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:
Thanks to all reviewers, your comments keep me going!
Oh, and in the following chapters we'll start seeing a lot more of Tom, don't worry. *winks*
Part I: Chapter 19
The following weeks passed by like a blur for Harry.
He couldn't sleep well, he barely paid any attention in class – even in his favorite one, Mr. Tilly Toke's Charm class, where they were up to the point of casting Hovering Charms on each other, resulting in having students flying all around the room, some laughing and some even shrieking in horror, like Capricia Carrow, who still hadn't forgiven their teacher for pushing her off a high chair– and he had even lost his appetite and his sweet tooth.
His friends had noticed, though the Prewett twins and Algie Longbottom seemed to think he was depressed because he couldn't attend the Gryffindors' Halloween costume party.
When excitedly discussing the planning of the event, they would suddenly remember his presence in their midst and they would clamp their mouths shut, Algie Longbottom looking awkward and uncomfortable, the twins looking sad and guilty.
Harry had even heard that Felicity and Felix were very angry with their housemates and were still arguing and fighting with them, for his sake. In any other occasion, he would have told them to let it rest, that attending a party was the least of his concerns. But he couldn't even make an effort to care about any of it.
His new secret friend, Alphard Black, had also detected something was troubling him. It had happened on the day in which Harry finally woke up from bed with a solution in mind.
Feeling vastly energized and cheerful, he had almost skipped all the way towards the Great Hall for breakfast, with every intention of using the free hour before his first class to write a letter to the Prime Minister himself. Indeed, who better to tell about the attack on Czechoslovakia but Neville Chamberlain!
His brilliant idea, though, was cruelly crushed when Tom and he received letters from Alice. One of the newspaper clippings that Alice had sent his brother had instantly caught his attention.
'Prime Minister returns victorious from Germany!' the article said in big bold letters. 'Munich Agreement signed!'
The first picture accompanying the cheerful article showed the Prime Minister at an aerodrome, triumphantly waving the resolution signed the day earlier with Germany. Another displayed a still beaming Neville Chamberlain on the balcony of Buckingham Palace, celebrating and waving at the crowds, with King George VI and Queen Elizabeth by his side.
Harry felt a powerful burst of hope and happiness as he looked at the pictures and read the article over his brother's shoulder. Clearly, there was no need to tell anyone at all about the attack!
Given everything the Prewett twins had told him about Gellert Grindelwald, Hitler was the wizard's puppet, and if Hitler had made peace with England and had sworn not to attack any other country, then it must have been because the Dark Lord had ordered him not to! Maximillian Malfoy just didn't know that yet, that was why the wizard had believed that Czechoslovakia would be conquered in March.
At that point, feeling as if nothing could go wrong in the world, Harry had popped a piece of French toast into his mouth, munching it joyfully. That was, until his brother spoke.
"Idiots," Tom scoffed scornfully under his breath, as he unceremoniously stuffed the article back into the envelope of Alice's letter, " 'Peace for Our Time', don't make me laugh."
"What-?" came out the strangled, taken aback words from Harry's mouth. He urgently swallowed his piece of toast, and pinned his brother with his stare. "What d'ya mean?"
Tom arched an eyebrow at him, as he said nonchalantly, "What I mean is that they're all fools for believing that a signed piece of paper has any value at all-"
"But it said it was a Peace agreement!" interrupted Harry, choking out his words as he pointed at the envelope containing the newspaper article.
"Exactly," said Tom sharply, "it's a contract, in essence. And contracts are made to be broken, aren't they?" He snorted disdainfully and then focused his attention back to his breakfast, as he added dismissively, "That 'peace agreement' is as worthless as the ink it was penned with."
Harry gaped at him in disbelief. "But it said-"
"Really, brother," snapped Tom impatiently, shooting him an annoyed scowl, "haven't you been paying attention to Muggle News? Do you really think someone like Hitler, who goes around calling himself a Führer, of all things, and by that he might as well crown himself an Emperor and it would mean the same-" he scoffed scathingly "-would just decide to play nice? He's been doing a pretty good job in taking countries that aren't his. Why would he stop?" He carelessly waved off a hand. "He's fooled Chamberlain to gain some time, that's all."
Harry's face scrunched up with a deep, highly troubled frown, as he muttered, "So you really think there'll be war-"
"I've been telling you so for ages," bit out Tom, looking irked beyond measure. "Yes, there'll be war. Yes, Hitler won't stop. Anyone with half a brain would realize that much."
Harry dashed out of the Great Hall before his brother could even ask him what bee he had on his bonnet.
Given that writing to Neville Chamberlain was no longer an option, since the man clearly believed in the validity of the agreement he had signed, Harry considered simply writing to Alice. But soon, he realized several things.
Even if she believed him, she would want to know how he came upon such information, and he couldn't tell her anything about it, because revealing to her the existence of the Magical World and Hogwarts could end up very badly.
He knew about the Statute of Secrecy thing, and he dreaded the possibility that the Ministry of Magic would somehow know and end up sending one of those 'Obliviator' chaps that the Prewett twins and Algie Longbottom had once mentioned, when telling him about the Ministry and all its departments. And the last thing Harry wanted was for anyone to mess with Alice's brain; that was unforgivable, in his view.
The only other alternative he could come up with, was to write to that Winston Churchill fellow he had so often heard about, when Alice and Robert Hutchins discussed politics. He remembered that Bob had said that the man was an 'old dog' in politics, and was the only one who publicly decried Hitler and Germany as a threat.
