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. Any original plots, ideas, and characters are mine.

AN:

Thanks for all the reviews! I'll be answering some questions posed in the next chapter. I hope you enjoy this one, and Happy Christmas to you all! :D :D


Part I: Chapter 51


Harry was dully stirring a spoon in his bowl of porridge, as all his housemates were chattering around him during breakfast in the Great Hall. Nevertheless, he felt he couldn't eat a bite ever since he had caught sight of Miss Nightingale at the Staff Table.

The Mediwitch's once gorgeous hair now looked like limp weeds drooping from her head, her face blotchy and her eyes bloodshot and puffy from crying.

With his heart aching, Harry had finally stopped looking at her because he knew there was no comfort he could afford to give, as much as it pained him.

He knew she had been close to Professor Tilly Toke. He had even once overheard Priscilla Pucey and some other Slytherin girls of his year saying that Toke had been courting the Mediwitch, and it seemed to be true, given the witch's state.

Harry longed to tell her the truth, that Toke was dead and not just mysteriously missing, and that the wizard had died wanting to save muggles, that the wizard had died helping him, because no matter what Tom said about the subject, no matter the evidence indicating that Toke had been Grindelwald's spy, Harry still firmly believed that the wizard had been a good man who had gone to Norway with them to help, and not due to any heinous ulterior motives as Tom believed.

Furthermore, the constant glances that their housemates kept shooting at Tom and him, and the way they would start whispering about them among themselves, were beginning to fray his nerves.

Harry scowled darkly and damned Abraxas Malfoy under his breath as he slammed his spoon on the table. He didn't know how Tom could look so coolly indifferent and composed.

His brother was merely seated by his side, placidly eating his breakfast as if things in their House had not radically shifted, as if he didn't detect the tension in the air, the mix of loathing and wonder and awe and disbelief and anger in their housemates' faces when they glanced at them with narrowed eyes, to then turn their heads away to begin whispering and gossiping.

Yet, Harry felt it, the pressure of proving that 'their claims' were true, that the entirety of Slytherin House was waiting for them to fail so that they could be branded as deceitful liars, uppity 'mudbloods' who wanted to pass themselves off as Slytherin's long lost heirs.

He sighed as he finally stopped playing with his food, his apprehension and unease mounting, since he saw no way out of his commitment. Dumbledore hadn't appeared during breakfast, but the wizard was surely expecting him in his office nonetheless.

Preferring to get over it as soon as possible, he rose from the table. He caught the look of warning that Tom gave him, and merely nodded before he left the Great Hall.

He had already discussed with his brother what he would and would not tell Dumbledore, though there was much that Harry had kept to himself, much that made him doubt about how he should deal with the meeting with Dumbledore.

Julian had told him to say nothing to Dumbledore, but 'use him'.

Now, Harry could not stop thinking about what that meant. It sounded as if Julian didn't trust Dumbledore. But then, how could Julian be the spy of a wizard he didn't trust? It made no sense – it was as if Julian had been forced into his spying role against his will, and Harry had always believed that Julian was helping Dumbledore out of conviction that it was the right thing to do, to help defeat the Dark Lord.

It thoroughly confused him, added to his own knowledge that Dumbledore was one of the 'Titans' that Salazar Slytherin's judgment in the Sorting Hat had been referring to – one of the Titans that wanted to use Harry as their tool.

Tool for what, at that?

Harry frowned as he halted before the door of Albus Dumbledore's office, his mind a disorganized mesh of befuddled thoughts and alarmed wariness.

As he knocked, though, he remembered that both he and Tom knew that Grindelwald wanted to use them for something in particular. They didn't know what, yet, but it could be relevant that both Grindelwald and Dumbledore had their sights on using him to their advantage, as Salazar Slytherin's judgement had implied.

Perhaps that's what Julian Erlichmann had meant, for if Grindelwald had any plans for Harry and Tom, Julian could know of them. Perhaps, that was why Julian had told him to use Dumbledore: to pit one against the other. To use Dumbledore to dispose of Grindlelwald, in short. And that was indeed something that could be advantageous for Harry, given his deep-rooted wish to snuff the Dark Lord's life from existence.

"You may come in!" came the muffled voice through the door.

With an expression of utter determination, Harry yanked it open and calmly stepped inside.

He had seen the wizard's office, once, when he had been in one of the paintings. Indeed, now he could see the portrait of the astronomer Paracelsus hanging in a wall next to Dumbledore's desk, along with the large shelf containing a whole personal library and countless silver trinkets which puffed and whirled and did who-knew-what.

His Transfiguration Professor was seated behind a grand desk cluttered with rolls of parchments, yet the wizard seemed utterly composed as he kept stirring a cup of tea.

Harry noticed that there was another one set on the desk right before a chair that was clearly intended for him.

"I'm glad to see you completely recovered from your Spattergroit, Mr. Riddle," said Dumbledore cheerfully as he gestured at Harry to take a seat.

Harry did so, though he hesitated when taking the proffered cup of tea. It could be spiked with some Truth Serum, or perhaps with some other type of potion intended to make him-

"Surely there's no cause for distrust between us," intoned Dumbledore as he gazed at him over the rim of his half-moon spectacles, his expression one of sadness.

"It's not that," said Harry, fidgeting uncomfortably on his seat, until he gripped his hands and forced them to remain still on his lap. "It's just that I'm not thirsty."

Dumbledore quirked his eyebrows before he gently smiled at him, pushing a bowl of sweets towards him. "A Lemon Drop, then? They're quite tasty."

Harry stared at the candies, before he shook his head. "I'm fine, thanks."

He was doing his best not to look the wizard in the eye. Tom had said that Dumbledore was a Master Occlumens and Legilimens. His brother had never revealed why he suspected such, but Harry took his word for it. And he was sufficiently advanced in his studies on both disciplines to know that eye contact was a must. The last thing he wanted was for Dumbledore to see his thoughts, to see about Santi, and Grindelwald's letter and books, and above all, about Norway.

It was so, that his gaze darted all over, seeing the breathtakingly beautiful view displayed by the window behind Dumbledore's back, with the early morning sun bathing the Quidditch Pitch and one shore of the Black Lake, the Forbidden Forest in the distance looking as if all the tree leaves were glowing with the vibrant green of springtime.

Though he was more interested in what he saw in the wizard's office. He first caught sight of Fawkes perched in one corner of the room. The phoenix was definitely not in one of his burning days, his plumage beautiful, of bright crimson and golden hues, as if made of fluffy flames.

It chirped and let out a short thrill that sounded welcoming when it's small black eyes locked with Harry's gaze.

Harry could only stare at the bird, frowning, as he remembered that Santi had wanted him to discover that it had been Fawkes who had witnessed the last moments of Sherisse Slytherin's life and Morgon Gaunt's escape with their newborn son.

Furthermore, he owed the phoenix a debt of gratitude as well, for when Fawkes had helped him when he had been stuck in the portraits of Hogwarts, being chased by Phineas Nigellus Black.

"It seems he likes you," said Dumbledore with a soft chuckle.

Startled, Harry peeled his gaze away from the phoenix and gazed at him, before he remembered the risk involved in doing that and quickly glanced away, his sight resting on a small glass sphere being used as a paperweight on top of a bunch of parchments on the desk.

He recognized it instantly. The same small glass ball in which he had seen the head of Aurora Bones, when Dumbledore had been walking in a corridor of the school at night after curfew, using the artifact to talk with her, when Harry had accidentally crossed paths with him and had heard about Julian Erlichmann for the first time in his life.

"Ah, yes," murmured Dumbledore, making Harry lift his head to look at him briefly, seeing that the wizard was now also looking at the small sphere with a contemplative expression on his face.

"I trust," continued the wizard as he gazed back at Harry, "that you kept certain delicate information to yourself."

"I told no one about Erlichmann," said Harry hastily, because it was important to him for Dumbledore to know at least that much. "I didn't tell he is your spy, except to my brother-"

"You told Tom?" interrupted Dumbledore, an expression of alarm momentarily crossing his features.

"He'll keep the secret," said Harry firmly. Though seeing that the wizard didn't look all that reassured, he added swiftly, "I made sure Tom wouldn't tell." He sighed as he waved a hand dismissively. "I have a deal with him."

"A deal?" muttered Dumbledore, piercing him with his bespectacled gaze, his voice tinged with wariness and concern.

Utterly ignoring that, since he had no intention to enlighten his professor, Harry began to rush out, "Is he still al-"

But then, he clamped his mouth shut. The one thing he wanted to know was if Julian Erlichmann had made it out the Norwegian Ministry of Magic alive. But asking such would be revealing that he had cause for concern, that he had been there and had seen in just what a precarious situation he had left Julian Erlichmann behind.

"Yes?" prompted Dumbledore gently.

Harry cleared his throat, before he mumbled, "Nuthin'."

He knew he had to quickly change subjects, but the whole meeting with the wizard felt painstakingly hard, as if any misstep or slip of the tongue from his part would result in Dumbledore knowing everything, or at least having many suspicions confirmed since Harry was certain that someone like Albus Dumbledore must have already pieced some bits together.

