LAST TIME: Helena Powell was petrified, and Harry revealed to Tom that he knew who was responsible for the attacks. Tom was not best pleased. Harry and Orion went to visit Helena. Harry had a nice chat with her, and Madam Hallpepper came to kick him out. It was then that Harry ran into Myrtle, who manipulated him into sitting with her at dinner, and scaring off her bully: Olive. Harry did so. Harry protected Myrtle as the school grew more and more scared, and Harry grew more and more paranoid, and the two became close. And just when Harry least expected it, the 'Myrtle incident happened'. After Harry took a stand, Tom agreed to not kill Myrtle if Harry let him obliviate her. He didn't tell Harry that he would remove all memories of Harry, and thus the chapter concluded.
Surprise! Early chapter! And no, this isn't a new update time for all of you who have told me that my updates are too far apart (which I agree with, but I don't have time for more, sorry XD), but I have exam revision now, so writing is a great procrastination method (I am literally procrastinating now). The next chapter might therefore be a little later, soz.
Tom strolled away from the first floor bathroom, hands resolutely clenched in front of him. He stopped for a second, bowed his head, and then he pulled out his wand, aimed it at a nearby painting, and screamed.
The portrait exploded, canvas shattered and fluttering to the ground like cut butterfly wings. Nearby paintings shrieked and flapped- someone yelled "that was her only frame, you bastard!", but Tom closed his eyes and breathed.
For a moment, he'd wished that painting was Harrison's head. Or perhaps, instead, the head of that insipid girl, giggling and wailing away as Harrison pandered to her every whim-
He'd lost the chamber. It was like a physical punch to the stomach- he'd lost the only physical connection to his heritage, his ancestors. Sure, he could go down there whilst the basilisk was asleep, but what was the point? What would he do in a damp, empty cave, alone with his own failures? If he could wake up the basilisk without consequence, he would- but there was no way in hell that he could unleash a half-mad, eons-old basilisk without it killing or attacking someone (and then Harrison would object and Tom would go to prison. Or worse, he'd be expelled and sent back to the orphanage. That wasn't going to happen.)
He'd just have to face it: the chamber was lost.
Lost.
If Harrison stood before him now, he'd crucio him. Probably. Maybe. (He didn't even know anymore, and wasn't that a horrifying thought?)
Harrison was probably comforting the girl right that instant, cooing over the poor third year like she was some kind of broken bird. Her memories would be fuzzy by now, Tom thought with satisfaction, nothing more than a blurred recollection that the boy in front of her had once helped her in the Great Hall. He would leave Harrison to work out the details surrounding her amnesia- he was sure the boy would work out something (Tom could think of at least three excuses on the spot).
Let Harrison be the one to squirm at the tricky decision.
Tom hoped he burned with it.
"Tom! Tom! I just need a minute-!"
Tom rolled his eyes as a familiar head of blonde hair came rushing around the corner. His favourite Malfoy, here to pester him.
"Yes, Abraxas?" Tom drawled, slipping his wand into his pocket. Let Abraxas make of the scene what he would- Tom didn't particularly care.
To his credit, Abraxas barely glanced at the blackened portrait frame, instead eagerly drawing a scroll from his pocket. "I found something. About your family."
An echo of Harrison's "Your father's not dead" ran through his mind. Well, it was always nice to have things confirmed.
Tom's eyebrow raised. "Oh? Do tell."
"It was difficult to find-"
"I should hope so. It's taken you long enough."
Abraxas flushed with embarrassment, and busied himself with smoothing down his robes. "Yes, well, I had a lot to do. I had to look and birth records from the last fifty years, and then I had to find a contact in the muggle government-"
"Heaven forbid," Tom said sarcastically, but Abraxas nodded quite earnestly.
"Yes, quite. Well, I found a Riddle family, living in Little Hangleton. They're quite wealthy apparently, in muggle terms- I don't quite understand their archaic monetary system- and I found an article about the son in the local newspapers. His name is Tom, too, and the picture… well."
Abraxas handed the scroll to Tom anxiously, who scanned over it. There wasn't much information, just an address and a brief ancestry tree.
And a photo.
"Nearly identical," Tom noted, softly, unable to conceal a sneer. The muggle was the spitting image of him, all dark, wavy hair and a sharp chin. They had different eyes, Tom noted, and he wondered if he got his eyes from his mother.
