Chapter 3. Extending Apologies
Tom awoke with the image of golden eyes seared in his mind. Despite his lack of sleep, he felt refreshed and excited. A quick glance found that besides himself, only Nott was awake; his bed curtains were open and his bed empty. Figures. Charles Nott was the quintessential morning person.
Tom grunted as he shoved his blankets off and stood, grabbing his wand before he made his way over to his desk, stretching. The warding protecting his drawers melted away with a hissed incantation and a complicated twisting jab of his wand. Charles was still hogging the bathroom so he might as well take the time to record yesterday's oddities. He fished his diary out along with a fresh quill and some ink before allowing his thoughts to flow onto the page in an elegant script as he recalled in vivid detail Harry's crackling magic, his blazing irises, his infuriating hostility. And the boy didn't even seem to understand his strange powers—it was fascinating. He wanted to know simply everything. But there was only a week left of term, he realized, frowning. He would need to corner Evans again and perhaps, even, change his approach.
When Tom finally looked up, quill still, Charles was out of the bathroom and fully dressed and Vincent Lestrange was climbing out of bed. Orion Black was still dead to the world, as per norm.
"Merlin, Tom, already?" Charles asked, gesturing to his diary as he leaned casually against his own desk.
Tom snapped his diary shut, shooting a dirty look at him as he tucked it back into his drawer. He made sure his voice carried as he brandished his wand and cast in snarled parseltongue, effectively warding the desk drawers once more.
Though his smile did not disappear, Charles wisely took the hint and shut up. At the rough hissing, Vincent's movements as he made his bed faltered but he didn't comment, choosing instead to eye Tom greedily. The look sent satisfaction shooting through him as Tom strode purposefully across the room to the bathroom.
When he finally emerged, drying his hair with a towel, Vincent was waiting. He yielded to Tom, stepping out of his way to let him pass before pushing his way into the bathroom.
While Tom was unsurprised to see that Charles was still there despite having gotten ready so early—he rarely left before Tom did—he was surprised to see Orion still asleep.
"How is Orion still sleeping?" Tom asked incredulously as he made his way to his desk again.
"Well, he was waiting up for you last night," Charles remarked. "Did he wait up very late?"
"He wasn't awake when I returned," Tom answered coolly, skillfully sidestepping his gentle probing.
Charles noted his tone. "I'll wake him," he said tactfully.
Tom worked on his tie as Charles began to shake Orion's shoulder. Eventually, he stirred, eyes blinking blearily as he finally sat up.
"Good morning!" Charles said, his voice cheerful.
Orion's face was deadpan when he grunted in answer, "Hmpf."
Tom's lips twitched at the interaction. Unlike Charles, Orion was not fond of mornings. After being woken up, he had a tendency to sit there gazing blankly at the space in front of him until someone finally acknowledged him.
Several minutes later, the door to the bathrooms opened. "Ah, you're up," Vincent said to Orion, "Bathroom's all yours."
"Thanks," Orion mumbled as he dragged himself out of bed.
Vincent waited until Orion had disappeared into the bathroom to speak. "So where'd you disappear to yesterday, Tom?" he asked as he cracked his back. Charles perked up at the words; Tom swallowed his irritation. Lestrange being the boldest of his companions often earned him respect, but it also grated on his nerves when that boldness was directed at him.
"I was dealing with... an emergency," Tom said, his face betraying no emotion.
"Oh?" Charles said, curious.
"'An emergency,'" Lestrange drawled, "How vague."
Tom just smiled, refusing to offer any more information. Let them stew on it, he thought. They'll find out eventually.
When it became obvious Tom was not going to elaborate, Vincent huffed and rolled his eyes before he moved on, turning to his desk. "Orion better hurry up," he muttered. "I'm starving."
As Vincent began rummaging through his desk, Charles made his way over to Tom, bag over his shoulder. "You can tell me, you know," he said quietly to him, "About this emergency. Is everything alright?"
Tom rolled his eyes, "I'm fine, Nott. This doesn't concern you."
"Alright..."
