we made universes out of bitten lips and broken hands

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/57798382.

Rating: Mature
Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Category: M/M
Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Relationship: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle
Characters: Harry Potter, Tom Riddle, Abraxas Malfoy, Orion Black, Albus
Dumbledore, Gellert Grindelwald, Cassiopeia Black, Mirabel Garlick,
Aurelius Dumbledore, Horace Slughorn
Additional Tags: Time Travel, Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, Tom Riddle is Obsessed with Harry
Potter, Manipulative Tom Riddle, Sane Tom Riddle, Seer Harry Potter,
Magic, Canonical Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse,
Divination, Obscurials (Harry Potter), Fluff and Angst, Protective Tom
Riddle, Smitten Tom Riddle, Fluff, Slytherin Harry Potter, Alternate
Universe - 1940s, Harry Potter & Tom Riddle Attend Hogwarts
Together, Tessomancy | Reading Tea Leaves (Harry Potter), Alternate
Universe - Canon Divergence, Horcruxes, Misguided Albus
Dumbledore, No Beta We Die Like Sirius, Dragons, Magical Realism
Language: English

✨
Collections: Unofficial TRoR Discord Server Recommendations 2024, Amaris' Harry

✨ 💚
Potter Favourite Super Duper Good Fics Ever, Tomarry works, Petal’s
Treasury of Timeless Tales for the Heart and Soul , my heart is here,
TooManyEmotions, Top-tier Tomarry, Shards of Emerald , Harry
Potter fics that butter my cereal
Stats: Published: 2024-07-31 Updated: 2025-02-28 Words: 79,299 Chapters:
11/13
 we made universes out of bitten lips and broken hands
by boyneptune

Summary

Harry looks at the hand he's been dealt with and finds it lacking. He will forge his own future
with bloodied hands and dried tears even if it'll kill him.

or

seer!Harry who tries to live his life and enjoy it, fuck prophesies and mastermind darklords
and evil teachers.

OR

Harry is a point between very observant and very tired with life. Oh, and he keeps
accidentally predicting the Future. He insists no one in his family is of Seer Blood (no one
believes him, of course).

And there's also Tom Riddle.

Notes

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

English is not my first language, so please excuse any grammar and or spelling mistakes.

Enjoy!

Loosely inspired by the song Ruin, by The Amazing Devil.

 Chapter 1
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

"...and you are absolutely, completely, utterly sure that you have no Seer blood in you."

"Yes."

"Are you sure?"

"Malfoy, God's be good! Yes! Yes, I am sure." When he saw the blond's lips move to open
again, he added: "Asking again will not change my answer, shut your mouth."

"But Harry , what if someone down the line was a bast–"

"Continue that sentence and the next time you're walking drunk and trip over your robes I
will let you fall to your death in the Moving Stairs." He spat. "Go on."

"How... how did you know! I didn't tell anyone it happened!" The gobsmacked look on
Abraxas face did something funny to his insides, a thought between a laugh and despair at
this silly blond boy who had simply been too drunk and couldn't look behind him to notice
Harry had been following him the entire time that night to make sure he got back to his dorm
and safe to his bed.

He didn't comment.

Abraxas groaned in an untimely, entirely inelegant way.

"You must be the devil. I get why Tom likes you so much."

Harry made a funny face, feeling conflicted. He didn't need to know exactly how much Tom
Riddle liked him. He had enough at one glance, thank you very much.

Things had gone to shit one fine Tuesday afternoon when Falco Lestrange had almost killed
all his Slytherin and Ravenclaw peers in a Potions Classroom.

The boy had been distracted, stealing glances across the tables and admiring the way the light
hit the hair of a pretty Ravenclaw witch, where it cascaded in lustrous curls down her back to
reach her waist. Her dark skin shone in the afternoon sunlight, and Falco was thinking of the
best ways he could present his courting gifts, possibly in the Courtyard surrounded by white
flowers, assuming they would be received—.
His hand slipped, and instead of stirring his potion twelve times clockwise after simmering
for twelve minutes, he stirred only eleven before he picked the Angel's Trumpet flower just
after adding the last uneven cut pieces of Bloodroot.

His hand was about to let go of the flower with distracted movements when another, smaller,
colder, closed around it.

He was startled out of his trance and he let out a grunt of discomfort as the cold hand closed
more firmly around his, and that noise attracted the attention of his classmates.

When he followed the hand up an arm and up a body he found Evans face attached to it,
black and white curls bouncing as the owner tilted his head towards him.

Before he could pull away in disgust, the boy hissed at him.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing? Are you trying to kill yourself? Kill us?"

He stared uncomprehending at the boy before him, their hands still clasped.

When Slughorn hurried over, yellow robes flowing and catching on the corners of the
adjacent tables, he took one look at the putrid color of the potion, another back at the cutting
board where the uneven pieces sat inconspicuous and a last one at the flower crushed in
between their hands, before he waved his wand dramatically over Falco's unfinished potion
and vanished it to the void without further ado. His big blue eyes were open wide, a struck
expression graced his round face.

"You almost killed us all!" He exclaimed, as flamboyantly as usual, despite the gravity of the
situation. "One touch of a whole petal in the potion and the explosion would have taken us all
out! And if not, the fumes from the poisonous plant would have done us in!" Evans had
finally let go of his hand, green eyes hard. "This is a NEWT level class! Mistakes like this are
grounds for expulsion Mr. Lestrange!"

Falco's mouth opened and closed, no explanation gracing his lips.

"If I may, Professor" the blasted boy at his side dared to utter "I think it was an honest
mistake." He cast a glance at Falco, venomous green eyes piercing him down to his soul. The
boy flinched. "We can't all be potion prodigies. Especially when our mind is not in the
classroom, and instead it's down in the Courtyard."

Falco turned incredulous eyes at him.

And that was that. It was the day the rumour started.

Harry Evans, the fucking seer of the House Slytherin.

(What they didn't know was that Harry had been sitting in one of the windowsills facing the
courtyard with his sketchbook in hand when Falco Lestrange had walked in, hand in hand
with a Ravenclaw. Harry didn't know her name, but could guess from the way Lestrange's
eyes darted from side to side and nervously fixed his hair every few seconds that she was his
betrothed, or was about to be. Harry guessed the latter, or else the lad wouldn't be so anxious
to be in her presence.

The boy seemed to catalog every nook and cranny of the inside yard, from the vines creeping
up the walls and the statues, to the fountain drizzling water in the middle, to the few students
sat scattered around.

He was thinking about it, Harry knew. His hands kept twitching towards the lapels on his
robes, only to move out of the way at the very last moment.

Ah.

The proposal was to be carried out at a later time, it seemed.

He sketched them like that, standing side by side and smiling shyly at each other with blushes
high up their faces.)

It was not the only instance, sadly.

There was that one time, when one of the more damaged, older moving stairs had graced the
path of the sixth year Slytherins on their way back to the Dungeons and Harry had simply
taken one look at it, remembered the disgraceful fall he'd had on his fourth year where his leg
had been trapped up to his hip and commented loudly from the back of the group:

"I wouldn't step on the second to last step, if I were you." He had nightmares about being
trapped there as the old staircase moved and disappeared to wherever it went to when it was
not in use.

But as things were, here he was a new student of questionable origins and no name to himself
to back his claims, and every Slytherin simply dismissed him as if it had been an annoying
insect buzzing by and not a wizard speaking.

Until, one of the boys walked to the second to last step, and his leg fell right through.

"Told ya," he muttered to himself, as he waved around the crowd and jumped the last couple
of steps, not looking back.
Or that one time Harry had slapped the tart out of Orion's hand when he had been about to
take a bite.

"Don't!" He had said.

And that was that.

(For the next long hours, the majority of the population of Hogwarts had been in line seeking
treatment in the Hospital Wing for a horrible stomach bug.)

(Not Orion though.)

Or that time when Harry had predicted that Greengrass would fail her Care of Magical
Creatures practical exam, looking at her with sorrowful eyes.

Or when he correctly gave books and trinkets and supplements to people before they even
knew they needed them.

"I have an iron deficiency!" One student muttered excitedly at another. "Evans gave me a
booster the other day and recommended I speak to the Matron! And he was right!"

"One time I failed a Transfigurations essay and before I could tell anyone about it he
approached my table in the library and dropped a whole stack of books. Said they might be of
help!"

Or that one time with the tea leaves—.

By the time Harry stopped a Hufflepuff fourth year from being impaled to death by a stray
broom free falling from unknown heights and close enough to the outside walls of the castle
to not be noticed before it was too late, Tom Riddle had taken to watching the boy from the
shadows, dark blue eyes following his every movement.

He moved around life as if it was a dance to be had, coming close to other people and pulling
back in a symphony only known to him. The skips and turns of his steps unpredictable,
sometimes even brisk but non the less graceful, when he seemed to go one way but change
directions at a moment's notice, something dark passing through his green eyes.

He looked at situations backwards and from a distance, head tilted in a curious way before
his green eyes lit with recognition and he could, to a point, predict entire scenes just from one
glance.
 The way he looked at people, haunted and knowing and compassionate, like he knew each
and every secret lodged in their souls.

Like he knew Tom's secrets too.

The first night after the feast, Harry Evans had stared long and hard at Tom from across the
Common Room, green eyes unreadable and face not betraying anything. It had been going on
for twenty minutes straight, seemingly not noticing the other students' stares, before
furrowing his brows and quietly nodding to himself.

Tom had dismissed him after that, thinking the boy had probably noticed the hierarchy of the
snakes and deemed Tom on top of the food chain.

But strange things seemed to happen around him. More importantly, didn't seem to happen.

He had an uncanny ability to predict the future, it seemed.

The rumours started and spread around Hogwarts like wildfire.

Slughorn was a terrible gossip, and even the portraits learned of Harry's careful consideration
of the world.

It was not without consequences.

This beautiful, beautiful boy could be an asset.

It didn't help that he was pretty, with his wide green eyes and honey colored complexion. His
curls were mostly black, except where they were not. White had steadily but surely been
taking over the parts on the back of his neck, and the hairs framing his face. Tom often
wondered if it was intentional, or if he'd had it since birth.

Tom wanted him for himself.

And another man wanted him gone.

Chapter End Notes

(this is more or less a prologue)

you may find me on Tumblr or Discord @boyneptunee

 Chapter 2
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

As the days progressed and tales of his miracle doings spread, gifts started making their way
into his things.

In his school bag, in his pockets, between the creases of his scarf and even on his pillowcase.

It started with the tea leaves, because apparently the Hogwarts population couldn't be more
oblivious . From more common flavours to exotic ones, ones meant for making tea reading
easier and others to 'open the mind' as the box so kindly stated. He left those in the Kitchens,
as it was the only place Harry felt he could really need them. He didn't drink tea in the
Forbidden Forest, now did he? The House Elves had been more than glad to hide them
secretly in a cupboard, safe for him to use whenever he wanted. And besides, he did enjoy a
cuppa with them now and then. It was to everyone's benefit, really.

Then, crystals woven in white metal to form rings and pendants in shapes of snakes tightly
bound around the stones. One particular ring caught his eye. It was a little dragon, to be
curled around a finger when worn, little wing displayed with careful details in the metal, its
eye a glowing green. It was lovely.

And to top it all off, nestled between his school robes as he was changing one cold October
morning, was a deck of tarot cards, lined with gold.

He took it as a sign.

A sign to burn whatever motherfucker thought they could buy his favour with thoughtless
gifts.

He wore the crystals though. They were pretty, sue him. Especially the little dragon. It made
something funny tug at his own magic, making him sigh in content whenever he played with
it.

Besides, he had a pretty good idea of who was the culprit.

Abraxas Malfoy was not having a good day.

First, he woke up late and had to run to make it in time for his morning classes, not being
able to get even a bite out of breakfast. This of course meaning his hair hadn't been styled and
stood defiantly in loose waves and his robes were crinkled and his face was bare of any
beauty products. He felt as naked as the day he was born.

Just as he was dreading the day ahead his betrothed had taken one glance at him from the
corner of the room and had turned so quickly to laugh at him with her snake friends.

Then, his stomach decided it was rather cross with him and he spent the period between
classes locked in the third floor bathroom. As it was, he made it late for Herbology in the
gardens and had to sit out the practical portion of the class, with the normally calm and kind
redheaded Professor glaring at him the whole time.

After, Tom had simply sent him a glare so cold it could freeze hell over as he tried to catch up
with him on their way to lunch.

Rather cowered, he sighed and decided he best be getting back to bed and trying again
tomorrow.

Just as he was deciding the pro's and con's of skipping classes and hiding away in his dorm
room, a cold hand closed around his.

"Don't." Harry Evans's kind, kind green eyes met his and the concerned tilt to his lovely head
made Abraxas fear for his safety.

"Oh Great Salazar. Don't tell me it's about to get worse."

"Then I won't. Come, to the kitchens with you. You look like you need a pick me up." He
more or less dragged Abraxas by their interlocked hands, down winding corridors and never
ending stairs, he tickled the pear in the big painting serving as a kitchen door and guided the
blond boy through to sit in a chair in the corner of the room, out of the way of the working
House Elves. The smell of freshly cooked bread and coffee was so lovely and nice he wanted
to sink to the ground and stay forever.

Harry peeled from his side to speak in low voices to one of the House Elves, their used
pillowcase serving as a uniform pristine and clean, even where it brushed the floor.

He came back with a tray in hand, teapot and mug painted in blues and purples with golden
stars scattered about. A perfectly round chocolate muffin was sitting proudly off to the side.

"Here's some tea." He set the tray down by Abraxas' side and took upon the job of serving.
The movement of his hands was sure and practiced, as he poured the first serving out in a cup
and the water promptly disappeared. "The first one is always too strong," he explained, as he
served Abraxas another cup.

Two sugars and a drop of milk later and Abraxas had leaned back into the chair.

Suddenly all his anxiety and fear went away. His pulse slowed where it had been beating
insistently and forcefully against his skin. The roaring in his ears suddenly quiet. His body
felt pliant and relaxed, his mind clear for the first time since he'd woken up. The cloud that
had been metaphorically (and maybe even literally) hanging over his head had cleared and
made way for the shining sun that was Harry's presence.

"Is this magical tea?" He couldn't help but ask in the space between them. Harry looked up at
him from over the rim of his cup, an amused tilt to his lips.

"No, it's chamomile. You seemed a little stressed ."

"Oh. Well." He couldn't argue with that.

By the time they finished their tea, Abraxas had calmed down enough to be ready to face the
day. Or every day. Every day ever !

Only for Harry to stop him on his way to the door with a casual comment from the place
where he sat with his cup still in hand.

"Oh, and Abraxas?" A long pause. The blond boy turned to look at him.

Abraxas noted with dread, the cup on his hand was upside down. Sweat rolled down his back.

Harry turned his cup to face him.

"Don't show up to Care of Magical Creatures for the rest of the week."

And that was that.

Tom Riddle had been bribing Orion Black into buying Harry Evans another tea set, this one
red and orange with black dragons painted on the sides, finely done drawings with intrinsic
designs and the most careful curve to each line, topped with the glossy shine of the paint,
when said green eyed boy had materialized out of thin air between the two of them.

To say he had scared the living daylights out of Orion would be an understatement. He had
jumped approximately a meter in the air, mercury eyes wide and voice a half octave higher
than normal as he cursed.

Harry paid him no mind, green eyes locked on dark blue ones.

"I need a word with you, Tom Riddle."

"Of course, Harry." Said boy nodded decidedly, demeanor serious and grim before he turned
to look at Orion.
"Oh, and Orion? You should write to your father, he's about to come down with something
nasty ." His green eyes turned back on Tom Riddle like a cat ready to pounce. "And you .
Follow me."

Tom raised his eyebrows, the tilt to his mouth amused. Well, then.

Orion had grabbed onto the back of a chair for balance, his face as pale as a white sheet.

Harry took them out of the common room and deep into the castle, the line of his back tense
and black and white curls bouncing with every step he took.

"What's on your mind, darling ? You're awfully quiet."

"We've never spoken more than two sentences to each other. What would you know?" A long
pause followed. "And don't call me darling, Tom Riddle. I can and I will bite your face off."

Well. Feral little thing, Tom thought, amused.

They kept walking in silence, up and up and up they went, around corners and crossing
multiple doors.

Finally, the boy stopped in front of an old door, the wood chipping here and there where it sat
crooked in it's hinges. In the wall in front of the door stood a big tapestry depicting –oddly
enough– trolls dancing.

The room inside looked no better, the walls were a dark stone with no windows to the outside
in sight. The floor was smooth but dirty. Hanging from the ceiling were cut pillars, like
chandeliers, none touching the ground.

The room was empty.

Harry turned to look at him.

"You need to stop trying to buy me out. It's not going to work. I don't even know what you
want to get out of this." Tom was so distracted by Harry he barely took notice of the door
slowly melting into the wall behind him.

"Did you not like the presents?" The infuriated look on his face was so lovely, truly, Tom
wanted to see more.

"They were thoughtless." Harry scoffed. "Just because you lot think I can predict the future
does not mean I like crystal balls and fancy cards. God's be good Riddle!" He even took the
deck out of his robes and waved it in the space between them, as if to prove a point.

The cards, however, seemed to have a mind of their own. They flew out of his hands and into
the air, falling in a cascade of colors and gold trimmings before settling on the ground, all of
them facing down, except for one.

"People say you should always play the long game, darling." Tom considered the display as
Harry narrowed his eyes at him, green possibly blazing.
"You want me on your side, then."

The only card facing up was the thirteenth, looking at Tom upside down. Death .

I want you to be mine , was all Tom could think in answer.

After that, Tom took more consideration on his approach.

He enlisted Abraxas' help, seeing as the blond peacock seemed to have an affinity for bad
luck and naturally was a Harry magnet.

"He liked the tea set" was all he could answer when questioned about Tom's past gifts. "The
one with the stars, he only ever uses that one. I've even seen the House Elves place the cups
in front of Harry during the evening tea in the Great Hall. They never do that for anyone
else."

Abraxas, really. He was of no help. Tom took a deep breath and let it go slowly.

"He uses the accessories." Tom spat.

"Oh? Well, yes. He said they were pretty. I think he likes shiny things. It's cute, like a little
magpie." The blond boy was moving his fingers anxiously in front of him, squeezing his
fingers and letting go between breaths. It was an anxious habit Tom had tried to get him out
of with no luck.

"What else?"

"Oh! We were in Hogsmeade last weekend. He was eyeing up some robes." Trying to get
answers out of him was like trying to drag a cat for a bath kicking and screaming, leaving
claw marks all over the walls.

"He didn't strike me as someone who is interested in fashion."

"Well, no. The robes had little stars embroidered on the cuffs and neck." Abraxas. Was. Of.
No. Help. Tom resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He was starting to feel particularly
murderous .

"And you are sure he wasn't planning to gift them to Orion? He seems oddly fond of him,
even if they don't interact much."

Abraxas would have wanted to comment on how much of those few interactions had been
when Tom was present, and glaring dagger's into poor Orion's soul. Jealousy was an ugly
shade of green indeed.
"He likes flying," he added, helplessly. Slamming the last nail in his own coffin.

"I've never seen him fly." Tom deadpanned.

A beat of sweat rolled down Abraxas back.

"He said he was a fine seeker. We fly sometimes during the morning free period." A beat of
silence followed.

"And why, pray tell, wasn't I made aware of this?" The blond boy probably knew it wasn't
wise to answer. He did anyways.

"You don't have a free period, Tom. You have Arithmancy."

Abraxas was about to be strangled, he was sure. His body fed to the Giant Squid, never to be
seen again, swallowed whole and in the bottom of the Great Lake. Someone ought to write to
his betrothed, tell her he never loved her—.

When Abraxas and Tom finally made it back to the Common Room after their impromptu
meeting with a few other Slytherin's looking to enter into the boy's orbit, Abraxas was about
dead on his feet. Tom had seemed pleased all night, a smug aura to his magic that didn't
reflect on his stoic face.

More and more people were taking note of him as of late, from the powerful pull of his
Magic, to the political implications of a stable relationship in the circle of an Heir of
Hogwarts, to his prominent grades. He was making a name for himself.

Abraxas stopped on his tracks when he noticed a lone figure sitting by the fire. Even from a
distance he could recognize the black and white curls anywhere.

Harry was snuggled in front of the hearth in the common room on a comfortable high chair.
Tom's comfortable high chair.

His eyes were closed, lashes gently touching the skin on his cheeks as he breathed. Some of
his lashes were even turning white, he noted. Freckles scattered gently around his face like
constellations, not one star the same as another. His lovely mouth was slightly open, wire
glasses crooked on his nose.

Abraxas looked from afar as Tom took Harry in with his intense eyes, not for one second
leaving the figure of the boy snuggled by the fire. He didn't look overly annoyed that his
chosen chair had been used. Finally, he seemed to snap out of it, and turned to walk off the
Common Room, towards the Dorms.
 The blond boy thought nothing of it, and made his own way towards his room, ready to get
beneath the covers and disappear for a few hours.

However, when he made his way back down to the Common Room later in the night, having
forgotten his cloak by one of the desks, he found that Harry was still sitting by the fire.

He was not alone.

And a familiar wool blanket was carefully draped over him.

The very first time Harry saw her alive and breathing, she was crying.

She was crying by herself in a secluded part of the castle, sitting on a windowsill facing the
Forbidden forest with her knees up to her chest. She had taken her glasses off, and her face
was wet with tears. Her little pigtails were in disarray, unlike the orderly way he remembered
them being.

Her uniform was the same, down to a point. The Ravenclaw emblem proudly sitting on her
chest.

Her knees were open and bleeding.

Harry stood still for a moment, thinking. Then decided better of it, and approached her
slowly, like he would a caged animal.

"Hello?" The flinch that greeted him also startled Harry. Myrtle Warren locked wide dark
eyes with his green ones.

Chapter End Notes

To explain a little bit more about the card of Death:

- Upright (facing Harry): it means transformation, endings, change, letting go, release.
- Reversed (facing Tom): fear of change, repeating negative patterns, stagnancy, decay.
Harry doesn't actually know how to read cards, or read tea leaves. He goes on purely by
feel and instinct. (more like predicts shit on accident)

Comments are always welcome! I always have fun going through them

you may find me on Tumblr

 Chapter 3
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

The first time Harry went to Hogsmeade in this Time he thought the uneasiness he felt was
probably due to emotional baggage. Something about the shops being different, the witches
and wizards moving about not anyone he could recognize made something tighten in his gut
and not let go.

Harry could point out which store front was the same, if run by a different person, which
structures had been destroyed and rebuilt from the ground up, the places where the
cobblestone road had chipped and torn over the years: be it by foot or carriage. Places where
there were trees now, and not later. A square with a big fountain yet to be built.

An entire part of the village non-existent.

He spent his time there in a daze of shops and clothes and food, being dragged by the arm by
a familiar face on a different blond.

The second time he went to Hogsmeade, he was acutely aware something was out of place.
Other than himself, that is.

There was something dark and primal lingering in the air. Like a caged animal. Something so
wrong he couldn't reason why he hadn't felt it before. Or... maybe he had.

It was strong and foul in its entirety. Heavy like a dark cloak hanging over a whole part of the
village. Harry could feel it like bile in the back of his throat.

The third time he visited, he could pinpoint to a fault where it came from. An inconspicuous
box filled with empty potion vials sat off to the side of the front door.

Harry's eyes narrowed.

The Hog's Head Inn.

 ~

The first time Harry Evans warned Tom about his crumbling future (that stint with the card
notwithstanding) he had been delighted. Over the moon as one would say, really. Finally !
Finally Harry had caved in and paid attention to his future Lord's, there was no doubt in his
mind this boy would be an asset to his Cause, he could imagine then, the possibilities; the
rallies, taking over the— then; then the words had sunk in.

" Don't open the Chamber ." Harry had mumbled distractedly as he finished his
Transfigurations essay. Dumbledore had had it out for him from day one, and the taller boy
couldn't fathom why that was. They were sitting together on a table off to the side in the
Slytherin Common Room, soft afternoon light sluggishly struggling to make it's way
underwater and through the big windows that were deep within the Great Lake. Harry's curls
were shiny and soft looking, framing a tired looking face in waves and twirls. Heavy dark
circles enhanced lovely green eyes.

Then, red .

"What was that, darling ?" Tom's voice was dangerous in its tone, a sharp weapon waiting to
be used, flat intonations falling from his lips.

" Hmm ?" The boy asked, not looking up from where his quill was scraping the parchment.

"What you just said." Tom hissed, vowels stretched thin. He might've been slipping into
Parseltongue for all he knew.

But the boy didn't answer, only continued leafing through the pages of a book he had
borrowed from the library and noting down the important points. He didn't pay Tom any
mind.

With a snake-like movement Tom caught Harry's thin wrist between his fingers, stilling his
writing.

The boy looked up, startled, and narrowed his eyes at the possibly frosty demeanor the older
boy graced him with.

"Riddle?" He only tightened his hold on Harry's wrist in response, making the boy wince in
pain. "Tom Riddle. Release me ." Harry was so still, so quiet for a moment that only the
racing heartbeat pounding beneath his fingertips proved that the boy was even unnerved at
all.

"You said something. Just now. I want you to repeat it for me." He spat. His vision was
clouding red around the edges, laser focusing on the boy in front of him, the rest of the world
ceasing to exist. The roaring in his ears was insistent.
"Did I?" Harry looked confused, and when they locked eyes Tom prodded behind his eyes
forcefully and found rudimentary Occlumency shields in place. But no matter, it was enough
to know the boy was telling the truth. It was hard to lie to a natural Legilimens face to face,
even with mental walls between them. He had no idea what had been spoken just moments
before, seemingly an unconscious act.

Tom took a deep breath, and let the anger recede back into the darkness.

Slowly, carefully, Tom unwound his fingers from around his wrist.

Harry snatched his hand back, flexed his fingers and turned his wrist with a slight wince on
his face. He cradled his hand with the other, close to his chest. The skin was already turning
red in some spots.

It was definitely going to bruise.

Without saying anything else, the boy gathered his belongings and walked away from Tom,
not even sparing him another look.

The second time Harry Evans predicted his future, he had been walking with purple shackles
in the shape of fingers around his wrist for three days.

Abraxas had taken one look at Harry and an eyeful at his bruises and had put upon the most
obnoxious puppy eyes he could muster at Tom.

Orion refused to engage at all with him in the following days. His father had indeed fallen
sick, and had been promptly rushed to St. Mungo's Hospital.

The black haired boy had quietly given Harry a pair of black robes with stars carefully and
meticulously embroidered in dark thread, around the cuffs and neck, with small stones that
might've been diamonds that glinted gently every time they caught light. Tom had watched
from a corner of the Common Room as Orion talked to Harry. The boy had even gotten teary
eyed.

Harry used the robes often now, as a House Elf had taken upon the job of sewing a Slytherin
house emblem on the breast. He looked truly lovely in them.

(Abraxas looked suspiciously smug any time Harry walked out around the Castle with the
gifted robes.)

Even Slughorn had turned his disappointed light blue eyes at him and silently handed Harry
Murtlap Essence, to soothe the pain and heal his skin. That week he took more points from
Slytherin than he ever had before, and all of them from Tom. Other Slytherin's had started to
side eye him in the hallways, possibly wondering what the Prefect had done to anger their
teacher in such a way.
Tom didn't know how to apologize, as he had never had a need to do so before. Moreover, he
wouldn't know what to apologize for.

He was walking fast on his way back to the Dungeons, no luck that day either. He had
steadily been combing his way through the Castle in search for Salazar Slytherin's legacy. His
legacy. But so far no news. He hadn't been assigned any Prefect night patrols that week
(possibly another form of punishment from Slughorn) and as such, he didn't have an excuse
for being out of bed well past curfew.

He was more or less running in the opposite direction of Peeves' obnoxious laughter as the
poltergeist wreaked havoc in the Trophy Room, hoping the little demon creature hadn't seen
him walk past the open doorway.

He was so distracted, sharp blue eyes looking back that he didn't notice the boy that
materialized out of thin air until they collided together, a mess of limbs and robes that turned
with the force of the hit and small, sure hands grabbed onto the lapels of his robes and tugged
.

They ended up snuggled in an alcove, away from any prying eyes, chest to chest and
breathing each other's air.

And just in time.

Footsteps not their own echoed in the empty hallway, heels sure and determined as they
strode through the stone floor.

Dumbledore's auburn hair caught the light of the moon as he passed them by none the wiser.

Tom turned to look down at his savior and found twin green orbs on a pale looking face
gazing widely up at him. His hands were still tightly crutched on his robes.

"If you wanted me on an alcove alone you should've just said so, Harry." He teased, his voice
amused, even if he let out a sigh of relief at the thought of almost being caught by the
Transfigurations Professor. This boy. He was a marvel, truly.

But Harry didn't answer, only tightened his thin fingers on his robes.

"Harry?" He insisted. He cleared his throat, something like worry settling on his gut.

" Don't open the Chamber. " The black haired boy whispered back, green eyes wide and
unseeing. Tom's own eyes narrowed and focused on his face, on his faraway look and his
deep breaths. Almost like— like he was asleep .

Tom brought his hands up and gently settled them on Harry's shoulders, thumb softly
caressing the thin fabric. He was a bit cold to the touch. Suddenly the pale tint to his face
took on a new light. His lips were a little too purple for Tom's comfort.
Hurriedly, Tom took off his cloak and draped it over the boy's shoulders, rubbing his arms up
and down, trying to get him warm.

The boy closed his eyes and dropped his head, leaning slightly towards Tom as he let out a
long breath. Minutes passed like this, with Tom holding him close and Harry regaining his
bearings.

"Where are we?" He finally asked in a quiet voice, his hands unclenching where they were
still tight on Tom's robes, settling his palms flat on his chest.

Tom frowned. One of his hands on Harry's arm traveled up to his neck and forced the boy to
tilt his head back to look up at him. He seemed a little out of it still, dazed and sleepy and
alarmed all in one.

"We are in an alcove a corridor over from the Trophy Room, on the ground floor." Tom
answered in a low, calm voice. He grabbed on the curls on the nape of his neck and tugged
gently. Harry closed his eyes once more. "You quite literally walked into me, darling. It's well
after curfew, possibly after midnight."

"Oh." Huh. He didn't even protest the pet name. That was a first.

"Happen often?" He asked softly, fingers turning a black curl gently.

"What?" Harry's eyelids were droopy, his body leaning more heavily against his own.

"Wandering around in the night, no idea where you are and lost somewhere beyond this plane
of existence." He deadpanned.

"Oh. That."

"Yes, Harry. That ."

"Just a couple of times. No more than three, counting this one I think." He let out a sigh.

Tom hummed to himself. The boy looked too out of it to even notice. "C'mon, darling. You
look like you need a cuppa."

Harry didn't protest as Tom put a hand around his waist and gently walked him down the way
he had come, footsteps dragging them safely away from the Transfigurations Professor.

Hopefully Peeves was done with his temper tantrum.

By the time they arrived safely at the kitchens, Harry was leaning most of his weight on Tom,
too sleepy and out of it to stand on his own. The taller male didn't comment, and simply took
the burden with no complaints.
The kitchen was almost empty, the tables covered with foods under a Stasis Charm (meant to
keep the food from going bad) ready to be fired for the morning breakfast. Few Elves were
cleaning utensils, softly chatting amongst themselves.

The Elf on duty by the door who was drying glasses on a high stool had taken one look at the
pair of them and had simply cleared a table with a wave of his tiny bony hands.

Harry's favoured star themed tea set appeared on the wooden table, teapot already steaming
with hot water and a set of metal tins in different shapes and colours set off to the side.

A big piece of chocolate cake had been cut and set with two silver spoons on one side.

Tom looked at the set table, apprehensive. Harry blinked confusedly, before an amused
sleepy smile made its way to his lips. He settled his elbows on the table and leaned his head
on his hands. He looked like the loveliest creature Tom had ever had the pleasure to lay eyes
on, at that moment.

"Don't tell me Tom Riddle doesn't know how to serve tea." He tilted his head to the side,
amused, as his black and white curls bounced for added effect. He was infuriating .
Infuriatingly beautiful.

The other boy scoffed, but none the less big hands hesitated over the teapot. His blue eyes
flickered up to lock on Harry.

"Abraxas told me you have an... specific way of serving, darling. It would not do, to offend
your sensibilities."

"Don't call me that." Well, you win some, you lose some. "And you wouldn't. Offend me, that
is. And for that matter I would never let Abraxas' clumsy hands anywhere near the china."
Tom let out a startled laugh, and Harry's green eyes gentled at the sight. He sat straighter in
his chair, some of the drowsiness dissipating from his face, even if his shoulders remained
slumped. A mischievous smile graced his lips. "But, as you seem to be a delightful young
man, I shall teach you."

" Delightful , am I?" He retorted. A smile made it's way across his lips, one side tilting
crookedly at Harry, a hidden dimple appearing as if by magic on his left cheek. The green
eyed boy only hummed back in answer, shoulders moving back.

"This might be a slightly bastardized version of the real, proper way to serve tea. But it's the
way I like to do it." Harry's small hands grabbed onto his bigger ones and brought them over
to the blue teapot with steaming hot water. "First, you warm the cup," both of their hands
combined, took the teapot and poured the hot water on a cup with circular motions, steam
rising between them "then you throw it out." Tom looked up with a questioning gaze, but
didn't comment. Both their hands rolled the cup up and out, and the water vanished mid air.

"Why not use magic?" He couldn't help but ask.

"Why do you turn the pages of your books without magic?" Harry shot back. Tom turned the
question over in his head. Complicity, commodity. It was so ingrained in his person since he
was a child he had simply never thought about it. " Exactly ." The green eyed boy said. "Now
the tea leaves" he looked at Tom, eyes moving around his face with an strangely focused air,
a stark contrast to earlier in the night, when he'd been out of it. He picked a forest green tin
from the pile off to the side, and opened it with careful hands. "You look like the type to like
a dark blend" Tom hummed in agreement "this one is peach and mango with a hint of
powdered dittany."

He dropped the leaves on the two cups, and they once again poured water on them.

"You'll wait for them to settle, and then throw out the first set."

"Why?"

"Always with the questions, aren't you, Tom Riddle?" He teased. "The first one is too strong.
There's science behind it." Tom only hummed amusedly, more relaxed in Harry's presence
than he'd been all week on his own.

As Harry instructed, once the leaves had settled on the bottom of the cup, he poured out the
dark colored water off to the side. Now, more sure than before, he took the teapot in his own
hands and poured water over the leaves in circular motions.

" Now, can I drink?" Tom raised his eyebrows as he placed the teapot back on the tray.

Harry nodded in answer, before grabbing a startling amount of sugar cubes and dropping
them on his own cup. He circled both hands around the blue ceramic, and let out a contented
sigh as he leaned back. He lifted both feet on the chair, crossing them over to sit in a lotus
position.

He looked lovely like that, comfortable and warm, shoulders back and relaxed, skin glowing
in pale shades of orange and yellows, reflecting the light coming from a lit fireplace in the
middle of the room. His cheeks were flushed, and a couple stray curls made their way down
his face.

Tom took a drink of his own tea, not bothering with any sweetener, as he was prone to liking
strong flavours. Besides, the view was sweet enough for him.

" Monster. " Harry mumbled over the rim of his cup, eyes judging.

" You too " he whispered back with a smirk "the sweet monster."

"You're barbaric! How can you stand bitter tea!?"

"The same way I stand bitter coffee, sweetheart ."

" Ew . I knew you were weird but this might just be the worst thing I know about you."

"Oh? And what else do you know?"

"Hmm. Let's see." He lifted a small long fingered hand and started ticking off. "You're the
Heir of Slytherin, for one. You speak to snakes, your favourite colour is probably green,
possibly pine or some other dark shade... You have a coffee and two buttered toasts each
morning, you refuse to drink tea in the evenings and you have a nervous tick when people
exasperate you beyond reason." He kept steadily drinking his sweet tea, eyes not leaving
Tom's. "You are a prodigy in Transfiguration, even if you hate the subject (and the teacher, or
vice versa) . You either wear the long school robes with the suit jacket underneath or none at
all—" He took a final sip, and lowered his eyes to look into his cup.

"You seem strangely knowledgeable for someone who refuses each and every one of my
advances."

"I didn't know you were making advances." Harry answered distractedly.

"Not like that , Harry. I meant—" But he was silenced by the sound of the ceramic rim of the
cup slamming a little too hard into its little plate, the cup upside down. Even the House Elves,
that so far had left them well alone, startled at the sound. Tom looked at Harry with wide
eyes, but he was far out of reach for him. Metaphorically. And maybe even physically too.

Harry picked up the cup and inspected it's contents. Tom was about to make a comment about
how the green eyed boy had claimed Tom's gifts to be too obnoxious when he clearly knew
his way around various Divination techniques, or whatever they were, when Harry tilted his
head and hummed.

"Well, that's a second."

"What? What is it? What do you see?"

Harry only turned the cup to face Tom in answer. Inside, the tea leaves had settled on the
bottom and clumped together in an strangely shaped blob. It made no sense to him, but it
must've to Harry, as his lovely face had taken on a somber demeanor. Tom lifted an eyebrow.

"What am I supposed to be seeing, Oh Great Seer?" He mocked, amused at the turn of events.

" Death ."

" Things come in threes. " Harry added, voice quiet and eyes once again far away.

Harry had to take a trip to the hospital wing the next day, too tired to deal with the headache
plaguing his every waking thought. It made him dizzy and disoriented, not even letting him
 get a proper nights of rest. It had been going on for what felt like days. Prodding at the back
of his eyes, closing in on his temples and running down to his nape like long fingers. His
brain felt too big for his skull.

The pain made him lose his appetite, it made him sensible to light and loud noises. He hated
getting out of bed each day just to be accosted by a pounding headache.

As soon as he entered the infirmary, he stumbled upon an opened box, full of purple glass
potion vials, filled with a dark thick liquid. It was... pain relieving potions? But surely the
infirmary didn't need that many—.

Before he could finish the train of thought, the Madam walked out of her office, and the
matter of potions was out of his mind.

Chapter End Notes

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 Chapter 4
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

Tom Riddle knew he was missing something.

There was no other possible explanation as to why he had been searching through the entire
Castle for months, and so far had no sign of Salazar Slytherin to be found. Not a whisp of
dark magic, no symbols, no nothing. Other than the Slytherin Common Room, there were no
magical statues of snakes, no emblems of House Slytherin, no portraits that remembered the
times of the Great Founders. Non that he had found, at least.

As if they were never there, or had vanished. Or been... removed .

He had been surely but steadily making his way floor by floor, inch of old stone by old stone
and had been disappointed time and time again.

That is not to say he hadn't found anything .

The amount of things people seemed to lose and promptly forget about was astonishing.
From old classrooms with old textbooks, potion ingredients, guides made by students
preparing for their OWL'S and NEWT'S, old school robes, and other such things.

He'd found what seemed to be an entire Wing of the Castle behind what looked like ruins in a
corridor near the Great Hall few frequented. He understood why the majority of the Hogwarts
population stayed away. There was an uneasiness in the air that was not present in the rest of
the Castle. The magic there was much older, much heavier.

The stones in the walls and floor seemed much more aged, not as cared for by the House
Elves and therefore darker in color. Cobwebs hang loosely here and there, not even spiders
were present. There were archways leading to even more hallways, doors in dark wood stood
tall and proud on each side. Alcoves covered in vines and blocked off by foliage. Little light
made its way to the corridor, and Tom had to walk with his wand in hand, lest he trip and fall
in areas where the floor had caved in. He'd had to use the force of his magic on more than
one occasion when the path forward was too filled by debris to continue.

Even the statues had fallen to decay, the magic long worn off. They didn't speak or move, like
the rest of the statues scattered around Hogwarts.

Tom thought back to the old door and the empty classroom Harry had taken him to. It had
clearly been left abandoned, perhaps even earlier than the section of the Castle he'd found.
The strangest thing, however: when he'd taken a couple wrong turns, and found the old
tapestry with the dancing Trolls, he couldn't seem to find the door leading to the abandoned
classroom. The wall was as smooth as the rest of the corridor, no signs that a door had ever
stood in its place. He thought perhaps he was too stressed, his mind had never let him down,
after all. He had an excellent memory. And yet, the abandoned room was nowhere to be
found. A mystery for another day, perhaps.

As it was, Tom, left with no other trails to follow, had taken much of his time to explore the
Wing of the Castle he had found, hoping to find something to lead him to the Chamber Of
Secrets.

But, he'd found other things instead.

There was, for example, what could have been a Library once. It stood below floor level, and
the thought that perhaps he could find another way around to the Dungeons was exciting; but,
however much he snooped around and tried to map the whole area in his mind, there were a
couple of places out of reach even for him.

A couple of corridors had clearly been forgotten so long ago the walls had caved in on them.
On a couple of others walls of different materials had been raised and closed off.

Tom wondered often what he could find on the other side.

But, the Library had taken much of his time.

It was much smaller than the one currently in use, a possible reason for being left behind. A
couple old books filled with mold stood here and there, forgotten, in tables, in bookshelves,
on windowsills.

The windows were so dirty no simple cleaning charm could clear them. Tom guessed they
must lead to the outside, as the light coming from them was too bright to be anything else but
the sun. Even the purple carpet with little ravens scattered around had started to lift from the
floor in some places.

The library even had a Restricted Section.

The spells around the entrance had clearly worn out and torn around the edges as the years
went by. Tom was able to sidestep the thin threads of Magic hanging around the old metal
door quite easily.

On the first section he walked by, he didn't find much. Empty bookshelves –some had fallen
against one another– empty tables with rusted oil lamps on them, empty chairs.

As he made his way between splintered wood and fallen shelves, a flash of light caught his
eye.

There. Nestled between two pillars, was a door.

Time had done it no justice, but even so the gold engravings were stark against the aged dark
wood. A raven mid flight, fighting a coiled snake.

As walked closer, he could feel the pulse of Magic telling him to stay away, there's nothing
here . But, even if the spell had been shiny sparkling new, he knew he would have been able
to tell there was something trying to pry his attention away. Too noticeable, too magical , for
someone who had grown up in the dull Muggle world. Even if the Magic around the Castle
might've once concealed it from untrained eyes.

Now, this spell too was unraveling. It was once powerful, he could tell. It probably had to be,
to last this long. Now , however, now it was a simple farce.

A pull of his own Magic, and the spell fell in a cascade of light to the carpeted floor. He
didn't even need his wand.

Whoever had moved all the books from the Old Library to the New One, had clearly forgotten
about this whole part of the Restricted Section.

Harry had not, could not , for the life of him, take Divination as an elective. It would be too
bad a joke even for him.

This, of course, had left him with little option as to what electives he had been able to take
during his sixth year.

Care of Magical Creatures was a given, even if the thought of (not so) little Hagrid being a
student and not a teacher squeezed his insides uncomfortably.

His other elective back Home had been Divination, as Ron had thought it was a good idea to
enroll in an 'easy class'.

Now, however, Harry had been left with three options: Ancient Runes, Arithmancy and
Alchemy. He had, as it was, no interest in either of them.

The Divination teacher, on the other hand, had plenty of interest in him.

He'd had a long, long talk with Slughorn when he'd been enrolled in Hogwarts, and since the
Professor seemed to think he was a poor orphan who'd been homeschooled and hidden away
his whole life, he didn't want Harry to be overwhelmed with all his new classes and had been
able to petition Headmaster Armando Dippet for him to be able to sit out on some of the
electives, save for Care.

The Divination teacher, once she heard the rumors about him, had been quite adamant he join
her class.

He suspected some of the gifts he'd been left as of recently had been her's, in fact. Tom
Riddle could not take all the credit.
But no matter how hard she tried, Harry shied away from any attempts of persuasion. There
was something so very odd about her, from the smell that emanated off of her every time she
entered a room, heavy and with a note of rosemary, to the extravagant shine of her
accessories, to the way her robes brushed the floor. She was misty eyed most of the time,
almost absent-like, except when she was not. Her light blue eyes seemed to zero in on Harry
with single minded focus every time they came into contact. It weirded him out.

Harry had spent much of his time lately combing through the Library. He came and went,
searched and read and dusted old forgotten books. But he couldn't seem to find what he'd set
out to look.

It was early yet in the day, none of the snakes in his dorm room had woken, all their curtains
drawn closed. Harry was usually one of the first to wake, his routine so ingrained in his
person that even if he was half an hour late he would be up, startled and afraid to face the
day.

As it was, he often wandered to the Great Hall on his own, and waited for Orion to make an
appearance by his side, usually accompanied by his twin sister, Lucretia.

Abraxas was, more often than not, late to every meal. His blond hair had to be perfectly
straight, flawlessly styled; sometimes in a half up, sometimes in a low ponytail, but most
often left unbound. On one memorable occasion, he'd let Harry braid it down his back during
a free period, when they'd sat outside enjoying the sun.

Since the start of the year, from the very first moment he'd sat on the Slytherin table during
the Welcome Feast, Abraxas had mostly stuck to his side.

It had been a right shock to Harry: seeing his parents' murderer enjoying a roasted pig, sat by
a blond face so familiar it made his heart clench with angst. He knew that face, knew those
features, even if the boy who carried them was not the same.

Abraxas Malfoy had been something of a light on a very dark day. He was a bit of an airhead,
and a bit silly, but he was as loyal as a dog. Harry often wandered: if prejudice wasn't so
strong in his family, if he would have ended up in Hufflepuff, in another universe. He'd taken
one look at Harry and declared him interesting .

Just as he was. Just Harry . Not Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, or Harry Potter, the Boy
Who Lied, or even Undesirable No. 1.

Here, in this time, he was Just Harry, Harry Evans, a boy unknown. And perhaps a Seer. But
probably not.

And Abraxas had been there. Mostly silly, mostly chattering, but there .
He couldn't say the same about Tom Riddle.

The boy had dismissed him on sight, if often he looked at Harry like he was missing a puzzle
piece, but mostly kept to his circle. He had no use for Tom Riddle back then.

Now, it seemed, he'd found a place for Harry on his chessboard.

And where Tom Riddle went, Orion Black followed.

A great storm hit on Samhain.

The wind was so strong, students had been advised against going outside to celebrate the
festivities.

