Second Year

"I'm not hungry." And he wasn't. He'd eaten extra during dinner for this very purpose. He waved his hand in a go ahead motion, and Gregory eagerly snatched up the two drugged cakes. He'd scarcely shoved them into his mouth before his eyes went unfocused and he toppled backwards to the ground.

"Idiot." Vincent chuckled amiably, then ducked behind the banister and watched.

"How thick can you be?" The youngest Weasley boy.

"Where's the other one?" Mudblood Granger.

"Nevermind that, help me move him before anyone sees!" Potter.

Vincent crouched deeper in the shadows as the trio dragged his companion away down the hall. They stripped Gregory's robe and shoes off, then shoved him into a disused classroom.

"Should we try again?" Weasley asked.

"No time!" Granger sounded worried. "I only had enough to make the two cakes. It will wear off long before I can make another, and he wouldn't fall for the same trick twice."

Weasley laughed. "I wouldn't be so sure about that."

Hiding in the shadow, Vincent covered his mouth to muffle a laugh. It was true, Gregory had all but cornered the market on idiocy.

"So one of us has to stay behind?" Potter.

"It's really dangerous to try to change a girl into a boy, or a boy into a girl. I've got Milicent's hair, and now you have his. Sorry, Ronald, but I think Harry and I have to be the ones to go."

"Fine," Weasley conceded with ill grace. "But you have to tell me everything."

Then they were too far away for Vincent to hear. He didn't know what else had happened the first time around, but at least he was awake and still in possession of his clothing this time. He waited until Malfoy emerged, then fell into step automatically behind and to one side.

As they rounded the corridor, Malfoy paused and looked around. "Where's the other one?"

"Ate something what didn't agree with him."

"Ah." No more needed to be said. This wasn't an unusual occurrence.

Idiot, he thought again, somewhat fondly. Even in the end, they two had remained faithful. Even when others faltered. Vincent smiled, not that anyone looking at his face would have known it for what it was. Malfoy may strut for now, but he'd be singing another tune in the end. Faithless father, worthless son. Alliances held, for now, but they would not always.

As they neared the dungeons, Gregory came running toward them, wheezing and puffing.

"Feeling better?" Malfoy managed to turn any hint of concern into derision. As far as Vincent could tell, Draco didn't actually care about anyone except his parents.

"Yeah," panted the new arrival. "Sorry I'm late."

Vincent squinted. Gregory's posture was all wrong. Aha, the Gryffindor trio's discussion from earlier suddenly became clear. Turn into. They must have some of that pomyjug potion. That's why they stole Gregory's robes.

Vincent didn't betray his knowledge, just nodded as Gregory - Potter - fell into step beside Malfoy. Awkwardly, as though unfamiliar with his body, and he kept edging forward as though used to leading and not following.

Malfoy didn't notice. Of course he didn't. Malfoy knew they were beneath him, and thus were not worth thinking of except when he wanted something from them.

They neared the dungeon, and Vincent began to worry. They'd been warned not to allow any outsiders into their common room. Potter was an outsider, even if he didn't look it right now. But what could he do?

"What's the password? Oh, right. Pure blood."

The wall melted into a gateway, and they descended into their calm lakelit green home. Vincent stole a glance at Potter, who stood gaping at everything as though he'd never seen anything like it. Which, of course, he hadn't. Nor had any Gryffindor, nor Hufflepuff, nor Ravenclaw.

Malfoy ignored them, crossing to the crowded little table beside his favourite chair, then began rummaging among the empty wrappers and half-finished homework.

"What's your plan for the evening?" Potter asked, trying to sound casual and failing. His voice croaked in a way it shouldn't have.

Vincent looked over at the impostor, then back to Malfoy. It seemed the question had gone unnoticed. He wasn't surprised by this development. He and his companion were basically invisible.

"Ah, here it is! Have a look at this." Malfoy straightened, a newspaper in one hand and a green-wrapped parcel in the other. He tossed the former in Potter's direction, who reached out and snatched it with a seeker's precision. Malfoy wasn't looking, having turned his attention to the parcel. "Know who got this?" he asked.

"No," Vincent replied.

Potter echoed the reply, belatedly, his face a grimace as he read the article.

Malfoy considered a minute, then tucked the parcel into his pocket. He grinned and flopped onto the nearest sofa. "Isn't it hilarious? That's irony for you. Highest order. Bet he never saw that coming, the muggle-loving idiot."

