Chapter 2: Compression of Time


AN: Wouldn't exactly thank you guys on 'all' the feed back, but I am happy that at least some people are reading this story.

Story Notes:

1) If you are impatient, you may skip to Balthazar (Harry)'s entrance of Hogwarts, but that would be balls and you will receive a metaphorical slap to the face.


His temper wasn't controlled. Through his rebirth and new vessel it was even likely the flares had gotten worse. He couldn't keep a cool head about anything, and with a practiced eye, he was nothing more than a sitting duck. He was an emotional being although he goes through much to hide it. He needed help. He needed to get stronger. And the pull of magic calls to him evermore, and with realization his eyes open. A figure of himself stands in front of him and they survey each other. He opens his mouth to ask a question.


.

He had arrived home with books and an owl in tow - of a snowy colour and beautiful, topaz eyes; a male owl that reminded him painfully of Hedwig. Balthazar had named it Pitaya because of its...also, stunning similarity to dragon fruit, much to his amusement.

To his surprise, the instance he had taken care of all the items and placed the books in his semi-prepared trunk, had Balthazar been immediately called in by Xiao Fung, his tutor in physical combat and weapons expert extraordinaire .

Apparently, it was a preparation duel; or that's what he had gathered with the few words his tutor had murmured to him. Preparation for Hogwarts? Sure, from his past experiences, it wasn't the most friendliest - nor safest of places, but it wasn't as if a last battle against his mentor (Balthazar just knew he was going to get the floors wiped from him) would do any help. Still, nonetheless, out of respect and discipline, he found himself armed to the teeth and walking towards the training grounds. Because his form was lithe and on the more smaller side the weapons he held were mostly, if not all, covered beneath armbands and other pieces of clothing.

One of his favourites were the arm and elbow blades flattened against each arm, which, to a mere sequential twitch of his fingers, would activate and spring from their binds; deadly, stylish and functional. Some of the other hidden weapons were beneath the flat of his boots; a short dagger-sword embed through a holster upon his right thigh, out of sight kudos to the crisp penguin-coat-suit he was assigned to wear; it was black of shade with gold buttons and weavings, making him look a mixture of a pirate and aristocrat.

Perhaps he was vain, but it was a look he certainly approved of. Silent and composed.

To his left, his black-and-gold-belt respectively carried a hardened leather sheath of a fencing sword; one of the only types of swords that would suit his form; no matter how much he had appreciated the claymores. In time though, he had grown fond the underwhelming weapon; Balthazar would be disappointed to part with it when he was to enter Hogwarts - it was just too obvious a threat to sneak in, not to mention attention from his peers and teachers; something both his family and himself did not want to attract.

Having arrived at the training grounds, the tension was high as he circled around his tutor and vice versa. There was no time for talk; such petty acts, considered Xiao Fung, should only be practiced after the decided outcome of the fight, not before.

Walking calmly in fluid steps, Balthazar lifted his chin a fraction higher; showing confidence in his abilities and not the fear of failure embed into him. Which, ironically, was frequent when fighting with his mentor, as he had yet to win a battle against the skilled warrior-assassin. Unsheathing the fencing sword slowly from its hold, he looked warily at her weapon.

It was uncharged with razor-bladed magic. For now. Her gift for being able to channel magic into her weapons - an old and ancient use of chakra, she had told him vaguely - was what he feared the most from her; each blow, when charged with magic, is amplified almost a thousand-fold; able to shatter the hardest of stone and slice through hard metals as if the substance was as soft as butter.

Balthazar shuddered. He had lost account of how many replaced weapons he had to commission before scowling. The blades he had ordered after the last training were custom made with beautiful and intricate patterns dedicated to the praise of the Avior familia; with wings of feathers and flowers. But he doubted his battle-tutor gave a shit; she would shatter the sentimental weapons without a second thought, or care.

'I would have to be much more careful' He warned himself, eyes determined.

Suddenly and without a word, Balthazar dashed towards the danger, slicing left and right; predicting movements and possible places where Fung would dodge to however his movements were countered when she flipped upon her hands and easily kicked his flurry of attacks away before summer-saulting and landing on her feet elegantly and with not even a displacement of hair, nor evidence that suggested exhaustion from the physical feat.