A couple of Clubs (including Choir, the Duelling Ring, and even the Gobstones Club) had
banded together and prepared music, games, tents and tables to place outside. The House
Elves had chimed in with food and drink, candles and decoration.

And then the sky had darkened, well before nightfall. The rain had taken its time to appear,
but the wind that carried it had been so strong, every window and door had to be firmly shut.
Even spells placed around the perimeter of the courtyard where they'd wanted to hold the
Feast had torn and fallen against mother nature.

And when it rained, it stormed.

Most of the student population had been looking out of windows towards the sky during the
course of the day, faces crestfallen. A lot of them had been looking forward to the Samhain
Feast, to the feel of Wild Magic congregated together, especially at this time of the year when
the Veil between worlds thinned. But to no avail, as it stood, the festivities could not take
place.

Or, well .

Something occurred to Harry.

Surely the Reception Hall would be big enough.

Before the night could take its grip, Harry Evans had ran down to the Kitchens, and had a
long, winded talk with the Head House Elf.

Then the House Elf had grabbed each Club Leader and brought them down too.

Then the Heads of Houses had been notified.

And then all the Elves had ran around in bounds of magic and light, moving food and decor
and tables around, lighting candles and orbs meant to hold magic for long periods of time and
under the noses of the students still in class, prepared a Feast and a makeshift Market right
outside the Great Hall, where games and circles of Magic had been drawn in chalk and
careful runes settled on the inside of the rings.

Decorations hung from the ceiling, and on the floor of the Entrance Hall a big purple carpet
with the phases of the moon painted in gold had been brought over and splayed proudly on
the center of the corridor.

The little tables meant to hold merchandise had been set on either side, and the owners of
each stand notified if told to keep silent: the Festivities would go on!

Artisan's were rather on nowadays: some students crafted amulets for protection in runes
(perhaps the most famous, with the War still on), other's simply charmed objects, like
butterfly hair clips, or flower buttons, to move and fly and change position and colours.
Others fixed clothes or added accessories in extravagant shapes and materials.

Even Harry had his own little stand, a deck of gold leafed cards settled on a little table.

If the Hogwarts population thought he was the next coming of Cassandra, he'd make it worth
it.

By the time dinner rolled around, everyone was set in place, waiting for the first wave of
students to arrive.

The excitement was palpable in the air, the magic starting to gather.

As it was, the first one to walk around the corner was one Abraxas Malfoy.

The squeak of joy was heard all over the castle.

Tom Riddle, much like Abraxas Malfoy, had walked around the corner and had found a little
festival in full swing.

Candles floated over the heads of students, lighting up the Entrance Hall and starving off the
cold that crept from the outside.

Stands on either side of the corridor had been set up, and Tom saw students exchange money
and goods with fast hands every time he walked. Everyone was in high spirits, it seemed.

Then he found Harry Evans, sat behind his own little table. He was dressed in his star robes,
he wore his rings, and waved his tarot deck around.

The expression on his face was gentle as he read the fortune of whatever imbecile thought
they could take up his time. He spied a card falling out of the deck just as he shuffled the
cards. A wheel faced Harry upside down.

Orion was positioned right behind him, leaning against the wall and watching the
proceedings with attentive gray eyes. When his eyes caught Tom's, he nodded at him before
looking away.

Well then.

He'd seen a Ravenclaw selling wand holsters. He definitely needed a new one.

As the night wore on, the Market was dismantled and the students encouraged to visit the
activities inside.

Tom could spy Abraxas dragging Harry by the hand, both their faces split into twin smiles,
their white hair matching.

Different kinds of food and sweets had been displayed on long tables, drinks handed out
around in trays held simply by Magic.

The Choir was rightly having a blast off to the side, standing on the steps that separated the
teachers from the rest of the students on a normal day, some instruments were playing on
their own, while others were tightly held by their owners. A lively tune played in the
background.

Tom was quietly speaking with a Hufflepuff Prefect, who claimed his aunt was a lively Dark
Witch who was very adept at potions, when the band suddenly stopped playing.

Somewhere in the middle of the crowd, someone screamed.

Students opened a path, a couple of them looking up and pushing fellow students aside with
apprehension.

Tom too looked up.

A chandelier, hanging by a long chain dangled precariously from side to side, and a couple of
candles had fallen off already.

The links were breaking. One by one.

Tom looked down, and his heart jumped to his throat.

Harry Evans was standing in the middle of the crowd, not looking up. Not even noticing no
one was at his side, nor the preoccupied glances.

No one had their wands out —he noted— why was no one with their wands out.

Then the last link broke.

Tom flung his hand out, a pull of Magic so strong and desperate it tore right through Harry's
star robes and clung to his body tightly as the boy traveled through the air and slammed into
Tom's arms. He stumbled, barely able to stand his ground.

There was a moment of disquiet. A silence only interrupted by a piercing noise.

Harry swayed where he stood, feet barely on the ground, his eyes unfocussed. Tom Riddle
grabbed onto him with alarm.

Then the chandelier crashed against the linoleum floor, right where he had stood.

When Tom spied where Harry's line of sight was, he found the Transfigurations Professor
standing on the other side of the chandelier. He tightened his hold on Harry and wondered .

Harry had mixed feelings about Dumbledore.

He'd had them for a while now, even before meeting this Time's Professor, with his auburn
hair and calculating blue eyes.

He'd been a pillar of magic, of wisdom and everything Harry had associated with the
Wizarding World, back in his own Time.

Then he had left Harry in the dark, scorned and hated and so, so alone for a whole year. It
was like being a little defenseless kid back at the Dursleys once again, a servant to be called
if needed and out of sight if not. If he didn't have a use, he didn't have a purpose.
Dumbledore had looked the other way as Harry and the better part of the population of
Hogwarts had been tortured right under his crooked blasted nose, and silenced to complicity
for fear of punishment. He had watched and even ordered for his already fragile mind to be
violated over, and over, and over .

Then he let Sirius die, because he was not there. Once again.

And Harry was left alone, in his grief.

In his rage.

So yes, he had mixed feelings about Albus — however many names— Dumbledore.

This Time's Dumbledore was no different, it seemed.

From the first day of term he had looked Harry over with suspicion, had tried to question him
thoroughly about his origins, where he'd come from, how come he knew so much about, well,
everything really. His classes, his classmates, the Castle. The teachers. How come he didn't
get lost? Seer magic was not an acceptable answer.

He'd deducted points for asking questions, questioned his wand movements and even chided
Harry for wearing his star robes in class. And then for arriving early, then, for arriving late
(he'd been exactly on time), for sitting with Orion, for not seating with Orion, then sitting
with someone not of his House... really, anything he could think of.

Even that time he'd, well. Harry hadn't been entirely sure what had happened. But it had
made Professor Dumbledore irrationally mad.

It had started with Harry getting an itch at the back of his throat as the last Transfigurations
class of the week came to an end. He had been feeling out of sorts the entire day, and Tom
Riddle kept looking at him from the corner of his dark blue eyes with a strange glint.

Something. He was forgetting something. Something important. Or... maybe not him .

Someone was forgetting something important.

Harry had stayed firmly seated after class was dismissed, putting things away in his new
leather cross bag Abraxas had presented to him that very same day, swearing up and down
Tom had nothing to do with it. He'd simply found it in the corner of Twilfitt & Tattings,
gathering dust. It had very small, very delicate stars engraved in it. Harry loved it. If he still
grieved over his destroyed star robes.

Tom had taken one last long look at Harry, before walking out the door. He'd be waiting
outside for him, he knew. Tom Riddle rarely left his side these days.

Apparently he'd been too quiet, for when Dumbledore lifted his head and found a student still
sat at their desk, he startled badly enough to drop the bottle of ink he'd been holding.

Harry stared in despair as the ink flowed through parchment and wood, down the sides of the
table and onto the stone floor.

"Sorry, Professor! I didn't mean to startle—"

"No harm done, Mr. Evans." Dumbledore interrupted with a firm tone, waving his hand over
the mess and setting it back to rights. " No harm done. " He repeated.

Harry took a deep breath and let it go slowly. Right .

"Did you need something, Harry?" He only hummed in answer. There was... there definitely
was... something . If only he could only remember what it was.

"Yes, Professor." Harry answered back distractedly.

When Professor Dumbledore looked into his eyes, the man started again. There was an odd
look to his face, and he paled several shades.

Harry stood from his desk, and approached the older man. There was a tug in his gut, a
ringing in his ears begging to be heard.

"Harry Evans, are you quite alright?"

But the boy only narrowed his eyes and tilted his head in response, his gaze firmly on the
man's chest.

Oh. Oh yes, o f course .

"You should bring a pair of socks, Professor."

"I beg your pardon?" The tone this time was forced, something odd stuck in the older man's
throat.

"When you go to Hogsmeade. You should bring a pair of fluffy socks." Harry finally looked
up, curls bouncing as he tilted his head back. The Professor was truly awfully tall.

"And why do you think I'll be going to Hogsmeade any time soon?"
"You will be going today, Professor. You forgot, but they did not." He insisted. A beat passed
between them, the sparkling blue eyes losing their glint.

A somber expression passed through Dumbledore's face.

"It's starting to get really cold now, Professor, I think you should really–"

"That's enough, Mr. Evans. Get out of my classroom if you'll be making up stories again."
Something, something was odd .

Oh .

Of course.

" They're sick ." Harry muttered to himself with wide eyes. Of course, the itchy throat, the
odd feeling, too hot or too cold he could not think . And the potions .

"Out, Mr. Evans. Or there will be more points lost for you today." At that Harry finally
snapped out of it, green eyes focusing on the man in front of him. His blue eyes were
narrowed, an expression not dissimilar to a snarl on his lips. His arm was flexed and hand
open, ready to cast. There was a blue grow over his skin, and a pressure was steadily making
its way behind Harry's eyes. He could pin to a point the spell the man had at the tips of his
fingers.

"That's illegal, Professor. And I was going ." He turned and fled, back to the security of Tom
Riddle's shadow.

Tom was indeed outside, arms crossed and leaning on the wall opposite from the Classroom.
The hallway was deserted.

The taller boy took one look at his wide eyes and pale face, grabbed him by the shoulders and
dragged him away.

"What happened?"

"I think I was just threatened." The arms around him tightened just a fraction.

"You think ?"

"It was pretty implicit." Tom hummed in answer.

"Dumbledore doesn't just threaten people, Harry. He's pretty cunning, for a Gryffindor." A
heavy stone settled on his chest. Surely he wasn't implying that he thought.

"Are you calling me a liar too?" He unconsciously rubbed the scar on the back of his left
hand, cleverly concealed underneath a glamour. Tom watched the movement with inquisitive
eyes, but didn't comment on that.

" Too ? Did he imply you were a liar, darling?"

"Amongst other things." He mumbled. The hands on his shoulders dug into his skin a bit
more as they walked back towards the Dungeons. It was a grounding weight, almost
comforting. A thumb applied pressure on his collarbone, and he tilted his head back.

He needed a pick me up. Possibly something sweet. Maybe chocolate.

A thought finally pushed past the uncomfortable feeling of not being sick but knowing
someone else was, on top of being brushed off as nothing more than a nuisance yet again and.

"Tom?"

" Hmm ?"

"Don't call me darling ."

"Hmm."

Harry was over it at that point. The nasty looks, the short answers, the questions, claiming
him to be a liar.

Even Professor Slughorn had caught on to the apparent attempt at sabotage.

"I'll knock some sense into him, Harry! Don't you worry your wonderful head about it." The
man had said, and that was that.

At least he'd tried. Even if Dumbledore still deducted points and watched from over his desk
in the corner of the room like a predator ready to pounce.

He looked at Tom Riddle much the same way, he'd noted.

Professor Slughorn had been a blessing in disguise, by contrast.

He was a rather simple man, Harry had come to find. Cunning, yes, as was befitting the Head
of House Slytherin, yet simple. He liked to surround himself with celebrities and prodigies,
unique people in their field, rare magical artifacts and potion ingredients. He liked
extravagant robes with intricate designs and soft fabrics. He liked anything flashy.

And he liked Harry.

Well. He liked his supposed Seer Abilities. From the day they'd stumbled onto one another in
Knockturn Alley, Professor Slughorn had more or less taken him under his wing.
Harry thought he might grow to like him, this flamboyantly unique sort of uncle figure he'd
almost had with— Sirius .

He taught Potions much better than Snape, for starters. He was patient with his Snakes, even
more so with the ones he thought would make it far in life. That is to say, he loved teaching
Harry the whole school curriculum up to sixth year, from a beginners introduction up to a
NEWT level potion class. Harry had finally been able to understand the implicit why's and
how's of potion making. It had little to do with his lack of interest in the subject or lazy
studying, and more the fact that Severus Snape was a cunt and a shit teacher .

He'd never been given a foundation from a Muggleborn's point of view. And now he had it.

He often wondered if all the subjects were like this, if they required a previous knowledge
he'd never been aware of until now that made it easier for purebloods and half bloods raised
in Magic to get to the top of the class and be able to perform to the best of their abilities.

Tom and Harry had taken to studying together, somehow.

Well, really, it started with Tom Riddle invading every space Harry occupied, no matter how
hidden from sight he always seemed to find him. Be it in the Common Room, in the desk
farthest from the fire, or in the windowsills facing the courtyard, a tree near the Greenhouses
or an abandoned classroom close to the Astronomy Tower. Tom was always there, by his
side.

Harry had been in a bit of a fit of hysterics once he had found a couple of books on
Fundamental Magic; they explained the way and the how's and why's of Magic. It was a
rather simple Beginners guide to Magic, if you would. They had answers to questions Harry
had never thought about. Why stir potions thirteen times instead of twelve? What was the
difference between clockwise and anticlockwise? Were there permanent transfigurations?
How was a hex different than a jinx? And so on and so forth.

Tom had watched, amused, as Harry devoured every book he could find. Any Divination
book was suspiciously and pointedly absent from his mad research.

They were sitting by a window hidden deep in the library by towering shelves. The sunlight
streaming through the glass illuminated their table. Books and notes and bits of parchment
and ink were scattered about.

Tom had already finished the last of his essays that morning, but he sat bemusedly looking at
Harry from the other side of the desk with an indulgent expression on his face.
Harry was not, in fact, doing any of his homework. The books scattered about were all on
different subjects, different types of Magic and even some were story retellings.

Tom had simply sat back and watched, for hours.

Finally, when Harry seemed to have gone through all the books from cover to cover and not
found what he was looking for, he had stood from his chair where he'd been sitting in the
same curled position with both his feet up and his head on his knees, and wandered over to
the shelves.

The look on his face was a little off, and it made something like an alarm itch in the back of
Tom's mind. He moved to follow.

Harry wandered from shelf to shelf for long minutes, small hand caressing gently the spine of
various books, before seemingly and at random picking them up or leaving them behind.

Then he paused.

He went back a couple steps, almost running into Tom, who had been following close behind.

Harry looked up and tilted his head. Tom followed his line of sight, but all he found were
book spines of all the same shade, none different than the other. None stood out. They were
in an older section of the library, clearly not very well looked after, judging by the cobwebs
around various spots and the dust sitting heavily on the books.

The green eyed boy took a couple of steps towards the shelves and stood on his tiptoes to
grasp a book clearly too far out of reach for him. Before Tom could do anything to help, one
of the inconspicuous books jumped towards Harry's hand, who in turn lost his balance and
the grip on the cover.

The heavy book fell and hit him square on the face.

" Harry !" Tom's alarmed voice rang too loud in the confined space between the shelves.
Harry had grabbed his face in one hand, dropping on his knees.

The book had fallen open on the floor, with pages spread somewhere near the end.

" Oh. " Harry uttered. Like he'd just had a grand realization, before dropping faint on the
carpeted floor.

Obscurus , the book read. But Tom didn't have time to think about that, too busy cradling
Harry close to his chest and trying to get him to open his eyes, but to no avail. A trail of red
made its way down his cheek, and panic set heavy on his bones.

He sprinted to the Hospital Wing, small boy in his arms.

Chapter End Notes

The Wheel of Fortune, reversed (facing Harry): no control, bad luck. (pretty self
explanatory, this one)

(I'm pretty sure there's an excessive use of italics in this one lol)
Life's been really stressful lately so I've been writting more =)
This is more or less a filler chapter, as the next one got too heavy and long for it to fit
into one

you may find me on Tumblr

 Chapter 5
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

The first professor to appear in the doorway of the infirmary was not their Head of House.

Professor Dumbledore stood, back straight and twinkling blue eyes narrowed as he took in
the scene in front of him.

Harry was laying on a hospital bed, nose broken and cut just on the bridge, where the heavy
book had landed head on. The Matron had given him potions for the pain and had set the
bone straight, before casting a series of diagnostic charms on him and cursing in colourful
words. Something about badly healed broken bones and possibly malnutrition .

And then Dumbledore had stumbled in .

"Tom. I heard from the librarian there was a commotion in the library. What's happened?"

" Commotion ? More like Harry got brained by a book. He's studying too hard I say."
Muttered Abraxas from where he was sitting at the foot of the bed. He'd found them just
outside the library, when Tom had been all but running towards the Hospital Wing.

Dumbledore cast a harsh glare his way, not saying a word. Tom cleared his throat.

"It was exactly like that, Professor . Harry lost his grip and the book fell on his head." Tom
didn't even lift his eyes from where they were scanning Harry's face. He looked peaceful like
this, swaddled in blankets and curls scattered around his face. Sleeping peacefully, unaware
of the cogs turning around him. "The Matron said he might need to stay overnight." He
added, as an afterthought.

"Did she say why?" Tom bit the inside of his cheek, jaw clenching.

She did explain why, but he was not about to air out Harry's precarious health issues to the
nosy Transfigurations Professor.

Just then, Orion ran in.

" Harry !" He exclaimed, deliberately bumping Dumbledore's shoulder on his way in. An
amused smile made its way onto Tom's face, and he tried to conceal it behind a cough. He
adored Orion at that moment. "Tom! Lucy said she saw you coming this way. What
happened?" He looked at Harry's unmoving figure and dropped by his side. "He looks cold.
Doesn't he look cold , Abraxas?" He was being purposefully obnoxious, Tom knew.

"He does look a bit cold." Abraxas took one of Harry's hands in both of his, gasping at the
stark temperature difference. "I know! I'll bring his favourite blanket. I'll be right back!" And
he was off like a shot.
Orion and Tom stared at each other from each side of the hospital bed. Hopefully the blond
found what he was looking for.

" So ?" He said. Tom sighed. Dumbledore was still there within earshot.

"A book. Fell on his head." He ground out, hoping Orion would take the hint for what it was.
We'll talk later . The black haired boy hummed in answer.

They stayed silent for a couple of minutes.

"Poor thing." Orion finally whispered, long fingers caressed through Harry's black and white
curls, disentangling them gently.

"Mr. Riddle," Dumbledore cleared his throat before speaking again, his voice was grating on
Tom's nerves. "If you could step outside, just a moment—" but before he could finish he was
once again pushed aside, this time by a rather large man in tan robes, closely followed by
Abraxas. A look of triumph was graced upon the blond's sharp features.

" Harry !" Slughorn exclaimed as he approached the bed, concerned blue eyes taking in the
boy's broken nose. "He's asleep! Why is he asleep? Why isn't he waking? I'll speak to the
Matron!" And without so much as waiting for an answer, he was off like a shot. As he was
about to walk off however, he seemed to take notice of Dumbledore for the first time.
"Professor! What are you doing here? How long have you been here? Why did no one notify
me?" But Slughorn was not looking for answers, going by the look on his face, his blue eyes
harsh.

Dumbledore drew himself up, standing tall and beard tilting just this way.

"Well, Horace–" He started, sagely.

"Thank you for being here for my boys! You can go now." There was no arguing with Horace
Slughorn now, the line of his back straight and his nose tilted up to look at the auburn haired
Professor.

Tom smirked. There was no denying the snake protected it's nest.

Dumbledore stood still for a few moments, before nodding slowly and retreating. Seemly he
knew when to pick his battles.

Tom's smugness was short-lived, however. Slughorn turned on Tom like a viper ready to bite.

"What's happened ?" He repeated, unknowingly just as Dumbledore had asked. His round
face was devoid of cheer, for once. His cheeks were red from the exertion of running from
the Dungeons to the Hospital Wing.

"He had... an episode, I believe."

" Ah ." And that was enough for the Potions Professor, who walked towards the Matron's
office to speak with her in low voices.
"An episode?" Abraxas asked as he laid Harry's favourite– hmm .

"Abraxas." Tom said, voice flat.

"Yes?"

"That is my blanket. From my bed."

"Oh, well. Yes."

"You said you'd bring Harry's favourite blanket."

"This is his favourite blanket."

Tom was surrounded by idiots.

"An episode, Tom?" Orion insisted from the other side of the bed, mercury eyes worried.

"Yes, that's what Slughorn has called them before. Harry goes a little vacant sometimes, have
you not noticed? He mutters to himself or walks off without explanation." Tom sighed. It was
probably the downsides of being a Seer, he supposed. Harry saw things they could not. "It's
happening more and more often, now."

"Oh, I've never noticed. He's never done that, I suppose. Not with me." Something warm
spread through Tom's insides, despite the worry he felt for the green eyed boy.

Harry had to stay in the Hospital Wing overnight.

The Matron had been concerned by his lack of response to treatment, and the possible
concussion he might've had. On top of that, Harry was severely malnourished, along with
badly healed past injuries that no one had an answer for.

"He's never fallen off a broom, has he?" The Matron had asked.

"...Not that we know, Madam. He's an excellent flyer."

Closely followed by:

"Where did you say he'd been living before Hogwarts?"

"We didn't, Madam."

And so on, and so forth.

Turns out no one knew much of Harry at all. Nothing important , at least.
Tom stayed firmly by his side, even when everyone else had gone to bed.

The Matron had tried to kick him out at least three separate times, before caving in and
telling the House Elves to prepare a bed for Tom to sleep in.

But he could not sleep. Thoughts kept running through his head, one after another. Who was
Harry before becoming a Hogwarts student? He showed all the signs of neglect. Where had
he been staying? Had they been aware of Harry's Seer abilities? Had they exploited him?
Tortured him for information? Withheld food? Had Harry escaped ? Orion's father could find
no record of a Harry Evans ever being born on British soil. Was it a false name? Or was he
simply born elsewhere? Was he running from someone ?

His mind wouldn't shut up.

So there he was, sat by Harry Evans's side and dragging a single black and white curl around
by his finger.

Harry's skin had a golden tint even in the pale light coming from outside.

It was late now, well after curfew.

He looked back to the foot of the bed, and found the other boy's robes thrown about. He
sighed and set to folding them and putting them off to the side, when his hand grazed wood
and a powerful tingle travelled all the way from the tips of his fingers, to his very center.

What.

Harry's wand, still tucked on his robes slid from the right sleeve and into the bed with no
sound. Tom's ears were ringing and blood pumped rapidly in his veins.

It felt. It felt like his . Like his wand.

But that couldn't possibly be right, as the wood was of a different color, the grain much more
pronounced. It was lighter and also shorter. It was clearly a different wand, if possibly with a
similar core.

But why in the world did it feel so closely tied to him? Like it was his own?

He slept little that night, gazing at the boy asleep on the hospital bed, full of questions and no
answers.

Harry Potter dreamed, or more like, battled in between nightmares and memories.
He trashed and screamed at the person holding him back.

He had cried and then sobbed as the reality of the situation sunk into his heart like a heavy
stone.

Sirius Black was dead.

His raw scream tore through the air and a wave of magic escaped his body as the anguish
became too much to bear.

Then the anger set in.

Harry Potter was confined inside the walls of the Headmaster's Office at Hogwarts.

He was so drained and so angry he hadn't noticed when the old man had plucked him like a
street kitten by the scruff from the parlour of the Ministry and brought him back to the
School.

And now he was caged, like a bird.

Or a dragon.

His wings had been cut, tore right out of his body by bloodied old hands.

His heart felt like it had been incarcerated in barbed wire, and the spikes broke through
tissue and muscle and vessels every time he breathed.

He had no voice left, throat raw and bloody from screaming for such long periods of time.

The anger simmered inside of him, just below the surface of his skin, burning, before turning
into a volcano full of lava and fire that poured out of him in waves of destructive magic.

He had been lured, lied to, and cut open from one end to another with a quill.

He had been alone. So, so alone.

And where had Dumbledore been? Galavanting somewhere off in the world, not sparing a
glance Harry's way.

Something in him broke.

Now he didn't even have Sirius.

The entire wizarding world had turned their backs on him, yet again, deeming him a filthy
liar and a mental 'saviour'.

Flames licked at his skin, red and orange illuminating the room he was trapped in.

'No more', he pleaded.

'No more, please. I can't do this no more.'

The flames became hotter, whiter in colour as they ascended in every direction. The portraits
in the room let out startled screams at the sight, but Harry was too far gone to hear.

The room was absolutely filled with odd artifacts and trinkets, books and paintings. From top
to bottom. They all succumbed to the flames of fiendfyre as if they were butter.

Something hidden in a drawer of a desk off to the side, wrapped in protective magic reacted
to the heat. It broke under the weight of the flames and created sparks of wild magic as it
dissolved. The magic had nowhere to go but towards the very center of the inferno.

Towards a boy with green eyes and bleached white hair.

The sand and magic wrapped around him like a cloak, warm and comforting in its weight,
and he knew no more.

He came to be in slow breaths and heavy lids. His mind was foggy, his body heavy.

He was laying on the floor of the Headmaster's Office, Hogwarts, somewhere in Scotland.

He wanted out.

Harry crawled on his hands and knees towards the big fireplace, seemingly not taking notice
of the changed furniture and the lack of portraits on the walls. He only had one thing in
mind: getting out.

He could no longer feel Dumbledore's magic keeping him trapped and hidden from the
outside world. It was his chance to escape.

But, where to go?

'Grimmauld Place', his mind whispered. 'Go to safe ground. Go back to Sirius'.

His tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth, heavy and dry and when he was able to gather
enough Floo Powder for a one way trip, the words that came out of his mouth were disjointed
and half formed. But it was too late.

He was engulfed in green flames and transported far away.

He landed somewhere familiar. Familiar in its atrocity.

Borgin and Burkes.

Harry's head was unfocused and sluggish, but he still had enough presence of mind to quietly
slide off the fireplace still roaring with flames and hide between the shelves. And just in time,
as not even a second after a thin greying man walked out from behind the counter.

Harry was eye to eye with one of the lower shelves when something caught his attention. It
was a jar, shoved all the way back and covered in dust and cobwebs. The inside of the glass
was murky. Something like curiosity pulled low on Harry's belly. It was silly, and he was still
extremely disoriented, but the pull increased as he brought his hand towards the shelf. On a
whim, his hand closed around the jar and tugged it close to his body.

"Uh. Thought I heard the Floo." The man muttered to himself as he surveyed the decrepit
shop filled with antiques.

The man finally disappeared in the back of the shop again, and as he brushed through
something silver and green glinted at him from across the room. However, Harry booked it
for the door before he could think too much of it.

Only.

Only to collide upon yet another Wizard, this one primly dressed in tan long robes
embroidered in orange with peacocks and feathers scattered throughout, golden buttons
struggled to keep his waistcoat afloat as the man stumbled back away from the boy.

The itching feeling keeping Harry on his toes suddenly went sideways and exploded on the
back of his mind. He pushed the jar on the man's hands.

"You might need this." Was all he could utter before walking fast and with his head low,
trying to find the correct street to bring him into Diagon Alley.

He'll be damned if he spent another second trapped in Knockturn.

As he walked, steps slow and lazy he felt something hard almost give in beneath his foot.
When he looked down, he noticed little sprouts of green peeking from between the
cobblestone.

It was a tiny plant, truly insignificant. Little spots of yellow were making their way in little
round buds, ready to open at any moment, with big (small) pretentious leaves standing proud
and obnoxious in the middle of the street.

It looked a little bit like him, he supposed. Growing in the most unfavorable conditions, alone
and to the side and yet in everyone's way.

A mere hindrance. A nuisance.

Harry plucked it and pocketed it.

By the time he made it to the Leaky Cauldron, he had somehow magically acquired a heavy
cloak with a hood that covered his face, which was good.
What was not good, was the fact that he had seen the date in passing in one of the windows of
a shop.

June 18th, 1943.

Because of fucking course.

Somehow he had kept money on him through his apparent time travel stunt, and was able to
rent a room and slam face down on the freshly washed covers and pass the fuck out.

He was so magically drained, so exhausted, his senses were going highwire. His skin tingled
and his eyes burned and his hands itched to touch something just out of his reach, out of his
field of vision and he could not identify what it was.

All he needed was a good nap, food, and to put this nightmare behind him.

Hopefully.

The nightmare did not end.

By the time he woke, the soft morning light just before sunrise was streaming through the
sheer curtains. The only noise he could hear were those below him, in the tavern, chairs
being moved to and from, and hushed conversations.

It was too early to be alive, it seemed.

But, he was still in the Leaky Cauldron. And that meant he was in a Time not his own.

He resorted to washing up before facing the day, seeing as he was still covered in blood and
soot from, well.

That.

He made it out of the Leaky Cauldron and into Diagon Alley, ready to wander without pause
or reason with no destination in mind. He had taken a few sweets from the bar and stacked
them between the laps of the cloak (his cloak? the cloak he'd stolen somehow) and set out
into the Alley.

He walked and spied on windows, strolled between the few people lingering in the morning
sun, the morning air chill and pleasing on his heated skin.

He walked farther than he ever had, perhaps. It went on for hours and hours, not stopping,
only wandering.
The crowd grew more dense as lunch time approached, then diddled and finally night was
once more upon him.

He was making his way back to the entrance of the Alley when he once again encountered the
Wizard in tan robes. This time his robes were not primely pressed, and instead were crinkled
and in disarray. His hair stood on end beneath his hat, and his round face was flushed.

He was frantically moving in circles, movements distracted and anxious. He was looking
through an expanded pouch in purple colours with blue accents with increased alarm.

"...I could've sworn... And now the apothecary is closed..." The man was mumbling to
himself, a sheen of sweat on his forehead.

Finally, the man's wandering hands stilled before he let out a defeated sigh, shoulders
dropping.

Something occurred to Harry.

"Sir? I think you dropped this." He took the inconspicuous, little, pretentious plant he himself
had plucked from the road the day before.

Harry was pretty sure it was Common Rue, after inspecting it in the morning light. It was a
common ingredient in some potions.

Felix felicis, to name one.

The man's big blue eyes settled on him, his mouth hanging open as he took in the sight of the
little rue in Harry's hands.

"Could it be...?" He did not finish his thought, before carefully taking the bud from Harry's
hands into his, an startled joyous laugh falling from his lips.

Deed done, Harry turned to leave, ready to get between the covers of his rented room when a
shout stopped him in his tracks.

"You! You must be... Thank you!" The man ran to catch up to him. "Anything... anything you
could need–" he gasped between breaths "Horace Slughorn, I'm a teacher at Hogwarts. I
don't believe I recognize your face!"

Harry looked back at the man with startled eyes. A teacher—?

He might be able to help with a few problems being dragged back in time kicking and
screaming had created.

Just in luck, it seemed.

"I'm Harry, sir. Harry... Evans."

Luck, indeed.

The nightmare-memory warped and changed.

He woke up.

He was disoriented and out of sorts, but more awake than he'd been in what felt like days. A
white high ceiling greeted him. He knew it very well. He was in the Hospital Wing, and
judging by the very faint glow around the room it was well before sunrise.

The only nose in the room was his own breathing. And another's.

When he looked down, he found a boy sitting on his bedside, leaning forward on his elbows
on Harry's bed, deeply asleep. His face was obscured by his arms, but only one glance at
those chocolate curls and Harry knew it was Tom.

Tom Riddle was asleep on his bedside.

Something giddy and warm made it's way around his body, chasing away the cold chill of the
morning air. He turned to lay on his side, towards Tom.

The other boy must've felt him move, as he too moved in his sleep. His face appeared from
around his arms, curls falling over his eyes, and a deep content sigh left his lips.

He looked good like this. Handsome. Peaceful too, in a way. All the facades he put on to face
the day each day had fallen away, leaving behind a youthful face. He had long lashes and
strong cheekbones, and Harry knew that when he smiled like he meant it a rare dimple would
make an appearance. His curls always seemed to favour one side, no matter how many times
the other boy battled them into submission.

He looked pale, too, if a little cold.

Harry took stock of his blankets, eyebrows rising when he found a handmade wool blanket
draped over him. Tom's .

With careful hands, he tugged it from the bed and wrapped it around the sleeping boy.

The boy hummed in his sleep, and Harry feared for a second he'd woken him. But he settled
again, and snuggled closer to him.
Harry smiled amusedly at the scene, before he too laid down again on his side and fell asleep.

Orion opened the door to the infirmary first thing in the morning with a tray floating by his
side full of baked goods. When the Elves found out Harry had gotten hurt they'd been beyond
themselves in worry.

Cue stress baking. Hogwarts was sure to be in big supply of chocolate muffins, teacle tart,
croissants filled with ham and cheese and little moon cakes for the next month or so. Harry's
favourites only, of course.

However, before he could set foot into the Infirmary proper, he caught sight of two sleeping
boys and stopped dead on his tracks.

Harry was laying on his side, curled around another who could only be Tom. He was sitting
on a chair by his bed and leaning forward onto the mattress. Their faces were inches apart,
breathing each other's air as they slept.

Tom could have his head for this . Even witnessing this scene was too much.

As quietly and as efficiently as he could, he dropped the tray by the bedside table before
retreating slowly towards the entrance. Then he stopped again, and thought better of it.

He looked around, spotting the room dividers folded and set off to the side. A couple wand
movements and a lot of concentration later, the bed holding the two boys could no longer be
seen from the entrance door.

Orion's job was done for the day.

He fled, as quietly as his fast footsteps allowed him.

Harry woke again in slow increments. He was warm and coddled in a swarm of blankets, and
a hand was combing gently through his curls, and now and then he could feel nails scraping
his scalp.

He let out a whine and snuggled deeper into the bed, the covers completely swallowing him.
Surely it was too early.

A low chuckle reached his ears, before the hand on his curls cupped the back of his head.

"C'mon, darling. The Matron said you've slept enough." Tom's voice sounded lovely in the
morning, but Harry only shook his head in answer, and borrowed deeper still into the
blankets. "There's breakfast for you. Treacle tart and croissants." When he received no
answer, the boy changed tracks. "The House Elves were beside themselves, you know? You
shouldn't let them worry like this, they worked so hard ..." Harry finally tugged the blanket
down to his chin and glared at the other boy. Their faces were close together, and Tom's dark
ocean eyes gazed down at him with amusement.

"You play dirty." His mouth was a little dry, and when all the other boy did in answer was
hum, Harry glared harder.

"I do, darling. It comes with the House emblem." A lopsided smile made way in Tom's face.
"Now, eat. The Matron will want quite a few words with you later, I'm sure."

"Oh. And Tom?"

"Yes?"

"Don't call me darling."

"Of course d–" Watching him visibly bite his tongue to swallow the word made Harry giggle
so hard Tom had to grab onto the tray lest it fall to the floor.

" Stop ." Tom all but ordered, even as his own lips were betraying him, a crooked smile
already splitting his face. "Stop laughing."

But that only made Harry laugh harder, tilting forward to rest his head on the taller boy's
shoulder, gasping for air as tears leaked from his eyes.

Breakfast was a quiet affair, in contrast.

It made place for the dread to settle like a heavy stone in the bottom of his stomach, bile
rising in his throat. Suddenly the treacle tart and strawberry dark tea didn't seem so
appetizing.

When he finally pushed the half finished tea to the side and didn't touch the food, Tom
sighed, as if he could read where his thoughts were going.
"I'll call the Matron." Was all he said, as he cleaned his hands on a napkin and left his own
finished tea on the side table.

What could he say? A simple spell to catalog his injuries and past maladies and he would be
left out in the open. Had she already performed the spells? Who was present? Would he be
given a chance to explain himself?

What to say? I was abused my whole childhood, then thrusted into the Wizarding World with
no rhyme or reason, used as a marionette by an old man and then as a sacrificial lamb
against the most powerful Dark Wizard of his time. Oh. And he fell. Several times in fact,
from a great height. He was cut open from side to side by a cursed quill, held under the
cruciatus, tortured, underfed, overworked— suddenly air didn't seem as important.

Harry's airways closed, his lungs spasmed and his vision swam black and white around the
edges. His hands trembled, looking for something to hold on to.

What to do? Tell the Truth? Lie ? The back of his hand tingled with pain even through the
daze he was in. What to do?

A heavy hand suddenly closed around the back of his neck, a voice insistent in his ears. The
hand forced his face between his legs and held on, the weight warm and grounding.

Two voices were arguing above his head. He couldn't, for the life of him, make out the words.
It was like they were speaking a different language, one Harry didn't know.

Minutes went on like that. Long, long minutes where the only sound in Harry's ears was the
roaring of his blood moving through his body and the feeling of the warm hand weighing him
down.

Finally, his throat caught a long breath, and his lungs filled with air.

"That's it, darling. Easy now" the hand moved down from his nape to rub circles on his back.
Cold glass was bumped onto his hand, and when Harry lifted his head he was met with a
Calming Draught.

"It will ease your worries, for now." The Matron was a tall Witch, with short curly hair and
broad shoulders. She had a no-no sense face with the most intense brown, almost yellow eyes
he had ever seen. Like a cat's. "Drink." She prompted.

Harry looked back at the purple potion and closed his eyes for a moment, leaning back on the
hand at his back. Finally, he sighed and drank the whole vial in one go, the bitter taste
familiar in the back of his throat.

"Hmm. Good boy. Now, Mr. Tom Riddle." The hand stopped at the middle of his back,
fingers spread and palm warm. "Get out of my Infirmary." The silence after the statement was
damming.

"I was hoping– "

" Out , Tom Riddle. Or I will escort you out." She left no room for argument, her muscular
arms crossed in front of her chest. The tilt to her chin was defiant, and in that moment Harry
knew no force of nature could stop her from getting the answers she wanted. "And please on
the way out, tell the crooked nosed Professor by the door that if I have to walk all the way to
the entrance to tell him off again, he will have a reason for visiting the Infirmary."

"Of course" Tom croaked out. Finally, he stood. "Madam." He nodded to the woman, finally
turning to Harry. "Darling, I'll come by later."

"After classes." The Matron added.

"After— after classes." He croaked back. And without further ado, Tom Riddle fled.

"Coward." Harry mumbled beneath his breath. The Matron must've heard, however, as she let
out a laugh.

"You'll find, Harry Evans, that men are rather like children. They just need a firm hand." The
amusement on her cat-like eyes was palpable in the air, it softened her features somewhat.
She looked familiar. Like someone he should know by name, if not by heart.

Then Harry processed the words.

"Oh. I don't..." He stammered, face red, "We don't, we are not –"

The Matron let out another laugh.

"Oh I know, Harry Evans." She transfigured the chair by his bedside into a tall stool. "Now,
would you be so kind as to tell me why, when Professor Slughorn enrolled you in the
Hogwart registry, there was no entry of your vaccines, height, weight and past illnesses?"

"Oh." He tried to clear his throat, something like fear stuck midway down his airway. He sat
straighter, hands clasping the blankets. " Um ."

"Yes, Um." She leaned forward and rested her arms on her legs. "Harry Evans, I'll be quite
frank with you: I performed a rather simple scan when Tom Riddle brought you to my
Infirmary, and imagine my surprise when a rather simple case of concussion turned into badly
healed bones, stretched tendons, malnutrition, scar tissue left untreated, two curse scars–"

" Two curse scars?" Harry couldn't help but interrupt, his heart racing. " One curse scar,
Madam." The look she leveled at the boy was possibly icy, making him flinch.

"I know you are not deaf, Harry Evans. You heard me right. Two curse scars" she pointed one
finger at his head "one on your forehead, quite prominent, and the other one–" this time, she
took his hand. The glamour had disappeared, Harry noted. "...On the back of your hand. I
know this curse very well: it is from the long exposure of a Blood Quill, quite illegal, I might
add." She rubbed the skin with her thumbs gently. She was very warm. "I was hoping you
would tell me about the other one, as I could find no source that could explain it."

Harry knew the Calming Draught had taken root already on his body. Otherwise he would be
fleeing as Tom had.
"I–" Where to begin?

"From the very beginning, I believe." Oh. He'd said it out loud. "Do not fear, Harry Evans.
Anything you say here will stay with me. I have an oath I will upkeep til the day my body
returns to the ground."

Right. No use delaying. Harry cleared his throat, and began from the very beginning.

With a baby left on the doorstep of two muggles, a cold November night.

He stumbled, quite a few times. Tried to omit a couple of things, for his benefit or for
another's, he didn't know. But the knowing look in the yellow eyes of the Matron kept him
going.

He spoke, in disjointed words, about a boy in a cupboard.

Harry Potter was an odd child. His aunt and uncle said so often, then his school teachers, and
then other children joined in.

Then he found he had Magic, and he thought he could fit in, finally. He could be one of them,
a part of the crowd. A part of something. Easily looked over, a new normal found in the
safety of numbers.

Turns out he couldn't even have that: he was a celebrity, a hero, even.

Then he was a villain.

Then, a champion.

A lunatic.

And whatever else fit the narrative of the person telling the story at the moment.

And through all: he was odd.

And lonely.

Later, much, much later he would have attributed his oddness and his affinity for peculiar
things to the first time he died.
The very first thing Harry remembered, his first ever memory was darkness. The solid feel of
wood beneath his little body, barely covered by a moth eaten blanket.

He remembered the cold.

He remembered the quiet of his little space, soft breathing his only company. He knew better
than to cry, or babble, or make any other sort of noise. It would only bring him pain.

Sometimes, no more than two a day, a woman with curled hair would appear to change his
diaper, soiled beyond repair. Before he was taught to use the bathroom. Then he saw her even
less.

Food was scarse for the little boy, and not always given willingly. He was taught to clean and
cook, to iron and sew clothes before he could even read.

His name was Boy , before he was Harry.

There were things Harry left unsaid. Things even Harry didn't know, or couldn't explain.

There were times he was pretty sure he'd. Well. Pretty sure he died .

In the cold of the cupboard, in the darkness, alone, that one time he got the flu and no one
had bothered to check his temperature, to give him medicine or food for what could have
been a week. His relatives had left for a little winter getaway in Wales, paid for by uncle
Vernon's employer. And Harry had been left locked away like a ragged doll, dreaming of red
hair and thin wired glasses when he was no older than six.

He remembered the bitter cold, and the dark, both familiar in its confort. Then his body had
slipped into a dream, and he was dragged down gently by what felt like silk clothes
surrounding him, warm and comforting and kind . Harry didn't remember kindness ever being
given to him like this. So willingly. With no deceiving words, no tricks.

Harry knew, instinctively, that this was it. He was finally allowed to rest, in the gentle
embrace of Death. (He didn't know then, that it was death, possibly too little to understand,
but he knew that now nothing would bother him, no one would order him around, no more
pain, no more suffering.)

But then something had happened. A little bit of himself had stayed behind, anchoring him to
the world of living. And it wanted him back .

And back was he dragged, kicking and screaming. But no matter how hard he tried to fight it,
the will to live of that little bit, of himself, or another, had wrapped around him with a vice
grip and forced his lungs to fill with air, magic worked overtime to lower his fever, to clear
his airways, to pump blood through his system.

Harry's hair had started to bleed white on the roots at the back of his neck then. That was
Harry's second touch with Death.

The very first, of course, was saved for Lord Voldemort. The curse scar was enough to attest
to that.

The third one, as far as Harry could remember, was by the bite of the Basilisk. The Venom
and the Phoenix Tears had battled for dominance in his blood, both powerful in their
intensity. But ultimately it was that little part of himself, that tiny fragment which had tipped
the scales. That small part wanted to live, and it had blazed and raged against the poison and
finally, ultimately, Harry had come out on top.

Then the dementors had sucked out his soul. Well, most of it. It was futile anyway, that part
of himself that wanted to be alive more than anything wouldn't let a simple soul sucking
creature be the end of it. And then he had attempted to save himself and his godfather from a
thousand dementors. Against all odds, it was a success.

Only to be used in a ritual, not a year later. He'd been Imperioed more times than he was
comfortable thinking about by a teacher, held under the Cruciatus Curse, bitten and battered,
outflown a fucking dragon and finally, used like a common house ingredient for a potion.
And when he no longer had an use, he had found himself at the other end of a yew wand, the
tip glowing green.

And, well. Fifth year had really been a rollercoaster for Harry.

By the time he arrived at Hogwarts in 1943, most of the back of his neck and around his face
his curls had turned a pearly white.

When he finally stopped talking, a glass had been pressed on his hands. His face was wet,
and he realized with a startle that there were tears running down his cheeks.

"So you don't know, how you ended up here. On this Time." The Matron's face was gentle,
yellow eyes compassionate as they gazed down at him.

Harry shook his head.

"Well, Harry Potter." A gentle hand carded through his curls. Hearing his given name spoken
so softly, after so long, struck a cord deep inside him. "You are out of reach now, both from
the Dark Wizard that wants you dead, and from anyone else that had you harmed. A Childe
of Magic should be cherished and celebrated. You know this, yes?" The Matron's hands were
warm. Harry closed his eyes. "Harry, look at me." Green eyes met yellow. "You are
cherished. You are loved, even if you don't see it yet."

Harry's glasses filled with fog, as fat tears continued to fall from his eyes.

"Abraxas Malfoy and Orion Black have been wandering in since very early today, a feat I
thought impossible." A smile cracked between her serious features. "Tom Riddle has not left
your side since he brought you here. Even that old man Slughorn has been here more times
than I could count, asking after you."

"He's not that old." Harry refuted, a slow smile making its way behind tears.

"He was my potions teacher, he will always be an old man to me."

A startled laugh left his chest, followed by a cry, and then a sob.

"You are safe now, Harry. We will make sure of that."

There was a weight lifted from his shoulders. One he has carried since he was little, when
he'd first tried to tell an adult about his aunt and uncle's treatment of him, only to be
dismissed as a liar and a rascal, and given detention for his made up stories. The teacher had
later told aunt Petunia, and his week had been hell, between school and cleaning, he was
given no food and no time to rest. That was also the first time he's been hit. He'd never told
another soul. Until Dumbledore, in his first year, when he'd asked to stay in Hogwarts.

