Chapter 14. Libraries
"Welcome, Heir, to the Athenaeum of Slytherin."
"Athenaeum," Tom whispered. A library. "This can't be..." The dim light of the corridor seemed to die once it hit the arch; he could see nothing past. He tore his eyes away, meeting the serpents' green gaze. "Is this the Chamber?" he asked.
A harsh, strangled noise answered him and he flinched only to frown as he realized that the snakes were laughing. "Oh no, Heir. Your search will not be so easy."
"Lovely," Tom hissed dryly.
"Yes!" the serpents said with utmost sincerity.
Tom's lips tugged upwards despite himself. "The Athenaeum will guide me?" he asked.
"The answers you seek lie within."
"Good." A twitch of his fingers and his wand was in his hand. "Lumos." As Tom expected, the soft white glow did nothing to illuminate the space past the arch. "Nox." Examining the yawning void, he absently healed his bleeding thumb.
There was nothing for it. He would have to go in blind.
Tom squared his shoulders and stepped forward.
Walking through the arch felt like what he imagined walking through a waterfall to be; a heavy, icy cold crashing down on him all at once, washing over his body. He imagined that the pressure of the freezing magic could crush a person. Perhaps it would've, had he not been Slytherin's kin. Either way, Tom pressed on until the unpleasant feeling was gone. He opened his eyes.
He was standing on a grand balcony. Cut from stone, it overlooked the relatively small but dignified room. The walls—there appeared to be eight of them—were lined with bookshelves on both levels save one on his right, where a spiral staircase instead provided easy access to the space beneath him, and the one behind him, where stood a door. As he scanned the lower floor, his eyes were drawn to the glossy wooden desk. He recognized the odd warbling quality of the green light reflecting off of it and tipped his head up to find a rippling ceiling made of water.
Wicked.
Once he'd drank in his fill of the awe-inspiring sight, Tom found himself gravitating toward the nearest bookshelf. Like all the others, the black wooden shelf was laden with aged texts and though Tom's fingers simply itched just looking at them, he restrained himself. Getting cursed would certainly put a damper on things. Still, he allowed his fingers to trail the air in front of the texts, close but not quite touching—and why was he thinking of Harry now?
Irritated, his hand fell and Tom strode toward the spiral staircase. He'd seen a couple of pieces of parchment scattered across the polished desk. Perhaps they'd be of interest to him.
His footsteps echoed in the silent space as he slowly descended the stairs. A part of him—an impatient, reckless, juvenile part—wished to tear down the stairs two at a time, but the very thought disgusted him. This moment was to be savored. To hold himself with anything less than the utmost decorum... Unacceptable.
At last, he was crossing the lush emerald rug, and the regal desk with its mysterious parchment papers and grand chair was in front of him. Caution overruled his excitement; Tom allowed his magic to reach out. Detecting no magic and meeting no resistance, he gingerly picked up a piece of parchment.
The writing on it was old, in a curling script of green ink, but any excitement faded upon reading what he quickly determined to be a to-do list. Frowning, Tom picked up the next to find some charms notes. The next, an abandoned, half-finished essay. A swift examination of the rest yielded similar results and he couldn't help the irate click of his tongue. He had no use for old homework.
Resisting the urge to vanish the parchment, Tom moved behind the desk to search the drawers only to find them empty save the odd broken quill or discarded bit of parchment. These he did vanish.
"Useless," Tom muttered to himself, sliding the drawers shut. He sank into the chair behind him in a fit of pique. A second later, the annoyance was driven inward as he looked up and saw the thousands of books at his disposal. Ungrateful, he heard, and it sounded an awful lot like the Matron. His scowl deepened. Though, really. What had he been expecting? A map?
Like the serpents had said, his search would not be so easy.
But then... He dragged his eyes across the bookshelves, full to sagging. They'd also said, "The answers you seek lie within."
It looked like Tom had some reading to do.
Shockingly, embarrassingly, it had been Orion who noticed first.
"What's with Evans?" he asked Tom.
"Hm?" he hummed, not looking up from his book. He'd been right about Slytherin's books being cursed. Had reached out with his magic and tasted bitter darkness on his tongue. Now it was only a matter of determining the proper counter...
"Evans?" Orion drawled in that tone, like Tom was stupid, and his knuckles whitened around his book. "Harry Evans?"
Face carefully blank, Tom glanced up, "What about him?"
"You haven't noticed?" he asked, and Tom stared at Orion pointedly. "He's been all but stalking you, Riddle."
Tom blinked and the library—the school library—that had all but disappeared in his concentration came back into focus around him.
"He's over there."
He looked over at a far table and met green eyes that immediately darted down as Harry began to "read."
"See?" Orion said smugly.
Tom resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "So he's at the library—"
"And dueling club earlier."
Tom paused before, "So?"
"And he just happened to be outside of Ancient Runes yesterday?" Hm. He had, hadn't he? "And Arithmancy the day before that?"
Tom frowned. "Coincidence."
"If you say so," Orion said doubtfully.
