Chapter Text

The forest was dark and Harry was shaking. From the cold, but also the fear. The man. No. The thing in front of him was pale with red eyes, he wore no shoes and had pointed nails, there were slits where an ordinary human would have nostrils. But most terrifying of all? It was the way it glided, no rise and fall to his movement, and the way it spoke. With the charisma of a politician who had never been caught in a scandal. Well, being a Dark Lord was probably a scandal on its own.

“Harry… Potter” Voldemort breathed, lazily pointing his wand at the boy currently standing before the large group. “Cutting it fine.”

“I am here, let us get this over with.” His bravery would be his downfall, but it was all for the best. The suffering of one, for the life of the many. It was the right thing, the good thing, to do.

“As you wish… you see? I can be merciful. Avada Kedavra!” Voldemort flicked his wand, and soon Harry was on the floor. The world had gone black. No, wait, it hadn’t. The world had gone white.

Harry blinked, but the world was still white. But there was a train now, a bright red train. It was the Hogwarts Express, and it was almost comforting to see. His eye was caught by a flash of black, a man who stood suddenly beside him.

“I am sure you have worked out where you are, Harry.” The man was stick thin, tall, and rather pale looking with skin that showed each blue vein. He had a grey, pinstripe suit and leant slightly on a cane with the handle of a silver raven.

“I– I died.” Harry stuttered out, “But I don’t know where I am.”

“This is Purgatory, Harry. The place where you are able to make decisions about your future, or your past, or your present. As the Master of Death, you get to choose.”

“Master? Of Death?” He said incredulously, even if deep down he believed it.

“You conquered me, Harry. Congratulations.” There was an evil, excited smile on the man’s face that showed pearly white teeth. Like he couldn’t wait to begin… something.

“You. You’re Death?” Harry looked the man up and down. This was harder to believe. He wasn’t sure what he expected, maybe a scythe.

“I am, and you are my Master. Let us get onto your choice.”

“My choice? Surely I'm just dead, so I go wherever dead people go," Harry replied, crossing his arms over his chest and taking a small step back. This was... unusual. Strange. And he wasn't entirely sure that this wasn't a dream.

“No. Fate and I are unhappy with how your life played out this time, and we have set about to fix it. You can choose to go back in time, into another’s body or your own, and fix it. It is not really a choice, per say, but how it is done all depends on you.”

“Fate?” He questioned, still sceptical. 

“Yes, lovely woman. Even if she is a bit harsh sometimes.”

“Right… and I can go back to any time? To ‘fix’ this? What exactly am I fixing?”

“You can choose the date, and you are fixing the world. The natural order was changed when Tom Riddle chose to make Horcruxes. You can destroy them, with your knowledge, or you can prevent them ever being made. It is up to you.”

“Surely it would be better that there were no Horcruxes at all?”

“It is up to you, Master. I will be there with you, guiding you, the whole time. There is no need to worry.”

Harry wasn’t particularly worried, not really, just quite confused with an undercurrent of anticipation. He took a deep breath, sweeping his gaze around Purgatory, and gave his response to Death.

“I will go back in time to when Tom Riddle was at school, and... stop him from ever making Horcruxes," Harry decided, drawing himself upright and giving a confident nod of the head. He thought it would be difficult to persuade the young Voldemort to give up immortality, but Harry knew that the world would be better off for it.

“Excellent choice, Master.”

The world flashed white, once again, and Harry found himself in an awfully familiar room. The room was far less messy, and seemed less filled with strange items and whirring objects. It was the Headmaster’s office, but the Headmaster wasn’t Albus Dumbledore.

Armando Dippet was smiling jovially down at Harry, who was sat back in one of the wooden chairs placed in front of the desk.

“Now, Mr Peverell, the Sorting Hat will determine which house you are placed in. Slytherin, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, or Gryffindor. All fine houses. Once that is over with, I will call up a Prefect from that house to show you to your table in the Great Hall for the Welcome Feast. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Headmaster.”

Harry’s voice was deeper than he remembered, and he could feel soft curls at his neck and on his forehead. So this wasn’t his body… He was briefly aware of the lack of pressure on his nose, and the sharper eyesight that he had been granted. No glasses, then. Harry couldn't bring himself to feel pleased about the change, as he had grown quite accustomed to the accessory. 

You are Hadrian Peverell, in this lifetime. You are 15, and were home-schooled up until your parent’s tragic demise. 

That is morbid, Death. Did you have something to do with that?

It was simply the natural order, Master. You are now the last Peverell, and have been living with your mother’s family for the past few months. 

Sounds a lot like–

“Slytherin!”

Harry hadn’t even realised the Sorting Hat had been placed on his head, so engrossed with conversation with Death. But the loud shout took him out of it, and Harry forced himself not to scowl at his new house.

“Wonderful!” Headmaster Dippet said, “I will call one of the fifth year prefects up to accompany you. Clever lad, that Tom. I'm sure you will feel right at home.”

Fuck. Despite Tom Riddle being the whole reason for his time travelling pursuits, Harry had not grasped the idea he would be in the same house as Tom, let alone the same year. He couldn't tell whether it would make his task easier, or ten times harder. The proximity to the boy would be tricky, and Harry would have to remember that they weren't the same person... not yet.

Do not worry, the boy is only fifteen. He has yet to create his first Horcrux, though this is the year he does.

And the year he opened the Chamber of Secrets.

“Headmaster, you called?” A young looking Tom Riddle entered the room, looking almost exactly as he had done in the diary. Harry stood from his seat.

“Ah, Tom.” Harry didn’t miss the use of a first name, “This is Hadrian Peverell, he was previously home-schooled and transferred to complete his education at Hogwarts. I was hoping you would show him round, he's a new addition to Slytherin! I must tell Horace the news too…”

“Pleasure to meet you, my name is Tom Riddle.” The boy with the dark, enticing eyes smiled politely at Harry and turning to thrust out his hand.

“Likewise, Hadrian Peverell,” They shook hands, but Harry could not tell what the other boy was thinking. He did, however, feel the push of Legilimency in his mind and had to refrain from scowling. Instead, Harry raised an eyebrow. There was no physical response from Riddle, but the presence left immediately.

Do not worry about your mind, Master. I would never allow it to be entered so forcefully.

“If you follow me, the Welcome Feast will start shortly.” 

Harry had expected the talking to end there, but Riddle continued.

“You should know, there is a hierarchy in Slytherin. Keep your head down for now, and I will take care of it. The upper years may not like this, me taking you under my wing, but they will not have a choice. Do as I say and you will be fine.”

Harry forced himself to keep walking, a bloody hierarchy? Riddle sounded very… convinced that his position in Slytherin was strong.

“Thank you,” Seemed the only appropriate response.

Riddle nodded once, “Do not make me regret it, or there will be consequences.”

Tom didn’t usually pay attention to new students, the first years had always been far too young. Even when he was eleven himself. None of the other students had a difficult life, they were rich, pure blooded with parents and family ready to pamper them at all costs. No, they didn’t have issues like his. Tom had been prepared to warmly welcome the new student, mention the hierarchy, and let him fend for himself. The plan had changed, quite abruptly, when he shook the other boy’s hand. It was like a thread, joining the two of them together. A beautiful, exceptional connection. The new boy, Peverell, was his. Tom would make sure of it. He would unravel the mystery, he would work out exactly what this connection was and how he could best use it. Tom just needed him to fall in line while the research continued, and hopefully Peverell had noticed.

When he had looked into Peverell’s eyes, Tom saw nothing. It was a black void, emptiness, coldness. Then he had seen the raised eyebrow of the other boy, and realised Peverell felt his presence. Whether it was just his occlumency skill, or their connection, it made Tom feel light with anticipation. He had subtly inspected the boy, Hadrian, on the journey through Hogwarts. Tall, awful posture which would be corrected, black, curly hair that needed a trim, and pale, green eyes. He had a scar, running from below his ear and into the confines of his shirt. He was biting his lip, a dreadful habit to have, and Tom noticed the red and rawness of his lips.

“Don’t do that,” Tom ordered.

“What?” Hadrian looked at him, confused.

“Don’t bite your lip.” Tom felt a hint of satisfaction as Hadrian followed his command.

A Peverell, too. The others, especially Abraxas, would be incredibly interested in the new addition to Slytherin. Tom made a note to ask Hector to look into his past, though there was little to lose from asking Hadrian now…

“What made you want to come to Hogwarts after so many years of home-schooling?”

Hadrian gave a sigh, quiet and weary, “My parents died.”

Tom found it difficult to conceal his scheming smile, delight pooling in his stomach. Recent losses made for easily moulded characters.

“I hope that you are able to find comfort at Hogwarts, and move past your loss in time. Do you have any other family to stay with?”

To Tom’s distaste, Hadrian huffed out a laugh.

“I do. My mother’s family.”

Hadrian did not seem to have much love for this family. Tom could only hope the boy was alone, and could turn to him for any needed... guidance. 

The Great Hall looked just as it did in Harry’s day, just a lot brighter and happier than those final hours. Riddle led him over to the Slytherin table, where there was the familiar clear divide between groups. To Harry’s surprise, Tom’s ‘group’ was sitting in the middle of the table. There were one or two outliers dotted around, but most of the Slytherins congregated around Riddle. Harry sat down beside the boy, only hesitating for a second when he was led in that direction. It didn’t take a genius to work out what was happening. This was Tom’s ‘inner circle’, those who would later be his Death Eaters.

Harry tried to ignore the bright blond hair of the Malfoy he was sitting opposite, and the boy beside him who was the spitting image of Sirius. The first years were yet to be sorted, so the students were still chatting amongst themselves.

“This is Hadrian Peverell,” Tom introduced, and the small group of Slytherins around them went quiet.

“Peverell, this is Abraxas Malfoy, Orion Black, Hector Lestrange, and Isabella Avery.”

There was a smattering of welcomes among the group, and Harry shook the hands of them all. Unsure of the proper etiquette, he even shook Avery’s hand. She liked that, apparently, and went on a quiet rant about the others treating her too fragile. He also noticed how the conversation was lively, though Tom rarely spoke. When he did, however, everyone listened. Harry, now dubbed Hadrian, attempted to speak on occasion. He pitched in about Quidditch or other trivial matters, but fell silent whenever they veered towards politics or ‘social matters’. The talking died down once Albus Dumbledore began sorting the first years, and Harry politely clapped when the Sorting Hat called out a house.

Avery whispered in his ear, “Was there any deliberation with your Sorting?”

“The hat said Slytherin or Ravenclaw.”

In all honesty, Harry was unsure what the Sorting Hat had said to him. He had no clue why he lied, and said he might have been Ravenclaw, but he knew that the Slytherins would not take as kindly to a past Gryffindor.

Nonetheless, she nodded as if that made perfect sense, “We get on best with Ravenclaw. Tom, of course, was sorted as soon as the hat touched his head. The hat thought I might be good in Hufflepuff, but I shot it down immediately.” 

Harry’s gaze flickered to Riddle, who was carefully watching as the new additions to Slytherin sat at the end of the table. That did make sense, considering– well– the whole Dark Lord thing. It reminded him briefly of Malfoy- the younger- and his sorting, though there had always been the suspicion that he'd not wanted a dirty old hat to touch his carefully moulded haircut.

The Welcome Feast passed by, with Harry trying his best to stuff himself full with food in a polite, pureblood manner. It didn’t work, not really, and he noticed Orion Black in particular attempting not to laugh at him. It felt like he hadn’t eaten in days, though with the defeating Voldemort thing that was technically not even an hour ago, it probably hadn’t been. Maybe it was an aftereffect of travelling back in time?

I forgot to mention, Master, there is an Auror investigation into the deaths of your parents.

Oh? Were they murdered?

Yes.

By who?

You.

Harry dropped his fork in shock, the metal clattering against the table. He caught Tom giving him another enterprising look, but quite frankly that was the least of Harry’s worries.

Why the fuck would I kill my own parents?

They abused you, because you are a necromancer.

They– What? A necromancer? This day could not get any more complicated. Though this did explain the burn marks on his hands, and the feeling of pain that raced up his spine when he had gone to sit down. 

“Are you okay, Peverell?” Malfoy asked, “You look quite pale.”

“I am fine, just tired. It's been a long day.” That, at least, wasn’t a lie.

“Go and have Madam Wilson to check you over,” Riddle said, no, demanded.

“Tomorrow,” Harry said, though he knew he would not be going to the infirmary tomorrow, even if someone dragged him there. Who knows what they’d find? Probably blood under his fingernails or some kind of evidence to his wrongdoings. At that, Harry glanced down at his hands and felt a wave of relief as, no, there wasn’t blood under his fingernails.

The woman will not be able to sense anything about you being from the future, or being the Master of Death. But I agree with the boy, this body has been abused far too often to be stable.

Why would you put me in this body, then?

There was no reply, but Harry could’ve sworn he heard Death laugh… 

Soon, Harry was being led into the Slytherin common room, then into the dormitory. They were all in one, large, round room with the beds pushed against the wall. Each bed had a trunk on the end, and green curtains surrounding it for privacy. There was another door on the far end, that Harry was told led into the bathrooms. 

“You will sleep here,” Tom pointed to a bed, “Mine is the bed next to it, if you need anything just ask.”

Harry didn’t respond, just sat down on the bed. Instantly he felt as if he could fall asleep there and then, but sleeping in his uniform and shoes would not be a good look. Harry knew he also needed to have a glance into a mirror, and see how different this body was from his own.

“Did you hear me?” Tom asked, a hint of annoyance in his voice.

“I did,” Harry was too tired to talk any more, but was still aware he was pissing Tom off. He just couldn’t work out why…

“I do not like it when people ignore me, Hadrian.” Harry’s skin felt as if it was tingling, the threat very evident in the dark haired boy’s words.

“Apologies, Riddle,” Harry knew the use of his last name might have angered the boy even more, but all he could think about was getting some sleep.

Standing, he retrieved his night things (handily by his bed, though Harry felt odd wearing someone else’s clothes) and went to the bathroom in order to prepare for sleep. He returned to find Tom’s curtains drawn around the bed, and breathed a sigh of relief. Black noticed, but thankfully didn’t say anything. Harry could tell that Orion wanted too, due to the smirk on his face, but dismissed it, sunk into the bed, and allowed sleep to encompass him.

“Hadrian you are going to be late for breakfast if you do not wake now,” Riddle said matter of factly, opening the curtains around Harry’s bed.

He groaned, then started. Tom Riddle was looming over him, his whole being seeming fuzzy from sleep. 

It didn’t take long for Harry to get ready for the day, pulling on his Slytherin robes and following Riddle and his gang to the Great Hall.

“Avery mentioned you were almost put in Ravenclaw, Peverell,” Riddle asked on their way to breakfast. So they were already talking about him behind his back, how nice. “Do you have a favourite lesson?”

“Charms or Defence,” Harry said, which was true to his person before. The more practical skills always came more easily to him, rather than the theoretical like Transfiguration or the technical like Potions.

“Tom is the best in our year at both of them,” Orion piped up, a wide grin on his face, “Maybe you’ll knock him out of the spot!”

Riddle just looked amused at the shorter boy, but turned to Harry to prompt his response.

“I doubt it, Black.” Harry stated. Even if he was technically seventeen and the rest of them were fifteen, and if he had fought a war against an elder Tom, he was seriously doubting his abilities to write an essay.

“Don’t discredit yourself so early, Hadrian,” Riddle responded, acting as if Harry was being an idiot for suggesting he was anything less than a genius– which he wasn’t, “I look forward to the challenge.”

Harry knew that a new rival in lessons was not the only challenge Tom meant, but he couldn’t put his finger on exactly what the other one was. He also felt like they were mocking him, but it was too early to tell.

“Alexander,” Tom greeted as they passed down the table, “Oliver, Miriam.”

He knew everyone, and greeted most of them by name before he took his seat in the middle of the table. Harry felt wary at taking his own seat, if only that he could feel the glares and looks of other Slytherins on him.

“Don’t dawdle, Hadrian,” Tom admonished, and it made Harry feel as if he were eleven again and being told off by a teacher. He scowled, but sat and pretended not to be offended.

Soon enough, Horace Slughorn was bustling around and passing out timetables to the students. He greeted their group incredibly jovially, and Harry remembered that this was the year where Tom asked him about Horcruxes. Was he already researching the topic? 

Tom Riddle will ask Horace Slughorn about Horcruxes in January, he opens the Chamber of Secrets in June.

“Hadrian, my boy!” Slughorn said as if they were old friends, though the two of them had never met.

“Professor,” Harry acknowledged politely.

“Here is your timetable, I am glad to see you making friends. Tom is a very good influence on people, I do hope you are excited about your first potions lesson!” Slughorn attempted to wink, and it was all Harry could do not to grimace at the thought. 

Admittedly, Slughorn’s lessons had been far better than Snape’s, but Harry had never had an aptitude for it. He did have the added advantage of having already done fifth year potions, and having passed his OWL in it. 

“Of course, Professor. I look forward to it,” Harry said diplomatically, and the rotund man hurried off to welcome other students.

“Do you not like potions?” Malfoy enquired, and Harry realised his face had not been as blank as he thought.

“Not particularly, I don’t have the patience for it.” 

“I wouldn’t have guessed,” Avery chipped in, “You seem quite stoic.”

Harry gave a quiet laugh, “Not in the slightest. I can hardly pay attention to hours of brewing.”

“I am sure you would be fine if you just put your mind to it. Not paying attention is not an excuse for doing badly in potions,” Riddle said, and it sobered Harry up immediately. Was he always so… dour?

“Who said I was bad at potions?” Harry challenged, knowing that he was actually quite bad at potions.

Someone, probably Orion, snorted.

“So you lied about not having the patience for it?” 

“That doesn’t make me a bad potioneer. I get through it, and I am sure the fifth year syllabus will be far less strenuous than what I am used to.” 

Blimey Harry, where did this cockiness come from? He was definitely channelling Draco Malfoy, and simultaneously gaining the respect of his grandfather.

“He’s quite right, Tom,” Abraxas said, “I, too, dislike potions but I make sure I get an E or an O on every essay. Out of spite, of course.”

The last sentence was directed at Harry, with a rather predatory grin. Spite for what?

“We will see,” Tom said, watching Harry with a piercing gaze, “We have Potions second period.”

Harry couldn’t stop himself from scrunching his nose in disgust. Orion definitely laughed then.

“I am going to go and get my Defence book from the dormitory,” Harry said, standing to leave.

“Did you not bring it?” Tom asked, mockingly.

“I only just found out my timetable, it is not my fault I am not omniscient.” 

Harry left the hall, hurrying down to the dungeons, and a sense of dread curled carefully in his stomach.

“I like him,” Orion proudly said, once Hadrian had left the hall.

Some of the older students were now beginning to join in the conversation, including Walburga Black who responded– “You like everyone, Orion.”

The short boy blushed.

Tom did not know what to make of Hadrian Peverell. Yesterday evening, everything had been so clear. The boy was orphaned, quiet and somewhat withdrawn. When they had gotten into the dorm, the boy had ignored him at least twice. That had enraged Tom, and he had written as such in his diary. This morning he was an entirely different person. Hadrian was pleasantly polite to Slughorn and even amused when speaking with Orion. But his eyes shadowed over when he looked at Tom. He knew something, or suspected something, about Tom and it wasn’t fear that prompted the harsh retorts on his tongue. 

“He doesn’t respect you, Tom.” Hector said.

Abraxas agreed, “We can teach him to.”

“I will deal with Hadrian,” Tom simply stated. It was an order, framed with light words, but an order that everyone obeyed. He felt more relaxed now that they were all listening to him, and there wasn’t someone disrespecting his every move. Hadrian needed something, a push maybe. A friend? Tom winced. He didn’t make ‘friends’, but Hadrian seemed like the type of boy to want them. Orion was the same, but Tom had never understood the need.

It would be sorted out by the end of the week. Nobody disobeyed Tom for long, as they knew the consequences.

Chapter Text

Defence against the Dark arts was taught by an older woman, in her mid sixties, with thin, grey hair. She wore eccentric coloured robes, with scarves that matched, and went by Professor Merrythought. Harry found out quickly that she was a muggleborn, or as the Slytherin’s tended to call her, ‘mudblood’. It seemed that, no matter how good a teacher or how much experience, half of any class containing the Snakes disliked her. To be fair, she was going to be a damn better teacher than any of the ones Harry had in his previous life (save, maybe, Lupin). 

It was his first lesson in this timeline and, having spent the better part of a year on the run, he wasn’t very confident in his abilities. Riddle had obviously sensed that, and taken to sit beside him in the lesson. This was majorly off putting, as the boy kept answering questions with detail even Hermione would be proud of. That being said, he wasn’t a show off. Harry noticed how Tom waited, until it was clear nobody would answer, before raising his hand. Professor Merrythought delighted in his answers, and Slytherin was up 30 points already.

They quickly got to the practical section of the lesson, far earlier than most teachers (except Moody/Crouch) had done in his time. They were practising the ‘Protego’ spell, so luckily Harry was well versed in it already. This had been his saving grace throughout the past year, and had protected him well. He thought he could even cast it nonverbally, though didn’t plan on attempting this in the lesson.

“Go easy on him, Tom.” Harry overheard Abraxas warn, but didn’t quite catch Tom’s reply. Soon, the desks had been cleared and Harry was facing Tom with his wand raised. It was almost poetic, that the last time they had met Harry hadn’t even bothered with a wand, but today was just a simple, safe, lesson. What could go wrong?

Tom didn’t bother asking if Harry was ready, before sending a stinging hex towards him. Shocked by the speed of his spellcasting, Harry barely had time to react. But his instincts managed a solid Protego, thankfully.

“Well done,” Tom said patronisingly. Harry responded almost immediately, and almost as quickly as Tom had attacked him. The shield went up, however, and Harry’s tickling hex was rebounded. Harry scowled, but Tom just laughed. They had caught the attention of Merrythought, who hurried over to see what they were doing.

Sincerely, she clapped, “Well done! 5 points to Slytherin each! Look here everyone, they both displayed a solid shield and Mr Riddle managed to rebound the spell back at Mr Peverell!” She was infuriatingly happy, and Harry was too busy glaring at Tom to bask in the praise. That wasn’t true of the other boy, however.

“Thank you, Professor.” Tom said sweetly, putting on his best smile for her. When she moved away to help someone who’d been struck with the bat bogey hex, Tom moved closer to him.

“You cast nonverbally, that is very impressive.” Riddle said, though Harry hadn’t realised it at the time. Tom noticed his shocked expression, and raised an eyebrow. “Instinct? Why could you possibly cast a shield spell out of instinct?”

Harry shrugged calmly, “Had a tutor who insisted on teaching me about Constant Vigilance.” 

Mad Eye had shouted that phrase at him hundreds of times, but it hadn’t helped him in the end. He flinched, realising what he’d thought. The man had died to protect him, he shouldn’t be so scornful.
The rest of the day went without incident, though Harry noticed on several occasions Slytherins whispering about him in corridors and the common room. It could’ve been his proximity to Tom, or it could’ve been rumours. Harry knew what the rumours were like at Hogwarts in his own time, and wouldn’t be surprised if his arrival had sparked the gossip. Especially with the large scar on his neck.

Harry remembered his conversation with Death that morning, as he washed. He had found a tattoo on his lower back. The sign of the deathly hallows.

Are you mad? 

No, I am not angry, why would I be? 

Not mad, crazy! Insane, out of your mind! You shouldn’t have put Grindelwald’s mark on me, that looks bad if anyone sees it.

It is in a fairly inconspicuous place, Master, and it is not just Grindelwald's mark. He has no claim to it, no matter what people say. 

I could be in so much trouble, especially with Dumbledore, if this is found… I am marked with Grindelwald’s sign, I just murdered my parents– is there anything else you haven’t told me?

Nothing important.

And I suppose you would find murder unimportant?

Precisely.

Damn it.

Harry had managed to use a glamour to cover it up, before heading down to the infirmary at Riddle’s insistence. He genuinely thought that Tom would hex him, and carry him there himself, and so he had acquiesced to avoid that. Madame Wilson had done a preliminary check of his wounds, and been in a very bad mood by the time he left. He wouldn’t be surprised if she ranted to Slughorn about it, even if Harry had made her promise not to mention it. He had even managed to get Tom to leave, while it all happened, so the visit hadn’t been that bad.

Potions had been okay, he was able to brew a Strengthening solution with few mistakes (to Tom’s evident surprise) and had felt quite proud to gain 5 more points for Slytherin because of it. 

Transfiguration, however, had been a nightmare. Not the lesson itself, that was fairly simple, but the fact that Albus Dumbledore was the teacher. 

“He hates me,” Tom had whispered, “Ever since we first met.”

Harry remembered the memory of Dumbledore burning young Tom’s wardrobe, and was slightly inclined to believe the claim. This hatred, however, extended to Harry (for the simple fact he sat beside him.)

“5 points from Slytherin, Mr Riddle, for talking out of turn.” Dumbledore said, glaring quite openly at the Prefect. It didn't matter that Tom had been the first to Untransfigure his mouse, he got no praise for it.

Then, at the end of a lesson filled with tension, Dumbledore addressed Harry.

“Mr Peverell, can I have a word?” 

“Of course, Professor. Tom–”

“I will wait.” Tom gave a nod.

“There is no need for that, Mr Riddle.” Dumbledore said, quite strictly.

“Apologies, Professor, but this is Hadrian’s first day. He does not know the way to the Great Hall. I would not want him to get lost.”

“I understand, Mr Riddle.” A clear dismissal, and colder than Harry had heard Dumbledore.

Tom left the room, and Harry turned back to face the younger version of Dumbledore. He had far less grey hair, and even tints of orange in his long, wiry beard. The outfits remained extravagant, but less coordinated than Professor Merrythought.

“Professor?” Harry prompted, and met the familiar, twinkling blue eyes of Dumbledore.
“Mr Peverell, I was just checking in to see how you were faring at Hogwarts?”

“I am doing well, Professor, I enjoy the classes and am yet to get lost. The other Slytherins have been very helpful.” 

“Yes, Horace does like to promote the helpfulness of his students.” Dumbledore mused, “But I must warn you.”

“Warn me?” Harry had a vague notion that he knew exactly where this conversation was going.

“Tom has taken a liking to you, and I am afraid that he can be quite dangerous. He is not all as charismatic as he seems, Mr Peverell.”

“I see, Professor. Though I wouldn’t call him dangerous, he is only fifteen.” But Harry knows that Tom will be dangerous, all beginning in three months time.

“Of course, Mr Peverell. But he has never been a child, and is far from innocent. You would do well to make friends with students other than him, even outside of the house.”

“I understand, Professor.” What a meddling man. Did he warn every student about Tom? Harry did not like how Dumbledore refused to help Tom, he was only a child after all, even if in the future he would do many, terrible things. Dumbledore had no way to know that…

“What did he want? Did he talk about me?” Tom asked him, when they made their way to lunch.

Harry had paused, and wondered how to respond.

“He did. Said you were dangerous.” Harry looked to Tom, to see his reaction, but the other boy let nothing on.

“He hates me,” Riddle repeated, “Don’t listen to him.”

“I didn’t.” Harry had lied.

Now, it was only Tom and Harry in the dorm. The others were in the common room, hanging out or playing games and chatting. Harry had found himself with quite a bad headache, and was trying to ask Death about Hadrian Peverell.

Hadrian now lives with his Aunt, Uncle, and cousin. The Aunt is a squib, who married a muggle, and they live in a non magical area. They despise magic, and you.

Sounds like the Dursley’s…

You were told not to return to their house upon your leaving in September. Currently, you do not have a place to stay this summer.

Sounds fun, I cannot wait to be homeless.

It is not fun, Master. You will need to convince the authorities of your innocence, and find somewhere to stay. I am afraid the Peverell Vault’s are quite low on money, but you do have access to them. 

Wonderful, I should probably just get a job at the Hog’s Head. Is that still around?

The Hog’s Head was created four years ago, and has already garnered a reputation like the one in your time. 

Do you reckon I should petition the Headmaster for the ability to stay at Hogwarts over the summer? Harry thought with a grin, just like Tom had. He was sure he could emulate the same wording that Tom would do… It would give Dumbledore a scare to have two students asking the exact same question, in the exact same wording.

Do not do that.

Fine. Are the Aurors actively looking for me, then?

No, but they should ask you a few questions sometime in the near future. They do not suspect you, yet, so work on your acting skills.

I am not going to the West End, Death. I think my acting is quite fine. Do I want to know how I, Hadrian Peverell, killed my parents?

It was gruesome, even by my standards.

Maybe not then.

“I do not want to repeat myself, Hadrian,” Tom said in a calm tone, even if he was seething with rage inside, “Do not ignore me.”

Hadrian had, once again, refused to answer one of his questions. None of the others would even dare stutter in his presence, let alone stay silent when directly addressed. It was infuriating, yet fascinating. But Hadrian didn’t respond to Tom’s warning, instead standing up from the bed and facing away from him.

Tom cocked his head to the side, ready to start properly threatening him to elicit a response. Before he could open his mouth, the other boy had grabbed the collar of his own shirt, and tugged it off. He revealed a thin, yet muscular, back. It was well toned, and as Hadrian leant down to place his shirt in the laundry basket Tom couldn’t help but admire the scars dotted all over his back. Long, silver ones crossed over shorter, redder ones but the most intriguing one was in the middle, lower section of his back. It wasn’t a scar, no, but some kind of black tattoo. A triangle, of some sort, peaking just over the top of his trousers and just enough to make out its shape. He could admire Hadrian’s body, it was quite beautiful, but it would not make him forget the boy’s mistakes. Tom wondered how he had allowed himself to get drawn in by the tense back of Peverell, and was glad that they were the only two in the dormitory.

Hadrian then turned to face him, and blinked. It was as if he hadn’t realised that Tom was here, and then he blushed and quickly buttoned up his nightshirt.

“Sorry, did you say something?” Hadrian rushed to say, moving his hand to unconsciously ruffle his curly hair.

“I did.” Tom simply responded, was it possible the boy was going deaf? Or was he so lost in his thoughts that even Tom’s presence was not noticed?

“I was–” Hadrian waved his hand in the air, evidently embarrassed (but by what? Nudity, partial at that, was not uncommon in a boys dormitory.) “Lost in thought.”

“About what?” Tom prodded, and he did actually care. He wanted to– needed to– know what the boy was thinking and feeling and why he ignored Tom so frequently, lost in a daydream.

“My family,” Hadrian responded, quickly changing into the lower half of his pyjamas. Tom didn’t look away from the boy’s flushed face. He made a decision then, after Hadrian had sat down on his bed. Tom moved over to the other boy, and sat cross legged on the sheets.

“Do you want to talk about it?” That was what people said, didn’t they? He had heard Orion say those words, to him and to the others, whenever they were upset or frustrated or any emotion that wasn’t happiness. Tom made a note to ask Orion to teach him ‘friendship’.

“I cannot stop thinking about my parents,” Hadrian said, quieter now, “It seems crazy that I only saw them recently, but they were only ghosts of their past selves. And now I will not see them again. Their will specified I would be placed with my godfather, but he died too. Now I am stuck with my Aunt and Uncle, and cousin, who are… not the nicest.”

“Was it them? Who made those scars?” But they were old scars, most of them, and Tom knew they had to be years old. The flinch Hadrian exhibited pointed to parental abuse, that and the harbouring of food in his pockets and trunk. Tom had done the same, at the Orphanage, due to the scarcity of food for such a loud group of people. But then he had made the others afraid of him, and he no longer needed to worry about something as petty as food. They would give it to him, if he wanted. Maybe Hadrian could learn to make his family afraid, he certainly had the power.

The boy was now shooting glances at Tom, as if he couldn’t believe that the boy was actually asking him about his issues. It wasn’t sympathy, though, just information gathering. Blackmail, perhaps, if the need ever arose.

“Them, alongside my parents.” Hadrian shifted in his seat to stare at Tom.

“We can make them pay, you Aunt and Uncle.”

“Pay?” He seemed sceptical, but not opposed. Tom now had something to work with.

“Yes. They hurt you, so you will hurt them back. Do not bend to their will. Even if they have magic to respond with, you could find other ways. I could teach you. Does your cousin attend Hogwarts? I haven’t heard about another Peverell.”

“He doesn’t…” Hadrian paused, as if he didn’t know whether or not to continue. Tom knew, at that moment, why he was so worried to speak. His cousin was a Squib, and maybe his Aunt or Uncle too.

“No? Is he home-schooled?” Tom continued anyway.

“He is a squib,” Hadrian muttered, evidently ashamed at this part of the family. Tom would be too, but he would have sorted the Squib out by the first holiday (if not earlier).

“Hmm,” Tom said, “Understandable. You shouldn’t mention it to the others, and I will not either.” Now Hadrian owed him.

“I can make them suffer,” Hadrian said, sitting upright and speaking more clearly, “My Aunt and Uncle, I mean. I don’t need your help for that.”

“You can?” Maybe the boy had more backbone than he thought.

“I have a plan,” Hadrian bit his lip, then stopped when he saw Tom watching.

Tom didn’t bother asking, but felt like the conversation had gone far better than he expected. Hadrian had potential, and Tom was going to nourish it.

Harry hadn’t realised that Tom Riddle could be quite so… accommodating. Yes, he was probably acting, but the very fact that he tried to sympathise with Harry was surprising.

Harry had said that, ‘he had a plan’, and that was a barefaced lie. He hadn’t planned on getting ‘revenge’ on an Aunt and Uncle he had never actually met, even if they had abused Hadrian Peverell. In some way, his ‘plan’ was to stay as far away from them as possible and rent a place somewhere else in the summer.

He got the feeling that he owed Tom Riddle, who was keeping his so-called secret about living with squibs, and that was something that worried Harry quite a bit. Owing a favour, even if Harry didn’t feel obliged, was like being indebted to someone. Being indebted to the Dark Lord Voldemort was worse. On the brightside, Tom had taken a ‘liking’ to him. Maybe Harry could get close enough to Tom, and have him confide in him about becoming immortal or making Horcruxes. It was good going, for day two. 

Even if Harry had to take a new class, Ancient Runes, that he hadn’t taken in his previous life. That would prove to be quite difficult, learning two years content alongside the fifth year Runes.

Tom was still sitting on his bed, even minutes after the two of them had stopped speaking. The dark haired boy was still in his uniform, and staring at Harry with those dark brown, almost black, eyes that glinted in the candlelight. But he left, shortly after the others came into the room, and closed the curtains around his bed without a single word. Harry felt quite jolted after that, even as Death told him some crucial information.

He writes in his diary every night.

Chapter Text

September 5th, 1942.

Vernon Dursley’s porky, red face grinned down at him. His strong grip choking the life out of the young Harry, the other hand holding a headful of red hair.

“Witches need to be burned!” He shouted, gleefully dragging the two children over to a pile of wood. “You watch, boy, what us normal people will do to you freaks.”

Harry fell to the wet ground, the coldness of the grass clinging to his skin, and looked up at the faces on the pire.

Ginny. Hermione. Ron. Sirius. Luna. Mum. Dad. Remus. Tonks. Neville. Dean. Seamus. Colin. Mad-Eye. Even Hedwig was staked to a wooden post, the redness of her blood still dripping down her snowy front.

“NO!” Harry shouted, trying to move forward but his arms were too slow and his body wouldn’t move from where it lay– still and numb.

He watched in vain as Petunia brought over a stick of fire, a group of faceless muggles cheering on in the background, and lit fire to the bottom of the pyre. 

“PLEASE! STOP!” His shouts were not heard, and it was so difficult to even speak as the black smoke choked him.

The sounds of laughter from Vernon, Petunia and Dudley rose above the screams of his friends and family. 

“DON’T! STOP.”

He sat up, drenched in sweat, and blinked tiredly into the darkness. It took Harry a few moments to realise that it had been a dream, and that his friends and family were not actually getting burnt alive by the Dursleys. Casting a Tempus, Harry saw that it was 5:49AM and decided there was no reason to try and fall asleep again. Still groggy, he made his way through to the bathroom.

“Oh, sorry,” He mumbled, almost walking into a figure.

“That’s fine,” Hector Lestrange responded, “Hey, are you okay? You look really pale again.”

“Nightmares,” Harry said quietly, not wanting to elaborate to the boy that creeped him out more than Tom. There wasn’t anything in particular about Hector Lestrange that made him seem so… alarming. He was the opposite of Bellatrix, even in personality. The boy was quiet, withdrawn, with straight, blonde hair that was so short it didn’t pass his ears. But his aura… the magic surrounding him. It felt off, wrong. As if there was something rotten hidden inside of him, ready and waiting to pounce whenever Harry let his guard down. Lestrange had been perfectly polite to Harry these past days, and so he felt bad for avoiding the boy.

“I understand,” Lestrange held tight to his glass of water, before returning to the dorm and leaving Harry alone in the marble bathroom. He splashed water on his face, trying to cool himself down, before stepping into the shower and spending a good twenty minutes just thinking. Thinking about Death, about Tom, about Horcruxes, about Dumbledore, about Grindelwald, about the Peverells. It was good for Harry to have the time to think, and reflect, on what exactly he needed to do. He even took a page out of Hermione’s book, and compiled a list.

It was a Saturday, so there was no need for Harry to be up so early (even if he had a lot of work to do) and there was certainly no need for Tom to be awake this early. So when Harry emerged from the bathroom, hair damp and clinging to his neck, he was surprised to see Tom sitting upright in Harry’s bed. 

“You alright?” Harry ventured.

“You have to do something for me,” Tom simply responded, “Sit.”

“I have to…Why do I have to do something for you?” Harry was confused, but sat cross legged in front of Tom. It reminded Harry of the second night here, where Tom had prodded him with questions about his family. 

“You owe me,” Tom stated, “For keeping your secret.”

Harry would have laughed, but he didn’t think that Tom would take his nonchalant attitude very well.

“What secret, Tom?” He simply asked, not quite sure what secret he had told Tom. Harry didn’t think he’d let his guard down much, had he?

“Your Aunt, Uncle, and Cousin.” Tom tilted his head, as if daring Harry to refuse him, and gave him a predatory smile.

“Ah– I understand.” Harry did not care if the whole of Hogwarts found out there were squibs in his family, although he didn’t mind that Tom thought it was a big deal to him. “What do you need?”

“You need to prove yourself, to Slytherin. And you need to trust me.” 

“Oh?” This was interesting, Tom wanted trust (like that would ever happen). “How am I meant to do that?” Harry responded to the first of Tom’s wants.

“They are fairly simple tasks to complete, you can do the second one now.” 

“Sure,” Harry shrugged, and watched as Tom pulled a fucking snake from his pocket.

“Trust me, Hadrian. She will not kill unless I want her to.” He hissed softly at the snake, to Harry’s shock. Surely this wasn’t Nagini…

“Does she have a name?” Harry ventured, even as he inched slightly back in the bed.

Tom smiled up at him, though it was more like he was baring his teeth, “Lilith.”

How… sweet? Harry thought the small snake seemed kind of cute, but the way Tom spoke to it appeared almost predatory. 

Lilith, Tom said in parseltongue, go to Hadrian, the boy.

“You are a parseltongue, Tom?” Harry questioned, though he knew it to be true. He, too, could speak to snakes. But he was unsure whether to reveal it.

Harry didn’t watch the snake, in fact, he stared straight into Tom’s dark, gleaming eyes. The boy had some sort of plan, an initiation perhaps? He seemed satisfied with something, was Harry reacting as Tom had planned? He let the thin, blue snake wrap around his wrist and only looked towards it when Lilith started wrapping its mouth around him.

“Uh… Tom? Your snake is definitely trying to eat my hand.”

Master, he tastes like you! Can I eat him?

No, Lilith.

Meanwhile, Harry listened to their words and pretended to be confused at the hissing.

Just frighten him, Lilith, but no permanent harm.

Harry started, no permanent harm? Was Tom trying to injure him? 

“Trust me, Hadrian.” Tom said, this time in English, “Don’t move.”

Uh, Death? Am I going to die from this snake?

 No, master, you cannot die. The snake isn’t venomous, and it isn’t fully grown. You could just speak to her, and tell her not to harm you?

I do not want Tom to find out.

Why? There isn’t any prejudice surrounding Parseltongue in this period.

He would think we were related. Harry internally grimaced at the thought. One thing he knew about Tom Riddle was that the boy had always been obsessed with his Gaunt name, if he thought he was related to the Peverells… Merlin, that wouldn’t end well.

Lilith was slithering up the arm of his robe, and making her way around his body. She bit him, at least three times, though it was little more than a pinprick. Harry showed no worry about the snake, and just sat opposite Tom as if this were the most normal thing in the world.

Why is he not scared, Master?

I do not know, come back to me.

I want to stay! He is warm…

The blue snake emerged from the neck of his robe, and Harry picked it up. He smiled down at Lilith, who raised her head to meet his.

“Hi,” he said in English, before looking at Tom, “Can she understand English?”

“She can.”

Harry nodded,

Master, are you sure I cannot eat him?

No.

“What is she saying?” Harry asked, if only for pretences.

“She wants to eat you,” Tom said with a grin that suggested Tom would allow it, if Harry angered him.

“How cute…” Harry crooned, before passing the snake back to Tom.

The boy frowned, “My snake is not… cute. Don’t say that, you sound like Orion.”

“That is no bad thing.” Harry responded, leaning back on the headboard of his bed. Tom stared at him for a second, before standing.

“To prove yourself, you need to act like a pureblood. A Peverell should not have the language of a muggle. That is the first grievance Slytherin house has with you. The second is that you do not socialise with others. Orion will be more than willing to introduce you.”

Then Tom left, presumably to ready himself for the day, and took his snake with him.

September 8th, 1942.

Harry was sitting in the library, completing the piles of homework they had been given by various teachers, alone. He found it easier, more relaxing, to sit away from the others in a corner of his choosing, surrounded by silencing and notice-me-not charms. He tried a few days ago to sit with Orion and Abraxas, but they had spent the entire time chatting and arguing. Not that Harry wasn't used to having two friends who bickered (case: Ron and Hermione), but this life was a new start and he wasn’t going to be stuck with the two of them. He was also very far behind in Ancient Runes, and was studying furiously to make up for lost time (and hopefully get a decent grade on his OWL).

It had been exactly a week since Harry found himself in the body and life of Hadrian Peverell. Tom had been nicer than he’d imagined, more charismatic, but also creepier. Sometimes, he felt the other boy was just watching him. It was as if Harry were a rogue puzzle piece, and Tom was attempting to slot him in somewhere. He got on better with Orion, Abraxas and Isabella– even Hector was better company, though frankly quite terrifying. Orion was his favourite, however, as the boy was technically a year younger than them but had been clever enough to skip forward (which his parents had, apparently, loved). He was the only one able to make a joke around Tom, without feeling awkward at his lack of response. Orion took it in stride, and there was a certain naivety about the boy that was frankly adorable.

“You should get better at notice-me-not spells,” A voice said, and Harry looked up from his work to find Tom Riddle standing on the other side of his desk. One hand was slotted into his pocket, the other clasping the brown, leather satchel that rested over his shoulder. 

Harry scowled, “It is just you who finds them lacking.” Which was true, Tom must have some preternatural ability to sense magic (or maybe he could just sense where he wasn’t wanted).

“They need improving, Hadrian. My charms are unbreakable, even to the most intelligent wixen.” 

“Are you going to sit down? Or are you going to stand there and interrupt my studying?” Harry said, annoyed at how Tom had broken his concentration.

“I will sit. You are not the only one who has work to do, though I am unsure as to why you feel the need to study content that was covered in Third year Runes.”

“Don’t hurt to be prepared,” Harry muttered, scanning over a page that detailed the methods on combining runes.

“Do not speak so colloquially, Hadrian.” Tom scolded, “I told you what I wanted from you three days ago. Manners and connections, is that so difficult?”

“Seriously, Tom. I am trying to study. I don’t have time for your games.” Barely looking up from his work, Harry scribbled down everything he could remember about the Elder Futhark.

Master, surely it would be more important to focus on Tom Riddle. He is what matters in this life, not exams. You need to prevent him from creating Horcruxes.

“This is not a game, Hadrian. I loathe that you think I would involve myself in such a thing. For your own sake, listen to me. I shall not try again.”

Harry sighed, placing his hands on his temples for a few seconds. Tom went to leave, but Harry snapped up and said “Wait.”

Tom stopped, and slowly turned back to face Harry, his face serene and without emotion. Harry could still tell he was pleased.

“I want to listen to you Tom,” Harry said, “I know it isn’t a game, but I am not you and I don’t know how to…” He trailed off, unsure of what to say in order to stroke Tom’s ego.

“I don’t know how to make people like me, not like you do.” He finally said.

“Then learn.” Tom simply responded, and left.

Harry sat there, stunned, for a few seconds before breaking out into a wheezing laugh. This wasn’t going very well, and Tom trying to be intimidating did not work on his small, innocent face. He settled, instead, on a new topic of research.

Death, do you know if there are any books on Necromancy in the library? 

Not in the Hogwarts library, no. Dumbledore has been getting rid of any books on magic he deems ‘dark’. If you can gain access to the Slytherin library, however…

Slytherin library? How have I never heard of this before?

There are two. One is in the common room, only accessible by the King’s court or those he allows in. The other is in the Chamber of Secrets, but it caved in about 800 years ago.

So the Chamber was not an option then…

Harry cursed himself mentally as he realised his course of action. He had to ingratiate himself into the Slytherin court, a notion Harry found embarrassing and pompous. Tom wasn’t the King, no, that was a seventh year called Edward Mulciber. He was a large, wide shouldered bloke with bushy eyebrows. Honestly, Harry was unsure as to why Tom hadn’t ‘overthrown him’ in a sense. The guy was an idiot, and the court were idiots too. Maybe Tom had little respect for Slytherin politics? But that was untrue, surely.

He would start by actually turning up on time for his lessons, Harry thought while running through the corridors to his Charms class. Orion grinned up at him as Harry entered the room, flustered and red faced but glad to have sat down before the bell rang. 

“You are late.” Tom said.

“I am not,” Harry whispered back, breathing heavily from running.

“It is not a good look, see how the Slytherin’s are looking at you.” 

Tom was right, as it seems he always was, and a quick glance round saw that even Abraxas seemed disgusted at his not put together state.

Later on in the lesson, Tom passed him a note.

“You have until Thursday to make progress, or else I will allow the others to deal with you.”

The prick was bloody ominous. ‘Deal with you’, who does he think he is? This was not Lord Voldemort, this was a fifteen year old kid with an inflated ego. (Harry could not be more wrong in this aspect, as he will find out on Thursday)

Later that evening, Harry found himself surrounded by Isabella and Orion. The latter was talking Harry’s head off about pureblood etiquette, while the former was shoving books and diagrams at him. It was boring, but helpful. There was something about following Tom’s order that felt satisfying, but Harry couldn’t put his finger on why. He began to watch the other Slytherins, how they spoke and ate and sat and walked, and consciously tried to fit in. His posture had, according to Isabella, been atrocious (she had said so at least eight times in the past hour, and mentioned how her grandmother would have taken the cane to her for being so disrespectful to their customs). 1940s Pureblood society was a death trap, Harry found out, and was absolutely beginning to see why the Slytherins always seemed so ruthless. He was sure no other house had such a stringent set of rules.

“So you want me to apologise to Tom?” Harry reiterated, “Orion, why on earth would I do that?”

The short boy looked incredulously at him, the mousy girl beside him sharing the same look. 

“Tom has power, Hadrian, and you have… upset him with your attitude. This is the way society works, until you have the power you must adhere to those who do.”

“Okay, but did he tell you he was upset?” Harry retorted. He couldn’t believe that Tom could even feel ‘upset’, let alone about something a boy he’d known a week had done.

“No, but it is obvious.” Isabella stated, “If you weren’t so dense you would have noticed that he has been protecting you, and that your lack of interest in him completely wounded him.”

It was true that Tom had mentioned ‘protection’ a few times, but Harry had never truly understood what it meant. He still didn’t.

“It isn’t like the Slytherins would attack me or anything,” Harry reasoned, but at the look on the other two’s faces… “Right?”

“You are more dense than I thought.” Isabella sat back in her seat, shaking her head at him.

“Get a grip, Hadrian, or you’ll find yourself like Myrtle Warren. Alone.”

Myrtle? Moaning Myrtle? Oh god. Harry remembered the bespectacled ghost in the bathroom, the one who had been rather rude and disagreeable.

“I am not like Myrtle.” Harry huffed.

“Not yet.”

“Fine!” Harry said, throwing his arms in the air, “I will apologise to Tom. Where the fuck is he, anyway?”

“Language.” Druella Rosier admonished from a nearby table, evidently having been listening in. Harry noticed how Walburga Black chuckled from behind her magazine. That made his scowl worsen.

“He went up to the dorm earlier,” Orion said, giving him an encouraging pat on the back. It wasn’t very encouraging.

So Harry made his way into the dormitory, to find that he and Tom were (once again) the only two inside. It was becoming increasingly common to find the two of them on their own, and many of the other fifth years had noticed the similarities between the two. They had spoken about it, and had come to the conclusion that Hadrian would be good for Tom (and potentially vice versa) despite having known the Peverell boy for just over a week.

Tom Riddle was sitting at the small desk that each of the Slytherins had beside their bed, writing on a piece of parchment. He didn’t look up as Harry entered.

“Tom,” Harry cleared his throat, subconsciously scuffing up his hair with his empty hand.

“Hadrian.” Tom continued to write.

“I just wanted to apologise to you."

Chapter Text

Tom had, in his five years at Hogwarts, received many apologies. They were usually rushed, with the person practically begging for forgiveness. He wasn’t surprised when Hadrian announced himself, and the fact he, too, wanted to apologise. It gave Tom a rush of power to hear those words, and so he turned to face the boy in question. Nervous energy was practically whirling around his head, and there was something of a blush creeping over Hadrian’s porcelain cheeks.

“I spoke with Orion,” Hadrian continued, “And it made me realise that, well, I should not be as rude to you as I have been… I’m not making excuses or anything, you’ve been nothing but kind, so–”

Hadrian moved forward to Tom, stretching out a hand.

“I’m sorry. I’ll do better.”

The boy looked up at Tom through his heavy eyelashes, waiting for Tom’s response. He quite liked making Hadrian wait, though, and Tom wasn’t sure how sincere the apology really was. It should be a good thing, Hadrian submitting to him, but Tom was unsure as to why he felt disappointed by the apology. He brushed away his doubt, a smirk playing on his face.

“Good,” Tom said, shaking the boy’s hand. It was strangely warm, compared to the coldness of his own, and he quickly relinquished the grip, “You need to work on your apologies, Hadrian, it was short and messy. But I accept it nonetheless, it couldn’t have been easy.” He teased the other boy, who scowled slightly.

“Abraxas keeps trying to get someone to play chess with him, but I always lose and Orion doesn’t take it seriously enough. He’s kicking up a storm in the common room, want to watch?”

“Lead the way,” Tom said, knowing all too well the type of mood Abraxas was probably in. Tom had refused him the opportunity to ‘put Hadrian in his place’ so far, and he knew he couldn’t hold him off for long. He hoped the sight of the Peverell boy mingling with the others would help. Tom didn’t know why he felt obliged to look after Hadrian, just the feeling that the boy would be very useful in the future. He hadn’t made it easy, of course, travelling alone and ignoring other Slytherins, speaking up for muggleborn rights (only a handful of times, but enough to elicit a reaction), and acting so colloquially around the Heirs of powerful houses. Someone like Orion could get away with the last one of those, but only after he made himself known as a powerful wizard with a powerful, noble, and ancient family.

The Peverell’s were not a part of the sacred 28. They were isolated, didn’t participate in the Wizengamot, and typically thought of as a neutral or light family (in terms of allegiance). Hadrian would have been well suited to any of the other three houses, and probably treated as a King, but Slytherin was different and it wasn’t a concept the boy seemed to understand. That was becoming increasingly frustrating to Tom, who had been able to understand the concept of a Hierarchy when he was six and in the Orphanage. Hadrian was 15, and still talking down to his betters.

There was some sort of relief in Tom when they entered the common room, and Hadrian quietly led him over to where Tom’s inner circle sat. The apology, short as it was, had calmed him and made him realise that Hadrian was probably susceptible to moulding– just like the others. He just needed to find a use for him…

Hadrian was clever, talented at Defence, and Tom had witnessed him cast nonverbal and wandless magic on several occasions. He had even managed to beat Tom in casting several spells in Charms, though his essays were severely lacking. He listened half heartedly to the lively conversation happening around him, though didn’t deign to give his own opinion. The little test with Lilith had intrigued him, he could not tell whether Hadrian was simply not scared of snakes, or he truly trusted Tom. He doubted it was the latter, but that would grow in time.
“I am just saying, there is nothing wrong with the Witches of Britain to want equality to Wizards. All I am asking for is the opportunity to get a decent job!” Druella explained, passionate about her cause.

“Exactly, Druella,” Walburga continued, “Many would prefer to raise the children, like me, but that is simply an opinion. The law should state that there is no magical difference between wizards and witches, and it certainly should not restrict our rights in such a way.”
 
“The muggle suffragettes are not something to aspire to, Walburga,” Abraxas contested, “They are violent and unladylike. Throwing rocks into windows is not going to get laws passed. If witches want equal rights, then they should present legislation to the Wizengamot.”

“They have! My aunt attempted to present a bill, and was laughed out of the room by all the men in the seats. It was perfectly reasonable for her to present, and they just mocked her.” Isabella exclaimed.

“One example–”

“It was more than once, Abraxas.”

“There is a reason that witches are not allowed seats on the Wizengamot,” Orion added in, “They would be caught between having their job and raising their children.”

Tom’s head turned when Hadrian joined the conversation, “Women were allowed to be elected to muggle Parliament around 24 years ago,” Hadrian said, “I thought the Wizengamot was supposed to keep in line with the muggle world?”

“What!” Druella exclaimed, scribbling something down on parchment, “25 years! Mother is going to have a fit.”

“Witches have more of a responsibility to bear Heirs, Druella, they cannot simply abandon their children to go and vote on legislation. Muggle women have the time for that.” Abraxas huffed.

“Like Wizards do?” Hadrian challenged, “You sound as if you are suggesting that Muggle women are more capable than Witches, I didn’t take you for a supremist Abraxas?”

Tom had to contain his gleeful smile. Hadrian had backed Abraxas into a corner, something that Tom relished in watching.

Abraxas glowered, “Muggle women are too idiotic to know the importance of having an Heir, Witches know their place.”

“Yes, we do, and our place is in the Wizengamot!” Isabella joined in, “Why don’t you Wizards look after the Heirs, if they are so important to you?”

“That is a ludicrous idea, Isabella,” Orion joined in, “You gave birth to them.” 

“I,” Isabella proclaimed loudly, “Am not giving birth to anyone!”

Walburga looked a bit taken aback at that, as did Druella, but Hadrian was nodding along.

“Good for you, Isabella.” Hadrian said, a grin on his face, “I say you don’t marry if you don’t want to, and you have as many kids as you want.”

The two grinning students then engaged in a rowdy conversation about Witch Rights, while the other fifth, sixth and seventh year students looked on in shock and horror. Eventually, Isabella dropped the request they’d all been waiting for.

“Hadrian, will you come to a Suffragette meeting with me? Mother says I have to take someone with me, and Tom usually comes–”

“You’ve been to suffragette meetings?” Hadrian exclaimed, turning to Tom with an expression marred in confusion and delight.

Tom kept a passive look on his face, “I support Witch’s rights to equality, if that is what you are asking.”

“Full of surprises, you are.” Hadrian shook his head, turning back to Isabella with a grin, “I would love to.”

“Am I being demoted, Isabella?” Tom asked, his eyebrow raised in a somewhat amused way.

She spluttered, “No, I– I didn’t think you actually enjoyed them.”

“I didn’t hate them, but the crowds and the noise were very displeasing. If they got a calmer and quieter group of followers, I would happily attend each meeting.”

He heard Hadrian snort, and mutter under his breath, “A quiet group of followers…”

Isabella blushed, “I understand. Please come if you want, the next one is on the December Hogsmeade weekend so we can just… floo there.”

“Perhaps,” Tom said, looking round at the sheepish faces of the group, “Let us talk of other things, the conversation turned too loud for my liking.”

Orion quickly moved the conversation on, and soon they were speaking on much more peaceful terms and the heated discussion from before momentarily forgotten.

Harry had been stunned to hear that Tom Riddle (Dark Lord extremist who fought a war based on bigotry) supported women’s rights, and his jaw had dropped to the floor when he’d heard about the suffragette meetings. He was still thinking about it the next day on his walk to Potions, when his thoughts were interrupted by the voracious voice of Slughorn.

“Hadrian!” He exclaimed when Harry entered the bright Potions lab (a stark change from the dark and dingy dungeons from his own time), “Here for lessons bright and early, I am impressed.”

“Thank you, Professor.” Harry said politely, realising he was the only one in the lab, “I like to be prepared.”

“Wonderful!” Slughorn beamed, “Now, Hadrian, I wanted to let you know that I will be extending an invitation to a little meet some of us have together. Just a small party, nothing too flashy,” Slughorn tapped the side of his nose, “But you would be an excellent addition to the group.”

The bloody Slug Club, damn it. Harry really didn’t think there would be any reason for Slughorn to invite him to the Club. He wasn’t famous, though the Peverell name was somewhat revered in certain groups (he had learnt this from Tom, who seemed adamant to know everything about his family tree) and Harry wasn’t a superstar at Potions like some. Sure, he scraped by, but he wasn’t a genius. 

“Looking forward to it, Professor.” Harry gave his best impression of the ‘Tom smile’. This, he had realised, was one of the reasons all the teachers liked Tom. Well, apart from Dumbledore who seemed to think he was Satan incarnate.

“Excellent, dear boy.” Slughorn’s expression brightened up even more, if that was possible, when Tom arrived, saying, “My two best Potions students, always early and always eager.”

Harry tried his very best not to grimace at being lumped together with Tom, who definitely carried his grades whenever they did paired potions, but failed. Luckily, Slughorn was fussing over Riddle and didn’t see.

It was moments like these that Harry would give anything to see the perfectly formed mask of Tom Riddle drop, and know exactly what he thought and felt. Surely he couldn’t enjoy the attention Slughorn gave him? Even if he had the man wrapped around his finger.

“We’re brewing Polyjuice Potion?” Harry suddenly exclaimed, having read the board at the front of the class, “Surely that isn’t in the OWL.”

“It isn’t,” Tom reassured, “But it is in the NEWT.”

“No need to worry, boys, I thought we’d challenge ourselves today. I am pleased you know about Polyjuice, Hadrian, we can’t have Tom answering all the questions again!” Slughorn chuckled, holding onto his rather large stomach. Tom’s jaw tightened, and Harry was pleased to have spotted the change.

Finally, the rest of the class entered the Potions lab and Harry could cease his strained conversation with Professor Slughorn. He had no idea how he was going to sit through the blasted Slug Club, with the pandering and the preening and the fake laughter. Maybe that would be the death of him?

Need I remind you that you cannot die, Master?

A joke, Death.

Tom watched from around the corner as the three students pounced, each brandishing a harmful spell at the unsuspecting boy. Only one hit, the other two were quickly shielded or ducked, but one was enough to send him flying into the wall. There was a quiet thud, but he didn’t stand still and wait for them to attack again. Instead, the boy aimed spells in quick succession at his attackers. One after the other, barely pausing for breath, until one attacker was knocked out, one was tied up in a rope, and the other was without his wand and slowly backing away. Tom cocked his head, vaguely disappointed his plan didn’t work, but also delighted by the fact it failed. He would have to try again, with better attackers who weren’t idiot Gryffindors, and then his plan could get into motion.

He passed a note on to Abraxas over dinner, the other boy restraining a grin.

‘Tonight.’

“Who is Sirius?” Tom asked, and Hadrian’s gaze jerked up from his book.

“What?” The boy breathed, his eyebrows raised in shock, “How do you know that name?”

“You talk in your sleep. All sorts of names, but mostly Sirius. I heard you say Cedric and Ginny too. Are they friends of yours?”

“Yeah, friends,” Hadrian seemed to relax, sinking back into his seat as if he worried that Tom had known something more.

“Do you dream about them?” Tom enquired, smiling slightly as he realised Hadrian (once again) had his shirt off. These ‘before bed’ conversations about Hadrian’s friends and family were becoming quite frequent.

Hadrian scratched his head, “Yeah, sometimes. Nightmares also. I hardly remember the details when I wake, though.”

“Did something happen to them?” Tom prodded, wanting to know whether these ‘friends’ would prove a threat to him.

Hadrian shook his head slightly, though Tom was unconvinced it was an actual answer.

“I just can never see them again, and it is painful.” There was sorrow in the boy’s eyes, and it confused Tom. How could one feel pain after loss, surely pain is physical and loss is mental?

Hadrian paused, as if contemplating whether to say something. In the end he did, and it shocked Tom. “Can I ask you a question?” Hadrian said.

“You may,” Tom ventured, knowing that he simply would not answer if it was personal.

“Have you ever lost anyone that you cared about?” Hadrian looked at him with inquisitive eyes, those pale green eyes that seemed to pierce Tom’s very soul. He suddenly felt a burst of anger, though it was easily contained. How dare he ask something so… private?

“No.” Tom stated.

“Oh,” Hadrian said, shrugging the harsh tone off before turning to dress himself for bed. 

Tom paid attention, this time, to Hadrian’s lower back. Not for any nefarious reason, but to catch a glimpse of the tattoo. He had only been able to make out the top of a triangle, or maybe a star, but this time… 

He stared, his mouth almost falling open at the sight of Grindelwald’s mark. The triangle, with the line and the circle. The mark of a Grindelwald supporter. No wonder the boy was reluctant to join Tom’s inner circle, he already had a cause he was dedicated to. That annoyed him a lot, but also was a source of confusion. Whenever there had been a raid or an attack by Grindelwald in the newspaper, Hadrian had seemed almost angry at the sight.

“My, my, Hadrian. I didn’t know you had it in you.” Tom crooned, ready to get to the bottom of Hadrian’s tattoo.

“What?” Hadrian looked at him, his face scrunched up in confusion as he buttoned up his pyjama top. Tom relished in the last moments he was able to scrutinise the boy’s scars.

“Grindelwald’s mark? I didn’t realise you were a… sympathiser.”

Hadrian blanched, opening his mouth and closing it as if he had no idea what to say. He probably didn’t, Tom knew he rendered Hadrian speechless on many occasions.

“I’m not. It is a… family thing.”

“Oh?” Tom was unamused by his prevaricating.

“The Deathly Hallows. You must have read the Tale of the Three Brothers?”

“I have.” Tom had made sure to read up on wizarding children’s stories, if only to understand the references.

“Well I am descended from them. It is my family story, so we honour it.”

“With tattoos?” Tom said sceptically, wondering if Hadrian knew the Tales of Beedle the Bard were fiction.

“Exactly.” Hadrian was becoming increasingly uncomfortable, Tom noticed, having begun fiddling with his fingers like some young child bored on a journey.

“The story is just fiction, Hadrian.” He admonished, watching for a reaction. Tom was not disappointed.

“It may be fiction, but they are still my ancestors. Just because you don’t have a proper family, Tom, doesn’t mean you need to scorn mine. Why are you so interested, anyway?”

Tom was taken aback by the attack and narrowed his eyes at Hadrian. How dare he–

“Understandable, but I think you’ll find I do have a family. I am sure my blood is purer than yours, Hadrian.”

Tom gritted his teeth together at the barking laugh that erupted out of Hadrian.

“Bloody purity, Tom? Seriously?” Hadrian shook his head, as if amused by Tom’s words. The boy needed to be scared, to be frightened. He had no respect. Nobody was allowed to talk back to him, to ask him questions. Yet he did so anyway.

He shut the curtains around his bed with force, and carefully withdrew his black, leather diary from underneath the pillow. Tom wrote a very long, ranting passage in his diary about privacy and Hadrian. A few hours later, he could hear the light whispers of his roommates (save Hadrian) and so he, too, stood from the bed. Abraxas gave him a quick nod, then beckoned over the two large figures that had followed him over to Hadrian’s bed. Abraxas slipped Hadrian’s wand from beneath the pillow and handed it over to Tom, who pocketed it. There was something warm and familiar about the wand, but now wasn’t the time to think about that.

Mulciber pulled back the covers of Hadrian's bed to reveal his sleeping form, the boy jerking awake and fumbling around for his wand.

“Incarcerous,” Abraxas said, casually flicking his wand towards him and thick ropes wrapped around Hadrian and pinned him to the sheet.

“WHAT THE–”

“Silencio,” Tom said, and Hadrian quieted immediately. He still struggled, moving back and forwards as if sheer will alone could rid him of the ropes.

“The Veritaserum, Yaxley,” Abraxas ordered, and the blond haired sixth year moved to force a small vial of the potion into Hadrian’s mouth. Tom had stolen a vial from Slughorn’s classroom that morning, knowing exactly where he kept every one of his potions and knowing he wouldn’t miss one or two bottles. The man was useless, and didn’t keep track of his stock.

Tom undid the spell keeping Hadrian quiet, and explained, “We just want to know a few details about you Hadrian, nothing to worry about.”

Hadrian scowled at him, though Tom was sure he could barely see in the darkness of the dorm. He rectified that easily, turning on the light with a flick of his hand. He ignored the gleeful expression of Abraxas, and the wary gazes of Orion and Hector.

“So, Hadrian, an easy one to begin with. What is your name?”

Chapter Text

DEATH I REALLY NEED YOUR HELP RIGHT NOW I AM ABOUT TO SPILL ALL OF MY SECRETS TO THE DARK FUCKING LORD AND HIS CRONIES!

Let me take over, Master.

JUST DO IT FOR FUCKS SAKE.

Harry’s head jerked back, causing him to wince in pain as he felt a strange presence begin to flow through his body. It felt like smoke, licking at his skin and pushing his conscience away. He felt his mouth open and answered Tom’s question, but it was not words that he chose. Harry watched from a far as the interrogation occurred, now able to properly see what was happening. 

“Hadrian Ignotus Peverell.” Harry, but actually Death, said.

He could make out Tom, only barely, in the darkness leaning on the post of Harry’s bed.

“What is your date of birth?” He continued.

“November 5th 1926.” He responded, the voice far away.

“We don’t know whether that is true–” An unknown voice said, before Tom shot a glare at him.

“What is the tattoo on your lower back?”

“The Deathly Hallows.” 

“What is th–” The same unknown voice said again, from his position to the left of Harry.

Even though Harry was not in control of his body, he could still feel the uncomfortable and slightly painful position of being propped up against the backboard of his bed. The ropes were digging into his body, but he did not squirm anymore. He noticed Tom inspecting a wand, Harry’s wand. Oh shit.

“Shut up.” Tom said in reply, “Only I will speak for now.”

The boy on Harry’s left muttered something that sounded suspiciously like ‘Yes My Lord.” before his attention was drawn back to Riddle.

“Are you a supporter of Grindelwald?” Tom’s next question.

“No.”

“Are you a pureblood?”

“No.”

Someone else in the room started muttering, though the other watchers were silent.

“Are you a halfblood?”

“Yes.”

“Could be worse.” Abraxas Malfoy said, though shrunk back at the pure venom in Tom Riddle’s gaze, “Sorry, Tom.”

“What happened to your parents?”

“They died.”

“How did your parents die?”

“Fire.”

“How did you survive the fire?”

“I wasn’t in the house.” Harry was quite impressed with Death’s quick fire responses, and made note of every answer. He had a feeling these types of questions would be coming again, though in the face of Aurors (if Death’s warning was to be believed).

“Are you scared of me?”

“No.” Ha. Take that Tom!

“Do you trust me?”

But Death did not answer. Typically when Veritaserum was taken, no answer meant the person was unsure. Harry mentally praised Death’s ambiguity. 

“Why are you not answering?” The unknown boy blurted out, and Death answered.

“I did not know the answer.”

“Bull–”

“Quiet, Rosier. If I have to ask you again, you will be punished.”

“Sorry, My Lord.” That was fucked up. Tom was what, 15? These people must be crazy to bow and scrape to a literal child. It did give some indication of the stage in which Voldemort’s… career was progressing, and it was scarily quick. There was also some sense of a hierarchy. Abraxas still called him Tom, but Rosier who was more outspoken (probably a grunt) called him Lord. Tom had worked out his Gaunt lineage by now. Harry’s gaze darted to Tom’s hand, but there was no ring. Odd.

Tom addressed Harry once more.

“How are you, Hadrian?”

Someone murmured, ‘what kind of a question is that?”

“Shit.” Harry heard himself say.

Tom raised an eyebrow, “Language.”

“You sound like Druella,” Orion admonished, and Harry saw him lingering at the back of the room. He did not seem to be enjoying himself, and Harry felt a pang of sympathy for the boy.

“What do you think of muggleborns?”

“They are wixen, like the rest of us.” What looked like Mulciber started to protest, but Tom raised a hand as Harry continued, “Everyone who can do magic is related to wixen, even muggleborns. One of their parents is usually a squib, from a long line of squibs.”

That was new information for Harry, that Death decided to suddenly reveal. Everyone in the room was a mixture of shocked and sceptical.

“He must be telling the truth.”

“Or what he believes to be the truth?”

Harry watched with glee as the room started whispering, but it was short lived as Tom silenced them all.

“Have you ever met a nice muggle?”

“No.” Fuck, surely that wasn’t true. Death! What are you playing at?

Do not worry, Master, I have this under control.

Tom’s mouth curved into a smile, a nasty little smile that subconsciously made the hair on Harry’s neck stand up.

“Do you think I would reveal your secret?”

Abraxas perked up at that, looking between Tom and Harry as if they were about to reveal they’d won the lottery.

“Yes.”

“I will not, Hadrian. Not now.” Tom sounded more sincere than Harry could’ve imagined.

“Tom, the Potion is due to wear off soon.” Abraxas said hesitantly, still looking between the two boys as if he didn’t want to interrupt.

Death relinquished his hold, and Harry could feel the smugness of the deity seeping through his bones. It was a shock, to say the least, and Harry found his head being jerked back again. A roaring fire stormed his veins, and unexpected tears fell down his face.

“Is he–”

“An allergic reaction?”

“I will deal with this, leave.”

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. Harry murmured under his breath, his throat felt on fire (ten times worse than ingesting Firewhisky) and he could barely breathe.

Master–

Instead of ropes around his body, there was a set of hands.

“Drink this, Hadrian,” A voice said, “Hadrian.”

Something cool and silky was forced down his throat, and he swallowed. It felt nicer, softer, than the fire from before. Harry blinked a few times, then remembered where he was. It felt strange to be back in control of his body, even after only a short time.

Apologies, Master, I did not realise the transition would be so painful. 

Fuck off, Death.

“Hadrian. Look at me.” A soft voice spoke, and Harry opened his eyes. It took a moment to realise that he wasn’t blind, and in fact the lights were just not on. 

“Tom?” He said, finding his voice to be louder than he remembered. “Get the fuck off me.”

“No, Hadrian. You had some kind of fit, I need to make sure you’re okay. Are you allergic to Veritaserum?”

“No,” Harry spat, trying to shrug off the boy’s touch, “I’m probably just allergic to you.” That was a really weak taunt, Harry bemoaned. It reminded him of being in Primary school.
Tom only chuckled, “You are fine. But there is no reason to be mad at me.”

“No– no reason? You just tied me up and forced me to tell you everything you wanted to know!”

“Telling the truth is not a bad thing, Hadrian. I did not trust you. I hope we can overcome this. By the way, Madam Wilson wants you to visit her tomorrow before lessons for a full medical scan.”

“I have not lied to you, Tom, you must have realised that by now. After that spectacle.” Harry ignored the last part of Tom’s words, though scowled internally at the prospect.

“I know that now. I will admit, it pleases me to hear you tell the truth. I can usually tell when people lie, but with you I fear you are always obfuscating. I do wish you would trust me, like the others. I have protected you thus far.

“Protection? You certainly have not. I bet you were the instigator of this little show. Besides, I get attacked by sixth years at least twice a week. Where is your protection then?”

“You did not tell me about the attacks,” Tom said, and there was some sort of hurt in his voice, the bastard, “I would have gotten revenge for you.”

“I was never hurt, Tom. I do not need your help.” An idea sprung into Harry’s mind, “Do you really want me to trust you?”

Tom sat up straight, “More than anything in this moment.”

“Then tell me about your family. I have told you more than enough about mine.”

Tom stiffened, finally removing his hands from Harry’s arms. 

“I am a half-blood too, Hadrian. We have more in common than you realise. Not to mention your wand–”

“Stop delaying.”

“My mother was called Merope Gaunt, she married a muggle called Tom. There is little more to know. She is dead and he is scum. Why are you crying?”

Tears were streaming down Harry’s face, though he was not upset or sad, he simply could not stop the mechanical waterworks.

“I think something is in my eye,” Harry rubbed at his eye, before hissing at the pain.

That is me. I am now a permanent fixture in your head, a physical presence. It will take some getting used to, but it is not fatal.

Gee, thanks.

“Let me see,” Before Harry could protest, Tom conjured up a small lumos and moved to inspect Harry’s eyes, “Hmm, nothing there.”

Harry slapped Tom’s arm away, “Did you really banish the other’s from the room?”

“I did.”

“That’s not nice, let them back in.” Harry frowned at the shut door of the dormitory.

“We are not done talking, Hadrian.” Tom scolded, “What is the core in your wand?”

Harry stuttered, “Wh–What?” As Tom pulled a wand from his pocket and passed it back to him.

“You heard me. I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”

“I don’t remember,” Harry lied.

“Yes, you do. Just tell me.” Tom was grinning, staring at him like he was the largest goldmine in the world (or as if he were Unicorn’s Blood).

“I don’t know, Tom. Drop it.”

“No. Because when I held your wand, it felt warm. It felt like it was mine, like I could command it. Besides, Hadrian. I am sure you feel the same about my wand.”

“Probably not. I am tired, Tom, can you just go back to bed?” There were so many bloody innuendo’s that Harry could pick out from this conversation, and he really did not want to be thinking about that when Tom was so very close to him.

“Show me your wand, Hadrian, and I will acquiesce.”

Grumbling, Harry felt for the wand that Tom had given him moments ago. It felt like home and warmth, like it belonged to him.

Harry blinked down at the wand. It wasn’t even his, and yet?

“You see?” Tom said smugly, “You can barely tell the difference.”

Death, if this wand has the same core as Tom’s then what wand is eleven year old Harry Potter going to get in 1991? Harry was panicking, albeit internally, while staring down at the Yew and Phoenix Feather wand in his hand. 

“Brother wand’s Hadrian. We are meant to be.”

You do not know if Harry Potter will even be born yet, Master. 

I cannot, not, be born Death! DEATH!

He will just get a different wand, or maybe Fawkes gives another feather. I do not know.

“Do you understand, Hadrian?”

“Give me my wand back, Tom.”

“As you wish. I can be merciful, you see.”

Harry stopped. 'As you wish… you see? I can be merciful.' Voldemort’s final words, flashes of green and Death Eater’s just standing and watching him die. 

“Tom,” Harry choked out, “Get out.” Nevermind it was two in the morning.

There was a flash of hurt on the other boy’s face, before Tom turned and left the room. Probably to retrieve his roommates. His inner circle. His Death Eaters.

Harry dropped back onto the bed and willed himself to sleep.

“Is he okay?” Orion immediately said when Tom entered the common room. Only those who were in Hadrian and his dorm remained, the others having gone to bed.

“He is asleep.” Tom simply responded, “As should we be.”

He turned to go, but Orion caught up with him.

“Are you going to invite him to a meeting?” The black haired, short boy asked. There was an eagerness in his eye that somehow soothed Tom.

“You can ask him, tomorrow perhaps. He likes you the best,” And wasn’t that a bitter truth.

Orion perked up, “Will do, Tom!”

“What happened to him?” Hector asked, joining in the conversation.

“I am unsure, but I know he is to visit the hospital wing tomorrow. Do not worry about Hadrian.”

“You always say that, Tom.” Hector continued, his brow creased, “To leave Hadrian to you. I do not think he likes you, or trusts you, enough to listen. Someone like Orion–”

“I have already given Orion a task, Hector, do not push me tonight.”

“Of course.”

Tom sunk into his bed, knowing that sleep would not come for him that night, and pulled out one of the books he had taken from the Room of Requirement. It was a wonderful new find, the ‘Come and go room’, and he felt sure he was the only one in Hogwarts who knew of its existence. Tom flicked to a bookmarked page, where he reread the passage on Horcruxes. A small paragraph, maybe four lines, but with enough information to have sparked an interest in him. Immortality was something he dearly desired, just the idea of living in infamy amongst people who revered him– forever. But there was a frustrating lack of information on the subject, the library having been stripped bare and the restricted section holding only this book.

It was not the only method to Tom’s immortality, but it was at the very top of his list to research.

Harry spent the next day ignoring Tom, and instead spent a pleasant free period with Orion. The boy was lively, and seemed so young compared to Harry even though he was probably only three years his youth. He was better company than Tom or Abraxas, though, and the lack of seriousness was a welcome relief for Harry. They spent a while studying in a comfortable silence, then Orion had gotten bored and started badgering Harry about coming on the Hogsmeade weekend.

“I do not have a permission slip, Orion.” Harry repeated, for what felt like the hundredth time.

“Why not? Just ask Slughorn for one, then send it off to your Aunt and Uncle!”

“They would not sign it, besides, I need to study for Runes. I am seriously struggling with the content, it is just so complicated. How can people tell the difference between all the Runes in the Elder and Younger Futhark?”

“Oh, you need to get Tom to teach you. I am sure he would, even if he hates studying with others.”

“Yeah, no thanks.”

“I know you are still mad at him, Hadrian, but you should not get on his bad side. If you are lucky, you might even get to be involved. Just play your cards right, do what he says, and you’ll be rewarded.”

“Involved?” Harry raised an eyebrow at Orion’s attempt at ‘recruitment’.

The boy blushed at his scepticism, “Come to a meeting and hear us out. It is more complex than you think. It is just a group of like-minded individuals who want to change the world for the better.” Orion insisted.

“Is it not just muggle hating, then?” Harry joked, watching as Orion got more flustered.

“No!” He insisted, “I’m not the best person to explain, but it is all about tradition. Did you ever wonder why Hogwarts celebrates Halloween, not Samhain?”

“No?” Harry questioned, never having thought about it before, “Why would we celebrate Samhain?”

Orion’s jaw dropped, “Hadrian, you are in severe need of some accurate information. Wixen have celebrated Pagan holidays since the beginning of time, and it was only when Mudblood’s began attending Hogwarts that the Faculty decided to ‘accommodate’ them and scrap the traditional celebrations. This is our world, they should be the ones learning about our traditions. Not the other way around.”

“That is not reason to murder them, Orion. I’m a half–blood and I don’t even know what Samhain is. Surely just education–”

“Exactly!” Orion beamed, “That is what our plan is, to educate. Grindelwald may be attacking muggles, but his ideals are different to ours. We just want to teach the Mudblood’s our traditions, and make sure they leave their world behind and embrace our culture. It is us who are being persecuted and murdered, Hadrian, surely you know of the witch trials?”

“That was in the 1700s though, hardly recent.”

“But still relevant to today.” Orion was still grinning, “I will bring you to our meeting tonight, and you will see. Tom and the group can explain it much better than I can. Please?”

“Fine,” Harry sighed, knowing the boy wasn’t going to let him decline. Besides, keep your friends close but your enemies closer, right?

Orion had whispered a password at the wooden door, which had subsequently swung open to reveal a stone room with a table and some chairs. Tom sat at the head of the table, in a tall backed chair, leaning his head casually on one arm. He smiled as both Orion and Harry entered the room. The smile didn’t falter at the glare that Harry gave him, though Tom didn’t seem to feel bad for last night. It was infuriating, the amount the other boy could get away with.

“Hadrian, Orion, glad you could join us tonight. Please, take a seat.” Tom motioned to the unfilled chairs, and they sat.

The members of the Inner Circle were made up of most of the people Harry had been hanging around with during his time at Hogwarts. Hector Lestrange, Abraxas Malfoy, Isabella Avery, Rohan Yaxley, Felix Rosier, Orion, and Tom. Harry made the eighth member, if he was even a member. They talked about various topics, though Harry did not join in and simply listened for the better part of an hour. Instead of speaking, he glared at Tom. The other boy did not meet his gaze, the coward.

Orion tapped him on the arm, drawing his attention.

“You’re staring,” The younger boy whispered, and Harry frowned.

“No I’m not,” He whispered in return.

Orion grinned, “I know he’s pretty, but don’t get your hopes up.”

“I–,” Harry quietly spluttered, “I do not find him–” He could feel the heat rushing to his face, and turned the full force of his glare onto the amused Orion.

“Anything you’d like to share, Hadrian?” Tom’s taunting voice rose across the room, “You’ve always seemed so interested in Blood Purity. You almost bit my head off about yesterday.”

Harry was definitely turning red as the group turned to look at him, and tried to form an answer.

They were talking about entrance exams for Hogwarts.

“Absolutely not!” Harry managed to say, “Entrance exams are an absolutely awful idea.”

“Why?” Felix Rosier sneered, “Afraid the mudbloods wouldn’t pass?”

“Don’t call them that, Rosier. And yes, that is my main concern. Some wixen don’t find out about magic until they are ten or eleven years old, and that would put them at such a disadvantage for the exams. They would get their hopes up, and then they would fail as they haven’t grown up with magic like the Purebloods.”

“Isn’t that the point, though?” Rosier retorted, “To weed out the weak.”

“But they aren’t weak, they are just uninformed. Blood has nothing to do with magical ability, it’s the home environment that counts. It is unfair, and completely biassed.”

Rosier had a nasty grin, “A pureblood would beat a halfblood or a mudblood any day of the week in a duel.”

“Oh, yeah?” Harry’s gaze turned to Tom, who was watching the confrontation with poorly concealed glee.

“How about a duel then, Rosier? Me versus you. I would bet anything that I win.”

“Anything?” Tom crooned, choosing that moment to join in.

“Exactly.”

“How about tomorrow? If Hadrian wins, Rosier has to publicly announce that blood has little to do with magical ability. If Rosier wins, then Hadrian must announce the opposite. It will also affect your status. Rosier, do you accept the challenge?” Tom faced the heavy set boy with the shitty stubble.

“I do.”

“Hadrian?”

“Looking forward to it.”

Chapter Text

Early morning sun peeked over the horizon, reflecting off the dark blue ocean beneath it. The waves, bobbing up and down slowly in the distance, crash against the jagged rocks at shore. Harry squinted at the sudden brightness, running his hands through the soft grains of sand beneath him. It calmed his otherwise excitable mind, the stillness of the scene. He lifted his head up into the sun, allowing the rays of sunlight to cover him in gold. Taking a deep breath, Harry closed his eyes, revelling in the–

“What are you doing here?” An inquisitive, angry voice demanded.

Harry’s eyes flung open, he turned his body to the noise. A tall, haughty boy with pale skin and round, deep brown eyes stood to his side. His hands were on his hips, like a mother who had caught her child disobeying the rules. The tone in which he spoke fit the narrative also.

“Tom?” He exclaimed, jumping to his feet.

“Hadrian, how are you here?”

“I– this is my dream. I think.” Harry looked around at the scene, it was just a beach. Though Harry didn’t remember ever visiting here… He blinked up at the familiar cave entrance mere feet away. The rising cavernous opening, dark and foreboding when Harry had last seen it, now seemed harmless. It was the cave in which Voldemort had hid his locket…

“No, this is my dream. You have never been here before, how can you have been here before?”

“Oh.” Harry simply said, blinking back up at Tom and marvelling at the height difference, “Blimey you’re tall. Did you make your dream self grow a few inches?”

“Of course not you fool.” Tom scoffed, “I will ask you again. What are you doing here?”

“I don’t know,” Harry said the truth, “I am in your dream?”

“Yes, get out.” 

“That’s rather rude, Tom.” Harry admonished, subconsciously making his way towards the entrance to the cave. The light pouring from the entrance, a pale blue twisting thing that just seemed so inviting.

“Where are you going?” Tom demanded, once again, “You cannot be in my dream. Don’t just wander around like you own the place.”

“Hmm,” Harry acknowledged, barely listening to the other boy’s words.

“Hadrian,” Tom said, quickly walking to catch up with him, “Stop.”

Tom had caught onto Harry’s arm, and swung him around to face him.

“Where is this place, Tom?” Harry asked. He had tagged along with Dumbledore last time, apparating in the middle of the night. Harry had never seen the place in daylight, nor had any inkling where in the world it was.

“Dorset,” Came the response, which made sense. Though Harry could not feel the temperature, as it was a dream, he imagined there would be a cool breeze.

“I thought you lived in London.”

“I do,” Tom clenched his jaw, “But we do leave the county on occasion.”

“Snarky,” Harry grinned at the annoyed expression plastered on Riddle’s face.

“Tell me how you came to be in my dream, Hadrian.” 

“I have. I do not know, it’s never happened before… Why would you dream of an empty beach?”

Tom smirked, “Do you want to see?” 

Riddle didn’t wait for a response, before walking promptly into the cave. Harry followed, very interested in where they were going.

The cave was not like Harry remembered. Rock’s coated the area, sand leading down a small path until it hit the dark green, clear water of the pool. Light shone through the entrance, bouncing off the crystals embedded in the roof and flickering on the watertop. Tom hurried on ahead at a briskly pace, his hands entwined behind his back. They walked past a large rock, and Harry was now able to fully make out the pool and the island in the centre. He paused, remembering the inferi that had clawed up at them, hungry for their deaths. It made his heart falter, to see the same wooden boat he and Dumbledore had travelled on.

“See,” Tom said, pointing towards the island. Harry almost ran into the back of the boy, peering with his poor eyesight over the lake.

“Tom…” He trailed off, making out a white and red mess hanging from a post, “Is that a rabbit?”

Tom just quirked one side of his mouth up, “I told you before that I would make them pay, those who hurt you. This was one of the more… tame responses I gave to those who hurt me. You cannot fault my younger self’s ingenuity, can you?”

Harry took it as a rhetorical question. “What did they do to you, to elicit such a…”

“Beautiful?” Tom offered.

Harry shook his head, “Traumatising response.”

“I was seven, Billy Stubbs had yet again taken to stealing my food and clothes, to make my life miserable. He insulted me, on more than one occasion. Like he had more than I did, like he had more power. I showed him. We go on yearly trips to the seaside, you see. So while the others were out in the sun, little Billy had brought his rabbit to play with. The idiot. I merely slipped away into this cave, with his adored pet, and slit its throat. There was more blood than I thought there would be, but nothing I couldn’t wash off in the lake. Nobody could trace the… murder back to me. I had perfect alibis, and yet he still blamed me.”

“Well, you did do it.”

“But he had no proof, Hadrian. They never had any proof, and yet they spread their lies. I thought I would be able to move away from their tales, when I got to Hogwarts. No, Dumbledore made sure of that.”
Tom looked towards Harry, a strange look on his face.

“You like Dumbledore, though. I see it in your eyes when you look at him, even when he doesn’t give you or I any praise or points for being good in classes. Being great. I could show you the real Dumbledore, if you want. I don’t see how you don’t hate him.”

“I don’t hate, Tom. Not for something so inconsequential as that.” Harry watched Tom carefully, he had never heard the other boy speak so much.

“It isn’t inconsequential. He was my first look at the Wizarding World, and he made me feel so– so small.” Tom whispered the last word, as if it were a confession. It was, Harry thought, odd to see feelings in a younger Voldemort. That moment of openness fell apart when Tom continued to speak, “He accused me of stealing, and warned me of breaking the rules at Hogwarts. Then, when he took me to Diagon Alley, he watched me with such suspicious eyes. He twinkles, have you noticed? But never around me. He branded me as evil, before I had even said five words.”

“I’m sure that’s not true–” Harry protested, he had seen the memory of young Tom Riddle. Dumbledore didn’t think him evil, not really. The eleven year old was just disconcerting, and it wasn’t until sixth…

But that was a lie, Harry realised. Tom hasn’t asked about Horcruxes, he hasn’t opened the Chamber of Secrets, he is adored by every teacher other than Dumbledore. Then again, Dumbledore had been right about the boy. He would grow up to be evil.

