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:
Responding to some questions:
Q: Why isn't there a second timetravelling Harry from the future in the story?
A: For all we know, there could be. It doesn't mean though that future-Harry (Antares Malfoy, that is) would let Harry see him, after all. We all know the dangers involved in that.
Q: Why can't Harry go back and forth in time like Santi?
A: Because he's still not what Santi is. We know he's changing: for one, he has his Magic-sight ability that's getting stronger. And as Santi explained in a chapter, Harry will keep getting other abilities, though Santi cannot predict which or when.
Q: Harry's abilities are inherent to his soul and not the body that traveled back in time?
A: Exactly. Santi explained that too. The Sands of Time affect the soul, changes it permanently, and through it, the magical core, progressively giving abilities and etc and ultimately changing someone into what Santi is. So whatever abilities Harry Riddle has due to the Sands of Time –like seeing magic- he'll have as Antares Malfoy, plus all those abilities that come from his bloodlines, like being part Veela because he will be Abraxas Malfoy's grandson, and being a Metamorphmagus due to his Black blood.
Q: Does Santi want Harry as a lover?
A: Definitely. Given what was done to Harry (Sands of Time), only Harry can become someone like Santi, so only Harry can be 'his companion'. Though clearly, Santi is bidding his time. And not only because Harry is too young, but because Harry doesn't know much yet and so isn't ready.
About Helena Ravenclaw, Santi's story, and all the rest, we'll see that as the fic progresses.
Hope you enjoy this chappie and let me know what you think!
Part I: Chapter 52
It all began with the news brought by the Daily Prophet, one after the other, it seemed, of the subsequent fall of the Netherlands, Belgium, Luxembourg, and France. More and more, the Dark Lord and his forces seemed like an invincible, destructive force that crushed everything in its path.
The one event that struck most panic and fear in the hearts of everyone was the surrender of France.
The whole school turned into a frenzied beehive, of frantically whispering students, cries and wails, and even many abrupt absences.
Harry had counted at least twenty muggleborns and twelve halfblood students who had been removed from school, by parents who suddenly turned up at Hogwarts in a state of great agitation and fear.
"It's silly, really," said Felicity shaking her head sadly. "Everyone knows that because of Hogwarts' ancient wards, it's impregnable, even against Dark Lords! This is the safest place on earth."
Harry, though not quite sure about that after having seen how easily Grindelwald had destroyed the wards of the Norwegian Ministry of Magic, could only nod at that, because nearly all purebloods had stayed put, clearly their parents thinking as Felicity did.
He frequently stuck by the Prewetts twins in those days, his best source of inside information. And granted, he had also missed them much. He was so constantly busy lately that he rarely had any spare time for friends.
"It's horrible," Felicity then murmured as she folded the latest edition of The Daily Prophet, the front-page article having displayed a large moving picture of the remains of Beauxbatons.
A week ago, during lunch, Headmaster Dippet had announced that Hogwarts would be hosting foreign students, those of the families that were fleeing from France at the invasion carried out by Grindelwald's muggle armies.
Apparently, giving sanctuary to French wizarding families was a decision that the British Minister of Magic, Gravius Marchbanks, had not come upon lightly. Many were the articles in the Daily Prophet alluding to heated arguments between the Minister and Dumbledore, the many times the wizard had been seen entering the Ministry of Magic. The particulars weren't known, except to a very few, and speculations ran wild.
"That's the end of their friendship," Felix had remarked somberly.
"But what happened?" Harry pressed, leaning forward, on tenterhooks.
He often met them in the Gryffindors' common room, but all students were too concerned with their own fears and anxieties to pay him much attention, so a snake in the midst of lions passed unnoticed for once.
"Well," said Felicity, her glance darting around before she lowered her voice to a secretive murmur, as she always did when revealing information obtained through the twins' father, "Gravius Marchbanks is feeling rather raw after what happened in Norway."
Harry blanched at that, since the topic of Norway had never been brought up before by them, though he had the inkling the twins knew that their Inferi aunt hadn't survived it, given the pervading air of mourning and grief that the Prewett twins had displayed. Evidently, he wasn't about to tell them just who had killed her.
"Only half of the French Auror Force that had been sent there made it back to France, along with the Norwegian survivors," said Felix Prewett, his tone downcast. "Father said it was terrible."
"Not only that," interjected Felicity, her beautiful mismatched eyes flashing in anger, "but Dumbledore was about to finally convince Gravius Marchbanks of doing the same as the French Minister of Magic."
"To declare war on Grindelwald?" supplied Harry, his green eyes widening hopefully.
Felicity nodded at him briskly, before her pretty features turned bitter. "But once Marchbanks saw how bad it went for the French in Norway, he reneged on his promise. Now, he absolutely refuses to directly confront the Dark Lord."
"Says it's best for British Aurors to stay put in Britain, to defend us," interjected Felix, as he released a deep sigh. "And I understand the bloke-"
"Oh, how can you say that!" snapped Felicity fiercely, her glossy red hair almost standing on end. "He was supposed to send Aurors to help defend France! That was the deal-"
Deeply alarmed, Harry choked out, "Marchbanks will not send any?"
"No," said Felix flatly, before he shot his twin a scowl. "And I said I understood his decision, Lissy, not that I was all for it. But it makes sense to keep our Aurors here instead of sending them away-"
"No, it doesn't," muttered Harry, vastly anxious and troubled, "because France is the only country that stands between us and Grindelwald. If it falls, we're next."
"Precisely," said Felicity firmly, before she gave Harry an admiring look, as she blushed prettily. "My same thoughts exactly. Helping France is a preemptive measure. One we desperately need."
"Well, fine," groused out Felix, darkly scowling at them, "but Marchbanks says that if France is conquered, he will admit refugees – that's bound to count for something!"
"Oh yes," bit out Felicity scornfully, "he's allowing for Hogwarts to serve as sanctuary for Beauxbatons' students, with his sight set on having any surviving French Aurors flee here, so that then they can be made to help us when our time comes – but by then, it will be too late, won't it? Grindelwald will have the whole of Europe and only us left as his target! How well do you suppose that will go?"
Nevertheless, no matter what Gravius Marchbanks' plans had been, the Dark Lord had acted too swiftly.
In a matter of days after that conversation, both muggle and wizarding France was occupied, and all of Beauxbatons' students taken as hostages before any much fleeing could be done.
The Battle of Beauxbatons, it was said, had been brutal, leaving half the palace destroyed as parents of students, professors, Aurors and whoever dared to assist and volunteer, fought desperately against the Dark Lord's armies of wizards, Dementors, and Inferi for two days.
Worst of all, Grindelwald seemed to have changed tactics for some reason, and was now taking all the prisoners he could get.
In the end, the seventh floor of Hogwarts' castle that had been prepared to house wizarding children from France went unused.
Furthermore, only some few French families managed to escape in time to settle with relatives in England or from across the Atlantic.