"And nearby," Abraxas added eagerly, gesturing to a smaller address at the bottom, "if you check the wizarding families in the nearby area, you find the Gaunts. They're rather poor and their magic is in a terrible state, but they are one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. And they're most fond of boasting about their relation to- I think it's on the page-"
"Salazar Slytherin," Tom finished softly, taking in the information with a subtle gleam in his eyes. "How curious. Thank you, Abraxas," he said at last, dragging his attention away from the tiny, oh-so-significant address. "This really couldn't have come at a better time."
Abraxas beamed, clearly delighted with himself.
"And now," Tom said, "for your reward."
Abraxas took a deep breath, still eagerly gazing at the younger student.
"Obliviate," Tom murmured.
As they said; it if wasn't broken, don't fix it.
It was a much more subtle spell this time. A small widening of the eyes was all the physical reaction Abraxas had time for, before Tom dug into his mind. He was careful, drawing out the memories of Tom first approaching Malfoy with the task, sneaking around at the Ministry, and finally telling Tom his news. In the end, Tom left little more than a vague impression that Abraxas had been asked to do something, but it probably wasn't all that important.
As Tom waved his wand gently to dispel the silvery streams of memory, Abraxas blinked blearily.
"I…"
"Abraxas," Tom said pointedly, stowing his wand again. "You were just on your way to Runes, I believe."
"Oh," Malfoy nodded once, and then again; the memory settling into place. "Yes I must have been. Sorry for bothering you, Tom. I'll see you at dinner."
"I suppose you will," Tom agreed amiably, watching the blond stumble away.
And then he set off himself, heading towards the lake. With the scroll in his pocket, all of a sudden he felt a lot lighter. Who needed a chamber? He'd have a real family, soon enough.
From the rumours that spread through the castle in the following weeks, Harrison had indeed come up with a believable story.
Tom heard many variations of the dramatic tale, and at last, the castle seemed to settle on one: Harrison had been checking on Myrtle when he'd heard her scream. As he ran into the bathroom, he'd seen her lying on the floor unconscious and a dark figure, apparently startled, had escaped through the window onto the grounds beyond. When Myrtle had woken up, she had no memory of the last few weeks beside a strong wizard facing a looming shadow, a very intense feeling of fear, and the absolute knowledge that Harrison had saved her from certain death.
Or so the story went. It was well-constructed, Tom admitted, covering nearly all the plot holes. He was almost impressed.
Harrison had become an instant celebrity, praised for his heroics, despite his insistence that "I really didn't do anything- seriously, stop asking me. Why are you taking photos-?"
It was only a few weeks later when people began to notice that the attacks had ceased. Immediately, the rumour optimistically escalated to 'Harrison Peters scared away the dark wizard who was terrorising and petrifying innocent students', and his popularity soared.
"He saved my life," Myrtle giggled often amongst friends, having suddenly become a lot more popular. She could regularly be found conducting her own miniature 'Harrison Peters' sermons, where she described the attack in awe-inspiring detail. Tom wasn't where she was finding these details, considering she had supposedly been unconscious for the whole thing.
Tom, on the other hand, was having the time of his life. He made up for his disappointment about the chamber by repeatedly bringing up Harrison's 'bravery', prompting Orion to begin squealing all over again.
Harrison, of course, became steadily more and more horrified by it all.
"I hope they move on over summer," Hogwarts' 'hero' said gloomily at the leaving feast, stabbing his fork into a ham steak. He aimed a glare behind him, where Tom could see yet another group of girls gathering around Myrtle at the Ravenclaw girls.
"Try and cheer up," Orion offered sympathetically. The Black Heir had finally calmed down from his excitement enough to recognise that Harrison loathed the attention, and had resorted to patting his friend on the back supportively whenever he was asked for his autograph.
"'M not a farm animal," Harrison would say, and become even more miserable soon after.
This time though, Harrison simply groaned and let his head sink to the table, cushioned by his folded arms.
"They'll forget about it soon enough," Orion said.
"I doubt it," Tom offered serenely, taking a bite of broccoli.
"They'll be talking about it for years," Rupert said gleefully, rubbing his hands together. "Do you know how many dates I've gotten by saying I'm friends with you?"
"We're not friends," Harrison mumbled darkly, face still hidden.
Rupert gasped dramatically, bringing a hand to his heart. "That really hurt, y'know? Like a cruciatus curse."