Tom quirked an eyebrow, “I will show you. I wonder if I…”

The scene changed, swirling around them in a black fog until the two boys were standing in a green wallpapered room. It was dingy, and damp, and there was little light coming through the dirty window above the ratty old bed. Tom’s room at the Orphanage.

“I live in an Orphanage, with idiotic muggles who don’t know talent when they see it. Mrs Cole, the matron, told Dumbledore all these lies about me. I blame her for his ill informed opinion of me. She tried to exorcise me for one week, you know?” Tom grinned, as if fondly remembering a happy memory, rather than a likely traumatic experience.

The door opened, and a younger Tom walked in. He was much shorter than the fifteen year old Harry was talking too, but he still had the same round eyes and perfectly coiled hair. Harry moved out of his way, and the child sat upon the bed.

“They can’t see us, or hear us, it is just a memory. Watch, they are about to enter.”

There was a knock at the door, and then a middle aged woman and a younger Dumbledore entered the room. 

“Tom? You’ve got a visitor. This is Mr. Dumberton– sorry, Dunderbore. He’s come to tell you–  well, I’ll let him do it.” Mrs Cole said, a flush on her cheeks.

There was something different about this encounter, compared to the one he has seen in Dumbledore’s pensieve. In the pensieve, Dumbledore had worn a genial, kind smile on his face. This man had a tight lipped, almost wary, expression. Hardly comforting for an eleven year old orphan. 

“How do you do, Tom?” Dumbledore asked, but the boy didn’t reply.

“I am Professor–”

“Professor?” The young Tom exclaimed, “Like a doctor? She wants you to examine me, like the others, doesn’t she?”

“No, no Tom. I am a teacher.” Dumbledore’s smile was kinder now, but there was a hint of worry in the man’s eyes.

“I don’t believe you,” Tom said quietly, “Tell me the truth.” His words seemed to ring around the room, holding a power that Harry didn’t believe even Tom understood.

“I am, Tom. My name is Professor Dumbledore. I teach at Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and have come to offer you a place.”

Young Riddle jumped back, hitting the wall in his hurry to remove himself from Dumbledore.

“An asylum, that’s where the old cat wants to send me. She’s the one who should be going, not me. I did nothing to little Amy or nasty Dennis, nothing!”
“I am not from the asylum,” Dumbledore said patiently, if with a little irritation, “Hogwarts is a school for special people, with special abilities. For people with magic, like you.”

Tom froze, “Magic?” he repeated in a whisper.

“Is that what I can do?” Tom continued, looking pleased.

“What is it you can do?”

“I can move things, without touching them, I can make animals do things I want them to do, just by commanding them. I can make bad things happen to people that hurt me, I can make them hurt in return.”

Dumbledore no longer tried to smile, watching intently as the young boy retook his seat on the grey sheets of the bed.

“Are you a wizard too?” Tom asked, his expression one of delight. Delight, Harry recognised, at having an answer to his problems. He recognised it because it was probably how he looked, when he realised there were reasons for his freakiness.

“I am.”

“Prove it,” Tom demanded, quickly adding, “Please.”

“I take it you are accepting your place at Hogwarts?” Tom nodded, and Dumbledore added, “So you should take care to address me as Sir or Professor.”

Tom’s face hardened for a moment, “Sir, could you show me?”

Harry would think Dumbledore wouldn’t show Tom, if he hadn’t seen this memory before and knew exactly what was going to happen. The Dumbledore with the ginger beard withdrew his wand and pointed it to the wardrobe. Bright green flames engulfed the wood and Tom jumped to his feet. Harry really couldn’t blame the young boy for the outraged yell that came from him as he saw his possessions light aflame. 

The fire stopped, the wardrobe unharmed.

“Open it,” Dumbledore said, and Riddle moved to open the doors to his tattered wardrobe. He removed a shaking box, turning back to the Professor with an expressionless look on his face.

“Is there anything in that box you shouldn’t have?” Dumbledore asked, and Tom looked inside.

“I suppose so,” Young Tom replied.

Harry saw the old yo-yo, the teddy bear, and some other bits and bobs he knew Tom had stolen from other children.

“You will return these to their rightful owners, and know that we at Hogwarts do not tolerate theft.”

“Yes, sir.” Tom said, that same expressionless face translating across to his words.

“That’s enough,” The older Tom said, and the dream morphed away from the Orphanage. Harry was still staring at the place the metal box had been, but now there was a familiar white tile on the floor.

Harry snapped his head around to Tom, “What are you doing?”

Pink, floral wallpaper coated the walls of Number 4 Privet Drive. They were in the living room, the ticking clock on the wall ringing around Harry’s head.

“This is…” Tom said, seeming confused, “Not my memory.”

“No, you idiot, this is mine. Get out of my head.”

Death. Get him out. DEATH.

But before Death could reply, or Harry could fret anymore, the shouting of Vernon Dursley appeared.

“BOY! GET OUT OF THERE AT ONCE!”

Harry couldn’t stop an intrigued Tom from hurrying into the hall, where the round figure of his Uncle was hammering on the door to Harry’s cupboard.
“Coming Uncle Vernon!” A small, painfully small voice shouted in response. It was hardly a shout, more like a mouse squeaking at being caught in a trap.

Tom looked towards Harry with an indiscernible expression, but luckily the scene was swept away.

Harry sat up in his bed, a patch of sweat dripping down his neck and back. He closed his eyes for a few seconds, praying that Tom hadn’t realised that was him. His prayers went unanswered, as the curtains to Harry’s bed in the Slytherin dorm were pulled aside.

“Care to explain what that was all about, Hadrian?” Tom said, his voice a deathly whisper.

“No.” Harry replied, and fled into the bathroom. He entered one of the cubicles, locking himself into the shower with a force that made a loud bang. Stripping quickly, ignoring the fact he had no towel or change of clothes, Harry turned the shower on to bar the sounds of an agitated Tom.

“Hadrian,” Tom knocked on the door, and Harry ignored him. “I am not going to push you to answer my questions… Try not to drown yourself.”

Harry spent his day, once again, ignoring Tom. He even went as far, petty he may have been, to indulge in a little rumour spreading.

He was returning from the Room of Requirement, where he had been sequestered away in an attempt to avoid the other Slytherins, when he overheard a lovely conversation between some fourth year Hufflepuffs.

“He must be single, though. I haven’t seen him close to any girls!” One of them said.

“You should ask him.”

“No way, he may be handsome– Merlin those eyes– but he is intimidating.”

“Intimidating in a hot way, though.”

“Tom Riddle could have my children, any time.”

Harry grinned to himself, then swept in on the group.

“Don’t mention I was the one to tell you this,” he whispered, pretending to be serious, “But Riddle is dating someone.”

One of the boy’s gasped, “Who?”

“A boy in sixth year, from Durmstrang. He sends the boy, Draco I think his name is, flowers every Sunday. He even has a locket with the boy’s photo in.”

“How romantic!” A girl gasped, then giggled, “No luck for us then.”

Harry put a finger to his lips, “You shouldn’t pull my name into it, but the rest of the school should probably know. Just to keep people from approaching him about dating.”

They all nodded, then put their heads together in furious whispers. Harry felt quite pleased with himself, and spent the walk to Transfiguration trying  not to grin in delight. By lunch, Harry had rejoined the Slytherins and the whole school was gossiping about ‘Tom and Draco’. He had to bite his knuckles in order to stop himself from laughing at Riddle’s angry expression every time someone called to him, asking about his beau. 

The gossips had outdone themselves, spreading the most outlandish rumours Harry had heard– this was taking into account his second year, when he had been seen as the Heir of Slytherin.

“Riddle fought a dragon, just to protect his boyfriend–”

“They’ve set a date for the wedding, I should ask for an invite…”

“What’s Riddle’s favourite flower?”

“His boyfriend is part veela–”

Harry just had to taunt him, he couldn’t resist!

“Say, Riddle, I didn’t know you had a boyfriend.” Harry ventured at dinner, and was met by silence from his fellow Slytherins.

“He doesn’t,” Abraxas replied for him, and Harry was met by evil glares from both Malfoy and Riddle. It made him even more joyous to realise that Abraxas probably wouldn’t allow his future son to name his future grandchild Draco. Or maybe he would? That, Harry would pay to see.

“I’ve heard so much about Draco, though.” Harry continued, even with Orion prodding him in the side.

“Hadrian, I thought you were sane enough to realise I don’t send flowers to my beau or carry a locket with his face in.” Tom drawled.

“True, I didn’t peg you for the sentimental type.” Harry acquiesced, his grin spreading.

“Hadrian is just jealous,” Orion said, to Harry’s displeasure. Hector snorted, and Harry flung a pea in his direction.

“Calm yourselves,” Tom reprimanded, “Use your manners, Hadrian.”

He couldn’t fucking help himself.

“Sorry, milord,” Harry mocked, and was losing himself to laughter at the grimaces and the shocked silence that surrounded him. He covered his face with his hands, trying so desperately to stop laughing.

“Is he… crying?” Walburga asked, having looked to see what the commotion was about.

“No.” Tom replied, “He is laughing, for whatever reason the imbecile has.”

WHAT REASON! HA!

Calm yourself, Master.

Oh, shut it.

Harry braved looking up from his hands, and caught sight of Orion’s gaping face and Tom’s stony expression. He barked out a laugh that drew looks from across the hall.

“I’m going to–” He wheezed out, “I’m going to go now.” He stood, and grinned right at Rosier.

“Don’t forget our duel, Hadrian.” Rosier taunted, to which Harry just grinned and sped from the hall.

As if Harry would ever forget. Actually, one of the reasons he had left dinner early was to prepare. Rosier wouldn't know what hit him, and it would be glorious.

Chapter Text

Harry stared down at the blood pooling over the stone floor. Rosier’s blood, bright and red and coating his entire body. The boy was blacked out, and there was a ringing silence in the room that felt like it lasted hours. Harry felt his hand twitch, though he held on tight to his wand. Movement around him jolted Harry out of his shocked stupor, someone had shouted and someone else was now kneeling in the pool of blood beside Rosier. Harry let out a shuddering breath, backing away from the scene. He had done that, he had caused the boy to suffer and bleed and pass out. What was worse than that, Harry thought, was that he had enjoyed the look of horror on Rosier’s face, and the satisfaction of watching him fall.

There was something even worse than the satisfaction. It was the hunger, the lust for more blood. Something about the redness called to him, called for him to come closer and break the body apart. It was too whole, too alive. It was the call of Death, he knew it.

He hardly noticed the faces around him, continuing to back away from the body. Harry could hear his heart beating, trying to pump blood around his seemingly numb body. He hit a wall, not realising he had backed up so far, and stayed there. A solid presence, a barrier, that made sure he wouldn’t fall. He shut his eyes, trying, hoping, to regain some semblance of the reality in front of him. He hadn’t killed someone, had he? No, surely. Rosier had still been moving, albeit not much, but how long that would last… 

“Calm, Hadrian. He is going to be fine,” Someone said, the voice so close and warm on his neck. “You are injured, let me heal you.” 

Harry couldn’t see who was speaking, but nodded nonetheless. 

“Sit.” He sat on a chair brought to him by the helpful guide.

“Breathe.” He took slow breaths, in and out, until his brain would start functioning properly again. Harry struggled to keep his eyes off the smudge of red on the duelling arena.

“Lift your arm, slowly.” He lifted his arm, though he barely felt the pain. It must be nothing compared to what Rosier felt, or wasn’t feeling, right now. Harry took a glance at his arm, noting the wand pointed at a deep gash, dripping with red blood. At least his blood was red, and he hadn’t polluted himself by acting so foolishly. So cruelly.

“Can you stand?” No, he could not. He would not.

“Don’t close your eyes, you do not want to fall asleep here.” It was difficult not to let himself get washed away with emotion, with fear and with hatred of himself. The voice was right, to remind him of this.

“I am going to help you up, Hadrian. We will walk back to the dormitory together.” Harry allowed the cool hands to grasp him, one on his arm and the other wrapped tight around his waist. He was sure he would fall, without the person's assistance.

Harry managed to speak, to ask a question. “Was– was it bad? Rosier. Is he going to be alright?”

“It was magnificent, Hadrian. He will live, you didn’t wound him as badly as you should have. They will be wary of you, now. It is a good thing.”

“That isn’t comforting.” Harry choked out, staring at his feet as they seemed to walk up some steps.

The voice didn’t respond.

“Sit.” He sat on the soft bed, staring straight ahead of him.

“Oh god,” Harry whispered, “What have I done? What is happening?”

“It was a duel, Hadrian. Felix knew what he was getting into. It was only a cut on his stomach. He is being taken care of by our best.”

“He won’t die, will he?”

“No.” The voice had moved closer, beside him now, “What spell was that?”

Harry blinked, a tear falling down his cheek. He remembered this feeling, the same regret and fear he felt the last time he used that spell. Draco in the bathroom, lying on the floor, a pool of blood.

“They don’t know the healing spell.” Harry managed out, standing, “They won’t know how to stop the bleeding.”

“What?” The voice said, louder and more irritated.

“The spell, it can only be healed with a specific charm. I need to tell them, I need to fix it.”

“Okay,” The voice said urgently, “Show me the spell. Now, Hadrian.”

“Vulnera Sanentur. Just trace your wand over the wound. Please, I need to help.”

The voice repeated the words under his breath, and Harry nodded.

“I am going, stay here.” Harry simply nodded again, numb. Please work, please. Harry didn’t think he could handle another death, not so soon after…

Harry rested his head back onto the pillow, holding his hands over his face and whispering some sort of prayer or plea for help.

The boy is not destined to die today, Master.

A choking laugh burst from Harry, of course he wasn’t. Of course Harry would bring someone close to death, but not quite. It was relief, perhaps, and guilt. He would have to face the boy, sometime soon, and recall what had happened. The voice had said it wasn’t bad, only a cut, but Harry had seen the blood and felt the call of Death. 

Somehow, against the odds, Harry had fallen asleep. It was a light slumber, and easily broken as he heard movement in the dorm. He snapped up from his position on the bed, wincing at the way his back clicked, and stared owlishly around the room. Harry was still in his clothing, but someone had removed his shoes and placed them neatly by the side of his bed. He noted the clock, he had slept for barely three hours, and it was now nearing midnight. There were still people moving about and talking, so late into the night. But they stopped, and Harry realised it was because of him.

“Is–” He started to say, but his voice was so dry the words barely formed.

“Here,” Someone quickly handed him a glass of cold water, and Harry eagerly gulped it down.

“Rosier is stable, we have given him a pain draught and a sleep draught.” Hector said, coming into view of Harry.

He sighed with relief, then realised, “You didn’t take him to the medical wing?”

The Slytherin’s shared a dark look, but it was Tom who replied.

“No. We would much prefer to keep the… duel under wraps. There was nothing Madame Wilson could do that we could not. It would not be wise to let you get suspended, or expelled.”

‘We could be killed, or worse, expelled!’ Harry remembered the frantic worries of Hermione, god, he missed her.

Harry gave a terse nod, and turned to face Tom who was perched on the end of his own bed.

“How bad was it, really?” He almost whispered. 

Tom looked up at him, “It was magnificent, Hadrian.”
 
Harry jolted. Magnificent. So it had been Tom who had been so kind. But magnificent was not the word Harry would have used to describe the monstrous event. Maybe devastating, or awful, shit, frightening…

“Thank you,” Harry said, then blushed, “Not for the– strange– description but for, you know, making sure I didn’t pass out.”

“You are welcome, Hadrian.” 

Harry felt an overwhelming sense of tiredness, and glanced over to where a still Rosier lay in his bed. Bandages covered his stomach, but Harry could see the rise and fall of his chest. Alive, barely. Despite the boy being an absolute pureblood extremist prick, Harry didn’t think he deserved death, did he? 

One less bigot in the world would make it a better place, don’t you think?

No.

One life for the life of many. You thought that yourself, does it only ring true when it is your life?

How would killing Rosier save the lives of many? He is fifteen.

But he would grow to become a Death Eater, a madman with an agenda to kill muggleborns. That was what he would grow into. He tried to Crucio you, Harry, does that not mean you could fight back in equal force?

He almost wished he had killed him. Just to get Death out of his head.

“Hadrian?” Tom said, his voice low but at the same time seemed to fill the room.

“Hmm?” Harry hummed, looking up at the boy whose eyes were wide as saucers. They twinkled, not unlike Dumbledores.

You might have said that last part aloud, Master.

“What do you mean, Death is in your head?” Tom asked, cocking his head to the side. Harry realised that Hector was still watching him from the end of the bed and Orion was nowhere to be seen. Tom just sat, and stared, and there was something like wonder flitting on his face. 

“None of your concern, Tom. I think I am in shock.” Harry replied, though the bitterness he had aimed to lace his voice with was nowhere to be found. Maybe he was actually still in shock?

“Alright.” Tom acquiesced, “You should sleep, you look exhausted. You too, Hector.”

Harry nodded, and forced himself to dress for sleep. He didn’t care enough to change in the bathroom, as he usually did, and promptly fell into the sheets. At least tomorrow was a Saturday.

3 Hours Earlier

“Wands at the ready,” Hector commanded, having taken the position of referee for the duel.

Harry stood opposite Rosier, on the long stretch of stone that marked out the duelling arena. The sneering boy moved into position, his wand outstretched and ready to win (Harry knew that Rosier stood no chance, and Harry would make him sorely regret his words).

“Begin.”

Harry lunged forward, brandishing his wand and shouting “Expelliarmus”

Rosier shielded quickly, returning with “Impedimenta!”

Harry narrowly dodged the spell, nonverbally casting Titillando. He wasn’t there to seriously harm Rosier, just embarrass him. The spell took Rosier by surprise, and he yelped out in shock at the tickling hex before glaring, and moving forwards.

“Expulso!” Rosier shouted, and Harry was thrown back into the wall. He coughed, wincing as his back pulsed in pain. But he stood, and continued.

So they weren’t playing, then. Shame.

They exchanged curses and hexes, shielding or dodging them. It was a fairly even match, and it made Harry irritated.

“You don’t have it in you,” Rosier taunted, shielding another one of Harry’s hexes, “Saviour of the Mudbloods! What, is your mother one? She died begging for your life? Pathetic bastard.”

Harry saw red, responding “Rictusempra!” 

Rosier fell into a heap, laughing maniacally, wheezing out, “You sure like your laughter hexes, Peverell. Crucio!”

Harry felt the red Unforgivable wash over him, his body snapping in half at the sheer agony. He yelled out in shock, but the pain didn’t last long as Rosier relinquished. Harry coughed up blood into his sleeve, before shouting back at Rosier. “Stupefy!”

The boy swung to the side, narrowly avoiding the quickly cast spell. There was a smirk on his face, an awful, gloating smirk.

“Let’s not play, Rosier.” Harry bit out, “Deprimo!”

The ground beneath Rosier cracked, the stone parting and almost swallowing the boy up. He let out a pitiful yelp, his leg having been caught in the jagged sides of the floor.

Harry cast again, and again, until Rosier was barely able to stand. He kept rising from his knees, the force of Harry’s attack having worn him down, but he could no longer cast a shield. One or two more, and Harry would win. He could easily take Rosier’s wand, but a few more hexes would teach the boy to keep his mouth shut.

“Sectumsempra!” Harry whipped his wand in the direction of the boy, who barely managed to move out of its way. Rosier dropped his wand, clasping at the gushing wound in his stomach and looking up at Harry in shock.

“What was–” Someone shouted from the side.

Rosier slumped to the ground, the pool beneath him bright red and oozing from his wound.

Something had changed in the air the next morning, a new tenseness that surrounded the group of fifth year Slytherins. One person, never Harry, stayed in the dorm with Rosier at all times. He seemed to be recovering well, according to Orion, and was more angry than injured. Harry had also realised that perhaps he had overreacted a bit. Tom had been right, he would never tell him that, that the spell had damaged no vital organs. It was fairly shallow, and Harry was pretty sure he had hallucinated the amount of blood on the floor. Rosier was, as Abraxas so tenderly put it, ‘weak enough to fall from a mere stinging spell’ so according to him, Harry ‘shouldn’t get to wound up about it’.

Felix didn’t seem to harbour many negative feelings towards Harry, he seemed scared if anything. It took a few days for Harry to come to grips with the whole evening, though he didn’t think he would ever forget the fallen body. The public renouncement of Rosier’s claims about muggleborns filled Harry with glee, and he sat and watched the boy stumble through his words with a surprising amount of grace and decorum for someone so bigoted.

Harry was later informed by Abraxas that he was now Tom’s ‘number three’, in the ranking. What ranking? Harry had wanted to ask, but thought better of it and just nodded as if he were pleased. Sensing Harry’s confusion, Isabella had drawn him aside to explain (Harry could swear a vow that she was his favourite Slytherin at the moment).

“It’s the hierarchy of Slytherin, basically. Mulciber is the King, but he is a seventh year so it is looking likely that Tom takes the crown next year. Mulciber has his own court, of seventh and sixth years. Tom is currently just below Mulciber, seeing as he is descended from Salazar Slytherin himself and is almost a genius. The only reason Mulciber still has his crown is because Tom doesn’t want it yet. Don’t ask why. Tom has his own court, in preparation for next year. Abraxas is his ‘second-in-command’ and Felix was third, until the duel.”

“Why would the duel have anything to do with that?” Harry questioned, finding the whole thing preposterous.

“Did you not listen to the terms, Hadrian?” Isabella scoffed, “Tom said that it would affect your status, meaning ranking. Rosier is now at the bottom, and you are third.”

“What if I don’t want to be third?” Harry stubbornly asked, feeling as if it would put an even larger target on his back.

“You’d be mad not to. Nobody can touch you now, apart from Abraxas or Tom, but it essentially gives you protection from anyone who knows Tom is going to be King next year. No more midnight kidnappings, no more hexing in the corridors by Slytherins, essentially you have a huge shield around you.”

“I don’t need that protection, though.” Harry protested.

“Then you are truly mad,” Isabella lamented, “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, Hadrian.”

“That– that’s a muggle saying.”

Isabella looked at him as if he had just proclaimed the sky was blue, “I know.”

“You knew? I thought you all hated anything muggle,” Harry said, utterly bamboozled by the conversation.

“Merlin’s beard, Peverell. Don’t you listen to anything?”

Harry blushed, “I do, and all you lot talk about is how awful muggles are and how dreadfully dirty muggleborns are.”

“That is such a lie, Hadrian! Felix hates muggles and muggleborns, yes, but not all of us are as simple minded as him. It isn’t black and white, so you should start paying attention to what we are actually saying before you start spouting nonsense.”

Feeling utterly scolded and increasingly confused, Harry couldn’t do anything but stare at his textbook. Maybe he just needed a lie down, or maybe a straightforward conversation with his fellow Slytherins. Yes, that sounded like a good idea. Make a list of names, and some questions, and then go interrogate them about their beliefs. Harry almost snorted at the idea, imagine just approaching them like that? He would have to have very little tact to do such a thing…
Of course, being a Gryffindor at heart, that is exactly what Harry did.

“Orion, you are telling me– wait, what?” Harry said, leaning his head on his hand and staring at the younger boy. He just grinned, and repeated himself.

“It is simple, once you know them all. Felix wants to murder anyone who isn’t a pureblood, probably a self-defence thing as his great-aunt is a squib or something. Abraxas thinks purebloods are superior, that muggles are scum and that mudbloods shouldn’t be allowed magic. I think that purebloods are superior, but that mudbloods just need to be reeducated and I really couldn’t care less about muggles unless they start trying to kill us again. Hector is the same, but he goes on these rants about muggles using tinks? Or tonks? I don’t really understand, he is super into debating and so reads all these muggle warfare books and it really pisses Felix off. I never know what Isabella believes, as she changes her mind every other day. You, obviously, are on the other side of the spectrum. Everyone knows that you love mudbloods, and nobody knows why.”

He spoke so quickly it was hard for Harry to take in the sheer amount of knowledge.

“O–kay?” He eventually said, “Should I have taken notes?”

Orion just laughed, “I imagine if someone found them, they would think you were stalking us all.”

Harry realised that Orion hadn’t told him about Tom, and said as much. Orion paled, ever so slightly, but it was noticeable enough.

“Tom, well, I don’t know how much you know about his family… anyway he just values power. It doesn’t matter who you are, but if you have power he will gravitate towards you and claim you. Muggles have no magic, you see, and thus no power. Purebloods are typically rich, and hold high positions in Wizarding society, so they have a lot of power. It isn’t about blood with him, just ability.”

That didn’t seem to fit with the Voldemort he knew, Harry pondered. Or did it? Being a halfblood, it wouldn’t make sense for Tom to preach pureblood supremacy, but it would make sense to draw in pureblood followers as they have all the power. Fucking hell. Harry really didn’t think he had a mind for politics, and he was definitely getting a headache from just scratching the surface.

“Merlin,” Harry said out loud, “Can we just talk about Quidditch or something?”

The weeks after the duel passed, surprisingly, without much conflict. There was a new level of respect for him, among the Slytherins, which Death had to constantly remind him was a good thing. The issue of Horcruxes and Tom was still very much prevalent in Harry’s mind, and he had come up with a plan to try and prevent any soul-splitting on Tom’s part. But his days and nights went in a steady routine, school, homework, sleep. He was yet to find anything on Necromancy, although Death had hinted about him having to come into his ‘inheritance’ to fully access any power. It was a frightening thought, commanding Death, even if he no longer shuddered at the deity’s voice.

Harry was getting better at Ancient Runes, performing exceptionally well in Defence, and had managed to keep himself afloat in Potions. He beat Tom, mostly, in Defence and had the occasional moment of prowess in Charms. It was incredibly amusing to see the look on Tom’s face when he did a spell on his first attempt, but also uneasy how interested the other boy was in his magical ability. Tom had been following him, like a lonely puppy with fangs, and kept appearing whenever Harry was alone to probe him with questions. There had been no more ‘incidents’ and Tom had even apologised for the forced veritaserum. Even if the apology was insincere, it gave Harry an inkling of hope.

He missed playing Quidditch, the feeling of flying through the air and the wind on his face, and made sure to watch every match. It would have been nice to play, but there was so much going on in Harry’s academically packed life that it would be near impossible to juggle. Harry had gone to four meetings with Tom’s ‘inner circle’, but none had ended in the proclamation of a duel. It was all going quite swimmingly, and he had just begun to relax when Halloween arrived. Harry was shocked at the speed in which two whole months had passed, and even more shocked to have been taken out of Charms by Dumbledore.

“Might I borrow Mr Peverell,” Dumbledore said, appearing at the door. Harry looked up at the man, and then across to Tom who was giving him the characteristic raise of his eyebrow. He shook his head, to signal that he had no idea why Dumbledore would want to speak with him. “Bring your bag, you will not return before the end of the lesson.”

Harry quickly packed away his parchment and quill, wary at the dour demeanour of his old Headmaster.

“What is this about, Professor?” He asked, striding from the classroom.

“Nothing to be worried about, Mr Peverell.” Dumbledore looked down at him through his half moon glasses, “Just the aurors wanting a word.”

I did tell you they would come to speak with you.

“Do you know why, sir?” Harry asked, aiming his question at both Dumbledore and Death.

“I am afraid not, they were quite tight lipped when I asked.” Harry missed the twinkle in the old man’s eyes, and felt decidedly uncomfortable at the scrutiny in which he was being placed. Had he done something wrong, to upset Dumbledore? Harry didn’t think so…

He was led up to the Headmaster’s office, where Dippet was sitting behind his desk and two aurors were standing in front of it.

“Here we are,” Dippet smiled when Harry and Dumbledore entered the room.

Just say what I tell you, and they will not suspect you.

The two aurors turned at his entrance, both with stringy, long blonde hair and the same disgruntled expression. They appeared to be twins, in their mid thirties, and reminded him very strongly of someone.

“Mr Peverell, these are Aurors Yaxley… and Yaxley, they were just wanting to ask you a few questions.”

“Of course,” Harry said, nodding in greeting, “A pleasure to meet you both.”

The two Aurors sat down, one holding a dark notebook and the other a file of sorts. Harry sat opposite them, placing his hands carefully in his lap and sitting up straight. He wondered what sort of questions they might ask, and how they might spin the tale to blame it on him.

You will know what to say, and they will not be able to spin it to blame you. 

“So, Mr Peverell,” The woman asked, “We just wanted to clear a few things up from your statement, about the deaths of your parents.”

Chapter Text

Tom watched as the older boy left the classroom, well aware of the harsh look behind Dumbledore’s eyes that was usually reserved for Tom. He also noticed Hadrian’s somewhat hesitant departure, as if he feared what was to come. Even as he paid attention to the lesson, Tom thought back on the past few weeks. Ever since ‘the duel’ as the Slytherins had taken to calling it, almost in reverence, Tom had taken it upon himself to fully integrate himself into Hadrian’s life. Before, he had been curious. Very curious about Hadrian Peverell and where he had come from. Now, Tom was on the verge of obsession. Before, he just wanted leverage, something to keep Hadrian under control. Now, he wanted to know and understand the boy, his likes and dislikes, what made him tick. Orion had once compared Tom to Slughorn, and Tom had almost winced in disgust, due to Tom’s love of collecting things. Shiny items, objects of importance, people’s valued jewellery or memories. Most of all, he wanted to collect Hadrian. The boy had arrived, almost out of nowhere, an orphan with a penchant for being utterly dense. He had stared at Tom, almost unabashedly, as if he knew Tom. He had spoken outwardly about women and muggleborn rights, even muggles didn’t seem to perturb him. 

“Have you ever met a nice muggle?”

“No” Hadrian had responded, and Tom had never felt so jolted. 

The question had been on a whim, not planned out like his others, because there was something wrong with the sheer, undoubting, trust of muggles that Hadrian had. Tom’s instincts were never wrong, but he could not work out why Hadrian defended muggles when the answer to his question (under veritaserum, no less) would hint that the boy should despise them. Then there had been the dream in which Hadrian had somehow wandered into Tom’s conscience, had seen some of the most prominent aspects of his own life. That had only confirmed their connection. Yet Hadrian didn’t seem to acknowledge it, or was it that he just didn’t want to? Never mind, Tom had thought, he would come around soon.

Most importantly, however, had been the duel. Hadrian had displayed a truly awe inspiring amount of skill, the sheer amount of power Tom had felt would have brought a lesser man to his knees. The aftermath, while Hadrian’s pitiful lapse into shock had been disappointing, had given Tom the opportunity to comfort the boy. Tom knew that Hadrian hadn’t been in his right mind, but the fact that he had allowed Tom to be so close meant that he was one step closer to true loyalty. (Orion would say friendship, and Tom could acquiesce that they were close to becoming ‘friends’ too.)

After that Tom had, admittedly, become attached. Hadrian was given no choice but to indulge Tom in conversation, or follow his rules, simply because Tom was always around him. He ponders on the past two months of knowing Hadrian Peverell.

“I wanted to apologise, Hadrian,” Tom said.

“Oh?” Hadrian said lightly, not looking up from his reading.

“I understand now that I was wrong in forcing you to consume veritaserum, it was truly a lapse in judgement. You did not deserve the attack, and I will make no excuses for my out of touch behaviour. I hope that you will soon, if not now, forgive me for my indiscretions.”

Hadrian laughed, “I don’t believe you, Tom, could ever truly repent.”

“Why do you say that?” Tom asked, even though the boy was probably right. 

He shut his book, not even bothering to mark the page, and looked into Tom’s eyes. The sheer brightness of the green colour always came as a shock to Tom, even if he had seen it countless times before.

“Because that is just who you are, even after knowing you for only a month that is obvious. You only apologise to make it clear that you don’t owe me anything, which I think you do.”

“I owe you?” Tom sneered, before swiftly removing the look from his face. This was not the right time for that. “I suppose I do. What can I do to make it up to you?”

“I’m sure I can think of something.” Hadrian pondered, a grim smile on his face.

“Why did you say the duel was magnificent, Tom?” Hadrian asked, disrupting the careful silence the two of them had created whilst studying in the library.

Tom pondered for a second, he had said that, hadn’t he?

“Because it was.” Tom replied, and went to elaborate before Hadrian started getting angsty again, “The magic you formed washed over me, I have never felt anything like that before.”

Tom didn’t mention how glorious it had been to watch Hadrian’s expression, the way he marvelled in cutting Felix apart. It would have been impressive, even more magnificent, if Hadrian had simply walked away afterwards (instead of falling into shock.) This wasn’t the right time to let the other boy know that, as Tom was sure Hadrian still felt guilty. He also didn’t say how Hadrian had no reason for guilt or shame.

“You must eat, Hadrian,” Tom demanded, shovelling food onto the boy’s plate at dinner. Hadrian sat staring aimlessly at the table, as he had taken to doing so quite often, and many times forgot to even pick up his cutlery.

At his words, the curly haired boy glared at Tom, before piercing a potato with his fork.

“I don’t need you to command me around, Tom, I can take care of myself.”

“Clearly not, if you are depriving yourself of the basic necessities. Don’t get me started on your sleeping schedule.”

Hadrian rolled his eyes, but Tom felt pride that he had been able to get him to eat. Even if it was only a few measly mouthfuls.

“You act like a child, Hadrian.” Tom scolded, “Worse than Orion sometimes.”

“Hey!” Orion said, even if he hadn’t been paying attention to the other parts of the conversation.

“Come on, we have to go to Potions early, Slughorn said,” Tom said, grasping Hadrian’s upper arm and dragging him from the common room, “Fix your tie and do up your shoelaces.”

“Stop bossing me around, you are worse than Mrs Wea–” Hadrian started, but stopped before he could finish the sentence.

Tom raised an eyebrow, Hadrian blushed. “Worse than who?”

“Nevermind,” Hadrian grumbled, “Please remove your hand, I am afraid I will bruise if you don’t.”

Tom frowned, “I don’t want you wandering off again.”

“I can hardly do up my tie with you mothering me, Tom.” Hadrian teased, his frown looking more like a smile than anything else.

Tom stood back, “As you wish.”

“Thank you.”

“You are my partner for the Potions assignment, by the way.” Tom replied, once they had gotten to the classroom.

“I thought we got to choose our partners,” Hadrian said, cocking his head and taking his seat in the lab.

“We do. I chose you.” 

“Oh.” Hadrian looked around the room, probably to find Orion and beg him to be his partner. But Tom had made sure that the rambunctious boy was with Isabella instead. “Fine, but you choose the potion.”

“I already have.” Tom said, drawing the parchment he had prepared for the lesson from his bag. 

He ignored the, “Of course you have,” Hadrian muttered under his breath.

“Are you stalking me, Tom?” Hadrian asked, evidently frustrated when Tom had appeared at Hadrian’s not so secret corner of the library.

“No.” He simply replied, sitting down on the other side of the desk.

“Why do you keep following me around, then?” Hadrian was glaring outwardly.

“Is it such a crime that I enjoy your company, Hadrian?” It was true, Hadrian Peverell was truly growing on Tom. He was still far too blunt and abrasive, in a far less endearing way than Orion, for Tom to happily function around him (but it was manageable).

“I– What? Oh, um…” Hadrian stuttered, “Really?”

“Yes, otherwise I wouldn’t seek out your company. You can be quiet, unlike Orion, and you are clever enough to not ask me idiotic questions about where to find bezoars, unlike Abraxas.”

Hadrian hummed, but didn’t respond and went back to writing his essay.

This was something that the two of them did a lot, studying together. Tom found him to be an amicable partner, even having insights into some subjects that even Tom had not thought of. That was high praise indeed, seeing as Tom was predicted to get straight Outstandings in his OWLs.

“I don’t forgive you, though.” Hadrian quickly said, “For attacking me in the dorm. Not cool.”

Not. Cool. What?

Tom just nodded, “I wouldn’t expect anything less. I will ask again if there is anything I can do to make it up to you.”

“Maybe later, fancy being tied to your bed and force fed veritaserum?” Hadrian asked, fully sincere.

“No.”

“I’ll get Abraxas to do it and I can compile a list of questions. Maybe Rosier will help, seeing as he is frightened of me now.” Hadrian said, almost to himself, as if that would frighten Tom.

“As you wish,” Tom responded, but made sure to enhance the protections around his bed from that night on. He enjoyed the way Hadrian rose to the challenge of revenge, even if Tom wasn’t sure he truly meant it. It made him uneasy, not knowing, but it wasn’t worse than that ever present, knowing smile on Hadrian’s face. It matched Tom’s, almost exactly.

Hadrian arrived late for History of Magic, on a drizzly October afternoon.

“Sorry, Professor, I got lost.” He muttered, even if everyone knew that Binns didn’t care either way.

“You never get lost.” Tom stated, when Hadrian took his seat.

“I do, I just usually leave early enough to find the right area.”

“No you don’t.” Tom challenged, knowing everything about Hadrian’s schedule. He would rise early, yes, but spend time reading or writing in the mornings and in his free time. He would leave at the last possible minute, as if he knew the exact timings of how to get to every classroom.

Hadrian ignored him, his shoulders stiffening ever so slightly. His hand gripped his quill, almost crushing the feathers. Tom enjoys baiting Hadrian far too much.

It was something that played on Tom’s mind, the more he thought about it. Even in September, in the first week or two, the boy was hardly ever late. He didn’t get tricked by the staircases, he didn’t miss turns, he instinctively walked to the Great Hall from his classes without the guidance of Tom or another. It was suspicious, another puzzle Tom was yet to solve.

One way to get Hadrian to slip was to taunt him. Taunting the other boy was almost enjoyable, a challenge that the stoic boy rose to admirably. The other Slytherins had also worked this out, and it made for entertaining mealtimes. Tom wonders how Hadrian would cope at a meeting with his Knights, one that isn’t dulled down and the conversation topics not censored for his own benefit.

12 MUGGLES KILLED IN GRINDELWALD ATTACK ON BRITISH TOWN!

The Slytherins were sitting around breakfast having their usual, if somewhat restrained, discussions.

“Blimey,” Hadrian said, after reading the headline. Tom watched as he glanced up at the teachers table, and followed his gaze. Dumbledore was nowhere to be found.

“Only muggles,” Hector said, folding up the paper and passing it over to Orion, “Could be worse.”

“There are still twelve deaths, Hector,” Hadrian responded, his jaw clenching.

“Muggles, Hadrian,” Abraxas reiterated, “Do not deserve your pity.”

“Why not?” Hadrian challenged, and Tom started to pay more attention to the conversation. He loved it when Peverell got riled up, and rose to the challenge of one of his Snakes. Tom still intervened, however, if the argument was outside the confines of the common room.

“War. The muggles are so idiotic they fight over land and money. They create more casualties amongst themselves than us Wizards could ever dream of doing. Then they turn their hatred onto us, the unknown, and label us dangerous and strange. They decide to persecute us, they take over our traditions, and overall are incredibly dense and are far more suited to live in cages.” Abraxas summed up, all whilst spreading jam onto his toast.

Hadrian got angrier by the second, his eyebrows frowning and his fist closing tightly over his fork, and Tom knew the boy was about to explode. In front of the entire school.

“Calm, Abraxas, Hadrian. The school does not deserve to hear your fights, especially not so early in the morning. Take it to the common room, or drop it.” 

Abraxas nodded immediately, and went back to an amicable conversation with Druella. Hadrian, on the other hand, did not deflate. He turned his ire onto Tom, but then did something incredibly off putting. He smiled. It was a deadly smile, one that promised harm and one that was often framing Tom’s face. The boy was copying him, mirroring his actions, and it was equal parts annoying and exhilarating.

“Mr Peverell, we have been investigating the circumstances surrounding your parents demise and have come to a few startling conclusions.”

“Oh?” Harry replied, raising an eyebrow. He was well aware of the way he mimicked a certain young Dark Lord, but was a bit pissed off at Dumbledore’s less than nice attitude. 

“Oh indeed, Mr Peverell,” Yaxley replied, “What were your parents' attitudes towards Grindelwald?”

“They strongly disapproved of him and were quite outspoken about it. We spent the few months before their deaths on the run.” Harry fiddled with his fingers, not looking up from his lap.

“Where did you visit, while you were on the run?”

“Rural areas, mostly in the UK. We went to Finland at first, but that really wasn’t a very good idea.”

“Why was that, Mr Peverell?” The Yaxley on the left was scribbling notes down, and Harry wondered why he didn’t use a self writing quill.

“Too close to Grindelwald, most of Europe is at the moment.” Harry was well aware of the burning eyes of Dumbledore fixed on his face. He had moved beside Dippet’s desk, paying very close attention to Harry’s words.

“Why do you think Grindelwald was after your family?”

Harry shrugged, “I don’t know if it was specific, really, they just opposed his… opinions. The Peverell name is well known, after all.”

“Indeed. Can you recount the events of the night of May 28th?”

Harry paused, as Death told him too, and glanced up at Dumbledore. The man gave him a warm smile, as if to urge him to speak. It was quite funny, actually, to pretend to be so worried.

“I left my house in the early evening, maybe six or seven, just to get some air and go for a walk, maybe read a bit. I returned around ten to find the place we were staying… in flames. It was Scotland, a really quiet area, nobody around for miles. I didn’t know what to do, I tried to put out the fire but it wouldn’t work. It was like the flames were alive, or impervious to water. The aurors arrived twenty, maybe thirty, minutes later and the flames were still going. I was taken away for questioning, and put with other relatives.”

“Is that it?” Yaxley asked, a harsh tone to her words.

“Yes ma’am.” Harry tried to make out what the man was writing, but to no avail.

“Well that seems satisfactory,” He said, “Our conclusion is that it was Grindelwald, or his men, that went after your parents.”

Harry nodded, it did make some sense. The man was beginning to enter Britain, so it was fairly good reasoning on the aurors part. 

“We will take our leave then, Mr Peverell, Headmaster, Professor.” The two Yaxleys bid farewell, and made their way out of the room. Only then did Harry manage a shaky release of his breath.

“Are you quite well, m’boy?” The familiar voice of Dumbledore asked, and Harry looked over to him and the Headmaster.

It had been a fairly short, incredibly short, set of questions.

They already asked you most of the questions after the event, and were just looking for discrepancies, Master.

“Yes, Professor.”

“Good, good,” Dippet said, “Professor Dumbledore has kindly offered to bring you to your next lesson.”

“As it is Transfiguration, afterall.” Dumbledore said, oddly jovial.

“Of course, Professor.”

They made their way down the hallways, towards the Tranfiguration classroom. The lesson wasn’t due to start for another ten minutes, and Harry was somewhat worried about being alone with Dumbledore for that amount of time. If anyone could work out that he didn’t belong in this time, or that Hadrian Peverell was a murderer, it would be Albus Dumbledore. It hurt to see those eyes, knowing that the last time he saw the Headmaster was at his funeral.

“If I could have a few words, Mr Peverell?” Dumbledore asked, motioning towards his classroom. They entered the room.

“How are you coping at Hogwarts?” The Professor asked, the twinkle in his eye having returned sometime between the office and the classroom.

“The lessons are interesting and I have no trouble keeping up, so I would say I am coping well.” 

“That is good to hear, and the Slytherins are treating you well?” 

Harry waited a beat before replying, “Of course.” He wondered what his old Headmaster could be hinting at, with the way he was probing these questions. God, Harry thought, he was becoming far too suspicious.

“I do hope you remember our last conversation, Mr Peverell.” Dumbledore said, placing his hands on the desk.

“I do,” And Harry completely understood some of the Professor’s issues with Tom, “Tom has been nothing but cordial.”

“I am sure that is the case, then,” Dumbledore evidently did not believe Harry, and wondered what the man might actually know. 

“It is.” Harry said, shocked at the force behind his words. There was something that really irritated Harry about Dumbledore at this moment, and he could not put his finger on it.

“Well, then, best take a seat and prepare yourself for the lesson. I am here, Mr Peverell, if you want to talk about anything. Whether it be your parents, or other matters.”

“Thank you, Professor.” 

Harry took his seat, and waited.

“What did Dumbledore want?” Tom whispered later, when they were in the middle of class. Harry just shook his head, mouthing ‘later’. 

He knew Tom was bursting to ask again, if only because Harry kept mumbling under his breath about how purely irritating Dumbledore was being. It wasn’t even for show, the man was just suddenly grating on every nerve in Harry’s body. The way he smiled at the Hufflepuffs, giving them praise for even the slightest change in their object, but ignored or took points from the Slytherins. It was completely biassed, and Harry wasn’t used to being on the other end of Dumbledore’s hatred for snakes. Worse than that, was the way he treated Harry. Surrounded by Slytherins, Harry just melted into the group. When Harry was on his own, Dumbledore fluctuated between kind grandfather and solemn Professor. 

It was so odd, that Harry couldn’t help wondering whether the past 6 years (as Harry Potter) weren’t just an elaborate scheme of manipulation.

Chapter Text

“I don’t have permission to go to Hogsmeade, Isabella,” Harry said, reminding the girl once again.

“Don’t worry about that, I can get someone to forge it, watch,” Isabella waved her arm around, dismissing Harry’s protests, “Dawson!”

A short, plump girl wandered over at the call of her name, wearing Ravenclaw robes and a Hufflepuff scarf, “Avery. Need something?”

Isabella nodded her head rapidly, “Hogsmeade slip for my friend, preferably before Saturday.”

Dawson glanced up at Harry, “Name?” 

“Wh– what?” Harry stuttered, looking between the two girls. Dawson rolled her eyes.

“What name shall I sign the slip as?” She reiterated, impatient.

“Oh, uh. Vernon Dursley.”

Dawson scribbled something in a notebook, then bid goodbye to Isabella before departing down the hallway.

“See?” Isabella said smugly, “Now you can visit with the rest of us, ever been before?”

So that was how Harry found himself sequestered in between Tom Riddle and Isabella Avery on a cold November morning, working their way through a crowd of protestors in Diagon Alley.

“Blimey, Isabella, I didn’t realise there would be chanting,” Harry gaped at the large group of people, mostly women, gathered in the square, “Thought you said it was just a meeting…”

Isabella blushed, “Well, the meetings can get quite boring so I thought your first taste of it should be at a march!”

“This isn’t… illegal, is it?” Harry muttered, following Isabella through the crowd.

“No,” Tom replied, “Not illegal. Just highly frowned upon by the Ministry.”

“It’s so loud,” Harry practically shouted, “Why are there so many people? Aren’t they worried about the war?”

Isabella looked back at Harry with a frown, “Social justice doesn’t stop for any man.”

“Not even a mass murdering one?” Harry murmured, knowing Isabella couldn’t hear him. Tom did, and chuckled.

“Not even for a mass murderer,” Tom said.

They moved with the crowd, Isabella somehow gaining a poster to wave and Harry just trying not to get lost, until Tom grabbed their elbows and whispered in their ears.

“We need to get out of here, now.” 

“What? Why?” Isabella moaned, “We don’t need to be back for hours.”

Tom shook his head, looking at something over their shoulders. Harry turned to look, his head peeking over the crowd and following Tom’s line of sight. The only thing that stood out was a grinning, burgundy robed man perched on the base of a statue, twirling his wand over his fingers. Harry started as he recognised the sigil on his chest. A supporter of Grindelwald.

“Tom’s right, let’s go.” Harry said, allowing himself to be dragged through the crowd again. It was far more difficult to go against the flow, but nobody else had seemed to realise something was about to happen. The air had gone stale, the chanting voices still as noisy as a choir and just as harmonised, but there was a current of magic in the air that seemed to enclose the area. 

“Anti-apparition wards,” Tom said, and it seemed like some others had noticed the change, “And I’m sure they’ve blocked the floo.”

“Dammit!” Isabella hissed, the three of them emerging from the crowd and finding themselves locked out of the pub in which they’d arrived.

Harry bit his lip, looking hurriedly around at his surroundings. The protestors hadn’t noticed a thing, still chanting and brandishing signs, until red sparks appeared in the sky. It was the Grindelwald supporter, in the burgundy robes, who had stood and raised his wand above his head. Others, also in burgundy, and showing the same sigil on their fronts were hovering on the outskirts of the street. 

“Good afternoon,” A man with silver hair said, magnifying his voice using a sonorus charm, “I am afraid I will have to pause this… demonstration for now.”

“Is that–”

“Merlin’s beard!”

“Grindelwald?” 

The crowd was stirring, shouting and turning their heads to find the source of the silky voice.

“Why is Grindelwald here?” Harry asked, frantically looking towards both his classmates, “Isabella?” The girl had gone still, and looked oddly guilty.

“The organiser of the protest used to work for Grindelwald. She fled to Britain earlier this year…”

“Merlin’s beard Isabella!” Harry exclaimed, running a hand through his hair and gripping tightly to the wand in his hand.

“You can’t be here!” Someone shouted from the crowd, “Go back to Hungary!”

Harry could make out the grinning face of Grindelwald, his teeth blindingly white and his eyes the same icy shade. There was a heartbeat of silence, mere seconds, before the street collapsed into havoc.

“Run!” Harry shouted, as Grindelwald’s supporters descended on the street. He was quick to duck out of the way of stray curses, bringing up shields to block himself, Tom and Isabella from attack. Their main foe, however, wasn’t the burgundy robed men and women. It was the prospect of being trampled by the civilians now screaming and attempting to run.

Tom grabbed his elbow, making sure he didn’t trip on a body slumped on the floor, and the three students manoeuvred through the crowd.

“With me,” Tom said, and even though Harry could barely hear he nodded his head.

They slipped down a side street, thankfully not attracting the attention of any Grindelwald supporters, and hurried away. Rain began to pour onto them, the water quickly soaking their clothes and shoes. It didn’t prove difficult, despite the frantic nature of the people in Diagon, to slip into a quiet store in a fairly abandoned street. The shop clerk was perched on a stool, engrossed in a book, but not paying attention to the faint shouts of the Grindelwald attack. Harry wondered if the man was deaf.

“I would hide if I were you, Grindelwald has attacked Diagon.” Isabella warned, but the clerk just grinned and turned the page of his book. “Fine,” Isabella muttered at his nonchalant acknowledgement.

“Can we use your floo?” Harry asked, pitching his voice more loudly than probably necessary.

“10 sickles, in the back.” The man said, not even looking up at the three.

Isabella withdrew her purse, most likely well aware of the dire financial situations of both Tom and Harry, and slammed the sickles on the counter before heading through the rickety old door.

They were in Hogsmeade before they knew it, retreating from the Hogs Head Inn and racing back up to the castle.

“Hadrian,” Tom said, looking effortless in his quick walking, “Did you recognise them, Grindelwald’s supporters?”

Harry shook his head, “No, but I don't understand why he would attack Diagon. I thought he was a politician first, warmonger second.”

“He is,” Tom said, “But I think that was a personal attack.”

Isabella was shaking slightly, and so Harry squeezed her arm with his hand, “Almost there.” He said quietly, and the girl nodded.

“I’m so sorry, Hadrian, Tom, I didn’t know–” 

“Of course you didn’t, you can hardly know Grindelwald’s schedule, can you?” Harry interrupted, trying to put the girl at ease.

“We aren’t even meant to leave Hogsmeade,” She muttered, “We can’t say that we were there, to anyone.”

“Oh,” Harry said, forgetting that rule, “We really should warn Dumbledore, though.”

“Dumbledore?” Tom scoffed, “No.”

Harry scowled, “Is he not the one who is meant to defeat Grindelwald?”

“He is, but there is nothing that old man can do today. The attack is probably over by now, we spent a great deal of time in those alleyways.”

“I didn’t realise Diagon had so many offshoots,” Isabella said, seemingly over her shock and now into a more curious mood. The three of them had finally made it up to Hogwarts, Harry in particular suffering from the bitter air and having to rub his hands together to protect the warmth.

“Neither,” He replied, “I really think we should warn someone–”

“There is no need, Mr Peverell.” The voice of Dumbledore floated from the inside of the Great Hall, “The aurors have it under control.”

“Of course, Professor.” Harry said, jumping slightly at his voice.

“You three should return to your Common Room, Professor Slughorn will notify me if you do not.” Dumbledore said, no lightness in his voice.

They nodded, and wandered back into the dungeons. 

“I thought Grindelwald was the one who attacked your parents?” Tom questioned when they were alone and Isabella had gone to her dormitory.

“That was the auror's theory,” Harry said, raising an eyebrow at the inquisition.

“But you didn’t recognise Grindelwald’s men?”

“No. If I had, the murderer of my parents wouldn’t be a theory.” Harry scowled at Tom’s prodding.

“Apologies, Hadrian.” Tom softened, sitting down by the fireplace. Harry paused, before joining him.

GRINDELWALD ATTACK ON DIAGON ALLEY: 18 DEAD

The headline of the Prophet read the following day, the students at Breakfast quieter than Harry had ever seen them. It was worse, in their minds, than the deaths of the Muggles. To Harry, it felt far too close to home. It reminded him vividly of Voldemort, of the Prophet articles that would report the breakouts from Azkaban or the attacks on villages and towns. He shuddered to think of himself, Isabella, and Tom being in the midst of the fray. The article continued to name the dead, Isabella pointing out that Carlene Spitz had been the woman who broke from Grindelwald's army and defected to Britain.

The three who had been there didn’t mention it to the other Slytherins, who knew not to ask. Harry was quite thankful, in that moment, for Tom’s frightening presence. 

“Will he try and take Britain?” Orion asked, staring blankly at the pages of the Prophet.

“Most likely,” Abraxas replied, “Britain is a powerhouse of the Magical World, if he takes the Ministry then very little can stop him.”

“Isn’t it unwise, then, for him to be attacking civilians?” Harry asked, tapping on the table and glancing occasionally up at Professor Dumbledore’s empty seat, “Surely he would do better to recruit, than to create fear.”

“He will try and recruit from inside Hogwarts, as he has done for Durmstrang.” Hector says, looking characteristically grave.

“How would that even work?” Harry questioned, looking around the room as if the white haired man would suddenly show up out of nowhere.

“Spies.” Tom said plainly, “Children of allies. I am sure there are a handful of students whose parents are… sympathetic to the cause.”

“Are we?” Orion practically whispered, ever the young boy.

Tom seemed to ponder for a moment, but did not respond. 

One couple were battling, many others stood around watching the eerily similar pair fight it out. The man ducked the woman’s jet of red light, laughing and taunting her.
"Come on, you can do better than that!" he yelled, his voice echoing around the cavernous room.

The second jet of light hit him squarely on the chest.

The laughter had not quite died from his face, but his eyes widened in shock.

A black haired boy with eyes the colour of the killing curse shouted, jumping down the steps of the round room and brandishing his wand.

It seemed to take the man an age to fall. His body curved in a graceful arc as he sank backward through the ragged veil hanging from the arch...

There was a look of mingled fear on the wasted face of the curly haired man as he fell through the ancient doorway and disappeared behind the veil, which fluttered for a moment as though in a high wind and then fell back into place.

Tom heard the triumphant scream of the madwoman, but was unsure why. The man had simply fallen through a veil, likely to appear on the other side any second…

But he did not reappear.

"SIRIUS!" The green eyed boy yelled, "SIRIUS!"

He had reached the floor, his breath coming in searing gasps. This Sirius bloke was most definitely dead, but the boy seemed to want to pull him from the glistening veil.

As he reached the ground and sprinted toward the dais, a scruffy man in tattered robes grabbed the boy around the chest, holding him back.

"There's nothing you can do, Harry– "

"Get him, save him, he's only just gone through!"

"It's too late, Harry–  "

"We can still reach him–  "

Harry struggled hard and viciously, Tom watching on in interest. The boy was familiar, very familiar.

“Tom.” Someone said, and Tom turned around to face the voice.

“Hadrian, is this your dream?”

“I don’t know. I think…” The boy bit his lip, that nasty habit of his, “I do not know whose memory this is, if it is a memory at all.”

“What do you mean? If this is not my dream, and not your memory, then what is it?”

Hadrian stared towards the struggling boy, something akin to sadness visible on his face. Tom turned to inspect the people, feeling like he knew most of them but at the same time they were all strangers.

“That woman, the screaming one,” Tom ventured, “She looks like a Black, she has the hair and the madness. But she is not someone I know.”

Hadrian shook his head, his eyesight still fixed on the boy and the scruffy man struggling and crying.

“You know them, Hadrian, don’t you?” Tom prodded, stepping closer to his classmate, “Or recognise them?”

“The boy,” Hadrian pointed, “Looks like me. Maybe an ancestor.”

“You?” Tom turned to scrutinise the raven haired boy. Certainly, the boy had the same jaw and same coloured hair. Apart from that, the similarities were scarce. Tom could hardly imagine Hadrian screaming and crying in such a fashion. It took Tom a painful moment to catch on to the rest of Hadrian’s words, “An ancestor?”

Hadrian just nodded slowly, never once taking his eyes off the boy who was now crying pitifully on the floor.

“Are you… a seer?” Tom cocked his head, a small smile playing on his face. If Hadrian was a seer, and Tom could enter his dream then this would bring about many opportunities for knowledge.

Finally, Hadrian locked eyes with Tom. 

“Sure.”

“A seer, then.” Tom reiterates, waking Hadrian in the early hours of the morning on the 5th November.

Hadrian groans, pulling the sheets over his head, “G’way Tom.” He grumbles, but Tom isn’t dealing with his attitude today. He sits directly on Hadrian's feet, and the other boy yells in shock a muffled, “TOM!”

“Get up,” Tom says, poking him in a fairly childish manner, “I need to talk to you.”

Hadrian stills for a second, pushing the sheets into his eyes, before sitting up abruptly in the bed. Tom had thought about the dream (the vision?) since he awoke many hours earlier, playing over the faces and the voices and the names. Sirius and Harry. Harry and Sirius. The names wrapped around his tongue, sliding seamlessly off and into the darkness. He knew the names, somehow and somewhere, but his mind was almost blank as to how or why. Sirius: a name muttered by a sleeping Hadrian, a man that looked like a particularly malnourished member of the Black family and bears resounding similarities to Orion. Harry: a boy that looked like Hadrian, and bore a similar name, distraught at the death of Sirius. Hadrian must have answers, Tom thought, watching the boy adjust to the light of the room, he must.

“Talk, then.” Hadrian bit out, glaring half-heartedly in Tom’s direction.

“That dream, last night, have you had similar ones?” 

Hadrian didn’t respond for a moment, staring directly into Tom’s inquisitive eyes.

“I think so. I have dreamt of the man before, the one who died.”

“Sirius?” Tom ventured.

“Yeah,” Hadrian rubbed his forehead.

“You are a seer.” A question, but not really a question.

“In some sense. I know the future, parts of it, but it is disjointed.”

“Do you know about me, my future?” Tom asked, straightening at the opportunity for information about his (most likely glorious) life.

“... I do, somewhat.” Hadrian said timidly, looking as if he was really regretting waking up. He probably was, what with Tom’s inquest.

“Tell me.”

Hadrian sighed, untangling himself from the bedsheets and standing. He turned to look back at Tom, who was still sitting on the bed. Almost an eternity passed, in Tom’s mind, as he waited with bated breath for Hadrian to work out what to say. 

“You need to be careful Tom, your soul is far too important to play with.” Hadrian fled into the bathroom, not even pretending to hide his quick pace.

His soul? Tom wasn’t particularly looking to ‘play with his soul’, but the notion intrigued him. What had Hadrian seen, what had he heard that made him so worried about Tom’s soul?

Harry’s birthday (Hadrian Peverell’s birthday) was not going particularly well. He had awoken from a strange dream, a recurring nightmare of his godfather’s death, to remember how Tom had also been present. Riddle had come to the conclusion, leaping through hoops, that Harry could see the future. It opened up a few doors for Harry, albeit dangerous ones, that meant he could get away with being a bit weird. He had been caught out making references to Quidditch players or Politicians from fifty years into the future, or by sleep talking. A reputation as a seer would give him some leeway, even if Tom would prod him about his future. It gave him the opportunity to warn Tom about not becoming too much of a madman, and leeway for when he would know too much about Tom’s life. But seeing the glee and anticipation in Tom’s dark eyes had made him pause, made him wonder about the ways Tom would like to exploit this ‘talent’.

On top of this, Harry had a splitting headache. It was as if Death himself had decided to take an axe to his skull, and conveniently leave it in his head. He could barely see, having to be dragged from his bed by Orion and carted off to the Hospital Wing, but he hardly knew what was happening. There were black spots in his vision, and he almost yelled in pain when sunlight hit his eyes. He spent the morning, and some of the afternoon, in bed with his head stuffed tightly in the pillow. Bloody migraines.

Madame Wilson had wanted to keep him overnight, just to be safe, but thankfully he had complained so much she let him leave. This woman was somehow less strict than Pomfrey, but half as nice as well.

He trekked down for dinner, one of the first there, as he was thoroughly starved. Packing bread rolls onto the plate, and smothering them in butter, Harry let himself indulge quietly in the luxuries of Hogwarts. 

“There you are,” Tom said, approaching, “We went all the way to the Infirmary to find you, and Madame Wilson told us we had missed you.”

Harry grunted out a non committed apology, before downing a glass of Pumpkin juice.

“We have twenty minutes until Slughorn’s club,” Tom added, and Hadrian almost choked.

“What?” 

“Slug Club.” Orion chipped in, “Remember?”

“Christ’s sake, why didn’t you say so sooner?”

Chapter Text

(He has heard of the boy, in the whispers of the wind and the shadows that crowd him. 
He has heard of the boy, in the words of his men and the gossip of their children.)

Gellert Grindelwald had heard all sorts of things about the boy with the Hallows tattoo, has even seen it in his mind. The Eyes of the World had seen fit to show him, to let him hear the comings and goings of this new enigma. Out of nowhere, the boy had appeared. He had a history, as any person would, but his history was flawed and twisted and wrong. That was one of the insights his mind’s Eye had shown him, and for that he would forever be grateful.

Gellert knew that Dumbledore was up to something.
Gellert knew that something was fundamentally wrong with the Elder wand.
What Gellert did not know was how the boy fit into his troubles.

“It seems unfair to have the Slug Club on your birthday, Hadrian.” Orion was moaning while Hadrian hurried into his dress robes, “At least we have a reason to drink.”

Tom watched as Hadrian’s face lit up, “Yeah?” he replied.

“Oh absolutely,” Orion was grinning, “Slughorn will push a firewhisky into your hand as soon as you enter the doorway, then take you to meet some of his new friends, and then we can all hide away and drink. Tom likes to get a bit of schmoozing in, but the rest of us get bored of it easily.”

Tom jumped into the conversation, “Slughorn usually holds a dinner party, just for students, but today is one of his soiree’s. Not as frivolous as Yule, even if he says it is for Samhain.”

Hadrian nods, and Tom had to restrain laughing at his poor attempts to button his shirt. He fumbled, as if he was trying to go quickly but can’t quite get his fingers to work.

“Hurry, I do not like to be late.” Tom chastised, impatiently tapping his foot. He saw Orion take a swig from a flask, and flinch at the drink.

“Coming, coming” Hadrian says, running a hand through his dark curls and approaching the two standing by the door, “That firewhisky?”

He gestures to the embossed, silver flask in Orion’s hand.

“Yup, here.”

Tom restrains himself from rolling his eyes, they act like children with no thought for the future. Well, Orion did not need to ingratiate himself with politicians and academics. Hadrian probably would not, his Peverell name would get him not quite as far as Orion but still further than a Mudblood name like Riddle. 

The alcohol would make the evening worse for Tom, he thought to himself, as his group would likely be falling over each other in the next few hours and leave Tom to… take care of them. 

As if he would coddle them and clean up their vomit, Tom scoffed to himself. He watched as Orion and Hadrian exchanged the flask, laughing at something Tom didn’t quite understand. A reference to something, maybe Quidditch.

He caught Hadrian’s navy robed elbow, “You might want to take this seriously. Some of these people can be very useful in the future.”

Hadrian smirked, “I don’t even know what NEWTs I want to take, let alone what I want to do after Hogwarts.”

“All the more reason to widen your prospects, then.”

The teenager shrugged, “These people are probably idiots, I hardly need them to get a good position in life.”

Tom scoffed, “Of course they are idiots, but they have some modicum of power you would be wise to exploit.”

“I’m not like you or Slughorn, Tom. I don’t go around collecting people because of their merits.”

“Me or– Slughorn?” Tom scowled, “I am nothing like that imbecilic man.”

Orion pitched in with a barking laugh, “You are absolutely correct, Hadrian. Tom is just like Slughorn! Wait until I find Isabella…”

“I am doubting your intelligence again Hadrian.” Tom scolded, only slightly annoyed by the goading grin on his face.

Hadrian only shrugged, again. The nonchalant movement of his shoulders happened so often that Tom was surprised that they weren’t stuck in the air. 

Orion hooked his arms around Hadrian and Tom. Tom only allowed it because he could smell the firewhisky on the small boy’s breath, and because he had a (very very small) soft spot for him.

“This is going to be so much fun!” Orion said giddily, dragging them through the doors of the Slug Club’s room.

Harry Potter was convinced that the evening was not going to end well. It didn’t stop him from downing every glass of firewhisky he was handed, however. 

“Cheers Professor!” Harry said jovially, clinking his glass against Slughorn’s and shooting him a wide grin, “This party is absolutely incredible.”

Slughorn chuckled, his face having turned red long ago, “I am glad you approve, Mr Peverell! It really is the perfect opportunity to get to know some of the more prevalent figures in our society.”

“You sound just like Tom.” Harry said, before spotting Orion at the edge of the room beckoning him over.

Harry had arrived at Slughorn’s modified potions classroom, shortly after being carted away by the man in question. He had introduced Harry to a variety of boring and old figures, from Potions experts and Quidditch stars to Politicians and authors. It was utterly boring, until Harry got his hands on more alcohol. Maybe it was a bad idea to indulge like that, even if it was technically his birthday.

Orion was chatting merrily to Isabella when Harry approached, “Can we leave yet?”

“Tom is still chatting up the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.” Orion bemoaned, glaring unsubtly around the room.

Harry took that as an opportunity to scan the room, but his vision was getting a bit blurry from the five (eight?) drinks he had demolished in the few hours of the party. Isabella was looking more amused than annoyed, carefully sipping on a flute of some fruity concoction.

“He is like this every event, Hadrian.” She explained, “Knowing his routine, he won’t be more than five minutes now.”

“He has a routine?” Harry said sceptically, tapping his fingers on the side of his now empty glass.

The two students nodded, “We should find the others, I am sure Abraxas is getting cornered by the Veela and needs an out.”

“Veela?”

Isabella smiled knowingly, “He is, what, 1/8th Veela? Opens up a world of cousins for him to get bombarded with.”

Harry scrunched up his nose, before following her towards the telltale blonde hair of Abraxas Malfoy. They were joined quickly by Hector, who muttered something along the lines of ‘bloody stupid Goblins’ which Harry didn’t particularly want to ask about.

“Ready boys?” Orion grinned, earning himself an elbow in the side from a miraculously sober Isabella.

“Where on earth is Riddle?” Harry scowled, “Surely he has spoken to everyone here at least five times by now.”

“Six,” Someone said, and Harry grinned as he saw Tom appear out of nowhere, “And yes, Hadrian, we may depart now.”

They made their way from the room, Orion clinging on to Harry’s arm to prevent himself tripping, and they stumbled up into the dormitory. Isabella felt no qualms falling gracefully onto Abraxas’ bed, withdrawing (from somewhere) another bottle of firewhisky.

“I really think Hadrian has had enough already, his cheeks are redder than Orions.” Tom taunted, was it a taunt? 

Harry frowned, “We should play a drinking game, loosen you up a bit Tom!”

“I don’t drink.”

Harry pouted, “Not even with an ultimatum?”

Orion laid back on his bed, “Nobody can get Tom to play games anymore, don’t even bother Hadrian.”

“What ultimatum?” Tom asked, his dark eyes fixated on Harry’s grinning face.

“If you win, I will do anything you want. I won’t ask for anything if I win.” Harry goaded, knowing full well that Tom would never lower his inhibitions enough to actually play–

“Deal.”

Someone choked, “You’re kidding!” It was Orion, whose face had lit up as if he were gifted a particularly cute puppy.

Now all Harry needed to do was win! Easier said than done.

“What game?” Abraxas asked.

“I should get Druella, she would not want to miss this.” Isabella said.

“She’s probably a bit preoccupied, Bella,” Hector said, awkwardly scratching the back of his head, “Y’know.”

Isabella frowned, before blushing, “Oh, right.”

“What?” Harry asked, blinking at the two.

“Don’t worry, Hadrian, let us choose a game.” Tom said, drawing the room’s attention back to him.

“Two truths and a lie?” Orion suggested, practically bouncing in his bed, “If you guess the lie wrong you drink.”

“Sounds good to me,” Tom said, having transfigured himself a literal chair to sit on.

“You are more of a posh twat than Abraxas, you know that?” Harry stared at the velvet seat Riddle now lounged on.

“Hardly,” Tom replied, “Just because I enjoy the finer things in life.”

“There is nothing wrong with comfort,” Abraxas nodded, “Who’s going first?”

“Hadrian, of course.” Tom said.

Harry frowned, “Of course? Sure, why not. Ummm.”

He hadn’t thought too much about the truths and the lies, but did (honestly!) try to keep them fairly normal.

“I’ve ridden a Hippogriff, I’ve tried to cast the Cruciatus curse before and my Patronus is an Otter.”

“No way you’ve ridden a Hippogriff, aren’t they supposed to be dangerous?” 

“Sorry mate, don’t think you’re good enough at Defence for a Patronus.” Orion said, “Even if you are better than Tom.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, “I’ll have you know Defence is my best subject.”

“The lie is the second one,” Abraxas said, “You are most certainly too light for the Unforgivables.”

“Agreed,” Hector added, shrugging.

“I disagree,” Tom added, “Hadrian said he’d ‘tried’ to cast Crucio, not that it was successful.” Tom looked over at Harry with a smirk, “The third ones the lie, I bet you’re Patronus is something completely different.”

Harry glared in the direction of Tom, “My Patronus is a Stag.”

“How noble.” Tom deadpanned.

“Wait, you can cast one?” Orion piped up.

“Yeah, well I could a few months ago. Haven’t really tried to lately.”

It went on like that for a few rounds and Harry found out some completely bonkers facts about his new friends. 

“You’ve slept with Hector?” Harry’s mouth dropped open, staring between Lestrange and Avery as if he had caught the plague, “I thought you had standards!”

He got a pillow thrown at him for that one.

Harry was getting steadily more drunk, and the only thing keeping him going was how Tom was also quickly falling into a pattern of downing his drinks. He had never seen the other boy so flustered, Tom’s hair was scruffed up and his face was red, his tie had long come undone and even the top buttons of his shirt were no longer tightly done up. The only proper part of Riddle was that he was still glued to the velvet chair, what a prick.

Isabella and Orion both dropped out of the game at the same time, the latter being awful at drinking and spotting lies at the same time but Harry suspected that the former just wanted to watch them make fools of themselves. Abraxas and Hector followed shortly after, and now it was just Tom and Harry. 

They were tied.

“Fin– final… round?” Harry slurred, grinning boyishly over at Tom who was now leaning his head on one of his hands.

“Sure,” Tom was significantly less drunk, and it made Harry pout in annoyance, “My turn.”

“G’wan then… Tommy boy!” 

Even after a few drinks, the dark haired teenager could still scare the shit out of his friends with that glare.

“The last spell my wand cast was Imperio, my mother was a Gaunt and I have found the Chamber of Secrets.”

Harry’s thoughts stuttered, and he could now barely make out the figure of Tom. 

“Uhhh, wait– wait I know, hang on,” Harry tried to form his thoughts, “Yer mum was a Gaunt, thassa truth. Chamber’s a myth, mate so I dunno what you’ve been smoking.”

“Is he cheating, Issy?” Harry moaned.

“No, Hadrian,” A female voice, Isabella probably, said.

“Hmmm, what was I saying?” Harry asked, now staring up at the ceiling.

“Pick the lie, I want to sleep.”

“The lie! Ha! Caught you now, Tommy. The last one’s a lie, I know it!”

“Well?” Abraxas drawled, and Harry turned rather quickly in his bed to face Riddle. He had a rather odd feeling low in his stomach as if–

“Hadrian is wrong, the first one was a lie.”

Harry threw up over the side of the bed.

The lights in the room were far too fucking bright and the voice far too fucking loud. Harry groaned, burrowing his head into his pillow and praying to anyone that he would just fall back asleep.

“Wake up, Hadrian, we have Transfiguration soon.”

Harry jerked awake, “What?”

“Professor Dumbledore is not going to like it if half the Slytherin’s don’t arrive to class on time.” Tom explained, “Here, drink this.”

Harry squinted up at Tom, who was looking far too good for an early morning.

“What is it?” Harry took the vial, sniffing the peppermint smelling contents.

“Just drink.” Tom said with a small smirk, “Then shower. You stink of firewhisky. There may be time for you to finally open your birthday gifts as well, if you’re quick.”

Harry tentatively sipped the smooth liquid, and let out an involuntary sigh at the way it immediately cured his sore throat and pounding head.

“Thank you, my saviour!” Harry jumped up and hurried into the bathroom.

“Is he still drunk?” He overheard Abraxas ask, and chucked to himself. 

Harry washed in a cool shower, before changing into his uniform. Why did Slughorn decide it would be a good idea to hold a soiree on a Tuesday night? He was actually looking forward to the small pile of gifts he had realised were at the base of his bed, having been far too busy yesterday to even consider them.

He praised Tom, once again, when the teenager had brought his some toast wrapped up in a napkin to save Harry the trouble of going down to breakfast.

“Tom, I really do not appreciate you enough,” Harry said, eating his toast and patting Tom on the shoulder.

“No, you don’t.” Tom replied, amusement lacing his voice.

Harry stared happily down at his collection of gifts, having quickly unwrapped them in an attempt to actually make it to Transfiguration on time. He was pleasantly surprised, having only been in this world for two months and being surrounded by future death eaters, to have recieved anything at all. He got a mixture of sweets, parchment, books and quills and a pair of gloves from a variety of Slytherin classmates. Even Tom had gotten him something, eagerly watching over Harry like a hawk about to attack his prey.

“Did you want something, Tom?” Harry finally asked, having thanked him ten minutes ago and now putting on his shows. Riddle was still standing in his spot, watching.

Tom hummed, smiling in that annoyingly amused fashion, “I think I’ll call in that favour you owe me later, when I can think of something useful.”

Harry paused, “Favour? Are you kidding me?” He laughed tightly, having absolutely no idea what Tom was talking about.

He stood facing Tom with his eyebrows raised, “I’d rather pitch myself off a cliff than owe you anything.”

Abraxas snorted from his bed, “Better find a cliff then.”

Harry scowled at the blond, before whipping his head around to Tom.

“If you win, I will do anything you want.” Tom said, “Sounds familiar?”

Harry groaned, any happiness that morning replaced by sudden dread, “No way."

At the amused look on Tom's face, Harry whispered to himself, "I’m such a bloody idiot.”

“Don’t worry, Hadrian, I am a merciful man.” Tom’s grin was sharklike, as if he were ready to tear Harry to shreds.

Instead of attacking, Tom did something that made Harry’s heart stop (almost). Riddle grabbed Harry’s wrist, placing a thumb on his vein.

“You’ve gone pale,” Tom said quietly, “There is nothing to worry about.”

There was, Harry thought, everything to worry about.

The damning consequences of the previous night began to slowly hit Harry throughout the day. Even with the miraculous hangover potion, he was far too tired to concentrate in his lessons and spent the entire day worrying. The fact that he ‘owed’ Tom Riddle was frightening, but it wasn’t worse than the other bit of information he recalled in the middle of lunch.

“You found the Chamber of Secrets?!” Harry practically shouted, having drawn Tom into an empty corridor.

“Yes. Quite frankly, I’m surprised you remember.”

Harry was in a stage of denial and so naturally replied, “I don’t believe you. It’s a myth, Tom.”

“I can assure you, it is not.” Tom quirked an eyebrow.

“No, I don’t,” Harry crossed his arms, “Show me or I won’t honour that favour.”

“Show… you.” Tom slowly said, pronouncing each syllable.

“Should be easy, right? That is if you are telling the truth?”

Harry was going to throttle Tom before Christmas, at this rate. Hey, a dead Dark Lord would be better than an alive one.

“I have Potions.” The teenager simply responded.

“After that, then. I know we both have a free.” Harry cocked his head, daring Tom to deny him this.

“Fine, but you must promise not to reveal this to anyone else.”

“Deal.”

“And you must do everything I say, or else you might be injured.”

“Hmm,” Harry pretended to think, “I know what I am doing.”

“I guarantee that you do not.”

Harry could guarantee that Tom Riddle was going to get hurled off the astronomy tower in the middle of the day, if he kept up with that bloody attitude.

“I am looking forward to this mythical Chamber, then.” Harry replied, and the two made their way down to the dungeons.

Chapter Text

November 6th

There was surely something astronomically wrong with Hadrian Peverell. Surely, the teenager was cursed, or imperiod, or obliviated, or something. Tom couldn’t possibly fathom what could have happened in between Hadrian waking up and him leaving the Potions laboratory, but it had to be something Dark. The reasoning behind this brainstorming was the sheer strangeness of the conversation Tom was witnessing. Hadrian Peverell was currently engaged in a lively, if somewhat awkward, conversation with the half-giant Rubeus Hagrid. 

Tom was staring, unable to blink at the sight. What could Hadrian, an intelligent and witty Slytherin, gain from a conversation with Hagrid, a Hufflepuff so bumbling and naive it made Tom want to rip his hair out? What's more, was that this appeared to be the first time either had even seen each other, let alone conversed together.

“If yer want, ‘Adrian, you– only if you want– you can ‘elp me feed the Thestrals! Beautiful animals, they are– you don’t ‘ave to ‘course…”

Hadrian seemed to brighten up considerably at the thought, and Tom had to restrain himself from blanching. The idea of feeding a Magical Creature with a Half-Giant was near the top of Tom’s long list of things he would never, ever, do even if the result was a thousand galleons.

“I would love to, Hagrid,” Hadrian replied, “When–”

“Although this is a very sweet conversation, and evidently highly important,” Tom interrupted, “Hadrian and I are pressed for time, and we must be on our way.”

The overly happy look on Hagrid’s face fell, but Tom could not bring himself to feel anything but annoyance.

“I understand,” The half giant mumbled.

“Nonsense, Tom!” Hadrian said, glaring in Tom’s direction with a particularly nasty look, “I was really enjoying our conversation, and I would absolutely love to feed the Thestrals with you Hagrid.”

“You would?” Hagrid perked up again, and Tom was on the verge of hexing the beast.

“Of course,” Hadrian replied, sincere as ever.

“I really must insist–” Tom said.

“Oh don’t get your panties in a twist, Tommy.” Hadrian waved a hand in his direction, not even deigning to look at Tom when he used that cursed nickname.

“Don’t ever call me–”

“Shut it, Tommy,” Hadrian interrupted, and suddenly Tom wanted to hex Hadrian as well.

“‘E’s right, ‘adrian, yer should be ‘heading off now,” Hagrid was ringing his hands together in a pitiful display of nerves and a lack of self-confidence.

Hadrian sighed, “Well I’ll see you around then, Hagrid, bye!”

Tom practically dragged Hadrian away from the half-giant.

“I really wish you wouldn’t do that,” Hadrian said.

“Do what?”

“Be so rude, for no reason. It’s uncalled for, what has Hagrid ever done to you?”

Tom actually rolled his eyes.

“I wasn’t being rude, we do have somewhere we need to be. Unless you’ve changed your mind, of course.”

“You know I haven’t, just try to be nicer in the future. Hagrid is nice.”

“Nice.” Tom deadpanned, “This is the first time you’ve met him.”

“I’m good at reading people,” Hadrian simply shrugged, “One conversation is enough to tell me that Hagrid is a good man.”

“Half-giant.” Tom corrected, “What did you think of me after one conversation?” Tom prodded, strangely interested in the answer. Hadrian was somewhat of an enigma to Tom, one minute acting snarky, the next angry at something Tom had done, but he was never actually scared of Tom (like some of his other followers).

“It doesn’t matter that he’s half giant, he is still nice and a far better person than you.” Hadrian defended.

“I never disputed you on that.” Tom replied, waiting for Hadrian to answer the second part of the question.

“Do you really want to know what I think of you, Tom?” 

“Yes, I do.” Tom said, as sincere as the boy could get. How could a half-breed like Hagrid get Hadrian’s attention after one conversation, and yet Tom still felt the boy was on the outs with him after two months?

“Why?” Hadrian asked, stopping Tom in his tracks. Why did Tom care? 

“I don’t,” Tom lied. Hadrian grinned, as if he had just caught a nice meal for dinner.

“But you just said–”

“I take it back. Don’t tell me, I don’t care.” But Tom really did, and it was a discomforting feeling to have.

“I will tell you what I think, Tommy–”

“If you call me that name again, I will Crucio you until you are within an inch of your life.” 

“Not in the hallway you wouldn’t.” Hadrian goaded, and Tom clenched a fist in his pocket.

“In the dormitory I would, it would be easy to clear the others out and curse you.”

“Go on then, Crucio me.” Hadrian said, and Tom was stunned to think the boy would be so stupid, “What I think about you, Tom, is that you are far too cruel for a fifteen year old. You are insecure, needy and practically a genius. You aren’t nice, or good, and even if you pretend that you are an unfeeling, impartial person you are not. If you keep this up, you are going to end up an evil madman and you will sorely regret it.”

Tom sneered, “Has this got something to do with you being able to see my future? Did you not like what you see?”

“No, I didn’t.”

Tom and Hadrian stared at each other for a few, long seconds before the latter decided to switch up the conversation entirely. The change in pace, and the change in Hadrian’s expression and demeanour, was on the verge of baffling.

“So!” Hadrian said, his whole body relaxing, “Where is this Chamber then?”

“In here,” Tom motioned towards the girls bathroom.

“Really?” Hadrian raised an eyebrow, and Tom felt proud that he could elicit such surprise in him. It wasn’t every day that Hadrian just did not know something.

“Indeed, but before we enter you must swear to me that you will follow my instructions. There is a quite deadly creature inside, and I cannot promise you she won’t try to eat you.”

“What creature? Maybe we should have brought Hagrid along, afterall.” Hadrian jokes.

“A basilisk,” Tom said, and strode into the bathroom before he could see Hadrian’s response.

Luckily, the room was empty.

“Hadrian–”

“I promise I will follow your commands, holy esteemed Lord of mine.” Hadrian mocked a bow.

“Don’t refer to me as a Lord, Hadrian, it is unbecoming.” Tom reprimanded, approaching the sink and ignoring the strange feeling in his stomach.

“Don’t think I haven't overheard your minions calling you that, I saw a third year bow to you the other day. Fucking obnoxious.”

Tom hummed, ignoring Hadrian’s taunts before whispering ‘open’ to the snake on the sink. It moved apart, no creaking or groaning sound at all. Tom looked back at Hadrian, hoping to see an expression of awe or disbelief on his face. Hadrian just, annoyingly, looked faintly amused.

“Salazar Slytherin made a Chamber of Secrets in the girls bathroom.” Hadrian said, peering into the hole in the ground, “How do we get in?”

“I can push you if you want,” Tom mocked, before placing a spell that would allow both boys to float down without the need to get covered in dirt and dust.

“Clever prick,” Hadrian muttered, “See you down there, Tommy boy.”

Tom scowled, but any anger was dissipated by the sheer excitement he felt from having someone to share this finding with. Even if the other person wasn’t even a parselmouth, he was the best Tom could possibly hope to find. Hadrian wasn’t scared, he never seemed to be scared, not even of a Basilisk who could very easily murder him. It was a fine line between stupidity and bravery, and Tom wondered how the teenager hadn’t been placed in Gryffindor.

Harry was absolutely terrified. 

Not of the Basilisk, not of Tom, but of the prospect that Tom had found the Basilisk.

Even worse, was that Death had begun nipping at his heels again.

He found it earlier than last time, Master.

Fuck, really? Harry didn’t particularly know what he’d done to ‘change the timeline’ and allow Riddle to find the Chamber of Secrets, but it was very bad news that he had. He was also vaguely irritated at the sheer ease with which Tom had found a way to descend into the Chamber without getting his clothes dirty, though Harry wasn’t surprised that had been a priority for him. 

“Close your eyes, Hadrian.” Tom commanded, as Harry followed him into the main Chamber. It was the same as it would be in fifty years time, with large pools of water on either side and vast, looming columns of stone framing them. There was, however, a significant lack of blood on the floor (which Harry was relieved to see). He didn’t close his eyes, though, and watched as Tom’s lithe figure wandered purposefully towards the statue of a snake at the far end.

“Speak to me Slytherin, Greatest of the Hogwarts four.” Tom spoke in parseltongue, only the faintest hiss in his voice giving the language away. Rather stupidly, Harry would admit later, he watched in awe as the Basilisk slid from the pipes, the grating noise blasting through the careful silence of the Chamber. 

She was beautiful, Harry could admit, those very yellow, very round– shit.

December 8th.

Harry blinked up at the bright, white lights around him.

“Oh good, you’re awake.” A female voice said, “Drink up.”

A cool, glass vial was pushed to his mouth and Harry choked the soothing liquid down.

“What–” Harry tried to say, his voice gravelly. Immediately, a glass of water was pressed into his hand and Harry gulped it down with embarrassing ferocity.

“What happened?” He tried again, glancing around the room which he now recognised as the hospital wing. The woman was Madame Wilson, who was looking down at him with something akin to pity.

“Don’t move from that bed, Mr Peverell. You were petrified.”

“I was– I was what?” Harry stuttered, the memories flooding back to him at once. He was such a bloody idiot, just staring into the eyes of a basilisk.

“It means you were completely unconscious and unmoving for a little over a month,” Wilson explained, before looking up at someone else who had just entered, “Ah, Professor Dumbledore, Headmaster Dippet.”

“Madame Wilson,” Dippet acknowledged politely, before turning to Harry, “And how are you, Mr Peverell?” 

Harry blinked slowly, staring down at his pale hands, “Confused?” 

In fact, Harry was just embarrassed. Also maybe a bit confused about how Tom had gotten him out of the Chamber, and interested in if anyone else had been petrified.

“That is quite understandable, my dear boy,” Dumbledore added, “We will endeavour to answer as many questions as possible, but we also have to ask you some as well.”

“The boy has just awoken, Professor,” Madame Wilson objected, “He deserves some time to rest!”

“That’s fine, Madam,” Harry interrupted, very eager to find out exactly what had happened in his absence. The aftermath of being petrified was very odd, he felt as if he hadn’t slept in a month and his whole body was stiff. Maybe he hadn’t slept, and maybe the stiffness was because he hadn’t moved in weeks.

Wilson huffed, before thrusting more potions into his hands and forcing him to drink. She then turned on her heel, and left to tend to other patients (probably).

“What do you recall, Mr Peverell, about the moments before your petrification?” Dumbledore prodded, looking kindly down at Harry. It was actually quite comforting, seeing the Professor again, even if they hadn’t been on the same terms as they once had been.

“I don’t really know, it was all a bit of a blur. I just remember yellow eyes, I think, or maybe lamps.” Harry blatantly lied, putting on an admirable show that even the best actors would be proud of, “What happened, Professor, do you know?”

“At the moment we are unsure about exactly what caused your predicament.”

And so was Harry. Looking into the eyes of a basilisk should have killed Harry. Technically, he shouldn’t be awake right now.

“But Mr Riddle came rushing into the infirmary, with you in tow, completely turned to stone.”

“I don’t remember being attacked or anything, do you think it was a spell?” Harry asked.

“You remember yellow eyes, you say?”

Harry shrugged, even while knowing he should probably be adamant about it. He should tell Dumbledore, with confidence, that it was a basilisk. There was something holding him back… 

Tell him, Master. 

Harry paused, “Yes. I think I did. Petrification, you say?”

“Yes, you were petrified.”

“How was I, um, unpetrified? Depetrified?”

“Unpetrified, I believe, is the right term.” Dumbledore pondered, “Professor Slughorn was able to create a Mandrake Restorative Draught, alongside the help of Professor Whittle the Herbology teacher. A spell is our top suspect, though we are unsure as to who cast it. There isn’t a petrification spell that would cause such an effect on someone, but we cannot know for sure.”

