I know Dorea and Charlus Potter aren't Harry's grandparents, as revealed by Pottermore, but this is where I'm going to take liberty with the plot. Sorry! It's a very minor change, but an important one 0.0

Again, thanks to my beta :)

Tom awoke promptly at 7:15, eyes fluttering open as he yawned. He never seemed to get enough sleep these days, no matter how early he went to bed. Only Orion was up already; but Orion always got up disgustingly early. He was a morning person. Tom ran his long fingers through his hair and decided that he needed a shower.

Tom massaged peach-scented shampoo into his hair and hummed.

By the time Tom had emerged from the bathroom, Atticus was already hovering outside the door, muttering a quick apology as he shoved his way into the bathroom.

"Oh, come on," Rupert groaned from his seat on the side of his bed. Rupert always tended to spend long periods of time in the mornings sat with a sock in one hand, staring into the distance.

"What's your issue?" Tom asked, finishing towelling his hair dry.

"The house elves haven't washed my shirt." Rupert frowned, glaring at a pile of white fabric discarded on the dormitory floor.

"If it were in the clothes basket…"

"I know," Rupert growled. "But it's not, so just leave it, okay?"

There was an uncomfortable silence as Rupert realised that Tom didn't look pleased. He opened his mouth like he was going to say something.

"No need to apologise," Tom said graciously. And then slightly more dangerously: "Just don't let the morning take your manners."

Rupert mumbled a 'sorry' anyway, and Tom let a pleased smile slip onto his lips. Rupert grinned at Tom's approval.

Suddenly, Rupert perked up, adopting a bright visage. "It's all good! I'll just take one of Avery's."

The boy strutted towards Atticus' bed, dipping into his wardrobe and letting out a pleased shout when he found what he was looking for. "I knew the idiot would have more than one. And they're acromantula silk."

By now, even Cassius was floating out of bed, passing into the bathroom as soon as Atticus opened the door.

"How does he do that?" Atticus complained.

"Magic," Rupert whispered dramatically. "But seriously, mate, you know he's just got a good memory for this stuff. You spend exactly 25 minutes in that room every day. It's not hard to know when you're going to get out."

"How does he remember anything when he spends half of his time reading those stupid fantasy books?"

"He can do more than one thing at once," Tom said quietly. Cassius was a peculiar one.

In his first year, once the students of Hogwarts had realised Tom's talent and strength, he had started gathering select associates. Avery had been one of his priorities, Orion too. Both of them had magical ability, charm, and powerful parents. It didn't hurt that they also had ambition; a yearning for superiors to elevate them to higher places.

Montgomery and Rupert had fallen into his lap; both powerful purebloods, possessing brute strength and the ability to intimidate. They flocked to him. Tom gathered links in other years: Malfoy, Nott, Mulciber; all possessing talent, connections, and all looking to Tom for leadership.

But Cassius had been unexpected. He'd drifted into Tom's circle almost unnoticed, catching Tom off-guard with observations and witticisms. He made Tom feel uncomfortable: almost similar to how Dumbledore often did. He didn't threaten Tom, per say; Cassius was far too 'off' for that, and had zero ambition. But Tom often got the impression that Cassius knew more than Tom guessed.

However, Tom valued intelligence, and Cassius had that in abundance. Just as long as Cassius didn't get ideas above his station.

Tom frowned into the mirror and smoothed back his hair, so that a single curl fell across his forehead. Effortlessly perfect, as usual.

It had gotten to the moment in morning where everyone was up, apart from Harrison Peters. The curtains of his bed were still firmly drawn, silencing charm muffling all noise. Tom wondered if he shouldn't wake his newest housemate. It was already 8:10: if Harrison didn't hurry, he would be late.

Lateness was something Tom couldn't abide.

He narrowed his eyes at the silver and green hangings, pursing his lips. Abruptly, he decided that it wasn't his job to guide Harrison further- Tom had informed him on the timings of the day last night, and if Harrison hadn't listened, well that was his error. Perhaps missing breakfast would teach him a lesson. Satisfied, Tom nodded, sparing a glance back at the occupied bed. Yes, Harrison would just have to bear the consequences.

His decision weighed well on him, all the way down to the Great Hall.

Sat at the Slytherin table and surrounded by his housemates, Tom felt the deputy headmaster's attention burning a hole on the back of his neck. Should he turn around, Tom knew he would see narrowed eyes and a deep frown, as time crept by and Slytherin's newest arrival remained absent.

Damn Dumbledore and his disapproving gaze.

Tom was sure that, in the old man's eyes, he was shirking his responsibilities. Tom found himself caring very little.

Tom smothered his toast with crimson jam, and smiled serenely.

At 8:40, Harrison Peters rushed into the Great Hall. He was not alone of course; plenty of students ran in with him, the result of late nights or pranks. But- perhaps it was his newness, or the aura of fame that seemed to surround him? Whatever it was, Harrison attracted attention like an exploding cauldron.

His quick march to the Slytherin table didn't go unnoticed therefore, pairs of curious eyes following his progress. Harrison headed towards the lower end of the table, where the first and second years chattered amongst themselves. He wasn't going to join them, was he? Now this wouldn't do. Tom had yet to unravel him; unwind every string of 'destiny' or 'fate', untangling the knots of motive and twists of instinct, and tie them all firmly to Tom.

Tom had things to learn about this boy.

"Harrison," he called out firmly. Tom had learned very early on that he never really had to yell- his voice seemed to carry.

The boy froze, hands stuffed into the pockets of his robe. His shoulders slumped.

Tom's eyebrows rose. He hadn't encountered a reaction like that at Hogwarts since his first year. It was strange: he hated it, loathed it with a burning passion- how dare he look disappointed to hear Tom? How dare he dismiss him? On the other hand, the reaction brought a kind of excitement. He hadn't had a challenge in years.

Tom levelled a charming smile at Harrison. "Why don't you sit here? We saved you a seat. Atticus, move over."

Atticus shuffled up reluctantly.

Harrison hesitated, like he could still make a run for it if he tried.

"Your tie's undone. A rather scruffy impression on your first day," Tom observed.

