THE HOUSE OF LESTRANGE
December 17
Hogwarts Express
"Tom will meet us at your manor," Harry told Randolph as they entered a private compartment in the middle coach.
Though the two usually took window seats facing one another, Randolph seized Harry's typical seat, leaving Harry with the option of taking the rear-facing window seat or the middle forward-facing seat. When Goldwin plopped down into the leftmost forward-facing seat, it became clear that they wanted to sandwich Harry rather than sit across from him.
"You know Orion is sitting in the other compartment, right?" Harry asked as he sat.
"I thought he was joined to you at the hip," Randolph groused.
"It will shock you to learn he lived a full eleven years and eight months before meeting me," Harry drawled.
"It does shock me," Goldwin claimed as Darren and Conlaed sat on the opposite side of the compartment and began tussling over leg space.
"Look, I know I've been spending a lot of time with Orion," Harry acknowledged, to which even the now teenaged Conlaed gave attitude. "But believe it or not, Hogwarts isn't the easiest place for him. And I can understand, or at least appreciate, what he has to deal with."
"Please, Herr Evans, enlighten us on the trials and tribulations of Black," Goldwin snarked.
"His surname, for starters," Harry answered. "The Blacks are for all intents and purposes modern royalty, making Orion prince. In everything he does, Orion must defend both his family's worth and his own worthiness as future patriarch of that family — particularly against those who would see themselves supplant the Blacks."
Harry gave Randolph and Goldwin pointed looks.
"Do you know what it's like, being surrounded by snakes who will strike at your slightest weakness?" Harry asked. "Having everyone compare you to your mother or father, then judge your worth by their supposed expertise on your own parent?"
"Do you know what it's like to be told you must praise someone who holds you in his contempt?" Randolph retorted. "To be told you must weep for his miseries, when he doesn't care to know yours? To watch him applauded for actions you would be cursed for?"
Randolph abruptly swiveled his dark head of hair toward the window after his last remark.
"Randy," Harry whispered as he gently put a hand on his friend's shoulder, only for the older boy to shrug him off.
Goldwin nudged Harry as a signal to leave Randolph be for the moment.
King's Cross Station
Though the five lads enjoyed seven-and-a-half hours of fellowship, Harry and Randolph could still feel a tension between them by the time the train arrived in London. So could Goldwin, who indicated he wanted a quick word as the others exited the compartment.
"Go easy on him," Goldwin implored.
"I'm not—" Harry started.
"You're like a brother to him—to us—but you're not the easiest friend to have," Goldwin said. "You are the son that fathers wish they had, a sentiment some share loud and often."
"I'm sorry," Harry expressed.
"I don't hold it against you anymore," Goldwin assured. "Neither does Randy. But be there for him, will you? Heir Slytherin will absorb much of the attention as it is, and if Randy seems like he cannot compare to either of you, he will suffer his father's displeasure."
Harry knew that "displeasure" was often expressed with a Cruciatus in House Lestrange.
"He won't be cursed on my watch," Harry promised.
Goldwin embraced Harry with gratitude.
"Aw, no need to get sentimental, Goldilocks," Harry teased before feeling cool liquid dumped onto his head.
"Sentimental with you, Wilding Whelp? Never," Goldwin grinned as Sleakeazy turned Harry's wavy hair slick, forcing Harry to part his hair at the left and arrange the forehead bangs over the right side.
Harry glared and Goldwin snickered as the two grabbed their luggage, exited the compartment and disembarked from the train. In respect for what Goldwin had just shared, Harry hid himself from all but those who knew him well as he walked up to Randolph.
"Isn't half everyone here supposed to lay their cloaks before your feet?" Randolph poked.
Harry just gave a shoulder bump in response. "Where's Eleanor?"
"Off to the automobile. Ever in a haste, that one," Randolph answered.
Harry raised an eyebrow at the change in Randolph's dialect and accent. Randolph just nodded at Harry's new hairstyle and smirked.
As the two boys wore no mark of magic society save for the Slytherin heraldry sewed onto their suits' left breast pockets, they garnered no particular attention when they crossed the border to the muggle London.
"Remind me to refrain from bringing you with me to mundane London," Randolph groaned as he saw a few females glance at them.
"They're looking at both of us, you fool," Harry ribbed his friend.
Randolph didn't seem appeased.
"I'm courting Druella," Harry reminded. "The ladies here are yours."
"Only because you have the most beautiful witch at Hogwarts," Randolph grumbled.
