Summary: It's not every day that someone discovers a new corridor in Hogwarts. When Harry does, he lets his curiosity get the best of him winds up in a lot of trouble, not to mention another time. Can he survive attending Hogwarts in the year 1942 with a sixteen-year-old Tom Riddle? And how will this encounter change the fates of both boys? HP/TR SLASH
Disclaimer: Sadly enough, I do not own Harry Potter or anything even remotely affiliated with it.
CHAPTER FIVE: SLEEPING WITH THE ENEMY
--(A/N: This chapter is from Harry's point of view.)--
I cannot say that I am surprised by the sorting hat's decision. It has, after all, always maintained that I would do well in Slytherin, and now…well, I finally am what I have always feared to become. I wish…I wish now that I could go back in time to but a few minutes ago and try to coerce the hat into putting me in a different house--one other than the one which it has chosen for me--as I did back in my first year. But, what's done is done and there is no undoing it now.
I suppose I shall just have to accept the hand I've been dealt, and make the best of it, as I have so many times before. Perhaps the sorting hat is right…perhaps I will do well in Slytherin…perhaps I will make true friends there as it spoke of once before…perhaps in Slytherin I can find a place where I am free to be myself without expectations and prejudices that defined me in my past...the future. I do not trust to hope and I am guarded and wary, but at least here no one knows who I am; they will only be able to judge me based on how I present myself in their eyes…
But enough with this philosophical mumbo-jumbo; it's beginning to give me a headache. This sort of thought is better suited for Dumbledore, and besides, it doesn't really do me any good to dwell on various scenarios that may or may not be true. The point is that I am stuck here in 1942 with no way--as of yet--to get back to where, or rather when, I am supposed to be. And I'll just have to deal with that.
I make my way towards my new housemates among a substantial amount of applause--if only they knew who I truly am; I doubt they would be clapping then. I walk somewhat stiffly, holding my head high, knowing that if Iam to be in Slytherin I cannot allow any weakness to show if I wish to be accepted.
I could always attempt to make friends among the other houses, but I doubt that I would find such attempts very rewarding. I can feel the eyes of students from other tables boring into my back, glaring at me now that I have been labeled a 'snake.' Funny that such prejudice should exist even before Voldemort's reign. Maybe this is what turned him evil in the first place, but what would I know?
I make my way to a seat across from the monster that killed my parents and so many others…but I can't make myself hate him as I would hate Voldemort. Before me sits Tom Riddle, not Voldemort…at least not yet.
I stare at him dispassionately as he glances neutrally at me in turn, though I can see it in his eyes that he is sizing me up and is obviously more curious about me now that I am going to be living with him. I can tell that he does not trust me and I am sure that he can see reflected in my eyes my dislike for him. But we do not say anything to each other about the matter, for we are, after all, dorm mates now and it would not do to get off on the wrong foot (though I doubt Riddle knows the extent of my ill feelings towards him; after all, how could he?)
I wish I had somewhere else I could go...but there is nowhere else I can turn to. And what of the mirror? Where else will I be able to unravel the mystery behind my strange arrival but here at Hogwarts Castle?
I let my gaze wander as the food magically appears on trays and plates and platters and every other type of serving dish you can imagine. The Ravenclaws carefully fill their trays before beginning to eat (most of them with a book in one hand), while the Hufflepuffs are busy passing trays around to one another and talking happily amongst themselves. The Gryffindors on the other hand dig in eagerly, piling their plates high with food--well, most of them do anyway. There is a group of about four or five red heads towards the middle of the table that seem to have grabbed the most food out of anyone. I can't help but wonder if they are in some way related to the Weasleys; I wouldn't be surprised.
Breaking off my wistful stare at the jovial red haired bunch, I force my gaze to return to my own table--how odd that I should be calling it that. The Slytherins seem, for the most part, to be absorbed in outperforming the other houses in table manners. It's almost as if they feel they have to prove themselves superior in this manner. They sit straight-backed with napkins on their laps eating with a well practiced aloofness and air of politeness that I'm sure has been drilled into the majority of them since the age of two.
I attempt to mimic their precise motions, managing to at least put on the appearance that I am well refined and cultured--to the casual observer. Too bad these Slytherins are watching my every move and happen to pick up every mistake I make. I'm sure they're wondering who I am, where I come from, why they haven't heard of me or my family before. They probably think I'm some low class nobody who isn't worth a moment of their time. Why on earth did the sorting hat think I would fit in best with these people who are so different from myself?
So very different, and yet...there is one among them who I find myself similar to in so many ways, though the thought alone nearly makes me sick to my stomach. We are both orphans, abandoned to the muggle world where we were neglected and unknowing of the world we truly belonged to until we were old enough to attend school; we both have the gift, or curse depending on which way you look at it, of parseltongue; we both are viewed as something that we are not, held up on a pedestal and never truly seen for what or who we are. Hell, we even look quite a bit alike. But I'm not like him; I refuse to believe that I could ever be like him, like Tom Riddle.
