Story Title: Non Sequitur
Summary: Harry Potter one-shot series. Send in your requests if you have any. ;]
Warnings: Slash, AU, anything's possible, really.
Chapter Warnings: Slash, AU, orphaned, SMART Harry, horror, there was no BWL or anything in this universe, but there is magic.
Chapter Summary: Harry James Potter, orphan at one, is adopted by Bellatrix Lestrange. Privately tutored and naturally adept at anything, Bellatrix doesn't allow him to go to Hogwarts until the age of sixteen. Once there, he has trouble making friends because of his naturally callous attitude...except for this boy named Tom.
Chapter Pairing: TRHP
A/N: I'm sorry I never bothered to complete my other stories, so I just thought of a different way of making it up to you guys by writing long-winded one-shots. I hope you guys enjoy. :D
The Dorm
Harry looked at the non-moving photo in his hands. It was the first photo he took with his mother and father. They were arranged in an austere, sepia shot, with a painting of the Lestrange manor behind them. His mother was wearing one of her normal evening gowns, her silken gloves fitted snugly up to her elbows. The only jewellery she had donned was the Black family necklace and the simple but elegant wedding band on her ring finger. Her long and shining black hair was down and waved softly around her face in a black veil, her heavy-lidded eyes dark and foreboding.
She stood poised and stiff next to his father, Rodolphus, who had his lips twitched into a large and crooked grin. He stood a head taller than Bellatrix, his body long and lithe. His hair, which showed black curls in the photo, fell forward to shield his chiselled face. His father's hair was actually a light chestnut brown, nearly a shade of blond. Rodolphus's eyebrows were sharp and angled and his cheekbones hallowed, giving him a classically timeless look. Laughing eyes (which Hadrian knew to be a sea green) stared straight at him.
Harry's eyes glanced down the photo, to the little boy who sat primly on a chair in the middle of his parents. That was him—Harry James Potter. The short, messy haired and narrow-eyed boy with impeccable black dress robes. But he wasn't the orphan, Harry James Potter that was left to rot in an alleyway anymore. He was Hadrian Charles Lestrange, sole heir to the considerably large Lestrange fortune.
He had been abandoned at one, near Knockturn Alley, when a powerful witch, Bellatrix Lestrange, had picked him up and nursed him back to health. She had always wanted to care for a child but was unable to due to complications from the sheer amount of Dark Magic she wielded. This was her chance to nurture a child with limitless potential and she wasn't about to pass it up.
Now don't misinterpret her actions for charity or kindness—it was anything but. His mother had told him, when he had learned to speak and comprehend properly, that she had only taken him because she had sensed his power and propensity for both light and dark magic. However, in spite of what she told him, Harry couldn't help but love her all the same. Though strict and unaffectionate, Bellatrix Lestrange was still a good mother.
His father, on the other hand, was one of the only people Harry looked up to. Charming, witty and waist-deep into wizarding politics, Rodolphus Lestrange was a prime example of Pureblood ancestry. He was close friends with the leading Potions Expert of modern times, Severus Snape, the prestigious Lord Lucius Malfoy and the beautiful Lady Zabini.
Harry was adopted into the family at one, blood adopted by five and proclaimed-genius by six. He absorbed books and information at an accelerated pace, leaving all his other peers at the Taffling and Roger's Grade school behind. He was put at the top of his class and considered a prodigy by most of his teachers and professors. He had graduated at nine with top honours and was given a choice to take advanced studies at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry or to Durmstrang, where his Grandfather Lestrange had gone to. He had declined the advancement and instead chose to go abroad to study the diverse magical cultures in Africa, New Zealand, as well as Asia.
He spoke fluent French, German, Chinese and several other dialects and had perfect 20/20 vision.
"Hadrian!" He heard his mother called from the foyer downstairs.
Carefully slipping the photo into his shirt's front pocket, Harry discreetly patted it to make sure it was okay. He slipped on his brown leather boots and trudged through the winding hallways and dark corridors to reach his mother. The light from the windows reflected, bouncing off the marble floors, giving her a resplendent and elegant look. Bellatrix was dressed in her formal muggle wear: a white buttoned shirt, black slacks and a white fedora over her stylishly curled hair.
Painted dark blue eyes surveyed Harry critically before Bellatrix gave a satisfied nod in his direction and pulled him into a short, but heartfelt embrace.
"You had just gotten back from your trip, Harry. I loathe seeing you going so soon," she said quietly.
"I know, mum," Harry replied, face buried into his mother's sweet-smelling hair. "But I have to finish my education. I'll be out of that dormitory by summer's end and then only one last school year to attend to."
Bellatrix sighed then, drawing away to look deep into his eyes, before hugging him again.
Harry faintly wondered if that was her way of saying she'd miss him. He understood how hard it was for his mother to let him leave again. It was even more difficult the first time around when he had announced that he was travelling the world at ten, but she recognised how important it was to him and let him go. It was the same thing now too.
He tightened his arms around her and then, only realised that he had somehow grown taller than her. She was up to his chest only, and she was a tall woman herself. From the years he had been away, and to the last two months he had been with her, Harry never once comprehended how thin and birdlike Bellatrix had become.
Harry worried.
After another long moment in her embrace, Bellatrix gently pushed him away, ushering Harry outside and into a shiny white sports car. Rather gaudy and doubtlessly showy—that was Rodolphus for you. He purchased the car merely on a whim in case they would ever need to go about in the "muggle" way.
"Beanstalk," grinned the older wizard, flashing a set of pearly white teeth. "Said your goodbyes to your mom, eh? What about me, kiddo?" He reached out to muss Harry's hair, amusement glinting in his sea green eyes as his son grumbled and tried to fix his appearance.
"Right, right. How ever could I forget-? Goodbye, father," Harry made a face at him.
Rodolphus only chuckled at his response, snapped his heavily ringed fingers (he had one as Head of the Lestrange family, and another few for minor titles as well as Heir ring to the Liu dynasty (yes a close Chinese branch of the family), and Harry's long black hair was back to its perfect style once more.
It took a few minutes of making sure that he had gotten all of his things, before Harry awkwardly (his legs were too long) climbed into the back seat, alongside his snake familiar, Basil. He glanced at his father, who was behind the wheel since he had (on another whim) learned how to drive and elevated his eyebrows at the positively gleeful look on his dad's face.
Should he be worried over his father's seemingly non-existent driving skills?
His mother slid next to Rodolphus and craned her head to look at him.
Nah.
"Everything's packed, Hadrian?"
"Yes, mum," he said and surreptitiously patted his trouser's pocket.
"Books, magazines, journals and whatnot there?" further asked his father, and from what Harry could see through the backview mirror, raised a brow at him at the mention of magazines. Pfft. More like porn.
Harry bit back a smirk and shook his head.
"Not going to happen anytime soon, dad."
"Rats!" Rodolphus nearly pouted. "You have foiled my plans into making you a perfectly natural teenage boy and not the mature, young adult you really are. You make it extremely difficult to turn you into a regular teen, Harry," the wizard complained, already starting the car and driving passed the countryside.
His mother just rolled her eyes and mouthed, "Senile old man," to him, and Harry couldn't help but laugh.
Harry was seated in one of the last compartments of Hogwarts Express, alone and without any company. His parents had seen him off: his father forgoing Pureblood manners and nearly suffocating him in a tearful hug, and his mother placing a gentle kiss on his cheek. They had waved goodbye to him as the train's engine had already begun to hum, then walked out of the barrier of Hogwarts 9 and ¾. It would be the last time Harry would see them until Yule.