There was one grave obstacle, though. One thing was to write to Neville Chamberlain, who all knew he lived in Downing Street. Winston Churchill, on the other hand, Harry didn't have the foggiest idea where he could be found.
Thus, after the end of a class shared with the Gryffindors, he pounced on Felicity Prewett.
"Owls can really, really find anyone in the whole world?" he asked quickly. "With just knowing their name? Even if they're a muggle?"
Felicity blinked at him, before replying matter-of-factly, "Yes, of course. In the Wizarding World, owls are bred by trained wizards, and they cast all sorts of spells on them when they're just eggs, to give them several magical abilities, like that of being able to find anyone by just knowing their name."
The girl tilted her head to a side, gazing at him with her beautiful, mismatched hazel and blue eyes, which glinted with curiosity. "Who do you want to write to-"
Harry was gone before she could even complete her sentence.
It was thus, that by evening time, he had used every spare moment in writing a letter to the politician. He had gone through many drafts, and though still dissatisfied with the end result, he had felt a modicum of relief as he stuck the letter into a pocket of his school robes.
He was in such a good mood, that when Alphard Black waylaid him, he allowed himself to be cajoled into going to the kitchens.
It was their twelfth time down there. Indeed, three days after Harry's 'incident' with the painting of the bowl of fruits, Alphard had insisted on showing him the elves.
At first, the boy had been a bit hesitant in tickling the pear –Harry certainly didn't offer himself up as a volunteer- but it had worked without a hitch. The painting had flung itself to a side, revealing a passageway.
"You were right," had piped in Alphard, looking mightily content. "Apollyon Pringle must've repaired its magic!"
The 'Elves', at first, were a crushing disappointed for Harry. They were not the willowy, ethereal and beautiful beings mentioned in his Celtic folklore book. Instead, they were short, green things, with huge bulging eyes, gigantic flapping ears and large, pointy noses.
However, he soon became very fond of the little creatures. Though they weren't all that 'little': just about his very same height, which still made him grumble. But they were very kind and cheerful, and tripped over their own feet in their rush to cook or bake anything Harry or Alphard asked for, allowing them to indulge their sweet tooth, which they both shared in common.
Thus, the kitchens had become their secret little meeting place, since it appeared that no student ever went there. It was in the kitchens -with the house-elves always orbiting around them, solicitously asking what they desired and making for them delicious pastries and scones, along with scrumptious cups of hot chocolate- where the two boys spent all their time together, when they wanted to talk, when they played Exploding Snaps, or even when they had to do their homework.
That day, though, it seemed that Alphard had decided to voice his concerns.
"What's been going on with you?" the boy asked, as he settled down his cup of hot cocoa.
"Huh?" said Harry distractedly.
"That!" said Alphard, pointing a finger at him. "You have been going around, with that dazed, worried look on your face." The boy leaned forward over the table, peering at him, as he said softly, "Does it have something to do with your parents?"
"My parents?" Harry blinked at him.
"Yes," said Alphard quietly, looking concerned. "I saw you and your brother receiving letters again, today at breakfast. And you started arguing with him, or something, and you looked very worried." He gazed at him with commiserating, big grey eyes. "Did you get bad news from home? Is one of your parents ill?"
"Ill?" Harry started to shake his head, before he changed tacks and quickly nodded.
Indeed, he might as well say that Alice was ill, because there was no doubt in his mind that she would soon be so.
Tom always said he was a complete dunderhead in anything politics-related, but he comprehended enough to realize that if Maximillian Malfoy was right, and Czechoslovakia was going to be attacked in March, it would amount to the same thing as the Germans declaring war on England, given the so-called 'Munich Agreement' they had signed and would be breaking.
And Harry knew exactly what would happen then.
Now, Old John Bryce's tales about his time as a soldier, fighting in the Great War, didn't sound as thrilling, adventurous and wonderful as before, because now it would be Robert Hutchins in the trenches, fighting against the spike-headed Germans.
Tom had warned him about it, in King's Cross Station. Bob wanted to enroll in the army if there was ever a war, and Alice would be crushed. It only made the whole matter ever more urgent and worrisome for him.
"Oh, yeah, it's my… mum. She's ill and a bit frail," he finally said in a shaky whisper, "so we're worried."
Alphard shot him a look filled with understanding and sympathy and left it at that, for which Harry cherished him immensely.
It was then when he realized what a good friend the other boy had been, because Alphard must have detected his lack of concentration in class, must have been concerned, but in all that time, the boy had never pressed him to know why, and had simply helped him with homework after class.
Not only that, but following Dorea's plan, Alphard had written to his father, asking for his racing broom whilst expressing his wish to keep practicing his flying abilities without the teachers finding out.
Weeks before, a huge, intimidating owl had landed in front of Alphard, with a box no larger than a wand's. Later that day, the boy had proudly presented Harry with a shrunken Comet 180.
Alphard had even woken up at the wee hours of Sunday morning, to accompany Harry on his first Quidditch training session. As they had made their way to the remote spot at the other end of the Black Lake, the boy had excitedly explained to Harry all the details and features of the broom, adding some very useful suggestions of how it was best mounted and directed.
Every Sunday thereafter, Alphard would be there, watching and cheering him on, even when the weather turned bad and it started raining and hailing.
Furthermore, even though Dorea Black was a very tough trainer, Quidditch had soon become Harry's favorite activity of the week.