Harry didn't know what to say, so the two walked in silence the rest of the way to the car: a raven-black Ford 400A.
"That car went out of production before my mother was born," Harry teased.
"You would know," Randolph jabbed.
More like Tom knows, Harry mused, not that he dared say that.
With Eleanor already in the passenger seat, Harry and Randolph filed into the back, where despite a tussle, Harry found himself deprived again of his favored right-window seat.
"Must you fight like a filthy muggle, fiancé dear?" Eleanor condemned as her brown eyes glared contemptuously at Randolph through the rearview mirror.
Harry nodded toward their driver, who wore the countenance of House Lestrange, but possessed a weak connection to magic at best.
"Adolph is nothing like those maggots," Eleanor answered sharply. "I daresay he represents House Lestrange better than our cousin does."
"You dare?" Randolph thundered.
"Can you cast even one of Salazar's Sacred Trinity in combat?" Eleanor returned coolly.
Randolph flushed while Harry occluded surprise. Though he hadn't seen Randolph attempt the Cruciatus since first-year Samhain, Harry never imagined his friend would struggle with that class of curses — even by Lestrange standards.
Thus, the car ride proceeded in silence.
Lestrange Manor, Greater London
In the outer suburbs, the Ford 400A drove through a magnificent set of gates and down a cobblestone driveway to park in front of a white Tudor-style manor of palatial proportions.
Harry didn't hide his admiration for the Lestranges' wealth, a reaction Randolph relished. Moments like these motivated Harry all the more to reclaim the ruins of Peverell Castle from the muggles and restore her to full glory.
Maybe I'll live there with Druella, Harry considered. As far as witches went, there was no one Harry was more attracted to or compatible with. He also knew that eventually, he and Tom would part ways in terms of residence, as Tom intended to claim Hogwarts as his seat of power, Azkaban as his martial headquarters, and Grimmauld Place as his "vacation home."
Disembarking from the car so that Adolph could drive it to the garage, Harry, Randolph and Eleanor ascended a spiral staircase to the second-floor entrance hall.
"What?" Harry complained when Randolph roughly shoulder-bumped him.
"Notwithstanding the outward appearance, Lestrange Manor is not reputed to welcome wizards who project white auras," Randolph claimed.
Harry had a half-dozen dissections on the tip of his tongue: ranging from ragging Randolph for his dialect, to reminding him of his own Yule ball, to lecturing him on the difference between aura color and alignment. But before he let his tongue loose, Harry replayed Randolph's words one more time.
Wizards who 'project' white auras.
Harry then realized he wasn't being teased for his aura at all, but being asked to dilute it.
"Now you sense me. Now you don't," Harry snapped his fingers and concealed his aura such that only wizards with magic sensitivity relative or superior to his could sense him.
Even though Harry typically only radiated power on the order of Professor McGonagall, Hogwarts' second-most powerful professor, Randolph showed visible relief at the change. Harry withheld an eye roll as they proceeded to the summit of the staircase, at which grand doors of blackwood opened to reveal an elf servant.
"You must be Harry Evans," the elf greeted with a nod of his head. "Welcome to the Noble and Ancient House of Lestrange."
"Thank you," Harry appreciated. "But I should not enter without my cousin."
A chill filled the air courtesy of a dark aura as powerful as Professor Albus' public presence. A figure dressed in Anglo-Saxon regalia of seven-shaded green descended from the sky. Silver-embroidered emerald robe billowing, but never flapping out uncontrollably, the mighty sorcerer touched down in front of Harry with the grace of a feather.
"Tom Marvolo Riddle, Heir of Salazar Slytherin," Tom announced himself.
The elf could not conceal his amazement. "Mr. Riddle, welcome," the elf said with deference.
Harry glared at the back of his cousin's hooded head, to which Tom responded with a literal air of arrogance.
"This elf can escort you to your rooms, if it so please you," the elf offered.
"My cousin and I require but one room," Tom answered.
The elf accepted this sudden change, leading the Peverell-Slytherin cousins to the grandest guest suite and allowing the two to settle in and prepare for dinner.
"How was your flight?" Harry asked aloud, fully aware that the portrait of Minister of Magic Radolphus Lestrange was a spy.
"Invigorating," Tom answered with a smile.
"You worry me, flying such distances without a broom," Harry claimed as if his winged thestral friend did not give Tom a ride.
