Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
AN:
Some reviewers have commented that they don't like how Harry is being portrayed, that he's childish, immature, naïve, and even stupid – though on this, I disagree. He isn't dumb, he's merely acting his age. He's still 11.
I'm trying to be realistic here. He isn't like cannon Harry, whose family didn't love him and had to grow up fast.
This Harry has plenty of people who love him, care for him and who have protected him, like Alice, Robert Hutchins, his friends at the orphanage and Tom. And nothing 'bad' has happened to him yet, that he knows of. So of course he's naïve, innocent, childish and dependent. But that's what character development is all about.
Just as we saw, in some past scenes, how he behaves like a Slytherin due to Tom's influence on him, and in some others, he's the good-hearted boy due to his innate personality and Alice's influence, we'll see that as he grows up, events in his life will shape him, making him stronger, more independent and self-confident. But it won't happen overnight. So for now we'll have to put up with a realistically eleven-year-old Harry, who has led a relatively 'easy life' thus far.
On another note, some have commented about Dumbledore's characterization. I always keep something in mind when writing this younger version of him: in canon, when he was 60 years or so older, he made many mistakes even when he was already wise, patient, cautious and very experienced. For all the more reason, when he's younger, he will make even more obvious mistakes, in his desire to help others and mean well.
What happened in the last chapter was that, after hearing about the Lord Horkos thing, Dumbledore was certain he knew what it was all about, and so he tried to make Harry confide in him about what Tom must have being doing, thinking Harry was being difficult and obtuse on purpose.
He was so sure, that he didn't pay attention to what Harry was actually trying to tell him. I think it's a common mistake that some very intelligent people do, thinking they already know all and thus they don't actually listen to others. But after this chapter, it will be very clear why Dumbledore jumped to conclusions.
That said, the pace of this story will be picking up gradually as world events start affecting the boys' lives. The older they get, the faster things will move and the more action we'll see, so don't get frustrated, lol ^^
I hope you enjoy this chapter and tell me what you think!
Part I: Chapter 20
Panting, Harry finally reached the library, seeing that his brother was precisely where he had expected. Though he skidded to a halt when he saw that Tom was siting in his usual table at one corner, albeit, surrounded by a flock of girls.
"Oh, you're so smart, Tom! You should've been in our House," was saying Olive Hornby, sounding both mournful and adoring.
She was the first-year Ravenclaw girl who was seated closest to his brother, scribbling something on a long piece of parchment, now and then shooting Tom coy, fluttering glances.
Tom, for his part, looked like a magnanimous king surrounded by a worshipful court. Charming his audience with gorgeous smiles as he spoke in a low, soft voice, the girls giggling and blushing, as they hanged to his every word. Apparently, he was helping them with their Potions homework.
At the sight, Harry felt a sudden surge of irritation, and he stomped his way over, scowling darkly.
"I need to speak to you," he said shortly, as he stood at one end of the table.
Some girls shot him annoyed glares, whilst his brother waved a hand dismissively, without sparing him a glance. "I'm busy right now. Come back later."
Harry's mood darkened considerably, and he barked, "You're coming with me now!"
And without giving his brother a chance to reply, he leaned over the table and briskly started picking up his brother's books, quills and parchments, stuffing them in Tom's school bag.
Tom remained seated, shooting him a quizzical glance, while the girls squawked like a flock of affronted, angered geese.
"You can't take him away! He was helping us-"
"He knows so much! Better teacher than Professor Slughorn-"
"Oh, you truly are, Tom," breathed out sycophantically one of Olive Hornby's little friends, one of those who were always cruelly taunting and mocking poor Moaning Myrtle.
Which only made Harry even angrier, because he hated how her housemates treated her, and it made him feel pity, but also guilt since he still fled in opposite directions whenever he caught sight of Myrtle in the corridors, when she tried to approach him and make him remember his promise of being friends.
"You can't take him away from us, Riddle!" snapped Olive Hornby, standing up as she glowered at him.
Harry shot her a disgusted look, as he bit out, "Oh, yeah? Watch me!" And with that, he hefted Tom's schoolbag on his back, grabbed his brother's wrist, and yanked him away.
As they crossed the library's doors, Tom, who had thus far allowed himself to be pulled away, broke free and demanded in an annoyed tone of voice, "What is it? What do you want?"
"Not here," whispered Harry, glancing around as they entered a corridor. "Let's go to our dorm. There won't be anyone there at this hour."
He hastened his steps, and though Tom remained silent and effortlessly matched his pace, he could still feel his brother's irked gaze boring into one side of his skull.
As they made their way to the dungeons, they came across many meandering groups of students. And here and there, Tom was greeted by and charmingly greeted in return Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws.
His brother had been busy. It only made him remember everything Alphard had told him about, and Harry quickened his steps.
The moment they arrived at their bedroom, Harry dropped Tom's bag on his brother's desk, and spun around.
Tom had elegantly seated himself on his bed, and now arched an eyebrow at him as he prompted impatiently, "Well?"
"Where did you get Lord Horkos' name from?" demanded Harry sternly without beating around the bush.
Tom stared at him, then frowned. "What's all this about?"
"Just answer the question," said Harry sharply.
"You already know the answer," replied Tom with annoyance. "It was from a book in Flourish and Blotts."
Now it was Harry who frowned at him. "What book, exactly?"
Tom heaved a deep breath as if a bothersome bug was pestering him. "When I was exploring the Section of Magical Theory, I saw a book there, opened and lying on the floor." He shot Harry a strange glance, for a moment looking hesitant, before he continued in dismissive tone of voice, "It was opened on the chapter about a wizard called Lord Horkos."
Harry waited, and waited, but his brother said nothing more and merely gazed back at him with a bored expression on his face.
"And?" prompted Harry, gritting his teeth with exasperation.
"And nothing," snapped Tom, glowering at him. "Why are you asking me this-"
"There's something you're not telling me," bit out Harry angrily, stomping a foot on the floor. "This is important, Tom! Just tell me and then I'll explain!"
Tom heavily frowned at him, before he grumbled dourly, "Fine. The book was called 'Obscure and Forgotten Dark Lords and their Inventions'. The chapter I began reading was about an Ukrainian Dark Lord of the Middle Ages, called Lord Horkos the 'Unvanquishable', the 'Indestructible', the 'Undefeated'. It told about how he had been killed eight times and always came back from the dead-"
"Hang on," said Harry, rising up a hand before he stared at his brother with utter disbelief. "You named your owl after a Dark Lord? Have you lost your marbles!"
Tom sprung to his feet and glowered at him as if he had been dealt the worst of insults, as he hissed out, "I wasn't being stupid! I didn't know what a 'Dark Lord' was back then. I thought it simply meant he had been a powerful wizard-"
"Alright, alright," said Harry quickly, "don't get your knickers in a twist!" He shook his head, before he pressed on, "So what else did the book say about this Lord Horkos fellow?"
Tom skewered him with narrowed eyes. "No. Now it's you who's going to start talking. Why are you asking me all of this?"
