You wouldn't have seen it if you hadn't looked, but that wasn't a problem. Nobody ever looked.
But if you had, you would have seen a darkly amused sparkle in green eyes.
He was home.
When you first see Harry Potter- Hadriad Evanson, now, you dismiss him as nothing important. Perhaps he is good looking, but other than that he is another face in the crowd.
The carriage turned around the last curve, throwing the castle into plain view.
There she stood; her turrets alight with the fading of the sun, her towers spinning up into the sky.
Harry Potter stood, stepped out of the carriage, and brushed back a loose strand of wavy black curl that fell around his face.
Brilliant green eyes peer out from thick cascading bangs, and a dark smile twists the fair lips into an expression of superiority and knowledge.
But no one will ever see.
No one will ever know.
And Harry Potter, the boy-who-died, fell into the shadows again, disappearing into a crowd of children that will never know.
The moment the boy entered into the castle, the wards shifted, and a lithe form ran a hand in its hair, blinking heavy liddedly.
Harry Potter couldn't be more relaxed.
He stepped forwards towards the front as the students collectively stepped forwards.
His eyes held secrets, his movements like a feline.
Hair swung heavy in his eyes, masking his expression.
Dark robes spun around him as he walked forwards, bonelessly avoiding anyone in his path.
Beneath a sleeve, long fingers held a wand loosely.
Nothing could stop him now. Not that anyone ever had a chance…
Let the games begin.
-~/\~-
"Evanson, Hadriad!"
Harry slipped to the front, a spindly hand smoothing down his robes surreptiously.
The hat fell across his features.
"Slytherin." The hat called softly.
Harry stood up, sweeping the hat off his shoulders. He then proceeded to go to the Slytherin table.
Sitting down at the corner, he favoured ignoring the confused looks and instead reached inside his robes, pulling out a thin book, black with golden seams. Flipping it open, he commenced reading.
And that was when somebody took interest in him.
-~/\~-
Icy blue eyes fell on the apparent transfer.
An eyebrow lifted.
"Tom?"
The voice was firm, but submissive.
"Yes, Rosier?" Tom Riddle turned to face the voice, unamused.
"You seem… disturbed about…something."
"No. Definitely not 'disturbed.'" His voice sounded light to an onlooker, but his eyes were dark.
"Not- I didn't mean… disturbed. Forgive me. Has the transfer caught your interest?"
"He is different." The voice held an icy tone, signifying clearly that the conversation was at a close.
-~/\~-
It was morning. The sun shone brilliantly on the Quidditch pitch, lighting infernos on the goal hoops and illuminating the stands with a dusky glow.
Shadows fell across the pitch and part of the large castle. Windows reflected fire, and inside, light spilled over four tables.
Chatter filled the room, but at one end of one table that was sparsely covered in green and silver.
In the corner towards the door sat the form of a young man, eyes half-closed and surveying the room disinterestedly.
Another person slipped into the bench beside him.
"Good Morning."
Green eyes turned to the speaker, making him feel strangely on the spot. But the visitor's face remained stoic, and his face impassive.
"Good Morning." The reply was quiet, idle.
"My name is Abraxas Malfoy. I can't say that I've heard the name Evanson before… would you enlighten me on its origins?"
The atmosphere visibly tensed, although neither party moved in the slightest.
Abraxas's breath came up short as the transfer student gave him an amused smile.
"Half-blood."
Abraxas's eyes widened. The question he had posed had been answered directly. The student had seen through his guise.
And he felt distinctly uneasy, now. Shifting slightly, he stood up.
"It was nice meeting you, Hadriad."
A detached nod and dark eyes followed him.
Abraxas Malfoy walked out of the hall, uncomfortably aware of the student's watchful gaze following him.
"Tom?"
A boy was descending down the staircase, robes falling about him lightly. His eyes caught Abraxas's.
"What do you need, Malfoy?"
"It's the transfer, Evanson. He- he seems dangerous."
"Nothing I can't handle, though?"
His voice was even, but his eyes seemed to question Abraxas's sanity and self preservation.
Abraxas realized the implications of what he had just said, and a light tinge appeared on his cheeks.