A few feet away, Harrison grumbled and began to fiddle with the folds of silver and green fabric around his neck reluctantly. Tom smiled, satisfied- he had him.

"Come on, Peters," Rupert said good-naturedly. "You've got about fifteen minutes to grab as much bacon as you can."

Harrison sighed and finally gave in, plonking onto the bench next to Tom and scooping bacon and sausages onto his plate- and a napkin, for some reason. "So I can take it with me," he snapped in response to Atticus' snort of distaste, and began pouring himself a huge goblet of pumpkin juice.

Tom patted his mouth free of crumbs and put down his knife. "You're rather late this morning."

Harrison muttered something about – 'wrong old'? – and grumbled. "No one woke me up."

"I considered it, but decided that missing breakfast made a rather neat lesson." Tom considered the croissants absent-mindedly. "After all, punctuality is the politeness of princes."

"Well, thanks," Harrison said sarcastically. He seemed in a darker mood than he had been the day before. Tom did hope it wasn't permanent.

Montgomery laughed. "Didn't Mummy or Daddy ever teach you how to set an alarm spell? Or were they too filthy to hold a wand?"

Harrison turned half a shade paler and got to his feet abruptly. "Say that again," he threatened lowly.

"Isn't it a shame that they won't have the chance?" Montgomery mused, grinning and running his tongue over his teeth lecherously.

It seemed only half a second later that Montgomery had a wand pressed close to his neck, and an enraged wizard leant over him. "I've seen some shit, Lestrange." Harrison spat. "You're nothing."

"Tell me what you've seen," Montgomery practically begged, leaning in closer to the wand. "Was it bloody?"

Harrison exclaimed in disgust, but kept his wand up.

"For Salazar's sake, Tom!" Orion exclaimed anxiously, and Tom flickered his gaze towards him. "Do something."

With a roll of the eyes, Tom drawled, "Harrison, sit down, won't you? It's far too early to be duelling. And Montgomery, take your potion."

However to everyone's surprise, Harrison didn't move but set his jaw even more angrily. "I'm not your little puppet, Riddle."

"Hm?"

"I don't dance to your tune." Harrison hissed.

Tom leant in, and the air around them seemed charged. "I'm not singing." His voice was airy, sweet and sugary- clouds couldn't have been softer.

"Could've fooled me."

His green-eyed opponent apparently wasn't moving. Luckily, Montgomery knew when to back down and slipped out of Harrison's grasp, nodding contritely to Tom. Harrison Peters was left grasping at empty air, his wand held tight. He paused, muscles tensed, but sat back down, picked up a piece of bacon and began chewing morosely. The rage reduced, and he seemed… regretful of his actions.

"Potion," Tom reminded Montgomery, wondering if he had time to scan the newspaper.

Lestrange fished the vial out of his pocket and let a few drops fall from the lip of the glass, drizzling into his water and turning the clear liquid a subtle blue. Montgomery necked the drink in a few deep gulps. He then got to his feet, wiping his mouth with his sleeve, and stalked away.

"Excellently handled!" Rupert laughed. "I like your style, Peters. Violent and brutal."

Harrison seemed horrified by the statement, sinking into himself and muttering something about parents. Presumably, they wouldn't have approved of their son's actions.

"First day and already causing chaos," Cassius smiled slightly and shook the dark locks out of his eyes.

"He provoked me!" Harrison protested quietly. "He called my mum dirty."

Tom noticed a distinct lack of fatherly mention.

"I don't know what I've done to offend him so badly," Harrison said miserably, picking at his food.

Orion leaned in. "It's not about you. Between us; madness… it runs in his family. I mean, I think his first cousin once removed is fine, but rumour is that his great aunt was halfblood so…" Orion shrugged. "He takes potions to manage it, but sometimes he can't control it."

"Careful what you say," Cassius murmured lightly, "Secrets, once unleashed, are difficult to return to captivity."

"He's living with us," Orion rolled his eyes. "He was going to find out at some point. It's best he knows now, before Montgomery has another incident. My point," Orion finished, turning back to Harrison. "Don't take anything he says to heart." Orion looked almost disgustingly earnest.

Harrison almost softened. "You sound like my friend."

The Black heir brightened. "Good!" and he laughed carelessly.

Orion didn't notice the way Harrison flinched at the sound. Tom did.

"And don't let the talk about parents get you down. They're still in here, aren't they?" Orion gestured to his chest.

Something inside of Harrison seemed to snap suddenly, and he stumbled away from the bench like a shot. "Gotta–gotta go. Don't want to be late to Potions," he muttered quickly, and strode away, cradling his bacon-filled napkin close to his chest.

Tom watched his swift exit with interest.

"What did I do?" Orion asked in confusion.

"You were sentimental, and he got offended, for some reason. He's touchy," Atticus said cuttingly, leaning in. "More importantly— why on earth did you tell him about Lestrange?"

"What? B-but he—"

"Yes I know– 'he'll find out eventually'. But you didn't have to tell him the potions are for madness, for Morgana's sake. It could have been a fungal infection, for all Peters knew or cared."

"I don't understand—"

"You've given away one of Montgomery's most dangerous secrets to a stranger we met last night. So far, an unimpressive, reckless, impulsive stranger." Atticus shook his head. "How long do you think it will take until everyone from the House Elf to the Minister knows about Lestrange's affliction?"

"What do you care so much, Atty?" Rupert asked. "You're normally the first person to throw someone under a speeding hippogriff."

"I don't care about Montgomery." Atticus curled his lip. "But think of what it will do to my reputation if it gets out that I'm associated with a madman."

Tom decided to guide this conversation. "I don't think you have a reputation after the Ministry debacle, Avery. But I, too, care very little for Lestrange. I'm more curious about you, Orion."

"Me?" Orion looked affronted. "What else did I do?"

"Why are you being so open with our newest arrival? What is so enthralling about him that you spill one of your companion's deepest secrets upon second meeting? Even for you, that was… unpredictable."

"Oh." Orion frowned. "I… this is going to sound stupid."

"Don't worry, you'll always have Grahams to make you look like a genius in comparison," Rupert said breezily.

