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.

64. Part I: Chapter 63

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:

First off, sorry for the long delay. I've had a couple of very busy and hectic months and wasn't able to spare a moment for writing. I can't promise that I'll be able to update frequently from now on, but I'll do my best.

Answering some doubts, this story will be SLASH, as was mentioned before and as all my fics are, thus far. We're certainly seeing some elements of it now that the boys are in their third year and fourteen years old, though nothing will be happening until they are a bit older – expect them all to be more mature when they start their fourth year ;)

On another note, several people told me that chipmunk is not the same as squirrel, that they are different species and all. I had no idea about this but I finally checked on the web and it seems that chipmunks are indeed a type of squirrel, so I'm leaving it as is, alternating between the terms indistinctly to avoid repetition. After all, what I like about chipmunks is their body –with cute black and white stripes- and what I like the most about common squirrels is their puffy, curled tail, so just imagine Alphard's form as a merging of both ^.^

Someone pointed out that Griffins don't breathe fire nor have any dragon-like traits. And I did notice that when I was looking up creatures, but since they are mythological creatures after all and can be whatever our imagination fancies, Griffins in this fic are as what was described in last chapter :P

And Harry doesn't like being Seeker because this Harry is not exactly as canon-Harry, as we have surely realized by now. He has some of the same basic personality traits, of course, but there are many differences between them. One of them being that the Harry of this fic has always been very sociable, having been an orphan in a depressing place, yes, but he was loved and cared for and always had his friends and made them easily. He's used to having people around who like him, not like canon-Harry, so of course that he isn't going to enjoy the Seeker spot, which is quite a lonely one.

Someone asked how could Harry have Slytherin blood if it has been said that Dumbledore long ago, with Gellert, "discovered that Cadmus' descendants had mingled with Slytherin's and Ignotus' with the Potter line."

I'm just following canon here and finding a way of how it could be explained. The point is that Harry is a Potter, Potters who come (as seen in a chapter) from Sidony Slytherin and Ignatius Peverell (descendant of Ignotus), so they must have had an only child, a daughter who married the first Potter, that's why the Slytherin tree line, in a library book found by Tom, pointed out this couple as precursors of the Potter line and why Harry had been momentarily excited when discovering he was 'very distantly related to Charlus Potter' through marriage and not blood, he believes, since Harry doesn't know he's actually a Potter himself.

So, in truth, Harry has Slytherin blood due to Sidony Slytherin –just from one person.

On the other hand, Tom doesn't come from this couple but from the main Slytherin line, meaning that he has almost the entire Slytherin tree line as ancestors. Plus, he comes from the main line which Cadmus' descendants married into, that's why in canon the Gaunts had the Resurrection Stone in a ring, as a heirloom (how they came to have it, in this fic, was explained with the whole Sherisse Slytherin-Morgon Gaunt issue). And why only Tom can be considered Slytherin's true Heir, because Harry only has Slytherin blood from one sole ancestor, who was a woman, while Tom comes from the lot of them, who frequently intermarried each other incestuously, so he has Slytherin blood many times over.

I hope this made sense and clarified matters.

PICS: I've finally gotten around uploading the fanart sent to me. You can find it in my Yahoo Group in Twist of Fate's folder in Pictures. Do check them out, they're brilliant! And leave comments if you can, we all like our efforts to be appreciated :) And thanks to Skarp and Laura again for your lovely fanart :D

You can also find Laura's wonderful sketches at: cj09ck13. deviantart

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Part I: Chapter 63

---

Tom's wand flew into the air, shooting towards him, and Harry jumped to catch it with his free hand, just as his brother, looking startled, spun around to stare at him, his expression immediately contorting into one of rage.

" 'Arry!" croaked Hagrid, though a moment later he was crying out a different name, "No – Aggy!"

The Acromantula had taken its opportunity and sprung out of Hagrid's restraining arms, scuttling at top speed towards the end of the shadowy corridor.

Harry cursed under his breath as Hagrid went madly lumbering after it, shouting desperately.

He hesitated for a split second as he began rushing past his brother – he was so horrified, stunned, and crushed, so thoroughly devastated by Tom's plots, that he didn't know how to react or what to say to him.

He would have liked to ask for his help, so that his brother could aid him in dealing with Myrtle and what she remembered happening. But he couldn't trust Tom any longer, he couldn't trust that he wouldn't try to make Zar kill her again.

So Harry said nothing –not even that Myrtle was very much alive– and he violently hurled Tom's wand back at him, before he sped after Hagrid and the Acromantula.

Tom said and did nothing, even though Harry felt his scar blazing with pain once more.

When he shot a glance over his shoulder as he turned a corner, Harry saw his brother simply standing there, with a wide, vicious smirk of triumph and satisfaction on his face.

He only understood the reason for it seconds later, when panicked screams and shouts erupted, accompanied by the shuffling noises of fleeing footfalls and the voices of teachers clamoring to be overheard and instill some order over the chaotic cacophony.

Further ahead, Hagrid let out a cry of absolute despair, and Harry realized why his brother had done nothing – if anyone had seen the Acromantula running amok, as it seemed to be the case, they would attempt to kill it first and ask questions later, and they would all certainly assume that it had been Aragog who had attacked Myrtle.

Though, Harry frowned as he kept hearing the screams, because they weren't coming from further beyond, but were rather muffled – they were coming from below, from downstairs, and it could only mean that-

Alphard had managed to do it, finally! It must be the Lethifold causing such terrified chaos.

"Aggy, com' back!" shouted Hagrid in a thick, watery, fearful voice.

Harry ran past Hagrid, much quicker and lithe than the hulking half-Giant, and he had nearly reached the scampering Aragog when they heard sprinting footfalls running towards them, sounding very nearby, as though just around the corner.

Hagrid froze behind him, but Harry jumped forwards with a last spur of speed and snatched the Quaffle-sized Acromantula from the floor.

Looking around wildly, as the footfalls began to sound much closer, and especially when Aragog savagely clicked its pincers at him, nearly cutting off one of his fingers, Harry frantically opened the nearest thing he could reach and flung the vicious spider inside.

It had been just in the nick of time, as Harry and Hagrid stood rooted in place as they first saw bright magenta robes appearing, with waving and winking suns hopping all around the fabric, and then the clear figure of Dumbledore, with the hem of his bizarre robes hitched upwards as he sprinted with surprising agility, displaying a matching set of equally horrifying socks, all clashing spectacularly with the wizard's long ginger beard and hair.

Albus Dumbledore was probably the last person Harry wanted to see just then, and he immediately grasped Hagrid's thick wrist by his side, as he urgently whispered under his breath, "If you want to save Aragog, follow my lead – no matter what I say! Understood?"

The half-Giant boy stared at him, before he gave him a jerky nod of his massive head.

Dumbledore abruptly halted a few feet away from them, for a moment looking clearly startled as he caught sight of Hagrid, his bespectacled gaze then landing on Harry, becoming keener.

"It went over there!" gasped out Harry immediately before the wizard could even open his mouth, as he pointed with a trembling finger towards the furthest end of the corridor. "The monster - it escaped in that direction!"

"A monster, you say?" said Dumbledore quietly, intently peering at him over the rim of his half-moon spectacles. "Could you describe it to me, dear boy?"

Harry nodded, swallowing thickly as he murmured, "It was just like the one we saw in Professor Merrythought's lesson. It's called a – Lethifold, I think."

"Indeed?" Dumbledore gazed at him with a slight frown on his face.

"Yes!" said Harry vehemently, as he nudged Hagrid with an elbow. "My friend saw it too, didn't you, Hagrid?"

The half-Giant jumped, as he croaked in a very unconvincing voice, "Let'fold? Oh yeh, a Let'fold it was, professo'!"

Harry doubted that Hagrid even knew what a Lethifold was, and for a moment, as he saw Dumbledore sharply piercing the half-Giant with this gaze, he inwardly groaned because he had forgotten to tell his friend not to look the wizard directly in the eyes.

Tom had long ago said that he suspected Dumbledore of being a Legilimens and Harry didn't want to take any chances.

As the wizard's gaze darted back to him, Harry made a point of nervously staring away, into the end of the corridor where he had said the Lethifold had fled towards.

Hagrid was still looking at Dumbledore with an innocent, guileless expression on his broad, blunt face, but he kept squirming and shuffling his feet, as though feeling highly guilty and troubled, and kept meeting the wizard's piercing gaze, to boot.

However, Harry reminded himself that the half-Giant knew nothing important. Anything the boy could reveal would only condemn Hagrid himself and his nasty Acromantula.

He breathed a little easier after that, though it was cut short when next Dumbledore spoke.

"A Ravenclaw student has been found," said the wizard quietly. "She is very badly shaken and has claimed that she was attacked by a… creature."

Harry blanched as he noticed Dumbledore's gaze darting to a side, to the corridor that led to the girls' bathroom of the Chamber of Secret, and he cursed his stupidity.