They circled each other once again.

Concentrating on her muscle movements Balthazar once again raised his blade to the height of his heck, pointing it, issuing a silent challenge. One of pride, and will to win.

Then the first hit came; it was of a small hand-blade, but he really wouldn't call it that. The sharp metal circled around her hands, almost like a gangster's brass knuckles would. The attacks were light weight, not even phasing the flexible blade of his fencing sword as she danced around; features alight with playful superiority. She was smiling now, which meant something was definitely up and he didn't like one bit of it, but her attacks were a repetition of consistency and not really pushing his boundaries at all.

It was funny in an incredibly odd kind of way; Balthazar had known the obvious pattern, as he had suffered under its hand numerous times. She would proceed at a steady pace, not increasing or anything and perhaps even growing softer in her slashes. It would lower anyone's security, even unwillingly at times. Their body and senses would get used to a steady rhythm, pattern and pace before their defence shatters entirely.

Then the twenty-third hit came crashing down and Balthazar winced at the force and pressure, immediately attempting to withdraw and kite her around. Xiao Fung didn't allow any reprieve when his mentor ruthlessly spun around, following every single one of his movements in something akin to synchronization; spiraling so fast that her figure blurred, and at times, disappeared completely - only to come close to smashing some vital organ of his.

Her movements and expertise were not unlike a tempest. He closed his eyes briefly as waves of dust attacked his closed-lids before opening them once the winds had settled, not once stopping from his retreat. Balthazar's breath hitched as he saw the crescent-knuckle-blade glinted in the sunlight above him; his mind coming up blank as to how to proceed next, before he thankfully instinctively rolled to his right.

He was startled by a squeal of pain beside him and turned his head to the sound of disagreement, only to find himself face to face with a decapitated rabbit. Gulping, he rolled up and surveyed his tutor's face. No guilt; not that he had expected any. No emotion besides a raised eyebrow, as to ask 'is anything wrong?" Although it was obvious she knew of her killing seconds ago. He let out a shaky breath.

Even if she was his tutor and had been for years, he was still undoubtedly frightened of the battle mistress and one of the main differences he had noticed between her and some of his previous opponents were one, gaping factor; she never hesitated and he found himself surprised at his continued existence.

Truly terrifying, indeed.

Finally getting back to reality after a split second of faltering, Balthazar felt a whoosh of air behind him. Attempting to turn around, all he was met with was searing pain to his back; between his neck and right shoulder. It was white agony; so hot and burning that for continued time it felt ice cold. He felt himself paralysed in pain and unable to fight back before a hit on a temple of his head fell him altogether.


Balthazar woke up with a soft groan, coughing when he felt dust enter his system. Sitting up carefully and slowly, he massaged his temples and other sore areas before looking around and surveying his location and circumstances that came with it. Eyes taking in his surroundings, it was confirmed that he was still in the training grounds before all the information and memories returned back to him.

He spied out his tutor sitting idly on a log two metres from him, cleaning one of her shivs of blood and barely stopped himself from snorting.

Frankly, he wasn't surprised that the two final hits she had delivered to him were powerful enough for him to black out and even have momentary memory loss. Forcing himself to squat up before slowly and shakily standing, he hastily checked his weapons and their state; his tutor didn't take kindly to failure, and his loss by lack of concentration would have been a great offense indeed and thus, perhaps one or more of his weapons were destroyed as compensation.

It had certainly happened before.

Quickly activating both of his hidden blades, he was both shocked and thankful that they were intact and as good as ever, ignoring ripping of high-quality, but dirtied fabric as they slid out and back in. In his peripheral vision Balthazar saw his mentor give an amused hmph when he went on to check every other weapon in his arsenal on his body, only to find them - in his shock- all in pristine and unabused conditions.

He twirled around, facing Fung. The only expression giving away his surprise were the slight widening of his eyes; pretty wisps of blue and green in full display.

"You didn't break them." He stated softly, not wanting to offend her in any way, particularly by the underlying assumption that had she not broken them, she was a weak-willed fool.

