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.

61. Part I: Chapter 60

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:

Thanks for the reviews!

Got nothing to clarify this time, so on with the story – I hope you enjoy ^.^

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Part I: Chapter 60

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"I beg your pardon?" sneered Tom, shooting him such a scathing look that Harry was certain his brother thought he had taken leave of his senses or was trying to pull one over him.

"He's an Animagus, brother," whispered Harry as he dropped his hand to his side, feeling his heart thumping hard in his chest, making him breathe deeply with the lingering sense of awe and stunned stupefaction. "He has always been an Animagus… it explains everything…"

"What are you raving on about?" spat Tom ill-temperedly, darkly glowering at him. "You're making no sense-"

"They dueled," muttered Harry under his breath, trying to shape all his interconnected theories and suspicions into one cohesive and comprehensive unit, everything swirling around in his mind so fast that he had difficulty catching up with himself. "Gryffindor and Slytherin dueled in Nagini's home and-"

"Nagini's – home?" jeered Tom disparagingly, now looking at him with such mocking contempt that Harry automatically bristled.

Glaring, Harry snapped reproachfully, "Yes, Nagini's home, you dunce! If you had bothered, even once, to pay her a visit you would know what I'm speaking about. You would have seen it for yourself!"

He briskly carded a hand through his disarrayed locks of hair, as he added sharply, "All the snakes in the Forbidden Forest make it their home – it's a vast clearing, completely scorched, where nothing grows, but-" he intently pierced his brother with his gaze "-but the earth is warm, almost hot, even in winter. It's due to residual magic – that of Gryffindor and Slytherin's duel, and-"

"Slytherin and Gryffindor never dueled, you simpleton," hissed out Tom impatiently, his expression extremely aggravated.

"Oh yes they did!" roared Harry in exasperation.

Tom stared down his nose at him, looking unbearably arrogant as he intoned flatly, "Wizarding historians have recorded, as everyone with half a brain knows, that Salazar left the school after a quarrel-"

"Historians know nothing, do they? They can be wrong, can't they?" bit out Harry crossly, as he brusquely waved a hand in the direction of the slumbering Basilisk. "There's the proof!"

"The proof of what, precisely?" sneered Tom coldly.

"That Salazar never left!" said Harry through gnashing teeth. "Everyone thinks that he abandoned his wife and son, and simply packed up and left Hogwarts, but he didn't, did he?" He scowled at his brother. "Why would he? If he supposedly valued pure blood and family lines so much, he must have at least cared for his own son – so it doesn't make sense that he would have abandoned him in the first place, does it?"

"You're spouting utter nonsense-"

"They dueled!" insisted Harry vehemently, as he swiveled around to stare at the Basilisk once more, his green eyes narrowed to slits, consideringly, the cogs of his brain whirring madly, as he continued in a low, slow voice, "And at some point, Salazar decided to change into his Animagus form – probably thought it would give him an advantage –what, with the lethal gaze of a Basilisk and all…"

He trailed off, biting his lower lip in pensiveness. "Because he had a magical creature as his form…"

It struck him just as he said it, his eyes going wide and hazy. Hadn't Alphard and the guide book stated that only very powerful wizards could have such Animagus forms? Hadn't his friend even said that the results of Harry's Egyptian test had to be because he had Slytherin blood?

Harry let out a sharp, hollow chuckle. Alphard hadn't known just how right he was. As difficult as it was to wrap his mind around, it was clear to him now from whom he had inherited his ability to have a magical creature as his Animagus form – and the alleged great stores of magical power he must have for that to be even possible!

"What are you cackling about?" spat Tom's voice virulently.

Harry snapped his head up to fulminate him with a scowl. "I'm not cackling." He shook his head in annoyance, before he heaved a breath and rambled quickly, his tone vying for understanding, "During the duel, I'm certain Slytherin transformed so that he could kill Gryffindor swiftly with his eyes –it makes sense, but-" he frowned "- Gryffindor must have been prepared for that, he must have known what their quarrels would lead to in the end, and he must have created the charm in advance-"

"What charm!" snarled Tom irately, his face contorted with ill concealed anger and impatience.

Harry shot him a brief glance, as he said quietly, "The ritual is not to lift off a curse – it's for a charm."

Before his brother could snipe another word, he leaped and took several hurried strides, reaching the end of the Chamber of Secrets where he had left his schoolbag previously. Snatching parchment and inked quill, he scribbled frantically on his way back to his brother's side.

Once done, he held the parchment up to Tom's nose, tapping each symbol with his quill. "These Ancient Runes form the magic that is binding the 'Basilisk'. They have made him forget about who he was, they trap him in his Animagus form, forcing him to remain in that state, permanently." He bore his gaze into his brother's, as he added poignantly, "Red and golden magic – Gryffindor's magic. Shackle-like. It has always been binding him."

Tom's dark blue eyes intently roved over the symbols before darting back to Harry's face, narrowing to seething slits, as he hissed out in a deadly tone, "Do you mean to tell me that you've been seeing magic surrounding the creature all this time, and you forgot to mention it to me?"

"I didn't tell you," said Harry defensively, brusquely waving the parchment in front of Tom's face, "for the same reason you took your own sweet time in telling me about the ritual – I still hadn't figured it out, until now!"

"That is no excuse," snarled Tom like a wild beast, his face twisting with rage. "You should have-"

"Listen to me!" exhorted Harry adamantly, throwing the piece of parchment to the floor, as he gestured with his hands, his chest heaving hard, "Gryffindor must have managed to cast the charm on Slytherin before Slytherin could use the Basilisk eyes on him– and Slytherin fled!"

He shook his head violently, his green eyes then widening as he blabbered without pausing for breath, "To the caves of Hogsmeade, of course! They're only a few feet away from Nagini's clearing - from where they dueled. Once he became the Basilisk and had the charm on him, he went to the cave that has the boulder concealing the secret passageway into Hogwarts!"

He merely paused to gaze at the sleeping Basilisk with wonder. "He must have been driven by instincts – going to the place that felt safest to him, that he could sense… he must have been greatly injured by then too, because he doesn't have a crest and his body is littered with old scars. So he came here, because as a Basilisk he can't open the mirror to enter the school's corridors – we already checked he needs us for that…"

Harry abruptly turned towards his brother, as he demanded sharply, "How old do you think Saturnus was by time his father supposedly left Hogwarts?"

Tom looked slightly taken aback, for moment, before he narrowed his eyes and replied shortly, "In his teens, by my calculations."

His brother opened his mouth again a second later, a sneer twisting his lips, but Harry hastened to speak triumphantly, "If Saturnus was a teen, then he would have realized what had happened!"

He began pacing the stretch of floor before him, lost in his spiraling thoughts. "He saw the Basilisk, and of course that he recognized that it was his father in his Animagus form – and he was the one who 'conceived' the notion of the ritual to help his father out. He must have spent the rest of his life trying to find a way-" he shot his brother a fleeting look "-but, as you said, he wasn't very bright."

Harry's green eyes widened with the realizations galloping forth in his head, as he continued breathlessly, "So Saturnus began the tradition of writing the journals, and passed along the duty of completing the ritual, from generation to generation, each adding what they could…And the Legend!"

He gasped, swirling around to stare at Tom, who was deeply frowning at him. "The number of victims is perhaps a requirement, but the type of victims maybe isn't. The Slytherins would've preferred that 'Zar' killed muggleborns instead of purebloods, wouldn't they? Given their views about blood purity and all. And they must have tried to make Zar understand that he needed to kill muggleborns, so that they could carry out the ritual to free him. And they must have even tried to make him remember that he was, actually, Salazar Slytherin, but all that Zar has been able to retain is the killing bit. Thinking he had been left behind to carry out a cleansing of the school…"

Harry trailed off, before his eyes blazed victoriously. "And maybe the Slytherin descendants fabricated the Legend themselves, and spread it about! It would mask their true intentions perfectly. It wouldn't allow anyone to know the truth about Salazar – they would have seen it as a dishonor, a humiliation on their ancestor, wouldn't they? And to cover their tracks, and backs, they spread that codswallop about Slytherin leaving a monster behind, because it just fits the bill in case muggleborns suddenly turned up dead. And it's not as if anyone else could find the Chamber to slay the murdering 'monster', so Zar was safe-"

"You have been spouting," interjected Tom with an unimpressed, caustic jeer, "nothing but pathetically feeble, outlandish speculations-"

"And remember the first question I asked Zar?" continued rambling on Harry excitedly, ignoring his brother's ill graced interruption. "I asked him what name Salazar Slytherin had given him. And he answered 'Salazar'!"

His green eyes sparkled, as he shook his head ruefully. "He sounded so confused that we thought he was merely parroting back the name he had heard me hissing. But he was answering honestly, from the little he could remember, because his descendants must have called him 'Salazar' thousands of times, trying to make him recall his life as a wizard, but Gryffindor's charm prevented him from regaining his memories in full."

Harry abruptly whooped, as he added enthusiastically, "And remember? Remember when I asked him again? He replied 'Zar'! Maybe he was trying to say 'Salazar' again or maybe that had been his nickname as a wizard! Do you see, everything fits!"

Tom suddenly loomed over him, a stark, dark look on his handsome face, as he spat poisonously, "If you intend to make me believe that Salazar Slytherin, the greatest and most powerful wizard of all times, was outmaneuvered by Gryffindor, of all people-"

"He was," stated Harry harshly, before he cast his brother a long, considering look.

Nevertheless, he instantly made up his mind as he had been unable to do so before.

