Someone suggested I added a summary of the last chapter, as updates are spaced out:

LAST TIME: Tom failed to enter the Room of Requirement, because Harry was already in there. Dumbledore is as suspicious as ever; and Atticus gets jealous of Tom's 'favouritism' when it comes to Harry. The Hogwarts grounds saw a snowball fight, and Tom and Harry teamed up; only to have their partnership dissolve as they decided fighting each other was a better idea. Harry and Orion set off on a journey into the Forbidden Forest, where they encountered a hostile unicorn and a herd of centaurs with a threatening message for Harry. Tom caught them as they sneaked back into the castle.
(And that was what you missed on... Glee!)

This isn't that lengthy (I lied last chapter), but that's because I decided to separate Christmas cheer and revelations into two different chapters! So the next one should have all that happy(ish) stuff. For now, have this disgusting piece of work for a Christmas gift.
TRIGGER: suggestions of sexual coercion (one line, it's nothing graphic); violence (a little bit stomach turning); and just some real creepiness.

Harry awoke in panic at ten o'clock, cursed, and threw back his duvet.

"What are you doing?" Dolohov mumbled into his pillow.

"It's Monday!" Harry yelped. "We're late!"

"It's the Christmas holidays, you mudblood," Atticus sneered, stepping into the room from the bathroom.

"Oh," Harry said, deciding it wasn't worth explaining why that was both inaccurate and offensive, and went back to sleep.

It was in the mirror whilst brushing his teeth that Harry saw it. A brief glimpse of mountain ranges (Harry recognised them from a postcard Hermione sent once, he thought they might have been French), and a dark figure: wearing a cruel-looking crown of dark, twisted metal. The figure was faceless, but Harry glimpsed an angry snarl beneath the shadows.

And then it was gone.

The toothbrush dropped from his hand, clattering in the sink, and Harry was left panting and wide-eyed; nothing but his own wan face reflected back at him. His chest was tight; like something had been pressed against his mouth and held there. It was an oddly familiar feeling.

Harry took a deep breath, and cold air rushed to fill his lungs. The tension that he hadn't even realised was there- his shoulders tight, and his knees locked- melted away, and he slumped.

"That was weird," Harry murmured, frowning at his reflection. He ran a finger over the golden lines tracing his features- they had grown fainter over time, and often Harry forgot he had them- but that morning, they were subtly brighter.

"Weird," he breathed, again. He should probably go to the Hospital Wing- shortness of breath wasn't normal, was it?- but he'd never been fond of white walls and stern matrons.

It was probably just a cold. Winter was coming quick.

Riddle wasn't at lunch, and Harry was surprised to realise that he… well, 'missed' probably wasn't the right word, but he certainly noticed Riddle's absence.

"Where's Riddle?" Harry asked, peering around the hall for a familiar head of perfect hair.

"Merlin knows," Orion mumbled through a mouthful of scrambled eggs.

"And where's everyone else?" Harry realised slowly. Usually they were joined by a crowd at lunch, but today it was just Harry and Orion.

"Most of them have gone home for the holidays. Druella, Cassius and Walburga are gone, and Rupert is packing. Montgomery, Grahams, and Atticus are staying, I think, and- of course- Tom never goes home for Christmas."

"What about you?"

Orion lit up. "Oh! I'm heading home this afternoon! I forgot to tell you, it was all very last minute. Rigel's leaving the hospital for Christmas, so we're going to have a traditional holiday, like we used to. Auntie Lycoris is visiting: she's always a blast; and of course Walburga will be there-"

"Just avoid the mistletoe, mate. For your own sake," Harry said suddenly.

"Oh," Orion went bright red. "She told you about that?"

"About you two… kissing?" Harry grimaced. "Yeah, she did."

"It was the best moment of my life."

Harry shook his head balefully. One of the lower years tapped Orion on the shoulder to ask him something about Runes, and Orion was eager to engage them.

Suddenly, Riddle arrived at lunch, looking harried. He didn't bother to sit down. Instead, he grabbed a pomegranate and sliced it in half swiftly, picking up a spoon.

"What's got your wand in a twist?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow at Riddle's haste.

"Grahams wants to talk with me," Riddle curled his lip, and seemed to spot something in the distance. Harry glanced in the same direction, but couldn't spot a familiar head of red hair in the crowd. Riddle grimaced, and dropped the pomegranate onto Harry's plate.

"I'll see you later," Riddle said, and left.

It was just a few minutes later that Montgomery Lestrange arrived at the table.

"Where've you been?" Orion noticed the new arrival and leaned over friendlily.

"Ran into Tommy," Lestrange said quietly, an odd light in his eyes.

"But he was busy avoiding Grahams," Harry interrupted.

