Drarryfanficsao3

by Suicide44

Dhhdgd

204. 170Two Souls One Body

Preface

Two Souls, One BodyPosted originally on the Archive of Our Own at /works/17073905.

Rating:

Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning:

Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death

Category:

Multi

Fandom:

Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling

Character:

Harry Potter, Dudley Dursley, Vernon Dursley, Tom Riddle Voldemort, Lucius Malfoy, Draco Malfoy, Narcissa Black Malfoy, Petunia Evans Dursley, Theodore Nott, Hogwarts Students, Original Characters

Additional Tags:

Violence, Child Abuse, Dark Harry Potter, Dark Magic, Morally Grey Harry Potter, Slytherin Harry Potter, Magically Powerful Harry Potter, Not Canon Compliant, Past Abuse, But not sexual, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Albus Dumbledore Bashing, Politics, Pureblood Politics (Harry Potter), Parseltongue, Smart Harry Potter, Character Bashing, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Work In Progress, Book 2: Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, Not Beta Read

Stats:

Published: 2018-12-20 Updated: 2021-02-20 Chapters: 12/? Words: 56025

Two Souls, One Body

by DownEarth

Summary

Voldemort still made his horcruxes. The Potters still died on Halloween. Harry still went to the Dursley's house, still spent the first ten years of his life beaten for accidental magic and for talking back and for merely existing. But that's where it ended - the similarities, and his life.

Notes

Hello! I've had this decently fleshed out plot stuck in my head for a bit more than half a year, but I could never sit down and write it out in a way that I was happy with.
This is going to be a slow-going work in progress for the time being, sorry. Any comments would be greatly appreciated! I want to know any thoughts or critiques you have!

Metempsychosis

Chapter Summary

Metempsychosis - noun; the transmigration at death of the soul of a human being or animal into a new body of the same species

Heavy footfalls shake the ground beneath where Boy is curled, fetal position. Clamorous voices yell in his ear; "Burnt the dinner again, Boy, you'll pay for those steaks." The crack of a belt against air replaces the voices seconds before burning pain blooms. Blood drips slowly down his back.

Seconds - minutes - hours pass like the blink of an eye, dragging through molasses. Worthless boy; freak; waste of space; the voices taunt occasionally, fading in and out like his consciousness. He is delirious with hunger, thirst, and blinding pain. It ebbs and flows like the tide. For some time he is left alone in the corner, nursing the broken skin, in a routine he has lived with for the past ten years. Around him, a pool of blood is forming, bright red against stark white tiles. Tiles he has spent hours and hours and hours scrubbing. This stain will take just as many to clean out. Still, the chance to sit and simply endure the throbbing, aching pain was a rare one. He is thankful for the respite, however brief it will prove itself to be.

He is dragged back to reality by a suckerpunch in the form of his cousin's toes in his kidney. Said cousin is standing over him, the glee Boy once saw in his cousin's eyes as he pinned mice up by their tails, back with a vengeance. The pain he had been distancing himself from comes slamming back full force, stealing his breath, and his common sense. Knowing his cousin will do worse than prick him with thumbtacks and leave him hanging along the garden fence for cats and hawks, Boy reacts instinctively, like a feral dog backed into a corner. Boy grabs his cousins leg, nails piercing the skin, draws blood and a fleeting smile to Boy's face.

To bring pain to one who caused him so much seems therapeutic, in a twisted sense. The responding screech and crocodile tears that were drawn from his cousin remind Boy just how foolish his actions were. He knows he will regret his instinctive reaction shortly.

The ground shakes again as Uncle enters the room. He sees the spots of blood under Boy's nails and turns purple as he sees red. Screaming, loud and guttural, ensues. Uncle grabs the closest thing: a cast-iron skillet, filled with leftover dinner, still waiting in the pan to be scrapped into the trash. Uncle raises his arm, eyes bulging and veins dark spiderwebs popping under his skin, and swings down in a manner that reminds Boy, passingly, of the way flies are swatted -

.

.

.

He opened his eyes to unfiltered sunlight directly overhead and deafening silence. His head was throbbing and aching like he'd been up reading until past midnight again. Tom blinked and sat up.

Oblique

Chapter Summary

Oblique- adj; neither parallel nor perpendicular; obscure; devious
Alone in the woods, Boy is faced with a dilemma - stay lost in the woods until his premature death, or put his trust in the voice in his head claiming to be named Tom. Neither option is particularly appealing.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Tom blinked and sat up. He was sitting on the bare ground, ice cold leaching into his very bones. Taking in his surroundings, he noticed that everything once living as far as he could see (not far; for some profound reason he was shockingly nearsighted) had been killed, rather suddenly by the looks of it. Like the aftermath of a fire, black and grey tinted the tree trunks and foliage. Not far from where he had awoken, a deer had been caught in the curious blast and had keeled over, eyes still wide open and staring directly at Tom but dull and milky white. Fascinating, he wondered what had killed the doe and if he could recreate the event -

Boy shook his head. The poor deer was frightening, sickening, not interesting. The sudden movement made his stomach turn and his panic, combined with the ever-constant throbbing of his head, pushed him to expel bile all over himself. The action did nothing to abate the pain, rather intensifying it to the point he pulled back from reality, trying to block out the pain as he did when Uncle started wailing on him -

Tom grit his teeth and pulled back to the surface of his thoughts, confused as to why it felt like dragging himself through mud, like this mind wasn't his own. It felt like breaking free from imperio, the few times he had managed it. Trying to stand up got him nothing but more nausea and moisture on his upper lip. He reached up to wipe at what he presumed was sweat and lowered fingers, skin dark brown and not milky white as he expected, and, more shockingly - they were smeared with red. The sight of his own blood was shocking - was he dying? Was it stress from this unknown event that would do him in, alone in these woods with no one likely to even find his body, rather than Dumbledore or Dark Arts or anything other than his own stupidity? -

Boy ignored the unreasonable fear that seeing his blood had instilled and wiped away what he could of his impromptu nosebleed. He'd thought that any fear of an untimely death had been beaten out of him by age five, but apparently some deep-ingrained instincts remained. Perhaps Uncle had dumped him here because of some trauma-inducing brain damage? After all, he was scared of a little blood and thought his name was Tom. Clearly he had gotten hit over the head one time too many and the Dursleys decided they were better off without him. Boy's confusion turned to despair as he wondered how he would survive now that he was without a home and a family. Sure, Uncle was a bit strict, but a rough hand was better than none -

What in Merlin's name was wrong with him? Tom's head felt fuzzy and too-full, the dull throb of an oncoming migraine making it hard to think. These conflicting thoughts were only adding to the physical pain washing over him. He was fighting someone or something else for control over his body and mind. First feeling empathy for a dead animal, now worrying about where he would rest his head. It felt like he was back in Wool's, not living as the greatest Dark Lord Europe had ever seen, but that was absurd. The pain was too real to be a fever dream or some spell, though. Perhaps the Malfoy library had something on the topic of shared conscious, if that was what he was experiencing, but the question still remained as to how this had happened to him. Just yesterday he had been with Bella plotting the next step of his takeover and now he was stranded in the middle of the woods without his wand -

The trauma must have done more than knock a few screws loose. Boy began to question whether or not this was simple insanity he was experiencing (though could he truly be insane if he recognized it?). These names and thoughts rushing through his head felt too structured to be from his own imagination, but what else could they be? Bella and Lucius and 'dark arts' sounded like something straight out of one of Dudley's books, the ones Boy wasn't supposed to read but somehow still wound up in his cupboard at night -

If he could stop calling himself Boy that would be wonderful, please and thanks. Such a degrading name for a powerful wizard -

But what else would be call himself? It's not like he had a name or anything that a proper person did. He was called Boy, and he was thankful for being addressed at all -

The concept of shared consciousness was seeming more and more legitimate.

What did that even mean? Who was Boy supposed to be sharing his brain with? He didn't think a concussion could cause this sort of issue, but there was a reason he isn't a doctor.

Shared consciousness, meaning there are two sentient persons contained in one body, sharing one mind. This entity's name is Tom, and apparently the other prefers to be addressed as Boy for some asinine reason.

Great, now his alternate personality was coming up with a name AND giving him lip.

This was not a topic up for debate at this time, he decided. They would both have to work together for the time being, at least until they weren't at imminent risk of death via blood loss or starvation, whichever came first. If they could hold back on the arguing until they reached civilization, then an in-depth conversation could take place about the possible mental break which had occurred.

Yes, it was probably best that Boy make his way to the nearest road and catch a ride into town. If he was lucky, Uncle hadn't put too much effort in to getting rid of him and he could beg for forgiveness. First things first, though, he had to stand up without fainting, which didn't seem very likely given his current state of being.

Boy-Tom clenched his jaw and tried to rise to his feet. Again he felt blood trickle down his philtrum and into his mouth, but could ignore the taste of copper for now. He got as far as kneeling before needing a break to swallow back the stomach acid rising up his esophagus. The ringing in his ears had gotten louder, like his skull had been transfigured into a train station at rush hour. A bone-deep pounding took up residence in his temples, the headache he'd been fighting since he woke up finally developing into a migraine. He took a short break at that point, waiting for his heart to return to just-shy-of-a-heart-attack, rather than the hummingbird that had been fluttering in his chest. When he could breathe once more, he pushed himself to his feet. Blinding pain washed over him for a second, starbursts popping in front of him for a few seconds. The blood draining down the back of his throat had not abated - rather, the flow had gotten heavier. Boy-Tom refused to pay it any mind, lest he fall back into the existential despair he had experienced the first time he noticed the blood.

Finally he was standing. Though still too short and nearsighted to see very far, Boy-Tom took stock of his surroundings; as far as he could tell the forest was dead, completely wiped out. Leaves, blackened and brittle despite the relatively warm air and moisture saturating the air, clung futilely to the branches of dead trees. Ground ferns and brambles were withered and grey, leaves covering the ground beneath them and stems stiff. Here and there lay a bird or a rabbit, carcasses deflated and past the first few steps of decay but untouched by scavengers. The woods he stood in were dead, but hadn't been that way for very long. Off in the distance, just close enough to be heard if he focused, the rush of tires on asphalt - then it was gone and silence reigned for minutes on end. Boy-Tom took as much time as he could spare simply breathing, trying to put the constant burning pain radiating through his body behind brick walls in his mind. His efforts made a dent in the aching, enough so that he could wiggle his fingers and toes without wanting to keel over.

The next time he heard the tell-tale signs of traffic in the distance, he could pinpoint a vague direction to take off in. When it came to moving his feet, however, it took a few seconds to build up the courage to begin moving. The first step was the worst, every nerve lighting up with the pain of a dozen angry hornets. As he maintained momentum it became easier to ignore the glowing embers embedded in his skin. Moving through the woods was tough on Boy-Tom's weak body, emaciated as he was from years of malnourishment and improperly-healed broken bones, still dripping blood from his nose though it had slowed considerably, eyesight fading in and out like his hearing and blurry past two meters in front of him regardless. He tripped over fallen trees and was slapped across the face by a fair share of low-reaching limbs. It was slow going, and over the course of ten minutes he had to take fifteen breaks, leaning against trees in an effort to take the strain off his weak, throbbing legs. As much as he wanted to sit and rest his head on the ground, Boy knew the limits of his body - sit down, and he might not make it back onto his feet. Tom decided to take his word for it, not wanting to risk being stranded still lost in the thick stand of trees.

The road was nearly a kilometer away from where Boy-Tom had woken up. From where he watched just before the edge of the treeline, he could tell it wasn't frequented. The white paint was worn down and non-existent in some spots. Potholes and shoddy patch jobs turned the asphalt into some trashed hodge-podge mosaic. Along the edge of the road grasses and and squat weeds tried futilely to reclaim the land, roots grasping at grey tar and leaves reaching, begging, towards the sky. The trees Boy-Tom took shelter in had been beyond the reach of the unnatural phenomenon that had wiped out all life in (as well as he could measure) a half-kilometer radius from where he had laid, thankfully keeping the strange event from immediate discovery. His eyes tracked a car as it turned the bend a ways down the road, accelerating along the straight-away directly in front of him. Then it was gone, leaving only the sound of a rattling motor in its wake. His best bet for transportation into civilization was a driver cruising down this road, and he would take the first offer not made by a murderer or child rapist if he could help it.

Tom told Boy to flag down the next vehicle, but Boy was hesitant to step out of the shadows he had been hiding in. Just from turning his head from side to side, he could tell his chin and neck were stained with blood, tacky and rusting on his skin. He thanked Merlin that the bleed had stopped during his walk, but he was still left with the aftermath. Sadly, there had been no running water between the road and where he had woken up, so he couldn't clean himself before asking for a ride. On top of the blood, Boy was sure he was covered in dirt and who knew what else from lying on the forest floor, scabs and bruises from time spent with Uncle, ratty clothes torn and stretched out by Dudley before being passed off. No doubt the first person to spot him would veer off the road in an attempt to either to avoid or hit him.

There was nothing he could do about his appearance now, though. Boy-Tom took a hesitant step into the meager sunlight and, when havok was not unleashed, slowly made his way up to the edge of the pavement. The next vehicle to turn the corner was an articulated lorry. Tom gave some snide remark about the odds of him surviving the trip into town, which Boy promptly ignored. The driver apparently spotted Boy-Tom and flashed his headlights, slowing to a stop near him. Gears clunked as the vehicle was thrown into park and the driver's door opened.

"Christ!" An older man, pale and round and friendlier than expected, rounded the cab and rushed towards Boy-Tom, who flinched violently away from the sharp movement. The trucker paused, running a hand through his short-cropped hair. "What happened to you? You're covered in blood, kid!"

Boy willingly passed the reins to Tom, as he hadn't had much opportunity to talk to strangers while confined to the Dursley's house and yard. "I- I was hiking on a trail with my parents an' I saw somethin' really cool so I went to look at it an' when I turned around they were just gone!" Tom threw in a sniffle for good measure, wiping at his cheeks like there were tears spotting them. "I've been looking for 'em for hours now. I tripped over a tree and broken my glasses and my nose started bleeding and I couldn't get it to stop and - and -" Tom cut himself off at that point, scrunching his face up for a few seconds before raising his eyes to the driver, cheeks spotted with moisture, waiting to see if the story had stuck.

The man was frowning like something didn't add up, and for a second Tom worried he'd be called out on his lie. "I'll give you a ride into Lymington. That much blood is dangerous, nose bleed or not. Plus the hospital can call up the police, and we can see if you parents have reported you missing already." He nodded to himself for a brief moment before turning and opening the passenger door. "Hop on up, kid. You got a name?"

Tom eyed the man wearily before scrambling into the cab as gracefully as he could. "Yes sir. Tom Riddle."

Chapter End Notes

Hello! I've really been enjoying having a muse again, hopefully the trend will continue! A few things I feel like mentioning early on for y'all readers:

1. In this story, Harry is a POC. I know that Daniel Radcliffe is very white, and Rowling has said/implied that canon Harry is white, but I really think the story needs some more diversity, along with some options for different magical cultures to be explored... Anyway. If anyone reading this disagrees with my portrayal of any of the cultures, PLEASE give me advice on how to improve! I don't aim to insult and I definitely want to fix any problems or insulting things I've written!
2. I am very much so American, and I'm not super comfortable with British slang, culture, geography, etc. Again, if you're British and see something I should/need to change, PLEASE tell me! See above statement about wanting to improve!
3. This is just a little bit of nerdy shit but there's a mention of where, specifically, Harry's head is hurting. This isn't just me having fun (it kind of is, but w/e). The temporal and frontal lobes of the brain are thought to control personality and morals! Without getting into stuff that'll be revealed later on, Harry's 'situation' has caused some problems in those departments.
4. You can find me on tumblr at homestucknerd if you want. I appreciate anything you want to say to me in the comments here!

Finally, super big thanks to my friend, lil-snips, for reading this over!

Amalgamate

Chapter Summary

Amalgamate - verb; combine or unite to form one organization or structure
Finally back in civilization, Boy-Tom resorts to questionable behavior in order to have a safe place to rest his head. If it's done in the effort of self-preservation, he can't be punished that bad, right?

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Paper crinkled beneath Boy-Tom as he shifted for the hundredth time, twirling his thumbs, waiting for the doctor who "would be seeing him, now." The nurses had been kind when the truck driver brought him in, leading him to an empty room and bringing him a clean shirt when his blood-soaked hand-me-downs were deemed a lost cause. Luckily, he'd been allowed to change in privacy, though that was the extent to which he received it. He'd been on the receiving end of plenty pitying glances from them during the whole process of getting cleaned up, though he had come to expect pity given his history. No life-threatening injuries had been found when he got a standard check-up, and the few scrapes he had picked up during his trek through the woods were cleaned and bandaged. It was the best treatment he could recall ever having gotten.

Now, though, he had been sitting in a bereft room for what felt like half an hour. His eyes roamed the walls, looking for something to distract himself, while waiting for a professional. The walls were white, broken up by posters detailing common illnesses and common symptoms. Light blue cabinets were lined up in the corner, likely full of medical equipment. The bright fluorescent lights and antiseptic smell hanging in the air was aggravating the headache he'd had since waking up, coming close to pushing him over the edge into migraine territory.

We shouldn't even be here, Tom thought. If we had just killed the driver when we had a chance…

He was not going to make a habit of killing people just because they're 'witnesses of moments of weakness' or whatever. Murder is a serious thing, and should be reserved for people deserving of it. Plus, he was probably never going to see that man again, so what did it matter if he'd been seen covered in blood, spinning some tale about being lost?

At that moment, before Tom could rebut that murder was perfectly acceptable, the door to the room he was in opened. Boy immediately slipped into the back of his mind again, still cautious of interacting with strangers, and trusting Tom's easy charm to get them out of whatever situation they had found themselves in.

Instead of the white coat Tom had been expecting, two men in black jackets with flat police caps walked in, accompanied by a nurse in light pink scrubs. Their presence was a wrench thrown in his plans, but so long as Social Services weren't brought in, he could work with this.

One of the men came over and sat beside him while the other remained standing, leaning against the wall next to the door the nurse had closed behind herself after showing them in. The man beside him pulled out a notepad and a biro. The man at the door shifted his weight and cleared his throat.

"So. Tom, is it?" he paused, giving Tom time to nod in agreement. "We've got a few questions to ask. Protocol, you understand."

When he got no response other than an expectant look, the man continued. "We were speaking to the man who brought you in, but we wanted to hear the story from you. Can you go over what all happened to you today?"

Tom sighed, gaze dropping to the floor. He hated playing the scared child, but it was his best bet if he wanted to get away from the officials.

"Well, sir, as I told the man who gave me a ride into town, I'd been hiking in the woods with my parents. They were takin' a quick break - not as young as they used to be, da said - an' I saw a cool lookin' rock formation that I thought would be fun to climb on. I went over to explore it, an' the next thing I knew I couldn't find the way back! I was dreadfully scared and was gettin' more 'n more lost tryin' to get back to 'em, but I heard cars so I figured that was my best choice. I followed the sound, and ended up right where the man found me."

The man beside him was scribbling down quick notes while the other nodded, a frown on his face. "The nurses said you came in covered in blood, looking like you'd been mauled by a bear. What happened?"

Tom dropped his gaze to his feet, dangling over the edge of the bed he was perched on. "I weren't watchin' where I was goin' and tripped, fell right on my face. Hurt like the dickens, an' my nose started bleeding something awful. Snapped my glasses right in half, too. I didn't realize it had gotten as bad as it did, though, till the truck driver near 'bout had a heart attack when he saw me. The nurses said it was one of the worst nosebleeds they'd seen in awhile."

The officers nodded, dropping the subject and seeming, to Tom at least, to have been convinced of the mundane story. They went over a few other details, like what his imaginary parents looked like and where they might be found.

The officer beside him stood up, putting away his notes and tucking his thumbs into the pockets of his slacks. "Hopefully your parents'll turn up at the station soon. We'll have to take you there, understand, for your own safety. Can't have a kid as young as you wandering the streets alone - it gets horribly cold once the sun sets in November."

The mention of winter months made Boy pull up short, but Tom ignored his reaction - he had his own to deal with, equally as shocked. He blinked, for some reason having not predicted that this would be the outcome of being stranded without a guardian in muggle England. Boy's presence popped up in his mind, curious about what Tom was inwardly freaking out about.

We've got to get away from them, he suggested. Ask to use the bathroom before you leave for the station.

Tom did just that, with a few shy glances at the ground and a light blush thrown in to fit the part of embarrassed child he was playing. Sure enough, the officers smiled and directed him just down the hall from the room.

He turned the corner out of their line of sight and glanced around, noting the sign directing to the men's room and ignoring it. Boy was now just under the surface, riding shotgun with Tom. He followed the glowing green 'exit' signs hung from the ceiling, avoiding eye contact with nurses and other patients and doing his best to give the impression that he knew where he was going when they paid him more than a passing glance. No one bothered stopping him when he walked out the front doors and into the street.

Now that he was out in civilization, Tom realized that he didn't know where to go. The town they were in, Lymington, was a port town in the southern end of England - nowhere near within his comfort zone. He didn't even know if there was a wizarding community nearby. At that thought Boy forced his way into the driver's seat, steering into a park, where he collapsed into a bench and closed his eyes.

Let's talk, shall we? Boy began, making a conscious effort to think in proper sentences, as if he were talking to someone else. Which was true, or he'd fully snapped, Boy figured. No harm in it either way. You are probably not a figment of my imagination created due to a psychotic break or whatever. That means I have some questions that are going to be answered before anything else happens.

If he had his own body, Tom would be smirking. It took some time, but I am glad to see you've come around to my idea. Ask away, child.

Are you mental?

That… was not what Tom was expecting.

Why do you keep going on about wizards and magic and all that fantasy stuff, talking like it's real?

Simple - because it IS real. Tom could tell a verbal explanation wouldn't do much to convince Boy. I am a wizard, Boy. I'd wager that you are too, since you can sustain two people in your body, despite clearly not being in the best state.

You ask so much of me, to believe you at face value. A frown creased Boy's brow. Whatever, it's not like I have many options. So, you're a wizard. I'm a wizard. Awesome.

Come now, don't try to tell me you've never noticed some of the weird things that happen around you. Maybe some help with those chores your relatives forced upon you, hmm?

Boy shrugged. He had noticed an uncanny ability to change the outcomes of situations if he had to, like the time he repaired a broken dish before Aunt saw it. Or the time he floated something off the top shelf because he really, really needed it for dinner, then proceeded to float everything off the shelf just to see if he could. He had then put it all back before Uncle could come in and try to beat any freakishness out of him. The thought made him giddy - he wasn't a useless freak like Uncle said - but he buried the feeling for another time, when there weren't other things to be discussed. Another question - who are you? All I know is your name, and that apparently you're magical.

Tom didn't really have a choice but to tell Boy the truth. They shared a brain, so they knew when the other was telling a lie, or an incomplete truth. I am Tom Riddle, the greatest Dark Lord wizarding europe has ever seen.

Great, thanks for explaining absolutely nothing.

Well, what do you want to know? I'm technically 54 years old, born in 1926. For a long while I've gone under the pseudonym Lord Voldemort, and I had a large and loyal following. We were going to change everything about our world.

What happened?

Tom went silent.

Boy waited for him to speak up for a minute. When nothing happened, he decided to reciprocate and share a bit about himself. Even if Tom did have free reign with his memories. Well, as far as I'm aware, my name is Boy. My parents died in a drunk driving accident when I was a year old, and I was sent to live with my mother's sister. In exchange for food and a roof over my head, I took care of the cleaning. And the cooking. And whatever else Uncle told me to take care of.

Looks like we've got quite a bit in common, Boy. Tom spoke up after another minute of silence. I grew up in an orphanage, and lots of the other kids mocked and bullied me. I grew cold and detached, and eventually they learned to pay me the respect I deserved. We will make sure that the same happens to your relatives, in time.

I think I like the sound of that, Tom.

He sat of the bench for some time, thankful that his headache was receding to the point of barely-there throbbing with his heartbeat. There was another topic Boy wanted to discuss with Tom before they did anything else that day.

If we're going to be doing this co-inhabiting thing, we need to work out how we're going to be controlling the body. I'm not willing to sit in the backseat and let you make all the decisions for us, and I'm sure you're of a similar mind. What would be the best course of action, in your opinion?

You are correct in that I won't let you make all the decisions, either. However, it seems most likely that this body was primarily yours before whatever event which conjoined us occured. Perhaps we could find some middle ground? I wouldn't be opposed to letting you run the show some of the time, so long as we both have a part in our actions when it comes to a monumental situation.

You're surprisingly willing to give up control, Boy noted. He had expected a bit more resistance, not that he was complaining. I'm not going to lie, I wouldn't mind having you present when I interact with others. I'm not very… well-versed in socializing, and you could charm the pants off a snake.

Tom sent a sense of humor Boy's way but remained otherwise silent, willing to drop the topic of conversation now that the situation had, at least for the time being, been worked out.

However much Boy wanted to talk about the specifications of their control balance, the shadows on the ground were getting longer and the sun was beginning to duck behind the tree tops around him. He had to find somewhere to rest his head for the night, though the lack of money in his pockets might cause a bit of an issue.

I could… 'find' us some money, Tom offered. Boy was hesitant to accept the suggestion of what was definitely implied theft, but the air was already cooling and the nurses had only given him a t-shirt.

Take the reins, Tom.

In the end, it was shocking easy to pickpocket 60 pounds over the course of an hour. Tom had the stickiest fingers, and Boy ample experience hiding from adult eyes. Parents distracted in stores by noisey children and young adults out for drinks with their friends were apparently the easiest target. The whole time Tom was grumbling about how he 'shouldn't have to stoop to petty thievery' but Boy could tell he enjoyed taking from the 'muggles.' Boy enjoyed the adrenaline rushing through his veins as well.

Once the wad of bills were tucked into his pocket, Tom pushed open the front doors of the sketchiest hotel they had found. A young woman was sitting behind the reception desk, smacking gum between her teeth and picking at her nail polish. It would work in his favor, that she seemed unwilling to interact with customers any more than strictly necessary - if she wanted him out of her hair, she would be more likely to give in to whatever tale he spun.

He approached the desk, fishing out the money and flipping through it, pretending to count the bills even though he already knew the exact amount he was holding. She glanced up, took in his scuffed up attire and no-doubt exhausted expression, and snorted.

Before Tom could even open his mouth she was speaking. "Oh my god, how old are you, like five?" Her voice wasn't altogether unpleasant, but the tone she used grated on his nerves and made his upper lip twitch with the urge to sneer.

"How much is a single bed for one night?" he chose to ignore her over-exaggeration, prefering to get this interaction over with as soon as possible.

She didn't even bother to look at him when she answered with, "We can't give a room key to a minor, kiddo."

This time he did sneer for a second before smothering the expression, replacing it with a wide doe-eyed look. "My dad's just across the street, picking up dinner. We've been in the car all day and just want to sleep, can't you cut us a bit of slack?"

A sigh, then, "My boss'll have my head if I don't get your dad's signature."

Tom made a show of counting out 50 pounds, almost twenty over the cost being advertised on the sign outside, then laid them flat on the counter. "My dad can swing by in the morning and sign the form, right?"

The girl eyes the pile of money, glanced between it and Tom, and scoffed before slowly reaching out to take it.

"Uh, yea, sure," she said as she slid back in the wheeled office chair she was sat in and grabbed a key off of the peg board on the far wall. "Here, Room 27. Keep it down, and check out is at 10. Make sure it's your dad who comes by the front desk in the morning, yea?"

Tom took the key, offering her a tight smile and a nod before he turned and walked out of the building. Once back out in the nippy air, he allowed himself a real smile. A roof over his head with no strings attached, even if just for the night, gave Boy a sense of freedom he had never before experienced. He even had 10 pounds left, enough to go to the convenience store around the corner and buy more food than the Dursleys ever gave him in a week. The realization that he was actually free of the abuse made him weak in the knees, and he needed to pause and lean up against the side of the building for a few moments to catch his breath.

The convenience store had bright fluorescent lights like the hospital did, buy Boy was high on the euphoria of the mere thought that he would be sleeping in an actual bed that night. Sure, there were probably roaches in the walls and bed bugs in the mattress, but anything was better than the cupboard he had called his bedroom. Careful to remain under his budget, Tom grabbed two bottles of water, a small bag of crisps, and a bag of beef jerky. He'd allow himself to indulge and eat unhealthily just this once. The cashier smiled at him, clearly amused by Tom's choice of dinner, but let him go without comment once he paid.

The hotel room wasn't nearly as bad, in Boy's opinion, as it could have been. Tom was complaining about the peeling paint and tacky color combinations, but Boy was glad to flop into the mattress and sink in for a long few minutes, tense muscles finally having a chance to relax. He was fully alone, outside of his head, and he could do whatever he wanted to do.

He wanted to take a long, hot shower.

Boy rolled out of the bed and trudged into the bathroom, shedding his clothes on his way. He flicked the overhead light on, ignoring the momentary stabbing behind his eyeballs at the harshness of it, and went to turn on the shower, catching a glance of his reflection in the mirror momentarily. He froze.

His eyes were glued to the mirror. Dull green irises stared back, set in a thin and hollowed out face. His deep bronze skin, normally a rich shade from hours spent under the sun in the peak of summer, had paled considerably. From his scalp, unruly black hair rose as if it was a sentient being itself, curled and voluminous. Where before it had been hacked off at his ear lobes by Aunt, it now almost reached his shoulders. What once was an untameable mess now came close to falling in what could be considered, under a very loose definition, waves. His narrow face lead to a narrow body, bones protruding enough to imply a lifetime of malnourishment. What muscle he had possessed seemed to have partially been atrophied, leaving his frame tipping more towards emaciated than lean. Boy tried to avert his eyes, not a fan of his reflection, but Tom kept them trained on the mirror - mainly, on Boy's face.

Without a doubt, this is not my body, Tom murmured. The ghost of an image flashed in his mind, a lanky but healthy young man, skin pale and obviously not often touched by the sun's rays.

This is me, Boy confirmed.

Tom's gaze lingered on the hair and dark skin, flicking up to the faint scar on his forehead shaped like a lightning bolt, just barely a lighter shade than the rest of his face.

I… I think I know who you are. The features matched up, but Boy was ten years old, meaning… Tom seemed hesitant to admit it, but knew he couldn't keep this monumental information away from his bodymate.

I knew, in a sense, your parents.

Boy didn't interrupt with something as specific as words, but an overwhelming feeling of shock and anticipation.

Their names were James and Lily Potter. They had one son, as far as I am aware. His name was Harry.

Boy took a moment to absorb that fact. Abstractly, he had been aware that everyone had a set of parents. He knew that at some point, two people had created him. Knowing their names, though, was something he had never predicted. Boy - no, his name was Harry, his parents had given him a name - was being buffeted by waves of emotion which he could not put a name to.

How did you know them?

Tom was silent for an erie amount of time, enough that Boy - Harry - thought for a second that he was gone.

Let's shower and eat before your bedtime story, okay?

Begrudgingly, B- Harry realized that Tom probably had a reason to delay the telling of his past. Without further vocalizing his dissent, he turned the shower on as high as it would go and stepped under the stream.

If it had been acceptable, he would have slept in the shower, muscles being massaged by the weak water pressure overhead. What's more, the heat was clouding his brain like the steam in the air, pushing his headache out of focus. Since Tom deemed it unacceptable, though, Harry had to finish scrubbing up and step out from under the stream. It was likely for the better, as the water was starting to cool as he and the other hotel patrons pushed the water heater to its limits.

Once out of the shower and wrapped in a towel, Harry noted that he didn't have any particularly clean clothes. He didn't mind his worn jeans and shirt when he was out and about, but he refused to wear his ratty, dirty boxers to bed. Shrugging, he forewent getting dressed and instead prowled around the room in his towel, switching on a lamp and turning off the overhead lights before he dived directly under the sheets, snagging his bag of 'dinner.'

The water cooled his parched throat and reminded him of just how dehydrated he was. One of the bottles was emptied before he even opened the first bag of food. The beef jerky was even better than the water, and he made quick work of the entire bag. At that point his stomach was bordering on over-full, so he set the bag of crisps on the bedside table for later. The second water he opened and drank half of before it joined the crisps on the table.

Can you tell me about my parents now, Tom? Harry hated to feel like a child, but the prospect of knowing more about his family made him giddy.

It is not a pleasant story, child. This is not a tale about how close of friends we were - it is a story of their death.

That made Harry hesitate, but he had never been told anything about either of his parents, even in passing, from Aunt or Uncle. There were no memories to be tainted by the knowledge of their final moments.

