A/N:
chang is based off of my sister, who is great fun and told me that her character is not accurate enough, to which i responded that if i had chang act exactly like her, not only would it be furthering the surrealism of the time period i don't really adhere to, but also no one would pay attention to anything else because she's so distracting lmfao. so she's there mostly for my own amusement and minor comic relief, in case anyone was wondering!
samantha, if you ever finally get around to reading this, this is a shout out :)
On Saturday morning, everyone receives their schedules along with breakfast in the Great Hall. Tom scans the list. Still no classes with Ravenclaw. Potions with the Slytherins, and Herbology with the Hufflepuffs like usual. Harry's eyes linger on the spaces where their Potions classes are outlined on his sheet of parchment, a tiny crease marring his forehead alongside the ever-present scar.
Tom rolls up his own schedule and stuffs it into his bag. He will keep Harry safe and free of trouble. He will keep his promises of providing a better school year and a bright future. He will continue to pave his way to power. Reassured by his mental mantra, Tom breathes out his stress, turning his focus to the ongoing conversation.
"Where's Leo?" Septimus asks. "He said he'd be right down with us."
"He got a letter from his mum," Harry says. "Maybe he needed to answer right away."
Macmillan looks over at the large doors at the back of the hall. "All the best food will be gone if he doesn't hurry up. So many firsties this year."
"More marking for the professors," Annalise adds with a frown.
"So they'll be more irate than they already are during exams," Chang interjects with a scoff. "Wonderful."
"Speaking of exams," Macmillan says. "Your brothers got their OWLs this summer, didn't they? Septimus? Annalise? How'd they fare?"
"Nathaniel got what he wanted," Septimus says vaguely. "He's pursuing spell creation once he graduates at the end of next year."
"Hard to break into that," Macmillan says. He spears a sausage onto his plate before he adds, "And you, Annalise?"
"Sebastian did very well," Annalise says. "Our parents were very proud of him."
Chang leans in. "Is he following the family business? Your father exports healing potions, doesn't he?"
"It's all they talk about," Annalise says, voice light. Her smile appears strained, though it's likely no one else outside their friend group will have noticed.
"Lucrative," Chang says, nodding. "Maybe I'll go into healing!"
"It's not an easy path," Septimus tells her. "My brother had to do years of training at St. Mungo's before he was qualified to treat even minor cuts and bruises. Too much risk with mistakes."
"I could do it," Chang retorts. Then she gazes around the table, mouth slanted in challenge. "Anyone here think I couldn't?"
"You'll do anything if someone tells you not to or that you can't," Macmillan says. "Why don't you find a better hobby?"
"I'd be better at any hobby you tried," Chang says. "What do you do, anyways? Play Gobstones?"
Now that the topic has dissolved into childish squabbling, Tom tunes it out, instead choosing to fill his plate with seconds. Leo shows up a few minutes later, quiet as usual, and the group welcomes him back without much fanfare.
"What'd your mum want?" Septimus asks. "Took you a while to come down."
"Nothing too important," Leo says. "I just had to write her back so she wouldn't worry."
"Mothers are like that," Septimus says sagely, and then the conversation turns to talk of Quidditch.
Annalise leans over towards Harry, whispering something in his ear, then stands up, excusing herself from the table. She does glance at the Ravenclaw table, where her sister is seated, but she leaves the Great Hall alone.
The first week back is uneventful save for the announcement that Muggle Britain has gone to war.
Tom mulls the subject over whenever he has a spare moment for idle thoughts. War and all that comes with it; not to mention the single word that says it all: Muggle.
Muggle Britain, a place that is separate from its wizarding counterpart.
For here at Hogwarts, surrounded by the sturdy castle walls, it is hard to imagine a thing like war. Even in the history books that Binns drones on about, there is little to no mention of Muggle squabbles. No one speaks of rations and gunfire when they walk down Diagon Alley. Most of the children in the school are from magical homes—they know nothing of the history that colours Muggle books with red.
Still, there are other things to look forward to. Quidditch tryouts are fast approaching. Harry and Septimus practice constantly, leaving the rest of them to study indoors where it's warm. The empty chairs seem to have offered a silent invitation, because Tom finds that others come to join them without asking.
"Do you think Gryffindor will win the House Cup this year?" Francesca asks. "With Septimus and Harry on the Quidditch team."
"Of course," Annalise says, homework forgotten underneath her elbows as she leans in. "They're both going to be excellent. Harry's got the best reflexes in our entire year, and he's going to do better than all the other Seekers. And Septimus has really fantastic aim and lots of natural talent."
