Chapter 8. Oddly Familiar

Harry frowned as he hovered at the threshold of the room he'd called his bedroom for the past two months. With its bare walls and its cleared desk, it was just as empty as the day he'd moved in; everything he had managed to scrounge up to call his own was now in his new trunk. The sight was a sobering reminder of how long he'd been here.

"Is that everything, Harry?" Dumbledore called up the stairs.

Harry shook himself out of it and scanned the room once more before yelling back, "Yep! All set!"

"Come on down then, we mustn't be late!"

Harry tossed his backpack over his shoulder before shutting the door and hurrying down the hallway. As he thundered down the stairs, he caught sight of Dumbeldore sneaking even more books into his trunk.

"I saw that," Harry said, causing the older wizard to straighten up and give him a completely unabashed smile. "I'll barely be able to lift it if you keep adding more books."

"You can never go wrong with a bit more knowledge, Harry, extra weight or no," Dumbledore said, still smiling. "Besides, I'm sure you'll find these books to be particularly helpful; you barely managed to pass the theoretical portion of your potions placement exam."

"Not my fault I had a rubbish professor," Harry grumbled. "You sure I can't tell you who—?"

"Yes, I'm sure," Dumbledore interrupted tiredly, "Now, come along, grab your trunk. The train leaves in twenty minutes."

Harry rolled his eyes before grabbing the handle of his trunk and lifting it with a small grunt. "Merlin's pants, that's heavy!"

"The burden of knowledge often is," Dumbledore said soberly as he held out his arm to the younger wizard. "Ready?"

Having been Side-Along Apparated to Diagon Alley several times this summer, he knew what was coming. Harry braced himself for the horrible experience, gripped Dumbledore's forearm, and nodded.

"Here we go."

In an instant, Harry was being crushed from all directions, unable to breathe as his ears and eyeballs were forced back into his head. As quickly as it happened, however, the feeling of being forced through a tight rubber tube was gone, leaving Harry gasping and his stomach rolling. The foyer of Bezarld Bend was gone; he and Dumbledore were now standing in an empty room with brick walls and an archway.

"Alright there Harry?" the older wizard asked.

"I still prefer brooms," Harry said as he rubbed his ears. After a moment, he asked, "Where are we?"

"A designated Apparation room just off of platform nine and three-quarters," Dumbledore explained. "It wouldn't do to startle the Muggles and the platform is far too crowded."

"Cool," Harry nodded.

"Quite," Dumbledore smiled. "This way."

Harry followed the man out of the room and onto the crowded platform. Smoke from the scarlet Hogwarts steam engine drifted over the crowd of witches and wizards and cats and owls. As he scanned the crowd of people, Harry felt a sharp pang in his gut. He didn't recognize a single face.

"Cheer up, Harry, it's not all that bad," Dumbledore said quietly. Evidently, he hadn't been too good at hiding his feelings.

The young wizard forced a smile. "Yeah," he said. "It's just weird not recognizing—Hey, wait! There's Tom!"

Before Dumbledore could blink, Harry was dropping his trunk and weaving through the crowd. He was lucky to have spotted Tom; as is he barely recognized him in his slick Hogwarts robes. He'd gotten too used to Riddle's rumpled shop clothes.

"Tom!"

The boy in question turned at the sound of his name.

"Ah, Harry," he greeted with a small smile, "How are you?"

"You stopped writing me," Harry accused in answer, poking Tom in the chest.

"I'm great too, thank you so much for asking," Tom drawled.

"Why'd you disappear on me?"

"I got busy," he said smoothly before his lips twitched. "What? Did you miss me?"

Just as Harry opened his mouth to respond, Tom's smirk faltered and Harry felt a hand on his shoulder.

"There you are, Harry!" Dumbledore exclaimed, "Next time you run off, do take your trunk with you, will you?"

Harry twisted to look up at him, "Sorry," he said sheepishly.

"It's quite alright," the wizard assured him before turning to Tom, whose face was carefully neutral. "Ah, Tom," he said warmly, "How was your summer?"

"It was 'quite alright,'" Tom parroted with a sharp little smile. "Spent most of it in Diagon Alley. Fortunately."

Dumbledore's welcoming smile faded. "Ah, yes."

As the Muggle World War hung over their heads unspoken, Harry shifted awkwardly. After a long pause filled with the surrounding chatter of the crowd, he asked (somewhat desperately), "Are you taking the train too, sir?"