"The things your brother said to you in Hogsmeade," said Harry instantly, though he asked out of true curiosity and wonder as well, "it sounded as if you knew Gellert Grindelwald, sir, when you were younger. As if your sister had died and it had been because-"

"My conversation with my brother," interjected Dumbledore, his expression grave and closed off, "was a private one, Mr. Riddle. Certainly not intended for your ears."

The Professor's look was one of harsh chastisement, but undaunted, Harry pressed on, because the things that Grindelwald's voice had said in the Norwegian Ministry of Magic, the offer he made to Dumbledore, seemed to be directly linked with what Alphard and he had overheard in Hogsmeade as well.

"It also sounded as if there was a way you could bring your sister back to life," insisted Harry, gazing intently at the wizard, "and your brother didn't want you to do it-"

"I did not invite you into my office," interrupted Dumbledore sternly, "to discuss my private affairs." He chuckled abruptly, any measure of stiffness vanishing, as he added genially, "You will understand if I'm reluctant to discuss such matters with one of my students, surely."

"Right," grumbled Harry, though he gave him a mutinous look. "It's none of my business, I suppose."

"Quite," said Dumbledore amicably. "Now, if we could get to the issue-at-hand-"

"Why did you let us overhear your conversation with Charlemagne McLaggen, sir?" asked Harry hurriedly, fearing that the 'issue' that the wizard wanted to discuss was the truth about his and Tom's whereabouts for the last three days.

"Ah, yes," said Dumbledore, relaxing as he rested against his chair's back, "I've been meaning to discuss such matter with you for some time."

The look the wizard gave Harry then was one of chiding rebuke, since it was true that Harry had been avoiding the professor ever since he and Alphard had slipped into Hogsmeade under Charlus Potter's Invisibility Cloak.

"You and Alphard Black have formed an attachment, I presume," continued Dumbledore, steepling his fingers on top of the desk as he eyed Harry calmly. "A friendship?"

Harry stared at him, a mite befuddled. Dumbledore certainly already knew about that since the wizard had seen them together. Moreover, it seemed to him that the wizard was pleased by it.

"We are friends," replied Harry carefully, "though few know about it."

"I understand," said Albus Dumbledore, as he nodded. "It could be risky for Alphard Black if his parents were aware of his friendship with you, given his family's political inclinations."

A spark of sudden realization blazed in his mind, and Harry gazed at him, astonished, as he breathed out, "That's why you let us hear about the Order of the Phoenix? Because of Alphard's-"

"I believed it was in Alphard Black's best interest to know that there are options left open for him," said Dumbledore, his expression grave as he intently gazed at him, "if it ever comes the time in which he finds he can no longer follow the path his family has taken." He peered at Harry over the rim of his half-moon glasses, as he added, "Just as I thought you might feel reassured as well, in knowing such."

Harry stared at him before he quickly glanced down at his hands fidgeting on his lap.

The implication was obvious, that if either Alphard or he ever found themselves in the position of having to follow the Dark Lord, they could turn to the Order of the Phoenix instead, for safety and protection or even to become a member themselves if old enough.

"If there is any reason for which you might think you're in danger, Mr. Riddle," continued Dumbledore's voice, sounding as if it was coming from far away as Harry's mind spun chaotically, "you should know that aid will always be given to those who ask for it."

Harry swallowed thickly at that. This was his chance, wasn't it? To come clean and tell Dumbledore everything. To have Dumbledore on his side, so that he and Tom would never fall into Grindelwald's clutches.

"I, as well as the Order of the Phoenix, are prepared to offer protection."

Harry glanced up at him. Dumbledore knew. He was certain. He could see it in the wizard's bespectacled sky blue eyes, added to way that the professor was now intently staring at him, waiting.

Nevertheless, Harry was extremely wary. He did want to 'use' Dumbledore, as Julian had urged him to do, but not to the point of having Dumbledore interfering with their plans. He didn't even want to imagine the measures Tom would be capable of taking to dispose of someone who became an obstacle in his path. Tom despised Dumbledore enough as it was.

He gave Dumbledore nothing but his silence, and though the wizard seemed saddened and disappointed, the man appeared to regroup rather quickly.

"My door will always be open to you," said Dumbledore softly, as he then peered at him over his half-moon spectacles. "May I now ask how you have been faring with your housemates? Have Tom and you adapted well? I know it is sometimes difficult for muggleborns, especially ones in Slytherin House, to-"

Harry snorted loudly at that, as he quickly shot the wizard a dirty look. "Muggleborns? You know we're not that, sir." His expression hardened, as he bit out, "You should have told us that we were Parselmouths when you heard us speaking to our snake. You should have told us what it meant, how important it is-"

"Important?" Dumbledore's eyebrows climbed upwards, before his expression turned musing. "I see…" He trailed off, his stare becoming piercing as he kept looking at Harry. "Is your Parselmouth trait a matter of common knowledge in Slytherin House?"

At first caught off guard and alarmed by the question, Harry then quickly lied smoothly, "No. We don't wish anyone to know."

"Indeed?" said Dumbledore, pinning him with his gaze. "I am aware that Tom spends much of his time in the library." His expression turned somber and grave. "In the Restricted Section, in fact. Professor Slughorn seems to believe that it is only natural that such a highly intelligent boy as Tom would feel curious about the darker aspects of magic, and sees no harm in it."

"And there is no harm," pointed out Harry staunchly, though inside he was quivering with misgivings.

The last thing he wanted was for Dumbledore to know about their quest to find the Chamber of Secrets. He knew that was Tom's first step in attaining absolute leadership of Slytherin House, which in turn, he now knew, was Tom's first step in becoming a Dark Lord in the future.

Harry was determined to help his brother with the first matter, hoping he would be able to convince Tom that that was enough. That becoming the undisputed leader of Slytherin House would permit Tom to obtain all his ambitions without needing to become a Dark Lord. After all, Tom could enter the Ministry of Magic and climb the ranks. Surely he could convince his brother that that was enough.

So if Dumbledore knew about the Chamber of Secrets, Harry was certain the wizard would do anything to stop them from finding it, and that, in turn, would dash all of Tom's plans. And Tom needed to at least succeed in something to be satisfied for the time being.

Later, Harry would only need to find more things to distract his brother from wanting to become something so horrid as Grindelwald was.

"There is harm, Mr. Riddle," interjected Dumbledore curtly, "if certain books in the Restricted Section have led Tom to believe that your Parselmouth trait has unwarranted significance. If he has given it more importance than it deserves." The wizard sighed deeply, as he wearily rubbed his long beard. "The Parselmouth characteristic if often associated to dark magic, Mr. Riddle, as it is highly linked, in the minds of every British wizard, to one of the Founders of Hogwarts, as you might have discovered by now-"

"Salazar Slytherin," cut in Harry, giving him a hard look until he suddenly realized where Dumbledore was going with it. He chortled loudly, as if vastly amused, while he shook his head. "Tom did think that we could be Slytherin's descendants!"

"He did?" Dumbledore's look could cut through glass, so probing it was, as Harry kept laughing.

"Yes!" Harry guffawed as he slapped a hand on his knee. "Stupid, isn't it? He was convinced, because we are Parselmouths too, just like Slytherin." He gave Dumbledore a roll of the eyes. "Tom stuffed himself in the library trying to find some book that would give us proof of our ancestry. But he didn't find anything." He huffed with exasperation, as he added, "So he knows now that we're not his descendants. He was angry and disappointed, but he's over it now."

"I see," muttered Dumbledore, though given the wizard's expression, Harry was certain that he hadn't managed to dupe him one bit. "If you're interested in the matter, I could assist you in finding an explanation for how you came to have the Parselmouth trait."

"It's from our father," said Harry shortly, as he then lied with utter composed ease, "but we're no longer interested in it. Whoever our father was, he's either dead or wants nothing to do with us."

Dumbledore nodded, a look of understanding, sympathy and compassion on his face, while Harry decided that the soonest he could leave the office the better it would be for him.

"Is there anything else, sir?" said Harry in a monotone, giving the door an obvious, lingering look for the professor's benefit.

"Before you leave," interjected Dumbledore pleasantly, peering at him over the rim of his half-moon spectacles, "can you tell me where have you been for the past three days, Mr. Riddle?"

Pulling the dumbest look he could manage, Harry turned his face around to blink at him. "Bedridden with Spattergroit, sir, as you already know."

"Indeed."

The professor said nothing as he waved him away, and Harry left the office, as disappointed as Dumbledore surely felt.

He had won nothing with the meeting. It had served no purpose he could see. He hadn't been able to find a way of 'using' Dumbledore without first having to disclose too much. And he hadn't been able to see a way to get Dumbledore on his side, to help him prevent Tom from wanting to become a Dark Lord, without making Dumbledore become an obstacle and an enemy in the process.

Furthermore, he still didn't know what Grindelwald had been tempting Dumbledore with.