"I should have," Fung replied conversationally, tilting her head, her expression indiscernible.

"...Thank...thank you." He offered awkwardly, the tension easing slightly when his tutor nodded in acceptance.

It was a few minutes of silence before he looked around and sat down on a log near her, hands kneading on the dead-sharp bark, feeling the rough surface splinter against his fingers, but he gave no mind to that. A few minutes more of silence and he was starting to get uncomfortable and paranoid - perhaps this was a test? If so, then it would be one of...patience. Balthazar groaned on the inside.

Patience. One of his greatest weaknesses, really. But to be on the safe side, he stopped his insistent moving and tapping of his feet, nor the fiddling hands upon the separating pieces of the park from the fallen tree.

"Judging by your behaviour, neither your mother nor your family has told you about what's going to happen."

Balthazar stopped his inner musings, looking up to her sharply, eyes hardening. When his tutor looked as if she wasn't going to go on further without is input, he moistened his lips before starting to speak.

"...of what?" His voice was quiet, curious and suspicious.

"Of my leaving, of course."

Unable to hold the mask on any longer his eyes widened noticeably this time.

"What!?" By his tone, it was both a statement of shocking exclamation of questioning; asking her to explain herself.

She closed her eyes as she would when she meditated, looking as peaceful as ever.

"Of course you would have forgotten," he heard her reprimand. "When your tutors were first introduced, had you not heard that under no circumstances, were we permanent nor tied underneath the family's boundaries?"

When he had said nothing at that, she continued, her voice smooth and to the point.

"Now that you seem to be at least passable in physical combat and knowledge in weapons and assassination - which are skills extremely uncommon, even within purebloods, I will go my own path. I, too, have jobs to be done and things to be taken care of."

But of course she had. He just forgot; that he wasn't the only one in the world.

And that he wasn't the sun.

So everything didn't revolve around him.

When she noticed his silence, he saw Fung pull a decorative looking bag from behind the log as she strapped it upon herself; looking as if she was set to leave this instant.

Before she could have walked another step further, however, he yelled out; and he just couldn't believe this to be a reality.

"Wait!"

She paused in her steps.

"Are you honestly leaving now?"

She nodded, before a misunderstanding of something sparkled into her eyes.

"If you are looking for a parting gift..." She began, before Balthazar hastily spluttered and cut in.

"No! That's not what i mea-"

"...Then mine would be the hope and belief that you would stop seeing yourself as the soldier, the warrior that you are not."

Now that, was unexpected.

Even though her comment was ambiguous and could have been interpreted in many ways, his pride still burnt, and his eyes flared; a slow frown etching his face.

"If you're so sure, then what am I!?" He demanded. Not a soldier? The way she had said it; as if the war was nothing. As if he had suffered for nothing. The way she seemed to dismiss his existence itself. Oh, his fury washed and burnt on the inside; his throat felt close to combustion, and yet he could say no more. He was livid, and yet he could not bring himself to act so. If only she had known.

And with those words, she disappeared with a cruel, lop-sided smile, a salute and a loud POP of apparition.


Slipping into the cool, silky sheets, Balthazar cast a warming charm before absently dropping his wand upon the desk. He groaned to himself, feeling tears pool within his eyes; not because of any emotions but merely because of just how exhausted he was, not to mention his apparently minimal - although still existent - allergy to dust.

After the ambiguous goodbye from Xiao Fung, Lauchlan had immediately greeted him from behind before apparating them to a stone hallway, full of thick, granite pillars. They dueled as well, but Lauchlan was there to stay; much to Balthazar's relief. However, the most disconcerting thing to him was not the fear of abandonment; but just how much he was lacking in all aspects. Even along the excuse of a new body, he had years to adjust, and what he couldn't do with his current physical capacity; he should still have received some boons from his previous life.

So, yet, why? Why did he, whenever facing an opponent of challenge - and especially Lauchlan, did he feel so weak? He felt ashamed to know that the younger wizard would still have defeated him if he was still in his mid-thirties.

