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Chapter Three—Time Lost

Harry stepped into the Leaky Cauldron and glanced around with a frown. He didn't see Tom anywhere. Of course, it was probably silly to think that he would be there all the time, but it was the middle of a busy afternoon—busier than Harry had seen the alley last year, in fact—and Tom should be there.

"Looking for someone, lad?"

Harry turned around, smiling in relief at the voice, and then paused, staring. The man behind the bar was much younger than Tom, and he had brilliant chestnut hair and bright eyes—and more teeth. Harry wondered if Tom had relatives who had come to help him now that he was getting older, a son or nephew or something.

"I, ah, yeah, sort of," Harry said, and decided he wouldn't embarrass the man by asking about his relationship to Tom. "I need to Floo Hogwarts, and I was wondering if I could use your Floo?"

"Of course, lad, of course! Two Knuts."

Harry dug a hand into his pocket, scrabbling frantically for a moment while trying to look as if he was doing nothing of the sort. It was true that he had taken to keeping a small amount of wizard money with him in case the Dursleys' house was attacked and he had to run, but he didn't know if it would have come—

God, thank you. The coins clinked against his fingers, and he counted out two Knuts and handed them over to Tom, Jr., or whoever he was. The man nodded and winked at the fireplace. He did gesture a lot like Tom, Harry thought, as he moved over to it and took some Floo powder from the bowl on the mantel.

He tossed it into the Floo and called, "Hogwarts, Professor Dumbledore's office!"

The flames seemed to take forever to turn green. Harry knelt down in front of the fireplace and tried to think about what he would say.

He didn't get the chance to think through it before the fire turned bright, sparkling green, and a voice said, "Yes?"

A voice Harry knew, or thought he knew, but—

The man who was kneeling in front of the hearth was not Professor Dumbledore. Not at all. Or at least, he wasn't Professor Dumbledore the way Harry had last seen him, the silent-eyed old man who had told him about the prophecy, his white hair and beard both seeming to droop.

This man was one Harry had seen once before, and only once: in the memory in Tom Riddle's diary.

His hair was auburn, his glasses less thick. And his beard seemed shorter, too. He stared at Harry, and Harry knew even before his stomach swooped down to tell him so that there would be no recognition in his eyes.

Time travel. I—time traveled? Or I got sucked into something else like Riddle's diary? Fuck, how many of the things are there?

"Who are you, my boy?" Professor Dumbledore's voice was gentle, but Harry thought it was only because Harry's obvious distress was showing on his face.

Harry had to try, just in case. Just in case Dumbledore was in—in disguise, or something. Even though his mind was seizing on other things like the cheerful people bustling through Diagon Alley and the much younger but still familiar man behind the bar of the Leaky Cauldron and snapping the pieces together. "I, sir? It's me, Harry?" He didn't say his last name, just in case.

The man stared at him, and then shook his head with absolute, devastating gentleness. "I'm so sorry, my boy. But I don't know who you are."

Harry squeezed his eyes shut. His head pounded sickeningly. He was—he wasn't going to cry. He had to be stronger than that, for all the people who were depending on him, and now, because he had to find a way back home across the void of time.

"What did you need?"

Harry took a deep breath. It was possible that Dumbledore would know about things like this, or at least have heard of them before. He'd been alive for decades by this point, after all. It occurred to Harry with a shock like the floor tilting beneath him that he didn't know what year it was.

"Sir, can I please come to your office and talk to you? I know what I say is going to sound unbelievable, but please. I need your help."

Dumbledore watched him closely, and then nodded, his eyes beginning to twinkle again.

"Of course, my boy—Harry. Please come through the fire, and we can have a discussion about what you need from me and whether I can still provide it."

Harry stood up with his hand shaking and waited until the flames changed again. Then he ducked through.

This wasn't all right. It wasn't even close to all right. But speaking to Dumbledore was the beginning of making it right. It had to be.

"Orion."

Orion glances up with a small smile. Alphard is standing at the entrance of the small library aisle where Orion has been browsing.

"Cousin." Orion stands up and brushes a little dust off his knees. He doesn't think he's going to find what he needs in the history section. Harry's gift is too rare, and writings on Parselmouths often don't identify specific families by name. Orion thinks he'll have better luck in the magical theory section, which discusses rare gifts, or maybe even baiting Charlus Potter and seeing what he drops in anger. "What do you need?"

"Protection."

Orion's eyes narrow, locking on Alphard. Alphard glances back and forth, and then whispers, "From Riddle."

Orion sucks in his breath sharply. He supposes he should have thought about this. Alphard is younger than they are, and so Orion simply assumed that Riddle wouldn't try to recruit him for the Knights, but—

But that doesn't mean anything if he simply wants a victim to torment, to "persuade" Orion to be fully loyal to him.

Or maybe defeat at Harry's hands has driven him mad enough that he isn't even thinking about that, that he doesn't care who he hurts.

"All right." Orion walks over and puts his arm around his cousin's shoulder, escorting him towards the entrance of the library. "We'll find Harry, and I'll tell him that you want his protection."

"Wait," Alphard says, and yanks back to stare at him. "You think—you think someone who's as Slytherin as Riddle is would?"