Orion quirked a small grin. "Peters– Harrison… he reminds me of Dorea, for some reason."

"Dorea? Cygnus and Violetta's girl? My father worked with her," Atticus revealed, to everyone's great amazement.

"More petty connections," Rupert trilled. "When will it end?"

"How does he remind you of her?" Tom cut the other two off, focusing on Orion.

"I don't know, it's something in the face shape, or fingers… it's strange. But she was always nice, only nine years older than me. I think we were engaged at one point, until she started seeing that Potter man." Orion shrugged. "But also… I guess I just like him. Harrison has personality."

"He doesn't have anything, yet." Atticus leaned back. "I'm curious to see him in Defence. See if he lives up to his bravado- he's almost Gryffindorish, isn't he?"

There was a silence, as everyone considered their new housemate.

"Cassius? What do you think?" Tom asked. Cassius, regardless of his strangeness, always gave valuable insight.

The boy in question sighed, slamming his book closed. "I think," he said heavily. "That Harrison can do just as much good as he can damage."

Atticus groaned.

"Piercing observation!" Rupert laughed in delight.

But Cassius wasn't finished. "And, if you must know… regardless of his intent…" he smiled. "I like him. He has balls."

"And a ringing endorsement!" Rupert declared. "Harrison's racking up the points! But what does Tom think? He really seems to hate you."

"He really does." Orion nodded. "What did you do to him?"

"He has just experienced a trauma," Cassius reminded them all lightly. "It's enough to make anyone a little off."

"I think," Tom said lightly. "That it's far too early to make a judgement. And Rupert, you know that I don't like anybody," he spoke drily.

"Like a stunner to the heart!" Rupert clutched his chest and fell forwards onto the table.

"You have jam in your hair."

"Shit."

The bell went to signal the end of breakfast, and the entire hall began to clear in unison. Tom, being more intelligent than the general populous, decided to wait until the rush was over. His acquaintances followed his lead.

The hall was nearly empty when, suddenly, Tom felt a tugging on his sleeve. He looked down and there, standing at his elbow, was a small first year Ravenclaw. He smiled down at her kindly, sure that not a hair of his ensemble was out of place.

"Excuse me, sir," she murmured nervously.

"How can I help you?"

"One of the third years said I should go to you if I needed help. I, uh, don't know where I'm going."

Tom nodded seriously. He imagined her running back to her friends and telling them how helpful and handsome Tom Riddle had been, and the curious faces that would watch him for a few days, and then the respectful gazes that were sure to follow soon after. They would join the masses. (For some reason, Harrison's expression of disapproval floated to the front of his mind. The masses, save one, perhaps.)

"Where do you need to go?" he asked, his voice dripping over consonants like melted chocolate.

She coloured bright red and squeaked, "Transfigurations, with, uh, Dumbledore."

"Professor Dumbledore," Tom corrected gently, the words tasting like acid.

"Yes. Him."

Tom concealed his smirk and turned back to Avery and the others, who still waited, watching him for their cue. "You can go to your next lesson. I'll lead Miss…?"

"Macmillan."

"Miss Macmillan to her lesson," Tom said, inclining his head. "Now, let's get to the third floor…"

Luckily, the location of the Potions classroom hadn't changed, so Harry was able to trot quickly down the stairs, lower and lower into the bowel of the school; until he reached the small, heavy door.

Harry used his few minutes until the bell rang to thoroughly beat his head against the cool dungeon wall. What the hell had he been thinking? He'd not woken in the best of moods (being later than most first years tended to do that. He'd just been so tired), and entering a room to see Tom Riddle's smug face was sure to inflict pain upon anyone. He'd thought that he might have been able to sneak past unnoticed, but no. And Montgomery…

Harry rested his forehead on the damp stone and groaned.

Thank god Rodolphus and Bellatrix never had kids- poor thing would have inherited a whole new kind of unhinged. Insane Black genes + insane Lestrange genes = extra crazy Lestrange-Black.

Urgh. Why couldn't Harry just find it within himself to keep quiet? Ignore the taunts and hold his tongue until he blended into the background? He had to try harder. Insults about his parents weren't anything new.

Orion, Lestrange, Riddle… his frustrations blended into one mix of absolute misery, which he was only broken out of by the sharp tones of the early bell. Ouch. Harry rubbed his head and regretted everything.

He did think he had a right to. Losing the only family you ever had, being ripped away from your friends, and being put in close proximity with your mortal enemy had to count for something, right?

Whatever, Harry sighed. He just had to get through each day as they came.

The Potions classroom was very different to how Harry remembered it. Snape had kept his class in a cold, damp space; dark, void of natural light. It had been boiling in the summer, the kind of heat that you can't escape from, and icy in the winter, cold enough to freeze your tongue to your lips. Snape's classroom had been like him: dark, dirty, and unpleasant to be around.

Slughorn was a very different sort of man — Harry could tell. His classroom was warm and luxurious, furnished with comfortable stools and burnished desks. The wall coverings disguised the mildew on the walls, and a luscious carpet muffled any peculiar echoes or noises. Cauldrons were provided, one between two, each one embellished with gold, and gleaming black.

Harry was distinctly reminded of something Hermione had once said: 'everything that glitters isn't gold' or something. He and Ron had been playing exploding snap when she said it, so he hadn't been paying attention.

"Welcome, young man!" A large man, with a round belly and two chins folded over one another. "The newest member of my house! I'm sorry I couldn't welcome you last night, but I'm sure Tom took good care of you. I had a little tête-à-tête to attend to. You'll understand, of course. Perhaps you could attend one in the future. I could introduce you to a few people." The man winked.

Harry had no idea how to deal with this. "I–er–okay?" He'd never been good at dealing with fans, and this man managed to sound both self-important and admiring. It made Harry feel quite uncomfortable.

"Excellent, excellent," Professor Slughorn rumbled. "Good lad. Take a seat. You're a little early, but punctuality is the politeness of Purebloods, eh?"

Harry blinked, shocked. "Riddle– er, Tom – said that earlier. But he said princes."

"That'll be the muggle version. Poor Tom, try as he might, he never did overcome his muggle upbringing. Shame: he's such a talented young man. He could be Minister, if he wanted to be."

