When Harry opened her eyes the next morning, it was to a gorgeous cascade of pinks and oranges, the rising sun sending light dancing through the old glass windows of her bedroom and spinning across the old stone walls. She smiled gently to herself, drinking in the sight of the fabric of her four-poster bed's curtains remaining soft and free flowing. As she sat up, the waterfall of red parted smoothly, revealing wall hangings stained with colour from the skylight as streaks crept along the wooden floor.
Sometimes, being an early riser was worth it- where on the lower levels would you be able to wake up to such a beautiful sight? Especially one which wasn't frozen solid these days.
She slipped into her slippers and dressed for the day, humming gently under her breath as she walked through to the breakfast bar. The other good thing about being an early riser was the quiet time in the morning to just wake up properly and enjoy a cup of tea.
"Good Morning."
Harry jumped, heart pounding, before her eyes landed on the boy sat in their kitchenette. He raised an eyebrow back at her in silent question, a ratty copy of 'Hogwarts: A History' in his hands. Oh, of course- Thomas.
"Mornin'. You're up early," Harry greeted, trying to cheerfully grin. "Cuppa?"
"I could say the same," he replied mildly. "Although, a cup of tea would be most appreciated. Miss Potter, is it not?"
"Um, yeah- though you can just call me Harry, only teachers call me Potter," Harry said, rummaging through the drawers in the little kitchen and trying to remember where everything was kept. "Seriously though, it's weird starting at a new place, did you find everything okay?"
He blinked slowly, looking rather like an overly bony owl as he cocked his head. "Quite. I studied at a boarding school for a number of years prior, and they're all rather similar."
Harry shrugged, cheerfully, trying to shove down the vague sense of unease she was getting. Giving into that would just make her freeze the water in the kettle again, and Lord knows how she'd explain that. "Oh, fair. Milk and sugar? I guess Dumbledore gave you that history book to make you feel more at home."
"One sugar cube and no milk, please," her said, the blue eyes slowly looking her up and down before meeting her eyes. "May I ask a question?"
If he asked about going to a bloody ball, she would actually curse his tea, Harry promised herself as she put the kettle onto boil. "Go ahead!"
"What happened to the house system? This book details four houses, each with their own individual common room. Yet, we four cannot be the members of one house, surely? And neither you, Miss Granger or Mr Longbottom carried any signs of house alliances when we met last night. Not even on your… is that really the uniform?"
Harry relaxed, ignoring the faint crystals which had formed beneath her fingers on her mug. Thomas was just a snob, then. Nothing to worry about.
"Ah! Well, since we're fifth years, the uniform policy is just to wear smartish clothes- we're old enough to look after ourselves in that respect, though Snape breathes down your neck if you wear less than a proper shirt."
She stopped for a moment to brew the tea, smirking internally at the scandalised look on his face. Ah, posh and stuffy then, if even flannel and jeans were too out there for him.
"As for houses, well- we used to have them, but my mum and dad's year were the last year sorted. Yeah, people became like family, but it meant a personality at eleven affected too much of your prospects. Hufflepuffs were always pushed into care taking jobs, Slytherins into ministry work and all that rubbish. There's still some clubs and stuff taking the names, especially if you like quidditch, but beyond that it's mostly just old Slytherin families sticking together because they're too stuck up to interact with anyone else. Here's your tea."
He accepted it silently, taking a sip before speaking again. "I see. Thank you, Miss Potter."
"Harry, honestly. What do you prefer, anyway? Tom? Marv?"
He wrinkled his nose in disgust, Harry hiding her grin in a cup of tea as Hermione bounced down the stairs. "Riddle, thank you. Names are important, and I'd rather not be so jolly familiar. We barely know each other."
Harry and Hermione exchanged a glance, Harry hiding another smile in her mug as she watched Hermione battle not to say anything. Ah, another aristocratic snob then, who likely thought himself mysterious and worthy of investigation since his last name was Riddle.
Frankly, she doubted he'd last the week before calling his parents to be sent back to whatever posh boarding school he'd come from.
The week passed as it usually did for the first week of Hogwarts- the handing out of the schedules at breakfast, the swarming bedlam of people trying to get to class on time and the usual run down of any changes during the introduction to each lesson.
