At first, there was only white.
And then a piercing, deafening, wrenching ringing in his ears, and the screech of metal on metal.
Then the burning sting of heat that started somewhere inside of him and spread quickly; creeping fingers of fire ripping through his veins and culminating at his fingertips. His hands were on fire, his back was on fire, he was burning godhewasburningmerlinsomeonehelphimhecouldn'tseeithurt-
Harry took a deep breath, and his eyes shot open.
"Oh thank Merlin," Sirius said with heavy relief, dropping his wand to his side. "I thought you were-"
Ignoring the fiery pain pulsing through his body, Harry threw himself at his godfather. He sobbed hard, scrunching his face as he breathed deeply, and pressed himself closer to Sirius's robes. Harry couldn't bring himself to speak, he was so overcome with emotion.
It had worked, goddammit. It had worked.
He was home.
And he would look around to see his friends. Ron would look worried, Hermione would fuss- Ginny would give him that vicious grin that made her whole face light up. And Luna would say something vague, but Neville would have a new kind of plant-
Sirius squawked and scrambled away, pushing Harry off of him. "What are you doing?" And his voice was higher than Harry remembered, but maybe it was the shock-
Harry drank in his godfather's face hungrily. The sharp incisors, the scars, and crowfeet around his eyes…
Huh.
They weren't there.
Harry grabbed Sirius' cheeks with his hands, his pain-hazed vision fading. He took in everything; the thinner lips, the wide and panicked eyes, the longer hair, the rounder nose, the youth- the Slytherin robes.
"Orion," Harry whispered, and it was like the word was torn from his very soul; tugged from his lips and smashed on the ground. "Oh."
This wasn't his godfather, returned from the dead; youthful and glowing. This was Sirius' father, looking like Harry might attack him at any moment.
Harry glanced around, finally seeing the chaos he was in the midst of. But it wasn't the chaos of the Ministry under Death Eater attack; this was the Slytherin boys' dormitory; torn to pieces. Curtains sagging on railings, duvets and pillows burst and spilling feathers onto the carpet. Glass shattered, wood splintered.
Riddle's well-pressed tie hanging at the bottom of a bed.
He was still trapped in the past.
"W-what happened?" Harry whispered, flinching. Every movement hurt. "I-I-"
"You were taking ages in the dorm," Orion said, moving closer cautiously. "I came up to check on you, but you were unconscious. The room was a mess. And this-" Orion held up his hand, and for the first time, Harry noticed the time pendant clutched tight to his palm, "was around your neck, glowing. It was burning you- seared to your skin."
Harry's hand flew up to his neck, and he felt the raised, burned ridge encircling it for the first time. Harry bet that, should he put the pendant on again, his scar would match the chain perfectly. "I didn't think-"
"Exactly what were you thinking?" Orion snarled, and he looked angrier than Harry had ever seen him. In fact, Harry didn't think he had ever seen Orion angry. This was the key, Harry realised. To endanger those he cared about.
It was just bad for Harry that he was the one doing the endangering.
"I- I don't know," Harry admitted guiltily, throat hoarse.
"You told me you hadn't bought anything from that whore," Orion spat. "You lied to me."
Harry rushed to defend himself, but realised that he didn't actually have an excuse.
"Did you know what the necklace would do?" Orion demanded. "Was this some sort of contrived suicide attempt?"
"…No." Even to Harry, his voice sounded insignificant and small.
He'd been desperate, reckless, and blinded by anger at everything. He wanted to get away from these people, who talked like muggles were so insignificant- like they weren't even human. And he was willing to do anything to save his friends. But now, after the adrenaline had faded and he saw his actions in a more rational light… he just felt ashamed and appalled. What had he been thinking? This was the kind of Gryffindor recklessness he swore he'd stamp out of himself.
Orion obviously felt the same.
"So you recklessly put on a necklace that you had no idea about, didn't tell anyone what you were doing, and then almost died? What could be worth all that?"
"I wanted to travel in time," Harry burst out desperately, wanting someone to know. "I wanted to save my friends. They'll die because of me, I wasn't strong enough, I'm so sorry-" Harry's voice broke and he couldn't speak anymore. He just cradled his face in his hands, and sobbed.
Suddenly, he was encased in a strong, warm hug. Harry leant into it, breathing shakily.
"You can't change the past," Orion said softly. Harry didn't correct him- it was probably best that Orion misinterpreted what he meant. "Every day, I want to go back. I keep thinking that, maybe if I was earlier, I could do something to help Rigel, to stop the illness before it got this far. You mustn't tear yourself apart over something you can't change."
"I can't give up," Harry said stubbornly, and already the tears were drying on his cheeks.
"The magic isn't possible- it's not been invented yet."
"I have to try," Harry muttered. "I have to find a way."
Orion hesitated, and Harry withdrew from his arms.
"If you properly wanted to find out more about it," Orion offered thoughtfully. "The Department of Mysteries is the only place really looking into time magic. I think Father was talking about a project…"
Orion's anger seemed to have faded, now that he saw Harry wasn't harbouring any sort of suicidal urges, and was no longer in immediate danger.
"The Department of Mysteries?" Harry asked eagerly. Could it be possible that the place that had caused all of this mess could fix it? Of course it was- how had he been so stupid? "If I were an Unspeakable…"
"I could probably put in a good word with Father," Orion suggested brightly, caught up in the enthusiasm. "It's not easy- you need TOADS in Magical Theory and something else, but I'm sure you could do it."
"I could do it," Harry confirmed, grinning. He had a destination. He had a goal; something reachable, something tangible. He felt lighter and airier immediately. It would take a few years, but what were years when he could get back home at the end of them?
There was a moment of calm between the two of them, like the eye of a storm. Harry felt happier than he had… well, ever since he got here. He had a goal: he was no longer stumbling through the dark in search of something. He knew where he had to get, and he knew how. He could bloody well dance for joy.
