Disclaimer: all the characters and the set-up belong to J. K. Rowling.
Summary: When a recluse Harry Potter comes to Hogwarts, the last thing he expects is to be part of the tug-of-war game between his DADA teacher Tom Riddle and Riddle's cousin Salazar Gaunt. Both have been at war with each other for years. Both believe this is another game. They become aware it is not when it's already too late.
CHAPTER 1. Hogwarts
"Have you ever visited Hogwarts before, Mr. Potter?"
Madame Malkin's smile radiated friendliness, but Harry's own lacked any spark. Automatic. Like most of his expressions usually were.
"No. I was homeschooled since my childhood. But my parents told me a billion stories about it, so I can picture everything in it, from the moving staircases to the ceiling that mirrors the sky," he replied softly.
Malkin hummed in reply and inserted another pin into the black fabric of his new school robes. Harry observed the way her nimble fingers pulled and pricked and pushed.
"And I probably know more about Hogwarts' secrets than most students do."
Malkin chuckled. "Yes, yes, I remember your parents. Especially your father. A stunning young man, he was." She looked up from her work to wink at him. "A dashing one, that's for sure; we always betted on who could entice the local star, and the news that the quiet Lily Evans managed that simply stunned us."
Harry offered a tight smile.
"My mother has a habit of stumping people."
A habit Harry inherited. One of the few traits he actually shared with either of his parents.
"It's the quiet ones you always have to be wary of," Malkin continued conversationally. Harry only half-listened as a dozen of other things filled his mind. "Especially when it comes to Hogwarts students."
"Oh? Any other surprises recently?"
Malkin blinked up at him before beaming.
"Didn't you hear? Tom Riddle, that upstart halfblood. I hear he has made quite the impression on the Minister himself. You'd never tell with the way he was so humble and helpful at Hogwarts, none of this Malfoy showing-off."
Harry hid an annoyed huff at the familiar name.
Tom Riddle.
Ever since he had decided to leave his reclusion and try out that entire school thing, Harry had been hearing that name. When reading a newspaper, when researching the famous contemporaries, when looking up the technicalities of living in Hogwarts – wherever he looked, that name came up.
The memories of a handsome visage and charming smile fluttered in his mind. Harry stifled them.
The idea of associating with Riddle attracted him, but only somewhat – however charming Riddle appeared, the rumours clearly indicated him being a Dark wizard. Lily and James wouldn't be happy about Harry socialising with the man.
And despite everything, a tiny sprout of hope still dwelled inside him that one day Harry's parents would forsake the stigma of his innate Dark magic and relax around him without wariness.
Connecting with a renowned Dark wizard would crush the possibility.
"He's invited to teach at Hogwarts this year. Defence against the Dark Arts. They say it was his best subject at school."
"Oh," Harry replied with a veneer of outward disinterest.
He yearned for someone to guide him the way Lily and James had never done...
He smothered the urge.
Harry would stay true to his parents' teachings; he wouldn't touch Riddle and his coterie with a ten-foot pole unless the man outright walked up to him and dragged him into the world of the Dark Arts...
Which Harry doubted would happen.
No one ever paid attention to him.
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"Are you sure you are going to be all right?" Lily asked worriedly at the train station.
Harry ignored her question, staring at the crimson vehicle instead, wondering at the air of mirth and anticipation floating around, marvelling at the spells that were flying and at the human sentiment shown vividly on wizards' faces.
People, people, people...
Their overabundance made him dizzy. Harry stared at them, trying not to feel like an idiot, and failing.
Brought up as somewhat of a recluse, Harry had seen few people at a single gathering. Mostly the list of his associates comprised his parents, Remus, Sirius, and Dumbledore. Sometimes he got to see some of Lily and James's Auror friends and colleagues who dropped by for a drink or emergency, or even to discuss some business matters like trails of a murdering Dark wizard or the suspicions about a blood ritual performed somewhere.
Harry always listened in to those conversations.
His godfather Sirius Black constituted a wonderful company on those occasions, or even when it came to providing Harry with prank supplies.
The boy never told his godfather that he didn't use them for pranking.