Having Antonin Dolohov there, being the team's Keeper in need of more practice, would sometimes remind Harry that the older boy's father had been one of those in the secret meeting in Grimmauld Place, and it would make Maximillian Malfoy's spine-chilling words, 'Next March', reverberate like roaring thunder in his head.
But as soon as he was on the Comet 180, all those thoughts would simply melt away from his mind and he would feel as carefree as never before in his life. Flying was truly the best thing that had ever been invented, and it bestowed on him the only few hours a week of true peace.
Not only did he immensely enjoy it, but he had realized that he was actually quite superb at it. At least, Dorea Black couldn't stop gushing about his 'fabulous' skills and moves, although Harry had done much to earn her praise, since no matter what outlandish and crazy stunts and acrobatics she came up with and made him try, he was always up to it and ended up performing them without a fault.
Once, the older Slytherin girl had even hugged him tightly in mid-air, as she cried out, ecstatic, "I've been waiting all my life for a Chaser like you, Riddle!" A wicked, highly satisfied glint had shone in her grey eyes. "Charlus and his pathetic bunch of Gryffs won't stand a stance next year!"
Moreover, Harry could already see the benefits of the arduous training on his body. His arms and legs were no longer the thin things of before, but they had gained some lithe muscles. And he could only wish that he would keep getting stronger, and grow to be very tall too, so that for once, it would be him bossing Tom and not the other way around, as usual.
Though, it hadn't been all sonnets and roses. Dorea had come to utterly despise his big, rounded eyeglasses.
It had started on the second Sunday, when Dorea had passed him the Quaffle, so unexpectedly and so forcefully, that the ball had slammed on his face, breaking his glasses. She had had a quick fix for that, and had taught him the charm.
On the following practice session, in the middle of a very complicated maneuver, they had come tumbling down to the ground. The Slytherin Quidditch Captain, still in a patient good mood, had taught him a sticking charm.
Last Sunday, though, it had down-poured, and her mood had been short and acerbic. So when Harry -hardly being able to see a thing through his stained glasses- missed a shot, leaving Antonin Dolohov to easily deflect it, nastily guffawing at him, Dorea had put her foot down.
Flying up to him, she had snapped, scowling fiercely as she gestured at his eyeglasses, "I could teach you a spell for that, but what would be the point? Even if you cast the three charms on your glasses before a match, they could wear off in the middle of a game – matches can last for many hours, Riddle, and you aren't allowed the use of a wand when playing Quidditch. Those horrid eyeglasses of yours have to go!"
Angrily, she had made him fly down to the ground. She had been so furious, that it seemed to have affected even her hair, since suddenly –when it had been glossy, perfectly coiffured, and beautifully wavy all during practice, withstanding even the heavy rain- it became a frightful tangled mass of hairs sticking in all directions.
"What are you gawking at, Riddle?" Dorea had snapped at him. Only to touch her hair the next instant, and grumble under her breath, highly irritated, "Oh, the grooming charm must have worn off." With an annoyed flick of her wand, she solved the problem, though she still glared at him, biting out, "Yes, that's my natural hair. Not that you're one to speak, your hair is just as atrocious!"
Automatically, one of Harry's hands went to his hair, trying to flatten it out, not that he had ever cared much about it. Only Alice had complained, the many times she had attempted to comb it into submission. Well, and when they had been younger, Tom would frequently mock him for it, calling him 'scarecrow-head'. Still did sometimes, at that.
"Look here, Riddle," Dorea said firmly, skewering him with her grey eyes, "you'll have to take a potion to correct your sight."
Harry frowned at her, and echoed a bit dubiously, "A potion?"
"Yes," she said shortly, shooting him an irked glare. "You have several options." She started ticking off her fingers. "There's one that you can find in any apothecary and is quite cheap. It corrects your eyesight for a month, so you would have to buy it and take it on a monthly basis, because we'll always be having practice and I don't want to see those glasses of yours ever again." She halted, before adding nonchalantly, "The only drawback to that potion is that it gives you terrible headaches at random."
She cocked her head to a side. "Now that I think about it, that potion isn't an option for you. I don't want you to cost us a match due to some trifle little thing as your head hurting too much." She shook her head. "No, you'll just have to use the Dark potion. It permanently corrects your eyesight, only that in thirty-five percent of the cases it can leave the drinker completely blind, with no magical way to reverse it."
Harry gaped at her in disbelief. "You're off your rocker! I'm not trying that!"
Alphard, who by then had approached them and had been listening in with curiosity, piped in, "Oh, that's the one you used, wasn't it, 'Rea?"
"Quite right, little nephew," said Dorea, beaming at him, before her grey eyes narrowed and she pierced Harry with a scowl. "I was as blind as a bat, just like you, but when I was ten I already knew that I was serious about Quidditch, and I took a chance and the potion paid off." Her eyes narrowed to mere slits, as she demanded sharply, "The question is, are you serious about playing Quidditch? If not, tell me now because then I'm just wasting my time with you."
"I am serious about Quidditch!" said Harry vehemently, before his voice turned hesitant, "but if the potion could turn me blind…" He trailed off, shaking his head, before he frowned. "You said something about it being 'dark'?"
Dorea shrugged her shoulders unconcernedly. "It is. You'll only find it in Knockturn Alley's apothecary, and it's a bit expensive. It's a banned potion, considered Dark, because it uses an illegal ingredient – the eyes of some magical creature nearly extinct that no one really cares about." She rolled her eyes, showing what she thought about that.
