the younger sister to Lilith Rowle. She shrugged. “Unusual,
isn’t it?”

“A bit,” said Harry, purposely being vague. “Nothing to worry about, though.”

The size of the classroom was unlike anything Harry had ever seen. It was massive, accommodating
the size for the entire school. The classroom had been split into four sections. Merrythought stood at
the front of the classroom, while Fortinbras, Newt, and Tina stood nearby.

Merrythought tapped her neck with the tip of her wand. “All right, students,” she said, her voice
booming throughout the classroom. “We’re here to learn one spell and that’s the patronus charm.
Professor Fortinbras is in charge of the first years and second years; Professor Scamander is in charge
of the third and fourth years; Mrs. Scamander is in charge of the fifth years; and I’m in charge of the
sixth and seventh years. Now, you who are sixth year and younger, raise your hand if you’ve ever
tried to cast the patronus charm.”

Harry slowly raised his hand.

No one else did.

“Excellent. Then, you understand the basics. Don’t worry, Evans, you’ll learn how to produce some
mist when we’re done here.”

“I, uh… I can cast it already.”

“What?”

“I can cast a patronus.”

“Wait—wait,” said Merrythought, completely shocked. “Are you saying you can already cast a fully
corporeal patronus? It takes a form—it’s more than mist?”

“Yeah?”

“Prove it—demonstrate it for us,” demanded Merrythought.

Harry pulled out his wand, taking a deep breath, and pulled on the bittersweetness of his love for Ron
and Hermione.

I miss you.

“Expecto Patronum,” whispered Harry. Light pulsed softly. The stag swirled to life in a soft, gentle
glow. A number of students gasped as it cantered around the room, a trail of misty light following
after it. The glow was warm, pulsing with the same bittersweetness that had fueled it. The stag
stopped beside Harry, butting its head against his outstretched hand. It let out a little bellow, though
quiet and deep.

“Remarkable,” murmured Merrythought. “No hesitation.”

“I could cast it since I was thirteen,” said Harry, a bit absently, as he stared at the stag. It cocked its
head to the side; the pulse of lonely longing echoed through Harry’s heart. He blinked and looked
back at Merrythought, barely noticing the looks that were exchanged between Newt and Tina.
“That’s rather young,” said Tina. “Any particular reason for learning it so young?”

Harry gave her a lopsided grin. “Dementors and I don’t make great friends.”

Newt’s brow pinched together, while Fortinbras frowned.

Merrythought put her hands onto her hips. “Seems like I’ve got an assistant now.”

“What?”

“Well, you know how to cast it. Might as well make yourself useful and teach the others. You’re with
me, Evans. I want you teaching the sixth years.”

Well, it wasn’t like Harry hadn’t already been planning on teaching his friends how to cast it. Didn’t
matter much when and where, since they hadn’t had much time this past week anyway.

“All right! Split up according to your year and your chosen teacher. Don’t dawdle!”

There was a rush of chaos and movement as the students went to their selected locations. Harry
pushed through the crowd, gathering with his fellow sixth years. He conjured a step stool and stood
up on the highest step, giving himself some much needed lift in height to look out over the group. It
didn’t take him long to fall into his old habits within the DA.

“First thing to understand about the patronus charm is that it’s fueled by a memory that produces
powerful emotions inside of you. You can’t just pick a time you were eating your favorite meal. It has
to mean more to you than that.”

He demonstrated the wand movement.

“Remember to focus on that feeling right before you cast it.”

With a quiet whisper and gentle wave, the stag reappeared and trotted around the group. Alphard and
Quintus eyed it with wonder in their eyes.

“All right, the only way to learn is to try it yourself.”

Soon, the air was filled with a chorus of voices. Harry jumped down from his stool and walked
through the first line of students. He nudged Roland as he passed by.

“Happy birthday, by the way,” said Harry with a grin.

Roland snorted. “It will be if I can get this tonight.”

“Your wand movement is too wild.” Harry slowly lifted his wand, showing him the correct pattern.
“It’s okay to go slow at first. You’ll still be able to cast it.”

“I’ll try. Thanks!”

With a nod, Harry continued down the line, occasionally helping one student at a time, until he
stopped beside Tom, who hadn’t moved or tried the spell yet.

“Have you picked a memory?” asked Harry softly.

Tom nodded. He inhaled and lifted his wand. “Expecto Patronum.”

But nothing happened.

“You have to pick a very powerful memory,” said Harry, unease rising in his chest. “It has to have a
lot of emotion in it.”

“It did,” said Tom bitingly. His wand moved with exact precision. He whispered the spell once more,
enunciating the words carefully. Not even a hint of mist came from his wand. Tom lowered his arm;
his knuckles were white.

Shit.

Harry understood what it was like, though. The first memories he’d chosen were pathetic in their
emotional depth. Nothing compared to the feelings he had for his friends and family. While he could
now produce a patronus imagining memories that weren’t fueled by the love of family, it was still
there in the back of his mind and heart. During his DADA OWL exam, the imagining of Umbridge
getting sacked was not just for himself, but to protect other students from her reign.

“What kind of memory are you using?” asked Harry in a low voice.

“The night I arrived at Hogwarts,” whispered Tom.

But Harry knew that wasn’t enough. Pity rose alongside kinship within his chest. Hogwarts had been
his first home, too. For the orphan boy who’d had nothing, it made sense that Tom had felt the same.

Harry drew closer, stopping as he stood right next to Tom, who stiffened. Harry glanced around, but
no one was paying attention, too busy practicing.

“It’s probably not strong enough,” whispered Harry.

“I can hear your damned pity,” hissed Tom.

“It’s not pity,” whispered Harry. “It’s understanding. I’ve been there before. I tried to use memories
that weren’t connected to how I felt about other people. The strongest memories are the ones where
you can really feel something for others—where you feel love for the people you care about. A good
memory with friends can work.”

Tom’s face twisted. He jerked away from Harry, lips curling above bared teeth like a wounded animal.
“How disgustingly maudlin.”

“But that’s what fuels the spell,” said Harry with a shrug. “Try it.”

“I have no need—”

“Tom.” The word was sharp, flinty, and there was an imperceptible flinch within Tom’s shoulders.
Those dark eyes whipped to the side and met Harry’s unwavering gaze. Harry gestured. “Try it.”

Tom shifted his stance, readying himself once more. He closed his eyes. A moment later, he opened
them, wand slowly marking the pattern of the spell in the air. He said the spell clearly.

Yet… again, there was no mist.

Frustration whirled in those dark eyes.

“Try again with a new memory,” said Harry. “Try again and again. After all, you wanted to learn,” he
added, casting the patronus; the stag cantered around them. “We’re not going to stop until you do.”

Tom inhaled. “A taskmaster of a teacher, you are.”

“I don’t see you running.”

“I would never,” whispered Tom.

“Good.”

The class was around an hour and a half before they were dismissed. A couple of sixth year
Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs that Harry didn’t know had managed to produce some mist. It was going
to take more than an hour for his Slytherins to get it, especially since so many of them didn’t seem to
have good memories with their families.

Tom and Harry were the last to leave the classroom. Harry barely noticed Merrythought ushering the
other students out, leaving Harry and Tom alone with Newt and Tina watching them both in silence.
Beads of sweat had coated Tom’s temples. He’d long shoved his sleeves up along his arms. Harry
hadn’t left, silently cheering him on, whispering words of harsh encouragement.

“Again,” said Harry.

Tom tried again, but failed. Another hour passed and Tom hadn’t produced even a spray of mist.

He stood there so stiffly, lips pressed in the thinnest of lines. Harry could feel his frustration in waves,
as if Tom were standing in front of what felt like an impenetrable wall. Tom Riddle, the boy who
excelled at everything he touched, had finally found his match in magic.

“Perhaps… we should retire for some tea and cookies,” said Tina, putting a hand on Tom’s shoulder.
“The lessons aren’t over. You don’t have to succeed today. There’s always next time, all right?”

Tom turned his head, looking at the hand on his shoulder with an odd light in his eyes. He glanced
over at Harry and his brow furrowed deeply. His lips parted, a dawning look rising through his
expression.

“Tom?” asked Tina. “I know you want to push through this, but that’s not healthy for you or your
magic reserves.”

But neither boy listened to her. She glanced between them, a hidden, knowing smile lifting the edge
of her lips. She drew back and put a hand on Newt’s arm, shaking her head.

Warmth flooded through Harry’s gut at the way Tom stared at him. Tom blinked. For a long moment,
Harry bore the intense weight of his gaze. And, then, his wand lifted.

“Expecto Patronum.”

A pulse rippled, light and weak, and echoed within the empty room. From the tip of the yew wand,
the smallest of mists formed in the air, glowing with life of the patronus charm. A second later, it
died.

Tom sagged backwards. Newt caught him from behind, just as Tina grabbed him by the upper arm to
support him. Harry bolted forward and held up him at the other side. Harry shook his head, chuckling.
 “You couldn’t just take a break.”

Tom smirked at him, sweat slipping down his chin. “Never.”

A rush of pride filled Harry. “Good job.”

The responding smile crinkled the corners of Tom’s eyes.

Chapter End Notes

I love Tina so much. She's more fun to write than I thought she'd be. Bless her.

See yall tomorrow~!

 Thirty-Four
Chapter Notes

Hello, my dear readers. Welcome to day two of a week of Terrible, But Great! Thank you all so
much for the comments. I do appreciate them and your love and enthusiasm for my story. Thank
you!

I love this chapter so much. Have fun, yall~!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Harry yawned.

He scratched at a spot on his side beneath his untucked dress shirt. He’d long pulled his tie out. It was
half past eleven o’clock, but Harry couldn’t bring himself to go to bed just yet. He glanced at the the
entrance of the common room. It was dumb of him waiting here for Tom to get back from his prefect
duties. He really ought to get to bed; Tuesdays were always big days with Potions and DADA
classes.

Harry couldn’t go to bed yet.

Quintus and Alphard had been the first to get to bed at ten, with Roland and Marcus following after
them an hour later. Sebastian and Abraxas were engaged in a game of Wizard Chess, while Simon
was hunched over parchment with quill in hand. There were two other Slytherins doing homework at
another corner of the room.

Harry blew out a low breath. He snuck a peek at everyone and discreetly pulled out the map from his
pouch. He whispered the phrase and carefully unfolded it piece by piece as to not draw attention to
himself. He glanced around for a familiar tag, ‘Tom Marvolo Riddle.’

His heart stopped.

Tom’s name was at the Astronomy Tower.

As well as Archibald Nott’s name.

And seven others.

“Shit,” said Harry, hastily folding up the map and shoving it back into his pouch. Harry bolted
towards the Slytherin common room entrance, rage pouring through his veins. If any of those boys
harmed Tom, they would regret it.

“Oi, where you off to? It’s after curfew?” said Sebastian with an amused drawl.

“Tom’s in trouble,” said Harry, breathless. “I have to go—”

“What?” said Simon.

“How d’you know that?” demanded Sebastian.

“Do you know where he is?” asked Abraxas.

“Yes.”

“And how?” snapped Sebastian. “How d’you know that, too?”

Harry stopped at the Slytherin common room entrance and glared at the three stationary boys. “Are
you coming with me or are you just going to stand around there and waste my fucking time?”

Simon didn’t say anything more. He strode towards Harry with a grim expression. Abraxas quickly
stood from the sofa and jogged after him.

Sebastian let out an annoyed huff. “Fine, but you better give us an explanation when we’re done.”

“Oh, I won’t,” said Harry flatly.

“What?”

“Excuse me?”

Simon snorted.

And the three boys followed after Harry into the dimly lit corridor.

He really shouldn’t have been all that surprised.

Tom had known an altercation would occur between him and Archibald at some point. He hadn’t
known when, but also he hadn’t expected Archibald to gather supporters so quickly and corner him on
a school night.

Tom twirled his wand in his hands idly, a bored expression on his face as he held the gaze of each of
the seventh years, resting lastly on him—Archibald smirked as if he’d already won against Tom.

Yaxley, Macnair, Gibbon, Lee, Travers, Flint, Dolohov, and Rookwood.

Eight against one.

He’d seen Harry take on five seventh years at once. While Tom was evenly matched with him, Harry
was more athletic. A touch of apprehension filled Tom’s chest; this wasn’t going to be an easy fight.
The odds were in their favor, despite Tom being the superior duelist among them. While there was
plenty of room at the top of the tower, dodging too wildly could prove fatal if he weren’t careful. He
had seconds, maybe a minute or two, to come up with a battle strategy.

“Riddle, it’s over,” said Archibald. “Either you willing give up your position tonight or I’m going to
make you regret not taking my mercy when you had the chance.”

Mercy…

Tom chuckled. “You really are so bold, aren’t you, Archie.” Archibald narrowed his eyes at the
nickname. “You were thoroughly humiliated, yet here you are, begging me for more.”
Shield and smokescreen. Summon and terrify.

“You’re the one who will be begging me tonight,” whispered Archibald.

“Pathetic—you’re so pathetic,” said Tom quietly. Distract and confuse. Stun and incapacitate. “And
you’re unworthy of the status of a Slytherin. I decline your so called mercy.”

Be swift. No flare or finesse.

Archibald smirked. “Well, I’d hoped you’d resist… because now I will get the immense pleasure of
dragging your beaten, wounded, and cursed body back to the common room as a trophy. I will make
an example of you.”

A dark shiver rushed up Tom’s spine; he smiled.

“I’d love to see you try,” purred Tom. His shifted ever so slightly, readying his stance. His fingers
curled around the hilt of his wand and tightened their grip. “Because if you don’t succeed, I’ll make
an example of you. In terror, Slytherins for years, long after we’ve graduated, will remember what I’ll
do to you.”

“It’s eight against one, Riddle. You’re not winning this.”

“You should’ve brought ten with you. Then, perhaps, it’d be more of a challenge for me.”

Archibald clicked his tongue and Tom didn’t give him a second longer; he launched his attack.

Spell light exploded out. A smokescreen bloomed around him. The other boys scrambled into their
attacks. Tom was moving, dodging more than he’d ever done in DADA class. A burn curse slammed
into his shoulder, but he ignored the pain.

The fight was brutal.

But Tom was merciless.

It was chaos. He moved without thought, flinging attack after attack. His spells struck each of them,
wounded a few of them; he didn’t keep track—too many of them. He took out Gibbon and Macnair at
some point in the quick fight. Tom moved and breathed his spellwork, his mind going blank. One
wrong move and it could be over; he could lose if he miscalculated.

And he did once.

A spell knocked Tom off his feet; panic rushed through his breast. He scrambled on the floor, rolling
to his side. Get up. Get up. GET UP—

“Crucio!”

Fuck—

Tom had never experienced the cruciatus curse before, but he was no stranger to pain. He’d endured
pain an endless amount of times, such was the nature of being an orphan with cruel caretakers. This,
however, transcended all previous pain he’d ever experienced. A scream wanted to tear open his
throat, but Tom bit his lower lip. Blood pooled into his mouth. His back arched off the ground, his
screams muffled low.
Oh, god, it was too much.

Time—what was time in the midst of this agony? Would it ever end?

Would he lose his mind before the end?

The spell lifted. Tom gasped. His body was damp with sweat. He threw himself to the side, rolling
onto his knees and staggering to his feet. His hand scraped against the brick wall. He caught a glimpse
of the landscape of Hogwarts through an open window of the tower. He panted, gasping for breath.
His limbs shook.

“Ten seconds without screaming,” said Archibald. He smirked. “That’s impressive. But I wonder…
can you hold back your screams for another ten seconds?”

Oh, he was going to ruin Archibald Nott.

Ruin him.

Movement in the corner of his eyes caught his attention. Tom threw up a shield. He whipped out a
powerful spell, knocking Travers off his feet. He landed on his back, crying out; Tom stunned him.
Tom quickly pushed away from the wall to dodge another spell, but something struck him in the side
and his movement slowed.

Goddammit!

“Crucio!”

Tom fell onto his knees. Hard. He slammed onto his side, biting his tongue this time. Blood flooded
his mouth. His scream was blessedly muffled with an undignified gurgle. A thousand knives tore his
flesh, his nerves, his bones—the white hot pain crippled his movement and his mind. Not even
Occlumency could save him from this.

The spell lifted once more. Tom spat out the blood, laughing darkly through his uncontrollable
shaking.

“You’ve got endurance, I’ll give you that.”

He would destroy him. There would be no mercy tonight. Tom would take from Archibald the one
thing he valued more than Slytherin power.

His heirship.

“It took eight to bring me to my knees, Archie,” said Tom quietly. “You think you have power? You
can’t even take me on by yourself. You’d have lost if you had faced me on your own.”

Tom couldn’t stand up. The strength was gone from his legs. He could barely get off the ground. His
arms trembled as he tried to push himself to his knees, but he fell backwards onto his seat. He curled a
knee to his chest, wand gripped tightly in his hand. He spat out another mouthful of blood.

“We’re Slytherins, Riddle, and Slytherins do everything in their power to get what they want,” said
Archibald. “One on one? A Gryffindor would do that. Bravery and honor above self preservation and
strategy, after all. Maybe you should move into Gryffindor Tower since you make friends with them.
You’ve begun to think like them, too. Why, it makes me wonder if you’ve forgotten how to be a
Slytherin.”
Tom gritted his teeth.

Death would be too kind, too gentle for him.

To suffer, to remember this night in greatest shame, Tom would graciously gift this to Archibald.

“I’ll still be merciful,” whispered Archibald. “Surrender now and I won’t torture you.”

“How magnanimous of you,” hissed Tom. “But I must decline your hellish offer; I’ll never surrender
my place in Slytherin to you.”

Archibald chuckled, his smile dark with promise. “I’d hoped you wouldn’t.”

Tom snarled, feral, blood painting his lips. “I will end you,” he whispered in parseltongue.

Archibald shivered. He motioned to the others, most of whom had recovered, since they’d woken
their allies. Macnair and Gibbon were still down, but awake. Their numbers were up again, six against
one, and Tom could barely stand. He struggled to his feet, resting his right hand on the wall for
support.

He didn’t want to admit it to himself. He didn’t want to face the very real possibility. It stung too
much. More bitter than the rind of a lemon, more bitter than his hatred, Tom was forced to look defeat
in the eyes and accept it.

He couldn’t win this fight by himself.

I’m going to lose.

Dammit.

Voices overlapped each other. Tom threw up a powerful shield. Five spells slammed against it, the
fifth the first to crack it. Rookwood and Yaxley flanked him on his left.

“Expulso!” shouted Tom.

The two boys were thrown back in an explosion, slamming against the nearby wall. They didn’t
move. Tom took out Dolohov, just as his shield broke. A curse struck his knee, shattering the bone.
Tom cried out, collapsing onto his other knee. There’d be no running now. Tom could sense himself
growing lightheaded and about to pass out from the pain.

Tom glared up at Archibald. He stood over Tom, lifted his wand, and whispered with gleeful finality,
“Crucio.”

But it never struck him.

A whisper flooded around Tom and warm, familiar magic rushed over him; a brilliant protego
maxima shield appeared in front of him and the red light of Archibald’s curse deflected from its
surface. It didn’t even leave a crack.

This magic…

It was so very warm; it tingled against his skin. His breath was stolen; through the agony of his knee,
through the trembling of his limbs, and through the dying adrenaline in his body, Tom relaxed and let
out a low, long breath.
Harry.

Alone no more.

Harry stood at the entrance of the tower staircase. He doubled over, gasping for breath. His head
whipped up; behind black frames, those green eyes were bright with a fire that promised hell. They
burned beautiful with their fury and bloodlust.

He ran here.

He ran all the way here… as if he knew exactly where I was.

How?

“Salazar, Harry, you’re too fast.”

“Unsurprising. He’s fast in the air, too.”

“Malfoys aren’t supposed to run like hooligans. We’re above such lowly activities.”

“That’s why you’re not on the Quidditch team, Abraxas.”

“Excuse me?”

Sebastian, Simon, and Abraxas as well? Harry had to have asked them to come—and they had. Tom
swallowed, grimacing at the taste of copper in his mouth.

I’m not alone in this.

Harry met his gaze; his glasses reflected the moonlight when his head dipped slightly. Those eyes
took in every detail of Tom, flicking back and forth, as Harry’s expression grew darker with rising
fury. His lips thinned at Tom’s bloodied knee and when he finally rested on Tom’s lips, Tom could
taste his rage from across the room.

Magic rippled and flooded through the whole area in a suffocating display of power. Sebastian swore,
while Simon and Abraxas stiffened. The other Slytherins froze.

Tom breathed out a contented sigh.

“What have you done to him?” asked Harry in a terrible whisper.

“This doesn’t concern you, Evans,” said Archibald with a haughty sniff. “This is merely a change in
power. You’ll have to wait your turn to be dethroned by Yaxley, my future second.”

Harry laughed. It sent a shiver up Tom’s spine. It was ever so dark and thoroughly delicious. Harry
smiled without light. “I think you’ll find,” Harry whispered, lifting his wand, “that whenever Tom
Riddle is involved, it will always be my concern.”

What?

“You three—take out the others,” barked Harry, throwing his hand out towards the other Slytherins.
“I’ve got Tom and Nott.”

“You’re not going to win—”

“Shut the fuck up, you bastard,” snarled Harry and whipped out a blasting curse towards Archibald.

Brick exploded; dust fumed into the air. Tom winced, closing his eyes. There was a curse. A second
later, a presence knelt at his side and the all familiar warmth of Harry’s magic coated Tom’s skin once
more.

“Can you stand?”

“No,” said Tom, his voice croaking a bit. “Knee is broken.”

“Fuck.”

Indeed.

Sebastian, Simon, and Abraxas versus the other seven boys wasn’t even a challenge. His three
Knights took out the other boys swiftly in an excellent display of finesse and power. Harry blocked a
particularly horrid spell from Archibald. He stood up and glared up at Archibald. He whipped out a
power spell, knocking Archibald off his feet. Harry threw another spell out, just as Archibald rolled to
the side, avoiding it. The stone exploded where he’d been seconds ago.

Harry’s viciousness was a beauty to behold.

It was over in moments. Archibald was no match for Harry. Archibald lay bound and stunned at his
feet. Harry huffed furiously and whirled back around, rushing to Tom’s side once more. Tom couldn’t
stop trembling from the aftereffects of the cruciatus curse. Strong hands held Tom by the shoulders,
anchoring him.

“You look like you’re about to pass out,” whispered Harry.

“Just a little bit of pain from my knee.”

“Let’s get you to the hospital wing, then—”

“No.”

“Tom, for fuck’s sake—”

“It’s an easy fix,” said Tom. “Besides, no one can know what transpired here. No teachers.”

Tom took a steadying breath, trying to keep his wooziness at bay. He tapped his wand over his knee
and gritted his teeth in preparation. “Brackium emendo,” he whispered. A second later, bones cracked.
Tom hissed; the pain rushed through his knee, sharp and burning. He squeezed his eyes shut, dizzy.

“Tom—”

“I’m fine. Just a bit sudden there.”

Tom pursed his lips. He slowly rose to his feet, leaning against Harry and the wall for support. He
drew in long, deep breaths; he squeezed his eyes shut briefly.

He had to end this.

Harry drew closer, looking up at Tom with concern in his eyes. He lifted his wand and the tip glowed.
Harry whispered the spell, gently healing Tom’s split lips.
“Thank you,” said Tom softly.

He took another minute to fortify himself. When he felt strong enough, he took a step forward—but
his knees buckled beneath his weight. He bucked forward and Harry caught him by the arms,
steadying him.

“Maybe you should sit down.”

“We must finish this.”

Harry didn’t look pleased, but he didn’t argue either. He kept his hand on Tom’s arm as they walked
towards Archibald, who glared up at them. Tom released the stunner on him, wanting Archibald to
experience the full weight and agony of his punishment.

“You needed your little group to save you, Riddle,” said Archibald with a sneering laugh. “You’re the
pathetic one. You—”

“I’m sorry, but are you so stupid to not know your basic maths?” snapped Harry. “It’s five to eight
now and you still lost. You outnumbered Tom and still got your arses handed to you, you fucking
coward, and you think you’ve got some moral high ground here? Grow the fuck up.”

Harry glared over the rest of the group, his magic flaring out. The Slytherins shivered with fear.

“What did you hope to accomplish with this, huh?!” shouted Harry. “Your power here isn’t going to
last long. You think being the ‘head of Slytherin’ is going to matter in the real world? There’s a war
going on out there! You think Grindelwald will care about your little hierarchy games here before he
kills you? Merlin, you’re all so fucking stupid with this shit. This could get you all expelled, you do
realize that, yeah? You’re all of age.”

“Slytherins don’t tattle,” murmured Rookwood.

“Yeah, well, maybe we should,” snapped Harry.

“No,” whispered Tom. “We won’t. Because that won’t solve this problem.” He glanced down at
Archibald, eyes gleaming. “Now will it?”

Harry shifted and glanced over at him. “Are you sure?” he whispered.

“This has been an issue within our house. So, I’ll settle it within those bounds.”Tom looked at the
other seven boys. “Your leader will take the blame and punishment,” he said softly. “You will watch
and see my mercy for your involvement tonight. But know this: should you ever cross me again,
you’ll meet this same fate. Once, I am merciful. Twice, I will have my retribution.”

“What are you going to do?” asked Harry in a low voice.

Tom crouched, enduring the pain that flared through his healed knee. He didn’t let it show on his face.
Archibald twisted and turned his bindings, eyes blown wide with fear. He grabbed Archibald by the
chin and stared at him.

“Archibald Nott,” whispered Tom. “You were given a chance. You were shown mercy. But you have
defied me for the last time and now you will pay the ultimate price.”

“Tom, what’re you going to do?” asked Harry, his voice pitching oddly.
An odd sensation filled Tom’s breast. “Look away,” he said in parseltongue.

Harry frowned. “Why?”

“Turn your head, Harry. Look away.”

“No,” whispered Harry. “You can’t kill him.”

Archibald let out a muffled terrified scream. Tom couldn’t hold back the little bark of laughter at the
absurdity. Kill Archibald? His death wouldn’t go unnoticed.

“Kill him?” said Tom, laughing again. “What kind of question is that? No, nothing like that.” He
smirked. “I suppose what I have in mind is much worse.”

But he didn’t want Harry to witness this for some irrational reason. Harry, whose magic was so
beautiful, shouldn’t witness dark magic. His patronus was sacred. If dark magic tainted Harry, could
he still produce such glorious magic? Did the maggots rumor have any merit? Tom didn’t want to take
that chance.

“Look away, Harry.”

“No.”

Tom conjured a white cloth. It zoomed in the air, sticking to Harry’s face. He squawked in protest and
tried to pull it off. Tom ignored him and leaned over Archibald, wand hovering over him. Archibald
went white and tried to pull away.

But there was no escaping this.

Tom pulled on his magic differently this time, willingly offering the spell what was his to cast his
offering. His hands grew icy cold, losing all their color. Black ink slipped into his veins. A rush
flooded his system, taking his breath away.

“Exitium sirpis,” whispered Tom.

Archibald screamed.

“Tom!” cried Harry.

But it was over. Tom pulled away from Archibald and pocketed his wand. He hid his hands in his
sleeves. They were absolutely frigid.

“You have lost your heirship now,” said Tom. “What a lucky thing it is for your family that you have a
brother, dear Archie, or else the Nott family line would’ve come to its end.”

“What?” whispered Archibald. “What did you do to me?”

Tom smiled. “I rendered you infertile. You should be grateful I didn’t render you impotent.”

Archibald trembled. Tom leaned closer to him and whispered in his ear. “I told you to watch yourself.
Now you’ve paid a terrible price for crossing me, one that cannot be reversed. If you cross me once
more, I’ll do the same to your brother. Do you understand the severity of my promise?”

Archibald nodded shakily.

“Excellent.” Tom pulled back. “The rest of the Slytherin house will know of your treachery. You’ll be
an example for years to come, perhaps even long after I’ve graduated.”

Tom glanced at the others.

“As for the rest of you, I suggest you all refrain from further mutiny. I will not be merciful a second
time. Am I understood?”

There was a terrified chorus of, “Yes, Riddle.”

“Then, go back to your dormitory and heal yourselves up. If I see you out of the dorm again tonight,
you’ll get a week of detention for breaking curfew.”

The other boys hurried out. Tom gazed down at Archibald with a bored expression, lazily vanishing
his bindings without a twitch of movement.

“Archibald, I suggest you leave with the last of your dignity or else I’ll render you a eunuch
altogether.”

Archibald trembled, in shock and ghostly pale. He slowly got to his feet and wobbled out of the tower,
descending the stairs.

Tom nodded to Sebastian, Simon, and Abraxas. “Thank you. Your arrival was critical,” he said softly.

“Harry is a bloody seer,” said Sebastian with a scoff, shaking his head. “Has to be. He knew exactly
where you were for some reason, but he’s not telling how.”

Tom smiled. “Yes, I do believe he is a seer.”

Harry gave out a stilted, sheepish laugh.

“You three go on ahead,” said Tom. “And keep an eye on them. Make sure they all return to their
dorms.”

Abraxas nodded. Simon gave Tom a light pat on the arm, before turning away with Sebastian. Harry
remained silent as the three of them descended the staircase. Only once they were out of sight did
Tom let out a deep breath and allow his shoulders to sag in relief.

“Thank you, Harry,” whispered Tom.

“Why did you ask me to look away?” asked Harry softly.

Out of all the questions, that wasn’t the one Tom thought he’d ask. ‘How could you do that?’ or ‘How
could you curse him like that?’ Not this. Tom shook his head, unable to answer him. Harry looked up
at him, putting a hand on Tom’s forearm.

“Tom.”

He met those powerful eyes, the ones that lit with kindness and righteous rage ever so easily. Tom
swallowed. “Remember when we discussed dark magic last week?” he asked in a low voice. Harry
nodded. “I… I did not wish you to witness such magic.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “Wait, you just used—”

Tom nodded.

Despair entered those stunning eyes. “But… have you done dark magic before?” Panic flooded
Harry’s face. “You tried to cast a patronus—you got mist and you…”

“I have,” said Tom.

“Wait—and you risked the maggots bullshit?” snapped Harry.

Tom snorted. “Of course. I have no intention of allowing my wand to turn on me in such a manner.
Not like that. All magic should be available to me. Light, dark, and neutral.”

Harry slapped a hand to his forehead and let out an exasperated sigh. “For fuck’s sake, of course
you’d say that,” he muttered. He glanced over Tom, frowning at Tom’s pockets Tom kept his freezing
hands hidden. Harry touched the sleeve.

