Twist of Fate

by FirePhoenix8

Harry is taken the night Dumbledore is about to leave him with the Dursleys. With forces meddling in the timeline, Harry and Tom become the Riddle brothers. Follow the boys from the 1930s, WWII & Grindelwald, to canon years and a much changed future. Slash.

15. Part I: Chapter 14

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

AN:

Thank you all for giving me your opinions about what should be the pace for this part of the story!

It helped me loads, and I finally decided to cover all the years, doing no time-skips. However, I won't describe every little thing of each school year. I'll only expand on scenes that are important for the plot or character development, and just describe the rest. It's difficult to calculate, but I think that each school year will be covered in 5-8 chapters, except for the last years when most of the action will be happening; those will need more chappies.

I hope this will be for the best and that you'll like it.

Answering some doubts:

The Hat said, "your life has been tampered with, and twice in that very same night, no less!". It said 'twice' because it was referring to when Voldemort went to the Potters to kill Harry and accidentally made him a horcrux. And when, in Privet Drive, the 'Grey Wizard' –Grindelwald- took Harry from Hagrid and Dumbledore, and made him time-travel. Both happened the same night, if you'll remember. Voldemort went to attack the Potters on Oct. 31, at midnight, since he must have been fighting with James for at least a minute or so, then by the time he killed Lily Potter it was past midnight, making it already Nov. 1. And Harry was dropped at the Dursleys by Hagrid in Nov. 1 in the evening, and then the time-travelling happened. So it's still the same day, technically.

Salazar's 'judgment' said Harry had his blood because, according to canon, Voldemort and Harry were distantly related. My version of how this is, for this fic, we'll see it when the Riddle twins begin to unravel the mystery of their origins. But it's just that, though - Harry has a bit of Slytherin blood, but that alone doesn't affect him much. We know he's a parselmouth because he's a horcrux, and we know that only Tom is Slytherin's direct descendant and heir.

I've always liked to imagine Hogwarts as a sentient being –either on purpose, done by the Founders, or due to such an accumulation of magic throughout the ages- so I'm making it happen in this fic.

Hogwarts 'touched' Tom's mind and joyously welcomed him because it could sense that Tom is Slytherin's heir.

The reason why Harry's so sensitive to all the magic around him, going as far as seeing the magic in Hogwarts, is due to what he has become. We'll know more about this as the fic progresses.

Also, I won't be strictly following the family tree lines that are all over the web. They are not cannon, after all – because I only consider canon the books, not whatever else JKR published in other HP related books –I've never read those- or what she might have mentioned in interviews – I haven't read those either. So from such family tree lines, I'm taking names and some dates, but don't expect the characters to have the exact age shown in the tree-lines, because they won't. I'm twisting these 'facts', if they could be considered as such, to make things more interesting, in my view.

Ah, and there won't be any MPREG in this fic, no matter if the subject is mentioned in one of the chapters.

That said, I hope you enjoy this chappie! It's a very looong one.

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Part I: Chapter 14

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As Harry approached the Slytherin table, he realized that his clothes had been suddenly modified: his plain black tie was now displaying strips of silver and forest green, his black robes had a crest at the right side of his chest, with the emblem of Slytherin House. He wondered vaguely if the same had happened to the clothes in his trunk.

Nevertheless, he was aware of what had happened in his surroundings after the Hat had announced his sorting. Some few Slytherins had started applauding, however, almost instantly, murmurs and sharp whispers had spread throughout the table, and those who had been clapping immediately stopped, staring at Harry with utterly revolted looks or horrified gazes.

He knew exactly what they must have been informed about and their reason for those expressions.

When he reached the end of the table where the first years were seated – that which was closest to the professors– he caught sight of the few spaces left, between Thaddeus Avery and two girls: Priscilla Pucey and Capricia Carrow, if he remembered their names correctly from when they had been called out to be sorted.

Abraxas Malfoy was on the other side, flanked by Neron Lestrange and Orion Black, with Alphard seated next to his cousin.

Not that much further up ahead at the table, he recognized the other Blacks he had seen in Diagon Alley: amidst the second year students, Walburga –Alphard's sister, nasty and plain-looking- and her cousin Lucretia, the pretty one; and among the third years, Cygnus Black, Alphard's brother.

The two girls were whispering sharply among themselves, shooting Harry glowers and glares. Cygnus, for his part, merely seemed to be listening to his housemates' angry murmurs. He appeared to be the quiet, observant sort.

When Harry finally attempted to take a seat, both Priscilla Pucey and Capricia Carrow quickly moved along the bench to instantly occupy that space, as one of them hissed out, "Go away, you mudblood scum!"

That seemed to open the floodgates of the dam that had so far been constraining all their voices.

"A mudblood in Slytherin! Impossible, are you sure he is-"

"… Riddle is not a pureblood family name! So of course he's a filthy mudblood, and Abraxas said…"

"He has to be re-sorted! We must demand it from Professor Slughorn…"

Suddenly, all their mean and vicious voices were drowned when Dumbledore called out, "Riddle, Tom!"

At that, Harry brusquely shoved Capricia Carrow to a side and plopped himself down at the very end of the bench, leaving a space between him and the girl – hopefully, for Tom.

He didn't even pay attention to the girl's infuriated shriek of protest about having been touched by his 'filthy paws', and merely snapped his gaze up to piercingly stare at his brother.

He was still thoroughly confused, alarmed, and even angry due to what had happened with the Sorting Hat. He had no idea what the Founders' voices had meant when they had spoken about a nefarious crime committed against him, the need to battle his foes, of unraveling the puzzle of his existence, or that he was the tool of titans and whatnot.

At first, he had had the bewildered thought that perhaps he had been dropped on the floor as a baby, or that one of the orphanage's caregivers might have done some other thing of the sort, by accident. But of course, that was no 'nefarious crime', and the Hat had said that two bad things had happened to him on the same night.

Then, he had thought that perhaps it referred to the punishments inflicted on him by Mrs. Sharpe and Mr. Jenkins. However, they were hardly 'titans', and Mrs. Sharpe had died and Mr. Jenkins had been sacked, so why would he need to battle those foes?

In the end, he had decided to simply lay it rest at the back of his mind. Perhaps, at some point, he might come across something that might shed light on what the Founders' voices had said, and then he would worry about it. Because at present, he was more concerned about Tom's sorting.

If the Hat didn't put his brother in Slytherin, Harry would throttle it and rip it to pieces.

Yes, he had thought that what Salazar Slytherin's voice had said made much sense; besting his enemies by being as cunning as them and all that rot. It was just the thing that Tom might have said.

Regardless, in the end, he hadn't chosen Slytherin because he thought it offered him the most sensible and clever 'solution' to his 'grave situation' –whatever it was– but simply because of his brother. So if Tom ended in some other House, Harry was not going to be happy.

Thus, he was staring intently as Dumbledore placed the Sorting Hat on top of Tom's head. Harry started to fret and worry when the Hat didn't announce the House right away. But then, when he understood that it must be speaking to Tom, Harry felt a frisson of hope.

Perhaps the Founders wanted to speak to his brother too, and it would make sense, because if something bad had happened to Harry that he couldn't remember, then it must have also happened to Tom, since they were twins and had always been together, after all. And maybe Tom could make sense of what the Founders had said.

However, it didn't seem to be the case, because in the next second the Hat bellowed, "Slytherin!"

Harry let out a sigh of relief nonetheless and he beamed a smile at his brother. Though the odd look on Tom's face didn't escape his notice. It was clear that the Hat must have said something to him.

"Another one!" someone at the Slytherin table exclaimed with anger, and all the mutterings and glowers started again.

Harry utterly ignored them and shot Tom a puzzled glance when his brother merely sat by his side and gazed up at the Slytherin banners that were floating high above their heads. His brother's expression was a musing and calculating one, and there was a strange gleam in his dark blue eyes.

Harry frowned at him. "Tom, what did the Hat say-"

"Rosier, Druella!"

The Slytherin table broke into excited murmurs at that, and even Harry's attention was caught when he saw the girl that gracefully sat on the stool. She looked strangely familiar to him.

In the next moment, Harry's eyes widened when he realized what it was. She had the same lustrous blonde hair and clear blue eyes, and many of the same delicate and breath-taking features as those of the face of the young woman he had seen, like a misty mirage, in the Magical Menagerie in Diagon Alley, when Alice's lullaby had been inexplicably ringing in his ears.

Extremely puzzled by it, he watched as she was sorted into Slytherin. When the girl reached their table, she didn't sit with them. Instead, with nose sticking up in the air, Druella Rosier took a place beside Walburga and Lucretia Black, the two second-year girls instantly welcoming her warmly in their midst. Evidently, they were close friends.

Though, Druella Rosier seemed more interested, at first, in shooting coy glances at Cygnus Black. It seemed the girl had seated herself on that spot precisely for that purpose. The third-year boy, for his part, gave her a disdainful look, his lips twisting with irritation, before he turned his back on her and proceeded to quietly chat with his friends.

When Walburga and Lucretia Black started whispering to her, gesturing in Harry and Tom's direction, shooting them glowers, all the beauty that Druella Rosier possessed was marred, her face scrunching up as she shot them an ugly sneer.

If Tom realized what was happening at the Slytherin table, or even overheard all the mean whispers and murmurs, he didn't show any proof of it. His brother was still occupied in some sort of deep introspection or grave pondering, coolly indifferent to everything else.

Soon, the last child was sorted, and the wizard who had been seated in a golden chair in the middle of the High Table, walked around it to stand before them. A marble plinth, displaying Hogwarts' emblem -an H with a badger, a raven, a snake and a small lion wrapped around it- appeared in front of him, and the wizard rose up his arms, gathering all their attention.