Potter held the newspaper clenched in one fist, his face stiff like he was trying not to shout.

"It's very funny," Vincent said. He couldn't see the article from where he stood, but it wasn't a trick question. Malfoy knew better than to try trick questions. He made his desires perfectly clear, and his followers adhered to them. Subtlety was beyond any of them.

Vincent wondered briefly why that was. Youth? Ignorance? Wasn't Slytherin house supposed to be about subtlety as well as purity and power?

Potter cleared his throat and took a few obvious calming breaths, then spoke. "Good lot of. . . Muggleborns out of commission now."

"Muggleborns." Malfoy snorted derisively. "Don't try playing politics, Goyle, it doesn't suit you. Call them what they are. Mudblooded filth unworthy to polish your wand."

"Sorry," mumbled Potter. He almost got the intonation right this time too. "So who's next?"

"I've told you, I don't know." Malfoy scowled. "I wish he'd let me help, let all of us in on the fun. But, you know, my father says to stay out of it. Let the Heir get on with things and keep our hands clean. But what I wouldn't give to bring that Granger down for good..."

Vincent chuckled at this thought, though Potter missed his cue again. Vincent elbowed him in the ribs, still laughing in demonstration.

"Oh, haha." Not a convincing performance.

"Is your stomach still bothering you?" Vincent asked, then grinned. "Let's get you up to bed."

"N-no need," Potter said hastily, backing away a step. "In fact, I think I'll go back and see if there's any biscuits left."

"Of course there aren't," Malfoy snapped. "Dinner finished ages ago, you missed your chance. And remember, if you don't finish your homework this time, there will be consequences. Your bad performance reflects poorly on me, and by extension my father. We can't have that."

"You're right," Vincent said. "Come on, Goyle." And before he could protest, Vincent had flung an arm around Potter's shoulder and guided him down toward the dormitory door.

"I think I should go and—" Potter began, but Vincent's hand across his mouth muffled his protests.

"We're going to do our homework now," Vincent said in a low and threatening voice. "We wouldn't want to be set back a year now, would we? We may be idiots, but you wouldn't want to be the wrong kind of idiot. Even the lowest Slytherin idiot should be better than those Gryffindor idiots. Don't you think?"

The imposter's eyes flickered with sudden understanding. He tried to twist free, but if there was one thing Vincent was good at, it was keeping hold of people trying to escape. He twisted with the movement, tucking one leg around Potter's. They both fell, and Vincent landed on top.

"Let me up," Potter demanded.

Vincent didn't oblige him. "What did you think you could gain, coming here?"

"I don't know what you mean." Potter's protest was half-hearted, obligatory, and carried no note of even feigned confidence.

"Why are you here? What are you after? If it's about your mudblood friends, we didn't set the basilisk on them. You should know better than to assume a Malfoy can make a plan. They're only good for their money and their friends."

Potter looked confused, a common enough expression on Goyle's face.

"And it wasn't me either, if that's what you're about to suggest. I could have finished you all years ago if I wanted. I don't need your stupid snake language or hidden monsters to kill."

"It's a basilisk?" Potter asked, clearly unable to keep up with the conversation.

"Oh, didn't you know that yet?" Vincent couldn't resist laughing. "Well, it's not like I haven't already destroyed established events now. May as well go on." He leaned down even lower, then whispered, "The Dark Lord will find you, Potter. He will always find you, and I will stand at his side. You can't escape him. You can't defeat me. Give up your frantic scampering and just enjoy these last few years of life and freedom while you have them."

Then Vincent stood, wand trained on the prone not-Goyle. "Go on, Potter. Get out. I would ask you to finish Goyle's homework before you leave, but. . . Gryffindor idiots think very differently from Slytherin idiots."

Potter got out.

It may have been Vincent's imagination, but it seemed that Potter avoided him more than usual for the next few months. This reticence to allow conflict did not extend to either Gregory or Malfoy, however, and Potter spent more than a few evenings in detention for his escalated animosity toward Malfoy.

It came to a head in the corridor one afternoon, as Potter hurried to class and Malfoy 'happened' to knock his bag off his shoulder. It spilled books and ink everywhere, and sent students scurrying to clear the area. Potter looked down, then turned slowly to face his adversary. Malfoy stood haughtily, Vincent and Gregory arrayed behind him. Vincent's hand inched down toward his wand until he grasped it firmly, ready for the moment the conflict exploded into magic.