Tom held his breath.

“You’re hiding something,” whispered Harry.

He’s far too observant sometimes.

Silence rose between them. Harry looked up at him expectantly and Tom couldn’t deny him for long.
He reluctantly pulled his hands out. Harry let out a horrified gasp.

The veins in his hands were still blackened and there was a slight blueish tint to his pale, near
bloodless skin.

“Fuck,” breathed Harry. He touched Tom’s hands, his warmth a brutal, bitter contrast to the ice in
Tom’s flesh. Harry gasped. “Shit, you’re freezing—what is this? What happened?”

“The price,” said Tom in a low voice. “I had to fuel the spell with something and I used my blood.”

“You used what?”

“That’s the nature of dark magic,” whispered Tom. “I told you this: it takes something, either from
you or a victim. I chose my own blood.”

Harry’s touch trembled. “How long does it last?”

“Not long. For me, at least. A blood replenisher will take care of the chill and the discolor in my skin
immediately.”

“And the… ink or dark magic in your bloody veins?”

“Ah, that’ll fade in about an hour or two. Not long, as I’ve said.”

Harry huffed. “You’re barking mad—you did this to yourself just to curse Nott from ever having
kids?”

“A fair trade, wouldn’t you say?” said Tom, smirking.

“No!”

But Harry’s lips twitched with suppressed, faint amusement.

 “Won’t you get into trouble, though?” asked Harry. “Aren’t the professors going to find out—” Harry
sucked in his breath, eyes growing wide. “—fuck, what if Dumbledore finds out—”

“He won’t,” said Tom. “It’s late tonight and I doubt we’ll come across a teacher right now. No one is
going to say anything. If Archibald tries anything, he knows the same fate awaits his brother.”

Harry’s gaze whipped up; it was fierce and angry. Tom didn’t like it; those eyes made him feel…
uncomfortable.

“He’s a third year, isn’t he? He’s Orion’s friend.”

“Yes.”

The light in Harry’s eyes grew dark and Tom stilled. He should be furious at their accusation; he
should assert his position and reasoning for threatening the boy. But the way those eyes pinned him
down, all Tom could feel was that same thrill.

“Don’t hurt the kid,” said Harry. “I don’t care what his bastard of a brother does—just don’t go after
the kid.”

Tom inclined his head. “Very well.”

He’d agreed before he could think about it, but he wouldn’t go back on his word now. He didn’t need
to go after the Nott boy anyway. Drawing Harry’s concern felt more advantageous than drawing his
ire. Harry still held his hands, staring at them with a faded look in his eyes. His fingers idly traced the
blackened veins on Tom’s hands. Tom found the sensation rather… pleasant. He didn’t pull away.

“You sure you won’t get caught?” asked Harry softly.

“I never do,” whispered Tom.

Harry breathed out a laugh and shook his head; he glanced up at Tom, half annoyed and half amused.
“Arsehole,” he muttered. Harry took Tom’s arm and threw it around his shoulders.

Tom chuckled.

He allowed himself to lean against Harry for support.

Chapter End Notes

Snip snip.

Exitium Stirpis = Ruin Scion

Harry to the rescue will never get old. I love it too much.

See ya tomorrow~!
 Thirty-Five
Chapter Notes

WELCOME to day three of a week of Terrible, But Great! Thank you all for your lovely
comments. I am planning on replying to them. I was just very busy trying to finish a particularly
difficult chapter yesterday, haha.

Also, at this point, I feel like it should go unsaid, but I’m gonna say it anyway for everyone’s
relief because of the content of this chapter:

Fuck JKR. Fuck JKR and her relentless attack on transpeople.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

When it came to Archibald Nott’s blight, the Slytherin house continued onward with detached sneers
and muffled amusement. If it didn’t directly affect them, they didn’t care—though, perhaps, a few, it
seemed to Harry, took quiet glee in Archibald’s punishment. His shame became known overnight in
the Slytherin house; however, not a word of it was spoken of outside of the house.

Tom’s rule was officially uncontested.

The energy had changed in the castle now that it was over a week into December. A buzz rippled
through all students who were fourth year and above. The shift was alarmingly familiar, but Harry
couldn’t quite put his finger on it. A lot of the girls were giggling more, whispering excitedly, while
stealing glances at the boys.

Harry could barely walk in the corridors on the way to classes without a bunch of girls huddling
together in a surge of shy giggles and longing looks.

Since when did girls travel in… packs?

Until finally, one morning at breakfast while Harry was halfway through his meal and was deep in
thought about his upcoming Potions assignment, a high, gentle voice cleared their throat behind him.
Harry turned around to see a Ravenclaw girl. She was quite pretty with her blonde hair and brown
eyes, but Harry gave her an inquisitive lift of his eyebrow.

“Hi,” said the girl. “I’m Olive.”

Harry nodded awkwardly. The girl had to be around the age of fourteen or so. Oh, Merlin, she better
not be… She’s fourteen! She’s a child.

Her hand lifted to twirl a lock of her golden hair. “I was wondering… if you had a date.”

What, like in general? Is she asking for the date?

Harry was so confused.

“It’s December ninth,” said Harry, hoping—praying, she’d go away and not ask him more—
“Oh, no, I meant for the Yule Ball,” said Olive.

Now the world was spinning.

“For the what?” said Harry incredulously. “The what?”

There were a couple of snorts behind Harry and muffled snickers coming from no doubt Roland and
Quintus. Bastards.

“The Yule Ball, of course.” She smiled. She shrugged shyly, twisting her hair again. “And since
you’re new here… I thought you’d like to go with me? You know, as dates.”

The Yule Ball?

WHAT?!

It clicked into place. It reminded Harry of the horrors of his fourth year. The embarrassment. The
awkwardness. The fucking dress robes from hell.

I would rather pluck out my own eyes than—

“My, my, Miss Hornby,” whispered Tom; his eyes were locked onto her. His knuckles were white as
he gripped his fork. His smile gleamed with the essence of a viper. “That’s rather presumptuous of
you.”

The girl flushed pink. “I don’t see why it is,” she said with a sniff.

“Coming to the Slytherin table, asking a boy out…” said Tom, in that same dangerously low tone.
“One might imagine that you’re not well versed in proper social etiquette. Unless you’re betrothed,
one does not take a date to the Yule Ball.”

Olive flushed a deeper red, more furious and embarrassed now.

“You’re a muggleborn, aren’t you?”

Olive lifted her chin. “And what if I am?”

Tom shrugged languidly; his lips were pursed thin. There was a glint in his dark eyes as they flicked
over the girl, up and down, sizing every aspect of her. A hint of a familiar emotion rippled through
Tom’s expression; Harry could read it better than Hermione could read, ‘Hogwarts, a History.’

Tom wanted to eviscerate the girl.

Fucking hell, Tom. Can’t you contain your little murder happy ways?

“Thank you, but I’m afraid I must decline your invitation,” said Harry, trying to sound as polite and
formal as possible. Olive crumpled. “Sorry,” he added, when giant tears filled her eyes. She whirled
away, holding herself bravely, until her friends gathered around her. She sobbed, while her friends
threw venomous glares at Harry.

He turned around his seat, ears burning. He could feel the smug looks from Roland and Quintus.

“Damn, Harry, she was quite a cutie,” said Roland. “And you said no to that? You know she’d have
let you do anything at the end of the ball, right?”
Harry burned on the inside and choked on his eggs.

Simon smacked at Roland’s shoulder. “Don’t be crass.”

“Ow—I’m not—I’m just stating facts. The Yule Ball is the night for an easy shag and what a shag
she’d be—ow!”

“She’s a fourth year,” said Simon, shaking his head.

“So?” Roland scoffed. “She’s old enough to know if she wants a quick shag—”

Roland’s words disappeared when Simon pulled him under a headlock. Roland slapped his arm,
gasping and apologizing in the mix of his laughter.

“I’m not going to—I don’t—”

Harry’s face burned with the heat of magma. He forced himself not to look over at Tom. Olive was
pretty enough, but… Well, Harry Potter had a mission and it didn’t involve a girl. It involved a baby
Dark Lord with fancy hair and a melodramatic ego the size of Africa.

“Well, if she’s not your type, Harry, I’m sure I could help you find—”

Roland’s spoon snapped in half; he flinched with a sharp gasp, dropping the broken end of his spoon;
it clinked onto the table. The flare of familiar magic crackled and prickled against Harry’s skin, his
neck and arm hair standing on end. A faint shiver slid through Harry at the feel of it. The other
Slytherin boys froze, their collective gazes swiveling onto Tom.

Tom’s knuckles were white; his tight grip on his fork shook. Tom’s lips thinned, their color stark
against his pale skin.

Alphard blinked awake. “Did I just… feel accidental magic from Tom?” he asked in a sleepy voice.
He scrunched his eyes. “That’s unusual.”

The blood drained further from Tom’s cheeks.

Roland grinned. “Oho,” he drawled in delight. He grabbed another fork. He leaned an elbow onto the
table, glee in his eyes. “Did you wanna shag her, Tom? I’m sure she’d get over herself if you asked
with your usual charm—”

Roland’s second fork flung upwards, snapping in half midair. A couple of Slytherin girls cried out,
while everyone in the vicinity ducked; the broken fork clanged onto the table, one part landing in a
pitcher of pumpkin juice and sending a spray of liquid everywhere. The other piece landed on
Simon’s plate, splattering his breakfast all over his front.

Bloody hell.

“Damn,” murmured Alphard.

Quintus’ lips trembled with the visible effort of holding back a smirk.

Cheeks a bright pink with his features pinched in suppressed emotion, Tom bolted to his feet and
threw his bag over his shoulder; he fled the Great Hall.
Quintus smacked Roland on the shoulder; Roland squawked in protest. “You have no tact
whatsoever,” he muttered.

“Me?” cried Roland. “After what you said a few weeks ago? Have you heard the shit the two of you
go on about? I wasn’t saying anything weird. I was just asking if—”

“You were crass,” said Simon. His brow twitched low; his nostrils flared. He vanished the mess from
his robes with a roll of his eyes. “And you know this already.”

Roland grinned. He shrugged and didn’t say anything.

Marcus shook his head. “Still… that was a bit strange, wasn’t it?”

“What was?” asked Sebastian.

“I think that’s the first time I’ve ever seen uncontrolled magic from Tom.”

What in Salazar’s name was that?

Tom was trembling; his magic rippled beneath his skin, wild and restless. He could feel the disquiet
and the agitation in his very magic.

He hid in an alcove next to a suit of armor and covered his face with his hands. He never lost control
like that. Never. What was happening to him? This was utter madness. I’m losing myself. Control was
his strength. He could not lose that. Control over himself was what set him apart from everyone else.
Total control over his emotions, his body, his magic. With these, he could control everyone else.

But if he lost that… He lost everything that made Tom who he was.

This didn’t make any sense.

He was getting enough sleep. His wand wasn’t disobeying him or causing any trouble at all. Since
when did he have problems with his accidental magic? He never had issues like that. He hadn’t even
had issues with it when he was a child, at least not for long. He’d quickly learned how to have total
control over his magic as a child.

What is this? What is happening to me?

Tom leaned against the wall, his head knocking lightly against the brick. He took a deep calming
breath. Calm down. If he analyzed what was said and what had triggered the lose of control, he’d be
able to mitigate losing it the next time.

Olive.

That awful girl had been the problem.

Right?

Having the audacity to break traditions, asking Harry out as her date—they weren’t a couple, so
where had she come off with the gall to ask Harry to the Yule Ball? If she’d waited, she might’ve
gotten a dance out of Harry.
The suit of armor creaked beside him. The fire in the nearby lamps flickered. Tom’s heart rate spiked.
The control over his magic began slipping again and he had to place a hand over his heart in the effort
to calm it down.

Okay, maybe she wasn’t the only problem.

It was the idea of Harry dancing with her that irritated him and Tom wasn’t sure what to make of this
strange feeling that bubbled and coiled deep within his gut.

And Roland’s disgusting language about sleeping with her irritated Tom even further.

The idea of finding Harry in a forbidden tryst with the girl in the confines of a broom cupboard filled
Tom with apocalyptic levels of rage.

Right, that was a very normal reaction. Right. He certainly didn’t feel the same way when Alphard
and Quintus got up to their mischief. Why should he feel any differently about Harry?

Oh, but he did.

And Tom didn’t understand why.

This was bad. This was very bad.

They kept asking him out, either as their date or a call out to, ‘Be sure to save a dance for me, Evans!’
They wouldn’t stop. They wouldn’t stop. The amount of girls approaching Harry about the Yule Ball,
whether for a date or for a dance, was getting to be too many to count and they were driving him up
the wall and back—even a couple of boys had discreetly asked for dance or two. Merlin, a third year
Gryffindor asked him—a fucking third year asked him to take her as a date so she could go to the
dance.

But out of all them, not a single Slytherin came to him.

This was worse than his fourth year. They were like vultures with the ability to sniff him out like a
bloodhound.

How do they keep finding me?

For fuck’s sake, leave me alone!

Harry rushed into the library, just as a group of girls walked by. He breathed out a sigh. At this rate,
he wasn’t going to get any homework down. He wasn’t sure why so many girls were asking him,
considering what Tom had mentioned something about pureblood traditions. It was exhausting just
walking around the corridors now.

Fuck, I hate the Yule Ball. I thought it was just a Twiwizard Tournament tradition.

He walked down a few aisles, avoiding everyone. He peeked around the corner to find Roland and
Simon at a table by themselves and hunched over their homework. He stopped in front of their table,
breathless.

“Hey, can I sit with you?” asked Harry.

“Harry,” said Roland brightly. “You look like you’re running from something.”
“Yeah, the mob,” muttered Harry. He collapsed into a chair and sighed. “I can’t get away from them.”

“From whom?” asked Simon.

“Everyone!” cried Harry.

A couple of annoyed ‘shush!’ from around the library had Harry sinking into his chair.

Roland snorted. “Come off it, can’t be that bad.”

“Girls keep asking me out or requesting a dance. I can’t take it anymore.”

“Oh?” said Roland with a grin. “That many, huh? Any catch your eye?”

“No,” said Harry, annoyed. “And stop asking about that shit. I just want everyone to leave me alone.”

“Well, there is a reason why, you know.”

“And what reason is that?” demanded Harry.

“You’re a good looking guy.”

Harry stared at him, flummoxed. “What?”

“Didn’t you know?”

“You’re having me on—knock it off.”

Roland glanced at Simon, gesturing to Harry. “How can he be so clueless?”

Simon shrugged while Harry said an indignant, “Hey.”

“It’s true, though—”

Boom.

A small explosion echoed through the library; there were a number of shrieks of fright. The books on
the shelves shook and a number of them fell to the ground. Roland cursed, nearly falling out of his
seat, while Simon and Harry bolted to their feet. Harry’s wand snapped out into his hand.

“Salazar, you’re a quick draw,” said Roland, staring at him.

“Wait here,” said Harry.

“No,” said Simon firmly. “We’re coming with you.”

“Yeah!”

Harry didn’t protest. He walked through the library, going in the direction of the initial sound. Blue
smoke lifted above some of the nearby bookshelves. As Harry approached, he could hear voices.

“Oh, Aeonphilius, that was most foolish of you.”

“Aeon! Are you shitting me with this—good lord, it’s everywhere!”

“I miscalculated.”

“You think?”

“That would be an understatement, brother.”

Harry turned the corner to see three Ravenclaws, two girls and one boy. His mouth slowly dropped.
He recognized two of them—sort of, at least. The boy had shaggy white blond hair and soft pale
features, which reminded him a lot of Xenophilius Lovegood. The girl next to him looked almost
identical to him, with long white blonde hair that had been pulled back into two long braids. The other
girl had dark brown skin with thick black curls styled around her shoulders.

And all three of them were coated in bright blue sludge.

Lovegood… Are these relatives to Luna? Her grandfather, maybe?

Roland and Simon came to a halt behind Harry.

“Are you three all right?” asked Harry.

Three heads popped up to look at them. They were gathered around a destroyed cauldron, which was
also coated in the blue sludge. The goo slipped down the cheek of the boy and landed on the library
carpet.

“Oh, visitors,” said the blonde girl brightly. “How lovely.”

“We’re covered in this shit. We look ridiculous,” snapped the dark haired girl.

“Easily fixed,” said Harry. He waved a scourgify on the three of them, vanishing the blue substance
from them. “Better now?”

“Not at all,” said the blond boy, glaring at him. “That was important material to study.”

“Brother, I think not.”

“Agreed. Let’s not do this again, Aeon. You still have some of that shit in your cauldron, don’t you?”

“But it’s not enough—”

The blonde girl stood and waved at them. “Hello, I’m Petrichor Lovegood. That’s my twin brother,
Aeonphilius, and this is my best friend, Edith Knight. But you can call me Petra and my brother
Aeon.”

Edith gave them a half hearted wave, while Aeon stared at Harry with an annoyed look.

“Uh, I’m Harry and this is Roland and Simon.”

“Pleasure,” said Petra brightly.

Roland stared. His cheeks were bright pink. Simon gave Petra a polite, silent nod. Petra ducked her
head slightly, her smile growing soft.

“You vanished important material. How are you going to make it up to me?” demanded Aeon. “Those
ingredients were valuable.”
“Uh…”

“Aeon, you stole them from the potions’ storage closet,” said Edith, rolling her eyes. “You can always
get more.”

“No, I need to be compensated for the lost of knowledge.”

Petra smiled lightly. “Don’t mind him. He’s a bit particular about his experiments.”

“Think of what we could created if it had worked!” cried Aeon with a gleam in his eyes. “It would’ve
changed the world!”

“The world will have to live without its blue raspberry flavored calming draught, then,” said Edith.
She stood up and brushed the wrinkles from her robes. “Come on, we can’t do this in the library
anymore. You’re going to ruin—”

“What on earth is going on in here?”

The librarian, Ms. Millie Harper, appeared from around the corner. She put her hands on her hips and
huffed in pure annoyance. “You three again. What mischief have you been up to this time?”

“Nothing,” chimed all three Ravenclaws in perfect unison.

Harper scoffed. “A lie if ever I heard it. I’ve had it with you three—you’re all banished from the
library for a week.”

“But—”

“Go on, get out. And next time you’re going to experiment, do it in an old classroom, please, for the
love of Merlin.”

Harper waited expectantly as the three of them gathered their things together. As the three of the
trudged away with Harper in toe, Petra gave Simon one last shy smile. “It was nice to meet you all.”

“Yeah, see ya around, I suppose,” said Edith.

“Do please avoid vanishing people’s hard work in the future,” said Aeon with a sniff.

I… was not expecting Luna’s… grandfather? I think. I didn’t expect him to be so rude, damn.

Well, since none of them asked anything of Harry, rudeness aside, he didn’t dislike any of them.
When the three of them were finally gone, Roland grabbed desperately at Simon and wheezed out a
breath.

“I think I’m in love,” said Roland.

Simon raised an eyebrow. “Oh, really?”

Harry snorted. Dear mother of Merlin, he was so done.

“That girl, did you see her?”

“The blonde girl?”

“Not her!” cried Roland, aghast. “The other girl, Edith, I think her name is—I’m gonna ask her for a
dance at the Yule Ball.”

“Please don’t try to get into her skirts,” said Simon.

Harry choked on himself. He needed to escape. He slowly inched away from the two boys as they
bantered onwards. Harry glanced around the corner of a bookshelf, grimacing when he caught sight of
five Hufflepuffs at a table.

“How dare you,” said Roland dramatically. “She’s more than just a shag. How could you say that to
me?”

“Wait… You really like her?”

“I thought I made that very clear!”

“Let’s ask together,” said Simon in a low voice.

“What?”

“I’d like to ask Miss Lovegood to save me a dance at the Yule Ball.”

Roland grinned. “Why you sly dog, you.”

Harry left the two of them behind, narrowly avoiding being seen by the gaggle of Hufflepuffs. He
slipped down an empty bookshelf aisle and pulled out the invisibility cloak. He threw it around
himself and snuck out of the library without any further trouble

“Why does everyone seem to like me so much?” muttered Harry.

A number of flights of stairs upwards in the Gryffindor Tower, a young Monty Potter sneezed.

Harry stowed the cloak back inside his pouch when he reached an empty corridor near the Slytherin
common room entrance. Harry let out a sigh of relief once inside the safety of the common room. It
was so much more peaceful than the halls. He was going to have to stick around here before the Yule
Ball, if he wanted to avoid all the masses.

He climbed up the stairs and made his way to the dorm room, intent on having a lie down for a bit. He
opened the door to find only Marcus in the room. In his hands, Marcus held a set of dark blue dress
robes. Marcus slammed the garment down onto his bed, cursing in a low voice, his chest heaving and
his hands shaking.

“Are you all right?” asked Harry, stepping into the dorm room and shutting the door behind himself.
“What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Doesn’t seem like nothing.”

“Just—leave me alone, all right?” snapped Marcus.

“Robes for the Yule Ball?” asked Harry lightly, still hoping to get something out of him. “Preparing
this early?”

“Yes.”

“They look nice.”

“Oh, yes, they’re very masculine,” said Marcus darkly, glaring at it. “Very handsome set of dress
robes indeed.”

“You’ll look great in them,” said Harry.

But that only seemed to make things worse.

“I don’t want to look great in these,” snapped Marcus. “I’d rather set them on fire.”

“Uh…” Harry trailed off. “Why? What’s wrong? Why don’t you want to wear these?”

“Because!” snapped Marcus. “Just leave me alone, will you? You understand nothing about our ways
and you’re always poking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

“Whoa, hey, I’m just asking a simple question. I wasn’t trying to be rude—I think you’d look
handsome in them for your date.”

“I don’t want to look handsome in a fucking suit!” shouted Marcus, glaring at him. “I’d rather look
beautiful in a dress!”

Harry’s mouth opened; he closed it. He blinked, slowly trying to process exactly what Marcus meant.
Silence reigned between them for a good thirty seconds. Marcus slapped a hand over his mouth, eyes
widened in his horror.

“Uh…”

Marcus whipped out his wand and pointed it at Harry’s forehead. His hand trembled, features growing
white. “I’m sorry, Harry,” he whispered out a rasp. “I’m sorry, but I have to—”

“Have to what?” asked Harry. He didn’t move, his breathing slow and steady. Marcus shook, his eyes
filling with tears. Harry carefully pocketed his hands; his fingers wrapped around the hilt of his wand.
“We’re friends, aren’t we?”

“We are, but—”

“And I haven’t lifted my wand, so just take a breath and calm down.”

“You don’t understand!” snapped Marcus; sparks flew from the tip of his wand. “You don’t
understand.”

“Then, why don’t you explain it to me?”

“I’m sorry, but I have to erase your memory.”

Harry clenched his fist in his pocket. “I’d really rather you didn’t.”

“No one can know,” said Marcus, desperate, tears streaming down his cheeks. “Seb doesn’t even
know, all right? No one knows—”
“Lower your wand, Marcus,” said Harry, a firm warning entering his tone. Marcus flinched. “Lower
it, please. I don’t want to fight you and you know I’ll win.”

For a long torturous moment, Marcus didn’t lower his wand. Harry stared at him in the eyes,
unmoving, but willing him to stand down. The last time he’d fought with someone trying to wipe out
his memories, it didn’t go well—and while the main culprit had been Ron’s broken wand, Harry
wasn’t going to let Marcus mess with his memories.

Marcus let out a cry, wand snapping to his side. He covered his face with his other hand and collapsed
to sit on his bed, trembling with suppressed sobs.

“Don’t tell anyone,” whispered Marcus. “Whatever you want, I’ll do it—just don’t tell anyone.”

“I’m not going to tell your secret and I don’t need anything in return to keep it,” murmured Harry,
drawing closer. He threw up a silencing charm around them. “There, no chance that anyone can
overhear us if they walk into the room.”

“Thank you,” whispered Marcus.

Harry gave him a few moments to compose himself. He conjured a handkerchief and Marcus
accepted it gratefully.

“You can talk to me, you know,” said Harry. He shrugged sheepishly. “I’m not exactly the best, but
since it’s out… I swear I’m not going to tell anyone.”

“Not even Tom?” asked Marcus softly, wiping his face.

“I don’t tell Tom shit.”

Marcus snorted.

“If you don’t want me to tell anyone, I won’t. That means zero people.”

“I…” Marcus sighed. “I don’t want to be an heir…”

Harry slowly nodded.

“I’d rather be an heiress,” whispered Marcus.

“So, you want to be a girl?” asked Harry.

Hazel grey eyes met his, wide with terror. Marcus swallowed. “It’s… not normal—it’s wrong—and
—”

“I don’t think so,” said Harry, frowning. “Who told you that shit?”

“I am born male—I can’t be anything else,” snapped Marcus. “It’s not like I can change anything
about myself.”

This wasn’t something Harry knew much about. Just like with other topics, he’d learn most things
from Hermione. He remembered her mentioning a Ravenclaw student in her Ancient Runes class that
had wanted to change their gender, but Harry couldn’t remember the term for it.

Dammit, Hermione, I should’ve paid more attention.

“Can’t you?” asked Harry, head tilted. “Magic can regrow bones. It can change your appearance into
an entirely different person. Why can’t you change other things?”

Marcus’ mouth slowly opened; he stared, before he shook himself. “No, no, you don’t understand. I
would be disowned. I would destroy my family lineage if I didn’t continue the bloodline. I can’t… I
can’t just do that.”

“If you changed yourself into who you’re more comfortable as, am I following?”

Marcus sagged, nodding bitterly. “Changing one’s gender and sex is an rare occurrence already, but
it’s unheard of among pureblood families. It’s strongly looked down upon and the change can
oftentimes render one infertile if they’re not careful.” He bit his lip. “I could be in serious trouble by
simply suggesting it, especially with Maxxie being infertile.”

Harry rubbed a hand over his face. Fuck, these purebloods have a stick so far up their arse, it’s
causing them all brain damage.

“It won’t always be like this,” said Harry.

“Like what?”

“This pureblood bullshit.”

Marcus let out a watery chuckle. “I don’t think it will ever change.”

“It will.”

Even if I have to strong arm the entire wizarding world into bending their knees, I’m going to change
this fucking bullshit.

“Hey, you’re with Tom because you want to change things, yeah?” asked Harry. It wasn’t enough to
take down Grindelwald; they had to take down the entire system, even if brick by brick. “Why can’t
this be one of them? Your freedom to be whoever and however you want to be?”

Marcus smiled softly. “Thank you, Harry.” He snorted, shaking his head. “What in Salazar’s name are
you doing in Slytherin? You’re far too earnest and trusting—should’ve been a Hufflepuff.”

“Nah, the hat said they’d eat me alive in there.”

Marcus laughed, wiping a tear away from his eyes.

Sunday evenings were quickly becoming Tina’s favorite time of the week. Tom and Harry were such
good boys and Tina couldn’t help but adore them. Tom was so prim and proper for the most part, until
he got riled up by the more carefree and wild Harry. It was only their third meal together, but Tina
wanted these boys here with them every Sunday dinner.

Maybe even every night, but Tina knew that was pushing it.

“So… the Yule Ball is ten days away,” said Tina, resting her elbows on the table and watching for a
reaction. She was reward with a flustered Harry and annoyed Tom. She had to repress a laugh. “Do
either of you know how to dance?”
Tom nodded. “Of course,” he said with a sniff. “I taught myself as soon as possible when I learned it
was proper etiquette of the pureblood.”

Harry chuckled sheepishly. “Uh… I can, somewhat?”

“You don’t know how to dance?” demanded Tom, frowning at Harry in near alarm.

“I do… sort of.”

“Your hesitation alone does not bode much confidence.”

“Hey, I didn’t want to learn how to dance. I’m not interested in that tosh.”

“It’s not tosh,” snapped Tom.

Tina smiled at the two of them. She quickly hid it behind a sip of tea. These two were an interesting
pair, they were. Harry didn’t give two bits about pureblood etiquette, which Tina could relate to, and it
sent Tom into a tizzy ever time. She was never not amused by their antics.

“Your lack of education in this regard will not last another night,” said Tom decidedly. He set his
napkin aside on the table and stood. “I’m teaching you how to dance. Tonight.”

“What?” squawked Harry. “No, no, you’re not.”

“You don’t have a choice—”

“—the fuck I don’t.”

“Boys,” said Newt, cutting through the argument. He set his mug down and gave them a firm, yet
kind look. “Let’s not have that kind of language, all right?”

Tom looked away and crossed his arms with a huff, a dusting of pink flushing through his cheeks.
Harry rubbed the back of his neck and murmured a, “Sorry about that.”

“Learning how to dance is more fun than you think,” said Tina. “Isn’t there someone you’d like to
dance with, Harry?”

Oh, Tina loved it when Harry blushed. His complexion darkened with a deeper, richer coloring. Harry
coughed and ducked his head.

“The Yule Ball is an opportunity to make connections with others outside of one’s house and status,”
said Tom. He narrowed his eyes at Harry. “And you’re going to learn how to dance and will dance
with as many people as possible.”

“What?” cried Harry. “I have to dance the whole night? Wait, hang on, I don’t have to have a date,
right? Do I have to ask someone out or ask for a dance or some bullshi—I mean, bull crap?”

Harry looked positively panicked by the idea.

Ah, to be so young again.

Tina met Newt’s eyes and winked at him. He suppressed a low chuckle of his own. Back at
Ilvermorny, they hadn’t had a fancy ball, like the Yule Ball, but they did have Valentine’s Day dances.

Those were such fun days.

Tom frowned. “Only betrothed couples go as dates and partners. Traditionally, you go without a
chosen companion and ask while at the dance.”

“That still doesn’t mean I wanna dance.”

“You know, a little dancing sounds like fun right now,” said Newt with a smile. He stood up from the
table and held out his hand to Tina in a little bow. “Might I have this dance, Tina, my love?”

“Yes, you may.”

Tina let out a giggle as Newt swept her into his arms. He winked at the boys. “Gentlemen, this is how
you dance,” he said, sweeping Tina through the room. The furniture moved against the wall, clearing
some space for them. Newt flicked his wand towards a record player and a jaunty melody played in
the room. Tina laughed in delight as Newt gently swept her around the room to the tune.

“Come on, you better learn now,” said Tom, holding out a hand to Harry.

“I’d really rather not, all right?”

Tom grabbed Harry by the wrist and jerked him to his feet. Harry protested all along the way as Tom
led him to the living room. The three kittens sat in a row at the back of the sofa, watching the four of
them with bright, curious eyes.