“If I saw eyes, Professor,” Harry ventured, “Then perhaps it was a creature.”

“A creature, you say?” Dippet asked, “I shall ask Professor Kettleburn about it.”

“An excellent idea,” Dumbledore was looking down at Harry with that piercing gaze of his, and Harry had to restrain himself from looking into his eyes, “Why do you believe it to be a creature, Mr Peverell? Is there something you aren’t mentioning?”

“It is only a theory, Professor. I saw eyes, I am pretty sure of it, and you said there were no spells that could do such a thing. It seems a reasonable explanation, though I don’t know enough about creatures to make such a claim as to what exactly it was. I only know–”

Harry paused, thinking carefully on his next words, “I only know that I saw its reflection in a puddle of water.”

He closed his eyes as if he were trying to remember the moments before his petrification, “There may have been scales, as well, like a snake or a dragon.”

“Dragon?” Dippet practically yelped, while Dumbledore said, “Snake?” With much more dignity.

“That is what I think I saw, yellow eyes and some scales. But I could be remembering it wrong–”

“Is anyone else hurt?” Harry interrupted himself suddenly, and relaxed at the shake of Dumbledore’s head.

“No, no. Speaking of injuries, we should let you get back to resting. I am sure one of your friends can aid you in catching up with your studies.”

“Thank you, Professors.” Harry said, trying for a smile that came out more like a grimace.

They left, and were immediately replaced by Madame Wilson who shoved even more potions at him. The final one, likely a Dreamless Sleep, made him sigh in relief and his eyes were so heavy that he couldn’t possibly keep them open for any longer.

November 6th

“What happened?” Orion said, worry lacing his voice as he jumped up and down on the spot.

Tom had just entered the common room after delivering Hadrian to the infirmary, the sheer stupidity of the boy had been a shock to say the least. It was a surprise, and a relief, that Hadrian hadn’t died. 

“Hadrian got petrified, I came across his body in the hallway.” Tom simply said, and was well aware of the entire Slytherin house listening to every word.

Murmurs broke out amongst the groups, before Tom raised his voice and commanded the room.

“Quiet.” He said, “Hadrian will recover, but I have been told to relay the order that nobody is to leave the common room tonight. Anyone caught leaving the common room before Professor Slughorn or another member of the staff has said to, will be severely punished. Dippet mentioned suspension, for example. The halls are dangerous, at this time, until the culprit can be apprehended.”

Tom loved to have a room listen to him, hanging off his every word. Of course, he was used to this from his group of followers, but how exhilarating was it to have even the seventh years heeding his word.  

“That is all,” He said, the finality of his words causing the room to break out into gossip once again.

To his circle, Tom lowered his voice. “To my dormitory.”

They eagerly followed, and Tom cast silencing charms on the doorway once they had all settled inside. It would not do to have eavesdroppers on such a conversation. For a moment, Tom pondered on the right way to broach the topic. Would he tell the truth about what exactly happened? Or would he keep up with the fabricated lie? In the end, Tom chose the former. To garner trust in his followers would heed him well in the future.

“I took Hadrian down to the Chamber of Secrets,” Tom said, raising a hand to prevent the inevitable questions, “And he made the mistake of opening his eyes before I told him to. He was petrified by the basilisk, and was lucky not to be killed. Dippet informed me that a Mandrake Restorative Draught would be brewed, but that it would take around a month to create. Any questions?”

Inside, Tom was fuming. On the outside, he presented his usual, impartial demeanour.

Abraxas asked the first question, “Why did you bring him to the Chamber of Secrets? I know you mentioned finding it…”

“He asked, I obliged.”

Thankfully, that seemed enough for Malfoy. It wasn’t for Felix.

“He is such an idiot, Tom, I don’t know why you put up with him. Peverell is a muggle and a mudblood lover, he may be alright at duelling but that’s no reason to allow him free reign in the house. He has no respect for you, we have told you this a million times.”

“I have my reasons for keeping him, Felix. Remind yourself not to speak ill of those I have extended my favour to,” The casual infliction of how far Felix had dropped in the ranks clearly enraged the boy, “If I hear you doubting my word again, the consequences will be severe.”

Rosier sneered, “I am allowed to doubt your word if it is ridiculous.”

“Felix, stop.” Orion said, the worry having never left his voice, “Now is not the time.”

“On the contrary, Orion, now is the perfect time. Felix, is your hearing so abysmal? Or can you not understand English?”

“What consequences do you speak of, you always threaten us with them but you never actually pull through. I don’t believe you would heed your word, you’d get in far too much trouble for that.” Rosier goaded.

Tom raised an eyebrow, not yet drawing his wand. Let the boy dig his own grave. He allowed a dangerous smile to tug on his lips, and the room dropped in temperature. It was quiet, Tom staring directly into Rosier’s soul, while the rest of his Inner Circle didn’t dare breathe.

“Let this be a lesson, then, on how I keep my word.” Tom said lightly, drawing his wand with practised speed, “Crucio.”

Chapter Text

November 6th

The Cruciatus curse was truly magnificent.  Tom had never felt such a rush of power in his life, the way Rosier’s  whole being was his to make suffer. Not only this, but the sheer terror that eminated from those in the room was his to command. Deep down, Tom wished that Hadrian was here to witness this as well, though given the boy’s odd gospel of kindness Tom was unsure whether he would have appreciated it. He should, really, as Tom was defending him from idiots like Rosier.

He released the spell, the magic rushing out of him like an unstoppable tidal wave, and he immediately felt its absence. Tom would begin to enact this punishment more often, if this was how it felt.

Rosier was a quivering mess, curled up on the floor and quietly sobbing to himself. Pity, Tom thought, Felix had once had so much potential. He had barely held the curse for thirty seconds.

“I am still waiting for that apology, Rosier.” Tom crooned, revelling in the way his Inner Circle were staring at him in a mixture of shock and awe. Even more so now Tom had taken to referring to Rosier by his last name. That truly signified how low Rosier had fallen in his ranks, but Tom was open to his redemption– which was why he was now giving the blonde boy another chance.

Nobody dared move while Rosier began to lift himself to his knees, his entire body still shaking at the exposure.

“My Lord–” Rosier said, his voice far quieter than usual. It was refreshing to see such devotion, and Tom marvelled at the respect and following he had accumulated in only four years of being at Hogwarts. “I am sorry for dis– for disrespecting you… and Hadrian. I will not do so again.”

“Get up, Rosier. Apology accepted, for now.” Tom demanded, not missing the way Hector was inching towards Felix as if to help. The fool. “None of you are to aid him tonight, he has not deserved that. Go, Rosier and pray that you never argue with me again.”

Maybe that was taking it a bit too far. Tom did, in fact, enjoy the spirited debates and conversations his Inner Circle came up with.

“Or if you do decide my words or actions are not to your liking, at least approach it in a far more reasonable way.” Tom added, scolding Rosier as if he were a schoolchild. Of course, he was, but the comparison was very befitting the situation. 

Tom was very satisfied once Rosier quickly ran out of the room, not one person following him. He had implemented his Inner Circle calling him ‘My Lord’ at the beginning of the year, after a summer of finding out his heritage and coming to the realisation that he was a Gaunt and the Heir of Slytherin. They were more than willing to oblige, but the very fact that Hadrian had mocked it on more than one occasion hit a nerve. Did he not think that Tom was worthy of a Lordship? Or was he just jealous? Tom dismissed his thoughts of the petrified teenager, once again bemoaning his idiocy. How Hadrian was not dead, he could not work out.

“You should all return to whatever you were doing before,” Tom said, having waited a few moments to allow Rosier time to run away, “I will join you soon.”

He had never seen them move so fast in his life. It was… disappointing. Yes, Tom wanted to be feared, but he also wanted to be admired and respected. Right now, their fear was far too potent for Tom’s liking. It was these moments in which he sorely missed Hadrian’s easy demeanour and lack of fear. Merlin, he had been gone for barely an hour and Tom was practically mourning him.

Allowing himself an audible sigh, seeing as he was now alone, Tom retreated to his bed and dug out his black, leatherbound journal. A lesser man might have called it a diary, but it was most definitely a journal. He wasn’t some teenage girl with a penchant for whining about her boyfriend issues.

He tapped the pen against the page, thinking to himself about what he should say. Today definitely was… interesting. There was so much to think about, to ponder, and to plan. Plan, yes, because with Hadrian gone for the foreseeable future Tom had to rework his schedule. He had not had much time to plan, once Hadrian had shown up, due to the boy’s constant presence around Slytherin House. It wasn’t easier, now he was gone, though it did give Tom a chance to put a few things into place. Namely, his research into Hadrian Peverell and eventual conversion.

He began to scribble down his account for the day, followed by questions he wanted to answer and plans he wanted (no, needed) to succeed in accomplishing. Tom left the dormitory that evening with a spring in his step, metaphorical of course, as he had much to do in the upcoming days.

December 8th

Harry had finally been discharged from the hospital wing, Madame Wilson giving him evil glares that could rival Pomfrey from the future. He quickly strode out of the infirmary, casting glances back to make sure she wouldn’t suddenly change her mind and force Harry to stay the night. It was December now, as Harry realised when he saw the light snow drifting onto the ground outside the window. He had missed an entire month of Hogwarts, and an entire month that Tom had to become even more of a psychopath. Harry cursed himself inwardly for being so utterly stupid and Gryffindor, but his head was also reeling with explanations for why he hadn’t died. The stare of a Basilisk was fatal… right?

Not for you, Master.

For me? Did you stop me from dying or something?

No, that was yourself.

Um…

Parselmouth’s are impervious to the stare of the Basilisk, it cannot kill you.

But it can petrify me, right?

Right.

That’s good to know, any other superpowers I don’t know about?

Probably, I am amused by your ignorance. Have you even bothered to research Necromancy?

No need to sound so smug, Death. And no, I haven’t really had the time recently I’ll have you know.

Harry scowled outwardly, not quite understanding how Death could sound so… human. He made his way to the Slytherin common room, knowing he should probably announce his return to the rest of his year. Even if it had been a blink of an eye for Harry, it had still been a month for the rest of the world. Harry was actually quite worried about what people had been saying, and the rumours that may have spread in his absence. He would have to talk to Tom, even if he had let it slip to Dumbledore almost exactly what the creature had been, and see what he’d told everyone. It felt odd, though not uncomfortable, for his thoughts to drift towards scheming alongside mini Voldemort.

“Fuck me,” He said loudly, having come to a stop outside the bare stretch of wall that should lead into the common room. Harry did not know the current password, which must have changed at least once since his petrification.

“If you want, Hadrian.”

Harry jumped out of his skin, flushing red in embarrassment.

“Tom.” He acknowledged.

The boy in question cocked his head to the side, smirking slightly, “Nice of you to finally grace us with your presence.”

“Finally grace– seriously?” Harry huffed, unable to help the grin spreading across his face, “You going to let me in or what?”

“As you wish,” Tom approached the wall, “Victory.”

“Victory? Wow.” Harry muttered, unable to believe the password the Slytherin’s had chosen. It wasn’t as bad as ‘Pureblood’ though, and Harry hurried on after Tom into the packed common room. 

“Slughorn mentioned that you were awake,” Tom said, walking over to the entrance to their dorm, “But by the time I arrived you had already left.”

“Yeah I didn’t need Wilson keeping me there another night, I might have gone mental. Anything interesting happened while I was gone?” Harry prodded, hoping Tom had not gone and severed his soul in half.

“Oh, the usual. Torture, murder, engagements.” Tom threw over his shoulder, swinging open the door to their dorm.

Harry paused, unable to tell whether Tom was being serious or not.

“Only kidding,” Tom chuckled, before muttering “For the most part.”

He was not confident whether he was meant to have heard the last part, but it brought up a feeling of dread in his stomach. That was quickly thrown aside when a bundle of black hair threw itself onto Harry.

“Jesus–” Harry’s muffled voice said, spitting out a strand of the hair caught in his mouth, “Orion?”

Black drew back, practically jumping up and down on the spot, “Thank Circe you’re back.”

It took Harry a moment to collect his thoughts. Orion Black, Sirius’ father had missed him?

“Um…” Harry eloquently said, “I would say I missed you but in my mind I’ve only been gone a day at most.”

“Well, we need you here to reign Tom in.” He snorted, before realising what he had just said and moving the conversation on. “I have news!”

Harry raised an eyebrow, wondering what on earth Tom had done to elicit such relief in Orion. 

“Good or bad?”

“Good, obviously,” Harry noticed Rosier out of the corner of his eye, watching the conversation with badly concealed worry, “I got engaged!”

“Engaged?” Harry blinked, “Congratulations!”

He was well aware that his response had been only somewhat sincere, knowing already that he was going to marry Walburga Black–

“To Druella, of all people.” Tom drawled, watched the conversation eagerly.

Harry’s mouth dropped open, “Druella?”

“Yes, Hadrian. The woman in seventh year you have conversed with on multiple occasions? Surely you remember her,” There was a twinkle in Tom’s eye that prompted danger as he spoke.

“Oh, yeah,” Harry said stupidly, wondering what had gone so wrong in this timeline, “When’s the wedding?”

“The summer after I graduate. It gives Druella a bit of time to get her… affairs in order and me enough time to finish school. You’re invited, obviously.” Orion, the poor boy, looked so elated at the idea. Harry only felt mildly sick.

“Thanks, Orion,” He said, mustering up some gratitude to the boy, “I can’t wait.”

Rosier cleared his throat, drawing Harry’s attention to the blonde boy who was perched awkwardly on his bed. Standing, Rosier approached. It took all Harry’s willpower not to draw his wand on the boy, who somehow managed to look menacing even with such an expression of pure worry.

To Harry’s surprise, Rosier stuck out a hand.

“I want to apologise, Hadrian. I have been unfair towards you these past few months, and I wish for us to declare a truce. Become acquaintances, even.” Rosier was looking into Harry’s eyes with such an odd expression. It looked almost… pleading?

As seconds drew past and Harry didn’t respond, he noticed as Rosier’s eyes darted quickly to the left. Where Tom was standing. It didn’t take much for Harry to understand what was happening. He shook Rosiers hand, quickly withdrawing as the boy was clammy and sweaty.

“Of course,” Harry said tightly, “I understand.”

He did, truly, understand. Something had happened to Rosier, while Harry was away, and it involved Tom. 

“Now that’s all over and done with,” Hector interrupted, thankfully, “I think we should head off to Dinner.”

December 9th

Harry had his head planted solidly on the table of the library, trying desperately to ignore the throbbing and ringing that was slowly making him go mad. He was ignoring his pile of homework, that surely Hermione would have struggled to complete, and had his eyes clenched shut to block out any light. 

“-adrian. HADRIAN.” 

Harry jerked up, blinking ferociously and wincing at the loudness of the voice.

“Tom, seriously, I have a headache. Please. Shut. Up.” He gritted out, squinting his eyes at the dark haired boy sitting in front of him. 

“Just look at me,” Tom said, his voice much quieter now. Soft, even. “And let me fix you.”

He was about to carefully place his head back onto the coolness of the wooden table, when Tom moved to kneel beside him. The boy was now shorter, and his hands moved slowly to grasp at the side of Harry’s head.

“Look at me.” Tom whispered and Harry did, the room suddenly becoming ten times as hot.

Tom’s hands were cold, placed gently on Harry’s temples. He felt a burst of magic, the tendrils floating around where their skin touched, and immediately Harry felt better. His headache subsided, his vision no longer blurry, and Harry allowed himself to shut his eyes at the sheer pleasure of the feeling. He could barely feel Tom’s hands anymore, but the pain of his headache was gone and the magical sensation in his head was still lingering. 

Harry sat, with his eyes closed, for several seconds. He wasn’t sure whether he wanted to ever open them again, and see Tom’s face looking up at him. Harry thought it just might remind him of the monster inside, the monster whose magic had cured him of such pain. He supposed he could open his eyes and return to his homework. Yes, that would work.

But when he opened his eyes, Tom was gone. There was a strange, sinking feeling in Harry’s stomach as he returned to reading a chapter on the many distinguishing features of a jinx and a hex and it made him very, very uneasy.

“Tom, we need to talk.” Harry said, bursting through the doors of the dormitory that evening. Hopefully, to question Tom about the Chamber of Secrets. The boy in question was leaning back on his bed, twirling a quill around his fingers, and looking over at Harry with an amused glint in his eye. He was also naked. There was also a boy sucking his cock.

“OH–” Harry practically shouted, turning on his heel and hurrying out of the door. He hurried down the stairs, into the common room, and whacked Orion around the head.

“You bastard.” He seethed, well aware of the many faces turning to watch their display.

Orion looked up at him, faking innocence, “Me?”

“Yes, you. You should have warned me.” Harry said through gritted teeth.

“Did I not?” Orion mused, that innocent expression never wavering.

“No, you didn’t.” For good measure, Harry shot a stinging hex in his direction before falling onto the sofa.

“Is this hex Orion day? Did I forget to put this in my calendar?” Abraxas asked, sitting down beside Harry.

“Yes, it is.” Harry said at the same time Orion said, “No, Harry just walked in on Tom.”

“Oh,” Abraxas said, grinning, “Did you not hear us warn you?”

“Nobody warned me!” Harry exclaimed, unable to help his face turning an unpleasant shade of red.

“Not jealous, are we?” Isabella asked, and that got her a similar stinging hex to Orion.

“I am not,” Harry said quickly, “I just didn’t expect to walk into our shared dorm to find Riddle getting sucked off.”

“It’s Riddle now?” Hector laughed, “Surely he didn’t traumatise you that much?”

That was Harry’s third stinging hex of the day.

“Don’t be such a prude,” Abraxas snorted, “You just need someone to get you off and then you’ll loosen up, yeah? Maybe ask To–”

“Don’t finish that sentence, Abraxas,” Harry said, scowling fiercely, “I thought you Slytherin’s were about waiting for marriage and all that nonsense.”

That got a round of chuckles, and Harry was finding himself very much out of his depth.

“You aren’t wrong, but that is mostly a Pureblood thing.” Isabella explained, “Most of us are all engaged anyway, or courting someone.”

“Engaged, at our age?” Harry said, shocked. Yes, Orion had just announced he was going to get married, but Harry didn’t realise it was a common thing.

“I’m engaged to a sixth year called Tosia Adlard, you know about Orion, Felix is with a French girl.” Abraxas rattled off, before adding, “Everyone but Isabella and Hector, though we all know what’s going on there…” 

Harry was proud to see two stinging hexes headed Malfoy’s way.

“Oh, and you probably. Unless you are engaged to someone we don’t know about.” Abraxas added, as an afterthought.

“I am definitely not engaged to anyone, thank you very much.” Harry defended, not wanting to voice his next thought.

Isabella leant in, “So, Hadrian, fancy anyone recently?” 

Harry shook his head, only half listening now that the door to the dormitories had opened and a dishevelled, sixth year Slytherin rushed out. He was followed shortly by a far less dishevelled Tom Riddle. Harry had to draw his gaze away in embarrassment, the image of– No, Harry was not going to think about that.

“Good shag, Tom?” Hector asked casually as Riddle approached, woefully sitting right beside Harry.

“Language, children.” Druella piped up, and Harry wasn’t sure how she could hear from the other side of the common room.

“I didn’t even say anything…” Hector muttered, though he was grinning fiercely.

Tom nudged his side, that infernal smirk playing on his lips, “You wanted to talk?”

Harry clenched his jaw, forcing himself to look at Tom.

“I did,” He said curtly.

“Now, then? Unless it wasn’t important…” 

“No, no. Now is fine,” Harry managed, though his throat was somewhat tight and he was very much aware of Tom’s thighs. When did this happen? Why the fuck was he suddenly reacting to things in such a way?

Hormones, Master. You are sixteen biologically, surely you remember being sixteen?

Fuck off, I was a bit preoccupied with trying not to die last time I was this age!

Chapter Text

December 9th

“Are you going to talk to me?” Tom asked, his eyebrow raised as he leant against the wooden post of the bed, “Or are you just going to glare?”

Harry was suddenly very unsure about why exactly he wanted to talk to Tom. He ventured onwards nonetheless.

“What happened?” Harry asked, before clarifying, “In the Chamber?”

“You were there, weren’t you?” Tom teased, but continued at Harry’s dark look, “You must have disobeyed me and looked into the basilisk’s eye. How you’re not dead, I don’t know.”

“I didn’t look in its eye,” Harry rushed to explain, “I just looked into the water, I didn’t know a reflection could harm me.”

Tom looked like he very much didn’t believe a word Harry was saying, but didn’t say anything to refute Harry’s claims.

“She.” Tom simply said.

“What?” Harry spluttered out, staring intently at Tom’s amused expression.

“The basilisk, she is not an it. Amara is actually quite sweet, if you get past the whole petrification thing.”

“Hang on–” Harry placed a hand on his forehead, “You named the basilisk.”

“No, she named herself.” 

“She– sweet?”

“If you hadn’t been an idiot, Hadrian, you would fully understand what I mean.”

Harry sniffed, knowing that Tom was absolutely correct in this instance– he didn’t like it in the slightest.

He changed the subject quickly, not wanting to have to debate about whether a fifty foot basilisk could be considered anything but deadly.

“What happened, when I was gone?” Harry asked, glaring when Tom went to speak, “Don’t start with this bullshit about murder and torture, tell me why Rosier is so frightened of you. Tell me what happened.”

“Anything more specific?” Tom looked up at Harry innocently, “I just put Felix in his place, he was spouting nonsense about some topics I am particularly interested in. He just needed to learn.”

“So why did he apologise to me, did you threaten him or something?”

“Or something.” Tom shrugged, his nonchalance really beginning to grate on Harry, “He was spouting poppycock about you, Hadrian, and I did not like it. He learnt his lesson. Did you not appreciate it? I can make him try again.”

“No,” Harry said far too quickly, and Tom bared his teeth in a grin, “Please tell me you didn’t torture him.”

“I didn’t torture him.”

Harry did not believe Tom in the slightest, the alarm bells in his head deafening enough to listen to. The boy was too practised in lying for Harry to get anything out of him, however.

“What else happened while I was petrified?” 

“Nothing you should worry about, Hadrian. Orion got engaged, Felix got a conscience, I held a few meetings, the Slug Club held two dinners, Isabella got a Troll in her Transfiguration essay, Hector got a week’s ban from the library. Oh, Abraxas also managed to set his hair on fire at one point. Really, the boy should get a sensible hairstyle. ”

Warily, Harry responded, his attention completely diverted (in retrospect, that was probably what Tom intended) “Is that… How on earth did Hector get banned from the library?”

“He put a few books in the wrong place in the Restricted Section, which he had snuck into, and then proceeded to shout about it when he left. Davidson was not impressed by that.”

Harry snorted, “He has no tact.”

“He has more than you, I’d wager.” Tom replied, “You should try not to hold a shouting match with me when we are in the library next, I have to help tutor you in all of your subjects and I would rather not have to do it in the common room.”

“Oh that’s not necessary,” Harry said, waving his hand around, “I was ahead in my classes anyway, I could probably sit my OWLs now.”

Harry was actually pretty confident he would pass the exams if given them now, but he did want to do a bit better than the last time he sat them.

“Slughorn’s orders, I’m afraid. We can always read up on other topics, but I have to make a show of it. It is good for my image, to help the poor student who was so ill he couldn’t attend class.”

“Fine,” Harry scrunched up his nose, squinting in Tom’s direction, “You’ve changed your hair.”

“I have,” Tom said, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction that made Harry sorely regret saying anything. He blushed, fiercely, and he could feel the warmness in his face as he sputtered out anything to get the topic off of Tom’s hair.

“It’s shorter.” Harry flinched, why on earth would that be the thing to say?

“That is what usually happens when one gets a haircut,” The prat was so amused, Harry wanted to curse the smirk from his pretty little face.

“Let us go back,” Tom continued, “Else Isabella think we’ve shacked up in here.”

Riddle swept from the room, his robes swirling in a manner that Snape surely would have admired, leaving Harry a stuttering mess in the dormitory.

December 12th

Harry elbowed Orion in the side several times before the younger boy’s attention turned to him. There was something that had been nagging at Harry’s mind ever since Orion had announced his engagement. As far as Harry was aware, Orion married Walburga Black. He did not marry Druella Rosier. Why was it different this time? That was what he intended to find out, and he did not care about subtlety.

“You said you were engaged to Druella, right?”

“Yeah, I am.” Orion said, looking confused at Harry’s line of questioning.

“I always thought you were closer to Walburga, than Druella.” He pondered aloud. Orion blushed.

“Well, obviously I would have chosen Walburga but it is hardly my choice who I marry.”

He said this like it was obvious. To Harry, it wasn’t.

“Wait, you don’t get to choose?”

Orion looked at Harry as if he had just declared the earth was flat, “My father chooses, i do whatever he says.”

“That sounds… like something from the 17th century.”

Orion just shrugged, “I am his Heir, I go where he chooses and I lick his shoes if he asks. It is just how the world works, Hadrian.”

Harry looked over in bewilderment at the younger boy, and knew then why Orion Black turned into the abusive father Sirius had described. 

“It shouldn’t be, you should be able to marry who you want.” He insisted.

“But I can’t, and I won’t be able to.” Orion stared at his book, fixating on one spot of the page, “I will marry who my father wants me to marry, that is the end of it. Please don’t bring it up again, Hadrian.”

Harry couldn’t respond, and so turned back to his own work. What on earth could happen between now and Orion’s wedding day to warrant a change in wife? He didn’t know Druella in the future… There was a sinking feeling in Harry’s stomach, a feeling that maybe the switch in marriage partners wasn’t as innocent as it could be.

December 14th

“I haven’t seen Lilith around, is she okay?” Harry asked that evening, having missed the scaly blue presence that often sat in the warmth of his pocket.

“She died.” Tom replied, not even looking up from writing his essay.

“Um, oh.” Harry said eloquently, scratching the back of his head with his quill, “When?”

“About two weeks ago, she was old.”

“I’m sorry for your loss?” Harry tried to say, but it sounded more like a question. He was, to be fair, questioning whether it was a loss to Tom at all. Did the boy even feel?

Tom looked up in amusement, that infernal smirk on his lips, “Thank you, Hadrian.”

“Are you going to get a new snake?” Harry blurted out, thinking about the terrifying monstrosity that had been Nagini.

“Perhaps.”

“You still haven’t completed those tasks, Hadrian, you have a lot to catch up on.” Tom said, as they were getting ready for bed that night.

“Tasks?” Harry asked, confused.

“You reminded me this evening, asking about Lilith. She was a task, remember?”

“Oh, yeah.” Harry said, thinking back to the experience that had been Tom and him sitting on Harry’s bed whilst the snake wrapped itself around Harry, “Did I pass that?”

“With flying colours.” Tom smirked, “Are you up for another one?”

“Not really, Tom, I would like to go to sleep.” Harry responded, not wanting to play whatever game Tom was brewing. He expected resistance but–

“Okay.”

Harry fell asleep that night feeling incredibly on edge, and it took him far longer than usual to slip into a deep enough sleep to dream. Later he would wish that he hadn’t ever closed his eyes.

The black haired, Sixth Year Slytherin approached Tom. He was rather unsubtle about his advances, having performed this act several times over the past few weeks. Tom gave him the look, before moving up to his own dormitory. Nott, the Sixth Year, followed dutifully. 

It only took a few words from Tom for his dormitory to clear out, and a few seconds later Nott had shut the door behind them. He did not lock it.

“What the fuck is going on?” Harry said out loud, staring at the moving scene.

“Oh, you have entered my dream once again, Hadrian. I will never work out how you do that. It is quite remarkable, almost like a pensieve memory. I am here, and yet I am also there. You are here as well.” 

Harry turned his head to the side, catching the eye of Tom Riddle.

“I don’t understand either,” Harry let out a breath, then yelped as he turned his head back around to the memory of Riddle and Nott.

Nott was now completely naked, his clothes Circe knows where, and pressed up against Tom. He cupped the other boy’s trousers, Tom was conveniently clothed, before moving to unbutton him. 

“Fuck, Tom, why are you even dreaming about this?” Harry shouted, turning his head away again to stare at the boy in question.

Tom only shrugged, “Don’t you dream about your sexual conquests?”

“Sexual… conquests. Only you would refer to sex like that.” Harry scoffed, trying incredibly hard to drown out the moans erupting from the memory of Tom.

Riddle was smirking, his eyes not having left the dream.

“How do I leave?” Harry demanded, trying to recall how the dream had ended the last time. Tom seemed to be able to fully control what scenes they watched, it freaked Harry the fuck out, but Harry was left to flounder in the boy’s mind. There it was… the end of the last dream. Harry had been in Petunia’s kitchen, and he hadn’t wanted Tom to see his own memory again, and so the dream had just… disappeared.

“I don’t know.” Tom said, watching the scene on the bed (which Harry was very much not looking at) intensely, “I have my theories, however.”

“Willing to share with the class, Tom?” Harry said, frustratedly.

“The first time was your dream, I believe. It started with that battle, but then it moved to my dreams. I, of course, had chosen exactly what to show you. It was my subconscious efforts that did that. The final scene was yours, a memory rather than a Seer vision, and you were the one who woke us up. This is my dream, and so only I can stop it.”

Harry gaped, “You– you’ve thought a lot about this.”

“And you haven’t? I’m disappointed, Hadrian. A new form of magic deserves a dedicated research time.”

“So… I have to stay here whilst you get hard over yourself getting a blowjob? No thanks.” Harry scoffed, glaring at the boy who wouldn’t even look at him.

“Yup,” Tom popped the ‘p’, “I am willing to finish this… dream prematurely, if you’d like.”

“Please.” Harry deadpanned, “And what would you want in return? My entire Gringotts vault? My life?”

There was, surprisingly, little Harry would give. He did not trust Tom not to demand something outrageous, again. He was already in enough debt. It was just a matter of not looking, and it wouldn’t last that long… 

Harry jumped as the memory of Tom made an unnaturally loud moan, the sound reverberating around the room and embarrassingly, for Harry, stirring something inside of him.

“I just want you to watch the memory, Hadrian.” Tom said, about as innocent as a Hungarian Horntail, “Keep your eyes on the dream, and afterwards we can leave. If not… well I have a few more memories stocked up and ready to go.”

“More?” Harry choked out, still staring at Tom.

Finally, Tom turned to face him.

“We’re getting to a good part, take a look.” There was a feral grin on his face, and he was already looking back at the scene.

Harry took his chances, it couldn’t be that bad.

It was.

Nott was kneeling in front of Tom, his mouth wrapped around Riddle’s cock and Tom’s hand gripped tightly in the other boy’s hair. Tom’s head was thrown back, his eyes shut and his mouth not bothering to pretend he wasn’t thoroughly aroused by the actions. His other hand was gripping the post of the bed, knuckles white as snow, and while he was mostly clothed apart from the one appendage in Nott’s mouth, Tom looked reminiscent of a Greek God. The top buttons of his shirt were undone, his hair as pristine as usual, his jaw clenched and–

Oh.

Oh.

 Harry flushed profusely as he realised what exactly the stir from earlier had been. To give a hint, it was pushing very uncomfortably up against the inside of his pyjama trousers.

“No need to be ashamed, Hadrian. It is perfectly normal for a teenage boy to experience such emotions.”

That made it ten, no, twenty times worse.

Okay, Harry, just think of something ugly. Like Umbitch. Pink toad who likes cats a bit too much for it to be normal, imagine the hats too. Oh! And the detentions. That seemed to be working, Harry was looking but he wasn’t looking and instead thinking about the ugliest woman on the planet. 

“Pay attention to what I'm about to do with my tongue, Hadrian.”

Harry jolted as he realised the two boys were now on Tom’s bed. Riddle had Nott pinned up against the backboard, practically mauling the other boy’s neck and chest and… and one hand was stroking his cock, causing Nott to arch his back. Harry could imagine– no, Harry was not going to imagine anything to do with Tom in bed.

“How long is this going to take?” Harry demanded.

“Shhh,” Tom just replied, “Enjoy the scene.”

Right, back to Umbridge. He was very glad that bitch had been fed to Grawp, and forced his thoughts to remember her expression when she’d seen the giant and the centaurs in the Forbidden Forest. To think she’d been expecting Dumbledore’s secret weapon!

Tom was now on his back, his head resting on the wood behind him and his shirt and trousers having been thrown aside, Nott baring everything and once again placing his mouth on Tom’s dick. Riddle was smiling down at the Sixth Year, his arms sprawled behind his head in the most relaxed position possible while Nott fumbled his way through the cock-sucking. His head bobbed up and down, Nott–

“Tom, we need to talk.” Memory Harry said, bursting into the room. Harry swung around to see his past self’s face morph into shock and embarrassment.

“Oh–” He practically shouted, before slamming the door behind him.

The Tom beside him chuckled in time with the memory Tom, it was kind of freaky how in sync they were, and Harry turned his glare onto the real Riddle.

“Are we done?”

“Keep watching, it won’t be long.” 

Huffing, Harry turned back to the scene on the bed. Trying to force his thoughts back to Umbridge and her disastrous cardigans, but it was to no avail. Tom’s back arched, his chest and stomach lurching forward as he released into Nott’s mouth with a cry. His face hadn’t stopped grinning though, the very knowing grin that made Harry wonder what exactly he had found out or realised. Riddle leaned forwards, wiping his thumb over Nott’s mouth, before standing from the bed. He stretched, and Harry flushed bright red as his gaze dropped to the softness of the boy and the way his muscles contracted.

“What was the point in this, Tom?” Harry asked, drawing his eyes away from the naked body.

“You… are very entertaining.”

Harry awoke, opening his eyes to the darkness of the dormitory. His breath faltered but his heart calmed as he realised he was no longer in the dream. It was a scary thought, being trapped in one's mind (or another man’s mind, more accurately). What frustrated him the most, was the fact he had awoken hard. He could feel it in his pyjamas, and Harry rushed from his bed and into the shower where he could have some privacy.

He spent the day pretending he hadn’t watched whatever dream Tom had forced onto him, and thankfully so did Tom. What made the day even worse, was the fact that every time he looked at Riddle all he could imagine was him stretched out on his bed. Harry was incredibly uncomfortable, and knew that Tom can gone too far. It made for a very uncomfortable Transfiguration lesson, Dumbledore even daring to ask what was wrong. Harry had, of course, spluttered through an explanation of ‘tiredness’.

Thankfully, something happened on December 16th that allowed for Harry’s thoughts to drift away from Tom Riddle.

December 16th.

Druella rushed into the common room, a letter clutched tight to her chest and her face was the picture of worry and fear.

“What’s wrong?” Felix immediately asked, sitting up from his lazy position on the sofa.

She simply thrust the letter into his hands, tapping her foot impatiently on the carpeted floor. Immediately, Felix’s face dropped.

“Merlin,” He muttered, “Is this true?”

“I don’t know, probably. Vinda was always… radical.” 

“But this?” Felix questioned, frowning at the letter, “She sent this to you.”

“What she thinks is that I can help, or that I want to help.” Druella explained, but it didn’t clear anything up for Harry.

“Who’s Vinda?” Harry interrupted.

“Our cousin,” Druella replied, “Just read this.”

Felix passed the letter over to Tom, and Harry peered over his shoulder to read the contents.

Dearest Druella,

I understand it has been a long time since I last saw you, and that you are now of age and capable of making your own decisions. I have been travelling between the States and Germany frequently over the past decade, and have found myself in a very favourable position. We got along very well when you were a child, so I implore you to read what I have to say very carefully. I work alongside a very well known man, you must have read his name in the papers on countless occasions, and it is because of our family name that mine was not beside him. I will not mention his name in writing, but you know who I am talking about. He is a very charismatic and powerful ally to have, and his work is something I am proud to be a part of. You would do well to follow in his teachings, as Britain should surely fall under his safe care over the next few years.

What I am writing you for, and Felix if he so desires, is a favour. Having access to Britain’s youth, I am simply asking for you to compile a group of like minded individuals. These would be trustworthy students who have the promise to do great things in the future, but most of all have the right ideals. Your father may disapprove, but your mother and I have been in contact and she fully understands what is at stake. It is nothing dangerous, my colleague and I know that children should not be forced into warfare, but it is important that the future of Britain has the right ideas about how the country should be run.

Simply reply with a yes or a no to determine your position. I will not hold it against you if you refuse or are hesitant, and neither will my colleague. We both understand that politics and war is not, as I previously stated, something that children should have to bother with.

Sincerely,
Vinda.

“Is she talking about…” Harry said, pausing slightly, “Grindelwald?”

Druella nodded solemnly, “She was always interested in the cause, has been since before Grindelwald was even famous.”

“She’s worse than me,” Felix said, “And that is saying something.”

“What are you going to do?” Harry asked, looking between the brother and sister. He was unsure about the differences between the Death Eaters and Grindelwald, but by the looks on their faces there were many that needed considering.

“Tom?” Felix prodded, looking at the boy as if he had all the answers.

“I have a plan, Druella, there is no need to worry.”

Chapter Text

December 17th

Harry was thinking rather a lot recently, as there was a lot the boy needed to work out and worry about.

Firstly, horcruxes. Tom had shown no interest in horcruxes, yet, but Harry wasn’t naive enough to believe he hadn’t thought about immortality. He was keeping a close eye on him, and was yet to see any signs of it. Tom hadn’t killed anyone, though he had probably tortured Rosier, and so there was still time for redemption. His plan was as follows– get Tom to trust him (pretty difficult) and get Tom to understand that creating a horcrux was a slippery slope. He would play on Tom’s pride, dropping hints about the boy going insane or becoming the snake like creature he would in decades time. But it would be difficult, and Tom was acting strange. Riddle was up to something, and Harry wanted to find out what.

Secondly, Grindelwald. Harry knew next to nothing about the Dark Lord’s attacks on Britain, seeing as Hermione was always the one to do research into topics such as that. He sorely regretted not picking up a history book in his former life, though that was something he was trying to fix now. From what he’d seen, Dumbledore had been leaving the castle on trips much like when he was searching for Voldemort’s horcruxes in Harry’s previous life. It was likely to do with Grindelwald, which meant the Dark Lord was making more moves on Britain. He wouldn’t win the war, but he would put up a damn good fight. With Druella having been asked by her cousin to essentially recruit, and Tom having some sort of plan, Harry had been trying to work out the Slytherins' stances on Grindelwald. 

From what he’d heard, not having been invited to another of Tom’s Death Eater meetings, they were unimpressed. Why? Harry was unsure. Surely the two groups were alike, with their hatred for all things muggle or muggleborn. That didn’t seem to be the case, and it made Harry equal parts wary and confused.

Thirdly, Death. The immortal being was rather quiet, and it was unnerving. He would pop up with the occasional comment, usually to aid Harry in his quest to prevent the creation of a horcrux, but there was no longer the usual snarkiness to his tone. Harry had asked, and Death had not replied. As Death’s Master, a title he was unwilling to properly embrace, it should be easy to demand answers. It wasn’t.

Finally, the dreams. After the rather unfortunate and downright creepy dream involving Tom Riddle, Harry had taken the time to do some proper research in the library.  It definitely had to do with the sheer embarrassment he had felt that night, and the taunting nature of Riddle. He was actually making a lot of progress in that department, having come up with more than a few theories for why they could ‘dreamwalk’ as one book had called it. There were, obviously, superficial things like ‘soulmates’ that Harry didn’t believe in. Alongside this, there were theories that relatives (mostly twins) could share dreams. That was not going to be the case this time. He had wondered if he still had a horcrux inside of him, and Death had given a rather scathing retort to that theory.

The Horcrux died with you in 1997, it does not even exist in this body or this time and I do not know how you could come to that conclusion.

So, in all honesty, his theories were quite superficial. There was a link between Tom and Harry, and Harry had no idea what it was or why it was there. Even worse than that, Tom had confessed (very smugly) that he had always felt a connection. That had made Harry’s skin crawl, much to Tom’s amusement.

There was also the issue of Necromancy, which he had decided to never try and exploit as the thought of killing or raising body’s made him feel sick and disgusted. Death was probably upset, if Death could get upset, with this idea and that might have been a reason for his absence.

His first issue about the horcruxes was brought to mind rather abruptly when Harry entered the library to find Tom reading a book called ‘Secrets of the Darkest Arts’. 

Shit.

“Reading anything good there, Tom?” Harry ventured, placing his bag onto the desk and unpacking his books.

Tom didn’t look up, innocently turning the page as if he weren’t reading a somewhat illegal book on the Dark Arts in plain view of the whole library.

“It is illuminating, Hadrian. I can lend it to you once I’m done.”

“What is it about?” Harry asked, not really wanting to know whatever barefaced lie Tom would come up with. He could see the title, plain and simple, it was Dark.

“Just the Dark Arts.”

“Just?” Harry choked out.

Tom hummed as if to say ‘Yes, Hadrian, I am reading a dangerous book full of spells and rituals that could castrate and kill you easily. Your body would be strung up in the rafters, and nobody would be able to find it.’

“How did that come into the library anyway? I thought Dumbledore was on his mission to destroy books like that?”

“I bought it, the owl came today. Rather handy shop in Knockturn Alley.” He turned another page.

“Of course,” Harry drawled, keeping one eye on Tom’s book as he began his Charms essay.

“No need to be so judgmental, Hadrian. I’ve seen you cast spells that would fit among these pages with ease.”

Harry was taken aback, “You– I don’t practice Dark Magic.”

“No?” Tom asked, as if he didn’t believe Harry in the slightest, “What was the spell that almost killed Rosier, then?”

He spluttered, “You said he was fine!”

“But it could have killed him, just as a Diffindo could slice someone’s neck off.”

Tom closed the book, having placed a slip of paper to mark his place, and finally looked up at Harry.

“Diffindo is a charm, hardly Dark Magic.” Harry contested, put off by the way Tom’s eyes bore into him.

“The Severing charm, yes. I could sever your neck, and you would bleed out on this table. Is that not dangerous?”

“Well of course it’s dangerous, but nobody is going to–” Harry paused, knowing that Tom would definitely do that, “Fine. Diffindo could kill me, but Dark Magic is illegal.”

“Do you know why?” Tom challenged, resting his head on his hands.

“It’s dark.” Harry said, wasn’t it obvious?

“I didn’t take you for a racist, Hadrian.”

“No, of course– Tom, you know that is not what I meant. Dark magic harms people, it’s dangerous!”

“I thought we just established that Diffindo was also dangerous.”

“But that’s just the intent of the spellcaster, Dark Magic is inherently dangerous. You can’t use it for good.”

“I strongly disagree. Do you know the origins of the Imperius curse? Mediwitches and wizards would use it to make sure their mortally wounded patient didn’t harm themselves further, so they could perform tricky surgeries. The Killing Curse was used to put down wounded animals, giving them a clean and pain free death. Arguably, Wingardium Leviosa could lift a human far into the sky and drop them to the ground. Which death is better? The one that is quick and simple, or the one that is drawn out?”

Harry was silent, gaping, “I’d rather there were no death’s at all.”

“But if you had to choose?” 

“Fine,” Harry sat back, “I’ll indulge you. The Killing Curse.”

“You see, Hadrian, magic is all about intent. Ideas of Dark and Light magic are not as straightforward as one might think, it is all up to what the caster of said spell wants.”

“Is this your pitch about why Dark Magic should be legal?”

“It is. The bigoted light–wielding wixen decided that our rituals and spells were not to their liking, deemed them evil, and ignored the many so called ‘light’ spells that would bring about a more painful death than the Killing Curse.”

Harry was confused, as he usually was whenever Tom decided to debate, “So why are there light and dark spells? If it is not as clear cut as you say.”

Tom’s grin could have easily blinded him, “Because people are small minded, and don’t want to see what is right in front of them. There are no purely Dark or purely light spells, that is just a myth.”

“The Patronus Charm is pure light,” Harry replied, confident in his retort.

“Is it? Casting a Patronus draws emotions from the wielder, sucking happiness out of them and into the animal they create. It is an esoteric spell, and those are usually Dark. If anything, a Patronus is a Dark Spell as it feeds off the caster.”

Harry blinked once. And again.

“Fine,” Harry gritted out, “The Cruciatus curse, then. That is pure Dark.”

“You are closer, but still wrong.”

Harry was about to interrupt, when Tom spoke again.

“The Cruciatus curse, while causing immense damage to its victim, creates a feeling of euphoria in the caster. The wixen who performs it doesn’t need to draw energy from themselves, and while it is dark in that it causes pain surely a spell that creates such a feeling of joy in its caster cannot be considered purely Dark?”

“I very strongly disagree with that, Tom. How can you know if you’ve never even cast it?” Harry prodded, hoping Tom would admit to torture. 

“Fair enough, but your argument is that a spell that causes damage has to be considered dark. You wouldn’t call Wingardium Leviosa dark.”

“But you have other reasons to cast Wingardium Leviosa, such as moving a heavy object. The only purpose of Crucio is pain.”

“It is rightful pain, though. You have to mean the curse to use it, and so doesn’t that make sure it is not misused?”

“Absolutely not!” Harry scoffed, “There are some people who would cause harm on others just because they are having a bad day. In no instance does someone deserve such torture.”

“No? What about your relatives, Hadrian? Didn’t your aunt and uncle beat you? Your parents neglect you? Does that not deserve revenge? You told me once that you knew how to administer pain, that if you wanted to you could, were you lying?”

“Just because I was hurt, doesn’t mean I want others to hurt,” Even if the idea of the Dursley’s writhing under the Cruciatus curse did seem appealing, “And yes, I was lying. I would not torture someone, I do not know how to make someone hurt, and I don’t want to.”

“Lies, barefaced lies.” Tom taunted, “It’s written all over your face. I am right and you are wrong, loathe as you are to admit it.”

Harry barely restrained himself from strangling Riddle, settling for the fake nonchalance he had seen many a time on the Slytherin’s.

“I do not want to play these games with you, Riddle.”

“Then let us revise, instead. Maybe another time.” 

Thankfully, Orion joined them soon after and it made Harry relax only slightly.

Tom, Orion and Harry had created somewhat of a trio. It was strange to Harry, as the last trio he had been a part of had been with Ron and Hermione. These two were not Ron and Hermione, clearly. There were some similarities, though. Hermione would be appalled to hear him compare her to a child Voldemort, but they were practically two peas in a pod. Minus the homicide, of course. The only similarity he could find between Orion and Ron was the fact they were both quite excitable and able to talk about absolutely anything. Other than that, the two were complete opposites. Ron was a genius at chess, but nothing else (sorry, Ron) and Orion was awful at chess, but a genius at everything else. Ron could hold a grudge longer than anyone he had met, Orion forgave almost as easily as Harry. He could go on, but he was being stared at by a particularly annoying Tom Riddle.

He went back to his essay, ignoring the gaze. Harry wasn’t alone, sure, but without the presence of his two best friends he felt rather lonely. It was not as bad as it had been in second year, or when his name had come out of the Goblet of Fire, and even being surrounded by ‘friends’ he was still on edge 24/7. That was life in Slytherin, Harry supposed, and it made him appreciate how Draco Malfoy always seemed so uptight.

If Harry were a better person, or perhaps more brave, he would kill Tom Riddle in cold blood and be done with it. But he couldn’t, no matter how many times he thought about it and no matter what Riddle did, and it was very disturbing. Now, with Tom’s newfound interest in the Dark Arts, it felt as if the walls were being pushed into him and he was severely running out of time. 

Harry was, plainly put, tired. He was tired of constantly looking over his shoulder, waiting for the Slytherins to decide he didn’t belong or the Knights to decide he was too much of a liability. He was tired of the way Tom kept track of him, the way he stared so blatantly at Harry as if he were one puzzle piece away from solving him. Mostly, he was tired of the expectations. Not that Death was wrong, about Horcruxes destroying the world, but he had lived a whole life being a hero and was now living another under the same banner. This time was different, sure, with nobody but him being aware of his mission. Somehow, that made it worse, and it made sure he would be alone.

Would it all be worth it? Would Harry be able to stop the powerhouse that was Riddle from destroying himself and the Wizarding World? The questions, questioning himself above all, were also tiring. 

“You are thinking too much, Hadrian, you should take a walk outside. Clear your head.” Tom said, interrupting his thoughts once again.

Harry hated to follow any sort of order from Tom, “Don’t tell me what to do.” But in the end, Harry did leave the library and head outside to walk in the bitter, winter air. 

Tomorrow, the students would leave for the Christmas holidays. Harry would remain, not wanting to go and live with relatives who apparently did not want him and not even knowing where they lived. Tom would also remain, and they would be the only two in the entirety of Slytherin. It would be a rough two weeks.

There were voices up ahead, and Harry frowned as he approached. What on earth would people be doing on the other side of the Greenhouses in negative degrees weather?

“Shut up–”

“Don’t be too loud, Mariam”

“I swear if Dumbledore finds out we are fucked–”

Harry turned the corner, brow furrowed at the whispered– yet still too loud– voices.

“Nobody is going to come around here,” A Hufflepuff said, jumping up and down in the cold and taking a drag from what seemed to be a cigarette. The smoke wafted into the crisp air of the afternoon.

“Shit,” His Gryffindor friend said, having seen Harry turn the corner, “Hey, you tell anyone we’re here, Snake, and you’ll pay.”

Harry raised his hands in a surrender position, “Wasn’t planning on it, just going for a walk.”

She didn’t look impressed, but her friend seemed to recognise him– somehow.

“You’re the new kid, right? One who got petrified?” The male Gryffindor said, “Peverell, was it?”

“Yeah, what of it?” Harry replied, definitely sounding more rude than usual. The Gryffindor didn’t seem to care, and ploughed onwards.

“Hagrid seems to like you, was heartbroken when you spent all that time in the hospital wing.”

“Hagrid?” Harry questioned, “I’ve only spoken to him once, though.”

“Once is enough with him, latches on to anyone or anything that is nice to him or doesn’t try to kill him.” The female Gryffindor added, “If he likes you, it means you’ve got some good in you.”

He peered closer at the Gryffindor who just spoke, “We have Potions together, right?”

She grinned mockingly, “Thank goodness you noticed! I feel so proud.”

Harry blushed, “Sorry, I’m bad with faces.”

The Hufflepuff waved him off, “No problem, fancy a fag?”

“Umm,” He said, very coherently, “Why not?” 

Eh, you only live once! 

No you don’t.

Shut it, Death.

They introduced themselves, after thankfully ignoring how Harry coughed while trying to inhale the cigarette. The Hufflepuff was a sixth year muggleborn called Roy Coleman, who was one of the most laid back people Harry had ever met. Most Hufflepuffs seemed to be like that, though, so it was hardly a surprise. The Gryffindors were a sixth year called Frederick Bray and the fifth year who he shared some classes with called Mariam Finley.

It was a nice change, hanging out with people other than Slytherins, and he wondered why he hadn’t branched out from his group before. The answer was obvious, though, and it began with Tom and ended with Riddle.

It didn’t take long for the conversation to turn from Quidditch and muggle television (which, being the 1940s, was a very new invention and not nearly as mainstream as in the 90s), to Riddle and the Slytherins.

“You seem a nice enough bloke, Hadrian, I don’t know why you were hanging around with the Slytherin lot.” Roy said.

“Riddle had his claws in this one the moment he stepped foot in the castle,” Mariam joked, “Clings to poor Hadrian like he’s a lifeboat.”

“It’s not that bad,” Harry defended, “Sure, they are all bigots and frustratingly pompous, but they’re not as evil as you make out to be. Maybe in the future, though.”

“Pureblood Slytherin will take over the world,” Fred said (now wasn’t that name a blast from the past), “Mark my words we’ll all be bowing and scraping to those pigs in the next decade. No offence, mate.”

“None taken,” Harry laughed, “You are not far from the mark though, they’re rich enough to pay their way into the Ministry and cunning enough to not leave a trace behind.”

“Not if I have my say,” Fred continued, “You, my dear friend, are looking at the next Minister for Magic!”

Mariam snorted, and Roy kindly covered his mouth to prevent himself from joining in.

“Don’t joke, I am deadly serious!” Fred continued, mocking hurt, “And I will enact a four day working week as my first bill.”

Harry sighed, “That’ll be the day.”

They chatted until they were cold enough to hurry inside, although Harry was warm from the feeling of being around people that could actually be his friends. Fred and Roy were staying over the holidays, so maybe those two weeks wouldn’t be so bad in the end.

Chapter Text

December 18th

They had gotten rid of the House tables, Harry noticed when he entered for lunch the next day. In their place, was one, long table that already seated a few of the remaining students. Most of the children had left that morning, leaving only a handful at Hogwarts. He happily realised that Tom was not there, and instead saw Roy and Fred engaged in a lively conversation at one end. Harry walked over and took a seat beside the former.

“Hey,” He said lightly, reaching over to pour himself a cup of tea.

“No stalker today?” Fred joked, grinning at his arrival.

Harry waved him off, assuming they were talking about Riddle, “I ran away from the dorm before he could notice.”

Plainly put, Harry was pissed off. He was pissed off at Tom, mostly, but also at himself for allowing Tom to get such a grip on him. Harry had only realised how uncomfortable he was around the boy when the others had left, and he and Tom were left alone. For that reason, he was going to try and enjoy his holiday surrounded by people who were homicidal maniacs.

“Good plan,” Roy nodded, “You should come to the Hufflepuff common room after lunch, there’s hardly anyone around and they won’t mind. And you, Fred.”

“Really?” Harry brightened up, having resigned himself to avoid the Slytherin common room and library– Tom’s hunting ground.

“Yeah! It’ll be fun.” Roy nudged him with his elbow, grinning fiercely. It wasn’t the type of vicious grin Tom always wore, but one that said Harry would truly be welcomed.

“Can’t have you sequestered away by yourself, that’s just sad.” Fred added, pointing his fork in Harry’s direction.

“And you,” Harry waved his own fork at the dark haired boy in response, “Will have to tell me more about this bid for minister!”

The Hufflepuff common room was better than Harry could have imagined. It didn’t have any of the cold, green undertones of the Slytherin dungeons and it certainly wasn’t as red and gaudy as the Gryffindor common room. There were pale carpets covering the floor, a mismatch of patterns that shouldn’t have gone together but did. Wooden beams stretched up to the ceiling, where calming yellow lanterns hung down. It wasn’t explicitly yellow, the Hufflepuffs having taken to growing plants by the window or decorating the notice board with colourful flyers. It was a large room, with archways that led into other, smaller rooms that Roy explained were filled with other seating and tables. They even had a library, though it was only two, tall bookcases. It was homely, even with its size, and Harry immediately felt more at ease in it than he did in the Slytherin one. It would rival Gryffindors, but only on the basis that it was nice and quiet.

According to Roy, there were three Hufflepuffs staying behind. Him and two seventh years who had wanted to get a start revising for their NEWTs. They would hardly mind Roy’s friends, as they were sequestered away in the library revising and weren’t the sort to attack students from other houses just because they were from another house.

What seemed to be the most attractive point about the common room was its proximity to the kitchens. Roy seemed impressed that he already knew their locations, and the fact he knew that all he needed to do was tickle the pear. Fred, surprisingly, was almost as much of an advocate for ‘Elf Rights’ as Hermione had been and he felt happy he was able to debate a much more familiar topic.

“House Elf’s like the work though!” He was explaining, “They die if they aren’t bonded to a witch or wizard.”

“They die?!” Both Roy and Fred exclaimed, sitting up in their seats.

“Yeah, if you wanted to free all the elves you’d have to know where to bury them.” 

“That’s… barbaric.”

“It’s magic, Roy.” Harry said, not even feeling frustrated. He had this conversation with Hermione at least five times before it sunk in, and he had never been sure whether she truly believed him.

“And this is what I would fix when I become the Minister!” Fred jumped up from his seat and began pacing, “I’ll make sure the elves are happy, not mistreated, and get a decent working wage.”

“Will you knit them little hats, too?” Harry snorted, Fred looking confused.

“Why on earth would I do that, I can’t even knit?” Fred shook his head, but Roy was beaming.

“You know, that is an excellent idea.”

“It is?” Harry scoffed, throwing his head back to laugh at the keen expression on Roy’s face.

“Yes! It would give the house elves something nice to wear, rather than those awful rags.”

“You’re kidding…” Harry said, grinning despite himself.

Roy made a note in his tiny book, the one Harry realised he carried everywhere.

“Can you knit, Hadrian?” Roy asked, still scribbling in his book. But Harry was distracted by the fact he was writing with a muggle pen.

“Hadrian?”

“No, I definitely can’t.” Harry eventually said, watching Roy write and Fred pace and suddenly he felt as if he had found a place where he could belong. 

“Anyone fancy a game of exploding snap?” Fred asked, having jumped over the back of the sofa and stopped his pacing. 

“No, I need to get some materials and begin knitting. Do either of you know how many house elves Hogwarts has?” Roy asked, tapping his pen against the page.

Both Harry and Fred shook their heads, sharing an amused look.

“Just go to the kitchen and ask,” Fred suggested, and Roy looked as if the boy had given him a thousand Galleons. He then sprinted from the common room, leaving Fred and Harry laughing to themselves. It didn’t even matter that neither of them were Hufflepuffs, the two of them set up camp playing wizard’s chess (Harry lost every game but the one they stalemates) and waited on Roy’s return.

By that evening, Roy had created three mini woollen hats of various colours and Harry had to admit (sorry) they were much better than Hermione’s had been. They were now making their way to dinner, and Harry had never had such a spring in his step (apart from maybe when Hermione punched Malfoy or when Ron had made up with him in fourth year).

“Look, after dinner we can go back to Gryffindor.” Fred was saying, bouncing up and down and walking backwards so he could look at the other two, “I have at least three bottles of Firewhisky I need done with.”

Harry grinned, then his face dropped. He remembered the last time he had drunk Firewhisky, and it hadn’t ended well. In fact, he’d say it ended in him getting petrified. The other two didn’t need to know that, though, and it might actually be fun.

“Sure!” Roy exclaimed, then his face dropped as well. 

He looked towards where Roy’s gaze had fallen, and felt his stomach clench.

“Hadrian,” Tom Riddle said, approaching them just outside the door to the Great Hall, “I have been looking for you.”

“Fucking stalker,” Fred muttered, not loud enough for Riddle to hear.

“Okay,” Harry said, trying to keep his voice light. He really did not want to have to deal with this, and his day had been going so well…

“Where have you been?”

“Oh, you know, here and there.”

Tom raised an eyebrow, not looking happy in the slightest.

“We should go into the hall, Hadrian,” Roy piped up, clutching his elbow, “I am quite hungry and think I’ll murder someone if I don’t get some sustanence.”

The blonde boy dragged him into the hall, away from Tom, and placed him down in his seat. For some odd reason, the teachers and students were both sitting at the same table. Harry blanched as he realised he was sat in between Roy and Professor Dumbledore, with Fred opposite. He could feel Tom’s glare on him, as he had to take a seat at the other end. The table was mostly filled with Ravenclaws, some of whom had even brought a book to dinner, though there was a fare spattering of Gryffindor’s as well. Slytherin, as usual, was represented the least. 

Thankfully, Dumbledore hadn’t noticed or didn’t care that Harry was sitting beside him and continued on his conversation with Professor Booth.

“Do you think they would appreciate socks, as well?” Roy mused, dispersing any tension that might have been there.

Harry stifled his laugh, thinking immediately of Dobby who wore at least four pairs of socks and seven hats at one point. He didn’t want to think about how Dobby wasn’t alive, and so didn’t.

“Absolutely not,” Harry replied, “That would be insulting.”

“Insulting?” Fred questioned.

“Think about it, socks are far closer to clothing than hats and they could think you were trying to free them… No, Roy, don’t try and free the house elves, please.”

Roy pouted, “I bet their feet get cold.”

“They definitely are clever enough to keep warm,” Harry said, remembering the sheer impressive nature of a House Elf’s magic.

“It would be a nice gesture, though!” Roy protested, and Harry didn’t know how someone could be so adorably stubborn.

“Not to them, it wouldn’t. Didn’t you speak to them?” 

“Well, yes, and they seemed to be happy…” Roy deflated a bit, “Maybe you’re right.”

“I am,” Harry said and Fred snorted, before quieting and seemingly thinking of something.

“Can house elves apparate in Hogwarts?” Fred asked, jabbing the chicken on his plate with a fork.

Harry thought for a second, “...Yes.”

“You don’t sound too sure there, oh wise one.” Fred joked, and Harry had to restrain himself from flicking a pea at the boy.

“I am very sure, actually,” Harry responded, throwing him a playful glare, “How else do they get around? You hardly see elves in the hallway.”

“True enough, my dear boy,” Dumbledore said from beside Harry, making him jump slightly in the air when he realised the old man had been listening to their conversation, “But they cannot apparate from outside into the castle, as only those with access to the wards can do so. Such as Headmaster Dippet. Mr Coleman, I also think knitting socks to be a wonderful gesture and I highly encourage it. I recommend pairing green and red, for a more Christmas theme.”

Roy brightened up, “Thanks Professor,” and then addressed Harry, “Told you it was a good idea.”

Harry just grinned at Fred, and both knew that Roy was now unstoppable.

“Don’t try and make them join your little rebellion though, Roy,” Fred warned, his eyes glittering in amusement, “I don’t think the castle could cope without their wonderfully cooked meals.”

Roy just looked incredibly innocent, “What rebellion?”

“Just sleep in one of the empty beds,” Fred was saying, or more like slurring, “We can get the house elves to bring some linen!”

“They don… don’t need any ‘cessive work, Freddy!” Roy responded, while flopping onto one of the beds in the Gryffindor fifth year dormitory. 

Harry was basically passed out already, his eyes shut and the smile never leaving his face as he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

In the morning, more like midday but who actually cares, Harry dragged himself up from the sheetless bed and into the bathroom. Neither Roy nor Fred had awoken yet, and Harry found himself with a pounding headache. There was no potion waiting for him, but he didn’t particularly care. Last night had been filled with lighthearted, fun banter and games and most importantly, no Slytherins.

He slightly dreaded going back to his own dorm, and prayed that Tom was not inside. After waiting for Roy and Fred to awake, then saying his goodbyes, he trudged down to the kitchen for some food. Harry only had a small bite to eat, as he felt like his insides were going to be on the floor any second, and then he returned to Slytherin domain. Riddle, unfortunately, was sitting at his desk in the dorm. He looked up as Harry entered, casting a disdainful eye over him, but didn’t say a word.

Harry sighed in relief, before grabbing some fresh clothing and heading into the bathroom. Tom was still at his desk when Harry came out of the room, drying his hair with a towel. This time, he did speak.

“Have fun last night?” His tone was light, almost casual, but Harry was not deceived. It was a prod for information, a lead into a darker topic.

“Uhh, yeah thanks.”

“I see you’ve made some new friends.” He continued, turning to face Harry.

“I have,” Harry responded warily, narrowing his eyes at Riddle.

“Do make sure not to miss curfew again, or breakfast, as I will have to report it to Professor Slughorn. I can only be lenient so many times.”

Harry restrained himself from rolling his eyes, Tom the perfect Prefect could do no wrong in the Potions Professor’s eyes. Apart from torture, or murder, or splitting his soul and becoming a Dark Lord, but Slughorn didn’t know that yet.

“I’ll make sure.”

“Good, I will see you in the dorm before ten then.”

And then he left.

Harry spent that day, and the next day, and the day after with Roy and Fred. He ate with them at meals, he hung out in either the Hufflepuff or Gryffindor common rooms, and he returned to Slytherin somewhere between 9:55 and 9:59 each night. Tom was full of pleasantries, good mornings and good afternoons, until he wasn’t.

“I want you to stop fraternising with Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs, they do not do well for your reputation.” He said, the night of December 20th as Harry returned just before curfew.

“No.” Harry replied, trying to shoulder past the taller boy and enter their dorm.

Tom, predictably, stopped him from getting past.

“They are idiots, Hadrian, and I do not want it to rub off on you.”

“Don’t talk about them like that,” Harry replied, getting angrier at the second, “Who are you to tell me who I can be friends with?”

“I am Tom Riddle,” He replied with a vicious smirk, “Is that not enough for you, oh saintly one?” 

He was copying Fred’s mocking tone, and Harry did not like it in the slightest.

“Riddle,” He said deliberately, “Move.”

“No. You still owe me, Hadrian, and if you do not heed my word there will be issues. I do not want for us to be on the outs, and it would be much more pleasant for the both of us if you simply got rid of your new friends, and came back to where you belong. They don’t actually like you, you realise?”

“Oh?” Harry laughed, “And since when were you so delusional?”

“They pity you, I’ve heard them talking about it. The poor Snake who is stuck all alone with a monster like Riddle. They don’t know what you’ve done, Hadrian, but I do.”

Harry stilled, wondering what on earth Riddle could mean.

Tom evidently sensed his confusion, “I’ll tell them all about it. The duel… your parents. Stay away from them, or I will tell them everything.”

Harry managed out a bitter laugh, but the worry of what Riddle could spin tales about was pooling inside of him, flooding his brain with the sheer fear of what would happen if Riddle started telling tales. Tales of what? Harry could only imagine, but would his friends believe Harry over Tom? He could hope.

“My parents?” Harry backtracked, and he felt like he had just walked into a very well placed trap.

“Yes, did you think you could hide it from me?”

“Hide what?” Harry said, dumbfounded. And then it hit him. Did Tom know that Hadrian Peverell had killed his parents? He couldn’t, how could he. No, he didn’t. He was bluffing, surely.

But Tom had gotten what he wanted, it seemed, and moved aside to let Harry into the dorm.

December 22nd

Harry sat, leant against the stone wall of the courtyard and attempting to read his Transfiguration textbook. Hogwarts was spelled so that its open air areas surrounded by corridors did not get rained or snowed on, so even if it was cold it was dry and more importantly, quiet. He was ignoring Tom, who had so very selfishly chastised him for daring to make friends with people not in Slytherin, and was trying hard to not encounter the boy at all. It was difficult, seeing as they shared a room, but not unmanageable. He was also not ignoring his new friends, much to Tom’s evident disapproval, but it still made Harry worry about what exactly would happen next.

In moments like these, however, when Tom sought him out with a purpose, it was tricky to get away. Before, Harry hadn’t minded, but since that dream… 

“Hadrian, please refrain from running away again.” Tom said, approaching the bench and taking a seat beside him.

“I do not want to speak with you, Tom.” Harry said, staring blatantly down at his book.

“How childish,” Tom muttered, “Why ever not?”

“There are very many reasons why someone wouldn’t want to talk to you, Tom. Do you want a summary or an itemised list?”

“Start with the most important.” Tom quipped back immediately, not missing a beat.

“Fine, you asked for it.” Harry stood, and turned to look down at the teenager. It was almost like someone had wrapped an elastic band around him, pulling tight, and then let it snap. Harry, in this case, was the one who snapped.

“Let me see… where to start? Oh, right. You trapped me into your dream, held me captive against your will. That’s a pretty pressing issue. Surely even you can tell that that is wrong, especially with the contents of the dream. Poor Nott, eh? What would he think if he knew you had betrayed his trust like that? And then there is me, an unwilling watcher who cannot escape no matter how hard I try.”

“I’m sure you could have left, if you wanted to.” Tom said, looking up at him with pierced eyes. There, that look, as if Harry were a puzzle to complete or a trophy to win.

Harry gritted his teeth together, knowing that he was getting incredibly worked up. Riddle deserved it, though, he deserved to get chewed out.

“Tom, what you did was not okay,” Harry choked out, well aware he was on the verge of tearing up. He didn’t want to talk about this, not in public, but it would be over soon, “You can’t just force someone to watch you… do that. It’s not right.”

“I didn’t force you,” Tom said simply, “I just gave you incentive.”

“INCENTIVE?” Harry shouted, slamming his book shut, “You are an ass, Tom Riddle, and a fucking pervert at that.”

Riddle rose from his seat, his face impassive and betraying no emotion. Harry could tell he was angry, though, but it didn’t stop him.

“Do not raise your voice at me, Hadrian, there is no need. We are making a scene.”

“I don’t fucking care if I make a scene, Riddle, people deserve to know how much of a narcissistic psychopath you are!” Harry raised his voice, and the few people in the courtyard had turned to watch their battle. There were tears forming in his eyes, but that didn’t matter at the moment.

“You should care, actually, your image is everything in this world. I, however, do not worry myself with how you label me.” Tom was sneering now, looking at Harry as if he were stupid or that he just didn’t understand.

Oh Harry understood, he understood exactly what kind of a person Tom was and he didn’t know how he could miss it.

“Are you… crying?” Tom asked, looking utterly bewildered.

“I wonder why.” Harry muttered, then louder, “I. Hate. You. Is that clear?”

He bit out a laugh, not bothering to wipe the tears from his face.

“Don’t bother talking to me again, Riddle.”

Harry turned on the spot, and walked away. He could see Fred and Roy out of the corner of his eye following him, but didn’t bother acknowledging them, as he just needed to get out. Get away from people, get away from Tom. Somehow, he felt betrayed. It was as if the past few days had wound up inside of him, and suddenly he felt all these emotions bubbling up inside of him. He had felt off ever since that dream, and only then had he understood how disgusting it had truly been. It wasn’t if he had ever known Tom to be kind or caring, but he didn’t realise that the fifteen year old could have practically zero concept of right and wrong.

This was, perhaps, the worst holiday of his lives.

Chapter Text

November 6th

“Close your eyes, Hadrian.” Tom commanded, and he strode purposefully into the Chamber. He had visited this particular place only a handful of times, having only been scared of the Basilisk within the first time when she had slid from her resting place and fixed those bright, yellow eyes onto him. It had only taken a bit of coaxing, and the reminder that he was the Heir of Slytherin, to get her to cast a sheer barrier over her eyes so he could look at her without dying. Tom still needed to ask every time, though, but she would learn to keep her eyes to herself in due time.

“Speak to me Slytherin, Greatest of the Hogwarts four.” Tom spoke in parseltongue, only the faintest hiss in his voice giving the language away. The basilisk slid from her resting place, the beautiful scales shimmering in the dull candlelight of the chamber. He hoped that Hadrian had heeded his word and shut his eyes–

“Fuck,” He swore, hearing a quiet thud from behind him. Tom never swore, not really, but this moment called for it.

He turned to face the still body of Hadrian Peverell, feeling a momentary jolt of fear in his heart and hurrying over to where he lay. He couldn’t be dead, right? Tom grasped Hadrian’s wrist, rapidly checking for a pulse. His heart rate increased as he realised Peverell was not breathing. Hadrian’s face was pale, his eyes wide open in a look of shock and his lips slightly parted. 

“Fuck,” Tom said again, louder this time as he stared down at Hadrian.

It didn’t take long for him to realise the boy was merely petrified, thank Merlin. Tom grumbled under his breath at Amara’s hissing laughter, flicking his wand and levitating Hadrian off of the grimy, tiled floor.

“Why is it so hard for you to follow instructions?” Tom exclaimed, glaring down at the boy who couldn’t hear him. His heartbeat never slowed as he made his way out of the chamber, and along the corridor to the infirmary. 

It was not difficult to avoid students and teachers, despite lessons having finished and free time having begun. Tom had long since found hidden passages and shortcuts that not many knew of and frequently made use of them, and when he entered the hospital wing he was ready with a worried expression that wasn’t entirely fake and a story about how he had found Hadrian lying on the floor.

"Tom, my boy–”

Tom had to restrain himself from strangling the old man.

“We would all benefit from you being candid, Mr Peverell will stand a much greater chance of his health improving if you explained exactly what has happened. I will not blame you, if you were trying out a spell or–”

“Nonsense, Albus!” Slughorn said, “Tom has done a great deed in bringing Mr Peverell to the hospital wing, I fear that if he had not found the poor child nobody would have. Petrification is a nasty business, and there is no world in which Tom would be able to do such a spell. No offence, of course, Tom.”

That was completely untrue, Tom pondered, as he had told the Hogwarts staff that Hadrian’s body was in the middle of a frequently used corridor. He was also adamant that if he wanted, Tom could perform the petrification spell. Not that Slughorn or Dumbledore needed to know that.

“None taken, Professor,” Tom inclined his head at the Slytherin Head of House, who had his hands tucked neatly into his belt and looked as if he were about to explode with worry at the sight of one of his students being in such a state. 

Dumbledore’s smile faltered, almost imperceptibly, as he witnessed the trust Slughorn placed in his favourite student. It had been something that Tom had worked on since his first year, and by the Christmas of his Second Year he had the Potions Professor firmly in his pocket. Tom was sure that Slughorn would back him up even if he killed someone, all for the hope that he would one day return the favour. Sluggy hoped that if Tom ever rose into a prominent position in life (namely Minister for Magic, as Slughorn had hinted at frequently), he would name drop his ‘favourite Professor’. Unlikely. 

“I’m afraid, Professors, that I have told you all that I know,” Tom said, the picture of anxiety.

“Oh, well,” Slughorn said, “I will consult Professor Rowe about her Mandrakes… You’ll help me brew the restorative draught, won’t you Tom?”

“Of course, sir.” Tom nodded, unsure as to why a Potions master wanted the help of a fifteen year old boy but pleased nonetheless.

“Do take care not to spread this around the school, Tom,” Dumbledore said, as Tom was making his way from the room, “I would be most grateful if this was kept quiet.

November 9th

“You should be happy,” Amara hissed when Tom visited her, gifting a rather large cow for her consumption.

“Happy? Why?” 

Tom winced as the Basilisk devoured her meal, but forced himself to keep his eyes trained onto the sight.

“You found another Speaker friend, Youngling.”

He stilled, allowing his head to snap up in shock. Amara only laughed, or as close to laughter as a snake could form.

“You did not know? The boy, he should have died. Only a Speaker can survive such a long glance into my eyes. Bring him to me, Youngling, I want to speak with him.”

“Hadrian…” Tom said, his voice quiet and his mind whirring, “Is incapacitated. Once he awakes, I will bring him to visit.”

Hadrian Peverell was a parselmouth. A parselmouth. It was as if Tom suddenly celebrated Yule, the revelation causing his mind to reel with possibilities. Hadrian must have been related to Salazar Slytherin, as he was, and Tom wondered how the Peverells would link up with the Gaunts. Why did Hadrian not tell him? Even after Tom had revealed Lilith to him… 

No matter. Once Hadrian awoke, Tom would have many, many words with him (in Parseltongue, obviously) and it would all be well. First, Tom would need to complete a ritual he had been working on. One that was intensely exciting, and one that would clear a great deal of mysteries up. Then, he could move on with his plan and the world would reckon the day they overlooked Tom Riddle. And, hopefully, the Hadrian would come to understand exactly what Tom wants.

November 11th

It was the evening, and Tom had banished the members of his dormitory from entering. It wasn’t for anything particularly nefarious, but they knew that if they interrupted they would end up like Rosier. He had been a quivering mess, and Tom was strangely looking forward to the next time he was disobeyed.

He glanced down at his parchment, making sure he had memorised everything needed for the ritual and then clearing the floor. Tom counted his ingredients, satisfied with the amount he had collected, before drawing the runes on the wooden floor of the room. With a swish of his wand, and a few muttered words, Tom began to carefully place the ingredients into the circle. Some hair, collected earlier that day and some blood collected the night of the duel.

It should be more than enough to come up with adequate answers, but there was always the possibility Tom needed more blood.

A fierce grin overtook Tom’s face, the boy having carefully placed the strands of Hadrian’s hair into the vial of blood. The concoction was placed onto the centre rune, and Tom began chanting under his breath. He watched as ink began to form onto the parchment he had set aside, but continued with the ritual until the blood and hair had disappeared. Not bothering to clean the floor, Tom cast his eyes over the parchment now holding the ancestry of one Hadrian Peverell.

The ritual was old, but didn’t demand as much sacrifice as Tom had thought it would. The blood didn’t need to be given freely, and it was one of the first proper Dark rituals Tom had completed. Despite the bone-deep tiredness that had overcome him, Tom raked his eyes over the new information. It was a family tree, Hadrian at the bottom and delving all the way back to Ignotus Peverell. That was the first name, alongside his brothers. 

Ignotus Peverell’s nephew had married a Slytherin, and many generations down the line came Hadrian. He was the first of his name, but Tom was unsure whether he was the first since Slytherin to have been given the use of parseltongue.

The family tree brought about more questions for Tom, most importantly the Deathly Hallows. He usually could recall every book he had read, and their contents, but that was not true when it came to the Tales of Beedle the Bard. Tom would have to research more on that, as he had an inkling that there was more to Hadrian Peverell than he let on. Yes, he was related to the three brothers, but had the three brothers ever met death? Tom doubted it, and yet there had been a moment… A moment when Hadrian had spoken aloud in a moment that was clearly not meant to be heard.

I almost wish I had killed him. Just to get Death out of my head.

Tom waved his wand aggressively, removing the runes from the floor and shoving the parchment into his trunk. He hated having information kept from him, sure, but he hated the fact that it was Hadrian keeping things from him. If the boy wasn’t petrified… Stupid, that was what Tom was being in that moment. He closed his eyes, willing himself to breathe in an orderly fashion, and practised his Occlumency. It calmed him almost immediately, and allowed him to focus again on his task.

He really needed to Occlude more, lest he become impulsive and make decisions that a Slytherin should never.

November 12th

“The Dark Arts are not to be messed with,” Tom said, addressing the members of the large room, “I know some of you have read books on the subject, and believe you can skip ahead in your own time, but I must warn you against this. It is highly dangerous to stretch your core to such an extent, skipping from smaller spells to large rituals will only cause exhaustion and stress on your magic. If you are idiotic enough to still try, then leave this room immediately and don’t come crying back to me when you are on Death’s door.”

Tom had begun training his inner circle ever since Rosier had been… beaten by Hadrian. It had been glorious to watch, but it made Tom realise that if he were to reach all his goals, then he would need to have competent Knights. Some had practised the Dark Arts before, courtesy of their parents, but not to the extent that Tom wished they had. Abraxas was particularly good, but wary in a way that made Tom slightly frustrated but Orion was surprisingly apt at Dark spells and curses, having lived around them his entire life. The rest had worried parents who didn’t like the idea of children and teenagers being involved in such life changing magic.

He pondered, not for the first time, on what it would be like to have Hadrian in this room. Would he have a particular affinity for Dark magic? Has he already tried? The spell that had almost sliced Rosier in half was hardly light… Tom vowed to invite him, once he woke up, and cursed himself internally that he hadn’t offered it to the boy before. What was there to lose?

“Seccare Corrumpere,” Tom demonstrated, slashing his wand at a mannequin he had found in an empty Defence classroom. Its head was decapitated from its body, if it were human blood would have poured onto the floor and the skull would have cracked on the hard stone. He smirked at the looks of awe on his inner circle’s faces, but didn’t acknowledge it further. 

Magic was truly spectacular, and Tom didn’t understand why there was such a stigma around certain branches.

The eldest brother asked for a wand more powerful than any in existence. Death granted his wish by fashioning the Elder Wand from a branch of a nearby elder tree standing on the banks of the river. 

The second brother asked for the power to recall the deceased from the grave. Death granted his wish by crafting the Resurrection Stone from a stone picked from the riverbank. 

The third and youngest brother did not trust Death and asked for something to enable him to go forth without Death being able to follow. A reluctant Death, most unwillingly, handed over his own invisibility cloak. 

In the end, only the youngest brother truly lived. He lived underneath his invisibility cloak until he was ready to pass, and then handed it to his son. What an idiot, Tom scoffed, closing the Tales of Beedle the Bard. Tom hated the idea of an invisibility cloak, the idea of having to hide for his entire life. If Tom was going to live forever, he wouldn’t do so in the shadows.

He pondered for a moment on what he would ask, if Death ever offered the opportunity. Sure, it was a children’s tale, but a tale that the intelligent Hadrian Peverell seemed to believe. Maybe he would ask for power, but that was subjective and something he could easily gain on his own. 

He sighed, and tucked the book away. It didn’t seem true, how could Death appear in corporeal form and why would he appear to those three people? What was the connection between Grindelwald and the Peverell’s? If the Deathly Hallows were real, was Grindelwald after them? 

The fifth year boys seemed to notice his pensive mood, and thankfully didn’t attempt to draw him into conversation that evening.

November 20th

GRINDELWALD SPOTTED IN DIAGON ALLEY: WATCH OUT BRITAIN!

Readers of the Daily Prophet should watch their backs, as many credible sources witnessed the man known as Gellert Grindelwald strolling through the streets of Diagon Alley late last night. He paid no heed to the witches and wizards he passed, however, and appeared to be heading in the direction of Ollivanders. Garrick Ollivander is Britain’s most notorious, and best, wandmaker. What would the Hungarian born Grindelwald want with Britain's own creator of wands? While readers should note that Grindelwald is a dangerous individual, this author questions his reasoning behind the casual stroll through the most populated wizarding space in England.

For those who are unaware, the Dark Lord Grindelwald has been on the rise since (as Ministries and Historians have begun to realise) the early 1920s. Until recently, the wizard has been spotted in Germany and Hungary and has taken to forming treaties and alliances with the Italian ‘Ministero della Magia’ and was seen talking with the Headmaster of Durmstrang Academy in Eastern Europe. Members of the public are urged to stay away from Grindelwald, and report any suspicious activity.

More information on Gellert Grindelwald on page 3-4.
More information on Eastern European Politics on page 5-6.

Tom handed over the copy of the Daily Prophet to Isabella, who was scowling in his general direction at the fact he had snatched it from her hands the moment her owl had delivered it.

“Any thoughts?” Orion asked, once again prodding for Tom’s stance.

“Grindelwald doesn’t stand a chance,” Tom replied, biting into his apple, “Britain is far too… old fashioned to consider his views.”

“But?” Hector asked, sensing Tom’s pause.

“But that is only because he is an outsider. If someone British decided the Ministry needed a change…” He allowed himself to trail off, leaving the ending to his group’s imagination. It was entertaining to hear their brains whirr at the implications. Although, if Hadrian were here he would have already started a debate or made a quippy comment. 

November 27th

Tom was brooding. It wasn’t a good look, admittedly, but it had been over twenty days since Tom had felt anything but disappointment, boredom, and sometimes anger. There had been moments of elation or satisfaction, when researching into topics surrounding Hadrian, but it wasn’t the same as the conversations he would have had if the actual boy had been around. He always seemed to come up with the oddest ideas and while it was often frustrating, most of the time Tom felt up for the challenge of convincing Hadrian to go back on his ideals. 

“We all miss him, Tom.” Orion said, jerking him out of his thoughts.

Tom only raised an eyebrow at the younger boy.

“Hadrian,” He clarified, “I assume that is what you are thinking about. It wasn’t your fault, you know, and he’ll be back soon.”

“Indeed,” Tom said, unsure about how to respond to this moment of high emotions, “Slughorn has mentioned he is ready to prepare the restorative draught, and the Mandrakes should be ready by next week.”

Orion nodded, but looked as if he wanted to speak again.

“Spit it out, Orion.”

“I don’t mean to intrude–”

“Then don’t.”

“But–” He cleared his throat, “Was something happening between you and Hadrian?”

Smug satisfaction burnt through Tom’s chest at the insinuation.

“Whatever do you mean, Orion?” He replied lightly, tracing his fingers softly over the pages of his book. It made the young boy blush.

“Well… you always looked at him as if,” Orion faltered, looking around as if the world was listening, before lowering his voice, “You looked at him as if you were undressing him with your eyes, you know? And you’ve been off since he was petrified. I thought–”

“You thought wrong, Orion,” Tom chastised, not feeling embarrassed by his quick response. It wasn’t as if what Orion said was true, he just wanted the boy to be quiet, “Hadrian has no feelings for me.”

Orion perked up, “Surely you don’t believe that, Tom? I know he finds you attractive.”

Tom cocked his head, watching the boy carefully for any scent of deception.

“I would rather we not delve into this topic, Orion.”

Secretly, Tom found himself rather pleased. Whether it was true or not, and Tom hoped it was, the fact that others thought it was brought about something akin to anticipation inside of him. Maybe his plan would work after all.

December 1st

“Pity,” Tom muttered to himself as he cut his snake to pieces and dropped them carefully into the cauldron.

He was in the middle of an experimental potion, one that should (if brewed correctly) manifest venom into the veins and replicate the feeling of a death by poison without the actual poison. One would die, and the Aurors would assume they were bitten by a venomous snake. It was genius, really, and made even better by the fact that his snake hadn’t been particularly dangerous in the first place. He could murder at least six people with this poison, and there would be no trace back to him. 

But, for now, he only needed to murder three. It was easy to find their addresses, a little persuading old Sluggy to take up the firewhisky a bit earlier and Tom was able to sneak into the cabinets filled with student files. Tomorrow he would sneak out of the castle, via a handy passage into Hogsmeade, and take the floo all the way to London. He only hoped Hadrian would understand, and maybe offer him some thanks.

There was even some delay with the deaths! The poison would slowly corrupt their blood, taking a minimum of two weeks to fully work. In some cases it lasted two months, but only if the person had particularly… pure blood. Muggles and squibs stood no chance.

December 8th

Hadrian was awake! It was vaguely annoying when Tom trekked all the way to the hospital wing in order to escort him to the common room, to find that Hadrian had already left. No matter, there was no way he knew the password.

When Tom approached the stretch of stone wall that the Slytherin’s used as their entrance, he felt elation to see the boy standing there and swearing profusely at it.

“Fuck me,” Hadrian said rather loudly, glaring at the stones.

“If you want, Hadrian.” Tom responded with a smirk, relishing in the way Hadrian jumped at his voice. Merlin, how he missed the challenge of the other boy. The only other boy who would be so rude and disrespectful, and not fall out of favour. It would take a miracle for Tom to discard Hadrian Peverell, especially after all he had learnt from that lovely visit to his relatives in London.

“Tom,” Hadrian acknowledged, his voice barely able to hide his bad attitude.

Tom only smirked, and cocked his head to the side as if to say ‘if you were anyone else I’d have your head.’ It was true, of course, that the past month had made Tom realise how much he really relied on the other boy. Not only for entertainment, that was just a bonus, but for the promise of more. That wouldn’t make sense for the others, but for the first time in Tom’s life he felt something similar to hope whenever he was around Hadrian. The boy had so much power, so much grit and anger to be formed and used.

It was, as Tom had thought before, magnificent.

Tom just had to go and fail, didn’t he. It took him the entirety of the day after ‘the dream’ to realise that he might have pushed Hadrian too far, and it was upsetting to say the least. The boy, while not outwardly ignoring him, was far too quiet and far too uncomfortable whenever he was around Tom. He hated failure, and this one was so blatant that there was little holding Tom back from casting the Cruciatus curse on whoever next spoke to him. Hadrian began withdrawing from Tom, where he might once have challenged a comment he hummed or didn’t speak up and where he might have made a joke there was an eerie silence. 

And then Hadrian stopped talking to him at all. There were no ‘good mornings’ or ‘good nights’, there was no ‘Tom, shut up’ or ‘pass the toast, Tom’, there was no ‘muggles are human too, Tom’ or ‘I still can’t believe you support women’s rights’. 

Of course, Tom was still cordial. But it was difficult when Hadrian was sneaking away to the library, or returning to the common room five minutes before curfew. It was even worse when most of the school left for Yule, and Hadrian began hanging out with a Mudblood and an idiot Gryffindor who claimed to want to be Minister for Magic. Tom did his research into Hadrian’s new ‘friends’ and he did not like what he found.

He only mentioned it once, though, a passing threat that made sure Hadrian would think about his new friendships. That got a rise out of him, and Tom was only glad to hear his voice. Tom wasn’t jealous, no, just disappointed that Hadrian would bother with people that were hardly wizards and were far below his station. Merlin’s sake, Hadrian was a Peverell who beat Rosier in a duel, he was a Slytherin that Tom regarded highly and there was no way Hadrian was as innocent as he seemed. That had been made clear after Tom made a comment about his parents, it had only been a hunch before. One more thing to research, Tom noted with a smile.

Hadrian then stopped talking to him, again, and it only made Tom angry. He had no one else, not at the moment, and the fact that Hadrian was shunning him for a Hufflepuff and a Gryffindor… Well, Tom would have to get him back. Somehow.