With the lives of their children pending on a thread, wizarding France had surrendered.
The Dark Lord had kept his end of the bargain, at least, releasing the students of Beauxbatons. Nevertheless, many adults who had fought at the battle had been taken as prisoners, to never be seen or heard from again. Where they had been taken was a mystery.
Moreover, there was something in particular that the Prewett twins said in those days which instantly caught Harry's attention.
"Marchbanks is a fool," snapped Felicity crossly, glaring and bristling as if the wizard she had once admired had let her down in the most unforgivable of ways.
"Father sides with Marchbanks on this one," interjected Felix, glowering back at her. "So are you saying that Father is a fool too?"
Felicity lifted her chin up, a rebellious spark in her blue and brown eyes. "Yes. If Dumbledore believes that it is of the utmost importance that we offer political asylum to the Jews, then he's bound to have a good reason-"
"Hang on – what?" said Harry, looking up from his piece of parchment in which he had been attempting to scribble down his Care of Magical Creatures essay – 'How to best nurse a Niffler and keep him happy to gain a fortune!'.
It seemed that even Professor Kettleburn was being affected by the war and was now always appointing homework with a rather mercenary aim of teaching his students how to use creatures to make quick money.
Harry even thought that perhaps the wizard was about to abscond with all the golden trinkets their Nifflers had been unearthing all around Hogwarts' grounds during lessons, and jump the boat to America or some such place.
Crazed professors aside, the news had turned so grim and depressing lately that Harry at times turned a deaf ear to the twins' conversation when discussing such matters, but now, they had his full attention.
"What about the Jews?" he pressed insistently.
"Dumbledore," whispered Felicity quietly, as she leaned forward to be close together. Though it wasn't quite necessary. The Gryffindors' common room was always such a loud, chaotic, and boisterous place that even if they had been shouting their deepest secrets at the top of their lungs, no one would be any wiser, "believes that Grindelwald is targeting the Jews for some reason. And as such, that they should be helped and protected at all costs. He even tried to convince Charlemagne McLaggen when the wizard was Minister of Magic, but the fool refused back then-"
"Exactly," interrupted Felix in a hard tone of voice, "as Marchbanks is doing now, because he and Father are right. Letting Jew refugees come to Britain is as good as painting a target on ourselves! Grindelwald will surely come for us if we do that-"
"He'll attack Britain regardless, you dunce!" snapped Felicity hotly, scowling at him. "And I would like to know, are you a Gryffindor or not? Because your position in this matter sounds like nothing but cowardice to me!"
Felix puffed up like an affronted, bristling hippogriff, as he hollered angrily, "I'm as much a Gryffindor as you are, Lissy! I would help the poor Jew chaps if I could, but-"
Sensing an impending, looming bout of bickering between the twins, Harry urged hastily, "But are there any Jew refugees, then?"
"That's the point," said Felicity, shooting her twin a nasty glower before she turned back to Harry, "that there aren't going to be any if they have nowhere safe to go! That's why Dumbledore is trying to persuade the Minister – but the lummox won't budge!" She huffed irritably, as she flipped her long, red hair over a shoulder. "Truly, men have no sense."
Felix fulminated her with a most indignant look at that. "Your precious Dumbledore is a bloke, case you haven't noticed!"
"Might as well be a woman – intelligence like his!"
By then, Harry had picked up his things and made a hasty escape before either of them had the chance to rope him in their usual quarrels. Nevertheless, he realized, Tom had been absolutely right: Grindelwald was indeed after something the Jews had. And Dumbledore knew or suspected it.
Alas, he didn't have much of a chance to muse about it, with too many other things on his plate already.
If he had thought that Tom was a loon unhealthy obsessed with learning all that could be found, it was nothing to the heights of demented studiousness that his brother reached.
Apparently, 'seeking power' for Tom meant, at least for the time being, becoming more of a bookworm than he already was, and expecting Harry to turn into one as well, to boot.
Such entailed not only going over and over Grindelwald's Durmstrang textbooks and practicing all curses in the Room of Requirements until they dropped from exhaustion, as well as keeping up with their slow-paced studies of Occlumency and Legilimency, plus German, whilst all the while Harry stubbornly concentrated on learning by his own as much about Healing as possible –having learnt in Norway just how essential it was- but also something new, because Harry had opened his mouth.
It had been his fault, granted, as he kept persevering in his hopeful attempts of influencing Tom's deranged goals, trying to channel them unto safer paths.
"You could be the Minister of Magic, instead," said Harry in his most cajoling and buttery tone of voice, making his eyes widen and sparkle with the worshipful awe that such thing would inspire in him if Tom achieved it.
Surely Tom would eat it up. The one thing his brother seemed to enjoy the most was Harry's admiration, after all. Alas, for once, his brother was unmoved.
They were seated together studying for the end of term examinations, taking full advantage of the silence and seclusion that the Room of Requirements offered them.
Tom had insisted they had to begin studying several weeks in advance, and Harry had done his best to wriggle out of it, and failed.
"If you don't do well in your grades, it would reflect badly on me," Tom had bit out acidly. "So you're studying hard, even if I have to tutor you every day from now till the end of June!"
Which indeed, was exactly what came to happen.
"Minister?" sneered Tom scathingly at Harry's suggestion, during a break between their revision of Transfiguration and Potions. "What – to depend on votes in order to stay in power, to have to listen to babbling idiots in the government, to have to negotiate with inferiors, to be ever subjected to the limitations of the Law?" His face contorted with utter revulsion. "No. Such trifles are not for me." His eyes flashed manically as he said in an intense, low tone of voice, "I want absolute power, little brother. I don't want to be accountable to anyone."
"Absolute power? A dictator you mean!" snapped Harry, not being able to rein in his temper and sheer frustration. "Haven't we got enough of those! You told me yourself – what, with Stalin in Russia, Hitler in Germany, Franco in Spain, Mussolini in Italy-"
"Muggles!" spat Tom incensed. "Those are nothing but filthy, clueless muggles. Do not dare compare-"
"Fine," griped Harry peevishly, as he slammed his Transfiguration textbook shut, "and Grindelwald too, to boot, and you wanna be one more, huh? You're enough of a psycho as it is, brother, you don't need 'absolute power' on top of that!"
"A what?" hissed out Tom, his eyes narrowed to slits, seething. "What did you call me?"
"A psycho," bit out Harry, pointing an accusing finger at him. "You know what I'm speaking about. If you had seen yourself hacking that muggle with that axe, like an unhinged wacko…"
He trailed off, shuddering at the recollection of what had happened in that cottage in Norway with the army deserters.
Tom darkly glared at him, stiffening abruptly, as he snarled viciously, "Being a psychopath would entail having a mental trauma of some sort, of having no control over oneself, no fortitude of mind, being weak. And I'm not weak, in any sense of the word!"