Tina chuckled against Newt as she watched the boys. Harry was obviously flustered and embarrassed
as Tom, oblivious to Harry’s predicament, held him by the hand and wrapped an arm around his waist.

“Just follow my lead, all right?”

“Is this really necessary?”

“Entirely.”

Harry huffed.

Tina couldn’t keep her eyes off the boys, her cheeks aching from the smile that wouldn’t disappear.
It’d been awhile since she’d felt this happy. Tom tried to teach Harry the basic steps of dancing and
Harry kept stumbling and stepping on Tom’s toes, but Tom took it all in stride. She really needed to
pay attention to Newt, but he was also keeping an eye on the boys. Once, the two of them made eye
contact.

Newt winked at her.

Oh, it was plain as a day to Tina: there was something growing between these two boys. It was
adorably noticeable. Harry was so flustered around Tom, especially while they danced. Harry clearly
had a little crush on him, but Tina wasn’t quite sure how Tom felt about Harry.

Ah, well, they’d figure it out.

Boys weren’t always self aware when it came to feelings. Best to let them ride it out and see what
happened.

“I’m done!” cried Harry, pulling away and trying to escape. He ducked around the table, darting in the
opposite direction as Tom tried to chase him down. “I don’t need to learn the Wizarding Bolero dance
thingy—whatever it is!”
“But they might—”

“I’ll sit it out, all right? Where’d you learn all these anyway?”

“It’s not that hard—”

“Tom, I will hex you,” said Harry, wand whipping out. “I swear to Merlin, I will—and you know I
can.”

Tom put his hands on his hips. “You’re unprepared for the Yule Ball.”

“Tom might have a point, Harry,” said Newt with a chuckle. “You need to learn more dances if you
want to have the most fun.”

“It’s good enough.” Harry shook his head a near one hundred times. “It’s good enough.”

Tom sighed and shook his head. “Fine,” he said shortly. Harry sighed in relief, collapsing into a chair
at the table. “But we’ll practice more later. There’s still time.”

Harry had the distinct look about him that told Tina they wouldn’t.

“Goodness, is that the time? It’s late,” said Newt, glancing at his pocket watch. “I’ll write you a note
so you won’t get in trouble with curfew.”

“That won’t be necessary,” said Tom. “I’m a prefect.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, we’ll be fine,” said Harry. The two of them walked to the door, with Tina and Newt following
after them. Harry waved at them brightly. “Thank you for dinner!” he chirped.

Tom nodded to Tina once. “Thank you, Tina,” he said in a low voice. “It was a pleasure.”

“You’re always free to come here,” said Tina, reaching out to him and putting a hand against his
cheek. He stiffened as she brushed her thumb beneath his eye. “You know that, right?”

Tom nodded. His eyes glanced over at Newt. “Thank you,” he whispered. “Have a good evening…”
He turned slightly, head ducked. “Newt.”

And Tom strode off quickly, almost as if bolting; the tips of his ears grew red.

Tina could feel Newt vibrating out of his skin. She put a hand to his arm, waiting for the two boys to
be out of sight before she turned to him.

Newt rocked back on his heels. “He called me Newt,” he whispered.

“Yeah,” said Tina, smiling widely. “Yeah, he did, sweetie.”

“He called me Newt.”

Tina threw her arms around him. He hugged her tightly, dipping his head against her neck and
inhaling deeply. “Oh, Tina, I didn’t think he’d ever crack. I didn’t think he’d ever call me by name.”

“You did it,” whispered Tina, running a hand through Newt’s hair. “You always do.”
 He swung back and forth, holding her close in his arms, and Tina could only think of how deliriously
happy she was at that moment.

Chapter End Notes

Okay, I know yall are ANXIOUS to see these two idiots kiss and suck face and I’m RIGHT there
with yall I swear in the name of our Lord and Savior Voldemort, BUT—

I am working with a clueless asexual (Hi, Tom, you adorable fucking dumbass) who is on the
cusp of a sexual awakening and these things take time. Tom still has more to learn about himself
and about what he feels for Harry, too.

If they kissed now, it would not work out for them. It would end in tragedy.

And that’s not this kind of story. I PROMISE you, though, the story will not end upon their first
kiss and getting together. The story is SO NOT over at that point.

Yall have trusted me up to this point, god bless. I swear to you, the wait will be worth it.
 Thirty-Six
Chapter Notes

WELCOME to Day Four of a week of Terrible, But Great!

I feel like I need to say more, but I literally just woke up and we're lucky I copied the right
chapter into here. xD Hi. Good morning.

Speaking of which, this is such a fun chapter. Hehe~

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Harry Potter was about to do something very stupid.

Par for the course, as always.

He had one week before Christmas, but his goal today was not about a Christmas present. He’d
already gotten everyone’s gifts during the last Hogsmeade trip, after they’d all had butterbeers as a
group for the first time. No, today was about a certain boy’s birthday.

Harry had only one goal today: retrieve the locket.

And he was going to use Felix Felicis to do it.

It was an odd feeling to know he planned on obtaining it one way or another, even if he’d have to
steal it, but it belonged to Tom and the story of its sale was heartbreaking. It deserved to stay in the
family and Tom had a birthright claim to the locket. Harry had more than enough galleons to pay for
the cost of its original sale, but there was no way in hell that Harry was going to spend thousands of
galleons on the locket just to fill the pocket of a shady business man.

The only problem with Felix Felicis was its volatile unpredictability. If he drank it, would it direct his
path towards the locket or to some other goal? The only time he’d ever taken it, he’d been sent on a
wild goose chase that had made perfect sense in his mind at the time, but looking back… Harry had
no idea why he’d done any of it.

His mind had been so clear on Felix Felicis. It had been a bit of a rush that day and he’d only taken a
three hour dosage of it. Three hours probably wouldn’t be enough today, especially if he ran into
some troubles finding the locket altogether.

Taking the entire vial might be overkill, but he didn’t want to take any chances.

Harry sat up in bed, rubbing his face. The dorm was silent this early in the morning on Saturday. He
quickly gathered his clothes and boots. Once dressed and ready, it was well before seven o’clock
when Harry opened his curtains and peeked out. All the other curtains were closed, giving Harry the
perfect moment to sneak out of the dorm. He grabbed his winter cloak and scarf, throwing them on as
quickly and as quietly as he could. He was the door when it opened before he could touch the handle.

Alphard blinked, looking down at him. “Oh, good morning.”

“Uh, yeah, morning,” said Harry, his heart rate leaping up a thousand beats.

“You’re up early.”

“Yeah, I just… uh, I just fancied a walk this morning.”

Alphard nodded, yawning and scratching the back of his head. “Don’t freeze to death out there. See
you at breakfast.”

“Sure,” said Harry and rushed past him into the corridor of the dormitory. His steps were quick as he
went down the stairs to the common room, which was blessedly empty. At the entrance of the
common room, he pulled out his invisibility cloak and threw it over himself.

The corridors were quiet and empty at this hour; Harry encountered no one by the time he made it to
the front entrance. He glanced around once more, before pushing open the door and sneaking outside.
A gust of wind rushed over him. He shivered. He shut the door behind himself and began to trudge
through the snow towards Hogsmeade.

Snowfall gently fell around him, but the cloak protected him from it. Once he was halfway to
Hogsmeade, Harry paused and dug inside his pouch for the vial of Felix Felicis. He pulled it out and
stared at it for a moment.

“Here goes nothing,” murmured Harry. “I need to find and retrieve the locket, all right?”

For Tom. For Tom’s birthday. I want it to be special for him.

He downed the entire twelve hour vial.

Its affects weren’t instant. Harry had a few moments where he pulled the invisibility cloak off and
stored it in his pouch. As he walked a few paces down the road towards Hogsmeade, the village
showing in the distance, Harry’s vision became crystal clear. Images became sharper behind his
glasses, the colors more vibrant and brilliant. His heart rate increased.

Harry barked out a laugh.

He broke into a run, laughing as the cold wind froze his cheeks. At the entrance of the village, Harry
doubled over, gasping, the cold seizing his lungs a bit. He didn’t mind it, though. The village was
silent and empty. Harry broke into a skip through the snow, giggling as the snowflakes fluttered down
from the sky.

This isn’t so bad.

Mmm, I know where to go next.

He made his way through the village before he came to a stop in front of the Hog’s Head and peeked
into the window. Aberforth Dumbledore was sweeping in the middle of the pub. Harry knocked on the
window and Aberforth glared at him. Harry waved and walked inside.

“What you want, boy?” demanded Aberforth gruffly. “Too early for business now and I ain’t selling
ya firewhiskey.”

Harry shook his head. “Nah, I don’t need any firewhiskey, but could I use your floo?”

“What?” Aberforth narrowed his eyes. “Why? You skipping out on school?”
“Uh huh, that’s right,” said Harry, grinning more. “Right out from Dumbledore’s nose, too. But I have
to find it, you see.”

“You drunk, boy?”

“No,” said Harry brightly. “Just know exactly where I need to be.”

Aberforth huffed. “Gimme a sickle for the trouble. Not like I give two knuts what you lot get up to,
little brats.”

“Thank you, kindly, Mr. Dumbledore,” said Harry cheerfully. He dug inside his pouch and pulled out
a sickle, handing it to Aberforth. “Appreciate it.”

The man huffed again, expression darkening. He looked visibly unsettled that Harry knew his identity.
But he let Harry bound and skip to the fireplace.

“Watch your step now. Don’t do anything illegal or whatever.”

“No promises!” chirped Harry, grabbing a handful of floo powder and stepping into the fireplace. He
grinned before throwing the powder down. “Knockturn Alley!”

He managed a wave at Aberforth’s look of horror and shock as the emerald green flames spun him
away.

A fireplace spat him out. Harry coughed, rubbing the soot out of his eyes. He stood up and looked
around. A small number of people stared back at him, eyes dark as they looked him over. One of the
patrons at a table in the back smirked, licking his lips, revealing sharp teeth.

“Sorry about that,” said Harry without a care in the world. He dropped two sickles on the counter
where the bartender eyed him warily. “Wrong gate.”

Harry slipped out of the pub, throwing up the hood of his coat, and avoiding eye contact with the
handful of seedy people who walked through the alleyway. Harry dipped around a darkened corner
and threw his invisibility cloak around his shoulders, vanishing from sight.

He wandered down the streets, looking through the windows of the closed shops. Harry wasn’t sure
what time it was or when the shops were supposed to open, but ah well.

Time didn’t matter.

Right?

He reached the end of the alleyway and glanced around. The shop Borgin and Burkes came into view.
Harry was drawn closer to it. He looked in the window, noting the movement of a man behind the
counter.

He’d been led to the shop, which meant…

The locket was still here.

Harry stepped inside, the bell clanking a grating tone above his head. He looked around the room with
mild interest. While many of the artifacts were different than what he’d seen in his second year, it still
had the same dark aesthetics, from the tinted windows, the dim lighting, and the near black walls.
Caractacus Burke was a short man, only an inch or two taller than Harry. His dark hair was slicked
back and styled, and his suit was handsome and presentable. He perked up at Harry’s entrance and
rubbed his hands together with a sneering grin spreading his features.

“Welcome to Borgin and Burkes. How may I help a distinguished young man such as yourself? Just
browsing or did you have something in mind?”

“I have something in mind,” said Harry.

He lowered the cowl and smiled at the man. Burke shifted, hands dropping to his sides. His eyes
flicked over Harry’s attire and rested on the Slytherin scarf.

“Bit early for winter holidays, isn’t it, lad?”

“Starts in a few days or so,” said Harry with a shrug.

“You ain’t here with your Head of House’s permission, are you?” asked Burke, eyes narrowing at
him.

Harry’s grin grew wider. “Not at all.”

Burke shifted again, appearing more uncomfortable by the moment. He shook his head and gestured
to the door. “Listen, boy, you’re a bit young to be out and about on your own, especially in this seedy
alleyway. You best get back to school before you get yourself or me into trouble or anything of that
sort. I want no trouble here, you see.”

“I’m of age and I’ll go once I’ve found what I’m looking for, Mr. Burke.”

The man jolted. “You—”

“I’m looking for a very special artifact,” said Harry, taking a step closer to the counter. His magic
flared out; the instruments that hung from the ceiling shook dangerously. “I’m under the impression
you still have it after all these years.”

Burke swallowed, growing pale. “What, uh—what, uh, artifact is that?”

“Salazar Slytherin’s locket.”

Burke huffed out a nervous laugh. “I sold it,” he said, much too quickly, shaking his head. “Now, beat
it—”

Harry’s wand snapped into his hand; it pressed into the man’s neck. Burke grimaced, lips curling in
cornered fury.

“Now see here—you’re just a brat in school. I’m not going to stand—”

He winced. The tip of the holly wand glowed with an amber gold light.

“You haven’t sold it, yet, have you?” whispered Harry; he tilted his head to the side, studying the man
for a long moment. “I can tell. You’re lying to me. You still have it. I’d like to buy it.”

“I ain’t never seen you before around here,” snapped Burke. “It’s a rare artifact—Slytherin heirloom.
Can’t be a pureblood with any standing or—”
Harry pulled back and pointed his wand on the counter. Burke went silent, eyes wide. “Serpensortia,”
Harry whispered.

A second later, his wand spat out a small garden snake. Burke flinched, his back slamming against the
glass cabinet behind him. Glass vials rattled, clinking together. The snake hissed lightly, its head
swiveling to look upwards.

“Hello, little one. Would you crawl up my arm, please?”

“As you wish, Speaker.”

Burke whimpered as the snake slithered up Harry’s arm. Harry lifted the little snake into the air as it
curled around his wrist. It raised its head and flicked its tongue. Harry dropped his eyes to stare at
Burke. “As you can see, Mr. Burke,” he whispered, “I have a special interest in the locket.”

“Hepzibah Smith has expressed—”

“Oh, I’m sure she has, but the locket belongs to the Heir of Slytherin. You know, someone who
speaks parseltongue.”

Burke gulped.

“Don’t you think so?” asked Harry lightly. “After all, you knew what it was when Merope Riddle
brought it here, didn’t you?”

The blood drained from the man’s face.

“You gave her a pittance price for an invaluable artifact.”

“I gave her what it was worth—”

“Ten galleons?”

Burke appeared rather faint now. “How…” he breathed.

“You misled her. You stole from her,” hissed Harry. “She died, did you know? She could’ve used the
money to get medical care when she desperately needed it and could’ve lived to raise her son, but…
she died too young.”

“That’s not my fault!” snapped Burke. “You can’t lay that blame on me, boy—”

Magic flooded the room. Burke opened his mouth, gasping, choking for breath. Harry banished the
snake and slammed his hand onto the counter. He shot a spell at Burke and the glass doors of the
cabinet behind him shattered. After a moment, the magic calmed; Burke hunched over the counter,
wheezing for breath. Harry reached out and smoothed a wrinkle in the man’s suit.

“I’ll make you a deal, Mr. Burke,” said Harry softly. “I’ll give you fifteen galleons for the locket. No
questions. Nothing. However, if you fight me on it, I’ll simply take it from you.” He gripped Burke’s
tie and jerked him forward. Harry’s eyes went hard. “Do you understand me?”

“Y-You can’t—who are you, brat?”

“I’m not going to ask you again, Mr. Burke.”

Burke shivered. “All right,” he whispered; he held his hands up in surrender. Harry released his tie.
“All right, I’ll get you what you want.”

Burke took a step back. He bent down behind the counter and rummaged around for something. A
moment later, he lifted a chain with the familiar locket dangling on the end of it. Harry held out his
hand, expectantly. Burke thinned his lips and dropped it into his open palm.

Harry turned the locket in his hand. “Thank you, Mr. Burke.”

“That’ll be fifteen galleons, then—”

“Just a minute,” said Harry, eyes meeting Burke’s gaze. “I have to authenticate it first.”

Burke twisted his hands together. “O-Oh? And how?”

Harry looked at the ‘S’ on the locket and curled his tongue. “Open.”

Nothing happened.

Harry wrapped his fingers around the locket. With a whispered spell, he crushed it in his hand. He
turned his palm, dust pouring onto the counter in front of Burke.

“That was a fake,” said Harry mildly.

Burke’s complexion was ghastly white. “I-I-I—”

“Serpensortia.”

A cobra rushed from the tip of Harry’s wand and landed on the counter. It curled, lifting its head, and
flared its hood in a hiss.

“Please don’t bite anyone, even if he moves,” said Harry. “I just need you to be threatening for a
minute and I’ll send you back home. Okay?”

“Yes, Speaker. I am good at being threatening.”

The cobra snapped forward an inch and Burke let out a high pitched whimper. He clapped a hand over
his mouth; he trembled.

“Mr. Burke,” said Harry in a low, soft voice. “I suggest you get the real locket before my little friend
decides to sink her fangs into you.”

Burke glanced between Harry and the cobra, utterly terrified.

“Now, Mr. Burke.”

“Of course, sir,” said Burke with a squeak, grimacing.

He turned around, glass crunching beneath his dress shoes, and bent down. At the bottom of the glass
cabinet were a pair of wooden drawers. He tapped a rune symbol at the lock. It slid open, revealing
quite a few artifacts that Harry had never seen before. Burke pulled out an old looking box, small and
wooden. It appeared to have been damaged by wear and tear over the years. He brought it to the
counter and set it down, keeping a wary eye on the cobra.
“Mrs. Riddle brought it in this box,” said Burke, opening the box and revealing the Slytherin locket.
“If it’s not authentic, then I’m not liable for that. I swear this is the locket she brought to me.”

Harry pulled the locket out of the box and held it in his hand. “Open,” he hissed.

The locket snapped open.

Harry sucked in his breath; tears burned at his eyes.

On the left was a black and white picture of Merope and on the right was a black and white picture of
Tom Riddle Sr.

Tom’s parents—the locket had pictures of his parents.

Burke peered over him. He let out a clicking sound of his tongue. “That’s her, all right. Your parents,
then, boy?”

Harry snapped the locket shut. He gently dropped the locket into its small box and closed the lid. He
whispered, “Thank you,” to the cobra before banishing it back home. He placed fifteen galleons onto
the counter and stored the box inside his pouch.

I actually have it. I have the locket. I did it.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” said Harry.

Burke harrumphed. “That makes one of us.”

“Oh, and Mr. Burke?”

“Hm?”

Harry smiled and pointed his wand at the man. “Obliviate.”

The bell rang with his departure.

He walked down the alleyway, throwing up his hood. Harry glanced around often, keeping an eye out
for anyone who might accost him. He stepped down another alleyway; the world seemed to fade
around him. After a moment, Harry shook himself. Why was I standing around? He took in his
surroundings. He couldn’t remember why he was here.

Harry shrugged.

He strode off down the alleyway, retracing his steps from before. An old hag with stringy hair and a
tattered cloak snatched out and grabbed Harry by the wrist. She turned his hand over, slender long,
wrinkled hands brushing over the palm of his hand. She sucked in her breath and shrank away, baring
her yellowed, crooked teeth at him.

“Death follows you, boy,” hissed the old hag.

“I know.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Do you?”

“Death is an old friend,” said Harry.

“Is he?” asked the old hag, her smile turning dark. “Is he really?”

What?

“The old gods are friends to no one,” whispered the old hag in a strange like chant. “Be careful, oh
child of Death. You know not with whom you deal. They slept, but now they wake. They create, they
foreordain, they collect—but the soul unravels now and they, the gods, are powerless in their scramble
to stop it.”

A chill slid down Harry’s spine.

“Wait, what?”

But the hag cackled and drew away from him. The sound of her voice ceased as she hid in the
shadows of a different alleyway. Harry frowned, confused. He stood there for a long moment, his
mind going over her words and trying to understand them. However, he shook himself and kept
walking.

As Harry turned a corner, he slammed into a tall, hard body. He stumbled backwards, pushing up his
glasses to rub his nose. He adjusted them and looked up.

The man was imposing; he towered over Harry. His features were rugged, yet refined, with his wavy
pepper black and white hair framing his cheeks. His suit robes were of high quality. He looked oddly
familiar.

“Boy, what are you doing?” said the man in a sharp, deep voice. He narrowed his eyes. “How old are
you? What’s a boy of my house doing in these dark streets?”

Harry tilted his head to the side. “Shopping.”

The man spluttered. “Shopping?”

“You remind me of my friend. Are you related to Alphard.”

Those dark eyes glowered, narrowing further. “You’re friends with my errant son? Wait, you’re a sixth
year?”

“Son?”

The man drew himself up to his full height, a full foot and a half taller than Harry, and stared down at
him. “I am Arcturus Black the third,” he said in a grand tone. Harry barely managed to hold back the
giggle in his throat. So pompous, this one. “I am the Head of the Ancient and Noble House of Black.”

Harry put out a hand and grinned. “Harry Evans, future youngest Headmaster of Hogwarts. At your
service!”

“What?”

Harry just beamed up at the man.

“Evans…” Arcturus glared at him and didn’t shake his hand. He eyed Harry as if he were dirt beneath
his boots. “A muggleborn, are you?”
“Nope,” said Harry, popping his lips. His expression darkened. His magic rippled out around him,
heavy and powerful, and Arcturus raised an eyebrow, eyes flicking back and forth. “And I don’t really
appreciate your tone about muggleborns either, so knock that shit off.”

The air shifted.

Harry lifted a hand in a wave. “I suspect we’ll meet again, Lord Black,” he said. “I’ll not be stopped.
One will hope you’ll be on the correct side of history this time.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Arcturus, what is your delay?” called another voice, light and airy with a hint of exasperation. A man
with long silver blond hair stepped out of the nearest shop. He walked with a cane, leaning on it
heavily. Behind a pair of silver frames, he raised an eyebrow at Harry. “You’re a bit young to be out
here. Where are your parents, child?”

“He’s a sixth year at Hogwarts,” snapped Arcturus. “Look at his scarf, Septimus.”

The man called Septimus adjusted his glasses. “Oh, yes… Wait, a sixth year? But he’s so small.”

“Are you related to Abraxas?” asked Harry, tilting his head to the side.

Septimus perked up with a smile. “Why, yes. He’s my son.”

“Ah! Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Malfoy.”

“Pleasure… I’m sure?” said Septimus, glancing at Arcturus in utter confusion. “Who is this child and
what is he doing here?”

“That’s what I want to know, boy,” said Arcturus firmly. “Do your teachers know you’re here in the
alley?”

“Nope,” said Harry, popping the ‘p’ even more loudly. “I had to run an errand.”

“An errand?” said Septimus incredulously. “Here, in Knockturn? What sort of errand could a child
like you be making here? And at this hour, too?”

“Septimus, he’s a sixth year.”

“I really can’t believe that, now can I?” said Septimus with a sniff. “Just look at him.”

“My errand is done now,” said Harry brightly. “So, I really ought to be going. It was a pleasure to
meet you both.”

And Harry skipped off to the pub, leaving the two men behind to splutter in confusion.

It didn’t take long to get back to where he’d started. As Harry came to the entrance of the pub, the
doors swung open and the bartender tossed a man out. “Get out’a here, Morfin!” the bartender
snapped. “No sickles, no service!”

“I got the sickles!”

“Don’t see none, now do I?”

The bartender slammed the pub door shut. Harry grabbed the unfortunate looking man by the arm and
helped him to his feet, casting a light cleaning spell over him. Harry paused and cast another one for
good measure, noting how unkempt this man was.

“Rotten luck, mate,” said Harry.

The man grumbled beneath his breath.

“I hear muggle pubs are cheaper.”

“I ain’t going to no muggle pub,” snarled the man, jerking his arm away from Harry. “I ain’t drinking
with the likes of those disgusting little beasts.”

Harry shrugged. “They got cheaper booze.”

The man stilled. He narrowed his dark eyes at Harry; something about them reminded Harry of Tom’s
eyes—though Tom’s were far more pretty. “How’d you know that, boy?”

“I’m sure there’s a decent muggle pub around where you live, yeah?” asked Harry. His mouth kept
going, but his thoughts went slower than his words. There was a little itch in the back of his mind; this
man really did look familiar. “So long as you avoid causing a stir about magic or anything, you’ll get
plenty of booze for cheap.”

The man eyed Harry for a moment. “Yer a weird lad, ain’t ya?”

“Perhaps!” chirped Harry. “Don’t forget to convert your sickles to pounds, yeah? Muggles will get
suspicious of the silver and you just want a quiet evening in your drink.”

“I ain’t never been round muggles,” said the man with a mighty sniff, even though he was dressed in
robes that appeared as if they hadn’t been washed for over a decade. “Disgusting, wretched—”

“Cheap booze!” said Harry cheerfully, lifting a pointed finger.

The familiar man grumbled and Harry skipped away.

Away? Away where?

Harry blinked.

Hang on. He glanced around. Where am I going? He looked around again, confused. Wasn’t he
supposed to be doing something? Oh, right. The pub.

Harry turned on his heel, going back to the pub. It was packed to the brim with patrons. The noise was
loud, a cacophony of sound that drowned out the last of Harry’s senses. He dropped a sickle on the
counter and grabbed a handful of floo powder. He went to the fire and threw it down, calling out the
name of his destination.

The fire spat Harry out. He giggled as he landed face first into the rug beside the fireplace. He sighed
and tried to push himself up, but the strength in his arms was failing him. Harry shoved himself
upwards, grimacing at the pain the weakness caused him, but he still managed to stumble to his feet;
he swayed on the spot. His head throbbed with the beginnings of a growing headache; he put a hand
to his forehead.

“Boy!”
 Harry flinched violently, stumbling back; he slammed against the corner of the fireplace.

“Fuck.”

Aberforth glared down at him with narrowed eyes. “Where ya been, boy?”

Harry blinked, the pain in his back slowly fading. He looked up at the man, trying to think through the
strange fog that was settling over his mind. Heat radiated from his body; his temples were damp.

“Sorry?”

“You’ve any idea what time it is, boy?” snapped Aberforth. “You’ve been gone hours and hours.”

“What?” said Harry, frowning. “I couldn’t have been gone for more than a couple of hours or so—”

“It’s nearly ten at night!”

Harry stared up at Aberforth in dawning horror. Ten at night… That meant he’d been gone for…
thirteen hours.

“How…” breathed Harry. The urge to laugh hysterically was threatening to overwhelm the horror.
“How the fuck?”

“Are you all right?” asked Aberforth, frowning. “Now that I get a look at ya, you don’t look so good.”

“I’m fine. I just lost track of time.”

A lot of fucking time.

“You drunk?”

Harry let out a half deranged laugh. “Sure. That’s why.”

Aberforth huffed. “You’re a fuckin’ idiot, boy. The hangover you’re gonna have tomorrow will be
punishment enough. Get your arse back to the school and I better not ever see you around here again,
understood?”

Harry nodded. “Yes, sir,” he muttered. He pushed from the wall, barely managing to not lose his
balance again. He stepped out of the pub and into the dark night. The snow fell heavily, the air more
bitter without the sunlight. His boots crunched deep into the snow, taking more energy with each step.

Just gotta get back to Hogwarts. Shouldn’t take too long.

It was the damndest thing, however.

Harry could’ve sworn he went straight to the castle. He could’ve sworn he didn’t doddle or wander.
And yet… Soaked to the bone in snow, Harry walked through one of the courtyard entrances to the
grounds, stumbling into the blessedly warm castle, at well half past one.

Chapter End Notes

This chapter is called Felix Felicis Crack in my document. Thought you oughta know that.

Not me laying more threads down for future arcs. xD

Also, I'm very certain that Septimus Malfoy and Arcturus Black have boned at some point in
their lives as friends. Shame that Abraxas didn't catch the gay from his father, but at least
Alphard did. xD

See yall tomorrow~

 Thirty-Seven
Chapter Notes

WELCOME TO DAY FIVE of a week of Terrible, But Great.

My god I love this chapter so much. I love it so very much.

Have fun~

See the end of the chapter for more notes

When Harry stumbled into the Slytherin common room two hours after midnight and drenched in
melted snow, Tom hadn’t been expecting to be unsettled by his blinding smile and a delighted giggle.
Fury and frustration rose. He’d been sitting, waiting, watching for the door of the common room to
open and this is what greeted him?

He was in so much trouble.

“Hello, Tom.” Harry giggled, stumbling back against the closed doors. He waved. “You’re up late.
Wait, what time is it?”

Tom slowly closed the book he’d been trying to read for the past six hours, but had failed to get
though more than twenty pages. His nostrils flared. He stood up and took deliberate long strides
towards Harry. More giggles poured from Harry’s lips when Tom stopped a foot in front of him.
Harry’s head knocked against the wall; he stared up at Tom, a slight glassy look in his eyes behind his
glasses.

“Fuck, you’re tall,” said Harry. “S’not really fair, that.”

He put his hand above his head and measured it slightly above Tom’s shoulder. Harry shook his head.

“See? Not fair at all.”

“You’re drunk,” said Tom.

Harry laughed, loud and raucous; he doubled over and Tom caught him before he pitched face first to
the floor.

“Not drunk.”

“Clearly.”

“I’m not.”

Tom forced Harry to stand, pushing him to rest against the wall. Harry grinned stupidly up at him. His
head lolled to the side, as if he no longer had the strength to hold it up. Harry squeezed his eyes shut,
a small grimace on his features. Tom leaned down and gently gripped Harry by the chin, lifting his
head. With his other hand, Tom removed Harry’s glasses from his face and slid them inside his
pocket, ignoring the next giggle.

Harry’s pupils were a near pinpoint of black, leaving too much room for a brilliant display of those
emerald green eyes.

“What influence are you under?” demanded Tom. “Did you do this to yourself or did someone else
—”

Harry laughed. “You’re pretty when you’re angry.”

Tom retracted, burned, breath catching in his lungs with shock and something else he couldn’t quite
understand.

“What?” whispered Tom.

Harry was laughing some more, giggling breathlessly. As he did so, his body slid against the wall.
Tom jolted from his shock and caught Harry against his chest once more before Harry’s dead weight
fell upon him.

“Shit,” muttered Harry against his chest. “Took too much.”

Tom put a hand to the back of Harry’s head. The skin was damp with heat. “What did you consume,
Harry?”

“Felix Felicis.”

Tom cursed. Fluidly, he maneuvered Harry and scooped him up into his arms. Harry’s head rested
against his chest.

“You said fuck.” Another giggle. “Not so proper, are ya?”

“How much did you take?” demanded Tom, looking down at him. He was light—lighter than he
should’ve been, but Harry had obviously gained some much needed weight in the last two months.
“Harry.”