Then, December 22nd happened. Tom decided to approach Hadrian in the courtyard, hoping to catch him without his two bodyguards, when Hadrian snapped. He snapped, and shouted, and made some very confusing points, but Tom was not angry or mad or upset. He was just thrilled that Hadrian had finally stood up for himself. Not that he hadn’t before, that was one of the things that had initially drawn him to the boy, but he had never heard Hadrian shout. He had also never seen him cry, and he didn’t know whether he liked that or not. Tom certainly didn’t like how Hadrian had stormed away, followed by his new ‘friends’ and Tom was left to stew in the courtyard.

“Don’t bother talking to me again, Riddle.”

Ouch.

He didn’t mean it, though, Hadrian couldn’t possibly have said that in earnest. But Tom heeded his request, begrudgingly, and didn’t speak to Hadrian Peverell for the rest of the year. He hoped, in the end, that Hadrian would come crawling back to him and begging for him to speak. But the New Year began, and then the students returned from Yule, and Tom nor Hadrian had spoken to the other.

Two weeks.

Two frightfully awful weeks in which Tom had caught glimpses of Hadrian laughing with his new ‘friends’, or ignoring any of the Slytherin fifth years apart from Orion, or sitting at the Gryffindor table, or somehow getting on good terms with Dumbledore. Nobody dared ask him why he was in such a dreadful mood, apart from Orion, who just looked worried.

“Why are you and Hadrian ignoring each other?” Orion asked, twiddling his fingers together as if it had taken a whole year's preparation to talk to Tom. It probably had, to be honest.

It made Tom ponder, for a few moments. He hadn’t truly thought it through, why were they no longer friends?

Tom blinked, internally having some sort of heart attack.

Friends?

That wasn’t the word he had expected to think, not in the slightest.

Why were Hadrian Peverell and Tom Riddle no longer… speaking?

That worked, Tom thought.

He resorted to reasoning aloud, just to give Orion a break from worrying about what Tom was going to say or how he was going to react to such a personal question. It wouldn’t do any harm, as it was just them. If someone like Rosier had been around, his reply would have been instantaneous and scathing to the point the other boy might’ve flinched away.

“He asked me not to speak to him again, so I obliged.”

“Why would he ask that?” Orion prodded, his brow furrowed, “I’ve asked Hadrian, several times actually, but he just laughed and said to ask you.”

Tom hummed non committedly, “I might have forced him to do something, I think, that he didn’t want to do. He wasn’t very clear when he shouted at me.”

“He… shouted at you?” Orion questioned, ever the worrier.

“Yes. I don’t hold it against him, however.”

“Oh, okay. What did you force him to do?” Orion continued, before hurriedly adding, “If you don’t mind me asking.”

Tom gave him a deathly look that suggested, yes, he did mind him asking.

Orion blushed, “Sorry.”

“No need to apologise, Orion, I won’t fault your curiosity.”

A moment of silence passed as Orion let out a breath of relief, and Tom was struck with an idea.

“Orion,” He said, sitting up slightly in his chair, “If you were to make up with Hadrian, to get him back onside, how would you do it?”

The young boy seemed to ponder for a moment, like he was rolling words around his mouth to find the perfect ones.

“I would just apologise. I don’t know what you’ve done, or if you did anything wrong, but he seems the type of person to forgive quite easily. Just act remorseful, if you can.”

Tom didn’t reply.

Chapter Text

“Hadrian,” Tom said, gaining the other boy’s attention. They were alone, in the dormitory, and both of them were late for classes. Tom was only late because he realised Hadrian was nowhere to be found, and it had given him a wonderful idea.

Hadrian only grunted in response, folding a spare shirt into sections and tucking it back into his trunk. 

Tom swallowed, trying to remember the words he had crafted only hours ago. He knew exactly what to do, and what to say, so why in that moment was it so difficult to form any words? 

“I came here to apologise,” Tom said, and felt some satisfaction in seeing Hadrian still, “It was terribly rude of me and I sincerely regret how I have been treating you. I do hope you can forgive–”

But Tom never got the chance to finish his sentence as his whole boy was shoved roughly against the wooden post of one of the beds. His spine gave a painful jolt, and his head snapped back with a crack.

“How…” Tom’s voice was breathy, “How very muggle, Hadrian.”

“Don’t you dare speak,” Hadrian gritted out, one of his arms pinning Tom back and the other… his other hand was trapped around Tom’s throat. He could barely breathe, let alone taunt or mock. Tom tried to go for his wand, he knew it was in the holster strapped tightly to his right forearm, but he could not move.

“How dare you try and apologise to me,” Hadrian seethed, “When you don’t even know what you are apologising for? You don’t even know ‘how you’ve been treating me’ and I would bet a hundred galleons that it wasn’t even your idea to apologise, however half heartedly you did it. I don’t forgive as easily as you think I do, Riddle.”

Tom opened his mouth, but no words came out and he saw a fuzzy blackness in the outer frames of his vision. His attempt only enraged Hadrian more.

“I told you to stay away, and you were doing so well.” 

The last two words were so mocking, such a patronising taunt that Tom had to think for a few moments to realise what was happening. It sounded so like… But Tom was thoroughly distracted by the face pressed up in front of him, moulded with anger and amusement and sheer, unadulterated hatred. 

Tom wasn’t scared, he didn’t get scared, but the way Hadrian’s eyes were flashing in that moment. Green to black to green to black to green. The world would surely fall within moments of Hadrian Peverell being set loose onto it.

“But you are such a narcissist, aren’t you Tom?” 

Hadrian said his name almost like Dumbledore did, with all the softness and the condensation but with ten times the malice. There was also a promise, in those words, of pain. It reminded Tom of…

Tom’s vision was getting so blurry, and he was not getting enough oxygen to breathe and he knew, deep down, that Hadrian didn’t care and that he would leave Tom here to die, alone, and without having completed anything in the world.

“Shhh,” Hadrian whispered, “I won’t leave you here.”

Tom jolted, the weight around his neck gone in an instance, and he forced himself to stand up straight. Even if he could barely see, barely hear, he tried to raise his wand. Hadrian only laughed, and it was such a familiar laugh… 

“Don’t even bother, Riddle, you wouldn’t stand a chance. Now, stay away from me and my friends. I won’t ask as… politely again.”

Tom stood there, his wand pointed into the face of Hadrian Peverell, as the boy turned his back on the best duellist to have ever walked the halls of Hogwarts. But that was what drew Tom to him in the first place, wasn’t it? The way he had never been scared, he had never shown any fear towards Tom and it had both infuriated and intrigued him. Now, Tom felt he had somehow messed up over the last four months.

Tom Riddle did not like other people, he simply used them for his own gain. Pawns, in an eternal game of chess where he was the King. So why did he suddenly feel these emotions? Fear? Worry? Regret? He hadn’t felt regret when he’d left a rabbit to die, he hadn’t felt regret when he threw little Mary down the stairs, he hadn’t felt regret when he used the Cruciatus curse on Rosier. Now? After being shunned and refused? Now he felt regret, and he wasn’t entirely sure why.

Oh, but that emotion wasn’t particularly productive and Tom had much to think about after that… confrontation. He grinned to himself, throwing away any feeling other than victory. Tom knew exactly what Hadrian wanted, and he could so very easily give it to him. Hadrian wanted a challenge, he thrived on confrontation, and Tom would prepare a well crafted piece of entertainment for the both of them. Yes, that would work, that would work exquisitely.

It was very easy to wipe away any thoughts of how easily Tom had just been threatened and walk down to the Potions classroom. It was even easier to forget about the bruises that lined his throat and back.

Harry Potter didn’t think of himself as particularly violent, but after his two weeks of blissful silence was interrupted by a pitiful apology he thought what he did was deserved. It had felt somewhat like a singular flash of lightning: solitary and quick, bright and deadly. Hermione would have been appalled, Ron would have laughed. Neither of those reactions would have made him feel anything other than the contentment that settled in his mind. Harry felt as if he could walk on the clouds, dive into the deepest parts of the ocean and come out dry, fight a dragon with no eyesight. He had just threatened Tom Riddle, and come out unscathed, and it was magnificent.

“Why are you in such a good mood?” Fred muttered, as Harry sat beside him, “It is a miracle that Slughorn didn’t take points.”

Harry only grinned, “I just blamed Riddle.”

With a snort, Fred slid over the Potions textbook that was open on Amortentia.

“I thought this was a sixth year lesson?” Harry questioned, removing his parchment and quill from his satchel.

“It is, but Sluggy taught the lesson this morning and promised us we’d get to smell the cauldron he brewed. We’re doing Everlasting Elixirs afterwards.”

Harry frowned slightly, remembering his last run in with Amortentia. He would have to make sure nobody stole from Slughorn, as they had easily done in his sixth year.

Tom walked into the room then, looking as poised as ever and flashing a bright smile towards Slughorn. He didn’t get any points taken, and went to sit beside Hector when–

Oh.

Oh.

Tom Riddle was sporting a very red, very large, bruise around his neck. Surely bruises didn’t form that early on, right? But there he was, seemingly unphased from what Harry had done, and already scribbling notes on his parchment.

“Merlin,” Fred said, directing Harry’s attention from Tom, “Who attacked Riddle? I thought you said you were with him?”

Harry shook his head hurriedly, “That was an excuse, Fred. I wasn’t actually with him.”

“Oh, right.” Fred blushed, though Harry wasn’t sure why.

“Now everyone has joined us,” Slughorn began, casting a half heartedly stern look at both Riddle and Harry, “As I was just saying, Amortentia is the most powerful love potion in existence. It causes a powerful infatuation or obsession, rather than true love, and should never be underestimated. Gather round, gather round…”

Harry and Fred moved closer to the cauldron, as did the rest of the class. Tom seemingly stayed as far away from it as possible, almost as if he were wary of it.

“It has a distinctive mother-of-pearl sheen to it, and can also be recognised by the swirling patterns in its steam. Can anyone tell me what the most recognisable attribute to Amortentia is? Yes, Tom.”

“The most noted characteristic of Amortentia is its smell, different to each and every person. It is highly dangerous to get in such close quarters of it, as the smell can elicit almost as powerful infatuation as consuming it. Lingering too long would cause light headedness and nausea, but the person would not focus on the negatives but rather their preferred smell.”

“Excellent, Tom!” Slughorn exclaimed, “10 points to Slytherin. Do you mind telling the class what you smell, my boy?”

Tom’s scowl was almost imperceptible, and Harry only noticed it because he was looking for it. There was something digging in the back of his mind, something that linked Tom Riddle to Amortentia, but he could not remember what…

His mother, Master. Merope Gaunt dosed Tom Riddle Senior with Amortentia, and Riddle Juniour was conceived under its effects. Many are of the belief that a babe conceived under a love potion can never, truly love. 

Oh, right. Thanks Death. 

It was the first time in a few days that Death had spoken to him, and Harry had almost forgotten the dull tones of the man. The thing? Ugh.

He almost missed Tom weaving through the students towards the front, and briefly breathing in the fumes of the cauldron. 

“I smell nothing, Professor.”

“Nonsense! I brewed this perfectly, maybe try again my dear boy.” Slughorn said jovially, waving off Tom’s words. Harry noticed how Riddle’s right hand twitched, as if he wanted to go for his wand. The movement was gone almost immediately, as Tom spoke again.

“I am confident sir, that I do not smell anything.” Tom said, and Slughorn seemed to pale slightly at the look he was given.

“He’s lying,” Harry whispered, only Fred being able to hear him.

“Hmm?” Fred responded from right beside him, “Why on earth would he do that?”

“I’m not sure,” Harry switched his weight from left to right, “I wonder what he smelled?”

“Who knows, Harry–”

“What did you just call me?” Harry swung his head around, only just managing to keep his voice a quiet whisper.

“Harry?” Fred replied, brow furrowing, “If you don’t like it… I was just trying it out, Hadrian is far too formal for my liking. Roy, Fred, and Hadrian? Nah, it doesn't work.”

Fred said this last part just as he pinched Harry’s side, to which Harry responded with a knobbly elbow to the ribcage.

“Settle down, boys.” Slughorn said from the back, pointing in their direction, “Hadrian, by boy, come up to the front.”

“Yes sir,” Harry replied, casting one last scowl at Fred’s smirking face before he stepped through the crowd to the cauldron.

“Tell us what you smell, Mr Peverell.” Slughorn said, waving towards the cauldron when Harry seemed to take too long.

“Oh, okay,” Harry said, remembering what he smelt last time– treacle tart, the woody scent of broomstick handle, and some sort of flower.

It was different, now.

“Cinnamon, something metallic– Iron, I think– umm, sandalwood?” Harry said, looking up for confirmation from Slughorn, who nodded, and Harry retreated.

Why has it changed?

You are not the same person, Master.

Well, obviously.

“You okay?” Fred said under his breath when Harry had returned, “You look a bit pale.”

Harry nodded quickly, “Yeah, fine, just wasn’t expecting that. It’s quite… potent.”

Tom didn’t retaliate. He didn’t plot, he didn’t investigate, he didn’t even glare. He did, however, spend a bit of time talking to Orion.

“Tell me why Hadrian decided to attack me before I even finished my apology.” Tom said, dragging Orion aside, “I thought you said that would fix it.”

Orion paled, “I… I must have misjudged.”

“Clearly,” Tom drawled, raising an eyebrow, “Spit it out.”

The dark haired, short boy had evidently been wanting to add something onto the end of his stuttered words.

“Maybe, hear me out please, maybe he could tell you didn’t mean it.” Orion’s voice was so quiet, it was as if he feared rebuttal for his thoughts. Tom then realised he had been gripping Orion’s arm quite tightly, and let go.

He was silent for a second, thinking.

“I did mean it.” Tom asserted in the end.

“Did you?” Orion replied, seemingly over his short bout of fearfulness.

There was more silence after that, and it was Orion who broke it.

“Let’s go to dinner, Tom.” 

He was dragged away from the library, and forced to eat the heavy foods the Hogwarts elves made. They never seemed to get it quite right, too little salt or too much spice, far too much sugar and not enough fruit. It was quite disgusting, even for an orphan who’d once craved such a large amount of food. Tom found himself staring at the Hufflepuff table, where Hadrian was happily chewing away at an orange dessert and chatting away with the simpletons he called friends. 

Tom Riddle went to sleep that night thinking about treacle tart, icy wind, and pine.

Harry was bouncing up and down in frightful anticipation. He wasn’t excited for the Slug Club, no, he was nervous. It wasn’t the fact that he was sitting in a room with future Death Eaters, even as he knew that the future Minister Harold Minchum was also there and was spouting nonsense about his career path. He was nervous due to the fact that at the end of this meeting, Tom Riddle was going to ask Slughorn about the Horcruxes.

He watched Riddle’s mannerisms carefully throughout the dinner, only joining in the conversation when Slughorn directly addressed him.

No, he wasn’t looking for a career in Potions.

Yes, Defence was more up his street.

No, he didn’t want to be an Auror.

Yes, Ministry work did sound interesting.

No, he hadn’t met Ignatius Tuft.

Yes, he would appreciate being introduced.

Riddle was far more eloquent, seeming to float through conversation topics with ease and laying out carefully prepared answers to a variety of questions.

Yes, he was thinking about teaching, Professor Merrythought agreed he would be good at it, having experience in the Ministry would help greatly with his resume, Magical Law is a fascinating topic he would like to delve into and yes, he had the pleasure of making the acquaintance of Lorcan McLaird.

There was nothing odd or strange about how Riddle was acting, though Harry should not have been surprised. He knew what to do, and it was as if Riddle had handed it onto him on a silver platter.

“Well!” Slughorn announced, his face flushed bright red and his hands shaking with the amount of sherry he had consumed, “It must be time to leave!”

The group said their goodbyes, and most of them had left quite swiftly. It was a decent group to be a part of if you wanted to excel in life, but it was frightfully dull and obnoxious. 

“Profe–” Tom started to ask, before Harry jumped in.

“Tom, can I speak to you?” He looked at the boy unabashedly, watching eagerly as Tom’s eyes widened in shock.

He seemed to debate something internally, weighing up his options. Was Harry worth more than immortality? 

“Maybe later, Hadrian.”

Harry scowled, before composing himself, “Please, Tom.”

His pleading tone was certainly not lost on Tom Riddle, who seemed to inflate in that very moment. Riddle was a fool if he thought Harry would crawl back to him, and an even bigger fool if he thought this wasn’t just a plot. Yes, Tom could ask Slughorn a different night, but it would be better if it wasn’t tonight. That would change the course of time, if only a little, and hopefully for the better.

“Go ahead, boys.” Slughorn said, grinning widely and twirling his annoyingly grey moustache, “I would quite like some rest tonight.”

“Goodnight, Professor.” Tom said before giving Harry a meaningful look and leaving the room.

Bingo.

Harry knew that he needed to be valuable, that the one thing Tom valued most was power and he would do anything to get it. But right now, all Harry wanted to do was stay away. He couldn’t, not really, though that didn’t mean that Tom Riddle couldn’t suffer. 

So the deception begins, and Harry had been planning for this very moment.

“What do you want, Hadrian?” Tom asked as they walked side by side to the common room, for the first time in a good few weeks.

“I want you to understand, and then I want you to apologise. You owe me, Tom Riddle, don’t forget that.”

“Do I?” Tom replied, his mouth twisting into a nasty smirk, “Do try and remember that you owe me, as well.”

Harry’s grin was fierce and not entirely faked, “I know. So, technically, neither of us owe the other?”

“You might be able to say that.”

“Are you ready to listen?” Harry asked, pausing before the Slytherin common room entrance.

“I am.”

“Wonderful,” Harry faced the stone wall, “Victory.”

Chapter Text

Usually, when someone disrespects Tom Riddle they would come crawling back on all fours, begging to be forgiven. This did not look like crawling.

This looked like Hadrian Peverell was getting even, somehow.
They stood in the empty common room, all students having left as soon as Tom gave them the ‘look’, and he waited with bated breath to find out exactly what Hadrian wanted to say.

“Amortentia,” Hadrian said after a beat, and Tom stilled. It was just a simple, singular word but it held far too much weight, “That is akin to what you did to me.”

He scoffed, but kept his eyes solely focused on the determined expression on Hadrian’s face. It was as if he had been working up to this speech for days, and he probably had, so Tom could empathise with the need to have an audience. 

“Surely you can relate to that? The pain of having your choices stripped from you, of being trapped. I didn’t know how to make you understand, before, but then I had a rather enlightening dream.”

Someone should give Tom an award, a trophy perhaps, for not strangling Hadrian the moment he began talking. Another one, a medal hopefully, for not pinning him to the wall and forcing him to tell him everything about Tom’s future.

“Do you want to hear a story, Riddle?” Hadrian asked, his voice so soft it felt as if Tom were a child about to be sent to sleep. He didn’t reply, except the infinitesimal nod of his head. For some reason, he needed to listen to Hadrian’s words.

“Once upon a time there was a woman. She was rather ugly, moulded by the inbreeding of her family, and rather desperate for a variety of things– magic, money, love. One day she met this man, who was rich and fairly handsome for a muggle, and naturally she fell in love. It was not reciprocated. Being a squib, Merope–”

Tom flinched.

“Decided it would be a wonderful idea to douse this man with Amortentia. She stole his mind, his inhibitions, and he was forced against his will to create a child.”

Tom’s face was turning red, he could feel the heat rising up his neck. He never got visibly angry, not really, but in the moment where Hadrian Peverell decided to tell his story Tom had never felt so incensed. How did he know? Tom had only found out last summer, and he didn’t really know the details. But Hadrian did, and Tom believed every word he spouted.

“Now,” Hadrian continued, ignoring Tom’s dropped jaw, “Onto another story.”

Tom marvelled at the teenagers composure, something surely copied from Tom’s usually impeccable expression and posture. Even the smile was the same, a small and insincere smirk that barely formed creases in his cheeks.

“That very same child never knew compassion, he grew up without the love of family and even as a teenager never knew the love of friends. Then one day, he made a decision that quite frankly baffled another teenager he knew. With the child’s history, how could he possibly act like his mother? He gleefully stole another boy’s inhibitions forcing him to watch an act, trapping him inside his own head with no remorse. I don’t think this child even understands the word ‘remorse’ and if I could ever speak clearly…”

Hadrian raised an eyebrow at Tom, who could barely move an inch from where he stood. Not even blinking, his breathing shallow, and his mind allowed the words to flow through his brain and settle in his heart.

“I would advise this child to look up remorse in the dictionary.”

Tom snapped.

Well, no trophy for Tom. He lunged forward, grasping his hands around Hadrian’s throat and slamming him into the common room wall. There was a sickening crack, hopefully Hadrian’s spine. It was a poor imitation of the way Hadrian had threatened Tom in the dormitory. Hadrian Peverell only smiled, that infernal, reckless smirk planted firmly on his face. He looked down at Tom, even if Peverell were shorter and currently unable to (and not wanting to) move. 

As fast as it had first happened, Tom let go. He stepped back once. Twice. And he ran.

Tom was being stalked by Hadrian Peverell. The teenager went wherever Tom walked or even looked, an ever present figure in his day and night. He could hardly complete half the list of things he wanted to do. The other half, well, they concerned Hadrian so Tom was actually quite lucky to have him hanging around.

It wasn’t that awkward between the two of them, even if sometimes Tom felt a bit on edge around Hadrian. It was as if the tables had turned, and Hadrian was the one running the show. Not entirely, or else Tom would have to step in, but it was enough for Hadrian to suddenly be a threat. They had gone back to how it had been before Hadrian was petrified, almost. They studied together, they ate together, they sat in the common room together. Yet Tom didn’t believe he had been forgiven, and in a twist of fate it appeared that Tom could understand Hadrian’s train of thought.

That unnerved him.

“I told you I had methods of getting revenge… Tom.” Hadrian said one day, as they sat in the library.

Tom raised an eyebrow, noticing the way Hadrian spoke his name. He didn’t mind it.

But Hadrian didn’t continue speaking, and Tom watched as the boy walked out of the library with a content smile on his face. There was never a time when Tom would have let Hadrian walk away like that, and today was certainly no different. So he followed.

The curly haired teenager strode through the castle, taking shortcuts that even Tom had not known about. Through tapestries and behind portraits, they avoided the staircases and other students, until he ducked into an abandoned classroom on the fourth floor that Tom hadn’t realised even existed. Tom was unsure whether Hadrian knew he was being followed, but entered the classroom behind him anyway.

“I thought you said you were ready to talk to me, Riddle.” Hadrian said, when Tom had shut the door behind with a soft click. The room was dark, the windows barely letting any light in, and there was a slim layer of dust on every desk except the one where Hadrian leant against. 

“I am.” Tom replied, though he felt as if Hadrian’s voice was different to usual.

“Then why did you run away?” Hadrian tilted his head to the side, “I didn’t know you were a coward. Slytherin, yes, but a coward? That was unexpected.”

Hadrian spoke as if he had preconceived ideas about Tom’s personality. Tom ignored the question, internally branding it as rhetorical.

“What has happened to you?” Tom said instead, “You have changed.”

Hadrian’s eyes flashed, only for a second, into black.

“You.”

Tom scowled.

“You happened to me, Riddle.” Hadrian repeated, twirling his wand around his fingers, “Are you ready to talk?”

“I have a proposition,” Tom replied, attempting to move the conversation back into his own territory. It was getting far too dangerous for Tom’s self preserving attitude.

“Oh?” Hadrian inclined his head, amused, as if to say ‘well, go on then’.

“A question for a question, and a truthful answer each.”

Hadrian smiled like he had gotten exactly what he wanted without a fight. He probably had, but Tom was excited for the challenge anyway. Despite the way Hadrian was watching him, Tom felt anticipation for the conversation to come. Would he finally get some answers?

“Deal.” Hadrian said, and then sat on the floor.

Tom blinked down at the teenager, who raised an eyebrow. A challenge. So he sat, not one to give up so easily. Even if the floor was hard and uncomfortable and the challenge wasn’t really a challenge but one of Hadrian’s quirks.

“Why–” Tom began, but was rudely interrupted.

“I go first, Riddle.” Hadrian admonished.

“When did you become so annoying?” Tom shot back.

“Is that your question?”

“Is that yours?” 

“Touche.” Hadrian acknowledged with a nod, “Have you ever cast an Unforgivable?”

“Yes.” Was Tom’s simple, one word answer. He wasn’t ashamed of that, and didn’t know how to feel about the fact Hadrian did not seem shocked in the slightest.

“Why did you hide the fact you are a parselmouth?” 

“I didn’t want you to know.” Hadrian replied, and Tom was about to object to this roundabout answer when Hadrian continued, “Because you struck me as someone who would use that against me, blackmail me, or collect me.”

Tom nodded once, to show he understood, even if he didn’t like it. That sounded accurate.

“Why did you use an Unforgivable curse?” Hadrian asked, and Tom had the feeling that Hadrian already knew which one he used, and who he used it on.

“Felix spoke out of turn, he disrespected my actions and needed to be put in his place. It worked, obviously.” 

Tom pondered for a moment, working out exactly which question to ask next. He was unsure how long this conversation would last, and whether Hadrian would suddenly up and leave before Tom could get to the point. For now, it seemed that Hadrian was comfortable in his position. One leg was pulled to his chest and his back was leant against the leg of the desk.

“What exactly happened, to cause your parents' deaths?” Tom asked next, a topic that Hadrian rarely talked about. It wasn’t unusual for Grindelwald to kill whole families, but something about the way Hadrian talked about them… or how he didn’t talk about them, was disturbing.

“Their house was set on fire and they perished in the flames.” 

Hadrian did not seem to care, and spoke so offhandedly that it took even Tom by surprise. He did that a lot, surprising Tom. 

“Why did you stop inviting me to your meetings?”

“I don’t trust you. I don’t know whether you’d appreciate the contents of the meetings, whether you’d want to participate. You always seemed as if you would not want to get involved.”

“I would.”

“You don’t know what we do in those meetings.”

“I could guess.”

“Have you ever dabbled in Dark Magic?”

“No.” Hadrian said curtly, a warning look in his eye. There was something else though, something in his eye that seemed so familiar…

“Would you?” Tom asked boldly, uncaring towards the rules.

“My turn. What is the content of your meetings?”

“Dark Arts, mostly. Politics, sometimes. Recently it’s more of the former.” Tom revelled in the interested expression on Hadrian's face, whether it was about the magic or the information he did not care.

“So it’s just like a study session?” Hadrian quipped, and Tom copied the expression Hadrian had worn only seconds before.

“My turn,” Tom smirked, “Why did you interrupt me talking to Slughorn the night of his Slug Club?”

Hadrian blinked, unable to stop the shocked expression on his face. The boy should know by now that Tom wasn’t completely oblivious to his surroundings.

“You were about to make a fatal mistake that you would regret in the future, and I could not allow that.”

“Elaborate,” Tom said, leaning forward and abandoning his usually pristine posture.

“What topic were you going to ask Slughorn about?” Hadrian asked softly, but he already knew the answer– that much was obvious. Tom knew exactly what question to follow with, to find out whether Hadrian was a fraud or not. It would change his entire plans.

“Horcruxes. Are you a–”

“That’s enough.” Hadrian said swiftly, standing from his position.

“You asked more questions than I did,” Tom complained, his tone betraying his indignation.

“I know. But, Riddle, do you see how much better it is to talk to someone as an equal? Instead of forcing truth serum down their throat and hoping they would forget.”

“I will admit, this conversation was much more preferable.”

“I have not forgiven you, Riddle, nor have I forgotten. There are several things you need to pay for, but don’t hold your breath for my revenge. I wouldn’t want you to suffocate before I can dole out my… punishment.”

“You have no right.” Tom immediately responded, catching Hadrian’s arm as he went to leave the classroom.

“I have every right, just as you thought you did.” Hadrian said under his breath, yanking his arm from Tom’s grip, and leaving the room with a grim smile.

Harry Potter returned to his dormitory, his hands shaking as he shut the curtains around his bed, and sinking into his bed with a shuddering breath. He had already changed the timeline of events, Riddle had yet to ask Slughorn about Horcruxes, and yet he felt so in over his head it was difficult to work out exactly what to do. Harry wasn’t looking forward to getting revenge on Tom Riddle, but it would impress the boy and that was what Harry needed. He needed to get into his circle again, to suppress the alarm bells that ring in his head whenever he goes near Riddle, and to ward the teenager away from breaking his soul in half. It was difficult, agonising almost, and playing the game was not as fun as it sounded on paper.

He had been asked a question twice in the past week, a question he didn’t know the answer to.

“What happened to you?”

Fred, firstly, asked him that. They had been sitting on Gryffindor's bed, talking about nonsensical things and playing muggle cards, when the topic of Riddle had briefly come up. Fred asked him that question, out of nowhere, and it made Harry stop and think about what it truly meant. People changed over time, but Harry didn’t think he had changed that much, had he? 

Then he almost had a heart attack. Death had popped up from wherever he was on holiday too, probably some plague having broken out in the middle of nowhere, and dropped a bit of a bombshell.

You are changing because of me, Master. I told you this would happen, as a side effect of me taking over during the Veritaserum incident. It is painful for me to speak, now, and I do not know why. 

If Death himself doesn’t know something, then surely Harry would be screwed. Doomed. It was very concerning.

Then Tom Riddle had said the same thing, with something similar to confusion flickering in his eyes. He had done as Harry asked, he had remained courteous and answered truthfully, and he hadn’t crossed any lines. It was… odd, but made Harry’s task a lot easier.

Harry could, as he said to Tom, move past the boy’s previous actions, if only for the opportunity to prevent him from splitting his soul. Was it going to be an easy task? No, but it would be much easier now Harry understood how to act around Tom. Riddle wanted someone he could convince of his beliefs, but who would think for themselves and ask intelligent questions, and someone with secrets he could unravel. Lucky for him, Harry had quite a few up his sleeve.

The next morning came far too quickly for Harry’s liking, and for some reason he awoke feeling incredibly drowsy and tired. It didn’t last long, though, as the Slytherin’s were unusually rowdy at breakfast that morning.

“WE HAVE NO SEEKER!” Yaxley was shouting, waving his hands in the face of one of the other sixth year students on the quidditch team. While Rohan Yaxley wasn’t the most popular student, not being included in either Riddle’s inner circle or the official Slytherin court, he was the Quidditch captain and was responsible for many of their wins. 

The blond, most likely the son or relative of one of the aurors who had interrogated Harry, was flushed red and hurrying in and out of the Great Hall. From his shouting, it was evident that they were a player short for the Quidditch match against Ravenclaw… that started in two hours.

“Hadrian, didn’t you say you played Quidditch?” Druella asked, hurrying over to where Harry currently sat– halfway through a bowl of porridge.

But before Harry could answer, a certain intruding psychopath answered for him.

“Hadrian will not be taking part in childish games.” Tom Riddle said, staring at his cup of tea and ignoring the annoyed glares both Druella and Harry shot him.

Harry was going to say no, he didn’t play Quidditch, as he was in a rather bad mood today. Until his choice had been taken away from him. So Harry took great satisfaction in smiling sweetly up at Druella Rosier, and proclaiming very loudly–

“I absolutely adore Quidditch. I hear you are in need of a seeker? How coincidental, that is the position I play.”

Chapter Text

Harry was walking down to the changing rooms, ready to get into his Quidditch gear and play the match against Ravenclaw. He was nervous, far more than he usually was where Quidditch was concerned, as he knew next to nothing about the team's tactics and hadn’t played since his sixth year. It was obvious that the others on the Slytherin team were wary also, as they didn’t know what to expect from him. 

“Hadrian!” The familiar voice of Fred called, and Harry turned to see him waving in his direction. He approached his friend, who was accompanied by Roy and another boy who he didn’t know.

“Hey guys,” He said, approaching the group.

“Good luck today, yeah? Go out there and slaughter those Ravenclaws!” Fred said, practically jumping up and down in excitement.

“Maybe don’t,” Roy added, “But try your best, mate.”

“Thanks,” Harry said, smothering a snort. Typical Hufflepuff.

His gaze turned to the third boy in the group as he began to speak, “As a Ravenclaw, I don’t particularly want you to win so I am going to have to pass on wishing you luck.”

He chuckled, “No problem…”

“Lyall,” The mousy brown haired boy said, “Lupin.”

Harry blinked, suddenly connecting all the dots.

“Pleasure,” He added, before his silence became noticeable, and stuck out his hand, “Hadrian Peverell.”

Lyall was short, and his hair was exactly the same shade as Remus’ had been, if slightly thicker and longer. He didn’t have the same scars marring his face, nor the same haunted look in his eyes, but Harry was without doubt that this was Remus Lupin’s father.

“If the Slytherin seeker stays in the hospital wing any longer, you may have to go up against me. I do not make any promises not to attack you with the bludger, though.” Fred said, drawing Harry’s attention back to the boy.

“I wouldn’t expect any less.”

“Shit,” Roy muttered under his breath, looking at something over Harry’s shoulder.

He turned to see Orion approaching quickly, a dark look on his face that was rarely ever seen.

“Alright?” Harry said when Orion arrived, the younger boy clearly avoided the other three Harry was standing with.

“Yeah, I just wanted to wish you luck. Slytherin are on a losing streak, maybe you will be our good luck charm!” Orion said, though his smile was strained.

“Thanks,” Harry said, warmed by the show of affection. It must take a lot for a Slytherin to act amicable when surrounded by the other three houses.

“Black,” Lyall said, his voice low in acknowledgement.

Orion turned slightly to look at the other boy with pierced eyes, “Lupin.”

There was silence for a second, the air surrounding them tightening.

Harry broke it as quickly as he could, clapping Orion on the back and directing the attention away from the feud. It was ironic, really, the hostile nature of their relationship– Harry wondered what had caused it.

“Come on, Orion, I’m heading to change. See you, guys.”

He guided Orion away from their group, and was unable to quiet his curiosity.

“What was that about?” He asked, peering down at the dark haired boy to gauge his reaction. 

Orion scowled, firmly looking away from Harry.

“Don’t ask.”

“Slytherins, today is a big day for us. We have a new seeker, Peverell, and if what he says is correct, we could be ready to begin our winning streak. We’ve already lost our first match of the season, to Hufflepuff no less, and I don’t need to remind you about last year. Fight for the Quaffle and play stealthy, I know you’re all capable of it, don’t let their fancy manoeuvres put you off. Clean and fast.”

One of the team, a chaser, groaned, “Clean?”

Yaxley nodded, “Yes. We practised this, no? Ravenclaw are expecting our usual rule breaking and rough housing, but it hasn’t worked in the past so I do not expect it now. Slytherins are cunning, not reckless, so use it to your advantage. Peverell, catch the snitch. Simple. Jones, the Claw chasers like to fake shots so try not to get caught out. Fawley, Mucliber, coordinate your attacks. Maybe we can hit one of them off their broom, legally. Greengrass, Burke, score as many goals as possible, so if the Claws get the snitch we may win. Ready?”

The Slytherins cheered in affirmation, and Harry followed them out onto the pitch.

The match began, and Harry flew above the pitch keeping an eye out for a glimmer of gold. The Ravenclaw seeker, who Harry didn’t know, was trailing him warily. If Harry made a dive, she was sure to be on his tail. His broom was slower than he was used to, certainly no Firebolt, but he was sure he could still beat her if necessary. Especially with a head start. 

Slytherin had taken the entirety of Hogwarts by surprise, they were twenty minutes in and hadn’t fouled once. Their tactic was working, as well, and they were up 60 points to 20. Not enough to win, if Ravenclaw caught the snitch, but it was looking up. Though the Ravenclaws had caught onto their lack of cheating, and were beginning to ramp up the goals once again. 

Harry scowled as he saw Ravenclaw score another goal, Jones on the other side of the goalposts and unable to catch the shot.

He returned to scouring the pitch, but there was no luck. To his dismay, the sky had clouded over and there was a bitter wind– Harry was glad for the gloves he wore, or else his fingers might fall off from the cold. 

Rain had started to pelter down onto them barely ten minutes later, and neither side were able to hold onto the Quaffle for long. The scores were stuck, and had been for several minutes now, at 80-70 to Slytherin. Still in the lead, but only marginally.

Harry blinked rain from his eyes as he saw a flash of gold reflected in the light and didn’t think long enough to consider diving dangerous. He leant forward on his broom, angling it down, and shot off into the centre of the action. Someone in the crowd shouted, but the wind whistled in his ears as he descended into the chaos. The Ravenclaw seeker was on his tail, he could practically feel her robes clashing against his legs. She was a second behind him, and so he pushed on.

He dodged out of the way of an oncoming bludger. Someone scored another goal. Harry leant forward on his broom, arm outstretched. He was so close. Seconds away from grasping it… and he did. His numb hand clasped around the snitch, with all the force he could muster.

Harry pulled out of the dive and thrust his hand into the air, grinning. 

“Slytherin wins! 240 points to 70!” The commentator cried, and just over a quarter of the stands burst into cheers.

Their first win in 6 games, and it had been Harry to secure it.

“Peverell, there is a Gryffindor outside for you,” Yaxley said, poking his head into the changing rooms, unable to keep the scathing snarl from his tone.

“Oh, thanks.” Harry replied, having only just begun to remove his shoes. The coldness of the air made it difficult, and his fingers were numb so it took him some time to fumble with the laces.

Fred walked in only seconds later, a wide grin adorning his face and his arms outstretched as if to embrace Harry in a hug.

“Magnificent!” He said loudly, letting the door slam shut behind him, “When you said you’d played a bit of Quidditch, Hadrian, I didn’t expect you to put on such a performance. Just gone and swiped the snitch out of Truman’s face!” 

Harry laughed at his friend’s attempts at recreating the catch, “Thanks, Fred, though I think my Quidditch days are behind me. I forgot how exhausting it is.”

The other boy gasped, slapping his hand to his mouth in mock horror, “Absolutely not, you could play pro! I’m not complaining that you take the day off when you play Gryffindor, but no way am I letting you quit.”

Fred moved closer, one hand on his hips and wagging his finger at Harry.

“I don’t have the time–” Harry said, but was still grinning at Fred’s performance.

“Especially not when you look that good in Quidditch gear,” Fred smirked, “I have to say I am not a fan of green, but…”

He looked Harry up and down, his eyebrow raised.

Completely oblivious, Harry responded, “You’re wearing a green jumper, Fred.”

“For support! Couldn't have Ravenclaw getting all the cheers, could I? I’m surprised you didn’t hear me shouting in the crowd, Mariam told me off at least twice for screeching in her ear. No pride, that one.”

Harry had finally managed to get his shoes off, his feet uncomfortably damp. Nothing a quick spell wouldn’t fix, though.

“I have to say, I was more focussed on catching the snitch and avoiding bludgers than on you.”

“I'm wounded,” Fred said, now very, very close to Harry, “Did you not hear my comment a minute ago, either?”

Harry scrunched up his nose, thinking, “What?”

“Bloody hell,” Fred whispered, moving his hand to wipe Harry’s rain soaked hair from his forehead, “I didn’t realise you were that oblivious.”

He tried to stammer out a reply, staring incredulously at Fred’s gleaming eyes.

“Never thought I’d see the day when Hadrian Peverell was lost for words, either.”

“What are you doing?” Harry managed to say, though his voice was quieter than he would have liked.

“Seriously?” Fred brushed his thumb over Harry’s lips, “Do I have to spell it out for you?

“Please.” Harry said quickly, before he could think too much on it. Fred chuckled.

“You’re handsome, frightfully attractive, beautiful eyes, incredibly impressive at everything you do, you’re laugh is fucking infectious when you let yourself go. Getting the picture? No? I like you.”

“Oh,” Harry eloquently said, “Thanks?”

“Fucking hell,” Fred exclaimed, but he didn’t seem put off by Harry’s stuttering, “Okay. Can I kiss you?”

Harry blinked, knowing his face was incredibly red, but nodded. 

“Yes,” He said, proud of his ability to form actual words when Fred was so close to him, his toned body almost pressed against Harry’s. It was odd to have Gryffindor’s star beater interested in him, and Harry found himself quite pleased with it.

Fred didn’t need telling twice, and his lips came crashing down onto Harry. His body was forced back by the sheer power pushed into the kiss, and he found himself up against the tiled wall of the changing room.

Harry let out a small moan as Fred’s tongue pushed into his mouth, clashing with his own and exploring his mouth. A hand, Fred’s (obviously), firmly grasping his hips and the other one against his cheek. His hands were calloused, rough from hours of Beater’s practice, and it felt nice against his otherwise smooth skin.

“God,” Harry breathed, after moments had passed and Fred broke off for an instance.

“Yes?” He joked, allowing Harry a moment of respite, “Can I continue?”

“Yes,” Harry said, far more forcefully than the last time he had spoken.

His hips bucked as Fred kissed him, and he could feel the other boy’s smile against his lips and his crotch pushing against his own. Harry felt a bit more confident now, well assured of the other boy’s interest in him, and allowed his hands to wander into Fred’s shirt.

“Fuck you’re toned,” Harry said aloud, as Fred moved to placing softer kisses on his jaw.

“That’s Quidditch for you,” Fred muttered in his ear, sending flutters down Harry’s spine.

“I still need to get undressed,” Harry replied, suddenly remembering how half the Slytherin fifth years would be waiting for him, but blushing at how his words must have sounded in the current circumstances.

Fred let out a barking laugh, “Need any help?”

Harry scowled playfully, “Another time.”

“Is that a promise?” Fred replied, trailing his fingers down Harry’s throat.

“Maybe,” Harry joked, beginning to remove his tie.

“A few more minutes, first.” Fred asked in his ear, and Harry nodded his ascent. Any other thoughts were washed away when Fred began to kiss, rather forcefully, his neck. It was sure to leave a mark.

Harry’s eyes fluttered, his head tilting to the side and allowing the muscular boy full access to his neck. He started as he noticed how the door to the changing room was open, and the sight of a trouser leg leaving made him realise someone had been there. How long, Harry didn’t know, but it made worry stir inside of him. 

After Harry had changed back into his casual clothing, he and Fred returned up to the castle. They said their goodbyes in the entrance hall, and Harry made his way to the Slytherin common room. They were all surely celebrating by now and, while Harry felt nervous at the thought of being part of the reason, he was somewhat looking forward to it. He hadn’t felt the rush of excitement born after a match in a long time, and after that display in the changing rooms… Well, today was shaping up better than he could have hoped.

The Slytherin common room was incredibly loud, someone having put on some kind of music and cups of various kinds of liquids and liquor was being handed around. Half the Quidditch team were on their way to being black out drunk but, as usual, Tom and his Inner circle were the picture of decorum. Kind of.

“He graces us with his presence!” Isabella cheered when Harry entered the room and made his way over to where they were sitting.

“What took you so long, I’ve had this drink ready for at least half an hour.” Orion bemoaned, thrusting a glass into his hand. Harry sniffed it and concluded that it was highly alcoholic.

“He was making out with half the Gryffindor Quidditch team,” Tom said lightly, running his finger over the rim of his own glass.

Abraxas laughed, “Don’t tease the poor boy, Tom.”

Riddle didn’t reply, but the eyes that locked onto Harry’s own made it clear he had seen what went on in the changing room.

“Ah, Hadrian is a casanova isn’t he?” Druella said, “I must help you into a marriage contract, or else you’ll be left with some ugly half blooded squib.”

She sat rather primly, her legs crossed and her hands placed carefully in her lap, but the slight waver in her voice that was a bit louder than necessary gave her lack of sobriety away.

Instead of rising to the bait laid out for him, Harry just grimaced and took a seat beside Orion.

“The star of the team,” Orion said, grinning broadly, “I have never seen a match like that, in all my time at Hogwarts.”

“In all your time…” Abraxas snorted, “You are barely a teenager, Orion.”

The dark haired boy scowled, which made most of the group laugh. Harry settled back on the sofa, sipping lightly on his drink, and ignoring the gaze of Tom Riddle. 

“Weren’t you the one to tell Tom off for teasing?” Harry replied, raising his glass to the white haired boy opposite him.

Abraxas smirked, “Orion hasn’t secured the house cup for Slytherin though, has he? Or were you one of the chasers in disguise?”

Orion took the time to place his drink on the side, and throw a pillow at his friend.

The rest of the evening played out similarly, and Harry marvelled at how laid back they all seemed. It was easy to forget these children would grow up to be torturers and murderers. In Riddle’s case, though, he didn’t need to grow up.

“You played well today, Hadrian.” Tom said as they were all preparing to leave the common room, to the shock of his Inner Circle.

“Thanks, Riddle.” Harry replied, not forgetting his insistence that Harry not play in the first place, but happy at the praise nonetheless.

“Abraxas,” Tom said, keeping his voice low when he addressed the Malfoy heir, “I need you to find out everything to do with Frederick Bray.”

“The Gryffindor?” Abraxas questioned, his voice equally low and betraying his confusion.

“Yes.” Tom simply responded, annoyed at the blond’s questioning gaze.

“As you wish, my Lord.”

Abraxas bowed his head slightly alongside his words, and Tom bid him goodnight. He fell asleep restless, having laid in bed for hours that he could have spent doing something productive. It was frustrating, having something so close to you and not being able to have it. Not that he would tell Hadrian that, he would never betray such a weakness. Tom supposed one might say it was fair, in a way, after what he had done. Fairness. He internally scoffed. How overrated.

But he knew secrets about Hadrian that nobody else did, not even Bray, and that did give him some sort of advantage. He knew that Hadrian was a parselmouth, he knew about his familial problems, he knew that Hadrian had almost killed a boy, he knew that Hadrian was more Slytherin than anybody knew, he knew that if given the right push, Hadrian would excel in even the Darkest of arts. That was not including all he suspected. 

So, in the end, Tom managed to fall asleep with a small, knowing smile on his face. 

Chapter Text

The Grindelwald issue, as dubbed by Harry, was slowly escalating into a full blown problem. It had all started when Druella received the letter from her cousin, and then Harry had heard little to nothing about it afterwards.

Until then, when he was sitting at breakfast with his mouth full of toast staring down at a pitch black envelope. On the back, the seal bore the Deathly Hallows. He had paled significantly, giving Riddle enough to realise something was wrong. Harry had to be dragged out of the Great Hall, into the Common room and up into their dormitory.

Then, the Inner Circle and Harry were sitting on their respective beds and casting various spells on the letter. But no, there hadn’t been any curses or tracking spells or any sort of malicious magic. It was simply a letter, and a fancy one at that.

“Open it,” Abraxas said, eager curiosity lacing his voice.

Harry acquiesced, equally as intrigued.

But his face fell as he beheld the elegant writing on the parchment and his eyes slid to the bottom to read the sender’s name. Indeed, it was an invitation from the Dark Lord, Gellert Grindelwald. Harry stared at the name, well aware of the other people in the room holding their breaths to find out what was inside. 

Hadrian Ignotus Peverell

You are cordially invited to a Banquet hosted by Lord Grindelwald in a hidden location on the 1st of March this year. The key found in the envelope will act as a portkey, set to bring you and one other to the hall at 8pm. Wands will be registered on entrance and formal attire is required.

Sincerely,

Lord Gellert Grindelwald.

The letter was snatched from his hand, though Harry didn’t realise until the thief began to speak.

“We will attend, of course.” Tom, obviously, said after having scanned the letter a few times.

Harry raised an eyebrow, “We?”

“Yes, we.” Tom replied, handing the letter to Abraxas who had approached him.

“I was actually thinking about inviting Dumbledore…” Harry responded lightly, and was ignored by everyone.

“Merlin…” The Malfoy heir muttered, his eyes widening at the invitation, “Why do you think you received this?”

“That might be my fault…” A female voice said from the doorway, and Harry looked up to see a faintly blushing Druella Rosier.

“I doubt it,” Tom jumped in, “Grindelwald would have hundreds of ulterior motives for reaching out to Hadrian.”

“I sent him a list, as you recommended, of our group.” Druella continued, “He must have recognised the Peverell name, though I don’t know why he would be so interested.”

Harry stayed silent, though he was well aware of the significance of his new surname. It had to be the Deathly Hallows, and perhaps the fact that the aurors believe it to be Grindelwald’s supporters who murdered his parents.

“Grindelwald used to use the Peverell crest, up until about a decade ago,” Hector added, and every head in the room turned to him. Lestrange hardly ever spoke in their conversations, and never about politics. He was an enigma that Harry was yet to crack, even if they had engaged in several polite conversations in the past.

“Are you related to him?” Felix asked incredulously, and Harry shrugged.

“I don’t think so, but I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“You’re not,” Tom said, which made Harry’s eyebrows furrow, “The Peverell’s are related to the Gaunts, Potters and Blacks but not any family from outside of Britain.”

Harry muttered something under his breath about Tom being a stalker, but the tall boy either didn’t hear or pretended not to.

“So I go to this Banquet, and what?” Harry said, louder this time. There was something very familiar about a Banquet, and he wondered whether it had become a large part of the history of the war. It would make sense for Hermione to have mentioned it in the past, so if he could only remember… “Socialise?”

There were murmurs of approval that suggested yes, Harry would have to socialise.

“What if he tries to kill me?” 

“I don’t think he will,” Druella reassured, twisting her hands together in worry, “This appears to be a recruitment banquet, introducing Grindelwald to the richest and most influential members of polite society in Britain. He’ll invite Ministry officials, pureblood lords and ladies… Maybe a journalist or two, but nobody who would take the story and twist it. The hall will be filled to the brim with those he thinks he can curry favour with, and who will join his cause.”

“You’ll need to be able to act the modicum of a Pureblood lord, Hadrian.” Abraxas said, his eyes sliding over the way Harry was slouching.

“Certainly,” Tom added, “All that time on the run did you no favours.”

Harry scowled, but it was rather half hearted.

“Will you be going, Druella?” Felix asked finally, “I know you are in contact with our cousin much more than I, and might have borne an invitation.”

Druella nodded, “She wrote and asked if I would attend, I got the letter this morning. Nothing as formal as the one Hadrian received, but I would be able to if it were necessary. ‘Burga was unimpressed with me even considering it.”

“You should come with us,” Harry said with a small smile of reassurance, “It might be more safe with three.”

“I agree,” Tom added, nodding, “Write to your cousin and tell her you will go, but that you want to know the guest list in advance. We will be able to use that to our advantage. Abraxas, Hector, write to your fathers and ask whether they received correspondence. I imagine that they did. Orion, write to your father and your uncle about the same thing. Mention that it would not be a good idea to relay this information to anyone, even close family. I would not want Alphard Black finding out about our correspondence with Grindelwald, however innocent it may be.”

The orders were dolled out so easily, and in a fashion that made it almost impossible to refuse, even when Tom’s attention was turned back onto him.

“You will learn etiquette. One week is more than enough time to make you somewhat presentable to society. The Peverell heir’s first appearance in society is bound to make people talk, and you would not want to embarrass yourself.”

Harry nodded almost immediately, and flushed as he realised how he had just taken an order from the Dark Lord. 

“And you?” He said quickly, staring into Riddle’s dark eyes.

“Me?” Tom said with a smirk, “I shall teach you all you need to know.”

“You cannot just not go,” Tom said, his hands on his hips in a very Mrs Weasley fashion that almost made Harry break from his worry, “This is an immense opportunity to study the other side.”

“It’ll be dangerous,” Harry reminded him, “And who knows who will be there. That man killed my parents, why would I ever want to go?”

“Did he?” Tom said mockingly, though Harry just scowled.

“You are just trying to persuade me to go because you are interested in making connections, with the wrong people I might add.”

“There isn’t anything wrong with making connections,” Tom said, almost defensively.

“No there isn’t. But there is when those connections are trying to murder half the population!”

Tom only scoffed, before looking up at Harry with an incredibly uncharacteristic pout, “Please?”

“No. No matter what orders you dolled out last night, I am not putting my life at risk for some fruitless endeavour to find out information and make friends.”

“I wasn’t going to make frie–”

“Mr Riddle. Mr Peverell,” A low voice came from the classroom they were standing in front of, “You are being fairly loud for a Sunday morning.”

Harry looked up to see Dumbledore peering out of his office and flushed bright red, what if the man had heard them! He had to admit, arguing about Grindelwald outside Dumbledore’s classroom was not their best idea.

“Sorry sir,” Harry said sheepishly, trying to look innocent.

“Apology accepted Mr Peverell,” Dumbledore replied, completely ignoring the other boy who was currently glaring daggers at the old man, “Do you mind stepping into my office for a second?”

“Of course, Professor,” Harry said, resigned to the berating he had a feeling they were about to get. 

However, when Tom made to follow Harry inside, Dumbledore turned him away.

“No need Mr Riddle, I just wanted a quick word with Mr Peverell. Feel free to head back to your common room.”

Tom gave a terse nod, but left after Harry gave him a warning look that suggested ‘if you dare lose Slytherin house points, I might just chop you up and give you to Dumbledore for his birthday.’

“I do apologise for us making so much noise, Professor.” Harry began once he took a seat in front of the desk, “Tom and I were in a bit of a heated discussion.”

“Nevermind that, my dear boy, it was the nature of that discussion that worried me.” Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling with something that certainly seemed like worry.

“Ah.” Harry replied, eloquent as ever in the face of his former mentor.

“Ah indeed. I also received one of those… how shall I say… melodramatic invitations in the mail yesterday. There were quite a few clever pieces of magic on the letter, if I do say so myself. Gellert always was good with Charms.”

“On the letter?” Harry inquired, skating quickly past the fact that Dumbledore was invited to his mortal enemies Banquet.

“Charms that make it impossible for the recipient to avoid being portkeyed to the location, for one. Quite clever, and almost unavoidable. I am afraid, Mr Peverell, that your attendance is mandatory. I do assure you that I will also be there, and you will be in no danger throughout the evening.”

“Ah,” Harry repeated, even more eloquent than the last time!

“Do try and keep Mr Riddle in check throughout the evening, Mr Peverell, and do remember to bring your wand. These functions can occasionally be quite rowdy, especially with the intended guest list.”

Harry nodded, feeling somehow more relaxed than when he first received the letter and was faced with the option to go to the Banquet. Now he knew that Dumbledore was there… 

“No offence, Professor, but why would he invite you?”

Dumbledore chuckled lightly, “Quite frankly, I am unsure. He did always like to play games, but I thought he had outgrown such petty childishness. Gellert has a silver tongue to match his hair, Mr Peverell, if I were you I would watch out for his words rather than his magic.”

“I will, Professor.” Harry said lightly, ignoring all the hints his teacher was dropping about knowing Grindelwald as a child. He already knew the story, and didn’t want to hear it again. There was something he wanted to know, though…

“The rumours are that you will be the one to defeat him, Professor.”

Harry felt a flash of guilt rush through him as he saw the sudden sadness and tiredness line Dumbledore’s face, even at his younger age.

“There are many rumours about me, I am afraid.” Dumbledore said softly, his eyes now distant, “I think it is time for you to head back to Mr Riddle, I fear he worries about you spending too much time with me.”

Harry struggled to restrain a laugh, “Don’t take offence from it, sir.”

“Do be careful, Mr Peverell.” Dumbledore said as Harry stood from his seat.

Whether he meant the Banquet or something else, Harry did not know.

There was something nagging at Harry about the upcoming event. Something he thought he should know, that maybe he had learnt in his previous life, that would help him tonight. 

It was likely something Hermione had said, or lectured about while he and Ron were half asleep in the common room. She had done heaps of research into Grindelwald, if only Harry had paid attention to exactly what she had said.

Harry shut his eyes, trying to draw on the calmness of his Occlumency shields and nudge out the memory he needed. He took measured, deep breaths in and out until the world around him had quieted. No birds singing, no wind whistling and certainly no children chattering.

“This isn’t anything to do with our homework, Hermione,” Ron complained, slamming his head onto the table as if that act alone would transport three weeks worth of Potions work into his mind.

“But it is fascinating,” She insisted, “Don’t you agree, Harry?”

“Hmm?” Harry said, looking up from where he was playing with his broken quill, “What are you talking about?”

“Fifty years ago today, exactly, was one of the most interesting political events in Wizarding Britain.”

“Oh yeah?” Harry replied half heartedly, wishing he could go back to bed. It was early in the morning, and he and Ron were trying to complete last minute Potions homework. Hermione had berated him for it, but it wasn’t his fault he was being accused of being the Heir of Slytherin? Surely that gave him some slack.

“The Banquet, Grindelwald named it himself. He called lots of Britain's most influential and rich people to a large hall in the middle of nowhere, and threw a party. At this point in time, he had already attacked Britain at least three or four times and had asserted control over a lot of Europe. Here he was, hosting a party!”

“A Dark Lord hosted a party, so what?” Ron said, looking up from his half asleep position. Harry snickered at the red mark on his friend’s forehead.

“Two hours in, some of the visitors just disappeared. Vanished in a second, with no trace.”

“Forever?” Harry questioned, trying to imagine the scene.

“No, that was what was even weirder. They were gone for twenty, thirty minutes maximum before they returned to exactly the position they had left. Caused quite a stir on the dancefloor.”

“Why was there dancing at a Banquet? Surely that is just a huge dinner.” Ron asked, though Harry was confident his thoughts were just on what he was having for breakfast.

“I am not sure,” Hermione said, put off slightly.

“Maybe the people who vanished ate at a Banquet.” Harry suggested.

“Perhaps, Harry, but nobody knows what they saw, heard or did while they were gone. Oh, you’ve spelt that last part wrong…”

Harry snapped his eyes open. He stretched slightly and heard his back and shoulders click satisfyingly. It wasn’t as satisfying as his newfound ability to recall memories, though. Maybe this is what Hermione felt? 

“Hadrian!” Orion shouted, barging into the room, “Oh, there you are.”

“Here I am,” Harry said, moving out of his crossed legged position and into a casual standing one, “You called?”

“You’re late for Herbology, Tom told me to fetch you.”

Harry groaned. For some reason, since he had come back to the past he was absolutely dreadful at Herbology. The theory parts were alright, he could name plants and explain how to care for them, but the practical parts were a real nightmare. His teacher had taken to isolating him from the rest of the class as he kept killing the plants. Mandrakes? Never even opened their mouths before they shrivelled into a mockery of themselves.

Though his mind was quickly drawn back to the fact he should probably warn Tom, and maybe Dumbledore, about the ‘vanishing act’ that might occur during the Banquet that night.

Since he had received the letter, almost a week ago, Tom had managed to patiently run him through Pureblood etiquette skills. He had tried to teach Harry to dance, but gave up quickly and forced Druella to do it instead. It had been painful, but he was glad he wasn’t going to make a fool of himself. Harry would never admit it, but Tom was a rather good teacher, and Harry felt prepared for that night. It didn’t stop the nerves, though, but managed to draw out the strange excitement.

“You ready?” Tom muttered in Harry’s ear as they both held tight onto the portkey (which was a literal key!)

“Absolutely,” Harry responded, mustering up his Gryffindor courage.

The clock chimed eight, and the two Slytherin teenagers were swept away into oblivion. Harry blinked, and had to take a moment to adjust himself to the bright lights that assaulted him once he landed. Luckily he did not trip, though that might have been due to Tom’s hand on his upper arm.

“Welcome to the Banquet,” A feminine, lilting voice said and Harry turned to see a short, blonde woman in dark blue robes standing behind a desk. Behind her was a cloakroom, filled already with hats and jackets and gloves. It appears the portkey times were staggered, a clever move to avoid crowding, “May I have a look at your invitation?”

“Here,” Harry said, moving towards the woman and retrieving the black envelope from his robe pocket. He wore dark crimson dress robes, almost a homage to his Gryffindor days. Harry belatedly wondered what obnoxious clothing Dumbledore would wear.

The blonde woman gave a nod of thanks, before skimming the letter quickly. It vanished shortly after, and she looked up at Harry and Tom expectantly.

“Your wands, Sirs?”

Tom was evidently reluctant, so Harry was the one to make the first move.

She waved her own wand in a circular motion around Harry’s Holly wand, causing bright yellow sparks to form for a second.

“What are you doing?” Tom questioned, seeming to clench his fist in the pocket of his Slytherin green robes. They were obviously borrowed from Abraxas, like Harry’s had been borrowed from Hector. 

“A spell,” She said lightly, “For the rest of the night no wands are able to perform harmful magic, such as the Unforgivables, or perform a spell with the intent to cause harm.”

“Clever,” Harry said, giving the woman a pleasant smile to distract her from Tom’s currently annoyed state.

In the end, Tom handed the woman his Yew wand– even if he grumbled while allowing her to perform magic on it.

“Please enter those doors, and you shall be greeted in the ballroom. Lord Grindelwald thanks you for attending.”

Harry and Tom glanced once at each other, before walking through the doors and into the lion’s den (that was almost certainly filled with snakes.) 

Chapter Text

Glittering lights blinded Harry as they entered the hall, the hummering chatter of the partygoers overwhelming him instantly. He shot a glance at Riddle, who stood tall and proud beside him and looked as if this was where he belonged. At a first glance, obviously. As Harry looked closer he saw how Riddle’s eyes widened at the glamour and how his shoulders stiffened at the noise. He couldn’t blame the teenager, really, as the room was quite extravagant. 

Men and women danced in the centre of the room, smiling politely and tittering at their partner’s unfunny quips, while others lingered to the side in various casual or subtly political conversations. It was all very showy, and Harry felt himself overcome by the expectations of that evening. It was all well and good saying he was attending a Banquet put on by Grindelwald, but actually going was another story.

“Follow me,” Tom said, guiding Harry by the elbow to one of the far walls.

“What do we do now?” Harry asked, more uncertain than he had expected to be and disliking how he was asking the future Dark Lord for assistance.

“We enjoy ourselves, Hadrian,” He replied with a smile, swiping two flutes of liquid from a passing waiter. Muggle waiters, if Harry wasn’t mistaken. The blank looks and the glossy eyes certainly pertained to the Imperius curse.

Harry gave an informal grunt as his response, and took up to scanning the crowd for familiar faces. Not that he expected to see anyone he actually liked, but it would be interesting to see if there was anyone he would recognise. 

He saw a man that looked rather like Pansy Parkinson, with his wide shoulders and pug like face, speaking with a woman who looked eerily like Zacharius Smith– the pompous Hufflepuff in the year below him, who had boasted of his lineage far too often. Harry was certain he saw a glimpse of bright orange robes that must have been worn by Dumbledore (who else would wear something that gaudy?) but he didn’t manage to see the actual man in question. Two women that were most definitely Black’s stood primly by an open window, their curly hair reminiscent of Bellatrix Lestrange and their stiff posture the product of years of formal upbringing. People watching was fun, Harry pondered, and he wondered whether he could get away with doing it the entire evening.

Fate was not on his side (If Death was talking to him, Harry was sure he would have laughed). 

“Hadrian, Tom,” Druella Rosier floated over to them, wearing pale robes and accompanied by a taller, white haired woman, “I am glad you could make it.”

That certainly seemed the case, and Harry could tell she had been waiting for their arrival quite keenly.

“This is Selene Lovegood, she…” Druella shot a strange look at the woman, “Asked to be introduced. Before you’re arrival, might I add. I am unsure how she knew you’d be coming…”

Ah, Lovegood. That was a family he would gladly hold a conversation with.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Ms Lovegood. Heir Peverell, of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Peverell.” 

Harry stuck out his hand in proper Pureblood fashion, managing not to cringe at how he had been forced to introduce himself. By a variety of teachers, mainly Druella and Tom. He could practically hear Tom preening at the way Harry took his lessons to heart. Maybe if he could sneak off…

“Is it?” Selene asked, her voice light and airy and her eyes hosting a faraway expression that would have been a normal occurrence on her descendant, Luna. “I am certainly intrigued to meet you, Heir Peverell. I believe you may know my nephew.”

He ignored the question she started with, but raised an eyebrow nonetheless.

“I don’t think I have had the pleasure, Ms Lovegood.”

“No? Well, maybe it is a little early. Xenophilius is only eleven months after all. You must not have met my granddaughter either, I presume.”

Harry was well aware of the way Tom was staring at Selene as if she had gone mad, but he was more concerned about the prescient way in which she spoke. What did she know?

“No, I have not. But I would be glad of an introduction in the future, if our paths cross again.”

“They won’t.” Selene simply responded, “Your nargles are very clumped together, Heir Peverell, I do hope you are not coming down with an illness. These are very dark times we live in, and internal darkness is far harder to shake off.”

Thank Circe Tom decided to jump in.

“They are indeed,” Riddle said, extending his hand and brushing the back of the pale woman’s hand, “Tom Riddle.”

“Pleasure, I think.”

Druella was looking between the three of them as if they were on the verge of blowing up the entire building, and it wasn’t the most outlandish thought she could have.

The Lovegoods always had a… clairvoyance nature about them. Whether it was Luna or her father, and now her grandmother.

“I must be going, I have Blibbering Humdingers to watch out for and I can sense I am no longer wanted in this corner of the room. Good day.”

With that, the strange woman took her leave. She glided away from the group, practically floating, and left the three teenagers in stunned silence.

“What an… odd woman,” Harry said quietly, watching her disappear into the crowd, “Positively charming.”

Druella grimaced, “No manners, that one. She practically attacked me with demands as soon as I entered.”

“I wouldn’t take the Lovegoods as Grindelwald supporters,” Tom mused, also watching the crowd in which she disappeared, “And she wasn’t on the guest list.”

“No?” Druella asked, turning to watch the same area Tom had, “How strange.”

Harry took a sip of his drink. This would be a long night.

Druella took the two of them around the room after that, introducing them to ladies and lords that Harry had never seen or heard of before. There were the familiar names, of course, like Lestrange or Travers, but also the mildly shocking.

“Lord Prewett,” Druella introduced, guiding them over to a ginger man who seemed to be a head shorter than the woman he spoke with, “A pleasure to see you again.”

Prewett. A Light family. Married into the Weasleys? How scandalous, that their Lord attend a Banquet that seemed filled to the brim with terrorist supporters.

Thankfully, after Prewett and Lovegood there were no familiar names. Druella had finished with her introductions and so they were left alone to sip their drinks and watch the room, or until–

“Hadrian, dance with me.” She demanded, offering her hand as one of the songs finished.

“I– No, thanks.” He said immediately, but she grabbed his hand either way and dragged him away. Tom looked only amused as Harry turned to give him a pleading look.

“You must show me you actually learned something during your lessons, or else I’ll be displeased.” Druella said as they took their positions.

That being said, it wasn’t an awful experience. It was miles better than his ‘dancing’ at the Yule Ball in fourth year, when he had spent the time wondering whether he was doing the right steps and being practically led by Parvati Patil.

“See? That wasn’t so bad,” Tom said when Harry was led back to where they were previously standing, “You two looked so elegant, people stopped to watch. Dance with me next?”

“Prick,” Harry muttered, shooting Tom a half hearted glare. His laughter was the only response.

“I must be going, I said I would meet with my cousin,” Druella suddenly said, paling slightly at the proclamation.

“Good luck with that. Report to me afterwards, I want to know what she wanted.” Tom said and Druella nodded slightly in response.

Harry rolled his eyes.

“Playing Lord here, of all places?” 

“Quiet, child.”

“I’m older than you.”

“You don’t act like it.”

Harry huffed and went back to observing the room. They had been at the ‘Banquet’ (which was definitely just a Ball) for almost two hours now, but it didn’t seem to be dying down any time soon.

“I wonder where he is.” Riddle said quietly, so that only Harry was able to hear.

He shook his head, “Torturing muggles?”

“Hardly. Now is not the time to be joking, Hadrian.”

“I can’t help it. I’m a natural comedian, my Lord.”

Tom gave him a glare that was certainly not playful, and dragged him by the elbow out the doors and onto the patio.

“You need to stop this,” He said, once they were away from all the chattering guests.

“Stop what?” Harry replied innocently.

“Calling me that, insinuating things that shouldn’t be insinuated, making jokes when we are in the presence of hundreds of potential Grindelwald supporters.”

“And soldiers,” Harry added, just to be helpful.

“Exactly. You could get yourself in trouble, and I wouldn’t be able to help you out of it. Not here.”

“Aww,” Harry said, pretending to widen his eyes in adoration, “Tommy I didn’t know you care.”

The scowl only deepened, “You are even more of a fool than I thought, if you only noticed that now.”

“Says Mr Tie-Me-Up-And-Feed-Me-Veritaserum,” Harry responded, no longer joking and now taking on a far more defensive position, “Don’t claim things you don’t–”

But he never got to finish his sentence, as a pulling sensation dragged him from the conversation and the patio in the blink of an eye.

Tom was outraged. Outraged! He was just in the middle of a, frankly overdue, conversation when the teenager just disappeared. It wasn’t his fault, probably, but still. He would ask who had the audacity to drag Hadrian away from him at that moment, but he knew who it was. They had been expecting it, but Tom had foolishly hoped he would be invited too.

He moved back inside the ballroom, to find that nobody was any the wiser. It appeared that either they hadn’t noticed several of the guests disappearing, or it had just been Hadrian. That caused Tom to grasp his glass quite tightly, and take another swig of the fruity liquid. 

What to do now? He could hardly go and find Hadrian, he was probably not even on the property any more. Hell, not even in the country. Maybe find Druella, she probably had an interesting conversation with her cousin that would open more doorways of information. A distraction, that’s what he needed. Tom took a deep breath, and made his way around the ballroom.

Ten minutes later someone screamed.

Ah, now the rest of the lucky group had been dispatched. He had been watching people, naturally, and had been able to see Arcturus Black’s disappearance. The ballroom wasn’t in a state of pandemonium, surprisingly, and so maybe less people had disappeared than they’d previously thought.

Another ten minutes passed and Tom had not had any luck in finding Druella, and so decided to make his way back out to the patio for some quiet. Merlin, did these people not understand how to talk to each other without shouting or screeching? It probably wasn’t an over exaggeration. He was going to go mad if Hadrian stayed away any longer. The waiting.

Only minutes later, Hadrian popped back into existence and Tom felt the lead weight in his stomach dissolve.

“What happened?” He insisted immediately, rushing towards the teenager and peering up and down at him. Hadrian seemed fine, no injuries, but slightly shocked at whatever had happened, “You’re alright?”

“Yes, yes,” Hadrian said, noticing Tom’s fussing immediately and seeming to force a smile on his face, “I’m fine, I think.

“We should return, and then you’ll tell me everything.”

“Naturally.”

Harry stumbled slightly as landed, knocking the backs of his calves on a chair and stabilising himself on the table in front of him. He looked up at the man sitting in front of him and swallowed, rather audibly. Grindelwald (for who else could it be?) was lounging on a high back chair, his silver hair a matching shade to his silver embellished robes.

“Heir Peverell, well met.” He said, his voice heavily accented and his tone hosting a sarcasm only matched by Snape in his past life.

“Lord Grindelwald,” Harry said immediately, his ‘training’ kicking in. It only seemed to amuse the Dark Lord.

He chuckled, and stood. Before Harry could move an inch, the tall man leant over the table towards him.

“Dear child, you smell like Death itself.” Grindelwald purred, his head dipping to take in the scent of Harry’s hair.

“I was unaware my aftershave was so potent…” Harry deadpanned, expertly masking the fear he felt in the silver haired man’s presence. 

“He…” Harry started, taking a deep breath, “Said I smelt like Death.”

“Oh?” Tom said with a quirk of his eyebrow, and before Harry could turn to see his expression the boy’s face moved closer to him. He bent his head down, tilted slightly to the side, and smelt the air above Harry’s neck. The shallow breaths caused a shiver to climb Harry’s spine, but he didn’t move away.

“You smell old,” He said matter of factly, against Harry’s skin “Like an ancient pine tree.”

Harry frowned slightly, “I smell like an old tree? Thanks, I guess.”

Tom chuckled, withdrawing from Harry’s space. 

“That’s one of the first things he said. It was just a room, with a table,” Harry chuckled slightly, “A Banquet table. Me, him and Vinda Rosier. Druella’s cousin?”

Tom nodded, “What else happened?”

Vinda Rosier looked almost exactly like her cousins. She had the height of Druella, willowy and elegant, her hair a dark brown alongside the pondering expression the younger woman wore when thinking. There was Felix’s demeanour though, haughty and solid– someone who thought that they shouldn’t be messed with, and that nobody would dare to. It was that combination of brains and brawn that made Harry almost as scared of her as he was Grindelwald. 

Not that he should be scared, that is, being the Master of Death. But he was, and it was in these moments that his age showed. Harry had lived eighteen years, Grindelwald had lived sixty. While the younger boy could stand up to Riddle, as the boy hadn’t committed the terrible acts his future self had, it was harder to stand up to a fully fledged Dark Lord. Although, he pondered carefully, he had done so before. Even if he hadn’t lived to tell the tale.

A glass was placed into Harry’s hand, a tall flute filled with a pale, fruity smelling liquid, and the woman who had handed it to him swiftly fell back into the shadows of the room.

“Peverell…” Grindelwald said into the room, his icy blue eyes flashing with excitement, “I haven’t heard that name in a while. And to think I have been accused of killing your parents… Though I am struggling to remember the details of that particular discretion.”

Harry didn’t speak. He should have known that the Aurors blaming those deaths on Grindelwald had the possibility of biting him in the ass.

“I dreamt of you, three times now,” He continued, moving to sit back into his throne-like chair and tapping his long fingers on the arm rest, “It was almost like Magic was warning me, protecting me from the future, hinting at the root of all my issues. I have been having quite a few issues, you see, namely with something I only recently acquired. You wouldn’t happen to recognise this wand, would you?”

It took every inch of Harry’s being to prevent a gasp escaping him as the silver haired man withdrew the Elder wand from his robe and set it on the table in between them. There was a humming, almost like it was begging Harry to pick it up, to feel it, to collect it and keep it as his own. But he couldn’t, not here, not where he would be slaughtered in order for its ownership to transfer. Harry had witnessed his fair share of that in his previous life.

He managed to shake his head, forcing his gaze up from the wand to the man looming over it.

“No?” Grindelwald said with a smile, “Pity.”

He took the wand back, and Harry’s insides were screaming and pleading for him to grab the wand and run.

“I suppose we should invite the rest of the crowd here now,” He continued, motioning his arm for more glasses to be brought over, “The Banquet is only just beginning, afterall.”

“I think the Elder Wand isn’t working for him,” Harry pondered, looking intently into Tom’s eyes to pick up any recognition of the name. There was none, so Harry continued, “During your period of stalking my past, don’t lie I know it happened, you must have come across the Deathly Hallows, yes?”

Tom nodded carefully, “The stone, the cloak and the wand.”

It took barely a second for Riddle to understand, and Harry could see the cogs clicking into place.

“The Elder wand is in the story? Surely that is not true, the power of one's magic is all about the caster of the wand, not the wand itself.” Tom scoffed, though it was a fairly unconvincing denial.

“And if this wand is not working for him?” Riddle continued.

“He thought that I would be its rightful owner.”

“Why you?” Tom said eagerly, then backtracked, “Oh, because you are descended from the original owner of the wand? How can people follow a Dark Lord that follows the gospel of a fairy tale?”

“I know, right?” Harry said, grinning, “It’s almost like following a Dark Lord that follows the gospel of a prophecy. Insane. But in this case, I think there is some truth in the tale. All myths are based on fact.”

“This isn’t a myth, it is a fairy tale. For children.”

“Grindelwald is planning to go to war against muggles, but it appears he will not do so until his Elder wand is fixed. That must tell you something about its importance.”

“Not that it was gifted from Death.”

“Perhaps not. It does tell us, however, that the wand is more powerful than any other. I could feel the sheer power radiating from it, and I wasn’t even touching it.”

“The wand chooses the wizard…” Tom muttered, “And this one didn’t choose him?”

Harry shook his head.

“What happened next?” Tom demanded, his curiosity evidently peaked.

People crashed into the chairs surrounding the table, all with mirrored expressions of shock and horror at being tugged away from the dances or conversations. At least Harry had the knowledge that it would happen, even if he didn’t know when.

“Good evening, Ladies and Gentlemen,” Grindelwald said, baring his teeth in a mockery of a charismatic grin. Tom would be unimpressed by it, “Welcome to my Banquet. I am sure you are all wondering why you have been pulled away from here and I assure you, this will not take long. Do not worry, my future friends, as I am only here to talk and, hopefully, persuade.”

“There were eight of us, not including Grindelwald and his people. I recognised Arcturus Black and Chrono Malfoy, there was a set of twins I did not know– young women, maybe just out of Hogwarts, they went by Selwyn–”

“Josephine and Lucile Selwyn, graduated with Outstanding in four NEWTs each in 1939. Both Slytherin’s and both almost fully ingrained in sections of the Ministry. The former is in the Magical Creatures sector, soon to be married to the eldest Fawley brother. The latter is the assistant to the Undersecretary, courting a French wizard. Their sister is in seventh year, Eloise Selwyn, and they have an elder brother who will take over the estate after their father’s death.”

“Thanks for the rundown,” Harry said rather sarcastically after Tom had given his very thorough description of the pair. The boy in question gave Harry a pointed look.

“Speaking of which,” He continued, “One of the Selwyn’s sat beside a man called Robert Fawley, I don’t suppose that is her fiancee?”

“The one and only. He graduated Hogwarts in 1937, a blasted Hufflepuff but the nephew of Hector Fawley.”

“The Minister?” Harry questioned, his eyebrows shooting into his forehead.

Tom nodded, “Quite close, the two of them. They go on annual fishing trips in Sweden.”

“How do you know–”

“Robert is hardly the brightest wizard, but connections are connections even if that connection is to Flamboyant Fawley.” Tom said with a poorly concealed snort.

“Was it not speculated that Hector Fawley was a Grindelwald supporter?”

“It was, but never proven. I guess we know now. The others?”

“Cantankerus Nott,” Harry said, not bothering to keep the bite from his tone, “Writer of the Pureblood Directory in the 30s. Esteemed founder of the Sacred 28.”

“Awful man,” Tom agreed, “The last?”

Harry drew in a breath and allowed himself some time to collect his thoughts. It wasn’t as if he didn’t know the man, he did of course, it was that it was so surprising that he had almost forgotten exactly where he was. He also knew the man would attend, but to see him sat right next to Grindelwald… They would have made a very dashing couple.

“Albus Dumbledore.”

Chapter Text

“Albus Dumbledore?” Tom repeated, slack jawed and feeling like he must have misheard.

“The one and only,” Harry deadpanned, watching to see Tom’s reaction.

“Are you sure?” 

Harry rolled his eyes very obviously.

“Who else wears robes so orange they clash with their beard?”

Tom nodded tersely, rubbing the side of his face in a gesture that seemed foreign to Harry’s perception of the teenager.

“What could Grindelwald possibly want with his arch nemesis?” He pondered, after a second of silence.

“Sex, probably.” Harry muttered under his breath.

Harry blinked rapidly as he took in the people around him, doing a double take as his eyes landed on Albus Dumbledore. The man caught his eye, gave him an imperceptible nod, and reached forward to grab a glass as if it were the most normal thing in the world. Harry swallowed, continuing to stare at the man. 

Why him, of all people? 

Grindelwald must be mad, to expect to persuade people to join his cause whilst his sworn enemy sat at the table. Maybe that was the point, though, to paint Dumbledore as a weak man surrounded by enemies. He saw one or two of the other people fidget in their seats as they, too, noticed the ginger bearded man. It was hardly a safe environment to talk about taking over the world, and even Harry felt more on edge than ever.

Yet it seemed that Dumbledore was simply enjoying his evening, his stoic demeanour a stark contrast to Harry’s beating heart and bouncing leg.

And then ten minutes passed. Grindelwald would ask a question, one of the people at the table would answer, and they would all ignore the presence of the most powerful wizard in the world– all while shooting furtive glances his way whenever they revealed some dark leaning inclinations.

But Dumbeldore would sit and sip his drink, a placid, small smile stuck to his face. He never spoke, but nor did Harry who barely paid attention to the conversation. He knew he should, Tom would ask about it later, but he had frozen with shock and fear and confusion at the scene playing out in front of him.

“No input, Hadrian?” 

Grindelwald’s words snapped him out of his stupor, and Harry glanced quickly towards Dumbledore before turning his attention back to the Dark Lord.

He shook his head almost imperceptibly.

Grindelwald grinned, a fierce and cutting display of teeth.

“No matter. We all must be returning to the festivities, I am sure your acquaintances will be missing you.”

“No vow?” Tom questioned almost immediately, “Nothing to make sure you don’t reveal the meeting?”

“No, he barely even glanced at Dumbledore.”

“You don’t think the old fool is actually going to Grindelwald?” Tom said, though even Harry could tell he didn’t believe it.

“He must have some plan…” Harry said, before trailing off and trying to replay the events again in his mind. He came up blank, no idea as to the reasons behind Grindelwald’s show.

The next day Harry was still thinking. He was laying in the Gryffindor common room, oblivious to the whispers and the stares of the students that were actually Gryffindor, his head in the lap of his… of Fred. It was calming, and relaxing, and just what he needed after the nightmare of an evening the previous day.

“Please stop thinking about him,” Fred muttered down at him, and Harry opened his eyes to see a slightly pained and worried expression on his face.

His brow creased, “What?”

“Riddle. Stop thinking about him, it’ll only make you more upset.”

“I’m not thinking– I’m not upset!” Harry protested, sitting up quickly and turning so that he could properly face Fred.

Fred’s face relaxed slightly, a sad, knowing smile appearing.

“You are, there’s no need to lie to me. You always look… curious whenever you think of him. Of whatever argument you two have gotten into. I can’t pretend to understand–”

“Don’t ask.” He interrupted, beginning to rub circles on Fred’s palm, “Please don’t ask.”

“I won’t,” Came the almost whispered reply, “But I want to know. It would be good to… get it off your chest.”

It would, but Harry felt like he would be betraying something if he began speaking. It was that loyalty, the Slytherin loyalty of always having each other's backs (a completely Hufflepuff sentiment, but true nonetheless) that had Harry wincing at his lack of response. He wanted to trust, he really did, but it was far more difficult than anyone could possibly imagine.

Fred looked down at his lap, seeming to understand Harry’s non-answer.

“I’m sorry–”

“Don’t. You don’t have to apologise, Hadrian. I understand, really.”

“I’ll make it up to you, I promise. There are just some things, Slytherin things, that shouldn’t be said,” Harry shuffled closer to the other boy, their thighs pressed together, “Remember the changing rooms?”

“Of course,” Fred replied with a playful cock of his head.

“Remember what I promised you then?”

The blond boy raised an eyebrow, “The room is empty.”

Harry grinned wider than he had that week, his heart pounding with excitement.

Black.

That’s all Harry saw that night.

Blackness and darkness and something shimmering in the corners of his vision.

He would reach out with non existent hands, scream in frustration with a non existent mouth, and run into the direction of that beautiful light with non existent legs. 

Again, and again, and again.

Until his non existent forehead was sweating and his non existent clothes were drenched and clinging. 

But he understood, then, the true meaning of the dream. If one could even call it a dream.

Black eyes bore into his soul. His eyes, he understood. But he wasn’t Harry, or Hadrian, or… 

Or was he?

Oh.

Maybe he was. Those eyes had been his, afterall, and the hunger. Merlin, the hunger. The omnipresent need for something, whatever that was.

He understood another thing then, something he hadn’t truly appreciated before. It had been a joke when he had wanted him to learn that. But now he knew the hunger, and it was all he could do to warn Harry when he woke up. If he even was Harry after that realisation. 

“Where have you been?” Tom drawled, in the early hours of the morning when Harry tried to sneak back into the Slytherin common room. He was pristine, as always, with his perfectly coiled hair and crisp uniform. Harry was a mess, probably. He hadn’t had time to look in a mirror before he left and, by Tom’s amused and faintly disgusted look, Harry looked dreadful.

So he ignored Tom, strode past him with some sort of pretend confidence, and ignored the dark eyes bearing into him. All while hiding his embarrassment, naturally.

But he didn’t get as far as the door to the entrance to the dormitory. He didn’t even make it halfway across the room before Tom was at his side, his hand on Harry’s elbow.

“I may have to take points for being out after curfew,” He crooned, and Harry marvelled for a moment at the preternatural speed in which he had appeared.

“I’m not scared of you, Tom, there is no point in trying to threaten me… Mr Prefect.”

“Oh? That was a threat… was it? Fine, take it as you will. I’m more interested in why you aren’t scared of me, supposedly.” Tom replied, digging his nails into Harry’s skin. It stung, even through the fabric. “Why are you not scared, Hadrian?”

Because I am the Master of Death.

But he didn’t say that out loud, and instead just winked.

“You told me two nights ago you cared about me,” Harry said, angling his head closer, “You wouldn’t hurt me.”

“No? Taking points is hurting you, is it?” Tom said, seeming to be highly amused at the conversation. Prick.

“I know your weakness, Tom Riddle,” Harry said, hissing his name in parseltongue, “In fact, I am sure I could name three on the spot. Can you say the same?”

It was so odd, the way Hadrian and Tom went from friends to enemies to something akin to brothers or lovers and back to threatening each other in a single moment.

Orion had taken a liking to Hadrian the moment he had sat down and not been afraid of Tom Riddle. Not that Orion was afraid, of course, he fully respected the teenager who would lead their world back into greatness. But it had been refreshing to see the flash of anger in Tom’s eyes, and the subtle mouth drop of Abraxas when he’d heard someone be disrespectful to Tom for the first time in… well, the first time in at least two or three years.

They had all gotten used to Tom being at the top of the pecking order. And then came Hadrian Peverell. Hadrian didn’t seem to be challenging Tom for the spot, though, more like challenging the teenager’s perception of emotions and giving him a taste for the outside world.

Then, however, there had been moments when Hadrian did seem to cater to Tom’s wishes. Few times, but enough to know that even Hadrian saw Tom as somewhat… superior. Maybe that was the wrong word, but it was still vaguely accurate.

It had been a miracle when Tom invited Hadrian to a meeting, then unsurprising when he wasn’t invited back. Peverell was light, as far as Orion was concerned. Someone like Dumbledore or Potter might disagree, but to a Dark family he was barely in the category of ‘Dark’. 

Strangest of all had been when Orion walked into the dorm to find the two boys in some kind of staring match. Quite close to each other, he might add, and glaring daggers in the others directions. Safe to say, he left quickly afterwards. 

Today was even weirder.

Orion woke up very early in the morning, too early for a weekend, and had decided to go down to the kitchens for a glass of milk. He could’ve called the house elves, but with nothing better to do he decided to walk. That wasn’t going to happen, apparently, as when he descended the stairs he heard voices. Hadrian and Tom’s voices, to be particular. Orion sighed, knowing it was probably something personal, but still stayed to listen.

“I know your weakness, Tom Riddle,” Hadrian said, hissing the last part so that Orion had no idea what he said, “In fact, I am sure I could name three on the spot. Can you say the same?”

Orion froze. Was that… parseltongue? It did make sense, with the way Tom had instantly latched onto the new boy. But did that make them related? Orion hadn’t known Tom had any brothers, or cousins, or even any family left at all. 

No, they didn’t look alike. 

He poked his head round the corner of the open doorway. Yeah, they weren’t related. Not with the way Tom was practically pushed up against Hadrian. So close! Was there any need for this? 

Orion gave a shudder at Tom’s low laugh, all without humour. It seemed almost as a threat, but Hadrian didn’t seem put off– somehow. In fact, the curly haired teenager seemed to sneer. Since when did Hadrian sneer?

“Do you want me to start naming them?” Hadrian said, and Orion could barely make out the words.

“That is…” Tom began to rub his thumb over Hadrian’s wrist in a seemingly soothing manner, “Unnecessary.”

All Harry could think about was how smooth Tom Riddle’s hands were. So unlike the calloused palms of Fred, and yet filled with much more strength than his had been.

He raised an eyebrow at the movement at his wrist.

“Tom,” He said. A warning, if nothing else.

“I know you are seeing that Gryffindor. Bray, was it?” Tom said.

“What if I am? Jealous?”

Tom’s hand stopped moving, but his grip tightened and his nails dug into Harry’s skin.

“I just think it’s unwise of you, given his past.” The dark haired boy said lightly. His body was still pressed up close to Harry’s side, looking down slightly at him.

“Stop trying to order me about, Tom, it won’t work.”