Now, more than ever, he had the ultimate proof that Santi had been right about everything. Now, more than ever, he would heed his warnings and advice: all the things Santi had insisted that his brother shouldn't know about, for Tom's own sake.

Which meant that Tom was going to get a lot of half-truths, enough to make him see sense.

"But we don't know how powerful Slytherin was, do we?" continued Harry flatly. "They might have been evenly matched, and Gryffindor might have managed to outwit him once – and that's all it took." He heaved a deep breath, waving a hand dismissively. "Not that Gryffindor got off easy. He died months later, from wounds sustained during the duel." He grimaced, as he added in a murmur, "Helga Hufflepuff and Rowena Ravenclaw tried their best to heal him, and failed." He shot his brother a grim, wry look. "So in the end, Slytherin won, even if he doesn't know it, didn't he?"

Tom was staring at him with a superciliously arched eyebrow, as he then drawled acidly, "Very entertaining, this little made-up fantasy tale of yours-"

"I'm not making it up!" barked Harry in immense frustration, mastering the impulse to just punch the blockheaded idiot.

"Of course you are not," drawled Tom in mock placidness, his words dripping with derisive sarcasm. "Because you just simply know more than all the wizarding historians in the world, who have dedicated their lives to gather records and proof of the events unfolding during the Founders' Era-"

"Historians can't get into the portraits of Hogwarts," snapped Harry hotly, glowering, "can they?"

After all, he had had to tell his brother long before about that strange, inexplicable ability of his, the one that had led him to overhear a meeting of dark wizards in Alphard's townhouse of Grimmauld Place, all talking about the impending conquest of Czechoslovakia, about Julian Erlichmann and so many other things. The one that had ended with Harry fleeing from the portrait of Alphard's ancestor, Phineas Nigellus Black. Though, certainly, he had never breathed a word to Tom about having met Fawkes, Santi, and the ghost of Helena Ravenclaw just after that.

And the last time he had been in Diagon Alley, he had bought a full ensemble of lacy, puffed, wizarding clothes of the fifteenth century with the idea of journeying into Hogwarts' portraits again, passing himself off as a portrait too, to garner information.

In the end, it hadn't been necessary. He had learned about the identity of the witness of Sherisse Slytherin's last moments of life by other means. Yet, he had kept the ludicrous clothes, just in case he ever needed them.

Tom stilled, narrowing his eyes at him. "Meaning?"

"I went back," said Harry with cool dismissal. "Back to the portraits, and I overheard some things and I kept returning and, one day, the drunk monks were gossiping about what had happened back then - they get quite chatty when tipsy, about the good ol' days, you know how it is-"

"The monks. were. gossiping," enunciated Tom jeeringly. "And how, pray tell, would they have seen the alleged 'duel' when they hang over the moving stairs-"

"I don't know!" bit out Harry exasperatedly. "Some portrait in one of the towers, with a view, must have seen it and then the word spread around amongst them – or something of the sort! What does it matter?"

"It matters," sneered Tom with utmost contempt, "because your story is so ridiculously farfetched and moronic that not even an eleven-year-old Hufflepuff would be dimwitted enough to swallow it-"

"Fine!" barked Harry in a towering bad temper, shooting him a very dirty look , after what he considered to have been a very neat and clear presentation of unfurling past events, just for it all to have been thrown back to his face. "Don't take my word for it then – I'll bloody well show you, you prat!"

Without another hitch of breath, he violently swished his wand in the direction of his rucksack, as he bit out, "Accio book!"

One large, thick tome he usually carried around came zooming into his hands, making Tom raise his eyebrows when catching sight of the title, but Harry ignored him as he quickly flipped the pages, searchingly.

"Aha!" he exclaimed smugly the next instant as he found the spell. "Here it is… bit obscure, but it should do the trick, I reckon-"

"What," demanded Tom harshly, now suspiciously narrowing his dark blue eyes at him, "are you doing with a book about the Animagus Transformation?"

"Alphard told me about it," smoothly lied Harry absentmindedly as he reread the instructions for the spell, "and I got curious. The ability has popped up in many of his ancestors and by what he told me, it sounded fun to read about-"

"Fun?" sneered Tom scathingly.

Harry glanced up at him, and said deadpanned, "Yes. Fun."

And went back to the book, not about to ever tell his brother the truth. Alphard would kill him if he did. They both wanted it to remain their sole, exclusive adventure. Harry certainly didn't want his brother butting in.

"Right," he said at last, thrusting the book into Tom's chest as he aimed his wand at the dozing Basilisk. He cleared his throat, swirling the tip of his wand in the air, and enunciated with utmost precision, "Homorphus revelio!"

In a blinding flash, the unwitting Basilisk glowed in a vibrant purple light, before it vanished a split second later.

Harry blinked the swimming black dots from his eyesight, and then caught on with what had happened, feeling a mite blown over by that last, irrefutable proof of his claims.

Nevertheless, he recovered quickly and instantly reached his brother and book, jabbing the tip of his wand on a sentence. "See? Purple means the animal is an Animagus wizard."

And he shot his brother the most supremely smug smirk that his face had ever been able to produce, feeling deeply revindicated and proud of himself.

Harry felt cheated though, when he realized that Tom was merely darting his gaze to and fro the book and Basilisk, body still as a statue, yet with no popping, ogling eyes or gaping mouth, his face merely lacking any expression.

"Well?" prompted Harry snarkily, tapping a foot on the stone floors. "I was right. He is Salazar Slytherin."

At that, Tom shot him an undecipherable glance, and went back to stare at the creature.

"Say it," gritted out Harry truculently, glowering. "Say you believe me now."

Tom remained silent, just staring at Zar. And Harry grunted irritably, though he was certain his brother had indeed finally believed him, though Tom was clearly too much of a vain, arrogant git to admit it.

Irked, Harry packed his things and swiftly left his brother standing rooted in place like the idiot he was - those who believed themselves to be superior to all, did require a certain amount of time to absorb the fact that some else had surpassed and outsmarted them, after all.

---

Harry was feeling rather morose and sulky as he played with his dinner, his green gaze fixed on the Gryffindor Table. He had noticed that Felix and Felicity Prewett were chatting amicably with that huge first-year he had noticed during the Sorting.

He couldn't remember the boy's name, but it was obvious that the Prewetts had taken him under their wing.

Harry hadn't been paying much attention to the going-ons at Hogwarts –so utterly immersed he had been with the Animagus Transformation and everything entailing the Chamber of Secrets, besides the many other things he had on his plate- yet he had been catching snippets of conversations lately. All indicating that his predictions had come to happen: the first-year boy had been shunned by his own House.

Harry had heard a couple of Gryffindor girls gossiping about the boy in hushed, appalled voices, sounding both terrified and outraged.

Apparently, at first, the boy had quite foolishly and guilelessly admitted to being a half-Giant, carelessly yapping about his father and the Giantess mother that had abandoned them. Harry garnered that it must have happened in the days he had noticed that the Gryffindors seemed uncharacteristically subdued and silent during meals, a strange sort of tension almost oozing off them.

Later, it seemed that the halfbreed boy had realized what his naïve honesty had caused, and he had clammed up, always seen wandering around the corridors by his lonesome, looking confused, dejected, and hurt.

It hadn't taken long when, one day, the boy had appeared in the company of the Prewett twins, blabbering happily and with affection and gratefulness shinning in his beady, black eyes, Felix and Felicity returning the boy's fondness.

It seemed to Harry as if the boy had become their charity case, which rankled in a way, since it could only mean that Harry himself had been that for the twins, once upon a time, when he had been a 'poor mudblood' stuck in the House of Serpents. And now, he had been replaced-

Harry grunted as he looked away from the sight of the trio, scowling down at his supper and then frowning.

He didn't know why he was feeling angered. He knew he wasn't being fair to the Prewetts, he knew they were doing something nice for a first-year boy who evidently needed it much, yet he couldn't help feeling irked – and a mite miserable.

It had been ages since he had been in the company of Felix and Felicity, and he had to admit that he had missed them.

He missed Felix's mischievousness and sense of humor, Felicity's attention and warmth and even the very same concern for him which had always annoyed him at times. He even missed the twins' stupid quarrels and bickering.

And he had planned, hadn't he, to become closer to them? To see if Felicity's blushes when in his company could mean that the girl fancied him in some way. If it was possible that he could like her that way too, anything to make his sick attraction for his own brother go away… Yet, he hadn't been able to do any of it. Not with everything that had happened since they had begun their Third Year.

After having returned from his summer spent in Von Krauss Castle, and being confronted by the twins' suspicions regarding his adoption by a 'muggle', Harry hadn't had a chance to enjoy their company.

The fact that Harry had landed three of Gryffindor House's Quidditch players in months-worth of detention had made him persona non grata in their common room, more than even before.

Why, even one of their Prefects, Minerva McGonagall, who had usually overlooked him or simply treated him rather fairly despite him being a Slytherin, had begun giving him the evil eye now and then. She would purse her lips in a strict flat line whenever she caught sight of him in the corridors – apparently, she was an avid Quidditch fan, not to mention one of the Chasers in her House's Team, and had taken Harry's underhanded actions against her teammates as a personal affront.

That, added to the fact that –regretfully– the Prewett twins were not part of The Slug Club's frequent gatherings to which Harry was still forced to attend due to Tom's inflexible demands, meant that Harry had little opportunity to meet with them.

He only managed to trade friendly greetings or rushed inquiries after their wellbeing when they chanced to cross paths in the corridors or during the few minutes before the start of the classes they shared.