Harry’s head flopped back, those eyes piercing in their light. “The whole vial.”

“Twelve hours in one go?” said Tom with a horrified gasp.

“Not my smartest move, I’ll admit,” said Harry, pointing at him and tapping Tom’s chest with a
finger. “But it was a very good day. Got loads done… I think.”

“You imbecile.”

“Ah, ah, but I got what I wanted. Sacrifices must be made for the greater good and all that rot. Ugh,
fuck the greater good. Fuck you, Albus fucking Dumbledore and your dickheaded chess moves over
my life.”

“What could you possibly have needed that required an overdose on Felix Felicis?”

Harry grinned up at him. “That’s for me to know and for you to find out!” he said in a sing song voice
and bopped Tom on the nose with a finger. Harry was lucky Tom’s hands were occupied or else he’d
have been cursed. “Nuh uh. Can’t tell ya. Not yet. But it was fun. Oi, we should go together
sometime.”

Tom’s grip tightened on Harry. He was torn from carrying him to the hospital wing, far too worried
about the effects the potion could have on him, and taking him upstairs to sleep it off. He’d rather not
any of the professors get wind of this.

“Go where?” asked Tom. “Where did you go?”

“None ya business.”

“Did you go to Hogsmeade or somewhere else?”

Harry giggled again.

“How could we go together if you don’t tell me where, Harry?” said Tom in a low voice.

There was another drunk like laugh. “Nice try, Tommy boy, but ya can’t Slytherin your way into
getting me to tell ya all my secrets. Felix Felicis might’ve fucked me over, but I haven’t lost it entirely
yet.”

“Debatable,” drawled Tom.

Harry’s giggles were beginning to grow on him.

“Why you holding me?” asked Harry, his giggles suddenly dying off. “Put me down.”

“No. I’m questioning over what to do with you.”

“Uh, oh. Ominous.”

Tom rolled his eyes and sighed. He hefted Harry a little higher in his arms, receiving a little squeal of
delight for it, and began to go up the flight of stairs to their dormitory.

“Imagine that, Tom Riddle carrying me, the Boy-Who-Lived, like a fucking princess. Never figured
ya be a prince type.”

The what?

“This is blackmail material.”

“For me or for you?”

When Tom elected not to reply to that, Harry snorted. At the top of the stairs, Harry let out a low
groan.

“I don’t feel so hot.”

“You drank too much of a very potent potion. What were you expecting? You did something
exceptionally foolish.”

“But I’ve taken it before with no issues.”

With a rush of magic, the door to their dorm opened. “Quintus,” Tom said, uncaring about waking the
others. “Quintus, wake up.” Tom walked to Harry’s bed and lowered him on top of the comforter.
Sweat accumulated at Harry’s temples at a faster rate now.

The bed curtains to Quintus and Alphard’s combined beds opened. Pajama clad, Quintus stood up,
frowning at Tom. Alphard pushed the covers off and sat up, staring bleary eyed at them. He stood up,
not bothering to put on a shirt, and came to Tom’s side.

“What’s wrong?” murmured Quintus.

“Harry overdosed on Felix Felicis.”

“What?” demanded Alphard sharply, instantly awake. He came to the other side of Harry’s bed,
leaning over him and inspecting his eyes. Harry giggled up at him.

“Definitely a spitting image of each other. Oh, fuck, I miss him. Siri…”

Alphard frowned, glancing up to exchange looks with Tom and Quintus.

“And you—” said Harry, pointing over at Quintus. “Haven’t got his nose, do ya? Lucky bastard.”

“Pardon?”

“Snape. Must’ve gotten it from his dad. Shame, that.”

Quintus met Tom’s eyes; for the first time, Tom felt truly helpless in understanding the nonsense that
was coming from Harry’s mouth. He shrugged with a shake of his head.

“He’s most certainly out of his mind,” said Tom.

He called me pretty, for Salazar’s sake.

Tom left that information out, however.

“How much did he take?” asked Quintus, pulling out his wand.

“Twelve hours worth. The full vial he got from Slughorn.”

The tip of his wand glowed lightly. Quintus leaned over the bed as he hovered the wand over Harry’s
eyes. Quintus’ lips thinned and he pulled away. “He’s definitely having a reaction to the dosage.”

“What’s going on?” asked Marcus in a tired voice. His curtains were opened and he was rubbing his
eyes as he sat on the edge of his bed.

“Harry overdosed on Felix Felicis.”

“Shit.” Marcus bolted to his feet and came to the side of Harry’s bed. “When did he take it?”

“When was the last time any of us saw him today?” asked Tom. He didn’t remember seeing Harry at
breakfast, now that he thought about it. It’d been unusual, but not alarming.

“Before breakfast,” said Alphard. “He said he was going out for a walk.”

“Took it in the morning,” said Harry, chest rising in a deep, gasping breath. Sweat drenched his neck.
“Seven or so.”

“Nineteen hours since dosage,” said Marcus. “You’re in withdrawal.”

“No shit, couldn’t tell.” There was a deep groan. Harry curled his arms around his torso, rolling
slightly onto his side. “Ugh, I’m sick to my stomach.”

Marcus looked at Tom. “He’s better off in the hospital wing, but I suspect you don’t want him to go
there.”

“He left the grounds on a unsanctioned trip dosed with Felix Felicis.” Tom shook his head. “If
Dumbledore caught wind of it, he’d be suspended or potentially expelled.”

“What about Scamander?” asked Roland, curtains popping open. A moment later, both Simon and
Sebastian emerged from their beds. “He’s like your mentor now and what, yeah?”

Tom pursed his lips together. He’d also rather not get Scamander involved with this. He’d insist on
taking Harry to the hospital wing or his office and something inside Tom’s body rejected it. He might
not be allowed to stay with Harry, might be sent back to the dorm and Tom had no intention of
leaving Harry’s side until this passed. He glanced down at Harry; sweat dampened his forehead,
plastering his fringe to his temples.

“Marcus, you said withdrawal. What do you mean by that?”

“Well, liquid luck can be toxic if taken in high doses,” said Quintus.

Marcus nodded. “Any toxic substance can cause withdrawal symptoms, where the body goes into a
panicked state at the loss of the substance.”

“How long do they last?”

“It varies from substance to substance, but…” Marcus stepped closer to Harry, bending over. He
frowned when Harry blinked up at him. “The pupils in his eyes are constricted. I’d say he’s in for a
rough night and a long day tomorrow. It should be out of his system at the thirty-six hour mark.”

“So… Seventeen more hours,” whispered Tom. “In the evening of tomorrow.”

“Maybe sooner,” said Marcus with a shrug. “If this is his first overdose, Felix Felicis won’t cause too
many long term problems. But he should avoid taking in the future altogether or in very small doses.”

“First large dose,” said Harry with a groan. “Second time ever taking it.”

“Then, a twelve hour dose is too much on your body,” said Marcus.

“Which isn’t surprising,” said Simon, crossing his arms. “You were underweight for awhile there and
are still rather slender and light.”

“I’ll be fine. I’ll sleep it off—” Harry cut off. He slapped a hand over his mouth. He bolted to the
other side of the bed and vomited over the edge. Alphard leapt away in time. Harry let out an
agonizing moan as his head hung off the edge of the bed. “Fuck.”

Alphard vanished the mess. “Are we sure the hospital wing is entirely out of the question?”

“Tom,” said Marcus, turning to him and looking up at him with a serious expression on his face. “He
can’t be alone. Either one of us stays up with him during the night or he goes to the hospital wing.”

“I’ll stay with him,” said Tom without hesitation.

He pulled out his wand and pointed it to his bed. He motioned for Quintus and Marcus to back away.
Tom moved out of the way as well and, with magic, dragged his bed to Harry’s bed. It melded
together at the seam, the covers expanding into one large comforter. The curtains melded together as
well. Tom didn’t move his trunk, however.

“The rest of you may go back to sleep,” said Tom, his tone sharp and without question. “I’ll take care
of this.”

I’ll take care of him.

“He’ll need plenty of water, maybe a stomach soother—well, maybe not…” Marcus frowned. “I’m
not sure if he should have any more potions tonight. It might make his symptoms worse. Maybe some
teas—peppermint, um…”

“Ginger and chamomile,” said Quintus.”

“Right! Those, too. Keep a close eye on his temperature—and keep him dry. He’s going to be
sweating a lot and he’ll get the shivers if he’s too cold.”

“Salazar, Marcus, how’d you know all this?” asked Roland.

Marcus flushed and ducked his head. “Dunno… just got a bit interested in some herbology.” There
was a pause. The color deepened in his cheeks. “Of a healing nature, I suppose…”

His lips were pressed together and he slowly lifted his head, meeting Tom’s gaze head on. A calm
flittered over his frame.

“I… well, I haven’t said anything to you yet, Tom, but…” Marcus swallowed, but didn’t look away.
“I’d like to be a healer.”

Tom felt Sebastian’s piercing gaze on him immediately, almost as if daring him to argue or forbid it.

Perhaps, if he’d been told at the beginning of the year, he’d thought the career of lesser value. Marcus
was one of his inner circle. He’d have thought it a waste of talent or placement in their group.

However…

A healer in the inner circle was far from a poor idea, especially considering how much trouble Harry
seemed to attract. He’d crashed his broom. He was scarred in so many places; if Tom hadn’t seen the
evidence for himself, he’d think it ludicrous to think Harry’s scars were real.

Tom found that he couldn’t hold back a sarcastic comment.

“Knowing Harry’s record of getting into trouble, a healer amongst ourselves is of high value,” said
Tom with a wry smile.

“Oi!”

Marcus smiled, a true, genuine smile of happiness. There was something soft and gentle about his
features as relief loosened the tension in his shoulders. The light in his eyes brightened and a hint of
adoration crossed his expression. The piercing gaze subsided from Sebastian.

“I—I’ll do my best,” said Marcus, practically glowing.

Tom was overcome with the realization that his old self would never have seen such an expression
from Marcus. He briefly glanced at the others; there were varying degrees of pleased contentment on
their faces—of pride, of gratitude, of adoration.

These were not simply his ‘inner circle’ within his Knights.

These men were his closest friends.

“I’ll not stop any of you from choosing the path that suits you the most,” said Tom. “Remember that.
We’ll make adjustments, if we must.”

Alphard and Quintus’ eyes widened.

“Just keep me informed,” said Tom.

“Awww,” purred Harry in pure drunkenness. “Tommy boy, you’re so cute when you’re trying to be
nice—think I’m a bit chuffed about it.”

A crackle of heat wove through Tom’s chest, shooting upwards into his cheeks and ears. Alphard and
Quintus grinned through their collective shock of delight. Simon’s brow furrowed in contemplation,
while Sebastian rolled his eyes in annoyance and turned away to go back to his bed. Roland snorted
into suppressed laughter, while Marcus’ lips thinned in concern.

“Not sure why he’s acting like he’s drunk or… stoned,” said Marcus, frowning. “That’s an unusual
symptom.”

Ah… That’s why it felt familiar.

Mrs. Cole had normally only taken to the bottle, but there were the rare occasions that she’d also
partake in draw, something Tom had learned by age six was a type of putrid smelling plant that
tempered her moods far better than the alcohol.

“I’m fine, you clucking mother hens,” said Harry, sweat dripping down his temples and beginning to
shiver—clearly not fine. “Fuck, I never figured Slytherins to be such a mothering lot. Ron wouldn’t
believe it, even if I told him.”

And then, rather suddenly, tears formed in Harry’s eyes. He let out a strangled sound and shoved his
hands to his face. His shoulders shook violently with his suppressed, silent sobs.

Quintus made to reach for him, but Tom held out his arm to stop him, wand lifted. The spell dragged
the curtains closed around the bed, closing Harry off from the eyes of the others.

“He can’t be alone—”

“He won’t be,” snapped Tom. “The rest of you, go to bed. I said I’ll take care of this.”

“But can you do it?” asked Quintus softly. “Can you give him the care he needs?”

Irritation rushed through Tom, thoroughly insulted. “Are you suggesting that I’m incompetent?” he
snarled, throwing him a sharp look. “That I’m incapable of caring for him?”

“Of course not, but—”

“Marcus,” said Simon, his voice cutting through the group. Tom’s lips thinned. “How much danger is
Harry in right now?”

“I…” Marcus glanced down at Harry, who was still sobbing hysterically. “I don’t think he’s in any
real danger, just in for a rough night—but I’m not a healer yet.”

“Good enough for me,” said Simon. He placed a hand onto Quintus’ shoulder. “It’ll be okay, Quintus.
Go back to bed. And, Tom, wake us up if anything changes.”

A little wave of relief eased the tension from Tom’s chest. He nodded and didn’t waited for anyone
else to protest. Tom climbed through a part in the curtains and onto the bed beside Harry. He
summoned a book from his end table and sealed the curtains with a number of wards, including
silencing charms to insure the other boys wouldn’t be woken up if Harry was loud for whatever
reason.

Harry was still sobbing into his hands, his robes soaked through from snow and sweat, and shivering
to an intense degree. Tom vanished the sweat, drying his robes with a wave of his wand. His shivering
calmed within a moment and Tom put the back of his hand to the side of Harry’s head. It was hot—
much too hot.

“Salazar, Harry, what have you gotten yourself into?” murmured Tom.

Harry shook his head, but he couldn’t quite say anything, too overcome with his uncontrollable sobs.

Tom sighed. “House elf,” he said in a commanding tone. “I’m in need of some assistance.”

There was a crack and an elderly female house elf stood on the bed with her hands on her thin little
hips. She stared at Tom with unwavering large eyes and without an ounce of respect that house elves
usually held for wizards. But then, her gaze fell upon Harry and her expression instantly melted.

“Master Evans, sir, you’s not be looking good at all,” cried the house elf, wringing her hands together.
“Minsby does not like this.”

Harry let out a wet laugh. “I’m okay, Minsby,” he managed to get out. “Be right as rain soon.”

Minsby grabbed her ears and twisted them in distress. “Minsby not be so sure of that, Master Evans,
sir.”

“Minsby,” said Tom. She met his gaze once more. “Harry is sick, but will be staying here for the
night. I need a pot of tea and some honey. I’ll need a mixture of peppermint, ginger, and chamomile
tea leaves, as well as a few cloves of minced garlic and some echinacea flowers, I also request some
clean towels and a bowl.”

“Right away, Master Riddle, sir,” said Minsby with a bob of her head.

A crack later and she was gone. Harry groaned, twisting in the bed. Tom turned back to him, noticing
the sheen of sweat that was already accumulating at his temples.

“Are you calm now?” asked Tom softly.

“M’fine.”

“Far from it.”

“Fuck off.”

Tom sighed again. “I’m trying to help you, I’ll have you know.”

There was a beat of silence between them. “I know,” Harry whispered. “I know.”

“Then, do try to be a little more pleasant about this.”

“You don’t have to.”

Tom knew that and, yet, he was still here. He leaned over Harry, pressing a hand against his heated
temple. His fingers caught in the tangles of damp black hair. Slowly, Harry lowered his hands. His
eyelashes were clumped together, the color of his eyes seeming more vibrant in the glimmer of his
tears.

“Are you in pain?” asked Tom.

“No,” whispered Harry.

“You’re entirely foolish and rash with your actions. You should’ve been a Gryffindor.”

Tears flooded with renewed strength inside Harry’s eyes. He squeezed them shut, shuddering with
intense emotion as the tears fell down his temples. Tom felt an odd sense of loss in his chest, unsure
what to say to comfort Harry. With Harry’s lowered defenses from the Felix Felicis, something was
easily setting him off into these deep… emotions or feelings.

A crack signaled Minsby’s return and a tray of supplies. “Minsby be bringing all that is needed. You’s
be calling on Minsby any time. I’s come for you young masters at any hour. You’s don’t be shy.”

Tom nodded.

“Thank you, Minsby,” whispered Harry.

The elderly house elf’s expression softened. “You’s get better, Master Evans, sir. I’s like it when you
visit Minsby.”

The smile that grace Harry’s face was gentle, yet bright. “Me, too.”

The elf disappeared with another crack, leaving the two of them alone. Tom charmed one of the hand
towels with a chill spell. He folded it in half and placed it over Harry’s forehead. A shuddering sigh
breathed through his lips.

“Feels nice?”

Harry nodded slightly. Tom pulled the tray closer. He poured a cup of tea, including some of the
minced garlic, and spooned a little honey into it. He turned, looking down at Harry with a growing
frown.

“Can you sit up?” asked Tom.

The Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. “I’m not sure,” Harry whispered. He shook his head. “Tom,
I’m fine. I’ll just sleep it off. Go to your own bed and I’ll be fine. Just—”

“I’m not leaving you tonight.”

“For fuck’s sake, I’m fine—”

Tom slammed the cup back onto the tray, tea sloshing, and grabbed Harry by the chin, bearing over
him and staring directly into his eyes. Harry squirmed beneath him, face crinkling. The towel slipped
down the side of Harry’s temple.

“You are not fine,” hissed Tom. “You’re already sweating and soaking through your clothes again.
You’re shaking. You are not fine. Either you endure my presence tonight or we’ll take a risk with the
hospital wing. Would you like to take a gamble on Dippet’s patience and Dumbledore’s benevolence?
Do you want to risk getting suspended for this?”

Harry tried to twist his face out of Tom’s grasp, but whimpered when Tom tightened his hold. At that
sound, Tom softened his grip.

“Well?”

Harry’s eyes flitted to the side, looking away from him. Harry’s chest expanded in a deep breath.
“No,” he whispered in a pitiful voice.

Something unfurled within Tom’s heart. He pulled away and picked up the cup of tea. Tom spooned
some of the tea and brought it to Harry’s mouth.

“Fucking hell,” whispered Harry.

“What?”

But Harry only shook his head and opened his mouth, accepting the spoonful of tea. He grimaced as
he swallowed.

Over the course of a number of minutes, Tom silently proffered spoonfuls of tea into his mouth. An
odd emotion entered Harry’s eyes as he watched him.

Tom wasn’t sure what the sensation in his chest meant either.

He vanished the sweat from Harry’s clothes again, returning the cold cloth to his forehead.

“Are you comfortable?”

Harry’s eyes slipped close. He let out a low sigh and nodded slightly. “Yeah… thank you.” His chest
slowly rose and fell with his breaths. Sweat still accumulated at his temples, but the tremors had
calmed a bit.

Tom watched him. It only took a minute for Harry to fall into a fitful sleep. He carefully set the cup of
tea back onto the tray, trying to avoid jostling Harry. He conjured an extra pillow and placed it behind
his back. Tom picked up his book, crossed his legs, and prepared himself for a sleepless night.

Every ten minutes, he had to vanish the sweat from Harry’s body and return the towel on his forehead
with renewed cold. Harry shifted in his sleep a lot, twisting around on the comforter. Tom tried to
ignore it, though keeping an eye on Harry through it, but it grew more intense as time passed on. He
set his book aside and leaned closer to Harry, pressing the back of his hand to his temples.

Harry’s skin burned hot.

Tom moved into action. He wrenched Harry upward and jerked his coat off. Wand in hand, he
directed his magic to cooling more towels. If there was anything that Tom had learned in his youth
during the harsh winter months, some fever was good, but too much fever was deadly.

Tom braced himself onto his knees, bending beside Harry’s arm. Tom popped open the buttons at the
cuffs of his dress shirt and quickly rolled the sleeve upwards. He laid out towel on the bare skin of
Harry’s arm. He leaned over Harry and did the same for his other arm. Tom went to Harry’s legs and
shoved the trousers up to his knees, placing cold towels on his shins. Tom leaned back on his heels,
looking over Harry once more, unable to rid himself of the odd feeling that was rising inside his upper
chest.

Tom knew he could, at any point, rush Harry to the hospital wing. It was an option, since Harry alive
was of far more importance than his status as a student at Hogwarts. It’d be a problem, but Tom had
been around Harry Evans long enough to know that expulsion from Hogwarts wouldn’t stop him from
using magic. Harry would fight to keep his wand.

And he’d win.

But Tom wasn’t adept at… this. Standing vigil at someone’s side… Tom had never done that before,
though he’d watched others do it. Tom had studied a vast variety of topics in the library, simply for
the thrill of the acquisition of knowledge. He’d devoured everything he could get his hands on during
the first three years at Hogwarts and he still read plenty of books outside of the required textbooks
every week even now.

But as his book lay forgotten at his side, as Tom kept Harry dry and cool as much as possible, he
realized what the feeling was in his chest.

Tom felt out of his depth here.

All he could do was watch him suffer - twisting, turning, whimpering, with sweat beading down
overheated temples - and he found that he didn’t just hate it, Tom despised Harry’s suffering with
every fiber of his being.

The time between vanishing sweat and renewing the cold towels began to increase. Tom slowly sat
back against his propped pillow, letting out a low breath. He rubbed the exhaustion that burned his
eyes. Tom’s head turned slightly to look down at Harry, who was beginning to breathe a little more
steady now. Tom blinked, each one getting longer and longer. He stared at the rise and fall of Harry’s
chest in between blinks, softly sighing.

He’ll be okay…

A noise jolted Tom; he sat up, inhaling sharply. He glanced down at Harry, who’d tossed onto his side
and curled a little closer to Tom in his sleep.

Dammit, he’d fallen asleep.

Tom put a hand to Harry’s skin; the temperature was still a bit warm and his skin was slightly
clammy, but it’d improved instead of growing worse.

“Tom?” whispered Harry, shifting awake. His voice was a touch raspy, soft, but he sounded like his
normal self.

“How do you feel?”

 Harry rolled onto his back and looked up at him with a tired, wry smirk. “I feel like I’ve been
trampled by a herd of hippogriffs, turned into a charbroiled steak by a Hungarian Horntail, and had
my entire insides sucked out, baked into a Shepherd’s Pie, and shoved back into me.”

Tom opened his mouth, a touch impressed by Harry’s colorful and visceral descriptions.

“So…”

“I feel like shit.”

Tom snorted, putting a hand over his mouth, but he doubled over and couldn’t stop as the snort turned
from chuckles to outright laughter.

Harry was all right.

He was all right.

And the strange, uncomfortable feeling Tom’d felt eased into quiet, contented relief.

Chapter End Notes

Yall freaking out about Harry losing time was so funny. But don’t you worry. The reality is
Liquid Luck had Harry wandering around Knockturn and standing around doing nothing just to
get him to be late. (He was protected, though.) He didn’t get up to any secret mischief. He was
just put on ice by the potion, lmaooo.

Gee, I wonder why? Was it to get Tom to care for him in the night? We might never know. (We
know. Yes.)

I am out to FanX today. Wish me luck that I don’t get overwhelmed by the crowd. xD

See yall tomorrow~!

 Thirty-Eight
Chapter Notes

WELCOME TO DAY SIX of a week of Terrible, But Great!

Trigger Warning:

Oh, yall thought the angst was over with, eh?

*cackles in author*

See the end of the chapter for more notes

“Tom, I’m fine,” said Harry for the fiftieth time that morning. “I’m out of the thick of it and I can
walk to the Great Hall for some breakfast.”

“You said you lost time yesterday. Do you have any idea how alarming that is?”

“I think I just wandered around Kn—I mean, I think I was just wandering around where I was.”

Tom narrowed his eyes. “Wandered around where?”

Harry shrugged, his lips tightly pressed together. Tom folded his arms and did not look impressed.

Tom was oddly… hovering around Harry this morning, as if he’d keel over at any moment. But he
was doing much better now. He didn’t feel the effects of Felix Felicis like he had last night. He didn’t
need anyone to watch over him. Harry had to repress the urge to roll his eyes; but there was a
churning warmth in his gut that he didn’t really want to focus on at the moment.

He did not want to think about Tom staying at his side all night long.

He did not want to think about how Tom cared for him all night long.

If he did, Harry was sure he’d tear up about it. No one had ever sat with him overnight like that when
he was sick. No one had ever stayed at his side and sacrificed their own sleep for him.

His friends loved him, but they always went back to their own bed when it got late—and as they
should.

But Tom hadn’t.

“Are you quite sure?” asked Tom, his gaze sharp and intense as they flickered over Harry’s body. He
drew closer, leaned down, and pressed the back of his hand to Harry’s forehead. Heat exploded in
Harry’s chest. “You still feel a little too warm,” he said with a click of his tongue. “Perhaps—”

“Bye, Tom!” said Harry quickly, whirling around and rushing out of the dormitory room. Tom
followed after him with a low huff.

“You’re allowed to walk, not run,” said Tom, annoyed. “And I’m coming with you.”
“When did you turn into a clucking mother hen?” asked Harry, throwing him a look over his shoulder.
Color flooded into Tom’s cheeks and he spluttered. Harry grinned. “Who knew you’d be a mother hen
type—”

“I am most certainly not,” hissed Tom, grabbing Harry by the upper arm just in time as Harry
miscalculated a step and nearly fell backwards. “You are a walking hazard who attracts an unnatural
amount of trouble and danger to your person—as we have just witnessed right now.”

“Well, I haven’t died yet,” said Harry; his cheeks were warm with embarrassment. “And there were
plenty of opportunities before you came around.”

Tom shook his head with the air of someone exhausted and the end of their sanity.

“Thanks, by the way,” said Harry softly as he extracted his arm from Tom’s grip. Tom looked down at
him with an unreadable expression. “For everything last night. I know you didn’t get much sleep
because of me. Thanks for…” The heat in his cheeks grew hotter. “…uh, thank you for caring for me
last night.”

Tom looked away and shook his head, the color deepening in his cheeks. “Better than you getting
expelled because of your thoughtless escapade. Don’t think I’m letting you go off without some kind
of explanation and consequence.”

At the bottom of the stairs, Harry turned around and looked up at him with a wry grin. “Really?” he
drawled. “I’m not telling you shit. So, what’re you gonna do? Give me detention? You’ll have to give
a reason, wouldn’t you? What if Newt notices? He’ll ask questions.”

When Tom’s lips quirked in a slow, dangerous smirk, a shiver rushed up Harry’s spine. He stumbled
back, just as Tom stepped gracefully down the final stair. He advanced on Harry, who bumped into an
end table. His lower back pressed against its edge, just as Tom loomed over him, his smirk growing
darker, though there was a hint of mischief in it, too. He leaned down slightly.

“What makes you think I need a professor’s help in correcting the errant behavior of a rogue
Slytherin?” whispered Tom.

Fucking hell.

Harry’s heart was hammering in his chest. It had to be the aftereffects of Felix Felicis. His brain was
not screaming at him right now. Nope. Everything was fine. Perfectly fine. Nope, he didn’t like this—
didn’t like being so wonderfully close to Tom like this. No background screaming and wailing in his
head here. Not at all.

But he couldn’t let this stand.

“What makes you think you have any power and authority over that rogue Slytherin?” said Harry,
taunting him back. “We’re equals or have you forgotten that little detail?”

Tom snorted and pulled back, light dancing in his dark eyes. His lips twitched with poor restrained
amusement. Harry thought his smile was such a good look on his features. Really good look—fuck,
why is he so handsome—Merlin, what’s wrong with me today? Stop it, brain.

“You’ll need something mild for breakfast this morning,” said Tom lightly, turning away and walking
towards the entrance. “If you don’t put up a fuss about something simple like porridge, I won’t make
an example of you in front of the entire castle by hand feeding it to you.”
Oh, and the heat had quickly returned to Harry’s cheeks. He darted after Tom, ducking through the
entrance after him.

“You wouldn’t fucking dare!”

Tom just threw a playful smirk, eyes bright, eyebrows twitching.

Oh… Oh, shit. He’s… He’s teasing me.

Tom Riddle was teasing him, playing with him. An odd warmth filled Harry’s heart, one that
threatened him with overpowering emotion. He ran after Tom, whose long strides made it hard to
keep up with him. Harry couldn’t hold back the genuine smile on his face at the thought.

It was almost as if… they were truly, truly friends—not just in word, but in reality now.

Joy rose within his heart.

Energy and excitement levels rose to their peak on December 20th, as the students excitedly chattered
about the upcoming Winter holidays, which were to start tomorrow. While many students were going
home for the holidays, many were staying over at Hogwarts until Wednesday morning to attend the
Yule Ball on Tuesday evening, while others would return to attend the Yule Ball on Tuesday.

It was looking to be the start of just a normal, cheerful day.

Nothing more.

Harry did manage to avoid Tom spoon feeding him porridge this morning, thank Merlin for that. They
were sitting together in amiable silence when screeches and hoots punctuated through the noise of the
Great Hall, singling the arrival of the morning post. Kasper landed on the table nearby. He let out a
little screech, beak clicking expectantly.

“Hello, Kasper,” said Harry, handing him a large slice of chicken. “Have a good fly?”

He let out another screech.

Harry opened his mouth to praise him, when a gasp cut him off. Harry glanced down the Slytherin
table, looking for the source. His eyes rested on Quintus, who had gone white after opening the Daily
Prophet. A second later, someone screamed from the Gryffindor table.

“What’s going on?” demanded Harry, tense with his wand in hand.

Quintus slowly looked up in pure horror, tears welling up. The paper shook in his hands. Harry gently
took the paper from him and Quintus buried himself into Alphard’s chest. Sebastian and Roland had
gone white. Tears filled Marcus’ eyes, while Simon stood up and walked out of the Great Hall
altogether with a hand covering his mouth.

Harry looked down at the front page as Tom leaned over his shoulder, looking at the paper with him.
Bile rose in Harry’s throat.

Tragedy Shakes the World: Grindelwald Massacres Hundreds of Muggles.

The Great Hall erupted.

But Harry was focused on the photo that was displayed beneath the heading. If Harry hadn’t seen
battle, it would’ve turned his stomach. It was still horrible. It almost appeared to be a still photo, if it
weren’t for the crying group of children of about thirty to forty. They were gathered in front of a
mound of…

Bodies.

Arms. Blood. All ages. Young and old. Sightless eyes.

A horrific display.

These weren’t clean deaths, where life was stolen by a simple, sudden flash of green light. These
people died painfully. Limbs torn, ripped away. Blood pooled at the base of the mound of bodies. He
couldn’t breathe. He stared and stared.

It couldn’t be real—couldn’t be.

But it was real.

Harry looked down at the article and started speed reading through it.

In a violent act of war, Grindelwald has brutally murdered an estimated of two hundred muggles,
ranging from infants to the elderly. These families had registered muggleborn children who were
one day meant to attend Hogwarts. Some families already had children in attendance at
Hogwarts today. The children left alive all have been blessed by magic, but are now orphaned.
The Ministry of Magic is scrambling without any real solutions.