Tom started his retelling with the backstory - As I said, I was a notorious Dark Lord. Your parents were well-known fighters on the other side of the war. An in-depth discussion about each party's platforms can be held at a later time, Tom said before Harry could butt in. They had given birth to you a year prior, but were still prominent figures on the opposition's side. I was told by a trustworthy source that a child had been born that would bring about my downfall, and sought to kill the opposition before they had a chance to kill me. You were the only child I knew of that fit the description.

A pit formed in Harry's stomach, and he regretted stuffing himself.

It was the night of Samhain, what muggles call Halloween. I came to your house alone and killed your father while he was unarmed. Your mother asked me to spare you, offered her own life instead, but I needed you dead. I killed her, then tried to kill you.

There is one spell which brings instant death, and cannot be stopped or reflected through any known means. I cast that spell on you that night, and somehow you rebounded it back on me.

His mind was silent, empty, for too long. The words 'I killed her' echoed like some demented drum or a heartbeat. His fingertips tingled like they were going numb, magic concentrated just under the skin, anxious to escape and express his tumultuous emotions.

Why did they have to die?

Tom tried to think of a valid explanation for his actions. I know it does not truly answer your question, but they would not let me get to you while they were breathing. They loved you, wholly, and I wanted to destroy that.

In a twisted way, Harry understood that logic. As much as he wanted to mourn for his parents, he had never known them. No one but Tom had ever even mentioned them, given them names or a description beyond 'unemployed sots.'

Thank you for telling me about them.

The two said nothing for a while longer. The silence was less blanketing than the previous had been, both acknowledging the others' presence but not wanting to say or think anything. Harry rolled the concept of sharing a vessel with the man who orphaned him, but couldn't find anger - just confusion, and a desire to learn more about the events that took place that night.

The moment was ruined when something bit his bare bottom.

Tom seethed. I am the Dark Lord Voldemort! I should not be having my arse bitten by bed bugs! I have a whole wing in the Malfoy Manor, and instead I'm in a £34 hotel room with thirty thread count sheets!

Well, why AREN'T we in Malfoy Manor right now? He was glad for the distraction from the depressing topic of their shared history.

You… actually have a good point there. Tomorrow, we need to get to London. If we can track down a wizard somewhere in Lymington, I can get us to Malfoy Manor.

Sounds like a plan to be made AFTER we get some sleep, Harry suggested. His eyelids were heavy and kept drooping shut, though he tried his hardest to keep them open.

He reached out and flicked off the lamp, plunging the room into pitch darkness. With heavy curtains draped over the windows, the only light was that of street lamps outside leaking in around the door. All thoughts of sleeping vanished as Harry's eyes lock into the outline of the door, illogical fear gripping his lungs so tight he can't draw in even the faintest of breaths. His vision tunneling, black darkness like ink filling his throat and choking the life out of him, his body stiffens as if being overtaken by rigor mortis. Everything is burning as if he is drowning in solid ice and he can't do anything but endure it for hours, days, decades, body not dead and not living, suspending and crazing release -

Tom reached out and turned the bedside lamp back on, washing the room with stale yellow light and burning back the waking nightmare that had dug it's needle-like claws into him.

Harry sputtered and gasped, sucking in air so fast he choked and was sent into a coughing fit. Frost still gripped his limbs, but was thawing gradually. He couldn't stop shaking, felt like his entire body was going to fall apart with the strength of it.

You're okay, we're okay, we're alive, Tom murmured. He, too, was shaken by the sleep paralysis that felt more like a memory. We can sleep with the lamp on. The darkness won't get you, I promise. We're okay.

Slowly, Harry stopped shivering. His body went limp on the bed, exhaustion filling his every pore. Night had never been a particularly pleasant time for him, but he had never reacted like that before. Tom maintained his soft whispering of reasurances, bordering on the edge of what some might consider cooing, as the two drifted towards the realm of sleep. The yellow lamp light reached into all but the darkest crevices of the room and kept the worst of the nightmares at bay, at least for the time being, and Harry managed to finally fall asleep.

Chapter End Notes

Another one in the books! Please tell me your thoughts, good, bad, or indifferent. I want to make this fic the best it can be.
More chapter notes, because I have a lot of things to say!

1. Harry is getting to be very sassy and I am LOVING writing his like this. I refuse to back down. He is also a vindictive lil' shit and I budge on this point, either.
2. I don't know if anyone caught it, but Tom is actually not 54 like he said he was! He still thinks it's 1980. Hate to break it to ya, Tommy, but you qualify for the senior discount now.
3. Self-care is stealing money from strangers to rent a probably-bedbug-infested hotel room.
4. two 'Easter eggs' or whatever here: Tom was basically a kleptomaniac in his youth, and the room they got at the hotel (27) was canonically his room at Wool's Orphanage! Tom probably noticed this too but didn't say anything about it bc he doesn't believe in coincidence or any of that nonsense.
5. I am 17 years old and can safely say I, too, could be bribed with 10 pounds
6. Harry @ the front desk lady when she called him five: I love how people are telling me I'm too, nine years old. I'm eleven, so shut the fuck up.
7. tom: i knew your parents
harry: !!!!!
tom: i killed them
Harry (larger and in bold) : !!!!!!
8. I tried my best to describe his race in non-fetishistic terms. If there is ANYTHING I need to improve, PLEASE tell me. In this story, the Potters were from South India. Lily was still Caucasian, so Harry is mixed race and dark skinned. I will try my hardest to be polite and do Indian culture right, but if there's something wrong with my write I very much so want to know so I can learn and not make the same mistakes ever again. Thank you!
9. I can still be found at homestucknerd on tumblr, if you wanna chat about anything fandom or real-life related

I got myself a beta readers, so huge thanks to marvelmakesmefeelthings!

Cognizance

Chapter Summary

Cognizance - noun; knowledge, awareness, or notice
Tom makes it his duty to educate young Harry on the intricacies of the Wizarding World, and Harry makes it his duty to sass every adult he comes across as much as possible. It's a decent enough arrangement, if the two do say so themselves.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Harry had woken up before the sun had even peeked over the horizon, too haunted by formless nightmares to sleep for any longer than the bare minimum his body could handle. For a moment he was confused as to why he was in a bed, cocooned by blankets and actually warm for once. The soft light from the bedside lamp bathed everything in an ethereal glow, and he wondered if he had finally died. Then he felt Tom wake up, more gradually than Harry had, and they both realized simultaneously that the previous day's events hadn't been a hyper-realistic dream. As if the drive the point home, his muscles and brain lit up with a dull tenderness.

After eating a breakfast of half a bottle of water and a travel-sized bag of Walker's (Lay's), Harry pulled on the same grungy clothes he had woken up in the other day and slipped out of the hotel room. The key he left on the bedside table, though there was nothing else in the room to even hint that someone had slept there - the bed was made, trash tucked in his pockets to be disposed of elsewhere. Before the front desk worker was even awake Harry had sneaked away, not wanting to face confrontation or legal repercussions. It was better that there were no signs of his presence. He was back out on the streets, the world around him washed out and grey in the very-early morning light.

We need to find another wizard, Tom spoke up in comprehensive words for the first time that morning. For some reason, Harry wasn't inclined to think his companion was a morning person.

Do you think we may spot one in the park? There's probably the best bet at seeing strange, 'non-muggle' behavior there.

Without waiting for explicit agreement Harry started walking, wanting to get away from the hotel and potential prying eyes. It wouldn't do to be spotted by some do-gooder and reported to the very same police he had evaded at the hospital.

The bench he had sat on yesterday was still empty, so Harry dropped himself on it and sighed. The air was quite nippy, not like the August mornings he had experienced before. The few pedestrians he spotted making their morning commutes through the park were moving at a brisk pace, breath forming faint cloud of water vapor around their mouths. A young woman was in the midst of her morning jog, decked out in full-length sweatpants and a fitted sweatshirt. An older man was, contrarily, taking his time and he walked down the sidewalk, travel mug in his hands steaming. The sun was rising quickly in the east, bringing colors into the world again. Bright gold sunlight painted the trees and grass around them, and the first bird calls of the day filled the air as singers were awoken by their natural alarm clock.

Where are we trying to get to? Harry figured he ought to fill the silence while they were people-watching.

As we agreed last night, we're trying to find someone I knew before I was caught up with you. Our best bet is tracking him to his place of employment, the Ministry of Magic. When Harry offered no response other than minor confusion, Tom decided to explain further. The Ministry is the governing body of the magical world. Their buildings also house what equates the the magical form of Parliament, the Wizengamot. That is where I think we will find Lucius, as he is a member of said body.

Harry nodded (seemingly to himself, if seen by a bystander). So we go to the Ministry, find this friend of yours, and convince him to help us out.

Exactly.

Harry sat on his bench for a long time, just observing the world around him as everything slowly woke up. More people were streaming in and out of various buildings within his sight. Children's laughter now blended with the background murmuring of strangers, toddlers taken on errands with their parents enjoying a break to pull up grass and dig in the dirt. Harry was blissfully isolated from the interactions he was watching occur around him, his bench tucked in the shadow of a large oak tree.

As much as I want to let you enjoy yourself today, I must remind you that we need a wizard. I don't think we're going to have much luck in the middle of Lymington -

As if deliberately timing it to prove Tom wrong, a young man chose that moment to strut down the sidewalk directly in front of Harry. He wore a light blue knee-length robe, open at the front and showing off the crisp white shirt underneath. "Of course today is the day I oversleep, missing the Wizengamot case I'm on trial in!"

As if his attire and mentioning the wizarding court of law weren't enough to indicate this man as a member of wizarding society, there was something off about this man when Harry squinted. Like a cloud of purple, barely there and liable to disappear if he wasn't focusing extremely hard on it. Tom couldn't explain it when Harry sent an inquisitorial feeling his way, but it was enough to convince both of them that this man was their ticket out of the muggle world.

Harry hopped to his feet and tailed the wizard, remaining more than a few paces behind and clinging to buildings like they could offer him a hiding place if confronted. Tom wanted to jump the man and find out where exactly the entrance to the wizarding world was without blindly following, but Harry knew this was the easiest, safest option.

He was lead to a rather shady building in the southern end of the town, salty ocean breezes filling his nose. The sign hanging over the door read 'Wallace's Palace,' and the windows were blacked out to prevent any muggles seeing something they shouldn't. Harry waited a solid five minutes after the stranger entered and nothing happened before he followed suit, nerves steeled for whatever would be on the other side of the door.

He was prepared for a skeevy bar or perhaps the magical version of a truck stop. What Harry opened the door to was, instead, a brightly-lit pub. The tables and bar were packed with people dressed similarly to the person he had followed here, each of their conversations carrying through the air and preventing him from hearing any actually words. Trays of food floated, unattended, though the air and to various tables. A game of darts was being played in the corner, though instead throwing physical objects, the players had sticks in their hands and were taking turns creating golden needles, flying through the air and embedding themselves in corkboard on the wall.

While the activity was distracting and more than a bit overwhelming, what made both Harry and Tom freeze was the colors filling the entire room. Just as the wizard they had followed had been engulfed in a purple bubble, almost every person here seemed to be swathed in a gauzy curtain, varying from orange brighter than the rising sun that morning to the same shade of blue as the sky at midnight. The clouds didn't obscure harry's vision if he didn't focus too hard on any of them, but it was different enough to throw both him and Tom off balance.

However weird the wizarding world was, Harry couldn't stand in the entryway much longer without drawing unwanted attention to himself. With monumental effort he made his way through the crowded room, sliding by just under the eye level of all the adults and blending in with the shadows underfoot. Popping up at the bar, Tom rose up from beneath the surface and put on his friendliest, most innocent smile. He waited patiently until the bartender glanced his way, continued running his gaze down the length of the lie of stools, and did a double take at the young child staring at him with uncanny eyes.

Once he had gotten the man's attention, Tom dropped his gaze to the scuffed countertop he was leaning against, tracing the wood grain with his thumbnail. It was only when the bartender spoke to him first that he looked up again, just avoiding eye contact.

"Hey kid, a lil' young to be at a pub, don't ya think?"

Tom forced a smile on his face. "My mum sent me, dad forgot his lunch and he always likes a visit from me so I offered to take it to him." He paused to pat his front pocket, pretending to have a shrunken lunch sack in it. "Thing is, I'm not too great at remembering instructions and I kinda forgot how to get to the Ministry. I've never made the trip myself, see. I thought that maybe I could get help from you, being that you're an adult."

The man returned Tom's grin and put down the glass he had been wiping down in an impersonation of every cliche bartender ever. "I got you, kid." He jerked his head towards the wall opposite from the front door and lead town to a connected room.

Tom walked through the door behind the tall man, maintaining a distance of several feet just to be cautious. He had a very thin orange aura, which for some reason made Harry quite hesitant to trust him. All four walls were lined with fireplaces, each unlit and completely empty. On each mantle there sat a clay bowl, filled with that he could only assume was Floo Powder.

The man gestured to the room at large. "This here's our floo network. I'm sure you've traveled with my parents this way before?" Tom nodded in agreement, since a ten year old wizard not knowing how to work a floo might raise suspicions.

"Alright, well, I hope your da appreciates the surprise visit!"

That was disappointingly easy, Tom grumbled. He stretched as high as he could, just barely getting his fingers into the gritty dust stored in the uniform bowls.

Hold on one second! Harry froze his body commedically still on the tips of his toes and straining to reach the top of the fireplace mantle. What is this floo thing?

Tom forced himself back onto his heels, a pinch of Floo Dust held in his palm. The floo is one of the safest forms of magical transport. You throw this dust into the fireplace, which conjured fire. Step into the fire and state your destination, and you are taken there is seconds. Completely pain-free, though it's a rather strange feeling.

Harry was hesitant to step face-first into flames, but Tom had an even stronger sense of self-preservation than he did. If the Dark Lord thought this was safe, Harry wasn't going to argue with him.

Trying to smother the smugness rising in his chest at Harry's blind trust, Tom tossed the grit onto the flat stone bottom of the fireplace in front of him. Emerald flames rose from the ground, giving off no smoke or embers. "Ministry of Magic," he exclaimed rather loudly. He stepped into the fireplace and immediately felt as though the ground was being pulled out from underneath him, unbalanced and stumbling slightly before he found his footing. Tom kept his eyes wide open during the travel, though Harry wanted to squint them shut and get this adventure over with already. Multiple hearths flashed by, too fast to show anything of value.

In what felt to Tom like two seconds and to harry like two hours they were being spat out of a large fireplace and he was barely able to catch himself before he wiped out in the middle of the Ministry Atrium. Tom brushed ash off his trousers. Without giving Harry time to gawk at the high ceiling and polished stone he made his way across the ground level, weaving between various distracted wizards and marveling over the invisibility that being small granted him.

It was shockingly easy, Tom discovered, to break into the small office Lucius had on the second level. There was only one wizard stationed to watch the wing, and it was only a matter of waiting for the man to get up for a trip to the toilets. There weren't even any wards to deconstruct - amateurs.

What are we going to do now, Tom?

Now we wait. If he found glee in the notion of startling Lucius, well, it was just a little harmless fun.

Lucius was officially done with the general wizarding populace. He just wanted to grab his briefcase from his office and go home, where he could bitch to his beautiful, amazing wife until he didn't want to Avada everyone. Honestly, who thought it wasn't illegal to enchant a child's doll to follow muggle children and sing nursery rhymes? To make matters worse, the defendant had been late to his own trial, dragging it out an extra hour. Truly, this job tried his sanity. With a passing nod to the older man sitting in his armchair with the Daily Prophet sprawled out on his lap, Lucius turned a corner and pushed open his office door.

It was only thanks to years serving the Dark Lord and going on wartime raids that Lucius managed to withhold a (very manly, thank you) shriek of terror. Sitting at his desk was a scrawny, dark skinned boy, green eyes tracking Lucius calmly. Open in front of the boy was one of the many textbooks lining his walls on wizarding law, only really there for aesthetic purposes.

Understandably, Lucius whipped out his wand and aimed it at the child. There was no reaction other than a single eyebrow raise, eerily similar to how the Dark Lord used to look at a misbehaving Death Eater before casting crucio. That look, and the fact that the boy looked to be seven years old, made the blond hesitate. Rather that cast a spell immediately, Lucius took a step into his office, shutting the door behind himself, without taking his eyes off the trespasser.

"Who are you, and how did you get in my office?"

Tom smirked, lounging back in the chair as if he wasn't being held at wand point. "As if a guard more concerned about today's crossword than his job could keep me from places I want to be, Lucius." The blond twitched, thrown off by the dismissive use of his first name. In the back of his mind, Harry was giggling at the absurdity of the whole situation. "I'm sure you know who I am, yes?"

Finally the wand came down as Lucius' confidence in his own abilities wavered. "At risk of offending you, I do not think you are who you seem to be implying you are. I have not come this far in my life by trusting adolescents, you understand."

Tom scoffed and hopped down from the chair, a twinge of embarrassment at having to physically wiggle out of the seat as his legs were too short. "I do, Lucius, and I can prove it to you." The small boy stopped in front of Malfoy, staring up at him yet still, somehow, seeming to have dominance over the other. "Give me your arm."

For a second, he balked. Stared down at the kid, fear shocked out by the incredulence that this boy was demanding he obey like a dog. The potential reality of the situation hit him again, and he was quick to extend his left arm towards the stranger.

Tom smirked up, whispering an excited Watch this to Harry before he slid up Lucius' sleeve, revealing a faint grey tattoo marring the otherwise flawless and pale skin. It was the image of a human skull with a snake pouring out of the mouth and coiling up. His infamous dark mark, an image that had terrified an entire generation of wizards. Without waiting for much tension to build up, too anxious to see if this would truly work, Tom pressed a finger to the ink.

Lucius shuddered, giving a strong pull on his arm and wrenching it out of Tom's grip. The blond looked appropriately terrified when he realized what he had done, but Tom didn't feel like disciplining his subject so soon after being reunited.

Realization of what the gradually darkening mark meant sunk in, and Tom could pinpoint exactly when Lucius understood who he was staring at. The blond collapsed to his knees, forehead pressed to the tiles and wand offered up in a flat palm. Tom almost reached out to grasp the stick, but Harry made his body freeze. I don't want this guy's wand! he argued, obstinately refusing to move his arms an inch. With a heavy sigh Tom nudged Lucius with his foot, gesturing for the man to rise and ignoring the incredulous look he was receiving. He didn't have to explain himself, and he sure as hell didn't have to explain Harry.

Feeling a bit protective? the younger part of his mind asked mockingly. Tom chose to ignore the jab.

"Well, now that that's all sorted out, let's go back to the Manor-"

"My lord." Lucius flinched when Tom's bright green eyes snapped to him. "I am sorry but I must ask, who is your, ah, host? Would you not prefer a body that was older, healthier?"

Tom opened his mouth to snap back at him, but Harry cautiously rose up instead. Can I try talking to him, please? Who was Tom to deny the boy the chance to communicate in his own body?

"I would ask that you don't insult my body, thank you very much!" Harry snapped in Lucius' face, taking immense joy in how the blond stared back, wide-eyes, when he bared his teeth. "My name is Harry Potter and I'm not his 'host' or anything. We are co-inhabiting this body, for the time being, and we both ask that you pay us some respect!"

Entertaining, Tom chuckled in his head. Now he obviously has more questions than answers, and we've thrown him off his rhythm. Harry laughed softly out loud in response, only seeming to alarm Lucius more.

"Harry Potter? The Dark Lord is, ahem, 'co-inhabiting' with Harry Potter? I need some firewhiskey." Lucius took a deep breath before looking down at Harry again, seeming to have more or less collected what little sanity he could to handle this situation. "So, Harry - and My Lord - I understand that you want to return to the Manor posthaste, but should we not ensure that your body is as healthy as it should be beforehand? I am sure there are some things that should be handled soon, such as your wardrobe, and it seems you are lacking a wand, as well."

"What, you don't like my new outfit? I think it's quite striking, myself." Harry was enjoying himself more than he thought he would be, given his reluctance to say a single syllable word to most people. Sure, there was a pit in his stomach full of thoughts like 'don't get within arms reach of him so you have a chance at escape' and 'don't make eye contact, don't insult his control over you,' but he was finding himself able to manage the anxiety without turning into a pile of sniveling tears. He wondered if Tom was to blame for his new-found comfort in speaking at least part of his mind.

"Well, it's just, it's all very muggle and if that's what you want then-"

"Oh calm down, I was joking. It would be nice to actually have clothes of my own for once." Harry missed the look Lucius sent his way at the oddity of his statement. Not paying attention to the way Tom had gone rather quiet, the boy opened the office door, then turned back to fix Lucius with an expectant look. "Well, if we're going to be shopping, we need money, don't you think? To the bank, I suppose!"

Shaken out of his stupor and chiding himself for wasting any time hung up on one dismissive sentence, Lucius grabbed a small leather briefcase from beside his desk and followed Harry, who had already made it down the hall and past the guard without getting even a glance. Lucius would be putting in a suggestion for a replacement tomorrow.

Harry pulled up short in front of what Tom explained as 'the only proper wizarding bank system in Europe.' Though he had been warned that the building was awe-inspiring, he hadn't been prepared for this. The building was white marble, midday sun blinding anyone who looked at it from the wrong angle. It wasn't as excessively tall as the Ministry building had been, but there was an air of ancient superiority here that the manmade structure didn't have. Lucius led Harry up a wide set of stairs, white and slick to match the walls, and to a set of solid bronze doors a head taller than even the adult of the two.

Before Harry could reach for the handle, there was movement in the corner of his eye. Jumping back, he watched as the small creature he had assumed was a statue came to life and opened the door for him. The person was shorter even than himself, skin a solid shade of slate grey. He wore a garish combination of blood-red fabric and actual gold, though Harry wondered if the apprehension to the colors was some of Tom's emotions leaking in.

The creature locked eyes with Harry as he pulled open the door. If he had been alone in his head he would have glanced to the ground and stuttered out an apology, Tom made him hold fast. Goblin culture isn't like our own - it's considered a sign of respect to hold eye contact. Following Tom's instructions, Harry dipped his head towards the goblin; not an outright bow, but an additional courtesy. Lucius watched the interaction with interest, and offered his own nod to the goblin as he passed by on his way into the bank.

The came upon another set of doors just past the outer pair, this one forged of silver. Harry wondered if these goblins were like those of muggle fiction: obsessed with anything and everything shinny. It seemed like a degrading oversimplification of what Tom told his was a very intricate society. This set of doors they now faced were engraved with words. Lucius glanced dismissively over them, no doubt having passed through these doors countless times. Harry paused, wanted to get the full experience his first time, and read over the script:

Enter, stranger, but take heed,

Of what awaits the sin of greed,

For those who take, but do not earn,

Must pay most dearly in their turn.

So if you seek beneath our floors

A treasure that was never yours,

Thief, you have been warned, beware

Of finding more than treasure there.

The floor plan of the bank impressed Harry, even more than the stunning exterior of the building. The room was cavernous in its width and high ceilings. Obsidian counters ran the length of the room, each seating a goblin who looked very bored with their job. Witches and wizards milled around the room, queued up in front of a handful of the money tenders, leaving almost half unbothered and also seeming very bored.

Lucius complained under his breath about tedious waiting periods, caused by a vast increase in security measures being implemented. Harry followed the older man to one of the unoccupied goblins. The creature looked up at the two wizards over his rectangular spectacles and wait for the blond man to speak.

It was Tom who met his eyes and spoke up. "Well met, Teller Ricbert. I dare say it's been long enough since I spoke to my vault manager in person. Is Gornuk working now?"

Ricbert smirked, exposing a mouth full of yellowed teeth. "Well met, Mister Riddle, Mister Potter. Gornuk is indeed in his office currently, as is the Potter account manager, Griphook." Lucius moved himself back to his station behind Tom's left elbow, his proximity making Harry's hair stand on edge. Ricbert slid off the raised stool he was seated on behind his counter, rounding the front and gesturing for Tom to follow him as they walked down a rather long hall. At the end they reached a door, the name plaque reading 'Manager Gornuk,' which didn't really tell Harry much new about this goblin.

They paused at the door for long enough for Ricbert to knock, get a responding knock back, and push the heavy metal door open. There was yet another goblin seated behind a desk, though this one seemed to be made for a creature of their stature and was quite low to the ground. The goblin was similar to all the others Harry had seen thus far - long ears, flat, grey skin, and a rather lot of coarse white hair on his scalp and brows. Three plush armchairs faced the desk.

Ricbert said something curt in a foreign language ( Gobbledygook, Tom said, the official goblin language ). When he got an equally short response, their guide nodded at each wizard and retreated from the room, closing the door behind himself.

Gornuk grinned at Tom, gesturing to the seats in front of him. "Mister Riddle, it truly has been too long. You vaults accumulate dust and interest while you are away."

Tom smirked back. "Indeed, Gornuk. How goes the business?"

The goblin let out a bark, which Harry assumed was their version of a laugh. "Your skills in small talk was grown dusty as well, I see. Never mind my business, I imagine you have been busy yourself, these past ten years."

This was the second time the date was mentioned, and it still made Tom's head spin. "I am afraid I haven't been using my time as effectively as I could. Now, on to what I came here for today-"

Tom was interrupted by a heavy-handed knock on the door. At Gornuk's responding grunt the door opened, revealing yet another short, white-haired goblin. I am going to have a hard time telling all of these guys apart, Harry whined.

"Well met, Lord Malfoy, Mister Potter, Mister Riddle. Well met, Gornuk."

"ah, you would be the Potter accounts manager, yes? Manager Griphook?"

Griphook nodded and joined Gornuk on the other side of the large desk. Without a second desk chair in sight, the goblin snapped his fingers. Out of thin air a squat wingback chair appeared, right next to Gornuk's seat. Showoff, Tom grumbled softly.

"Indeed." The goblin stared Tom down, 'harrumphing' and satisfied by what he saw. "Now, I am sure I don't have to tell you that your situation is quite rare. Speaking candidly, if I may, I don't know if I have ever seen two souls melded so flawlessly, nor so chaotically. Of course, that does complicate the situation of your finances."

Gornuk leaned forward over his desk, long fingers laced together. "The goblin magic on your belongings may recognize both, one of, or neither of your souls. Now, for certain vaults this would not be a serious issue and you just wouldn't be able to access your gold. Others - mainly your personal vault, Mister Riddle - this rejection could prove fatal to the ones who attempt to open it. Of course, there is one way to tell what you possess without risking anyone's lives.

"As I am sure both of you older gentlemen are aware, Inheritance Tests can be used to learn what an heir can legally and magically inherit from relatives. They have fallen out of fashion, dubbed 'blood magic' and frowned upon by the ministry as of late - though they cannot outright ban any non-human magic, they sure will try to make it obsolete. All we need is your blood, Mister Riddle, Mister Potter. A few drops should suffice."

Harry was more than ready to slice open his arm and bleed for the goblins, but Tom froze his arm before he could grab the blade being offered up.

What are you doing? Don't you want to be able to use our money?

Consider this a teaching moment, child. Never trust what is implied by goblins, only what they tell you plainly.

"Is my blood truly all you require, or just the only physical thing you need? What will be done with my blood? Will it be disposed of as per Ministry law regarding the bodily fluids of wizards? How much blood do you need, precisely?"

Gornuk and Griphook both barked out what Harry was beginning to understand was a goblin laugh. "I know you know the answers to each of those questions, Mister Riddle, but I will entertain the two of you." Gornuk reached into one of the many drawers in his desk and laid a thick, blank sheet of parchment on the surface. "All we need is your blood, and the residual magic that is in bodily fluids of all magical persons and non-persons. It will be placed on this paper, which was constructed through specific magical methods in order to read the information desired from one's genetic material. Once the test is complete and the information has been copied onto a non-magical piece of parchment, this one will be burnt using incindio. We need a total of seven drops of your blood. All very important questions to ask, doubly so when dealing with creatures known for manipulating fickle humans."

Tom nodded, finally acquiescing their limbs back to Harry's control so he could take the blade and press it to his forearm. The blade was goblin-forged steel, wicked sharp and a dark silver color. The hilt was some sort of bone - Goblin, Tom whispered - and fit perfectly in his grip. He felt nothing when he ran the knife against his skin, only knowing it had broken the skin when red welled up and began to run. Lucius took the paper from the goblins, holding it under Harry's bleeding arm and collecting the appropriate amount as it dripped. Once all the necessary blood was harvested the paper was placed back on the desk and the blond waved his wand, muttering a spell and healing the clean slice.

The goblins, Harry noticed when he looked up, were staring down the bloodied sheet of paper. Before his eyes Harry watched as the blood ran across the blank surface, shimmering and drying as it formed letters. The process took some time, but within five minutes the parchment was filled top to bottom with dark red words.

Gornuk snatched it up, hiding what it said from both humans and leaning in close to Griphook. The two goblins conversed for longer than Tom was comfortable with in Gobbledygook. The whole thing was taking so long, Harry wondered if they would notice if he decided to doze off. He hadn't gotten much sleep the night before.

Finally, Griphook laid the test back down on the desk. He fixed Harry with a reserved look, lips turned down in more of a frown than any other expression he had seen yet. Gornuk spoke up first. "Lord Malfoy, the information we are about to be discussing is extremely sensitive. I trust you understand that if any of this got out, it would be detrimental to the reputation of goblinkind and your Lord."

"I swear, not a word of this meeting will reach anyone outside of this room." Lucius looked appropriately scared by the implied threat in Gornuk's words.

"Good. Well, Mister Potter, Mister Riddle, on behalf of the goblin nation and Gringotts bank, congratulations on your marriage."

He passed the test over to Harry. There, directly under his parents' names, was the bolded text:

'Spouse: Tom Marvolo Riddle'

Harry stared blankly at the sheet. Tom, what does this mean?

Tom Riddle has left the chat.

Chapter End Notes

I'm so sorry for the unintended hiatus! I just lost my muse for a little while and had to take a break from fanfiction to finish up this school year. Now that I've got the summer ahead of me, I hope I get the creative juices flowing and get a few more chapters written. That being said, I hope you enjoyed this one! It's half indulgent sassy Harry and drama, and half my way of filling in some essential plot. There are a few little easter eggs here if you can spot them, and again, many thanks to my Beta readers!

Abstruse

Chapter Summary

Abstruse - adj; difficult to understand; obscure
Harry learns more about his family history, and Lucius brings him to the Malfoy Manor for some much-earned rest.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Harry's brain was, for the first time since he woke up the previous day, blissfully silent. It was concerning how much he missed the ever-present voice advising his actions and telling him what to say.

"Now, Mister Riddle, I understand-"

"Um, actually, Tom kind of… fainted? I guess? Sorry, he didn't handle the news very well."

Both goblins exposed sharp, crooked teeth in a depraved grin. Beside him, Lucius shook in the effort to contain his mirth. "So, we now have the honor of speaking to the other half of the relationship. Tell me, have you been conscious up until this point, or does your soul meld prevent you from experiencing anything when Mister Riddle is in control of your body?"

Harry shifted in his seat, impatient but not willing to be rude to the creatures with a mouthful of canines. "He calls it shared consciousness, or co-inhabiting. We're both aware of what's going on, and of each other's thoughts, constantly. Except, apparently one of us can leave completely while the other keeps control of the body."

If possible, the goblins looked even more intrigued by the phenomenon that was Harry's existence. Not wanting to go off on any more of a tangent, Harry was quick to speak up again. "So, erm, could we go over the results of the Inheritance Test? I'm not sure I understand, well, any of it."

Griphook, realizing he had a job to do and a responsibility for the child's finances, gestured in a 'come hither' motion. Harry obeyed, rising and moving forward until he was leaning up against the from of the shared desk. He placed the test on the flat top when instructed to do so.

"Alright. Mister Potter, if you don't want to wait for your partner, I have to trust that you will convey all of this information to him when he returns?" Harry nodded. "Well, let us look it over, shall we?"

NAME: Hadrian James Potter

DATE OF BIRTH: July 31, 1980

PARENTS

James Fleamont Potter (deceased)

Lily Cedelia Potter (nee Evans) (deceased)

SPOUSE: Tom Marvolo Riddle

TITLES

Heir to the Ancient and Noble House of Potter

Heir to the Ancient and Noble House of Peverell

Consort of the House Gaunt

VAULTS

# 530 - Potter Vault, 3,031,936 Galleons

# 117 - Peverell Vault, 122,453 Galleons

# 575 - Gaunt Vault, 750,966 Galleons

# 687 - Potter Trust Vault, 50,000 Galleons

PROPERTY

Godric's Hollow

Potter Manor (Uncharted)

Peverell Castle (Ruins)

Gaunt Shack (Ruins)

INVESTMENTS

Daily Prophet - 26% of Stocks

Flourish and Blotts - 11% of Stocks

MAGIC ON THE PERSON

25% of Core Magic Bound

Minor Compulsion Towards Order of the Phoenix

Harry pursed his lips, not too sure what any of it meant. God, but did he wish Tom were there to explain it all, or even to know where to start.