And now.

Harry sobbed, letting all the fear, all the pain melt away.

He'd be okay.

What felt like hours later, the Matron pressed two vials on his hands. One was orange, and
the other a sickly yellow with a thick consistency.

"Nutrient potions for you, everyday with no pause, likely for a year. If not more." She
explained. "You have a few badly healed bones that concern me. We will, of course, either
have to rebreak them to set them right, or banish them altogether to regrow a healthy set.
Your choice."

"So, pick between the pain or the disgusting potion." Harry deadpanned as he took one of the
potions in his hands.
"That sounds about right." She answered with a smile.

"The potion, please."

"Good thinking. I'll bring it right away. Finish your breakfast, Harry Evans."

Vanishing one bone at a time and letting them settle was imperative for a good healthy
marrow. They could vanish no more than two bones a week, and Harry had a lot of broken
bones. It would be a long process, but it would be worth it in the end.

"Normally I'd have to ask you to stay overnight for this, but having you here every night for
the rest of the year would just be cruel. So I will send you back with your bones securely
wrapped and with a diluted pain potion in hand. These potions, of course, are regulated and
not to be taken on your own. You will have a trusted person who will hold your daily doses
and make sure you take them on time." Harry had taken the disgusting Skele-gro with no
complaints, ready for the whole ordeal to be over. "As for your curse scars... I will have to
consult a specialist." At Harry's alarmed look, she added, "don't panic just yet, Harry. There
are professionals that deal with this kind of curses. They too would be under an oath of
confidentiality."

Turns out the Blood Quill didn't simply leave a scar. It was a curse scar. Repetitive use and
abuse could lead to, well. It was almost a binding vow. Or a contract. Harry was compelled to
tell the truth. Only his sheer force of will and bullheadedness let him lie through his teeth.

And now the Matron – Cassiopeia – wanted a Curse Specialist to look at them. Lest they be
dangerous for his health.

But for now, she let him sleep as his bones regrew in his arm and the weight of the morning
fell away.

Tom Riddle, despite the Matron's warnings, came by at lunch.

As did Professor Slughorn, who received a thorough chewing for not taking proper care of
his newest snake.

Tom had watched on with wide blue eyes from the sidelines as the Matron teared into his
Head of House.

When he approached Harry's bed, he found him soundly asleep, with his left arm in a cast.

Tom quietly left his copied notes on the side table, and left.
The Matron watched on with approving eyes.

By the time the Matron (' Cassiopeia, or Lady Black if you would prefer. Matron makes me
feel old ' she'd insisted) let him go, it was well into the evening.

He almost bumped into Tom Riddle on his way out.

" Harry ." He breathed. Tom looked windswept, as if he'd run a couple of floors to reach him.
He still had his leader bag on one shoulder, a stack of parchment on his hands. At Harry's
questioning gaze, he explained:

"Transfigurations and Potions this afternoon. There isn't much; Dumbledore was too
distracted and Slughorn too preoccupied." An amused smile played at his lips. They both
knew he was the reason for the short lectures.

Harry cleared his throat.

"Tom Riddle." Harry said, remembering Lady Black's words. "Serve me tea?" It came out as
more of a question than a statement, a shy blush gracing his cheeks. "It's just–" he waved the
casted arm around as an explanation.

A slow smirk crept up the other boy's face.

"As my darling demands" he bowed, and brought an arm out to signal to Harry to walk
before him.

"Asshole." Harry couldn't help but mutter, a smile playing on his own lips. When they were
almost to the stairs, he added, almost as an afterthought. "And don't call me darling."

"Sure."

There were very few things that could make Grindelwald's heart race as of late.

His delicate plans, amassing power through Europe, massive rallies against the filthy
muggles, new dark artifacts that popped up every once in a while when old families were
eradicated. Nothing .

He felt nothing.
 His visions had struck true. He knew the muggles would be at war, that they would kill each
other savagely, indiscriminately, from children to women and elderly.

He felt nothing.

The only thing that kept him going these days, was the thought of finally reuniting the
Hallows.

But so far, nothing new had come up. The only thing he had were children's tales of a family
that was probably long extinct.

No good.

Gellert sighed.

He needed to find something to guide him. A signal. A trail to follow.

One of his Red Cloaks stalked into the pallor, feet slipping in the polished linoleum.

"M'Lord" he bowed deep, before extending an arm with an envelope towards him.

Gellert pulled the letter from across the room with a bit of magic and dismissed the courtier.
The white paper was nothing special, inconspicuous. No message had been scribbled outside.

Inside, there was a single sentence in blood red ink.

'There's two eyes.'

Ah. Well.

This could be interesting.

Chapter End Notes

Well, the cat's out of the bag, so to speak. I did hint that the War was still very much on
full swing.

Bit of backstory on how Harry arrived at this time, more on how he met Slughorn and
our lovely Cassiopeia out in the open.

I am... so stressed with life atm, this was the last chapter I had fully written out and more
or less reviewed, so updates from here on out might be a tad more slow

Comments/kudos are always welcome!

my Tumblr
 Chapter 6
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

By the time Dumbledore had noticed, it was already too late.

He must have felt it the moment it happened, by his count; the snapping of the wards placed
around his Office, both for protection and containment, felt like a slap to his face.

He had put so much Magic, so many webs and trails, they were intricate enough to give even
Lord Voldemort a hard time dismantling them. He trusted they would hold in the event that
someone tried to break in to take Harry. So much trust he had on himself, in fact, that he
almost dismissed the feeling as stress.

Then he thought better of it.

The growing dread sat on the pitch of his stomach like a very heavy stone, and his white
beard twtiched in distrust. Surely.

Surely a boy not yet of age would not be able to take them down.

Surely.

But, as it stood, by the time the Headmaster appeared in a roar of flames in his own Office
Harry James Potter was gone.

On a Manor upon a hill, in a secluded Office filled with old books and brimming with Magic,
a man fell to his knees.

He'd just lost a piece of his Soul.

~
'Things come in threes' he remembered.

It started, as things are wont to do, slowly then all at once.

Horace Slughorn had more or less enthusiastically dragged Harry back to Hogwarts well
before September 1st.

He had been more than willing to pay for his tuition, his robes, his ingredients. He'd been
adamant about it, in fact.

And he'd been even more overjoyed when Harry had been sorted into his own House.

Harry remembered the very first day back at the School. Back Home. He remembered the
anxiety, and the fear. Remembered the cold coming from the outside, a starry night out to
greet him as soon as he'd gotten out of the train.

He remembered standing behind the first years, ready to be sorted. The little students had cast
curious glances at him, but were clearly too nervous themselves to comment on the teen who
was clearly not in their year.

It had been a relief, as Harry had needed a few moments to compose himself.

The sight of Hogwarts had been enough to nearly give him a heart attack. It was so different,
and yet remained the same. Little had changed in over fifty years. Yet it was other, foreign.

Then, he had spotted a familiar face in the crowd, wearing silver and green.

Oh . He'd simply forgotten.

Tom Riddle was also here.

He looked like a nightmare come alive.

He looked like a memory.

A familiar, forgotten memory incarcerated inside a diary, half mad with ideas of greatness
and righteousness, a boy who embodied so much rage and magic at the tips of his fingers,
Magic full grown wizards could only fantasize about.

He looked lovely .

Just as he remembered him.

He couldn't stop staring, he knew. There was a pull to Tom Riddle that spoke of wisps of old
dark magic. He knew what this boy was.

What he would grow up to be.

But now, here, in this Time, he was simply another teenager Harry would have to worry
about.

And perhaps that was his first mistake. Dismissing this powerful boy as nothing more than a
greedy, full of curiosity and magic, handsome boy with dark blue eyes.

He would learn to regret, in time.

As he grew to know him, Harry supposed he gained somewhat of an understanding of the

threads that made Tom Riddle's life tapestry. He could imagine it in the back of his mind,
colourful and out of reach. Blue and green and black and red, red, red.

' He could have easily been a Ravenclaw ' had been his first thought, no matter how many
times Abraxas liked to recount the story of Tom's sorting. How the Hat had not even been
placed on his head, how fast he'd shouted out for the House of Snakes. How Tom's little face
had split into an all-knowing grin.

' He's incredibly resourceful ' had been his second thought. He found the oddest ways to solve
problems, from instinctively pulling at his magic to do his bidding (and he had such a scary
fine tune control to his Magic, it was a sight that made Harry breathless in it's beauty, in the
intensity, the complexity), to searching high and low for information on a particular subject.
He'd gone on a tangent, once, about –oddly enough– the ethical uses of Creatures in potion
ingredients.

He was impressively attentive, when he wanted to be. Invasive too.

He tended to pull lightly on his hair with bits of magic when he wanted his attention. He
would steal his quills and give him back transfigured ones, with brass tips carefully and
artistically carved with tiny details, with swirls and circles and runes. He would smile at
Harry indulgently every time he rambled. He sat with Harry when he wanted tea, and more
often than not was the one in charge of his daily doses of pain relief potions.

He found Harry with unmatched accuracy every time the boy went out on his own. And he
would simply smile everytime Harry questioned him.

He'd even gifted Harry a new set of robes. Little embroidered stars in dark midnight blues
had been sewn by careful hands around the chest and back, in the cuffs and neck. They were
different from his other star robes. They felt warmer, a sweet caress against his skin.

When he peeked inside, he found runes that made his magic tingle when he ran his thumb
through them. Tom refused to explain what they were for, and even Orion had patted Harry
on the arm when he'd asked.

He was confused, if anything. Conflicted .

Tom Riddle had set himself on a mission.

Dismantle his family legacy for once and for all, and climb the social ladder so high no one
would be able to touch him. No one would look down on him again. No one would dare lay a
hand on a single hair on his head.

It seems, he had set himself up for failure.

He traced the lines of the genealogy tree of a borrowed book with a long finger, the Gaunts
looking more like a round bush than anything else. Inbreeding was a rather common thing
amongst purebloods, he'd come to find.

There was no denying it, however. He was a Gaunt through and through. The affinity for
Dark Magic, the easy way the language of the serpents rolled off his tongue, the aristocratic
look to his features. It was simply a matter of perception.

And he needed to back up his claims.

Morfin Gaunt had been of no help. His blasted uncle had been half mad, no longer able to
speak in clean English words, the syllables slanted and slurred, slipping in and out of
Parseltongue with no rhyme or reason.

He'd been utterly useless.

His father, on the other hand. Well, enough to say rage had been the least of his worries that
day.

A lovely gold ring sat in a hidden compartment in his school trunk, singing.
The very first time he had laid his eyes on Harry, he'd dismissed him.

Then he'd looked twice. And again.

There was something odd about the boy. From the way he walked, familiar and confident, to
the graceful way he evaded people.

His Magic sang a lively song, if a little lonely.

It often reached out to Tom, its owner seemingly unaware of the wayward wisps of Magic
traveling from one side, from one boy, to the other. It was very warm.

The first time he had really taken notice, he hadn't been able to look away again.

This boy was important.

Tom Riddle watched Albus Dumbledore closely, dark blue eyes following the Professor from
room to room, across hallways, in the Great Hall. From the way he walked, to the way he
talked. When he moved his hands or used his magic.

His auburn hair was starting to turn gray in some places, and sometimes the lines of his face
made him look older, more tired. His robes were always perfectly pressed, the line of his
body styled.

He watched Harry with avid attention.

Tom wondered.

Harry had taken to drawing.

Shapes of the ghost of his friends; a witch with a mass of curled hair, a whole family of fiery
redheads and, oddly enough, Orion.

Or, well. If he looked past the jealousy and the green envy that clouded his vision when he'd
finally found Harry huddled in one of his favourite corners, the windowsill looking out to the
courtyard with notebook in hand, he reconsidered.

It definitely looked like Orion. He knew his friend like the back of his hand, from the slope of
his nose to his droopy grey eyes, to the curl of his black hair. From the way he smiled
mischievously and his nose scrunched in delight when he got his way.

It wasn't Orion.
It wasn't anyone Tom recognized.

A gaunt man with chopped hair, the same sleepy hooded grey eyes on a different face, more
slim, less defined. The same mischievous grin. It was a handsome man, a Black if Tom would
go on family looks.

Harry looked sad every time he drew him.

Tom had nicked his notebook, once. It was of nice quality, a gift from Slughorn meant to hold
prophecies and readings and other such things 'only Seers could understand' (in his words). A
place to pour out his soul. A diary of sorts, if you would.

Harry had filled it to the brim with drawings.

From couples standing side by side in a lovely afternoon stroll, to Slughorn bent over a
potion and carefully stirring the contents with a diamond spoon in his large hand, to Abraxas
sitting with his back turned and his hair braided down his back. A black dog made a few
casual appearances as well.

He'd found sketches of himself. And as pleased as it made him, it also worried him.
Sometimes he was on his own, other times accompanied by a cloaked figure that stood close
to him. Sometimes a serpent sat proud by him, a rather big snake with poisonous long fangs
that snarled and hissed out.

He'd found a portrait buried on the last few pages, of a boy with red eyes, gazing out a
window during a lazy Sunday afternoon. Tom remembered that day very well: they'd been
sitting in the library, side by side. Harry had been midway mad research on the properties of
Murtlap Essence, and Tom had amusedly taken pity on him and rattled off all the things he
could remember on the little rat-like creatures. Harry had insisted then, they take a walk
around the lake, to stretch their legs for once.

The oddest thing was, the portrait had a date at the very bottom, and it was weeks before the
day they'd sat together in the library.

So, Harry had taken to drawing. Now more often than before, even with his left arm in a cast
and his sleepy smile due to the pain relieving potions, which he was due to take now.

Orion and Tom had a rotating schedule (they wouldn't trust Abraxas even with a plastic plant)
of times when they were set to give Harry his potions. They were highly addictive, and as
such had to be closely administered. They made Harry sleepy and content, more prone to
leaning against other people and fall asleep in the most unexpected places. The Matron said it
was normal, and it was the lowest dosage they could give him, as growing pains would get
more intense as the Skele-gro worked its magic.
"Harry." The boy startled out of the trance he seemed to be in every time he sat down to draw.
Only his fast reflexes kept him firmly sitting in his place, and not leaning out of the window
towards a certain death.

" You are so rude , Tom Riddle." The glare sent his way could freeze hell over, he was sure. It
amused Tom to no end.

"So terribly sorry, darling. It's time for your potions." Harry reluctantly took the vials filled to
the brim with thick liquid, as diluted as they were they still tasted horribly wrong. As the boy
drowned his potions, Tom took a long glance at the pages filled with colour. And stopped .

On one page was a familiar corridor, painted in greens and blues. Little spiders were running
out of frame. The floor was flooded, the water rippled and reflected two yellow eyes.

He knew that corridor.

It was on the second floor, right by the girl's bathroom.

Surely... It couldn't be.

"...Tom?"

"Yes, my love?" He answered, distracted.

"You didn't hear a word I said, did you?"

"Terribly sorry, darling. The day seems to be running away from me." The smile Tom had
fixated on his face was slightly too wide to be right. Too predatory.

"Stop chasing it then."

"I should, yes? I will do that."

"Good." Harry cast a last suspicious look at him, before sighing. "As I was saying, would you
accompany me to Hogsmeade?"

"Yes, of course." He answered, but his heart wasn't on it. His mind was already jumping a
thousand different directions.

If he had been paying more attention, he would have noticed the little hand laid on the floor,
damp from the overflowing water and peaking from the doorway of a barely open door to the
girl's lavatory on the drawing.

"Good, and don't fucking call me darling again. I will rip your heart out through your mouth.
Seriously, Tom Riddle, stop it." The threatening comment slapped him back to reality, an
amused smile tugging at his lips.

" Feisty ." He couldn't help but say, eyebrows raised. Their faces were extremely close, their
eyes locked.
" Tom !"

He laughed. This darling boy, really.

"You are so annoying, Tom Riddle." He said, even as his face threatened to split into a smile.
Then, his eyes lit up with mischief.

Tom narrowed his eyes.

"What are you planning?"

" You'll see. "

Harry served Abraxas his tea with a distracted air, his hands unusually clumsy.

He'd been working on a little piece of metal, transfiguring it to twist and carve itself in what
looked like little scales. Abraxas could not make heads nor tails of what he was trying to
accomplish.

They were sitting on opposite sides of the table on a far corner of the Kitchen. The House
Elves had been more than pleased to light a few candles for them, and prepare chocolate
muffins filled with cream.

The cast on Harry's left arm had finally come off, and instead had been replaced by one on
his leg. Harry walked mostly fine, except when he didn't, and he required a cane that had
been provided by Cassiopeia Black. Orion had taken clear offense at the rather plain look of
the walking aid, and had nicked it when Harry had sat down by him in the Common Room
one night. He'd cursed his cousin out as he willed the wood to change and transform into little
snakes. Harry had been oddly pleased by the sight.

It wasn't yet late, but classes had finally let out for the day. Abraxas had a last assignment he
needed to turn in for Potions and he would be finally free of homework for the week. He was
so engrossed in his writing he barely noticed Harry placing the cup by his side.

"Did you know Phoenix tears have healing properties?"

"Huh? I— I guess." His mercury eyes traveled from the cup, lopsided on its little plate and
overfilled with water, to Harry. His eyes were far, far away. "Haz? Are you okay ?"
"Hmm. Their feathers are used for wands, I have one, did you know? A core made from one
single phoenix feather." He said as he finished his own tea. "Tom has one too. They are
immortal—" but he never got to finish the sentence, as he placed the cup down onto the plate,
it broke right down the middle.

Harry tilted his head, clearly seeing something Abraxas couldn't. He picked one half of the
cup and started into its depths for a long moment.

" Ah ."

"What? What is it?"

"I cut myself."

" Huh !?" Alarmed, Abraxas took the cup from Harry and placed it on the tray. Indeed, on the
tips of Harry's nimble fingers was a tiny cut, already dripping blood. He didn't stop to notice
the huge snake made out of tea leaves cut right down the middle.

It looked terribly like a Basilisk. It was both a warning and an omen.

His fingertips bled red, red, red .

The piece of metal at his side twitched.

Tom Riddle knew the corridor Harry had so lovely drawn in the pages of his notebook. He'd
walked down the very same path countless times.

It had, perhaps, never occurred to him that the entrance to the legacy of one of the most
infamous wizards of his time would be in a girl's lavatory .

It was downright degrading .

The manic pull of his magic wouldn't let him settle for that fact, however. He wanted
everything . And he wanted it now .

He walked with purpose in the cover of night, tightly wrapped in Disillusionment Spells to
hide any trace. He would allow no mistakes.

Harry had been an invaluable piece to his discovery, as Tom had almost completely given up
looking inside the Castle, and had taken to pacing the outside walls with scary accuracy.
Now, he entered the girl's bathroom on the second floor.

A row of sinks in circular formation stood in the center of the room, with an archway leading
to the bathroom stalls to the side. Surrounding the room were big windows with different
colored stained glass, filtering the dim light from the outside. It was a moonless night, that
night.

It took him twenty minutes to notice the little snake hissing at him in the tap of one of the
sinks.

A simple whisper of a word was enough for the sink to lower to the ground, followed by the
appearance of a spiral staircase.

Finally .

Harry knew as soon as it happened.

A chill traveled down his spine, as cold as death.

He gasped awake in his bed, cold sweat dripping from his forehead.

Tom Riddle had opened the Chamber of Secrets.

Everything had been set in motion.

Harry Evans sprinted out of the Slytherin Common Room as fast as his leg would let him,
still trapped within a cast. He wobbled as he ran, hopped on one foot on the staircases and
grabbed onto the railings for dear life.

Fear gripped him on all sides, memories overlapping with reality. He thought he saw a wall
dripping in blood, warning the Muggleborn students to flee the Castle, but when he blinked it
was gone.

The floor was flooded, his footsteps echoing in the liquid bl— then it was not.

There was no water on the stone floor.

Tom Riddle stood by the sink of the girls' lavatory on the second floor, triumphant smile
stretched thin on his lips. His eyes glinted red for a second, a moment, before familiar blue
settled on him.

" Harry ?" But the boy couldn't answer him, his voice had left him as the terror had set in. He
looked just like— "Darling? What are you doing out of bed so late?" Tom Riddle approached
Harry Evans as he would a scared wounded animal, the wild look to his green eyes deeply
troubling.

Harry only trembled in response.

Tom Riddle looked just like he had stepped out of his own Diary, fifty years into the future .

He wore the same clothes, from his crisp white shirt to the gray school jacket and the long
robe on top, the Prefect pin perfectly placed over his chest. His hair was exactly the same
length, a single curl refusing to stay in place and settling stubbornly over the boy's forehead.

Harry was dreaming. He had to be.

"Darling boy, why don't we get you back to bed?" A pair of hands had settled on Harry's
shoulders without him noticing. His vision was foggy at the edges, black spots filling his
sight. Oh .

He was having a panic attack . He was terribly familiar with those.

The warm hands around his shoulders traveled up his body and settled on the back of his
neck. A careful thumb traced the curse scar that marked his forehead like lightning. His tether
to the world.

Harry closed his eyes as he struggled to breathe, his own hands closing around Tom's wrists
to ground himself.

But no matter how much he despaired, Tom Riddle had found his legacy.

Time would tell if he would follow in the footsteps of his future self, or if Harry's presence
had been enough to change his fate.

Tom Riddle tugged Harry close to his body fitting his face in the crook of his neck,
whispering, commanding him to breathe.

"What did you see, Harry? What scared you this much?"

" You ."

 ~

Things after that were difficult.

Tom Riddle refused to give up his birthright, and as such visited the Chamber as often as his
schedule allowed him. He became even more obsessed with it, after discovering it.

He claimed to have found a hidden Library, with a connected Office filled to the brim with
dark artefacts and journals written in parselscript. Riches Tom could only dream about were
now within his reach.

The Chamber only opens to those of the bloodline who are worthy, he'd said. Past records of
Hogwarts showed the Gaunt family had not stepped foot into the Castle in at least three
generations. Harry often wondered about those lost relatives of Tom's. Whether or not they
knew about the Chamber. If they would have opened it themselves.

The circles beneath his eyes were very telling of how little he slept, and how little he cared
for himself. He'd started missing meals, first a few every few days and then more
consistently.

Harry watched on, worried, from the sidelines.

He'd had no success in trying to befriend Myrtle Warren, as she was a deeply troubled teen
who had been bullied to hell and back by her classmates and peers and now mistrusted every
and any form of human interaction. She'd much rather have her nose buried in a book than
speak with a slimy snake, thank you.

He'd had no success with the little snake he'd been trying to transfigure from a spare bit of
metal he'd found.

Twice a week, sometimes three, he went to the Hospital Wing.

The Matron waited for him, as always, in her Office. Oftentimes she was accompanied by the
Herbology Professor, Mirabel Garlick.

Professor Garlick was a kind witch, with red hair and green eyes that reminded him fiercely
of his mum. She often dressed in greens and browns with intricately decorated, embroidered
cloths depicting magical plants and creatures of different shapes and sizes. Harry had asked,
once, where she bought her robes from. She had excitedly went on a tangent about the
different types of fabric, the threads that held the most magic, and she told him she made the
robes herself. She had even complimented Harry on his own star robes.
The pair of them worried over Harry like a couple of mother hens.

They worked closely, Cassiopeia had told him once. The uses of Herbology in Potions for
healing was widely known. His own class had taken care of a rare few magical plants meant
for the Hospital Wing.

Slughorn appeared each time Harry was ready to leave, woozy and dizzy from the painkillers
and tired from all the magic his body was piling towards a single bone. It didn't matter that
Harry never told him when he would go for the Infirmary for his treatments, or the late hour
he would get out. He was always there, in his autumn robes, waiting to take him to the
Common Room.

Harry worried.

In between the pain relieving potions making him sleepy and the nightmares that plagued his
dreams, he was a walking disaster. He was tired all the time, distracted by thoughts of the
future and worried about the consequences it would have. That is to say, Harry Evans was a
little absent minded.

More often than before.

Orion kept a silver eye over him at all times, Harry suspected but could not confirm Tom's
involvement. He knew he would never fully trust Abraxas to properly look after Harry, no
matter the fact that they were much closer.

Abraxas caught Tom just as he was leaving the Common Room, late in the evening a few
weeks later.

"Tom."

"Not now, Abraxas."

"Tom!"
"Whatever it is, I'm sure Orion can handle it."

" Tom Riddle !" The blond boy grabbed on the laps of his robes and forced him to turn
around. Tom raised an eyebrow at him. He was short tempered already as it was, and the lack
of sleep and food was starting to grate in his nerves. And now this boy dared to touch him .

"You made a promise to Harry." He stated, his voice surprisingly firm.

" Did I. " He spat back, the line of his back tense, a snarl playing at his lips.

"You said you'd take him to Hogsmeade." A pause. "It's been weeks, Tom."

"Has it?" And that little offhand comment was enough and seemed to drive Abraxas up the
wall. He puffed up like a peacock, nose in the air and clear blue eyes piercing.

" Yes ! And Harry keeps trying to sneak out on his own! Do you know how many times I've
had to ask the ghosts for help only to find Harry in hidden passages I didn't even know
existed !? We're lucky that leg of his makes him slow, otherwise–"

"Leg? What leg? "

"His right leg? The one that had to be vanished and regrown down to his littlest toes?" A long
pause followed, before the blond exploded back at him. " Tom Riddle! Orion said you had to
take Harry at least twice a week for his potions and for the regrowth treatment— are you
shitting me right now? " Abraxas was possibly blazing. Tom didn't answer, his tongue stuck
to the roof of his mouth. "Did you make Harry go alone ?"

An uncomfortable thing knotted itself at the base of his throat. The thought of Harry alone,
dizzy and out of it trying to make his way back from the Infirmary made something like guilt
rise from his lungs.

" I didn't make him do anything." He said instead.

"You are taking him to Hogsmeade in the morning. You better be waiting for him by the door
to the Common Room, or so help me Salazar I will have you hanged by your ears."

They were walking side by side by the cobblestone path leading out of the Castle.

Autumn had taken its grip in the air, and the trees had turned from vibrant green to all the
possible shades between orange and yellow.
The air was crisp and cold, and as they walked out through the Main Entrance accompanied
by a few stragglers also making their way to the little Magical Village, the sight of the high
mountains that surrounded the Castle greeted them. It was a long winding path out, normally
taken by carriage.

They walked above a bridge, and the sounds of the river bringing water to the Great Lake
calmed Harry's nerves in a way nothing else ever could. Nature, even a few steps out of the
main courtyard of Hogwarts, made its presence known.

There were a lot of paths leading out of Hogwarts, and Harry knew that better than most. But
this one might be his favourite.

Leaves floated in the wind, falling in a curtain of colours around them, covering their path
and breaking under their shoes.

The morning sunlight filtered through the few clouds that stood stubbornly in the sky.

A light fog covered the tips of the tallest mountains, making them appear white despite the
season. It wouldn't be long before everything was covered in snow, he knew.

The village was within a close walking distance, and one could easily spot the towering
Castle from the heart of Hogsmeade. Watching the tall Towers peek through the trees and
houses in the distance made something in his stomach clench, like watching it for the first
time. He would never tire of the sight.

The stone covered floor made way to a dirt path, covered in mud due to the light night
drizzle.

Harry breathed in, the chill travelling all the way to his lungs, making him shiver. Tom had
bundled him in knitted sweaters and thick robes, two scarves and a cozy hat. Despite it all, he
was a bit cold.

He huddled closer to Tom, seeking his warmth.

They followed the trail around the Great Lake, leaving the Castle behind and walking the
path surrounded by overgrown grass and tall trees on each side.

Just around the corner of a hill, they'd find the Wizarding village.

It didn't get more cozy than Hogsmeade.

It had stood before Hogwarts, and it might stand well after. The magic settled around the
streets and houses like a blanket, old and warm and gentle. The same ancient Magic that
made up the makeup at Hogwarts soaked the village.
Harry didn't have a particular destination in mind, he'd just wanted to get out of the Castle,
where he'd started to feel trapped. He rather disliked the feeling of walls closing in on him,
past and future chasing him out.

The medieval architecture was truly a sight to behold. The houses and shops had been well
cared for, over the centuries. A few here and there would be torn down in the future and built
anew, and some shops would cover stretches of land where now there were only dying weeds
and flower beds.

Harry interlocked his arm with Tom's. He was terribly warm, his own private furnace to fend
off the cold.

The taller boy didn't question him. In fact, he let Harry lead them through the village, taking
turns and leading them back to the main path.

He was looking for something, he knew.

He just didn't know what.

There was a familiar thrilling song at the back of his mind, calling. Waiting .

Some stores had been painted in bright colours, like Zonko's: the Joke Shop. It made him
miss the Weasley twins with scary ferocity.

Some side streets were too narrow to allow a carriage to travel past, and as such only allowed
for walking pedestrians to make their way deeper into the village.

Up a hill and between two crossroads, one such street played host to the Hog's Head Inn.

A couple of steps lead up to an old door, the wood chipped here and there and barely hanging
onto its hinges.

When Harry made the step up to go inside, Tom tightened his hold on him, dragging him
back by their interlinked arms and turned Harry around.

"Why here, Harry?"

Harry tilted his head to the side. The answer was obvious, of course.

"There's a phoenix."

Harry had to push a box full of empty potion vials to the side to be able to enter.

The inside was as decrepit looking as the outside.

The windows were beyond cleaning at that point, grimy and dirty and struggling to filter the
light coming from the outside. The wooden floorboards were sticky and they creaked terribly
everytime a weight was dropped on them, threatening to give in. The smell that welcomed
them was truly awful. Something half rotten had been left to turn to dust in a corner
somewhere.

The heaviness in the air could be cut with a knife.

Few tables piled to the side, and most of the (scarce) customers settled close to the fireplace,
seeking warmth.

Behind the counter a severed pig's head grunted and grumbled, even though a yellowing cloth
(that might've been white once) was stuck in its mouth. The clouded white eyes followed
Harry as he approached.

He eyed the bartender warily. His face was gruff and covered in aging lines. His eyes
might've been warm, once, but now they watched over the counter with cold apathy.

Harry had a feeling he would not take kindly to his presence, were he to approach.

He grabbed Tom by the hand and walked towards the back of the Inn.

An old door opened to a Pier, a dock that gave access to the river.

Outside, by contrast, was fairly peaceful. The sounds of the river chased away all maladies,
and when he released Tom's hand to walk down the dock, he could spot the Castle between
two hills in the distance as clear as day.

On the other side, he spotted a small waterfall and a stone bridge over it.

Harry sat by the water and took off his shoes. Tom made an alarmed sound at his back when
he dipped his toes in the freezing water, but he was content to stay like this.

"Tom?"

"Yes?"

"Buy me chocolate."

Tom didn't speak for a few heartbeats, seemingly considering his answer.

"I don't think that's a good idea, love. I can't leave you here like this—"

"Tom." He interrupted. He turned to look the boy in the eyes. Whatever the teen saw on his
face, startled him enough to make him take a step back. "Buy me chocolate. The dark kind?
You know, bitter ."

They locked eyes and Harry felt a pressure at the back of his head. He was trying to figure
him out, he knew. However, he was not bulging in on this.
Finally, Tom Riddle took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"Of course, darling. Whatever you want."

"See it as a form of making it up to me. You've been terribly absent as of late." He made sure
to make the pointed remark, unamused as he was at being left alone.

Tom Riddle audibly gulped.

"Of course, darling."

Tom Riddle walked out of the dock and back towards the Inn, nevermind the fact that he
could have just walked around, well.

He swung his feet just above the ice cold waters of the river and closed his eyes. The sound
of nature and the feel of magic made him terribly sleepy, deeply relaxed. A few rays of
sunlight peeked through the clouds, hitting his body in heating waves. It chased out the chill
that had settled stubbornly on his bones.

He was not alone for long.

The melodic thrilling of a song was all the warning he got before a weight settled on his
shoulders. A little furnace had made an appearance.

When he turned his head, he was met by a bird face. Big yellow eyes looked at him with
intelligent consideration, black peak open and letting out the loveliest of songs. It's feathers
looked a little worse for wear, a dark maroon instead of the bright orange and shines of
yellow they were known for. Its melodic thrill sounded sad.

"He doesn't take to strangers often." A deep voice commented behind him. Suddenly the
warmth of the sun was not enough to chase out the cold. The air felt heavy, charged with
electricity. The smell of ozone overrode those of the river.

"It's not the first Phoenix I've met." Slowly, carefully, he brought a hand up to run through the
creature's feathers. Harry could feel it purr against his skin. "He even cried on me, once."

" Oh? "

"Hmm. It was one of the scariest days of my life." The man sat beside Harry, and he too took
off his shoes. When Harry stole a glance at him, he found a young man looking back at him
with dark eyes. He looked remarkably like the bartender of the Hog's Head Inn. He was more
gaunt, however, and the lines of his face more tired. His eyes were red rimmed, and the line
of his body slouched forward.

He looked as sick as his Phoenix.

" You have to know ." Harry whispered, somber. His big green eyes were very sad, a glossy
sheen covering them.

"I know."
They both settled their eyes on the dying Phoenix. It wouldn't be long now, for his Burning
Day.

By the time Tom Riddle made it back to Harry, the boy was sat by himself on the Pier, his
toes no longer dangerously close to suffering from frostbite and now safely back inside his
leader shoes.

He received his chocolate with a small smile and took a generous bite out of it. Tom sat
beside him, unknowingly occupying the same place another had, just moments before.

When he looked at Harry's face, he stopped for a second. Tear tracks were as clear as day on
his lovely skin, and more were making their way down from his eyes. His eyelashes were
wet, a few tears clung to them with tenacity.

"You found it, then?" Harry turned glossy green eyes at him.

"Hmm. Did you know chocolate is used to chase out bad memories? It stimulates the release
of endorphins."

"Does it?"

"It does. It is an effective treatment for Dementor exposure."

Tom wanted to ask, but bit his tongue. Harry didn't look entirely present, at the moment. He
looked quite a bit cold, in fact. Tom cast a few heating spells on the boy's clothes and
wrapped an arm around him, rubbing his back and shoulders.

Harry leaned his head against his shoulder and sighed.

"D'ya want chocolate?"

Cassiopeia Black walked into the Greenhouses just as lunch started.

Outside, the chill of autumn threatened to slip right into Winter. Most of the trees had lost
their leaves, and the grass had turned a pale yellow. More often than not it rained very thinly
during the nights, and the Castle woke up humid and damp.
Inside the Greenhouses however, it was warm.

So warm in fact, Cassiopeia had to take out her robes layer by layer, like an onion. She left
them by the desk at the front and went deeper in the glass houses to search for her wife.

She found her just where she thought she would. Right in the middle of the chaos.

Mirabel had her hair up in a tight bun, likely secured with magic. Her red hair had gotten so
long over the years, and she refused to cut it. It was a little bit unmanageable, if one wasn't
adept in the finest of spells.

The plants around the garden crept towards the red headed witch as she walked past, a few
opening their colourful blooming flowers to her, proudly showing off. Everytime she talked,
the plants would sway and tilt her way. They were sentient, in a way. Magical.

Cassiopeia knew they knew she was here. They opened up a path for her as she walked,
leading her straight to Mirabel. She was on her knees before a row of seemingly empty pots,
patting the dirt with light hands.

She didn't seem to notice her, but Mirabel was rather absent minded when she tended to her
plants.

"Bella." Cassiopeia stood off to the side, a couple of paces behind the red headed witch. She
didn't react to her name, which was not unusual, so she called again. " Mirabel ."

"Oh. Hello, hello!" She turned in surprise, an easy smile making its way across her face. Her
freakles were more prominent that day, lovely dots scattered across her pale face, or... maybe
it was dirt, actually, now that she thought about it. It would be on brand with the state of her
robes. "Is it time for lunch already?"

"Quite so, I'm afraid." Cassiopeia lifted an eyebrow at her. "Were you busy?"

"Terribly! The fanged geraniums are refusing to eat again." She cast a scathing glare at the
little flowers, which flinched back at the intensity of her green eyes.

"Perhaps you'll have more luck after you yourself have eaten. A little bird told me you didn't
have breakfast."

"This bird wouldn't happen to have a rather large crooked nose, yes? A pair of twinkling blue
eyes? He's as nosy as a trumpet flower."

"You know he worries. Now, come. The Three Broomsticks awaits us."

"Hmm? It's not our anniversary is it? I would know." An amused smile settled on her lips.

"No, Bella. I thought it would do us some good, to get out for the day."
As soon as they were out of the anti apparition wards, Cassiopeia side-alonged Mirabel to the
street before the Three Broomsticks.

It was bursting with people coming in and out, moving tables together and chatting with their
neighbours. It was a lively atmosphere. However, they were not here for that.

Cassiopeia signaled the bartender behind the counter to the staircase, and she nodded back.

Together, the two witches made their way to the second floor of the building, where a few
private rooms were set aside.

A door at the end of a corridor opened for them, and they walked inside.

The room before them was brightly lit, and scarcely decorated.

They sat down on the loveseat before a roaring fireplace, and Mirabel let out a sigh of
content. She let down her hair and it fell in red cascades down her side. Cassiopeia's hands
itched with want.

"Now, will you kindly tell me why you wanted to flee the Castle as if a Venomous Tentacula
was spitting you out?" A crooked smile broke on her own face, yellow eyes playful.

"Can't your wife give you a sweet day out and a lunch date every once in a while?"

"She could, but it's terribly suspicious of her." Mirabel's kind green eyes settled on her, and
something like understanding crossed her face. Her eyebrows furrowed. "It's about Harry,
isn't it?"

Cassiopeia sighed.

"You know I can't—"

"I know your oaths prevent you from speaking without outright consent from your patients.
But I'm not blind at all, Cass." Mirabel's warm, small hands settled on her arms. "That boy
has all the wrong signs of years of abuse—"

"I know."

"–and the dangerous amount of Potions you're putting down his throat—"

"Yes, I know."

"—he's fallen asleep on my class more than once already—"

"I know , Bella!" Cassiopeia took a deep breath, and counted down from ten. Her eyes
burned.

"You could have waited until he was healthier."

"And out of reach? We don't know where he'll end up in the Summer. What if it's a worse
place than the one he comes from? I've had this exact same talk with Horace Slughorn,
several times already. The best for Harry right now is to try and speed up the process, heal as
much as we can and hope for the best. He'll already be stunted in his growth, who knows
what other illnesses might pop up out of the blue while we wait around for the nutrient
potions to do their thing—"

"Ah." A warm hand grazed her cheek. She was crying, she realized. "You've thought a lot
about this."

"He's— a child ! A magical child! How dare they—" But her mouth closed with a snap, the
vow warning her not to say anything else. A grunt of frustration left her lips, and she leaned
forward to rest her arms on her knees.

Mirabel rubbed her back and held her as she cried. Long minutes passed like this.

"You have to admit, he's taken to living at Hogwarts like a Mandrake to fresh soil." She
commented in a cheery voice, and it was so sudden and out of place it made Cassiopeia burst
into laughter.

He was in Defense Class, sitting somewhere near the back, taking notes on a neat piece of
parchment. He had chosen the seat strategically, and as the afternoon sun dipped slowly in the
sky, a few rays of light traveled through an open window towards Harry. It made him warm
and content, almost sleepy.

The only thing that kept him awake was the voice of Professor Merrythought, echoing
through the classroom. Dark curses, that day.

Suddenly, the warmth of the sun disappeared, and goosebumps traveled from his hands, to his
arms, and up the rest of his body. He stilled.

Professor Merrythought was still speaking.

Harry tried clumsily to reach for the ink at his side, to keep writing. Instead, the back of his
hands made contact with it and toppled the little jar over.

Harry watched, helpless as the ink flowed over his own text book, dyeing a whole page
black.
 The only part of the white page that was saved, was where he'd reached out with his hand to
cover the book, and when he lifted it, words devoid of spilled ink caught his eye.

'... this action may result in death ..."

The petrifications started not long after.

Chapter End Notes

Just wanted to clarify, this story does not closely follow the events of cannon, as you can
probably guess. Tom Riddle found the chamber on his fifth year, not his sixth, and as
such Myrtle Warren did not die the 13th of June, 1943. This story is roughly already in
November - December 1943.

poor Harry unknowingly putting things into motion, making the future become reality–

Comments/kudos are always welcome!

you may find me on Tumblr

 Chapter 7
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

He hated his life sometimes, with burning, all consuming passion.

What did he do, exactly, in his past life for Fate to decide to place the weight of the World on
his shoulders time and time again?

Harry had stood silent, the first couple of days after the first petrifications. Just out of reach,
at the very edge of the crowd of bystanders, watching.

Fear gripped him on all sides, long fingered and clawing at his skin bloody at every turn,
clouding his vision black and making him feel very small.

Smaller. Vulnerable. Insignificant .

Just as he'd been during his second year. A tiny wisp of a boy, trying and failing to take the
responsibility adults thrice his age could not. A brave little boy who discovered he might be
able to touch the sky someday. He didn't want to be brave, now.

He remembered the snake, the Basilisk, the biggest creature he'd had the misadventure to
meet. He could have considered her the prettiest as well, had it not been for the fact that she
had been actively trying to kill him.

He remembered the cold, damp Chamber, the darkness that allowed no light in. He
remembered a boy, much like the one he observed everyday, standing before him, and in
hisses and slurred words that made the Parseltongue language, told his Basilisk to attack. He
remembered the piercing pain as the long fang broke through skin, muscle, and bone. He
remembered the cold venom that latched onto his blood and burned its way through his veins
in search of his heart–.

He feared Tom Riddle would turn on him again, now. He didn't know if he'd be able to
protect himself. One cold look from those deep ocean eyes and he'd be paralyzed.

Harry lived in fear everyday now. The ghosts of his past were catching up to him, the feeling
of hopelessness breathing down his neck.

Something had to give. Whether he liked it or not.

By the time the second petrification came and went, he was forced to make a decision.
He would stay silent no longer.

The screaming match that followed the lastest of the petrifications would have been heard
from the other end of the Castle, maybe even from Hogsmeade, had it not been for Orion's
quick thinking. As it stood, not even the Black Heir could hear what was going on from
behind the privacy wards.

One by one people had been exiting the Common Room, casting long glances at the couple
that stood in the middle.

They argued for hours on end, walking from one side of the room to the other, the privacy
wards stretched and pulled taunt between them but never snapped, even as they threw spells
and jinxes at each other without rhyme or reason.

Neither had taken out their wands.

The smell of ozone in the charged air between them permeated the air. They danced around
like this for what felt like an eternity.

So long in fact, had they been arguing, that night had fallen upon them.

Then they finally stopped.

It ended quite abruptly, with tears streaming down Harry's pale face, and with Tom's own
face stuck in an expression as cold as ice.

They breathed heavily, each one from a different corner of the Common Room. The sounds
had been muted, thanks to the privacy wards, and yet now that they were not actively trying
to one up the other in the screaming match the silence felt final. Decisive.

Harry threw one last thing at Tom: a little metal object that hit him on the chest, before falling
unceremoniously to the ground.

Harry's face had gone paler, his eyes distant. He turned and left the Common Room behind
without looking back. Only Tom's sharp glare and his head motioning at the door told Orion
he was meant to follow.

And he did, he left Tom Riddle standing alone in the middle of the Common Room, where he
bent down to pick up the little object Harry had so angrily thrown at him.

It was a little snake, and as soon as he touched it, it twitched and moved, coiling around his
hand and wrist and settling in with a contented sigh. It was a lovely piece of magic,
intricately carved with loving hands, given life by will and thought alone. Tom noted a couple
of the snake's small scales were tainted red.
Harry ran. It didn't even matter his leg was killing him, or that the tears clouded his vision
dangerously, or the fact that a few sobs tore their way through his lungs every other step he
took.

He'd been a fool . He'd thought things could be different , but no matter.

He didn't even need an invisibility cloak to sneak out of the Castle.

A strict curfew had been put in place by Armando Dippet, the Headmaster, and no student
was to be out of their respective Common Rooms later than seven, just after dinner.

Teacher-student patrols had been put in place in face of the two Muggleborns that had been
petrified over the curse of three weeks.

Losing Orion Black's shadow was rather easy. Getting out of the Castle was even easier.

Harry walked.

There was a calling, a thrilling at the back of his mind, begging him to look. To hear.

Despair and angst made his breath quicken, his pulse raise. If he stopped walking now he
would crumble beneath the weight of another's decisions. Even his own decisions were
looking rather dark at the moment.

He made his way across the long wooden bridge towards the Hogwarts grounds. The night air
was crisp and cold against his exposed skin.

The high mountains that surrounded the Castle greeted him, stark giants even in the faint
light of the half moon. He went down the gentle slope of a hill, footsteps quick towards what
had once been (would be) Hagrid's Hut, but as of now was used by the current groundskeeper
as nothing more than a tool shed.

It was a cold night, almost freezing to a degree. It would snow soon.

A few goats grazed by the dirt path, their movements slow and lazy. They didn't even startle
as the boy walked by, simply watched by with slit-like brown eyes as he got lost between the
trees.

~
Orion Black panicked. One moment Harry Evans had been right in front of him, just over the
bend of a corridor, and the next he was standing alone, in the dark.

He ran back to the Common Room before he could think better of it, heart on his throat.

The Forbidden Forest was a known monster. Harry had been inside its depths enough times to
know.

A few steps in, and he lost sight of the lovely half moon hung in the sky.

A few steps more, and snow gave in underneath Harry's boots.

A fog settled close to the ground like a heavy blanket, moving and rising with the wind,
white wisps curling around his body as he made his way through. It felt like cold fingers,
trying to drag him back.

Sounds not his own reached his ears. It sounded awfully like laughter.

He walked further inside, as silent as his encased foot let him.

The trees grew crooked, in odd shapes and twists beside the main path the more he went in.
Harry lost the main path quite quickly however, between the snow and the thrilling song
calling him deeper, he abandoned the trail and steered deep into the woods.

It did not snow inside the forest, and yet, a white blanket covered every available space of
dirt. The sound of the snow crunching beneath his feet was his only company for long, long
minutes.

Some signs had been put up long ago by the Ministry, by townspeople, by other travellers, if
the weathered look about them was anything to go by: warning travellers and stragglers about
the dangers of this very forest. 'Imminent death' one read. 'Point of no return' said another.
Crude skeletons had been drawn with white paint over wooden planks and stuck with long
nails on a couple of trees.
Harry walked deeper.

