Every time Harry had to communicate with Warren he could feel his sanity slipping. The girl, had she been there in person, would eagerly talk his ear off. It seemed that death had only slowed her down a bit. Whether or not she managed to remain as a ghost… He certainly hoped not, because he didn't think spells to keep her from talking would last through death.
He found that it was extremely hard to revise anything while she was writing away at him. His efforts to keep her engaged were fatiguing, nothing like talking with Riddle. True, with Riddle, he had to learn to watch what he said (judgment pending on how successful that would ever be), but Myrtle was more like having a gossip queen nattering away at him, or Hermione rabbiting on about whatever she had just read about and found fascinating or upsetting (and wasn't there a lot of that).
However, when she wasn't nattering at him in text (which was every evening for at least an hour, and more at the weekend), Harry was busy, busy, busy trying to learn three years of Arithmancy and Ancient Runes in less than a year. Arithmancy honestly wasn't so bad. He had done reasonably well with mathematics in that muggle school, and Arithmancy was not something that required him to know higher forms.
Oddly enough, knowing Parseltongue helped him with Ancient Runes, even though he had no idea if Parseltongue had anything resembling a written form. Runes could be considered a language on its own, and he already knew two languages (even if one he never had to work for). He attempted, in and around learning those two, to work on occlumency, as laid out in one of the books he had which, when it came down to it, was absolutely nothing like Snape's "Clear your head!" nonsense.
People generally couldn't not think of something, so it was more along the lines of knowing how to divert or deflect attacks. Suppressing emotions was one thing. Knowing what things would rile himself up was another. Shaping a mental construct, even a memory, so that it would cause an attack to careen off into a pocket of innocent and everyday minutiae, or something truly horrible (like that one dream he had had after too much exposure to Warren, where cannibals had attacked and tried to eat him), was absolutely nothing like "Clear your head!"
As a bonus, trying to get his mind and mental defenses into shape seemed to be helping his ability to retain and access information, so what he was learning in those two classes was sticking and making it easier to keep building on them. It still wasn't doing a thing for helping him to control his emotions better, though.
It was helping him to figure out how to draw Warren in, though that could be purely circumstantial rather than cause and effect. Magic was … odd, right? He wanted to slowly drain her and use that force to eject himself (hopefully not painfully) out of his prison and into the real world that Riddle inhabited.
He knew something was happening when she started to whinge about feeling a bit poorly of late, though he did his best to get her off that subject and into "juicy" gossip, because she (of course) knew absolutely everyone and had an eye on everything and it was so kind of her to keep him informed (entertained was implied) with such exciting news.
His life was summed up as work. Work to learn, work to listen, work to drain her, and working toward not worrying about what would happen once he was free.
And then he was.
Harry was utterly surprised when Warren wrote out a jittery line about feeling poorly again, and then suddenly he was standing in an unused classroom. The diary was on the floor, and Warren was nowhere to be seen. Which was … a relief? No having to hide a body? Or flee from it?
As for himself… Harry snatched up the diary, disillusioned himself, and booked it for the Room of Requirement. Hopefully no one was presently using it. Glances out the windows along the way showed it was quite late, as it was early June and very dark, and he knew the sun set late so far north.
Thankfully he was able to call up the room of lost things or whatever it was called and scurried in quickly, then immediately set about finding a hiding place for the diary. For all he knew Warren was trapped in there now, or maybe not and her body had literally dissolved or… He shrugged, refusing to feel bad about having caused the death of (murdered) someone in order to escape a prison he had been in for as long as a year.
There were bags scattered all over the place, the occasional student trunk and—
'I would love to clear out everything of real value from here,' he thought. 'I only have so much gold on me.'
With that in mind he dug a trunk out from behind a mound of other things, rifled through everything inside it for salable items and gold, then tossed the diary inside with the books in there. He closed it again and shoved it back into position, moving the other items back. A quick spell told him it was just after eleven. Much as he would like to start sorting through things, it was a better idea to fashion a cozy nook to sleep in, and start that come morning.
Ω
After a yawn he got up and fumbled around for his glasses to put on, then wriggled out of his nook. A chamber pot was made use of and shoved into a corner, at which point he realized he had nothing to eat. Water he could conjure, but not food. He could open a passageway to the kitchens, but the idea of the house-elves there not alerting the headmaster of a non-student boy soliciting food was too much of a risk.
"I…" He sighed and looked around at the higglety-pigglety mess, then rolled his eyes. His wand came out to summon any money in the room, which netted him a tidy pile of gold, silver, and bronze (not to mention busted open a number of trunks and bags). As he counted it all up he realized he had no idea how much things cost in 1943, and wouldn't know until he could get to Hogsmeade (or, preferably, to Diagon Alley) so he could get something to eat.
All of it aside from 20ʛ in mixed coins was safely tucked away in his mokeskin pouch and, before he required an exit out of the school, he hunted down a mirror so he could get a good look at himself.
He was rumpled and looked as if he had just rolled out of bed. His robes—well, he had none. That necessitated a rummage through various trunks to find something he didn't swim in, and preferably nothing with House colours. He eventually found some plain black robes that fit reasonably well, which would do for the time being. His existing clothes were plain and should pass. He hoped. Or he would be considered a bit eccentric.
After another look around and a silent promise to return to shake the room down, he required an exit to the station at Hogsmeade and scurried along it. He pressed his ear to the door at the end, to listen for activity, and heard none, so he readied his wand in case he had to do some hasty casting and eased the door open and slipped out.
He couldn't see a soul anywhere, which was good. A glance back showed that the door had vanished, which was also good. He firmly placed into his mind an image of the little courtyard that served as the entranceway between the Leaky Cauldron and Diagon Alley, then apparated.
Harry's heart was hammering away in his chest at the sheer uncertainty of his circumstances, but once he got his breath back he entered the Leaky and set about ordering himself breakfast before claiming a small two-person table tucked up against one wall to wait for it.