"I'm sure he could," Harry said, meaning every word. He did wonder why Tom Riddle had never gone down the political route. He had the charm, the intelligence and the ambition.

"Are you enjoying your time here so far?"

"Mm," Harry said distantly. Whilst anything was better than the Dursleys, he'd rather have been at the Burrow; surrounded by the Weasleys, spending time with Ron and Hermione. Ron and Hermione… were they worried, sat at the Burrow in tense silence? Or were they still lying in St Mungo's, skin white as the sheets they lay on? Were Mr and Mrs Weasley arguing in quiet tones, as Dumbledore offered a calm facade of understand? Did Remus blame Harry for Sirius? Did he hate him?

Slughorn must have noticed how morose Harry had become, because he offered him a sympathetic wobble of the chin. "I'm sorry about your parents. I'm sure they were wonderful people. Did I know them?"

"Probably," Harry said vaguely. It was strange; his parents were the least recent of his sorrows, but everyone seemed so concerned over them. "And they were. Wonderful. They were great."

"I'm sure." Slughorn clapped him on the shoulder. "Well, chin up. This war will be over before you know it."

Harry snorted. He'd been fighting a war since the moment he was born, and it would still be raging fifty years from now.

The second bell rang, and students began to trickle into the classroom, conversing amongst themselves quietly.

"Harrison!" Orion said, bounding towards him. "You found your way here! I thought you might've gotten lost, it being your first day."

"Yes," Riddle said smugly, following at a distance. "I'm curious. How did you find the potions classroom?"

"Someone directed me," Harry said uncomfortably. Suspicious bastard. What was he supposed to do; let Riddle walk him to every lesson like a first year?

"How kind of them." Riddle raised a delicate eyebrow. He probably plucked, Harry thought viciously.

"Ah, Tom!" Slughorn chortled, clapping a meaty hand to Riddle's shoulder. "Always so concerned about others. It's that attitude that'll get you places, my boy."

Riddle gave a smile so forced that Harry was surprised Slughorn didn't melt. "Thank you, sir. I'm glad you have faith in me."

"Always, Tom. Now, why don't you boys take a seat?"

Harry cast a look around the classroom, but the only empty chair seemed to be next to Riddle. He inwardly groaned: the universe had to be against him.

"Harrison, could sit next to me?" Orion suggested eagerly. He seemed to be sat next to the irritating boy from last night—Jaspar Gray, or something, so Harry wasn't surprised that Orion wanted a replacement. He felt a sting of guilt—hadn't Harry once thought about Neville like that? And then Neville had turned out to be one of the bravest people he knew.

"Nonsense, Mr Black," Slughorn mused. "I'm afraid that Mr Grahams may explode something without your guidance. No, Mr Peters, I think you'd best sit next to Tom. I did have him working on more advanced Potions, but I'm sure he can look after you for the next few lessons whilst you catch up. If you have any issues, don't hesitate to talk to me."

Harry gave Slughorn a pained grin and went to sit down next to Riddle. He hoped he didn't look as miserable as he felt.

"You needn't look so disappointed." Riddle observed shrewdly. "I'm not going to curse you."

Apparently he looked exactly as miserable as he felt.

"We're going to be learning about the Polyjuice Potion today, class," Slughorn announced, and all attention was on him. "Now can anyone tell me what that is?"

Riddle raised his hand, of course, and Slughorn gestured to him. "The Polyjuice Potion is a potion that allows the drinker to assume the form of someone else, for a limited period of time. It is a difficult and complicated potion to brew, with many crucial steps and stages of brewing, and a lengthy stewing time."

"Precisely!" Slughorn beamed. "Excellent job, Tom. 10 points to Slytherin. Can anyone tell me the characteristics of the Polyjuice Potion?"

Riddle's hand shot into the air.

"—other than Mr Riddle?"

Riddle lowered his arm, laughing good-naturedly. Harry was the only one close enough perceive his tenseness and the slight baring to his teeth. Harry, shrugging and throwing his cares over his shoulder, thrust his hand into the air.

Slughorn looked thoroughly shocked. "Yes! Mr Peters!"

"A really disgusting taste," Harry said, pulling a face, "and different colours based on the person you're becoming. And quite a thick, sort of sludgey consistency."

"Correct," Slughorn declared, looking utterly delighted. "5 more points."

"I didn't know you had experience with Polyjuice, Harrison," Riddle murmured lowly.

"I don't," Harry said uncomfortably. Polyjuice wasn't something that normal students brewed, was it? Harry couldn't remember ever learning about it in Potions.

Riddle didn't look like he believed him.

"And what are some of the dangers associated with Polyjuice Potion?" Slughorn asked.

This time Slughorn allowed Riddle to stick up his hand and answer the question. "If any animal hair should fall into the potion, or be mistaken for human hair, the drinker can take on animal characteristics."

"And this is especially disastrous because…?"

"Because it's difficult to get rid of. And takes ages," Harry said quietly, remembering Hermione's furry face and the horrifying time she had spent under Madam Pomfrey's 'gentle' thumb.

"Right again!" Slughorn boomed. "Looks like we have quite the power couple here!"

Harry blanched at the word 'couple' ever being associated with Riddle and him.

"And so," Slughorn continued in a dramatically low tone. "To properly examine the potion that Mr Riddle and Mr Peters just described, we're going to have a little project. Polyjuice Potion takes several weeks to make, and another month to stew, but we're going to do it!"

Pause for effect. Slughorn didn't seem to understand why the entire class didn't erupt with amazement, but he soldiered on. "Now, there are 2 distinct stages to brewing Polyjuice, so we'll do the first stage this lesson and the next, and then leave it to rest for about a week."

Slughorn waved his wand, and elaborate, curly writing appeared on the blackboard behind him.

"Instructions are on the board; ingredients are in the cupboard. You can find both lacewing flies stewed for twenty-one days and fluxweed picked on the full moon at the front of the classroom. Let's get to it!"

Harry scanned the instructions quickly.

"I'll get the lacewing and the fluxweed; you get the knotgrass and the leeches," Riddle said, and swept to the front of the class before Harry could object.