"Haven't you heard?" Orion said, frowning. "Grahams is in the Hospital wing. Some third-year pushed him down a flight of stairs. Luckily one of his Hufflepuff friends cast a cushioning spell-"

"So that must have happened this morning then? Just now?" Harry was confused. Otherwise, how could Grahams be in any fit state to be harassing Riddle if he was injured?

"No, Grahams went into the Hospital wing… two days ago, I think?" Orion corrected thoughtfully. "There's no way he was anywhere near Tom this morning."

Riddle had lied then, Harry thought. He wasn't talking to Grahams. Why on earth had Riddle lied? There had to be a fairly significant reason- lying so obviously and without solid backup was a risky move, and Tom Riddle didn't do risky moves.

"Maybe he got confused," Orion suggested amicably. "Having Grahams be obsessed with you must breed some kind of paranoia. Perhaps Tom mistook him for someone else."

"Because Tom Riddle is well known for his mistakes," Harry said sarcastically.

"No one is perfect, Harry," Orion said, not appearing to understand the gravity of the situation. "Not even Tom."

"Yeah, but it means that it's pretty significant when he's not. A lie this obvious? Something's going on." Was Harry the only one who even vaguely understood how Riddle's mind worked?

"I think Tom's probably just a bit stressed. We were given a lot of Christmas homework, after all."

Harry felt his heart stop. "We were?"

"Why do you look so shocked, and how can I make it worse?" Atticus asked drily, swinging his legs over the bench and taking a seat.

"Harry's just very excited about the holiday homework," Orion replied and- Merlin- he seemed like he believed what he was saying.

"Ecstatic," Harry groaned.

"I'm sure Riddle will spoon-feed you the answers if you flutter your eyelashes enough," Atticus said acidly.

"Bitterness isn't a good look on anyone," Harry replied, rolling his eyes at Atticus.

"And neither is that," Atticus raised his eyebrows.

"What?"

"That thing," Atticus pointed towards Harry's chest.

Harry glanced down. Oh, he'd forgotten that he'd taken to wearing Daisy's locket around his neck, feeling somehow safer with it on.

"I didn't know you wore a locket!" Orion said brightly, reaching over to fish the necklace out from under Harry's jumper. "It's so pretty!"

"Yeah," Harry said, carefully tucking the locket back under his clothing. "It's, uh, pretty special."

"Where did you get it?" Atticus asked, frowning.

Harry made the quick and simple decision to lie. "Er, someone gave it to me."

"Oh, a special someone? Are you in love!?" Orion screeched, looking hopeful. "When you get married, you have to let me be your best man! And we can go out the night before, and hang out at this cool bar and tell each other our life stories, and have a zany adventure, and then almost be late to your wedding, but we'll make it in time because the path of true love always runs smooth!"

"…That sounds fun?" Harry offered hesitantly. "But I'm really not in love…"

"Why do you have a necklace then?"

"I already said," Harry repeated. "A friend gave it to me."

"Because best friends always exchange jewellery," Atticus snickered.

Harry glared at him and said cuttingly; "Careful Avery, or I won't let you hide behind me next time something spooks you."

Atticus sent Harry a scorching glare, but didn't have a response.

Hooting overhead caught Harry's attention, and he glanced upwards. The mail had arrived, a little later for the Christmas holidays. Owl after owl soared into the Great Hall, circling around the enchanted ceiling before descending.

"Did you know that a group of owls is actually called a parliament?" Orion said brightly, and Harry wondered- not for the first time- what was going on inside his head.

Before Harry could answer, one of the owls overhead, a grey and speckled one, dropped suddenly and landed on the table in front of Harry. The owl held a fancy envelope in its beak; the paper a tasteful shade of duck egg blue.

Harry winced. He was naming paint shades- Aunt Petunia had really rubbed off on him.

"That's a Malfoy owl!" Orion said excitedly. "And a Malfoy invite! I can't believe- quick, open it!"

Harry uncertainly took the letter from the owl's beak. The owl gave him a haughty, acknowledging trill; and flew away. He inspected the envelope more closely, noticing the charm which caused the paper to glitter like ice, and then he broke the seal. Harry slid out a letter; unfolding it, and scanning the contents.

The Malfoy Family

CORDIALLY INVITES YOU TO ATTEND

A Christmas Ball.

This year's theme: SNOW

23rd December 7:30pm

RSVP

"It's an invitation to a Christmas party?" Harry said slowly. "I think? It's a bit difficult to read the writing- it's all quite… decorative."

"I knew it!" Orion squealed, clapping his hands. "I mean I'd hoped but- oh, this is going to be so much fun!"

"What is it?"

"The Malfoy Christmas Ball is one of the most important social events of the season! And this just makes it even better! The party is always magnificent and the food is outstanding, but- and don't tell anyone I said this," Orion leaned in closely, lowering his voice. "Sometimes the company can be a little dull. But now that you're coming, it's bound to be delightful!"