Ω
Gringotts was just as imposing as ever, and he tried not to wince as his breakfast churned agitatedly in his stomach from nerves. Who knew what the goblins would find? Would it be apparent he was a traveler? Would he be hauled off by the Department of Mysteries to be poked and prodded and experimented on? Or would he find out he was a nobody in this day and age, and end up a shop clerk for real, scraping by to earn enough coin to feed himself and have shelter?
He squared his shoulders, pretended everything was perfectly all right, and strolled as casually as he could toward the listing white façade of Gringotts. He ignored the little poem outside, gave a only slightly jerky nod to the guards outside, and pushed on through the doors. So early on there were not a lot of customers, so he headed for the nearest teller.
Though, honestly, whom should he be speaking with? There was no desk with an Inquiries sign dangling overhead, just tellers. So, right. When he got to the head of the admittedly short line, the teller arched a brow at him and stared down from his elevated position. Psychological manipulation for the win. Or he was just short.
"I would like an inheritance test," he said softly.
The brow dropped. A brisk nod was followed by the goblin turning around, beckoning to another, and saying something quietly in Gobbledygook (and what an insulting-sounding name that was for a language). The new goblin made a pointed gesture to be followed and headed off, so Harry walked quickly down the row of tellers to meet up with him (he assumed him, anyway, not having any real idea what a female goblin would look like and if their race had strict gender roles).
He was led off down an excruciatingly long-feeling hallway at the back of the lobby and then to the left. A slightly hysterical part of his mind immediately whispered, "Sinister." Then again, what was so special about dexter?
The goblin rapped sharply on a random-to-Harry door, popped the door open, and gestured him inside. He entered after a nod to his escort and glanced around before settling on the goblin seated at a desk. Unlike in the muggle world, there was no helpful nameplate to inform him who he was dealing with and, while there was a chair, he was leery to sit without being invited.
He jolted slightly when the door clicked shut.
"Be seated," the goblin said, voice all gravely and rough.
He sat, not too hastily.
"You requested an inheritance test. The fee is 10ʛ. Do you have this?"
"Yes. I was forewarned about the cost."
"Get that ready while I prepare things."
Harry nodded and pulled the amount from the inner pocket of his trousers, then stacked the coins carefully on the desk in front of him. The goblin fetched a number of items from his desk and set them atop it, then busied himself doing something with various liquids that went right over Harry's head.
Eventually a slender silver knife was pushed across the desk accompanied by, "Seven drops of blood into the vessel." And as if to insult his intelligence, the goblin pointedly pointed at said vessel, just in case he was slow.
He nodded again and picked up the knife, nicked the pad of his left pinkie finger, and let the required drops falls, then reluctantly set the knife down. He wanted to clean it with a spell, but assumed the goblin would chuck a wobbly and run him through.
The knife was picked up by the goblin and used to stir the contents of the vessel, then was dropped into a clear container filled with a clear liquid. Harry could see the residue on it dissolve away, so he relaxed a notch. The goblin then picked up the vessel and poured it out into a parchment-lined tray. The edges would (presumably) catch any excess.
Harry bit his lip as the liquid was absorbed into the parchment (he wondered if it was specially treated to act that way) and tried not to jitter nervously, to blatantly expose how unsettled and anxious he was. Words started to form even before all of the liquid was gone, but he kept his feet firmly planted on the floor and his arse on the chair seat.
"Interesting," the goblin said after a too-long pause in which the world seemed to be on hold.
'I'm being overdramatic,' he told himself.
The goblin wrote out a short note and tossed it into a suddenly-there chute, then went back to examining the developing parchment.
He wondered, in a fit of somewhat hysterical amusement, if it was anything like when a photograph was developed in the solution used, just a lot less wet.
The door opened a minute later to reveal another goblin, that one carrying a box, which was set on the desk before the being exited and shut the door again.
"So," the goblin said. "Hadriatus Jager Peverell, soon to be Lord Peverell, once the ring is claimed."
Harry's eyes went wide and his gaze shifted to the box. It resembled a cigar box in shape, far too large for a single ring. The goblin shifted the box over, popped the lid and turned it around, then pointed a clawed finger at the largest of the rings within.
"Wear this on your right ring finger, and then we shall get down to the business of establishing what your inheritance entails."
Ω
Harry stumbled over the cill as he exited Gringotts, his head in a whirl. He was a lord. Somehow. Parents dead, completely unfamiliar names. He had a house, though, so he would not need to worry about purchasing something. No elves, so he would need to buy some, because there was no guarantee the house wasn't damaged, and depending on how big it was, there was no way he would be able to take care of it by himself.
He also had loads of gold, a blood and magic-linked money pouch, and his ring would function as a portkey. The goblin had toothily pointed out that Gringotts would be happy to assess the wards and add any missing ones—for a fee, of course. He would absolutely be taking them up on it, to an extent yet to be determined.
He trundled back into the Leaky for lunch, along with purchasing a copy of the Daily Prophet to read while he ate. Cottage pie with a side of toast and baked beans was a satisfying meal. The butterbeer was nice, too, a reminder of how things had once been. Once he was replete he rented a room and headed on up so he could have a bit of privacy to write a letter.
Riddle,
I have completed my errand and, somewhat
shockingly, met with success. There are things I need
to do, such as investigating the house I have been
made aware of, plus potentially the purchase of a
house-elf or two. I plan to visit the house tomorrow
morning, to see what might need to be done, to see how
much help I will need, and what might be necessary in
the way of warding.
I am a bit rattled by all of this.
In any case, I am presently in a room at the Leaky
Cauldron. Depending on what the house is like, I may
be staying here for some days. Hopefully it will not be
necessary. I will also need to acquire a full, updated
wardrobe, and likely any number of household items. I
shall have to make a list. I trust your OWL exams
He paused to check the date, then resumed the letter.
I trust your OWL exams will go well, as I expect
they will start this coming week. Other matters can be
discussed when the school year has ended, as I would
not like to distract you from something so important.