"Of course he will be, Lily." Harry's attention snapped back to his parents as James laughed his wife off with an easy laugh. "Don't be such a worrywart. Harry has never been the one to pose trouble for any one of us, has he?"
Lily smiled tightly.
"Just don't get in Slytherin, darling," she said gently as her hand tucked a lock of Harry's hair behind his ear. "They might fill your ears with lies and false beliefs that might ruin your life."
Harry sent her a small smile. Utterly fake, with a touch of bitterness lying underneath.
Of course. Don't get involved with Slytherins. Don't talk to Slytherins. Don't spend more than a second in their company unsupervised, because it screamed danger.
And all because of the ability he had.
James grinned nervously and rubbed the back of his head.
"Harry's got a fine head on his shoulders. He sees every day what we do to those slimeballs when we catch them."
'You are such a hypocrite, James Potter. Do you truly believe that if you're tormenting a Dark wizard who has tormented someone first – maybe even for a reason – it makes it all right?'
Harry tilted his head, carefully maintaining a neutral expression.
"So all I have to do is not to get caught by you then?"
Judging by the abrupt darkening of his parents' expressions, neither of them appreciated the joke.
Lily gasped and placed her hands on his shoulders. They weighed tons.
"Harry," she scolded. Her tone of voice struck worse than a poisoned knife. "Please stop with this nonsense. I'll write a message to Albus so he has another talk with you; it seems like with all this freedom you're already forgetting yourself."
"Probably got corrupted by someone in Diagon."
Harry held back a grimace.
A talk with Dumbledore. Perfect.
Not that Harry disliked the old man – his attitude remained neutral despite the many differing opinions he had heard about him – but he admitted that Dumbledore always gnawed on his nerves and thawed on his patience with his constant chatter about the superiority of Light.
What the hell? Harry was a born Dark wizard, the blood of his grandmother seeing to it. Was he supposed to lower his head and submit to the standards of being inferior?
"Don't worry, son, a few pranks against Slytherins will alleviate whatever regard they might have for you," James quipped cheerfully. "After that they'll hate you and you'll be free to live the life you want: a life free of Dark influence!"
Harry only smiled, like he was used to. Trust his father to cure everything with pranks.
His parents never understood him. They believed that if Harry ignored he was Dark, if they ignored he was Dark, if the society ignored he was Dark, that little fact would disappear.
But it didn't work that way.
Time and time again Harry turned his back on his heart shattering.
Time and time again his hope glued it back together for another round.
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Unfortunately, the Fates weren't smiling upon him that day, since Harry found all of the compartments already full or half-full.
Damn. Not even a moment of relaxation with a book in hand.
Eventually, he settled on sharing the ride with a bushy-haired girl, a chubby boy, and a guy with such flaming red hair it made his head look on fire.
"Do you mind..?" Harry gestured at the only seat available.
The bushy-haired girl raised her head – she was reading! That cheered him up immediately – and blushed. The blokes turned to him, too, their attention diverted from the conversation they had had.
"No, not at all. Sit down here." She pulled out her wand to levitate a rack of books to the floor.
Harry inclined his head, impressed.
"Non-verbal spells. Fascinating."
The redhead snorted. "That's Hermione for you. I wouldn't touch this stuff for a galleon, but she spends all her time perfecting it."
"Excuse me for finding magic fascinating, Ronald," the girl, Hermione, said coldly.
Harry smiled a bit at her.
"It seems like we share this interest. I find magic terribly enticing, too. Especially when it's my turn to do the washing-up or to clean the floor." Dropping to the seat, he held out a hand. "Harry Potter, pleased to meet you."
"Hermione Granger, likewise." The dusty blush on her face spoke volumes, and Harry didn't miss the jealous glance the redhead shot him.
"These are Neville Longbottom and Ronald Weasley."
Longbottom's smile, despite it being a small quirk of lips, glowed with warmth, while Ron's face stayed in a weird semblance of a grimace, as if he wanted to smile but couldn't. Harry speculated it had to do with the earlier jealousy. Perhaps a crush was at play.
"It's my first time at Hogwarts because I've been... homeschooled. So, mind telling me all about Hogwarts?"
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"Ravenclaw!" the Sorting Hat cried out after some careful contemplation.
