Chapter 2:
Harry woke up that morning, silently wishing, once again, that it had all been a dream.
It wasn't.
He could hear the Slytherins getting ready and dressed around him. He lay still for a moment, holding his eyes shut, wishing he could keep them like that forever and avoid facing his new world.
He'd barely got a drop of sleep since waking up the night before. Still, he felt even more uncomfortable lying on his bed with his eyes closed - too vulnerable - and reluctantly swung his legs out from under the duvet hoping his silent glare was enough to keep the vultures at bay for the morning at least.
Abraxas Malfoy shot him a look, partly disdainful and partly considering.
"Is your hair always like that? You look like you've been electrocuted."
"Is your hair always like that?" he fired back snappishly, "or do you simply spend more time grooming yourself than a peacock?"
They stared at him. He mentally cursed. That was a great start to his don't attract attention plan, wasn't it? It was just so infuriating being stuck here.
"I take it you're not a morning person, Evans," Prince stated dryly.
Harry had quickly decided that Zevi Prince must be related to Snape somehow; he looked the same in body structure minus the hooked nose, and his black hair wasn't greasy. Harry could see potions stains on his long fingers though, and they had the same manner of carriage and speech, same voice.
He'd met them all last night, and he wasn't sure if they were what he'd expected or not. It was clear they all deferred to Riddle, anyway, the prat.
"Don't blame 'im," Alphard Black grumbled, stifling a yawn. "Who would be?" It hurt how much Alphard looked like Sirius, taunting him.
"Tom," Lestrange replied immediately.
Harry wanted to punch something at the name, and turned away, trying to keep his interactions at a minimum. They didn't seem to care.
"He keeps odd hours, does Tom, and I keep him company sometimes," Cygnus continued, as if he should be interested.
"So do we all," Malfoy said somewhat irritably, before shaking his head. "I don't know, Tom likes his own company well enough."
Again, why did they think he cared?
"Right," he mumbled, pushing his way past, down into the Common Room to escape them.
The room was milling with a lemming parade of Slytherins all heading towards the Great Hall for breakfast, all smartly dressed in their uniforms, wands tucked in holsters. Harry immediately, casually, loosened his tie some more, unable to help himself - all the better to lose their interest.
They wouldn't care to associate with a slob, he hoped. Some faces he marginally recognised from the future, others, not so much.
Next morning, he vowed to just go to breakfast early, as opposed to waiting around, feigning sleep like he would have done with Ron and Hermione. His heart ached at the names.
He missed them so much. Would they be appalled by his new snake status? Ron would be, no doubt. Hermione…Hermione would no how to deal with all of this so much better than he did.
In the centre of it all, like a King on his throne, lounged Riddle.
He was reading some massive, dark looking book…was it even in English? He tilted his head, trying to read the cover, only for those violet eyes to flick up. He abruptly turned his gaze away as he crossed the Common Room, hoping he'd be able to find his way out the dungeons.
The next second, the Slytherin Heir fell in step with him.
"Harry," Riddle greeted.
It was maddening that the other called him this already - everyone else was still calling him 'Harrison' or 'Evans.' He had to keep trying to remember that it was him they were talking to. Unable to resist, Harry squinted slightly as if trying to remember something.
"Yeah…Tom, wasn't it? Tom Riddle?"
If the prefect was annoyed, he didn't show it, merely looking scarily amused.
"Gold star, new boy," he returned with a smirk. Harry gritted his teeth, angry with the knowledge that if he didn't know exactly who and what this monster parading as a teenager was, he'd be as taken in as everyone else.
"Are you not going to wait for your friends?" he asked, instead, trying to make his voice sound anxious and confused as Riddle kept with him into the corridor. As if the bastard even had friends, he probably only had stupid sycophantic followers!
Either way, it was time to get started on becoming nothing…or, at least, finding some place to train. If he was going to be stuck here, he might as well be productive in studying and practising magic so he could help more with the war when he got back.
Dumbledore would have no reason to keep him in the dark then, would he?
"And abandon a fellow snake in need? We can't have you getting lost on your first day, can we?" Riddle replied, not missing a beat.
He was smiling, but once more those eyes were intent on his face. Harry forced another laugh, shrugging.
