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.

59. Part I: Chapter 58

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. Any original plots, ideas, and characters are mine.

AN:

As promised in a recent post in my Yahoo Group, here's the update, at long last! I managed it much quicker than expected, so yay for me :D

Anyway, a lot of brief things happen, but mostly are a foundation for the many things to come, so have a bit of patience but enjoy! Hopefully, I'll be back to a speedy rate of updates for the next couple of weeks. Perhaps 2 chapters per week *grins*

Let me know what you think, that always helps me loads!

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Part I: Chapter 58

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"Well," breathed out Harry astonished, as they stepped into the vast, cavernous room at the very end of the spiraling staircase.

"We must be the first to enter this place," whispered Tom in a low, exultant voice, "in centuries."

Harry nodded, for it certainly looked so. There was nothing lavish or luxurious about the immense chamber. It was spartan and utilitarian, sparsely furnished like an ascetic workplace, with long tables set with rusty cauldrons of all shapes and sizes, rows upon rows of shelves littered with flasks and vials with contents that had long ago withered or rotted, and at the very end, some sort of study comprised of a wood desk, simple chairs, and a bookcase.

Everything looked ancient and musty, with a thick layer of dust and grime. The only peculiar detail was the absence of cobwebs, as would have been expected from a place that looked as though it had been abandoned for ages.

The room had certainly not been made to impress or inspire awe and reverence like the Chamber of Secrets above, but to be practical and functional.

"This must be where Salazar Slytherin conducted his experimentations," murmured Tom, looking fascinated as his eyes darted all around as they slowly proceeded forwards. "Perhaps we may find his research notes…"

Groaning at his brother's greedy tone of voice, Harry followed as Tom finally halted at the very end of the room, between the simple desk and the large bookcase propped against a wall.

With gleaming, covetous eyes, Tom wasted no time in taking one of the books from the shelves, quickly perusing it.

"What is it?" Harry urged when his brother suddenly went still, his gaze fixed on the opened book in his hands.

"Come here."

Mystified, Harry went to stand by his side as Tom snapped the book shut, pointing a finger at something written on its cover. Only then did he realize that it wasn't a book at all, but rather looked like some leather-bound journal.

"What does it say?" demanded Tom curtly.

Harry bent his head low and squinted. For a moment, the symbols written on the cover looked like sticks and scratches, but then, they seemed to shift and move around, suddenly becoming plain English.

"Saturnus Slytherin," Harry read out loud, seeing that it was followed by the dates of a time period. He shot Tom a bewildered look, as he remembered all those names in the treeline that his brother had once shown him. "That was Slytherin's son, wasn't it?"

"Precisely," said Tom, smirking widely as he then cast a glance at the bookshelf. "It seems that all of his descendants wrote a diary."

Harry frowned as he peered once more at the journal in Tom's hands, seeing that it was happening again, the plain English letters turning into wriggles and sticks.

"But," he muttered under his breath, pointing a finger at Saturnus' now incomprehensible name, "what are those changing symbols?"

"I would call it Parselscript," said Tom dismissively as he carried on to peruse the other journals.

"What?" Harry stared at him, before he snorted loudly. "You're saying that it is Parseltongue in written form? Snakes don't have tiny little hands, brother!"

Tom shot him a very irked look at that, as he sneered snidely, "Must I explain everything? Any language can be written, you dimwit!"

"Er… what?" Harry uttered blankly.

Tom heaved a slow, deep breath, as if arming himself with patience, before he bit out crisply, "You simpleton, what is language, after all, if not a series of sounds to which we give meaning, and in written form, a series of symbols which represent those sounds or ideas." He pointedly jabbed a finger at the cover of the journal, before gesturing magnanimously and adding loftily, "After all, a musician can hear a bird sing and write the melody in musical notation, can he not? And it is not the bird writing the tune, is it?"

"Well, yeah," mumbled Harry bewildered and blinking, "but musicians first learn musical notation, don't they?" He huffed, bristling. "And we can apparently read and understand these scratches, but we didn't learn it-"

"And neither did we learn how to speak Parseltongue, yet we can," snapped Tom impatiently, shooting him a darkly annoyed glare. "In fact, at first, you thought it was Nagini who could speak English. And I had to explain that it was us who hissed and knew her language! Parseltongue is a magical ability, you cannot think of it in rational terms. So it's not snakes, you idiot, who write the language, but Parselmouths!"

"Um, that kinda makes sense, I suppose…" Harry trailed off, staring at him bemused and uncertain, before his eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Hang on. Then did you know beforehand about this Parselscript thing, as you call it?"

"Of course not," retorted Tom curtly. "None of the books I've read regarding our ability even mentioned the possibility." He shot him a short-tempered, pointed look. "But, none of the books regarding Parseltongue were written by Parselmouths either. Authors know little, which isn't surprising. Purebloods do tend to keep secret the details of any blood traits they posses." He gestured grandiosely at the bookcase, a sudden smirk on his face. "Yet, the proof of its existence is now incontrovertible."

At Harry's silence, Tom paused to shoot him an annoyed look. "You still look skeptic."

"It's a tad bizarre, to be honest," mumbled Harry as he glanced dubiously at the journals.

"Let's put it to the test," said Tom sharply as he shoved Harry unto the chair before the desk. "Sit, and write what I say without looking at your words."

Sighing, Harry eyed the contents of the desk, catching sight of an array of old quills that must have been colorful and beautiful once upon a time, stacks of shriveled parchments with yellow and brownish stains of age, and a set of inkwells with clotted, dried, and solidified liquids.

Conjuring a fresh new ink bottle, and taking hold of a tattered quill and piece of parchment, he waited, as Tom hissed contemptously, "I, Harry Riddle, am a halfwit who does not posses the mental capacity to comprehend the most basic of concepts."

Harry scowled at him, just as his brother smirked widely, urging commandingly, "Write it. Without looking at the parchment, little brother."

Tom hissed again the sentence as Harry moved the quill on the parchment, his gaze fixed on his brother.

Once he was done, they both peered down.

To his amazement, Harry saw that Tom had been right. At first, he saw nothing but wriggles and slashes, written by his own hand with him none the wiser, which instantly morphed into plain English: 'My brother Tom is an insufferable arse.'

It earned him a glare from Tom, but Harry hardly noticed as he was still attempting to discern how it worked, for it had to be an optic illusion and a trick of his mind when the scratch-like symbols changed into English before his eyes – part of the magic of his Parselmouth ability, he reckoned.

He still didn't fully understand how it worked, exactly, but he unconcernedly decided to take his brother's word for it.

"Satisfied?" demanded Tom tartly, before his dark blue eyes glinted as though contemplating a horizon of spanning, wonderful possibilities. "Just imagine how useful Parselscript can be for us."

Harry rolled his eyes, betting that his brother would begin writing in his own journal in 'Parselscript', about whatever it was that Tom enjoyed scribbling down so much.

"Now, help me find Slytherin's research notes," said Tom imperiously, his eyes narrowing at the bookshelf. "It must be among the other journals."

They began with their task, as it became increasingly evident that every one of Salazar Slytherin's known descendants had indeed written their own diary.

At one point, intrigued, Harry crouched on the floor to reach the lowest shelf, fishing out the last two journals.

The names on the covers stated that they had been written by Sherisse Slytherin's parents, brother and sister, Harry remembered as he noticed that Sherisse had written no diary of her own, as seemed to have been the family tradition.

Not surprising since she had died at fifteen, but it still made him feel a mite sad as he began to flip through the pages of the diary of the girl's father.

The more he tried to read, the deeper his frown became, until he glanced up at Tom and groused, "I can only understand every other word-"

"Consider the age in which they all lived in," interrupted Tom sharply. "Their Parselscript represents the language they knew - Old English and Saxon. We will have to translate all the journals."

Dismayed, Harry groaned loudly. He truly didn't need more on his plate.

"Fear not," sneered Tom scornfully, glowering down at him, "I would not trust you with the endeavor. We all know that academics is not your forte."

For once, Harry nodded in swift agreement, not taking offense in the insult since it quite suited his interest.

They worked in silence for what felt like an eternal stretch of time, until Tom finally slammed back into the bookcase the last journal he had been inspecting, hissing out angrily, "Slytherin's research notes are not here."

"Perhaps," said Harry as he rose to his feet and dusted off his robes, "Slytherin took his notes when he left Hogwarts."

"Maybe," retorted Tom looking angered and darkly disappointed. "Or he did not make any notes to begin with."

Harry musingly tilted his head to a side, realizing his brother could be right. If history books were to be believed, Slytherin had been a very paranoid wizard. Maybe writing down his research and experimentations in a language only his descendants could understand hadn't been enough for him and had rather opted to keep it all in his head.

Ultimately, it was of little interest to him, even though it seemed that Tom had been hoping to get his hands on the information.

"We should go back to the Chamber of Secrets," said Harry pressingly, as he swished his wand and cast a Tempus Charm, one glance at the sparkling numbers making him blanch. "We've been gone for nearly an hour."

"Very well," conceded Tom grudgingly, as he shot the shelves of journals a lingering, greedy look.

As they climbed up the stairs, Harry had no doubt that his brother would be spending every spare second in the underground, hidden study of the Chamber of Secrets. He didn't know what Tom expected to find in the diaries except what would surely be long-winded records of the lives of Slytherin's descendants – intriguing stuff to satisfy curiosity or, most probably, just tedious anecdotes.

The moment they came out of the spiraling staircase and the snake statue shifted back to hide the entrance, Harry found himself with an armful of Alphard.

"Thank Merlin!" breathed out the boy as he hugged Harry tightly, while Ulysses yipped by their feet. "I was beginning to worry!"