"Should I subjugate myself to the mechanical monstrosities of dirty-veined muggles?" Tom asked. "You possess your forefather's humility, Ignotus. But I cannot bear such indignities."
As the conversation was allegedly private, Tom could not be accused of slandering his hosts. However, his sense of superiority would be crystal clear, and justified by his aura.
Your concealment is impressive only to witches capable of discerning auras, Tom critiqued.
Harry shrugged.
You will cease shrugging. Such gestures are beneath your blood and station, Tom reproved.
You aren't my guardian yet, Tom, Harry reminded his cousin.
I shall be by the end of this Yuletide. If you do not wish to suffer my displeasure, you will begin heeding my instructions, Tom demanded.
You're only as powerful as I am, Harry challenged. And I've yet to lose one of our spars.
We have yet to spar within my chamber, Tom warned.
I have yet to hold nothing back, Harry countered.
A lethal duel would favor me. You know this, Tom asserted.
Perhaps, Harry allowed. Or perhaps we would kill each other.
I shall soon become invulnerable to any form of death. If anything resides within that thick skull of yours, you will follow in flight, Tom expressed his care.
Love you too, Tom, Harry grinned at his cousin.
"Shall we proceed to the withdrawing chamber?" Tom proposed verbally once Harry had changed into a Renaissance-esque attire of a white frilled silk shirt, navy blue breeches, white silk stockings, navy blue booties, and a navy blue doublet outfitted with a dozen gold buttons and a red-diamond brooch depicting his mother's hippogryph.
"We should wait for Adolph to lead us there, Heir Slytherin," Harry replied.
I appreciate when you address me by my proper titles and name, Tom gloated telepathically.
Don't get used to it, Voldy, Harry retorted as he telekinetically removed his cousin's hood.
Tom glared.
Lestrange Great Chamber
From the drawing room, Eleanor's mother led Tom and Harry to a table set for seven in the family dining room. Harry was directed to sit to the right of Randolph, who sat at the right hand of his father, while Tom was invited to sit at the left hand of the Lestrange patriarch. To Harry's right sat Eleanor, across from whom Madam Lestrange took her place at the right hand of her husband, who sat at the foot of the table across from his elder brother.
"I trust your journeys brought you no woes?" Sire Rudolph Lestrange welcomed the Hogwarts students.
Randolph, Tom, Harry, and Eleanor each gave a perfunctory nod.
"Today, we welcome two guests to Lestrange Manor," the Lestrange patriarch announced once Adolph filled the glasses with white wine. "First, Harry Evans, son of the Warrior Witch, pride and joy of Horace Slughorn, and a favorite of the press even at his young age."
Harry smiled graciously as the other six raised their glasses in a toast.
"We also welcome Tom Marvolo Riddle, a favorite of Horace's, and perhaps the last legacy of House Gaunt," the Lestrange patriarch introduced Tom.
Tom smiled even as the room grew slightly colder.
"My cousin and I thank you for your hospitality," Tom established a close kinship to and seniority over Harry.
Harry nodded in affirmation.
"The connection the two of you have found in one another fascinates many," the Lestrange patriarch said as he took a sip from his wine.
"Our magic revealed all," Tom replied.
He lifted his left hand to the table, luminesced the ring on his little finger, then floated the ring to Harry, who wore it comfortably before floating it back to Tom.
Although the elder Lestranges schooled their facial expressions, their jealous hunger stank like a gasoline leak to powerful wizards.
"Then it is true. You are descended from Marvolo Gaunt," the Lestrange patriarch accepted.
"I am heir to the Peverell-Slytherin clan," Tom answered. "Ignotus Secundus is the only relation I have found."
"My congratulations for connecting with one another," the Lestrange patriarch patronized. "What are we, without family?"
The Peverell-Slytherin cousins smiled in return, even as Harry remembered his long held contempt for British purebloods, particularly those who claimed to champion the olde ways. In such moments, he wondered how he could stand any Slytherin save for Tom.
Light conversation accompanied appetizers of caviar, soft-boiled quail eggs, and tarte flambées, as well as the beef soup that followed. However, serious questions commenced with the salmon course.
"I admit some surprise at the friendship you have developed with my son, Evans," the Lestrange patriarch remarked. "For years, it appeared you cared not for one another."
Randolph shifted slightly in apparent embarrassment.
"I did not share many friends with Randolph as we grew up," Harry started. "At Hogwarts, I first kept to those I knew before expanding my circle of friends."