"I'm touched, but there's no need, I reckon I can find the hall. I wouldn't wish to keep you," he tried.
"Nonsense," the other dismissed. "Trust me, Harry, nothing keeps me from getting or doing what I want."
Was it just him, or did that sound really ominous? How did Riddle even manage to pull off his model student act? He was clearly a Dark Lord rising.
"I prefer Harrison," he said, abruptly. Riddle's head tilted.
"Funny, because it seems you don't recognise it as your own name at times."
Harry almost flinched at that…exactly how brilliant was Riddle when people claimed he was brilliant? Like, Hermione brilliant or Dumbledore brilliant? How on earth had the other picked up on that! He frowned, glancing at Riddle quizzically, as if dismissing the words as absurd.
"That would be ridiculous."
"Indeed," Tom murmured. They continued in silence for a moment. For some reason, all the other Slytherins kept looking at them both. It was seriously getting annoying.
He could feel Riddle studying him too, which was even worse. He struggled to keep his posture nonchalant, however much he wanted to tense around the other, not trusting him.
Finally, they reached the Great Hall. He almost walked over to the Gryffindor table, only just catching himself. Harry began searching for an empty seat, ignoring the necks craning around the room in his direction. Before Riddle could say anything, or somehow trap him into sitting with him, Harry dropped into a far out, empty place, close to the door.
Perhaps even more infuriatingly, the Slytherin Heir simply breezed past him, taking a seat at the centre of the table, of which people seemed to try and get as close to as possible.
He felt momentarily disconcerted by the jarring switch of attention, before cursing himself, catching himself.
No.
He was not going to start craving Riddle's focus and favour. Absolutely not. He determinedly poured himself a cup of coffee.
At least it meant that it was working, and the other was losing interest…right?
Tom Riddle absently completed the freezi
ng charm (pathetically basic) that they were supposed to be practising in charms, his thoughts otherwise occupied. Evans sat on the other side of the room, seeming to doggedly try and avoid the company of himself and his circle…or any Slytherin, for that matter.
It was strange, but only consolidated his view that the boy somehow knew him or had formed an opinion of hate or resentment towards him already. After all, when they first met, the boy had called him by name, eyes filled with unguarded emotions and shock.
Moreover, it was practically comical how much Evans tensed up around him. It would be glorious to play with. He'd made sure to brush against the other on their walk to the Great Hall, only to be greeted by more repressed flinches. Stunning.
The boy was odd in other ways too…he almost seemed to possess a split personality.
When he thought people were paying attention to him, his posture immediately shifted to something meek, relatively submissive and perfectly insipid. When they weren't, his posture seemed to subconsciously change, as if he'd forgotten himself, and his back straightened with confidence.
He also came out with rather quick, and - dare he say it? - witty comments when he was caught off guard, from all that his followers had told him. It was only when he was confronted directly, or involved already in a conversation, that he suddenly began to appear alarmingly stupid.
His wand work was appalling too, he'd yet to see Evans cast a spell correctly, fumbling on the words. Yet…he was powerful. Tom could literally sense the power on him, as hidden as it was. Someone that powerful, couldn't possible be that incompetent - they would fluke on some of the spells due to raw magic, effort and will.
Harrison failed too much for it to possibly be natural.
And yet…he knew every other Slytherin in their house was already growing dismissive of him, and he'd barely been there a day.
Curioser and curiouser.
He appeared next to the boy as the bell rang, ignoring Lestrange's disbelieving look, Prince's speculative one, and the entertained looks of Malfoy and Black as they figured he was playing with Evans, as he'd played with so many before.
Harrison turned, stilling to find him so close, green darkening, before he smiled in a friendly manner.
"Hey Riddle," he acknowledged, struggling with his books. "Tough class, huh…though, I've heard you're a genius, and should have no trouble?" the boy gave a bashful grin - nothing like the wild, feisty character he'd first encountered…but which one was real?
"I noticed you were having some trouble, anything I can do to help?" he offered.
"Oh that's okay," Evans said, cheerfully, though his jaw tightened. "I'm sure I'll get the hang of it eventually."