He was thin and not too tall, with a wrinkled face showing his advanced age, with grey hair matched by a neatly cropped beard, and he was dressed in rich, plum-hued robes. The wizard had a solemn and wizened air about him. He had to be the Headmaster, Armando Dippet, that the Prewett twins had mentioned.

"Welcome," the wizard said gravely, "welcome to another year at Hogwarts."

The rest of the Houses cheered, hooted, and clapped loudly while the Slytherins merely applauded quietly for a brief moment.

"Let's raise our goblets in a toast!"

At that, many pitchers with all sorts of colored drinks suddenly appeared at the tables, and Harry nearly yelped in surprise, to then see that his own golden goblet was abruptly filled with an orange-hued liquid. Nonetheless, he imitated the other students and raised his goblet in a silent cheer, to then take a careful sip from it.

The drink was very tasty and sweet – pumpkin juice, he would later find out- and he smacked his lips in appreciation. That earned him many disgusted scowls and sneers from his housemates, but he utterly ignored them and took another long gulp, the warm drink settling pleasantly in his belly.

The Headmaster then went on to explain the many rules of Hogwarts, particularly pointing out the curfew hours, that only second-years and onwards were allowed to play Quidditch – which garnered many grumbles and complains from the first-year Gryffindors – that signed permission slips were required for the weekend outings to Hogsmeade, that students who fancied to take a swim in the Black Lake had to notify a teacher first, so that the Giant Squid could be alerted and thus be prepared to protect them from the dangerous creatures that inhabited the lake, and finally, that the Forbidden Forest was precisely that, forbidden.

Some of the Slytherins sneered at that, contemptuously whispering and hissing out about 'filthy halfbreeds' and 'centaurs', which made Harry's eyes widen.

And then the Headmaster introduced the wizards and witches seated at the High Table. Three of the professors, in particular, earned the most boisterous round of applauses.

Indeed, Albus Dumbledore, as the Head of Gryffindor House, the Transfiguration teacher and the Deputy Headmaster, was most loudly cheered by all the Houses, except the Slytherins who clapped slowly for a second, and then went silent and stony-faced.

The second most lauded one was the Charms teacher and Head of Hufflepuff House, Professor Tilly Toke, who stood up from his seat and gave a swooping, courteous bow at all the students. He was a very handsome man, seemingly in his early thirties, with long, golden hair and bright hazel eyes; his robes form fitting but also an unpretentious midnight blue.

Most girls dazedly gazed at him, blushing or sighing with longing and infatuation, just as many first-years of all Houses broke into excited, loud whispers which reverberated across the vast expanse of the Great Hall.

"…my mum told me about him! He saved all those Muggles on that beach, a couple of years ago…"

"He defeated the rogue dragon! I saw the article in the Daily Prophet…"

"… the Ministry gave him an Order of Merlin, First Class!"

"Is he wearing it, do you see it?"

The wizard evidently overheard all the thrilled, awed murmurs, though Harry saw that the man didn't preen under the attention, as he had half-expected. Professor Toke merely gave them a warm smile and then sat back on his chair, allowing the Headmaster to introduce the next teacher.

The third professor who earned much voiced admiration was the Flying Instructor and Quidditch Referee, Miss Jocunda Sykes. She was a young witch in her twenties, with long, white hair, which she wore in a simple ponytail. Quite tall and slim, she appeared to have vast amounts of strength and energy.

"…is she really the one who broke all records by crossing the Atlantic by broomstick, three years ago?"

"Oh, yes! She was the first witch or wizard in history to accomplish it!"

"…she flew with the Oakshaft 79 racing broom, no less!"

"I've heard that she's a wickedly good Quidditch player as well…"

Nonetheless, the other teachers were greeted warmly, even if not as enthusiastically. The Ravenclaws did cheer Professor Perpetua Fancourt very loudly, who apparently was their Head of House and the Astronomy teacher. She looked to be in her forties, with a small, bony body, and a mane of short, purple curls.

Harry even heard one of the Slytherins mentioning that the witch had invented something called the 'Lunascope', several years ago.

"It's just as Grandfather told me," Harry overheard Abraxas Malfoy say gravely to his friends. "Dippet has taken care of employing outstanding witches and wizards these last few years. It was about time, in my opinion."

"Is it because of the European Dueling Championship?" inquired Capricia Carrow with interest, leaning forward to be able to participate in the discussion between the boys across the table from her.

"I expect it to be so," replied Abraxas shortly, waving a hand. "The next one is planned to take place in a few years, and Hogwarts' Governors are quite tired that the Championship is always won by former students of Durmstrang-"

"And Beauxbatons!" cut in Orion Black, looking must put upon. "The last Championship, of three years ago, was won by a boy in his seventh year!"

Abraxas nodded at them. "Yes, Julian Erlichmann. He was not yet eighteen, back then."

"I didn't believe it was true!" breathed out Priscilla Pucey, her eyes wide. "I thought that the Daily Prophet's articles about how young he was, and still a mere schoolboy, were an exaggeration-"

"And last, but certainly not least," announced the Headmaster, his voice drowning the Slytherins' conversation, "our very own Potions Master, Head of Slytherin House, and Potions teacher, Professor Horace Slughorn!"

Harry gaped at the pudgy, short, and nearly bald man that stood up and winningly smiled at them all. It was the same wizard that Tom and he had stumbled upon in Knockturn Alley – the man's enormous, brown mustache was unmistakable. And he was their Head of House, no less!

As the Slytherin table broke into applauses, very loud claps for the first time -though they didn't cheer or hoot, apparently that was considered bad manners and very uncouth by his housemates- Harry snapped his head around to glance at his brother.

He sniggered under his breath when he saw that Tom was staring at Horace Slughorn with wide eyes and a pale face. No doubt, his brother was now regretting the shouted insults that he had flung at the man.

Though, in the next moment, as Professor Slughorn sat back down on his place at the High Table, Harry saw how Tom regained his composure. And then Harry detected a most calculating glint in his brother's dark blue eyes, just before Tom's expression morphed into one filled with respect and awe as he gazed at Slughorn.

Not wanting to miss the interaction, Harry glanced at the professor, seeing how Slughorn blinked at Tom, and then sat up straight on his seat and slowly picked up his goblet in a move that surely felt regal and elegant to the man.

Harry caught the way in which his brother's lips slightly tilted upwards in a covert, satisfied smirk. Furthermore, apparently to wrap the matter with a nice bow and further make his way into the good graces of their Head of House, Tom lifted up his own goblet in a silent, reverent toast towards the wizard, and then brought it to his lips.

Slughorn immediately repaid the gesture by doing likewise, looking like a puffed out, preening, fat pigeon.

Harry snorted and rolled his eyes. Tom's tactics never failed; his brother was too much of an expert on how to stroke the conceit and vanity of others to have them eating out of the palm of his hand. Either by doing such or by displaying carefully calculated humble or charming manners, his brother always succeeded with too much ease.

Harry shook his head. It was disgusting, really. And pathetically sad too, that Tom's targets never realized how thoroughly they were being played.

"Enjoy the Welcoming Feast!" boomed the Headmaster at last, before rejoining his staff at the High Table.

Harry's mouth fell open the next second when, suddenly, the golden plates in front of him were piled with food, which appeared to have come out of nowhere.

He had never seen so much food in his life, and most dishes with things he didn't recognize, given the limited diet he had endured in the orphanage. There were all sorts of vegetables, boiled or fried, and many types of cooked or roasted meats in steaks or chops, with thick gravies on the side that he had never seen before but looked thick and delicious, and meat pies or puddings with cheese and carrots and the sort, and many other things that he couldn't describe.

He inhaled the varied, mouth-watering smells coming from the countless dishes, and sighed with sheer pleasure as he lifted a hand, ready to grab as much food as possible and try a bit of everything.

He halted and nearly jumped in the air, startled, when a flock of ghosts abruptly flooded into the Great Hall, emerging from the walls and even the floor.

Many of the first-years of the other Houses gasped in surprise, though soon the ghosts mingled with the students, and Harry managed to remember the names of some of the ghosts that the Prewett twins had mentioned.

There was The Fat Friar, now amicably chatting with the Hufflepuffs, and the Gryffindor ghost was pulling his head to a side, with Felix Prewett jumping to his feet to peer at the nearly severed neck, the boy looking thoroughly thrilled at the sight.

Suddenly, Harry felt as if an icy wind swept around him, and he jerked to a side when he caught sight of the ghost that was floating right beside him, at the end of the table.

It had to be Slytherin House's ghost, he realized, but he couldn't quite remember his name. He was all grey and nearly transparent, like all the others, but he bore a grim expression on his broad, rough-featured face and was dressed in very ancient-looking clothes – from Medieval times, it seemed.

Moreover, there was a gaping, jagged wound in his chest, as if someone had plunged a dagger in his heart, with dark grey stains splattered bellow it – bloodstains, Harry realized with a shudder. However, what was even scarier was that the ghost also had dark grey stains on his face, shoulders, and arms, which couldn't have come from the ghost's own wound.

The ghost's eyes trailed along the Ravenclaw table, his gaze intent and piercing, as if looking for someone. The next second, he let out a grunt, and turned his attention back to the Slytherins.

The silent ghost's eyes, now dull and dispassionate, swept along the Slytherin table with disinterest. He started to turn around with the intention of leaving, it seemed, but then he did a double take on Harry. The ghost halted and stared.

Harry stared back, and blinked, raking his brain to remember what the ghost was called. "Er…" He shook his head, giving up, and finally asked amicably, "What's your name?"