As if answering his wish, Harry felt like a part of him was slowly waking up, pins and needles pricking his skin like a phantom limb regaining sensation. Tom gradually came to his senses, and Harry waited patiently for him.

What on Earth happened?

Harry smirked and responded in a teasing tone, You passed out. Or something like that, I suppose.

Tom wanted to pretend he didn't know what had shocked him so much, but the bold words were sitting directly in front of him. Have you asked for clarification yet?

Figured I wait for you to do that, you probably know what questions to ask.

Tom shrugged, knowing it was true. Harry simply didn't have the experience with the wizarding world to know what this could mean for them.

Griphook and Gornuk were both watching him closely. "Sorry about that, gentlemen. I'm afraid that was not the sort of news I was ever expecting to receive." Tom took over briefly, placing his palms flat on the desk and leaning forward. "Care to explain what exactly this means when it claims we are married?"

Gornuk answered. "It would seem that the goblin magic accepted the only logical answer as to how two souls are able to coexist within one body. There is a rather obscure ritual couples would perform, before it fell out of fashion, that linked two people together at the most base level. The soul is split, and equal sized pieces are exchanged. The result is similar to whatever happened to the two of you, so it was likely easy to mistake. On the positive side, Mister Potter now has access to both of your vaults."

Tom huffed out a sigh, momentarily losing hold of his outward display of emotions. "Do you know the name of this ritual? I would like to research it further so I understand the ramifications of being Mister Potter's 'spouse.'"

Gornuk pulled out a separate piece of paper and an eagle quill. "It is known as the quod iuncta impari meam (Mated Souls) Ritual." He wrote down the name and passed it to Harry.

"Putting that behind us for now, let us address the other contents of our Inheritance Test." Tom sat back down in the plush armchair, paying Lucius a quick glance. The blond man looked extremely uncomfortable, doing his best not to look at Harry or either of the goblins.

Griphook nodded and began to read over the contents of the spelled paper. "You are the heir to two ancient houses. When you turn sixteen you can come to Gringotts and claim your lordship rings, thus gaining the wizengamot seats held by those houses and the title of Lord. As consort of house Gaunt you are given a ring with the house crest and power over properties and household, though not seats of power. You can claim that ring today, after we sort out the rest of this information.

"The vaults are rather self-explaining. Each of your households have a vault with Gringotts bank, and you will have access to them when you turn of-age. Currently, you can access the Gaunt vault and the Potter Trust vault. We will go to your vaults after this meeting is completed.

"You also inherited family properties. The Potters have two, though the Manor's location has not been known since your grandparents passed. The Peverell Castle has not been managed in many centuries, and as long since fallen into ruin. The Gaunt Shack is in a similarly decrepit state. If desired, once you gain access to your family vaults you can start construction on your properties. At that time, Gringotts can suggest companies to help you return your properties to their old glory.

"The investments are stock purchases your ancestors made that continue to feed your vaults. They are both held under the Potter name. If you wish, at a later time we can discuss your options regarding selling, or purchasing more.

"Finally, the most concerning portion of your test: magic placed upon your person. As you can see, a good quarter of your core - that is, intrinsic magic you possess, tied to your soul, which grows alongside your body - has been blocked off, making you unable to access it. Additionally, a compulsion charm was cast upon you some years ago that is meant to sway your loyalty towards a certain group. Both of these, along with any physical damages you have collected, can be cleansed from you by goblin healers. You could also go to a witch or wizard, but they often report to the Ministry, and I have a feeling that would not be appreciated by Mister Riddle."

Tom was silent for long enough that Harry momentarily wondered if he had lost consciousness again. The annoyance Tom sent his way answered that question.

"This information is quite… overwhelming. How long would the cleansing take, to your best estimation? I am sure that my 'guardian' here," he tilted his way in Lucius' direction, "would prefer to get back to his wife at some point today."

"It would likely take an hour or two, depending on the state of your body. It looks to be rather weak, so I would suggest budgeting towards the higher end. We could schedule you a meeting with our healers at a later date, if that would work best for everyone."

Tom nodded, arranging for a two-hour session a week from that day. Then it was on to other topics.

"I would like to accept my heir rings now, if that works, then we can swing by the vaults before calling it a day," Harry said. Tom had retreated and gave speaking rights over for the time being, distracted by the question of who had charmed Harry in the first place.

"Of course, Mister Potter." Griphook reached into the large coat he wore and pulled out a small velvet box. Upon opening it, Harry saw three rings nestled in more velvet, each bearing the unique crests of his houses. The Potter ring was a thick golden band, an oval of intricately carved ivory bearing the crest - a wand locked with a five-pronged antler. The Peverell ring was silver with a smooth ruby, the symbol carved in it's face filled with thin strands of the same metal. The symbol was a triangle formed around a circle, bisected by a line. The Gaunt ring was less ornate than the two heir rings; the crest was a simple fanged snake silhouette, the eye a small emerald, all set on a thin silver band.

Following Griphook's instructions, Harry slipped each one onto the fingers of his right hand. With each ring he felt a gentle wave of magic wash over him, and when he squinted at his new jewelry he could see a faint cloud of silver magic swirling around them. The goblins seemed quite pleased with the reaction Harry had received.

Now we shall go to your vaults, Heir Potter. Lord Malfoy, you are welcome to wait here in my office while we head down to the vaults." Gornuk and Griphook both rose, walking out the door without waiting for an answer from the blond man. Harry hurried after them.

They stopped in front of an ornate bronze door. They had traveled via mine carts, an experience Harry was not looking forward to riding again any time soon. He had been told that they would be taking stock of the items contained in each vault, giving him a chance to see for himself what he now owned. The first they were visiting was the farthest below ground, the Peverell vault. It had the least amount of money in it, but the goblins promised it more than made up for the lack with priceless artefacts.

"You cannot touch the money in these vaults until you claim your lordship, but artefacts are not held under that restriction," Griphook spoke up as he pressed his palm to the door.

Indeed, upon opening the door Harry had to physically restrain himself. Taking up the vast majority of the moderately sized room was a massive bookcase, filled to the point that shelves were bowed under the weight. Many of the books were leather bound, handwritten, barely preserved with layered spells. Tom wanted to take each and every tome back to Malfoy Manor, to be read in depth, but Harry reminded him that they owned this, and could come back to it at any time.

Of course there was a stack of coins off to one side, glimmering under the torchlight, but it was clear that the Peverell's valued their library over all else. In the end, he grabbed just three books, each with at least 400 pages and titles in outdated languages, before following the goblins back out and to the cursed cart.

"Now we shall see the Potter vaults. As this was an active line longer than the Peverells, there is more stored in their vaults." Griphook had to practically yell over the sound of rushing winds as they sped up the tracks, defying gravity.

The door to his family's vault looked the same as that of the Peverells - tall, brass, and detailed with miscellaneous depictions of magical animals and witches. Griphook pressed his hand against an indent moulded in the form of a handprint and pushed the heavy door open.

If Harry thought that the Peverell vault, with its sizeable library, was impressive, the Potter vault was breathtaking. Where the Potters lacked books they made up for it with countless chests lined up along three of the four walls, stacks of galleons reaching towards the ceiling, and tapestries covering all available wall space. The largest one faced the door and depicted some of his great-something grandparents.

It was clearly a family portrait, done in the 19th century, according to the date under the frame. The woman in the picture was wearing a rich, purple saree with golden accents in her jewelry and her silk drape. On her hands, dark skin was covered in darker henna, intricately detailing lace and floral patterns .Thick black hair was pulled away from her face in an intricate updo, showing off a bright red bindi between her brows. Her husband stood by her side, dressed in a similarly traditional Indian jacket. His silk garment looked like spun gold, purple detailing on the collar and sleeves matching his wife. Between them sat a small boy, younger that Harry but around the same size, wore a solid purple jacket in the same style of his father. These were his ancestors, his family.

Other than the large painting, there were depictions of great wizarding world events, other members of the bloodline, and various Hindu stories hung around the room. Rather than spend the whole day marveling at the art work, harry wandered over to the line of trunks. They each bore tags describing the contents, from '1750's sarees' to 'potions ingredients.' Harry stopped in front of the one entitled 'heirloom wands,' for some reason drawn to it more so than any of the others. The top was covered in dust, as if it had remained closed for centuries, though there was no lock keeping it shut.

Harry kneeled in front of it and grasped the lid, expecting it to be stuck from decay and ageing. When he tried to lift it, however, it rose like the hinges had been greased just a week ago. The contents inside had been protected from dust, time, and other curious hands; stacks of long, thin boxes filled the chest, each dated and signed by the witch or wizard who originally mastered the wand held within. Though Tom told him to proceed with caution, Harry reached in and pulled out one seemingly at random: Horith Raghava Potter, 1766-1795.

What are you doing? Tom was concerned, to be put lightly. He knew that messing with a wand loyal to someone else could prove fatal, if the core was volatile enough.

It… wants me to use it, I think, Harry responded. There was something pulling on a part of him that he had never consciously felt before, some fifth dimension body part.

Tom faded into the background, recognizing the sensation now that Harry had acknowledged it but still hesitant. Harry lifted the lid off the small box, half expecting a noxious cloud of fumes to surround him.

There were no sparks ignited or toxins released. Nestled in a thick layer of raw cotton was a small stick, covered in knots like it had just been sawn off a tree and packed away. The gentle pressure in his gut increased, now a fist wrapped around his innards. The wood was light, grain running lengthwise down the branch.

Tom was back, whispering encouragement in his ear now. Pick it up. It's calling to you - answer.

In the end, it wasn't as climactic as either of them had been expecting. Harry lifted the thin wand from its box and felt a wave of cold air wash over him, calming like the breeze in autumn, carrying a faint scent of wood smoke and ancient forest undergrowth. There were no fireworks shooting out of the other end, no warm arms wrapped around him. Harry thought he might prefer the sensation of total isolation, absolute independence.

A throat cleared behind him, shaking both out of the bliss their new wand had granted them and back into the present. Harry spun around still holding the wand, hesitant to ever put it down now that he had gotten a taste of what it could give him.

"I see your visiting the vaults has proven rather beneficial. It is not every day that one is chosen by an ancestral wand, especially one as old as that you hold. It is the mark of a strong bloodline, to be able to wield the same wand a relative once did."

It was a strange feeling, to be connected to the family he didn't know existed until 48 hours ago. It felt fake, somehow, when he tried to muster up any particular emotion. Settling on a smirk, Harry turned his focus inward, to Tom.

What's so special about this wand?

I'm not sure, honestly. I'll certainly be researching the genetics of magic at some point, but I don't think that would help understand this wand in particular. I wonder what the core is?

Harry finally tucked the wand into his waistband, not willing to lose direct contact with it but needing both hands free.

"I'll wrap up this vault and hopefully we can return to the surface soon. Maybe there's a book on wandlore in their collection?" Harry wandered away from the goblins mid-sentence, approaching the lone bookshelf in the room. Tom's presence was immensely helpful when it came to wizarding culture, but Harry wanted to learn the more academic aspects of magic on his own, and it wasn't like the Dark Lord had much free time to pursue his academic interests in the midst of a war.

As it turned out, the bookshelf wasn't very helpful in regards to theory of any branch of magic. There was nothing on wand-making, or even transfiguration. What it did have, however, was a detailed record of family history. There were hand-bound books about the business achievements of Potters throughout the ages, personal diaries from various ancestors, and - the holy grail - a scroll recording all of the wands ever used by Potters, and those passed on through the generations.

Harry unrolled the thick parchment and glanced over the faded ink. From 1315 to 1970, every direct descendant of the line was named and, beside them, the specification of their wands written down. Many of them had crosses next to them, numbering from one to five. As explained by the legend at the top of the sheet, crosses indicated that the wand had chosen another master after the original wielder passed away. Searching the list, he found Horith Potter towards the end. Beside his name was a single freshly drawn cross, a faint sheen still present in the ink. '10.5" supple pine with ashwinder dust-occamy feather core.'

Making a mental note to research the characteristics of each of those components when he found an acceptable library, Harry rolled up the parchment and returned it to the slot it had come from. He looked down at his new wand, still unsure of what he was feeling.

Is there anything else we need from here before we leave?

Tom glanced around. None of the chests seemed to contain anything he currently needed, and he couldn't touch the money in this vault for the time being. No. Let's go to your Trust and then to the surface.

They traveled to the Potter Trust Vault next. When he inquired as to how he was supposed to transport all the money he wanted, Griphook told him about what was essentially a magical wallet. "It's connected to your vaults. All you have to do is reach in and think about how much you need, and the coins will appear in your hand. Many witches and wizards prefer this method to filling their pockets with as much money as they can carry."

Harry bought one for two galleons, expecting it to prove efficient shortly.

Finally they returned to above ground, eyes stinging momentarily as they adjusted to the strong sunlight after being in caverns for so long. Lucius was still waiting in Gornuk's office, annotating a sheaf of papers that he quickly returned to his briefcase when the goblins entered the room.

"So, Mister Potter, Mister Riddle, we will be seeing you next week, if there is nothing else you wish to discuss."

Harry nodded. "Indeed. Farwell, Managers Gornuk and Griphook. Until we see each other again, I wish you much success in the pursuit of wealth and blood," he recited word for word the formal farewell Tom told him to.

The goblins both leered. "And may magic smile upon you both," they responded in unison.

Before outside of Gringotts, Lucius turned to the child who had proclaimed himself the Malfoy patriarch's ward and also shared a brain with his Lord. "Where are we off to now? If I may, I recommend we visit Twilfit and Tattings for a new wardrobe more fitting of the heir of a noble house."

Harry nodded, not getting any input from Tom at the moment. It seemed that his head-mate sometimes left for his own corner of the brain, not to be bothered with the physical world and leaving Harry to navigate alone. "Lead the way, Lucius."

It was a small shop not far from Gringotts, with large windows displaying many bolts of fabric. It didn't seem excessively busy, though there was minor foot traffic around the front of the store. Lucius led harry right up to an older woman sitting towards the back of the main room. She wore an old fashion floor-length dress and a tape measure draped around her neck, hair tied tight at the top of her head. Lucius waited for her to raise her head before he began to speak.

"Good afternoon, Madam Vettel. I hope I am finding you well today?"

The lady smiled up at them both, gingerly lifting herself to her feet. "Good afternoon, Lord Malfoy. I am doing much better now that I have customers to help. Who do you have with you today?" She smiled warmly at Harry, who fought back the instinctual flinch.

Lucius spoke before Harry had a chance to make a fool of himself. "A distant cousin of mine, he recently came in to London to spend some time with my wife and me. His guardians seem to have let him run wild in regards to his wardrobe, and since he is to be staying at the Manor, I thought it only fitting that he wear proper wizarding attire."

Madam Vettel chuckled and pulled the tape measure off from around her neck. "Children these days, always ready to fight tradition. I am happy to see this boy being steered in the proper direction by someone. What all do we need today?"

Lucius and Harry exchanged a look, the latter hoping he conveyed all the information the former needed without words. "All that you can think of. Trousers, undershirts, dress shirts, loungewear, and robes for all occasions. He is an heir, so he must represent his family well. Prefered color scheme of blues and greens, of course."

Without her hands guiding it, the tape measure flew towards Harry and wrapped around his wrist. For a second he froze, breath catching, but he relaxed when nothing happened. It moved around him like it had a mind of its own, wrapping around various body parts and stretching out alongside others. Once it had apparently taken all the measurements it required it flew back to Madam Vettel and returned to its resting place around her shoulders.

"I will get to work on those clothes shortly. I am assuming you wish to have them delivered to the Manor upon completion?"

"Naturally."

"They will be there is three days time. Is there anything else I can do for you two today?"

Lucius glanced down at Harry again, gesturing for him to speak up this time. "I need new shoes and socks," he blurted out, immediately wincing at the abrupt nature of his speech. Madam Vettel didn't seem to think anything of it, just leading the young boy over to a stack of boxes reaching toward the ceiling.

"Would you like a pair of fine dragonhide boots? They are quite popular among the younger generations, I sell quite a few every fall."

Harry hesitated, staring all the ankle boots she was showing him. They were patterned like snakeskin and reflected light just the same, only these were black as obsidian and reeked of wealth. Stunningly beautiful, certainly, but he wondered how the leather was harvested.

When he asked as much, the woman let out a genuine laugh. "That is precious! It's sweet that you are worried about humane treatment of dragons in this day and age. All of the dragonhide used commercially is taken from the bodies of those who die naturally, in sanctuaries down in the southeast."

With that concern abbated, Harry accepted the box from her and lifted a boot from it. As he had noted earlier, they would reach just past his ankle. There was a slight heel, just enough to raise him past 4'5", and a couple rows of silver and black laces to keep them fitted. He nodded when she inquired as to whether they were to his liking. When he asked if they needed to be tried on, she chuckled again and informed him that all his measurements had already been taken, and this pair was almost exactly the proper dimensions.

"If that is all you two will be needing today," she started as she made her way to the front of the store, "I can take your money here. That will be 120 galleons and 10 sickles."

They stepped out of the shop after the transaction was complete, Lucius taking hold of Harry and steering him towards an alley wizards kept emerging from.

"The quickest way to get to the Manor is by apparition. For first-timers, my old advice is to keep your mouth and eyes shut. It is not a pleasant sensation, but it will be over quickly." Then they were stepping over a chalk line on the ground and Lucius pulled out his wand, turned sharply on his heel, and they disappeared from where they were standing with a loud crack.

Upon landing on a stretch of gravel, Harry jerked away from Lucius and proceeded to spew thin vomit all over the ground, barely managing to keep his clothes clean. His head pounded and spun the worst it had all of that day. Above him he heard the blond tisk through clenched teeth, but was too busy trying to swallow back another wave of nausea to respond.

The first few times apparating can be disorienting. Tom tried his best to comfort the younger boy. Though he hated Lucius seeing him this weak, he knew that there was only so much change an adolescent could handle before they broke down. Hell, he was almost at his own limit.

When his stomach finally stopped trying to turn itself inside out, Harry rose to his feet and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, looking up at Lucius and waiting for him to speak first.

It seemed that the Lord hadn't expected what he had just witnessed, and seemed taken aback when Harry made eye contact. "Ah, welcome to the Malfoy Manor, My Lord, Mister Potter. I open my doors to you for as long as you desire my hospitality."

Tom chose that moment to take over, and Harry was more than willing to let him. There were formalities being addressed that he wasn't familiar with, and he didn't want to mess anything up.

"I accept your offer, and swear that I will not abuse it." They both nodded, and Harry watched a thin silver strand drift into place between them, as faint as a single blond hair caught in the breeze. "Now, Lucius, tell me; have my rooms been kept up to par?"

The blond started down the path towards a massive house, not too far in the distance. As he walked, he responded to Tom. "The house-elves dust and launder your chambers as often as they do mine own, My Lord. For the past ten years Narcissa and I have been waiting for your return, and did not want you to think us unprepared to welcome you."

"I am happy to hear that. Harry has had a trying day, and I think he would appreciate a hot meal and a soft bed at this point. On the topic of your wife, how has your family been?"

Lucius puffed up, talk of his family filling him with pride. "Narcissa and I had a son, I'm sure you recall. He is the same age as Harry, if I remember correctly, and his name is Draco. He is at Hogwarts for his first year at the moment, and writes us constantly about how he is adapting. Speaking of schooling, why is Harry not there at this very moment?"

Silence fell over the pair for a minute as Tom thought about the question. 'I must admit, I am not sure. I have only been conscious alongside Harry for the past two days, and have no memories from between Halloween in 1981 and then."

Realizing that they were talking about him, Harry come to the forefront. "Before two days ago, as far as I was aware, it was still July. Then Uncle hit me and fell asleep and woke up in the middle of November." He faded away and quickly as he had appeared, not wanting to focus on the thought of that night.

Lucius, on the other hand, couldn't ignore the comment. He froze, staring at the boy. "You… You were abused?"

The question hung in the air for a long moment before Tom answered. "I suppose he was. His past is not something we have addressed yet, but I was aware, abstractly, that he did not come from a loving home. It is not a topic of discussion at this point, however." Tom kept walking, his intent now to reach his bedroom as soon as possible to finally get some well-earned rest.

Lucius caught on quickly and dropped the subject, walking in silence for the next five minutes until they reached the front door. A house-elf wearing a clean grey sheet popped up, bowing deeply to both humans before addressing her master.

"Master Malfoy, your wife do requests you join her in the drawings room. The wards alerted her of an unauthorized guest accompanying you and was mighty worried!"

He blanched at the prospect of being chewed out by his wife, but spared a glance to Tom. "My Lord, would you be content with Gimney taking you to your rooms? I am afraid Narcissa's anger only grows stronger when she is left to wait..."

Tom waved him off. "Certainly, Lucius. I understand the importance of family to you and will be fine with just an elf."

The blond called for another of the small creatures and instructed her to lead Tom to the Dark Lord's rooms before he took off, a hint too fast to be considered a casual pace. The elf that appeared before Tom was small, wearing a plain white sheet in the same style as Blissey. She bowed deeply to Tom and squeaked out, "If Mister Riddle would bes following Gimney, we can takes him to his chambers!"

Walking through the halls of the Manor, Harry let his curiosity get the better of him and gawked at his surroundings. The floor was freshly polished marble, blindingly white with spiderwebs of grey streaking through it. The walls were solid stone and covered in massive works of art - tapestries, mosaics, oil canvases. Over head, chandeliers hung from the vaulted ceiling. Floor-to-ceiling windows gazed out at flower gardens filled with every color rose imaginable and forests full of ancient oaks. The staircase they climbed was white stone with dark wood accents, the railings iron twisted into ornate patterns.

When they reached the door to his bedroom, Harry couldn't believe Tom had put up with staying at the dirt-cheap hotel the night before when he could have been sleeping here. The door itself was dark walnut and heavy, clearly expensive.

He turned to the elf, who stood off to the side waiting to be dismissed. "These are my rooms?" he asked, incredulous.

She was quick to shake her head. "No Sir, this is only your sleeping chambers. The other rooms are being further down the hall!"

Harry was feeling faint with the realization that he got to stay in an actual, legitimate, mansion. "I see."

Is there anything else Gimney can be getting Mister Riddle?" She was wringing her hands, anxious to serve her master's Lord to the best of her ability.

Harry took stock of the body for a second before responding. "If the kitchen could bring up a hot meal in a few minutes, I would appreciate it. Other than that, I'm good. Thank you for guiding me here, you're dismissed."

The elf, slightly teary-eyed from the thanks, nodded and disapparated. Tom shook his head, still confused by the behavior of house elves in response to any form of kindness.

It took more effort than Tom wanted to admit, pushing open the door to his bed chambers. When it finally swung on its hinges, he felt his breath catch as Harry took in the decor. The floor was the same deep wood as the door, freshly polished even though it hadn't been used in a decade. The walls were a light grey, mostly covered in bookshelves and framed works of art. A pair of armchairs sat along the wall beside a tall bookcase, side table between them bearing a solid silver candelabra. Facing the large window taking up a whole wall was a queen size four-poster bed. The quilt covering it was plush velvet, dark green with black detailing.

I was the closest thing to a home for Tom. Letting out a breath he didn't know he was holding, he threw himself onto the plush mattress. Before he could drift into unconsciousness, a loud pop filled the air as Gimney appeared. She bore a large covered platter which she set on the side table across the room.

"Gimney has broughts Mister Riddle supper from the kitchens. We hopes that Mister Riddle finds the food to his liking!" She popped out as quickly as she had come, leaving Tom's stomach growling as the smell of a freshly-prepared meal saturated the air.

Part of him wanted to just remain in the bed, body aching and exhausted from the high emotions of the day, but Harry knew better than to pass up a meal when it was offered to him. Pulling himself to his feet again was a trial in and of itself, but Harry eventually made his way across the room and seated himself beside the tray of food. It wasn't much - probably for the best, given his history with small, inconsistent meals - and the food was bland, but it was better than anything he had ever gotten to eat.

Harry was only able to eat half of the plate, despite how small the portion was. Once finished, he returned to the bed, stripping off his day clothes and curling up under the magically heated sheets. Though Tom knew Lucius would want an explanation for the situation he had found himself in, sleep was calling to him like a siren. He couldn't resist as his eyelids drooped, taking longer each time to reopen. Harry was already fading, and Tom couldn't help but follow after him. After such a trying day, not even the threat of nightmares would keep him from resting.

Narcissa had kept him for longer than Lucius was expecting. As he made his way to his Lord's room, he hoped that the dark wizard wouldn't hold it against him. The day had gone from annoying to downright baffling, and he was struggling to keep up. However, upon pushing open the heavy walnut door, Lucius froze. Rather than his lord sitting and waiting impatiently for his subject, as he had been anticipating, the blond saw a small lump curled up almost completely under the blankets. All that peeked out from under green velvet was a mop of black hair.

It struck him just how small the boy, Harry, was. Balled up in the center of the bed as he was, taking up less space than one of the Malfoy foxhounds, it wasn't hard to believe that the child had lived a less-than-ideal life up until this point. He was nothing like Draco, tall and gangly and just entering puberty. Still, inexplicably, Lucius felt faintly responsible for the boy. Perhaps it was his own son being away from home for the first time, but the blond felt the urge to tuck harry into the bed.

Shaking his head, he turned away and closed the door behind himself. Despite appearances, it was also his Lord in there, and Lucius didn't think that the full-grown wizard would much appreciate being doted on like a child.

Chapter End Notes

Uploads will be pretty scattered for the entirety of this fic, sorry! I'm trying to write, but it's hard to just sit down with my laptop for a couple hours. I did just get my wisdom teeth out though, so hopefully this week of rest will prove beneficial to my writing. Then it's off to college for me!

Felicitous

Chapter Summary

Felicitous - Adj, to be well suited; delightful or pleasant
Both Harry and Tom are getting more comfortable at the Manor, which doesn't particularly bode well for the Malfoy Lord.

Chapter Notes

Walks in 30 minutes late with an iced coffee* Y'all miss me?

JK I'm so sorry about being MIA for, what, 2 months? Oof. Uploads are gonna be pretty scattered for the next, like, forever, sorry about that folks, but I'm like, 80% sure I'm not gonna abandon this story no matter how long it takes me to write it. Anyway, I hope this was worth the wait for those of you subscribed, and for newcomers and subscribes alike, I hope you enjoy the chapter! You reactions encourage me, so feel free to share them!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

A fine layer of snow lay outside the Malfoy Manor. Light glowed from within the stone walls, keeping at bay the bitterness of the end of winter and the dark slowly approaching in the late afternoon. The lady of the house was in her study, managing the various estates and businesses the Malfoys owned, while the lord spoke through the floo with notable lords of other houses, keeping up with the happenings of other wizarding communities. The third and final human in the large house could be found in the magnificent library, curled in one of the antique armchairs with his nose buried in a book.

Harry was reading ' The Dark Forces: A Guide To Self-Protection,' one of the textbooks Tom said other wizards his age were reading when the boy mentioned wanting to learn all about magic on his own. For his part, Tom restrained himself to defining strange words and offering the occasional clarification on a paragraph Harry didn't fully grasp. Beside him was a small stack of other books, some from the list of first year books Lucius had procured for him and others random but beginner-level texts he had picked out from the shelves. He was almost done with the latest book he had tackled, per Tom's suggestion, and was hungry for any knowledge he could acquire about magic. Another annotation was made in the copy he read - with a biro, not those idiotic quills Tom tried to make him use - as he noted mention of a branch of magic he was interested in researching further.

Harry still found himself in shock of just how embedded magic was in the wizarding world. Everything in the manor was powered by magic - from the ball of mage light floating in every room to the house-elves cooking in the kitchens to the wards keeping Harry from certain sections of the library. It was fascinating, how many applications there were for the ability, and Harry couldn't wait to learn each and every one.

He could still remember the first time he used his wand. The first year charms textbook had seemed so easy, with the help Tom was willing to offer, and Harry figured there was no point in learning theory if he couldn't apply it. The levitation charm took five tries before the book managed to rise half a foot. It took ten more attempts before he could hold it for more than five seconds. Still, for the first time, he had purposefully tapped into the well of power he knew was in his chest. Magic had flowed through his veins and out his wand, bent to his will. It was intoxicating.

For the first time in his life, Harry felt comfortable. His stomach was still full from lunch a few hours earlier, he was warm and freshly showered, and he was free to read all day if he so desired. It wasn't quite a sense of safety, as he was still waiting for the second shoe to drop and for the Malfoy's to reveal their violent streak, but it was the closest he had come since he was left with the Dursleys.

Further, he was finally on the road to recovering physically. He was gaining weight, albeit slowly, and had grown a bit more than three inches in the months since his arrival. Going back to the goblins had resulted in a strict regimen of potions designed to help him body heal: skele-gro for his weak bones that were never set right, a salve for the thick ropes of scar tissue covering his body, and a nutrient-rich potion that he now took every other morning.The goblins had also found that he had excessively poor eyesight, so he now wore a round pair of glasses that only vaguely resembled his father's, according to Tom's recollection. Harry knew he still had a way to go, what with being below the 20th percentile in both weight and height for boys his age, but both he and Tom were proud of how far he had already come.

Lucius entered the library abruptly, choosing the seat beside Harry's and collapsing in it as elegantly as anything the man did. Harry watched him for a second, eyebrows raised, waiting for him to say something. When no explanation for the dramatics was given, he sighed and put his book down. Obviously, there was something the blond wished to discuss with his lord.

"Speak your mind, Lucius," Tom demanded once he got tired of waiting.

So impatient, Harry teased, getting nothing but the afterburner image of a sneer.

"My Lord, I am wondering what your plans are for the coming summer. Of course I continue to offer my manor to you, but my son will be returning from Hogwarts and Harry's presence - as well as your own, understandably - will be a shock to him. We have told him none of what has been going on here, as per your request, but I humbly ask for advice on how to proceed."

"A minute to discuss this with Harry, Lucius," Tom demanded.

If you wish to find another place of residence, I have some suggestions, Tom offered the boy.

Why do we have to leave? Just because his son is returning? I'm the same age as him, and I'm sure you and Lucius can think up some overly-complex reason for my living here.

I appreciate your trust in our scheming. Of course, I would have to stay completely under his radar, so to speak, in this situation.

Harry pouted. I know, and it's unfortunate, but there's not much you can do in a weak eleven-year-old's body, anyway. I can't live on my own yet, which means you'd have to be dependent on someone else as well. It's not like you wouldn't be able to talk to Lucius and manage your own affairs still, too. Wouldn't Lucius be the safest option, since he's a known variable at this point?

It took a while longer for Tom to respond to his statement. I am quite impressed by your logic, Harry. It would be safer for us both to proceed under the guise of a normal child, and you are finally getting comfortable around Lucius. Learning another adult's quirks would be a waste of time.

Tom raised his head and refocused on the Malfoy lord in front of him, mind made up. "I will continue to stay at the manor through the summer. When your heir returns from his schooling, he is not to know about my presence. It will just be Harry commandeering the Dark Lord's rooms, as far as he is aware."

Lucius swallowed roughly. It was not the answer he had been expecting, but he would have to make the situation work. He just hoped that his son didn't do anything foolish enough to warrant 'attention' from his Lord. With not but a curt nod the blond rose from his seat and left the library, waiting until he was outside of the door to feel overwhelmed by the depth of the demand. His Lord trusted him to keep his secret, to keep his loyalty. If this was a test, Lucius would gladly redeem himself of the cowardice he showed after the last war.

Once Lucius was gone, Harry couldn't get back into reading. Just as he finally thought he was becoming well-adjusted, another wrench was thrown into the situation to trip him up. Anxious towards the prospect of yet another new player in the field, he pulled himself to his feet and wandered through the manors halls, restless. There was an energy in his veins that he hadn't felt in years, since the second wizarding war, since ever. He was quivering, a blend of tension and excitement. Harry was going to meet another person his age, someone Dudley wouldn't be able to bully into avoiding him. It was terrifying. It was grand.

He somehow found himself in the gardens, making his way through rose bushes and hedges. The flowers bloomed under the influence of magic, leaving blood red petals to sag under a layer of snow and ice. Cold sank into Harry's bones and helped abate the buzzing, numbing his anxiety. The crunch of snow under his boots was all he could hear. Not even the wildlife on the estate dared to break the silence.