Harry gritted his teeth with frustration. He brusquely gestured from one to the other, as he snapped, "Look, the only way this is going to work is if you tell me all you know first, and then I'll tell you all I know. Got it?"
Tom poignantly glared at him, before his features rearranged themselves into a nonchalant expression, as he said loftily, "Very well, I'll answer your stupid questions." He waved a hand dismissively, his tone turning casual, "The author of the book carried on, explaining that historians believed the Dark Lord Horkos had created a vessel of some kind, which granted him immortality-"
"That's where you got the idea from!" breathed out Harry, his eyes widening in sudden realization.
He remembered the times when Tom had insisted that immortality had to be possible for wizards, given that their lifespans doubled those of muggles, given how many magical creatures, like dragons, lived for millennia, and how like, with magic, everything was possible.
Now he understood that all those reasons had been a load of crap, and that Tom had known exactly what he was speaking about.
"Yes," admitted Tom very reluctantly, scowling with irritation.
Recalling how Dumbledore had reacted to the 'Lord Horkos' name, it all started to make sense to Harry, and with an ominous feeling in the pit of his stomach, he pierced his brother with his eyes, and asked sharply, "So what was this 'vessel' thing?"
"A magical artifact of some sort," said Tom impatiently. He sat back down on his bed, as he continued briskly, "The author went on and on, describing how he had spent ten years in Ukraine, tracing back Lord Horkos' steps, wanting to discover what he had created. And apparently, if the author is to be believed, he found a book in a muggle junk shop, in some remote Ukrainian town – a grimoire written by Lord Horkos himself, the author claimed, which detailed the spells used to create this vessel artifact that granted immortality." He heaved a deep breath, before he added airily, "The author named the artifact after the Dark Lord, playing with the Latin term for 'cross', since he argued that the vessel had been both the wizard's salvation and doom. 'Horcrux', he called it, the Cross of Lord Horkos."
Harry plopped himself down on Tom's bed, crossing his legs as he gazed at his brother, muttering under his breath, "It must have been something very bad and nasty-"
"Bad?" Tom snapped his head to pin him with an angered gaze. "How could it be bad when it gave the wizard immortality!"
"He died in the end, didn't he?" quipped Harry pointedly.
Glowering, Tom bit out churlishly, "Because he must have messed it up."
Harry rolled his eyes, but then he frowned pensively, trying to understand why Dumbledore had reacted so strongly to the name. Really, it seemed quite silly to him – some Dark Lord who had created a long forgotten artifact that allegedly granted some kind of immortality that in the end didn't work!
Cocking his head to a side, he gazed inquisitively at his brother. "So how do you make this Horcrux thingy? How does it work?"
Tom shot him an irritated look, as he groused out darkly, "I don't know."
"What do you mean 'you don't know'?" Harry frowned at him. "You read the book."
Tom glared at him with all the power of his frustration, as he bit out sharply, "I was reading the book! I had just started on the part of the chapter that began explaining that the artifact was made with 'Soul Magic' dark spells, when it disappeared!" He shook his head angrily. "I felt someone behind me, and I turned around. But there wasn't anyone there. The moment I looked back to my hands, the book was gone."
"Gone?" Harry blinked at him. "How?"
"Magically, of course," snapped Tom, shooting him a snide look before his expression turned dour. "I thought it might have re-shelved itself into some other Section, or something of the sort. So I asked the shop attendant." He grumbled darkly under his breath as he added, "The wizard got all uppity with me, affronted, saying that Flourish and Blotts didn't deal with 'those kinds of books', and he practically shoved me out the store – I barely had time to pay for our textbooks! Remember? You were with me at that point."
"Oh, yeah," said Harry, sniggering under his breath. "That's too bad for you, I guess."
Tom glared daggers at him, but Harry merely grinned placidly as he leaned back on the pillows, calmly stretching out his limbs, as it all made sense to him, the pieces finally falling into place.
"So you looked for the book in Hogwarts' library, about a month ago," he concluded contently, letting out a yawn, "and you didn't find it."
"What are you talking about?" Tom skewered him with his dark blue gaze. "I started looking for the book from the moment Slughorn gave me a pass to the Restricted Section. Ciceron Plume told me they had it, but when he checked the shelves, the spot where it should have been in was empty." He shook his head angrily. "He even went through his registries and no student or teacher had checked the book out-"
"Wait – what?" Harry sprung up straight, and frowned, baffled. "But Slughorn gave you the pass ages ago! It couldn't have been gone then, that was too soon." His frown deepened, as he muttered under his breath, "Dumbledore didn't know yet."
"Dumbledore?" bit out Tom, his eyes narrowing to slits. "He didn't know what?" He instantly brought his face up to Harry's, as he hissed out accusingly, "What did you do?"
"Er… well…" Harry chuckled nervously, scratching the back of his head as he pulled the most innocent expression over his face.
It didn't seem to work because Tom's eyes just got angrier and narrower, and he swiftly changed tacks and pointed a finger at his brother. "It was your own fault! I didn't know you had named your owl after some loony Dark Lord!"
"You told him my owl's name?" hissed out Tom furiously.
"He could have found out on his own!" snapped Harry defensively. "You should have changed his name-"
"You can't change an owl's name once it's given," bit out Tom angrily. "They only respond to the first name given by their first owner."
Harry stared, and then shrugged his shoulders. "Well, that ain't my fault either, is it?"
Dauntingly, he could almost see the wheels churning in his brother's head, Tom's expression turning darker and darker with each passing second, until his brother bit out, "So you're the one to blame for Dumbledore ransacking the Restricted Section and taking half the books! He did it to keep me from finding out what a Horcrux is!"
"Um – yeah," said Harry, letting out a forced, blasé laugh. "I think that was the reason."
Tom fulminated him with a murderous glare. "I can't believe it, my own brother…" He shook his head furiously. "I didn't have the time to go through all the books. One of them might have had some information about Horcrux-"
"But he didn't take them all, right?" said Harry quickly, trying to mend things.
"Oh, he left those about Magical Theory, and Dark Potions," said Tom, skewering him with a glower, "and about the genealogy of dark wizarding lines – be grateful for that, because if you had also cost me my research about Slytherin's line, I wouldn't forgive you." His face darkened, as he added, "But the most interesting books about dark magical artifacts and Dark Curses are gone."
Harry frowned then, something simply not making sense. "Alright, so he took those books the day after he found out what your owl was called. But you said the book you had seen in Flourish and Blotts had been in Hogwarts' Restricted Section but wasn't there anymore when you checked. And that was ages ago, so it couldn't have been Dumbledore."
"Yes," Tom grudgingly conceded.
Becoming increasingly intrigued with each passing second, Harry tilted his head to a side. "So who took it?"
"I don't know," admitted Tom, scowling.
"And why did you find that book in Flourish and Blotts when the shopkeeper told you they didn't have it?" continued Harry, his frown deepening.
"I don't know," repeated Tom, his voice turning lower and angrier.
"And why did it disappear from your hands when you were distracted?" pressed on Harry, utterly mystified by this point. "Who took it from you?"
"I don't know!" snapped Tom viciously.
