Harry had awoken early the next morning to find that everything around his new Slytherin dormitory was pitch black. He wondered for a moment whether it was yet morning. Perhaps his dreams had scared him awake before he could even get a few hours sleep… but when he checked his watch, it was only about forty-five minutes before the others were supposed to wake up. He then remembered how they weren't in a tower of the castle, but instead were under the lake, so no sunshine could find it's way to where he lay. He decided to get up and get changed, for he was quite aware that three quarters of an hour trying to sleep wouldn't make him any less tired.
He caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror on the other side of the room once he was ready for the day, and though he couldn't see his face very well in the dim light, he felt a little disgusted with having to wear Slytherin robes now. He had been taught for six years at Hogwarts to automatically despise anyone who wore the handsome collection of silver and green… but then again, he hated himself quite a bit, so perhaps it really shouldn't be such a shock to him that he should find himself in these robes, with this tie and sweater. He left the dormitory.
Once he was out of the dark scenery of the Slytherin Common Room, he made his way up a few flights of stairs and onto the first floor. Early morning sunlight could be seen when he reached this section of the school, so he decided to take a long walk before breakfast, to prepare him for getting back into the mindset needed for school. It calmed him greatly to walk, and gave him time to get over his new nightmares that haunted him in the night. But, of course, sight of Tom Riddle and the Death Eaters at the Slytherin table at the breakfast later on made anxiety fill him without warning, so he wasn't as social as he should have been.
When Harry had been at the Leaky cauldron, Hogwarts had sent him some tests to do, to be sure that he capable of handling the N.E.W.T. level classes he was taking. They hadn't wrote him back a reply, which made him worry vaguely, but it seemed as though he was qualified for all the classes he had wanted to take, for timetables were handed out to all the students at the Slytherin table, and he had been given the classes he expected. Harry had wondered, when he was taking the test at the Inn, whether or not he might accidently write about discoveries the Wizarding World hadn't yet made, so he tried to be careful and not add in anything discovered after the forties. He was pretty sure that no one had noticed that though – and if they had they would just think that he was mistaken, until a few years time when it is learnt, and they forgot.
Harry's first class of the day was Potions. Nott, Lestrange and Riddle were all taking the class with him, and though that was a little annoying to Harry, it was expected. When Harry entered the classroom not long after breakfast, he found that it looked exactly as it always had, with the exception of where the objects in the room were placed. It could have been the same classroom Harry sat in two years before, with the same Professor but different students… Slughorn, who was standing behind his desk at the end of the room, looked the same as he had in the memory that Dumbledore and Harry had watched so readily. It was quite an odd sight to see, in full honesty. Harry felt as though this was just another memory, but he knew that wasn't at all possible. He sat down with everyone else.
Slughorn welcomed the class to another year of potions, and congratulated them all on making it this far. Harry listened without much enthusiasm as the Potions Master explained how throughout the year they were all going to be making a number of complex potions, starting with PolyJuice Potion. Harry knew that he wasn't going to be good at this long and insightful potion, even if he had seen the real thing a million times, and watched Hermione brew it perfectly with a little of his and Ron's help in their second year. He tried to pay a little more attention as the Professor asked questions, for he knew that he'd know the answers mostly. But then again, did he really want to get points for Slytherin? Mention of the PolyJuice potion made him think about Ron and Hermione, and he couldn't help but be indulged in memories…
"What about you Smith? Smith?"
Harry looked up slightly later that what would be considered normal, and saw the Professor looking his way. He realised that he hadn't been listening enough to know what the question being asked was about. He tried to think of what it might be, but thankfully Slughorn repeated himself.
"At what time must the fluxweed be picked to work well in PolyJuice Potion?"
"At a full moon, in the dead of night," Harry replied, relieved that he remembered this. "But you have to be really careful about it, because it can make the PolyJuice Potion poisonous if picked at the wrong time."
"Precisely!" Slughorn beamed. Harry hoped that the Professor wouldn't take what he knew about this potion as a sign that he might be a good potion brewer. He wouldn't make the mistake of becoming skilled in this subject again. "Well, you certainly seem to know your facts, even if I'd advise a little more attention."
Harry didn't say anything as the Professor smiled at him.
"Tell me, my dear boy, could you possible be related to the famous Anthony Smith of Scotland? He was a rather skilled potion brewer himself."
"Oh…" Harry wondered why he hadn't seen this coming – Slughorn's need to know of any possible blood ties to favour Harry. Since Harry had already known the Professor for a solid year at Hogwarts, the idea of being asked about his family hadn't occurred to him before now. "Er… No – no I don't think so, sir."