Harry stared at her, before his expression turned even more troubled. "Exactly how expensive is it?"
"Nowadays, about a thousand galleons or so," she replied offhandedly.
"I don't have that kind of money!" said Harry gobsmacked, gawking at her. That was ten times the amount Dumbledore had given Tom and him, and they had bought all the possessions they owned at present with that!
He shook his head sadly. "I don't have a single galleon, in fact." He paused, his green eyes suddenly brightening, as he said excitedly, "Oh, I know! I could ask Professor Slughorn to brew it for me-"
"Slughorn!" shrieked Dorea, bursting into loud guffaws, tears of mirth in her eyes. "He'd charge you even more than the apothecary in Knockturn Alley! Slughorn would sell his own mother if it earned him a small fortune!" She shook her head, as she said between peals of laughter, "He's a creature of comforts, you see, with expensive tastes – such that can't be maintained with his teacher's salary. Why, just take a turn around the Greenhouses at night and you'll see Slughorn covertly slipping in, nicking buds of Professor Beery's Venomous Tentacula to sell in Knockturn Alley. He filches everything that isn't bolted to the floor, actually!"
She nearly choked on her chuckles, as she added, "He even used to scavenger the Forbidden Forest for plants that were expensive potions ingredients, until the Centaurs trampled all over him and he spent a week in the Hospital Wing! He doesn't dare put a toe near the forest ever since."
With a last chortle, Dorea wiped her tears of mirth from her eyes, and glanced at Harry again. "No, you'd do better just buying the ingredients and asking your twin to brew the potion for you."
"Ask Tom?" Harry blinked at her.
"Yes, I've heard he's brilliant at Potions, and the potion is not that complicated, just very tedious and time-consuming to brew."
Harry had had several objections to that, first but certainly not least of all was that he couldn't even afford to pay for ingredients. But Alphard had very generously offered to give him his allowance of a month, to pay for them.
Not one to accept charity, Harry had very stubbornly refused, but his friend had worn him out in the end, with a very candid sentiment expressed in his words, "I'm not giving you free money, I'm investing in you as a Quidditch player, Harry! I'm planning on being a Chaser too, next year, and I want my fellow teammate to be just as good or better than me - that will make me enjoy the sport even more. And when you become a famous Quidditch player, I will proudly say I was your first sponsor. Really, just accept the stupid galleons!"
Harry yielded in the end, and a few hours afterwards, Dorea tracked him down and handed him 'Obscure Brews to Correct the Senses', with a page dog-eared on the chapter detailing the instructions for the potion.
A day later, she was already demanding to know if she had talked to Tom.
Harry smoothly lied and nodded, since approaching his brother about it wasn't high up in his list of priorities. Moreover, he also dreaded to imagine what Tom would demand in return for brewing a potion that would take him a long time and thus pull him away from his precious, stupid little books.
Though, the day when Tom confronted him about his lack of concentration in class, Harry actually remembered that he was owed a favor in exchange for looking for the Chamber of Secrets.
He had known, that at some point, his brother would ask what was the matter with him. Tom was the one person who knew him best in the whole world, so of course the boy had noticed that something wasn't quite right with him.
And Harry had mightily dreaded it, because he knew that if Tom pressed him, he could very well be unable to keep it all in, and he would just blurt out the whole thing – Santi and Grey Lady included.
Indeed, back then, Maximillian Malfoy's words were still haunting him, day and night. He had felt frantic with impotence and worry. He hadn't known what an eleven-year-old boy like himself could possibly do about such a grave and urgent matter. And given the chance, he feared he would break down and plea and ask his brother for help.
However, he wasn't given the chance, because Tom was still so self-absorbed in his research -about the Chamber, but foremost, Salazar Slytherin's line, wanting to discover how they could be the wizard's descendants- that his brother's mode of approach didn't even tempt Harry the slightest bit to be in any way forthcoming with him.
"I don't care why you've been moping around and I don't have time right now to tutor you, but you best stop getting low marks on your essays, or else," Tom had hissed out at him angrily, plopping a couple of thick textbooks of all sorts of subjects on Harry's desk. "Read, study, and stop embarrassing me."
His brother had only halted to shoot him a demanding glance. "How is your search for the Chamber going?"
Harry had almost told him where he could go to sod off, but he hadn't, because he had actually spent considerable time and effort on that quest.
Indeed, after meeting Santi, he had decided he could kill two birds with one stone, carrying on both of his tasks at the same time: finding the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets and finding the Grey Lady again, to glean from her the 'story of her life'.
Thus, every evening after class, he had spent a couple of hours meandering around the castle.
He had caught glimpses of the Grey Lady three times, but one look at him and she was gone. It became patently clear to him that Santi had vastly understated her 'reluctance' – the Grey Lady didn't seem in any way disposed to open up her bosom to him and even less, share life experiences.
His search for the Chamber of Secrets had been just as unsuccessful. The moving staircases of the castle kept making him go around in circles. Once, he actually saw the lattice of magic on the walls vibrating, as if Hogwarts was good-naturedly laughing and playing with him, tricking him and moving her stairs around to make him land always on the same spot, or sometimes in remote corners of the castle.
Harry hadn't found it all that funny and had almost yelled at the castle.
Nevertheless, it had allowed him to discover a few interesting things.
He had miraculously found again the corridor where he had met Santi and the Grey Lady, taking note that it was on the seventh floor, the unused and abandoned part of Hogwarts.
