Secondhand Slytherin
Secondhand Slytherin by Pseudonymous Entity
Summary: He gave Harry a wry smile. "They're going to stare regardless you know. Why not give them a show?" Just before the Yule Ball, Harry gets advice from an unlikely source. Harry's choice to follow that advice, and the mask he wears while doing so, changes the night's course of events. In the aftermath of that night Harry discovers he might have a taste for finer things. What harm could come from wearing the mask a little longer? Afterall, its all in good fun...and Tom Riddle isn't using it anyway.
Warnings: I laugh in the face of canon.
AN: Long time no see...
"I don't feel a single thing, have the pills done too much?
Haven't caught up with my friends in weeks and now we're outta touch..."
-Numb little Bug
Cold air hit them like a brick wall.
Lavender spun on her foot, intending perhaps to head back into the warmth of Greenhouse Four and wait out the winter. Parvati grabbed her by the arm and hauled her back into the stark grey landscape. The sky was muted and lifeless, still. Frosted brush and trees lined the path, or where they pretended a path might have at one time been, branches bowing over from the weight of the snow.
Harry's breath hung in the air, nearly opaque. He felt like a dragon. A cold, wet, miserable dragon.
Thick piles of snow covering the ground proved treacherous, with very little sign whether a pile was just snow or if it were snow covering a rock or a bush or a rabbit warren. Slowly they trudged across the grounds, merciless gusts of winds whipping through in short bursts, sending swirls of bitter and stinging snow into the air around them, temporarily blocking the way forward and soaking into their already damp cloaks and coats.
On either side, Parvati and Lavender clung to him, partly for warmth and partly for balance. Harry's dragonhide boots stood strong against the elements and tried their best to keep him on his feet. The few times Harry did slip, he graciously did not blame the boots and instead cursed the gods of winter both old and new.
Ahead of them, the lanky forms of Ron Weasley and Dean Thomas towered, both wizards lifting their long legs to maneuver around the icy obstacles. The both of them veered off to the right, collecting with a group of other wizards stood beneath a large tree, perhaps taking a moment to huddle for warmth and ask for directions.
In all of the shades of grey and the snowy powder shoveling into the air, it was difficult to navigate.
Harry wasn't the most athletic wizard. He did not work out as it were. But he had spent his childhood running for his life and doing hard labor, so he liked to think of himself as somewhat fit. Right now he would very much like to trade his speed and endurance for a pair of long legs and some muscles. This was awful.
He must have muttered some of that under his breath because beside him Parvati squeezed his arm encouragingly. "Try to hang on, Harry."
He gave a muffled platitude in return, partially entrapped by the thick purple scarf wrapped around his neck courtesy of Lavender. A moment later, he discovered a patch of ice beneath the snow, his feet flying out from under him, falling face down into the snow. Harry coughed and spluttered, snow clinging to and stinging his skin.
Harry might have sworn at the snow a little more than necessary.
He was hauled to his feet by Lavender and Parvati, both witches laughing just a bit too hard to properly stand up straight, leaning onto him for balance even as they laughed at his misfortune.
"Come on, dear gallant hero," teased Lavender, fingers trembling in the cold while she brushed the snow from his shoulders. "Let's get inside before we freeze to death."
Finally, mercifully, the snowy expanse gave way to direct sight of the castle, stone steps leading to the front doors covered in slick ice, mocking them. More ice hung from the eaves, glistening in the muted light of the bitter cold day around them.
Harry gripped the railing, ignoring the way his skin stung and stuck to the freezing metal, the two witches holding tight to him as he tried to haul them up the stairs.
Parvati gave a huff and then cleared her throat. "Sir knight," she said, leaning around Harry to take hold of the railing herself, "I think I should take the lead. Being the largest of us." Her gaze flickered into something apologetic. Harry waved her off.
"After you," said Harry, gladly taking a place behind her. "Far be it from me to undermine a warrior princess." Parvati's laughter floated back to him.
Harry shrugged. He had long since resigned himself to the life of the vertically challenged.