"I haven't said I'll go," Harry warned. A social to-do with the Malfoys sounded like the worst possible way to spend an evening.

"But you have to!"

"After all, you don't want to piss off Tom, do you?" Atticus said snidely.

Harry rolled his eyes. "What are you talking about?"

"Well, it's obvious, isn't it? Tom got you the invitation. There's no way that Malfoy would send an invitation to a half-blood otherwise."

Harry held his tongue about a certain tall, dark and handsome's blood status. "Well, now I want to go even less."

"You're being silly," Orion chided.

"Orion, mate, I can think of a hundred things I'd rather be doing than socialising with a bunch of purebloods who can barely keep their mouths shut about how inferior muggleborns are."

"This is a very important opportunity. Don't be ungrateful," Atticus said viciously, getting to his feet and leaving. Harry watched him go and raised an eyebrow. Wow, Harry was really good at driving people off today.

"Don't worry about Atticus," Orion consoled him. "He's just upset. The Avery family haven't received an invitation since Atticus' father made a spectacle of himself."

"Oh." Harry remembered the feeling he'd gotten so often at the Dursley's; of being something shameful and hidden away, because of an offence he hadn't even committed. He thawed, just a little.

"So you can see that an invite is really an honour, and you have to go! Come on! Tom and Abraxas are doing their best to welcome you into our culture. Don't dismiss them." Orion pleaded, looking quite desperate. And then, seeing that Harry still looked doubtful: "Please. I can't sit silently by the chocolate fountain for the fourth year in a row."

"Okay, fine," Harry rolled his eyes. "But I don't have any robes."

Orion sighed in relief. "I can lend you some of my old ones. I get a new pair every year. You're shorter than me, so they should fit you."

Harry reckoned that Orion's castoffs would be the most extravagant things he had ever worn in his life, but he agreed, not seeing much other choice.

"This will be the best Christmas yet!" Orion declared. "And now you have to help me pack, because I'm leaving in half an hour, and I haven't started yet."

Harry wandered through the corridors, feeling a little lost. Orion had left for home, promising to be back a few days before school started, and to send Harry his Christmas present by owl. Harry had explained that he didn't strictly have enough money to buy Orion a present, but he'd do his best to find something. Orion had giggled, and told Harry that the point of giving presents wasn't to get something back. It was to spread happiness, and to let someone else know you appreciated them.

Harry, once again, suggested that Orion should write greetings cards.

Orion seemed quite excited by the idea.

But he'd still departed, levitating a heavy trunk, and had left Harry all alone in the castle. For the first time in a while, Harry felt lonely- or perhaps he had just become more aware of it. The castle had emptied for the holidays, and it was quiet- almost silent, really. And so Harry found himself wandering down to the Quidditch Pitch. Perhaps he just needed to regain some of his old self, and fly.

And so he took the long walk down the north corridor. He'd grab one of the practise brooms and do some practise. They may not be great quality brooms, but Harry couldn't afford any better.

BANG!

Something fell to the floor behind Harry, clattering on the cobbles. He spun, turning in time to see a sword fall from a suit of armour and bounce on the floor, wobbling over the stones. It came to a stop.

Harry glanced down the corridor, hair on the back of his neck prickling. He tensed, sliding his wand out of his pocket and clutching it in his fist. A step back. Another.

He was hit from behind. A sudden pain in his hand made him drop his wand, and he yelled as his face was smashed against stone. He heard a crunch and saw a crack in the panes of his glasses. Abruptly he was turned around, and the breath left him as his back hit the wall. Harry groaned, but blindly lashed out, and his fist hit someone's head. Harry gripped at their hair, pulling and writhed, trying to escape from the binding grip.

Harry howled as he was smashed against the wall again. He felt a trickle run down the back of his neck. Blood. He kicked out, trying to throw off the grip, but a blinding pain followed. He thought his ankle might have been broken.

Harry finally slumped, head spinning and feeling queasy. He licked his lips, and blinked; eyesight focusing through his glasses. The figure was fuzzy at first, shimmering with every pound of Harry's headache; but gradually, they became clear.

"Lestrange," Harry spat, his throat hoarse.

Montgomery Lestrange grinned back viciously, eyes swimming with madness. He leaned in close to Harry, and sniffed at the blood shining in his hair. "Hello mudblood," he said, softly.

Harry struggled, fruitlessly thrashing.

"Uh uh uh," Lestrange said softly, holding up a hushing finger. "I'll be having this."

Lestrange reached up to Harry's neck, fastened his fingers around the chain of the locket, and then tugged brutally to the right. Harry winced as the chain bit into his neck, and he could barely breathe. His tongue felt heavy in his mouth, and he gasped desperately for air.

"Red is a nice colour on you," Lestrange said airily.

The chain broke, and the locket came with it. Air rushed back into Harry's lungs, his chest heaving.