"We've been standing here," drawled Abraxas stiffly, his glare virulent, "bored out of our minds for hours-"

"Are you alright?" said Alphard concernedly, as he pulled Harry away and swept his gaze over him. "Did something happen-"

"What did you find?" demanded Abraxas, his silvery eyes narrowing to slits.

"Nothing much," said Tom coolly, waving a hand dismissively.

Abraxas scoffed. "Hardly believable as you were gone for hours-"

"It was just an hour," said Harry quickly in an attempt to stave off flying tempers as he noticed Malfoy glaring at Tom while Tom was maliciously smirking back at the boy.

"We should get going," piped in Alphard fretfully. "The Yule Ball could be dwindling down-"

"Not so fast, Black," interjected Abraxas sharply, skewering Harry and Tom with his eyes. "There is still the matter of the monster. According to the legend, it only obeys Slytherin's descendants." A smirk stretched on his pale face, as he gestured at the Chamber. "If the monster exists, you will have to find it, and prove to me that you can control it. Only then will I vouch before our housemates that you are truly Slytherin's Heirs."

Tom calmly arched an eyebrow at him. "Easily accomplished, Malfoy. Let us find the monster's lair."

Harry had his brother by his side a moment later, as Tom grabbed him by the elbow and whispered in a low voice, "Let's satisfy the fool as quickly as possible. Look around and use your ability, do you see anything suspicious?"

Harry peered around, before he freed himself from Tom's clutch and began ambling about the Chamber. The rows of serpent statues had already been examined, thus the only thing left were the floors and walls…

Which looked as normal as could be, covered by the same lattice of green and silver magic as all the rest, with no strange ancient runes dancing around…

Harry frowned as he finally found himself standing before the only other thing left. He craned his neck back and contemplated the carved out face of Salazar Slytherin, squinting hard at it.

"What is it?" demanded Tom who had been trailing around after him.

"I think…" mumbled Harry, as he squinted up again. "Er – I think there's something in his mouth."

"There's a stretch of stone wall," pointed out Tom acerbically, "between his parted lips."

"I can see that," snapped Harry testily, "but what I mean is that…"

He trailed off as he realized his first impression had been correct. The lattice of magic there looked denser and heavier: the strings of green and silver light seemed tightly knotted together.

"Open!" he hissed the next second, and grinned smugly as a loud noise ensued, the stones shifting and folding backwards to give way to a dark hole.

"The Basilisk's Lair is in Slytherin's gob?" said Alphard incredulously, to then peer up at it with an eager expression on his face.

"Looks like it – what else could it be?" mumbled Harry as he gave the hole a considering look. He then shot Tom a glance, who looked extremely pleased and was muttering something about "…an appropriate symbolism…" under his breath.

"Oi, that spell you used to come down the pipe-"

"Allowed me to float down. It is not to fly up, little brother," interjected Tom swiftly, before he smirked smugly at him. "I know what could serve in this instance, however."

Harry nearly yelped as he suddenly found himself airborne, wheeling his arms and legs frantically until he glanced down and realized that Tom was holding him with a Levitation Charm.

Instantly relaxing, since he trusted his brother to be able to maintain such spell, he went limp as he was floated into the wide mouth.

Surprisingly, in an uncharacteristic display of thoughtfulness on Tom's part, Ulysses soon followed, along with Alphard and Abraxas moments later –though in their cases, so roughly handled by Tom's spell that they crashed onto the floor of the stone mouth in heaps of limbs and dress robes.

The last was Tom, as he commanded Harry to use a Levitation Charm on him in return, making Harry feel oddly touched by the implicit trust.

"We should bring broomsticks next time," grumbled Alphard in a whisper, wincing as he picked himself up from the floor, both him and Malfoy shooting Tom a dark look for the unwarranted manhandling.

They finally began walking along the tunnel, wands clutched tightly, eyes alert, and with mirrors in hand in Alphard and Harry's case.

"It's even more disgusting than the pipe," groused Abraxas with a pinched expression on his face, as he eyed the thick layer of slimy grunge covering the tube-like tunnel.

Harry rolled his eyes at the boy, muttering under his breath in exasperation, "A basilisk lives here – what else did you expect, princess?"

"What did you call me?" snarled Abraxas, wand instantly aimed at him, looking as if he was vibrating with the need to pounce and strike at him.

"Eyes and wands forward!" bit out Tom irritably. "And keep your voices low!"

"What did you do to Malfoy?" whispered Alphard into Harry's ear, sniggering. "He's very touchy-"

"I expect it's because I shoved him down the pipe," said Harry with a dismissive shrug of his shoulders.

"I think it's because he was cheated from a proper dance with you," murmured Alphard, chortling cheerfully. "Couldn't have set well with him that you were just using it as an excuse to get to your brother."

Harry didn't respond, as wholly uninterested as he was on the subject, and since just then the tunnel gave way to an immense round pit, looking like some sort of pool filled with skeletons, shards of gnawed bones and half-eaten bits of flesh.

And right smack in the middle of it, just as Nagini had surely seen it once, was the creature, huge, scaly, coiled around its own body and powerful, long tail, placidly asleep.

They all halted in their tracks, as though having been struck by Petrificus spells.

"The basilisk," breathed out Alphard slowly, staring with big grey eyes as his knuckles went white with the strain of instantly clutching his wand and mirror tighter.

"It's hibernating," whispered Tom, his dark blue eyes glinting triumphantly, as his gaze roved over it slowly, like a reverent and possessive caress.

Malfoy, on his part, who had stiffened most visibly, seemed to relax when it became evident that the creature's slumber was a profound one.

"It's a female," then drawled Abraxas, sounding vastly disappointed. "It lacks the distinctive crest of male basilisks."

"Um… it looks to me as though it had one, once," mumbled Alphard under his breath, pointing at the basilisk with his wand. "See? It's got plenty of old scars. And a very long one down its head and spine, where a crest would be, right?" He jabbed an elbow into Harry's side. "What do you think, male or female? Harry? Harry!"

Yet, Harry could barely pay attention to his friend's words. He was staring at the creature with wide green eyes, utterly puzzled and baffled.

The basilisk was covered in what looked like chains of magic, which apparently only he could see: shackles and bindings, as though it was restrained or caged by magic – red and golden magic.

He blinked at it, perplexed, because he had seen such magic around Hogwarts before – Godric Gryffindor's magic.

However, there was not a straightforward or clear explanation for it. Gryffindor had not been a Parselmouth, as far as anyone knew, so how could he had found the Chamber of Secrets, or even the Lair, to do such a thing to Slytherin's basilisk?

"You are seeing something," hissed out Tom in a quiet whisper, pinning Harry with a demanding gaze. "What do you see?"

Harry turned his face to stare at him, speechless, as he did not know how to explain it, since it made no sense to him to begin with.

"Well?" pressed Tom impatiently, glowering at him.

"Er…" was the only thing Harry managed to get out just as Malfoy drawled frostily, "Awake it and prove your claims of lineage, Riddles."

"Very well," said Tom in a cool, superior tone of voice, before he suddenly grabbed Ulysses from the ground and thrust him into Harry's arms. "Take your furball and get out."

"What?" croaked Harry, yanked out of his bewildered contemplation of the basilisk.

"Black!" snapped Tom imperiously, rounding on Alphard. "Take my brother and leave. I'll deal with the basilisk alone and Malfoy will remain behind with me to act as witness."

"Hang on!" spluttered Harry, his temper flaring, so furious he could barely string two words together.

He could understand that Tom wanted to get all the credit for finding the Basilisk, even that his brother wanted to solely command it since it was of the utmost important to him to be acknowledged as Slytherin's descendant before their housemates, given his ambitions of becoming a Dark Lord.

But for Tom to kick him to the curb now, to once again imply that Harry wasn't capable of dealing with the creature - now when they had found it at last, when the basilisk was certainly much more interesting to him than any books or journals could be!

Especially given those odd chains of magic binding it - that only he could see and possibly begin to understand if he had the time to inspect them closely, because he was sure he had glimpsed ancient runes glowing in them… Well, the gall of it all!

"Look here," Harry snapped hotly, finally finding his voice as he glared at his brother. "I'm going nowhere. I've got as much right to speak to it as you do – I'm Slytherin's Heir too!"

"You will leave at once before it awakes," spat Tom harshly, giving him a hard shove into the tunnel. "And you'll take both of your pets with you-"

"I think we should do as he says," whispered Alphard tensely, clearly ignoring the insult of being called a pet in lieu of grabbing Harry's arm tightly, pulling him along. "He looks scared of something."

"Scared?" Harry wrenched his arm free from his friend's clutch, turning around to confront his brother with narrowed eyes and a frown on his face. "Is that it – you're scared? Of what!"

"Keep your voice down!" hissed out Tom sharply, his face contorting with rage. "Or you will wake it-"

"Too late!" said Abraxas in what sounded like a distressed high-pitch, just as a loud, rumbling hiss echoed throughout the pit.

"Close your eyes, all of you! AT ONCE!" raged Tom's voice thunderously, though it was certainly the first thing Harry and Alphard had done instinctually without the need of encouragement.

"What's happening?"

"It's awake – RUN!"

"Stay put and let me think, you imbeciles! Make no sudden moves-"

"Ergh – something licked me!"

"It's the basilisk, you fools!"

"What – tasting us?!"

"According to the Legend, the creature has a way of discerning the blood purity of its victims," intoned a quaking voice in a lecturing tone attempting to sound unfazed. "Hence, Black and I are quite safe from it, of course-"

"Stuff it, Malfoy!" bit out Harry, trying to make sense of the cacophony of voices all meshing and yelling to each other, accompanied by the sound of scales rubbing against stones and bones, of the slithering of a strong tail that he felt coiling around his body, of the intelligible string of hisses of the basilisk, like air being puffed out all around them with a foul stench, with Ulysses squirming in his arms and making menacing hissing noises of his own - it was all a chaotic confusion in the pitch black darkness of his closed eyes.