His two other encounters in that day had gone much different: one for the better, the other for the worse.

He had waited for Charlus Potter outside the Potions classroom where the Sixth Year Gryffindors were having their last lesson of the day. As soon as the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain had come chuckling out of the classroom, joking with his best mate, James, Harry had been quickly to approach them.

"I have something for you."

"Another naughty letter from Dorea, eh?" said James, waggling his eyebrows as he playfully jabbed an elbow into Charlus' ribs.

"Is it really?" Charlus said hopefully, staring at Harry with hazel eyes aglow with giddy expectation.

"No," gripped Harry sourly. Really, as if his only mission in life was to be Dorea Black's messenger boy. Besides, he had managed to avoid her for the entire day, and was vastly satisfied with himself due to that.

A look of realization crossed Charlus Potter's face and the older boy was swift to urge his best mate ahead as he then pulled Harry to an empty classroom nearby.

Once alone, Harry pulled the Invisibility Cloak from his satchel, handing it over to Charlus along with his gratitude for the lending, as he took full advantage of the opportunity.

"You've often said that it's a Potter heirloom," said Harry as tactfully as he could, as he watched how Charlus carefully folded the Invisibility Cloak before slipping it into his schoolbag, "but do you know its exact origins?"

"Origins?" Charlus quirked an eyebrow at him as he paused.

Harry cleared his throat, thinking hard and fast as to how he could pose his suspicions. Saying 'you must have a Grindelwald ancestor in your line' wouldn't go over too well, he was sure. Telling the older boy about the symbol he saw in the Cloak, the same as the Dark Lord's mark, was as good as directly insulting all Potters as well.

"Er… yes," said Harry, attempting with all his might to be delicate – which he was pants at. "You know, who it came from and stuff."

Charlus frowned at him. "Why do you ask?"

"Because it's a weird Invisibility Cloak," huffed out Harry impatiently. "When I was in Nor- er, I mean, when Alphard and I were using it, it did some strange things. We were cold and it-"

"You were cold?" Charlus's eyebrows flew upwards, before a spark of mischievous interest twinkled in his hazel eyes as he chortled. "What have Alphie and you been up to?"

"We were outside, in the... um, Forbidden Forest," lied Harry wildly, "so, yeah, we got a bit cold, and the Cloak turned warm for us! And then," he added in a flummoxed tone of voice, "we were, er... practicing the Summoning Charm, and when Al cast his Accio at me – I had the Invisibility Cloak on, you see- well, the charm didn't work-"

"Why in Merlin's name would you be using the Cloak to practice spells?" interjected Charlus incredulously. He shook his head, as he muttered under his breath in a suffering tone of voice, "Complete waste of such a useful prank tool-"

"The point is," gritted out Harry, feeling frazzled, "that the Cloak stayed put! It didn't budge an inch."

Charlus stared at him with a deep frown on his face, looking quite disconcerted. "You say Alphie cast a Summoning Charm at the Invisibility Cloak when you were wearing it, and the spell didn't work on it?"

"Exactly!" said Harry, both relieved and joyful that at last he was being understood. He continued, as he stared at the older boy and cocked his head to a side, "You see, it's strange, isn't it? Because at break I went to the library to read a bit about Invisibility Cloaks and the books didn't say anything about-"

"You were wearing it?" pressed Charlus, who was now eyeing him very weirdly.

"Yes," snapped Harry impatiently. "But the point is-"

"Curious," murmured Charlus under his breath, staring up and down at Harry with a look of deep interest on his face.

Harry paused as he frowned at him. "What is?"

"Well," said Charlus who seemed to come out from some musing and deeply pondering trance, "the Cloak only does such things for me. Getting warm when I'm chilled, not responding to some spells that mean me harm, becoming very light weighted when I'm tired, and such."

"Oh," said Harry, feeling mightily relieved at hearing that all is crazy suspicions were unfounded. "So it's normal?" He chuckled, perking up and adding sheepishly, "I thought it wasn't, because the books didn't say anything about Invisibility Cloaks having traits like those-"

"Normal?" Charlus guffawed good-naturedly. "No – you misunderstand me. My Invisibility Cloak is not normal at all! If you only heard my father speak about it-" he rolled his eyes, as if he had been subjected to the lecture for endless times during his whole childhood "-it would sound as if my family's Invisibility Cloak was the most unique and precious heirloom that could be had." He chortled under his breath. "Father has always insisted that it's centuries old, but I know it can't be. Invisibility Cloaks don't last that long, because-"

"They are made of Demiguise hair which turns opaque and frail after a few decades," mumbled Harry, as he recalled what he had read, after surmounting much efforts of having to be stuck in the gloomy, dusty library researching about the matter. But then, what Potter was saying didn't make any sense.

"Exactly," said Charlus, as he waved a hand dismissively, "so I've always known my father must have been exaggerating. But the Cloak is a Potter heirloom, you know? In that, I know he hasn't lied-"

"I didn't say your father has," interjected Harry quickly, whilst his head pounded with wild, apprehensive thoughts.

Charlus chuckled. "No, you still don't understand. It only fully works for Potters. All those things it did for you, it would only do for me or my father." He gave Harry a considering look. "Funny, my father never mentioned that we were related to Riddles, nor any muggleborns of any kind, at that."

"Huh?" Harry stared dumbly at him. "Related?"

"Yes! Who could have guessed, eh?" said Charlus jovially as he patted him on the head, and winked at him. "That I'm related to a little urchin like you! Perhaps you have a squib in your line and not just all muggles? You must have."

"Oh," Harry breathed out, his green eyes wide, as he suddenly remembered. They were in fact related by blood – he had been so happy when he had discovered that, the day Tom had showed him Salazar Slytherin's tree line of descendants. Then again, according to Tom, the relation was too distant to be significant. But it would explain why the Cloak had behaved that way with them in Norway, when he wasn't actually a Potter.

"My father explained that the Invisibility Cloak was made to have certain characteristics that would keep Potters away from harm," said Charlus in a bored monotone as he then rolled his eyes. "That's why my Father has always insisted it's so special and unique."

"Was made?" instantly repeated Harry, frowning with puzzlement. "By who?"

"Some old chap, ancestor of mine," said Charlus with a disinterested shrug of his shoulder, "called Ignus Peverell or something of the sort." He sighed deeply, as one who had suffered too many retellings of family history. "He's buried in Godric's Hollow's cemetery, as all other Potter ancestors. I've seen his grave often enough."

Ignoring Charlus' martyrized and put upon expression, Harry felt his head was spinning, as the name rang a distant bell, and he muttered, "Peverell?"

"Yup," said Charlus, flinging his schoolbag to his back as he made his way to the door of the classroom.

"Wait!" called Harry hurriedly as he ran after the Gryffindor.

"Yes, I will lend it to you again, don't get your knickers in a twist," shot Charlus over his shoulder, along with a crossed look, as he added, "but not if you're just going to use it to practice spells. It's meant to be used for something much more important, like pranking Slytherins and make Head Boys and Prefects rue the day they ban items from Hogsmeade's jokeshop-"

"I wasn't going to ask…" Harry trailed off as he shook his head, before he quickly conjured parchment and inked quill and swiftly scribbled on it.

"This," he then said as he held the drawing up to Charlus' face, his tone urgent, pressing, and hopeful. "Is this the Potter crest then?"

"No," scoffed Charlus, glancing once at it before he lifted one hand. "This is."

Harry stared at the signet ring on one of the boy's fingers, displaying what looked like an ornate 'P' with two small lion figures at it sides, in a background of dark crimson.

"But then," mumbled Harry dispirited, as it became apparent that the crest must truly be Grindelwald's mark, as unexplainable as that was, "this is-"

"Let me see again," said Charlus with a sigh, as he took the drawing from Harry's hand. "Oh. That's the Peverell coat of arms."

"The what?" said Harry thoroughly befuddled and gobsmacked as Charlus returned the parchment to him.

"The Peverell crest," said Charlus impatiently.

Harry stared at him, before he frowned and urged dubiously, "Are you sure?"

"Course I am," retorted Charlus flatly, "I've seen it ad nauseam on my ancestor's grave, haven't I? The one I told you about." He sighed deeply, as he added, "Look, runt, if you're so interested about Potter history and wizarding coats of arms, you can write to my father. I'm sure he'll be happy to oblige. But be warned, you'll wish to have never done so. My father can go on and on."

"That won't be necessary," said Harry quickly as he then went back to stare at his drawing of the symbol with a deep frown on his face.

"By the way," said Charlus, his voice tinged with breathless hope, "are you certain you don't have a note for me from Dorea?"

"No," huffed out Harry crisply, glancing up from his parchment to scowl at the Gryffindor. "I'm not her errand boy, you know?"

Though it didn't seem as if Charlus Potter was paying any attention to him, his expression becoming downcast and worried as he mumbled under his breath, "Shouldn't have called her a saucy minx, I suppose." He then glanced at Harry entreatingly. "But it's hard to know how to treat Dorea sometimes – I meant it as a compliment, honest! I thought she would get that. She's so different from any other pureblood girl, you see. That's what I love about her. But then, sometimes she turns all proper and haughty with that Black attitude of hers… and now she won't answer my notes…" He sighed, before he added distressed, "You go tell her all that."