The ghost didn't answer. Instead, he was now frowning at him, his grey gaze flickering from Harry's face to his neck and then hands – apparently to every inch of his body that wasn't covered by his school robes.

Harry looked down too, wondering if he had spilled juice on himself, since the ghost was indeed staring as if he had something on his skin.

Finding nothing, Harry glanced back at the ghost, puzzled. If the ghost had been frowning before, now the expression was fiercer and deeper. And almost as if in slow motion, Harry saw the ghost extending out a grey hand, with a finger posed to swipe through Harry's arm, a flash of perplexity and curiosity in the ghost's eyes.

The next second, Harry stiffened at the strange sensation; the feeling of an icy finger touching his skin. It hadn't passed through his arm at all. But hadn't the Prewett twins said that ghosts had no solidity – that they went through people just like they went through walls and doors?

The ghost let out a muted gasp, instantly withdrawing his hand and recoiling away from Harry, staring at him with a horrified expression on his face.

Then he spun around and flung himself at the wall, instantly disappearing from sight, leaving a bewildered Harry in his wake.

"Look - off he goes to search for the Grey Lady!" one of the older Slytherins guffawed, shaking his head. "Always chasing after her-"

"It's her I rather pity," a third-year girl interjected in a matter-of-fact tone of voice. "When the Bloody Baron manages to find her, she always flees away from him. And have you seen her expression? She always looks utterly horrified and fearful. I've always wondered why…"

Harry snapped his head around, his heart pounding in his chest, still feeling thoroughly confused. Though he saw that none seemed to have noticed his interaction with the ghost. Apparently, only a few had taken notice of the ghost leaving the Great Hall.

All the Slytherins were already eating and chattering amongst themselves, and even Tom hadn't been paying attention to him. His brother still hadn't served himself with dinner, but was rather listening in to their housemates' conversations, closely observing them with an expression on his face that Harry knew well – Tom was plotting.

Harry felt a frisson of relief and glanced away – the moment he did, his green gaze got locked with a silver one. He froze like a rabbit caught in a motorcar's headlights. Abraxas Malfoy was staring at him with wide eyes, a shocked expression on his unearthly handsome face.

The boy had seen – the realization struck Harry like a lightening bolt. What had happened with the ghost couldn't be anything normal, not when Malfoy was nearly gaping at him.

And Harry couldn't stop staring back at him either, just like what had happened in the Hogwarts Express. Even when Malfoy's expression slowly changed - the boy tilting his head to a side, his silver eyes becoming heavy lidded, glittering with interest as he now gazed at him as if Harry had suddenly become a fascinating, complex puzzle that Abraxas was determined to solve – Harry still couldn't peel his eyes away.

Though, he did shift fretfully on his seat, feeling a mite flustered and discomfited under Malfoy's intense gaze. It wasn't comfortable to have the boy's full attention, he decided. And there was such a strange pull to boy.

Finally, he managed to pull himself together and he shot Malfoy an irritated scowl, clearly conveying that he didn't appreciate being stared at. To his surprise, Abraxas didn't react as expected. The boy arched an eyebrow and one corner of his lips tilted upwards, as if in amusement.

Harry's eyes narrowed. Malfoy's lips curved upwards even further. Finally, Harry grunted and glanced away.

He didn't do much better when his eyes landed on the High Table. There, was Albus Dumbledore, piercingly staring at him from above the rim of his half-moon spectacles, with his hand in mid-air, carrying his goblet, as if he had been about to take a sip before something halted his motion. And given the man's puzzled and pensive expression, Harry just knew that Abraxas Malfoy hadn't been the only one who had seen his interaction with the ghost.

The next moment, when the wizard seemed to realize that Harry had caught sight of him, Dumbledore calmly settled back his goblet on his table and he smoothened his face, giving Harry a gentle smile. The man did seem sincere in his attempt to grace him with a soothing and calming expression, but Harry had had enough.

After Dumbledore's visit to the orphanage, when the wizard had reacted so strangely to his scar and to the discovery that they could speak to snakes, no amount of smiles was going to make Harry feel comfortable with the man. And he really was in no mood to accept friendly gestures, not when it seemed that there was another weird thing about him.

Harry was mightily glad that, from the start, he had been ignoring the colorful lattice that spread throughout the entirety of the Great Hall. Only Tom knew that he could apparently see the castle's magic, and he especially wanted to keep it that way after the 'touch-thing' with the Bloody Baron.

So, he glared at Albus Dumbledore, and then he snapped his head around to glare at Abraxas Malfoy too, who was still intently observing him, and he finally concentrated all of his attention on the numerous dishes before him.

He chose the roasted chicken legs and extended a hand to grab a piece, just when a fork had been about to stab another leg.

The boy yielding the fork instantly withdrew it, to then slam it on the table. Indeed, Neron Lestrange sprung to his feet, his face contorted with rage as he bellowed at Harry, "You dare touch our food with your bare, filthy, mudblood hands! Touching the same platter we must all share!"

Tom stiffened by his side, and Harry gaped at the boy, his hand hanging a few inches away from the chicken leg.

Cutlery clattered on the table all along it, every Slytherins' attention drawn to them at Lestrange's loud, reverberating shout.

"Really, this is unbearable!" then cried out Capricia Carrow, from her seat besides Tom, as she vehemently addressed all her housemates. "Are we expected to tolerate their presence in our midst, in our very own table, sharing our food!"

"She's right!" interjected Orion Black, his handsome face twisting with revulsion. "Who knows what kind of disgusting muggle diseases they carry – they'll contaminate our food, they'll pass on to us their filthy illnesses!"

Many Slytherins grumbled in agreement, or nodded, or loudly voiced similar opinions, until Walburga Black jumped to her feet, with a thunderous expression on her plain-looking face as she shrieked angrily, "They must be re-sorted! The Hat evidently made a mistake. We'll not have mudblood scum among us!"

Two older Slytherins suddenly appeared before them. A tall boy with curly blonde hair and a slightly crooked nose, with a golden badge pinned on his robes that denoted him as the Head Boy. And a girl, with the type of curvy body, with tiny waist and generous bosom, that would have had Eric Whelley drooling after her. She also had a badge on her robes, but a silver one – she was a Prefect. But it wasn't those things that caught Harry's attention, but her face.

She had the same light grey eyes as Alphard, though much larger and thus prettier and more noticeable. Her hair was a glossy, wavy black, reaching her waist. And her features were simply stunning, even surpassing Lucretia and Orion Black in beauty and handsomeness.

She was another Black, no doubt, and it surprised Harry since he hadn't expected that there was even more of them at the school. He certainly hadn't seen her in Diagon Alley. He was quite sure he would have remembered a girl as striking as her.

"What's all this ruckus about?" demanded the girl sharply, scowling at the younger Slytherins.

"They're mudbloods," snarled Thaddeus Avery, pointing a finger at Tom and Harry. "That's the problem – or didn't you hear? They even tried to get in our compartment in the Hogwarts Express!"

The burly, stout boy shot Abraxas Malfoy a glance, as if asking for his support and participation.

However, anything of the kind was forestalled when the Prefect girl swiftly turned to pin Tom and Harry with her gaze, as she demanded briskly, "Are you muggleborns, really?"

Harry opened his mouth to explain what he and Tom suspected and believed – that they were halfbloods- but his brother replied before he could, saying nonchalantly, "We are."

Digging his teeth on his lower lip, Harry snapped his head around to glower angrily at him. His brother was making everything worse! He still didn't understand why Tom wanted everyone to believe they were muggleborns – Tom had done the same with the Prewett twins.

"SEE!" boomed Thaddeus Avery. "I told you!"

The Prefect girl spun around and narrowed her light grey eyes at the boy, as she whispered sharply, "Yes, but that's no excuse to make a scene in the middle of the Welcoming Feast! Everyone's watching us now!"

She gestured with a hand at the other tables, and she was indeed right. Many students of the other Houses were standing up, trying to take a peek at what was happening at the Slytherin table. Even the professors looked worried or concerned, murmuring among themselves, shooting them glances. Slughorn looked flustered and hesitant, though apparently he had decided to let his Prefect and the Head Boy take charge of the situation and resolve the matter.

"Now stop making a spectacle of yourselves and eat your dinner quietly, with the proper pureblood manners you were raised with," continued the Black girl in a harsh tone of voice. "Now's not the time to discuss such things-"

"I'm not going to sit here with them, Dorea," interjected gruffly an enormous, muscled, third-year boy, seated across from Cygnus Black, his voice laced with a slight foreign accent. "I refuse to share a table with mudbloods-" he gestured at all the younger Slytherins around him "- and I'm not the only one. Take them away and then we'll all proceed with our dinner-"

"My, my, Dolohov," snidely sneered Dorea Black at him, "your skull is even thicker than I thought. Did you hear me asking for your opinion? No, you didn't, did you? Perhaps the two years you've been at Hogwarts haven't been enough to make you fully understand who makes all the decisions around here."

She leaned forward, and lowered her voice to a poignant whisper, apparently not wanting the other students and the teachers to overhear her, "As the oldest Black, a Prefect, your Quidditch Captain, and the undefeated dueler in our House's matches, I'm one of The Two who leads Slytherin House, and we don't take to disobedience kindly. Do we, Algernon?"

The Head Boy nodded coolly, shooting a stern and irritated scowl at all the younger Slytherins. "Quite right, Dorea."

"I don't care if you and Wilkes are The Two," spat Walburga Black incensed, still standing up as she darkly glared at them. "In such a grave matter as this one, you have no right to make us yield!"

"I have every right, Burgy-"

"Don't call me that!"