'Basil,' he hissed at the small, obsidian scaled snake in the cage besides him. It opened a lazy red eye, yawned and slid out of its home, twining itself around Harry's outstretched arm.
'Master,' it said happily, hissing out its happiness at seeing him relatively safe and unharmed. 'How are you?'
'Fine,' Harry answered. 'Just a bit lonely.'
He frowned a second later, seeing how people continuously passed his compartment but never ventured in. Not that I want to get to know them, he reminded himself. He just...was curious of how others interacted. He had studied the natives in Africa and how they would seemingly communicate with just body language, had studiously researched the tribal practises the New Zealanders had to go through to get to manhood, and been a part of the oriental traditions that was still alive today in Chinese regions. Hell, he even talked to people twice, no—THRICE his age.
But not once had Harry ever interacted with people around his own age.
They were admittedly mystifying.
They talked too much, complained about the most inconsequential things, and they acted immaturely and gave no thought to what consequences their actions might bring in the future.
In other words, Harry did not like them at all.
Or maybe he was just socially inept.
For a moment, Harry felt unconfident and insecure of his abilities and how others perceived him. Would he be too tall? Smart? Unfriendly-?
As if reading his mind, Basil's tongue flicked out to touch Harry's face. 'Master, you are not socially incompetent. Most peoples do not bother seeing past your facade of ice, so they do not know how wonderful you really are. I, for one, know you are a nice person, if a little...dark,' the small snake said, rubbing its head soothingly onto Harry's cheekbone. 'It is just your family's influence. After all, the Lestrange and Black family are known for their prowess in Dark magics.'
Harry smiled down at his hissing familiar, 'I guess you're right. Thanks Basil.'
'You are most welcomes, Master.'
Basil slid back under Harry's robe with a contented hiss.
Harry was vaguely envious of how easily his familiar could be satisfied, before turning away and looking out into the English countryside. He had brought all his books in case he needed them for reference, but he soon found (out of boredom) that they were a good source of entertainment. So he ended up reading his 'Guide to the Amazon' by Pan Kirkley.
He was left undisturbed for the rest of the train ride.
"Zyskowsky, Solerio!"
"RAVENCLAW!"
There was a polite round of applause.
The illustrious Headmaster of Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore, smiled benevolently at all of them, subsequently turning twinkling eyes to where he knew Harry was standing. The old, wizened man then abruptly stood up, and suddenly the Great Hall was quiet, only punctuated by the occasional curious murmur. He tapped his throat once with his wand, then smiled once more at his students.
Dumbledore's wise voice spoke out, "You all may be curious as to why we have not put the Sorting Hat away, but we have one yet to be sorted. Due to his rather unique circumstances and prodigious status, he has already graduated and is well beyond his schoolmates in terms of courses and grades. He has merely chosen to complete his education for the sake of his degree. He will not be taking any courses with anyone, but rather, observe and study you all as you are.
With this said, please welcome, Lestrange, Hadrian!"
Instead of the usual clapping, there were shocked voices and seemingly stunned students.
"...Did he say 'Lestrange'? One of the most powerful wizarding families in Europe?"
"Hadrian? I didn't even know the Lestranges had a son!"
"I heard he's a prodigy of some sorts and travelled the world..."
"Really? I heard he was a sorcerer in training!"
Amidst the excited chatter, Harry frowned and pushed his way passed the shadows and into the walkway between the tables. He tensed as curious eyes greeted his form.
Great.
Just great.
Harry then sat stiffly in the heart of the Great Hall, atop an old three-legged stool. He was waiting for the dreaded School Hat to be placed on his head, while numerous glances and whispers were thrown his way.
He'd take the Tribesmen of Africa and Oriental Tradionalists over this, any day.
Quite suddenly, Harry was made aware of how different he looked from the other students. For one, he hadn't known that he was supposed to change into his school robes prior to reaching Hogwarts. Two, his clothes were made by his mother (she happened to like to tailor and embroider), so he stood out, simply by its style and cut. Lastly, Harry was easily one of the tallest boys in Hogwarts, standing at a shocking 6'5". How he grew that tall was beyond him.
Maybe it was the Blood Magic he practised while in Africa..?
He shook himself from his thoughts as soon as the old, fraying Sorting Hat was placed onto his head.
'Hmm, hmm! What a queer, queer mind you have there! Most interesting!' a voice said in his head. Harry's eyebrows angled downwards to show his agitation at having something prodding about in his mind. 'Haven't met an individual like you since Riddle's time, that's for certain!'
'Riddle?' Harry asked, then grit his teeth, feeling as though someone were rifling through the drawers he had set up in the room that served as his Occlumency shield.
'Yes, Riddle. He was a very bright boy, you know. Sort of like you, but smarter, more ruthless and ambitious. You may lack his drive but you make up for it by your natural curiosity and limitless potential. You are as cunning and as sly as he once was too. I guess you better be-'
"SLYTHERIN!"
From what Harry could hear, not one student clapped.
The hat was instantly taken off his head, and the stern professor McGonagall (that could give his mother a run for her money), directed him to a table that was nearest to the corridor.
Curious stares followed him as he sat on the edge of the table, next to a tall, dark-skinned boy with slanted eyes and high cheekbones.
Gold eyes swept loftily over Harry, from the highest hair on his head, to the tip of his boots. An eyebrow arched elegantly, as the dark-skinned boy extended a hand, seemingly satisfied with his perusal.
"Blaise Zabini," the dark-skinned boy murmured disinterestedly, exotic eyes meeting Harry's green ones.
"Hadrian Lestrange," he replied with a somber look and shook Blaise's hand. The boy merely sent him an arrogant smile as he turned back to his friends; a pointy-face blond haired boy (who looked a lot like Uncle Lucius) and a pug-faced witch with an easygoing smile.
From the corner of his eyes, Harry could see another person in front of him. The boy was deathly pale, and was exceedingly tall (even taller than Harry himself). He wore one of the older-styled uniforms, something Harry knew he'd be seeing back in the late 1930's. They were out of style now, but seemed to fit the boy well.
A blazing, fiery, deepbloodyrubyred unexpectedly burned into Harry's retinas as he tried hard not to stare at the boy in front of him. Harry could swear that the eyes of the mysterious boy were positively glowing—glowing, GLOWING—with an unnatural but fervent light. A delicately pointed chin was placed in large but elegantly tapered hands and Harry could swear he was being observed with a vicious ferocity by the stranger.
But as soon as Harry had turned to directly look at the boy, did the stranger disappear, leaving the seat empty and bare in front of him.
'Master?' spoke Basil near his ear, sensing Harry's distress. He unconsciously patted his familiar's head with a finger and the snake soon settled back around his neck. Basil's soothing presence alleviated Harry of the surge of adrenaline that shot through him.
With a muted sigh, apprehension dawned on Harry.
He had just seen one of the older, quite possibly, 7th year Slytherins.
Which meant that he was going to have to wade through all of this observation crap and sift through a galleon's worth of bullshit before the year was through. He shouldn't have expected anything less except to be thrown out to a sea chock full of sharks.
With a grim smile and a plan etched firmly in his mind to avoid every being (living or otherwise), Harry grabbed an apple from the fruit basket and proceeded to eat it. He was resolved to go through with his plan after today.