Tom glanced back over at Harry. He hadn't spoken to him outside of classes since Harry had revealed that the Chamber existed. After Tom had left him there, green eyes shiny with emotion, he'd figured Harry would need some space. Perhaps, if Orion was, Salazar help him, right, giving him space had been the wrong move.
He stared at the messy-haired teen for a bit longer before shaking his head. No matter, he thought. He cracked his book open once more.
He had a curse to break.
Tom was up to something. Which made sense, of course.
Harry watched the teen turn the dungeon corner and made to follow as he'd been doing all week. He hoped the transfigured yellow tie and stylish grey fedora would be enough; it seemed to be working so far. Good Godric, he missed his cloak. And the map.
Several beats after Tom, Harry turned the corner as well—Only to yelp as he ran into the very person he'd been oh so covertly following. Despite the wand Harry had instinctively drawn, Tom crowded into his space and he reeled in surprise. Only the friendly grin on Tom's face stayed the spell on Harry's tongue.
"Hello Harry," Tom purred and Harry swallowed. Tom's eyes flicked up. "Nice hat."
"Thanks," Harry choked out.
"You look better in red."
Harry's breath caught. "Do—" he cleared his throat. "Do you mind?" He gestured to his awkward position, pressed up on the wall as he was. Why was his mouth so dry?
Tom blessedly stepped back. "Orion was right," he said, all but pouting, "I do hate it when he's right."
"What's he right about?" Harry asked, grateful for the space. He looked down and began to brush out his wrinkled robes.
"You," Tom said, "are stalking me."
Harry's head snapped up. "I-Wh-No!" he spluttered. "I am not!"
"Are too," he countered, "It's okay though."
"I—It is?"
"Come, Harry." Tom turned and continued down the corridor. Harry only hesitated a second before following.
"Where are we going?"
"Somewhere more private."
Harry's eyes narrowed as he fell into step beside Tom. "Why?"
Tom sighed. "Why do you think, Harry?" He didn't respond. After several moments and two turns later, Tom looked over at him and snorted.
"What?" Harry frowned, defensive.
"You have heard of Disillusionment charms, haven't you?" he smirked, eyes once again appraising Harry's fedora, amused. Harry opened his mouth to retort but— "C'mon, this way." When Tom ushered him to the left, Harry stopped, confused in front of a large tapestry of a mandrake in an old boot. He didn't recognize it. "Go on," Tom said, "Poke it."
"Poke it."
"Like this."
Tom took his wand and jabbed the mandrake in its woven forehead. Furious, it opened its mouth to scream and Harry knew if it were real, they'd both be dead. As it was, the mouth instead continued to open and open until there was a large hole where there'd once been woven cloth, revealing a small wooden door behind it.
"Go on," Tom repeated.
Harry leveled him with an unimpressed stare. "Do you make a habit of aggressively poking magical art, Tom, or was this just a lucky find?"
Tom just grinned.
Shaking his head, but silently amused, Harry opened the door and stepped inside the small room. With the comfy-looking brown couch and matching chair, Harry was reminded of a smaller, less red Gryffindor common room.
"Nice, hm?"
"Yeah."
They both sat, Tom opting for the chair and Harry the couch.
"So," Harry said pointedly after a beat, "Why am I here?"
"You don't want me to look for the Chamber," Tom stated, getting straight to the point.
"Not particularly," Harry said snarkily.
"You also know why I have to," the teen said, relentless.
Harry looked at Tom. Really looked at him. At the stubborn set to his jaw, at the once-shabby secondhand robes that Harry had seen Tom transfigure this summer, the frustration behind his dark brown eyes. And something—something that looked a little like vulnerability.
He faltered.
"You do," Tom pressed.
"I also know that finding the Chamber will bring nothing but pain, Tom," Harry said softly.
"Why?" he demanded, fierce. "Why will it bring pain? How?"
The word Basilisk slithered along the tip of his tongue but was left unspoken.
"I—I just know it, okay?"
Tom's jaw jumped and any vulnerability died. "You just... Know it," he breathed.
The icy cold of it froze Harry; an ice cube slipped down his spine. Tom's wand hand twitched and— "I saw death, Tom!"
He flinched. "...Death?"
"If you open the Chamber people will die."
"Oh."
"Yeah."
"...Who?"
Harry blinked. "Does it matter?"
Tom hesitated and Harry—Harry felt a deep ache in his chest. "Tom..." he breathed, so sad, "You can't be thinking—"
"No," Tom rushed to assure him, "Of course, it doesn't matter. The Chamber is not worth the cost of a life, no matter who they may be."
Harry wished he could believe Tom believed that. His eyes flicked to the floor. "Okay."
"I won't open the Chamber," Tom said after a pause, and Harry looked back up. He seemed sincere.
"Promise?"
"I promise."
That night, when Harry drifted off to sleep, it was with those two words echoing in his mind; The next morning, when Harry woke up, it was with the hope they were true.
A hope so strong and desperate that he didn't even realize he hadn't dreamed.
A/N: First: I know, I know, I put Harry in a fucking fedora but LOOK IT UP! They were all the rage in the 40s, okay? Also, comedy. Second, I realized the other day that I had messed up numbering my chapters at one point so I went back and fixed that lol along with a couple of typos here and there.