"N-No."
"Good. Have you eaten?"
At Abraxas's mute head shake, he gestured for the Malfoy to join him.
"Come then."
-~/\~-
Yaxley watched the light conversation between Tom Riddle and Rosier.
"I believe that transubstantial transfiguration changes the outside of the object and slightly more, but the molecular structure stays loosely the same. That is why Gamp's five exceptions to elemental transfiguration stay true, perhaps."
"An interesting theory." Tom accepted, and then turned to Evanson.
"Your views?"
His eyes were blank, but his mouth was twisted into a smirk.
The entire Slytherin House watched with bated breath as the addressed turned slowly to meet the eyes of the addressee.
Gleaming jade found steely blue.
"I was not sorted into Ravenclaw, Riddle. The hat thought Slytherin suited me better." The voice was strong, firm, deep, and silky. Abraxas thought it suited him.
Several eyes widened at the remark.
"I was not trying to offend. Forgive me." Tom Riddle's suave, deep voice answered, leaking oceans of sincerity. The cerulean eyes looked vaguely amused, but something darker hid behind Tom Riddle's lashes.
An eyebrow quirked. "No doubt."
"But what are your views? Surely it is selfish to withhold them from your housemates. Slytherins are always striving for greatness, and we need all the assets that we can get to unite and form a stable housefront against… other …houses."
Double meanings, Riddle? We aren't talking Transfiguration anymore, I suppose. Very well, then. "I keep my views to myself. I'm not interested in joining your little clique, Riddle." It was direct, onesided, and sharp.
For the first time, some surprise showed in a pair of blue eyes. It was quickly replaced with sharp calculation.
"You have a sharp mind- but then again, you are not quite a Ravenclaw. What 'clique' do you speak of?"
Jibe at intelligence, feign at ignorance… "Yours." Direct. There was no need to be subtle.
"My clique? I strive for excellence in everything, Mr. Evanson. I don't consider others under myself. Where did you get such a foolish notion?" The tone was slightly mocking, but only trained ears could pick it up.
Insults. I know your secrets, Riddle…" A little…snake… told me." A smirk fluttered across Evanson's face.
Riddle's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly.
"Do you wish to start a feud, Evanson?"
Enunciating my name to point out how muggle it sounds, Riddle? "If you want to, Riddle. I'm sure I could take you and your clique on." The jibes were direct, insulting, mocking.
Tom Riddle's nose flared. You dimwitted, ignorant, foolish boy. Let the games begin, then. Will you be able to withstand it?
-~/\~-
Firelight flickered on a passive face.
Long, curly hair surrounded pale, aristocratic features- high cheekbones, narrow nose, eyes surrounded by thick lashes, elegant eyebrows, and altogether quite thin.
Green eyes gleamed in the darkness, staring at an otherworldly point.
A thick book sat on the table in front of the sofa, and a pale hand lay dormant on the cover.
Memories were such erratic things. At some points in time he wished that he couldn't remember, couldn't still feel his lungs collapsing on themselves as he replayed distant memories of a woman with her hand entwined in another's falling to the ground, eyes open in shock.
Hermione. He missed her, with her constant tidbit of knowledge that somehow related to what he was saying at any given time.
Ron. He missed Ron too.
And now he was in a never-ending game that would result in Riddle's death. if everything played out how it should. And they would live again.
The door to the common room swung open, and a tall and imposing figure cut through the darkness.
Harry caught the distinct facial shape of Riddle.
"Couldn't sleep, Tom?"
The figure turned around, and Harry saw an eyebrow rise.
"Evanson."
"Riddle."
"What troubles you then, Evanson?"
The Head Boy façade was on, then.
"Nothing troubles me." His voice seemed amused. "I am merely thinking."
Riddle strode to the couch in long steps, seeming almost to float. He then sat in a chair opposite the sofa.
"You challenged me. I advise you to step down." His eyes glittered with darkness. "I cannot control what the other Slytherins do, Evanson. But we snakes are loyal to each other. And some are especially loyal to me. I would not want to see you hurt, as you seem very inexperienced in the Slytherin lifestyle."