(Harry couldn't ignore the sour taste of disappointment in the back of his throat from the failed pendant… but it was sweetened by purpose.)
"Oh!" Orion said in surprise, examining the jewellery in his hand. "Well, I don't know why all this happened," Orion remarked, frowning at the wrecked dormitory. "It was only a song pendant…"
"What?" Harry squawked. "But… it was like I was on fire."
"It shouldn't have done that. I know these pendants. Pedlars sell them to muggles and muggleborns because of their colouring, and pretend it's something rarer. But they're really quite common, and not at all dangerous."
Why did these things always happen to Harry? "What kind of 'song pendant' is it?"
"I suppose that was a bit of an oversimplification," Orion shrugged. "The necklace lets you listen to the sound of your magic. It turns it into music."
"That's… amazing," Harry gaped. Even after 5 years, the Wizarding World could still shock him.
"Not really. There's a spell that can do it more easily, so it's how most pureblood children are sent to sleep. I remember when I was little…" Orion sighed in remembrance, a small smile on his lips. "But it's done so often that most purebloods are bored sick of it by the time they're grown."
"Why didn't I hear that?" Harry wondered. The ripping feeling inside of him definitely hadn't been any kind of song.
"It must be a faulty one," Orion decided upon.
"Yeah," Harry nodded. "That's it."
They both looked at each other, and could tell the other one didn't entirely believe it.
Orion settled for a bright sigh. "Well. We'd better clean this up, otherwise the others are going to think Grindelwald attacked!"
Harry reflected on one aspect of the future he wouldn't miss.
Yeah, he thought drily. I've got a lot of experience with cleaning.
It didn't take long for the two of them to sort out the dorm. Magic made everything ten times quicker. It was only some of the organisation that they decided to do by hand, for fear of making more of a mess. A powerful reparo and scourgify solved most issues; the curtains knitted back together, the duvets sealed back up and the spilled feathers were vanished. The bed frames were as good as new, and Harry mended the crack on a picture of Orion's family without the other boy noticing.
Harry was quite cheerful throughout all of this. Orion still looked a little on edge, but seemed to mostly have forgotten the whole thing. Orion was changeable, and didn't linger on the bad stuff. Harry thought it was an admirable trait to have- he wished he were more like that. There was no way Harry would be so cheerful if he'd entered a room to see Ron, twitching and screaming as he burned…
Yeah, Harry winced, and felt a wave of guilt. Poor Orion.
Harry should make it up to him somehow. He wasn't sure how yet, but he would. He remembered dragging Ron and Hermione around the past year, snapping at them when he got in moods, and rolling his eyes at their arguments. But had he ever thanked them, or done something thoughtful? Not that he could remember. Granted, Harry had always been pretty distracted by toads and dark lords…
And it wasn't like Ron and Hermione were saints- but still.
Never mind. He'd make it up to Orion here, and then he'd apologise to his best friends when he got home. Maybe he and Hermione could show Ron a muggle film and watch his eyes bulge.
It would all be good.
"Are you really okay now?" Orion asked softly, plumping a cushion. Harry was surprised that he wasn't leaving it all for Harry to do, but then that wasn't the sort of person Orion was.
"Yeah, 'course."
"It's just…" Orion said delicately, resolutely not looking at Harry. He was being very thorough with the cushion. "You've been spiralling out of control over the past few weeks. Your moods- and your grades- have been everywhere. One minute you're happy and determined, and the next you're having a shouting match with Atticus. I thought what happened… earlier could have been the end result of all of it. Whilst I'm glad it wasn't- is this just one of the high moments?"
Harry laughed slightly, patting Orion on the back. "I think I'm good, yeah? I haven't been good in a long time but this, er, this feels like good."
And it did. Everything was good.
Harry didn't tell Orion that the golden scars tracing the lines of his chest glowed brighter and deeper for hours that day, aching uncomfortably, until the sun set.
He hoped it didn't mean anything.
Tom went to bed late and woke up late. At least it was a weekend.
He took the opportunity that being behind curtains granted to fix his hair, and to rub away the grain collected in the corner of his eyes. He had to retain some dignity, after all. When he finally emerged from his bed, he was looking as flawless as usual, and he had the envious look from Grahams and Atticus to prove it.
Tom received an unusually bright grin from Harrison, and smirked to himself. Ah, friendships: so beautiful in bloom. Tom always succeeded in his schemes.
Admittedly, Tom had been worried that yesterday might have changed Harrison's mind on their reconciliation, despite the fact that Tom refused to take a side in the dispute. But apparently, Harrison was satisfied with Tom's neutrality.
It was very clear that yesterday's argument was neither forgiven nor forgotten. The tension in the dorm was palpable. Atticus pointedly avoided looking at Harrison, but tittered when he tripped over a discarded pair of socks and dropped his glasses. Harrison barely even scowled at Avery, picking up his glasses and sliding them back onto his nose.
Orion fussed over his friend more than usual, checking that Harrison was okay and scanning him for injury. Tom frowned at the display. What could have prompted the protectiveness?
"Are you alright?" Tom asked lowly, as Harrison pulled on a jumper and Orion retreated to brush his teeth.
"Huh?" Harrison mumbled, tugging the disgustingly fluffy thing (homemade, and sporting a large, wobbly 'H') over his head. It made his hair look amusingly haphazard, and Tom resisted the urge to fix it. (He didn't do body contact.)
"I couldn't help but notice that Orion is being rather… watchful. Did something occur last night after you left the pub?"
Something flickered over Harrison's features, but he wrinkled his nose dismissively. "Nah. That's just Orion, isn't it? Acts like a child, but he's really a grandmother under it all."
Tom concealed a smile at the surprisingly accurate observation. "True," he agreed. Harrison had lied, though. Something did happen. However, Harrison didn't seem injured and he was more even-tempered, so it probably wasn't anything grave.