"Were you not both friends with Alphard Black at the time?" Randolph's uncle asked.
"Alphard and I have a complicated relationship," Harry answered. Yet even this simple statement evoked some surprise from those around him.
Perhaps because you are on a first-name basis with him again? Tom suggested.
You're not shocked, and I said nothing of it to you, Harry defended himself.
Lord Voldemort possesses unparalleled intuition, Tom reasoned.
"Would it be accurate to surmise that you are on at least cordial terms with all the Blacks of your generation?" the Lestrange patriarch asked.
Harry could not see where the conversation was going, but he could see Randolph did not appreciate its current direction.
"I am closer to Randolph than I am to any Black," Harry answered.
The Lestrange patriarch appeared to approve while his brother seemed ambivalent.
"But you have not made an enemy of any Black schoolmate?" Randolph's uncle pressed.
"I believe that the Houses of Lestrange and Black have shared a profound bond with the Peverell-Slytherin clan for centuries," Harry answered. "I hope to continue that tradition."
This pleased Randolph's uncle and displeased Randolph.
"What is the strongest similarity you share with my son?" the Lestrange patriarch posed.
"Loyalty," Harry answered. "He doesn't betray or abandon his true friends, and neither do I."
Randolph seemed somewhat disappointed with this answer as well, despite his own family motto championing loyalty above all else.
"What would your greatest difference be?" Randolph's uncle asked.
Harry gave some seconds of careful thought.
"He forges friendships quicker than I do," Harry answered.
"So my son initiated your friendship?" the Lestrange patriarch queried.
"He did," Harry confirmed.
"When would you say you first considered Randolph your friend?" Randolph's uncle asked.
"The second term of second year," Harry answered, earning a knee bump from Randolph.
The true answer was July 31, 1007, when Randolph and Goldwin traveled from London and Berkshire respectively for Harry's 13th birthday and provided the best company. Harry was sure the two knew, but they all claimed their friendship started some nebulous spring day.
"What will you do with yourself after Hogwarts?" the Lestrange patriarch quizzed.
"I see myself continuing competitive dueling, flying, and creature taming," Harry answered.
"My son praises your teaching abilities," the Lestrange patriarch mentioned.
Harry received a swift kick to the shin just as he opened his mouth to tease his friend.
"Teaching is more of my cousin's passion," Harry said after dispelling the pain.
The Lestrange patriarch tilted his head toward Tom for further explanation.
"I aspire to follow the example of my ancestor Salazar Slytherin," Tom stated.
"An admirable ambition," the Lestrange patriarch remarked.
"If I may say, I always found the Slytherin locket more distinctive than the Peverell ring," Randolph's uncle opined. "Perhaps the lower bloods will condemn it as garish, but I do hope you will begin wearing your heritage in public."
Tom's smile belied hate churning within. The Slytherin locket was a staple of his family for a millennium, from Salazar Slytherin to Merope Gaunt. But somewhere, sometime between the night her muggle paramour left her and the night she gave birth in London, Merope lost the locket. Between that, dying on Tom after giving birth, and leaving him with nothing but a muggle name, Harry understood why Tom never even tried to summon her with his ring.
In the present moment, however, Harry found it suspicious Beowulf Lestrange mentioned the Slytherin locket. Almost as if he knew something he believed Tom did not.
With Tom focused on reigning in his rage, Harry scanned the Lestranges' surface thoughts while the locket remained fresh on their minds. Randolph and Eleanor knew nothing, but smug musings passed through the three elder Lestranges, each of whom thought the fate of the Slytherin locket representative of the ignoble end of House Gaunt.
Harry found the answer in the mind of the Lestrange steward, who was currently replacing the empty fifth-course dishes with slices of venison pie and red wine.
Burke.
Harry fortified his mind when his cousin brushed against it. Tom barely contained himself after being taunted for the locket. Should he now learn of what ignoble hands it fell into, he might just explode the room — and everyone in it save himself and Harry.
You will tell me what you discovered, Tom demanded.
Later, Harry promised.
After six more courses — pork chop, swan breast, iceberg-lettuce salad, treacle tart, a scoop of gelato, and a dessert of strawberries with goat cheese, the dinner concluded. Madam Lestrange rose, at which the six others at the table rose as well. The witches then departed, allowing the wizards to resume their seats for Champagne and a male-only conversation.
"I trust you three are prepared for your first Yule ball?" the Lestrange patriarch asked.