"Tell her yourself!" snapped Harry hotly, who had been scrunching his nose all the while, wishing he could be struck deaf to be spared from knowing about Charlus' romantic entanglements with Dorea Black, of all people the one he didn't want to be told to see.

"Oh, but thanks for the rest anyway!" he then added hurriedly as he turned heel and dashed away before Charlus could attempt to insist.

Harry was about to go to the library, once more during that day to his great suffering, before he thought twice and headed for the Slytherin dormitories instead. After all, he was quite certain that he had seen the name Peverell somewhere before, and if he was bound to do a bit of research, he might as well employ the diary Tom had given him.

His brother took his everywhere he went, writing down who-knew-what, but Harry hadn't found any use for his yet. He wasn't the type to write his day-to-day going-ons on a journal. Seemed quite tedious to do so, in fact. But he could use it to write about all the stuff he had been discovering. After all, some of it might even prove to be important.

Thus, not wanting to attract attention, since his housemates' varied-type of interest in him and Tom seemed to have only escalated during the day, Harry darted through the common room with his head ducked down, hoping that no one would notice him.

It had already happened that a bunch of Slytherin upperclassmen had ambushed him on his way to the loo after lunch, wanting to interrogate him or rather beat the truth out of him, regarding all the stuff Abraxas Malfoy had been spreading around about Tom and him.

Though, Harry wasn't small, lithe, and agile for nothing, and thankfully, had been able to turn tail and make a hasty escape. That didn't mean that it wouldn't become increasingly worse, and that he was bound to be unable to slip out of trouble so easily next time.

And all the while, he couldn't stop thinking about all the smug smirks Malfoy had been shooting him, and the restrain he had to employ in order to not punch it off the boy's face.

The git didn't seem to have learned his lesson, but Harry could no longer retaliate in such a 'crass', 'uncouth' and 'mugglish' way, as Tom had spat at him when he had told him about his previous encounters with Malfoy. Which, to Harry's irritation, didn't seem to have bothered Tom.

In fact, after Harry had been harshly berated for his stupidity, his brother had looked calculating and musing and told him not to antagonize Malfoy anymore. He! When it was the other way around – Malfoy always sticking his nose where it didn't belong.

Harry rather suspected that Tom now viewed the situation of having their whole House knowing about their claims of having Slytherin blood as something positive that could be taken advantage of. While Harry felt it as a pressing, suffocating, heavy weight on his shoulders.

Feeling rather mutinous, Harry wasted no time once he was in his dorm. There was no one in sight, as the others had to be in the common room, while he knew that Tom was spending some time in Ravenclaw Tower with Olive Hornby and her gaggle of friends, being fawned over, as always.

Thus, he felt no guilt as he rummaged his brother's desk until he found Tom's pass for the Restricted Section. If he was right about where he had seen the Peverell name, he would be needing it.

Feeling quite happy and proud of himself, Harry had almost successfully left the dungeons without being detected, when a shadow fell on him.

Dorea Black stood on the stairs leading to the ground floor of the castle, arms crossed over her chest, boot angrily tapping on the floor, and with a very dark and ominous expression on her face.

"Thought you could dodge me forever, did you?" bit out the girl, giving him the evil eye.

"Charlus wants to see you!" said Harry quickly, grasping at straws to avoid the confrontation. "Right now – in the Gryff's common room, he said!"

Dorea Black flipped a hand as if batting away a pesky fly. "I'll deal with him later." She narrowed her grey eyes at him, as she snapped, "You can't wriggle out of this one, Riddle. You and your brother owe me, and I intend for you to make the repayment of the debt owed."

Harry's shoulders slumped in defeat, as he grumbled warily, "Fine. What d'ya want?"

"First – is it true?" snapped Dorea Black, eyeing him closely.

"Is what true?" said Harry, though cringing since he had a fairly good idea of what was coming.

"Don't play the fool, Riddle," bit out Dorea impatiently. "The claims you and your brother have been making-"

"We haven't been making claims of any sort, have we?" snapped Harry heatedly, instantly bristling. "It's Malfoy who opened his fat mouth and flapped his gums and has been telling every Slytherin-"

"You – him – it matters little," interrupted Dorea crisply, her eyes narrowing and hardening, as her gaze became intense as she skewered him with it. "I want to know if what he has been saying is the truth."

Harry shot her gauging look. "If I tell you, will it count to return the favor we owe you?"

Dorea scoffed, as she waved a hand briskly. "Of course not. Don't be silly."

"Then I don't have to tell you, do I?" said Harry crossly, scowling at her.

The girl arched an unimpressed eyebrow at him, before her expression turned grave. "You do realize that if it is the truth, it is Abraxas who stands the most to gain? That he will attribute the discovery of true Slytherins amongst our midst to himself? Just imagine the kind of power that will give him."

Harry frowned, before he turned his chin up and retorted belligerently, "Why do you care?"

"I care when others mess with my players," said Dorea flatly.

"I'm not one of your players," pointed out Harry with a weary sigh.

"But you will be," retorted Dorea curtly, piercing him with her eyes. "That's what I want in return. Come this September, you'll be one of my Chasers." Her expression became ingratiating, as she added sweetly, "You will be playing with Alphard. Surely that's something you will enjoy."

Harry deflated and tiredly rubbed his face. "I can't do it-"

"This is beyond the pale!" snapped Dorea angrily. "Let us dispense with pretenses. Don't make it sound as if I'm forcing you to do something you deplore. I've seen how your face changes when you fly – it glows with joy!"

"Fair enough," cut in Harry waspishly, as he dropped the hand from his face, "but it's not about whether I like it or not. The problem is that I don't have time for-"

"You will make time for it," interjected Dorea sharply. "Or I'll just go straight to the Headmaster and tell him about the golems."

Harry stiffened, before he shot her an assessing look. "You'd be in trouble for that too."

Dorea shrugged her shoulders unconcernedly, splaying a hand to inspect her bright red fingernails. "I've shimmied out of worse than that."

Harry eyed her closely for a very long moment in which the girl returned his gaze just as stubbornly and firmly. At last, he grumbled, "Fine."

"Good," Dorea said brightly. "By the way," she then intoned airily, "I saw what nearly happened to you today. I'm sure you'll want to know that I told our housemates to leave you and your brother alone."

"Don't want me having broken bones, I suppose?" Harry said grumpily. "I reckon you don't want an injured Chaser for September."

"Precisely," said Dorea, smiling shrewishly.

"And Tom?" prompted Harry, more out of curiosity than anything else, since he was well accustomed to the girl's way of thinking.

"I spared him simply because I know your mind wouldn't be in the game if you had to worry about your brother," she replied dismissively, before she paused and added stonily, "But let's get one point straight, Riddle. I've only given you a chance to have time to prove your claims-"

"They are not my claims!" seethed Harry, for what seemed the umpteenth time.

"- nothing more," continued Dorea as if she hadn't suffered any interruptions. She narrowed her eyes, as she added sharply, "If it's not true, not even I will be able to protect you from the repercussions."

"And if it's true?" bit out Harry rebelliously.

"Then beware of Abraxas," she said shortly, before she passed by his side to make her way towards their common room.

Harry was nearly by the end of the stairs when he heard her voice loud and clear coming from the corridor below, "And tell the dunce of my fiancé to stop being a coward and come face me himself. I won't bite - much!"

Harry spun around at that, ducking so that his voice would carry down the stairs.

"You two deal with each other and leave me out of it!" he hollered back, at the end of his rope with the pair of them, and quite indignant. "I'm not a bloody owl!"

"Very well! Little use you are!"

In quite a towering bad mood, Harry finally made it to the Restricted Section of Hogwarts' library. It was in the same book that Tom had used where he got his answers.

Once more, he saw the connection between them and the Potters: that Sidony Slytherin who had married an Ignacius Potter.

It took him another hour to find a book that clarified matters to him. The 'Ignus' Charlus Potter had mentioned was quite clearly 'Ignotus'. It seemed that no matter how many times the Gryffindor had seen his ancestor's grave, he hadn't paid much attention to the proper name.

Although, it was true that Ignotus Peverell had been a Potter ancestor: great-grandfather of the Ignacius Potter who ended up marrying Sidony Slytherin.

However, the brief paragraph mentioning the Peverells was quite lackluster. A French wizarding family which had escaped from the witch-hunts and persecution carried by the Inquisition of the France of those times, whom had settled in Britain, and had done fairly well for themselves. Out of the couples' three sons, only Ignotus Peverell had lived till a ripe old age. The other two sons had died at a very young age for wizarding standards, even of those times: in their mid thirties, one Peverell brother had committed suicide, while the other had apparently been killed in a barroom brawl.

Vastly disappointed, Harry sighed. It made no sense.