"We just came back to the castle, after Orion calmed me down. I may have overreacted a bit," the other boy admitted sheepishly. "Avery was still being an idiot, though."
Tom found his direct honesty refreshing. It was rare to find someone who didn't skate around topics and motives in Slytherin house.
"I, ah, hope you weren't offended by my… non-involvement with the discussion last night," Tom said delicately. He didn't think Harrison was, but it was probably best to make sure. "You understand how difficult it is in these political climates-"
"Don't worry about it," Harrison shook his head. "I didn't expect you to defend muggles."
For some reason, Harrison's disregard angered Tom. It was true he held no fondness for those without magic, but still. "I don't prescribe to Grindelwald's philosophy," he snapped, in an uncharacteristic loss of control. Tom wasn't sure why he wanted Harrison's good opinion, but perhaps he was just ruffled over the unprovoked hatred he'd received since they met.
Perhaps.
"I-" Harrison seemed genuinely flabbergasted, his green eyes blinked behind his frames. "I- you don't?"
"I may not believe muggles are entirely equal to wizards," Tom allowed, because wizards had magic for goodness sake, "But I certainly don't believe in the subjugation of their entire race. I also don't approve of his mindless violence- it only encourages opposition. It's foolish."
Tom very rarely shared his truthful opinion with anyone, and didn't know why he'd chosen to do it now.
Harrison looked like his entire world had been ripped away. "You, uh, don't approve of the violence?" he stammered.
"Of course not. I'm not sure what gave you the idea that I did."
"Wow. That's- that's- good for you, Riddle." Harrison patted Tom's arm dazedly.
Tom stared at the hand on his limb, but allowed it. It was only there for a minute, before Harrison removed it and wandered away towards the bathroom, looking shell-shocked. Rupert sent a pillow flying towards his back as he did, and Harrison was knocked, stumbling, onto the marble floor with an 'oof!'
The tension in the dormitory only worsened at breakfast, where they were able to divide themselves through seating. Atticus, Rupert and Lestrange sat at one end, and Harrison, Orion and Tom (to even the numbers- he appreciated symmetry) sat at the other. Cassius wandered off and perched by his sister, who was engaged in a passionate argument about Quidditch with Christina Day.
Harrison didn't talk much, but Orion more than made up for it. He seemed especially eager to fill the silence today, nudging Harrison whenever his eyes glazed over, and babbling on about the effect of runes on some kind of scent ward. Harrison was still regarding Tom with a strange look, like he was trying to fit a puzzle together. It looked painful.
Tom began to dice his fruit salad, and took great pleasure in sending Harrison a serene smile whenever he looked too conflicted. The answering confusion was exceedingly satisfying, and Tom almost vowed to reveal more of his hidden motives in the future, should the results prove as entertaining.
"Banana?" Tom offered the side of his knife, upon which a perfectly-cut banana slice rested.
"I, er…" Harrison regarded the fruit with suspicion. "Don't really like banana, thanks."
"You don't!?" Orion demanded quickly, swivelling on the bench. "But you said it was your favourite!"
"I may have… exaggerated?"
"You mean you lied." Orion pouted.
Tom popped a cube of melon into his mouth, and chewed.
"The banana chew thing was the cheapest in the shop! You looked like you were going to cry if I didn't let you buy something," Harrison said defensively.
"You lied about the pendant, you lied about sweets!" Orion complained. "Is nothing sacred? What else have you lied about?"
"Nothing else, I swear!" Harrison yelped, raising his hands. Tom wondered if he was asking for another 'high five'. It seemed rather inappropriate, considering the conversation. "I just didn't want to hurt your feelings, honest."
Orion scowled, but accepted it.
"What?" Harrison teased. "No vows to never lie to each other, ever again?"
"Now that's just unrealistic," Orion said seriously.
And it was. Everyone in Slytherin had secrets, even 'innocent' Orion. Tom wondered if he'd told Harrison of how Arcturus Black snagged the beautiful young Melania Macmillan, despite their vast age difference.
Dumbledore swept into the hall, and Harrison perked up. "Professor!" he called, waving an arm to attract the teacher's attention.
"Wonderful," Tom muttered, and glanced around for a newspaper to hide behind.
The Deputy Headmaster acknowledged Harrison, striding over to the Slytherin table and giving them all a false smile. Tom felt the majority of the suspicion and hostility directed towards him, and was thoroughly unsurprised.
"Yes, Mr Peters?" Dumbledore asked sweetly, his beard twitching. Tom wondered what it would look like set on fire.
"Can I speak with you?"
Tom's eyes narrowed in interest. Now what did Harrison want with Dumbledore? From what Harrison told him, they weren't exceedingly close… perhaps Dumbledore knew of Peters' Seer abilities? Perhaps Harrison had a vision?-
"Of course, Harry," Dumbledore smiled, like Peters was bestowed him with untold honour.
Harrison rose. Ah, so this would be a conversation conducted away from the Slytherin table. Never mind- Tom knew how to cast an eavesdropping charm, which he promptly did when they were a few metres away. It was a little bit patchy, but he usually managed to catch the gist of it all. Tom listened intently.
"Orion… family."
"Not sure… should really-"
"Needs… flew to…"
"Rigel… not here-"
Tom cancelled the charm. It was evident that it didn't apply to him. Either it was completely unrelated to Harrison's unique skill set, or Harrison had a vision to do with Orion, of all people. Either way; not worth further investigation.
Tom speared a chunk of apple, and wondered what to do with his day. He did have some homework that needed to be done- perhaps Harrison would like to join him. But alas, Dumbledore and Peters were already leaving the hall, still conversing quietly. Tom would ask later.
"What was that all about?" Orion wondered.
"Nothing to do with you," Tom lied blandly. "So what has Harrison so happy this morning?"
"He's found a new goal," Orion shared eagerly. "He wants to be an Unspeakable."