"I'll actually hurt you in a minute if you're not careful."
"How could I fail to feel fear, when a threat comes directly from the Saviour of Hogwarts?" Rupert simpered, his eyes wide.
Harrison's head shot up. "Don't call me that."
"I don't see what he did that's so great," Atticus said bitterly. "He just walked into a bathroom. I could do that."
Harrison nodded, and then he and Atticus shared a look of disgust as they realised that they agreed on something. Miracles truly did happen.
"But you didn't walk into that bathroom, did you, Atticus?" Tom said sharply, and what a shame that was. He could have killed the pair of them and be done with it. "You were taking a nap."
"I was feeling ill!" Atticus protested.
"Well, thank Merlin for Warren that the Saviour wasn't feeling a bit nauseous," Rupert snorted.
"I have a very weak stomach- my healer prescribed potions!"
"Oh, no!" Rupert cried out sarcastically. "Not the potions! Did you hear that, Grahams? Atticus' healer prescribed potions."
Caspar Grahams glanced over with a bright smile. "My mother sends me potions for migraines. They're genetic."
Rupert took a deep breath. "Your mother-"
"Stop, all of you," Tom said, and then smiled slowly. "We were talking about Harrison, after all. Isn't he such a hero?"
"Fuck you, Riddle."
It was at that opportune moment that Druella and Walburga joined them, Abraxas and Lucian Nott following close behind.
"You're late to the feast!" Orion pouted. "Your last one, too. I still can't believe you're leaving."
"You're leaving?" Harrison asked, surprised.
"Well, we are seventh years," Druella said distractedly, examining something in her lap.
"It is rather sad," Walburga said, with dignified tragedy. "But I trust I'll see you all at my summer charity event next month! It's to raise money for those under-privileged few; like the poor Muggleborns who are thrust into our world with little to their name. We're giving to the Hogwarts fund!"
Tom's neck warmed uncomfortably and he felt an unwelcome flash of humiliation. That was the fund that allowed him to come to school each year.
"I'll be there," Orion promised, stars in his eyes.
"Obviously I will too," Druella agreed, like any other alternative was insane.
Tom wondered why love made people into such idiots.
"Good," Walburga said with satisfaction. "Oh, this is so exciting! Life after Hogwarts is thrilling, isn't it? I'll be marrying dear Apus, Abraxas and Lucian have Ministry apprenticeships lined up, and Druella is…" Walburga turned to Druella. "Darling, what is it you're doing, again?"
Druella shrugged. "Something with Quidditch? I'm not sure yet."
"But you are going to start dating, aren't you?" Walburga asked anxiously.
Druella rolled her eyes. "Here we go again."
"Don't be silly! I just don't want you to be lonely when I go to Romania. And you're precisely the kind of person to end up as a spinster-"
"Oh, thanks a lot!"
"-Because you want to be one!" Walburga insisted. "But you have to start thinking of your future."
Druella smiled coldly. "At least there's more to my future than being a trophy wife."
"And what's that supposed to mean?" Walburga bristled. "I'm just saying, if you don't have children, who's supposed to look after you in your old age-"
"Oh, well I definitely don't want children," Druella snorted. "I can't think of anything worse."
"Druella!"
"Walburga!"
"Ladies!" Rupert said, rather laid-back. "Calm down. I'm sure you'll both pop out babies and die alone. It's inevitable."
"What an awfully misogynistic thing to say," Druella told him sharply. "Women are more than baby-producing charms."
"Yeah, you're definitely good for something else, too," Rupert leered.
Tom couldn't see that going well. Indeed, Druella stiffened and gave Rupert such a glare that hell might have felt a little chilly in comparison.
"Are you still seeing that fourth year?" she asked pointedly. "Can't find someone your own age to screw in a broom cupboard?"
"Well, if you're volunteering…"
"I'd rather have sex with Grahams. At least he has basic respect for women."
"He also has halitosis."
"Bad breath or objectification? What a difficult choice," Druella said, voice dripping with sarcasm.
"C'mon, Druella, every guy objectifies women. We can't help it. It's our nature."
"Not 'every guy' has a one to ten rating chart of girls' breasts plastered to the Slytherin noticeboard."
Rupert grinned, unperturbed, and stretched lazily. "Oh, Dru-Dru, I'll miss our little chats."