"I can take care of myself, but it touches my heart to see you so concerned." His voice was imbued with a slightly mocking undertone.
Riddle raised an eyebrow, eyes darkly amused. "Only my duty as Head Boy."
There was silence. It was tense, both waiting for the next move.
Riddle spoke. "And you? Tell me, truly, what I asked before. What are your views?"
It would have been foolish to ask "what views." Both knew what Riddle was talking about.
Harry was silent. Then he brought his eyes to meet Riddles, nonchalant.
"My mother was, as you so elegantly put it Riddle, a mudblood." Harry's voice was light, but his eyes pierced Tom.
Riddle didn't move, even to defend himself.
"Would you kill her, Riddle? Would you kill my mother?"
"I? I wouldn't kill anyone. I have no desire to kill anyone. My only desire is to learn here at school, and then grow to be the Defense against the Dark Arts professor."
"Such a meagre job, Riddle, for one as talented as you."
"Not really. The next generation must be educated too, in what is right, don't you agree?"
They weren't talking about the Defense position anymore.
"If what you claim is right involves murder, Riddle, it is not right. Or at least, not to me. A good leader would lead his people to a truce, instead of killing off all opposition." His eyes were fixed steadily upon Riddle, sharp and keen.
"Do you think that some people don't deserve to live?"
The atmosphere grew thicker. Riddle's steel blue eyes were on Harry's green ones, and although his body language suggested nonchalance, his eyes were dark and cold, glinting with knowledge and greed. Harry could see Voldemort staring back at him from the depths of that face. He could see the slit-like nostrils, the eyes turning scarlet, and the hair disappearing into the scalp.
Blinking languidly, he turned to Riddle, carefully maneuvering his body language so that it seemed that Riddle's conversation was merely a fleeting, careless moment in time, that Riddle was not worth talking to and he only did it to maintain a semi-polite behavior.
"Perhaps, Riddle. Perhaps not. I will not divulge my every motive towards you Riddle; I am not a Gryffindor or a Hufflepuff."
Riddle's eyes relaxed marginally, and mild acceptance replaced the hard calculation and darkness.
"Well then, Evanson. As delightful as it is talking to you, I must get to bed." He swept up and out of the room without a second glance, and Harry was mildly impressed at his manipulation skills- both of words and of people. If he were not who he were, if he did not know what Riddle would become, he would feel indignant of Riddle's casual dismissal and try and earn the right to be something in Riddle's eyes. As it were, he only wanted the glassy stare of death in Riddle's eyes.
He stood up, grabbing the book from the table.
It was high time that he, too, retired for the night.
-~/\~-
A youth with curly hair tied back in a loose and messy yet somehow regal ponytail swept into the Great Hall, disinterested emerald eyes sweeping it.
He had deep, charcoal black robes on that fluttered around him madly like a distressed butterfly as he walked, and on his feet were some sort of soft dark grey boot that made no noise as he sat down at the Slytherin table.
A brave soul tried to start up a conversation with him.
"I bet you're excited for your first day of classes at Hogwarts, Evanson, are you not?"
Harry ignored him, instead reaching carelessly across the table for a basket of rolls.
The boy tried again. "What classes are you having, Hadriad?"
Harry spun around, narrowing his eyes at the speaker. "Since when are we on first-name basis, boy? If I wish for conversation, I will notify you. As it is, please let me eat my breakfast in peace without your inane blabbering driving me up the wall."
The speaker flushed and scooted over to his friend. "He's so cold, Hericles. He's worse than Tom on a bad day."
Rolling his eyes inwardly, Harry stood up, pocketing the basket of rolls, conveniently shrunken down. He was about to leave the Great Hall, when a deep voice stopped him.
"Where are you going, Evanson?"
Harry found the origin of the voice. It was Yaxley, his dirty-blond hair braided and thrown carelessly over his left shoulder.
"To class, Yaxley. This is a school, you see."
Yaxley's eyes narrowed, shooting daggers at him.
Harry, absolutely fed up with people following his every move, shot an average Snape-glare at Yaxley, who seemed to recoil slightly.
"And, Yaxley, I will go where I will. It is no concern of yours."
