So my laptop and I called a truce. I can't stay mad at my baby for too long. So it's safe to say we're back to weekly updates :)
I'd empathise how amazing you all are again, but I'm pretty sure you're bored of hearing it. At any rate, thanks, everyone.
To yume: As soon as I can, always :)
To Berlin: You have my sympathy, school can be a bitch. Why do you say you're paranoid?
Also, I'm seriously considering changing the name of this story. Got a poll on my profile, it'd be much appreciated if you guys voted.
Disclaimer: Those damn disclaimers are messing with my denial! Why can't you just let me believe I own Harry Potter?
Spiting Harry was one of Tom's favourite pastimes.
It was highly amusing, though it carried some risk, for there were things his friend seriously overreacted about. And because Harry was guaranteed to try and spite him right back. Perhaps that was exactly what made it so amusing.
It was, quite frankly, a game between the two of them, that they had been playing for a long time. In the orphanage, they'd never been wanted in the team games the other children played, so they had to make their own. They were much more fun, anyway.
In this particular one, Tom usually won; Harry was much more prone than him to show irritation quickly.
Like now, for example.
"You're an arse," Harry accused, scoffing as they sat together on a sofa, in the Slytherin common room.
"And it took you five years to realize that?" Tom drawled, smiling slyly. "Really, Harry, I would say that's rather slow."
Harry sent him a look somewhere between glaring and pouting. "You're terrible. I hope Nott bored you to death."
"My, my, Harry," Tom murmured. "Don't tell me you were jealous?"
Harry scoffed, and Tom concluded it was his friend's way of saying, yes, terribly so, please don't leave me alone ever again.
It was flattering, really.
He'd be happy to comply. So long as Harry did the same, of course.
"...So how did it go with Charlus?"
He asked the question with fake nonchalance, reaching for his Astronomy textbook at the same time. Like the conversation was unimportant, something he'd listen to with half an ear.
Harry saw through it, of course, annoyingly enough.
"Oh," he whispered, startled. "Does it...bother you? That I might be related to him, I mean?"
Tom stiffened. "Of course not. That would be absurd."
It was Tom, after all, who had pointed out the possible relation to Harry, and warned him to expect a talk with Charlus soon...Where exactly it would go from there, he wasn't certain.
But it didn't bother him, of course it didn't!
He wasn't worried that Harry might move in with his newfound family and leave him alone. He wasn't worried they'd become more important to him and he'd forget about Tom. He wasn't worried he might lose the only friend he had.
It would be degrading to worry about such things, it would suggest that it would affect him if Harry did leave, and much as Tom was fond of the boy, he didn't like that idea at all. He refused to let it be so important that it would worry him.
"Charlus told me that it was pretty much certain we were related, but there were ways to make sure, if I wanted to," Harry said softly. "I told him I didn't. It doesn't matter. He's nice, I'm sure they all are, and I might like to get to know to them better some day...But I already have a family."
Tom froze.
The worry he stubbornly denied feeling all melted away, and he wasn't entirely sure he liked the absurd, sudden rush of relief that came in its stead.
But most of all, he felt triumph- and that, he'd happily admit and acknowledge. Harry wouldn't leave. Harry wouldn't forget. Surnames and blood relations be damned, Harry was his.
His...family?
It was a foreign word to Tom. Maybe he'd wondered about his family before, dreamed someone would come and take him away from that place, many years ago. But it never happened, so Tom cast those dreams aside. Labeled family as something unnecessary and unimportant.
Harry and he were family? More so than any blood relative of either of them was? He'd had a family for five years, and he didn't even know?
But he'd known, sort of. He'd always known that Harry was...not similar to him, that was a wrong word, their personalities were very different and he enjoyed that...but the same with him, in a way no one else ever would ever be, could ever be, and visa versa.
Yes. It seemed fitting that Harry was his family.
Maybe, Tom allowed, just maybe he had been a tad bit worried. Maybe it would have hurt if Harry left, if Harry forgot. But maybe that was all right, because it was Harry and he never would.
He swallowed thickly. "That was a highly idiotic thing to do...Thank you."
"Is it really that shocking?" Harry asked, rolling his eyes. "I mean, you call me an idiot every five minutes. You should be used to me acting idiotic by now."
"The level of your idiocy never ceases to amaze me," Tom replied easily, relaxed now. "I suppose I can't blame you, I mean, they'd obviously pale in comparison to myself. But, if you plan to 'get to know to them', better sooner than later. They could be useful."