"S-stop," he gasped.

Lestrange dropped the locket, and stamped hard. It was crushed. "That solves that."

"You… you… killed Daisy Meadowes," Harry croaked, the pieces falling into place. Montgomery had been there this morning…. For almost every conversation, actually. In the dormitories, at the table…

"I did," he admitted eagerly, baring his teeth. "And she deserved it; filthy whore."

"Why?" Harry snarled, making an attempt to move, but being swiftly subdued.

Lestrange came close, tucking the hair behind Harry's ear almost tenderly. "I heard her, you know. Screaming for help as her little boyfriend took her in the cupboard. His mother was a squib- their line is tainted. And she let that boy put his hands all over her, and spread his filth all over her…. I would've taken the boy, but he left and she had to do. They were both disgusting." Lestrange turned his head and spat on the ground, like the very word was poison.

Harry could see it in his mind's eye:

Lestrange stalking through the castle, halting as he heard girlish, muffled shrieks. He watched as a broom cupboard door swung open and out stumbled a girl, face red with anger. "We're not going further! Stop asking!"

"C'mon Daisy, just a quick go…" A boy followed her into the corridor, whining loudly.

"I told you George, I'm not in the mood-"

"You were in the mood yesterday!"

"I was drunk yesterday, George, I didn't want-"

The boy moved closer, and she yelled "STOP ASKING!" with tears in her eyes.

The boy threw his hands up and marched away, muttering something about "crazy birds". And then the girl was crying furiously, screaming something at him, heaving with angry little sobs and hugging herself tightly; and Lestrange was moving closer, and then his fingers were wrapped around her tiny little neck, and then he was dashing her skull against the floor, and watching the scarlet halo spread, and finger-painting in her shining blood that crusted and flaked on the naked flesh of her stomach, bruised and-

Harry retched, the taste of bile in his mouth. He wanted to slow his imagination down, but the sick gleam in Lestrange's eye made him think he wasn't far off, and he shook with the urge to vomit. Lestrange finally let Harry go, stepping away like the idea of Harry throwing up was more disgusting than a girl's murder. But Harry didn't try to fight with his newfound freedom, too winded and nauseous to consider even running away.

"Why did you take the locket from… from her body?" Harry grunted, fighting to keep his lunch down. He had to know the whole story, for Daisy's sake, the girl who had just been thrown from one disaster to another-

"It was pretty," Lestrange said simply. "Far too pretty for her. But then Tommy so kindly told me you had it, and I knew that I had one last job to do, one last mudblood to grind to dust-"

"Wait, Riddle told you I had the locket?" Harry interrupted, his stomach sinking. Please no.

"This morning," Lestrange grinned, like he could just sense that this was ripping Harry apart even more. "He told me of your suspicions about the locket, and then, when I saw it at lunch, I knew I had to move fast. I probably wouldn't even have recognised it if dearest Tommy hadn't told me you had it- sometimes memories just slip through." Lestrange laughed, teeth sharp. "So you can thank him for this." Lestrange raised a fist, painted with blood, and shrugged. "But you won't thank him, of course, because you'll be dead."

Harry felt unspeakably betrayed. He had trusted Riddle, set aside his misgivings about his future and told Riddle something important and secret… and Riddle had thrown him to the lions.

A wave of hot anger and something that felt like sorrow rose within him, and Harry threw himself towards his wand, lying in the corridor a few feet away.

A heavy boot came down on his wrist, and Harry yowled like an injured cat; but simply changed his course, now heading towards Lestrange. Lestrange met him and threw blow after blow at his stomach and arms. Harry scratched and clawed as best he could, aiming for the eyes and throat; but without his wand, it was hopeless. In terms of physical strength, Lestrange was unbeatable.

God, Daisy Meadowes hadn't a chance.

And neither did Harry.

Harry did get a moment where he brought his knee up and sent Lestrange reeling, but as Harry scrambled to flee, a hand fastened around his ankle and pulled him back down to collide, chin against cobbles, with the floor.

The fight was short-lasted. It wasn't difficult for Lestrange to finally hold Harry down, crouch over his bruised, limp body, and then give the boy a bloody grin. "Time for the mudblood-"

"-I'm a halfblood, you dick," Harry interjected weakly.

"-To die." And Lestrange lifted a huge first, ready to deliver a blow that Harry was sure would send his skull shattering into a million pieces-

"Maybe take a rain check on that," came a droll suggestion from further down the corridor.

Both Lestrange and Harry's heads whipped around.

"Or don't," Tom Riddle suggested glibly, twirling his wand between his fingers casually, and strolling forwards. "I don't mind."

"Riddle," Harry hissed. "Come to gloat?"

"Well, I did come to get you out of this rather messy situation you seem to have gotten yourself into, but I can always change my plans if you'd rather," Riddle shrugged, wearing a faint smirk.