A bile taste washed from his throat at the information he found hard to swallow. He didn't have a choice; Balthazar realized. He didn't have a choice, and he never did. His pride had blinded himself; it had coiled around his mentality, hiding his weaknesses from his eyes, even when they were at the most obvious peaks.

The Sin of pride. A mistake is all it takes to destroy anyone, in any way.

Clenching his eyes shut even more, he willed himself to think about nothingness, relaxing when he saw closed-eye hallucination of darkness and dancing colours and shifting shapes and forms flow around him. After a while, a small smiled etched unknowingly on his face as he fell into peaceful slumber.

Sleep does seem to make everything better.


"Then, what am I? A monster?"

"Perhaps yes, perhaps not. But you know what you are definitely not?"

"Oh?"

"Human."

"Elaborate."

There was silence.


He stood by himself at the train station nine and three-quarters, holding onto a feather-light-charmed case of all the necessary items he had needed, with his owl and his owl's cage held with his other hand. He wore his normal uniform; the same, white-suit undergarments along with a dark, clinging vest beneath his Hogwart's robe and still had every other weapon - besides his fencing sword - on his person. Feeling oddly nervous and overwhelmed at the abundance of people and crowds, his height felt minuscule in comparison to the various parents and students. He fiddled with the covered blades

The reason that he had been alone was for the fact that he had refused help of transportation to Hogwarts from his mother, then his aunt, and almost every one of the family members he had. Them, feeling a bit put off at his 'ungrateful attitude' had only allowed him to go by himself so that perhaps, when he gets lost by means of travel, he would learn lessons as to refuse helping hands.

Unbeknownst to them, he had decades of experience before him. Drawing in a familiar feeling, Balthazar focused with intense concentration on his core and let the pulling sensation expand; he stayed there for a whole five seconds before managing to - thankfully - successfully apparate rather inconspicuously at the platform.

Holding up his right hand, he gazed down to check the time. Twenty minutes before the parting, Balthazar boarded the train, walking smoothly in the thin hallway between different compartments. He sent out soft waves of magic in helping him sense if a compartment had already been taken; and if he was desperate, just how many people situated within the room. Balthazar stiffened when he felt pulsing, yet twisted power. It was already significantly tainted, but how? He kept away from the curtained windows in the unlikely chance they would somehow spot his presence and become suspicious at his loitering.

Twisted; however not in the sense of evil, just...misuse. Which meant that the student had been recently acquainted with wand-work and proper magic itself but had survived their growth up until now using controlled, purposeful accidental magic. Knowing no wizarding family would actually let their child go through with such misconduct, he would have assume that the one in the certain carriage was either a muggle or...an orphan.

Deciding he could pursue the curious subject at later hand, he found various empty cabins suspiciously surrounding the one containing the enigma. It was to his curiosity; seeing as most compartments were packed and many others - including these ones should have been packed already...then again...perhaps the other wizards had subconsciously sensed the alien, looming threat and unbeknownst to themselves, had situated themselves away from the source altogether.

Curious. So very, very curious.

Sliding the compartment diagonally forwards from the other, occupied compartment, Balthazar opened the door with an elegant and practiced flick of his wrist, he took his case and own into the space within him, disregarding the racks above the carriages. He placed his case down in front of his legs and his owl to his right as he seated himself in the furthest corner on the cushioned seats, his head resting on the knuckle of his left hand as he leaned against the window; watching as the Hogwarts train departed towards its destination.

When he felt old memories resurface he shook his head and once again concentrated on the passing landscapes with forced and focused interest.


The trip had been as boring as ever as he stayed silent whilst staring at landscapes. Nothing of interest happened, besides saying a polite 'No, thank you' to the lady pushing the candy cart - he had better things to spend his bag of galleons on - and of course, stopping his randomized day dreaming once in every half an hour to feed his familiar, Pitaya, owl treats; a consistent bribe that seemed much more like blackmail for the owl to stay silent, content and to not cause a ruckus and draw attention.

He zoned out so much that by the end Balthazar almost hadn't noticed the train stop at Hogwarts. Packing up his things, Balthazar walked out of the carriage, hearing an identical slick of a compartment opening behind him. Trying not to stiffen at the possibilities of a looming threat, Balthazar attempted to make his form as relaxed as possible and hopefully not overplaying it at the same time.