Firstly, the Peverell coat of arms looked like none he had seen before: a cluster of geometrical symbols, a triangle, a circle, and a straight line. From what he knew, of the Black, Malfoy, and now Potter crests, they usually displayed the first letter of the surname, along with some figure of an animal or magical creature and the background color which all signified and represented something to the family.

Secondly, why would Grindelwald use as his mark a coat of arms of a family he wasn't related to? Because Harry had checked, and there had been no Grindelwalds mixing with Peverells. Furthermore, why would the Dark Lord use the crest of a family which hadn't been in any way distinguished or known for doing anything of importance, at that?

Nevertheless, in the end, Harry wrote everything down all the same. And it seemed to him that once he began, he couldn't stop.

He scribbled down all his discoveries and suspicions, all the matters that still needed to be investigated, as well as the most pertinent events during his time at Hogwarts such as what the Founders' judgments had told him during his Sorting.

Between the moments he paused to think what other things he had to add, he took the opportunity to protect his diary as best he could.

At first, he thought of researching in some Dark Arts book to find some blood spell he could use. But then, he didn't want his brother to be able to open his diary either, not until he was ready to tell Tom something of significance. Thus, he settled for a keyword-operated locking charm, deciding on a rather simple and rebellious phrase that no one would possibly suspect from him or guess.

And then, he went back to writing, beginning to understand why Tom seemed to like to jot down his secrets so much.


"Harry?" murmured a soft voice, as a hand gently shook his shoulder.

Groggily, Harry opened his eyes, to find that he was still in the library, his open mouth dribbling saliva on one of the pages of his diary, with half his face resting and stuck on it.

"Huh?" mumbled Harry as he slowly pulled his face away from table, swiping his mouth with a sleeve as he squinted in the darkness.

His candle looked as if it had gone out long ago, and it seemed that the librarian Ciceron Plume had forgotten all about him in the Restricted Section. The library was empty, dark, and certainly closed for the night.

Although there was a golden glow of light, which Harry finally realized pertained to Santi, who was peering down at him with an amused expression on his face.

"You have ink on your face."

"Eh?" said Harry, blinking up at him, still a bit disoriented.

Santi chuckled again before he crouched on the floor by Harry's chair, making them level, as he drew out a handkerchief and began to gently dab it on Harry's face.

The moment he gathered back his wits, Harry instantly grabbed the wrist of the hand that was wiping his face clean, his grasp tightening, as he croaked out with his thundering heart in his throat, "Is he dead?"

Santi paused and stared at him. "Who?"

"Julian Erlichmann, of course!" snapped Harry wildly, in his apprehension and fear. "Who else!"

"No," replied Santi, looking startled. "Julian is alive and well."

So relieved that he went limp, Harry slumped on his chair, closing his eyes with sheer gratefulness.

"I would like to return his flute to him. He treasures it greatly."

Harry opened his eyes at that, and sat up straight on his chair, letting Santi finish wiping his face clean of ink.

"Do you have it?" added Santi, as he gazed back at him with an expectant, quirked eyebrow.

Mutely, Harry nodded, as he carefully extracted the magical flute out of one of his pockets.

He had been carrying it around since the previous day when he and Tom had returned from Norway. And it seemed to him that he must have been inspecting it for hours, touching, gazing, discovering, reverently, for its beauty, because it was obvious it was something personal and cherished. He hadn't even dared to attempt to test or play it.

"Who's Laurent?" he then asked before he handed over the flute.

"Ah," said Santi as he carefully tucked the flute inside his robes. "You saw the inscription."

Harry nodded again, since he had not only discovered the small loopy letters inscribed under one side of the flute amongst the swirls and curls of the figures of magical creatures represented in the silver metal of the flute, but he had even gone to the lengths of finding out what it meant.

That day, before lunch, he had intercepted the Prewett twins before they had entered the classroom of one of their shared lessons.

"À mon bien-aimé," Harry had said hurriedly without beating around the bush, trying his best to clearly pronounce the foreign language, "what does it..."

He had trailed off as Felicity had instantly brought up a hand as if expecting to receive something, her face aglow with surprise and happiness, her cheeks pink with pleasure.

"Er…" Harry had glanced from one twin to the other, utterly disconcerted. "Aren't I saying it right? You told me you knew French. So, um, what does it mean?"

When Felix stopped scowling as if Harry had been about to commit some grievous, unforgivable transgression which might mean the end of their friendship, and began to guffaw and shoot his sister amused and satisfied glances, and when Felicity dropped her hand, turned pale, and her beautiful mismatched eyes grew wide with horror and embarrassed mortification, Harry had known something was escaping him.

"Is she alright?" Harry had said worriedly as he had watched how Felicity abruptly turned around and ran to the nearest loo instead of entering the classroom. He thought he might have even heard her let out a sob, at that.

"She's just peachy," said Felix with a chortle as he patted Harry on the back. "She'll be fine. It means 'for my beloved'."

"Oh," murmured Harry a mite astonished, before he frowned and glanced towards where Felicity had disappeared into. "But then… why did she-"

"It's nothing. She'll get over it," said Felix, sounding inexplicably cheerful and unconcerned as he herded Harry inside the classroom. "Now let's get to Potions."

"Laurent Didier is who gifted Julian the flute," replied Santi at present, making Harry glance up at him as the man rose to his feet and pocketed his handkerchief. "He's someone Julian cares much about."

Harry didn't press for more, since it didn't seem as if Santi was inclined to say much else, and he didn't have the right to pry into Erlichmann's personal affairs, anyway. And yet…

"You should have told me you knew Julian," Harry said accusingly, feeling unaccountably hurt and wounded, and even betrayed.

Santi arched an eyebrow as he retorted gently, "When have we ever spoken about Julian?"

Harry harrumphed at that, but remained silent, though he couldn't stop wondering. He had so many questions he wanted to ask that he didn't know where to begin.

With a sigh, Santi added calmly, "I've known Julian since he was a toddler."

"Toddler?" echoed Harry flabbergasted. "But you look to be around his age, so how…" He closed his mouth, before he muttered sheepishly under his breath, "Oh. Right. You can time-travel. I forgot." He cocked his head to a side, as he gazed at him with much curiosity. "So you're his friend?"

"A friend, a father, a brother, a mentor, a guide, a confidant, a companion," said Santi softly. "We are many things to each other. Except lovers."

Feeling his face turn warm and the tips of his ears go red, Harry awkwardly cleared his throat. "Right."

"Would you like to know anything else?" prompted Santi with a patient and indulgent look on his face.

A thousand and one other things, as far as Harry was concerned. Though he settled for the time being, because Julian's wellbeing was the only thing that had been at the forefront of his anguished thoughts.

Thus, he merely shook his head and mumbled, "Er, no. I suppose not."

"I'll see you soon, then," said Santi warmly smiling at him, before he vanished.

As he finally made his way to his dormitory, careful of avoiding the Caretaker of Hogwarts doing his rounds with his nasty pet Rascal the Raven, Harry realized that Santi's sole intention had been to get back the flute for Julian. Laurent Didier could not only be someone Julian Erlichmann 'cared much about'. Furthermore, it was clear that Santi cared for Julian as much as any 'lover' would.

Though, he preferred not to think about such things and the weird feelings such thoughts caused in him, and found Tom waiting for him in bed with curtains pulled wide open.

"Where have you been?" demanded his brother in a sharp whisper, dark blue eyes narrowed with anger and suspicion.

"Studying Healing and Ancient Runes in the library as always," replied Harry dismissively, safe in the knowledge that he had his diary tucked inside his satchel, which he was quick to stick in his trunk, careful of not making loud noises since their roommates were all fast asleep.

Once done with his ablutions and changed into pajamas, he slipped into Tom's bed.

Last night, their first since returning to Hogwarts from Norway, he had done the same when he had woken up in the middle of the night, trembling, his forehead drenched in sweat, and a throat raw from screaming. It had been a pillow thrown to his face and Thaddeus Avery's sleepy yet angered roar of "Shut up!" which had woken him from his nightmares.

He hadn't been able to go back to sleep until he had tiptoed to his brother's bed and quickly darted under the sheets. Yet, for once, Tom hadn't said a word about it, not even cruelly taunted him for being a crybaby haunted by silly nightmares about Norway.

Only when he had tightly hugged his brother and rested his head on Tom's chest, had he been lulled to sleep, with the rhythmic and comforting sound of Tom's heart beating peacefully, alive and well.

During the day, he hadn't found such source of reassurance that they were back in safety, though, as it seemed that every loud noise startled him, almost making him dive for cover and protection.

It was very nerve-wrecking, irking and bothersome, and unfair to boot, especially because Tom didn't suffer the same – not one nightmare about Norway at night, and looking during the day as placid and fresh as a lettuce.

"How did it go with Dumbledore?" said Tom in a quiet yet sharp voice as Harry blew out the candle of the nightstand and settled under the covers by his brother's side, snug and cozy.

They hadn't had the chance to discuss it yet, as busy as they had been in all their classes, catching up with what they had missed in lessons and homework.

