Well... let's just go on with the story!
Chapter 8:
Harry had found out that he was sleeping in a dorm with four other Slytherins, one of them being Alexander Evans. The three first ones were sleeping and snoring loudly while doing so, Alexander was missing and Harry was just staring at the clock in front of him, watching the needle slowly tic its way to midnight.
"I want to go home!" he moaned silently. "These are just memories, but they seem so bloody real..."
Unable to sit in place, Harry jumped to his feet and contoured his bed a few times, eyeing his Firebolt lying calmly on his bed sheets.
He was debating if he should bring it or not, knowing that if their meeting was behind the Quidditch pitch, they might as well use brooms, and decided that he could leave it hidden on the grounds halfway to the rendezvous' location. If he needed it, he would summon it, if he didn't, he would pick it up on his way back.
Unable to wait any longer, he decided that he could get there early and wait outside. He grabbed his broom and wand and headed towards the door. He climbed up a flight of stairs and arrived in the empty, dimly lit common room. On his way to the exit, he noticed a long sheet of parchment laying on one of the nearby tables. He walked to it and eyed what was written on it.
Mr. Harry Potter,
Do use the passage through the painting of Salazar Slytherin to your left, it reaches outside much quicker than making the gargantuan detour of crossing the whole school to reach the main entrance, and anyhow, you would probably be caught by the caretaker, an insomniac bastard that prowls the hallways all night.
Sincerely hoping you are sly enough to do this,
Alexander Evans
Harry smiled. Maybe certain Slytherins were not that bad, he thought. And he was maybe related to this one! He took the piece of parchment, folded it and placed it in his pocket before walking to the empty portrait of Salazar Slytherin. The founder of this house of Hogwarts was obviously occupied somewhere else.
He swung the portrait sideways and met some sort of wooden trapdoor, which he arrived to open easily. The corridor he entered was cold, dark and humid. He lit his way with his wand and started walking. It took him a good fifteen minutes before arriving to what he thought was a dead end. It was only when he was ready to head back, thinking Evans had played a joke of bad taste on him, that he heard a small voice, asking him whether he was off to the dungeons or outside.
Harry turned around again but saw nothing.
"Who's there?" he asked.
"Me," the small voice answered. "Look up."
Harry did what he was told and noticed that the ceiling seemed higher at this spot. Raising his wand to illuminate it, he saw that under all the dust and uncountable spider webs was a portrait. The wooden frame was rotten and certain colors around the borders had faded or been replaced by some sort of moss the humidity had brought. In the center though, was the painting of the prettiest little girl Harry had ever seen. She smiled widely.
"What are you doing there?" the ex-Griffindor asked, very surprised.
"Oh, don't worry about me," she said. "I've been here for a very, very long time, but it's a long story. Just tell me if you wish to go to the dungeons or outside."
"Outside," Harry answered.
"You will have to press your wand on the seventh brick of the second row on the wall in front of you, then," she said. "To go outside, take the first to your left. If you continue straight ahead, you will end up in the dungeons. Be careful to not get lost in there!"
Harry thanked her and did what he had to do for the passage to open. He then started walking again.
He soon met a divergence of paths, one going left, one going right, and another continuing its way towards what he had been told were the dungeons. About to turn left, he heard something.
"... it burns, it hurts, it bleeds... tears of pain and waves of anger... it aches... the pain... the pain..."
Soon enough, he started perceiving distant screams. Without a second thought, he headed towards the dungeons, following the sounds of pain. He realized that the words he had heard had not been pronounced but hissed in Parceltongue. And the only other Parceltongue in Hogwarts at that precise moment was Tom Marvolo Riddle.
The screams were starting to get louder and louder as he got closer to him. When he finally arrived where the screams were being created, he jumped back in horror.