A few weeks into the school year, found the Slytherin Trio sitting in front of the Lake, eating their lunches in relative silence. It was a cold afternoon, with the wind whipping through the air and their breaths fogging as they quietly spoke to one another. The leaves were already changing to pretty oranges and yellows.
It was serene and peaceful until one pug-face girl broke it by curiously asking,
"Draco, did you meet the new kid yet?"
"Once, yes," said Draco Malfoy slowly, chewing on a piece of his plain bread roll. "And I do believe he's a cousin of mine or something." His silvery-blond head was resting comfortably on Pansy's lap as he ate. "From what I hear, he's quite the bookworm though, and he's not scared of Riddle's horror story at all."
"Draco! Don't say that name!" Pansy chided as Draco rolled his eyes. "And is that all you know-?" she asked testily.
"Yeah," said Draco, swallowing the last of his food. "But let's try asking Blaise if he knows anything else."
He sat up to give an inquisitive look to his other friend, who sat a little further away from both he and Pansy. Seeing as though he was ignored, Draco tried a different approach: he cupped his tapered hands together around his mouth and called out,
"Oy, Blaise! What do you make of Lestrange?"
This caused the dark-skinned boy to blink and don a pensive expression.
"Hadrian Lestrange? Well, he's nice," was all Blaise said.
Pansy's nose scrunched up.
"That's not much of a description, is it?" she questioned.
Blaise shrugged. "We only exchanged names with each other after the Welcoming Feast, and talked to each other that first night of horror tales. He's been like a wraith since then—not a single person has seen him barring meal time; so really, I've nothing important to tell you. But you," he directed his eerie yellow gaze to the Malfoy heir, "Draco, on the other hand, are his cousin. Why are you asking me all these questions? Shouldn't you know him yourself?"
Draco flushed pink. "I haven't been in touch with Auntie Bella for a long time," the blond admitted, thoughtfully eyeing his two friends for any negative reactions. There was none. He continued on, "Father and Mother always keep in touch with Uncle Rodolphus and Auntie Bella though. He says they were doing fine, but never mentioned I had a younger cousin. To be honest, it shocked me. I knew of a Hadrian, but not a Hadrian Lestrange. They never mentioned his surname in the papers...though Father usually tells me things," said Draco, worryingly biting his lip.
Pansy patted his leg.
"It's okay, Drakey," she said soothingly. "He probably didn't think he needed to mention you had a cousin. I mean, if it was important or life-changing, yes, but you've lived without Hadrian your whole life, you don't need him now."
"I guess," Draco dubiously bit out, his grey-blue eyes holding a sliver of longing. "But it would have been nice to be close to someone before Hogwarts. I mean the choice between eleven years of keeping mostly to myself, or attending a prestigious Wizarding Grade School where there were more cons than pros? No thank you. Evil private tutors hired by my father were eleven years enough for me," said Draco huffily. Pansy nodded understandingly—most Purebloods went through the same thing after all.
"I suppose that makes sense though, once you think about it," Blaise hummed, running a hand through his short, ebony hair. "Hadrian probably went to Taffling and Roger's elite Grade school. He was possibly already well-known if he was a prodigy. Maybe your father just assumed you knew of him."
The only girl in their group snorted. "That doesn't make sense at all," she argued. "That only makes it more confusing. Does that mean they weren't ever going to introduce Hadrian to Draco? Or that they were trying to keep Hadrian low-key and away from everyone else? Or maybe it was your Aunt Bellatrix's doing?"
"Perhaps," Draco mused aloud. "Or perhaps they just thought it more efficient to keep his name and description under wraps. After all, he is a prodigy and is known today as one of the 'youngest brightest wizards of all time', as quoted by The Daily Prophet. He seems the type of person to forgo the paparazzi and keep his privacy. And from what I heard from Mum, Hadrian left Britain years ago to further his knowledge and prove his thesis on how living in different areas of the world, affects wizarding culture and magic. Least to say, cousin Hadrian proved his thesis and was awarded The Order of Merlin, Third Class."
"Wow," said Pansy flabbergasted at how much Hadrian Lestrange accomplished. To think they were all the same age!
"A lot to be proud of, right? I wonder why he isn't so full of himself like that git Lockhart? With someone as smart and as famous as Hadrian, who wouldn't be self-absorbed?" asked Draco to no one in particular.
This statement silenced them as they struggled to understand the enigma named Hadrian Lestrange.
A month of being in the same dorm as the few other Slytherin boys, and Harry had to say, it wasn't as bad as he thought it'd be. On the first night, he had excused himself from the feast early, seeing as though he had no one to catch up to or make small talk with. He had been approached and directed by none other than the dour Head of House, Severus Snape, to sleep at the bed furthest from the door and two beds away from anyone else.
Harry was fine with that.
He had spelled the plain white bedding and curtains to a dark, velvety blue, like the ones he had in his bedroom. He then transfigured it into spidersilk and sighed as he fingered the delicate fabric.
It was just like home now.
Harry had never bothered to unshrink his trunk until now, so he did so and proceeded to place his clothes into the given drawers next to his bed. He found a strange mark inside one of the drawers though covered it with layers of his favourite socks. Once finished, Harry placed the snoozing Basil in the middle of his bed, grabbed his toiletries and stole his way into the large washroom.
It was rather spacious, with a pleasantly heated pool located in the middle of the chambers. There were shower stalls to the left of the room and toilets in an adjacent area further back. It was like living in one of those muggle fantasy rooms.
"Can't beat the Japanese though," he muttered and sank into the water with a deep groan.
And that was how his first part of his night went. Calm and uneventful.
The second part began as Harry stepped back into the dormitory, with a towel strapped onto his waist and another one around his shoulders. He hadn't expected to see the rest of his dorm mates, huddling around the pointy-faced blond's bed. They seemed deep in conversation.
As soon as Harry was dressed in plain beige pyjama pants, Blaise caught his eye and minutely gestured to Harry to get to his side. Harry didn't bother with a shirt after that.
"—and they say that he wanders around the school as a malevolent spirit who..."
The boys had immediately quieted, seeing the newcomer. Doubtful gazes rested on him as the unofficial leader of the group, the pointy-faced blond, scrutinised him with wary silver-blue eyes. It took several moments until the blond was seemingly satisfied with whatever he was looking for in Harry, and stuck a fine-boned hand out to him, similar to what Blaise had done earlier.
"Draco Malfoy (so he was a Malfoy!), a pleasure I'm sure," the blond said with an elegant flourish after Harry had shook his hand. "These two on my right are Crabbe and Goyle—" he pointed a long finger to the two hulking figures beside him, "And this is Theodore Nott." Draco directed a delicate thumb to the tall, lanky, brown haired boy to his left. He wasn't as tall as Harry, but he nearly was, putting him in the same category as Harry (which was unfortunately the 'too tall to be normal' category).
"Hadrian Lestrange," he spoke out, nodding his greetings to everyone. They nodded back before turning inquisitive eyes to Draco.
"As I was saying," Draco coughed purposely, his pretty face contorting into a vaguely irritated expression. "The ghost story—"
"Wait, you guys were speaking of horror stories?" interrupted Harry, a little bemused.
"Yes," answered Theodore lowly. "We may be wizards with magic, but the paranormal and supernatural; the abnormal—any such things like otherworldly beings fascinate us. Why do you think our world has an obsession with magical beings such as the fey, elves and dwarfs? And oppositely, the ghouls, inferi and dementors? Because they are something abnormal to our standard of normal. Now incorporate the dead wizards and witches, who have been alive at some point but died terribly gruesome deaths—and what do you suppose we have?"