Harry took a step back, why hadn’t he done so before, before his gaze latched onto the door to the common room. He saw a mess of black hair quickly dart back, damned Orion, but ignored it. There was nothing incriminating in their conversation, afterall. Orion was a friend, so why was he thinking about–

Murder. Tom Riddle was going to murder Orion Black. Eavesdropping on him and Hadrian? How uncouth. Sure, the young boy was simply that– a young boy– but that gave him no right to listen to their conversation. He had heard exactly when Orion had paused on the stairs, his breathing slow at first and then (he must have heard or saw something shocking) it quickened for a beat.

It was nothing compared to Hadrian’s heart, though. Satisfyingly quick, when Tom had moved closer to him. He might have attributed it to the quick walk back from wherever he had been, but Tom knew better.

“The day you follow my orders blindly is the day I lose all hope for you,” Tom said, and internally Crucioed himself for saying exactly what was on his mind.

“Hope?” Hadrian scoffed, and it made Tom flush with anger. Anger? 

“You don’t have the ability to hope, Riddle.” 

And Tom felt like he’d been thrown off a cliff, pierced on the jagged rocks below, after Hadrian called him by his surname. How he hated it. It wasn’t awful, the way he said it, but the connotations behind it were far more damning. Tom had gotten used to Hadrian calling him ‘Tom’, feeling pleased when he’d moved out of his ‘Riddle’ phase. Was it back?

“Tom.” He simply said, far more rushed and pleading than ever before, “Call me Tom.”

Thankfully, Hadrian faltered too. Orion had left before his momentary lapse in character, thank Circe, so it was only the rosy cheeked boy in front of him who had seen. Tom found he didn’t mind, as Hadrian also had secrets and weaknesses.

“Is it that important to you?” 

“No,” Tom lied, “But you must know how much I dislike being linked to… muggles. You must feel the same.” 

A statement that Tom hoped (if Hadrian could only hear his thoughts, he would know that Tom actually did do a lot of hoping) was accurate. He was right, by the flash of uncertainty in Hadrian’s eyes.

“I would really rather you didn’t spit on muggles around me, Riddle.”

He maintained his calm, the most difficult task he had been faced with in a while, and forced a satisfied smirk on his face.

“Five points from Slytherin.”

“What?” Hadrian burst out, his head snapping round to fully watch Tom.

Much better.

“You were out after curfew, I should really give you detention. I am sure Dumbledore would be happy to supervise…”

“Petty,” Tom heard Hadrian mutter under his breath.

“Now,” Tom said, straightening his back and putting that rather overwhelming encounter behind him, “You should really be off to bed. Your own bed, please. Do come speak to me when you want to know about Bray’s past, I am sure you will find it enlightening.”

It wasn’t particularly interesting, actually. Tom had scowled quite fiercely when Abraxas had come to him with a slim and boring folder on the life of the half-blood Gryffindor. Tom would be smug when Hadrian came to him for answers, though, as was inevitable.

Harry awoke later that morning to frantic and raised voices. He groaned, casting a Tempus to see it was quarter past 9. He never slept in that late, but he had been quite exhausted after his midnight adventures.

Groggily, he wiped his eyes and sat up from the bed. Pulling the curtains back to see what the commotion was about, Harry took a few seconds to get used to the brightness of the morning. Not that the dungeons were particularly bright, but he had been woken from a very deep sleep.

“-there is NOTHING I can do!” Orion was shouting, waving his hands in the air and gesturing towards a piece of parchment in his hand.

“What on earth is happening?” Harry finally said, having cleared his throat moments ago.

Abraxas, Hector, and Orion turned to him. He felt something sinking in his stomach at the tear tracks running down Orion’s face, and the stricken look that reminded him so much of Sirius.

It was Hector who spoke, surprisingly.

“Give him the letter.” His quiet voice came, speaking to Orion rather than Harry.

Shaking hands passed Harry a piece of parchment, and it took him a few minutes to fully understand its contents.

Orion,

I am writing to inform you that your engagement to the eldest Rosier girl has been terminated. Her father was notified last night, and she shall receive a missive this morning as well. I want to remind you that the Black name shall not be tainted by any childish or outlandish behaviour, and so she was rightfully not fit for your hand. My brother has offered the hand of his eldest daughter, Walburga, which I have accepted on your behalf. Do enjoy the rest of your term, and I shall speak with you in the summer about further arrangements. Study hard, and make our family proud. Remember: Toujours Pur.

Sincerely,

Arcturus Black

Harry blinked up at Orion, frowning slightly.

“He doesn’t say why.” Was all he could muster, looking between the three boys quickly to gauge their reactions.

Orion just shook his head, strands of his wavy black hair clinging to the side of his face.

“I should speak to her…” He muttered.

“Not in this state you won’t.” Abraxas said forcefully, “Have a shower, and then we shall go down to breakfast together. Be quick, as we are cutting it fine already.”

Seemingly glad to have something to do, Orion hurried into the bathroom. He left an awkward silence in the room, until Hector spoke (miraculously) again.

“Druella was seen… with Cygnus. One of Orion’s cousins.”

“Cygnus Black?” Harry said, eyebrows shooting into his forehead, “How do you know?”

“I was the one who found them.” Said a new voice, silky and smooth and– Why on earth was Tom Riddle wearing a snake around his neck?

Chapter Text

“Is that a… snake?” Hadrian asks, and Tom lets a smile form on his face.

“Why yes,” He says, “How perceptive of you.”

Hadrian scowls, but Tom can tell he wants to move closer and speak to the snake. Not while the others are here, of course, but Parselmouths do have magnetic attraction to their counterparts.

“Is she dangerous?” Abraxas asked, his pale face having grown ten times paler.

“Very,” Tom said seriously, not taking his eyes off of Hadrian, “But she will not bite if I do not command her too.”

The dark haired boy clears his throat, but Tom was already paying attention. He obviously wanted to say something, why doesn’t Hadrian just spit it out?

“You said you walked in on Druella and Cygnus?” Hadrian prompts, casting a quick glance towards the door to the bathroom. It didn’t take a genius to work out Orion was in there.

“I did. But I didn’t tell anyone, if that is what you are trying to ask.”

“Then how did Arcturus find out?”

Tom shrugged, a painfully human gesture but one that gets his nonchalance across. It was all part of the game, after all.

“Broom cupboards are very conspicuous locations, I wouldn’t be surprised if I were not the only one to witness their indiscretions.”

“So they were… together?” Abraxas asked tentatively, his gaze fixed firmly on the snake around Tom’s neck. He chuckled at the way Nagini hissed in his direction, maybe she would grow fond of blonds?

“What Abraxas wants to ask is if they were fucking or not.” Hadrian said sternly, watching Tom rather than his snake. It pleased him very much.

Tom pretended to think, “It was very dark in there, and there was a lot of movement.” 

“Yes, then.” Hadrian said in a very challenging voice. How impertinent.

“Let me closer,”  Nagini hissed in Tom’s ear, and he watched as Hadrian stiffened almost imperceptibly.

“Of course, my sweet.” 

He let the python down on the floor, Abraxas drawing his legs onto the bed in an effort to stay away. The Malfoy heir shouldn’t be worried though, it wasn’t him she wanted to see.
Nagini slid across the wood towards Hadrian, her scales shimmering in the low light and her glorious and beautiful movement causing Tom pride. She really was a good choice.

Nagini managed to slither onto Hadrian’s bed, where he perched casually, and began winding her way around his body. It wasn’t tight, but the tension in the air was. Both Abraxas and Hector watched with wide, fearful eyes. Tom only smiled, excited for Hadrian to meet his new friend.

“Hello,” Hadrian says, in English, watching with a small frown as Nagini curls around him.

“Master, he smells delicious,” Nagini hisses with delight. “Like when I eat all the rats or flying rats.”

Hadrian stiffens slightly, but Tom knows he will not reply in parseltongue. Not when he seems strangely adverse to people knowing about his gift. Why, though? He could have a pedestal almost equal to Tom’s, and people would respect him far more. But Tom knew that Hadrian didn’t care for such things, and so Tom would just have to make Hadrian a prince himself.

“Ah, Tom? I think your snake is suffocating me,” Hadrian said, his voice strained and his cheeks starting to redden.

“Nagini,” He chastised, “Do not harm him.”

Hadrian’s head shot up to look at Tom, rather than Nagini. Tom did not know why, maybe the name was familiar?

“I am not, he is still breathing, see?”

“You are…” Tom sighed, “Come back here, Nagini.”

The dutiful python untangled herself from Hadrian, who relaxed almost instantly and stretched his back. She returned to Tom, just as the door to the bathroom reopened and Orion entered the room. His hair was mildly damp, the boy not yet having mastered the drying spell or having simply forgotten, and he did a double take as he saw Nagini.

“Yes, I have a snake, now are we going to breakfast?” 

Harry returned to the dormitory after breakfast, the others having gone for an impromptu study session in the library. It was just over two months until OWLs, but that didn’t mean anyone was less stressed. Though Harry couldn’t muster enough worry to study as hard as the other Slytherins, seeing as he had already sat the OWLs. According to Hermione, the exam questions for the exams never actually changed that much. How she knew, Harry didn’t know, but he took her word for it and was planning on only revising what he remembered. The only issues would be History of Magic, which he had passed out in the first time, and Ancient Runes, which he had only been studying for six months.

Looking around to make sure he was alone, Harry moved over to Riddle’s bed. For the past few days, all he could think about was the diary. He had seen the teenager writing in it countless times, and was practically dying to know what was inside. Only to work out how far in his Horcrux creation he was, obviously.

He reached below the pillow, making sure not to crease the perfectly made bed, and grinned with satisfaction as his hand clasped around a black, leather book. Harry would have thought Tom would have some sort of protection around it, but maybe he had put so much fear in his followers this wasn’t necessary.

“I felt a spark of something inexplicable, when I met the new boy. Looking into it, there was almost nothing to explain what causes such a thing–”

“He annoys me, constantly jabbering about how unjust our world is. I agree, of course, but for vastly different reasons–”

“We have been sharing our dreams. Somehow I do not dislike it. It feels intimate in a way I have never experienced before, and I was angry when Hadrian wanted to leave so quickly. I did make a mistake, however, in forcing him. He does not respond kindly to those types of threats, unlike my followers.”

“Hadrian says I should feel regret for what I have done, but I do not agree. The ends always justify the means, no matter how twisted my actions have been.”

“I read something interesting today, about immortality, but I am hesitant to try it. Hadrian warned me against meddling with my soul, and Horcruxes are that very definition. It would be worth it, however, for immortality.”

“I find myself at a crossroads, regarding immortality. I have found the entire ritual needed for Horcruxes. Though I question whether I can make more than one. Seven is the most powerful wizarding number, surely that would be most apt. I endeavour to ask Slughorn sometime soon.”

“Even though I am yet to ask Slughorn about this, I have much more pressing questions I need answered. Strangely enough, they revolve around Hadrian Peverell. The boy does infuriate me, but a seer can come in handy.”

“I AM LORD VOLDEMORT= Tom Marvolo Riddle. I quite like it.”

“He is a parselmouth. Never in my life have I felt so much joy, it is a foreign concept to me at the moment.”

“When Hadrian disappeared during Grindelwald’s Ball, there was–”

“Intruder!” A hissing sound caused Harry to jump from his seat, scowling fiercely before realising that Nagini had her head in line with his own.

“No! I am not intruding,” He said quickly, clinging onto the diary.

“Speaker! Why are you reading my Master’s personal writings? You are touching his things, he does not like that.”

“I am worried… Nagini, about your master. I want to make sure he is alright.”

Harry had almost screamed earlier that day, when Tom had hissed the name of his snake. THE Nagini. The snake Neville killed, the final Horcrux.

“Is Master ill?” She replied, and if a snake could look worried then that is what Nagini would look like.

“Not yet, but he may if I do not help him. Please do not tell him, Nagini.”

She seemed to ponder for a second, but had drawn back and stopped baring her deadly fangs in Harry’s face.

“If you bring me large rats, Hatchling.”

“Of course–” Harry agreed quickly, and snapped his head to the door as he heard footsteps. 

Quickly hiding the diary back under the pillow, cursing the python for her interruption, Harry didn’t have time to stand from the bed. He didn’t think he could have, with Nagini sprawled on top of him.

The door opened and Tom Riddle walked in the door. His face lit up with something akin to surprise, or maybe confusion, as he spotted Harry petting his new snake.

“I see you and Nagini are getting along well?”

“She does seem quite fond.” Harry said, as nonchalantly as he could.

“As do you. Though I would prefer you to sit on your own bed, when canoodling with my snake.”

He blushed almost immediately, but tried to shrug it off. That made Tom chuckle, and before Harry knew it, the boy was in front of him. Tom’s hand brushed over the scales of Nagini, just as Harry had been doing moments ago.

“Did you find anything interesting?” Riddle asked, his voice deceptively soft. Harry could tell the almost angry undertones were trying to peak out, however, and wondered what Tom was thinking.

Harry hummed non committedly, watching almost hypnotically as Tom’s pale hand brushed the green scales.

“In my diary, I mean.” 

He didn’t stop stroking, but Harry might have stopped breathing.

“Diary?” He questioned, and thank Merlin his lying skills were improving.

Tom’s piranha smile was evident in his next words.

“Yes, Hadrian, the one poking out from underneath my pillow.”

Merlin’s fucking beard.

“Nothing I didn’t know already,” Harry said, mentally patting himself on the back. Tom stopped stroking his pet.

“Tell me why you don’t want me to create a Horcrux, Harry.” Tom crooned, and Harry almost cricked his neck by looking up at the taller boy.

Harry? Had Tom just?

“You do not like that name?” Tom asked.

“Not particularly.” He said, voice suspiciously quiet.

“Pity, it fits you more than Hadrian. I dislike being Tom and Hadrian. Harry seems more on par with my own.”

“Trying to drag me down to your level, Tom?”

“Up. Trying to drag you up, for all your defiance.”

“No thank you,” Harry said politely, then remembered what Tom’s initial question was. He geared himself up by taking a few deep breaths, then looked right into teenage Voldemort’s eyes. 

Now was the time, when he was actually being listened to. More than that, he had been asked his opinion on the matter.

“I had a vision of you, in fifty years time…”

Tom’s eyes widen a miniscule amount.

“You were deathly pale, paler than you are now, your eyes were red and you had no hair and no nose. There was almost no resemblance, but I knew it was you.”

“How?” Tom probed.

“Voldemort,” Harry continued, simultaneously answering Tom’s question and carrying on, “Dies at the hand of a baby. He has no sanity, he only knows war and death and destruction. So many people died, for no reason, the ministry is corrupt and Hogwarts is cursed, you die and Dumbledore dies and everyone dies. You don’t win, Tom, you cannot win if you lose almost all of your soul.”

“War, Tom. War.” Harry stressed that word particularly, knowing the impact it would have on teenage Tom. It also had an impact on him, for his voice broke as he spoke of it.

A single tear fell down Harry’s face as he watched Tom, with almost no emotion, take Harry’s words in. 

Harry stilled as Tom’s pale hand wiped the tear from Harry’s face. It was a soft touch, void of blisters and far too gentle for the monster Harry thought he was.

“How many did I make?” Tom asked, his thumb glistening from the tear but the boy never wiping it.

“Seven. You split your soul seven times.”

Tom looked worried then, and Harry felt a jump in his heart. Was he being convinced?

“You saw this all in a dream?” Tom asked again, his eyes bearing into Harry’s.

He nodded, unaware of the cogs working in Tom’s head at that very moment. Tom was thinking that seven did seem too much, but surely one would never cause him to go insane. Herpo the Foul had created a Horcrux, Merlin had created a Horcrux, as had Godelot. All three were powerful wizards, but none as ambitious as Tom.

“We haven’t dreamt together in a while, Hadrian,” Tom said, but it came out almost like a question.

Harry blinked once, before frowning.

“I know.”

Tom seemed to pause, thinking about whether he wanted to say what was on the tip of his tongue.

In the end, he didn’t. Harry found himself strangely disappointed.

“You said, in your diary, that you regretted forcing me into it.” Harry blurted out, “Was that… the truth?”

“Why would I lie to myself?” Was the non-answer Tom gave.

Harry shook his head, as if to say ‘you probably do it all the time’.

Before Tom could protest, Nagini rose from her position and slithered onto the floor. The weight was a relief on Harry’s slowly numbing legs, but he didn’t move from the bed.

A thought arose in Harry’s mind as he sat in the same position, barely inches away from Tom who stood tall and proud. They both seemed to be in thought, but Harry interrupted it with a question.

“Why did you come up to the dorm, aren’t you meant to be studying?”

Tom smirked, “I felt the wards around my bed trigger.”

Harry huffed out a laugh, it wasn’t a surprise Tom was so vigilant.

“I don’t mind you on my bed, though.” Riddle added as an afterthought, the smirk still on his face and his eyes looking down through long lashes.

Again, Harry blushed, but this time decided it was time to actually move away. He stood, and made his way to the door.

Tom only watched.

Hadrian went immediately to his little boyfriend, of course. Tom was unsure as to what Frederick Bray had, that he didn’t, even with Abraxas’ folder of information. He couldn’t describe the feeling he had, when he made his way back to the library and saw Hadrian and Bray enter into the Gryffindor common room. The former certainly didn’t belong in lion territory. Not that Tom had been following Hadrian, though, he was simply passing by.

What he did do, on the other hand, was plan a meeting with the Knights of Walpurgis. Tom was confident that Hadrian would do better this time, with Rosier out of the limelight. Another benefit would be to distract Orion, who was moping about like a child who had lost his favourite toy. Despite his cool attitude, and pretence that he didn’t actually care, Tom disliked seeing him in such a mood.

What Orion added to his group, unbeknownst to the others, was not just a proficiency at magic. He brought an opinion that fell the closest in line with Tom himself, and would prove to the other purebloods that the attitude was not just for half-bloods such as himself. But that would be far away in the future, once the group was out of Hogwarts and able to fully integrate into the ministry.

Hadrian would add far more, in his opinion. Tom knew, deep down, that Hadrian was like him. If he tried his hand at the Dark Arts, he would be able to flourish more than even his most devoted. If he listened to Tom’s politics, he would be able to understand his issues with muggles. The only issue was Bray and his light leaning propaganda.

Chapter Text

Harry let out a belting laugh, “I don’t believe you,” He said between gasping breaths.

Fred blushed red, but his smile was easy and lopsided. Safe, that’s what Harry felt at that moment. Blissful peace, with no need for dark thoughts, and the company of someone he genuinely enjoyed.

“Stop it,” Fred whispered against Harry’s ear, “You’ll bring half the house up here if you continue on like that.”

“It’s not my fault– ha!” Harry waved his hands in the air, “You told Abraxas to shove his– his co–!”

Fred had pinned Harry to his bed with a laugh, using his own hand to cover Harry’s mouth and muffling his attempts to regale the tale of Fred’s spat with the Malfoy heir.

The blond nudged one knee in between Harry’s legs, causing him to yelp in shock, and slowly removed his hand from Harry’s mouth. A pleased smile came across Fred’s face as he witnessed Harry’s flushed face, black curls spread neatly over the pillow. His hand was quickly replaced by strong lips, then a tongue exploring the cavern of Harry’s mouth. He let out a soft moan of delight and happiness, and eagerly reciprocated.

His hands found his way to Fred’s robes, tugging him closer so that he almost fully covered the smaller boy. It was soft and gentle, a contradiction to the teenager’s muscled and strong body. One wouldn’t expect the large figure to be so kind, but he was.

What’s more, Fred seemed to always want to please Harry. Especially in bed, and it showed as he gently cupped Harry’s pale face with one hand, his knee driving deeper into his crotch. Harry arched his back, not breaking the ongoing kiss, and let out another moan.

“Fuck–” He said, when Fred broke the kiss apart. Harry looked up at him in mock betrayal, but the blond just chuckled knowingly.

Before he knew it, Fred had grasped his wand and vanished Harry and his own clothes. He glanced down and smirked to see that both he and Fred were almost hard already.

Harry moved his hands, feeling gently the curves and muscles of Fred’s body, and the teenager shuddered at Harry’s cold hands. It wasn’t new, they had done this many times over the past few months, but Harry was always enraptured by the sheer perfection of his body. Fred could tell, and bent down to place a quick peck on Harry’s lips– their bodies pressing together briefly– before moving lower and lower and…

His back jolted upwards as Harry let out a louder yelp, Fred having teasingly licked the length of Harry’s cock– now almost fully hard.

“Tease,” Harry muttered through a gasp, as Fred took the tip of his cock in his mouth. He looked up, eyes wide and promising.

There was another teasing lick, the blond gently swirling his tongue up and down Harry’s cock in preparation. Harry could feel the precum dripping, and grasped Fred’s toned shoulders in preparation, squeezing his eyes shut as Fred used one hand to grasp Harry’s cock, the other fondling his balls. 

Fred took his tongue off, and Harry looked down as if to warn him not to bloody stop. The bastard just placed Harry’s cock on his lips in a mockery of a blowjob, smearing the precum over his red mouth.

His mouth took in half of Harry’s cock suddenly, causing Harry to clench his hands. There were surely crescent indents from how hard he gripped the teenagers shoulders. 

Finally, Fred carefully placed his hands on Harry’s bony hips and began taking Harry’s hard cock in his mouth fully.

He began bobbing up and down, slowly at first, and Harry threw his head back in pleasure. His cheeks hollowed as he began to suck, and Harry moved a hand to Fred's blond hair to help guide him up and down.

Harry thrust in, done with Fred’s teasing, and allowing him to properly take his cock in his mouth. A swallow from Fred was all it took for Harry to undo completely, and he used his free hand to cling to the bedpost above him. His tongue swirled around the crown of Harry’s cock, and he thrust again. This time Fred let out a soft moan that caused fireworks to explode in Harry’s head.

“I-” Was all Harry could say, as he felt it building up inside of him.

Though it was all the warning Fred needed, Merlin he was wonderful at sucking cock, and grasped Harry’s buttocks tightly.

It was bliss when Harry came. It was like someone had put on a lightshow, even if Harry’s eyes were closed. Panting and gasping for breath, Harry reopened his eyes to look down at Fred. A small small was playing on the blond’s face as he brought his mouth from the cock, and licked his lips. Instinctually, Harry took his thumb and ran it over the chapped lips of the teenager kneeling before him. Cum coating the finger, he teased open Fred’s mouth. 

The boy gladly took it, and there was satisfaction in seeing him lick Harry’s finger clean.

“That was…” Harry said, and Fred stood to his level.

“Wonderful? Perfect? Fantastic?” He said, and Harry could only nod in his daze, “I know, sweet.”

Their bodies pushed closely together meant that Harry could feel Fred’s long erection, and his eyes darted down to where it pushed in between them. The sight of it was enough to cause his own cock to twitch, almost ready for another round.

Without another word, Harry wrapped his hand firmly around the other’s cock. He tried an experimental tug, paired with a reassuring soft kiss at his neck, caused Fred to let out a shuddering breath. 

He pumped at the other boy, relishing in the way Fred’s body was completely in his control, twisting and tugging while kissing at his neck and shoulders. Harry pulled his head back, still with his hand on Fred’s cock, looking up through his lashes to see the pure delight in the other’s eyes.

“Almost,” Fred choked out, none of the sarcasm from earlier, and Harry initiated another, forceful kiss. Fred moaned into his mouth, dick twitching and pulsing around his hand, before he came.

They stood there for a few moments, breathing heavily but not saying anything. Harry could feel the sticky cum on his stomach and legs, and knew that Fred was equally covered.

“Do you want to–” Fred asked, seeming unsure of himself, but Harry knew what he was asking. They had had sex a few times before, Harry trying to fumble his way through while Fred being somewhat knowledgeable. It was something that Harry wasn’t embarrassed to admit he enjoyed, a lot.

“What do you think?” Harry asked playfully, giving a soft shove that let Fred fall gracelessly back onto the bed.

He stood in between Fred’s open legs, leaning forward on his elbows to place his mouth against Fred’s. It was a short, teasing imitation of their earlier kiss. 

“Oh, hang on,” Harry said suddenly, “I’m going to the bathroom.”

Fred drew calloused fingers through Harry’s hair, “I’ll lie here, waiting.”

Harry grinned, then righted himself and hurried through the door to the bathroom. His heart was calming down now, a fair difference from how fast it had been a few seconds ago. He ran a hand through his hair, where Fred had only a few seconds before, and approached the toilet. 

But the evening wasn’t going to end well, Harry should have known.

When he went to wash his hands in the sink, Harry looked into the mirror to see his reflection.

What he saw would have made him spit out a drink, if he had been drinking one.

A shaking hand moved to touch his face. Yes, it was his. Instead of his usual pale green eyes, the sockets were pitch black. As dark as a clear night sky, probably darker if he had to compare. They looked like–

He let out a breath of shock, a sharp pain forcing its way into his head. Not like when he used to have visions from Voldemort, from his scar, but right in the centre and invading through to the back and down his spine. It caused him to convulse, his hand trying to grasp onto something – anything – to keep him from collapsing onto the floor. 

The white room was swirling, flashing lights of pale reds and yellows and greens as if he were being spun around in circles. Worse than that, was the noise. Loud and abrasive, like the screeching of the merpeople or ringing of a high pitched bell, coming from inside of him and moving from ear to ear.

Harry sunk to the floor (was it the floor?) which seemed to burn with heat, as if the whole room was set on fire, but he didn’t care. He could barely keep his head from smacking into the moving tiles (were they meant to move?) and his hands seemed to go numb from heat and cold and fear.

One arm was wrapped around his waist, the other clutching at his hair in an attempt to rip out the noise or light or pain.

And then it stopped, sort of.

The room stopped moving, and the world stopped spinning. The floor was a cool reprieve, rather than hotter than a volcano. The lights were a bit too bright, but that was natural for a dormitory bathroom. He could even think properly.

So he jumped up, wavering a bit on unsteady feet, and looked in the mirror again. Disappointment and confusion raced through him as he beheld the black eyes. Might it be a hallucination? No, Harry thought, as he felt the area around the eyes. Slightly warm, but nothing unusual. 

He tilted his head to the side, trying to find some kind of white in his eyes, but to no avail. No green, no white, just black.

It was at this moment Harry wished he had his invisibility cloak with him.

“Fuck off,” He croaked, as silvery material fell from seemingly nowhere, “All I had to do was ask?”

But nobody answered, not even Death.

Knowing Fred was probably waiting for him, and not wanting to have to even try and explain, Harry hurriedly put the cloak on and gripped his wand.

He edged the door open, peering out to see Fred lying on the bed and staring up at the ceiling– that attractive, lopsided grin on his face. Harry felt a pang of guilt and upset at the idea of leaving so soon. But what else could he do? After summoning his clothes wordlessly, Harry paused to put them on. Even if he didn’t have his shoes, it didn’t matter.

Racing down the stairs, and down the corridors to his own dormitory, Harry had to twist out of the way of many students. He might have nudged one at some point, a Hufflepuff he thought, who shouted at the invisible force. 

Thank Merlin, Harry made it past the portrait to the Slytherin common room quickly. He barely paid attention to who was in there, the ringing in his ears having returned. Even with the darkness of the dungeons, it was all suddenly so bright.

He slammed the door to the dormitory open as a wave of nausea overcame him. Harry threw the cloak onto his bed (his bed?) just as the world began to spin, far worse than before. 

Then, there was the slam of the door.

Tom Riddle had been sitting in the common room, barely paying attention to the chatter and conversation around him, while quietly seething about Hadrian’s disappearance. He hadn’t been seen since lunch, but Tom thought he knew where the curly haired boy had run off to.

So when the door to the common room opened, and nobody entered or left, Tom found it slightly suspicious. When the door to the boys dormitories opened, he followed.

Tom had a sneaking suspicion that he knew who was there, but didn’t know how they had made themselves completely invisible. Disillusionment charm, perhaps.

His thoughts were confirmed when the fifth year dorm opened. But what were they doing, hiding their return?

Tom walked through the door, but the sight that beheld him almost made his heart stop. 

Laying crumpled on the floor, head in hand and gasping for air was Hadrian Peverell. He rushed over to the boy, whose back was to the door, and placed a tentative hand on his back.

“Hadrian?” He asked softly, not wanting to shock the boy. Tom needn’t have worried, for Hadrian didn’t seem to even register his touch, let alone his voice.

Tom tried again, louder this time, “Hadrian.”

This time the boy removed his head from his hands, but his whole body was shaking and he kept his eyes shut tight. Hadrian seemed to be sweating as well, his face as white as the Bloody Baron.

“Tom?” He asked, and Tom was taken aback by how scared he sounded.

“What happened?” He said, keeping his hand on Hadrian’s back. The teenager looked up at him, but didn’t open his eyes, “Can you look at me?”

He shook his head quickly, his curls getting stuck onto the sweat of his forehead. It was then Tom noticed he was barefoot, his shirt buttons done up wrong

“Did something happen with Fred? Hadrian?” 

“No, no.” Hadrian said, his voice croaking, “It’s so loud.”

“What is?”

“Everything!”

“Please look at me, Hadrian.” Tom said again, not bothering to hide the pleading in his voice. Maybe it would coax Hadrian out of whatever trance he was in.

“Don’t be shocked,” Hadrian whispered, “Please don’t run. I– You’ll know what to do, right? You know these things.”

In the back of his mind, Tom’s interest peaked considerably. In the forefront of his mine, Tom wanted to tell Hadrian to stop rambling.

“I’ll help, I promise.”

And then Hadrian opened his eyes, and Tom cast a locking spell at the door.

What the–

Gone was the green, to be replaced with an eerie black. Tom blinked in astonishment as the black eyes seemed to look up at him in worry and fear. It was then he realised he had seen this before, only for a second, when Hadrian had threatened him. The reason? Tom didn’t know, but he would find out. Now, though, he needed to comfort the teenager.

“Oh,” Tom said, before he could shut his mouth, “When did this happen? Do you know why?”

Hadrian shook his head, “Merlin, the noise! Can’t you shut it off, Tom?”

“Hadrian,” Tom said, “There is no noise.”

“PLEASE!” He said, the voice louder.

“Hadrian.” 

“SHUT UP. SHUT UP. SHUT UP.”

Tom cast a muffling charm on the door.

As if the teenager had been switched off, he stopped. Hadrian’s black eyes seemed to roll, the eyelids fluttering, and his head lolled back onto the bed.

Tom reached out with his hands, cradling his face and bringing it upright.

“Hadrian?” He asked again, so quietly even he could barely hear himself speak.

Seconds passed, with Tom shaking the other boy. He was still breathing, thank Merlin, but he had fainted or blacked out. 

He lifted Hadrian onto the bed, looking worriedly down at him and biting his lip. Tom ran through everything he knew about Hadrian Peverell, every little instance that had proven strange or different, trying to find an answer.

The closest he could get was the Veritaserum… incident. It had looked like an allergic reaction, but Tom was unsure now. There were similarities, the sweating and paleness, the way his head had lolled back as if possessed.

Possession?

It could be, but by whom or what?

The thought spurred him into action again, and Tom grasped his wand before pointing it at the Slytherin lying prone on the bed.

“Rennervate.”

Nothing happened for a second, a minute even, and Tom stilled as he wondered if the spell hadn’t worked, or if Hadrian were actually…

No, but he was breathing.

That became much more evident when the body lurched to life with a gasp.

Hadrian looked round, his eyes still black, before the gaze locked onto Tom. He tilted his head to the side, a strange grin forming on his lips, and Tom was struck by the deafening realisation that this was not Hadrian.

He gripped his wand harder, but before he could cast a spell the possessor of Hadrian had flung him across the room. Tom landed painfully against the wall, a sickening crack sounding as his head was flung backwards, and he glared helplessly up at the thing holding both his and Hadrian’s wand.

Not-Hadrian prowled slowly over to him, crouching down and drawing a cold finger down Tom’s cheek.

“Tom Marvolo Riddle, it is a pleasure to finally meet you.” It crooned, and Tom was frozen to the spot.

He spat in the creature’s face, but it just laughed.

“How Gryffindor, I didn’t think you had it in you.”

“Who are you?” Tom demanded around the ringing in his head.

“Oh, you know me by many names. Just as you are both Riddle and Voldemort, You-Know-Who I am, surely? No? How about your biggest fear, does that ring any bells? I have studied you for many decades, the past few months though… they have been most enlightening.”

That was not an answer and Tom was not in the mood for riddles.

“You can call me Death, if you want.”

This must be a hallucination, right?

Chapter Text

Tom had never wished for immortality more, than in this moment.

Death drew back, a wicked smile cutting into his face at Tom’s fearful expression. If anyone had told him in third year, when he had to face the boggart, that Death would have curly hair he would have laughed in their faces. He knew that this was not Death’s true form, but the image of those black eyes would haunt him for years to come.

He summoned up his courage, and stood up straight as a pin.

“What have you done to Hadrian?” Tom demanded, though his voice quivered on the last word.

“Hadrian,” Death said, as if he were amused at the name, “Is perfectly fine. If you would take a seat, I could properly explain what has happened… and how we can fix it.”

“We?” Tom sneered.

“Sit.” 

Tom looked into those empty eyes and chose self-preservation. Its tone suggested that disobeying would be detrimental to Tom’s own health, and he was unwilling to be that close to Death. He sat, perched on the edge of the bed.

Death leant back against the bed frame, twirling Tom’s wand over his fingers in a deliberate, casual manner. His mouth was twisted into a cruel smile, but Tom noticed the lines creasing the sides of his eyes. It was as if he were in pain, and that gave Tom the slightest hint of an advantage.

So he cocked his head to the side, eyeing the figure up.

“Are you going to explain?” He drawled, but even his mockery of confidence had waned into a feeling of dread. It was those eyes, so black and endless, it made Tom feel small. He hated feeling small.

“I suppose we should be quick about it,” Death mused, “I have, upsettingly, found myself trapped in this puny, human body. So many thoughts and emotions… I don’t know how you live with it. All you need to do is keep out of my way, so I can complete the ritual to send me back.”

“Back where?”

Death laughed, “If I told you that, I am sure your mind would explode.”

Tom swallowed loudly, before summoning courage even Hadrian would be impressed with.

“I will help,” He said, “If only to make sure Hadrian will make it out unscathed.”

“Cute,” Death crooned, but Tom noticed he didn’t dispute it.

Then, Death waved his hand and the candles in the room burst into light. It was certainly a power play, how casual he seemed, and even though he recognised this Tom was intimidated by the sheer ease of his action.

“We will be completing a short ritual, which mortals such as you could never fathom to complete.”

Mortal. Such a plain word. Tom hated the reminder, which was all that this encounter was turning out to be.

“Though the blood of a human can aid in this… act.” Death continued, not even deigning to look in Tom’s direction as he began summoning items from seemingly out of nowhere.

A glass jar, Ashwinder eggs, Crocodile heart and Knotgrass were all that Tom could recognise. There were others, he saw, that bore resemblance to beetles and some that looked eerily similar to green venom– but he couldn’t be sure.

“And you need my blood?” Tom said, after a few beats.

“Only if you are not scared,” Death goaded.

“Would I die?”

Death shook his head, a human action that seemed both normal on Hadrian’s face and yet abnormal with who Tom knew the figure to be.

“Arm.”

Tom moved closer to where Death stood, rolling up the sleeve of his shirt. He gave Death a sceptical look, before holding it out to him. All while repeating the mantra: This is for Hadrian. Because it was, and Tom wasn’t ashamed to admit it.

A small, silver knife was conjured from the air and pressed to his wrist. He suppressed a gasp as ruby red blood beaded, before dripping slowly into a mortar bowl. Tom quickly pressed his other hand to the wound, drawing it into his chest, and chanced a glance at Death. It wasn’t watching him, instead having dipped pale fingers into the bowl.

He felt sick, watching runes drawn on the wooden floor in his own blood. Even more so now his head was beginning to throb lightly.
 
Without his wand, though, there was no way to heal it. 

Not only was he bending to the whim of this deity, but he was injured and tired and Tom was, most of all, scared. He hadn’t felt such fear since he was very young, four or five years old and surrounded by the older children in the orphanage. He hadn’t needed to feel fear, as he had always been stronger, more capable, and able to win against whoever came his way. There was no winning now, not even the possibility of fighting, not against Death himself.

That was the worst part, Tom thought as Death waved his hands over the runes and lit them in an eerily bright light, the fact that he would lose against this being. That Tom wouldn’t be able to best Death, in that moment, would only make the day he cheated Death even sweeter.

“What are you doing now?” Tom asked, peering over to see what was happening.

While Death didn’t answer his question, he spoke with grave sincerity.

“When Hadrian returns, remind him about the books that are hidden in the room in the Seventh Floor.”

“What books?” Tom demanded, stiffening.

Death didn’t respond, but took a seat cross legged in the centre of the circle. He had mixed some of the ingredients together and had now thrown Hadrian’s shirt across the room. Tom watched silently as he drew unrecognisable symbols on his chest and arms, using a mixture of Tom’s blood and the green substance that might have been venom. Even fear did not dissuade Tom from memorising the runes and symbols used in the ritual.

Something else prevented him from hearing the words spoken by Death, however, as some sort of silencing charm was erected around the circle. This had happened after Death shot a knowing glance at Tom, who froze at the eyes which bore into him.

Five minutes passed and Tom still watched.

Ten minutes passed and there was a knock at the door, but it didn’t open.

Twenty minutes passed and Tom took a seat on the bed, still watching as Death’s mouth moved to form words that were evidently not English or Latin.

Half an hour passed before Death stopped talking, and just sat.
Forty minutes passed and Tom was getting frustrated.

It took an hour before the silencing charm fell apart, and the body of Hadrian Peverell collapsed onto the floor with a thud– his eyes closed and chest rising and falling rhythmically. He was asleep, and Tom jumped into action (albeit tentatively).

Tom moved towards the body, making sure not to smudge the runes drawn onto the floor, and prodded at Hadrian’s cheek. His brow scrunched up, Tom slid his own wand from the pocket of his trousers and cast the levitation spell to move Hadrian to his bed. 

Ten minutes passed and Hadrian was still asleep, though Tom was unsure if this was Hadrian.

Twenty minutes passed and Tom wiped the runes from the floor, but not his friend’s body.

Half an hour passed and Tom unlocked the door to the dorm, allowing his roommates to enter if they wished.

Nobody did.

Tom sat and he waited, watching carefully for any signs of illness or insanity. Or, Merlin forbid, Death.

An hour passed before Hadrian awoke, and Tom had not moved from his position on the bed. Now, he did, and quickly leant over to make sure he was okay. His own heart was pounding, and Tom could feel the blood run to his head. Surely it had worked, surely Hadrian was back to normal.

“Hadrian?” He asked, as the curly haired boy's eyes fluttered open and his hands twitched by his sides.

Hadrian sat up, rubbing at his eyes, before looking towards Tom.

His body deflated in relief as those pale, luminous green eyes blinked confusedly up at him.

“What…” Hadrian choked out.

Harry woke up from his nap with a strange prodding feeling in the back of his head.

It was like a worm had ingrained itself in there, and he had needed to go through a particularly long operation to remove it. He felt dazed, and his eyesight was slightly blurry. All he could make out was a figure sat rigidly on the bed next to him.

“What…” He managed out, at the soft call of his name.

“Tom?” 

“Do you remember what happened?” Tom asked, looking strangely worried at the sight of him. 

Harry thought for a moment, wondering what the other boy could possibly mean. And then it hit him. He remembered the piercing headache, and the ringing in his ears, and passing out on the floor of the dormitory. He also remembered leaving his shoes in Fred’s dorm, and the blackness of his eyes.

“I–” His voice was rough, and a glass of water was shoved into his shaking hands. Harry gulped it down thankfully.

“I blacked out?” It was more of a question than a statement, as Tom’s expression told him that something else had happened.

“You did,” Tom said, his voice still soft and calming. It was a pleasant change to the loudness in his head only moments before. Riddle seemed to deliberate on something, maybe if to speak again, and in the end he did.

“I think you were possessed.”

“What?” Harry said, sitting up in his bed and turning to face Tom. In the process he cricked his neck, and winced.

“You passed out on the floor, so I moved you to the bed, but then you woke up and your eyes… your eyes were black. It was… horrible. Like you were staring into my soul, but it wasn’t you, it was something calling itself Death and… he said he needed to get out of your body? Like he was stuck there. He took my wand, he attacked me, and then used my blood in some ritual. Then you passed out again, for a whole hour this time. I thought– I thought you may die.”

Tom was rambling, moving his hands around in the air in a manner so unlike him Harry wondered whether it was he who had been possessed. It wasn’t only his speech that was different, but his appearance. He looked tired, with blood dripping down his arm and onto his shirt and trousers, and his hair was no longer perfectly coiled. Tom appeared human: not only that but a worried, frantic version of the Tom Riddle he had grown to know.

But Harry had been possessed, he realised, as the quick words sunk in. 

I wasn’t possessing you on purpose, Master. Believe me, I didn’t want to be there. Just a miscalculation of a previous act I assure you.

Harry jumped out of his skin, mind racing to keep up with the familiar yet unfamiliar voice that appeared in his head. Death was back, and Tom was right in that he had spoken to him.

It was sorted, now, right?

Don’t doubt my skills, Master.

He internally laughed at Death. 

You ‘miscalculated’ and ended up trapped inside my body, I am allowed to doubt you after that.

Death didn’t respond.

“-Hadrian?” 

Harry snapped back into reality as Tom appeared right in front of him, staring into his eyes.

“I’m fine,” He breathed, and then awkwardly patted Tom on the shoulder to prove it.

“It is just… a lot.” Harry continued, at Tom’s look of discontent, “You say it was Death?”

Tom nodded, still kneeling in front of where Harry perched on the bed.

“And he used your blood?” 

“He explained that human blood aided in the ritual, I saw no harm in helping.” 

Harry looked at Tom, watching the lines that creased his forehead and the glint in his eyes. His dishevelled appearance allowed Harry to piece it all together.

“You were scared,” Harry whispered, so quiet that he was sure Tom could barely hear him. 

The other boy paled slightly, “Death is my greatest fear. I just never thought it would take the shape of someone– take the shape of you.”

“Of a human?” Harry questioned.

Tom frowned slightly, but nodded.

They were silent for a moment, and Harry allowed that confession to sink in. It would make sense that Voldemort created horcruxes, being so scared of death. In a way, Harry couldn’t blame him. His greatest fear was, undoubtedly, watching his friends and family die. It was one reason why he was so willing to walk to his own death, that he wouldn’t have to watch them all perish in war.

His gaze locked onto the wound on Tom’s wrist, and he moved his hand to cup Tom’s arm and pull it softly closer. Harry pulled out his wand, which he could feel in his pocket, and slowly began to heal it.

“Why didn’t you do that sooner?” Harry asked, watching as the cut closed and blood stopped dripping down. Maybe the blood loss was why Tom seemed so pale at that moment.

“I needed to make sure you were alright,” Tom confessed, begrudgingly. 

Then, the door slammed open and the sound of arguing filled the room. It was only then Harry realised he was topless, and that symbols dotted his chest. He dove under the duvet, blushing at the eyes that were inevitably drawn to him and Tom.

“Oh–” Orion said, his gaze darting between the two boys.

“Why on earth are you covered in blood?” Druella asked hurriedly, her own gaze having gone to Tom who stood tall and proud. Any trace of the humanity from before was gone, and Harry was already missing it. Or was he? 

Maybe Harry enjoyed being the one– the only one– to bring out a different side to the illustrious Tom Riddle.

“Ritual,” Tom said nonchalantly, as if that covered anything.

“And that is why Hadrian is topless, cowering under the covers?” She continued.

“Obviously,” Tom drawled in a very Snape-like fashion.

Druella rolled her eyes, before turning to Isabella.

“I am telling you, Bella, you cannot go to another one of those rallies. Look what happened last time.”

Isabella, who had snuck in behind the others, pouted.

“It was a one time thing,” She said, waving a hand casually as if she hadn’t almost been bombed, “Grindelwald had a personal grudge against that woman, he isn’t going to strike there again.”

Druella looked towards Tom, asking for his input silently.

“I agree with Druella.”

She gave a satisfied smile.

“It isn’t safe for someone to be out in the Wizarding– or Muggle– world at the moment, not with war hurting every corner of the country. Hogwarts is safe.”

“But–”

Tom raised a hand, “Besides, I have it on good authority Dippet will be cancelling upcoming Hogsmeade weekends.”

“I have it on good authority that Grindelwald will be gone soon, anyway.” Harry inputted, imitating Tom’s pompous tone.

That got him a glare from Tom, and inquisitive looks from the other three.

“Where’d you get that information from?” Orion asked.

Harry scowled, “You didn’t ask Tom that.”

“We didn’t need to,” Druella replied, “We all know Tom gets his information from–”

“Druella,” Tom crooned, giving her an evil stare that wasn’t entirely playful, “Don’t you need to be arranging another marriage?”

She stormed out of the room, leaving Harry confused and slightly irritated.

“You didn’t need to goad her,” He muttered, before sitting up in bed and shooting Tom a withering glare.

Tom’s eyes darted down for a second, before Harry heard a quiet gasp.

“What is on your chest?” Isabella practically shouted.

Harry glanced down to see pink symbols– maybe runes– written on his chest and blushed. He didn’t reply, instead grabbing a towel and running into the bathroom.

Before he shut the door, he heard Tom speak.

“Ritual.”

Chapter Text

Hadrian Peverell was born on the 5th November 1926 in a little village on the outskirts of Machynlleth, Wales. He didn’t cry or scream for 44 days, and by his first birthday was babbling away in a todderlish manner about a variety of interesting topics. His mother and father thought that was odd, but didn’t complain. Hadrian was a clever boy, afterall.

By his third birthday, Hadrian had lived in 3 different countries, 8 different houses, and 13 different hotels.

The fourth country he lived in was France, Brittany to be precise, and by that point in his life Jocasta and Damian Peverell had realised that their son wasn’t exactly normal.

At five years old, Hadrian brought a robin back to life and presented it to his parents with a broad grin.

“Look!” He squealed, cradling the bird fondly and running through the door to room number 29 on the first floor of the La Perouse hotel.

Jocasta and Damian shared a quick, amused glance.

“Where did you get her, dear?” Hadrian’s mother crooned fondly, kneeling down to have a closer look at what her child was holding.

“Robin was lying on the ground outside, I wanted to help her fly back home.”

“Oh, are her wings broken?” Jocasta asked, reaching out a ringer to touch the bird.

Hadrian shook his head, “I don’t think so, but I don’t know why she wasn’t flying.”

She tutted kindly, stroking the head of the robin, before stilling. There was a trail of dark, red blood crusting on the brown feathers of the bird. Old blood, presumably.

“Let me take her from you,” Jocasta coaxed, but Hadrian pulled the bird closer to his chest with a frown.

“Please? She needs cleaning, you’ll get an infection if you keep her like this.”

Hadrian seemed to think for a second, glancing down at the bird, before handing her over.

Time seemed to still for Jocasta as she took the bird, initially believing her son to be simply curious about the animal. There was no other obvious reason he would pick a bird from the street.

But as she took the robin in her own hands, it seemed to wilt and its feathers lost its colour, it twitched no more.

“You killed her!” Hadrian cried, seeing the lifeless bird in front of him.

Jocasta blinked a few times, looking between her son and the bird. Nothing was strange, so far. Of course, she couldn’t know that it was Hadrian’s life force keeping the bird alive. Not yet.

Two weeks later, however, she witnessed it first hand.

They were still in the same hotel, in the same room, and were packing to move on to another area when Hadrian ran into the room again with a shoebox.

Damian looked over to see his son with the box, and raised an eyebrow. They had buried the robin that day two weeks ago, and given it a small funeral. It had been quite sweet, he’d have to admit.

“Look what I can do!” Hadrian said, hurrying over to sit on his fathers lap and cradling the box close to his chest.

“Oh?” Damian enquired, scuffing up his son’s curly hair.

He watched with slight interest as Hadrian opened the shoe box and reached inside. His interest piqued, accompanied by worry, as his son pulled out a dead bird. A dead robin, to be precise. 

“Hadrian, you shouldn’t have dug her up. It is unhygenic.”

“I know,” Hadrian pouted, “But I wanted to say goodbye before we left.”

Damian sighed, before his grip on Hadrian’s shoulder tightened imperceptibly. The dead bird was no longer dead, and was now looking round the room with as much interest as a robin could show.

“She was asleep, but I made her wake up.” Hadrian explained, taking his father’s silence as confusion. Not everyone could be as intelligent as him, afterall.

“I see,” Damian whispered.

From that moment on, nothing was the same between the family of three.

They were living at the Peverell cottage in Scotland, and had been for at least a month. The wards were extensive, having been crafted by Jocasta herself and layered five times over the entirety of the property. 

Hadrian was eleven, the typical age for starting at a magical school. Not that he would be attending any sort of institution. Damian said it was unsafe, when Hadrian had dared to ask, in that awful, clipped tone that made one feel as if they were walking on the edge of a cliff. He was always in that dismissive and angry mood whenever Hadrian was in the room.

The real reason, Hadrian knew, was that it would be unsafe for the other students. His parents deemed him too dangerous, labelled evil before he could understand why. At eleven, however, he had worked it out. Apparently, bringing birds back to life made you the spawn of Satan.

So homeschool it was, if school was the right word for it. 

Really, he was teaching himself.

Books were deposited in his room at the crack of dawn each day, and he would be able to eat dinner once he had completed them. For the first few months Hadrian managed to finish the lessons (both magical and moral) but they were rapidly increasing in quantity and difficulty.

They had gotten him a wand from a little shop in Knockturn alley, as it had only been 2 galleons. It wasn’t the best fit, and he always had to try spells several times to get it to work, but it was still magic and that was all that mattered.

By twelve years old, Hadrian was completing up to eleven hours of lessons a day. He had only failed a handful of times.

The first time was vivid, stuck in Hadrian’s mind, and he knew he would never forget it.

6pm was the deadline, when he would trudge downstairs and knock on the door of whatever office or temporary workspace his father was using. He only saw the man for ten minutes a day, but even that seemed like too much.

That day, he had been having difficulty comprehending a particularly tricky transfiguration spell and hadn’t managed to detail the correct wand movements on parchment, let alone evaluate the spell's usefulness.

Damian didn’t look up from his paperwork as Hadrian entered the room, instead holding out a hand for the scrolls of parchment he would have completed. Hadrian handed them over, quietly fearing for what his reaction might be, and waited.

It only took a brief moment for Damian to look up at him. He placed the unfinished work on the desk and stood.

“It is incomplete.”

“Yes sir.”

Always sir, never dad.

Damian’s silence was his prompt to explain.

“I had issues with some of the spells. I apologise.”

The man stared at Hadrian, something flickering in his eyes, before he opened the drawer next to his desk.

“I wonder, perhaps, whether you were distracted today. This is not acceptable, boy. We do enough by getting you these books to study from, for feeding you when another family would have cast you aside as soon as they found out about your… affliction.”

“I am grateful for your–”

“Silence,” Damian hissed, causing Hadrian to flinch.

“You will do as you're told. I do not relish in what I am about to do, but it is for your own good. Maybe it will be pain that makes you listen to me.”

Hadrian could hear his heart pounding in his chest, threatening to burst wide open and spill blood onto the floor. He didn’t know what was happening, he had thought it would just be a missed meal. But pain? That seemed almost–

“Crucio,” The grey haired man muttered, having retrieved his wand from the drawer.

By 14 years old, Hadrian had come to the conclusion that his parents kept him busy day and night to prevent him from dabbling in necromancy. He had found the word in a book, an innocent dictionary of magical terms, and it had begun ringing bells of recognition in his head.

It wasn’t difficult for him to sneak out at night, bypassing the wards, and take the floo from a nearby pub to Diagon alley. Certain shops in Knockturn were bound to be open, even at this time, and Hadrian wanted to know more.

He returned with a handful of books on necromancy, and some others that piqued his interest, and hid them underneath the floorboards of his room.
After three weeks, he had read them all. Not only did he now know that he was a necromancer, but he knew about the Peverell’s and their connection to the Deathly Hallows. Hadrian was also rather interested in actually using necromancy, but was wary of what his parents would do if they found out.

It was a wonder they hadn’t left him on the doorstep of an orphanage, run away together, and forgotten his existence. But it was better this way, despite his living arrangements, as he knew of magic. This would have been a wonderful life, Hadrian lamented, if he were on his own.

The thought stayed with him, evidently, until he eventually snapped.

By his 15th birthday, Hadrian had lived in 12 different countries, 14 different houses and 29 different hotels.

He had also resurrected 1 robin, 3 squirrels, and a small dog.

By January of the following year, Hadrian Peverell had planned a murder.

It was simple, really. They had recently acquired a large house, with at least 5 bedrooms and twice as many bathrooms. Where his parents got the money, he didn’t know, but what he did know was that wood was very flammable. Luckily for him, the house had two wooden porches and was surrounded by many acres of thick, dense woods.

By February, Hadrian Peverell was an orphan. He also had second degree burns, a murder count of 2, and the whole of his future to look forward to.

His elation didn’t last.

“Mr Peverell, we have contacted your last living blood relatives,” The auror in charge of the case explained to him, “They have agreed to take you in this summer, and we have discussed your enrollment in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in September. Just in time to take your OWLs.”

Hadrian nodded slowly, playing the part of a stunned teenager. It wasn’t difficult, as he was actually quite shocked to hear of other relatives.

By June, he was feeling regret.

While his father had used the Cruciatus curse on him, and had him whipped for his insolence, it wasn’t nearly as bad as the pain of living amongst squibs and muggles.

They were ignorant, truly, and he had never been on the receiving end of that much hate in all his years living with his parents. 

“I am sorry, I don’t understand,” Hadrian said politely, “I am to cook you dinner, and then clean up after you, weed the garden and mow the lawn, then dust and polish the living room? I think you mistake me for a house elf.”

Allison Graves scowled, her pale face forming the very picture of anger.

“You will do as I say, child, and quickly.” She said, gravel in her tone and hands stuck quite firmly to her hips.

“What if I do not?” He queried, not rudely but also with a measure of malice.

She grinned, and it wasn’t a nice grin. Now Hadrian wasn’t a small teenager, quite average actually, but his mother’s sister was almost six foot and it was (admittedly) intimidating. Allison moved closer to him, looking down.

And then she grabbed him by the collar, dragged him down the corridor while making sure to hit his head on the doorframe, and shoved him in the pantry. 

At least it was stocked full of food, anyhow.

If the trace did not exist, Hadrian was sure he would have cast the Killing Curse by the end of the first week.

“Do not come back.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Hadrian said, smiling sweetly whilst standing on the doorstep to Number 9 Rivermead road.

It wasn’t his fault if, on his way out, he had set a wandless curse on the property.

Chapter Text

The day after the Death incident, Harry was sitting in the library surrounded by books on Ancient Runes. He had dug his hands into his hair, and was staring dejectedly at the many sheets of parchment. OWLs were very soon, and he was still trying to catch up on concepts that students learnt in third year. He was now sorely regretting choosing Divination and Care of Magical Creatures in his last life.

Not to say this wasn’t interesting, but it was just… difficult. 

This is hardly your most pressing matter, Master.

‘If I am to stay here for the foreseeable future, I would rather have a few OWLs under my belt Death. No need to remind me about all my other issues, I am getting on quite alright.’

I think Tom’s brush with Death has scared him into wishing for immortality even more, Master.

‘That is hardly my fault!’

“How long have you been in here?” A voice asked, and Harry looked up quickly to see that Tom had approached his table, sat down, and brought out work of his own. All with Harry not noticing.

“Since the end of Potions,” Harry admitted, though he was unsure about what the time was currently.

Tom nodded, his gaze locked on to something on Harry’s cheek.

“You have ink all over your face,” He said after a beat, “And you missed lunch.”

Harry blanched, and swung around to look out the window. There were now red and orange streaks in the sky, the sun setting rapidly over the forest.

“And Transfiguration.” Tom said.

Harry paled slightly.

“And Dinner.”

He let out a loud curse, before blushing at the way the librarian turned to glare in his direction.

“It’s just Runes,” Harry spat, gesturing towards the desk, “I can’t get my head around it. And with OWLs coming soon…”

Deflating slightly, Harry slumped back in his chair. He hadn’t been this stressed for OWLs the first time, and this was taking it to a whole new level. Hermione would be proud of his dedication, though, even if it meant skipping meals to study.

“Come with me,” Tom said, packing his things back away, “You are wasting your time just staring at those pages, and you need to eat.”

Harry was about to protest, when his stomach let out a particularly vicious growl. A trip to the kitchens was long overdue, anyhow.

“You know the way?” Tom asked, raising an eyebrow as Harry instinctively walked left out of the library.

“Of course,” He replied, giving Tom a tired look, “You should know that I am always hungry.”

“Anyone would be able to tell that, from the way you stuff your mouth at mealtimes. Did my etiquette training do nothing for your manners?”

He scoffed, “Many people have tried to train it out of me, you are not the first to fail.”

“It is hardly my failure,” Tom scowled, “When you refuse to be taught.”

“Etiquette is pointless.”

Even I disagree with you there, Master.

Tom gave him a look that suggested he wholeheartedly disagreed. Harry only grinned back, unabashed.

They tickled the pear outside the kitchens, and were let into the large room that was home to the house elves. Currently, they seemed to be kneading dough and stacking plates, while others ran around his large baskets of laundry. 

“What do you fancy?” Harry asked, leading Tom over to a wooden dining table in the corner.

“What do you fancy, Hadrian? I have only just gotten out of dinner.”

“There is always room for desert,” Harry shrugged, watching as a house elf popped up in front of him with a broad grin.

“What can Twinky be doing for the young masters?”

Harry didn’t even need to think.

“Treacle tart, please.”

He ignored the way Tom scoffed at his politeness. Who's the etiquette hypocrite now?

“Nothing healthy?” The boy in question queried, taking a seat after casting a quick cleaning spell on the already clean chair.

“Never,” He replied, his grin widening as a large platter of Treacle Tart appeared on the table in between them.

After cutting a very generous slice, and having a few bites, he cast a look back at Tom.

“What’s your favourite dessert?” 

“I don’t eat sweets.”

Harry rolled his eyes, “Everyone eats sweets.”

“Not when the man you hate adores them, you don’t.”

“Dumbledore?” Harry stated, refraining from rolling his eyes again, “I should have known that man curbed your sweet tooth early. Surely there is one desert you like. Fruit can be a dessert too, you know, it doesn’t have to be Lemon flavoured.”

Tom smirked, and his hand went to move the curl from his forehead.

“So you got the Lemon drop treatment too?” 

Harry chuckled, his mouth full of delicious tart, and watched happily as Tom’s mouth curved into disgust.

“Yup,” He said between chewing.

Tom only tutted.

He had eaten almost half the tart before he persuaded Tom to have a bite. The teenager conjured a fork, taking a reasonable chunk of Harry’s slice, and tentatively placed it into his mouth.

“Adequate.” Tom said, having taken his time to eat the bite.

Harry’s mouth dropped, “Adequate! Oh, his taste is absolutely awful. Please, Merlin, get me out of this hellhole.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

“Not as much as you, Mr I-Hate-Sweets-Because-Dumbledore-Loves-Them.”

Harry pointed his fork at Tom, “You, Mr Riddle, are the epitome of dramatism.”

He was proud to see that that garnered a tiny smile, even if it was reluctant.

He was even more proud when, before they said good night that evening, Tom revealed something to Harry under his breath.

“I am quite partial to chocolate.”

With dinner the next day, Harry made sure to tell the house elves to place a bar of dark chocolate next to Tom’s plate.

Just as an inside joke, honestly.

Harry dreamed again that night, and for the first time in months it featured a special visitor.

The wind was a light breeze against his skin as if it were the middle of winter, but it wasn’t as bitter as it would be in real life. He lay on his back, hand absentmindedly running through the dry grass, and staring up into the night sky. It didn’t take long for Harry to spot the Sirius star, and smiled wistfully up at it.

It wasn’t his dream, however, but Harry didn’t notice that until he turned his head to the side and saw Tom Riddle lying beside him. He, too, stared into the night with a pensive expression on his face. His hands rested on his chest, and his ankles were crossed daintily. Even lying down, he was the picture of decorum.

“Hey,” Harry said quietly, “Long time no see.”

“I saw you in the dormitory mere hours ago,” Tom stated, even if that wasn’t what Harry meant. 

Harry turned to look back into the sky, eyes slowly darting over the stars. It reminded him of one night, where Sirius had pointed out the different constellations of his family. 

“Where are we?” Harry asked, breaking the silence.

He was vaguely aware of Tom sitting up from his position.

“A cliffside I visited in the Winter holidays of my third year, Hector had invited me to stay for Yule. It is a beautiful place, isn’t it.”

It wasn’t a question, more of a statement that Harry wholeheartedly agreed with.

Suddenly, Harry remembered something he had asked of Tom, only recently.

He didn’t particularly want to leave this dream… It was quiet and peaceful. Harry barely even minded the company present. But it would be a test, and one that Harry desperately wanted Tom to pass.

So he sat up, and looked Tom in the eyes.

The other boy certainly knew what Harry was about to ask.

“Can you let me leave, Tom?”

For a moment, Harry was unsure whether Tom would oblige.

“As you wish,” He replied, and Harry barely had time to understand the coolness beneath the statement before he was whisked away into the darkness of sleep.

Tom was trying to remember something important, and it frustrated him to no end that he couldn’t just spit it out. A first year Hufflepuff was less annoying than whatever was on the tip of his mind.

He had his Eureka moment in the middle of a Defence lesson, so much so that he caused a large drop of ink to fall onto his perfectly neat parchment.

“You good?” He registered Hadrian whisper from beside him.

“I need to speak with you, after Defence.” He replied almost fervently.

“Why?” Hadrian asked, his brow scrunched up in confusement. Tom couldn’t believe this teenager had garnered his attention, with his obvious facial expressions and messy note taking.

Tom shook his head slightly, trying to convey that it wasn’t wise to talk where others could overhear. Thankfully, Hadrian understood.

“Do you know of a room on the Seventh Floor that could possibly contain books?” Tom asked as lessons finished, and the two of them walked from the room.

“Possibly,” Hadrian replied warily, though there was a flash of recognition on his face.

“One of your… friends mentioned that I needed to remind you to visit there. To collect some books of interest? He made it sound quite important.”

Hadrian’s face darkened.

“Did this friend of mine specify anything else?”

Tom shook his head, watching Hadrian intently as his face morphed from anger to frustration and then to worry.

But then it vanished, and Hadrian nodded his understanding. It was remarkable how they seemed to be on the same page.

They walked in silence until they reached the Seventh Floor, where Tom looked to Hadrian for guidance on where to go now. From his perspective, the corridor they approached was empty– no doors– with only a portrait on one side.

“It’s called the Room of Requirement, or the Come and Go room,” Hadrian explained, having walked three times in front of a blank spot of stone.

“When did you find it?” Tom queried, reaching out to twist the handle of the wooden door that had appeared. He didn’t bother to disguise his awe.

“At the beginning of the year,” Hadrian replied from behind him, “You simply walk three times in front of the portrait of Barnabas the Barmy and think about the room you want to appear in. It could be anything you desire.”

“A torture chamber?”

Hadrian choked out a laugh, “That is where your mind goes?”

Tom’s eyes widened as he entered the room, taking in the tall ceilings and dark blue carpeted floor. There was a desk, empty except for a quill and ink, and bookshelves lining the walls on either side. A window, somehow, sat at the far end and watched out onto the lake. Tom had thought they were in the depths of the castle, but the magic of the room must have been more extraordinary than he first thought. The room felt light and airy, not clustered at all– even with the sheer amount of books lining the walls. 

“How–” He muttered, swinging his head around to stare at Hadrian.

“Magic.”

Before he could think, Tom had blurted out another question.

“Can I come here? Whenever I want?”

Hadrian moved over to the bookshelves, scanning at the variety of titles. Tom quickly followed, and found himself enamoured with the sheer quantity and selection of books.

“Sure,” Hadrian replied lightly, and Tom found himself feeling lighter than ever.

He watched Hadrian collect a few books, using magic to float down those too high to reach, and set the pile down onto the desk. Tom rolled his eyes as he almost knocked over the pot of ink.

Not wanting to miss whatever Hadrian was reading, Tom only managed to pick out one title– inconspicuously named ‘Mort’ – before he perched on the desk in front of Hadrian.

Peering down at the selection Hadrian chose, he found himself strangely intrigued. Books like ‘Necromancy for Beginners’ and ‘The Flight from Death’ stood out most but there were others, such as ‘The Biography of Ignotus Peverell’ and ‘Flora and Fauna: The most harmless plants in existence’ that seemed less self explanatory.

Hadrian looked almost dejected, staring at the pile of books, before he must have remembered Tom was there and glanced up.

His bright, green eyes blinked up at Tom holding a glimmer that he could not recognise. 

“I am a necromancer, Tom.” Hadrian stated, causing Tom to grasp the book to his chest even tighter.

“And Death wants you to practise?” He deduced.

A terse nod, then a sigh.

“Not practising, or at least not learning it, can injure me. I presume that’s why I was… possessed. So here we are, I guess.”

“You felt no qualms about telling me this?”

“I did, obviously. You aren’t the most trustworthy person,” Hadrian cut himself off with a laugh, “But you were there, and you met him, so I think you deserve to know at least a little bit. Then again, you probably noticed me killing off plants in Herbology already.”

Tom had.

“And you must have seen the way my eyes went black, and my temper has been rather short recently.”

Those bruises had taken weeks to disappear.

“I take it you dislike killing things?” Tom asked, watching Hadrian skim the index of one of the newer books in the pile.

“Of course. But necromancy can be used for bringing things back to life, as well, so that is what I’ll focus on– I hope.”

Tom nodded, taking a deep breath in, and contemplated things. Hadrian was a necromancer and a seer, very talented at duelling, a parselmouth and Grindelwald had an interest in him. Naturally, Tom had to have him.

They put themselves to work over the next few hours, only taking a break to call the house elves for dinner, and Tom would occasionally look over and simply watch the magnificent teenager who had taken up residence on the sofa with his stack of paper. Ink stained his fingers, his hair was scruffed up, and yet he still looked perfect.

The only time they talked was when Tom pointed out something he had read, regarding Necromancy, and Hadrian would jot it down.

By the time the sun had fully set, Tom was lounging on the sofa beside Hadrian and watching him write endless amounts of notes. Things like: ‘Don’t try and resurrect a mandrake, or you will die within minutes’ or ‘A life for a life: so don’t try resurrecting a human or someone near you or them will die’. It was quite fascinating, really.

“You should take a break,” Tom said, and he felt as if it wasn’t the first time he’d said it to the teenager.

Hadrian didn’t elicit a response, but only because he looked absolutely exhausted. Tom took to slowly removing the book from his lap, and the parchment from his hands, and placing them carefully on the table.

By the time he turned around, Hadrian was spread out on the sofa and half asleep. He looked so peaceful and quiet, and Tom couldn’t bring himself to arouse him. So he simply manoeuvred Hadrian’s head into his lap, and watched the boy breath in and out. It wasn’t Tom’s fault if he started stroking Hadrian’s hair– it was incredibly soft.

“I should go,” Hadrian murmured, surprising Tom only slightly, “I have Quidditch in the morning.”

“I’m proud of you,” Fred murmured, lips brushing against Harry’s ear.

Harry smiled, cheeks blushing. Slytherin had just won the Quidditch match against Gryffindor, only by a small margin, but enough that the crowd had been going wild throughout the entire hour. He had been called in to play seeker again, Yaxley having practically threatened him if he didn’t comply. Not that he minded, Quidditch was a relief from his daily life.

Now, he and Fred were locked away in the changing room in their sweaty Quidditch gear. It reminded Harry very strongly of the first time Fred had kissed him, on his first Quidditch match against Ravenclaw. This time was much better, however.

“Oh yeah?” Harry replied, his voice husky.

Fred hummed, running a hand over Harry’s cheek before moving to press a soft kiss to his lips. It didn’t take long for Harry to initiate a deeper kiss, confidently moving his tongue inside the other's mouth. His soft moan caused a stirring in Harry’s groin, and he bucked his hips so that he had more contact with Fred. 

It didn’t take long for the two of them to strip off most of their clothes, and Fred to kneel in front of Harry. He could already feel his cock hardening under his boxers, and Fred placing a tentative kiss to the bulge made it twitch even more.

“Fuck, Fred…” He muttered, “Please–”

“Always, dear.”

Fred then yanked down Harry’s grey boxers, and wrapped his lips around Harry’s cock. His head rocked back against the wall in pleasure, quiet moans growing louder as Fred continued to bob up and down.

But then Harry went to look down at his boyfriend, and his eyes caught on a figure standing at the door. He stilled, and before he could say anything Fred swallowed around his dick.

“Oh!” Harry moaned, but he had made eye contact with the dark eyes of Tom Riddle. Who just stood, his head cocked to the side, and watched.

Nothing could have made Harry say why he then did what he did, why he didn’t pull Fred off him or why he didn’t summon his wand and hex the boy at the door. 

Harry dug his hand into the back of Fred’s, fingers curling around his hair, and pushed him in a forceful rhythm onto his cock. All while he never kept his eyes off Tom Riddle.

It felt like Deja Vu, like when Harry had been forced to watch the very same thing occur with Tom and Nott. This time, however, it felt strangely consensual.

“I’m going to–” Harry said suddenly, giving one last push of Fred’s head before he came, panting.

His breaths came heavy as he looked down at Fred, mouth coated in his come. 

“Quick today,” Fred teased, looking up at Harry through his lashes.

“You were just that good,” Harry responded, smirking. 

And when he looked at the door, Tom was gone.

Chapter Text

That night’s dream was definitely Harry’s, unless Tom had spent a considerable amount of time in the Gryffindor Common Room from the 1990s.

It was a perfect rendition of how it had been when Harry lived there, but empty except him. He could see one of Ron’s stray socks wedged underneath the sofa, and a chess set stuck in the middle of a game on the coffee table. The candles hovered in the air, and the window was pitch black. It would have been one of the times when Harry was alone in the common room, at night, perhaps when he’d slept here one time during the Triwizard Tournament.

Harry moved over to one of the sofa’s, running a hand over the worn, crimson tassels. He vaguely recalled how Fred had told him they’d gotten new sofas, the same style as the ones in the 90s. The Hogwarts budget must be low.

“How tacky,” Tom Riddle drawled, appearing in front of Harry.

“It’s cosy.” He replied with a shrug, taking a seat.

Tom sat opposite him, looking mildly disgruntled at the apparent ‘state’ of the common room.

“It’s no wonder you’re dreaming about Gryffindor… with that performance you put on earlier today.”

“You enjoyed it?” Harry drawled, trying to show his confidence even when he felt a twinge of embarrassment. He could play the game, Tom wasn’t the only one who could do nonchalant sarcasm.

“It’s not everyday I get a show like that.” 

He cocked his head to the side, watching Harry with the dark eyes that betrayed his interest. At least they weren’t lined with red.

Yet.

“I’m glad.”

“Are you?” 

Harry gave him the look. 

Somehow, Tom had gotten himself a glass filled with some kind of orange liquor.

“This is my dream, you know.” Harry said lightly, watching as Tom took an exaggerated sip from his glass. 

“But not a seer dream?” Tom prodded.

“Evidently not. I can dream of normal things, too. I still wonder why this happens. Why it stopped, and why it started again.” 

“So do I. I’ve dreamt of places from my past, mostly, and a memory of my day. You’ve had dreams of the future, not your future, and now this. It is rather strange.”

Harry hummed slightly, gazing at the fire.

“If I asked you to let me leave, would you?” Tom asked, interrupting Harry’s musing.

“Depends.” 

He didn’t need to look at Tom’s face to know that it looked shocked.

“Why shouldn’t I get revenge for how you treated me?” Harry continued, wondering if Tom would believe him. He hoped so.

“Have you never heard the saying- ‘treat others how you wish to be treated’?”

Harry scoffed, “That’s a muggle saying.”

“I was raised by muggles, Hadrian.”

“I know.” Harry said, rather more forceful than he’d intended.

“Then why are you so shocked?”

Harry turned to face Tom, an incredulous look plastered on his face. A better man would have shrugged, sat back, and continued on a more safe line of conversation. Harry was beginning to learn that one couldn’t be the better man when faced with Tom Riddle, or else you’d drown in his presence. 

“Tom.” He deadpanned, conjuring his own glass.

“You preach blood purity, for someone whose father was a muggle. For someone who grew up in a muggle orphanage and yet you talk down to muggleborns as if they are scum. Forgive me if I’m shocked that you’d deign to use a muggle expression.”

“I thought you would understand,” Tom replied, leaning back in his seat, “That this world doesn’t cater to muggleborns. This is a pureblooded world and I was– I am– sick of being treated as if I am worth less because I am not one of them. Forgive me if I want to make a better world, and a better life for myself.”

It was a bit of a stunned silence, when they just looked at each other.

“A better world for muggleborns? Or a better world for you?” Harry whispered.

“You know that one already.”

He sighed, downing his drink with a flinch.

“What are you drinking?” Harry asked, his voice a bit hoarse from the fiery liquid trailing down his throat.

“Whiskey.”

Harry didn’t comment.

“A question for a question?” Tom queried, filling up his glass once more.

“If you don’t want to answer, you have to down your drink.” Harry countered, swirling the liquid in his own glass.

“A drinking game? How juvenile.”

But Tom agreed nonetheless, Harry presumed he was too curious to resist.

“I’ll go first, seeing as you cut me off last time,” Tom drawled.

Harry shrugged, as if to say ‘what’s it to me?’.

“Why do you spend so much time with Frederick Bray?”

He scoffed, rolling his eyes. The jealousy was just so blatant. 

“I like him. He’s kind, attentive, and good in bed. Doesn’t put me down,” Harry listed, then added as a final thought, “or try to kill me.”

“The bare minimum, then.”

“Perhaps.”

“Are you going to set the basilisk on the muggle borns in the school?” 

“No,” Tom replied almost immediately, “It hadn’t even occurred to me.”

“I thought we were being truthful…”

“We are.” 

“Why did Death possess you?” Tom said, leaning forward and sipping slowly at his drink. Eager, really.

Harry took a moment to think.

Maybe don’t tell him the truth.

He internally scowled, ‘I’m not that idiotic.’

Then, he downed his drink. The alcohol burned in his throat, even if this was in a dream. He could always will away the feeling, if he wanted. Though Harry was interested to see if he would end up with a hangover, and how this would translate into the real world.

“Touchy subject?” Tom asked.

Harry ignored him, filled up his glass, and thought about what question to ask next. There wasn’t really anything he needed to know. So he decided to go for something that he wanted.

“What’s your favourite colour?”

“Seriously…” Tom muttered, “Green.”

“Figures.”

“Am I that predictable?” Tom replied, raising both eyebrows in mock concern.

“Is that your question?” Harry countered, parodying their last attempt at truthful questions

“Sure.” 

Harry blinked.

“Well,” He took a breath, “Yes. I think I know almost everything about you, and your actions. I could probably predict what you have for breakfast, and how long it would take you. You’re a repetitive person. It would make sense for your favourite colour to be green, as a reminder of your Slytherin heritage. For someone who hasn’t had a family before… well, it’s predictable.”

“Oh.” Tom said, sitting back. He slumped back, more like. Now that wasn’t predictable.

It was the beginning of May, and Tom had just sat down in his last Defence class of the year. Last night’s dream had been… interesting. But he had felt relaxed in a way that he wasn’t usually. Even with the judging looks of Hadrian, their conversations were illuminating and challenging. Hadrian was there, and even if he would judge Tom’s views on politics, he wouldn’t judge Tom’s blood or heritage. There was always something to be said about that, even after he had trained it out of his followers.

Hadrian slipped into his seat at the last minute, shooting him a small smile. It made warmth blossom inside of Tom, knowing it was directed at him. Now, if only he would be the only one he directed those smiles at. Fury enveloped him when he thought about the way he spoke, the way he smiled at Frederick Bray. It was most certainly not jealousy.

 Professor Merrythought cleared her throat, gaining the attention of her Fifth Year class.

“Your Defence OWL is in only four days. If you are not prepared then… Well, you can try to cram all of the information needed at the last minute but I presume it would not work. So for this lesson, we are going to have a bit of fun. Defence related, of course.”

She gave a playful wink, and a few members of the class laughed. Tom didn’t think there was anything funny about it, but he didn’t have the humour of a plebeian and so didn’t think he was expected to.

“Duelling…” 

Now that caught his attention. Tom sat up a little bit straighter in his seat, casting an inconspicuous glance towards Hadrian.

“... is quite a dangerous sport. Pair up, and we will remove the tables from the room so you can all show off to your heart's content.”

Everyone stood as Merrythought began vanishing the tables, and Tom listened as she continued to explain.

“No dangerous magic, try not to injure yourselves or your partner. Duel ends when you have your opponent's wand or, Merlin forbid, your opponent has blacked out. Please aim for the latter, children.”

“Hadrian,” Tom whispered, nudging the other boy’s arm, “Be my partner.”

The curly haired boy raised his eyebrow, giving Tom an eerily knowing look.

“Fine.” 

Excitement began to bubble within him at the prospect of facing Hadrian one on one. Sure, neither could perform to their greatest strengths with the whole class and Professor watching. But from what he’d seen… This would be a match made in heaven.

Tom was sure he’d beat Hadrian, his skill was simply much more refined, but it would certainly be a close match. Especially after what Hadrian had done to Rosier, but they couldn’t have that in the middle of the lesson.

He overheard Isabella mutter to Hadrian, “Don’t kill him?”

“I can’t promise that,” Hadrian replied, shooting Tom a strangely savage grin.

“Who’s first?” Merrythought asked, when everyone had moved to the side of the room.

“Ah, Mr Malfoy and… who’s your partner?”

“Orion,” Abraxas responded, dragging the younger boy into the centre of the room. Orion looked nervous, the poor boy, but this was a close match in skill even so. Tom knew that eventually Abraxas would win, but only because Orion was too soft hearted to properly fight his friend.

A blue shield was erected around them, so that none of the observers would be hit by a stray spell. It was the type of Protego that lasted a while, and would absorb any spell cast at it. That was good to know.

“Wizarding duels begin with the two opponents standing in front of each other” Merrythought lectured, even as Abraxas and Orion already knew the rules, “The wixen bow to each other, and then on my count take ten steps back.”

The two wizards did as she said.

“On my count, they turn and fire the first spell.”

Before Merrythought had ended her speech, Abraxas shot off a simple ‘Stupefy’. 

They traded spells back and forth for a decent amount of time, at least a minute or two, before Orion predictably faltered and Abraxas shot off an Expelliarmus, catching the wand deftly in his left hand.

The next few duels all lasted under two minutes, one match between two Gryffindors simply ending when one tripped on muggle shoelaces and practically threw his wand at his opponent. And to think Hadrian preached the skill of muggleborns.

“Mr Peverell?” Merrythought said, her eyes catching on Hadrian, “I assume your partner is Tom?”

“Yeah, why not?” Hadrian muttered quietly, before shooting Tom a smirk as if he predicted a short fight. No battle would end in Tom losing, however, and so Tom just walked into the shield with a swagger befitting a king.

Merrythought had the forethought to look slightly worried, “Remember, your aim isn’t to harm your opponent.”

“I wouldn’t dream of harming Hadrian, Professor.”

He ignored the way Hadrian gave an indignant snort.

Tom bowed respectfully, and scowled as he noticed Hadrian barely even twitched.

“Bow,” He mouthed, barely concealing his laugh at the response he got.

Hadrian lifted his arms, bowing flamboyantly. He kept his eyes on Tom’s throughout the move and Tom marvelled at how vividly green they were, glimmering in the candlelight. 

Tom raised his wand slowly, his head spinning with strategy and on the balls of his feet in preparation for what Hadrian would cast.

“Begin.” Merrythought said, but it was barely audible to Tom.

“Petrificus Totalus!” Tom shouted, but Hadrian dodged with ease.

He followed up quickly with a strong ‘Alarte Ascendare’. If hit straight, it would have hurtled Hadrian across the room. But it didn’t and Hadrian just stood to the side as if the spell hadn’t been flying as quick as light.

Hadrian was yet to cast a spell.

Tom threw spell after spell at the Slytherin, hitting them against the floor or aiming for a single arm. Even that didn’t work, and Hadrian just kept dodging. Nobody could keep up a spelless duel forever, surely.

In the guise of a wordless Expelliarmus, Tom cast a mild curse. The red spell flung towards Hadrian, with white (almost invisible) tendrils floating on each side.

For the first time, Hadrian raised his wand in a wordless Protego. The pale blue created a barricade across the whole arena, and Tom’s wide hitting spell bounced back. It bounced back. 

Hadrian cocked his head as he watched the rebound, and Tom’s frantic attempt to cast his own protection spell.

“Feeling defensive?” Tom taunted.

“It’s been a rough few days,” Hadrian responded, equally as joking. 

But they weren’t joking.

“Expelliarmus!”

Taking Tom’s strategy of constant bombardment, Hadrian attacked with a force equal to almost none Tom had seen before. 

He began breaking a sweat, the salty drop falling unwiped down the side of his face.

“Avis Oppugno!” 

A wave of birds flew from Tom’s wand, squawking and flapping their wings as they attacked Hadrian– whose eyes widened for a second before he vanished them.

“Birds, Tom? Avis Serpensortia!”

Tom stumbled back in shock at the unknown spell, three dark green snakes shooting towards him faster than possible. 

“STOP,” He ordered, parseltongue slipping from him naturally. 

The snakes ignored him, baring their teeth.

“Is the Heir of Slytherin scared of snakes?” Hadrian taunted, and Tom found the time to shoot him a glare.

A quick Diffindo, and the snakes lay decapitated on the floor of the classroom.

The other boy pouted, looking slightly disappointed.

By Tom’s count, they had been duelling for almost six minutes. It was the longest duel the class had seen so far, but that wasn’t surprising.

He watched as Hadrian cast spells in quick succession, Tom only casting shields or dissolving his attack. It was marvellous to watch, his movements simply magnificent. 

A dark blue spell hit Tom straight in the chest, one he hadn’t even seen coming. His eyes were only on Hadrian’s, the glint of feral enjoyment seeming intoxicating. Beautiful.

He snapped back to the duel and raised his wand to fight back, unsure about what he had been hit with, but before he could utter a word his wand went flying from his hand. Straight into Hadrian’s.

Tom had lost.

That was… new.

And he wasn’t even mad about it.

“Right! Let’s get rid of those snakes, shall we?” The faint voice of Merrythought called.

Tom had lost. But had he? Had he really lost when he had been able to witness the raw power of Hadrian Peverell? The raw beauty?

“You were good,” Hadrian said, having come closer to Tom. His hair was a mess, plastered by sweat to his face.

Tom moved the curls back with his hand, clearing his forehead. Hadrian’ didn’t even flinch, still grinning wildly with post-duel elation.

“You were better.” Tom said, “Well done.”

And he meant it, he truly meant it.

Chapter Text

The exhilaration of the duel was still with Harry, but his breathing was slowly calming down. He grinned widely up at Tom. He had won! And it didn’t even seem like Tom was mad about it.

“Oh,” Harry said, catching a glimpse of the charred hole in Tom’s robes, “You’re bleeding.”

Tom looked down and frowned, “It seems I am.”

“Not to worry, boys.” Professor Merrythought interrupted, “What a duel that was… Mr Peverell, if you could be so kind as to escort Mr Riddle to the infirmary.”

She summed a piece of parchment, and scribbled some writing on it.

“So you don’t get in trouble when you’re late to your next lesson.” Merrythought clarified, handing Harry the note.

“Thanks,” Harry said cheerfully, his eyes darting to where ruby blood dripped slowly from Tom’s side.

“Cmon,” He said to Tom, dragging him by the sleeve of his robe out of the classroom.

“There is really no need to visit Madame Wilson, I can have this patched up by the time we get there.” Tom said, once they had gotten a few steps away from the classroom.

Harry frowned, “You sure?”

Tom waved his wand, causing the wound to clean itself and bind together. Before Harry could speak, he had removed the blood and charmed together his robe.

“See? Brand new.”

He then brandished his wand in Harry’s direction, and he felt a wash of cool, soft magic overcome him.

“Now you are cleaned up as well.” 

And so it was that Harry wasn’t covered in sweat anymore, his hair was back to its curly and only partly unruly state, and his tie was straightened.

“Well I don’t fancy heading off to Potions, do you?” Harry said.

“Potions is a vital part of the curriculum, Hadrian. As a prefect I cannot allow you to skip lessons in good conscience.”

“What about your conscience is good?”

Tom hummed lightly, looking down at Harry.

“Maybe you are correct.”

“I always am.”

“That,” Tom continued, “Slughorn wouldn’t mind us missing one class. 

Harry perked up at that, “I am very hungry.”

“I wasn’t thinking about the kitchens.” Tom said, raising his eyebrow.

It was then that Harry realised he had been subconsciously following Tom, and they were now outside the castle.

“A walk around the lake, Tom? I didn’t peg you for a romantic.” Harry goaded, taking in the greenness of the grass in the early summer light.

“As much as I am sure you’d enjoy it, this isn't a date. We haven’t solved your little issue yet, and I thought we could do with some more… practical application.”

“My little issue,” Harry gritted out, having darkened immediately, “Is a work in progress. I won’t be off killing centaurs in the forest.”

“I didn’t suggest that,” Tom softened slightly, “I think you’ve only survived this long because of your poor performance in Herbology. Killing all those plants? That is necromancy at its finest.”

“Suddenly you are an expert?”

Tom smirked, “Yes. Spending all this time with a necromancer for a friend, and having researched hours upon hours in both the Come and Go room and the library, I would mark myself an expert.”

Harry stopped walking, staring at Tom. The teenager walked for a few steps, before looking back with a furrowed brow.

“Hadrian?”

He gaped slightly, blushing.

“You called me your friend.”

“I did,” Tom said, though it was so quiet Harry could barely hear. Though that could have been the blood rushing through his head.

“Why are you surprised?” Tom asked, walking back up towards Harry who was in the middle of a mini panic.

“You don’t have friends. Followers, yes. Pawns, yes. But not friends.”

“That is true… mostly. But you are my equal, Hadrian. I can think of few titles you deserve more than that of my only friend. You don’t understand the extent of my affection for you.”

Tom reached out, brushing a hand over Harry’s cheekbone. 

Harry looked down at his feet, breathing slowly out his nose. This was new, this was shocking, but that did not make it unwelcome.

“Do you trust me?” Tom asked, and guided Harry’s head so that it was looking at him.

“I could.”

“In this, all I ask is for your trust.”

Harry nodded, his heart telling him it was alright. His head was pleading him to think, but when had Harry ever listened to his head?

“Come,” Tom said, grasping Harry’s hand and guiding him towards the green houses.

They walked around the side, past the area where Harry had first met Fred and Roy, and into a small avenue between greenhouses. There was a pile of black, withered plants. Likely those Harry had killed during his Herbology lessons recently.

“I know you made notes on bringing things back to life, so I thought you could try.” Tom said, waving in the general direction of the plants.

Harry was suddenly nervous. Yes, he’d researched it (lots). But practising necromancy was a far cry from reading about it in a book.

“Yeah,” He said, crouching down and plucking a small, dead plant up. 

He ran his fingers over the plants, attempting not to break the already damaged leaves. It was a regular plant, with little to no magical properties. Well, now that it had blackened.

Closing his eyes, Harry tugged on the magic inside of him. He felt it, slowly climbing up his chest. A great, bright, ball of lightness willing to be pushed out of him. After positioning his hands on either side of the plant, the pot resting on his lap, he wished the magic to revive it. His hands tingled slightly, but he didn’t open his eyes until Tom gave a short intake of breath from behind him.

Upon opening his eyes, Harry blinked rapidly at the green and full of life plant waving back at him. It’s leaves blowing happily in the wind, and back to its original state. He gave a bark of elated laughter, looking up at Tom in excitement.

“I did it!” He waved the plant at Tom.

“You did,” Tom replied, with something Harry could have mistaken as a fond smile. It was Tom, though, so it probably wasn’t fond. 

This was shaping up to be the best day of his time in the 1940s.

Until he realised he had to sit his first (or not first?) OWL on Monday.

That… that gave him some stress.

Not as much as the others in his year, though. He at least had sat OWLs before, and knew the types of questions he may be asked to answer and the spells he would have to perform. But it was still nerve wracking.