He hadn't expected Myrtle to leave the bathroom on her own accord, he had been counting on her fear and cowardice. He should have locked her inside a loo stall – or better yet, stunned the silly girl!

He was confident that his Confundus Charm would hold –after all, he was rather excellent with Charms in general and he had made it particularly strong. Myrtle's recollection of events would always be foggy and confused.

Nevertheless, that didn't mean that a powerful wizard and Legilimens, like Dumbledore allegedly was, wouldn't be able to forcibly glean the truth from her mind – if half the things he and Tom had been reading and studying about the Mind Arts were remotely accurate.

Harry didn't know whether to suspect or not that Dumbledore was capable of doing such a thing to a student – but caution dictated that it was best to believe the worst.

Trying to quickly figure how to wriggle out from the entangled mess, Harry finally said in a grave voice, "I know, professor. My brother and I were the ones who found her when the Lethifold was about to enfold her." He lowered his voice, hoping he was somewhat managing to turn pale, "We scared it and told Myrtle to remain in the lavatory, hidden. I caught sight of the fleeing creature up here, while Tom went looking for it in another direction." He shot a brief look at his friend. "Hagrid crossed paths with me and when I told him what had happened, he offered to help me."

Harry paused to sigh and cast the wizard a sheepish look. "We wanted to find the creature before it could attack again." He ruefully shook his head. "It was very stupid of us, I know."

"I see," said Dumbledore calmly, as he gently laid his hands on their shoulders. "I think it would be best if you came with me. All students are being gathered in the Great Hall until such a time as the Lethifold is found and securely restrained once more."

Hagrid gave a panicked, worried glanced towards the cabinet a few inches away from them and Harry had to restrain the impulse to shout at him. It was painfully obvious that subtlety was not one of the half-Giant's qualities.

As surreptitiously as he could, while Dumbledore began steering them away, he squeezed Hagrid's thick arm comfortingly. Of course, it was a lie. He didn't know whether Aragog was well or not – or if the spider had survived at all.

He had recognized just in which corridor they had been standing, and just in which cabinet he had thrust the vile spider into.

Not an ordinary cabinet at all, but the one that Ulysses had found long ago. The one that Alphard had not allowed Harry to explore, saying that 'vanishing cabinets' were highly unreliable and unpredictable, having fallen into misuse ages ago precisely for that reason.

In truth, if 'Aggy' was floating around somewhere, dismembered, Harry didn't think he would mourn him one bit.

He scowled down at his hand, the very same one Aragog had nearly torn a finger from, and the one that Fawkes had attacked with his beak. It still had deep cuts trailing with blood.

"You're injured," murmured Dumbledore's voice.

Harry snapped his head up to see the wizard's bespectacled gaze fixedly staring at his hand.

His fingers twitched, but he aborted the instinctive reaction of instantly hiding his limb from sight, and merely smiled at the wizard, shaking his head dismissively.

It was impossible to tell given Dumbledore's placid, closed off expression, but the wizard could very well be highly suspicious of him. The man could actually know or suspect rather a lot, especially if Fawkes had gone back to him to communicate all that had happened.

Nevertheless, Harry had the feeling that Fawkes couldn't have possibly dared – at least, not the whole truth.

Myrtle, though, was still a problem.

---

The translucent, vaulted ceilings of the Great Hall were displaying a late evening sky, peppered with faintly twinkling stars, as Harry and Hagrid stepped inside.

Outside of meal hours, the House tables and benches simply disappeared. Though the Great Hall still looked congested as the whole school was gathered there, standing in tightly-packed groups.

Harry caught sight of his brother almost immediately, standing at one corner of the vast room, surrounded by Slytherins murmuring to one another in excited whispers.

Tom, however, stood as still as a statue, a blank expression on his face, only a slight pinch in his jaw muscles revealing to Harry that his brother was agitated and very tense, his dark blue eyes staring straight ahead – towards Myrtle.

The Ravenclaw girl was in the middle of a ring of teachers, wildly gesturing with her hands with much exaggeration, evidently taking pleasure in telling whatever story she was, her screechy voice punctuated by melodramatic wails of fear here and there, making it all look as though she was having the time of her life by playacting some great tragedy in which she was both the victim and the heroine.

The surrounding gossipy students listening to her intently didn't appear to be bothered by her ways, for once – too interested in knowing just what had happened and who was to blame.

Though, apparently, the poor Lethifold still hadn't been caught, because there were a couple of teachers missing, most conspicuous of all for her absence, Galatea Merrythought.

Harry instantly parted ways from Hagrid and Dumbledore, and made a beeline for his housemates.

When Alphard caught sight of him, he looked deeply relieved, though his face then adopted its previous expression, one of anxiety and fear, as his eyes began darting from Harry, to Tom, and the distant Myrtle.

Harry couldn't blame him. The boy was the only one who knew almost everything that had been going on.

He squeezed his shoulder, and shot him a strained grin as he murmured, "Thanks."

Alphard didn't voice a reply, merely nodded his head jerkily and gave him a faint, fleeting smile before returning to his previous jitteriness.

Tom, for his part, was now staring at him with eyes narrowed to slits, a gleam of murderous wrath in them, as he lowered his voice to a barely audible, whiplashing whisper, "Do you realize what you have done by saving the mudblood? Do you realize that you have condemned me to-"

"Shut up," gritted out Harry quietly through clenched teeth as he rubbed his throbbing scar. "And follow me."

"I beg your pardon?" hissed Tom from the corner of his lips, seething.

"We're going to fix your mess," snapped Harry tartly under his breath. "So follow me, and play along."

Tom skewered him with an intense, narrowed-eyed stare, but Harry ignored it as he turned around and slowly made his way towards Myrtle and the professors, seeing that Dumbledore had already joined them.

His brother suddenly appeared by his side, as Harry knew he would, and he muttered from the corner of his mouth, "Tell me, do you know how to cast an Obliviating Charm?"

Tom shot him a highly suspicious look, before he sneered caustically, "Of course I do. It is a vastly useful-"

"Then," interrupted Harry, pushing aside the flare of fury at the discovery that his brother had been learning who-knew how many spells on his own, without sharing them with him. But then again, if there was one thing he had learned that day, it was that Tom had been keeping many, many secrets from him.

"Then," repeated Harry before he continued in a low, sharp whisper, "you will have to cast it on Myrtle, as covertly as possible." He shot him a hard look. "Not too powerful, mind you. Nothing that would seem suspicious-"

"I hardly think you're in a position to tell me how to cast a spell you don't even know," spat Tom under his breath. "I do not need your advice on this."

Harry bristled, but was quick to push his anger to a side, as he finally bit out, "I'll try to give you a chance to do it, alright?"

Tom sneered poisonously at him, but remained silent, just as Harry weaved through the last clutches of students and reached Myrtle.

Her eyes brightened at the sight of him, instantly yanking him forwards and wrapping her arm around his, as she shrieked exultantly, "And he saved me from the monster!"

Harry shot her a quick look, seeing Myrtle gazing adoringly at him, which made him realize that perhaps he had cast the Confundus Charm too strongly, for if she had remotely been in her normal state of mind he didn't think she would be behaving so towards him.

At her declaration, he was immediately assaulted by questions from all sides, from students and teachers alike, and he mumbled his same version of events.

By the end of his narration, Harry flung out a hand and pulled Tom forwards, as he added with an abashed smile, "And Tom helped me to repel the Lethifold – couldn't have done it without him!"

Myrtle's face went stark white at Tom's presence, and for a moment Harry worried that her recollections regarding his brother's true part in the whole matter were much clearer than they should be.

He feared she would open her mouth to say something with the slightest bit of truth to it, especially when he caught sight of Dumbledore sharply gazing at the three of them, but then-

"Oho!" boomed Horace Slughorn, puffing up like a proud uncle, his walrus-like moustache wobbling cheerily. "What a thrilling tale of bravery, m'boys! Very noble indeed. Why-" he glanced around grandiosely, winking jauntily "-it just proves what I have been saying all along, altruism and courage before the face of danger and adversity is not only limited to Gryffindor House!"

Some teachers nodded, though looking slightly surprised by the turn of events of having two Slytherins playing the hero to save a Ravenclaw girl. Perpetua Fancourt, Myrtle's Head of House who had been rather vicious with the Slytherins in her class, was even beaming at them; Slughorn was chortling happily; and the old, withered Headmaster Dippet was smiling very warmly.

Harry was quick to find Miss Nightingale amongst the crowd of professors, and slightly raised his voice, as he shot Myrtle a look and said concernedly, "Perhaps we should take her to the Infirmary. She has been through a lot. My brother and I can take her-"

"That is what I have been saying all along," interjected the Mediwitch, clicking her tongue with exasperation, as she shot a reproachful look at her peers. "The children need a peaceful long night of sleep, and-"

"I would like to have a word with the three of you," interjected Dumbledore gently, peering at them over the rim of his half-moon spectacles. "I will escort you to the Infirmary and-"

"Now, now, Albus!" said Slughorn genially, wagging a chastising finger at him. "The poor girl and our brave lads deserve a bit of rest! We can all hear more about this gripping story in the morn – I, myself, would deeply appreciate to rest my feet a bit with a warm glass of mead in my hands…"

It seemed that Miss Nightingale and Harry were thinking along the same lines, as they both grasped the opportunity of having Slughorn merrily babbling at Dumbeldore, momentarily distracting the wizard, to slip away with Myrtle.