Harry didn't know how long he had been walking. Tom had yet to make an appearance, preferring to let the child deal with his emotional turmoil in private. He gradually became aware of another sound carrying through the frozen air, a faint sibilance like steam from a kettle before it whistles. He followed the sound, more curious than anything, to a poorly kept part of the gardens. Hydrangeas grew to the size of saplings, creating a hollow space beneath heavy branches which roses had invaded. Thorny brambles crept across the ground and snagged the edge of his trousers. Ignoring the pinpricks of pain as skin was scraped, Harry closed in on the strange sound. Coiled near the base of the bush was a small snake, no wider than his finger and as long as his forearm. Said reptile was flicking out their tongue, small eyes glaring at the frozen terrain around them.

"Sstill winter! Ssstill cold! Blassted magic messsing with hibernation. Musst hunt, musst find warmth." The grey snake was hesitant to touch the snow. When they noticed Harry crouched near them, observing, they flicked out their tongue and hissed. "Another wizard, sstupid magic people. Your fault we die every sspring!"

Tom started to rise up in his mind, intrigued by the small reptile, but Harry beat him to speech. "I am ssorry that the ressidual magic of the Manor harmss your kind, friend. May I offer you body heat, to aid in the processs of waking up?"

Now two beings were watching him with surprise, the snake and the other presence in his mind. You can speak parsel? Tom asked while simultaneously, the snake responded.

"You are a sspeaker, ssmall one? Then I will take you up on the offer of warmth." It slithered over to harry and up the hand he offered, unflinching as smooth scales slid up his skin.

If parsel is the snake language, then yes. Is it really so rare of a trait? Harry didn't fully understand the shock value of his skill, but Tom was ecstatic.

Indeed, it is a rare talent. I was once a parselmouth myself, but thought the trait had left me when I was removed from my body. I am quite glad you've proved me wrong. Be careful who knows you are a speaker, as many wizards nowadays believe it to be a sign of darkness.

Harry had been speaking to snakes long before Tom, as he knew him, had come into his life. Often times when gardening, small grass and worm snakes would offer the only socialization he would get in the week. After the first time Aunt caught him hissing in the backyard, he had gotten a lot better at hiding his conversations. It was upsetting that the prejudice carried over into the magical world, but he could at least take comfort in the reliability of fear.

The worm snake had coiled itself around Harry's upper arm, tongue periodically tasting his skin. The cool scales slowly warmed up against his skin. The discomfort that had been boiling in his veins was long forgotten. Now all he felt was curiosity towards the small snake.

"Are you content will living outsside in this garden, friend? I can offer you warmed sstones and a ssupply of food if you sso dessire it, at least until the climate iss more welcoming."

Under his sleeve, the snake shifted and responded. "I appreciate you, sspeaker, but I musst care for mysself or die. Thuss iss the way of ssnakess."

Harry was slightly put out by the response, but he understood the sentiment. This was a wild animal, after all, and they had an ingrained desire to look after themselves.

Once the snake was properly warmed up, they slithered down his arm and back onto the frozen solid ground. With a final tongue-flick in his direction, his acquaintance ventured off into the icy underbrush.

They likely will not make it into spring, Tom informed Harry. It is too cold for an endothermic animal to survive for long here. It truly is a shame that the Manor's magic interferes with nature to such a degree, but it is as they said - this is life.

The likely outcome of the little snake was disappointing, but Harry didn't lose much time thinking about it. Rather, as he made his way back indoors, his mind was occupied with how it would have felt to share his space with another animal. The calm presence of something akin to a pet, able to converse like a friend. Try as he might to focus on his reading when he reached the library again, the thought remained in the back of his mind.

The Malfoy library was massive. Harry had spent many days curled up in his go-to armchair, reading from sunup to sundown. It could hold his attention for days on end, to the point that he forgot to sleep and had to be reminded by house elves to eat. Often Tom would let him explore independently, not offering his own knowledge so Harry could find books that caught his current interest. The first-year hogwarts books were far behind him now, as were second-year. Now Harry was prowling the shelves, searching for yet another specific topic while Tom watched on, amused.

He pulled a book off the top shelf and skimmed through it, grinning when he realized it was the text he was looking for. Sitting where he was, the boy flipped through the pages of 'Toxic Snakes of the World' and copied down the names of species that caught his eye. Every few entries, Tom would pipe up and offer his own opinion on a certain breed.

The next time Harry saw Lucius, the boy made a demand all on his own. "Tomorrow, I need to make a trip to London with adult supervision," he stated. "It should take no more than an hour."

The blond nodded slowly, more than used to odd orders from both his Lord and Harry. "Where will we be going?"

"Edna Elroy, a magical herpetologist, keeps shop in Horizont Alley according to the 'Complete Guide to Wizarding London, 34th Edition.' I am interested in acquiring a companion creature." Harry found enjoyment in the way Lucius' lip twitched in disgust at the prospect of reptiles for a second before he reclaimed control of his features.

Childish excitement welled up in Harry's throat and found residence in his stomach once he was alone again. Throughout dinner he could barely sit still long enough to clear his plate, and after he had to take a walk through the gardens just to calm down enough to be able to fall asleep at a reasonable time. Narcissa joined him outside for some time, distracting him with questions about what he was studying at the time. When he finally managed to fall asleep - a ball of magelight in the corner of the room to burn away the worst of the nightmares - his dreams were full of scales and forked tongues.

It was barely even ten in the morning and Harry was bouncing on his toes in the sitting room, waiting for Lucius to grab his overcoat so they could leave already.

Relax, child, the store is not going anywhere, Tom chidded. Still, Harry couldn't help having so much pent up energy. When the blond finally entered the room, he didn't even waste time with small talk. He thrust the bowl of floo dust in Lucius' face and pouted dramatically when he stared blankly back. Rather than drawing out his chaffing of the boy's excitement any more, Lucius took a handful of the powder and threw it into the fireplace, stating his location and disappearing in green flames.

Harry followed suit quickly, stepping out into a brightly lit building full of cages. Lucius was standing as far from the enclosures as he could, elbows pulled in close as if he feared the animals would reach out a snag his arm. The mental image made Harry smirk for a moment before he was distracted by the animals he found himself surrounded by.

Directly in front of the fireplace they had stepped out of was a terrarium filled with different species of toads. Each was a variation of the same wide, grey, and warty amphibian - decidedly not what Harry was looking for. All around the store were containers of various reptiles and amphibians, bright colored frogs and lizards basking under conjured balls of heat filling the shelves. The snakes, however, were confined to the back wall in large glass containers. As Harry approached them, their voices rose in a cacophony of angry exclamations and curses. A ball python reared up when he neared her cage, calling him a "hairless ape with no respect for superior creatures." Apparently humans garnered no respect from the animals they kept contained in small cages, to the surprise of none.

Tucked away in the corner was the selection he was most intrigued by - venomous snakes. A large placard stated that the animals were to be handled with caution, complete with the outdated skull-and-crossbones emblem to depict their toxicity. Harry had a short list of snakes he was interested in purchasing, only a few of which this herpetologist bred. The first one he came across, a hognose pit viper, refused to even acknowledge his presence. The dark green boomslang was equally moody and hissed about wanting to inject him with venom, if only the "stupid human would reach in and try to stroke his scales."

It was on the tenth enclosure that Harry found the snake that he knew with certainty he would be leaving the store with. A murky green head rose from beneath the leaf litter scattering the cage, tongue flicking out and eyes blinking languidly. It said nothing, waiting for Harry to make the first move.

Harry stared the creature down, cocking his head slightly. Knowing there was no one within earshot, he risked hissing out a short "Greetings, friend," to the snake.

It reared back, shocked, before sliding forward and pressing itself against the glass. "A speaker! I've heard but tales of you, snakes with human forms!"

An honest grin threatened to overtake Harry's features. "Indeed I am. Would you grace me with your name in exchange for companionship?"

The reptile's tongue flashed out again. "My nest-mates called me Tarka. If you would take me from this place, I would owe you more than companionship, snake-friend."

Harry glanced around, gesturing to a bored employee when he finally made eye contact. "I want this snake." He gestured to the enclosure, smirking when the young man grimaced at the prospect of handling the venomous reptile.

"You do know the Inland Taipan is like, super poisonous, right?" the worker questioned.

Harry adopted a scowl instead. "They're venomous, actually."

The employee scoffed and went about extracting the snake with a long pole, depositing him in a small cardboard box and handing it to Harry.

Lucius joined Harry as he made his way up to the front of the store, Tarka tucked away in the container and safe under his arm. The blond man was eyeing the carton distrustingly but said nothing while Harry passed over the three galleons the clerk asked for.

They left the pet store just twenty minutes after entering it, stepping through the fireplace and back into the Malfoy Manor. Immediately upon arriving, Harry opened the top of the container. Glad to be out of the dark box at last, Tarka poked his head up and glanced around curiously. Lucius, standing off out of reach but still peering curiously at the snake, blinked stupidly when Harry began speaking without looking up from his new friend.

"You and Nascissa should be made aware, Tom and I discovered that I have the skill of parseltongue. Obviously, it would be extremely unfortunate if anyone outside of the manor were to discover this."

Lucius blanched before nodded, then, realizing Harry wasn't looking at him, spoke up. "Of course. Of course, we would never want this information to get out by mistake."

Harry nodded, pleased by the Lord's response, before his attention returned to his new guest.

"This is where we will be living. I'll show you around, if you'd like," Harry hissed to the taipan. The snake climbed up his arm when he extended it. With the four-foot reptile draped over his shoulders, Harry went about giving his new companion a tour of the manor. Lucius, Tom noted, was already reaching for a bottle of firewhiskey before the boy was even out of the room.

Tarka decided that he, like Harry, preferred the library over all the other rooms. Part of it was the floor-to-ceiling windows along one wall, where the snake could soak up all the midday sun he wanted. The other part was that the room was his new friend's favorite, and the reptile wanted to spend as much time with his human as possible. This led to the common situation of Harry being stuck in his go-to armchair, immobilized by the snake coiled up in his lap. The boy often resorted to summoning the books he wanted to read, unwilling as he was to disturb his companion when the creature had just fallen asleep and glad to practice his magic.

It had only been a week since Tom encouraged the boy to begin testing his practical knowledge of basic spells, and Harry was proving to be quite the prodigy. It only helped that he had an experienced wizard in his head, coaching him on the pronunciations and the process of drawing from his magical core. Still, he was making his way through Hogwarts spellbooks on his own with shocking ease, something Tom was quite impressed with.

Over the course of just two weeks, Harry and Tarka had gone from master and pet to friends, bordering on the idolized relationship of wizard and familiar. Narcissa hadn't been extremely happy when she was introduced to her new house guest, but she had too much self-preservation to openly object to Tom's desires. Both Malfoys were at this point used to seeing Harry strolling down the halls, covered in coils of dark green scales. Their conversations in parsel stretched on for hours at times, and encouraged Harry's current delve into magical literature; He had muttered a simple spelling unwittingly in parsel, and to his alarm overpowered it from a simple lumos to a ball of white light that left spots on his retinas for a moment. Tom's silence on the subject led the boy to the situation he was now in, searching the massive library for any mention of the snake tongue.

It was only after hours of prowling the shelves that Harry stumbled across something. An aged book, leather-bound and yellowing with age, had been tucked behind a newer text. The title was carved into the cover in some foreign text, the letters a strange arrangement of swirls and curved lines. Before his eyes, the language transformed, odd forms straightening out to spell, in english, " The Art of Parselmagiks." Harry returned to his seat - stepping over Tarka, who had transferred himself to the tiles once they were warmed to his liking - and cracked the old tome open.

"Parselmagic is the ability to weave the snake language into a form of magic, as raw as that which we contain in our own cores… Certain spells can be translated into parsel, though the caster often finds himself on the receiving end of a violent reaction… More often, a speaker crafts his own unique spells by focusing his intent into the language."

To say Harry was fascinated by the potential he had unwittingly discovered was an understatement. He tried to ask Tom about the process of spellcrafting, but all the wizard had to say was, It is complex, and takes time to perfect. This is not something you can rush. Which was decidedly not the answer Harry was hoping for. Still, he trusted the older man in regards to all things magic, so he promised to take his studies of spellcrafting and parselmagic slow. He was only halfway through the third-year textbooks, after all!

Chapter End Notes

fun fact: Tarka means Eggshell in Kaurna, a language from South Australia! I was just looking for 'aboriginal australian names' and it came up, and I thought it fit, since he's an inland Taipan from Australia! I just imagine him hatching and having a little piece of shell stuck to his head, so that's what his broodmates(?) called him.

Also I apologize for any grammatical/spelling errors, I tried to edit before posting but I'm not the best at catching small errors. If there are any, or there's a continuity problem, please let me know to I can fix it!

Camaraderie

Chapter Summary

Camaraderie - noun; mutual trust and friendship among people who spend a lot of time together
Harry meets another member of the Malfoy household in a less-than-ideal circumstance

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Every day that passed by, Harry was drawn more and more into the shell of leather-bound papers he was building around himself. He fully immersed himself in the textbooks and journals Tom recommended and soaked up knowledge like a sponge. The more he read about magic, the more practical skills he learned, the more he realized there was so much out there to learn. Tom tried to pace him, warning Harry that falling too deep down this well would end in his own destruction, but the boy was enraptured by the worn tomes he pull off dusty, forgotten shelves.

He was in the middle of a heavy text on the topic of Mind Magics when he felt a minor disturbance in the weak magical field he had taken to erecting around himself when he read. Recognizing the signature as Lucius, Harry offered the minimal focus necessary to appease the lord. A slight nod of the head, a hum at the appropriate pitch, and the blond man retreated thinking his words had been heard. Tom grumbled, moderately annoyed that Harry was so unobservant, but he quieted when an interesting topic was broached in the book.

It was another many hours later that Harry was roused from his stationary position, drawn from his concentration by the incessant ache in his stomach. Not too long ago this was my normal state, and now it's distracting enough that I can't learn. How the times have changed, hmm?

Harry got the impression that Tom would have rolled his eyes if he had a corporeal form.

Checking the time with a tempus, Harry realized he had worked straight through breakfast and lunch. Maybe the hunger pains were deserved after all. Still annoying. He sighed, cast a longing gaze at the leather cover of his current book, and left the library to take his meal in the sitting room.

As he made his way down an empty hallway, footsteps echoing off the stone walls, Harry considered how little he had seen of either Malfoy that day. Typically Lucius would pop into the library to discuss the current topic he was pursuing, and Narcissa begged the young boy to walk in the gardens with her after tea. Perhaps there was a business event they were called away to, he reasoned. The alternative - that they were ignoring him - didn't sit well in either Harry nor Tom's stomach. They were his subjects, and must remain loyal to him, else they were as useless as the rest of the Death Eaters that had forgotten him.

Harry was lost in thought as he turned the corner, expecting the sitting room to be as empty as all the other rooms he had glanced into on his way down. Rather than the house elf he was beginning to call the name of, the boy ran face-first into a warm body slightly larger than himself.

"Oof!" the stranger cried out, voice only barely lower than Harry's own. Harry stumbled back, taken by surprise and reeling. Knocked on his rear and looking far too affronted for Tom's taste was a lanky boy with flax hair slicked back like a helmet. The child stared for a second, mouth agape, before springing into action. A dark hawthorne wand slid into the blond's hand. He aimed the stick straight at Harry. The stranger's arm wavered slightly, but his glare held no fear or hesitation. Harry did not pull his own wand - that took too much time. Instead, he threw his arms up and cast a rudimentary shield. The teal jelly-legs jinx on his opponent's tongue struck the barrier and fizzled out. With his shield up, Harry was able to go on the offensive before another spell could be cast . A full-body bind lashed out in time with a flick of his wand. Dark green magic hit the blond head on. He went rigid, sprawled out on the tile floor with his wand still clenched in his fist. Harry stalked forward, taking the time to spin his wand between his fingers. This child dared to attack him, dared to think that he wasn't stronger than him.

In the back of his mind Harry was aware of Tom's suspicious silence, but anger overwhelmed his curiosity. This intruder of his new home needed to be dealt with. Grey eyes stared up at him, wide and darting about like a cornered rabbit. Yes, he knows your power, he knows you're his better. Show him what you do to the undeserving. Tom whispered in his ear, fanning the cold flames in Harry's chest. On Harry's lips a smirk began growing, relishing in the fear he instilled in this boy. He would impress his mentor with just how creative he could get.

A blasting curse was right on the tip of his tongue when Lucius barged into the sitting room, hair in more disarray than Harry had ever seen. It seemed he had been in the middle of preparing for a bath when Harry's spat had begun, given the state of his appearance and the terrycloth robe he wore. The lord froze, taking in the scene of the Dark Lord, the boy he had taken into his home, standing over his son. Harry's light brown wand was drawn and aimed at Draco's head. Knowing better than to act rashly, Lucius raised his hands and spoke to Harry. "The elves told me you two had a… slight disagreement. I apologize for not giving you proper warning that we would have another guest in the manor, Harry. If you would let me introduce the both of you formally?"

Harry eyed his host, contemplating what would happen if he fired off the spell he so desire to in that moment. Would Lucius lose his calm and act out against his master? Do not test him, I know where his true loyalties lie and we would find ourselves without a place to rest. Finally, after what felt like a whole minute to both Malfoys present, Harry lowered his wand and cast a finite incantatem with a dismissive wave of his hand. The boy at his feet gasped and scrambled back, putting a good three meters between the two youths. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes had a faint glaze over them. Giving into his antagonistic urges, Harry sent the boy a cold grin with just a few too many teeth.

Lucius cleared his throat, calling attention back to himself. "Harry, I introduce my son and heir, Draco Malfoy. You may not have heard me when I informed you earlier that he was returning from Hogwarts today?" Ah, so that was what Lucius told us this morning. Lucius turned to his son, gesturing to to Harry. "Draco, this is Harry Potter, heir Potter, heir Perevell. Your mother and I have taken him in as our ward. Perhaps we can have a more in depth conversation over a late lunch. Dipsy tells me you haven't eaten today, Harry." The man gave Harry an exacerbated look, as though the boy hadn't been prepared to murder his son a minute prior.

Of course, Lucius wasn't actually so dismissive of the threat Harry presented towards his heir. Rather, he dealt with his internal conflict with a front of excessive nonchalance. Beneath it, he was ripping out his hair over the near-death experience Draco didn't know he had faced. Would his lord truly kill the child over his ignorance? If so, what could Lucius do to stop him?

Brushing off the chills the question brought on, Lucius gestured to the plush sofas arranged around a squat, ornate table. He called for a house elf to bring food and got an immediate response. Blissey apparated into the room holding a tray loaded with sandwiches and various fruits, as well as a tea set. She placed it on the table, bowed deeply, and disappeared with a snap. Everyone sat silently around the food. None of the three in the room said a word for the longest time, both Malfoys staring at Harry as he served himself a hearty portion of the food in front of him. Truly, all the studying he did left him famished.

When Harry finally raised his head and noticed two pairs of grey eyes boring into him, he pursed his lips. "What is the problem, Lucius?"

His words shook the blond lord from his stupor. "Nothing is the matter, m- Harry." It would be hard to refrain from using his Lord's title when Draco was present. "I was just wondering if you would like to explain the situation we have found ourselves in, or if I should."

Harry glanced at Draco, who wore a slight scowl at the way he was being ignored. "What else is there to explain? I am a ward of the Malfoy family for the time being, taking up residence in the west wing. If your son has any questions, he should speak them rather than continue to glare at me."

Lucius almost sighed. He had hoped that their close ages would help the two bond, but it seemed he had expected too much of his Lord and the young Potter. He, too, turned to his son. "Draco, do you have any questions? I understand this whole arrangement must come as a bit of a shock to you."

The blond boy in question grunted, scowling at the blueberries he had piled onto his plate. Quite unfitting for a pureblood heir, Harry noted. "I just don't understand why you couldn't have told me earlier that it was Harry Potter staying at our manor, father. Why him, of all people?"

It almost amused Harry, to see the young blond so confused. Still, he pitied both the Malfoys for being so clearly out of their depth and off guard. "If you are referring to my vanquishing of Lord Voldemort when I was a baby, I can assure you that was all unintentional on my part. Despite our conflicting histories, your father was kind enough to take me in when I was in need of housing, and the Lord, Lady, and I have all come to a mutually benefiting agreement regarding my continued stay under their care until I reach majority."

Draco scoffed. "'Mutually beneficial?' What could you possibly offer my father that he doesn't already have?"

Lucius paled, worried that his Lord might take offense at how brash his son was, but Harry just smirked at his peer. He took his time crossing his legs and lacing his fingers together over his knee before speaking again, ignoring how Draco sighed through his nose at the theatrics. "The details of this arrangement cannot be disclosed at this moment, but I will be residing at the Malfoy Manor for the foreseeable future. It is my hope that you and I can become acquaintances over the course of my stay here. At the very least, I apologize about jinxing you earlier. I am afraid I am not always the most attentive to my surroundings, and I mistook you for someone not welcome in the manor." Very eloquent, Harry. I see my influence hasn't gone to waste, tom remarked softly.

There was silence for a few short seconds before Draco huffed, some of the rigidity leaving his posture. "I suppose it was an honest mistake. If my mother trusts you to stay in our house, that is enough for me. For now, that is." He stuffed a piece of fruit in his mouth to avoid having to say any more to the total stranger before him.

Harry shrugged, content enough to eat his meal in silence. He picked up one of the sandwiches on his plate, letting out a contented hum as he bit into the smoked salmon. Lucius watched the two children eating for a minute before he sighed and stood up.

"If there is nothing else here to discuss, I really must be getting back to my study. I was in the middle of a floo call earlier, and my correspondent does not have the best of patience." With that, Lucius gave Harry and Draco a nod and escaped from the sitting room.

Once Lord Malfoy left, Harry didn't waste any time scarfing down his lunch. Tom would be quite annoyed with him if they backtracked on the progress they had been making on his physical strength. Draco simply observed, seeming to have something on his mind but hesitant to put it into words. Well, Harry was fine letting the boy stew for a while more. Tarka was probably waking up from his mid-day nap around now, and there was a text on occlumency that he was eager to return to.

"Where are you going?" Draco startled as Harry pulled himself to his feet, not bothering to even glance at the Malfoy heir before he turned and exited the sitting room. Put off by the lack of attention, Draco trailed behind Harry as the boy made his way through the manor and back to the library. Quite a persistent little ferret, isn't he? Harry mused absently.

"I am in the middle of an intriguing book at the moment, and would like to return to my studies. If you wish to accompany me to the library you may, so long as you aren't a disturbance," Harry called over his shoulder as they climbed the final staircase.

Draco stuck close behind Harry as they entered the library, not all too familiar with this room of the manor - he was only eleven, after all, and didn't do much extra curricular reading. The first thing his grey eyes landed on was the snake sprawled across the stone floor. Draco yelped and froze in place while Harry kept moving forward, paying no mind to the reptile in the room.

Draco wasn't going to let this one slide, though. "What the bloody hell is that THING doing in my manor?" he squeaked. Harry, already in the process of curling up into his favorite chair, blinked slowly at the other boy.

Harry couldn't decide if he was annoyed or entertained by his new housemate. "That thing is my friend, Tarka. He is to be my familiar. And I would recommend you give him a wide berth - the taipan is extremely venomous." Tarka raised his head and flicked his tongue, hearing his master speak his name but only barely comprehending the rest of the English sentence. His understanding of human language was slow going, even with the growing bond with a wizard speaker.

The blond stared at the snake in awe. "That's sick! Father never let me get anything but my owl, said I'm not responsible enough for a proper pet. Can I pet him, or will he bite me?"

Perhaps the boy had some redeemable qualities, Harry mused. "If you wish, you may pet him. Just be gentle - I do not control Tarka's every movement and am not responsible for his reaction if you hurt him." Draco nodded, creeping closer to the Taipan and reaching out tentatively.

The snake glanced between the two children, curious as to why the yellow one was approaching him. "Masster, who iss the ssstranger? Isss he a new friend?" Harry, not yet willing to let Draco in on every secret, chose not to respond in parseltongue but nodded in answer to Tarka's question. Satisfied with his master's response, Tarka pressed his head up into Draco's outstretched hand. The blonde gasped, gingerly stroking the emerald scales.

"He's so smooth. And cold."

Harry smirked, watching the two interact for a few more seconds before grabbing the book he had been reading before his lunch break. He couldn't wait to begin testing his practical knowledge on mind magic, but Tom made him research each subject heavily before attempting his first spell.

It only took a few minutes for Draco to lose interest in petting Tarka, as the snake went back to sleep in the sun and the blond was left alone. He threw himself into the armchair next to Harry, breaking the silence with a loud huff.

"I don't see how you're content reading when it's such a beautiful day out. Wouldn't you rather be playing quidditch or something? These books are so old and boring. What are you reading, anyway? It looks so complicated. Nothing like the textbooks we had for school, those were quite simple if you ask me. Full of spells I could cast in my sleep-"

Harry let out a loud sigh, slamming his book shut with enough force that Draco shut up. "What do you want from me? When I invited you to join me here, I specifically asked that you not be a disturbance. You may find these texts archaic and a waste of time, but I guarantee you that is not the case for me. Either ask what you followed me here to ask, shut up, or leave."

Draco stared at Harry, jaw not quite agape, as the smaller raven-hair boy glared. Now, now, did you truly need to lose your temper like that? Making nice with someone your age could be beneficial when we finally take to the public, and from a family so well known nonetheless. Tom scolded him like a parent does a child who doesn't know any better, making Harry scowl.

However, Draco was not so easily deterred once he set his mind to finding something out - especially something with the potential to be such juicy gossip. He pursed his lips, staring down at his clasped hands and contemplating how to phrase his inquisition. This Harry Potter seemed oddly.. dangerous, based on what he had observed during the interaction with father.

"You were supposed to be in my year at Hogwarts. It caused… quite the stir, when you didn't show up for the Sorting-" Tom had explained, in vague terms, how the Scottish school operated, so Harry wasn't quite in the dark. "-and the rumor mill at school went quite wild. I was just wondering, well, why didn't you come to Hogwarts?"

Harry stared at the blond boy for a long minute, contemplating how much to share. It was a complicated and personal matter, yes, but 'confiding' in Draco might make him more pliable. That was Tom's argument, at least. And if the truth was manipulated just a bit in his answer, he reasoned, none would be the wiser.

Just as Draco began to squirm under the heavy green gaze, Harry spoke. "The past summer, I experienced a traumatic event. I was in a coma from the end of July through to November, during which I missed both receiving my Acceptance letter and the start of term. Upon my recovery from the coma, I also found myself without a residence or guardian, at which point I sought out your father. Thus, we find ourselves in our current circumstances." Harry spoke in a soft monotone, dropping his eyes to the book in his lap rather than staring down the blond.

The library felt smaller than it had for the months harry had spent there alone. Waiting for the other boy to speak, Harry wondered if it was worth it to even extend an olive branch, manipulative as Tom was with it. Making friends had never been Boy's strong suit after all, and while being away from the Dursley's was doing wonders for his physical and mental state, they still had a profound impact on his development. Maybe they had messed him up permanently, and Draco could tell...

"My condolences for whatever you experienced. A three month magical coma is serious, and it is good that you've recovered enough to be where you are now. I must say, it seems no one at school came very close to the truth in their theorizing. The leading rumor was that you absconded to France and were studying at Beauxbatons."

The two children exchanged faint smiles, and if Harry's was bitter and a bit sharp, Draco didn't mention it. Silence lapsed, more comfortable this time. A blanket, rather than an anchor. The Dursley's changed you, yes, but we will not let them ruin us.

Indeed, Harry thought as he cracked his book open once again. It is us who will ruin them.

"Merlin, Harry, you were born to play seeker!" were the first words out of Draco's mouth as their feet touched the grass. Harry couldn't suppress a smirk, swinging his leg over the broomstick he had been riding. In his clenched fist, the golden snitch gave one last, aborted flap of its wings before it was unceremoniously stuffed back in the quidditch crate. They had ridden brooms before, but that was the first time Harry had expressed interest in Draco's favorite sport. A house-elf appeared at Draco's call, taking the crate and both their brooms back to the manor as the boys began the short trek up a gravel path.

It had only taken a month for Draco to become yet another figure Harry felt moderately comfortable around. The boy was arrogant and wore down Harry's nerves quickly, true, but he also understood when to shut his mouth and leave Harry alone, without even having to be asked anymore. Further, he found himself enjoying the blond's company. It was refreshing to interact with a peer that wasn't manipulated by Dudley to torture Harry. He could almost call Draco a friend, as terrifying as the concept felt.

Now it was nearing the end of July, and Harry's birthday was fast approaching. He would be twelve, could you believe it? He hadn't thought he would live this long, honestly, given the treatment he was used to for the majority of his life. The Malfoys, though, they were nice to him. Lady Malfoy even said something about celebrating the day, which Harry personally found a bit unbelievable. After all, he'd never gotten more than a bent clothes hanger and once, a joke of Dudley's, an old and shredded dog toy from Pierre's bulldog. A flicker of hope still burned deep in Harry's chest at Narcissa's words.

The excitement of being another year older had been dulled a bit by Draco's receiving his second year Hogwarts letter earlier that day. The letter in and of itself wasn't all that interesting, but Harry had watched from the other side of the breakfast table as his friend read aloud the (very long) list of required textbooks. It was stupid of him to have expected his own owl post from the school, but it hurt nonetheless. If the look both Malfoy elders had sent his way was any inclination, Harry didn't think he had concealed his disappointment very well.

Draco, oblivious to his companions musings, started rambling as the two made their way back to the manor. Harry lent half his ear, still caught up in his thoughts.

"... and the Weasel dragged me into an abandoned classroom right before Filch could catch us, didn't want me snitching on him - but then we turned around and were face-to-face with a bloody Cerberus! Obviously we legged it out of there, but the prat seemed to think we were friends after that. Even tried convincing me to fight a bloody troll on Samhain, as if I've a death wish!" Harry glanced over at his friend, finally paying proper attention to the words coming from his mouth. He'd probably run screaming if he even smelled a troll, and tell everyone it almost clubbed him to death, Harry thought. Tom scoffed.

"The golden trio - that's Weasley, Longbottom, and their mudblood friend, Granger - thought Professor Snape was trying to steal from the school, started talking about a Nicholas Flammel. Then they went and tried to smuggle a dragon out of Hogwarts - the oaf of a groundskeeper wanted to raise it , can you believe? - and somehow I ended up in detention with the three of them. I had to go out into the forbidden forest, you remember me telling you about that? Full of creatures and monsters, called 'forbidden' for a reason.

"We found something had killed a unicorn and was drinking its blood. Apparently, the blood is cursed - you'd live a half-life, neither alive nor dead. Why anyone would be reckless enough to do that, I don't know, but it was a right terrifying sight. Weasley had to go and scream like a girl at the thing, and we barely made it out of the woods with our lives! After that they acted like I was a part of their group and kept bothering me, trying to get me to help them out with 'research.' They're lucky I actually listened to their scheming, with what happened at the end of the year."

Draco left off at that, side-eyeing Harry as if trying to egg him on into asking a question. It was only fair, then, to let the other boy stew a minute or two for his baiting. They had reached a side entrance to the manor at this point anyway, and began to make their way through the halls and towards the library. Under Harry's influence, Draco was now more than willing to lounge in a room filled with 'musty old books' for at least a few hours, granting the former a window of time to further encourage extra-curricular researching. The mudblood Draco kept prattling on about seemed to know a thing or two about the value of knowledge, and Harry found himself wishing to become acquainted with her.

Finally, as the door to Harry's favorite room came into their sight, he decided he had kept Draco waiting long enough. "So," Harry started, breaking the silence suddenly enough that Draco startled a little. "What did happen at the end of the year? Lucius did seem quite flustered at the beginning of June, perhaps concerned about whatever was going on at Hogwarts?"

Draco jumped right back into his storytelling, not even slightly perturbed by the long pause Harry had enforced. "Well! I'm not sure if you heard about it, but last September there was a break-in at Gringotts, everyone was talking about it, first time it's ever happened. The vault the thief was trying to rob had already been emptied, according to the papers. Granger put together that it was the Philosopher's Stone they were after, which a member of the Hogwarts staff had just picked up earlier that day. Apparently Dumbledore decided it was wise to keep it at Hogwarts during the school year. Like the thief wouldn't be willing to break into a bloody school, too. Anyway."

Harry took his favorite seat, the plush armchair right next to the south-facing window Tarka prefered, and Draco sat in the not-so-comfortable chair next to it. Funny, how willing to defer the Malfoys are… Tom observed to no one in particular. Tarka raised his head briefly, noticed how Draco was rambling on, and settled back down to continue his nap.

