Harry went through the motions of digging out and replanting the mandrakes without paying much attention to the process. His mind was elsewhere. Since the start of the new term, he has returned to the Path to Death daily, sometimes sacrificing sleep to get through it faster. Tom only vaguely recalled major concepts, so he couldn't easily reproduce the book on the diary pages. It was also written in such a tricky way that Harry himself had a hard time deciphering the actual meaning.

Being away from the book during the winter break only further ignited his interest in Necromancy. While technically Harry could stay in Hogwarts, he was reluctant to conjure excuses that would satisfy Narcissa. He also wanted to take another look at the Malfoy Library in case he missed anything on Necromancy there; it was truly an obscure topic. His search didn't last long, not for a reason he found something, but because everyone's plans in Malfoy manor were cut short. Cygnus Black, Narcissa's father, died, and Druella Black née Rosier, her mother, expected them promptly at the Rosier estate in France, including Harry, and it wasn't an invitation one could say no to.

The Yule Ball this year was planned to be held by the Greengrass family, so the Malfoys didn't have to make any massive change in plans other than not attending it, leaving only Lucius to represent the family. Harry was restless at first, not able to continue any relevant research, but at least he had the diary with him.

There was a bit of a scandal just a few days before the winter break, when the Ministry raided the Manor. Lucius made sure to cooperate, but didn't stay silent about it either. Nothing incriminating was found, putting the acting Aurors to shame. Such a treatment was unheard of against a member of WIzengamot, and when Minister Fudge got a whiff of it, he had to personally apologise to Lucius and reprimand the Auror Office.

At least, the threat was over with, and Harry doubted they would try repeating it as openly anytime soon. It made Harry's decision whether to leave the diary in the safety of the Chamber of Secrets or to take it to the Manor much easier. He was used to conversations with Tom to the point he could hardly imagine not having them on a daily basis anymore, so to an extent he was relieved. Not only Harry could keep his mind off the unavailable research with Tom's help, he also appreciated having someone he didn't have to mince his words with.

Druella Black was an old woman with just as old prejudices engrained in her. She was scrutinizing Harry as if she wanted to crack his scull open with her gaze alone. Harry withstood it, smiling pleasantly and answering politely every single bigoted question.

"You've done a marvellous work with this place, mother." Narcissa tried to interfere.

"Oh, cut it, Narcissa. If only Walburga didn't reinstate that Sirius boy to the Black family, Cygnus could have inherited the Grimmauld Place."

"I much prefer this estate to be honest, more light and amidst the clear nature."

"And Grimmauld place will continue to rot, just as Sirius Black in Azkaban." Druella pursed her lips. "What was that wretched woman even thinking?"

"You know you couldn't have claimed it even if Cygnus did. Black property is only inherited by blood."

"You could have, or your son." She looked pointedly at Draco, who was silently preoccupied with the dinner, then turned her cold gaze back at Harry. "Now this halfblood will have a better claim to that place just because he's Sirius' godson."

"Only if Sirius officially proclaims him as the Black Heir."

Harry didn't see what the fuss was about, couldn't they afford to buy a new property? But he stayed silent, letting Narcissa do the talking. Sometimes not arguing was the best approach.

Druella wasn't finished, her contempt only growing. "Walburga went completely senile in her last years."

"I wouldn't blame her, since Regulus died it must have been truly hard on her." Narcissa reminded softly. "And she only learned it through the tapestry; must have been a shock."

"So she told us. I'd rather have a look at that old tapestry myself," Druella grumbled. Narcissa let out a sigh, her exasperation showing through the usually composed demeanour.

"Who is Regulus?" Harry chanced a question, the name sounded familiar, but he couldn't place it.

"Regulus was Sirius' younger brother. In Walburga's eyes, he was her only remaining son." Narcissa briefly glanced at Draco as she added thoughtfully, "I imagine she placed all the hopes for the Black family on him."

"Doesn't mean she should have placed them back on Sirius. Did he even kill those muggles? He never struck me as a type. And even if he did, what kind of reason for reinstating him to the family tree is that?"

Narcissa's lips thinned into a line. "The reason for removing him from the family tree wasn't as solid in the first place." When she looked at Harry, his face must have betrayed a wordless question, so she elaborated, "Apparently, he ran off from the family at the age of sixteen."

Druella laughed cruelly, "Ran off for the sake of his mudblood loving friends. Ah, yes, Potter." Her gaze was cold, not an ounce of sympathy. "He even went on to live with your father back then, the last straw to his shameless behaviour."

"So they were friends." Harry ignored the crude language and a direct jab at him, musing about Sirius Black instead.

Narcissa and Druella both shrugged slightly, the gesture oddly similar, a tiny reminder they were related. Neither had anything substantial to say to that, only Druella's typical rant followed. Draco sent Harry a look, shaking his head somewhat, as if reprimanding for adding fuel to the storm that was his grandmother.

Harry picked at his salad, stabbing a piece of tomato a bit more forcefully, the red juice spreading over the plate. What could possibly possess Sirius Black to turn on his life-long friend, he marvelled. If he wasn't even the type to kill muggles… but that hardly mattered. Harry knew all too well that anything could be an act, even Black's friendship with the Potters. And since he was eventually restored into the Black Family tree, even that blunder didn't turn out to be a sacrifice for whatever game he was playing. Walburga could have been in the know from the beginning, even though it was a waste to lock the Black property on a man imprisoned for life. Maybe he was even planning an escape from Azkaban, however inescapable it was rumoured to be.

"There is a reason why pureblood family houses are revered so," Tom explained when Harry asked him later that evening. "It's not simply a posh inheritance, but the magic of the place, the connection built through generations. Constructing a new house from scratch lacks the same significance, the location for existing houses aren't random either. Finding a suitable land can prove challenging, and buying from another family is almost never done. Purebloods love to keep what's theirs in a tight grip, believing in inheritance by blood."

"I wonder if there is any Potter property left." Harry wrote back, and his next thought matched what appeared in Tom's handwriting.

"Why don't you ask the goblins?"

Why didn't he, indeed. When Malfoys became his guardians, they signed a form for Gringotts to contact Harry directly on all the matters pertaining to his assets, which meant he could also freely contact them in turn.