The Mediwitch, undoubtedly, because she had been dying to do so for quite some time, as she clucked at them like a mother hen, quickly veering them through the crowds to slip out of the Great Hall. Harry, because he knew they only had a few seconds before Dumbledore would catch up with them.

"Do it now," whispered Harry curtly under his breath at his brother.

Tom shot him a glower, but instantly did as asked, so well that Harry barely saw the brief, tiny flick of his wand, accompanied by a word murmured so quietly that he didn't catch it.

For a moment, Myrtle's eyes went unfocused and blank, her mouth flapping open, hanging grotesquely, indeed looking as though her brains had been savagely scattered.

Harry shot an alarmed look at Tom, convinced that his brother had been too viciously overeager with his spell-casting, but a second later Myrtle began talking again, looking as 'normal' as she would ever be.

---

"Is there anything you wish to tell me?" Dumbledore said softly, as he peered at him over the rim of his half-moon spectacles.

The wizard had detained him outside the doors of the Infirmary. Tom was already inside, sitting by Myrtle's bedside, playing his part as the concerned Prefect that had saved her, though now he was shooting them glances through the glass windows of the Hospital Wing's doors.

"Not really," retorted Harry, as he stared at the bridge of Dumbledore's crooked nose. He brightened, as he added, "Oh, yes, since they couldn't give us the Quidditch Cup tonight with everything that happened, when will my team have it?"

Dumbledore sighed, his expression one of sorrowful, pained disappointment for a flicker of a second, before he said amiably, "I would expect that the ceremony will take place tomorrow, if there are not any further surprises."

"Great," said Harry, forcing a beaming smile on his face. "Thank you, sir."

Just as he turned to leave, hastily for he still had much to do, Dumbledore laid a hand on his shoulder, as he murmured quietly, "Mr. Riddle – Harry…"

Harry turned around at that, as the wizard continued in a heart-felt voice, "I want you to know that my door will always be open to you, if you ever feel the need to share your worries with someone who is willing to aid you."

He blinked at the wizard. "I know, sir."

Dumbledore silently gazed at him, before he nodded and released him.

Harry shot him a quick smile, and then hurriedly made his way to the dungeons.

And he truly did know: he did want to save Dumbledore as an ace under his sleeve, against Grindelwald, in case he and Tom ever needed protection or saving from the Dark Lord.

However, he was certainly not willing to use Dumbledore against Tom. He would never tell the wizard about his brother's dangerous moments of power-hungry insanity, and the lengths Tom was willing to go to reach his goals.

By the time he reached his common room, he saw that all his housemates were there. He caught sight of a tired-looking Alphard, and instantly approached him.

"What happened?"

"Didn't you hear?" said Alphard with a yawn as he stretched his legs on the ottoman Harry had taken as a seat, right in front of the boy's couch. "Professor Merrythought finally found her Lethifold and we were told we were free to return to our dormitories."

Harry glanced around, quickly casting a Silencing spell around them, before he shot him a worried look. "She doesn't suspect that someone released it, does she?"

Alphard waved a hand. "I don't think so. She had very complex wards guarding her office and trunk – and I didn't break her magic." He sighed deeply. "That's why it took me so long."

"What do you mean? Then how did you do it?" said Harry quizzically, before he shook his head, and added quickly, "Never mind, you can tell me later. Look, I need to ask you to do another thing for me."

Alphard shot him a very wary look. "If you're going to tell me that you want me to break free some other wild beast to create a diversion, I think I'll be passing this time-"

"Nothing like that," scoffed Harry, flapping a hand. "I reckon we've had enough of ghastly creatures for one day. No – this is about Tom. I need you to stall him for me."

Alphard blinked at him, all drowsiness vanishing from his face as he suddenly sat upright, his voice pinched, "Stall - your brother?" He rubbed his face and groaned. "Harry, why do you do these things to your best mate?"

"Look," pressed Harry vehemently. "He'll still be a while in the Infirmary playing nice with Myrtle for his audience of professors, but once he comes back here, you must figure out a way to keep him here for as long as possible." He shot him a grave look. "I must go to the Chamber of Secrets and I don't want my brother going there until I'm done with what I have to do."

"Could you be any more cryptic?" groused Alphard peevishly, before he shook his head and gave him an alarmed look. "And you can't go prancing to the Chamber now! It'd be too risky – the professors might still be on the prowl. I'm sure not even your brother is thinking about going there!"

"Oh yes he is," muttered Harry. "He'll want to see if Zar is alright, at the very least."

Alphard pierced him with his grey eyes, frowning, looking half horrified, half curious. "Why did he do it? Why did your brother want the Basilisk to kill her? I know she's extremely annoying, but…" He trailed off, giving him a speculative look. "Does it have anything to do with the Legend of the Chamber of Secrets? You know – the mission Salazar Slytherin left for his Basilisk to carry out?"

"Something along those lines, yes," Harry replied vaguely, before he cast him a demanding stare. "Look, can you stymie my brother or not? I need an hour at the very least –two, if you can manage it."

"How am I supposed to delay your brother?" interjected Alphard sounding miserable. "He must be in a very foul mood, seeing how you've thwarted whatever he wanted to do with Moaning Myrtle-"

"Just engage him in conversation when he comes back," supplied Harry instantly. "Ask him questions about what happened today, about why he did it and all that rot."

Alphard shot him a dubious look. "I hardly think he'll tell me the truth."

"Of course he won't!" snapped Harry exasperatedly. "This is not about fishing for information – this is about stalling him!"

"Let me get this clear," mumbled Alphard in a weak voice. "You want me – me, probably the only person at school who has any idea what happened today- to prod Tom for more information. When he's already aware that I know more than what's healthy for my wellbeing-" he gave him an incredulous, scandalized look "- and you think I'll survive that? Your brother will blast me to smithereens!"

"He won't." Harry rolled his eyes. "As long as you stay here, surrounded by others, he wouldn't dare harm you."

"I'm not too sure about that," grumbled Alphard under his breath, paling. "I've been hearing some very nasty things…" He trailed off, grimacing, before he sighed deeply. "Look, I rather distract him some other way. I can't ask him about what he did today. I know he'll just vent his vicious temper on me. So give me another option."

Harry shot him an impatient, irked scowl, before he scratched his forehead, trying to think of something that would thoroughly catch Tom's attention.

His green eyes widened a second later, as he whopped triumphantly. "I know! Just lie to him – tell him that what happened the other morning in our loo was more than it was – tell him that you do fancy me but that I'm also your friend, and that you're confused, but that you'd like to-"

Alphard went bright red at that, before he interrupted in a high pitch of hysterical sarcasm, "Oh yes - that will go over fabulously well!" The boy incredulously stared at him with flaming cheeks, as he squawked, "Have you gone bonkers? Did you see the look on his face when he found us together in the bathroom? When he thought that- that-"

Alphard spluttered, achieving such a magenta color, that he looked almost as though he was going to erupt into glowy luminescence.

"Well, I'm out of ideas," bit out Harry hotly. "Take your pick or come up with something else yourself." He deflated, as he shot him a pleading look. "It's really important, Alphie. I wouldn't ask otherwise."

Alphard looked utterly woebegone as he gazed back at him, muttering under his breath, "Fine."

"Yes?" pressed Harry, perking up. "You'll do it?"

"Yes," said Alphard with a resigned sigh, before he straightened his shoulders and nodded firmly at him. "I will. I know I can."

Harry jumped to his feet, shooting him the widest, warmest of smiles. "You're the best of friends, Al. Thanks!"

He instantly dashed towards the entrance of the common room, missing what Alphard mumbled dispiritedly under his breath, "Yeah, 'friends' – great."

Though he did catch the boy's sudden yell just as he was jumping out into the dungeon's corridor. "Oi – I've got your Tinderblast!"

Harry vaguely waved back at him in gratitude, and disappeared, at the time being not caring much about his broom, as he darted towards Hogwarts' library, intent on finding those books of 'Charms for Scribes' he had once glimpsed, along with several others of a different kind.

---

As he paced in the hidden study below the Chamber of Secrets, Harry realized he was completely filthy, and even smelled.

He'd been running around the castle for what felt like hours, ever since returning from the match against Gryffindor, not having bathed or changed out of his Quidditch uniform.

His body was sticky with dried sweat, his mass of disorderly locks of black hair was grimy and oily, his short fingernails were grey with the dirt and soil underneath, and now his face and clothes were additionally being showered with the soot that floated from the immense pyre before him, as the fire crackled and snapped, bending and consuming the many books and parchments within.