He didn't need his wand to follow the invisible thread between the trees. He didn't need to see
between the fog and the darkness.

He need only listen .

Whispers followed his footsteps.

He crossed a frozen stream a couple of times, the path of the small river ever winding and
indecisive, much like Harry.

The stomping of hooves in the distance made him stop, wary. There were a lot of creatures
active in the night that might resemble horses, and only one Harry knew wouldn't harm him,
if he didn't count the ever elusive Unicorns.

A doe crossed his path not half an hour later. It stopped between two trees, watching Harry,
considering. Harry could feel its anxious little heart beating fiercely from where he stood.
The deer had been just as startled as him to find another living, breathing being wandering
about at night. Harry looked down and away, hoping the little animal got the hint.

By the time he looked up again, it was gone.

Harry's hands trembled in the cold, the tips of his fingers turning blue. He'd left behind all his
winter gear, it seemed.

Big roots interrupted his path, having grown violently from the ground to sustain the tall
trunks that towered towards the sky and where there was no way to go around them, but
through. Harry climbed the twisted roots as best as he could with his leg dragging him down.

A few birds appeared out of nowhere, clearly startled by something he couldn't see.

Up ahead, a small hill covered in snow greeted him. He made a frustrated sound as his leg
caught between the protruding wood, making him fall forward on his face. He was not far
from where he was meant to be, not long now.

Something dark flew over his head, missing him by a breath. Something cold and menacing,
shaped like a rather long black cloak, edges fluttering as it floated a couple of paces above
and in front of him.

Harry held his breath, heart beating a mile a minute. He knew from a single glance what it
was.

A Lethifold.

Harry struggled to remember what he'd read about them, they fed on meat from their victims,
he knew, but there was more... they strangled their prey to death? Something about sleep...

The creature glided from side to side, seemingly tasting the air.
Harry made no noise.

The thrilling suddenly got louder, more urgent.

A fire in the night flew towards him, a small sun made of magic and wings, singing as it
went. The dark creature took one last look around before fleeing in the night.

Harry was eternally grateful to Phoenixes.

The bird guided Harry the rest of the way.

As he stepped between two towering rocks cut from the cliff side, Harry recognized the little
clearing. He knew it like the back of his hand.

He had died here, what seemed like a lifetime ago, just beside his Godfather.

The water of the little lake seemed to sparkle in greeting, almost silver in the moonlight
finally making its way between the canopy of trees.

Fireflies flew about, illuminating his path forward.

There was a man who, unlike Harry, was appropriately dressed for the weather, sitting by the
water. His bare feet were submerged in the silver depths. Harry could feel the dark magic
creeping towards him like a dark shadow, faint whisps and threads of Magic hanging loose in
the air.

The Phoenix flew towards him in all its fiery glory, before settling with a rather contented
sigh on the man's lap.

He cast a long glance back at Harry, dark eyes tired. He scanned Harry's face, taking in his
own tired, droopy eyes and swollen face, still red from crying.

"It's rather late for you to be out, no?" He had a rather faint American accent, Harry noted.

"I could say the same." He answered. He was freezing cold, his lips turning blue. He was past
the point of shivering now, as the cold had settled deep into his bones. His cast was wet, and
Harry feared it was not only due to the snow.

The man pursued his lips at him, before inviting him to sit.

"I don't know any warming charms, I'm sorry." He said. And he did look sorry, if the
contorted look on his face was anything to go by. The man took off his own thick winter coat,
lined with fur and settled it on the boy's shoulders.

The Phoenix on his legs considered the exchange for a moment, before hopping on Harry's
own lap and settling down. The creature was as warm as the Summer Sun.
The contrast between the pure Magic of the Phoenix and the burning, sick feel to the man's
dark aura was startling.

"Thank you."

"Mm. It is no trouble." They settled in silence for a couple of moments, watching the fireflies
float about, lights fluttering from one spot to the next. "You are a student." The man stated. It
was rather obvious, Harry thought, as both times he'd met the man he'd been wearing his
uniform. He nodded in response, still. "One of Albus?"

An amused smile broke on his face. He would laugh, if he had the energy.

" No ."

"Ah. You do look like a snake, rather." An amused little tilt to his eyebrows and Harry knew
he was being messed with.

"Have you been? To Hogwarts, I mean." Harry settled on. He was much too tired to follow a
playful thread even if it slapped him upside down the head.

"A few times, when School was not in session." He answered, a deep sad look on his
features.

"Where were you before that?"

That made the man smile a little more genuinely. A hint of mischief on his severe face.

" Everywhere ."

The man talked long into the night, his voice raspy from disuse, about the United States, a
witch hunt at the hands of silly No-Majs (at Harry's confused glance, he'd corrected himself,
Muggles, people with no Magic), who, misguided as they were, had managed to catch a few
Wizards and Witches non the less. He spoke about France, in stuttered words he remembered
a girl who was Magic, the prettiest he'd ever seen walk the earth, who could transform into a
snake mostly at will.

He didn't know where she had ended up. A few tears made their way down Harry's cheeks
without his permission. He knew where she would end up, in another future.

He spoke of a Circus. Then, he stopped himself quite abruptly.

Harry had been almost lulled by his deep voice, calming on the dark night. The little furnace
on his lap making him content, even if tears still left his eyes.

"You haven't even told me your name, you little menace." Harry turned sharply at that, an
insolent retort already halfway past his lips.
"You didn't ask for it, before dumping your whole life story on me."

"You were the one who put a due date on me, don't pretend now–"

"Hey! The due date was already there before I even sat on your dingy little dock!"

"Don't call it dingy, my dad worked hard to make it less smelly than before!"

"If it's less smelly now I can't imagine what it was before!"

"You still haven't said."

"Harry!" He shouted, startling the Phoenix who had been dozing on him. "Just– Harry ."

"Just Harry." The man looked at him weirdly, an amused look on his eyes. He looked a little
less frightened by his impending doom, a little more relaxed. " Aurelius ." He said, sticking
his hand out from beneath his remaining cloak. He didn't seem cold at all, Harry was envious.
"Or Credence, if you prefer."

"If I prefer? What do you prefer." Green eyes glanced warily at the hand sticking out towards
him.

"I've been Credence all my life. Mostly Aurelius, now."

"Aurelius, then." Harry answered, sticking his own freezing hand to grab onto the other
man's. "To new names." He said, with a hint of mischief on his tone. "Now tell me all about
this crazy Circus."

They spoke until the dense fog lifted from the ground of the Forest, until the moon bid them
goodbye and the first few rays of sunlight appeared on the horizon.

"I should go." Harry said. He didn't want to, didn't know if this would be the last time he saw
Aurelius. But something was calling him back, paired with the tiredness of a night of no
sleep, made him almost incoherent.

"I will walk you halfway, Just Harry."

Harry smiled despite himself.

With great effort, leaning on one another for support, they made the trek back to the Castle.

The Phoenix – Serenity, Aurelius had called him – flew ahead of them.

When they reached the edge of the Forest, Aurelius hugged him as close as his frail body let
him, both a thank you and a goodbye.
Harry closed his eyes and let himself be held, pressing his face into the man's chest. A strong,
if stuttering, heartbeat bid him farewell. A hiccup fell from his lips, and then a sob.

He cried the whole way up the hill.

For himself.

For another little boy who had been as abused as he had once been, left in the dark and struck
with a belt, denied magic at every turn and called names before he could even speak.

He cried for another little boy with blue eyes, sat in a forgotten orphanage in the middle of a
war.

Harry made his way safely inside without too much trouble, despite the night already lifting
from the edges of the Castle.

He was so wrung out, so tired, that even as traitorous tears clouded his vision as they fell
down his face he kept going, as it was, he didn't notice the teacher until he almost ran head
first onto him.

Another Dumbledore stood in pale robes, tall and menacing even in the lateness of the hour.
His baby blue eyes were narrowed in suspicion, and his face was devoid of emotions.

"It's terribly late, Mr. Evans. Terribly early, even dare I say." Harry trembled a bit, where he
stood. He was terribly cold, he realized. "Where could you possibly be headed to?"

It took a couple of tries before Harry could speak, and even so his words were interrupted by
hiccups, tears still streaming down his face.

"The Infirmary." He uttered out, taking a deep breath and letting it go before he could speak
again. "Professor."

"Surely it could wait until morning."

He closed his eyes and swayed where he stood. His leg was aching terribly, and the bottom of
the foot of the cast was growing even more wet. Had he stepped on water? He couldn't
recall.

Dumbledore was still speaking, his deep voice lost on Harry as the world closed in on him.

His stomach clenched and bile rose up his throat. He felt disgusted with himself, a little. With
everything and everybody that stood underneath this Castle.

"I'm gonna be sick." He managed to say, before he heaved and lost his dinner all in one go.
Hands suddenly gripped his shoulders before he could topple over. His head was swimming
in an ocean of despair and hurt, making him dizzy and disoriented. Another pair of hands
appeared at his back, then gripped his waist.

A pair of voices argued above his head.

Then they tried to move him, to help him along, hopefully towards the Matron and her kind
yellow eyes.

But, as soon as Harry put his barely healed foot down, the pain became unbearable.

He passed out.

Cassiopeia was deeply upset with him, when he woke up.

It was late afternoon, sunlight catching on the windows and making the room glow orange.

Harry had woken, confused and disoriented, to yellow eyes watching his every movement
from the corner of his bed. His foot was devoid of cast, a heavy pink bandage around it
instead.

"Been wandering the forest at night, little grey wolf?"

" Um ." Harry attempted to move around the bed, self conscious and anxious.

"Um, indeed, Harry." Her calm expression ripped like water in a calm lake, before it turned
angry. "What were you thinking , stomping around in the night? I had to lie through my teeth
to pull Albus Dumbledore away from your sickbed, together with the petrifications! Have
you so little thought for yourself?"

"It's not that ." He murmured, chastised.

"Then what?"

"There was, um ." What to say? ' There was a dying man in the woods waiting for me '
sounded just as bad as ' I fought with my parent's murderer turned best friend about the moral
implications of petrifying Muggleborns to fill some kind of void where a parents love and
approval should be– '

A long silence stretched between them.

"I needed some time alone, I think."

"You think ?"

"I had a fight with Tom." He said, finally, as a way of explanation. He supposed the puffy
face and the red rimmed eyes rather gave him away.

"Oh, Harry ." Her expression gentled a little, and suddenly Harry was very aware of the tired
slope of her shoulders, the deep heavy bags underneath her yellow eyes. She seemed skinnier
than a couple of days ago, paler. She was overworking herself.

Four beds beside his own had been set behind closed curtains. There had been another
petrification in the night, then. Maybe that explained Dumbledore's rather frantic behavior.

"You cannot leave as you please like you did before, little dove. You worried half the Snake
House to an early grave, I fear." She sat by him on the bed, a warm hand running through his
curls. "There are people who worry for your well being, myself included, who could not see
you harmed." She settled a gentle hand on his bandaged leg. "Your health is already
precarious as it is, please don't make it harder on yourself by trampling through dangerous
woods in the middle of the night. If not for your health, then for mine." A smile broke on her
pale face as a tray filled to the brim with chocolate muffins and treacle tart appeared by his
bedside table. "And the House Elves." She added.

Stress baking indeed.

He was released from the Infirmary an hour before curfew, with strict instructions not to put
his foot down and most certainly chained to one Orion Black by a thread of magic.

"It's not that we don't trust you, love." Cassiopeia had tried to reason, while his cousin's grey
eyes settled on Harry with fierce determination.

"We don't." He finished for her, tone booking no argument.

And that was that.

Harry was more or less imprisoned in his own blankets on his own bed.
Orion and Abraxas had pushed two beds close together on either side of his own, and had
shooed away his remaining roommates, a feat which Orion assured him, involved a lot of
blackmailing and a little bit of bribing.

Harry fell asleep quite easily between his friends, despite having slept all day already.

Tom Riddle stood by the entrance of the room, watching with worried eyes as the curly
haired boy finally settled and fell asleep.

Something would come to a head, and he worried he might have slipped a little too much.

Earlier that day, during lunch, a grave looking Headmaster had stood before his students and
announced with a detached tone something that gripped on Tom's insides and burned .

' We lament to inform you, the students, that due to the circumstances that befall us today, if
the situation continues the way it has, the School will be forced to close down its doors until
further notice. This is not a decision that has been made lightly, make no mistake; the
Ministry, together with the Board of Governors and a select few Healers St. Mungo's has so
kindly allowed to step into our halls, have decided it is, as of this moment, the best course of
action.'

Outrage had never tasted so bitter on his tongue.

He wandered the halls that very same night, well past curfew. The little menace of a snake
Harry had gifted him coiled and uncoiled around his wrist, restless, as if it could feel his own
emotions.

Turmoil made a house in his heart, in his mind. What direction should he turn to, now?

If Hogwarts closed down he would be forced to go back to the Orphanage, to the middle of a
Muggle War. And, what of Harry? The signs of neglect and abuse were so clear on his skin,
on his mannerisms, he feared the School closing down would mean sending his lovely
darling, so fierce and yet so very tired, right into the mouth of hungry wolves.

~
Harry had barely slept a wink that whole weekend, after his stint in the woods. His leg ached
something terrible, and the feeling of dread plagued his every waking thought. Nightmares
made it impossible to sleep, frightening and distributing and dark all in one, with yellow eyes
at the forefront of his mind.

Orion and Abraxas had stayed with him every moment of the day, fearing the moment they
looked away even for a single second Harry would wander away on his own again.

They even walked with him in his slow pace from the bed to the bathroom, stood guard while
he bathed in soft scents of lavander and chamomile. They watched as Harry struggled to do
his hair routine, to not let it become a rat's nest and the moment he faltered and gave up,
Orion stood by his side to work on it instead.

They watched with apprehension as the fogged mirror drew shapes, water dripping from the
top and slowly moving down.

Harry knew that animal like the back of his hand.

A grim made of shadows and water wagged its wispy tail at them.

And when they asked what it could possibly mean, he simply smiled and returned to bed.

He was so exhausted, so tired of dreaming of black dogs and dark magic, so much so that
when Monday rolled around, when he finally found rest for a couple hours, he overslept.

By the time he woke, Myrtle was dead.

Hagrid had been acting suspicious for months on end.

Tom had watched from the sidelines, not lifting a hand nor hair to follow. It was not worth his
time.

Until.
Until he noticed Harry's long glances, his lingering eyes. He had the same look when he drew
the haggard man who looked like Orion. Sad. Knowing. Knowing .

Tom followed one afternoon.

Hagrid, in all his Gryffindor glory, was suspiciously good at sneaking around. However, Tom
knew the Castle better than anyone alive or dead. He knew every corner, every stone, every
speck of dirt.

Every abandoned closet.

Hagrid looked both ways of the corridor before entering the small space.

Tom waited a few heartbeats, cloaked himself in spells to make himself invisible, before he
too made his way inside.

Hagrid startled bad enough to drop whatever creature he had been holding. And wouldn't you
look at it? It looked remarkably like Acromantula offspring.

It had been an accident , more or less. She was not supposed to be there, by the sinks of the
bathroom when the Basilisk slithered out. She was not supposed to be there at all. He'd
placed spells, wards to warn off any student trying to wander close to the girl's lavatory on
the second floor, jinxes and traps smartly layed out to dissuade anyone from coming close,
and yet. And yet , there she lay.

Guilt chewed at him. Harry had said. Harry had, he had warned him of the outcome, he
knew what would come of this, he'd been foolish to think he could completely and utterly
control a creature as old as the Castle, control his own fate despite the warnings.

He stopped. He couldn't be found here. Hiding her body, making the Basilisk swallow her
whole would be too suspicious, if they thought some dark creature or even a student had
committed murder and the body didn't show up to explain away the situation...

It was well after curfew, possibly closer to the witching hour by the time they found her.

Talk had spread fast between the ghosts, and then the students, until every single person in
the damned Castle knew what had happened.
He had Prefect duties, and as much he had a valid reason for being out of bed for so long,
even if it was a stretch of time. Technically his patrols ended at midnight.

Tom stopped in the middle of the grand staircase. Voices above him made him turn to stare.

A shadow crept up the walls, terribly big in the paleness of the night, it looked like a monster
made of darkness, menacing and walking, crawling, towards Tom.

The snake coiled around his wrist tightened for a moment, little scales digging hard into his
skin.

The shadow banished.

Four wizards moved down the staircase, carrying a stretcher. Beneath the white cloth
carefully draped over the body, lay Myrtle Warren.

Tom watched with apprehension as they walked past.

She was not petrified, as her fellow Muggleborns had been. She'd been killed on sight.

Tom could still remember the frantic beat of his heart as he'd realized what had happened, the
hissed battle he'd had with his Basilisk to force her to retreat back into the Chamber, and the
sound the flooded floor of the bathroom made as the body hit the water.

He remembered the pain he'd felt on his chest, gruesome and piercing and somewhere near
where he imagined his heart was. He'd felt that pain before, once. He knew what had
happened, then. He was cold, so, so cold.

He remembered the small hand that peaked out of an open doorway, even as he left.

And now, Dumbledore stood at the top of the staircase and commanded his attention.

"Riddle! Come ." His voice booked no argument. The infamous twinkle of his blue eyes was
missing.

"Professor Dumbledore." He took a deep breath and let it go. He knew what the old man
would want out of him.

"It is not wise to be wandering around this late hour, Tom." The gears started turning in his
head, where to lead him, he wondered–?
"Yes, Professor. I suppose..." He let go, straightened his spine and looked Dumbledore right
in the eyes. "I had to see for myself if the rumors were true."

"I'm afraid they are, Tom. They are true."

"About the School as well? I don't have a home to go back to." He swallowed forcefully.
Having to look up at the professor from the bottom of the stairs was grating on his already
frayed nerves. The metal snake at his side twitched as if amused. "They wouldn't really close
Hogwarts would they, Professor?"

"I understand, Tom." No, you bloody don't . The snake tightened again, this time in
reprimand. "But I'm afraid– Headmaster Dippet may have no choice."

Tom pondered a few moments. Surely.

"Sir, if it all stopped, if the person responsible was caught–" The snake coiled so hard around
his wrist it made him stop talking to take a sudden breath in, the circulation on his hand
completely cut off. And, that seemed like the wrong thing to say, as Dumbledore's eyes
narrowed and his auburn beard twitched.

"Is there something... you wish to tell me?

"No, sir. Nothing." But Dumbledore's face had already settled on suspicion. Tom felt the
prodding behind his eyes and immediately shut down his Occlumency shields down and
tight.

"Very well, then. Off you go."

"Goodnight, Sir."

He needed a plan, now .

Thankfully, a little songbird had already pointed his way.

Tom Riddle walked with purpose towards a broom closet on the third floor. There would be
no turning back now.

It was now or never.

Either take the blame, or pin it on someone else.

It was an easy choice, made even easier by the fact that the boy had been keeping dangerous
creatures startlingly close to vulnerable students.

Harry woke to what felt like a different world. From the piercing nightmare he'd had of the
Grim chasing him on his dreams, and back to reality.

Abraxas and Orion were missing from his side, which was unusual as of late.

He was alone, warm and comfortable on a cocoon of blankets in a room bathed in yellow
light. His breath slowed down until he was in no danger of hyperventilating.

A small sphere sat on his bedside table, spinning lazily as it cast the colors of the sunset
around the room. It felt dark, and soothing. Warm, in a way. It fel like Tom's magic.

Suddenly he didn't feel cozy at all.

A cold hand gripped him by his white curls, all empowering and unforgiving as it dragged
him under and suddenly he knew, he knew with cold burning dread someone had died in the
night, someone had died alone and scared and she'd been crying and suddenly she hadn't been
there at all. It was all his fault, it was his fault , his and his alone, what had he been doing?
What had he done–!

It was too much, too much, too much.

Outside Harry's mind, in a rather sunny dungeon Dorm Room the boy with white and black
hair arched off the bed and his green eyes rolled to the back of his head.

Darkness welcomed him back.

The first to find him had not, strangely enough, been any of his friends. Nor a professor. Nor
anyone alive , really.

Myrtle Warren stood, confused and beside herself as she watched the boy convulse on the
bed. She had not formed yet, was not entirely a complete ghost. It would take years before
she would be seen by anyone again.

But the other ghosts. The other ghosts knew she was there, they knew a new companion was
stretching and arriving.

She could help him, she realized, between the panic of not being alive and the relief of not
being yet gone. She could help him, as he'd tried to help her.

Not ten minutes later Mirabel Garlick broke into the Dungeons, accompanied by the Bloody
Baron.

She didn't have much training in the matter of healing, she'd rather leave that to her wife, but
she knew enough.

She turned the boy on his side and held firm.

Something dark was clinging to Harry, so tight it must be making it very difficult to breathe.
She could not pinpoint the exact origin of the seizure, but she could tell it was slowing down.

Minutes went by.

No magic she knew could help her now. She felt hopeless.

She held on.

On the other side of the Castle, while a whole brigade of Aurors searched high and low for
the escaped Acromantula, Tom Riddle felt a tiny prick at his wrist.

The little metal snake had bitten him.

The Diary on his left breast pocket pulsed in response, burned, before it settled.
 ~

Tom Riddle quite literally burst into the Infirmary.

Most of the beds were closed off with curtains of pale blue, not letting anyone peek inside to
see the petrified bodies of the students. The antidote would be ready any day, now.

Harry was once again in a bed off on the other side of the door, close to the big floor to
ceiling windows that looked onto the Great Lake and some parts of the Forest.

He was asleep. Or rather, unconscious.

He had not been there to hear, but the recount of students that had stood outside as the
Bloody Baron moved faster than anyone had ever seen him move, from the place where he
was strolling the Hogwarts grounds to the nearest teacher available, in the Greenhouses.
Mirabel Garlick had run outside just as fast, flame red hair let down and green dress dirty and
covered in mud. In her hands she gripped what could have possibly been a Mandrake leaf
before it had fallen forgotten to the ground in her haste. The Baron floated at her side,
shackles moving so fast they made a sound not dissimilar to a bell.

Then a Patronus had come in the middle of the Great Hall, a lovely dove that flew straight to
Cassiopeia Black. The message had been lost to the crowd, as in the same moment the Aurors
had burst in and declared the creature chased off to the Forbidden Forest. Not even they
would venture that far in their search for the murderous little beast.

Instead, they proposed an update on the Wards surrounding the Castle, to not let in any
dangerous creature within the walls.

Headmaster Dipped could do nothing but agree.

And so, Tom Riddle found himself by Harry's bedside.

The Diary pressed insistently on his robes, emotions leaking out like a petulant child. It
wanted Harry, and it wanted him now.

Tom sighed. He would have to keep it in the darkest pits of his trunk, lest he himself possess
someone and drive them to the green eyed boy.

~
Harry woke to chaos, as was usual.

That is to say, he woke up in the Infirmary. Again . He feared it would not be the last time.

Cassiopeia and Mirabel had both worried over him like headless chickens, explaining in a
chaos of words and sentences how he had a seizure but no magic could explain why. Mirabel
claimed dark magic had settled over him for a moment, but as she was not adept in human
physiology and magic, she could not pinpoint where it had settled or where it had come from,
and by the time Cassiopeia arrived at his side in a mess of battle robes, it had gone, and the
seizure had stopped.

That is not to say it left no consequences.

Harry was mostly fine. Except when he was not.

His body grew colder as the days passed, and he watched with apprehension, as if he was a
mere spectator to his own life as Rubeus Hagrid was blamed for a crime he didn't commit, his
wand snapped and promptly banished from the school grounds.

He knew Hagrid would be fine, even without his input. He'd probably done enough, trying to
mess with the timeline, only for Fate to turn around and spit in his face as the same events
unfolded as if he had simply been no more than an annoying fly.

And yet .

And yet he worried.

Harry made his way to the Transfigurations classroom before he could even think about the
direction his feet were taking him.

He wondered where Abraxas had gone, as he'd been just by his side, not a moment ago.

Dumbledore looked older than he ever had, in this Time. Bags under his eyes and a hunched
posture that was so alike him it made him stop and stare. His redish hair made him look
awfully pale, terribly sick.

The Professor looked up from his pile of papers and noticed Harry leaning on the doorway
for support. The pink bandages had been replaced by a pink cast. He walked with Orion's
beautifully transfigured cane more often, now.

"Harry Evans." Even his tone was tired, dejected. "Should you be out of bed?"

"Should you ?" Harry retorted back, a long pause followed, before he remembered himself.
"Sir."

An amused smile made the man's beard twitch despite himself.

"I'm afraid so. I have more duties now, as Headmaster Dippet is being forced to answer the
never ending questions of both Aurors and parents alike."

Harry wobbled his way in. He was not used to the cane yet.

He sat on the first desk closest to the Professor and stared.

They both sat in silence as they measured each other up.

"You don't like me." Harry said, finally. "I do not like you, either." He clarified after a
moment. "I did before, I think." Dumbledore furrowed his brows in consternation. Harry
pondered on what to say. Finally, he sighed. "Can I get a cup of tea?"

The man before startled as two cups appeared in front of each of them, floral drawings of iris
flowers all over the cream colored ceramic. The tea had already been served, despite Harry
liking the process of pouring the water.

It tasted lovely, with three cubes of sugar on his and none on the Professor's. The House
Elves knew them well.

"You can do something about this." He finally settled on saying.

"Can I, I wonder?" Harry took a long, long sip of his tea. "The culprit has already been
apprehended, no one would believe otherwise, as all they were looking for was someone to
blame and the matter gone from their minds–"

"Not that . You can do something for Hagrid. Something for his Future." Harry's green eyes
revealed nothing as they pierced Dumbledore's. He settled his cup calmly on it's little plate,
upside down. He crossed his hands in front of him and waited.

The man didn't say anything.

Finally, Harry turned the cup.

Finally , a light at the end of the tunnel.

Harry turned the cup to face the man, who startled at the strangely detailed hut in tiny tea
grains. The little building looked similar to the one on the grounds, down the slope of a hill,
but not the same. Another room had been added in, and big pumpkins grew on the sides.
" Do something , Dumbledore." Strangely enough, and for the first time since they had
crossed paths, Dumbledore didn't take points from Harry for his cheek. Didn't even comment
on his state of undress, standing in broad daylight on his lavander pajamas.

Harry's second mission of the day could not start until well into the night.

He knew he was running out of time, in all aspects. He would need to go on the offensive
now.

Harry crept towards Tom Riddle's shared Dorm Room, cloaked with only his star robes for
protection. Anything else and the boy, even in his sleep, would be able to sense him, he knew.
He had such a scary control of his magic, and he could project a field around him that let him
feel any change in the air. So, no disillusionment spells.

Harry walked with confidence, despite the leg that bothered him. He had to leave the cane
behind, and as such he leaned a little too far to the right to balance himself on every other
step.

Tom Riddle's trunk was heavily warded, from top to bottom and inside out. It was of a nice
quality, from the shiny black leader that was clearly well taken care of, to golden clasps that
shone in the night. The fission of energy coming from the wards that protected the inside was
hot up close.

Perhaps, to anyone else it would have been an impenetrable fortress. Something only
someone as powerful as Dumbledore would be able to force his way through.

But Harry didn't need to use force.

He simply needed a whispered hiss for the latch to jump open excitedly.

By the time Tom Riddle woke, nothing looked amiss.

~
Harry walked with a piece of his heart on his sleeve, as he always did, and everything was
right in the world.

Except nothing was right.

The Diary, for one, had been delighted at having been delivered so quickly to his darling's
cold hands. The feel of Harry's magic was even more pure, through the letters he poured on
the pages.

Harry had explained, sadly, that he and his Other Self were not on speaking terms anymore.
Diary Tom could understand why, to a point, but still grew confused as the days wore on.

Surely the main soul missed Harry, just as he himself missed him every time they didn't write
to one another.

But Tom knew Harry had classes to attend, homework and probably Seer... things that took
up his time.

But as the days turned into weeks, he worried. Just what had happened, after the girl died, to
make Harry this agitated towards– well, himself .

Not himself, as Harry seemed strangely endeared with Diary Tom, but with the Main Tom, as
they had taken to calling him.

But Harry didn't speak of Main Tom often.

He spoke of other things.

Things he hadn't told Main Tom. And it made Diary Tom strangely possessive and smug.

Harry spoke often of the friends he'd made before starting the term at Hogwarts.

He spoke of twin devils with red hair who liked to play pranks on everyone and anyone,
including themselves.

He spoke of a boy so smart and yet so lazy he stood somewhere near the bottom of all his
classes, and yet was an excellent chess player.
He spoke fondly of a curly haired girl who ate books for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

He spoke of a man who'd offered up his house to Harry, despite not having found a home
himself in many years. A man named after a star, so kind and warm it felt like a father to him,
from the moment they'd met. Then the man had gone somewhere Harry couldn't reach him.

Harry feared he'd someday forget the tone of his voice, he wrote. The amused tilt to his
mischievous smirk. The way he hugged Harry like he was something precious.

Tom wanted to kill anyone who had ever harmed Harry. Anyone who had looked at him
wrong, anyone who had done him no good would simply disappear under his magic.

Tom wanted to give Harry the world.

And yet. And yet here he stood, trapped in a Diary while his Main Self gallivanted off in
search of something that would not bring him joy for more than a day, while his darling stood
alone, with a fragment of himself.

He couldn't do much, but listen.

He could feel the pull and stretch of his missing Horcrux like something horrible tugging at
his gut.

And yet everywhere he looked, he found no answers.

Someone had stolen his Diary from right under his nose, and had taken to parading it around
the Castle like a goose hunt.

It drove him mad to no end, to search and search just to come out empty. The Horcrux felt
just out of reach, somewhere near but far enough and it was driving him up the walls with
desperation. If the person who'd taken the Diary found what it was, or took it up to a
teacher...

He hadn't been able to sleep a full night's sleep since he'd found it missing. He wondered how
long it had taken him to notice it gone, if it had been right away or maybe days later.
By contrast, his darling looked lovely.

He looked the happiest Tom had seen him in weeks.

His cheeks were full and no dark circles marred his skin. His curls were well taken care of
and the pink cast had finally come off, even if the cane stayed, more often than not. He'd
heard from Orion that Cassiopeia had stopped Harry's treatment in light of the stress his body
had gone through, lately.

Tom tried and failed not to stare.

He missed Harry, but he feared he'd done something that he could not redeem himself from.

As it was, it happened because of a coincidence.

He was on Patrol that night.

Curfew had been finally let out and students breathed with a sigh of relief at the monster
finally having been caught, the culprit out of the Castle.

Tom caught the end tail of a long whisper, almost a hiss that echoed through the night.

He was near the lavatory. Surely.

But, as he approached, the hiss stretched and stopped. The tugging on his soul grew urgent,
closer.

The little snake coiled around his arm, the snake that so annoyingly reminded him of Harry,
that had accompanied him in classes, in the library, in his sleep and bothered him while
writing and begged for attention more often than not, bit his hand, before falling to the
ground. The pieces that made up the little snake broke apart and bled red.

The snake stood still, dead.

Tom Riddle cursed.

Harry Evans was dead.

He had to be. There was no other explanation.

Tom Riddle had tried to rid himself of the annoying snake more times than he could count,
from fiendfyre to cruciatus, tossing it in the Lake just to find it firmly wrapped around his
wrist the next morning, blasting it with curses both light and dark, and nothing had done it in.

And now, it was gone .

It couldn't possibly be that Harry was down there, could it? He wouldn't be able to go down
on his own, unless.

Unless he somehow had gotten a hold of his Diary.

Tom's pulse skyrocketed, blood burning through his body as he ran towards the girl's
bathroom on the second floor.

By the time he made it down to the Chamber proper, Harry Evans was indeed dead.

The Basilisk stood before him, long body coiled and poised to strike, yellow eyes piercing
and looking towards the fallen boy.

He was on his back, green eyes closed and hand gripping the Diary even in death.

The Horcrux made distressed noises in the back of his mind, screeching and calling and
pulsing magic out while the Basilisk turned its massive head to look him in the eye.

Tom Riddle was ready to kill, and the snake stood on his way.

It was a simple matter of perception.

The snake stood alive, while Harry did not. The snake had to go, then.

Fiendfyre had never felt so hot coming from his wand, so destructive and precise all in one,
as flames climbed through the walls and the floor towards the Basilisk.

It died a gruesome death.

But it didn't matter, because Harry Evans was dead.

He looked cold where he lay, small and cold and alone . Tear tracks told Tom more than
words ever could, about the last moments of the boy, he'd probably been scared and out of his
mind, if the Diary hadn't guided him here, then his Seer powers probably had been enough to
find the Chamber, to seek the true source of the petrifications by himself, but no matter.

Because Harry Evans was dead, and it was Tom Riddle's fault.

He should have listened.

He should have heard. He should have heeded the warnings Harry had so casually thrown his
way time and time again.

He had been warned .

And now the consequences stood before him.

Never before had he thought he would be able to feel like his heart was shredding to pieces.
His breath was picking up, and tears threatened to fall from his eyes.

He would never again hear Harry. He would never again see those lovely green eyes smiling
up at him, or feel his magic gently caressing his own, or feel the need to envelope him up in
as many layers of bubble wrap as he was able to find.

Because he was dead.

If only Myrtle Warren hadn't died, no, if only he'd never opened the Chamber, if he'd never
gone looking as he'd been told.

Tom Riddle knew remorse, then.

He would never again act as he had. He would never again go in with his greed first, and his
thoughts second. Never .
He would search for a way, to apologize to Harry.

His Harry .

Tom's hands lifted the boy from the cold damp floor and hugged him close to his chest.

He was terribly cold, even if he knew it couldn't have been long since he'd gone. Then again,
he always seemed to be cold.

Tom moved him until he was draped over his lap, with his head tucked beneath his neck, and
cried .

The Diary stood silent, for the first time since its creation.

He rocked back and forth. He must be in shock, he noted distantly. He didn't care.

Then, what could have been hours or days later, the reality of the situation slammed into him
like a bull.

Harry was dead.

Something tore at his heart and he gasped.

Off to one side, the Diary burned .

Tom Riddle sobbed for the first time since he had a conscious memory of what crying was.
The first time in years where he felt the need to let go of all his tightly bound emotions and
scream.

Magic poured out of him in waves of anguish and fire, heating up the cold Chamber to a
more comfortable degree. But Tom didn't care for comfort, now.

He watched with satisfaction through his tears as the Basilisk burned to a crisp, the Diary
close after.

Thoughts not his own were swimming in the rage and despair that clouded his vision.

The Diary's he realized. He nuzzled Harry's Curls as he turned his fractured attention
inwards.

The Diary shard of his Soul had returned to him.

He picked through the days of Diary Tom and Harry talking through the pages, of the warm
magic that seemed to follow the boy everywhere, of the faint moment at it's creation where
he'd had nowhere to go and had instinctively found Harry, only to watch in horror as the boy
had contorted and tried to push him out, out, out , his Soul piece too big to fit into a body
already containing a whole Soul and– a little more .

Diary Tom had been so clearly smitten with Harry he had no choice but to accept his feelings
wholeheartedly. Even if it didn't matter now.

Harry had been his , from the very first moment he had caught Tom's attention.

He sighed as his ragged crying slowed down. He would stay here for as long as possible, by
Harry's side.

He had been with Harry in his last moments, however inanimate his Soul had been a moment
ago, and he would stand by Harry well after.

He closed his eyes and hugged the boy close.

As such, he didn't notice the color bleeding from his curls, slowly but steadily turning his
head white.

Then the boy in his arms moved.

Harry gasped awake, disoriented, as was often the case with him.

Feelings and magic were hard to pick apart, but he could feel himself upright and warm, so
he guessed it was good enough.

His eyes threatened to close and sleep wanted to pull him under, when he felt the arms around
his body tense.

"Harry?" That was Tom speaking. Or maybe the Diary. Somehow he doubted it was a ghost. "
Harry ." His name sounded like a prayer, said between a sigh and a sob.

The panic of the statement brought him forcefully down to the ground.

It smelled terribly like overcooked meat.

" Harry, Harry, Harry " warm hands were traveling up and down his back and he sighed in
content. He was warm, and safe. If Tom was here nothing else would harm him.

He tried to recall the events before he fell unconscious and came up short.

Where in the seven hells were they?

"In the Chamber of Secrets, I'm afraid." The deep voice mumbled above his head. His voice
was nasally and terribly rough, as if he'd been screaming himself hoarse. It tugged on
something so intrinsic on himself that made him look up in alarm.

Tom Riddle was crying.

Tom Riddle was sobbing over him.

Tom Riddle cradled his body as if it was something precious.

"What happened?" He murmured, words strung together and slurred.

"I was hoping" the other boy stopped, took a breath "I was hoping you would tell me,
darling." He cradled Harry's head on his big hands and leaned in until their foreheads
touched. " What the fuck , Harry."

Hmm. Harry much shared the sentiment.

"You need to stop." Harry finally unstuck his tongue from the roof of his mouth. "You need to
stop, Tom Riddle."

"Okay."

"No more campaigns against Muggleborns, no more hate to those who are gifted with
Magic–"

"Okay."

"–no more utilizing magic to bring out fear in others, no more weaponizing the fucking
Basilisk to hunt down people–"

"Okay."

"You need to stop setting yourself up for failure, Tom." He said with finality. Harry struggled
to raise his hands and held onto Tom's face. "No more Horcruxes." Even as the boy tensed, he
stood firm. He would not let Tom Riddle become nothing more than a memory, a fragmented
piece of a soul mad enough to rampage through the Wizarding World at its leisure.
"Okay."

"Promise me."

"On my life, Harry. I will not, I can't. Never. Again."

" Good ."

Tom hummed in answer, long fingers caressing his face with something like reverence on his
eyes. He would have some explaining to do, he was sure. But for now, Harry stayed firmly
sat on Tom's lap and let him map out his features with his hands, with his lips, even as tears
still fell from both their eyes.

Harry had a feeling they would be okay.

Tom Riddle refused to leave him, after.

Even if Cassiopeia Black cursed him black and blue and tried to ban his entry to the
Infirmary, he would find his way in regardless.

Even in his sleep, he stood watch.

The feeling thrumming through his very soul begged him to keep Harry safe. To look after
him. He got into enough trouble as it was, he didn't need Tom stomping through his little
foretellings on top of it.

He had sworn.

Never again would he break a promise to Harry, not if he could help it.
Harry had practically moved in the Infirmary by the time the antidote was ready to be
administered to the Petrified students.

Tom stood watch, a guilty expression pressing around the corners of his eyes as one by one
the students were revived.

One night while they sat side by side, finally alone and with the Hospital Wing all to
themselves, Tom told Harry he'd never meant to kill Myrtle.

"The Petrifications were meant to scare off the students. Give them a taste of what would
happen in the outside world, with the old wizarding families growing more and more
intolerant of new blood coming in. I thought. I should have known, really." He sighed, long
and tired. "She wasn't supposed to be there, standing right by the entrance. The Basilisk
clearly smelled her before I saw her, and maybe she thought it was fair game, as I'd already
more or less set her loose and– then she was dead ."

"And Hagrid?"

"He was harboring dangerous creatures right under our roof, darling."

"Oh, and you weren't?"

"Fair enough. At least the snake understood when it was spoken to."

"That's not a winning argument, Tom."

A bitter smile appeared on his face.

"I know, love."

A comfortable silence stretched on, even as the night grew long shadows around the hospital
beds.

"How did you know?"

"Hmm?" Harry had been lightly dozing on Tom's shoulder, leaning most of his weight on the
other boy.

"How did you know what the Diary was?"

"Don't be silly, Tom. It was pretty obvious."

"Explain it to me, still."

"It felt like you. Like your magic, your pull, your warmth. It spoke exactly like you, had your
same handwriting and even your name was written on the cover. The matter of souls is a foul
one, however."
"You found the book, then." The foul black book that had so innocently been stored in the
depths of the Restricted Section.

"I didn't have to."

"Oh?"

"Can we not talk about this? It still hurts to think you tore your soul right out of your body
and to an inanimate object. It was really stupid, Tom. What if you'd left it alone for fifty years
and it grew mad enough to possess people and want freedom? What would you have done,
then?" The silence was very telling. "You would have left your own soul, alone, for eternity.
With no one to talk to, trapped within it's papery walls and confined into a Library no one
could access to, forgotten and left to time– "

"Okay, love, I get your point."

"I really think you don't." Harry turned on the bed, facing Tom. "You wouldn't do that to me,
would you?" At Tom's confused glance, he added: "Leave me forgotten for the rest of my
mortal life, alone and incarcerated somewhere only you can get me out of, growing mad day
by agonizing day– "

" No !" Tom grabbed onto the sides of Harry's face, something like desperation on his
features. "I would not."

"Then why do it to yourself?"

The question hung in the air between them, heavy and daunting.

" Exactly ."

Tom sighed deeply. He tugged lightly on Harry's white curls. The action was so familiar it
was comforting in its weight.

"What would I do without you?" The exasperated tone of his voice did not match his soft
expression.

"Become the Darkest Wizard of your time, probably. Grow mad from long Soul-tear
exposure? Be flung out of your body like a wraith ! Mass murder–?"

"Okay! You can stop now, you little shit."

"I'm an angel ."

"Wrong shoulder, love." A crooked smile pulled at his lips. Warm amusement swam in his
dark blue eyes, locked in on Harry ever since he'd found him in the Chamber and never again
looked away.
Harry sighed. Tom did look rather lovely, and warm, and indulgent and it had been so long
since they'd chatted like this (Diary Tom not counting) that he could not stop himself from
leaning in.

Kissing Tom felt just as natural as breathing, or reading tea leaves.

It felt like coming home after a long period without. Like water after a drought.

Harry understood, now more than ever, the feeling of warmth that could only come from
another person.

If Tom had been surprised by the impromptu kiss, he didn't show it. He dived in with the
focus and care he did everything else. Single-mindedly and intense.

Harry gasped as Tom's tongue graced his bottom lip, and the other boy took the opportunity
to tug him closer as he dove right into his mouth. A startled moan tore it's way though his
throat unexpectedly, so sudden that it made Harry giggle right into the kiss.

Tom pulled back a bit with raised eyebrows.

"Sorry! It was a bit silly." Another laugh found its way down and suddenly he was laughing
at the stupidity of the situation, of himself, and even Tom, sat with an expression so complex
he feared he would get stuck on it and carry it for the rest of his life. It only made him laugh
harder.

"So very glad making out with me makes you this amused, darling." But Harry only leaned
forward in response, resting his cheek on Tom's shoulder.

"Sorry! I can't help it!"

"Hmm." Tom waited patiently as the laughs turned to sobs and held him through it all.

He'd been holding it all together by the very threads that made up his very being, anxious and
afraid and worried and pulled in so many directions he feared he would snap at the most
inconvenient moment, and finally he could let go.

Cassiopeia Black watched from the doorway of her Infirmary as her boy was rocked from
side to side, in the arms of another.
 She had vowed not to castrate him on sight, when Harry had first spoken about the other
Snake.

She had reconsidered the statement several times in the last few weeks.

Perhaps a little scare was in order.

Chapter End Notes

Iris flowers (on the cups): faith, courage, hope and wisdom.

Oof. I battled with this one, for real. I wanted to cram so many things into one place it
got too much

Sorry for the late update, I know I said Friday but things got, how to put it lightly
/complicated/

I wrote this whole thing at least two times and some parts three to four times and I'm
still not satisfied with the end result. I'm HOPING and praying it makes sense, if not,
please do not be afraid to state it on the comments (sometimes I get lost in my head and
what comes out is at best disjointed and at worst complete gibberish)

I might go back over and correct a couple of things but I really just wanted this hell of a
chapter gone from my mind, begone!

Harry being a marionette to Fate is my favourite trope, as you can probably guess. He
was pulled in so many directions he started to loose himself a little, poor Harry.

Well! That's it for this week, see you next time =)

you may find me on Tumblr!

 Chapter 8
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

There was an itchiness under his skin that could not be explained away by any pain he might
be feeling or potion he might be taking.

It was a known monster, this one.

It was the same feeling he got when he was little and he spent long stretches of time locked
up in a cupboard in the darkness, with nothing better to do than sit down in a curled position
and retreat inwards to the safety of his mind, breathing calm and muscles relaxed.

He knew he'd been too caged in, in a place where the walls felt like they closed in and choked
him from all sides. He felt like the situation was out of his hands and his fate in the wind.

He was feeling out of place, out of sorts and out of mind.

It was not a feeling he wanted to associate with Hogwarts, his first Home.

He was, as such, obligated to do something about it.

There would be no twin devils coming to rescue him after a long summer draught, or a
magical godfather to pop out of the woods with an equally magical werewolf not-partner.

He needed to get out himself.

He debated whether or not to go alone. He had done it before, countless of times on this time
already: he had met with Aurelius, gone to feed the herd of Thestrals that resided in the
Forbidden Forest, gone on long walks around the Lake when no one was looking.

He had been mostly alone during his fifth year too, closed in on his own rage and hurt and
disbelief at being left alone and prosecuted at every turn, his only company Luna's occasional
presence in the Forest and his own loneliness. His own anger.

But then... then he thought of warm hands against his cold skin, he thought of the heavy
weight of twin stormy eyes settling in on him with laser focus, the comforting feeling of
knowing that if he fell, another's hands would be there to catch him.

He didn't want to go alone, now.

He let the feeling simmer under his skin for two whole days.

Two days of vacant smiles and shivers of barely suppressed tremors that wrecked his frame
every time he sat still for too long.
Two days of those intense eyes zeroing on him, waiting on Harry to say something, to admit
something was wrong. Simply waiting and watching. Days where his heavy warm hands
fixed on his body like particularly comfortable shackles and grabbed on. The steadiness of
his hands didn't, for one second, leave his person. Even as he stumbled and changed direction
as his thoughts raced past they stayed firm, and warm.

He was tired of feeling like a caged bird.

A prison is still a prison even if it was the size of a Castle, after all.

By the second night, on the brisk of the third day, he marched towards Tom Riddle's dorm
room, having had enough.

Tom Riddle was not a hard person to rouse.

As soon as cold nimble fingers made contact with the heavy curtains firmly drawn around his
bed, blue eyes had opened to the darkness.