"Why, dear niece," drawled Dorea Black mockingly, her light grey eyes glinting, "do you prefer 'Wally' as a nickname, then, like a common muggle's?"

"You hag!" screeched Walburga, looking deranged in her fury as she swiftly brought a hand to one of her robes' pockets.

Dorea instantly grabbed the younger girl's arm in a painful grip, as she hissed out, "Think twice before wielding your wand against me, you stupid girl. And watch how you speak to me, I'm still your Aunt-"

"That you're Father's baby sister doesn't mean I have to obey you," snarled Walburga as she ripped her arm from the older girl's grasp. Her voice turned low, cruel, and nasty, as she added venomously, "Your mere conception was an unfortunate accident. Grandmamá didn't want to have you. She should have drowned you at birth-"

"Stop it, sister," interjected Cygnus Black suddenly, his voice quiet, yet his gaze strict as he leveled at her a hard look.

Walburga instantly rounded on him. "Why should I? She struts around Hogwarts as if she's so much better than the rest of us, ordering us around, when she should be licking the sole of our shoes, in gratefulness for taking her in! She's living in our house, spending our money and eating from our table, by our good graces, because she's such a blood-traitorous slag that grandpapá, her own father, kicked her out!"

She snapped her head around to glare at Dorea, her face contorting with fury, as she spat hatefully, "I stopped listening to you, Aunt, the day you became a loose hag with no standards, cavorting with that muggle-lover-"

"Insult him in my presence once more and I'll make you regret it," hissed out Dorea Black, taking a menacing step forward. "Your father sees no flaw in the boy I want to be engaged with, so neither should you. And even if you do, you should shut your mouth and respect your betters!" She gave her a thoroughly disgusted look. "You're acting no better than a muggle fishwife – venting Black family matters in public, for all to hear!"

The moment Walburga opened her mouth again, bristling with fury, Cygnus grabbed her by the arm and yanked her down on the bench, as he whispered angrily, "Aunt 'Rea is right. Shut up once and for all! You've said too much already-"

"Indeed she has," remarked Dorea Black in a low tone of voice, her beautiful light grey eyes glinting with vindictive relish. "Your father will hear about this, of course. I'll be owling him post-haste. I dare say Pollux won't be pleased with you at all, Burgy."

The Head Boy, the tall, blonde, curly-haired Algernon Wilkes, loudly cleared his throat, forestalling any retort from Walburga's part, as he said pointedly, "I believe we've deviated from the matter-at-hand." He gestured vaguely in Tom and Harry's direction. "This issue will be resolved in the privacy of our common room, where you can take your protests up to our Head of House."

"Precisely," interjected Dorea Black, leveling at all the younger Slytherins a harsh, reprimanding look. "As you all know, before the rest of the school, we present a joined front, no matter our inner disputes. So until we're back in the dungeons, you'll finish your dinner without uttering another word. Is that clear?"

The younger Slytherins grumbled, nodded, or simply stayed quiet in implicit obedience.

And 'The Two' –Harry still didn't know what that meant, exactly, and much less what the heated argument between the two Black girls had been all about, though he had enjoyed seeing the nasty one, Walburga, being taken down a peg or two- turned heel and returned back to their seats, at the other end of the table.

Finally, he clenched his jaw, jutting his chin out, and quickly grabbed two chicken legs, to then glance around him. No one said a word to him, even though plenty shot him sneers and glowers.

The hostility towards Tom and him was palpable, and it felt extremely uncomfortable and strange to Harry. He was used to quickly making friends wherever he went. Even the early years of being bullied by Dennis Bishop, and then the last few years when the neighborhood's good opinion of him had changed, hadn't prepared him for this, since it had been so mild in comparison to the sheer hatred that his housemates seemed to have for him. He hadn't expected, at all, that he would be welcomed like that in magic school. He had been so thoroughly certain that he would instantly have loads of friends.

His brother didn't seem to be affected by any of it. Though Tom had experience in being a pariah. But even that had been different in the orphanage, because the children there had been fearful of him and had given him a wide berth. Here, instead, Tom was despised and considered to be bellow them. Harry was certain that that couldn't have gone over well with Tom, even if his brother didn't show it.

He shook his head, dispelling such grim thoughts from his mind, and then relaxed a bit; at long last, taking pleasure in his meal.

Unfortunately, his brother spoiled it by serving him a bunch of peas, small pieces of lettuce, and carrots, giving Harry a stern, pointed look. Tom did always make him eat all his greens at the orphanage. Apparently, the boy wasn't planning to relent now that they were in different surroundings.

Harry huffed, miffed. Then he stuck one of the carrots into his mouth and started to munch it as noisily as he could, shooting Tom a side-glance to see just how much it irritated his brother. He would eat his vegetables, but he wasn't going to do it happily. His discontent was going to be expressed.

To his disappointment, Tom merely scoffed snidely at him and then proceeded to utterly ignore his antics, turning to partake from his own dinner.

Harry became full quite quickly, not accustomed to such rich foods and with his stomach only used to small intakes of food at a time. He despaired even further, his eyes bright with longing, when the desserts appeared after everyone was done with the main course, knowing that even if he wanted to, he wouldn't be able to swallow a single bite.

There were towers made of ice-cream balls of all colors and flavors, marvelous chocolate and strawberry cakes, lemon puddings, apple pies, custard tarts, raspberry cake, cherries covered in hot chocolate, treacle tarts, meringue confections, cupcakes of all sorts, frosted bits of fruits with swirls of cream on top, and many other dishes that he had never seen or heard about before. And he vouched that, next time, he would skip the meal all together and just wait for the desserts, to have plenty of place in his belly to try as many of them as possible.

At last, Dorea Black came by their end of the table once more, shortly instructing them to follow her. By then, most of the older students had already left, and many of the teachers. Only the first-years of the four Houses had remained in their full numbers.

Algernon Wilkes waited for them by the grand doors of the Great Hall, giving each of them a scroll of parchment with the timetable of their classes.

The Head Girl, Muriel Prewett, was doing the same with the Gryffindors, while the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs had their oldest Prefects performing such duties.

Harry unrolled his parchment and grinned with excitement when he saw that they shared every class with one of the other Houses, that they had no lessons during weekends, and that they had several hours of spare time every day. It really didn't look that bad.

As they followed Algernon Wilkes and Dorea Black into the Entrance Hall, they passed by the first-year Gryffindors. Felix Prewett waved a hand at him, mouthing 'We'll see you tomorrow!' while Felicity looked at the Slytherins with consternation, to then shoot him a worried glance, as she whispered, "Good luck."

Harry grinned and waved back at them, feeling a frisson of relief. He hadn't thought that the twins would drop him just because he had ended up in Slytherin, but it was nice to feel reassured, nonetheless.

Algernon Wilkes and Muriel Prewett shared a dark glance -Head Boy and Head Girl throwing each other looks of mutual hatred and contempt- and then off they went, all of the Houses taking different directions.

The last Harry saw of the twins was when the Gryffindors took one of the moving marble staircases, while he followed the Slytherins to the very end of the Entrance Hall.

There, amongst shadows, was an archway, leading to a downward-spiraling, stone staircase. Torches niched in the walls lit up a few paces before them, as they proceeded forward and entered the dungeons.

Harry noticed that the further they went, the colors of Ravenclaw, Gryffindor, and Hufflepuff disappeared from the cords of magic pulsing everywhere along the floors, walls and ceilings, leaving only the silver and green braids.

He surmised that it could only mean that Salazar Slytherin had been the only one to cast the enchantments and spells that formed the lattice, in his section of the castle. Perhaps it happened similarly in the areas in which the dorms of the other Houses where located – wherever that was.

They followed Algernon Wilkes and Dorea Black through a succession of labyrinthine, deserted passages, walking deeper and deeper under the school, their surroundings becoming increasingly more chilly and damp.

Harry shivered and wrapped his robes tighter around his body, as he caught sight of some tapestries and landscapes hanging sparsely along the walls, depicting all sorts of sceneries: of a tumultuous sea with a large ship striving for survival amidst a roaring storm; a grim, bare, rocky mountain with lightning striking its peak; a large, full moon hanging above a derelict, abandoned castle; a burnt, scorched field with a leathery, winged serpent breathing out plumes of fire; and such. They all had a sort of stark, harsh beauty to them.

They finally paused by a stretch of bare, damp, stone wall. Several feet away at either side, there were landscapes: one of a solitary cottage at the edge of a steep, plunging cliff, with spiked waves clashing against the rocks; the other of a dark, deserted beach under a black sky with one lonely, bright star.

Harry took careful notice of the paintings, branding them in his mind. Though he didn't think he really needed to remember them to find the place again – the wall before him was pulsing with such a dense and knotted lattice of silver and green cords, that it was utterly unmistakable. But it was wise to be precautious, in case his 'magic-sight' ever failed him.

"Gloria a la pureza," murmured Dorea Black.

At that, a stone door concealed in the wall noiselessly slid open.

"Is that Latin?" asked Thaddeus Avery in his gruff voice.

Algernon Wilkes shot him a contemptuous look as they all marched inside. "No, you fool, it's Spanish. Any pureblood worth his salt knows Latin and thus we didn't want a clever Ravenclaw to stand here and spout all the Latin phrases he knew and hit the mark. Hence, Dorea and I decided that we would not only change the motto every week, but we would also change the language in which it should be spoken."

A good idea, Harry thought. But it was even cleverer that Salazar Slytherin had chosen a bare expanse of wall as the entrance to his House. If he didn't see the magic of the castle, he would have been certain that the entrance had to be behind one of the tapestries or landscapes. He wouldn't have suspected a simple wall.