"That I seem to have gotten myself into-" Harry squawked in outrage. "You told him I had the locket!"

"But you appear to have lost your wand." Riddle sent a disapproving look towards Harry's discarded wand. "And your balance."

"Fuck off!" Harry said coldly. Why wouldn't he just leave? If Lestrange was going to kill him. Harry could at least not have Riddle watching.

Riddle ignored him and sighed. "I honestly expected better from someone who only just lost to me in a duel-"

"It was a draw!" Harry wasn't watching Lestrange, and that was a mistake.

A muffled blow struck Harry's jaw, and he slumped back, dazed. His eyes clenched shut as his jaw throbbed, so he only felt Lestrange being blown away from him, and a crack that sounded like a body hitting a wall. There was another sound, and a pained sound that followed. Harry lay still, finally defeated. Maybe if he just didn't move, the pain would go away?

"…You're not dead, are you?" Riddle's voice was unwelcome, even if it did have an odd tone to it.

Harry mumbled in reply, blinking his eyes open. His glasses were fixed, the cracks vanished, and Harry wondered when Riddle had the time to do that.

"Well, get up then," Riddle said impatiently.

Harry wondered if he could get to his wand in time to curse Riddle. Probably not. And so he turned his head away from the Slytherin prefect. Unfortunately that put Lestrange's body, crumpled and still, directly into his vision. It lay at the foot of the wall, which was still spattered with Harry's blood.

"Are you ignoring me?" Riddle seemed enraged by the idea.

"Well, you did sell me out to a maniac," Harry said through gritted teeth, fixing his eyes stubbornly on a strand of Lestrange's blond hair. "For all I know, you could be coming to finish the job."

"Oh for heaven's sake, I never wanted you dead."

"Could've fooled me."

"If you would be reasonable-"

"Well, what were you doing, then?" Harry bit out.

Riddle sighed. "You were bait."

Harry turned his gaze to Riddle, raising an eyebrow dangerously. "What?"

"I'd suspected Lestrange killed Daisy, ever since it happened-"

"You knew it was Lestrange?" Harry interrupted- probably quite rudely, but he didn't really care. "How?"

"It wasn't difficult," Riddle said patronisingly. "It had to be someone unstable, strong enough to subdue a reasonably hefty girl, and Lestrange has been behaving shiftily ever since it happened. And once you narrowed it down to our dorm mates, it became obvious. Atticus is too much of a coward; Grahams is too weak; Dolohov wouldn't murder a girl he'd had sex with; and yourself and Orion would never kill anyone. And knowing that it wasn't myself; that left Lestrange."

"So you thrust me into the path of a murderer, and just hoped I'd survive so you could- what, prove a theory?!" Somehow, this discovery made Harry even angrier.

"A fairly significant theory," Riddle shrugged.

Harry clenched his jaw and bared his teeth. "I'll kill you," he hissed violently.

"It'll be difficult to do that whilst lying on the ground." Riddle didn't seem overly concerned.

Harry struggled to his feet, limbs shaking uncontrollably. He ached, and moving hurt so much. But the insatiable urge to punch Riddle in the face kept him going, and Harry pushed himself up, clutching his injured wrist tight to his chest. He winced as every twinge and stabbing sensation intensified, but he took a shuffling step towards Riddle.

Riddle looked bored. "You're going to faint."

"I'm not going to faint," Harry seethed, taking another small step.

"Are you sure about that?"

As the darkness prickled on the edge of Harry's vision, he felt himself tip forwards. The buzzing in his ears distracted him, but Harry could swear he felt a pair of strong arms catch him as he fell. He mumbled something like, "'M n't fainting, 'm sleeping" and tried to bat away the help, but his limbs just became heavier and heavier.

He was lost to comforting darkness.

When Harry awoke, he was lying on the floor of the corridor with something soft under his head. He still hurt, but the most piercing pain seemed to have faded. When he blinked open his eyes and glanced down, his wrist was no longer swollen and, rather than purple, it appeared to be a putrid shade of yellow. Harry supposed it was an improvement.

"You've been lying there for a while now."

Great, just what Harry needed. Commentary from Riddle.

"I wonder why," he said hoarsely, throat like parchment. "Could it be that you sent a murderer after me?" Harry wasn't sure why he was so particularly offended- it wasn't like it would be the first time that Riddle would be involved in a plot to kill him. Maybe it was just that Harry had begun to… trust Riddle, a bit.

"I couldn't be certain that he was a murderer," Riddle said delicately. "Not until he went after you."

Harry finally looked at Riddle. The boy looked as unaffected as ever, leant casually against a wall, but if Harry looked closer, he could swear there was a tightness around his mouth similar to… dissatisfaction? Maybe even guilt.