He had a moment to be confused, an edge of irritation licking at the back of his throat at
being woken at the witching hour, before a tan face framed by white angelic curls peaked out
from the other side, mischievous green eyes greeting him.

" Darling ?" Voice scratchy and throat dry from sleep, Tom made a move to sit up, hand
already reaching towards the other boy. "Is something wrong?"

Harry hummed in response, green eyes glossy and a taunt smile firm on his face. He slipped
inside the covers with ease and settled himself right in Tom's space, where he belonged.

He was a bit cold to the touch, he found, as he settled an arm around him. Harry sighed and
sank down into his warmth, stretching close like a cat in the sun.

"Darling?" When all he received back in response was another hum, Tom worried. He had
been more or less mopey the last few days, dazzled and sleepy as if he had been under the
effects of a sedative potion. The tired curve to his smile and the sickly look of his skin told
him how little sleep Harry must be getting as of late.

So far no one had found him wandering the halls again, but he knew it was a matter of time.

He ran a hand through his soft white curls, scratching his scalp with his blunt nails and
bringing a sigh of satisfaction out of Harry.
"Did you want to sleep here with me, Harry?" He couldn't help but ask, something like
contentment and smugness curling low on his belly.

"No."

"No? Did you just want cuddles then?" He hugged him close to his chest and moved to lay on
his back, bringing Harry along with him. His body was a comforting weight on Tom.
Grounding.

The green eyed boy took a while to answer, clearly basking in their shared warmth and the
comfortable position of having a breathing, living pillow beneath him.

"No." He finally mumbled. Ah. Perhaps he did want to go out.

"Then?"

" Let's go to Honeydukes ." A heavy pause followed as Tom tried to process the words. He
couldn't possibly mean that.

"I beg your pardon, darling?" A warning, more than a question.

"I want to go to Honeydukes." He repeated back.

" Right now ?"

" Yes ." Tom did some mental calculations, before taking a deep breath and sighing while
casting a Tempus with a wave of his hand. The letters drawn in the thin night air of the
dormitories glared back at him.

"Harry, my love. It's one in the morning, I'm more than certain Honeydukes is closed for the
night."

Harry's big, big green eyes looked up at him from the place where he had settled, snuggled in
his chest. He looked the most awake he had in days, in retrospect, gaze piercing and
mischievous all in one.

Tom sighed. There was no getting out of this one.

Harry knew, instinctively, that getting out of the Castle in the middle of the night bore no
good news.

His aunt used to say, when he was still little but old enough to barely reach the counter
without the aid of a chair to make the job of cutting vegetables easier, that nothing good
could come out at night. Harry didn't understand much then.

Now, walking beside arguably what would become the Darkest Wizard of his generation
through the corridors of Hogwarts, huddled together close to the walls and wrapped tightly in
notice me not spells, he thought perhaps his aunt had been right. Nothing good could come
out from being out at night.

And yet.

Yet, the itchiness beneath his skin, the crawling of his blood to get out, to run could not be
ignored.

Two opposing forces battled themselves in his body and mind.

Something was coming.

But not tonight.

Perhaps Tom Riddle had thought, naively, that they would have to walk out the front door
towards the main path that lead out of the Castle and towards Hogsmeade.

Perhaps that was why he almost stumbled and tripped over Harry's cane as the boy changed
directions, away from the Main Building and towards the third floor.

They walked for a while, seemingly at random, before they stopped by the statue of the One
Eyed Witch. The statue itself was inconspicuous, Tom knew, as he had walked by it countless
of times. The witch it was made after was one Gunhilda of Gorsemoor, and if historians were
to be believed she had found the cure for Dragon Pox. Her statue, however, didn't hold any of
the grandness she might've once held during her life. Her figure was hunched over, a cloak
draped over her like an ill fitting sheet, and her head was almost bald. Her hands grew
crooked and long fingered and in one arm she held a cane that was flavoured by healers in
her time, said to be blessed by Asclepius himself. She had only one eye, hence the name, and
few Hogwarts students remembered her as anything more than what she lacked nowadays.

Harry grabbed onto Tom's hand, dragging him away from the corridor and from any possible
prying eyes, before muttering under his breath with his wand pointed towards the statue.

" Dissendium ."

To Tom's surprise, the hump on the statue opened up to reveal a passage underneath.

He wanted to ask, he desperately wanted to know, but knew the answer he would receive
would be vague at best and impossible at worst.

From the look on his face however, Harry seemed to know what had crossed his mind. He
smiled amusedly at him.

"It's a long walk, come." With their hands interlocked, and they ventured down beneath the
statue, where the passage opened to reveal a corridor not dissimilar to the one they had been
standing on, with torches lighting themselves on each side as they walked past. A staircase
led down to a more narrow path, where the walls closed in on them and the roof lowered
considerably, making Tom have the need to bend down, lest he brain himself on the harsh
stone. Harry however, walked with no difficulties.

A scathing glare sent his way let him know Harry knew exactly what he was thinking.

He couldn't help but chuckle.

The carefully cut stone walls gave away to rough stone carved directly from the earth beneath
the castle, the pathway held together by planks of wood on each side like archways. The big
torches turned to lanterns before they too disappeared.

Tom cast a wandless Lumos with a wave of his hand, and a white orb floated ahead of them
illuminating their way.

The path was getting narrower and narrower as they ventured further, so much so that they
had to walk in a line, with Harry leading them into the darkness.

They walked in silence for long, long minutes.

Tom could visibly see the tension that had been present on the other boy's posture slowly
relaxing and finally letting go. Muscles lax and breathing even. His magic stretched high and
wide in all directions, no longer constricted behind tightly bound walls and danced around his
own magic with glee.

"Harry."

"Hmm?"

"Stop for a second, darling." He tugged on their interlocked hands, making him stop and turn
about. He dragged Harry back towards himself, bringing a hand up to playfully tug at his
curls. Harry let out a long sigh, leaning forward and into his body. "Feeling better?" He
couldn't help but ask.

"I'll feel even better once we get past the wards. I swear the Aurors did it on purpose." He
mumbled back into his shoulder.

"You feel them too, then?" He received a nod back in answer.

The Aurors had indeed done an spectacular job at making Hogwarts feel like a prison instead
of a school behind tightly bound War Wards, with the excuse of dangerous creatures
venturing out from the Forbidden Forest more and more often and the possible threat of a
Dark Lord coming to knock on their door, they had raised the most powerful Wards they
knew to create. They felt awfully restricting, heavy in their entirety.

Safe , yes, but also like a noose around their throats.

"Makes sense, though." Harry mumbled against his skin, making goosebumps travel up and
down his body.
"What does?" The hand on the white curls traveled downward, stroking the other boys back
with firm hands.

Harry took a while to answer this time, more of his body weight leaning on his own. A
contented sigh left his lips.

"There are more and more reports of attacks close to the border between Germany and
France. He's on the move." He answered with finality.

Tom Riddle couldn't seem to connect the dots the same way he could, however.

"How does The Alliance attacking France have anything to do with Hogwarts, darling?" His
hands traveled up, and he tugged on the back of his curls again, insistent. "We are far enough
away in the mountains and from any major city for it to be truly worrying."

Harry grabbed his face between his cold hands, bringing him down to his eye level. His green
eyes looked impossibly black in the darkness of the passageway, his pupils swallowing up the
green like a black ocean.

" It is worrying ."

And that was that.

They walked for what felt like half an hour before they reached the end of the tunnel. Above
their heads the stone suddenly gave away to a trap door.

A wave of his hand and a quiet spell muttered into the cold tunnel air and the door opened up
to a quiet room. Tom couldn't make out the details from underneath, but the smell of freshly
baked sweets was enough of a giveway to stump him in his place, wide eyed and pleasantly
surprised.

He turned to look at Harry.

"How?"

Harry turned an impossible shade of red.

"Oh. Well, you know. Marauding ." And if it had any hidden meaning, his words were lost to
Tom.

Impossible boy. A marvel, truly. Tom often wondered what a world devoid of Harry would
look like. It would be plenty boring, by his count.

"Stop thinking. Now help me up."

The room that opened up to them looked like a storage room, or a cellar. Filled to the brim
with boxes of different sizes and colours, different smells coming from all places. A few
barrels were pushed off to the side, along with bags upon bags of flour. The trapdoor they had
used to enter was neatly hidden beneath a staircase, and in the darkness of the room one
could not tell the difference between the planks of wood on the floor. A clever trick, if one
was adept enough.

"Disillusion me again." Harry said in the space between them, a mischievous smile playing at
his lips.

"Whatever for, darling? There cannot possibly be anyone in the store at this hour." But even
as he said so, the magic started to gather at his fingertips.

"Do it anyway." The spell came easy to Tom, wandless and wordless as it washed over them
like a cloak. Harry disappeared from view, and only their linked hands told the other of their
approximate location.

Harry dragged him by the hand around and up the staircase, where an intricately carved
wooden door awaited them.

It opened without resistance.

The back of the green and pink cheery shop greeted them, with sweets of all shapes and
colours proudly displayed on all available surfaces.

Tom was amazed that a connection between Hogwarts and Honeydukes even existed. It
must've been built before the Castle proper, otherwise Tom couldn't fathom how it had gone
unnoticed and unused for so long.

He wondered if there were more paths leading out of the Castle. There had to be.

They walked hand in hand around the store for a few minutes, and Tom was only aware
Harry had taken a few sweets by the movement of the other treats around the missing ones.

And to think they called him a thief. Blasphemy.

He smiled despite himself.

" Little thief " he mumbled beneath his breath, but still loud enough for Harry to hear. The
hand holding his gave a warning clench.

"I'll leave the money by the counter, you wanker. I wasn't about to walk off." The green eyed
boy whispered back.

"Sure you weren't, darling." He mumbled, amused.

He received no answer, at least not an audible one. However, he could feel the green side eye
burning through his skin like a spell.
He did indeed leave money by the counter. How he could possibly know the added total of
the stolen goods was a mystery to Tom, another one to be solved at a later date, on his
growing list of things all Harry related.

The tugging on his hand became more insistent, dragging him towards the front door and out
to Hogsmeade Village proper.

"Where to now, little thief?" He couldn't help but ask, interest burning on his throat. He had.
So. Many. Unanswered. Questions.

" You'll see ." Tom didn't miss the smile that made out his words, and he didn't have a doubt
that the other boy was smiling through his own mischief.

It became apparent that Harry had a clear destination in mind, and despite the late hour and
the fact that no other soul crossed their path, Tom kept the spell over them like a protective
cloak just in case. Getting caught out of bed and out of the Castle at such time would be bad
enough on its own, adding to the fact that Harry now carried the equivalent of a small store of
stolen sweets on his person made it even worse.

They walked all the way to the entrance of the village, where the wooden bridge separated
the small town from the rest of the world.

But Harry didn't take them towards the main path back to Hogwarts. Instead, he seemed to
pick a direction at random and walked them towards the woods, through the overgrown grass
and muddy ground, mostly covered in snow.

"Harry?" He questioned. The silence of the night and the fact that he couldn't see his face was
starting to grate on him. The hand holding his gave a comforting clench, a thumb graced the
skin at the back of his hand.

" Hush , Tom."

Some parts of the Forest were quite lovely at night.

Still a safe distance away from the Forbidden Forest proper, the trees grew dense enough to
block out most of the moonlight without leaving them completely and utterly in the dark.

The autumn chill threatened to sink into their bones and take grip into their blood. He wove
threads of spells around their bodies, trying to keep them warm.

Sounds of running water reached his ears before one of the rivers leading most of the water to
the Great Lake opened up to them, an old stone bridge proudly stood over it. It had mostly
frozen around the edges, even though the water rushed with power down the hill.

On the other side, the forest grew darker , more menacing. Tom could almost feel the change
in the air as dark magic pulsed through towards them, warning them off with alarming
strength.

He brought Harry back to his side before the other boy could take a single step towards the
bridge. Towards the Forbidden Forest.

"Where are you taking us, darling?" He asked, loving hands gripping onto the boy's shoulders
like a heavy stone.

He didn't receive a response.

Tom dropped the concealment spell without having to consciously think about it, and it fell
like water around them, leaving Harry's face bare in the chill night air.

His eyes were almost glossy, looking at a point beyond the horizon, beyond the line of trees.

" Darling ." He whispered as he grabbed Harry's chin and walked into his line of sight.
"Darling mine, come back to me." The other boy seemed to visibly try to blink himself
awake, the green of his iris almost swallowed whole by his pupils.

Harry's cold hands closed around his wrist, holding on.

"Oh. Sorry." He closed his eyes for a moment and swayed. "There's a place I thought you
would like."

"In the Forbidden Forest." He stated, voice flat.

"Yes?"

"In the middle of the night."

"Well, yes. We could try it during the day but it's not as fun." He opened his eyes, and the
green was back and bright.

"And just now? Where was your head just now, darling?" Tom stood closer still, breathing in
the unique scent that was Harry. He graces their noses together.

"I dunno." Harry whispered back in the space between them.

Tom pondered for a few breaths, scanning his face and looking at his eyes with concealed
worry, before he sighed. He stood to the side and motioned for Harry to take the first step
towards the bridge.

His yew wand dropped in his left hand just in case.

They walked down the steps of the bridge, and he could feel the physical change in the air.

"Disillusion us." Tom didn't question him, and as they made their way between the trees the
spell fell over them like a blanket.

The cold grew more bitter, more biting as they walked. The trees appeared normal at first
glance, but more and more he noticed the crooked branches leaning towards the path, the lack
of leaves and the twisted nature to their trunks. The roots seemed to grow almost violently
out of the frozen ground and blocked their path in some places, seemingly at random and
with a mind of their own.

The Forest seemed to breathe in as one, branches moving with no wind in unison, the
ambient magic thick and dark.

He could no longer spot the moon between the trees. It was almost too dark to see even a
meter in front of them.

Harry confidently waved between the trees, not hindered by the darkness of the night.

The only sound that reached his ears was the snow giving beneath their boots and Harry's
cane occasionally hitting the roots of some trees.

Then, up ahead, the sound of hooves raced through. Hushed voices could be heard through
the space between trees. Centaurs .

He tightened his hold on Harry, wishing for a second he had turned them around at the
bridge.

Centaurs were unfriendly on a good day and particularly murderous on a bad one. And they
were deep in their territory. They would not take kindly to the presence of two Wizards, no
matter their age.

Harry kept walking seemingly without care, almost dragging Tom along.

"They won't see us, Tom. Just keep walking."

"It isn't them seeing us that worries me, darling." He retorted, blue eyes locked on the line of
trees towards their left.

"They are searching for another intruder. They have little time for us. We are but small flies
in the big scheme of things right now. Come on." This time Harry grabbed onto his elbow
and linked their arms, huddling them close together.

Minutes went by like this.

Finally, Harry stopped and changed paths, down the gentle slope of a hill where branches at
either side of the path met in the middle and opened up a natural tunnel leading down.

The tunnel opened to another part of the forest.

The spot was filled with small fireflies flying about. The snow gave away to green grass and
moss, and in a few patches flowers of different colours grew proudly in the humid soil.

The magic in the forest suddenly felt gentle. Caring. More pure than it had before. A small
oasis in the middle of the dark.

The forest floor seemed to be illuminated from within, green and yellow colours shone bright
like a blanket over the space between trees.

It looked like winter hadn't had the chance to touch this part of the forest. Not ever, perhaps.

The more they ventured in, waking through trees and moss and bushes, the more some things
started to become apparent.

This seemed to be a frequently visited place in the Forest. Be it for humans or creatures, Tom
couldn't say for sure.

Lanterns had been placed by the foot of the path, lit by an everlasting flame that cast a bright
orange light on their way.

Stone steps led in and out of what seemed to be a small clearing. Small, yes, but big enough
for the moonlight to shine right through the canopy of trees above.

Between the old pine trees a different figure appeared. It too seemed to be glowing from
within, filled to the brim with magic giving off a bright orange light that illuminated the
whole clearing and above, with twisted crooked branches that reached towards the moon. The
oak tree stood mostly alone, hanging onto a small cliff edge where its roots had taken home.
Lanterns of all shapes and sizes hung from its branches, accompanied by small paper charms
that had clearly seen better days. Fireflies danced around, bouncing up and down and around.

Tom Riddle was entranced .

He was breathing in the purest, most beautiful magic he had ever had the chance to feel. It
was terribly intoxicating, like drinking an entire bottle of firewhiskey in one gulp and hoping
for the best outcome. It was dizzying.
Harry brought them closer to the tree, seemingly unaware his companion had been lost and
magic drunk to the feeling of sheer power congregated in the clearing.

The green eyed boy let go of his arm, still invisible to each other, before bringing his hands to
his shoulders and up his neck. Tom could feel him standing close to him, even if he couldn't
see him, he could feel the solid press of his body, the warm breath that brushed his face.

Finally, Harry brought both hands to his neck and urged him down.

Kissing Harry while not being able to see him sounded like a rather difficult feat to
accomplish. It was not.

They found each other in the middle, in a tangle of magic and light and the overwhelming
feeling of calmness.

They kissed slowly, without rush. They didn't have anywhere they needed to be, anyone they
needed to heed to. They just had each other, at that moment.

Tom took a gamble and bit the other boy's lip, and swallowed the gasp that followed.

His concentration on the spell keeping them invisible wavered, before it fell at their feet in a
cascade of lights.

Their magic mingled together around them in a tune only known to them, soaking in the
surrounding ambient magic and light like a vortex.

The fireflies seemed to agree with the dance, and soon enough the little insects had
surrounded them in a show of lights and colours, bouncing in circles.

Looking at Harry's green, green eyes, a tan face framed by white curls illuminated by the
magic surrounding them, he couldn't imagine any other place he would rather be.

Their noses brushed together for a moment before their foreheads touched. Tom reached his
arms around Harry's waist, bringing him closer still.

He was cold to the touch, as was usual of him. His eyes looked bright, more awake and
present than he had been in the past few days. Freckles shone bright in the moonlight, little
constellations of their own mapping their way across a gentle face. Even his eyelashes had
lost their battle against color and turned white.

Tom sighed, content.

He leaned in to kiss him again. And again.

(And again.)
He was the prettiest creature made of Magic in the whole forest. In the whole world, he was
sure.

They had an impromptu picnic beneath the oak tree, with ( not ) stolen sweets and fireflies
floating about.

"Have you ever thought of working at the Ministry of Magic?" Harry asked, his white curly
head of hair laying on Tom's lap.

"It is one of many possibilities, yes. Why the question, darling?" Tom dragged a hand
through his curls with gentle motions. His Magic felt terribly like the Forest, vast and dark
and enticing, making Harry sigh in content and close his eyes.

"Just wondering. What you would want to do after we graduate." The hand caressing through
his hair paused, and Tom's eyes seemed far, far away.

"Teach at Hogwarts, perhaps." He finally settled on.

"And if not a teacher? What would you do?"

"You have changed many of my plans so far, darling." He answered, face amused despite the
gravity of his words.

"What plans?" Harry scoffed. "Eternal life? Horcruxes ? What do you want to do with your
life right now, Tom Riddle. Not in a century or two."

"Right now? I want to make out with you, hold you." He leaned down, but a hair's breadth
away from Harry's face. " Have you ."

Harry turned impossibly red and buried his face in his hands.

"Holy god. I'm dating a romantic Dark Lord. Someone save me." He whined, even as his
mouth turned into a smile.

"Is that what this is, darling?"

"I mean, you do kind of have the vibes of a dark wizard–"

"Are we dating, Harry?" He interrupted.

" Are we ?" Harry shot back. Tom looked pensive for one long moment, blue eyes intense,
before they gentled into two summer oceans, despicable, yes, but impossibly warm.
Protective.

Possessive .
"Would you date me, Harry Evans?"

"What, no flowers? No ride to the sunset on top of two beautiful Abraxans? Maybe what they
say is true. Romance is dead."

"Don't be a brat, Harry." Still, he waved his hands in the air and willed flowers to appear.

A mix of orange and red filled Harry's vision, two flowers in the same round shapes and one
in delicate turns.

He lifted questioning eyes at Tom.

"Red and orange carnations, they generally mean devotion, fascination, distinction–" He
paused, a playful smirk pulling at his lips. "– desire –"

"Holy gods. Stop talking ." He buried his head in his hands once again. "You're
embarrassing."

"I thought you wanted to know, darling."

"I know I'll regret asking, but what does this other one mean?" The flower was smaller than
the carnations, a shade of red more dulled, gentle.

"Alstroemeria." He said, big pianist hands grabbing his and placing the bouquet against his
chest. "Also called Peruvian Lily, they generally mean romance–" But Harry wasn't listening,
both hands clutching the flowers for dear life. His eyes were wide on his face and locked on
Tom, mouth hanging open and something that felt both like grief and sheer love filled him to
the brim.

"–are you even listening, love? Why ask if you'll just stare blankly at me like that–"

But before Tom could even finish speaking, Harry was on him, tumbling them both to the
ground in a mess of limbs and exclamations falling from the other boy's lips.

Harry grabbed onto his face and kissed him like his life depended on it, cold hands gripping
the back of his curls and body leaning heavily on Tom's.

Tom grunted and grumbled against the weight dropped on him, before grabbing Harry around
the waist with an arm and holding the back of his head with the other, and turned them about,
gently placing Harry against the grass covered ground, leaning over him, pressing him down.

Harry panted against his mouth, breath quick and eyes dilated.

Tom sucked on his tongue, ripping a moan out of Harry before he could think to swallow it
down. They separated with a loud sound, the taller boy's eyes so dilated they looked almost
demonic as they gazed down at him. But he felt no fear.

Tom leaned down again, and his lips graced the skin just below his mouth, before maping his
way down with kisses and the occasional bite, making him gasp and arch his back in surprise.
The taller boy took it as an incentive, and he bit down on Harry's neck with single minded
focus, pulling at the skin with his teeth in various places and definitely leaving bruises in his
wake.

Harry grabbed onto Tom's hair more firmly before tugging him up towards his mouth again.

Their lips collided and slotted together like they were meant to be, their Magic singing and
dancing with the fireflies and mingling with the ground below, calling out towards the Forest
as the Forest called back.

Light split from the ground, orange and warm as it surrounded the boys in a show of magic
and strength. Flowers– the very same ones Tom had conjured that lay at their sides sprouted
from the ground around them and opened towards them like they were seeking the sun.

The magic sang, and it was theirs.

All of it was theirs. The entire world .

"Okay." Harry finally answered, their foreheads touching and their lips bruised. Warm from
the heat of their bodies and the electric feeling of their magic. " I'll date you, Tom Riddle ."

Winter arrived with a storm of white snow and cold winds. Heavy dark clouds hung around
the Castle and refused to go away.

Most of the Great Lake had frozen solid, and despite the freezing temperatures students took
their time off their days to transfigure their shoes into skate blades and danced around the
edges of the water, where the ice was thicker.

The landscape around Hogwarts turned a pearly white, and both creatures and plants seemed
to struggle in the freezing cold. Even students, armed with charms and heating runes stitched
with careful hands into the insides of their robes for a hefty price down at a small store in
Hogsmeade, dreaded the few moments where they would be forced to walk out of the safe,
warm halls of the Castle.

It was possibly the coldest Winter that had befallen the United Kingdom in at least half a
decade, The Daily Prophet proclaimed.

Harry could not wait for the Winter recess to start. He was cold all the time, and miserable,
and hated stepping a single toe outside the warmth of the Common Room. Hated getting out
of bed each morning and being greeted by the freezing waters of the Lake and a sluggish
Great Squid who seemed cold from any angle he could see, the poor creature.

He would be staying at Hogwarts, despite the many, many, many invitations he had gotten
from various Witches and Wizards, begging him to grace their doorstep with his presence.

Abraxas had been the first to ask, of course, between classes and now sharing a Dorm they
spent most of their time attached at the hip. He had even proclaimed Harry an honorary
Malfoy the first time he'd seen him after the whole Basilisk incident, with his hair as pale as
snow and coincidentally very close to Abraxas' own shade of blond.

He'd had a bit of a freak out at first, which is understandable, but after being assured by both
Cassiopeia and Tom that Harry was, in fact, more or less with a clean bill of health, he'd
wanted to adopt him on the spot.

"This is perfect! We'll just tell people you are my long lost brother and you can come live
with me at the Manor, there's a huge spot of land we use for Quidditch practice whenever
Orion and Lucy visit and the Abraxans are sure to take a liking to you–" But, he hadn't been
able to finish speaking, as both Cassiopeia and Tom had sent him out of the Infirmary with
the excuse that Harry needed rest.

Harry was sure they were jealous they hadn't thought to adopt him first. He was not blind to
the way both Mirabel and Cassiopeia hovered around him like worried mother hens, or the
way Tom Riddle coveted his attention every time they were in the same room, dismissing
other people as nothing more than nuisances. It seemed now Cassiopeia and Tom had formed
somewhat of an unstable alliance .

Then both Orion and Lucretia had teamed up and begged with twin puppy silver eyes that he
must come meet their father, Arcturus Black, who wanted nothing more but to repay Harry
for his life saving visions of the Future. Tom had glared so hard at the back of both of the
Black twins' heads he feared their black curls would catch on fire.

Slughorn had been a close third. He had promised Harry dinners and parties and galas to
attend, to mingle and meet people whenever he wanted, and even offered up his own time to
help Harry catch up with any school material he felt he still lacked knowledge in or felt that
he had fallen behind on.

Random people in between tried to get his attention too. He didn't take them seriously, as
anyone he didn't personally know or had spoken more than ten words to could not possibly be
asking him to spend a whole three weeks within their home.

Then the Divinations Professor had stumbled onto him one fine Friday morning and all
amusement Harry had felt at the absurdity of the situation of his lodgings banished.

He couldn't explain it, couldn't really pinpoint where the uneasiness steamed from, but the
very thought of her trying to sink her overly long nails into his brain and try and pick it apart
like dessert had chills running up and down his back. She hadn't done anything to warrant the
visceral reaction he got from being within her presence, and yet each time they crossed paths
a shadow of doubt seemed to linger in the corner of his eyes, in the back of his mind.
She had been delighted at finding him all alone, in a secluded corridor not far from the Great
Hall and had promptly blocked his path with graceful movements. She smelled of roses and
death, that day.

She had graciously invited him to spend Yuletide with her and a friend, who was
coincidentally also a Seer. She proclaimed they could perhaps have a long chat and try to
open up paths for both their benefits.

Harry had never been so thankful for Tom's stalker tendencies than at that moment, as the tall
boy rounded the corner and settled intense dark blue eyes on his partner, leaning heavily on
his walking cane and awkwardly trying to escape the clutches of the Divinations Professor
without being outwardly rude.

Tom had plastered on the fakest smile Harry had ever seen on his face, expression not even
remotely close to reaching his eyes as they remained a cold and possibly icy. He had rounded
his shoulders with a firm arm and had promptly dismissed the Professor as if she had been
nothing more than a fly to swat away. Harry had never seen him be so outwardly rude to
someone, as he liked to keep up appearances around people of the perfect Slytherin Prefect.

When he questioned Tom, a dark shadow had crossed over his face.

"You looked scared , darling." And that was all he had to say about the encounter.

Cassiopeia and Mirabel had both sat him down not long after, with a long list of cons and
pros of leaving the Castle and consequently the care and daily potions they provided him
with. They pointed out they would reside within Hogwarts for the duration of the Winter
Holidays, and as such could look after Harry and any need that he might have during that
time. They also pleaded to helping him further his education if any subject not in the current
curriculum caught his eye, and Mirabel had even promised to teach him how to make his own
robes. They had the most compelling argument so far.

In the end, it was not Mirabel or Cassiopeia or even Tom Riddle the reason he stayed in the
Castle.

It was Aurelius.

Harry knew his time was running out, and Winter was possibly the worst season for both
Phoenix and Master, as their health declined and their Burning Day approached at fast speed.

He wanted to be there, just in case.

When he'd told Tom of his plans to stay in the Castle, he had been delighted. He would be
staying too, as going home for him was not an option, and despite both Abraxas and Orion
inviting him to stay with them as well, having Hogwarts all to himself felt a bit nostalgic. It
was their second to last winter in the Castle, after all.

Then he'd grown somber when he'd told him the real reason he had decided to stay. Having to
explain the existence of both Aurelius and Serenity had set a deep frown on his partner's face,
something possessive and dark had clung around the edges of his Magic and in turn almost
smothered Harry in its intensity.

Harry had tried to explain, at least three separate times, the existence of his friend and his
fiery creature. But to no avail, as Tom just didn't want to understand, it seemed.

He didn't understand how Harry could feel connected to a dying man.

Tom didn't feel touched by Death the same way Harry did, despite the lengths he had gone to
escape it.

Harry had a bad taste in his mouth.

It started bitter and in the back of his throat, tingling and not dissimilar to the itch of an
oncoming cold. Then it spread around his neck like a noose and travelled up his mouth and
made his tongue heavy and dry.

He had a bad feeling. And he'd had it for a while now, lingering in the recesses of his mind
like a dark cloud.

Tom Riddle had a lot of questions and very, very few answers.
He wanted to take Harry and his precious Wand up to Diagon Alley, for a short trip to
Ollivanders.

However, trying to pry Harry out of the Castle in the cold weather was proving impossible.

Sitting together in front of a roaring fire in the Common Room well past midnight had Tom
turning his options in his head.

Harry was sat by his side, curled with both legs up on the loveseat, with a book on the
Austrian Alps open on his lap and his head resting on the taller boy's shoulder.

He had taken to tying his hair up in a mess of curls and fly-aways more often than not held by
his Holly Wand, despite the various accessories Tom kept hiding into his things.

His glasses had come off some thirty minutes before, and he seemed to be struggling to keep
his eyes open. The book still rested open on his lap.

Tom had his own book open in his hands, a Dark Arts Manual for the Advanced Witch or
Wizard (DAMAW for short) which proclaimed to be the step just before the Mastery on the
Subject. He knew its contents up and down, from cover to cover. Yet, he re-read it time and
time again when he wanted to destress and disconnect his mind for a bit.

Harry's weight on him was comforting. It was also growing heavier by the minute. Tom
sighed.

"Bed for you, I think." He whispered against the white curls by his mouth. The orange flames
of the hearth made him look ethereal, a little angel sent for him and him alone.

" Hmm ?" Harry protested, snuggling more closely towards him, cold nose brushing the skin
of his neck.

"Bed, Harry." He repeated, indulgent. An amused smile played at his lips.

"No." The smaller boy whined, leaning heavily on his shoulder.

"No?"

"I haven't seen you all day." The boy protested against his skin, despite his eyes being closed
and his nose buried on Tom's robes.

"And whose fault is that?" Tom brought a gentle hand to card through the white curls hanging
loosely from his mess of a bun. Harry sighed heavily, deflating.

"You went out to Hogsmade without me."

"You didn't want to come, love." And it was true. He had asked. Four separate times.

"It's cold."

"I know."
"I don't like the cold."

"Yes, I know." A heartbeat passed between them, and for a second he thought Harry had
finally succumbed to sleep.

" Tom ."

"Yes?"

" Don't make me go ." He whispered, voice tight.

"Now, darling? It's possibly below freezing, why would I–"

"Tom." His sleepy green eyes caught his. " Don't make me go ."

"Okay, darling. You're not going anywhere." Harry looked deeply into his eyes, before he
nodded his head decidedly and snuggled back onto his shoulder, seemingly satisfied with his
answer. He wouldn't remember that particular conversation, in the days to come.

If only Tom's words were true.

The two white haired boys were enjoying a cup of hot chocolate in a secluded corner of the
Kitchens, warm and accompanied by the smell of freshly baked bread when something
occurred to Harry.

"Hey, Brax."

"Yes, Harry dearest?" His friend answered, eyes closed and leaning back in his chair. The day
had stretched on forever, between essay's and classes and practical exams he was cooked.

"D'you think Orion would marry Walburga?" Harry asked from behind the rim of his cup.
Some cream lingered in his top lip.

Abraxas thought for a long second, trying to place the name to a face, eyes still closed and
head leaning back.

"Black? His cousin?"

"Yeah."
"That'd be damned weird. Why?" When he didn't get an immediate response out of Harry, he
jolted in his seat, eyes wide open and expression wild. " Merlin's left tit, are you serious? "

"Pretty, uh." An awkward laugh left his lips. "Pretty serious ."

"We have to prevent that. God's be good Walburga is fucking insane. She would cook Orion
alive with a single glare!" Harry's face scrunched up, lips pulling into a frown.

"And they are cousin's."

"Yes, that too." Abraxas said dismissively as he sat back, long fingered hand brought up to
his lips, thinking. "How do we do it?" A long silence followed. Finally, Abraxas locked eyes
with Harry.

"It's not that simple." Harry said gently, a sad look about his features. "I've tried changing the
course of the Future several times. It always finds a way around in the most unexpected
ways. If it's meant to happen it'll happen."

Abraxas took a long drink of the hot chocolate, turning ideas in his mind.

"We should kill Walburga, then." He finally settled on.

"Brax!" A startled laugh left Harry's lungs, his expression entertained.

"What? That'll solve the problem right away."

" You're insufferable ."

Harry had indeed been dragged by his hair kicking ( metaphorically ) and screaming ( maybe
even literally ) out of the Castle for some last minute Christmas shopping.

What could have been a rather simple trip to Hogsmeade had turned into an escapade to
Diagon Alley, being dragged by the arm by Lucretia Black on one side and Abraxas Malfoy
on the other.

It was the first day of Winter Break and before they could set out to their own States they had
decided to drag Harry out with them.

He had complained all the way, stomped his good foot down and even tried to claw up the
doorframe of the Main Entrance to the Castle for good measure, refusing any and all attempts
to leave.
Then Tom Riddle had scooped in with a playful glint in his blue eyes and had grabbed Harry
around his middle and heaved him up his shoulders like a sack of potatoes. He had let out an
indignant squeak, and even lost the grip on his cane. Abraxas had smiled at Harry from
behind them and picked it up without pause.

"You'll enjoy it, Haz. It's the best time of the year."

"You say that because you don't suffer the perpetual cold of death, Brax." He sighed and
slumped onto the frame of the boy carrying him. "This is humiliating, Tom Riddle."

"Is it? I don't see anyone looking our way, darling." Oh . It was true. Harry looked around at
the students walking by them on the main path messing out of Hogwarts and towards the
Hogsmeade train station, set to leave towards London.

The git. He had wrapped disillusionment spells around them like a heavy cloak. He hadn't
even noticed.

A warm hand settled on the back of his thigh, making him twitch.

Tom was definitely enjoying it too much.

When the other hand that had settled around his back travelled lower, Harry tugged on his left
ear.

"That's enough of your wandering hands, mister. Set me down." When he received no
response, he kicked his legs around. "I mean it, Tom. Let me walk."

The other boy let out a heavy sigh, like his request was simply unreasonable, before stopping
in the middle of the road and carefully setting his precious cargo down.

"You are insufferable, did you know?" He ground out, hands on his hips even as Abraxas
headed him his cane.

"You've told me, once or twice, darling." A soft smile on his face and all Harry could do was
roll his eyes in response.

He didn't even notice the fact that his wand was missing from his right sleeve.

By the time they flooed from the Three Broomsticks to the Leaky Cauldron in Diagon Alley
(Tom Riddle simply refused to take the train for what could be a short trip out and back), it
was something approaching noon.

Tom had peeled away from them as soon as they hit the Alley, claiming he had a few errands
to run that demanded his utmost attention. Orion had similarly gone his own way with a long,
long list of things his Father had sent him out to buy that could not be possibly purchased via
owl.
That left Harry with an overly excited Abraxas and a smirking Lucretia.

It seemed like a plan for disaster.

They didn't even linger in the Main Street for long before Lucretia steered them away into
one of the side streets, equally as full as the main one, with people desperately trying to buy
presents almost at the last minute. It was pure madness.

The sheer amount of people overwhelmed Harry a little, the raised voices, the close bodies
pushing and pulling trying to walk through the masses.

He had difficulty walking with his cane, between people tripping on it or pushing him from
the sides he wobbled and tilted dangerously, leaning more of his weight into Abraxas' steel
arm around his own.

They made it into the first shop they could find an opening to.

It was an antique shop, not alike Borgin and Burke's (but without the heavy constricting feel
of dark magic creeping up the walls). It was mostly empty, but even without people pushing
each other out of the way it was difficult to walk inside. It was absolutely filled to the brim
with objects, tall bookshelves left but a breaths of space in between each other, furniture
pushed to the side or in the way or on top of each other, objects hanging from the ceiling
seemingly with magical threads. Orange lights came from different sources all around the
shop, from candlelight or small lamps or orbs meant to hold magic for long periods of time
scattered about in shelves, on the floor, floating around.

Something ringed in the back of his mind, a calling.

It was the most magical shop Harry had ever seen. It reminded him, oddly enough, of The
Borrow.

It had a warm feeling about it, cozy and homey and there was something familiar about the
magic that filled every crevice, every spot and every object like a handmade quilt woven with
warm hands.

It was something mischievous, something playful and knowing.

By the time they made it up to the counter he found out why.

The first thing he saw was the fiery red of his hair, the mess of tight curls and the freckles
like constellations on a familiar looking face.

For one terrible moment he was looking at Fred Weasley , he was sure.

Then the man smiled, the curve of his smile was different, the slope of his nose and the
strong jaw all wrong. Even if the mischief was all the same, the warm feel of Molly's magic
was strong in the air.

"Oh." Lucretia exclaimed at his side, amused and warm and gone was the Black mask of cold
indifference. "Prewett."

"Lady Black."

Oh . This could be no other than Ignatius Prewett, Lucretia's husband. He had been an uncle
to Molly Weasley and her twin brothers. He had heard few scattered stories about the man,
with the same mischievous streak as his brother's twin sons and later, his grandsons.

Looking at him standing there, smiling at his friend with affection was making him dizzy.
The picture of Fred kept overlapping over him, the feel of Molly's magic overwhelming his
senses.

He was a part of his family, as much as Orion and Lucretia were through Sirius.

If he got such a physical reaction this strong to them, he couldn't imagine what would happen
if he came into contact with a Potter. He shuddered to think.

"Haz?"

" Hmm ?"

"You're staring." And so he was.

"Oh! Sorry." His gaze focused back on the present, even if Fred lingered on the sidelines of
his vision. "I'm Harry. You look like someone I used to know."

"Well then old friend, you may call me Gnate." He extended a hand and before their skin
made contact, Harry knew with certainty he would be zapped by magic. It was a trick the
twins liked to play on people and no matter how many times they did it, it never got old. He
shook his hand anyway, with tears spilling from his eyes.

He felt terribly homesick.

The sight of tears seemed to startle Ignatius, who tried to drop his hand and step away, an
apology halfway out his lips.

"It's not you, sorry." Harry rushed to explain. "You feel familiar, is all."

Abraxas stepped closer to him, the feel of his body against his back grounding.

"Oh, Harry. Did you see something?" He whispered.

Did he? He could clearly see the outline of someone not yet alive in the shadows of this man.
In between a memory and a premonition. He turned to Abraxas with a brittle smile on his
lips.
"No, it's fine. We should look around–" He turned back to Ignatius, who looked both nervous
and concerned. "–If you don't mind?"

"Of course. Feel free to ask any questions."

"You go ahead, Harry. I'll stay here for a bit. It's been a while since I've seen Ignatius."
Lucretia's steel eyes were impossibly warm, gazing at the man from where she was leaning
on the counter.

Abraxas took his cold hand between his warm ones and gently guided him away.

They browsed through the shop, waving through the little corridors in between the
impossibly tall shelves.

The shop was filled with strange things, from whole bird skeletons mid flight in colours of
charred black (had it burned?) to crumbling books stacked on top of one another in tall
towers, to statues of creatures crammed into every available space, from small ones (as tiny
as his pinkie finger) to others that reached the ceiling. A couple of ladders led to the top of
the store and beyond, seemingly another level of the shop made entirely of the very tops of
the bookshelves, connected by planks precariously put in between each one. It was currently
beyond Harry's motor capabilities, so he ignored the ladders in favour of looking for things at
his eye level.

That is how he found Time Turner.

Except .

Except it couldn't possibly be a Time Turner, as they hadn't been invented yet.

Hermione had mentioned their year of creation somewhere through third year, he was sure. It
was not for a couple of years yet.

The small hourglass trapped in gold rings glared at him from its inconspicuous place, shoved
all the way to the back of a shelf and mostly covered by other objects.

The ringing got louder, more insistent. Calling. Begging .

Harry grabbed the clock with trembling hands.

The gold rings lacked the runes he associated with Time Turners, the spells simply not there.
It was definitely not a magic artifact. At least not one he knew.

However, when his hand touched the warm glass containing the gold sand, his own magic
tingled and responded, goosebumps travelled from the very tips of his fingers down to his
very core. It felt like a storm, like the lingering smell of ozone after a lightning hit the
ground. Something dangerous.
This was Harry's. It was a part of his Magic, a companion to his Souls.

It was impossible.

"Haz? Found something interesting?" Abraxas asked from above his shoulder, suddenly there
when a moment ago he hadn't been. Harry startled bad enough to drop the Turner, gold
slipping from his slack fingers towards the carpet covered ground. Only Abraxas' fast
reflexes stopped the object from hitting the floor and possibly shattering. "Woah there. Are
you okay?"

"You startled me."

" I startled you? I've been standing behind you the whole time, Haz."

"Oh. You were?" The ringing had stopped so suddenly he felt disoriented. Only Abraxas'
hand on his arm stopped him from toppling over.

"Yeah, mate. You get a little lost in your head sometimes, I didn't want you to wander alone."
He turned the gold clock in his hands, clear mercury eyes narrowed. "You like this? I'll buy it
for you as an early Yule present, how about it?"

" Do you feel it ?"

"Feel what, Harry?" A look of confusion crossed his features.

"The magic. It feels like a storm contained inside the glass."

Abraxas narrowed his eyes at that, hand closing more firmly on the object.

"Can't say I do, Harry. But I'm not the best at getting a feel of Magic." A best if silence
between them, before: "You should ask Tom." He looked back up at Harry, light blue eyes
amused and crinkled at the corners. Harry scoffed.

"Shut up, Brax."

"I didn't say anything, love." An arm circled around his shoulders.

"You didn't need to. It's written all over your annoying face."

"Out we go, come. I fear if we leave Lucretia alone with Gnate for too long they'll elope and
then Lord Black will have my entails displayed on his creepy office for everyone to see."
That startled a laugh out of Harry. It was too close to the truth for him to comment on it.

Somewhere around lunch time the crowds finally thinned enough to be able to walk
comfortably without bumping into anyone or being pushed around.
The sun had finally decided to crawl from between the dark heavy clouds and chased part of
the cold away, melting the lasting snow on the cobblestone street.

They went from store to store, exchanging money and goods faster than Harry could blink,
buying gifts for a long list of people they kept on a little notebook Lucretia carried with an air
of authority. Harry had the shortest list written in there, however long it was.

As such, he got almost all his shopping done first. The only gift he had yet to buy was Tom's.

And thankfully, he knew exactly what he wanted. He could see it in his mind's eye. He had
only seen it once before, briefly, on the counter of a dark shop.

(Future Dumbledore would kill him if he ever found out.)

Abraxas still had at least two pages of people to buy for, and Lucretia almost a whole
notebook. Apparently they were buying part of the gift's in their family's name too.

Harry pondered for a moment, before decidedly nodding to himself. He tugged on Lucretia's
arm just as she was about to go into a shop, Abraxas already lost behind the doors and in a
heated discussion with the owner.

"Luce, I still need to buy Tom's gift. I'll meet you here in half an hour, yeah?"

"Are you sure, Harry? I can come with you after I buy grandfather Sirius' gift. It'll be no
time."

"No, don't worry. You still have such a long list to go through, I'll just be but a moment."
Lucretia scanned his face, grey eyes focused and intense. She bit her lip and pondered for a
moment.

"Okay, but half an hour, okay? Otherwise I'll call on the Aurors to come looking for your silly
ass, if Tom doesn't have my head on a platter first." Harry smiled despite himself.

"Sure."

He walked into Knockturn Alley with the sense that everything he was about to do was out of
his control.

A storm was brewing in the back of his head, even as far away from the false Time Turner as
he was, kept safely in Abraxas' expanded bag already full of presents and miscellaneous
objects.

Harry walked on anyways, knowing full well no matter what he did, the Future would play
out as it had intended. Fate was annoying like that.
Borgin and Burke's was just as decrepit looking and foul smelling as he remembered.

He often wondered what could drive people into buying antiques there, in some shadow of a
shop in the corner of a forgotten crevice in Knockturn Alley.

One Caractacus Burke was sat behind the counter, a grimace on his lips and unkept brown
hair falling on his pale face as he turned an object in his hands. His dark robes were crinkled
and out of sorts.

He looked at Harry with disdain as he approached the counter, forgoing looking through the
shelves when he already knew what he had come for.

"What's with you , then?" His voice was gruff and deep, clearly a heavy smoker if he knew
one.

Harry gazed through the counter, ignoring the man entirely. His breath was foul and putrid
smelling even from where Harry was standing on the other side of the counter.

His eyes were drawn away, and locked on a glass cabinet behind the man, where a silver
locket with a serpent inside stood entrapped in silk.

"I want that." He said, simply. He pointed a dainty finger at the shelf behind the man, green
eyes looking back at the man and not looking away from him.

"Yeah? And can you pay for it?" He said, without turning to look at where Harry had
motioned to. His dark eyes scanned the boy from head to toe, taking notice of the small stars
lovingly sewn into the dark fabric of his robes, the metals curled around his fingers and the
leader bag at his shoulders.

"Sure." Was all Harry answered, sweet smile on his lips and green eyes possibly deadly.

Burke swallowed a comment down his throat and stood from his rickety chair.

He turned his back on Harry and walked towards the cabinet.

"Which one then, little lording ?" He asked, voice annoyingly dismissive.

"The Locket if you would, Mr. Burke." The man startled at the mention of his name but made
no comment, simply opening the glass door with a wave of his magic and grabbing on the
locket between his filth covered hands.

He turned back to the counter and placed it on the worn wood none too gently.

"Two hundred and fifty galleons." He spat.

"You did not pay more than a tenth of that price." Harry snapped back, green eyes glowing in
fury.
"I made a bargain, little lording."