"Every breath you take is a waste of oxygen," Druella hissed.
"I'll miss you all," Orion declared happily, setting down his goblet with a 'bang!' He turned to the seventh years. "It won't be the same without you guys."
Tom doubted that was entirely true- he didn't think he'd ever heard Lucian Nott say more than a rare single sentence, for example, but he was sure the sentiment was appreciated.
"I'll miss you all, too," Walburga said, consoled. "It'll be so odd to not be at Hogwarts any more. No more sharing a room with Ella, no more lasagne on Fridays, no more hiding in the owlery- oh, Druella! That reminds me: what does that letter say? I swear I recognise the handwriting…"
Druella finally raised her hands from her lap, revealing a luxurious, white envelope; Druella Rose Rosier written clearly on the front in looped, cursive text. "I haven't opened it yet."
Orion eyed the letter curiously. "When did you get that?"
"This morning. I was just collected Emmeline from the owlery to put her in her cage so I don't have to do it tomorrow morning, and one of the other owls brought it."
"Who sends a letter on the final day of term?" Atticus snorted.
"I suppose we'll find out. Go on. Open it, then!" Walburga demanded, excitedly clapping her hands.
Druella slid a knife along the seam of the letter and broke the seal obediently, opening the envelope flap and sliding a sheet of heavy parchment out. She unfolded it, and took a second to read the contents, her eyes darting down the page quickly.
"Well?" Walburga attempted to peer over Druella's shoulder. She overbalanced and nearly face-planted in the mashed potato.
"It's… it's from Cygnus Black," Druella frowned. She snorted suddenly. "Oh, the Third. Walburga, it's from your brother."
Walburga shrieked. "I knew I recognised the handwriting!"
"I didn't know you had a brother, Walburga," Harrison frowned.
"Oh, I don't like to advertise it. He's already left home, so we see very little of each other." She let out a deep, exasperated breath. "Oh, what does he want?"
"I'm not sure," Druella shrugged. "It just says he wants to discuss something of 'utmost importance'…"
Walburga looked thoughtful. "He does work in the Department of Magical Games and Sports, and I have told him all about your keeping. Perhaps it's about Quidditch! Oh, Ella, I'm so proud of you!" Walburga enfolded Druella into a warm hug, and Druella tried to disguise her delighted laughter.
Their previous disagreement appeared to be forgotten- Tom was once again amazed at their ability to simply forget arguments.
The letter lay on the table, discarded.
A ringing throughout the hall signified Dippet's last address of the year, and Tom almost felt nostalgic. (Almost- he didn't do nostalgia.)
The Headmaster rose to his feet and the hall quietened down, all eyes turning to the front. Dippet looked unusually solemn- usually he was all smiles and sunshine during his end of year speech. Tom felt a prickle of unease.
"Students!" Dippet's voice echoed through the hall.
Walburga and Druella disentangled themselves.
Dippet took a long, heavy breath, and smoothed down his robes. A small smile grew on his face. "I would like to welcome you all to the end of year feast, and I hope you are all enjoying the food. I think you'll agree with me that the house elves have really outdone themselves this year, and will join me in gratitude. I would also like us all to bid a fond farewell to Professor Battlesdown; our dear Arithmancy professor, who is flying off for a relaxing retirement in the Carribean once term has ended."
Polite applause followed.
"And of course, I do hope our first years have enjoyed their year here at Hogwarts, and will continue to do so for many years to come. It gets worse from here, I'm afraid."
Even politer laughter followed.
Dippet's smile faded rather suddenly. "This has, however, been a very sad year for some. It is with a heavy heart and considerable grief that I ask we all remember Daisy Meadowes, who died far too young. And also that we spare a thought for Septimus Wealsey, Helena Powell, and Ronald Moore, all of whom are recovering in St Mungos. The events of this year have been dark and- quite frankly- unforgiveable, and I personally don't believe we could ever justifiably call Hogwarts a school again, if we didn't do something to make sure these events never repeat themselves."
Tom exchanged a raised eyebrow with Druella.
Dippet cleared his throat. "And so it is up to me to inform you that, henceforth, dark magic and its associated branches will be banned from Hogwarts' halls."
A collective gasp rose, as all House tables gained looks of shock. They were banning dark magic? Tom's stomach sank. But they couldn't!