Harry had to admit that he deeply felt Felix and Felicity's absence in his life, even though he usually found himself surrounded by people after his newly formed popularity, with students who admired his Quidditch skills and particularly with his own housemates.

He spent most of his time with Alphard, but slowly, sinuously, he seemed to have unwittingly formed a group in Slytherin House as well. When he sat in their common room, others gathered around to start up conversations with him, as though they were all extremely interested in knowing the 'real him' and not the 'mudblood' they had thought him to be.

He knew what was at the root of it: dark purebloods' fascination and reverence towards Salazar Slytherin. Harry and Tom were treated as though they were the second coming of the Founder himself, which was much more impressive to their housemates than if Harry and Tom had proclaimed they were Merlin reborn.

Granted, there were still exceptions. Walburga Black no longer insulted or attempted to nastily hex him, but didn't go out of her way to be friendly either – if she was even capable of such thing. The haughty and beautiful Druella Rosier still looked down her nose at him, as though him being of Slytherin blood was not enough to erase the fact that he was muggle-raised, of poor manners and little understanding of purebloods ways – all obstacles that Tom had apparently overcome and surpassed if her fluttering glances of great interest and awe were anything to go by when it was Tom in Harry's place. And –much to Harry's satisfaction- Abraxas Malfoy, who had drastically changed his attitude towards him since their discovery of the Chamber of Secrets.

Whether it was due to the things that had happened that day –the dance during the Yule Ball or their confrontations when finding the Chamber and Zar– Malfoy had apparently decided to express his anger by completely ignoring him.

Funny, that, since Alphard had told him that Malfoy went around telling their housemates that he had been the first to discover what Harry truly was, and that they were 'very close' indeed, having even spent a summer together and all.

Yet, Harry rather thought that Abraxas was sulking, from wounded pride due to their disastrous dance, from finding their housemates' attention solely focused on Harry and Tom nowadays, from realizing that Harry was quite happy in keeping him at arm's length, or –as Harry slowly came to suspect- from envy.

When no one was looking, Abraxas would shoot him ugly sneers during meals in the Great Hall, but what had cottoned Harry on to what was truly causing the boy's ill humor was the fact that many of those sneers were not directed at him but at Alphard, who was always by his side.

Alphard who had passed from being the 'secret friend' of Harry the Mudblood to the best mate of Harry the Slytherin Heir, publicly known by their housemates and now treated accordingly.

Alphard had once described himself to Harry as being simply 'the spare son' of the main branch of the Black family, the least impressive of all Black children, in importance way below all the others: Cygnus the Heir, silent, observant, wise; Walburga the sole daughter of the main line, outspoken, nasty and querulous, a truly formidable dark witch in the making; cousin Lucretia, beautiful, soft-spoken and well-mannered, a true trophy for her future pureblood husband; cousin Orion, handsome, sociable, and the means by which the two lines would merge through the boy's betrothal with Walburga ; and their Aunt Dorea, very popular at Hogwarts, one of The Two leaders of Slytherin House, Chaser and Captain of their Quidditch Team, excellent student and dueler, and Alphard's father's baby sister, his pampered one and favorite above all.

However, all that seemed to be in the past as Alphard had become a focus of attention in himself, as though sharing in Harry's reflected glory. Now it wasn't only Dorea paying attention to and lavishing her favorite nephew with affection, but many of their other housemates as well. Priscilla Pucey, Capricia Carrow, and the other Slytherin girls, who had never glanced twice at Alphard, were now nearly as interested in what the boy had to say as they were in Harry.

Harry, for his part, found much amusement when observing the developing events, especially Alphard's reactions to their housemates' change in behavior towards him.

Some days, Alphard looked vastly irritated, others, outwardly pleased, and more often than not, calculating, as if trying to decide whether to send them all packing or behave like a true Slytherin and take advantage of the situation - if the effort on his part would be worth the dubious benefits.

A sudden movement in the Gryffindor Table, and the hush that followed, made Harry raise his gaze once more, catching sight of the half-Giant rising from the table with Felix and Felicity, while the rest of Gryffindors sat still, wary and tense.

Harry watched bemused as the trio, purposely ignoring the expressions of condemnation in most of their housemates' faces, made their way to the Great Hall's doors, chattering and chuckling.

Just then, he stilled when Felicity suddenly shot him a glance.

Caught in the act of staring at them, Harry froze, not knowing how to react, though… the girl blushed under his gaze, and then gave him a rather quick smile. Harry soon found himself answering back with a forced grin.

Felicity seemed to go even pinker, looking flustered, before she quickly caught up with the half-Giant boy and her brother and vanished from the Hall.

Blinking, Harry finalized realized that, if he was completely honest with himself, what he missed most about the Prewett twins was not Felicity's blushes or Felix's jokes – but their news.

Felix and Felicity had always been an invaluable source of information for him, having their father and their cousin Ignatius in the Ministry of Magic - and, as Harry suspected, in Dumbledore's Order of the Phoenix. Perhaps it was because of this that he wished to be in their confidence once more, since lately Dumbledore had been keeping a close watch on him and Harry wanted to know what was going on.

He felt completely out of the loop. The Daily Prophet rarely printed anything of worth concerning what Gellert Grindelwald was up to, he and Tom didn't receive any letters from Konrad Von Krauss either, and Dumbledore was behaving strangely yet not keeping him after class to talk to him.

It felt as though something big was unfolding, like a looming, gathering storm, and he would feel the full brunt of it, suddenly, unawares and unprepared.

Harry sighed, and settled his spoon back into his bowl of soup, pushing it away. Or maybe he was just being paranoid, and the ill feeling in the pit of his stomach just meant an incoming indigestion.

---

Some hours later, Harry was already regretting having told his brother anything at all. He had been spared from Tom's demanding inquiries since his brother hadn't showed up for dinner in the Great Hall, evidently having remained in the Chamber of Secrets.

Nevertheless, Tom had cornered him just when he had been getting ready for bed, demanding a detailed explanation of how he had come to his discovery.

After having repeated everything he had said down in the Chamber of Secrets for the umpteenth time, Harry pulled the bed covers up to his chin, rolled to a side, turning his back on his brother, and snapped grumpily over a shoulder, "I've already told you all I know. Now sod off, I want to sleep!"

"Sleep?" hissed out Tom like a rattling snake, brusquely jerking the bed sheets off Harry, towering by the side of the bed, like an overgrown bird of prey.

"Oi, I'm cold here!" bit out Harry angrily as he dived for his covers and tugged them up once more, glowering at his brother.

Tom leaned down over him, bringing his face inches away from Harry's, forcing him to sink his head deeper into the pillow, frowning.

"You cannot possibly mean to go to sleep," spat Tom acridly in a barely audible voice, his face darkening with rage, as he kept looming over him, "when we have our very own ancestor in the bowels of the castle, trapped inside an animal."

"He's not exactly a defenseless, innocent little bunny, is he?" retorted Harry waspishly. "He'll be alright."

"He is stuck in the form of an animal," gritted out Tom through clenched teeth, his face livid.

"And has been for a thousand years," countered Harry coolly, "and will survive a thousand more just the way he is."

Tom stared at him for a moment, his dark blue eyes widening incredulously, before he let out a sharp chuckle, sounding mocking as he quirked an eyebrow. "Is that what you think is going to happen, little brother?"

Instantly, Harry sat upright on his bed, forcing Tom to retreat backwards several inches, as he narrowed his green eyes, and bit out, "What do you think is going to happen?"

Tom cast him a long, calculating look, before he intoned matter-of-factly, "We're going to finish the potion, of course."

"The potion with incomplete brewing instructions?" Harry snorted loudly. "For a ritual that generations upon generations of grownup, Slytherin descendants didn't manage to complete?"

Tom intently pierced him with his gaze, as he hissed out, "I'm sure if we work together we will be capable of-"

"No," interrupted Harry harshly, an utmost grave, stony expression on his face. "There'll be no trying. We'll do nothing, brother."

At that, Tom shot him a mocking smirk. "Of course, little brother. We'll just sit on it, shall we?"

He made a move to saunter away but Harry's hand shot out, grabbing Tom by the wrist, abruptly jerking him back, almost making his brother stagger before he regained his balance and shot him a sneer. "Changed your mind already?"

"I discovered him," stated Harry harshly, skewering him with a deathly glare. "I decide what to do with him. And I say, we do nothing."

"Yet, you don't mean it," said Tom superiorly, smirking widely at him. "I can see the temptation shinning in your eyes, for I feel it just or even more powerfully."

"I'm not tempted," gritted out Harry, wholly ignoring the little voice in his mind telling him otherwise.

"Imagine the possibilities with Him by our side," murmured Tom silkily as he leaned closer to whisper in Harry's ear, an exultant, feverish gleam briefly appearing in his eyes. "Envision the power we could wield-"

Harry jerked backwards and shook his head, as he spat irritably, "I imagine the many things that could go wrong." He shot him a jaundiced look. "And the price we would have to pay, which I'm not willing to. And, especially, the risks that I cannot predict or 'envision'."

Looking utterly undeterred, as though not having heard a word Harry had said, Tom waved a hand as if batting away an inconsequential, pestering fly, as he then smirked and patted Harry's head in mock tenderness. "Sleep on it. And we'll discuss it at length tomorrow, little brother."

Through narrowed eyes, and frowning with agitation, Harry watched as his brother slid away and disappeared behind the curtains of his own bed.

Forcefully vanishing all troubled thoughts from his mind, he sunk into his bed once more, decidedly snapping his eyes shut, willing himself to fall asleep quickly so as to shorten the awaiting time, for he was sure what would happen.