"The golden trio thought they could defend the Stone against the criminal, who they figured would strike when the headmaster decided to take a business call off-grounds. I overhead their rather loud planning and made the smarter decision to get a Professor. He'd be much more capable against someone who could break into Gringotts than three children, clearly. The rest of what I know all came from after the fact, but this is what Longbottom had to say when I cornered him in the infirmary: the three of them snuck into the room with the cerberus, somehow put it to sleep, and went through a trapdoor. They had to play as pieces in a giant game of chess, which Weasley won by sacrificing his knight and getting knocked out. Granger and Longbottom went on to the next room, which was a sort of riddle with different potions. They had to drink a specific one to get through the next door, which was blocked by flames, but they only had enough for one person. So, Longbottom drank the potion and went on.

"When he went through the door, he found the thief in the process of stealing the Philosopher's stone. It was Quirrell, one of our teachers, whomst we'd known for the whole blasted year! And then, when Neville confronted him, he revealed that - get this - the Dark Lord was living on the back of his head!"

That shook both Harry and Tom out of their distracted leafing through the book he had put aside hours earlier. Wait, what? What was Voldemort thinking? Draco didn't seem to notice any difference in Harry's posture, and continued his retelling none the wiser of the crisis they both were going through.

"Somehow Neville held off Quirrell long enough for Snape to get down there, and kept the philosopher's stone from the Dark Lord. Then, when they tried to capture him, he left Quirrell's body and disappeared into smoke. Course, the public doesn't know about any of this. Dumbledore said they couldn't find out, "for the greater good" or something. I'm still going to tell father so they can improve the teacher vetting. He's on the Board, you know."

Harry and Tom were done listening to the blonde's school drama. Tom's mind was racing, Harry barely able to keep up with the speed of his thoughts. If there is another Voldemort out there, he must have formed from the splitting of the soul on Samhain… He is but a sliver of who we used to be, I can't imagine the insanity he is plagued with. Probably wanted to use the stone to regain his body, but without it there's no way of telling where he went.

What Tom meant about finding this other part of himself Harry had no idea, but the knowledge that there was another version of, well, technically his spouse, somewhere in the world shocked him. Draco kept prattling on about his father 'cracking down' on Dumbledore, but Harry and Tom's collective mind was miles away.

Chapter End Notes

Merry Christmas/happy holidays everyone! I wasn't planning on releasing this until I finished chapter 8, but in the spirit of giving and all that, here it is! I hope you all enjoy!

I'm trying my best to handle Harry and Tom's interactions and the direction I'm trying to take their character, so let me know if it's coming across as weird or unnatural!
And as always, I hope you guys enjoy! Let me know what you enjoyed, what you think I can improve going forward, anything!

Opening

Chapter Summary

Opening - noun; an aperture or gap, especially one allowing access; a beginning, an initial part; the first move in a game of chess

On his twelfth birthday, Harry is given the opportunity to move his pawn forward.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

The morning of Harry's birthday began like any other, so inconspicuous that for the first few minutes he didn't even remember what was so important about the day. It was Tom's groggy Happy birthday that reminded him of the date. July 31st, his twelfth birthday! Harry grew giddy with the thought of actually receiving birthday wishes from his hosts at the breakfast table. Maybe even - he could hardly bring himself to even think of the possibility - presents.

Sudden nervousness almost took over him, made him want to crawl back into his warm, safe bed and avoid the uncertainty beyond his bedroom door. No, he could do this. It was his birthday, after all.

The second he entered the dining room, Harry knew his anxiety had been for naught. In the center of the table was a modest pile of presents, nothing ostentatious but vastly more than he had ever received before. The Malfoy lord and lady sat at the head of the long table, silently watching the young boy take in the scene before him. Draco was likely still asleep - perhaps for the better, the boy would probably be jealous of Harry getting presents, even on his birthday. When Harry's eyes finally traveled to their faces, Narcissa gave him a faint smile and Lucius an incline of his head. That was all the invitation he needed to approach the small stack of gifts. There were six in total, ranging in size from that of a jewelry box to large enough Harry could probably fit inside of it.

He hesitated again, looked up towards Lucius. Tom was hanging back today, letting Harry run the show, and it left him unbalanced in a way he didn't much like.

"Are all of these from the both of you?" So used to the confidence Tom lent him, Harry hated how weak he sounded alone. He wanted Tom with him again, but the horcrux refused to make his presence known.

Narcissa's smile grew warmer at his question, though. "They are. We know you didn't have the… best of childhoods, so we didn't want to overwhelm you for your first birthday celebration. I believe Draco has a gift for you as well, when he comes down for breakfast."

Lucius spoke up after his wife. "We accepted you into our home as the host of Our Lord, but have found ourselves growing quite attached to you as well, Harry. Happy birthday."

It was hard to control the blush that wanted to rise to Harry's cheeks at Lucius' words. Rather than addressing the emotional statement the older man had made, Harry chose to pick up a present. It was the smallest box in front of him, small enough to sit in the palm of his 12-year-old hand. There was a simple ribbon tied around it rather than any wrapping paper like the other gifts. Removing the ribbon, Harry sat staring at the closed box for a long minute before working up the courage to open it.

Nestled on a satin cushion was a silver and emerald cloak pin in the shape of a snake. It's dark eyes, small lumps of green stone, stared back at Harry. As he took in the piece of jewelry, Narcissa spoke up.

"It may seem nondescript, but the pin is charmed to protect you from most moderately-powered offensive spells. Draco has one of his own, though it is our family crest. You can't quite wear the Peverell or Gaunt crests in public right now, so I thought this would be the best alternative."

Harry shot her a genuine smile. "Thank you both, I'll certainly be wearing this. Tom doesn't like going anywhere without protection."

The next smallest gift had the dimensions of a book. Harry wasn't sure what sort of book one could find that wasn't in the Malfoy library; sometimes it felt like those shelves went on forever. When he carefully pulled back the blue wrapping paper, he realized it wasn't quite a book at all. In his hands was a brown leather bound journal, with his full name engraved on the cover above the Potter crest. When he leafed through the pages, he realized it was completely blank. His very own grimoire. Following the tradition of the most Ancient and Noble houses, children receive a journal to record all their favorite spells before starting an apprenticeship or formal schooling. Harry wasn't sure what it meant that he was gifted one by the Malfoys, but he set the notebook aside for later.

The next box was slightly larger, also wrapped in dark blue paper. Inside he found a solid stone chess board. Quartz and onyx made up the board, while the pieces were carved from walnut and maple wood. Harry had never played chess before, but at this time Tom decided he wanted to take part in the birthday celebrations. Many political meetings take place over a game of chess, he explained. Wizarding chess is unlike muggle chess in that pieces have a sort of personality, and work together with the player on the board. This is Lucius' way of saying he wants to help you learn to navigate the political field, and that he thinks I am ready to begin making the slightest waves again.

Harry nodded to Lucius, a hint of Tom slipping in his calculating eyes. He put the chessboard back on the table, in what was becoming the pile of opened gifts. Already this was more than anything he had ever received before, combined, and he was less than half way through!

The next item Harry opened was a box of cloth. Confused, he glanced up at Narcissa and Lucius. He already had a fair amount of clothes in his wardrobe upstairs, so why did he need even more? Was this their way of saying he wasn't dressing the right way for a young wizard?

Look closer at what they got you, Tom instructed. Harry obeyed, lifting one of the robes out of the box. The full garment was a sight to see. Deep black cloth that shimmered a faint green when it caught the light, with silver embroidery and beading in ornate patterns across the entire collar and along the button holes that reached all the way to the floor. The robe was heavy, due exclusively to just how much embellishing there was. The style reminded Harry of the portrait he had seen in the Potter vault, and he realized what made this garment unique enough to be a birthday present. Handmade, all of it. Fabric woven from acromantula silk, embroidered with unicorn hair by the looks of it. This must have cost them a fortune.

So, they had gotten him dress robes fit for the Potter heir. In true Malfoy fashion, they had gone above and beyond with their gifts. Harry eyed the last two presents yet to be opened, unsure of how much more he could handle before he got overwhelmed. Checking his breathing, he placed the robe back into its box and set it aside.

"I know there is still more for me to open, but I want to express my gratitude to the both of you. You have let me into your home and accepted me not only as Tom, but as myself, as well. Thank you, for all of this."

"There's no need to thank us for celebrating your birthday, Harry" Narcissa cooed. "You are a ward of our family, a friend to Draco, and a part of Our Lord. You are welcome here for as long as you wish to stay. Now, let's open those last few presents, shall we?"

This next box was rather small and slender. Harry peeled off dark green wrapping paper, revealing a box much like the ones wands are stored in. A curious gift for a twelve year old, Tom murmured as they opened the box and saw the holster nestled in tissue. It was made of shiny black leather and fit perfectly around Harry's left wrist when he tried it on. Once secure, the wand holster faded out of view, though he could still feel the comforting presence of it on his arm. Quite the curious accessory, though I can only imagine how often it comes in handy.

The last box, the one so massive it had to sit on the ground beside the table rather than on it, was all Harry had left to open. He stared at it, trying to figure out what on earth it could be. There was nothing a 12-year-old wizard needed that was so large. Tom couldn't figure it out either, for all that he didn't want to admit to being stumped. Just opening it already, I don't like not knowing, Tom urged. Not one to leave his mentor waiting, Harry picked the spellotape at the corners and gently pulled back the wrapping paper to reveal…

A trunk. A run-of-the-mill travel trunk. Higher end, certainly, what with the polished silver hardware and the fuzzy cloud of magic encompassing the whole piece, but nonetheless just a trunk. Harry and Tom stared for a minute before looking up at Lucius. Tom, especially, was quite unamused by the whole affair.

The blond lord smirked, going so far as to let out a short chuckle at the young boy's befuddlement. He reached into his breast pocket and withdrew a fat envelope. "I'm sure you remember that earlier this month, Draco received a letter from Hogwarts. You were quite disappointed by your lack of mail, however much you tried to cover it up. Prior to that, even, Narcissa and I thought it would be beneficial for you to attend a wizarding school to refine your magic and gain social connections. It just so happens that the paperwork I was expecting came in the post early this morning. Harry Potter, here is your Hogwarts acceptance letter."

Now is when I'm supposed to faint like you did, right? Harry didn't know how to handle the shocking situation. It was one thing to get tangible gifts from the two adults he had lived with for half a year, and another thing entirely to get the gift of real, genuine wizard schooling . Tom hadn't seen this one coming either, as was evident in the surprise making their brain stutter two-fold. He reached out and accepted the letter, because there was little else he could do. It was, indeed, an authentic Hogwarts acceptance letter, complete with the address of Hadrian Potter, West Wing, Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire, England.

Tom had a lot of questions for the Malfoy lord. More than willing to let the more experienced wizard take over, Harry slipped to the back of their mind and gave free reign of the body over. Lucius, used to taking note of the slight postural and expression changes that meant his Lord was fronting, dropped the smirk he was wearing.

"Why do this for Harry?" Tom asked, unable to avoid looking back down at the envelope. Even the seal was the same as when he had received his own letter, all the way back in the 40's. He couldn't let himself believe it was real just yet. Harry felt his apprehension and withheld the awe he wanted to express.

"It is like my wife and I said, my Lord. Harry is a ward of the Malfoy family, and we believed he would benefit from going to a wizarding school to help develop his magic further and to help him socialize with other children his age. Whilst he's there learning, you can take stock of the political climate of today and meet the children of other Death Eaters with none the wiser. And we couldn't leave Harry disappointed after Draco got his own letter a few weeks ago."

Lucius' answer made enough sense, Tom supposed. Still, he had many questions. "How did you manage this? I'm certain you didn't write to Minerva and tell her the truth about what Harry and I told you about last summer."

Again, the blond nodded in agreement. "I did need to have some falsified paperwork made up before weaving your official tale to the deputy headmaster. According to the paper trail, he was given to an orphanage when he was just a few years old. A pureblood couple adopted Harry, and took him back to their home country of France to homeschool him for his first few years. Then disaster struck, and he lost both of his adopted parents. Coincidentally, his adopted parents were relatives of mine, and we are the closest living family he has left that aren't in Azkaban. He came to us in the winter, too late to go to Hogwarts for his first year, but we just want him to have as normal of a childhood as he can. Minerva ate it up, and even Dumbledore can't find fault with our paperwork."

Tom stroked his chin, thinking about what this coming year would now look like. True, he hadn't had any more plans than to read and help Harry control his magic, but going back to Hogwarts would be… odd. What do you think it'll be like? Harry asked. Of course the child had been listening in on the whole conversation he'd had with Lucius.

You'll enjoy it, don't you worry. Hogwarts was my first true home when I went there, and I made my closest friends during my years. Tom didn't think about the summers in between years, stuck in the orphanage listening to air raid sirens. He didn't think about the discrimination he suffered at the hands of his peers and even his teachers for being a Slytherin. He definitely didn't think about making his first horcrux out of a girl younger than him who was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Harry didn't need to know all of his deep, dark secrets just yet.

The young boy nodded, both to Tom's and to Lucius' words. Before he could say much else, the final member of the household walked through the doorway, still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He was also carrying a moderately sized gift box, wrapped in ever so slightly gaudy paper befitting a child's present. When he saw the scene before him, his face adopted an exaggerated pout.

"I wanted to see him open all his presents! You could have woken me up!"

Narcissa let out a short laugh. "Dragon, nobody can wake you up except the smell of Nipsy cooking breakfast. At least we waited on you to start eating."

Draco was still frowning, but he had to agree with his mother's statement. He took his seat across from Harry, offering a brief but genuine smile to his peer. "So, what did mother and father get you for your birthday?They've been planning this for ages" (likely a month at best, Harry thought but didn't point out) "but they wouldn't tell me what they were going to give you."

Harry gestured to the various items piled around his table setting. "A cloak pin with defensive charms, a chess set, dress robes, wand holster, a grimoire, and a trunk."

"What do you need a trunk for?" Well, it looked like Draco hadn't been made privy to the Malfoy lord and lady's scheming.

This was as good a time as any to let his tentative friend know about the upcoming school year. "Lucius wrote to Dumbledore, apparently I'm going to Hogwarts with you this year. Perhaps we'll be housemates, you and I."

Harry half expected the blond's face to fall at the information, or at the very least a lukewarm acceptance. Rather, Draco's face split with a childlike grin. Perhaps he had underestimated his impression on the younger Malfoy. "That's brilliant! I can't wait to introduce you to Blaise and Theo, you'll get along with them like a house and fire."

Draco pushed the box he had brought out with him across the table. "Here's one more present for you, Harry. It might not be as fancy as what mother and father got you, but I hope you appreciate it."

Harry peeled the wrapping paper back cautiously, contemplating what the other boy could have gotten him. Perhaps candies, or quidditch paraphernalia, or something equally adolescent…

No, it was neither of those guesses. Rather, in the box was a set of three books. Each had inconspicuous dark leather covers, giving little indication of the content within. Only when Harry cracked each open did he realize just what these were books detailed. One held a list of Hindu gods and goddesses and rituals performed for them by Indian witches in previous centuries. The next, various creatures native to South Asia and the Middle East. Finally, the third text was directly translated from a 16th century Hindu witch's potion grimoire, if the cover page was to be believed.

Once Harry was done examining the books, Draco spoke up again. "I know you don't have much to connect you with your heritage, but a wizard's familial magicks are not something to be scoffed at. At the very least, these might tell you a little about your history."

It was a startlingly personal gift, from the boy who had only known him for two months. Perhaps Harry had underestimated the value of a genuine friend. "Thank you, Draco. I can tell that you thought about these gifts, and I'll be sure to read them thoroughly. If I find anything interesting in this grimoire, you'll be the first to know." Nothing like offering a promise of reward for good behavior, Tom commented.

Finally, with all the presents out of the way, it was time for breakfast. As usual, the house elves had outdone themselves. The table was filled with beverage options, fresh fruit, scones, fried meats, eggs, anything one could desire. The Malfoys helped themselves to the food, filling their plates with an assortment of things. Harry sat back for a second, thinking on how just a year ago, at this point, he had been living with abusive guardians. He would have been slaving over this meal, not the one getting to enjoy it. Change was often jarring, but in this case it was a wholly welcome adjustment.

He filled his plate and let Draco distract him with pleasant conversation. There was no reason to think about the past when this was his present. And Tom was here as well, always here.

Harry and Draco stepped out of the fireplace in the Leaky Cauldron, immediately accosted with the usually ruckus of the pub. Lucius, a few steps ahead of them, turned and nodded faintly at his son and his Lord.

"Right, boys, I've got to make an appearance at the Wizengamot this afternoon, but you've got a few hours to shop before then. Make sure you get all your books this time Draco, even if they are 'boring and pointless.' And Harry, when you're at the apothecary, avoid the second year kits. Hand pick your ingredients, there''s better quality control that way. I'll be at Gringotts if you need me, but plan to meet by Fortescue's in an hour and a half."

Lucius finished dusting floo ash off his robes and swept away, parting the crowds before him without a word. Harry and Draco looked at each other, grinning for a brief second before settling their facial features and nodding.

Draco led the way out of the Leaky Cauldron and out into the busy streets of Diagon Alley. Plenty of families were visiting the shops, filling baskets with the coming year's school supplies much like Harry and Draco would be. For a moment Harry felt an overwhelming wave of anxiety, the noise and chaos in front of him terrifying and unapproachable. He'd rarely been out in public since The Incident, and wasn't prepared for how much it made his head pound and his eyes ache. He fell into Draco's shadow, head down and trying to measure his breathing. Tom stayed in the background, letting the boy handle the situation independently like he knew he could. Eventually his ears adjusted to the clamor, and if he kept his eyes on Draco's back the crowds didn't seem too big, either. It was only for an hour, then he could go back to the manor where he was safe and alone.

First stop would be the Apothecary, Draco decided, since it seemed the least bustling on the block. He and Harry were armed with their Gringotts wallets and charmed bags to hold all their purchases already, so there was no need to worry on that front. Plus, once inside the building, Harry would no doubt relax his shoulders a bit.

Indeed, the shop was blessedly empty - especially compared to the streets they had just come off of. Harry took a deep breath of musty air. The smell of bone dust, drying herbs, preservation spells cast on decaying beast parts made Tom settle in his mind and fall silent. Here was safe, he decided. Of course, they wouldn't be staying for long. The potions supply list was shockingly short (Draco told him the school supplied the rarer, harder to access ingredients, which made Harry wonder why they had to go out and buy any at all, but it was pointless to question Dumbledore's running of Hogwarts). Into glass jars or paper bags went various dead plants and animals. Lucius was right, the pre-packaged student ingredients looked flaccid and unappetizing compared to what was provided to the wizarding masses. I could have told you that, gripped Tom halfheartedly. Some things never change in this world.

Draco nudged his friend, breaking the stupor talking to Tom sometimes set him in. "Are you set to check out? Since this is your first year at school, we've got to get you some things not on the list you got. Here, I can help you out. Across the street is Potage's. You'll need a set of cauldrons, and a scale wouldn't do you bad in potions either. Let's finish up here, yeah?"

Where would Harry be without the Malfoys?

Probably dead in the middle of some Scottish woods, with your luck.

None of that sass, now. It isn't fitting for a Dark Lord.

Most of their shopping was uneventful, to say the least. Harry's bottomless bag was starting to feel heavy on his shoulder, though he knew it was in truth weightless. Draco had long since started to complain, even though he dutifully led Harry to Twillfit's for his school robes, Scribulus' for parchment, Potage's for cauldrons, and a whole slew of other shops for equipment even Tom never remembered needing at Hogwarts. Finally, the shop both boys had been putting off (though for drastically different reasons) - Flourish and Blotts. Draco, on one hand, was exhausted and had seen the crowds out front of the bookstore. Harry, contrarily, was more than excited to set foot inside a bookstore again, even if it was one as boring and law-abiding as this one. To be allowed to purchase books, as many as he pleased…

His eagerness turned to dread as he saw, for the first time, the line winding out the door and into the street. Witches were chattering loudly and fanning themselves without regard for the school children trying to make their way into the shop. Harry grimaced, the urge to distance himself from the cluster of people growing when he saw the reason they were gathered here, now. "Gildroy Lockhart, five time winner of Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile award, world-renowned author" read the sign out front. More like world-renowned fraud, Harry snarked. He'd stumbled upon his books ( if one could call them that ) earlier that summer, and Tom immediately saw through the farce. For one, that was no way to handle a vampire. Or a werewolf. Or any of the creatures he claimed to have fought.

"Why'd we have to come to Diagon today?" Harry whined under his breath as he and Draco tried to maneuver around the crowd. No one paid them any mind - they were just two more students on their way to buy Gilderoy's entire collection. The interior of the bookstore was just as hectic at the street outside. Witches and wizards bustled around, shouting nonsensically every time the blond man at the front of the line did something 'impressive.' He was just smiling and shaking hands, for Merlin's sake. The relatively few children in the building were clearly unentertained, snatching boxed sets from the student sections and heading to the check out as soon as they could.

Harry wouldn't let the crowds keep him from what he'd been looking forward to all day. He was going to shop for books, Gilderoy Lockhart's fanclub be damned. Draco resigned himself to shadowing his friend, already bored out of his mind from being there five minutes. But it was one of Harry's few days out of the manor, and he was allowed to enjoy himself. Even if enjoying himself meant wandering around dusty shelves, looking for books to stock his own personal library.

It would seem, however, that Harry wasn't the only one searching for obscure books on this day. As he turned to go down one of the lesser traveled aisles, he had to pull himself up short to avoid running head first into a stranger. It was a young boy, tall and twiggy but likely not much older than Harry himself - perhaps one of his peers, even. His arms were laiden with thick leather-bound books, the topmost one cracked open and balancing precariously in a position where the boy could read it. Both of them startled when Harry turned the corner, leading to the tower of books toppling over and hitting the floor with a loud thump.

"Sorry for that!" Harry cried out, crouching and helping the stranger pick up his books. " An In-Depth Study of Long-Lasting Transfigurations? Sounds like a thrilling read," he commented, holding the book out.

The boy let out an obligatory chuckle, like he was only entertaining Harry's attempt at comradery. "My professor mentioned a time limit on all transfigured things, and I wanted to be able to prove her wrong. It seems like quite the endeavor, and I'm starting to think she might have been right all along." He shook his head as if chastising himself for rambling. "Thank you for helping me pick up my books. My name is Theodore Nott."

Harry smirked, recognizing the name from Draco's stories about his earlier years. "Draco likes to prattle on, so I've heard quite a bit about you, Nott. I'm Hadrian Potter, ward of the Malfoy house." He ignored the shocked look on Theodore's face and kept talking. "And I'm afraid your teacher might know what she's talking about. According to Benadric's Law, discovered in 1658, transfigured items leach out the magic of the transformation gradually, until there isn't enough magic in their atoms to hold it in an unnatural form. No matter how much power you put behind your spell, eventually it will return to its lowest-energy, natural form."

Nott stared down at him for a few seconds before regaining control of himself. "Harry Potter, eh? I must say, I wasn't expecting to run into the missing Boy-Who-Lived today. How did you get to know so much about transfiguration for someone who hasn't gone to school?"

"Like I said," Harry drawled, settling into the persona of an aloof pureblood Lucius had been helping him build for the part year. "I'm a ward of the Malfoys. I've been in their house for the past year. They've got an exquisite library, but not much else to entertain an eleven year old."

Their conversation branched off to different fields of magic, Nott surprising even Tom with his knowledge of defensive spells (the older wizard still knew multitudes more, of course, but nonetheless he was impressed by the twelve year old) . At some point they got on the topic of warding, of which both of them only knew a handful of theoreticals, which was when Draco finally found them.

"There you are, Harry!" the blonde cried, turning the same corner Harry had almost run Nott over at. "Father's here, figured you'd gotten lost in the bookshop when we weren't at Fortescue's. It's past three, you know!" Draco took a minute to catch his breath, finally noticing Theodore's presence. He blinked, looking between the two teenagers before pouting.

"What's wrong, Draco?" Harry sighed, tilting his head faintly and staring at his friend. Nott let out a questioning hum.

"How come you didn't try to kill Theo when you first met him?"

The taller boy seemed even more confused, though Harry let a burst of sharp laughter out.

"Did you consider, maybe, that Nott didn't try to curse me when he first saw me? First impressions are important, after all." Harry sighed, picking up his bag full of school items and nodding to his new acquaintance. "It would seem I have to take my leave now. It was quite entertaining, getting to pick your brains. I must say I am looking forward to spending the year engaging you in further conversations. Until we meet again, Nott."

Without giving him any time to process his last statement, Harry grabbed Draco by the elbow and pulled him to the cash register. The blond was still pouting, less because he was genuinely offended and more that he was just a brat.

By the time Theodore fully processed what Harry had said, all traces of the black-haired boy were gone and he was left wondering if it had all been some strange hallucination. There had been something about those eyes, sharp and just a hair on the wrong side of completely sane. Something his father had once told him about fervently. Their dusty aisle in the back of Flourish and Blotts had fallen silent again, and when Nott Sr. came to take his son back home there was no mention of a strange boy and talk of transfiguration. It was like he was never there at all.

Chapter End Notes

I am so so sorry for the wait, you guys. My muse does NOT like me right now, but I'm making good progress on chapter 9, so I figured it's safe to drop this one. I actually really like this chapter, and it was pretty nice to me, it's the next one that's been a pain in my ass to write. but it's getting done, don't worry. It'll be out by, lets say, May 20th at the latest. Please hold me to that.
I hope everyone is doing well, give the current state of things. Honestly, I know the situation is far from ideal, and it's going to hurt a lot of people, but hopefully there is some bright side to your situation. For me, I get to spend time with my pets, and I'm working on my vegetable garden! Online school is difficult but we're going to get through this, and eventually it'll all be over.
As always, any and all comments are welcome! Your words really mean a lot and whatever you have to say, I'll appreciate it. Stay safe friends!

Antipodal

Chapter Summary

Antipodal - adj., diametrically opposite; on opposite sides of the globe
When Harry believes there is a set expectation for him to behave one way, he finds it his utmost duty to act the exact opposite.

Chapter Notes

shows up a month late with iced coffee* Sup, y'all miss me?
For real sorry about the long stretch between chapters, I know I promised one in, what, May? I'm very lazy and have been occupied with.. uh... Ok fine I have no excuse, I'm sorry, it'll probably happen again. Hope you enjoy the chapter though.

The whistle of the Hogwarts Express was shrill and deafening, breaking Harry - and Tom - out of their trance-like state. Tarka, previously asleep across his shoulders, slid gradually down onto the seat and into a leather bag between his feet. He shook his head, blinking for the first time in a few minutes and closing the book he'd been staring at for too long. Today was the day Harry Potter would be re-introduced to the wizarding world. They had been working with Lucius, cleaning up any loose ends regarding his 'past,' making sure there was no way they could be called out on their lie. There was no backing out now, he decided, as the train began to pull out of the station. No fading back into the shadows, now that he had chosen to oust himself.

For the past two weeks, he had been stressing over the upcoming term. He had packed and repacked his trunk five different times. He had re-read and annotated all of the second-year books, even those written by the crack-shot Lockhart. He had packed and repacked his trunk. He had annotated all his second-year text books, even those from the crackshot Lockhart. Even Tom had been anxious, picking at their cuticles as he read the Daily Prophet and World Wizard News, trying to catch up with worldly politics before being closed off to them again for a year.

By the night before, he had been a mess of stress and worry.

"What if I just don't show up? I could keep up my independent studying here, you could get in contact with your old acquaintances, we don't have to go face off with Dumbledore and the masses…" Harry paced across the floor of his bedroom, already up far later than he had any mind to be.

Tom sighed in their head, having been put through this conversation already a number of times. You're going to Hogwarts. If by some chance we find a way to reverse our 'marriage' situation, you'd begrudge me for keeping you from socializing. Plus, we need to make connections among the younger generation. If the year truly goes horrifically, you're aren't honor bound to return for another.

You want to reverse our soul binding?

Harry...

Nevertheless, his words seemed to have some sort of effect on the younger boy, who settled himself into bed and turned off all the lights (save for one ball of magelight still floating in the corner, keeping Harry from falling back into the terrifying realer-than-life nightmare from his first night with Tom). Sleep wasn't very forthcoming that night, as they were both anxious about what the next day - next few years - would entail. As if it wasn't enough that Harry stressed over encountering strange adults and having change forced upon him, but Tom found himself haunted by his own experiences at Hogwarts when he closed his eyes. Peers shoving him into walls and ransacking his trunk, upperclassmen cursing the poor little firstie with no one to turn to. Nevermind that he had overcome this challenge like he did every previous and future one; in their dreams, it would never be enough.

The door to the train compartment rattled as someone tried to open it, startling Harry and Tom out of their daze and back to the present. Draco had stored his trunk above the seat next to Harry's, but after that he had taken off to find his friends and socialize after a summer of just his parents and Harry. Without even needing it suggested, Harry had cast a weak sticking charm on the door. Now, though, he undid the spell.

His blonde friend pulled the door open, giving Harry a flash of a grin before stepping into the small space. Behind him trailed various children, all dressed in the same black school robes adorned with an emerald crest. Draco's yearmates, it seemed. I see Goyle's son inherited his looks. Let's hope he got his mother's brains…

"How have you already got a book out? I left you for five minutes! Not to mention you've already read that one three times!" Daco griped, flopping into the seat next to Harry and gesturing for his friends to do the same. No one questioned the stranger their peer addressed so casually, only offering him a quick glance as they passed by - though both Tom and Harry recognized the calculating curiosity in their eyes.

Likewise, Harry took stock of the children as they passed in front of him. Directly behind Draco came Greggory Goyle, the boy Tom had been muttering about. Indeed, he had a high forehead and low brow bone, giving rise to a distinctive if not remarkable face. His robes showed signs of recent tailoring, like the boy had reached a growth spurt and needed last-minute adjustments. After him was Vincent Crabbe, another one Tom recognized by features. His face was somewhat cramped on his head, with short cropped hair and his robes hanging open to reveal high-quality but poorly cared for clothes. Theodore Nott came next, recognition lighting up his face though he said nothing. Then an assortment of witches and wizards neither Harry nor Tom recognized, crowding the space with 8 bodies.

No matter how young and small they all were, the compartment they had was not built to hold eight teenagers, and it showed. Harry was squished between Draco and the window, and one of the girls was sitting on her friends lap to make more space. Regardless of how friendly these people wound up being, Harry found himself hoping they would soon leave him to his peace and quiet again.

"I told you all Alexi was going to come back this year. No way does his aunt want to go through changing schools again, after what happened with Leia. Come on, pay up, that's a chocolate frog from each of you, Blaise and Daphne." Draco smirked as two of the strangers in the compartment groaned, fishing around in their robe pocket for the candy requested. Harry watched the interaction, noting how every now and again one of the Slytherins would side eye him but otherwise left him alone.

As he observed them, he squinted and focused on their outlines - the physical manifestation of their magic. Back when he was just introduced to the world of magic, he had seen if everywhere he went. Now that he was used to the faint glittering mists, he almost always blocked them out. Now he focused on the out of focus clouds around each person, and was intrigued to note the variety he saw. Around Parkinson and Goyle, the clouds were small, contained just in their chest cavity, but held much more shimmer than the larger ones of Nott and Greengrass. Zabini, interestingly, has less of a cloud and more of a mesh fabric draped around himself, thicker and less fluid than what Harry usually saw. And, of course, Draco with his dark purple haze, which Harry had grown familiar and, dare he say, fond of. Content with his observations for now, he blinked and dispelled the small bit of magic he was utilizing. Great, now his head was starting to ache, as it almost always did when he used stranger spells. This was just wonderful.

He gave Draco a minute to gloat over winning the bet before clearing his throat. His friend turned to look at him, seeming almost like he had forgotten about his presence briefly. When all he got was a strange look, he rolled his eyes and sat forward.

"Since Draco here seemingly isn't willing to introduce me properly, I guess the task is left to me. Hadrian Potter, ward of the Malfoy family, heir to the houses Potter and Peverell, pleased to meet you all." He gave a flourish of his hand, more for theatrics and to emphasize the fact that he had been living with the Malfoys for the past year than anything else. It did have the added benefit of flashing his heir rings, heavy and proud on his right hand. If the silence that followed his introduction was any indication, that was not the title they were expecting to hear.

It seemed that awkward silences were going to be the norm around Harry, at least for the next few days. Nott, at least, seemed to be barely withholding a snort of laughter at the faces his friends were making. When Draco still didn't step up and offer any introductions, the other boy took the task for himself.

"Well met, heir Potter. As you already know, I am Theodore Nott, heir to the house Nott." He flashed a toothy smile, which thawed a bit of the trepidation Harry had been feeling creeping up his spine. He might not be expected or fully welcome here, but at least someone wasn't fully against him. Yet.

