Slytherin Social Circles
His hands clenched and unclenched, sweating inside the pockets of the robes Harry was wearing.
Plain black robes.
Completely void of red and gold.
Where there should have been an embroidered patch of the Gryffindor house crest was only normal fabric.
The teenage Dark Lord had waved that infuriating wand of his and vanished all existing traces of Gryffindor house, stating rather smugly, "First impressions matter very much to Slytherins. Now, Potter, we do not want you committing social suicide, do we?"
Although Harry had struggled to bite back a barbed retort, for the first time in his life, he felt some twisted type of gratitude towards Riddle. He already felt enough like a lamb walking into a slaughterhouse, a big cat in a pit of vipers. He did not need a red sign broadcasting his Gryffindor identity to the entire world.
Slytherins and Gryffindors were natural enemies – and it made Harry feel all the more nervous that he would lose control of his temper in front of them. Slytherins, he could deal with – but parents of the Death Eaters who killed his loved ones, he could not.
Harry hissed the password to the portrait and stepped gingerly inside the Slytherin common room. To his great relief, the room was empty. The baby Death Eaters were probably still asleep in the dormitory.
Harry let out a breath of relief he hadn't known he'd been holding. Relaxing slightly, he made his way over to one of the couches.
And that was roughly the time Harry stopped in his tracks.
The door to the boy' dormitory let out a terrifyingly loud squeak and voices rained down, followed by footsteps that indicated not one, but many, Slytherins were walking down the stairs.
Wincing, Harry threw a hateful glare at nothing in particular. He should have known that it was too good to last. It seemed like fate hated him with a vengeance.
"Damn you, Riddle," he muttered under his breath.
He braced himself for when the snakes made their appearance. He could sense them approaching, getting closer, he could hear Abraxas Malfoy's sarcastic voice growing clearer. He dreaded the moment they swarmed him and started interrogating their new guest. Honestly, it was too early in the morning for that –
The force of at least ten pairs of eyes pinned him down where he stood, cornered like a snared animal. The footsteps slowed and came to an abrupt stop, almost in unison, and silence rolled down like curtains.
"You, you are not a Slytherin," Nott said coldly.
"Uh…" Harry cleared his throat uncomfortably under the hostile stares. He shifted his weight onto his other leg awkwardly. "Well, no, I'm not..."
Eyebrows went up disdainfully.
Nott took a step forward, sweeping his eyes across Harry, unmistakably sizing him up. The others were doing the same, albeit more subtly.
Abraxas Malfoy looked sharply at Harry, meeting his eyes for a fraction of a second, and Harry barely stopped a snarl from breaking off his lips. The cold, mercury, grey eyes were reminiscent of the pair owned by Lucius Malfoy. Harry hurriedly glanced away, in case he could not restrain himself.
Pale lips, eerily similar to Lucius', curled up contemptuously, seeming to find Harry lacking. The other Slytherins smirked at each other in the background, appearing equally appalled by the newest presence.
Harry was not surprised in the least.
His skin, flushed after his meeting with Tom, did not flatter his loose tie and rumbled robes. His dark hair was in disarray, free strands dangling limply in front of his eyes. He must look like a slob to them, a good-for-nothing idiot.
Oh well, he was okay with that. The less engaged they associated with him, the better… the less time he spent with them, the longer his disguise would hold up.
Nott smiled widely, the way a shark might just before it swallowed a smaller fish. "Then…" he said nonchalantly, mockery brimming under his deceptively cheery tone. "Pardon me if this sounds rude, but I assure you it is nothing personal… What are you doing in our common room?"
Subtle stress was laid on that one word in the sentence, intended to humiliate.
Harry felt a stab of faint irritation.
Brushing past Nott, Harry stepped forward and reached out a hand to Lestrange, because he happened to be the nearest person. "Harry," he introduced himself, keeping his tone as light as possible.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw rage flicker across Nott's face at being snubbed. He felt a delicious sensation of triumph.
Lestrange stared at the offered hand as though it was infested with parasites, but he took it, although with a sniff of standoffishness. "Randolph Lestrange."
Harry allowed a grin to dance on his lips.
A second later, his fingers were being crushed to dust like there was no tomorrow. It was painful, and he winced inwardly but his grin did not falter.
There was nothing like this power play and display of dominance in Gryffindor, and Harry wondered whether the Slytherins did it to every new acquaintance or whether it was reserved especially for him.
Harry didn't have time to think about it when another member of their little club joined them.
Cygnus Black.
The boy had never looked paler. There were dark shadows under his eyes, and he looked positively miserable. Miserable and crabby, judging by the uncharacteristic way he shoved past Rosier.
"Why the long face?"
Harry did not see who asked, but Rosier immediately replied nastily, "Oh, he's still obsessing over that cat, aren't you, Cygnus? I really don't understand why you are so fond of it. That monster ran away from you and you're acting like an angst-ridden teenage girl."
"He didn't run away," Cygnus said shortly, mouth set in a stubborn line. "He was taken. I'm sure of it."
"Your cat probably ran off because it was fed up with your fondling. You were squeezing its face too hard, the other day," Rosier said, coolly. "Honestly, you've got to mind your image, Cygnus; you looked like you wanted to crawl inside its stomach and hug all its organs to death. If you ask me, it's good riddance to bad rubbish."
Harry stared.
He was sickened by the behaviour of the Slytherins to one another.
"No, he's right," Harry said acerbically, before he could stop himself. The words, bitter as curd, formed as though they had willpower of their own. "Riddle caught the cat and ate it."