"Or Elise Smith, of German blood, who discovered the Draught of Ongoing Oxygen?"
Harry wondered if he should agree to being related to some random person the Professor mentioned, but he knew it would just make Slughorn ask more. "I don't know, Professor."
"What about Atticus Smith, discoverer of a number of key ingredients for potions deep within the Amazon Rainforest? His whole family carried on the subject after that time."
"Erm, no, I don't think I'm related to him either."
Slughorn frowned. "I suppose Smith is a rather common name… Do you know much about where your parents come from?"
"My parents are dead," Harry said automatically. His tone was casual from repeating those words so many times, but that seemed to make Slughorn feel worse, for his face dramatically fell, and Harry found himself being looked at with sympathetic eyes. He wanted to sink into the floor and never come up again.
"Merlin's beard – I had no idea!"
"No, I don't really care anyway–"
"You would think the school board might have dropped a word in! I'm dearly sorry, M'boy, dearly sorry."
Harry opened his mouth to say something else, but decided against it. He wished he had thought twice before telling the Professor this piece of news… But perhaps it would stop people asking about his family after all. He gave the Professor a minute to get over the shock of it. This gave him the excuse to not participate much later in the class, at the very least.
When the introduction to the class had ended, Slughorn told everyone to take out their ingredients and scales, and begin their potions. Harry found himself remembering odd pieces of information from the Half-Blood Prince's textbook, even though he had tried to block out most of what he knew from there. It seemed like all that was scribbled in the margins of that book had etched itself to somewhere in Harry's memory, which was ironic, considering Snape had never been a particularly good teacher in real life. Why should his book have made potions easier to remember? Well, at least Harry wasn't as good with potions as Tom was, for he was managing to cut all the ingredients needed far before the exact time in which he waited to put them in his potion. Tom seemed to be better than ever Hermione had been, which was eerie to Harry. The Death Eaters started talking to Harry.
"So how come you never told us about your parents?" Nott started.
"It's not really my top priority in life to admit that my parents are dead, I suppose," Harry replied.
"Have you been living on your own?"
"Yeah."
"How do you know if you're a Pureblood then?" Lestrange asked.
Harry was in half a mind to say that he didn't know how much blood purity he had and didn't care to learn about it either, but he knew that if he wanted to have an easy year as a Slytherin, he had better make up something to keep them off his back. His voice was a monotone. "I remember that I was born into a rich family, and I know I was a Pureblood because I kept a bracelet that my mother owned before she died. One winter when I was twelve, I sold the bracelet and got a lot of money for it. The man who bought it from me told me a lot about where it had come from, so I found out about my parentage. The money from the heirloom just about kept me going until now."
Harry knew that the tale he just told was a vague rip-off of the story following Merope Gaunt, but he didn't really care. It seemed to work, because Nott and Lestrange didn't show any signs of disbelief. Tom himself was busy with his potion, but Harry knew he was listening.
"So that's why you tried to steal from that Ministry worker? Because you ran out of money?"
"Yeah." That seemed like a simple enough excuse.
"It seems a waste that you would sell that bracelet though," Nott commented.
"How much did you get for it?" Lestrange asked.
"Erm, Five thousand Galleons." Harry invented.
"That's a pretty good amount," Lestrange said.
"You probably could have gotten more if you were older than twelve," Nott added.
"Probably."
"How did you live on your own for your whole life though?"
"I used to live in mainly one village, just outside of London, so I knew the same people for most of my life. I moved on with time, after I was a little older, so it was a pretty easy life." He hoped that was believable. "Er, it was a Wizarding village, of course…"
"Riddle didn't know his parents either," Nott started, "because he lived in an-"
"An orphanage all his life, yeah I know." Harry finished. He didn't want to hear the connection between himself and Tom stated so plainly. The last time he had been told that they were the same was by the memory of Riddle that had spoken to him in the Chamber of Secrets so long ago. Harry refused to believe it even now – they were different people, had different frames of mind… Either way, he didn't want anyone to talk about the similarity.
Harry suddenly realised that Lestrange, Nott and Riddle were all staring at him.
"What?" He asked, wondering if he had said something wrong.
"How did you know that already?" Nott asked slowly.
"Know what already?"
"Know that Tom was an orphan?"
Harry realised now that it was rather unwise thing of him to do, to finish that sentence. He should have been thinking more than that. But the connection between Riddle and himself still annoyed him more than anything, so how on earth could he regret it? He made up a lie. "Er, I heard someone talking about it."