He sent the letter with Hedwig the next morning and received a quick reply, that essentially said "Harry Potter isn't authorised to access any property outside his trust vault." It didn't even answer Harry's inquiry whether the Potters had any housing property or not. Harry was curious but not to the point of getting into an argument with goblins, and it wasn't the most pressing matter. He could wait until he was authorised, assuming it meant he had to be of age for that.

For the next couple of days, Harry's polite disposition and his undeniably prestigious status as the Boy Who Lived warmed Druella to Harry the tiniest bit, if her willingness to lecture him on pureblood traditions was anything to go by. As Narcissa pointed out, it meant she at least accepted Harry as their own. Harry expressed a genuine eagerness to learn, and Druella seemed only pleased having a fresh mind to drill her beliefs onto. Harry had to take everything with a grain of salt, not quite appreciating the prejudiced attitude, but at least he managed to gain access into the Rosier library, which made Harry's days more bearable and worthwhile, even though he had no luck finding anything remotely close to Necromancy there.

To escape Druella's overbearing presence, and to save Harry and Draco from dying out of sheer boredom, Narcissa took them to the Place Cachée. While it wasn't the first time there for Draco, who already had a list of his favourite shops and surprisingly strong opinions on croissants, Harry took this opportunity to explore various boutiques, noting their unique and pleasant atmosphere. Narcissa shook her head watching him.

"You don't have to pick so many black robes, Harry. We are here only for a week."

Harry shrugged, he discovered they suited him and were practical, also not entirely boring, the difference in subtle details, designs, and material captured his attention. The pâtisseries made for a good distraction too, brightening their day somewhat, before they all had to go back to the estate for the burial ceremony. Harry wasn't allowed to attend it, the ritual being restricted to the closest family members only, but he was able to witness how the magical portrait of Cygnus Black was made. And that suddenly became the peak of his stay there.

The artist, Monsieur Olivier Perrot, was an extravagant man with a funny moustache and a bright red cloak thrown over the shoulder in a casual manner, his stylish hat making him look even taller than he already was. He had an amusing no nonsense attitude that grated on Druella's nerves, but she couldn't say anything against him, for his services were needed. While general painting was freely offered as an elective course in Beauxbatons, the technique for creating a moving and talking portrait was unique, only shared among renowned Masters of Art and their apprentices. The popularity and intricacy of the procedure made it cost a small fortune, yet it was a line of work rarely pursued, due to the natural talent and disposition it required.

Harry was always intrigued by the portraits he saw in Hogwarts or in pureblood houses, wondering if the people appearing there were actually real or if it was purely magical representation of their past living selves. Monsieur Perrot took well to the flattery, his unmoving painting was done quite skilfully, already looking very realistic, so Harry had no trouble showering him with compliments, throwing this or that question in between. The artist took his time preparing the ritual and enthusiastically answered all the questions with a thick French accent.

"At this point the level of resemblance isn't so important, for the magic itself can fix all disparities, but of course we artists pride ourselves in creating the most realistic looking painting."

"Sometimes the next step might not work, which has nothing to do with the skill of an artist, but if that is the case, we'd rather leave behind at least the most beautiful piece of art."

"The next step involves the ritual, of course, this is where all the magic happens."

"Only blood relatives of the person in question can make the ritual possible. We will need a drop of your blood, Madame Narcissa. Merci."

"Oui, if the initial ritual works, all other portraits existing or created in the future will come to life as well."

"And this is a very special potion that allows us artists to get into the right state of mind. To envision perfectly the person, to recreate their most accurate form. It is essential. Attempting to perform the ritual without one is simply calling for a failure."

"Ah, this is something all of us wishes to know, but it's an old mystery. Whether the real person gets summoned or it's simply the highest level of art we can reach through magic. The portraits will never give you a definitive answer, I've tried countless times."

Harry recalled that every time he tried to ask this question himself the portraits either smiled, shook their heads, or even retreated from the frame.

"Now I will have to drink the potion, excuse-moi. I shouldn't be distracted after this point."

"What is the actual effect of the potion? I will reach a state where nothing can distract me, not even my own thoughts or emotions. A tunnel vision, the pure fusion with the art."

Harry stilled.

"For the ritual to work, you don't have to feel any emotions?"

"Counterintuitive, I know, I know! This is magic we are talking about! But this is the way it is. The Masters tried omitting the potion on countless occasions, and it never worked, so this is the key. Now, jeune garçon, aren't you a curious one? I will answer all your other questions after the ritual is done. Or tomorrow. This is a very potent potion."

Harry had only one question remaining, but he doubted the artist would have an answer to that. Could it be that Mastery of Art originated from Necromancy? The portraits have been created for centuries. While they were in high demand at all times, it was probably not the most demanding application for a Necromancer. A little potion was derived at some point and with time only the process remained with a clear how, but not the why. But if it was a part of Necromancy, it would mean the ritual entailed the summoning of an actual soul from the other world…

Harry had yet to move aside to let the artist work, and the man looked down at him thoughtfully from above his impressive height.

"Could it be…" His eyes met Harry's and then his lips formed into a pleased smile. "Do you perhaps wish to become my apprentice?"

"Yes, please," Harry answered before he could overthink it. Olivier Perrot laughed and ushered Harry to finally join Narcissa, who was sending Harry curious glances.

Harry strived to learn more, and he had to confirm his hypothesis somehow. Not even Path to Death touched upon this particular magic as far as Harry was able to gather by skimming through chapters and making sure once more as soon as he returned to Hogwarts. Monsieur Perrot agreed to talk in more detail come summer, and in the meantime Harry decided to include the topic of Art into his search through libraries, in case there was more information hidden there.

"Mr Potter!" A voice brought him back to the real world. Professor Sprout was right beside Harry, inspecting his work. "Why is your mandrake so quiet?"

Looking around, Harry noticed that all other mandrakes were screeching unpleasantly, giving trouble to the students. He was so invested in his own thoughts that he really didn't pay much attention to his.

"Is it wrong, Professor?"

"Don't think so," she huffed. "If you can still handle it gently. And don't forget to pay attention."

Harry nodded, and she proceeded to go around the greenhouse, commenting on other students' work and offering advice.

"Hm, aren't we missing one?" Professor Sprout looked in the direction of Hufflepuffs uncertainly.

"It's Justin Finch-Fletchley, Professor," one of the Hufflepuffs responded. "He wasn't feeling well since yesterday."