Independent. Incompetent wizards just weren't this independent, they simply weren't. They sought help because they couldn't cope on their own. Incompetent wizards didn't have nightmares like Evans did, as, to have been in a situation to cause them to such a severe level, they'd already have been long dead due to that incompetence.
He jerked his head subtly for his Slytherins to go ahead, and they did so without question. Harrison seemed to notice that they were alone again, and tensed even more, pace quickening.
"I get the feeling you don't like me very much," he said, watching the new boy carefully. "I must confess myself at a loss as to why that would be, have I done something to offend you?"
Rage. Pure raged and hatred flashed across the other's face, before being clumsily concealed. Harry was very bad at hiding his emotions, for a Slytherin.
He'd almost say the other was coming across as a lion, except for the slyness with which he was obviously playing, surprisingly to moderate success, two personas.
"Of course not, we only just met," Evans stated.
"And yet you knew my name, within seconds of seeing my face."
The boy completely froze, as if definitely not expecting that.
"What?"
"You knew my name, when you landed on my potion," he said. Harry shook his head.
"No, I didn't."
"Yes, you did. I remember rather vividly.
""I know you may think the world revolves around you, Riddle," the boy practically hissed, "but you're sorely mistaken on this account."
There was that sharp tongue again, so at war with the docility he tended to show to everyone else. It was almost as if the boy was trying to act submissive, but was riled up by the act of it.
It was hard for someone naturally dominant to act submissive, he knew, and it made breaking and taming that person even more fun.
He took a step forward, meticulously watching Evan's increasingly flustered reaction as he closed in. Green eyes widened, and the other took a hasty step back, then another, inadvertently trapping himself against a wall.
He raised his arms to rest of either side of the boy's shoulders, caging him in, watching as every muscle in Harrison's body locked with tension, seeming to draw back, though he held his ground stubbornly now. Another paradox.
"Is that so?" he questioned silkily.
"Uh…"
"Because I have a very good memory, and I distinctly remember that you knew my name." He moved his mouth to the other's ear, delighting in the shudder Evan's gave, the way he was frantically fluxuating between personas, uncertain whether to act compliant and allow the situation, or to shove him away like he no doubted wanted to, if the curling of his fists were anything to go by.
"Unless," he lowered his voice. "You're calling me a liar?" he let his magic flicker, teasingly, across the other boy's skin.
For a moment, he was certain Evans was going to attack him, he almost hoped he would try, but then he slumped.
"Okay, you got me," the boy mumbled, seeming to disappointedly surrender. He'd hoped to get at least twenty four hours of game! "They mentioned you to me when I came to Hogwarts, just giving some examples of people and stuff like that. Then, when my portkey went wrong, you were like the only person I recognised, and so your name slipped out…later, I didn't want you to think I was a stalker or anyth-"
"-Since when do the teachers talk about other students?" he asked.
"It was just to give examples of-"
"-Most teachers, if asked such a question, would offer the names of successful alumni," he interjected.
"Well, if you think you already know the answer or are just going to keep interrupting, why are you bothering asking me questions?" Harry returned coldly, pushing him back. He tilted his head to one side.
"Feisty little thing, aren't you?"
"What do you want?" Evans growled, seeming to snap.
It seemed the new boy had a short temper, submissive people were normally more tolerant.
"Answers."
"I already gave them."
"The truth."
"Really?" Harrison's eyebrows arched. "Doesn't seem like something someone like you would have much use for."
"Someone like me?" he seized on the words. Evan's jaw clenched, before he replied sweetly:
"Someone who seems like a total, and utter, jerk. Do you normally pin the first years up against walls too, or is it just me?"
"Just you, Evans, just you. Now, are you a misanthropist, or do you just hold an inexplicable special dislike for me?"
"Actually, I can safely say that nothing in my mind is special when it comes to you…in fact, you don't even feature!"
The other gave a colossal push, shoving him back a few steps, glaring at him, face flushed, smoothing down his robes. Then he attempted to leave; a second dismissal.
Unnaceptable.
Harry was seething silently, and more unnerved than he cared to admit.
Tom Riddle was definitely not what he had expected, sure, he'd expected the other to play the role of model student, but this was something else, unexpected.
He'd only taken a few steps when a hand snapped around his arm, reeling him back like a gutted fish on a hook.