Thankfully, beyond a charm curriculum which Flitwick had described as 'slightly' (and Ron had described as 'unfortunately') more theory based, it didn't seem like much had changed by Friday lunchtime. Harry grabbed a sandwich from one of the platters on the table and clattered herself down next to Ron, shooing a small first year out of the way as the boy squeaked indignantly.
"Ready for defence class?" the ginger boy asked, grinning as Hermione slid in on his other side. "Apparently Umbridge is useless and just makes you read right through it. Binns 2.0, but more solid and pinker."
"Great," Harry groaned, rolling her eyes. "My favourite lesson too."
"I suppose that means we can use it to finish the rest of our homework," Hermione said, getting out her diary. "I know you're only taking a few higher classes, but the workload is bound to build up. Besides- I definitely don't envy you having to partner with Marv in Divination."
Harry grimaced, gloomily putting down her half-eaten apple. Marv- or, Riddle, as he preferred to be called- was… odd, she decided. A genius, perfect student who could keep up with Hermione in classes, but an utter loner everywhere else who always had his nose stuck in that history book, flicking through it like a madman and making notes every few pages.
He was polite in their little kitchenette too- even making tea for Harry one morning- but something about the way he kept watching them wasn't right either. Sometimes, if she was honest, it did feel like she was red riding hood, and he was the big bad wolf dressed up as Grandma.
Ron chewed on his sandwiches, sending a wink towards Harry. "He certainly doesn't seem to be complaining about partnering with Harry. Practically begged to be paired with her this morning. Maybe he'll ask her to the ball after all."
Harry shoved him in the shoulder, harder than she meant to. He yelped, shoving into Zacharias Smith, who sent him a disdainful look, quickly followed by a barrage of insults so salty they attracted Professor Sprout's outraged scolding.
Harry did her best to look innocent, the curling knot of worry sinking deeper into her stomach. Riddle had probably just requested because he didn't seem to be making friends with, well, anyone, and at least she was a vaguely familiar face. Or maybe he really was trying to butter her up, and she'd have to find some desperate way out of it-
Harry snatched her hand away from her cup, hiding her hand in her lap as the frost trailing up the base melted away.
Well, there was no sense worrying about it in public then- trying to explain that would be even more difficult, especially since she didn't know the answer herself. She'd just have to think about Defence instead. That was bound to be interesting, even if the new teacher was questionable…
Defence was not interesting.
Harry scowled towards the front of the class, trying not to glare directly at their teacher. She was a short woman with greying, tightly grey hair who reminded Harry of nothing more than the toads she'd once dressed in doll's clothes with Sirius' help. On her less charitable days, that might even have been enough to irritate her; bows and frills always lead uncomfortable flashbacks of dressing up for grandparents.
No, it was something else. Professor Umbridge held herself like a schoolgirl playing stern headmistress of her school of stuffed toys, giggling and simpering as she walked up and down the rows. It was enough to make anyone roll their eyes, and quite how she thought it would make anyone respect her, Harry didn't know.
Beside her, it looked like Riddle felt the same way. His knuckles were clenched white around his quill, and contempt plain enough for even Harry to see was flashing through his eyes.
"Has Defence always been… shown in this way? I hardly call it teaching," he whispered, barely loud enough for Harry to hear but unexpected enough to make her start. Umbridge threw a funny look at them but continued on her circle around the classroom as elsewhere a low murmur started up.
"Variable, I guess. Quirrel in first year had a nervous breakdown at the curriculum, the second year teacher got a modelling deal and left, Lupin in third year got sacked for being a werewolf and last year we had an old auror get sacked for teaching us 'dark magic'," Harry responded, rolling her eyes slightly. Quite apart from Lupin's ridiculous sacking (he'd never hurt anyone!), Moody being sacked for teaching them the Ancora charm had been ridiculous.
"As he should have been, Miss Potter," Umbridge said primly, watery eyes fixing on the two of them. "The allies charm is a primitive piece of magic, and in the modern day we rely on contracts and the rule of law to keep wizards safe. Now hush, I won't have whisperings in my lessons, especially between an unpromised young woman and an unknown boy."
Harry flushed and ducked her head as ripples of giggles spread around the room, feeling her cheeks start to redden. For Merlin's sake, it was only the start of term!
From under her hair, she heard Riddle start talking again, using a charming tone full of warmth she didn't remember him having. "Forgive me, Professor Umbridge, I've no desire to interrupt this fascinating lesson- so many chaps forget how to properly store their wand, and it's the cause of so much upset."