After Tom drew the bed curtains shut and cast a Silencing Charm on them, Harry told him as much as he could, and by the end of it, his brother looked quite satisfied.

"I thought you would botch it," remarked Tom condescendingly. "At least you weren't such a lummox as to tell him anything important."

"I told him nothing," whispered Harry defensively, before he added in agitation, "But don't you see? Remember what Grindelwald's voice said in the Norwegian Ministry of Magic? He was trying to tempt and lure Dumbledore with something. Grindelwald said he knew where IT was-"

"I don't see the relevance," interrupted Tom dismissively.

"I think I know who 'she' is," murmured Harry animatedly. "Dumbledore's sister."

Tom turned his face on the pillow to stare at him at that, frowning. "What sister?"

It was then when Harry finally told him everything that he and Alphard had overheard that day in Hogsmeade.

"Why didn't you tell me about this yesterday?" hissed out Tom furiously, glaring murderously at him.

"Didn't feel like it," quipped Harry flippantly.

Certainly, given the way Tom had reacted so furiously to the many things Harry had been keeping secret from him, added to the snide attitude his brother had later adopted, Harry hadn't felt at all inclined to sharing.

When he had revealed the map of Hogwarts to Tom, his brother had volleyed at him innumerable, incessant questions, wanting to know everything, from the secret tunnels he had discovered –the one behind the statue of Griselda of Grosemoor that lead to the cellar of Honeydukes' in Hogsmeade, added to the one already known by Tom behind the Mirror of Desires- to all the things he had been up to with Alphard Black.

About the latter, of course, Harry hadn't told his brother about the whole Animagus affair, since he already knew that Alphard would be crushed if the one thing left that was still truly theirs became known to Tom as well.

Thus, Harry at least was quite happy that he could continue studying the Animagus Transformation with Alphard in the Room of Requirements with no one being any the wiser.

Although it didn't prevent Tom from making demands after knowing about the hidden passageways. Of course, Tom insisted that if there were two, there had to be more, and he wanted Harry to find them all, since he suddenly seemed to be in a urge to know all the secrets and mysteries of the castle.

"That's your task too," Tom had stated firmly, narrowing his eyes at Harry. "The one of the Mirror of Desires, as you call it, you say has Slytherin's magic. The one that leads to Hogsmeade, has Godric Gryffindor's magic. So it stands to reason that Rowena Ravenclaw and Helga Hufflepuff could have also created secret passageways – you will find them!"

It hadn't helped that when Harry had opened his map with a proud cry of "All for one and one for all!", Tom had given him a very contemptuous look, which turned cruelly mocking when his brother saw how the map was named.

"The Three Musketeers?" Tom had sneered with a vicious chuckle. "How very infantile of you, little brother. Let me guess, The Three Imbeciles –you, Black, and your pest of a furball."

At least, after tempers had flown in the midst of many heated arguments, Tom had yielded to the fact that Harry had no intentions of either dropping Alphard Black as a friend or stop from going around the castle with Alphard in search for an entrance to the Chamber of Secrets.

He had been able to reassure his friend of that when he had had to spill the beans regarding the things he had finally revealed to his brother.

"Of course Tom isn't going to stop us," Harry had said firmly when he had had lunch with Alphard in the kitchens. "He wouldn't dare. I told him that finding the Chamber is our adventure and he has no business butting in." He flapped a hand dismissively. "He said that when he had the time and fancied doing so, he would tag along. But I don't think he will. He's too busy with other stuff – he just said that to annoy me."

"Are you sure?" said Alphard in a low, dispirited tone of voice.

"Yeah!" Harry nodded his head up and down, as he munched down a pastry from one of the plates the house-elves had made for them for dessert. He then grinned at his best mate. "Truly, Al, it's still just you and me." He winked mischievously at him. "And I didn't tell him about the other stuff we're doing – the Animagus thing- so that's still ours too."

Alphard beamed at him, quickly recovering his cheer. "Good, because your brother is a prat, you know." He scrunched his nose until he suddenly paled a mite, as he added in a mutter, "And scary – so I rather not have him around."

"I hear you," Harry had said, commiserating with a martyrized sigh.

"You think that –what? – Grindelwald killed Dumbledore's sister?" said Tom at present, sounding snide with disbelief at the ridiculous notion. "And is now offering Dumbledore a way to bring her back?"

"I don't think anyone knows who actually killed her," murmured Harry, scrunching his forehead with intense, concentrated pensiveness. "It sounded as if all three had been arguing and possibly dueling, and the Dumbledores' sister accidentally got in the way or somethin'."

"So Grindelwald and Dumbledore do know each other from their days of youth?" muttered Tom slowly. "What was the nature of their relationship?"

Even with the scant, dim light that came from the depths of the Black Lake from the round windows in their dormitory, Harry could see his brother's expression of calculation and heavy plotting.

"I dunno - friends or something, I reckon. Who cares!" snapped Harry impatiently, though he quite clearly remembered that Dumbledore's brother had said 'lover'.

How could he ever forget when he and Alphard had gawked at that? But the lovers stuff was certainly something private, and while he didn't quite know what to do with Dumbledore to 'use him', he nevertheless didn't want to arm Tom with such a juicy bit of information. Who knew what Tom was capable of doing with it.

"What matters is the artifact!" continued Harry adamantly. "Aberforth called it 'stone', I think-"

"Stone?" intoned Tom mockingly, raising an eyebrow at him.

"Yes," said Harry with exasperation. "But it would make sense, wouldn't it? We thought there must be a reason why the Dark Lord hasn't really attacked Britain yet, why he's leaving it for last. Not only because Dumbledore is here, but because there must be something in England that is important, that he wants-"

"And you think it is some pebble that can bring people back from the dead?" scoffed Tom snidely, before his expression turned formidably arrogant. "If such thing existed, I would know about it. I've been looking into the matter since First Year."

"Bet you have," griped Harry sourly, before he shook his head and sighed. "Look, it makes sense. There's something in England that Grindelwald knows where it is. He was taunting Dumbledore with the knowledge. And was referring to his sister. So it's obvious that it's something that can bring corpses back to life or something of the sort!" He harrumphed, before shot his brother an impatient look. "If you died, I would use any artifact I could get my hands on to bring you back, you see? So Dumbledore could be in the same situation-"

"I will never die," hissed out Tom virulently, his handsome face twisting and contorting, his features turning ugly. "I will find a way-"

"Yeah, yeah," snapped Harry peevishly. "Spare me – heard it all before and know it by heart. This is not about you, you prat." He glared at him before he bit out with exasperation, "It all fits, Tom."

"No, it does not," retorted Tom harshly, as he then adopted an overbearing and superior tone of voice, "I've been thinking about the matter, of course, and I believe it is quite telling that the one group of people Grindelwald has made his Nazi puppets target in particular are the Jews."

Harry blinked at him, taken aback. "Um, right. So?"

"So, you twit," sneered Tom acidly, "I don't doubt that the Dark Lord is after something, but it is not some imaginary artifact that can miraculously resurrect people. How can it, when Death is the end, and there's nothing after? Why do you think I don't want to die, you idiot!"

"That's what you believe," mumbled Harry under his breath, since after having met the Grey Lady he wasn't quite sure about the issue. Then again, he couldn't tell Tom about her either.

Clearly ignoring Harry's interruption, Tom added sharply, "Thus, given the targets of Grindelwald's Muggle War, I'm quite certain the Dark Lord is after something they posses."

"A Jew artifact?" Harry stared at him, bewildered and perplexed.

"Precisely," intoned Tom smugly. "I've already begun to research their history to find as much information and clues as I can-"

"Hang on," whispered Harry as he moved closer to his brother, their heads resting on the shared pillow with noses inches from each other's, his green eyes widening with the sudden idea that sparked in his mind. "Why can't it be both?"

Tom raised an eyebrow. "Both artifacts, you mean?"

Harry nodded, as he whispered excitedly, "Yup! We both think we're right. I think I'm right. And you think you're right. So why not? – we could both be right! And the Dark Lord is after two different things!"

Tom gave him a long, considering look, before he said at last, "Perhaps. One artifact that is in England, that only Grindelwald and Dumbledore know about-"

"And Dumbledore's brother," piped in Harry enthusiastically. "Aberforth, the owner of the Hog's Head pub. He knows about it too –remember?- because he said to Dumbledore that he didn't want him to use it-"

"Yes," snapped Tom impatiently. "There's that artifact. And then-" his expression turned sly and thoughtful "-the other one, which is possibly known only by Grindelwald."

"And the Jews," pointed out Harry. "If you're right."

"Yes, and them," said Tom, his tone both dismissive and disdainful, before his eyes gleamed with interest. "One artifact meant to torment Dumbledore with the possibilities, or perhaps to form an army of Inferi if it can do what you suspect. Another artifact for…"

"For what?" urged Harry, his green eyes bright with curiosity.

"I don't know," bit out Tom, scowling darkly. "But it matters little for now. Our decision is the same."

"What decision?" said Harry, frowning at him.