The bodies of these poor muggles were dumped together in a heap on the border of the
Dumbledore ancestral home in Godric’s Hollow. Is this a callout to his childhood?

Harry couldn’t finish it.

There was a shout at the teacher’s table. Fortinbras bolted to her feet. “Today’s issue of the Daily
Prophet is banned!” she cried. There were a number of protests, but she whipped out her wand.
“Accio!” Hundreds of papers flew into the air. The one in Harry’s hands tried to zoom away, but he
held onto his copy as long as possible until it finally tore in half, its ripped pieces flying last through
the air.

Screams and sobs echoed through the hall. Chills slid down Harry’s back. Chaos exploded all around
him, but he could only watch, the ghosts of the past rising within his mind.

Dippet stood up. “Those of you who are muggleborn, who might have any connection to this tragedy,
please stay in the Great Hall.” he said, his voice broken. “The rest of you are dismissed to your
dormitories. Prefects, Head Boy, Head Girl, please stay behind.”
Voldemort had been terrible and awful. His first war would lower the entire Wizarding World
population by two thirds. But this? What was this? Grindelwald had never done this before. Never.
What had triggered this brutality?

Me.

I did.

My presence changed everything.

Harry bolted to his feet. He quickly fled ahead of the crowd, ignoring Tom’s call of his name. Anger
licked his insides. He strode through the corridor and entered the first classroom he could find.

“You did this,” hissed Harry out loud. “This is your fault!”

Nothing.

“Death!”

Nothing again.

Harry wandlessly conjured a quill, ink, and parchment. He tore through the parchment with the quill,
crudely carving the the symbol of the Hallows into it.

“Death!”

The parchment glowed and burst into black flames. It disintegrated in seconds. A crack echoed
through the room and a fissure appeared in the air. It opened slightly, revealing an endless starry
blackness in the distance. The face of Death peeked through the small opening and that wide smile
lifted. A dark chuckle reverberated from Death, but his lips didn’t move.

“Yes, master? I’m afraid now is not a good time for a chat. I have two hundred souls to collect and
ferry into the other world.”

“How could you?” whispered Harry. “How could you?!”

“How could I what?” Death tilted his head. “I did nothing.”

“Yes, you did!” cried Harry. “All of those muggles dying—it’s because I’m here, isn’t it?”

“Grindelwald of the other timeline did terrible things to get what he wanted,” said Death, his tone
serious. “ Nothing has changed, though this particular event is new. While your presence did affect
this event, it prevented many others. Death will always happen. You have no power over the cycle of
life and death.”

“But I’m your master—the master of Death, right?”

“Oh, Master.” The dark laugh echoed a chilling, mocking sound. “You are the Master of Death, not
the master of life. Such a master does not exist. You do not understand the true meaning of this title.”

“What about future muggleborns?” asked Harry. “What about Hermione or my—or Lily? What about
all the others?”

“Their lines are safe. However, if more muggles are targeted, their births could be in danger.”
Harry let out a scream of rage. Tears burned his eyes. He hid his face in his hands, shoulders
trembling. It was happening again. He’d hoped to protect this castle from the ravages of war, but it
was here. He wasn’t even sure how to stop it. With Voldemort, there’d been a goal: find and destroy
the horcruxes. How the hell was he supposed to stop Grindelwald?

He couldn’t do it here in school. He’d have to leave.

He’d have to leave Tom.

“Master,” murmured Death. “You accepted an important task—the most important task. Grindelwald
is secondary—”

“But I’m failing if more bad things happen! If more people die, then I’m fucking it all up!”

“You are not failing,” whispered Death. “You are succeeding and much faster than we’d anticipated.
You have already done what was not done before. You are a light to this time. You know what you
must do.”

“I don’t!” cried Harry, a sob threatening to break him. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I’ve done
nothing. I’ve just fucked around and…”

“You are being yourself,” said Death quietly. “Harry Potter is simply being himself and that is exactly
what you must be to change the timeline.”

The tears burned his eyes.

“Master, I must take my leave now. There are souls who call to me.”

Harry nodded, the words dying in his throat.

“Fret not, little one,” whispered Death, his unnatural features softening, “for you have the gods at
your side here at school and we will not rest nor leave you until you’ve completed the task we need
you to complete.”

And with that, the fissure melded back together and disappeared, leaving Harry alone in the
classroom. He stood, trembling, confused, still wondering if he should go and stop Grindelwald first.

“Harry?”

His head whipped up. Tom stepped into the classroom, shutting the door behind himself. He was pale,
more than normal.

“We’re… required in the Great Hall.”

Harry narrowed his eyes; a tear slipped down his cheek. “No, we’re not. We’re halfbloods with no
parents.”

Tom tilted his head. “Indeed.”

“And I’m not a prefect. Why are you here, Tom?”

There was a low sigh. Tom glanced to the side, breaking eye contact. “I thought to look for you.”

“I’m fine.”
“You’re crying.”

“So I am.”

Tom looked back at him. “Why?”

“Why not?” snapped Harry, throwing his hands into the air. “Why shouldn’t I be crying? A madman
just murdered two hundred people and used their bodies in a shameless act to make a fucking point to
Dumbledore or stick it to him or whatever the fuck that bastard is thinking..”

“But you didn’t know any of them.”

Harry let out another sound of enraged frustration. He whirled away from Tom, slamming his hands
onto his hips and staring up at the ceiling. His shoulders shook.

“I understand being affected by it,” murmured Tom. His voice grew closer, yet quieter. “It’s a brutal
act of violence and the bodies were arranged with macabre ministration.”

Harry ducked his head slightly, looking back. Tom was walking towards him, dark eyes alight with a
familiar emotion, one that Harry knew intimately. He’d seen it once, years ago, in a dank chamber
that lay deep beneath the castle. He’d seen it when Tom had called for the basilisk.

He hated that gaze.

“But you’re affected by this on a deeper level,” whispered Tom, brows furrowed. His gaze softened
with a curious light. “As if its personal.”

Harry stood rock still. Tom was close now, barely a foot away. The movement was painstakingly
slow: Tom lifted a hand, Harry’s eyes followed, and placed it onto his shoulder.

Harry’s breath hitched.

“How did your parents die?” whispered Tom.

“What?”

Tom leaned in closer. Harry’s heart jolted into his throat. “How did you parents die?” he asked once
more, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I told you already—”

“You didn’t say how they were killed, though.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Did he killed them like he killed those muggles?”

“Tom—”

“Tell me, Harry,” said Tom with an entreating command. “You’ve never told me about it. Tell me how
they died.”

Harry shook his head, words failing him.

“Tell me—”
Harry twisted, shaking his head. His chest heaved; tears burned his eyes. Lives lost. His fault. More
death. More blood. More pain. More, more, more—more carnage, endless, such a waste—

Haven’t done enough—should’ve stopped this—

“Harry!”

He blinked; tears slipped down his cheeks. Tom’s concerned expression swam in his gaze. “It’s all my
fault,” Harry breathed.

“What?”

“—my fault—”

“What’re you on about?” demanded Tom. “How are the actions of a mad man your fault?”

Harry shook his head; he couldn’t speak. The memories flooded his mind and tore him apart.

Tom shook him by the shoulders. “How are you responsible for his actions?”

He couldn’t say. He couldn’t say.

“Why would you think such things? You’re a student at Hogwarts! You’re seventeen—barely of age.
Why…” Tom’s voice broke. “Why would you bear that weight?”

He didn’t understand. He didn’t understand.

And Harry couldn’t tell him.

So, he shook his head and kept silent.

Tom stared at him in utter confusion. “This attack… or?”

Memories of the final battle flooded through Harry’s mind. The sorrow of their losses assaulted his
soul. Cedric. Sirius. Dumbledore. Hedwig. Moody. Dobby. Fred. Remus. Dora. Countless others.
Blood, death, it was too much—a flash of green light.

‘Come to die.’

Harry jerked back, slamming his hand over his mouth. It watered; nausea shot through his throat.

“I’ma be sick—”

Tom jerked away, just as Harry doubled over and vomited. His breakfast mixed with bile coated the
floor. Another wave struck; Harry sobbed through it. The bile burned his throat and tasted vile on his
tongue.

Tom vanished the mess. Harry dropped to a crouch, wrapping his arms around his knees and burying
his face there. A hand touched his shoulder. He glanced up; Tom held a glass of water out to him,
tucking his wand away into his pocket. Harry accepted it.

“Thank you,” murmured Harry. The coolness of the water was a balm on his throat. He stood up,
running his other hand through his hair. He set the glass on a nearby desk.

“This… isn’t about your parents, is it?”

“No,” whispered Harry.

“You said… you faced him before.”

“Mm.”

“What was it like?”

Harry swallowed; he winced. “Awful. Death everywhere.”

“You’ve been caught in a battle?”

More than once.

“I’ve fought in a battle,” whispered Harry. “Many battles.”

“Will you tell me more?”

“No.”

Tom inclined his head, lips pursing together, visibly displeased. “It’s not your fault.”

“You don’t know—”

“Grindelwald is his own man,” said Tom sharply. “You have no power over him. He’s a decades old
Dark Lord. You’re a sixth year. Don’t be so presumptuous of your power and abilities.”

Harry snorted.

What did he know?

He didn’t know. He couldn’t know. Harry had been through so much already. He’d fought in battles,
in a war. He’d fought against dark wizards, dark creatures, and a dark lord. He prevailed against all of
them. Presumption? Perhaps. But it was more of a gritty confidence of knowing he could and would
face hell and overpower it.

Harry had never really thought about it. He didn’t care about power, but he was powerful.

Yet, why did he feel so very powerless right now? He hated this. Was he wasting his time here?
Should he be trying to stop Grindelwald? Death said he hadn’t failed anything, but Harry could’ve
prevented all those deaths…

Right?

“I don’t care what you have to say about muggles—” Harry’s voice broke; he inhaled desperately. “—
don’t care—they didn’t deserve to die. Not like that, not like anything. They’re people, too—human,
too—”

The tears burned his cheeks. He was lightheaded, out of control. Harry grabbed Tom by the front of
his robes, glaring up at him. Tom gripped him by the wrists, light, yet firm.

“They didn’t deserve this!” shouted Harry. A sob choked out. “They weren’t hurting anyone and now
their children have to grow up without them—without parents, without their family. This is bullshit!”

Tom’s hands flexed on his wrists.

“Do you understand me!?”

“Yes. Okay,” murmured Tom.

“Did you hear me?” demanded Harry, hating how soft Tom’s voice had been. “No one deserves that!”

“Okay,” said Tom calmly.

A pair of thumbs brushed against the back of Harry’s hands. Gentle. Tender. His quiet patience pissed
Harry off. He wanted to tear everything apart—to scream, to rage, to set something alight into eternal
flames. How dare Tom Riddle be patient now, of all times!

“I hear you,” whispered Tom.

The paper thin sheet of glass that guarded Harry’s control shattered.

The torrent of emotions broke him. Harry pressed his forehead against Tom’s chest, not fully aware
anymore. His body gave out. He dropped to his knees, collapsed back onto his heels, and hunched
over.

Harry wept bitterly.

He heard a shuffle. Weighted warmth pressed ever so lightly against his side; Tom sat next to him.
Harry cried into his hands. It was a flood. Everything he’d ever held back flooded forth with an
unstoppable force. He wanted it to stop, but it wouldn’t. He had no more control over these tears.
Thus, he sobbed and sobbed. All the while, Tom didn’t leave his side, a silent vigil there.

Eventually, Harry was spent. He had nothing left. His sobs quieted. His hands were covered in tears
and snot. How pathetic. Losing it so hard and right in front of Tom.

He’s gonna think less of me—lose respect. I’ve fucked up—ruining everything—

“Calmer now?” murmured Tom.

Harry nodded. He vanished the fluids from his face and hands, the sudden dry sensation weird on his
skin. Harry slowly looked up, his gaze unseeing.

“Sorry,” whispered Harry.

“War is hell,” said Tom flatly.

Harry blinked and glanced over at him. Tom sat with one leg curled beneath him, while he rested his
arms on a bended knee. He looked so natural, inelegant, so different than his usual self.

Harry drank it in.

“You know of the muggle world war that’s going on right now?” asked Tom in a low voice. Harry
nodded. “They began bombing London before my fourth year. The sirens rang at all hours of the
night. You could scarcely get any sleep. The bomb decimated entire areas flat. How can magic defend
against something so entirely destructive in a single shot?” Tom shook his head. “I don’t know. But
it’s… terrifying,” he whispered reverently. “I didn’t want to go back, but… I wasn’t given a choice.
They’d stopped, at least, by the next summer.”

“I’m sorry,” said Harry softly.

“It’s nothing. Next summer, I’ll be of age in the Wizarding World and I’ll be free of that hellhole. I
refuse to go back.”

“Where will you go?”

“I don’t know,” whispered Tom, hidden vulnerability in his tone.

“I don’t have a place either,” said Harry. “Now that I think about it…” He chuckled. “I kind of forgot
about that.”

He’d been living in a tent for so long. He’d forgotten he didn’t have that now or even a place to call
home. He could always make a tent and camp out somewhere. He was used to it, after all.

“Perhaps… We can be flatmates, then,” said Tom, his chin resting on his hand. He broke Harry’s
gaze, a hint of pink filling his cheeks. “Since it’s cheaper to split rent between two people.”

“That is how math works, isn’t it?”

Tom snorted.

“I’d like that,” whispered Harry.

The color deepened in Tom’s complexion. He nodded. His mouth disappeared against the palm of his
hand, his dark eyes gentle and soft as they gazed at Harry. He inhaled. “Then, it’s agreed,” he
whispered in his hand. “Come summer holidays, we find somewhere to live together. Maybe we can
find a summer job or something.”

Mouth dry, Harry could only agree. “Together.”

“Yes. Together.”

Harry swallowed. It seemed like a sacred promise. Together with Tom over the summer. Alone. He
might not survive the summer, if he were alone with Tom for all those months.

“Why did he do it?” whispered Harry.

“Who?”

“Grindelwald. Why did he kill so many people?”

“Ah… I suspect it was to put financial strain on the government.”

“What?”

“Think about it,” said Tom, shifting on the floor and lowering his hand from his face. “The Ministry
suddenly has a bunch of muggleborn children on their hands. They have no families, no shelter, or
easy finances. They’re orphans. The Ministry can’t throw them away to the muggle world and wait
for them to grow up. They’ve seen too much now and the Ministry will look just as bad as
Grindelwald. No, they have to decide how to care for them and quickly.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “It’s a distraction.”

“I believe so,” said Tom with a nod.

“From what, though?” But Harry didn’t expect a real answer.

“That’s the question, isn’t it?”

A wave of exhaustion rushed over Harry. “It’s going to get worse,” he whispered. “This is the
beginning, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Fuck,” said Harry. He couldn’t breathe. “Fuck, I have to do something.” He grew lightheaded. “I’ve
got to do something.”

“Do something?” asked Tom, alarmed. “What could you possibly do?”

“I have to—”

“Excuse me, but are you mad?” demanded Tom. His hand shot out and gripped Harry by the wrist.
“You’re not leaving here,” he said in a low, dark voice. “You’re a sixth year. You’re not running off to
die in a battle against the Dark Lord. Salazar, you really do have the worst of a Gryffindor’s qualities,
don’t you?”

“You don’t understand.”

“No, I don’t.”

“I have to—”

“You don’t have to do shit,” snarled Tom. The hand on Harry’s wrist tightened to a painful vice.
“You’re not to die so foolishly, understood? You’re not to die, do you understand me?”

Harry blinked. He met Tom’s eyes as his words finally settled through the fog in his mind. Tom stared
at him with a hint of furious desperation. Harry’s breathing slowed and the fear eased from his chest.

“Okay,” whispered Harry. The fingers on Harry’s wrist flexed; a thumb brushed the back of Harry’s
hand. “Okay.”

Tom lifted an eyebrow, his features pinching with a scrutinizing look. “You agreed quickly. Should I
be concerned?”

Harry choked out a laugh, shaking his head. He swallowed through the lump in his throat. Any words
were locked away. The tears threatened to break through his composure once more, but the hand that
so desperately gripped his wrist, as if terrified he’d disappear, anchored Harry.

It was a relief for someone to tell him not to go against a dark lord. He was the savior of the
Wizarding World. Fighting had always been expected of him.

But Tom didn’t want to fight.

“Come,” whispered Tom; there was another caress from that thumb, from his touch, and Harry
couldn’t bring himself to pull away. “Newt should have a stomach soother on hand.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’ll be better with a stomach soother.”

Harry sighed. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”
“No.” Another brush of the thumb, another caress. “Tina and Newt are in the Great Hall. They’re
handing stomach soothers to a lot of kids. Let’s go.”

“All right,” whispered Harry.

Tom got fluidly to his feet. He leaned down and held out his hands. Harry tentatively took them, his
fingers wrapping around Tom’s hands; he noted just how warm they were. Tom pulled him to his feet;
Harry lingered in his touch, looking down at their clasped hands. He gently pulled away; heat filled
his cheeks.

“Come,” said Tom softly.

And Harry followed after him.

The Great Hall was in chaos. Too many of the students were still here. The attack hadn’t
discriminated against the house—every single one had been affected. Teachers were trying to collect
information, while others were handing out potions. Harry stayed back, unable to face Tina and Newt,
not when they were so busy with other children who had just lost their parents and family.

Tom left him for a moment, taking a stomach soother, and came back to Harry’s side.

“Drink,” said Tom, hanging the vial to him. Harry accepted it without arguing and downed the potion
in one shot. Tom took the vial back and gestured towards the Slytherin bench. “Sit down and rest.
You’re still coming off… well, from last night. Don’t overdo it.”

Harry nodded. He sat down on the bench and stared.

“Wait here.”

Harry wasn’t sure if he could, but he nodded silently anyway.

“Do not run off.”

“I won’t,” said Harry with a wan smile.

Tom eyed him for moment before he turned and walked towards the group of teachers and other
prefects. Harry glanced around the room, his gaze unfocused. Pettigrew sat nearby at the Slytherin
table, blankly staring into the distance. His mug of hot cocoa steamed slightly in his hands. Harry
stood up from his seat and came to his side.

“Hey,” said Harry, sitting beside him.

Pettigrew barely acknowledged him. For a moment, he didn’t say anything.

“Thank you, Evans,” whispered Pettigrew.

“For what?”

“You distracted Riddle that day months ago. He never came for us. Never punished us for anything.”

Harry shrugged. “I didn’t do much.”

“You did more than the rest of the purebloods and halfbloods.”

Another beat of silence.

“My mother… her name was listed,” whispered Pettigrew. “My sister was spared. Aeolus, though…”
Tears filled his eyes. Harry recognized his friend’s last name, Sinistra, and wondered how he was
related to Professor Aurora Sinistra. “Aeolus lost his parents and his baby brother. They were killed
because they’ve got no magic.” Pettigrew’s knuckles went white. “I don’t know what to do about my
sister. She’s only eight and we haven’t got any other family.”

“Can you visit her for a few days?”

“No,” said Pettigrew bitterly. “I can’t leave school. I can’t afford for my grades to fall. I’ve got to
graduate with the highest marks possible.”

“I don’t understand.”

Pettigrew scoffed. “I’m a muggleborn, remember? My prospects are already slim as it is. If I don’t
graduate, I’ve got nothing to support myself or my sister. If you think the prejudices here are bad, just
wait until you get to the real world. Muggleborns are second class. We don’t advance far in Wizarding
society.”

What?

How was the world so messed up? Even though there had still been blood prejudices in the Wizarding
World during Harry’s time, it hadn’t been damning in the collective culture. Those against
muggleborns were on the side of Voldemort, which gave the world a clear line to follow: either one
supported Voldemort’s ideals or one didn’t.

“I’m sorry,” said Harry.

Pettigrew shook his head. “You can’t change a bad world. You can only survive in it.”

But Harry wanted to do more than just survive. He wanted to live. He wanted all of his friends to live.
In less than four months, Harry had acclimated to this time. He’d forged friendships with all of the
boys in his dorm room.

Harry wanted to see Marcus blossom into a beautiful woman without repercussions.

He wanted the end of purebloods marrying first and second cousins. He wanted the end of the
arranged marriages. He wanted Sebastian and Marcus to have the choice to be together. He wanted to
see Alphard and Quintus get married one day.

He wanted all of the Knights to have a choice.

But he felt too helpless. How could Harry change anything if he didn’t finish Hogwarts? He’d have to
wait out the year, finish his seventh, before he could try to do anything on the government level. The
urgency ached inside his heart.

Grindelwald had to be stopped, but he couldn’t leave the school.

Harry couldn’t leave Tom.

As if he’d heard those thoughts, Tom looked up from a couple of third year Slytherins he’d been
consoling as a prefect and met Harry’s gaze.

The world might be falling apart, but Harry couldn’t be parted from Tom.
 Let the world fall; his place was here at Tom’s side.

Chapter End Notes

*picks up a megaphone*

DID YALL FORGET ABOUT GRINDELWALD?

Because I didn’t~!

During WWII, Nazi Germany bombed the UK during September 7, 1940 – May 11, 1941 that’s
known as The Blitz. Technically, this would mean that canon Tom was at school during these
frightening times. I’ve adjusted the time frame so that TBG Tom did have some experience of
these attacks.

See yall tomorrow~

 Thirty-Nine
Chapter Notes

WELCOME TO DAY SEVEN OF A WEEK OF TERRIBLE, BUT GREAT.

Yall, I know you say I’m spoiling you, but really it’s been a delight and honor to provide yall
with daily updates. I worked very hard to get these chapters out to you, but it was so much fun to
do so. I wrote and edited late into the night after walking 10k steps at FanX for two days in a
row. (God, I HURT) I was on a time crunch, especially with editing this chapter, but I am and
was driven.

I really love this story with all my heart. I always wish I could write faster, haha. Thank you for
coming along with me for the ride. The journey is far from over, though~

Hope yall have fun with this chapter. <3

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Most of the muggleborns affected by the attack were staying at the castle for the winter holidays
instead of going home. Though the attack made by Grindelwald had put a damper on the student body
as a whole, nothing could truly calm the Yule Ball fever. Yesterday, there’d been a rumor the school
would cancel the ball, considering the recent tragedy, however…

“The Yule Ball is a tradition of Hogwarts and we will not bend the knee to this tragedy,” said Dippet
at breakfast on the day of the ball, his aged voice carrying throughout the Great Hall. “Be assured that
we’re actively trying to help the students and their families during this difficult time. Solutions will be
available to you at the start of the new year semester. For now, let yourselves forget your troubles for
one night at the Yule Ball… because the road ahead of you is a long one.”

After breakfast, Harry sat in the Slytherin common room beside Tom on the sofa. There was still an
undercurrent of excitement in the room, though subdued. The murmur of voices grated on Harry’s raw
nerves.

Not sure if I’m in the mood to go to a dance, especially now.

He’d already been so unsure and uncomfortable about the Yule Ball as it was, but the wound of
Grindelwald destroying so many families was still fresh and bleeding in his heart—and he couldn’t
imagine just how much harder it was for those who had lost their parents.

Harry knew the pain of loss all too well.

“It’s time,” said a duo of familiar voices. Harry glanced up to see Alphard and Quintus grinning down
at Harry and Tom. “It’s time to get ready!”

“It’s not even noon yet,” said Harry, frowning. “It doesn’t start until six.”

“Beauty takes time,” said Quintus, running a hand through his hair and winking at Harry. “Better to be
ready than rushing at the last minute. Besides, getting ready is fun. Come on, you’ve been moping all
morning.”

“Yeah, and for good fucking reason—”

“And we can’t do anything about that,” said Alphard softly. “So, come on.”

Harry sighed and rolled his eyes. “It won’t take me long to get dressed. I don’t have any dress robes. I
didn’t think to buy any. I’ll just have to make do with what I got.”

Tom looked up from his book, his mouth slowly dropping open. Alphard and Quintus stared at him in
utter horror.

“You what?” cried Alphard.

“No dress robes?” said Quintus with an aghast gasp.

Tom blew out an annoyed breath. “Dammit, Harry.”

“What?”

“It’s the day of the Yule Ball,” snapped Tom. “You didn’t think to mention this sooner?”

“I forgot?” said Harry with a sheepish shrug. “It’s been a little crazy the past few days.”

Tom glared at him. “Oh, I seriously doubt that. You were going to use it as an excuse not to go to the
ball in the first place—and after all that dancing I taught you.”

“Hey, not true, a bunch of people were just fucking murdered, so I’m a little distracted—”

“We’re getting you dress robes,” said Alphard and Quintus in perfect unison, overriding him. A
number of students glanced around at them.

“Oh, fuck no.”

Quintus put his hands onto his hips. “This isn’t up for debate.”

“You can’t attend the Yule Ball in school drab,” said Alphard.

“Maybe Tom makes a good point,” said Harry, throwing Tom a mischievous grin. “Who says I’m
going?”

The trio of horrified looks he got were almost enough to completely disabuse Harry of that idea.

“It’s the Yule Ball.”

“You can’t not go.”

“But—”

Alphard and Quintus grabbed Harry by the arms and jerked him out of his seat. Harry squawked.
Alphard began to drag him away towards the staircase.

“No—I said no—”

“Not an option given,” said Alphard.

“Hang on, wait—”

“Dress up time!” chirped Quintus. Tom sighed, setting his book aside and made to get up, but Quintus
put a hand and shook his head. “You stay here.”

“What?”

“You heard me,” said Quintus firmly. Tom raised a sardonic eyebrow and Alphard grinned. “You’re to
stay here until we send for you. You’ll have to wait.”

“It’s a surprise,” said Alphard, winking.

Harry’s face burned.

“Pardon?”

Harry was kidnapped by two rabid Slytherins. He protested all the way up the stairs and down the
hallway. Harry yelped when they manhandled him into the dorm room and unceremoniously tossed
him onto their bed. The two trunks at the end of the bed popped open at the same time.

“Finally, got you alone,” said Quintus.

“You two sure are cozy lately,” said Alphard with a grin. “Anything happen the other night you came
back from who the hell knows where?”

“H-Happen?”

Quintus pulled out a lacy black set of dress robes. His lips quirked in a wry smile. “Your beds were
merged together, remember?”

“Nothing happened!”

“So, where were you?” asked Alphard.

Harry put a hand to his lips and made a zipping motion. “Not telling.”

The pair of boys sighed. “Figures,” Alphard muttered, pulling out another black set of dress robes,
staring at it for a minute, before he tossed it aside with a shake of his head. “You never tell us
anything.”

“I should hope we’re the first you tell when anything does happen.”

“Nothing is happening!” cried Harry, his cheeks growing warm. “Our beds are back to normal now.”

Quintus gave Harry an unimpressed look. “Mm.”

“Damn, we’ll have to resize whatever you borrow,” said Alphard, tossing another set of a dress robes
aside. Mother of Merlin, how many dress robes does a guy need? Quintus had already pulled out four
different sets of dress robes. “Since you’re so short.”

“Oi!”

“This one Tom will borrow,” said Quintus, smoothing out a vibrant green suit of dress robes on Tom’s
bed. “As usual.”
Harry stared at the robes. “Why is it so… fluffy?” he asked warily. Alphard and Quintus raised their
eyebrows and it became clear that they didn’t see what Harry saw. “Hang on, Tom won’t wear that—
come off it. He’s not the type to wear a suit with ruffles—and I’m not either.”

“What’re you talking about?” said Quintus, snorting. “He’s worn this for the past two Yule Balls.”

You’ve got to be kidding me.

“Aha!” cried Quintus, pulling out the sixth set of dress robes from his trunk and lifting it to show
Alphard. It was a black and red suit of dress robes with long, wide sleeves, ruffles at the neck, and an
enormous flowing cape. “This one—with a black dress shirt and a matching red tie.”

Alphard grinned. “Brilliant. Yes.”

Harry did not like the look the two of them gave him.

He tried to put up a fight, but he met his match in the two Slytherin boys. With the threat of being
stripped by force hanging over his head, Harry reluctantly changed from his uniform into the dress
slacks. Alphard and Quintus faltered briefly at the sight of his bare torso, exchanging a glance, but
they didn’t say a word about it.

“I don’t understand why we’re still having the Yule Ball after… you know…” Harry trailed off.
Alphard adjusted the size of the robes, making them fit better on Harry’s frame. He folded his arms,
but Alphard smacked his forearm. Harry dropped them with a huff as Alphard continued messing with
the collar of his dress robes. “Doesn’t seem right, you know—not after so many lost their families.”

“Balls wait for no man,” said Alphard, ducking low to adjust the ruffles at Harry’s chest. Quintus
threw a shoe at the back of his head. Alphard jolted, head slamming into Harry’s chin. “Ow!”

“Fuck!”

“Oh, Salazar, Harry, I’m so sorry,” said Quintus, jumping to his feet and rushing to his side. “Are you
all right?”

Harry rubbed his chin. “I’ll be fine.”

“Quin! You threw that at me and you ask if Harry’s all right?”

Quintus looked up at Alphard with a raised eyebrow. “Was there a hidden euphemism in your words?”

“Quintus, you wound me—don’t you know me?”

There was a beat of silence.

“Of course there were euphemisms all over—”

“Yes, yes, hence why I threw it at you.”

Alphard shook his head, tossing Harry a mournful look. “This man, he loves to torture my heart.”

“Among other things.”

“Now you’re speaking in euphemisms!”

Harry ran a hand over his face, trying to hide his secondhand embarrassment.
“Just let yourself go tonight,” whispered Alphard. “Don’t dwell on it—it won’t do you any good.”

I suppose so…

There was no escape: Harry was dressed up like a doll to the minutia of details. He’d tried to protest
the makeup, of all things, but there was no deterring these two fanatics. He had to sit painfully still as
Quintus applied some light foundation on his face and black eyeliner around his eyes. When they
were done, two hours later, they pushed Harry in front of the mirror.

Well…

Wow.

Harry had to admit, it wasn’t that bad. Well, damn, he actually looked really good—and he couldn’t
even hate the makeup either. The robes were a different style than what he’d worn in his fourth year
and they had a few elements from Ron’s dreadful dress robes, but these robes far outclassed them.
Yes, it was rather feminine overall, but it also made him look very handsome—something Harry never
really thought possible for himself.

“Thanks,” whispered Harry. “This is—wow… Not what I thought it’d be.”

“Of course,” said Quintus, beaming. “Now Tom is allowed to see you.”