Harry blinked at him when he realized that his brother felt profoundly offended, insulted, and perhaps even hurt by his words.
He regretted it immediately, knowing he had to be careful as of late in how he handled his brother.
Thus, he bracingly grinned at Tom, patting him comfortingly on the back. "Don't worry. Even if you're a psycho, I'll just have to put up with it, won't I? Because we're brothers."
Tom stared at him with narrowed eyes, before he seemed to relax, a lazy smirk quirking his lips as he drawled placidly, "Exactly, and don't you forget that."
"Sure," said Harry sweetly, before his expression hardened and he piped in firmly, "But it still doesn't solve that you've got a self-control problem."
Tom instantly hissed like an enraged Gorgon, "I do not have a-"
"You do!" snapped Harry, shooting him an inflexible scowl. "And Dark Lords have to be in control of themselves, don't they? Because if not, no one would follow someone who could suddenly snap and turn into a rampaging lunatic! So you either fix your problem or you give up trying to become a sodding Dark Lord!" He crossed his arms over his chest, as he lifted his chin up and added divisively, "And you either do it, or I won't help you at all with your nutty ambitions."
"And how do you propose," gritted out Tom as if grinding stones, his eyes flashing dangerously, "for me to-"
"What did you feel?" interrupted Harry demandingly, pinning him with his gaze. "When you killed, I mean."
"Do you need to ask?" sneered Tom contemptuously. "You've killed yourself, surely you know already. The surge inside, feeling the power you have over others, their lives in your hands to do as you please, when they're utterly in your mercy and you can so easily snuff them out into nothingness." His dark blue eyes glinted, as he added with giddy breathlessness, "It's glorious, is it not?"
"What?" Harry shot him an alarmed look. "Is that what you felt?"
Tom gave him a narrowed-eyed look. "Didn't you?"
Harry shook his head at himself the next second. Why had he even asked? Why was he even surprised? He should have known. And it was now painfully obvious to him that trying to unravel his brother's twisted psyche would not help in attempting to dissuade Tom from being a Dark Lord.
He sighed heavily, as he tried to fathom some other way that would work on Tom.
"Were you scared of me?" demanded Tom in a sharp yet quite tone of voice, skewering him with his gaze.
"When you were chopping the muggle with the axe? Yeah," murmured Harry, feeling uncomfortable and very awkward, as he squirmed on his seat and swallowed thickly. "You seemed to be in a world of your own, lost in your… er, enjoyment."
Tom frowned, looking highly irked, before he asked acerbically, "And when I used my magic?"
"Oh, that. No, of course not," said Harry instantly, flapping a hand dismissively before a soft smile spread on his face. "That was different, brother. It was beautiful."
"Beautiful?" repeated Tom, frowning at him.
"Yes," said Harry, his smile widening just as his eyes unwittingly gleamed with reverence and fascinated appreciation. "Your magic was beautiful, blue, thrumming and rolling off you, and it felt right, a bit chilly, but somehow safe and comfortable and…"
He trailed off, shrugging his shoulders, not quite knowing how to fully describe it.
"Blue?" said Tom shortly, glowering at him. "You mean you actually saw it, and you didn't tell me until now?"
Harry blinked at him, taken aback. "I thought you had realized that I did-"
"How could I have known!" thundered Tom angrily, shooting him a poisonous glare.
"I told you to let it free," said Harry with exasperation, rolling his eyes. "Why would I have told you that if I hadn't seen it already? I saw it first in the cottage, Tom! I said that because I knew you could do it, don't you see?"
"I see now," griped Tom churlishly, before his eyes narrowed to slits. "So your Magic-sight ability has grown stronger-"
"Or you have," cut in Harry coolly, as he then cocked his head to a side. "Well, we both might have, since I saw my magic too." He beamed proudly at him. "Mine is red, blood red and hot, but very beautiful too, in my opinion."
"Your magic?" Tom stared at him, looking utterly surprised, incredulous, and even disconcerted, as if he had never imagined that Harry would be capable of such things, which Harry found quite insulting – they were both Slytherin's Heirs, after all, not just Tom.
His brother apparently got over the shock in the next moment, and Tom narrowed his eyes at him as he hissed out furiously, "Then why didn't you use it, you imbecile!"
"I didn't know how!" said Harry grumpily, throwing his arms up into the air. "I'm not like you, Tom. You controlled your accidental magic when we were little children, I didn't-"
"Yes, you did," snapped Tom impatiently. "Or have you forgotten how you-"
"I apparated away from Dennis Bishop," interjected Harry with much frustration, "and blew up the windows of Mrs. Sharpe's office without even realizing what I was doing, brother! I wasn't aware, I wasn't directing my magic-"
"I don't mean those," interrupted Tom irritably. "I meant the times you did control it on purpose." He shot him a snide look. "When you made Billy Stubb's stupid rabbit do flips in the air and dance, to entertain your silly little friends, when you summoned toys to your hands when you wanted them, when you made a flower bloom to impress the muggle couple that wanted to adopt you, and when you made your hair grow, you halfwit!"
Harry gaped, before he snorted disparagingly. "Those don't count! They were small things, done for fun. Not impressive, useful stuff like the things you can do!"
"The principle behind all those things is the same, you twit!" snarled Tom, looking aggravated beyond measure. "You wanted those things to happen, on whatever level of awareness, so they did! That's all it takes, awareness and willpower – you have to really desire it, in order to focus your magic into doing what you want it to do. That's all!"
Harry stared at him, utterly astonished, before he muttered dubiously, "Are you sure?"
"Of course I'm sure!" bit out Tom mordantly, shooting him a scathing look. "Fine, I'll help you practice." A gleam of calculation glinted in his eyes as his gaze roved over Harry, before he added firmly, "Yes, it could be of great help to both of us. We'll both practice until we fully master it. It's decided."
And somehow, Harry realized, the conversation he had initiated in the hopes of discouraging his brother from his mad plans, ended up in another commitment of learning just one more type of magic, of gaining one more type of power, all for Tom's ambitions.
It was then when he began to deeply fear that, despite his initial optimism, Tom was like an unstoppable force, too sure in his convictions and desires to be able to be moved into another way of thinking and other worthier goals.
It was from then onwards when Harry began to despair from time to time, in between bouts of self-encouraging reassurances that if anyone could mold Tom into being something except a murderous Dark Lord, it could only be him.
But somehow, every little ruse he attempted ended in giving Tom more tools.
Nothing felt or was the same after Norway and the promise he had given to his brother.
Beleaguered, it shamed and horrified him, to desire that his brother was someone else, someone easier to deal with and manage than Tom.
Harry felt he couldn't cope, that he was out of his depth. He wished Tom had never told him about his desire to become a Dark Lord, wished he could remain blissfully ignorant and deluded about the harsh reality of it.