He wished he could slap himself.
And he would have if it wasn't for the strange, mildly horrified looks the Slytherins sent him.
A pin could have dropped right then and there – and everyone would have heard.
"What do you know about Tom?"
Nott.
God, the boy was really starting to get on Harry's nerves. The combined scandalised looks he was getting from Malfoy, Avery, Lestrange, Mulciber made it seem like he had insulted their favourite superhero.
Disgusting.
He wanted to vomit.
—0O0—
"You know, Potter, you could not have made a better impression," Tom said silkily, lightly. "New boy, making a splash in the Slytherin social circles on his first day. They all seem to be very much taken to you."
Harry glared at him through narrowed slits.
"Quit your sarcasm, Riddle," he said flatly.
"Touchy today, are we not?"
He whirled around in anger, like a miniature hurricane, and flipped Riddle the finger.
Standing here was supposed to be the murderer of his parents, the man who tried to kill him while he was an infant, the Dark Lord whose facial features had been mauled from his search for immortality… and instead, Harry was getting the handsome, charismatic albeit annoying, dark, powerful model student.
It occurred to him that Voldemort would have tried to massacre him on sight, within two seconds of seeing him while Tom Riddle preferred to banter with him and infuriate, rather than curse, him to death.
God, it was becoming more difficult to draw similarities between the two. Oh, the similarities were there, of course – both of them were cruel – but there were not as many as Harry had expected initially.
"Rude, rude," Riddle tsked.
"Like you're not?" Harry shot back.
Riddle graced him with a smirk. "Oh, but I am never rude."
It was just so tiring, talking to the teenage Dark Lord. Harry could not help it, he was always throwing insults at the other – and Riddle was always eagerly returning them.
He sighed.
"Where are we going?"
"I'll have to turn you in to the headmaster. You have to enrol, remember?"
Harry opened his mouth –
"Please don't protest," Riddle cut in, "or run away."
"Or what?" Harry challenged.
"I don't want to force you," Tom answered sweetly, "or drag you to the headmaster's office with a wand aimed at the nape of your neck… Unless you prefer it that way? You can explain yourself to Dippet when you get there – or, if you'll allow me, I can explain for you."
Harry rolled his tongue around in his mouth thoughtfully, considering whether it was worth it to punch all Riddle's teeth out.
...
Harry stood back, panting heavily as the gargoyles leapt aside and the door slid open. Riddle tugged him inside by his collar, ignoring his yell of indignation.
That was roughly the time that Riddle stopped dead in his tracks, his whole aura turning cold as he spotted the man who sat behind the mahogany desk.
"What brings you here, Tom?" Dumbledore inquired, reaching inside his pocket and taking out a lemon drop. His blue eyes twinkled cheerily at Harry, who found himself smiling back cautiously at his unfamiliar yet familiar old professor. "And who may you be, my boy?"
Harry opened his mouth to answer when Tom cut across him.
"Professor Dumbledore, is Headmaster Dippet available?"
"I'm afraid not, Mister Riddle; he is currently away on other business." Dumbledore leant back and popped a candy in his mouth. "In the meantime, however, you may find me fervent to assist you in any way I can."
Harry sneaked a look at Tom and discovered Riddle's darkened expression. The Slytherin Heir looked far from pleased at the sudden turn of events.
"It is fine, Professor, we can wait for the headmaster to return," Riddle said tightly. "I apologise for disturbing you, sir, and if you'll excuse us… we'll leave…"
Harry was not going to let Tom take the opportunity away from him. Human again and completely capable of human speech with Dumbledore within a metre in front of him, it was the perfect moment he had been looking for since he arrived at Hogwarts.
"Professor!" Harry called out frantically, paying no attention to the cold stare Riddle sent piercingly at him. "If you can spare a minute I'd like to ask you something…"
"My boy –"
"He is new and he wishes to enrol at Hogwarts," Tom interrupted smoothly.
"Hmm…" Dumbledore glanced at Harry and seemed to take in the wideness of his eyes. "Mister Riddle, would you mind stepping out for a minute and closing the door behind you? Once this young man has straightened things out, which I'm sure he'll do just fine by himself, we can get him sorted into a house."
Harry winced inwardly as Riddle left, after throwing a narrowed glance at him.
The door snapped shut.
Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled merrily as he looked at Harry. "Now, my boy, let me tell you that Hogwarts does not easily accept transfer students… but you are a special case, aren't you? Take a seat; it'll be a while before you step outside, and I hope Mr Riddle would not mind waiting for you."
Harry smiled mischievously. "I'm certain he won't."
"Why don't you start by telling me your name?"
"I'm Harry Potter."
"Ah, pleasure to meet you, Harry. Another Potter. We already have a Charlus.'
"I know," Harry said. "This may come as a shock, professor, but I thin-I think I'm his grandson. I mean, everything falls into place. The pupils here now are parents of the adults back in my… my world. I'm sorry. This sounds ridiculous."
Dumbledore blinked at him from behind the half-moon spectacles as if seeing him for the first time. "Harry –"
"Sir, I knew you back in my time. You were – I mean, you will be the headmaster. And the Dumbledore I knew was a lot older."
"Yes, time travelling, yes, quite amazing, Harry. It is not the first time I have seen someone fortunate enough to travel through time but it certainly does not get any less bewildering."
"I don't think I would call myself fortunate for landing in the timeline when the Dark Lord of my time is a child."
Dumbledore stared at him. "I think you should tell me your story, Harry."
"Where should I start?"
"The beginning would be a good idea."