CHAPTER THREE
Harry's Broom
The three-headed dog stood facing them, its massive frame blocking out any hope of escape. A low growl emanated from its three throats, reverberating off the walls and sending shivers down their spines. The beast's eyes, dark and gleaming, locked onto them with a primal intensity. For a moment, it seemed stunned by their sudden appearance, but that hesitation quickly faded.
With a furious bark, the dog lunged forward. Time seemed to slow as Harry's mind spun in panic. Out of nowhere, a memory surfaced—a memory not his own, vivid and commanding. A charm for protection. He didn't question it; there was no time. Acting purely on instinct, he raised his hand and focused his will.
A shimmering, translucent shield burst forth, forming a barrier between them and the dog's snapping jaws. The spell drained Harry's energy, a wave of exhaustion washing over him, but the shield held firm. The dog skidded to a halt, its momentum crashing against the magical defense. It snarled, confused by the unexpected obstruction.
"How did you-?" Hermione began, her voice trembling with disbelief as she stared at Harry, eyes wide. The shield flickered, and Harry felt his strength wavering.
"Get out!" he shouted, sweat beading on his forehead. The others needed no further urging. They bolted for the door, Daphne leading the way with a sharp glance back at Harry. He followed, letting the shield dissipate as he slipped through the doorway and slammed it shut behind them.
The corridor was silent but for their ragged breathing. Neville leaned against the wall, shaking uncontrollably. Ron forced a laugh, his voice strained as he said, "Well, that was a close one—escaped by the skin of our teeth, didn't we?"
Daphne shot him a look that silenced any further attempts at humor. "Forget that," she said, eyes narrowing as she turned to Harry. "How on earth did you know how to perform such advanced magic?"
Hermione nodded, her expression torn between awe and suspicion. "Yes, Harry. That was non-verbal, and it was powerful. I've only read about spells like that. How did you do it?"
Tom's voice, silky and insistent, whispered in Harry's mind. 'They mustn't know, Harry. If they find out, they'll separate us. You'll be powerless without me.'
"I'll explain everything tomorrow," Harry said, forcing a smile that did not reach his eyes. "But we need to get back to our common rooms before Filch finds us."
Daphne's gaze lingered on him for a moment longer, calculating, before she nodded. Hermione bit her lip, clearly unsatisfied but resigned. Without another word, the group hurried down the hall, their footsteps echoing in the silence as they made their way back to safety.
The two groups split up silently in the darkened halls of Hogwarts, each set of footsteps echoing faintly as they hurried back to their respective common rooms. Harry and Daphne, concealed under Harry's disillusionment charm, moved cautiously. The castle's shadows seemed deeper in the quiet of the night, the flickering torchlight casting eerie shapes along the walls. Harry could feel the adrenaline still thrumming through his veins, and despite the spell's cover, he felt exposed with every step.
Daphne remained silent as they moved, but Harry sensed her gaze on him. Every so often, he caught the faintest shift in the air that told him she was studying him, perhaps trying to piece together the puzzle of what had just happened. The weight of her curiosity pressed on him, unsettling him more than he wanted to admit.
Finally, they reached the stone wall that concealed the entrance to the Slytherin common room. Harry whispered the password, "Pure ambition," and the wall slid aside with a quiet rumble. The room beyond was dark, lit only by the embers in the grand fireplace, casting a dim orange glow over the green and silver decor. The serpent motifs carved into the walls seemed to move in the flickering light, their eyes glinting as if they, too, were aware of the late return of two first-years.
They stepped through, and the wall sealed behind them with a muted thud. The common room was empty, every chair and sofa abandoned, and the shadows of the ancient furniture sprawled across the floor. Harry exhaled, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly.
"Goodnight, Daphne," Harry said, forcing an air of nonchalance as he turned to head to the boys' dormitory.
"Wait," Daphne's voice cut through the silence. She stood rooted in place, her eyes narrowed with determination. "I know I said I'd wait until tomorrow, but I need to know now." Her gaze was steady, challenging him. "How did you do that? That shield charm you conjured—it's advanced magic. First-years aren't supposed to know that, Harry."