“W-What?” breathed Harry. “N-No, it’s fine—”

But Alphard had already bounded out of the room, leaving Harry in a flustered panic. Quintus smiled
knowingly at him. He spread some of the wrinkles out on Harry’s shoulders. “You look stunning,
Harry,” Quintus whispered. “He’ll love it.”

“That’s—I don’t need him to love it—there’s nothing—”

Quintus patted him on the shoulders. “Yes, I know,” he said, rolling his eyes in exasperation. “I
know.”

Harry steadfastly ignored him.

“The two of you are being more ridiculous than normal this year,” said Tom, his voice carrying from
outside the door. “We’ve done this for two years now. It’s not a big deal.”

“And Quintus brought your favorite robes, too,” said Alphard. “But you’ll see, Tom. You’ll see.”

The door swung open and Alphard gestured with a flourish. “After you.”

Tom rolled his eyes and stepped inside. “See what—” He froze, catching sight of Harry. He stared.
The knob in his throat bobbed once; he inhaled and licked his lips.

Beneath the weight of Tom’s unwavering stare, where he took in every detail of Harry’s appearance,
Harry couldn’t help but fidget with some of the ruffles at the hem of his dress robes; his face had to be
on fire. Tom stood there, speechless. Finally, he cleared his throat and a little wry smile lifted the edge
of his lips.

“You certainly clean up well,” said Tom hoarsely. “You’re always so unkempt and disheveled all the
time. I hardly recognize you, Harry.”
“Hey.”

He’d said his name so gently, so tenderly.

Oh, Merlin…

Alphard nudged Tom with an elbow and gave him a pointed look. Tom cleared his throat again.
“You… You look well,” Tom whispered. “You, uh—” He coughed, face reddening, and glanced at
Quintus and Alphard. “You two did good work as usual. Couldn’t have picked a better set of robes for
him.”

Harry needed to shove his face into a bowl of ice water.

“You’re next!” chirped Quintus, clapping his hands excitedly. Tom sighed and allowed Quintus to pull
him to the bed. “I’ll help Tom with his robes, Al. You can get ready.”

“Not a chance, love. You take far more time than I do.”

Quintus pouted. “But—”

“Go on,” said Alphard, kissing his cheek and pushing him away. “Shoo. I got this.”

Harry sat on the edge of his bed for the next few hours, watching the chaos that was these two
Slytherins. Quintus took quite a bit of time looking through his dress robes before finally selecting
one, a beautiful ocean blue set, while Alphard helped Tom into the many layers of his dress robes.
Alphard tapped his wand at the bottom of the dress slacks, making them longer for Tom’s height.

Merlin, I thought girls took forever to get ready, but this is a production for them. This is going to take
the entire day.

And it did.

About three hours before the start of the Yule Ball, Marcus entered the dorm room to get ready.
Sebastian and Simon arrived at the two hour mark, while Roland wandered inside the dorm room with
only forty-five minutes before the start of the ball.

Roland was scolded spectacularly for it by Quintus.

The room was a bustle of noise and slow building excitement. Harry was restless, the anxiety growing
in his chest. His face was constantly hot now. He couldn’t stop looking at Tom once he was fully
dressed and with his makeup done.

Fucking hell, but why does he have to look so damn good.

Tom’s dress robes were a brilliant emerald green with long sleeves. His dress shirt was an iridescent
silver with a darker emerald green tie. The cape of his suit jacket was long, flowing, with ruffles
fluttering with every bit of his movement.

Damn. Fuck.

Harry had no idea just had hard he was crushing on Tom until he saw the man in those dress robes.

All of the Slytherin boys wore similar styles of dress robes: dress shirts with ties, wide, thick sleeves
with wavy ruffles at the end, collared ruffles at the neck, and a long cape that flowed with elegance
and, yes, with even more ruffles. Alphard wore a crimson red set of robes with a white dress shirt and
a matching red tie. Quintus’ robes were ocean blue with a turquoise dress shirt and a white tie. Roland
wore black robes with a forest green dress shirt and black tie, while Simon wore dark forest green
robes with a black dress shirt and a white tie. Finally, Sebastian wore burgundy robes with a black
dress shirt and a matching red tie.

As the other boys finished up, only thirty minutes to go until six, Marcus still hadn’t gotten into his
robes. While the other boys were busy with the final touches, including makeup, Harry approached
Marcus, sensing something amiss.

“Everything all right?” whispered Harry.

“I’m fine,” muttered Marcus.

“Can we… Can we change the color of these robes?” asked Harry. “I reckon this blue isn’t your
color.”

“It’s… fine. Not the color or style I’d want, but…”

“What color would you like?” asked Harry.

Marcus sighed. “A light pink, maybe? I’m partial to pastels, but most dress robes are darker colors.
The girls tend to wear pastels and… well…”

Harry pulled out his wand.

“Wait, what—no, you don’t have to—”

“Let’s do it,” said Harry. He met Marcus’ eyes, serious. “Doesn’t matter. Wear the color you want.”

“But it’ll stand out,” hissed Marcus.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake—everyone is wearing ruffles,” said Harry pointedly. “We’re all a sneeze away
from a fucking dress. You’ll be fine.”

Marcus deflated. When Harry waited for his permission, he nodded.

With a wave of his wand, the dark blue faded from the fabric and spread to a light, pastel pink.
Marcus’ expression brightened, eyes shining. Harry changed the white dress shirt to a baby blue color
and the tie to the same pink.

“How’s that?” asked Harry.

“It’s… perfect,” whispered Marcus. “Thank you.”

Harry helped him into his dress shirt and robes. Marcus sighed softly in contentment when he gazed
at himself in the mirror. His smile was the first genuine smile Harry had ever seen on his face.

“Thanks, Harry,” whispered Marcus. “Really. For the courage… I wouldn’t have done this on my
own.”

“I’m glad to.”

“Oh, Marcus, you look dashing in that,” said Quintus, coming over. “Is this new?”
“It’s… altered,” said Marcus. He shared a look with Harry. “The original color wasn’t doing it for
me.”

“Altered?”

“Just the color.”

Sebastian glanced around just as Marcus pulled away from the mirror. Sebastian froze. His eyes
flicked up and down, taking in Marcus’ form inch by inch. Sebastian’s cheeks filled with color and he
quickly turned his head to the side, putting a hand to his mouth and coughing slightly.

“The color suits you,” said Sebastian in a low voice. He stepped closer and placed a fist against
Marcus’ chest. “You owe me a dance.” He whirled away in a flutter of robes and walked to the door
of the room. He paused with a hand on the door frame and looked back. “Or two.”

Sebastian strode out of the dorm room.

Marcus went as pink as his robes. In a hasty, flustered movement, he smoothed out the wrinkles in his
robes, his cheeks growing more red by the second. No one said anything, but Quintus smiled with
relieved fondness and clapped him on the arm.

Harry wondered if next year Marcus could go in a pink dress, instead of pink robes.

Wishful thinking, perhaps.

When it was fifteen minutes before the start of the Yule Ball, Quintus ushered them all out of the
dorm room with a panicked, “Oh, we might be late now!”

Alphard just laughed, shaking his head.

The group of them left the common room with a crowd of others; the murmur of chatter was filled
with soft excitement. Harry hung back, his eyes wandering, but always coming back to Tom. His long
cape waved in ruffles behind him, swaying with each of his steps.

Merlin, he even makes what Ron would call a dress look good.

Fuck, don’t even go there. I can’t.

Music filled the corridors before they arrived at the dance. The doors were open and Harry got the full
view of the Great Hall. It was decorated beautifully, golden white drapes hanging by the windows
with twinkling candlelight floating above with the ceiling enchanted for snowfall. A couple of playful
pixies flew by the enormous Christmas tree while a few bowtruckles shook some of the branches,
causing the baubles to swing and reflect the light. Newt was beside the Christmas tree, trying to coax
a bowtruckle away from a pixie, where it appeared they were raring for a fight.

Long tables filled with a buffet lined one edge of the room, while chairs and smaller round tables
were grouped together at the other side. The center of the Great Hall was wide and open, ready for the
dance.

“Boys, you both look ever so lovely,” said Tina, greeting Tom and Harry at the entrance with a broad
smile. She wore a beautiful silver pink dress that made her look years younger. “You really look
radiant.”

“Thanks, Tina,” said Harry.

Tom gave her a little nod. “Thank you and might I say, you’re also looking beautiful this evening,
Tina.”

She patted him on the cheek. “You’re sweet, Tom. Thank you,” Tina said softly.

Tom flushed.

It was different than the Yule Ball of Harry’s fourth year. There was an odd dichotomy of properness
and letting go among the students, including the purebloods. It was like the Slytherin parties after the
Quidditch games, as if there was an unspoken rule that on this night anything could go—though there
was still a number of subdued students who didn’t seem into the dance.

One thing that surprised Harry was that friends danced with each other, instead of just romantic dates.
At the first song of the night, Roland whirled around and faced Simon. He bowed dramatically and
said, “May I have this first dance with the esteemed Slytherin Quidditch Captain?”

Simon chuckled and accepted his invitation.

“I… can’t dance the first with you, Al,” whispered Quintus. “It has to be with her.”

“I know,” said Alphard. He hooked an arm around Quintus’ waist and pulled him flush against his
chest, dipping close to his ear. His voice carried well. “Remember, you’re mine.”

Alphard kissed him, long and slow. He let Quintus go after a moment, smirking at his flushed
expression. Quintus rubbed his face with a hand and licked his lips. He gave Alphard a peck on the
cheek before turning away and striding to a group of Ravenclaws. He bowed to a young fourth year
girl with long black hair, where she accepted his invitation and allowed him to lead her onto the dance
floor.

“Who’s that?” asked Harry.

“Quintus’ betrothed,” said Alphard mildly. “She’s a pureblood, of course.”

“Wait, what?”

“He hasn’t told his parents yet—about us, you see,” said Alphard. The light in his eyes were dim.
“He’s the only male heir to the Prince line. It’s not going to go over well when they find out. I’ll be
fine since I have two younger brothers and Father has never really liked me as the first born. He’s
always favored Orion. I was lucky.”

Alphard’s lips pursed together.

“Quintus is not lucky.”

Unease wormed its way inside Harry’s heart. He’d known nothing about Severus Snape, except a little
about his parents. He couldn’t help but wonder what happened to Quintus in his original timeline.
Sirius never mentioned whether or not his favorite uncle, Alphard, had been involved with someone
or had a partner.

Harry was pretty sure Sirius would’ve complained a lot if his uncle had been dating or married to
Snape’s uncle.

So… what happened?

“Enough of that,” said Alphard. He flourished a hand out in invitation towards Harry. “Do me the
honor of being your first dance, dear Mr. Evans. Let’s see if all those lessons Tom gave you paid off,
shall we?”

“All right…” said Harry reluctantly.

He let Alphard take him by the hand towards the dance floor. He was grateful when Alphard took the
lead position, too. While he knew how to do it, he hadn’t practiced it with Tom.

The music picked up and Harry laughed as Alphard played it up, swinging him around to the tune.
With bittersweetness, it reminded Harry so much of Sirius—his smile, his barking laughter, his
bouncing eyebrows, and his sly winks.

When the dance came to an end, Alphard bowed with a mischievous air. “Thank you for your first
dance of the evening. Now, if you excuse me, kind sir, I must go steal away my young lover from the
evil clutches of his innocent betrothed.”

He dashed off to where Quintus was leaving the young Ravenclaw with her friends. He bowed to her
and she smiled lightly. Alphard appeared behind Quintus and grabbed him by the waist; Quintus
shrieked. Alphard didn’t give him long to process what was happening before he swung Quintus
around in a flutter of dress robes and dragged him to the dance floor.

The Yule Ball wasn’t as bad as Harry thought it would be. He ended up dancing with all of the
Slytherin boys, including all of the Knights. Sebastian led him across the dance floor with a firm grip
and little conversation, but he ended the dance with a bow and a low, “Thank you. Marcus looks
happier tonight—something I haven’t seen in awhile now,” before he left without giving Harry a
chance to respond.

Harry led the dance with Marcus and only stepped on his toes twice. Marcus thanked him five times
in a row again for his dress robes, when Sebastian stole him away for a dance—they ended up
dancing together for three songs in a row. Roland and Simon took their turns right after each other.
Roland danced like he flew, fast and chaotic, while Simon dance with a slow, methodical gait. Finally,
Harry managed to get a dance with Quintus in between his time being dominated by Alphard.

“You’ve gotten better at dancing as the night has gone on,” said Quintus with a delighted smile.
“Especially with leading. I put my full trust in your abilities now.”

Harry snorted, pulling Quintus along to the music as he led them. “Have you been watching me?”

“Oh, yes.”

“What, Alphard not keeping you busy enough?” asked Harry with a wry grin. “I’ll let him know.”

“Don’t you dare,” said Quintus, growing bright red. He gave Harry a sharp look, but it was useless
beneath that intense blush. “Don’t even think about it.”

“Oh, I am.”

Quintus laughed, shaking his head. “I won’t sleep tonight, Harry!”

“Not my problem.”

Quintus wheezed out a breath in a laugh; he leaned down closer to Harry’s ear and whispered, “One
night that might be you with a certain someone.”
Harry lost all ability to speak.

He was blushing up a storm when their dance ended. Quintus winked at him and left Harry to his
heated thoughts. Thankfully, the girls of the Knights cornered him next and had insisted on a dance
with each of them, giving Harry a blessed distraction from his uncontrollable thoughts.

Three hours into the ball, Harry managed to pry himself away from Gwendolyn, who had enjoyed
teasing him about his dancing skills far too much, and made his way to the table where hors d’oeuvres
of all kinds were spread out with a number of a butterbeer punch bowls. Alphard clapped him on the
back, grinning at him, with Quintus in tow at his side.

“Having fun?” asked Alphard.

“As much to be expected,” said Harry with a light laugh.

“Have you danced with Tom yet?”

“Uh,” said Harry, choking into his glass. “N-No, not yet.”

“Well, the night is young, isn’t it?” said Quintus. “Hours to go before midnight, hm?”

His eyebrow quirked with mischief. Harry buried himself into his drink and shrugged. Quintus and
Alphard shared their signature ‘knowing look’ and Harry wanted to toss his drink at them for it. Smug
bastards. Belladonna Malfoy tore herself away from her latest dance partner, a seventh year
Hufflepuff boy, and sighed as she came to stand at the table. She grabbed a drink and stared at it.

“Men suck,” said Belladonna dramatically.

“Ah, ah, now, now,” said Alphard, wagging a finger at her. Belladonna narrowed her eyes at him.
Alphard grinned. “They also swallow.”

There was a litany of groans from the nearby Slytherins, a number of horrified looks from a pride of
Gryffindor boys, a couple of snorts from a clan of Hufflepuffs, and endless shifty gazes from a flock
of Ravenclaws.

“Yes, and you would know,” said Quintus mildly.

Alphard’s grin didn’t fail. “I sure do.”

Belladonna let out an annoyed sound and shook her head. She downed her drink, handed it to Alphard
with a glare, and marched off to the other Slytherin girls that were gathered at another table. Alphard
barked out a cackling laugh.

“What’s got her so upset?” asked Tom, coming up to Harry’s side. Tom scooped himself a drink from
the butterbeer punch bowl and took a sip. “Has something happened?”

A bead of sweat trickled down Tom’s temple and Harry couldn’t stop staring at it as if slipped down
his cheek and dripped off his chin. Harry shook himself.

“Uh, Alphard and Quintus happened.”

“Ah,” said Tom with instant understanding.

“Excuse you, we are brilliant.”

“Brilliantly randy, that’s what,” muttered Harry.

Tom snorted into his drink.

Harry turned around away from the table, looking out at the crowded dance floor. At one end of the
room, Charlus Potter was talking to a seventh year Slytherin girl, who looked rather familiar to Harry,
though he couldn’t quite figure it out at first.

“Ah, that’s my cousin,” said Alphard, gesturing in that direction. “Dorea.” He smirked. “I wonder
what those two are up to…”

Harry blinked. Dorea… She was his great aunt… which meant she would marry Charlus one day.
Harry smiled at the two of them when Dorea accepted Charlus’ invitation to dance and he led her to
the dance floor during a slow song.

As Roland and Simon managed to get dances with Edith and Petra, respectively, with Aeon glaring at
Harry like it was his fault for it, a hand lightly tapped Harry on the shoulder. He turned to see Tina
and Newt standing behind him.

“Well, are you boys enjoying yourselves?” asked Tina.

Harry nodded. “It’s been… all right, I guess.” Tina and Newt shared a look and Harry rolled his eyes,
cheeks flushing. “Okay, so dancing didn’t kill me. It’s been fun.”

“I’d be concerned if something so simple as a ball could end the mighty Harry Evans,” drawled Tom.

Tina giggled while Newt let out a chuckle. Tina held out her hands to Tom in invitation. “Do me the
honor, Tom? Please?”

“Of course, my lady,” said Tom with an elegant smile, bowing, before he took the lead with her in a
dance.

Newt bowed to Harry. “Would you care to dance?”

Harry laughed and accepted his hand. “Sure, Professor.” Newt’s face twisted in an amused grimace
and Harry couldn’t help but laugh again. “I’d be honored, Newt.”

“You’d think I’d get use to it, but I can’t seem to,” said Newt sheepishly. “I’m not really professor
material.”

“Come off it—you’re a fantastic teacher. One of the best.”

“You flatter me.”

Harry laughed as he danced to a peppy tune with Newt. At the end of the dance, Tina pulled Tom to
Newt and took Harry away. Tom was a bit stiff as he awkwardly tried to flip from the lead position,
but Newt gave him a charming smile and let Tom lead the dance.

“I do believe those two will finally get along,” said Tina in a low voice. “Tom is warming up to Newt
now, don’t you think?”

“I think so. About time, too.”

The night waned further. It was nearing midnight now and the dance featured more slower songs. The
dance overall had been nice in the end. The decision to let the dance continue had been a wise one.
Harry sat for awhile, taking a break to eat something, exhausted, overheated from the layers of
clothes, but content about the evening.

Well, except for one thing.

He’d danced with everyone… but Tom.

Quintus strode over to him and sat beside Harry. He leaned near and nudged Harry in the side with an
elbow. Quintus lifted his chin in Tom’s direction, where he was dancing with Primrose.

“I’ve noticed something,” said Quintus lightly.

“Oh?”

“You’ve danced with all your friends, except one.”

Harry quickly took a drink of his butterbeer to cover his cough; he hoped the blush in his cheeks
couldn’t be noticed.

“There isn’t much time left. It’s almost over,” said Quintus softly. “When are you going to dance with
Tom?”

Harry shrugged, his stomach fluttering with strange new sensations. He swallowed. “Not sure,” he
whispered. “Tom’s a bit busy, you know, dancing with others.”

Quintus nodded. “Perhaps.” He glanced over at Alphard in a deliberate fashion of catching his eyes.
He motioned towards Tom and then to Harry.

Can you not? Please.

“A little encouragement, then,” whispered Quintus, interlocking an arm through the crook of Harry’s
elbow and taking his glass from his hand. He set it aside.

“What—”

“Just trust me, Harry.”

He stood up, forcing Harry to stand with him. He led Harry away from the chairs; a few paces away,
Alphard had his hand on Tom and was pulling him away from a group of seventh year Ravenclaws
and Hufflepuffs.

“Quintus, wait—”

But the boy leaned in and pressed his lips close to Harry’s ear. “Harry, don’t let the night end without
dancing with the one you wanted to be with the most. You’ll regret it. Trust me on this.”

Heat burned through every core of Harry’s being.

Quintus untangled himself from Harry’s arm, putting a hand to his upper back, and pushed him
forward, just as Alphard pushed a quietly murmuring Tom towards Harry.

Face to face, they stopped a meter apart.

Waiting.

Harry couldn’t keep the heat away from his cheeks and ears. His heart raced in his chest.

“Hi,” said Harry.

“Hello,” whispered Tom.

He’s not going to ask me—I should just ask—

Tom slipped his left arm behind his back, extending his right hand out in an invitation. Harry’s breath
caught; his heart stuttered to a stop.

“May I have this dance?”

“Yes, you may,” said Harry, breathless.

Harry stepped forward, sliding his hand into Tom’s outstretched one. Warm and soft, those long,
slender fingers curled around his hand. Tom drew him close, flush against his firm chest. Tentatively,
Harry put his other hand onto Tom’s shoulder. Tom’s other hand slipped around Harry’s lower waist
and rested against his lower back.

“Sorry if I step on your feet.”

A demure smile lifted Tom’s features. “I’ll live.”

And the oddest sensation overtook Harry’s senses: everything and everyone faded to the background.
The presence of others, the candlelights above, the murmuring voices, it all faded away, leaving only
the two of them and the gentle lull of the melody that led their steps.

With the swell of the music, Harry was swept across the floor in Tom’s arms. He’d danced with so
many others and he enjoyed it all—but in seconds into dancing with Tom, he knew this far exceeded
all the others. For a few moments, they danced in silence to the music.

“Has this evening changed your opinion of dancing?” asked Tom.

“A bit,” whispered Harry, breathless still, yet not winded. “It’s different than what I thought it would
be.”

“Oh?”

“Freer,” said Harry. “It’s oddly less… rigid than I thought it’d be, like having to ask someone out as
your date and only dancing with them. Everyone has been dancing with everyone, even their friends.
There’s less pressure.”

“Who else would you dance with?” asked Tom, eyebrow lifted in amusement.

“Just your date?”

“For the entire night?” asked Tom incredulously.

Harry chuckled. “I guess so?”

“How ridiculous. What dances have you been to that are like that? Not a traditional pureblood one, I
suppose. How are you supposed to make connections if you’re only dancing with one partner for the
entire night?”

Harry laughed. Of course. Of course Tom would think like that. Somehow, Harry thought it cute,
instead of annoying.

“It’s not funny.”

“No,” said Harry, still chuckling.

Tom frowned. His hand around Harry’s tightened; the hand at Harry’s lower back flexed. They stole
Harry’s breath away once more and his chuckles faded away. As the song drew to a climax, Harry’s
head spun with a sudden influx of emotions that he couldn’t quite put to words.

Yet, he knew… Harry very much would like to dance with Tom again.

They fell into that same silence again, gentle and easy, the music carrying them away across the dance
floor. Their steps were light. By some miracle, Harry didn’t step on his toes, not even once. There was
nowhere to look, nowhere to escape from the gaze of those dark eyes. Harry’s heart thumped in his
chest, his breath stolen by something more than a few dance steps.

Harry let Tom lead, allowing himself to be carried across the floor as the capes of their elegant dress
robes flared out around them. When Tom slowed their steps to a stop, Harry found that he didn’t want
this to end. He wanted to keep dancing.

To keep dancing with Tom.

He’d hated dancing in his fourth year. He hadn’t been interested in his date, which was something he
felt bad about with hindsight, and he doubted he would’ve been a good date to Cho if she’d accepted.

Tonight, Harry could see the appeal.

Tonight, he understood.

“Thank you for the dance,” said Tom, bowing slightly. He took a step back, withdrawing, their hands
slipping apart and Harry suddenly felt bereft of warmth. The music swelled to the next song.

He didn’t care—Harry didn’t care about his fears and his anxieties and his worries or anything else
that would hold him back from another dance with the one person he wanted to be with this night.

Harry reached out and grabbed Tom by the hand again. Those dark eyes widened; Harry smiled with a
hint of sly mischief.

“I don’t think I can be satisfied with only one dance,” said Harry softly. He pulled him closer, this
time putting Tom’s hand onto his shoulder, and sliding his hand around Tom’s waist. There was an
inaudible intake of breath. Their hands clasped together as Harry took the lead position. “I might need
another dance with the Heir of Slytherin, if you don’t mind.”

Delighted joy rose within Harry at the sight of Tom’s reaction.

“You think you can lead?” asked Tom, sounding oddly breathless.

Harry gently tightened his grip on Tom’s hand, pulling them flush together, chest against chest. “I’m a
quick study,” he said in a low voice.
He heard the breath as it caught in Tom’s throat; he felt the jolt of breath as it caught in Tom’s lungs.
Harry stepped with the music and all fear of ‘messing it up’ fled from his mind. Tom stared down at
him, chest rising and falling a little more quickly than before. His hand flexed inside Harry’s hold; his
other hand flexed against Harry’s shoulder.

“Did someone else teach you?” whispered Tom.

“You did.”

“We never switched.”

In a fluid motion, Harry pushed Tom away, their hands never breaking apart, and twirled him around
in a flourish, ruffled robes flaring out in a shimmer of emerald green. Harry drew them back together,
their hands returning to their positions.

“We didn’t need to,” said Harry, grinning at the startled look on Tom’s face. He had to hold back the
laughter that threatened to bubble over. Catching Tom off guard was always delicious and far too
much fun. “I’ve had plenty of practice tonight. Let me prove it to you.”

Tom didn’t fight Harry for the lead position, but he didn’t say anything more for the entirety of their
dance. His gaze never wavered, the light in his eyes studying Harry, as if he couldn’t quite understand
what was before him. It remained pinned onto Harry, who met it with a powerful resolution.

It was a rare moment of happiness and peace for Harry. The horrors of the outside world had no place
here this night. Though the hall was filled with countless students, they all fell to the wayside in his
mind. There was only the connected warmth of their hands, the gliding sound of the music, and the
inferno that grew to a bonfire in Harry’s heart.

And when the second dance ended, Harry once more wasn’t satisfied.

“Thank you for indulging me in another dance,” said Harry, reluctantly drawing away and giving Tom
a little bow. “I suppose I shall leave you to your Slytherin ways now.”

An odd, almost wild light entered Tom’s expression. He grabbed Harry’s hand and jerked him back.
Harry couldn’t hold back the surprised grunt as their chests smacked together again. Tom’s hand
returned to the small of Harry’s back. Harry lifted his hand onto Tom’s shoulder, head tilted in
question.

“We’re not done yet,” whispered Tom.

Harry laughed softly. “Don’t you need to dance with others, make more of those important
connections of yours?”

“They can wait one more dance.”

But they waited for more than that.

The last of his breath was stolen by those words. Harry couldn’t speak. He fell to the music, to Tom’s
lead, and danced as if he were alone with him, as if time was endless. As the music seemed to never
end, he danced without shame, Harry laughed in Tom’s arms with the fullness of happiness,
something he hadn’t felt in over a year, after so much of only war and little hope.

Tonight, he felt hope.

 And they danced for three more songs, the last three songs of the night, coming to the end of the Yule
Ball with their hands still clasped as one, with Tom’s other hand still warm and heavy around Harry’s
waist.

Chapter End Notes

This is the seventh day of a week of Terrible, But Great where I’m supposed to bid you all
farewell for a time for my hysterectomy recovery.

However.

I actually have two more chapters as an extra surprise for all of you for a total of nine days in a
row of posting, so…

SEE YALL TOMORROW~!

 Forty
Chapter Notes

WELCOME TO DAY EIGHT of a week of Terrible, But Great.

Ngl, I had to crunch to finish this, oh my god. I was trying to finish it last night and was
screaming into the void. I don’t know why it was giving me so much trouble; it just was one of
those chapters. I had to wake up early to finish editing it this morning. BUT I finally got it done,
thank god.

HAVE FUN.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

“There is room in this castle for those children to be with their siblings.”

“Mrs. Scamander—”

“This is a time of war,” snapped Tina, overriding the old man. “We must adjust for the times. Your
Ministry is ill equipped for an emergency like this and they have nowhere for those children to go.
Where else would you suggest? A nomaj orphanage?”

“A what now?”

“Muggle orphanage,” said Newt, interjecting in a low voice.

“You just don’t want to be inconvenienced and it shows.”

The accusation echoed through the room. Galatea smirked. She folded her arms and leaned back in
her seat, visibly enjoying the show. Dippet shifted.

“Now see here—”

“Your insistence on arguing this point is a ridiculous waste of everyone’s time,” said Tina, not
stopping. “We have precious little time!”

“You are not an employee of Hogwarts,” said Dippet sharply. “Yet you’ve continually offered your
unsolicited counsel time and time again. I am beginning to regret allowing your stay here, Mrs.
Scamander. Be advised: do not overstep anymore or the privilege of living in these hallowed halls will
be removed from you.”

“Headmaster,” said Newt lightly. He lifted his chin, looking the old man dead in the eyes. “I will
resign without notice if my wife is no longer welcome here.”

“Then, control your wife.”

Tina’s nostrils flared with her sharp inhale. Newt’s heart raced, a surge of anxiety rushing through his
veins, but he opened his mouth and refused to back down.
“No.”

Dippet’s face went purple.

“I quite like her this way.”

Ophelia and Galatea made little ‘awe’ sounds.

“Armando, I agree with Tina in this matter,” said Albus, putting up his hands before Dippet could
speak. He smiled nervously. “However, I have a different suggestion. I own some land in Hogsmeade
and would like to offer it up for a temporary home for these children. But the land is empty right now
and building something will require a lot of manpower. I’d like to request the services of the
Hogwarts house elves.

Dippet huffed. “Very well. That, I can agree to.”

“Excellent,” said Albus, brightening. “Minsby!”

There was a large crack. Minsby, the old house elf, stood in front of Dumbledore with wide, cautious
eyes. She bowed slightly.

“Master Dumbledore, sir, you’s called for Minsby?”

“Minsby, dear, we have a problem. We have thirty-four children ranging from the ages of infancy to
ten years old who have no home for awhile, but Hogwarts isn’t able to care for such young children. I
need the help of your house elves to build a place to accommodate all those children. Do you also
think you can spare some of them to help with the care of them?”

“Of course, Master Dumbledore, sir,” said Minsby, nodding. “We’s can build and care for the little
ones.”

“Thank you, Minsby. How long would it take you?”

“Caring for thirty-four children tis not a hardship for we elves,” said Minsby, shaking her head. “We’s
build you’s a nice, big cottage in just a few hours.”

“Minsby, you are a lifesaver,” said Albus with a smile. “Are you sure you can handle it?”

Newt winced. Minsby’s eyes widened, an outraged expression flooding her large features.

“Master Dumbledore, sir!” cried Minsby, thoroughly affronted. “You’s be insulting Minsby, sir.” She
clicked her tongue, shaking her head. “Master Dumbledore, sir, you’s not be getting any lemon drops
from us elves for a week. You’s go too far.”

“Oh, Minsby, I wasn’t—”

With an insulted huff, Minsby snapped her fingers and disappeared. Albus sighed with a fond smile.
Newt had a hand over his mouth, trying to hide his suppressed chuckles. He’d been on the receiving
end of Minsby’s firm care before and it was lovely to see it reflected onto someone besides himself.