He had stood in front of the wall covered with bronze and dark blue cords of magic, though he certainly hadn't seen any door that would lead to the 'Room of Requirements', whatever that was.
Moreover, when Barnabas the Barmy had cheerfully greeted him and recognized him, Harry had quickly turned heel and dashed away, not wanting to stick around for awkward questions of how, if he was a student, had he managed to get in the tapestry.
By accident, in one of those days when the castle was clearly feeling quite mischievous and had kept shifting around her stairs whilst he stood on them, he had come upon a still-life painting near the kitchens, the whole thing shimmering with yellow and black magic, which instantly told him that he was beholding the entrance to Hufflepuff House's common room.
And finally, on a third-floor corridor, he had stumbled upon a statue of a humpbacked witch, the hump itself glowing in red and golden light.
He had touched, and then pushed and shoved, and it had given way, the statue shifting to a side, revealing a narrow passage. With a quick Lumos Charm on his wand, Harry had instantly seen that it also shimmered red and gold all along its ground and walls.
Very curious about the secret passageway that Godric Gryffindor himself had clearly built many centuries ago, he had made a mental note of going back there when he had more time to explore.
To his brother, though, he simply retold his frustration with the moving staircases and the many times he had ended up inspecting the same abandoned classroom, only to realize it too late.
"Then draw a map, you lamebrain, and tick off the classrooms you go examining," said Tom snidely, shaking his head as if not believing he could have such a dolt for a brother.
Harry stared at him at that, silently admitting to himself that it was actually a good idea. Not that he told his brother that. He just shot him a peeved glower and left him biting his dust as he waltzed out of the room with his chin raised high in an affronted gesture.
Nevertheless, he was planning on asking Professor Tilly Toke for help on that, because if he was going to make a map, he would do it with magic.
He didn't want to go around the school looking like a fool, with roll of parchment and quill in hand. No, he would use Charms and make for himself a wickedly brilliant map and then he would rub it in on Tom's face and never let him use it.
But that would be later, because at present, he had a letter in his pocket, addressed to a certain someone, with which he would finally solve the Czechoslovakia issue.
Thus, after finishing their cups of hot chocolate, he parted ways with Alphard in front of the painting of the bowl of fruits, since they couldn't be seen together.
And with self-confident, assured steps, Harry made his way towards the owlerly. Inevitably, though, with every step he took, he thought about his letter, and his certainty started to slowly dwindle.
At first, he thought about how he wished he had his brother's penmanship; Tom's elegant, fluid and clear script, instead of his, which looked like chicken scratches. Then he wished he could write all grown-up like, like Tom, who always used big words that sounded very important and impressive. His letter, on the other hand, sounded as if it had been written by the little boy he really was.
Frowning, Harry started to realize that Winston Churchill could very well take one look at his letter, snort, chuckle -or whatever the man did when unimpressed, or when believing he was being pranked- and toss it to the garbage bin. After all, he could offer no proof to his claims. And Churchill would know it had been written by a little boy and would most surely give it no credence at all.
Furthermore, sending it by owl might be a very bad idea. He had heard that the old muggle liked to hunt – what if the chap blew off Lord Horkos' head? He would never hear the end of it from Tom.
Just when he came to the decision that he should just turn around and find some other solution for the problem, he heard two hushed voices coming from around the corner.
"… Grindelwald… not heard… Julian Erlichmann… no news?... I fear the worst…."
Suddenly, he almost smashed into Albus Dumbledore as the wizard appeared in his corridor.
For a moment, Harry caught sight of something in the professor's hand. It looked like a small glass sphere, with a curly, blonde head inside, of a woman.
He blinked and stared, puzzled and intrigued, but the sphere vanished into the wizard's violet robes in the next instant.
"Mr. Riddle, what an unexpected surprise," greeted him cheerfully the Transfiguration Professor, the man's sky blue eyes twinkling. "Running a bit late, aren't you? Curfew started an hour ago, my dear boy."
"Oh," said Harry, fidgeting awkwardly, wondering if he was about to get detention.
"It will be forgiven this time," said Dumbledore with a congenial chuckle. Abruptly, he peered at him over his half-moon spectacles, a slight expression of worry flashing across his face. "You look troubled, my boy. And you have been distracted as of late, in my class. Is there anything the matter?"
For a moment, Harry could do nothing but stare, then his mouth parted open in a silent 'O', and he almost slapped a hand on his forehead.
He had been so stupid - the answer to his problem was right there in front of his very nose! Granted, he still didn't like Dumbledore much, and Tom often hissed out with much irritation that the professor was always watching him closely, but it was Dumbledore!
He had lost count of the many times that Felicity Prewett had sung the man's praises, and it had been her who had told him all about how Dumbledore, from the start, had been warning the rest of wizarding England that the 'German Minister of Magic' was really a Dark Lord.
Why, the twins' father, Faustus Prewett, was supporting Dumbledore's faction in the Wizengamot, as they kept trying to have that Law passed. The very same law that, many weeks ago, had the Slytherins grumbling angrily. But just the other day, Felicity had mentioned something about the law really being all about forcing Charlemagne McLaggen to aid the muggles in case of war, of actually preventing the Minister of Magic from making some pact with Grindelwald.
Furthermore, Dumbledore was one of the most powerful wizards in the world! At least according to the Prewetts. So given all that, who better than Dumbledore to take care about the whole Czechoslovakia thing!
Harry was so excited that he barely knew where to start.