Professor Sprout looked at the boy with sympathy, but then held her hands at her sides in a futile attempt to appear intimidating. "You weren't overindulging in the kitchens again, were you?"

"N-no, ma'am."

She didn't question the boy further, returning to observe the mandrakes.

This went surprisingly easy, Harry noted. Maybe he could feign being sick from time to time too.


It took Harry several weeks more into the Path to Death to finally reach a lengthy description that allowed him to understand what theory Tom tested during the duel with Ron. In theory, it provided a certain explanation to what happened, but there was also an oddity.

"You aren't just a memory, Tom?" he asked. Harry had his doubts for a while now, the more he saw Tom outside the diary, the more real he seemed.

Tom was leaning on the Basilisk, or the only part that could fit into the study, the very end of its tail. Tom's eyes were closed, one could almost mistake him for a sleeping person, except he wasn't able to sleep. He hummed, acknowledging but not answering Harry's question.

"It says the Necromancer can reach a point when they are able to channel emotions from the souls that passed onto the other realm, spirits of deceased, and sometimes ghosts. If given permission. You aren't deceased, nor you're on the other side. And you don't look like a ghost." Harry summarised all that he just read.

Tom opened his eyes slowly, almost lazily, meeting Harry's appraising gaze completely undisturbed.

"You shouldn't take everything written in the book for a fact, Harry. While it can provide assistance, anything written is always open to interpretation."

Harry could agree with that, but it still didn't answer Harry's question in the slightest.

"Do you wish to try again?" Tom asked then simply, as if talking about the weather. As if he wasn't deliberately avoiding Harry's inquiry.

"Not yet," Harry chose to pretend Tom's distracting attempt was successful. There was another thing that bothered him. "And while technically for this to work only your permission was required, I haven't given you one. So I would much appreciate it if you don't do this again unless I ask." He pointedly turned back to the book, rereading that part again in case he missed or misinterpreted something.

"So brazen…" Tom drawled. "Ordering me around."

Harry glanced at Tom expecting to see anger or annoyance, but there was only an amused glint in his half-lidded eyes as he observed Harry, the corners of his lips tugging upwards into a barely noticeable smile. Harry blinked.

"Is that a problem?" He refused to see his request as such.

Tom's eyes snapped wide open, before narrowing down again, and he was fully smiling now, dangerously, the way that promised a myriad of problems but also took Harry's breath away.


Fred and George flopped at each side of Harry, like they were running from wolves. Looking around, Harry noticed an exasperated face of Percy Weasley who just stopped abruptly at a distance before the Slytherin table, not daring to go after the twins all the way. It was lunch and the table was mostly cleared at this point, those Slytherins who still remained just pretended the twins didn't exist, already used to their sudden appearances.

"Thank Merlin, Harry. You are a lifesaver."

"Percy is out to get us!"

"Surely not for nothing?" Harry mused.

The twins simultaneously gasped.

"Not you too, Harry."

"We didn't do anything!"

Harry shot them a sceptical look and they whined.

"He is just salty that Penny cancelled their date last week."

"Said she didn't feel too well. And all over the letter, no less!"

The twins snickered and Harry raised an eyebrow. "Penny?"

"Penelope Clearwater, one of those smarty Ravenclaws."

"Ditching Percy might be her smartest move though."

They cackled again, and Harry's eyes darted to Percy, who was reprimanding first year Gryffindors left and right.

"Anyway, the Valentine's is coming up, like tomorrow. If you haven't noticed."

It was hard not to notice, Lockhart went completely wild with all the decorations. Whatever Fred was about to say was interrupted by a cupid, who sang a little song, leaving behind a letter for Harry. It was the seventh letter so far, likely a small sample of what he'd be getting on the actual day.

Inside there was also attached a candy with violet and pink stripes that looked quite familiar.

George whistled, "Oh, so she's actually doing this." The twins didn't even bother pretending they weren't peeking at Harry's letter.

"Ginny's been so insufferable lately!" Fred huffed, casually filling up his plate with a variety of desserts.

"Harry Potter this, Harry Potter that."

"Says you don't notice her at all."

"Who is Ginny?" Harry deadpanned.

Of course, he knew who she was. This girl was staring at him all the time, sometimes trailing after him like a lost puppy without ever approaching. In fact, she was watching them right at this moment from the Gryffindor table.

The twins laughed.

"Our poor sister is just lovesick."

"Forgive her, for she is young."

Harry shrugged, not entirely bothered.

"So, does this candy have anything to do with all the flowers people are sprouting on their heads lately?"

"Yep!"

The flowers were a recent hit in Hogwarts. Even several Slytherins were subjected to them, but Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs seemed to have the most fun. Only occasionally black or brown ugly flowers were revealed, but those who hated each other tended to also avoid each other. Most of the time the effect was more pleasant, and everyone just loved how it made them look pretty, even though in the process they risked going through embarrassing feelings too.

"And what is this supposed to accomplish?" Harry eyed the candy sceptically.

"Ah, just humour her, Harry." George offered through a mouthful of pudding.

"Our sister could use a bit of a reality check."

Harry finished his pumpkin juice slowly, sending a long look over the cup to Ginny Weasley, who even at this distance became noticeably red-faced.

"Fine," he said, uncovering the candy and placing it in his mouth. The taste reminded him of raspberries. "When should the effect take place?"

"Right about now, and it'll last for an hour."

"But you have to be close and look each other in the eyes." The twins wiggled their eyebrows suggestively, also sending their sister incomprehensible signals over the table.

They stood up then, gingerly motioning for Harry to do the same, and led him out of the Great Hall to a nearby alcove. Harry savoured the candy, it was quite delicious, completely melting just as Ginny approached.

She was close enough to see Harry, but still only stared at Harry, not saying a word. George nudged her to come closer, and Harry stared right back at her, fixing the eye contact. Ginny gazed, blushing further, her red cheeks producing similar red petals. It could have looked beautiful if it wasn't so disturbing.

Ginny looked over at her brothers, panicked.

"Honesty, sis." Fred sighed. "We told you, it doesn't work like that."

"It won't produce any feelings that aren't there."

Her eyes were now filling with tears, she glanced back at Harry, and the red petals turned violet before falling off, leaving only cracked smudges of dust. She bolted and ran away, heartbroken.

"Sorry about that, Harry."

He shrugged, and the twins suddenly whirled around, catching Harry's eye. "Not even a daisy of affection for us?" They pouted.