"You should have done as I said and left!" the voice at his right snarled. "I cannot make any sense of what it's saying! And until I do, I cannot ascertain our safety-"

Ignoring Tom's rant, Harry tensed when he heard a cry and a series of loud thuds, making him call out frantically, "What happened? Alphard? Al, answer me!"

"M' fine," mumbled Alphard's voice from somewhere a few feet away. "I think – I think the basilisk flung me to a side with its tail – it felt like that-"

A loud, pained groan sounded, before Abraxas' voice drawled in a clear attempt to seem nonchalant, "It did the same to me." He let out a nasty bout of chuckles. "If I were you, I'd flee, Riddle. It's clear it knows Black and I are purebloods." His voice turned snotty and indignant, as he added crisply, "Though it should know better than to toss us like yesterday's potion-"

"Wait – Harry, remember that list Tom gave us, with descriptions about every creature that could be Slytherin's monster? It said that Basilisks have two sets of-"

"Close your inner eyelids!" hissed out Tom's voice before Alphard was done, his tone harsh and imperious.

"Be still!" Harry urged fretfully to his Scorcrup, in an attempt to hear and figure out if the Basilisk had done as asked.

Ulysses did obey him, thankfully, no longer hissing and spitting, yet Harry still couldn't understand the hisses the Basilisk was making. He heard it slithering around, he felt some part of its tail tightening around his waist, yet no tongue had flickered out to taste him as seemed to have happened to Malfoy and Alphard.

"What's wrong with it?" groused out Harry, tightening his arms around Ulysses as he kept wand and mirror in his hand.

"Like Nagini…"

At Tom's whisper of realization, Harry began to have an inkling, knowing what his brother was referring to.

Tom had told him that when he had found Nagini under the bushes of the orphanage's backyard, she had been a mere hatchling, tiny and barely making sense, knowing only a few words that had allowed Tom to realize that he could understand and speak to the snake.

According to Tom, it had taken him many months of attempted conversations to allow Nagini to develop and expand her own language, given that there were no other snakes around from whom she would have naturally learned from.

Thus, given that Sherisse Slytherin had been the last Slytherin to set foot on Hogwarts, and it had been ages ago, and since it seemed as if the Basilisk had been hibernating all the while, it was possible that it had forgotten most of its own language.

After all, the Basilisk had had no one to talk to in centuries.

"But then," Harry said worriedly, still keeping his eyes firmly shut as surely as everyone else was doing, "how can we know if it can understand us?"

"We can't," bit out Tom's voice, sounding vastly aggravated.

"I can check," murmured Harry. "I've got a hand mirror-"

"Absolutely not! You've caused enough trouble-"

"I can do it, Harry! I've got mine-"

"No!" snapped Harry briskly, attempting to make his voice sound stern instead of alarmed. "I'll do it, Alphie. You stay wherever you are with your eyes closed-"

"Do not dare," began hissing out Tom's voice furiously.

Nevertheless, Harry already had.

Turning his head away from where he heard the noises and hisses coming from, he propped up the mirror with a hand, and finally cracked his eyes open to a mere slit.

At first, he saw nothing in the reflected image of the mirror's surface except thick, large scales. Only when he shifted it to different angles did he catch sight of the Basilisk's head – it's eyes, at that. Huge, slitted, and piercing.

He stiffened, expecting to instantly become petrified. But it didn't happen, allowing him to realize that the eyes reflected in the mirror were not the bright, lethal yellow ones to be expected, but greyish, covered by some sort of film.

"It did understand!" exhaled Harry with immense relief, as he finally fully opened his eyes and turned his face around.

It was a bizarre sight that welcomed him: Malfoy and Alphard were sprawled on top of heaps of bones, apparently not daring to move an inch after the Basilisk had tossed them, with their eyes firmly shut and strained expressions on their faces; Ulysses, who had settled on his shoulder, had his fur standing on end yet remaining quietly alert with his own eyes closed, as smart as the Scorcrup was; while Tom was by his side, the only one other than himself that was still standing, trapped in the coils of the creature's immense tail just as he was; meanwhile the Basilisk seemed to have been content to just have them in its power, as it glowed before Harry's eyes in the red and gold of Gryffindor's chain-like magic, making the creature look very odd and ridiculous.

Harry would have guffawed, if it weren't for the fact that, just then, the Basilisk gazed directly at him, opening its gigantic jaws, very long and sharp fangs greeting him, each as long and thick as his own arms, which could snap him in half with one bite.

"Erm - I'm Slytherin's Heir!" hissed Harry quickly as the coils of the Basilisk's tail tightened around him. "I swear! Give me a lick and you'll see!"

"Shut up, you blithering idiot, and close back your eyes!" spat Tom at him, as he cracked his eyes open to shoot him a murderous glower before stiffening and facing the creature, his expression turning stony as he hissed harshly, "You owe your allegiance and obeisance to me! Obey me – release us and dare not attack-"

"Blo…od… bloo.. bloo-d," hissed the Basilisk slowly, its head moving from side to side as if following some silent tune, which only made it look all the more uncertain and confused.

"I am the great Salazar Slytherin's Heir!" proclaimed Tom in an insistent bout of hisses, as he raised his arms imperiously, making Harry wonder if his brother truly thought that it would make him look all the more impressive, not to mention that it was quite redundant since Harry had already told the creature that he himself was Slytherin's Heir and it hadn't fazed the Basilisk. "Do as I command and let us go-"

"Ta..in…" hissed the Basilisk quietly, as it brought its maw closer to their faces, intently staring at them through its inner eyelids. It tightened its tail around them even further, making Harry wince as it nearly squashed all the breath out of him, cracking ribs would soon follow, he was sure. "Blo-od.. ta..in…"

"Tain?" hissed Harry painstakingly, before his eyes widened in realization. "Tainted blood, you mean? That we've got that?" He forced a chuckle through his lips, which came out sounding hollow and worried, instead of calm. Nevertheless, he was quick to rush out an explanation, "Well, we are Slytherin's Heirs, but we think that one of our parents was a muggle, so-"

"Will you be quiet!" roared Tom furiously. "Don't attract its attention, you imbecile! Let me speak to it, not you-"

"Don't you see?" hissed Harry, pointedly in Parseltongue as he gazed back at the Basilisk. "The more we talk to it, the more it seems to remember how to speak itself. And it is trying to communicate! And there's nothing wrong about being halfbloods, we're still Slytherins by blood, that's what matters!"

"What is all the hissing about?" demanded Malfoy's voice with vast annoyance. "Are we safe? Can we open our eyes once and for all!"

"Sure, Malfoy, go ahead," said Harry sweetly, and apparently not in a convincing tone of voice because the boy merely scowled at him and remained sprawled on top of his heap of bones with eyes still firmly scrunched shut.

Suddenly, he nearly jumped as he felt something on his cheek, just to relax immediately as he saw that the Basilisk had flicked out its forked tongue, feeling like a raspy caress on his face.

"Mix… blood… taint…" the creature hissed, sounding nonplussed as it lowered its maws once more and tasted him again – or better said, smelled him, because according to Tom's information, Basilisks had their olfactory senses in their taste buds.

It was for that very same reason that his brother's abrupt reaction when the Basilisk licked him again surprised him even further.

"What are you doing?" hissed Harry in alarm as Tom suddenly aimed his wand at the Basilisk. "It's just doing what it must have done to Malfoy and Alphard, brother! Let it sense that we've got Slytherin blood even though we aren't purebloods, you idiot!"

"Sly… the… rin…" hissed the Basilisk, its head slowly swaying. "Sly…therin… blood… yesss…"

Harry exhaled and rubbed his sore ribcage when he was suddenly released, jumping out of the loosening coils of the creature as he grabbed Ulysses in his arms.

He finally pocketed mirror and wand, as he shot his brother an exasperated roll of the eyes. "See? You've just got to be patient with it."

At the very odd look Tom gave him, looking disconcerted, Harry scowled, bristling. "What? I was right-"

"Slytherin," hissed the Basilisk, now sounding very sure of itself, at long last, as it turned its attention to Tom and flicked out its forked tongue. "Slytherin's… Heir…"

At that, Harry shot his brother a very smug look as the creature proceeded to release Tom as well. "What did I tell you?"

"I am… yours… to com…to command," hissed the Basilisk as it lowered its head to the ground, as though prostrating itself before them, even if Harry noticed that it seemed to be more directed at Tom than at him, given the angle of its head.

Deciding not to let it irk him – his twin brother was, after all, the older of the two by some minutes, and the one who spoke to the creature with an evident superior tone of entitlement- Harry turned to the other boys.

"Everything's fine. You can open your eyes now."

"Are you certain, Riddle?" spat Abraxas acridly. "Let me tell you that if I die or become petrified, my grandfather will exact revenge-"

"You can sic your dotty old grandpa on me whenever you like, Malfoy," snapped Harry churlishly. "But the point is that the Basilisk has acknowledged Tom and I as Slytherin's Heirs, so your pale ass is safe." He grinned nastily at him. "Unless you like lying on that pile of bones over there, cowering like the wimp you are."

"Wimp, am I?" snarled Abraxas as he cracked his silvery eyes open and glowered at him, while quickly standing up and moving far away from his heap of bones. "Let me show you just-"

"What did you discover?" blabbered Alphard eagerly as he rushed to Harry's side. "What is its name? Is it male? How old is it? Do you think it would let us ride it-"

"Hold your hippogriffs!" said Harry holding up a hand as he chuckled. "Let me find out about all that stuff, first."