"You are free to practise whatever magic you wish to at home, provided, of course, that is legal; but as a place of safety, Hogwarts can no longer facilitate the use of magic which might harm others. Our curriculum will receive an overhaul, and any dark magic from now on will either be theoretical or highly-supervised in a classroom environment. Let this past year remind us why we must gather as a school and support one another, making sure we are as safe as we can be. Thank you, and enjoy your summer holidays."
And Dippet sat, receiving a light pat from Professor Merrythought. The headmaster looked worn and grey, and Tom wondered if this would be the year that finally finished the old man.
As usual, Dumbledore was glaring down at the Slytherin table, and Tom stared back, fully expected to make disapproving eye contact. Curiously enough, when he followed Dumbledore's gaze, he found it focused on Harrison.
Usually, Tom would have relished dissecting this interaction and pondering on the possibilities, but how could he focus on anything when they had banned dark magic? It was obscene. Tom loved dark magic; he loved the power and the control of it, he loved the silky, seductive feeling as it slipped from his wand- he loved magic- and they wanted to take a part of that away.
"They can't do this," Orion said, looking shell-shocked. "That's my family magic. They can't ban my family magic."
"Daisy Meadowes wasn't even killed with magic. Cassius told me that someone beat her to death," Atticus complained. "This makes no sense."
"The petrified students aren't even dead," Rupert snorted.
Tom rolled his eyes. Idiots. They were so blind.
"Don't you see?" Druella asked condescendingly- apparently she'd had the same idea as he had. "This has nothing to do with 'the events of the past year', or whatever else they want us to believe."
"I doubt it even has anything to do with Daisy Meadowes," Tom added.
Orion furrowed his brow. "What do you mean?"
"It's Grindelwald," Druella explained, twirling a lock of curly hair around her finger. "He's been getting closer- it's all over the newspapers. They obviously don't want dark magic to have any kind of foothold here. If they can stop any possible followers of his from practicing-"
"-Then he loses power," Tom finished.
"I suspect they think it'll reduce the chance of an attack on Hogwarts," Harrison added.
Orion looked distressed. "But no one would attack Hogwarts. We have Dumbledore."
"The Dark Lord's more powerful than Dumbledore," Atticus mocked.
Lucian Nott nodded.
Tom, however, didn't entirely agree. Perhaps Dumbledore did give off a slightly dotty vibe, but he was powerful. There was steel behind the colourful robes and extravagant facial hair.
"Dumbledore is possibly the most talented wizard alive right now," Druella said flatly. "You're an idiot if you think he's not a considerable factor in keeping the Dark Lord away."
"I dunno," Harrison said thoughtfully. "If a dark lord wants something bad enough… there's not much that will stop him." And then he looked at Tom with the oddest expression. Perhaps it was a Seer thing.
"You're never as safe as you think you are," Druella agreed.
"It's so easy to forget we're at war," Orion said. "We go to lessons, and eat meals, and fly… but out there, somewhere, people are dying. For us."
"People are dying in here," Walburga pointed out archly.
"To be totally honest, if banning the dark arts keeps Grindelwald away…" Druella shrugged. "Well, I'm not going to complain."
There was a low grumbling amongst the students, and Tom saw Atticus muttering angrily to Dolohov, who was being unusually serious and nodding along.
"So what was it like, Peters?" Druella asked suddenly. Immediately everyone froze.
Harrison shifted uncomfortably under all the attention. "What do you mean?"
"What was it like when Grindelwald's forces attacked your village?"
Orion turned to Harrison. "You don't need to answer," he assured him.
Tom however, found his interest caught. He leaned forwards. "On the contrary, Orion, I think it would benefit us all to hear a personal story. Perhaps prepare us for what is to come."
"It's fine," Harrison told Orion gently. "I can handle it." He turned back to the rest of the group. He paused a moment, frowning deeply. Absently, Harrison rubbed his forehead. "There's no time to think, when you're being attacked. You just… run, and fight, and hope you survive. Sometimes you remember spells you didn't even know you knew, and sometimes every single jinx disappears from your memory like it was never there. You… you don't really think of anyone else, not whilst you're fighting. You're focused. But eventually you look around, and you realise that whilst you were living, people were dying. For nothing." Harrison fixed them all with a pointed look, lingering, perhaps, on Tom. "War is an awful thing. People will die for nothing, and that's never worth it."
"Sometimes there are causes worth fighting for," Atticus said, looking unimpressed.