"Maybe, I'm immune." It wasn't a joke, but Fred and George still laughed.

"So, any other siblings you have trouble with?" Harry asked once they calmed down.

"Well, Ron is still in the hospital wing."

"But don't worry, it has nothing to do with you."

"And everything to do with a certain Professor removing his ribs."

"Poor Ron is still regrowing."

"The bones can affect the organs, so the process is painfully slow."

"Madam Pomfrey was so mad."

"You should have seen her!"

Harry nodded in understanding. Ron was a nuisance for Harry for a long time and while having one less person bothering him these days was appreciated, he didn't wish to actually inflict pain to the boy. While Lockhart certainly didn't wish for it either, stupidity turned out to be the most dangerous weapon in this case.

Nevertheless, the twins didn't look particularly worried or solemn.

"There is another one…" Fred whispered consiprationally. "You know, Harry, lately George has been insufferable too."

"Hey! I'm Fred!" George argued.

"No, I'm actually Forge."

"No, you are Gred."

Harry was pretty sure he could distinguish who was who, it wasn't that hard if one was observant enough and if they introduced themselves correctly the first time around.

They didn't stop their bickering even as they sent Harry a thumbs up, and scurried off down the corridor.

"No running in the corridors!" Nearly Headless Nick reprimanded as he swished past them through the near wall. Harry watched after him, noting the translucent appearance, fully monochrome with only bluish tints around the edges, truly otherworldly. Nothing close to what Tom looked like.

Tom was different, with full colour and all the little details. He was somewhat transparent too, but the more life force he took, the more fully visible he became. From a distance, Tom could be easily mistaken for a real, living, breathing person. He could slide through objects as well, but if concentrated enough he was able to touch or hold them, flip though pages of the book, or manage the actual steps on the floor instead of floating. He couldn't touch Harry, as they established on random occasions, their fingers brushing all the way through, even if Tom tried to bring more focus to this specifically. But it seemed his range of touch only encompassed inanimate solid object and ended with the thick skin of the Basilisk.


"Hogwarts has officially gone insane."

Harry announced as he entered the Slytherin's Study the next day. Tom was casually sprawled on the only comfy armchair in the room, flipping through yet another issue of the Daily Prophet. A stack of newspapers from the archives was towering nearby in a neat pile. For as long as he had the remaining power, Tom preferred to stay in this form outside the diary, yet he didn't want to risk appearing anywhere outside the Chamber of Secrets.

Tom glanced up at Harry in a silent question.

Just on the way here Harry was intercepted by at least a dozen cupids delivering Valentines, and stumbled upon at least four snogging couples hiding in not so hidden alcoves. One pair gave him a pause as he recognised a black-haired girl in a Slytherin uniform pushing someone against the wall. He moved to walk right past, but at this moment Pansy noticed him, turning her head in his direction. The other girl yelped, hiding her flushed face onto Pansy's robe, yet it was enough for Harry to recognise her as the Hufflepuff Susan Bones. He must have looked quite confused, as Pansy raised an eyebrow, not one bit embarrassed.

"What, Potter?" She grinned. "My crush on you is so last year."

He sent her an unimpressed look. "Good to know."

"Ouch. Harsh." She waved at him, shushing away, and he gladly obliged, content to escape all the surrounding madness.

The Chamber of Secrets felt quiet and peaceful like never before.

"Everyone is talking about love," he explained to Tom. "Even the Slytherins. I thought Valentine's Day was a muggle holiday."

Tom inclined his head in confirmation. "Love can make people act in unexpected ways."

"Have you ever been in love?"

"No." Was the short answer. "I didn't have time or need for any of this nonsense." Was the longer one after a pause.

Harry lifted his head from his own pile of books he was sorting through. He already read the Necromancy book twice, it wasn't the long one. While difficult to read at first, he managed faster the second time around. He wanted to explore what other treasures of knowledge the Chamber of Secrets offered.

"I get it." He nodded at Tom, fixing up his glasses. "But today it's really hard to avoid." Harry inclined his head, looking Tom over, curiously. "So you haven't dated any girls?'

"No."

With how good-looking Tom was, Harry could easily imagine a horde of girls fawning over him, or anyone, really.

"Boys?" Harry corrected his question.

Tom shook his head, looking amused.

Harry recalled a recent similar conversation he had in the Slytherin common room, the boys curious to discuss their dating life. Love was in the air for weeks even before the Valentine's Day, so they expressed an eager curiosity too. Blaise, for instance, easily shared that he fancied boys over girls. That was when Harry figured wizards had more tolerance on the matter. Most purebloods had arranged marriages and what happened behind the closed doors wasn't of anyone's concern, as long as families produced heirs.

When the question was directed at Harry, eager curious eyes fixed on him all around, he didn't know what to say. While he noticed attractive students in Hogwarts and could appreciate their appearance in a similar way he would appreciate a beautiful piece of clothing or a painting, he struggled to consider romance as an option for himself, despite all the offers he received lately. He wasn't sure what dating someone really entailed, especially since he excluded emotions from the equation. It was all a buzz noise to him.

"As I said, a bunch of nonsense." Tom continued, summarising Harry's own thoughts. "Besides, I would never find attractive those who are beneath me."

"Sure." Harry chuckled. "I forgot you consider yourself above all the people."

"It is a fact." Tom looked confident without any hint of humour, he seriously believed that. Frankly, Harry had no real argument against it.

"Move over," Harry said once he picked a book for himself. While there was also a simple chair at the desk, the comfy armchair was wide enough for two.

The first time they sat this close, Harry noticed that Tom's school robes weren't quite the same Harry was so used to. They were clean and crispy, not a single thread out of place, probably with the spells of Tom's own making, but the material still looked rougher.

Harry suddenly had this image of an eleven-year-old orphan in second-hand robes sitting among all the pompous Slytherins without any clue of why their eyes were so appraising on him with instant adversary as if he was inferior. Instinctively Harry put his hand on Tom's shoulder, and it came through the ghostly arm, not allowing Harry to touch, to feel the material.

"How was it?" he asked instead, "To be sorted into Slytherin?"

Tom easily picked up on Harry's train of thought, his expression twisting in disdain, but clearing just as quickly.

"Nothing to worry your head about," he replied, indifferent. "They will all happily lick my cheap boots at the very first command now."