"It's good they know they work well together already," Francesca adds. "Septimus can protect Harry from the Bludgers."
Septimus is a good friend to them, and Tom doesn't doubt that Septimus will do his best to shield Harry from harm. Septimus' loyalty to Harry is likely stronger than his loyalty to Tom, but Tom knows that it doesn't matter as long as their desires align. Tom will keep the situation under his control, and Harry will be safe.
Saturday morning finds their core group holed up in an isolated section of the library. The weather outside is nice, meaning most of the students are outside enjoying the freedom that the light course load of the first week allows.
Adelaide has no books and no parchments on the table in preparation for their first lesson together, but she does have her hands folded together in her lap, prim and proper.
"Today's lesson will be on the importance of appearances," she says. "First impressions, how to introduce yourself, and how to conduct yourself in an unfamiliar environment."
What follows is an expository lesson that is likely more helpful for Septimus and Harry than it is for Tom. Tom does make note on the way to address lords and ladies of noble houses, on the details and implications that Adelaide drops here and there while she speaks.
"Where did you learn all this from?" Septimus asks. "From your parents?"
The two girls exchange a look. "We had a tutor," Adelaide says. "Sebastian had them as well, growing up."
"Well, I think we're finished here," Tom says into the lull. "Let's head to lunch, and we can cover more material afterwards."
"Septimus and I might head out to practice," Harry says. "Since the weather is nice."
Tom squashes the irritation inside of him as soon as it rears its ugly head. Harry needs to practice; it can't be helped that Tom isn't as involved in it as he'd like to be. "That's fine," Tom says. "Then the rest of us can work on other things."
Annalise seems about to say something, only Adelaide shifts, nudging her, and Annalise stays quiet.
"Okay," Harry says. He's frowning, and Tom knows that Harry probably feels guilty about all the time they've spent apart lately.
"Tryouts are next week," Tom says. "Make sure you're in top form."
It is then that Sebastian Greengrass swings around a neighbouring bookshelf and approaches the table, coming to a stop just behind his sisters, looming over Adelaide's shoulder. "Still hanging around Gryffindors, Addy?"
Adelaide stiffens, but she doesn't turn around. "It's our study group, Sebastian. Go away."
"Hard workers," Sebastian says. He has both hands braced on the back of Adelaide and Annalise's chairs. "Hope to see some better results this term, hmm? Something pleasant to report back to our parents."
"I think you ought to worry about yourself," Adelaide says. "We don't need any help."
"How about you, 'Lise? Need help with Transfiguration?"
"No," says Annalise. "I'm fine, thank you."
Sebastian smacks the back of her chair a few times, his smile full of false cheer. "Memorize that Transfiguration alphabet?"
"Yes," Annalise says, tense.
Sebastian leaves, and then they all pack their bags in silence before departing for lunch.
"Sebastian is nothing but trouble," Adelaide confides.
Annalise had gone back to her dorm, claiming a headache, leaving Tom and Adelaide to study alone together in the library after lunch. Tom is reading a brochure he'd picked up at Zonko's during their Hogsmeade trip, scanning the product claims.
"I can imagine."
"He's been studying the Dark Arts," Adelaide says in a low voice. "Our mother doesn't approve, but our father does, so there's little to be done for it. Only Sebastian, well, he doesn't have a lot of restraint. His ego spans the size of Europe."
Tom sets the brochure flat down on the table. "What sorts of problems do you expect him to be causing?"
"It's only a matter of time before he gets in over his head," Adelaide says. "All aspirations and no common sense, yet father's still grooming him to take over the family business."
Tom considers this. "If he does cause trouble, we'll handle it."
Adelaide's lip curls. "Like how you plan to handle those boys?"
"Exactly like that," Tom said flatly. "Teach people that they can't get away with stepping on you, and they'll think twice before they do it again."
Tom will ensure everyone knows that neither he nor Harry is to be messed with; especially Harry, who has put up with enough bullying in the past and doesn't require any reminders of it. Tom would like to see Dumbledore, high and mighty, stooping to solve the petty squabbles of school children.
"If you say so," Adelaide says. "I told you, if you're going to do anything you best be sure you're getting away with it. This sort doesn't take well to threats."
"I assume you're speaking from experience?"
"Something like that." Adelaide stares down at her Herbology notes, then says, "In a household like ours, you learn the value of silence in all the worst ways." Then she coughs and goes back to writing.