Harry blinked at his brother, and then quipped nonchalantly, neatly summarizing things up, "Well, I had nothing to do with all that, so you can't be angry with me."
He beamed a smile. His brother glowered.
"Oh, but I am angry with you," hissed out Tom, pushing his hands on the bed to pull his face in front of Harry's. "What were you doing consorting with Dumbledore? Why did you tell him Lord Horkos' name?"
"I didn't mean to," groused out Harry. "I came across him when I was on my way to the Owlerly to send a letter to Winston Churchill-"
"I beg your pardon?" swiftly interrupted Tom, staring at him, before his tone turned snide, "Why would you be writing to Churchill?"
"Erm, well…" Harry stammered, and then trailed off. In the next second, he cast a long, considering look at his brother, and then made up his mind.
After a bit of cajoling, his brother had been forthcoming with him in the end, and given that he was stumped in the matter of what to do with the information he possessed, he decided he might as well try getting Tom's help.
So doing some fast thinking, he quickly decided what innocent little lies he would be telling, and began retelling his odyssey through Hogwarts' paintings, completely leaving Alphard, Fawkes, Santi and the Grey Lady out of the narration but putting special, frenzied emphasis on what he had overheard when he had been in Phineas Nigellus' portrait of Grimmauld Place.
"… and then I was in a tapestry, a troll clubbed me on the head, and I fell through this transparent, veil-like thingy that tapestries have instead of the windows of paintings, and I finally landed on a corridor of the school," concluded Harry faintly, running out of breath.
Staring back at his brother, though, he found a reaction he wasn't expecting.
"You can get into paintings?" bit out Tom, looking incensed beyond measure. "How! Living beings can't-"
"Living beings can't get into paintings," parroted Harry in a tired monotone. "Yeah, I know."
At his brother's piercing stare, he then shrugged.
Suddenly, Harry's scar began to throb painfully, and he rubbed it, scowling but also perplexed at the reason for his brother's apparent anger.
Tom seemed to be highly irked, his expression had darkened and his eyes had narrowed.
A ray of understanding shone in Harry's mind, and he gaped at him incredulously. "You're envious?"
"I'm not!" snapped Tom instantly, shooting him a venomous look. "I just don't think it's fair that you can get into paintings when I can't. I've touched one, and nothing happened!" He glowered darkly, as he muttered, "So now you can get into paintings as well as see magic. And I can't do either-"
"Didn't you hear a word I said!" Harry shook his head with disbelief, as he wildly gestured with his hands. "I was chased by humongous jungle insects, drunken healers wanted to cut me open and chop me up, sailors nearly shoved me off a plank into a sea made of paint, a huge rhino came charging at me, and a troll nearly smashed my head open! It wasn't fun!"
"But it's an ability of some sort, and it's useful," groused out Tom acidly. "And I can't do it."
Harry shook his head with exasperation. "But you have Hogwarts nudging your mind and welcoming you when you touch her walls – I rather have something like that, instead of her always shifting her stairs on me!" He shot his brother a quizzical glance. "I bet you could communicate with her if you wanted to. Have you tried it?"
Tom glared, as he said bitingly, "No, and I don't intend to. I don't like having alien, sentient beings barging into my head, let me tell you."
Giving up, Harry threw his hands up into the air. Though he halted in mid motion, snapped his gaze to Tom's, and breathed out slowly, "Hang on. Why are we even discussing this?" His green eyes narrowed. "Why haven't you said a word about what I overheard?"
Tom coolly arched an eyebrow at him. "About Czechoslovakia apparently being attacked in March?" He shot him a scathing look, and scoffed, "Hardly surprising. How many times do I have to tell you that war is coming-"
"Not that," snapped Harry, his green eyes now mere slits, highly suspicious. "You didn't bat an eyelash. I told you that it seems that Maximillian Malfoy didn't do his best to get us expelled because he received a letter from Grindelwald. I told you that, for some reason, the current Dark Lord has an interest in keeping us in Hogwarts, and you didn't look remotely surprised!" He pointed an accusing finger at his brother, as he said crossly, "What aren't you telling me!"
"I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about," began Tom in a lofty tone of voice. "Of course that it puzzled me in the extreme and made me wonder-"
"Bollocks!" immediately judged and declared Harry. He pierced him with his stare, and stated, "I know you're lying, because you have that expression on your face you always pull when you're keeping something from me."
"What expression?" said Tom coolly, his face blank.
"That one!" chirped Harry instantly, feeling quite smug.
Tom shot him the nastiest of looks, before he harrumphed under his breath. "Very well, you little midget." He slowly got up to his feet and started making his way over to his trunk, though he spun around for a moment, and bit out sharply, "Let's just get one thing straight. I'm showing you because I want to, not because you're pestering me."
"Of course you are," quipped Harry sarcastically, rolling his eyes.
Tom gave him a dark look but nonetheless proceeded to cast all sort of unlocking spells on his trunk. Intrigued, Harry left the bed and bounded up to him.
The moment the trunk was opened, what instantly caught his attention were the numerous pouches of all colors, some velvet, others of silk or just plain leather. As Tom started to search his trunk, the pouches tingled with the sound of coins.
With wide eyes, Harry breathed out, "You made all that by doing others' homework? How many galleons have you got already?"
Tom paused and shot him a sidelong glance, as he smirked. "Oh, so you finally noticed and figured out what I've being doing?"
"Of course," said Harry quickly, not about to tell him that, actually, he had been too absorbed with his own troubles to notice anything at all, and that it had been his 'secret friend' Alphard who had apprised him of events.
"We'll not be paupers for long," said Tom smugly, as he gestured at the pouches. "This is just the beginning."
Harry's eyebrows shot upwards. "You're going to start charging more?"
"Yes," said Tom, chuckling sharply under his breath, "but I wasn't referring just to money. What I mean is that, gradually, I won't only ask for galleons but also favors. Our housemates have many things I want."
"Our housemates?" Harry frowned at him, bemused. "I thought you were selling essays to students of other Houses."
Tom waved a hand dismissively. "That was only to make a point and show the Slytherins just what an asset I could be. Now that they've realized that they gain more by having me working with them instead than against, they're starting to approach me." He shot him a brief, self-satisfied look. "Thaddeus Avery and Neron Lestrange have already paid me to do some of their homework. They're just the beginning. Soon, more Slytherins will ask, and then I'll be able to stop selling essays to other Houses." He smirked smugly. "After all, I have every intention to make Slytherin win the House Cup every year I'm at Hogwarts, and our housemates will know that they will owe it to me."
Harry shook his head and muttered under his breath, "I don't see why you should care. They'll still hate us for not being purebloods."
"I don't want them to like me," hissed out Tom impatiently, "but to respect me and be in awe of me, however grudgingly, and they're already starting to do so." He smirked widely at him. "And besides, my whole intention is to make a thorough use of them and take all possible advantage. Selling them essays is just a way to do that. Just you wait and see all the things I'll get from them."
"Like what?" prompted Harry curiously, tilting his head to a side.