"I… apologise," Riddle said, and the shock of it captured Harry's attention immediately. Even Riddle looked uncomfortable with what he was saying. "This wasn't how I planned for it to go. After I tipped him off, I had intended to be following close and to intervene before Montgomery made a move, but I was… distracted. I didn't anticipate such a swift response. I came as quickly as I could once I realised that Lestrange was nowhere to be seen… I was, admittedly, a little late."

Harry laughed shortly. "Tom Riddle made a mistake… there's a first for everything."

"Indeed."

"…Well, help me up then," Harry sighed reluctantly. They were both aware of the peace offering that Harry was extending.

Riddle took it. He moved slowly, and put an arm around Harry's shoulder, helping to drag him up.

A wave of dizziness hit him, and Harry braced himself against a wall as it did. Once he was clear-headed again, he looked down at himself. His jumper was ruined, and he could see spots of blood in places. He would be covered in bruises by the next morning. "I would've thought I'd be in the hospital wing."

Riddle shrugged. "I healed your most serious injuries, although there weren't that many. A shallow head wound, a broken wrist- nothing grievous. The concussion was the most dangerous thing, but I fixed that. Besides, if I took you to the hospital wing, I would have to present Lestrange as well."

The last Harry had seen of Lestrange had been just before he passed out. Harry's attacker had been unconscious, left at Riddle's mercy. He almost hesitated to ask: "Where- where's Lestrange?"

Riddle ignored the question. "Tomorrow, Lestrange's parents and the school will receive a letter from their son, stating that he has chosen to leave the country and his studies, in order to look for an answer to his madness abroad. They will not question it."

"Neat and tidy," Harry said.

"Quite."

Harry was fairly certain that Lestrange was dead. Like 99% sure. But somehow, he struggled to care. Montgomery Lestrange had murdered one girl, ruined a boy's life, and would have killed Harry. He felt his empathy ebbing away.

Harry could, he knew, go further down this path. He could pester and pry, and use the considerable evidence there was (Riddle had a spot of blood on his collar for starters) to do the right thing. The legal thing. The thing that Dumbledore would want him to do. After all, Riddle had probably killed someone… he needed to face the consequences.

But… Riddle had killed to protect Harry, or at least out of some twisted sense of justice. Surely Harry could let it go. Just this once? He was so tired of being so moralistic. Sometimes, Harry thought that some people deserved to die. Besides, if Lestrange was… dead, then he wouldn't be around to pass on his twisted views to his daughter-in-law.

And so Harry nodded, acknowledging what they both knew was a lie, and moved on.

"Where's my wand?" Harry asked suddenly.

Riddle held up his hand, drawing Harry's attention to the thin stick of wood he held; dull and desperately needing a good polish. The smirk on his face reminded Harry of another boy, around about the same age, holding Harry's wand in a chamber below the school; as a girl with flames for hair faded.

But the Riddle in front of him merely nodded towards Harry's feet and said drily: "Swap?"

Harry glanced down, wondering why Riddle would want his shoes. He then realised that Riddle had actually been gesturing towards the folded item of clothing on the floor. The soft thing under his head had been Riddle's coat, Harry realised; only now noticing that the Slytherin prefect was missing a layer.

"Oh, er, yeah," Harry said quickly, scooping up the coat up and chucking it to Riddle. Riddle caught it deftly, and passed Harry his wand in turn. Harry shoved it into his back pocket.

"I'm lucky he didn't snap it," Harry mumbled.

"Montgomery would never have snapped a wand. It's taboo in pureblood culture- you don't destroy a magical conduit." Riddle dismissed. "Although, granted, Montgomery wasn't one for social norms."

Harry snorted. "Yeah, it's not much of a social norm to murder someone." A pause. "What I don't understand is… why did he chose Daisy?" Harry continued quickly before Riddle could interrupt: "I know that she offended him by going out with someone he thought unworthy or whatever, but there must have been plenty of people in this castle dating someone, you know, unsuitable. Why her?"

"She was a convenient target. Alone, vulnerable... and their families were connected. They may have been playmates. Of course, the Meadowes family broke off the connection once the Lestrange madness became… overt; so their association isn't well known."

Harry laughed in disbelief. "That's some pretty compelling evidence."

There was a brief lull, before Riddle said abruptly: "Are you going to the Malfoy Christmas party?"

Harry blinked at the unexpected small talk. It startled a laugh out of him and, before he knew it, he was cackling like a madman, every laugh like a punch in the stomach as his bruised ribs ached. He thought he might even have cried a little. "Merlin," Harry wheezed. "You're really something else. But yeah- I'm going to the bloody party. Thanks to you, I guess." Harry said, more fondly than was strictly necessary.

"I have no idea what you mean, but I'm sure I'll see you there," Riddle looked pleased with himself nonetheless.

"Sure you don't, Riddle, sure you don't."

"…Why do you do that?" Riddle asked, sounding faintly curious.