"Evil spirits of the past that know no rest," said Draco, solemnly eyeing everyone's shocked faces. "They still retain their magic from when they were alive, but they are unable to do anything to escape their situation. They cannot be seen except by a few, special individuals and are mostly, if not completely, insane."
"...But what kind of ghosts do you speak of?" asked Harry softly.
"Ahh," Draco shot him a smug smirk, "A fine question you asked, cousin! And I'm not talking about your run-of-the-mill apparition like the Grey Lady or Bloody Baron! I'm talking about the malevolent ghosts like...Riddle."
The lights seem to flicker and everyone around shuddered except Harry.
"Riddle-?"
The person nearest to him (which also happened to be Draco) quickly slapped a hand over his mouth.
"Shh!" the blond said frantically. "Don't say his name! They say if you say his name three times, he's going to get you! It's bad enough that you have to sleep in his bed for the rest of your stay at Hogwarts! It's even worse that you chose his bed! Now he will definitely haunt you!"
"Mffwat phwooo mrrrff mfft?" questioned Harry, purposely spraying spit onto Draco's hand.
The Malfoy heir immediately retracted his hand back with a look of disgust painted on his face. He wiped his palm onto a silk handkerchief and said, "Exactly what I meant. Why did you choose that bed anyway? There was the one next to Theodore there." He waved towards the bare bed to the right of a blood-red one.
Harry frowned. "Because Professor Snape said I had to sleep in it."
Draco sniffed. "He says that to every Slytherin, and he never expects anyone to listen him. You're actually the first one to do it."
"I'm ever so glad," said Harry sarcastically as Crabbe and Goyle tried in vain to stifle their laughs. "Perhaps he'll take a liking to me because of it?"
"Shush, you guys," spoke out Blaise seriously. He turned his golden-eyed stare to Harry. "Snape's not as bad as you think, Hadrian. He's just...snarky. However, going back to whatever Draco was saying—you needn't worry about him. I highly doubt there's any truth to the rumours."
Draco shook his head. "Ahh, one of the non-believers," the blond said forlornly.
"But you know Ginny Weasley, right?" piped up Goyle, for the first time. This seemed to surprise everyone. "They say she said his name thrice when we were Second Years, and she was missing the next day and proclaimed dead the next week! They found her body in the second floor girl's bathroom. You know, the abandoned one," said Goyle.
"They say he was angry that a bloodtraitor had dared utter his name," muttered Crabbe darkly, reminding everyone that this was no ordinary spirit. The boys exchanged discomforting looks and Harry vaguely felt left out.
"But how did Ri—uhh, I mean he come to be? What happened to him?" said Harry, leaning forwards as Draco began his tale.
"Well it went like this..."
There was once this wizard named—well you should know his name, because I shan't say it aloud. Anyway, he attended school from 1938 to his time of death at 1944. They say he was one of the most powerful wizards of all time, compared to Merlin even. He had created numerous transfiguration spells, charms, and the ever useful stasis spells and even improved the current Potions Recipes. He was one of the youngest wizards ever to receive Good Merits on Account of Wizarding Justice, and the Order of Merlin Second Class, for his contributions to society. He was considered the next Minister-to-be once he graduated.
What the wizarding world didn't know was that he was a vile and twisted man. He revelled in dark sorcery (which is different from the dark arts because it uses human sacrifice and blood magic for it to achieve the ultimate success rate). His long string of murders had actually begun in inconspicuous places. Like the shady Hog's Head, and moving to deserted alleyways in London. He didn't need to kill just wizards and witches, because a dormant string of magic is also found in muggle's bood. So his reign of terror stretched from the wizarding world over to the muggle world.
The muggles called him 'The Bloodletter' serial killer, because he'd slit his victim's major arteries and drain them dry of blood, only leaving an empty husk.
Anyway, he was just our age now—sixteen. Funny how the crazies always start early. Ahem, moving along...
He had already killed numerous people—about thirty so far. The first few kills were just to perfect his technique—the last twenty one people were needed for a blood rite—the 'Semper est Ibi'. The immortality ritual held only the night before Halloween.
He had actually brought the 21 wizards, witches and muggles down to a secret chamber in Hogwarts and slaughtered them. They say they could hear his voice, laughing cold and callously as his victims were slowly—ever so slowly—drained of their lifeforce.
But do you know what happened after he completed the rite-?
Yes, that's right, Theodore. His soul. Stained with the murder of 30 people—was split from his body. The ritual shred his entire soul and left it to wander at Hogwarts. Why did the ritual fail, you think? Well it didn't. The ritual did grant him immortality—his body and soul would stay forever young, but did the rite ever say that he would stay in the living world for it? No it didn't. In fact, the reason why the 'Semper est Ibi' was one of the oldest, most dangerous rites in the magical community, was because while it gave you immortality, it would take something equally back from you. And if you didn't pay enough—well, let's just say you didn't make it out alive to tell anyone else you performed the ritual.
In any case, they say his true spirit still restlessly roams Hogwarts, desperate for someone to help him return back to his body. Others say that he doesn't really exist and others like Blaise—well, they deny his very existence.
But how do we know of this story, Hadrian? Well it's easy to say that we heard this story from the Bloody Baron himself, and he doesn't talk much, since he also fears...him. On the day of his death, trophies, belongings and other things were burned inside the Forbidden Forest. Unfortunately for the Hogwarts staff, his belongings simply would not perish, so they set it aside somewhere in the castle, where no one could grab a hold of them.
The Baron had told us of his journals. How they were so full of magic—magic that could change the world.
It was a pity, yes, a pity, the Baron had told us on our first night in Hogwarts that he had to die.
He had such potential to move the world too.
Draco finished his tale and Hadrian was left a jumble of twitchy nerves. He rubbed his hands together to create some warmth and glanced to his left, where Theodore was. The lanky teen looked somewhat frightened and anxious, if the nervous tick in his blue eyes was anything to go by.
Harry mustered up some courage to say a single word, "Intriguing."
"W-w-what-?" cried out Draco, somewhat outraged. "His tale isn't just intriguing! It's clearly horrifying and true!"
Harry eyed the fuming blond and shrugged. "Believe whatever you want to believe—the tale is intriguing to me. But I don't really believe in those 'haunting' things unless they happen to me myself. I'd like to see some solid proof before changing my whole opinion. The Riddle story was nice though. A little eerie, but nice enough to be told on a dead winter's night. I'm going to hit the hay now, all right guys?"
That left the others to gape, slack-jawed at him as he stood up and made his way to his bed. Riddle's old bed.
He cleared that thought away and saluted to the other boys.
"Good night," Harry said politely and closed his curtains.
Least to say he slept like a log that night, but had dreamt of red eyes and a handsome but freakishly tall boy chasing after him in the dungeons.
And that was how his first night, and seemingly other nights went.
The first time he met Tom was two weeks before Halloween. He was seated in a shadowed corner of the Library, intent on reading a tome on magical creatures of the sea. He saw no reason to revel in the spirit of Halloween, so he spent his time nearly every day in the Library, away from people.
Yes, in other words, Harry was just avoiding everyone again.
He had successfully avoided the nosy Slytherin Trio, with his cousin Draco Malfoy as the lead. He even evaded the all-knowing mudblood, Granger and her annoying boyfriend Weasley. He hadn't succeeded in avoiding Dumbledore though, but he was working on that.