"Not your Death Eater," Harry grumbled, but retreated to the ingredients cupboard anyway. It wasn't worth fighting over.

Riddle and Harry worked surprisingly well together. Riddle did much of the timing, adding and mixing, but he let Harry prepare the ingredients and didn't fuss much when Harry took charge of some steps. They got through the lesson with minimal arguing.

They did better than some pairings, at least. Slughorn was a constant stream of: "Mr Black, stop him!" or "this could've melted your flesh away had you continued" and "that shade of pink indicates high levels of poison, Miss Babbage". In comparison, Harry and Tom worked remarkably well together.

In fact, the lesson could have even have gone close to what Harry would call 'bearable', if it hadn't been for Riddle's constant questions. In between the adding fluxweed and knotgrass, the stirring and wand-waving, Riddle was a constant stream of 'how did you know that?', 'have you done this before?', and he seemed strangely interested in Harry's wand core.

"But what is it?" he persisted.

"I can't remember," Harry said.

"Unicorn hair? Dragon blood?"

"I said, I can't remember!" Harry claimed. He wasn't going to tell Riddle that he had the same wand core as him.

"How can you 'not remember'? It's your wand!" Riddle insisted.

"I have a rubbish memory."

"You remembered the characteristics of Polyjuice well enough."

"It was a fluke."

"A fluke?"

"It was just something random. I think one of my parents made it once." Harry could feel the frustration from Riddle build up, and to be honest, Harry wasn't faring much better.

"Alright class!" Slughorn announced, clapping his hands.

Harry sagged in relief.

"Now these potions need to brew for 80 minutes before the next step. We're nearing the end of class, so if you leave your cauldrons where they are, I'll place a stasis charm on them once the 80 minutes are up."

The class started packing away, and Harry felt a sense of immeasurable smugness. He could finally escape from Riddle.

"I'll take you to your next class," Riddle said quickly.

Shit. How could Harry get out of this? "I'm sure we don't share any other classes."

"Well, what are you taking for N.E.W.T.s?"

"Charms, Defence, Herbology, Potions, and Transfiguration." All the ingredients needed for an Auror.

Riddle grinned triumphantly. "We share three classes: Potions, Transfiguration and Defence."

"Well, I have double Herbology next," Harry replied, curling his lip.

"I'll walk you to the greenhouses. I have a free period." Riddle half-snarled, stepping closer to Harry and looming over him. His breath caused steam to gather on Harry's glasses. Not for the first time, Harry cursed his height. The air around them crackled with tension.

"Tom? Harrison?" Orion's voice was like a well-placed repulso, shattering the atmosphere like glass. Harry turned away from the Slytherin prefect immediately, wiping away the steam on his glasses with his shirt.

"Yes?" Riddle's silky voice settled around Harry's shoulders, and he felt the tension melt away. He had to keep his cool.

"I was just wondering if Harrison wanted me to take him to Herbology? I have it next…"

"Yeah!" Harry yelled suddenly, grasping onto Orion's sleeve. "What a great plan. Riddle, you can go to the library or something."

And Harry began hurrying them away, pulling Orion along. The burning, furious gaze of Tom Riddle lingered between his shoulder blades, and he walked faster. He'd be safe if he just got around the corner.

"Thanks," he told Orion, relaxing as they put several inches of solid stone between them and Riddle.

"Well, I had to do something. You looked like you were going to curse each other."

"We probably would have." Harry let out a huff of laughter.

"Listen, Peters–Harrison." Orion drew them to a sudden stop. "You need to be… you need to be careful around Riddle, okay? He's brilliant, but…" Orion seemed to struggle with the words. "Just be careful. He's not someone you want to be on the bad side of. By all means, give him a little bit of attitude, Merlin knows Cassius does… just don't take it too far."

"I know. Believe me, I know," Harry said honestly. He was touched that Orion cared so much.

"Good." Orion beamed, bouncing into a walk. "That went much better than expected. Honestly, you give some people advice, and they bite your head off."

Harry got the impression he was talking about Atticus.

"So Herbology now!" Orion began babbling. "I really love carnivorous flowers. They're often quite delicate, but they have a hidden cruelty, y'know?"

Harry gave Orion that 'mmm' of agreement that had always annoyed Hermione, but his mind was elsewhere.

Library. He had told Riddle to go to a library. The place of books and knowledge. Where else to go to find knowledge on time travel? Maybe he could get home.

"After Herbology, would you take me to the library?" He asked Orion slowly, as they exited the castle and skidded down the bank to the large glass houses.

"Sure."

The two hours of Herbology passed slowly. There wasn't much to do: unlike Slughorn, Professor Beery decided that an introduction was needed. Half of the first lesson was occupied by a recap of previous years and the rest by repotting dittany plants.

Harry and Orion kept up an easy conversation as they worked together, and Harry found himself growing to like the boy more and more. He was similar to Sirius; all effortless charm and grace, but he had a more innocent quality to him. And Merlin, could he talk.

He could go on…

"My father's an Unspeakable, in the Department of Mysteries. He's actually the head of something. I don't know what, of course, but he's met a lot of important people. I'm very proud of him; we all are..."

And on…

"My favourite band at the moment is Unicorn Bath. They're not very popular, but they've got some really good tunes…"

And on.

"Cassius told me that I could beat Tom at chess if I played him whilst a cat distracted him? I'm not sure how; none of us own a cat, and I don't think Tom cares for them much. But I've been trying to beat him for ages…"

Inevitably, the subject of blood purity came up. Harry very soon wished that it didn't.

"Now, don't get me wrong; I have no problem with halfbloods," Orion said gently. "Even some Mudbloods are okay, as long as they have proper manners and breeding. After years in the Wizarding World, they can even erase some of the lingering stains of their birth. And I can even deal with Muggles, as long as they stay in their own part of the world. But I tell you, I can't stand it when the parents of Mudbloods come into our world, poking around and just generally yelling their ignorance They're dirty, ignorant and hateful. It's grating and insulting."

"But they're just people," Harry said, shell-shocked. Where had this come from? He put down his spade. "Just normal people."