Randolph, Tom, and Harry nodded. Although Tom had never attended a Yule ball, one could not truly participate until they reached the marriage age of 14. Children did not dance, for couples had romantic implications, and lack of a partner carried undesirable connotations.
"Who will you accompany, Riddle?" the patriarch asked.
"Orion Black has entrusted me with his cousin Walburga," Tom answered.
For the past two balls, Walburga danced with her older cousin Tatius Crabbe. However, Walburga wished to publicly signal support for Tom and Harry over those who disparaged them for incomplete family charts, and thus proposed that she and Tom dance. Yet to credit her initiative would besmirch her honor in the eyes of pureblood men.
"An honor indeed, to dance with a Black," the Lestrange patriarch approved. "And you, Evans? Who will you escort?"
"Druella Rosier has given me the honor," Harry answered.
Randolph stiffened, and Harry sensed amusement stir within Tom.
"Forgive me, but I was under the impression that Alphard Black would escort Miss Rosier?" Randolph's uncle questioned.
"Black has feelings for another," Tom informed the table.
"Do you mean to say that the Black cadet has cast aside Miss Rosier for another witch?" the Lestrange patriarch asked with naked disbelief.
"As Black's desire has a date, he may attend the ball alone," Tom claimed.
Randolph snorted, but sobered under a frown from his father.
"If I may ask, Evans, did you obtain a blessing from Miss Rosier's brother?" Randolph's uncle asked.
"I did," Harry answered.
"You are on amicable terms with him then?" the Lestrange patriarch asked.
"Since November of his first Hogwarts year," Harry responded, careful to keep his voice free of the exasperation of having to defend his friendship with Darren.
"My cousin was the first friend Rosier the younger made at Hogwarts," Tom supported.
"I see," the Lestrange patriarch intoned.
"To think your families were mortal enemies but a decade ago," Randolph's uncle commended with a raised glass. "Congratulations on securing such an alliance."
Harry smiled at the genuine compliment. However, he felt he was missing something.
"We must not keep the witches waiting," the Lestrange patriarch declared upon finishing his glass. "Riddle, if you would accompany me to the oratory."
Tom nodded, leaving Harry miffed that he didn't get an invite.
We will exchange discoveries when I return, Tom offered.
Lestrange Guest Suite
"Sire Lestrange showed me his family pedigree," Tom revealed. "My great-grandmother was born Diana Lestrange, great-aunt of the current patriarch."
"I see," Harry processed the information. Despite the Gaunt inclination toward incest, most recently exemplified by Tom's maternal grandparents, Harry knew his blood relation to Tom was more distant than some of the other Slytherins. Still, Harry didn't like the feeling.
Perhaps I shall start calling Lestrange my cousin, Tom teased.
Harry narrowed his eyes.
Now, tell me what you discovered about my locket! Tom demanded, the room growing chilly as he did so.
"You'll need to release your power," Harry prompted while extending his left forearm. Then, steeling himself for a vent of dark energy, he shared his knowledge.
Caractacus Burke was in possession of the locket around this time fifteen years ago.
The resulting outpour of rage would have rocked the foundations of the Lestrange manor had Harry not absorbed nearly all of it. Even so, the room trembled as it turned pitch black and plummeted below freezing in temperature.
December 18
Lestrange Dueling Room
After breakfast, the elder Lestrange wizards invited Harry and Randolph to spar with them. Harry looked forward to this for multiple reasons. First, the Lestrange brothers were two of the most powerful wizards in the British Isles, and their magic would be amplified within their ancestral manor. Second, unlike in a spar with Newt, the Lestranges would not shy away from curses once they knew Harry could handle them. Third, Harry had never sparred alongside Randolph, only against him.
"Ready?" Harry asked his friend, who only grunted in response.
Harry rolled his eyes at Randolph's morning grumpiness. Surely he should be wide awake, with how he turned in just after the previous night's dinner!
Side by side, Harry and Randolph met the elder Lestranges at the center of the room, where each wizard moved his wand to the ready position, gave the wizard opposite him a short bow, then walked five paces back alongside his partner.
"You attack, I defend," Harry whispered during the three-second countdown.
The Lestrange patriarch opened with a concussive blast toward Harry and Randolph's center masses. Harry arced his wand to deflect the spell, only for Randolph to conjure a full shield to intercept. When Harry then moved to return fire, Randolph "accidentally" elbowed him before launching a sharp whip of energy at his father and uncle.