'Master! What about this creature?' hissed Basil, his white head nudging a unicorn-like sea monster. Its coat was a seaweed black colour and not the usual sparkling white. Its mane was dripping with water and it had no hooves—just a floating back body.
'It's called a Kelpie, Basil,' Harry informed the snake, watching as his familiar slithered up and down the book, seemingly fascinated with the kelpie. 'It lures children into the water to drown them and then later, eat them.'
'How barbaric!' If Basil had a nose, he would probably be scrunching it up by now.
Harry chuckled, 'Yes, I suppose it is. But isn't it the same when swallowing your prey whole?'
Basil sputtered, 'But at least I don't drown children to eat them! Children are sacred to us!'
His familiar was talking about his own magical species, where snakelings weren't born often; so when one was born—well, they were spoiled and coddled silly. Harry just rolled his eyes.
'Interesting familiar you've got there,' drawled an unknown voice beside him.
Harry jolted from his seat, though later gained his composure as he saw that the person next to him was none other than the strange boy he had seen at the Welcoming Feast.
His eyes narrowed.
'You speak the tongue?' Harry questioned, suspicion laced in his tone. As far as Harry knew, he was the only one who spoke Parseltongue. It would be nice if there was another like him, though...
'Yes,' the boy flashed him a pearly white smile that set Harry on edge. 'My name is Tom. And yours?' Tom asked politely.
'Hadrian Lestrange,' he replied warily. He pointed to Basil who still was glaring at the Kelpie picture, 'And that is Basil.'
"Short for Basilisk?" Tom said amusedly, switching to English.
"Yes, but he clearly isn't one. His mother named him, he says, for his eyes were as beautiful as a Basilisk's," explained Harry. "I daren't call him by his full name though, because it only gives him a bit of an ego, you see." He pointed to Basil's multicoloured eyes and smiled as Tom leaned back in his chair and nodded.
"I see."
It was quiet, then Basil poked his head up and stared at Tom.
'Is there another snakespeaker, Master? Who is he?'
Harry hissed, 'His name is Tom. Say hi to Tom.'
Basil seemingly blinked. 'But I cannot see him. I can only hear him. Is there something wrong with him?'
Harry looked back to Tom, whose body had stiffened, and shrugged. 'I don't know. Why don't you ask him?'
Basil shook his head vehemently. 'No thank you! I'll just go and sleep now.' His snake familiar slithered to his hand, then up his arm and finally settled on Harry's neck. He coiled his long white tail around Harry's collarbone, which caused Harry's eyebrows to elevate. Basil had only ever done this when he was nervous or scared.
"I wonder what's gotten him so frightened?" said Harry out loud, cocking his head at Tom's snort.
"Maybe he's just afraid of me," said Tom, his handsome face forlorn, and just a little bit angry. The elegant curve of his jaw was set and the way his jade eyes narrowed made Harry pity the boy a little.
"I don't see what he has to be so afraid of," spoke Harry calmly, placing a comforting hand over Tom's freezing one. "You seem perfectly normal to me."
The other Slytherin tensed, then shot a strained smile at him.
"Thank you, no one has ever said that to me," said Tom truthfully, looking a little uncomfortable at Harry's touch.
Harry's lips twitched and he lifted his hand away. "No problem, Tom. So why are you here today?" he changed the subject. "And near my secluded corner near the dark arts books? Something you see that interests you? Anything that catches your fancy at all?"
Tom seemingly brightened at the mention of dark arts, "Sort of like that, yes. There's this spell that the Ministry proclaimed dark, but isn't really. It's more of a light spell designed to compel others to believe your words. I'm trying to find the Atrum ad Unus by Ylla Kerrow—that's where the spell and its mechanics were written."
"Really? I haven't ever heard of that spell..."
And Harry was sure he had read every book in the dark arts section and Library too!
Tom scoffed, "Not many people have heard of that spell, trust me. But I think I know just where to find it..."
They ended up searching the whole dark arts section for an hour, before Harry found the book wedged between a Howling Book (a nasty book of curses that bit your arm if you didn't place a drop of blood first) and an 'Advanced Transfiguration for the Enthusiast' Tome. Tom had smoothly eased the book away from the Howling one and carefully, as if it were some treasure, placed it onto the nearest table.
"And this is where all our questions and theories, will be answered," said Tom in a controlled voice. Harry just nodded and took a seat next to Tom, bringing his chair closer when he couldn't see the words right.
A few minutes found their bodies closer to each other. Their heads were bent down and they were both scanning the book with bright eyes, seemingly unaware of how much time went by and how the lights dimmed down and the Library closed. Their lips moved in unison to each word written on the yellow pages and fingers reverently traced each diagram and outline.
Least to say, Harry missed dinner that day.
"Just who is Lestrange talking to?" asked a curious Hermione Granger, gesturing to the seemingly talkative boy at the end of the Slytherin Tables.
Hadrian suddenly tilted his head back and laughed, his silky voice tinkling and sending shivers down everyone's spine. The other Slytherins had scooted farther away from Hadrian and looked nervous and ill at ease with him. Hermione couldn't blame them.
"I don't know," said a gangly youth—her boyfriend, Ron Weasley. He stuffed a spoonful of potatoes into his mouth, and around it, said, "I think he's a kook, that one. He's talking to himself—his craziness won't land him much points with the ladies even with his dashing good looks, really. I believe he still hasn't gotten a date for tonight's Halloween Ball either..."
Hermione's lips pursed as she studied the tall, and long figure of Hadrian Lestrange.
"So are you attending the ball?" asked Tom from across him. Harry was eating lunch at the Great Hall for once (he usually ate in the Kitchens). He cut a piece of his fish, stuffed it into his and shrugged.
"I don't know," he answered, chewing a little. "I haven't gotten a date or anything. Not like I care but, I'm not into this socialising thing. I'm not really good with interacting with people." But he seemed to be good enough to interact with people like Tom.
Ever since that day, two weeks ago, the two of them had been inseparable. After they had read the whole Atrum ad Unus book, it was well past midnight. Harry figured that the time hadn't mattered, and was too tired to grab something to eat from the kitchens. So Tom had suggested that they sneak back to the Dorms then.
Once reaching the Dorms, Harry found that Tom was actually in his year, though he hadn't any clue why Draco hadn't introduced him. The handsome boy slept in the bed next to Harry's, but the two had naturally gravitated towards each other, and this resulted in Tom sleeping with Harry in his own bed. Every night since then.
Not that Harry minded, really.
He happened to like it a lot.
...Perhaps a bit too much?
In any case, at the present, Tom snorted and took a spoon of his broth. "I'll go with you, if you don't mind. And not to worry, I'm not too good with people either," the older Slytherin said dryly. "They tend to ignore me, so that makes the both of us, eh? At least we'll always have each other."
Harry couldn't help the smile curling at the edge of his lips, even though the last of Tom's words chilled him to the bone.
Harry was dressed as a Prince, with his sapphire puff-sleeved jerkin and the brown leather leggings encased around his long legs. He had transfigured a quill to be one of his hoity-toity frilly blue shoes; although, if he had to be honest, his shoes had too many frills and laces. But hey, he had to go with originality and this was really what royalty wore two hundred years ago. He had left the protesting Basil on his bed (the snake had said Harry needed his protection from the other snakespeaker, but Harry left him anyway). Tom wouldn't hurt him.