"If I may introduce us all: my friend Blaise Zabini, heir to the house Zabini." Nott gestured to the person sitting beside him, a dark skinned boy with aristocratic cheekbones and dark, unreadable eyes. Harry dipped his head, getting an ever-so-slightly deeper nod in return. Clearly cultured, likely pure-blood. "Daphne Greengrass, heiress to the house Greengrass." This was the white-blond girl, sitting in the lap of her friend. She had an air of softness about her that Harry didn't need Tom to tell him was a guise. "Pansy Parkinson of the house Parkinson." She peered out around Greengrass, nodding to Harry. She had thick black hair cropped at her ears and a slightly upturned nose, and the hardened face of someone who their parents often overlooked. Harry nodded back. "Gregory Goyle, heir of house Goyle." Even sitting, Goyle dwarfed everyone but Crabbe. Still, they exchanged polite nods. "And finally, Vincent Crabbe of house Crabbe." Crabbe, who sat beside Draco, craned his head around the blonde and offered Harry a small smile, dipping his head.

So, these were Draco's friends. Quite the diverse bunch. It wouldn't do to snub potential allies, but one could never be too careful. "It is nice to finally put faces to the names Draco has been telling me. Now, I am sure you all have many questions for me, but I must refrain from giving you answers until after my sorting this evening. I'm sure you understand."

Zabini smirked and nodded his head in agreement. "Though with that mentality, there are few other houses you could be placed in. Still, we shall refrain from interrogating you for the time being."

Conversation was slow to pick up in the compartment, but Harry paid it little mind and he tried to crack his book back open. Emphasis on tried. Draco nudged him with his shoulder before he was able to become fully engrossed in the information, earning himself a glare that did little to deter him.

"Come on, Harry, you could at least try to make acquaintances. It's not like you really think you'll get sorted anywhere but Slytherin." With a sigh, he closed the book again, this time storing it in the small bag at his feet. It would seem that he wouldn't be reading anymore for the time being. Truly, how was he supposed to connect with these children? It would do you well to let go of your prejudices. You do not have the monopoly on difficult childhoods, though yours is hopefully the worst of your generation.

And you don't even know the extent of it, Harry thought darkly, something repressed in the back of his mind giving Tom cause to falter. They had only skirted around the subject of Harry's history, but the hollowness of his tone gave him reason to think there was much more under the surface. But now wasn't the time nor the place to discuss this further.

They shook their head, Tom slipping back into hibernation as green eyes met Zabini's brown-black. "I still think I could do well in Ravenclaw, but I suppose you're right. I can't wait to see all their faces when the Boy-Who-Lives walks into the Great Hall and gets sorted right into the worst of the houses. Though I could do without all the questions everyone is going to want to ask." He grimaced, pulling a chuckle out of Nott and Draco both.

Parkinson and Greengrass ended their side conversation, glancing over at all the boys. "Why is a Potter talking about getting into Slytherin with such certainty?" Parkinson sneared, ignoring the way Draco made not-so-subtle signals to abort the question.

The air in the compartment got thicker, ever so slightly, sticking in their lungs for a second, making the blood drain from some of their faces as they found themselves struggling to pull in a breath. The effect was gone in the next second as Harry closed his eyes and sighed, but the phantom sensation of drowning didn't disappear quite as quickly. "It would do you well, Parkinson, to think before you speak. Do you not believe Lucius Malfoy a better judge of character than yourself? He has welcomed me into his manor, under his protection, and has yet to find reason to regret it, so at the least I am not the preconceived Light Child you think me to be." Silence followed his words, and internally he sighed. Pushing people away before even giving them a chance to prove themselves, again. You would think that he'd learn at some point.

"If Lord Malfoy says he's good for it, he's good for it," Nott spoke up. "And if not the head of the house, Draco seems to think Potter's an alright bloke, so I've got no qualms."

Harry gave Nott a grateful look as the tension in the small space subsided slightly. Conversation picked up after that, still stilted but not crippled fully. At one point, Greengrass even complimented Harry's boots - the same dragonhide ones Lucius had bought him when they first met. It was likely somewhat insincere, but he appreciated it nonetheless.

Of course, they didn't ever end up leaving the compartment, which meant Harry didn't get to resume his reading for the entire trip. Every time he tried to make what he thought was a subtle move towards his bag, Draco would rope him into some theoretical discussion of potion ingredient substitution, or ask him his opinion on a wizengamot law that was going to be passed. By the time a prefect stuck their head through the door to tell them to prepare to pull into the station in five, Harry realized that he was actually somewhat enjoying the presence of these other children.

Socialization is important, Harry. Though alliances and servitude will get you far, friendships and social bonds will garner more loyalty and last longer. I realized too late how valuable they are, and look where that got me.

Draco, Greengrass, and a few others fussed over their hair and robes. Nott and Harry made eye contact and feigned yawns as Zabini tried to fix his tie, which had somehow come entirely undone during the train ride. After picking up his books, Tom came to a realization and turned to Draco.

"I'm not going to have to ride the boats with the first-years, am I?" Nott, Goyle, Crabbe, and Zabini all snickered, ignoring the (almost) heatless glare Harry shot them.

The blonde took a second to think on it, rubbing his chin, before patting him on the shoulder. "I'm sure you'll figure it out, mate." Then he slid by his friend and out the door, ignoring when he called after him.

"You're absolutely useless, you prat!" Harry grabbed his bag and followed suit, mingling with the other second years and hoping no one would recognize him - or rather, not recognize him, and call him out. When the rest of the people he had ridden with caught up with them, Harry realized he had to look up to see all their faces, much to his displeasure. Zabini even went so far as to use his shoulder as an armrest, though the cursing and wincing when his toes got mysteriously crushed deterred anyone else from trying that. He was comfortable around these strangers, more so than he ever had been before, but there was still something feral crawling under his skin that wanted out. Especially when someone touched him without warning.

Coming up upon the carriages they were to be taking to the castle was an interesting experience. Firstly, despite how large and noisy the crowd was, anxiety didn't make his heart race and breath stutter. Whether it was the wide open space around them, or the presence of acquaintances, Harry was glad he was handling the student body without a panic attack. Secondly, he bagan overhearing confusing conversations. In the other clusters of students around them, he could hear as other people saw them for the first time and marveled at how nothing pulled them down the road. When Harry looked to the front of them, though, he saw a grotesque, skeletal horse with leather wings and a curved beak. Flat, grey skin was pulled tight over bone and sinew, reminding him of the way his own body used to look, alien and already dead. Yet another instance of me being an abnormality? Harry asked Tom softly.

In this case, no. Thestrals are only visible to those who have seen death. Or, in your case perhaps, experienced it themselves.

Curious creatures, apparently.

Draco nudged him, inadvertently breaking him out of his mental conversation. "Can you see them?" the blonde whispered. Harry nodded, curious. In response to the unasked question, Draco muttered, "When I was five, my grandfather caught dragon pox. I was visiting him when he died. I think most of the rest of us can see them, too."

Harry looked around their rather large group, noticing how Zabini and Nott, along with Parkinson, all avoided looking at the front of the carriage. Knowing better than to push the subject when he'd only just gotten to know them, he followed Greengrass' suit and clambered into the carriage. He wound up squished between Crabbe and Nott, the latter of which began immediately prattling on about a book he'd found on warding that he hadn't been allowed to bring to Hogwarts. It was an obvious way to distract from the creatures pulling the vehicle, but Harry indulged him. After all, it sounded like a very interesting book, and he was more than willing to help Nott explore the library at school for something like it, of course.

At last, they arrived at the moment Harry would need to split from the group. He could see a large man climbing a set of stairs, followed by a crowd of children - just a year younger than him, not even truly smaller, but irregardless they were children. The students that had come via the carriages were making their way into the Great Hall, and it was only by sticking beside a statue of a banshee that Harry avoided curious glances. Nott was the last of their group to pass through the doors, and before he was pulled along by Zabini he glanced back and mouthed the word 'good luck.' Not that luck would have anything to do with it, but Harry nodded his thanks anyway. The big man didn't even notice him loitering in the entrance hall. In fact, it seemed that none of the first years noticed him at first. Then a small hand tugged at his sleeve, and he couldn't contain the full body flinch away from the person.

His assailant was a small girl, even shorter than him. She had thick blond hair, sharp blue eyes, and seemed leagues away, lost in the clouds somewhere. Until she opened her mouth. "You've got the most peculiar Blibbering Humdinger I've ever seen, Hadrian Potter."

Harry blinked, taking a quick step back to put distance between them. He had never seen this girl before in his life, and yet here she was addressing him by his full name. She stared at the air to the left of his head, intently focused on something, but when he turned his head to look there was nothing but empty space.

"Excuse me, I don't believe we've met, yet you seem to already know my name. And what exactly is a Blibbering Humdinger?"

The girl smiled dreamily, eyes coming back to focus on Harry's. He didn't know where he prefered her staring. "I'm Luna. They're a parasitic type of erkling, only instead of arms and legs they've got tentacles, and they're a lot less pointy. Lots of people in Britain and Germany have them. Yours, though, isn't latched on where they usually are. Quite peculiar…"

Before he could get another question in, a sharp older woman called for attention. "The beginning of term banquet will be starting soon, but first, you all must be sorted." he eyes seemed to linger on Harry for a second too long, but they were all ushered into the Great Hall before he could worry all too much about it. It was a blessing in disguise that he was the same size as the younger students, so he could not feel out of place as he took in the wonderous room. The ceiling glimmered with a copy of the night sky up above it, wispy clouds passing in front of the moon every now and again. Hundreds of candles floated above head, wax dripping and falling through the air and disappearing into nothing. Four rows of tables stretched the entire expanse of the room, occupied by students wearing one of four colors. In front of him, on the far side of the hall, were the staff members, and the mysterious Sorting Hat. Tom had refused to tell Harry much about the sorting process, which made his first glance at the weathered, grey hat rather anticlimactic.

Then the hat opened its seam-mouth and sang about the four houses, in the most tone-deaf voice Harry had ever heard.

So, what, we put on a hat and it just decided which house we're in for the next seven years?

Yup.

Truly ground-breaking stuff.

Then it was time for the sorting to begin, apparently. The stern witch who had led them into the hall now held the strange hat, along with a long piece of parchment from which she began calling names. Colin Creevey, the first sorted, went to gryffindor. Then was Eduard Draft, then Fletcher Hallan, then a whole line fourty names long that Harry didn't bother paying attention to. He barely had the sense to notice 'Luna Lovegood' being called, and the ditsy blonde girl skipping up to McGonagall, pulling the hat over her head, and sitting on the stool for a solid minute before it finally shouted out, "Ravenclaw!"

All too soon, the last of the first years was being sorted into Hufflepuff, and Harry was left standing in the middle of the Great Hall. His hands began to shake in his pockets as he felt all the eyes of the school fall on him. For the first time that night, he was under the full attention of Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts and Tom's sworn enemy The ancient wizard with a stark white beard appraised him over half-moon glasses, finding something in Harry's eyes that made him smile. He stood from his seat at the center of the staff table and addressed the school body.

"And now, we have a rare event here at Hogwarts. This young student here missed his first year with us, but we are more than happy to welcome him into our school for his second year, and all the years to come after. If you would please come to the stool to be sorted, Harry Potter."

Whispers and mutterings broke out across the student tables, making Harry's skin crawl with the sound of it. Those already-sorted first years hushed and craned their necks to see the Boy-Who-Lived, and the upper years already began asking each other why he was appearing here and now. Still, he wouldn't show weakness. If Dumbledore wanted dramatics, he would get dramatics.

Harry strolled up to the staff table, hands in his robe pockets, channeling how Lucius Malfoy effortlessly cut through crowds. One professor caught his eye, a dour man with limp hair and eyes so cold they almost made him miss a step. He glanced to his left and kept walking. McGonagall was standing there, holding the hat with a somewhat stunned expression on her often controlled face. Taking the hat from her outstretched hands, Harry gave the crowd a dry, appraising look before pulling old fabric over his eyes.

~My my, quite an interesting mind you have here, young Potter~

Harry threw everything into the weak mental walls Tom was training him on, beyond terrified of this foreign voice in his head. If anyone learned about Tom they would try to take him out, he knew it, he wouldn't let it happen -

Calm down, child. Tom rose up from the background, reassuring Harry and encouraging him to loosen up his restraints - just enough to let the hat do his work.

~I apologize for startling you. It has been a while since I last saw such a young occlumens, but you need not fear my presence. I can only gather information about your person, not your memories, and that which I see I can never repeat. Now, may I do the honors of sorting you?~

Fists clenched tighter in his lap, but he let down his barriers ever so slightly, inviting this stranger into his brain.

So you learn about children by reading their minds. I suppose it is the easiest way to learn the traits one has, but it is awfully invasive.

~Most children, at age 11, aren't even aware that I'm sentient~

Is that supposed to make me feel better? You're still poking around in dozens of brains, every year. Seems to me like you're just used to being uncontested.

~I ought to put you in ravenclaw, you argumentary brat~

But you won't.

In the back corner of his mind Harry heard grumbling mutters for a few more seconds, but shortly after the hat's sentience pulled away from his own. Immediately after, he felt the fabric on his head quiver with the force with which it shouted, "Slytherin!"

The hat left his head and he hopped off the stool, glancing around at the stunned and silent mass of students before shrugging and striding to the green table as fast as his short legs could carry him. He hated being in front of the school with a passion, and decided then and there to never be in the spotlight again.

Draco had saved a spot on the bench next to himself, and patted it as Harry approached. Thankful for the escape, he collapsed into the seat and was effectively hidden from searching eyes by the rest of slytherin. On his other side, Nott clasped his shoulder, and Harry didn't have the energy to tamp down a small flinch at the contact. The tall boy said nothing, for which he was thankful.

Safe among his peers for now, he could relax. His occlumency barriers retracted, and a weak headache began throbbing at his temples. This migraine thing was really starting to become bothersome. He couldn't focus as Dumbledore said some assinine words before the feast, and by the time he fully came back to himself he had mechanically eaten half a plate of green beans. Draco, used to his odd behavior, just slipped a portion of fish in front of him and said nothing.

Some of the other second-year students, and some older as well, began asking questions across the table. 'Where the hell were you last year' and 'why is a Potter is slytherin' were the most common ones. Harry offered one word answers - 'around' and 'for fun,' to those two in particular. Being assaulted by repetitive questions was exhausting, and he wondered for a second if he had made the right choice coming here.

They'll get tired sooner or later, Tom reminded him. And if they don't, we can always teach them some manners.

There was a short speech by the headmaster, introductions of a new teacher, and truly dreadful school song performance before they were finally let to retire. He couldn't bring himself to focus on any of it. At last, it was the end of the evening and the house ( his house, this was his house now ) made their way to the dungeons.

The descent into the bowels of the castle was jarring. On one hall the windows stared out at a moon-lit field, and the next they showed the murky green water of Loch Black. Stone walls were damp and cold when Harry brushed his shoulder against one. The footfalls of 50 students echoed and reverbated down the halls like echolocation. Harry would bet that in the winter, their breaths would be visible in front of them. All in all, it wasn't the worst place he'd ever been.

They arrived at a nondescript stretch of wall. Or, it was nondescript aside from a miniature snake carved into one brick, which hissed as the slytherins approached. "Ssstep clossser, sso I may tassste you and grant you entrancce." The prefect leading the group didn't give any indication of understanding the snake, but he pointed it out the first years trailing behind him.

"This snake is a marker of the entrance to our common rooms. We don't let anyone from the other houses in here, for our own safety. If you do, prepare to be punished by our head of house and the rest of slytherin." He fixed the eleven year olds with a cold look. "In this house, you will learn what it means to be targeted, and that one can never take too many precautions. Do not endanger your housemates, and there won't be a problem.

"Now, the password changes every two weeks. It's posted on the bulletin board in the common room, so be sure to check every other sunday. For the start of term, the password is 'unity.'" The prefect turned towards the snake carving and spoke the word. Like the wall of Diagon Alley, stones folded back into one another, leaving a human-sized gap in the wall that everyone filled through.

The slytherin common room was something to behold. Even Tom was impressed by the changes implemented since his last visit. A wide fireplace occupied most of one wall, with an empty picture frame hung above it. The red light of the fire danced off dark stone walls and gleaning silver accents artfully scattered across the room. Across from it was a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows, which peered out into the vast darkness of the lake. Curtains hung around the windows, not quite closed despite the chill permeating the air that originated in the water. Velvet armchairs and couches filled the majority of the space, all the upholstery done in the same shade of green, while benches and booths made of dark wood lined the walls. Overhead, throughout the room, balls of pale green magelight floated, making everything feel otherworldly. Harry focused hard on controlling his features, taking in this new location while maintaining vigilance. Draco nudged him with his shoulder, silent support just when he was needed.

As the students filtered into the room, Harry noticed a group of four upperclassmen taking up the armchairs closest to the fireplace. One in particular, a girl with short cropped brown hair and cruel eyes, was openly watching Harry with disgust. All the first years were instructed to gather around the small group, taking up seats on an ornate carpet to get their first taste of the house of slytherin. Harry, not quite sure where he fit in this new, foerign place, followed his friend and acquaintances to a booth on the far side of the room.

Before he was able to take his seat, a voice called out. "Come over here, Potter, sit with all the other new blood so you can be taught how I run my house." It was the same girl, who sat in the largest wingback chair. Her lips curled up in a sneer as a few students around the room snickered.

A snarky response was on the tip of his tongue when two things halted him. First, Nott's hand on his wrist and the warning look he gave Harry. Second, and more curious, Tom whispered to him. I would restrain from aggravating this person so soon, he cautioned. I don't know who she is, but she is in the highest position of power a student can hold in slytherin. There are better ways to handle this type of situation than head-on, without any backup.

He paused, taking a few more seconds than Draco was comfortable contemplating his response. The blonde boy opened his mouth to answer for him when Harry finally spoke back. "How could I ever deny such a kind request?"

If the tightening grip on his wrist was an indication, Nott didn't approve of the antagonizing, but he let go easily enough when Harry walked back across the common room. Of course, he couldn't be too compliant, so rather than sitting on the ground with the first years, Harry perched himself on a loveseat in between two larger, scowling boys. The girl glared at him, but didn't goad him any further during the night. Other than a few jabs at half-bloods and Light families, her speech was rather tame. Something about protecting other slytherins when they were in the halls, and not getting detention, and respected older students - that one was said with a cold look at Harry, which he didn't grace with any reaction.

Then they were left to their own devices. Knowing he would be pushing his luck staying wedged between the two strangers, Harry took his leave and meandered back over to Draco and the other second years. There, he exchanged greetings with the new faces that he didn't manage to retain any of, and he sat there for a solid twenty minutes not saying anything until Draco bumped his knee.

"I'm exhausted, think I'm going to turn in for the night," he said, a bit too pointedly to be sly. Nevertheless Harry appreciated the effort, as he appreciated that the other second-year boys opted to stay in the common room for a few more minutes.

Harry followed his friend up a short flight of stairs that ended at a massive room. Seven four poster beds were tucked into alcoves, each with their own small desk and nightstand. Each one had a trunk at the foot already. In the center of the room was a plush carpet and plush armchairs. Once inside, Draco gestured to a bed in the back corner of the room. "You can have that one, the house elves already dropped your trunk there." Sure enough, the silver and black chest the Malfoys had gotten him was placed at the foot of the bed. Harry nodded, mechanically heading over and beginning to get ready for the night. "Hey," Draco called out, uncharacteristically gentle. He was still standing in the middle of the room, fiddling with his hands in the habit Lucius was trying so hard to break him of. "I know it's a bit overwhelming at first. If you need anything, I'm certain father would be glad to supply it for you. Or, you know, I can try to help you out."

There was something curious in the way he avoided Harry's eyes. "Thank you," he responded, aiming for the safe softness Draco spoke with, unsure how one could recreate such a thing when they felt nothing. It was fake, saccharine, but his friend bought it and nodded, dropping the subject. Harry turned back to his chest and finished changing for bed.

It wasn't until everyone was in their beds, beginning to fall asleep, that Harry pulled out his wand. I don't like the way those older students were looking at me , he muttered when Tom expressed surprise at his actions. I would rather not have open animosity this early, but we're not one to take risks.

I'm not judging you, just impressed by your proactive thinking. I was going to suggest wards if you didn't.

Satisfied with the moderate protections against physical and magical attacks, Harry settled into the downy blankets dressing the bed. Through a small crack in the canopy, faint moonlight filtered through Loch Black and bathed Harry's face in a pale light.

Impugn

Chapter Summary

Impugn - verb; to dispute the truth, validity, or honesty of something; to call into question
Harry finds himself engaged in a battle of wits with a formidable foe, and can't find it in himself to accept things at face value.

Chapter Notes

Just a quick warning, there is a little bit of kind of-graphic abuse in the first little bit of this chapter, if you're upset by that you can skip to the asterisk!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Harry lay on a linoleum floor he was well acquainted with, mind empty and body aching. Why was he here? What happened, why wasn't he at Hogwarts? A foot connected with his stomach, knocking the air out of him and sending him onto his back. Harry felt something under his skin snap, and a shooting pain told him it was a floating rib that was now floating somewhere it didn't belong. Another foot came down, toe digging cruelly into an already purpling bruise across his collarbone and keeping him from pulling in much-needed air. Laughter he was all-too-familiar with filled the air.

Uncle's red, bloated face filled his vision as the man leaned over. "Did you think you could escape? That anyone would ever really want you? They're all going to know how much of a freak you are soon. No one wants to be friends with a freak." Laughter multiplied, warping and changing like a funhouse mirror, buzzing around Harry's head until he couldn't think. The man spit in his face, laughing again when Harry sputtered and shook his head to no avail.

Again and again blows rained down on him, forcing spasms out of his frail body in an aborted attempt at escape. There was no escape. He was stuck in hell for an eternity as pain lit up across his body.

The next time he opened his eyes, the person standing above him had changed. It was the mean girl from the common room, sneering down at him, wand held carelessly in her hand as she spit out a curse that made Harry's body seize. Every nerve ending sparked and burned and screamed in his head and all he could see, taste, hear, was pain. Even after she ended the spell, aftershocks made his limbs jerk painfully, and electricity crackled along his nerves.

"I know just what you are, freak, and the whole school's going to hear about it soon enough. You don't belong in slytherin. You don't belong in our world." Rancid brown magic shot from the tip of her wand and a sensation of nails being driven into his fingertips numbed his brain. He kept staring at her, eyes unseeing, as she cackled in a way that reminded some part of his brain that was but wasn't his own of another ruthless witch.

In front of him, she morphed another time. The person standing over him dropped to their knees, taking his face in their hands. When Harry's vision focused again, he recognized Tom's amber eyes. He wiped under the younger boy's nose, smearing bright crimson blood and clicking his tongue. Gently stroking Harry's cheeks with his thumbs, Tom smiled down at him, hushing the whimpers rising, uncontrolled, from his throat.

"Calm, child, I'm here now." The soft touch made Harry sag into his hold, eyes fluttering shut for a second.

"Did you think I would let them have all the fun?"

A yew wand prodded his temple, head still cradled in one large palm, and Tom uttered a single word. Pain unlike any Harry had experienced split his skull, his brain, open, blood and something more dripping from his ears -

Harry awoke with a soft huff of air. His body was still shivering from the aftereffects of his dream, and a dull ache was building in his skull. Back was the comforting weight of Tom in his head, though for a second he could swear some part of his mind felt just a sliver more empty. The sensation was gone in a heartbeat.

I would never curse you or cause you pain. Tom's low murmur cut through Harry's lagging brain, trying to dismiss the remaining wisps of the nightmare.

I know that. A stretch of silence as Harry caught his breath, listening to the repetitive sighs coming from his dorm mates. His hands were still shaking. I think I know that. We're not going back to sleep any time soon, though.

It wasn't even really his first day of school, he bemoaned while getting dressed. Draco had told him that the first day back at Hogwarts was always a free day, where first years could acquaint themselves with the castle and returners could reconnect with friends. Harry didn't think either of those things sounded very fun, and had already decided he would be seeking out the school library. Tom, for his part, had put up faux disapproval at the disregard for socialization. Whatever, it was his first day at school, he'd spend it how he pleased.

In a pile of blankets beside his pillow Tarka slept soundly, unaware of his master's thoughts and actions. The snake had been rather crabby the night before, after having been left in a satchel for the majority of the afternoon, and had announced that he would be exploring the castle without Harry today. This was fine by Harry, who would likewise be doing things rather boring to a snake.

Once properly dressed in a jumper and pair of slacks, Harry found himself at a loss of what to do. Was it safe to go into the common room alone?

Don't let your fear make you weak, Tom chidded. Figuring there was nothing better to do for the next - he cast a tempus and sighed at the time, bloody nightmares - two hours, he grabbed a title-less book from his trunk and went down to the common room.

It was empty, as expected. The fire in the hearth had burned down to embers, but leapt back to life as he descended the stairs into the large room. What had seemed so overwhelming and impressive last night now seemed hollow and lifeless, green lamps making the shadows taller and darker and emptier. Ignoring the chill that lingered, Harry took up residence on a velvet couch, legs curled up under his body and a ball of magelight hovering overhead to illuminate the pages. The only sound in the room, other than rusting papers and the crackle of the flames, was a gentle lapping of water against the massive window at his back.

An hour passed by in blessed silence. At six o'clock, Harry saw the first sign of life from another housemate - an older boy jogged down the stairs from his dorm, dressed in light fabrics and apparently preparing for exercise. The upperclassman startled at seeing Harry in the common room, but didn't address him other than a quick visual appraisal as he left the room. Harry didn't mind; the less distractions from his book, the better. The room lapsed back into silence.

The boy came back before anyone else entered the common room. He glanced over at Harry again, eyes lingering on the spine of his book. He didn't find anything there, not even the author's name, and without a word he returned to his dormitory. Harry turned another page and kept reading.

Finally, at a quarter to seven, people began to slowly filter in. First the older students, who didn't pay him but the slightest side eye as they took up positions near the fireplace. He returned the favor and ignored their murmured conversations. His book was more interesting than how their summer apprenticeships had gone, anyway. In the face of information, the fear he had felt earlier was all but forgotten. The first of his year mates that came down the stairs was Nott, who took one look at Harry and scoffed. It was by far the loudest sound to grace the common room that morning, and the upperclassmen were sure to inform Nott of this with barbed stares. They were ignored full heartedly.

"There you are! Draco was all in a tizzy when he saw your empty bed this morning," Nott exclaimed as he flopped down next to Harry. The smaller boy shifted further into the armrest, casually making more space between the two of them and turning his eyes to the boy across from him.

"I was under the impression that I'm free to come and go as I please, am I wrong?" Harry cocked his brow. "Should I have left him a note on my pillow containing the day's itinerary?"

With a smirk, Nott nodded his head, dropping all expression momentarily. "That's the best option, I think. And don't leave a minute out!"

The two shared a light chuckle, Harry growing a bit less hesitant around the lanky boy as they grew more familiar with each other. He had considered writing to him over the summer, striking up something more than acquaintanceship, but valued the anonymity (and shock factor) of being unknown by the wizarding world too much.

They didn't converse so much as Nott spoke at him, and Harry nodded at random intervals, until a few more second-years trickled down the stairs. Draco was next-to-last and brought with him Crabbe and Goyle. The latter two seemed to be in the middle of a silent conversation, and simply gave Harry short nods in greeting as they passed by. The blond had obviously spent the majority of his time on his hair, slicking it back with gel to the point it looked more like a helmet than actual hair. What, is he planning on getting hit in the head today?

"Harry! Of course you're down here reading, I don't know why I was even worried in the first place." So they were all worried about what the upper years would do to him. No one said a word about that, but the arch of Zabini's manicured eyebrow said enough.

Silent, Harry tucked his book into the bag at his feet and stood up. A few upperclassmen were getting ready to leave the common room, and his stomach was getting ready to make it's grievances known if he didn't eat some breakfast. Plus it wasn't like he would be getting any more reading done with all the noise everyone was making. Nott followed suit, and the second-year boys trailed behind a cluster of fifth-years towards the Great Hall.

Breakfast was, for the most part, uneventful. Most of the people at the table were still half asleep, inhaling tea of coffee, and the rest were murmuring quietly amongst themselves. Zabini was firmly in the first group, and glared at anyone who tried to wish him a 'good morning.' Nott and Draco and the rest of them were chatting quietly about how their summers had been, nodding greetings to the girls as they arrived. For the most part, older students let them be, only a few nameless faces cutting in if someone mentioned an interesting vacation story or a spell they read about in the assigned textbooks. Tom spoke up every now and again offering last names and snarky comments, but otherwise was content to sit back and observe. Harry just focused on his food and tried to block out most of the conversation going on around him. Over the past year he'd managed to adjust to proper sized meals, thanks to the Malfoys, though he still had an aversion to overly rich or sweet dishes. Routine also helped him a lot, so he stuck with eating what he knew - eggs, toast, fruit, and sausage.

Towards the end of breakfast, once each house's tables had filled up with the last stragglers, four professors left the staff table and began distributing schedules to their students.

"Severus Snape, our head of house and the potions professor," Nott muttered to Harry as the greasy man from the past night started down their house's table. "Made some snide comments at the beginning of last year when you didn't show up, but he should be pretty decent now that you're in his house."

Harry nodded, keeping his eyes trained on his plate. The children around him were being handed folded pieces of paper, sometimes greeting the man, most just nodding. When Snape reached their cluster of students, he nodded greetings to all but Harry. Black eyes fixed on him and narrowed.

"Ah, yes, Mr. Potter. Newest addition to Slytherin. I trust your housemates have made you aware of the way we do things around here?"

Harry nodded, noting how Tom perked up and paid closer attention.

Snape sneered and tossed a small bundle of papers his way, unbothered by the way Harry's face darkened at the snub. "Your schedule, Potter. Don't lose it. And the headmaster wanted to see you after breakfast, he doesn't like to be kept waiting." With a last 'humph' the potion master swept away.

It would seem Severus is even less pleasant than he used to be, Tom murmured. Someone ought to remind him of his place, don't you think?

Harry was quite inclined to agree, if this first interaction was any indication of what the rest of the year would be.

Draco's voice brought them out of their plotting. "What do you think the headmaster wants from you, Harry?" He, Nott, Zabini, and another boy Harry didn't know were all staring at the papers Snape had thrown onto the table.

He shrugged, unfolding the parchment and glancing over Dumbledore's note.

My dear boy,

I was hoping you would be willing to come have a chat in my office after breakfast today. As I'm sure you've been made aware, your absence this past year caused quite a stir. Imagine my surprise when you weren't with the family I had placed you with ten years ago… but that is another conversation, for another time, my boy. As well, there is the issue of first-year class content, which you've missed out on, that simply must be rectified before you can go on to classes with your peers tomorrow. I'm sure it can all be worked out easy enough, of course.

I must say, I'm feeling quite partial to Acid Pops this morning.

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore

Harry sneered at the note for a second before clearing any expression from his face. "It would seem the headmaster wants to discuss my absence last year," he remarked, blocking out his peers' attempts to get more information out of him. The whole event of Harry Potter not attending Hogwarts had, as Dumbledore put it, caused quite a stir, and was still an unanswered mystery to all but the Malfoys.

What does he really want from us? Harry wondered, folding his papers up without even glancing at the time sheet. The line about his 'family' specifically grinded on his nerves; he didn't appreciate such a poorly-disguised threat. He glanced up at the head table, ever so slightly avoiding eye contact with the headmaster. What little food remained on his plate grew cold, forgotten as he watched the professors preparing for their last day before classes began. When the headmaster finally stood and left the Great Hall, only then did Harry move to follow him.

Draco snagged his elbow before he could get far. "You'll get lost trying to find his office alone. Let me walk you." There was no chance to argue before the blond rose as well, and they left down the same halls (assumably) that Dumbledore had just taken.

We have to be careful with Albus. You remember what I told you about Legilimency?

Reading minds, essentially, yea? I'm guessing he's well versed in the art?

Very.

Of course the decrepit man would be. What had he read about legilimency… Avoid eye contact, keep up white-noise surface thoughts, drown the mental 'rooms' he had been slowly constructing in cold water then freeze out any intruders. Curiosity and anticipation bubbled up in his chest. Yes, it might even be interesting to get his first taste of what true competition had to offer.

All too soon, Draco pulled him up short at the statue of a gargoyle. "This is where his office is. He should have said something about what the password was… Old man loves his sugar, Severus always says." The blond slouched against the wall near the concealed entrance.

"What are you doing?" Harry asked, eyebrows furrowing as his friend drew out a small book from his cross-body bag.