"They'll have gone for a prefect," he muttered to Malfoy, glancing at the suddenly-vacated corridor. It was empty but for the three of them and Potter's trio.

"Oho, what's this?" Malfoy's hand darted out and snatched a thin volume from Potter's spilled books. "Potter's got a diary! Wonder what he writes about. All the people who hate him? Maybe how much money he's had to loan to Weasley?"

"Give it back, Malfoy," Potter said, with the demanding calm of confidence.

"Of course I will - once I see what you've—"

Potter didn't let him finish. He cried, "Expelliarmus!" and the diary flew from Malfoy's hand and arced towards Potter's outstretched hand.

"Accio," Vincent growled, flourishing his own wand. Something about that book felt familiar to him, and he didn't remember ever seeing Potter with it before. His spell, much more powerful than Potter's, jerked the book to a halt. It reversed direction and Malfoy snatched it out of the air.

"Nice job, Crabbe." He flipped the book open, then scowled. "Empty, Potter? Couldn't be bothered to even record one humiliating detail about your pathetic life?"

"Give it back!"

"Why would you care? It doesn't even have your name on it."

"That's none of your business, Malfoy," Potter said. He looked like he wanted to cast another spell, but then he stopped short and his eyes flicked to someone behind them.

"What's going on here?"

Vincent span round and saw that blithering Weasley prefect, strutting like he was something special. He glared at the three of them as though they were vile and barely worth his notice.

Malfoy glared back, but better. "Nothing, just helping Potter here pick up his spilled books."

"He stole my diary!" Potter pointed at the book in question, which Malfoy still held.

"I haven't stolen anything."

"Give it back, then."

Malfoy shrugged as though it meant nothing and tossed the book to Potter. A little harder than necessary, but it didn't matter. Potter snatched it from the air and seemed not to notice the extra force.

"Hurry up to class, then, the lot of you." Weasley waited long enough to be sure they were all obeying, then nodded and strutted off.

Vincent watched the retreating back of Potter and his cronies. Something about that book had felt different, familiar, and not the sort to do with Potter. He felt a desire to hold it, to turn its pages for himself rather than looking over someone else's shoulder, a desire that only grew stronger as the day went on.

He waited until dinnertime, then made his excuses to Malfoy and slipped out. He had never been good at disillusionment charms, but he was certainly good enough to follow Potter without being seen.

The Slytherins knew in general terms where the Gryffindor dorms were, but today Vincent learned the exact location. And, much more importantly, the password. He didn't approach until an hour after Potter had entered, instead following close on the heels of a pair of Gryffindor first year girls.

The common room was the exact opposite of Slytherin's. Where their rooms were cozy, close, deep, dim, and mysterious, Gryffindor was big, bright, loud, and far too blunt. It reminded Vincent of the time his and Goyle's potion had exploded all over the Potions classroom, but turned everything in sight a brilliant crimson instead of the sickly green-yellow it had in reality.

He barely had the presence of mind to slip aside from the entryway and conceal himself beside a tapestry. This one depicted, in grotesque detail, a gryphon slaughtering a muggle knight, while a red-robed wizard perched on his back raised his wand in victory.

Gryffindors had no taste in art.

Vincent finally stopped staring at the picture and turned to the bright gaudy interior of the room. Potter and his followers were engaged in something that probably had once involved homework, but now included exploding snap cards and gobstones liberally layered overtop of said homework. Granger, being the stuck-up teacher's kneazle she was, had rescued her own books from the chaos and sat a little apart from the other two with her knees hunched, scribbling away.

Vincent looked over the books on the table, but didn't see the diary anywhere.

Potter's bag lay deflated on the floor, most of its contents reassigned to the table, but with enough form that Vincent thought it might still contain the diary. He eased his way around the corners of the room, careful not to pass in front of the fireplaces when anyone might be looking at him - disillusionment charms did very well with stable backgrounds, but something in constant unpredictable motion like a crowd or a fire could cause telltale faults in the illusion.

Once he was as close as possible to the Gryffindor trio without leaving the wall, he slowly flicked his wand and whispered, "Accio bag." Potter's bag slid toward him silently, unnoticed by the laughing pair of Gryffindors.

But not unnoticed entirely. Granger sat up straighter, her head whipped around to focus on the now-floating bag. Vincent cut off the spell at once, letting the bag slump back to the ground. Granger eyed it suspiciously, then turned to glance at Potter and Weasley.