“I’m so glad your problem was solved for you, Headmaster Dippet,” said Tina in a sharp, cold voice
that sent delicious shivers up Newt’s spine.
Everyone went still at the table. Ophelia coughed into her hand, hiding back a smile, while Galatea
barked out a laugh.

“Scamander! Your wife—”

Watching his darling Tina verbally castrate this awful old man would always give Newt the urge to
take his wife home and kiss her senseless with all of the love in his heart.

And, perhaps, do a bit more than that, too.

The hustle and bustle of the castle had calmed down with the final departure of those students who
had stayed for the Yule Ball. The dorm room only housed Harry and Tom, with the other six boys
home for the rest of the winter holidays; they wouldn’t be back until January tenth.

It was quiet on this Christmas Eve. Most of the others had gone to the Great Hall for dinner, but Tom
didn’t want to go tonight. The Christmas Eve feast and the Christmas Day feast were always
bittersweet for Tom. Though, this year, Tom wouldn’t be at the Christmas Day feast.

He should’ve said no.

Tom had never spent a Christmas away from Hogwarts. Going to the orphanage for any holiday was
laughable; he had no home there. Hogwarts was his sanctuary, his home, the only place he’d ever
belonged.

Yet, he had said yes to going to the Scamander home for Christmas.

I can’t back out now either…

Between Harry and Tina, there’d really been no way to decline the invitation. He stood beside his
trunk, belaboring over what to wear. School casual? Something a little more formal?

Tom clicked his tongue.

This wouldn’t be a problem if he’d just had said no.

On top of it all… Tom rather give the gift he’d gotten Harry while they were alone. He could wait
until afterwards, but what if a lack of a gift would be noticed? Tom growled beneath his breath. Such
foolishness to even be concerned with such things.

But he was.

Tom slammed the lid of his trunk down and sat on it, hunching over and resting his fact in his hands.
He was overthinking this. It was just Christmas. It wasn’t a big deal. They’d have a meal, exchange
gifts, and go home. It didn’t have to mean anything.

It didn’t mean anything.

Sunday dinners were one thing. The Scamanders had been assigned to mentor Tom and Harry, and
Sunday dinners were a perfect way to keep tabs on them. It made perfect sense and Tom couldn’t fault
the brilliance of it.

But Christmas with them and their family? That was pushing it.
That was too close. That felt too much like those times when a family invited an orphan child home
for Christmas to ‘get to know them,’ only to bring them back the next day and never return. Tom had
been selected by a family twice in his life. Once when he’d been five years old and once when he’d
been six years old. Each family had taken him home for Christmas where he’d been treated as one of
their own. He’d been on his best behavior. He’d smiled and thanked them for the meal, for the little
gift of an orange or some little treat.

But they hadn’t liked him enough.

For whatever reason.

They’d brought him back and left him at the orphanage. Each time.

Get a grip. What are you even thinking? The Scamanders are nothing like those couples who came to
the orphanage. They’re not looking for kids and you’re a week from becoming of age.

There is nothing to read into about this invitation.

“Tom, are you coming to dinner?”

He glanced up to see Harry at the door of their dorm room. Harry leaned against the frame with his
arms folded, an eyebrow raised in question. Tom shook his head.

“Not really hungry this evening,” said Tom in a low voice.

Harry frowned and pushed off the door frame; the door closed shut behind him. Tom’s heart raced a
bit as Harry approached.

“What’s wrong?”

He could deflect, but Harry would push him. If he lied, Harry probably wouldn’t detect it. Tom didn’t
have the words to word his feelings, to share with Harry what had happened at the orphanage. He
didn’t talk to anyone about those days.

But…

“Just thinking about tomorrow,” said Tom softly.

“Tomorrow?”

“Christmas… with them.”

“Oh,” whispered Harry. He sat down on the bed next to Tom and rested his hands at his sides, leaning
forward to look up at Tom. “Have you ever spent Christmas away from Hogwarts?”

Tom shook his head.

“Yeah, I understand. I never wanted to go back to my relatives.”

“I am… uneasy,” whispered Tom. “I… I don’t know what to expect.”

“Neither do I,” said Harry with a shrug. “But Newt and Tina will be there, and you’re already used to
them. The only new people will be their extended family, Tina’s sister and her husband.”
Tom inhaled. New people. What would they be like? Were they anything like Tina and Newt? Would
they see what those families had seen in child Tom? What if—

What the hell is wrong with me?

I never spiral. I never care about what others might think of me. It does not matter.

A charming smile. That’s all I ever need.

A hand touched Tom’s knee. The warmth flooded into his flesh. He looked at it, the warmth spreading
to his chest. “You wanna have dinner here?” Harry asked. “Might as well, yeah?”

“What?”

“Well…” began Harry slowly and all Tom could think about now was that hand on his knee. “Just… I
just can see that maybe you don’t want to go to dinner because you’re anxious about tomorrow. You
always get on my case about skipping meals, but you shouldn’t either. Let’s eat in here. Minsby will
gladly get food for us.”

The tension eased from Tom’s chest. “All right,” he whispered. “If it’s just the two of us… I suppose I
can eat something.”

They took their dinner in the dorm room with the help of Minsby. They sat on Harry’s bed, eating
across from each other. The unease unfurled inside Tom’s chest and he relaxed during the meal with
Harry, who chattered about whatever came to his mind, while Tom listened.

He felt better with Harry around.

Tom wasn’t sure how he ever lived without Harry at his side. He’d only known Harry for nearly four
months, yet he couldn’t imagine his life before Harry anymore. Those days seemed too dark.

Who was that person before Harry had showed up and how had Tom survived without this comforting
presence at his side?

“You look fine,” said Harry, morning of Christmas, when Tom pulled his tie off for the fifth time in a
row and attempted to retie it. “That last one looked fine.”

“It was crooked.”

“Isn’t it supposed to be a bit off centered?”

“Yes, but not that much.”

“We’re going to be late.”

Tom inhaled and quickly wrapped the tie around his neck, trying to go faster. Harry watching him
didn’t help with his nerves, but he didn’t have the energy nor the desire to snap at him.

“Tom.”

“One more minute.”

“Tom.”
He exhaled sharply. Tom finished his tie, didn’t bother looking at it in the mirror, and turned to Harry
—who looked completely too casual for this occasion. Tom huffed and summoned one of his ties. He
wrapped it around Harry’s neck and began to tie it.

“I don’t need—”

“We are guests in someone else’s home and we’re going to look our best.”

“Merlin, you’re such a mothering hen.”

Harry yelped at the stinging hex; he glared at Tom, who didn’t acknowledge a thing.

“There,” said Tom, smoothing out the wrinkles in Harry’s dress shirt and fixing his collar down over
the tie. “You look more presentable.”

“We’re going to be late.”

Tom didn’t answer. “Are you ready?”

He didn’t dodge the returned stinging hex for the sake of Harry’s dignity.

They left the common room together. Harry had a skip in his step and Tom kept his gait slower so
Harry wouldn’t be forced to keep up with him. His gut betrayed him with the anxiety. He followed
after Harry, his stomach twisting in knots. If he’d had one on hand, Tom would’ve taken a stomach
soother. Tom didn’t want Harry to worry and he definitely wasn’t going to ask Newt or Tina for one.

Tom decided to bring his Christmas gift along, just in case. It weighed heavy in his pocket, though it
wasn’t all that big.

To give it today or later…

Tom really needed his brain to shut the hell up.

They’d barely turned the corridor of the Scamander office and quarters when the door was thrown
open and Tina peeked outside. She brightened at the sight of them.

“Boys!” cried Tina, wrapping Harry up in a hug. He laughed and returned the gesture. Tom stiffened,
preparing himself, and she smiled warmly, drawing him in and giving him a far more gentle hug. She
patted him on the back before pulling away. “You both look so handsome today. Come in, come in—
Newt is about ready to go.”

Tina closed the door and led them into the family room. The three kittens were scattered all around.
All of three of them had grown much bigger now, entering their clumsy teenager stage.

“No, I’m ready now,” said Newt, appearing from the hallway. He adjusted his bowtie, smiling brightly
at Tom and Harry. “Happy Christmas, boys. Have you had a good morning thus far?”

“It’s been pleasant,” said Tom, lying through his teeth.

“Peaceful,” said Harry with a chuckle. “There aren’t a lot of Slytherins staying over for Christmas.
Just… Just a few.”

“Well, your day is about to get more exciting,” said Tina.

Newt snorted. “That’s an understatement.”

“What?” said Tom, alarmed. “Why?”

“Off we go now,” said Newt cheerfully.

Reluctantly, Tom followed after Harry towards the fireplace. The kittens meowed their greetings. If he
went last and decided to stay behind, would Harry just come back to drag him along?

Probably.

“The address is Rugelach Cottage,” said Tina, patting Tom on the back. “Would you like to go first,
Tom?”

No, he would not like to go first.

But Tom just nodded, grabbed some floo powder, and spoke the address. The green flames whooshed
around him. The second Tom stepped out of the floo, he winced in pain at the cacophony of
screaming voices and loud thumping noises of children running around upstairs. Some child was
crying, while a kind, gentle voice tried to calm them down.

Oh, no.

Oh, no.

They had a brood of children, nasty little creatures who were wild and loud. Tom winced. Dammit.
Why did he agree to this? Christmas at Hogwarts would’ve been far more peaceful.

Harry appeared a moment later, getting tossed out of the floo like a rag doll, and Tom grabbed his arm
just in time to stop him from landing flat on his face.

“Thanks,” breathed Harry, steadying himself. He ran a hand through his hair, face smudged with soot,
coughing a few times. Tom pulled out his wand and vanished the soot from both of their clothes.

Another scream, this time coupled with giggles and laughter, ripped through the air. Tom winced
again.

“Kids!” cried a lyrical voice from the other room. “Not so loud, sweeties!”

There was a chorus of, “Okay, Mama!”

“Maybe this wasn’t a good idea…” said Tom in a low voice, before he could stop himself. Harry’s
hand brushed against his wrist and Tom realized that he was still gripping Harry by the arm. He let
him go.

The floo roared to life once more and Tina appeared in the grate. Harry lifted up on his toes, pushing
Tom’s shoulder down slightly to lean against Tom’s ear; he whispered, breath warm on Tom’s skin,
“It’ll be okay.”

Tom shivered.

“Queenie?” said Tina, calling into the other room.

A blonde haired woman peeked around the corner of the doorway. She had soft, gentle features, her
hair styled in a messy bun with curls framing her face. She brightened at the sight of Tina and rushed
into the room. She threw her arms around Tina in an embrace.

“Teenie!”

“Merry Christmas, Queenie,” said Tina, hugging her back. The floo roared to life once more and
Newt strode gracefully into the room a moment later. Queenie drew away and smiled at Newt.

“Merry Christmas, Newt,” said Queenie. “It’s good to see you.” When she reached for Newt, drawing
him into a hug, Tom noticed the unmistakable bump at her stomach.

She’s having another one? Dear Salazar.

“And Happy Christmas to you,” said Newt after they hugged. “How’re you? You’re not overdoing it,
are you?”

“I’m doing peachy, hunny,” said Queenie. She patted her stomach lightly with a smile. “This little one
isn’t gonna slow me down one little bit, don’t you worry.” She turned to Tom and Harry. Her smile
softened somewhat, her head tilting to the side. “Oh, are you two… Occlumens?”

Harry stiffened.

“I am and I’ve been teaching Harry some basics,” said Tom.

“Remarkable,” murmured Newt.

“Oh, so that’s why I can’t hear your thoughts clearly,” said Queenie. Her smile turned bright. “That’s
refreshing and I know boys like their privacy.”

Something inside of Tom went cold. “Pardon?”

“I’m a natural Legilimens,” said Queenie with a little wave. “Can’t control it one bit.”

Harry went pale.

“But since you two have some protections, I can’t hear a thing.” Queenie giggled. “How fun.”

The idea of a stranger being able to hear his thoughts was disturbing.

“Well, come on in, make yourselves at home,” said Queenie. “Jacob is almost finished with the meal.
Hope you’re hungry because he made enough to feed an army.”

There were more crashes and screaming. Thunderous stomping seemed to shake the very house.
Then, at the doorway, three boys tumbled into the room and stood in a [Link] eldest had golden
curls with brown eyes and stood a head taller than the other two boys. The middle boy, only an inch or
two from the boy on his left, had dirty blond hair and brown eyes. He elbowed the third boy, dark
brown with grey green eyes, who responded by elbowing him right back.

“Meet the boys,” said Queenie. She put a hand over each of the boys, starting with the tallest. “This is
Junior, Timmy, and Ezzie.” She glanced over the boys, frowning. “Where’s your sister?”

The tallest brat shrugged his shoulders. “Kitty is avoiding us.”

“She’s too small to play with us anyway,” said the middle boy loudly.

Ridiculous little nicknames.

Queenie sighed.

A short man wearing a flour coated apron peeked into the room and grinned at the sight of them.
“Newt!” he cried, rushing forward. Newt brightened and the two men embraced. “Newt, it’s been ages
—how’re you doing, old buddy?”

“Doing well, Jacob—ah, well, as best as I can considering my latest job.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Jacob with a scoff. “You’re a great teacher, I’m sure.” He pulled out of
their embrace and looked at Newt’s suit, saying, “Oops, got a little flour on ya there.”

Newt laughed, vanishing it away. Jacob grinned.

“I really do love magic—oh, I better skedaddle or I’ll burn the pies.”

As Jacob greeted Tina with a hug and hurried out of the room, all three of the young boys sized Tom
and Harry up. Tom lifted an eyebrow, daring them. They had that look about them and Tom was not
in the mood. The eldest brat looked at Harry and folded his arms.

“Hey, how strong are ya?”

“Me?” asked Harry, pointing to himself.

“Yeah, you.”

Unruly, impolite—

“I suppose I’m pretty strong,” said Harry, lifting his arms and flexing lightly.

All three boys grinned.

“GET HIM!”

Tom heard the muttered, “Oh, shit—” before all three boys jumped Harry, clinging to his arms and
hanging down. Harry stumbled briefly, before he lifted them. “You’re not too heavy,” he said,
laughing.

The boys bodily dragged Harry away, forcing him to go upstairs. Harry’s laughter carried.

“Oh, there you are, Kitty.”

Something light patted at Tom’s trousers. He glanced down. A small little girl stared up at him with
big brown eyes. He stared back at the child. She lifted her arms; her hands motioned, grabbing at the
air.

“Up,” demanded the child.

Tom froze.

“Up!”
“I… your mother—”

“No, not Mama!” snapped the child, stamping her foot on the ground. “Up!”

Tom picked up the little girl. She wrapped an arm around his neck, put her thumb into her mouth, and
rested her head against his shoulder. He blinked at Queenie, who giggled.

“Seems like Kitty’s taken a liking to you.”

Damn.

“You named your daughter… Kitty?” asked Tom, trying not to sound insulting. But Merlin, these
names…

Queenie laughed and shook her head. “We got nicknames for everyone ‘round here, sugar pea. Jacob
is Junior, Timothy is Timmy, Ezra is Ezzie, and Katrina is Kitty.”

Why name the hellions if you’re going to use nicknames?

Those same little hellions screeched and thumped loudly upstairs, interwoven with Harry’s laughter.
Tom hung back and pretended to follow as the three adults left the room, busy with their
conversations. He could hear them chatting with Jacob now.

Tom took the reprieve to hide in the family room where the glittering Christmas tree was the only
source of light in the room. He sat down on the sofa with the little girl still clinging to him like a
spider monkey. She burrowed her face against his shoulder, thumb in her mouth. Tom pressed his
hand against her back.

“You don’t want to play with your brothers?”

Katrina shook her head, rubbing her forehead against his chest. “Nuh uh.”

“Why not?”

She pulled away slightly. “They’re loud and too rough.”

Well. That, Tom could understand.

“How old are you?” asked Tom.

The little girl looked at her closed hand. Slowly, one at a time, a finger uncurled from her tiny fist,
until she stopped at three fingers. She held them up and stared at him with big brown eyes.

“Three?”

She nodded.

“My, aren’t you grown up.”

Her little smile was shy as she ducked her head and stuck her thumb back inside her mouth. Gently,
Tom pried her thumb away.

“Since you’re so grown up now, there is no need to suck your thumb, is there?”

Her brow furrowed. Her thumb went back to her mouth. “Big girls suck their thumbs,” Katrina said.
“Not the ones I know.”

The little girl lowered her hand, staring down at it. She looked back up at Tom. She wrapped her hand
around, wet and sticky, as much as possible around Tom’s upper arm as she rested her cheek against
his chest once more. She sighed against him and closed her eyes.

Odd little girl.

He stayed with her for some time, enjoying the peace of just sitting without any of the chaos that
seemed to permeate this household. It was impolite, he knew, but he had an excuse in the little girl
who was fast asleep on his chest now.

Queenie peeked into the family room and smiled. “I’d wondered where you two gone off to,” she
whispered. “Kitty hardly ever takes to strangers. You must have a good soul.”

Tom’s cheeks warmed. “I’ve done nothing for her to like me.”

“You needn’t have, sugar pea,” said Queenie with a giggle. She leaned down and picked Kitty up,
who barely stirred in her arms. “You hungry? Cause we’re ready to eat now.”

“Oh, sounds wonderful, ma’am.”

“Just call me Queenie, sweetie.”

What was up with these adults, all trying to get him to call them by name?

Tom followed after her into the dining room. The boys were talking amongst themselves, wiggling in
their seats as if ants were nibbling on their backsides, with their legs swinging back and forth. Tom sat
next to Harry, across from Newt and Tina. The four children were blessedly not rowdy at the table.

Tom stayed silent for the most part of the meal, listening to the conversation of the adults. Once,
during the meal, he exchanged a small smile with Harry. He learned that Jacob was a muggle, a dear
friend to Newt, and all four of their children had shown signs of accidental magic. Jacob Jr. would go
to Hogwarts next year, instead of Ilvermorny, since they were living in England rather than America
right now.

That boy better not be a Slytherin.

Tom learned that Queenie was eight months pregnant and the baby, yet another boy, would be born
sometime in January. “We’ve decided on Laurence or Laurie for short.”

Salazar save Tom from these ridiculous nicknames.

As the meal drew to a close, the boys grew restless once more. They wiggled in their seats, pushing or
messing with one another. The noise level grew over desert—which had to be the best tart that Tom
had ever tried in his life.

“Are we done?” asked the eldest boy in a serious tone. The dirty dishes floated into the kitchen above
their heads. “It’s time?”

Jacob chuckled. “Yes, yes, it’s time, you rascals. Go into the family room. We’ll be right there.”

“PRESENTS!” screamed the three boys at the top of their lungs.

They bolted from their seats and darted from the table. Queenie and Jacob chuckled, getting up. Newt
and Tina chatted with them as they followed everyone into the other room.

Alone with Harry, Tom winced, putting a hand to his ear. It was ringing slightly.

“You all right?” whispered Harry.

“They’re rather loud.”

“I’ll say. I dunno if I’ll ever get my hearing back after today.”

Tom snorted.

The two of them went into the family room to meet up with the others. The Kowalski family had
begun exchanging their gifts—well, the children had begun their attack on the opening of their
presents. Newt and Tina sat back with Tom and Harry, giving the other family room for their
Christmas. In the midst of excited voices, Newt pulled out two gifts from his pockets and handed
them to Tom and Harry. Tina handed them two gifts each.

“Oh, Newt, Tina, thank you,” said Harry.

Tom stared at the three gifts in his lap. “This… This is unnecessary,” he said softly. “Inviting us over
for Christmas dinner was more than enough.”

“Don’t be silly, sweetie,” said Tina, smiling. “It’s Christmas and you both deserve a little something.
Go on, open them.”

Tom exchanged a look with Harry before they both unwrapped the first gift together, revealing a black
leather journal. Tom’s journal had ‘TMR’ gold lettering embossed in the front cover while Harry’s
had ‘HJE’ on his.

“Open mine,” said Tina excitedly.

They didn’t pause to enjoy the journal. They both opened Tina’s gifts, which was a stunningly
beautiful black and shimmering blue feather quill and an ink well.

“I thought you boys would like them,” said Newt. “I got your full name information from the
Headmaster and had them embossed with your initials.”

“And I picked out the quills and ink,” said Tina. “They’re of high quality, so they won’t break on you,
but they’re also comfortable enough to use. Oh, and they have anti ink dripping charms on the tips.”

Tom inhaled. “This… thank you,” he whispered. A lump grew in his throat; he swallowed. He
brushed the embossed gold lettering of his initials. “Thank you.”

“This is brilliant, thank you,” said Harry.

It was more than brilliant. His eyes burned, but there was no way in hell that Tom was going to cry in
front of anyone. He’d never been so touched before in his life. An adult had never given him a gift of
this magnitude. He’d seen this journal before and had eyed it, but it would’ve been a splurge on his
finances.

“Thank you,” whispered Tom again, unable to stop himself.

Newt and Tina exchanged a smile with each other. “Of course,” Tina said, patting him on the knee.
“We know you’ll use it, too.”

“I promise to put it to good use.”

As Tom admired the pages of his new journal, rubbing his fingers against the rich, smooth parchment,
Harry pulled out two gifts from his pocket and gave them to Newt and Tina, who appeared surprised
to get anything. For Tina, Harry gave her an enchanted azalea flower that would never die and, for
Newt, he gave him a tree sprout.

“For your bowtruckles,” said Harry.

“Oh, Harry, this is beautiful, thank you,” said Tina. She pulled Harry into a hug, while Newt already
was coaxing the bowtruckle from his pocket and introducing him to the small tree.

As much as the day had been stressful, the ill ease of giving Harry his gift in front of others
disappeared. When Tina and Harry separated, Tom pulled the box from the pocket of his trousers and
wordlessly handed it to Harry. For a moment, Harry stared at it in pure shock. He met Tom’s gaze
with wonder in his eyes.

“You… got me a Christmas gift?”

“It is customary between friends, is it not?”

“Yeah,” breathed Harry. He accepted the gift with trembling fingers. Tom sat statuesque as he
watched Harry pull the ribbon on the box and lift the lid. Harry gasped softly. “Tom? What…”

“I thought a backup pair would be useful to you,” said Tom in a low voice.

“But how’d you know my script?” asked Harry, lifting the pair of spectacles out of the box and
admiring them. His lips pressed together; they trembled. The glasses were a similar style of his
current pair, though Tom hadn’t been able to find an exact match.

“I didn’t know, but they’re enchanted to match what you need, especially should your eyesight
deteriorate further,” said Tom. He pointed to the frames that would be hidden behind Harry’s ears.
“The frames have runes etched in them for scratch and cracking protection. They’re also water
repellent.”

Harry lifted the glasses and looked at the edges. He smiled softly and the light in his eyes was tender.
He brushed a finger against the runes.

“They also have other protections,” murmured Tom. The warmth in his chest built. “They’ll never fall
off. You’ll never lose them and you’ll never be blinded in a duel. They’ll deflect any spell that would
target your eyes. ”

“Tom, that was so thoughtful of you,” said Tina.

He flushed. “It’s not much,” Tom said. “The frames are inexpensive.”

“I believe she meant the magic you put into it,” said Newt.

“It’s not much—”

“Thank you,” whispered Harry. “No one’s ever—I mean, this is great—like really great. Thank you.”
Tom swallowed. He inclined his head. “You’re welcome.”

Harry carefully, reverently set the spectacles aside and pulled out a tiny box from his pocket. He
tapped his wand on it and it expanded, becoming a medium sized gift box. He handed it to Tom with a
little smile, a hint of mischief dancing in his eyes.

“Happy Christmas, Tom,” said Harry. The mischief never faded.

He better not have charmed this with something…

Tom pulled open the ribbon and lifted the lid. There were four products in the box, three jars and one
bag of butterscotch candy. He remembered my favorite… Tom lifted one of the jars; the label read,
‘Skin Care for the Aging Witch.’ The other two bottles were a moisturizer and a lavender hand lotion.

“I thought this would help you age better,” said Harry, grinning at him with a twinkle in his eyes. He
winked at Tom. “Since you really ought to start this kind of stuff young or you won’t age well.”

You little minx.

Tom whipped out his wand. Newt and Tina blinked in shock. Harry let out a squeal of laughter and
bolted away, but didn’t get far—Tom darted after him. He threw a tickling spell at Harry; it struck him
in the side and Harry collapsed into peals of laughter. Tom tackled him to the floor, wrestling Harry
beneath himself, holding both of his wrists down above his head with one hand and tickling him in the
side with the other.

“Tom—no, don’t!” Harry dissolved into further giggles. “It’s just a joke—”

“Oh, I’m more than aware,” said Tom, merciless in his relentless attack; Harry wheezed for breath,
squirming beneath him, eyes alight with mirth. “If it weren’t, I’d have sent a stinging hex instead, you
menace.”

Harry gasped through his laughter, twisting and writhing on the floor. His cheeks were flushed dark;
his chest heaved with his deep breaths. Harry’s eyes sparkled behind his glasses.

Tom’s breath disappeared from his lungs; heat flared up in his chest.

He stopped abruptly.

Harry looked vibrant, even magical and something about him made every particle in Tom’s body
alight with a life of its own. Warmth filled the corners. It was suddenly too hot now—much too hot..
He needed to go outside and jump into a pile of snow.

Tom quickly got off Harry and offered him a hand, pulling Harry up to stand.

“Do you hate it?” asked Harry.

“Of course not.” Tom sniffed. “You bought me excellent products and I’ll put them to good use.”

And you remembered I liked butterscotch.

Harry smiled brightly.

And shrieked when Tom threw another tickling charm at him for good measure.
This only sent the hellions into an all out war against Harry and Tom, though they quickly fell to their
combined power of tickling charms—and, all the while, the adults laughed at their antics.

It wasn’t as bad as Tom thought it’d be.

Tina peeked inside the family room to check on the kids, where they’d been left to listen to a
Christmas show on the radio while the adults went into the kitchen for some coffee and tea.

Her heart ached at the sight she beheld on the sofa.

The children were all asleep to the murmur of the radio show, clustered together on the sofa like a
clan of gerbils. Tom and Harry sat nestled against each other, side by side, with Harry’s head resting
in the crook of Tom’s neck and Tom leaning against the top of his head. Katrina was sleeping on her
stomach on Tom’s chest, while Timothy and Ezra were sprawled on Harry’s lap, with Jacob squashed
against Harry’s side.

She silently summoned the camera and snapped a shot of the scene, the glow of the Christmas lights
soft against their cheeks. She set it aside and carefully draped a blanket over the sleeping cluster.
Thankfully, none of them woke.

She turned away and walked towards the door. She paused at the door frame, looking back at the
group; her gaze rested on those two boys. Her vision blurred a bit and she wiped a thumb beneath her
eyes.

Tina couldn’t put her feelings into words.

Except…

Belonging. Wholeness.

Tom and Harry belonged here. Seeing all six of the children asleep like this, it just fit. It felt whole to
Tina. They’d have to invite the boys over every Christmas now, even after they both graduated
Hogwarts. She couldn’t see any future Christmas without Harry and Tom.

Harry had been perfect with the boys, who loved to roughhouse all the time. Meanwhile, Tom had
clicked well with little Kitty. They were meant to be here. The thought of celebrating without them
hurt too much. She wanted them here with her family. She wanted it so much, her heart ached.

She slowly walked towards the kitchen, mind thick with her thoughts, and sat down next to Newt at
the table.

“How’re they doing?” asked Queenie.

“They’re all asleep. I got a picture of it, too.”

Queenie let out a delighted squeal. “Those boys never sit still for a good picture. Thank you, Teenie.”

“So, you’re mentoring those kids?” asked Jacob in a low voice. “They got problems at home or
something?”

Newt sighed. “I have no idea about their homes or their lives. Harry’s parents were killed by
Grindelwald and I’m not sure what’s happened to Tom’s family. I just know he has no parents either.”
“Poor kids,” murmured Jacob.

“They’re strong,” said Newt softly. “But… I know Harry misses his family.”

“I can’t hear their exact thoughts, but I could catch glimpses of their feelings…” Queenie trailed off.
“There’s something melancholy in them, like deep sorrow. Tom was anxious about coming here, too.
Harry there… He’s lost a lot of people. Overwhelming loss. More than just his family, I’d say, and
he’s always feeling it. And Tom…” She paused for a moment, eyebrows pinched. “Confusion in
darkness, but… Well, I’ve noticed how they are with each other. They’re very dependent on one
another.”

“They’ve come a long way,” said Newt with a chuckle. “They tried to kill each other two months
ago.”

“What?” cried Queenie.

“You’re not serious, are you?” asked Jacob. “Those two?”

“Oh, very,” said Newt, setting his hot cocoa down and regaling the two of them with the story.

Tina listened with a half an ear. Dependent was probably an understatement. She’d seen the affection
growing between them over the past few weeks, even more now. Newt, bless him, was clueless about
them—though, in his defense, the boys were clueless about themselves.

But Tina noticed the way Harry’s cheeks darkened around Tom or how he brightened up when they
were together; and she noticed the way Tom’s gaze lingered on Harry longer than normal or how
often Tom casually brushed against Harry’s arm.

And the way they danced together at the Yule Ball…

It was only a matter of time before they figured it out.

“That’s how I became their mentors,” said Newt. He gave them a fond, lopsided smile. “Though, I’m
sure Tina will agree, we’ve enjoyed every minute of it. They’re good boys, even if they really messed
up with that fight of theirs. It’s been really nice having them over for Sunday dinner every week.”

Queenie glanced over at Tina, brows furrowing. Tina silently shook her head and thought, Don’t say
anything. Let them figure it out—and let Newt figure it out.

Queenie slowly nodded.

“If they got no family, where do they stay during the summer?” asked Jacob. “Where’re they going
next year?”

Oh… Oh, that’s right. They must not have a home.

Newt sighed. “I’m not sure,” he said in a soft tone. “Probably an orphanage, I suspect.”

No. No, they can’t go to an orphanage.

“That’s awful. What if it’s like that other orphanage, you know the one, back in New York?”

“It wouldn’t be…” said Newt weakly.

 “That can’t be good for them,” whispered Queenie.

Tina didn’t like it one bit—not one bit at all. Not after seeing them with the kids. Not when Tina
wanted them for Christmas next year and the year after that. Not when she wanted them to be at
Sunday dinners for more than just the school year. She couldn’t bear the thought of them going to a
place that wouldn’t care for them or either of them being alone without an adult to love them.