"You did not, Burke." The shape of his name tasted foul on his mouth. "I will pay you no
more than what you bought it for."

"Then you can walk your upturned nose out of my damned shop, you little cunt ." He snarled,
making a move to grab the locket and pull it out of the counter. Harry was quicker.

The locket was in his pocket before the man could blink.

Harry looked harder at the man, seeing the images overlap on his decrepit figure. He tilted his
head to the side, white curls falling over one shoulder. He blinked lazily back at him as the
man turned redder and redder.

"I will curse you black and blue if you don't put it back, lording." His wand was on his hand.
Harry made no move.

"I will leave you fifty galleons, Mr. Burke. And a warning ." Harry's eyes turned a silver
green as he leaned a hair's breadth away from the man's face. " Do not buy the cursed base
from the man who will come tomorrow. You will die a slow painful death if you so much as
grace a part of your skin on the ceramic."

The man fell back on his chair, jaw slack. His eyes scanned the boy again from head to toe,
taking in the white of his hair and the glossy look to his intense eyes.

The gallons were placed on the counter and the man simply nodded, dumbfounded.

Harry walked away with the locket securely placed on his robes.

Before he reached the door, the man seemed to snap back into himself.

"A witch sold it to me! She was young, possibly in her twenties. She was pregnant and
covered in filth." He rushed to ground out, words spilled faster than the man could emote
them.

Harry turned and looked back into his eyes and suddenly, he knew with exact clarity what the
man was on about. Harry breathed the smell of ink and ozone and thought of Tom.

"Would you be so kind, Mr. Burke, to gift me the memory?" He asked sweetly, a stark
contrast to the vicious creature he had almost turned to a moment before. Burke seemed to be
whipped back by the change.

"Of course! It will be no trouble, little lording." The man rushed to collect a vial, hands
trembling and eyes manic.
The memory that pulled from his forehead was but a thread of wispy white substance, it fell
on the glass vial in a swirl of smoke.

The man grabbed his hand in between his as he handed the vial over.

"You can come back whenever you like, little lording! We will have discounts for such a
special customer ready!"

Harry cringed back with a forced smile stuck on his face, long fingers closing possessively
over the glass vial.

"Thank you, Mr. Burke." And before he could think better of it, he added: " Be safe ."

He hightailed it out of the shop, the saccharine feel of the man's magic making his blood curl.

Harry looked at the locket in his hands. The serpent shaped like an "S" hissed at him, begging
him to open it. There were runes written on every available space on the metal, and he could
tell it had been meant for protection before it was lost to time.

He hadn't known then, when he had caught but a glimpse of it the second time he had fallen
on Borgin and Burkes store, out of sorts and out of time.

He knew now.

This was Tom's.

Just as he was about to enter back into Diagon Alley proper, a hand caught his arm.

His Divinations Professor stared back at him with her vacant eyes.

"Professor?" When all he received in response was the tightening of a hand clutching his arm,
Harry knew with startling clarity this moment was the one he'd been dreading.

He fought to get out of his grip,, bruises already forming on his skin as he used his cane to
bat the woman away and reached for his wand.

Only.

Only to find it missing .

The spot on his sleeve glaringly empty.

A breath caught on his throat and his heart started to beat twice as fast, blood pumping
through his veins and magic travelling fast towards his finger tips.

He ran.
 ~

Tom Riddle prided himself in his curiosity, his drive to learn. He could have easily been
placed in the House of Ravens, he knew.

As such, the mystery of Harry's wand intrigued him to no end.

Ollivanders Wands stood proud on the Main Street of the Alley, big windows opaque with
dust and almost covered completely from the inside by small long boxes.

Inside was just as he remembered, poorly lit and smelling of wood polish and wax.

No one was at the store front.

Tom impatiently spread his magic through the shop, all the way to the back. He could feel
another's magic brushing against his.

The man rushed to the front in between the tall bookshelves with excited movements.

"Tom Riddle! Yew, Phoenix feather core, thirteen and a half inches! Has it served you well?"

"It has."

"Are you looking to buy another wand? You were such a tricky customer! I had a feeling you
wouldn't–"

"I'm not here for that, Mr. Ollivanders." Tom interrupted with an annoyed air. He had wasted
enough of his time trying to push through the crowds all day to purchase tomes and other
gifts from one corner of the alley to the other. His patience was wearing thin and at it's limit.
"I have a wand I wanted you to take a look at."

He grabbed Harry's dark wand from a pocket on the inside of his robes and presented it to the
man.

Ollivanders startled enough to take a step back, eyes wide in disbelief.

"Just a moment." Was all he said, before he ran to the back of the shop. The sound of boxes
being thrown about reached his ears as the man cursed and mumbled beneath his breath.
Finally, what seemed like an eternity later the man exclaimed in triumph. "Ha! I knew it." He
walked back towards the front of the shop, pushing aside a curtain that blocked the view to
the back. "You see, Mr. Riddle–"
But he couldn't finish his sentence, as not a breath later something in the Alley exploded, the
force of it so powerful it broke all windows of the shop, and glass cut into his skin.

He ran towards the Main Alley, ignoring the shouts as he pushed people out of the way.

He needed to find Tom Riddle.

He knew exactly where to look.

He almost hoped he lost his stalker in the crowd, but before he could make it not twenty steps
towards the shop, something ahead of him exploded.

People screamed in fear and in pain, the explosion having caught more than a handful of
witches and wizards in the blast.

People ran in every direction, and one caught Harry in the shoulder, making him stumble and
fall towards the ground.

Spells fell from all sides, and he could clearly spot red cloaks appearing in between people,
wands raised and poised.

At him.

They were pointing at him.

He stood as best he could, leaving his cane scattered on the ground. It would be of no help
now.

Harry gathered all the magic at his fingertips and willed it for battle.

He petrified and raised shields and levitated people away from him with desperate
movements of his hands, the rushing of blood making his ears ring.

Magic and blood pumped through his veins with ferocity.

He was not as good as wandless magic when there were twenty enemies trying to get to him.

He dodged the best he could, most of the spells his shields could not counter.

His star robes seemed to dispell the worst of the curses trying to trap him, to hurt him. They
acted like a shield of their own. But Harry didn't have time to think about it.
Suddenly in the mess of the battle a little boy with black hair and mercury eyes accidentally
ran in front of a spell meant for Harry, and he fell with a cry towards the ground.

Suddenly it was not a little boy, but Sirius on the ground, thrashing and turning and
screaming.

Harry ran towards him, took off his robes and threw it over him.

He cast as best he could, trying to cover his own back.

Where were the Aurors? Why was he fighting all on his own against some twenty different
people?

His magic would soon run out, he knew. He already felt fatigue pulling at his movements, his
shields less strong than before.

Suddenly Tom Riddle was there, casting viciously at people left and right, bodies falling
heavily on the ground as he tore his way in, trying to get to Harry, shouting at him. But Harry
couldn't hear the words.

The ringing in his ears was too loud.

Tom Riddle shouted a warning that fell unheard, powerful magic sailing through the air
trying to dispel the curse that crossed towards him from the other side.

The spell broke through his shield of magic, and before Harry could think to dodge, he was
on the ground.

Then he knew no more.

Tom Riddle was left panting, alone, as the anti-apparition wards fell and the witches and
wizards wearing red cloaks disappeared.

With Harry in tow.

Tom Riddle could feel fury licking at his skin, his eyes burning red and magic spilling from
his fingers.

They had left behind their fallen comrades.

And Tom would make them pay .

A little boy with gray eyes that could be no other than Alphard Black stopped him in his
tracks before he could take a single step with only murder in his mind, tears falling down his
small pale face and star robes draped over him like a cloak.

Harry's star robes.

He took it from the boy gently, despite the fury he felt crawling at his skin.

The snap of apparition warned him against making a single wrong move in the wrong
direction.

The Aurors had finally arrived. And too fucking late at that.

They took his statement, two whole hours of what felt like an interrogation before he was let
go.

Tom walked through the halls of Hogwarts in a daze, Harry's robes still on his arms.

They would find Harry, they said. They would look.

They were lying.

Tom went to place the dark wand where it was meant to go, on the right wrist of the dark
robes, before his hand touched something hard.

Spilling out of the right pocket was a long chain.

The chain connected to a silver locket, with a snake trapped within. The snake whispered to
him, insistent and impatient. His breath caught on his throat.

He shoved his hand onto the pocket and found a vial full of white smoke. It could only be a
memory.

There was a monster begging to get out of his skin, begging to spill blood and find his
beloved.

He was so trapped in his own head, he didn't notice the Professor until he ran into her.

An apology almost fell from his lips, before he locked eyes with her.

Tom narrowed his eyes.

Her vacant like gaze, her almost slack face and the enclosed feel to her magic made him
pause. He had dismissed her as a wannabe Seer, looking to Harry with jealousy and
possessiveness on her fingertips.
 Now, he looked at her for what she was.

The Imperious Curse.

He ripped through her mind and magic before he could even think to cast the Legilimency
Spell, looking through her memories with an aggressiveness only known to the monster that
lurked beneath his skin.

Her nose bled, and Tom didn't care to stop.

She was the reason Harry had been taken, and Grindelwald smiled at her in her memories
with a charming light.

Chapter End Notes

couldn't tell you how long it took to write this chapter, but I enjoyed every minute of it!
it really helped me take my mind off my own life lol (so sorry for the cliffhanger tho)

comments and kudos are dearly loved!

you may find me on Tumblr

 Chapter 9
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

A circle has no beginning and it has no end.

Death calls forth the end of Life, the same way Life ends Death.

The serpent rolls around and around, no beginning and no end. It grows and changes but
never ceases. It bites its tail and it poisons itself with Life, the same way it cleanses itself in
Death.

In the same manner the Cycle of Rebirth continues, as Souls come and Souls go. They
experience, and they forget. They start again.

(But something went wrong, somewhere down the line.)

Harry wasn't supposed to come back after the first time.

A circle has no beginning and it has no end.

But the tail grows shorter each time.

Getting caught by Grindelwald's intense focus of attention was a dangerous thing. He didn't
simply content himself by admiring from afar, no .

The man wanted to possess, to crawl into every nook and cranny of the objects of his interest
and make them simply his.

Once he caught wind of a little Seer appearing out of the woods in the middle of Hogwarts,
he set his spy on his trail. The woman was useless for much else, for all the Clairvoyant she
proclaimed to be, and using her mind to watch through her eyes the proceedings at Hogwarts
gave him a feel of what his biggest threat to date was up to.

Dumbledore seemed rather cozy in his position of inaction. Even as he loomed like a rather
dark cloud over Grindelwald's reign, so far he had made no move against him for quite a few
years now, no matter the pressure the British Ministry of Magic seemed to be trying to put on
his shoulders.

Not after Credence.

He had, however, seemed oddly suspicious of the little Seer, as he watched through his spy's
memories. He had looked down his nose at the new student, suspicious baby blue eyes
missing their delightful twinkle for once. His gaze followed the boy from room to room,
across corridors and around the Castle's grounds.

However, that was as much as he was able to see. His spy left much to be desired where the
aspect of following the boy was concerned. The boy seemed to pop in and out of existence as
he willed it, disappearing from corridors where no place to hide was available, appearing
behind people and statues seemingly at random, one moment not there and the next simply
breathing in the space where nothing had stood before.

He intrigued Grindelwald to no end.

His Seer magic left much to be desired. At least, that is what it looked like at first . He
seemed to have an affinity for tricky situations and seeing into other students rather bad luck.
And that was it, as far as the Dark Lord could see.

Until.

Until he predicted the little muggleborn's death.

He watched on from his spy's memories as the boy spoke of a terrible Future that would
come to be and no one seemed to pay him any mind. But Grindelwald knew the barely
concealed warnings woven between sweet words and sleepy smiles. He knew the tilt to his
voice when he spoke, and had he been there to witness it, he would bet on his life that little
Harry's Magic would have the taste of a void waiting to open, of a million universes melted
together brushing his skin, of ozone and o ther .

His spy had watched from the corner of a corridor as the boy sat alone on the still of a
window overseeing the Castle grounds, drawing in a little notebook with different colours,
completely lost in the task.

He had been approached by a taller boy, one who seemed to constantly hang onto his shadow
and cling like a particularly dark cloak of magic and darkness. The boy had taken one look at
the notebook and Grindelwald had known instinctively that the boy had drawn into the
Future. The brown haired boy had possibly taken a metaphorical step back, jaw slack and
manic eyes wide.

When his own spy had finally caught sight of the girl lying dead between the doorway of an
overflowed bathroom in the yellowing pages of the notebook, Grindelwald wondered what
else the little boy could See.

His own Seer abilities had limitations, however exploited and controlled they seemed to be.
He had honed his senses as best he could over the years, but even he had reached a wall he
could not cross.

He could not look into his own future, for starters. Only once had he been capable of such a
feat, and so far that future had not yet come to pass. If it ever would.
He did not enter a trance or sprout out prophecies as many of the most known Seers did.
Most of his Sight was tied to his Magic. Most of it took the shape of visions and illusions of
distorted happenings, different possibilities of things he already had a certain knowledge of.

The little Seer seemed to have no such limitations.

Grindelwald craved to crawl into his mind and uncover every single secret, to use his powers
for himself and possibly unlock the knowledge he so desperately wanted.

The Deathly Hallows.

Dying was rather like falling asleep. It was familiar, and comforting to some extent. He was
always ready when it happened, no matter how many times the sheer thought of ceasing to
exist scared him half to a panic attack.

Giving under the weight of his own consciousness, slipping under a warm cloak and letting
himself be carried off somewhere else, where there were no hurts and no responsibilities
and... something was wrong .

The tether that kept Harry from slipping was missing.

And Harry was not dying .

His magic snapped and raged against whatever poison was running through his veins. It made
his blood feel sluggish, viscous as it struggled to travel through his body.

He tried to remain still, breathing through it as his magic tried to work overtime to dissolve
whatever it was they had given him.

As he regained more and more consciousness, his surroundings sharpened and he became
aware that he was on his side on a push and warm surface.

Metal had been wrapped around his wrists and neck, cold where they touched his skin and
tingling like they had electricity running through them.

He opened his eyes to an opulent room, so full of objects and fine clothes it would give any
Malfoy, past or present, a run for their money.

Everything blurred together, one object onto the next. He'd lost his glasses.
He was laying on the center of a big bed, curtains around the mattress half closed and letting
through little light.

Rugs of different sizes and materials covered the stone floors, from pelts of what looked like
impossibly big bears to tapestries depicting battles carefully hand stitched in reds and
maroons.

The metal around his wrists, from what he could see, was covered in runes.

Someone had taken the time to take any and all accessories he carried on him, from his star
pendant to his various rings and bracelets, everything except... for the little dragon curled
around his finger, seemingly unperturbed from all the moving around.

His star robes were also missing, of course, far, far away from him and hopefully having
done their purpose of protecting the little silver eyed boy, leaving him in only the white
knitted sweater Abraxas had lent him for the occasion and black slacks.

As if called to existence the little dragon seemed to sigh, curling even tighter around his
finger. One green stone eye closed as it snuggled against his skin.

Harry stared for a long moment. He had never seen it move like that before. Like it was alive
and breathing and rather content where it was.

He wondered what had triggered it. He knew, instinctively, that Tom Riddle had drenched the
ring in his own Magic (magic and blood, after his run in with the Basilisk), and the inside of
the wings barely seen when worn were covered with tiny runes stitched in the metal.

Something had changed from the time he had acquired the ring to now.

A mystery for another day perhaps. Now he needed to know where he was, and how to get
the fuck out.

He moved to sit, gasping as pain travelled down his back from somewhere around the back of
his neck. He breathed through the pins and needles spreading through his skin for a few
moments, still dizzy and uncoordinated from whatever was running through his veins at the
moment.

Struggling, he left the bed behind as he tried to stand on unsteady feet, desperately looking
for something to hold on to. His cane, just like his wand, and his glasses was nowhere in
sight.

The perpetual chill in the room only made his limp worse.

He wobbled to the front of the room, to the only closed door that could possibly lead to the
outside.

He discovered then, that the metal around his wrists and neck was not only a rather gauche
accessory, as he tried to use his magic to unlock the door, but a pair of dampening shackles.

Magical shackles that had been placed around him at some point.
He wondered how long ago that was.

He wondered why the little ring moved about around his finger still, if no magic connected it
to Harry now.

He was terribly cold, more so than usual.

At some point food had appeared on the little table by the foot of the bed, ham and cheese in
small bite sandwiches with boiling hot water on a painted tea set, bags of leaves of different
flavours off to the side, ready to steep in a truly awful parody of how his evenings went at
Hogwarts.

Something deep in his gut told him to not touch the food.

What seemed to be hours later someone finally came to drag him out.

He had been sitting on the floor close to the roaring fire, a blanket taken from the bed
wrapped around him as he tried and failed to maintain warmth. He had never been more
aware of how much magic he used to keep his body temperature up until that moment.

The Acolyte sent to escort him out had looked first towards the bed, possibly an unconscious
glance and then had locked eyes with Harry, trembling by the fire with blue tinted lips. The
man startled badly enough to drop his wand, which he carried on one hand, pointed and
ready, as if Harry would be of any danger as he was now.

He was dressed in blood red robes, thick and lined with fur on the inside, black and silver
details embroidered on the outside. His face was half covered by a white blank mask,
strawberry red hair falling in and around the white porcelain.

He glared at the man and leaned closer to the fire. He held no weapon now. Now wand, no
magic.

Only a candlestick holder, almost white in its color, heavy with luxury, that was hidden
beneath the blanket gave him any assurance of security.

"Milord requires your presence, kleiner junge ." His words were heavily accented, almost
unintelligible from one another to Harry's slow brain. When he received no immediate
response from him, he approached with long strides. "Mi Lord— "

"I heard you the first time." He spat back between his teeth, limbs locking around his own
knees as he tried to keep warm. If the Dark Lord required his fucking presence he would have
to get Harry himself.

The man's face twisted, a frown pulling down at the corners of his lips.
Harry took a slow breath, the smell of the hearth and the cold, cold, cold filling his lungs
until they could burst, and then let it go slowly. He looked at the man stood before him, green
eyes unfocused and seeing beyond.

Then promptly looked away again.

The man was of no importance.

He would be dead before the night was upon them.

Harry let himself be dragged through the door, blanket still tightly wrapped around him and
shamelessly leaning most of his body weight on the man.

If they would provide no cane, he would not pretend to walk on two functional legs for them.

The man muttered underneath his breath in what sounded like distorted German to his own
ears as he more or less was obligated to haul Harry across the long hallway. Thankfully it was
covered in a thick red carpet from one end to the other, otherwise Harry feared he would have
already succumbed down to the cold linoleum floor underneath.

The Castle (because it could be nothing more and nothing less) was drenched in magic, from
heating spells that barely scratched the surface of the biting cold that crept from the outside,
towards closing off rooms and even entire wings as they strode past.

(He could almost taste the outside wards keeping them locked in on the back of his tongue.)

Harry tripped as he went, eyes refusing to focus on what was in front of him, seeing shadows
where there were none, people striding in, running, screaming bloody and robes torn and—
he was slipping before the man could catch him .

Before he could wake, he heard screams.

He could not have been unconscious for more than ten seconds, enough for his body to hit the
ground but not enough to lose his bearings.

Curses flew above his head, none touching his skin but flying dangerously close.

The man who had escorted him out of his room lay dead in a pool of his own blood, throat
cut from one end to the other like butter. His blood was warm where it touched Harry's hand,
tainting his borrowed white knitted sweater red.

Red .

The little dragon on his finger opened its green eye, looking back at Harry like a rather
content accomplice to a crime it didn't commit.
When Harry looked up he understood why.

The brass tips Tom Riddle had gifted him, five or six by his count, all stolen in moments
where he was distracted and aloof, that had been carved in magic and drenched in spells and
runes and twirls and drawings were attacking everything and everyone within their reach,
opening skin like it was made of petals, avoiding spells and curses and cutting through people
and magic and wands with single minded focus.

People fell down like dead flies.

Harry looked through with detached horror as they tore through everything on their path to
him.

Until Grindelwald strode through the hallway.

He held the candle holder closer to his body, hidden by the red stained blanket.

Harry struggled to sit, the metal around his body pulling at his Magic, not letting a wisp of it
pull through as he watched the brass tips go for the throat of a woman by the Dark Lord's
side.

Fire sprouted from Grindelwald's familiar looking long wand, scalding hot and almost white
in colour, as a Phoenix made of flame devoured and melted the brass tips Tom had so
lovingly carved for him.

They didn't go without a fight, of course.

Once the Magic was released from the confines of the metal they tried to latch onto the
nearest living human, the woman, poisoning her veins and making her gasp in pain as they
tore through tissue and organs in search of her heart.

Grindelwald had no qualms about turning the flames on her.

Harry watched in horror as she burned, gagging as the smell of burnt flesh hit him square in
the face. The ring tightened around his finger, little fangs biting without breaking skin. The
pain helped him center himself a little. Helped him look away .

Then the screams finally ceased, and the silence sounded loud against his ears. Blood
pumped rapidly in his veins, magic burning to get out.

"Interesting piece of magic, that. Yours?" The Dark Lord drawled, turning in his heels to look
at Harry. A pleased smirk graced his lips. He cared not for his fallen soldiers, it seemed.

" No ." Harry breathed through the terror gripping him. He had fought a Dark Lord already.
He could fight another.

"Ah. Well. I imagined not." When Harry was finally able to lift his head again he almost
gagged once more. The look on the man's face was impossibly predatory, greedy as he tried
to slip past Harry's defenses and look through his mind. His magic was heavy, greasy and
slippery, uncaring of Harry's own mind and hurts.
Harry was not the best when it came to Occlumency. Snape had told him so several times in
fact, as he violated his mind over and over.

But Harry didn't need impenetrable defenses.

He needed distractions.

And he was an expert in having scattered memories, thoughts pulling from one side to the
other with no rhyme or reason, that only made sense to him.

He wanted to look? Then look he would .

He pulled on the most intrinsic part of himself, from the depths of his consciousness, from
the warm, warm feeling of slipping off.

Where dying was concerned, the nothingness stared back from the void.

And that was all Grindelwald could see when he gazed at those unfocused green, green eyes.

The void , looking back at him.

There was no slipping past the memory, as he could not see where it began and where it
would end. It was all encompassing, from all sides and all angles. Forcing his way through
would not be an option.

Death had no beginning and it had no end, after all.

There was no feeling, no distinguishing emotions or premonitions.

Only darkness.

For someone who feared Death more than anything, who feared the nothingness of having a
grave unmarked, forgotten to the world beyond a coffin with dreams left unaccomplished... it
was torture.

Grindelwald looked away after a few seconds, mismatched eyes wide and pupils blown.

The loss made something throb at the back of his eyes.

"It is impolite to read another's mind without permission, didn't you know?" Harry couldn't
help but ask, teeth bared. His tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth, moving sluggishly as
he tried to speak, slurring his words.

He was cold.

Grindelwald snapped his eyes back to him, something unhinged in his expression.

But Harry was not scared now. He was past fear.

Adrenaline pumped through his veins in place where his magic should be, opening up all his
senses.
He had been on the focus of a Dark Lord for longer than he had been alive already.

This? This was familiar.

It seems his only purpose in life was to be obsessed over by a Dark Lord, and then another,
slightly more sane one.

And then there was Grindelwald, whatever it was that he wanted out of Harry.

"You smell terribly like Death." And he really did. Tendrils upon tendrils of magic had been
tightly wrapped around the Dark Lord, a monstrous malformed tapestry of their own, sat on
top of his own Dark, foul Magic. Lives that had been cut too short by his hand, where wisps
of Life had been snipped and had stuck to the blade that had torn them apart. The stench of
sweet death was agonizing. This man was playing a dangerous game, not only seeking Death
but pretending himself to be a Reaper, worthy of taking the Souls of those fallen on his wand.

Grindelwald only tilted his head in response, mismatched eyes looking beyond his shadow,
trying to get a glimpse of Harry. The real Harry, that is. Not whatever had been left behind.

He would find nothing.

He had wondered too, where he had gone. Where the other half of him was, after he'd been
trapped by flames and caged like an animal with nowhere to go.

There was a reason Harry could look beyond the veil, to possible Futures not yet come to
pass where Universes stretched thin and overlapped, where they collided together, out of
sight and out of reach for normal people.

" Du bist süß ." He approached Harry like he would a wounded animal, wand in hand
pointing right at his head and with sure steps. "Come, Little Seer. We'll see what we can do
about that attitude of yours." He was dragged across the floor on his knees by Magic, brought
to the Dark Lord's side like a rather moody sack of potatoes and not a human being. He so
badly wanted to curse him, fire burning through his veins in response.

He held onto the candlestick and hoped .

Tom Riddle was furious.

Tom Riddle was in shambles.

He had torn a woman half mad in vain, and her body would forever reside in the Chamber of
Secrets, alongside the burnt corpse of Slytherin's Basilisk.

He had promised to make her life torture, however short it was.

And he had .

Let it be known Tom Riddle kept his promises, bound in blood and magic.

He had tied her up, half mad and barely conscious already, babbling incoherent words in what
could have been German but he couldn't be sure, and dragged her down, down, down to the
Chamber.

He had forced her hand, pulled from memories upon memories of writing back and forth with
the Dark Lord. Letters that had been then burnt to the crisp now recreated down to the dot.

Forcing Grindelwald's perfect penmanship was even easier. Erasing any and all traces of his
own magic, leaving behind only the faint Dark pull, so similar only someone who knew
Grindelwald intimately would be able to tell the faint print of magic apart, on the stamp
around his signature. Impersonal .

For she was just another underlying left running around Europe.

He planted the parchments all over the place, like careless love letters proudly displayed
around her office, around the Divinations classroom, around her sleeping quarters.

He burned his sigil in magic on every available surface he could, discreetly but possessively
on every piece of clothing, jewelry and furniture.

He didn't even have to fake her obsessive behavior regarding Harry, as he found multiple still
pictures of him in a closed box. He left those for the Aurors to find, too.

Dark magical artefacts lost to time were pulled from his little forgotten Library, foul and
drenched in black tendrils, no matter how much time had passed since they had been used in
any rituals. That, more than anything, would attract attention. Hopefully everything else fell
into place on its own.

She would go down, one way or another, and her name would be forever associated with
Grindelwald's. She would not be alive to see it, and yet warrants for her arrest would be put
out Nationwide.

As it was, she was the mole rat inside of Hogwarts, and he would make damn sure everyone
knew.

And finally, when she was no longer of use to him, from the forced handwriting to the burned
memories and copying her magic traces—then and only then, the green light filled her line of
vision and she was nothing more than a pile of bones to lay to rest.

And yet.

And yet, he still didn't know where Harry was located.

He had expanded through and stretched his contacts thin, trying to feel out some of
Grindelwald's followers for the exact pin on his current whereabouts.
Nothing .

Nobody seemed to know nothing of a kidnapped boy, or where the Dark Lord planned to be.

It seemed like a stand still.

It was driving Tom up the wall.

Then .

Then Abraxas had come running in, in the middle of a private meeting with a Ravenclaw
Prefect whose cousin was deep between the trenches somewhere in Russia and claimed to
have close contact with a few Acolytes who might possibly know something, when the blond
boy burst through the door.

The panicked look to his features wavered before falling back into a cold mask, clear eyes
piercing through the girl standing by the fire, such intensity making her flinch in her place.
His eyes dragged to Tom, sitting by a big wooden desk absolutely covered in paper of all
possible sizes and colours, from local newspaper clippings to maps and letters and pictures.

He spoke before Tom could begin to regain a sense of decorum.

"Terribly sorry to cut this short, but this needs your utmost attention now, my Lord ." He
stood straight, back to the door and eyes tight around the corners, deep purple beneath them
not concealed with glamours or makeup. His hair curled around his face and down his back
in loose waves, even if someone at some point in the last two days had tried to contain it in a
braid. He was a Knight at this very moment, and not the Heir to his House. He stood like a
soldier ready for battle, and the girl was on his way.

Their eyes locked and in a second he was in.

Abraxas didn't spare another look to the Ravenclaw standing in the room, and neither did
Tom. He apologized to her without glancing her way as he browsed through Abraxas'
scattered mind, his occlumency shields low enough to permit him to ruffle through his most
recent memories.

Looking through memories was like looking through a veil. The older the memories, the less
details the person could recall, the less vivid they were.

Abraxas' mind was normally an organized Palace dressed in white, calm and unshakeable.
Few white peacocks guarded the entrance, and they brushed against Tom as he strode past the
Main Doors.

His mind was normally organized, yes, memories locked away in endless rooms and floors,
where happy memories tainted the pearly white doors in shiny colours, sad ones were colored
in deep blues and blacks.
The Palace was not white now, as Tom walked through. It was as if someone had turned off
all the lights, and left it in complete darkness. The marble shone through in faint oranges,
guiding him in a thin path where Abraxas wanted him to look.

One of the first doors down a long corridor was painted in all the possible and impossible
colours of the rainbow.

It was Harry's door.

The first memory shoved his way was recent, if the sharp edges and clear vivid colours was
anything to go by.

Abraxas had been writing to his father, letters curling close together as he rushed his hand
through the paper. There was not much Lord Malfoy would not do for his son and Heir, and
the kidnapping of a Hogwarts student his son's age had kicked a wasps nest, both
metaphorical and physical.

Ministry Officials had tried to cover things and keep them under wraps, but the waves of
angry parents and angry Lords sitting at the Wizengamot demanding answers grew by the
hour, by the day.

He was adding his magical seal to the letter when noise alerted him he was not alone.

Orion was not back yet from where he had disappeared behind the firmly closed doors of
Cassiopeia's Office.

Abraxas looked around the room with tired eyes, wand sitting by his side on his desk.

The noise started up again.

It sounded terribly like an animal trapped in something, desperately trying to get out.

It was coming from Harry's bed.

He rose from the chair where he'd been writing, quietly and carefully so as to not alert
whatever it was making the noise of his presence.

He approached the bed, wand in hand.

Beside the star robes and hanging from one of the carved wooden posts of the bed was the
black leather cross bag Abraxas had gifted Harry what seemed like an eternity ago, and it
was swinging from side to side.

The sound was coming from inside.

Cautiously and with a wave of his hand, Abraxas opened the top, only to duck down and
move back several steps as what looked like brass tips flew out in a synchronized line and
tore through the windows of the room with no care for the water that seeped in.
Luckily the cracked glass repaired itself before any real damage could be done.

Abraxas looked back at the bag, thinking.

Logically, he knew Tom had gifted Harry with multiple and varied brass tips, for his writing
and drawing. They were drenched in his magic, and even in the brief moment they had flown
past he could feel their charged energy. It didn't explain why they had chosen to see
themselves out to the bottom of the Great Lake, however.

Abraxas peered through the open bag, half expecting something else to fly at his face.

There were a couple of textbooks, his set of ink and parchment and... his leather little
notebook he used for drawing.

The blond boy pulled it out of the bag with shaking hands, already dreading its contents.

Abraxas walked back and sat back down at his desk, noting distantly that no water had
damaged his belongings before setting the book open on the first page on the weathered
wood.

He leafed through drawings and writings and what seemed to be letters for no one in
particular, left between small doodles and half finished in their contents. Some flowers had
been pressed between the pages at some point, blue and purple bleeding on the white
parchment with no care for its holdings.

Half way through, a portrait of Tom made him stop.

It was not the first drawing of his he had encountered, and not the weirdest one either.

He was, however, looking rather like he had been in the last 18 hours. Manic and angry,
magic blazing like an inferno beneath his skin and half a step away from burning down their
government to the ground for their inefficiency.

The page had been filled over from cover to cover in some type of thick red paint, and had
been carefully painted over in various shades of blue and orange and grey, even if the red
still shone through in some places.

His body was turned away from the viewer, stood before a familiar intricately carved desk,
leaning forward on his hands. He had turned his head to one side, looking over one shoulder
as he seemed to listen to whoever was speaking with half divided attention, mouth pulled
tight and jaw clenching. His curls looked like a right mess, like he had run his hands
constantly and consistently without stopping for quite a few minutes. The only source of light
in the room was a lit fireplace, coming from the other side of the room and casting long
shadows on his friend's face. Something shimmered beneath his pale skin. Magic seemed to
pull up to the surface through his veins, running hot and angry and blazing white.

Abraxas took a deep breath before turning the page.

He ran to Tom before he could begin to decipher the contents of the map.
Tom pulled from his mind with a snap, as quickly as he could without causing any permanent
damage or pain.

It still made his head throb painfully somewhere in the back of his skull.

"Have you looked through the whole notebook?" Tom asked, long fingers spreading a map on
top of the opened letters and news clippings and cut outs that only made sense to him. He
leaned forward on his hands, curls falling over his eyes.

"You know I haven't." He replied, hands trembling as they held onto the black book. "I came
as quickly as I could."

Tom clenched his jaw and closed his eyes for a brief moment, thinking. Abraxas' breath
caught on his throat. He looked exactly as he did in Harry's little painting.

The noise seemed to snap his friend back to the ground. He looked over one shoulder at
Abraxas, and suddenly he knew without needing to open the notebook that Harry had,
somehow, looked right at this moment with his very own eyes and painted it on his book.

"What?"

In response, Abraxas handed over the notebook, even if he knew his friend had seen the
painting in his memory.

Tom looked at his own painting with intent focus, looking through each detail as he moved a
long finger through the page. He turned the page and was met with the same nonsense lines
and crosses Abraxas had been met with. It was undeniably a map, but of what place exactly
was entirely lost to him. Tom turned his head, then turned the notebook, trying to make sense
of what seemed to be a half complete map of some sort, before comparing it to the map on
the table, eyes scanning the parchment from top to bottom.

Then, frustrated, he threw the first map on the floor with a wave of his hand as he levitated
another map over to the desk with the other.

Minutes passed like this, Abraxas too afraid to move from his spot near the door for fear it
would distract his friend from his task and Tom frantically looking at each parchment from
top to bottom.

Maps flew in and out of his line of vision, all from different cities, big and small, magical and
not as they spread on the desk before being thrown out.

Then Tom stopped. The pull of his magic became suffocating, heavy in his frustration and the
smell of ozone permeated every corner of the room.

He grabbed the notebook again from where he had placed it on the table with careful hands.
He furrowed his brows and opened his mouth, finger stuck somewhere in the middle of the
painting as he looked back up at Abraxas.
"Lower your shields." And Abraxas did without protesting, the feeling of Tom's heavy magic
spreading like webs through his senses as he looked through whatever it was that had caught
his attention. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity but could have only been a few
moments, he pulled out, manic blue eyes looking back at him and a predatory smile pulling at
his lips. "It's wrong ."

He carefully set the black notebook open on top of the desk as he ruffled through the rolled
up maps off to one side of the desk. He didn't give an explanation, but as he looked through
the big pieces of parchment Abraxas approached the oak table.

Right where Tom's finger had stopped on his own painting, was a map, spread on the table.

Suddenly he understood.

The map of Austria looked back at him from its place on the drawing like a bad omen.

Dumbledore was a fucking nightmare come alive and Tom wanted to murder him on the spot
each time words left his mouth.

His nerves already frayed as they were, without the need to look at the crooked nosed
professor butting his head in his business, sagely sprouting whatever nonsense he thought
would make Tom any less radical than he already was, explaining to him what he should feel
in Harry's absence, the fucking gall of the man.

To stand there, and do nothing .

To stand there and let a boy be lost behind the grips of a Dark Lord.

He could do it, he thought. All it would take was a cleverly conjured venomous snake
slithering in the night and... and Harry's disappointed green eyes gazing from the sidelines
made the boiling hot spill of lava rising through his veins calm , like a still lake.

He left Professor Dumbledore speaking alone in the middle of the hallway, appearances be
damned.

Cassiopeia Black was a smart witch. She had to be, for such a position she had decided to
take in, in life.

And she was part of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black. A Lady, at that.

There were advantages to such titles.

And Tom Riddle knew exactly how to use them.

Cassiopeia sat with his baby cousin, elbows deep in books pulled from the Black library,
courtesy of her uncle, Lord Arcturus Black. If the Headmaster, or Merlin forbid, Dumbledore
caught a glimpse of any of the Dark titles they had pulled down from the depths of their own
archives, and to Hogwarts no less, Orion would be expelled faster than he could blink and
Cassiopeia without a job for approximately the next century.

It was a necessary evil.

As it was Professor Slughorn stood watch, and to all who entered the Infirmary he was
simply consulting medical texts to better his potions, often enough found by Mirabel's side,
stirring a potion or another on a table far from the beds and close to Cassiopeia's office. If one
were to look closer, they would notice the potion set up was a farce, and Horace was all but
pulling all his contacts, writing letters faster than one could process and sending them out
through the open fireplace, conveniently connected to Malfoy Manor.

Mirabel braided and unbraided her hair, looking anxiously from the fireplace to her wife's
closed Office door, waiting for news.

The first day after Harry was taken had weighed on everyone's mind. No one had dared to
call it a night.

On the second day Tom Riddle burst through the Infirmary door, forgoing using the little
Malfoy House Elf cleverly disguised as a Hogwarts Elf that kept running notes between his
Head of House and himself.

"I know where he is." Was all he needed to whisper as he breezed through the long hall
towards the closed Office door. Horace and Mirabel could do nothing but follow.

The door was firmly shut behind wards upon wards of magic, enough to give him a pause and
look back at his professors.

Mirabel shrugged one shoulder.

"They brought more books through the Floo this morning." Was all she said in way of
explanation as she grazed the tip of her wand against the wood.

The door opened to reveal chaos inside.

Papers had been scattered on every possible surface, from the ceiling to the floor, and piles
upon piles of books rested one on top of one another.

Orion and Cassiopeia themselves stood somewhere in the middle of the room, arguing in
what could only be rapid spit fire french, pointing at a book open between them hovering in
the air. They looked back once the door opened fully, twin expressions of discontent.

Finally, Cassiopeia snapped out.

" What ? We were in the middle of something—"

" Something that won't work, I keep telling you it's impossible—" Orion interrupted, hands
raised. His hair was tied back from his face, for once, and the normally pressed and proper
black chemise he wore was crinkled and open at the chest.

"What are the odds? Have you seen him?" The Matron shot back, turning away from Tom
towards her cousin.

"It's one chance in a hundred, Cass—"

And they fell back to french, arguing in raised voices and paying little to no mind to the
spectators by the door.

Tom could feel the irritation like something alive lick at his skin. He strode through the room,
taking the book in hand as he read its contents.

French, as it was, was not his best language. But he did understand the basics of the ritual. It
was a locating ritual of sorts, meant for Black family heirlooms but which could be easily
modified for people, and it would be truly great if only for a minor detail.

Alas, Orion was right.

Harry Evans was not a Black.

But, no matter. He knew where Harry was. Or would be. Approximately.

(Possibly).

It narrowed their search from all of Europe to a single country. It was something. It had to be.

And he needed Cassiopeia's name to stamp it out.

He threw the book to the ground, carelessly, ignoring twin looks of horror passing through
both Orion and Cassiopeia.

"Enough of that. I know where he is."

And so he told them.

Cassiopeia Black came from a Dark Family. A Legacy as ancient as the oldest Dynasties in
Europe could be traced back by her blood alone.

Her magic sang now, shimmering beneath her skin, pumping through her veins and begging
to be let out.

Her child had been taken.

Nothing short of Death would stop her from getting him back.
Mirabel watched with concerned green eyes as the edges of her wife's silhouette blurred more
and more often, shadows curling at the bottom of her robes like a particularly cozy cat, the
yellow of her cat like eyes paling and turning more and more stormy by the hours that went
by, a tropical storm waiting to take everything from the land, to uproot everything and
everyone in it's path with its high winds and biting cold waters.

The smell of ozone accompanied them every minute of the day, now.

As more and more time went by, she started to look more and more like her cousins, almost a
carbon copy of both the twins. Orion and Lucretia and Cass, with their loose curls and their
gray gazes, dark circles pulling down at their eyes and their pale complexion, almost glowing
from within with barely suppressed magic. Cassiopeia had a few good years on them, but
right now with their blazing fury and their laser focus on their tasks they looked like one, a
three headed monster ready to spit hellfire in every which way, to destroy everything in their
path to reach their beloved.

Mirabel knew the monster that dozed beneath her wife's skin like the back of her hand. The
barely tamed beast that lurked in the corners of her eyes and bared its teeth when provoked.

This was not a provocation.

It was a cry of war.

Mirabel was a gentle Witch by nature by contrast, the pull of Life strong enough to spill
magic at her fingertips, to make flowers bloom at a grace and revive barely hanging on plants
that could have been dead otherwise. She knew the pull of the sun, the life that drummed
beneath the earth and the lines of magic that spread like spiderwebs around the world, more
dense in magically populated areas, more polluted, and far more clear, more pure in magical
forests where magical beasts lingered, soaking the very earth with their magic and pulling
just as much from the ground during their lifetime.

She knew the pull of life, the unforgiving circle of life and death, and the scorching blazing
heat of the sun.

Because life was hard, and every creature, every insignificant speck of organism had a fire lit
within themselves, a flame she could gaze into whenever she approached.

She knew rage, and she knew the white hot feeling of walking in blind, feeling out every
living thing under her fingertips.

She blazed with fury now, even as she watched from afar as the Black Family converged and
mingled, their dark magic flowing from one another at every touch, every brush of hands.

She wished she could do more to help.

But her magic, her talents, resided elsewhere. She would wait her turn, patiently, and she
would watch over them, she would not let them lose themselves to their search, in the
madness of their desperation.
She would be a light they could follow, a warmth they could come back to.

Until the time she would blaze and rage and destroy, as the fire is wont to do.

The sun had almost set by the time she noticed the warmth in the air was not coming from the
sun, or the combined heat of her very, very alive and very agitated plants.

It was coming from the very edge of the woods surrounding the Castle. Waiting.

So still it had been all afternoon that she had mistaken it for something else.

Now she knew better.

The fire called to her, alive and blazing, even if it stood dimmer than it should.

She gazed into the forest from her place by the greenhouses, unsure of how to proceed.

She turned. Perhaps Tom Riddle would like to hear about the Phoenix waiting by the very
edges of Hogwarts.

Harry sat on one end of a ridiculously long table, dining.

Or he would have, if not for the verasaterum. The truth serum was deeply seeped in the food
present before him.

He sat, stubbornly wrapped in his splotched blanket, candlestick digging on his back and
stared at the Dark Lord, sitting pompously at the other edge of the table.

A shaking Acolyte in blood red robes stood like a servant at their side, his lip wobbled from
time to time, trying (and failing) to discreetly look back from where Harry and his Lord had
come from, bloodstained footsteps leading out the door towards the hallway where the bodies
of his comrades must still lay in wait to be taken away.

Grindelwald had no such qualms of sensitivity. Or tact.

He dined before the bodies of his soldiers, eating like a pig half starved in the winter, and
drank like a man who had not had wine in far too long.

He looked at Harry, expectant. As if Harry had not been raised in the fallen scraps of food at
his relative's feet, accustomed to not eating for periods at a time. His stay at Hogwarts had
been peaceful this year so far, with nutrient potions and vitamins shoved down his throat
opening up his appetite more than it ever had before.
And yet his body had not forgotten the bitter feel of hunger.

It was not constant. It came and it went.

Two days it had been, by his count.

Three days.

Almost three days and now a Phoenix sat on his Ancestor's door with a message.

Mirabel had sent a Patronus in search of Tom, asking to meet him by the greenhouses.

By the time he had arrived, night had taken its grip and the full moon shone on the sky.

He walked by the herbology professor's side down the slope of a hill, snow crunching
beneath their boots as they made their way towards the forest.

Tom startled, once he caught sight of the sickly bird, sitting on a low branch of a tree and
singing a mournful tune to the stars. Its feathers were dull and almost black in the low light of
the moon. If Tom didn't know better he would have mistaken the creature for an Augurey.

A small bit of parchment had been tied around its leg, and the Phoenix patiently waited while
it was freed from its cargo.

Aurelius Dumbledore seemingly knew where Grindelwald could be hiding now, trying to lay
low and safeguard his new possession.

If he didn't want other people to know where his Castle was nestled he shouldn't have let
Credence leave.

A man's loss was another's gain.

Their search narrowed to the Austrian Alps, where Nurmengard, the stone Castle, sat proudly
on the face of a mountain.

Aurelius didn't know its exact location, as he had never apparated on his own before. But his
Phoenix had.

They had one opportunity. A one way trip for two people, the maximum his fragile bird could
manage as it was.

It was more than they had before.

Now they needed a miracle to align with their plans.

Hopefully his own web of wizards came through.

They went back to the Infirmary, where they had wordlessly agreed to meet, as Cassiopeia
was unable to move from her post without raising a few eyebrows her way.

Letters kept coming to and from the fireplace, and Slughorn moved his metal spoon in the
fake potion with his wand with a distracted air as he gazed into the flames, waiting.

"Has there been any word?" Tom said as soon as the Infirmary doors closed behind them,
privacy wards were placed around the room settling around his skin.

He sat by one of the stools that had been transfigured by the potion master's makeshift desk,
away from the door and close to the hearth. His head felt heavy in his hands, tired in a way he
hadn't been since the early days of the War at the Orphanage.

"It should come any minute now." Slughorn's voice was strained, tired. They all were.

The black parchment sitting on the flames caught fire, leaving behind a smoking white paper
in its place. Tom summoned it with a wave of his wrist, and it sailed through the air to his
hands.

He opened the magical seal with a drop of his blood and read its contents.

A manic smile stretched at his lips. Slughorn started bad enough to tip the cauldron sideways.

"A raid. Grindelwald is calling for his followers to Austria."

"Now we need to know where exactly this Castle of his is." Cassiopeia chimed in from the
door to her office. Her face was grim. "We have the spell and the map. We have a way in,
now we need a way out. A couple hours more and we'll know."

Tom nodded.

"When, Tom?"

"Two days from now." He said from behind gritted teeth. The thought of leaving Harry alone,
with a manic Dark Lord all on his own for even a second more was excruciating. But they
had an opening.

So they would have to wait for said opening to appear.

He could feel the effects of not having slept for more than two hours in three days pulling
him down, making his magic work overtime for his body not to collapse in exhaustion. He
could feel the relief too, of knowing that there was no force on earth that would keep him
away from Harry.