"Do what?"

"Call me by my last name. I've told you before that you can call me Tom."

Harry, to be honest, hadn't really noticed doing it. He supposed it was a way of distancing himself from Riddle, of denying a connection between them. Riddle had saved his life though (after endangering it)… maybe he could give Riddle this much.

"Maybe I will then… Tom," Harry said softly, and decided it was time for him to start giving instead of just receiving. 'Twas the season', after all. He stretched out the hand that wasn't battered and bruised, and said with dignity: "Hello Tom Riddle, my name is Harrison Peters. It's nice to meet you."

Tom took his hand with a satisfied smile, and shook it firmly. "Hello Harrison."

Tom escorted Harrison back to the Common Room, telling the battered boy that he should take a long bath. Tom knew that, whilst Harrison wasn't seriously injured (anymore), he would be aching for days. Tom also wanted to get away from that strange pulling sensation in his chest whenever he looked at the particularly ripe lump over Harrison's left eye. It was rather unpleasant.

He had a letter to send anyway. He'd taken the time whilst Harrison was unconscious to write a draft and then duplicate it (after disposing of the body, of course), but now he had to find an inconspicuous owl and make sure no one would come sniffing around after the missing student.

Tom's earlier plan had gone a little awry. He genuinely hadn't meant for Harrison to get hurt, neither had he meant to dispose of Montgomery so finally and thoroughly. But then he'd noticed Montgomery was gone, followed a tracking spell, and rushed around the corner to see the brute's fist raised over Harrison's still body… Tom couldn't explain the rush of anger that had followed. Perhaps it was dismay at his plan having been so twisted.

Montgomery Lestrange had been a goner from the moment he touched Harrison Peters. The boy was fascinating and useful, and sometimes beautiful in his self-righteous fury- Tom would rather he didn't die quite yet. Tom was only just making progress on their friendship, after all- he'd gotten Harrison to call him by his first name. Perhaps, Tom reflected, this whole ordeal had been a blessing in disguise. It had broken down some of Harrison's boundaries; and only a vaguely misogynistic wildcard had to be sacrificed.

All's well that ends well, as the saying went.

It was just Tom's luck that he ran into Dumbledore on the owlery stairs.

"Tom, my dear boy!" The Transfigurations professor threw open his arms, showing off his lemon-coloured robes. Tom recognised them from Christmas last year.

"Good morning, professor," Tom said, with a smile faker than Malfoy's hair colour.

"Perhaps you can direct me towards our young Mr Peters? I notice you two have grown rather fond of each other this past few months."

"I believe he was just heading back towards the Common Room, sir, after a long day. You might be able to catch him." It would amuse Tom to see what Harrison would come up with to explain the bruises.

"Never mind- it isn't pressing. I'm sure he wouldn't appreciate the interruption," Dumbledore chucked. "Perhaps we could talk instead, Tom. I notice you're staying in the castle for the next few weeks. Not heading back home?"

Tom gritted his teeth. "You know me, sir. I couldn't leave the library."

"Ah yes, studies are important. But you should always leave time for personal growth, as well."

Why did Tom feel like he was being chided?

"Very true, professor, your words are always insightful, but I have to send a letter, so if you would just-" Tom took a small step forwards, trying to move around the teacher, but Dumbledore's arm was in the way.

"A letter? Whoever to?"

Tom took a small step backwards, and his smile fell. "I don't think that's quite your business, professor."

"Of course not," Dumbledore said, shaking his head. "Forgive an old man for his curiosity."

"Not quite old yet, sir," Tom said smoothly.

"You're too kind, Tom, but I must disagree. Why, only yesterday, I wasted an entire day knitting! I barely got any marking done. It's the mark of old age."

"Perhaps, sir," Tom demurred, and wondered how long wizards lived for, and how many of those years Dumbledore had left.

"Your essay on Un-transfiguration was brilliant by the way. I don't think even I was writing so well on such complex theories at your age!"

"Thank you, sir." Tom fumed. Dumbledore knew perfectly well that Tom get the basis of his essay from one of Dumbledore's papers, published when the man was just nineteen.

"I suspect it won't come as a surprise if I tell you that you got an O," the professor winked.

"Of course, I would be surprised. You should never get too used to things, sir," Tom said lightly, and imagined squashing the old man's head like a grape.

"Wise words from one so young," Dumbledore chuckled. "Nonetheless, I imagine many of your professors expect O's from you. You must tell me if it gets too much, Tom. We adults often forget the pressure we put on youth."

"I would have thought that was a job for my Head of House, sir. Professor Slughorn is always very welcoming."

"Of course, Tom, whatever you feel most comfortable with!" the old fool agreed cheerily. "I hear dear Horace invited you to another of his festive soirees, but you couldn't attend?"

"I had rather a lot of homework, sir."