A warning thrum pulsed in Harry's mind. Tom's voice, always cold and calculating, whispered insistently. 'Don't tell her. She cannot know where your power comes from. They'll aim to separate us, Harry. You would not want that, would you?'
Harry hesitated; the words tangled on his tongue. The truth of Tom's presence in his life—the strange memories and knowledge he supplied—was not something he could reveal, even to Daphne. Yet he needed to say something, something that would satisfy her enough to let this go for now.
"I found a place," he said finally, watching her reaction carefully. "A room with old books and things. It's where I practice spells." The lie felt flimsy in the heavy air, but it was all he could manage.
Daphne's brow furrowed as she studied him, the silence stretching between them. The soft crackle of the dying fire punctuated her scrutiny. "A room?" she echoed, her voice lined with doubt. "Where? I want to see it."
Harry's pulse quickened. He hadn't thought that far ahead, and now the trap he'd laid for himself was closing fast. But before panic could take hold, Tom's voice seeped into his mind, smooth and assured. 'I know of a place that will work. Say yes. I will guide you.'
"Alright," Harry said, forcing confidence into his voice. "I'll show you tomorrow."
Daphne studied him a moment longer, her eyes searching his face for a sign of deception. Finally, she nodded, though skepticism still shadowed her expression. "Fine. Tomorrow."
With that, the tension eased slightly, and Daphne's posture relaxed. She turned and made her way to the girls' dormitory, her footsteps soft on the stone floor.
"Goodnight, Harry," she said, her voice drifting back to him as she disappeared up the staircase.
"Goodnight," he echoed softly.
As soon as she was gone, Harry let out a long breath and trudged to the boys' dormitory. He pulled the curtains of his four-poster bed shut and slipped under the blankets, the events of the night spinning in his mind. He felt Tom's presence lingering at the edge of his thoughts, watchful and silent now. Despite his exhaustion, sleep claimed him quickly, the shadows of his secrets trailing him into restless dreams.
Tom's POV
As Harry lay on his bed fast asleep, the soft rise and fall of his chest almost rhythmic, Tom's presence within him stirred with an anticipation that bordered on elation. The boy was trusting, impressionable—too hungry for understanding and power to question the whispers in his mind. Tom smiled inwardly, the satisfaction of a plan unfolding precisely as he envisioned it.
"The promise of power is too irresistible," Tom mused, his thoughts coiling like a serpent ready to strike. "Every morsel of knowledge, each hint of forbidden magic I feed him, brings him one step closer to the web I weave." The idea of reclaiming his strength, of rising again within the very body of the boy who had been his supposed downfall, filled Tom with a dark thrill. The irony was exquisite. Harry Potter—the child who vanquished the Dark Lord—would soon be the vessel of his triumphant return.
He considered the boy's untapped potential with cold, calculating pride. Harry's raw power was formidable, far beyond what the boy himself comprehended. But Tom knew. He would nurture that power, feeding Harry spells of increasing complexity and potency—charms to protect, rituals to amplify strength both physical and magical. And when Harry craved more, more than Dumbledore or any of his mentors would dare offer, Tom would strike.
Harry's friends were of little concern. Tom had seen their loyalty, their unwavering trust in their leader. A smile ghosted across the void of his presence. It would be child's play to mold them, to turn that loyalty into servitude. He would allow Harry to share just enough power and forbidden secrets to bind them to him. They, too, would become corrupted—future servants to his cause, the next generation of Death Eaters hidden behind faces of innocence and false heroics.
"Yes," Tom thought, the vision sharpening. "Let the world hail its savior. Let them believe in the boy with the scar, who vanquished the darkness. And when the time comes, when they realize the savior has become their ruler, it will be too late."
The notion of re-emerging not just as Voldemort, but as the heir of Slytherin reborn within a vessel already revered, filled Tom with a giddy anticipation. His gaze turned inward, his plans extending far beyond Hogwarts' stone walls—a reign unchallenged, absolute, and eternal. The return of the Dark Lord was not just a dream. It was a certainty.