I stab a piece of chicken lying haplessly on my plate viciously with my fork as I attempt to kill the thoughts running rampant through my mind before I remember where I am and what I am supposed to be and am able to regain my composure. I finish cutting my meat placidly as I stare blankly down at my food, trying to avoid eye contact with any of my new housemates. I can feel their calculating eyes upon me, but I ignore them as best as I can, or at least pull off an air of flippancy. I feel like asking them what they are all looking at, why they look at me as if I am some sort of unworthy freak. But I know that I can't and that to do so would be to lose all respectability in their eyes. At least they are not staring at me because of my scar and my reputation of boy-who-lived, 'savior extraordinaire.'
I make it through the meal okay, pretending to listen to various quietly spoken conversations between my housemates while carefully analyzing them. I try to remain unobtrusive and succeed for the most part, though I can tell that Riddle's attention does not waver from me. I notice that he doesn't talk much throughout the meal, not nearly as much as his housemates, and that he seems not to have any friends, though everyone appears to respect him.
I wonder if he's already taken up the anagram of 'Lord Voldemort' or begun to amass followers amongst the Slytherins that I now sit amongst. It would be so easy to just put an end to it all right here, right now. I could just kill him, in this time, while he is not yet a fully trained wizard and still weak in comparison to what he will become. But time is a tricky thing and I do not know how Tom Riddle's death would effect the outcome of everything; it could cause everything I know and love from the future, my past, to unravel like a wool sweater when you try to pull a loose string. I know I can't change anything, and that's what makes this so hard.
I didn't even tell Dumbledore about Tom, though I so desperately wanted to. He is a wise man; I'm sure he would have refrained from doing anything to upset the tides of time, but if there is nothing that he can do about it, sowhy should I burden him with the knowledge at all? I think he already kind of knows to a certain degree, though I doubt he can even begin to imagine the terror Tom will unleash. I can hardly believe it myself.
Turning once more to look at the 16-year-old version of the man I've come to hate more than anything else, I wonder how this boy, quietly sipping pumpkin juice before me, could turn into the mass murdering atrocity that he is in my world. And I wonder ifI couldever fall that deep. Are we really so different after all? I'd like to think so, but...how can I know what the future will bring me? If the darkness should surround me, how can I stop myself from being consumed?
My right hand begins to tremble slightly as I began to feel utterly helpless against whatever fate may have in store for me. But I'm in control of my own destiny, aren't I? I don't believe in any of that fate crap anyway, despite the whole thing with the prophecy. I set my knife down gently on the table next to my plate and clasp my hands firmly in my lap, hiding them from view. Riddle gives me an odd look, but other than that I think my actions have gone completely unobserved, of which I am thankful.
Dinner seems to be winding down now, as many people finish up sizable servings of treacle pudding, the dessert for tonight (at least some things never change). Soon students and teachers alike start trickling out into the entrance hall and, presumably, their common rooms. I stand as I see Tom Riddle and a couple of other upper years, who never bothered to introduce themselves to me, leave the table.
Tom falls behind the group as they walk, falling into pairs with Tom being the odd man out. I lengthen my stride to catch up to him, wanting, for some inexplicable reason, to talk to him. "For all the table manners they possess, they do not seem capable of even a simple introduction, as would be polite," I say idly to Tom, looking at the group who walks ahead of us, unaware of my words.
Tom gazes intently at me, trying to decipher whether I am truly angry or merely being sarcastic, no doubt, and trying to figure out the hidden agenda behind my striking up a conversation with him. I always did take him for the cautious, paranoid sort. At length he speaks, "Excuse their rudeness, but they do not know you and have no reason to trust you. You arouse everyone's suspicion, coming here after the start of term and in your sixth year no less," Riddle says, giving me a single, calculating glance before proceeding to stare straight ahead as he continues down the hall, leaving me to contemplate his words.
"Does 'everyone' include yourself?" I ask him after a few moments deliberation, curious as to whether or not he finds me as untrustworthy as I find him. He turns to look at me again, his stride shortening as I take him somewhat by surprise with my question. He raises an eyebrow as if to ask why on earth I would ask such a thing.
Continuing his languid gate, he refrains from looking at me as he replies. "I have not yet decided whether or not I trust you. You seem genuine enough, although there is something off about you, and Slytherins in general are not the best people to place your trust in," he speaks conversationally, which seems odd to me considering what he is saying.