---

A slow, hesitant caress on his cheek awoke Harry, yet he didn't move or made any sign of being aware and alert, though he did inwardly sigh with relief.

When he felt his mattress slightly sinking with the weight of another person, he ceased pretending and slowly sat up, blinking at the glow amidst the darkness of the dormitory.

"I knew you'd come," whispered Harry as he eyed Santi closely.

Santi was seated at one side of his bed, the curtains shut around them, forming a cocoon of privacy and intimacy –the latter making Harry feel a mite discomposed.

He hadn't seen him since returning Julian's magical flute to him after Norway, yet unsurprisingly, the man –er, being – looked unchanged, with a solid body, as usual when in Harry's presence, with those milky white eyes that seemed to glint with shifting lights, the dark curls of hair and the smooth tanned skin shimmering with a faint glow, adorned by the golden specks sprinkled over every inch of revealed skin.

It was at these that Harry stared, with a musing frown on his face. Without a thought, he lifted a hand and prodded one with his fingertip, seeing that the 'specks' were indeed part of the man's physiology, like bits of golden sparks of magic imbedded within, that felt unaccountably warm to his touch.

Santi shifted as he let out a bemused chortle. "Anything interesting down there?"

Immediately withdrawing his hand, Harry glanced up, catching Santi's quizzical yet indulgent look.

Mutely, Harry shook his head, and then debated how to commence matters. He simply had so many things to ask, so many things plaguing his head that it was difficult to decide how to tackle the issues.

Finally, he chose to begin with the easiest – or rather, relatively easier than the rest, at least.

"I found out about Slytherin," said Harry without preamble.

Santi widely smiled at him, not looking at all surprised. "As I had faith you would."

Harry peered at him at that, suddenly licking his lower lip with a hint of nervousness. He caught sight of Santi's eyes fixedly following the motion, and quickly stuck back the tip of his tongue where it belonged, feeling tense and jittery.

Frowning, he purposely and awkwardly cleared his throat, making Santi snap his milky gaze up at him.

The man shot him a wry, rueful look. "I apologize-"

"Never mind," said Harry more brusquely, perhaps, than he had intended, as he shifted on his bed. He grunted, angered with himself, before he added firmly, "Look, I need to know what you expect me to do about Salazar Slytherin."

Santi arched an eyebrow, looking amused. "What do you want to do?"

"You're leaving something like that up to me?" asked Harry, thoroughly stunned.

"Certainly," replied Santi amiably.

Gathering back his wits from his astonishment, Harry narrowed his green eyes at him. "Why?"

Santi chuckled under his breath, shrugging. "Why not?"

Harry gritted his teeth, feeling that familiar frisson of irritation he now remembered he always felt when Santi –more often than not- spoke to him in circular riddles, never truly clarifying anything at all.

"Look," said Harry testily, glowering at him, "I've told my brother, and I'm beginning to think that perhaps he's seriously planning on-"

"Ah, you told Tom," said Santi coolly, his tone not questioning, nor challenging, but certainly having dropped several degrees in temperature.

"Yes," snapped Harry, scowling defensively. "Got a problem with that? He's got as much right to know as I do, given that he's also Slytherin's Heir-"

"I knew you would tell him that much," interjected Santi, waving a hand as though wanting to close the matter swiftly, before he pinned him with his strange and sometimes disconcerting gaze. "However, about the other-"

"I haven't told him about the other thing," cut in Harry promptly. "And I don't plan to, either."

Looking relieved, Santi warmly smiled at him. "Good, good."

"You're leaving that up to me as well?" demanded Harry, observing him closely.

"Yes," said Santi, widely grinning. "Quite a treat for you, isn't it?"

Harry frowned, as he muttered under his breath with a touch of asperity, "I'm not sure it is. Why did you want me to know about it all? Just to tell me that I could do as I pleased?"

"Precisely," replied Santi jauntily, before he arched an eyebrow at him. "Don't tell me you would have preferred to be kept in the dark?"

"No – yes – I, er," mumbled Harry uncertainly, until he threw his hands up in the air, frazzled and exasperated. "I don't know!" He shook his head somberly, shooting him a baleful look. "It's rather a lot to be responsible for, isn't it?"

"Only if you want to be responsible for it," supplied Santi unhelpfully.

Harry watched him with extreme annoyance. What was he supposed to infer from that? That Santi already knew what Harry would do and he wasn't interfering because it would be the right thing? Or rather that it didn't really matter what Harry did about the issues one way or the other?

Though he couldn't see how it couldn't actually matter, when they were talking about the return of the infamous Salazar Slytherin to their own age and day.

Harry shuddered, and then sighed dully. What to do about 'Zar the Basilisk' had been revolving in his mind since the afternoon.

Oh, of course that he felt great 'temptation' –as his brother had so aptly called it- to bring their ancestor back if it was possible. Who wouldn't?

All the things he could ask the wizard, all the things he could learn, and not only magic, he supposed, but also about stuff of the past –stuff that one could only read in books yet always doubt how much to believe, but Salazar would know the actual truth. And then, to imagine what the reaction would be of the dark pureblood world in general… well, it would be a fantastically exciting time to be living through. And with The Salazar Slytherin backing you up, what need would there ever be to fear Gellert Grindelwald?

Then, of course, he remembered what liberating Slytherin from Gryffindor's charm entailed, and all his deluded, rose-tinted daydreams came crushing down.

Killing thirteen magical people, muggleborn or otherwise, was certainly not an option. And yet, he knew, it was the only way.

Furthermore, he mused about all the risks he knew of and of those he couldn't even begin to imagine, and it left him in no doubt that it was simply not worth it, in any respect.

"I'll do nothing," Harry finally said firmly.

Santi merely nodded, humming under his breath contently, as he offered placidly, "Perhaps you'd like some help with-"

"No," cut in Harry decisively, shaking his head. "With the other thing, I can manage." He shot him a smug look. "You wanted me to find out on my own, and I'm doing that. Nearly there, in fact, to fully grasp everything."

Santi smiled widely, looking vastly proud of him and apparently simply content in sitting there, staring at him, for he said nothing else but kept slowly tracing Harry's features with his gaze.

"Er," began Harry, shifting in his bed again, as he said hastily, "I met Kasimira Von Krauss."

Santi nodded, seemingly having expected that much already, before he tipped his head to a side, in interest. "What did you think of her?"

"Um, well," prevaricated Harry, wondering how blunt he could be. Perhaps saying 'I think she's a tad unbalanced' wouldn't go over too well. "Er… she's… different," he concluded lamely.

Santi snorted at that, his lips hitching upwards in amusement, as though he knew perfectly well what Harry's true thoughts were on the matter. "She's a formidable young witch – and she'll be even more so, in the future."

That caught Harry's attention, and he gazed intently at him. "Does she know you?"

"Not quite," replied Santi calmly.

Harry swallowed his frustration, and for a moment fleetingly wondered if he could ask him about the things the girl had said. Yet, he became uncomfortable just thinking about inquiring if it was true that Kasimira and Julian were 'shagging', as the girl had implied. Even trying to imagine about what that fully entailed made him feel a bit ill.

No, it was none of his business and he rather not know, in truth.

Harry heaved a deep breath, no longer having any excuses to postpone the inevitable, and before he even caught up with his tongue, he had already blurted out, "I dreamt about you."

Santi's eyebrows shot to his hairline, before his face broke into a huge grin. "Really?"

Feeling a mite miserable, Harry grumbled, "Yeah. I was…er…snogging you."

He felt the tips of his ears and back of his neck burning, but he ploughed on resolutely, holding Santi's marveled gaze with his own –the man's eyebrows had nearly vanished into his hair at this point.

"I liked it," added Harry boldly and very hastily, wanting to get over the hard part as quickly as possible. He frowned. "But you didn't-"

"I assure you," said Santi, apparently finding his voice and sounding as though he was vastly enjoying the conversation, his eyes gleaming roguishly, "that if you… 'snogged' me-" he said the word as though he found it deeply amusing, chuckling "- in reality, I would enjoy it immensely." His eyes sparkled as he chortled. "Though I'd prefer if we could wait until you're older-"

"It wasn't like that!" spluttered Harry, going red and bristling, feeling that he was being laughed at for his ludicrous 'dreams'. He shook his head angrily. "I was kissing you. It was real, I know it! And I was forcing you, and you tried to fight me off, but I forced something in you anyway-"

"Forced something in me?" Santi's eyes went huge before he let out a loud bout of chortles and guffaws. "Well… if that's what –how do you Brits put it? – ah, yes, rocks your boat, then I'll just have to adjust my expectations." His eyes twinkled with amusement. "I'm sure in the future we'll be able to reach a compromise about positions-"

"Positions?" repeated Harry blankly. "What?" He shook his head briskly, as confusion and anger swelled up in him like a volcano. "Listen to me, it wasn't a dream – I know it." He carded a hand through his hair anxiously, as he rambled urgently, "It was some sort of vision. And I was this Antares bloke-"

"What?" croaked Santi, suddenly turning very pale, his voice becoming tense. "What did you say?"

"That I was someone called Antares!" snapped Harry impatiently, scowling at him. " 'Antares', and I know that name, I've heard it before." He frowned deeply, muttering to himself, "I used to dream about a beautiful woman who sang Alice's lullaby to me, and she called me Antares too, sometimes. Though I haven't had that dream in a while-"

"What did you see?" demanded Santi sharply.