No amount of Cleaning Charms would cleanse him completely, and he longed to sink into a hot bubble bath and fall into an exhausted sleep.

But he couldn't afford that, yet.

For what felt like the umpteenth time, Harry flicked his wand, and muttered, "Tempus!"

It seemed as though Alphard had been true to his word and had succeed. Over two hours had already passed by and Tom had yet to appear.

Nagini was resting with the Basilisk in their now shared Lair, and Harry had nothing to do but wait, as his determination to go through with it hardened like a well-honed rock.

It was strange that he was not feeling nervous or filled with misgivings by what he had done. He had thought it would feel like another overwhelming, crushing burden on his shoulders. Instead, it felt feather-light, natural even, because despite the onerous responsibility, he knew he was the only one who could carry it, so he had no other choice.

Harry felt weirdly at peace with himself and the decisions he had made. It was quite liberating, for once.

Dealing with his brother, though, would be an entirely different matter.

Harry shot a glance at the grand fire burning all of the Slytherin descendants' diaries and his brother's translated notes regarding the ritual to liberate Zar from Gryffindor's charm, and then dashed to the threshold.

He stood there, his gaze sweeping over the cavernous study Salazar Slytherin had once carved out for himself in the bowels of the Chamber of Secrets, the very place where the wizard must have conducted his experiments, where succession after succession of his descendants had mused and attempted to find ways to free their ancestor from his Animagus prison, where they had sat down behind the desk and scribbled in their diaries, leaving the last surviving heirlooms of their bloodline – the wealth of information trapped in the dusty, yellowed pages of their journals.

Harry aimed his wand and snapped with utter resolve, for good measure, "Deamon Fyr!"

It was a spell they had just recently read about in Grindelwald's Durmstrang textbooks. Funny that, since the Fiendfyre spell was Gaelic in origin, Old English, yet not taught in their shores but done so in Durmstrang, apparently.

They hadn't been able to practice it, for evident reasons, and it was with some sort of strange pride that Harry realized he had gotten it right in his first attempt.

For a moment, it was beautiful, as flames burst from the tip of his wand, like liquid fire, swirling, merging, fusing, twisting as it formed fearsome shapes, soon blooming into maws of dragons, beaks of manticores, fangs of basilisks, talons of chimeras, all sweeping and ripping and licking every inch of the study like a mantle of hot red swallowing and burning everything in its path, unrestrained, wild, powerful, destructive, reducing everything to cinders.

Chocking on smoke, Harry turned heel and jumped into the spiraling stairway.

The moment he was back in the Chamber of Secrets, he hissed for the metal snake statue to snap back into place, finally forever shutting the access to Slytherin's now destroyed study.

He then paced impatiently, as he patted the stuffed pocket of his Quidditch robes.

Soon, he whipped around as he heard the gnashing sounds of stones grinding on stones, tilting his head to a side as he watched how the mouth of Salazar Slytherin's carved face rippled open.

It was clear that his brother had taken the passage behind the Mirror that led to the caves of Hogsmeade to reach the Chamber of Secrets instead of using the entrance of the girls' lavatory.

Indeed, a moment later, Tom emerged from the gaping stone mouth, for a split second pausing as he looked down at Harry, before he flicked his wand and jumped.

His fall unto the stone floors below was cushioned by whichever spell he had cast, and now they stood in the middle of the Chamber, a far stretch of distance between them as they stared at each other.

Tom's expression was inscrutably hard, whilst Harry knew that his own face had to be black with soot and grime.

For a moment, a strange sort of charged, tense, and dangerous silence stretched over them, as they both sized each other up.

"Quite a mess you've created, little brother -" whispered Tom in a low, flat voice. The words eerily echoed in the vast chamber, breaking the quietness, the soft tone belied by the flash of pain that struck Harry in his scar " - in saving the mudblood's life."

Harry gritted his teeth at that, but with a valiant show of levelheadedness, he reined in his temper and offered his brother a stoic and calm expression.

He had no delusions that this confrontation would go well, yet if they began screaming at each other it would only end even worse.

"You've been keeping a lot of things secret," retorted Harry coolly, pinning him with his eyes, "not only your plot…" He forced his jaw to unclench from anger, before he fished out the sheaves of folded parchments from his pocket, waving them in the air. "But this too."

Tom's dark blue eyes darted to the parchments gripped in Harry's fist, a flash of rage sparking briefly, before his gaze flew back to Harry's face, his expression turning blank. "You had no business going through my translated notes."

"Oh?" said Harry, crooking an eyebrow. "Is that all you have to say about this?" He fulminated his brother with a glower, as he gritted out, "You told me that the diaries contained nothing but instructions of how to carry out the ritual. You didn't tell me that our ancestors had also been writing down spells and curses of their own invention!"

Tom stared back at him in silence, his face as expressionless as ever, clearly undaunted and unaffected by the accusations flung at him.

Angrily waving again the parchments, Harry spat, "So you were planning to keep them to yourself, were you? And you didn't think I also had the right to know? To learn them-"

"Learn them – you?" jeered Tom in an ugly, acid tone, taking angry steps towards him. "You, who flinches when we practice the Dark Arts, who abhors them and have no regard for their power and magnificence-"

"I'm learning the Dark Arts even if I don't like them!" roared Harry furiously, crumbling the parchments as his hand clenched into a shaking fist. "And these spells – I have the right to know about them too, as much as you do!" He shot him a dirty look. "What are they called – er, Parsel-magic or something of the sort? And you didn't think I would want to know about them!"

" 'Parselmagic'?" sneered Tom caustically, abruptly halting before him. "Don't be ridiculous. The spells Slytherin's descendants created do not constitute an independent branch of the Dark Arts but are part of them. They do not use a different kind of magic." He waved a hand dismissively. "They are simply spells whose incantations are in Parseltongue, just like there are many Dark Arts curses in foreign tongues other than Latin-"

"Right," gritted out Harry crisply, stuffing the parchments back into the pocket of his Quidditch robes, noticing how his brother's eyes intently followed the motion, with possessiveness, irritation, and anger. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Tom didn't answer at once and Harry scowled darkly at him, having an inkling nonetheless.

It had been rather a shock when he had discovered the parchments amidst his brother's translated notes of the Slytherin diaries. The hour it had taken him to ruffle through Tom's notes had been the first time he had sat down to read the information for himself, since up until that point he had trusted that his brother had already told him all there was to know regarding the information kept in the diaries.

Imagine his surprise, hurt, and anger when he had seen parchments written in his brother's elegant, looping quillmanship, listing and detailing a whole series of spells and curses he had never heard of before, all with incantations in Parseltongue, many of them nonverbal, some even wandless, all of them quite gruesome and utilizing snakes in the most horridly creative of ways – all for maiming, torturing, or subjugating 'enemies'.

Harry had felt another twist of betrayal when he had realized that his brother had intentionally kept it a secret from him, and it still made him wonder why. Because Tom always liked to hoard juicy knowledge to himself, no doubt, or was it something else?

Because Tom wanted to leave him completely ignorant so that he wouldn't know how to counteract such spells when cast at others or – at him? Was it because he had become quite adept at dodging his brother's Cruciatus Curses and because he could easily throw off the Imperio?

"You have no right to them. Return them to me."

Harry snapped his gaze up to stare at his brother – his brother who had a hard, vicious expression on his face, a hand casually outstretched as though it was a foregone conclusion that Harry would instantly and meekly yield and pass over the wealth of dangerous information.

"I am Slytherin's Heir too!" snapped Harry furiously, his other hand tightening around his wand. "They're mine as much as they're yours-"

"They are not, because you're no-" began Tom in a snarling voice, before he clamped his mouth shut, a sudden frown appearing on his face, his nostrils flaring briefly as he spun around. "What's that smell?"

Harry shot a glance at the row of metal snake statues at their left. There were tendrils of smoke coming from the base of the one that hid the stairs leading to Slytherin's study.

"What-" Tom was instantly striding towards it, instantly slashing his hand open with the tip of his wand to smudge blood on the statue, instantly making the statue shift to a side to reveal the stairs below, and-

"You can't go in there!" shouted Harry in alarm, leaping forth to grab his brother's arm, but he was violently shaken off as Tom ran down unto the stairs.

"Stop, you idiot!" bellowed Harry urgently as he followed at his heels.

They were both soon choking in black clouds of smoke, he could hear his brother frantically casting spells a few steps further ahead, he could barely hear or see anything as he hacked and coughed, until he was abruptly seized by enraged, punishing hands that nearly crushed the bones of his forearm.

"What have you done? WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!"

His brother's wrathful, roaring voice and hot breath was like a slap to the face, and yet for a moment Harry found it extremely and bizarrely funny, ironically and mirthlessly so, making him let out a hallow bark of laughter as those words resonated in his ears, the same words he had shouted at Tom when the Basilisk had struck Myrtle, when he had thought it was all too little and too late and they had killed the girl, Tom directly and he himself indirectly for not having foreseen just to which lengths his brother was prepared to go.