"Who?"
"How should I know? I don't know the names of anyone here yet." Harry really hoped that this was a good enough excuse. Did the current students of Hogwarts speak about such things often?
Nott wore a slight frown on his face. "Alright…"
The subject was dropped after this, but Harry saw Tom cast him many curious glances as they sat within the classroom. Harry had an odd feeling, even after the day passed and they spend a few hours doing homework in the Common Room, that Riddle wanted to ask him something, but wouldn't do it while the Death Eaters were around. Harry didn't want to hear what he had to say no matter what it was, so he ignored this suspicion. He managed to drift away from the Death Eaters for most of the day, until dinner arrived, of course.
Harry sat directly across from Riddle again today, and was surrounded more or less by the other Death Eaters. He hadn't said very much to any of them as they sat and ate, for he was lost in thought. He was reflecting upon what Riddle might think of him knowing that he was an orphan already. It was truly a foolish mistake on Harry's part, and he dearly hoped that Riddle would ignore or forget about it. Harry looked over to the leader of the Death Eaters, wondering if Riddle was still casting him curious glances, when he saw a glint of gold. Harry paused, and stared, awestruck, as he saw Morfin's gold and black ring, unscratched and undamaged, on Riddle's right hand.
He shouldn't have been surprised really, for he had already seen Riddle wearing the ring in Slughorn's memory, but it felt different to see it again, in what he knew to be real life. It wasn't the fact that Harry knew it was a Horcrux, or the fact that Dumbledore had only shown it to him broken before, but it was because it was, no doubt, one of the three Deathly Hallows. More pacifically, it was the Resurrection Stone…
Tom moved his hand away from Harry's view, and the latter looked up to see the boy ahead taking in his appearance impassively. Harry looked away again, not really caring that he had been seen staring at the ring. It made him slightly annoyed to reflect upon the fact that Tom didn't know what the ring was, didn't know what it could do… Would Tom want to bring anyone back from the dead, Harry wondered? Most of the people in his family, who Harry knew of, were only dead because of Tom himself. Tom probably didn't even care enough about his mother to bring her back, had he known how to…
Harry decided to leave the table before the other Slytherins so he could get away from everyone and do the rest of his homework somewhere quiet, where he wouldn't be asked questions regarding his fictional past. After all, the Death Eaters probably wanted to talk of Death-Eater-like things without him around again. Harry wanted to be alone, so he could think. He made his way to the fourth floor of the castle, where he planned on visiting the library, to get rid of some of the overflowing assignments he'd have to do.
He wondered vaguely if all the time he was spending in school was worthwhile… But he knew that until he discovered why he had been placed in 1944, he'd have to stay somewhere safe. Hogwarts was the only place he could think of where he'd feel secure enough to make up a plan for the future. There was always going to be that nagging fact that Voldemort and his Death Eaters had somehow managed to end up sharing the same dormitory as he, but he couldn't do anything about that now. He couldn't trust them with a grain of sand, but at least they were as of yet unaware of whom he truly was. He was safe here, and he couldn't dent it.
The first week at Hogwarts passed quickly, and Harry had managed to become quite distanced from the Death Eaters, much to his own approval. It was Saturday evening, and Harry was wandering the upper floors of Hogwarts, planning on visiting the library yet again. Memories of the Battle recently fought flickered through his mind every time he saw a part of a school where a terrible scene had etched into his mind forever, but wandering the school was still better than talking to the Death Eaters. He didn't want to talk with anyone at all, never mind the people who were to cause all the most terrible things in his life to happen.
He was walking along a corridor on the sixth floor, when suddenly he heard someone call his new name. He turned around, only to see Riddle walking towards him. Harry felt his jaw clench, but other than that he was doing relatively well with resisting the temptation to attack the man in front of him, or to run away. Harry wondered faintly what it was that Tom wanted.
"I've been trying to find you for a while, Smith," Riddle started, as he came nearer to where Harry stood.
Harry unclenched his jaw to speak; he didn't even care if Riddle noticed that he had a problem with him. "Why?"
Tom walked forwards a little more, and indicated for Harry to walk with him, pretending he hadn't noticed Harry's temper. "I couldn't help but notice how you seem to be rather distant from the rest of us – that is to say, my friends and I."
"I've never really been one for staying around people, I suppose," Harry said shortly. It felt unusual and irksome for Harry to be talking to this person, in this circumstance. He tried to think of it as someone else – anyone else – but it didn't seem to work. His mind knew only too well who the boy walking alongside truly was. He stared at the floor in front of him as they walked.