"Not this cause," Harrison shook his need. "Not ever."
"And I suppose you're the authority on this, hm?"
"My parents died because some idiots think that those without magic don't count as people," Harrison spat. "I'd say I have more authority than you." He turned to Tom, a strange challenge burning in his eyes. "What about you, Tom? What do you think about war?"
He was back in the orphanage, the piercing screech of the air raid siren rattling in his ear drums.
"Someone grab the children!" a women yelled, and then a strong hand was fastened around his wrist. He was tugged out of the door, the surge of orphans spilling towards the London Underground. Suddenly he felt an elbow in his side, and one of the younger boys went rushing past him. He stumbled, falling to his knees. He reached into his pocket, but he didn't have his wand, it must have been back in the orphanage, he was alone and he didn't have his wand-
He looked up, but around him the streets were in chaos and everyone he knew was gone. In the distance, an explosion rumbled, the very ground seeming to shake. He crawled, half desperate- he was going to live, he would not die an insignificant rat, felled by a muggle- and curled up beneath a bench.
He lay, wide-awake, as the world burned around him.
Tom's heart sped up, and for a moment, his vision tinted red.
"I think," Tom said, bringing his attention back to Harrison, who was watching him knowingly as if he knew exactly where Tom had just gone, "that this conversation is growing a little dark, especially considering what has unfolded this evening. Perhaps we should return to lighter topics."
"Yes," Orion agreed enthusiastically. "For example, Walburga's summer ball…"
Tom let Orion's chatter fade into the background. He had more important things to focus on. The scroll, still in his pocket, was a constant reminder of his new goal. Come summer, he promised himself, he would see what this world could make of him. He'd find out who he was.
Harry took the opportunity, as the rest of the castle packed up and prepared to leave, to go flying. He hadn't flown nearly as often as he would have liked recently, and in the past few weeks he'd been feeling the urge to just be free. Perhaps it was the uncertain prospect of another summer, homeless and friendless. Where would he live? He could try and find odd jobs here and there, but last summer had been… rough. At least it wasn't a summer with the Dursleys.
Unfortunately, whenever he came down to the pitch, he was followed by fans.
How had this happened?
Harry had just been getting used to the idea of not being a celebrity, too. It had been amazing- he got all of the Hogwarts and none of the unfounded idolisation.
And then this had happened. Urgh. Hopefully it would all die away over summer- it wasn't like he'd saved the whole wizarding world, after all. Just a girl.
Myrtle, at least, appeared to be having the time of her life. She was perfectly suited to being the centre of gossip- just dramatic enough, and desperate for some positive recognition. She did appear to finally have friends, though, so that was nice. And Harry still couldn't stop a fondness from rising within him whenever he caught a glimpse of her. It was probably why he hadn't hexed her yet.
But on the final day of term, the Quidditch pitch was completely empty-
"HARRY!"
…Mostly.
"I can't believe I've never seen you fly," Orion enthused, trotting alongside Harry as they weaved their way through the Quidditch stands towards the pitch.
"This year's been a bit hectic," Harry shrugged. "It kind of been one disaster after another."
"It's been the best year of my life," Orion said fiercely, and Harry tried not to blush.
"Yeah, well…"
"I've got to see what you're like on that broom, though, haven't it? Check I haven't wasted my money."
"Cheeky," Harry said, and elbowed him.
"So what position are you?" Orion bounced along beside him, hopping over a discarded scark. "Didn't you say you were a seeker?"
"Yeah. I don't see how that matters though, I was just gonna fly around…"
"Don't be silly!" And out of nowhere, Orion produced a snitch. Harry blinked, staring at the buzzing, golden ball.
"…Huh?"
"You're going to have to practice if you want to get onto the team next year. You do want to, don't you? Christina's leaving now, so the seeker spot is be open."
"What… join the Slytherin team?"
"You don't belong to any other House," Orion grinned playfully. "Well?"
"Yeah," Harry realised. "Yeah. I guess that could be fun." It would be odd; playing for the Slytherin team (and he could only imagine Ron's face), but it would be like getting a little piece of home back. Plus, he could distinctly remember Tom telling him not to join the Quidditch team, which immediately made the prospect more inviting.
"Excellent!" Orion beamed. "I'm going to release the snitch, then, and you'll just have to catch it. In under five minutes, of course, otherwise I get to hex you."