Yes, Tom was there, crouched on the floor in the middle of the path, illuminated by a few torches attached to the walls. Behind him were two colossal doors on which was engraved one monstrous snake, mouth opened and tongue slithering in and out as its yellow eyes blinked from time to time, staring at the young man at his feet. Tom's wand was a few feet away from him, but he wasn't looking for it. Instead, his hands were covering his face from where blood was dribbling to a gigantic crimson puddle that surrounded him.
"TOM!" Harry screamed out, rushing to the young Voldemort's side, dropping his broom in the process.
He arrived at his level, touched his back and leaned forward, feeling way too concerned for his liking. There was something about seeing Tom helpless and weak that made him incredibly troubled and edgy. It wasn't supposed to be this way. It wasn't supposed to be this way at all.
The Slytherin froze for a moment and then, as quickly as humanly possible, grabbed Harry's neck and slammed him to the ground, on his back, under him. His wand quickly retrieved into his other hand, he was ready to cast a spell to harm, maybe even kill the one that had seen him and called out his name.
But he froze, recognizing him.
At the same time, Harry had grabbed with both hands the one that had such a tight grip on his neck but had stopped seeing Tom's eyes, from where tears of blood were flowing freely. His pupil was no longer black. It was red. As red as he remembered the Dark Lord's eyes to be. Two pools of burgundy, staring at him with what seemed to be now, relief.
"I... I locked the basilisk in..." he whispered.
"Tom... your eyes... I need to bring you to madam Pomfrey... I mean, madam Swifton..." Harry said, gawking at his eyes that now hid all feeling, like they usually did.
"NO!" he screamed out, backing away from Harry. "Are you crazy? They'll all get suspicious, they'll know it came form a Basilisk's stare," he said, rubbing the blood strains off his face.
"How did this happen?" Harry asked, getting to his feet.
"I had to lock the Basilisk in because Dumbledore was keeping an eye on me," Tom said. "But... there was an accident... he looked at me... but... wait a minute, what are you doing here?"
Tom suddenly backed away, wand in hand pointed in his direction.
"I heard you use Parceltongue," Harry answered. "I was going to use the passage way to go outside... to wait for you... behind the Quidditch pitch, remember?"
"Why did you even bother?" asked Tom, frowning, unable to understand why he seemed to be concerned about him.
"To care wouldn't be on your list of good answers, hun?" Harry barked, suddenly aggravated by his constant state of suspicion towards not only him but also the rest of the world. "It doesn't seem to be a word of your vocabulary."
Tom used his sleeve to wipe his eyes, his wand still pointed in the other boy's direction.
"Oh, how I know I should kill you," he whispered. "You know too much about everything. What the hell am I waiting for to do it? Not even I know. Now just... Get lost! Leave me alone!"
Fuming with anger, Harry turned around, marched to his broom then continued his way backto the passage he should have taken in the first place.
What a loathsome, uncaring, insensitive, mistrustful man! Harry thought as he stomped away. Why do I take the time to care? He doesn't need anyone to do so! He doesn't let anyone do so!
"I hope it's unnecessary for me to say that I'll completely disfigure you if you say a word about all of this, right?" he heard Tom scream from the other end.
Harry growled for an answer.
Once he had disappeared, Tom summoned water with his wand and cleaned his face.
What a strange boy, he thought. Why does he seem so... close to me? What is it with him? Why the hell was I glad to see it was him that had found me once again? It doesn't make any sense. I don't know what to think of him. He's so... so present. No one has ever done anything like him around me.
With a little luck, Harry did not get lost and found his way back to the crossing of paths, one of which led him right out of the castle. The fresh air did him good, especially to calm down after what had happened with Tom.
He made his way up to the Quidditch field, making sure to pass behind bushes and trees in order not to be seen from the castle windows. Passing the entry gates, he entered the empty field, suddenly feeling very small. He could see very clearly the stars, spots of brightness in a see of obscurity.
A smile formed on the Boy Who Lived's lips. He could almost hear the crowd in the podiums from back home, in his cherished reality.