"Favors, books that can only be found in their manor's libraries, rare and expensive potion ingredients," began rattling off Tom as he continued to peruse his trunk, "invitations to balls and parties where I'll be able to start forging connections… that sort of things."
"Oh, that sounds good," said Harry, grinning, before he took a step to be closer to his brother, and added quietly, "By the way, thank you."
"Hmm?" said Tom distractedly without sparing him a glance. "What for?"
Harry warmly smiled at him, as he said softly, "For telling them that they couldn't touch me."
Instantly, Tom snapped his head up, scowling. "Who told you that? You weren't there."
Harry shrugged his shoulders, though he couldn't stop beaming. "Oh, I just overheard some Slytherins talking about it."
Glaring, Tom bit out shortly, "Well, don't think too much of it. I did it for my own reasons, not for your sake."
Obviously, Harry didn't believe one word, but he hadn't expected any other retort, so he kept grinning. Which only made Tom twitch, glower, and then go back to his trunk.
"Here they are," suddenly said Tom exultantly, as he pulled out two books and handed them over with much care, as if they were his most revered and treasured possessions.
Harry stared down at them, and then shot his brother a highly peeved glare. " 'How to Care for your Pet Owl' and '101 Grooming Charms and Hairstyles', really, Tom? What's this rubbish?"
Tom gave him a wide, gleeful smirk. "Haven't you ever heard that you shouldn't judge a book by its cover, little brother?" Then he plucked something else from the trunk and slapped it into Harry's hands. "On the second week of school, I found those two books and that letter stuck under my pillow." He gestured magnanimously. "Go ahead, read it. You wanted answers, didn't you?"
Intrigued, Harry settled the books on Tom's bed and opened the folded piece of parchment. As he began reading, his whole body froze and his breath got stuck in his throat.
My esteemed Tom Marvolo Riddle,
Allow me to express my deep admiration for your magical abilities. It is not every day that a young boy with your qualities enters the Wizarding World. You have grasped my interest and I am fervent, devoted advocate of helping promising and outstanding young wizards like yourself reach their full potential.
Accept my two gifts as a show of my respect for you and my desire to see you grow into the powerful wizard I believe you can be.
With Hogwarts' curriculum being what it is, ever bestowing a deficient education, you will find the two books to be vastly enlightening, and much to your taste and interest, I shall hope.
Please do share this with your brother, who has, like you, earned my patronage. I wish you would both accept it and that you will come to think of me as a friend. And perhaps, in time, I will have the honor of calling myself your mentor.
"It's not signed," mumbled Harry numbly, his fingers jerkily sinking into the parchment. He shot his brother a wild look and said in a strangled voice, "Tell me it's not from whom I'm thinking."
"Look at the postscript," said Tom gleefully.
Harry did, and frowning, he briefly saw that it described in much detail two charms and their counters. Before he had the chance to read it fully, his brother was already casting one of the spells on the two books.
It instantly changed the books' covers into ones that were all black, looking a bit battered from use and the passage of time, the titles having morphed into silver words of some foreign language.
"And this spell," said Tom, looking giddy as he flicked his wand, "translates a whole book into English."
The moment it was cast, Harry leaned forward to stare at the titles: 'Comprehensive Study of the Dark Arts: Grade One'. The other book had the exact same title, only that it read 'Grade Two'.
"Open them!" prompted Tom excitedly, as he sat down on his bed and gazed at Harry, looking as if he was waiting for his reaction with much expectation.
Just knowing that he wouldn't like what he would find, Harry bit his lower lip as he flung open the covers of both books. And there, in the same elegant scrawl of the letter, he saw the words: 'Property of Gellert Grindelwald,' and just below it, 'Durmstrang Institute, 1870.' The second book had the same, only the year was different.
"He gave us his very own schoolbooks," said Tom exultantly, as if Harry needed any clarification on the matter.
At that very precise moment, Harry felt such a powerful surge of sheer fury mingled with horror and fear, that he could only skewer his brother with his gaze and shout irately, "You've had this for all these months, and you didn't tell me! What were you thinking, keeping this to yourself? Don't you realize what it means-"
"I didn't tell you before," yelled Tom back, rising to his feet, "because I knew how you would react!" He shot him his most disgusted and snide look. "I knew that the Prewett twins had been filling your head with stupid ideas about how dangerous the Dark Arts are, and about how evil Grindelwald is. And then you got all weird and worried about the oncoming war-"
"I was worried because of what I overheard Malfoy and Pollux Black and all the rest talking about!" snapped Harry furiously.
Tom pointed a finger at him, as he hissed out, "See? This is exactly my point. I knew you wouldn't have an open mind. So I was waiting for the right time to tell you, when you wouldn't react so hysterically."
Harry's hands clenched into fists, shaking with the temptation of docking his brother with a punch. He somehow managed to rein in his temper, and bit out, "I'm not hysteric. I'm worried, you great idiot!"
"Worried about what?" scoffed out Tom scathingly.
Harry shot him an incredulous look, and then mimicked mockingly, "Worried about what?" He glowered at him. "What do you think, you ass! We have a Dark Lord who's interested in us for some reason and-"
"Hush!" snapped Tom, instantly raising a hand, looking very alert.
Harry heard it too then, the sound of footfalls coming down the stairs, soon to reach their bedroom.
"Grab the books and follow me," said Tom urgently, "and bring the letter too."
Swallowing the volley of words he wanted to bellow at his brother, Harry immediately complied, knowing they had to go to some other place to continue what he was certain would be a very heated argument.
They were out of the bedroom in a second, and just when they caught sight of the hem of someone's school robe coming from around the bend of the spiral staircase, Tom quickly took the stairs. But he was going down instead of upwards.
Frowning, nonplussed, Harry followed him, as he whispered, "Where are you going?"
Tom briefly shot him a snide look over his shoulder, without halting his steps or slowing his pace. "You didn't finish reading the end of the letter, did you? There's another postscript there. Read it."
Frowning, Harry stuck the two books under an elbow and opened the letter again, as he quickly followed his brother further down the spiral stairs.
In a whisper, he read it out loud to himself, "For a place to do a bit of exercise, I recommend you visit the floor of the seventh-year boys' dormitories, behind where the stairs end. Others would need to tap the second brick to the right with the tip of their wands and utter the password, but not you, my boy. Make use of that unique tongue of yours and simply say 'Open'."
Just then, Tom was doing exactly so, hissing, "Open."
The bricks of that small expanse of wall vibrated and then furled themselves to the sides, leaving a huge gap open.
Standing, aghast, Harry paled and burst out in alarm, "He knows we're Parselmouths! How can he know!"
Tom waved a hand dismissively before he vanished into the darkness. Harry instantly followed him, persisting, "Tom! How can he-"
All breath left him when he found himself in a very vast chamber, surrounded by several tiers of stone seats, like those of an amphitheater. Most of the chamber was occupied by a large circular area of stone floors at the very center, its perimeter lined with dummies and mannequins, a few feet from each other.
From a distance, Harry could see that they were made of different things: some of different types of metals, others of wood, but many were made of a skin-colored pulp mass thing that had all the appearance of being magically-constructed flesh – at least, Harry hoped it was a magical-construction.