Harry blinked, and glanced up at him, frowning when he thought he caught a brief expression of alarm crossing Santi's features, but it was gone in the next instant.

"That's what I'm trying to tell you," gritted out Harry in frustration, shooting him a dirty look. "Because you were there… well, not at first…" He trailed off as he raked his brain to remember every single detail, as he continued in a mumble, "At first, I was alone. I was this Antares boy – well, he was older and taller-" he added bitterly "-than me, so I guess I should call him a young man."

He heaved a deep breath, as he trudged on, "The point is that I was running through some sort of , er… ancient-looking village. And there was a market, I think. Some sort of weird bazaar, but I couldn't see much. Sometimes I was him, and sometimes I was seeing him from the outside, as though I was floating by his side – but I could see and feel what he saw and felt, though most was a blur…"

Harry paused, before he added, his frown deepening, "And I was happy, delirious – I felt sort of drugged even. And you were suddenly there, chasing after me, telling me I couldn't breathe the air, but I knew I had to, and I already was. And I glorified in it, and there was fluff all around-"

"Fluff?" said Santi's voice faintly.

Harry blinked, gazing up at him, noting that Santi had turned so pale that for a moment he wondered if the man had lost the alleged control he had over his solidity, looking nearly as transparent as a ghost. Though since Santi was still seated on his bed instead of going through it, he reckoned that the man was still sturdily solid.

"Yes," said Harry, nodding jerkily yet keeping his eyes fixed on Santi's face to be able to catch any twitch, any nuance that could give him an indication of what was going on. He shot him a scowl, his eyes briefly traveling to the man's arms, pointedly. "And he – I, that is- was like you. I had those stupid speck things on my skin, like you do. Like the Grey Lady said she could see on me when I met her for the first time."

He cast him a belligerent look, briskly rolling up the sleeves of his pajama top. "But I've never had stupid golden, glittering freckles on my skin! See? So why did that Antares chap have them? Why did he seem to be like you? What does it mean? And why did I dream –or whatever the bloody hell it was– that I was that bloke! Who is he?"

"Tell me about the… fluff," suddenly pressed Santi hoarsely, fixedly staring at him.

Harry angrily clenched his jaw, but decided that if he satisfied Santi's curiosity perhaps the man would return the favor and begin answering his questions for once!

"I was breathing it," snapped Harry briskly, "and it affected me, I think. And when you tried to stop me I did something to you, and you couldn't move." He shot him a dour look. "That's when I –er, kissed you, but I was doing something to you." He frowned. "You were scared and tried to resist, but I didn't stop and it was causing you pain and I was enjoying it…"

He trailed off, highly discomfited as he clearly recalled, with a mixture of shame, guilt, and yet also a frisson of remembered pleasure, the things he'd done and how he had reveled in it, how he had thought at the time that Santi was getting his just deserts, but also how vital and necessary it all was.

He'd been a right, nasty, vindictive berk, he had been, and for the life of him he still didn't understand it.

"And then," Harry added in a slow murmur, "I was not the Antares bloke anymore, and he was looking at me as though I was there, and he spoke directly to me for the first time – he seemed surprised but also pleased, he knew I had seen all those things and he said…" He fiercely rubbed his throbbing head. "He said a load of weird stuff."

He shot a very pale Santi a narrowed-eyed look, his voice regaining strength, "For starters, he said I had little time left. That I had to hurry and find 'it', that I'd be dying soon. What does that mean!"

"He saw you?" said Santi in a thin thread of a voice, swallowing thickly. "He could communicate with you?"

"Yes!" barked Harry in angered exasperation, clenching his hands into fists. "Haven't I just told you-"

"I see," muttered Santi under his breath, and apparently he did, for he looked livid with both fear and blazing fury for a moment. "I must leave."

"Wait – what?" Harry gaped at him as Santi suddenly sprung to his feet. "Hang on! At least tell me-"

But in the next split second, the man had simply vanished without so much as a farewell.

"-if you know how Julian Erlichmann is fairing," finished Harry, trailing off as he found himself speaking to thin air.

Immensely peeved, he angrily punched his pillow, before he groaned and sunk his face into it.

Bizarrely enough, he had the strange sensation that he had just caused something that perhaps shouldn't have happened, as though he had betrayed that Antares chap – as though he had betrayed himself, somehow.

Harry rolled unto his back, and scoffed at his own stupid, weird thoughts. Everything was fine, Santi would probably come back soon if not in a few hours and he would clarify everything, at long last.

However, Santi didn't. He never did, come back.

---

The following days, after Santi had so unceremoniously left him in the dust, Harry had been in a roaring bad temper.

He had felt extremely ill used, spilling all his beans without getting anything in return. Indeed, even his housemates seemed to become wary of him, as though he was a spitting, hissing, and tetchy mammoth of a porcupine who would flare and savagely sting and pounce at the slightest provocation.

Even Tom gave him a wide berth.

Granted, that had been after they had attempted to discuss the 'Zar situation' which had ended up with Harry losing the short leash on his foul temper, exploding spectacularly, shouting, and Tom snarling back, and wands being drawn and insults flying, and Harry spitting that Tom was a 'complete idiot blinded by his own arrogance', and Tom hissing that Harry was in turn 'too much of an imbecile to seize such an extraordinary gift and advantage', and so it went until they both stalked out of the Room of Requirements, seething, and never again exchanging another word.

Meanwhile, their housemates seemed to tiptoe around them and wisely didn't take any sides, even though not having the faintest idea what it was all about.

"Are we going to do this or not?" snarked Harry irritably by the evening of the fourth day.

Alphard sighed, as he replied in a mollifying, soft voice, "Yes, we are, Harry. Give me a moment."

As Harry sat crossed legged in the middle of the Room of Requirements, refusing for the time being to even lift a finger, he watched Alphard setting all the potion ingredients in place before a large cauldron hanging from a hearth.

Fleetingly, he realized that his friend had a rather martyrized expression on his face as of late, and felt a pang of guilt. But he pushed it aside swiftly enough – that day, like all the rest, not feeling at all generous as to even consider how his temper was affecting others.

If he had been in Alphard's shoes, he would have sent himself packing by now. That Alphard had not, and was stoically putting up with him, was the boy's own problem, as far as a grouchy, sulky Harry was concerned.

"Very well, everything's ready," said Alphard as he held up a chopping knife, shooting him a tentative, faint grin, which vanished when Harry balefully glared at him.

"I'm not cutting up the Valerian roots if that's what you're angling for," Harry informed him crisply. "I'm pants at Potions."

"So am I," said Alphard in a restrained tone of voice.

"You do it anyway," snapped Harry, huffing. "You read the brewing instructions a zillion times, didn't you?" He narrowed his eyes at him. "Or were you lying?"

"No, I wasn't," retorted Alphard in a visible attempt to keep up his good cheer. "Alright. I'll do the ingredients preparation-"

"And the brewing," muttered Harry under his breath pointedly.

Alphard shot him a quick look, a strained smile plastered on his face. "Very well. But you cast the spells on the main ingredient."

"Where's the ruddy magical fungus, then?" demanded Harry acidly.

"Stretch out your right hand, Harry," supplied Alphard in a chipped tone of voice, his grin forcibly widening so much that it looked painful.

Harry glanced a few inches to his side, and saw the… thing, inside a jar. Grunting with vexation, he grabbed it, pinching his nose as he took off the lid and brought it closer.

The mushroom looked like some sort of diseased kidney, of a sickly brown with grey spots, pulsating and oozing some sort of yellow pus-like liquid, wafting off a revolting pungent odor.

"We've got to eat this?" spat Harry disgustedly.

"After you cast the spells on it and we mix it with the brew – yes," replied Alphard, his tone turning much less milder at the mutinous, irked scowl on Harry's face. "This is mostly for you, you know? I am not the one with a magical creature as my Animagus form. The Mayan Ritual will help you, the most."

"Yeah, yeah," grumbled Harry venomously, glowering. "No need to rub it in."

"Rub it in?" bit out Alphard sharply, for a moment looking as though he was going to yell at him. The next instant, though, a placid grin stretched over his face, as he said in a rather high-pitched, forced voice, "Just do your part, it's the easiest."

Harry snorted nastily, as he shot the guide book a skeptic glance. "Right. Sure."

Alphard's shoulders hunched, as though restraining himself with great effort from chucking something at his head –probably the chopping knife he was holding in a tight grip, at that.

Immediately, the boy turned around, giving Harry his back, as he hastened to chop the ingredients with unnecessary brutal force.

Sourly, Harry began perusing the chapter of the book that detailed the Mayan incantations to be used on the magical mushroom.

"These are impossible to pronounce," he groused churlishly, glaring at the back of Alphard's head.

"Then practice until you get them right," shot Alphard over his shoulder without looking at him. "That magical Peyote cost a fortune, and are impossible to find, so you can't mess it up."

Harry gritted his teeth and went back to the book, his mood sinking bitterly.

It was only about an hour later that Harry considered he might have gotten the hang of it. He still felt that the foreign words rolled uneasily off his tongue, but he deemed it passable enough and Alphard was by then already stirring the concocted potion with much vigor and enthusiasm.

Glowering at the ugly, pulsating and leaking mushroom, Harry brusquely poked it with his wand and muttered the strange spells.

"Is it ready?" asked Alphard excitedly, as he kept stirring the potion energetically.

"Suppose so," muttered Harry dourly, as he slouched closer with a now glowing, neon pink fungus in hand.

"Then drop it in – quick!"

With a splosh, in went the magical mushroom, making the potion bubble and rise alarmingly for a moment, before it settled into a sky blue, nearly clear liquid.