Balthazar settled into a comfortable pace and with the Hogwarts robe flowing around and behind him and the soft 'clacks' of his footsteps made it all the more easier to ignore the looming presence behind him. And yet he was almost afraid to turn around; the implications exciting him; the danger tantalizing and intoxicating.

If the...boy was who he's assuming it to be... He felt goosebumps form on his covered arms as a small, exhilarating smile ghosted upon his lips. His fingers wrapped tighter around Pitaya's cage handle. Yes; Tom Riddle indeed; the core felt similar, almost identical to Voldemort's, although his older counterpart was ever so incomplete, yet undeniably extremely, unbelievably powerful.

He reached outside the carriage, attempting not to pause as he stepped elegantly down the stairs; he really didn't want to be close to his ex-nemesis and even as of the moment it still felt too close for his comfort. As he followed the other first graders in guidance of professor Kettleburn, he allowed himself on the carriage of the most ordinary group he could have found; those who would have most likely landed in Hufflepuff or even Ravenclaw; the most neutral of the four houses.

Ignoring the odd looks from the other students as he was the only one who still carried his luggage with him - as he was unwilling for his to be monitored by the staff - he instead vied for staring at the ethereal thestrals pulling the carriages and stroking Pitaya through the cage bars. He got off the carriage last and once again, followed the leading first years trailing behind who he spied to be a much younger version of Dumbledore. They were lead to small boats where groups of four were to be situated.

Beggars couldn't be choosers, and as the eager first years swarmed onto choice boats, he absentmindedly stepped into the first one that seemed available; two lone ducks, face features unrecognizable and therefore most likely muggleborn or not from prominent wizarding families. It was an extremely tight fit along with his luggage and he sensed both annoyance and discomfort radiating from the other two students, however paid no mind to it.

For a second after he had settled down, it had seemed as if the boat ceased to work under the weight; even creaking ominously before slowly and steadily making its way towards the Hogwarts entrance with two professors who stood in greeting outside the open doors, as if to physically block the excited and hyperactive students from just instantly running in.

Waiting on everyone to go in first, he placed his owl cage down before grabbing his wand and placing an intermediate notice-me-not charm upon both the case and owl cage. There was a chance that it would slip even Dumbledore's notice, as hopefully he seemed like the ordinary student, however he wouldn't put it pass the old man to immediately spy the displacement upon his person, but the torrent of students were in his favor.

Smiling, he picked up his cases once more before walking calmly inside the magnificent halls of Hogwarts. Time to keep impressions up, and his head down.

His eyes spotted the sorting hat. He raised his brow; wondering how his turn would turn out to be, and most curiously of all; just what house would he be placed into? Then again, he already had plans as to just what house to go into.

He saw its mouth open and snorted lightly, bracing himself for its song.


Oh you may not think I'm pretty,
But don't judge on what you see,
I'll eat myself if you can find
A smarter hat than me.

You can keep your bowlers black,
Your top hats sleek and tall,
For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat
And I can cap them all.

There's nothing hidden in your head
The Sorting Hat can't see,
So try me on and I will tell you
Where you ought to be.

You might belong in Gryffindor,
Where dwell the brave at heart,
Their daring, nerve, and chivalry
Set Gryffindors apart;

You might belong in Hufflepuff,
Where they are just and loyal,
Those patient Hufflepuffs are true
And unafraid of toil;

Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,
if you've a ready mind,
Where those of wit and learning,
Will always find their kind;

Or perhaps in Slytherin
You'll make your real friends,
Those cunning folks use any means
To achieve their ends.

So put me on! Don't be afraid!
And don't get in a flap!
You're in safe hands (though I have none)
For I'm a Thinking Cap!


During the song and trusting his wandwork, he silently tread behind a pillar to place his items before quickly giving Pitaya five consecutive treats and casting the strongest notice-me-not charm as he possibly could. After that deed was done, he once again stepped the first years, blending in like sheep.

After the students laughed merrily and clapped along, the first graders were ushered forward before a line, where Albus Dumbledore pulled out a ridiculously long parchment before reading out the names.