He took one wobbly step in front of another and scowled.
How Royalty walked without tearing off the lace was a mystery to Harry. But he was going to have to learn the answer soon enough.
Tom appeared next to him, and was dressed up as an executioner. The handsome Slytherin had charmed 'blood' to trail down his arms and he wore a tight but bloodied chest piece that was upheld by shoulder straps that went all the way down to his torn black pants. He had steel-toed boots on and a large (Harry hoped it was fake) axe on his back. His long black hair was pulled into a low ponytail and his fringe covered his glowing red eyes (possibly another effect of his costume?)
All in all, Tom looked terribly frightening and realistic.
"Ready?" asked Tom, ruby eyes dark and hooded. He was right next to Harry, their arms brushing against each other.
He seemed to thrum with some unknown energy.
"Y-yeah." Harry tried to calm his tensing body and found himself shooting a nervous smile at Tom's inquiring look. He was never too good with crowds, but at least Tom was with him.
Steeling his nerves, Harry silently entered the Ballroom behind a very confident Tom.
No one had thankfully noticed their presence.
Harry sipped on a long glass of Firewhiskey. People were beguiled to believe that it was pumpkin juice (probably on account of the pranksters—the Slytherin Trio) and were all, in the end, too drunk to notice what it really was.
Or perhaps they didn't really care.
The Masquerade was for fifth year students and up, so it didn't really matter whether the other students got drunk. They were old enough to take care of themselves.
Harry could feel Tom behind him, speaking a seductive string of Parseltongue into his ear. His breath tickled Harry's neck and Harry felt his face burning as Tom seemed to move closer, positioning himself on his back as if he'd reach down and—
Harry shook his head.
"Let's go somewhere else," spoke Tom suddenly, and before Harry could say anything, was dragged into a shadowed alcove where no one seemed to be sitting.
"T-tom?" said Harry uncertainly. He couldn't see the tall boy anywhere.
There was an abrupt change in wind, and everything seemed to stop.
The music, the lights, the magic—everything.
Harry, bewildered by the sudden quiet, walked to a frozen Hermione Granger. She looked attractive and pretty with her bushy hair tamed into a bun and a torn green gown thrown over her body. He supposed she was dressed up as a fairy.
He waved a hand in her face.
She didn't move.
He went to the gangly boy beside him, and did the same.
Not even a blink.
Harry wondered.
There was an unexpected pressure on his back, and he craned up to see a smirking Tom staring at him. The handsome Slytherin was seated on a floating throne in the middle of his peers. It was an ornamental seat with what seemed like gold and diamond tassels decorated on every hinge.
"Tom?" he asked, mystified at Tom's twisting features.
"Hadrian," spoke the boy calmly. He quirked a finger at Harry and on his body's own accord began floating towards a smug Tom.
"What the—"
Once reaching Tom, the older boy gently drew Harry into a tight embrace.
"Hadrian," Tom practically purred into his ear, fingering the long, dangling cross earring Harry had.
Unable to say anything, Harry began to feel fear—real fear—race down his spine. He had his wand in his pocket but he hadn't expected anything to happen tonight. Besides, he wasn't aware of any spell that would affect a being like Tom.
Maybe he should have listened to Basil...
"That's right," Tom laughed, seemingly reading his mind. And perhaps this powerful apparition did. "Your snake knows, Harry. Knows that I'm not among the living. He was wise enough to inform you, on that very first day, that I was something you shouldn't have been acquainted with."
"N-no..."
Shocked and denial filtered through Harry's features, before he began struggling in Tom's arms.
"Let me go, you devil," spat Harry, rearing his arm back to punch Tom in the face. A spell immediately immobilised him, and Harry tried in vain to claw at Tom's handsome—no evil face. He didn't reach down to grab his wand because from what Draco had told him in passing, evil apparitions like Tom—Riddle, were impervious to magic.
"Scared, Hadrian?" spoke Tom, amusement flickering in his blood red eyes. He trailed a loving finger down Harry's cheek, then in a fit of insanity, scratched Harry's smooth forehead, delighting in the scream of pain pouring from Harry's lips. Blood tricked down Harry's face and he whimpered, thinking why, why, WHY it had to be him.
"Why, Harry?" whispered Tom, nuzzling his face into the crook of Harry's tense neck. "Because I can. And because you are my equal. Do you know why there was a story of Riddle passed down in Hogwarts?"
Harry trembled, but shook his head.
"Because everything was true. Each word that Malfoy heir had spoken to you that first night—everything. Except," Tom paused, cupping Harry's cheek in a parody of a caress. "How my soul was split from my body.
You see, none of my followers had seen to inform me of the policy that rite had. The policy where I had to give something in return for immortality. I had not died that day, oh no, contrary to popular belief, Hadrian. My body was put into stasis and my soul was left to walk Hogwarts, until one day, my equal, both in magical and physical aspect, would step foot into Hogwarts.
And you could guess the day that you walked into Hogwarts—I already knew you were the one."
Harry shuddered as Tom's tongue licked the blood off his forehead. He mewled at the pain-pleasure that the action gave, his body trembling even more at the onslaught of conflicting emotions running through him.
Gentle but firms hands massaged his arms, causing him to relax as Tom brought his lips to press a kiss near Harry's mouth. He murmured against Harry's clammy skin, "I wanted to observe you first, Hadrian. That's why I didn't show myself until two weeks ago. I would've done this sooner if that old coot, Albus, hadn't kept you away from my sight. He placed a muggle device, something so unobtrusive that even I hadn't known what he was doing until it was nearly too late."
Harry gasped when Tom bit his lip and ripped the Celtic protection necklace off from his neck. Harry felt a cooling rush of strength and power making its way to his magical core. It felt wrong and sickly but oh so right.
Harry quivered at the strange sensation.
"You see, Hadrian?" Tom laughed wildly. "Mother had been lying to you! As she did with me! Do you hear me Mother? Do you?" roared Tom, his voice ringing throughout Hogwarts. "You can't have him! He's mine, Mother! MINE!"
Struggling with the power that binded him, Harry finally found it in himself to speak up, "B-but what was it that you needed to give in exchange for immortality?"
Tom suddenly smiled benevolently down at him and Harry had never been more afraid in all of his life.
"You."
And Harry blacked out.
Murmurs of confusion rang throughout the Ballroom.
"Hey! Where is Hadrian Lestrange?"
"Yeah, where is he?"
"Wasn't he near the windows last?"
"...But why are his shoes left here?"
Contrary to what Harry had believed, people did notice his presence. How could they not? His aura was powerful, overflowing and lulling everyone into a false state of security. It had soothed them that someone as strong as Hadrian was in their midst. Nothing would harm them if he was there.
But that wasn't the right thing to wonder about. The right thing was:
What could harm Hadrian? And where was he?
Draco, Pansy and Blaise ran down the long, winding hallway and up the staircase, their footsteps frantic and loud. They eventually reached Dumbledore's office, and were surprised to find it open, panicked voices floating down to reach their ears.
"I saw that boy take Hadrian away!" said Hermione, as the Slytherin Trio made their way into the chilly office. Dumbledore seemed to not have lit the fireplace.
"I saw him too, Professor! You've gotta believe us!" said Ronald Weasley next to Hermione, holding her hand and squeezing it.
Dumbledore looked grave and ancient, his bushy white brows furrowing with serious thought. He stared at the two quietly, speculatively, then raised his eyes to meet Draco's.