Scowling, Harry eyed it suspiciously. "Is it supposed to be that way?"

"Yes!" said Alphard happily, as he stirred with renewed vigor. "It means that the mushroom is dissolving in the brew. Just a few more stirs and it'll be done."

With a last burp, the potion swirled placidly in the cauldron, and Alphard wasted no time in ladling two flasks with the brew.

"Bottoms up!" said Alphard genially as he handed Harry one phial and lifted his own, grey eyes shining excitedly.

Harry grunted, grimaced, and chucked the contents of his flask down his throat in one swoop.

And he gagged. It was the most unbearably revolting thing he had ever tasted, forcing him to quickly cover his mouth with his hands as he kept painfully heaving and gagging nonstop, making him curl over himself, dazed and horrified.

Briefly, he caught sight of Alphard having the same problem, the boy's big grey eyes watery and scrunched in pain. Yet, Harry remembered vaguely that according to the book this was normal, that they had to keep the potion in no matter what, that wanting to puke one's entrails out meant it was taking effect.

No matter what the stupid guide tome said, it was near agonizing torture as he felt his stomach churning and twisting and rolling as though it wanted to leap out of his body through any available orifice to be spared from the potion.

And suddenly, just when he thought that he wouldn't be able to keep it in, that he had to hurl or he'd go mad, everything disappeared.

Harry felt as though he was floating on clouds, all worries of the world vanishing, leaving him blissfully carefree and exultant. It was rather like being under the effects of the Imperius Curse, just much more potent.

He felt utterly at peace with everyone and everything in the universe, his mind pleasantly groggy and mushy, his body utterly limp and relaxed. So much so that, before he knew it, he was sprawled on the stone floors, giggling, and sweeping his legs and arms up and down as though trying to make an angel on snowed grounds.

"Oh! Look at the pretty, pretty forest!" came Alphard's marveled voice somewhere to the right.

"It's clouds," said Harry thickly, his green eyes bright and huge as he stared up at the beautiful ceiling of the Room of Requirements, sniggering happily when snowdrift started falling from the puffy pink and blue clouds hanging in the air, beautiful snowflakes slowly falling down, as if floating and dancing, like glittering fairies.

One snowflake landed on the tip of his nose, and he went crossed eyed to stare at it in entranced awe.

"A snowflake blessed me!" cried out Harry happily. "Ow, I luuuv snowflakes!"

"Look at all my leaves!" said Alphard's voice in a delighted sing-song. "So many pretty, pretty leaves – of all colors! Look, have a purple one!"

"Don't want one - I luv my snowflakes," purred Harry as he curled on patches of snow, feeling as though he was being cradled, surrounded by pleasant, so very pleasant coldness, a howling wind of hail crooning him with its sound.

"There aren't snowflakes – prat," said Alphard with a high-pitched squeal. "There are tall, pretty trees all around us! Everything's so bright and green – pretty green, like your eyes, Harry – get it? Get it?" The boy sniggered loudly, to then apparently collapse into guffaws. "Where're in my forest – it's all mine!"

"Nope," said Harry as he nuzzled his face against the crisp snow, rumbling with pleasure. "Not forest. It's a – it's a –" He tried to rake his brain for a word that would encompass all the beauty and magnificence surrounding him, until he cried out in delighted triumph, "It's Heaven, Alphie – where're in Heaven!"

"Heaven? What heaven?" said Alphard's voice sounding momentarily confused, before he broke into loud chortles. "Oh, I'm gonna hug one of my trees - give it love, you know? And it will give it back, a thousandfold – trees are very sentimental, and so kind, and generous, and pretty!"

Harry snarled as he heard the boy blundering and staggering around, possessively gathering mounds of snow with his arms, as he let out a mighty, growling roar, "You're not stealing my snow! Go away – away, I say!"

"Don't want your stupid snow – snow's nasty, snow's cold and ugly!" piped in Alphard's voice as a crashing sound reverberated, followed by a slumping noise and a cry of ecstatic glee. "Found my tree!"

Harry found himself relaxing as he sensed that by the sounds, the boy was far away, and he stretched his body like a feline, purring as he rolled and frolicked in the soft snow.

Giving a jaw-breaking yawn that left him completely relaxed, he then flapped his arms. Frowning, disconcerted, when nothing happened.

"Al, somethin's wrong, Al," whined Harry, as he insistently flapped his arms again, becoming panicked. "They don't work! My wings don't work – I can't fly!"

"Fly?" chirped Alphard's voice, vaguely turning concerned. "No, no, no. You mustn't fly. Flying's dangerous-"

"I need to fly!" howled Harry in utmost misery, his eyes widening frantically.

"Come to my tree instead," offered Alphard happily. "If you bring loads of food, I'll let you in!"

"I like my mountain!" snarled Harry savagely, blinking, before a goofy, wide grin stretched on his face when he realized that that was it – he was in his home! He could see it now all around him: a long range of snow-peaked mountains, its valleys covered by low, white clouds, so beautiful, so very beautiful.

"Then we'll stay in your mountain and in my forest together!" chirped Alphard's voice exultantly, as though it was the most commonsensical notion in the planet.

Harry felt himself bristling, as if raising his hackles, when he caught sight of the boy wobbling unsteady towards him. For a moment, he eyed Alphard as though considering a tasty morsel, licking his lips as he felt his mouth watering.

He so liked roasted meat – human flesh especially, when he burned it to a crisp and then devoured it, savoring every bite of taut, burned flesh, every lick of spurts of blood.

Harry opened his jaws widely, readying himself, when the boy suddenly flopped down by his side, nuzzling his face against Harry's neck, making an odd, chittering sound.

With another weird noise from the back of his throat, Alphard giggled as he slurred gleefully, "We're baaad boys, 'Arry… Very baaaad boys!" The boy guffawed drunkenly as he wrapped himself around Harry. " 'Cause we're thoroughly zonked, get it? So - we're Hogwarts' Bad Boys!"

Contemplating the cuddling, boisterously sniggering creature, Harry blinked and then relaxed, vaguely realizing the intruder posed no threat, that the human youngling felt familiar, distantly remembering that he shared a den with the creature for most cycles of the moon, for some reason.

His green eyes softened, as he opened his maw and let out a fiery burst of air that pleasantly scalded his tongue.

Purring with vast satisfaction, Harry settled around the snuggling human boy, coiling together on the snowed grounds and folding his arms around them, peacefully dozing off to sleep.

---

Harry grumbled when he felt something shifting by his side and then felt the sudden disappearance of his source of warmth.

Sleepily making a swipe with a hand to bring it back, he growled testily.

"Harry – Harry!" called out someone, insistently shaking him.

"G'way," rumbled Harry drowsily as he rolled over and stuffed his head under an arm for warmth.

"Wake up! It's almost midnight - we've got to go to our dormitory!"

"What?" muttered Harry as he cracked one eye open, peering from under the arm he had weirdly folded over his head.

He saw Alphard standing above him, looking distinctly ruffled and flushed. The boy's usually neat hair was completely disarrayed, his cheeks were pink and his big grey eyes looked a mite unfocused, though he was doing his best to hide both facts.

Feeling quite heady and confused himself, Harry slowly rose to his feet - or tried to, better said, because he found himself swaying alarmingly.

"Not so quick!" sniggered Alphard, who suddenly caught him by the shoulder, grinning widely at him.

Harry blinked repeatedly, trying to clear his swimming eyesight only to be confronted by Alphard's big grey eyes peering into his own, inches apart, with pupils so widely dilated that there was barely any grey left.

"What's wrong with yer eyes," slurred Harry a tad groggily.

Alphard sniggered again. "They're a bit fuzzy – much like yours, I dare say."

And he peered intently at him again, the tips of their noses bumping as the boy nearly went crossed-eyed trying to determine the state of Harry's own pupils.

The boy guffawed loudly a moment later, shaking his head. "We're still trippin', mate."

"Huh?" said Harry unintelligibly.

Alphard shot him a silly grin. "Effects, almost gone, but not yet." He beamed excitedly at him, as he rushed out, "But I told you it would be fantastic, didn't I?"

"Yeah," said Harry slowly, as his own mind was catching up with everything that had happened, now understanding why Alphard still looked flustered.

Harry almost groaned and went scarlet himself. Though he ended up merely rubbing a hand over his face, not knowing whether to snigger or moan with dismay – the bunch of stupid things they had said, the way they had acted!

"You did like it, didn't you?" came Alphard's voice, sounding stressed and hesitant.

Harry shot him a look, seeing that the boy was shifting nervously and uncomfortably from one foot to the other, his cheeks now redder than ever before. Though Harry didn't know why Alphard looked so mortified, he himself had acted much more bizarrely than the boy. He had even wanted to eat his best friend!

What kind of magical creature was he, anyway?

Harry instantly wiped his frown off his face when he realized that Alphard was interpreting it wrongly, a hurt and devastated look growing on the boy's face.

"It was great, Al," quickly assured Harry, a wide smile spreading over his face. "Truly great."

And it had been, Harry admitted. Despite the weirdness, it had been very informative and fun. Someday, they would be laughing together about it, without feeling awkward, he was certain.

Alphard gave him a sort of feeble yet sincere smile, and then patted him on the shoulder as he declared in a deeply relieved tone, "Yeah, and what's better, you're back to normal, thank Merlin!"

"Normal?" repeated Harry slowly, bewildered, as he tried to point at one of his eyes with a finger and nearly poked himself.