But it was what parentless brothers did -wasn't it?- to care about the wellbeing, both mental and physical, of each other. It was a duty, yet done out of love, and Harry was horrified that it was weighing so heavily on his shoulders, like a yoke, like shackles chaining him forever to Tom, because of that second when he had agreed, when he had given his tacit promise, which had bound him in a commitment that lasted a lifetime, he knew well.
Harry felt bitter resentment at times: that he had taken upon himself the role of being Tom's handler, because it was so obviously needed and now he couldn't change his mind and just drop his brother. That he had that responsibility from then onwards, till they both died, since it was clear that Tom couldn't be convinced to be anything other than a Dark Lord. That Tom had decided that future for them, and for the good of all concerned, Harry had no other choice but to stick to his brother's side to prevent Tom from going too far.
Other times, he felt guilty for resenting his brother. Because Tom, in his own way, no matter how nasty, had always taken care of him, and now it was his turn to do the same. That it was so impossibly difficult, that he despaired so much, was no excuse.
Nevertheless, Harry had never felt such a pressing responsibility before. Not only responsible for another person, but for that person's actions, because Tom needed to be controlled as best as Harry could manage. Because without it, he blanched in thinking just what Tom was capable of doing if not reined in, if there wasn't someone always there to make him see matters in a different light.
It all left Harry exhausted and depressed.
He needed to regroup, he needed some time of peace and solace in which to gather himself back into some measure of clear-headedness and fortitude and strength. He needed to be able to ponder at leisure and finally discover what to do, how to carry the onerous duty without letting it weigh down on him and crush him.
Indeed, it had been affecting him so much that his temper became very short-fused. He had even blown a gasket at poor Alphard several times. Though his friend seemed to understand at least where part of it was coming from, and bore it all with infinite patience and good cheer.
"We'll find the Chamber of Secrets, you'll see," Alphard said to him, his tone perky and reassuring, as he patted him on the back. He chuckled as he winked playfully. "How can The Three Musketeers, fail, eh?" He shot Harry a bright smile, as he added eagerly, "And then I can tell my parents about you!"
Harry blinked at him. "Um, Al. I'm still a halfblood, at best. I don't think your dad will be too thrilled about that-"
"Tosh," said Alphard, waving a hand dismissively before he toothily grinned at him. "Being a descendant of Salazar Slytherin trumps it all, Harry! And once it's known for certain in Slytherin House, I can tell my dad, and I'm sure my parents will see things my way." His big grey eyes grew large with enthusiasm as he rushed out, "And then I can invite you over for holidays and you'll stay with me and I'll show around my house and all my toys and stuff! You'll love it – we'll have so much fun! We can spend the whole hols playing Quidditch!"
Harry found himself sharing his best friend's excitement for a moment, and fondly smiled at him.
Though such reprieves didn't last for long, particularly when Tom had received the latest of Alice's newspapers clippings, with the news that Neville Chamberlain had resigned and Winston Churchill had become the new Primer Minister.
That had given Harry some hope as he remembered that that muggle had been the one always warning the public about the danger in allowing German rearmament, warnings which had now been proven to be prophetic.
Two weeks later, he found the Prewetts twins discussing the subject.
"Nearly had to run for their lives!" Felix was guffawing, as Harry began to realize what it was all about.
The Daily Prophet had only said that Minister Marchbanks had paid a visit to the new Muggle Prime Minister, as bound to do by one of Dumbledore's laws that had been passed by the Wizengamot some time ago. Especially in cases of war, or trouble in the Wizarding World that spilled over to the muggle one, and affected them, there had to be a greater integrity between both, with wizarding leaders informing and working along, as best as possible, with the muggles' top leader.
"What happened?" pressed Harry worriedly.
"Well, Marchbanks took our cousin along for the visit," said Felicity as she released a weary sigh. "Thought Ignatius would prove invaluable in handling the muggle since Marchbanks had heard that Churchill is quite an ill-tempered curmudgeon…"
Harry blinked in surprise and then nodded in understanding. Ignatius Prewett had been the one who had given him all that information that had allowed him to find Robert Hutchins in Norway. Of course that Gravius Marchbanks couldn't have known about it, but it was the twins' cousin who had spent a whole day with Winston Churchill, polyjuiced as one of the muggle's aides.
Certainly, Marchbanks had only chosen Ignatius because of the young wizard's position in the Ministry of Magic, working under the twins' father – the Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation. From what Harry had always heard, Ignatius' job often took him to many other countries, in which he had to deal with many foreign muggle officials. And the young wizard had the reputation of being quite a smooth diplomat and the best in handling clueless muggles.
"When Marchbanks and our cousin began to explain about the Wizarding World," continued Felicity, her beautiful mismatched eyes growing wide and distressed, as she gestured with her hands, "Churchill nearly killed Marchbanks!"
"Killed?" breathed out Harry, baffled.
Felix chortled, looking vastly amused. "The muggle thought they were a hoax from the opposition – hurled a bottle of scotch at Marchbanks, he did! Ignatius wrote that if it had struck Marchbanks, it could as well have cracked his skull open!"
"It isn't funny!" snapped Felicity bristling, before she eyed Harry with sorrow on her face. "It all went horribly wrong, Harry. Everything they told Churchill only made the muggle become more enraged, especially when he realized that the Germans were being led by one of our kind."
"But," interjected Harry worriedly, "didn't they tell Churchill that it was a Dark Lord causing all these troubles?"
"They tried!" replied Felicity in a high-pitch of anxiousness. "But it seems that the muggle didn't quite understand at first." She huffed irritably. "Thought that 'Lord' meant some crazed aristocrat –like the lords the muggles have, you see?- that was causing trouble with the muggles for the sake of it!"
"And when he did understand," piped in Felix, sniggering under his breath, "he was even more livid. Raging about wizards meddling in politics, pulling the strings of those two other muggle blokes, the German and Russian ones –what were their names?"
"Hitler and Stalin, you mean?" supplied Harry hastily, his hands fretting on his lap.
"Yes," said Felicity firmly. "But of course, Ignatius explained that we have no reason to believe that the Dark Lord is controlling the Russian muggle - just the German one."
"Churchill didn't like that one bit," interjected Felix, looking puzzled now. "Apparently he would have liked to hear that the Stalin chap wasn't acting out of his own accord or that some wizard was frying his brains, or who knows what-"
"But it was the American one he was more interested in, demanding to know if some wizard was also controlling him," interrupted Felicity, lowering her voice as her eyes widened with apprehension. "It seems Churchill has been constantly writing to the American Minister Goosebelt-"
"President," said Harry distractedly, his mind spinning. "They have presidents over there. And it's Roosevelt."
"Are you sure?" Felicity frowned at him, before she shook her head. "No, I'm quite certain Ignatius said he is called Goosebelt."
"Well, never mind," said Harry, waving a hand dismissively before he leaned forward, his gaze piercing and intense as he then urged, "So what about him?"