"Does he?" Ah, so Harrison wanted to explore his gift? "And why is that?"
"He's interested in the future," was all Orion would say on the subject, but Tom didn't need any more. Harrison needed help if he wanted to become an Unspeakable, as he would need to improve academically.
Tom could help with that.
"Harry, what's all this about?" Orion asked curiously, attempting to peer over Harry's shoulder. "Why did Dumbledore want me to come to his office?"
"Because I asked him to," Harry said, containing his excitement. Orion was going to be delighted with this.
"I'm not in trouble, am I?"
"No, no!" Harry rushed to reassure his friend. "Nothing like that."
"Because Dumbledore isn't exactly fond of Slytherins…"
"This is a nice surprise. I promise."
Not seeing any reason to draw out the moment, Harry let the door swing open, revealing an open fireplace full of twisting, sizzling emerald flames. Dumbledore's fireplace was a dramatic thing; covered with images of majestic, soaring phoenixes and nymphs dancing in forest glades. Harry liked to imagine that Dumbledore had done the sketches himself.
Orion took a step forward, frowning, before his features lightened with comprehension.
"You didn't."
"I did!" Harry sang, gesturing dramatically. "An open floo fireplace."
"But why?" Orion knitted his brows together.
"I know how much you wanted to see your family-"
"I can visit home?!" Orion interrupted, his voice squeaky with exhilaration.
"Yep," Harry replied with relish.
"But- but-" Orion scaled back his excitement and ran a hand through his long, dark hair, shaking his head. "They don't let you use floos in school. It's not allowed."
"Sometimes you have to break a few rules," Harry shrugged- before adding sheepishly, "With permission from the Deputy Headmaster, of course. Apparently the floo powder's complimentary."
"How did you get him to agree to this? For a Slytherin, no less."
"Mostly guilt," Harry shrugged casually. "And you know, what with Rigel… I figured it'd be nice if you could see him, instead of sending all your carefully worded letters."
Orion threw his arms around Harry for the second time that weekend, muttering a fierce, "Thank you."
So they were doing hugs now. Harry was reminded strongly of Hermione.
"Thanks for last night." Harry muttered into Orion's shoulder. "I don't know what would've happened if you hadn't been there. You're a good mate."
"I am?" Orion asked brightly. "I always wanted to be one of those."
Harry snorted. "And a Wardmaster."
"And a Wardmaster." Orion considered. "Well, now that you're going to be an Unspeakable, maybe we can take our TOADS together!"
"I highly doubt I'm going to do an Ancient Runes TOADS," Harry pointed out drily.
"You never know!"
"You should probably go now." Harry nodded at the flames, which were even then dimming slightly. He wasn't sure how long floo powder lasted, but it would be a shame to find out.
"I haven't told Mother that I'm coming," Orion fretted.
"Screw the hag," Harry huffed. "You get to see your family." An intense pang of longing so strong that it could be jealousy hit him, and his smile froze.
"I do, don't I?" Orion was beaming, and Harry knew that he'd redeemed himself from last night. Orion was so ridiculously easy to please; if this were Ron or Hermione, Harry would still be dealing with sulking or mothering.
Orion stepped backwards, the smoke from the fire surging around him on a kind of mock-aura. He was illuminated by a green glow that made everything sharper; older. Harry was reminded of yesterday, of seeing Orion and seeing Sirius.
The pain in his chest was duller than it had been.
Orion gave him a small wave, one which Harry reciprocated. And then Orion's lips moved, he turned on his heel, and he disappeared. The flames surged and roared for a short moment, blasting Harry's face with heat. Then they simmered down, returning to warm, crackling sparks cradled in the fireplace.
Harry inspected the embers, feeling unusually poetic.
He peered around Dumbledore's office, unable to resist the urge to poke around now that he was alone. Harry had always been curious about Albus Dumbledore, but he had always seemed such a distant, removed character. Did he even have a childhood? It seemed funny to imagine a mini Dumbledore, moon-glasses and all, running around someone's garden and giggling.
Harry wandered over to the desk, sliding open one of the drawers subtly. It couldn't hurt to satiate his curiosity, could it?
The first thing he found was a picture. It featured a boy whom Harry assumed was a teenage Dumbledore. He had his arm wrapped tightly around a blonde girl too young to be his girlfriend. Stood just behind the two of them was another boy; older than the girl but younger than Dumbledore. He looked angry, and glared at the camera like it had personally insulted him.
Harry turned the photo over. Scribbled on the back was Albus, Aberforth, and Ariana Dumbledore. 1899.
They were siblings, Harry realised. Professor Dumbledore had relatives. What were the dinners like? Did this strange-seeming family; delicate and wan sister, wise and twinkling brother, and this angry, surly-looking bloke gather around a table each Christmas? It was odd to speculate on something so mundane about Professor Dumbledore; that he might not spend his entire time thinking up how to sound increasingly vague, but might instead wonder about what brand of perfume his sister would prefer.
Ariana, Harry reminded himself, looking closely at the picture. She looked thin and sickly, but she still bore a sweet smile. She couldn't have been older than thirteen, but she was so small! Harry wondered if she might have something wrong with her.
Perhaps the family dinners only featured two Dumbledore siblings, each steadfastly ignoring the empty seat between them.
Harry shook off his morbid thoughts, and put the picture back, picking up another. This one was markedly happier; and featured a young Dumbledore with a different boy. This boy was blonde and beautiful, with a wild sort of mischief about him. Dumbledore seemed brighter and more hopeful in this photo, and the look he threw at the boy next to him was filled with a warm affection. Harry suspected that they may have been involved, despite the weirdness of Dumbledore ever being in a relationship.
Harry turned it over, but the back was blank; save for the date November 1898.
Harry searched through the rest of the drawers, but he found nothing of interest. Only exams and wine gums. The amount of essays waiting to be marked was astounding, and Harry made the firm decision never to become a teacher. No amount of 'passing on knowledge' was worth that muchpaperwork.