"Accio!" Vincent whispered urgently, putting far more effort into the spell this time. The bag leapt straight to him, flying guilelessly right past the back of a blond Gryffindor boy and in front of a pair of girls who turned to follow its path mid-sentence.

The moment the bag reached him, he held it close and felt the disillusionment sliding out to envelop it as well. He then backed away from the spot as quickly as he dared.

"Harry!" Granger hissed. "Your bag!"

Potter, still laughing at whatever Weasley idiocy he'd just witnessed, leaned over to check the floor. His laughter cut off abruptly. "Where'd it go?"

Granger gestured to where Vincent had been standing. "Over there. It was floating along quite purposefully."

"It's not there now," said Weasley. Vincent nearly laughed aloud at how unhelpful the boy was.

"Expelliarmus," Potter said firmly, pointing his wand toward the spot of wall. Vincent edged away a little faster, but he needn't have worried. Potter's aim was far enough from him that the bag never so much as wiggled.

He had to get somewhere else, out of sight, so he could check what he'd found. Right now, any attempt to determine the contents of the bag would be thwarted by the very disillusionment charm that kept him from being cursed out of the common room by a few dozen bored Gryffindors.

The entry was all the way across the room. Instead, he slipped aside onto a stairway that led up and away from the common room. Before he'd taken three steps, a brilliantly shimmering alarm began blaring throughout the room. The stairs turned into a slide that spat him back out, dizzily, into the main room.

Vincent stumbled to his feet, now surrounded by a growing crowd of curious students, all peering at the slippery no-longer stairway.

"Whee!" shrieked a girl, shooting out of the opening at speed, nearly colliding with the nearest gawkers. She jumped to her feet, then grinned around at the onlookers. "Who was it? Who tried to sneak up on us?"

A hasty chorus of "No idea," and "not me!" accompanied by head shaking and placating hand motions followed.

"But it was someone," the girl said. Vincent tried to edge away, but he kept bumping into people.

"Someone's here!" shouted one, pointing toward him.

Vincent cursed silently. Crowds. Too many people confused the disillusionment. He'd never been good at compensating for errors in the spell.

Forget being subtle.

He set off running toward the entrance, shoving people aside carelessly. He shouted the password, then caromed into the back of the door at full speed. It swung open, dropping him onto the floor outside. The combination of the collision with the adrenaline and sudden dizziness was enough to break his spell completely. He ducked aside, but not before someone behind him gasped in shock.

"It's a Slytherin! How'd he get in?"

"After him!"

Vincent cursed aloud this time, grabbed Potter's bag, and sprinted away. He reached the grand staircase, which was inconveniently facing another direction. There were only three ways down from this level of which he was aware, and the other two were on the opposite side of the Gryffindor dormitory.

He was trapped.

"You'd better be worth it," Vincent growled, rummaging through the bag to see what he'd managed to steal.

The moment his fingers touched the surface of the book, he knew it had been.

With a thrill of fear and awe, he reverently withdrew the book.

He recognized this power. It was the same power that had once rested on his arm. But this diary was so much stronger.

No wonder he'd felt sure it didn't belong to Potter; it belonged to the Dark Lord.

Vincent dropped Potter's bag and tucked the diary into his pocket, then turned back to the stairway. Which continued facing the wrong direction. He heard shouts from behind him, around the corner, and knew that any moment he'd be swamped by Gryffindors. He recast the disillusionment charm, then backed away to stand beside a suit of armor, leaving the discarded bag where it lay.

"The stairs are wrong!"

"He got away?"

"What's that?"

"Hey, that's mine!"

"He might still be here."

"How did he even get in?"

Vincent focused on breathing very quietly. It wasn't easy with his heart racing like this, but thankfully the clamor of Gryffindors helped conceal any sounds he made.

"It's gone," Potter hissed to Weasley. Granger wasn't present, probably still working on her precious homework. "Riddle's diary's gone."

"Malfoy," Weasley growled in return. "You know it has to be him."

The stairs swung around then, allowing the angry Gryffindors to descend and continue their pursuit. Unfortunately, not all of them did. Potter and Weasley stayed behind, blocking the corridor and looking around suspiciously. A handful of others poked around as well.

One boy lifted the visor on the suit of armor beside which Vincent stood, nearly making him jump at the sudden sound. He muffled his face behind his sleeve, desperately hoping his pounding heart wouldn't betray him. Whatever this diary was, it was far too valuable to allow into the clumsy hands of Gryffindors again.