Harry's eyebrows shot up at that.

"Surely, you didn't."

"I could." Tom's eyes held a certain mischievous glint in them, that Harry recognised it was a joke, but at the same time it left no doubts, that oh, he definitely could.

They sat now, both invested in their readings, the rustling of pages the only sound in a quiet room. Harry was in the mood for some light reading, so he picked a journal of adventures of a wizard from the 18th century. It described different countries and their unique ways of magic, but also offered some day-to-day life stories.

Some hours later, when Harry almost started nodding off, Tom tossed the newspaper aside with a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Was it the last one?" Harry asked, and at Tom's confirmation stood up, stretching up. It was getting late.

"Well then," Harry refrained from yawning. "Shall I return this to the library?" He motioned to the pile.

"Good riddance." Tom kicked the pile of newspapers with his foot and sprawled back on the armchair, getting himself comfortable.

"You okay?" Harry asked, watching for the signs of diminishing vibrancy in Tom's appearance.

Tom cracked his eyes open, regarding Harry somewhat tiredly. "I'll be fine for about a couple of days."

Harry nodded, wandlessly stacking newspapers back into a neat pile and levitating them, prepared to go. The basic Parselmagic worked well for him, he barely had to give it any thought anymore.

He was reluctant at first leaving Tom in the Chamber like this. But he resigned, understanding that Tom deserved to have some space if he so wished. He always expected Harry back, and he wasn't really alone, Ananta only too happy to keep his favourite Speaker a company.


"You naughty, naughty boy!" Harry heard a high-pitched voice as he stepped into the girls' bathroom a day later. The ghost followed him into the room from the side of the wall.

"Hello, Myrtle." Harry greeted, and the girl giggled.

"Oh, so you remember my name?" She floated closer to him, smiling shyly and playing with her hair.

Not only he remembered her name, he knew the full story behind her death and who was responsible for it. While unfortunate, Harry couldn't bring himself to feel sorry for her. It was mainly an accident, and also the reason Tom stopped going down the Chamber of Secrets, shutting it for good as a measure to prevent Hogwarts from being shut down instead.

Harry sent her a smile and she clasped her hands over her mouth.

"Oh no!" she gasped. "You are a good boy after all. So much better than that Tom Riddle. He was handsome too but so arrogant and cold!"

She didn't even realise she was talking about her murderer.

"But you are nice!" she sang sweetly. "You are good." She nodded to herself several times but then frowned. "Still, don't think I don't know what you've been doing."

"Thank you, Myrtle." Harry ignored her last remark.

"Polite too." She rubbed her ghostly shoulder over Harry's. "But also," she lowered her voice to a whisper. "So calm to be around." Her eyes became distant and pensive. "I almost have no fears passing to the other side anymore."

"What about your fears, Myrtle? Will you share your worries with me?"

Myrtle blinked rapidly, looking through her eyelashes. "If you ask so nicely, Harry."

She shifted with a happy bounce, locking her eyes with Harry. As she rambled on and on about her grievances, Harry felt a string of chill coursing through him. It wasn't a pleasant sensation, much sharper and cutting than it was with Tom's emotions, but now that he was prepared, he could withstand it better. He broke the eye contact, but the flow wasn't interrupted. Tugging at his tie, he threw it on the floor and took out his wand.

"Wingardium Leviosa." The tie shot up in an instant, going as far above as Harry pointed with the wand. It stayed like this until he lowered his wand.

"Bombarda." He threw it at the distant wall, the tiles broke off, along with three nearby sinks and toilet doors. Harry used a Protego to avoid the aftermath of the blast.

"Reparo." Everything went back to the original state.

"Bombarda." Harry tried again, focusing more on reigning in his power, wishing to apply it only on one sink. It shattered with a snap. He repaired it again.

Harry looked back at his tie, trying some transfiguration spells now, changing colours, shape, and material. He was examining a glassy white snake when he felt the flow of emotions becoming weaker. He cancelled the spell on the tie, summoning it back, and turned to Myrtle, just in time when the energy was completely cut off.

Myrtle didn't look bothered that Harry seemingly ignored her, if anything, she looked enlightened.

"You know, Harry." Her eyes were shining with something incomprehensible. "I think I'm ready to go now."

"If that is the case, you probably should."

She sniffed, biting her lip. "But if I go, I'll miss you!"

Harry offered her another smile, he was reading enough about the other side to suddenly realise something very clearly.

"I'm quite sure we'll meet again."

This instantly put her at ease.

"Buy-buy," Myrtle gave Harry a cutesy wave of a hand, and with one last glance and a shy smile disappeared entirely.


After what happened with Myrtle, Harry sat on his next History of Magic class, contemplating. The Slytherins and Hufflepuffs around were in varying states of sleep or engaged in other sorts of activities. No one actually listened to the lecture. There was supposed to be lunch after, a longer break before the next set of students were to appear.

When the class ended, he walked towards the Professor's desk, where Binns was submerged right in the middle of it.

"Do you have a question about the goblin's side of rebellion, Mr Potter?"

"No, Professor." Harry shook his head, he actually had little idea what to ask. He looked at Binns, who met his eyes and suddenly blinked. Harry held his gaze, unwavering. "What can you tell me about the other side, sir?"

"The other side…" The ghost's eyes glazed over. "Ah, where was I? The goblin rebellion…"

"Is something still troubles you here?" Harry tried again, carefully.

Professor Binns inclined his head, not breaking eye contact.

"I wonder," he whispered, and then looked around. "Where was I?" he repeated but looked like he wasn't referring to the subject of history anymore.

Harry observed him calmly, not saying anything, yet Professor Binns started nodding to himself and muttering incomprehensibly. When Harry was about to ask another question, the ghost glimmered and in the next minute vanished without another word.

Harry breathed out, only now realising the tension that overcame him. Turning around, he came face to face with a girl who was watching him with wide curious eyes. She must have seen everything. Holding back his reaction, Harry was weighing his opinions.

"I know you were trying to help," she broke the silence. Her voice was soft and calm, making Harry relax somewhat. He was still on guard, but for some reason he didn't perceive her as an immediate threat.

"I wasn't trying, I did help." He felt the need to correct.

She nodded, and her ridiculous earrings swayed with the motion.

"I believe you, Harry," she simply said, then added as an afterthought. "You are Harry Potter."