There are several things I shall have to arrange for at
the Ministry.
Warm regards,
Hadrian Peverell
He waited for the ink to dry, then rolled it up and shoved it into a message tube. Harry made sure he had his key and money, then exited his rented room to go post the letter. An owl for himself was something to consider, but without knowing if there were any family owls roosting at the house…
Once the letter was sent off he stepped into Madam Malkin's for at least an interim wardrobe, so he wouldn't be hand-washing what he was wearing every night and sleeping naked. Twilfitt & Tattings was probably a better choice, but he needed the eye of someone more familiar with present fashion, and preferably for moral support before walking into an upscale clothing establishment. He didn't doubt for a moment that Riddle would insist on accompanying him for that, and he would (only a little reluctantly) be pleased by that. Gladrags was a maybe, but seemed a bit quirky from what he remembered.
He left an hour later with a large bag (and his prior outfit inside it, replaced by brand new clothing) and headed off to Scribbulus for parchment, ink, and quills, though he had every intention of finding fountain pens at some point so he could enchant them to have never-ending ink. If it could be done for a quill, surely it could be done for a fountain pen, but at least those could be refilled rather than dipped like a quill. He hated quills and refused to use them if he could find a way around it. Much better to use a pipette to draw ink and fill a fountain pen's reservoir.
Harry shook the thoughts away as a momentary distraction and finished up in the shop, then moved on to Flourish & Blotts to check out the selection. He shouldn't need anything in order to finish preparing to take OWLs in this time, but a look around wouldn't hurt. Really, he was just killing time until dinner, familiarizing himself with how things were right then, as opposed to what he remembered.
He ended his day, after a nice dinner and several hours of study, by slipping into the bed, knowing that Riddle would not receive his letter until the morning.
Ω
After breakfast he again made sure he had everything and then used his ring to portkey to the house he apparently owned. It was … in far better shape than he expected. The front door was quite tall and made him feel even shorter than usual, and opened to the front hall, which was wide and had stairs to either side leading up to a hallway that overlooked things.
The goblin could only tell him that he owned the place, and not anything about the interior. It was mentioned that he would need to find the ward-stone and drip his blood onto it (seven drops at least) in order to attune them to himself, so his first task was to hunt that down, and the ring should give him the access rights he needed.
Three hours later he was frustrated. He had looked into every room in the place and had yet to find it. There were fourteen bedroom suites, split over two wings. He imagined that half was for family and the other half for guests. Or at least, that's how he would handle things. There were all the usual other rooms, including a nice library, and the kitchen was large and included an eating table for more informal meals.
"Fine, I'll go buy some fucking house-elves and hope they can help me find the damn thing," he muttered, then exited the house and apparated back to Diagon Alley. The barman at the Leaky (he had no idea who it was, because it most assuredly wasn't Tom) explained how to get to the Ministry, the entrance for visitors being thankfully the same one he remembered. A quick trip to Gringotts netted him rather a lot of gold in his pouch, and then if was off to Whitehall so he could enter the phone box and punch in 62442.
He clipped the badge on self-consciously and suffered the trip, then exited into the atrium on the eighth floor. The security desk was there (which he had hoped was not) and he then suffered through having his wand weighed. Considering that there was a magical war going on in the shadow of the muggle one… The man on duty didn't even pay attention to the slip of parchment and instead waved him through.
A directory showed level four as having Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures (of which he would want the Being Division), level five for Magical Education and the Wizarding Examination Authority, and level six for Magical Transportation and the Apparition Test Centre.
He took an open lift to level four to arrange for the purchase of two house-elves (Murty and Pliffy). They seemed expensive, but he was well able to pay for them. Back outside the department he sent them off to Peverell Manor and continued on his way, taking the lift to level five to hunt down someone to talk to about OWLs.
"I was home-schooled," he said when questioned as to why he wasn't simply taking them at Hogwarts, and for that matter, why he wasn't at school rather than wandering around at the Ministry. "I was unsure upon arriving in England exactly how I would go about that."
"You're already seventeen?" the lady asked skeptically, which was hardly a surprise given how delicate he looked.
"Yes, ma'am," he said, flashing his lord (and head of house) ring.
"Well," she said, pausing to think, "we can do this one of two ways. You can go to Hogwarts to take them, since they're starting just next week. I can give you a schedule of them, and you would simply need to be there on time each applicable day. Or, you could arrange to take them here, but it wouldn't be until after the school-based OWL and NEWT exams have been processed, and it would cost you a fee per exam."
A fee would be no bother, but he wasn't fond of the Ministry. Taking them at Hogwarts would be odd, as he might be stuck at times waiting around with nowhere in particular to go, as well as Dumbledore would be there, but with an upside of Riddle being there, taking the same exams.
"And what about your NEWT exams?" she asked. "You could just attend Hogwarts for the next two years and take them there. You're behind, but I suppose that's due to illness," she added, eyeing him up. "Or if you felt confident you could take them here, for a fee, a bit higher one than for OWLs."
"Would it be any trouble to take them there, or to attend for the final two years?"
"Oh, no," she assured him. "We can just send off a letter telling the school to expect you, and to enroll you as a sixth year for the next school term."
Riddle would expect, he just knew, that he haul his arse to the castle to handle this, and he had signed a contract in which he agreed he belonged with him, so… "All right, I shall do that, then, take them there and attend for the next two years. It's less trouble for everyone that way."
"Of course," she said and produced some paperwork for him to read over and sign.
None of it was terrible, like asking him to sign away his adulthood or force him to attend through the full two years (he would, though, he knew), or give up his firstborn child for the privilege, so after a second read he went ahead and signed, and was given copies, plus a copy of the exam schedule.
"You'll get a letter from us shortly, and a letter from Hogwarts as additional confirmation. They may offer you a guest room for the duration," she said.
"I see. Thank you. I'm off to the Apparation Testing Centre, then." He nodded a good-bye and exited the office, then took the lift again to get that out of the way. By the time he was back at Peverell Manor he felt exhausted.