“I just can't get my head around these runes, they all look the same!,” Harry moaned the night before his first exam: Ancient Runes.

“It’s simple, see.” Tom drew two runes, “Ehwaz is partnership. It just looks like an elongated letter ‘M’. Think of it like two people holding hands, if you will. Eihwaz means defence, it’s the backwards letter ‘Z’ at an angle. They don’t look the same, just sound similar.”

Harry sighed, throwing his quill onto the table.

“I’ll fail, I know I will.”

“You will if you don’t quit stressing,” Abraxas drawled from his seat in the common room.

“Don’t be so mean, ‘Braxas,” Isabella chastised, “I don’t understand half the runes, either. I do predict at least an Acceptable as half of them look like animals, though.”

“There are only 9 runes that look like animals, Isabella,” Tom said, “and that doesn’t make up a fraction of any singular language, let alone three.”

Isabella scowled, “I’m trying to be confident.”

“I’m sure you will do wonderful, Bella,” Tom replied with a sickly sweet smile.

She replied in fashion, “You don’t need to lay it on that thickly.”

“He really does,” Harry butted in, having shut his Runes textbook and discarded it on the coffee table, “Otherwise nobody would like him.”

Tom knocked his knee against Harry’s, “Everyone likes me.”

“For fear of being tortured, darling.” Harry joked, looking pityingly down at him.

Orion snorted from his armchair, “You’ll give him an aneurysm if you carry on like that, Hadrian.”

Harry looked over at the younger boy and raised an eyebrow, confused.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Someone snickered.

“Hey!” Harry said, glancing between them all. He was only glad Tom didn’t seem amused, only as confused as his porcelain face could be.

He heard Isabella mutter something, and threw a pillow at her for good measure.

Ancient Runes didn’t turn out to be that bad, in the end. Harry was sure he hadn’t got an Outstanding, but for someone who’d only been learning for 9 months he was quite proud.

The week passed quickly, with the practical Charms exam being the highlight. He had been able to produce his patronus, still a stag, and the adjudicator had assured Harry that he’d get top marks simply for that. Harry went into his final exam, practical Defence, feeling remarkably confident.

He wormed his way into producing the Patronus Charm in that exam as well.

Everyone was in high spirits for the weekend following their last exam, Harry spending time with the Slytherins outside as well as Fred and Roy. 

The only thing that gave him pause was where he was going to stay that summer. It was a shame that, even in a different life, he had that longing to stay in the castle year round.

You should take a trip to Gringotts, then you can access your vaults. Peverell, while poor, still had funds and housing. 

So is there somewhere I could stay this summer, on my own?

Yes, I wouldn’t recommend returning to your squib family. They wouldn’t take it well.

Harry nodded to himself, gazing at the dormitory. Everyone was packing now, Orion complaining about his lost sock and Hector having to cast expansion charms on his trunk in order to fit everything back in. He never thought he’d miss the company of Slytherins, but he knew this summer would be lonely.

His eyes stopped on Tom’s bed, where the curtains had been drawn despite it being merely an hour before they would depart on the Hogwarts Express.

Tom hadn’t been able to convince Dippet to let him stay behind, Harry knew. The teenager had come back to the dorm one night in a state of anger and well hidden upset. Harry knew how that conversation had gone, with Dumbledore sitting to the side telling Tom he must go back to the Orphanage. Harry had gone through the same thing in first year, and felt a pang of pity for the boy.

In a moment of courage, Harry slipped past the curtains and sat on the foot of Tom’s bed. 

The boy looked up in shock, having been about to draw his wand, when he saw it was Harry and unstiffened slightly.

“You okay?” Harry asked, eyes dropping to where Tom’s book sat in his lap. The famed diary, where he had stopped in the middle of writing.

“I am, why do you ask?”

“I know you don’t want to go back to… London, this summer.”

Tom closed the book and slid it under his pillow, stretching his legs on either side of Harry.

“No, I don’t suppose anyone would. Rations are still in action, children are still cruel, matrons are still annoying. Is there a point to you barging in here?”

He was defensive, Harry thought, and for good reason.

“I wanted to make sure you were okay…” Harry thought for a moment, taking a breath, “And make you a proposition.”

That caught Tom’s attention, and he inclined his head to say ‘go on’.

“When we get off the train, I am going immediately to Gringotts. I’ll claim the Peverell lordship, and I know we have properties across the UK that are usable. My summer will be spent at one of them.”

“That is all well and good, but what is your proposition?” 

But Harry knew that Tom had caught his meaning, by the way he had sat slightly straighter.

“Come and live with me,” Harry blurted out anyway, “You can have all the space you want, it’ll just be a head over your roof for the holidays. I don’t want you to have to–”

“Is Bray okay with this?” Tom interrupted.

“Fred?” Harry mirrored, “What?”

“Yes, your boyfriend.” Tom drawled, “How does he feel about you and I spending our summer together?”

Harry blushed, “Well, it’s not like– it’s not like that. He doesn’t get to make that decision anyway, it’s my house.”

And then Tom hugged him.

Hugged him.

He leant forward, and pulled Harry into a tight hug.

“Thank you,” He muttered in Harry’s ear.

It was all Harry could do not to tear up.

What had happened to this boy, for him to be so grateful for a roof over his head? That question was easily answered by Harry, but witnessing him acting so thankful was another thing.

There was a feeling of guilt, however, when Harry thought about his other motives for inviting Tom to stay.

How would he have made sure Tom didn’t kill anyone, or make a horcrux, if he was halfway across the country? How else was Harry going to redeem Tom, if he wasn’t around him constantly?

Harry returned the hug, closing his eyes for a second. Tom smelt of sandalwood and cinnamon, a wonderful combination that made him want to bring the other boy into hugs more often.

Tom’s heart stopped when he realised that Hadrian smelt like pine. Like pine. 

He didn’t need to think for more than a second, after his sudden decision to hug the boy, to realise that Hadrian Peverell was who he smelt when faced with Amortentia.

It made him all the more inclined to get him away from Bray, and into his own clutches. 

Hadrian was his, and this was the proof he had wanted.

Chapter Text

Tom cracked open the file of Frederick Bray. Inside were a few pages, his date of birth and names of parents, address etc. What Tom wanted was the stolen letter that Abraxas had gained him, a long and boring one penned to his mother. Even as he was to leave Hogwarts in only 50 minutes, there was still enough time to write and post a letter. 

Mother, Tom wrote, perfectly imitating Bray’s handwriting.

My end of year exams went well, as you probably guessed from my frantic letter writing, but I wanted to send you one before I return home this summer and get something off my chest. I’ve met someone, and we’ve been dating for the past couple of months. I know you may not approve–
 
Tom faked scribbling out a few words, to make it more authentic.

I’m gay. And I have a boyfriend. He’s called Hadrian and he’s new at Hogwarts this year, and I really really like him.

I don’t know how to tell dad, but I wanted you to know anyway.

I can tell you more about it when I’m back.

Love,
Fred.

Tom smiled to himself. Abraxas had informed him that Bray’s parents did not know about Hadrian, or about his homosexuality. Tom wasn’t sure whether they would care, but knowing the state of Muggle Britain it was most definitely taboo. Bray’s father was a muggle, his mother a witch. Hopefully, this would cause some kind of tension between Hadrian and Bray. Or even better, tension between Bray and his own family. One can only wonder what would happen to the boy over summer, if his father was anything like the priest at Tom’s orphanage.

He folded up the letter, strolled up to the owlery, and watched the bird fly away with well concealed anticipation. 

Hadrian and he were in a good place already, and Tom certainly did not want his summer ruined by another person (and a fool, at that).

“You good?” Hadrian asked after Tom reentered the dorm, looking up from where he was attempting to neatly fold his robes.

The key word there being ‘attempting’, as it looked more like a scrunched up ball than anything remotely neat.

“Of course, just one last stroll before we leave for the summer.” Tom bluffed, summoning his suitcase with a swish of his wand.

Hadrian’s smile softened, and Tom could tell he understood the pain of leaving Hogwarts. Even if neither of them were to return to their substandard living arrangements.

“We should leave now, I think Orion and the others have already left.” 

“You waited for me?” Tom said with surprise.

The teenager blushed slightly, his cheeks blotting in an attractive splatter of pink.

“Yeah, couldn’t have you getting lost could I?”

Hadrian shoved the last of his belongings into the trunk, the battered thing clicking shut, before he picked it up and walked towards the door.

“You know me so well,” Tom replied sarcastically, eyes scanning over Hadrian’s figure. 

Even if he had just thrown on the outfit at the top of his pile, Hadrian looked stunningly kissable in that moment. An innocent exterior contrasting the darkness Tom knew was within– a perfect combination.

The train ride back to Platform 9 ¾ felt painfully slow, Harry thought as he stared out the window and watched the rolling countryside pass by. On the one hand, he couldn’t believe he had completed a whole year at Hogwarts. It had gone so quickly, almost feeling like a dream, and Harry didn’t think he had ever enjoyed leaving Hogwarts for the summer any more than he did now. On the other hand, there was still the lingering fear that accompanied leaving the safety of the castle. Its warmth, even in winter months, was a comfort that Harry couldn’t guarantee having anywhere else. That feeling was even present during this past year, with the threats of a new life and rising Dark Lord.

His eyes fell onto said figure, Tom sat upright and his legs crossed while engrossed in one of his many, many books. There was a relaxed attitude surrounding him, like he was pleased about something. Harry assumed it was the fact that Tom didn’t have to return to his orphanage, that allowed him such comfort. He wished that someone had done the same for him during his years at Hogwarts, but he tried to squash those treacherous thoughts and focus on happier thoughts.

Harry swung his legs around onto the seat beside him, tucking them into his chest, and rested his head on his knees.

“What are you reading?” He asked, still watching Tom turn the pages of the ancient tome. 

Tom paused in his reading, fingers stilling on the page.

“You asked me that twenty minutes ago, it hasn’t changed Hadrian.” 

He turned a page.

Harry pouted, “Orion’s asleep and Merlin knows where Hector and Abraxas ran off too. You’re the only one left!”

Tom looked over to the sleeping form of Orion, whose head was resting on the window and body laid out along the seats.

“Don’t wake him up,” Harry interrupted before Tom could speak, “He looks so peaceful.” 

“I would hardly ruin the peace and quiet with his yapping.” Tom drawled, closing his book.

“That’s mean.”

“I simply state the truth.”

Harry shuffled closer to Tom, tugging the book from him.

“Cmon,” He goaded, “Is it so hard to just talk to me? I’m bored, Tom. And your book looks boring.”

“All you needed to do was ask.” Tom said, smirking as he turned to catch Harry’s eye and nudging him with his knee.

“Don’t look so pleased, I’d rather talk to Orion.” 

Tom raised an eyebrow, “You can’t fool me, you are a terrible liar.”

“Maybe that’s what I want you to think,” Harry replied with a frown.

“If that is so, then I am impressed by your deceptiveness. You truly are a Slytherin.”

Harry gave him a look, before glancing Orion’s way.

“You know, I’m not sure the Peverell’s even have property in a fit state to live in. I don’t know what we’ll do if that’s the case…”

“Maybe you should have thought about that before you burnt the place down.”

Harry elbowed him, “For the last time, that wasn’t me. I don’t think I even have it in me to burn a house down.”

“I’m sure you could, if you put your mind to it.” Tom said, and it sounded to Harry like it was meant to be a compliment.

“Thank you?” Harry replied slowly, not sure what to say.

“Seriously,” Tom continued, “We can cross that bridge when we get to it. First we need to actually make it through the train ride.”

“This isn’t a death trap, Tom.” Harry laughed, “And then Gringotts is only a floo away.”

“What I mean, is that if Orion doesn’t wake up from his slumber we will have to carry him to his parents. That would make the front page of the Prophet, and nobody would be happy about it.”

Harry rolled his eyes, “You’re exaggerating, Orion doesn’t sleep that soundly.”

Tom raised both his eyebrows, turning to watch the sleeping boy.

“Do you not recall the five different spells we had to cast on him before his Transfiguration OWL? I was half expecting him to need Crucioing awake.”

Despite himself, Harry let out a snort. 

“You can’t joke about those things, but I do remember. At least we know the amount of spells it takes to be most effective.”

In the end, Orion didn’t need waking up with more than the promise of Chocolate Frogs from the Trolley Lady and they all exited the Hogwarts Express as soon as it reached the platform.

After bidding farewell to their classmates, and Harry having to drag Tom away from their parents, they made their way to the floo.

“The Leaky Cauldron,” Harry said clearly, and was quite proud to find himself standing upright in the pub. He hadn’t even stumbled that much!

Tom followed closely behind, stepping out of the floo as if he had done so a thousand times before. He shot Harry a cocky grin at his evident shock.

Gringotts was a beautiful building, made almost entirely of white marble, and it was even more grand than Harry remembered. It pained him to think about the last time he had visited, when they had left on the back of a dragon… a dragon who was most likely still trapped inside.

He walked quickly towards one of the Goblins, trying to avoid looking too suspicious. 

“Good Afternoon,” He said, catching the Goblin’s attention, “Could we speak in a private room, please?”

His politeness seemed to simultaneously disgust and intrigue the Goblin, who grunted and motioned for them to follow him. They were led into a small, but still extravagant, room with a large wooden desk and three chairs made of leather. 

“Mr…” Harry said, trailing off when he realised he didn’t know the name of the Goblin.

He sneered, showing his yellowing sharp teeth.

“Nagnok,” He finally supplied, looking up and down Harry as if he were prey, “What do you need, human?”

Harry could hear Tom shifting in the seat next to him, and it struck Harry that he was possibly afraid of the creature.

“I want to claim the Peverell Lordship, and a list of vaults and properties owned.”

Nagnok raised his hairy eyebrow, “You do know we have… harsh punishments for those who impersonate others.”

“Of course, I am willing to submit to tests in order to prove my identity.” Harry replied, formal and straightforward.

The Goblin grinned a nasty and vicious grin, waving his hand and conjuring a knife and paper.

“A drop of blood… Mr Peverell.” 

Harry shot a quick glance at Tom, before reaching for the knife and cutting a small slice in his finger and letting the blood fall onto the parchment.

Nagnok took the paper back almost immediately and nodded, barely giving Harry any time to read the ink that had formed.

“It is confirmed, Mr Peverell. You may claim the Lordship ring now,” A small box appeared on the table, “But your Wizengamot seats are sealed until you are of age.”

Harry nodded, reaching over to the box. He had only heard about these in passing, from Sirius of all people, but knew they were important to the Pureblood population. It would only help him, so why would he not claim it? Besides, it was another link to family (even if he had never met a Peverell).

He slipped the box into his pocket as Nagnok handed him another piece of parchment.

“The Peverell vault listings, and the few properties that remain standing. You will notice there are only three, as the others are in too much ruin to repair. The first two are in no fit state to live in, and would need repairs. Peverell Cottage is old, and hardly lived in, but not crumbling to pieces.”

Harry nodded, scanning his eyes over the parchment. Death had been right about the state of the Peverell vaults, albeit a bit exaggerated. It was with some relief that Harry found he had a comfortable amount to live with for decades, if he continued to manage his money carefully. There were, however, a large number of artefacts that according to the Goblins held little to no value and were stuffed in a vault named ‘Peverell Artefact Vault’. 

But that wasn’t what he was here for, and his fingers ran over the places listed under properties. 

“Are there any dangerous wards around the property that would prevent access?” Tom asked, having looked over Harry’s shoulder.

Nagnok didn’t respond, his gaze fixed on Harry.

“I’d like to know that too…” He said, ignoring the dirty look that Nagnok had shot in Tom’s direction. 

“No, but it would be wise if Mr Peverell entered the property first. Only those with Peverell blood can enter, but if you wish you may allow others access.”

“Good,” Harry said, brightening up a bit at the prospect of owning a house. A house that was his, and only his, and nobody else could enter. Well, apart from Tom but that hardly counted.

Tom was waiting very patiently for Hadrian to come back from his trip to Peverell Cottage, tapping his foot aggressively on the wooden floor of the Leaky Cauldron. Merlin, he hated this place. It wasn’t the food, which was adequate, or the guests, who were rowdy at best, but the damned bartender whose face had lit up when he met him. Tom was such a common name, and he hated that he shared it with a bartender who had no prospects. 

Hadrian had been gone only a few minutes, and it shouldn’t take him much longer to allow Tom access to the property. He sat glaring at the fireplace, but inside Tom was far more excited for what was to come. A house, cottage really, but somewhere that he could be away from the poverty and normality of Wool’s. The company was much better, also.

His head jerked up as the fireplace burst into life, but he sank back into his seat as someone who wasn’t Hadrian exited. 

“Can I get you anything?” The grating voice of Tom the Bartender said from above, and Tom had to refrain from scowling.

“No thank you, I am just waiting for a friend. He shouldn’t be a moment more.” He replied with a tight smile.

“Ah, well. If you need anything I’ll be at the bar.”

And then he was gone, and Tom was back to watching the fireplace. Thankfully, no more than a minute passed before Hadrian came stumbling out of the green flames and into the pub.

Tom stood, walking quickly but orderly over to the teenager.

“I assume everything is alright?” He asked, and relief flooded through him at the easy smile on Hadrian’s face.

“You’ll love it,” Hadrian replied, and dragged him over to the fireplace by the elbow.

Tom watched closely as the curly haired boy picked up some powder and threw it into the fireplace, quietly muttering their destination, and then grinned up at Tom.

“Go on,” Hadrian said, waving a hand at the fireplace.

He didn’t need another beat before he stepped through the flames and into Peverell Cottage. Maybe Hadrian was exaggerating when he said that Tom would ‘love’ it, the floor was dusty and the windows grimy, the only light appeared to be worn candles and the doors didn’t reach the entire height of the doorframe. But it was quiet, and most importantly it was theirs.

Not bothering to wait for Hadrian to catch up, as he had probably stopped to chat with Tom the Bartender, Tom wandered through the open door on the other side of the kitchen/living room. 

There was a thin corridor, lined with paintings of landscapes and aged plants, and three doors. The one at the end had a glass pane, and Tom could tell it exited into some kind of back garden, so he opened the one on the left. It was only a bathroom, not that wizards even needed bathrooms but the thought was nice enough, with a metal tub, sink, toilet, and a dirty mirror. 

That could mean… Tom smirked to himself as he went back into the corridor and opened the only other door available. The bedroom.

Oh, Hadrian was going to have such a fit.

Chapter Text

Harry stepped out of the fireplace, having to brush the soot from his trousers. Looking round the empty room, he assumed Tom had gone to have a look at the other rooms. There was a ratty old rug that must have once been vibrant shades of red and orange in the centre, covered in dust. Atop stood a wooden table, also covered in a light layer of dust and a mug with mould growing in the bottom. There was only one sofa, and it looked as if it would collapse the moment Harry sat on it. The other side of the room was home to a modest kitchen and the whole place had a lingering smell of dust—dry and old.

“Tom?” He said, raising his voice to carry into the hallway. There wasn’t a reply, so he went to have a look around the rest of the house. 

It shouldn’t take that long to clean, it was only one floor afterall, and they had magic.

He passed one of the rooms, peering in to see a small bathroom. The shower seemed to have accumulated a layer of limescale, but the rest of the room was in relatively good condition. Harry was just happy to have a place to stay for the summer.

“Ah, there you are,” He heard Tom say from behind him, and looked over his shoulder to see the other teenager coming from the room opposite. 

“Yeah,” Harry breathed out, “That a bedroom?” 

He craned his head to look over Tom’s shoulder, waiting for him to move out of the doorframe. 

“The bedroom, yes.” Tom replied, swinging the door open to allow Harry entrance. It took a second for Harry to register Tom’s words, and he stilled when he fully understood.

“Oh,” He said quietly, taking in the singular bed, “I don’t know why I assumed that this place would have at least two beds.”

Harry ran a hand over the navy bedsheets, before removing his wand from its holster.

“Well, it’s easily remedied, isn’t it?” He continued, trying to remember the right transfiguration spell in order to split the bed in two.

“What are you doing?” Tom asked, taking a few quick steps further into the room, “You can’t use magic outside of Hogwarts.”

Harry stopped, furrowing his brow and looking to Tom who was approaching him as if he were a dangerous animal, “Shit. Are you sure?”

He spent a few moments weighing up the options. Sleep in the same bed as Tom Riddle and have to clean this entire house by hand or live in comfort but receive a letter shouting at him from the ministry. It was safe to say that Harry had had enough of the ministry haunting his every move, and the choice was obvious—not ideal, but obvious.

“I hope you don’t snore,” Harry stated, shifting from one foot to the other. Tom relaxed slightly, no longer looking as if he was about to rip the wand from Harry’s hand.

“Don’t worry, Hadrian, I will be perfectly cordial. No kicking, promise.” Tom replied with a smirk, moving his head to survey the room once again, “We need to clean. I saw a brush and pan in the kitchen.”

Harry hummed slightly, unable to keep his eyes off the bed, “Good idea.”

“Hadrian?” 

He snapped his head up, eyebrows raising, “Thomas.”

“It isn’t a big deal. I’m not making a move or anything, it’s just sleeping. We used to sleep beside each other in the winter at the Orphanage, it’s normal.”

Unclenching his jaw, Harry tried to relax his muscles. Tom was right, naturally, there wasn’t anything they could do unless one of them would sleep on a collapsed sofa or uncomfortable floor.

“I know,” He said slowly, “I’ll get the broom.”

They only managed to get rid of the dust in the bedroom that evening, but it was all they needed. Both Tom and Harry were exhausted from the long journey and didn’t particularly fancy a house wide cleaning session. 

So, Harry set his trunk on one side of the bed, clicking it open and removing a few objects. He placed his clothing in one of the drawers, his few books on the bedside cabinet, and hung up his robes in the wardrobe. Harry didn’t own a lot but felt that he didn’t mind living so frugally. He didn’t need hundreds of shirts and shoes, nor did he need a library worth of books. But he was reminded of the fact that even though he had lived as Hadrian Peverell, worn his clothes and read his books, Harry was missing his old life. He missed the picture book Hagrid had given him, Mrs Weasley’s sweaters and Sirius’ leather jacket, he missed Slytherin’s locket only for the fact it reminded him of Ron and Hermione. Of their struggle. 

All he had now was clothing and books and a few chocolate frog wrappers squished beneath his school equipment. It was… sad.

“Is everything alright?” Tom asked, stirring Harry from his thoughts. He realised he had been standing, pyjamas in hand, for a few minutes now.

He let out a breath, giving a small smile, “Yeah, it’s just been a long day.”

Tom nodded once, looking Harry over with piercing dark eyes.

“I don’t have much of my own either,” He said, eyes darting to his ragged trunk, “Only what I’ve stolen, or charity. Hand me downs from the Orphanage that have somehow lasted decades.”

“You seem to always have nice clothes, though, and new things.” Harry said, a silent question.

“Stolen or given by Abraxas.”

Harry stared at Tom, frowning slightly. Neither spoke until Harry hurriedly ended the silence.

“I left you space in the wardrobe and dresser.” 

“Thank you,” Tom replied, his smile refreshingly genuine.

Harry hugged his pyjamas towards him as he watched Tom empty his trunk. He wasn’t being nosy… just curious. Harry knew that the locket wasn’t in his possession yet, but he noticed the diary being placed on Tom’s bedside table. The last time he had read it, Nagini had rudely interrupted. It would be interesting to read it again and, maybe, he would ask Tom himself this time. They had established some modicum of respect, over these past months.

After quickly changing into his Slytherin green pyjamas, Harry slipped into the sheets. It was already becoming warmer than comfortable outside, even in the usual coolness of the night, and Harry worried he would sweat into the bed.

He rolled onto his back, head lolling to the side. Harry immediately regretted it as he caught Tom in the middle of changing, pulling his shirt over his head and folding into a neat square. 

Blushing, Harry looked back up the ceiling and a few seconds later he saw the candlelight disappear and felt the bed dip down. And Tom hadn’t put a shirt on.

As if sensing the question, Tom muttered, “It’s too hot. I won’t watch if you want to take your shirt off.”

Harry had to clear his throat, “I- I’m good, I think.”

“M’kay,” Tom replied, and Harry could hear the smile, “Goodnight, Hadrian.”

“Night, Tom.” 

Harry fell asleep much later than he usually would, very aware of the slow breathing of the body beside him. They weren’t touching, the bed was large enough for that, but it was as if Tom’s body was on fire– the heat radiating off of him was almost intoxicating. 

The muggle Machiavelli once said that it is better to be feared than loved, if one cannot be both. Tom intended to be both. So he awoke the next day at the crack of dawn ready to complete his carefully set out plan.

It all began with breakfast. A modest spread of eggs, bacon, and toast ready mere minutes before Hadrian awoke and emerged into the kitchen. It was testament to Tom’s keen observance that he knew Hadrian rose early in the morning, with the sun, but tended to doze for a while afterwards. 

“You made breakfast,” The teenager stated, his bed head a mass of curls and knots and his shirt slightly skewed as if he hadn’t bothered to look in a mirror before leaving. Tom didn’t mind, in fact he took a suspiciously long time to answer because of the way he observed Hadrian. 

“I did,” Tom replied, “I also got pumpkin juice. I know it’s your favourite.”

Hadrian hummed to himself, thinking. Tom hoped his thoughts were along the line of ‘Wow, Tom is really pulling out all the stops today! I should thank him for his service.’

“Sit, please,” Tom continued, “It’ll grow cold soon.”

He watched carefully as Hadrian sat, eyes darting over the small selection of food as if trying to assess whether it was poisoned or not. Tom found he could not tell whether he appreciated this, or was frustrated by his indecisiveness.

“You must have woken up earlier than usual to make this,” Was Hadrian’s response, though he placed some toast on his plate and began to spread butter onto it.

“I wanted us to have a good start, in our new home.” Tom replied, testing out the last words. They tasted sweet, like something he could get used to.

Hadrian didn’t even flinch, “It’s good.”

Tom smiled, a true and pleasant reaction to the appraisal. 

“Thank you.”

Stage Two was not going to be as easy.

An owl came for Tom only a few hours later, while the two of them were cleaning the living room. The muggle way. It wasn’t as if Tom hadn’t cleaned before, chores at the Orphanage had been given out rather liberally, but when one had gotten used to using magic for everything… Well, it made for a very tedious morning.

He saw Hadrian’s head snap up at the tapping on the window, Tom watching out of the corner of his eye at how Hadrian tracked his motions of retrieving the letter and bidding the owl farewell. Tom also saw how Hadrian seemed to deflate slightly when Tom revealed the letter was for him.

It didn’t take long for Tom to realise that Hadrian was awaiting a letter from Bray, and he didn’t bother wondering whether he should warn Hadrian that this was very unlikely. 

The letter was inconsequential, boring infact. An update penned by Orion, detailing his families dealings with Grindelwald. Nothing new, nothing urgent, and nothing exciting. 

“Who’s that from?” Hadrian asked, jerking Tom out of his quick reading. He had stopped cleaning, and come closer in an attempt to read Tom’s mail. It was something that Tom would do, due to his constant interest in Hadrian’s life, and pleased him.

“Orion. He feels the need to constantly update me on his family affairs. A cousin got married to another cousin, can you believe?” He replied lightly, folding the letter and placing it into his breast pocket.

“I can, actually. That family is filled to the brim with incest. Makes me glad I’m a half–blood.” Hadrian said, laughing slightly at his dig.

“Really?” Tom asked, cocking his head to the side, “You have never wished to be pureblooded?” 

Hadrian stiffened only slightly, “No, I haven’t.”

“I have,” Tom revealed, “I still do.”

Hadrian poorly concealed his eye roll, but placed the broom down on the side and crossed his arms. 

“That’s something I never understand about you, you know. Don’t you believe yourself to be better than anyone else? Better than Abraxas, better than Rosier. Hell, better than me.”

“You think so highly of me,” Tom said, his grin widening, “And yes, I am better than the others. I am better than every pureblood and muggleborn to have ever walked on this earth. But it would be easier for me to show that, if I were a pureblood.”

“Don’t fancy a challenge?” Hadrian replied quickly, narrowing his eyes.

“I welcome challenge, of course I do. But I would be a King by now if I had been born into pureblood society.” 

Hadrian chuckled under his breath, evidently something he had said was amusing. 

“You want to be a King?” 

“I will be a King. A god amongst men. It is a destiny that has been mine the moment I could think for myself.”

“A god…” Hadrian murmured to himself, and then spoke louder, “A god who is currently cleaning dust off of cabinets.”

Tom scowled, countering “And you?” 

“I would be content with three meals a day and a quiet life, maybe some chickens and a nice garden.”

And he sounded so sincere that it was almost charming. Almost.

“When I said I was better than everyone else, I never meant you.” 

Hadrian stilled.

“You are my equal in every way. Better, even. There is always a space for you beside me, a crown ready and waiting, when you decide that a garden is too ordinary for you.”

“I would sacrifice anything for my life to be normal.” Hadrian bit back, face beginning to flush with something akin to upset or anger.

Tom frowned, “Have you never wondered what it would be like, a godlike immortality?”

“I don’t–” Hadrian started, before drawing back and paling slightly, “I would cherish my mortality, if I were you.”

“A vision?” Tom queried, “You know a lot about my future, about my soul. Did I achieve immortality in your dreams?”

Hadrian ran a hand through his head, sitting back into a wooden chair and staring at Tom.

“Yes.” He gritted out, “Yes you did, but it didn’t last. You cannot begin to imagine the consequences–”

“Hadrian,” Tom crooned, interrupting Hadrian, “Please elaborate. I have heard this speel before, and I do not welcome it in the slightest.”

“Fine.” The teenager replied, raising his voice and standing. The chair made a loud clattering sound as it fell to the floor, and Hadrian stalked over towards Tom.

“I will show you your death, Tom Riddle, just don’t expect me to comfort you afterwards.”

Fireworks exploded in the back of Tom’s head, his heart pounding against his skull as he looked down at Hadrian. 

But his voice came out calm and collected, as he had always practiced.

“Don’t I deserve some comfort from you? After all I have done to help?”

Hadrian didn’t respond, instead raising his hands to either side of Tom’s head. They paused, before tentatively landing on his temples as if he were cradling Tom’s face. Such anger, and yet his hands were soft and soothing. 

The quietness didn’t last long, as Tom was pushed from reality and into blackness.

Chapter Text

Tom crumpled to the ground, his body folding and his head slamming into the wood causing Harry to jump back with a yelp. He had focussed his mind on Voldemort’s resurrection, had that been a problem? Was Tom alright?

“Tom?” Harry said quickly, kneeling beside his still body and poking his face. But the teenager’s eyes were shut and his breathing was shallow, his porcelein skin a shade even paler– if that was possible.

A voice echoed in his mind, a voice that was both familiar and strange. It was the voice of Death, and it spoke to Hadrian with a cold, unyielding tone.

Do not interfere, Death said. This is not his time. You should never have tried to show him the future, that cannot be.

Harry swore at Death, his anger and frustration boiling over. But even as he raged, he couldn't help but feel a sense of fear and uncertainty wash over him. He looked down at Tom's lifeless body, lying on the floor before him, and knew that he could do nothing to bring him back.

Why? Why can’t I show him? It would be so easy.

Fate decrees it. The rules of time have already been bent and twisted beyond repair, any more and she fears something terrible will happen. I happen to agree.

“But our dreams…” Harry says outloud, forgetting that there was no need for physical speech, “He has seen my time already.”

A shudder overcame him, as if Death were laughing.

A connection between you and Tom Riddle that not even I can explain. Fate says that it was always meant to be. I doubt your dreams will have revealed anything that important.

With a heavy heart, Harry knelt by Tom's side, his eyes fixed on the still form before him. He didn't know what to do, but he couldn't bring himself to look away. He just stared at Tom's body, and couldn’t force himself to move.

“We are meant to be?” Harry says quietly, a question to the figure in his head, “I hate that. I hate that so much.”

I know. 

“Tom will be okay? This won’t hurt him?” He asked the air, placing a hand on Tom’s forehead.

No reply.

Twat.

Tom was warm, far too warm even for summertime, and the position he lay in seemed so uncomfortable. His legs were bent in a weird position, and he lay with one arm behind his back. Taking a deep breath, Harry used his strength to lift Tom from the floor and into his arms. The teenager was heavier than he looked, but Harry stumbled through the doorway and into their bedroom. 

A frown was etched onto his unconscious face, and he seemed to be in some sort of pain– twitching occasionally in Harry’s arms. He placed Tom onto the bed, arranging his arms and legs into a more comfortable position and propping his head back with the two pillows they had. Harry paused, unsure of what to do now, before spurring into action once again.

After wetting a cloth he had found left at the bottom of his drawer with ice cold water, he moved Tom’s curls back from his forehead and laid the cloth down. Sat cross legged on the bed beside him, Harry simply waited and watched as the boy twitched and flinched. 

What was going on in Tom’s head? He couldn’t help but worry about what Death had done in order to prevent Harry showing Tom his memories. Closing his eyes, Harry took a few deep breaths to calm his shaky mind.

He sat like that for a few minutes, though in reality it was closer to an hour, and when Tom’s fever began to calm down Harry decided that he should occupy his mind elsewhere. Luckily, salvation came in the form of an owl addressed to him. It wasn’t one he recognised, though Harry had not been receiving mail from anyone (except fucking Grindelwald) in this time so he hadn’t expected too.

Harry approached the window quickly, anticipation forming in his stomach. He recognised the handwriting, the scratchy, small letters causing butterflies to stir inside him. Fred had written.

He spared a glance back towards the bed, brow furrowed as he took in Tom’s paleness. He was still breathing, so all was well, and he ripped open the envelope.

Blinking, he turned the page over. There were barely four sentences written on the page, and nothing on the back.

Harry,

I returned home this summer to find my father awaiting me in the living room, and he was not impressed. My father isn’t a forgiving person, and for that reason I am writing this letter to tell you that we must break off our relationship. 

Have a good summer, 
Fred.

Harry stood frozen in the bedroom, hand shaking as he clasped the letter in his hand. He turned it over, to double check that there wasn’t anything written on the back, but to no avail. After taking a deep breath, his gaze clouded over, he re read the letter. Four, maybe five times over and over until he could probably recall the contents by heart. Not that there was much to recant.

He’d been broken up with.

And he didn’t know why.

“My father isn’t a forgiving person…” He muttered aloud, trying to understand what that could possibly mean. So his dad found out that they were dating, somehow, and forbade Fred from seeing him. Likely watched over his shoulder as he wrote to Harry.

“Who–” He spoke to the room, hoping that someone would give him an answer to his unspoken questions. 

Would it be a good idea to write back? No, Harry chastised himself, it really wouldn’t. From the sounds of it… Fred’s father was not a forgiving person. Even if they were broken up, Harry wouldn’t subject him to any horror from his own family.

But it didn’t sit right with him, not at all, and he suddenly felt lost. As if he were useless, and there was nothing he could do about anything. Once, he had been tasked with saving the Wizarding World. He had a plan, to destroy the Horcruxes one by one, and he had (most of all) had Ron and Hermione there the entire time to help. Now, with Tom unconscious and Fred uncontactable, Harry felt like an ant who had wandered into a spider’s den. Small, insignificant, and useless.

He set the letter down on the side, trying (and failing) to avoid crumpling the edges. With slow movements he moved back to the bed, and simply lay down with his head pressed firmly in the pillows. Maybe it would help him think, or maybe–

A groan came from beside him, and Harry shot up from the bed watching with wide eyes as Tom began to sit up from his position.

“Slowly,” He warned instinctively, “Tom, take it slow. You’ll hurt yourself.”

The teenager, still as pale as snow and looking awfully drained, sat fully upright despite Harry’s words. Though it was likely he hadn’t even heard, as Tom was now blinking at Harry as if he had never seen him before.

“I don’t take anything slowly,” Tom said, his words ironically slow and careful, “Why do you look so pale?”

Harry scoffed, “Says you.”

Tom frowned, the movement creasing his forehead but at least bringing some life into his otherwise lifeless face.

“You blacked out,” Harry continued, unsure about what exactly Tom had seen and slightly guilty about being the one who caused it, “I don’t think the memory thing worked…”

“No…” Tom deadpanned, “Really?”

Harry snorted, the sound jarring even to his own ears, but Tom’s attitude dislodged some of the worry he had felt previously.

“Are you okay? Do you feel lightheaded, tired?”

“Tired. I feel as if I have run a marathon, probably broke the record. If I weren’t worried about you, I’d fall straight back onto the bed and sleep for days.”

His words took a moment to settle in, “Worried about me?”

“You look as pale as death–”

Not funny.

“–Are you injured?”

Harry shook his head, “No, I… I was just worried about you. You were out for ages, covered the bed in sweat. Kind of disgusting.”

“That’s not it.” Tom stated, so plainly, “You don’t have to lie to me, Hadrian.”

He flinched, the sound of his not-name grating in the conversation. More than that, he really didn’t want to tell Tom about Fred. He’d probably just gloat, say ‘I told you so’, or even storm over to Fred’s house and murder him.

“I– Fred broke up with me,” Harry said, despite his internal conflict, when he saw that Tom was about to stand from the bed. His words gave Tom pause, and he settled back into the pillows. The curly-haired teenager’s gaze fell to where the letter rested, only a foot away, and back up to Harry.

“In a letter?” Tom said, sounding sympathetic. Harry didn’t want sympathy, though, he wanted to know why and who and how. 

“Yes, it was,” Harry paused, swallowing, “Odd. His father forbade our relationship, though I don’t know how he found out about it.”

“I’m sorry,” Tom replied softly, his head resting back on one of the pillows. He looked like he was ready to pass out again, and maybe that was the reason for his kind replies.

“Are–” Harry began, but Tom’s eyes were closed and his chest was rising and falling methodically. It had taken him barely a second to fall back asleep, and Harry was jealous.

So he went back to shoving his face into the pillow, eyes tight shut, and willed himself to think or sleep. It was only midday, he shouldn’t be as tired as he was right now, and he certainly shouldn’t have fallen asle–

Harry found himself waking, the light of the day still bright and the sun bearing down onto his face. It made him wince, and he turned his head to the side to get away from its radiance. And felt something hard, it wasn’t a pillow. His eyes flung open, and it took him a few, drowsy moments to realise he was tucked under the arm of Tom Riddle– his head, resting on the front of his shoulder. What’s worse– could it be worse?– was that one of his legs was resting between Toms. It was a compromising position, and he could not possibly move without alerting Tom to this. Whatever this was.

The moments between Tom waking the first time and seeing Hadrian’s wide eyes gazing worriedly down at him, and him falling back asleep were fuzzy. But the next time he awoke was with a feeling of satisfaction, and happiness. He looked to his left, head only pounding a little, to see Hadrian curled up in the bed and his face in a pained expression. After his eyes caught on the letter– the letter!– that rest on the side, it took him maybe a minute to reach over and grab it without disturbing the teenager beside him. It took him a lot less time to read it, his eyes shining with pure ecstasy. 

Never had a plan succeeding been so satisfactory, not when those plans hadn’t ended in Hadrian lying there beside him. But he was hurt, it was obvious, and he was sad. Tom would help, though, and soon Hadrian would be alright and nobody would hurt him again. He carefully placed an arm around the boy, shuffling close so that he could breathe in his scent. Closing his eyes, he fell back asleep with a smile on his face.

It didn’t matter if he slept the day away, plans could change, as long as he did it with Hadrian.

Chapter Text

Harry untangled himself from the sheets– and Tom’s legs– carefully, glancing back to make sure the teenager was still asleep. He wasn’t.

“Good Evening,” Tom said, smiling up at him. His hair was a mess, compared to his usual clean curls, and his face was slightly flushed from the warmth of the summer.

“I can’t believe I slept the whole day,” Harry replied, ignoring the obvious.

“No, neither can I. But I think we must have needed it.” 

Harry nodded absently, ignoring his gaze and instead looking outside the dirty window. He could see the sun high in the sky, so it must be at least the middle of the afternoon, and he could hear his stomach growling with hunger. 

“I’ll make lunch,” He blurts out, stilted and awkward. 

Tom frowned slightly, creasing his forehead, “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

Harry replied with a tight lipped smile, rubbing at his jaw, “Yeah.”

Even he found that unconvincing, and sighed loudly.

“No.”

“Oh?” Tom replied, rising from the bed all while watching Harry with a concerned expression, “Is it about Frederick?”

He moved closer to Harry, watching him closely. Harry was very aware of the self pitying expression on his face, which annoyed him, but he was more aware of the closeness between him and Tom. They weren’t even close, Harry wasn’t even touching him, but he could see the moles on his face with clarity and hear his light breathing.

“Yeah, well,” He stuttered over his words, “It just doesn’t sit right with me, I want to know why. What I did wrong, you know?”

“I know.” Tom replied, softer than Harry had ever heard him speak before, “You want closure?”

Harry nodded.

“You could write to him,” He suggested, “Ask to meet, or ask why he did it. Or, you could forget about him.”

“Neither sound appealing,” Harry deadpanned.

Tom smiled, though it was without happiness, “Then how about lunch.”

“That sounds like trying to forget him.” Harry chastised, even though he was the one to suggest it earlier.

“There isn’t anything wrong with that,” Tom explained, “If Bray broke up with you, and didn’t explain why, then he was a shit person to begin with. I’ll admit I read the letter, and from what I know his family don’t approve. But telling you in such a cryptic manner? That just showed he either didn’t care enough to spell it out, or that he is trying to separate himself from you deliberately.”

“Or that his father was looking over his shoulder,” Harry added.

“Most likely he was, but I can think of a hundred ways to tell someone that I am being coerced into doing something that I don’t want to do. Not that I would ever do something like that.”

“You’re telling me that if you’re family wanted you to choose them over, say, a partner, you’d choose the partner?” Harry asked, intrigued.

“My family was scum and even if they weren’t, if I knew that I loved them I would choose that person over them any day of the week. If I were Bray, that decision would be as easy as breathing.”

Harry looked down at his feet, “I can’t blame him, he has to live with his family. It would be bad if they were to depise him because of me, I couldn’t do that to him.”

Tom raised an eyebrow, “He’s 17, legally an adult, and I know for a fact the only reason he isn’t on your doorstep right now is because he cares more about a career in the Ministry– his ambitions of being the Minister– than he does about you.”

“Tom,” Harry exclaimed, “You can’t know that.”

“I’m not trying to be mean,” Tom continues, “But his family is as rich as anything, he is well cared for financially at home. If he left, to be with you, he would not have the money or the support to advance in his career, or even pay for his schooling. With his family money, he could easily pay his way to the top.”

“That’s so harsh,” Harry replied, glaring at Tom, “What if he’s being threatened? You don’t know what his father is like.”

“Neither do you. So, if you don’t want to forget him, just write to him and see what he says.”

Harry straightened, “Maybe I will.”

Tom nodded, “And I’ll have lunch ready for you when you’re done.”

Then, he turned and strode into the kitchen and Harry had a sinking feeling that he had said something to upset him. He glared down at the letter on his bedside table, and then at the drawer beneath which he knew held parchment and quills. Harry then paused, biting his lip. Did he even want to know? Was writing a letter even worth it, or was Tom right and it would be better to leave it alone? One thing Harry was not good at, was this kind of confrontation. Yes, he was admittedly brash and could lash out in anger. But he wasn’t the calculated kind, couldn’t stop and plan like Tom could. Writing a letter felt more like the latter, more like a calculated kind of planning that would likely end in rejection.

What would he even say? Dear Fred… Why the fuck did you just dump me? Are you okay? Is your father threatening you? Hi Mr Bray, sorry for fucking your son but I just wanted to know if he’d take me back. 

That sounded like begging, and Harry had once vowed that he would never beg. 

He straightened, pushing his shoulders back, but didn’t move. Then again, what was there to lose? Harry thought he would rather know now, than wonder about it for years to come.

In an attempt to ‘rip the bandage off’, Harry pulled some parchment and quills from the drawer and set himself down on the side of the bed. Twenty minutes later, a small pile of crumpled paper was lying on the floor, and his hands were covered in ink. 

In the end, Harry decided on short and sweet. There had been much deliberating on what he wanted to even say, to ask, or to demand. He would have to ask to borrow Tom’s owl, which was quicker and more discreet than the one that had been Hadrian Peverell’s.
Closing his eyes, Harry let the words on the parchment dry. This was the best he was able to do, simple but to the point, and hopefully Fred would respond. If he didn’t… well Harry wasn’t sure whether he would be able to leave it be for the rest of the summer.

Tom flipped a pancake, internally fuming. Here he was, making the sulking teenager a delicious lunch while he wrote to his ex boyfriend in the other room. Tom had also realised something about himself, throughout this trying process. He was a very patient person. He had waited almost a whole year, watching Hadrian and being by his side at every turn. Admittedly, he had messed up a few times at the beginning. But that was before he understood how much Hadrian meant to him, and before he realised how much he would do to keep him safe and by his side.

He heard the bedroom door creak open, just as he was plating the food up and retrieving a bowl of sugar and some lemons from the cupboard.

“Did you write it?” Tom asked, keeping his cool quite well.

“I did… I’m going to send it off later.”

His mouth twitched downwards, “Fine. Pancakes?”

Hadrian looked hungrily at the plate, which Tom placed in his hands, “You took an awfully long time to write the letter, was it difficult?”

“Very, I’m worried it may fall into his father’s hands.” Hadrian replied, after taking a seat and spreading sugar liberally over the pancake.

“You believe his tale?” Tom replied, adding significantly less sugar to his own. He didn’t even really like pancakes, but he knew Hadrian did.

Hadrian scowled, but nodded slowly, “He’s never lied to me before.”

Tom took a bite, and it mostly tasted like lemon. Disgusting.

The other teenager laughed, breaking the worry on his face, “You don’t have to eat that. It must remind you of Dumbledore.”

Tom put his knife and fork down, “Distract me then.”

“Fine,” Hadrian shrugged, “Why don’t you think Fred’s reasoning was sound? You don’t know him, but you don’t like him.”

“I never said that,” Tom replied, managing to swallow the disgusting mix of pancake and lemon, “But I’ve known him long enough to know he is just a bumbling Gyrffindor, nothing but fluff and nonsense in that head.”

“He’s near top of his class, has ambitions to be minister, which you’d know if you talked to him.”

“Everyone knows that Frederick Bray wants to be minister, it isn’t as if he keeps it quiet. Most of us realise that it’s a fools errand. Yes, his father is rich in muggle money, but the only people he knows are muggleborns with no standing. Nobody gets to be minister like that. I’ll admit I would respect the ambition, but I was never convinced he meant it more than a joke.” Tom said matter of factly, watching Hadrian carefully as he spoke.

“Well, you’re wrong,” Hadrian responded, licking the sugar off his lips, “Fred is sincere, I’ve never known him to lie to me.”

Tom took a moment to respond, weighing up his options, “Then I’ll trust your judgement, and If you are wrong… I promise not to tell you ‘I told you so’.”

Hadrian nodded, gaze darting towards Tom’s full plate, “Can I have your pancakes?”

“Of course,” Tom replied, pushing his plate towards Hadrian and watching as he took a spoonful of sugar and poured it onto the pancake. He couldn’t help but keep the sour tone from his voice.

“You don’t get to be mad at me for this,” Hadrian said, having paused in his food preparation and frowning at Tom.

“You taking my pancake?” Tom asked nonchalantly, though understanding exactly what Hadrian meant.

The teenager huffed, looking to the side, “About the letter, about Fred. I don’t know why you seem so opposed to me trying to talk to him. I ignored how much you seemed to dislike him before, but you’re acting…”

Hadrian paused, cocking his head to the side.

“Acting?” Tom said lightly.

“You seem almost jealous, though that can’t be right.” Hadrian continued, looking like he was trying to solve a difficult puzzle, “I can almost feel your rage simmering, it’s very offputting.”

Tom gritted his teeth, “Don’t try and understand what I am thinking or feeling, I’ve already tried to explain it to you.”

“Have you?”

“Yes. I don’t think Fred is a good fit for you, you’re better off without him.”

“You have no right–”

“What?” Tom interrupted, “To voice my own opinion? You do it often enough.”

Hadrian gaped slightly, his jaw dropping, eyes steeling, and a look of recognition flashed across his face.

“You are jealous!” Hadrian spat, paling.

Tom felt something in his heart drop, something very similar to dread.

Chapter Text

“I’m not jealous,” Tom said, rather too quickly for someone telling the truth, “You deserve more than Frederick Bray.”

Harry’s mouth was still open, gaping at Tom Riddle like he was only just seeing him for the first time. His instincts were telling him that Tom was jealous of him? Or of Fred? One of the two, and it was shocking to say the least. 

“I don’t believe you,” He replied, furrowing his brow, “You know that I can tell when you’re lying, right?”

The curly haired teenager sat back in his chair, face stone cold and lacking in any sort of indicative emotion, and crossed his arms.

“You may think that you can, Hadrian, but you’re wrong. I suggest we drop this conversation, before it gets unpleasant.” Tom replied, gritting his teeth slightly as he said Harry’s name.

“No.”

Tom raised an eyebrow.

“No, I’m not going to drop the conversation. I don’t care if it becomes unpleasant and I don’t care if you don’t want to speak to me.”

Harry paused, watching Tom closely. For the past year, he had come to know many of Tom’s mannerisms but this time there was something he was missing… A key piece of information that Harry couldn’t quite place his finger on.

“What have you done?” Harry asked, on a whim, and from the way Tom shifted ever so slightly Harry understood that he had hit the nail on the head.

“Nothing nefarious, except making pancakes and getting knocked out by whatever is living in that head of yours.”

“Don’t joke,” Harry gritted out, “What have you done? I can tell that something happened… or you did something that you aren’t telling me. If you lie…”

“I wouldn’t lie to you,” Tom replied in an instant, and that in itself was a lie that made Harry so very, very angry.

Harry stood, his chair scraping back against the stone floors, and glared down at Tom.

“Tell me, or–”

“Or what?” Riddle interrupted, a hint of amusement in his tone, “Or you’ll strike me down? Shred me to pieces? Maybe you’ll take a page out of my book, the Cruciatus curse?”

Harry huffed out a breath, though his hand twitched towards where his wand was stored and his gaze was fixed on Tom’s nonchalant slouch.

“Are you going to tell me what you did?” Harry asked, pushing his shoulders back a bit, “Or are you going to make me guess?”

“I haven’t done anything that would interest you, and nothing that was even remotely related to our conversation.”

“So I’m guessing,” Harry said, to himself more than Riddle.

“There isn’t anything to guess,” Tom said, sounding frustrated. He stood as well, gathering up the plates and beginning to take them to the kitchen.

Harry tracked his movement, pondering, “You’re a very bad liar.”

“Am I?” Tom asked, his back to Harry as he placed the plates in the sink and began to clean them.

There had to be something that Riddle was keeping from him. Immediately, Harry’s mind went to murder, or horcruxes, or both. But it couldn’t be that, he wouldn’t have had the time to leave the cottage or Hogwarts and go and murder someone. Besides, Harry was sure he would have noticed a slight shift in Tom’s demeanour. No, there were no horcruxes yet.

What, then, had Tom done? Something that would harm Harry, he supposed, or something that he would disapprove of. There was a small prickle of doubt, however, about whether Harry was just grasping at straws.

He cocked his head, making eye contact with Tom as the teenager turned back around and leant back on the side. 

“Fine,” Harry spat, “That’s completely fine. Sure, you’ve done nothing wrong at all and I’m just an idiot for doubting you.”

Tom nodded, as if he agreed with Harry, and tried to make his way around the counter. Tried, being the key word, as Harry was in a really fucking bad mood and Tom was pissing him off far more than usual.

He stepped in front of Tom, blocking his path, and narrowed his eyes. "You know what? I don't believe you. You're hiding something from me, and I'm not going to let it go until you tell me the truth."

Tom rolled his eyes, but Harry was sure he could see the flicker of self-doubt in them. "I don’t want to continue this conversation, Hadrian. You are just being paranoid, and for no reason…"

"I'm not being paranoid," Harry snapped, his voice rising. "I know you, Tom. I know when you're lying. And right now, you're lying through your teeth."

Tom's expression darkened. "And what if I am? What if I don't want to tell you the truth? What are you going to do about it?"

Harry's heart was pounding in his chest, but he stood his ground and spoke so very casually, “Maybe I’ve gotten my hands on some veritaserum, would that change you’re mind?”

Tom's eyes widened almost infinitesimally and for a moment Harry thought the boy would break. Harry was, truth be told, so sick of Tom’s lies and obscurity and so sick of the doubt that always surrounded his perception of Tom’s words. But then Tom's expression turned cold and calculating, and he said, "You… are an awful liar. But even if you did force truth serum down my throat, you would be woefully disappointed with what you found.” 

"I don't have to tell you anything, Harry," Tom continued icily, his eyes narrowed. "And frankly, I don't see why you're so obsessed with finding out about some fictional occurrence."

"Because I thought we were friends," Harry shot back, his voice rising. "Friends don't keep secrets from each other."

Tom snorted. "Friends also don't accuse each other of things without any evidence."

Harry opened his mouth to retort, but then thought better of it. He could tell that Tom wasn't going to budge, no matter how much he argued. It was clear that their friendship had reached a breaking point, and Harry didn't know what to say or do in order to get Tom to budge. If Harry had one thing, it was his instinct and he was not planning on disregarding them.

"Fine," he said, his tone heavy with disappointment. "If you don't want to tell me, I guess I'll just have to leave. Maybe when… if I return you will see some sense."

He stood up from his chair, the legs scraping against the floor, and headed for the door. "Hadrian, you can't just storm out like this," Tom said, his voice rising in anger.

But Harry was not in the mood to listen. He pushed past Tom, his shoulder brushing against him. "Get out of my way, Tom," he said, his voice low and dangerous.

Tom didn't budge. He tried to grab Harry's arm to stop him from leaving, but Harry jerked away from him. "Don't touch me," Harry warned, his eyes blazing with anger.

But Tom wasn't going to let him leave just like that. He ran after Harry, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him back towards him. "You're not going anywhere until you hear me out," Tom said, his grip on Harry's arm tight and their body’s flush together.

"Let go of me, Tom," Harry said, trying to wrench his arm free. But Tom's grip was too strong.

"Don’t leave.”

Harry’s glare didn’t falter, and Tom’s grip loosened just enough for Harry to pull away. He moved quickly to the door, feeling the burn of Tom’s stare on his neck, before pulling on his coat and opening the door. 

"You accuse me of keeping secrets from you, Hadrian, as if you are the epitome of transparency,” Tom spat, though Harry didn’t turn,  “You cannot talk to me about honesty when you are the one who hides in the shadows, surrounded by Merlin knows how many secrets. So do not stand there and judge me for something as simple as privacy when you yourself have built an entire life around hiding."

The door slammed shut behind Harry, as he stormed out into the dense forest that surrounded the cottage. It was unlikely he would return before sundown.

Chapter Text

Tom thought of himself as a patient person, on the whole. He had plans that would occasionally take weeks or months to act out, and throughout the time he would never waver with his internal thoughts of “it will all work out.” 

Today, however, he felt as if his mind was about to split in two.

Hadrian had left. He had stormed out of the house without even looking back and leaving Tom, well, standing like a buffoon waiting for his return. And Tom knew that he had to return, as Hadrian had no where else to go. 

Tom also knew that he would wait, as patiently as possible, for Hadrian. 

While pancakes or treacle tart would likely cure Hadrian’s anger, Tom had a sneaking suspicion that he needed something more… of substance. The answer came to Tom as easily as the water dripping from their tap. What Hadrian needed was to understand how much he liked Tom’s presence, and what better way to do that than show Hadrian how amicable he could be.

This was why Orion Black was soon scheduled to show up at the cottage the following morning, with the cheery disposition and youthful buoyancy that Tom had, begrudgingly, grown to not hate. Besides, this little argument was nothing that Tom hadn’t been through before. Maybe he would even come up with a fake response to Hadrian’s questions, reveal to him a secret that Tom didn’t mind sharing. Yes, that would work. After all, Tom very much wanted Hadrian’s trust.

He secluded himself away in the bedroom, head propped up on both his and Hadrian’s pillow, while scratching away in his journal. It was a long while before Tom heard the click of the front door, the ruffle of a coat being hung up, and the padding footsteps of his housemate across the creaking floorboards. By this point he was already a quarter way through his new book on Disillusionment charms, quietly writing notes in the margins on how to improve said charms.

The footsteps stopped outside the door, seeming to ponder whether it was worthwhile entering. Maybe Tom should have retired and made it less embarrassing for Hadrian. The thought was fleeting as the door clicked open and Tom forced himself to stare at his book, rather than at Hadrian.

Again the boy paused, and Tom could feel his eyes fixed firmly on the side of Tom’s face. 

“You’re still awake,” Hadrian stated, shutting the door behind him.

“I’m reading a good book, so the lack of sleep will be worth it,” Tom said, an offering for conversation. 

The offering was declined, though Tom could tell that Hadrian wanted to ask another question. Hadrian only grunted lightly, moving around to his side of the bed and rummaging in his drawer.

Tom turned a page of his book, saying, “Would you open the window? It’s rather stuffy in here.”

Hadrian shot him a glare, or, Tom could feel the heat of the glare piercing through him like knives. It would probably be followed up with a snarky comment, something like “I’m not a house elf, Tom” and then “and even if I was you could at least say please”.

But there was nothing, and soon the sound of the window being put on its latch. Tom felt a little disconcerted, but turned another page in his book and underlined one of the key spells on the page.

The minute that passed was heavy and ripe with tension, neither of them speaking another word. 

Tom shut his book, well aware that he was still in everyday clothing, and chanced a look over to Hadrian. The teenager was shirtless, looking through the drawers as if he had lost something (perhaps his shirt) with a flushed look about him. Tom allowed his eyes to wander over the slim muscles on his back, perfection in a human being. He couldn’t help but imagine running his hands along Hadrian's smooth skin and exploring every inch of his body. The thought of taking the boy right then and there was almost too much for Tom to handle. But of course, he had to control himself. He knew that Hadrian wasn’t ready, not yet.

He spotted Hadrian’s shirt tucked beneath their duvet, only the sleeve poking out, and moved to pick it up. The boy was still distracted, and clearly frustrated, so Tom moved around the bed and closer to him.

Wordlessly holding the shirt out, Tom watched as Hadrian’s brow scrunched up before snatching the item from his hands.

“Thanks,” He replied tersely, before throwing the garment over his head.

Tom nodded, smiling at the wariness on Hadrian’s face, before he himself began to change into night appropriate clothing. The night was warm, and stuffy, and Tom lamented having to wear long trousers and sleeves. Concealing his smirk, Tom hopped back into the bed and blew out the candle.

“Seriously?” Hadrian said, his voice low and gravely as he lay down.

“What? It’s too hot.” Tom replied, turning over to face the boy. There was only the slightest bit of light now, the moon almost full and peering through the small, glass window. Even with the lack of light Tom could see the disdain on Hadrian’s face. He felt proud at being able to elicit such reactions in Hadrian, simply by refraining from wearing his shirt.

Harry was sat on an old and rickety swing set, gently swaying back and forth though keeping his feet forcefully on the grassy floor. He knew, instinctively, that this was the day of the dementor attack in the summer after his fourth year. The clouds were dark and grey, about to burst into fierce bouts of rain, and the air was tense and cool even with the supposed heat wave.

Resting his head on the chain of the swing, Harry watched his surroundings closely. It wasn’t a particularly eventful dream so far, as it didn’t seem like Dudley and his gang would show up any time soon, but he still felt a bit on edge.

So he stood, bored of the monotony of swinging, and took off down the road. But Harry hadn’t gotten twenty steps when he heard voices behind him, and turned to see who had invaded his dream.

What he saw was himself, skinny and bespectacled and wearing that awful blue t-shirt, sat in the same swing that Harry himself had just departed from. The lumbering figures of Piers Polkiss and Dudley, and whoever the others were, were approaching as slow as their bodies would allow with the grace and decorum of a pack of baby elephants.

“You are seeing the future again?” A voice said from beside him, Tom.

“I assume so, look at their clothes,” Harry replied carefully, slowly, trying to act as if he didn’t know any of these boys.

“And the size of them,” Tom says with raised eyebrows, “The muggles must’ve won their war.”

Harry grunts in acknowledgement, eyes raised towards the sky as thunder clapped and the clouds turned and even more menacing shade of grey. He vaguely remembered that this was the year that Dudley had taken up boxing, and praised his younger self for avoiding his wrath so well. It was a miracle he had made it back to Hogwarts at all. Truly, the Dursleys were a far more formidable opponent than Lord Voldemort.

Tom started forward, following younger Harry and Dudley as they departed from the other teenagers, and Harry simply tagged along. He didn’t see the harm in this particular dream, and there wasn’t anything about Voldemort in it, so Tom could have his fun.

He was, shortly, proved wrong.

The greying, purple strewn sky was suddenly pitch black and lightless – the stars, the moon, the misty streetlamps at either end of the alley all vanished. No longer was there a distant rumble of cars, the hooting of an owl or the whisper of trees. What should have been a warm and muggy summers evening was now piercingly, bitingly cold and dark. 

Dementors.

Now, Harry wasn’t shocked at the fact he was seeing dementors but he hadn’t expected to feel the eerie cold lack of hope that came with their presence. He quickly grasped the closest thing to him, Riddle’s rigid arm, and dragged him back and out of the underpass.

He felt, rather than saw, the blood drain from Tom’s body as if shock and fear had taken him over. Harry wasn’t feeling any better, though he kept quickly walking from the scene and tried to ignore the shouts that came from behind him.

“DUDLEY, KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT! WHATEVER YOU DO, KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT–”

“Merlin’s beard,” Harry groaned, running a hand over his face as they returned to brightness, “Fuck.”

He loosened his grip on Tom, who had been surprisingly silent since they had arrived in the dream. Maybe he was feeling guilty. Hopefully he was feeling guilty.

“Dementors,” Tom stated, turning to look back at the underpass, “In a muggle area. How peculiar. And it was that same boy from the other dream, with the glasses and the scruffy clothing.”

Harry hummed noncommittedly, “Was it?”

Tom only eyed him cautiously, “Yes, I’m convinced he’s your descendant.”

He didn’t offer a response, watching as Mrs Figg, himself, and Dudley all stumbled past them.

“See you in the morning, Tom,” He said, before the scene could shift and another of his memories would be shown.

When Tom Riddle sends you a letter instructing you to arrive at a certain place at a certain time you go without question. This was why Orion lingered outside a rather quaint and run down cottage, so early in the morning that the sun was barely in the sky and the birds were only just awakening.

He knocked once again, suppressing yet another yawn, before giving up on waiting and attempting to open the door. Orion was surprised that it wasn’t locked, and slipped inside. 

“Tom?” He called out, closing the door behind him with a click and walking into the small living area.

Scrunching up his nose at the distasteful décor, he ventured further into the house. Orion could hardly call it a house, when there appeared only to be three rooms. For Merlin’s sake, there wasn’t even a separate dining room!

He called out again, before braving his Lord’s wrath and entering the last room he hadn’t checked. The morning light lit up the room with bright, golden rays that fell onto the bed. Orion’s eyes widened as he took in the battered room, the singular bed, and the sight of both Tom and Hadrian fast asleep on it. Their legs were intertwined, and Hadrian’s messy mop of hair was tucked into his chest mere inches from Tom’s head.

As quick as he had opened the door, he was five times faster and quieter in closing it and retreating back into the kitchen area. Orion rubbed at his eyes, smiling softly to himself, before rummaging through the cabinets for something akin to coffee. It was far too early to deal with whatever that was.

Harry woke with a start, the bright morning light blinding him to much he forced his head back into the pillow and shut his eyes as tight as possible. It felt too early to move, or to think, and though he didn’t believe he’d be able to return to sleep it was likely he could lightly doze for several more hours.

Apparently not, however, as he felt something warm pressed up against him. Harry cracked open his eyes, having to blink furiously against the sun, before jerking back in surprise. Tom was fast asleep beside him, their heads so close to touching that Harry could feel the other boy’s breath on his face. 

How on earth had that happened?

Chapter Text

Harry shifted in the bed, attempting to move his legs out of the compromising position they lay. He hardly wanted to talk to Tom, let alone be so close, not after all that he had done. As he sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, Harry couldn't help but notice how peaceful Tom looked. It was a far cry from the dark and controlled version of Tom that Harry had grown to know.

For a moment, Harry sat there in silence, watching Tom's chest rise and fall with each slow breath. Last night he had vowed to himself that he wouldn’t let himself forget that this was Tom Riddle, and even the picture of an innocent, resting boy wasn’t going to change that.

He stood up and made his way to the bathroom, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, when a sound came from the kitchen. It caused Harry to snap to attention, the scraping of a chair. Someone else was in the house.

Silently cursing himself for not warding the house properly, Harry slowly crept towards the door. The floorboards, luckily, were either new enough not to creak or charmed into silence. 

He pushed the kitchen door open, ready to confront the figure, when his eyes fell on a man standing by the window. Black, curled hair fell almost to his shoulders and though the face was barely visible, the posture and attire of said man were easily recognisable. Harry was struck with the realisation that this is what Sirius would have looked like, put together in crisp white shirts and polished shoes, had he never gone to Azkaban.

“Orion,” Harry announced with a fond smile, catching the attention of the boy, “I wasn’t expecting you.”

He turned to face Harry with a wide grin, boyish and cheeky.

“No? Tom invited me, charmed a portkey to arrive at just past the crack of dawn. I had assumed it would be important, and yet I’ve been here for almost an hour.” He said, not sounding particularly put out by the wait, “This is a very… quaint place you have.”

“Riddle is asleep,” Harry replied, “Would you like some breakfast while you wait? We have toast.”

“Sounds wonderful,” Orion said happily, the growling in his stomach right on cue and his eyebrow quirking up, before adding on in a far less elated tone, “You’re calling him Riddle again.”

Harry scowled, having turned his back on Orion and rummaging through the cupboards for bread.

“I’m reconsidering our friendship,” He said lightly, “He is too much work.”

“Lovers’ tiff?”

Harry choked, “Dear Merlin, Orion. No. Fuck, why would you say that?”

If Harry had turned, he would have caught the simultaneously shocked and amused expression on Orion’s face.

“Apologies, I forget you’re with Bray.”

Harry turned around, leaning back on the counter and shaking his head.

“Not any longer, I’m afraid.” He was well aware of how sorrowful he sounded.

“You broke up with him?” Orion asked, resting on one of the old, wooden dining chairs, “I saw him in Diagon the other day, moping around with his father. You must have broken the guy’s heart.”

Harry scoffed, “Try the other way round.”

“Oh? You’re heartbroken?” Orion frowned, “I thought–”

“It’s fine, I’m overreacting.” Harry interrupted, collecting the butter and some knives from the side.

Orion didn’t respond. The silence hung heavy in the air, broken only by the clinking of cutlery and the scraping of the butter knife on warm toast. 

“Tea? Juice?” He offered, glancing over at Orion and finding himself confused at the expression of pity on the boy’s face.

“Tea, please. If– When did you break up?”

“Oh,” Harry scoffed, saying casually, “A week? Two weeks? He did it over letter, can you believe?”

“Well, you were always too good for him,” Orion said jovially, “You can move on to bigger and better things now, without him dragging you down.”

That wasn’t the right thing to say, Harry thought as he grasped the knife in his hand harder. Orion didn’t understand what had happened, though, and that wasn’t his fault. He swiftly changed the topic.

“Didn’t Riddle say why he invited you here?” 

Orion shook his head, blowing on the boiling tea Harry had set down in front of him.

“I’ve become way more patient since I met Tom,” Orion said, “He’s too vague about everything, but that’s just his nature.”

“One of his many flaws,” Harry muttered to himself, though Orion’s cough gave away that he hadn’t been quiet enough.

“Spill. What’d he do?”

“So much, and not enough,” Harry replied cryptically, between bites of toast. 

“You’ve become a poet, Hadrian?” Came a voice from behind him, and Harry found himself scowling at his plate once again.

Harry ignored Riddle, who came sauntering into the kitchen half-naked and cocky as ever.

“Morning, Tom,” Orion greeted, “Toast?”

Riddle hummed, and Harry was suddenly very upset that Orion was here. If he wasn’t… Harry was likely to have strangled the brown haired boy. He reached over Harry, plucking the other half of his toast from the plate and taking a bite.

He refused to rise to the bait, obvious that it was. 

“You summoned me?” Orion continued, glancing worriedly between the other two.

“I did,” Riddle said, taking a seat beside Harry, “Hadrian here has been in a bit of a bad mood recently, and I thought… who better to cheer him up than you?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Orion blush with pride.

“As much as I’m happy to see you, Orion, the summons was rather unnecessary. I already have plans today, ones that I would prefer to do alone.”

“Anything interesting?” Riddle crooned, “Can’t be, as you would have told me before.”

Harry scoffed, “You think too highly of yourself.”

Riddle ignored his jibe, and Harry found himself (once again) annoyed and itching for a fight.

“That’s fine by me,” Orion said, always the mediator, “I probably shouldn’t stay too long anyway.”

“Nonsense, it is always good to catch up with friends.”

There was another, tense, silence that even Orion seemed to pick up on whilst he fiddles absent-mindedly with the handle of his mug.

“What do you have planned for today?” Riddle asked, leaning forward and resting his head on his hands.

“You’ll see.”

Breakfast passed with alarming slowness, what felt like hours of Orion chattering and Harry ignoring Riddle’s prodding questions. He had a plan for the day that would, hopefully, end in a victory. Harry had been here for nine, ten months and while he thought that he had made some progress with Riddle, it was not enough. He needed something set in stone, a sure way of making sure that he never became Voldemort.

Harry had, last night, set all the motions in work and he smiled quietly to himself as he recalled the progress he had made.

When he had stormed from the cottage, it had taken him only a short walk through the dark woods to– impulsively– decide to visit Fred. A quick chat with Death–

“Do I have some kind of special death powers? Like, can I apparate without tripping the trace?”

The trace was rid from your wand the moment you arrived in this time.

“NOW you tell me? And I suppose my invisibility cloak has magically traversed through time as well?”

As a matter of fact…

–Then he had apparated straight to Fred’s house. He remembered the boy telling him about it, a large manor house by the beach in Newquay, and it only took him an hour of wandering the countryside until he felt the latent power of the muggle repellent wards that surrounded most magical properties.

Of course, he hadn’t approached the front door. Even his reckless nature wasn’t that reckless anymore.

He slipped seamlessly through a weak patch in the wards, an unused back door covered in vines and moss, before traversing the dark halls of the manor house. It was far nicer than Grimmauld Place had been, no dead house elf heads to be seen, and yet the corridors were cold and lacking in any kind of homeliness. The place creeped him out, shrouded in the darkness of the night.

Harry found Fred sat beside the fire, half asleep and nursing a glass of what looked like firewhisky, and approached cautiously. It wouldn’t do to scare him, lest he yell out and call attention to the intrusion.

“Hadrian?” Fred coughed, choking on his drink and eyes widening in fear and shock, “What in Merlin’s name are you doing here?”

“I’ve come to talk, I needed to see you.”

“Quiet,” Fred whispered, before dragging Harry by the arm down the hallway and silently up another staircase. He pulled him into a room, locking the door, and casting a muffling charm designed to silence their conversation from unwanted ears.

“Merlin why are you so reckless, I swear you are more Gryffindor than Slytherin… how you fooled the hat I don’t know.”

Harry shrugged, smiling despite the situation, “I’ve always been a Gryffindor at heart, I guess I just have new ambitions.”

Fred shook his head, breathless laughter escaping him.

“I can’t believe you’re here.”

“Neither can I,” Harry admitted, “It was a kind of last minute plan.”

“I suppose you want to talk about… well, our breakup?”

“To put it plainly, yeah. It was so sketchy, Fred, you have so much explaining to do. Surely you didn’t hate me that much?” Harry said, a hint of pleading in his tone.

“I could never…” Fred replied, “Someone let slip to my father that I was into men and, well, he was not impressed. He threatened me, and you, unless I broke contact. Father doesn’t threaten lightly… I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise,” Harry said, feeling a weight lift from his shoulders, “Please, don’t. Do you know who?” 

Fred moved over to his desk, papers and books scattered over the top, and opened up the drawer. In his hand was a piece of parchment that looked to be a letter, which he passed over to Harry.

“Someone forged my handwriting, must have sent it off the day we all left Hogwarts. I don’t know who would do such a thing… it’s awful. I’ve been trapped under my Father’s watch for the entire summer, he said that I had to learn to act like a proper man or… or else.”

Harry’s ears had begun to ring as he read the letter once, then again, and then again. He could almost feel his blood boiling within him as, instinctually, he knew who had done this.

Riddle had struck again, another show of his true colours.

Now as Harry sat at the breakfast table, he could feel the burn of a piece of parchment against his thigh and longed to put it to use. 

“Orion,” He said suddenly, “I think you should leave.”

The younger boy looked up at him with wide, understanding eyes before nodding and standing from the table. Riddle didn’t bother to stop him again, sensing a change in Harry’s own mood. The knowing look that Harry received annoyed him once more.

A mere minute later the two of them were alone, and Harry turned to face him once again.

“I assume there is something you wish to say to me?” Riddle asked, tilting his head in that infuriating, enraging manner.

“It struck me late last night what an absolute prick you are,” Harry said plainly, “And I’ve decided that I’m done with you.”

Riddle blinked, “Liar.”

“Oh?” Harry laughed, harsh and grating and a sound he had never heard come from his mouth before.

“You outed my boyfriend, tortured people, assaulted and attacked me… You are a monster and I want nothing to do with you,” Harry shouted, his voice bitter and cold. At one point he would have had tears in his eyes whilst confronting him, but today there were no more tears to shed for Tom Riddle. 

The boy in question took a step back, face travelling through hundreds of emotions at once until it settled, annoyingly, on his calm, emotionless exterior.

“It has never been my intention to hurt you.”

“And yet you did, and you have become irredeemable.” 

Riddle’s gaze flicked between Harry’s eyes, seeming to try and find any hint of a lie. But there were no lies.

“What can I do?”

Bingo. But Harry allowed Riddle to continue to clarify, even if he knew what the teenager would say.

“I don’t think my apology, however true it may be, would change your mind. So, what can I do to show you that I care? I know that I am a monster, and I’m not ashamed to say it. I want power, Hadrian, you should know that by now. But I also want you to share that with me. We would be incredible, side by side.”

“Stop.” Harry said, loud to his own ears, “Stop with the fucking business pitches. Do you know what you can do for me?”

Tom perked up, straightening almost imperceptibly. The movement was one that said Tom expected to be able to complete what Harry wanted of him. 

“Do you trust me, Tom?” He questioned.

“Yes,” Riddle replied, no thought seeming to have gone into the answer.

“I… I have crafted a vow that I wish you to take. That would be proof enough, for me, that you care. It should be an easy choice, really. Me? Or immortality. This would be your opportunity to show your supposed feelings. So far I’ve seen no proof, but this would be enough.”

Riddle stilled, a shadow casting over his face as if the devil itself had possessed him. But he didn’t oppose it, and Harry felt a spark of hope blossoming inside him.

“You would entertain me, if I took this vow?” Tom asked quietly, “Show me this vow, and we can talk. How about over a firewhisky?”

Harry gave a quick jerk of his head, “No alcohol.”

But he retrieved the folded piece of parchment from his jean pocked, handing it over to Riddle with ease. His hands didn’t shake, they didn’t pause, and he felt confident in himself for the first time in a while. This would solve everything. No war, no horcruxes… no Voldemort. 

Even though Harry himself had changed over the past ten months, it would all be worth it if he could tame Tom Riddle. As impossible as that sounded.

Ron would be appalled, Hermione would call him out for acting the martyr once again. Again, it was the suffering of one, for the life of the many. 

“All this…” Riddle mused, his eyes flicking over the parchment, “I give up all this, for you?”

For Harry.

That was what Riddle wanted, wasn’t it? It was obvious, so obvious, and it almost made Harry laugh at the cyclical nature of events. 

“Exactly,” Harry responded, “I will help you attain whatever power you want, I won’t… ignore you. Though it is all within reason, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Tom parroted, before pausing and looking up at Harry with a smirk, “Would you entertain the idea of taking my mark?”

Harry blanched, but contained himself quickly, “Your mark?”

“My little group of acquaintances requested it, something that links us all together. It sends messages instantly, without the hassle of owls, and some other, useful, titbits that I won’t bore you with. Besides, what’s one more tattoo?”

Chapter Text

Harry let out a short laugh, “You’re insane, absolutely not. Choose something else.”

Tom only raised an eyebrow, “If this is so important to you, then what’s the harm?”

“The harm,” Harry mocked, “I’m not going to be your slave, Tom. Come on, I’m sure you have more requests ready and waiting to go.”

“If not a slave,” Tom said, not seeming put off or surprised by Harry’s refusal, “Then an equal.”

Harry silently prompted him to continue. Tom looked eerily pleased.

“As you know, I am to be King of Slytherin next year. I want you as my Second in Command, to sit at my right hand in all our meetings. You refuse invitations to my informal gatherings of friends, but this is far more legal. I’m sure it would be more agreeable for your moral code, Hadrian.”

Harry tried his best to not look taken aback, “I didn’t think you had any interest in the Slytherin court, or else you would have become its King years ago.”

“I let the upper years play at royalty for a while, but I am the obvious choice. How could I refuse a crown?”

“You don’t actually get a crown, do you?” Harry replied quickly, before thinking, while scrunching up his nose. Tom didn’t even deign it with a response.

“Well?” Tom prompted.

Harry didn’t see any harm in this request, having lived amongst Slytherins for the past few months and become aware of the way their illustrious court worked. It was a subtle and mostly silent hierarchy, there was no torture and no death and for the most part they focussed on keeping the younger Slytherins safe and in line. More importantly, it was known by a quarter of the whole Wizarding population (those who had been Slytherin) as children playing at politics.

“Deal,” Harry responded, “Now, the vow?”

“Not so fast,” Tom crooned, “I have other requests to make of you. This is, after all, an important vow. I would never be so flippant about it.”

Harry rolled his eyes, leaning back in his chair and waving a hand in Tom’s direction.

“You get me as your ‘right hand man’ and I would vow to entertain your disastrous ideas and conversation topics. What more could you want?”

Tom cocked his head to the side, contemplating, “What makes you think I would settle for those things? Maybe you aren’t as important as you think you are?”

“I am,” Harry drawls, “very interesting.”

Tom grins fiercely, a lion getting ready to pounce.

“You’ll vow to tell me about my future, about your seer dreams of me. This is why you want me to forgo Horcruxes, isn’t it? You’ve seen something that frightens you, that disturbs you, and you want to stop me from making mistakes?”

“5 points to Slytherin,” Harry deadpans, but he could feel his heart quickening, “And fine, I’ll even draw you a life like picture of what you would’ve looked like in fifty years.”

Tom didn’t respond, taking the time to stand and make his way over to the kitchen. Harry scowled, now that Tom couldn’t see him. He just wanted this done and dusted, victory was right around the corner and Harry could practically smell it.

Or maybe that was the fresh bottle of firewhisky Tom had opened, and was now pouring into a glass.

“It’s not even noon,” Harry criticised, eyeing the glass distastefully.

Ignoring Harry’s frown, Tom took his seat once again and spoke lightly, “You are looking pale, darling, have you practiced your Necromancy recently? Maybe you should add it to the vow, so you don’t wither away.”

“If you’d have paid attention, you’d realise that I decorated our living area with a beautiful plant brought back to life by my very own hands,” Harry responded, nodding to the corner of the room.

Tom hummed happily, “I’ll write my terms down.”

He took the piece of parchment that Harry had placed on the table, leaving Harry in a tense silence with only the scratching of a quill to ease it. 

Instead of wallowing, Harry scooped up that mornings Daily Prophet and frowned at the headline.

GRINDELWALD TAKES FRANCE: FRENCH MINISTRY UNDER CONTROL
The latest update comes as a shock to the people of Magical Britain. The French Minister, Victor Le Lapin, has made a statement pledging his allegiance to the Grindelwald cause. This comes alongside the news that French borders have closed, and the Prophet urges British Wixen who reside their to stay safe inside their homes. We await comment from our own Minister, Leonard Spencer-Moon, on the topic.
With Grindelwald slowly taking control of Western Europe, us at the Daily Prophet wonder how the Ministry will arise to the challenge of the Dark Lord. Those who have been following along with Grindelwald’s rise will be aware that he now has the favour of the Italian, Hungarian, and French Ministries. Germany stays neutral, though one wonders for how long that charade can be kept up.
“It is a dangerous time for British Wixen to venture abroad,” Says an Anonymous Wizard from the Department of International Cooperation, “Though Britain is still safe, and we do not anticipate much struggle inside the country.”
Though not everyone is as cool and collected as Ministry workers, one Cordelia Sallow told the Daily Prophet late last night: “He’s attacked Britain once already, and the Aurors failed at catching him. Grindelwald has access to us and I don’t know why the Ministry are pretending that he isn’t a threat!”
What comes next for Grindelwald? Will our Minister step up in this time of chaos? Or will he be deemed as useless as ‘Flamboyant Fawley’ proved to be?
Regular updates posted here, to the Daily Prophet.
Pages 3-4: Dumbledore steps up? A Theory.
Page 5: A Biographical Account of Victor Le Lapin

“Grindelwald’s getting stronger,” Harry said aloud, vow momentarily forgotten,  “He has France now. Thats too close to Britain for my liking.”

“Aren’t you a Dumbledore apologiser?” Tom replied, not looking up, “Surely you have faith in him to solve the issue before it gets too prominent.”

“Dumbledore will defeat Grindelwald soon,” Harry said, more to himself than to Tom and more of a reassurance that a definite. He had thought the war against Voldemort had been harrowing, but sitting on the side-lines was proving to be almost worse than when he knew he was the one to face him. 

Harry understood the pressure Dumbledore was facing to defeat Grindelwald as he too had held that title, but the questions still wormed their way inside his head. Why hadn’t Dumbledore faced him in battle yet? 

“Here,” Tom said, sliding the parchment over to Harry, “The vow has been improved considerably. Yours left much to be desired.”

That vow was perfectly crafted. The boy has no idea what he is talking about. Get him to perform the vow now, Master, and your mission will be near complete. 

“I’ll have you know my vow was perfectly crafted,” Harry parroted, scowling at Tom’s Cheshire cat smile.

A knock startled the two teenagers from their conversation, rapid and heavy handed hits against their flimsy wooden door.

Get rid of whoever that is immediately, Riddle is far more important than anything else at this point in time.

You’ve become so grouchy, Death. Nice of you to pop by for a chat.

I am not a patient servant, and I have better things to do with my life than watch your every move.

Harry suppressed a laugh at that.

“Orion should’ve known not to come back…” Harry heard Tom mutter under his breath, before he moved quickly and impatiently over to answer the door.

Harry followed, quite sure that the urgency behind the knocking was not from the timid Orion Black.

“Yes?” Tom asked pre-emptively, yanking the door open with some haste. Harry noted that it creaked slightly, the hinges old and worn. That would need some fixing–

“We are here for Mr Peverell,” Said a gruff voice, “Are you him?”

“I’m here,” Harry said quickly, rushing into the doorway with a wide eyed expression, “Is everything okay?”

Tom subconsciously made room for him, subtly moving his hand towards where his wand was stored in his belt.

The man at the door was evidently an auror, his scarlet robes adorned with the Ministry crest giving that away instantly. He had a clean shaven face, though the creasing on his forehead gave away his age and stress. The woman beside him stood at the same height, neat grey hair tucked into a tight bun almost reminiscent of Professor McGonagall.

“We need to take you into the Ministry for… questioning,” The woman explained, her voice lacking any warmth.

“Why?” Tom demanded, wand slipping easily into his hand with practised ease.

“We are not liable to say at this point, explanation will follow once we have you inside the Ministry,” The gravelly voiced man spoke, shooting Tom a glare, “Mr Peverell, we do not have all day.”

Before Harry could respond, Tom scoffed.

“You can’t take him into questioning without a solid reasoning–”

“Tom–” Harry said, trying to interrupt his little speech to no avail.

“- he hasn’t committed any crime.”

“Nor did we say he had,” The woman insisted, sounding bored, “Listen, kid, these are just our orders.”

“It’s fine, Tom,” Harry said, watching the two aurors carefully, “I’m sure it’s just more questions about my parents, right?” At the end of his sentence, Harry glanced at the aurors. They didn’t give anything away.

Tom locked eyes with him, though Harry couldn’t understand the emotions swimming behind his dark eyes.

“I’ll join you,” He said.

The male auror looked as if he wanted to object, but at the last minute decided it wasn’t worth his time or effort.

“Fine,” He said, “I presume you both have side-along apparated before?”

Not waiting for an answer, he grabbed Harry’s arm just as the woman grabbed Tom’s and whisked them away into darkness.

Harry stumbled upon landing, the grasp on his upper forearm disappearing as quickly as it had arrived. He felt a semblance of relief that he hadn’t fallen face first into the floor and embarrassed himself in front of half the Ministry.

“We need to ward the house,” Tom muttered to him, seemingly coming out of nowhere and causing Harry to jump slightly in shock, “Keep people from sneaking up on us like that.”

“They’re law enforcement, Tom,” Harry chastised, “They didn’t sneak, it’s their job.”

“Come along,” Drawled one of the aurors, taking off at pace down the brightly lit corridor and away from the apparition zone.

Harry didn’t recognise where in the Ministry they were, though the black tiled walls and floor reminded him uncomfortably of the Department of Mysteries.

They handed their wands over to the woman behind a desk for cataloguing, before taking off at a strangely quick pace towards the elevators. Remembering their jerky movements, Harry quickly grabbed onto the handles hanging from the ceiling so he wouldn’t fall into one of his companions. He ignored the questioning gaze Tom gave him as the lift took off, descending into the depths of the Ministry for Magic.

Thankfully, they only stopped at Level 2: The Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

“Take a seat, son,” The male auror said, directing his command to Tom and waving over to an area of seating once they had left the elevator and made their way into what appeared to be a waiting room.

Tom shot the auror a smile, that to most would seem charming but to Harry suggested that the auror would soon meet a slow and painful death.

“Keep and eye on him,” The woman muttered to the receptionist, a blonde haired boy that didn’t seem much older than Harry.

He felt something akin to dread pool in his stomach as he followed the aurors into a small room that reminded Harry uncomfortably of the interrogation rooms he had seen on muggle crime dramas as a child.

The two aurors sat down opposite him, shutting the door behind them with an ominous click.

“I assume,” Harry began, breaking the silence, “That you have brought me here to clear up some more questions about my parents deaths? Have you found the killer?”

“We are certain that it was Grindelwald,” The man said, “New technologies have allowed us to trace the magical signature on the fire to one similar on other attacks that were confirmed to be Grindelwald's. It was an attack propagated by him, or a follower of his.”

“And you needed to bring me here to tell me this?” Harry questioned, unease bubbling inside of him. If they knew the magical signature of the attack… then surely it would trace back to him.

A piece of parchment was slid across the desk to him, the man continuing to speak, “A warrant for your arrest, under the suspicion of the murder of Jocasta and Damian Peverell and for conspiring with the Dark Lord Grindelwald.”

Harry’s heart threatened to burst out of his chest, eyes glazed over as they stared at the two aurors whose names he didn’t even know.

This is an unforeseen disturbance… No worries, young Master, I will solve it.

“I’d like a lawyer, please.” He burst out, knowing that he was now in deep, deep shit.

Chapter Text

Tom tapped his foot against the tiled floor of the Ministry, regarding the receptionist with cat like observation. The boy was 20 or 21 years old, a nameless Gryffindor a few years above Tom. He had a plain face, a rounded nose dotted with freckles and ordinary, dirty blonde hair styled neatly enough to be accepted as workwear appropriate. A Muggleborn, evidently, who had gained himself an average position as a receptionist in the Department of Law Enforcement after likely not having good enough NEWTs to become an Auror. Tom vaguely recalled that he had been friendly with Dorian Avery, a Ravenclaw cousin of Isabella’s, but for the life of him Tom could not remember his name.

Now, Tom prided himself on keen observation skills when attempting to find suitable followers and acquaintances. This boy had not been on his radar.