"Perhaps it would be helpful for me to add that it's quite unusual for a student at Hogwarts to not become intimate with their fellow housemates?" Tom added in his carefully quiet tone. "Especially not as a Slytherin."
Harry held back a retort asking Tom if he really thought his 'friends' were close to him. Riddle, as Harry knew, never became attached to anybody, particularly not as a friend. He didn't even treat his most useful Death Eaters with any more respect than he would to his most useless follower. But perhaps Riddle wasn't yet aware of the fact that he had no friends.
"I don't see what use it will do to make friends with anyone this late in my life. I don't care about being left alone… I prefer it that way."
Tom only smiled at this comment, perhaps to belittle Harry's words, or perhaps because he actually found humour in what had been said. "I suppose you'll just walk away after this school year, and not care what happens to the rest of us?"
Harry didn't answer, because thought of what Riddle and his friends would become later in life put a stab of anger inside him, and he wouldn't allow himself to say anything relating to things Riddle couldn't understand at this time.
"Though I suppose most people do just walk away," Riddle mused, his smile long gone.
Harry again had nothing to comment.
"Even if that is so, it does not change the fact that I can't seem to understand why you would begin your stay at Hogwarts trying not only to postpone any social contact with my friends and I, but avoiding us altogether. It does not seem normal for anyone recently acquainted with a group of people to do."
"I'm not avoiding any of you," Harry responded. "This is just how I am."
"That could be possible," Riddle said slowly. "Yet… I can't seem to get rid of the suspicion that it is me in particular that you are most anxious to stay away from." Tom's tone was casual, but easily burning with curiosity under the carefully composed words.
"What makes you say that?" Harry asked in a monotone, not caring at all that Riddle had finally noticed the fact that he hated him.
"Many things… but the reasons aren't what bother me. It's more the idea that we haven't had even one conversation thus far, and yet you are easily showing signs of a person who has been offended by me in some way."
"What do you care about that?"
Riddle smiled. "I don't. Yet it makes me wonder none the less."
Harry laughed humourlessly, trying to annoy Riddle in some tiny way. He hated the fact that the boy walking next to him could show no anger, and could even reveal false signs of blissful happiness as they waked. Despite all of it being an act, it annoyed Harry. "What, you've never had anyone hate you before?"
"Not so soon," Riddle replied.
"Well, maybe just I understand you more than the other idiots in this school who can't see past anything that doesn't scream 'evil'."
Riddle stopped walking at Harry's words, and Harry stopped too. The latter stared at the taller boy for a long moment, glaring and waiting for him to speak.
"You are mistaken," said Riddle quietly.
"I know only too when that I'm not."
Riddle cast Harry another curious gaze, and didn't speak for a long moment. When he spoke, his words were careful, "Do I know you from somewhere else?"
His words made Harry feel rather nervous, but he knew that the memory that came out of Riddle's diary couldn't possibly make the boy that stood in front of Harry remember the events that had happened. He was only a memory at the time, whatever that meant. Riddle wasn't smart enough to destroy the meaning of time. He was smart, but not that smart. "No, I don't think you know me from anywhere," Harry replied. "I don't have to know you to hate you."
"Knowing the person often helps to begin hating them. Unless I've been misinformed…" Riddle said softly. "Nevertheless, this leaves only one answer to how you knew that I was raised in an orphanage."
"Because someone told me, maybe?" Harry suggested.
"There are very few people within this school who talk of it."
"Well, I guess I was just lucky." Harry turned to leave Riddle standing there, but stopped walking when he heard Tom's next words.
"Where did you learn Occlumency?"
Harry turned around slowly, not bothering to shorten the space between Riddle and himself. "Sorry?"
"Occlumency. Where did you learn it?"
"I don't know Occlumency. I was suppose to be taught once, but…" Harry's voice drifted away, confused with this conversation.
"It's an illegal branch of magic to study, you know," Riddle said with the same sly tone he evidently enjoyed using. Harry could almost feel the happiness radiating off the boy facing him, and he was sure that he could see it through Tom's cold eyes. Riddle was convinced that he had caught Harry in some unique, cunning and brilliant trap.
Harry didn't know what to reply. He had never actually learned how to perform Occlumency at all, not in his lessons with Snape, and not later. "Why are you assuming that I know Occlumency? Do you know Legilimency?"
"Well, I never said that… Though this proves you know about both banned skills."