Tom watches her for a while as she scratches down more notes. It's only just occurred to him that she never talks about having other friends.
Lack of companionship had never been something that bothered Tom before he'd met Harry, but he can see that—because Adelaide is always separated from her sister—it must be difficult for her, though she tries hard not to show it. The two sisters had spent the entire summer apart already; maybe she worries over them drifting apart.
Tom can't imagine spending more than a day without Harry. He feels restless when Harry is gone for too long, like his magic is prickling all over his skin. It aligns with what he tells Harry all the time: they're safer when they're together, they're better off together.
Harry is a cornerstone upon which Tom bases a majority of his decisions, and Tom will keep things this way no matter the cost.
The next time their group gathers in the unused classroom on the fifth floor, they spend the first twenty minutes pushing a number of desks together and blocking out a makeshift pen using their textbooks.
"Did Professor Dumbledore ask why you wanted the mice?" Annalise asks as they watch the mice scurry around.
"No," says Adelaide. "I just told him it was for practice for snuff boxes. I may have implied that I intended to engage in review with my fellow students, which isn't quite an outright lie."
"Here we are," Septimus says cheerfully, "reviewing."
Tom unstoppers a vial of the Sleeping Draught that Septimus had prepared and portions it out onto some pieces of bread and cheese they'd saved from dinner. The bread pieces get three drops, and the cheese pieces get two.
"Separate the mice," Tom tells Harry.
Harry slides some more books into place, chasing the mice along until they've been separated into two equal groupings.
"So what are we testing?" Annalise asks. She has a pocket watch in her hand
"The effects of less-than-full doses." Tom portions out the food samples and hands the bread to Adelaide. "Septimus, are you ready?"
"Yeah." Septimus is watching the left half of the separated mice, and Harry is watching the right half.
"Alright," says Tom. "Let's do this."
Tom visits the library on the evening before Quidditch tryouts to research Thestrals.
It's close to curfew, but Madam Fieldwake likes him, and so she directs him to a few choice books before sending him on his way with a hall pass, just in case he gets caught by a Prefect or a professor. Tom's not too worried; his armful of library books gives him plenty of reason to be out a few minutes past curfew, and everyone knows Tom Riddle is a studious high-achiever.
Harry is still awake when Tom arrives back at the dorm to change into his pyjamas. Harry is curled up on his own bed with one of Septimus' many books on Quidditch splayed out on his lap. Harry's is the only bed with the hangings pull open; he was likely waiting for Tom
"Tom," Harry greets in a whisper, setting his book aside.
Tom nods and dumps most of his own books onto the side table before climbing onto the bed next to Harry without preamble. "I found out what determines if people can see Thestrals or not."
"Oh?" Harry accepts the book that Tom deposits onto his lap and waits while Tom flips to the correct page.
"Only visible to those who have witnessed a death and accepted its reality," Tom reads softly.
Tom holds the book open while Harry digests that particular piece of information. He can hear the thoughts turning around in Harry's head, wondering, wondering—
"You can see them," Harry says.
Tom pauses, then says, "Yes," though he's unsure where his hesitation came from.
An unspoken 'why' lingers in the cool air between them, but Harry doesn't press the matter, which Tom finds himself unexpectedly thankful for.
"I wonder," Harry says, after a moment has passed, "why can't I see them?" Harry gazes at the photo in the book—the skeletal horse is all stretched out, like its bones are too big for its skin—and rubs the back of his neck.
"Why would you?" Tom asks without thinking.
Harry doesn't look up for a while. "You know," Harry says, and his breath comes out in a hitched series of stutters. "You know—" He cuts off abruptly, sliding the book away.
Oh. Tom does know. "That wasn't really," Tom says, pushing his own concerns away for the time being, choosing instead to focus on the question he can answer, the problem at hand that he can solve. "It wasn't the same thing. You never saw it." He closes the book and puts it onto the table.
"I guess."
Tom doesn't associate Harry with death, with dark things. He often forgets that Harry has a past separate from his own, that there are events that happened before Harry walked into his life and changed it.
"It's not," Tom says, confident. "You didn't see it happen, so it isn't the same. That's why you can't see them."
"But you can see them—" Harry says, then stops again, mouth shut, shaking his head. "I just wish I could forget," he adds. "Because I can remember it, only it's not—like you said—it's not even—"
Tom wraps an arm around Harry's shoulders, squeezes tight. "I'm sure there's an explanation for it. I just need to figure out what it is."