However, what caught his attention the most, and had him looking in awe and wonder, was the heavy lattice of magic that spanned throughout the whole place, the cords thin and delicate, of a vibrant, shinning silver, only a very few dark green ones here and there which only seemed to be keeping all the others in place.
"What is this place?" he breathed out. "It's beautiful…"
"Beautiful?" Tom approached him, frowning. In the next moment, he looked as if he had swallowed a sour lemon. "Ah. You're seeing its magic, aren't you?"
Harry just nodded, his eyes fixed on one of the walls, seeing all the tiny little symbols running up and down the trails of magic. Experimentally, he poked one with a finger, and saw it jiggling and squirming away.
He chuckled happily, and rushed out breathlessly, "It's wonderful, Tom - it's filled with all these Ancient Runes. I can't wait to be in third year! We have electives then and Ancient Runes is one of them. I'm sure gonna take it! And then I'll finally be able to understand all the stuff I see around the castle!"
He shot his brother a glance and saw Tom with a musing expression on his face.
"It's just how I thought, then", said Tom, now looking exceedingly satisfied. "What you must be seeing are wards that isolate this chamber from the wards of the school that alert the Headmaster when Dark Arts are being used." He suddenly smirked at him, as he gestured at the whole chamber with an encompassing, grandiose motion. "Because this, little brother, is a dueling arena."
"Oh." Curious, Harry made way to one of the fleshy dummies and experimentally pinched it. It was squishier than real flesh but a rather good imitation of it.
"Those actually bleed," remarked Tom gleefully.
Harry shot him a inquisitive glance at that, and his brother was quick to inform him further with a smug tone of voice, "I've started to practice dark spells from Grindelwald's books in this place. Our housemates just come here on the weekends to keep up with their Dark Arts practice, so I've been coming during the weeks, at night."
Tom strode to the very center of the dueling ring, raising his arms in an enveloping gesture. "Here, too, is where Slytherin House have their dueling tournaments."
"Tournaments?" Harry stared at him, intrigued.
Tom nodded. "Remember what your Quidditch Captain said in the Welcoming Feast?"
"Ah…" Harry nodded slowly, as he understood what Tom was hinting at. "Yes, Dorea said she was one of The Two, because of her name and stuff, but also because she was the undefeated dueler of the House." He glanced around. "So this is where-"
"This is where, once a year, they hold a dueling competition," cut in Tom excitedly. "And the two best duelers get to become the leaders of Slytherin House. Algernon Wilkes and Dorea Black have been that for the last two years." He shot him a wide smirk. "Not for long, though. In a couple of years, it will be me winning all the duels and becoming the leader." He raised his chin up, his dark blue eyes sparkling, as he declared curtly, "As is my birthright, given that I'm Salazar Slytherin's descendant." He paused and then added quickly, "And yours too, if you wanted."
Harry just rolled his eyes. He had no interest in being the 'leader' of a bunch of purebloods who looked down their stuck-up noses at him.
"You do that, Tom," he said dismissively, before his voice turned stern as he pinned his brother with his gaze, "How come Grindelwald knows we're Parselmouths? No one knows-"
"Dumbledore does," interjected Tom indolently.
"Dumbledore wouldn't have told a Dark Lord he's trying to bring down, would he?" snapped Harry impatiently.
Tom skewered him with narrowed eyes. "Bring down? Curious choice of words there. Why would you say that?"
Harry stilled for a moment, before he said casually, "Oh, you know, all that stuff about the law Dumbledore is trying to pass in the Wizengamot-"
"That's not to bring down the Dark Lord but to prevent Charlemagne McLaggen from signing a pact with him," hissed out Tom, his eyes now mere slits, bright with suspicion. "What do you know, Harry?"
Harry made his green eyes go really wide, and he blinked, once, twice, pulling the dumbest look he could manage. "About what, brother?" He then shook his head mournfully. "I know so very little. I wish I was as smart as you are, brother-"
"Spare me the theatrics!" bit out Tom incensed. "I've been more than honest with you – I showed you the books, the letter, and I brought you to this place. Now it's your turn to pay back that trust-"
"You showed me the books, letter and this place because Grindelwald told you to do so!" snapped Harry crossly. "And you should've done it instantly, not months later!"
Tom waved a hand dismissively, as he said airily, "That's beside the point." He then skewered him with his gaze. "You found out about something, didn't you, that day when you 'came across' Dumbledore?"
Harry grumbled under his breath. It was frightening how perspicacious his brother could be.
"Fine," he groused out. He heaved a deep breath, and then rushed out, "So I was making my way to the Owlerly, because I had written to Winston Churchill about the attack on Czechoslovakia in March, and then-"
"What!" hissed out Tom, looking highly alarmed. "That's what the letter was about?" In the next instant he grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him so hard that Harry's teeth rattled, as he snarled furiously, "Are you insane! You could have gotten expelled!"
"Geroff!" cried out Harry, trying to break free. But his brother only released him when the two books Harry had been carrying nearly fell to the floor.
Tom yanked them away from him and then demanded sharply, "Give me Grindelwald's letter!"
Frowning, Harry plucked it out from his pocket and handed it over.
"What are you doing?" he asked, bemused, when Tom aimed his wand at it.
"Getting rid of evidence that could tie us to the Dark Lord. I was only keeping it for you to see," bit out Tom, before he cast, "Incendio!"
Harry watched how the letter turned to ashes, before he scowled at his brother and said sternly, "Then you should destroy the books too."
"Not a chance," said Tom in clipped tones. "You and I are going to learn every spell and curse in those books, and of all the books that will surely come afterwards-"
"No, we're not!" snapped Harry furiously. "I'm not going to learn stuff that a Dark Lords wants me to know!"
Tom looked frustrated and angered beyond measure. "We'll discuss that later." He pinned him with a narrow-eyed stare, as he demanded, "You didn't send Churchill the letter in the end, did you?"
"No," mumbled Harry sadly. "But now I think we should-"
"We can't!" hissed out Tom. "Don't you know what's going on?" He shot him a snide look. "If you read the Daily Prophet you would know that the Minister of Magic has key muggle figures under watch! If you had sent that letter to Churchill, the Ministry wizard keeping an eye on him would have seen it – they would have known who wrote it and they would have come here and expelled you from Hogwarts! You were breaking the Statute of Secrecy by writing that letter, Harry!"
Harry went pale and he stuttered, "A-are you sure? The Daily Prophet actually said that Charlemagne McLaggen has spies on Churchill?"
"Well, no, but you have to know how to read in between the lines," bit out Tom impatiently. "Churchill is notorious because he's one of the few saying that Hitler has to be stopped before it's too late. And McLaggen is so opposed to helping English muggles in case of war, that he's taking every possible measure to prevent that Dumbledore and those who support him in the Wizengamot make contact with muggle politicians."
"But we have to do something!" cried out Harry.
"No, we don't," said Tom firmly, before he narrowed his eyes. "And don't change the subject. You were telling me about how you stumbled across Dumbledore."