I'm truly getting homesick... its incredible...
"Hey!" a few voices called out from the other side of the pitch.
Harry couldn't see them because they were in the shadows of the arena but knew it had to be Tom's posse. And he was right, since once he had crossed the field, he saw all the people he knew hung around the future Dark Lord. He was thankful to have brought his broom because all the people present had brought theirs.
The boy that Draco looked like was polishing his broom while the one with brown hair and glasses just stared at Harry, having evidently not forgotten that he had cursed him and broken his gasses. A new face was there that night. He was of medium height and was rather thin. His face was bony and a nasty scar ran from his left eyebrow to the middle of his cheek. Alexander and Audrey were disusing not too far away and were not paying attention to Harry whatsoever.
Tom arrived less than ten minutes later in robes that were not blood- stained and looking as fresh and dispose as he always did.
"Riddle!" exclaimed the boy with brown hair and glasses, catching everyone's attention. "Your... your eyes!"
"Yes, I know," Tom said, annoyed. "Shut up."
There was a moment of silence as Harry looked from the group of students that were starting to gather up to Tom, who simply stood there.
"I guess a little introduction is on order," Tom grumbled, rolling his eyes. "Luther Malfoy to my left along with Mattrim Rufus, Scott Whyte and Alexander Evans with his sister Audrey Evans to my right."
Harry nodded to each student, receiving the same gesture by Malfoy and Rufus but a little wave by both Alexander and Audrey.
"You didn't see Whyte around because he was in detention for having placed curse-jars under numerous seats aboard the Hogwarts Express," Tom explained. "But we're not here to discuss about that."
"My task," Harry agreed, staring into his eyes, trying to show him he was determined and unimpressed by him.
"Yes," he acquiesced. "The first one will be relatively simple and will most likely not take too long to do. You will all play a game of Creaothceann."
It took a moment for Harry to register what was going to happen, and when he did, he lost his determined look quite fast.
"But that game was made illegal in 1762, wasn't it not?" Harry asked, a bit panicky.
"Yes," Tom answered evilly. "But are you willing to take the risk?"
Harry glared at him.
"Yes I am," he said. You underestimate my abilities on a broom.
Tom's friends looked a little surprised, but mounted their brooms in silence, watching Harry do the same.
Harry had read about Creaothceann in Quidditch through the ages. Each player wore a cauldron strapped to the head. At the sound of a horn or drum, up to a hundred charmed rocks and boulders that had been hovering a hundred feet above the ground began to fall towards the earth. The object of the game was to catch as many rocks possible.
"Now, these buckets will hover magically over your heads, instead of cauldrons doing so," Alexander said, giving each person present, save Tom, a wooden bucket he had brought. "The rocks will disappear in the bucket and will count as one point that will appear on a chart. And we are not going to use big rocks either, they wouldn't fit in the bucket. Instead, all the rocks will be the size of a fist and will fall much faster. It will be much more enjoyable this way!"
"Oh yes, and I hope everyone knows that there aren't any rules," Tom hissed, eyeing Harry for half a second before turning away. "On your brooms!"
All placed the buckets over their head and it rose a few inches above them, staying there.
"Ready?"
Harry suddenly became aware of the incredible multitude of rocks that were floating from one hundred to two hundred feet on top of them.
"Get set..."
He was sure some sort of powdery dust was surrounding the rocks.
"GO!"
Harry pushed off the ground and rose much faster than all the other players. He looked up and just had the time to make sure his head was right under the bucket before hundreds of rocks collided with his body, many falling in the bucket.
The other players were zooming around, making sure rocks kept falling into their buckets. The rocks did not stop falling, continuing to zoom towards the ground but disappearing a few inches above it. Harry ignored the pain all the rocks falling n him were giving him and started chasing the rocks.
Just imagine all of them being snitches... that's all... I can make it... I can make it...