The Slytherin common room was a long, low underground room with rough stone walls, sparsely decorated here and there by tapestries displaying the Slytherin emblem. In between several of them, there were large, round windows, through which the very bottom of the lake could be seen.

The windows had to be enchanted since the views they displayed weren't lightless and unfathomable, as anyone might have expected given the depth of the murky waters. Instead, entangled algae could be seen clearly, gently swaying back and forth, schools of silvery fishes swam by, and Harry even caught sight of one of those wrinkled and grey skinned merfolk creatures.

Furthermore, there were no other decorations, no portraits or landscapes, except for thick, forest green carpets that covered the floors and round, yellowish lamps that hanged on chains from the ceiling.

Thankfully, dispelling the chilly dampness of the room, there were five fireplaces in total, each on opposites sides of the common room, with fires crackling under elaborately carved mantelpieces. Each hearth was surrounded by a set of couches, settees, sofas, low tables, and high-backed chairs, all made of dark wood and upholstered by some kind of black, leathery material.

All in all, the common room was rather cozy in a sort of elegant way. It wasn't stuffy, cluttered, or overly decorated, which Harry appreciated given that he was used to living in spartan quarters. Nevertheless, it was certainly much more lavish than anything he had ever seen.

All the older Slytherins who had left the Great Hall before them, were standing in the middle of the common room, with Professor Horace Slughorn in their midst, looking frazzled and harassed.

Harry didn't pick up everything that the students were angrily ranting about at their Head of House, but given their expressions, he got the gist of it.

Not two seconds after they had entered the common room, one of the older Slytherins caught sight of them and spat, pointing a finger at Harry and Tom, "Ha! There they are! These are the two mudbloods we were telling you about, Professor Slughorn!"

"They must have cheated – must've tricked the Hat, somehow!"

"They ought to be expelled for that, sir!"

"Or at least get them re-sorted and out of our House!"

The incensed clamoring started again, leaving a flustered, mumbling Horace Slughorn, who didn't seem to be able to take control of the situation.

"Let our Head of House speak!" snapped Dorea Black with irritation, as she made her way through the crowd of students, the Head Boy, Algernon Wilkes, following after her.

Slughorn released a haggard exhalation of breath. "Your aid is much appreciated, Miss Black." Then the pot-bellied wizard pulled himself up to his full height, holding up his hands, and said congenially, "Now, now, children, let us not be carried away by our impassionate beliefs or our tempers-"

"There have never been mudbloods in the entire history of Slytherin House. Salazar must be rolling in his grave, Professor!"

"Precisely. It's not to be borne, sir! How can we be expected to tolerate the presence of two mudbloods in our midst, I ask!"

"Muggleborns, Mr. Dolohov, Miss Pucey," chided Slughorn amicably. Then he took several steps to stand between Tom and Harry, clamping his hands on their shoulders, as he turned around to face the other students. "We cannot hold against them their unfortunate origins." He graced the congregated students with a weak smile, to then continue in a jovial tone of voice, "Let's take this as an opportunity to show the other Houses how magnanimous Slytherin House can be towards those from a… ah, slightly different background-"

"But, sir-"

"No," interrupted Slughorn, holding up a hand, yet his tone remained quite affable. "As I have already explained, there are no grounds for expulsion and they cannot be re-sorted – such thing would go against Hogwarts' rules-"

"Then have the rules changed!"

Slughorn let out a belly-laugh, shaking his head. "Oho! If only things in life were that easy!" He shot them a winning smile, as he added congenially, "Alas, Headmaster Dippet cannot change the rules set forth by the very Founders, nor would he, for a matter such as this-"

"The Headmaster can't," interjected Walburga Black sharply, glaring at the wizard. "But the Governors could. My father is on the Board-"

"Give it a rest, sister! Professor Slughorn already said that nothing can be done," piped in Alphard Black with exasperation, as he shot Harry a covert, apologetic glance. "Let's just try to get along with them-"

Harry saw the boy's glance, but didn't respond to it. He was having a hard time, as it was, not to hunch his shoulders defensively against the onslaught of contemptuous repugnance thrown his way.

"Shut up, Alphie – who asked you!" snarled Walburga, to then address the other students. "Let us all write to our parents, demanding that the mudbloods be re-sorted." She spun around and rounded on Abraxas Malfoy. "Especially you, Malfoy. Your grandfather is the Head of the Board of Governors." She narrowed her eyes at the boy, and demanded forcefully, "You'll write to him, won't you?"

Abraxas arched an eyebrow at her, and said impassively, "I will."

Walburga's eyes narrowed even further, apparently not satisfied with the boy's terse reply, as she spat, "And you'll make him convince the other Governors to have the mudbloods re-sorted, or better yet, expelled?"

"I cannot 'make' my grandfather do anything," drawled Abraxas in a bored tone of voice. "He'll act as he sees fit." He then shot her a frosty smirk. "However, if I were you, I wouldn't count on the Governors doing anything about this matter."

Walburga bristled, before her face contorted as she sneered contemptuously, "I don't know why I turned to you. You're glad that there're mudbloods among us, aren't you? To have two who are even lower than yourself." She nastily smirked at him, as she spat snidely, "We all know what you are, after all."

Abraxas stiffened at that, his silver eyes turning chilly with icy fury, as many students gasped in outrage, showing their defense of the boy, while a few sniggered as they shot Malfoy spiteful, resentful or demeaning looks, and others simply gazed from girl to boy, with hungry looks of anticipation at the oncoming confrontation.

"I dare you to come out with it openly," hissed out Abraxas very quietly, as he took a step towards the girl. "Why, we could solve our differences in a dueling match-"

"I would best you in the bat of an eyelash," jeered Walburga, her dark grey eyes gleaming meanly.

Abraxas let out a short, hard laugh. "You're not the only one who's being tutored in the Dark Ar-"

Slughorn loudly cleared his throat, looking agitated. "Children, children – please!"

"This is ridiculous – we were talking about what to do with the mudbloods!" someone yelled with angered impatience. "I don't want to stay up all night because of this. Let's agree once and for all what to do about them!"

That brought on another round of voiced opinions, and abruptly, Dorea Black appeared before Harry and Tom.

She looked irked beyond measure, but didn't even glance at them as she commanded sharply, "Come along, I'll take you to your dormitory. It's best if you're out of sight."

Harry didn't think about it twice and instantly followed her, glad to go as far away as possible from the hateful mob. Tom trailed after them in silence, and Harry shot him a glance over his shoulder, not quite discerning what his brother might be thinking about the whole affair.

At the very back and right side of the common room, they passed through an archway and went down a spiral staircase, landing on the first subfloor. It was circular, with three doors, each with a silver plaque displaying fine, elegant inscriptions. The one on the door that Dorea Black opened read: 'First Year Boys'.

Before entering the room, Harry noticed that the staircase continued downwards, evidently to other deeper levels housing the dormitories of the fourth-year boys and onwards.

Their dorm-room was circular as well, illuminated by torches perched along the walls, with seven canopied, four-poster beds. Harry had never seen beds like those: they had heavy, velvety curtains at all sides, of a dark green lined with silver thread; the bed posts had beautifully carved figures of serpents that were wrapped along it.

At the left side of each bed, there was an oval floor-carpet, a nightstand, a desk, and an ornate wardrobe displaying Slytherin House's crest. And above each desk, there were round windows, much smaller than those in the common room but still evidently enchanted since they gave different views of the bottom of the lake.

In the very center of the room, there was a stone plinth with a basin-like top filled with wood pieces, a fire merrily crackling. It didn't even have a chimney; the smoke rose a few inches from the flames and then vanished into thin air. There was a waist-high rail surrounding it, so that no one would fall into the fire by accident, Harry surmised.

There was only one other door besides the entrance's one, which had to lead to the bathroom. It divided the circular room in two uneven halves: one with four beds and their corresponding furniture, the other side with three.

Seven trunks had been left at one side of the entrance door. Evidently, they were supposed to choose which beds to take.

"Where's my owl?" demanded Tom suddenly. Harry turned around to see his brother gesturing at Lord Horkos' empty cage, which sat on top of his trunk.

Dorea Black shot Tom a glance and replied tartly, "The house-elves took it to the owlerly, obviously. That is where owls are kept."

She then spun around to leave the room without sparing them a second glance.

"Where's the owlerly?" asked Tom sharply before the girl disappeared.

"Near Figwig Ogg's cottage, in the school grounds," was Dorea Black's terse, irritated reply before she left, closing the door shut behind her.

As soon as she was gone, both of them dragged their trunks to the right side of the circular room, the one that had the three beds. Tom instantly chose the bed further away from the entrance door, leaving Harry to take the middle one.

Tom didn't waste a single second and he began unpacking all his things, putting his books, parchments, inkbottles, and quills inside his desk, to then proceed to hang all his clothes in his wardrobe. Meanwhile, Harry merely plopped down on his bed, deciding he would leave his unpacking for the following morning, too tired to even attempt it at present.

As he observed his brother, he muttered, "Do you think we'll get expelled? Or be forced to be sorted again?"

"Of course not, don't be ridiculous," said Tom dismissively, as he continued with his task.

Harry sighed, and then flopped down on his bed, crossing his arms under his head, staring up at the canopy as he grumbled, "They hate us. What are we going to do?"

"Do?" scoffed out Tom, briefly glancing at him. "We didn't come here to make friends but to learn as much as we can about magic." He shot him a sneer. "I couldn't care less if they don't like me."

"But I do care," murmured Harry sullenly. "I didn't imagine it would be like this. I do want to have some friends."