He jerkily gestured at his pocket, where his letter to Churchill rested in, and then he pointed in the general direction of the owlerly, and finally blurted out frantically, "Yes! I overheard – that is, I didn't mean to, but it just happened – and I wrote a letter, I was about to fetch Lord Horkos to send it, but there's no need, you're here-"
"Lord Horkos?" said Dumbledore, his auburn eyebrows shooting upwards as an expression of alarm briefly flickered through his features.
Harry blinked at him, a bit startled at the man's reaction. "Er- yeah, he's my brother's owl-"
"I see," muttered Dumbledore quietly, his face once more calm, though his eyes seemed to sharpen as he pinned Harry with his spectacled gaze. "Your brother named him, I take it."
It didn't sound like a question but more like a self-assertion of the wizard's own thoughts. Nonetheless, puzzled, Harry nodded hesitantly.
Dumbledore's expression turned grave, as he eyed Harry from the rim of his half-moon spectacles and prompted gently, "Is there anything you wish to tell me? About your brother?"
"What-?" Harry's mouth hanged open. Frowning, he snapped with exasperation, "What does Tom have to do with anything!"
"That is for you to tell me, my dear boy," interjected Dumbledore softly, his concern now clear on his face.
"Tell you what?" echoed Harry dumbly, feeling utterly baffled. He shook his head and bit out with irritation, "About Tom? Nothing's the matter with him! The trouble is Czech-"
"If you're worried about anything he might be doing," said Dumbledore quietly, as he intensely peered at him over his glasses, "it would be best if you confided in me. And together, we would find a way to help him."
"Help him?" Perplexed, Harry nearly gaped at the wizard. Yet suddenly, he felt such a burst of sheer anger and crushing disappointment, that he bellowed at the top of his lungs, "My brother is just peachy! YOU LEAVE HIM ALONE!"
And with that and a disgusted glower, Harry spun around and ran away from the wizard.
He didn't know what he had been thinking! It was just as Tom had said, Dumbledore was still as suspicious of them as the day they had met him at the orphanage. And for a brief moment – clearly of utter insanity – he had actually thought he could trust the wizard, that Dumbledore would be the solution to all his problems!
Why, if Tom ever found out what he had been about to do, he would be cruelly mocked till death.
Nevertheless, it wasn't any of that which had him almost beating his head with his fists, but rather the fact that Dumbledore had been his last resort. Now, he truly didn't know what to do.
It was such the depression in which he sunk in the following weeks, that All Hallow's Eve came by and passed, and Harry barely noticed it.
The splendid feast in the Great Hall, with countless decorations and carved pumpkins floating all around, lightening the place, with the mouth-watering dishes, desserts, and candies, the celebratory cheerfulness that reigned in the castle in those days, with the Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws attending the costume party to which he wasn't welcomed, the fact that the Slytherins disappeared from school – just as predicted by Felicity – and with Alphard, later, with much guilt but nevertheless firm in his convictions, refusing to tell him what that 'Samhain' celebration had entailed, all of it happened and Harry couldn't have cared less.
He didn't even have the energy to tell Alphard just what he thought about his dark pureblood traditions and the need to keep them a secret from him, an outsider, allegedly a non-dark wizard.
Harry simply spent all those days in sheer misery, moping and meandering around the castle like a wretched ghost.
It wasn't until they entered November –with the weather turning very cold, the mountains around the school becoming icy gray and the lake like chilled steel, with every morning displaying grounds covered in frost and snow- that Harry received a wake up call from Alphard.
They were in the kitchens, with cups of hot tea in their hands as they worked on their essays for Potions, about the tedious subject of '101 magical proprieties of newt's eyes'. Or better said, Alphard was working on his essay and Harry was merely copying it onto his own piece of parchment, feeling as uninterested and lackluster as he usually did in those days.
Suddenly, Alphard cleared his throat as he settled down his quill on the table, and said softly, "I know that you have a lot on your mind, with your mother being ill..."
"Huh?" Harry gazed at him with dull eyes. "Oh, yeah. She's actually worse," he then added in a mutter, because really, those words quite accurately reflected his state of mind.
Everything was worse, now that he still didn't know what to do about the attack on Czechoslovakia. Part of him dearly wished he had never heard a word about it, so that he didn't feel that pressing responsibility, and the utter impotence that came with it when realizing that there didn't seem to be much that he could do.
"I'm sorry," said Alphard, looking very sad and concerned for his sake. However, his voice became firmer as he added, "I haven't said anything to you because I didn't want to burden you, but…" He cleared his throat again, looking uncomfortable. "Well, I think you should know, because in the end, it wasn't a bad thing."
Harry shot him a glance as he scribbled something on his parchment. "Know what?"
"You really don't know – nothing at all?" whispered Alphard, leaning forward to intently gaze at him. "Your brother hasn't told you anything?"
That did catch his attention, and he fully turned around to face his friend, as he frowned. "About what?"
Alphard released a heavy exhalation of breath. "Where to start!" He carded his fingers through his short, wavy hair, and then shot him a quizzical glance. "Haven't you seen the House points lately?"
Harry scrunched his face up, trying to remember the giant hourglasses set in niches along one wall in a corner of the Entrance Hall, with rubies for Gryffindor, sapphires for Ravenclaw, emeralds for Slytherin, and yellow topazes for Hufflepuff House.
"Um, yeah, I think we don't have that many emeralds anymore," said Harry slowly. "Ravenclaw is beating us-"
"Exactly," cut in Alphard quickly, "and at first, we were winning by a lot, mostly due to all the points your brother got in class, because he answered all the questions."