"Why, that we must take them for ourselves," sneered Tom impatiently as if it were a forgone conclusion, "before either Dumbledore or Grindelwald find them, of course."

"What?" Harry gaped and gawked at him.

"Yes," said Tom, looking vastly self-satisfied. "That's what we'll do. It's decided."

"You decided," bit out Harry hotly, "not me. I didn't tell you about these things to go around looking for stuff. We've got enough on our plate, and I don't see how we could find these artifacts, anyway-"

"Do you or don't you want to bring down the Dark Lord?" demanded Tom harshly, narrowing his dark blue eyes at him. "I thought you did, but if you have changed your mind-"

"I haven't!" snapped Harry bristling. "But we barely know a thing about the artifacts, it's all suspicions on our part-"

"Then this is what it takes, you fool," sneered Tom poisonously, and clearly disregarding Harry's concerns. "What Grindelwald wants, we find and take first. Then it is us who have the greatest bargaining chip. It is also us who can use them against him, if they can be used in such ways."

"Well, yeah, I suppose," muttered Harry slowly as he frowned at him. "But…"

"But what?" bit out Tom impatiently, his expression dark and forbidding.

"Nuthin'," sighed out Harry, before he shot him a beleaguered look. "So how do we go about it? Where do we start?"

"We research," said Tom shortly.

Harry groaned as he buried his face in the pillow.

"And there's also the Slytherin locket, little brother."

Harry gave him a jaundiced, bitter look as he resurfaced from their pillow, and mumbled without much spirit, "Right."

"It is mine by birthright," hissed out Tom, narrowing his eyes at Harry's lack of enthusiasm. "Ours – I mean, of course. I won't let it fall into the grubby hands of some wrinkled, old witch." His eyes narrowed to slits, as he spat, "Hephzibah Smith, wasn't she? According to Slughorn, the most interested bidder?"

"Yeah. Fine then," grumbled Harry tiredly, "we can go to Borgin and Burkes during summer holidays to deal with that, I suppose."

Harry finally fell asleep regretting he had opened his mouth and told his brother that much.

Three days later, it all got even more complicated.

"It's gone!" wheezed out Alphard Black who had pounced on him the moment Harry stepped out of the common room.

The boy looked as if he had been running with all his might and had been waiting for Harry to make an appearance out of Slytherin territory.

Startled out of wits, Harry recovered his composure to then blink at him. "The what?"

"The Mirror of Desires," whispered Alphard haggardly, as he glanced at all sides making sure there were no housemates lingering about in the dungeon's corridors. "I was coming from the loo when I had to pass outside the Staff's room, and Professors Babbling and Fancourt were coming out of it, gossiping about how Dumbledore could have done it."

"Done what?" pressed Harry with mounting apprehension.

"Convinced Headmaster Dippet to remove the Mirror of Desires!" breathed out Alphard, his big grey eyes growing with distress. "Apparently, Dumbledore has been trying to persuade the Headmaster for some time, saying it was dangerous, because some student ten years ago became so obsessed with it that he had to be forcibly removed and ended up spending a whole month in the Infirmary. But even then, Dippet wouldn't budge, because –according to what I overheard the Professors saying- the Mirror has been at Hogwarts since the age of the Founders. But now, Dumbledore convinced Dippet, and no one knows how!"

Having a fairly good idea of just how Albus Dumbledore had managed that, Harry lost all color in his face.

"Ask Charlus for the Cloak," he then urged anxiously. "We gotta check."

Alphard instantly nodded and dashed away. Fifteen minutes later they wasted no time as they reached the corridor in the fourth floor.

Harry stood rooted in place, next to Alphard, under the Invisibility Cloak, as he stared at a large, old mirror that was decidedly not the Mirror of Desires but an ordinary one.

"Is the passage still there?" whispered Alphard fretfully. "Do you see the magic?"

"Can't tell for sure," murmured Harry highly distressed, as he grabbed his friend's wrist to pull him to a side when a group of passing-by Hufflepuffs nearly collided with them. "We gotta wait. Curfew is about to start. I'll check then, when we're alone."

Thus, they both remained quiet, plastered against a wall, as students rushed by, coming and going in order to reach their respective Houses before Hogwarts' chiming bells struck nine o'clock in the evening.

As soon as the corridor emptied, yet still until the protective mantle of invisibility of the Cloak, Harry flicked his wand and muttered a charm. The large mirror unhinged itself off the wall until it floated and settled on the floor.

Harry let out a mighty exhalation of relief as he then saw the lattice of silver and green magic spanning across that section of the wall.

"The passage is still there," he muttered quietly.

"Good," breathed out Alphard, his big grey eyes then glancing sideways at Harry, looking highly troubled. "But then – do you think Dumbledore knows?"

"He does," replied Harry somberly, before he sighed deeply, rubbing his face.

The wizard was no Parselmouth and Harry was quite certain Dumbledore couldn't see magic as he did, so there was no way the professor could open the passageway or see for himself that it was there.

Regardless, it was clear that Dumbledore must have seen him and Tom coming out from the passageway, or at least suspected it, when the wizard had found them just as Tom had been staring into the Mirror of Desires.

Harry still couldn't figure out why Dumbledore had been running towards them, as if he had known they hadn't been in the castle, as if he had known they were just arriving from someplace else and he had gone about the castle in search of them. Yet, if Dumbledore knew for a fact that they had been in Norway, Harry was certain the wizard would have pressed the matter when they had had their meeting.

It was all very confusing, but one thing was clear to him: he had to turn Dumbledore's mind unto other things. Finding the Chamber of Secrets was now a must, and he couldn't let the wizard interfere in that.

"What do we do then?" pressed Alphard, his face filled with fear and apprehension. "If Dumbledore knows, if he even suspects that we are looking for the Chamber of Secrets, we could get expelled. If he has gone to the Headmaster-"

"If he told Dippet, we would know about it by now," interjected Harry, fully convinced that he was right. He shook his head, remembering his conversation with the wizard as to why Dumbledore had allowed them to hear about the Order of the Phoenix. He shot his friend a pensive look, as he then muttered, "I think the last thing Dumbledore wants is for us to be expelled. He must have used some other excuse on Dippet."

Alphard didn't appear to be all that certain, fidgeting nervously, shifting his weight from foot to foot as if there were hot coals under the soles of his feet.

"Leave it up to me," Harry reassured him firmly. "I'll fix it."

He parted ways with Alphard, leaving the Cloak for the boy to return to Charlus Potter, and then made his way to the wizard's office.

There was light coming from under the door, and thus, Harry didn't bother to knock, knowing he would find Albus Dumbledore awake and at his desk.

Indeed, as he pulled the door open and took just one step inside the office, that's exactly how he found his Transfiguration Professor and Deputy Headmaster. Though, Dumbledore was not arduously grading essays, but instead seated on his desk's chair, pulled to a side, offering the wizard an unhindered view of his window, through which the man was staring at the darkening scenery with a distant look on his face, as if far away in his own ponderings.

Apparently, the wizard hadn't even heard or noticed Harry's entrance, till Fawkes gave a welcoming chirp from his perch.

Albus Dumbledore turned his head to a side, catching sight of Harry standing by the threshold, a quizzical expression on his face as he smiled warmly. "Ah, Mr. Riddle, what may I do for you at this late hour-"

"Tilly Toke is dead," said Harry flatly. "He was Gellert Grindelwald's spy."

The look of shock on the wizard's face was genuine –obviously if Julian Erlichmann had known about the spy at Hogwarts, he hadn't shared that information with Dumbledore. Harry didn't bother wondering why –he had already begun suspecting that Julian didn't trust the wizard much- and he didn't linger around for more.

He instantly turned around and left the office, closing the door behind him.

He didn't expect for Dumbledore to rush out to follow him, to demand more, and it didn't happen.

As Harry made his way to the dungeons, he was certain he had done the right thing, both the wisest and most cunning. Let Dumbledore sink his teeth on that. Let him know what it obviously implied – that the Dark Lord had set his sights on him and Tom.

After all, everyone had known that Tilly Toke and Harry had been close. Everyone had known that Harry had been his favorite pupil. The professor had always been very open in his regard, even in class, much to the ill-temper and anger of many Slytherins.

Furthermore, Harry had no doubt that, amongst the teachers, it was known that Tilly Toke had been giving him private lessons, teaching him more Charms. Evidently, Toke must have glided over the fact that he had been helping Harry create a map of Hogwarts, thankfully.

Nevertheless, Tilly Toke's motives for getting close to Harry would now be seen in a much different light by Dumbledore.

Indeed, Dumbledore now finally knew. Now, he would have reason to want to protect them from Grindelwald, and reason to find out what the Dark Lord wanted from him and Tom. Surely that had to be much more important than a couple of students trying to find the Chamber of Secrets? That's what Harry hoped. As he also hoped that now Dumbledore could be of some use.

Unsurprisingly, he found his brother in the common room, as Tom had taken to do lately. Seated in the midst of all other Slytherins, but alone in one sofa, with open book on lap, calmly reading and flipping pages, as if utterly unaware and undaunted by the looks and whispers that surrounded him, by the constant, expectant attention that their housemates focused on him.