Harry exhaled with relief. He had argued with it for minutes to prevent himself from getting into Slytherin, a house which would make both of his parents terribly disappointed in him, and Dumbledore constantly wary around him. Despite his own neutral stance regarding the Light-and-Dark issue, Harry hadn't been blinded by faith in his closest ones to know what their reactions would be.
Disappointment. Anger. Fear. Resentment. Suspicion.
So Harry had argued and argued, and eventually the Hat had gotten sick and tired of it. And voila - he was sitting at the Ravenclaw table amidst speculations and probing questions.
"Why now of all times? You could have stayed homeschooled until the end-"
"Do you have a girlfriend? Boyfriend?"
"Do you mind me calling you 'Harry'?"
"How're your magic skills, Potter?"
"Don't you dare think the teachers will give you any slack just because you're homeschooled!"
And on it went.
Well, Harry supposed it was still better than sitting at the Gryffindor table. There the students would have simply stifled him with their questions.
Harry remembered what Malkin had told him and chanced a glance up at the teacher's table. Yes, there he sat in all his glory: Tom Riddle.
Harry hungrily drank in the features of the man, the aura he emitted – so tangible that even in a sea of wizards Harry could feel it pulsing around him. Only Dumbledore's could arguably snatch his attention from it.
Riddle charmingly smiled at McGonagall, bringing a cup to his lips. All his movements were measured, all motions refined and graceful. Harry almost envied him.
He made a decision.
He wouldn't consciously seek out Riddle company or mentorship, but if the man noticed him...
Harry wondered how much resistance he could squeeze out.
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Salazar Gaunt eyed the newest Ravenclaw, entranced.
The boy captivated him. The slender figure, the silk of black hair, the pale skin... Everything a perfection. Salazar wanted to devour those lips and taste that skin and let his hands roam all over the younger male's body.
An obsession. His newest one.
He hadn't had a challenge for a long time.
Some bowed as soon as they discovered his status as the Heir of Slytherin. Others preserved their dignity a little longer, up to the time he assured them of his intellectual and magical superiority. Yet others resisted just a little while longer before he splintered their shields and forced them to submit.
Salazar wondered how long Potter would last. He hoped for long; Hogwarts held few enigmas for him to enjoy, and even fewer of those he could take pleasure from physically.
Mentally, he was already welcoming Harry Potter into the fold of his followers and his string of former lovers.
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Tom Riddle made it his point to steal whatever Salazar set his eyes on. Perhaps the reason lay in their convoluted family drama: as cousins they were supposed to be close to each other... But they had never been. The Gaunts had never acknowledged Tom, and Salazar always twisted that particular knife.
"Riddle" didn't strike anyone as a pureblood surname. It gave Tom a certain disadvantage, especially in the earlier years of Hogwarts, when he had been taunted and stomped at by the other Slytherins.
Oh, well, they had tried to humiliate him. Not that they had managed to succeed; even in his childhood Tom had been powerful and cunning enough already to utterly crush his enemies no matter their social standing. And the ones who buckled against his hold most always turned out to be worshipful towards him. They vied for his attention, they talked about him in reverent whispers and boasted of having his favour; they trembled in fear in the face of his rage...
And, of course, they preferred him to Salazar Gaunt, the acknowledged heir.
Tom smirked into his goblet.
Salazar had robbed him of the official title, but that was a mere trifle in comparison to Tom's real power.
And Tom enjoyed proving his superiority in every way, always stealing his cousin's toys before damaging them beyond reconstruction. Few stayed true to Salazar when Tom tempted and persuaded and chatted up and charmed.
Salazar had some appeal.
Tom's allure? Unbeatable.
And now he noticed the way his cousin eyeballed that new boy, Potter, about whom so many rumours were already spreading. All around him witches and wizards exchanged their opinions on the boy, their suspicions and observations.
Plans and schemes were building, while calculations piled up and plots brewed. All surrounding a handsome green-eyed boy sitting calmly at the Ravenclaw table.
Of course, Tom's ploy would beat all the other ones, as always.
And when he left another broken toy behind him on his bloodied path, he would marvel at the crumpling of his cousin's face.
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