It takes Orion a moment to realize what his little cousin is worried about, but when he does, he smiles. "Parseltongue doesn't drive someone mad, Alphard. It's just that Riddle happens to speak it and be mad."

"So some of those tales about Salazar Slytherin—"

"Half of them are rumors that we spread ourselves to keep the other Houses from bothering us."

Alphard visibly digests this. "Oh."

"Harry's not mad, he's a Parselmouth, he's incredibly magically strong, and you've seen him put Riddle on his arse. He's perfect to offer you protection."

"Will he want to?"

"You're my cousin, and I'm his. He'll do it because I ask him to."

Alphard turns around and stares at Orion with his mouth slightly open. Orion smiles back at him and enjoys the gaping. He has to admit that the expression is all the sweeter for him because he knows that he couldn't say that to Harry yet and expect to be believed.

"You sound like you follow him," Alphard says after a moment's stunned silence.

"I do," Orion says, and savors the sound of the words. "But more than that—tell you a secret, cousin?"

Alphard perks up at once, the way Orion knows he would. All Slytherins love secrets, and Alphard is a Black; he loves them more than most. "Of course! Tell me!"

"I'm going to marry him."

Alphard's mouth, open so far that Orion might be able to see the bottom of his throat, and his even longer silence are all that Orion could have hoped for. They continue walking briskly back to the common room; it won't do to look as if they're lingering somewhere and plotting something, not if one of Riddle's followers comes around the corner. And Orion wants to put Alphard under Harry's wing as soon as possible.

"Why?" Alphard finally whispers. "I mean, I thought you followed Riddle, but—I can't imagine you marrying him."

Orion shudders at the thought. Not that he thinks Riddle feels any kind of affection in any case, or could ever pretend love; it's more the thought of being strangled in his bed because Riddle woke up in a bad mood.

"I'm not strong enough to stand on my own, Alphard," he says softly, after casting a charm to detect that there's really no one near them. "My father told me that a long time ago. I have to find a wizard or witch I can follow. And, well, Riddle was it, I thought. But he's sadistic, and uncontrolled, and that makes him weaker than I thought. Harry wants to treat me as an equal and has the power to protect us."

"He—doesn't want to be a lord?"

Orion shakes his head. "I think he believes that would be too prideful, or setting himself up above other people when he shouldn't, or something."

In reality, Harry is above other people, as much for his humility and his compassion as his power. But Orion has already learned that talking about that kind of thing in front of Harry gets him an uncomfortable expression and a cold shoulder, and so he'll keep quiet about it until Harry's ready to hear it.

If other people than Orion and Abraxas are ready to openly appeal to him for protection, then that time might have moved closer.

They arrive in the common room. Not that many people are there—a lot of them are in the library studying, or watching the practice on the Quidditch pitch, now that the game with Gryffindor is getting closer—but the ones who are sit up and stare when Orion leads Alphard straight to Harry.

Harry peeks over his book at them and groans aloud. Then he puts down the book and leans forwards. "You know that you have a choice?" he asked Alphard, completely disregarding their audience. "You don't have to do this. You could always do something else."

"I know I have a choice," Alphard says, his voice high and thin. He stands straight and shakes off Orion's arm, stepping closer to Harry. "And I know that I hate you, and won't swear to you!"

There's a long silence. Orion ignores the riffle of nudges and snickers and gasps traveling around the room, staring at Alphard. There's no way that his baby cousin, who is shyer than anyone Orion knows, would ask for protection from Riddle just to make a scene in the middle of the common room. He might actually prefer to die rather than do that.

Which means something else is going on.

Orion starts to step around to the side, where he could see Alphard's face, but Harry is quicker. He flicks his wand at Alphard and says, "Finite Incantatem."

Alphard gasps and staggers back, his hands clapped over his eyes as though something's hurting them. Then he turns and walks straight over to Orion, burrowing into his side. Orion wraps an arm around him and turns to look at Harry.

Harry's eyes are flat as he turns and looks at the stairs that lead up to the boys' bedrooms. "Imperius Curse," he says, not bothering to lower his voice. "You're good, Riddle, to cast it silently. Are you going to come down here and show us what you're made of instead of mentally assaulting a third-year?"

Orion swallows and pulls Alphard closer, uncaring of who will see him do it. At the moment, he only wants to comfort his cousin. And anyway, he doesn't think that anyone is really going to remember it.

All eyes are on Riddle as he descends the staircase, and Riddle's eyes are on Harry.

"You," Riddle says into the silence, his voice echoing clearly enough that Orion can make out the extra sibilance around his words, "are the most irritating person here, Potter."

Harry laughs a little. It sounds wild and raw, but Orion doesn't have to be afraid that Harry will run. He takes a long step forwards instead, catching Riddle's eye, drawing his attention even more away from Alphard. "I'm not the one who has to control people with the Imperius Curse in a clumsy ploy to get what I want, Riddle."

"Shut up, Potter."

Orion shivers. That's Riddle's low and deadly voice, the one he heard right before Riddle used the Cruciatus on him.