It was nearly imperceptible, but Harry saw it: that upward tilt in one corner of Tom's lips. His brother was lapping it up, vastly enjoying the situation: seated like an unflappable emperor amidst a court of wary, hopeful, angered or dubious subjects, all tense and whispering quietly, waiting for a sign, for a clue, to know how the tides would turn, what would be most beneficial to them, whom to follow, with whom to tie their fortunes with.

Harry didn't think it was due to whatever Dorea Black had told their housemates. They were all suspended in a limbo of indecision and uncertainty, tiptoeing around Tom and him, until the time came in which they would descend upon them like a pack of furious wolves or hail them as Slytherin's long lost heirs.

If they found the Chamber of Secrets, everything would change. Nothing would be the same. And Harry doubted he would like the consequences. But a promise was a promise, and he had given his to his brother.

"I need to speak to you," Harry whispered as he reached his brother's side.

Tom coolly arched an eyebrow at him, pausing in his reading, yet not moving an inch.

"In private," gritted out Harry, as he noticed that the whole room had fallen silent, their housemates' gazes locked on them.

With an air of utter tranquility, Tom closed his book – a Dark Arts one, Harry noticed, irked though unsurprised- and slowly rose to his feet.

The whisperings and mutterings renewed as Harry and Tom crossed the common room, yet the crowd of Slytherins parted open to give them an unimpeded path as they advanced forwards.

It was ridiculous, and it dismayed Harry greatly. If their housemates behaved like this when they only thought there was a very remote possibility that there was any truth in what Abraxas Malfoy had said about him and Tom, he didn't want to even imagine how it would be later, when he finally succeeded in his task of finding the Chamber.

The moment he and Tom were in the stairs leading down to the boys' dormitories, Harry halted and cast a Muffliato Charm at their surroundings.

"Dumbledore knows," he stated without beating around the bush, "that we're Slytherin's heirs. And he knows that we know. He knows about the passageway that leads to Hogsmeade's caves, though I don't think he actually knows that Salazar Slytherin made it." He paused, taking a deep, bracing breath, before he added, "But the point is that he knows-"

"That we're looking for the Chamber of Secrets," spat Tom, a very dark and ominous expression on his face, before he rounded on Harry with the seething rage of a rattlesnake mid-strike. "How? You half-brained imbecile! You must have let something slip when you spoke with him-"

"I didn't!" snapped Harry angrily. He shook his head, trying to calm himself down.

"You must have," snarled Tom viciously, his fury such that Harry's head began to throb, his scar prickling painfully.

Harry shot him a dirty look, as he rubbed his forehead. "He pieced it together himself. He's smart-"

Tom scoffed contemptuously at that, and Harry had to rein in a bout of very bad temper.

Moreover, it was then when he became truly wary, because it was obvious to him that Tom was blinded when it came to Dumbledore, that his brother's despise for the wizard clouded his judgment when it came to the man. Because it was then when Harry was assaulted with the realization of how very dangerous it was for Tom to underestimate Dumbledore –dangerous for Tom and himself.

Tom's dark blue eyes flashed, as he then hissed out sharply, "If he knows, then we must dispose of him."

Harry blinked, taking him a moment to catch up with what his brother had uttered. Then, he gaped, struck witless, mouth hanging open. "What?"

"I said," sneered Tom impatiently, "that we have to-"

"Have you gone bonkers!" shrieked Harry, before he cringed, warily glancing at all sides till he remembered the spell he had previously cast.

"You said he eats sweets, correct?" continued Tom sharply, utterly indifferent to Harry's outburst, his expression one of heavy plotting. "If he buys them from the candy shop in Hogsmeade, we could poison them – we must dispose of him in a way that makes it look like an accident." A deep, musing frown spread on his face. "Or perhaps we could-"

"No!" Harry snapped furiously, as he gave his brother a hard, violent shove. "I'm not killing anyone!"

Tom snarled as Harry's push made him slam painfully against the wall of the stairs. He regained his balance, giving him a murderous glare that promised retribution as he dusted off his school robes, before he hissed out poisonously, "You have killed before, little brother. Killed more than I did, in fact. In case you have forgotten."

Harry stared at him in speechless disbelief, utterly incredulous that his brother was bringing that up and using it against him when he knew how it had affected him – the manipulative, hurtful bastard. The gall.

Bristling, Harry found his voice and then bit out hotly, "What happened in Norway was different and you know it! I told you I wouldn't kill again unless I had to – as a last resort, when it's absolutely necessary to protect ourselves – nothing more!"

"And this is such case, you dimwit!" spat Tom enraged, his expression darkening and seething with hatred. "Dumbledore could ruin all my plans-"

"You leave Dumbledore alone!" bellowed Harry at the end of his rope, because certainly, he couldn't tell Tom just why he wanted the wizard alive and well.

Not even if he was dragged through the streets by a dozen hippogriffs would he ever confess to his brother what he had disclosed to Dumbledore but a few minutes before and the path he had surely set Dumbledore on.

Indeed, he fully believed he had managed what Julian had advice him to do, and he meant to see it through, for their own sakes'. Anything, to have someone powerful on their side if they ever had to deal with Grindelwald directly.

Thus, Harry decided to resort to logic, as he lowered his voice to a softly persuasive and inveigling tone, "Brother, trying to kill someone like him would be too risky. He's too powerful-"

"Please," sneered Tom snidely. "I'll believe that when I see it." His expression turned arrogant and smug, as he intoned smoothly, "Even if he is, there are always ways and means to accomplish it." He snorted irreverently, grandiosely waving a hand. "Why, it could be as easy as when I killed Mrs. Sharpe by pushing her down the stairs of the orphanage." His dark blue eyes suddenly sparked and gleamed, as he then added pleasantly, "Indeed, Hogwarts' moving staircases are treacherous, are they not?"

Harry stared at him, and finally threw precaution out the window, so thoroughly horrified, anxious, and fearful he was in the face of his brother's newest deranged idea.

He pinned his brother with a stony gaze, and said resolutely, "Sod your ways and means. You touch a hair on Dumbledore's head and I'm through with you."

Tom went instantly rigid, his face paling and then turning livid, his shoulders stiff, his dark eyes flashing, as he hissed out in a very low and slow voice, "You wouldn't dare. You are my brother, and brothers never abandon each other, do they? And you agreed to help me, you promised, you made a vow to me."

Harry flinched at that, looking down at his shoes, biting his lower lip, and then gnashing his teeth as he glowered up at Tom. Nevertheless, he remained silent, because his brother was right and knew him too well.

The smirk Tom gave him then was so supremely smug that Harry nearly vibrated with the need to smack it off.

"Alright," said Harry stiffly. "But we won't do anything to Dumbledore unless we have to."

Tom instantly opened his mouth to undoubtedly spit out something but Harry instantly brought up a hand to silence him, glaring as he added quickly, "I can find the Chamber of Secrets without him knowing. He's not a Parselmouth, after all. How will he ever know if we find it or not?"

"He knows we're looking for it," spat Tom with infinite impatience. "And he's not such a fool as to have missed how our housemates' attitude towards us has changed, you twit! That alone is enough for him to-"

"But he has no proof!" interjected Harry with vexed exasperation. "That's why I say that we only act if he ever intends to get us expelled and nothing more-"

"If you had already found the Chamber of Secrets," interrupted Tom acidly, his tone both nasty and accusing, "it would be a different matter."

"Alphard and I have begun inspecting the fifth floor," snapped Harry heatedly. "I cannot go any faster!"

Tom shot him a thoroughly dark and dissatisfied look, but Harry was swift to add in a cajoling tone of voice, "Come, brother, can't you please do what I ask for once?" He stepped closer to him, raising his arms to take Tom's shoulders in his hands as he peered up at him and continued softly, "Give me time. Let me find the Chamber. And you'll become the leader of Slytherin House, yes? And then, if Dumbledore tries to kick us out of school or something, then I'll help you deal with him. Alright?"

Tom narrowed his eyes as he gazed down at him, in what seemed like an attempt to gauge Harry's sincerity and pry apart his offer in search for loopholes or tricks.

To that, Harry was quick to widen his green eyes as he kept peering up at his brother, showing no guile but absolute honesty, as he then made his voice turn sweetly and softly pleading, "Please, brother, for me?"

Tom's lips curled and twisted, his expression one of deep annoyance, before he bit out, "Very well."

Harry dropped his hands from his brother's shoulders and beamed at him with the power of a thousand suns, which only made a muscle in Tom's jawline twitch before he shot Harry a nasty glower as he turned around and climbed up the stairs – surely to continue his performance in the common room.

The intake of air of profound relief Harry gave once alone, was a profound one, as he tiredly rubbed his face, the tension in his body slowly melting away.

Nevertheless, the following days, weeks, and months passed by swiftly, yet in utter havoc and in what seemed to Harry like a state of constant stress, wariness, and dejection.