"The issue is that Churchill has been writing to the bloke a lot, asking for the Americans' help, and it appears that Goosebelt is refusing to get his country involved in a war that he sees as a European conflict that America has nothing to do with," replied Felix with a roll of his eyes. "And Churchill thought it was all our fault – that some wizard had to be meddling with Goosebelt's head or something."
"And when Marchbanks and our cousin explained that there was no indication of that," said Felicity uneasily, "Churchill went mental – full blown howling mad! – raging and roaring and hurling things!"
"It is funny if you think 'bout it," pointed out Felix with a chuckle.
Felicity scowled at her twin, as she snapped, "There's nothing amusing in the fact that Marchbanks and Ignatius had to run for the lives!"
"Hang on," said Harry quickly, eyeing them nonplussed. "What happened – exactly?"
"Churchill tried to get them captured!" huffed Felicity angrily. "It seems he blamed us for the whole war –as if decent wizards and witches have anything to do with the Dark Lord! He said that if one of us had caused the war, it was our duty to end it. That he wasn't putting any more of his soldiers' lives on the line if wizards didn't cooperate with the Muggle British Army."
"Our cousin began explaining about the Statute of Secrecy," piped in Felix who was still sniggering, "but the muggle couldn't have cared less. By then, according to Ignatius, the muggle was in such a towering ill temper and so enraged by the whole affair that he began bellowing, calling for his aides-"
"His members of cabinet were loitering around nearby, it seems," interrupted Felicity with a most put upon expression on her pretty face. "And they all came rushing in as Churchill kept hollering that Marchbanks and Ignatius had to be taken prisoners."
Harry gaped at her. "Whatever for?"
"Ignatius thinks," replied Felicity with a heavy sigh, "that Churchill wanted to take them hostage, to force our Ministry of Magic to back the Muggle British Army. It seems Churchill was set on having 'magical soldiers', as the muggle called it, fighting alongside his soldiers."
"It all came to nothing, of course," said Felix with an amused grin on his face. "Marchbanks and Ignatius obliviated them all and then apparated out of there as fast as they could."
"So now," said Harry slowly with a frown on his face, "Churchill remembers nothing? He doesn't even know about what's truly happening in the war?" He shot the twins a distressed look. "And the Americans aren't going to help?"
"Not the muggle ones, it seems," murmured Felicity somberly, before she marginally perked up. "But you must have noticed how Dumbledore has been missing from meals in the Great Hall during the weekends. He's been visiting the Union of Wands and Staffs of the Americas." She beamed proudly. "He was one of the key mediators in the negotiations for its formation. And there are countless of important wizards over there who owe him favors." She leaned forward as she added in a secretive whisper, her beautiful eyes shinning hopefully, "I think Dumbledore will manage it. I think he'll convince them to help wizarding Britain against the Dark Lord."
Harry wasted no time in going straight to his brother after that, retelling everything that the Prewetts twins had told him as he paced in their dormitory, highly anxious.
"We're doomed," he concluded gloomily as he flopped down on his bed.
"Pessimism from you, little brother?" intoned Tom loftily, who was seated at his desk, having been working on some research of his own when Harry had come careening into the room. He gave him a taunting smirk. "How very refreshing."
Harry shot him a dirty look, before his shoulders slumped and he said sullenly, "We need the Americans' help. More importantly, Churchill needs the muggle Americans." He gave his brother a look of sheer misery. "How is muggle Britain supposed to stand up to the Nazis, now that they've nearly conquered the whole of Europe!"
"Americans?" scoffed out Tom scornfully. "It's not the Americans who can stop Hitler, you idiot. It's the Russians."
"The Russians?" Harry stared at him uncomprehendingly, before he snapped angrily, "The Russians are on the Dark Lord's side, they are his supporters!"
"I meant the muggle Russians," pointed out Tom acerbically.
Harry's eyebrows shot upwards. "The Soviets?" He shook his head as he muttered sharply, "But you've always said that Stalin and Hitler must have a secret pact between them. And after the way they conquered Poland together and split it amongst themselves-"
"Oh, I have little doubt that they do have a secret pact," interjected Tom impatiently, before he shot him a wide smirk, "but how long do you think something like that will last? Both Stalin and Hitler have the same ambitions, to conquer as much of the world as possible to make it theirs to spread their ideologies. Ideologies," he remarked poignantly, shooting Harry an annoyed look for his apparent lack of thought, "that are complete opposites. Hitler and Stalin are natural enemies, you twit!" He waved a hand dismissively, as he added as an afterthought, "I'm certain that even as we speak, the Dark Lord is already beginning to urge Hitler to turn against Stalin."
Harry stared at him gobsmacked. "What? Why?"
Tom narrowed his eyes at him. "You tell me why. Don't you remember what I said about Russia when we were little?"
Harry blinked, his eyes then widening with understanding. It had been one of those times in which he had felt very proud of being a Brit, when Alice had been teaching the boys of the orphanage about the Napoleonic Wars and how it had been two Englishmen, Wellington and Nelson, who had defeated Napoleon.
Back then, Tom had been tutoring Harry after lessons with Alice, so that the knowledge would stick. Though his brother had had a vastly different view on the matter, scornfully alleging that Nelson hadn't even been a blip in Napoleon's map. That Napoleon had been a General who conquered by land and couldn't have cared two figs about some English Admiral sinking French ships at sea. That Napoleon's mistake had been to attempt to conquer Russia, and that it had been the sly genius tactics of the Czar's Minister of War and those of General Kutuzov that had bested Napoleon in the end. That by the time Wellington had defeated Napoleon in the Battle of Waterloo, Napoleon had already been defeated by the Russians, whom had left him with nothing but one fourth of his armies, no matter how their countrymen loved to take the credit when saying that England, Nelson, and Lord Wellington had been the ones to stop Napoleon.
"You said that Russia cannot be conquered," said Harry slowly as the recollections flooded his mind. "That its land is too vast, its people too many, its supply of soldiers endless, its winter too long and harsh." He frowned at his brother. "But then, why do you say that the Dark Lord wants his Nazi puppets to turn against the Soviets?"
"Because he doesn't want the Nazis to win in the end, obviously," bit out Tom, shooting him a disdainful look. "I thought you had realized that by now."
Harry stared at him, flabbergasted. "You mean, he's setting them to fail?"
"Of course, you fool!" spat Tom with vexed exasperation. "Why would Grindelwald want to deal with a muggle empire? Why would he leave them having so much power? More and more, I'm convinced it is all about the artifact."
Astonished, Harry blinked at him. "The stone thingy?"
"No, you lamebrain," sneered Tom contemptuously. "That doesn't even exist, I'm sure – Grindelwald must have been lying to Dumbledore, to trick him. I mean the Jews' artifact –whatever it is."
"So," said Harry slowly, his mind spinning, trying to make sense out of what his brother was saying, his eyebrows increasingly climbing upwards, "you think all this war-" he gestured wildly with his hands "-is just a ruse, intended to confuse, while the Dark Lord is going about trying to find the Jew artifact?"