"Zack Anne."

For a moment there was silence, but a second later a small, meek looking boy was stumbling his way through the midst of the hall and made his way to the sorting hat, an embarrassed flush colouring his freckled cheeks. Balthazar saw the child absently wipe his gold locks of hair away before placing the Sorting Hat upon his head.

"HUFFLEPUFF!" The hat rumbled. There were clapping and cheering from the Hufflepuff table as they welcomed their newest member.

Three other members more; Ravenclaw, Ravenclaw, Slytherin.

"Balthazar Avior!" Dumbledore called out.

Eye twitching slightly at the sudden, uncalled for attention and silence, he nodded in recognition towards Dumbledore's direction, eyes closing briefly; a sign of respect, before he walked smoothly and confidently towards the Sorting Hat sitting innocently upon the stool. Half way there, he felt soft wind weave through his soft locks of hair, blowing away his fringe ever so slightly and revealing stunning, blue-green eyes.

He ignored the action before lifting the hat, then turning around to face the great hall before placing it upon his head and sitting down neatly at the same time, face blank and eyes lidded. Forcing his senses back, he waited politely for the Sorting Hat's perusal inside his head.

'He-oh. Now, what do we have here? How...mental.'

Balthazar hummed, eyes zoning out from the conversation within his head, a small smirk forming at his lips; an action unnoticed by himself.

'Do carry on faster,' he intoned, 'too much longer and people will raise questions.' The sorting hat chuckled. 'Really, though, I am honestly curious. I had thought time travel was an unbelievable feat in itself.'

'For wizards, of course.'

'Ah, and that is which something you are only part of. Yes, yes. That seems logical enough. Very well, I shall try my best to sort you...once more. Although it would be...difficult to say the least. You have had already been sorted and your mind is an adult; making it a tenfold of a chore it should be. Do you happen to have any preferences?'

Balthazar laughed in his head.

'Cheating, are we?'

'I won't tell if you don't.'

He stopped himself just barely before he rolled his eyes.

'About time. But my preference would be as neutral a house as possible,' he noted.

'I'm assuming you're referencing the feud of Slytherin and Gryffindor?'

'Of course. Perhaps it is hypocritical of me to say this, but I for one have no interest in their petty fights.'

'No, of course not; your ambition is too high for that, no?' the Hat taunted.

'Don't you dare.'

'You don't fit in any other houses besides those two you ruled out; although you do have some qualities from all the houses.'

'Everybody does.'

'Yes, yes. However yours isn't enough for my conscience to arrange you into either Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff. VERY WELL. I have made my decision.'

'Wait wha-'

'You will thank me later.'

The delayed reaction was too late and once the Sorting Hat had made their decision already.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

He froze, then he was aware of all eyes upon him. Some students looked put-off and Balthazar had suspected that he and the Hat had been chatting for much longer than he had garnered for. The hall was awkwardly silent as he placed the Sorting Hat neatly, if not roughly upon the stool, nodding towards the professors in thanks before slowly making his way to the Gryffindor table. Even Dumbledore had looked at him speculatively. He frowned lightly in curiosity.

No one clapped; it was a trip made in silence, but he kept his pride. He held his head high, walking as gracefully has he could manage; back straight, movements fluid before he situated himself in the furthest corner of the Gryffindor table.

For the most part of the sorting, he ignored the chatter around him and only dully noted where other notable or notable parents of notable Death Eaters went. He wasn't surprised at all when almost all of them were landed in Slytherin, and when Tom had paced towards his sorting, he almost felt jealous. Child-Voldemort, even from being raised in an orphanage, has as much class as any of the other pureblooded students; the ones who had received tutelage in specific etiquette, including himself.

It also went without surprise when the Sorting Hat had, after a moment of delay, sorted him into Slytherin.

After the sorting was complete, the extravagant supper flooded the plates upon the tables. He ate slowly, taking his situation into hand. Gryffindor again, huh?

He could deal with that.

Now, all he had to do was remain as neutral as possible.

Before the real storm approaches.

And before he forgets his case and owl.