Harry POV
Harry woke up the next morning still feeling an ache of exhaustion lingering in his body. The strain from casting the advanced shield charm the night before had clearly taken its toll. Before he could reflect on the feat any further, Tom's voice resonated in his mind, the tone cool and calculating.
'That spell was far beyond what any first year should be able to manage,' Tom voice rang in his head. 'Most first years would have collapsed from the sheer magical expenditure, and even seasoned adult wizards struggle to perform such a charm.'
Harry's heart quickened, a mix of pride and unease swirling in his chest. "Then why didn't I?" he asked aloud, though the room remained silent, his dormmates still asleep.
Tom's presence thrummed with an almost palpable intensity. 'Because you are exceptional, Harry. But if you wish to wield true power—if you wish to ensure that you never falter—you must go further. I can teach you a ritual that will amplify your magical reserves and strengthen your core.'
Harry stiffened, pushing himself up in bed. "A ritual?" Suspicion curled in his mind. "That sounds like dark magic," he muttered, recalling what he'd heard about such practices—whispered warnings and stories of curses.
Tom's mental voice lilted into a mocking laugh. 'Dark magic? Is that what they've filled your head with? Dark magic is not inherently evil. It is only the intent that defines the spell's morality. Consider Diffindo—a simple cutting charm. It can heal or it can kill, yet it is not labeled dark.'
Harry's frown deepened, the logic ringing true despite his unease. After a moment, he nodded hesitantly. "Alright," he said, determination flickering in his eyes. "But no one can know."
'No one will,' Tom reassured him, a hint of satisfaction weaving through his tone.
With a resigned sigh, Harry slid out of bed and began preparing for the day. The crisp chill of the dungeon corridors met him as he left the dormitory, heading for the common room. There, he nearly bumped into Draco Malfoy, whose eyes widened in a mixture of shock and annoyance.
"Potter," Malfoy spat, narrowing his eyes, probably trying to figure out how Harry was still in school. "How strange seeing you here."
Harry's lips quirked into a sly smile. "Strange indeed, Malfoy. You know, I waited for you to show up, last night, even went for a stroll, but still, nothing, I guess you didn't have the courage. Chickened out, did you?"
Malfoy's pale face flushed scarlet, but he didn't respond. With a huff, he turned on his heel and stalked away.
"Well played, that surely got under his skin," a familiar voice said behind him. Harry turned to see Daphne Greengrass approaching, her gaze calm yet curious. "Good morning, Harry."
"Morning, Daphne," Harry replied, forcing the tension in his shoulders to ease as they set off toward the Great Hall. The soft glow of torchlight illuminated their path, and for a moment, silence lingered between them.
"So…Harry," Daphne said, breaking the quiet as they entered the bustling hall, "I've been thinking about last night. You know so much more about magic than most of us first years. Could you teach me some of those spells?"
Harry opened his mouth to refuse out of habit, ready to guard the source of his newfound knowledge, but Tom's voice surged in his mind with sudden enthusiasm.
'Say yes, Harry,' Tom urged. 'And don't just limit it to her—include the Weasley boy and the "Granger" girl as well. Build your circle.' Harry noticed the subtle contempt in the way Tom uttered Hermione's name, but he brushed it aside.
"I'd be happy to," Harry said, trying to sound casual. Daphne's eyes lit up with a mix of surprise and gratitude.
The scent of breakfast filled the Great Hall as they sat down at the Slytherin table. Harry reached for toast when a flurry of wings and a flapping of parchment caught his attention. A few owls swooped down, depositing a long, thin package directly in front of him. The room fell silent as curious eyes turned toward Harry.
He carefully unwrapped the package, revealing a broomstick—a gleaming Nimbus 2000. Gasps echoed around the table, and Daphne's breath caught. "Who would send you a Nimbus 2000?" she asked, incredulous.
Harry glanced at the attached letter, peeling it open with trembling fingers. As he read the neatly scripted words, his brow furrowed. "It's from Lucius Malfoy," Harry said, passing the note to Daphne.