"Precisely," drawled Tom placidly, looking mightily self-satisfied.
"Well," said Harry, not quite knowing what to say as he gazed at his brother with appalled and horrified wide green eyes.
"It must be something superb," Tom stated as his dark blue eyes gleamed with feverish greed.
"Sure," mumbled Harry, though he felt nothing but sheer distress, because it was sounding more and more like the artifact could only be a weapon of some sort.
It all seemed to go from bad to worse, to outright abysmal. Problems and dangers were piling up faster than Harry count even count or wrap his mind around, much less deal with.
Furthermore, it seemed that Tom was right and it was all about the artifacts. Which in turn meant that Tom had also been right in his decision of wanting them to get the artifacts before either Dumbledore or Grindelwald could – even if Harry had no idea how they could possibly manage that.
With everything going on, few were the sources of joy in those days. And strangely enough, Harry found himself enjoying more and more his monthly duty of letting the Grey Lady posses him so that she could experience the 'pleasures of the living'.
Twice, he had spent two full Sundays swimming lazily in the Black Lake, until she had insisted she wanted to take a peek at Hogsmeade.
It had been easily carried out, as Harry employed Alphard's help in getting Charlus' Invisibility Cloak once more, to then tag along with the upper year students in one of their Hogsmeade weekends.
Thankfully, the Grey Lady had been wise enough to not speak to him in his mind. Harry was certain that if Alphard saw him apparently talking to himself, the boy would have carted him off to the Infirmary post-haste. Alphard seemed to have become even more concerned about Harry lately, always asking if he was well, always reassuring him, always glancing at him.
That boy likes you, said the Grey Lady's voice, sounding amused, the instant that Harry had parted ways with Alphard when returning from their much-enjoyed trip to Hogsmeade, their pockets filled with chocolates and candies.
"Course he does," said Harry dismissively. "He's my best friend."
No, said the ghost's voice with what sounded like a roll of the eyes, I mean that he really likes you.
Harry blinked at empty space, before he said slowly, "Um, yeah, because we're friends. Duh."
I mean, she began in a sharp, impatient tone of voice, before she paused and then added sounding exasperated, Oh, never mind! You're such an oblivious child. If I hadn't told you what those girls had been gossiping about, you would not have even noticed!
"I would have!" snapped Harry, aggravated.
It had been during the previous occasion of 'Possession Day' -when the ghost of Helena Ravenclaw had wanted to experience through him a normal school day- that she had pointed out that he was gathering quite a 'following', as she had put it.
Oh, Harry had indeed seen people shooting him glances, girls giggling as he passed by, whispering amongst themselves, giving him very weird looks accompanied by fluttering eyelashes and blushes. At all that, Harry couldn't have been any more flummoxed.
When the Grey Lady had forced him to pay attention, he had finally overheard some of the bizarre comments.
"… did you know he had eyes like those? How come we never noticed before?"
"He used to wear those horrible, ghastly eyeglasses, didn't he? That must be why. Who knew he was hiding such pretty eyes behind them?"
Harry had bristled indignantly at that. His eyes were not 'pretty' - pretty was for girls, not blokes!
"… say, he does look yummy now. As handsome as his twin, I dare say..."
"Oh no, Tom Riddle is something else." A deep, worshipful sigh had accompanied the remark. "Tom is so smart, so charming, so gallant, so tall and handsome-"
"I've heard that Harry's nice too, and that he's excellent in Defense Against the Dark Arts and Charms-"
"Not Charms, surely! I've heard he falls asleep in class now with the new professor…"
Harry had scowled and glared at the girls at that, though they didn't seem to have even noticed as they kept gigging and gossiping and shooting him coy looks. Though there wasn't much he could say in his defense.
By then, the Ministry of Magic had finally declared Tilly Toke as presumed dead and Headmaster Dippet had brought an old witch out of retirement to impart the Charms lessons.
What had been one of his favorite classes became the most boring. Gone were the days when they practiced charms and used them to levitate each other in class or play a game of Badminton or some such thing as they had done with Tilly Toke. The new teacher stuck with the textbooks, making them first read the chapters and write whole paragraphs down, before spending just a few minutes in the actual practice part of the lesson.
"I've heard he's a bit daft, though-"
"I wouldn't care if he was a complete dunce, with looks like those. Do you think I can get him to ask me to the Yule Ball?"
Harry had ended up glowering darkly at them before packing up his things and leaving the room in a high dudgeon.
Nevertheless, he had finally discovered why his scar had been hurting at all times for no apparent reason, as if something was constantly irritating his brother.
Indeed, he noticed the coincidence that it was when Tom was with him and they crossed path with some gaggle of gossipy girls giggling and whispering about his 'beautiful green eyes' or 'emerald limpid pools' or some such sappy rubbish, that his scar would flare and prickle.
And that was rich! Because it was Tom who had always insulted his eyeglasses, who wanted him to get rid of them when he had taken that horrible eyesight-correcting potion as Dorea Black had demanded. And Harry was still raw about having lost his eyeglasses in Norway. They had been Alice's gift to him and he still missed them terribly.
And Tom was now evidently annoyed that people were noticing that he wasn't wearing glasses anymore. Really, he couldn't understand his brother at all, sometimes.
You're leaving soon, said the Grey Lady's voice as they approached the corridor of the Room of Requirements, pulling Harry out of his recollections.
Harry said nothing as he paced up and down in front of that small stretch of wall that he saw covered with a lattice of Rowena Ravenclaw's yellow and blue magic, letting the Grey Lady envision what she wanted the Room of Requirements to appear like.
Once inside -as always an endless grassland with a beautiful, rumbling creek, surrounded by some trees and the sound of chirping birds- Harry nearly buckled when the ghost floated out of him.
She didn't look much better, more translucent than normal, almost as if she was about to disappear altogether. Harry knew that possession took a lot out of her.
The ghost floated slowly, as if giving herself time to regroup some modicum of strength and energy, before she halted by the stream, turning her face around to gaze at him. "When are you leaving?"
"The Hogwarts Express leaves in two days," said Harry, not being able to hide his joy and excitement.
A couple of days ago, they had finished their end of term examinations. Harry thought he had done rather well in all subjects, given that Tom had tutored him incessantly. Alphard was also sure his results would be good since the boy had counted with his aunt's help. Dorea Black seemed to be of the same mind as Tom, and had been helping Alphard with his study whenever she could.
Furthermore, it was the news that he had received in those days that made him so keen and eager to return to London as soon as possible.
The envelope he had received from Alice had been very thick, showing that it contained two letters and not just one.
Harry had read Alice's first, immediately alarmed when he had seen watery smudges in the ink. Yet he soon realized that they hadn't been caused by tears of grief and wretchedness, but of joy. Throughout her letter, Alice rambled and gushed as she informed him that Robert Hutchins was back from the war.