"That doesn't prove – you're the one who suggested it!" Harry said angrily. He had no clue why Riddle was guessing something that wasn't true or related to anything. There was a long pause where neither of them said anything. "If you are assuming that I know Occlumency, then you must be a Legilimens."
"You certainly don't seem smart enough to have the skills, which makes me wonder," Tom mumbled more to himself than Harry.
"Are you or aren't you a Legilimens?" Harry asked impatiently, ignoring Tom's comment.
"Are you or aren't you an Occlumens?"
"Well, you're the only one who can tell," Harry said, "but I'm don't know Occlumency… so maybe you're just a really bad Legilimens."
"No, I don't think that is the case."
"Why did you ask then?"
"Because if you admit to being an Occlumens, my theory on you having read the minds of my friends, and perhaps some other students, could be possible. In the case of Occlumency and Legilimency, the first is usually followed quickly by the second…"
Harry thought about this comment for a second. If he pretended he was a Legilimens to Riddle, perhaps then the knowledge he had of Tom being brought up in an orphanage would be disregarded… But that didn't make any of this less confusing. "Well, maybe I am one of those… or neither. You'll never know."
"Unless you admit to it."
"I'm not that stupid."
"Then I can only guess."
Harry didn't say anything.
"But it would explain a lot if you were one."
"Did you become a Legilimens because of Dumbledore?" Harry asked, the idea coming to his head only then.
Riddle only smiled as though Harry had given him proof on this theory, but he wouldn't admit it yet. Harry was disappointed at this, for he wanted to scare Tom with this assumption.
"Then you'd have be a Occlumens and a Legilimens," Harry said. He was very glad suddenly that he might have somehow obtained the skill of sealing his mind off to mind readers. Did this have sometime to do with travelling through time? Was this a sort of security measure added for his situation, so as to avoid blatant disrupters in how things were to be later in life? That seemed like a logical answer. It was a useful thing, if he really knew how to close his mind after all.
"Theoretically, let us say, we both knew both those skills," Riddle began. "Where would you have learned it all?"
"Where would you?"
"I would have taught myself."
"A trust issue?" Harry taunted.
"More the fact that I never knew anyone who was willing to share the skill, in theory. Where would you have learned it?" he repeated.
"By accident, obviously."
"Not a good enough answer."
"I knew a lot of people who knew Legilimency and Occlumency." Harry replied, not really caring if Riddle learnt this insignificant piece of truth. "They tried to teach me how to shield my mind, but it didn't work out. I had a fight with the wizard teaching me… What you tell me about knowing Occlumency is news."
"Why did they teach you? Who were they?"
"How should I know?" Harry asked, so he wouldn't have to answer. "This is only theory… it's not real." He turned to leave.
To his surprise and relief, Riddle didn't ask him to continue explaining the situation. As Harry got further and further away from Riddle, he wondered if that had all been some sort of lie, or a joke or something. Though he didn't really think that Tom had a sense of humour like that – or a sense of humour at all. Maybe it was a trick, a way to get Harry to believe that he knew Occlumency, so that he, Riddle, could read the thoughts that Harry believed were safe. That seemed like something Riddle would do – play a complex mind game as such…
But then again, he had seemed convincingly interested in learning why Harry had the skill, more so than he would have been if it were just a trick to make Harry vulnerable, and Harry's thoughts on travelling through time creating this situation made a lot of sense. Was this why Dumbledore was always a little curious when he looked at Harry, because Harry was now an Occlumens? He wondered if having this skill scared Riddle at all. He smiled at the thought.
Riddle would have to be a Legilimens no matter if Harry was or wasn't. If it was a trick, he was a Legilimens, and if Tom was just generally curious, it also meant he was a Legilimens. It seemed a very smart thing for Riddle to do, to get Dumbledore off invading his privacy in a million little ways. When he, Harry, had finally realised what his old Headmaster did with his piercing blue eyes, he had been very offended as a whole. It was almost as bad as realising that Snape had known his every thought for so long. If Snape had been on the Dark side after all, a lot would have been known by the Potions Master to be used against Harry in some way.
The more he thought about it, the more Harry liked the idea of having his mind secure from all the mind readers that were currently stationed at Hogwarts. But it made him fearful of Tom a little more. He hoped, at the very least, that the older boy wouldn't become obsessively curious about who Harry was. It seemed like a likely thing for Voldemort to do… but Harry wouldn't allow it. How much could Tom really learn about Harry in just one year? It wasn't as though he, Harry, was going to begin being any more social, especially not now. No… there wasn't anything to worry about.