Harry gave him a dry look. "Sure, now you see it all practically."
Tom shrugged.
"...I actually thought of that, too," Harry admitted awkwardly. "I know you want to make connections...and whatever. I'm not as stupid as you think, I know it would be benefitical to be in good terms with them."
"Well, you thinking something through is not exactly a regular occurance," Tom pointed out playfully. "But why not, then?"
Harry looked hesitant and highly uncomfortable, awkwardly shifting his weight and looking at the floor. "I...I never really told you where I came from, did I?"
"No," Tom replied immediately, intrigued.
Neither of them had ever shared much about their life before they met.
"It was...different," Harry said slowly, closing his eyes. "It's...I don't remember it well, even though logically I should. There are blanks. But...there were things that don't exist here, like...like it was a diferent universe, in some sci-fi novel or something."
Harry released a shaky breath before continuing. "I had...relatives there. An uncle, an aunt, and a cousin. Sort of. They...weren't the kind of people you'd leave a child with. It's all blurred, and I'm grateful for that, because I doubt it's anything I'd like to remember.
So...what if the Potters searched in about me, and found that place? And I was sent back? I don't want to be there. I don't want it to exist."
"I won't let anyone send you there," Tom promised instantly, the words slipping out of his mouth without permission, but he meant them. "No one will take you away, ever. All right?"
Harry gave a small nod. "All right."
Tom knew he probably wasn't a very good friend to keep pressing, when Harry was clearly so uncomfortable with the topic. Especially since his friend didn't want to remember any of this. But he had to know, and he doubted he'd get another chance where Harry might actually tell him.
"Your relatives. Did they hurt you?"
"I just said I don't remember much," Harry murmured, dodging the question.
"But from what you can remember...?"
Harry squirmed. "Not much, not really. It was mainly withholding meals and locking me in a cupboard, I think...it was, er, my room." His friend laughed mirthlessly like that. "My cousin was the only one to get physical, usually. He had a gang...they liked to play 'Harry Hunting'."
Tom had to make a considerable effort to hide how much Harry's casualness about this enraged him. "You said usually. What exactly do you mean usually?!"
He was certain Harry could have dealt with some kids (if he did was a different matter entirely, and he'd have to inquire about that later, too), but with his so called uncle and aunt...
Harry just shrugged. "My uncle too, but rarely. When I asked questions. Wasn't a fan of questions."
"He beat you?!"
"Not really, you know, just...child discipline. This sort of thing. It wasn't-"
The nonchalance was getting too much. His Harry, his friend, his family, had been in pain, had been abused, and to treat it like it was nothing-
"Harry," he interrupted. "If we ever find this place, these people are going to die."
"What?"
"And you'll be the one to do it. I'll happily help along, of course, but..."
"What?"
Tom sent his friend a glare. "Quit trying to convince me you're deaf. You heard me."
"Are you insane?" Harry hissed. "Don't say such things in the bloody common room- regardless of how few people are here! And no, I will most definitely not! Neither will you!"
"Harry, they-"
"Hurt me?" Harry finished. "Yes. But none of it matters. This is the last time I remember this. If we kill them, it's admitting it happened. It's making it true. It's making it matter."
Tom wanted to argue that of course it mattered, that no one could presume to hurt his Harry and get away with it.
But he stopped himself. They would pay for it, one day, but no sooner than when Harry was ready to confront his past. Right now, he wasn't. Tom could wait.
"All right, Harry. Last time we remember this."
They both knew it was a lie.
Tom counted it a success, if only because his friend didn't protest against murder specifically, just its possible results.
Alphard, having been born in the Noble and Ancient House of Black, believed in blood purity.
And surprise! No, that didn't automatically mean he considered everyone that wasn't a pureblood filth.
Sure, he didn't exactly like Muggles, and it seemed pretty damn obvious that they were inferior to wizards. But the bias against muggleborns seemed foolish, really. The purest of families couldn't have always been pure, and today's muggleborns had the potential of producing purebloods, a few generations in the future.
Purebloods did have an advantage over muggleborns, but it seemed to be more the product of their raising than a lack of talent. Ergo, it could be overcome. They'd have to work ten times harder than purebloods and halfbloods, but it theoretically could be done.
That was what Alphard believed, but he wasn't moronic enough to express such beliefs out loud around the people he usually associated with. He didn't care to be disowned at age eleven, thank you very much.