She led the way up the steps, her boots crunching as they broke the ice in weak spots. Harry followed closely, Lavender gripping the back of his cloak. Ahead of them, along the top of the stairs, huddled students Harry thought might be fifth-year Hufflepuffs, whispering with one another in a cluster, hands and arms moving as they spoke.
"I can't take it," said a lanky wizard with ashy blond hair sticking out from a red knit cap. His cheeks were violently flushed, breath coming out in thick quick puffs.
"Don't you dare," said somebody, lowly.
A grin that was a little manic and a little cheeky flashed across the wizard's face. "Desperate times!" He lifted himself up onto the railing, shoes squeaking as they tried their best not to slide off the narrow bit of metal. His movements were exaggerated and theatrical. Then, to Harry's astonishment, he flung himself into the air with a whoop, doing a spin before landing in the endless sea of white to the right of the stairs.
"I'll come back for you if I make it to the other side," he promised, though the way his body began to sink more and more into the snow gave Harry doubts on his ability to fulfill that promise.
The two students who remained, both bundled in thick scarves and charcoal cloaks, clutched each other as they watched him slowly disappear into the snowy depths. The more slender of the two with long dark braids stared at the snow blankly. "Clark, you're being foolish."
The remaining wizard, with the same coppery skin, gave a laugh. "We'll fetch you in the spring thaw, shall we?"
A muffled noise of outrage came from somewhere in the snow followed by the sound of Clark's continued struggles. Harry had suspicions that rather than heroically going off in search of an alternate route inside, the wizard in question saw an opportunity to miss the remaining classes of the day. Lost in the snow, with witnesses, wasn't a bad excuse.
Parvati reached the top of the stairs, turning to help Harry and then Lavender to stand beside her. It was now, now that they had made the trek, that they could see the horrible truth. The doors to the entrance hall were covered in a thick coat of ice, frozen. In vain, Harry reached out and yanked hard on one of the handles, then he tried to shove it the other way. Nothing.
Lavender clung to the other handle, her fingers red and raw from the cold. "Is it push or pull? Push or pull, dammit!" she cried, shaking it futilely.
The two students huddled at the top of the stairs beside them turned to face the door. The one with long braids stared at the doors with half-lidded violet eyes.
"Fair warning: we've already sacrificed a life to the doors," he gestured vaguely toward Clark's undersnow struggles, "and they remain unmoved in the face of our icy tribulation." His voice was low, soft and dry.
Harry snorted. He appreciated the drama.
"Hollings," said the other one. The one who suggested they return for their friend, Clark, in the spring. He pointed to himself and then to the wizard beside him, who Harry thought must be his sibling. "Lysander and Levi. Hufflepuff."
Harry tilted his head. "You have violet eyes."
Lysander blinked then straightened up to scratch the back of his neck and huffed. "Ah, yes, that'd be the Rosier in us. Our mum's genes run strong."
"Patil. Gryffindor," said Parvati, motioning to herself. "My father says it's because magic has her favourites."
Lysander gave her a wry grin. "She certainly has an interesting way of showing it, if that's the case."
Tilting her head back from where she still hung on the door handle forlornly, Lavender watched them upside down. "It is true though," she mused. "That genes are strong I mean. Silver hair for Malfoys, red for Prewetts..."
"You remind me of someone," said Harry, still watching Lysander.
"I do?" Lysander asked. "Is it Blaise?"
Since Harry had no idea who that was he didn't respond. A face was struggling to get to the forefront of his mind. From that morning, he thought, the altercation at the Ravenclaw table. What was his name? The wizard who gave his friend the hangover potions.
"Quinn?" said Harry.
Levi leaned around Lysander to look at Harry, long dark braids spilling over his shoulder, amber beads glittering. "You know our cousin?"
"Know is a strong word," said Harry. Technically they'd never officially met. Harry just openly eavesdropped on and then interrupted Quinn's conversation. Perhaps he wouldn't share that part.
"Alohomora?" Parvati suggested. She had turned attention back to the door, tapping her wand against the palm of her hand in thought.