Dumbledore jumped to answer, "No, no, professors rarely take the train, Harry."

"Ah, good to know."

The two of them had decided that Harry would feign ignorance whenever possible. Any slip-ups could be attributed to Harry's "Inner-Eye" being "sharply attuned to the Beyond." Though being a supposed Divination prodigy would be convenient, it was the reason Harry would be forced to continue taking Divination this year. Dumbledore had also warned him that it would likely bring some attention to him, so naturally, he hated the very thought.

"That reminds me," Dumbledore said, pulling out a pocket watch that Harry knew to have seven hands, "I do have to get going now. Here." He handed Harry his trunk only for the boy to pitch forward at the weight of it.

"What the—?!"

"Ah, apologies!" the man grimaced, "I may have added a few more books."

"When?!" Harry cried, aghast, "I was gone for two seconds!"

"You don't get to own as many books as I do without knowing how to summon them, Harry," Dumbledore said with a wink. "Now, I wish you the best of luck and I will see you at Hogwarts. Don't be alarmed when you get pulled aside before the Great Hall, you need to be sorted along with the first years."

Harry wrinkled his nose. "In front of everyone?"

"Yes," Dumbledore said just as Tom said, "It's not that bad."

Tom's show of empathy had pleased surprise flicking across Dumbledore's face, but it was gone as quickly as it had come leaving a friendly smile behind. "I'll leave you in Tom's capable hands, Harry. I'll see you boys later."

Harry waved and said "Bye, professor!" as Tom stiffly reclined his head with a polite "Sir."

Dumbledore disappeared with a crack.

"I still can't believe you actually lived with that man," Tom said the instant he was gone.

Harry scowled. "Oh sod off with your Dumbledore hate, will you? I've had to listen to it all summer."

"Need I remind you he set my wardrobe on fire?"

"I saw the whole thing myself, okay?" Harry gestured at his eyes. "He wouldn't have done it if you didn't steal people's things."

"We're orphans, Evans," Tom said exasperated, "We all steal."

"Still doesn't make it right."

"Sweet Salazar, you are so going to be a Gryffindor."

"So?" Harry shot back. "So what if I am?"

"I'll have to be seen fraternizing with a Gryffindor that's what," Tom said dramatically.

"Oh no, will that upset your rich, blood-purist, snaky lil' pals?" Harry mocked, "I'd hate for that to happen."

To Harry's surprise, a malicious smirk spread across Tom's face, "Oh they won't get upset. At least not visibly."

Harry's eyebrows knitted together and his stomach dropped at his dark tone. "That's... ominous," he said uncomfortably.

"I found something this summer," Riddle said in explanation.

"...What did you find?" he asked warily.

"I'll tell you later," Tom grinned.

"Prat," Harry grumbled. "C'mon, let's get a compartment before they all fill up."

"Oh, I'm not sitting with you."

Harry blinked. "What?"

"I have business with Nott."

"Oh."

"I'll talk to you later though."

"Alright," Harry ignored the flicker of disappointment in his gut, "I'll just—" He gestured awkwardly at the train.

"See you."

Harry yanked his trunk up with a small "Oof!" and began to lug it toward the train. He managed to drag it up the steps and past four train compartments before he was tapped on the shoulder by a girl around his age. She had black hair, oddly familiar square glasses, and a rather irritable expression.

"Haven't you heard of a Feather-light charm?" she asked.

"Er, sorry?"

The girl rolled her eyes and placed her trunk on the ground next to her. In a flash, she brandished her wand and tapped it on Harry's trunk. "Plumapondus."

Harry grinned in relief as his trunk suddenly became as light as a feather. "Hey, thanks!" he said brightly, turning to look at her better.

"Don't mention it," the girl said gruffly. Her eyes flicked up to his scar before zeroing in on his colorless tie. "I don't know you. The name's Minnie. Minnie McGonagall."

Harry blinked rapidly, barely stopping himself from gaping.

"You?" she asked pointedly when he didn't speak.

"Oh, er, I'm Harry. Harry Evans."

"Well, Evans, let's keep walking eh? Don't want to block the corridor."

Harry nodded quickly, still in shock. He allowed McGonagall—No, "Minnie" his mind supplied—to corral him down the corridor and into a compartment.

"So you're new?" McGonagall asked once they'd shoved their trunks onto an overhead shelf and sat down opposite each other.