Still, it was rather amusing to watch Tom Riddle, presumably muggleborn, and Harry Potter, blissfully oblivious to the wizarding culture and etiquette, easily top on every class while the rest of them struggled to catch up.
Himself included, but still.
He hadn't really thought much of it until yesterday, though. Hadn't thought it might be the start of something, well, bigger. He'd observed their skills in magic, but never really them.
Harry, for all his cluelessness, had proved surprisingly quick-witted and interesting to talk to. Tom, he didn't know much about; but Nott was a greedy, ambitious fellow, and if he'd aproached the boy despite his blood status, he was willing to bet there was potential.
Potential for what, exactly, he wasn't sure.
But it was clear there was something about them, and well, Alphard was intrigued. He wanted to be a part of whatever they were up to, if only to sate his own curiosity.
Grinning as he entered the Great Hall, he slipped in the seat at Harry's left- Tom was at his right, of course.
"Morning, Harry," he greeted with a yawn, pouring himself a cup of coffee and filling his plate with bacon.
"Alphard? Good morning," Harry returned, if a bit surprised. "Tom, this is Alphard Black; Alphard, this is Tom Riddle."
"A pleasure," Tom said, confidentally holding out his hand.
Alphard shook. "Likewise."
Hump. Maybe he wasn't completely terrible, even if he'd claimed that Alphard had no manners.
He yawned again, wondering how bad an impression it would make if he swallowed a plate full of bacon in one go. Very bad, probably.
"Alphard?" Harry asked, between uneasiness and laughter. "There's a girl from second year glaring daggers at you. What did you do?"
He looked up, snickering once he noticed who Harry was talking about. Walburga.
The most honest, and probably hurtful, answer would be that he was talking to people she considered unworthy, so he'd have to reply just a tad bit vaguely.
"Oh, that's my dearest sister, Walburga. She hates my guts."
"How so?" Tom inquired.
"No idea," Alphard remarked, solemnly. "Although, it might have something to do with that one time I...accidentally, of course, snuck a dozen nifflers in her room."
Harry blinked. "What's a niffler?
"Treasure-hunting creatures, very attracted to shiny things," Tom clarified. "Useful if you want to locate anything metalic or shimmery, but if Miss. Black had any jewelery in her room...I assume it didn't end well."
It was Alphard's turn to blink. The boy knew that...how? First years didn't even have Care of Magical Creatures as a class, and nifflers were OWL level creatures.
He smiled slowly. Yeah, he was pretty sure he had made a good choice in approaching the two.
Tom gave an irritable sigh, as they left the Great Hall and headed to the Greenhouse. "Next time I send you a note, you don't let anyone read it. Black was apparently wounded by my comment on his manners, and thus tried to rub his ettiquete in my face."
"I think he was...you know, just showing us how that stuff works. To help us, however vaguely," Harry aruged. "Besides, what was that with the notes? This is a fanfiction, not a romantic movie."
"Idiot. Leave the fourth wall alone."
"That doesn't answer my question~" Harry sing-sang.
Tom rolled his eyes. "You were sitting too far away for me to talk to you, and it was the best alternate. Also, it seemed to annoy you, which was a plus."
They entered their classroom, if a meadow could be called that, and Harry snorted in amusement.
"I hope a plant strangles you," he stated.
"You may as well get your wish, today's lesson is on Devil's Snare," his friend shrugged.
Harry raised an eyebrow. He knew he'd read something about Devil's Snare, and he was pretty sure it was a dangerous enough plant, but...
"And it strangles people?"
"Binds their arms and legs, and eventually chokes them. Faster and more tightly if they struggle."
Well, that sounded horrible, it wasn't a big surprise Tom knew of it.
"How do you kill that?"
"Fire spells."
"...Bloody hell, do you know everything?"
Tom gave him a dry look. "Well, of course."
"Hmm," Harry murmured, turning away to hide a smile. "Still hope it strangles you."
Tom snorted. "Your potions still explode in your face more often than not, it would be inconvenient for you if I died."
Yeah, his grade in Potions would definitely be his biggest concern if Tom died...
Writing Tom in an emotional mood is weird. Eh.
Next chapter should be up at October 31st, so it will be sort of a Halloween special. Well, part of it, at least. Just mentioning this because I'm terrible and I want to have you wondering what the hell happens for the entire week.
So, again, make me a happy camper and go vote in the poll, drop a review? :)