Predictably, the speed and breadth of Randolph's attack came at the cost of substantive power, allowing his uncle to deflect the attack with a simple wand flick. The Lestrange patriarch then unleashed a concussive blast stronger than his first. Harry sought to part the incoming attack and shunt the energy to his and Randolph's outsides. But Randolph apparently woke up on the wrong side of the bed, so he conjured a shield to intercept his father's spell before it touched Harry's magic.
Predictably, three silent casts in less than three seconds tired Randolph, leaving him unable to withstand the kinetic rebound of blocking his father's power. Harry switched wand hands to reach out with his right and seize Randolph before the older boy went tumbling.
"Crucio," Randolph's uncle fired at Randolph.
Harry shoved Randolph away with superhuman force, then caught the curse with his wand, whirled his armament over his head and released a fiery blast of such force that the elder Lestranges raised a joint shield to defend themselves. With the kinetic force rocking his opponents, Harry twirled his wand and twisted their weapons out of their hands.
The elder Lestranges looked equally stunned at the result of the less-than-five-second duel.
"Indeed you are powerful," the patriarch congratulated.
"Knowledgeable, as well. You are quite familiar with the Cruciatus," Randolph's uncle noted.
"My cousin is Slytherin's heir. I didn't particularly have a choice," Harry downplayed his skill with the curse, barely resisting the urge to shrug as he did so.
"To convert curse energy with such speed and skill requires comfort with casting the curse, not the mere capability to deflect it," the Lestrange patriarch pressed.
"A housemate took his disrespect of my mother too far; and the Wizengamot, Dippet, and my godfather treated him far too leniently," Harry recounted. "I disciplined the offender in the manner Salazar Slytherin favored."
"You defended your mother's honor and purity as any true wizard would," Randolph's uncle commended.
Harry was surprised the elder Lestranges firmly believed Lily Evans to be a pureblood, but he wouldn't look a gift broom in the bristles.
"Thank you," Harry appreciated.
"May I presume your aura to be similar to that of Riddle?" the Lestrange patriarch asked.
"We are more similar than dissimilar," Harry answered evasively.
"So I see," the Lestrange patriarch smiled.
"Indeed," Randolph growled before shoving Harry and storming out of the room.
"Excuse him. His mood tends to be foul until lunchtime," the Lestrange patriarch dismissed. "Now, may I presume you are not averse to a contest of curses?"
"It would be my honor," Harry answered excitedly. He would still hold back his power, and the Lestranges would hold back their treasured secrets, but Harry knew this would prove his most challenging spar in at least a year outside bouts with Tom and Professor Albus.
Randolph skipped lunch, and Harry grew concerned.
Between Harry's hours-long sparring session with the elder Lestranges and Tom's foray into one of the family chronicles, the conversation proved stimulating enough to dissipate anger regarding Randolph's absence. But Harry feared Randolph's abnormally foul mood would only get worse unless addressed.
"Randy," Harry whispered once he reached his friend's bedroom door. Although somewhat tricky, he managed to keep himself invisible, his heat and odor imperceptible, and his magic signature completely cloaked while levitating and minimizing his air displacement — all so he could approach Randolph's room without alerting the manor's various monitors.
Furthermore, Harry was projecting his voice past the door and into Randolph's ear while keeping it inaudible in the space between. And Harry was forced to do this repeatedly.
Finally, after several minutes, the door opened.
"I heard you the first time," Randolph grumbled, uncaring for Harry's attempt at secrecy.
"You git," Harry complained as he dispensed all concealments save for that about his aura.
"Not so fun on that side of the door, is it?" Randolph taunted.
"What's wrong?" Harry sighed as he stepped inside Randolph's luxurious room.
"Nothing. You're perfect as ever," Randolph sneered as he plopped down onto his bed.
"I wasn't trying to hog the glory, and you know it," Harry rebuked. "I said I'd take care of defense, and you could focus on offense. But you ignored me and tried to take them alone."
"You mean what you did for several hours?" Randolph retorted. "But of course, Herr Evans, I'm just supposed to do as you say, not as you do."
"Randy, c'mon," Harry entreated as he sat on the edge of his friend's bed.
"Why couldn't you have just stayed in Nurmengard?" Randolph groused.
Harry's aura flared, then both boys sighed and turned their heads away from one another.
"I didn't mean that," Randolph apologized.
"I know," Harry forgave. "But you've been angry with me for some time. Can we talk?"
"Why does everyone like you so much more than they like me?" Randolph questioned.