"So?" Harry stared at him, still not understanding what had his friend in such an agitated state.
"So," said Alphard patiently, "your brother stopped participating in class, about two months ago. You didn't notice?"
"Er- not really." Harry then snorted loudly. "He probably decided to stop being such a teacher's pet-"
"That wasn't the reason," said Alphard in a singsong, his tone smug. His grey eyes grew big then, as he added in a rush, "Oh, and didn't you see your brother hanging around a lot of students of other Houses? And how our housemates have stopped bullying you? And the glances that my sister has been shooting at Tom? And-"
"Hold your horses!" exclaimed Harry dismayed, feeling as if he was being battered with questions. Then he deeply frowned as he spun them in his mind and slowly began to remember and take notice of the little things that had happened during the past months.
He had seen Tom consorting with Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs, and even some Gryffindors, in different places and on different days, but he hadn't given it much importance. He had ascribed that as Tom being Tom, probably cajoling something out of them.
His housemates had indeed stopped harassing or attacking him, but they had probably just gotten tired of it or just feared that some teacher would finally realize what they had been doing. Although he wasn't able to say if the present situation was an improvement, because his housemates had gone to the other opposite extreme: they still shot him glowers and glares, which looked angrier than before, but they wouldn't even say a single word to him.
Furthermore, the only other thing he had detected was that Walburga Black had begun casting Tom very weird glances. She actually looked constipated most of times.
Besides that, the only weird thing was, that one day, a Flourish and Blotts owl came swooping into the Great Hall and left a package to Tom. His brother had opened it and flung a shiny, brand new book at him, smirking with self-satisfaction, as he said, "Take the stupid thing. I owe you nothing now."
Harry had seen that it was 'The Most Extraordinary Chaser Tactics and Maneuvers of the Century!', the gift Alphard had given him the day they first met in Diagon Alley, and which Tom had later burned at the orphanage, in a bout of jealousy or something of the sort.
If he hadn't had Maximillian Malfoy's words weighting heavily on his mind, he would had felt very happy. But he had only frowned, as he asked, "How did you get the galleons to buy it?"
"That's none of your business," Tom had replied tartly, before going back to his lunch.
Thus, none the wiser about what Alphard could be hinting at, he shook his head, and muttered, "I really don't know what you're talking about." He rose up a hand the moment the other boy opened his mouth, and groused out, "And no, Tom hasn't said a single word to me about any of it. He isn't speaking to me anymore. He's mad at me because I'm not doing well in class. But he refuses to help me!" He darkly scowled. "He doesn't give two figs about what's going on with me. That's my dear brother for you."
Alphard stared at him with wide eyes, as he breathed out, "You're so wrong." He shook his head, as he added candidly, "Look, I don't really like your twin that much, but I have to admit, you have a good brother there."
Harry snorted scathingly. "Yeah? How's that?"
"That's what I've been trying to explain to you!" said Alphard with a bit of exasperation.
"Then you might try doing a better job at it," Harry muttered peevishly under his breath.
Alphard shot him a miffed glance, before he sat up straight on his chair. "Alright, then listen to me. As I said, two months ago, your brother stopped answering questions in class. At first, no one paid it much mind, but then, we all started seeing him around students of other Houses-"
"You already said that," interjected Harry grumpily.
"And," carried on Alphard, utterly ignoring his remark, "we started seeing that without Tom's participation in class, our House points were going down, but the points of the other Houses abruptly started rising!" He leaned forward, as he breathed out, "He was seen, exchanging rolls of parchments for pouches of galleons. Your brother was doing the homework of loads of other students of different Houses, even some who were second or third-years, and he was charging for it!"
Harry's eyebrows shot upwards, as he said uncertainly, "Are you sure?"
"Of course I'm sure! Many Slytherins saw him do it," said Alphard, shaking his head as he sniggered under his breath. "He wasn't being subtle about it! And he did it for weeks!" He chuckled, as he added, "You know how seriously they take it, and how important it is for our housemates to win the House Cup. They were all furious with your brother, because all those points the other Houses were earning were because of the essays Tom had sold to them!"
Harry blinked, and then inaudibly mumbled under his breath, "Well, that explains how he bought my book."
"And you can just imagine what happened," continued Alphard, his grey eyes growing big. "They all confronted him one day and-"
"Wait – what?" interrupted Harry quickly, frowning and piercing him with his gaze. "Where was I?"
Alphard scratched his forehead pensively, before his expression brightened. "Ah, it was that Sunday! Remember that I had a nasty cold and couldn't go watch your Quidditch practice? It was then. An hour after you left with Dorea and Dolohov, Algernon Wilkes woke up the whole House and took us to the common room." His expression turned upset for a moment, as he added, "They all ganged up against your brother, furious and yelling. It wasn't pretty."
Harry shot him a fretful, worried look. "Did they hurt him?"
"Oh no," said Alphard with a chuckle. "You should have seen him! They were all shouting at him, and he stood there, looking at us all as if we were mud under his shoes. And when they stopped yelling, he just smirked at us, and said that he wasn't going to stop selling essays. And that he wouldn't earn points for a House that didn't welcome him and you." He waved off a hand. "Or something like that."
The boy widely grinned, as he added excitedly in an admiring tone, "And then he turned all serious and scary, and said something like 'No one touches my brother' – and he was staring straight at Walburga!" Alphard chortled happily. "I swear on Salazar's snakes, my sister actually went pale! It was fantastic!"