Out of the blues, Scott Whyte pushed Harry over, nearly making him fall off of his broom.
Harry sped up and decided to look for spots where more rocks seemed to fall. They weren't very evident, but they existed. He didn't stay in the same spot very long, knowing that Whyte was trying to scare him off by pushing him and making sure he wasn't concentrating on catching rocks.
Scratched and bruised, he kept on catching rocks, using speed as his main weapon seeing that all their brooms couldn't do what they Firebolt did.
He had the impression that all the other players were going in slow motion, trying to tackle him down or bump into him as often as possible. He was certain many hexes had been sent his way too.
He tried catching rocks in the bucket, avoiding the other players and they hexes and looking out for the others that would hurt his body but he couldn't do so many things at once, and so he often felt pangs of pain in his back and on his arms from the projectiles falling onto him.
The game ended. The rocks stopped falling and disappeared. All the players rejoined the ground, bruised, battered and aching with pain.
Tom looked over at the chart then at each player.
"Okay," he said disdainfully. "You win this task, but don't be so sure you'll win the next one. And you only won because of your speed."
Harry smiled widely, feeling a rivulet of blood tickling down his temple, result of one of the many wounds given by the rocks. His glasses were cracked and he needed to fix them.
"Well I still won. Goodnight," he said. "I guess you're going to tell me when is the next task when you'll be ready for me."
He turned around and started walking towards the castle, proud of his achievement. Tom just glared at his back for a moment as he vaguely excused his associates.
Thinking of what happened at the Gates of the Secret Chamber made him thoughtful as he watched Harry walk away on the grounds.
Maybe I should thank him... he thought.
But after a second thought about it, Tom nearly slapped himself.
What are you becoming, you fool? he told himself. Thanking him? Tom, you have really unquestionably strange debates today... thank him... what are you thinking...
He shook his head before heading back to Hogwarts, the fresh breeze playing in his hair and meddling with his thoughts about the strange new boy that was starting to interest him.
so, what do you think?
Chapter 8:
Harry had found out that he was sleeping in a dorm with four other Slytherins, one of them being Alexander Evans. The three first ones were sleeping and snoring loudly while doing so, Alexander was missing and Harry was just staring at the clock in front of him, watching the needle slowly tic its way to midnight.
"I want to go home!" he moaned silently. "These are just memories, but they seem so bloody real..."
Unable to sit in place, Harry jumped to his feet and contoured his bed a few times, eyeing his Firebolt lying calmly on his bed sheets.
He was debating if he should bring it or not, knowing that if their meeting was behind the Quidditch pitch, they might as well use brooms, and decided that he could leave it hidden on the grounds halfway to the rendezvous' location. If he needed it, he would summon it, if he didn't, he would pick it up on his way back.
Unable to wait any longer, he decided that he could get there early and wait outside. He grabbed his broom and wand and headed towards the door. He climbed up a flight of stairs and arrived in the empty, dimly lit common room. On his way to the exit, he noticed a long sheet of parchment laying on one of the nearby tables. He walked to it and eyed what was written on it.
Mr. Harry Potter,
Do use the passage through the painting of Salazar Slytherin to your left, it reaches outside much quicker than making the gargantuan detour of crossing the whole school to reach the main entrance, and anyhow, you would probably be caught by the caretaker, an insomniac bastard that prowls the hallways all night.
Sincerely hoping you are sly enough to do this,
Alexander Evans
Harry smiled. Maybe certain Slytherins were not that bad, he thought. And he was maybe related to this one! He took the piece of parchment, folded it and placed it in his pocket before walking to the empty portrait of Salazar Slytherin. The founder of this house of Hogwarts was obviously occupied somewhere else.
He swung the portrait sideways and met some sort of wooden trapdoor, which he arrived to open easily. The corridor he entered was cold, dark and humid. He lit his way with his wand and started walking. It took him a good fifteen minutes before arriving to what he thought was a dead end. It was only when he was ready to head back, thinking Evans had played a joke of bad taste on him, that he heard a small voice, asking him whether he was off to the dungeons or outside.