Harry smiles at Riddle, a sharp thing that makes Orion shudder with something that's not fear. "I don't have to control people with that curse for them to like me, Riddle. In fact, I think that it makes you a pretty pathetic wizard to hide behind the Unforgivables instead of facing your enemies head-on like a wizard should."

"I will end you, Potter. I will make you crawl at my feet."

"Oh?" Harry raises his chin. "You couldn't do that even with the Imperius."

Orion stares, not backing up even though he wants to because it would probably draw attention. He's absolutely certain that Harry is baiting Riddle into casting the Imperius. He just doesn't have any idea why. It's not like Harry has gone running for a professor above the Unforgivables that Riddle has already cast, even though he could.

But Riddle takes the bait. This time, he roars the spell aloud, slashing his wand at Harry. "Imperio! Bow before me!"

There's a long moment when the air between Harry and Riddle seems to stretch and glow, and Orion thinks he can almost see the curse slamming into Harry, despite it not having any visible effect. He clenches his hands at his sides, suddenly angry. If Harry did this because he wanted to make some kind of stupid point and he bows and loses any credibility—

Harry laughs.

Orion isn't the only one to gasp, but he must be the loudest. Riddle and Harry only have eyes for each other, though.

"You can't make me bow," Harry says, his voice dark and thick with all kinds of resonances that Orion would happily admit he doesn't understand. "You could never make me bow to you, Tom Marvolo Riddle. I can resist the Imperius. It doesn't matter how strongly it's cast." He takes a step forwards, and behind him, a snake carved on the mantel comes to life and begins to climb down the side of the fireplace after him. "I can resist you, no matter what you do, no matter what you say."

Riddle is staring at Harry as if a monster from his nightmares has come to life. Orion viciously hopes it's so. He hopes that Harry gives Riddle nightmares.

Then Riddle hisses something violent in Parseltongue. Harry laughs and responds in the same language, holding up a hand to halt the carved stone serpent that's now curled near his feet. The serpent rears up and begins to sway back and forth, in a rhythm that Orion realizes matches Harry's breathing as he and Riddle stare at each other.

Riddle finally turns and storms towards the door of the common room. Several people scramble out of his way.

Harry relaxes the tense line of his back and shakes his head. Then he glances at Orion and Alphard. "Are you all right?"

"I'm—fine," Alphard says, but he sounds a little woozy.

Harry reacts before Orion can. "Can you take him to the hospital wing?" he softly asks Orion. "I know that we can't really say what happened, but if you tell Madam Eldiss that someone cast a powerful Confundus on him, she'll be able to use some of the same treatments."

"Yes, I'll do that," Orion says. Meanwhile, Alphard is looking up at Harry with hero-worship in his eyes. Orion pats his cousin on the shoulder while smiling a little smugly at Harry. Someone caring for his well-being, not because he's sworn to them but just because they care, is enough to earn Alphard's undying loyalty.

Harry gives them an exasperated glance, only softened by the smile at the corners of his lips. "Thank you."

Orion herds Alphard towards the infirmary, resisting the urge to look back himself as people crowd around Harry. He can't stand at Harry's side forever. Harry will have to handle himself, by himself, in front of other people to impress them.

Even though Orion would gladly stand there.

"You baited Riddle into casting the Imperius."

They're in bed, and Abraxas is asleep across the room from them. Lestrange is still down in the common room, along with Avery, and Riddle hasn't returned.

Harry rolls on his side. Orion can only see the motion in the room, dusky black except for the Lumos Charm glowing on the end of his own wand. "Yes, I did."

"Why?"

"I know I can resist it," Harry says simply.

Orion stares at him for a long time. Harry is still awake, he thinks, lying on his side and staring back at him. He won't see much of anything without his glasses, probably. Orion has to think of a way to remedy that particular weakness as soon as possible.

"But you couldn't have known that someone as powerful Riddle would cast an Imperius you could resist—"

"Oh, yes, I could."

Harry's voice is a little snappish, which enthralls Orion. He absolutely wants to know more about this darker, angrier side of Harry, the side that Harry will have to let out more often to be a successful lord. And to know that he's trusted with something other than the polite, meek mask is enthralling, too.

"How could you?"

"The last person who cast the Imperius on me was a Dark Lord."

Harry stiffens in the next second, as if he thinks he's said too much. Before Orion can think of some way to reassure him that he would never betray Harry, Harry rolls over abruptly and turns his back to Orion.

Orion is left blinking at the canopies of Harry's bed as they sweep shut, and he slowly rolls over and engages his own curtains, along with the wards that Harry put up for him earlier. He doesn't want to be vulnerable to Riddle as he sleeps.

But only a tiny part of his brain is thinking about that. The rest of his mind is locked determinedly on the library shelves that he didn't have enough time to investigate.

He absolutely must figure out the history of the Potter family, and where Harry's gifts and magic came from.

But as he thinks about it more, Orion realizes that it's the recent history of the Potter family he needs. Books in the library won't tell him about a Dark Lord who cast an Imperius on Harry or an illegitimate son born to the Potters sixteen years ago.

That means, tomorrow, a visit to Charlus Potter, and a strategy to needle the stubborn Gryffindor into talking.

Orion falls asleep smiling.