His two elves popped up as soon as he arrived at the front hall. "Right, I have looked everywhere and I cannot seem to figure out where the ward-stone is. Any ideas? Can you sense it?"
The two elves blinked at him, then Pliffy said, "Pliffy can feel it, Master."
"Excellent. Please lead me there."
A short walk later and he was staring at one of the many crests of the Deathly Hallows and wondering what he should do.
Pliffy stared at it, tilted her head, then said, "Pliffy thinks Master should blood it."
He frowned, then used his wand to make a cut in the palm of his left hand, then placed it against the crest. It split open like sliding doors to reveal a downward-reaching stair. "Huh. Right. Downward we go," he muttered, then headed down.
The room at the bottom was bare stone, and at the center was a rock that seemed to sprout from under the floor. It was covered in runes. "Same thing, I expect."
Pliffy nodded after a moment. "Pliffy thinks so."
"Right." He placed his still bleeding hand on the stone and froze up as a wave of energy went through him, then pulled away once it stopped. "Right, that was fucked up."
"Pliffy can sense a ward book now."
"Oh? Please lead me to it."
Pliffy nodded and trotted off up the stairs. He followed, noting that the crest slid back into place, the seam not even visible, and continued on after her. The ward book was odd, in his opinion. It showed what wards were in place, their strength (and that was visibly rising since he had taken the wards, the numbers in the book ticking upward as he watched), who was keyed to the apparation ward (a separate section of the book), and who was blocked from the estate (also in a section of its own).
Harry pulled out a quill and ink so he could make changes, starting with the removal of every name except his own from the apparation ward, and adding Tom Marvolo Riddle. He left the blocking ward alone except to add Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore—and wondered if that really was his true name. It was decidedly odd that a man born to a muggle-born mother had three middle names, whether his father was a pure-blood or not.
Maybe the Room of Requirement could help him with that? Maybe he could require documentation on the man?
To be safe, for the time being, he put in all permutations of the name he knew on the blocked list. The book went back into the hiding place for it, inside a crest above the desk in the lord's office, and turned when Murty arrived with two letters for him.
He accepted them and said, "I would like you two to begin cleaning the manor. Start with the master suite and the kitchen, then the library, sitting room, and then everything else, the guest wing being last. Do not overwork yourselves. Make sure you get enough rest and food. Understood?"
"Yes, Master," they chorused, then popped out.
Harry sat down to check his post. Neither were spelled in any way or appeared to be potioned, so he opened the first, the one with Riddle's handwriting on the outside.
Peverell,
I am pleased to hear things went well, especially
judging by the name. You have likely already visited
the Ministry to handle your errands there. What have
you decided about the OWL exams? And Hogwarts?
Yes, they start this coming Monday and I feel well
prepared for them. There are plenty of other matters to
be discussed, but those can wait until the summer
break. Do let me know what to expect. I imagine I will
be hearing from you come breakfast.
Warm regards,
Tom Riddle
"As usual, so pushy," he muttered. "Honestly, you'd think he was older than me with the way he seems to like to take charge."
The other letter was from the Ministry, confirming that he would be taking his OWLs at Hogwarts and that notification had been sent to them. He supposed it would be a good idea to have the letter on hand in case he didn't hear back from Hogwarts and needed proof due to some bureaucratic cock-up.
He folded up both and tucked them under a paperweight, then called for Pliffy.
"Yes, Master?"
"I am going to fetch my things from the Leaky. If one of you would see about purchasing food supplies I would be appreciative. Do you need coins or are you able to enter my vault as my elf?"
"Oh, Pliffy or Murty will need to be escorted the first time, or Master can write up a letter of admittance for the goblins to see."
"I see. Let me do that now, before I go." He found some parchment in the desk and dashed off a letter for either of them to show to a teller, then handed it over. "And if there's anything else you notice that needs to be purchased, such as fresh linens, towels, bathroom supplies, or whatever, go ahead and get those as well. If there's anything you're unsure about, make a list for me and I'll go over it later."
"Yes, Master. Pliffy should go now?"
"Yes, please."
She popped out, so Harry set about writing a reply to Riddle.
Riddle,
Yes, I have decided, after a talk with the person
manning the desk regarding the exams. I will be taking
the OWLs at Hogwarts, and will be attending for sixth
and seventh year, with taking the NEWT exams there
as well. I imagine you'll be pleased about that.
I have already received a confirmation letter from
the WEA, after earlier signing the contracts, and was
told to expect one from Hogwarts. I was also informed that
Hogwarts may offer me a guest suite for the
duration of the exams, but I shan't expect one. I do
have a copy of the exam schedule, so at least I know
when I need to be present.
I will let you know if and when I get a letter from
Hogwarts, or I shall simply see you there. If it helps,
since we never talked about it, I have rather messy
black hair (perhaps I should use a hair growth
potion?), bright green eyes, a rune-like scar on my
forehead, and I'm a bit short for my age. Oh, and
glasses.
Warm regards,
Hadrian Peverell
And that reminded him that he needed an owl. He hadn't noticed any in the owlery, and he had forgotten to get one once he was done at the Ministry. "Fuck," he muttered. He had to return to the Leaky anyway, so he could send it then, and purchase an owl. Once the letter was dry he rolled it up and placed it in his pocket, then apparated to Diagon Alley, first to get his things and turn in the room key, then to get the letter posted.
He bought himself an eagle-owl (the last thing he wanted was a snowy owl to remind him of a dead Hedwig) with gorgeous orange eyes and named it Hermes (of course), a perch, a few bags of premium owl treats (what was in them, anyway, and were they something he could bake himself?) and returned home, expecting Hermes to show up whenever he did.
Investigation showed that the kitchen had already been seen to. The walls and floor had a mellow gleam to them, the ceiling was spotlessly clean, the table and chairs were also polished to a satiny finish, and basically everything looked brand new. It was about then that he realized he had no idea how to use the stove, simply because it wasn't muggle.