Her eyes flickered with recognition and then concern. "This isn't a gift given out of generosity, Harry," she explained. "Lucius Malfoy is probably trying to secure you as a future ally—a political move to align himself with a rising star, given your reputation as one of the best first years in school and being the child that vanquished, he who must not be named."
Harry felt a twist of confusion in his chest, but Tom's presence hummed approvingly. 'She speaks the truth, Harry, Lucius sees your potential as an ally and is trying to buy your friendship.' Tom's thoughts rang in Harry's head. 'The Daphne girl is well versed in wizarding politics. She is someone you must keep close. She understands the world you are stepping into. She will be useful in the future.'
Harry reluctantly nodded, then stood up from the Slytherin table, a mix of emotions swirling within him as he left the Great Hall. The attention garnered by Lucius Malfoy's unexpected gift still lingered, making him feel both conspicuous and uneasy. Daphne walked beside him in silence, her eyes darting to catch the subtle glances sent their way by other students. Before they could reach the entrance to the dungeons, Harry heard familiar footsteps hurrying to catch up.
"Harry! Daphne!" Hermione's voice called out. She fell into step beside them, a determined yet apprehensive look on her face. Ron trailed behind her; eyes wide with excitement as they settled on the gleaming Nimbus 2000 tucked under Harry's arm.
"Blimey, Harry," Ron said, barely containing his awe. He moved in closer, eyes nearly sparkling. "Can I hold it? I've never seen a Nimbus 2000 this close before."
Before Harry could respond, a cold voice cut through the corridor. "Of course you haven't, Weasley," Malfoy sneered, stepping out from a shadowed corner with Crabbe and Goyle flanking him. His smirk deepened as he added, "The entire Weasley family would have to sell everything they owned just to afford one of the twigs."
Ron's face flushed red, his fists clenching by his sides. He opened his mouth to retort, but Malfoy's attention had already shifted to Harry. The pale-haired Slytherin's eyes narrowed, and his voice dripped with sarcasm.
"So, Potter, feeling special, are we? Who's the idiot that thought you deserved such an extravagant gift?" Harry felt a smirk tug at his lips. "Funny you should ask," he said, pulling the folded letter from his robe pocket and handing it to Malfoy.
Malfoy snatched the letter, eyes scanning the elegant script. As he read, his expression darkened, the pale skin of his face flushing red. His jaw clenched tightly, and he crumpled the parchment in his fist. "See, Malfoy," Harry said, voice steady. "None of this would have been possible without the support of your father."
Malfoy's eyes flashed dangerously, and without another word, he spun on his heel and stormed off, Crabbe and Goyle trailing after him, their thick brows furrowed in confusion. Daphne, who had remained silent through the exchange, gave Harry a subtle nod of approval. "Good one," she murmured under her breath.
Hermione, who had been watching the scene with a mixture of worry and fascination, turned to Ron. She softened her voice as she asked, "Ron, are you okay? Don't listen to what Malfoy said." Ron's face was still red, but it shifted from anger to embarrassment. He glared at the floor, unable to meet Hermione's gaze. "Stay out of it, Hermione," he snapped.
Hermione's eyes widened in hurt, and she drew back, lips pressed into a thin line. Without another word, she spun around and hurried away, her bushy hair bouncing as she turned the corner. Daphne's expression turned cold as she regarded Ron. "Was that really necessary?" she asked sharply.
Ron's shoulders sagged, and he cast his eyes downward, guilt shadowing his face. He didn't reply, simply trudged off in the direction of the Gryffindor Tower with his head bowed. Daphne let out an exasperated sigh and turned to Harry. "Your friend," she said pointedly, before striding after Hermione.
A wave of guilt washed over Harry. He glanced down at the Nimbus 2000 in his hands, the shine of the polished wood now feeling heavier. With a sigh, he turned and made his way toward the Slytherin common room, the echoes of footsteps and voices fading behind him. All he wanted now was to store the broom and escape the storm of emotions swirling around him.