Draco waved him off, already having cracked open the well-worn spine to a marked page. "I'll be waiting for you to wrap up your meeting, duh. Can't let you get lost in this castle on your first day, it'd reflect poorly on the Malfoy name." He glanced up, a smirk playing on his lips. "Plus I know you're dying to see the library, and I'm going to be needing the sequel to this book soon, anyway."

I can't believe you've managed to get Lucius' son hooked on a children's book series.

They're hardly for children, Tom, more like… young adults. And it's not my fault you didn't think of it first. Re-checking the missive, Harry murmured out "Acid pops" and refused to startle when the gargoyle jumped into movement. Climbing the spiral staircase (he'd always hated muggle escalators, prefered moving by his own accord), Tom receded into the deepest parts of his mind and his thoughts fell eerily silent. It wouldn't do for their masquerade to be revealed so soon, and Dumbledore was nothing if not a prying, meddling bastard.

The ancient wizard was, as expected, seating behind a large, cluttered desk when Harry pushed open the surprisingly light door. Silver gadgets and glass trinkets sat on the window sill, the edge of his desk, on crowded bookcases lining the walls, weighing down piles of parchment and old letters that hadn't been read in an awfully long time. A phoenix sat on a hanging perch, molting, feathers scattered on the stone beneath them, making no noise whatsoever. The man of the hour himself wore garrish magenta robes, mostly concealed by the furniture and clutter, and a warm expression that Harry immediately didn't trust. He didn't always need Tom to tell him when kindness was being faked.

"You asked for me, headmaster?" It was a knee-jerk reaction, to put on a sickening sweet persona when handling authority, one Harry - or Tom, or both - had picked up in an effort to maybe, just this once, convince his teacher he wasn't the devil-child his aunt (the Matron) said he was.

"Please, sit. I've just a few questions for you, my boy, before I'll be sending you on your way. I'm sure you have lots to do before your first day of classes, hmm? Lemon drop?" Harry took the seat in front of the professor, suppressing a dark expression at being called 'boy.' He declined the sour candy, hands clasped in his lap, waiting for Dumbledore to speak again.

A heavy silence drew between then, Harry resolutely focused on a liver spot on the man's left cheek. There was a faint tickle at the barrier of his mind, a feather duster brushing the very surface of his thoughts, but it abated quickly. A shame. The older wizard sighed, shoulders caving minutely, like a heavy weight was pressing against his back. "Now, Harry, I want to preface this by saying we were all very worried when you didn't send your confirmation letter last year, and rightfully so. Even your relatives didn't know where you'd run off to, and were very worried about your safety."

Just between him and Tom, Harry scoffed. Yea right they were worried about me, more like they were worried about their dinners not being cooked any more. This was not the time to get distracted, Tom reminded him gently, in the tone he always took when they were skirting around the subject of his past. Agreeing, Harry tuned back in to what Dumbledore was saying.

"Would you mind telling me where you have been?" The headmaster popped a lemon drop into his mouth, lips puckering at the citric acid.

The old grandfather act was already grating on Harry's nerves, but he swallowed down his irritation and willed a faint rosy hue to his cheeks. "Well, sir, I've been staying with the Malfoys since December. I know Lucius said he'd sent you the paperwork over the summer, right? You should know I was in an orphanage for a while, and I was adopted when I was five. My adoptive parents… they- they died in August, and the Malfoys are the closest family I have. I took the year to grieve, since it was already past the start of term anyway - but I promise I was also studying really hard! Narcissa showed me all the textbooks Draco was learning from, and helped me learn the spells, and sometimes she assigned me essays about theory, and-" He cut himself off, darkening his cheeks more, hoping his 'emoting' and rambling would distract the headmaster enough to get him out of the office sooner rather than later. Let him think Harry still had an ounce of Gryffindor, an ounce of innocence, left in him.

Whether the old man was really going senile or he just conceded that specific subject for the time being, Dumbledore chose to pick up the new topic Harry had introduced. "Yes, that's the other thing I wanted to chat with you about."

Harry didn't let his face reveal his trepidation. "Yes, headmaster? I swear I know all the stuff that was taught last year. Draco and I reviewed it over the summer, even. I can take a placement test, if you want? We've only got today but I think, if they're not too too long, I could get most of subjects covered-"

Again, he was cut off in the middle of his rambling. "That won't be necessary, my boy," Dumbledore said, eyes seeming to twinkle as they reflected the sun and magelight in the room. That can't be natural. Probably some stupid spell he made up. Harry ignored Tom's angry muttering, instead cocking his head at the headmaster.

"How do you mean, sir?"

The wizard smiled, warm and serine and not real. "I'm not going to make you place into each and every class, Harry. That would be too much, even for an obviously smart child such as yourself." Keep laying it on thick, old man. "You'll be allowed to take second-year classes with the rest of your peers. However," he paused, peering over half-moon spectacles at Harry, who kept his eyes resolutely fixed on a mole between his eyes. "if you find yourself struggling with any theory or practical application, I expect you to come talk to me. We can get you supplemental classes covering first-year content, or a tutor. Can't have you unprepared now, can we?"

Avoiding eye contact as he was, Harry didn't see the calculating glint that appeared for a brief second. He nodded, contorting his features into something that should look like determination, not the frustration and insult he felt. "Of course, sir. I don't want to be falling behind." There was a break in the conversation, the only sound in the room coming from the gadgets whirling behind Dumbledore. Taking the opportunity for what it was, Harry spoke up again. "If that's all, sir, I've been itching to find the library. Draco told me so many good things about it, and it wouldn't hurt to go back over some material before my first classes."

Dumbledore chuckled and nodded. "Are you sure you belong in Slytherin, my boy?" For a moment Harry and Tom felt a flash of indignation, smothering the emotion before it could be expressed. "You do act like such a Ravenclaw at times, it seems.

"Well, you best be off then. Mr. Malfoy is getting quite bored in the hall, and must be dying to give you a tour of my castle."

Harry nodded, throwing out a quick thank you before rising and shuffling out of the room, hands stuffed in his pockets and head down. It wasn't until he was a full hall length away - Draco had followed without question when he emerged from behind the gargoyle - that Harry straightened up and dropped the guarded, naively curious expression he had been wearing.

What just happened in there? He mused, slowing down and falling into step alongside Draco. Dymbledore dropped those subjects way too easily.

I agree. He likely thinks we're in debt to him now, since he's letting us in without any question, and he'll try to keep an eye on you this year. Don't do anything to draw his attention.

Harry rolled his eyes; of course he wasn't planning on acting brash enough to catch the old man's eye. Rolling out his shoulders and brushing off his concern, he pasted on a real-enough smirk and turned to Draco.

"So, how about that library, then?"

The blond knew better than to push a subject when his friend so obviously dropped it, and didn't bother asking any questions. He knew - or hoped, at least - that Harry would talk later, and, for the time being, was willing to carry a conversation about what second-year classes would be like.

The Hogwarts library was just as awesome as Tom had made it out to be. Perhaps even more so, given the fifty years it had to acquire more books. The Malfoy library would forever have Harry's heart, with its massive windows and plush wingback chairs and books so dark Tom still wouldn't let him read. While this library lacked the homey-ness, however, it more than made up for it in sheer quantity. It seemed to take up all of the fourth floor with floor-to-ceiling shelves, stocked to the brim, though along the walls he could see clusters of tables and chairs. Few students had seeked out the library before school even began, leaving Harry and Draco seemingly alone aside from the librarian.

"Madam Pince," Draco whispered as they made their way deeper into the massive room. The woman in question shot a glare in their direction, curly black hair pulled into a top knot that probably gave her a headache. "She rules this place with an iron fist. Don't get caught talking or eating or, Merlin forbid, defacing one of her books. She'll ban you for life for that one."

They could both breathe easier when they turned a corner and no longer felt her sharp gaze on them. Harry stepped away from his friend, dragging his fingertips across spines of books, just taking in the magnificence of the library.

If I couldn't see your mind, I would think you were a Ravenclaw, too, Tom mocked. Harry ignored him, knowing full and well that his companion was just as much of a bookworm as he was. Knowledge was essential, after all, to being the most powerful wizard posible.

Draco left him to his own devices quickly enough, wandering off to find that sequel he had mentioned. Once alone, Harry was able to close his eyes and think, taking in the peace of the library and calming the cold anger Dumbledore had drawn up.

He really had the gall to suggest supplemental classes? To me? To us ? I know you said he was conniving, but that was…

Tom chuckled, guiding their body deeper into the library, towards the more interesting sections. Now now, Harry, one might say you're acting quite cocky for someone who's never been to a magical school before.

Harry grumbled under his breath as he plucked a random book off the shelf, throwing himself into a padded chair next to stained glass windows. It was '1001 Magical Plants and Their Properties,' an easy read but one he could immerse himself in until he forgot his righteous anger.

Forget his anger he did. Alchemical properties and interactions swirled in his mind and he lost an hour just flipping through the textbook, reading up on the ingredients second-years were expected to know. At some point Draco had told Harry he was leaving. Harry forgot to pay attention to what his friend said, only nodding at the right moments to keep him happy. A pile of random books began growing on the side table next to him, 'Theorems and Hypotheses on the Origin of Magic' and 'A History of Magic Branches' and Tom's favorite, 'On The Souls of Wizards and Muggles.' Of course he wasn't finishing these books, but rather skimming through the content, reading snippets from chapters that interested him, vetting them to see if he would be checking them out and reading them in full.

He was completely immersed in the texts, as he often got, disregarding the world around him. For this reason, he jolted with surprise when he raised his head around lunch time and saw a young witch sitting across from him. Her head was buried in a book, but every now and then she would jot down a note on the parchment beside her. Colorful light filtered through the window next to them, casting blues and reds and greens on her large, frazzled hair and dark brown skin. She was decent looking, Harry observed, though still growing into the larger teeth that pulled at her bottom lip.

Suddenly she jerked her head up, catching Harry's eyes and narrowing hers in determination. "You're the new student in my year," she stated plainly. Harry just nodded, mute. "My name's Hermione Granger, pleased to make your acquaintance." The girl, Hermione, pronounced every word meticulously, lips taking care to form every syllable with textbook perfection.

Harry nodded again, extending a hand to shake. "Harry Potter, nice to meet you. I heard your name a few times over the summer from Draco, top witch in your class, right?" Her chest puffed up with pride. "Is there something the matter? Am I sitting at your study table?"

"No, not at all! I just saw you reading here and thought I'd join you, offer help you adapt to Hogwarts. I was the top of the class last year, like you said, so I could teach you a thing or two. I know you missed last year, and wizardry and magic is quite confusing-"

Harry - and Tom - had experienced too many people assuming they were inept, thinking they were stupid, thinking they couldn't succeed. They weren't going to stick around for long enough for her to even start. He scowled, gently closed the book he'd been reading, and stood from the table. "I appreciate the offer, Miss Granger, but I believe you'll find I will be more than capable of keeping up in classes. Perhaps you should focus less on," he eyed the books she'd stacked beside her, "counter-jinxes and hexxing, and more on your social skills. Have a good afternoon."

With the hint of a sneer, Harry made to leave the library, the calming effect of parchment and knowledge quickly fading. He didn't get far before a small hand grabbed his sleeve and tugged. The witch had caught her bottom lip between her teeth and was worrying it something fierce by the time he had turned around, something hesitant and scared and not quite foreign in her eyes.

"I'm sorry if I offended you," she started, staring resolutely at the ground. "I wasn't trying to say anything about your- your intelligence, or anything. I just… I'm a muggleborn, so I was thrown into all of this magic abruptly, but at least I started with the rest of them. If you ever need help with the people side of things - well, I'm not very good with people, but if you want my help or anything - what I'm saying is, I know it might be a bit difficult to make friends and I-"

Harry held up a hand, making her stutter to an abrupt halt. "You're right, you aren't very good with people." Ouch, a bit harsh there, don't you think? "You should have just come out and said you wanted to be my friend, Miss Granger. Do you want to try again?"

She nodded, took a deep breath, and looked him in the eye. "Harry Potter, would you be my friend?"

A few seconds of silence seemed to drag on for an absurd amount of time before Harry replied. "Of course, Miss Granger." He nodded, ignoring Tom's snickering, and headed back to the table they had been sitting at. Hermione sat across from him, a smile threatening to split her face, and they reopened their books without another word.

Perhaps this whole 'socializing with other children' thing wouldn't be impossible, after all.

Chapter End Notes

Thank you to everyone sticking with this story after a long hiatus! Your comments really do mean a lot to me, and I love rereading each one of them. You guys are so nice :')
I definitely won't promise that things are going to start coming out any faster, but hopefully my english class this semester will help nudge my muse along. Plus online classes mean I'll be stuck at my computer for a long time, anyways. I do still want to finish this fic though, so please don't loose hope!
Also, idk if I've said this before, but PLEASE call me out if I say anything stupid. I want to represent my characters of color accurately, and if you see something wrong or at all racist, please tell me. I don't want to offend or perpetuate any sort of stereotype!
Much love, I hope everyone is staying safe and sane 3

Obloquy

Chapter Summary

Obloquy - noun; strong public criticism or verbal abuse
It's only one week into classes, and Harry is more than ready to make changes in his new house. The only obstacle is the people in Slytherin.

Chapter Notes

Heeyyyyyy everyone. That was a unexpected... *checks notes* 5 month break. Whoops. Writing is hard, I started writing for another fandom, school, yadda yadda. Excuses. I AM still working on this story, I swear, it's just gonna be a few more years until it's finished... Sorry. On the plus side, we're finally getting somewhere! Kind of, the actual plot is gonna start developing next chapter, i swear. Hopefully I'll have that posted soon, no promises, you know the drill. That said, I hope you guys enjoy this chapter!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The tip of a chewed-up fountain pen tapped against Harry's bottom lip and his eyes darted between the transfiguration textbook, open on the table before him, and the foot of parchment beside it. Already he'd written a good few paragraphs of his homework assignment, but there was an additional part of this theory that he wanted to include. If only he could find the section in the book that mentioned it -

An elbow dug into his side and jostled him, shaking a drop of ink out of his pen and onto the wood table top just inches from his essay. Harry cut his eyes over, glaring at the offender. Draco didn't even glance his way, still caught up in conversation with Zabini. Nott, seated across from Harry, caught the interaction and smirked down at his own paper. With a heavy, drawn out sigh, Harry capped his pen and scooted his classwork to the side. Beside him, Draco and Zabini were talking about the classes they'd all had over the past two days.

"Honestly, as shitty as the lesson was, I haven't been as entertained in class as I was by Lockhart today," the dark skinned boy was saying. Harry had to agree - while the blond professor was obviously a sham, it was amusing to watch him pretend to be competent. It would have been more amusing if the man hadn't tried to rope Harry into the trainwreck, of course.

"I can't believe he threatened to report you to Severus! What did you write that had him so worked up?"

Zabini snickered, leaning back against the stone wall and crossing his arms over his chest. "He asked what that ghoul townspeople gave him for helping them, and I didn't read those stupid books, so I said they gave him a blowjob."

The table erupted in laughter, earning them more than a few sharp looks from older students trying to get work done around them. Harry, not quite sure what was so funny about felatio, forced out a few chuckles as well.

"You're disgusting, Zabini," he groaned.

Draco turned around to face Harry, grinning. "He's not as bad as you, though, you little suck up. Had to answer all the questions right for your idol, Lockhart, right?"

The blond's tone was light, joking, but there was an undercurrent not quite as light. It was understandable, Harry figured, that the other students weren't sure where he stood on most things. After all, he was new, a wild card, liable to gain Slytherin the wrong reputation if they didn't check him early. Draco was giving him a soft ball with his question.

He would take what he could get, if it would help his yearmates accept him more readily. "You're kidding me, right, Dray? That tosser is an embarrassment to the faculty here. I just didn't realize the rest of you were such slackers that actually answering questions correctly would stand out. I, for one, plan to succeed this year despite the challenges presented."

"'I, for one, plan to succeed this year,'" Draco mocked, yelping when Harry retaliated and cuffed the blond upside the head.

Nott shook his head, smirking at the two boys. "Really, though, first week of classes and the man is unleashing feral pixies on a bunch of twelve-year-olds? If that's an indication of how the year is going to go, we're better off doing independent studies."

Harry had to agree. His first Defence Against the Dark Arts class had been a rude awakening. Even Tom, well aware of Dumbledore's track record, had been surprised by the sheer insanity of this year's hire.

The class had begun with the self-gratifying pop quiz (which Harry had accidentally succeeded wildly on, it wasn't his fault none of his peers did the readings and remembered his favorite color), then a verbose and shallow monologue about how much Professor Lockhart had to teach them. He tried calling Harry out, attempting to shine a spotlight on the 'only other celebrity in Hogwarts,' but the boy had quickly shut that down with a wide-eyed, oblivious stare ("You're famous, professor? Wow!")

That was immediately followed by an example of the teachers absolute ineptitude with the whole pixie debacle. He had released a hoard of cornish pixies into the classroom, tried to use a bogus spell to control them and, when that failed, had promptly pawned responsibility onto the students and made a break for it. He was totally, utterly, useless. Harry had been gnawed on by no less than four - four! - pixies before he managed to escape into the hall, leaving the less fortunate students to wrangle the creatures. On his way out, he could recall seeing Parkinson being lifted by a cloud of them, shrieking and writhing the whole way up to the chandelier. They had made eye contact, and though he kept his face blank, Harry had been cackling inside. She'd had to gall to call out to him, to demand his help, but he simply raised a hand and waggled his fingers at her in parting before darting out the door, leaving her at the mercy of pixies and the other poor, useless second years still in the classroom. From what he heard, she was staying the night in the infirmary after spraining her wrist in the fall back to the ground. Good riddance.

"It's been two days, and I think the rest of the professors are going to have aneurysms. Did you see McGonagall's face at dinner, when he told her he was thinking of writing a book on transfiguration?" Zabini was chuckling, shaking his head in fond memory.

"And Snape, bloody hell. That man is going to curse Lockhart blue by the weeks end, I bet you five sugar quills." Nott was leaning conspiratorially across the table.

"No bet." Draco and Harry enchanted amused glances when the lanky boy deflated.

Thinking about their teachers, Harry couldn't help but recall his first experiences in Hogwarts classes. At this point, two days in, he'd had everything but astronomy. Charms and transfigurations both went well for the most part. Professor Flitwick had toppled over backwards when he read Harry's name off the roster, and proceeded to fawn over the boy for the rest of class. Truly, it was dreadful, being looked at with doubt and having the lesson explained in layman's terms while the rest of his classmates twiddled their thumbs. It took all his effort not to blind the entire room when he was asked to perform a simple lumos ( he would do just well enough to not warrant attention, and fade into the back of the classroom setting, just another decent student ). Transfiguration went similarly, with Professor McGonogall giving him confusing glances all hour, even going so far as to pull him aside after class.

("I must say, you're being sorted into Slytherin was quite a shock for all of us. Your parents were in my house, and I think all of us were expecting you to follow in their footsteps. If you ever need anything, though, or if you need to get away from your housemates-"

"Professor. I never knew by birth parents, and for all I know I'm nothing like them. Forgive me for not living up to expectations that I was never made aware of.")

Tom had chastised him for his lip, but the startled and afronted look on the older scottish woman's face was worth the chewing out.

His final class of the day, the only one Harry had actually enjoyed, was herbology. The warm, humid environment of the greenhouse wrapped around him like an embrace, the smell of wet earth filled his nose and soothed his fraying temper, and the familiar repetition of gardening was like an old friend. Unlike back when he lived with the Dursleys ( he shuddered at the memories of gardening in 37 degree heat ), they were repotting magical plants: mandrakes, larger tubbers with root systems shaped like babydolls. Over the past year with the Malfoy's, Harry had been developing an interest in magical plant care, in their intricate needs and all the different ways they could be used. Even Tom couldn't provide him answers to all the questions he asked about gardening, which left him with a hunger for knowledge that only his professor and textbooks could sate. The teacher, Professor Sprout, was the only one that didn't treat him like a foreigner, didn't even address him personally during class, just welcomed them all back to Hogwarts and jumped right into the curriculum. She did, however, answer the dozen questions he had thought up after class with a smile and a good-natured chuckle. ("Your parents were never very interested in herbology, but I'm glad to see some of this next generation has picked up an appreciation for it. I have a feeling you and Mr. Longbottom would get along!")

Tom, who had been almost uncomfortably close to the surface all day, shrank away from the mandrakes, and didn't answer any of the questions Harry threw his way. It wasn't until they were walking back up to the castle that he offered a simple, shallow explanation ( I don't like plants, and I don't like children ).

Merlin, going to potions right after that had taken his mind right off the other man's weird behavior. Severus Snape was a bastard, through and through, no matter how much Tom remembered the man being a good follower ten years ago. Their first class had involved brewing a Bulge-Eye Potion, something both he and Tom could brew in their sleeps. He'd been expecting an unpleasant but uneventful class period. Instead, he'd been greeted by a vindictive, sadistic bastard who considered every aspect of Harry to be a direct replica of his father ("Our resident celebrity, so glad you could finally join us this year. You'll be working with Mrs. Parkinson, maybe she can teach you a thing or two that you missed when you were off gallivanting."). He'd been on the receiving end of a stinging hex before he man's back was even turned, and really, were they ten? A stinging hex?

It was a wonder he was able to brew a quality potion, what with all the rude commentary he had to endure from his 'partner.' ("So, what? You think that just because you're friends with Draco, you've got a right to call yourself a Slytherin?" Of course not, he called himself a Slytherin because they were going to change the world, him and Tom. "You're a filthy halfbreed, you don't deserve to even be in this classroom, let alone sitting beside me. What if I catch your filth?" How easy it would be to curse this girl, to make her teeth fall out and her eyes bleed- But they were going to play by the rules, at least for now, remember? )

Harry tuned back into the conversation taking place around him. Draco and Nott were talking about the stack of assignments they had already been tasked with, and about how they very much so were not looking forward to history class.

"I just don't know why the headmaster won't exercise Binns already. The man has been here for the past century and a half, he deserves a break," Draco was whining, glaring at the time table he had pulled out. Nott nodded sagely, opening his mouth to say something, probably about the most practical way one would go about exercising a ghost such as Mr Binns, when a loud and nasal voice filled the common room.

Pansy Parkinson strolled through the common room door, her previously injured wrist free and holding a hall pass. Beside her was Kaitlyn de la Cruz, another second year Harry vaguely recalled meeting the first night. She had curly blond hair, tied up with a dark green ribbon, and had clearly gotten the school uniform altered to emphasize the curves she was growing into. Similar to Parkinson, De la Cruz walked with her nose in the air and a permanent sneer etched on her face.

"Like I was saying," Parkinson said as she crossed the threshold, "I wrote a letter to father about the sorting ceremony, and he got back to me today. I told him about all the wrong types that got into Slytherin, like that filthy mudblood first year, what was it, Hauser?" She shuddered, eyes darting over the common room as she spat out the slur. Across the room, a slight boy winced and ducked his head, shrinking into himself. None of the older students said or did a thing - half of them seemed to be nodding along, even. When her eyes landed on Harry, she smirked, a dark glint crossing her gaze.

"Oh, and I told him about our little transfer problem." Beside him, Draco clenched his fists, eyes pinned on Parkinson. Harry heard his blood rushing in his ears as his fingertips went numb. Someone was saying something, he couldn't tell if it was in his head or out loud and he couldn't hear their words. He couldn't hear anything or anyone else.

"He couldn't believe it either. Dumbledore's precious little Light hero, in the house of snakes? Said the boy must be dumber than we thought, if he thinks he'll be safe here, and that I ought to remind him of why light wizards are scared of the dark."

The room was almost silent as students of all ages glanced between Parkinson and Harry. The former was standing in the middle of the room, receiving appraising glances from older students and, in particular, the seventh year girl from the other night. Harry, on the other hand, was on the wrong end of scowls and cold looks, and only one or two students in the large space spared him a second of pity. A flush heated his face, darkening his cheeks even as his face remained stoic. No matter, he didn't want their pity anyway. Let them misjudge and underestimate him.

No one said a word for a few seconds. He waited for a moment, waiting for his companions to speak up and defend him, but the silence was deafening and told him all he needed to hear. After shoving his scattered belongings into his satchel and slinging the bag over his shoulder, Harry slid out of the booth and crossed the room. Distantly he felt a light touch on his elbow, but it slid away as he moved out of reach. His path directly passed by Parkinson and he made no effort to avoid her. As he approached, her wand slipped out into her hand, but she made no effort to throw the first spell. When their shoulders aligned, both facing opposite directions, eyes resolutely set forward, he stopped.

"You think you're clever, don't you?" His words were soft, only meant for her. There was something in his tone that he doesn't recognize, something disarming that made her suppress a shiver. Good. "You think your daddy is gonna do something, hundreds of miles away? I might be new to this little playground, I might not know exactly how you children like to play your little games, but trust me when I tell you, if anyone should be scared, it's you and your little pureblood gang, acting like you can't be touched, too high and mighty for your own good. I think someone ought to bring you down a peg. Put you in your place."

No one saw how, for a brief second, Harry's lips pulled back into a mangled, hungry smile, or how his irises darked inexplicably until they seemed almost brown like dried blood. The moment passed as he, too, passed by Parkinson without a backwards glance. Silent children watched the interaction, watched how he didn't even touch the girl but brought her to a shaking, trembling halt. No one moved to stop him as he left the common room, even though it was fifteen minutes until curfew. The heavy door shut softly, nothing more than a whisper, behind him.

Harry paced the halls for what felt like an eternity. Tension and anger he'd been holding back in the common room overflowed, making his legs shake and his vision go temporarily spotty and white. The need to find somewhere safe overwhelmed every other rational thought. He stuck to the dank, curving, confusing halls of the dungeon for the most part, a corner in the back of his head keeping an ear out for Filch (or worse, Snape) even as his rasping, choked breaths echoed off the stones. He was able to take comfort in the slime mold covering the walls, the gentle 'plop, plop, plop' of a leaking pipe in a distant, abandoned classroom. The way shadows enveloped him and gave him shelter from the outside world much like his cupboard used to.

Where most kids were scared of the dark and of creepy crawlies, Harry had always found himself most at home there. It was where he could take refuge whenever Uncle got drunk and angry, where he could curl up under the light of a single bulb and nurse his various, ever present wounds. He hadn't found himself seeking out dark, cramped spaces in quite a while, but this night he curled up in a hall closet full of mops and buckets and cobwebs. Spiders crawled over his skin and into his hair. Dust wormed its way into his nose and mouth. His heart slowed and the deafening, pounding rhythm faded.

Gradually, with the slowing of his heartbeat and the calming of his breath, Harry could hear Tom's soothing voice. You're okay Harry. You did wonderfully, you handled her so well, repeated over and over again in his ear. If he closed his eyes and focused on just him, and Tom, it almost felt like the walls of the room were a set of arms wrapped around him.

He was able to leave the broom closet not too long after that, though he made no effort to find the common room. These vast hallways offered more comfort than his housemates. His housemates, who had ignored her wretched words, who sat there and asked him to just take it.

There is no reason for you to hold back. The way you react is entirely up to you. Lash out and ruin her, show her that you are not someone to be toyed with. Lull her into a false sense of security before striking where it counts. Ignore her and her taunting and prove that you are, without a doubt, above them. This is your life and these are your choices. But don't let her run you over. You can never let them win.

Harry wrapped his arms around himself. I didn't want school to be like this. Back in Surry I had to deal with bullies and crummy teachers, but I didn't think the wizarding world would be the same.

Muggle or magical, people never change. There was a bitter apathy in Tom's voice, even as phantom arms blanketed over Harry's own.

If they were going to stand up to Parkinson - and de la Cruz, and all the older students, too - Harry needed to actually understand what he was standing up against. So, not without some reluctance, Tom began to talk.

Slytherin operates by a hierarchy of types. Obviously older years rank higher than younger, but there is some travelling between age groups. For the most part, second through fourth years stay among themselves, and likewise for fifth through seventh. First years are left to their own devices so long as no one is sent to the infirmary.

Pleasant. They were passing by a wall of windows, looking out into Loch Black, the moon just barely visible through the water. It's dim, pale light was the only illumination in this long corridor they were walking through. For a second, a grindylow caught Harry's eye and bared its teeth. He turned away and kept walking.

A lot of things go into determining one's place among their yearmates. Obviously magical talent, class rank, and blood status are important, but they're not the deciders. Remember the Slytherin traits - cunning. Ambition. Resourcefulness. Tom's voice took on an almost wistful tone, no doubt reminiscing about his own previous ambitions. The key players in each year are the ones that can manipulate their yearmates into following them. Whether you manage that through your social status, your intellect, or through brute force is up to you. Typically, until your fifth year, that is far as your positioning will go.

For the older students, the political setting gets more complex. If you can recall, that Seventh year girl always seems to have the same four students around here. It would be best to learn all of their names - that is most commonly known as the court. Those five students are the true leaders of the house, and the king - or queen - is second only to the head of house. They are the best of their years, call the shots inside the house, and are the ones you want to keep an eye on after graduation. They are the ones every other Slytherin envies, both feared and adored.

I take it you were king at some point? Harry asked, one corner of his mouth turning up.

Tom's eye roll was almost palpable. It's not important, but I may have earned that title in my fifth year after putting the current king in the infirmary for a week. They all looked at me with such fear after that… It was delicious…

It was Harry's turn to roll his eyes then. When Tom got to talking about his Hogwarts days, nothing could get him to shut up. It was best to just tune him out.

It was maybe a half hour later that they were exploring the second level of the castle, wandering down a hall that Tom would have rather avoided, when Harry heard his name being called. He spun on his heel, an apologetic grin starting to pull at his lips, when he saw who had called out to him - not a teacher or a prefect, but a little first year, blond hair a bit of a mess and a battered bag clutched between her hands.

Without a conscious effort, his grin turned into something a bit more natural. "Luna Lovegood," he said, stepping forward until he stood in front of her. They were the same height, he noticed. Hell, she might have been a hair taller than him, even. He bit back a counterproductive, angry thought. "Congratulations on Ravenclaw. Blue suits you."

She smiled back. "Thank you. Congratulations to you, as well. Though I suppose it might have been easy for the hat, seeing as how you'd already been sorted."

A tendril of caution, not quite fear, rose in his chest. "I beg your pardon?"

"Your partner, of course. The man in your-"

She didn't get another word out before Harry grabbed her by the arm and dragged her into the nearest classroom. For a second he worried he'd held her too tight, a flicker of his own experiences being dragged around making him want to apologize, but she just rubbed her arm for a few seconds before staring into his eyes again. It was like she could see into his head, hear Tom telling him to 'obliviate her, she can't know about me, no one can know,' feel the turmoil as Harry worried at the wood of his wand, couldn't quite remember when it had slipped out into his hand.

"How do you know about him?" Harry asked instead, not quite disagreeing with Tom just yet but not wanting to hurt the younger girl. His head was pounding.

Luna just stared, eyes focusing on his forehead. "I'm not sure. I know about a lot of things I shouldn't. There are also lots of things I don't know, too. And sometimes I know things that aren't real and didn't happen. It's all very confusing."

He let out a sigh of relief, shoulders drooping. She's a little mad, isn't she? No one would believe her if she said I've got another person stuck in my head.

Still…

"You're a strange child, Luna Lovegood." She must have heard something in his voice that he didn't, as a smile lifted the corners of her mouth and she let out a soft hum. "You know I can't let you tell anyone what you know about me, right?"

"Oh, I never do. No one's ever believed me before, and they wouldn't start believing me now." a wistful tone entered her voice, there for a second and then gone. "But you both believe me, so that's nice." It was Harry's turn to smile then, one side of his mouth twitching.

"I imagine it is."

They got to talking then, tucked out of sight in the little classroom. She told him about how her housemates didn't know what to think of her, so they ignored her ramblings and treated her like a child. She told him how her editions of the Quibbler - her fathers magazine, full of things even wizards considered fantastical - mysteriously found their way into the trash bins, and how she'd already 'misplaced' two pairs of shoes this week. In return, Harry shared how he'd been treated by the other Slytherins: the sneers he got from older students when he found himself alone in the common room, the conversations just loud enough that he could overhear them talking about blood purity, the snide remarks about his messy hair and small stature and, more rare that the others but still present, his brown skin. While she couldn't empathize with all of the types of bigotry and bullying he faced, she was able to join him in his hatred for it.

When she asked why he was wandering the halls that night, he found himself ranting about his most recent clash with Parkinson.

"They all just sat there and let her talk. No one stopped her or spoke out - even the ones who call themselves my friends, they didn't do anything. Hell, they tried to stop me from talking back to her. How am I supposed to trust them if they agree with the nasty things that she says, that the rest of them say?"