He turned to the Basilisk, seeing that Tom was now scratching the small scales under its jaws with a fond and possessive expression on his face, softly hissing at it. And given the pleased hisses the creature was letting out in return, it was clear that the Basilisk was just as besotted with Tom as Tom was with it.

It looked like worship at first sight. Poor Nagini, since it was evident that the Basilisk had deposed her and earned the place of being the second in Tom's heart – second only to Tom himself, of course.

Though he did notice that Tom was still sporting a deeply pondering, half confused, half perplexed, expression on his face, along with shooting Harry frowns every now and then, for some reason.

Harry rolled his eyes as he approached them. "What's your name?"

"Na…me…" hissed the Basilisk quietly, turning its enormous head towards him.

"Yes," hissed Harry patiently. "The name Salazar Slytherin gave you, what was it?"

"Saa...la…zaar…"

Harry sighed, and tried again. "That's the bloke – your first master, what did he call you?"

The Basilisk peered at him through its film-covered eyes. "Call… na-me… Zar…"

Harry stared at it incredulously. "Zar? As in Salazar? He named you after himself?" He snorted disparagingly. "He wasn't a very original chap, was he?"

"It's fitting," hissed Tom sharply, glowering at him before he smirked at the Basilisk with some semblance of affection. "Zar, are you male?"

"Ma…le…" hissed Zar, slowly tipping his head. "Yesss…"

"What is it saying?" urged Alphard excitedly, bouncing on his heels by Harry's side, unlike Malfoy who was still the only one keeping a wide and safe distance between himself and the creature, not looking at all tempted to make a deeper acquaintance of it.

"Hang on, let me find out more," said Harry, to what would be a prelude to a very painstaking and slow round of questioning.

An hour later, their discoveries regarding the Basilisk were scant.

Zar seemed to have no clear concept of the passage of time and thus couldn't say what his age was, he had spent all his time sleeping after eating whatever prey he must have been given long ago, and it was clear that Tom would have to spend much time having conversations with him to make the creature have a more extensive vocabulary, or even remember more about his past.

Regardless, much to Alphard's joy and satisfaction, Zar did agree to take them back to the castle, riding on his back.

Ulysses, though clearly not having taken a shine to the Basilisk, had reluctantly settled down in Harry's arms, and it was thus that they all climbed on the creature. Harry and Alphard eagerly, Abraxas as if doubting that Zar still wouldn't turn against them, and Tom very smoothly and poised, as though riding Basilisks was something he did every day.

To Harry's surprise, the Basilisk didn't take them back to the Chamber of Secrets but took a tunnel at the other end of its pit-like Lair – one that he noticed had torches high above on its sides, and steps on its ground, one that led to some sort of overhead latch, which opened with Zar's hiss, making them leave the tunnel underneath them, and suddenly enter a very familiar one.

"This is the passage behind the mirror!" breathed out Alphard, his grey eyes wide with dawning realization. "The one that leads to the caves of Hogsmeade." He shot Harry a glance over his shoulder, beaming. "We didn't think of testing the floors of the secret passage! But another way into the Chamber of Secrets was here all along!"

Harry nodded and warmly smiled at him, already having filed in his mind the precise floor section of the secret passage that they had come out of, zooming by as Zar's strong, slithering body could unexpectedly reach high speeds.

With Tom's promises to visit Zar soon while Harry shot a lingering look at the red and gold magic glowing around the creature, vouching to get to the bottom of it, they parted ways with the Basilisk, before they entered the school through the plain mirror that had replaced the Mirror of Desires due to Dumbledore's actions and suspicions.

Tom didn't waste a second the moment they were back in the castle, rounding on him as he said sharply, "The mudblood-"

"I remember," groused out Harry peevishly, as he handed Ulysses over to Alphard. "I'll go deal with Myrtle."

And by the self-satisfied look that Tom gave Malfoy just then, he knew he would be missing much in their common room.

Given the silence in the castle, the Yule Ball had ended recently. No doubt, their common room would be filled with curious Slytherins that must have noticed their absence. No doubt, Tom was going to make Malfoy relate recent events to their housemates, in full glorious detail.

No doubt, thereon, he would have to put up with an insufferably smug Tom, finally a proven Heir of Slytherin, to be hailed, revered, and feared by all.

Just thinking about what was to come gave Harry a migraine.

---

It was past midnight and Harry was still seated on a chair, by the side of a bed in the Infirmary.

All the pride and joy he had felt at having at last found the Chamber of Secrets and the Basilisk, and due to the fact that it had all gone fabulously well, had dissipated.

He was now tired and cranky, after having picked up an unconscious Myrtle from the broom cupboard Malfoy had shoved her in, having taken her to the Hospital Wing and lied when giving explanations to Miss Nightingale.

The Mediwitch had evidently not attended the Yule Ball, still in mourning, though she did look a sight better than months ago, when The Daily Prophet had broken the news that the Ministry had declared Tilly Toke as 'presumed dead'.

Nevertheless, no matter her aid in treating Myrtle, it was evident the girl had a low tolerance for Stunning Spells. It had been two hours since Miss Nightingale had force-fed the Ravenclaw girl a potion and she had yet to open her eyes.

All the while, Harry could not stop thinking about the magic that was clearly restraining Zar in some way. That whatever spell Godric Gryffindor had cast at the creature looked like chains could be no coincidence, after all.

He had pondered, imagined, and discarded many theories to explain what could have happened ages ago during the Founders' Time, only leaving him with an idea requiring Alphard's help to test a farfetched possibility – and even if such things could be done, it still wouldn't clarify much.

Harry sighed as he wearily rubbed his face. Regardless, it was clear he would need to spend some time with Zar to be able to examine the magic, since the Basilisk seemed to be clueless himself, apparently not even realizing he had been cursed in some way.

Another choice would be to ask the Grey Lady if she knew anything about it, but he wasn't certain if it was wise to tell her about the Chamber of Secrets, and she had not sought him out, clearly still furious with him.

It was best to give her some time, Harry concluded quickly - especially in the hopes she would forget her demented request of wanting to experience, through him, the 'touch of a man'.

Harry shuddered just as a croak suddenly jolted him out of his grim musings, making him stare down at the supine form of Myrtle, who was groggily opening her eyes, slightly shifting uncomfortably in her bed.

Harry wasted no time. He had already decided that the only way to spare her was to be merciless and brutal.

He didn't regret having saved her in London –she could have died during The Blitz if it hadn't been for him and Tom, after all- though he hadn't expected her to become so troublesome at school.

She really didn't realize just in what danger she was by knowing the things she did – having seen the squalor of their orphanage, knowing more about their background than anyone else, added to the fact that she knew of Tilly Toke's pendant, even though she thought the symbol was that of Grindelwald, instead of the Peverell family, as Harry had discovered thanks to the questions he had made to Charlus Potter regarding the boy's Invisibility Cloak.

Nevertheless, if Tom ever had the inkling that she had blackmailed Harry, threatening to tell Headmaster Dippet that Tom carried around a clear sign of support for the Dark Lord, Harry was certain his brother would take drastic measures to silence her – probably curse her with something very nasty. Even for more reason due to the fact that she made the girls' lavatory of the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets her own haunt.

The girl made another groaning sound, apparently asking for a cup of water, and Harry was quick to forcefully snatch her flailing hands into his own, his voice low and deep as he said harshly, "You're lucky nothing worse was done to you."

Myrtle blinked at him confusedly, her gaze hazy and unfocused due to the lack of spectacles and lingering sleepiness, as Harry carried on in a dire tone of voice, "My housemates are very angry with you. Slytherins protect their own, Myrtle, especially against a… mudblood."

The girl's black eyes widened in astonishment and deep hurt which quickly turned into indignant anger. Before the Ravenclaw could open her mouth and splutter a shriek of fury, Harry forestalled her, his face imbued with pretended rage as he menacingly loomed over her.

"Surely you've heard the rumors about Slytherins – what they and their parents do," said Harry slowly. He gave her a nasty grin. "Everything's true. They all practice the most terrible of Dark Arts – and they all despise mudbloods like you. I've told them about your attempts at blackmail, they are furious. This time, they only stunned you, next time, it will be worse. Do you understand?"

Myrtle made a feeble, panicked move to wrench her hands free from his grasp, as she began in a high-pitched wail, "I'll tell the Headmaster-"

Harry tightened his clutch with one hand while he covered her mouth with the other, as he cut in angrily, "Listen to me. No one would bat an eyelash if something happened to you. The Headmaster can't protect you. Don't you realize who my housemates are? Malfoys, Blacks, Carrows, Lestranges, Averies – all from well-connected families, all with parents who love to kill and torture muggles and mudbloods! Keep being a pest, and you'll end badly." He narrowed his eyes at her, his hold on her becoming painful. "Keep your mouth shut and flee from any Slytherins you see in the corridors."

He released her quickly and stood to his feet, Myrtle staring up at him with huge black eyes, moist with unshed, fearful tears and horror-stricken.

"Oh," Harry added casually, swallowing the sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach at the sight of the poor girl, "and I wouldn't ever go back to that girls' loo on the second floor if I were you. The Slytherins know that you can be found there. So stay clear of it."

"I heard voices," suddenly came a voice as Miss Nightingale's head popped out of her office, her face brightening at the sight of them. "Oh, she's awake! Poor dear…"

The Mediwitch was soon fussing around Myrtle, clucking her tongue and muttering under her breath, "Pranked by Gryffindors, you said? – I've never!" She shook her head and puffed Myrtle's pillows as she shot Harry a strict look. "I'll have to report it to the Headmaster, I'll require the-"

"Here's the list of names," said Harry swiftly, plucking out a piece of parchment from his robes, as he cast Myrtle a pointed glance. "She'll confirm it, I'm sure. I saw it happening. Terrible thing to do to her. She was alone when they ambushed her, you know?"