Harry turned around again but saw nothing.
"Who's there?" he asked.
"Me," the small voice answered. "Look up."
Harry did what he was told and noticed that the ceiling seemed higher at this spot. Raising his wand to illuminate it, he saw that under all the dust and uncountable spider webs was a portrait. The wooden frame was rotten and certain colors around the borders had faded or been replaced by some sort of moss the humidity had brought. In the center though, was the painting of the prettiest little girl Harry had ever seen. She smiled widely.
"What are you doing there?" the ex-Griffindor asked, very surprised.
"Oh, don't worry about me," she said. "I've been here for a very, very long time, but it's a long story. Just tell me if you wish to go to the dungeons or outside."
"Outside," Harry answered.
"You will have to press your wand on the seventh brick of the second row on the wall in front of you, then," she said. "To go outside, take the first to your left. If you continue straight ahead, you will end up in the dungeons. Be careful to not get lost in there!"
Harry thanked her and did what he had to do for the passage to open. He then started walking again.
He soon met a divergence of paths, one going left, one going right, and another continuing its way towards what he had been told were the dungeons. About to turn left, he heard something.
"... it burns, it hurts, it bleeds... tears of pain and waves of anger... it aches... the pain... the pain..."
Soon enough, he started perceiving distant screams. Without a second thought, he headed towards the dungeons, following the sounds of pain. He realized that the words he had heard had not been pronounced but hissed in Parceltongue. And the only other Parceltongue in Hogwarts at that precise moment was Tom Marvolo Riddle.
The screams were starting to get louder and louder as he got closer to him. When he finally arrived where the screams were being created, he jumped back in horror.
Yes, Tom was there, crouched on the floor in the middle of the path, illuminated by a few torches attached to the walls. Behind him were two colossal doors on which was engraved one monstrous snake, mouth opened and tongue slithering in and out as its yellow eyes blinked from time to time, staring at the young man at his feet. Tom's wand was a few feet away from him, but he wasn't looking for it. Instead, his hands were covering his face from where blood was dribbling to a gigantic crimson puddle that surrounded him.
"TOM!" Harry screamed out, rushing to the young Voldemort's side, dropping his broom in the process.
He arrived at his level, touched his back and leaned forward, feeling way too concerned for his liking. There was something about seeing Tom helpless and weak that made him incredibly troubled and edgy. It wasn't supposed to be this way. It wasn't supposed to be this way at all.
The Slytherin froze for a moment and then, as quickly as humanly possible, grabbed Harry's neck and slammed him to the ground, on his back, under him. His wand quickly retrieved into his other hand, he was ready to cast a spell to harm, maybe even kill the one that had seen him and called out his name.
But he froze, recognizing him.
At the same time, Harry had grabbed with both hands the one that had such a tight grip on his neck but had stopped seeing Tom's eyes, from where tears of blood were flowing freely. His pupil was no longer black. It was red. As red as he remembered the Dark Lord's eyes to be. Two pools of burgundy, staring at him with what seemed to be now, relief.
"I... I locked the basilisk in..." he whispered.
"Tom... your eyes... I need to bring you to madam Pomfrey... I mean, madam Swifton..." Harry said, gawking at his eyes that now hid all feeling, like they usually did.
"NO!" he screamed out, backing away from Harry. "Are you crazy? They'll all get suspicious, they'll know it came form a Basilisk's stare," he said, rubbing the blood strains off his face.
"How did this happen?" Harry asked, getting to his feet.
"I had to lock the Basilisk in because Dumbledore was keeping an eye on me," Tom said. "But... there was an accident... he looked at me... but... wait a minute, what are you doing here?"
Tom suddenly backed away, wand in hand pointed in his direction.