"No, no," said Alphard swiftly as he pressed Harry's hand down. "I don't mean your pupils. I mean your nasty temper!" He toothily grinned at him. "Now you're just your usual short-fused shelf but not nearly as terrible as these past few days!"

Harry stared at him, before he noticed, rather surprised, that he wasn't feeling that burning anger at Santi any longer. It just seemed to be muffled, somewhere in a corner of his mind, still there, but manageable.

"Oh," mumbled Harry, before he shot his friend a quizzical look. "Was I really that bad?"

Alphard nodded repeatedly, a serious expression on his face. "You were. I was about to ply your morning pumpkin juice with Cheering Potion, I was, to see if that finally did the trick."

"Um, sorry about that, then," said Harry frowning.

Alphard faintly grinned at him, patting him on the back. "No worries. I can understand." He let out a long, suffering sigh. "When I quarrel with my sister Walburga I'm always left in a rather sour mood."

Harry raised an eyebrow at him, crossing his arms over his chest. "Who said anything about me fighting with Tom?"

With a snort, Alphard rolled his eyes. "Are you serious? It was pretty evident. The whole House knew!"

Harry grimaced, remaining silent.

"What was it about?" inquired Alphard, peering at him.

Harry shot him a brief glance, and shrugged. "Nothing important."

"Sure," said Alphard disbelievingly, but thankfully didn't push the matter, as he then announced cheerily, "Well, we're good to go now, I think." He waved a hand dismissively at the Room that looked as though a tornado had passed through. "We'll clean it up tomorrow. Though…"

The boy trailed off as he glanced down at himself, and then at Harry.

Following his gaze, Harry noticed the problem. They looked completely rumpled and disheveled, with their robes so dirty that one would think they had been rolling in dust and grime – which they probably had, he realized, when he caught sight of the floor of the room.

"Never mind," said Harry swiftly, "if anyone asks us we'll tell them to mind their own business. It's Pringle and his ruddy raven catching us out of bounds after curfew that worries me."

Alphard flinched at the name of the nasty Caretaker of Hogwarts Castle and his equally sadistic pet. "True. Let's dash, then."

As they scurried through the corridors of Hogwarts on their way to the dungeons, they regaled each other in hushed whispers the experiences and impressions they had lived –neither mentioning, of course, the parts in which they had made complete fools of themselves.

"You're a dragon, then!" whispered Alphard excitedly, shooting him a partly envious, partly thrilled look.

Harry's brows furrowed. "No, I don't think so. I felt much smaller than a dragon."

"There are many species of dragons," persisted Alphard undaunted, grinning widely, "perhaps you're one of the petite ones."

"Oi, who are you calling 'petite'?" snapped Harry crossly, bristling immediately and glaring daggers at him. "Just because I'm a tad on the short side doesn't mean-"

"I was not criticizing your stature," interjected Alphard with a roll of his eyes. "The size of your Animagus form has no relation to your size as a human."

"Yeah, well," said Harry, still miffed, "we'll see."

"We will," declared Alphard, now with vast satisfaction as he grinned toothily. "Every night for two weeks!"

Harry nodded and grinned back at him just when they were reaching the blank stretch of wall that led to their common room.

All in all, after that first experience, he was rather looking forward to more. If they had brewed the potion they had imbibed correctly, according to the book they would be having similar hallucinatory experiences each night for a fortnight.

That first, had been their bodies adapting to the potion, but from then onwards they would only be feeling the effects at night during their sleep. It was the main reason why they had chosen the potion, since it forced the magical mushroom's proprieties to come into effect nightly after a first daytime experience.

Which was rather useful if they intended to never be caught messing with a mushroom that was considered Dark and illegal, which could easily get them expelled at the very least.

---

The following day, Harry stood before one of the metal snake statues adorning the Chamber of Secrets, precisely the one in the middle of the left-hand row, to which Slytherin's carved eyes were subtly directed towards.

Using the sharp tip of the knife he had transfigured from a quill, he nicked his fingertip.

With a scowl, he remembered how his brother always made him do the offering of Slytherin blood after the first time, Tom always watching the proceedings intently.

What did his brother think – that Harry was such a fool as to need supervision? That he would slash some main artery instead of just nicking his fingertip?

Harry snorted irritably, just as the snake statue shifted to a side to reveal a downward spiraling staircase. Soon, he forced himself to shove away his annoyance. It wouldn't do to be crabby from the start, now that he was about to confront his brother and have the conversation they had postponed for too long.

Hurriedly taking two steps at a time, he finally reached Slytherin's hidden study. He paused at the threshold, seeing Tom at the other end of the cavernous room, seated behind the desk whilst hastily scribbling on a stack of parchments.

His brother seemed so wholly immersed and focused on whatever he was working on that he didn't notice when Harry tiptoed forwards.

Harry's green eyes sharpened when he had almost reached the desk, as he realized that his brother was working on his translated notes - on the damned ritual!

"What the hell d'you think you're doing!" snarled Harry, pouncing like a leaping lion as he swiped the stack of parchments from under his brother's nose.

Tom looked startled at first, before he fixed Harry with a dangerous, narrowed-eyed look, holding up a hand. "Give those back."

Harry gave the parchments in his hands a quick perusal, seeing, as he had suspected, that Tom had indeed been working in trying to advance the brewing instructions of the ritual's potion.

Angrily, he waved the parchments at Tom, accusingly, as he spat, "We agreed that we wouldn't-"

"Agreed?" jeered Tom nastily, remaining seated on the high-backed chair behind Slytherin's old, ratty desk. "We reached no agreement, did we? You were too crotchety to listen to reason-"

"I'm sorry about that," muttered Harry grudgingly, before he scowled at him. "Not that you were any better, though!"

Tom arched a cool eyebrow at him as he rested back on his chair, drawling frostily, "Let us just say that neither of us was willing to reach an agreement." His eyes narrowed, darting to the parchments Harry had snatched from him, before returning to Harry's face. "However, I do not see how the situation has changed, as you're still clearly resolute in your notion of just leaving our ancestor to rot-"

"I don't want him to rot, but-" began Harry angrily, before he shook his head attempting to rein in his temper. He took a deep breath, and added much more calmly, "The costs and risks involved are simply too great-"

"What costs and risks?" sneered Tom contemptuously.

"What costs?" echoed Harry incredulously, before his face scrunched with anger. "The lives of thirteen muggleborns, to begin with!"

Waving a hand dismissively, Tom uttered with complete impassiveness, "They would be giving their lives to resurrect the greatest wizard the world has ever seen. We'd be honoring them by giving their worthless existences a purpose and a meaning far greater they would ever attain on their own-"

"What?" spluttered Harry, gawking at him, before he became instantly incensed and bellowed, "Oh, I see, and who are you to be the judge of something like that! To decide whose life is worth more-"

"Judge?" snarled Tom, his expression livid as he swiftly rose to his feet, so brusquely that his chair noisily clattered to the floor. "Of course I am the best judge!" He skewered Harry with a seething glare, as he thundered, "I, who am the most brilliant student to have ever walked the halls of Hogwarts! I, who am Slytherin's Heir and have inherited his unique Parselmouth ability! I, who have spent months piecing together the ritual! I, who am the most powerful-"

"Being clever and good with magic has nothing to do with it!" spat Harry irately, as he violently slammed his hands on the table, making Tom's quill fly into the air before staining the desk with trails of ink as it rolled. "It doesn't give you the right to make a decision like this. We're talking about killing thirteen of our schoolmates!"

"We wouldn't be killing them, you lackwit," sneered Tom scornfully. "He would-"

"It comes to the same thing, and you know it!" roared Harry furiously, glowering. "Neither one of us has the right to say that their lives are worth less than a single one-"

"When the 'single one' in question is that of Salazar Slytherin," hissed out Tom angrily, as he briskly strode around the desk and loomed over Harry, "I'd say the sacrifice of a thousand mudbloods is a trifle!" His face contorted with hatred and revulsion, as he spat virulently, "Mudbloods that are inferior in every way. Mudbloods who are pathetically weak and nearly magicless, who contaminate our world with their muggle notions, hatreds, fears and prejudices. Mudbloods who will never amount to anything. Who are they, what do they have to contribute to wizarding society, compared to Salazar Slytherin!"

"Oh, I see," laughed Harry nastily, "so a person's worth is measured by their power and by what they can offer to society, is it?"

"Of course it is, you fool!" spat Tom poisonously.

Harry shook his head, as he gritted out, "According to you. I see it differently." He heaved a breath and squared his shoulders, as he pierced his brother with a narrowed-eyed glare. "Besides, who's to say that the muggleborns you want to kill won't do great things in the future? Or their sons and daughters, or their grandchildren! Or their whole future line of descendants, if we come to that." He shot Tom a mocking look. "Tell me, brother, are you a Seer? Can you predict that none of them will be 'worthy' by your standards? Because we wouldn't be killing only thirteen, we would be killing countless! All those who could be born-"

"I see what this is," interrupted Tom in a jeering, ugly tone of voice, his eyes holding utmost contempt. "This is you, wanting to be a good little hero, is it not? This is you, thinking that mudbloods are good and innocent and need your protection. This is you, thinking that Salazar Slytherin is evil and thus shouldn't be aided-"

"The muggleborns Zar could kill would be innocent," snapped Harry impatiently. "They wouldn't deserve it!" He glowered darkly at him. "And I don't think that Slytherin is evil, but that's neither here nor there-"

"Of course you don't," interjected Tom with dripping sarcasm.

Harry gritted his teeth, wanting to shout at him, for he truly didn't. The point was that Slytherin was an unknown quantity. No one really knew what he had been like.