Harry shot him a frustrated look. "Fine," he grumbled peevishly, "but we're not done yet about what he have to do about the attack." That warning uttered, he then proceeded quickly, "Dumbledore was coming from another corridor, and then I saw that he had this glass sphere thing in his hands. I think I saw the head of a woman inside, and he was talking to her. It sounded serious and important-"
"He was talking to someone about important things, openly, in the middle of the castle?" interjected Tom disdainfully. "How stupid can he be?"
"It was late at night, after curfew, and no one was around," snapped Harry impatiently.
"You heard him, didn't you?" pointed out Tom scathingly.
Harry scowled at him. "Fine, then! He's a complete idiot. Satisfied?"
"Vastly," said Tom smoothly, smirking at him. "So what were they saying?"
Harry hesitated for a moment, before he heavily sighed. "It was about Grindelwald. It sounded like Dumbledore was worried because they hadn't received any news from Julian Erlichmann."
Tom's dark blue eyes went wide, and he breathed out, "Julian Erlichmann – are you certain?"
Harry nodded, and Tom's eyes acquired a disquieting gleeful glint. He shot Harry a glance. "You do know who he is, right?"
"Of course I do." Harry rolled his eyes. "Our housemates talk plenty about him. How he's the youngest European Duelling Champion. And Grindelwald's pupil and favorite."
"And his lover," said Tom, still looking giddy.
"Lover?" Harry blinked at him. "What d'ya mean?"
"That Grindewald beds him!"
"What?" Harry's whole face scrunched up, nonplussed. "But 'Julian' is a boy's name, isn't it? So he's a boy?"
Tom stared at him, then scoffed. "You're such a simpleton. Don't you remember that day, when we were seven, and we saw policemen in our street, carting off the butcher's son's body?"
"Yes," said Harry in a soft, sad voice, a shudder running down his spine at the remembrance of the seventeen-year-old's mangled body, all his broken bones and horrible gashes and bruises. "You told me some sailors had beaten Terry to death, and that his body was found in one of the alleys near the docks and that I should never, never go into that part of our neighborhood."
"I did?" Tom stared at him, looking surprised of the lie he had told to protect Harry. He shook his head and added nonchalantly, "Well, it wasn't true. No sailors beat him up. His father had discovered him in bed with a man, in their own house. So he beat him up and left him by the garbage bins." He shrugged his shoulders. "The whole neighborhood knew, of course, and the policemen must have know as well, but no one seemed to care much about it. The police just said that some foreign sailor long gone must have done the deed and left it at that."
"What?" Harry choked out, horrified and incredulous. "Terry's dad killed him? I don't believe it-"
"That's not the issue!" bit out Tom impatiently. "Do you remember the things Alice said in those weeks?"
Harry frowned. "She kept ranting about her favorite playwright – that Oscar Wilde chap."
"Exactly," said Tom, smirking. "And what had happened to him?"
Harry blinked at him, utterly befuddled of how that had to do with anything. "He spent some time in prison and after went to France and died."
Tom shot him an exasperated look. "What was he sentenced for?"
"Something very bad," said Harry musingly, trying to recall the funny word. "Sada- no, soda-"
"Sodomite, you dimwit!" snapped Tom. "It means that he liked to bed men – young men in his case."
Harry gaped at him, thoroughly baffled. He glanced at his brother a second time, just to make sure his leg wasn't being pulled. But no, it didn't seem so. He was utterly confused, he couldn't make head or tails of it, because he was quite certain that only girls and boys could do the 'sex' thing and it was because boys had willies and girls didn't.
He was sure of that. He clearly remembered the day when Alice had yelled about 'dangerous, rampant teenage hormones!', when she had been shouting at Eric Whalley because she had caught him in the act of paying a couple of pennies to one of the girls in the orphanage, to see what girls had 'down there'.
Of course, poor Eric had seen nothing but a flash of yellowish undergarments when the girl had quickly lifted up her skirt for a very brief moment, and then the boy had found himself with Alice suddenly towering over him as she dealt him a furious slap on the head, bellowing at him.
But after that, Eric had ran up to Billy Stubbs and him, panting and looking awe-struck, as he informed them that girls didn't have anything down there, that they were 'flat'.
Harry shook his head and gazed back at his brother, perplexed. "But all boys have willies! So how-"
"I already told you what sex is," said Tom sharply. "Do you think that all the mongrels we see rutting and mounting each other on the streets are always a male and a female? No, many times it's two males going at it. It's instincts, they mount everything in sight." He let out a disdainful scoff. "Well, human beings aren't much different, are they? Clearly, it's not something liked or allowed in the Muggle World, but apparently, it isn't that much of a big deal for wizards." He waved off a hand dismissively before he added in a disgusted tone of voice, "Which is hardly surprising given that wizards even rut with magical creatures."
Harry gazed at him, blinking. "I still don't get it. How can two boys do the 'sex' thing then?"
Tom shot him a highly irritated look, but suddenly he frowned, looking as if some possibility was highly bothering him. Then he snapped sharply, "Never you mind. You won't ever need to know about that."
Harry stared at him, disconcerted, but he wasn't given a chance to ask anything further, because his brother quickly said, "The point is that Julian Erlichmann is Grindelwald's lover." Tom shot him a glance. "You do realize what Dumbledore's words meant, right?"
"Duh," said Harry, rolling his eyes. "Julian Erlichmann is spying on Grindelwald under Dumbledore's orders."
"Exactly!" said Tom exultantly, his eyes glinting brightly. "I would have never imagined it – the Dark Lord's favorite, his little lover and darling, a traitorous spy!" he crowed gleefully. "It's simply too good! Just wait 'till I write him a letter telling him that!"
Taken aback, Harry stared at him, feeling something constricting his chest – panic, awful guilt and alarm – and he then barked furiously, "You plan to do what? You're not, Tom!"
His brother shot him a withering look. "Of course I am." He smirked triumphantly. "And I bet that after that, I could ask Grindelwald for anything and he would give it to me, as a reward."
"You're not telling him anything," growled Harry, taking a step towards his brother, his small hands clenching into fists. "Erlichmann would be killed, Tom. I'm sure."
"So?" Tom shrugged unconcernedly, before he caught sight of Harry's expression and glared at him as he hissed out, "What do you care about some stranger?"
"I care exactly because he's 'some stranger'," snapped Harry bristling. "I told you about what Dumbledore had been speaking about because you had been honest with me so I was honest with you – but I was trusting you with that, Tom! And if Erlichmann get's killed because I flapped my gums at you, then his death would be my fault – and I'm not having that!"
"It wouldn't be your fault, you little twit," bit out Tom impatiently. "He would be getting what he deserves for being a traitor and spy. It would be his own fault."
Harry shook his head repeatedly. "Put it any way you want, it will change nothing. You're not telling, and that's that. It's right that Dumbledore has a spy. It evens the field and makes it fair, in my view."
"Meaning what?" Tom pinned him with narrowed eyes.