Tom sighed, running his fingers through his hair. He hated when Nott got like this, though his loyalty was flattering. "Fine," he said grudgingly, "Let's just say Hogwarts received a... mysterious visitor."
Charles's eyebrows shot up. "A visitor?"
Tom nodded. "Of a sort. He's our age and he... He intrigues me." Charles's eyes widened. Tom's expression grew serious. "Until I know more, this will not be spoken of, Charles. Clear?"
"Understood."
Tom gave him a rare smile. "Good."
It still surprised him, Charles Nott's loyalty. The boy had been the first to notice that Tom was different, special. The first to see past his questionable parentage and find raw power, and for that, he was appreciated above the others. Beyond that, as an intelligent, charismatic pureblood Nott was a valuable ally. He had been instrumental in collecting some of the other Slytherin boys.
The other Slytherin boys, however, were not who was on his mind.
Tom smoothed out some of the wrinkles in his robes as he impulsively came to a decision. "I have something to attend to before breakfast," he said suddenly, loud enough for Vincent to hear. "Don't wait for me."
He swung his backpack over his shoulder, turned purposefully on his heel, and left.
As he stalked towards the hospital wing, golden eyes burned in his mind.
Harry was numb as he wandered unseeingly across the grass. The sun ahead was bright, though a slight breeze prevented the afternoon from becoming sweltering. Never before had he felt so wrung out, so drained and empty, while simultaneously feeling as if his head would burst it was so full. There was just too much to process, too many changes. He willed himself to focus on the warmth of the sun on his face and the comfort of the breeze through his hair. He breathed in deeply, relieved to be outside.
He had had to fight Madam Flemings to leave the hospital wing after she'd deemed him fit. Eventually, she had relented, her only stipulation being, to his chagrin, that he allow one of her apprentices to go with him. Helen Macmillan—Harry had started at the familiar surname—was now seated on a stone bench a ways off. The 6th year Hufflepuff had been kind but awkward as she introduced herself and silent when she walked him to the grounds. She'd only spoken to say that he should stay where she could see him.
Her words, however, were not the ones on Harry's mind as he stopped beside the lake, staring out across the water. No, the words he was contemplating were Albus Dumbledore's.
Professor Dumbledore and Headmaster Dippet had come to "discuss long-term placement" among other things when, to Harry's great surprise, Dumbledore himself had offered to house him over the summer.
"Harry, my boy," he'd started, the phrase so familiar, "I would like to offer up my home as a summer residence while we work to figure out the issue of guardianship." When Harry's eyes had gone wide, he had been quick to add, "You are, of course, under no obligation to say—"
"Yes! Yes of course I'll stay with you!"
The answer had burst out of him, startling Dumbledore with his vehemence.
Harry still couldn't believe his luck. It was the perfect solution. Professor Dumbledore was the greatest wizard in the world; if Harry couldn't figure out what had happened to him, surely he could.
That is if he told him.
"Awful things happen when wizards meddle with time, Harry," Hermione had said to him. Would he just be making things worse if he told Dumbledore?
Harry let out a sigh before sinking down onto a rock, still staring out at the water. He didn't know what to do. Luckily, there was a week before the summer holiday started, so he still had time to decide. Given his eyes didn't decide for him. If Dumbledore saw them glowing in his sleep...
"What do I do?" he whispered. He found himself aching to talk to his friends.
At once, the nightmare he'd had last night filled his mind. It had seemed so real. His heart clenched as he recalled the tears pouring down Hermione's cheeks and Ron's pleading. "Harry! Harry, please say something!"
So immersed was he in his memory that he didn't notice that he wasn't alone until—
"You're a difficult wizard to find, Harry Evans."
Harry startled violently, slipping and falling off the rock and onto his ass with an "Oof!" His cheeks burned when he looked up to find Tom Riddle smirking down at him.
"We simply must stop meeting like this," Riddle drawled. He stuck his hand out to him.
Fuming, Harry ignored it. He pushed himself to his feet, resisting the urge to curse Riddle when he continued to smile. "I thought I told you to leave me alone, Riddle," he spat through gritted teeth.