"Now," wheezed out Harry, bringing up a hand to cover his mouth and watering eyes, spluttering a cough, "you can no longer be tempted. Now, you can't ever bring him back."

He couldn't distinguish his brother's face amidst the clouds of smoke and ash swirling and floating about, but it was certain that comprehension must have dawned on Tom, since his brother let out a shriek that sounded like the deranged battle cry of an injured wild beast and he lunged forth into the pit of red and black flames.

"It's Fiendfyre, you dunce!" roared Harry, half panicked, half incredulous with shock as his brother vanished into the furnace.

Tom had to know that only the caster of the spell could make it stop, that there was no other counterspell for it but the will of the one who had cast it.

Cursing angrily under his breath, Harry violently swished his wand in the air. The billowing clouds of smoke and ashes didn't disappear, but the flashes of red flames did, as one lingering form – the head and wings of a cockatrice, Harry thought- sputtered out and finally vanished, leaving nothing behind but absolute silence.

Harry stepped through the threshold, leaving the staircase behind, as he heard his brother's choked, wheezy voice casting spell after spell.

Slowly, the air began to clear, the smoke becoming wisps till it vanished as though sucked out of existence. Finally, Harry blinked through watering eyes to see what was left of the study.

Gone were all the shelves and tables, the rusted old cauldrons and rows upon rows of flasks with withered or rotten potion ingredients. The plain desk and armchair at the furthest end, like all the rest, were nothing but cinders and piles of ashes. The study, which had always looked like a gloomy, damp cavern, looked even more so now, though a blackened, desolated one. The stone walls and floors were hot to the touch, parts of it unnaturally smooth as though the magical flames had fused the rocks together with its destructive high temperature.

And Tom was standing in the midst of it, right in front of where the pyre with the Slytherin diaries and the translated notes had once burned, his dark blue eyes staring down at the ashes, looking deranged and out of orbit, half his head with hair burnt to a crisp, his robes mangled, looking like loose flaps of rags as Harry caught sight of his brother's right arm, the clothes there burned off, as well as parts of his flesh, which now looked an ugly mesh of puckered black and pink skin.

"You're hurt!" breathed out Harry, anxious and angered at the same time, since it was evident that the fool had tried to salvage what he could with his bare hands before Harry had had the chance to dispel the last remains of Fiendfyre.

"It's all gone."

Harry halted the moment his brother spoke in a quiet, distant voice, almost having reached his side, and glanced at him, seeing that Tom was still staring at the pile of ashes with a strange expression twisting his features.

"Yes," said Harry simply, letting out a sigh. After all, that which was destroyed by Fiendfyre could not be repaired or recovered by any means, not even magical ones – the very reason why he had cast the spell in the first place.

"I'll kill you."

Harry blinked, and turned to gaze at Tom, at first not knowing if his brother had spoken at all. His lips had barely moved and it had been a mere whisper, nearly inaudible.

There was no mistaking it, though, when Tom abruptly turned to face him. His brother had the sort of demented expression on his face as the one he had worn the day he had hacked one of the Norwegian Army deserters with an axe, in that twice-be-damned cottage in which they and Ulysses had nearly ended up as food supplies for the crazed muggle men.

It happened so fast, so insanely and swiftly with out-of-control wrath, that Harry could only save himself by reacting without thinking, out of sheer natural reflexes and survival instincts, as his brother rose his wand and screamed something, as his head split open with unbearable, wrecking agonizing pain.

"Impedimenta!" was the first bellowed, panicked word that sprung from his lips as he saw Tom's beam of light careening towards him – he couldn't even recognize what curse his brother had employed, it didn't look like any he had ever seen before.

Whether it was from pure coincidence or because his aim under duress was much better than anyone could possibly hope for, the beam of his spell struck against Tom's straight on, just bare inches before his brother's mysterious –and undoubtedly savage- curse could have reached him.

Yet, nothing could have prepared him for what happened next, as the two beams seemed to fuse with each other at their point of contact, turning golden, as the wand in his hand vibrated like a wild, bucking horse.

Harry had been about to groan and clutch his painfully throbbing scar, though at that, he automatically used his free hand to clutch his wand instead, because he was having difficulties with keeping it in his grasp with one hand alone.

There was a ringing in his ears, and a blinding light, before he realized that something very bizarre was happening. They seemed to be enveloped in folds of warm, golden magic, like a bubble encompassing them both, his wand was thrumming violently in his hands, there was a soft trill rising all around him, beautiful, unearthly, yet strangely familiar, as though he had heard it many times before.

With wild, wide green eyes, Harry stared across from him, catching sight of Tom, who seemed to be in the same predicament as he was. Though, there was not an expression of bewilderment on his brother's face, as he was feeling himself, but one of dawning comprehension, and of fury and hateful resentment.

"What's this?" yelled Harry frantically, for he felt the need to shout since the melodious trill was loud and rising all around him. "What's going on!"

Tom muttered something under his breath, sounding embittered, yet he couldn't catch the words.

Nevertheless, they both gasped and jumped at what happened next. Well, Harry did, while Tom seemed to blanch and stiffen, as things began to erupt from their respective wands, like foggy shapes slowly unraveling and becoming clear.

Harry stared, gobsmacked, as a greyish maw of a dragon spurted from his wand, followed by similar figures – that of the shapes his Fiendfyre spell had taken form of, a mesh of body parts of fierce magical creatures related to fire.

Shooting a quick glance, he saw that something similar was happening with Tom's wand, with the exception that the shape that had bloomed was that of someone vaguely familiar – it was Neron Lestrange, one of their dormmates, who had appeared from the tip of his brother's wand, to become a ghostly form on the blackened stone floors, writhing as though under the influence of some torturing curse.

Harry gaped, since Neron Lestrange's figure was followed by another, a fifth-year Slytherin boy, greyish and foggy in shape, who seemed to be speaking though he couldn't hear what the boy was saying. Though from the figure's expression, the boy seemed to be pleading, before something made him drop to his knees with an expression of pain lacing his features.

Harry's eyes nearly popped when he saw that his own wand had also kept spurting things, just like Tom's apparently was – the next one depicted flying parchments and books, the diaries of Slytherin's descendants in fact, and Harry began to understand just what was being replayed.

Utterly frenzied and panicked, he tried to hide it from Tom's sight, though the next moment he realized it wasn't necessary. His brother was staring at the things erupting from his own wand with an outraged and slightly panicked expression of his own, his dark blue eyes darting from the figures to Harry and back, clearly not too enthused by what was being revealed.

Nevertheless, Harry was quite in the same conundrum of wanting to hide his own past actions from his brother too.

"Break the connection!" bellowed Tom's voice in a snarling tone. "We must break it now!"

Harry wasn't quite sure what 'connection' his brother was referring to, exactly, still dazed and startled by it all, but he did attempt it nonetheless, with no clear idea of how to do it. He merely began to copy what Tom was doing.

He saw his brother trying to yank his wand up, and Harry followed suit with his own. It was a veritable struggle, as their two beams of light seemed to be tying their wands together, as the trill rose to a high-pitch as though protesting against their attempts, as the wand in his hands shook so hard that his whole body was being rattled, his teeth clattering together.

With a last cry of effort, Harry jerked his arms up with all the strength he could muster, and suddenly, he found himself flat on his bottom on the scorched floor.

The trill of a Phoenix had abruptly vanished along with the golden dome of magic and the locked beams of light, leaving nothing behind but silence broken by their haggard pants of breath.

Tom was supporting himself against a wall, looking utterly disheveled and winded, whilst Harry merely sat there, sprawled, as he caught his breath.

"What the bloody hell," he wheezed out, as he clumsily picked himself up from the floor, "was that?"

"Priori Incantatem," spat Tom irritably as he flung himself away from the wall, shooting him a seething glower.

"Prio-what?" Harry blinked at him, nonplussed.

"What happens when two brother wands duel against each other, you imbecile!" snarled Tom furiously, looking livid. "It makes the linked wands regurgitate the last spells cast, in reserve order."

"Er – what?" Harry then shook his head. "You're making no sense. We've dueled plenty of times before and nothing like this has ever happened-"

"We've never dueled," sneered Tom acridly. "We've taken turns to cast spells at each other when we practice the Dark Arts, yet we've never cast spells at each other at the same time."

Harry stared at him, taking him a moment to realize that his brother was right. "Um, right… er, so?"

"So, you lackwit," spat Tom angrily as he shot Harry's wand a very foul look, "Priori Incantatem, or reverse-spell effect, as it is also known by, only happens with a simultaneous spellcasting by two parties with twin wand cores. It triggers an effect whereby both wands are linked through separate threads of spell energy. The two wand holders then compete in a battle of wills, in which the loser's wand is forced to display in ghostly form the spells which had been cast by said wand, in order of most recent to least."