He slowly moved over to the book shelves, browsing the titles. He found gems like 'Muggles and Magic: The Parallels', and 'Transphys: How Science and Transfigurations Link'. Dumbledore owned a surprising amount of fairy tales like 'Snow White', and more exotic titles including 'The Mouse, the Bird, and the Sausage'. Harry also discovered darker tomes like 'Magical Might' and 'The Evolution of the Wizard'- books that'd be more at home in the Malfoy library.
Harry's eyebrows raised. They were controversial books to have, especially considering the war.
"What are you doing in here, boy?"
Harry jumped at the sudden noise, eyes darting around. They focused on a previously empty painting of a woman with jet black hair, a high forehead and sharp eyes. Her skin was a cool brown, and she frowned down at him with domineering eyebrows. Harry hadn't even known eyebrows could be domineering, but these ones managed it effortlessly.
"Who are you?" he asked.
"Never mind," the woman snapped. "You may call me ma'am. It appears I have to repeat myself: what are you doing in here? I am quite certain I haven't stumbled into the Slytherin Common room by accident."
She was very intimidating; and this was coming from the boy who'd duelled Voldemort. Harry suspected she was one of the previous Professors, or perhaps even a Headmistress.
"I-I was using the floo-" Harry stumbled.
"Can't you speak without stuttering?"
Harry was mortified to discover an embarrassed flush spreading over his cheeks, as he was sorely reminded of Aunt Petunia.
The woman softened a little. "Why were you using the floo?"
"For a friend," Harry said, more strongly this time. "I asked Professor Dumbledore and he agreed."
"Well, at least you got permission. Where is Albus anyway?"
"At a staff meeting," Harry replied, and the woman looked disgruntled.
"He's always late."
"He probably got distracted by the beauty of friendship," Harry remarked coolly, gaining confidence.
The painting smirked. "So the boy has a backbone," she drawled, astonishingly similar to Snape. "Well now that you've used the floo to send your friend off to goodness knows where; why are you still hanging around?"
"I was just wondering why Professor Dumbledore had all these books," Harry explained, gesturing to 'Muggles Under The Boot; A Series'. "They're a bit…"
"Disgusting, yes I'm aware."
Harry looked uncomfortable.
"Oh, don't pull that look on me, boy!" she said, eyebrows growing even more intimidating. "I'm a muggleborn myself, and I don't hold with all that extremist nonsense. I always told the children that, but your Professor Dumbledore's ideas were always more fanciful."
"Fanciful?"
"Is there an echo in here?" the painting snapped. "I said fanciful, and I meant fanciful. He was full of ridiculous dreams about ruling the muggles, until the incident of course."
"Incident?" Harry murmured, reeling over the fact that Albus Dumbledore had been a magical supremacist.
"The echo continues. Yes; 'incident', and that's all I'll say on the matter."
"But I-"
"You'd better leave. Albus is due back any minute, and I doubt he'll appreciate you perusing his reading materials."
"You won't tell him, will you?" Harry asked anxiously.
"Now why on earth would I do that?" the woman sniffed, and suddenly she was frozen. Harry shifted from side to side, watching to see if her eyes followed, but she was completely still. Harry scratched the back of his neck, but took her advice and turned to leave.
It was too late.
"Ah, Harry! My dear boy."
Harry was halted by Dumbledore's entrance, and his remarkably bright hat.
"I trust Mr Black made the journey safely?"
"I, er, think so. Yeah."
"Family is a precious jewel," Dumbledore sighed. "We're very isolated here at Hogwarts."
Isolated from the muggles? Is that what you want? Harry questioned, but no- he was being stupid. If Dumbledore ever housed those kind of views- and the portrait might have been lying- they were long gone. He was the conqueror of Grindelwald, for Merlin's sake. The champion of muggles. Walking poster-wizard for muggle-lovers everywhere.
Harry's day was turning out to be very strange. Tom Riddle didn't mind muggles, and Dumbledore used to be a magical supremacist?
"Are you quite alright, my dear boy? You look rather distracted."
"I'm fine!" Harry said quickly. "That's just… a very bright hat."
"It is, isn't it?" Dumbledore smiled contently. "My tailor was a little nervous about the colour combination, but I'm over the moon about it. Even Madam Hallpepper remarked upon its effect: she said it could wake a coma patient!"
Harry hummed his agreement, searching for an exit.
"Imagine that!" Dumbledore continued, chuckling lightly. "If bold fashion choices could perform medical miracles. Why, I think the world would be a better place, don't you?"
Harry readily agreed. "I'm sorry, sir, but I've got to, er, go to the library. Now. I said I'd meet someone. About something."
Dumbledore seemed taken-aback, but stepped aside and easily allowed Harry to flee. As Harry walked quickly away, he heard the dry tone of the woman in the portrait remark:
"What a strange child."
Alone and without Orion, Harry found himself drifting towards the library. Perhaps, Harry thought, he could look up the TOADS you'd need for a job in the Department of Mysteries.
(He should probably also look up why the fuck a 'song pendant' set his veins on fire, but honestly Harry would be happy to never think about orremember that sensation ever again.)
And so he floated towards the careers area of the shelves, and picked up 'Further Education in the Ministry'. It looked like a thrilling read. Hermione would probably salivate. Harry was just flicking through the first chapter, past the subsection on public health, when he was interrupted by a cough behind him.
Harry turned warily, rather bored of being snuck up on.
"Oh," he blinked, wiping the lenses of his glasses with the sleeve of his jumper. "Hullo Cassius."
Cassius gave Harry a slight smile, hair tumbling around his ears. "So this is the path you choose."
"Sorry, what?"
"I was curious, you know. After everything that you've been through, what would you do? But you just keep on going, don't you? Despite all the evidence that you'll fail, and - to be honest – your steadily declining mental health. I wonder how that'll turn out." Cassius strolled closer, book held loosely at his side. He had his head cocked to the side, and seemed to be genuinely considering Harry.