Miss Nightingale pursed her lips into a flat line of anger as she took the list from him and went back to console Myrtle, who was still staring fixedly at Harry, aghast and terrified.

He shot her a warm smile and patted her gently on the head. "See you around, Myrtle."

And with that, he left the Infirmary, grim though satisfied. It had been for the best, for her own sake. With Tom, she had been about to bite more than she could ever chew.

Moreover, having blamed two Gryffindor Chasers and one Beater had the added benefit that those players wouldn't get the chance of much practice before the Quidditch Season due to detentions. Harry had needed to blame it on someone, and though he was certain the Gryffindors would hate him for it, they were going to be his enemies once he was on the Slytherin Team regardless.

By the time he reached Slytherin House, everyone had turned in for the night, only Alphard waited for him awake in their dormitory.

"How did it go?" murmured Harry as he changed into his pajamas.

"As you'd expect," said Alphard slowly, blinking drowsily at him from his bed. "No one doubts the word of a Malfoy."

Harry shot him a dour look as he parted the curtains of his bed. "Are you channeling him?"

"You wish." Alphard yawned and grinned widely. "I know, it's sad but true. Malfoys carry a lot of weight, it pains me to say."

"So they believed everything?" said Harry releasing a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping while he cast a look towards Tom.

His brother seemed to be deeply asleep, though he had the suspicion, given the shadow of a slight, smug upwards curl of his lips, that perhaps Tom was just feigning it.

Harry had half expected him to be awake too, to regale him with the events he had missed – of Tom, Malfoy and Alphard returning to Slytherin House, to tell all and sundry about the finding of the Chamber of Secrets, about the Basilisk, about the fact that it had been proven that the Riddle twins were indeed the Heirs of Salazar Slytherin.

He had missed it because he had had to deal with Myrtle, though perhaps it was for the best.

"Yes, of course they believed it." Alphard cocked his head to a side, staring at him in puzzlement. "I thought you'd be pleased."

"Hardly," grumbled Harry. "Tom's going to be unbearable." He groaned as he wearily rubbed his face. "All our housemates are going to be unbearable."

"Cheer up," said Alphard warmly, shooting him a perky grin. "Think on the positive."

"And that is?" groused Harry despondently.

"They are going to worship you too," said Alphard, beaming at him.

"That's not a positive thing," retorted Harry with a frown, before he simply rolled into bed and flicked his wand to snuff out the candles.

---

"What's the matter?" yelled Alphard after him a week later, as Harry furiously stomped his way back to the castle, his clothes smudged in mud and his own sweat, an ancient school broomstick in his hand. "You should be happy-"

"Happy?" snapped Harry, stopping in his tracks as he rounded on him, pointedly waving the old, practically useless flying broom. "I played with this, and-"

"You heard Dorea," interjected Alphard quickly, smiling widely at him. "As long as you get a proper broom before the first match-"

"What I meant," cut in Harry through gritted teeth, anger flushing his face, "is that I haven't earned the spot in the Team – it was handed over to me!"

Alphard blinked at him, nonplussed. "So?"

Harry's bad temper, which had only increased during the past week, flared to boiling point. Little had he known that the discovery of the Chamber of Secrets would affect him in such ways, that it would even impact his tryouts for the Slytherin Quidditch Team. It was ridiculous!

Not one housemate had competed against him for the only available spot as Chaser. It had been known that Dorea wanted him for it, it had been known that Harry himself wanted it, and lo and behold –puff! as though being presented with a gift he hadn't asked for, earned, or wanted- it had been given to him on a silver platter.

He had flown dreadfully, the old, rackety school broomstick bucking under him, swerving on the opposite direction he directed it to, jumping at odd moments and nearly making him fall several times. He had hardly managed to score two Quaffles through the hoops, and Dorea Black had cut it short with a whistle and swiftly named him the new Chaser of the Team, to the applause and delighted calls of his housemates.

For once, he had liked and even respected Walburga Black, the only one in the audience shrieking an angered protest, nastily pointing out how terrible Harry had been.

Alphard sighed as though garnering patience, as he said in a soft, mollifying tone, "Harry, everyone knows you're a brilliant flyer, the very best-"

"No, they don't," barked Harry, glowering as he pointed an accusing finger at him. "Only you, Dorea, and Antonin Dolohov have ever seen me play and fly my best. And Dolohov only because he's the Keeper and Dorea made him train with me when she was giving me secret Quidditch lessons-"

"Fine!" interrupted Alphard with exasperation, though he was still wearing a mulish expression on his face. "Then everyone knows that Dorea can spot a good flyer when she sees one, and they trust her judgment-"

"Please!" snorted Harry scathingly. "They didn't do it because they 'trust her judgment'. They did it because of the damned Chamber of Secrets!"

He had come to wish he had been there when Abraxas Malfoy, Alphard, and Tom told their housemates about the night of the Yule Ball. Perhaps, if he had been present, he would have been able to curb and control the Slytherins' reactions, and the many consequences that had unfurled.

He had been vaguely aware that many things would change for him and Tom once they found the Chamber and proved to be Slytherin's Heirs. Nevertheless, he had not expected such drastic and profound changes, such long-chained series of rippling and compounding effects, increasingly adding one on top of the other, heightened by the previous fact that they had been adopted by Konrad Von Krauss.

It was not only servitude that the Slytherins now displayed towards them, awe, respect, sycophantic obsequiousness, flattery, and even possessiveness, as if Tom and he had become public figures of much fame, the very symbols of Slytherin House, the epitome, the models to follow.

It was beyond that, it was nearly zealous worship.

Oh, the Slytherins hadn't become slavish servants to their every whim, many regarded them as a means to an end, as figures to rally around for their own gain –they were Slytherins, after all, thankfully.

Nonetheless, the bows and tips of the head their housemates graced them with, as though they were the Dark Lord himself, the reverence when they now listened to them attentively, as though every word spouted from their lips was worth its weight in gold, to be recorded in the annals of wizarding history. It was downright suffocating and absurd.

And above all, the expectancy. As if they were all waiting for more and more, for greatness, for further awe-inspiring developments and accomplishments, as if he and Tom should keep on making grand feats to dazzle them all.

Tom, of course, was lapping it up, glorifying in it like a newly crowned emperor. Harry, on the other hand, only became more irritable and snarky with every display and passing day. He just wanted to be left well alone.

"Harry," said Alphard with a deep, troubled frown on his face. "I think you don't fully grasp just what it means for our housemates to have Slytherin descendants among them, in this day and age." He heaved a deep sigh, as he added quietly, "We all thought the line had died. We've been raised hearing legendary tales about Salazar Slytherin, about his greatness and that of his descendants. We've all longed to have been alive in those times to witness what they had done, to be part of them and what they represent for us." He gave him a piercing, serious look. "What they represent for my kind, dark purebloods. You-" he gestured at him "-and Tom, are like treasures for us, I think. To be held and protected and cherished, and… employed. To us, you represent all the dark pureblood values. You're even tradition itself, and my kind is all about tradition."

"Right," muttered Harry crisply under his breath.

Apparently, Alphard gave up on him, changing tacks and beaming at him as he continued cheerfully, "The point is, that you'll prove your worth as a player in the Quidditch matches. So you've got nothing to worry about."

However, Harry was not about to be so easily derailed. He pinned his friend with a grave look, as he said somberly, "Aren't you worried for Dorea?"

Alphard stared at him in puzzlement. "Why should I be?"

Frowning, Harry took a step closer and whispered quietly, "You must have heard our housemates' whispers as I have. They are all waiting for Tom to challenge her." He flapped a hand with annoyance. "You know, the whole becoming part of The Two rubbish. They seem to expect it of Tom."

And even of him, Harry inwardly added, irked. Though he had only heard a second-year Slytherin girl gossiping about it, in his case, it still rankled. At least, all his older housemates seemed to know him well enough to realize he was not interested in such foolishness.

Alphard laughed at that, looking wholly unconcerned. "You and Tom are in Third Year. Never has a member of The Two been so young." He patted Harry comfortingly on the back. "By the time Tom has to, Dorea will be long gone from Hogwarts."

It was now time for Harry to shoot him a pitying look. Alphard clearly didn't know Tom at all. His brother was not going to wait to be much older before making his claim as Slytherin House's leader.

Just the other day, Harry had hopefully asked him to postpone it for as long as possible.

"Why should I?" Tom had replied coldly, superciliously arching an eyebrow at him. "I don't like to waste valuable time. The sooner I'm acknowledged as the undisputed leader, the better. And then, I can finally make progress in my other plans."

Harry had bit his lip, shot him a venomous glare, and flounced away. Especially because he knew Tom had no interest in being one of The Two –those leaders of Slytherin House who earned the spot not only due to the weight of their pureblood names, their families' wealth, connections and political clout, but also by being the victors in the in-House Dark Arts dueling tournament that the Slytherins held once a year.

At present, Dorea was one –had been for several years- along with a fifth-year boy who had replaced Algernon Wilkes when he had graduated from Hogwarts.

Tom would have to go against both, and anyone else, because, as his brother had once put it so very acidly, he had no intentions of being one of The Two, but 'THE ONE'.

Once upon a time, Harry would have doubted Tom could beat Dorea Black in a duel, mainly due to their age differences, and thus, the gap in Tom's knowledge. Now, he wasn't so certain anymore.