Harry had only been able to understand more when he had read Hutchins' letter, revealing that the man had stayed for two months in a hospital in an army base in England, before he had been deemed as healthy as he would ever get.
…I remember some doctor telling me I was having hallucinations, because of my fever, but having imagined seeing your face lent me strength. It gave me hope that I would live to see it again, for real...
Harry knew that when he had read that he must have been grinning like a loon, his chest swelling with pleasure and pride, but above all, such affection that he couldn't wait to see the muggle.
Even though not everything was good news according to Robert Hutchins. Some officer of the British Army had paid him a visit in the hospital, commending his bravery in the front yet informing him that due to his new physical condition, he was being released from army duty.
Hutchins sounded bitter, even though he downplayed his condition by writing he only had a limp. And Harry realized that the bullet wound in the man's leg he had so desperately tried to heal, the one with gangrene that he had done his best to cure with potions, had made the man a cripple.
Oh, it wasn't all that bad, Harry understood the more he read. Hutchins just needed a cane to walk and move around. But he was no longer fit to be a soldier and that seemed to weigh heavily on Robert Hutchins.
Alice, on the other hand, seemed to be over the moon, now that there was no chance that Hutchins could try to make it back to the warfront. In that, Harry wholeheartedly agreed with her.
All his idealized notions about the bravery, honor, and heroic patriotism involved in war had died in Norway, and if it was a crippled leg what was required for Hutchins to stay put in England, Harry was all for it.
Moreover, the best parts of Alice and Hutchins' letters were when they announced that they were getting married at long last.
…in four days after you boys arrive from your boarding school. We wanted to make sure you would attend, as it will take place in our neighborhood's parish.
We even have a special spot reserved for you, since as soon Alice and I tie the knot, we'll be singing the papers for adoption. Remember, keep the secret, though, until we can contrive a way in which to tell your brother.
I rather only you and I take care of that, Harry, as I know that your brother's certain refusal will only make Alice sad and she would fret terribly. But I know I can count on you to make your brother see that we want him as a son in truth, and I'm sure Alice and I will make the best of parents for you both.
It's our deepest wish.
It all made Harry so deliriously happy that he constantly day-dreamed about it. He could see it clearly: coming out of King's Cross Station, running towards Alice Jones and Robert Hutchins, being lifted from the ground as the couple embraced him together, and they all took off, with Tom of course, to the cottage in Southend-on-the-Sea that Hutchins had finally bought, next to Old John's.
Indeed, after having read their letters, Harry still felt he was dancing on clouds, despite his brother's attitude.
"They are getting married," Tom had sneered snidely when he had read the letter addressed to him. "Wonderful. Just what the world needs, two more filthy muggles procreating."
Yet now, as Harry gazed at the Grey Lady and the sadness on her face, he offered gently, "I could take you to London with me, if you want."
Helena Ravenclaw's expression turned sour. "I'm bound to Hogwarts. As you know, I cannot leave the walls of the castle."
"I mean," said Harry with a heavy sigh, "that I wouldn't mind if I was possessed by you during the holidays." He gave her a bright smile. "That way, we could spend the holidays together, and I can show you my orphanage and we can even go to muggle London to have some fun, if you like. Things must have changed a lot since your times."
The smile the Grey Lady gave him was a brittle one, as she lifted an ethereal hand to touch his arm. Harry didn't mind as the touch turned needy, and insistent, and caressing. He knew that, for some reason, only he -and Santi too, he remembered- could be touched by ghosts. And the Grey Lady was always doing that to him every chance she had.
"I wish I could," she murmured quietly as her hand crept to cup his face tenderly. "But I do not have the strength to posses you for so long." She dropped her hand from his face, her features contorting with rage, as she spat, "Possessing you for just one day a month already debilitates me too much! I can feel it-" she angrily patted her chest, as if wanting to claw something out of it "-something weakening every time I posses you!"
She shot him a bitter, seething look, as if somehow he had let her down due to it. Nevertheless, Harry took no offense. By then, he was well used to the illogical twists of her mind and her unbalanced temper. If he had been a ghost for over a thousand years perhaps he would be as barmy as her, after all.
Harry couldn't do anything more for her except the offer he had given, and thus left her in the Room of Requirements, looking glum and forlorn.
The day after, before the End of Term Feast in the Great Hall, all Second Year Slytherins took a turn in going to their Head of House's office. They were required to discuss with Horace Slughorn the electives they would be choosing for their Third Year.
Instantly, Harry had happily made his two choices: Ancient Runes –which he would be glad to learn from a professor at long last- and Care of Magical Creatures, which had become an elective in Hogwarts' curriculum some time ago when the Wizengamot had passed one of Dumbledore's Laws, and which he still had no intention of dropping.
It was that Law, as well, which also made a class of 'Muggle Studies' the new, revolutionizing elective, to be taught at Hogwarts for the first time in history. Though not for Tom, who had unsurprisingly chosen to take all electives except that one - heavy schedule for Third Year that Horace Slughorn had been more than proud to approve, as he gushed about Tom's 'unparalleled brilliance' and hard-working and studious discipline, as his brother later told him with an arrogant smirk.
"You chose Ancient Runes too, right?" Alphard immediately demanded the moment Harry stepped out of Slughorn's office, pouncing on him in the middle of the dungeon's empty corridor. "I'm only taking it because you said you were – that way we'll get a chance to spend some more time together." He scrunched his nose, not looking too pleased. "Even if it is in class."
"I'm taking it," reassured Harry before they had to enter their common room, and thus part ways so that no one could suspect their true friendship. He rolled his eyes. "Slughorn looked surprised that I wanted to, but said it was fine."
Alphard looked mightily relieved at that, and beamed brightly at him, before they each went their own way.
Tom's sentiments about the matter were quite different when Harry went back to their dorm to pack his trunk, as his brother took the opportunity of being alone in the room.
"You're the one who has been studying Ancient Runes all this while," snapped Tom impatiently, "so you should already know as much as you need."
Harry shot him a surprised look. "I thought you would be pleased that I chose the Ancient Runes elective." He then scowled at him, feeling very surly. "You're always harping about how I should be studying a lot more-"
"Of course I'm pleased," snapped Tom irritably, as he paused mid way in laying a neatly folded set of robes in his trunk. "But that's just the very least you could do." His face darkened with ill-temper, as his eyes narrowed. "What I meant is that you should already be solving the issue of how to disable our Traces."
Harry dropped the books he had in his hands, gaping, before he spat angrily, "That was your task!"
"Not anymore," griped Tom acerbically. "Now it's yours, since you're the one who discovered a way to-"
"Exactly!" said Harry heatedly, crossing his arms over his chest. "I'm the one who figured out that it's ancient wards that mess with the magic of the Trace Charm. I've done enough with that alone, I'm not putting that on my plate too – it's your duty not mine!"