"One of my ancestors was a victim of the witch burnings. They beat his head in until he couldn't cast a single spell and threw him on a pyre. What they're capable of..." Orion shook his head. "We need to make sure we don't mix."

"But they're so much more than that now!" Harry told him. "They've changed, honestly."

"But they still burn witches, don't they? My aunt said-"

"Of course, they don't!" Harry let out a disbelieving laugh. "Witch burnings haven't happened since the 1700s."

Orion looked genuinely taken-aback. "Oh."

"And Muggles aren't dirty. They have running water. They have education. They have everything wizards have–"

"Except magic."

"Yeah, except magic." Harry wondered if he should tell Orion about the semi-automatic rifles Muggles had to make up for their lack of magic, but decided that if Orion's issue was fear, telling him about the murder-weapons that Muggles had created probably wouldn't help.

This conversation had thoroughly shaken Harry. This stark and unabashed prejudice from one of the kindest people he'd met in this time… he'd never heard anything like it before, not in his lifetime. Maybe Voldemort had changed things.

"Muggles, they're just like you and me," Harry spoke slowly, passionately. He had to make Orion understand this, for some reason. "They have flaws, and cause violence, and hold radical views… but Orion, they're just people without wands."

"I've never been told any of this. I thought…" Orion still looked doubtful, and Harry rolled his eyes.

"I'll take you."

"What?"

"Summer holidays. We'll go into Muggle London, and I'll show you what they're actually like. Yeah, they're not perfect—" Really not perfect, Harry thought, privately remembering the Dursleys. "—but they're not monsters."

"Okay," Orion decided, growing more excited. "Sure. I've never been into Muggle London. I've heard they still conduct public executions…" He trailed off upon seeing Harry's face. "But that may not be true."

"It's not," Harry said, of that he was certain.

"But we'll have to make sure it doesn't clash with Walburga's wedding."

"Her what?"

"Wedding. She's getting married to one of our cousins, Apus Black. I have to be there."

"But she married you." And you have Sirius! Harry finished in his head.

"If only." Orion sighed. "She's amazing. I'll introduce you at lunch."

"Lunch? How old is she?"

"She's a seventh year."

"And she's getting married?!"

"Yes. Apus is a few years older, so he's travelling back from Romania to marry her. She'll be going back there with him after the wedding, I think. He holds substantial land there; the Blacks hold land everywhere, but Walburga's always wanted to go abroad."

Harry didn't respond, still reeling from shock. If Walburga didn't marry Orion, would Sirius ever be born? Or did Harry have his family members messed up? But Harry had been sure that Orion was Sirius' father… and he'd met Walburga, unfortunately.

"Hey, Harrison," Orion said quietly.

"Harry," he responded, rubbing his eyes and focusing in on Orion. He could've sworn he'd already given them all permission to use that.

"Harry, then. How do you know all this stuff? About the muggles." Orion phrased his words carefully.

"My mother was Muggleborn," Harry said, steeling himself for the response.

"Oh." Orion seemed reflective. "I guess you know what you're talking about then."

Orion was quiet for the rest of the lesson, and his plant-potting became automatic. He was lost in a world of his own. Harry let his own work become similarly thoughtless and therapeutic as he worked mechanically with a plant that may one day save a life. The lesson crawled by, until lunch arrived. Harry couldn't have been more grateful.

"I'll take you to lunch first," Orion told Harry enthusiastically, his spirits having bounced back. "And then I can take you to the library."

"I have a free period next, anyway."

"You'll get plenty of time, then — maybe you could study with Cassius! He spends a lot of his time there. Tom does too, but he doesn't like to be disturbed whilst working. Grahams tried to read over Tom's shoulder once, and I thought Tom might turn him inside out."

"Does he do a lot of that: turning people inside out?" Harry asked casually, trying to grasp where exactly on the threat level Tom Riddle currently resided.

"Not more than once," Orion said cheerily. "She deserved it though."

Harry thoroughly doubted that, but Orion seemed susceptible, and Harry thought he'd grasped enough moral victories for one day.

The Great Hall at lunch was even more packed than breakfast. Clearly, some students had decided to skip their morning meal or hadn't already finished by the time Harry arrived, because Harry would go as far to say that the numbers of students had almost doubled at lunch. The wall of sound that hit you upon entering the room was insane.

Harry pushed through the crowds of first years, and reluctantly reconciled himself with spending more time in proximity to Lestrange and Riddle. His favourite people.

"Oh." Orion stopped abruptly, and Harry bumped into him.

"What?"

"We have guests."

Harry peered over Orion's shoulder. Lestrange was nowhere to be seen, and Cassius appeared to be similarly missing. Instead, there were new faces: three, in fact. Riddle seemed to be deep in conversation with them, his entire concentration caught. The three new arrivals were older; probably seventh years.

"It's her," Orion breathed.

"Walburga," Harry murmured back, recognising the younger version of the portrait at Grimmauld Place. She was certainly prettier in her youth; hair the colour of coffee twisted back into a low bun, and wide, doe-eyes. Her face was soft and youthful, with a sweet button nose and full-lipped smirk. This girl looked like she would scream at the sight of the woman she would become.

"She's beautiful, isn't she?"

"She's certainly something." Harry frowned. He wondered what could turn the Walburga of now into the Walburga of the future; spitting and raving at her haunted and hollowed son.

Walburga laughed at something Riddle said, whilst batting her eyes playfully. Orion sighed longingly and started drifting towards her. Harry rolled his eyes, following behind reluctantly.

"Orion! Harrison!" Riddle greeted smoothly, flashing them both an attractive smile. "Won't you join us? I was just talking about you to Abraxas, Harrison. All nice things, I assure you."

"I was just talking about you to Orion, Riddle." Harry shot back. "I wish I could say the same."

Riddle laughed delightedly. "This is the kind of sparkling wit I was just telling you about, Abraxas."

An older version of Draco Malfoy, blond hair and all, gave a polite chuckle in reply and reached out to shake Harry's hand. "Abraxas Malfoy, wonderful to meet you."

"Harry Peters." And he shook the hand.

"I was so sorry to hear about your unfortunate circumstances. Tom didn't say who your parents were…?"