I nod my head in acknowledgement of his words, wondering why I am even talking to him in the first place. Sure, he's not exactly my enemy, but…but he doesn't know who I am, therefore he has no reason to be out to kill me. I suppose this could be a good opportunity to gain some more information concerning Voldemort for when…if…I ever get back to my time. After all, they do say to 'know thy enemy.' This could prove useful.
I continue to ponder that thought as we make our way down to the dungeons in silence, not exactly companionable, but not terse either. We stop in front of a portion of the blank, stone wall: the entrance to the Slytherin common room. It is the same as I remember it from my little foray with polyjuice potion in second year.
Riddle speaks the password, putus cognatio—which if I remember correctly means pure blood in Latin—causing the stone wall to open revealing a doorway into an elegantly decorated room.
The chairs and couches look to be made of a high quality, black leather—or, perhaps, dragon skin. The dark, mahogany floor is shiny and rich in color, covered by plush, dark green area rugs that warm the place up a bit. There is an ornate fireplace along one wall that appears to be carved out of black marble and houses a roaring fire with sparkling green flames. There are various small tables set up around the room with armchairs in clusters of twos or threes surrounding them. It is a sleek, stylish set-up, with a high-class elegance about it, though it seems colder to me than the Gryffindor common room. Everything is pristine, there are no books or papers or games lying about, highlighting just how different it is here rather than in Gryffindor. I am already beginning to miss the homey, comfortable feeling of my old house.
I follow Tom as he silently leads me across the common room and up a flight of stairs that will, presumably, lead us to our dorm room. Hmm…our dorm room…this is going to be interesting to say the least. I wonder who my other dorm mates are and whether or not they might actually give me the time of day once they figure out that we're going to have to share a room.
Walking into the sixth year boy's dormitory, I spot a large black trunk with silver clasps at the foot of the bed on the far left that has my alias on it. Thank goodness Dumbledore had the foresight to think of such things and get them prepared in time!
I head over to my bed, taking note of the fact that no one but Riddle and I are in the dorm at the moment. Looking at the trunk at the foot of the bed next to mine I see Riddle's name on a silver tag. Just my luck. Well, there's nothing I can do about it now, and it's not like there's anyone in here that I'd rather bunk next to.
Undoing the clasp on my trunk with a quick wave of my wand I rummage through the things Dumbledore has provided me with. My schedule is at the top of the neatly stacked heap, and I carefully extract it and set it aside to be looked at later. There are, of course, numerous books inside the trunk, schoolbooks, naturally. There's also a dark green book bag packed in neatly beside the tombs…how very Slytherin. I take it out and set it aside; I'll need to get it ready for classes tomorrow before I go to bed. Rifting quickly through the rest of the stuff, I find the usual school robes, with a Slytherin emblem sewn on of course, along with school uniforms, and other clothes. There's also a great deal of potions ingredients and a cauldron and anything else I'd need for my classes.
Deciding that I had nothing better to do now than get my books and such ready for tomorrow, I pick up my schedule and began to skim over my classes for Friday. I have potions first, then divination, and finally history of magic. Yippee. All of my least favorite classes in one day; it's going to be a nightmare.
With a resigned sigh, I heave my potion, divination, and history of magic books out of my trunk and pack them inside of my magically enhanced bag, which easily holds them all with room to spare. The potions ingredients, cauldron, and scales are next to go in, fitting comfortably in a rather large pouch I assume to have been designed for this exact purpose. Folding my schedule and placing it in a small pocket in the front of the bag, I find that I'm grateful that I don't have to worry about quills and ink and parchment and the like seeing as how Dumbledore has already had those necessities carefully packed in pouches in the bag ahead of time.
It's still pretty early, but I've had a long and eventful day, so I'm ready to go to bed. Finding some green, silk pajamas near the bottom of my trunk I quickly change into them and put all of the rest of my stuff back into the case before locking it with a voice recognition charm to ensure it won't be messed with. Because I doubt that my roommates are the most trustworthy people in the world. As a last thought, I add a warding spell as an extra precaution before pulling back the heavy, green velvet curtains that surround my four-poster bed. I place a warding spell on them too, to keep anyone from messing with me, along with a silencing charm.
Spelling my wand so that it will let off a high pitched beeping at seven o'clock to wake me up, I set it beside my pillow and lay down under the green covers of my new bed to attempt to get some sleep, wondering what new horrors tomorrow has in store for me.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Okay, so this chapter was not really all that eventful, but…what can I say? Next chapter should be better. Harry will get to meet the rest of his new roommates and will be attending classes with his fellow Slytherins. Next chapter will probably be in Tom's pov just to let you know. Sorry if there are any mistakes in the chapter; by the time I got finished writing it I was too tired to go back through to proofread it. Anyways, I hope you all liked the chapter all right. And thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed!
Again, individual review answers have been removed because of FF's rules against such things.