Harry scoffed loudly. "Come off it. Don't play dumb." He yanked the two books from his brother's hands and waved then in front of Tom's nose. "How did these get under your pillows, eh? You know as well as I do that someone in this castle received them, and the letter, from Grindelwald, and they were the ones who put it under your pillows." He frowned musingly. "Maybe it was an older Slytherin."
"Someone like Grindelwald," interjected Tom coolly, "wouldn't trust an underaged wizard."
Harry shot him a glance. "Then a teacher." His eyes widened the next instant, and he gasped out, "Slughorn! As our Head of House he's the only teacher that could get in our dorms-"
"It doesn't necessarily have to be Slughorn," pointed out Tom matter-of-factly. "Any teacher could have asked a house-elf to do it and not say a word."
"You're right," muttered Harry, frowning. That fact just perturbed him even more. He liked all his teachers, well, except Galatea Merrythought given the way she had treated Abraxas Malfoy just because the boy was a half-Veela.
He shook his head and waved a hand dismissively. "Whoever it is, he or she is Grindelwald's spy at Hogwarts - clearly to spy on Dumbledore." He shot his brother a dark scowl. "And maybe even to keep an eye on us and report to Grindelwald – who knows? But my point is that they both have spies on each other, so let's just leave it at that."
Tom skewered him with narrowed eyes and remained silent, and Harry could just tell he was up to something.
At last, Tom widely smirked at him, as he intoned smoothly, " 'Leaving it at that' with 'even fields' –all words out of your mouth, if you'll remember- also means that you can't tell anyone about the attack on Czechoslovakia."
Harry gawked at him. "That's a completely different thing!" He shook his head and declared adamantly, "I am going to tell someone. Maybe not Churchill or any other muggle because I don't wanna get expelled, but I could tell…"
He trailed off, frowning musingly. Now that he knew why Dumbledore had behaved that way when hearing Lord Horkos' name, he could understand the wizard. After all, Dumbledore had been right to be suspicious about his brother – Tom had been trying to find out more about that Horcrux thingy. And Dumbledore had wanted to help, to prevent his brother from knowing more.
When Tom had told him about it, it had seemed very silly to Harry. But given Dumbledore's reaction – going to such lengths as taking half the Dark Arts books from the Restricted Section – it was clearly something very bad. And he quite agreed with Dumbledore, then. He didn't want his brother knowing anything about some nasty artifact created by a Dark Lord of the Middle Ages, of all things.
So Dumbledore was forgiven for not letting him speak, and the wizard was right up back on top of his short list of people he could go to.
Harry nodded to himself and glanced back at his brother. "I'll tell Dumbledore."
Tom scoffed scathingly at that, to then arch an eyebrow. "What makes you think he doesn't already know? Julian Erlichmann is his spy, after all."
"Yeah, but hearing it from two different people makes a difference, doesn't it?" snapped Harry impatiently. "Besides, Dumbledore was saying he hadn't received any news from Erlichmann. So he might not know." He shook his head and added firmly, "And if Dumbledore doesn't do anything about it, then I'll write to Charlemagne McLaggen himself – to every wizard and witch in the Ministry of Magic if I need to!"
Tom glowered at him, then he halted and smirked superiorly. "And how do you intend to prove your claims, little brother?" He shot him a snide look. "Do you really think anyone would believe an eleven-year-old?"
Harry scowled at him, before a determined and mulish expression spread on his face. "Then I'll tell them the whole truth – about how I can get into paintings and how I overheard Malfoy, the Blacks, and the others having their little secret meeting."
Tom hissed under his breath, looking furious beyond measure. However, his expression then turned pensive, and Harry could just see the plotting going on in his brother's head.
Smirking vindictively, Tom took two short steps to tower over him, and bore his gaze down into Harry's, as he said silkily, "If you tell anyone about the attack on Czecoslovakia, I'll tell Grindelwald about Julian Erlichmann. That is 'evening the fields' in my book." His voice then lowered into a soft, slow whisper, "So think very carefully, little brother, what will it be? Julian Erlichmann's life or that of the Czechs that might get killed when Grindelwald and his puppet Hitler attack the country with joined forces? Hmm?"
Harry stared at him with wide, incredulous eyes, his mouth hanging open, before he choked out, "You must be joking! I can't decide on something like that!"
"Oh, but you will," intoned Tom loftily. "Because I'm giving you no other choice." His eyes then narrowed to slits. "If I want to inform Grindelwald about Erlichmann, I will, and you can do nothing about it." He shot him a disdainful look. "What could you do – murder Lord Horkos? Kill the whole Owlerly?" He scoffed snidely. "You wouldn't have the gumption. And if you took any drastic measure, I would still find a way of communicating with Grindelwald. That I promise. So make your choice, brother."
Harry gritted his teeth, so furious that he was shaking, and he spat, "I'm not going to choose!"
Tom arched an eyebrow at him. "Then I'll just write to Grindelwald."
Harry hatefully glared at his brother, before he bit out, "Why do you want him to succeed!"
"Why do you want him to fail?" hissed out Tom angrily.
"Because he's a bad person!" snapped Harry, jerkily carding his fingers through his hair.
Tom scoffed snidely. "That's the Prewett twins talking."
"No, it's not," gritted out Harry. "I can form my own opinions, thank you very much. He's conquering countries, killing people and dragging muggles into it! Bob Hutchins might end up fighting and dying, because of him! And Alice will be crushed-"
"That's what you care about?" interjected Tom scathingly. "Hutchins and stupid Alice?"
"And everyone who's gonna die, Tom!" shouted Harry at him, beyond exasperation and frustration and any measure of patience or understanding.
"You're pathetic," spat Tom acidly. "You should be caring about yourself – about us!" He yanked the two books from Harry and violently tapped a finger on them. "I know what the Dark Arts can do and light wizards don't stand a chance! So I know Grindelwald will win and thus, we must be on his side-"
"You can't predict the future, Tom," bit out Harry crossly. "He could lose – and besides, we don't have to be on anyone's side-"
"You're a fool!" hissed out Tom. "We're already involved." He shook the two books pointedly. "We've caught the Dark Lord's attention." He instantly brought up a hand. "And no, I don't know how he found out about us or how he knows we're Parselmouths. The point is he does, and he wants to teach us the Dark Arts, to mentor us-"
"Exactly," snapped Harry shortly, "he's after something."
Tom coolly arched an eyebrow at him. "How so?"
"You know perfectly well," bit out Harry, aggravated. "You're the one who always says that nobody does something in exchange for nothing – so what does Grindelwald want from us?"
Tom shot him a long, considering look, until he said calmly, "Yes, he wants something from us, that's clear. I don't know what it could be, but I'm going to milk it for everything it's worth. He wants to teach us – let him! And we'll learn and be prepared."
Harry shook his head, but before he was given a chance to speak, Tom said quietly, "Let me tell you something very important."
Snapping his head up, Harry intently gazed at him, and his brother continued in a hushed tone of voice, "For many years, I've known there was something very suspicious about World Events. How Fascism rose in Spain and Italy, and Nazism in Germany – all almost at the same time. Back then, I came to the conclusion that a group of politicians must've been orchestrating things from behind the scenes. I didn't know about the Wizarding World yet."