"Shit. And I really need to start watching my language again. Being out is no excuse for this when I'm just going to be near Riddle and end up having more forfeits to pay. Though, it might matter what kind of forfeits he'll be demanding. And on the other hand, I did make that vow, so… I have to try my best not to around him. Ugh."
He eyed the stove again, then shrugged. Odds were one of the house-elves would claim the thing and get weepy if he tried to cook for himself. As if his thoughts had been heard, Murty popped into the kitchen and aimed huge eyes at him.
"Is Master hungry? Does Master wish to inform Murty what he would like for lunch?"
He realized he had completely forgotten to get lunch while he was out, rather like he had forgotten to visit an oculist. "Er… Yes, I'm hungry, and … two toasted cheese sandwiches, please, and some butterbeer."
"Murty will do that now, Master," Murty said, then started bustling about.
Harry said, "I'll be eating in my office," and wandered off again. He really needed to make a list of things he needed to attend to. An oculist, fountain pens, hair growth potion (?), a new wand (potentially), a messenger bag for use at the school…
Ω
Murty delivered a letter with breakfast, along with the paper (apparently his elves had deemed the Daily Prophet a necessity), so he settled in with his full English (minus the things he didn't like, and no, he didn't bother to question how Murty knew things like that) to eat and read the paper. Some noise about World War II (wizards seemed to think it had precious little to do with them, which was just a bit silly considering a fair few lived in London), a lot more about Grindelwald's crusade, and the usual silliness he associated with wizard-kind in general.
The letter was from Headmaster Dippet of Hogwarts, confirming his decision to take his OWLs there, and an offer of a guest suite for the duration. He was invited to arrive on Sunday so he could be shown the suite should he choose to accept, and shown the optimal route to get to and from the Great Hall so he could take his exams and meals.
Dippet also mentioned that, as he had opted to take sixth and seventh years at the school, he could be Sorted on that same Sunday, so as not to subject himself to being singled out and/or Sorted with the next batch of first years.
"Oh, definitely," he muttered. "Let's not be on display."
After breakfast he thanked Murty and took the letter up to his office so he could reply, then sent it off with Hermes. He figured he would be getting an owl later from Riddle, so held off on sending an update, and instead headed for the library so he could put in some study time for the upcoming exams.
Sure enough, a letter was beside his plate come lunchtime, so he read that while eating.
Peverell,
This news is pleasing, yes. I fully expect you will be
Sorted into Slytherin, so you will be where I can keep
an eye on you. As well, you did agree you belong with
me, so that is also a factor. I trust you will not
disappoint.
"He even sounds like the bloody dark lord," Harry muttered. "So imperious."
I would appreciate an update once you know more,
so I can prepare either way. You will of course end up
in the same dorm as me so there is nothing to worry
about on that account.
I look forward to seeing you in person. And yes, I
would agree, if your hair really is that naturally messy,
that a hair growth potion is not a bad idea to try. You
may like the results. But if not, no real harm done.
Warm regards,
Tom Riddle
He would have asked one of the elves to handle that potion, but as he needed to visit an oculist anyway, he could just pick one up, or purchase the ingredients to make one himself. Once he had handled those things, then he would write a reply. He banished the letter up to his office.
"Right. I should be back for lunch," he informed Murty.
The oculist made a bunch of noises under his breath after checking Harry's eyes and checking his glasses, then shot him a look. "Yes, these are no good at all. They're not even right shape for your face, young man. Go have a look at all the frames on display." He flapped his hand as emphasis.
Harry found a set of mostly rectangular silver frames with gently rounded corners, fairly thin, and quite sedate (compared to the very weird examples on display they were exceptionally sedate and likely to be considered positively boring) and tried them on, getting up close enough to a handy mirror to decide how he felt about them.
"Good enough, and certainly better," he said to himself, then wandered over to the oculist, who gave a sharp nod.
"Those'll do. Take them off and let me get them set to work right for your eyes."
Harry slipped them off and handed them over. The man sat on a stool and got to work, then handed them back. Harry slipped them back on again and the world came into sharp focus, which was amazing, and the nose pieces felt like tiny cushions of air. It was like he was barely wearing them, unlike the thick-framed and heavy set he had before. "They seem perfect."
Money was exchanged and Harry exited to go find a hair growth potion, then he headed home. The potion was taken, and Harry was left with hair that reached all the way to his calves. He snorted at his appearance in the mirror and, while he liked how the weight made his hair far less of a messy horror, the length was clearly too much, not to mention he could already feel a headache coming on from the strain on his scalp.
"Pliffy," he called, and was rewarded with the pop of a house-elf arriving. "I sincerely hope you know how to cut hair. I just used a hair growth potion, but this is a bit much even for me. What would you recommend for length?"
Pliffy looked almost as if she was going to giggle at him, but put on a serious face and examined the situation. "Pliffy knows young lords wear their hair no longer than mid-back, Master, and usually a bit shorter. They tie it back, either all of it or part of it. Pliffy thinks perhaps to the shoulders, to see how it reacts, and if that isn't right, Pliffy will fetch another potion and try it a bit longer."
"All right," he said, not having any better ideas.
Pliffy snapped her fingers and the greater weight dropped clean off, which caused the remainder to spring up a bit before settling. The extra weight still left did smooth out how messy it normally was, making his hair more wavy than haphazard.
Pliffy frowned. "Pliffy will get another potion. Pliffy will cut it a bit longer, because this is now too short."
He nodded and she popped away immediately. When he looked in the mirror again he saw what she meant. The waviness had dragged it upward too far. Aside from that, he rather liked it. He scraped back the top part of his hair and pulled it back in a pretend tail and liked it even more, despite it showing off the scar. At least… At least the scar wouldn't mean anything to anyone here. He was used to having it covered, but…
A quick pop was followed by, "Does Master not like his scar?"
"It's not that I hate it or anything, I'm just not used to it being on display," he said with a shrug.