"I, er-" Harry shook his head confusedly, gaping at Cassius. "How do you know what I've been through?"
"I'm a little bit psychic," Cassius shrugged.
Well. Harry had been beginning to think that Cassius was very Luna-like, but Luna would never be this straight forward. Cassius was psychic? This was really becoming a day of astonishing character revelations.
"Psychic?"
"I just know things sometimes. The universe whispers to me, and it's practically screaming about you."
"Why are you telling me this?"
"I got bored. I know your secrets, now you know mine," Cassius pouted carelessly. "I thought it would liven up the game. I like you better than I like Riddle, anyway. I wanted to give you an advantage."
"What game? I'm not playing any kind of game."
"You're always playing a game. Everyone is. Life itself is a game- it's a board controlled by the major pieces, who push and control the pawns. It's all just strategy," Cassius said quietly. The book in his hand, Harry noticed, was one on chess.
"And what am I?" Harry asked suspiciously. To be honest, this was all a bit much to take in. He just wanted to become an Unspeakable and go home.
"Neither," Cassius revealed, with as much glee as his monotonous, quiet voice could muster. "You're one of the chaotic pieces. I like the chaos- being a part of the shift. It's why I associate myself with people like you and Riddle."
"Riddle's a chaotic piece?"
"He could be. It depends upon you."
"Do you have any proof?" Harry said slowly. To be honest, after the day's revelations (Riddle's decency, for one), Harry would believe mostly anything. However, he'd also been taught by Trelawney for three years. He held a healthy dose of scepticism for 'psychics' or 'seers'. Last night had also been a scorching reminder to not take people at face value, especially not creepy people who approached you in deserted areas.
"You're a time traveller," Cassius said bluntly. "You had friends- an otter and a terrier? They died."
Harry's heart leapt into his throat.
"Or perhaps they didn't…" Cassius finished, giving Harry an odd sort of smirk. "I can't see the future clearly like that. It's more… ideas, or what they'll become. I'm basing this all on your past. And it's very dusty. Mostly I just feel things. It's instinctive."
"Why are you telling me this?"
"I already told you. I like the anarchy, it makes everything more interesting. But I can't interfere too much, so don't worry."
Harry groaned. He didn't want to deal with a psychic that got their highs from screwing with reality. "This is crazy."
"And so am I," Cassius agreed readily. "Clinically insane. It's fun, isn't it?"
Harry felt vaguely disgusted by it all. Somehow, he found the idea of Cassius; playing god and courting chaos, to be more disgusting than Riddle, who at least appeared to have some human decency.
"So what happens?" Harry asked reluctantly. "If I follow down this 'path'? If I become an Unspeakable. Do I manage to get home? What then?"
"I'm not a seer," Cassius tutted, and for some reason this seemed to amuse him. "I can't tell you what happens in the future. You're a wildcard: shift the world around you."
"Shift the world around me…" Harry repeated. "If I can do that, I can get home, surely?"
"In a manner of speaking," Cassius murmured, "I suppose you could."
Harry couldn't stop the smile from spreading across his features. This was it: a psychic, confirming what he needed to hear. It was possible for him to get home.
"What are you reading?" Harry offered in a show of goodwill. "You're into chess?"
Cassius open the book, and slipped a thin comic from where it had been hidden within the pages. "It's called Batman. It came out a few years ago."
"Of course you hid it in the book," Harry sighed. "Of course."
"For the dramatic reveal." Cassius elaborated. "It's a very good comic. I enjoy the Joker, myself."
"That's the one with the face thing, yeah?" Harry vaguely remembered the Joker appearing in a TV show that Dudley used to watch.
"He's so much more," Cassius mused. "Or at least he will be."
Harry hummed in reply, his patience running out. "So I'm just going to take this book… and read it over there." He said, raising the book on Ministry careers. Now that he knew it was possible, he was even more eager to become an Unspeakable. He also wanted to get away from Cassius.
The Rosier boy before had seemed like such a quiet, studious character; a more reserved Hermione. But Harry knew the truth now. Cassius was like a puppet master, in the detached, impersonal way that Voldemort had never managed. Cassius didn't want to control the puppet, or lead it- he just wanted to watch it dance.
Harry began to walk away, resisting the urge to look over his shoulder at the beautiful, terrible boy. Next to Cassius, Riddle seemed mundane.
"Not every madman in this castle is as benign as me, Harry!" Cassius called after him. "I'd watch out if I were you."
Well, that wasn't ominous at all.
Tom's prefect rounds were turning out to be just as uneventful as usual. He'd patrolled the third floor, peeked inside the broom cupboards, and was now making his way towards the grounds. He needed to check the greenhouses (students did hide in the strangest of places), and the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Then he only had to do the fifth floor.
The night was crisp and sweet on the tongue, and the only thing to ruin it was the faint buzz of insects. Tom sent a bolt of electricity rippling through the air, and the bugs dropped dead to the ground. Tom drank in the silence and sighed. Perfect.
His shoes cracked the frosted grass, and each step caused a satisfying crunch. He pitied the poor third year who dared to disrupt his calm.
The figure on the edge of the forest, standing beside the groundkeeper's hut, was shrouded in darkness.
Of course, there was always one.
"You should have been in bed an hour ago!" Tom called out, his voice slicing through the night like a well-executed cutting curse.
The groan he received in response was very familiar.
"Harrison?" Tom asked, and yes- now that he grew closer, the head of messy hair and large glasses focussed into the image of his classmate.
"No," Harrison said flatly. "I'm his ghost."
"Hilarious," Tom drawled. "What are you doing out here, breaking the school rules? Your new friendship with Professor Dumbledore won't help you if Professor Merrythought finds you out of bed."
"Aw, don't be jealous, Riddle," Harrison simpered teasingly. "You know you're my bestest friend."