"That's not true," Harry disputed the premise. "Goldwin—"
"He's your second cousin, did you know?" Randolph interrupted. "His mother was born an Abbott. Your father's mother was born an Abbott."
"I didn't know," Harry admitted.
"Of course not. What would it matter, with everyone else falling over themselves for you," Randolph scoffed. "Let's see. A dark lord, the greatest one to date, who never bothered to have children of his own, decided you were such an amazing baby he had to adopt you."
"That's not—" Harry protested.
"Then the war ended, and Slughorn, who also never bothered to have a son, decided he had to take you in," Randolph complained. "But that didn't stop the likes of Dumbledore and Scamander from inserting themselves into your life as they could."
"Two wizards you've never cared for," Harry pointed out.
"How about this? Ever since I was five, my father, my uncle, and my aunt couldn't stop talking about how I needed to become your friend," Randolph recounted. "But see, every other parent had the same idea. They sent gifts to your godfather, you know, just so their boys could have a playdate with you."
"I honestly hated those 'playdates' until I was paired with Alphard," Harry recalled.
"But everyone loved you anyways," Randolph muttered. "And they hated me."
"Randy," Harry said softly.
"Why do you think I'm marrying my first cousin?" Randolph posed.
"Your house has long kept one of the most selective blood pools," Harry answered. "Your aunt was a Lestrange from birth, married inward when she became the last of her branch."
"We're not the Gaunts," Randolph scoffed. "We don't obsessively marry our daughters into the house to hoard hereditary powers."
"But doesn't your uncle want his descendants to keep the Lestrange name?" Harry asked.
"He does. That's not why my father betrothed me to Eleanor," Randolph answered.
"Then why?" Harry asked.
"I was supposed to marry Lucretia Black. If that failed, Druella," Randolph divulged.
"You were matched to Lucretia?" Harry asked with surprise.
"She'd always compare me to her favorite cousin. Whatever magic I showed her, she'd scrunch her nose and say Alphard could do better, " Randolph bitterly recounted. "So one day when Alphard and I sparred, I cast a spell that he couldn't. He screamed, then Lucretia screamed and just kept screaming. Her father canceled the planned betrothal, and that night, my father gave me the worst Crucio of my life."
"I'm sorry," Harry murmured.
"I reckon he'd never have Crucio'd you," Randolph growled. "He looked ready to forge you a gold medal when you told him about Carrow."
Harry kept silent.
"You see how you're everything he wants?" Randolph pressed. "It's like I told you, that day you told me why you hated me. You're the heir my father and fathers like him dream of."
Harry looked at Randolph, honestly confused what day he was referring to.
"Of course you wouldn't remember. You were counting down the minutes until we left for Yuletide," Randolph reminded.
Suddenly, Harry remembered.
December 20, 1006 years after the Founding of Hogwarts
Slytherin Second-Year Residential Unit: Room 14
Harry felt ecstatic.
The Sunday before Yule had finally arrived, and with it the Hogwarts Express, which would depart Hogsmeade at 10 o'clock and take away every Slytherin student save himself and Tom.
Having said his goodbyes to Rosy and dumped a bucket of mud on Black, Harry now paced his room and counted down the minutes till the Slytherin House was purified.
"I tire of the discord and can no longer bear witness to the corridors full of inept children masquerading as witches and wizards," wrote Salazar Slytherin in his Hogwarts journal.
Never had Harry read words that he resonated with so deeply. Though Slytherin and Harry differed in opinion on who these "inept children" were, they shared the same disgust. Harry was sick and tired of pretenders who proclaimed that surnames and family vaults measured the worth of witches and wizards. If not for Tom, Harry would have demanded a resort to Gryffindor long ago. If Tom wasn't of Salazar Slytherin's blood and magic, Harry would have convinced Tom to resort with him or leave Hogwarts behind. For Tom alone would Harry endure the next five-and-a-half years with the snakes.
The most annoying of which were Tom's pets.
Harry sensed them one at a time bid farewell to their keeper. Nott. Mulciber. Avery. Lestrange. Harry prepared to dance when he sensed Lestrange leave the second-year residential unit, vacating the space of all but Tom, Harry, and a frantic Black. Unfortunately, Lestrange then turned around, walked back down the hall, and knocked on Harry's door.
Annoyance rose within Harry with each rap. It spiked when Lestrange began making a racket.
"I know you're in there! I know you can hear me!" the loon yammered.