Pliffy nodded and handed over the potion.
He drank it down, felt the weight drag at his head again, then stood still so the elf could try again. The second cut was better. His hair sprang back up again, but settled at a better level.
Pliffy popped in a stool for him to sit on, so he did, and she set to styling his hair in various ways to see how it looked best. She eventually settled on pulling back the sides and tying that into a tail, and leaving the rest loose.
"I like it," he said.
"Pliffy is pleased. Master will have to learn how to do this himself, though."
"I will. Thank you for your help, Pliffy. You may go back to what you were doing."
She nodded and snapped her fingers, causing all the cut hair to vanish, then popped out.
He repaired to his office to write a reply to Riddle.
Riddle,
You sound very imperious, you know that? Very
commanding. It makes me feel like I'm supposed to be
a good boy and follow your lead. But as you know a lot
more than I do about this situation, I suppose I shall
have to, despite you being younger than me. It'll be bad
enough, certain things.
I purchased new glasses today, to get rid of the
horrid ones I had before. I also used a hair growth
potion. I ended up with hair down to my calves, but
my elf cut it, decided it was then too short, so we tried
again and she cut it a bit longer. At least now it no
longer looks like it's been whipped by the wind.
Headmaster Dippet communicated and has
confirmed me being there for the OWL exams, plus has
offered a guest suite for the duration, and confirmed
me attending as a student for the final two years. He
has also offered to Sort me when I arrive on Sunday, so
as not to single me out come the start of the next term.
I admit to being anxious about that.
I don't have any idea where the guest suite will be,
but as I was invited to arrive in the morning, I expect I
will be having lunch in the Great Hall, presumably a
Slytherin, so I should see you then. I just don't know if
the headmaster is going to make a spectacle out of it or
let me slide in quietly.
I'll have to ask, and hope he agrees to just alerting
your Head of House about the new student, and then
Slughorn (?) can have a House meeting or something,
or just wait until the new school year. I will be seeing
you shortly.
Warm regards,
Hadrian Peverell
He set that aside for the ink to dry and started another letter, that one to Headmaster Dippet, confirming that he would arrive on Sunday morning at 11.30 (which should be more than enough time to be Sorted and shown the suite). That was also set aside to dry. The letter to Riddle was rolled and placed in a message tube, then delivered to Hermes, but the one to Dippet needed to go by a different owl. Well, it wasn't imperative, but it simplified things to not have his owl deliver to both Riddle and the headmaster.
"Murty," he called. "Will you please have this posted from the office at Diagon Alley. It's to Headmaster Dippet at Hogwarts. Thank you."
Ω
He arrived early enough on Sunday to Hogsmeade that he could walk up and be at the entrance hall on time. Waiting for him were Dippet and Dumbledore, which made him want to flinch away.
"Ah, Mr Peverell," Dippet said cheerfully. "How lovely to meet you. I am Headmaster Dippet and my companion is Deputy Head Dumbledore."
"A pleasure to meet you both. Hadrian Peverell."
"Excellent. Let us go to my office where you can be Sorted, and then you'll be shown to the guest suite."
He nodded and let himself be led off to the headmaster's office, where he was invited to take a seat. The Sorting Hat was placed on his head, where it immediately sang out, "Slytherin!"
"Wonderful," Dippet said as he removed the hat and placed it back on its shelf. "Professor Slughorn will be your Head of House. He teaches Potions. Quite a genial man."
Harry nodded and smiled a little. He did remember the man, though he considered him something like a fat spider waiting for juicy flies to bungle into his web to have silk threads attached to them. And something about … candied pineapple? Something like that. "I look forward to meeting him, headmaster."
"Excellent. Now, Professor Dumbledore will show you to the guest suite, and the best way to get to the Great Hall, though it's fairly simple, since it's on the same floor. It simply wouldn't do for a guest to get lost."
He nodded again, said, "Thank you, sir," and stood so he could follow Dumbledore out.
Who, as it turned out, decided to be nosy, like that was any surprise. "How is it you're taking your OWL exams so late, Mr Peverell?"
"I was a bit sickly as a child, professor, so I got a bit of a late start, and took things a bit easier. I'm fine now, though." And in some respects that was even true given the shit he'd had to go through as a child, all the fractures, broken bones, concussions, and the lack of sunlight and food. Thankfully he was looking around to take in the sights at each landing rather than letting Dumbledore have a chance to look him in the eye, that and it wasn't the done thing to be looking sideways at someone instead of the stairs themselves.
Back on the ground floor he was led to the right through a short corridor, then left, right, left into what he knew of as the west wing. There were four guardian portraits in there, with an archway at the end (leading, as he knew, to spiral staircase). Dumbledore stopped at the first portrait on the right. "The current password is 'kelpie racing'. If you would like to drop off your things, I will show you to the Great Hall."
"Thank you, sir." He popped through the portrait, which had opened at the password, and dropped off his satchel. He wasn't worried about it being searched as his important things were in his mokeskin bag. On exiting he joined Dumbledore again for the walk back to the Entrance Hall, where directly across were the massive doors to the Great Hall.
"It's just in here, Mr Peverell," Dumbledore said as they passed through the open doors. "The Slytherin table is to the left, next to the wall. Enjoy your meal."
"Thank you, professor," he said politely, then walked slowly toward the table. Riddle was one of the few already seated there, thank Merlin, and was watching him without appearing to do so. Harry drifted his way and took a seat, feeling rather jittery about the whole thing, then jumped a little when he heard—
"Home-schooled, were you?"
"Er, yes," he replied, turning his head to look directly at Riddle.
"Then I presume you are here for exams. OWLs?"
"Yes. Oh, sorry. Hadrian Peverell."
"Tom Riddle. A pleasure to make your acquaintance. I presume as you are sitting here, you are to be a Slytherin."
"Yes. I was Sorted just a little while ago, in the headmaster's office. I'll start as a sixth year next term."