He swept out of the Great Hall, and exasperatedly realized that Yaxley was following him. Fine. Let Yaxley follow him.
He shot down to the dungeons, robes flying behind him. Yaxley followed.
When he got to the Common Room, he headed for the dorms.
And sure enough, Tom Marvelous Riddle was sweeping down the flight of stairs. His eyebrow rose at the sight of Harry.
"What is it you need, Evanson?"
"Your subordinate is following me, Riddle. Despite how much I enjoy his company, I must ask that you order him to desist."
"My…subordinate?" Riddle's eyes flashed dangerously and angrily at him for a second, but it was just as soon gone, replaced by an offhand manner. "I don't have subordinates, Evanson."
"Well, then, with your suspiciously large influence on the Slytherin social circle, please tell Yaxley to get off of me."
Riddle's eyes were darkly amused as he surveyed the room. "I assure you, Evanson, that I have no subordinates. I have no idea why Yaxley may be following you, but I suggest that you confront him yourself."
"Well, he certainly is a member of Tom Riddle fanclub then, because somehow he answers to you, my lord. Riddle. Get. Him. Off. Of. My. Back."
Evanson's tone was dark, and his eyes were smirking.
Riddle's eyes were unamused, and they glinted dangerously. "You don't know what you are stepping into, Evanson." He pulled out his wand lightly, fingering it.
"Oh, I am sure." His eyes were biting, his pose deadly.
And Harry calmly walked from the common room.
-~/\~-
"Tom, would you please partner up with Mr. Evanson, today, to show him around and get him to be more comfortable, my boy? It's always different in a new situation."
Tom gave Slughorn an acquiescent smile. "Of course…Professor."
Slughorn gave him a thousand watts in return, and Tom continued. "It won't be a problem, sir. Evanson? You're with me today."
Harry glanced at him dispassionately, lifting an eyebrow. He then came over to Tom and fell bonelessly and carelessly into the chair, his wand dancing rapidly between his long fingers.
Tom sat down next to him.
"Today, class, we will be brewing Dancing Elixir. Who can tell me about Dancing Elixir?"
Tom's hand lazily drifted up into the air, a half-smile on his face.
"Tom, I see. Hmm…Mr. Evanson?"
Harry lifted his eyes idly to the professor's.
"Yes?"
Slughorn gave him a queer glance, but then continued. "Dancing Elixir, Mr. Evanson. Do you know anything about it?"
"Yes."
Slughorn smiled at him. "Well done, my boy! What do you know?"
Harry sighed and straightened in his seat. "Dancing Elixir or, more commonly known as 'Cure for Butterflies' was developed when Ludvis Kwidd needed something to cure his nervousness before his Quidditch match in 1648. It temporarily relieves the user from stress or nervousness, allowing them to do their very best."
Slughorn gave him a benevolent chuckle. "Yes, my boy, couldn't have said it better. Fifteen points to Slytherin!" He turned to a cauldron bubbling merrily on his desk. "This is Dancing Elixir. A cousin of Felix Felicis- who can tell me what that is? Yes, Mr. Potter?"
Harry didn't even flinch. If possible, he relaxed even more, his eyes drifting leisurely in his grandfather's direction.
"Lucky Potion."
"Yes, that's right! Five points to Gryffindor, Mr. Potter. Now, although Dancing Elixir will not make you lucky, it is also extremely helpful and not as tightly controlled. Now, to the student who finishes the best potion first, I will give two vials of this. You work with a partner, though. Get together!"
There was a mad scramble for a friend or someone decent.
Tom turned to Harry. "Will you help, or do you prefer to watch?"
"I'll watch."
Tom looked at him. "Good. Get the ingredients, though."
Without looking at the book, Harry idly flicked his wand in the direction of the cupboard. Several jars of fluids and powders came flying out, coming towards them at an alarming rate. Tom ducked gracefully as they flew over his head, and raised an eyebrow at Harry as they clunked noisily back down on the table, his eyes portraying nothing but an amused smirk flittering over his lips.
"Careful, Evanson."
He then turned to the cauldron, and his fingers danced between the ingredients on the table before he settled on a fine, bluish powder.
