So, this was supposed to be up a week ago, but my computer decided that it would be very fun to crash down, for no apparent reason. Sorry, people. Thanks again for all the lovely feedback, you're awesome.
To Guest: You're probably right. Thank you for telling me what you think :)
To Yume: I don't know if two weeks is considered soon, but well, I tried.
To Midnight runner: Dumbledore is manipulative, but so are many people. And Tom's definitely one of them. I don't think he views Harry as an extention of himself- at least, no more than he views himself as an extention of Harry. Thanks a lot for the wonderful review!
To Krystal: Thank you very much, I try my best :)
Disclaimer: There's a variety of things I own, but Harry Potter isn't one of them.
Charlus didn't know what to think of Harry Potter.
He was usually quick to form opinions on people, hasty even. He almost always had a gut feeling on the nature of someone, and he trusted it. He was not always correct, but he was rarely too far from the truth.
It was perhaps a rash way of judging people, but it was pretty damn accurate.
Well, except in Harry's case. With him, his gut feeling went on strike.
Which was extremely unfair, because he happened to need to figure him out, and as quickly as possible.
So maybe it was for that reason, or perhaps he was just spending too much time with Dorea, that he observed the boy for an entire week instead of immediately confronting him, like his Gryffindor nature urged him to do.
And Harry was a contradiction all right!
Charlus had no idea in what way he should approach the other. He couldn't understand him. Everything he could think of doing had equal possibilities of being scorned and of being greeted enthusiastically; he just couldn't get what was prone to get a negative reaction out of the boy and what a positive.
To be honest, he was...sort of wary of Harry- of an eleven year old, tiny boy, how was that even possible?!- as much as he found that he liked something about the other. He was friendly and polite enough with everyone, but had a slightly unapproachable aura, whether he realized it or not.
But he was a Potter.
That much was certain, not only for the general lack of synonimities in the Wizarding World. He looked like a Potter; Harry and himself could probably pass for brothers with ease.
Yet he clearly had not been raised in the Wizarding World. He had no clue about the ettiquete, which was even weirder because he was a bloody Slytherin. Muggle-raised, for whatever reason. Still somehow one of the most talented wizards in his year.
Family was important as nothing else to Charlus, and the boy was part of his, even unknowingly. He wanted to do something about it, somehow be a bit more of true family to the boy...but he didn't know how. He couldn't just bring Harry home and introduce him as a long-lost cousin nobody knew about, or something.
He wrote his mother a letter, explaining the situation a bit, and she agreed that something should be done, but first thing they had to discover how exactly Harry was related to them. Which required talking to Harry. And so Charlus was stuck.
He had no idea how to act around the kid- treat him like family, or a friend, or a stranger, or something between?
But confrontation time it was, little as he liked it.
Charlus approached the boy just after lunchtime, as he was exiting the Great Hall with another boy, his ages, dark haired and pale- the only friend Harry actually had, if he remembered correctly, but he couldn't put a name to him.
"Harry! A moment, please," he called, managing a real enough smile.
"Er, yeah, sure," Harry replied uneasily, sending his friend a glance. "I'll, uh, catch up with you in a moment."
The other boy gave a curt nod. "Better make it to class in time. I'm neither keeping notes nor making excuses for you."
"We both know you will!" Harry yelled after the boy, but he had already disappeared in a different corridor.
Was it just Charlus, or had he seemed slightly sullen?
No matter.
"Hello, Harry," he greeted. "I'm Charlus- Charlus Potter."
Harry gave a hesitant smile. "I know. I kind of expected this to come, actually...So I'm assuming the reason of this talk is our possible relation?"
Bit blunt for a Slytherin, but Charlus was just fine with that. Though he still wondered how the boy knew what he was there to say.
"I have no valid proof there is a relation, but it seems more than obvious," he admitted, shrugging. Then he frowned. "You say possible...I suppose that means you don't actually know if we're related or not?"
And there was him hoping that Harry might be able to explain the specifics of said relation. Plan B, then...He didn't actually come with a plan B, but he made up something, quickly enough.
Harry shifted his weight in discomfort, lips pursing. "I grew up in a Muggle orphanage. Had no idea about any of this 'till I got my Hogwarts letter."
Oh. Charlus' stomach knotted, feeling sympathy for the boy, who suddenly seemed shorter and younger than ever. So Harry wasn't used to having any sort of family...Damn, and Charlus thought the situation was awkward for himself.
"There are ways to find out, if you'd like that, what the relation is exactly- assuming that it exists," he offered. "I...I'll be honest with you, I can't know where things will go from there, but..."
"It's kind of you," Harry murmured, tightly. "And I appreciate it, but my parents are dead, so no use digging in the past. There probably isn't much to find. Sorry, I really need to get to class now."
And Harry hastily walked off, giving a slightly apologetic smile. Charlus followed behind him, knowing it was entirely inconsiderate to press, and doing it regardless.
"I'll walk you," he said as he caught up. "Listen, Harry, I'm sorry...I know this must be hard to talk about...but even like that, can you guarantee you don't have other relatives? Wouldn't you like to at least know they exist?"
The boy grimaced involtunarily, something suspiciously like fear flickering in his expresson for a moment. It didn't suit him.
"I don't think there are any, not in your family."
Charlus nearly grunted in frustration. Why did Slytherins have to be so bloody evasive?! He was trying to help the boy here, for god's sake, a bit cooperation wouldn't hurt...Still, he couldn't, as Harry placed it, dig into the other's past just like that. He had to hope Harry would just tell him eventually.
"All right," he consented. "But still, please consider me your friend at least, yeah? If there's anything you need, let me know."
Harry seemed slightly shaken. "...Okay. I'll remember that. Thank you, Charlus."