"The horror. And don't be ridiculous: your best friend is currently weeping over his dying brother in London somewhere, not freezing out here."
Harrison didn't reply and, for a moment, Tom thought he might have gone too far.
"He's actually playing snap," Harrison corrected finally, "He owled. Meissa's crushing him."
"Perhaps he should get Cassius to predict him a victory."
Harrison laughed shortly, but it sounded fake. "Predictions. Funny."
"But wouldn't it be amazing if someone could see the future?" Tom fished. Would Harrison reveal his abilities freely? Did he trust Tom?
"That would be useful," Harrison said mildly.
Yeah, Tom would take that as a 'no', then.
Tom conjured a blanket (emerald green and tightly woven) and took a seat, looking at Harrison expectantly.
"Well, aren't you going to join me?"
Harrison rolled his eyes and sat down beside him, gazing out pensively. The forest created a dramatic outline against the night sky, which sparkled and glittered with specks of starlight. It was beautiful: a swirl of colours and movement. Tom drew his knee close to his chest, and rested his chin upon it.
When he looked at Harrison, the boy was staring back at him with a strange expression.
"What?" Tom cocked an eyebrow.
Harrison turned a subtle shade of pink. "You have a stupid face," he muttered, picking at the blanket.
Ah. That was moderately surprising. Tom knew he was attractive, but this was one of the first noticeable signs that Harrison was attracted to him. It wasn't uncommon though- if anything, this would help Tom. Harrison was much likelier to trust him if there was an element of attraction.
"So I heard you want to be an Unspeakable," Tom diverted, saving Harrison some of his dignity.
"Yeah," Harrison agreed. "I want to… look into stuff. Orion suggested it this morning. It seemed perfect."
"Stuff?"
"They have an innovative time department."
"You're interested in time?"
Harrison didn't reply to that, but his silence was as much of an answer as any.
They sat that way for a while, side by side, staring into the depths of the forest with not a word between them. Tom saw glints amongst the branches, and wondered what eyes were staring out at him from the inky shadows. Probably a few unicorns, centaurs, wolves, bowtruckles…
He was glad he'd never taken Care of Magical Creatures.
"So what brought you out here?" Tom asked, breaking the quiet. "An opportunity to flaunt the school rules?"
"This is a good place to think. You realise… everything changes over time."
"That's rather the point," Tom said with a smirk.
"But just consider it. In a few years, this will be all be different." Harrison gestured specifically towards the groundskeeper's hut. "Same place, same job, same castle… but different. And hey!" he protested. "I haven't broken the school rules in almost a month- bloody hell, that's weird." He blinked. "That's like a record. Fred and George would cry. Or prank me."
"Who are Fred and George?"
"My friend, Ron: they were his brothers. Twins, actually, and total nightmares. Once tried to send a toilet seat to their parents."
"They sound like they'd get along with Rupert." Tom conjured up images of Rupert tripled, running through the castle; causing mischief and cracking terrible puns. He shuddered.
"Nah," Harrison dismissed. "He wouldn't have agreed with them."
"Muggles?" Tom assumed, as Rupert could mostly get along with anyone; provided they were magical.
"Yeah," Harrison said. "Something like that."
Tom could sense the conversation was drawing to a close, but he wasn't willing to give up on the interaction so quickly. He was actually quite enjoying it.
"Do you want to accompany me on the rest of my rounds?" Tom asked, deciding that although he disliked company, he wouldn't mind so much if it was Harrison's.
Harrison considered Tom carefully, and Tom got the transparent feeling that he only ever usually got around Dumbledore. Tom shifted on the blanket, fighting against the urge to pull at his collar uncomfortably. Finally, Harrison shrugged and said, "Might as well."
Tom led them back into the castle, and they climbed the stairs up to the fifth floor corridor. There weren't usually many students on that floor, as there wasn't anything there except for a few empty classrooms, the music rooms, and the Prefect bathroom. Still, empty spaces were always a viable option for night time… activities. Students were remarkably creative.
"So this is what being a prefect is like," Harrison mused, as Tom cracked open a door and checked inside.
"It's not the most exciting job, I admit."
"Ron must have hated this," Harrison laughed.
"That's your muggle friend, with the brothers?"
"Yeah. He was a prefect in his school. Really lazy- never did any of the work. He got Hermione to do most of it. Ron hated it when she made him do homework." Harrison said fondly.
"And he became a prefect how, exactly?"
"There were no better candidates." Harrison snorted. "No, that's not fair. Ron had his moments. He was very loyal, and brave. He didn't think about what he was saying a lot, but he always carried through. He stuck to his guns. And he was funny."
"Sounds like the quintessential Gryffindor," Tom observed, with some distaste.
"You say that like it's a bad thing."
"I suppose Gryffindors have some redeemable qualities. Bravery, for one. I've always admired bravery," Tom said diplomatically.
"Well, don't lay it on," Harrison put his hand to his forehead sarcastically. "I might swoon."
"You're a Slytherin."
"I know- I was speaking from a lion's perspective. I have something called empathy? You might have heard of it."
"Once or twice." Tom said lightly.
"But you have admit," Harrison insisted. "Gryffindors aren't entirely useless."
"I suppose every house has their good qualities," Tom allowed. "Intelligence is always valuable."
"What about loyalty?"
Ah, loyalty. A quality that Tom appreciated in others (directed towards him, of course), but saw little value in possessing it himself.
"Under certain circumstances, loyalty can be very useful," Tom answered carefully.
Harrison chuckled. "A true Slytherin answer." He yawned and stretched, leaning on a wall whilst running a hand over his tired face. "Merlin, I need a shower."
"Well," Tom suggested blankly. "The prefect bathroom is on this floor. We could take a midnight dip." The upturn to the corner of his lips betrayed his humour.
"Fuck you, Riddle," Harrison snorted. "I'm not taking a bath with you."