More students began to filter into the Great Hall and take seats at the various tables, including Slytherins, who all gazed at Harry with careful curiosity, but seemed to recognize that Riddle would not appreciate interference when it came to the stranger.
"I expect Slytherin will welcome you," Riddle said. "You are here on a Sunday, for lunch."
Another statement meant as a question, prefaced by what was probably more like a demand. "I was offered a guest suite for the duration of the exams, so I would not have to travel back and forth each day."
"That was agreeable of Headmaster Dippet," Riddle commented, then moved to fill his plate when the food arrived. "I hope the accommodations will suit you."
"The suite seemed pleasant enough," he said after he finished filling his plate. "What are student accommodations like?" He had only seen the Slytherin common room, which was fairly soothing, looking back on it, but he had no idea about bedrooms.
"Slytherin is … luxurious as opposed to what I've heard of other Houses," Riddle said. "Two-person dorm rooms, whereas other Houses are reputed to have all students of the same sex in a much larger dormitory."
Harry grimaced at the thought of ever having to share a room again with someone who snored (Ron, for example, though Neville had sometimes sounded like a bear, or Seamus when he went to bed drunk), so the idea of two-person rooms sounded like heaven. "That sounds far more pleasant. I hope, then, that I am paired with someone agreeable."
Riddle glanced over at him with a faint smirk. "One hopes."
"Would you be willing to visit with me to explain a bit about Slytherin?" he asked casually, as if his heart wasn't near beating out of his chest being so close to his once (and hopefully never) enemy.
"That can be arranged, certainly."
"Thank you. Your wisdom will be appreciated."
Everyone at the Slytherin table—those close enough—were all eating their lunch and holding casual conversations, but all of them were very much focused on the conversation held between Riddle and him; he felt it more than saw it. It was amazing how they could do that, and he wondered if that was one way a person could spy without appearing to do so. Sucks to be them, as Riddle moved on to talking to Harry about Hogwarts itself, what the various professors were like, and other such topics, with absolutely no hidden messages other than unvoiced but obvious disapproval when it came to certain people.
After lunch the two of them walked off to Harry's guest suite, and Riddle even played along with an understanding smile when Harry whispered the password before inviting him in. Of course, the second the portrait was closed, Riddle was scanning for any and all listening charms or spying methods, while Harry was looking for portraits, even tiny ones.
And even then, when they took seats in the armchairs, Harry cast the Muffliato Charm to throw off anything that might be there and had not been found. He sighed and said, "That should do it."
"I do not recognize that spell," Riddle said.
"Er, I'm pretty sure it hasn't been invented yet. It makes anyone outside the field hear only a buzzing sound. I assume you're going to 'ask' that I be paired with you, when it's really a demand to whomever it is who arranges those things. Slughorn?"
"Of course. I cannot properly watch over you if you're in a different room."
"Right. I expected that the moment you mentioned two-person dorms," he said.
"Good boy," Riddle said with another faint smirk.
It gave Harry that warm feeling again. "I can't be all that good if I'm planning to spend so much time with you."
"I did not say you were good, because I have yet to see you in action. I merely said you were a good boy," Riddle rebutted.
More warmth, which he ignored—tried to—and, "I really would like to know about how Slytherin works. I've only ever seen the common room. One time, and I was a bit busy at the time, so the only impression I got was peacefulness. But the actual in-House workings…"
"Simply put, whoever has the most … prestigious … background, and the power to back it up, leads. As a known parselmouth within the house, and therefore an assumed member of the Slytherin line, with the power behind it, I lead," Riddle said evenly. "And when I turn seventeen I can claim the lordship."
"So you would be Lord Slytherin and I Lord Peverell. I worry about being here with my name. The old goat was—well, I don't know that for certain. I mean, Grindelwald was—is—" He rolled his eyes. "—rather obsessed with the Deathly Hallows, and it was the Peverell brothers who were allegedly gifted by Death. Dumbledore knew about all that. He even left a copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard to a friend of mine, because he knew she would read it and talk about it and… I'm not sure. He might have been trying to get me to collect all three, or he might have been trying to clue me in to how the Elder Wand works?" He shrugged. "The point is, the name Peverell might make him too curious, in addition to the two of us getting on so well, since apparently he thinks you're evil for being able to talk to snakes."
He suddenly wondered if having "signed" that contract with his original name rather than the ones the goblins provided via that test meant the contract was invalid or not. But… He had signed it in good faith, so even it if was void, he would honor it.
"Yes, that contract is still valid," Riddle said with an infuriating smile.
"What the fuck!? Are you reading my mind?"
"Forfeit count: four."
"Oh, for—" He bit his lip, then bit harder when another swear word tried to force its way out. Once he had himself under control he said, "Were you skimming my thoughts?"
"Yes. Which means one of the things I will be teaching you is how to properly occlude your mind, so you will not be vulnerable in that way. After all, Dumbledore is quite nosy."
"That would be good. The one who tried to teach me at the headmaster's orders loathed my existence, and my personal efforts don't seem to have had much in the way of results if you skimmed that easily," he said, frowning unhappily.
"Your house, how is it?"
"Decent sized. Fourteen bedrooms, though seven are in a separate wing. I purchased two house-elves to help me."
"You're going to let me live with you. After all, you agreed you belong with me, and you cannot do that if I'm stuck in the orphanage."
Harry rolled his eyes again. "Yes, I do remember those conversations we had. I figured I would meet you at the station and take you there side-along."
Riddle nodded. "And… No, that can wait. How about, as we have established certain things, I give you a tour of the castle. You're to be a student here, after all, and cannot be expected to know the layout."
"Yes, that would be wise. I doubt anyone would question it." He took down the spell and stood up, then followed Riddle out into the corridor.
That took up the time until dinner, and they hadn't even gotten through two floors since the grounds were included, and those were extensive. He sat next to Riddle again, of course.
"Unfortunately, I expect we'll all be revising each evening," Riddle said, "so furtherance of the tour will have to wait until next term."
"A pity, but needs must."