'Liar,' Harry thought, 'You're as bored as I am.'
"I was merely asking Miss Potter about some differences between this school and the one I attended previously. What's this 'unpromised' business about? I'm afraid a chap's less likely to find these things out than witchfolk, and I'd feel jolly rotten if I accidentally ruined Miss Potter's reputation over a misunderstanding."
Harry groaned gently, feeling a burning flush make its way onto her face as giggles once again broke out around the classroom. All she wanted to do was hide her head in her hands, but that would inevitably make her look guilty, and she could already feel the faint tingling sensation of frost nipping at her fingers without the extra embarrassment.
Umbridge lip curled, face darkening like a summer day before thunder. "Did your parents not explain such things, boy?"
Beside her, Riddle's knuckles whitened again for a second, just long enough for Harry to catch. Then he relaxed, replying as smoothly as butter on warm toast. "I'm an orphan, Ma'am. Raised by the Brothers of Merlin on Lindisfarne, then sent here when I declined to take their vows. I'm afraid I'm genuinely quite lacking in etiquette surrounding the fairer sex."
Internally, Harry pretended to vomit. The words were so saccharine sweet they could almost be believed, if not for the fact they were almost certainly formulated to melt their professor's heart.
Professor Umbridge seemed to melt as Riddle smiled charmingly at her. "It's a simple enough lesson, I suppose, and you children could do well to learn it- Ministry polls have found it badly understood. Listen up boys and girls."
Harry shot another glare at Riddle, who merely raised a crooked eyebrow as Umbridge raised her wand, the room going dark as pictures began to drift from the wand.
"In years past, wizardkind used to do much as they wished, unrestrained by anything but their own wishes."
Around their heads, stick figures danced merrily, changing shape and direction randomly.
"However, this led rise to Lords and Ladies, powerful wizards who wished to reshape the world to their own design. For a time, that was permitted- after all, such was the lure of powerful magic."
Abruptly, the colours became dimmer, seeming to leech out of the figures.
"However, we soon discovered that allowing such figures to shape the world as they saw fit was causing magic to drain from the world. And, as time went on, that which was left became corrupted- you've all heard tales of the undead armies of the necromancers on the continent before such knowledge was destroyed, of those who would breed with magical beasts, which resulted in werewolves and vampires, and even those who sought to feed off the magic of the land itself."
All of a sudden, the illusions jumping around them became blood red, stick figure wars breaking out all over the classroom. Even Harry had to admit it was quite an impressive show.
"And so, our Ministry stepped in to prevent us from all becoming muggles. They made sensible, safe laws to ensure that young people know the dangers of what was previously seen as perfectly safe magic. Did you know that overuse of the Patronus can drive a person mad, since it feeds on happy memories? Or that conjuring animals leads to the death of smaller animals and insects in the local area? Hence, we now mostly focus on inanimate objects- and we don't need to use such nasty magics."
Riddle shifted in his seat; such a small movement Harry was sure she wouldn't have felt it if they weren't currently sat at the same desk. Glancing down, his pristine falcon feather quill had shattered between his fingers, sharp fragments digging into his skin, utterly at odds with the serene look on his face.
"Now, as you this worry about boys and girls- you've all heard of the Dark Lord Grindelwald? Well, when he was being bound to stop the rips in magic he was creating, he unleashed a curse on the British Isles. If we liked our laws so much, so be it- only those legal and properly bound together by the ministry would be able to have children. Now, this wouldn't have been a concern, had he not been tricky, instead tying the curse to the old laws of the early British wizards. Now, the entire betrothal system requires entire families to agree and give permission. Why, my own wedding took eight years to arrange."
Harry snorted. Privately, she thought that had nothing to do with the frankly ridiculous laws around weddings, and more to do with the woman herself.
"And so you see, Mr Riddle, why whisperings might be taken out of context- this is the year that courtships usually start, after all, and Miss Potter is an eligible young lady."
Harry flinched at the reminder, gripping her knees and hiding further behind her hair as she felt a cold sheet begin to grow over her nails. Her parents would never allow anything to be forced, of course, but still. She didn't want to think of such things so young, especially with her magic being so damn jumpy lately.