Harry frowned at him at that, utterly befuddled. "But we didn't have a 'battle of wills', did we? Neither of us won or lost, did we? Both our wands began spurting stuff-"

"True," interrupted Tom, frowning darkly before he shot him a poisonous look. "Yet we must have reached some sort of stalemate, since it's clear that neither of us wanted the other to see our respective reserve-spell effects. That must have been the trigger." His dark blue eyes narrowed to slits. "What are you hiding from me?"

"Who have you been torturing and why?" retorted Harry crisply, before he cast him a suspicious, curious look. "And how come you know all this stuff?"

"Because I looked into it," bit out Tom tartly, "during our first year. I found it very… peculiar, when Ollivander told us our wands had twin cores. I researched the matter to understand the consequences of my wand having a feather of the same Phoenix as yours."

"Oh - right," muttered Harry, rubbing his aching forehead. "Twin cores – feathers… a phoenix's…" He trailed off, deeply frowning at the wand in his hand, shooting it an intrigued and speculative look. "I'd forgotten about that."

There was a rustling sound of swishing robes, and Harry glanced up just as Tom halted before him, his brother's expression dark and livid, as he hissed out a in very low and ominous tone, "Do not think, however, that there isn't a way around this! Do not think you're safe from my retaliation just because we happen to have twin wands."

Harry stiffened as he gave him a baleful glower. "Retaliate away, brother. There's nothing I've done so far that I regret." He shot him a nasty, smug look, as he added pointedly, "In fact, I'd like to see you try. Let me see just what you've been up to and why I saw Lestrange's figure writhing on the floor – why don't you show me again?"

Tom let out a sharp, grating chuckle that instantly made the small hairs on Harry's nape stand up, as his brother slowly fingered his wand and drawled, "Do you actually believe I need my wand to make you pay for your actions of today?" His dark blue eyes flashed with ire, as he spat murderously, "I could smite you with a thought, little brother – I require no wand for that!"

Doing his best to remain undaunted, Harry guffawed jeeringly. "Sure. Go right ahead."

"Have you forgotten about Dennis Bishop?" whispered Tom as he took a step closer, now leaving them barely half an inch apart. "And Mr. Jenkins? And what I did to the disgusting muggle men in the cottage – along with what I did in the Norwegian Ministry of Magic? And the many other things I've never told you about?"

Harry paled instantly at that, because for a moment, he had. And he liked even less that last bit about unknown things that Tom had done without him being aware. The writhing figure of Neron Lestrange left little to the imagination, just as he remembered what Alphard had said to him in the common room, a few hours ago – referring to 'rumors about nasty things' Tom had been doing.

"You'd never dare do something like that to me," Harry then whispered in a brave attempt to seem nonchalant, as he squared his shoulders and pierced him with his green eyes. "You told me once, after Norway, that I should never fear you, no matter the things you did, no matter the things I saw you do."

"I lied, obviously," sneered Tom contemptuously, a very ugly expression contorting his handsome features, "and you were too much of an imbecile to even realize it."

"Sure, you tell yourself that," bit out Harry with a nasty snort, as he crossed his arms over his chest, yet kept his wand in hand. "It makes it easier, doesn't it?" He shot him a dirty look. "You were telling the truth!"

"Is that what gives you the deluded notion that I will not make you pay for today?" jeered Tom viciously, his hand visibly tightening around his wand, as though highly tempted to use it mercilessly against him, yet wary of the repercussion lest the connection erupt once more.

Looking quite demented in his seething ire, Tom roared without a pause, "You thwarted my plans to revive Slytherin! You destroyed the knowledge required to conduct the ritual - the heirlooms of my bloodline! The fruits of my heritage which only I have a right to, which only I know how to value and employ, which were bequeathed to me by the power of my blood and magic - Lord Slytherin shall not forgive these trespasses!"

Harry gawked at him, for a moment unable to find his tongue in sheer stunned incredulity.

"Speaking of yourself in third person? Are you hearing yourself? Have you gone mad!" he finally spluttered, half in disbelief, half furious, as he jabbed a finger hard into Tom's chest. "You sound deranged!"

"I. will. not. forgive," hissed out Tom as he loomed over him like a menacing harbinger of doom, his voice lowering into highly dangerous, quiet tones, as he spat, "You asked me for absolute truth, complete honesty, remember, little brother? That day when we returned from Norway, when I saw myself in the artifact you called the Mirror of Desires, when I saw myself as the greatest, mightiest Dark Lord of all times, a true force of change in both the Wizarding and Muggle World!"

Tom's handsome features contorted with feverish, maniacal passion for his own lofty ambitions of greatness, before he continued in a livid tone, "You said, that no matter what, you wanted to know my mind – no matter how 'evil' my ideas were, you wanted to hear them first, that you could handle it. That's what you asked for, that's what I gave you! Yet you refused to listen to my desire to bring back Salazar Slytherin - I've held my end of the bargain, you have not!"

Shaking his head in disbelief, Harry finally scoffed acidly, "So that's why you went behind my back – plotting to make Myrtle the first sacrifice for the ritual, planning on pinning it on my friend Hagrid? That's your excuse! That I didn't listen?"

"I need no excuses – I need not justify myself to you," snarled Tom irately. "You should be loyal to me, and only ME – your own brother!"

"I'm trying," snapped Harry hotly, gritting his teeth, "but you're making it extremely difficult!" He pointed a furious, accusing finger at him. "You tried to kill a student today, Tom! When we had agreed before that we wouldn't go through with the ritual, that bringing Salazar Slytherin back was too dangerous, too risky-"

"I never agreed!" thundered Tom, looking beside himself with outraged wrath and a clear need to vent his fury by means of violence.

"Fine, you played along, then, making me believe you had finally seen sense," spat Harry angrily, as he briskly waved a hand. "Same thing." He shook his head, brimming with exasperation and incomprehension. "I don't bloody well get it. I know you understand all the things that could go wrong if Slytherin is broken out of Gryffindor's charm, I know you can see that Slytherin would be a liability and threat to us – and you still tried to have him back! Why?"

He shot his bother a gauging, speculative look. "He'd be a mentor to us – to you, in particular – you said once, as though that's what you wanted the most, but for that we'll have Grindelwald by the look of things. So what else is it?" He frowned at Tom. "A father-figure, then? Is that what you would like Slytherin to be for you? Because if it's a father you need, we can still look for our real one-"

A strange sound erupted from the back of Tom's throat, a half shriek of fury, half cry of savage, incensed rage, as Harry suddenly found himself pinned to the scorched wall behind him, so abruptly and shockingly that his wand had dropped from his hand, as his feet dangled in mid air, as he wrapped his hands around his own throat that felt as though it was being constricted by an invisible force.

He only began to have the first wisps of comprehension, as he dangled half a foot above the floor, pinned against the stones at his back, when he glimpsed the hazy blue glow surrounding his brother, when he saw Tom's deranged, twisted look of infuriated madness, the outstretched hand, the wandless magic pouring from it, grasping Harry's throat, pressing, suffocating, as he flailed and kicked his legs and struggled for breath, as Tom's face inched closer to his, as his brother seethed, "I need no father. I need no one! And I don't need you either, after this."

"Let – go!" spluttered Harry as he attempted a kick at Tom's shins, his hands grappling in a vain attempt to peel the magic strangling his throat.

"I don't need a disobedient companion," hissed out Tom, his features ugly and crazed as the pressure around Harry's throat began to turn overwhelming and crushing. "I no longer have a use for you now that you've shown yourself to be a backstabbing enemy instead of an asset."

"I'm – your – brother!" wheezed Harry through a nearly crushed windpipe, never having felt more outraged or furious, flinging out a fist to attempt to seize Tom by the hair, to tear him away. "Geroff!"

Tom let out a bout of chuckles that sounded half crazed to Harry's ear, as he spat in a merciless and vicious voice, "You are no brother of mine, you fool. It was all a-"

At that, seeing red, Harry didn't think about it twice. One moment, Tom's exceptionally well controlled wandless magic –the fact that his brother could so easily turn it against him, making him reel with shocked hurt– had been strangling and pinning him against the wall, the next second, clearly taken utterly by surprise, Tom and his magic weren't prepared to hold a magical creature against its will.

Swiftly, after such long practices with Alphard, Harry had turned into his Animagus form, out of panic, desperation, and sheer rage at his own brother's words –to go to such lengths as to renounce him as a brother, the gall!- and as a Griffin, he made short work of it.

A blast of fire erupting from his screeching beak made Tom stagger backwards, a startled and stunned expression breaking through his previously demented one, as Harry wasted no time and knocked his brother to the floor with a powerful swing of his right wing.

Tom toppled over like a checkmated piece of chess, whilst Harry immediately dropped to the ground on his four paws and swiftly transformed back, leaping to grab his wand.

Swirling around before his brother had the chance to regain his bearings or wits, Harry roared, "Imperio!"