These past months, ever since returning to Hogwarts from Germany, he had noticed that Tom had improved at an alarming rate.

At first, he had thought it was understandable, since they had come back with trunks filled with books on the Dark Arts –one of Konrad Von Krauss' many gifts to them. And since they had truly learned quite a lot from their tutors over the summer, it was expected for them to have made a leap in their abilities. Added to the fact that Tom was now obsessively studying the Dark Arts as never before, roping Harry into it, progress was bound to be palpable.

However, it was more than that. Tom had previously proven to take to the Dark Arts as a fish takes to water, having an instinctual, innate grasp of them, effortlessly and instantly learning and mastering every dark spell, curse, and even abstract theory. But now, with all his new books and a new sense of urgency to further his own plans and aims, Tom was mastering spells well above his age – even above school level, Harry suspected.

And the power… Harry shuddered, feeling a frisson of remembered pleasure and also trepidation, because his brother's use and control over his wandless magic had surprisingly improved as well, too quickly.

Strangely enough, Tom's spurts and leaps of progress seemed to cause the same in Harry.

He had mused that perhaps it was because they were twins, due to the way he felt his own inner magic respond to the displays and growth of Tom's, as though Tom's was a guide and catalyst pulling Harry's out, expanding it. In the Wizarding World, after all, there were beliefs regarding the connection between twins, that their minds and abilities were linked, somehow, however slightly.

Harry had attributed it to that and never thought about it again, because the important point was that Tom was well in the path of becoming freakishly powerful, too soon, too young, and without the support he should have, in Harry's opinion, because there was little to balance him out.

There was only him now, Harry knew, when before there had been Alice Jones and Robert Hutchins as well.

Harry had hoped that having the muggle couple as parents would have ensured that Tom would have a loving family, perhaps not wanted or appreciated by Tom, but Harry had been certain that Alice and Hutchins' kindness, love, and gentleness would have positively affected Tom – at least proven to his brother that not all muggles were worthless, spiteful people who would as soon as burn a wizard in a pyre as look at them.

It was a moot point now. Alice and Hutchins were gone, Harry's rose-tinted dreams about a home life with them gone up in smoke with their deaths. And despite having Alphard as the best friend anyone could wish for, he still felt more alone than ever when confronted with the fact that he was Tom's sole anchor.

Harry had taken that task upon his shoulders the day Tom had revealed his desire to become a Dark Lord in the future, and with each passing day, especially after Germany, it seemed ever more daunting and difficult. Because the more Tom learned about the Dark Arts, the better he got, and also all the more dangerous and difficult to handle, as Harry was coming to realize.

He didn't like it one bit, though short of exposing Tom's plans to Dumbledore or someone like that, there was little he could do. He still hadn't found a viable way.

For instance, he knew that in the day that Tom would finally decide to challenge Dorea Black, his brother would not only beat her in Slytherin's House's Dueling Chamber. Tom was going to obliterate her as much as he could without killing or irreparably maiming her. He was going to thoroughly humiliate her and leave her like a bloody pulp on the stone floors of the dueling arena.

Tom was shrewd enough to not have said so to Harry, but Harry knew his brother well. In Tom's mind, to leave any doubt of his superiority over a rival was tantamount to display a weakness that could be later exploited by others.

Furthermore, he knew that his brother had become more impatient and greedy after Slytherin House had acknowledged his claim of being Slytherin's Heir, putting into motion the 'next phase' of one of his plans. Tom was no longer charging galleons in exchange for tutoring lessons or the homework he sold, he was now accepting items as payment.

Just the other day, Harry had glimpsed Tom in the library with a bunch of Ravenclaw pupils, an ancient-looking tome passing hands between them after a lesson. His brother had already proven he could easily earn money, now he had begun amassing things more valuable to him –books he could not buy for himself, rare or precious, but easily copied with spells from personal libraries by the sons and daughters of purebloods. Tomes, no doubt, about the Dark Arts.

It all filled Harry with immense misgivings. Though for now, he merely sulked as Alphard accompanied him back into the castle, his best mate amiably chirping about the jolly good time they would have trouncing Gryffs in the Quidditch Pitch whilst congratulating Harry –with as much glee as Dorea had– for having landed several Gryffindor players in detention for two months.

---

Harry blinked when a Hufflepuff girl approached him at the Slytherin Table, all rosy cheeked and blushing as she handed him a violet envelope.

She giggled and rushed away, leaving Harry frowning and staring at her back, certain she had been one of the many girls who had asked him, with fluttery sighs and nosy curiosity, if he and Abraxas Malfoy were an 'item'.

Whenever asked such nonsense, Harry glared so ominously at the girls that they all soon fled like a gaggle of startled geese.

He had known it would happen when he had danced so publicly with Malfoy during the Yule Ball. No matter if it had been so brief and disastrous, it had set tongues wagging.

At times, the girls who asked seemed crushed or disappointed –perhaps they all fancied the Malfoy git– other times, simply sordidly gleeful at the prospect of some juicy bit of gossip.

One bold girl had even asked him if it was true that Abraxas Malfoy had mesmerized him with his potent Veela vibes, "they are creatures of Love, after all!" she had gushed with an entranced, enamored expression on her face, managing to make Harry choke on his lunch soup, while Malfoy, who had overheard, had glowered murderously, certainly not looking like a cuddly, lovey little critter.

Finally, Harry focused his attention back on the bright, violet envelope and tore it open, further puzzled when a large, thick and glossy card slipped out.

Harry blinked and stared at the looping words written in green ink on the ornate card, and read again.

Confused, he turned to Alphard by his side, waving the card. "What's this rubbish?" He checked again to make sure he got the name right, his eyebrows rising in disbelief. "Er – a Slug Club? Do you know what this is about?"

"Oh, you finally got yours!" said Alphard, looking vastly relieved as he speared a sausage with a fork. "I received mine yesterday, and I saw your brother getting one three days ago."

Harry kept staring at the boy in utter bewilderment. "But what is a Slug Club?"

"It's The Slug Club," intoned Alphard with a low chuckle as he took a bite off his sausage. "Don't you recall? I told you about our Head of House's little soirees for the up and coming."

Harry gazed at him blankly, trying to rake his brain, a very distant bell ringing faintly. "Um…"

"We're in Third Year," said Alphard with a roll of his eyes, "so now we're eligible for being picked by Ole' Sluggy. Not too young and untested anymore, you see?"

"Picked?" Harry ogled at him. "For some party, you say?"

"The party," said Alphard pointedly, before he waved his sausage around. "Or parties, I should say. There are usually several throughout a year. Dorea thinks they are a waste of time, she's always been invited but rarely attends." He winked and chortled. "My aunt always manages to fall gravely ill on such days." He cocked his head to a side pensively. "She used to like them, though. She stopped when Charlus Potter refused to go any longer – Charlus has never liked Slughorn much. But my brother Cygnus still attends, says it's a very good opportunity to make important connections."

"Connections?" Harry shot him a bemused look.

"Sluggy always invites those students who show promise," expanded Alphard in between taking munches from his sausage. "Those he considers will amount to something in the future, be successful in some important way. He likes to be in the middle of things, Old Sluggy, fostering useful 'social networking', as he calls it. He usually reaps some benefit too."

"Cut it a bit short, didn't he?" muttered Harry as he stared at his invitation with a frown. "It's tonight."

"You have to go, though!" piped Alphard quickly as he beamed at him. "Slughorn's New Year parties are the very best, I've heard. The food simply worth the trouble, true delicacies."

Harry shot him a doubtful, uncertain look. "I was planning on…"

He trailed off as he shot a sidelong glance at Tom. His brother was seated several places away, currently holding court with Neron Lestrange, Orion Black and Abraxas Malfoy, talking quietly among themselves, looking very riveted with their subject of conversation. Tom wasn't paying him the least bit of attention.

"Oh!" breathed out Alphard suddenly, his eyes widening in realization, looking sheepish. "Tonight's your birthday, I forgot!"

"Yeah," mumbled Harry a tad dispirited, before he made up his mind and perked up.

Why should he wait for Tom to express a wish to spend their birthday together as they always had? He didn't have any present to give his brother, after all. Konrad Von Krauss' ample 'allowance' had gone to Alphard, so they could buy the ingredients for their next step into the forays of the Animagus Transformation.

Thus, Harry didn't have a knut to his name, and he and Tom had made no plans. Though a mite disappointed, spending his birthday with Alphard in a party with good food wasn't a bad alternative.

"It's settled, then," said Harry, trying to match his friend's enthusiastic smile, "we'll go to this, er... Slug Club thing."

"You won't regret it!" promised Alphard with a toothy grin.

Several hours later, Harry already was.

"A natural in Charms and Defense Against the Dark Arts, I've heard," boomed Horace Slughorn, his bushy, walrus-like moustache quivering as he regarded Harry keenly.

Harry had barely set foot in the wizard's office, Alphard trailing after him, when the professor had greeted him with such eagerness, herding them inside with waves of his pudgy hands.

One look was enough to see that Horace Slughorn's office had been transformed like none other, suddenly vaster than should be possible, with a profusion of ottomans and velvety footstools, plush winged chairs and lavish drapes decoratively hanging about the room, an ample round oak table in the very middle, already laden with porcelain tableware and candelabrum, a Hogwarts house-elf tottering about serving goblets with all kinds of colorful, crystal bottles and a cart filled with mouthwatering dishes, added to the thick aromatic fumes wafting around – it seemed to Harry as though he had just entered a Sultan's palatial tent.

"Oh, the praises Professor Tilly Toke used to sing about your abilities!"

At that, the smile plastered on Harry's face became rigid, though hopefully not outwardly pained.