Umbridge waved her wand, smiling innocently as the sudden return of light burned the eyes of several of her students. "Does that make sense, class? Mr Riddle?"
"Quite so, Ma'am," Riddle murmured, casting an indecipherable look at Harry, who pointedly looked at his quill. "Quite so."
If there was one thing Harry loved, it was flying.
Not that she was meant to do much of it- quidditch in the air had been banned when she was a young girl thanks to one too many fatal accidents, and broom usage had mostly been relegated to short trips once you had a license these days.
And so, when she couldn't sleep, she would instead slip out of their little kitchenette and make her way through the dusty upper floors of Hogwarts, unused as the population dwindled. And, just to the left of a snoozing portrait of a chimera, there was a door which led out onto a rooftop courtyard.
The despite its lack of use, Harry thought the castle wards and house elves probably still kept it in acceptable shape. Professor Sprout would doubtless have a heart attack at the thought- the grass was rough and unhewn, brambles stretched up to reach the sky, and the giant apple tree was a perfect scrambling partner for any student wishing to sit on the roof of one of the towers.
Harry opened her eyes, drinking in the sight of the full moon reflected in the lake's water, a giant glowing eye staring unblinkingly back towards the lazy splatter of stars across the Scottish sky. A slight breeze played with strands of her hair as she leaned back onto her hands, feet dangling towards the floor two hundred feet below. Somehow, as different as it was from the family estate, without prying eyes this place felt like home.
Or, maybe not quite away, she conceded, flicking her eyes towards a brooding Riddle.
"Ready to tell me why you were following me this evening?" she asked casually, smirking as he sent an irritated look at her and continued jabbing at the small tears in his trousers. "I might not have made you climb the tree if you hadn't been insistent."
"Mr Weasley and Miss Granger were arguing in the kitchen, and I had no desire to be cornered in the library by a group of giggling schoolgirls," he said archly. "As crude as I find many of your mannerisms, I've no desire to be courted in the way everyone in this school is obsessed with, and you're rather good at disappearing."
Harry sent a half-hearted glare towards him, the stirrings of pity deep in her chest. Well, for that she couldn't blame him. With an aristocratic face, a strong nose and curly brown hair, a lot of people called Riddle classically handsome. With the news he was an orphan and thus not bound to any family- well. Plenty of people had started to seek him out as an option.
"I'm perfectly polite, thank you!"
"Hmm," Riddle said, cocking his head and looking sideways at her with that piercing, snake like look she was rather coming to dislike. "I said mannerisms, not manners, Miss Potter."
"They're the same thing in todays lingo. And call me Harry, for Merlin's sake, you sound like some type of newscaster from the Grindelwars."
"I rather think I shan't," Riddle said, sniffing for a moment, then standing. "Come, I've got a new divination method for this week's homework.
Harry rolled her eyes again, leaning back from the edge and sending one last longing look at the view. Her jumbled mess of a teacup last week had set him off on a hunt for the future, making him mutter about death and time and danger- though to her, it just looked like a pile of tea leaves, and she'd been distinctly unimpressed by her describing his as a triangle, so maybe good fortune.
"Come, come- I'm not your owl, Riddle," she grumbled, dropping back down into the courtyard. "And why couldn't this have waited until tomorrow morning?"
"And yet, you've followed," he pointed out smugly, drawing a small circle on the floor in chalk.
It shone in the darkness as he hissed something so softly that she couldn't make out the words to, and for a moment she could have sworn she saw a great eye blink beneath his hand.
"And because this particular divination ritual works best under the full moon and interrupting it would be… a bad decision."
Harry eyed him warily. It wasn't that she didn't trust Riddle- well, that was a lie- but this damned word play was something which endeared him even less.
"What does it do, Riddle?"
"Why, scared to try? I hadn't thought a Potter would be a coward,"
Harry flushed, making an outraged sound. She stepped forward to prod him hard in the chest, vaguely aware of a flash of white light around her feet.
"Potters are never cowards, Riddle!" she hissed, "And don't you forget it. Now, what're we doing?"
He smirked down at her.
"Quite simple, Miss Potter. Hold the handle of your wand in one hand, then hold the tip of mine in your other. If you let the magic flow through it, then it should give some indication of where our talents will lie as adults."
Harry narrowed her eyes. Yes, she might be a Potter, but Sirius Black was still her uncle. "Why the need for the ritual circle, if it's that simple?"