"Too much to attend a rather excellent party?"

"You know how it is, sir. Adults often forget the pressure that they put on youth," Tom said.

"Now wherever did you hear such wisdom as that?" Dumbledore asked with a teasing smile. Tom had never felt more patronised.

"I can't quite remember."

Dumbledore chuckled. "You mustn't start losing your memory now, my dear boy, else you'll be quite brain dead by the time you reach your 100s."

"That's how long wizards live?" Tom said with too much surprise. Damn it. Dumbledore always had a way of making him feel like a confused and suspicious eleven year old again.

"I often forget you are not of our world," the Transfigurations professor said with a gentle smile, and Tom bristled.

"I don't often encounter the same problem, sir. I find the wizarding world quite familiar."

"Now there's nothing with being a bit of an outsider, Tom." Dumbledore soothed. "We do need fresh blood, else we stagnate."

Tom couldn't entirely conceal the flash of rage that ran quickly across his features. Fresh blood? He didn't want to be 'fresh blood'. He wanted to belong. He wanted to be as intrinsically connected and necessary to this brave new, fascinating world as, say, Atticus. But still he said: "I couldn't agree more, sir."

The silence between teacher and student became uncomfortable, deliberate, and then more. The boundaries between roles and status blurred, and for a moment, Tom felt taller than his teacher.

"Well, I'd best be going," Dumbledore announced, breaking the moment. "Time waits for no man, especially not for this old fool."

"You shouldn't talk about yourself that way," Tom replied. 'Leave that to me' went unsaid. "You're quite the idol to some."

"Oh, I know! There's nothing so uncomfortable as receiving a letter from a fan."

Excluding cowering and starving in an air raid shelter, of course; Tom thought bitterly. But he just said, "I wouldn't know, sir."

Another silence, and then: "Well, I'd best be off. Good luck with sending your letter, Tom. This is the season for spreading good will."

"Thank you, sir."

And then the two parted. Tom continued up the stairs, well aware of the eyes that followed him on his way, prickling the back of his neck. He ducked his head and rolled his eyes. Old dingbat.

Harry arrived back at his dorm to find a parcel wrapped in soft tissue on his bed. He squinted at the label, and smiled fondly. "Good old Orion."

Harry made quick work of opening the parcel, ripping back packaging with relative enthusiasm. He had good memories associated with receiving clothes- he'd never felt as loved as when Mrs Weasley thought to buy him dress robes.

As the tissue fell away, he caught a glimpse of sparkling material. As the last of the wrapping fell away, a robe of silky, midnight black slid from Harry's fingers and fell to the bed.

"Bloody hell, Orion. Your castoffs are pretty fucking spectacular," Harry breathed, eyes wide. He held the robes up. They were elegant and surprisingly stylish, made of a fabric that was smooth to the touch, but Harry suspected would be pretty structured when on the body. It was the colour of black ice; glinting like starlight. It was, to Harry's limited knowledge, beautiful.

He didn't think he'd be able to currently deal with doing anything more strenuous than stripping off his clothes and slipping into a bath; but he couldn't wait to try them on.

Which would probably be in two days.

When he had to go to the bloody Christmas ball.

And socialise.

Maybe even with Tom.

"Urgh," Harry groaned. And now he had to run a bath. Effort.

As Harry stripped out of his robes and looked down at his body, he saw a mottled mass of yellows and purples; sure to be even tenderer in the morning. But even as he looked, the blood beneath his fingernails looked more pronounced, whispering to him as his stomach sunk.

"It was Tom," Harry muttered to himself. "I didn't do it."

And then he went to run a bath.

How many of you expected that? (Genuinely, I'm curious. Was it obvious? Too obscure? Just obscure enough?)
I know some of y'all may be thinking 'Harry was so pathetic in this chapter, he needed Riddle to save him; clearly Riddle is stronger, etc', but that's really not true. Out of the two of them, Riddle had a distinct advantage. He had his wand, knowledge of who the murder was, and a distracted opponent- and much more viciousness. Harry was unprepared, without a wand, and the target. Harry canonically doesn't have THAT much strength. He's pretty weedy- granted he does Quidditch, but I don't think that would mean much against a wall of muscle like Lestrange. Harry did pretty well to hold Lestrange off/keep him distracted until Riddle got there (not that Harry knew that was what he was doing).
The Dumbledore/Tom convo went on for longer than I intended, but their joint manipulative/neither-of-us-say-what-we-mean-ness is really interesting to write XD
Also, is the timeline now irrevocably changed?
I hope you like the progression in their relationship. Daisy Meadowes' murder served a purpose plot-wise ;) Harry's finally calling Tom by his first name! It's a start XD
Party next! So we can get away from the *cough cough* unspeakable violence, and onto fluffiness (kind of. It's not that fluffy).
And follow me on tumblr, under the same name ;)