Who else had been in that year, that Tom could possibly link back to him? Dorian Avery had been clever, bookish, and had once asked Tom to borrow a quill when the two of them had been the only ones remaining in the library. His blonde friend, however, Tom had never spoken to. After all, that year had boasted so many more interesting characters. Lucretia Black and Ignatius Prewett, for one.

The receptionist sniffled, wiping his nose with his tattered robe sleeve and shuffling some documents. Tom cleared his throat. The boy glanced up.

“You were friends with Dorian, weren’t you?” Tom queried, putting on his best smile, “I remember you from Hogwarts.”

He blinked, taken aback at being spoken to and (Merlin forbid) being remembered.

“Er– yeah.”

The boy wasn’t giving Tom anything to work with, it was positively disgusting.

“How is he, nowadays? We only met on occasion, in the library, but I was always quite interested in his career prospects.” Tom prodded, continuing the assault in a placid and vaguely interested way.

“Oh,” He sat up a little straighter, seemingly glad to have something to say, “Dorian’s apprenticing under Jugson, the elder that is, on Level Nine. Exciting stuff, I hear, a damn sight better than what I’m doing.”

There was an inkling of jealousy in the boys tone, but it still revealed nothing about his name.

“Nonsense,” Tom scoffed, putting on his Slughorn inspired jovial voice, “Magical Law Enforcement is the epitome of excitement, especially with all those Dark Wizards lurking around at the moment.”

The receptionist smiled slightly, putting his quill down, “Yeah, I guess, you’d never believe the criminals we get coming through here.”

“Oh?” Tom enquired, standing from his seat and moving to lean casually on the desk.

“Yeah, they’re rounding up Grindelwald’s followers like that,” He snapped his fingers together, grinning widely, “The man doesn’t stand a chance against our Aurors.” 

“Surely you’ve seen a lot of dangerous figures, then,” Tom continued, “Being on the front desk and all.”

The receptionist leant in, as if he were about to share a particularly interesting secret, “The cells are packed with them, they’ve had to put up silencing wards just so the rest of the floor doesn’t hear the shouting.”

“Rowdy lot?” Tom said lightly, but he could feel the blood racing in his head and the image of Grindelwald’s mark tattooed on lean muscle blazing in his mind.

The blonde huffed out a laugh, but faltered, “Say, what are you waiting here for?”

“I know one of the aurors,” Tom replied, waving his hand nonchalantly, “I was enquiring about the role when they got called down here to deal with something.”

“Oh,” He relaxed slightly, “Thinking about becoming an Auror yourself?”

Tom would rather gouge his eyes out with hot knives, “Perhaps, though I’m not quite sure what I’d be getting myself into.”

“Arrests, sometimes,” The receptionist said–

– Tom had a flash of memory, the boy was called Chris, how boring–

“Interrogations, if you’re lucky, weeding out criminals and testifying in court. Mostly, I hear, it’s a lot of paperwork.”

Tom nodded, gaze stopping on the black door that Hadrian and the two aurors had walked through.

“You know,” Tom grinned bashfully, “I think I forgot my lunch upstairs, I should probably grab it before my friend returns.”

Chris’ smile wavered, but he bid Tom farewell, “See ya.”

Tom didn’t even bother looking back as he made his way, admittedly hurriedly, towards the lift. If he was right, and he usually was, Hadrian was in need of a bit of legal advice and Tom knew exactly the man to find.

“Are you admitting your guilt?” The male auror asked, and Harry was very offput by the fact he didn’t even know their names.

“I want a lawyer.” He repeated, glancing between the two with as much authority as he could muster. Harry wasn’t embarrassed to admit he tried to channel Draco Malfoy in that moment, sticking his nose into the air and straightening his posture with as much arrogance as he could muster.

“Now, kid,” The woman said, sighing, “It’ll go much easier if you just tell us, truthfully, what happened. You’re only young, you might not even be admitted to Azkaban.”

Harry raised an imperious eyebrow.

“C’mon, Artie,” The woman muttered, “Just throw him in with the others.”

“Isn’t he 16?” The man– Artie– said under his breath, “Shouldn’t he go–”

“Doesn’t matter,” She replied, shooting Harry a bored look, “He’ll get charged properly at his trial.”

“Your wand, Mr Peverell,” The female auror continued, holding out her hand, “Pass it over.”

Harry froze, unsure about what to do. Were they allowed to take his wand like this?

“We have a warrant, son, it’s proper procedure to take your wand. Don’t worry, it’ll be safe and sound.” Artie attempted to reassure, but Harry just watched the two of them suspiciously.

“When is my trial?” He asked instead, delaying what appeared to be the inevitable.

“Undetermined,” The woman replied slowly.

“Do I at least get–” He paused, what was the Magical equivalent of a phone call?, “To contact someone before I hand over my wand? One last floo call?”

Artie frowned, “Not typically…”

“My lawyer,” Harry clarified, though he was not certain Wizards even had lawyers.

“Fine,” Artie acquiesced after a beat, and Harry did not miss the glower that the woman shot his way, “Follow me.”

Harry hurried after the long paced auror, who slipped out of the room and back into the waiting area. Tom was no longer present, and the receptionist barely even looked up as they passed and entered another room. It appeared to be an office area, Artie's by the look of the picture frames dotting the mantlepiece.

“Floo powder is here,” He handed Harry a small pot, “Don’t try any funny business, the fireplace is only open to Floo calls. You have five minutes.”

Artie didn’t leave the room, instead moving to stand in the corner and watch Harry with beaded eyes. His mind raced, trying to figure out who to call. He wanted to call Orion, but Harry wasn’t even sure where the boy lived or if he would have any idea how to get a lawyer, and Merlin knows where Tom had scampered off to.

He took a handful of Floo powder, glancing over his shoulder at Artie who was watching him with mild interest as he prevaricated, and threw it into the fireplace.

“Malfoy Manor,” Harry said loudly, and stuck his head into the green flames.

“Hello?” He called, eyes darting around the grand dining room.

“And who might you be?” A woman asked, voice haughty, as she walked into the room to stand in front of the fireplace. She held her wand casually by her side.

“Hadrian Peverell, is Abraxas in?” He said quickly, “I really need to speak with him.”

“He is,” She drawled, “Aren’t you one of his class mates, the new one?”

“I am, Lady Malfoy,” He replied, remembering some etiquette. 

A moment later, he heard someone running down the stairs and swinging the door open.

“Mother,” Abraxas said, his eyes dropping to the fireplace, “Hadrian, is everything alright?”

“Ah,” Harry said eloquently, “Not really. I need a lawyer.”

Abraxas’ mother tittered lightly, elation blooming on her otherwise cold face, “Abraxas, dear, you have chosen interesting friends.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, filling the silence, “Look, I only have five minutes, can you get me a lawyer? I have the money in my vault to pay for them, so don’t worry about that.”

Abraxas opened his mouth, but his mother interrupted, “I know just the person.”

He saw Abraxas pale slightly, if that was even possible.

“I would be forever grateful, Lady Malfoy.”

She nodded once, “I presume you are at the Ministry?”

“Yes ma’am, about to be put into some cramped cell by the sounds of it,” He said, internally cursing his lack of propriety.

Though it didn’t seem to matter, as Lady Malfoy seemed pleased.

Before he could say another word, rough hands dragged him from the fireplace and onto his feet.

“That’s enough of that,” Artie said, “Malfoy Manor, eh?”

“I have friends in high places, sir,” Harry responded darkly, “My lawyer will arrive shortly.”

The grip on his forearm tightened, “I doubt any lawyer could help your current situation, Mr Peverell.”

And Harry was rid of his wand, dragged from the room and back down the corridor they had come from, then thrown unceremoniously into a dark cell.

“Fuck,” He swore, as the door slammed shut behind him and he was plunged into an uncomfortable darkness. There was a light, swinging above him, though it was dull and barely lit up the walls. He could, however, see enough to understand that he was not alone in the room.

Tom scowled internally as he went down the elevator, the damn thing stopping on every single floor possible and letting Ministry workers in and out like it was damn public transport. Did the lift not understand Tom was in a rush? 

He departed on Level 8: the Atrium, getting waylaid only briefly by a confused Professor Slughorn who was wondering why on earth Tom was in the Ministry. Tom didn’t care enough to wonder why Slughorn himself was there, as it was likely he was just catching up with old members of the Slug Club.

The man that Tom was looking for didn’t frequent the Ministry often, as he was long retired from Ministry shenanigans. Arcturus Black was an independent lawyer, fiercly renowned for only taking on the most interesting and high profile of cases, and the Head of the most Ancient and Noble House of Black. He had visited Grimmauld Place only a handful of times, at the request of Orion, and Tom had managed to have a conversation with the patriarch every single visit.

Tom also knew that he was entertaining the idea of aiding Grindelwald, and had been chosen to meet the Dark Lord himself during the Banquet.

Surely Black would take up this case. Hadrian was, after all, a friend of Orion’s and burdened with having drawn the attention of Grindelwald himself. If that wasn’t interesting, Tom didn’t know what was. 

He arrived at Number 12 Grimmauld Place after a particularly bumpy ride on the Knight Bus– Tom really needed to attain his apparition license– and knocked twice on the polished, black door.

It clicked open slowly, revealing there to be nobody at the door. Until Tom looked down and saw the wrinkled old house elf the Blacks had in their employ.

“Mister Riddle,” Kreacher crooned, his voice as menacing as ever, “Kreacher welcomes you to the House of Black.”

Tom nodded at the elf, entering into the hallway and coming to a pause atop the ancient carpet within.

“Kreacher shall fetch the young Master Black,” The elf said, and silently apparated away.

Tom took a moment to look around the hallway, slipping his hands into his trouser pocket to stop himself from fiddling. It was an annoying habit that he had entertained as a child, fiddling with things impatiently, and one that he had never quite managed to rid himself of.

He never saw or heard Kreacher return, instead Orion came bouncing into the hallway with a giddy smile on his face.

“Tom! I didn’t know you were going to visit today, is everything alright with you and Hadrian?” He said, coming to a halt in front of him.

“Neither did I,” Tom replied, ignoring the final comment, “I need to speak with your father.”

“Oh,” Orion said, frowning worriedly, “Why?”

“Hadrian has been arrested, and he is in need of a lawyer. Your father, I’ve heard, is the best.”

“Merlin’s beard,” Orion exclaimed, “It wasn’t something to do with your… argument, was it?”

“No,” Tom said plainly, shooting Orion with a look that promised pain if he were to continue that line of questioning.

“Father is currently in a meeting, but I’m sure he would entertain you afterwards,” Orion said instead, wisely heeding Tom’s unspoken command.

“A meeting with whom?” 

Orion blinked, looking up the stairs, “Abraxas’ mother, for some reason. I knew that they were acquaintances, the Malfoys and the Blacks have always had connections, but a meeting like this is highly unusual for the two of them.”

Tom hummed, though his interest was short lived as his thoughts returned to Hadrian.

“Show me to his study,” Tom commanded, moving to follow Orion up the stairs.

They climbed two flights of stairs, stopping outside one of the rooms at the very end of the hallway. Tom could feel the privacy wards erected on the door, the magic shimmering softly in the air but otherwise inconspicuous. 

“They’ve only been in there a few minutes, ten at the most,” Orion said quietly, looking between Tom and the study, “You may be waiting a while.”

He took a deep breath, prepping himself to face the patriarch on such short notice, “Then I shall knock, and hope what I have to say is more important than their current meeting.”

Orion frowned, evidently not liking Tom’s proposal, but didn’t object out loud.

Tom raised his hand, knocking once on the wood, but before he could knock again the door swung open.

“Mr Riddle, Orion,” Arcturus Black said, his voice not betraying any of his thoughts, “Please, enter.”

Tom strode confidently into the room, Orion shuffled in nervously behind him, and the door seemed to slam shut in the silence.

The woman sat opposite him was obviously Abraxas’ mother, the Lady Malfoy, her face was just as pointed and her eyes the same calculating shade of blue.

“Lord Black,” Tom greeted, giving a short bow to each of the room, “Lady Malfoy.”

Neither spoke, but they both regarded him with veiled interest.

“I wanted to bring to your attention a legal case that might be of interest to you,” Tom began, eyes darting to where Lady Malfoy had let out an amused breath, “A classmate of mine, and friend of Orion’s, has been arrested by the aurors. Orion may have mentioned him, one Hadrian Peverell.”

The name dropping didn’t bring about much shock in the Lord, whose eyes had stayed fixed on Tom the moment he had entered the room.

After a moment’s silence, Arcturus addressed his son, “Orion, relay what you mentioned to me about Mr Peverell the other day.”

Orion straightened from beside Tom, “I said that you would like him very much, Father. He’s got strong morals and convictions, and he would happily engage you in debate even though you are the Lord of an Ancient and Noble House.”

Arcturus nodded once, his attention returning to Tom, “And you do not see him as a friend, Mr Riddle? Only as a classmate?”

Tom was taken aback by Lord Black’s perceptiveness, “Hadrian is one of the few people in this world I would consider being even close to having my friendship, your son is another.”

He could feel Orion’s shock, his budding elation, from beside him.

“You see, Mr Riddle,” Lord Black continued, “I have been wanting to meet the boy since my son and niece spoke so highly of him. The interest piqued even further when Lady Malfoy entered my office with a message from Mr Peverell himself, stating that he was in need of a lawyer.”

Tom refrained from turning to look at Lady Malfoy, and wondered how Hadrian had gotten the time to contact her. He hadn’t been under the impression that they even knew each other.

“That you have barged into my office, pleading for my help,” Lord Black continued, “means very little to me Mr Riddle. You overstep your station, at current. Do the same before you have made a name for yourself, and you will find that you have no ally in the House of Black.”

The warning rang around Tom’s ear, however calmly spoken it had been. It hurt, to be disregarded so easily, and yet it had been worth the effort in an attempt to save Hadrian.

“I apologise, Lord Black,” Tom said, bowing deeply at the waist, “It was not my intention to disrespect you.”

A moment passed when the room was silent, Lady Malfoy yet to speak and seemingly happy to just watch the conversation,

Arcturus stood, his robes falling perfectly around him, as he collected the sheets of paper from his desk.

“You are dismissed, Mr Riddle.”

Tom bowed his head, turning to open the door behind him.

“I do admire your confidence in interrupting my meeting,” Arcturus said, causing Tom to pause over the handle, “However Gryffindor it was. Meet me at the Ministry in an hour, I believe we have a man to prove innocent.”

He didn’t respond, and wasn’t sure if he was meant to, before striding out of the room with Orion on his tail.

“May I use your Floo, Orion?” Tom asked, straightening his robe.

“Yeah,” Orion replied faintly, looking up with wide eyes at Tom as if he were seeing him for the first time.

Chapter Text

“Fuck,” Harry swore, as the door slammed shut behind him and he was plunged into an uncomfortable darkness. There was a light, swinging above him, though it was dull and barely lit up the walls. He could, however, see enough to understand that he was not alone in the room.

There were two beds, if you could call worn mattresses lying on the floor a bed, on either side of the small room. A man sat on one, his legs crossed and head bent as if in a state of meditation. He didn’t look up as Harry entered the room, not even when he moved to the other bed and sat down on its edge. 

The man had dark blond hair, unruly and tangled and falling just below his shoulders in a manner that suggested he hadn’t had a haircut in months. There was no indication of his age, though he sat with a stillness that surely meant he had practiced such a thing for many years.

“Are you going to introduce yourself, or would you rather keep gawking at me like you’re a boy going to the zoo for the first time?” He said suddenly, head snapping up and dark eyes locking onto Harry.

“I’m Hadrian,” Harry said carefully, “And I wasn’t gawking.”

“No?” The man drawled, “You’re awfully young to be into terrorism… though I suppose old Gellert is recruiting younger and younger every year.”

“I’m hardly into terrorism,” Harry responded.

“Oh you’re one of those,” The man muttered, more to himself than to Harry even if the sound bounced loudly around the small room.

“I’m surprised you haven’t introduced yourself, what with the mini lecture on politeness.” Harry snapped back, taking a wary dislike to the man immediately. It had been not even five minutes since they were left alone, and his company already left lots to be desired.

“You may call me… John.” The man replied, eyes glinting as if it were some inside joke that Harry wouldn’t understand.

Harry didn’t bother acknowledging John’s introduction, instead swinging his legs onto the mattress and leaning back against the wall. It was going to be a long day… But John was relentless in his need to converse.

“How old are you, anyhow? Don’t look much older than my niece and she’s still in school.”

“Sixteen,” Harry replied, peeking a look at the man who had returned to his previous position of meditation.

“Still in school?” The man questioned, sounding surprised, “And already getting a trial in front of the Wizengamot? That must be a record, I should congratulate you.”

“Yeah, well, please don’t.” Harry mumbled in response, taking some amusement in the fact that he was, once again, being trialled underage, “This hasn’t exactly been the best day of my life.”

John snorted lightly, clicking his neck on either side.

“What are you in here for?” Harry asked, curious. They would hardly put him in a cell with a serial killer… would they? 

“Same as you, I imagine. Grindelwald. I attend one rally and the aurors show up and cart me off into a cell, take my wand and all. Tried to tell them I was just trying to do my shopping but no, they wouldn’t hear it.”

“Ah–” Harry said eloquently, gazing absentmindedly around the room.

After the brief conversation, the two fell into a peaceful, albeit slightly tense, silence.

What could have been fifteen minutes or two hours passed before the door to the cell clicked open, and a man in auror robes appeared at the door brandishing his wand.

“Peverell, with me.” He said, not even looking into the cell as he barked his command.

“What?” Harry spluttered, blinking up at the bright light that permeated the room.

The auror didn’t reply, just nodding his head towards the door.

Harry jumped up, following the man outside. What was it now? Another interrogation? Or maybe they’d finally come to their senses that a 16 year old wasn’t going to follow Grindelwald… or be a murderer. He winced slightly at the latter, and at how true the accusations were.

“You requested a lawyer, he’s inside. Don’t be long.”

“You’ll find,” A smooth but deep voice said, “That I can have as long with my client as I want.”

Harry looked towards where the voice had came from and started. The man in question wore long, dark blue robes that didn’t seem to have even the slightest hint of dust or dirt on them. He was vaguely familiar, with greying black hair and a harshly lined face, though Harry couldn’t place his finger on where he knew the man from.

“In,” The auror demanded, shooting the man a dirty look.

Harry strode quickly into the small room, where a metal table sat in the centre surrounded by two chairs. An interrogation room, not unlike the one he had been in earlier today.

“You likely know me already,” The man said matter of factly, “Having requested my presence. But I see no harm in introducing myself again. Lord Arcturus Black. I shall be your lawyer for the next few weeks. You have friends in high places, Mr Peverell, I find myself impressed.”

“Thank you, sir,” Harry replied, adjusting himself on the seat. It was an uncomfortable, metal thing that was already digging into his back.

He found himself being watched carefully, the man’s grey eyes bearing into him with veiled curiosity and excitement.

“Before we begin, you will find that I do not care one whit whether you are innocent or not but for me to be able to properly defend you I need your full cooperation. No lying, no obscuring facts, and no attitude. Do you understand?”

Harry nodded quickly, finding himself almost at ease with Black’s no nonsense demeanour.

“Now, would you be willing to testify under Veritaserum?” Black asked, his voice calm and collected and, thankfully, lacking in any judgement.

I refuse to take over your body again, Master, the consequences were too… disastrous.

“No,” Harry replies quickly, “Er– that wouldn’t end well.”

“I would be the one asking the questions,” He clarifies, “And we would write them together, and work out which answers you would give.”

“Would the Ministry be able to ask me questions?” Harry wonders aloud.

“Only those approved by you. Credibility is very important in a trial, Mr Peverell, and we need to prove to the Wizengamot that you are an innocent young boy who doesn’t have it in him to harm a bowtruckle, let alone a human being.” 

Black shuffles through the paper on the desk, glancing over Harry’s statements and reports from the Aurors. He doesn’t let it show on his face whether he thinks the trial will be easy, or even whether he thinks that Harry is innocent. Harry isn’t sure he even cares about something as fickle as innocence, just the money and the prestige that would come from such a case.

“We need character references, preferably from people of high social standing, is there anyone who would be willing to provide a positive representation of your character?” He glances up, steely grey eyes calculating and reminding Harry fiercely of both Orion and Sirius.

“I suppose some of my teachers may offer one,” Harry says, thinking to himself about whether Dumbledore would help him, “I’m afraid I don’t have many connections outside of Hogwarts.”

“I wouldn’t discount yourself too much, Mr Peverell,” Black replied, watching him closely, “But the neutrality of Hogwart’s Professors would be a boon, I do agree. The date of your trial is yet to be determined, which is rather useful in the current circumstances.”

“Useful?” Harry questioned, slightly surprised, “What happens if they schedule my trial for tomorrow, or if I never get one at all?”

Black shook his head, “It wouldn’t be tomorrow. The trials for Grindelwald supporters are said to begin on Monday, and last for up to two weeks. You could be anywhere in that period, though the earlier the better.”

Two days time.

“So the people in the cells around me are all on trial for the same thing?”

“Potentially. Most were caught at a rally, some had been spotted torturing muggles or muggle-borns. Almost all of them were found with Grindelwald’s mark, whether in the form of a necklace or pendant, and bore it proudly. You are an outlier in the situation, one of the few, I’ve heard, proclaiming innocence.”

Harry shuffled uncomfortably in his seat, well aware of the tattoo that seemed to be burning on his lower back.

“It’ll be the trial of the year,” Black continued, seeming almost excited at the prospect, “A sixteen year old Hogwarts student, top marks in his exams with the backing of half the Sacred 28, never having been seen at a rally. The proof they have is flimsy at best, so you have no need to worry.”

“They are charging me twice, yes?” Harry asked, leaning forward slightly, “Two counts of murder and fraternising with a Dark Lord?”

Black nodded once, “The latter is easy to disprove, the former will be tricker as you have no alibi and they’ve uncovered your magical signature in the crime scene.”

“Couldn’t I just say that my signature was there because I lived there?” 

“That’s exactly what we’ll say, Mr Peverell. Even though it would have counted as underage magic, that is a far cry from murder.”

They spoke for a while, Harry having to reiterate what exactly he did the day of his parents murder at least five times while Lord Black poked holes in the story as if he did it for a living… well, he did  do it for a living but that didn’t make it any less frustrating.

“You’ve contradicted yourself, there,” Black interrupted, “Try again.”

Or:

“Be more confident in your alibi, no prevaricating in the middle of sentences. The Wizengamot do not have enough patience to listen to fifty ‘Ers’.”

And even:

“It doesn’t even sound as if you were present, Mr Peverell, try again.”

Until finally:

“That’ll have to do, practice it in your head every hour of the day until you could recite the words in your sleep. Try and play up the child angle, bring up some tears, and you’ll be grand. I’ll be in contact over the next few days with your defence, there is no need to worry.”

Arcturus knocked twice on the door to the room, giving him one final nod before striding out leaving only the echo of his robe fluttering behind.

“Come on,” A new auror said, her eyes watching him as if he were about to jump up and start a fight. She had one hand on his upper arm, dragging him not unkindly out of the room. 

Harry glanced to the side, not sure what prompted him to do so, and his eyes widened as he saw Tom standing aimlessly in the corridor. The other boy was watching him closely, brow furrowed as if he were worried or attempting to solve a particularly difficult arithmancy problem. Harry smiled tightly, unsure why he was even giving the boy any attention at all and yet unable to withdraw his eyes from Tom’s face. 

He was rewarded with a look of shock, quickly masked over, before Tom replied with a smile of his own. It wasn’t one Harry had seen before, not calculating or amused, but pained and reeking with fear. 

They locked gazes, and it was as if Tom was trying to memorise every line on Harry’s face, before the auror yanked on his arm and Harry lost sight of the teenager. 

“Take a good look at him, kid,” She said quietly, “It’s unlikely you’ll ever get that close again.”

“When is his trial?” Tom asked, hands clasped behind his back to prevent himself from fidgeting.

Merlin, Hadrian had looked so pale whilst being dragged away by that blasted auror. He had only been gone a matter of hours and yet Tom new that the teenager was not getting treated right. So he did all that a half-blood orphan could do, gather his favours and help Hadrian avaid Azkaban.

“We are unsure,” Black said, barely glancing down at Tom as he walked towards the elevator, “But I will be alerted the moment a date is set.”

Tom, while being tall for a sixteen year old and having remarkably long legs, struggled to keep up with the six foot four man.

He hummed, attempting to sound nonchalant though knowing he was miserably failing, “Would you owl me when the date is announced?”

Lord Black waved the hand not holding his briefcase. Tom took it to mean ‘yes, of course, I would love to help you’ and nodded in response.

They reached the Atrium, where Lord Black departed and a young woman with curled blonde hair and plump, red lips entered. Tom blinked once at her, the woman flicking through the papers in her hand with a frown, before recognition struck as quick as lightning. 

“Melinda?” Tom questioned, looking down at the woman. She had been a couple of years above him, a pureblooded Slytherin, and was now the Junior Assistant to the Minister for Magic. Tom felt that, when he reminded her of who he was, she would be very useful.

Melinda looked up at him with raised eyebrows, before smiling, “Riddle, you’ve grown tall.”

He chuckled, and the lift began to rise once again, “And you’ve grown prettier.”

She blushed pink, though Tom was sure her cheeks had been rosy before through some application of creams young women liked.

“Well,” She laughed, “You’d be in seventh year now, wouldn’t you?”

Close enough, he thought, peering down at the papers in her hand and wondering what the Junior Assistant to the Minister actually did.

“Spot on, what are you doing nowadays? I’m sure its something important, you always were one of the best in your year.”

“Ah,” She replied, blushing even deeper, “Junior Assistant to the Minister, actually. Not quite sure how I got here but… well, here I am.”

“That’s incredible,” He replied, as sincerely as he could muster, “I was actually trying to talk to someone about an issue one of my friends have.”

“Oh?” She questioned, and the lift chimed Department 1: Minister for Magic and Support Staff. 

Melinda stepped off the lift, and Tom followed.

“You won’t have met him, recently transferred to Hogwarts because of the war, and now he’s been wrongfully accused of supporting Grindelwald. I’m not sure who to talk to about it–”

The shorter woman stood upright, “Of course I’ll try to help, Riddle–”

“Tom, please,” He insisted, flashing her a winning smile.

“Tom,” She smiled kindly, placing one hand on his arm, “Come on, I’ll see if I have his paperwork. What’s the name?”

“Hadrian Peverell,” Tom said quickly, “I heard talk of Azkaban, but surely that can’t be right…”

“No, of course not, if he’s at Hogwarts they wouldn’t dare,” She reassured, coming to a halt at a desk tucked away merely five feet away from the Minister’s office.

Melinda muttered to herself, flicking carefully through a pile of papers on her desk. Tom took the opportunity to peruse some of the files there, still unsure what the Junior Assistant role entailed, but found there was nothing of importance. Dates for meetings or letters sent about cauldron bottoms… How dull.

“Here we are,” Melina said cheerfully, withdrawing a small, yellow file from her stack before flicking it open. Tom watched carefully as her eyes darted over the page, and her face slowly morphed into a frown, “This…”

“Everything alright?” He asked, moving to stand behind her and practically breathing down her neck in an attempt to read what was written about Hadrian.

“Well,” She said, glancing around before lowering her breath, “They’ve introduced this new magic detector device, to track down dark magic users at crime scenes. It says here that they implemented the use on a crime scene from 8 months ago, but the device was only greenlit by the Minister last week…”

Her mouth was set in a determined line, “I’ll go speak to the Minister, don’t mention to anyone that I told you this, agreed?”

“Agreed,” Tom replied with a grateful smile, “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

The magic of flirting and overpaid secretaries, Tom thought proudly as he made his way out of the Ministry.

Chapter Text

It was three days later when Harry was called from his cell, and told that his trial was that day.

Arcturus handed him a clean set of robes, saying, "Change quickly, we will want to make a good impression."

An hour later Harry found himself walking into he courtroom, donned in very expensive robes that he was sure very few people could afford. He was relieved to find that the Ministry didn’t think him so dangerous that they wrapped chains around him once he took his seat in the middle of the chamber. He was mildly put off, however, that the trial chamber looked almost identical to the one he had seen in Dumbledore’s pensive.

“Hadrian Ignotus Peverell,” Ernest Bones announced, “You have been brought here in front of the Council of Magical Law to answer charges relating to the activities of the Dark Lord Grindelwald, as well as charges against your person with regards to the deaths of Damian and Jocasta Peverell on February 2nd, 1942. Please confirm for the jury.”

“Correct,” Harry replied, watching as the grey haired man made note on the parchment in front of him.

“How do you plead on these charges? Innocent or guilty?” Bones continued, glancing up at him with a rather tired expression.

“Innocent, Chief Warlock,” Harry replied, his voice calm and even all while he stared intently at the man. 

Bones tutted under his breath, muttering something that Harry didn’t quite catch, “Are you sure?”

“Quite,” He said, trying to refrain from snapping. Just because they wanted an early lunch… 

“Then let the session commence.”

Tom slipped into the courtroom moments before the clock struck 11, taking a seat at the very back row of the circular room. There were very few people watching the trial, and those occupying the seats were mostly there out of obligation to their career. He did, however, note a blonde haired woman sat a couple of rows in front of him holding rolls of parchment and a quill. She wore a garish green jacket and red rimmed glasses and was watching the room with poorly concealed glee. A reporter, most likely. Tom wondered if she would take a quote from him.

Hadrian sat in the centre of the room, donned in dark blue robes that Tom had never seen him wear before. They were well fitted, and he assumed that Lord Black had procured them for him. Tom watched carefully as Hadrian smoothed out non existent creases on his thighs, before settling back into the chair as if this were his fiftieth trial and there were no worries about his innocence. 

That was clearly not the case. Tom could see the creases in Hadrian’s eyes and the biting of his lip– a habit that had been present ever since they first met. For a second, those pale green eyes darted up to look at him and held his gaze. No, Hadrian would certainly not take this lying down. There was a fierceness in his eyes, an unfailing confidence in the face of adversity that set the teenager apart from all others in their house.

Tom quirked his lips up into a smile, and dipped his head. Hopefully his presence was reassuring and, even if it wasn’t, Tom wouldn’t have missed this for the world. 

“As always,” Ernest Bones continued to speak, and Tom tuned into his words when Hadrian’s gaze moved back to the Chief Warlock, “We begin with the prosecution. For this trial, we begin with Auror Cassius Albrecht who will recount the proceedings of the night February 2nd, 1942. Mr Albrecht, please take the stand.”

Hadrian was guided up and away to sit in the front row, and a burly man with shoulders twice the width of Tom’s own came bumbling into the room.

Tom tried to pay attention to the jumbled recounting of events, but Albrecht was either a really bad storyteller or remarkably dim. He assumed it was likely the latter, as Aurors on the whole tended to be rather idiotic.

His eyes wandered to the reporter, whose quill was writing on its own as she listened with one hand on her chin to the proceedings. Tom was a bit miffed he couldn't read the words, and seriously considered moving closer to read over her shoulder. Instead, his mind snapped back into action when Bones asked the Auror a question.

“Thank you, Auror Albrecht. In your report you mention the presence of a magical signature, could you go into more detail about that?”

“Yes sir, ah, Chief Warlock,” Albrecht fumbled, moving his greasy blonde hair out of his eyes, “As I was saying… the Department has come up with a new way of, er, tracing the magical signature left behind at crime scenes and attributing it to a witch or wizard.”

Tom listened carefully, frowning. That simply sounded like the trace, which was put on all underage witches and wizards, and certainly nothing new or innovative.

“When we got to the scene, after Peverell had been escorted out, we had a go at tracking the signature. Peverell’s was the only one on the house.” 

Tom looked back to where Hadrian was sat, though instead of watching the Auror the teenager’s eyes were locked somewhere in the crowd. He was frowning slightly, his head cocked to the side in contemplation. Tom followed his line of sight, stopping on a young man with hair such a pale blonde it was almost white. The young man was watching Hadrian in return and though Tom couldn’t see enough of his face to gage his expression, he felt a stirring of unease pool in his stomach.

Who was this man, and how did Hadrian know him? It wasn’t someone from Hogwarts, and Tom didn’t think that Hadrian had any friends outside of the school. 

Tom would have pegged the man to be a Malfoy, had he not known all of the ones currently residing in Britain.

“Does the defence want to question Auror Albrecht?” Bones’ voice rang out into the room.

“We do, Chief Warlock,” Lord Black announced, standing from his seat in the side.

He shot a glance to Hadrian, but the boy was still looking intently at the man in the audience. Tom scowled darkly, was he not taking this seriously? 

“You say, Mr Albrecht, that you used this trace on the crime scene on the date in question? February 2nd, 1942?”

“Yes,” Albrecht replied, and Tom’s attention was drawn back to the proceedings. He felt a spike of proudness, that he had noticed this inconsistency before the trial had even begun. It was a shame that he hadn’t been able to shut the trial down completely. Melinda had sent him an apologetic letter expressing her regrets that the Minister couldn’t do anything about forgoing the trial, and her wishes that Hadrian got the justice he deserved, alongside the question of having dinner sometime. He had immediately discarded it, as he had no more need for the girl.

“But I was told by the Chief Auror himself that this innovation wasn’t created until March 1942, it wasn’t presented to the Minister until December 1942, and wasn’t greenlit until barely two weeks ago. How is it, Mr Albrecht, that you traced the magical signature of my client using an unheard of form of magic?”

“Um,” The auror floundered, and Tom revelled in his misery, “I– well, maybe you have your dates wrong.”

“I do not,” Lord Black replied harshly, before turning to Bones, “This evidence has been falsified, clearly, as it is impossible that a junior auror is claiming to be capable of such advanced spell creation an entire month before it was on the Ministry’s radar. Chief Warlock, I move for the dismissal of this piece of evidence.”

Bones let out a sigh, “Accepted, Lord Black. Auror Albrecht, you may take your departure.”
The auror scuttled off, the reporter grinned widely, and the young man sat back in his seat and crossed his arms. Tom wondered what other evidence they could possibly have.

“Mr Peverell, could you retake the stand.” Bones asked, shuffling his papers and motioning to the woman at his side. He whispered something in her ear, and she hurried out of the courtroom.

“Would you be willing to testify under veritaserum?” The Chief Warlock asked, and Tom sat up slightly in his chair. Hadrian had an allergic reaction to the potion last time… surely he wasn’t going to do so again.

“Yes,” Hadrian said confidently, eyes flicking up to where Tom sat and holding a defiant edge to them.

“Very well. Please, Mr Vine, administer three drops to Mr Peverell.”

After a short and pudgy man had dropped the liquid onto Hadrian’s tongue, the questioning commenced.

“Please recount, for the jury, the exact events of February 2nd as you recall it.”

Harry settled back into his seat, mind whirring and head pounding. He had barely been listening to the proceedings, far too engrossed in the Grindelwald lookalike currently sat barely ten feet away staring at him with an intensity usually reserved for Tom.

He took a deep breath, eyes darting to Lord Black who gave him a nod. Harry had been practicing this for days, locked away in that cell, and had even ran it past his fellow fugitive. John had found it quite amusing, and Harry had subsequently given up talking to him. 

Currently, the potion worked its magic and Harry felt oddly compelled to speak. It was a strange feeling, and he didn’t like it one bit. Maybe because it reminded him of that day in the dormitory… He shook the thought off, beginning to recount the day.

“I spent my day inside the house, reading and catching up on the school work my father had left me. Some simple transfiguration, charms, normal school stuff. After dinner, that would have been around six in the evening, maybe closer to seven, I left to go on a walk. Just to get some air, you know, after being cooped up inside all day. It was one of the nicer days in February, I remember, and the evening was not too cold. I returned around ten to find the place we were staying…” 

He paused, looking down at his lap just as he had practiced, “Sorry.”

“That’s alright, Mr Peverell, take the time you need,” Bones said, and he could hear the sympathy in his house.

Harry found that it was quite easy to avaid the fact that he had set the house on fire, because he honestly had no memory of it. The only reason he was able to recount Hadrian Peverell’s day was, quite honestly, because the Veritaserum was weak and because he had already managed to convince himself that this was what actually happened.

“I found the house on fire. It was Scotland, a really quiet area, nobody around for miles… I- I didn’t know what to do, I tried to put out the fire but it wouldn’t work. I used Aguamenti at least five or ten times but… But it was like the flames were alive, or impervious to water. The aurors arrived twenty, maybe thirty, minutes later and the flames were still going. I was taken away for questioning by one of the aurors, given a blanket, and then… well, I was then taken to my other relatives.”

Bones nodded slowly, and Harry chanced a glance at the group of jurors that would decide his fate. Only a couple looked sceptical, the rest only looked at him with such pity in his eyes. They only saw a young boy who had lost his parents too soon. The thought of his deception made him feel almost sick.

“You are also here to answer charges with regard to your support of the Dark Lord Grindelwald,” Bones continued, “I will now ask you the questions put forward by Lord Black.”

“Mr Peverell, have you ever sworn allegiance to the Dark Lord Grindewald?”

“No.”

“Have you ever attended a rally to his support?”

“No.”

“Do you sympathize with his cause, namely the genocide of muggles and the superiority of wizardkind?”

“No,” He replied forcefully, feeling angry that those questions were even being asked (even if he had been well aware of what he would be questioned about previously).

“Have you, or would you ever, considered joining Grindelwald’s cause?”

“No, never.”

At that, he glared up at the white haired man lounging casually in the seats with such bitter hatred it could have shattered glass. Grindelwald moved a mocking finger to his mouth. Harry seriously was considering shouting that the Dark Lord was sat in that very room, and only the worry that the man would murder the entirety of the courtroom kept him silent. There had to be a reason for his attendance, and Harry just didn’t know what.

Harry also didn’t know how nobody else recognised him, even if he had somehow managed to de-age himself fifty years.

“The antidote please, Mr Vine,” Bones said finally, and a vial of soap tasting liquid was thrust into his mouth, burning its way down his throat.

“If there are no more questions, then I present the case of Hadrian Ignotus Peverell to the jury.”

He sat up even straighter in his seat, head swinging to the group of people sat at the side.

“Raise your wand if you find Mr Peverell guilty for the charge of the murder of Damian and Jocasta Peverell.”

Not one person raised their wand.

“And now for his innocence?” 

Eleven wands raised, one particularly nasty looking woman abstaining from voting at all.

“Raise your wand if you find Mr Peverell guilty of collusion with the Dark Lord Grindelwald.”

Again, nobody raised their wands.

“And now for his innocence?”

Twelve wands raised, even as the pale faced woman from before seemed reluctant in this.

“The court finds Hadrian Ignotus Peverell innocent of all charges. Court adjourned.”

He slumped back in his seat as Lord Black made his way over, before Harry’s gaze shot to his right where– Where nobody sat, the seat in which Grindelwald occupied empty and no trace of him remaining.

“Congratulations, Mr Peverell,” Black said, extending a hand, “I will say that they had barely any evidence to go off to begin with, it was rather strange that they called you to court at all.”

“Yeah,” Harry replied, quietly, “Thank you for defending me.”

“Nonsense, it’s my job. I’ll send you the bill shortly.” He gave a nod, releasing Harry’s grip, “You have friends in high places, I’ve noticed before, but you should be wary. It appears that you have enemies in high places also, someone with the power to influence the auror department and the Ministry itself. I would watch your back, Mr Peverell.”

Lord Black looked down at him with a considering expression, before turning to follow the jury from the room.

“Who was that man?” A voice came from beside him, and Harry blinked up at Tom Riddle, “The one with the white hair. You spent half the trial staring at him, don’t tell me you invited your boyfriend.” 

Harry spluttered, “Absolutely not. I’ll tell you at home.”

He turned to hurry from the room, Tom on his heel.

“I’m pleased you haven’t been sent to Azkaban,” Tom continued, walking close beside him.

Harry laughed, “Because you wouldn’t be able to torment me otherwise?”

Tom smirked, “Something like that. Though really, it’s you doing the tormenting.”

He smacked Tom in the side, “Don’t be mean, I almost went to prison. I’m fragile, you should be kinder to me.”

“Only if you let me,” Tom replied in his ear, “Haven’t I been nice to you?”

Harry shivered slightly at how close the teenager was, coming to a pause inside the elevator and glaring up at him.

“No, and don’t think I’ve forgotten about that vow we were doing before the aurors arrived.”

He smirked happily at the pout on Tom’s mouth, and thought that maybe things would finally go his way.

Chapter Text

They stopped outside of the Ministry, the streets of London busting with people on their lunchbreaks. Harry had, in all honestly, just been following Tom’s lead. He didn’t have a clue how they were going to get home, seeing as they’d apparated to the Ministry in the first place.

“We can’t do the vow at the cottage,” Tom said, turning to face Harry.

Harry snorted, throwing his head back, “You aren’t going to come up with an excuse, are you Tom?”

Tom rolled his eyes, “No, but–”

“Oh here we go…”

“But,” Tom emphasised, “The vow counts as magic, so we need to go elsewhere. I was thinking we drop by Orion’s, make up for the way you kicked him out the other day.”

Harry scowled, “We aren’t allowed to do magic anywhere, Tom, no matter if its our cottage or Orion’s mansion.”

While he may be immune to whatever trace was on his wand, Tom most certainly wasn’t.

“On the contrary,” Tom replied with a knowing smirk, “We can do magic in wizard heavy areas, such as Diagon Alley, or wizarding homes such as Orion’s house. It’s hardly a mansion, Hadrian.”

“Do you know where he lives?” Harry grumbled after a moment, ignoring Tom’s knowledgeable speel and fiddling with the wand in his holster. It felt good to have it back, even if he had only been without it for a few days.

“Of course, come on. I even brought the parchment you kindly wrote our vow on,” Tom drawled imperiously, holding out the folded up paper to Harry, “Ever been on the Knight Bus?”

He let out a groan, but accepted the parchment, “Surely we can floo or something…”

“From what fireplace?”

Harry tutted, annoyed, but followed Tom down the road and into a smaller offroad less frequented by muggles. The Knight Bus was hardly the best way of transport, and he knew that they would end up trekking up to Glasgow before ever making it to where Orion lived.

They didn’t, which would have been a relief had they not stopped off in Durham instead. It did take only twenty, long minutes of clutching forcefully onto the seat infront of him before they reached their destination.

“This’ll be the second time in a week I’ve turned up unannounced to the Black’s home,” Tom mused aloud, stepping gracefully off the triple decker purple bus and onto the pebbled street below, “They must be getting tired of me.”

“Oh, likely,” Harry replied instinctively, though his gaze was fixed on the very familiar wall of houses lining the street. Number 12 Grimmauld Place. It had been too long… he wondered if Kreacher were there still? Yet?

“Rude,” Tom grumbled, walking up to the door in question before knocking loudly, “We’re here to see Orion.”

The old and wrinkled house elf had poked his head around the door, narrowing his eyes at Tom and Harry, before widening it to let them through.

It looked exactly like it had in the 90s, old and worn, but without the portrait of Walburga or the troll leg umbrella stand. There was also more of a vibrancy to the place, if you could call the dark wood and gloomy atmosphere vibrant, and it felt more lived in than the last time Harry had seen it. He could almost, almost, imagine people living there.

“Hello,” Harry said, directing the greeting to Kreacher who was mumbling under his breath.

Kreacher narrowed his eyes even further, wringing his hands together, “Mudbloods disgracing the halls of my noble masters…”

He never changed, Harry thought with a fondness that took him entirely by surprise.

“I’m Hadrian,” He introduced, ignoring the insults, “Peverell.”

Kreacher tutted, straightening slightly, “Kreacher has heard of the Peverell boy from the Young Master Orion.”

“Yes, and we would like to see him now,” Tom demanded, looking up the stairs as if he could picture exactly where Orion was.

“Please,” Harry emphasised, “Please get Orion for us, Kreacher.”

Kreacher disappeared with a silent pop.

Tom looked at Harry as if he were baffled by his politeness, but before either of them could defend their actions a small dot of black hair came hurtling down the corridor towards them.

Harry inhaled sharply as Orion tackled him round the middle, “Thank Merlin you’re alright.”

“I always am,” He said fondly, happily embracing Orion in the hug, “Remember after the petrification? I’m getting Deja Vu.”

“Day– what?” Orion asked, peering up at him.

“Deja Vu,” Tom stated, “The feeling that one has seen or heard something before.”

“Oh,” Orion said, smiling nonetheless, “Well, they had no right to put you to trial anyway. The Ministry are clawing for power at the minute, with Grindelwald on our doorstep. That’s what mother says, anyway.”

“And she’s quite right,” Tom replied, nodding, “They’ve arrested anyone with any sort of link to Grindelwald, no matter how tenuous. Five trials a day, half of which the defendant is pronounced innocent because there just isn’t any evidence.”

“Seriously?” Harry questioned, frowning. It reminded him of all the trials Umbridge held, prosecuting every muggle born imaginable for simple being born to the wrong people.

“I’m glad you’re here, Hadrian,” Orion said, suddenly beginning to bounce up and down, “I wanted to invite you before, just never got around to it!”

“Orion,” Tom interrupted, “Is there a room where we can talk in private? Hadrian and I need to do something, it’ll only take five minutes and then you can give him as long a tour as you want.”

Yes, Harry wanted to say, they could go into any of the bedrooms on the second floor. But then he quickly realised that he wasn’t supposed to have been here before, and that they might be occupied by members of Orion’s family.

Orion nodded, “My sister is sat in the kitchen, or I would let you use that. My room is just up here, though, so I can make sure you’re not interrupted.”

“Good,” Tom said, at the same time as Harry replied, “You have a sister?”

Orion seemed to flush slightly red, stating tersely, “Yes.”

“I didn’t think she would be at home,” Tom said as they followed the other boy up the stairs.

Harry was confused, though Orion seemed to get his meaning, “The wedding is next year, so Lucretia is at home until then.”

Orion paused outside one of the rooms, opposite the one that used to be Sirius’, and opened the door.

“Take as long as you need, I’ll be… somewhere.” 

Tom swept into the room without acknowledging him. 

“Thanks, Orion, we won’t be long.” Harry said, smiling briefly at the boy before following Tom into the bedroom.

“Lucretia Black is engaged to Ignatius Prewett,” Tom said, “It came as quite the shock to both families, though I suppose she could have done worse. He’s a pureblood, at least.”

“Need I remind you we are both half-bloods?” Harry drawled, eyes casually sweeping over the room. It was fairly plain, with a dark green colour scheme. The bookshelf was filled with old textbooks and newspapers and the wooden wardrobe hung slightly ajar, but it didn’t seem to hold as much personality as Ron’s Chudley Cannon themed room or even Dudley’s second bedroom.

Harry wandered over to the the shelf, plucking a picture frame off of it.

“For the purebloods, it’s important,” Tom clarified from behind Harry, though he was hardly listening. 

He ran his finger over the moving picture. It was of Orion, Abraxas, and Tom on what must have been one of the last days of Fourth Year. They stood outside the castle, grinning broadly, Tom with his hands in his pockets and Orion with his arms draped over the two either side of him, even if he was at least a head shorter. It was a nice picture, and even Tom managed to look so young in it.

“Ah,” Tom said, startling Harry out of his thoughts, “That was the hottest day of the year, half the school got points taken for uniform violations before the staff realised that it was just too hot to wear robes.”

“Not you?” Harry queried, pointing at Tom’s full school get up.

“I don’t get warm,” Tom smirked.

Harry scowled, whacking Tom in the side, “Then you won’t mind sleeping with a shirt on then, will you?”

The teenager tutted, ignoring him but evidently caught out, “The vow?”

“Right,” Harry replied, remembering why they were there and pulling the paper from his trouser pocket.

“So, you will not create any horcruxes, you will not murder–”

“Unless in self defence,” Tom interrupted, “What if I find myself in the middle of a warzone?”

“You wouldn’t need to–” Harry growled under his breath, “Fine.”

“You will not murder anyone, unless you’re life is in danger and you are performing in self defence. In return, I will–”

“Be my second in command in the Slytherin court,” Tom interrupted, “You will join the Knights and I in meetings, and…” He grinned, fierce and strong, “and I want you to truthfully answer five questions of my choosing.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, “Asking for a lot, aren’t you? One question.”

Tom shook his head, “You are the one asking me to give up the last year of my work, three questions truthfully answered.”

“Two, then.” Harry bargained, finding himself more and more frustrated with Tom’s wishes.

“Two truthfully answered questions, and you follow the conversation through afterwards. No one word answers and then scurrying off to hide.”

Harry found himself glaring at Tom, scrunching the parchment between his hands before realising that he really did need the wording on the paper to make it foolproof.

“I assume you have your wand?” Harry replied.

“Who do you take me for, a muggle?” Tom parried, rolling his wand over his pale knuckles with perfected ease.

He watched the other boys hands, scowling impatiently, “You are so infuriating, I don’t–”

Harry cut himself off, “The vow, come on.”

“As you wish,” Tom said cheerfully, the smile on his face so bright and happy it was as if he had won the lottery.

“I, Tom Marvolo Riddle, swear on my magic that I will not create a horcrux, or kill another human being unless my life is forfeit or under threat, so long as Hadrian Ignotus Peverell fulfulls our bargain. So mote it be.”

Harry felt a wave of satisfaction rush through him, satisfaction that clearly wasn’t his and instead was the doing of Death’s. 

And it only took you 10 months… Death spoke, his voice laced with sarcasm, Murder on your part would have been quicker, though I suppose this works also. I am pleased with you, Master.

Harry cleared his throat, raising his wand and ignoring the ringing in his ears.

“I, Hadrian Ignotus Peverell, swear on my magic that I will become Tom Marvolo Riddle’s second in command in the Slytherin court for the next two years, and that I will make my best attempt to attend the meetings of the Knights of Walpurgis, unless illness strikes or I have conflicting obligations that are deemed important by either members of this vow. I will also answer two questions from Tom Marvolo Riddle, truthfully. So mote it be.” 

He felt a rush of magic overcome him, warm and tingling all the way down his spine.

“Jesus,” He muttered, craning his neck, “That was…”

“Intense?” Tom finished his sentence, “Your wording was very thought out, imagine if you had lost your magic because you slept through one of our meetings? Disastrous.”

Harry scowled, jabbing Tom with his wand in the ribs, “Bastard.”

Tom smiled, clearly satisfied, “Let us not keep Orion waiting any longer, I can hear him pacing the halls outside.”

With that, the teenager walked back over to the door and yanked it open.

“All done?” He heard Orion say, though Harry hadn’t moved from his spot in the room.

Harry felt… underwhelmed. He had done it, solved the problem that was Voldemort, and it had been far from easy. Yet in this moment it felt too easy… Where was the murder? The threats? He certainly had expected Tom to put up a fuss about giving up immortality, giving up murder, and yet he had gone through with it with only minor bartering. Unease pooled in his stomach as he waited for the penny to drop, the moment of realisation that something else needed solving or fighting.

What was his purpose now? Did he have one? Or, God forbid, could Harry just… live? Sure, he would keep an eye on Tom to make sure he didn’t find a way to worm out of the vow or find another way of immortality or… something nefarious like that. 

He nodded to himself. Yes, he just needed to keep close to Tom Riddle and keep him in check. 

Harry looked over his shoulder and found that the boy in question was watching him closely, and realised he had been staring into the distance for too long.

He moved around the bed and over to the door, stopping just beside Tom.

“Don’t suppose we could have some lunch, Orion?” Harry said, forcing his voice to sound lighter and less filled with worry.

But Orion was looking between the two of them with a tilted head and a considering expression.

“Sure,” Orion replied lightly, eyes flicking between Tom and Harry, “I’ll get Kreacher to make something up. Sandwiches okay?”

“Sounds perfect,” Tom replied, and Harry could feel the dark brown of his eyes bearing into him.

“That’s good with me,” Harry added, focussing hard on Orion’s face instead of the teenager beside him.

“Right,” Orion replied, giving them one last, concerned, look, “Come on then, I’ll set us up in the garden.”

Chapter Text

The sun was causing Harry to sweat tumultuous amounts, and it wasn’t pleasant. As much as he enjoyed Orion’s company, he didn’t think the boy’s choice to sit outside had been a very good one. Tom was obviously feeling similar, the tops of his ears and cheeks having turned a pinkish colour. He was burning up, and Harry knew that he– too– was on the verge of becoming burnt.

Orion, somehow, was managing to avoid the stuffiness of the heat and the raging of the sun and was happily chatting at the both of them while nibbling on cucumber sandwiches and sipping on lemon water. It was all very fancy, and all very proper, and if it had been inside Harry would not have minded it one bit.

Apologetically, Harry interrupted the younger boy’s tirade, “Orion, It’s been a long day, so I think that I might leave now. If Tom wants to–”

“I’ll join you,” Tom interrupted, standing quickly and shuffling towards the house, “The trial was very stressful, and I think Hadrian needs a good nights rest away from the cells at the Ministry.”

“Yup,” Harry said, nodding. Orion engulfed him in a hug once more, and Harry realised with a pang of upset that he smelled just like Sirius.

Tom shot him an enquiring look, “You can always see Orion another time, if you’re that distraught about leaving him.”

“It’s fine,” Harry bit out, hurrying from the house and summoning the Knight Bus.

“It feels good to be back,” Harry said, sighing as he opened the door to the cottage. The slightly dusty and dirty quality of the house didn’t take away from its calmness, its feeling of home. 

“Agreed. It was boring without you and the bed was too cold…”

Harry batted him on the arm, “It’s summer, Tom, what did I say about lying to get me into bed?”

“You haven’t mentioned it,” Tom replied, “But now that you brought it up…”

He placed his hand quickly over Tom’s mouth, eyebrows shooting into his hair, “No, no, no. That we sleep in the same bed is bad enough, Tom.”

Tom tried to reply, his voice muffled, though Harry could make out the gist of what he was saying. And he didn’t like it, not one bit. It seemed snarky and rude and utterly Tom Riddle.

“If I remove my hand, do you promise to change the subject?” Harry asked, and Tom nodded.

The other teenager ran a hand through his hair, “Who was the man at the trial?”

Harry groaned, a low and annoyed thing that signified how he had forgotten about it, “Grindelwald.” 

Tom scrunched his nose, “Don’t joke.”

“I’m not, that’s the thing. It was a freaky, younger version of Grindelwald. He must have had a glamour on… I thought that he had disillusioned himself to everyone except me but, if you saw him, then I don’t know how anyone didn’t recognise him.”

“He has an unnatural obsession with you,” Tom agreed, humming, “It’s quite abnormal.”

Harry snorted slightly, regarding Tom. The boy was completely serious in his words, not noticing the comparison between himself and Grindelwald. Though, maybe, it was the comparison between Voldemort and Grindelwald. Harry did, in fact, attract Dark Lord’s like moths to lamps.

“You can say that again,” Harry agreed, before frowning.

“What’s that noise?” Harry asked, turning his head around in order to find the source.
 
Tom cocked his head to the side, smirking, “I got chickens.”

“Chickens?” 

“Yes,” Tom said, drawing himself up to his full height, “You told me you’d be satisfied with three meals a day, some chickens and a nice garden. So I got you chickens. Besides, they’ll be good for eggs.”

Harry opened his mouth, then closed it.

“I only got two,” Tom continued, seemingly not noticing Harry’s surprise, “But maybe they’ll breed and we can have a flock of them.”

“You remembered?” Harry asked, his voice quieter than he’d wanted.

Tom settled him with a stare, “Of course, Hadrian. I do listen to what you say.”

He shook his head, disbelieving, “Right.”

Harry shot one last look at Tom, who was looking far too smug, before heading towards the back door. He poked his head around and it was true, there was a shoddily made wooden nesting box and two chickens plodding around the garden and picking at the grass.

“I named one,” Tom said from right behind Harry, causing him to jump at his closeness. He shut the door, turning with a raised eyebrow.

“I don’t trust you to name animals,” Harry said, his tone laced with doubt and slight amusement at the thought of Tom bloody Riddle going to buy chickens. Where he even got them from, Merlin knows.

“You can name the other, of course,” Tom replied, as if it were a given.

“The one with the black head is called Salazar,” He continued, gesturing over Harry’s shoulder.

“Really?” Harry drawled, but Tom seemed deadly serious, “You named our chicken Salazar.”

He regarded the other chicken carefully, “Then the other one can be Godric.”

“Seriously? That’s a female chicken.” Tom said with a sniff.

“They have to have a theme!” Harry said, scowling at the other teenager’s amused expression, “And I think Godric is a better name for a chicken than Salazar.”

“Because all Gryffindors are cowards? Nice one, Hadrian,” Tom said, nodding.

Harry spluttered, “No. Well, I guess that makes Slytherins cowards too.”

Tom looked offended, “We’re both Slytherins, you’re calling us both cowards.”

He only shrugged in response, “I’m a Gryffindor at heart, I guess. And Slytherin’s are cowards, they’re the ones who run from danger.”

“It’s called being calculating, Mr Gryffindor,” Tom said turning his head to the side as if he had heard something.

He took off down the corridor at breakneck speed, Harry following at a curious yet slower pace.

“Aha!” Tom said, taking a set of envelopes from the owl that had been tapping on their window, “At last… I thought they were taking a bit too long.”

“What?” Harry asked, coming up beside Tom and accepting the thick letter he had passed him.

“OWL results,” Tom muttered, barely casting Harry a glance as he ripped open the letter and eyed it’s contents greedily.

Harry took the prompt and glanced down at his own letter, his name and address written in smooth cursive on the front. With a lot more patience, and a lot less enthusiasm, Harry sliced open the envelope and read through the contents. He was not, it was safe to say, that excited at the prospect of seeing what grades he had achieved. This wasn’t the first time he had sat OWLs, however, so he did expect to get a slighter better mark than before.

He looked up at Tom, who was nodding and bearing a pleased expression on his face. Tom didn’t even look surprised, so Harry assumed he had gotten straight outstandings. The teenager folded his paper, and slipped it into his pocket, before looking at Harry expectantly.

Harry shifted, squinting at the small letters on the page, before reading them again and sighing in relief.

“Thank Merlin,” He said, waving the letter in Tom’s face, “I passed! Even History… I didn’t think I’d scraped through on that one.”

“You’re standards are awfully low,” Tom noticed, smirking and snatching the letter from his hands.

“I assume you’ll take NEWTS in all these then?” Tom continued, having regarded Harry’s scores with a pleased hum.

Harry choked out a laugh, “No way, I’m not doing NEWT Runes.”

“But you got an EE,” Tom replied, seeming confused, “That qualifies you for the NEWT.”

He shook his head, “You’re just like Hermione, Merlin. I exceeded my own expectations by even passing, and I only passed because you tutored me day and night for about a month. I wouldn’t do well in the NEWT without you, Tom.”

Tom blinked down at him, still seeming confused, “I’d help you again, of course.”

Harry frowned, “I wouldn’t make you spent that much time on me. Besides, I think four NEWTs is more than enough. Plus Quidditch, now that the actual Slytherin seeker has graduated.”

“Only four?” Tom questioned with a frown that seemed even deeper than before, “I’m doing eight.”

Harry’s eyes widened, though he didn’t know why he was surprised at the number.

“You’re going to do NEWT History?” Harry asked, having done the maths.

“Self study, obviously. I think I’ll sit it at the end of this year, as it only takes one memorisation of the textbook and decent essay writing skills.”

Harry clicked his jaw shut to prevent his laugh, but smiled nonetheless, “That’s the most Ravenclaw thing I’ve ever heard. Maybe the chicken should have been called Rowena…”

Tom’s cheeks reddened slightly, “Just because I take pride in my studies, does not make me a Ravenclaw.”

“No, no,” Harry chuckled, “You’re a cunning, slimy snake through and through.”

Tom nodded imperiously, seemingly satisfied with Harry’s description, before adding, “Snakes aren’t slimy.”

Harry only laughed louder, retreating back into the coolness of the house. Now that he was able to think, removed from the business of the Ministry of Grimmauld Place, he found himself to be exceptionally tired.

“I’m going to have a nap,” He said, backing down the corridor towards the bedroom, “Wake me for dinner?”

“Of course,” Tom replied, “I’ll make your favourite.”

“Thanks– wait, what do you think my favourite is?”

“Pancakes, obviously,” Tom said, smiling almost fondly, “I think I want to try them with savoury toppings, if you’re up for a change.”

Something warm fluttered in Harry’ heart, blooming and twisting, “Sounds perfect.”

When Tom woke the next morning, it was to a cold and empty bed. He frowned to himself, wiping the sleep from his eyes and placing his bare feet on the wooden floor. They really needed a rug.

He had fallen asleep quite early last night, Hadrian still roaming around the house, and it seemed like the teenager hadn’t even gone to bed. The sun was seeming to still be rising, what on earth had the boy been doing?

Tom plodded into the kitchen, well aware of the earliness of the morning, to find it empty. Tom shuffled where he stood, where was Hadrian? The bathroom, also, was empty. Surely he wasn’t outside… yes, it was summer, but it was barely five in the morning.

Hadrian was, in fact, on the porch. He still wore his pyjamas, his hair was still messed up and wavy, and yet he sat cross legged in front of an army of plants. An army.

There must have been seven or eight bright green plants surrounding him. Each of them were settled messily in a plant pot. Hadrian was currently running his hands over the blackened leaves of a plant, scrunching his face in concentration. It was… cute. The tips of his ears were slightly reddened, either from the coolness of the morning or the sheer power he was attempting to force into this plant.

Tom didn’t speak, though, he didn’t want to distract Hadrian from whatever he was doing. He simply leant back against the railing of the porch, and muffled his yawns so as not to disturb him.

“Stupid fucking–” Hadrian muttered, crushing one of the leaves under his fist. It wasn’t, evidently, turning green or being revived in anyway. Tom wondered if he had exhausted his powers already.

It took five minutes for Tom to get bored of Hadrian’s attempts, as they clearly weren’t working and he wanted to give the boy some friendly advice.

“Maybe,” Tom drawled, and Hadrian’s head snapped up to look at him in surprise, “You should take a break. How long have you been out here?”

“How long have you been standing there?” Hadrian retorted, the light catching on his eyes and illuminating its greenness.

“Long enough to see that plant isn’t going to be revived any time soon. You’re exhausted, Hadrian.”

He slumped, the stiffness in his shoulders dissipating and the tiredness appearing through lines on his face. Hadrian cast one last, longing look towards the plant before letting out a sigh and standing.

“It still itches,” Hadrian muttered, almost too quiet for Tom to hear. But he did, obviously, and followed behind Hadrian with interest as the boy retreated inside.

“Itches?” Tom questioned, leaning up against the doorframe to their bedroom.

Hadrian flexed his hand, glancing down at it as if it had moved on its own.

“My brain,” Hadrian said, looking back towards Tom before perching back on the bed, “It’s like I need to revive things, but I spent hours trying and trying and it didn’t help.”

Tom pondered for a second, regarding Hadrian carefully. He seemed almost worried, and was once again biting his lip in irritation.

“What if you need to move on from plants? Small animals, perhaps,” Tom suggested, “We can scour the forest for some if you like.”

Hadrian hummed, falling back onto the bed, “Perhaps.” He sounded reluctant, for some reason that Tom couldn’t fathom. Surely resurrection would satisfy his moral needs? It wasn’t like he was murdering someone…

But he didn’t press, and after a moment Tom realised that Hadrian was fast asleep. Still clothed, not under the covers, and facing the wrong way. Tom watched him fondly, his face lacking in any stress lines and looking so at peace in sleep.

It was time for Tom to implement Stage 2 of his plan (again). 

Chapter Text

Harry hasn’t wanked in almost two months.

It wasn’t like he didn’t want to (he really, really, did) it was just the fact he was living in close proximity to Tom Riddle. The house had thin walls, they shared a room, and Harry was sure he could even hear Tom breathing in the shower. So where was he meant to blow off some steam? Nowhere, was apparently the answer. Because it was the end of July, and Harry was incredibly sexually frustrated.

He had entertained the brief idea of trekking out into the forest, and then had the overwhelming image of him being attacked by mosquitos or ants (and wouldn’t that be embarrassing). As such, he found himself constantly frustrated, well aware of his tapping foot and snappy answers.

It had been easier even at Hogwarts, living in a dorm with five people, as he had been able to hide behind the curtains of his bed, casting a quick and powerful silencing–

Ah.

Harry jumped up, announcing to Tom, who lay casually on their sofa, “I’m going to have a shower.”

He heard the muffled and confused, “You had one this morning–”

But Harry ignored it, speeding off into the bathroom, and cursing his idiocy for not remembering that his wand didn’t register the trace. Two months worth of abstinence, and he finally remembered that he was a wizard. Christ, Ron would find it hilarious.

Harry didn’t recall being this horny at sixteen the first time round, though sixteen year old Harry Potter had been more focussed on saving the world than he had been with sex. 

He stripped quickly, turning on the shower and (for the first time) waving his wand to switch it to a hot temperature. Before, it had merely been a vaguely uncomfortable lukewarm and as such, Harry hadn’t spent that much time showering. In, wash body and hair, out. Now? This was likely to be the most relaxing and enjoyable shower of his life. 

Stepping into the tub, Harry cast a silencing charm on the area before throwing his wand down onto the side and relaxing under the (admittedly scorching hot) water. The room began to steam, slowly but surely, until Harry was enveloped in its warmth.

He dipped his hand down to stroke at his cock, steadying himself with a hand on the tiled wall as arousal pooled low in his stomach. A low noise of satisfaction came from his throat as he thought about the last time he’d been with Fred, lying back on the bed naked and flushed after they’d spent the past few hours together. Harry frowned at the thought, feeling slightly put out at how little it did for his erection, but carried on as if nothing were wrong.

His thoughts turned to Ginny, how beautiful her hair was and how good of a kisser she had been but that, too, made him feel more sad than aroused and soon the image of her red hair had turned darker. Harry closed his eyes, pressing his head against the forearm on the wall, pulling roughly at his cock at the picture of a faceless, dishevelled person.

If there wasn’t anyone he liked well enough to fantasise about, then he may as well make one up himself.

Immediately, he thought of someone male, their toned body stretched out beneath him and his arms resting, casually, above him. His dark hair was ruffled, so unlike its usual perfection, as he looked up at Harry with eyes blown almost black with longing.

Harry moaned, a gravelly sound that seemed almost foreign to his ears, as the faceless fantasy opened his mouth.

“Hadrian,” He crooned, voice low and laced with desire. Harry’s hips jerked and he came, splattering the off-blue walls with white that was almost immediately washed away by the shower. 

There was impatient knocking at the door, “Hadrian,” The voice said again, “Are you quite all right? You’ve been in there far too long.”

Harry groaned, embarrassed, at the fact that it had been Tom’s voice that had gotten him to the point of ejaculation.

He reached over for his wand, still dripping wet and drops of come still splattered on his stomach, and cancelled the silencing spell. The knocks were still pounding at the door.

“I’m fine,” Harry shouted, his voice breaking slightly, “Stop yelling at me.”

If he hadn’t dipped back under the shower, in order to rid himself of any evidence of what he’d done, Harry would have heard Tom’s reply.

“I wouldn’t have interrupted if you’d have told me you were wanking. Merlin, how horny are you?” 

Luckily, Harry refrained from punching the mirror once he’d gotten out of the shower and back changed into his clothes. It was perfectly normal to find someone attractive, he told himself, it didn’t mean anything. Tom was, after all, conventionally attractive and he would be lying to himself if he said otherwise. It wasn’t like the teenager would ever find out.

He returned to the living area with towel dried hair, finding Tom still lounging on the sofa with a book in hand.

“Bathroom’s free,” Harry said, after a moment where Tom didn’t rise from his seat.

Tom only hummed in acknowledgement.

“Don’t you need to… you know, go? You practically brought the door down knocking,” Harry added, crossing his arms and cocking his hip.

“Oh, no,” Tom flicked a page, not looking up, “I was just making sure you hadn’t fallen over and drowned in there.”

“I didn’t take that long,” Harry objected.

Tom chuckled, “Two showers in one day? Must be a new record, I never took you for a clean freak.”

Harry shuffled, almost flinching at the word, “Well, it’s very humid and I don’t like being… sticky.”

“Sticky?” 

“Right,” Harry said, clearing his throat, “It’s not a crime to shower, Tom.”

“You must be bored,” Tom replied, shutting his book quite forcefully, “If you’re taking forty minute showers now. We should find you a hobby, like resurrecting animals.”

Harry snorted, falling back onto the sofa beside Tom, “You’re so insistent about that, aren’t you?”

He shifted, so that he was sitting facing Tom and cross legged on the sofa, “But you’re right, I am bored.”

Tilting his head slightly to look at Harry, Tom smirked and leant further back into the sofa, “How about we return to our roots and play another game.”

His eyes glinted in anticipation, the tilt of Tom’s lips telling Harry that he had walked into one of his carefully curated conversations.

“You want to ask me questions?” Harry stated, rolling his eyes, “All right. I’ll be magnanimous, you can go first.”

“Big words today… Well done, Hadrian,” Tom taunted, evidently pleased, “But I want it to be mutual, so these questions are not going to be a part of our vow.”

Harry breathed a sigh of relief, almost glad that he wouldn’t have to face that particular conundrum so quickly.

“Light hearted, also,” Tom added after a moment of pondering, “I feel like there is so much I don’t know about you.”

“Likewise,” Harry replied, amused and a tad confused at why Tom would want to play a light hearted game. Maybe it was something malicious, hidden away in a sweet coating, “You know that asking light-hearted questions to get to know each other is just a normal conversation… right?”

Tom blinked, letting out a breath through his nose, “Can you blame me for asking your permission first? You’ve been in a bit of a mood recently.”

“Maybe because you outed my boyfriend to his father,” Harry retorted, “And now I’m upset because I can’t speak to him anymore.”

He felt that he had to spell it out quite clearly to Tom, who was lacking in experience in the emotions department.

“You don’t seem angry about it,” Tom replied casually, though his whole demeanour had fallen into something more defensive. Harry felt a pang of disappointment at the disappearance of a casual Tom Riddle.

He fiddled with the end of shirt, ignoring Tom’s gaze, “I’m more sad than angry, now. Disappointed.”

“You’ll get over him,” Tom replied, flapping a hand.

Harry laughed darkly, though he didn’t know how to respond. 

“You need to date someone else,” Tom added when it appeared like Harry wasn’t going to answer, “Bounce back, get your mind off of Frederick.”

Harry scoffed, “I’m happy being a bachelor for the moment, thank you. Besides, I’ll not have much time for boyfriends or girlfriends next year.”

“No?” Tom prodded, turning so his whole body was mirroring Harry’s seated position on the sofa, “I didn’t know you were interested in girls.”

“I’ve got to look after you this year, Tom. Stop you torturing your little subjects,” Harry replied, with a pointed look, “And, yes, people are allowed to like both genders.”

Tom grinned wickedly, “You won’t date anyone because of me? I’m flattered, Hadrian, truly.”

Harry clicked his tongue, biting down a smile, “Though I was wondering if Abraxas would be down for something…”

“You wouldn’t,” Tom said, his eyes widening and jaw clenching, “He’s… not your type.”

“And you know what my type is?” Harry teased, leaning forward so that his elbows rested on his knees and his head was in his hands.

“I know all sorts of things about you,” Tom insisted, “Like I know Abraxas definitely isn’t your type, not that he’s into men anyway.”

“I don’t know,” Harry pondered, biting his lip, “I think blondes are quite fetching, don’t you?”

“No,” Tom said quickly, seriously, “Brunettes are more my speed.”

“Do tell,” Harry asked, biting down his laughter, “What’s your type?”

Tom raised a hand, counting off items on his fingers, “Intelligent, nice eyes, not too tall, magically powerful… interesting. Can’t be too boring, or else I will lose interest. Let me think–”

“So… Dumbledore?” Harry teased, and was on the receiving end of a nasty scowl.

“Ugh, that’s blasphemy,” Tom muttered, looking as if there was a rather disgusting smell.

“Maybe I’ll set my sights on matchmaking you this term,” Harry thought, and spoke almost absentmindedly, “Ever thought about Zabini?”

“In the year below?” Tom thought, then shook his head, “Not my type.”

“Seriously?” Harry questioned, mimicking Tom’s earlier counting on his fingers, “Intelligent, nice eyes, he’s slightly shorter than you I think, very good at Potions, and I find him quite interesting. Did you know he came fifth in the International Duelling Tournament last year?”

“I did know that,” Tom snapped, crossing his arms like a petulant child, “And it was the Junior International Duelling Tournament. The girl who won was twelve and wore pigtails, not exactly the height of wizardry.”

Harry chuckled, “What’s interesting, then? If duelling isn’t your speed…”

“Necromancy,” Tom replied, “That’s interesting. Being good at Potions doesn’t make you powerful, not at all. A squib can brew a TOAD level potion, Wizards should aim higher than something that a near-muggle can do.”

He only rolled his eyes in response, “Grindelwald, then. I’ll set you two up, and you can go conquer the world together.”

Tom pouted, “Don’t tell me you found the guy attractive. He’s a terrorist with a penchant for torturing muggles, that’s quite distasteful.”

Harry barked out a laugh, clutching onto his chest. Oh, the irony! If only Tom understood.

“Maybe I have a thing for Dark Lord’s,” Harry replied after a moment, and Tom had begun poking at his legs– just for the attention, Christ the guy was needy.

“Can we not talk about Grindelwald and Dumbledore in a… sexual manner?” Tom asked, looking thoroughly put out. 

“Then why don’t you change the conversation topic then,” Harry teased.

Tom stood suddenly, “I think the pasta is boiling over.”

“Pasta?” Harry asked, perking up and peering over into the kitchen. He trailed along behind Tom to find two pans on the oven, one filled with a red, tomato sauce and the other with what presumably was pasta. Harry grabbed a spoon, turning the heat down and stirring the pasta.

“Yes, Hadrian, I am cooking dinner,” Tom said, rolling his eyes, “Again. I do all the work around here, haven’t you noticed?”

Harry pouted, straining the water into the sink, “That’s a lie!”

“I cooked you pancakes and made the coop for our chickens,” Tom objected, holding out his bowl, “It’s the least you can do to make me breakfast occasionally, or not use up all the hot water.”

Harry dolled out the pasta, mixing it with the tomato sauce, before realising what Tom had said.

“You made the coop? No wonder it’s so shabby.”

“How about you try to create a wooden construction using only muggle tools and your hands, in the heat of the summer, while chickens are nibbling at your feet.”

“Maybe next year,” Harry said, shovelling the pasta into his mouth with a hunger that was quite ravenous. It wasn’t bad, though the spirals were less spirally and more… flat pieces of dough. At least the sauce was nice, laced with garlic and onion.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, Harry eating his food quickly with no manners a stark contrast to how Tom consumed slow mouthfuls. 

“I do have someone I have been looking to court for quite some time now,” Tom said, after a beat, and as if he had been weighing his words up for the minutes before.

Harry raised his eyebrows, a cheeky grin settling on his face. If he could get Tom involved with someone, maybe the teenager would shift his focus onto relationships instead of… being a King. 

“Who?” He asked eagerly, waving his fork at Tom, “Tell me, tell me, tell me!”

“I won’t name names,” Tom replied, the little dimple appearing on his cheek, “But I would ask your advice on how to approach them. I’ve never done anything too courteous before. I think he’d appreciate it being done… kindly.”

Harry pushed down a pang of disappointment, something he couldn’t possibly want to dissect at this time, and continued to prod.

“If I knew who they were, it’d be much easier. I am a Casanova, afterall.”

“You are?” Tom retorted, “And who told you that?”

“Being mean won’t get you a date, that’s rule number one,” Harry said, adopting his teacher voice– the one that had worked so well when he instructed the DA, “I’m assuming they’re a Slytherin… maybe Ravenclaw. You wouldn’t go for either of the others… Maybe give them a book? With a little note inside it. Clever people like that sort of thing, don’t they?”

“Is that something you would find appealing?” Tom asked, resting his chin on his hands.

Harry thought for a second, “I’m not the biggest reader, but I think that it’s the thought that counts. Something personalised, that shows you know the person well. Do you know them well? I don’t see you interacting with many people on a personal level…”

“I do believe that I know them very well,” Tom replied, smiling as if he were prone to an inside joke.

“Don’t tell me it’s Nott,” Harry said, suddenly stern.

Tom shook his head, “Not at all, he’s too… plain.”

“I’m going to keep guessing,” Harry scratched his nose, thinking about the people in their year, “Not Abraxas… Nor Orion, Merlin. Oh!”

“Oh?” Tom parroted, “You think you know?”

Harry nodded, noticing how Tom’s eyes had sharpened, “Hector. He’s the same height as you, brunette, his eyes are fairly nice I suppose, and he’s very, very mysterious. Just up your alley. Am I right?”

“No.”

He frowned slightly, “Are they in our year, at least?”

Tom only shrugged, a casual gesture that seemed so out of place on his character.

“Fine. Just act like a nicer version of yourself, get them some gifts… sit with them in the common room, just flirt, I guess? Do you know how to flirt?”

“Evidently not well enough,” Tom muttered.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure they’ll find some redeeming qualities in you,” Harry teased, picking up his and Tom’s bowls and taking them to the sink.

“I hope so,” Tom replied, though he sounded forlorn and, if that were possible, wistful.

Chapter Text

The ballroom was brightly lit and busy, men and women stood around discussing various, boring things. It was familiar to Tom, who had attended Abraxas’ birthday ball every year since he was 13 and had ingratiated himself with the other boy. Or, more likely, scared with his parseltongue into getting an invite. He stood now, adorned in his borrowed robes, watching the room.

“Tom?” 

He turned, gracing Hadrian with a smile and explaining, “Abraxas’ birthday.”

“Ah,” Hadrian nodded. They both had received invitations a few mornings ago: black with golden embossed lettering, “It’s very…”

“Lively?”

“Busy. I didn’t realise Abraxas knew that many people.” Hadrian said, his eyes scanning over the room.

“He doesn’t… but his parents do,” Tom explained, before pointing out a group of people, “See? There is Isabella, but he would have to invite her family too, so she is joined by her parents and brother. And there’s the Minister, he’s a friend of Abraxas’ father.”

Hadrian snorted, “Of course a Malfoy would have the Minister at his birthday party… I don’t know why I’m surprised.”

“They do have a reputation,” Tom acquiesed, “But the main event happens afterwards, and Abraxas hides us all away in one of his hosting rooms with a deck of cards. This year will have firewhisky, I hear.”

“I guess that will make this all better,” Hadrian said, “Getting pissed and spilling alcohol on century old furniture.”

Tom smiled, looking Hadrian up and down. He was wearing dress robes similar to the ones he wore at Slughorn’s party, though they were more tightly fitted. 

Holding out his arm, Tom said, “Fancy a dance?”

To his surprise, Hadrian laughed and looped his arm through Tom’s, “Why not?”

Tom led them both to the middle of the dance floor, a feeling of something akin to elation pooling inside him at their closeness. He wondered what else Hadrian would allow him to do, placing a hand carefully on the teenager’s waist and taking his other hand. It was cool, almost inhuman, but thankfully not sweaty. 

They swayed to the music, Tom smirking everytime Hadrian stepped on his toes. He moved his hand lower, so that it settled not on Hadrian’s waist, but the bone of his hip. Hadrian didn’t notice, to focussed on getting the right steps of the dance. 

As the song came to an end, Tom pressed his entire body up against Hadrian’s. He was feeling bold, a Gryffindor-ish spirit overtaking him as he brought his face close to Hadrian’s. Neither moved away.

With only a minor thought, the rest of the ballroom guests whisked away so that it was just them. Just Tom and Hadrian standing in the centre of the room, pressed so close together that Tom knew exactly what was beneath those robes. Hadrian dropped Tom’s hand, cradling his face instead. There was a look in his eye that Tom couldn’t quite place, but one that he hoped was lust. 

But… something wasn’t right.

“Hadrian?” He muttered, his hands placed firmly on the other’s hips.

“Tom?” Hadrian responded, and Tom could feel his breaths. They were cold, just as the hands on his face were.

“This is…” Tom said, closing his eyes and stepping away and scowling.

It wasn’t one of their shared dreams, it was just… a dream. A normal dream, albeit one that would surely cause him to wake with an erection. 

Tom felt himself falling backwards until he hit the floor, and woke up with a jolt. He kept his eyes closed for a few seconds, relishing in the warmth of the bed and how his legs and lower body were intertwined with Hadrian’s, before opening them and gazing down at the teenager. Hadrian was fast asleep, breathing softly as if in a deep dream, and his head only inches away from Tom’s own. 

If he wanted, it would be so easy to move his face forward and embrace Hadrian in a kiss. But… but Tom found that he didn’t, not when Hadrian wasn’t there to enjoy it.

The other pressing issue was the uncomfortable erection, pressing up against the fabric of his pyjama bottoms. He swore internally, before slipping from the room and heading to the shower. 

It wasn’t even dawn yet, though the sunrise was surely approaching, and so Tom decided to have a quick, cold shower before slipping back into bed to try and gain a few more hours sleep. And, though he wouldn’t admit it to many, to gain a few more hours pressed up against Hadrian. Who would know if he wrapped an arm around Hadrian, pulling the teenager closer and relishing in his warmth? 

Tom awoke only a few hours later, and for a moment he was confused as to why. The sun had barely risen, and he knew that his sleep hadn’t been deep at all. His question was answered when he heard a strange, whimpering noise coming from Hadrian. He squirmed and shook, his face no longer the picture of a quiet and soothing dream.

A nightmare, likely.

He allowed Hadrian to cling to him, running a hand through his slightly damp hair, before shaking him awake.

“Hadrian,” He said, trying to wake the sleeping teenager, “Hadrian!”

Tom sighed, watching as Hadrian’s face scrunched up and he clinged further to Tom’s body. One of his arms was slung over Tom’s torso, the other clutching at the pillow beneath him.

There didn’t seem to be any waking him, and so Tom settled back down onto his pillow and drew Hadrian’s head onto his chest. It was the least he could do, and maybe the contact would settle him. 

“Shhh,” Tom whispered, still carding his hand through Hadrian’s hair. 

There was nobody in the world he would comfort while they were sweaty and loud, nobody except for Hadrian. 

He slowly fell back asleep, and soon enough Hadrian had settled back down and drifted back off. 

Harry found himself in a sticky situation the following morning– literally and figuratively. He awoke, face and back drenched in sweat, resting his head upon Tom’s chest. Their bodies were pressed so close together that it was almost impossible to wrestle himself from Tom’s grip. 

And then Harry realised the date– July 31st. It was his birthday, or actually Harry Potter’s birthday. But he wouldn’t– couldn’t– celebrate it, not without being wrestled with thoughts and questions he would rather not have.

You haven’t been Harry Potter for quite some time, Master. 

“I know,” Harry whispered, saying the words out loud, “I know.”

Stop being… dramatic. You can celebrate your birthday in November, if you’re really that worked up about it.

Harry felt a pang of anger course through him, directed at the deity in his head. Death didn’t get it, couldn’t understand what it meant. He wasn’t upset about a birthday, not really. It wasn’t the presents or the cake or the parties that he missed, he had never expected them before. It was the people, the warmness and comfort of the Burrow, that he longed for. 

He settled his head back down on Tom’ chest, closing his eyes and breathing deeply in. Tom smelt like cinnamon, warm and slightly fruity, like he had just recently used his shower gel. His hair was also slightly damp, though not in the same way as Harry’s sweaty head was. So he’d had a shower, why was Harry so suspicious over it?

Instead of thinking any longer about it, Harry settled himself back down and tried to fall back asleep. If he could sleep the day away, then he wouldn’t have to face it. Not when nobody knew it was his birthday, and nobody could know.

“Hadrian?”

“Hmm,” Harry said, humming, “I want to sleep.”

“Do you want breakfast?” Tom asked, his words awfully close to Harry’s ear. Harry didn’t really feel like moving away, and so he simply didn’t.

“Not now, Tom,” Harry muttered, clenching his eyes shut even further to prevent the light.

“Okay,” Tom said, moving Harry off of him and padding from the room. The bed was warm enough for Harry, though, and he hid underneath the covers and tried to drift back to sleep. 

But instead of sleep, he found himself holding back tears. Harry curled up into a ball, holding the covers tight around him, and tried to avoid thinking about his past… or the future, really. It didn’t help to overthink.

The smell of fried food drifted into the room a few minutes later, and Harry found himself torn between staying where he was and going out to the kitchen. After a few minutes, he hadn’t fallen back asleep, and so wandered out of the room and towards the smell of food. He was well aware that his eyes were likely red, but the temptation of bacon was far too strong.

He fell into his seat, rubbing at his eyes with his wrist, and settled his head on his hands. Tom was leaning over the frying pans, cooking a few things at once, and turned around to regard Harry once he’d sat down.

Tom didn’t speak, just retrieving another plate from the cupboard and filling it to the brim with food. He placed it infront of Harry, before going to get himself a portion.

“Thanks,” Harry said, grinning at the plate, “This looks good.”

“Only good?” Tom replied, sitting back down infront of him with his own, “I’d say it’s restaurant quality, really.”

“Sure,” Harry offered in between mouthfuls, inhaling the food with hums of happiness. It was good– greasy, filling, and just what he needed to get his mind off…

“Are you all right?” Tom asked, having placed his knife and fork on the plate. It was still half empty, though that didn’t seem to bother him.

Harry shrugged, “Just tired.”

“Are you sure?” Tom replied, in an inquisitive tone that Harry did not like. He didn’t like it one bit.

“Yes,” Harry said emphatically, shoving a rasher of bacon in his mouth in defiance.

“You had a nightmare last night,” Tom continued, clearly uncaring that Harry didn’t want to talk about it, “I just wanted to make sure that you were feeling better. Do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” Harry said quickly, “No. I’m sorry if I woke you up, though, I wasn’t… too loud, was I?”

Tom shook his head, but Harry didn’t believe him. He sat back in his chair, chewing the last of his food, and let out a breath.

“Wake me up if I’m in the middle of one,” Harry said, not wanting to look at Tom, “It’s not fair on you to lose sleep because of it.”

Tom didn’t reply, and Harry could feel his gaze.

“Don’t,” Harry insisted, “Just don’t ask, okay? I’d rather not have to relive it.”

“Of course,” Tom muttered, nodding and collecting both of their plates to take to the sink, “You’ll make dinner, won’t you? I can’t be the only one pulling my weight around here.”

“Sure,” Harry replied, feeling glad at the change of topic. And maybe it’ll keep his mind off of the nightmares.

“I’ll be gone today,” Tom added, lingering in the door to the hallway, “So you’ll have to entertain yourself.”

Harry frowned, “Where?”

“Don’t look like that, it’s nothing malicious. I’m just visiting… family.”

He stood quickly, turning to face Tom, “You’re an orphan.”

“How astute of you, Hadrian,” Tom said, and there was a sneering quality to his voice, “I have an uncle I wish to visit. He has something I want.”

“I’ll come,” Harry hurried to say, suddenly worried. Had there been something in the vow that allowed Tom to torture Morphin Gaunt? Something that allowed him to murder his father?

“No,” Tom said, “You won’t. Rest assured that there is nothing I can do to harm him, he just has something I want.”

“The ring…” Harry said quietly, the words being pulled out of him at the realisation, “You want the Gaunt ring.”

“How do you know about that?” Tom demanded, his face morphing into something nasty.

Harry ran a hand through his still sweaty hair, trying to work out what to say, “Voldemort had the ring… I saw it. You must promise not to murder your uncle, nor your father.”

Tom raised his hands in a position of surrender, “I already vowed that, Hadrian, do you really need me to be tied down by more bonds?”

“Just promise, Tom,” Harry asked, almost pleaded, “You can’t come back covered in blood and expect me to accept it.”

Tom nodded his head once, “I won’t kill anyone, I promise.”

He bit at his lip, watching Tom closely for any sign of deception, “Okay… okay, I’ll trust you.”

Harry was unsure if this was the right choice to make, but surely the vow was strong enough? Surely, if he wanted Tom to go down the right path, then he would one day have to trust him.

Maybe today was that day, where he trusted Tom Riddle to make the right choice.

“Okay,” He repeated to himself, Tom having retreated to the bedroom to change, “It’ll be fine.”