He turned to leave but before he could, the Matron's voice stopped him in his tracks.
"There is something I don't understand." Cassiopeia said, eyes an icy silver as she gazed into
the flames. Curls fell in and over her eyes, banishing the tiredness behind shadows and
making her appear more menacing, colder. "How is it" she spat "that Harry Evans was taken
rather like a stray dog from the street easily and without care, when I know full well that boy
is at the top of your class in Defence?" She turned her eyes on Tom, piercing and
unforgivable. "How is it that every time I look at you, I know you will somehow have the
answer?"

Tom pushed the edge of Dark Magic down where it had settled against his throat, a curse
almost at the tip of his tongue. It would not do to fight right now, no matter how much his
pride begged for it.

"We find Harry, Cassiopeia. Then you'll have all the answers you want." He turned on his
heel and walked towards the door, the feel of both Phoenix cores against the skin of his wrist.
"Now is not the time."

"Is the food not to your liking, boy ?"

Harry didn't answer. He was looking at the trembling Acolyte by the table from the corner of
his eye.

Darkness crept up the man's shadow, pulling at his robes like unseeing wind and making his
tremors more noticeable. His chin kept wobbling from time to time, even if no tears left his
eyes.

He would try to kill Harry at some point tonight.

"Harry Evans, yes? A terribly common name, in my opinion—" Grindelwald kept going on
and on about the British and their customs, their old ways rooted in pureblood families, some
older than the Crown itself. Harry paid him half mind as he looked around the room.

Two entrances. Two doors, each one on an opposite side of the room. From one they had
come from, the other remained closed.

He looked down at the table.

How much longer?

Grindelwald kept going, seemingly unaware and unperturbed his guest would not utter a
single word himself.

'He likes hearing himself talk' , he couldn't help but think.

The dragon tightened around his finger, bringing a bitter smile to his face.
"Am I boring you, my esteemed guest?" The question finally cut through the background
noise and Harry snapped back to reality.

Guest ?

"Guest? You make it sound like you didn't drag me here by my hair, tie my magic and poison
my food." He spat, teeth clenching as he tried and failed to summon his magic.

Perhaps he should take the knife?

Something unhinged passed through the man's mismatched eyes. Something dangerous.

Thin ice , now.

"We'll get to the main course, then, least I bore you to an early grave."

The man stood from his chair and stalked towards Harry with long strides, long wand already
in his hand.

He stopped short of tilting Harry's chair back and grabbed his hair, forcing them to lock eyes.

Harry cringed back. He could not look directly at the man. Images of other people kept
overlapping over him, the touch of death much too strong to ignore.

"What do you see, hmm?"

"I already told you. I see Death ."

A slap greeted his answer, and it surprised Harry both in its force and its—normalcy.

"Try again. Concentrate ."

Harry only glared in response, refusing to even begin to untangle the mess that was
Grindelwald's frayed threads.

He received another slap for his troubles.

The Dark Lord snarled in his face.

"Would you like me to kill your little boy toy ? Should I order your Divinations Professor to
snap and stab the boy? Perhaps maim him a little?" Harry's breath caught on his throat, even
as he forced himself to relax. But it was enough.

Grindelwald grinned in triumph.

Unconsciously, he looked beyond the man before him, looking for Tom.

But there was no Professor stabbing any students at Hogwarts in the immediate future, nor
did the Dark Lord actually meet Tom. Not that he could see, at least.

His racing heart calmed somewhat, knowing Tom was safe.

Logically.

Logically, he knew Tom Riddle was capable of defending himself.

Logically also, he knew that if Grindelwald tortured him, Harry would be unable to even gaze
into the Future, as pain often clouded the mind and the senses.

He relaxed further.

The candlestick dug into his back.

Harry grabbed it with his hand, and waited. He would have his opportunity.

Perhaps he should have taken the knife, too .

If Grindelwald was frustrated by his lack of response, he didn't show it.

He supposed the Dark Lord thought he would have time to break in his new toy.

Only one more day.

He was let go after that, and escorted to his room with the promise of no dinner, since he
hadn't touched any of his food.

He wrapped himself up in his blanket and followed behind the trembling Acolyte.

The hallway had been cleaned at long last, and no stain remained to tell the story of its fallen.

Harry gripped the candlestick with both hands and braced himself.

As soon as the door to his cell closed, the Acolyte was on him.

The man might've thought he had the element of surprise, but he really should have known
better.

The metal gave a satisfying bonk against the man's skull, before he could even finish drawing
out his wand.

He fell on the carpeted ground, unconscious. The sound of his body hitting the floor was
muffled.

Harry took his wand and pocketed it, even if it was useless to him at the moment. He
searched the man for anything else that might be of use, and found what could only be a
token, keyed in to allow its holder to pass through a set of wards. It would not serve Harry,
but it could definitely serve someone.
By the grace of Morgana.

By the third day, Grindelwald changed tactics.

He was dragged out of his chair by the arm, forced to kneel even before his bad leg gave out
underneath him and tied with magical threads up to his chin.

It seemed his patience had worn thin, and he had decided torture first, recovery second and
getting something out of Harry third and far last into the future.

It probably had something to do with the missing Acolyte.

Or the fact that Harry had stopped mouthing off at him and had simply decided to ignore each
and every little thing that came out of his disgusting mouth.

Well.

Supposed visions be damned, Harry was getting tortured by a Dark Lord tied up and
screaming.

Again .

Harry, it seems, was destined to be trapped by upstart wannabe Dark Lords.

The calling of his followers wasn't anything unusual for Grindelwald as of late.

He often amassed his Acolytes, introduced new ones into the fold and rather seemed to enjoy
the attention it brought.

And the panic.

He would strike both from the shadows and up front, political parties of different countries,
cross borders and repeat it again. His chosen rose to power, and held themselves in place, in
positions of power for the time votes of no confidence came through each Ministry of Magic.

He seemed to be gaining favour once more, as the muggles continued to war and raze against
each other in arms with contraptions meant to maim and kill as many as their brothers as
possible. It left the Wizarding World horrified at their brutality.

Tom feared they could come to that, if the Dark Lord gained any more power.

But now, it was to their benefit.

He called for his followers, and he called for new blood.

 And what easiest way to slip through the crowd, than to go with a metamorphmagus posing
as an Acolyte, guiding a new boy in, and Tom himself as a new aspirant?

Chapter End Notes

As a kind reader pointed out, I butchered the German translations so,

Kleiner junge: little boy

Du bist süß: you're cute

Sorry for the wait! Uni kicked my ass and my partner and I decided to break things off
in the middle and /cue/ depression cave mode but I'm mostly back to writing! In fact, I
had so much fun writting chapter 10 I might've cried a little at how easy it felt!

I hope you enjoyed!

EDIT 18122024: went over (a lot) of typos and spelling mistakes, sorry!

you may find me on Tumblr

 Chapter 10
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

As the sun fell from the sky, Aurelius waited for them at the Hog's Head in a private room,
where his father (Dumbledore's brother? he hadn't known there were more of them, yet he felt
ridiculously suspicious of the old man with the beard) guided them to.

The room had a single window that looked to the river, almost frozen as the days grew
shorter and shorter, and the nights grew colder. Tom spied the edge of the wooden pier, where
he had sat with Harry not long ago during one of their visits to Hogsmeade, sharing a
chocolate and warmth between them.

His magic burned.

Aurelius Dumbledore was a decrepit looking man, far too thin to be standing on his own two
feet without aid, clothes falling off his frame in a way that clearly indicated they had once
fitted him and now they did not. He was dressed in muted tones, from head to toe from deep
purples to greys and blacks. His hair hanged limply and greasy over his forehead, and his
skin had a sickly tint to it. But his eyes.

The look on his eyes was something fierce and angry.

Tom had only heard of him from Harry's loving stories, of his awkward posture and limited
knowledge with a wand, and so he had dismissed the man as non threatening in the recesses
of his mind. If Harry liked him so much, surely he could do no harm.

But as soon as Tom Riddle was through the threshold of the room he was on guard.

An Obscurial, he remembered distantly, a fact that had so easily slipped his mind. This man
played home to a magical parasite. Harry himself had found that book, even if he hadn't
outright told Tom so in as many words.

This man. He was far more dangerous than any of them combined, Tom included. He was
man enough to admit that.

And yet.

And yet, he was wasting away before their very eyes, the creature eating away at his magic
and life force with gusto, for years and years on end.

And yet, he fiercely clung to life with tooth and bloodied nails. Yet, he stood before them
ready for battle.

The Phoenix at his side didn't look much better, by contrast. It sat prettily on a perch, close
enough to Aurelius to touch, one dull eye trained on them.
On the table below lay countless feathers, withered and dull.

Tom took a deep breath and let his magic go wild through the room, looking for any ears that
could be listening in by any means, and let his magic build walls behind walls of wards. Tom,
in hindsight, didn't have much knowledge on warding, but he let his magic do the job as it
willed and trusted it would be more than enough.

He would know if anyone neared the room.

Aurelius waved for them to sit, a rectangular wooden table off to the side of the room with
enough chairs to hold all of them.

Cassiopeia, Lucretia and Orion Black, Mirabel Garlick, Horace Slughorn and Abraxas
Malfoy. And Tom, of course.

The unnamed Dumbledore remained standing, a grimace pulling at his face.

All of them swore an oath of secrecy just by entering the room. No one outside would know
what was about to happen. And it would stay that way. Far easier to cut loose the ends if he
could see where the thread had unraveled from.

Tom and Aurelius sat on opposite ends of the table and measured each other up.

"Lay it on me." He had an American accent. Harry had not mentioned that.

Tom sighed, and looked at Orion. He nodded.

They told him everything.

The plan was rather simple: get in, get out.

No need for a show of heroics, no need for shows of strength. No need to be there for longer
than absolutely necessary.

Evander Rosier (finally, one of his), had come through with invaluable information, grinning
with pride at a job well done.

An envelope saturated in Dark Magic nestled in Tom's cloak. An invitation for tonight's dark
gathering.

Two more hours.

Orion and Cassiopeia locked eyes from each side of the table, gazes silver and hard. A single
picture lay between them, a man with greying hair that liked to goad at Lord Black in each
and every ball they happened to attend together. He was far removed from the main branch of
the House of Lestrange, and as such had no real claim to any titles or lands to call his own,
and yet he charmed people into believing he would be the next Head, the next Lord to sit at
the Wizengamot, and surely Lord Black had better watch his crooked back, for he was
coming for his votes.

Well. With the way House Lestrange seemed to tilt like a rather dangerous pendulum at the
edge of a precipice, from back stabbings to poisonings to mysterious disappearances...
perhaps he was not that off the mark. But, by the time that man made it to the top of the tree
there would be no Family left to rule, with the way things were going.

But the man served their purpose now. He was an Acolyte. Not close enough to be one of
Grindelwald's most trusted, and yet not a mere dog underlying either.

He sat trapped like a fly on Tom's web now, tied up and shoved into a trunk in Lord Black's
Office like a discarded marionette. The man's own invitation sat beside his picture on the
table. No one would miss the fact that a new Lestrenge had gone missing.

They went missing by the tenths, that wretched family, from the Main Family to the far off
Branches. Looking for one missing man would be like looking for a needle in a haystack.

Cassiopeia knew the man well enough. It made things easier for her.

She took a deep breath and held it. She coiled her magic close to her chest. Her skin rippled
and changed, like the water on a lake, disturbed by a single point of contact. Her nose
elongated, and her cheeks hollowed out a bit. Her skin sagged and her hair greyed. She grew
more than a fair few inches, her back broadened and her skin deepened in colour.

She became Callum Lestrenge as the last feather on Serenity's tail fell on the table top.
Changing, for Cassiopeia, was as easy as breathing.

She let her breath go, and her magic uncoiled, filling in the spaces where there was skin now
where earlier there was not.

No one would be able to sniff out a Metamorphmagus. It was simply impossible. Their magic
too took the shape of the subject of their choosing, in stark contrast to Polyjuice Potion that,
while it allowed the drinker to assume the form of another person, it also left traces of the
wearer's magic still on the surface.

Mirabel had kindly, kindly put together robes for a man much taller than her wife, runed from
one stitch to the next by Lucretia's careful hands.

They were ready.

And now, to wait.

Albus Dumbledore could feel the pull of tiredness weighing him down.

With a student being taken in such a public, such a violent attack, parents had called to
question the security of their children, both in and outside Hogwarts. After all, what was
meant to be a simple excursion out of the Castle had turned in tragedy.

Aurors had been called in, yet again, into the safety of Hogwarts wards.

They had turned every stone, every leaf to be found in search of anything that might point
them North.

They had searched, and as such, they had found.

And it pointed to Susie Sooth, the Divinations teacher.

Magical compasses lead them like dogs behind a particularly juicy treat to her rooms within
the Castle.

It was... certainly eye opening, to say the least.

Letters (love letters, and didn't that make something ugly turn in his stomach) lay scattered
carelessly about, open for anyone to read behind the most embarrassing set of traps on her
door. A simple first year would have been able to step through.

Correspondence, symbols of the Alliance, dark magical artefacts so drenched in Dark Magic
it made more than a couple of the people present gag in response to their foulness, amongst
other things.

Pictures.

Pictures of his students. Children beneath Dumbledore's care had been spied on, and even
possibly predated on. That, more than anything, made the Transfigurations Professor step
outside and lose his dinner all in one go.

To think... to think, he had almost joined this man in his crusade for power. To think he had at
one point, stood by his side and by his ways.

But no more.

With multiple eyes roaming the halls and passageways and in's and out's of the Castle it was
only a matter of time before someone set a pair of eyes over the Hogwarts registry and found
the incongruencies.

Only one person at a time was allowed in the Room, and no notes were permitted to be taken,
for the safety of the children that resided in its walls, and the ones who would come along in
the Future. The Auror in question had to be accompanied by a member of the staff, looking
closely at each movement and ready to protect what was theirs. They had sworn oaths to the
School, for the safety of its children. They would upkeep them.

It so happened to be Dumbledore's turn to look over the shoulder of a small witch, reading
through the entries for the last year.

The first one to notice the slip was not Albus, but the witch.

Harry Evans name had been added. He had never been on the registry. After all, no boy by
the name of Harry Evans had been born on British land in the last sixteen years.

Things started to add up.

The witch would not remember ever reading the Registry after she left the room. He made
sure of that.

He would have, at first, mistaken the slip for treason. He would have, in the past months,
looked over his shoulder and not seen the short green eyed boy, but rather the shadow of
Gellert on his shoes. He would have mistaken one misguided boy for another.

The slip in the Registry would have been enough to push past Dumbledore to a Board's
meeting, on grounds of expulsion for a boy who was surely a spy.

But now.

Now he recounted the countless memories he had grabbed from people on the street on the
day Harry Evans had been taken. Now, he remembered the panic, the franticness of his spells
as he both played offence and defense with no wand on sight, and as no one on the crowd
stepped up to help. His cane fall, discarded in the floor.

He could recall the little boy running for his mother on the other end of the Alley, in the path
of multiple spells, and how Harry had taken him in under his cloak.

Now, he remembered Tom Riddle's look of horror as he cut through people to get to the boy,
uncaring of the magic he unleashed on his enemies, his eyes only focused on Harry.

Harry was Tom Riddle's root to earth. He held the leash to a powerful monster that lurked
beneath the surface.

Now, Dumbledore knew better than to act without holding all the cards. He was seeing the
small frame, as muggles say. He needed to see the whole picture.
Serenity took them as close to the Castle as he could without alerting the lookouts of the
presence of an uninvited Phoenix in the middle of a blizzard.

Cold gripped Tom from all sides, biting and unforgiving.

They were in the middle of a valley covered in snow, white from each side and each corner
he could see. And more falling down on them.

He could see the Castle in the distance, dark and imposing, carved right out of the mountain
face. He could also spot the apparition point.

He grabbed onto Cassiopeia without waiting for her to stand on her own two feet, disoriented
as she was by the suddenness of the travel, and Apareted them with a turn of his heel.

It was near.

He could feel his own magic pulsing, the ring calling back to him.

He hadn't felt it for days and days on end.

Harry was alive and breathing, otherwise his own Magic would have come back to him after
leaving the ring. It was the only thing that let him sleep, that let him rest before coming for
his love.

The spells woven around the ring would only let Harry take it off, willingly and without
pressure. Otherwise the stubborn dragon would not move a single inch to part with its hoard.
Dragons were terribly possessive creatures, after all. Tom could understand.

And now the ring called back to Tom, and Tom in turn, let it's magic free.

Harry startled as the ring in his hand warmed. It was still baffling to feel it move and sigh and
pout about. He wondered if Tom had found the way to recreate his own gift from Harry.

He was sitting in the far corner of the room he was given, away from the hearth and as away
from the door as he could get.
He hurt and ached in some places, and yet no traces of bruises or cuts would be found on his
skin. The ones on his flesh had been healed over, and the ones on his mind were invisible to
the eye.

He watched, transfixed, as the dragon on his finger stretched, yawned, before it slithered
around his hand, coming to rest at his palm.

A single wing flapped, dusting itself off, before it split to two with a faint clinking sound.

Harry startled as the little dragon let out a rather mechanical but non the less delighted yip.

A single stone eye became two.

Its scales grew in number at first, its body elongating before his very eyes. Then they started
to change size too. The dragon grew, from the size of his small ring, to a mouse, then a cat, a
small dog, and kept growing. It fell from his hands, too big to hold, to his laps and then to the
floor.

The metal dragon contorted, and rolled around as magic pulled at it.

He knew this magic. Knew this pull.

Finally, when the dragon could barely fit in the room, pushing furniture and wood aside with
a wave of its tail, and no less than fifteen meters long and tightly coiled around itself, it lifted
a metal head to look at Harry.

It looked like something out of a fantasy.

Big, huge really, and made entirely of metal. The tiny runes Harry had so foolishly thought
had been ingrained with the most care into its wings when it was a ring, impossibly tiny and
illegible to normal eyes, became full sized, big ritualistic runes etched into every single scale,
every single inch of the dragon, covered in magic and blood.

At the center of it's chest, inlaid into the metal scales where it's heart should be, was a tiny
black stone, surrounded by melted gold. The whole dragon pulsed with magic and love.

It's breath was warm, as it smelled him curiously, eyes glowing red (red? hadn't they been
green) stones gazing back at him.

A puff of smoke left its snout, and Harry laughed as he felt warmth for the first time since he
had been dragged to this blasted winter nightmare.

"Take me to him." The dragon apparently understood, as inanimate as it seemed to be, as the
lips of its snout stretched to form a smile full of teeth.

He got on its back, and the dragon broke through wards, stone and wood on its way out the
windows.

Harry shivered as the biting cold gripped him from all sides, and desperately tried to hold on
to the warm metal beneath his hands.
Perhaps Tom Riddle had not meant for the dragon to be flown.

Oh, well. Too late for that.

There were more people than Tom thought possible, standing close together and gathered
both in the outside courtyard, where there was still some room to breathe even if he had lost
the feeling in his hands, and inside the entrance room where even more people had gathered,
stuck like sardines, hoping to see Grindelwald emerge from its depths.

Their invitations acted as a token to pass through the wards, and so far they had no trouble.

Cassiopeia lowered her head to speak in his ear.

"How will you know?" He had not informed anyone, not even Abraxas and Orion about the
ring. His ring and Harry's, that is. All they knew, is that Tom would be able to locate him
anywhere in the Castle. If things had... unraveled and stretched correctly, Harry would be
coming to them, and not the other way around. (So much for trying to go in and out
discreetly. He supposed a little white lie would hurt no one. No one at his side, that is.)

"Oh, don't you worry. You'll know too." Tom looked through the masked strangers standing
close together. He saw an opening near the edge of the Courtyard. "Come, closer to the edge
of the wards. I think we can peel away some layers from here."

He felt the dragon ring sing along with his magic, and knew Harry was on his way.

Grindelwald made an appearance not long after, on an elevated platform.

He gave a rather long speech, in fact.

Tom lay in wait. He has already laid all his traps. Or, rather, a small metal snake had.

There were hundreds of men and women standing at the steps of the Castle.

Harry gazed at them from above, freezing as he was but safe hiding in the clouds.

The metal beneath his body remained warm. The constant flap of the wings lulled him to a
sense of safety.
He could not enhance his sight with magic, and as such, he relied completely and utterly on
the dragon.

They would have only one chance. There were too many wands available for shooting spells
for them to miss their opportunity.

The dragon knew exactly where Tom Riddle stood, hidden between blood red and masked as
they all were.

"Okay." Harry whispered in the cold air. He was fucking freezing, barely hanging on to the
metal. "Okay, then. Bring it on."

A big piece of metal dropped out of the sky.

A big piece of metal dropped out of the sky and fried at least twenty people on it's way.

A big fucking dragon dove in right into the crowd.

A lone figure sat on its back, wrapped in a red stained blanket.

Cassiopeia suspected it could only be her child.

Tom Riddle had broken into a run before she could even process what was happening.

But she was not Lady Black for nothing.

Shields rose to protect Harry, spell after spell cutting down people on her way.

Nothing short of death would stop her from taking that boy home.

The Dragon breathed fire, and Tom Riddle blasted anyone within a twenty meter radio to bits.

When Harry finally looked into his eyes, he despaired a little. That was the eye of a Dark
Lord in the making.

Oh, well. He had been warned.

Tom Riddle was grinning with too many teeth for it to be called a smile, and yet his
expression was one of joy and triumph.
He scaled the dragon with practiced movements, like he had done it a million times already
and met Harry in the middle.

The dragon rose its metal wings from its side, covering them from the onslaught of lights
coming their way, spells falling off its metal like water, if only to give them a temporary
reprieve.

"Darling." He breathed into his lips, into his lungs and his skin. Harry felt his magic like his
own, and kissed him with as much ferocity as he allowed himself. "I'm getting you out of
here even if it's by the skin off my bones."

"Macabre. But oddly romantic." He couldn't help the besotted smile even if he tried.

"You know me."

A man caught up to them, having lost his mask in the way.

Harry cringed back as he stepped foot on the dragon, who seemed to be too preoccupied
burning the cloaks off of wizards off to the side to bother shaking off a lone man.

Tom turned, but didn't seem startled either at finding the man within their bubble.

"Who—" He whispered to Tom with alarm, only interrupted by the intruder.

"Harry Evans. By Mordred must you get yourself into this situations?" Harry gaped at him,
astounded. Then he caught sight of yellow beneath the brown of the man's eyes, and looked
beyond the suit of flesh to find Cassiopeia smiling at him.

"I'm— I have. Some many questions."

"Questions later, escaping now. Grindelwald for sure got rid of—"

Just as Cassiopeia had swung a leg over the back of the ridiculously big dragon, a door
somewhere deep in the Castle was blasted to bits. The shockwaves were enough for the
dragon to stumble, and the majority of the wizards standing fell to their knees.

The Castle tilted dangerously to one side.

"Time to go." Tom grabbed onto the metal from around Harry's hips, somehow finding a slot
to hold on to where he had not.

"Wait a minute." Harry craned his head back, looking towards the entrance. He was still
missing one thing.

"What? Harry, there really is no time to dally darling–!"

Grindelwald stood on the threshold, bodily pushing people aside and wand pointed at them at
the ready. He looked unhinged, hair singed and eyes manic as he gazed at them.

The dragon beneath them breathed in, coiling magic and air and ready to fire.
"You prance about the Deathly Hallows like they belong to you!" Harry screamed, voice
carrying through the cold air. The Acolytes stood silent, in wait.

"Harry, what are you doing? We need to go!" Cassiopeia whispered from behind them
urgently, panic raising in her male voice.

"You want to guess who is Death's favorite child?" Harry screamed again. He knew. He
knew, logically, that he could pull no magic from himself as he was. Shackled on both wrists
and his throat.

He put his hand out anyways.

The wand flew out of the Dark Lord's grip before anyone could think to try and stop it.

The dragon took that as its cue to leave, powerful wings carrying them off into the air.

The shock spread between the Dark Lords followers, much too stunned to think about firing
at their backs.

Had that boy stolen the legendary wand out of the Dark Lords hand?

They landed in a frozen forest in a heap of limbs and metal.

Harry was cold to the bone, past shivering and feeling his fingers at that point.

They were safe for the moment.

Cassiopeia jumped off the back of the dragon as her skin rippled and fell away, leaving
behind a familiar looking face with cat like eyes.

"Sit Harry, we'll get you warm and— by Morgana. Gods be good! Is that... shackles on your
wrist?" Her voice trembled as she asked, wand already in her hand and horrified at the sight
of the metal on his skin.

Tom turned violently from where he had stood before the dragon, seemingly trying to coax it
back into a ring with no success.

"Shackles?" He repeated back, voice low and dangerous. He dropped his wand arm from
where it had been grazing the heated metal and started walking around towards them.

Harry shrunk his shoulders a little.

"I mean. They are certainly magical."

"You cannot reach your magic?" Her expression was a little wild. A little mad. "At all?"

"No."
"Then how did you—" Tom was gazing at him with furrowed brows.

"Let's get them out of you then, and out of those wet clothes. The last thing we need right
now is for one of us to fall sick. Get that dragon under control, Tom Riddle. You'll need to get
us to the aparating point, and as powerful as you think you are, I hardly think you'll be able to
carry around a twenty meter metal dragon without splinching us all." Cassiopeia had taken
off her gloves and started to cast, uncaring of the biting cold nipping at her fingers.

"Fifteen." Both Tom and Harry cut unison. Cassiopeia lifted a single eyebrow at them.

Tom cleared his throat.

"The dragon is fifteen feet, Madam."

"I don't care how bloody long or short that thing is, and see if I care for honorifics now, after
you've cursed me out more times than you have eaten these past two days. Get us out of here,
Riddle."

Tom went back to the task at hand, and Harry let himself be strong armed into winter
appropriate clothes for the first time since he had apparently left the British Isles.

Feeling his magic running through his veins was like getting the feeling back on a limb after
it had fallen asleep. It was painful at first, then gradually, slowly, magic filled every pore and
every cell on his body and he felt alive and warm and whole.

"Fuck." He couldn't help but cuss, wincing as the magic reached every crevice of himself and
cleared it out of any residual foreign magic that might've clung to him.

Tom finally, blessedly, convinced his own Soul into retreating back into its smaller form. It
was a nightmare and a half, trying to fight with himself while also keeping an eye out for
Harry, while also keeping them safe behind a shield of magic. It was alright. Tom could
multitask.

By the time he had the dragon on his palm, warm and reaching towards Harry, Cassiopeia
had gotten the shackles out of him and bundled his beloved in layer after layer of clothes.

Tom breathed out. It felt like he had been holding his breath since Harry had been taken.

His magic reached out, attaching like a second skin beneath his beloved's clothes, settling in
like a heavy warm blanket.

"Let's get you home, darling." He stretched out a hand towards him, palm up and inviting.
Harry smiled tiredly back, and rather than take his hands he walked right into Tom and made
himself home in his arms.

"I'm right where I want to be now."

Two jumps across two countries seemed like an impossible feat for any normal Wizard. Two
jumps, plus two passengers seemed astronomical for anyone, period.

But Tom was not normal, in any way.

Their first jump was from Austria to Switzerland, made easier by the fact that the metal
dragon had left them close to its borders.

The second jump was harder. Right into the heart of France, to a place Tom had only visited
once.

Black Manor.

Tom blacked out as soon as they landed, confident, at least, that he had not splinched anyone.

Harry himself fell as soon as Tom did, as he had been supporting much of his weight.

Cassiopeia cursed as he rushed to the gates and waved her wand before the metal.

Harry struggled to sit, moving to take Tom's head into his lap. There were circles underneath
his eyes, deep and purple as he traced them with the pad of his fingers. His skin was as pale
as the snow surrounding them.

"Is he alright?" He couldn't help but ask. He had never seen... Tom so vulnerable. So lifeless.
He was always on guard, ready to fight back with tooth and nail.

The dragon ring on his finger pulsed with warmth. He suspected what it was, already.

"He'll be fine, Harry. Magical exhaustion and lack of proper rest was surely going to make
him run into a wall. Why the fuck is no one opening the fucking door?" She answered
distractedly, wand still in her hand, knocking on the wards of her Lord's home.

Finally, what seemed to be an eternity later (Tom was still breathing, his skin was still pale
and his pulse had not slowed nor sped up) a rather tall man appeared behind the gates.

He spoke to Cassiopeia in French, and she straightened and responded in kind.

The man nodded and opened the doors with a wave of his wand.
He looked right at Harry as he approached, grey eyes piercing and black and grey hair slicked
back.

"Harry Evans, at last."

Lord Arcturus Black smiled down at him, and some of the severeness of the situation crushed
down on Harry like a particularly heavy stone.

He lowered his head to Tom's chest, and felt him breathe.

"Hi." He mumbled back. For once, just this once, he didn't faint.

He fell asleep.

Harry, to the surprise of absolutely no one, awoke first.

He slept curled on his side, holding hurts no one else would be able to see close to his body
and snuggled deeper into the blankets.

He was deliciously warm and cozy, and he didn't want to move a single muscle in the wrong
direction for fear of losing his comfortable position.

When he opened a single green eye, he found out why.

Tom Riddle lay on his back, head slightly turned his way and curls scattered around the white
pillow beneath him.

He breathed slowly, deeply in his sleep and his eyes moved behind closed lids.

Harry thought for a moment about staying still right where he was comfortable, before
deciding that he would be even better snuggled up to Tom.

He slithered across the space between them and laid his head in the crook of his partner's
neck, sighing deeply and closing his eyes once more.

He wouldn't be able to fall asleep again, but this was enough.

The familiar smell of Tom, something dark with bits of sandalwood along with the heat of his
body, and the warm blanket of his magic lulled him somewhere closer to dreams, a state
between awake and asleep without really tipping the scale every which way.

After what felt like minutes, but could have possibly been hours, Tom grunted by his side and
cursed.

Harry hid a smile against the fabric of Tom's sweater, strangely endeared by the whole thing.
Then Tom tried to stretch, and bumped his head into Harry's, making them both groan in
pain.

A laugh escaped his throat before he could think to stop it.

"You always laugh at the weirdest times, Harry." Tom's voice was deeper than normal and
scratchy from disuse. It made an unwelcome blush crawl its way from Harry's chest all the
way up his neck and to his cheeks. He snuggled further into the boy's neck. "Hello, darling."

"Hi, Tom." He breathed in one last time, before retreating back a bit. It had to be said face to
face, after all. "Thank you. For coming for me." Something like anguish caught on his throat.
"And for the ring. I know what it is."

I know what you've given me, he didn't say.

I will protect it as you have protected me, went implied.

Tom smiled sleepily back at him.

A kiss was placed on his brow before arms wrapped around him, cradling him close.

"You're welcome, darling."

A beat passed between them, laying still in each other's arms.

Then.

"Harry." Tom whispered against his hair.

"Hmm?"

"I took your wand."

And, to be fair, Harry had known. Deep down, when he had felt the pull and the panic and the
despair as he ran through Diagon Alley in search for Tom Riddle. He had suspected what
might've happened.

It didn't make the blow any sweeter.

Harry ripped away from Tom and looked down at him.

"You lied to me." He spat.

"I did."

"You told me we were going out for last Christmas shopping—!"

"I know."

A frustrated scream lodged itself on his throat.

He turned away, grabbing onto his head.

"You can't pull shit like this and not expect consequences, Tom!" He yelled onto his hands.
He couldn't look at him right now. He might do something he might regret. "You can't go
behind my back just because you want to satisfy some obscure curiosity and leave me
fucking defenseless in the process! Do you have any idea what I've been through in the last
few days?!"

"You weren't meant to be alone, that's why I left Lucretia and Abr—"

"I don't care!" He turned still, even if he didn't want to look. Tom had sat by his side, blue
eyes wide open and pleading. "I don't care what you planned. You promised me, Tom Riddle.
Never again."

Tom looked like he was about to argue on that statement for a single second, before his eyes
moved up and down Harry's frame.

"I did. I will not." His mouth set on a grim line, magic pulling on Harry's ring as the
unspoken oath settled on his skin. Harry's breath caught on his throat. "I promise, Harry.
Nothing will ever touch you with the intent to harm you ever again. Nothing will ever come
even close. Not while I breathe." He leaned forward and rested his forehead on Harry's
shoulder, a long arm sneaked around his waist. "This I promise you." His voice came out
muffled against his borrowed clothes, but non the less clear enough for him to hear. "I'm
sorry."

Harry went limp against him.

Lord Black sat before them in his Office, severe face gentled somewhat by the sight of his
(favourite) niece cooing over an adolescent boy her cousin's age like it was her own flesh and
blood.

Cassiopeia had gone and adopted a child without consulting him, it seemed.

The other child, he watched from the corner of his eye at all times. A powerful wizard in the
making, if there ever was. Slightly unhinged from what little Cassiopeia had been able to
piece together.

He had planned the whole rescue on his own, from the inside out, to their escape routes, to
their landings.

A bright child in mind, even if his hands were soaked in blood and his magic pulled at the
deepest, most dark corners of his mind and rang alarm bells.

Someone to look out for. He would do great things. Terrible, perhaps, but great.
Hogwarts during Christmas was Harry's favourite time of the year.

To be fair, Hogwarts in general was Harry's favourite time of the year.

Abraxas waited for him with open arms as he stumbled and fell out of the Floo, from Black
Manor to Professor Slughorn's Office. He swooped in and lifted him around his middle and
spun him around the room, never mind that Harry was still dizzy from the floo powder.

They laughed as they spun, hugging closer together.

Finally, Abraxas set him down.

"Oh! How I've missed that lovely face!" He received a kiss on each cheek for his troubles,
before being passed on to Orion and Lucretia, who hugged him briefly but fiercely, to
Slughorn who patted him on the back while he cried on a rather lumpy piece of cloth that
might've once passed as a coat and finally found himself before Professor Mirabel.

There were no tears in her eyes, just the gentle security and joy at finding him alive and well.

She hugged him close, gently as one would a flame, and let him go once he was ready. She
took his head between her warm hands and tilted it every which way.

"I know Cass couldn't possibly let you travel through that awful Floo without looking for any
possible and impossible injury, but somehow I know you are just hurting, dear. Are you
okay?" Something like guilt clenched at his heart.

He did hurt.

He hurt just about everywhere.

He didn't think it was the kind of hurt that simply went away with potions.

Something must have crossed his face, as Mirabel held him close again and murmured
against his hair.

"We'll figure it out, Harry. Don't you worry."

Dumbledore stared, baffled, at the assembled students (and teachers!) before him.
Harry Evans was sat in the middle of the chaos, as if he had not vanished not a few days prior
behind the Dark Lord's shadow.

The Aurors had been recalled by the Ministry following a Wizengamot meeting, where Lord
Black had more or less told all the Lord's before him that Harry had been rescued by a private
party, and they didn't much need the Ministry's (useless) help anymore, thank you very much.

Maybe in not as many words.

And now, there he sat, beside his friends, enjoying bits and pieces of foods and drinks, while
the House Elves kept bringing more and more food to their table, plates already stacked one
on top of the other.

No one had, perhaps, been more worried for Harry's health than the faithful little creatures.

Perhaps. Dumbledore's beard twitched. But perhaps Tom Riddle came to a close second.

Harry didn't talk much about the days he had been missing. And the others left it well alone.

Not Tom though.

He didn't ask, exactly. But his gaze grew worried and taunt around the edges each time Harry
pulled away from them, each time he smiled and tried to mean it while it came off as nothing
more than a grimace.

On those moments, even if he physically wouldn't cradle him close, his magic did, resonating
with the ring curled around his finger.

He hated the winter. But, perhaps, he could get behind Christmas.

Christmas in the Castle was spent between the working House Elves in the kitchen and the
greenhouses where Mirabel kept talking to her baby plants, urging them to grow now or they
would miss their New Year.

They obeyed reluctantly.

Christmas was spent in Tom Riddle's embrace, his body warm with sleep and heavy where
they laid together. At some point in the night Tom had crawled between the three beds pushed
together, bodily moved Abraxas off to his own side of the bed and settled himself at Harry's
back. Orion had startled awake in a tangle of curls and silver eyes when he had heard
Abraxas groan from the other side of the bed, only to find himself on the end of Tom Riddle's
glare, daring him to make a single noise to wake Harry and find out the consequences.

Harry, of course, had been awake the whole time.

Somewhere between Christmas and New Year's, the twins decided to give them at least New
Year's Eve (Tom's birthday) to celebrate by themselves.

Harry was forever grateful. If they kept looking at him like he might break, he might actually
break something.

They had convinced Abraxas to go back to his Manor for the day, and they all agreed to
reunite in Malfoy Manor before midnight, as it was the closest one.

Someone, at some point, would have to pick Aurelius on the way.

Two twin storms barely contained behind two blue, blue eyes followed him from across the
room. They were alone, at long last.

Harry sighed, shoulders dropping and posture relaxing as he tilted his head back to look at
the ceiling. He was acutely aware he was being watched.

He turned his head to look back at Tom.

The tilt to his eyebrows was amused, the curve of his lip indulging as he tilted and leaned his
head on his hand, reclining his weight towards the armrest of a loveseat by the fire.

A tall stack of papers lay on the coffee table in front of him begging to be thumbed through,
and yet. And yet, his attention remained solely on Harry's form as he moved around the
office.

His hair was shorter than Harry had ever seen it, cut somewhere between Christmas and the
long days after, when Mirabele had gotten a pair of scissors out of her working apron and
declared his hair a tad bit too long, even if the curls fought their way around his head to fall
midway to his forehead, a single act of defiance against the otherwise perfectly poised figure
he cut through the night.

His eyes were dark, barely a hint of blue surrounding a sea of black, unforgiving, a pit so
dark it left no chance for the light to filter in.

His magic was pulling Harry towards him, seductively, carefully, a lover's caress across his
skin, warming him up in a single touch.
Tom shifted in his seat, and Harry looked right through him, through his very being, to his
very core and knew without a hint of doubt exactly what he wanted, and what he would do in
the next five, ten, fifteen minutes.

He moved without rush, following the push and pull of the dark magic around him,
approaching the fireplace with silent steps.

Tom leaned an arm on the back of the loveseat, wordlessly inviting him to sit by his side.

Harry knew this dance.

They've had it a couple of times already.

He forgoed the seat in favour of sliding onto Tom's lap, his legs spread to accommodate him
without complaint.

A hand settled behind his back, curving around his waist possessively and holding on. He
was terribly warm.

"Darling." The arm around him tugged him impossibly closer, trying and failing to merge
them together as one by sheer proximity alone.

"Happy Birthday, Tom." He brought his own arms around his partner's neck, fingers carding
through the short hairs at his nape, unaccustomed to the lack of longer curls there to hold on
to. He settled for lightly digging the blunt of his nails through his scalp. Tom let out a long
sigh of contentment, eyes closing briefly before settling back on him with laser focus.

"Happy New Year's Eve for you, my love." He leaned forward, overbalancing them towards
the fireplace and making Harry let out a laugh as he scrambled to hold on, fingers tightening
on his thick winter robes in an attempt to not fall backwards.

Both arms cradled him against a firm chest, and a mouth found its way down his throat,
pulling the delicate skin with sharp teeth, leaving a path of purple and pink downwards,
making him gasp in both pain and pleasure, alternating bites and kisses like the pulling of
waves. The sensations mixed together as one, and his whole body shuddered as he tried to
both lean back and take a deep breath.

Tom mumbled words of love against his skin, hugging him close and not letting him up for a
single moment. He pressed magic and affection and intention into his very being, something
he had taken to doing as of late, whenever they found themselves a moment for each other in
the chaos of their lives.

"Tom." He gasped as a particularly hard bite grazed the skin on his artery, blood pumped
rapidly through his veins, making him dizzy and pink and so, so in love.

When he looked down at Tom he didn't, for one second, see the man that was sat right in
front of him. The partner with careful touches and loving hands, the warm magic that touched
his skin like a cloak everytime they were within reach of each other.

He saw what could have been. What once was.

And what would never be, here and now, on this Universe.

Harry made sure of that.

The hands around his waist tugged him up, making him loose enough concentration to slam
back on the present, on his Tom.

"Your focus on me, sweetheart." He growled against his neck, teeth digging in painfully.

The hands guided him up and helped him spread his legs, settling his knees on each side of
Tom's hips and they brought him down and forward, pulling a moan right out of Harry's lungs
as their crotches brushed together.

Green, green eyes gazed down at two twin storms, so dark they threatened to swallow him
whole.

A tingle of magic down his spine made him arch his back, a silent gasp leaving his lips as he
was prompted to move against Tom by the pull of his playful magic.

The smirk pulling at the man's lips would be terribly infuriating if Harry wasn't so turned on.

He was, however, a brat at his core.

"Asshole." He whispered as he leaned down to kiss him, open mouthed and hot as their
breaths mingled together.

"You like it." Was all he received in response as Tom tilted them once again, this time
towards the loveseat as he set Harry down on his back, pressing all his body weight down on
him, grinding with purpose.

He was going to drive Harry mad. He might've done it already.

"I love you." Harry breathed into his skin, words laced in magic laced in love.

Tom pulled back enough to look at him in the eye.

"I know." Harry tilted an offended eyebrow at him, waiting. "I love you too." He leaned down
so their foreheads touched. "I got your gift."

"My—? Oh! Gods be good! I thought for sure they were gone—!"

"You left them on the pockets of your robes, and you gave the robes to little Alphard Black. I
got them." Tom breathed out against his cheek, long and hard. "Thank you, Harry. I don't
think anyone has— I don't think I've ever received something so thoughtful."
 "I was just giving you back what was yours."

Tom smiled gently at him.

"Exactly like that."

Chapter End Notes

Double update! My life? In shambles! This chapter? Very fun to write! I hope you enjoy
this as much as I did. I always love me some dragon shoved into some corner of the
story.

Comments and kudos are always welcome!

come scream at me on Tumblr

UPDATE 25/02/25: Almost done with the next chapter! Sorry for the long break, stuff
happened! I just have one thing to say: I may have lured you in with cute Seer!Harry but
you are now trapped into my little fantasy world lol (all that to say, expect more dragon
appearances)
 Chapter 11
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

It started, as things are wont to do, with a Phoenix.

Aurelius - Credence Dumbledore - Barebone had been an Obscurial before he knew he had
Magic. Before he even knew he was a Wizard.

He had been a weapon for a dark wizard before he had known love.

He knew the warm fire of an immortal companion before he knew his family.

Aurelius - Credence had lost himself countless times, had to fight to know his identity each
step of the way, had to fight the instinct to cower away in a corner at every turn and wait for
the belt more times than he knew to count.

He knew the darkness that clinged to his shadow, the weight of his steps as they hit the
ground. He had learned over the years to live with it, coexist with it. His faithful companion
in the form of a Phoenix helped, of course, it chased away the dark magic just by being by his
side, a little light burning at the end of the tunnel. (It was killing him).

Aurelius was killing them both. (No, not him, he reasoned. The parasite that clinged to
Aurelius' magic).

The Phoenix would die, and then it would be born again from the ashes, free from Aurelius
after a decade together.

Aurelius knew the dark that lingered in the dark corners of the world, had looked at the void
and the void had embraced him with eternal arms. He knew the darkness, and as such, he
could see it in other people.

A boy not yet of age had sat on his pier, one afternoon in the peak of winter and had stuck his
small feet up to his thin ankles in the freezing water like it was a random warm spring day.
His shoulders had been hunched forward, eyes not moving from the river, pale faced despite
his honey completion. Parts of his hair had turned white, like the strands had forgotten how to
hold color, draining away and leaving nothing behind.

He had looked somewhat cheerful in the company of the tall snake, but it was a farce.

Even Aurelius could tell as much.

As soon as the other boy had been out of sight, the white-haired boy had curled in on himself,
a protective stance to his shoulders Aurelius knew very well.

Something squeezed at his insides.

He could see it in every breath the boy took: Aurelius himself, small as this boy was now
with scars in the back of his hands, scorned and hated in the only place he knew to be safe,
arms reaching for love where there was only emptiness.

An empty house, a cold bed, and the burning hunger that lingered at the back of his mind.

He wondered for long moments, who this child was. Who he would become.

Aurelius was not proud of all the choices he'd taken, of all the people he'd hurt. But he'd been
a child too, and he had turned to the first hand stretched out to help him up from the gutter
he'd been thrown in.

He'd made his mistakes. He'd had years to pay for them tenfold.

His companion chirped at his side, perched in the window to his room that looked out to the
water.

Perhaps, he thought, he could be of some assistance now.

Aurelius walked towards the boy, and hoped that even if he could not pull the boy out of the
darkest pits he seemed to be in, he could provide some light.

On the days leading up after New Years Eve, the Castle had grown impossibly colder, quieter.
Even if people came and went from Cassiopeia and Mirabel's rooms like it was the personal
headquarters for all the teenagers in their lives, the rest of the stone covered hallways and
corridors remained empty.

Most of the students had gone home for the holidays, and not one single Slytherin remained
in the dorms.

Not even Harry and Tom.

Mirabel had taken one look at Harry's puppy sad eyes as his friends left through the floo each
day to go back to their families and had taken it upon herself to empty out the second room -
turned office- into a proper guest room for her boy. Harry, more than anyone, deserved a
place to stay where he felt loved and welcome (and if it could soothe Cass's paranoid
tendencies, all the better).

Tom Riddle could sleep on the carpeted floor in the living space for all she cared. She was
not blind to the boy's manipulations and as much as she wanted to respect Harry's personal
space and his own autonomy she could not help the visceral reaction each time she
remembered the shadow of Tom Riddle standing in the Infirmary Office and lying to her
wife's face like it was a game .

Mirabel knew what he had done, she could read it in between the lines of all that had
happened, of all they had lived in the span of three horrible days. She had wondered and so
she had dug, searching for an answer.

(And if it was of any consolation, guilt had written itself all over Tom Riddle's magic, it was
written in the line of his shoulders, protective and overbearing as he stood over Harry time
and time again like a snake poised to strike).

(Harry had strong feelings about Tom sleeping on the couch in the living room, and as such
each night he went down from his own room to take the other boy by the hand and up to his
bed.

It was cute. They thought they were being sly. Cassiopeia and Mirabel had years on them on
being sneaky.