Tom made a bizarre and pitiful figure, sprawled there on the floor with cloudy, dilated eyes, half his hair burnt, his usually impeccably neat robes scorched, his right forearm with peels of charred skin – Harry shook his head at that, knowing his brother had been damn right lucky in his brush with Fiendfyre flames. The contact must have been brief and slight, just before Harry had dispelled it all, or Tom would be missing one limb at the very least.

Nevertheless, the sight of his brother in such a vulnerable and pathetic state brought him no pleasure but a sense of grim dejection. He had never thought it would reach such point. And he was certain that Tom had been ready to do much worse to him.

Harry frowned at that, as he raked a hand through his grimy hair. He had underestimated Tom's desire to bring back Salazar Slytherin. Underestimated that his brother could behave so recklessly and insanely when seeing that the diaries and translated notes had been destroyed.

And clearly, he must have struck a cord when stating that Tom wanted Slytherin as a father-figure.

His brother's violent, extreme reaction to that had been utterly unexpected. Who could have possibly suspected that such a 'sentimental' need had resided in his brother's small, dark, withered heart, after all.

Harry sighed, as he contemplated his brother. Well, it would be like Tom to decide that if there was anyone worthy to be his father, it would be none other than Salazar Slytherin himself.

Though Harry still thought that his brother was purposely blinding himself, through sheer arrogant confidence in his own powers and wits, to believe that he could possibly handle someone like Slytherin.

Nevertheless, a sort of pang twisted his insides as he mused over the fact that Tom had wanted a father-figure in his life, in whichever capacity. Hadn't he been the same, when it had come to Alice and Robert Hutchins, ready to do anything to have them as parents, the only two he had loved and considered best for the position?

He couldn't say that Tom 'loved' Zar, but perhaps there had been longing nonetheless – a pining desire for what could have been.

"I can't let you have Slytherin," Harry muttered in a whisper, as he stared at his brother's docile, unmoving form, "but I could give you our true father."

It had been their plan to find the man, after all, what seemed like ages ago. But Alice and Hutchins' deaths, followed by their enforced adoption by Konrad Von Krauss had derailed all that.

Perhaps it was time to pick it up again. He still had the list that Robert Hutchins had made, with the help of Old John Bryce and their acquaintances in the North of England, from their days of working in factories in Manchester and Liverpool. A list of names and addresses, of Gaunts they had heard of, living in those areas – in the area Salazar Slytherin had hailed from, ages ago.

He and Tom had discovered that Sherisse Slytherin and Morgon Gaunt's ill-begotten son had been John 'of Ghent', known by the muggles as the first Duke of Lancaster. The wizard passing himself off as the youngest son of the muggle English king of the time – certainly in the hopes of having an easy, lavish life amongst muggles.

The man had left quite a trail, with his use of the Egeriana Rose as the symbol of his alleged 'House of Lancaster', the very same flower Salazar Slytherin had used when discovering its magical properties in Potions-making, the flower one of his descendants had used as a crest when founding the True Blood Alliance – the group of radical blood purists that was now lead by Abraxas Malfoy's grandfather, Harry knew, from what the Prewett's twins had told him, the old codger dealing a slap to Abraxas' own Veela ancestry from his mother's side. The very rose that the muggles had adopted as their own, and knew as the Tudor Rose.

It all indicated that John Gaunt had used the Egeriana Rose as a symbol of pride in his own Slytherin ancestry, and the devious wizard must have gone back to the Wizarding World when he couldn't keep up the charade of being a suspiciously young duke amidst the muggles, as decades passed by. And the wizard must have established himself in Lancashire, the home of his Slytherin ancestors.

Yes, Harry decided, a trip to Lancashire was a must, with Hutchins' list in hand, to follow the trail and see where it led – hopefully, to their father, alive and well. And he could gift that to Tom, in compensation.

Having to spend all his holidays in Germany with Konrad Von Krauss would make the matter tricky, but he would find a way. Moreover, who else could help them break free of Von Krauss' legal ties to them but their very own father, if the man was still alive. Surely a biological father could contest and trump an adoption.

Harry brightened at that, never having thought of that possible solution before. It was a bit of a stretch, but something worth exploring. Especially now when a meeting with Grindelwald seemed inevitable, like the maws of a lion closing down on them like a trap vise.

Nevertheless, there was still much to do before all that.

Harry crouched on the scorched floors, by Tom's side. With a flick of his wand, he made his brother's burned hair grow back –he had heard Slytherin girls using the hair-lengthening charm often enough when the fancy struck them to use different hairstyles– and then proceeded to repair his brother's fancy school robes.

He hesitated when it came to his brother's burned forearm. Hair was one thing, but he wasn't sure that a Fiendfyre skin burn could be healed, even a superficial one like Tom's. And even if it could be…

"You'll never do anything to heal this wound," Harry said quietly as he aimed his wand at his brother's head, clenching his jaw with determination as he gazed into Tom's cloudy eyes. "You'll remember how you got it. Every time you see it, you'll remember that the Slytherin diaries and your translated notes are gone. You'll know you will never be able to release Salazar Slytherin, and you will not try it ever again."

It was a fit punishment, Harry decided. And more importantly, it would make Tom desist from his mad, student-murdering plans.

"You'll remember everything that has happened today," he continued, his voice turning firmer, "even that I've used the Imperius Curse on you. I want you to know, it's only fair. The only thing you'll never recall is that I transformed into a Griffin, nor this particular instruction."

Harry tilted his head to a side, trying to think of a way in which Tom's mind could unwittingly find a loophole around it, and became satisfied when determining that it couldn't happen.

If his brother was ready to use his wandless magic against him, and even Parselspells that he hadn't allowed Harry to learn thus far, then he was certainly keeping his own ace under his sleeve. And his Griffin form had finally proven to be useful when in a tight spot, that day.

"You will go to our dormitory without being caught. You will get into your bed. And you'll instantly fall asleep. When you wake up tomorrow, you'll remember what I've instructed you to remember," Harry said poignantly. "And if you want to fight, you'll seek me out, and we'll fight."

He sighed, wearily carding his fingers through his dirty hair, as he added with sharp vehemence, "But you will also remember that I am your brother, that I have done nothing but help you, and that our common enemy isn't each other, but Grindelwald."

He paused to dig into his pocket, fishing out the stack of parchments and ruffling through them until he divided them into two halves, sticking the first sheaf into Tom's own robes.

"That is the list of Parselspells, I never meant to steal them from you," Harry said in a soft voice. "But keep in mind, I now have my own copy of them, and I will learn them all. This is the only thing that remains from the information held in the Slytherins' diaries. Now, go."

Immediately, Tom picked himself off the floor, straightened up and then turned around. Like a weird automaton, he quietly and smoothly began to climb the stairs, as Harry watched him with a pang of pained distaste twisting inside his chest.

It was a ghastly sight to behold. Never would he have thought that he would have used the Imperius Curse against his own brother in such a way, heinously so, even. Yet, he would do whatever was necessary.

Tom, by morning, would be more livid than ever before –still not being able to throw off his 'little brother's Imperio' was a sore spot for him. Nevertheless, Harry hoped the very fact of it would instill some wariness in his brother.

Tom could strangle him with his wandless magic, could use Dark Arts spells Harry still hadn't learned, and could be a right nasty, demented berk, but Harry could and would Imperio him whenever he got out of hand.

Hopefully, the lesson would sink in, no matter if Harry would have to deal with his brother's outraged, vicious temper as a consequence when Tom realized it.

Certain his imperioed brother could deal on his own in getting back to the dungeons without being caught out of bounds after curfew, Harry finally stood up and contemplated the destroyed study.

With a few, brisk strides, he stood at the farthest end, where once had stood Slytherin's desk.

Counting the slabs of stone forming the floor in that spot, now blackened, he finally tapped one with his wand.

A thin, strained smile hitched the corners of his mouth, as it irresistibly reminded him of his small hidey-hole in their bedroom in the orphanage, under a wood floorboard, where he had once stashed his most treasured possessions. Tom had known about it, at the time, but he would never know about this new one.

He had charmed the slab of stone with the very same keyphrase he had used for the journal Tom had once gifted him with for their birthday. The journal which he was keeping up-to-date with all his discoveries and endless succession of life-altering events, as a way to organize his mind, to remember every tidbit of information and see the links, because he was coming to understand that it all formed a net that Santi had wanted him to unravel, and he was finally beginning to do so, slowly.

The keyphrase he had coined at the time for his journal had been, he now admitted ruefully to himself, whimsically childish: a play on his brother's 'lesson' of how the world worked, a streak of rebelliousness against it, from his part.

He no longer believed in the notion. How could he, after everything that had happened?

Yet, with a sort of darkly amused grin, he intoned, "There's only Power and those so stupid that seek it."