"I am," he confirmed, as if his lightning bolt scar wasn't a giveaway. The girl appeared to be one of the younger Ravenclaw students.

"I'm Luna Lovegood," she introduced herself and held out a hand for a handshake, which was an oddity in a way of how girls acted around him recently, but a refreshing one. Harry took her hand, and she shook it several times for good measure. The bizarreness of a gesture somehow ending up reassuring.

"I won't tell anyone." The air around the girl was almost serene, and Harry was inclined to believe her. She dropped his hand and went to sit at the front row, starting to meticulously prepare for a class, that won't be held today.

The next morning Dumbledore announced at breakfast that Professor Binns passed away.

"But of course he was already dead long ago, so there is no need for sorrow. He finally went onto his next adventure, and we may all wish him the best." He held up his cup.

The murmurs spread over the Great Hall. There was hardly anyone who felt sad at the discovery. If anything, the students were more excited that they won't have to sit through boring classes any longer. Harry glanced at the Ravenclaw table, Luna Lovegood seemed like she wasn't listening to the Headmaster at all, her eyes following something above her head with great interest.

"The History of Magic classes will be put on hold for a time being until we find a suitable candidate to fill in the position. I will try my best to hire the best one on such a short notice."

Harry could only hope that whoever was hired would prove that Harry's spontaneous action was for the better and not worse.


As he was leaving the Great Hall, Harry was ambushed by an overly excited Gryffindor, a flash of light could have made Harry blind on so many occasions by now, if not for a protective charm on his glasses.

"Harry, Harry! This was a really nice shot!" Colin Creevey pounced on his toes.

"Hello, Colin." Harry settled on being polite. It was a perfect timing, actually. "Why don't you walk with me for a bit?"

"Really, Harry? I'll be happy to follow you anywhere."

Harry offered him a smile, inwardly marvelling at the irony. They went through corridors, greeting portraits and occasional students on their way. Harry made a small talk with Colin, who flashed his camera at him every other minute.

"I have so many amazing shots already! Is this a dream, Harry?"

"Hmm, what do you think?"

Colin smiled at him from ear to ear. They went along, the corridors were getting emptier, until it was only them and their footsteps echoing through the walls.

"Where are we going, Harry?" Colin's voice added to the echo, he was no longer taking any pictures.

"Just strolling around."

They reached a certain door with an 'out of order' sign. As if not seeing it, Harry pushed the door open.

"Isn't this a girls' bathroom?" Colin switched to whisper for some reason.

"Is it?

Harry didn't stop, walking inside, and Colin still followed him blindly until he abruptly stopped, his camera falling to the ground with a click, and he looked past Harry with wide eyes.

"H-Harry… there's a giant snake behind you…" he pointed a trembling finger, shell-shocked.

Harry looked behind and surely, there was Ananta, peeking out from one of the pipes. His eyes were closed, but it was still a terrifying sight for an unprepared soul. Visibly unperturbed, Harry looked back at Colin.

"No, there isn't," he said. "It's just your imagination."

If anything, Colin was now even more scared.

Harry brought Colin's attention to his hand. "Look."

There was only a powdered root of Asphodel with a slight modification Harry came up with. Making sure Colin is close enough, Harry spread the powder ahead, its effect instant as the boy sneezed before losing conscience and falling on the floor.

"Since you are here, Ananta. Mind helping me with this one?" He motioned to the unconscious Creevey.

"Sure, Harry."

"Open," Harry told to the sink. He would be calling upon the stairs next, but now he waited as Ananta slithered inside, all the way from the pipe. He levitated Colin onto the Basilisk, who gave them a lift directly to the Slytherin's Study.

Harry placed the boy on the floor and looked at Tom.

"Why are you allowing Ananta to roam free everywhere?"

"I can't forbid him anything," Tom said flatly, without looking up from the book.

Harry sighed. "Anyway, this one had seen him. Can you do something about his memories?"

Tom put the book away, giving Colin a cursory glance. "I can try. But wandless magic is challenging in this form." He stood up, coming closer to Harry. "May I have your wand?"

Harry held out his wand without hesitating one bit.

Tom arched an eyebrow and Harry arched his back, "All you had to do is ask, Tom."

"Wonderful," Tom said, grasping the wand. He waved it experimentally, producing a shot of bright sparkles, and his expression turned surprised. He frowned, trying out a non-verbal spell next, the book nearby lifted with ease.

It was working perfectly well, and Harry remembered something. "It's a holly wand, but with the same core as yours. A feather from the same Phoenix, twin wands, or so Ollivander told me."

Tom examined the wand a bit longer before turning his attention to the boy on the floor.

While Tom was preoccupied with manipulating Colin's memories, Harry cleared up the desk.

"I brought you my books," he said, once Tom was finished. Harry didn't bother picking anything up, just taking the shrunken trunk with him. All his books were there, including select few he still kept from the muggle bookshops. He stacked everything up on the desk, and something had to go on the floor, his collection wasn't small. He entertained a thought of leaving something behind for good, imagining how perplexed someone might get stumbling upon a course on Chemistry or the laws of Physics. Not that there was any chance for that, if Tom had no interest in leaving descendants.

Tom looked at the books in approval, this ought to have him entertained for at least another month.

He still didn't give Harry his wand back, tracing it thoughtfully in a gesture that was so familiar, having seen Voldemort frequently doing the same.

"Now, that opens so many possibilities." Tom pondered out loud.

With a flick of the wand the mess in the room cleared up, most of the books returning to proper places on the bookshelves. The ones that didn't fit, stacked neatly on the floor. Tom looked around, satisfied.

"Was it bothering you so much?" Harry asked, not concerned at the display of magic.

He was trusting Tom won't use it against him, they already established that the contract ritual made Tom hesitant to mess unnecessarily with Harry's life force. He only drew the energy from others, who Harry randomly chose as victims, simply based on them wandering around at odd hours at night close to the location of the Chamber, or just seizing an opportunity like he did with Colin. Usually, several hours of draining from their life resource was enough for Tom to maintain his form outside the diary for a week or two. He could preserve it too if he stayed inside the diary. Harry released everyone after one night, leaving the students confused but, with the help of his Invisibility Cloak, none the wiser, only with a case of general sickness that typically went away after a couple of days. For that reason, he preferred Fridays for such an activity, so that to leave less occurrences where the Professors might take note.