"Anytime."
Well, it could have gone worse, the boy was actually nicer than he expected, even if secretive. Odd, he hadn't know Slytherins had a capacity for niceness.
Dorea would probably slap him if he said that out loud.
There were many things Alexander Nott prided himself in.
His pure blood. His quick wits. His good looks. And so on.
First and foremost it was the blood, though. Everything started from there. How could he possibly be anything else of importance, if not for his pure magical blood? Wizards were just better, and purebloods the best out of all of them.
It was simple. Logical.
So he was not happy at all with Tom Riddle and Harry Potter, his classmates, god help him.
The latter was at least presumably a pureblood, carrying the surname Potter. But he was painfully, sickeningly unaware of how a true pureblood, a true Slytherin should behave. And he spent a ridiculous amount of time with Riddle.
Riddle, who with an undeniably Muggle surname, was a halfblood at best. Riddle, who walked around the castle like he owned the damn place. Riddle, every teacher's favourite student. Riddle, oh so bright and oh so charming.
How was that even possible?
Logic suggested Riddle was inferior to himself. And yet, blood was the only thing in which he was lacking. Shouldn't that automatically take all other positive qualities away?
It didn't. Alexander hated him for that.
But even like that, he was no fool. He'd been sorted in Slytherin for a reason- he knew where his best interests lay.
Tom Riddle was powerful. He could see that very clearly, even if most of his classmates could not, and liked to provoke the other boy. Mistaking Riddle's cold indifference for cowardice.
It was just as well, though, it meant he had an advantage over them. He used the one time that unbearable Potter was late for class, and promptly sat down next to Riddle. They had Transfiguration.
He sort of expected a, 'the seat is taken', or something similar, but it never came. Instead, the other studied him with a lazy curiosity.
Riddle refused to speak, though. Alexander gritted his teeth. "...Tom, is it? I'm Alexander Nott."
"Pleasure to make you acquaintance," came the smooth reply.
"The pleasure is all mine," he returned with a forced smile.
The boy sent his a dazzling grin at that, but Alexander couldn't help feeling like he was being mocked, somehow.
They made small talk for a few minutes, then Dumbledore walked in and the class started. Alexander glared dully at the needle he was supposed to transfigure. Key word: supposed to.
It didn't help that Riddle got it right on his first try.
Harry fumed angrily, dropping into the only empty seat as he murmured an excuse for his lateness. His gaze was fixed on Tom, glaring furiously, and he didn't pay any attention to whoever was sitting next to him.
"Bastard! Didn't even save me a seat," he huffed, mostly to himself.
The boy next to him gave a good-naturec chuckle. "If that helps, your friend's most probably just as ready to murder Nott as you are. Pleasant fellow, Nott; can get you so bored you'll be begging for death in minutes. Seconds if he's having a good day."
The boy, Harry thought, was casually elegant. Long, lustrous black hair, laughing eyes, fair skin, a wide loop-side smile spread on his face.
"It helps," Harry assured, grinning despite himself. "Though, if he dies sometime later in the week, neither Tom nor I had anything to do with it, naturally."
The boy held a finger to his lips, eyes gleaming mischievously. "My secret's safe with you. Though, if you are planning his murder, you should consider me as an associate. I've been looking for an excuse to do this for ages."
And maybe Harry was spending too much time with Tom, considering how lightly he took jokes about murder. At least with this boy (unlike with a petty bastard that didn't save him a seat), he could be certain they were 100 % on the joke side.
"Well, if we're going to assasinate people together, can I at least know your name?" he inquired.
"But of course! You have the pleasure to be talking to the one and only Alphard Black," the other introduced himself cheerfully, giving a wink.
Harry snickered quietly, absently turning his needle into a match like they were instructed. "Lucky me, then. I'm Harry Potter."
Alphard mimicked him, frowning when the needle remained stubbornly the same. "Oh, yes, you're extraordinarily lucky. I don't plan murders with just anyone."
"I'm sure that's a bit of an overblow, but I'm flattered nonetheless," Harry murmured, snorting in amusement. "You murder people often, then?"
"Occasionally. It's a good way to fill a Sunday evening. They scream so prettily..." Alphard trailed off, dreamily gazing into space.
Harry laughed and shook his head.
Tom turned to smirk at him from his desk in the front of the class, the smug asshole, and soon enough a paper bird was flying over to him. It unfolded itself, and Harry was not very happy to see it containing a note in Tom's neat handwritting.
Making friends, boy scout? I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that you managed to find the only person in Slytherin with an appalling lack of manners. And subtlety. And brains. You must be proud of yourself.
"Huh," Alphard mused, ducking his head to read as well. "Such kind words. Bit aggressive, isn't he?"
"He just likes to pretend he's a git, don't mind him," Harry dismissed. "He's not that horrible, deep down. Sometimes."
"Yeah, well, better dig the not horrible part out of him. He's sort of judgy, considering his situation."
Situation, meaning blood status.
Harry managed a thin smile, eyes narrowing. "I'm not certain I understand you."
He ignored whatever answer the other murmured, to write back to Tom.
Yes. Or at least, I was. You mind that? Well, deal with it. You're the one who didn't save me a seat, now suffer away from my company! And don't send me notes like we're teenage girls. Just as well that you didn't add, 'yours truly' at the end.
He threw the note at Tom, huffing.
Now, perhaps, he could spend the rest of the class in peace and-
Another note. Really.
Yes, actually, I mind that; but rest assured, it will be dealt with.
Yours truly
Now he was just doing it on purpose.
And what the hell did he mean it would be dealt with?!
Well, that was it. Hopefully, my darling laptop will play nice from now on and I'll be back to my normal pace of weekly updates.
What d'you guys think of the chappie-tappie?