"Er, yeah."

"What year are you?"

"I'm a fourth year," Harry said.

McGonagall smiled. "Me too. I'm a Gryffindor."

Harry had to catch himself from saying 'me too.' Instead, he said, "I haven't been sorted yet but my friend said he thinks I'll be a Gryffindor. I'm not looking forward to being sorted with all the first years though."

"It will be fine," McGonagall assured him, "It might be a bit odd 'cause you're older but people don't really notice unless you're a Hatstall."

"A Hatstall?" Harry feigned.

"Anyone whose sorting takes longer than five minutes is a Hatstall," she explained, "It took the Hat about five minutes and thirty seconds to sort me and by the end of it, everyone was really staring."

"Why'd the Hat take so long?" Harry asked curiously.

"It couldn't decide between Ravenclaw and Gryffindor, could it?" she explained. "Kept arguing with itself. I had to tell it to shut up and pick already before it finally decided on Gryffindor."

Harry grinned widely. "That'll do it. Daring and nerve, yeah?"

"Nerve eh?" came a voice outside the compartment. Harry turned around to see a girl with blonde hair; she had a mischievous grin. "Minnie's got nerve in spades!"

McGonagall rolled her eyes as the girl made her way into the compartment followed by a short boy with brown hair and a kind-looking and familiar round face. As the two began sliding their trunks onto the overhead shelves, McGonagall said, "Ignore Augusta, she likes to exaggerate."

The girl, Augusta apparently, gasped dramatically, "Minnie!" she said, voice scandalized, "How rude! Spreading lies to—" Her voice cut off as she cocked her head at Harry. "Who are you?"

"Oh, I'm Harry. Harry Evans."

"What are you, a transfer student or something?" the boy asked.

"Not really, I was homeschooled actually."

"Why'd you stop?"

"Oh, er, Grindlewald."

"Oh," the boy said. The mood instant grew heavy.

"Yeah," Harry said awkwardly. "But, er, can we not? I still don't know who you guys are?"

The boy immediately slipped into the seat next to him. "I'm Alfred Longbottom but you can call me Al." His familiar round face suddenly made sense. Harry smiled and nodded in greeting.

"And I'm Augusta Fawley," the girl supplied as she sat next to McGonagall.

If Harry had to bet, this was the future Augusta Longbottom. "Nice to meet you."

"Now that the niceties are out of the way," McGonagall said impatiently, "Please tell me one of you lot saw the Quidditch World Cup! I couldn't get tickets, I had to listen to the play-by-play." Her voice dripped with disgust.

"You're in luck Minnie," Al said proudly, "I was in the box next to the commentator's box."

McGonagall's eyes had gone wide, "Tell me everything!"

Harry grinned at her fervor and decided that he very much liked Minnie.

In a lone, well-warded train compartment, Tom laid his painstakingly researched Gaunt family tree out next to the carefully transcribed birth records for Marvolo and Merope Gaunt. The compartment was empty save for him, Charles Nott, and these marvelous papers. Nott's face was awestruck as his finger ghosted over dried ink, tracing the lines that connected Tom Marvolo Riddle to Salazar Slytherin himself.

"Merlin's beard," he breathed, "It's true."

Tom's eyes and grin were wide. "It is."

"You have all the records?"

"All of them." Transcribed birth records for Merope and Marvolo, for Corvus Gaunt, Hyacinth Gaunt, Amaranth Gaunt, Daegal Gaunt, and more and more and more. Tom summoned them from his trunk and handed them over. "Marriage licenses too."

"Merlin's beard," Charles breathed once more as he flipped through them.

Tom gave a low chuckle at that. "I am the heir of Slytherin."

Charles finally looked at him. "This changes... This changes everything."

"I know."

"Once they know... If you tell them—"

"I know." Tom felt giddy.

Charles's awe faded to a malicious grin. "I can't wait to see Selwyn's face!"

"No," Tom snapped, his voice suddenly icy. "You will not share this with anyone, Nott."

"Why—?"

"Do you think simple transcribed records will sway the likes of Selwyn?" Tom sneered, "And if Dumbeldore catches wind... No. This is not information to share. Not by you."

Charles frowned. "You don't plan on informing the others?"

"I did not say that. Lestrange, Rosier, Black... They will be informed. As will some other individuals. By me," he stressed.

"But Slytherin House," Charles protested, "How—?"