"Billywig wing powder."
Harry watched as he measured out a gram and placed it in the cauldron.
He then added a measure of standard ingredient, and heated the cauldron to 'high' where it was supposed to simmer for a few minutes. He then started grinding two ingredients together with the mortar and pestle, and Harry made his first idle comment.
"Add a measure of Impediment Snail shell concentrate to the cauldron, Riddle."
Riddle turned to him, his eyes pools of nothingness and an eyebrow quirked. "If it explodes, Evanson, it will be your doing."
Harry shrugged and grabbed the vial with the concentrate, dumping in a good amount.
The potion immediately turned a light blue with faint golden steam rising from it.
Riddle looked at the book. "You do know, Evanson, it isn't supposed to be doing that?"
Harry sighed and rolled his eyes, shoving Riddle over as he summoned a bottle of amber liquid from the cabinet. He proceeded to dump it in, and then add a flour-like substance to the cauldron until the bottom had a thin layer.
The potion was now a dark, opaque gold.
Tom looked incredulous. "What are you doing to our potion, Evanson."
Harry gave him an amused glance, his eyes glittering with pleasure. "You'll see, Riddle. I'm done, now, though. Feel free to keep on working."
Tom's eyes were dark. "No, no…I wouldn't want to…hinder you…"
"Of course."
Deftly grabbing ingredients, Harry added them to the cauldron in seemingly careless order and amounts, occasionally stirring, summoning a new ingredient, but never looking at the book.
The potion looked like a thick brown sludge, occasionally giving a loud belch as a bubble popped inside of the cauldron.
Tom looked skeptical and amused, and he continued glancing at Slughorn as if to will him over to the disgusting-looking potion.
Finally Harry sat back, his curly black hair falling casually around his face. He jabbed his wand at the drawers, and a thin, corked jar of something powdery and sparkling flew at him, but landed neatly in his hand. Along with a small bottle of what looked like thin, light pieces of shredded grass, barely indistinguishable from each other.
"Why do you need dried shamrock vine?" asked Tom, sounding light and cynical.
"To counteract the concentrated thestral hair grease…"
"Why did you add thestral hair grease?" Tom's eyes were mocking, his lips twisted sardonically.
"I know what I'm doing, Riddle."
"Clearly. You have deviated completely from the instructions. And the recipe doesn't call for Firewhiskey strains, what are you doing?"
"Cancelling out the Dementor cloak thread, Riddle. We don't want the user to feel depressed instead of nervous, do we?"
"There are fourteen ingredients listed here, Evanson. You have added at least ten more, or twenty."
"Clearly." Came the mocking, whispered reply.
Harry added another sprinkle of powder and stirred the potion three times clockwise.
And to Tom's amazement, the brown potion cleared impossibly into a rippling, beryl colored, water-consistency potion, steam rising from it in thick curls of deep navy blue.
He glanced at the book.
Ideally, by the end of the potion making process, your potion should be a light greenish white with navy blue steam, however, if you do not have this exact description, a teal colored potion with bluish steam is also satisfactory.
Evanson stood up, and walked calmly back to Tom, resting a hand on the cover of the book, effectively shutting it.
"Your potion looks perfect, Riddle." His voice was amused and soft, sardonic, but Tom could hear the deadliness behind it, like animal ready to strike.
Tom nodded coolly, swiftly rising to a standing position. "My work is nothing but the best, Evanson. As Head Boy, I have an example to set, after all."
Tom would never admit it, but he had just become very…interested…in the boy.
What are you hiding, Hadriad Evanson?
Harry withheld a smirk at Tom's blank, cool expression.
You are ever so much more entertaining then they said that you would be…
The Battle of Wits had begun.
A/N: Review if you want, I guess.
Clarification will come sooner or later; updates may or may not come soon.
If you have a question or think something's really phrased weirdly, shoot me a PM, though. lol - I don't have a beta, and I haven't read through this, lol.
Also, important note: I am writing this so that I can get into the groove of enjoying writing again. Reviews saying 'Harry's too weird/OOC/powerful' will be ignored. .
.Disclaimer ~ Don't Own.