Harry laughed. "When did I agree to that?"
"A minute ago- didn't you notice?" Orion said innocently, but there was a spark behind his eyes that spoke wonders.
Sneaky git, Harry thought fondly.
They finally reached the Quidditch pitch. Orion gave Harry a bright smile and a thumbs up, waving the snitch pointedly. Harry returned the gesture with a faint roll of the eyes, but swung a leg over his broom, and then he took to the sky.
The wind beat his face, whipping through his hair and stinging his cheeks. He grinned, the smile feeling like it might split his face. He felt weightless.
Harry guided the broomstick gently around, the command taking barely a thought and a slight sideways lean, until he was peering down at Orion from his vantage point high in the air. Harry saw Orion wave his wand and a ribbon of light burst from the tip, forming the shape of numbers. As the 5:00 turned into 4:59, Harry realised it was a countdown. And then Orion raised his hand, squinting up at Harry now, and released the snitch.
It darted away with a glint of gold on its wings.
Almost immediately, Harry spotted it reappear hovering just behind Orion's ear. He leant, went to dive, and then stopped. Orion had wanted to see what he was capable of…
So Harry straightened back up, keeping a careful eye on the snitch, and began to lazily circle the pitch. He tried a few loops and tricks, laughing as the broom shifted obediently beneath him. It was no Firebolt, but it was a damn sight better than a Cleansweep One.
He rose higher and higher, until the clouds kissed his scarred skin and whispered 'you are loved'. He felt invincible. The air felt thin and clean as he took a deep breath, and sunlight warming his face. His hands glistened, the golden lines glinting in the yellow
Harry glanced down and spotted Orion, only a speck now. The little Orion blob waved its wand and the timer grew, enlarging so that it was at least 10 times the size, and Harry saw that it now read 0:58. Show time.
Harry dove, plummeting towards the ground at a breakneck speed. It was as if gravity had suddenly wrapped around the handle of the broomstick and pulled. He fell with the broom, whooping as he pressed himself close, eyes concentrated on the smudge of gold behind Orion's head. As he neared the ground, Harry gripped the broom and tugged upwards sharply, the tremendous effort burning in his shoulders and rippling through his back. The broom levelled out, his toes skimming across the grass as he shot towards his friend.
It was then that Orion leapt out of the way, flinging himself onto the springy turf as Harry shot by. Harry's hand reached out, reaching, grasping, and finally caught the snitch where it hovered, unaware. Then he pulled his broom sharply upwards. It drifted slower, and slower, and finally stopped.
Harry sank to the ground, his feet finding solid purchase once more. The snitch in his hand fluttered, and his heart echoed the quick beats. There was something special about plucking magic from the air.
Behind him, Harry heard the sound of Orion staggering to his feet, and then the cheering began.
"That was amazing! You can really fly! Like, properly fly!"
Harry chuckled awkwardly, glancing away from Orion as he bounded to Harry's side. "I'm okay."
"You're incredible. How are you good at so many things?"
"Mate, I can fly and I'm not terrible at duelling. I'm not exactly Dumbledore."
"That's two more talents than lots of people have," Orion said loyally.
Harry laughed, slightly bitterly. "God, my relative would have hated you."
"What do you mean?" Orion asked curiously.
"They thought I was worth less than mud."
"I'm sure that's not true."
"It is." Harry frowned distantly. "I remember when I was eight, my aunt told me that I was an excellent case for nepoticide. I had to look it up in the dictionary."
"Surely she was joking," Orion insisted.
"My aunt didn't have much of a sense of humour. She liked to laugh when the neighbours went through messy divorces, but that was about it."
Orion tried to be positive. "Your parents loved you though."
"Yeah," Harry agreed with a soft smile. "Yeah, I think they did."
"Do you miss them?"
"Of course I do," Harry replied, slightly disbelievingly. "Why wouldn't I?"
Orion went very quiet. "I'm not sure I'd miss my parents."
"You would," Harry insisted. "You'd have to."
Orion shrugged and shoved his hands into his pocket, falling silent. Harry realised he had said something very wrong, and desperately tried to think of how to fix it.
Luckily, he didn't have to.
"Sorry to interrupt," Cassius said, seemingly strolling out of nowhere. He looked as beautiful as nowhere, and Harry really wished he wasn't as attracted to him as he was. Fortunately, Cassius' looks didn't make up for him being a total dick. "But I just had to say how beautiful that flying was."