Tom halted and turned around to give him a disgusted look. "Stop moping about it. You're never going to have friends in Slytherin House, you might as well accept it and get over it." He then closed the doors of his wardrobe, with his pajamas and toothbrush in hand, and commanded shortly, "Come, let's get ready for bed. I want to show you something before the others get here."

Intrigued, Harry obeyed. He plucked out his old, worn pajamas from his trunk, along with his toothbrush, and followed his brother into the bathroom. There, he halted, gaping at his surroundings.

"They have indoor plumbing for everything!" breathed out Harry, marveled.

The bathroom was all made of stone, like the rest of Slytherin House, with seven individual toilet stalls at the left. But in the middle of the room, there were large, stone sinks jutting out from the wall, each with two faucets – for cold and hot water, it seemed!

He had heard that wealthy folk had that, but at the orphanage they certainly didn't. When Mrs. Sharpe had died and Kathy Cole became the Matron, she had managed to save money for many months and had finally paid to have plumbing installed in the orphanage, but only for the kitchen and the toilets. They still had to carry water in buckets, from the kitchen up to the bathroom in the boys' floor, so that they could pour some of it in the washbasin, for their daily ablutions of brushing their teeth, cleaning their faces and hands.

Moreover, they bathed in the kitchen, where they brought in a tub made of aluminum, just big enough for a child to sit in with his knees drawn to his chest. They heated water in the kitchen stove and then poured it inside the tub, using a bar of soap and a flannel to scrub the dirt off their bodies and hair. That was once a week, ever since Mrs. Cole became the Matron, of course. Before that, under Mrs. Sharpe's rule, the caregivers had only bathed them twice a month, if they were lucky. Tom had always angrily complained about it. His brother was very fastidious about personal hygiene.

Tom was going to be in paradise here, Harry thought, as he caught sight of the right side of the room, where there were seven tubs made of stone, sprouting from the floor; the largest tubs he had ever seen. He could fit, fully stretch out his legs, and still have plenty of spare room! And each of them had a series of different faucets - he wondered at that. They were seemingly made of bronze, copper, silver, gold, or other likewise colored metals. But it was clear that there was no rationing of water here, and Harry rather liked the idea of being able to bathe everyday if he wanted.

Eagerly, he sprang towards the sinks, where Tom was standing, looking puzzled. Above the sinks there was an enormous oval mirror, and at one side, between the sinks and the tubs, a whole expanse of wall had seven rails, one on top of the other, with many fluffy, dark green towels of different sizes with the Slytherin crest embroidered near the hems.

However, it wasn't that which had Tom perplexed, or Harry, when he realized what the problem was. Under the large mirror, along the back of the sinks, there was an array of decanter-like, crystal bottles. The tall ones had a purple liquid inside; the shorter, a blue one.

"Where's the toothpowder?" said Harry bemused. "And the soap bar?"

He glanced at the tubs, but there wasn't any bars of soap there either, instead, also flasks of varied-colored liquids.

Harry blinked, gazing back at the sinks. They had brought their toothbrushes along with them, since when Kathy became the Matron she had bought one toothbrush for every child. The handles were made of cattle bone and the bristles of wild boar or horse hair. They were quite a luxury for them. With Mrs. Sharpe, they had had to use their fingers.

However, they hadn't thought of bringing toothpowder too. They had imagined that the school would have it. How else were they supposed to clean their teeth, if not? But there, on the sinks, he didn't see any glasses either, just very small crystal cups. Nonetheless, toothpowder had to be mixed with water in a glass so that they could stick their toothbrushes in.

"I don't think wizards use toothbrushes or soap bars," muttered Tom, as he picked up one of the purple decanters. He plucked out the stopper and, instantly, bubbles popped out of the bottle. Tom gave them a sniff. "Smells like some sort of herb. This must be soap."

"Soap in liquid form?" said Harry, his eyebrows shooting upwards.

"It's a potion of some kind, I believe. But yes, soap, in essence."

"Then, if the purple liquid is soap, the blue one…" Harry trailed off and grasped one of the shorter bottles – these ones didn't have any stoppers. He opened his mouth and tilted the bottle. When nothing came down, he shook it, but only two drops slowly landed on his tongue. Nevertheless, nothing else happened.

"Try it with water," said Tom as he turned the knob of one of the faucets, quickly filling one of the tiny crystal cups and offering it to Harry.

Harry nodded and poured the small measure of water inside his mouth. Then he gasped, his eyes round, when a sort of whirlwind exploded inside his mouth. In the next second, the sensation vanished along with the water, yet his teeth, his tongue, his very breath, felt utterly refreshed and cleaner than he had ever experienced before.

He opened his mouth and stared at himself in the mirror – why, his teeth even seemed to be sparkly white!

Harry chuckled as he passed the bottle and cup to Tom. "This is tooth liquid soap, then, to call it something. Try it!"

After that, they quickly cleaned themselves up and changed into their pajamas, returning to the bedroom. Harry folded the school clothes he had been wearing and left them in his trunk, while Tom hanged his inside his wardrobe.

The other boys still hadn't arrived. The heated debate in the common room was certainly taking them a long while – what to do with the mudbloods, indeed!

Harry grunted angrily as he plopped himself down on Tom's bed. "What did you want to show me?"

Tom lifted the top of his desk and extracted a thick, large book from it, before he took a seat by Harry's side.

When Harry caught sight of the title, he groaned loudly, "Hogwarts a History?" He shot his brother a pitiful glance and whined, "Tooom, really..."

"Stop complaining, this is important," snapped Tom sharply, as he started to ruffle through the pages. Then, he settled the book between them, as he pointed at a page. "Here – see this."

Harry sighed and then took a peek. He cocked his head to a side when he saw a picture of a scowling, ugly wizard dressed in dark green robes, with a long grey beard, spiky eyebrows, and a bald head.

What caught his attention was the red flower pinned in the middle of the wizard's chest. It was exactly the same as the one Maximillian Malfoy had been wearing in the platform of the Hogwarts Expresss. And once again, the flower looked very familiar to him. Something niggled at the back of his mind, but he couldn't quite put a finger on it.

He dismissed the notion as he read the title at the very top of the page, seeing the name of the wizard.

"So Salazar Slytherin looked like a constipated monkey chewing on a wasp, so what?" intoned Harry flatly. Then he frowned and glanced at the picture again. "Why isn't it moving?"

"Because it's not a picture of his portrait," bit out Tom, looking extremely annoyed. "All the original portraits of the Founders were lost or accidentally destroyed throughout the ages. This is a picture of a likeness painted by some unknown wizard who lived in the Founders' time." He shot Harry an irritated look. "It wasn't the picture what I wanted you to see, but this."

Tom pointed at a passage, as he continued speaking, his tone of voice now excited, "Here says that Salazar Slytherin was the first known Parselmouth in Europe. And it explains what that means – he spoke Parseltongue. He could speak to snakes, Harry. That's what we are, Parselmouths!"

"Oh." Harry blinked. Well, that certainly explained what Slytherin's voice had been yapping about in the Hat. But he still didn't see why his brother was so giddy.

He shrugged. "So we know what our ability is called." He rolled his eyes. "Honestly, Tom, I thought you had found something interesting-"

"You're a half-brained imbecile!" hissed out Tom, looking beside himself with aggravation. "The Sorting Hat spoke to me, Harry. It said that the only place for me was the House of my forefather! Don't you understand what it means?" A feverish gleam glinted in his eyes, as he continued exultantly, gesturing wildly at the book, "It says here that his line died off centuries ago – evidently they don't know – they can't imagine – I'm Slytherin's descendant – his lost Heir!"

Harry frowned at him and when Tom caught sight of his look, the expression on his handsome face swiftly changed.

Tom let out a little cough, and then said smoothly, waving a hand in an encompassing manner, "And you're his Heir too, of course. Obviously, since you're my twin."

"Yes, I know that," snapped Harry crossly. "The blasted hat spoke to me too, Tom. And it said loads of things. That I had Slytherin's tongue – now I know what it meant – and that I have Slytherin's blood, and they also said-"

"What – what do you mean?" Tom stared at him oddly. He cleared his throat, piercing him with his eyes, a slight expression of disbelief on his face. "It said you had Slytherin's blood?"

Harry shot him an impatient scowl. "Duh - yes! It's practically the same as what the Hat told you, isn't it? That Slytherin is our forefather – our ancestor, that we have his blood, that we're his descendants…" He rolled his eyes with exasperation. "Really, Tom, what's the matter with you?"

Tom stared at him some more, and then cleared his throat again, to intone placidly, "Well, yes, that's exactly what I'm trying to explain to you." He then shot him an irritated look. "You don't seem to understand just how important this is."

He gestured briskly at the book. "If you had read it, you'd know that we're the descendants of a very powerful wizard. Indeed, he was considered the most powerful of his time – the first Dark Lord, because even if he didn't lead dark pureblood wizards in a revolt or a war, he was the first to warn people about the evils of reproducing with mudbloods, how it weakened the magical bloodlines, and the dangers of letting them study at Hogwarts, since they went back to their muggle families and disclosed the secrets of the Magical World-"

"He did those things… and you admire him for it?" interrupted Harry incredulously, his eyebrows shooting upwards.

Tom glowered at him, and bit out shortly, "There's no doubt he was a great wizard and I'm sure he was right in many things. Not only that, but he was, allegedly, a genius. A Potions Master who created all sorts of groundbreaking potions, especially for fertility. But my point is, that he surpassed all in power." An exhilarated expression spread on his face. "We've inherited his Parselmouth trait, so it can only mean that we are very powerful too."