"Oh, very good, Miss Potter. Though you needn't sound so suspicious- it's merely to stop us attracting attention. My 'Hogwarts a History' describes this as perfectly kosher, even if Professor Umbridge might disagree."
A reasonabl-ish explanation, Harry thought, glancing back down at the floor. It was just chalk, even if there was something a little… off about the way it shimmered.
Riddle withdrew his wand, the pale yew gleaming white in the moonlight. He looked at her expectantly, blue eyes dark, and held out his other hand for her own.
Harry steeled herself and presented her own wand, the Holly dark in comparison to Riddles pale fingers closed around its end. As she touched his, it felt for a moment like warmth, and she could have sworn she heard beautiful music start emanating from somewhere.
"Let your magic flow around the circle," Riddle murmured. "Like you're casting a spell without the words. I'll see your potential, and you'll see mine."
Harry let out a shaky breath, carefully willing a little bit of magic down her wand. Immediately, the warmth grew and the song got louder, and she let out a startled laugh as flares of gold started to lick the air, jumping and cycling around them, cycling through shapes before seeming to solidify into long, sinuous bodies reaching towards the sky.
"Snakes. Maybe you should have taken Care of Magical Creatures- hey!"
The ends of her fingers started to tingle, the air charging with ozone. For wild moment, Harry wondered if these were the sensations you would feel if you attempted to stroke a thundercloud.
Around them, the gold sparked brighter, the dancing creatures intertwining into the thick body of a cobra. It slid around both of their legs, hood flaring as sparks slid off it and soaked into their trousers.
"Ice, and a lot of it," Riddle breathed.
Harry turned her eyes away from the serpent starting to climb up their legs, trying not to panic. Riddle was staring in rapture at something above her head. "What?!"
"Your magic looks like ice," he repeated. "It's freezing."
"Well, what does that mean?!"
"Change. You'll bring a lot of change, Miss Potter, whether the world likes it or not," he said, eyes shining. "And I rather think it won't."
Harry frowned, opening her mouth to yell back. But the only noise which came out was a yelp of pain as two scorching fangs sunk deep into her neck.
The circle flared again for a moment as the two teenagers were thrown back, Harry clutching one hand to her neck and the other reaching out frantically to stop the skidding. The courtyard behind her looked like a scene out of a Christmas card, utterly drenched in ice and frost, and when she let out a breath it came out white.
"What the hell was that, Riddle?" she snarled, snapping her wand towards him as she saw a movement in the dark. "That's not in any book I've ever read!"
He laughed, a wild sound, light blooming at the tip of his wand as a shield sprang out of Harry's. For the first time since they'd met, he looked dishevelled, cheeks pink and hair ruffled from its neat parting. "Maybe you should read better books, Miss Potter. It was certainly informative for me."
"Riddle," she growled. The back of her throat felt like acid, the tingling pain of the cobra bite sinking deep into the muscles. Maybe she should bite him and see how he liked it.
His smile widened, turning cruel. "Of course, we did technically, just do some rather dark magic Miss Potter. You're perfectly welcome to tell someone else about it, but your neck is as much on the guillotine as mine is."
He held his hands towards her, the picture of innocence as her stomach dropped to the floor. Dark, spiralling hoarfrost patterns were sinking into the skin, standing out to anyone who looked.
"You should read better books, regardless," he continued casually, as though Harry hadn't gone as white as a sheet. "You hardly live up to the potential you showed me tonight. Powerful witches shouldn't pretend to be mediocre."
Riddle stood fluidly, smoothing his hair back into place and putting his hands into his pockets with more cheer than Harry had yet seen him display. He sauntered past her, dropping a sly wink. "Oh, and I'd maybe wear a scarf, unless you want rumours flying. See you tomorrow morning, Miss Potter."
She glared after him in utter fury, holding back the urge to tackle him to the ground. Her magic still felt fizzy, bubbling to the surface of her skin and begging to be used. She should have realised the damn thing was a ruse as soon as she saw him draw that chalk circle…
She glanced back over there, to where the frost had started to melt, washing the evidence away. What else she saw made her smile, however.
There, lying on the ground, was the book Riddle had been pouring over for the last Merlin knew how long. And if he wanted her to read more, well.
Why not try and figure out exactly what his game plan was?