"I guess we'll have to do something about that, won't we?" the young Dark Lord practically purred.
He tugged at his arm, only for the other's grip to tighten, crushing, painful. His hand flew to his wand, only for Riddle to seize hold of that wrist too.
"Get your hands off me," he spat.
"Make me," the Slytherin Heir challenged, eyes alight with a type of flame, a cruel glint…and Harry abruptly flew back down to earth from whatever dimension his sensible mind had drifted up to.
This was not what he was supposed to be doing. He wasn't supposed to talk back or interact like this; he didn't want to draw the other's remembrance, attention or interest, the results would be disastrous! Bile rose in his throat.
The other was just so - irritating! - that it was difficult to not rise against his arrogance.
All through breakfast and all morning he'd had to listen to people gushing about the evil twit, it was driving him insane. He didn't even ask, everyone just assumed that he wanted to know all about the bastard…he probably knew more about Riddle than any of them did anyway, with their garrulous gossip of how every girl, and some of the boys, wanted to be with him, of how it was amazing to get into his closest circle and ugh…the list went on.
He honestly didn't care how powerful Riddle was, how he was talented and so intelligent that even the teachers were in awe of him, or of any of the encounters people had with him (which they seemed to compulsively want to share like a mark of pride.)
He struggled to pull the reign on his emotions, like he'd so often had to do with the Dursleys, lowering his head docilely, slumping his shoulders. He waited in silence, and loathed every minute of it.
"Come now," Riddle taunted, "you're not giving up so easily, are you? That doesn't seem like you."
"How would you know?" he replied quietly. "You know nothing about me."
Then he nearly slapped himself. Despite the meeker tone, that was still the wrong response to give. Damn it!
"I wouldn't say nothing," the Slytherin Heir stated. Somehow, for whatever bizarre reason, it seemed he'd offended the other. He just couldn't catch a break! "But, tell me about yourself, then, and allow me to make a more accurate judgement."
"There's not much to tell," he replied softly, making sure to keep his head down, so the other couldn't see the flames and hatred in his eyes.
"Then it shouldn't take you very long to tell either."
"Why do you care? I'm nobody."
"Diamond dust."
"Huh?" he frowned.
"Excuse me," Riddle said in response.
"What?" he was even more confused now. Riddle's grip tightened.
"You don't say 'huh' like a gormless idiot, you say excuse me."
Harry almost snarled at the response, and the smirk directed his way. Now the Slytherin was correcting his language? Who did he think he was!
He wanted to say something scathing, but bit his tongue with great difficulty…act meek, act like he's broken you, and he'll go away…still. He wasn't going to repeat the words 'excuse me' like a patronised child.
"What do you mean by 'diamond dust'?" he questioned.
"On first glance, you seem like nobody, an insignificant, filthy speck of dust that is no use or interest to anyone…but, if you're shined, a person may find that the dust is not dust at all, but something far more valuable, which only increases in value when pieced together. A diamond."
How sickeningly poetic. He was weak at the knees, really. Cue sarcasm.
Harry bit his tongue again, with the feeling that if he had to endure Riddle much longer his metaphorical tongue was going to be bitten bloody.
Somehow, he'd never expected to hear flattery come from Riddle's mouth and yet, from the devil's own words, he'd always had a talent for persuasion. Of course that would include an ability to compliment and seduce.
Not that it was working. Harry saw right through him, as disconcerting as the effort was. It was unsettling to have someone's attention so intensely fixed upon you.
He really wasn't sure what to say in response, as he had to automatically cut out all the things that first came to his head - 'how corny are you?' 'I'm flattered' in a dry tone of voice, 'what are you, a treasure hunter?'
It seemed he didn't need to, because the grip released him a moment later, and Riddle was striding away down the corridor as if there was nothing out the ordinary.
"I'll see you around, Evans."
Not if he could help it.
A/N: Do you think Harry is too much like Harrison Evans already? (From a Fate's Favourite perspective) I'm trying to diffrentiate the two, and have this Harry more canon-y...how am I doing? Does Tom seem different at all?
Ugh, it's so hard trying to undo two years of characterisation writing, haha. I hope I'm doing okay.
Thank you for all the reviews :) I hope you continue to enjoy!