"Mr. Malfoy, Zabini, and Miss Parkinson," the old Headmaster wordlessly conjured three more chairs in front of his desk and the three quietly took it without any fuss. The Gryffindors looked at them suspiciously, then turned their attention back to Dumbledore.
"I saw him, I really did!" said Hermione firmly, though she let go of Ron's hand to nervously smooth the knees of her short fairy gown. "It was like I couldn't move, Professor. I could see everything happening but it was like a dream..." her voice broke off into a whisper.
Ron nodded next to her. "Yeah, Professor! I could see Hadrian talk to this really tall man, and then he crooked his finger and everything just went from there!"
"But who was he? The thing that Hadrian was speaking to?" asked Pansy, directing her question to Dumbledore. The Headmaster appeared apprehensive, and eventually sighed.
"Have you noticed any weird behaviour from Hadrian recently?" said Dumbledore, folding his hands across his lap.
"Yes," they all chorused.
"I've seen him talking to something at the Great Hall sometimes," said Hermione and Draco tilted his head in agreement.
"I saw him practising spells from the Restricted Section," added Pansy thoughtfully. "The dark arts or sorcery, I believe."
"And it seems as though something sleeps in his bed every night," said Blaise, twisting his hands together.
Dumbledore took all this information in with a sigh. He adjusted his half-moon spectacles and stared down at them. The students fidgeted in their seats.
"...That is some grave information you have told me," said Dumbledore after a few moments of digesting the news. The elderly wizard then got off his seat and walked to the only window in his Office, the one showing the Lake. His body was encased in moonlight as he turned his back to answer them.
"But what you saw was Harry being possessed."
"Possessed?" Draco gawked. "B-b-but! He didn't say his name thrice!"
"Be as that may, Mr. Malfoy," Draco was gifted with a stern look from Dumbledore, "Hadrian was the one that he was looking for all this time. To think, some fifty years later until his equal was born. It must've made Tom considerably lonely," the old man muttered the last sentence more to himself than anyone else. "It would've droven Tom nearly insane, in fact, waiting all those years..."
"Tom Riddle?" spoke up Hermione, and was quickly shushed by everyone in the room except Dumbledore. "Oh grow up you guys," she glared, "Riddle already has Harry so you don't have to act like cowards anymore. It's just a name."
"You try telling that to Ginny when she said it," mumbled Ron and he pouted when Hermione punched him in the shoulder.
"In any case," continued Hermione, "what do you mean by equal, Headmaster? And what about this Tom fellow?"
Dumbledore only shook his head and turned back to look at the sparkling waters of the Lake.
"I suppose you all deserve to know the true story of Tom Riddle..."
He was every bit of a prodigy as everyone claimed him to be. Even more so than Hadrian, in fact, just by his actions, words, and natural charm. He was what everyone, in the time of the Great War against Grindelwald, wanted—no, needed.
He grew up an orphan in one of the lonely, most abusive orphanages in London.
One day, as I was passing by London, I found Tom performing nonverbal spells—spells that weren't even recognisable to any fully educated wizard. They were spells that just harmed by intent.
Tom was truly gifted.
I had been awed by his power and strength and told him of his heritage and legacy.
He loved all the stories I told him and asked him if he could live with me. Fortunately, I talked to the Ward of the orphanage and she agreed to letting Tom go if I signed some papers. I did, and managed to adopt Riddle at the young age of ten.
The year before Hogwarts was one of my happiest memories. I had my adoptive son, Tom Riddle in my life and that was all that mattered. I had taught him the beginnings of everything: Potions, Transfiguration, Charms and the History of Magic. He soaked all the information in like a sponge.
I was proud.
When it was time for him to be introduced at Hogwarts, he took everything in stride, only introducing himself as Tom Riddle and not Thomas Albus Dumbledore, as we had done a legal adoption, muggle and magical alike. I overlooked it, thinking it was a way for him to make friends without my influence.
By the first day, Tom had drawn people in like a moth to a flame—everyone in Hogwarts or anyone that met him, adored him. Top of the class, creator of many spells and potions by the age of fourteen, my son was everything I had hoped he'd become.
Once again, I was a proud man.
But arrogance befalls many men, and I had never noticed Tom drifting slowly away from me. It was too late to notice the huge, black void that served as his heart. My relationship to him was merely beneficial by then, and had I not been blinded by how much good I perceived in his actions—I would've stopped him before all the madness started.
I am just human, children. I did not notice my son step away from the call of light and step into demonic sorcery. I was so blinded by what I thought I saw that by the time I found his body—it was too late, he was gone from my grasp.
The truth of the matter was he had never killed those 30 plus people. He had never done an inch of harm to anyone. He was never known as the 'Bloodletter' or the maniac that killed witches and wizards.
He was just my son, Tom Riddle.
A sacrifice to keep the walls of Hogwarts strong and impenetrable.
Hermione was openly crying into Ron's arms and Pansy hid her face in Draco's shoulder. Even the two boys, Draco and Blaise shared looks of sorrow.
"But why...why did they say he killed all those people?" whispered Hermione tearfully.
"To make an alibi for the natural magic of Hogwarts," answered Dumbledore, sorrow in his voice. "It is needed once every few hundred years to strengthen the wards and magic of Hogwarts. But they truly do not die," said Dumbledore as the five students stared at him in hope. "Their body is put into a lifelong stasis until their mate steps foot into Hogwarts. However," his twinkling blue eyes hardened, "There was no way to know if the other part of his soul, his Twin Flame would ever step or be in Hogwarts."
"And if that was the only condition to fulfill, it would've taken Tom maybe eternity to find him," said Draco in horror.
Realisation dawned on everyone's faces as they reviewed the facts.
When Hadrian had entered Hogwarts, the whole school seemed to lighten up and become even grander than ever before. The dreary walls had brightened, and the House-elves themselves (since they were attuned to Hogwarts's magic) were seemingly full of energy.
No wonder they followed Hadrian like lemmings and allowed the boy to eat at their kitchens and do whatever he wanted.
Because he was the soulmate of the person who gave his life up for Hogwarts.
"Now, the only thing we can do is wait," Dumbledore said, wearily sinking into his chair and conjuring a cuppa for everyone.
"You don't have to do this," said Harry, stretched out onto a long sacrificial slab. There was Tom's body next to his, and it was cold, icicle-like.
"Yes I do—no I don't," muttered Tom the apparition, clearly conflicted with his actions. He was sharpening his carving knife in front of Harry and he was just thankful that the crazy psycho wouldn't be using his axe. Now that, Harry believed that would hurt more than just a skinny knife.
"You don't even know what you're doing," tried Harry, though quieted at the smouldering look Tom shot him with.
When Harry had come to a few minutes ago, he had been roughly trussed and tied up in a strange, but magnificent chamber. It was like the Great Hall, but more Slytherin—more sinister, with its aura and decorations.
Who the bloody hell would put candelabras on someone's statue anyway? Not Harry, that's for sure.
"Tom," said Harry pleadingly, "Please don't do this. You know you don't want to do this."
"How do you know?" growled the handsome teenager, ruby red eyes narrowing distrustfully at him.
"Because I'm right next to your body, that's why," answered Harry dryly. "Why kill me next to your body?"
"So we can be together forever," replied Tom simply, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
"Do you really need to kill me?" questioned Harry, gulping at how sharp that sacrificial knife seemed to be getting...