Riddle frowned at his hostility. "I think we may have gotten off on the wrong foot, Harry."
No shit. Harry glanced over to the stone bench where he'd left Helen Macmillan to find the apprentice deeply absorbed in a book. Great, he thought bitterly. She would be of no help.
"Therefore…" Riddle said purposefully, waiting until Harry reluctantly looked back at him, "I would like to extend my apologies to you."
Harry's eyebrows shot up. "You want to apologize," he stated doubtfully.
"That I do," Riddle confirmed.
Harry blinked. That was unexpected.
"I tried to find you this morning to apologize but Madam Flemings wouldn't let me in." When Harry continued to stare at him he sighed. "Here," Tom said, "As a token of my intentions." Without warning, he brandished his wand and smartly tapped Harry's robes. "Scourgify." The dirt marring his robes disappeared.
Harry blinked again. "...Thanks?" What just happened?
"You're quite welcome," Riddle said smugly. He gave Harry a charming smile.
Suspicion immediately narrowed Harry's eyes. "No." He shook his head. "No, I don't buy this. What do you really want, Riddle?"
"Is it so hard to believe I regret my… abrasiveness?"
"Yes, actually," Harry stated bluntly.
Riddle sighed, though his lips twitched. "I told you last night, I just want to understand," he admitted. "Your magic is… Overwhelmingly powerful."
"So?" Harry asked.
"So?" Tom repeated, aghast, "So I want to know more! You managed to bypass wards that have stood strong for centuries and you don't even seem to understand how!" His voice grew persuasive, "If you let me, I could help you to understand, Harry."
Harry's face darkened. "I told you, Riddle. I don't need your help."
"Don't you though?" Tom countered, "You didn't even know your eyes were glowing until I told you about it."
Harry's jaw clenched; he shot Tom a venomous glare.
Riddle put his hands up, "Okay, okay, fine. You don't want my help, I can understand that. I respect that."
"So you'll leave me alone then?" Harry asked.
"Now, I never said that," Tom grinned.
Golden sparks flew from the tip of Harry's wand as his magic responded to his frustration. Tom eyed them greedily before—
"Did you manage to sort out your housing for the summer?" he asked abruptly.
Irritation had Harry snapping, "What does it matter to you, Riddle?"
"Humor me," he requested.
A sigh escaped his lips. "Fine," he ground out. "Yes, it's figured out."
A beat. "And...?" Tom prompted a tad irritably, "Will you be staying at Hogwarts?"
"No, I'll be staying with Dumbledore."
Riddle's nose immediately wrinkled, "Dumbledore?"
The disgusted look on his face was almost comical. "Yes, Dumbledore," Harry affirmed. "Got a problem with that?"
He ignored the question. "Bloody hypocrite," Tom mumbled resentfully. "Does this mean you'll be coming back to Hogwarts next year, then?"
"Of course." The Slytherin smiled triumphantly at the news and Harry felt a stab of sharp anger. "Although I'm not surprised," Harry found himself spitting meanly, his tongue sour with spiteful bitterness, "I'm hardly the first orphan Hogwarts has taken in, after all, am I, Riddle?"
The boy's grin faltered. Harry tried to ignore the squirm of guilt in his gut at the flash of vulnerability on Tom's face. It was gone as quickly as it had come, however, replaced with a calculating stare that Harry did not like at all. He swallowed heavily.
"But you are the first orphan Dumbledore has taken in. How'd you manage that, Evans?" His voice was light in a way that sent a shiver down Harry's spine.
"I don't know, he's the one who offered," he said defensively.
Riddle's face betrayed nothing. "Interesting," he breathed. "And he doesn't know about your magic?"
Harry shook his head. "I don't think so."
"Odd."
Silence fell over the two as they stared at each other. There was a definite coolness behind the calculating look in Tom's eyes that wasn't there before. The sight of it made Harry's heart sink, weighed down by guilt. Harry's sharp words were clearly echoing between them.
Harry felt a pang of remorse. "...Sorry," he muttered.
Tom gave a curt nod. "I'll consider it forgotten."
"Thank—"
"If," he interrupted, "you tell me how you got here."