Besides, her plants knew better than to be brought to silence by Harry's careful hands and
vibrant magic.)

Mirabel just needed a sign. Anything at all that would tell her that something was wrong in
their relationship, or that that snake wasn't treating him right, and she would make his body
disappear in the woods without a trace.

For the time being, her little faithful plants watched over them like hawks.

They were laying side by side under the cover of darkness, snuggled together as close as they
could be and sharing breaths.

Harry could not sleep.

It was not for lack of trying. He tried to keep deadly still despite the burning need to twist and
turn and try to find a comfortable spot to lay his mind to rest, as he was too afraid of waking
Tom in the process.

Memories kept repeating in his head, from the time he'd been taken, to the feeling of
bloodlust so strong it made him nauseous, to the coldness of death. There was a void inside
of him, and he feared it would only get bigger and bigger and swallow everything in its path.

The body beside him moved, breathing out deeply in his sleep. Tom Riddle seemed to sense
his inner turmoil even unconscious, as he hugged Harry closer to himself, hands stroking his
back before settling down again, nose buried in Harry's curls.

He closed his eyes again and breathed.

He dreamed of Phoenixes burning into Auguries and skies turning blood red.

They were sitting together in their teacher's living room one fine morning when the quiet
question came. "Tom?"

"Yes, darling? He answered, distracted. There were still some loose threads that needed to be
cut and mouths to keep shut and Tom kept jumping from one problem to the next without
finishing the previous one and it was proving stressful.

When Harry took too long to answer however, his head snapped up from where it was buried
on a terribly old text book with yellowing pages filled to the brim with dark spells.

"Harry?" He questioned, curious and not at all irritated at the chance to take a small break
from the looped handwriting that was starting to look like a single blurred line all mixed
together.

Harry was looking out the window, where the white wonderland sat stubbornly still in the
spaces between trees, refusing to melt even as the warm noon sun beat down on it. His eyes
were a little glossy, something Tom had learned to associate with Harry looking beyond what
was present before his eyes. He insisted, calling out his name again.

There was a long pause between them, and Tom worried for a moment he would have to
bring his darling down from wherever he went when his eyes looked somewhere where Tom
couldn't follow.

"D'you think I can fly again?" The boy finally answered, shoulders slumped forward and gaze
longing. He blinked his lovely green eyes slowly, before turning to Tom with a small tired
smile. Two deep purple circles framed his lovely face with shadows everyday, lately.
The question threw Tom off a little.

"Anytime you want, darling. Even if that broom of yours could use a little priming." He
smiled at Harry, even as he turned away again, looking out to the courtyard below. "I would
take a guess and say the weather will go up from here." The winter would come to an end, as
all things do, and spring would find its way.

"No I—" His lovely face colored, tan skin mixing with lovely pinks and purples and eyes
looking everywhere but at him. His hand tapped the knotted wand he had stolen from the
Dark Wizard nervously against the skin of his other hand. "I meant—your dragon."

His dragon.

"Oh, Harry." At the coy calling of his name, the boy turned green eyes on him. An indulgent
smile stretched across Tom's lips, eyebrows turning amusedly up at him. "That ring is yours, I
broke off the seal already. You can call it back anytime you want."

The green of his eyes when he smiled looked possibly blinding.

After his birthday, right after New Years, Tom Riddle took a single day to himself. A single
day to get his head in order, to rear in the basilisk that burned beneath his skin and wanted to
eat the whole world in a single vicious bite.

Harry, his Harry who was safe and asleep in the daybed set by the roaring fire in the Black-
Garlick rooms. He had not woken since he had fallen face first into the comfortable looking
mattress early that same morning, and Tom had taken the opportunity to flee down the stairs
and out to the cold corridors.

The relief, mixed with the guilt of almost–but–not–quite losing Harry made something deep
in him twist and hurt, begging to be heard and begging to keep Harry close and protect him
from any and all things that could hurt him. It was irrational. It was eating at him.

He needed a moment to breathe by himself without the fear of harming anyone in the same
room.

He passed by the Great Hall and kept walking, down corridors and cobblestone steps. Out the
most populated areas of Hogwarts and down to the ruins that surrounded it, where very few
had ventured over the decades.

The little spot he had found for himself in the shape of an abandoned library awaited him. He
bypassed the main floor and reached for the restricted section just as a burst of magic on top
of one of the tables went off. It made him stumble to a stop, blue eyes searching for any
danger, hand stretched and ready to cast.
He approached the table and waved a hand over the green object impatiently.

It didn't feel intrusive, or malicious. House Elf magic, then.

Set on a desk, wood worn with age and use, was a wrapped package.

Christmas.

Christmas had come and gone.

And yet there it was, his gift all wrapped up with a huge gold bow on top.

He already knew the contents within, without the need to rip the paper open. He did it
anyway, feeling like the child he had never been allowed to be, letting the pieces of paper fall
to the floor carelessly. He had not forgotten about them, exactly, but looking for Harry had
taken priority over everything else, and the gifts had sat forgotten somewhere in his room. An
elf must've found them, while cleaning, and sent them his way now that he was finally alone.

Inside, there was a black velvet box and a singular crystal vial full of wispy white smoke like
liquid.

The box contained a locket.

The locket was a silver piece with snakes painstakingly engraved into the metal, lovingly
whispering for Tom to coax it open with a hiss. It looked gaudy, if befitting for the time
period. Salazars Slytherin's locket was a piece of his legacy, an heirloom of invaluable magic.

It paled in comparison to the vial at its side. He had not dared to look at the memory yet.
Afraid it would distract him from finding Harry before it was too late.

He had time now, and Harry was safe.

Well, then.

In the Restricted Section of the Old Library stood a door carved in gold. A raven and a snake
fought mid flight.

Inside, one could find what had arguably once been Rowena Ravenclaw's private library,
passed down to her only daughter and from her, to her only lover.

The Bloody Baron.

The story went something like this:

Long ago, during the founder's time, a boy bearing a title too big for his shoes was sorted
into Slytherin.

The Castle was too big for the few resident's that resided within. And it would only become
bigger with time, ambient magic and the necessity for more space, would push for new
towers, new classrooms, more rooms.

The little Baron disliked the Castle. It was cold, and damp. There were no servants other than
the simple minded House Elves to mind him, to help him dress.

He disliked sharing his space with other boys his age, and other boys older than him even
less.

He rather disliked a lot of things.

As such, he found solace in his solitude. And in books.

The first day he'd had free of classes to roam by himself he'd found the library tucked away
by the corridors surrounding the Great Hall. He had sat himself down on one of the empty
wooden desks and had submerged himself in the pages.

Day by day, he read book to book to book. All on different topics, all different interests.

His father had never let him have a moment to himself to enjoy the few books he'd been
permitted to read. A Baron had no need for such things, he would say, face severe and cold.
Nobility was nobility by the grace of their blood and not the thought's that would swim on
their heads.

The little Baron despised his Father. He held no love for his only son, only contempt for the
one that would one day take his place.

The Baron sat and learned.

He sat and dreamed.

A little girl dressed in blues and silvers ran away from her tutors. Yet again.

She had no need for them, after all.

She only wanted to be able to swim by the lake, or hide by the Unicorn herd. She was a
terribly curious child, for her age.

She refused to listen to what other people wanted of her. Expected of her. Her mother might
be the most intelligent woman to ever grace the earth, but she was cold, and rough, like the
pages of the books she so lovingly read. She had no time for a little girl and her play time.
That was what tutors and nannies were for.
Helena grew to hate the smell of books she associated with her mother. She grew to hate
staying indoors, and sitting still, and bearing the weight of contempt from her peers, looking
at her like she was less just because she wasn't a carbon copy to her mother.

Instead, she liked to follow his father in the gardens, tending to the animals and letting her
feet sink into the grass covered ground. She liked to be in the one place where no eyes
followed her with hate, where no one expected anything of her more than the kindness she
could give. She felt free.

Yes, she would much rather be outside than confined in the cold walls of a decrepit looking
Castle. It was rather unlady like, people kept telling her. She would argue back that her
mother was unlady-like too, what with being the brightest witch of an age, defying any and
all preconceived notions non magicals would have of her.

Helena would never fit in her mother's shoes.

In fact, she wanted to wear no shoes at all.

They met, of course, during their first shared year at Hogwarts. So long ago it was, in fact,
that Salazar still taught in a classroom, with his robes pristinely pressed and a big stack of
papers sat orderly by his desk.

They disliked each other on sight.

Here they sat, two children who wanted to be the other, be in each other's robes and lives.

Helena wanted to be a free spirit, with no one putting expectations on her back and no one
telling her to keep trying to fit her in another's shoes. Bearing a title and being a man seemed
like the perfect combination to do whatever she wanted, when she wanted.

The little Baron, by contrast, craved the bloodline that ran through her veins. The treasures,
the books and magic they must hold to their names—something unreal. Something his family
would never understand. They had no magic, after all.

It was bound to turn ugly.

Then it got worse.

Rowena Ravenclaw took a liking to the little Baron, cunning creature by nature and
meticulous in his studying, he rose to the very top of his year. He was as pale as freshly
dropped snow, and as spoiled as a child raised with a silver spoon in his mouth could be. He
craved knowledge like no other. Not even her.
So, in light of her only daughter running off to the woods with no shoes on, she took him
under her wing. Salazar grumbled and protested but finally conceded. He had no time for
individual students, after all.

Years went by.

The Baron learned to work under Rowena, and she learned to let him loose whenever a new
idea occurred to her. They worked in tandem side by side for half a decade after he graduated
Hogwarts. They constructed a place for themselves in the very same place that had nurtured
him. The Library.

He had something of an obsession with Soul Magic, just as Rowena did with Universes.

Their work often intertwined, crossing the lines of all logic and magic before it separated
without any indicator that it would meet again. It was terribly disorienting to anyone that
tried to peek into their notes.

Then, finally.

They had constructed a Diadem. A Diadem to hold all knowledge.

It was a prototype still, and it involved far more Soul Magic than Rowena was comfortable
admitting. After all, to transfer a part of herself into the metal, she would need to commit an
atrocious act.

And so, it sat unfinished.

Then, it was stolen.

Tales of them would spread from there and afar, well after their deaths.

Had it been unrequited love? Craving for something they could not hold for themselves?
Envy that had rotten in their hearts and minds? Historians would not know for sure.

Rowena would not know either, until her untimely death.

What she knew, where the cold facts the wizards patrolling the abandoned Castle in Albania
had been able to tell her. There had been a fight, and her daughter had fallen first. Then the
Baron.
And, as she wrote the last page on her journal, with a heavy heart and her eyes full of tears,
she promised to never again let someone close to her work. She would seal the Library that
had once been her refuge, and she would hide the Diadem where no one would find it.

It held a piece of two souls inside, and she could not bring herself to destroy it.

She loved her daughter more than anything else in the world, and even if some of the pain of
her leaving had been covered by the son she never had, she still ached for a relationship that
would never flourish, that would never be.

She rested.

Years after, two ghosts started haunting the places they most frequented in life. With time,
each Headmaster employed them into the Ghost Charter, to look after students and teachers
alike. They would not cross paths again, in life or in death, but they resided painfully close to
one another for eternity.

Some would call it a curse, the universe taking the choice from them with cruel hands.

The Old Library held many fascinating things. Books, mostly. But also artefacts.

A whole artisan's workstation, with tools prepared to fire metal and shape it into intricate
designs. Stones had been left to collect dust in boxes upon boxes of what could have possibly
been the early stages of development of the Lost Diadem. Tools to carve runes and circles
drawn on the floor to contain magic of all shapes and sizes.

It had been Tom's little playroom for a while.

It started the first day he had found the Library.

He had been so desperate, so annoyed at not finding anything that could lead him to
Slytherin's treasure that the Old Library had been a light at the end of a tunnel. A different
path to fall into.

He became obsessed with it, from top to bottom he touched everything that was within reach,
he let his magic expand through the room and contract again each time he took a breath. It
had been clearly a work room, more than it had been a secret library, held in the confines of
another abandoned library. It held hand written journals with no names on the covers but
solely by the contents Tom could guess who they once belonged to.

It took a long while to read through everything that came on his path.
He had been delighted at finding works related to Soul Magic and its applications on non
animated objects.

And, after the incident with the Basilisk and fearing Harry could attract something potentially
more dangerous than a sixty meter ancient snake with poisonous venom, he had taken matters
into his own hands.

Literally.

So, while Harry slept one night weeks and weeks before he was taken, he slipped the dragon
ring off his finger and stole away into the night. He had already placed a few low ranged
tracking spells into the metal, to let him find Harry wherever he was as long as he stood
behind the Castle walls. There was also a tricky jinx that would not let anyone take the ring
from Harry's hands without his explicit consent. It was not particularly powerful to
overcome, but so intricate it would give even Merlin a long pause to decipher the key to the
lock that made up the spell.

Tom would do the impossible.

It started as an idea. An idea inspired by a small snake with red tinted scales that moved
around like it had a life of its own.

Harry, unknowingly perhaps, had created a new branch of magic all on his own. Using blood
magic no less.

Tom would go a step further.

He wove magic into metal of the small ring, willing it to contort and reshape itself into
something entirely different. Then he added links. And links. And more links of silver metal
into the already existing ring.

He willed it to grow and change and move with magic and will alone, intricate spells and
casting be damned. It felt instinctual almost, to let his magic do whatever it wanted as long as
he got the result he needed.

He had the carcass of a dragon made of silver metal in the center of the room, eyes empty
sockets and limbs limp if functional and held together by threads of magic alone.

Now it only needed a heart.

His little gold ring, his first (and now, only) Horcrux sang as he stripped it away of the black
stone.

He heated the gold in a cauldron held over a blazing magical fire, patient as he slowly melted
the metal down until it turned into a malleable liquid. He then poured it into the chest of the
creature, carefully carving a space for the black stone to reside once he was done.

The creature stood still for several terrifying moments, silent in the center of a rune circle so
embedded with Tom's magic and blood it had left him dizzy for hours after. He feared he'd
fucked the whole process over, with no real guideline to follow and stick to and no way of
knowing it would work until he finished.

It was a mix of trial and error, giving a Horcrux the means to move and breathe and
experience the world again.

But, at the end of the day, it was a part of himself.

And all of him loved Harry, all of him wanted to protect him down to his core, his very being.

The creature then breathed, the noise suddenly loud in the small space of the workroom. Its
eyes filled with a blood red color. The dragon shook its head, clearly disoriented, looking left
and right, moving its paws like it was underwater and trying to swim to the surface.

The metal membranes of its wings trembled, and the creature looked down at them, surprised
to find it had two new appendages attached to its front legs. In fact, it looked dismayed at the
whole ordeal, even if its face could hold no expression.

Then the dragon moved and blinked down at Tom with its red eyes.

Tom smiled, and let their magic connect and snap back at one another, memories and magic
flowing from man to creature.

The whole process had taken a week, and Harry had been none the wiser.

Harry carried a piece of Tom's Soul now, if wrapped under threads of spells to stay in the
shape of a ring unless told otherwise (for its protection, of course, it would not do for the
world to find out exactly what Tom had done to achieve such a feat).

Perhaps he should have known better than to think Harry would remain by his side at all
times, for him to be able to let the dragon loose if he were ever in danger.

He would learn from this mistake.

Now, as he sat on the same bench he'd been working his magic dry to shape a dragon into
existence, he held the glass vial between his hands.

A stone pensive sat forgotten and out of the way in a corner of the room. It had gathered dust
and a few cobwebs in its time secluded away from prying eyes. The outside was carved with
runes upon runes, some overlapping each other and digging so forcefully into the stone he
feared it would not be functional. The inside bowl was made out of light blue marble.

He swallowed bile.

He uncorked the vial and dropped the memory before he could think better of it.
The memory of Merope Gaunt, his pregnant mother, filthy and with her hair matted against
her skull made him want to vomit.

She was not a powerful witch, he knew, if only from the spiteful words fallen from the filthy
mouth of his uncle in slurs and hisses.

She would not survive a winter out in the open.

She was alone in the world, thrown to the streets like a dog and kicked down at every turn.

By the time she had reached Borgin and Burke's she held nothing more than a single Locket
to her name, stolen from her own brother's hands. She had sold her beautiful dresses, her
glinting jewelry, her intricately decorated shoes.

Even still, magic weak as it was, she held a protective hand over her swollen belly, smoothing
out the curve of it up and down in soothing motions.

She held a smile, even as she sold out the last piece of her heritage for nothing more than the
worth of two meals down at the Leaky.

The date, December 30th.

Just a day before his birth.

If Tom could go back in time to kill his father once again, he would do it in a heartbeat.

What his mother had done was unforgivable, yes.

What his father did after had been all but a death sentence to her and her child.

He almost left the Locket on the work table, unopened and forgotten.

He shook where he sat, overwhelmed and angry at both his parents in unforgivable ways.

He forced himself to hiss out a command still, and had to sit back at what he found inside.

Harry .

The petals of the Carnations and the Peruvian Lily had been pressed lovingly into the metal,
the feeling of his partner's magic strong and lively as it rose out to meet his own.

A gentle smile crawled its way onto his face.

Tom breathed in, suddenly a lot calmer than he had felt in the last few days.
He should be getting back, then.

Harry needed to step out, just for a moment.

He'd been desperately trying not to think of things, trying to not remember. Focusing on Tom
helped, and the dragon around his finger helped some more.

Cassiopeia's worried looks and Mirabel's nervous hands definitely didn't help. He could hear
them whispering to each other when they thought he was not paying attention, looking at him
with intense eyes and following his every move, from room to room.

It was, perhaps, not without reason.

Each time he closed his eyes he could picture it; the heaviness of the magic wrapped around
him like a noose, the traces of a spell dancing up his skin like red lightning, the feeling of his
newly regrown bones grinding together under the pressure. He could see Grindelwald's cold,
mismatched eyes waiting for him to break, not an ounce of compassion in those irises, the
line of his body rigid like a soldier ready for battle.

He closed his eyes sometimes and wished he had begged for mercy instead.

Harry stopped sleeping some time between the first few days after being rescued. He tried to
keep it to himself, tried to hide away the jagged edges the magic had left behind on his very
soul, but he could not hide the occasional tremors, the night terrors, the choking need for air
he had each time someone walked out of sight or touched him when he was distracted.

He only felt safe in Tom's arms, where he was able to relax and hold on to the memory of
him slashing people left and right with his wand, eyes burning a blazing blue and locked into
one objective: Harry. He only felt safe when the ring (now sometimes a bracelet, occasionally
a necklace but most often a cat-sized lizard with wings) rested on his skin, warm and pulsing
like a living thing, a heartbeat to match his own rapid pulse.

But he couldn't go like this any longer, running low on fuel and hitting bottom each time Tom
was out of sight.

So, when Tom Riddle slipped out from the room when he believed Harry to be asleep, Harry
grabbed his cane and ran. Miraculously perhaps, he didn't notice the white flower stuck to his
back.

He ran out through passages, through hallways and down stairs. The sound of the wood of his
cane hitting the stone was his only company. Thankfully, no one crossed his path.
He was out of the Hogwarts grounds and into the Forbidden Forest in less than fifteen
minutes, a new record even for him. His leg ached faintly in the back of his mind, but he
dismissed the pain in favour of slipping through the forest.

( An orange and maroon bird watched from high up in the tree tops as he walked past the
wooden bridge. It tilted its head, half tempted to follow, and yet it could not stray from its
home. This particular journey had to be walked alone).

Harry's walk through the tall towering trees was brisk, his heart pumping blood rapidly and
making his pulse jump into a steady rhythm. The wooden cane caught on a couple of roots
from time to time, the sound of wood hitting against wood lost in the chirping of birds
overhead.

He walked for a long time.

He didn't know why, exactly, but his magic begged for him to continue on. And he knew
better than to not trust the feeling. So far it had not led him astray.

He walked until his head cleared, until his blood slowed in his veins, and his body burned
pleasantly with the feeling of a good exercise.

The dragon wrapped around his wrist like a bracelet warmed from time to time, snaking
around his skin with clear anxious movements before settling down again, one red eye
looking curiously at the forest around them.

The sound of the birds singing had stopped at some point a few miles back, but Harry had
kept on walking.

The morning sun overhead disappeared behind the dense canopy of trees, and the forest
below was plunged into darkness, damp and stiffing.

Late, untouched snow broke underneath his foot, and his cane sank deep into the white
blanket. Everywhere he looked, his footprints were the only ones making a path through the
forest.

He kept walking, for what could have been hours upon hours in a place few had ever stepped
foot in, he kept walking.

He was starting to slow down, body aching for a moment of reprieve. He was starting to
think of transfiguring some branches into a small tent to warm himself for a bit before
continuing on, when he was forced to a stop.

The line of trees opened suddenly, and Harry was a breath away from falling down a steep
ravine.

A large body of water waited beneath, water calm and clear.

Harry sucked in a startled breath. His magic suddenly let go of his will, of his want to keep
going and he faltered where he stood. Suddenly the ache of the long trek took a hold of his
body and he slumped against a tree.

He looked down slowly, almost afraid of tripping and falling down.

He was too far up to survive the dive down.

A lake stood nestled in a large valley between mountains, hidden from the world between the
green covered peaks, full of life and covered in lush green leaves despite the season. In fact,
now that Harry really stopped to observe, it was much warmer now than it had been before,
and when he looked back, he found that snow had disappeared at some point in the distance,
his steps instead leaving prints in the mud.

Harry grabbed onto the tree trunk he had been leaning against for balance, breath stuck in his
throat. He hadn't known such a place existed deep in the forest. Of all the things he had seen,
of all the things he expected, this hadn't been one of them.

Noise on the lake below suddenly drew his attention.

Creatures flew from one side of the lake to the other, singing to each other in a symphony
Harry wouldn't be able to pick apart for the life of him. From birds with feathers of all the
impossible colours of the rainbow glinting in the morning sun, both big and small, to
creatures that looked like something right out of muggle fantasy books.

Then he noticed he was not the only one standing beside the ravine.

Golden feathers and brown fur in a truly enormous body with an orange peak glared at Harry
from a little ways away, comfortably sat in a little nest. Two golden eyes narrowed at him,
and a tail whipped back and forth, clearly agitated.

A griffin.

A griffin was looking incredibly offended at Harry's very existence.

It huffed a long breath in Harry's direction, before settling big clawed paws on the dirt, taking
impulse and lifting its impressive body from the ground. Big golden wings opened fully
wide, and the creature turned to face him fully.

Harry stood deadly still, remembering the late afternoon classes with Hagrid and his
Hippogriff. But no Care of Magical Creatures Class would help him now, as he seemed to
have stumbled on the creature's nest. Harry didn't really think it would outright attack, and he
really was the one invading its little nest— and yet in the end, he had no needed for worry.

The bracelet around his wrist warmed once more, before the dragon dropped to the ground,
twisting and turning as it went, growing in size and magic spilling from the heated metal.

A growl erupted from deep in its chest, the sound of metal sliding together loud in the sudden
silence around the lake. A proud shake to its massive head, a stomp of a paw and flutter of
wings and it was enough for the other creature. The griffin stumbled back, alarmed, before
turning tail and taking off towards the forest.

After all, the dragon was easily three times the griffin's size.

Harry huffed out a long relieved breath, trembling legs no longer able to hold his body weight
as he fell back none too gently onto the ground, cane discarded at his side.

The dragon turned at the noise, a curious cooing sound coming from its chest as it lowered its
giant silver snout down to Harry. They hadn't met like this, not since that time the dragon had
rescued Harry from his prison, like he'd been a princess trapped for eternity in the tallest
tower of a winter fortress by an evil wizard, and Tom, his knight in shining armor came to
save him.

Harry sighed, feeling incredibly endeared by the creature and its creator both.

He set a small hand on the dragon's nose, palm against the metal and fingers spread. The
material was surprisingly textured, perhaps due to the runes that ran up and down its body
like veins. It was textured, yes, but not sharp in any way. In fact, it felt almost like reptilian
scales, perhaps an attempt to imitate a real dragon's skin. The creature was warm, magic
pulsing sure and heavy from its chest.

Harry moved his hand, applying heavy pressure as he pet the dragon everywhere he could
reach.

The creature let out contented little sighs, a rumble starting low on its chest and making the
metal (and Harry by extent) vibrate with the sound. After a while it lowered itself even
further, long wings tucking beneath its body, turning its neck and setting its head on Harry's
lap to ask for more pets.

Harry laughed, indulgent as he brought his other hand up to comply with the silent request.

They sat there for a long moment, enjoying the sun and the sounds filtering through the lake.

Harry leaned his body against the dragon and let himself drift.

What could have been an eternity later, they heard the tail end of a dragon roar as it soared
through the valley towards the lake.

It was too far away to pick out any individual details, and as much experience as Harry had
with different dragon species, he was no expert. It was red with a golden belly and small. It
was clearly having fun diving from impressive heights to the water and out again.

Harry missed the feeling.

He missed diving nose down from a point so far in the sky the clouds covered the earth below
completely, chasing a small winged ball at unbelievable speeds only to pull up from the
ground at the last possible moment.

Harry's heart stopped in his throat, green eyes looking down at the metal dragon by his feet,
who had perked up at the commotion the small red dragon was making somewhere out in the
background.

He remembered flying on a dragon back through the cold, through clouds and snow and rain,
out to safety. He remembered the warmth, the magic.

He wanted more.

As if it could read his train of thought, the dragon turned to look at him, red eyes intent and
knowing all in one.

It looked amused, in fact. Incredibly like Tom Riddle without being able to emote a single
emotion in the twisted metal that made up its flesh.

To fly, then.

Harry had a wand this time around. He would use it to his advantage.

He transfigured a couple of stones and fallen branches into a saddle, nothing intricate or
fancy, but enough to protect his thighs from the burning core of magic beneath his body and
have something to grip at the same time. The dragon waited patiently as Harry surrounded its
body in thick straps, twisting and lowering itself for better access.

Finally, Harry took a deep breath beside the creature, cane forgotten on the ground and hands
holding on to the saddle.

He trusted this creature.

He knew the soul that resided in it.

So, he mounted.

Harry swung a leg around the saddle, hands holding tightly onto the transfigured leather. He
sat still for a moment, his legs dangling on each side of the warm body made of metal. He
tried to find a comfortable position, unaccustomed as he was to riding a creature.

Finally, he strapped his legs into the saddle, a cautious precaution just in case he lost his
balance up in the air.

He pressed his heels into the dragon's body, and the creature turned red loving eyes at him,
blinking slowly like it was memorizing his every detail.
Then the dragon turned, body sure and graceful as it stepped down the slope of the mountain
slowly, letting Harry get used to the feeling. It was such a weird experience, feeling the
creature shift beneath his legs each time it took a step, tilting one way then the other, making
Harry scramble to keep balanced on top. The fact that his legs were secure and firm on each
side certainly helped.

It was much harder than riding a broom for sure, where each movement, each turn was his
own.

The dragon stopped on a big rock halfway down the mountain, big clawed hands holding
onto the surface. Harry took the moment to gaze at the view, as they were now closer to the
water but still surrounded by trees. It was beautiful.

The dragon took one last look at Harry over its shoulder, possibly gauging his reaction.

And then it jumped.

They let themselves fall down the ravine, nose diving down to the lake below at neck
breaking speeds. The dragon's wings stuck close to its body, folded neatly to ensure
maximum efficiency. Harry himself was flush against the creature, wind whipping his white
hair back and out his face. He held onto the saddle for dear life, even as his strapped legs kept
him secure on his spot. Miraculously, his glasses stayed firmly in place.

The dragon pulled up just at the right moment, wings opening wide and gliding through the
air in an arch, going close enough to the water that it grazed its belly and tail. Water splashed
around him, catching the light of the sun and turning a million different colours.

Harry laughed, finally able to breathe.

The movement of the dragon beneath his body was soothing. He could feel the little
adjustments of its wings it made against the wind, the turning of its massive head to look at
one thing or another, the calming waves of magic rolling from the dragon to himself.

He felt safe. Safer than he had in a long time. Happy and in the air where he belonged.

His hands unclenched from where they had closed against the material of the saddle, and he
let his body fall backwards, resting his back on the metal. The dragon rumbled in response,
gliding calmly through the air surrounding the valley.

The sky was as blue as ever, splashed here and there with huge fluffy white clouds moving
gently with the breeze. Some looked towering, like castles, and others resembled shapes of
people and faces. One in particular, far behind the others stood darker in comparison. The
light of the sun hit it just right, making the shadows long and dark and the fluffy white bits
were dyed oranges and yellows. It looked like a phoenix soaring through the sky, long tail
feathers trailing behind. It made him think of Serenity, the lovely phoenix and its dark
weathered feathers.
Harry closed his eyes. He thought he could fall asleep up in the air, trusting his other half to
keep him safe and secure.

But, the want to fly and feel the air against his face won out.

He lifted himself from his lying position and grabbed onto the saddle once more.

The dragon seemed to feel the change in the air between them, and a contented coo left its
mouth. Its wings folded a bit closer to its body without closing all the way, and they dived
down towards the water once again, this time a much gentle descent from the skies.

Harry leaned his body to one side and the dragon accompanied his movement, turning them
to the right and diving closer to the forest surrounding the mountains. They flew down, down,
down until they brushed past the tree tops, making the leaves shake and flutter as they flew
past.

Then they both leaned as one towards the lake, going down the slope of the hill that
surrounded it and making the trees dance in their wake.

The water below was calm, moving gently with the breeze that made its surface ripple gently
from time to time.

The dragon folded its wings all the way, and they dived nose down into the water like a
missile. They emerged just as fast, with the creature flapping its wings rapidly to shake off
the excess weight. The shock of the cold water against the wind was enough to make Harry
shiver in his seat, despite the warm air that seemed to surrender the big valley.

He let out a laugh as he pressed his heels into the dragon's body, holding tightly as they
ascended into the air overhead.

They flew up until the air turned chill again, and then they let themselves fall down with little
to no grace, just letting gravity have its fun as they twisted around and around, turning and
looping through the air like it was a playground for seekers to let themselves have fun.

The only sound other than the rushing air against his body was his own voice as laughter and
screams of joy were torn from his body.

And when they were close enough to the water again, the dragon opened its wings and
slowed their fall, the force of it would have yanked Harry from the saddle had he not been
strapped in.

He had never felt so free.

They flew for hours.

Around and around, up the valley and down the hills, across the lake and around again.
The other creatures left them well alone, but after the fifth lap around the lake they seemed to
understand they posed no threat and had resumed their own flying and singing through the
mountains.

So long they flew in fact, that the sun was threatening to dip beneath the horizon.

They were diving down from far up in the clouds again, down to the lake below when he
heard the scream.

He had to hold onto the saddle with both hands for dear life as his heart jumped to his throat
and refused to move down again.

Lily Potter was screaming at him from the shore.

The dragon stopped where it was, wings moving up and down to keep them in the air, long
neck turning to look down in the direction of the noise.

A trick of the light, a sunbeam falling just at the right angle, and the red headed woman
standing by the water with wide green eyes looking at him with worry was his mum.

He blinked and the illusion was broken.

Mirabel Garlick had her red head split down the middle and braided tightly against her scalp,
two long tresses falling down her back and reaching past her waist. She wore a green overall,
muddied below the knees and belly like she had been working on her plants before finding
herself here. Her hands were clean by contrast, short nails digging into the fabric on her legs
and calling out to him with all her strength.

The sun was still beating down from above their heads, hot and humid.

She looked like a sun goddess, with her red hair shining almost orange in the light and the
dusting of freckles across her skin like stardust.

He looked like what he'd imagined his mom would look when he was small and had no
picture to look at, when the only way he had of seeing her had been his imagination and his
dreams.

She looked, now, like a goddess that would call his name and hold him gently, someone who
would protect him until the end.

Harry had never, perhaps, noticed the similarities quite as much as he did now.

Alas, there was just a tiny detail, just a tiny insignificant detail that bothered him greatly.
They were hours by foot away from Hogwarts.

He shouldn't have been found so easily.

He pressed his heels against the metal flesh of the dragon and leaned his body down a little
towards the left, the creature followed his movement and they glided down gently towards
the shore, where the shallow water was gently brushing against Mirabel's shins, her toes sunk
in the sand below.

Her mouth was a thin line of worry, and her normally serene demeanor had been replaced
with a frown upon her eyebrows.

Her hands clenched and unclenched from the fabric of her overalls, twin braids moving in the
breeze.

The metal dragon landed in the water a few ways away from her, where the water was deeper.

Mirabel stumbled back a bit, and suddenly Harry realized she had, perhaps, never seen the
dragon in any of its forms.

The beast liked to stay skin to skin with Harry, choosing the form of a bracelet or a ring,
hidden beneath his clothing and nuzzled right up to his pulse.

Mirabel trembled where she stood, and yet, she didn't falter as she approached them with her
arms raised, uncaring of the water that raised up to her knees, up to her hips, she kept
walking.

The dragon leaned down, wings folding underneath itself and belly brushing the lake floor as
Harry tried to stumble his way down, unstrapping his legs from their hold and sliding down
the metal towards the water.

His fall down wasn't graceful in any way, and he hit the water on his knees, the water
reaching up to his chin.

The dragon looked from Mirabel to Harry, before letting out a put upon sigh and looking the
other way, body tilted away from them and snout grazing the water surface like a child put in
timeout.

Mirabel ran to him then, struggling with the deep water. Her warm hands grabbed him from
under his arms and lifted him with surprising strength, like he was nothing more than an
unruly plant waiting to be unpotted.

She touched his face, his arms and shoulders and everywhere else she could reach, looking
for scrapes or any hurts at all, hands caressing through his skin and hair like she'd be able to
find hidden injuries.

"Why— what were you thinking!?" She whisper-screamed, still side eyeing the dragon at
their side with barely concealed apprehension.

"I'm sorry," he couldn't help but choke out, guilt rising from somewhere up in his belly
towards the back of his throat. "I shouldn't have left—"
"—flying so high surely can't be safe!" At that, Harry had to stop and stare.

Mirabel didn't look particularly bothered by the fact that they were in the middle of nowhere,
deep in the hills of Scotland in a magical oasis. It was almost like she expected it, in fact.

"You aren't mad? About me leaving?" He just needed to make sure.

"Like I couldn't see you with a foot half out the door already. Of course not , sprout.
Besides," she reached towards his back, and Harry could feel something peeling from the
back of his shirt. When her hand appeared again, there was a white lily resting on her palm.
"I knew exactly how to find you this time." Harry blushed, chastised. "I got worried when the
hours went by and you didn't come back, only to find you here, attempting to break your neck
on a—" at this, she paused, reconsidering the creature pretending to be invisible just a few
ways away, still belly down on the lake water and looking out to the horizon "—dragon." Her
head tilted, and her green eyes settled back on Harry like a particularly interested cat, like he
was an insect and she was trying to decipher if he would jump or play dead. "Why, Harry
Evans, were you on top of a dragon?"

"It's Tom's," he answered, in a knee jerk reaction and trying to save his own hide. The dragon
at their side grumbled unhappy. Harry bit his lip to contain a smile.

"Is it?" The tone of her voice sounded like a warning.

"Tom didn't... he didn't say anything?" The metal dragon approached with careful steps,
creating waves as it went. It leaned its big head against Harry's side, curious and protective
all in one.

"Little sprout, no one knows you're here," there was a mischievous smile on her freckled
face, a curve to her lips that promised trouble. She leaned forward a little, like they were in
on a secret, "I told them we were repotting Mandrake's. No one asked questions after that."

"Oh." Harry had to breathe through the happy feeling coiling in his heart. To be known so
intimately, to feel so connected to someone (and adult, no less! after a lifetime of distrust)
was something he felt he would never grow accustomed to. Mirabel had known he would
need a moment to himself (hours, really) and had only come looking for him when he had not
walked himself back at an appropriate hour. There was, however, something that still
bothered him. “Did you walk all the way here?”

Mirabel flushed up to the roots of her hair.

“Oh, well–” she stammered, hands retracting to herself where they had been worrying at
Harry's curls. “I may have borrowed a unicorn from the Hogwarts pen.” Harry had to bit his
lip to contain a smile.

“Borrow–stolen, you mean?”

“You can't prove that it was me, sprout. Anyways, it left as soon as it saw the dragon flying
around and it knows its way back home. No harm no foul.”
The dragon at his side grumbled low and entertained, clearly laughing at Mirabel's red face.

One single scathing look from the witch had the creature turning to gaze at the horizon again,
pretending to be invisible.

Mirabel cleared her throat, “It'll turn dark in no time, we should start heading back.”

“We can fly there, the dragon is big enough to carry more than two people.”

“I don't know about it, sprout. It doesn't look safe.”

“Cassiopeia already flew on him, and she had no complaints. None that I heard, at least.”
Mirable narrowed her green eyes at that, a pull to her mouth that spoke of trouble. He feared
for Cassiopeia's safety.

“Let's go then. If my wife had no complaints, surely I'll find none.”

They had to expand the saddle to fit two people, but other than that they had no trouble
getting on the dragon.

The creature cast a curious glance at Harry, but gave no other indication that the added
weight bothered it in any way. And when Harry squeezed his heels around the creature's
body, they rose into the evening air with no trouble, flying up the hill that surrounded the lake
and staying close to the trees.

Mirabel let out delighted shouts at his back, suddenly not apprehensive at all at being put to
ride on a dragon back to the School.

(Cassiopeia was indeed in trouble when they got back, and she received a thorough chewing
for not telling all the details of their little escape from the Alps).

(Tom Riddle had narrowed his eyes at finding Harry not in his room where he had left him
but rather sat comfortably atop his Soul. Then the dragon had smugly snorted warm hair in
his direction, head tilted up and chest puffing out, and Tom had to slap a hand down his face,
exasperated, as Harry laughed at him from on top of the creature).

~
He heard the thrilling call in the middle of the night, well after midnight.

Harry didn't know, for one long minute, what had woken him exactly. He laid there, in the
embrace of Tom Riddle's arms and tried to blink himself awake. There was an urgency in the
back of his mind he knew to associate with the seer powers.

The dragon curled above their heads on a pillow opened a red eye to look down at Harry,
curious.

Then it came again. The calling. It was insistent, almost frightened in its intensity. Incredibly
loud in the stillness of the night.

It was lonely.

The room was dark, the light of the moon barely enough to let Harry see two paces in front of
him. But he knew the layout of the room well enough to not need a light.

He slipped from the bed with quiet steps, socked feet barely making a sound against the
carpeted floor.

The dragon rose from its curled position and flew towards Harry to settle around his throat
like a heavy choker.

The door squeaked, he knew, so he spelled it silent and prayed Tom would not notice the
disturbance of magic so close to him. He was an awfully light sleeper, his Tom.

He sneaked through the small gap between the door and the wall just as he was, in his green
pajamas. Instead of making a turn towards the outside grounds, he went up.

Towards the Transfiguration classrooms.

(Two blue eyes opened to the dark, and upon finding the bed empty, he let out a sigh.

He rose to follow).

Dumbledore was sitting in a chair behind his desk, head on one hand and the other grading
essays. His baby blue eyes were shadowed by heavy eyelids. Bags were pulling down at his
eyes, and he looked incredibly pale.

It was terribly late in the night, almost morning in fact. It made Harry wonder just how long
he'd been sitting there. Alone. In the dark, only illuminated by a single candle.

He didn't seem to notice the sound of the door opening, nor the uneven footsteps that
approached him.
"Professor?" Harry's voice was raspy from disuse.

Dumbledore checked the time before he turned on Harry.

"Curfew again, Mr. Evans." He said, but his heart clearly wasn't in it. He looked tired in the
faint light. It made him look older, closer to the Dumbledore he knew back in his own time.

Harry stood quietly by the edge of the desk, green eyes sad and heart heavy. He hated being
the bearer of bad news.

They looked at each other for a long moment, no animosity or bad blood left between them.
Just awkwardness.

"You need to come, Professor," Harry finally uttered, wobbling closer, a wince pulling at his
lips. His leg was aching again, and he had forgotten his cane in his room in the haste to move.

"Come? Where to, Harry Evans?" A tired playful smile played on the man's lips. "You should
be in bed. Does Cassiopeia know she has an escapee on her hands?"

But Harry didn't listen, he walked around the desk and grabbed onto one of Dumbledore's
wrists and tugged.

"Now, Professor. Before it's late." But Dumbledore didn't budge from his seat. In fact, a
concerned frown appeared between his eyebrows.

"It is already late, Harry. Maybe I should take you back to bed. Come." Finally, the Professor
stood.

Together, they made their way to the other side of the Castle. Harry still hadn't let go of his
wrist.

Instead of turning towards the Black-Garlick rooms however, Harry stopped in the corridor
leading down and out towards the main courtyard.

Dumbledore tried to guide him back but to no avail. Harry was not cooperating.

"We need to go, Professor." Harry pleaded. "It's Burning Day." He tugged on Dumbledore's
wrist again, surprisingly insistent as he all but dragged the tall man towards the wooden
bridge leading out of Castle and towards the Hogwarts grounds around it.

"What did you say?" Dumbledore stumbled as he went, trying to keep up with the hurried
steps of his student as they went down the hill in the direction of the village.

But before he could ask again, a Patronus stepped on their path. A transparent goat, small but
brimming with warm magic spoke in a deep voice.

"Brother, come. It's time." The Patronus waited for them a few ways away, magic not
dissipating into the night air.
This time, Dumbledore was the one hurrying down the mountain, dragging Harry as they
went.

Before they could break into the path proper, a lone figure dressed in black stopped them in
their tracks.

His hair was shorter, and Harry was still getting accustomed to seeing him so bare faced. He
sneered at Dumbledore, before slapping his hands off of Harry's wrist. "And where do you
think you're going?" He hissed out, low and dangerous. The question was addressed to Harry,
and yet he glared at Dumbledore with blazing eyes.

"There is no time, come." Dumbledore didn't waste a single second, steps long and hurried as
he followed the goat Patronus towards the path leading to the village.

"I need to go, I need to be there," Harry held onto him, trying to get them moving too.
"Please," he said, voice begging him to listen. And like the Phoenix itself had heard Harry, a
cry was heard from over the tree line, long and anguished. Harry looked back towards the
dark of the forest surrounding the dirt path, it looked menacing and cold in the night. His
green eyes settled back on Tom.

Tom was already looking down on him, eyes narrowed and angry all in one. He was not
angry at him, Harry reasoned. He looked scared almost, his posture protective and turned
away from the forest, hiding Harry from view.

Harry let himself breath out, tired body leaning into the warmth of the older boy.

"Come with me," he tugged on their hands once more, where Tom's hold was just shy of
painful. A thick coat was promptly dropped on his shoulders.

They got moving.

They had to stop three times.

The first time, Harry had to stumble them to a stop and bend down from the force of reality
crushing down on him . (He had to stop to sob his little heart out, cries unbelievably loud in
the stillness of the night).

The second time, they stopped at the entrance of the little village, where Serenity waited for
them perched on a small post by the bridge. Its feathers were almost charcoal black, and it
looked like a disgruntled Augurey more than a proud Phoenix. When it caught sight of them,
it took flight towards the river.

The third time, they stopped just outside the door to the Hog's Head Inn. Harry's steps
faltered as they ascended the stairs, muscles protesting and mind terribly blank. Tom Riddle
stood at his elbow, hands warm while they held him together.
Harry gave himself a single minute to put all his pieces back together, wrap them in wire and
hold himself strong. He would not cry now.

Aurelius knew when it was time.

He woke from a nightmare of cold hands holding him underwater, lungs burning for air and
scars itching from being torn open, to a tan face framed by white curls looking worriedly
down at him. He looked like an angel, illuminated from behind by a few floating candles.

Cold hands brushed the hair stuck to his face back, giving him a reprieve from the burning
fever he could feel running through his body.

His father stood on the other side of the bed, the look to his face grim, shadows pulling at his
skin like claws. It was the most emotion he'd ever seen reflected on the man. Beside him,
Albus stood, almost a carbon copy of worry and pain held together by sheer force of will
alone.

The snake that followed Harry's steps like a particularly obsessive protector stood by the
door, head turned away but body leaning towards them should they need assistance.

No one else was in the room.

No need for a healer, no need for a crowd.

Just Aurelius and his Phoenix, surrounded by his small family.

When he dragged his tired eyes back to Harry, he found that he wasn't alone.

A red headed woman shrouded in a white veil smiled down at him, green eyes kind.

Harry smiled gently down at him, cold hands holding onto Aurelius. He crouched down, their
faces almost touching as he spoke in a soft voice. “I hope you settle” he whispered, it almost
felt like a blessing as the words left his lips “and the universe is kind to you.”

Aurelius let the cold air fill his lungs, head turned towards the boy who burned like a
Phoenix, magic kind and gentle as it filled the room.

He looked towards his father, the man who had taken him in despite not having known of his
existence until he had been a full grown adult. The man who had taken care of him through
the years, through his sickness and never once faltered.
 He looked at uncle Albus, a man who seemed to know all the secrets of the universe and yet
was as human as all of them, stood awkwardly in his grief and in his pain at his nephew's sick
bed. The man who religiously brought him medicine and clothes and little magical toys like
they could somehow make up for the time Aurelius had not had any.

He dragged his eyes back to Harry, and hoped, with all his being, that he somehow had been
able to help. That he had, somehow, been able to make a change for the better.

The woman by Harry's side reached towards him, and Aurelius let himself fall.

In the corner, a Phoenix burned.

Chapter End Notes

𝘒𝘯𝘰𝘮𝘪 commented on the last chapter: "I hope your life settles and the universe is kind
to you." and it has lived rent free in my head each and every time I felt sad, so I decided
to add it into the story (it inspired Aurelius and Harry's last conversation).

Writting how Tom crafted the dragon felt both like a mix between Frankenstein and the
Wizard of Oz, don't ask why.

I hope you enjoyed reading this chapter as much as I did writting it, we are reaching the
end already

// life has been SO stressful lately and even though I had the bare bones of the chapter
laid out I had no motivation to write it, and I'm glad I didn't, as I got to write it when I
truly felt inspired and ready to do it.
thank you so much for coming in this journey with me, I feel like I used this fic to
stretch my writing a bit and it suddenly (and redundantly) turned into a whole universe
of its own.

as always, kudos and comments are always dearly loved, and you may find me on
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