"Wonderful people."

"Yes, I'm sure they were. Quite, quite wonderful. But that wasn't entirely what I meant. Their names…?"

"Lily and James," Harry replied automatically. Using their real names meant that Harry was less likely to mess up (and felt like it was less of a betrayal).

Abraxas smiled thinly. "I've never heard of them…"

"Have you not? My father was a Pureblood, and my mother was a Muggleborn. I'm sure it was quite the scandal." Harry sat down, and offered Abraxas a basket. "Chicken wing?"

"How very… singular," Abraxas pursed his lips and 'discreetly' wiped his hand on his robes. "And, no, thank you. I'm a vegetarian."

"Shame." Harry smiled mockingly, slowly and obviously placing a chicken wing on his plate.

"Are you sure you won't have a thighbone, Abraxas? The house elves do cook them wonderfully, and I think it's a shame to limit your options so." Tom suggested.

"Well, maybe a thighbone, my- my Tom," Abraxas stuttered uncomfortably, taking the meat and nibbling on it.

Harry snorted; amused despite himself. He caught Riddle winking at him and couldn't hide a grin.

"I'm Walburga, of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black," Walburga introduced, extending the back of her hand across the table and giving him a coy titter. Harry kissed it awkwardly. "My cousin tells me you've been a great friend to him."

Orion gave Harry a thumbs up.

"I hope we'll become even better friends in the future," Harry replied.

"I'm sure," Walburga preened. "He did tell me of your summer plans — visiting muggle London, was it…?"

A few people, Abraxas, Atticus, and Dolohov in particular, winced and hissed slightly.

"Oh." Of course. Harry hadn't even thought about how potentially offensive people could find it, especially Sirius' hag of a mother—

"I think it's a wonderful idea. To understand those lesser than us, we must first walk in their footsteps. We're also holding a charity ball during the Summer holidays, to raise money for those under-privileged few; like those poor Muggleborns. I do hope you can join us?" Walburga held out an invitation, and Harry took it uncertainly. "I know it's a little early—"

"About a year early," Rupert chimed in.

"But charity must never be last minute," Walburga finished, looking almost angelic.

"'Burga's very organised," Orion said adoringly. "She runs all the women's events, and they're always brilliant."

Said 'Burga' laughed prettily, fanning her face. "Oh stop it, you."

Harry wondered if burgers had reached the Wizarding World yet. He also didn't fail to notice that one new arrival had yet to be introduced; a hulking figure of a bloke, broad-shouldered and heavy set in the face. He clutched his wand like a club, and glared down at all surrounding him. This had been Harry's idea of a future death eater.

"This is my friend, Lucian Nott," Walburga introduced regally. "He's hoping to work in the Ministry."

"Yeah," Lucian replied, voice low and gravelly. Harry made a mental note not to get into a fistfight with him.

"So how are you finding Hogwarts so far, Harrison?" Walburga asked sweetly. "How are you adjusting? You were home-schooled, weren't you?"

"Er, yeah." Harry struggled to conjure up memories of first year. How had he felt? "It's a bit weird being around so many new people. Sometimes, I feel like they're all looking at me."

"Oh, they are," Walburga assured him loftily. "New students are always of interest. We've got one in second year, two in fourth year and… one in fifth year, I believe? And you, of course. Just ignore it: it all dies down eventually."

"You have, er, a lot of us, then?"

"The war creates a lot of orphans," Riddle said softly.

There was a long silence, before Walburga turned to Rupert. "So, how's your mother? Tell her I'm sorry I couldn't make it to the wedding; I had an urgent flower delivery that couldn't wait."

"She'll understand." Rupert perked up. "Flowers, eh? Hey!" He declared, turning to Atticus. "You 'oak' me a favour!"

Atticus snorted. "No, I don't."

Rupert waited a few moments before elaborating. "It was a joke."

"No, it wasn't."

"Yes, it was."

"I didn't laugh."

"That's because you have a shit sense of humour."

"I beg your pardon—!"

"I beg your foot up—!"

"GENTLEMEN!" Abraxas bellowed, raising his hands. "Please!" He glanced at Tom, who was attempting to read a newspaper.

Tom raised his head, wearing an exaggeratedly befuddled expression. Atticus and Avery shrunk into their seats. "Oh no," Tom said chidingly. "Don't stop on my part. I was fascinated to see how long this immaturity would continue."

Walburga let out a forced laugh and directed the attention back to Harry, who didn't appreciate it. "So, what do you like to do? Surely we don't have yet another bookworm in our midst?"

"I like to play Quidditch." Harry missed it, actually; the sensation of soaring through the air, diving through the sky: entire being focused on one spec of victory… the exhilaration.

"Oh!" Walburga shrieked, clapping her hands together. "What position are you?"

"Seeker."

"What luck! Our current seeker: Christina Day, is a seventh year. She's leaving at the end of this year. Maybe next year you could sign up. I'm sure we'd all love seeing you fly."

"No," Tom said certainly, turning a newspaper page.

"Excuse me?" Harry asked, swivelling in his seat to face the object of his annoyance.

Tom blessed them all with his attention. "Harrison's not playing Quidditch. It's a foolhardy sport based on the possibility of breaking your neck. It's not a worthwhile pursuit. You'd be better off studying."

"Well, maybe I don't care if you think it's not a 'worthwhile pursuit'," Harry bit out. "I think I will join next year."

"No, you won't." Tom chuckled.

Harry glared. "We'll see."

"Orion's quite the Quidditch player," Walburga said quickly. "He used to practice in the garden when we came to visit. Doing all these loops and tricks — an adorable little chaser."

"I'd chase you anywhere," Orion whispered.

Walburga shrieked with laughter. "He's so funny!"

"Throwing off yet another suitor, Walla? When will it end?" came a droll voice from just over Harry's shoulder. He pivoted, coming face to face (or rather: face to breast, due to his sitting position) with another girl.

"Don't be silly, Ella. Orion's just sweet. HARRY!" Walburga said suddenly, fluttering her hands. "You haven't met Ella!"

"I'm not sure how he's coped," came the sarcastic reply from the girl — Ella, as she leaned on Walburga's shoulder.