"Yes," Tom said gruffly.
"B-b-but I don't want to die so you can live!" said Harry. "I want to be with you Tom, believe me! Just untie me so we can think of some alternative solution or something!"
Yeah, he was being truthful there. The two weeks he spent with Tom every day was one of his most memorable. He didn't want to die and have his life taken away by something he may have loved.
To be honest, he wasn't sure he loved Tom (though he knew he lusted for the taller teen).
But for everything sane and justified, Harry wouldn't love Tom—yet. Until he was doubly sure that Tom, the crazy demon, wouldn't kill his arse.
There was long minutes of quiet, then—
"...Can't I kiss you before I die?" said Harry, resigned to his fate.
Blood red eyes turned to give him a questioning stare and Harry could only lay back and smile at Tom.
"It's okay if I die for you, Tom," Harry said. "Just...let me kiss you this one time? I mean, if I'm your equal or soulmate or whatever, shouldn't I have one wish granted before you run me through with that pointy knife of yours?"
Tom stopped in his ministrations and sighed.
"I suppose," the apparition said doubtingly. He stepped closer to Harry who only scooted back a little into Tom's cold body.
"I thought you wanted to kiss me?" snapped Tom, irritation seeping into his voice.
"Well, I do...but not your apparition self," said Harry. "I want to kiss the real you. Please?" He begged, emerald green eyes desperate.
Tom stood still in place, as if listening to some unknown voice, then reluctantly nodded.
"Fine. Mother said that it was okay. Now here—" he untied Harry's wrists but not his legs. "No funny business, Hadrian," warned Tom. "You know what'll happen if you do anything."
"Yeah, yeah," muttered Harry and turned to face the deathly handsome face of Tom. It was like he was looking at someone through a cryogenic laboratory shield or something. With ice encased all over his body, and his heart beating so slowly—it made Harry think that Tom was truly dead.
But he wasn't, Harry knew.
Because he'd live after Harry died.
Harry could feel a tear running down his cheek as he bent over and placed a gentle kiss on Tom's lips.
And with that, the real Tom's mouth opened to let out an ear-splitting scream.
Muffled voices were talking around his bed.
Harry opened his eyes and instantly saw his parents' worried faces. Then he flicked his gaze to his right and saw his Uncle Lucius, Draco, Blaise and Pansy. To his surprise, his Godfather Regulus was there and...Tom?
He gasped as he locked eyes with a cobalt blue, and very much alive Tom.
The older Slytherin shot him a grin and gestured to keep quiet.
Harry nodded and looked at his mother.
"Mum?" he croaked, and blinked at how bad his voice sounded. He grappled for a glass of water that was near his bed and chugged it down, sighing at how smoothly it ran down his parched throat.
"Yes dear," Bellatrix cooed and pet his hair. "Mum is here, I'm sorry for letting you go through everything on your own, but I knew I shouldn't have let you attend this school! I should have sent you to Durmstrang like Grandmother insisted but nooo! Your father was adamant that you finish your last two years here and—"
She was cut off by her husband, Rodolphus, who placed a placating hand on her shoulder. "Without him, darling, Tom would have never been brought back amongst the living. He would've stayed and haunted Hogwarts forever if it wasn't for Harry," he said, though immediately cowered when she swatted his hand away and punched him repeatedly in the shoulder.
"How could you say that!" she yelled, "He's been through so much! He even has a scar on his forehead that won't heal and everything! My baby! My darling! Hurt for so long! And it's your fault!" She continued hitting him with her fists and was about to cast a 'Crucio' before Dumbledore stepped in between them.
"Lady Lestrange," he said sternly, "Under no circumstances will you shed blood in the Hospital Wing."
Bellatrix only sneered as everyone else chuckled.
"Hadrian, are you all right?" Dumbledore asked seriously, twinkling blue eyes dimming as they caught hold of the myriad of bruises littering his form.
"Yes, I am, sir," he said politely. "But what happened?"
"The sacrifice, it was a success," said Dumbledore.
"What do you mean?" Harry asked, bewildered. "What sacrifice?"
"The one Tom was made to do years ago," his Uncle Regular explained, sitting down next to Harry and giving his hand a squeeze.
"Wait—how does everyone know this except for me and Tom?" said Harry. "I mean, does that legend of him where he killed 30 plus people true or not?"
"It's not true," said Dumbledore. "It was just a cover story for what really happened those fifty years ago."
"Then what really happened?" inquired Harry softly, wondering why Tom the apparition had lied to him.
"Just know that no one killed anyone, and that bad side (Harry knew he was referring to Tom's apparition) is gone forever," said Lucius. "All of this is actually explained during the graduation ceremony at Hogwarts. Pity that we had to tell you four-plus Weasley and Granger-in advance, but I guess it was sorely needed." Lucius just sighed and shook his head at Draco and Blaise's shit-eating grin.
"At least you're okay, Hadrian," said Pansy, awkwardly patting his arm. "Everyone here was so worried for you, you know? You've been out of it for nearly the whole year! It's already June!"
Harry's eyes bugged out of his head as he realised he must've been in a magical coma for close to eight months! He would've fainted if he hadn't been sleeping for so long!
"In any case," Dumbledore clapped his hands, "I think we should all leave. My son seems like he wants to talk to Harry. We should all give them some privacy." The old man's eyes were once again twinkling brightly as he ushered the grumbling adults and whining students out. Just before the door closed, Dumbledore winked at the two and left.
"So," said Harry awkwardly. "You're Dumbledore's son?"
"Yeah, I didn't get to tell you. Sorry," Tom said just as awkwardly.
Harry coughed. "Okay, nevermind that. How come I'm still alive? How come you're alive?" he asked.
Tom shrugged. "I really don't know. All I know is that I was in this weird dream and then, all of a sudden, I was next to you. Really haven't the faintest clue what happened before then though. It was all like a blur to me."
"You mean you really don't remember the Masquerade or anything?"
"Masquerade?" Tom's nose wrinkled cutely. "I only remember you. Your face, your body, your scent—just you. And then I remember being angry, but that's about it. Is that a bad thing?" He cocked his head to the side.
Harry shrugged and made a mental note to never get Tom mad again.
"I don't think so," Harry replied.
"Do you hate me?" said Tom, worryingly.
Harry laughed a bit, then shook his head.
"I would never, even if I do have this spiffy scar on my forehead." Harry traced the lightning bolt shaped scar and smiled up at Tom. "At least it makes me look more rugged."
"In your dreams it does," scoffed Tom.
"But you're in my dreams," said Harry innocently.
"Really?" asked Tom seriously.
"Really," Harry confirmed just as seriously.
"Good," Tom murmured, leaning down to give Harry a chaste, but lingering kiss. "Because you're in mine too."
"That's all I could ever want," said Harry.
And Harry kissed him back.
- fini
A/N: This is actually based on a real legend and a movie I saw awhile back. Hope you enjoyed it even though I know the ending isn't really good enough for everyone xD I tried to tie everything together, yknow? So huzzah! 11k+ words! The joy! By the by, if you're curious about how Harry looks after his blood adoption, imagine this:
His hair is shoulder-length but wavy, due to Rodolphus's genes. His eyes had lightened to a grassy green, a silverish green, if you will. And he looks just like Bellatrix except his nose is less pointed and his cheekbones a little more hallowed. Thanks for the read! :D
REVIEW PLEASE! And requests for stories are welcomed! :D