"Oh," breathed out Harry, gazing at him with green eyes wide as moons, a very warm, fuzzy feeling suddenly surrounding him. He couldn't help the beaming smile that spread on his face. "Tom really said that?"
"Yup," said Alphard, vehemently nodding his head. "But wait – it doesn't end there! Many were still angry, Walburga most of all, but then something happened." He leaned forwards as he whispered quietly, "Your brother ambushed her when she was coming out from a girls' bathroom, alone. And he cursed her, Harry! I saw her myself – it was very nasty." He sniggered under his breath. "Burga refused to go to the Hospital Wing and in the end only Dorea could fix her up. And haven't you seen the glances 'Burga shoots Tom?" He shuddered dramatically. "I think she fancies your brother now!"
"Those constipated looks - that's her fancying Tom?" Harry said incredulously, not knowing whether to guffaw or be concerned for his brother.
"Well, she has a thing for him, I think," said Alphard, to then shoot him an apologetic glance. "But she cannot seriously fancy him, you know, he's still just a muggleborn."
Harry shrugged his shoulders, really not caring two straws about Walburga's amorous affairs or the limitations she imposed on herself.
"Still," grumbled Alphard, looking highly miffed, "that doesn't stop the first and second-year Slytherin girls from making eyes at him, gossiping and giggling – you know, that stuff girls do. Some have even started to go around trailing after him!"
His friend looked very upset and vexed about the matter, but Harry could only frown as he remembered something. "Hang on. You said Tom cursed her, as in-"
"As in he used a dark spell!" piped in Alphard, nodding. "That's something that had many wondering-"
"It can't be," interrupted Harry shortly, starting to feel a bit perturbed. "My brother doesn't know any Dark Arts."
Alphard frowned at him. "Well, it couldn't have been a truly harmful dark curse, because Hogwarts has a ward that detects such spells, alerting the Headmaster. But it must have been a curse borderline Dark Arts." He turned very grave, as he added, "Because I saw my sister and she was a bloody mess, Harry. She's being very tight-lipped about the whole matter, and even if she knows what curse he used, she isn't telling." He shook his head disparagingly. "Dorea herself couldn't figure it out, though she managed to heal 'Burga in the end."
Given all the stuff the Prewett twins had told him about the 'dangers of delving into the Dark Arts', Harry became increasingly worried with every word his friend spoke, and could only stare at him.
"Many have wondered, you know," said Alphard, his tone mystified, "about where your brother might have learned such curse from-"
"Oh!" breathed out Harry, as realization struck him. "He has a pass for the Restricted Section of the library. Slughorn gave it to him-"
"Everyone has a pass from Sluggy," interjected Alphard with a scoff and a roll of his eyes. "He gives it to any Slytherin who asks, because he knows that if my father or Abraxas' grandfather hear that he isn't, they would use their posts as Governors of the school to fire him – under some other made-up reason, of course." He waved a hand dismissively. "All our parents are counting on us to continue our studies of the Dark Arts in the Restricted Section, since Hogwarts doesn't teach the subject."
"Right," muttered Harry, shaking his head. "But my point is that clearly, Tom learned the curse from there-"
"He couldn't have," said Alphard decisively.
Harry frowned at him, perplexed. "What d'you mean? Of course he could! Tom told me himself, long ago, that the Section is filled with Dark Arts books for anyone with a pass to look at-"
"Oh, of course, you don't know!" breathed out Alphard, his eyes wide. He quickly leaned forward, as he whispered urgently, "It was filled with Dark Arts books, but it's not anymore. Way before your brother cursed 'Burga, the older Slytherins saw that the vast majority of Dark Arts books were missing. Algernon Wilkes managed to glean from Ciceron Plume that Dumbledore had raided the Restricted Section, taking the books with him." He grew excited, continuing as if unraveling a complex conspiracy, "And then Dorea went to visit Headmaster Dippet under some pretext of needing something for her prefect duties, and in the minutes he was gone, she spoke to Phineas-"
Alphard halted, and then quickly rushed out, "We have an ancestor who was a Headmaster and his portrait is hanging there in Dippet's office." He waved off a hand dismissively. "The point is that she asked him, and Phineas said that the books were under lock and key in the Headmaster's office."
"Hang on," interjected Harry, rising up a hand as an ominous, foreboding feeling started churning in his stomach. "You say Dumbledore started that? That he was the one to take the books?"
"Yes," replied Alphard instantly. "Apparently, it was his idea."
Harry sat up straight on his chair, and skewered the boy with his gaze, as he demanded sharply, "When did this happen?"
Frowning, Alphard said slowly, "I think it was about a month ago-"
"I need the exact date!" snapped Harry hastily.
Alphard blinked at him, looking taken a back, before he turned pensive. "It happened… the Tuesday… two weeks before Samhain..." He then nodded to himself. "Yes, that was the day."
Harry choked on a gasp as the realization dawned on him. It had been precisely the day after he had his encounter with Dumbledore. It was too much of a coincidence, especially given the weird things the wizard had asked him about!
In the bat of an eyelash, Harry jumped to his feet and stuffed all his things into his school bag. By the time Alphard had gathered his wits, Harry was almost through the door.
"Wait - what about our Potions homework!"
"We'll finish it tomorrow!" Harry threw over his shoulder, and he left the kitchens in a mad dash, leaving Alphard to blink and gape after him.