Tom paused, before he carried on, "But when we met your little friends-" he shot him a scathing look "- the Prewett twins, on the Hogwarts Express, and they started blabbering about Grindelwald and how he was really a 'Dark Lord' and what being a Dark Lord meant, then it all clicked. I knew that I had been right, only that instead of a 'group of people', it was a wizard, a Dark Lord, moving around the chess pieces."
His brother's voice lowered to a mere murmur, "Of course, I was in awe of him, and that just grew as I learned more about him, as I continued to inform myself, crossing the information I gathered from Alice's newspaper clippings with that reported on the Daily Prophet. And I realized just what a genius and brilliant strategist Grindelwald is."
He pierced Harry with his dark blue eyes, as he added firmly, "So if he wants to 'mentor' us and teach us the Dark Arts, then we'll do it, because we've caught his attention and whether we want it or not, because of that, we'll be involved in the war and whatever happens. And the only thing we can do, is be prepared."
Silent, Harry frowned, before he shot him a disturbed glance. "So what? You want us to be his followers?"
"It would be the wise choice," said Tom coolly. "Just until we know what he's after, just until we had the time to learn as much as we can from him." He superiorly smirked at him. "But not forever, little brother, because I'm not meant to follow but to lead."
Harry eyed him weirdly. "What do you mean?" Perturbed, he gazed at him suspiciously. "What do you want? What are you plotting?"
"That," said Tom airily, waving off a hand dismissively, "is a subject to be discussed some other time." He shot him a smug smirk. "In a few years, perhaps, when I will already have some plans underway."
Letting that go, too tired to attempt to glean more about that from him, Harry let out a deep sigh.
Remaining silent, he deeply mused about all of it, and after long moments, he said slowly, "I agree with you that, maybe, it isn't a bad idea to be 'prepared', as you put it-"
"By that," remarked Tom pointedly, piercing him with his eyes, "I was talking about learning the Dark Arts."
"Yeah, I know," said Harry, heaving a deep breath. He shot him a glance, and grumbled reluctantly, "I will learn them if you think it's necessary-"
"It is," interjected Tom swiftly.
Harry nodded, and then said stubbornly, "But it doesn't mean, even if we have to be his followers because Grindelwald doesn't leave us with any other choice, that I want him to win." He glowered at his brother. "I don't. So I'll make sure that the right people know about Czechoslovakia."
"Can't you let that be?" groused Tom with exasperation. He fulminated him with a glance, and added crisply, "What do you think will happen if you do that? I'll tell you what. Grindelwald will find out, and he'll have you killed. He'll see it as a betrayal because he clearly already considers us his pupils. And I don't think he's the forgiving kind, do you?"
Fretfully, Harry bit his lower lip, and he said dubiously, "Maybe he won't find out?"
Tom merely scoffed, before he arched an eyebrow and said coolly, "Perhaps I should rephrase the deal I offered you before. What will you do – tell people about the attack of March, knowing you will become Grindelwald's target and knowing that if you blab, I'll tell him about Julian Erlichman –" he narrowed his eyes to slits, as he hissed out "- or will you keep your trap shut?"
Harry stared at him incredulously. "Not that again!"
"Yes, that again," bit out Tom sharply. "Your life and Erlichmann's, or that of the Czechs that might die? Choose now and let's be done with it. I'm very serious about this."
Harry shook his head disparagingly, but glancing at his brother, he knew Tom wasn't kidding. His brother would tattle-tale on Julian Erlichmann if given the chance. It seemed harsh and cruel that he had to decide on something like that, but really, in the end, Harry knew what his only answer could be.
Julian was a complete stranger to him, yet, having heard so often about the young man and knowing he was a spy, doing his best to bring down Grindelwald, Harry felt admiration and sympathy for him – and a sort of strange connection, as puzzling as that feeling was.
Furthermore, he knew Dumbledore might already know about the attack – at least, he dearly hoped so.
"Julian's life," he finally breathed out. Before he clenched his teeth and gritted out, "You win. I won't say anything about Czechoslovakia."
"I win nothing," pointed out Tom curtly. "I made you choose for your own sake, because I know you're stupid enough to try to save those Czechs when it's really not your responsibility to do anything of the sort!" He shot him a vexed glare, before he added sternly, "And now, to clinch the deal, I'll get a Wizard's Oath from you."
Not liking the sound of that, Harry frowned at him. "A what?"
Tom took his time to explain the spell to him in great length and detail, and the moment he was done, Harry cried out incredulously, "You've gone bonkers! I'm not doing that – if I break my promise, I'll lose all my magic!"
"Precisely," said Tom with much smug satisfaction. "That way, I know you won't be tempted to flap your gums." He arched an eyebrow at him. "You either do the Oath or there's no deal and I'll tell about Erlichmann."
Harry glared at him with all the power of his frustration, until he spat at last, "Fine."
Tom nodded complacently. "I will vow to never reveal to anyone, in any shape or form, written, verbal or magical, about Julian Erlichmann's role as a spy. And you'll promise the same, regarding the attack on Czechoslovakia."
"Yeah, yeah, I got it," grumbled Harry darkly. "Let's just get on with it."
They did, and when it was done, Harry moodily sulked, flexing his arms, still feeling the strings of magic that had tightly wrapped themselves around him, to then sink into his flesh, tugging something in his insides.
"Now you can stop pathetically worrying so much," said Tom acerbically. "You've been a little hero and saved a man's life. That should suffice you."
Harry shot him a peeved glower, and his brother -as was usual when he managed to rile up Harry- widely smirked at him.
Looking vastly content, Tom patted him on the shoulder as he started directing Harry towards the exit of the dueling chamber. "And don't forget, you agreed to learn the Dark Arts. We'll meet here, every weekday at nine in the evening." He gave him a wide, pleasant smirk. "I think I'll enjoy casting dark spells on you, little brother."
Harry shot him an alarmed look at that, and was quick to say, "We'll only practice on the dummies!"
His brother just chuckled, which always sounded very disturbing in Harry's opinion.
That night, Harry rolled and rolled in his bed, and got tangled several times in the sheets, his mind buzzing with thoughts that wouldn't leave him alone.
He wondered about who had put the book about Lord Horkos on the floor of Flourish and Blotts, for his brother to see, and who had then taken it, clearly using some spell. He wondered who had taken the copy of that very same book from the Restricted Section of Hogwarts' library. And he mused and speculated about who could be Grindelwald's spy in the castle.
But coming up with no clues, he shelved all those issues in one corner of his mind, for later perusal.
And then, he couldn't stop thinking and wondering about the young man whose life he had saved, as Tom had put it.
What kind of person was Julian Erlichmann that he could be the lover of another man? But more importantly, how could anyone be the lover of a Dark Lord? The very thought made him shudder, even when he was still clueless regarding what it entailed. Did Julian actually love Grindelwald the slightest bit, or just fully hated him? Or was it a mix of both?
Julian, Julian, Julian – Harry wouldn't stop obsessively thinking about him for many years, and many times he would deeply wish for an opportunity to meet him.