They deserved something more.

Queenie sipped on her cocoa with a soft, knowing smile lifting her lips.

Chapter End Notes

One more time with feeling, my darlings.

See yall tomorrow~

 Forty-One
Chapter Notes

WELCOME TO THE NINTH AND FINAL DAY of a week of Terrible, But Great. I really hope
yall had as much fun as I did posting a new chapter every day. I truly loved it so much and I wish
I could do it endlessly forever. I’m going to miss this rapid fire posting so very much. I have
loved all of your comments and reactions—thank you so much, luvvies! This story brings me so
much joy and sharing it with you just adds to that.

This chapter is special. It’s very special.

Enjoy.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

He was vibrating out of his skin.

Harry sat on his bed, leg bouncing. He pushed the bridge of his new glasses up his nose, still getting
used to the frames. He wrapped an emerald ribbon around the old box and tied it into a bow. He
messed with it for a number of minutes, trying to get the bow to look just right. When he was done,
Harry brushed the box with trembling fingers.

You’re being stupid. It’s just a gift.

But it felt more than that. This was more than the skin care products that Harry had given Tom for
Christmas. That’d been just a little joke, a tease. It was more than a bag of candy. This, however…

The hidden locket weighed heavy in his hand.

Harry pocketed the box.

His plan? Casually ask Tom for a stroll or a lesson in Occlumency or something —he wasn’t sure
what—to get them alone and away from the prying eyes of others, all so Harry could give him the
gift.

There was only one problem.

Where was Tom?

Harry walked down the staircase and blinked, surprised to see both Alphard and Quintus back early
from winter holidays. They both looked up and smiled at him, giving him a pair of waves.

“Aren’t you back a little early?” asked Harry.

Alphard shrugged. “Christmas was enough with my family. Couldn’t stand anything more than that,
not with my father complaining about my canceled betrothal every five seconds.” He eyed Harry with
a smirk. “He did mention meeting an odd, short little Slytherin boy in Knockturn Alley of all places
and with a name that sounded awfully like yours. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that,
would you?”

“No idea,” said Harry with a grin and a languid shrug of the shoulders. He motioned the zipping of his
lips. “Can’t say.”

Alphard snorted. “Figures. Anyway, Mother and Father still have Orion and Cygnus back at home.
They won’t miss little ol’ me.”

“Christmas was more than enough with mine, too,” said Quintus, his lips thinned. “Besides, my
parents are going out of the country on vacation and Eileen and I are not invited.”

“Eileen?”

A little girl in Ravenclaw school robes peeked out from behind Quintus. The resemblance between
her and Quintus was strong, but Harry was overcome by how much she resembled Snape, even at this
young age. Her near black eyes were round and angular, bright with her curiosity.

Snape… This is Snape’s mother. He has her eyes.

“Ah, this is my sister,” said Quintus, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and smiling. “Eileen
Prince. She’s in Ravenclaw. Eileen, this is our dear friend, Harry Evans.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” whispered Eileen. She met his eyes briefly, before ducking her head and
sliding up closer to Quintus. She hunched in on herself, as if trying to disappear.

Quintus mouthed silently, “She’s a bit shy.”

“It’s nice to meet you again, too, Miss Eileen,” said Harry, bending down a bit to look at her. “I think
I’ve seen you at a few of the first year, uh… special get togethers, yeah? First time we’ve really
spoken, though.”

Eileen ducked her head even further, pink flushing through her pale cheeks. She smiled gently and
nodded.

This shy little girl is Snape’s mother? She’s so sweet.

“You’re a good teacher, Harry,” whispered Eileen. “I miss your lessons.”

“Well, thank you very much. Are you working on your patronus charm?”

She nodded. “Uh huh, and I might be getting closer to finally casting some proper mist.”

“That’s wonderful. You’ll get it in no time,” said Harry with a grin.

She smiled brightly. She followed after Alphard and Quintus as they walked over to a sofa. Quintus
collapsed onto the sofa with a sigh, but squawked when Alphard plopped into his lap.

“You’re heavy, Al.”

“And you’re comfortable.”

Eileen giggled. “You two are funny.” She poked Alphard in the side; he squeaked out a laugh,
wriggling on Quintus’ lap. “Quin talks about you all the time. I think he has a crush on you.”
Quintus went scarlet. Alphard barked out a laugh and winked at Eileen. “I think so, too,” he said
conspiratorially. “But don’t let him know that we know that, all right.”

“All right,” said Eileen brightly.

“And don’t tell our parents.”

“Never.” Eileen shook her head. “Quinnie, your secret will always be safe with me.”

She climbed onto the sofa and wrapped her arms around Quintus’ neck. Quintus blinked a couple of
times, his lips wobbling. He buried his face in her hair and held her close.

“Thanks, Eileen,” murmured Quintus.

Eileen pulled back and patted him on the cheek. She settled against his side and pulled out a potions
text, starting to read. Harry suppressed a smile at that.

“You two didn’t happen to see Tom while you were getting back, did you?”

Both boys shook their heads.

Harry sighed. “I can’t find him. You wouldn’t know where he would’ve gone, would you?”

Alphard shrugged. “He’s always made himself scarce around the holidays, but especially on New
Year’s Eve. Check the library, maybe? Bit too cold to be wandering the grounds, I expect.”

“No matter how many times we invite him or beg him during the years we stay at Hogwarts, he
refuses to join any festivities,” said Quintus, shaking his head.

“Shame, really. I’d love to see him drunk at least once in my lifetime,” said Alphard.

Quintus snorted.

Harry slipped away as the two of them began to exchange more of their usual quips. He stepped out
of the Slytherin common room and hid beside a suit of armor. He pulled out the map and unfurled it,
spreading it out wide and searching for Tom’s name.

He couldn’t find it.

Harry looked the map over again and a third time. He folded the map back, clearing it with a
whispered, “mischief managed,” and stood there, mind racing. He shoved the rising worries down.

Not being on the map meant there were three potential places that Tom could be.

The Chamber of Secrets.

The Room of Requirement.

Hogsmeade.

This assumed Tom was still near the school, of course, and not out somewhere he wasn’t supposed to
be. Okay, Chamber of Secrets is pretty unlikely… right? Tom hadn’t been secretive lately nor had he
been disappearing and going off to the library for long hours or anything like that—at least not more
than normal for homework. Harry and Tom had been spending a lot more of their time together,
especially with Occlumency and Parseltongue lessons. There’d been no hints…
Though, Harry suspected Nagini was looking for it. Unfortunately, she didn’t show up on the map.

Tom wasn’t likely to break school rules, so that ruled out Hogsmeade.

Room of Requirement it was.

Harry made the long trip up seven flights of stairs, down number corridors, until he came to the
entrance to the Room of Requirement. He paced in front three times.

I’m looking for Tom. Is he in there?

The door solidified. Harry put his hand on the door handle and turned it, pushing it slowly open and
peeking inside. The room was large, similar to the size that had been provided to Harry and the DA in
his fifth year.

And the room was in shambles.

Destroyed training dummies were scattered all over the room. A number of them were slowly putting
themselves back together again, shuddering as their stuffed heads snapped back into place. Two of
them launched towards the lone figure in the back of the room.

Two flashes of blue light smashed into them before they got very far; they exploded.

The outer robes of a Slytherin school uniform had been tossed aside at one of the walls. Tom stood at
the back of the room with his sleeves rolled up. His chest heaved in deep breath, a dummy at his feet
laying in pieces, parts melting with the steam of acid.

“Tom?”

Tom whirled around, wand snapping out; a spell launched straight at him. Harry whipped out his
wand, a protego on his lips, just as he ducked to his knees.

The protego cracked.

Fucking hell. Harry dared to lift his head.

“Harry… How…” Tom lowered his wand; annoyance wrinkling his expression and twisting his lips.
He ran a hand through his fringe, a sheen of sweat at his temples, and looked away. “Dammit, Harry, I
could’ve cursed you—don’t sneak up on someone like that.”

Harry straightened and shut the door behind himself. He slowly approached Tom, taking in all of the
destroyed training dummies. “You all right?” he asked.

“How’d you find me?”

Harry shrugged. “I have my ways.”

Tom snorted, shaking his head.

“What are you doing?”

Tom gestured. “Letting off some steam, I suppose.”

“Why?”
Tom threw his hands into the air and glared at Harry. “I said I’m just letting off some steam.” he
snapped. “Must you be so terribly nosey?”

“I dunno—you sure are all the fucking time.”

Tom huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. He tightened up a bit, gaze firmly set away from him.
Harry took a step closer. “Are you still sleeping at night?” Harry asked.

Tom frowned at him. “Yes. Why?”

“No reason,” said Harry with a shrug. Tom was off right now and Harry wished he understood why.
He glanced around the room, trying to scramble for something to talk about. It wasn’t like he could
pull out the box and say, ‘Surprise, I know it’s your birthday.’

Tom shifted, the energy and air around him charged with his tension and discomfort.

‘Letting off some steam…’

Hmm…

“D’you want a better dueling partner than these training dummies?” asked Harry, gesturing to them.
He smirked. “I’m pretty sure I make for a more exciting partner than cotton and straw.”

Tom eyed him, his lips twitching. “We’ve gotten in trouble for dueling before,” he said softly. “You
think it wise that we try it again?”

“I think we can avoid killing each other this time, yeah?”

“Of course.”

Tom cleared the room of the destroyed training dummies. Harry shed his outer robes, tossing them
aside. He unbuttoned his cuffs at his wrist and rolled his sleeves up. Harry lifted his wand and slipped
into a stance. When Tom was done with clearing the room, he slid into a fighting stance, too. The
room rippled around them with a groan and a pop, shifting and rearranging, expanding the space in a
large field of grass and wildflowers spread out all around them.

A gentle breeze lifted between them, carrying with it the scent of blossoms and newly cut grass.

“Ready?” asked Tom.

Harry nodded.

And spells exploded between them.

Breath stolen, yet lungs filled, Harry weaved through Tom’s spells as if he were flying on a broom.
He laughed, adrenaline surging through his veins. Oh, it was different this time—he could feel it in
the air around them. Every single duel Harry had ever fought against Tom, there’d been hidden
bloodlust, a need to maim, to destroy, to spill blood—even from himself.

Yet now…

It was a dance, not unlike the one they shared at the Yule Ball.

It took Harry’s breath away.

But their fight was generic; they’d done this before, the same as it always was in their DADA classes.
These spells, all common and simple, were meant to incapacitate and disarm. And through it all, Tom
fought with the determination of someone who wanted to hide—to forget something.

Harry could see it blaze within those dark eyes.

What do you want to forget?

As an idea rose in his mind, Harry grinned devilishly. He whispered, “Fumos.” Smoke flared out all
around him, shielding him from view. Tom coughed, waving the smoke away, and just as he
disappeared from view, Harry pointed his wand at Tom’s head.

“Herbifors.”

Let the games begin.

Tom had been too busy coughing to notice the bright yellow spell that flashed through the
smokescreen. It slammed into his forehead. Strange sensations crawled over his scalp, prickling and
itchy.

“That had better not be a spell for head lice,” snapped Tom. He put a hand to the top of his head and
froze.

Pink and white petals fluttered around him.

Harry cackled, safely hidden in the smokescreen. Tom gripped velvet stems and tried to pull, but he
gasped out a wince when it felt as if he were tugging on his own hair. More petals fluttered down and
rested at his feet.

“Those geraniums look amazing on you, Tom. You really should go to class like that.”

You…

Tom’s hand clenched around the hilt of his wand.

Why you little minx.

A quick finite vanished the flowers and restored his hair back to normal. Tom exhaled, long and slow,
the tension easing from his chest. His mind cleared of all thoughts.

He smiled.

The Room of Requirement answered their duel with fluid movement of its own. Tom vanished the
smoke and the room melded into a rocky terrain, giant boulders of varying sizes blocking the view.
That all familiar thrill ghosted up Tom’s spine, the one that he learned he only experienced when
Harry was involved. He craved it. Tom needed it—needed to feel this thrill always with Harry.

But more than that, he should’ve known that this day would’ve been better with Harry at his side.

Harry leapt out from behind a boulder with a laugh, spells firing in Tom’s direction; he deflected
them, returning fire in a spray of multicolored lights. Harry disappeared behind a boulder and Tom
darted after him. There was a squawk of surprise; light crackled against a sudden shield.
“Shit—”

Harry ducked, just as his shield shattered. He laughed, breathless. The ground moved beneath Tom’s
feet, as if it were made of water. Sand appeared, the boulders transforming and sinking. Tom fell
backwards with a gasp and a delighted chuckle, the wave of sand carrying him away from the other
boy. Harry slipped on the sand with a curse and wheezing laugh.

The scent of salt lifted into the air; a gentle ripple of waves echoed around them. Sand slipped into his
trainers. Tom’s weight sank into the sand, nearly covering the entirety of his feet.

Harry grinned.

He lifted his wand and a wave of water followed it. Tom watched it approach and a sigh of resignation
escaped his breast. His shield did little to keep him dry as the wave crashed over him, but he did
manage to stay on his feet. Tom spluttered lightly. He swiped a hand over his face, clearing the water
away. Salazar, he was soaked to the bone.

Chaotic and wild.

Steady and innovative.

Just like Harry.

The room answered to them in like manner. It shifted again, this time turning into a vast forest with
dense foliage on the ground. Gnats buzzed around Tom’s ears. He quickly dried himself off and
banished the sand from his person. He turned; Harry grinned up at him from a couple of feet away.

“Partullae!”

Bubbles popped to life all around Tom. One floated near his face and Tom flicked it away in
annoyance, but it popped and drenched him in red and gold dye. The dye splattered the nearby leaves
and branches.

Tom spluttered.

Harry cackled.

Another bubble popped beside Tom’s ear; he flinched as a spray of something wet and cold coated the
side of his face and neck. He put a hand to it and looked to see it coated in pink and orange.

“Is this a duel or toddler’s playground?” asked Tom.

“It can be whatever you want,” said Harry, lifting his wand and grinning like a possessed little demon.
“Besides, you looked too serious about this duel and today’s too much of a special day for everything
to be gloomy and serious.”

What?

“What’s so special about today?” whispered Tom.

He can’t know. I’ve told no one before, not even Alphard and Quintus. He’s talking about New Years is
all.

Right?
Yet, knowing Harry… with his penchant for knowing everything…

But Harry didn’t answer. With a flick of his wand, he conjured a flock of multicolored birds. The
flock dove for Tom, claws outstretched and clutching hundreds of those bubbles.

A touch of thrilling fear rushed through Tom’s veins with a surge of adrenaline.

He bolted, throwing up a shield. The flock crashed against him, colorful paint and dye spraying all
around him, droplets hitting his clothes.

Harry broke into squeals of laughter.

Well, two can play at that game.

Tom sent the same spell right back at Harry in a wordless cast. The bubbles appeared around Harry
with little pops of sound. Tom lifted a wry eyebrow as the smile slipped from Harry’s face. Tom
snapped his fingers.

The bubbles all popped at once.

“Ah, shit.”

Multiple colors drenched Harry from head to toe. From neon pink to royal blue, Harry resembled a
rainbow of birthday clowns. He swiped over his face and smeared the colors over his skin. Tom
slapped a hand over his mouth and doubled over, unable to contain himself any more.

Tom laughed.

And laughed.

He couldn’t stop it. All of the anxiety and unease that he always felt on this day disappeared in a
single moment. Between the exercise and just Harry—Harry’s presence—he felt infinitely better.
Harry knew him too well now, better than anyone else.

The warmth that flooded Tom’s chest at that thought wasn’t from the exertion.

Tom gasped for breath, the laughter turning embarrassingly raspy and wheezy now. If he’d been with
anyone else besides Harry, he’d never be able to live it down. A strange realization dawned on Tom.
He glanced up, staring at Harry, who was watching him with a delighted expression on his face.

I… can be whoever I am with Harry.

He’d accept me in whatever form I take—pureblood or muggleborn, rich or poor, powerful or

helpless, it doesn’t matter to him. He’ll always be a friend.

The concept took his breath away.

Tom straightened, but the room shifted beneath his feet again, transforming into tall, rolling, grassy
hills. The movement sent Tom off his feet once more; he landed on his back in a bed of grass. Harry
let out a surprised sound as the hill turned too steep beneath his feet. With a a cluster of laughter, he
tumbled down the hill.

The hill popped out and threw Harry into the air. Tom quickly pointed his wand at him and slowed his
descent, but he didn’t think to change the trajectory and with a chorus of surprised cries from the both
of them, Harry landed right on top of Tom in a squawk of surprised laughter. He pushed himself off
Tom’s chest.

Tom’s wand dug into Harry’s side, while Harry’s wand dug into Tom’s throat.

Harry matched Tom’s smirk.

The room settled down, turning into a field of grass and wildflowers, which swayed in a gentle
breeze. Tom rested his head back, dropping his wand arm away from Harry, who also lowered his
wand. Harry’s weight bore heavy on Tom’s stomach, his breath labored. Flat on his back, Tom stared
up at Harry.

Every time, it comes to this.

Equaled in power, every duel had come to a draw.

Sweat beaded down Harry’s temples, his chest heaving. He was wearing the glasses Tom had given
him for Christmas and seeing them on his face made Tom’s stomach flutter. Harry’s fringe was
plastered to his head, revealing more of the lightning bolt scar. Tom couldn’t stop staring at it, his
eyes tracing the path of the sparks that carved its path in Harry’s forehead to where it cut through his
eyebrow.

He’d seen it glow once before.

A bit disappointing he hadn’t seen it glow this evening.

Harry grinned down at Tom. “You still can’t beat me.”

In a flutter of movement, Harry withdrew. However, just before… Harry could’ve sworn… Had
Tom’s cheeks colored?

No… it couldn’t be.

“And you can’t beat me.”

Harry chuckled. Tom brushed his fringe back, glancing away, as Harry got to his feet and held out his
hand. Tom gazed at it briefly before accepting it; he helped Tom up. He cast a wordless vanishing
spell over them and the paint disappeared from their persons while Harry cast a tempus, checking for
the time.

“It’s after eleven?” said Harry, shocked.

Tom sucked in his breath. “What? It’s—hang on, eleven-thirty? I have to go.”

“Go? Go where?”

“I—” Tom broke off, appearing to struggle with himself. “I… have somewhere to be, all right?
Somewhere I’d like to be at midnight.”

“Could… Could I come with?”

Tom exhaled, exasperated. “Fine. Fine… I suppose so.” His cheeks deepened their flush. He
motioned to himself. “You may come along, but we have to be quiet since it’s after curfew.”
“But you’re a prefect.”

“Yes, but I don’t want anyone to know we’re out,” said Tom as they walked to the door. He grabbed
his outer robes and tossed Harry’s to him. “I’m not on the roster for prefect duties tonight.”

He threw on his outer robes without bothering to button them while Tom opened the door and looked
into the corridor. He gestured with his head and walked out of the Room of Requirement with long,
quick strides, expertly putting his robes on and buttoning them up as he walked. Harry had to jog to
keep up with him.

“Where are we going?”

Tom pursed his lips; he didn’t answer.

“Why do you have to be somewhere at midnight?”

Tom sighed.

“Why—”

“Can you shut up, please?” snapped Tom. “You asked to come along—so, just come along, all right?”

Harry bit back a laugh at the embarrassment on Tom’s cheeks. They walked down the empty corridors
until Harry recognized the route. The Astronomy Tower. That was where Tom was going. He wanted
to ask why the tower, but he held himself back.

As they turned the corner of the corridor that led to the Astronomy Tower staircase, Tom suddenly
shoved Harry into an alcove and pressed up against him. Harry gasped, face exploding with heat, his
entire body growing hot. Eyes wide, Tom put a hand over Harry’s mouth, lifting a finger to his lips.
Harry nodded, heart thumping wildly in his chest, his entire body about to combust.

Harry’s heart stopped.

Dumbledore was patrolling the corridor. He took slow, ambling steps with his hands clasped behind
his back, deep in thought as he gazed at a suit of armor. He slowly passed the alcove that Tom and
Harry were hidden, but, thankfully, the flickering torchlight shadowed them and shielded them from
view. Harry’s heart wouldn’t calm down, terrified of being found by Dumbledore of all people.
However, Dumbledore idly continued down the corridor, away from the Astronomy Tower.

Once he was out of view, Tom drew back and grabbed him by the hand, tugging Harry out of the
alcove. He pulled Harry along towards the tower and all Harry could think about was their hands, this
touch. They were touching—holding hands.

Tom was holding his hand.

There were only screams in Harry’s head.

But he didn’t break free. Harry shivered as they ascended the staircase to the top of the tower, the chill
settling easily cutting through the layers of his robes. At the top, Harry got a full view of the grounds
of Hogwarts. Snow flurries filled the grey white sky as it fell in the gentle quietness of the night.

“This is my favorite place in all of Hogwarts,” whispered Tom.

“The Astronomy Tower?”

Tom nodded. “I come here when it’s… well, on nights like today.”

Like today? Is he talking about New Years or his birthday?

“It’s exceptionally beautiful during snowfall… like tonight,” said Tom. A fond smile lifted his lips as
he looked out over the grounds. “I am… partial to the stillness of snowfall.”

Harry wrapped his arms around his chest, shivering. “It is beautiful,” he whispered.

Tom raised an eyebrow. “Are you not a wizard?” he asked.

Harry laughed. Tom cast a warming charm over them both, his magic just as warm as the spell, and
Harry let out a low sigh of relief. Tom walked over to the edge of the balcony and looked out over the
Hogwarts grounds. Harry stepped closer, stopping at his side.

A blanket of white coated the ground and the hills in the distance. The Forbidden Forest had a layer of
snow in their treetops. The torchlight of the Gryffindor Tower flickered in the distance; a low echo of
voices could be heard occasionally as the year waned to its end.

Tom climbed over the railing and sat on the ledge; snow fell on his robes. Harry didn’t wait for an
invitation. He climbed over the railing and sat beside him.

A contented silence lifted between them.

“Why were you looking for me?” asked Tom.

“Oh.” Harry flushed. He’d almost forgotten… Heated anxiety rushed into his gut. “Uh, well… It’s
New Year’s Eve.”

Tom raised an eyebrow. “And you had to spend it with me?”

Harry shrugged, his heart thudding louder in his chest. Merlin, he hoped Tom couldn’t hear it. It
thrummed in his ears.

“I know my gift at Christmas was a bit of a joke,” said Harry in a soft, low voice. “But I’m sure your
birthday present will make up for it.”

There was a pause. “Birthday?” Tom’s eyes narrowed, but not with accusation. He licked his lips.
“Who said anything about a birthday?”

“No one did,” said Harry, digging into his pocket for the box. He took it out and fiddled with the
ribbon for a couple of seconds, before proffering it to him. Tom stilled, staring at the box. Another
stretch of silence pulled between them, like a rubber band about to snap. “Happy birthday, Tom.”

It was a whisper. “I don’t believe I told you the date of my birth, Harry.”

He didn’t answer. Tom took the box, eyes drinking it in, the faintest tremor in his fingers. With a
delicate hand, he pulled the ribbon loose and lifted the lid of the old box, revealing the Slytherin
locket. His mouth dropped. In a rare display of emotion, Harry witnessed unfiltered shock on Tom’s
features.

“Where…”

“I have my ways.”
Tom ran a finger over the front of the locket, tracing a line with the S. He met his gaze. “This is
Salazar Slytherin’s locket,” he whispered. “Isn’t it? This is an heirloom piece from the Founder’s era.”
He paused, waiting and watching, but Harry didn’t respond. “It’s worth thousands—no, tens of
thousands of galleons—and you know this.”

Harry shrugged.

Those lips curled and a glint entered Tom’s dark eyes. “Why, Harry darling, did you steal this for
me?”

“Like I said—” Harry grinned mischievously. “—I have my ways. And a hell of a lot of luck,” he
added, winking at Tom and nudging him in the side with an elbow. Tom’s mouth dropped open yet
again and his eyes lifted in shocked amusement. “Just don’t tell Newt and Tina, all right? They’re
better off not knowing I went out on an adventure high on Liquid Luck into Knockturn Alley.”

“That’s where you went that day?”

Harry nodded. “Yup.”

“You went looking for this on purpose?” whispered Tom. “You used an entire vial of Felix Felicis just
to retrieve this… for me?”

“Of course. It rightfully belongs to you,” said Harry softly. “Since you’re the heir of Slytherin and all
that.”

And you and your mother deserved better. She could’ve lived to raise you if she’d had enough money.
I paid more than what she was paid for it. It was fair enough, even if I did traumatize the man a bit.

Tom looked back down at the locket, his expression softening. He swallowed, his eyes shimmering
with suppressed emotion. “Thank you,” he whispered. “This is a kingly gift.”

Harry shrugged. “There’s… something else, if you want to see it.”

“What?”

Harry licked his lips and curled his tongue. “Open.”

The locket popped. Tom pushed a finger in between and flipped it open all the way. He audibly
gasped. He hunched over, staring at the photographs of his parents. His hands lifted close to his face
as he stared at them, gaze hungry, starving for them, taking in every detail of them.

“These people…”

“They’re your parents… I think,” whispered Harry. “That man looks like you and the guy who bought
the locket recognized the woman as the seller.”

Tom inhaled greedily. He swallowed; his eyes glimmered, wet and bright. His hands shook. Harry
didn’t say anything. Tom’s breath was uneven, unsteady, shuddering out with every exhale. After a
few minutes, Tom slowly closed the locket and took a long, deep breath. He held the locket in his
clasped hands, his knuckles white.

“Harry…” whispered Tom. “Thank you. You can’t imagine just how much this means to me.”

“I think I can,” said Harry in a quiet voice. “I was eleven when I first saw a picture of my parents.”
Tom blew out a slow breath. “This is why you came looking for me today,” he said. He tenderly
traced over the locket with a finger. “You knew it was my birthday. You planned this…” He met his
gaze once more. “You knew. How? How do you know these things?”

“Uh…” Harry shrugged, trying to put on a humble air. “Just intuition, I guess?”

“Hm, and your perfect timing to help out against Archibald was simply intuition, then?”

Harry let out a nervous laugh. “Maybe?”

“You hate Divination, yet I think you have more right to be in that class than the entire castle.”

Harry laughed. “Fuck, no.”

Tom chuckled. Silence lifted between them. Tom shifted, a restlessness coming over him. Tom’s thigh
pressed against Harry’s thigh, his shoulders against his—the feel of him, the heat of him, Harry was
intimately aware of Tom’s presence at his side.

“Are you all right? Why did you want to be here?”

“I… I just…” Tom sighed and ran a hand through his fringe. “I don’t like celebrating my birthday.
You’re the first to even know its date,” he whispered. “But… I have a yearly tradition, where I watch
this day die while the new year is born.”

Oh… Oh, he’s like me, except I always love to wait for the midnight it begins.

Oh, Tom.

The backs of their hands brushed against each other.

Tentatively and unbidden, Harry turned his hand upwards, a silent invitation, and, by a miracle, Tom
took it, his grip on Harry’s hand almost too much. Their fingers were still cold as they intertwined
with each other.

“I’m sorry. Do you mind?” whispered Tom. “I am… unsettled tonight.”

“I don’t mind,” breathed Harry, his chest aching with a burn that wasn’t the flame of desire. His own
hand flexed in Tom’s grip, clinging to it, anchored by the warmth that built within their touch. “I
wouldn’t have offered if I minded.”

Tom’s lips lifted in the barest of smiles.

It was a special kind of silence, the one that settled between them, one only found in the glow of the
snow light in the late night. Harry didn’t dare break it.

After awhile, Tom spoke up.

“Why would I celebrate?” whispered Tom. “My mother died giving birth to me. On this day, I was
born and she died. A life for a life… I’ve never been inclined…”

“I understand. My mum died protecting me,” said Harry. “On Halloween, when people celebrate with
sweets and a feast.”

Tom’s hand tightened, bruising, hard, but it didn’t hurt.

 “I know what it’s like to not want to celebrate a day that should be fun.”

Tom nodded.

And the silence wore on for a time.

Until a surge of celebratory cries echoed in the night. Tom jolted in surprise. Cheering voices could be
heard from the Gryffindor Tower. In the distance, a couple of fire crackers went off in Hogsmeade.

“Happy New Year, Tom,” whispered Harry.

And happy birthday.

“It has been… and will continue to be so,” said Tom softly, his hand tightening around Harry’s hand.
“Because you came to Hogwarts this year.”

Harry’s breath disappeared.

Yeah… I have to admit, it hasn’t been all that bad coming to this time to be with you.

On this fateful day, a boy was born, one who would grow up into a creature of nightmares and would
kill another boy’s parents, forging between them a thread of destiny that neither had anticipated.
Perhaps, it seemed strange that Harry had the overwhelming urge to celebrate Tom’s birth. By right,
he should despise this night.

Yet…

Sitting at this boy’s side with their hands tightly clasped together, Harry found himself overcome with
a powerful feeling of gratitude that Tom had been born.

As the snow drifted down in the night sky, one year giving way to the next, Harry Potter realized with
a deep, swelling affection that he was in love with Tom Riddle.

Chapter End Notes

And, thus, I must leave you with this for now. I had wanted to finish all of Arc Two (chapter 53
is the last of Arc Two) before my hysterectomy (Oct 16th, 2024), but alas that just couldn’t
happen. We’re only 12 chapters away from the end of Arc Two. So close, I can taste it. Ugh.
Sadly, I can’t finish it before then.

So, instead, we pause right here for a bit. I’ll still write as much as I can during my recovery, but
I’ll slow down. (Though, I’m pretty sure I’ll write more of Elysium’s Sanctuary, knowing my
hurt/comfort needy ass)

Check my Tumblr for signs of life after Oct 16th, lmao.

I’ve had people asking me about what I’ve done for future chapters, etc. Well, how about a
graph?
Arc Three is 90% known, content wise. Arc Four is 75% known. Arc Five is the most sparse, but
I know the time frame and I know myself. The closer I get to finishing Arc Four, the more I’ll
understand Arc Five.

When I say I’m dedicated, I really am.

This chapter ends with one of my favorite lines that I’ve written. It’s just… I love it. It’s perfect.
I’ve had it written down and saved for a long time—probably like two years now. Harry made it.
He knows now. He knows.

And now…

One down.

One to go.
Careful now, my dear. You’re next, Tom.

And this bitch of an author doesn’t hold back.

See yall in the future, my darlings~

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