Harry didn't feel like soiling the start of his day, so he decided to sit on his bed and simply wait Lestrange out. Unfortunately, Tom was amused — so amused that he telepathically transmitted an ultimatum. Either Harry would let Lestrange in, or Tom would let Lestrange in.
To his shame, Harry had not yet figured out how to ward a door against his less powerful cousin, so he spared himself humiliation. Harry stood, clasped his hands behind him, opened his door telekinetically, and made sure only his back faced the intruding Lestrange.
"I heard you the first time," Harry intoned as he plotted a retaliatory prank against his cousin.
"Why do you hate me?" Lestrange demanded.
"I only hate spending time with you," Harry replied evenly.
"So you hate me," Lestrange insisted.
"To hate you, I would have to waste time thinking about you when I am alone," Harry drawled. "Why would I do that? I only hate every second you make me expend breath on you."
"Why?" Lestrange pestered.
"Why does it matter?" Harry returned.
"What gives you the right to treat me this way?" Lestrange clamored.
"Why should I treat you differently?" Harry posed.
Lestrange seemed dumbfounded by the question.
"Tell me, do you even tolerate insolence from your squib cousin?" Harry questioned.
"You're comparing me to a fallen one?!" Lestrange bellowed.
"Lower your voice, or I will take it from you," Harry warned.
"You don't treat Rosier like this," Lestrange complained.
"Feel free to ask him why. Oh, that's right, he hates you," Harry taunted.
"Of course you like him. The Slytherins who hate their own," Lestrange griped.
"My own?" Harry scoffed. "You're nothing like me, Lestrange."
"Why do you say my name like it's mud?" Lestrange interrogated.
"Out in the real world, beyond these little islands, they laugh at you and families like yours, did you know?" Harry informed. "The one thing every witch and wizard out there agrees on—no matter what they think of Grindelwald, muggles, world wars, wands, you name it—is that British purebloods suck. You want to know who hates you? The world. That's who hates you."
It was for this reason that Harry had so far indulged Tom's dictatorial fantasies. If Tom seriously pursued them, he wouldn't have to fear international retaliation so long as he stayed within the British Isles. And frankly, Tom couldn't be any worse than the "Ministry of Magic."
"You should at least look at me," Lestrange claimed.
"Is there something to see?" Harry asked.
"A pure wizard, a Slytherin, and the heir to the Noble House of Lestrange," Lestrange postured.
"Your blood runs like mud next to the great dynasties of Africa. You say you revere Salazar Slytherin, yet you scorned the heir to his magic for months. And anything noble about your house died with Leta," Harry disputed Lestrange's claims.
"She was a traitor," Lestrange sneered.
"To whom? To what?" Harry asked.
Lestrange made sounds, but spoke nothing intelligible.
"Grindelwald spoke to her with respect, offered her a place at his side, and remembered her for years after," Harry informed. "Who will remember you, Rodolphus?"
"That's not my name," Lestrange said angrily.
"Radolphus? No? Whatever, it's some name that begins with an 'R' and means 'something wolf.' How many generations does it even take till you recycle names?" Harry snorted. "I'll probably live to see the next Rudolph."
"Randolph! My name is Randolph!" Lestrange blurted out.
"Okay," Harry shrugged.
"Look at me!" Lestrange shouted.
"There is nothing to see," Harry declined.
"You think you're so different, so above pureblood culture?" Lestrange ranted. "You're just like the sires! You and your precious Dumbledore both! Did you know your oh-so-noble mentor was Phineas Black's favorite student? So stop pretending that you aren't the perfect pureblood heir in all but name!"
"I told you to keep your voice civil," Harry reminded Lestrange before removing his mouth. "Now leave, before I take something your father cannot restore."
Lestrange silently obeyed.
Harry lay back and buried his face in his hands.
"My father Crucio'd me for 'making a mockery of the House of Lestrange'," Randolph shared. "He didn't care that no prefect nor professor on the train could reverse your curse."
"Why did you even want to become my friend after that?" Harry had to ask.
"I only had Goldy," Randolph shrugged. "And I had this feeling that of everyone in Slytherin, you were my best chance at another true friend, even if you only cared for Riddle then."
The two boys lay in silence for several minutes.
"Want to get away from this place?" Randolph proposed.
"To Diagon?" Harry wondered.
"Have you ever explored muggle London?" Randolph asked as he hopped off his bed.
"I rarely set foot in the muggle world," Harry answered.