He sidled away from the boy's investigation, then made his way to the stairs. The group in the hall seemed intent on their discussions rather than actively searching for him, blocking the way more by accident than malicious intent. No one guarded the top of the stairs. Vincent hurried down and away from the dead-end trap corridor, thankful for once that Gryffindors were such idiots.

"I've been informed by my Gryffindor counterpart that one of you broke into the Gryffindor common room and stole a student's diary. I will know the truth of the matter." Professor Snape looked at each student in turn, most hastily shaking their heads or wilting before his intimidating glare.

Vincent had never been good at thinking quickly, but he knew Professor Snape had always been loyal to the Dark Lord, and that he was nearly as good a legilimens as Lord Voldemort himself. So he focused on the thought, the diary belongs to our Master, not to the Gryffindor child, and repeated it again and again until Professor Snape met his intense gaze.

The head-of-house blinked, then looked at the next student in line. His face didn't betray surprise, but Vincent felt sure he'd gotten the message.

Once they'd all been thoroughly intimidated, they were dismissed. "I will inform the Gryffindors that their accusation is false, but if any one of you discovers what actually transpired, come to my office at once."

Vincent wondered if there were a hidden message for him there, if that was Professor Snape asking him to actually come to his office at once, or if that would be too suspicious. He waited until the chatter of speculative conversation had built up, then disillusioned himself and slipped away. If there were anyone who knew more about the Dark Lord's plans than his father, it would be Professor Snape.

He tapped lightly on the door, which was opened immediately by his head of house.

"Vincent. Enter."

He did so. Professor Snape motioned him to a seat, then crossed the room and whirled, robe billowing out behind him. He stood leaning over with his hands pressed flat on his desk, watching Vincent intently.

"The diary?"

Vincent drew it from his pocket and placed it on the desk. He felt an oddly intense reluctance to let it leave his possession. Professor Snape stared down at it for a long moment, his expression unreadable.

"Professor. Do you know anything about where the Dark Lord is now? I know he will return, and if there is anything we can do to hasten his rebirth—"

"Silence!" Professor Snape hissed. "Are you a fool? This is not the place to discuss such matters."

Vincent flinched. He'd never heard Professor Snape's voice so sharp before.

"The Potter boy had this?" The professor's voice had returned to normal volume now.

"Yes."

"Did he give any indication of understanding what he held?"

"No sir."

"Then we shall count ourselves fortunate. I will keep this for the time being."

"Couldn't I—"

"No. The subject is closed. I will not report your theft to the Gryffindor head, and you will not mention it again to anyone but myself. The diary will remain safe with me until such time as it is required, and you will act as though nothing happened. Understand?"

Vincent found himself staring at the diary, wanting to argue, wanting to reach out and snatch it back.

"I asked if you understood."

Professor Snape's voice slashed through his uncertainty. Vincent flinched again at the sharpness of his tone.

"Yes sir. I understand."

"Good. Now get back to the common room before your absence is noted."

"Yes sir."

He stood at once, but hesitated before the desk, his attention once again pinned to the diary sitting there. He should take it with him. It belonged with him.

But before he could make up his mind to act, Professor Snape snatched it away. Vincent jumped at the sudden motion, then remembered himself and scurried out of the office.

Between catching Potter at his infiltration into Slytherin and performing his own counter-infiltration - neither of which had occurred in the original timeline - Vincent wasn't surprised that things played out differently. He did find it interesting how uneventful the year proved to be without any petrifications taking place.

In the initial timeline, it had never been made clear why or how the attacks had happened, nor how or why they'd been stopped. Something to do with a basilisk, something to do with Potter, but apparently Vincent's actions had rippled out enough in the year and a half since his reversion that unrelated events were changing.

It was probably better this way anyway. The attacks hadn't proven effective in the first timeline, petrifying instead of killing, ultimately accomplishing nothing. Better for whoever was behind them to lay low and bide their time.

Vincent held back in his exams, just enough that no one would suspect him of cheating or being secretly much smarter than he really was. Which meant, in practice, he ended up about level with Malfoy, but just a tiny bit ahead because he couldn't bear the thought of playing second to that weakling any longer.

Bad enough he had to act the part in public. He wasn't going to completely abandon his grades just to make Malfoy feel better about himself.