"Harry, this is Druella Rosier, one of my dear friends."

"Hi," Harry said, lifting an arm to wave slightly.

"Not kissing my hand?" Druella smirked, and then laughed when Harry rushed to apologise. "Don't be — it's refreshing."

"Won't you sit down, Ella? We were just discussing Quidditch. Ella's the keeper — she's very good." Walburga told Harry fondly.

"Sorry, can't stay. I'm looking for Cassie?" Druella rolled her eyes. "Mother's getting worried. He hasn't replied to any of her letters."

"He's probably lost in fairyland," Sirius' mother – and there was a weird thought – giggled.

"He's in the library," Rupert said, winking at Druella and wriggling his eyebrows suggestively. "You could always stay here…"

"Down boy," Druella replied snarkily. "I'll go find him then. See you in Astronomy, Walla. Bye, Harry." She went to leave, but paused. "Actually, Riddle?"

"Mm?"

"Is there anything in that newspaper of yours about the Witches Suffrage meeting?"

"Not that I saw," Riddle flicked through the pages again, to check. Harry thought he looked quite annoyed. "No, nothing here."

"Damn it—"

"Ella, language!"

"We've been blocked by the Wizengamot again, haven't we? I'll write a letter." Druella frowned fiercely. "But I'd better find my brother."

"Brother?!" Harry yelped in surprise, tuning into the conversation properly for the first time.

"Yes: brother." Druella said, like she was doubting Harry's intelligence. "Cassius Rosier? He did say you'd met."

It wasn't hard to see why Harry had a difficult time making the connection, despite the identical surnames. Druella and Cassius looked nothing alike. Druella was blond, for a start: curly, wild hair the colour of wheat. Her eyes were wild and bright, and her skin dotted with constellations of freckles. She was a lot taller than Cassius, too, and her limbs ganglier. And she was different in her existence — like she was more solid, more there. She didn't feel like she could drift off at any moment. But the siblings shared the hooded eyes, and full lips the colour of strawberries.

And if she was Cassius' sister… that meant she was Bellatrix' mother. Looking closer, Harry supposed it wasn't a complete surprise. The eyes, the hair… add on something from Cassius and a Black family member… yes, he supposed he could see it.

Harry realised he needed to reply. "Oh, we have. Er, met, I mean."

"That's good. Why the surprise then? Did he not tell you of his wonderful sister?"

Harry looked down sheepishly. "I just didn't see the resemblance."

"I'll take that as a compliment," Druella said cheekily, and strode away.

"I really do wish she'd walk more lady-like." Walburga pouted, watching her friend go. "She's almost like a man."

"Well, that's the point, isn't it?" Atticus said self-importantly. "Of that whole 'suffrage thing'. They want to be more like men."

Harry could only imagine what Hermione would say to that.

Riddle raised an eyebrow. "It's really not, Avery. The suffrage movement aims to give women equality, not to turn them into males. The movement involves providing equal rights, opportunities and social standings to both genders. I suggest you do your research before making outdated and ignorant statements."

Only Harry didn't need to imagine what Hermione would say — because it had just been said. By Tom Riddle.

That was freaky.

Orion seemed to be momentarily recovered from the spell of Walburga Black, so Harry got to his feet and tapped him on the shoulder.

"Take me to the library?"

"Oh, sure." Orion clambered up, almost tripping over his robes. "Bye Burga," he said, reaching out as if to touch her.

"Bye, Orion!" She smiled, showing pearly, perfect teeth.

Orion swallowed and turned away, walking quickly. Harry hurried to catch up.

"I did okay, right?" Orion asked nervously. "I wasn't too much of a fool."

"You were fine," Harry assured.

"Phew," Orion exhaled. "Sometimes, when she talks to me, I just black out, and I don't know what happens."

"Perhaps that's for the best."

"Hey, are you okay?" Orion said, in a concerned voice, probably noticing Harry's sickly colour.

"I'm fine. I just need to realign my whole world view," Harry muttered, as they left the Great Hall.

Apparently, Tom Riddle was a feminist. And he hadn't said anything in response to Harry's mention of muggle London, or halfblood-ism. Harry was starting to wonder if Voldemort's campaign hadn't been based off of appeal, rather than actual belief.

The library, to put it frankly, was a bust. Not only that, but it was almost entirely devoid of any kind of books on time magic. Harry wasn't sure if that was because they were too advanced, or because they hadn't been written yet.

Harry leant back in his comfortable armchair and suppressed the urge to scream. He was completely surrounded by books, and none of them helpful.

So what else could he do?

He could go to the Ministry, but what would they do to him? Did he really want to tell them that he was a time traveller? What if they experimented on him or decided he was a threat to the timeline and locked him up? Plus, his fifth year hadn't really inspired any confidence of government in him. He wasn't sure if this time's policy was still 'when stuff goes wrong, blame it on the fifteen-year-old'. He didn't want to risk that.

He could go to Dumbledore… but Harry didn't trust him, not really. Dumbledore had spent the last year entirely ignoring Harry and acting like he was possessed or something (which hadn't helped when Harry thought he actually was). How could Harry go and confide in a man that hadn't met Harry's eyes for 9 months? That let him blunder into the Ministry unprepared and get Sirius killed? That left Umbridge in charge?

He couldn't, was the answer. He couldn't.

Which left, funnily enough, the place that had solved his issues last year: the Room of Requirement. But would that work? Could he really just wish for books on time magic and get them? Harry didn't even know how the room worked. If someone had left a book in there once, could the room give it to Harry? Could the room retrieve a book from somewhere in the castle? Could it create one?

There was only one way to find out.

Unfortunately, at that moment the bell rang. Harry had to go to double Charms.

After, he vowed. After.

Harry's first day ended with Harry sneaking out after curfew, lurking in shadows and longing for his Invisibility cloak. When he found the Room of Requirement, he wished desperately for books on time, walking up and down the corridor thrice, then opened the door. And there they were. A pile of tomes; thick, thin, ripped, pristine, just waiting for him. Harry didn't know how they got there, but he wasn't complaining.

He just got right to reading. There had to be something in here on time travel.

There had to be.