They sit like that, close together, and then Tom adds, "You need to sleep. You shouldn't have waited up for me. Tryouts are tomorrow, and you need to be well rested."
"I'll be fine," Harry says. "Tryouts aren't until afternoon."
Tom narrows his eyes, and Harry shifts under the weight of the judgement. So Tom retracts his arm, even though he wouldn't have minded leaving it there, and shuffles off the bed.
"Sleep," Tom repeats. "And I'll see you in the morning."
"You can't tell me what to do," Harry says, snorting. "You don't set bedtime, Tom. You're not my parent."
"What I can do is go to sleep myself," Tom says. "And then you'll have to go to sleep, because there'll be nothing else for you to do. I might not be your parent, Harry, but I'm still going to make sure you get enough rest. You did the same thing for me last year, remember?"
Harry frowns at that, consternation flickering across his face as he tucks his legs underneath him. "That's different."
"How is it different?" Tom demands. "It's exactly the same thing." Not strictly true, because all those other times Tom had usually just pretended to go to bed, but as far as Harry knew, it was exactly the same thing.
"You're an idiot who doesn't sleep, that's why. I can stay up just this once."
Tom tries to gauge the severity of Harry's stubbornness, then decides it's not worth fighting against. If he leaves, Harry will go to bed. There's no point in prolonging the argument, as much as Tom hates to turn away, he knows Harry well enough to know what'll happen if he continues to push the point—they'll just keep on talking, back and forth, and Harry will get his wish to stay up.
"Good night, then," Tom says, shrugging his shoulders, drawing Harry's bed curtains shut, enjoying Harry's minor noise of protest as Tom steps away and towards his own bed.
Tom climbs underneath his bed covers and lies very still, listening. After a few seconds, he hears the sound of Harry's blankets rustling. He doesn't doubt that Harry is grumbling and cursing his name, but none of that will change the fact that Tom did win the argument, however posthumously.
The movements slow and stop, and then the sounds segue into the soft, slow breaths that signal Harry's sleep.
Now alone, Tom thinks about Quidditch, about bullies, about death. His mind refuses to quiet itself, spinning around from topic to topic, chasing imaginary scenarios. Harry on a broomstick, the darling of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, scouted for professional play, maybe. And Harry would be thrilled, happy to be acknowledged and praised for his skills. Tom could imagine it; Harry's smiling face, saying—
"We'll still be friends, Tom, of course! And you can come to watch all my games, and, oh, you know, Septimus got scouted as well, and we're going to play together—"
Waving that scene away, Tom rolls over in bed, disgruntled. Harry won't ever leave, he tells himself. Tom is the one who's helped him, convinced him to give Quidditch a proper try, and Harry is loyal to Tom above all others. And even so—
"I took care of them, Harry. They won't be bothering you again."
Harry looks over at the pyre, the billowing streams of dark smoke, the pile of bodies—Tom's always wondered what those would look like, bodies, but his imagination supplies well enough for this—and he frowns, arms wrapping around himself.
"What have you done, Tom?" asks Harry.
"I'm keeping you safe."
Harry's face twists, darkening, scowling as he looks up at Tom, ready to deliver a scathing response about how wrong this all is—
Well. Harry might not like the path to the results, or even the results themselves, but he'll come to understand it eventually. Tom rubs at his chest to ease the tightness there. Harry understands, doesn't he? Tom is an unstoppable force, a lance of power that is capable of anything, in control of his own destiny, a product of the magic that runs in his veins.
Tom has a plan for his life, desires and ambitions, and Harry is included in all this, Harry is the closest thing Tom has to family, and he won't let them be separated—
Tom has a mother who died for him, a father who never came for him, and Harry has parents who died, leaving him at an orphanage.
So Harry has no need to run off and become the beloved heir of the Potter house, where they won't appreciate him for who he is. They won't know how to soothe Harry's nightmares, how to support his dreams the way that Tom does.
Tom will pave the way for the things Harry wants, all the things Harry wants, because this is what they do for each other. This is the understanding they have reached, and this is what will hold long after all other relationships have fallen away.
A/N:
long time no see!
i had a really rough time trying to decide what this chapter would include... i wanted to move the pace along a bit faster, but there were also a number of things i wanted to set up for the future. so i struggled with picking and choosing scenes to write, mostly. hopefully this chapter reads well.
thanks for reading, i would appreciate any thoughts you may choose to leave :) as always, you can track my updates on tumblr at duplicitywrites