He leaned forward, intently pinning Harry with his gaze, as he rushed out in a whisper, "And the book mentioned that magical children have bouts of 'accidental magic' – uncontrolled displays, that means. But do you remember the things we did in the orphanage? That wasn't accidental magic, Harry! We were controlling our magic, even if we didn't know. You made Puffy the Bunny dance, and the toys you wanted moved to your hand, and you heal quickly, and could manipulate the length of your hair. And I can move things around, I hanged the rabbit from the rafters, and I could make anyone hurt just by wanting it! And you disappeared from the backyard and appeared in our room when Dennis Bishop was hurling stones at you – that's called Apparation, Harry, and wizards learn how to do it when they're seventeen!"

"Oh!" breathed out Harry, his eyes wide as he took in such revelations. But then he frowned, pensively. "So that's why you're so excited about us being Slytherin's descendants?" He cocked his head to a side. "Just because it means that we're powerful?"

Tom sprang back to his former position, and leveled at him a disappointed and angered glance, as he sneered, "Just? Does it seem a small matter to you that we have the capacity to become the greatest and most powerful of wizards-"

Harry snorted, and his brother shot him such a venomous look that Harry quickly held up a hand, as he piped in, "Yes, it would be nice if we grew up to be powerful wizards-"

"Nice!" exclaimed Tom indignantly, a furious look beginning to grow on his face.

Harry continued without pausing, merely rolling his eyes, "But I'm more interested in what we can do now." He fiercely glowered at his brother, and bit out angrily, "Why are you making everyone believe that we're muggleborns and with two muggle parents who are alive, to boot!"

"Ah," said Tom nonchalantly, giving him a superior look. "I have a good reason for it-"

"I bet you do. I know you've been plotting something. But I don't care what you're up to," snapped Harry hotly, pointing a finger at the door of their room. "Our housemates hate us and I don't want to put up with that! Now that we know we're Slytherin's descendants, let's tell them!" He leaned forward, as he added eagerly, "You've heard the things they've been saying about how horrid it is to have mudbloods in their great, esteemed House. Obviously, they worship Salazar Slytherin. So if we told them-"

"No," snapped Tom decisively, narrowing his eyes at him. "I don't want anyone knowing about it. It's bad enough that Dumbledore-" he acidly sneered the name "-knows we're Parselmouths. So for now, we'll keep it a secret-"

"But I don't understand!" bellowed Harry, nearly yanking his hair in frustration. "I would have thought that you, in particular, would want everyone to know how 'special' we are-"

"Oh, but I do," Tom intoned pleasantly, a wide, devious smirk spreading on his face as he calmly stretched out his legs along the bed. "But I have it all planned out, it involves several stages, and now is not the time to reveal our ancestry and our Parselmouth ability. Not yet, that will be the very last stage."

"Stages?" Harry stared at him, his mouth hanging open. Then he glowered at him and said heatedly, "Well, you better start explaining this plan of yours!"

Tom shot him a superior look, as he said coolly, "Never you mind what my plan is, leave it all to me-"

"Tom," hissed out Harry warningly. "Spills the beans or I'll-"

"Fine, you little pest," spat Tom with vexed irritation, shooting him a glower. "I'm not in the mood to put up with your hissy fits, so I'll tell you a part of my plan." He gave him a hard look. "It's the most important of all, so you'll have to be satisfied with knowing only that."

"Alright," muttered Harry, suspiciously narrowing his eyes at him.

Tom picked up 'Hogwarts, a History – New Unabridged Edition!', and flipped a page, to then point a finger at a title. "What does it say here?"

Harry leaned forward, and read out loud, "The Legend of the Chamber of Secrets." He shot his brother a puzzled, curious glance.

Tom answered it be looking very self-satisfied, as he said amiably, "Apparently, Godric Gryffindor and Salazar Slytherin got into a fight, because Slytherin insisted that mudbloods shouldn't be accepted in Hogwarts and Gryffindor, in particular, opposed this. After their fight, Slytherin left the school, never to be seen again. However, it's believed that, before leaving, Slytherin had built a chamber somewhere in the castle, that only he could enter. And that there's a monster in it, that only he and his descendants could control, since it's said that the monster's duty, if released, is to kill all the mudbloods in the school."

His dark blue eyes gleamed with excitement, as he added gleefully, "Clearly, the Chamber can only be found by a Parselmouth because, obviously, it can only be accessed by speaking Parseltongue. Proof of this is that many have tried to find the Chamber and failed. And the monster must be a snake of some kind, since only Slytherin and his descendants, Parselmouths, can control it, according to the Legend."

And with that, Tom stared at Harry, looking supremely smug and pleased with himself.

Harry blinked back at him, before he said slowly, "And you're happy about this because…?" The next moment, he shut his eyes close, and groaned dismally. "Tom, don't tell me you actually want to find this Chamber place!"

"Of course I do," intoned Tom arrogantly.

"Whatever the hell for?" exhaled Harry dismayed, as he opened his eyes and peered at his brother anxiously. "It has a bloody monster, you said so yourself!"

Tom arched an eyebrow at him. "I thought you would be interested in this." He then added with a jeer, "Given that you always like to go around, having little adventures-"

"Not if there's a ruddy monster involved!" snapped Harry, crossing his arms over his small chest. "I value my life, thank you very much!"

Tom scoffed, waving a hand dismissively. "The monster wouldn't be dangerous for us. We're Parselmouths and thus can control it-"

"If the Legend is right," pointed out Harry acerbically, "and there's no way of knowing if it is until it's too late and we're there, face to face with who-knows what kind of creature! And it would go about killing muggleborns, to boot!"

"Well, we can tell it not to kill mudbloods," granted Tom graciously with a magnanimous air, "if it's so important to you."

Harry shot him a hard look. "I'm going to choose to believe that you were not seriously considering letting the thing loose in the castle, to go on on a muggleborn killing spree." He huffed, and squared his shoulders. "So given that, what's the point of finding the Chamber?"

Tom shot him a vexed glower, as he gritted out impatiently, "Don't you see that by finding the Chamber of Secrets we would be proving that not only we're Parselmouths but also Slytherin's Heirs? It's the only way of proving it to others-"

"You want to take our housemates to the Chamber," asked Harry astonished, "when we find it?"

"Only one of them," replied Tom nonchalantly. "I've been observing the Slytherins and paying attention to their conversations. And given what that Prefect girl said, it's obvious there's a hierarchy in the House, led by 'The Two'." He sneered at the ridiculous title. "Added to that, what the Prewett twins told us – basically that the Malfoys are the most influential dark pureblood family- and having seen how most students took Abraxas Malfoy's side when that screeching Black girl accused him of being a 'thing' – whatever she meant by it – it's clear that Malfoy will become one of the leaders."

Tom waved a hand dismissively, as he added, "For as long as I allow him to, obviously." He shot Harry a superior look. "Evidently, when I deem that the time is right, it will be I who will take the reins of the House," he said as if it was already a fait accompli. "It's my birthright, after all, being Slytherin's Heir." Then he glanced at him, and offered in an indulgent, generous tone of voice, "Yours too, if you're interested."

"Not really." Harry rolled his eyes. "I'll leave it all to you." Then he shook his head, and muttered as he shot him a dubious glance, "So you want us to only take Abraxas Malfoy with us, when we find the Chamber of Secrets?"

"Exactly," said Tom pleasantly. "He'll be our witness and no one will doubt his word when he spreads the word around the House that we are indeed Slytherin's Heirs." He pierced Harry with his eyes, as he added matter-of-factly, "Don't you see that if we told them right now that we're Parselmouths, and even talked to a snake in front of them, they would have no reason to believe us? They wouldn't understand the language, to them it would sound like gibberish hisses, and they'd think we were merely imitating the sounds. But finding and opening the Chamber, proves it."

"Ah." Harry's eyes widened in understanding. "You're right. I didn't think about that."

Tom nodded at him. "Furthermore, it's also important that by then we've shown that we're outstanding. We must have earned their grudging respect. I'll have no problem with that, since I'm brilliant." He waved a hand as if it was a foregone conclusion. "You-" he skewered Harry with a hard gaze "- I won't let you be mediocre. You'll have excellent marks even if I have to tutor you myself, like I did with Alice's lessons-"

"Yes, yes," mumbled Harry grimly, rolling his eyes, "because it would reflect badly on you if I didn't do well, and all that rot – I've heard it all before."

Tom shot him a satisfied glance, and then leaned forward to be inches away from Harry, as he smirked at him, intoning softly, "Don't look so dejected, little brother. You're going to get something else out of this. I'll be using every spare time I have researching about the Slytherin line and the Chamber of Secrets in the library. Meanwhile, I want you to explore the whole castle, looking for the entrance-"

"That will take me ages!" burst out Harry, appalled.

"Perhaps a few years," agreed Tom coolly. "Hogwarts has seven floors, not counting the dungeons and its levels, and there must be hundreds of rooms in total. Only a small section of the castle is used nowadays, according to Hogwarts a History." He shot Harry a pointed glance. "But if you take a couple of hours every week, to go about the castle, then in three or four years you ought to find the entrance. And I might come across some clues in books that might help you narrow the search."

Harry mutinously glowered at him, as he groused, "Why do I have to be the one who does all the field work-"

"Would you rather spend those hours cooped up in the library doing research?" jeered Tom, shooting him a pointed, knowing look. "We'll each do what we do best."

Harry jutted out his chin, not all satisfied with the arrangement. He would be doing all the hard work, as far as he was concerned. Yes, he enjoyed exploring new places, and Hogwarts was certainly very interesting, given all that magic thrumming about, but he would be working on it for several years, and Tom evidently wouldn't be researching for that long.

Seeing Harry's expression, Tom leaned forward and whispered ever so cajolingly and softly, "If you help me find the Chamber of Secrets, I'll help you find our father."