Harry spent his entire day fretting, pacing the rooms of the house and waiting for Tom’s return. He kept doubting his choice, doubting that Tom wouldn’t find a way to get around the vow and murder his relatives. 

He took a deep breath, leaning on the kitchen counter, and watching as the sun began to set. It was late, later than he usually ate dinner, and he could feel his stomach grumbling. Rummaging around the cupboards, though, he found himself aimlessly staring at their contents. What if Tom came back with red ringed eyes and blood stained hands?

But he couldn’t, Harry knew that, even if it didn’t make it any easier.

And so he began to make pasta. A simple dish that he couldn’t possibly mess up, even if his mind was elsewhere. Maybe he’d use up the rest of their tomatoes, too, and make that garlic sauce he liked. 

Tom still hadn’t returned when Harry had finished cooking, nor when he’d slowly picked his way through the meal and wrapped up the leftover portion. 

The evening was colder than the previous ones, their wooden floors almost hurting Harry’s feet, and so he donned one of his woolen jumpers and a pair of socks. But he didn’t go to bed, not even when the sky was as dark as night got and the leftover pasta cold. 

Instead, Harry curled up on their ragged sofa. The springs inside cutting into his back as he wrapped himself in a blanket, finding one of Tom’s complicated books and trying to read. He didn’t realise he had fallen into a slight sleep until he was awoken, jerking awake at the sound of the door opening and Tom returning. His book had fallen to the floor at some point, and his neck hurt from the uncomfortable position he’d lay in.

“How did it go?” He asked, sitting upright and peering over at Tom to try and discern any wrong doing.

Tom nodded, slipping off his shoes, before holding up something. The ring, Harry recognised, barely visible in the poor lighting of the room.

“You don’t trust me,” Tom stated, when Harry didn’t say anything in response.

“Of course I don’t,” Harry replied, almost affronted at the statement. Why should he? 

“You’ve given me no assurance of being able to trust you before,” He continued, leaning forward onto the back of the sofa and resting his head on his arms.

Tom seemed to regard him carefully, “The vow should have shown that, at a minimum. You don’t trust the person you share a bed with? A house? I cook you food, that you eat, surely that shows you trust me.”

Harry didn’t reply, holding Tom’s gaze.

It was Tom who looked away first, simply saying, “I’m tired.”

He strode away into the bedroom, and Harry watched him walk away. Was Tom upset that he wasn’t trusted? The thought was almost comical, and would have amused Harry except for the small feeling inside of him that didn’t understand it. Sure, they shared a house, a bed even, but that was a different kind of trust. Harry trusted that Tom wanted somewhere to live, that wasn’t his orphanage, and wouldn’t do anything to sabotage their living arrangement. 

He didn’t trust him not to kill, to murder, to steal. But surely Tom knew that he wasn’t the paragon of morality.

Harry huffed out an annoyed breath, dragging himself from the sofa and back into the bedroom. Tom was sat up in bed, scratching away at his diary.

“How was it today?” Harry ventured, quickly changing and slipping in beside him. Harry turned on his side, so he could watch Tom.

“Fine,” Tom replied, tapping his quill against the page, “We had lunch, and he showed me around his mansion. He invited me to come back, if I wished.”

Harry raised his eyebrows, “And you’ll go?”

“No,” Tom said, seeming amused at the concept, “I dislike him. He is incorrigable, and I’d have likely murdered him if I had the capacity too. I didn’t, of course, because you’d asked me not too.”

“Good,” Harry said, turning back around and shutting his eyes. It was late at night, and he was sure it was already past midnight. He could feel Tom’s eyes burning into his back, but didn’t want to talk to him any more. 

He should be happy that Tom didn’t murder his relatives, right? Even though he’d wanted to, he didn’t. So why was Harry feeling… sad.

Chapter Text

Tom stretched, the muscles in his torso fully on show due to his lack of clothing. Harry watched him, almost mesmerised, before realising what he was doing.

“Do you have to walk around shirtless?” He asked, scratching the back of his neck in slight discomfort. 

“I’m doing this for your benefit,” Tom said matter of factly, turning on Harry with a very innocent expression.

Harry spluttered, raising his eyebrows, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Tom smirked, the side of his lip tilting up, as if Harry had asked the exact question he had wanted.

“We have no artwork in the house, and I know you like looking at pretty things…”

“You’ve mistaken us again, Tom,” Harry said, smiling despite himself.

He hummed, considering Harry, “Maybe.”

“If this is your way of asking to go painting shopping,” Harry replied, “Then we can pop down to Diagon Alley and I’ll get us something pretty.”

Tom scowled, crossing his arms, “Not necessary, Hadrian. Though I was thinking we could buy some new robes for Abraxas’ ball.”

“We?” Harry repeated, leaning forward, “Do you mean that you want me to buy you some? Ask nicely and I’ll consider it.”

“Please?” Tom asked, widening his eyes in more of that mock innocence, “Please, Hadrian, buy me clothing so that I don’t embarrass us in front of half of wizarding society?”

Harry cleared his throat, taken aback by Tom’s almost sultry tone of voice.

“Sure, Tom,” He said quickly, “We can even match. You wear bright red, and I’ll wear green. We can bring Godric and Salazar too, dress them up in bow ties and have one each.”

“Excellent idea, Hadrian,” Tom replied, somehow managing to look even more smug than usual, “I’ll tell everyone how you wanted to match outfits with me, and that you have a strange affection for the cocks we have in the garden.”

He let out a choked laughter, “Then I’ll tell everyone you built a wooden enclosure for our cocks, see how they like that.”

“Kinky…” Tom purred, “Is that something you’d like?”

“Tom! Zip it,” Harry said sternly, “Now, are we going to Diagon or not?”

“Of course, I’ll simply walk into all the shops topless,” Tom replied, waving his hand and straightening, “Maybe the old ladies will take pity and buy me a whole new wardrobe.”

“They’ll faint at the sight of an unclothed child,” Harry countered, “And you’ll be arrested for public indecency. I cannot deal with another court case, Tom, my heart would give out.”

“But you’d petition Arcturus Black to defend me?” 

“Sure,” Harry said, settling Tom with a serious look, “Go put some clothes on.”

“As you wish,” Tom replied, before swooping away with far too much drama for a boy in his pyjamas.

“I’m kind of like your sugar daddy,” Harry said when they walked into Twilfitt and Tattings, the thought coming out of nowhere. He immediately blushed, internally rebuking himself.

Tom raised an eyebrow, turning to smile sweetly at him (if his shark like grin could be described as sweet.)

“That would mean I was giving you… intimacy in return,” Tom said, “But you are older and richer than me, so I suppose the sentiment is similar.”

“It was a joke, Tom,” Harry said quickly, “Though I do spent far too much money on you.”

“Never,” Tom replied, before pausing and considering the statement, “You like it, really.”

Harry scowled, stalking over to the woman standing beside the desk in the shop, “We are looking too purchase two sets of formal robes.”

The woman nodded once, looking Harry up and down before regarding Tom with interest, “Wonderful, I have just the items.”

Two hours later– and what a boring two hours they had been– Harry left the shop with a significantly lighter money pouch, and a flushed face. He’d had to listen to the woman flirt with Tom for the entire time, calling him ‘a catch’ and ‘handsome’ in every other sentence. 

“Don’t look so pleased with yourself,” Harry muttered, glaring at Tom’s smug expression.

“I’m a catch, Hadrian, don’t look so jealous,” Tom smirked, before dragging him by the elbow into a small and dingy second hand book shop.

“I don’t have any more money,” Harry said thirty minutes later, and still in a fowl mood, “You can’t get anything more, or else we won’t be able to get back home.”

Tom only waved a hand, looking into a shop window with interest, “You have more in your vault.”

“Why don’t you set up a vault, steal Abraxas’ fortune, and then fund your own shopping?” 

“Good plan,” Tom said, hardly listening but still nodding, “We can persuade him to hand over his vault key on his birthday. You force feed him firewhisky, I’ll sweet talk him into giving me to key.”

Harry blinked, letting himself be dragged into an almost empty potions store, “Can’t you just imperio him or something?”

The shop worker inside gave him a dark glare, and Harry did have to admit he said that a bit loudly.

“How did you know that was my back up plan?” Tom said, finally turning to face Harry, “You know me so well.”

He shrugged, “Why stop at Abraxas? Go for Orion next, all you need to do is give him an extra large slice of chocolate cake and he’ll give you anything you want.”                

“I like the way you think, but I’d much rather live off your generosity for the rest of my life,” Tom said, plucking what appeared to be a jar of eyeballs off of the shelf and inspecting it closely.

“My vault won’t last more than three years,” Harry said, shying away from a box of green and slimy tentacles with a scrunched up nose. The shop smelled of sweat and something rotten, and Harry wanted to leave almost immediately.

“Do you have four galleons?” Tom asked, having disappeared deeper into the shop and returned with a jar of a glowing, orange liquid.

“No,” Harry said shortly, shifting on the spot, “I have just enough sickles to get the Knight Bus back home.”

Tom pouted, before returning back into the aisles with a moody expression.

“You’re not a very good sugar daddy,” Tom muttered in Harry’s ear as they left the shop and began to return to the Leaky Cauldron.

“I’m not your sugar daddy!” Harry insisted, frustrated at how casually Tom said it.

Tom only laughed, uncaring of Harry’s discomfort, and plucking the latest copy of the Daily Prophet off of a stand, handing over a couple of sickles.

“Look,” He said, pushing the paper into Harry’s face, “It’s you.”

Harry frowned, taking the Prophet and finding his face plastered on the cover. 

MINISTRY ATTEMPTS TO PROSECUTE INNOCENT HOGWARTS STUDENT

By Wilhemena Skeeter.

“Skeeter,” Harry muttered, running his finger over the name. Rita’s ancestor, clearly, who share the same odd obsession with him. Though at least she seemed to be reporting on actual politics, rather than teenage love triangles.

The rise of the Grindelwald faction in Britain has prompted the Ministry to crack down on his supporters, arresting those who have outwardly spoken in support of him. To the innocent eye, this seems like a good and proper policy, but to a reporter such as I there has been a frightful amount of false accusations. To put it plainly, the hunt for British Grindelwald supporters is not going well. Pictured above is sixteen year old Hogwarts Student, Hadrian Peverell, who was called to trial last week for two counts of murder and the accusation that he has been consorting with the Dark Lord…

Harry scowled. Even if he was used to newspapers documenting his life, it did not make its intrusive nature any less.

…He was defended by Lord Arcturus Black, who hardly had to speak in order to get his evidently innocent client acquitted. This trial, along with countless others, ended in under an hour, with the accused being found innocent of all crimes. Where are the Ministry finding these Wizards and Witches? It is of my opinion that the Ministry are attempting to seem like they are completing thorough searches for Grindelwald supporters by rounding up innocent Wixen and, consequently, wasting the time of the public. What are they actually doing to oppose the Grindelwald regime, apart from trialling underage wizards? Nothing, it seems. The Minister was unavailable for comment at the time of writing.

The picture above was a shot of Harry sitting in the middle of the courtroom, looking rather annoyed with the proceedings. He was staring up at the Chief Warlock, the moving photo showing him twirling his fingers together. All in all, it wasn’t a bad photo. It certainly wasn’t a bad article, either, and a far cry better than most of what Rita Skeeter had ever written. 

“Skeeter,” Tom said, peering over at the article, “She was the woman wearing the most obnoxious jacket, quite awful really.”

“I can’t complain about what she wears when she writes such a nice article about me,” Harry said, joking and feeling slightly better about himself. Even if his whole world had changed, at least there was still a Skeeter wearing distasteful clothing and writing in the Prophet.

“Don’t let fame get to your head, Hadrian,” Tom teased, as they stepping into the Leaky Cauldron, “Or else you’ll be as pompous as Abraxas.”

He wacked Tom around the head with the newspaper, though it was lacking in any malice.

The evening of Abraxas’ birthday arrived shortly after, and Harry found himself staring at himself in the dusty mirror above the sink. He ran his hands through his curled hair once again, marvelling at its smoothness. His hair had never been neat, not even now, but now he could run his hand through it without it getting caught in knots. It even looked almost presentable. That was nothing compared to his new robes and he was loathe to admit it, but Tom had been right about getting a pair tailored exactly to his measurements. 

In the end, he and Tom hadn’t gotten matching robes (and Tom’s, sadly, hadn’t been bright red.) But Harry had been fitted in a nice pair of dark blue robes, which had come with an attached cape that made him feel a bit like Snape. It wasn’t a nice thought, really, but Harry was absolutely going to be making dramatic moves around the ballroom.

“Stop admiring yourself,” Tom said, pausing in the bathroom doorway and leaning against the frame, “No matter how delectable you look, we shall be late if you don’t hurry up.”

Harry turned from the mirror, letting out a unintelligible sound as he took in Tom’s appearance. He’d seen him in dress robes before, but those had been Abraxas’ and slightly too short at the ankles and too baggy around the waist. These were… fitted. Perfectly fitted. He was swathed in layers of green, all slightly different shades of the colour and yet seeming to fit together just right. That wasn’t what caught Harry’s attention, however. Beneath the robes Tom wore a pair of trousers that were extremely form fitting, hugging his thighs in such a way that Harry could tell the exact dimensions of the skin underneath.

He swallowed, well aware of his staring. It was just an appreciation of art, really, everyone knew that Tom Riddle was attractive. It’s what made him so dangerous, in a way.

“Come on,” Harry said, shooing Tom away and clearing his throat, “Let’s go.”      

“If you wanted to stare a bit longer, I wouldn’t mind being late,” Tom said lightly, his eyes flashing with amusement.

“The robes are very nice,” Harry replied, unsure of what he could say to that, “Save the flirting for your beau. He’ll be there, right?”

“He will…” Tom said, though his voice seemed cooler than before. Annoyed. As if he didn’t like that Harry brought it up. 

“Great,” Harry said stiffly, shutting the front door behind him a bit too hard.

They arrived right on time for Abraxas’ birthday, welcomed by the teenager and his parents: Lord and Lady Malfoy.

“Lord Malfoy,” Harry stated, bowing his head slightly as instructed by Tom, before turning to his wife with a far more pleasant smile, “Lady Malfoy, it is a pleasure to see you under more… enjoyable circumstances. I thank you for your previous help, and if there is anything I can do to repay you…”

“Nonsense,” She said, smiling over at him quite kindly, “Simply enjoy my son’s ball.”

He nodded, following behind Tom and into the ballroom.

“You know Lady Malfoy?” Tom muttered, plucking two drinks from a floating tray.

“She helped me with the– er– court situation,” Harry replied, accepting the drink and taking a sip. It was slightly stronger than he was expecting, and his eyes widened in response.

Tom only hummed in response, seeming to spot their Slytherin friends and making his way to the crowd towards them. Harry followed, taking another sip of his drink. If he was going to be here all evening, he was going to do so with a large amount of alcohol in his system.

“I am going to make rounds,” Tom announced after greeting his friends, and slipped back off into the crowd.

Harry shook his head, laughing lightly, “Of course he is.”

“This is like a Gringott’s vault for him,” Orion said, grinning over at him, “Better than Slughorn’s parties, anyhow. The Minister is probably here, and Tom’ll try and worm his way into an internship now he’s old enough.”

“With him gone we can enjoy the lovely drinks Abraxas’ parents have supplied,” Isabella added, holding not one, but two glasses of the drinks on offer, “I’m pleasantly surprised that they’ve graduated from fruity concoctions to firewhisky.”

“This is firewhisky?” Harry asked, sniffing his drink, “It tastes nicer than usual…”

“It’s mixed with orange juice, apparently,” Orion said, though there was no drink in his hand, “My father has forbidden me to drink any.”

“In public,” Hector finished, his arm slung around Isabella’s waist, “But that is not the rule for our private afterparty, right? Tell me you aren’t going sober the whole night.”

Orion grinned, a sneaky smile that appeared when the boy was about to get into some mischief, “Of course not! I’m not twelve any more, Hector, I can drink.” 

Harry finished his drink with a shrug, before realising he was still clutching at Abraxas’ gift, “Where do these go?”

“Present table,” Isabella replied, motioning to the other side of the room with a huff, “He’s so rich already, I don’t know why they have to have a present table. It’s absurd.”

Harry wandered off just as Orion answered, “You’re just jealous that your father won’t hold a ball until you’re seventeen.”

The present table was exactly as it was labelled, a table filled with neatly wrapped gifts. It was likely worth more than Harry’s entire vault, and he surreptitiously put his present beside a strangely shaped gift that looked somewhat like a crescent moon, wrapped in golden paper that shone in the candlelight. 

He then turned to watch the ball, looking out for another of the trays holding drinks. The previous one had left a lovely burning sensation in his chest, and Harry was rather looking forward to another. Tom was schmoozing with a woman that Harry didn’t recognise, and another that looked rather familiar. She was rather old, wearing an outdated pink dress, and laughing loudly at something Tom was saying. The man looked rather put off by her, but Tom seemed to be taking it in his stride. He was such a womanizer, Harry thought, and he would definitely tease Tom about it later.

A tray floated by him, and Harry happily took the glass and took a sip. Maybe balls weren’t too bad, after all, when they introduced him to new alcoholic beverages.

“Enjoying the evening?”

Harry turned to find himself right beside a tall, willowy man with bright, blond hair and a rat like face. Getting a closer look, Harry realised that a young Grindelwald was actually quite pretty. Not in a Tom Riddle way, but in a symmetrical manner. 

“I was,” Harry said, emphasising the last word, “Until you showed up. Why are you here? For all you know, I’ll start screaming and you’ll be arrested by the aurors.”

Grindelwald smiled, and it somehow made his face morph into ugliness, “I am a guest of Lord Malfoy, I even have an invitation.”

He whipped out the golden embossed slip of paper, flashing it in front of Harry’s face.

“Bully for you,” Harry replied, taking another sip of his drink, “Leave me alone.”

“There is no need to be so rude, Hadrian,” Grindelwald replied smoothly, “I was simply making conversation. If you reveal my presence here, then who is to say what atrocities I would commit? I’m not adverse to murdering the entirety of this lovely little party.”

“You wouldn’t,” Harry stated, trying to call the man’s bluff, “You need their support too much. Killing them all would alienate them, and then there would be no one left in Britain for you to try and manipulate.”

“You have a strategic mind, Mr Peverell, but you are quite wrong. None in these halls is a supporter of mine, not yet. I would simply… replace them. I have quite the entourage of followers these days, from the States to the Soviet Union. Your tiny country is nothing compared to me.”

Harry shrugged, attempting to seem nonchalant, but the prickling of fear in his stomach began to rise.

“What do you want?” He asked instead, glancing over at the man. How did no one recognise him?

“Peverell…” Grindelwald said lightly, sounding almost pensive, “I killed your parents, apparently. I don’t recall it… and I was certainly not in Scotland last year.”

“So? I never accused you of anything.” 

Grindelwald fixed him with a curious look, eyes darting to his right arm– the arm that currently held his wand, “The Peverell family is old, I know, and are famed for enjoying the tale of the Deathly Hallows.”

“You still haven’t gotten to the point,” Harry said stiffly, not liking where this was going, “The Deathly Hallows are just a fairytale, a children’s story. If you are interested in them then I do not think you have as much intelligence as you believe.”

“I hear the Potter’s have recently misplaced their invisibility cloak,” Grindelwald continued, before catching sight of something across the room, “Do make sure to keep in touch if you hear anything about it.”

Harry watched as the blond head walked into the crowd, heading straight towards the product of his staring. He kept a close eye, wondering where the man was going, and taking slow breaths in order to keep his cool. Grindelwald, in Malfoy Manor. With an invitation. 

“Fuck,” He muttered, watching as Grindelwald paused beside Tom’s group, extending a hand and…

And seeing the ring on Tom’s finger. The ring that held the third piece of the Deathly Hallows: The Resurrection Stone.

Chapter Text

Tom laughed at something the woman said, attempting to ignore the way her hand brushed over his arm. She was double, probably even triple, his own age. It was disgusting, but she was the wife of the Head Auror and so this was Tom’s obligation. Even if he didn’t want to be an Auror, the networking could get him important contacts should the need arise.

Her friend was a woman of the same age, with yellow robes that made her look sickly and pale. She wasn’t of much importance, though she claimed to be related to Helga Hufflepuff. Balderdash, really, but there wasn’t much harm in entertaining her.

“Excuse me, ladies, sir.”

Tom looked up, half heartedly hearing the woman trail off her sentence and eyes catching on the man barging into their conversation. He was pale, young, and had an accent that sounded like it came from somewhere in Eastern Europe. There was an ethereal quality to his presence, one that felt vaguely familiar. One that felt almost deadly, as if the man was not someone to make an enemy of. 

He cleared his throat, knowing that he’d been staring a second too long. It was hard not to stare, really, when he was a new, handsome stranger with a voice that dripped charisma. Even if he was too tall, and too blond, for Tom’s usual preference.

The two ladies exchanged glances, cheeks flushing, before extending their hands for the stranger to kiss. 

“Tom Riddle,” He introduced himself, straightening his back slightly and looking the man in his eyes. They were of equal heights, and yet the blond seemed to loom over Tom quite significantly. 

“A pleasure,” The stranger replied, a small smile playing on his lips, before reaching out his hand. Tom’s eyes darted down, extending his own warily. 

He grasped Tom’s hand carefully, turning it over. One of his fingers brushed over the ring, and Tom felt a shiver of fear in his spine. His head jerked, unbidden, and Tom found it difficult to swallow.

“Tom!”

There was commotion behind Tom, something happening within the crowd. He didn’t want to take his eyes off of the man, however, and so ignored the fact his name was being called. 

“Tom,” Hadrian said, voice right beside him.

Tom blinked, turning his head to the side and catching Hadrian’s eye. There was something there– a warning flashing behind the green.

“Ah, Mr Riddle,” The European man said, amusement lacing his tone, “Who is this?”

Tom blinked, looking between the two of them, before drawing his hand back. The stranger had been holding it for far too long to be appropriate. He felt Hadrian grab onto the fabric of his elbow, as if steadying himself.

He ignored the way Hadrian’s face twisted in annoyance, the redness blooming on his face, and the way his right hand was itching for his wand. He ignored it for the moment, yes, but he didn’t disregard it.

“I’m afraid I didn’t catch your name, Mr…” Tom said, turning his attention back to the stranger. 

“Grindelwald,” He replied, placing his hands behind his back, “Gellert Grindelwald.”

Tom felt Hadrian’s hand hold even tighter onto his arm, and righteous indignation pool in his stomach. The anger was replaced quickly by recognition, and then confusion.

Grindelwald must have used some kind of de-aging potion…

“You were at the trial,” Tom stated. It was worrying that he hadn’t recognised the face of Grindelwald walking around, even if he’d seen it before. What magic…

“That is a very interesting ring, Mr Riddle,” Grindelwald said, ignoring Tom’s statement.

He looked down briefly, flexing the hand that held the Gaunt Ring. It was a golden band with a black stone, engraved with what his uncle had called the ‘Peverell coat of arms’. It was more commonly known as Grindelwald’s mark, and suddenly Tom knew almost exactly how Hadrian had been feeling when his tattoo had been exposed. It wasn’t support of the Dark Lord, no, it was… a family thing.

“Thank you, Mr Grindelwald,” Tom replied, keeping an even voice and surreptitiously glancing around the room. The two ladies from before had wandered off, and nobody was looking their way, “I didn’t realise you were an acquaintance of the Malfoys.”

Grindelwald seemed amused, “Perhaps one day I shall be, though for now we are at a… tentative stage in our friendship. Abraxas is an impressive young man.”

“He is indeed,” Tom replied faintly, not quite knowing what else to say.

He could feel Hadrian’s glare, the heat of it (for once) not aimed at him.

“Speaking of,” Tom continued, taking a small step back, “We should go and pay our wishes to Abraxas. He must be wondering where we got to.”

“Surely you can wait a few more minutes,” Grindelwald drawled, withdrawing his wand without a sound. Tom found himself unable to move, Hadrian grasping one arm and Grindelwald pointing his wand at Tom from the other.

He took a deep breath, settling Grindelwald with an unimpressed look, “Of course, but there is no need for spell casting in here. This is a birthday party, not a battlefield.”

“You can’t harm us,” Hadrian added, finally speaking after being a silent presence for the beginning of the conversation, “People will see.”

Hadrian’s hand was still grasping Tom’s elbow, his nails digging through the fabric and into the skin. Tom didn’t say a word, however, and kept his attention on the real threat.

“You are quite right,” Grindelwald replied smoothly, though he didn’t sheathe his wand, “I have no intention of causing a scene, not in here.”

With that, Grindelwald reached out to clasp Tom’s shoulder and the three of them disappeared with a silent crack.

Harry held onto Tom, knowing he was creating marks in the teenager’s skin and yet not wanting to let go. He saw the flicker of contemplation on Grindelwald’s face, and wasn’t surprised when they were whisked away in silent apparition.

He stumbled upon landing, immediately going for his wand and swivelling around to find Grindelwald.

“Expelliarmus!” Harry shouted, flinging off the spell quickly and loudly as soon as he caught sight of the blond hair.

It didn’t seem to take much power for Grindelwald to counter it, wordlessly waving his hand. The red sparks disappeared in a blink, not getting within even a foot of him.

“This should be a quick meeting,” Grindelwald said, seeming to ignore the attack, “Should you both be accommodating.”

Harry knew immediately that this was not going to be a quick meeting, and glanced around the room for Tom.

He frowned when he saw no sign of him, feeling unsettled. It had been Tom that had been apparated, so where was…

“I shall not harm you,” Grindewald said, though he’d turned away from Harry and was now addressing Tom. The teenager in question was backed up against the wall, wand somehow discarded on the floor, and glaring with typical stubbornness. He didn’t look weak, not even in comparison to Grindelwald, but Harry knew that he was in trouble.

“Tom–” He shouted, making his way across the room with haste.

“Stay back, Mr Peverell,” Grindelwald warned, rolling his wand over his fingers and keeping his entire focus on Tom, “This is between Mr Riddle and I, for now. He has something of mine.”

Tom sneered, “I have something of yours?”

Harry’s heart stuttered as he found himself at a wall– an almost transparent, pale blue shield separating Harry from the other two. It was solid, and he couldn’t walk through.

“You do,” Grindelwald continued, heading moving deliberately too glance at Tom’s hand. 

Harry slammed a hand against the shield, swearing violently as pain shot through his arm and into his shoulder.

Grindelwald ignored him, merely tutting and stalking closer to Tom.

“That ring…” He muttered, seemingly to himself and yet loud enough for Harry to hear, “Its magic feels so familiar. Why is that, do you think?”

Tom shrugged deliberately, eyes darting over to Harry.

“It’s my fault,” Harry interrupted, moving to stand as close to the pair as possible, “I embellished the ring with my… crest. It’s the Peverell magic.”

That, at last, caught Grindelwald’s attention. His head turned, eyes narrowing and entire being becoming still. Harry couldn’t believe he’d ever found the man attractive, not with the way his mouth twisted into an evil smile and his eyes darkened into greed.

“Is that so?” Grindelwald said, raising his hand.

The shield twisted around, pushing Harry back and allowing Grindelwald to advance. His shoulder was aching painfully, and the pain made him struggle to hold onto his wand.

“It was just a ring, before,” Harry bluffed, “But I offered to embellish it for him. His family doesn’t have much in the way of heirlooms, see.”

Grindelwald paused in his advance, gazing down at Harry, “That is kind of you… There’s powerful magic in that ring.”

“I’m a powerful wizard,” Harry retorted, though he was well aware of the way his words sounded in comparison to his stance. Hunched, in pain, pale and small. 

There was no response, and no noise except for the pounding of Harry’s own heart.

“The ring is mine, that crest is mine, and he is mine so you’ll leave us be or you’ll not get to continue this little game of yours,” Harry continued, practically spitting the words at Grindelwald, “You don’t want to go to war with us, so stick with Dumbledore and leave us all alone.”

“Who are you?” Grindelwald asked suddenly, his voice light and interested and not at all sounding like he was being threatened, “Why have I been shown you?”

“I’m nobody important,” He replied, gritting his teeth.

“Nobody I see in my minds eye is unimportant.”

Harry scoffed, gripping tightly to his wand and raising it to point directly at Grindelwald’s face, before speaking loudly, “I won’t let you harm the people in this house.”

Grindelwald’s face stayed stony, unimpressed with Harry’s bravado, and not bothering to pull out his wand. He turned slightly, eyes darting up and over Harry’s head as if contemplating his exit. Though he didn’t seem scared, or frightened, at the fact that Harry was pointing his wand at him. He merely seemed… intrigued. Slightly bored, even. 

“Won’t you?” Grindelwald replied, almost sighing, “I’ll admit you are interesting, Mr Peverell, but I doubt your… magical abilities will come even close to beating me in a duel. Not with that injury…”

“Try me,” Harry spat, gripping his wand tightly though refusing to throw the first spell. He knew that he had a fair chance of keeping up with Grindelwald, potentially throwing him off kilter, but his shoulder was pounding and he was struggling to hold his wand up. Harry wasn’t even sure he could cast Expelliarmus.

He found himself lowering his wand, only an inch or two, but enough for Grindelwald to notice. 

Grindelwald gave once last look at Harry, watching his wand hand with renewed interest, before nodding sharply, “Then I shall see you on the battlefield, should you choose to fight, or at another of these... functions. I would welcome an owl, if you wanted to discuss some more. I sense that I am no longer welcome at this point.”

Harry watched him move towards the window, his body seeming to shimmer around the edges, before the man… disappeared. It wasn’t like apparition, there was no crack or twisting of the body, it was almost like he faded from view. Like the moonlight had enveloped him, transporting him away into the stars. 

The angry tension in his own shoulders didn’t disappear, though Harry sheathed his wand and let out a slow, long breath. Maybe it was Grindelwald’s age, or his appearance, but there was something significantly more dignified about the Dark Lord. More dignity, and more power, than Voldemort had ever seemed to wield. 

His eyes caught on the lone figure in the corner of the room, face pale and fixed in a portrait of rage, and slamming his hands against the almost transparent shield surrounding him.

“Shit,” Harry muttered, eyes widening and body moving at a quick pace towards Tom. He raised his wand, pointing it towards the entrapment.

“Step back,” He warned, catching Tom’s eye. The teenager had, reluctantly, taken a step back and crossed his arms. Tom looked rather like a petulant teenager.

The meeting of Grindelwald and Voldemort had not gone exactly like Harry would have thought. No conspiring to murder all the muggles, no exchanging dark curses, and no mutual approval. Harry had certainly not expected the anger that Tom Riddle espoused, his hatred towards the Dark Lord, and how… protective he seemed. 

Harry, in the end, didn’t need to wave his wand in complex patterns in order to get rid of the shield. A simple prodding worked well enough, and it fell with no further trouble.

“There we go,” Harry said, forcing himself to grin over at Tom, “Grindelwald’s gone, easy, no harm done.”

Tom settled him with an unimpressed stare, one that was far too familiar, “No harm done?”

“Grindelwald was this close to you,” Tom continued, his brow furrowed and his hands held up very close together, “Again.”

Harry chuckled awkwardly, shaking his head slightly, “Again, I know. He’s like a mosquito.”

He shrugged, adding, “But there isn’t really anything he can do, not really.”

“No,” Tom agreed, eyes scanning over Harry in a way that made him shiver slightly, “He seemed to refuse to harm you. He wants you to join him.”

Harry shook his head, his eyesight blurring slightly, “I’m Dark Lord catnip, Tom, we’ve established this. Can you fix my shoulder?”

Tom paused, eyes darting down to the wound, and seeming to contemplate whether or not to continue arguing. He seemingly decided against it, bringing his wand close to Harry’s shoulder and muttering something under his breath.

“Are you injured?” Harry asked once his shoulder was back to usual, peering up at Tom.

“No,” He replied shortly, rolling his shoulders back and gritting his jaw, “We should get back to the party.”

Harry nodded absent mindedly, for the first time taking in their surroundings. It just looked like an office: wooden walls, a desk, and bookshelf lined walls.

He opened his mouth to ask where they were, when he caught sight of window. Harry moved closer, frowning at the sill. There was something...

“Grindelwald apparated us to another wing in the Manor,” Tom stated, rubbing the back of his neck in a decidedly unlike-Tom manner, “Even with the anti-apparition wards…”

“I don’t think he apparated,” Harry replied, dipping his finger into the dust on the windowsill. It was green, scentless, and felt vaguely like Floo Powder… despite the fact the room had no fireplace.

“Can you floo without a fireplace?” Harry asked, turning around to inspect the dust in the light.

Tom let out a little noise of indignation in the back of his throat, “Did you hit your head? Are you concussed, Hadrian?”

Harry rolled his eyes, “No, look.”

He held out his hand, rolling the dust inbetween his fingers, as Tom came to inspect it.

“Floo powder,” Tom stated, seeming unimpressed, “So?”

“So,” Harry emphasised, “Grindelwald disappeared past anti-apparition wards, without a portkey, and with a pocketfull of Floo Powder. He somehow manages to walk around Malfoy Manor practically unseen by the guests, and definitely unrecognised, looking fifty years younger. You didn’t even know who he was until he introduced himself, and you’ve seen him before.”

Tom grimaced, “We knew that he was powerful already, this shouldn't be a surprise."

Harry nodded, tapping his fingers against his leg, “But this is different, Tom. He wasn’t meant to… schmooze. Not in Britain. Not looking like that.”

Tom was looking at him weirdly, not understanding Harry’s dilemma, but he didn’t say anything.

He swallowed, “We should get back. Someone will have noticed that we left.”

Chapter Text

The party had continued on as if they had never left, as if Grindelwald hadn’t been there in the first place. The only thing that had changed was the amount of alcohol the guests had imbibed, as the night grew later and the sun slowly set.

“Tom! Hadrian!”

Harry turned his head, still on edge and still prepared to draw his wand at any sign of danger, though it had only been Orion who’d called.

“Abraxas said we can leave now,” Orion said, as excited as a new born puppy, “As the adults have gotten bored of us.”

He nodded stiffly, the sight of the boy easing the tension in his shoulders only slightly. A drink, that’s what he needs. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Tom surveying the room.

Harry gave him a small nudge, “You can talk to all these people at the next Slug Club meeting, I’m sure you’ve done enough networking for tonight.”

Tom sniffed, “I’ve hardly spoken to anyone important.”

“Sure, but Abraxas has firewhisky.” 

Orion nodded, bouncing on the balls of his feet, “Yes, and if you don’t mind…”

Tom gave a nonchalant wave of his arm, looking around the room for a second longer before pausing his gaze on Orion. He inclined his head slightly, “As you wish.”

“Maybe you can act your age for once,” Harry said, joking lightly and trailing after Orion.

“Are we not going to talk about… what just happened?” Tom said, and Harry could feel the way his eyes bore into the back of his head.

“Later,” Harry replied, ignoring the way Orion’s head had snapped round to stare at them, “It’s over for now, and a few hours of fun won’t change much.” 

Tom didn’t reply, though he did follow both Harry and Orion as they arrived to where the rest of their friends were lingering. Isabella’s face was flushed, and she was gripping her glass fairly tightly, and it was obvious that she was already several drinks deep. The same could be said about Hector, though Abraxas was far more composed. Harry supposed that this was only because it was his ball, and he would be under more scrutiny than the rest. 

“As per usual,” Abraxas said, his typical Malfoy drawl more obvious than before, “We shall retreat into one of the back living areas. Do try not to get too intoxicated, Isabella, or I’ll have to hide you away in one of our guest suites until all the guests leave.”

“One of,” Harry mouthed, exchanging a look with Tom. The teenager didn’t seem surprised, and he didn’t seem impressed with Harry’s attempts to cheer him up. He simply seemed… pensive. Harry couldn’t blame him.

They left the main ball room, following Abraxas down long, wooden corridors that were likely home to paintings worth more than Harry’s house. Harry’s hut, if he were being truthful.

He could see a lump in Orion’s robes, suspiciously shaped like bottles.

“We are to stay in here, unless you need the bathroom or are leaving,” Abraxas instructed, holding open the door to a large room, home to an empty fireplace and several uncomfortable looking sofas and chairs. Compared to the rest of Malfoy Manor, it was far less exuberant. 

Harry was the first to take a seat, tucking his feet beneath him and watching as Abraxas collected several, beautifully cut glasses from a cabinet.

“They are charmed to not break when dropped, yes?” Tom asked, innocently.

Abraxas nodded sharply, breaking open the first bottle of firewhisky with steady hands. 

“Thank you,” Harry said emphatically, upon receiving his first, small glass. He downed it in one, the liquid burning his throat and stomach in a surprisingly reassuring manner.

He could feel Tom watching him, not having touched his own glass expect to give it an exploratory smell.

“Better get drinking, Tom,” He advised, “Or else you’ll find yourself the only sober one.”

“That’s how I usually feel, anyhow,” Tom muttered quietly in response, just as Harry poured himself a second drink.

Almost two hours later, the firewhisky was flowing and Harry had indulged in the free alcohol far more than even he thought was wise. He sat, draped over one of Abraxas’ expensive chairs, with an almost empty glass in hand and a wide grin on his face. It was the point in the night were his tongue had loosened an inexplicable amount, and as such he felt liable to spill many, many fun secrets… 

“Tom’s got a crush on someone,” Harry said, hiding his smile behind his hand. He could feel Tom glaring daggers at him, though the buzz of the alcohol paired with the lateness of the night made the expression more amusing than threatening.

“...He does?” Orion stated tentatively, glancing between Harry and Tom as if he were expecting some kind of big announcement.

“Yes! And he won’t tell me who it is.”

“Won’t he,” Abraxas deadpanned, shuffling back in his seat. Isabella only laughed, leaning forward to rest her head on her hands.

Harry looked around at his friends, the grin morphing into frustration at their lack of enthusiasm, “Don’t you lot care? That Tom Riddle is practically smitten with someone? I’d have thought it would be bigger news…”

He trailed off, hazarding a look at Tom, who was looking right back at him with the sort of stare that made Harry feel as if his entire soul was being dissected.

“Why won’t you tell me? I could help, you know, be a matchmaker,” Harry added loudly, his voice cracking only slightly.

Tom tilted his head to the side, “I’m waiting for you to work it out.”

Harry waved his hand, “That’s no fun, Tom. Can’t you give me some more hints?”

He sat up straighter at that, a lightbulb flickering in his mind, “Let’s play a drinking game.”

“Again?” Tom replied, crinkling his nose slightly, “You’re worse than Orion.”

Orion nodded stiffly, “I don’t think this is a good idea… My father will want me home soon.”

“And mine is already peeved that I didn’t stay with him throughout the ball,” Isabella said, “Wanted to introduce me to… some important people.”

“I stole her away, apparently,” Hector muttered, his arm tugged snuggly around her waist.

“Don’t sound so glum, that’s a good thing,” She replied, smiling fondly at him.

Harry blinked a few times, placing his glass down on the table, “So… no drinking game?”

“No, Hadrian,” Tom said, his voice laced with a world-weary sigh, “But I do think it’s time for us to leave.”

“Quite right,” Abraxas said quickly, standing up as if he’d been waiting to usher them out for a fair few minutes, “

“Tom?” Harry asked, refusing to budge from his seat, “Does the Knight bus run at… night?”

He was regarded with a look that suggested it was a rather idiotic question, though Harry crossed his arms and sat back in his chair with a drunken stubbornness. A drunken intelligence, Harry corrected silently. 

“Of course it does, Hadrian,” Tom replied, holding his hand out to him, “It’s the Knight Bus.”

Harry rolled his eyes, grabbing onto Tom’s hand and letting him pull him up. He stumbled slightly, lurching into the other teenager’s body and feeling his heart drop at the sudden movement. Tom held him up, however, with hands around his waist.

“Thanks,” Harry said, beaming up at him, “Say, do you have any money?”

Tom paused, arm still wrapped around Harry but tightening slightly at his question, “No…”

Like the intelligent mind Harry was, he put two and two together.

“How’re we gonna pay, then?”

He saw Tom grinding his jaw together, likely frustrated and trying to come up with a solution. Harry was suddenly glad to be in his company, for there was no way he was sober enough to think on his own.

“We have several spare rooms,” Abraxas said, appearing tentatively in Harry’s peripheral, “I can set one… or two up if you wanted to stay here. My parents would not mind, and likely they would not notice.”

“Two–”

“One’s good!” Harry piped up, “We’ve been sharing all summer, so…”

Tom coughed lightly, and Abraxas seemed to pale. But maybe that was the lighting, and Harry’s admittedly fuzzy vision.

“Lead the way then,” Tom drawled, raising his eyebrow at Abraxas. Abraxas then hurried from the room, glancing back as Tom guided Harry along beside him.

Harry, feeling the room begin to spin around him, grabbed onto Tom’s forearm with a strong grip. There was no way that he was letting him go now, as he knew he’d flop to the floor in an instant. At least he wasn’t feeling queasy…

“Oh,” Harry muttered, feeling a sudden bout of sickness overcome him.

“Hadrian?”

He slammed his free hand to his mouth, looking sheepishly up at Tom. 

“There is an ensuite…” Abraxas said loudly, herding the two of them into the room, “Aim for the sink, if anything. These sheets are worth more than–”

“Leave,” Tom demanded, glaring over Harry’s head towards the blond before almost dragging Harry towards the bathroom.

He felt cool stone as his knees hit the floor, head finding the toilet seat as bile rose to his mouth. Harry shut his eyes, resting his forehead against his arm and breathing heavily.

“Reckon I drank too much,” He mumbled, finding himself laughing slightly.

“You reckon?” Tom said, and Harry felt a hand rubbing against his back. He sighed into the toilet, swallowing the bile down. 

Tom’s hand moved to stroke his hair, the sensation foreign yet welcoming. The soothing sensation stayed for the minutes Harry knelt there, and didn’t stop when Harry emerged from the bowl and sat back on his heels. 

He drank the offered glass of water thankfully, finding that instead of queasiness he now simply felt tired. 

“At least you didn’t throw up on Abraxas’ expensive bedsheets,” Tom drawled, “Malfoys have too much concern over material goods.”

“Don’t I know it,” Harry joked half heartedly, setting the glass down and rising shakily from the floor. 

“Will you be alright to change without my help?”

Harry bit at the corner of his cheek, replying, “You’ll catch me if I fall into the bedpost?”

“Always,” Tom replied, strangely sincere.

“Then I should–” He hiccupped,”–be grand.” 

He stared towards the bedroom, focussing on his final destination. It wasn’t that far, and Harry was sure that he would be able to walk ten paces on his own–

“Merlin,” Tom swore, as Harry felt himself falling (again) towards the floor. 

Harry chuckled, feeling himself be bundled up into Tom’s arms,  “I knew you’d catch me.”

Tom only tutted, guiding him back towards the room.

“We scared Abraxas off earlier–”

“You,” Harry corrected teasingly.

“Fine. I scared Abraxas off, and now we have ill fitting night clothes. Why he thinks his cousin’s clothes would fit you, I don’t know.”

Harry caught a glimpse of silken, blue night clothes laying on the bed. A couple vials of liquid sat on top, glimmering appealingly in the low light.

He unbuttoned his shirt, which joined his robes in a pile on he floor, and swiped up the clothes from the bed. His knees rested against the side of the bed, Tom a reassuring presence beside him.

“He must have panicked,” Tom mused, looking disparagingly at the outfit. It was too big by far for either of them, and Harry thought that Abraxas’ cousin must be part giant. The thought made him giggle.

“Should be fine,” Harry replied, trying to swallow down his hiccups. He threw the shirt over his head, not needing to undo the buttons, and then made to work on his trousers.

“Hadrian–” Tom interrupted, but Harry was far too focussed on the fiddly button situation. When were zips invented? Surely they had to be a thing by now.

He ran his fingers over the trousers, holding them up to inspect and then frowning, “A bit big, aren’t they?”

“That’s…” Tom began, trailing off as if he couldn’t be bothered to complete the sentence.

Harry threw the trousers on the ground, joining the majority of the rest of his clothes, and then unstoppered the vial of potion and downed it. He wasn’t sure what it was, but Abraxas was probably nice enough to leave a hangover cure for them. 

“You’re lucky that’s the preventative tonic,” Tom said quietly, taking the glass vial and settling it carefully on the side, “Or else you’d have rid yourself of morning relief.”

He wasn’t quite sure what Tom was talking about, and so jumped onto the bed and slipped his legs under the covers. It was smooth, and as he rested his head against the soft pillow found himself longing to fall into sleep.

“C’mon Tom,” He said sleeping, “Get dressed and go to sleep.”

Harry didn’t catch the reply, happily dozing away under the covers. He’d tucked the duvet up to his neck, and felt rather like a caterpillar in a cocoon. 

The last thing he remembered before falling into sleep was movement beside him, and Tom joining him beneath the covers. Looking for more warmth, Harry shuffled closer until he could feel Tom next to him.

He fell asleep with his hand resting inconspicuously on Tom’s torso, fingers fiddling with the annoying buttons on his shirt. 

When Harry awoke the next morning, the first thing on his mind was finding a glass of water. His throat felt raw and scratchy, and his eyes were still heavy with sleep. At least there was no headache.

He opened his eyes, staring fuzzily at his environment. This wasn’t their usual bed… No, the sheets were far too fine and the mattress was fare more comfortable. The pillow, though, was harder than the one’s Harry owned.

Harry shifted, burrowing further into–

Into Tom’s chest. He let out a breath, eyes widening as he took in his position. It wasn’t unnatural for them to wake up entwined, limbs overlapping each other, but somehow this felt fare more… intimate. Harry had been using Tom as a pillow.

He felt more than head Tom wake up, the shifting of the body and the exhalation of breath.

“Good morning,” Harry said, finding his voice still sleepy and rough.

“Good morning, Hadrian,” Tom replied, moving his arm from where it lay around Harry’s neck. For a moment, Harry mourned the loss of weight there. It had been comforting, and Tom’s hand had been resting very lightly on his shoulder.

“Did you sleep well?” Tom continued, shifting ever so slightly. It was enough that Harry remembered how close he was, and sat up quickly with a slightly flushed face.

He nodded, running a hand through his matted hair, “I think so… You make an excellent pillow.”

Tom smirked, the expression looking strange compared to his unnaturally ruffled appearance. His hair wasn’t styled, his shirt was skewed, and his eyes were slightly reddened from sleep.

“Feel free to utilise it more, if it gets you to sleep well.”

Harry huffed out a laugh, “You shouldn’t have offered, now you’ll never sleep because I’m climbing all over you in the night.”

He blushed almost immediately, realising how that had sounded.

“On the contrary,” Tom replied, shifting up into a seated position and resting against the headboard, “I slept far better than usual, and I doubt it was because of the acclaimed Malfoy bedsheets.”

Harry smiled, shaking his head but feeling pleased nonetheless.

There was a knock at the door then, and it opened almost immediately. Abraxas poked his head around, seeming to be fully dressed already.

“You’ve missed breakfast, but my house elf is preparing a brunch in–”

Abraxas blinked, looking between the two of them, before swiftly apologizing and hurrying from the room. 

“What’s wrong with him?” Harry pondered, turning to Tom with no small amount of confusion.

“Oh,” Tom replied with a knowing smile, “He thinks we spent the night having incredible sex.”

Chapter Text

Tom watched as an embarrassed flush crept up Hadrian’s neck, his eyes widening slightly at the revelation. To be quite honest, Tom was baffled by the lack of common sense the other teenager had. Shouldn’t he know, by now, about Tom’s advances? The touches, the looks, the language. He would have to chastise Orion for not telling him, or at least hinting to Hadrian about his interest. 

But then Hadrian’s face morphed, and he looked like he’d been caught out. Found guilty, at the scene of the crime. Maybe his embarrassment had less to do with his lack of knowledge, and more to do with… Him being interested.

Tom positioned himself more upright, letting his shirt drop further down his shoulder and his eyes wander over Hadrian’s dishevelled appearance. They were both messy and barely awake. No wonder Abraxas thought he was interrupting something.

“Why would he think that?” Hadrian asked, his voice lower than usual. It was attractive, almost husky, and Tom now didn’t know what to do with his hands. He settled with folding them over his abdomen.

His gaze dropped lower on Hadrian’s body, to where bare legs peeked out from underneath his shirt. He was wearing underwear, and Tom didn’t know whether that disappointed him or not. At least Abraxas hadn’t seen anymore than was respectful, but Tom wanted to see what was under there.

Hadrian noticed his gaze, and hastily went to pull his shirt down further. The buttons stretched, and Tom smiled knowingly. 

“You begged to share a bed with me last night,” Tom said, stressing the words, “Told everyone that we’d been sleeping together all summer. It’s not surprising they assumed… this.”

He spluttered, looking at Tom as if he’d had an epiphany. Ah, so maybe it was embarrassment about having others knowing about their potential relationship. That was fine, Tom could be private.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Hadrian insisted hurriedly, “I mean, you’re not ugly, but it’s just– you know– platonic hugging.” 

“Platonic… hugging,” Tom repeated, his jaw grinding in a mixture of annoyance and amusement.

“Exactly,” Hadrian nodded, seeming almost relieved.

“I’d say it was cuddling,” Tom mused.

Hadrian shrugged, the motion pulling up his shirt again. His legs were toned, born from the Quidditch pitch, and far hairier than Tom’s own. 

“I’m going to have a shower,” Tom continued, fiddling with the buttons on his shirt before standing. The bed covers fell off of him, and he raised his arms up in an intentional stretch. 

He, unlike Hadrian, wasn’t wearing underwear. 

Tom imagined that it was quite the sight to behold, and smirked to himself as he entered the bathroom. 

When he emerged ten minutes later, it was with damp strings of hair clinging to his forehead and a towel wrapped loosely around his waist. If Tom had spent a few minutes gussying himself up in the mirror, that was nobody’s business but his.

“You should shower also,” He pondered, re-entering the room to find Hadrian huddled back under the bedcovers, “So you don’t cause a strange smell to permeate the manor.”

Hadrian lifted his head up to peer at Tom, “I don’t smell.”

Tom shrugged nonchalantly, “We’ll have to change back into our clothes from last night, and then head down to the dining room. Hopefully Abraxas will still be there, and we can use his floo to head to Diagon.”

Hadrian lifted his arm up to rest his head on it, “Diagon?”

“To take some Galleons out of Gringotts,” Tom explained, smoothing out the creases in his dress robed with a small frown, “We don’t have any on us, and I know that we are running low anyway.”

Quieter, he muttered, “I should have gotten a job this summer.”

“You should work at the new joke store,” Hadrian said, a smile growing on his face, “I know you’d love it there.”

Tom huffed, before peering over his shoulder at Hadrian with a raised eyebrow, “You’re going to watch me undress? I can’t say I disapprove, but you were so vehement about us being platonic…”

“We are platonic,” Hadrian replied, the words now muffled. He’d turned over, smothering his face into the pillow. Tom found himself disappointed at the lack of opportunity to show off his body, and internally cursed himself for even warning Hadrian. 

He dropped the towel, slowly putting his dress robes back on. They were the nicest thing he owned, a beautiful fabric with perfect stitching. It would last years, if he looked after it carefully, and Tom knew that he would. 

Leaving his shirt unbuttoned, and the over layer of his robes off, he picked the towel up off the floor and ruffled his hair once more. Typically, he used minor wandless magic to dry it and Orion had gifted him a jar of Sleakeazy’s that worked wonders. Today, however, he’d have to make do. 

Tom returned his attention to Hadrian, who had turned back around. He wondered when that had happened, and regarded the teenager’s hair carefully. Would Hadrian like some hair product? It was curly, yes, and maybe adding Sleakeazy’s would smoothen it out. Maybe Tom could even apply it himself.

“You’re staring,” Hadrian commented.

“You’re not getting ready,” Tom rebuffed, “And I want to go and eat.”

He must really get a job, or some way of earning extra money, so he could buy some gifts for Hadrian. Gifts of affection were, as Hadrian had pointed out, one way of showing your interest. Something personal, perhaps. A racing broom? No, everyone knew that Hadrian liked Quidditch. 

The hair product was a decent idea, though it was expensive. He’d have to ask Abraxas for some Galleons. Orion too. Yes, fundraising would work. Raising funds for the Knights of Walpurgis… To invest in some gifts for Hadrian.

“Tom,” Hadrian said, raising his eyebrows as Tom latched onto the address, “You can go eat without me, I don’t mind.”

Tom frowned, “I mind. Are you feeling all right?”

Hadrian’s blush had returned, an intriguing turn of events that had Tom wondering what had happened. 

“I’m fine,” Hadrian replied slowly, as if tasting the words in his mouth, “Just not hungry.”

“You still have to change,” Tom reminded, collecting Hadrian’s clothes from where they were crumpled on the floor. He threw them on top of the slumbering boy.

Hadrian sunk further under the covers, “Turn around, then.”

Tom let out a noise of indignation, but did as Hadrian wanted. He slowly did up the buttons on his shirt, waiting out the minutes impatiently by staring out onto the grounds of the manor. They were well kept, but dull, and Tom thought they needed some animals to liven the place up. Chickens, perhaps.

He tucked his shirt into his trousers, but left the top button undone before slinging over the outer layer of robes. Presentable, sure, but not as pristine as he could be.

Tom turned back round to find Hadrian fiddling with his robe buttons and brushing down the creases with a small frown on his face.

He wandered over, inspecting Hadrian carefully, “You look good, for someone who almost fell into the toilet bowl last night.”

“Thank you?” Hadrian replied, pausing his fussing and looking up to meet Tom’s eye. 

“You’re welcome. Lead the way,” Tom said with a pleased nod, motioning with his arm towards the door. 

Hadrian lingered for only a moment, before they left for a late breakfast.

Tom got three Galleons from Abraxas after brunch, just enough for one of the smaller Sleakeazy’s jars. Not enough for anything else, anything substantial.

He trailed after Hadrian as they entered Gringotts, well aware that he didn’t even have an account. Maybe he should… persuade Morfin to give him an inheritance. Though the Gaunts were probably destitute now, they would have more than Tom had at the minute. More than three Galleons that weren’t even his.

“Hi,” Hadrian said, greeting the goblin at the desk, “I’d like to take out some Galleons, please.”

“Vault key,” The goblin intoned, seeming bored with wizards. He probably hated his job. Tom would, if he had to work in a customer facing role.

Hadrian groaned quietly, glancing at Tom, “I forgot it. Can I do that blood thing again?”

“2 Galleon payment,” The goblin said.

“Er– It was free last time,” Hadrian replied unsurely.

“It is a fine, for forgetting your key again.”

“Sure,” Hadrian agreed, after a moment, “Take it from the vault.”

Twenty minutes later they exited the vault, Hadrian having a pocket full of Galleons that should last until September. Unless they went on another impromptu spending spree.

“Home?” Hadrian asked, glancing over at Tom. He looked tired, his hair was knotted and there were slight bags under his eyes. 

Tom smiled, “Of course.”

He had a lot to think about, and a lot to ask Hadrian, but they could at least rest before.   

It wasn’t like Grindelwald would appear again any time soon.

“Oh for fucks sake,” Hadrian swore loudly, when they entered the house. Tom had to admit the situation called for vulgar language, and so didn’t reprimand him. He didn’t even think to, in the moment, instead going straight for his wand. 

“What are you doing here?” Hadrian demanded, slamming the door behind him and drawing his wand. He raised his arm, pointing it towards Gellert Grindelwald for the second time in the past twelve hours. 

“This is a rather quaint place,” Grindelwald mused, his head twisting to look around at the room and his words mirroring those Orion had said when he saw the house. It was eerie, unnerving. 

He looked older than Tom had last seen him, a similar age to Dumbledore, but far more handsome. Even withered with age lines, hair that seemed less white and was peppered with grey, the man still held an aura of attractiveness. Classically handsome, if one liked blonds. 

“You have no right, this is trespassing,” Tom said, summoning his confidence.

Grindelwald chuckled, eyes lingering on the plant in the corner of the room, “There was no warding on the property. It was almost like you wanted me to enter.”

Hadrian whispered something, dropping his arm and flicking his wand. A blue mist erupted from it, silently flying from the room. Tom raised his eyebrow in question, but Hadrian only shook his head. 

“We would have sent an invitation if we wanted you to join us for lunch,” Hadrian said, sneering slightly. 

Grindelwald didn’t respond, but he was yet to raise his wand. Whatever he wanted… it wasn’t to kill them. Not yet. Tom hid his had behind his back, obscuring the ring from view. It was his ring, no matter what Grindelwald said. Perhaps the man was mad with power, seeking out children to torture. 

“I thought to take our discussion into a more private location,” Grindelwald responded, ignoring Hadrian’s goading, “One where you would feel more comfortable. You live together?”

“Yeah,” Hadrian replied, gesturing lazily with his wand and standing upright, “What of it? I don’t have your cloak, we don’t have anything of yours. I imagine you’ve already had a good sweep through our belongings, so you know that. You waited for us so you could, what, kill us? Recruit us? No thanks.”

“I can assure you that I have no intention in killing you,” Grindelwald replied sombrely, before adding, “Unless you cross me, of course, and then I have no qualms with it.”

“So, recruitment?” Tom asked, hand itching for his wand. But he didn’t go for it, not yet.

Grindelwald tilted his head, but didn’t look at Tom. His attention was fixed, again, on Hadrian. Tom twisted slightly, trying to shield Hadrian from the Dark Lord with an imperceptible movement.

“We always need new blood,” Grindelwald stated.

Hadrian seemed to bristle, taking a step forward, “We are sixteen! We are not meant to be fighting a war.” 

Grindelwald wasn’t impressed, a darkness falling over his profile as if any patience was dissolving quickly. Tom slid his wand from his halter, quietly gripping it.

“Quite right, Mr Peverell.”

Tom let out a breath, head swinging around at the new voice. 

“Albus,” Grindelwald greeted calmly, seeming unsurprised by his appearance, “I wondered if you were the one Hadrian here sent a Patronus too. How have you been?”

Dumbledore walked further into the room, glancing once at Hadrian and Tom before stepping in front of them in a casually protective manner. Who would have thought he’d see the day when Dumbledore would be protective of him? 

“Quite well,” Dumbledore replied, his hands folded in front of him with no wand in sight, “Though I indulged a bit too much in some Sherbet Lemons this morning.”

Grindelwald tutted, and it seemed almost fond, “Your fatal flaw was always sweets.”

“On the contrary, I think that was you.” 

Tom felt as if he was intruding on a rather personal scene and shifted uncomfortably. He still held tightly onto his wand.

“You overestimate my involvement in your personality, Albus,” Grindelwald chastised.

Dumbledore hummed, regarding Grindelwald carefully. It was a strange scene to witness. They were meant to be mortal enemies, and Tom would have expected their confrontation to be… well, a confrontation. 

This was like old friends, catching up over tea. He almost felt inclined to offer some, in a brash, Gryffindorish thought. Hadrian was rubbing off on him, clearly.

“I think we are rudely taking over Mr Peverell’s house,” Dumbledore replied, moving swiftly on, “Shall we take this outside?”

Grindelwald took a step forward, his hands in his pockets, “Not today, Albus.”

He fixed his gaze on Hadrian, before adding, “I’ll see you on the battlefield. Don’t eat too many sweets in the meantime.”

Grindelwald apparated away silently, before anyone else could get a word in. Tom felt mildly disappointed that he wasn’t able to witness an epic duel between enemies, but mostly confused. 

Weren’t they supposed to be enemies?

He glanced to Hadrian, expecting to see the same confusion written over his face. Instead, he saw understanding. Grim understanding. 

That only made Tom more confused, and he hated that everyone seemed to know what was happening.

“I thank you for your quick thinking, Mr Peverell,” Dumbledore said, breaking the silence and turning towards them, “Gellert has always had a poor understanding of personal space.”

“I think he’s stalking me,” Hadrian said matter of factly, “He was at Abraxas’ birthday last night, looking fifty years younger. Nobody even noticed him. And he was at my trial.”

Dumbledore nodded, “Younger? That is concerning, indeed. I was surprised to hear about your trial, the Supreme Mugwump is a friend of mine and he complained dearly about the amount of people the Aurors were bringing in.”

Hadrian shrugged, “It was no big deal.”

“It was a huge deal,” Tom countered, speaking for the first time, “You would have gone to Azkaban.”

“I’m more worried about Grindelwald,” Hadrian replied, settling Tom with a look.

Dumbledore inclined his head, his eyes dulling, “I will… deal with him shortly. You shouldn’t have to worry about him for much longer. Mr Riddle, you should return to where you are staying. I will put up wards around this house, that’ll make sure nobody unwanted enters again.”

“Tom’s staying here,” Hadrian countered, slipping his wand back up his sleeve but appearing more defensive than before.

“He is,” Dumbledore stated, attention turning to Tom. He was surprised, clearly, though Tom didn’t sense any of the usual disapproving dislike.

There were a few, tense seconds where Tom thought that Dumbledore was going to demand he go back to the Orphanage. But he didn’t, in the end, instead drawing his wand and casting in a wide sweep.

“Feel free to watch, or go about your days,” Dumbledore said, “This shouldn’t take long.”

“Thanks, sir,” Hadrian said happily, his posture relaxing immensely. 

“Thank you,” Tom added, though his voice was far more tense and far less happy. He still didn’t like Dumbledore, not even if he was supposedly helping them.

“I’m going to nap,” Hadrian said, looking to Tom.

Tom nodded, glancing towards Dumbledore. The Professor was fully engrossed in his casting, however.

“Sleep well,” He said kindly, wondering what he should do next. Did he trust Dumbledore to be on his own in the house? Or would staying her with him be too frustrating to handle?

Hadrian shut the door behind him, and Tom took a seat at the kitchen table. He watched as Dumbledore wove magic like threads, intertwining them in intricate patterns. Tom was impressed, though he wasn’t going to mention it. One day he’d be able to do so, and it would be better than Dumbledore. 

An hour of watching later, Dumbledore had finished. Tom didn’t realise he had finished until the man cleared his throat, slipping his wand back into his pocket.

“To let people in,” Dumbledore explained, “Just tap your wand on the door and say their name. It shouldn’t set off the trace, but if it does just send me an owl– or get Mr Peverell to send a Patronus– and I shall let the authorities know.”

Tom nodded, “Thank you.”

Dumbledore went to leave, when a question occurred to Tom.

“Sir?”

“Yes, Tom?” Dumbledore asked, turning on Tom in a way that reminded him far too much of their first encounter.

“Grindelwald said that I had something of his,” Tom began, pulling off the ring on his finger, “But this was my Uncle’s.”

Dumbledore’s gaze fell to the ring, and his eyes widened almost imperceptibly. Tom only noticed because he was paying special attention. Dumbledore recognised it. 

“You’ve seen this before?” Tom questioned, leaning forward with interest. 

He paused, “May I inspect it?”

Tom pondered for a second. Dumbledore wouldn’t blatantly steal the ring, and maybe Tom would get some answers.

He handed the ring over.

Dumbledore brought it up to his eyeline, watching as the light caught on the stone inside. His face didn’t betray his thoughts, however, and he handed it back to Tom after only a few seconds.

“I don’t recognise it,” Dumbledore began, but Tom knew he was lying, “Though the stone may have magical properties that I could not detect upon first glance.”

Tom nodded slowly, rolling the ring between his fingers, but didn’t reply.

“If you agree, I would happily borrow the ring to inspect some more. It wouldn’t be harmed, and you’d have it back whenever you wished.”

The conniving–

Tom pocketed the ring, “Ah, no thank you. I may have a look into it myself. Hadrian is of the opinion that Grindelwald has just gone mad, and that the ring just looks like something of his.”

It was evident that Dumbledore thought he was lying, but the man didn’t mention it. The twinkle in his eye had died down fully, and his posture was back to the tense, upright one he usually had when around Tom.

“Of course,” Dumbledore replied, “Then I shall see you when the school year resumes. Good day.”

He strode from the room, purple robes swirling around him, and Tom knew that he had to go to the library. 

Chapter Text

August ended quietly, the days having passed with a quickness that Harry attributed to Grindelwald laying low. Tom, too, seemed quiet and lacking in any worrying habits. Their days were spent lounging around in the unbearably stuffy heat, mourning the coolness of Autumn and sipping at ice water.

But now, it was early in the morning on September 1st and he would be returning to Hogwarts. 

Harry didn’t think he’d ever felt so conflicted about the journey. He knew he’d miss their cosy little cottage and the quietness that it had brought them. It was isolated, and Hogwarts was anything but isolated. 

He pushed at the lid of his chest, clicking it shut with ease and suppressing a yawn. It was far too early in the morning, for a Saturday, but Tom had insisted they leave 2 hours before the train departed. Just in case something went wrong. 

“Are you ready yet?” Harry asked, leaning forward onto his trunk and watching as Tom carefully hand folded each and every piece of his clothing.

Tom didn’t pause his folding, “Not quite.”

Harry sighed loudly, moving his trunk from the bed and onto the floor so he could sit down. He leant back, watching the monotonous motions of Tom’s packing routine.

“It’ll be strange, being back at Hogwarts,” Harry pondered aloud, letting his head drop back against the backboard.

“Quite,” Tom agreed, glancing up to catch Harry’s eye, “I’ve grown quite accustomed to living in close quarters to you. At least our beds are beside each other.”

Harry raised his eyebrows, feeling the beginnings of a smirk form, “What, you’re going to sneak into my bed? A bit presumptuous, Tom.”

Tom’s hands stopped what they were doing, and he settled Harry with a look that suggested he knew he definitely wasn’t being presumptuous. Harry blushed, shrugging his shoulders in what he hoped was a nonchalant way.

“I was rather hoping you’d sneak into mine,” Tom responded after a moment of tracing his eyes over Harry’s face, placing the last of his shirts into his trunk and clicking it shut.

He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Harry didn’t know how to respond.

“Shall we depart?” Tom continued, grasping at the handle on his trunk.

He jumped up from the bed, casting one last sweep around the room to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything, before following Tom from the room.

Platform 9 and ¾  was, as it was every year, packed to the brim. Students bustled about with trunks and screeching owls, and their parents tried (in vain) to keep an eye on them.

The train wasn’t even due to leave for another half an hour, and yet it seemed like every family in Wizarding Britain was here. 

Harry and Tom navigated through the hallway of the train, peering in the windows to find an empty carriage. Though it appeared as if most of the students were still with their parents, they managed to find one fairly easily.

He levitated his trunk into the luggage rack, before falling back into the seat by the window.

“I shall have to leave for a Prefects meeting when the train starts,” Tom explained, taking the seat opposite him, “That leaves you to make sure that the Slytherins are behaving properly.”

Harry stared at him with blank eyes, “Isn’t that the Prefect’s job?”

Tom jerked his head to the side, “Yes, but it’s also your job as my second. Keep an eye on Felix, will you? He’s been silent all summer.”

“Don’t I need to be, I don’t know, sworn in to this cult?” Harry asked, crossing his arms over his chest in a sulk.

“That’ll be tonight,” Tom agreed, tapping his fingers against his knee and smiling nastily, “We’ll sacrifice some lambs, and then smear the blood over our naked bodies.”

“What?” Harry exclaimed, eyes widening and mouth dropping open, “You can’t be serious.”

Tom only smirked, satisfied, and looked out the window.

“You aren’t serious,” Harry realised, pouting and slumping back in his seat and muttering, “You’re so mean to me.”

The door to the compartment slid open, then, letting in a sullen looking Abraxas.

“Good morning,” He greeted, glancing between Harry and Tom with a strangely nervous expression.

“Morning,” Harry replied with a tight smile, remembering the last time they’d seen each other… and the awkward position that Abraxas had seen them in.

Thankfully, Orion and Isabella hurried in not long after and their happy smiles and upbeat voices made the situation far less awkward. Not that Tom would feel awkward, but Harry was more worried about whether Abraxas would implode before they got to Hogwarts. 

“Did you hear?” Isabella asked, patting Harry on the knee in excitement, “My father finally gave in and allowed me freedom to arrange a courtship with Hector. Even called him fairly upstanding and not entirely dimwitted. Wonderful, right?”

“That’s a glowing recommendation,” Harry agreed, bumping her shoulder and grinning, “Where is Hector, anyhow?”

Isabella motioned out the window, and Harry followed where she pointed to find Hector standing stiffly beside a short couple that had to be his parents. They were engaged in what seemed to be a very one sided debate– his father talking animatedly at Hector and Hector, well, he was staring blankly at him in return. His parents looked to be a rather dour couple, and Harry didn’t envy him in the slightest. 

“If he doesn’t hurry up, the train will leave without him,” Abraxas drawled, barely glancing out the window. Instead, he seemed remarkably interested in the fabric of his trousers. 

As if summoned by Abraxas’ scathing words, Hector turned on the spot and strode towards the train. For a person who showed even less emotion than Tom, he looked incredibly angry. More angry than Harry had ever seen him.

There was commotion outside, and in stormed the teenager in question. Felix trailed behind him, casting a wary glance towards Harry.

“Tom?” Felix ventured, “Is it alright if I sit in another compartment? I wanted to discuss the summer homework with one of the Ravenclaws.”

“Which Ravenclaw?” Tom asked, not even turning to acknowledge Rosier.

“Rosalyn McLaird,” Rosier replied, wringing his hands together.

“Lorcan McLaird’s daughter?”

“Yes–”

“Fine,” Tom interrupted, waving his hand in dismissal, “Check in back here before we depart the train.”

Rosier fled from the compartment, letting it slam shut behind him.

“So tetchy today,” Harry said, “Wake up on the wrong side of the bed?”

“Something like that,” Tom drawled, catching Harry’s eye, “Felix hasn’t been in my good graces for a while.”

“But he’s rich so you keep him around?” Harry guessed.

“Spot on once again, Hadrian, you’re getting better,” Tom replied, before standing and brushing the non existent dust from his blazer, “Hadrian is in charge until I return.”

Tom brushed past them, and once he had left the compartment it felt as if any tension from the room had dissipated considerably. 

“Well,” Harry began, “I guess I have to babysit you all until Tom gets back.”

The journey was long, a fact that Harry had forgotten, and ran far into the evening. Even the sun had set by the time they arrived at the station, and clambered into one of the Thestral drawn carriages. For someone who had spent the majority of his day sitting down, Harry was more tired than necessary.

He briefly wondered whether he could ask Dippet to floo in next year.

“I’m starved,” Harry complained, trailing up the stairs into the castle, “I can’t believe we’ll have to wait another hour for the feast to be served.”

“I told you we should have brought sandwiches,” Tom replied, casting a disapproving glance over at Harry, “But you said that it would ruin the fun.” 

“Yeah? Would you rather have soggy bread or a whole roast dinner?” 

“I’d rather not be hungry…” Tom said, adjusting his tie as they entered into the Great Hall.

He cast a look down the Slytherin table, eyes narrowing as if he were deciding exactly which seat would be the best.

“Hadrian, you sit next to me,” Tom demanded, taking the seat in the very middle of all the benches. 

Harry rolled his eyes, but fell down beside him and rested his elbows on the table. The rest of their group was significantly slower to take a seat, looking increasingly worried as they looked amongst each other. He realised, after far too long, that they were waiting for instructions. 

He let out a sigh, saying, “Just sit wherever you usually do. It’s not a big deal.”

Orion sat down hurriedly, casting a thankful smile towards him. Even knowing them for a year, Harry was still so confused at their dynamic. 

“Mulciber,” Tom called, sitting upright and staring down the table, “Come here.”

A smaller boy jumped at the sound of his name being called, casting a look at his friends before hurrying over to Tom. He’d stuffed his hands in his robes, and his hair was slightly damp. Whether it was sweat, or otherwise, Harry didn’t know. 

“You may sit,” Tom added, pointing to the seat beside Orion, “Consider this conditional approval.”

Mulciber nodded, paling considerably, before shuffling around the table to sit down.

Harry raised an eyebrow at Tom.

“Hadrian, have you met William?”

“No…” Harry said, tentatively watching the boy sitting stiffly opposite him.

“He’s Edward's brother,” Tom continued, “Quite the prodigy at Potions, or so I hear from Professor Slughorn.”

“Ah,” Harry replied, smiling at Mulciber. He didn’t look like a Mulciber. From what Harry knew of Edward, the boy had been all muscle and grimaces. He hadn’t spoken much, and he’d not been that bright, but his younger brother must have been the antithesis of that. Wiry, clean shaven, shy. Edward Mulciber had been the king of Slytherin, before he’d graduated, and nobody had ever been quite sure why. Mulciber the younger had a legacy to live up to.

“Nice to meet you,” Harry continued, trying to coax the boy into conversation. 

“You too,” Mulciber responded, subtly throwing back his shoulders, “Peverell, isn’t it?”

“Spot on,” Harry replied dully, though their incredibly lively conversation was interrupted by the announcements of the new First Years.

The students were smaller than he’d imagined, all fresh faced and smooth skinned and looking around the hall in awe. He smiled fondly, remembering his first time at Hogwarts as he caught Tom’s eye. Tom didn’t seem interested at all in the first years, staring without any sign of emotion towards the middle of the hall. 

“Fawley, Augusta,” Dumbledore intoned, and Harry watched as a small, round-faced but stern looking girl settled herself on the stool. She looked vaguely familiar, with dark brown hair and a stubborn, set jaw.

“Gryffindor!” The hat shouted, only seconds after landing on her head, and the red and gold clad table erupted into cheers. Harry had to stop himself from joining in, muscle memory taking over.

There were a few more recognisable names to join the Slytherin table: a boy called Parkinson and another called Rowle.

All pureblooded, all rich, and all legacies of Slytherin house.

Until the next name to be called brought about a spattering of quiet mutters.

Russell, Lucia joined the Slytherins, and it was blatantly obvious that the girl was a muggleborn. She smiled, though it was uncertain, as she joined the green table. Harry felt a wave of nervousness for her, as he overheard the first year’s conversation.

“Half-blood, are you?” The pug faced Parkinson boy asked, barely even looking at Russell.

“What?” She replied, frowning and confused. Nobody had told her, then, that she was to live with bigots.

One of the other girls laughed, flicking her blonde hair over her shoulder and addressing her friend, “Do we really have to share a dorm with the mudblood?”

Her equally snooty friend shook her head, pitching her voice a tad lower. It was evidently intended to be heard, however, “She won’t last the first year, I know it. Bet she doesn’t even know her Galleons from her Sickles.”

Russell looked between the two girls, her face falling almost theatrically, before steeling herself, “I’d say the same thing about you, you both look like you’ve never held a pen in your life.”

“A pen?” One of the boys laughed, face redding in amusement, “Wizards use quills, not pens. Merlin, she is a mudblood.”

“Hadrian,” Tom said, and Harry’s attention was drawn back to their group. Tom looked pointedly to where Harry’s hands were clenched in his lap.

“Aren’t you going to do anything?” Harry asked pointedly, nodding down the table.

Tom hazarded a glance, seeming nonplussed, “No. A little hazing never hurt anyone.”

Harry scoffed, “It must have hurt you, Tom.”

“I think my character has improved quite a bit because of it, actually,” Tom countered, before regarding Harry carefully, “Why don’t you do something about it, if you’re acting saviour today?”

“Fine,” Harry replied, shrugging and standing from the table. He could feel a few eyes watching him as he walked to the end, pausing behind the group of first years.

“Russell, wasn’t it?” Harry asked, catching the girl’s eye. She looked to be on the verge of tears, flushed and trying hard not to show it. 

She blinked up at him, clearing her throat, “Yes?”

“It’s a pleasure,” Harry replied, smiling kindly, “Why don’t you come and sit with us? You don’t want to be stuck with… these.”

Lucia Russell’s mouth twitched, and she took a deep breath, “Quite right.”

One of the first year boys glared at him, “Who are you, anyway? Another mudblood?”

Harry laughed, loud and disturbing, especially as the sorting was not quite finished.

“Peverell. Hadrian Peverell. You might have heard of me, if you were able to read the Prophet.”

To his satisfaction, the boy paled slightly. His friend hit him on the arm, hissing something in his ear. In sync, the two of them looked down the table towards where Harry had walked from.

“Come on, Lucia. I can call you that, right?”

“Of course,” She said sweetly, the tears now gone from her eyes as she trailed Harry down the table.

“Abraxas,” He said, “Make room.”

Abraxas looked towards Tom, who didn’t nod or make any sign of his opinion, before scooting to the side to allow the new first year to join.

Harry sat back in his seat, where the food had now appeared, before helping himself to a large portion of Shepherd’s pie.

Lucia looked between the group of them with a wary eye, before settling them on Harry. He swallowed his bite of food, taking a sip of Pumpkin juice, before speaking.

“This is Lucia,” He introduced, “Be nice. The first years are all awfully dull this year. Well, the first year Slytherins.”

Nobody spoke.

“And the sixth year Slytherins, it seems,” He added, glaring at his group, “I said to be nice.”

“You’re a muggleborn?” Abraxas asked after a beat, as if he had no other topics of conversation.

“My parents aren’t magical, if that’s what you mean,” She responded, gritting her teeth together as if she were expecting a fight. Again.

Abraxas nodded slowly, once again looking at Tom.

Tom didn’t seem to care at all, chopping his food slowly into chunks. Harry nudged him with his knee.

Finally, Tom looked up, “Are there any lessons you are particularly interested in?”

Lucia seemed to shrink back a bit at his attention, “Professor Dumbledore mentioned he taught Transfiguration, which sounds kind of dope.”

“Dope,” Orion repeated quietly, watching the girl with a fascinated sort of confusion.

“Dumbledore doesn’t like Slytherins,” Abraxas informed, speaking as stiff as if he were only just learning, “But Transfiguration is a… good choice.”

“That’s not true,” Harry countered, and he could feel Tom’s amusement, “He quite likes me, I think. Sure, he favours Gryffindor but that’s like saying Slughorn hates everyone but the Slytherins.”

“Slughorn only has interests in those who have potential,” Orion said, “And those who are rich and powerful. I don’t think he even realises anyone else exists.”

That was… a fair assessment. 

Seeing Lucia’s confusion at the conversation, he added, “Slughorn is our Head of House. If you need anything, he’s the one to go to.”

Harry pointed towards the table where Slughorn was enjoying his meal and laughing heartily at something Professor Dumbledore was saying, “He’s the one in the… chequered suit.”

“Was he taking fashion advice from Dumbledore over the summer?” Isabella asked, scrunching her nose up in disgust, “It’s atrocious.”

“It was likely a gift from one of his old students,” Tom said, hardly giving the man a glance but seeming to know his ways well.

When dinner was over, Harry was hit by a wave of post-meal exhaustion and all he wanted to do was fall into his bed and rest his eyes. 

Unfortunately, he had business to attend to. Business in the form of partaking in Slytherin’s fucking court.

“Do you get a crown?” Harry asked, turning innocent eyes onto Tom, “Do I get a crown?”

“I’ll get you a crown if you want a crown,” Tom drawled, smirking, “But no, I don’t. You definitely wouldn’t, unless you want to be Queen?”

Harry laughed, “If I ever overthrow you, I’m making it a requirement that the King gets a crown. And then I’ll disband the whole thing. I hate this, you know? It feels so odd. King Tom.”

“No matter your opinions, you have already vowed to participate. And it isn’t like I’m making anyone call me King.”

“No, just my Lord,” Harry countered quietly, raising his eyebrows, “Where’s this special room, then?”

“Just through here,” Tom said, face darkening as he watched Harry tease. He led their group up the stairs towards their dorm, but instead of continuing up they stopped at one of the paintings on the wall. 

“Carthago delenda est,” Tom addressed the painting, and the old man nodded once before the portrait swung open.

“What does that mean?” Harry asked, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Carthage must be destroyed,” Tom muttered, glancing back at him with an excited gleam in his eyes.

He shrugged, before stepping inside the room.

“So, is this where we have our sex ritual?” 

Chapter Text

Tom let out a world weary sigh, slipping his hands into his pockets in an attempt to refrain from reaching out to strange Hadrian. Affectionately. 

“Not yet,” He replied, an amusing response he knew that Hadrian would like. The snort he received validated this. 

The room was grand, adorned with green drapes and golden trim, as well as a large ornate table in the center. The mantleplace was covered in all sorts of items, ranging from small animal skulls enclosed in glass boxes to old books, withered and worn but still somehow held together by magic. A portrait hung above it, a regal man in green robes looking down at them with a haughty expression. He wasn't moving, though Tom imagined he had better to do with his evenings than talk to children.

The other boys stood in the corner, waiting for their instructions.

Hadrian walked towards the fireplace, staring up at the portrait.

"Slytherin looks less impressive than I would have thought," He pondered, and Tom let out a huff.

"You have no house pride," Tom replied, running his hand over the large throne-like seat at the head of the table. King, indeed.

"I suppose," Hadrian turned back to him. "Is that a real human skull?"

Tom followed his gaze, nose wrinkling in disgust as he saw the item. He'd have to revamp the room.

"I'd have assumed so," He said. "Slytherin was always rather...unorthodox."

"Unorthodox..." Hadrian repeated quietly, his lips tilting up in a smile.

Abraxas took a step forward, clearing his throat, "Are you going to address us this evening, my Lord?"

Tom's jaw ticked, his eyes narrowing as he turned to face the other students.

"Don't you have any patience, Abraxas? Appreciation for the... beautiful room you're faced with?"

"I do appreciate it, my Lord," He said, almost breathless in his hurry to respond, "But we aren't here to discuss the architecture."

Tom let out a slow, irritated breath, "Well then. Take your seats."

They scrambled, the sound of chairs being pulled against stone loud in Tom's ears. The small boy, William Mulciber, hovered at the end of the table before taking a tentative seat on the edge of the chair. Scared, already. It didn't bode well.

The room was silent, and Tom tapped his fingers against the back of his chair. He wouldn't sit yet, keeping them on edge. Now that he had a proper room, a proper throne, his ambitions were becoming even more real. 

He opened his mouth to speak, to provide a relatable and yet inspiring speech to his Knights, but before the words could even spill from his mouth another spoke out of term.

"Thanks, Tom," Hadrian said, falling into the seat Tom stood behind.

He couldn't even bring himself to feel enraged.

Hadrian tilted his head up, green eyes sparkling up at Tom with a mischievious glint.

"It's no problem, Hadrian," He replied, straightening up and feeling the gazes of the others fall on them. Watching and likely waiting for retribution.

But he didn't mind sharing, contrary to the popular belief.

"Now," He turned his gaze back to his followers, watching their postures stiffen and their eyes widen, "What do we think of the room? A good meeting point?"

There were murmurs of agreement, "Yes, My Lord."

Tom made a clicking noise with his tongue, "Are we sure?"

Again, that tense silence and those awkward glances between Tom and the table.

"Speak your minds, Merlin," He swore.

"It's very...dreary, isn't it?" Abraxas said, leaning back in his seat.

"Well that's because we're under the lake," Orion replied, "Nothing to be done about that, is there?"

He peered up at Tom with raised eyebrows, genuinely curious. Of course, it would only take a few waves of his-

"There we go!" Hadrian said, pointing his wand towards the frosted over windows. They shimmered, white light glittering from them, before settling into a white light.

"Taking my spotlight?" Tom muttered, dipping his head an infinitesimal amount so that only Hadrian could hear. The wavy strands of black hair tickled at his chin.

"I'll share, if you ask nicely," Hadrian smirked, tilting his head up so that their eyes met, "It's not a big deal."

"Of course not," He replied, before lifting his chin, and raising his voice, "As my second in command... Why don't you give your opinion?"

"Well, I'm not a fan of the decoration," Hadrian admitted, leaning back in his seat and crossing his legs. He didn't look very intimidating, thin with robes that seemed to be too short for him, but Tom could admit that he looked very appealing.

"Lets get rid of the skulls," He continued, "Maybe cover up the portrait. Knowing Tom, he'll have one of himself commissioned instead. Apart from that, though, it's quite cozy."

Hadrian tilted his head and sent a smile his way.

Tom's fingers curled around the back of his chair, nails digging into the soft velvet.

"You shall not cover up my portrait."

His head snapped up, eyes locking onto the picture of Slytherin. Salazar's eyes had narrowed, his arms crossed over his robed chest, and was glaring at them with an incensed expression.

"Moreover, you cannot cover me," He added, watching Tom closely, "You, boy, you're in charge?"

"I am."

"You remove my portrait and I will curse you to never be able to eat or sleep again. Do you understand?"

"I do," Tom replied, tightening his grip on the chair.

"Excellent," Slytherin replied, inspecting those sat around the table, before repeating, "Excellent."

He then, without warning, turned on his heel and walked further into the portrait until he disappeared from view.

"How odd," Abraxas whispered.

Hadrian slumped back in his chair, eyes seeming to linger on the portrait, "I knew he'd be a prick."

"I guess the portrait stays, then," Tom said, clearing his throat, "Does anyone have any questions about the coming year?"

The Mulciber boy cleared his throat, leaning forward with a sheepish expression, "What exactly do I do?"

"Nothing," Tom replied, moving back from the chair and walking over to the mantlepiece. He examined the titles of the books, humming lightly, "But if you are given a job to do, then I expect it done."

"What kind of-"

"It's better not to ask," Hadrian interrupted, "But it's probably not going to be murder. Yet."

"Hadrian, stop. All of you leave, get some sleep," Tom said immediately, gaze falling on Mulciber, "Don't disappoint me."

Again, there was the scraping of chairs and the slightly too quick footsteps on the stone. Again, Hadrian lingered.

"I was looking forward to a speech," Hadrian said, standing and following Tom to the mantlepiece. His eyes, just like Tom's had, traced the lettering on the spines of the books. He plucked one off the top, opening up the front cover, before slipping it under his arm.

"Speeches need practice," Tom replied, "I didn't plan one for today."

Hadrian yawned, and the movement crinkled his eyes. Tom could only watch their greenness.

“I’ll put ten on the Falcons,” Orion said, grinning as wide as anything. Harry watched, amused, as the table let out a groan.

“They won’t even make it past the first round,” Isabella said, “What’s the point?”

Orion shrugged, “My money, my choice.”

“Your father’s money,” Walburga piped up, hardly looking up from her newspaper, and Orion flushed red. 

"Anyone betting on the Cannons?" Harry asked, interupting the chuckles, "No? How about you, Tom? I know you love Quidditch."

"Absolutely not," Tom drawled, "I don't lower myself to such things. Speaking of which, will you be continuing your tenure as Slytherin seeker this year?"

It was spoken so lightly that Harry thought he might have misheard. He narrowed his eyes.

"Yes, of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

"I only meant that this year you will be far more occupied. Are you sure you'll have the time?"

Harry barked out a laugh, "Busy with what? We don't have proper exams, and that stupid court nonsense won't take up that much time."

Tom tilted his head to the side, "Whatever you say."

He frowned, "What's that supposed to mean?"

Vaguely, he could hear that the conversations of those around them had quietened.

"I'm simply asking whether or not you'll be able to balance everything, that's all."

"Worried I won't have enough time for you?" Harry teased, finding his grin return at Tom's attitude.

Tom snorted, "Hardly. I was more concerned with your ability to remain focused on Quidditch."

"Well you'll have nothing to worry about, will you? You won't even have to sit in the stands," Harry pointed out, "You can spend all your time holed up in the library and terrorising first years."

Tom settled him with an unimpressed stare, "That is not how I spend my time, as you should very well know."

"Right," Harry replied, not convinced, before turning to Orion, "Doesn't Tom just study and harrass people all day?"

Orion opened his mouth, glancing between them, before shutting it with a click.

"Tom has... a varied schedule," Orion replied diplomatically, after a moment of deep thought.

"Quite right," Tom said with a satisfied nod, "Now, shall we head off to Defence? I'd rather not be late."

"It starts in twenty minutes..." Isabella whispered, slumping down in her seat, "Surely we don't need to go now."

"I'm going now," Tom said, ignoring her, "Come, Hadrian."

"I'm not a dog," Harry barked, glaring up at him but standing nonetheless, "Do you think we'll get to duel more this year? Or will she make us do actual work?"

"Even if it is just textbook work," Tom replied, slinging his satchel over his shoulder, "There is always the option to duel each other outside of lesson time."

Harry paused, pondering, "For once, you've come up with a good idea."

"Thank you, Hadrian," Tom crooned, an annoying pleased expression forming on his face.