"I'll have you know that I'm an excellent bath mate."
"I bet you steal all the bubbles."
Tom sniffed. "I do no such thing. I am a firm believer in bubbles for all."
"Right. And I'm sure you'd equally split the rubber ducks between us too."
"Well, now you're just being ridiculous. The rubber ducks are mine."
Harrison burst out laughing, doubled over and clutching his stomach. Tom found himself also chuckling, albeit lightly, in entirely genuine mirth.
"I think you'll find," Tom said, once Harrison had recovered. "That many inhabitants in this castle would kill to share a space with me, devoid of clothes." And then flashed him an arrogant smile.
Harrison turned bright red. That was an interesting reaction. Tom had expected a scoff, or a roll of the eyes (he got both of those as well), but Harrison also turned redder than a Gryffindor's tie.
"Shut up, Riddle," Harrison spluttered, cheeks glowing.
Before Tom had time to further explore that response, he heard a thump coming from inside the walls. Harrison spun around too, the colour fading from his cheeks at the loud noise, so Tom knew he wasn't imagining it. Not that he'd ever doubt his own senses.
"Now where did that come from?" Tom wondered. "We checked the classrooms."
"The bathroom?"
"No, the bathroom's too far away."
"Or maybe…" Harrison muttered, stalking towards a non-descript tapestry. "It came from here." He pulled the hanging aside, revealing a wooden door. It was small; and looked very similar to a broom cupboard. "It leads to the Astronomy Tower," Harrison explained.
"And you know that how, exactly?" Tom asked, challengingly. Even he hadn't known that was there.
"Orion told me."
"Of course he did," Tom lamented.
"Oh, shut up. Should I open the door?"
"Well, staring at it doesn't seem to be doing much."
Harrison snickered. "You're such a bastard."
He pushed open the door, and a couple tumbled out; thoroughly entangled in each other. Both participants had thoroughly swollen lips, mussed hair, and flushed cheeks, along with heavy breathing- and Tom was pretty sure that wasn't how buttons worked.
They moaned and writhed on the floor for a moment, before realising that they had an audience.
"Rupert?!" Harrison declared incredulously, stumbling away from the pair. "What are you doing?"
"Having an intellectual conversation, clearly," Rupert replied cheerfully, recovering remarkably quickly. He jumped to his feet and dragged the poor witch up with him.
She was tall, with close-cut, flaming red hair and a thin face. She was pretty enough, Tom supposed, and had copious amounts of makeup smeared across her cheeks. She was also very familiar.
"Rupert, why are you locking lips with Avery's latest accessory?" Tom asked, looking thoroughly unimpressed.
"Avery has a girlfriend?" Harrison yelped.
"I was shocked too," Rupert declared, slinging an arm around the girl's shoulder. "But then I pulled my moves on her, and I realised she's just easy."
The girl gasped in outrage, and slapped Rupert with surprising strength. The sound of her palm hitting his cheek cracked loudly in the stone corridor, and Tom saw Harrison wince sympathetically.
"You… are disgusting," she spat, before marching away.
"That's not what you were saying ten minutes ago!" Rupert jeered.
"Ten minutes ago, I was too busy faking an orgasm!" she bellowed back. A door slammed, and she was gone.
"Masterfully handled," Tom drawled.
Rupert twitched. "Ah well, you win some, you lose some. She clearly didn't know how to handle the experience of a lifetime."
"Maybe you can work out how to improve that experience- since it so clearly needs it- in detention. Report to Professor Slughorn in the morning," Tom answered smoothly.
"Come on, Tom…" Rupert wheedled.
"I'm sure he'll be thrilled to learn all about your 'intellectual conversation'."
Rupert groaned. "Ah, well. It was worth it."
"Was it?" Harrison asked doubtfully.
Rupert surveyed Harrison with unbridled pity. "Virgin."
Whilst Harrison spluttered and coughed, Rupert offered a jaunty wave. "Have a good night, fellers!" And then he strolled away, whistling.
The journey back to the Slytherin dormitories passed in a blur for Harry. He could still feel the embarrassed heat prickling under his skin, and he did everything he could to avoid looking at Riddle. He wasn't sure why the (truthful) jab about his virginity had bothered him so much. His life had always been too busy to think about things like relationships or puberty. A murderous dark lord took priority.
He knew he wasn't the only virgin in the Gryffindor dorm- Ron had never had sex, and only the driven snow was purer than Neville. Dean and Seamus had boasted about their experience, but Harry was certain he'd caught them snogging each other once, so he wasn't sure how seriously to take their guarantee that they'd slept with 'loads of girls'.
Maybe it was just that Riddle had heard. Riddle: who Harry was certain had to literally throw the girls away from him. Harry had never been without female attention, but he'd always partially assumed it was due to the whole 'famous conqueror' thing. And there was no way he was having a relationship now. Any of the people he picked here would be grandmothers by the time he got back home.
He brooded through dressing for bed, he brooded through cleaning his teeth, and was still brooding as he collapsed onto his bed.
At least, Harry considered, he had a way home. Maybe Ginny would still want to go on a date with him, or something. She was very pretty.
He smiled at the thought of her freckled face, and sat up to pull the curtains across.
"Harrison?" Riddle's low voice was deafening in the near-silence of the dorm. Rupert still hadn't returned, and Avery snored in a nearby bed.
"Yeah?" Harry replied softly, hands frozen.
"20 points from Slytherin."
"20 points?" Harry exploded in a hissed whisper. "For what?"
"For being out after hours."
Even without seeing his face, Harry could hear the smirk that Riddle was sure to be nursing. The sound of curtains sliding along a railing followed, and Riddle didn't say anything else.
Harry drew his own curtains across with a jerk, and fell backwards onto his pillow. Although he was angry, he couldn't deny he felt a little amused too. "Well-played," Harry mouthed reluctantly.
His eyes closed, and he was dead to the world.