"And you have a knack for Transfiguration as well, Professor Dumbledore tells me," continued Slughorn merrily, like a puffing, proud granduncle as Harry suddenly found himself seated with all the rest at the table.

This latter was odd. By no stretch of the imagination was Harry good at Transfiguration. Passable, but no more. For Dumbledore to have said such… He inwardly frowned, wondering about the wizard's reason to make Slughorn more amiable and well-disposed towards him, since it was by now patently clear that his Head of House valued only those who brightly 'shone' in some way.

Of Alphard, Slughorn said nothing, entirely overlooking him and merely taking the boy away so that he would take a seat next to the other Blacks. Indeed, the Blacks were conspicuous by their sheer numbers: they were all there, all five, except-

"I would have liked the complete set," murmured Slughorn in a mournful tone as he paused slightly to contemplate the Blacks once Alphard had joined them. "A pity," he sighed heavily, "that dear Dorea has suddenly fallen prey to a resurgence of the pillycoops."

Harry had no idea what the 'pillycoops' were –clearly Dorea Black's newest excuse for her absence– but the wizard's turn of phrase struck him as odd, until he realized that he had been seated right next to Tom and Slughorn was now eyeing them avidly, as though he and Tom were a pair of… collector's items, Harry realized slowly, blinking.

"And you, my dear boy," said Slughorn grandiosely, positively beaming at Tom as though he was the crown jewel. "Where to start? Where to beginning? The Staff is all a dither, going into raptures regarding your natural talents, your sheer brilliancy in the subjects they teach in this school!" The wizard seemed to swell like a joyful sea lion, as he declared, "And I should know! Never have I seen such a dab hand at Potions!"

"You are too kind, sir," said Tom in quiet tones, inclining his head in utter humbleness as he smiled faintly and softly at the rotund wizard before him.

"And so modest," observed Slughorn, delightedly clapping his hands together. "Oho, what a treat!"

They were all a menagerie of tasty morsels for Horace Slughorn to taste, Harry realized suddenly, and see which passed muster and stayed for keeps. Moreover, his Head of House seemed to harbor a predilection for Slytherin flesh.

They represented the vast majority, as Abraxas Malfoy, Neron Lestrange, Druella Rosier, and Capricia Carrow of their year were also in attendance, added to the many older Slytherins – a Parkinson boy there, a Nott girl not further away, an Urquhart, Vaisey, Montague, and a Harper.

Of Ravenclaws, there were only seven in all –two of them Olive Hornby and the pompous Tiberius McLaggen, Harry was not pleased to notice– of Hufflepuffs three and of Gryffindors two, one of them vaguely familiar to him, that James bloke who was Charlus Potter's closest friend and also the best Beater in the Gryff's team.

At least, James had not been the Beater Harry had accused of having 'pranked' Moaning Myrtle. He was no idiot as to directly incur in Potter's wrath. Potter was already annoyed enough with him as it was, though to his surprise, hadn't been truly angry – not at him, anyway.

"Dorea put you up to it, didn't she?" Charlus had growled at him a few days ago when ambushing Harry in the corridors, scowling darkly. "She always plays dirty and does her best to disqualify my players before the Quidditch Season. So it was her who told you to spout those lies and-"

"She was," Harry had said quickly, shooting him a look of deep commiseration, vying for understanding. "But I had to do it. She's my Captain."

"I see," bit out Charlus with a thunderous expression as he whipped around and stalked away.

Harry wasn't all that taken aback when a couple of hours later he was confronted with a Dorea Black more flushed, exultant, and gleeful than usual.

"You blame it all on me if that's what it takes," she had breathed out giddily, "just keep doing it if you come up with more ways of saddling Charlus' players with detention!"

Harry had merely nodded obediently, no longer attempting to figure out how the couple's bizarre relationship worked.

Two hours later into his first experience with the Slug Club, Harry felt he had never been more bored in his life.

With his belly pleasantly full and the waft of aromatic candles and Slughorn's voice inducing a soporific effect on him, he could barely stifle his yawns as Slughorn chattered away, urging this or that student to regale them with stories about such and such famous wizard they were related to, or reminiscing about his own school days and the many important wizards and witches he was 'very close friends with', who were always writing to the professor asking for his advice and sending valuable presents in gratitude, if he was to be believed.

It sounded as if Horace Slughorn was the confidante and bosom friend of every noteworthy wizard and witch in existence, all of them owing their fabulous careers to him.

"Just the other day," Slughorn was saying with a chuckle, "Cromby Culpepper – you know who he is, I trust? Why, only the very liaison of the Ministry with the Gringotts Goblins – the top man, he is! The crux of the matter is that he found himself in a bit of a tight spot with the Goblins due to some faux galleons circling around, and he was despairing until I told him of my very own experience with Goblins some many years ago when I…."

Harry felt his eyes slowly shutting close with a volition of their own, when he suddenly jerked in his seat due to the jolting, booming voice.

"But enough about me!" Slughorn declared in a ringing, winning tone, "It's you we must know more about. Tell me of your ambitions, of your dazzling plans for the future! Let's start with those new to The Slug Club. Riddle – Harry Riddle, that is!"

If the wizard's enthusiastic cry hadn't fully waked him, Tom's elbow into his ribcage, painfully hard and merciless, did the trick.

"Huh?" Harry muttered groggily, catching himself in time before fully slipping down his very confortable and plushy chair.

Horace Slughorn chortled. "M'boy, indulging in too much Butterbeer after a hearty dinner is not always a good idea!"

"Eh?" Harry blinked, just to find Tom glowering at him, and other students either sniggering or shooting him vexed looks, though he did see that Charlus Potter's friend, one of the Hufflepuffs and two Ravenclaws had been in his very same predicament, looking as though just awoken from a heavy slumber.

"What are your goals for when leaving Hogwarts, m'boy?" Slughorn reiterated, genially smiling at him.

"Huh?" Harry stared at him, making some snigger again, those apparently under the impression that he was still drowsy, when the fact was that the question was as incomprehensible to him as if he had been asked to divine the future of all humankind.

He was in Third Year, how was he supposed to know what he wanted to do with himself? Not to mention the 'slight' problem that his brother represented-

"My esteemed twin," Tom's voice surged after a discreet clearing of the throat, "hopes to become a renowned Auror, sir. He so longs to do some good in the world."

Harry turned to gape at him, stunned, as he had never expressed such wishes, and it would be rich if he even tried to become a dark wizard catcher given that his very own brother intended to do his best to be a Dark Lord, of all things.

Seeing Tom's expression of malicious amusement, Harry snapped his mouth shut, scowling.

Though when he saw that the other Slytherins were smirking and even attempting to stifle any outwards sign of ironic derision, Harry paled.

That the other Slytherins had understood Tom's veiled gibe, could only mean that his brother had already let them know of his goals, however slightly and subtly.

He doubted very much that Tom had already announced to Slytherin House that he wanted to be the next Grindelwald, not so soon, not without first testing the waters, but… they suspected, they had an inkling, it was now obvious.

Harry felt deeply perturbed. It was far too soon! He hadn't even had the chance to plan and prepare for when the situation would come to happen.

"An Auror!" Slughorn boomed jauntily, eyeing Harry as though he had unmasked a raw gem with much hidden potential. "Why, m'boy, noble calling indeed. And much fame and fortune to be gained if you are one of the very best." The professor gave him an encouraging smile, before he clucked his tongue chidingly. "Though you will need to become much more proficient in my class, my dear Harry. Aurors do need to know their Potions well."

"I will strive to aid my brother in that regard, sir," said Tom solicitously, shooting Harry such a warm and deeply affectionate glance one would think Tom was willing to give his own life for Harry's success in his deeply harbored career of choice.

Harry's eyebrows twitched with vast annoyance. He didn't think his brother's covert mocking was at all amusing.

"Well, with a brother such as you, Tom," announced Slughorn glowing with pride and cheerfulness, "I'm sure our Harry will not be long in becoming the very Head of the Auror Department!"

"You do me great honor with your confidence in me, professor," Tom murmured bashfully, only a faint glint in his eyes belying the modest flush on his cheeks that Tom had inexplicably managed to produce.

Horace Slughorn beamed, Harry seethed.

Tom's dark, twisted sense of humor was only being appreciated by the rest of the Slytherins – Neron Lestrange was even chortling nastily under his breath, though he was quick to pass it off as a sudden bout of coughs when Tom shot him a sharp, quelling look.

"Nonsense, m'boy," Slughorn gushed in a trill. "It is well placed, I assure you." He leaned forward over the edge of the table, squashing his protuberant belly in his eagerness to avidly focus his whole attention on Tom. "And you! What should we expect of you, my dear boy? Great things, I'm certain!"

"I?" Tom uttered slowly, hesitantly, so very softly and uncertainly that some were eyeing him with great gentleness, as Tom looked as if no one had ever asked him about himself, as if he couldn't even think so egotistically, not worthy of it.

Tom looked momentarily confused, before he shrugged his shoulders nervously, his voice quiet and small, "As everyone knows by now, sir, and you since the start-" He gave Slughorn a timid look "-my brother and I are orphans, of unknown parentage. Muggleborns most likely." He heaved a breath, as if suffusing himself with valor, before he added, "Muggle-raised orphans such as us, without connections, without family, face many difficulties when trying to find a place in the Wizarding World. Even more so when wanting to find a job to earn a living…" He trailed off, before a smile bloomed on his handsome face, making him look nearly angelic as he laid a hand on Harry's shoulder. "I would feel amply rewarded if my greatest hopes for my twin's ambitions of becoming an Auror would be fulfilled. That's all I truly desire."

Druella Rosier's titter and Orion Black's half choked guffaw passed unnoticed by Horace Slughorn's cry of exclamation.