Harry gave him an affronted look. "You must think I'm a complete idiot-"

"Of course I do," hummed Tom, a little taunting smirk on his lips.

Harry snorted, and then continued hotly, "That's no deal! You have a reason now to be interested in finding our dad. You're not going to help me look for him to do me a favor, you'll do it for yourself." He crossed his arms over his small chest, as he huffed out, "I'll only agree to all this if it's clear that you'll owe me a huge favor. Take it or leave it."

Tom darkly glowered at him, and finally gritted out grudgingly, "Very well. But I reserve the right to refuse if I don't like what you ask of me in return."

"I can live with that," said Harry, cheekily grinning at him as he flopped down on Tom's pillow, very satisfied with himself.

Tom scowled, clearly not appreciating that Harry had gotten the upper hand, but Harry ignored him as he mused out loud, "You know, about this whole thing of being Slytherin's descendants…" Seeing Tom's irked, dark look, he added quickly, "No, of course I believe it. The Hat said it to you and to me too. And there's also the Parseltongue thing. It's just that…" He shook his head, trying to clear up his ideas, and finally glanced at Tom, as he said quietly, "Well, remember what the goblin guarding Gringotts said? I'm thinking that perhaps our mom was the witch, and Slytherin's descendant, and not dad-"

"Don't be ridiculous!" sneered Tom at him, shooting him an utterly disdainful look.

"Wait – hear me out!" said Harry adamantly, sitting upwards, crossing his legs. He took a deep breath, and expounded, "The goblin said that no Riddle ever had a vault in Gringotts. And we know that dad is British, given his name-"

"There are countless reasons that could explain why he doesn't have a vault-"

"Yes, but wouldn't the simplest explanation be the right one?" insisted Harry stubbornly. "That dad is a muggle, and that our mother was the witch, and since we don't know her first or last name, we can't ask the goblins. But since she was a witch, then her family does have a vault, and they're alive, and that's why the goblins have never sent us a key?"

Tom shot him a disgusted look, as if he were beholding a brain-damaged simpleton. "Our mother couldn't have been the magical one."

"I don't see why not," persisted Harry vehemently.

Tom angrily rounded on him as he spat, "A witch wouldn't have been in our neighborhood, giving birth in an orphanage, of all places, like a whore! Haven't you seen how the Prewett twins are, and our own housemates? They know nothing of the Muggle World, they have never set foot, nor would want to, in a Muggle town or city. So if our mother was a witch, what was she doing in our neighborhood? Tell me that!"

"There could be many reasons," insisted Harry pigheadedly. "Perhaps she was curious. Maybe she decided to visit Muggle London-"

"And she ended up in our pathetic, run down, dirty neighborhood," sneered Tom mockingly, "because it's such a tourist attraction, is it?"

"Well, no," gritted out Harry. "But we don't know what her situation was." He shook his head, and muttered irritably, "I don't see why you refuse to even consider the possibility-"

"Because she DIED!" bellowed Tom at him, so suddenly and violently that Harry was left blinking at him, gobsmacked.

At last, Harry gazed at him warily, and then said softly, "Everyone dies, Tom."

Tom narrowed his eyes at him in sheer anger and contempt, as he hissed out, "Not magical people - wizards and witches have twice the lifespan that muggles have! And haven't you been flipping through our textbooks, haven't you seen all the things that magic can do? I have! And with potions alone you can heal yourself, and make your body stronger, and who knows what else! A witch wouldn't die like our mother did! She wasn't even ill – she just simply died, like the pathetic, wretched, filthy muggle that she was!"

He leaned forward, his face inches away from Harry's, as he whispered furiously, an utterly revolted, hateful expression on his face, "And the worst of it is, that I'm Slytherin's Heir but I'm also poisoned with her blood - her same weakness runs through my veins, her tainted, weak, common blood. Well, I'm not going to end up like her, I'll tell you that much! If there's some way of ridding myself of her taint, I'll do it. If not, I'll invent one myself! I'm never going to die like she did!"

Harry stared at him, gaping. Then, suddenly struck by the realization, he breathed out, "You're scared - scared of death."

Tom instantly stiffened, his expression turning thunderous. But Harry could only feel a flash of pity, sadness, and compassion. In the bat of an eyelash, he flung himself at his brother, wrapping his thin arms around him, as he murmured soothingly, "It's all right, Tom. You'll never die like mum did." He warred with his emotions for a second, feeling guilty and a bit sick, but then he added nonetheless, for his brother's sake, "It's true, she was weak and pathetic, but you're nothing like that."

Tom struggled against him for a moment, but Harry just tightened his hold, like a stubborn octopus, and didn't let go. In the end, Tom sagged, but it was so abruptly that it caught Harry unprepared. With surprised grunts, they both fell backwards on Tom's bed due to their compounded weights.

Harry chuckled as he disentangled himself from his brother, and then lied on his tummy by his side, propping himself up with his elbows as he peered at him, murmuring quietly, "I don't think you should be afraid of dying-"

"Only a simpleton wouldn't be scared of death," bit out Tom, turning his head towards him, narrowing his eyes to slits. "There's nothing after death, Harry." He then added with a contemptuous sneer, "Or are you telling me that you believed the rubbish that Father Patrick preached from the pulpit – about God and Heaven and Hell?"

"Not really," Harry muttered. Then he paused and added pensively, "But I do think that there must be something afterwards-"

"There's nothing, you dolt!" snarled Tom with angered exasperation. "You simply cease to exist – so who would want that?" He shook his head, and then said through clenched teeth, "And I bet that wizards have all sorts of ways of making themselves live longer. Why would they have double the lifespan of muggles, if not? That's something else I'm determined to research. I'll find a way to live as long as possible." His dark eyes suddenly gleamed, as if he had been struck by a marvelous possibility. "Why, maybe with magic and by being very powerful, one could even become immortal-"

Harry snorted, shaking his head in amusement. "If there were immortal wizards strutting about, I'm sure the Prewett twins would have mentioned it."

"What of magical creatures, then?" interjected Tom sharply, glowering at him. "The Prewetts said that dragons were ancient - that they lived for hundreds of years, some even reaching a millennia. If they can last so long, then a powerful wizard could surely find the way too."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Well, I don't see the point myself." He shot his brother a warm smile. "I'll be happy if we both grow old together and die peacefully, surrounded by our families. That's the best way to go."

"Only you would think that," sneered Tom snidely. "Dying like an ordinary, sappy muggle." He shook his head with disdain. "Well, that's not for me." He shot Harry a hard look, as he added harshly, "And I won't let you end up like that either. No, after Hogwarts, we'll travel all around the Magical World," he added with a thoroughly determined tone of voice, "and we'll learn all sorts of magic, and we'll find ways of making us stronger, invincible, and immortal."

"Alright, Tom, if you say so," murmured Harry drowsily as he crossed his arms and rested his head on them, knowing of course, that it wouldn't come to happen, quite convinced that it was impossible.

"What are you doing?" demanded Tom briskly.

Harry opened one eye and peered at him, as he groused, "I was falling asleep, you idiot. Thanks very much."

"You're not sleeping in my bed!" hissed out Tom angrily.

At that, both of Harry's eyes flung open, and he stared at his brother, taken aback. "What do you mean? We've always slept on the same bed."

"Well, we're not doing that here," snapped Tom shortly, glaring at him. "Do you want the other boys to see us sharing a bed, come morning? I'm not giving them reason to mock us!"

"I don't care two straws about what they think!" said Harry hotly, as he pulled himself up, glowering down at his brother.

"I do, about this," bit out Tom incensed. "And we're not little boys anymore, Harry. We'll be turning twelve this December. It had to stop at some point!"

"But what if I get the nightmare?" spluttered Harry, his green eyes wide. "It always makes my scar hurt and only you can soothe it-"

"You'll have to learn to deal with it on your own," said Tom harshly, shoving him away.

Harry clutched the bed sheets to keep his balance, as he gasped out, "Tom, you can't be serious!"

"I am – get out!" hissed out Tom, this time pushing him so forcefully that Harry nearly hit the floor on his bum.

He managed to steady himself on his legs, though, and he stared incredulously as his brother yanked the curtains of his bed shut, leaving Harry out, standing there.

"FINE. SEE IF I CARE, YOU ASS!" bellowed Harry at the top of his lungs the next second, feeling deeply hurt, despondent, and dejected.

He sullenly dragged himself to his bed like a kicked puppy, and burrowed under the covers, sniffling.

Not a minute after, he heard the other first-year boys entering the room and moving about. At some point, he even heard them whispering among themselves, as if plotting something. But he didn't have the spirits to even care.

He tossed and turned and rolled around in his bed, finding it impossible to get comfortable and fall asleep, so used he was to always having his brother's warm body by his side.

The hours seemed to stretch by eternally, and at some point, after he had firmly shut his eyes close in another attempt to force himself to drowse, he saw the face of the beautiful, mysterious woman; the image unraveling like a mist in the darkness behind his closed eyelids.

He didn't wonder if it was a hallucination or some strange conjure of his imagination, this time. He simply sleepily basked in the beauty of the golden-haired woman, and sighed as her soft, cultured voice echoed in his ears, singing Alice's lullaby.

There seemed to be a sorrowful or worried tinge in her voice, but it was still so soft, soothing and cradling, that Harry murmured placidly, feeling a deep pang of yearning at the same time that his whole body relaxed. He even had the sensation that he was wrapped in her arms, being gently and lovingly rocked against her chest.

Harry fell into a deep, peaceful slumber, with the image of her beautiful, ethereal face like a blanket warmly wrapping his mind, and her soft, singing voice like a caress soothing his soul.