"Charles, my friend..." Tom crooned, "Patience. In time they will know." His mind wandered and his eyes darkened. "In time, they all will."

True to Dumbledore's word, Harry was indeed pulled aside outside of the Great Hall, forcing him to abandon the Gryffindors he'd met on the train. The woman who pulled him aside introduced herself as Professor Merrythought before leading him past the other students who were filing into the hall. As he passed, he made eye contact with Tom who gave him a slight smirk. He fought the urge to stick his tongue out.

"Right in here, Mr. Evans," Professor Merrythought said, gesturing to the small, empty chamber off the hall where he had waited his first year. "The youngins will be along shortly—Ah, I think that's them now."

It was. As the first years crowded into the room, peering about nervously, Harry felt distinctly awkward and oddly tall. Even as the Professor went on to explain the Houses and the points system, the eleven-year-olds didn't stop peaking at him.

"—shall return when all is ready," Merrythought said, "Please wait quietly."

And then she left, leaving him alone with the first years.

"What're you doing here?" a boy with brown hair asked loudly.

Harry just blinked.

"Well?" the boy demanded.

"Are you getting Sorted, too?" a girl asked curiously.

"Er, yeah," he said.

"But—" "—not a first-year?" "—too old." "Why?"

Harry's eyebrows shot up at the barrage of responses until—

"You're not supposed to be here."

The softly-spoken words managed to float above the others, silencing the children. They all, Harry included, looked to see who had spoken.

"You're not supposed to be here," a young girl sang again, and Harry found her. She had brown, fly-away hair and green eyes that were magnified behind round glasses.

Harry's stomach sank.

"Trelawney."

"You know my name?" She looked surprised. Harry cursed himself.

"Bet she didn't foresee that," someone snickered meanly.

"How did you know my name?" Trelawney asked curiously, staring.

"I see these things sometimes," Harry lied.

The first years began whispering and Trelawney frowned deeply.

"Do you know how we're going to be Sorted, then?" a boy asked anxiously.

"Er, yeah. The Sorting Hat. You put it on and it sorts you."

While some of the children looked deeply impressed, others were staring at him skeptically. They didn't stare for too long, however, as just then the Hogwarts ghosts drifted through the wall. As several of the children screamed and even more jumped, Harry wondered if the ghosts always showed themselves before the sorting so the first years didn't scream in the Hall later. Either way, Harry was grateful for the distraction; none but Trelawney (who Harry ignored) were staring at him now.

Eventually, Professor Merrythought came back and ushered them into a straight line. Naturally, Harry took the back of the line and followed as they were led into the hall.

The Great Hall was as magnificent as ever with its floating candles but Harry could find no enjoyment in it, as odd as he felt at that moment. As he walked past the tables, he tried to give off an air of nonchalance, refusing to make eye contact with anyone. As he was lined up with the first years at the front of the hall, he could see the curious looks of the other students. Thankfully, those eyes left as the Sorting Hat began to sing. To his surprise, it was a different song than the one from his first year, though he supposed the Hat must've changed the song after 50 odd years.

Finally, the Hat finished its song and the Sorting began. Harry watched and clapped along as Shirley Bones was sorted into Ravenclaw along with Sorell Carrow and as Everett Doyle became a Slytherin before "Evans, Harry" was called. As Harry stepped forward, whispers broke out and eyes stared when the student body saw he wasn't eleven. Unfortunately, not being eleven meant the Hat no longer slipped over his eyes as it was placed on his head; he closed his eyes to block out the stares.

"Mr. Evans," the Hat's familiar voice said in his ear, "Or—" the Hat gasped audibly and more whispers broke out "—should I say, Mr. Potter?"

Harry didn't answer.

"So strange," the Hat mused. "How to sort a Time-Traveler... I have never sorted anyone twice. Difficult, difficult."

"Gryffindor, please," Harry thought.

"Ah, but where's the fun in that?" the Hat complained, "You were a difficult case before. Or should I say you will be a difficult case? Are a difficult case?" The Hat laughed aloud.

"I'm a Gryffindor, you know that."

"Hmm, do I? You have courage, yes, plenty of it. But you also have so much love for your friends. So much love. Hmm..."

"Hufflepuff?!" Harry thought incredulously.

"A possibility," the Hat mused. "But, what is this? You wish to change the future? A lofty ambition..."

"Not this again," Harry frowned. "I am not a Slytherin."