"Not quite." Tom shrugged in response, giving the room another once over. "But it's better like this." He held the wand almost gently, a contemplative look on his face, his intense eyes then focused on Harry. "If that was up to me, I could have taught you so many things. You would have flourished with the Dark Arts."

The implication didn't escape Harry's attention, he had an impression that Voldemort or Tom won't express the desire to teach their secret techniques to just anyone. Tom recognised him, saw a potential in him; the thought Harry revelled in.

"You still could." Thinking about it, he could envision the possibility. "Me channelling emotions will have to use some more experimenting before covering any advanced stuff. But… we can start with Occlumency?"

Tom raised an eyebrow. "You'd let me?"

"Why not? I already let Voldemort into my mind, and I don't have anything to hide from you, really." As he spoke, Harry knew it still held true. He considered Tom thoughtfully. "Unless you don't want to see what becomes of you."

"I already get the picture." Tom said dismissively. "I doubt it'll pose a problem."

"That's settled then. I could actually use some help, so as not to fall out of practice."

"In that case, I will be happy to help, Harry." Tom smiled sweetly, not allowing Harry any time to prepare before his mind got invaded.

After this very first lesson Harry realised, Nagini lied. Not that she could lie to him, really, but her perception of years and decades making it perfect was completely skewed. Tom was only sixteen. Harry could barely see a difference in the skill. Tom was that good already. In some instances Harry had an easier time, deflecting the attacks, but he still struggled to get everything right.

Tom didn't hold back his opinion.

"You were practising with me for less than a year? Harry, you have a solid foundation. I can see that obscuring your mind comes naturally to you."

"I still have a lot of trouble warding my mind against you."

"And you think that's bad? No, Harry, anyone else wouldn't struggle at all, I'd cut through them like butter without them ever noticing."

"Well," Harry smirked. "I had a good teacher."

Tom smirked back, before attacking Harry's mind without any warning once again.


Unlike the older version of Voldemort, Tom had no qualms about commenting on Harry's memories.

"I was curious how exactly you managed to take the diary from Lucius Malfoy." His eyes were full of dark amusement. "My, Harry. Claiming me as yours?"

For a moment Harry was lost for words, he stared at Tom impassively, really having no explanation. "Any objections?" He countered, nonplussed.

Tom broke into a laugh, it was a pleasant sound, velvety soft, echoing through the vast room.

At some point they decided to use the rest of the Chamber of Secrets for Occlumency lessons so as not to stay cooped up in the study at all times. Tom looked down at Harry, his expression indecipherable.

"I admit, it was the right call," he finally concluded. "Lucius looked suspiciously like he was about to get rid of the diary. Unforgivable."

"Now, don't be so harsh on Lucius." Harry tried to argue. The last thing he wanted was for Lucius to get punished for that episode.

"It's like he's begging for punishment," Tom continued, and Harry gave up. Technically, it was fair.

The next lesson in Occlumency triggered Harry's mysterious ability to jump into Voldemort's mind. The experience with Tom wasn't any different, and Harry wasn't surprised, already anticipating this might happen with how often it did before. Tom was taken aback, letting the memory play out for a bit. Harry only caught a glimpse of Myrtle, still alive, when Tom dropped the spell.

"I see." Tom said, his expression unreadable. He inspected Harry like he'd seen him for the first time. "That would be enough for today," he said eventually, handing Harry his wand back, glancing at it briefly with a pensive look.

Tom also requested Harry to bring the diary with him afterwards, like he did every so often once he got bored with the Chamber, so Harry didn't question it.


Harry woke up to the feeling of someone watching him. Opening his eyes, he was met with the intense brown eyes of Tom Riddle, who didn't even blink upon seeing Harry waking up. He was so close that even without glasses Harry could see him clearly.

"What are you doing?" Harry hissed in Parseltongue so as not to disrupt the silence of the room.

"Do you not know how long it has been since I was trapped in a diary? I forgot how actual people look like."

"I actually do not know." Harry looked at Tom unimpressed, as he shifted to sit up on the bed and put on his glasses. "And you are literally an embodiment of a perfect memory."

"That is what I told you…" Tom mused, also moving up to sit cross-legged in front of Harry.

"That was not the truth?" Harry already suspected as much.

"Not the full extent of it."

"Are you going to tell me the full truth now?"

Tom was seemingly lost in thought for a long moment, and Harry didn't rush him.

"I might." His answer was oddly similar to Voldemort's, only in the next moment Tom sighed as he revealed, "I am a part of the soul. What you sense as a presence of Voldemort, it is my soul."

"You… are telling me." Harry tried to gather his scattering thoughts. "You split your soul and put a part of it in a diary?"

"Yes, a horcrux it is called. And I presume there is more than the diary if I went through my plans."

"And why am I capable of sensing your soul?" Harry already had an inkling, but it was still a shock when Tom traced his fingers over his lightning bolt scar.

"Because right here, there is also a part of me." Harry didn't feel the touch, Tom's fingers went right through, but he still shivered.

"Why would you do this?"

Harry was speechless. Every instinct screamed at him that the whole thing was just wrong. One of the main principles of Necromancy, apart from suppressing emotions, was to respect the soul. It was sacred. A soul wasn't meant to be butchered like this. And if Tom did so several times, it wasn't so surprising that Voldemort eventually became consumed by madness.

It was impossible to read Tom's expression now.

"This." He motioned at Harry. "Was most likely an accident. As for why I did it in the first place…" he looked up as if searching for an answer, but it was obvious for both of them. "Immortality."

Logically, yes, Harry could see how this worked, he could understand how Voldemort indeed managed to survive, it wasn't an incorrect method to rely on. Yet, Tom never quite appreciated his existence in the diary. Looking at his stiff shoulders and his face that didn't reflect any pride or self-assurance, Harry couldn't help but wonder.

"Do you regret it?"

Tom looked at him sharply. "I will need to have a full perspective on my life to give you that answer."

"You know," Harry surveyed Tom with matching sharpness. "Your presence right now is much stronger than whatever I sensed with your older version. If you split your soul in half, and made plans to do it again…"

Harry couldn't convey his thoughts into words. But he knew Tom would understand.

"There is barely any soul left right now?" Tom finished for him.

Harry nodded. "I cannot imagine that it did not leave its consequences."

"Perhaps. Yet, I am still alive."