"But," spluttered the professor, his enormous moustache wobbling, as he shot Harry a censuring look as though it was all his fault Tom considered nothing but Harry's own happiness and success in life. Slughorn inflated like an indignant seal. "By Merlin's beard, Tom, it's all very well to aid a sibling, but not to your detriment, I dare say! And brains such as yours should not go to waste." He eyed Tom gravelly. "Indeed, you have the duty – you hear? Duty!- to accomplish greatness given your potential."

"Yes, yes," added Slughorn quickly as he raised a hand at Tom's display of wide-eyed surprise, "you heard correctly. Why, my dear boy, I do not think even Albus Dumbledore – well, perhaps it's too soon to say yet, but indeed! I can wager not even Dumbledore showed such promise at your age!"

Tom's cheeks went pink and Slughorn's tone turned gentle, as he crooned in a bolstering tone of voice, "If you keep attaining such an academic excellence as you have for the past three years, you could very well become one of the most brilliant students to have ever graced the halls of Hogwarts!"

Horace Slughorn huffed. "You merely need some more confidence in yourself, my dear boy. And this codswallop about not having the necessary connections, well…" He twirled his bushy moustache, beaming at him. "That's what I'm here for, m'boy!" He gestured grandiosely at the whole gathering. "What we are all here for!"

"Hear, hear!" someone piped in support, while someone else gushed and a girl nearly cooed, making Harry realize Tom had won over most Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, only Charlus Potter's friend, James, seemed to be frowning. The Slytherins, for their part, looked as if they had rarely had so much fun in their lives.

Harry wished he would have been spared the charade and stayed in his room to celebrate his birthday by his lonesome. Once more bearing witness to his brother's accomplished, unparalleled acting skills was not his idea of 'a party'.

"Oho! Is that the hour?" Slughorn sounded startled as a great clock perched against a wall chimed loudly, striking midnight. "Upon my word, how time rushes by when having the best of times!" The wizard inclined his head at his audience, beaming. "And in the best of company!"

The members of the Slug Club chuckled, some beginning to rise from their seats at the implicit dismissal, though Tom's quiet voice could somehow be heard above all the commotion.

"I wonder, sir, if you would allow me… you see, right this moment, it is our fourteenth birthday."

Slughorn stared at them in utmost surprise. "Indeed?"

Harry felt a frisson of misgivings as Tom smiled charmingly, as he reached under his chair and pulled something up, flicking his wand at what had been previously concealed by a charm.

"It has taken me nearly three years to be able to save enough to…" trailed off Tom, as he handed over to Harry a very long and large packet wrapped in brown paper, looking as though in tenterhooks with nervousness at Harry's reaction. "I've scraped every penny-" Tom chuckled benignly at Slughorn and his audience "-every knut, I should best say, and I can't wait any longer…"

Not really knowing what to expect from Tom at this point, Harry unwrapped it warily, and then blinked when his present was revealed, accompanied by the gasps of wonder, astonished delight, and even envy.

"That's the Tinderblast!" cried out Charlus Potter's friend, James, his eyes round with worshipful adoration and excitement. "Just released in the market, it has an acceleration of fifty clouds per hour in ten seconds and a suspension of…"

As the Gryffindor Beater rattled off facts and statistics, Harry eyed his apparently brand new, very shinny and sleek racing broom with a small crinkle in his forehead.

"A magnificent, princely gift indeed!" exclaimed Slughorn, looking at Tom approvingly as he then surveyed the silent Harry, frowning at the lack of forthcoming gratitude.

"Eh, thanks," muttered Harry, having to say it again, more loudly, for their audience's benefit, who clapped as if Tom had just given them all ridiculously expensive brooms.

Tom quirked an eyebrow at him, and now Harry did smile at him, sincerely. His brother had amassed innumerable pouches of galleons through giving tutoring lessons and selling homework essays, added to the small fortune Konrad Von Krauss had also given him, yet Harry knew an expense such as this must have made quite a dent on Tom's horded wealth.

It was a very generous present, even if Harry knew it was a means to an end. Though only he seemed to realize it, even Alphard was looking at Tom in utter stupefaction, as if rethinking his opinion of him.

"You do know, I trust," whispered Tom quietly into Harry's ear as he leaned closer, "the reason for it?"

Harry sighed, as he parroted in a monotone the words Tom had spouted just the other day, "Popularity is its own form of power."

"Quite," murmured Tom, his lips curling into a satisfied smirk.

For some time Harry had known that Tom positively viewed his incursion into the sport of Quidditch because his brother had been quick to notice that in Hogwarts –even in the Wizarding World as a whole- good Quidditch players were held in much reverence, esteem, and fame.

Since, according to Tom, Harry was incapable of gaining notoriety and admiration for them through academic pursuits, he was relegated to obtaining the 'nevertheless dubiously useful' popularity of a sportsman.

If Harry became a fawned-over Quidditch player at Hogwarts, it would only serve to reflect positively on Tom, adding to his own popularity and hence social power and clout.

That Tom considered Quidditch, and all sports in general, a ludicrous, supreme waste of time that only managed to entertain the peabrained masses, didn't seem to matter much.

"I want the Quidditch Cup in Slytherin hands," said Tom sharply, narrowing his eyes at Harry to make it clear it was no burden-free gift, "in exchange."

"Exchange?" Slughorn suddenly loomed over them, gazing down with a look of great anticipation, apparently having heard only the last few words. "Oho! What have you given to your most generous twin, Harry?"

"Yes," said Tom with a wide smirk, arching an eyebrow, "just what have you given me, little brother?"

Harry took a moment to ponder this, before he said sweetly, "You already received it. A week ago, remember?"

Tom's quirked eyebrow rose higher, and Harry, certain he would not be heard over the cacophony of voices still gushing about the Tinderblast, let out a very brief, spitting and rattling hiss – quite like the sound Nagini made when utterly fed up and irritated with Tom.

Tom's lips twitched at that, in apparent amusement, though he did turn towards a befuddled and awaiting Slughorn, as he intoned with a dazzling, pearly-white smile on his face, "Indeed, my brother did previously bestow upon me the most priceless of gifts, sir. One I have coveted for a long time. One that will always be mine, and I shall always treasure."

He had given Tom the Chamber of Secrets, the Basilisk, and the hidden study filled with the diaries of Slytherin's descendants. As far as Harry was concerned, no amount of top-notch racing broomsticks could ever compare to that.

Horace Slughorn, though seemingly more mystified and curious than ever by Tom's proclamation, looked nonetheless touched by such endearing display of 'brotherly love', as he warmly patted them on the shoulders.

The Slytherins who had caught on, for their part, looked unbearably smug and gleeful.

And given the others' reactions to Tom's masterful playacting during the whole Slug Club event, by the following morning, Harry had no doubt that the entirety of Hogwarts would be of the opinion that Tom was the most self-sacrificing brother in the world, and the most humble and warm-hearted of orphans in need of much support and vastly deserving it.

As the assembly broke off and everyone parted ways to their common rooms, Harry didn't miss the looks of admiration the Slytherins cast at Tom.

Well, Slytherins did thrive in and valued secrecy above all things – to be the privileged ones, the only ones in the know. Tom had just very deftly fed them what they enjoyed the most, with his artful manipulation of Slughorn, filled with innuendoes only their housemates could understand and appreciate.

"Tom isn't as bad of a brother to you as I thought," suddenly said Alphard by Harry's side, sounding musing and still a tad surprised as he eyed the Tinderblast in Harry's hands with a look of reverence.

Harry shot him a wry look but kept his silence just as Abraxas Malfoy drawled the password and the bare expanse of wall in the dungeons parted open to lead them into their common room.

He was about to trot inside with the others, when Tom halted him with a hand on his arm. "Wait."

Harry did so, shooting him a questioning glance.

The wall sealed itself shut, with a blinking Alphard on the other side, leaving them utterly alone in the barely lit, gloomy corridor.

"What did you think of it?" demanded Tom, his voice sounding casual and airy.

Harry glanced down at his new broom. "You know it's the best there is. I could not have asked for anything better-"

"Not the stupid piece of wood," snapped Tom impatiently, briskly waving a hand before he pierced him with glinting dark blue eyes. "The Slug Club."

Harry stared at him before he snorted loudly. "Not my cup of tea, if you know what I mean." He made a disparaging sound from the back of his throat. "I won't be attending again. Got better things to do than fawn over you like all the rest."

Tom did not look impressed with his reply, and Harry snapped truculently, "What do you want me there for? You've made sure you already have a bunch of worshippers who believe your every little lie-"

"It could be much better, of course," interjected Tom in a pensive tone, as though speaking to himself. "Yet, it has potential, has it not?" A scornful look spread over his handsome face. "If only Slughorn was more accomplished at it."

"At what?" Harry frowned at him in puzzlement.

"He is a facilitator of sorts," continued Tom in that strange, calculating and introspective tone of voice, as though unfurling and analyzing a revelation. "If he was more astute and subtle, he could do much more. Influence personalities, shape opinions, mold people into what he desired, in short… And with his 'club' he is in the unique position to be able to do such… a teacher, a guide…"

"I suppose," said Harry dubiously, unable to fathom where the conversation was leading to or understand what his brother was blabbering on about.

Suddenly, Tom's eyes focused back on him, with keen sharpness. He smirked, the kind of malicious tilt of the lips that Harry had come to associate with ominous forebodings.

"You'd best get used to participating in gatherings such as the Slug Club, little brother," Tom said silkily, oozing self-satisfaction. "You might find yourself obliged to do so in the near future."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry demanded, flummoxed, only for Tom to leave him in the dust as he loftily whispered the password and vanished into the common room.