Talking to Luna was refreshing. The girl was quiet and non-judgemental when he spoke, but he got the sense that she actually listened in a way that few others did. Tom liked her too, even if he didn't want to openly admit it. When he paused, too wrapped up in his anger to say another word, she reached out and laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Lots of purebloods are idiots." The way she said it, blunt and without any aggression, made him want to break into hysterical laughter. He just chuckled and waited for her to continue.

"They are stupid, and don't listen to people they think are 'below' them. Even if they are nice enough, even if they like you, they treat you like a stranger. It isn't your job to change their minds or educate them, but they will not think of you as anything other than different if they aren't taught the truth."

She was probably right. Even Draco, who had spent the summer around Harry and acting like his friend, very likely still had prejudices against muggle-born witches and wizards. That didn't mean he was a lost cause, though, and Harry had found himself enjoying the boy's company. He didn't really want to lose his best friend, but... "How? How do I get through to them?"

He asked the right question, if Luna's ditzy smile was any indication. "There are two ways to change a pureblood. You can use brute force and make them to listen to you, like the Dark Lord during his reign. Or you can talk to them and reason with them, prove them wrong time and time again, show them their options, and convince them that the change was their own choice. It's up to you."

They parted ways not long after that, curfew well and truly broken. As he crept through the door into the common room, he mulled over what Luna had said. While he was more than competent magically, realistically he knew that he couldn't bully the rest of the wizarding world into respecting him. And to be honest with himself, it wasn't just about him either. It was about Hermione, who his fellow Slytherins never once mentioned every time they spoke about their smartest classmates. It was about the first year boy who always ate alone in the Great Hall and who never seemed to say a word to his yearmates. It was about how any time he went out with Lucius and Narcissa over the summer, they'd skirt a large circle around people wearing jeans and t-shirts, muttering under their breaths about ' their kind,' quick to visit shops that appealed to a more exclusive crowd.

This is going to be a difficult battle, and one you're not guaranteed to win. They will fight you at every step.

I know. It still needs to be done.

If there's no dissuading you, I suppose I'll do what I can to help, then.

Chapter End Notes

If anyone is ever interesting in bothering me to post the next chapter, or asking questions, or generally interacting, feel free to reach out to me on Tumblr! I'm megmachine there. If you message me I'll (probably) respond with a teaser for the upcoming chapter! Or at the very least it'll encourage me to write more. Much love and stay safe out there, readers!

Augment

Chapter Summary

Augment - Verb; to make greater or more intense
The plot thickens as Harry - and Tom - meet one Ginny Weasley. Harry gets some additional protection from his less-than-kind housemates.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

"Five points to Slytherin, that is a magnificent button you've made there, Mr. Potter."

"I still can't believe Potter's in the snake pit… I guess you-know-who really did something to him that night."

"Harry, Snape-" ("Professor Snape!") "-actually gave you points in class today! I thought his head was going to explode!"

"Did you hear, Potter sent a fourth-year to the infirmary! Terry said it was a dark curse, and they needed Dumbledore to counter it!" ("I heard he got sent to St. Mungos!" "No, you idiots, he's twelve. I heard he gave Higgs a bloody nose.")

"Hey, Harry, can we focus on herbology this study session? That test coming up has got me stress-snacking."

Crabbe ("Call me Vince, you've corrected enough of my essay's grammar to get a Yule gift at this point") was trailing behind Harry, Draco, Theo, and Blaise as they made their way towards the library, having just gotten down with lunch. Goyle - Greg - was keeping step with his close friend, still trying to finish the apple he'd snagged from the table before they left. It was weird, trying to call them all by their first names, but everyone in their small group had demanded it after the first week and a half. Now, almost a full month in, Harry was finally getting the hang of it. He had to admit, he did find it funny how Theo would scowl every time he called, in a sing-song voice, "Theodore, dear!" It was more than worth the tickling hex he always had to dodge to see the lanky boy get worked up.

However, today, Harry just wanted to spend time on his own. He'd had a steadily growing headache all day, and by that time it had developed into a near-constant stabbing behind his eyes. Draco had even noticed him wince at the bright sunlight that filtered through the windows on the hall, and tried his best to shield him from the light.

"I don't think Harry's going to be much help right now," he heard Draco say distantly. He was trying to remember if he'd thrown another headache reliever in his satchel this morning, or if he'd need to go flatter Pomfrey into giving him one. The infirmary was so far away, though, and the big windows always let in so much light, and maybe he could just go back to the dungeons and curl up somewhere dark and damp and quiet…

A cool hand clasped around his bicep, jarring him from his thoughts. Harry glanced down and into milky blue eyes. The corner of his lip ticked up without his permission as he made eye contact with Theo's least-favorite first year - Luna Lovegood.

"I can take him off your hands for you," she chirped. None of the other Slytherins were very fond of her (they thought she was more than a little mad, and that Harry was likewise for spending any time with her), but they nonetheless knew Harry was fond of her to an alarming degree.

Greg sighed, forlorn and disappointed that he would probably be failing the next herbology exam, but no one argued with her. Thus, Harry was dragged off to a distant corner of the library that was bereft of stained glass windows that let in an inordinate amount of light. Luna gently pushed him into an empty seat, pulled up her own next to him, and pressed something into his palm. Fingers curl around the glass bottle instinctively, before he even knew what he was holding, and the smooth texture of a potion bottle shocked him enough to draw him back to the present. Smiling a bit more now, Harry took a whiff of the liquid. The pungency of sulfur and methane and tin, something he'd smelled frequently when brewing his own headache relief. He tipped his head to Luna in thanks before throwing back the thin liquid, trying his best to swallow it all without a drop touching his tongue. He still gagged a bit, but chased the potion with a swig of water and sighed.

The effects of a Headache Reliever are more sudden, Harry thinks, than that of muggle pain relief. Still, it takes him a few minutes to lift his head up from the table surface where it had found shelter from the glaring sunlight in the library. There was still a slight ache behind his eyes, but that tenderness never managed to leave him, and he'd long since grown used to it. At least now he could function normally, and hopefully finish all the classwork he'd been putting off in favor of his own independent study.

Well, maybe not fully independent…

Did you ever find a copy of For the Grey Mage? If I recall, it contains some decent instruction for casting the Blinding Curse we were discussing a few days ago.

Tommmm, Harry groaned within the safety of his own head. The ache he'd just chased away was threatening to come back already. I've got two feet to write for McGonagall and Snape. Research can wait.

A disgruntled sigh was his only response, but Harry would take what he could get. Ignoring the voice in his head, he pulled out two sheaves of parchment and his textbooks, doing his best to focus on the Untransifugration Spell, the subject of his current essay.

Of course, it seemed that studying was simply not meant to occur on his day, as Harry returned to find his and Luna's table hosting two other students. He'd just gone into the stacks to pick out two new reference books, for Merlin's sake, and he'd come back to the table crowded with first-year textbooks and inkpots!

Luna, as per usual, noticed his faint irritation almost immediately. She skipped over to him, smiling, and looped her arm through his own. "This is my friend Harry Potter! We met before the sorting. He's got quite a lot of Blubbering Humdingers, but his are nice to him. Not like yours, Ginny." The red headed girl at the table jerked her head up from the book she'd been writing in.

It was like time slowed for a moment. All of reality faded to the background as Harry's eyes fell to the book in front on the girl, Ginny. Something inside of him yearned , pulling at it's bonds and burning through the headache reliever so fast he got whiplash. A grunt slipped through his lips as he lurched forward, barely making it to his chair and clinging to the back of it for dear life. There was commotion in the background that he knew he should have been paying attention to, but all Harry could feel, could hear, was the roaring of blood and something else in his ears.

What's happening, Tom? What's going on?

I don't know, but it's okay. Calm down, I'm here. I'm not going anywhere.

Harry lurched back into his body with a start, finding himself seated at the study table with his books sitting neatly in front of him. All three first-years were staring at him, wide-eyed, though Luna managed to look the most concerned. Harry groaned, leaning forward and rubbing at his eyes until he saw starbursts. A delicate hand reached out, resting cautiously on his arm, before her tinkling voice spoke up.

"Are you alright, Harry?"

He didn't bother opening his eyes or lifting his head from his palms. "My headache is back," he murmured. "I guess it's a migraine, I get them sometimes. Burn through most basic potions too fast."

A soft note of worry touches her voice when she speaks next. "I'll go get Draco, he can take you back to your dorm. Get some rest, okay?"

He grunted again, and then her hands left him and he's sitting at a table with two silent first-years. Great.

"So." He still doesn't risk lifting his head or opening his eyes, but the thrumming pain is starting to abate, just enough that he can hear what's going on around him. "What houses are you two in?"

Someone's knee thudded into the underside of the table and Harry winced, biting his lip to keep from whimpering. The kids stay quiet for a few more seconds before one speaks up.

It's the redhead. "W-We're both Gryfindors. I'm Ginny Weasley, this is Colin Creevey. And you're Harry Potter."

"In the flesh." Silence falls again, and he can't help but sigh. "How are you liking your classes?"

That, at least, seems to be a subject they're able to talk about. "I love it here!" Creevey, apparently, had no concept of an inside voice, and Harry couldn't help but find it equally annoying and endearing. "Neither of my parents are magical, so this is all super new, but magic is amazing! Just last week I saw Professor McGonagall turn into a cat! "

Harry hummed, encouraging the boy to keep chattering away. Having something to focus on, oddly enough, was helping with the pounding at his temples. "What about you, Weasley? Have a favorite subject yet?"

She was quiet for a moment, likely trying to gather her thoughts before speaking. Her voice is more subdued than Creevey's when she speaks up, more tired. "I suppose I like Charms well enough. Flitwick seems to know what he's doing, at least. Anything is better than potions."

A sentiment that seemed to be shared by her classmate, if the noise he made is any indication.

Harry isn't sure why he asks it, but he can't quite seem to control his mouth when it next opens. "What were you two doing when I returned to the table?" The tone he uses is unfamiliar, sharper than what he'd been using previously. He doesn't know where it came from.

Luckily, neither seemed to pick up on it. "Just… notes." Ginny doesn't sound very sure of herself. In fact, she sounds like she's quite sure that's not what she was doing. Harry's curiosity is piqued.

At that moment, before he could continue this new line of questioning, two hands came to rest on his shoulders. He jumped, having not heard someone walking up behind him. That never happens, Merlin, this headache was one of the worst he'd had is a while.

"I'm afraid I must cut this conversation short and abscond with my dear friend, here." Draco's posh accent piped up. Harry could hear a vein of disdain in his tone and without looking, could tell he had his pointed nose stuck high in the air. Which of the first-years was it that rubbed the blond so wrong? The muggleborn or the Weasley, or both?

Harry grunted, slowly moving to gather his books and parchments from the table and shuffle them into his bag. As he stood to leave, his eyes traveled unconsciously to the notebook Ginny had shut and moved to the side. It was quite unobtrusive, a simple black book with silver lettering he just barely couldn't make out. Another spike of pain erupted behind his eyes and he winced, lifting his eyes to the owner of the journal instead.

"Sorry I couldn't be better company today," he murmured, voice just a hair too loud in his own head. "Hopefully I'll be in a better state next time we meet. A good afternoon to you both, Creevey, Weasley. Until next time, Luna."

It took a while for Harry to see either of the Gryffindor first-years again. He and Tom had no idea what had caused his sudden migraine that day in the library, but they couldn't help but think the timing was more than coincidence. Until he knew the root of the pain, and how to counteract it, Harry didn't want to subject himself to it. Plus, he had something else to distract himself with - Quidditch.

He had, initially, been inclined to just spectate the sport. Tom had no patience for games, being a sixty-odd year old man, and preferred having both feet on the ground. Tarka, who had finally forgiven Harry for ignoring him and taken to draping himself under the school robes when his owner lounged in the dorms or common room, got queasy when lifted more than five feet off the ground and seemed to think no one born without wings had any place in the sky. The snake thought, obviously, that Harry was crazy for even considering it. But Draco was persistent, and told everyone who would listen about how natural Harry was on a broom, and pressured his friend enough that he had no choice but to submit.

"Making the team would give you a bit more security from the upper years," the blond argued from where he sat next to Harry during breakfast. "Sure, cursing Higgs got them to back off for the time being, but the shock will wear off sooner or later. If you're a part of the team, they won't want to risk a match by putting you in the infirmary. Maybe not ideal, and not as fail-proof as you'd like, but it'd be a better defense than you've got now."

With a heavy sigh that spoke more of being worn down than truly agreeing, Harry turned to his friend. "If I agree to try out, will you drop it?"

The smug grin he got in return told him no, Draco would not drop it. But he'd acquiesced, and the point being argued was valid, as much as Harry didn't want to admit it. His stalemate with the older Slytherins was extremely delicate, and wouldn't hold under scrutiny. He needed more.

That was how Harry found himself standing by the bleachers, outfitted in leather padding and worrying the wooden handle of a school-issued broom between his hands. He would be the last to run the circuit built by the team - the consequences of not having signed up for tryout prior to the day of. Better than being turned away at the goal posts, as he'd been afraid of.

There were two open positions on the team to try out for - beater, recently vacated by a graduating student, and seeker. It seemed that their previous seeker had sustained an injury that was still healing, quite a bit slower than it should have, and he wouldn't be able to play for at least the first half of the season. How unfortunate. (Harry hadn't intended to benefit from it directly, really, he hadn't! Higgs had just been picking on his relentlessly, and he remembered something Tom had taught him and that Draco wanted so badly to join the team and it just… happened.)

I do hope you aren't expecting any aid from me, Tom grumbled. The annoyance in his tone was enough to break Harry out of his loop of building anxiety, almost bringing a smirk to his lips.

I don't need any help from you, when it comes to flying. It wasn't arrogance, but confidence, which he'd been lacking for far too long, and that Tom and Draco and all his friends had been working on for the past few months. If the scoff echoing in his head was any indication, Tom wasn't too happy with what he'd been encouraging.

Whatever, they didn't have time to be arguing. One of the upperclassmen, a broad-shouldered boy with a guaranteed spot on the team, hollered for Harry to approach. It was time for him to play quidditch like he'd never played before.

He gripped the shaft of his broom and stepped forward.

He'd had an opportunity to watch the previous contestants run the course and go through the motions. Some of his waiting time had been spent spiraling, but most had been dedicated to analyzing the tricks and tasks he'd be asked to perform. It was a good thing he'd spent so much time in the air with Draco over the summer.

Taking one final, deep breath, Harry kicked off the grass. From the closest stand of seats he heard whoops and jeers, and glanced over to see a small crowd of second-years watching him. Warmth blossomed in his chest for a moment and he spared them a grin. Then he turned forward again and set his eyes on the target.

It started with a simple figure eight. More of a warm up than anything, as he tightened down his turns to hairpins, nearly giving himself whiplash with the ferocity of it. The school broom was subpar, pulled a bit to the left if he wasn't careful and leagues slower than what he'd flown on over summer, but he knew a firm hand would keep it in line well enough. Plus, the broom didn't make or break a player - skill did, and he had natural intuition on lock. So Harry kept looping around the goal posts, dizzy with the speed of it, until Pucey called for him to stop and move to the next task.

Figure eights were followed by a sprint on broom, then a three-on-three game with two other chasers, then shooting practice on keeper Bletchley, then a test of various maneuvers, and then try-out were concluded with seven pitches of a snitch-sized wooden ball. Of course, Flint would be the one striking the balls with a beater's bat, sending them full throttle in some random direction for Harry to race down like a dog playing fetch . It got progressively harder - and it hadn't started easy, by any accounts - as other players took to the air, trying to block him from retrieving the ball.

Despite the challenges, and his own exhaustion setting in, Harry thought he was performing well. He'd caught four of the six pitches so far, better than even Draco! Just one more to go. With every catch he heard his friends cheering in the stands, at that point a few students he wasn't even acquainted with had joined in the spectating and rooted him on.

Harry flew back to Flint, tossing him the ball and returning to his perch high above the field, flying lazy circles and waiting for the final pitch. His eyes stayed glued to the burly fifteen-year-old, waiting for some tell or another. The boy weighed the ball in his hand, tossing it up a few times, before lobbing it into the air and striking it with his bat.

Flint's last pitch was low. Too low, Harry immediately knew, and he was too high. But the buzz of success still rushed in his veins and he was diving before he was even aware of it. One of the upperclassmen was calling for him to abandon it, ready to strike it as a foul pitch, but he barely heard them over the rushing wind. He could catch it, he knew he could, if this school broom was just faster, dammit!

Tom had made him read about muggle mathematics over the summer. Made him memorize formulas and equations until the numbers floated in front of his eyes and his head swam with them. Made him calculate again and again, with eye and magic, distance and speed and rate of falling. Really, for all that Tom said he'd be no help in the air, Harry knew who he had to thank if his idiotic plan succeeded. He'd never done it while moving before, but it couldn't be that hard, if he just accounted for his own velocity, they just might be able to make it.

Harry wondered what he must look like, as he rocketed towards the ground far ahead of the wooden ball Flint had struck. The ground rapidly rose up to meet him, hard and relentless. Would he be able to counteract his momentum, after catching the target but before he struck the earth? Harry wasn't sure, and the adrenaline flooded his brain and made him hunch over his broom handle, speeding up even more. Hurtling at terminal velocity towards the ground, a death wish if another had seen it.

He wasn't going to make it. He was sure, he'd miscalculated and was going to miss the ball, strike the earth and break his neck for nothing. A last-ditch effort, Harry let his weight slide forward on the broom until he was only hanging on with his thighs. He was an extension of the broom, the broom was an extension of him, and as he flew two feet from the grass he extended his hand, palm cupped, and reached -

He jerked back, threw his weight back with as much force as he could muster with his abs and lower body, reached between his legs with one hand and yanked at the broom handle, feeling for the world like an American bronco at a rodeo, fighting the air and physics to change his trajectory. He felt the broom jerk as the twigs brushed the dirt, a few breaking under the force, but Harry managed to steady it out and come to a stand-still, hoovering a few feet off the ground, rasping breaths and his thudding heart the only thing he could hear. The rest of the quidditch pitch was silent.

Harry raised his other hand, the one not still wrapped around his broom handle in a death grip. Wooden ball held in his ball for everyone to see.

You, Mr. Potter, and an adrenaline junkie and an idiot.

Just admit it, that was fun.

Harry touched down on the grass and swung a leg over his broom mechanically, heart still in his ears and stomach in his feet. He couldn't hear anything, not really, but he saw Flint and Pucey jogging towards him from one direction, and a mob of second-years frothing at the mouth from the other. Shaking his head and trying to clear his ears, Harry turned and waited for the upper years to approach him.

"That," Pucey panted, eyes wide and more than a little crazed. "was the most insane flying I've seen from a second-year. When you started diving so far away from the ball I thought for sure you were mad, I don't know how you knew where it was going but-"

Flint clapped the other chaser on the shoulder, effectively shutting him up, and stared Harry down. His dark eyes were hard to read, shaded by a heavy brow and ever-present scowl, but the firm set of his mouth spoke of disappointment. Perhaps he'd been hoping for a worse outcome to Harry's dive?

"You fly well, Potter. I suppose your father's blood is good for something." Ozone crackled in the air around them and Harry widened his stance, right hand twitching minutely. "You'll be back-up seeker. I don't trust that that wasn't dumb luck, but either way you out performed the others in most everything else. First practice is in two days. Be ready."

Flint turned and walked away. Pucey lingered for a second, giving Harry a shrug as if to say 'what can you do' before following after his captain. Or, well, Harry supposed it was their captain now. He had half a mind to hex their captain while his back was turned, but instead tucked his wand back into the holster it had slid out of.

Just in time, as he suddenly found himself assaulted by no less than three twelve-year-old boys. Collapsing under the weight of the dog pile, Harry shouted out, but his cry was drowned out by the shouting of his friends.

"You are insane , Harry Potter!" Blaise crowed, shaking him by the shoulders when he finally managed to crawl out from underneath all of them.

"I've never seen anything like that, you could have died, Harry!" Theo was the next to shove at him, but the grin threatening to split his face in half gave away his true feelings.

Draco lingered back for a moment before rocking forward and socking Harry in the shoulder, firmly. That was going to leave a bruise. "Don't do that ever again, you idiot." He was quiet for a moment, letting Harry rub and the blossoming sore spot. "I guess I ought to congratulate you on your new position as seeker?"

"Reserve seeker, you mean."

That set off another wave of shouting, to which Harry rolled his eyes and started trudging towards the locker rooms. He wanted out of this heavy leather gear, and these idiots weren't going to hold him back any longer. They followed after him, bitching about unfairness the whole time he changed. Draco, though, met Harry's eyes and offered him a tentative smile. Harry returned it for a brief second.

Harry blinked and it was the end of October. The past month had gone by in a blur of study sessions and quidditch practice and he wasn't sure if he could remember a single second of it all, but he woke up one day and it was the morning of Samhain. As he went through the motions of putting on his school robes, he was struck by the realization that it was the anniversary of his parents' death. His next breath was shallow and raspy, and he had to sit back down on his bed.

I never knew when they died. Aunt never told me a date or anything. I never...

Silence fell over the dorm room. The rest of the boys were still asleep, as the sun was just barely cresting the horizon and wasn't yet filtering through the lake water and into their room. Harry's chest ached something fierce, and no amount of rubbing it with the heel of his palm could abate it. Why did he hurt? Had he been hit during quidditch yesterday?

There are… rituals, one can do, on Samhain. To connect with family on the other side of their veil. I'm sure your housemates would know a thing or two about it. Or, if you don't want to involve them, I do know one or two that only call for one caster. If you wanted.

Harry couldn't respond. He laid back on his bed and stared at the ceiling, slowly blinking as the grey stone gradually lightened. Shuffling and murmured 'good morning's were the only indication of his roommates getting up and ready for the day. Harry couldn't even bring himself to do that much. Tarka coiled up on his sternum, and solid and familiar weight to keep him from floating away into his own head.

The curtains by his bed shifted and a pale face came into view.

"Will you be joining us for breakfast?"

Harry's head lolled towards Draco but he couldn't speak. His mind whirled as he tried to make sense of what he was feeling, and he couldn't think of anything he could say to his friend in the moment.

Draco took his silence as an answer and stepped back, drawing the curtain closed again. Harry listened as the others boys left the room, and it was quiet again.

He didn't know how long he laid there. It was a blessing that the day fell on a Saturday, and he could marinate in his emotions unbothered by classes and his peers.

It wasn't sadness. Not really, he didn't think. He'd mourned them for years, before, and didn't see a reason to start again. It wasn't anger, either, even though he'd had their murderer nestled in his soul for the past eleven years. It was a bone-deep emptiness, the absence of feeling, apathy that he objectively knew was so wrong and out of place but couldn't shake for the life of him. It was the knowledge that he could reach out to his parents, on the day of their death, finally reconnect with them and feel their love and caring again, and he didn't jump at the opportunity. That he didn't feel any painful desire to be with them again. His lungs ached for how much his heart didn't.

He rolled out of bed and draped Tarka over his shoulders, over his robes, and grabbed a book to read in the common room. Uncertainty roiled in his stomach, still unsure what to do on such a day. Try as he might, he couldn't settle on an emotion to feel for his parents' deaths. Perhaps there was no reason to force himself to feel what he couldn't feel, or put weight behind a day that felt like any other. The whole of the common room, hell, the whole Wizarding World thought they knew what today was for him. With a shuddering, heaving breath, he stepped through the archway and into the buzzing room.

A blanket of silence fell over all the students gathered in the common room, everyone enjoying a lazy start to their weekend and alive with the current of humming magic that seemed stronger on this sabbat. Everyone, including the 'Queen' of Slytherin, sitting on her throne in front of the fire as per usual. The quiet stretched, building as Harry paused and surveyed the room. Draco and the others had apparently returned from breakfast and occupied their usual booth, a few decidedly not academic books sprawled in front of them. There was an empty spot between Theo and Draco where Harry always sat.

He hesitated. They had all looked up, joining in on the staring Harry was being subjected to, but he hesitated to go to them.

I think today is the day, Tom.

I couldn't imagine any better day, with the attention you've already drawn here.

From his perch, Tarka raised his head, hissing in Harry's ear. "The humans are afraid, Speaker. What do they fear?"

He didn't respond. Instead, Harry let his eyes wander across the room before they settled on a smaller table full of fourth-years. Unlike his friends, these students seemed more somber and respectful of the importance of the holiday. More liable to let him bask in the morose atmosphere the thinning of the veil brought upon him. Of course, it was all just coincidence that the table consisted of Adrian Pucey (who he'd become acquaintances with through quidditch), Cassius Warrignton (a wizard he had begrudging respect for, and who he'd recently reach a hex truce with), and Flora Carrow (the 'Top Dog' of her year, an intellectual witch and reputable dueler, and twin of Hestia Carrow), among a few others. His interest solidified when he recognized the back of Terrance Higgs' head. Maybe this day would end up being a bit more fun than he'd thought?

None of the fourth-years said a word as Harry approached their table. None but Pucey even looked up until he stood behind the only empty seat left. Harry waited until he had Carrow's attention (Flora, not Hestia, Merlin, twins were confusing) before speaking.

"Blessed Samhain to you all. Is this seat taken?"

She narrowed her eyes. Otherwise, her expression remained unchanged. She had nice features, Harry figured. Rather dainty, softer than Draco's sharp edges. She also seemed to be enjoying making him wait, if the hint of crinkling around around the corners of her eyes was any indication. Harry didn't let himself squirm, despite how vehemently he wanted to. Nor did he let his eyes flit about the table to gauge the rest of them. He simply stood, hands resting on the back of the chair he was inquiring about, face set in an expression of tranquility edging into boredom.

The deal was sold when Tarka shifted again, tongue flicking out to taste the air right next to Harry's cheek. Carrow smirked, leaning back in her chair and waving like a luxuriating king. "Be my guest, Potter."

He'd passed the test. The first of many, he was sure. He couldn't wait.

They started with introductions. Harry had met most everyone there before, of course, and it was more of a formality than anything. One thing that did surprise him was how Pucey, when it was his turn, introduced himself as Adrian. When it was his own turn, Harry was quick to introduce Tarka to the group. The snake was more than receptive of the attention, and enjoyed being fawned over from the coil of scales he'd become in the center of the table.

This wasn't the first time his snake had left the dorms. In fact, Harry had seen his familiar curled up in front of the main fireplace many times, closer to the throne than Harry himself had ever gotten. This was, however, the first time Harry made an obvious show of his possession of the venomous animal. He wondered, if he'd done this any other day, if it would have the same level of impact.

"How did you get permission to bring a Taipan to school? Aren't they, like, extremely venomous?" Adrian asked from where he was stroking the scales on Tarka's head.

"I didn't."

Even Carrow jerked her head up to look at him then. Harry smirked and reached out to Tarka, inwardly cackling when the snake immediately began to climb back to his perch across his shoulders.

"The charter allows students to bring a familiar to classes, regardless of the species, so long as the owner has sufficient control of their familiar. I saw no reason to disclose Tarka's specific species to the headmaster."

Harry could've sworn his heart was in his throat. He'd been decent enough at playing politics with his yearmates, but this was the big leagues. He'd taken a calculated risk with that non-admission, but still feared making a miss-step and fumbling the maneuver. He hadn't felt a rush like this since try-outs, and what did that say about him, that he had the same reaction to politics and sports?

The risk paid off, it seemed, when Warrington and Carrow settled more comfortably into their seats. The only one still not at ease with his presence was Higgs, who seemed balanced on the last two inches of his seat. Just how Harry liked him.

"I see why 'Ian likes you, Potter." Warrington smirked. Harry smirked back.

The topic of conversation shifted a few more times after that. Harry wasn't always able to contribute much, especially once they started talking about their electives and coursework. Through it all they refrained from getting overly excited, maintaining a calmness that Harry was grateful for. He wasn't sure if it was the holiday or his presence, but it was appreciated either way. At some point he spaced out, leaning back and stroking Tarka's head as his mind went back to the rituals Tom had mentioned.

Are they legal?

They… aren't ILlegal, just old enough that the ministry has mostly forgotten them. More popular Samhain rituals that Dark families practice are outlawed, but the one I had in mind is grey enough to pass under the radar.

Would… Would I have to talk to them? I don't think I could…

It's not always that stable of a connection. More of an improving their awareness of our realm, so they can see you and know what is happening here. There doesn't have to be direct communication.

Okay.

Okay?

Okay.

"Earth to Potter. You still in there, kid?" Adrian was waving a hand in front of his face. Harry blinked hard and jerked his head back, a startled noise slipping past his lips. The others at the table chuckled and smirked before answering the unspoken question written on his face.

"We were talking about Samhain, and our plans for the evening." Just vague enough that someone out of the know wouldn't be inherently suspicious, and not incriminating for those that were in the know. Tom approved.

Harry blinked and leaned forward, interest piqued. "Do you all have them? Plans, that is?"

Carrow put a hand on Warrington's arm before he could respond. She leaned forward to match Harry, face deceptively blank. "Do you have plans, Heir Potter?"

Pointing out, again, that he was from a Light family and, if his life had been normal, he likely wouldn't have known any of the rituals Dark families practiced.

"In fact, I do." No surprise flashed on her face. Either she was better at covering her emotions that Tom gave her credit for, or she'd rightfully assumed he wasn't as pure as his recent ancestry might indicate. "I was planning on spending this evening alone. Commemorating my parents, if you will."

The other students at the table nodded. Harry noticed the flash of a galleon passing hands.

"Alone?" Adrian sounded concerned, with confused Harry. Was it abnormal for one to complete the rituals in solitude?

Typically, especially for younger wixen, it is safer to perform the rites with a group of more experienced family or friends. There is little risk of physical or magical damage, but it can be overwhelming.

You didn't think to tell me that?

I knew you'd be fine.

"If you wanted…" Carrow started, "you could join us tonight. We were planning to skip the Evening Feast."

He heard a voice that sounded suspiciously like Higgs muttering about muggleborns and gentrification, which Harry took offence to twofold but ignored.

Is it a good idea?

It wouldn't hurt, and it could solidify your foothold among the upper years.

"What rite are you going to use?" he didn't want to seem too desperate, of course.

"Just one of the broader, more basic rituals to reunite with our ancestors. Nothing from any family grimoires, if that's what you're asking. Hell, it could probably be found in the library here if you really wanted to dig for it. It's the recessit affectus invocatur , literally 'invoking emotions from the departed.'" Adrian smiled across the table at Harry.

Not quite the one I would have gone with, but a decent introduction to rituals for larger numbers.

Harry nodded, once, after making eye contact with Carrow. Just one more thing, though-

"If you're going to guide me through this ritual, I think you've all more than earned the right to call me by my given name."

Adrian's face seemed to split nearly in half, and even Carrow's flat features seemed to soften. "Of course, Hadrian," she murmured. "Meet us here at a quarter to seven, and we shall all go to the ritual room together. Oh, and Hadrian?"

He paused from where he'd been shifting about, getting ready to rise, and glanced back at Carrow, humming a questioning pitch.

"I don't care what you tell your little band of friends about this conversation, but I shouldn't have to tell you this doesn't get back to professors, right?"

"Of course, Carrow."

She nodded, and Harry took his leave when he had the opportunity.

Draco, Theo, and Blaise were waiting for him back at their booth.

Immediately, Harry was pulled onto the seat beside his close friends and bombarda -ed with questions.

"What was that about, Harry?"

"Fourth years, really? Even for you that's ambitious."

"What did you do to get Carrow's approval so quick?"

Harry raised his hands, trying to placate the three boys clamoring for answers. "Calm down, calm down. You guys aren't being replaced, I just saw the opportunity to start forming a mutually beneficial relationship with the more powerful students in our year range, so I took it."

"Harry-talk for 'I'm trying to steal your spot, Dray,'" Blaise quipped, receiving a quick whack over his head for his sass.

"And so far as your question, Blaise, I am of the belief that Carrow liked my spunk."

The dark skinned boy cackled and Harry grinned, pleased.

Draco finally spoke up, trying to reign the conversation back in. "But really, Harry, what were you all talking about for so long?"

He took a moment to plaster on his most innocent expression before responding. "Why, we were talking about the Samhain ritual we're going to perform this evening."

Silence. Then,

"Hadrian bloody Potter, you absolute pillock!"

Chapter End Notes

Here we are with another chapter! I hope you guys enjoy, I know it's a bit of a weird ending by I've got next chapter - the Samhain ritual - written and ready to go, hopefully before March. Thanks for reading, please drop a kudos and a comment if you want, and feel free to pester me on tumblr @ megmachine!

Afterword

Please drop by the archive and comment to let the author know if you enjoyed their work!