"At the cost of your sanity." Harry voiced his guess coolly. Despite the fierce defiance in his eyes, Tom didn't attempt to argue with that.


The History of Magic resumed after about a month, with Dumbledore missing his deadline, the new Professor eventually got appointed by the Ministry.

Yvonne Macmillan was a middle-aged tall woman with long sandy hair, plaited into a braid, and surprisingly piercing blue eyes. She was also, as the rumour quickly spread, Ernie Macmillan's aunt, who worked in the Department of Law Enforcement.

"It is no secret that the subject of History was one of the most overlooked in Hogwarts for several generations," she started at her first lecture. "If your lessons were conducted in the same manner it was in my age, then the material learned so far wasn't the most up to date or anywhere near useful for your future careers. This will have to be completely remade from its roots. The senior years might get disadvantaged as a result, but I will keep that in mind to create the most balanced and thorough curriculum Hogwarts had seen in centuries."

She paced along the classroom, passing by the rows, already she captured the attention of every student.

"As you imagine," she continued, "Such an ambition takes time to realise. There is only three months left till the end of school year. So, for the remainder of this term, I will teach you what I know best. The History of Magic can be approached from many angles, and one that will prove the most valuable for any of you is the History through Magical Laws."

At that Pansy perked up with interest, now taking out her parchment and quill, which she clearly wasn't going to use before.

Harry quirked an eyebrow at her. "So now you are interested?"

"You have to know your enemy from the inside out." She huffed and gave Harry a barely noticeable wink.

Harry briefly wondered if that is what was going on with her and Susan Bones, the niece of Amelia Bones, the Head of the Law Enforcement Department, but decided that it was none of his business.

He could agree at least that this new approach to History was already proving to be more useful by a mile.


Tom was examining his hand, gripping it into a fist and relaxing again. Harry glanced sideways from his book.

"Still doesn't look too corporeal," he observed. While Tom's appearance was as vibrant as ever, Harry could still see through if he paid a close attention.

Tom huffed. "It won't, unless I have an actual body."

Harry considered this. "Not even if you drain this one to death?"

He motioned to a prone body of Hermione Granger on the floor.

"Do you want to find out?"

Tom's eyes were telling that he was seriously suggesting it, and Harry was almost tempted.

"No," he eventually decided. "No one should die in Hogwarts."

"Why not?" Tom stretched his lips into a sly smile. Harry won't be giving in.

"Too bothersome to deal with the consequences," he said firmly, resuming his reading.

Tom hummed, he should know better than anyone what those consequences might be. Yet, he shifted closer to Harry, sitting sideways at the armchair, his hand casually supporting his head as he watched Harry curiously.

"What about outside of Hogwarts?"

Harry looked up, pausing in the middle of turning a page.

"Can we go out unnoticed?"

"Sure." Tom's eyes gleamed in unveiled anticipation.

Harry closed the book with a snap.

"I'm listening."

Tom's smile grew wider, satisfied.

"This is a Chamber of Secrets, Harry. There are bound to be all sorts of secret passages in and out."


"Anyone you wish to enact revenge upon?" Tom suggested.

Of course, he saw in Harry's memories, that it weren't only Dursleys who treated Harry badly. There were also Dudley's friends, who were only too happy to bully a small scrawny kid Harry was back then. There was a whole neighbourhood that wronged Harry one way or another, if only he found it in himself to hold grudges. Those were distant memories, the emotional significance vanishing long ago, and the rational part in Harry saying that he wished for no more association with that side of the Muggle world. Enough people died around Harry already, any more, and he would be pushing the line between doubt and suspicion.

"No. I have no taste for revenge," he decided. "It gets old pretty fast. If it doesn't accomplish anything else I won't bother." He also didn't want to go through unnecessary risks. "It's better if we go after someone who won't be tied back to me."

"A random muggle, then?"

"More or less."

They already decided that acting within the muggle world would be a safer option. Stirring the magical population with the news about murder would pose too many risks. Besides, a muggle would always be easier to handle than anyone with magical ability, no matter how surpassing Harry's or Tom's magic was. Not to mention Harry was too recognizable in the wizarding world. They would still need to think about disguise.

"If we are to go through muggle London, you aren't actually looking the part." Harry observed as he looked over Tom's Slytherin robes.

"Hold on, I might remember something."

Tom retreated to the diary and after a moment returned, dressed differently. He was wearing simple trousers with a plain white shirt, the sleeves were rolled up to slightly below the elbows in an attempt to make a simple look more interesting. It was working, even in this muggle clothes Tom looked dashing. But no detail escaped Harry's eye.

"This looks a bit old-fashioned." Harry walked around Tom to get a better look. "What era is this from?"

"1940s." Tom flicked through his hair, arranging them neatly but still achieving a casual look, something that would never work with Harry's messy strands.

"If you're sixteen now." Harry hummed, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "What year were you born, again?"

"Not again. I never told you. I should be sixty-six now." It was the ease with which Tom admitted it, that made Harry realise how far their trust in each other now stretched. How reluctant at first and careful they both were with their words.

Harry tilted his head, making mental calculations, adjusting his world-view. Tom raised an eyebrow.

"Surprised I'm this old?"

"No, actually. I thought Voldemort was over a hundred years old or something."

"Surely, I don't actually look this old."

"I've only seen Voldemort at the back of Quirrell's head, I don't think it was the best representation…" Tom's face soured at the reminder, and Harry considered another point. "It's probably the way Nagini talked and all that mysterious image Voldemort exudes. I always thought of him as this timeless being."

"Not that it matters, really, since I am immortal."

Harry hummed in agreement, there was another thing in a way Tom talked that wasn't entirely bothering but still mystifying to Harry.

"You keep referring to Voldemort as yourself…" his words weren't quite a question, but they still ended up with a questioning tilt.

"Oh, Harry. Because it is me." Tom shot him a look, that made it seem like he was forced to articulate a very basic concept. "I might be susceptible to madness and have a split soul, but it's hardly a case of spilt personality."

Tom stood tall and poised, the light of the Chamber illuminating only a part of his face, bringing out the sharp features, half shadowed in the darkness. His eyes were heavy despite the brightness of reflected light, they locked onto Harry, conveying an undeniable truth.

"Voldemort is my past, present, and future," he said with such an unwavering certainly, that Harry could only stare in absolute awe.