"I heard you use Parceltongue," Harry answered. "I was going to use the passage way to go outside... to wait for you... behind the Quidditch pitch, remember?"
"Why did you even bother?" asked Tom, frowning, unable to understand why he seemed to be concerned about him.
"To care wouldn't be on your list of good answers, hun?" Harry barked, suddenly aggravated by his constant state of suspicion towards not only him but also the rest of the world. "It doesn't seem to be a word of your vocabulary."
Tom used his sleeve to wipe his eyes, his wand still pointed in the other boy's direction.
"Oh, how I know I should kill you," he whispered. "You know too much about everything. What the hell am I waiting for to do it? Not even I know. Now just... Get lost! Leave me alone!"
Fuming with anger, Harry turned around, marched to his broom then continued his way backto the passage he should have taken in the first place.
What a loathsome, uncaring, insensitive, mistrustful man! Harry thought as he stomped away. Why do I take the time to care? He doesn't need anyone to do so! He doesn't let anyone do so!
"I hope it's unnecessary for me to say that I'll completely disfigure you if you say a word about all of this, right?" he heard Tom scream from the other end.
Harry growled for an answer.
Once he had disappeared, Tom summoned water with his wand and cleaned his face.
What a strange boy, he thought. Why does he seem so... close to me? What is it with him? Why the hell was I glad to see it was him that had found me once again? It doesn't make any sense. I don't know what to think of him. He's so... so present. No one has ever done anything like him around me.
With a little luck, Harry did not get lost and found his way back to the crossing of paths, one of which led him right out of the castle. The fresh air did him good, especially to calm down after what had happened with Tom.
He made his way up to the Quidditch field, making sure to pass behind bushes and trees in order not to be seen from the castle windows. Passing the entry gates, he entered the empty field, suddenly feeling very small. He could see very clearly the stars, spots of brightness in a see of obscurity.
A smile formed on the Boy Who Lived's lips. He could almost hear the crowd in the podiums from back home, in his cherished reality.
I'm truly getting homesick... its incredible...
"Hey!" a few voices called out from the other side of the pitch.
Harry couldn't see them because they were in the shadows of the arena but knew it had to be Tom's posse. And he was right, since once he had crossed the field, he saw all the people he knew hung around the future Dark Lord. He was thankful to have brought his broom because all the people present had brought theirs.
The boy that Draco looked like was polishing his broom while the one with brown hair and glasses just stared at Harry, having evidently not forgotten that he had cursed him and broken his gasses. A new face was there that night. He was of medium height and was rather thin. His face was bony and a nasty scar ran from his left eyebrow to the middle of his cheek. Alexander and Audrey were disusing not too far away and were not paying attention to Harry whatsoever.
Tom arrived less than ten minutes later in robes that were not blood- stained and looking as fresh and dispose as he always did.
"Riddle!" exclaimed the boy with brown hair and glasses, catching everyone's attention. "Your... your eyes!"
"Yes, I know," Tom said, annoyed. "Shut up."
There was a moment of silence as Harry looked from the group of students that were starting to gather up to Tom, who simply stood there.
"I guess a little introduction is on order," Tom grumbled, rolling his eyes. "Luther Malfoy to my left along with Mattrim Rufus, Scott Whyte and Alexander Evans with his sister Audrey Evans to my right."
Harry nodded to each student, receiving the same gesture by Malfoy and Rufus but a little wave by both Alexander and Audrey.
"You didn't see Whyte around because he was in detention for having placed curse-jars under numerous seats aboard the Hogwarts Express," Tom explained. "But we're not here to discuss about that."
"My task," Harry agreed, staring into his eyes, trying to show him he was determined and unimpressed by him.
"Yes," he acquiesced. "The first one will be relatively simple and will most likely not take too long to do. You will all play a game of Creaothceann."
It took a moment for Harry to register what was going to happen, and when he did, he lost his determined look quite fast.