The man had done great things, the stuff Alphard had told him about: creating all sorts of fertility potions to help wizards and witches of all kinds to have children, to solve the problem of stillbirths and squib-births, to allow those who loved a creature or someone of their same gender to have progeny.

However, he had also had terrible convictions, like blaming muggles and muggleborns for the dwindling of power in the magical lines, valuing only purebloods whilst clamoring for the exclusion of all the rest, if not to outright kill them.

The crux of the matter is that no one could really tell how good or bad, in the whole, Slytherin had been.

Even for more reason that the wizard hadn't had the opportunity to carry on with his life, to demonstrate what he would have done regarding his ideals. He had never had the chance.

He could have turned into a raving Dark Lord or he could have become someone who finally discovered and solved the problem of why magic had been dimming in power throughout the generations –if even that was to be believed.

"I find it amusing," hissed out Tom venomously, pulling Harry out of his musings, "how very hypocritical you can be."

Harry frowned at him in confusion, at that, and his brother gave him a deeply contemptuous sneer, as he continued acidly, "Why, here you are, pontificating about how terribly 'wrong and evil' it would be of us if we allowed Slytherin to kill a couple of 'innocent' people, when you didn't seem to have such scruples in Norway-"

"WHAT HAPPENED IN NORWAY, STAYED IN NORWAY!" boomed Harry furiously, instantly seeing red as his brother's words sunk in like piercing arrows, utterly enraged that his brother always used it as a way to imply that Harry and his values were a fraud, that he had no right to take a moral high ground since he had killed back then.

"You wish," whispered Tom, his tone so very soft and nasty, his eyes glittering with malicious satisfaction.

Breathing hard through his nose, with hands clenched into shaking fists, Harry spat stiffly, "We killed to survive. We killed to protect ourselves. It was different. What you want now, would be murder."

Tom shot him a cold, nonchalant look. "It would be an insignificant sacrifice of lives for that of a vastly greater one."

Groaning, Harry deflated as he rubbed his forehead. It was pointless to attempt to convince his brother with that thread of argument.

Especially since trying to make Tom see that they would be killing not only the thirteen required victims but all their possible offspring was an abstract notion at best. And certainly, Tom couldn't care a whit about it, not when they were talking about the future families of 'mudbloods'.

Quickly changing tacks, Harry sighed, as he asked pointedly, "Fine. But, at least, did you get a chance to read it?"

"Read what?" demanded Tom coolly.

"The book I left in your desk!" snapped Harry impatiently, as he plopped himself down on the table. "In our dormitory, you dunce!"

"I saw no book this morning," said Tom suspiciously, narrowing his dark blue eyes at him. "Which book are we speaking of?"

"The one I used the other day," gripped Harry in exasperation. "The one about the Animagus Transformation. I left it inside your top drawer!"

"Then," jeered Tom caustically, arching a mocking eyebrow at him, "how did you expect me to see it, you twit."

"I stuffed it in because I didn't want the others to see it," groused Harry, as he briskly carded a hand through his messy hair. "I didn't want to raise suspicions." He shook his head, before he bit out crisply, "I marked a chapter. I wanted you to read it."

"A chapter… regarding?" demanded Tom flatly.

"There're examples in there," rushed out Harry pointedly, "of how very dangerous the Animagus Transformation can be. Examples about wizards who had gotten stuck in their Animagus form, and what happened to them-"

"I see," muttered Tom, with a wholly uninterested expression on his face.

"I don't think you do," said Harry waspishly, his brother's dismissive, bored tone of voice rubbing him the wrong way. "There was one bloke who stayed in his Animagus form for eight years." His brows crinkled, as he attempted to recall all the details. "He was running from the law, he had done something bad –can't remember exactly what- the point is that the Ministry was after him and he changed into his Animagus form – a mockingbird. Eight years later, when by mere chance an Auror happened to realize that he was watching a bird acting strangely, that the bird was actually an Animagus, it was brought back to the Ministry, and made to change back and reveal his identity and reason for hiding-"

"Does this gripping tale," interrupted Tom snidely, "have a point?"

"I was coming to it," said Harry hotly, shooting him a quelling look, as he hastened to continue, "The mockingbird changed into a wizard, and he died." He snapped his fingers. "Just like that, in a split second. Do you want to know why?"

"I am sure you will tell me," drawled Tom with pointed indifference, "whether I want to or not."

"He died," hissed out Harry irritably, "because in those eight years, he had acquired some of the characteristics of his animal form, unbeknownst to him. He died because a mockingbird dies by the time it hits eight years of age, and the trait the Animagus wizard just happened to acquire was his form's lifespan. When he changed back to a wizard, he was obviously much older than an eight-year-old, so in a second, he turned to bones and dust."

Tom arched a fastidious eyebrow at him. "And this is relevant because?"

"Because there're other examples of similar things happening to Animagus wizards who remained in their animal form for too long!" exploded Harry angrily. "And the same might happen to Slytherin-"

"If that is so, I do not see the problem. A Basilisk can live for over five millennia," cut in Tom coolly. "Slytherin's life will not be endangered-"

"But ours might!" bellowed Harry exasperatedly. "He might have acquired other traits from his Basilisk form that do not concern his lifespan. He might come back deranged, he might come back with basilisk eyes, he might come back with poisonous fangs and a tail and who knows what else!" He shook his head fiercely. "He might come back as not a human at all – don't you see!" He bore his gaze into his brother's, frantically. "Those are the risks I was referring to. We have no way of foreseeing just what Slytherin will return as, if we go ahead with the ritual, brother!"

In utter silence, Tom stared at him for a long moment, before he intoned with lofty arrogance, "I hardly think Salazar Slytherin would be unable to have control over himself when he returns to us." He shot him a sneer. "A wizard like him would not allow himself to become insane-"

"You don't know that!" snapped Harry angrily. "We truly know nothing about him. And even less, how it has all affected him-"

"Furthermore, even if he came back as a madman, or some type of hybrid creature," continued Tom, talking over him in a supremely superior tone, "he would not harm us." He pierced him with eyes narrowed to slits. "I – we are his Heirs. He would not attack us. He will cherish us-"

Harry let out a shout of derisive laughter, sharply guffawing so loudly that he had to choke out his next words, "We – are – halfbloods! He won't see us as worthy! He'll kill us instantly when he realizes that his precious line of pureblooded descendants is gone and that we are the only thing left, you idiot!"

"He would not," hissed Tom in a very low, vibrant voice, a smirk stretching over his face, taking Harry a moment to realize that his brother was speaking in Parseltongue, "because we share his ability. Because, as you say, we are his last surviving heirs." He narrowed his eyes at Harry, a glint of livid anger flashing. "And do not ever mention we are halfbloods again. Our unfortunately besmirched blood shall always be overlooked and, in time, forgotten, as our powers and Slytherin ancestry takes precedence over everything else."

Harry tossed his head to a side like a peeved horse, as he bit out accusingly, "You're purposely deluding yourself just because you want this so bad. And because you're arrogant enough to think that you'll be able to deal with him and anything that happens." He shot him a dour look. "You know perfectly well that nothing can assure us that Slytherin will 'cherish' us."

He paused, pinning his brother with a stern gaze, before he added pointedly, "And what about the things he might want to do once he comes back, huh? Have you thought about that?"

"He would want to continue his research, naturally," drawled Tom with dismissive indifference, before he shot him a wide, superior smirk, "and teach his Heirs, will he not? All his knowledge, all his powers, all his-"

"And he might just as well decide that he wants to become a Dark Lord, just for kicks!" snapped Harry briskly, skewering him with a glowering look. "Come on, brother! You know it's a possibility and you're not even considering it, not even mentioning-"

"According to history books - those that are not biased, of course," sneered Tom tartly, "Salazar Slytherin never showed any inclination or desire to become a Dark Lord-"

"That we know of!" gritted out Harry, his exasperation so deep that he was about to tear handfuls of hair from his scalp. "And maybe it's just because he didn't have the bloody time for it, you prat! What, with his 'best mate', Godric Gryffindor, probably watching his every move, I reckon Slytherin wasn't too keen on proclaiming his true goals in life. Probably, he was just vying for time."

Hopping off the table, Harry stood toe-to-toe with his brother, glaring up at him as he added sharply, "And I would have thought that you'd have enough with one Dark Lord as a future rival for you." He shot Tom a nasty, pointed smirk. "Do you really want to fight your dear, allegedly immensely powerful ancestor for the spot of most fearsome and mighty Dark Lord of all times, as well? Surely you'll have your hands full with Grindelwald, won't you?"

Stilling, Tom narrowed his blue eyes at him, as he whispered stiffly, "Salazar Slytherin would aid me in my ambitions, not thwart them. He would not be a rival, but a supporter and a mentor."

"Are you willing to risk it?" prompted Harry coolly, quirking an eyebrow at him. "Do you really think you could best both Gellert Grindelwald and Salazar Slytherin, if it came to that?"

That, finally, seemed to do the trick, as his brother abruptly clammed up. Tom was glowering at him with incensed hatred etched on his face, but remained silent.

"Right," said Harry airily, doing his best not to reveal his triumphant smugness on his face, though he suspected he was failing miserably, since his brother glared at him even more spitefully and venomously than before.

He jauntily clapped his hands together the next moment, shooting Tom an assuaging, warm smile, and cheerily said, as one offering a tantalizing sweet to a sulking, grumpy child who had suffered a profound disappointment, "Well, now that that is settled, what do you say to a bit of Dark Arts practice?"