"I would have thought you'd seen me skate before," Harry said absently, glancing sideways at his reticent friend.
"I have, of course, but it's very different in person. More alive, somehow. The dragon never stood a chance."
"That's great, Cassius," Harry said, grabbing Orion's arm to leave, "But we've got to go and get our luggage-"
Orion shrugged Harry off, staying resolutely where he was, barely sparing Harry a glance. "Where were you at dinner, Cassius? You missed the leaving speech."
"I had other things to do," Cassius shrugged mysteriously, smiling slightly. "So where are you spending the summer, Orion?"
"I'm going home," Orion shrugged, looking downcast.
"And you, Harrison?"
Harry glanced up in shock, scratching the back of his neck. He bent down to pick up his broomstick awkwardly. "Oh, er…"
"Harry?" Orion asked, looking over suddenly.
"I'm not really sure," Harry admitted.
"What do you mean?" Orion was paying attention to him again now, cocking his head in a maternal way (not that Harry would ever tell him that).
"Well, my home was, er, destroyed, and I don't have any relatives who'd have me. I spent most of last summer in an inn, working odd jobs to pay board. I'm fine though," Harry added quickly. "I'll find somewhere."
Cassius let out a satisfied sigh. "Well, I'd better head off. The summer only lasts so long," he said with a serene smile.
"Don't let us keep you," Harry said sarcastically.
Cassius turned to leave, and then paused, turning around to lightly add: "You will be careful in London, won't you, Orion? Don't let your new education get too comprehensive. It's dangerous to teach an old dog new tricks." Cassius began to walk back towards the castle, calling out as he left: "Sometimes a muggle's bite is worse than its bark!"
Cassius' laugh faded as his figure got smaller and smaller.
"Did he just compare muggles to dogs?" Harry scowled, following Cassius' progress as he moved away.
"I think he just compared me to a dog," Orion blinked. "An old dog."
"Practically ancient," Harry snorted. As his voice died away, the space between them became awkward once more. Harry studiously studied his broomstick.
"I'm sorry," Orion said suddenly, softly. "For getting upset. I just… don't like going home."
"And I'm sorry for assuming you would," Harry said. "I get it: the not wanting to go home. It's just... if I still had parents, you couldn't keep me away. I suppose I find it weird that you don't feel the same."
"It might be better," Orion said pointedly, catching Harry's eye. "If I didn't have to go home alone."
"Orion-"
"No, listen! I hate being home- it's awkward and uncomfortable, and it's even worse when Lucretia decides to finally come out of her bedroom, and her and Mother have an argument, and then Rigel cries- it would be nice, to have someone else there. And I hate to think of you; staying in some pokey little inn somewhere-"
"Orion, I can't just stay at your house!" Harry protested, although a little flicker of hope within him protested.
"Of course you can! We have plenty of spare bedrooms, and how else are you going to take me to muggle London, like you promised?"
"I did say that, didn't I?" Harry mused. It would be nice to stay in a house, with a real family. Last summer had been pretty grim, and he didn't fancy having to find a job that let him work every day… "Okay, then," Harry agreed finally. "I'll stay with you."
Orion squealed delightedly, wrapping his arms around Harry and giving him a tight hug. "Oh, this'll be so much fun!"
"Don't you need to ask your parents though?"
"They'll be fine. Father and Mother barely even notice when I leave for school, never mind when I bring an extra guest back. They'll politely ask who you are and then ignore you."
"Sounds fun."
"It will be," Orion said, very passionately.
Suddenly, from somewhere behind a nearby seat came the sound of low giggles.
"They've found us," Harry groaned, recognising 'teenage girl/boy laughter' anywhere. He grabbed Orion's arm and, this time, Orion followed willingly. "We'd better get to the train before they ask for an autograph."
"I can't believe you have a fanclub."
"It's unofficial," Harry said stubbornly.
Orion grinned. "So far."
And that was how Harry found himself, luggage stowed away on the train back to King's Cross, a new destination in mind.
Tom Riddle clenched his fingers tightly around a scroll and studied the photograph closely as the train rocked around him. He, too, had a new destination in mind.
The summer would prove interesting for all involved.
As usual, I have taken liberties with dates of birth. I find it's better to just not think about it (I'd advise you to do the same).
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