The slab of stone shifted to a side, revealing quite a deep and wide space. It made him think of his bedroom in the orphanage, probably long gone now with the series of Blitzs that had struck London. It even made him think of Robert Hutchins' secret coffer behind the poster of Lenin, where he and Tom had found the deeds of the cottage the man had bought for himself and Alice, planning on their marriage and their adoption of Harry and Tom, to live by the seaside, close to Old John Bryce.

Pushing those bittersweet memories to a side, Harry peered down at the stack of Slytherin diaries. The originals, along with his brother's translated notes.

Before waiting for his brother's arrival, he had spent one hour in the library and another down there, working hard and fast. The books on Charms for Scribes had allowed him to find the spells required to make exact replicas of the notes and diaries. The tomes on Magical Masonry and Ward-casting, had allowed him to carve out the secret hidey-hole and spell it with the most powerful charms imaginable.

The keyphrase, he had used for sheer funny irony. The spell that bound his very own soul to the secret hiding place, had been a necessity.

Using Parseltongue and his own blood as a way to ward the spot would be a moot point, since it was against Tom he wanted to protect it the most. Gratefully, no matter if they were twins, the powerful charm would never confuse anyone else's soul, not even his twin's, with his own.

Useful, strange little spell that he had found in one of the library books: Fidelius Charm, a secret bound and protected by a living soul, only to be shared with other chosen ones by the will of the first Secret Keeper.

Satisfied, Harry flicked his wand and closed the trove of treasures.

In the end, he hadn't been able to burn the originals. He had struggled against it until he admitted that he had no right to do so. To him, they were as priceless as they were for Tom, though for vastly different reasons.

Nevertheless, Tom had always been right in his notion about them: they were the Slytherins' true heirlooms. The only thing left of their line.

Who was he but just one more descendant? He would preserve them in secret, for those who could deal with the knowledge without misusing it. And someday, perhaps, who knew, maybe someone would find a way of releasing Slytherin without needing to murder thirteen people for it, whilst minimizing the risk that a free and self-aware Salazar Slytherin would represent for the world at large.

For his part, Harry was done. He was now, truly and simply…

"The Keeper of Secrets," Harry mumbled quietly under his breath.

Too many of them, at that, but it was a title truly fitting the place and circumstances, he thought wryly.

Finally, he glanced down at his wand as he made his way back to the main castle, a frown on his face. "Phoenix feather. Right."

Indeed, the recollection of the trill still lingered and echoed in his mind. He knew that singing tune, knew it only too well.

---

Harry shook his head, letting out an exhausted sigh. A Tempus Charm informed him that it was well past two in the morning, and yet he wasn't still quite done for the night.

The castle was deadly silent, everyone placidly snoring their night away no doubt, though there he still was, now having halted before the vanishing cabinet Ulysses had once found in their exploration of Hogwarts.

Harry wasn't quite certain what he was doing there. He had no wish to discover what had become of Aragog, and much less risk his own skin in saving the nasty thing from wherever it was – if it was indeed still alive, and he half hoped the beast wasn't.

However, he owed it to Hagrid, since everything that had happened that night had been his own brother's fault, including Hagrid's predicament.

And thus, Harry's own fault, because he should have never told Tom about Zar being Salazar Slytherin. Because he had shoved temptation down Tom's throat and expected him not to choke on it. And of course, it had all been too immensely juicy and his brother had indeed gorged and choked, to the point of nearly causing several deaths, if not his own.

Harry still shuddered to imagine what would have happened if Tom had been caught in the act of putting his horrid plot into action.

He shot another wary glance at the cabinet and finally took off one of his Quidditch boots. With extreme care, as though handling a hot iron, he opened the door of the cabinet and stuck his boot inside, quietly slamming it shut once more.

After waiting for a few seconds, Harry opened the door again and took a peek inside. He didn't know whether to groan or cheer when he saw nothing but its black depths. His boot was gone.

Only hoping that it meant that it didn't destroy solid matters in general, whether breathing, living ones or not, Harry armed himself with valor and stuck his socked foot inside.

When nothing happened, he finally proceeded to slip his whole body in, feeling quite uncomfortable and stupid as he grabbed the latch of the door.

He slammed it shut and waited with scrunched eyes, nothing but shallow silence and darkness encompassing him.

Harry frowned as he opened his eyes once more. He hadn't felt a thing. It was evident that the vanishing cabinet had broken long ago and it didn't transport people to its counterpart any longer.

Feeling partly relieved, he pushed the inside of the door and clumsily climbed out. He froze though, when he felt unfamiliar magic permeating his surroundings, a heavy, filthy smelling air tickling his nostrils, a wash of heat flaming his already dirty and sweat-sodden skin.

Gulping with uneasiness, Harry raised his wand, before he checked himself just in time. He couldn't possibly do magic if he no longer was at Hogwarts or his Trace Charm would notify the Ministry. And it definitely didn't feel as though he was in the castle any more.

Nearly groping blindly in the dark, he stumbled against several sharp edges of unfathomable things as he tried to carefully tiptoe towards a faint glimmer of light.

"Aragog?" whispered Harry in a tense, hesitant voice. "Are you here?"

Nothing answered him, though he heard things scuffling, rustling or giving what sounded like faints moans and groans from all sides as he made his way through what seemed like some sort of disorderly, clustered aisle.

When he reached the dim source of light, he realized it was coming filtered through a heavy set of very dirty drapes. Tugging one of the curtains to a side, he finally realized he was staring through a wide and large window, having a view of a crooked, rusted street lamp in an alley – a very narrow, twisty, and grimy alley, with closed window-shops facing him.

Leaving the curtain partly open, Harry spun around, as the dim light washed his surroundings, and he gaped.

He'd never been inside this particular shop before, but seen it from the outside. He recognized it at once, and nearly tripped in his haste to reach the nearest window display.

There it was, a very small, dusty cushion – it had once held a rather gaudy, golden locket inlaid in green stones forming an S shape. It had once held Slytherin's locket, though it was not any longer. Now it displayed a small silver dagger looking smudged and stained with age and dried bits of blood.

"Borgin and Burke's," mumbled Harry under his breath, stunned and marveled.

A vanishing cabinet in Hogwarts that hadn't been used in ages, led to another one in Knockturn Alley itself!

It was incredible, for the danger, but more so, for the vast spectrum of opportunities that it represented.

If he had only known about this before, he would have had an easy way to reach London, to leave the school without being noticed, to have never had the necessity to approach Professor Tilly Toke – he could have found a way to get to Norway from London, without asking for any aid, without resulting in the death of his once most esteemed and favorite teacher and…

Harry suppressed that line of thought with incredible effort, knowing he was torturing himself and wasting time with what-ifs that no longer mattered, and scanned the store with his gaze once more.

He was itching to explore it in full, but now –as he had never been able to do so before- he clearly saw the magic of the wards that spread around the dusty little shop. He wasn't about to test the proprietors' security measures, yet he so wanted to know what had become of Slytherin's locket!

Had that rich lady that Professor Slughorn had told them about finally won the auction for the locket?

Biting his lower lip in sheer temptation, Harry finally restrained himself and glanced about once more, purposefully. "Aragog, I know you're here, come out!"

A slight scuffling sound made him jerk in attention, and Harry leaped into one of the aisles, seeing a blur of something black and hairy scurrying away.

"Come here, you pest!" Harry snapped as he swooped down on it.

He soon had a handful of a furry Acromantula threateningly clicking its pincers at him.

"You just nick me and I'll use you as potion ingredients," bit out Harry angrily, as he gave Aragog a hard shake. "Your poison is quite rare and pricey, did you know?"

"I want Hagrid," Aragog said in his disturbingly grave and deep voice, as his six pairs of beady, dull black eyes stared at him. "Where is Hagrid?"

"He's back at Hogwarts, asleep I hope," retorted Harry dryly. "If you want him back then I have to take you to the castle, to your cupboard-"

"I will not stay in the cupboard," interrupted Aragog in a slow, dragging voice, making Harry's skin crawl as the beast's furry belly rasped against the flesh of his hands. "It is not safe. There is something evil-"

"Something evil in the castle – yeah, yeah," said Harry in a tired, fed up monotone, "I heard it all before. Look, you'll just have to spend tonight in the cupboard. By morning, I'll convince Hagrid to release you into the Forest. That's what you've been hankering for all along, isn't it?"

"Forest? Yes," said Aragog gravelly, boring his six pairs of eyes into his, as though gauging how truthful Harry's offer was. "I will make a fitting home for myself, amidst the woods."

"Peachy," muttered Harry sarcastically under his breath. "I'm sure the Centaurs will be thrilled. Now, no biting, or I'll leave you here to rot. I'm sure Borgins could get a good sum for you."

"I'll… behave," consented the Acromantula, sounding slightly reluctant, one of its pincers clicking as if involuntarily tempted to take a snip off Harry's nose.

Harry shot the beast a suspicious, scrutinizing look, before making his way back to the cabinet, casting a lingering look of longing at the shop's wares over his shoulder.

Some other day, with any luck.