"You are definitely not a Ravenclaw..." the Hat mused, ignoring him.

Harry felt slightly offended at the quick dismissal.

"Don't fuss, Mr. Potter, I have told you you have a good mind before. Or I will tell you that, ha!" The Hat laughed once more. Harry could hear the buzz of intrigued whispers.

"You'd be a Ravenclaw," Harry snarked, irritatedly.

"Quite right!" the Hat said, delightedly. "Would you like my job?"

"Not particularly. Can't you just put me in Gryffindor already? You're gonna make me a Hatstall."

"I suppose I could... Are you certain?"

"Yep."

"Hmph. Well, you are as stubborn as a GRYFFINDOR!"

Tom watched with renewed intrigue as Harry slid off the stool and made his way over to the cheering table clad in red. What on earth did Harry have in that pretty little head of his to make the Hat gasp? And what had he thought to make it laugh? Twice?

A way down the table, some of the seventh-year Slytherins were discussing the oddity of it.

"—has never gasped before. Let alone laughed," Morcrete Bulstrode was saying.

"Almost a Hatstall too."

Orion, who was seated next to Tom leaned over to him, "Odd hmm? I'll have to write home to Father. See if he knows anything about this Harry Evans."

Tom nodded thoughtfully.

"Not that it matters," Vincent Lestrange sneered, "Name like that, he's probably a Mudblood."

Tom wasn't convinced of that. He hadn't forgotten the way Harry had faltered that night. "Pevans", he'd said. He had a hunch that Evans was not Harry's true surname. And while he did not know Harry's blood status, he did know that Harry was staunchly opposed to the concept of blood purity. The first and only time Tom had said the word Mudblood in front of him had Harry snarling at him to "Shut the fuck up" and "Never say that again!" before he'd ignored him for several days.

The chattering and speculations died down as the Sorting continued, leaving Tom to mechanically clap for every first year as he mused about Harry Evans. In his excitement over discovering his heritage, Tom had been lax in his recruitment of the boy. He would have to rectify that. His mind wandered to their spelled journals. He would have to write back tonight.

Finally, "Zabini, Earl" was sorted and seated and Headmaster Dippet was standing.

"I hope he makes this quick," Orion groaned, "I'm starving."

Tom silently agreed but was sure to appear attentive as the Headmaster began to talk.

"To our first years," he said, spreading his arms, "Welcome to Hogwarts. To our older students, welcome back!" He paused, smiling as people cheered and clapped. When the noise died down he continued. "Before we all tuck in, I have a few start-of-term notices to announce."

"Firstly, it must be brought to our first year's notice that the forest on the grounds is called the Forbidden Forest for a reason; entering the forest is strictly prohibited. In addition, I would also like to remind students that no magic shall be used in the corridors."

Vincent snorted softly; Tom's lips twitched.

"On a more pleasant note, Quidditch trials shall be held in the second week of the term and trials for the Dueling Club on the third. Sign-ups for both can be found on the bulletin boards located in your House's common room."

"And finally, it is my great pleasure to announce that this year we shall be reinstating an old tradition: the Inter-House Dueling Tournament!"

Tom, who had lost any enthusiasm at the word "Quidditch," immediately perked up, eyes flashing as he stared hard at the Headmaster. Was he joking? Around him, students whispered excitedly.

"That's right!" Headmaster Dippet grinned, "We shall be reviving the Inter-House Dueling Tournament for the first time in twenty-five years! For those who don't know, the Dueling Tournament has a long history leading back to the foundation of Hogwarts itself. But for the sake of our stomachs, I shall refrain from the history lesson. All students will be receiving a briefing on the Tournament during their first Defense class of the term as our lovely Defense Professor Merrythought has kindly stepped forward to act as our school Tournament coordinator. Let's all give Professor Merrythought a round of applause hm?"

The applause was thundering; several Gryffindors had even taken to standing up to whoop rather uncouthly.

"Settle down, settle down!" Dippet yelled after a while. "Thank you. Now, I shan't keep you from your food any longer. I have but two words: Tuck in!"

"Bloody brilliant!" Lestrange blurted as food bloomed into being on the dishes at the center of the table, "Slytherin is bound to win!"

"Naturally," Tom agreed.

After all, he thought, Slytherin had him.

A/N: I give approximately zero shits that Trelawney was supposedly supposed to be in school in the 60s or 70s :) I want angry 11-year-old Trelawney goddamnit!