Harry had begun suspecting that his brother was pilling so much stuff on his plate, making him spend almost all his time with him, precisely because he didn't want him to have time left for Alphard. After all, Tom hadn't succeeded in forcing him to drop his best friend, so he could be employing slier and more underhanded methods, the prat.
"Then we'll work together," hissed out Tom acidly, carefully placing the last of his possessions into his trunk and locking it shut. "I will not do all the work alone, you slob!"
"Slob? That's rich coming from you!" snapped Harry indignantly, as he crouched to pick up his books to then wave them angrily in front of his brother's face in recrimination. "I'm the one doing everything, while you do what?"
"I research," said Tom flatly, his eyes narrowing.
"Oh, I see," retorted Harry peevishly, briskly stuffing the books in his trunk. "If that's what you've being doing, then you should know by now what the Jews' artifact is." He shot him a hard, challenging look, as he violent slammed his trunk shut. "So do you?"
"No," said Tom shortly, his eyes now mere slits.
"Right – what I thought," bit out Harry hotly, as he pointed an accusing finger at him. "You're still spending much of your time scribbling who knows what in your stupid diary!" He scowled at him. "You could at least tell me what it's all about!"
"None of your damn business, you twerp," said Tom mordantly. "Now shut your gob and go pester someone else!"
"Fine, I'm leaving - just because I'm done packing and Nagini is waiting for me," groused out Harry grumpily, glowering at him. "But if I'll take care of the Ancient Runes bit, you'll take care of finding out how wards are made – got that?"
"Very well," sneered Tom acidly, before he narrowed his eyes at him and added sharply, "You cannot be planning on taking Nagini with us-"
Harry huffed at that. "I already told her we were leaving for the holidays and she wouldn't hear about coming along! She refuses to leave the Forbidden Forest."
And her harem of worshipful male snakes, but no need to tell Tom that. At least it seemed that Nagini's constant attempts at mating weren't bearing fruits, since the few Saturdays Harry had paid her a visit she had grown only in length and not girth, much to his profound relief. He certainly didn't want to have to deal with a bunch of mini Naginis, on top of everything else.
"You should come with me to say goodbye," Harry then pointed out angrily. "You've never gone to see her, and she misses you."
Although Nagini hadn't quite put it that way, but rather hissed a whole volley of ill-tempered and crude insults about Tom, for his lack of attention and interest in how she was faring.
Harry rather suspected that she wanted to smugly parade around her admirers for Tom's benefit. And he was sure that something like that wouldn't end well.
Tom didn't visit her, but certainly still felt that Nagini was his and he her master. And as possessive as Tom was with Nagini, if he heard or saw that she was mating… Well, Nagini obviously hadn't thought it through, because Harry was certain that Tom's reaction and the consequences for her wouldn't be good.
"Perhaps next term if I have the time," Tom retorted dismissively.
"Do what you like," said Harry crisply, before he turned heel and made his way to the door.
"Harry."
His brother's voice was quiet and hesitant, the latter so uncharacteristic that it made Harry halt with hand on doorknob as he glanced back at him. "What?"
Tom approached him until they were in front of each other. "We shouldn't be going to London."
Harry scowled fiercely at that. "You already went to see Headmaster Dippet –behind my back, I might add- to ask him if we could stay at Hogwarts for the holidays. And he said no. He won't bend the rules for you, and that's that."
"That only proves how much of a fool he is!" spat Tom, his face contorting with rage before he sneered contemptuously, "Even Dumbledore sees how risky it is!"
Coming back from the Headmaster's office, Tom had told him what had happened, clearly because he had been seething with fury at being refused, because Tom had certainly not told Harry about his intentions beforehand.
Indeed, Harry had felt most betrayed at his brother's attempt, since Tom knew how important it was for him to return to London, to be there for Alice's and Robert Hutchins' wedding.
Nevertheless, the point was that before entering the Headmaster's office, Tom had heard that Albus Dumbledore was with Dippet, in the midst of a heated argument with the Headmaster, apparently trying to convince Dippet that Hogwarts should remain open during the summer holidays and that students –muggleborns above all- should be allowed to remain.
From the smidgens of conversation that Tom had managed to eavesdrop, before the wizards had noticed that there was a student outside the door, it seemed that Dippet didn't want to incur in the costs that keeping Hogwarts opened and staffed represented, insisting that the Minister of Magic's measure of sending Aurors to patrol the corridors of the Hogwarts Express was enough to protect students till arriving to King's Cross Station and their parents.
"Harry," insisted Tom, his voice quiet and entreating once more in a visible restrain of his temper, "we shouldn't be going to London."
Harry gazed at him in silence.
It sometimes seemed to him that Tom was being as careful with him as Harry was being with Tom, both of them tiptoeing around each other. Though it had to be for vastly different reasons than Harry's, since it certainly wasn't Harry who had the mad scheme of becoming a Dark Lord.
So Harry didn't bloody well understand what Tom had to be anxious about regarding him. The gall of it all, as if Harry was the difficult and problematic one, who needed to be treated with a delicate touch!
"I'm going," he finally huffed out, glowering at him.
"Then I suppose I have no other choice," groused Tom crisply, his expression darkening, "but to go with you."
"I would like that," said Harry flatly. "Just as I would like for you to be in Alice's and Hutchins' wedding." His brother's face turned sour and then nasty at that, but Harry was quick to add waspishly, "But then again, we aren't joined by the hip, brother. You do whatever the hell you want."
"Harry!" someone was yelling, shaking him violently. "Wake up, you idiot!"
With a start, Harry jerked awake so suddenly that he nearly toppled out of his seat in the Hogwarts Express' compartment.
Rubbing his bleary eyes and regaining his balance, he placidly stretched as he yawned out, "Have we arrived?"
"Look, you fool!" spat Tom at him, who was standing in the middle of their compartment, pointing a finger at the window.
It was then when Harry noticed all the loud voices ringing in the train, the cries of distress, the wails of fear, the roars of Aurors.
"ALL STUDENTS REMAIN IN YOUR COMPARTMENTS!" some Auror boomed just then, as the rushing of feet outside in the corridor became increasingly louder.
Blinking, puzzled, Harry slid across the seats and took a peek through the window. His eyes flew wide and his face paled in an instant.
The train was reaching King's Cross Station, but the skyline was filled with smoke. He could see buildings blazing with fire, others crumbling, and the distant flashes of light and sounds of explosions, and cries of a city under attack.
"It began just now," Tom bit out, before he rounded on Harry like a seething rattlesnake. "I told you we should have gone anywhere else but London! I knew this would happen!"
Harry couldn't stop looking as he caught sight of the countless black blurs darting in the sky, and with green eyes enormous with fear, he choked under his breath in horror, "The Luftwaffe."
"Grindelwald is finally attacking England," snarled Tom like an irate beast, skewering Harry with his furious gaze. "And now, dear brother, what?"