"Isn't locked though, is it?" said Harry, frowning. "Just... stuck."
"Incendio?" Lavender offered, still dangling on the handle. "Burn them down."
While Parvati patiently explained that arson should never be Plan A, Harry let his mind wander. He didn't think there was a specific spell to unstick frozen doors. Seemed like a niche bit of magic if there was. It did raise some questions in his head. After all, he had on more than one occasion used magic without any sort of spell. Without his wand even.
He could bring the instances, the memories, to the surface easily. Running from his cousin and ending up on a nearby roof. He thought of disappearing glass. And something to do...with fire? Heat? Images flashed through his mind like a dam broken open, a mysterious room with a magic mirror, a wraith with red eyes, Quirrell crumbling to ash in his hands. How had he forgotten that?
Perhaps it should have been a more disturbing revelation, but Harry decided he was much too cold to bother being traumatized. Harry stared at the doors, what-ifs playing in his mind, along with his most recent line of questioning.
What would Tom Riddle do?
It was dark magic, one part of his brain argued. Dark magic was bad, everyone knew that, thus it followed that using that magic, whatever it was, was bad. That it would make Harry bad. Harry didn't want to be bad. Being bad is what led to living in a cupboard under the stairs.
Right?
Still. If his magic answered when he called, without a thought, without even knowing what he needed it to do. Without knowing the spellwork. Why couldn't he do it again? Last year his magic did the same. He could remember it, the way it felt, the lightbulbs flickering an popping, the windows cracking and bursting open, his aunt slowly filling and growing, skin stretching over her engorged body.
It was only protecting him, responding to him, wasn't it? And he'd seen the Minister of Magic after that and the wizard waved it off like it was nothing. Surely if it were dark, or at least bad, Harry would have been punished?
A familiar squirming mass of feelings converged into a hard ball in the pit of his stomach, curiosity warring with insecurity warring with anger and his need to be liked.
What would Tom Riddle do?
An eerie cracking noise came from somewhere above him, then Harry found himself blanketed in a heap of snow fallen from the roof. Luckily the soft sort and not the still icy sort that could have given him a concussion. Snow slid down and around his neck, his cheeks, down his back, soaking his shirt and his cloak, and set his teeth chattering violently.
Wet snow clung to his clothes, to his cloak weighing it down, to the sleeves of his shirt sticking them to his arms, sliding down from his head and blurring his vision as more piled on top of him. He struggled to move and felt a brief moment of fear spike through him, and claustrophobia.
Muffled gasps, laughter, concerned sounds around him became distant and indistinct.
"To absolute hell with it!"
Steam rose in lazy looping swirls off of Harry wherever the snow touched his skin, larger and larger chunks melting and falling from his body. Able now to move, Harry shoved through the snow, sliding forward on the top step, slapping his bare palms against the giant doors. Fueled by spite, he called on his magic, willed it to do as he commanded.
A moment later and he rocked on his feet, only able to keep standing because his hands were suddenly sealed against the door. Magic pulsed deep in his middle then rattled through his veins, ricocheting like lightning, down his arms, to his hands, out his fingertips. The doors shuddered and creaked, the ice along the seams and covering the hinges softening. Melting ice and snow trickled down the wooden doors in rivulets that came faster and faster.
"Push," Harry ordered, grunting.
Lavender and Parvati gave answering thuds on either side of him, followed by two more a few seconds later. Lysander and Levi looked over at him with determination.
"Together!" said Lysander, and all of them shoved.
With a loud pop and bang like a firecracker, the doors burst open, and they stumbled inside, collapsing in a rough heap on the hard stone floor of the entrance hall. Harry felt his fingers tingle painfully, the sharp, stinging pulses bringing life back into his frozen limbs.
"I have decided," he announced, chest heaving as he sucked in gulps of too-warm air, "after careful consideration, that I am not an outdoors wizard."
Pseudonymous Entity
2024
Thoughts, Questions, Theories, and Limericks always welcomed
AN: What *would* Tom Riddle do?
-Pseu