Riddle chose to introduce various people seated nearby, so that Harry could try (and fail) to remember names matched to faces. Harry was going to have to search for a pensieve so he could study them. The only one he assumed he would remember with no issues was Abraxas Malfoy, simply because of his looks.
He had the map and he hoped it still worked, still showed people like Dumbledore, that the map was still tied to the school even in a presumably separate dimension. He could, in theory, haul his arse up to the Room of Requirement and search that for a pensieve. Otherwise, he was going to have to go looking, or send an elf. He had no idea how rare they were.
If Dumbledore had one, they couldn't be illegal, right? Though the only people who for certain knew about it had been Dumbledore, Snape, and himself. Actually, not a good list for something being legal, when it came down to it. Occlumency it was, then, so he could access those memories at will, as part of the side effects of the art?
One of them—Harry had already managed to forget their name—asked about his life prior to coming to Hogwarts. He managed a careless laugh and said, "Oh, I'm certain your lives are far more interesting and entertaining than mine. I'd much rather hear about you." The smile he smiled afterward was as fake and plastic as his best ever had been. No one had ever called him on it, so he assumed it looked real enough to the undiscerning (though he had never tried using it on Slytherins before).
They weren't buying it, he could tell, but they gracefully accepted it as presented and smiled back just as emptily. They joined in with their own impressions of various teachers and classes, to help pass the time as they ate. Riddle walked him back to his guest suite before leaving to return to the Slytherin dorms.
Ω
The schedule for the OWLs was very similar to what his original exams had been, if he was remembering correctly. On Monday of the first week he suffered through Charms, theory before lunch with the practical after. Tuesday was Transfiguration, Herbology on Wednesday, and Defense on Thursday. Friday was split between Ancient Runes in the morning and Arithmancy that afternoon.
He spent every evening revising for the subject next to come, so it was fresh in his mind, but he limited himself to four hours so he could be in bed by eleven.
The second week had Potions on Monday, and Care of Magical Creatures on Tuesday. Wednesday was peculiar only in that he had Astronomy theory in the morning, nothing in the afternoon (as he would be damned before he bothered with Divination again), and the Astronomy practical that evening at eleven. Which, really, was fucking nasty of them, just like it had been the first time. The least they could have done was schedule that on a Friday.
Thursday was Muggle Studies (which he took for shits and giggles—maybe he could get away with swearing if he used 'shiggles'?), with History that afternoon.
He still expected to do poorly on Astronomy, as he'd had only a handful of days outside his prison with which to stare at the sky, History might go a bit better, and Muggle Studies was a toss-up. He thought the exam was hilariously easy, but one never knew.
At breakfast on Friday he again sat by Riddle, as he had all week for every meal, and said, "That was … interesting, and tiresome."
"Everyone says the NEWTs are far worse," Malfoy tossed out.
In his opinion, polite, meaningless conversation was exhausting. Harry listened to the various fifth year boys contribute to the "conversation", coming to the conclusion that precious little of substance was ever spoken in public places—which, really, Slytherins. It made sense. He was going to have to figure out where he parked the Slytherin side of him and fast, because if this was exhausting, what he had managed so far in terms of double-speak would be torture if he didn't up his game.
Maybe Riddle could help him over the summer?
He didn't think he could learn that much in so little time. He might just end up the oddball in his new House. It wasn't like having Malfoy (Draco, that is) as a role model for Slytherin taught him much beyond thinking the boy should have been Sorted to Gryffindor so everyone else could sit back, eat popcorn, and watch him and Ron duke it out every night.
"When do you leave?" Riddle asked, which snapped him back to full attention.
"After breakfast. I'll gather my things and start the walk beyond the wards."
"I shall accompany you."
"Certainly. Your company would be pleasant." He finished off the last of his eggs, ate the last bite of toast, then gracefully (nearly impossible given that they were all seated on benches and there was nothing graceful about stepping over them one leg at a time) rose. Riddle somehow managed to finish at the same time and rose with him, so the two walked to the guest suite so Harry could fetch his bag and make certain he had not inadvertently left anything behind.
The day was nice (thankfully) as they strolled down toward the gates. "When does the train usually arrive in London?" he asked.
"Around four o'clock. We're due to leave on the nineteenth."
"All right. Are you ever checked on?"
Riddle shook his head. "I don't expect it to be an issue."
"At least after sixth year we can both just apparate. There's no reason you can't get your license during the spring break. Those do happen here, right?"
Riddle sighed. "Yes, they do, and yes, I can. Unfortunately I do not believe there will be enough time in January prior to returning to the school, and lessons don't start until the new year."
"How much time do you spend on the train rides, er, socializing? Or plotting?"
Riddle snorted so faintly he almost didn't hear it. "I get caught up on the latest news in the pure-blood social circles on the way in, as well as any useful gossip. The usual sort. Who is plotting against whom, who is marrying whom, potential blackmail material, and so forth."
"I hope you realize already that I'm not much good at any of that," he said. "I can be quite oblivious."
"You will either learn or you won't. It is not that big of a deal. I will be keeping an eye on you, after all," Riddle said confidently.
"So you're going to protect me from the big bad Slytherins?" he said, half teasingly.
"Of course. They already know you belong to me."
The warmth came back, confusing him. He should be feeling indignant about someone essentially saying they owned him. Then again, it was Riddle. Him being a possessive bastard even this young really wasn't outside reason, not after seeing that memory with the stolen treasures (or rather, trophies).
"They'd have to be suicidal to try anything. That doesn't mean I won't be paying attention."
He hummed, seeing the gates come into view. "Well, it'll only be a week."
"And while I would normally be fine with that, simply because it means less time at that wretched place, I find that now it's much too long."
"I don't honestly fancy spending the next week alone but for house-elves," he admitted, "but I can use the time to try again with occlumency."
Riddle nodded and held the gate open for him. "The nineteenth. I will expect to see you when I disembark."
"Yes, yes, I'll be a good boy."