"But that game was made illegal in 1762, wasn't it not?" Harry asked, a bit panicky.
"Yes," Tom answered evilly. "But are you willing to take the risk?"
Harry glared at him.
"Yes I am," he said. You underestimate my abilities on a broom.
Tom's friends looked a little surprised, but mounted their brooms in silence, watching Harry do the same.
Harry had read about Creaothceann in Quidditch through the ages. Each player wore a cauldron strapped to the head. At the sound of a horn or drum, up to a hundred charmed rocks and boulders that had been hovering a hundred feet above the ground began to fall towards the earth. The object of the game was to catch as many rocks possible.
"Now, these buckets will hover magically over your heads, instead of cauldrons doing so," Alexander said, giving each person present, save Tom, a wooden bucket he had brought. "The rocks will disappear in the bucket and will count as one point that will appear on a chart. And we are not going to use big rocks either, they wouldn't fit in the bucket. Instead, all the rocks will be the size of a fist and will fall much faster. It will be much more enjoyable this way!"
"Oh yes, and I hope everyone knows that there aren't any rules," Tom hissed, eyeing Harry for half a second before turning away. "On your brooms!"
All placed the buckets over their head and it rose a few inches above them, staying there.
"Ready?"
Harry suddenly became aware of the incredible multitude of rocks that were floating from one hundred to two hundred feet on top of them.
"Get set..."
He was sure some sort of powdery dust was surrounding the rocks.
"GO!"
Harry pushed off the ground and rose much faster than all the other players. He looked up and just had the time to make sure his head was right under the bucket before hundreds of rocks collided with his body, many falling in the bucket.
The other players were zooming around, making sure rocks kept falling into their buckets. The rocks did not stop falling, continuing to zoom towards the ground but disappearing a few inches above it. Harry ignored the pain all the rocks falling n him were giving him and started chasing the rocks.
Just imagine all of them being snitches... that's all... I can make it... I can make it...
Out of the blues, Scott Whyte pushed Harry over, nearly making him fall off of his broom.
Harry sped up and decided to look for spots where more rocks seemed to fall. They weren't very evident, but they existed. He didn't stay in the same spot very long, knowing that Whyte was trying to scare him off by pushing him and making sure he wasn't concentrating on catching rocks.
Scratched and bruised, he kept on catching rocks, using speed as his main weapon seeing that all their brooms couldn't do what they Firebolt did.
He had the impression that all the other players were going in slow motion, trying to tackle him down or bump into him as often as possible. He was certain many hexes had been sent his way too.
He tried catching rocks in the bucket, avoiding the other players and they hexes and looking out for the others that would hurt his body but he couldn't do so many things at once, and so he often felt pangs of pain in his back and on his arms from the projectiles falling onto him.
The game ended. The rocks stopped falling and disappeared. All the players rejoined the ground, bruised, battered and aching with pain.
Tom looked over at the chart then at each player.
"Okay," he said disdainfully. "You win this task, but don't be so sure you'll win the next one. And you only won because of your speed."
Harry smiled widely, feeling a rivulet of blood tickling down his temple, result of one of the many wounds given by the rocks. His glasses were cracked and he needed to fix them.
"Well I still won. Goodnight," he said. "I guess you're going to tell me when is the next task when you'll be ready for me."
He turned around and started walking towards the castle, proud of his achievement. Tom just glared at his back for a moment as he vaguely excused his associates.
Thinking of what happened at the Gates of the Secret Chamber made him thoughtful as he watched Harry walk away on the grounds.
Maybe I should thank him... he thought.
But after a second thought about it, Tom nearly slapped himself.
What are you becoming, you fool? he told himself. Thanking him? Tom, you have really unquestionably strange debates today... thank him... what are you thinking...
He shook his head before heading back to Hogwarts, the fresh breeze playing in his hair and meddling with his thoughts about the strange new boy that was starting to interest him.
so, what do you think?